BRIGHT AND COBDEN.

577

Mr. Bright, having received from a student in a Nonconformist college a letter asking his opinion on the art of public speaking and on reading sermons, returned the following

answer :

"You ask me two questions, to one of which I can give a ready answer. I have never been in the habit of writing out my speeches; certainly not for more than thirty years past. The labour of writing is bad enough, and the labour of committing to memory would be intolerable; and speeches 'read' to a meeting are not likely to be received with much favour. It is enough to think over what is to be said, and to form an outline in a few brief notes. But first of all, a real knowledge of the subject to be spoken of is required; with that, practice should make speaking easy. As to what is best for the pulpit I may not venture to say much. It would seem that rules applicable to other speaking will be equally applicable to the pulpit. But in a pulpit a man is expected to speak for a given time, on a great theme, and with less exact material than is obtainable on other occasions and on ordinary subjects. And further, a majority of preachers are not good speakers, and perhaps could not be made such. They have no natural gift for good speaking; they are not logical in mind; not full of ideas nor free of speech; and they have none of that natural readiness which is essential to a powerful and interesting speaker. It is possible, nay, perhaps very probable, that if reading sermons were abolished, while some sermons would be better than they now are, the majority of them would be simply chaos, and utterly unendurable to the most patient congregation. Given a man with knowledge of his subject and a gift for public speaking, then I think reading a mischief; but given a man who knows little and who has no gift of speaking, then reading seems to be inevitable, because speaking, as I deem it, is impossible. But it must be a terrible thing to have to read or speak a sermon every week on the same topic to the same people; terrible to the speaker and hardly less so to the hearers. Only men of great mind, great knowledge, and great power, can do this with great success. I wonder that any man can do it. I forbear, therefore, from giving a strong opinion on the point you submit to me. When a man can speak let him speak-it is, no doubt, most effective; but when a man cannot speak he must read. Is not this the sum of the whole matter?"

A few years ago Mr. E. Potter, M.P., informed the members of the Carlisle Debating Club, at one of their meetings, that he heard Mr. Bright say at a dinner party that:

"The whole secret of effective speaking is here-of course, if you mean to speak, you first know what you are going to say; and when you have resolved on that, the next point is to speak very deliberately-every word, in fact every syllable, should be expressed.' And Mr. Bright added, "If you do this, and if you have matter worth listening to, you will be listened to, and you will acquire a confidence and ease you won't acquire in any other way.' That he (Mr. Potter) thought good advice, and he was sorry they could not at all times attend to it, because one was sometimes in the habit of slurring over one's speaking, under the idea that the audience were getting impatient."

Mr. Gladstone has contributed the following incident to this biography:" Mr. Bright was on a visit at Hawarden, when I was residing there under the roof of my brother-in-law, Sir C. J. Glynne, who had other guests, amongst them a distinguished Tory publisher and an archdeacon of the High Church school, a man universally respected and beloved. On the evening before his departure Mr. Bright and I went into a side room for a political conversation. When we returned these two guests had

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retired to their rooms, and Mr. Bright was vexed at not having bid them farewell. Some one took notice of his remarks, and let them know. Presently they reappeared; the archdeacon had assumed his costume as a dignitary of the Church, and the publisher was extremely well got up in a comfortable winter dressinggown. It was on all sides a pleasant exhibition of personal good feeling."

At a local pastime known as "Rushbearing" it is customary for children to carry from house to house garlands of pretty device to exhibit, and "One Ash" has always been a favourite place at which to display them. If Mr. Bright is not at home to admire them, and contribute his annual gift, some of his daughters, with his grandchildren, are generally present to witness the sight, and encourage the exhibition.

