must go to John Bright; but then
Bright's speaking was not spontaneous, and therefore, according to the
definition suggested above, could not be reckoned as Oratory. Yet, when
delivered in that penetrating voice, with its varied emphasis of scorn
and sympathy and passion; enforced by the dignity of that noble head,
and punctuated by the aptest gesture, they sounded uncommonly like
oratory. The fact is that Bright's consummate art concealed the
elaborate preparation which went to make the performance. When he was
going to make a speech, he was encompassed by safeguards against
disturbance and distraction, which suggested the rites of Lucina. He was
invisible and inaccessible. No bell might ring, no door might bang, no
foot tread too heavily. There was a crisis, and everyone in the house
knew it; and when at length the speech had been safely uttered, there
was the joy of a great reaction.

My Father, unlike most of the Whigs, had a warm admiration for Bright;
and Bright showed his appreciation of this feeling by being extremely
kind to me. Early in my Parliamentary career, he gave me some hints on
the art of speech-making, which are interesting because they describe
his own practice. "You cannot," he said, "over-prepare the substance of
a speech. The more completely you have mastered it, the better your
speech will be. But it is very easy to over-prepare your words. Arrange
your subject, according to its natural divisions, under three or four
heads--not more. Supply each division with an 'island'; by which I mean
a carefully-prepared sentence to clinch and enforce it. You must trust
yourself to swim from one 'island' to another, without artificial aids.
Keep your best 'island'--your most effective passage--for your
peroration; and, when once you have uttered it, sit down at once. Let no
power induce you to go on."

Anyone who studies Bright's speeches will see that he exactly followed
his own rule. The order and symmetry are perfect. The English is simple
and unadorned. Each department of the speech has its notable phrase; and
the peroration is a masterpiece of solemn rhetoric. And yet after all
what Demosthenes said is true of these two great men--the Twin Stars of
Victorian Oratory. Each had all the graces of voice and language, and
yet each failed conspicuously in practical effect whenever he ran
counter to the predilections and passions of his countrymen. Gladstone
succeeded when he attacked the Irish Church, and de