Her chief function, to melt; make soft, thaw the hearts of men with
kind fire; to overpower with peace; and bring rest, with rainbow
colours. The chief mission of all words that they should be of comfort.

You think the function of words is to excite? Why, a red rag will do
that, or a blast through a brass pipe. But to give calm and gentle
heat; to be as the south wind, and the iridescent rain, to all
bitterness of frost; and bring at once strength, and healing. This is
the work of human lips, taught of God.

One farther and final lesson is given in the medallion above.
Aristotle, and too many modern rhetoricians of his school, thought
there could be good speaking in a false cause. But above Simon Memmi's
Rhetoric is _Truth_, with her mirror.

There is a curious feeling, almost innate in men, that though they are
bound to speak truth, in speaking to a single person, they may lie as
much as they please, provided they lie to two or more people at once.
There is the same feeling about killing: most people would shrink from
shooting one innocent man; but will fire a mitrailleuse contentedly
into an innocent regiment.

When you look down from the figure of the Science, to that of Cicero,
beneath, you will at first think it entirely overthrows my conclusion
that Rhetoric has no need of her hands. For Cicero, it appears, has
three instead of two.

The uppermost, at his chin, is the only genuine one. That raised, with
the finger up, is entirely false. That on the book, is repainted so as
to defy conjecture of its original action.