His failure lies in a growing tendency to discard an instinctive emotionalism for a calculated astuteness which too often attempts to hide its cunning under the garb of honest sentiment.

His intuitions are unrivalled: his reasoning powers inconsiderable.
When Mr.Lloyd George first came to London he shared not only a room in Gray's Inn, but the one bed that garret contained with a fellow-countryman.

They were both inconveniently poor, but Mr.Lloyd George the poorer in this, that as a member of Parliament his expenses were greater.

The fellow-lodger, who afterwards became private secretary to one of Mr.Lloyd George's rivals, has told me that no public speech of Mr.Lloyd George ever equalled in pathos and power the speeches which the young member of Parliament would often make in those hungry days, seated on the edge of the bed, or pacing to and fro in the room, speeches lit by one passion and directed to one great object, lit by the passion of justice, directed to the liberation of all peoples oppressed by every form of tyranny.
This spirit of the intuitional reformer, who feels cruelty and wrong like a pain in his own blood, is still present in Mr.Lloyd George, but it is no longer the central passion of his life.

It is, rather, an aside: as it were a memory that revives only in leisure hours.