What should the speaker do with his hands?  Do nothing with them unless they are specifically needed for the more complete expression of a thought.  Let them drop at the sides in their natural relaxed position, ready for instant use.  To press the fist in the hollow of the back in order to “support” the speaker, to clutch the lapels of the coat, to slap the hands audibly together, to place the hands on the hips in the attitude of “vulgar ease,” to put the hands into the pockets, to wring the hands as if “washing them with invisible soap,” or to violently pound the pulpit—­these belong to the list of undesirable mannerisms.

At the beginning of a speech it may give the appearance of ease to place the hands behind the back, but this position lacks force and action and should not be long sustained.  To cross the arms upon the desk is to put them out of commission for the time being.  Leaning or lounging of any kind, bending at the knee, or other evidence of weakness or weariness, may belong to the repose of the easy chair, but are hardly appropriate in a wide-awake speaker seeking to convince men.

Rocking the body to and fro, rising on the toes to emphasize, crouching, stamping the foot, springing from side to side, over-acting and impersonation, and violence and extravagance of every description may well be omitted in public speaking.  Beware of extremes.  Avoid a statue-like attitude on the one hand and a constant restlessness on the other.  Dignity is desirable, but one should not forget the words of the Reverend Sam Jones, “There is nothing more dignified than a corpse!”

Gestures that are too frequent and alike soon lose their significance.  If they are attempted at all they should be varied and complete, suggesting freedom and spontaneity.  When only half made they are likely to call attention to the discrepancy, and to this extent will obscure rather than help the thought.  The continuous use of gesture is displeasing to the eye, and gives the impression of lack of poise.

The young speaker particularly should be warned not to imitate the speaking style of others.  What is perfectly natural to one may appear ridiculous in another.  Cardinal Newman spoke with extreme deliberateness, enunciating every syllable with care and precision; Phillips Brooks sent forth an avalanche of words at the rate of two hundred a minute; but it would be dangerous for the average speaker to emulate either of these examples.

There is a peculiarity in a certain type of speaking, which, while not strictly a mannerism, is detrimental to the highest effect.  It manifests itself in physical weakness.  The speaker is uniformly tired, and his speaking has a half-hearted tone.  The lifelessness in voice and manner communicates itself to the audience, and prevents all possibility of deep and enduring impression.  Joseph Parker said that when Sunday came he felt like a racehorse, and could hardly wait for the time to come for him to go into the pulpit.  He longed to speak.