or debaters, as Mr. Disraeli, who did not, as far as I know, study Demosthenes or practice at a debating society; nor as Mr. Cobden and Mr. Bright, who also did not study Demosthenes or practice at a debating society. And one remarkable element among the materials on which my conclusion rests, that eloquence cannot be taught, is my having had an opportunity of observing Mr. Cobden and Mr. Bright, who were formed by nature, and not by any professional teacher like Gorgias, or any model like Demosthenes or Cicero.
Mr. Cobden once said to me that the first time he got up to speak in public he was so nervous that he hardly knew what he was saying. That nervousness would, of course, wear off in time, or at least diminish; for some public speakers have said that to the last they never got up to speak in the House of Commons without a feeling of nervousness. But Mr. Cobden would appear to have attained an extraordinary command over his mental resources when addressing a public audience. I should not think that he ever wrote out a speech, or even particular passages of a speech, on a question which he considered of special importance. He did sometimes make, or intend to make, a
