Here was, indeed, a man not of words
but of deeds; one who spoke not mere phrases coined from the imaginings
of the brain, but one who had seen and heard and throbbed; had looked
unappalled into the depths and the abysses of human life, and the
dreadest political experiences; one who had visited the Purgatorio and
conversed with the lost or the tortured souls, and come back from the
pilgrimage with words of hope, faith, and charity. Altogether it was a
fine speech--worthy of the man, worthy of his career, worthy of the
great and historic occasion.
[Sidenote: Funereal Devonshire.]
I wish I could say as much of the speech of the Duke of Devonshire. It
may be that his miserable failure was due to the fact that he is as yet
unaccustomed to the House of Lords, and that the modesty which is
undoubtedly one of his disadvantages as a public speaker has not yet
been overcome; but his speech was a return to the very worst manner of
his earlier days in the House of Commons. I have heard the Duke of
Devonshire in his early manner and in his late; and his early manner was
about as detestable as a man's manner could have been. He had a habit of
sinking his voice as he approached the end of a sentence, so that a
sentence beginning on a high note gradually sank to a moan, and a
murmur, and a gulp.
Pages:
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428