public opinion is formed or expressed, but by private discussion, by the interchange of sentiments at the fireside, on the street, at the exchange, and, above all, by the agency of the press and the telegraph. Even the character of public discussions has changed. A modern debate, it has been truly said, is not a struggle between a few leading men for triumph over each other and an ignorant multitude; the orator himself is but one of the multitude, deliberating with them upon the common interests; and, instead of coming to a raw, unenlightened audience, who have never weighed the subjects upon which he is to address them, and who are ready to be the victims of any cunning and plausible speaker who can blind them by his sophistry, dazzle them by his rhetoric, or captivate them by his honeyed accents, he finds that he is speaking to men who have read, thought, and pondered upon his theme, who have already decided opinions, and care less to hear his eloquence than to know what his eloquence can do for the question.

From all this it is evident that the demand for oratory is not less than in former ages, but that a different style of oratory is demanded. Because imagination and passion do not predominate in modern eloquence, but hold a subordinate place; because the orator speaks to the head as well as to the heart of his hearers, and employs facts and logic. more than the flowers of fancy; because his most fiery and burning appeals are pervaded with reason and argument as well as with passion, it by no means follows that his power is curtailed. As well might we conclude that the earthquake and the tempest are the mightiest agencies in nature because their results are instantaneous and visible, and that the gentle rain, the dew, and the sunshine are

feeble in comparison, because they work slowly, quietly, and unseen. Is it a task less noble to convince than to inflame mankind? Does a sudden burst of feeling require a greater power or intensity of mind than a long chain of reasoning? Has not argument as well as explosion its eloquence, and may it not be adorned with as splendid illustrations?

The truth is, the modern orator has no less, perhaps even more influence, than the ancient, but he acts more slowly and by degrees. He wins his triumphs of conviction, not in the very hour he speaks, but in the course of weeks, and months, and years. It is not by isolated successes, but in the aggregate, by reiteration, by accumulation, that he prevails. As an English writer has beautifully said, the enchanted spear is not without its place among the weapons of our oratorical armory; but, like that of Ariosto, it only fells the enemy to the ground, and leaves him to start up again unwounded. Fine sentiments, well turned and polished periods, have still more or less of their old charm with our deliberative assemblies; their effects may be seen in the pleased looks, the profound silence, or the applause of the listeners; but they are not seen in the final enumeration of the ayes and noes. The great majority of the members contrive to break the enchanter's spell before they vote. But though the influence of individual speeches may be comparatively slight, the influence of the entire eloquence of a leading speaker may be very great. The effects of his oratory may be none the less real, because they are gradual and hardly perceived; none the less powerful, because it is a slow fire, and not a thunderbolt. It has been justly said that there is for every man a statement possible of that truth which he is most unwilling to

receive, a statement possible, so broad and so pungent that he cannot get away from it, but must either bend to it or die of it. By dint of perseverance and reiteration the orator may produce an impression which no single blow, however vigorously struck, would make. Every impression, however faint, leaves the hearer more apt for impression in future by the same hand. A lodgment is made in his heart, and if it be steadily followed up, though he cannot be stormed, he may be sapped, and at last find it convenient to capitulate.

Again, in spite of the party whip, in spite of the utmost perfection of party drill, there are occasional great crises in public affairs, extraordinary periods, when men will burst away from the ranks, and vote according to their convictions. As well might the sands of the desert expect to be unstirred by the winds, and to remain in a solid mass, as parties expect that they will remain unchanged by the tornado of eloquence, the whirlwind and storm of oratory, that at such times sweeps over them.

More than all, character is an important factor in modern eloquence. It is his virtues, his stability, his known zeal for the right and the true, that quite as much as the magnetism of his looks, his siren voice, his graces of address, and electric periods, must win for the orator attention and confidence now. It is the man behind the words that must give them momentum and projectile force. The impression which every speaker makes on his fellows, is the moral resultant, not only of what he says, but of all that he has grown up to be; of his manhood, weak or strong, sterling or counterfeit; of a funded but unreckoned influence, accumulating unconsciously, and spending itself, as the man is deep or shal

low, like a reservoir, or like a spout or an April shower. Especially in times of civil commotion, in great crises, when public interests are imperilled, when war or anarchy threatens the land, is this element of oratory most potent. It is no festival eloquence, no vain mockery of art, that will then meet the exigency, but the sincere, heart-felt appeals of a speaker whose whole life has exemplified the sentiments he enforces, and who is known to be willing to give his life, if need be, in defense of his principles, Thus supported, the faculty of speech is power,-power such as no other faculty can give, and we may say of it in the words of an eloquent writer: "It is political power; it is statesmanship. No recommendation can supply the absence of its prestige. Splendid abilities, the utmost literary renown, are without it insufficient testimonies. Dissociated from it, the historian of the Roman Empire lingers below the gangway. Assisted by it, a cornet of horse becomes the arbiter of Europe."

Finally, it should not be forgotten that while the ancient orator enjoyed certain advantages which are denied to his successor at the present day, these are compensated in a great measure by the prodigious extension of knowledge, and the consequently greatly increased number and variety of ideas and illustrations which are at the command of the modern orator. As far as the world,-we had almost said, the universe,-made known by science. to the moderns exceeds that known to the ancients, so far do the facts and ideas which the speaker of the nineteenth century may employ, surpass in multitude, variety, and grandeur, those which were at the disposal of the most brilliant or potent genius of antiquity. Not only have the vast additions made to human knowledge

by the discoveries of the physical geographer, the geologist, the chemist, the botanist, the natural philosopher, and the astronomer, furnished a store of new ideas, allusions, and images, with which to captivate, startle, or enlighten an assembly, but history has replenished her storehouses with myriads of new political precedents and examples of heroism and virtue; modern poetry has added its gems of thought and expression,-its charmed words, to those which antiquity has bequeathed to us; and, more than all, the christian religion has opened a new fountain of inspiration, and furnished the orator with a store of thoughts, images, and associations, which, whether fitted to please and inspire, or to awe and appal, are more powerful than any others in moving the human heart.

To conclude, in comparing the influence of ancient and modern oratory, we have spoken of some of the changes which have taken place within two centuries in modern British eloquence. There is still another change which it may not be improper to consider for a few moments in this place. Why is it that parliamentary speeches, both in this country and England, are now adorned, (or disfigured, as the reader pleases,) with so few quotations from the classics? Is it because the age is less pedantic than formerly? or because the legislators of this century have less knowledge of the Greek and Roman authors, and less taste for them, than the legislators of the eighteenth century? Certain it is that the apt and telling quotations for which Horace and Virgil used to be racked, are heard no more in our political assemblies. A great speech unadorned by a few Latin verses was a rarity in the days of Pitt; and the English poets,