early in the ’80’s, where Mr. Beecher and Mr. Depew were the principal
speakers. It was a large gathering of the representative
Irish-Americans, and there were present quite a number of distinguished
foreigners. While Mr. Beecher was speaking, Mr. Depew came over and sat
by me, and on one or two occasions intimated that it was one of the most
remarkable orations he had ever listened to. After Mr. Beecher had
finished, Mr. Depew was called upon, and Mr. Beecher came over and
occupied the chair that Mr. Depew had vacated. There was tremendous
applause when “Our Chauncey” was called upon. After quiet had been
restored, Mr. Depew assumed a very serious expression. In opening his
address he told his hearers that he had something serious to say to
them: that we were on the eve of a great crisis--great labor
strikes--and that he stood there as the representative of the largest
labor constituency in America, and he told those men that he should hold
them in a certain degree responsible for what might happen. He wanted
them to _distinctly understand that he and those he represented were
prepared to meet this crisis_. It was a long, earnest speech. There was
not much applause until after Mr. Depew had finished.
Mr. Beecher and I left immediately afterward, drove in a carriage to
Dorlon’s Oyster House, in Fulton Market, as was his usual custom after a
New York speech, where we had supper. During our ride from Delmonico’s
to Fulton Ferry Mr. Beecher did not speak. He was very quiet until
supper was served. I remember the first words that came from his lips
were something like this:
“The people of New York and of this country generally have looked upon
Chauncey M. Depew as a sort of an entertainer and comedian for public
occasions, and don’t realize the greatness of the man.” Then, after
referring to the many responsibilities and trusts which were under Mr.
Depew’s guidance, he wound up by saying, “Chauncey M. Depew is a great
man, and I would like to vote for him for president of the United
States.”
Of course Mr. Depew is not a lyceum lecturer, but he might be the most
successful in America. He never will accept a fee for lecturing, and
consequently the manager has little use for him in a business way.
I met him in his office November 27, 1899, and asked him if he could
tell me of any incident in his speech-making career that had not been
published. He told me that he thought the best speech he ever made in
his life had never got into print, and he related the incident:
He and General Grant both had cottages at Long Branch. The General had
taken offence at something that Mr. Depew had said in a speech, and for
a long time they had passed each other without speaking. This silence
lasted about four years. One day he received a letter from Judge Daly
urging him to speak at the Sons of St. Patrick’s dinner at Delmonico’s,
saying that General Grant was to be there and would speak. At that time
General Grant had never made a public speech. “I took pains,” said Mr.
Depew, “to prepare a speech for that occasion, although the time was
very short and I had a case in the Supreme Court and was obliged to come
from Washington on a late train which reached New York at nine o’clock.
I hurried into my evening dress and to the dining hall, where I arrived
about ten o’clock. General Grant was speaking. He discovered me as I was
twisting myself through the crowd to the guest table. Grant stopped
speaking (he told me afterward that his knees were knocking together
under the table). As I arrived at my seat I heard the general say, ‘Oh!
if I could only stand in Depew’s shoes!’ and he sat down. As I was
called upon, I threw away my prepared speech and replied, ‘Who could
stand in Grant’s shoes?’ and then all of Grant’s achievements multiplied
before me and I believe I made the best speech of my life. It never got
reported. After I sat down I felt some one take hold of my hand. I
looked around; it was General Grant. He whispered to me, ‘That was the
greatest speech that ever fell from human lips.’ Grant insisted on
driving me home in his carriage that night, and we were close friends
ever afterward.”
“Mr. Depew, who are our greatest orators?” I asked. “Compared with a
quarter of a century ago we have no great orators, have we?”
“No, we have not,” said Mr. Depew. “I know one very eloquent man, with a
big resounding voice, who holds his audience spell-bound, but what does
he say? It is dull reading the next day.” He told me that Phillips and
Beecher were the two greatest orators of their time, and that he thought
they must have surpassed Webster and Clay.
I told Mr. Depew that when I was in England in 1886, I heard his name
mentioned more among the religious classes than any American preacher in
the country excepting Mr. Beecher.
