tone," it has come to mean more broadly, "lack of variation."

 

The monotonous speaker not only drones along in the same volume and pitch of

tone but uses always the same emphasis, the same speed, the same thoughts--or

dispenses with thought altogether.

 

Monotony, the cardinal and most common sin of the public speaker, is not a

transgression--it is rather a sin of omission, for it consists in living up to

the confession of the Prayer Book: "We have left undone those things we ought to

have done."

 

Emerson says, "The virtue of art lies in detachment, in sequestering one object

from the embarrassing variety." That is just what the monotonous speaker fails

to do--he does _not_ detach one thought or phrase from another, they are all

expressed in the same manner.

 

To tell you that your speech is monotonous may mean very little to you, so let

us look at the nature--and the curse--of monotony in other spheres of life, then

we shall appreciate more fully how it will blight an otherwise good speech.

 

If the Victrola in the adjoining apartment grinds out just three selections over

and over again, it is pretty safe to assume that your neighbor has no other

records. If a speaker uses only a few of his powers, it points very plainly to

the fact that the rest of his powers are not developed. Monotony reveals our

limitations.