Illustrations without number might be cited to show that in all our actions we are emotional beings.  The speaker who would speak efficiently must develop the power to arouse feeling.

Webster, great debater that he was, knew that the real secret of a speaker’s power was an emotional one.  He eloquently says of eloquence: 

“Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may aspire after it; they cannot reach it.  It comes, if it come at all, like the outbreak of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force.

“The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men, when their own lives, and the fate of their wives, their children, and their country hang on the decision of the hour.  Then words have lost their power, rhetoric is in vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible.  Even genius itself then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities.  Then patriotism is eloquent, then self-devotion is eloquent.  The clear conception outrunning the deductions of logic, the high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward to his subject—­this, this is eloquence; or rather, it is something greater and higher than all eloquence; it is action, noble, sublime, godlike action.”

When traveling through the Northwest some time ago, one of the present writers strolled up a village street after dinner and noticed a crowd listening to a “faker” speaking on a corner from a goods-box.  Remembering Emerson’s advice about learning something from every man we meet, the observer stopped to listen to this speaker’s appeal.  He was selling a hair tonic, which he claimed to have discovered in Arizona.  He removed his hat to show what this remedy had done for him, washed his face in it to demonstrate that it was as harmless as water, and enlarged on its merits in such an enthusiastic manner that the half-dollars poured in on him in a silver flood.  When he had supplied the audience with hair tonic, he asked why a greater proportion of men than women were bald.  No one knew.  He explained that it was because women wore thinner-soled shoes, and so made a good electrical connection with mother earth, while men wore thick, dry-soled shoes that did not transmit the earth’s electricity to the body.  Men’s hair, not having a proper amount of electrical food, died and fell out.  Of course he had a remedy—­a little copper plate that should be nailed on the bottom of the shoe.  He pictured in enthusiastic and vivid terms the desirability of escaping baldness—­and paid tributes to his copper plates.  Strange as it may seem when the story is told in cold print, the speaker’s enthusiasm had swept his audience with him, and they crushed around his stand with outstretched “quarters” in their anxiety to be the possessors of these magical plates!