REMARKS ON ORATORY; ADDRESSED TO THOSE DESIROUS OF SPEAKING AT PUBLIC ASSEMBLES, AND TO THE MEMBERS OF DISCUSSION CLASSES.

HAVING had frequent opportunities of judging of the different effects produced on an audience, by speeches delivered with a graceful management of voice and gesture, and speeches which have been delivered without the slightest attention to these, I have been induced to commit to paper hints which have at various times been suggested to me by the striking defects or beauties of the speakers to whom I have been accustomed to listen, together with a few observations on the art of Oratory.

Oratory is an art, which has almost always been held by mankind in the highest esteem-is an art, which, when employed in the cause of virtue, or in stimulating men on to noble actions—in implanting within their bosoms a sense of justice, a love of their country, and love of liberty-is worthy of the greatest admiration-is of the utmost possible value and importance. By its aid nations have been saved from ruin, and enemies been routed; by its aid tyrants have trembled, and their thrones have tottered-innocence has been rescued from the malicious designs of villany, and held up to popular admiration and applause; while on the other hand villany has received its just reward, and been pointed to as the object of popular indignation and

scorn:

Josephus tells us that by its aid Moses animated his exhausted, and almost famished followers, onward through difficulties apparently insurmountable; and from the time of Moses down to the present day, in every age, in every country—among the most polished and among the most rude-eloquence has been employed as the surest means Since then its power is of producing any desirable effect. so irresistible-since it is capable of effecting that which nothing else can-isit not worthy of having the time and labour bestowed on it which are necessary to acquire it?

It is requisite, before any one can be eloquent upon a subject in debate, that he should be possessed of a fund of information regarding it: indeed it was the opinion of Socrates that every man can speak with sufficient eloquence upon any subject with which he is perfectly acquainted, but on this sentence Cicero remarks "He would have been nearer the truth had he said 'As no man can be eloquent on a subject of which he is ignorant, so also none, however conversant he is with it, can ever speak eloquently, unless he is acquainted with the mode of forming and polishing his discourse." The mere stringing together a number of facts, without attending to the order of arranging them and putting them into a shape at once striking and pleasing, will produce comparatively but little effect. I have heard a person speak at considerable length on a subject, and even though the substance of his speech was very good, and the information he possessed very extensive, yet, in consequence of not having studied the best mode of captivating the attention, and swaying his audience round by degrees to consent to the justness of his views it only made him an object of ridicule. It is of course the desire of an

orator to make his speech impressive, and to work upon his auditors, but before this can be effected it will be necessary that he should become acquainted with the affections of men, in order to excite or soothe their passions: he should have an insiuuating address, and polished manners, and a liberality, inseparable from a cultivated mind; his sentences should be so constructed as to flow on with dignity and ease the speaker should have some end in view, of which he must never for a moment lose sight; he ought never to deviate into abstruse expressions, for this is only calculated to bewilder his hearers; and, above all, he must never wander out of the beaten track of common sense.

These are the requsites for a good speaker. But to attain them-Hic labor, hoc opus est. They are not to be had by merely wishing for them; it is necessary that one should study, and study hard. He should make himself well acquainted with the writings of those who have distinguished themselves for their elevated style of composition; he should attentively puruse the works of the most renowned poets, that he may from them gain lofty conceptions, he should read History and Biography, that he may become acquainted with mankind, and lay in a store of useful facts; he must thoroughly understand that branch of philosophy which treats of the conduct and morals of mankind; and lastly, he must frequently read the splendidthe immortal productions of the Greek and Roman orators: from the examples which these illustrious men have left to posterity, the student cannot but derive the greatest possible benefit and assistance; he must learn to distinguish the genius of each,-observe the method they have chosenwhere they abound in figures, and where they assume a plain dress. But this is not all. The most important part, and the one without which the other goes for nothing, is Practice. As exercise improves and strengthens the body, so practice, the mind. It was by constant practice that the celebrated Fox became one of the most brilliant and powerful debaters that ever sat in Parliament. Mr. Fox himself attributed his own success to the resolution which he formed, of speaking, well or ill, at least once every night. "During five whole sessions," he used to say, I spoke every night except one; and I regret only that I did not speak on that night too." The exceptions indeed are very rare of a man's not having made himself a good speaker at the expense of his audience.

