y he is on
his feet, asking a question of his "right hon. friend opposite." What a
curious attitude the man stands in! Apparently the backs of his legs are
glued to the bench from which he has risen, a device which enables him,
as he speaks, to lean forward like a human Tower of Pisa. He is putting
the simplest question in the world to the Chancellor of the Exchequer,
but if he were a junior clerk asking his employer for the hand of his
eldest daughter he could not look more sheepish. His hat is held in his
left hand behind his back possibly with a view to assist in balancing
him, and to avoid too much strain on the adhesive powers that keep the
back of his legs firmly attached to the bench. With his right hand he
is, when not pulling up his collar, feeling himself nervously round the
waist, as if to make sure that he is there.

Next to him are Mr. Dodson and Mr. Campbell-Bannerman, and, with these
planted between him and actual or aspirant leaders of the Liberal party,
sits Mr. Lowe. I cannot see much of his face from here, for he wears his
hat and at the moment hangs his head. A little later on I both saw and
heard him speak and a splendid speech he made, going right to the heart
of the matter, laying it bare. His success as a debater is a marvellous
triumph of mind over material influences. It would be hard to conceive
a man having fewer of the outward graces of oratory than Mr Lowe. His
utterance is hesitating, sometimes even to stuttering, he speaks
hurriedly, and without emphasis; his manner is nervous and restless, and
he is so short-sighted that the literary quotations with which his
speeches abound are marred by painful efforts to read his notes. Yet how
he rouses the House, moving it to cheers and laughter, and to the rapid
interchange of volleys of "Hear, hear" from opposite sides of the House,
which Chiltern says is the most exhilarating sound that can reach the
ear of a speaker in the House of Commons. Mr. Lowe sits down with the
same abruptness that marked his rising, and rather gets into his hat
than puts it on, pushing his head so far into its depths that there is
nothing of him left on view save what extends below the line of his
white eyebrows.

To the right of Mr. Lowe I see a figure which, foreshortened from my
point of view, is chiefly distinguishable by a hat and pair of boots.
Without absolute Quaker fashion about the cut of the hat or garments,
there is a breadth about the former and a looseness