He said, “You mean my reply to John Fiske at the Twentieth Century
Club?”
“Yes,” I said, “that’s the speech. It was circulated as a religious
tract in Great Britain.”
“Yes,” he replied, “I am told that millions of them have been
circulated. I never considered that much of a speech. It was more an
outburst of my heart at the time.”
With Mr. Depew’s permission I submit the speech, which, with the
exception of “In His Steps,” has had the greatest circulation in England
of any religious document ever published:
* * * * *
THE CHRISTIAN FAITH: A REPLY TO JOHN FISKE.
“I am a practical man, overwhelmed with the cares of business. It is
exceedingly difficult for me to get on the plane of philosophic thought.
I am a practical man. I believe in the Old Testament and the New
Testament precisely as they are presented by Christianity. I am in
antagonism to Mr. Wakeman, who dismisses the Bible as entirely a mass of
legend, and with Professor Fiske, who accepts it with an interpretation
entirely his own.
“It was the atheism of France that taught license for liberty and led to
the French Revolution. Where are those old philosophies and the old
philosophers? They are dead, while Christianity survives. The school of
atheism led to despair. Materialism soon found that every violation of
the moral law could go on consistently with its teachings. So pantheism
and positivism have followed, only to be destroyed, and now we have the
school of humanity and the cosmic philosophy coming close to the borders
of Christianity as expounded by John Fiske.
“They tell us there is no more Creator, only a cosmic dust. Who made the
dust? There is only protoplasm, indeed. Who made the protoplasm? They
tell us of evolution from dust to monkey and then to man; but all the
scientists have never found the missing link. The simple gospel of the
humble son of a carpenter, preached by twelve fishermen, has survived
the centuries and outlives all other philosophies of eighteen hundred
years.
“I am not versed in the terminology of the philosophies. I believe them
to be of little use to reach the hearts and to influence the actions of
simple men. There is no liberty that lasts in the world, and there is no
government which has liberty in it which lasts, that does not recognize
the Bible. What is the object of all theology? It is to reach the human
heart and to control the actions of men as they are.
“How many of us can even understand what the philosopher says? You might
take the whole Stock Exchange and read Kant to them, and it would be
utterly incomprehensible to them. Not so with the teachings of the
Golden Rule. They could understand at least what that means. I read Mr.
Wakeman’s pamphlet last night. They tell us God must disappear; that
prayer is begging; that the Holy Communion is cannibalism. When did such
a religion send out a missionary? When you show me a colony of ten
thousand people who have come to live decently by its teachings, I may
believe it. But I say now that the Christian faith of my mother is good
enough for me. If we believe this faith, what harm? If we disbelieve it,
and thereby do wrong, what of our future?”
* * * * *
[Illustration: GENERAL HORACE PORTER]
Gen. Horace Porter, previous to his accepting the appointment of
ambassador to France, has, next to Chauncey M. Depew, received the most
applications to deliver orations, make after-dinner speeches, and to
lecture. Probably he has received every year thousands more of such
applications than he could possibly accept. If he were not a rich man
and had no other means of earning money he could, by lecturing, very
soon make a fortune probably greater than any other public man in our
country could make in the same way.
His inimitable humor, the keenness of his satire, the blandness of his
voice, his matchless mastery of himself and his theme, and his love of
principle, make him the peerless champion of every worthy cause not only
in the community where he lives, but throughout all this land of ours.
He is very popular with the soldiers, having been at one time chief of
staff of the late General Grant. I have never known a man whose speeches
are so fruitful of genuine fun. During the last two years that he was
commander of the Military Order of the Loyal Legion of New York, General
Porter secured for the social gatherings of the Legion some of the best
and ablest orators and public speakers that could be had, but invariably
and unconsciously, with his irresistible introductions or opening
addresses, he took the wind out of the sails of nearly every one who
followed him. I should not care a pin to present a star for an opening
speech before a metropolitan audience where General Porter was in order
to precede him.
