And filled between with curious art
The ragged brush; then, hovering near,
We watched the first red blaze appear,
Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam
On whitewashed wall and sagging beam,
Until the old, rude-furnished room
Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom;
While radiant with a mimic flame
Outside the sparkling drift became,
And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree
Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free.
The crane and pendant trammels showed,
The Turks' heads on the andirons glowed;
While childish fancy, prompt to tell
The meaning of the miracle,

Whispered the old rhyme: "Under the tree,
When fire outdoors burns merrily,
There the witches are making tea."

The moon above the eastern wood
Shone at its full; the hill-range stood
Transfigured in the silver flood,

Its blown snows flashing cold and keen,
Dead white, save where some sharp ravine
Took shadow, or the sombre green

Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black
Against the whiteness at their back.

For such a world and such a night
Most fitting that unwarming light,
Which only seemed, where'er it fell
To make the coldness visible.

Shut in from all the world without,
We sat the clean-winged hearth about,
Content to let the north-wind roar
In baffled rage at pane and door,
While the red logs before us beat
The frost-line back with tropic heat;
And ever, when a louder blast

Shook beam and rafter as it passed,
The merrier up its roaring draught
The great throat of the chimney laughed;
The house-dog on his paws outspread
Laid to the fire his drowsy head,
The cat's dark silhouette on the wall
A couchant tiger seemed to fall;
And, for the winter fireside meet,
Between the andirons' straddling feet,
The mug of cider simmered slow,
The apples sputtered in a row,
And, close at hand, the basket stood
With nuts from brown October's wood.
What matter how the night behaved?
What matter how the north-wind raved?

Blow high, blow low, not all its snow

Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow. John Greenleaf Whittier.

PART III

SUBJECT-MATTER AND CON

STRUCTION

CHAPTER I

OVERCOMING THE DREAD OF SPEAKING IN PUBLIC

A. THE DREAD OF SPEAKING IN PUBLIC

There may be plenty of "big" speakers but the average man, young or old, educated or uneducated, experiences an unpleasant sensation when asked to talk in public. Often he flatly refuses such an invitation, and if pressed, perjures himself in offering excuses which may effect his escape. Sometimes for business or social reasons he cannot evade the necessity of addressing an audience. Then comes a period of worry, premonition of failure, and dread. His brain is agitated with the recollection of anecdotes and the construction of apologies for the poor speech which he expects to make. Finally, the average man gets through with the thing somehow and again resumes his peace of mind. Surely at a time when public utterance