In his incomparable biography of his uncle, Sir George Trevelyan tells of the success of his maiden speech. Q, who heard it, describes it as electrifying the House. He adds that by refraining from early reappearance in debate Macaulay shrewdly preserved his laurels. ‘He had no gift for extemporaneous speeches. His contributions to debate were carefully studied and committed to memory. He bestowed a world of labour on their preparation. In every sentence we saw the man of genius, the profound scholar, the deep thinker, the close and powerful reasoner. His diction was faultless. As a speaker, he was not forcible or vehement, carrying his audience away with him as by force. Rather, by his dulcet tones and engaging manner, he took his hearers with him willing captives.’ Whilst the late Duke of Devonshire sat in the House of Commons as Lord Hartington, I frequently found in him curiously close resemblance, mental and physical, to Lord Althorpe, Leader of the House of Commons during Lord Grey’s premiership, and the short duration of the first administration of Lord Melbourne. The impression is confirmed by Q’s description. ‘He was one of the worst speakers in the House. It was a truly melancholy spectacle to see him vindicating the Government when in the progress of the Irish Coercion Bill of 1833 it was assailed by O’Connell, Sheil, and other Irish Members. He could not put three or four sentences together without stammering, recalling his words over and over again.’ This is an exaggerated description of Lord Hartington’s manner of speech. In later days he with sedulous practice improved. His speeches, found to be surprisingly good when read from verbatim report, suffered considerably by ineffective delivery. We come nearer to Lord Hartington as Q proceeds with his study of Lord Althorpe. ‘He has a sound judgment, which makes him invariably take the common-sense view of a subject. With all his faults as a speaker he was much esteemed by men of all parties. It was impossible for anyone, however much he might differ from him in sentiment, not to respect him. Nothing could make him lose his temper. In the most violent altercations, amid scenes of greatest uproar and confusion, there he stood motionless as a statue, his face shadowing forth the most perfect placidness of mind.’ This might have been written of Lord Hartington through many a stormy scene in the House of Commons, as he sat on the front Opposition Bench, one hand in his trouser pocket, his hat tilted over his nose, his face as stony as that of the Sphinx.