In regard to his services as a statesman, they were rendered chiefly to his day and generation, for he elaborated no system of political wisdom like Burke, which bears (except casually and indirectly) on modern governments and institutions.  It was his aim, as a statesman, to continue the Roman Constitution and keep the people from civil war.  Nor does he seem to have held, like Rousseau, the vox populi as the voice of God.  He could find no language sufficiently strong to express his abhorrence of those who led the people for their own individual advancement.  He was equally severe on corrupt governors and venal judges.  He upheld morality and justice as the only guides in public affairs.  He loved popularity, but he loved his country better.  He hated anarchy as much as did Burke.  Like Bright, he looked upon civil war as the greatest of national calamities.  He advocated the most enlightened views, based on the principles of immutable justice.  He wished to preserve his country equally from unscrupulous generals and unprincipled politicians.

As for his orations, they also were chiefly designed for his own contemporaries.  They are not particularly valuable to us, except as models of rhetorical composition and transcendent beauty and grace of style.  They are not so luminous with fundamental principles as they are vivid with invective, sarcasm, wit, and telling exaggeration,—­sometimes persuasive and working on the sensibilities, and at other times full of withering scorn.  They are more like the pleadings of an advocate than an appeal to universal reason.  He lays down no laws of political philosophy, nor does he soar into the region of abstract truth, evolving great deductions in morals.  But as an orator he was transcendently effective, like Demosthenes, though not equal to the Greek in force.  His sentences are perhaps too involved for our taste; yet he always swayed an audience, whether the people from the rostrum, or the judges at the bar, or the senators in the Curia.  He seldom lost a case; no one could contend with him successfully.  He called out the admiration of critics, and even of actors.  He had a wonderful electrical influence; his very tones and gestures carried everything before him; his action was superb; and his whole frame quivered from real (or affected) emotion, like Edward Everett in his happiest efforts.  He was vehement in gesture, like Brougham and Mirabeau.  He was intensely earnest and impressive, like Savonarola.  He had exceeding tact, and was master of the passions of his audience.  There was an irresistible music in his tones of voice, like that of St. Bernard when he fanned crusades.  He was withering in his denunciations, like Wendell Phillips, whom in person he somewhat resembled.  He was a fascination like Pericles, and the people could not long spare him from the excitement he produced.  It was their desire to hear him speak which had no small share in producing his recall from banishment.  They crowded around him as the