But pretty soon the orator rises into a higher plane. Some
lofty sentiment, some stirring incident, some patriotic emotion,
some play of fancy or wit comes from the brain or heart of
the speaker. The audience is hushed to silence. Perhaps
a little mist begins to gather in their eyes. There is now
an accent of emotion in the voice, though still soft and
gentle. The Greek statue begins to move. There is life in
the limbs. There has been a lamp kindled somewhere behind
the clear and transparent blue eyes. The flexible muscles
of the face have come to life now. Still there is no jar or
disorder. The touch upon the nerves of the audience is like
that of a gentle nurse. The atmosphere is that of a May
morning. There is no perfume but that of roses and lilies.
But still, gently at first, the warmer feelings are kindled in
the hearts of the speaker and hearers. The frame of the
speaker is transfigured. The trembling hands are lifted
high in the air. The rich, sweet voice fills the vast audience
chamber with its resonant tones. At last, the bugle, the
trumpet, the imperial clarion rings out full and clear, and
the vast audience is transported as to another world--I had
almost said to a seventh heaven.
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