not allow me to stand declaiming out in the colonnade longer than he had spent
sweating inside the school. “Your talk has an uncommon flavour, young
man,” he said, "and what is most unusual, you appreciate good sense. I will
not therefore deceive you by making a mystery of my art. The fact is that the
teachers are not to blame for these exhibitions. They are in a madhouse, and they
must gibber. Unless they speak to the taste of their young masters they will be left
alone in the colleges, as Cicero remarks.2
Like the toadies [of Comedy] cadging after the rich
man's dinners, they think first about what is calculated[p. 7]
their audience. They will never gain their object unless they lay traps for the ear.
A master of oratory is like a fisherman; he must put the particular bait on his hook
which he knows will tempt the little fish, or he may sit waiting on his rock with no
hope of a catch.