My answer is, I never took any; I stumbled, was picked up by circumstances and pitched upon the platform.

At a picnic in a grove near Winchester, Ky., in 1869, a noted temperance orator was to give an address.  He failed to reach the grove on time, and I was prevailed upon to act as time-killer until his arrival.  I was not entirely without experience, having belonged to a debating society in a country school.

When I had spoken about thirty minutes, to my great relief, the orator of the day made his appearance.  The flattering comments upon my talk induced me to accept other invitations to address temperance meetings, and before I knew what had happened, the platform was under my feet, calls were numerous and my life work was established.  I suppose those who consult me are encouraged to know a mere stumble directed my course, and if so, by purpose and preparation they can surely succeed.

Some persons seem to think lecturing a very simple occupation, requiring only a glib tongue, and a good pair of lungs.  Several years ago, I received a letter from a young man in which he wrote:  “I heard you lecture last week.  I would like to become a lecturer myself.  I have no experience and very little education, but I have a very strong voice and am sure I could be heard by a large audience.  I have been working in a horse-barn but am now out of a job.  If I had a lecture, I think I could make a living; besides I would get to see the country.  If you will write me one I will send you two dollars.”  I do not know whether the young man gauged the price by the estimate of the lecture he had heard me give, or his monetary condition, but if audacity is a requisite for the platform, this young man was not entirely without qualification.

This is an extreme case, and yet there are those whose minds are storehouses of knowledge, who can no more become popular platform speakers, than could the young man, who was ready to set sail on the sea of oratory, with a lusty pair of lungs and a two dollar lecture.

Charles Spurgeon, the great London preacher, said:  “I have never yet learned the art of lecturing.  If you have ever seen a goose fly, you have seen Spurgeon trying to lecture.”

Mr. Spurgeon called lecturing an art, and why not?  If the hand that paints a picture true to life and pleasing to the eye, is the hand of an artist, why is not the tongue that paints a picture true to life and pleasing to the mind’s eye the tongue of an artist?

It is an art to know how to get hold of an audience.  There was an occasion in my experience when I had extreme necessity for the use of this art.  When President Cleveland wrote his Venezuela message in which he threatened war with England, the threat was published in Toronto, Canada, on Saturday and I was announced to lecture in the large pavilion on Sunday afternoon.

The message of President Cleveland had aroused the patriotic spirit of Canada.  The hall was packed.  It seemed to me I could see frost upon the eyebrows of every man and icicles in the ears of the women.