The mastiff is stout, brave, trusty, intelligent, but the hound
outruns him; and this greyhound of modern oratory, deep-chested,
light-limbed, supple, elastic, elegant, powerful, must be accredited
with his own special superiorities. Or taking a cue from the tales of
chivalry, we might say that he is the Sir Launcelot of the platform, in
all but Sir Launcelot's sin; and woe to the knight against whom in full
career he levels his lance!
And yet one is half ashamed to praise his gifts, so superbly does he
himself cast those gifts behind him. He is not trying to be eloquent: he
is trying to get a grand piece of justice done in the world. No engineer
building a bridge, no ship-master in a storm at sea, was ever more
simply intent on substantive results. It is not any "Oration for the
Crown" that he stands here pronouncing: it is service, not distinction,
at which he aims, and he will be crowned only in the gladness of a
redeemed race. The story of his life is a tale of romance; he makes real
the legends of chivalry. He might have sat at meat with Arthur and the
knights of the Round Table, and looked with equal unabashed eyes into
theirs; and a thousand years hence, some skeptic, reading the history of
these days, will smile a light disdain, and say, "Very well for fiction;
but _real_ men are selfish beings, and serve themselves always to the
sweetest and biggest loaf they can find.
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