'On the 25th the debate in the Lords took place. The House was thronged, the galleries being filled with ladies, and (there being a Court mourning) all in black—save one, Lady ——. She was in scarlet from top to toe, or more than toe, for she displayed a pair of long scarlet stockings to a startled House, and each member as he came in said, "Good gracious me, who's that?" so that Lansdowne could hardly begin for the buzz. His speech was dull, and the result was favourable to the Government. Two days later I brought forward my motion in the Commons, and had a great personal success, receiving the congratulations of all the leading men of both parties. I spoke for two hours and a half, and kept the House full, without ever for an instant being in doubt as to the complete success of the speech; greatly cheered by my own side, without being once questioned or interrupted by the other. But the speech was far from being my best speech, although it was by far my greatest success. It was an easy speech to make—a mere Blue-Book speech. The case from the papers was overwhelming. All that had to be done was to state it in a clear way, and I should think that more than half the speech consisted of mere reading of extracts, which, however, I read in such a way as to incorporate them in the body of the speech. The opening and the conclusion, both of which were effective, were not my own; for they were suggested to me, only I think on the same day, by William Rathbone, who sometimes thought of a good way of putting things. While I was gratified by the success of the speech, I could not help feeling how completely these things are a matter of opportunity, inasmuch as I had made dozens of better speeches in the House, of which some had been wholly unsuccessful.'

Nothing was wanting to the completeness of the after-effects of his House of Commons triumph.

'The general feeling seemed to be, as Lord Reay put it in his letter of congratulation, that my speech on South African affairs was "the Cape of Good Hope of the Liberal party."' [Footnote: Lord Reay (Baron Mackay of Ophemert), a Hollander by birth, then recently naturalized, spoke with special authority when South Africa was in question. The Barony was originally Scotch, and created in 1628. A peerage of the United Kingdom was conferred on Lord Reay (the eleventh Baron) in 1881.]

By this speech his contemporaries remember Sir Charles as a speaker. Sir
George Trevelyan writes:

"His great speech on South Africa was a wonderful exposition, lucid, convincing, detailed, without being heavy. I can well recall how old members admired the manner in which he ticked off topic after topic, with its due amount of illustration from the Blue-Books."

A letter to Mrs. Pattison, written, as he says in it, "under the violent excitement of a splendid personal success," contains his own estimate. The congratulations of leading men of all parties were couched, he said, "in such a way as made me realize how badly I had always spoken before." And in his Memoir he adds the modest comment that 'praise was forthcoming in abundance. The only praise, however, that I can accept as fairly belonging to this speech, is praise for a past of work which had led up to it.'

The result, especially with an indolent man like Lord Hartington as leader, was that the conduct of the Opposition's case was increasingly left to Sir Charles Dilke. Truth put the popular view amusingly enough in Hiawathan verse:

"Never absent, always ready
To take up the burning question
Of the hour and make a motion:
Be it Cyprus, be it Zulu,
He can speak for hours about it
From his place below the gangway.
No Blue Book avails to fright him:
He's the stomach of an ostrich
For the hardest facts and figures,
And assimilates despatches
In the most surprising fashion."

A serious tribute to his success follows:

'I was asked by Sir Thomas Bazley, who was eighty-two years of age, to stand for Manchester in his place, with a promise from Manchester that my expenses would be paid. But I was under a volunteered pledge not to leave Chelsea until beaten, which I thought I should be "this time."'