h-celebrated "art," so diligently practised
in all corners of the world just now, is the chief destroyer of whatever
good is born to us (softly, swiftly shutting up all nascent good, as if
under exhausted glass receivers, there to choke and die); and the grand
parent manufactory of evil to us,--as it were, the last finishing and
varnishing workshop of all the Devil's ware that circulates under the
sun. No Devil's sham is fit for the market till it have been polished
and enamelled here; this is the general assaying-house for such, where
the artists examine and answer, "Fit for the market; not fit!" Words
will not express what mischiefs the misuse of words has done, and is
doing, in these heavy-laden generations.

Do you want a man _not_ to practise what he believes, then encourage
him to keep often speaking it in words. Every time he speaks it, the
tendency to do it will grow less. His empty speech of what he believes,
will be a weariness and an affliction to the wise man. But do you wish
his empty speech of what he believes, to become farther an insincere
speech of what he does not believe? Celebrate to him his gift of speech;
assure him that he shall rise in Parliament by means of it, and achieve
great things without any performance; that eloquent speech, whether
performed or not, is admirable. My friends, eloquent unperformed speech,
in Parliament or elsewhere, is horrible! The eloquent man that delivers,
in Parliament or elsewhere, a beautiful speech, and will perform nothing
of it, but leaves it as if already performed,--what can you make of that
man? He has enrolled himself among the _Ignes Fatui_ and Children of
the Wind; means to serve, as beautifully illuminated Chinese Lantern,
in that corps henceforth. I think, the serviceable thing you could do
to that man, if permissible, would be a severe one: To clip off a bit
of his eloquent tongue by way of penance and warning; another bit, if
he again spoke without performing; and so again, till you had clipt the
whole tongue away from him,--and were delivered, you and he, from at
least one miserable mockery: "There, eloquent friend, see now in silence
if there be any redeeming deed in thee; of blasphemous wind-eloquence,
at least, we shall have no more!" How many pretty men have gone this
road, escorted by the beautifulest marching music from all the "public
organs;" and have found at last that it ended--where? It is the _broad_
road, that leads direct to Limbo and the