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By some it may be thought that as the only end of a wise man's speaking is to produce conviction; and therefore the only thing necessary to be observed would be to offer his arguments clearly and methodically, that the more plainly and shortly this was done, the better, and the paying so much attention to the cadence, and what is called the ornament of a speech is entirely superfluous. Now, in common conversation, or in plain argument, perhaps all that is necessary is that your language be such as not to offend; but the case stands different in a speech delivered before an assembly of persons; it is then necessary that the language should be harmonious and pleasing. It must be remembered that men have natural prejudices, which have to be overcome. It is undoubtedly true that instruction and conviction are the great ends of speaking; but how

TEMPERANCE SOCIETIES.

In the address, we have mentioned our intention of advocating the cause of Temperance. We hoped this could not possibly give offence to any, and that to many of our Subscribers it would prove gratifying and advantageous. Our expectations however are disappointed. There are many it seems so hostile, we might say prejudiced, against Temperance Societies and Advocates of Temperance, that they even positively refuse to subscribe to any work in which the good object of these Societies is encouraged. With such persons we wish calmly

to reason:

In all ages since intoxicating liquors were first made, and in all countries where they have been introduced, a certain number of men and women, from perhaps the peculiarity of their constitutions, have found them so gratifying to their palates, and of so exhilerating a nature, that they have gained a habit of taking them to such excess as to cause intoxication. No one will attempt to deny that while the liquor operates upon the brain, such persons are incapable of fulfilling their duties as members of society; that they are generally guilty of acts of great foolishness, that they annoy those in whose company they happen to be; and that when they become habitually so, they loose their characters, spend their fortunes, and ruin the health. If they are men with families dependant upon them for subsistence, the consequences are frightful— wretched looking homes, and more wretched looking inmatesdisease and crime. Surely no one who has come to the age of discretion, is ignorant of the fact just stated, and no one with a head to think or heart to feel would refuse to encourage any measures which could be adopted to lessen the evil, to persuade the drunkard to abandon his evil ways, to remove from him all temptations, to destroy his grovelling appetite, and induce him to return to domestic peace and those innocent pleasures even yet remembered, with regret that they were exchanged for other so exceedingly pernicious. Now what is the object of Temperance Societies but to do all this? and who dares blame them for exerting themselves in so benevolent a cause? It is one of the failings of human nature to ridicule and censure without first making any enquiry. Few who now raise their voices against these Societies can, from their consciences, say that they do so with praiseworthy motive, and few there are who, were they acquainted with the great amount of misery lessened, with the wonderful good they have done and are daily doing-few of those even who make their livelihood by selling spirits could find in their hearts to attempt any opposition. When men unite together for a good purpose, many may, from various reasons, refuse to co-operate; but let no one having the welfare of his fellow-men and his country at heart display a narrow-minded prejudice against those who do; it is our desire to please all parties who suggest what is proper and rational, but in endeavouring to do so we shall bear in mind the fable of the man and his ass, and cautiously avoid too readily listening to every fresh opinion.

REVIEWS.

MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK.

THE triumph of Boz's genius has been singular and great. The fame of the author of the PICKWICK PAPERS was earned entirely, in the first instance, by the striking novelty-the life-like characters, and the humourous scenes with which the work abounds. Unaided by the powerful advocacy of Reviews, brought before the notice of the public only by extracts inserted in the newspapers, it worked its way by its own merit and gained a popularity but rarely precedented.

The

OLIVER TWIST, by the same author, was not so popular because not so generally known. Appearing as it did in the pages of an expensive monthly magazine, it was not accessible to so many readers; but those who were fortunate enough to procure a copy will never forget the powerful descriptions the novel contains. The scenes are principally dark and terrific--yet truthful. They appal, and even almost disgust, but the interest in the story is so wonderfully worked up that the most fastidious reader could not lay the book aside. fiendish Sykes and Monks-the worse than fiendish Fagin, are masterly portraits of the most revolting characters that could disgrace the human form. The brief-authority-clad Bumble is cuttingly satirical; he bears too striking a likeness to many of his brother officers; like the schoolmaster of Dotheboys Hall, many may think themselves the injured subject of the satire. In contrast with deep shade we turn with delight to the contemplations of innocence and beauty. Who does not feel for the poor little persecuted Oliver, and often try to check the sympatetic tear from overflowing the eye? and how amiable and lovely in our eyes appear his friends, benefactors, and kind gentle young mistress.

