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DIRECTNESS IN DELIVERY

The old style declamatory method of speaking has passed away, as has, also, tearing of passions to tatters by ranting actors. Occasionally an over-zealous speaker mistakes vociferous delivery for eloquence, but the best speakers of today are simple, direct and colloquial in their utterances. In making your delivery direct, avoid robbing it of vitality. Keep the undercurrent of vitality, consider your audience as being near at hand, and appeal directly to them. Exemplify directness in the following selections.

AT ABBOTSFORD WITH SCOTT1

From CRAYON MISCELLANY. BY WASHINGTON IRVING

I had a letter of introduction to him from Thomas Campbell, the poet, and had reason to think, from the interest he had taken in some of my earlier scribblings, that a visit from me would not be deemed an intrusion.

On the following morning, after an early breakfast, I set off in a postchaise for the Abbey. On the way thither I stopped at the gate of Abbotsford, and sent the postilion to the house with the letter of introduction and my card, on which I had written that I was on my way to the ruins of Melrose Abbey, and wished to know whether it would be agreeable to Mr. Scott (he had not yet been made a baronet) to receive a visit from me in the course of the morning.

In a little while the "lord of the castle" himself made his appearance. I knew him at once by the descriptions I had read and heard, and the likeness that had been published of him. He was tall, and of a large and powerful frame. His dress was simple, and almost rustic: an old green shooting-coat, with a dog-whistle at his button-hole, brown linen pantaloons, stout shoes that tied at the ankles, and a white hat that had evidently seen service. He came limping up the gravel-walk, aiding himself by a stout walking-staff, but moving rapidly and with vigor. By his side jogged along a large iron-gray stag-hound of most grave demeanor.

Before Scott had reached the gate he called out in a hearty tone, welcoming me to Abbotsford, and asking news of Campbell. Arrived at the door of the chaise, he grasped me warmly by the hand: "Come, drive down, drive down to the house," said he. "Ye're just in time for breakfast, and afterward ye shall see all the wonders of the Abbey."

I would have excused myself, on the plea of having already made my breakfast. "Hout, man," cried he, "a ride in the morning in the keen air of the Scotch hills is warrant enough for a second breakfast." I 1 Reprinted by permission of G. P. Putnam's Sons.

was accordingly whirled to the portal of the cottage, and in a few moments found myself seated at the breakfast table.

Scott proposed a ramble to show me something of the surrounding country. As we sallied forth, every dog in the establishment turned out to attend us. There was the old stag-hound Maida, a noble animal, and a great favorite of Scott's; and Hamlet, the black greyhound, a wild thoughtless youngster; and Finette, a beautiful setter, with soft silken hair, long pendent ears, and a mild eye, the parlor favorite. When in front of the house, we were joined by a superannuated greyhound, who came from the kitchen wagging his tail, and was cheered by Scott as an old friend and comrade. Scott would frequently pause in conversation to notice his dogs and speak to them, as if rational companions.

We had not walked far before we saw the two Miss Scotts advancing along the hillside to meet us. The morning's studies being over, they had set off to take a ramble on the hills, and gather heather-blossoms. As they came bounding lightly, like young fawns, and their dresses fluttering in the pure summer breeze, I was reminded of Scott's own description of his children in his introduction to one of the cantos of "Marmion."

As they approached, the dogs all sprang forward and gamboled around them. They played with them for a time, and then joined us with countenances full of health and glee. Sophia, the elder, was the more lively and joyous, having much of her father's varied spirit in conversation, and seeming to catch excitement from his words and looks. Ann was of quieter mood, rather silent, owing, in some measure, no doubt, to her being some years younger.

At the dinner Scott had laid by his half-rustic dress, and appeared clad in black. The girls, too, in completing their toilet, had twisted in their hair the sprigs of purple heather which they had gathered on the hillside, and looked all fresh and blooming from their breezy walk.

There was no guest at dinner but myself. Around the table were two or three dogs in attendance. Maida, the old stag-hound, took his seat at Scott's elbow, looking up wistfully in his master's eye, while Finette, the pet spaniel, placed herself near Mrs. Scott, by whom, I soon perceived, she was completely spoiled.

After dinner we adjourned to the drawing room, which served also for study and library. Against the wall on one side was a long writing table, with drawers; surmounted by a small cabinet of polished wood, with folding-drawers richly studded with brass ornaments, within which Scott kept his most valuable papers. Above the cabinet, in a kind of niche, was a complete corselet of glittering steel, with a closed helmet, and flanked by gauntlets and battle-axes.

Around were hung trophies and relics of various kinds; a simitar of Tipu Sahib; a Highland broadsword from Flodden field; a pair of Rippon spurs from Bannockburn, and above all, a gun which had belonged to Rob Roy, and bore the initials, R. M. C. an object of peculiar interest to me at the time, as it was understood Scott was actually engaged in printing a novel founded on the story of that famous outlaw.

On each side of the cabinet were bookcases, well stored with works of romantic fiction in various languages, many of them rare and antiquated. This, however, was merely his cottage library, the principal part of his books being at Edinburgh.

The evening passed away delightfully in this quaint-looking apartment. Scott had read several passages from the old romances of Arthur, with a fine, deep, sonorous voice, and a gravity of tone that seemed to suit the antiquated black-letter volume. It was a rich treat to hear such a work, read by such a person, and in such a place; and his appearance as he sat reading, in a large armed chair, with his favorite hound, Maida, at his feet and surrounded by books and relics, and border trophies, would have formed an admirable and most characteristic picture.

A MORNING IN AN AFRICAN VILLAGE1

Abridged from A VOICE FROM THE CONGO. By HERBERT Ward

Ibenza is the name of the village. It is situated in the heart of the great African forest, fifteen hundred miles from ocean shores. The population is small, for the native communities of this wild region are wanting in the elements of union.

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1Copyright, 1910, by Charles Scribner's Sons. Reprinted by special arrangement with these publishers.

It is early morning-dark, damp and cold. A white mist hangs heavily over the ground, enveloping the huts and all the lower growths of foliage in ghostly mystery.

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Men and women crawl forth from their tiny grass huts, yawning and stretching themselves after their night's deep slumber. The morning mists soon disappear and the village gradually becomes animated. Children, light-hearted and joyous, commence to gambol in every direction; some with their mimic bows and arrows shoot at the prowling pariah dogs.

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The morning meal, consisting of a few ears of maise and half-smoked fish, is soon over. Then follows the departure of nearly all the women; they vanish into their forest plantations in quest of food and firewood. The men gradually assemble in front of the chief's hut to hear the public discussions of the day.

These palaver meetings are dear to all Central Africans. They take keen delight in oratory, which may in fact be said to constitute one of their important arts. They talk fluently and employ many metaphorical and flowery expressions. Possessing a natural gift of rude eloquence, it is greatly enhanced in effect by the soft inflections and the harmonious euphony of their language; they reason well and display great aptitude for debate.

The case before the court to-day relates to the death of a young slave girl. She was recently seized by a crocodile, while bathing in the river. About two hundred men and boys in semi-nakedness, seat themselves in a circle in front of their chief, a large-boned truculent-looking man, decorated with heavy iron anklets and bracelets, sitting cross-legged upon a leopard skin.

The former owner of the deceased slave steps forward; striking his spear blade downwards in the ground in front of him, he produces in his right hand a number of small pieces of split bamboo. Speaking fluently and with simple gesture he caps each point of his oration by selecting one of his small sticks and placing it upon the ground in front of him. In brief, his speech relates first to his early life, and in monotonous rotation, and with a careless indifference to relevancy, he enum

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