Voice and gesture form the immediate link between the speaker and his audience. The value of good quality in both is sometimes over-estimated, though it is always considerable. A good voice, well managed, gives powerful and vivid expression to thought, but cannot supply the absence of it. Neither is such a voice indispensable. Many instances of high success against vocal disadvantages might be mentioned; but these only prove that other excellencies may atone for a single defect. We can never be indifferent to the charms of a good voice, that modulates with every emotion and responds to the finest shades of feeling. It has much of the pleasing quality of music.

But this harmony cannot be evoked by merely mechanical training. To teach the pupil just what note on the musical scale he must strike to express a particular emotion, how much of an inflection must be used to express joy or sorrow, and how many notes down the scale mark a complete suspension of sense, is absurd: speech can never be set to music.

But let it not be inferred from this that voice cultivation is useless. The more perfect the instrument for the expression of thought can be made, the better it will be fitted for its high office. An orator may profitably spend a little time daily for years in training the voice, for it is a faculty he must continually employ, and none is more susceptible of improvement. The passion evoked in animated speech will demand for its adequate expression almost every note and key within the compass of the voice; and unless it has previously been trained into strength on each of these, it will fail or grow weary. The proper kind of preparation operates by exploring the range of the voice, testing its capabilities, and improving each tone. This work is not imitative or slavish. It is only like putting an instrument in tune before beginning a musical performance.

To give full elocutionary instruction here would be aside from our purpose; but a few useful modes of practice may be pointed out.

Good articulation is of prime importance. Nothing will contribute more to secure this valuable quality than the separation of words into their elements of sound and continued practice on each element as thus isolated. Phonetic shorthand affords a good means for making such analysis, or the same purpose may be accomplished by means of the marks of pronunciation found in any dictionary. As we practice these elements of sound we will discover the exact nature of any defect of articulation we may suffer from, and can drill upon the sounds that are difficult until they become easy. When we have thus learned to pronounce these few elements—not much above forty in number—and can follow them into all their combinations, we have mastered the alphabet of utterance. It will also contribute greatly to strengthen the voice and make it pliable, if we continue the same practice on these elements at different degrees of elevation on the musical scale until we can utter each one in full, round distinctness, at any pitch from the deepest bass to the shrillest note ever used in speech. This will bring all varieties of modulation within easy reach.

Practice on these elements is also a very effective mode of strengthening weak voices. By pronouncing them one by one, with gradually increasing force, the degree of loudness we can attain at any pitch, will be greatly extended. The amount of improvement that may be made would be incredible if it were not so often exemplified. Every teacher of elocution can testify of students, the power of whose voices has thus been multiplied many fold; and almost equal advantages may be reaped in persevering private practice.

Following on the same line, we may learn to enunciate the elements, and especially the short vowels, in a quick, sharp tone, more rapidly than the ticking of a watch, and with the clearness of a bell. This will enable the speaker to avoid drawling, and be very fast when desirable, without falling into indistinctness. Then, by an opposite process, other sounds, especially the long vowels, may be prolonged with every degree of force from the faintest to the fullest. Perseverance in these two exercises will so improve the voice that no hall will be too large for its compass.

The differing extension of sounds, as well as their pitch and variations in force, constitute the perspective of speech and give it an agreeable variety, like the mingling of light and shade in a well-executed picture. The opposite of this, a dull, dead uniformity, with each word uttered in the same key, with the same force, and at the same degree of speed, becomes well-nigh unbearable; while perpetual modulation, reflecting in each rise and fall, each storm and calm of sound, the living thought within, is the perfection of nature, which the best art can only copy.

All vocal exercises are of an essentially preparatory character. In the moment of speech details may safely be left to the impulse of nature. Supply the capability by previous discipline, and then allow passion to clothe itself in the most natural forms. There is such a vital connection between emotion and the tones of voice, that emphasis and inflection will be as spontaneous, on the part of the disciplined speaker, as breathing. Rules remembered in the act of speaking tend to destroy all life and freshness of utterance.

When bad habits have been corrected, the voice made supple and strong, confidence attained, and deep feeling evoked in the speaker’s breast, there will be little need to care for the minutiÆ of elocution. The child that is burnt needs no instruction in the mode of crying out. Let nature have her way, untrammeled by art, and all feelings will dominate the voice and cause every hearer to recognize their nature and participate in them. In this way we may not attain the brilliancy of theatric clap-trap, but we will be able to give “the touch of nature that makes the whole world kin.”

If carefully guarded, the faculty of imitation may be of great service in the management of the voice. The sounds that express sympathy and passion are heard everywhere, forming a medium of communication more subtle and widespread than any language of earth. From the example of great orators we may learn what true excellence is, and become able to reproduce some, at least, of their effects. It would be hurtful to confine our attention too long to one model, for true excellence is many-sided, and if we continually view only one of its phases we are apt to fall into slavish imitation—one of the greatest of all vices. By having many examples to look upon, and using them only to elevate our own ideal, we will escape this danger. The models before us will urge us to greater exertions and the whole level of our attainments be raised.

There are abundant faults to mar the freedom and naturalness of delivery, and the speaker who would be truly natural must watch diligently for them and exterminate them without mercy. The sing-song tone, the scream, the lisp, the guttural and tremulous tones, the rhythmical emphasis which falls like a trip-hammer at measured intervals, are specimens of common, bad habits that should be weeded out as fast as they push through the soil; and if the speaker’s egotism is too great to see them, or his taste not pure enough, some friend should point them out. Even the advice of an enemy conveyed in the unpleasant form of sarcasm and ridicule may be profitably used for the purpose of reform and improvement.