NICHOLAS NICKLEBY is much better known than the former, for who that can read has not read his history. The powers of Dickens' pen are all displayed in this work to great advantage, his lively portraiture, humour, pathetic touches, fine language, and interesting story-telling. The faults of the work are few, and such as no eye ought to see: absolute perfection is not attainable, and where excellencies greatly preponderate, curse the critic who disgraces his craft by bringing blemishes into relief.

HUMPHREY'S CLOCK is the last work which the genius of Dickens has produced. Unequal to his former as it certainly is, it possesses sufficient merit to gain popularity. The first few numbers alarmed his friends, for though here and there he wrote cleverly, and like himself, such touches were like gleams of sunshine on a cloudy day, they were particularly gratifying because they relieved the general dullness. The completed tale of the OLD CURIOSITY SHOP is interesting, but unlike his other tales it leaves only a few scenes indelibly fixed in the memory. The heroine is naturally a prodigy of virtue-she is rather too exalted a character to win our sympathies and affections, our feeling towards her is something like Kit's, it is that of admiration and respect rather than love. The character of Kit is well drawn, his situation when accused of theft is highly dramatic, the reader feels a thrilling interest in his fate. Quilp is a little deformed devil, a caricature of some with whom we may occasionally unfortunately meet, his patient, enduring, ill-used, yet loving wife, is a rara avis. The taller Showman is a specimen of meaness and selfishness often to be met with. We never knew a character at all like the old weak-headed Grandfather, but are not prepared to say such does not exist; there is but little doubt that the excite

ment of habitual gaming is sufficient either to kill the victim or reduce him to imbecility. Brass is an every-day rogue, but of his odious clerking sister we dont know what to think— she is the ne plus ultra of feminine ugliness. Swiveller is the best drawn, the inimitable character of this story, he is indeed an amusing fellow, he is better even than Newman Noggshis musical snatches and eccentric deviations-his droll expressions and easy gullibility-his harmless conduct and thorough good nature disarm the moralist, and make him wink at his failings. To the excellence of this picture, the story is indebted for more than half of its popularity.

EXTRACTS.

MODERN PAINTERS AND PAINTING.

FROM THE SPECTATOR.

ON paying a visit to the Royal Academy Exhibition, we were forcibly struck by the very small number of pictures that tell their own story, and by the insubstantiality of the painting. These defects evince the want of vigorous and independent thinking, and of a sound method of execution. Our artists appear to have no fixed principles to go upon; their practise of painting is conventional and empirical. There are abundant evidences of dexterity, ingenuity and elaboration; but these qualities seem exerted rather to evade difficulties than to accomplish a definite end. The study of art is confined to following precedents or trying experiments: one course is pursued till another, that seems better, is struck out, which is then run after, till some new plan diverts the attention in a fresh direction. Even in exercising the faculty of invention our artists think through the medium of another's ideas: instead of looking into the world around them, they seek for subjects in books. The mass of modern pictures are as much designs to illustrate popular authors as though they had been commissions from booksellers; and their interest for the most part, is limited by the readers knowledge of the work illustrated or the scene depicted. It is very well for Painting to be the handmaid of her sister Poesy, but she should not be her slave: she has a much higher vocation. When a scene or character in a book strikes the painter's fancy, it becomes an agreeable task to embody the sentiment or description: too often, however, the details are given and the spirit is wanting. Descriptions are rarely realized in pictures: writers seize those points they can best turn to account, which may not be the same that a painter would select. In illustrating an author, the painter's fancy is constrained; he has to soar in fetters: moreover he must go counter to his habitual course of study in embodying the figment of another's brain, instead of expressing his own idea formed by the suggestion of a living entity. The result is rarely satisfactory to the reader, who has a preconceived image of the scene in his mind, which the pictured representation disturbs but hardly supersedes; while to persons not acquainted with the subject illustrated, the design wants dictinctness and completeness of meaning. The tendency of the practice of illustrating books is to perpetuate mannerism, as in the instances of Stothard and Westall; and the value and interest of the artist's works are greatly lessened by the necessity of comparing the painter's version of the original idea with your own. A fine picture ought to impress the spectator as an entire and original conception, developed without any other agency than the painter's thought and skill; the criterion of success is its influence on the mind, and its power of creating anew those images and associations that the artist has embodied.

