foolish." Surely the occasional address furnishes a severe test of a speaker's

wisdom. To be trivial on a serious occasion, to be funereal at a banquet, to be

long-winded ever--these are the marks of non-sense. Some imprudent souls seem to

select the most friendly of after-dinner occasions for the explosion of a

bomb-shell of dispute. Around the dinner table it is the custom of even

political enemies to bury their hatchets anywhere rather than in some convenient

skull. It is the height of bad taste to raise questions that in hours

consecrated to good-will can only irritate.

 

Occasional speeches offer good chances for humor, particularly the funny story,

for humor with a genuine point is not trivial. But do not spin a whole skein of

humorous yarns with no more connection than the inane and threadbare "And that

reminds me." An anecdote without bearing may be funny but one less funny that

fits theme and occasion is far preferable. There is no way, short of sheer power

of speech, that so surely leads to the heart of an audience as rich, appropriate

humor. The scattered diners in a great banqueting hall, the after-dinner

lethargy, the anxiety over approaching last-train time, the over-full list of

over-full speakers--all throw out a challenge to the speaker to do his best to

win an interested hearing. And when success does come it is usually due to a

happy mixture of seriousness and humor, for humor alone rarely scores so heavily

as the two combined, while the utterly grave speech _never_ does on such

occasions.

 

If there is one place more than another where second-hand opinions and

platitudes are unwelcome it is in the after-dinner speech. Whether you are