(Photo: Fradelle and Young, Regent Street.)
Such is my recollection of the passage which I heard so many years ago, and which I have doubtless spoiled in attempting to reproduce. But when the great orator, speaking with weighty deliberation, had reached the dénouement of his striking metaphor, so powerfully had he wrought on the feelings of his hearers that an effect followed such as I have never seen on any other occasion. The whole vast audience, as though swayed by one common impulse, sprang to its feet—not gradually and at the initiative of one or two claqueurs and partisans, but with an absolutely electric sympathy, and they remained on their feet cheering the speaker for five minutes. It was by far the most decisive triumph of the magic and mastery of eloquence that I have ever witnessed in my life.
Another remarkable incident occurred at the same meeting. Mr. Ayrton, in moving a vote of thanks to the chairman, had alluded to a huge procession—part of a demonstration of the working-classes in favour of the Reform Bill—which had taken place in London a few days previously. Lady Burdett-Coutts had witnessed the procession from a balcony in the window of her house as it passed down the length of Piccadilly and Oxford Street. She had been recognised, and, knowing her generous beneficence, the working-men had cheered her. Mr. Ayrton alluded to this, and had the very dubious taste to express a strong regret that the Queen, who was at Buckingham Palace, had not done the same. The allusion was singularly misplaced, and Mr. Ayrton, as one who had been a member of the Government, ought to have known that under no circumstances could her Majesty thus recognise a demonstration in favour of a Bill which excited great differences of opinion, and was still under discussion by the House of Commons. The speech was still more mal à propos because it seemed, whether intentionally or not, to attribute to her Majesty a lack of that sympathy with the aspirations of the people which, on the contrary, the Queen has invariably shown, so that her kindness of heart has won a more unbounded affection than has ever been lavished on any previous Sovereign. Mr. Bright felt how unfortunate was this gaucherie, into which the speaker had perhaps unintentionally been led. He saw also how injurious it might be to the effect which the meeting would otherwise produce. When he rose to acknowledge the vote of thanks to himself, he not only defended her Majesty from the blame which Mr. Ayrton had implied, but, alluding with touching simplicity to the long and uninterrupted devotion which the Royal Lady had shown for so many years of widowhood to the memory of her great and princely consort, he showed the unfairness of the insinuation which might seem to have been implied.
The great voices of Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Bright are silent. They have passed from the heated arena of politics, "to where beyond these voices there is peace"; and they have not left their equals behind them. We seem to be passing through one of those interspaces in national life which are not illuminated by minds so bright with genius as those which have ceased to shine. The soil of the next generation may perhaps produce a harvest as rich, or richer. Meanwhile we may at least rejoice that
"Great men have been among us; hands that penned
And tongues that uttered wisdom:—better none."
