er, the rest of the time being occupied by
uninteresting interludes by his understudies, all of which may serve to
explain the decline in public interest. At the time of the Peace of
Paris in 1856, on the termination of the Crimean War, there were in the
House of Commons such outstanding figures as Gladstone, Disraeli, Lord
John Russell, John Bright, and Palmerston; the statesman had not yet
dwindled into the lawyer-politician.

I only heard Mr. Gladstone speak in his old age, when his voice had
acquired a slight roughness which detracted, I thought, from his
wonderful gift of oratory. Mr. Gladstone, too, had certain
peculiarities of pronunciation; he always spoke of "constitootional"
and of "noos." John Bright was a most impressive speaker; he obtained
his effects by the simplest means, for he seldom used long words;
indeed he was supposed to limit himself to words of Saxon origin, with
all their condensed vigour. Is not Newman's hymn, "Lead, Kindly Light,"
considered to be a model of English, as it is composed almost entirely
of monosyllables, and, with six exceptions, of words of Saxon origin?
John Bright's speaking had the same quality as Cardinal Newman's hymn.
In spite of his eloquence, John Bright's prophecies were invariably
falsified by subsequent events. I have never heard any one speak with
such facility as Joseph Chamberlain. His utterance was so singularly
clear that, though he habitually spoke in a very low voice, every
syllable penetrated to all parts of the House. When Chamberlain was
really in a dangerous mood, his voice became ominously bland, and his
manner quieter than ever. Then was the time for his enemies to tremble.
I heard him once roll out and demolish a poor facile-tongued
professional spouter so completely and remorsely that the unfortunate
man never dared to open his mouth in the House of Commons again. I
think that any old Member of Parliament will agree with me when I place
David Plunkett, afterwards Lorth Rathmore, who represented for many
years Trinity College, Dublin, in the very front rank as an orator.
Plunkett was an indolent man, and spoke very rarely indeed. When really
roused, and on a subject which he had genuinely at heart, he could rise
to heights of splendid eloquence. Plunkett had a slight impediment in
his speech; when wound up, this impediment, so far from detracting
from, added to the effect he produced. I heard Mr. Gladstone's last
speech in Parliament, on March 1, 1894.