HKB
dramatic talent, there is no want of dramatic tact; but they are seldom together: so we have successful pieces which are not respectable, and respectable pieces which are not successful.
Take them to the bar, and let them shake their learned curls at each other in legal rivalry. Talent sees its way clearly, but tact is first at its journey's end. Talent has many a compliment from the bench, but tact touches fees from attorneys and clients. Talent speaks learnedly and logically, tact triumphantly. Talent makes the world wonder that it gets on no faster, tact excites astonishment that it gets on so fast. And the secret is, that tact has no weight to carry; it makes no false steps; it hits the right nail on the head; it loses no time; it takes all hints; and, by keeping its eye on the weathercock, is ready to take advantage of every wind that blows.
Take them into the church. Talent has always something worth hearing, tact is sure of abundance of hearers; talent may obtain a good living, tact will make one; talent gets a good name, tact a great one; talent convinces, tact converts; talent is an honor to the profession, tact gains honor from the profession.
Place them in the senate. Talent has the ear of the house, but tact wins its heart, and has its votes; talent is fit for employment, but tact is fitted for it. Tact has a knack of slipping into place with a sweet silence and glibness of movement, as a billiard ball insinuates itself into the pocket. It seems to know everything, without learning anything. It has served an invisible and extemporary apprenticeship; it wants no drilling; it never ranks in the awkward squad; it has no left hand, no deaf ear, no blind side. It puts on no looks of wondrous wisdom, it has no air of profundity, but plays with the details of place as dexterously as a well-taught hand flourishes over the keys of the pianoforte. It has all the air of commonplace, and all the force and power of genius.
LONDON ATLAS.
SHYLOCK TO ANTONIO.
Signor Antonio, many a time and oft In the Rialto you have rated me About my moneys and my usances: Still I have borne it with a patient shrug; For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe. You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog, And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine, And all for use of that which is mine own. Well, then, it now appears, you need my help: Go to, then; you come to me, and you say "Shylock, we would have moneys." You say so; You that did void your rheum upon my beard, And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur Over your threshold; moneys is your suit. What should I say to you? Should I not say-- "Hath a dog money? Is it possible A cur can lend three thousand ducats?" or Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key, With bated breath and whispering humbleness, Say this-- "Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last; You spurned me such a day; another time You called me dog; and for these courtesies I'll lend you thus much moneys!"
SHAKESPEARE.
THE CYNIC.