There are two pictures that strikingly exemplify the pow of a lively mental impulse in giving force and vitality to th pictorial creation, and an intrinsic, independent, permaner interest to the artist's work: they set you thinking. The on is Poor-law Guardians-Board day-Application for Bread by C. W. Cope; the other, The Boy and many Friends, by T. Webster. The purpose of each is distincly expressed with out any title or description; it is self-evident and explains itself; both appeal strongly to the moral sense; awakening sympathy and reflection, as in beholding an actual incident. Cope's picture is a graphic exposition of the nature and operation of the new Poor-law, and depicts the character and condition of the inhabitants of rural districts. All who are familiar with such scenes will verify the correctness of the representation; foreigners and future generations of Englishmen will read it as the living history of these times. It bears the broad stamp of truth and nationality; forcible, homely, and affecting, it impresses the understanding and feelings like a description of Crabbe or of Chaucer. Would the painter have produced such a powerful and vivid picture if he had illustrated a scene from either of those poets, minute and vigorous as their desctiptions are? We venture to think not.

Webster's picture is directly opposite in its theme, treatment, and execution; and only comparable for the perception of character, felicity of expression, and the lively representation of the incident. The scene is a school-room, and the actors are boys; but here, as in reality, we have a type of the world. The "Boy of many Friends" has received a present from home; the news has quickly spread through the play ground, and his schoolfellows are swarming in to share the spoil; the lucky boy with his lap full of cake and oranges, looks bewildered at the crowd of "friends" who lay claim to his notice; one is officiously unpacking the hamper, and another is scrutinizing the color of the wine; a third bids for a slice of cake with a double handful of marbles, and a fourth humbly begs for an orange; the bully of the school has taken the fortunate youth under his especial protection, and is elbowing off a crowd of petitioners; but there is a sly rogue quietly making his way over the form, who will evidently have the best of it. The breathless ardour of some, and the longing gaze of others, the envy of the angry prisoner in the corner, and the dejection of the poor usher, his gaoler, at the thoughts of home, that his crape-bound hat proclaims to be sad, complete this amusing episode of school life. The discrimination of boyish character and motives is perfect; and the clear, fresh and facile style of the painter, is admirably suited to depict the robust vivacity and ingenuousness of youth.

GENIUS AND APPLICATION.

AFTER I had observed these things, I turned my eye towards the multitudes who were climbing the steep ascent, and observed among them a youth of a lively look, a piercing eye, and something fiery and irregular in all his motions. His name was GENIUS. He darted like an eagle up the mountain and left his companions gazing after him with envy and admiration. But his project was interrupted by a thousand caprices. When Pleasure warbled in the valley, he mingled in her train. When Pride beckoned towards the precipice, he ventured to the tottering edge. He delighted in devious and untried paths, and made so many excursions from the road, that his feeble companions often outstripped him. I observed that the Muses beheld him with partiality, but Truth often frowned and turned aside her face. While Genius was

hus wasting his strength in eccentric flights, I saw a person f a very different appearance, named APPLICATION, He crept long at a slow and unremitting pace, his eyes fixed on the top f the mountain, patiently removing every stone that obstructed is way till he saw most of those below him who had at first erided his slow and toilsome progress. Indeed there were ew who had ascended the hill with equal and uninterrupted teadiness, for besides the difficulties of the way, they were ontinually solicited to turn aside by a numerous crowd of Apetites, Passions, and Pleasures, whose importunity, when hey had once complied with, they became less and lees able o resist; and though they often returned to the path, the aserities of the road were more severely felt, the hill appeared hore steep and rugged, the fruits which were wholesome and efreshing seemed harsh and ill-tasted, their sight grew dim, nd their feet tripped at every little obstruction.

THE LATE MR. POWER.

A writer in the London Court Journal gives the following ketch of this distinguished comedian, who, with the other assengers perished in the steam ship President.

"You have cause, so have we all,

To mourn this dimming of our shining star,"

"I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite humour."

The late Mr. Power for about twenty years has been known is a London actor. I remember him when he first came forvard as manager of the Olympic Theatre, from which house e proceeded to the Adelphi. He had originally aspired to the honors of tragedy; and subsequently, at the Adelphi and Covent Garden Theatres, he was an "actor of all work.", Serious and light parts were alternately assigned to him. The ich humour, however, which he displayed in Irish characters, soon won public favour. Connor, who had succeeded to Johnston's characters, died suddenly, yet a young man; and Power was at once recognised as the Irishman of the London stage, and stood without a rival.

