Speaking in Parliament is indeed a matter very different to addressing an audience in the country, on the hustings, or in some local town hall. The platitudes that evoke such enthusiasm when delivered from a village platform fall very flat in either House. The chilling atmosphere and sparse attendance of the Lords is not conducive to feelings of self-confidence: the critical gaze of fellow-members in the Commons is little calculated to alleviate a sudden paroxysm of shyness. The unknown parliamentary speaker is greeted with a respectful but ominous silence when he rises to his feet. He misses the applause of electors or tenantry to which he is accustomed in his constituency or on his estate. He has no table on which to place his sheaf of notes; there is no water-bottle at hand to moisten his parched lips or give him a moment's pause when the stream of his eloquence runs temporarily dry. He cannot choose the best moment for delivering his speech, but must be content to take such opportunities as are afforded by circumstances. In the House of Commons a member may have waited half the night to catch the elusive eye of the Speaker--though a man who wishes to make his maiden speech is usually accorded this privilege--and, by the time his turn comes, most of his choicest and brightest thoughts have already been anticipated by former speakers. It is not, therefore, to be wondered at that many men find themselves unequal to the task of passing successfully through this ordeal, and that the maiden speech of a future statesman has often proved a complete fiasco. In 1601, we read of a Mr. Zachary Lock, a member who "began to speak, who for very fear shook, so that he could not proceed, but stood still awhile, and at length sat down."[339] This same experience has since befallen many another politician. The bravest men become inarticulate in similar circumstances. After the naval victory of June 1, 1794, Vice-Admiral Sir Alan Gardiner received a vote of thanks from the House of Commons, and, though he had taken the precaution of fortifying himself with several bottles of Madeira, could scarcely summon up courage to mumble a reply.[340] And in our own time we have seen another gallant officer overcome with "House-fright" to such an extent as to be unable to deliver the message which, in his official capacity as Black Rod, he had brought to the Commons. John Bright never rose in the House without what he called "a trembling of the knees." Gladstone was always intensely nervous before a big speech. Disraeli declared that he would rather lead a forlorn hope than face the House of Commons. [339] D'Ewes' "Journal," p. 666. [340] "Life of Sidmouth," vol. i. p. 119. [Illustration: RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN FROM AN ENGRAVING BY J. HALL AFTER THE PAINTING BY SIR J. REYNOLDS]