EDITOR’S OUTLOOK.

THE OUTLOOK FROM THE PLAINFIELD OFFICE.

He must be a very indifferent man, indeed, who does not feel the quick flush of pride at the growth and success of the institutions with which he is connected. Doubly glad will he be if it be one for whose enlargement he has labored.

We surmise that there are very few of our readers—many of whom are more than members of the C. L. S. C., being actual workers for its interests—but that will be eager to know the present outlook for our work from the Plainfield office, anxious to know what are the prospects for 1884-’85.

Nowhere excepting at the central office is it possible to sound our work, to know its breadth, its depth, the permanency of its interest among our members, and its growth among the people. Here we can gauge its dimensions. And, perhaps, the first sign, and certainly it is a most significant one, is that which every casual visitor at our business headquarters must observe at once, as he looks in upon the busy workers of the office; the work is too big for its quarters. The mammoth mails are swelling beyond the prescribed boundaries. The office must grow with the C. L. S. C., and next spring it is decreed that there shall be a Chautauqua floor at Plainfield instead of an office, and that there, side by side, shall be found the business centers of the two great divisions of the “new education”—the C. L. S. C. and the Chautauqua University.

Of equal import is the work that the office secretary and her associates are being called upon to do this fall. Much work is always the sign of growth. It proves a demand for that which you are able to supply. It shows that you are filling a needed place. The C. L. S. C. never made more work than it does now—the most conclusive proof that the cause is prospering. The mails have become enormous. The average number of letters daily received through September and up to this date was over six hundred. These letters are the pulses of public feeling toward this work. They contain queries of all kinds respecting the methods of the Circle; they ask for circulars in great quantities, saying that there are everywhere people waiting to receive them; they proclaim enlarged boundaries and steadily increasing strength.

In many towns where the membership has always been large it has been doubled this fall. On October 4th the class of ’88 numbered over 3,000 members, a much larger number than the class of ’87 had at the same time last year.

One particularly encouraging feature is the vigor of the work. The C. L. S. C. grows up strong. There are records innumerable in those Cyclopean books at the Secretary’s office of readers who have caught the true idea, that education is life work, and they have joined the C. L. S. C. to stay. There are numbers of established circles, and this fall’s records are increasing the number of post-graduate readers, and the list of circles which have become fixed institutions.

There are, too, some interesting facts to be gleaned from a careful study of these records. We like to know where lie the strongholds of our work, among what kind of people are its rank and file, and here are the answers to our queries. The outlook for the present year shows that, as has been true heretofore, the leaders in the C. L. S. C. are the states of New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Michigan, California and New England, that close in their train follow Illinois, Iowa and Indiana; that the class of people taking up the work is now, as always, the busy class, whose lives are full of thought and work and plans; that their ages, on an average, lie between twenty and forty years.

The outlook from the Plainfield office is to-day upon an ever growing band of earnest hearted men and women, gathered from all the states and territories of the Union, and from over the seas; it is upon an enthusiasm never before surpassed by any body of students in any land, and it presages, beyond doubting, the largest, grandest year in the history of the movement.

THE DECLINE OF ORATORY.

The political campaign affords a good view of the decline of oratory and of its chief causes. Oratory is not a less potent force on account of any decrease in the production of the talents which under proper culture form the orator. Humanity is probably richer in such gifts. And yet oratory had notice to prepare for an eclipse when printing was invented, and the shadow upon oratorical influence has grown larger in each half century until the illuminating office has passed almost entirely over to the press. In the old campaigns, the orator furnished a feeble press with facts and arguments; in the present campaign the positions are exactly reversed. The press furnishes the ideas, the arguments, the facts, the illustrations. The stump speaker no longer invents; he crams. He is not an original thinker, developing lines of attack and defense, fortifying weak positions and fashioning a line of battle by a single speech. He is the mouthpiece of party opinion, the obedient servant of party tactics, and the illustrator and peddler of other men’s thoughts. And all this work is cut out for him by men who in the press represent both public opinion and party councils of war. Men are living who can remember when the words of Clay, Webster, Calhoun, Seward, Lincoln, were waited for; and the words came—they were battle cries and marching orders. Now nobody waits for any orator, and the orator gets his instructions from the press. It is not very wise to attribute the change to the decline of statesmanship and leadership. It is not clear that the former has declined; it is certain that the latter has not. But the leader is no longer a man who makes a speech, but he has become a man who writes an article or plans a campaign in which the telegraph, the literary bureau, the campaign document, and the contriving genius in himself do the large work. He puts orators into the field and tells them what to say. They are his instruments, very useful instruments, because the love of public speaking is still strong in men; but still oratory uses the tools of the man with a pen and types.