While he continued to play walking gentlemen, and suborlinates of a serious cast, I once remarked to him, that he would do well to confine himself to that line in which he was so eminently successful. He said, the managers would not consent to his doing so. I remarked that if he were resolute they would give way;-and he must rise a hundred per cent. with the public, by no longer assuming characters in which he was deemed only respectable. My advice was shortly afterwards acted upon, and it was fully justified by the result.

He did not reach the height in his profession, which he eventually gained, without encountering some ill-natured personal criticism by the way. On mentioning to him something of the sort which I had seen, he told me he seldom read the papers in which he knew he was likely to meet with abuse. He added, he was nevertheless not unwilling to take a hint from those papers which, if anything were wrong, would mention it in a gentlemanly way.

When he first contemplated going to America, I pointed out to him what would possibly be the professional consequences. He had got to the top of the tree in London, I said; absence might cause him to be forgotton, and some new performer of Irish parts step into his shoes, and render it difficult to resume his station. He argued, that as he had youth on his side, a trip across the Atlantic must, in every way, do him good. Experience proved that his opinion was right.

In society, Power has always been a most desirable companion; lively, full of anecdote, and always ready to exercise his talent for the gratification of his friends. In all the highest circles he has been seen, at the tables of lords, vice-roys, and princess of the blood. His description of the manner in which Mr. O'Connell introduced himself to him, amused me not a little. He was in his dressing room at the theatre where he was acting, (I believe it was the Adelphi) when Mr. O'Connell who had been in front of the house witnessing his performance sent in his name, and expressed a wish to see him. Mr. Power replied, he should be most happy to receive the other Irish star. The weather was unusually warm; and a few moments afterwards, he saw the Liberator enter, determined to be quite at his ease, carrying his wig in his hand. Their greeting was most cordial; and Mr. O'Connell highly praised the actor for the portraits he had given of his countrymen.

I remember an occasion when he was, for some time, rather ludicrously kept from a small party at Blackwall. He was driving to Lovegrove's, when the drawbridge over the docks entrance was drawn up to let a ship or ships enter or pass out. I and the others who had reached the tavern, alternately lamented and laughed at what we supposed was most annoying to him. He made no trouble of it, but cheerfully entertained himself with a cigar, in his cab, for the hour which had to elapse before he could reach his destination.

These few hasty recollections of an actor, who by his talent has risen into such high favour with the public, which has never for a moment, been forfeited by misconduct in the man, may not be uninteresting at a moment when disappointment has given place to alarm; for one of whom, if he should unhappily be lost to us, it may not only be said, as Dr. Johnson remarked on Garrick's final exit-that "His death has eclipsed the gaiety of nations," but it may almost be said in the case of Power-"His loss has abated the mirth of worlds.",

INSTITUTIONS,

As our Readers may desire to know something of the objects and constitution of the different Societies, whose proceedings we intend occasionally to report; we have enquired into their history, which we now lay before them.

THE MECHANIC'S INSTITUTION.

The foundation stone of this building was laid in July, 1835, by Lord Brougham. It was raised by public subscription. Several liberal-minded gentlemen, zealous in the cause of general education, contributed princely sums towards the building fund, and exerted themselves with the most praiseworthy perseverance in collecting contributions towards the object they had so much at heart. The consequence of their laudable zeal is that extensive building, within the walls of which, in all probability, many will be trained to become useful members of society and distinguished ornaments to their country---many who might otherwise have been worthless and immoral characters, and who might all their lives have remained useless and unknown through the lack of that culture which it is the object of this institution to afford to all classes of the people Just as the building was completed, and several beautiful marble statues, which had been generously presented to the institution, had already been placed in its interior--when every preparation was made to open it to the members, who were elated with the expectations they had formed of exchanging their comparatively cramped and comfortless room for the convenient and spacious accommodations which were provided for them, an accident occured which threw a damp upon their hopes, and a gloom of disappointment over the whole town. From some unknown cause the building caught fire, and before the disaster was discovered, the interior of the theatre was one sheet of flame. The damage done by the