ual weight at all times, or in all causes. He will, therefore,
exercise his judgment, and he will not only devise what he is to say,
but he will also weigh its force. For there is nothing more fertile
than genius, especially of the sort which has been cultivated by
study. But as fertile and productive corn-fields bear not only corn,
but weeds which are most unfriendly to corn, so sometimes from those
topics there are produced arguments which are either trifling, or
foreign to the subject, or useless; and the judgment of the orator has
great room to exert itself in making a selection from them. Otherwise
how will he be able to stop and make his stand on those arguments
which are good and suited to his purpose? or how to soften what is
harsh, and to conceal what cannot be denied, and, if it be possible,
entirely to get rid of all such topics? or how will he be able to
lead men's minds away from the objects on which they are fixed, or
to adduce any other argument which, when opposed to that of his
adversaries, may be more probable than that which is brought against
him?

And with what diligence will he marshal the arguments with which he
has provided himself? since that is the second of his three objects.
He will make all the vestibule, if I may so say, and the approach to
his cause brilliant; and when he has got possession of the minds of
his hearers by his first onset, he will then invalidate and exclude
all contrary arguments; and of his own strongest arguments some he
will place in the van, some he will employ to bring up the rear, and
the weaker ones he will place in the centre.

And thus we have described in a brief and summary manner what this
perfect orator should be like in the two first parts of speaking. But,
as has been said before, in these parts, (although they are weighty
and important,) there is less skill and labour than in the others.

XVI. But when he has found out what to say, and in what place he is to
say it, then comes that which is by far the most important division of
the three, the consideration of the manner in which he is to say it.
For that is a well-known saying which our friend Carneades used to
repeat:--"That Clitomachus said the same things, but that Charmadas
said the same things in the same manner." But if it is of so much
consequence in philosophy even, how you say a thing, when it is the
matter which is looked at there rather than the language, what can we
think must be the case in c