The causes of the changed relations of writer and speaker are made conspicuous by the campaign. A carefully prepared and printed document can be circulated in millions of copies; a speech can be heard by from one to five thousand people only. These words of ours are addressed to one hundred and fifty thousand readers; he is a genius, before whom this present writer would take off his hat, who can collect five thousand men to listen to him on any subject. The press has the large audience, a vast congregation never dreamed of until the press and swift modes of communication made the immense audience possible. Another cause is that, while we have more talents, there are competing demands for the services of those which prevail in argument and persuasion. Fifty years ago this country had no great editors; it could easily furnish a liberal supply of orators. Now it uses up a large amount of its oratorical ability in the editorial rooms. Other pursuits have silenced tongues that might have moved mankind, by employing the brains in mercantile and industrial work on large lines. Many a great railroad man might have been a great orator. But the diversion of born pleaders and debaters to the newspapers sufficiently accounts for their absence from the stump.

The genius for mastery over political thought and action is not blind; it has gone into the press because it could prevail and direct and conquer in the press. It is a natural consequence of the shifting of the central point of persuasive power that we perceive a third cause of the decline of oratory. The press is at the center, the headquarters so to say, while the orator is out in the field making a raid or conducting a skirmish. Centralization is an inevitable effect of the press, the telegraph and the railway. Some effects are to be regretted as we regret the existence of unpleasant incidents of wholesome movements in progress. But our regret can hardly extend to the power of directing a party campaign from a center of the field. It is, in our day, the only way of making it a distinct engagement. It would be a series of isolated skirmishes if we did not have a headquarters and a central committee. This central power speaks in telegraphic clicks and printed words. The orator may be a dashing lieutenant, he can not be a general.

Oratory has taken a subordinate position. The fact has its bearings on deliberative assembly government. Congress can not have great orators in an age when the public will is expressed by editors, and the shape of bills fixed by the newspapers. The business of the legislators is restricted on all sides by the press. The discussions of a legislature are feebleness itself in the presence of the ringing and decisive editorials of influential newspapers. The press hems in the assemblymen within narrow limits of choice; and a speech can not be great when it can not command the field, but only a corner of it. All this does not mean that oratory is dying or to die; it has simply taken a lower place as an agent in argument and persuasion. Nor do we mean that great orators are no longer possible. A great orator, by natural endowment, may make and hold a commanding place—by the aid of the press. But the greatness which will do this must be of a prodigious power and altogether exceptional magnitude. The best men will, as a rule, seek the easier paths to influence, and these lie through types and ink. To speak well will always be an admirable and effective art; but the orator must serve and follow the press. He is a necessary part of the machinery of persuasion, but he is no longer the driving wheel.

THE NEW ORLEANS WORLD’S FAIR.

World’s fairs are special products of modern civilization, and they present in a picturesque and dramatic way the essentials of modern progress, liberty, intercourse between nations, world-wide exchanges. The world’s fairs are for all the world, and representatives of all nations, and the products of all nations are gathered into them. These fairs are milestones of progress; for all new arts and appliances of all lands are exhibited; and they are social gatherings for civilized humanity. If they had no other value than to reflect the unity of mankind under modern liberty and Christianity, they would be worth more than they cost. The spectacle of civilized mankind and the products of their brain and hand collected together in one place is in itself a lesson and an inspiration. The world moves—toward concord, fraternity, unity.

