The business of training youth in elocution, must be commenced in
childhood. The first school is the nursery. There, at least, may be formed
a distinct articulation, which is the first requisite for good speaking.
How rarely is it found in perfection among our orators.
"Words," says one, referring to articulation, should "be delivered out
from the lips, as beautiful coins, newly issued from the mint; deeply and
accurately impressed, perfectly finished; neatly struck by the proper
organs, distinct, in due succession, and of due weight." How rarely do we
hear a speaker whose tongue, teeth, and lips, do their office so perfectly
as to answer to this beautiful description! And the common faults in
articulation, it should be remembered, take their rise from the very
nursery.
Grace in eloquence, in the pulpit, at the bar, can not be separated from
grace in the ordinary manners, in private life, in the social circle, in
the family. It can not well be superinduced upon all the other
acquisitions of youth, any more than that nameless, but invaluable,
quality called good breeding. Begin, therefore, the work of forming the
orator with the child; not merely by teaching him to declaim, but what is
of more consequence, by observing and correcting his daily manners,
motions, and attitudes. You can say, when he comes into your apartment, or
presents you with something, a book or letter, in an awkward and
blundering manner, "Return, and enter this room again," or, "Present me
that book in a different manner," or, "Put yourself in a different
attitude." You can explain to him the difference between thrusting or
pushing out his hand and arm, in straight lines and at acute angles, and
moving them in flowing circular lines, and easy graceful action. He will
readily understand you. Nothing is more true than that the motions of
children are originally graceful; it is by suffering them to be perverted,
that we lay the foundation of invincible awkwardness in later life.
In schools for children, it ought to be a leading object to teach the art
of reading. It ought to occupy threefold more time than it does. The
teachers of these schools should labor to improve themselves. They should
feel that to them, for a time, are committed the future orators of the
land.
It is better that a girl should return from school a first-rate reader,
than a first-rate performer on the pianoforte. The accomplishment, in its
perfection, would give more pleasure. The voice of song is not sweeter
than the voice of eloquence; and there may be eloquent readers, as well as
eloquent speakers. We speak of perfection in this art: and it is
something, we must say in defense of our preference, which we have never
yet seen. Let the same pains be devoted to reading, as are required to
form an accomplished performer on an instrument; let us have, as the
ancients had, the formers of the voice, the music masters of the reading
voice; let us see years devoted to this accomplishment, and then we should
be prepared to stand the comparison.
Reading is indeed, a most intellectual accomplishment. So is music, too,
in its perfection. We do by no means undervalue this noble and most
delightful art, to which Socrates applied himself even in his old age. But
one recommendation of the art of reading is, that it requires a constant
exercise of mind. It involves, in its perfection, the whole art of
criticism on language. A man may possess a fine genius without being a
perfect reader; but he can not be a perfect reader without genius.