leader, a strenuous conservative leader, the head of the protectionists, the opponent of democracy, and the author of the change which upset his own policy of 1832 and committed power to democracy in 1867, all these parts he filled in turn. He was not a statesman of profoundly settled convictions or of widely constructive views. He was a man rather of intense vitality than of great intellect, a brilliant combatant rather than a cautious or philosophic statesman. The work with which he was most identified, the re-creation of the conservative party after its disintegration on the fall of Peel, was Disraeli's rather than his own; and the charge of a timid reluctance to assume the responsibilities and toil of office is one that may fairly be made against him.
Derby's personality was full of charm. He was handsome in person, with striking aquiline features; in manner he was somewhat familiar and off-hand, but beneath this facility lay an aloofness from all but social equals and intimates which stood considerably in his way as a party leader. This disadvantage operated less in his earlier years. ‘Although he gave offence now and then,’ says Stratford Canning in 1835 (Poole, Life of Stratford Canning, ii. 37), ‘by a sort of schoolboy recklessness of expression, sometimes even of conduct, his cheerful temper bore him out and made him more popular than others who were always considerate but less frank.’ Twenty years later, however, there is no doubt that his party had reason to complain of the way in which their leader stood apart from their rank and file. He had a beautiful tenor voice, though he knew and cared nothing about music; his delivery was stately and animated, and he was always a luminous and impressive speaker. He was one of those orators who feel most nervous when about to be most successful. ‘My throat and lips,’ he told Macaulay, ‘when I am going to speak are as dry as those of a man who is going to be hanged.’ ‘Nothing can be more composed and cool,’ adds Macaulay, ‘than Stanley's manner; his fault is on that side. Stanley speaks like a man who never knew what fear or even modesty was’ (Trevelyan, Life of Macaulay, i. 242). Bulwer-Lytton, in the ‘New Timon’ (1845), described him as ‘frank, haughty, rash, the Rupert of debate.’
Derby was a rapid and shrewd man of business and a great Lancashire magnate. In 1862 he succeeded the Earl of Ellesmere as chairman of the central relief committee at Manchester during the cotton famine, and it was to the impetus which he gave to the movement both before and after this change, especially by his great speeches at Bridgewater House and at the county meeting on 2 Dec. 1862 (separately published), and to his conduct of its business, that the success of the relief movement was due (see A. Arnold, History of the Cotton Famine).
All his life he was keenly interested in scholarship and passionately devoted to sport. His latinity was easy and excellent, and as chancellor of the university of Oxford, in which office he succeeded the Duke of Wellington in 1852, he made Latin speeches, especially in 1853 at his installation, and in 1863, when the Prince and Princess of Wales visited Oxford, which were the envy of many professional scholars (for the latter speech see Ann. Reg. cv. 98). The Derby (classical) scholarship, tenable for a year, and of the annual value of about 150l., was founded in 1870 to commemorate his connection with Oxford University. His blank-verse translation of the ‘Iliad,’ which had occupied him for some years, appeared first privately in 1862, then was formally published in 1864, and had reached a sixth edition by 1867, to which were added other translations of miscellaneous poetry, classical, French, and German, chiefly written before he was thirty. His ‘Iliad’ is spirited and polished, and, though often rather a paraphrase than a translation, is always more truly poetic than most of the best translations. He had a strong literary faculty, and his English prose—for example, in his report on the cotton famine in 1862—was nervous and admirable. He also wrote some ‘Conversations on the Parables for the Use of Children,’ 1837; other editions 1849 and 1866. To shooting and racing he was equally devoted. He constantly said, perhaps with some affectation, that he had been too busy with pheasants to attend to politics, and his ready indulgence in sporting slang, even on the gravest occasions, occasioned some misgiving to his respectable middle-class supporters. Greville, who knew him well on the turf, but neither liked nor trusted him, dwells on his boisterous and undignified manners and on the sharpness of his practices (e.g. Memoirs, 1st ser. ii. 374, iii. 35; 2nd ser. iii. 403, 463). He never won the Derby, Oaks, or St. Leger, though he had begun training when, as quite a young man, he managed his grandfather's racing stud, and made many efforts with many racehorses. He owned Toxopholite, which was favourite for the Derby in 1858; Ithuriel, which was got at and lamed; Dervish, and Canezou. He trained with John Scott (1794–1871) [q. v.], and would often leave the House of Lords to catch the night