The next world’s fair will have several new values. It is to be held a long distance nearer to the equator than any of its predecessors. It is to be at the mouth of one of the world’s great streams, on the borders of the American Mediterranean, in the midst of the tropical luxuriance of the South. A world’s fair at New Orleans has all the qualities of a luxuriant and inspiring prospective for the imagination. In a dozen ways it invites enthusiasm. It is, for example, one of our reasons for spending so freely our blood and treasure to keep the mouth of the Mississippi within the United States of America; one of the rewards of the South for its own failure to draw a boundary line across that mighty stream. The nation which held the city of New Orleans with a grip of iron, now spends a million and a half to celebrate the concord of humanity in that city. The nation will throng southward this winter, not to secure its territorial integrity, but to celebrate its unity, and the larger unity of mankind. Peace will have larger armies than war had. We shall go in masses, because we want to see our fair South, because it will cost each of us but little, to the land we loved enough to die for, because a tropical world’s fair has for us of the North a fascination which no other fair ever had or ever will have. They are wise down there, and tell us that the tropical display will be the leading feature of the show. Of course it will, and it is that which will attract us and pull us to the exhibition. We have all dreamed of the wealth and magnificence of tropical verdure, and it is to be, so to say, “on tap” in New Orleans next winter when our verdure is asleep under the snow, or nestled at the roots of the trees in saps which are mere possibilities of life next spring. “Tropical display!” What other exhibition could have such a charm?

Rumor says that the railways will astonish us by a schedule of fares which will almost equalize riding and going on foot. They are wise. They could afford to carry us for nothing. Some time, and not a distant time, is to witness a great migration southward. The railroads can richly afford to take us all down there to see the great, rich, open field which has thus far invited us in vain, while we have been following the westering sun to the Pacific coast. Cheap lands, a climate and soil favoring abundant production, undeveloped industrial opportunities, and near markets, attract us, or would attract us, if we realized them. A world’s fair at New Orleans affords the needed incentive to a great movement of many classes of our people to the South. Few of us know the country or its people. The war and the turbulence of the reconstruction era, and political disorders, on which we have no disposition to dwell, have made us strangers and unsympathetic with each other as North and South. The fair will disperse false notions and correct wrong impressions in both sections. It will be a temple of concord for the nation. We shall begin after this celebration of industry to fill up the vacant lands and opportunities of the Gulf region.

The details of the preparations are interesting. The grounds are to be two hundred and twenty-seven acres of land on the banks of the Mississippi. An electric railway is to encircle them, and the spot is accessible both by land and water. The buildings are five in number, and the main edifice is 1,378 feet long and 905 feet wide without courts, and a glass roof, and so arranged within as to afford an unobstructed view of the whole of a magnificent hive of industry. Horticultural Hall is the largest conservatory in the world, 600 feet long and 194 feet wide; and 20,000 plates of fruit, double the number ever before displayed at once, will be shown on the tables. It stands among live oak trees; it will be filled with tropical productions. An infinite variety of southern trees and flowers will be exhibited outside of this hall. Eminent horticulturists are now engaged in arranging for our eyes a bewildering spectacle of the verdure of the lands lying under the rich blessing of the sun. Can New Orleans give shelter and food to all who will visit the exhibition? The people think they can. It is a city of 250,000 people, and from the inception of the enterprise they have had committees at work upon this problem. They are making a thorough canvass of the city for homes for guests; charges will be fixed in advance and strictly supervised throughout the exhibition. Let us all go to the New Orleans World’s Fair.

JUDICIOUS READING OF THE PERIODICAL PRESS.

