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 My husband's opponent in this last election was Mr. Saunderson, who based his claims chiefly on the fact that he was the son of the late Colonel Saunderson. "Mr. Saunderson," said my husband, "has protested so often that he is the son of Colonel Saunderson, that I, for my part, am inclined to believe him"—a touch of ridicule that went home with an Irish audience.

He was impatient of bigotry and narrowness and any attempt to stir up in Ulster the ashes of old hatreds and animosities. Once appealing to Ulstermen to forego their enthusiasm for William of Orange, he said with effect: "Why let us quarrel over a dead Dutchman?" His famous reply to Kipling, who by his doggerel tried to fan the flames of civil war, is worth quoting—

"The poet, for a coin, Hands to the gabbling rout A bucketful of Boyne To put the sunrise out."

In Parliament, he was an instant success. He was a born orator and spoke with all the intensity that passionate conviction lends. In his book on Irish Orators, he wrote: "Without knowledge, sincerity, and a hearty spiritual commitment to public causes, the crown of oratory, such as it is, is not to be won." He had those requisites abundantly. In this book he gives a definition of an orator than which nothing could be finer: "The