[Speech delivered in the Royal Albert Hall, London, on Thursday, January 14, 1915.]
Mr. Chairman, Ladies and Gentlemen:—I have to apologize to you for being so late, but the apologies are really due from the 20,000 people outside the hall, who are the cause of the trouble. It is becoming an ever-increasing problem as to where we can hold a meeting without causing some riot or disturbance. [Laughter.] Although outside there are angry voices describing this as a ticket meeting, I desire to announce that, with the exception of forty seats in front, some of the boxes, and a few chairs on the platform, every seat in this vast audience has been unticketed and free. [Applause.] Well, ladies and gentlemen, the last time I addressed an audience in this great hall was when, some six years ago, I stood aloof from all the parties in the State, viewing public affairs from the standpoint of the plain, blunt man in the street—the man who ignores all shibboleth and doctrine of high politics, and applies to the various questions of the day the touchstone of simple commonsense, and, with the assistance of that mysterious intuition which is inherent in all mankind, looks things in the face and calls them by their correct names. It is true that at times he embellishes them with certain literary emphasis in order to make his meaning clearer—[laughter]—because he regards the calling of a spade simply a spade as the quintessence of virgin purity, and the exhaustion of the obvious. [Laughter.]
Well, I am here to-night in the same capacity, with an equally remarkable gathering before me, brought together from every part of this great metropolis to do me the honour of listening to what I may have to say about the stupendous problems which to-day confront our empire and country. Mr. Chairman, that is a great compliment, and all I can say by way of deserving it is that, think what else of me you may, at least believe that in this time of our country's trial my patriotism is sincere—[cheers]—and that, from the depths of
