When I go out on my wheel, I know That back to the toil and the grind I must go; But I do not mind as the moments fly, For the world is fair and its child am I. So it's ho! for the hedges that glide and glide, RELATIVE VALUES SUGGESTED BY DELIVERY By varieties of emphasis in reading, we are able to make prominent what is important in a sentence and to put in the background what is least important. What is relatively important in a selection as a whole, should also be determined by painstaking analysis, and the reader's estimate of relative values expressed by a careful delivery. Preserve the balance and purpose of the following selections by attention to this principle in expressive delivery. HOW WENDELL PHILLIPS BECAME AN ANTI-SLAVERY REFORMER1 BY MARY A. LIVERMORE It is possible to comprehend the character of Wendell Phillips only as he is seen against the dark background of slavery. He made his debut as an anti-slavery reformer, and he was known as an anti-slavery reformer from the time he began his work until he was discharged by death from all work of an earthly character. Wendell Phillips was the son of the first mayor of Boston, and was born on Beacon Street. He was rich, and never knew the want of a dollar in his life. He had the beauty of a Greek Apollo in face and figure. He had the culture of Harvard College in his brains. He was the idol of the aristocrats of Boston. In his veins ran the same blood that flowed in the veins of Phillips Brooks, of Oliver Wendell Holmes. On every side Wendell Phillips was hedged about by the highest and noblest influences. It was a mob that sought to hang William Lloyd Garrison which gave Wendell Phillips to the cause of abolition. He saw Mr. Garrison, whom he did not know, with a rope about his waist, dragged through the streets of Boston. He said, "What is the matter with the fellow?" "Why, he is the anti-slavery leader, the editor of The Liberator," answered a man at his elbow. "Why don't you call out the cadets, and put down this mob?" demanded Phillips. The man turned round and said, "You fool, don't you see it is the cadets that are trying to hang him?" The next day Wendell Phillips resigned from the cadets, and recanted his oath to support the constitution of the United States; because it could compel him to return fugitive slaves. So that mob gave the world Wendell Phillips. 1 Reprinted by permission of the Emerson College Magazine, Soon after this incident, Elijah Lovejoy, who had gone to Illinois and started an anti-slavery paper, had his press destroyed, and thrown into the Mississippi River. He bought another, and that they destroyed. He got a third, and said, "This paper my friends and I will defend with our lives!" That night a number of his friends stayed with him in the warehouse until late, after which, thinking all was safe, they went to their homes and left him with a few others. Hardly had they gone when there came a mob of the lowest, vilest, drunken ruffians one could imagine. They came out all armed ready for anything. The first salutation that the men in the warehouse heard, was the falling of stones that broke in every window. Immediately Lovejoy replied that there were men inside, all heavily armed that would take care of themselves and the press; but the throwing of stones continued. One of the ruffians set the roof on fire. Lovejoy came out on the roof, his figure clearly revealed, a splendid target, against the blazing conflagration. When he turned and again warned them, a well aimed shot was fired and he dropped dead. After that, it was impossible for a posse of officers to do anything with the mob until they were fully satisfied. The story of this outrage went across the country on the wings of the wind. Everybody was saying, “Are we white slaves? Have we a collar about our necks? May we not publish our own papers and say what we please?" Meetings were called all over the country in defense of free speech and free press. One was held in Faneuil Hall in defense of free speech and in opposition to slavery. Dr. Channing made the first speech. He spoke much about free speech, but very gingerly about slavery. Two other men followed and talked the same way. It seemed as if the crowded audience were all of one opinion. Suddenly there arose in the gallery James T. Austin. He said he was glad Lovejoy was shot; that he died as he deserved to die. He said the man who shot Lovejoy deserved to rank with the patriots of the Commonwealth whose portraits looked down from the walls of Faneuil Hall. The excitement which followed was intense. The friends of Austin applauded to the echo, while the anti-slavery men hissed and groaned and the house resounded with cries. A young man was seen making his way through the immense crowd. He came up and faced the audience. Everybody was saying, “Who is the handsome young fellow?” but there was a free masonry which made them believe he was not to side with Austin. Finally, a few of the men came on the platform and insisted that the young man should be heard. Wendell Phillips began. His voice was music; its fine modulations, as he talked in a conversational way, reached out to the remotest corners of the hall. Every one listened while he gave a vocal picture of the tragedy of the night which had brought about the meeting. As he went on with his graphic description they saw Lovejoy on the roof of the house; they heard the shots; they saw the whole horrible affair; they saw the low ruffians, those half savage men, as they came out from their lairs, bent on murder. When he reached the point where they were all horror stricken with the tragedy, as they had not been before, he said, "When I heard the Attorney-General of Massachusetts class those drunken murderers with the patriots of the Commonwealth, I marvelled, O Hancock, Adams, Otis and Quincy, that your pictured lips did not break out and rebuke this recreant slanderer of the noble dead! I marvelled that this cradle of liberty did not rock and heave again, and that the earth did not open and swallow him up for his profanity!" If there was excitement before, there was pandemonium now. Phillips had won. The majority, standing on tiptoe, shouted, "Go on! Take nothing back!" while the other faction shouted, "Throw him out! Sit down! Be quiet!" He stood there with his arms folded and let the mob howl itself out. Now he made his speech about slavery, and it was not gingerly. This was his debut as an anti-slavery reformer. It was a speech that held everybody breathless. He foretold the end of slavery. He pictured what it would be if it were allowed to grow. Everybody was spellbound; nobody hissed. The moment he finished he received a perfect ovation. He went out with the reputation of having made the greatest speech ever heard in the city of Boston. He went out poorer than the poorest beggar that goes from alley to alley to beg for food. He had killed every chance of political advancement he might ever hope to win; completely ostracised, nothing remained for him but to be a private citizen afterward. Have you ever read of a case like this? Here was a man twenty-six |