en attributed to them. They
might, indeed, detect a pretence which continued through a whole tale; but
that is so seldom necessary that it needs little consideration.

So then: enjoy your story; be interested in it,--if you possibly can; and
if you cannot, pretend to be, till the very pretence brings about the
virtue you have assumed.

There is much else which might be said and urged regarding the method of
story-telling, even without encroaching on the domain of personal
variations. A whole chapter might, for example, be devoted to voice and
enunciation, and then leave the subject fertile. But voice and
enunciation are after all merely single manifestations of degree and
quality of culture, of taste, and of natural gift. No set rules can bring
charm of voice and speech to a person whose feeling and habitual point of
view are fundamentally wrong; the person whose habitual feeling and mental
attitude are fundamentally right needs few or no rules. As the whole
matter of story-telling is in the first instance an expression of the
complex personal product, so will this feature of it vary in perfection
according to the beauty and culture of the human mechanism manifesting it.

A few generally applicable suggestions may, however, be useful,--always
assuming the story-teller to have the fundamental qualifications of fine
and wholesome habit. These are not rules for the art of speaking; they are
merely some practical considerations regarding speaking to an audience.

First, I would reiterate my earlier advice, be simple. Affectation is the
worst enemy of voice and enunciation alike. Slovenly enunciation is
certainly very dreadful, but the unregenerate may be pardoned if they
prefer it to the affected mouthing which some over-nice people without due
sense of values expend on every syllable which is so unlucky as to fall
between their teeth.

Next I would urge avoidance of a fault very common with those who speak
much in large rooms,--the mistaken effort at loudness. This results in
tightening and straining the throat, finally producing nasal head-tones or
a voice of metallic harshness. And it is entirely unnecessary. There is no
need to speak loudly. The ordinary schoolroom needs no vocal effort. A
hall seating three or four hundred persons demands no effort whatever
beyond a certain clearness and definiteness of speech. A hall seating from
five to eight hundred needs more skill in aiming the voice, but still
demands no shou