I do not of course mean that statesmen can choose with absolute freedom what topics they will deal with and what they will not.  I am of course aware that they choose under stringent conditions.  In excited states of the public mind they have scarcely a discretion at all; the tendency of the public perturbation determines what shall and what shall not be dealt with.  But, upon the other hand, in quiet times statesmen have great power; when there is no fire lighted, they can settle what fire shall be lit.  And as the new suffrage is happily to be tried in a quiet time, the responsibility of our statesmen is great because their power is great too.

And the mode in which the questions dealt with are discussed is almost as important as the selection of these questions.  It is for our principal statesmen to lead the public, and not to let the public lead them.  No doubt when statesmen live by public favour, as ours do, this is a hard saying, and it requires to be carefully limited.  I do not mean that our statesmen should assume a pedantic and doctrinaire tone with the English people; if there is anything which English people thoroughly detest, it is that tone exactly.  And they are right in detesting it; if a man cannot give guidance and communicate instruction formally without telling his audience “I am better than you; I have studied this as you have not,” then he is not fit for a guide or an instructor.  A statesman who should show that gaucherie would exhibit a defect of imagination, and expose an incapacity for dealing with men which would be a great hindrance to him in his calling.  But much argument is not required to guide the public, still less a formal exposition of that argument.  What is mostly needed is the manly utterance of clear conclusions; if a statesman gives these in a felicitous way (and if with a few light and humorous illustrations, so much the better), he has done his part.  He will have given the text, the scribes in the newspapers will write the sermon.  A statesman ought to show his own nature, and talk in a palpable way what is to him important truth.  And so he will both guide and benefit the nation.  But if, especially at a time when great ignorance has an unusual power in public affairs, he chooses to accept and reiterate the decisions of that ignorance, he is only the hireling of the nation, and does little save hurt it.

I shall be told that this is very obvious, and that everybody knows that 2 and 2 make 4, and that there is no use in inculcating it.  But I answer that the lesson is not observed in fact; people do not so do their political sums.  Of all our political dangers, the greatest I conceive is that they will neglect the lesson.  In plain English, what I fear is that both our political parties will bid for the support of the working man; that both of them will promise to do as he likes if he will only tell them what it is; that, as he now holds the casting vote in our affairs, both parties will beg and pray him to give that vote to them.  I can conceive of nothing more corrupting or worse for a set of poor ignorant people than that two combinations of well-taught and rich men should constantly offer to defer to their decision, and compete for the office of executing it.  Vox populi will be Vox diaboli if it is worked in that manner.