eches as he goes on--although the
material may be prepared beforehand--and, as we know, he can turn from
the course of his argument to answer quickly and effectively some
pertinent or impertinent question or interruption.

Since Mr. Chamberlain has become such a leading light in Parliament, his
speeches have taken a much more solid, sedate, and serious tone than
they had in his early Birmingham days. They have become considerably
more weighty--perhaps some of his unfriendly critics would say more
heavy--than they were in bygone times. Without being open to the charge
of levity or flippancy, Mr. Chamberlain's speeches used to be remarkable
for a certain amount of humour, banter, touch-and-go smartness, as well
as terse argumentative force.

At one time he was an appreciative student of the American humorists,
and he was very fond of spicing his remarks with apt and amusing
quotations from Hosea Biglow, Mark Twain, Artemus Ward, and other comic
classics. Indeed, at one time, no speech of his would have been complete
without some little sallies of this kind. Now, however, he rarely
indulges in such pleasantries. Mr. Chamberlain's speeches in the House
of Commons though never dull are never funny. He soon learned his
lesson. He very quickly discovered that members of the House may not
object to be amused, and are often, it must be admitted, easily moved to
mirth. At the same time the members of that assembly do not place a high
value upon the words of funny or would-be funny speakers.

Unless he has changed very much, Mr. Chamberlain has a very keen sense
and appreciation of humour. Probably he would like sometimes to indulge
himself and amuse the House by firing off some humorous hits and
quotations, but he knows the importance of suppressing such instincts
and tendencies if he is to be taken seriously and regarded as a
statesman. Blue books and Biglow, Bills and Sam Slick, do not make the
sort of political punch that an influential leader can afford to ladle
out at St. Stephen's. At the same time, if he cared to indulge his own
ready wit, or to make use of the amusing extracts he has stored away in
his memory, he could doubtless make some lively and diverting speeches.

I remember when Mr. Chamberlain was Mayor of Birmingham, the late Mr.
George Dawson at a little dinner proposed his health, and in doing so
indulged in some characteristic banter and chaff. Mr. Chamberlain, then
as now, was not a man of Aldermanic girth