General Porter and Dr. Depew are alike fluent on all sorts of occasions,
and to hear these two after-dinner orators at a banquet on any great
occasion is to listen to an intellectual display not to be equalled by
any other two men living. No better idea of General Porter’s inimitable
manner could possibly be conveyed than to quote from the last speech he
made in America at a dinner given him by the Lotus Club in New York,
January 10, 1897, the evening before he took his departure for France.
He said:
“When I was informed that this club was about to tender me a dinner,
although the news was broken to me gently and deliberately, I was seized
with a hypnotic intensity of memory which took on the form of neuralgia
of the emotions. (Laughter.) But I determined to brace up and come here
to-night, whether the ceremonies were of the nature of an ovation or a
wake (renewed laughter), for I realized, if ever a man realized, that
not to be dined by the Lotus Club would cause in life the feeling of
failure and regret. Last night I could think only of what would occur in
twenty-four hours after then. I tried to sleep, but that gentle solace
did not visit my eyelids. I found myself murmuring over and over again
the words: ‘Wake me early, mother dear, for I’m to be queen of the May.’
(Laughter.)
“There is sometimes a doubt as to whether there is more satisfaction
from a dinner in the realization or in the anticipation. Some think it
is better not to give a man a dinner, and then have people going about
saying, ‘Why don’t they give him a dinner?’ than to give a dinner and
have people say of him, ‘Why did they give _that_ man a dinner?’
(Laughter.) But having tasted the enjoyments thus far this evening, I
shall always in the future cast my vote in favor of realization.
“So far you have made things easy for me, but my experience has been
somewhat like that of a man whom I met in Texas. I got into conversation
with him, and he remarked to me: ‘I have struck a big thing.’ I asked
him in what manner he had struck this big thing, and he replied: ‘I was
sent down here by a religious organization to distribute tracts, and
every time I gave a man a tract in Texas he invariably hauled out a gun
from one pocket and a bottle of whiskey from another, and, handing me
the bottle, he said: “Say, drink some of this, and drink it p---- d----
q----, or my gun will go off!” I have not had to pay for my liquor in
this State since I have been distributing tracts.’ (Laughter.)
“Your president, in speaking of me to-night, has filled me full with
his encomiums. The only fear I have is that I cannot get away with them
all; I fear that some of them may leak out in somewhat the same style as
Mark Twain experienced at Niagara Falls. During a visit to the Falls,
Mark Twain has stated that while walking under the cataract he became
scared and called out to the guide, and in so doing took in about
three-quarters of the Falls. Speaking of this afterward, he remarked:
‘It was an anxious and perilous moment for me, because I knew if I
sprung a leak I should be lost.’
“There is one thing I am glad of to-night, and that is that you have not
announced the guests in the formal style they adopt in London. On one
occasion when I was there, I attended a reception which was being held
in a gentleman’s house, and there was a flunky in plush livery, a Home
Ruler from the neighboring island. Among the guests who arrived while I
was at that reception were General Badeau, General Grant, and Colonel
McCook. The flunky, throwing open the door, announced them thus: ‘Banjo,
General Drunk, and the Colonel’s Cook.’
“But you have not given me a toast. In the absence of a toast, it seems
to me that there is nothing to speak of but this club and myself, which
reminds me of a talk that took place between Johnson and Boswell. At the
end of a long conversation between these two men, Johnson remarked: ‘You
seem to have nothing to talk about except yourself and me, and I am sick
of both.’ (Laughter.) You will probably have observed that I have a cold
in my throat. But it is not a campaign cold. It is like one that a man
had whom I met in Arkansas, who had a sore throat, and who, when his
wife asked him how he got it, said it was due to a sudden change. He had
been eating flannel cakes, and suddenly changed to buckwheat. Probably
the easiest thing for me to have given you to-night was one of my
campaign speeches, a little altered, so as to bring it up to date. That
would have reminded you of the story of the Scotchman who was riding on
the railroad from Perth to Inverness, and who was chewing his ticket in
his mouth. A friend who was with him said: ‘You are very extravagant to
be chewing up a ticket that cost twelve shillings and sixpence.’
“‘Nay, mon,’ he replied, ‘it is a limited ticket, and I am only sucking
off the date.’ (Laughter.)