Should a conversational tone be employed in speaking? This question has often been asked, and much difference of opinion evoked, but it may be satisfactorily answered. The language of conversation is the language of nature in its most unfettered form, and it should, therefore, be the basis of all speech. The same variety and character of intonations used in it should be employed in every variety of oratory. But conversation itself varies widely with varying circumstances. The man talking with a friend across a river will speak less rapidly but more loudly than if he held that friend by the hand. In speaking to a number at once, the orator must, in order to be heard, speak more forcibly and distinctly than in addressing one only. With this explanation, it may be laid down as a safe rule that a speech should begin in a conversational manner. But should it continue in the same way? A deep, full tone—the orotund of the elocutionist—will make a stronger impression than a shrill, feeble utterance. And as conversation becomes earnest even between two persons, there is the tendency to stronger and more impressive tones. This same tendency will be a sufficient guide in speech. A trained man giving utterance to a well-prepared speech, upon a theme which appeals to his own emotions, will adopt those oratorical tones which form a proper medium for eloquence, without a single thought given to that subject during the moment of delivery. Begin as a man who is talking to a number of his friends upon an interesting subject; then, as the interest deepens, let go all restraint. As passion rises like an inflowing tide, the voice will be so fully possessed by it and so filled out and strengthened as to produce all the effect of which its compass is capable. It will deepen into the thunder roll when that is needed, and at the right time will grow soft and pathetic.

But above almost every other error that the speaker can commit, beware of thinking that you must be loud in order to be impressive. Nothing is more disgusting than that interminable roar, beginning with a shout, and continuing to split the speaker’s throat and the hearer’s ears all through the discourse. This fault is not uncommon in the pulpit, especially among those who desire a reputation for extraordinary fervor and earnestness. But it is the worst kind of monotony. The loudness of tone, that applied at the right place would be overpowering, loses all power except to disgust and weary an audience. It expresses no more thought or sentiment than the lashing of ocean waves conveys to the storm-tossed mariner. Have something to say; keep the fires of passion burning in your own soul; learn the real strength there is in the reserve of power; and the cultivated voice will not fail in its only legitimate office—that of making the clear and adequate impression of your thoughts and emotions upon the souls of others.

Elocutionary manuals properly devote much space to the consideration of gesture, for the eye should be addressed and pleased as well as the ear. But we doubt whether the marking out of special gestures to be imitated can do much good. A few broad principles like those formulated by the celebrated French teacher, Delsarte, may be profitably studied and made familiar by practice upon a few simple selections. After that the principal use of training is to give confidence so that the speaker may be in the full possession and instinctive use of all his powers. Fear often freezes the speaker into ice-like rigidity; and hearers are apt to feel the same deadly chill when listening to some one whose dominating sentiment is the fear that he may do something ridiculous, or fail to win their favor.

The secondary use of training in gesture is to discard awkward and repulsive movements. Timidity and fear may be overcome by a firm resolution, and the object is well worth the effort. Bad or ungraceful actions are far better in the case of a beginner than no action at all. The saying of Demosthenes, that the first, the second, and the third need of an orator is “ACTION,” does not fully apply to the modern speaker. He needs many things more urgently than action, even when that word is taken in its widest sense. But action is important, and when graceful and expressive, it does powerfully tend to arrest attention, and even to help the processes of thought on the part of the speaker himself. We have heard several eloquent men who scarcely moved during the delivery of an address, but never without feeling that good gesticulation would have been a great addition to their power. It is unnatural to speak for any considerable period of time without moving. None but a lazy, sick, or bashful man will do it. Let the laziness be shaken off, the sickness cured, and the bashfulness reserved for a more fitting occasion! A man who is too bashful and diffident to move hand, head, or foot in the presence of an audience should in consistency refuse to monopolize their time at all!

Practice will usually overcome this fault. When a man has stood a great many times before an audience without receiving any serious injury, and has a good purpose in thus claiming their attention, and something which he thinks they ought to hear, he will forget his fears and allow his mind to be engrossed, as that of a true speaker should be, with the subject he has in hand. Then all his gestures will have at least the grace of unconscious and spontaneous origination.

But when fear has been overcome so that the speaker is not afraid to use his hands, he needs to enter upon a determined and comprehensive campaign against bad habits. If anything is truly natural—that is, true to the higher or universal nature—it will be beautiful; but early examples are so often wrong and corrupting that it is hard to say what nature is: Nature may be a bad nature—the reflection of all that is low and sordid as well as that which is high and ennobling. That nature which is in harmony with the sum of all things, which is the image of the Creator’s perfectness, must be right and good; but we must not too hastily conclude that any habits of our own have this high and unquestionable source. Hardly a speaker lives who does not at some time fall into unsightly or ridiculous habits. The difference between men in this respect is that some steadily accumulate all the faults they ever have contracted, until the result is most repulsive; while others, from the warnings of friends or their own observation, discover their errors and cast them off.

A mode by which the solitary student may become acquainted with his faults, and from which he should not be driven by foolish ridicule, is by declaiming in as natural and forcible a manner as possible before a large mirror. Thus we may “see ourselves as others see us.” Repeated practice in this manner will enable you to keep the necessary watch upon your motions, without so much distracting attention as to make the exercise before the glass no trustworthy specimen of ordinary habits. In speaking, you hear your own voice and thus become sensible of audible errors, but the glass is required to show improper movements that may have been unconsciously contracted. It is not advised that each speech, before delivery, should be practiced in front of the mirror. It is doubtful if such practice would not cherish a self-consciousness worse than all the errors it corrected. But the same objection would not apply to occasional declamations made for the very purpose of self-criticism.

By these two processes—pressing out into action as freely as possible under the impulse of deep feeling, and by lopping off everything that is not graceful and effective—we may soon attain a good style of gesture. When the habit of suiting the action to the word is once fully formed, all anxiety on that subject may be dismissed. The best gesticulation is entirely unconscious.