Mr. Lloyd-George was elected by the bare majority of 18 votes, so that without the small Irish vote in the Carnarvon Boroughs he could not have been returned at his first election for the constituency.  Nor did he forget the fact.  On one occasion we were speaking together in the lobby of the House of Commons when a friend of his came up.  “This,” said Mr. Lloyd-George, slapping me on the shoulder, “is the man who brought me here.”  In a sense it was true, so that I might claim to have assisted in making a British Chancellor of the Exchequer.

I have spoken of the series of bye-elections which Mr. Gladstone described as the “Flowing Tide” which had set in for Home Rule.  I remember with special pleasure one of these—­that for the Rossendale Division of Lancashire.  It was a sample of all the other bye-elections in 1892.  The registration had been well done, and we knew to a man the strength of the Irish vote.  We had 438 on the Register.  This was no mere estimate, and we could give the figures at the time with equal accuracy for most places where we had an Irish population.  Every voter of ours living in Rossendale had been visited.  If he had removed from place to place inside the district it was noted.  If he had gone out of the district he was communicated with, if possible through the medium of the branch of his new location.  We knew where to find them all, and it was astonishing from what distant places men turned up to vote on the election day, through the agency of the local branches of the places to which the voters had gone.

In this Rossendale election I had two of the most capable lieutenants a man need wish to have, Patrick Murphy and Daniel Boyle, both then organisers of our League.  Dan Boyle (now Alderman Boyle, M.P.) took the Bacup end of the Division; Pat Murphy took Rawtenstall; and I made my headquarters at Haslingden, for I had a grah for the place, on account of its connection with my old friend, Michael Davitt.

There can be no better test of a man’s sterling qualities than the opinions held of him by the friends of his youth.  Several times I had had occasion to visit Haslingden, the little factory town in North-East Lancashire, where Martin Davitt, the father of Michael, and his family lived when they came to this country after being evicted from their home in Mayo.  Here I met Mr. Cockcroft, the bookseller, who gave Michael employment after he had lost his arm in the factory, and he and his family bore the Irish lad in kindly remembrance.  But it was among his own people—­those who had been the companions and friends of his youth—­that I found the greatest admiration for “Mick,” as they familiarly called him.  I need scarcely say that they watched with pride the noble career of one who had grown to manhood in their midst.

I was able to turn that feeling to good account on the occasion of this Rossendale election.  I asked the Liberal candidate, Mr. Maden, a young and wealthy cotton spinner of Rossendale, who had given us satisfactory pledges on Home Rule, to invite Michael Davitt’s assistance.  He did so.  I backed up the request by a personal appeal, which he never refused if it lay in his power to do what I wished.  He came, and words fail to describe his loving and enthusiastic reception by his own people.