This evil, for it was an evil, resulted from the political stagnation in a country where one dominant permanent issue overshadowed all others.  There being no Unionist candidature possible in the majority of constituencies, any contest was deprecated—­and from some points of view rightly—­as leading to possible faction between Nationalists.  The choice of a member really fell into too few hands; the electorate as a whole was not sufficiently interested.  Nevertheless, several able men came into our ranks, and under the conditions it was not possible to utilize their talents fully, as they would have been utilized had we been in opposition, not in support of the Government.  More could have been done, however, to give them their opportunity, and the responsibility for not varying the list of speakers rests on Redmond.  It was his policy to avoid personal intervention, and to leave such choices to be settled by proposals from the party itself.  This was a real limitation to his excellence as leader—­for leader he was.

There was, however, an even more important limitation arising out of his personal temperament.  As chairman, I never expect to see his equal.  He had the most perfect public manners of any man I have known, whether in dealing with some vast assembly or small confidential gathering.  The latter type of meeting is the more difficult to handle, and nothing could exceed his gift for presiding over and guiding debate.  He could set out a political situation to his party with extraordinary force and lucidity.  He could also, when he chose, so present an issue as to suggest almost irresistibly the conclusion which he desired—­and this was how he led.  Where he came short in the quality of leadership was in the personal contact.

His relations with all his followers in the party were courteous and cordial; yet without the least appearance of aloofness he was always aloof.  He did not invite discussion.  It needed some courage to go to him with a question in policy, and if you went, the answer would be simply a “Yes” or “No.”  He lacked what Lord Morley attributed to Gladstone, “the priceless gift of throwing his mind into common stock.”  No one thought more constantly, or further ahead; but he could not, rather than would not, impart his mind by bringing it into contact with others.  Men like being taken into their leader’s confidence, and he knew this and, I have reason to believe, knew the disability which his temperament laid upon him.  Yet he never made an effort to combat it, partly I think from pride, for he hated everything that savoured of earwigging; he was not going to put constraint upon himself that his following might be more enthusiastic.  There was no make-believe about him, and he was never one who liked discussion for discussion’s sake.