A man's voice is almost the only part of
him entirely obliterated by death. The violet of his native land may be
made of his ashes, but nature in her economy seems to have taken no care
of his intonations, unless she perpetuates them in restless waves of air
surging about the poles. The well-graced actor who leaves no perceptible
record of his genius has a decided advantage over the mere orator. The
tradition of the player's method and presence is associated with works
of enduring beauty. Turning to the pages of the dramatist, we can
picture to ourselves the greatness of Garrick or Siddons in this or that
scene, in this or that character. It is not so easy to conjure up
the impassioned orator from the pages of a dry and possibly illogical
argument in favor of or against some long-ago-exploded measure of
government. The laurels of an orator who is not a master of literary art
wither quickly.
ALL the best sands of my life are somehow getting into the wrong end of
the hour-glass. If I could only reverse it! Were it in my power to do
so, would I?
SHAKESPEARE is forever coming into our affairs--putting in his oar, so
to speak--with some pat word or sentence.
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