There are moments in a man's life when there is a contest between the
lip and the eye, whether we should smile or cry. I am sure you would
not like to see me cry just now, but there is a certain amount of
sentiment in an affair of this sort. For a person in my position it is
rather trying. I feel very much like the little boy you all knew in
your nursery stories. The boy had a pie, and "he put in his thumb and
pulled out a plum and said 'What a good boy am I.'" That is what I
feel now. I suppose I should feel like a philanthropist. You probably
all know what a philanthropist is. A philanthropist is an old
gentleman, probably with a bald head, and he tries to make his
conscience think he is doing good all the while he is having his
pocket picked.
_In reply to a vote of thanks._
"A SPLENDID FELLOW."
[Illustration:"_A philanthropist is an old gentleman, probably with a
bald head._"]
It has been wisely said that there is nothing a man will not believe
in his own favour. Well, after the way you praise me I believe I am a
splendid fellow altogether. But one's name is not always spoken of
with that reverence with which a lord's name ought to be mentioned.
Still, I suppose there is such a thing as ignorance among men about
those who do not live in the same station as themselves, and I always
put it down to that. Some day or other they may come to find out that
what they say against Lord Tredegar is not all true.
_St. Mellons' Show,
September 29th, 1909._