speeches; but some of the language he had employed in dictating them, would naturally recur to his mind, and he always interlaced a great deal of new matter in answer to what had fallen in the course of the debate. This method seems unquestionably the best, having all the sprightliness of extempore speaking, with the grace and elegance of composition. This kind of preparation was peculiarly proper for a man who did not always know when he came into the House, on which side of the question the convenience or circumstances of the day might induce him to get up to speak.
I have heard that the best speech he ever made was after drinking two bottles of champagne in the Parliament coffee-house. There is nothing of his now remaining, I believe, except a pamphlet, entitled a Defence of the Minority, on the question of General Warrants, published I think in 1766; the inscription on his brother, Roger Townshend, in Westminster Abbey; and two or three small poems in Dodsley’s collection.
Some little management and dexterity is necessary even in telling truths. Secretary Craggs used to relate of himself that, when he first came into office, he made it a rule to tell every person who applied to him for a favour the exact truth;[1] that he was either engaged to give the place in question to some one else, or if that were not the case, that he could not possibly promise the office, as other persons with superior pretensions might have a claim to it. But
- ↑ Statesman, yet friend to truth, &c.—Pope.
