his courage
failing, Henry composed for him the speech which Duncombe
delivered. But knowing the slender capacity of his man, he was
not satisfied with placing the speech in his hands, but adopted
every precaution which his ingenuity suggested to avert the
danger of his breaking down. He made him learn the speech by
heart, and then made him think it over again and put it into
language of his own, justly fearing that if he should forget any
of the more polished periods of the original it would appear
sadly botched by his own interpolations. He then instructed him
largely as to how and when he was to bring it in, supplying him
with various commonplace phrases to be used as connecting links,
and by the help of which he might be enabled to fasten upon some
of the preceding speeches. I saw Henry de Ros the day before the
debate, when he told me what he was doing, and asked me to
suggest anything that occurred upon the subject, and at the same
time repeated to me the speech with which he had armed his hero.
I hinted my apprehensions that he would fail in the delivery, but
though he was not without some alarm, he expressed (as it
afterwards appeared a well-grounded) confidence in Duncombe's
extraordinary nerve and intrepidity.
His speech on the second night was got up precisely in the same
manner, and although it appeared to arise out of the debate and
of those which preceded it, the matter had been all crammed into
him by his invisible Mentor. The amusement to him and to me
(especially at the honours that have been thickly poured upon him
and the noise which he has made in the world) is indescribably
pungent.
Thus Duncombe and his speech have made what is called a great
sensation, and he has the reputation (no matter whether justly or
not) of having thrown the enemy's camp into greater confusion by
the boldness of his language than anybody has ever done, because
nobody has ever before dared to mention those whom he dragged
forward. To the ignorant majority of the world he appears a man
of great promise, of boldness, quickness, and decision, and the
uproar that is made about him cannot fail to impress others as
well as himself with a high notion of his consequence.
Knighton is gone abroad, I have very little doubt, in consequence
of what passed, and as nobody enquires very minutely into the
real causes of things where they get apparent ones with ease, it
is said and believed at once that Duncombe is the man who has
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