about the latter
suggestive of Quaker associations. Perhaps if my idea were mercilessly
analysed it would appear that it has its growth in the knowledge that
I am looking down on Mr. Bright, and that I know Mr. Bright is of
Quaker parentage. But I am jotting down my impressions as I receive
them. Mr. Bright does not address the House to-night, but he has made
one or two short speeches this Session, and Chiltern, who has heard
them, speaks quite sorrowfully of the evidence they give of failing
physical power. The orator who once used to hold the House of Commons
under his command with as much ease as Apollo held in hand the fiery
coursers of the chariot of the sun, now stands before it on rare
occasions with a manner more nervous than that in which some new
members make their maiden speech. The bell-like tones of his voice are
heard no more; he hesitates in choosing words, is not sure of the
sequence of his phrases, and resumes his seat with evident
gratefulness for the renewed rest.

Chiltern adds that much of this nervousness is probably owing to a
sensibility of the expectation which his rising arouses in the House,
and a knowledge that he is not about to make the "great speech" looked
for ever since he returned to his old place. But at best the matchless
oratory of John Bright is already a tradition in the House of Commons,
and it is but the ghost of the famous Tribune who now nightly haunts
the scene of his former glories. Mr Gladstone was sitting next to Mr.
Bright, in what the always smiling and obliging attendant tells me is
a favourite attitude with him. His legs were stretched out, his hands
loosely clasped before him, and his head thrown back, resting on the
cushion at the back of the seat, so that the soft light from the
illuminated roof shone full on his upturned face. It is a beautiful
face, soft as a woman's, very pale and worn, with furrowed lines that
tell of labour done and sorrow lived through.

Here again I am conscious of the possibility of my impressions being
moulded by my knowledge of facts; but I fancy I see a great alteration
since last I looked on Mr. Gladstone's face, now two years ago. It was
far away from here, in a big wooden building in a North Wales town. He
was on a platform surrounded by grotesque men in blue gowns and caps,
which marked high rank in Celtic bardship. At that time he was the
nominal leader of a great majority that would not follow him, and
president of a Ministry that