Some 50 years ago two Statesmen were discussing the merits of Mr. Pitt and Mr. Fox. The first statesman said the oratory of Mr. Pitt was remarkable because he was never at a loss for a word. The other statesman replied, "Yes, but Mr. Fox was never at a loss for the right word." I, this afternoon, cannot find the right word. I can hardly find any word at all to express adequately to you what I feel on this occasion. I have put this question to myself many times in the last month or so—"What does it all mean? What have I ever done to deserve this great tribute?" I thought that my duty was to go back over my past life, and I began very early, a very long time ago. I went back to the Chartist Riots. I don't suppose there are any of you here who know much about them except by hearsay. I was a very little boy at the time, spending my holidays at Ruperra Castle, and I was just going with my little terrier to hunt a rabbit that had got into the cabbage garden, when the post-boy, who had been sent to Newport to bring out the letters, rode in, pale and quivering, and flung himself from his pony and said that the Chartists were in Newport—"they are lying dead all over the street, and the streets were running with blood. He passed through a lot of people with swords and pikes, but whether they were coming on to Ruperra he did not know." What he effectively did was to pose as a great hero among the maid-servants, and I remember afterwards going up to the post-boy, saying, "Bother your Chartists; come out and help me to catch this rabbit."

That was my first beginning in sport—my first excitement. Then I thought a little bit more. I have a distant recollection that very soon after, I was gazetted as a Viscount. I saw in a newspaper which does not hold the same opinions as I do, the question, "What on earth is Lord Tredegar made a Viscount for?" and the answer was, "I suppose because he has been Master of the Tredegar Hounds for 30 years." I thought, therefore, that I had better leave sport alone for this occasion. For some time I have had running in my mind a stanza written by one who may be called the Australian bush poet, Mr. L. Gordon, a gallant man, who spent most of his time roughing it in the bush. The lines are as follows:—

I've had my share of pastime, I've had my share of toil,
It is useless now to trouble. This I know;
I'd live the same life over if I had the chance again
And the chances are I'd go where most men go.

Mr. Gordon thought he knew where most men go; I don't. I don't pretend to know, but I had thought, until lately, that I would not wish to live the same life over again. But now, when I am here this afternoon, and have received from the hands of so many of my greatest friends these magnificent testimonials of their opinion of me, I can hardly go wrong if I say I would live the same life over if I had to live again.

Well, when I went on with my early history, I found that very, very soon I got among tombstones and family vaults, and I thought that the less I called to mind those among whom I spent my early life the happier it would be for me, certainly on this occasion. But still I wonder what it is that I have done, that has caused so many of my friends and neighbours to gather together to present me with this great tribute of their affection and respect.

It is true that I have had more than my share of this world's goods. There is one thing that has always comforted me when this has been thrown in my teeth, and that is that it was a young man who went away sorrowfully because he had great possessions. I believe I have tried, more or less successfully, to help those in difficulties, and to give to many comfort and happiness who otherwise would have been in much distress and suffering; but I am quite sure that there is no person in this hall who would not have done exactly the same under the same circumstances. I have no doubt that I shall be able to find a place in Tredegar House for this picture. It will, I hope, be a monument in Tredegar House to help those who come after me to try and do some good in their generation with the wealth which may be at their disposal. I thank you from the very bottom of my heart for this great tribute you have paid me.

This Speech was made in December, 1907, in acknowledgment of
Monmouthshire's tribute to Lord Tredegar, which took the
form of an oil painting of himself, a gold cup, an album,
and £2,000, which his Lordship handed over to various
Hospitals.