“What I like about the Lotus Club is the good fellowship that pervades
here. Here the moose-hunter of the North meets the alligator-hunter of
the South, and the man who goes tobogganing in the North meets the man
who goes coon-hunting in the South. We have dined here great statesmen,
authors, soldiers, divines, scientists, and men of art, recognizing
equally all branches of art, knowing that all those branches are
children of the same God. Men of learned professions, great leaders in
business affairs, have been dined here, and many sojourners of other
countries have been sent on their way rejoicing. The welcome you have
given to me in this club and the fellowship extended to me have touched
my heart to its innermost depths.
“And I want to express my deepest sense of gratitude and appreciation.
But, alas! my lips can coin no phrases which can repay to you the debt
of gratitude I owe to every one here. I shall carry the recollection of
this club as one of the pleasantest of my remembrances as long as life
shall last, and when life is approaching its end I know I shall, for
one, indulge in those reveries which are the glorious twilight of the
soul. And, sitting by the hearth fire, I shall watch the droppings of
the grains of sand in the great hour-glass and count the beads of
memory. And I shall see reflected in the flames of the yule-log the
faces passing in review before me of all whom I have met in this club.
It will recall to mind all those with whom I have communed here, heart
to heart and soul to soul. Some of them may have been buried under
distant sods, some may have found graves in the depths of the ocean, and
there are others who may not yet have joined the vast army of the dead,
but all their faces will pass, as I have said, in review before me, and
I know I will find myself whispering: ‘Such faces were always the most
precious to me.’” (Prolonged applause.)
Col. Robert G. Ingersoll was without doubt one of the greatest popular
orators of the age. He never received the full credit due to his great
success as an orator during his lifetime, as his vehement assaults on
the Christian religion aroused so many and such powerful enmities. But
without regarding his creed, judging him solely by his power as an
orator, no nation can to-day produce his equal. There was poetry, wit,
humor, sarcasm, and tenderest pathos in nearly every lecture he
delivered, whether on religion or politics.
[Illustration]
Colonel Ingersoll was not invited by the lyceums to lecture in their
regular courses, but his fame was so great that he did not need their
aid in getting audiences. Whenever he wanted to lecture he sent out an
agent, “hired a hall,” and lectured at his own risk, and, almost always,
when in large cities, to his own pecuniary benefit. In the smaller towns
the church influence was always too much for him, and it did not pay him
to lecture in such places.
While coming from New England one day with Mr. Beecher, Colonel
Ingersoll was in the same car. After a pleasant salutation between the
two, the Colonel went to his seat. In his mischievous way Mr. Beecher
said, “I have written that man’s epitaph.” He showed me written on the
margin of a newspaper, with his pencil, two words: “_Robert Burns_.”
[Illustration: FREDERICK DOUGLASS]
Frederick Douglass for two or three decades was one of the favorites of
the lyceum, which he abandoned only after the emancipation of his race.
Douglass was beyond all comparison the ablest man whom the black race
ever produced in our country, either among the pure black or the class
of mixed blood. He himself was a mulatto. His father was pure white of a
distinguished Maryland family. His mother was pure black and his
father’s slave--that is, his mother was a pure black and his father a
pure--I should say impure--white. He always gave his mother the credit
of his talents. Douglass was born a slave. In early manhood he managed
to escape on a ship, and landed in New Bedford, Mass. There he soon
learned to read, and worked at such work as he could find. By and by he
attended anti-slavery meetings, and soon became a popular speaker and
the pet of the abolitionists. His graphic accounts of his life as a
slave were very popular.
From giving the story of his life, he gradually branched out into
discussions of the political questions of the day, and, next to
Phillips, was probably the ablest orator of the anti-slavery movement.
Eventually he went to Rochester and published, for many years, a weekly
antislavery paper. Its title was _Frederick Douglass’s Paper_, which,
next to Garrison’s _Liberator_ and _The Anti-Slavery Standard_, was
recognized as the ablest anti-slavery paper in America. Then he became a
lecturer, and his fame spread so rapidly that he took rank in the favor
of the lecture-going public with Phillips and the other leading lights
of the lyceum. When Lincoln came into power, Douglass moved to
Washington, and was appointed to office in the District of Columbia as
Marshal, a position he held during the entire period of Lincoln’s
administration.
