orator's whole being when he has achieved a success--it is like
the mother forgetting her pangs for the joy of bringing a son
into the world.

--J.B.E., _How to Attract and Hold an Audience_.

There are four fundamental methods of delivering an address; all others
are modifications of one or more of these: reading from manuscript,
committing the written speech and speaking from memory, speaking from
notes, and extemporaneous speech. It is impossible to say which form of
delivery is best for all speakers in all circumstances--in deciding for
yourself you should consider the occasion, the nature of the audience,
the character of your subject, and your own limitations of time and
ability. However, it is worth while warning you not to be lenient in
self-exaction. Say to yourself courageously: What others can do, I can
attempt. A bold spirit conquers where others flinch, and a trying task
challenges pluck.

_Reading from Manuscript_

This method really deserves short shrift in a book on public speaking,
for, delude yourself as you may, public reading is not public speaking.
Yet there are so many who grasp this broken reed for support that we
must here discuss the "read speech"--apologetic misnomer as it is.

Certainly there are occasions--among them, the opening of Congress, the
presentation of a sore question before a deliberative body, or a
historical commemoration--when it may seem not alone to the "orator" but
to all those interested that the chief thing is to express certain
thoughts in precise language--in language that _must_ not be either
misunderstood or misquoted. At such times oratory is unhappily elbowed
to a back bench, the manuscript is solemnly withdrawn from the capacious
inner pocket of the new frock coat, and everyone settles himself
resignedly, with only a feeble flicker of hope that the so-called speech
may not be as long as it is thick. The words may be golden, but the
hearers' (?) eyes are prone to be leaden, and in about one instance out
of a hundred does the perpetrator really deliver an impressive address.
His excuse is his apology--he is not to be blamed, as a rule, for some
one decreed that it would be dangerous to cut loose from manuscript
moorings and take his audience with him on a really delightful sail.

One great trouble on such "great occasions" is that the essayist--for
such he is--has been chosen not because of his speaking ability but
because his grandfather foug