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.
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?