It is a fine Sunday in summer time. A ray of light from the east glimmers over the town of Rochdale, and with the progress of the sun's morning beams the inhabitants bestir themselves. The flying shuttle rests, for the labouring loom is still; "the anvil's din has ceased;" the dizzy rounds of the whirling stone is stopped; the roll of heavily-laden carts is no longer heard, for the stiff, unwieldy steed lies in the green pastures. The air is free from the factory smoke; the waves of worldly business are calmed; and the soft green meadows and their upland glade are peaceful. The mountains surrounding Rochdale throw their shadows on the emerald fields at their base; a graver murmur gurgles from the rills; "the gales that lately sighed along the groves have hushed their downy wings in dead repose;" bright butterflies float gaily along the refreshing fields; skylarks, linnets, and thrushes warble in tones less shrill; the merry peal of church bells faintly sweeps over the distant landscape, imparting a feeling of gladness and dreamy peacefulness; the clouds forget to move; "the rooks float by in silent, airy drove." There is no clatter in the streets from the iron-bound clogs, for neatly-shaped shoes encircle the feet of the passer-by; the week-day shawl-begirt face is now crowned with a delicatelywoven straw and choice sprays and wreaths of flowers, and nicelyfitting garments are donned. There is a general air of beautiful repose, and the people speak in subdued tones. It is a day of quiet domestic enjoyment, not saddened, but hallowed; for this day is the couch of time, and the Sabbath calm is round every

where.

"See, through the streets that slumber in repose,

The living current of devotion flows

Its varying forms, in one harmonious band,
Age leading childhood by its dimpled hand."

A SABBATH SCENE AT ROCHDALE.

579

The elderly gentleman quietly walking down the street has made St. Stephen's re-echo again and again with his impressive eloquence. The place of worship to which his footsteps tend is the quiet unpretending little meeting-house of the Friends, situate in George Street, with its little trim grass-plot burial-ground in front, encircled by a high wall. It is a plain stone structure, without Corinthian beauty or Ionian grace, nor has it pillared lines with sculptured foliage crowned, nor is there contrition rolled forth from a majestic organ. There are no painted windows here to exclude the light; no old-fashioned pews, richly curtained and cushioned, where drowsy natures might indulge in balmy sleep; no rich-liveried servant clattering up the aisle to perform the essential offices of carrying one little prayer-book and shutting the door of his employer's pew, who professes to go to church to abjure all the pomps and vanities of this world. The interior and exterior of this edifice could not be plainer; yet there is an air of comfort in the cleanness and plainness of everything. A gallery extends across the back part of it, underneath which there are several rooms in which committee meetings are held. Along the side of the room most remote from the entrance-door is a raised platform, which is set apart for the various officers and ministers of the church, while for the use of the laity there are benches in the remainder of the room. Small indeed is the number of worshippers, yet there may be found amongst them representatives of every class and condition of life. Old and young, rich and poor, the heads of great manufacturing firms, and the humble workmen of various employments. Liberty, humanity, and spiritual religion, are deeply indebted to the members of the Society of Friends, who were persecuted in Old England by Royalist and by Puritan-persecuted in New England by the descendants of the Pilgrim Fathers, with brutality which showed that those good men did not hesitate to copy in their turn, when in power, the harshness against which they had protested when it was exercised against themselves. The records of the early Quakers furnish stories of cruelty and constancy, of torture and endurance, as thrilling as any that can be found in the history of the Covenanters. This religious body has never defiled itself with slavery, and they have always been associated in the popular mind with philanthropy and benevolence.

"One's age should be tranquil, as one's childhood should be playful; hard work at either extremity of human existence seems to be out of place;" and Mr. Bright is conscious of the truthfulness of this aphorism, and having for over forty years worked hard for the benefit of his countrymen, he is now entitled

to more leisure, and, as he has remarked, he is now wishful to leave platform work for younger men. Yet after this life of toil he has still higher aspirations for a better system in State affairs; his ardent mind promises itself many gratifications in the fulfilment of plans which his superior sagacity has sketched out in earlier years, from the intellectual wealth with which he had stored his mind, and which he has improved by observation. He has stamped his image and superscription on all that was sound and solid in the policy of his day. He has always been in favour of providing plenty for the sustenance of the masses, and making them happy, rather than extending our dominions and increasing squalid poverty. There is no great work of statesmanship existing under whose foundations we should not find the coinage of Bright, Gladstone, and Richard Cobden. They have created for themselves in Acts of Parliament for the public good monuments more durable than marble or brass; and they deserve the hosannas of Englishmen, and the thanks of millions yet to be, for they have been the saviours of their country, have earned immortality, and indeed

"The earth has not

Nobler names than theirs."

INDEX.