lecturing an art, and why not? If the hand that
paints a picture true to life and pleasing to the eye, is the hand of
an artist, why is not the tongue that paints a picture true to life
and pleasing to the mind's eye the tongue of an artist?

It is an art to know how to get hold of an audience. There was an
occasion in my experience when I had extreme necessity for the use of
this art. When President Cleveland wrote his Venezuela message in
which he threatened war with England, the threat was published in
Toronto, Canada, on Saturday and I was announced to lecture in the
large pavilion on Sunday afternoon.

The message of President Cleveland had aroused the patriotic spirit of
Canada. The hall was packed. It seemed to me I could see frost upon
the eyebrows of every man and icicles in the ears of the women.

When introduced there was a painful silence. I began by saying:
"Doubtless many of you have come to hear what an American has to say
about Venezuela. I must admit I am not acquainted with the merits of
the question. I suppose, however, the message of our President is one
of the arts of diplomacy. But I do know I speak the sentiment of the
best people of my country when I say: 'May the day never dawn whose
peace will be broken by signal guns of war between Great Britain and
the United States.'" I said:

"When John and Jonathan forget,
The scar of anger's wound to fret,
And smile to think of an ancient feud,
Which the God of nations turned to good;
Then John and Jonathan will be,
Abiding friends, o'er land and sea;
In their one great purpose, the world will ken,
Peace on earth, goodwill to men."

The great audience arose and cheered until all sense of chill had
departed.

It is not only an art to get hold of an audience, but equally a matter
of good taste to know when to let go. This is a qualification some
have not acquired. I followed a very distinguished man several years
ago and the comment was: "He was fine the first hour and a half, but
the last hour he grew tiresome."

In this busy age, the world wants thoughts packed into small compass.
The average audience wants a preacher to put his best thoughts into a
thirty-minute package. The day was, when people would sit on backless
board benches and listen to a sermon of two hours; now they won't
swing in a hammock and endure one of more than fifty minutes.

Rev. Dr. Dewey, of Brooklyn, New York, tells of a minister who was
given to reading