rt. It is
subtle and difficult to define, but Fenelon gives a definition that will
aid us when he says, "Simplicity is an uprightness of soul that has no
reference to self." It is another word for unselfishness.

In these days of self-exploitation and self-aggrandizement, how
refreshing it is to meet a man of true simplicity. We are won by his
unaffected manner, his gentleness of argument, his ingratiating tones of
voice, his freedom from prejudice and passion. Such a man wins us almost
wholly by the power of his simplicity.

This supreme quality is noticeable in men who are said to have come to
themselves. They have tasted and tested life, they have learned
proportion and perspective, they have appraised things at their real
value, and now they carry themselves in poise and power and confidence.
They have found themselves in a high and true sense, and they have come
to be known as men of simplicity.

Simplicity is not to be confounded with weakness or ignorance. It comes
through long education. It does not mean the trite, or the commonplace,
or the obvious. It is a strong and sturdy quality, is this simplicity of
which I am speaking, and nothing else will atone for lack of it in the
public speaker.

Longfellow calls it the supreme excellence, since it is the quality
which above all others brings serenity to the soul and makes life
really worth living. Every man should earnestly seek to cultivate this
great quality as essential to noble character.

This speech is conspicuous for another indispensable quality for
effective public speaking,--the quality of sincerity. It grows largely
out of simplicity and is the product of integrity of mind and heart. Men
recognize it quickly, though they cannot easily tell whence it comes. We
find it highly developed in great leaders in business and professional
life. There has never been a really great public speaker who was not
preeminently a sincere man.

Beecher said, "Let no man who is a sneak try to be an orator." Such a
man can not be. He will shortly be found out. The world's ultimate
estimate of a man is not far wrong.

A politician of much promise was addressing a distinguished audience in
Washington. The Opera House was crowded to the doors to hear him and
apparently he was making a good impression upon all his hearers. But
suddenly, at the very climax of his speech, while upwards of two
thousand eyes were rivetted upon him, he was seen to wink at a personal
friend of