There is room for good judgment in everything, and daily reading is no exception to the rule. It has come to pass that periodical publications take up a large part of the time and attention of readers, and the tendency in the case is for this kind of printed page to draw too heavily upon us. Most persons in towns read too much newspaper and too little book. The newspapers are abundant, are good as newspapers, and they are full of matter. They claim first attention because they contain the news; they keep attention because the news is abundantly padded, and because the newspaper furnishes other attractive reading. Two or three bad effects of confining ourselves to such reading must be experienced. One is that a feverish interest in events of no great importance is created, and our thoughts revolve about such events. Another bad effect is that the knowledge of the newspaper devourer is imperfect, scrappy, and mixed with errors of fact and principle. The newspaper is produced in haste. Editors have no time to verify all facts and sift out unsound opinions. It is a kind of intellectual bar-room, where all sorts jostle each other and live in good fellowship. The very copiousness and breadth of the journal create a need of better and more accurate reading. Its fragments need to be pieced together by wider knowledge than it gives. It is not enough to say that the present reading habits of our people give to the newspaper the first position as a teacher of the people; one should go on to reflect that this education is not by any means the best. It is too fragmentary and disconnected. The tendency which we regret is not the fault of the press, but it none the less requires the corrective of some kind of restraint upon its habit of monopolizing so large a portion of our time. One may easily learn to read the paper swiftly, get its proper value in a few moments and pass on. Information in more connected and complete forms invites our attention to books; and an intelligent person should save some time for these more valuable products of the press. There is a place, in short, for good judgment in limiting the intellectual tax which the newspaper levies upon us.

Good sense and sound discretion have a place also in our selection of newspapers. They differ, not exactly as one star differeth from another star in glory, but rather as a pure article of merchandise differs from an adulterated article. A clean press, in the general sense of the term, has almost become the rule; but there are still many unclean papers. The obviously unclean are easily shunned. Our danger comes from periodicals conducted for particular ends, to gain which the proprietors will on occasion sacrifice purity. A body of ministers, the Cincinnati Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church, has recently condemned in the strongest terms a newspaper long honored for its purity, which has recently depreciated the importance of personal chastity in public men. The incident and its cause are a warning that newspapers change their tone as they change editors, and that a strong desire to promote some object may blind an editor and stain the fairest page. There is but one remedy for this form of the evil, and that is to cast out the newspaper which is guilty of the offense. There is need of caution at this point, because a favorite newspaper, like the king in absolutism, can do no wrong. We grow accustomed to believing it right, to accepting its teachings, to dropping all critical safeguards and taking for good and sound opinions whatever it may deliver to us. This is not a safe habit. Editors like William Cullen Bryant die and their successors may be of another spirit. Few newspapers are the same in moral complexion for twenty years; death and business changes inevitably alter them. Even our favorite newspaper needs watching; and we ought never to condone so gross an outrage on the sanctities of life as the one to which we have reluctantly referred.

Another place for good judgment is in selecting the kind of periodical literature we read. There is a great variety. Some are too light; some are too heavy. Some are frivolous in spirit and purpose; others are so solid that they weigh down the eyelids of the reader. It is not necessary that good reading should be dull, lifeless and soporific. On the other hand, the periodicals which live upon love of fiction and curiosity are too light for the use of people who are living on purpose and for some proper ends. The popular magazine is too light. It is, at best, like dress worn to be looked at rather than for comfort and warmth. The ornamental has become too prominent and too monopolizing. The readers of the popular periodical add little to their wisdom and nothing to their aspirations. Really good results from periodical reading must be had in one of two ways or not at all. Wisdom or inspiration—or both—should come to us from such reading. We are stating the creed and the platform of The Chautauquan. Its special aims are these two: We wish to increase the knowledge of our readers; we wish also to inspire them with two forms of zeal, one which pursues wisdom, and another which aims at sound and pure character. We believe that we help our readers by giving them information and an appetite for it, and that those who read The Chautauquan carefully are stimulated by it to intellectual and moral effort. It has seemed to us that the inspiring quality has disappeared from the average monthly. Indeed, if we look for it in these days we must search in periodicals which have a definite and pronounced moral purpose. There is a pestilent theory that good literature must have only an artistic purpose, that to be in bloody earnest is not good form in letters. The Chautauquan is in earnest; it is the organ of one of the most vigorous and aggressive organizations for popular improvement, and its tone and matter are fixed for it by the high purpose of that organized crusade against ignorance and its consequences. We are not content to please or to satisfy passing curiosity. The whim or incident of the hour gets little of our attention. We are concerned with permanent and useful things. We desire to enlarge the horizon of our readers and fix their interest upon the best and tested objects of living. We are confident that any habitual reader of ours will be made wiser and better. There is not much glitter about such results, and yet they will shine when aimless literature has long ceased to glitter.