efficient. The memorized lines of the young speaker will usually _sound_ like

memorized words, and repel.

 

If you want to hear an example, listen to a department store demonstrator repeat

her memorized lingo about the newest furniture polish or breakfast food. It

requires training to make a memorized speech sound fresh and spontaneous, and,

unless you have a fine native memory, in each instance the finished product

necessitates much labor. Should you forget a part of your speech or miss a few

words, you are liable to be so confused that, like Mark Twain's guide in Rome,

you will be compelled to repeat your lines from the beginning.

 

On the other hand, you may be so taken up with trying to recall your written

words that you will not abandon yourself to the spirit of your address, and so

fail to deliver it with that spontaneity which is so vital to forceful delivery.

 

But do not let these difficulties frighten you. If committing seems best to you,

give it a faithful trial. Do not be deterred by its pitfalls, but by resolute

practise avoid them.

 

One of the best ways to rise superior to these difficulties is to do as Dr.

Wallace Radcliffe often does: commit without writing the speech, making

practically all the preparation mentally, without putting pen to paper--a

laborious but effective way of cultivating both mind and memory.

 

You will find it excellent practise, both for memory and delivery, to commit the