By all means, know all the grammar you can.  Read the best of poets and prose authors to see how they have mastered the language, but don’t allow your life to become a burden to you and others because of your worry lest you “slip a grammatical cog” here and there, when you know you have something worth saying.  And if you haven’t anything worth saying, please, please, keep your mouth shut, no matter what the genteel books prescribe, for nothing can justify the talk of an empty-headed fool who will insist upon talking when he and his listeners know he has nothing whatever to say.  So, if you must worry, let it be about something worth while—­getting hold of ideas, the strength of your thought, the power of your emotion, the irresistible sweep of your enthusiasm, the forcefulness of your indignation about wrong.  These are things it is worth while to set your mind upon, and when you have decided what you ought to say, and are absorbed with the power of its thought, the need the world has for it, you will care little about the exact form of your words.  Like the flood of a mighty stream, they will pour forth, carrying conviction with them, and to convince your hearer of some powerful truth is an object worthy the highest endeavor of a godlike man or woman—­surely a far different object than worrying as to whether the words or method of expression meet some absurd standard of what is conceived to be “gentility.”

Congressman Hobson, of Merrimac fame, and Ex-President Roosevelt are both wonderful illustrations of the point I am endeavoring to impress upon my readers.  I heard Hobson when, in Philadelphia, at a public dinner given in his honor, he made his first speech after his return from Cuba.  It was evident that he had been, and was, much worried about what he should say, and the result was everybody else was worried as he tried to say it.  His address was a pitiable failure, mainly because he had little or nothing to say, and yet tried to make a speech.  Later he entered Congress, began to feel intensely upon the subjects of national defense and prohibition of the alcoholic liquor traffic.  A year or so ago I heard him speak on the latter of these subjects.  Here, now, was an entirely different man.  He was possesed with a great idea.  He was no longer trying to find something to say, but in a powerful, earnest, and enthusiastic way, he poured forth facts, figures, argument, and illustration, that could not fail to convince an open mind, and profoundly impress even the prejudiced.

It was the same with Roosevelt.  When he first began to speak in public, it was hard work.  He wrote his addresses beforehand, and then read them.  Perhaps he does now, for aught I know to the contrary, but I do know that now that he is full of the subjects of national honor in dealing with such cases as Mexico, Belgium, and Armenia, and our preparedness to sacrifice life itself rather than honor, his words pour forth in a perfect Niagara of strong, robust, manly argument, protest, and remonstrance, which gives one food for deep thought no matter how much he may differ.