The English have created the noblest literature in the world, and are candidly ashamed of the fact.

In their view anybody who succeeds in words must necessarily fail in business.

The Irishman on the contrary luxuriates, like the artist that he is, in that _splendor verborum_ celebrated by Dante.

If a speech has to be made he thinks that it should be well made, and refuses altogether to accept hums and haws as a token of genius.

He expects an orator not merely to expound facts, but to stimulate the vital forces of his audience.