On the other hand, he raised the number of Ministers outside the Cabinet from nineteen to twenty-eight.  He scattered the coterie of lawyers who had so long comprised the Government Trust and put in men with red blood and proved achievement—­in the main, self-made like himself.  He installed a trained and competent business man of the type of Sir Albert Stanley, raised in the hard school of American transportation, as President of the Board of Trade:  he drafted a seasoned commercial veteran like Lord Rhondda (D.  A. Thomas), for President of the Local Government Board:  he raised his old and experienced aide, Dr. Christopher Addison, to be Minister of Munitions:  he made Lord Derby, who had conducted the great recruiting campaign, Minister of War:  he put Sir Joseph Maclay, an extensive ship owner, into the post of Shipping Controller.  Everywhere he supplanted politicians with doers.

What was equally important he continued his role of Conciliator, for he placated Labour by giving it a large representation and he took a definite step toward the solution of the Irish problem by making Sir Edward Carson First Lord of the Admiralty.

Even as he stood at what seemed the very pinnacle of his power Destiny once more marked him for its own.  He had scarcely announced his Cabinet when the world was electrified by the news of the German peace proposal.  By his own action Lloyd George had placed himself at the head of the Council charged with the conduct of the war.  To the Wizard Welshman therefore was put squarely the responsibility of continuing or ending the stupendous struggle.

Never before in the history of any country was such momentous responsibility concentrated in an individual.  The dramatic element with which Lloyd George had become synonymous, found an amazing expression.  He was ill in bed when the German suggestion was made.  No official announcement of England’s position in reply could be made until he had recovered.  In the interim the whole world trembled with suspense while stock markets shivered.  The Premier’s name was on every tongue:  the eyes of the universe were focussed on him.  It was indeed his Great Hour.

In what was the most significant speech of his career, and with all the force and fervour at his command, he stated the Empire’s determination to fulfill its obligations to the trampled and ravaged countries.  On that speech hung the stability of international financial credit, the lives of millions of men and the whole future security of Europe.

You have seen the moving picture of a tumultuous life:  what of the personality behind it?

Reducing the Prime Minister to a formula you find that he is fifty per cent Roosevelt in the virility and forcefulness of his character, fifteen per cent Bryan in the purely demagogic phase of his makeup, while the rest is canny Celt opportunism.  It makes a dazzling and well-nigh irresistible composite.

It is with Roosevelt that the best and happiest comparison can be made.  Indeed I know of no more convincing interpretation of the Thing that is Lloyd George than to point this live parallel.  For Lloyd George is the British Roosevelt—­the Imperial Rough Rider.  Instead of using the Big Stick, he employs the Big Voice.  No two leaders ever had so much in common.