As an after-dinner speaker, Lord Granville was quite admirable; no man could turn a compliment with a more persuasive grace, and the points of his speeches, garnished with anecdotes gathered in intimate converse with notable men both at home and abroad, were always telling. Once, as he told me, he happened to ask Charles Dickens whom he considered to be the best after-dinner speaker of the day. Dickens answered: “Well, there are many great orators in England,” and he cited Gladstone, the Duke of Argyll, Disraeli, John Bright, and others; “but if you want a really bright, witty, genial speech for a banquet, commend me to Bishop Wilberforce.” A few days later Lord Granville met the Bishop, and suddenly the spirit of fun moved him to put to his right reverend friend the same question that he had addressed to Dickens. “Oh,” answered the Bishop, using almost the same words as the great novelist, “Gladstone, the Duke of Argyll, Disraeli, John Bright and some others are great speakers. But for a charming after-dinner speech give me Charles Dickens.” I should have added the questioner himself. Lord Granville told me that when Leighton was made President of the Royal Academy he consulted him as to the speeches which he should make at the annual dinner. Lord Granville advised him, since he must have so many toasts to propose, to concentrate himself upon one speech and let the others be merely formal. Above all, not to be too long. “He did not take my advice,” said Lord Granville slyly. Leighton was nevertheless a very effective speaker, though his speeches were too much laboured. He once told me that he was obliged to write them all out and learn them by heart, as the power of “thinking upon his legs” had been denied to him. One evening after the banquet, John Bright went up to him and complimented him on his speeches. Leighton in thanking him asked for the criticism of so great a master, and drove the question home rather persistently. “Well, Sir Frederic, since you ask me,” said Bright, “don’t you think there is rather much confectionery in your oratory—rather sugary, eh?” It was a true criticism; with a little less ornament Leighton’s speeches would have been well-nigh perfect. What made Lord Granville’s short speeches so charming was their freedom from anything like fulsome adulation; he knew how to pay a compliment without rendering it valueless by exaggeration.