applause of a rabble brought together by chance, or even bribed to
applaud with admiration every word and period, can neither endure the
attentive silence of a judicious audience, nor seem to themselves to be
eloquent unless they make everything ring about them with tumultuous
clamor. To explain simply the fact, appears to them too low, and common,
and too much within the reach of the illiterate, but I fancy that what
they despise as easy is not so much because of inclination as because of
inability to effect it. For the more experience we have, the more we
find that nothing else is so difficult as to speak in such a manner that
all who have heard us may think they could acquit themselves equally as
well. The reason for the contrary notion is that what is so said is
considered as merely true and not as fine and beautiful. But will not
the orator express himself in the most perfect manner, when he seems to
speak truth? Now, indeed, the narration is laid out as a champion-ground
for eloquence to display itself in; the voice, the gesture, the
thoughts, the expression, are all worked up to a pitch of extravagance,
and what is monstrous, the action is applauded, and yet the cause is far
from being understood. But we shall forego further reflections on this
misguided notion, lest we offend more by reproving faults, than gratify
by giving advice.

The narration will have its due brevity if we begin by explaining the
affair from the point where it is of concern to the judge; next, if we
say nothing foreign to the cause; and last, if we avoid all
superfluities, yet without curtailing anything that may give insight
into the cause or be to its advantage. There is a certain brevity of
parts, however, which makes a long whole: "I came to the harbor, I saw a
ship ready for sailing, I asked the price for passengers, I agreed as to
what I should give, I went aboard, we weighed anchor, we cleared the
coast, and sailed on briskly." None of these circumstances could be