facts straight in the face, who had the
courage to face the disagreeable solution of a troublesome and perilous
problem. And, in spite of its lethargy, its hatred of his opinions, the
House of Lords felt this also, and there was something of awe in the
silence with which it listened to the ringing words of warning with
which the speech concluded. And its attitude showed more. It was, so to
speak, a soul's awakening; it was the discovery of having found at last
a man who could sway, impress, and strike its imagination.

[Sidenote: Salisbury's signal failure.]

On Friday night, September 8th, Lord Salisbury had his opportunity of
undoing this great effect--of reasserting that intellectual as well as
mere voting dictatorship which he holds in the House of Lords; and he
signally failed to rise to the occasion. I do not like the policy of
Lord Salisbury, but there is a lucidity, a point, and sometimes a vigour
in his speeches which make them usually charming reading. It was,
therefore, with the full expectation of being interested that I listened
to him, but he drove me out of the House by the impossibility of my
keeping awake under the influence of his dull, shallow, and
disappointing speech. He began with a little touch of nature that
certainly was prepossessing. He had brought in with him a dark-brown
bottle, like the bottle one associates with seltzer water. The fluid was
perfectly clear; it was evidently not like the strong wine which Prince
Bismarck used to require in the days when he used to make great
speeches. And Lord Salisbury, as he poured out a draught--it looked very
like Johannis water--lifted up the bottle to the Ministers opposite with
a pleasant smile, as though to prove to them that he was not offending
against even the sternest teetotal code.

It was the first and the last bit of real human naturalness in the whole
speech, for Lord Salisbury's manner and delivery are wooden, stiff,
awkward and lumbering. He stands upright--except, of course, for that
heavy stoop of the shoulders which is one of his characteristics--and
rarely moves himself one-hundredth part of an inch. The voice--even,
clear, and strong, and yet not penetrating, and still less
inspiring--rarely has a change of note; it is delivered with the
strange, curious air of a man who is thinking aloud, and has forgotten
the presence of any listeners. The eyes--hidden almost amid the shaggy
and black-grey hair which covers nearly the whole face--