Douglass’s first wife was a plantation negress without any education. A
few years ago he married again. His second wife was white, and a woman
of education and ability. The black race has developed under freedom
many effective speakers, but Douglass was the only man among them who
deserved to be regarded as a real orator. Most of the negro speakers
were really benefited in public esteem on account of their color--that
is, they could not have had as good a reputation as they won if they had
been white, for their audiences made excuses for them that they would
not have made for a white man. But Douglass was retarded by his color,
for he would have won a higher rank if he had been a white man.
After hearing Douglass and Anna Dickinson speak at the first Southern
Loyalist Convention at Philadelphia, John Minor Botts, the famous
Virginian political leader, said:
“To-day I have heard the greatest white woman and the greatest colored
orator in America. I tell you, sir, if Douglass had been a white man he
would have been regarded as one of the greatest men in America.”
“Well, sir,” was the reply of his Northern listener, “we regard him as
one of the greatest men in our country, even though he is a colored
man.”
In Janesville, Wis., Sol Hudson, proprietor of the American House, would
not allow Douglass in the dining-room. The Water Witch Engine Co., under
whose auspices Douglass had been engaged to lecture, got out a hose cart
and engine and were going to wash out the place. Mr. Douglass came out
on the porch and said:
“Go back. Don’t blame the man. He is not to blame.”
He made a plea there that put us all to shame.
After accepting office, Douglass virtually retired from the lecture
field, and whenever he appeared in public made Republican speeches.
Mr. Douglass died in Washington, December 10, 1895.
Booker T. Washington is another great black man who has developed under
freedom. He is principal and founder of the Tuskegee Normal and
Industrial Institute of Tuskegee, Ala., in the Black Belt, where the
colored people outnumber the white three to one.
[Illustration]
Mr. Washington, in his speech at the opening of the Atlanta Exposition,
September 18, 1895, it is believed by many, solved the race problem. His
address was one of the most notable speeches both as to character and
the warmth of its reception ever delivered to a Southern audience, and
was favorably commented on editorially by every newspaper in the South.
Born a slave, he occupies a place among the foremost men of the age.
At the Home Missionary Meeting of the Presbyterians in Carnegie Hall,
New York, March 3, 1896, where President Cleveland presided, and where
many of the greatest preachers and pulpit orators took part, this
modest, unassuming negro of the South was the lion of the evening, next
to the President. He was a revelation to the people of the North. He has
fire and magnetism and gifts of oratory which few of our Northern
orators possess, whether they be black or white. He speaks with force
and conviction and leaves an indelible impression on the minds of his
hearers.
The President’s visit to Tuskegee on Friday, November 16, 1898, was as
delightful an occasion as any of the numerous events in Atlanta. Its
significance is perceived by all, but it was emphasized when Secretary
Long, in an impromptu speech in the school chapel, called attention to
the striking spectacle presented by “the trinity seated on the platform,
the notable conjunction in that State, of its Governor, the President of
the nation, and Booker T. Washington seated together.”
It is not too much to say that one of the chief objects of President
McKinley’s tour in the South on that occasion was the visit which he
made to the Tuskegee Normal and Industrial Institution.
The President made there the longest speech of the tour.
He and his party were met at the station by the mayor and town council
of Tuskegee and the trustees of the school, and were driven through the
town to the school.
A few minutes were spent in driving over the grounds, after which the
party, from a grand stand, viewed a general exhibition of school work on
floats, carried on wagons.
All the visitors to Tuskegee went away with the memory of a few hours
wholly bright with simple, cordial welcome and the evidences that long
strides in the right direction toward the solution of the negro problem
have been taken here.
At the opening meeting in the chapel of the institution were crowded
together the students of the school, the negroes of the vicinity, the
white people of the town, and members of the Georgia legislature.
Mr. Washington, in a short speech which he made before asking Governor
Johnston to introduce the President, said: