Each man goes to the rostrum to speak, and each has much to say. Soon another impression deepens--that the Northerners with their clear-cut speech and their fuller voices have an advantage over the Southerners of the kind that all public performers know. The mandarin language of Peking is after all the mother-language of officialdom, the _madre lingua_, less nervous and more precise than any other dialect and invested with a certain air of authority which cannot be denied. The sharp-sounding, high-pitched Southern voice, though it may argue very acutely and rapidly, appears at an increasing disadvantage. There seems to be a tendency inherent in it to become querulous, to make its pleading sound specious because of over-much speech. These are curious little things which have been not without influence in other regions of the world. The applause when it comes proves the same thing as applause does everywhere; that if you want to drive home your points in a large assembly you must be condensed and simple, using broad, slashing arguments. This is precisely what distinguishes melodrama from drama, and which explains why excessive analysis is no argument in the popular mind. Generally, however, there is not much applause and the voice of the speaker wanders through the hall uninterrupted by signs of content or discontent. Sometimes, although rather rarely, there is a gust of laughter as a point is scored against a hated rival. But it dies away as suddenly as it arose--almost before you have noted it, as if it were superfluous and must make room for more serious things.