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<h2> LETTER XCIII </h2>
<h3> LONDON, December 5, O. S. 1749. </h3>
<p>DEAR BOY: Those who suppose that men in general act rationally, because
they are called rational creatures, know very little of the world, and if
they act themselves upon that supposition, will nine times in ten find
themselves grossly mistaken. That man is, 'animal bipes, implume,
risibile', I entirely agree; but for the 'rationale', I can only allow it
him 'in actu primo' (to talk logic) and seldom in 'actu secundo'. Thus,
the speculative, cloistered pedant, in his solitary cell, forms systems of
things as they should be, not as they are; and writes as decisively and
absurdly upon war, politics, manners, and characters, as that pedant
talked, who was so kind as to instruct Hannibal in the art of war. Such
closet politicians never fail to assign the deepest motives for the most
trifling actions; instead of often ascribing the greatest actions to the
most trifling causes, in which they would be much seldomer mistaken. They
read and write of kings, heroes, and statesmen, as never doing anything
but upon the deepest principles of sound policy. But those who see and
observe kings, heroes, and statesmen, discover that they have headaches,
indigestions, humors, and passions, just like other people; everyone of
which, in their turns, determine their wills, in defiance of their reason.
Had we only read in the "Life of Alexander," that he burned Persepolis, it
would doubtless have been accounted for from deep policy: we should have
been told, that his new conquest could not have been secured without the
destruction of that capital, which would have been the constant seat of
cabals, conspiracies, and revolts. But, luckily, we are informed at the
same time, that this hero, this demi-god, this son and heir of Jupiter
Ammon, happened to get extremely drunk with his w—-e; and, by way of
frolic, destroyed one of the finest cities in the world. Read men,
therefore, yourself, not in books but in nature. Adopt no systems, but
study them yourself. Observe their weaknesses, their passions, their
humors, of all which their understandings are, nine times in ten, the
dupes. You will then know that they are to be gained, influenced, or led,
much oftener by little things than by great ones; and, consequently, you
will no longer think those things little, which tend to such great
purposes.</p>
<p>Let us apply this now to the particular object of this letter; I mean,
speaking in, and influencing public assemblies. The nature of our
constitution makes eloquence more useful, and more necessary, in this
country than in any other in Europe. A certain degree of good sense and
knowledge is requisite for that, as well as for everything else; but
beyond that, the purity of diction, the elegance of style, the harmony of
periods, a pleasing elocution, and a graceful action, are the things which
a public speaker should attend to the most; because his audience certainly
does, and understands them the best; or rather indeed understands little
else. The late Lord Chancellor Cowper's strength as an orator lay by no
means in his reasonings, for he often hazarded very weak ones. But such
was the purity and elegance of his style, such the propriety and charms of
his elocution, and such the gracefulness of his action, that he never
spoke without universal applause; the ears and the eyes gave him up the
hearts and the understandings of the audience. On the contrary, the late
Lord Townshend always spoke materially, with argument and knowledge, but
never pleased. Why? His diction was not only inelegant, but frequently
ungrammatical, always vulgar; his cadences false, his voice unharmonious,
and his action ungraceful. Nobody heard him with patience; and the young
fellows used to joke upon him, and repeat his inaccuracies. The late Duke
of Argyle, though the weakest reasoner, was the most pleasing speaker I
ever knew in my life. He charmed, he warmed, he forcibly ravished the
audience; not by his matter certainly, but by his manner of delivering it.
A most genteel figure, a graceful, noble air, an harmonious voice, an
elegance of style, and a strength of emphasis, conspired to make him the
most affecting, persuasive, and applauded speaker I ever saw. I was
captivated like others; but when I came home, and coolly considered what
he had said, stripped of all those ornaments in which he had dressed it, I
often found the matter flimsy, the arguments weak, and I was convinced of
the power of those adventitious concurring circumstances, which ignorance
of mankind only calls trifling ones. Cicero, in his book 'De Oratore', in
order to raise the dignity of that profession which he well knew himself
to be at the head of, asserts that a complete orator must be a complete
everything, lawyer, philosopher, divine, etc. That would be extremely
well, if it were possible: but man's life is not long enough; and I hold
him to be the completest orator, who speaks the best upon that subject
which occurs; whose happy choice of words, whose lively imagination, whose
elocution and action adorn and grace his matter, at the same time that
they excite the attention and engage the passions of his audience.</p>
<p>You will be of the House of Commons as soon as you are of age; and you
must first make a figure there, if you would make a figure, or a fortune,
in your country. This you can never do without that correctness and
elegance in your own language, which you now seem to neglect, and which
you have entirely to learn. Fortunately for you, it is to be learned. Care
and observation will do it; but do not flatter yourself, that all the
knowledge, sense, and reasoning in the world will ever make you a popular
and applauded speaker, without the ornaments and the graces of style,
elocution, and action. Sense and argument, though coarsely delivered, will
have their weight in a private conversation, with two or three people of
sense; but in a public assembly they will have none, if naked and
destitute of the advantages I have mentioned. Cardinal de Retz observes,
very justly, that every numerous assembly is a mob, influenced by their
passions, humors, and affections, which nothing but eloquence ever did or
ever can engage. This is so important a consideration for everybody in
this country, and more particularly for you, that I earnestly recommend it
to your most serious care and attention. Mind your diction, in whatever
language you either write or speak; contract a habit of correctness and
elegance. Consider your style, even in the freest conversation and most
familiar letters. After, at least, if not before, you have said a thing,
reflect if you could not have said it better. Where you doubt of the
propriety or elegance of a word or a phrase, consult some good dead or
living authority in that language. Use yourself to translate, from various
languages into English; correct those translations till they satisfy your
ear, as well as your understanding. And be convinced of this truth, that
the best sense and reason in the world will be as unwelcome in a public
assembly, without these ornaments, as they will in public companies,
without the assistance of manners and politeness. If you will please
people, you must please them in their own way; and, as you cannot make
them what they should be, you must take them as they are. I repeat it
again, they are only to be taken by 'agremens', and by what flatters their
senses and their hearts. Rabelais first wrote a most excellent book, which
nobody liked; then, determined to conform to the public taste, he wrote
Gargantua and Pantagruel, which everybody liked, extravagant as it was.
Adieu.</p>
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