Mr. President:—­Bidden by your invitation to a discussion of the race problem—­forbidden by occasion to make a political speech—­I appreciate, in trying to reconcile orders with propriety, the perplexity of the little maid, who, bidden to learn to swim, was yet adjured, “Now, go, my darling; hang your clothes on a hickory limb, and don’t go near the water.”

The stoutest apostle of the Church, they say, is the missionary, and the missionary, wherever he unfurls his flag, will never find himself in deeper need of unction and address than I, bidden tonight to plant the standard of a Southern Democrat in Boston’s banquet hall, and to discuss the problem of the races in the home of Phillips and of Sumner.  But, Mr. President, if a purpose to speak in perfect frankness and sincerity; if earnest understanding of the vast interests involved; if a consecrating sense of what disaster may follow further misunderstanding and estrangement; if these may be counted to steady undisciplined speech and to strengthen an untried arm—­then, sir, I shall find the courage to proceed.

Note also Mr. Bryan’s attempt to secure the confidence of his audience in the following introduction to his “Cross of Gold” speech delivered before the National Democratic Convention in Chicago, 1896.  He asserts his own inability to oppose the “distinguished gentleman;” he maintains the holiness of his cause; and he declares that he will speak in the interest of humanity—­well knowing that humanity is likely to have confidence in the champion of their rights.  This introduction completely dominated the audience, and the speech made Mr. Bryan famous.

Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen of the Convention:  I would be presumptuous indeed to present myself against the distinguished gentlemen to whom you have listened if this were a mere measuring of abilities; but this is not a contest between persons.  The humblest citizen in all the land, when clad in the armor of a righteous cause, is stronger than all the hosts of error.  I come to speak to you in defense of a cause as holy as the cause of liberty—­the cause of humanity.

Some speakers are able to beget confidence by their very manner, while others can not.

To secure confidence, be confident. How can you expect others to accept a message in which you lack, or seem to lack, faith yourself?  Confidence is as contagious as disease.  Napoleon rebuked an officer for using the word “impossible” in his presence.  The speaker who will entertain no idea of defeat begets in his hearers the idea of his victory.  Lady Macbeth was so confident of success that Macbeth changed his mind about undertaking the assassination.  Columbus was so certain in his mission that Queen Isabella pawned her jewels to finance his expedition.  Assert your message with implicit assurance, and your own belief will act as so much gunpowder to drive it home.

Advertisers have long utilized this principle.  “The machine you will eventually buy,” “Ask the man who owns one,” “Has the strength of Gibraltar,” are publicity slogans so full of confidence that they give birth to confidence in the mind of the reader.