Of course an audience must be induced to listen.  The obligation is always with the speaker.  He is appealing for consideration, he wants to affect the hearers, therefore he must have at his command all the resources of securing their respectful attention.  He must be able to employ all the legitimate means of winning their attention.  A good speaker will not stoop to use any tricks or devices that are not legitimate.  A trick, even when it is successful, is still nothing but a trick, and though it secure the temporary attention of the lower orders of intellect it can never hold the better minds of an audience.  Surprises, false alarms, spectacular appeals, may find their defenders.  One widely reputed United States lawyer in speaking before audiences of young people used to advance theatrically to the edge of the stage, and, then, pointing an accusing finger at one part of the audience, declare in loud ringing tones, “You’re a sneak!” It is questionable whether any attempt at arousing interest could justify such a brusque approach.  Only in broadly comic or genuinely humorous addresses can it be said that the end justifies the means.

When the audience has been induced to listen, the rest should be easy for the good speaker.  Then comes into action his skill at explanation, his ability to reason and convince, to persuade and sway, which is the speaker’s peculiar art.  If they will listen to him, he should be able to instruct them.  The introduction must, so far as this last is concerned, clear the way for the remainder of the speech.  The methods by which such instruction, reasoning, and persuasion are effected best will be treated later in this book.

Having covered the preceding explanation of the aims and forms of introductions, let us look at a few which have been delivered by regularly practising speech-makers before groups of men whose interest, concern, and business it was to listen.  All men who speak frequently are extremely uneven in their quality and just as irregular in their success.  One of the best instances of this unevenness and irregularity was Edmund Burke, whose career and practice are bound to afford food for thought and discussion to every student of the power and value of the spoken word.  Some of Burke’s speeches are models for imitation and study, others are warnings for avoidance.  At one time when he felt personally disturbed by the actions of the House of Commons, because he as a member of the minority could not affect the voting, he began a speech exactly as no man should under any circumstances.  No man in a deliberative assembly can be excused for losing control of himself.  Yet Burke opened his remarks with these plain words.

    “Mr. Speaker!  I rise under some embarrassment occasioned by a
    feeling of delicacy toward one-half of the House, and of
    sovereign contempt for the other half.”