dancy
over the House of Commons which he exercised formerly. It is an
ascendancy not due in the least to oratorical power. Sir Charles Dilke
never made a fine sentence or a sonorous peroration in his whole life.
It is that power of acquiring all the facts of the case--of being
thoroughly up in all its merits--in short, of knowing his
business--which impresses the House of Commons, which, after all, though
it may cheer the gibes of a smart and pert debater like Mr. Chamberlain,
is most happy when it hears a man talking of something which he
understands thoroughly.

[Sidenote: Joe as a Jingo.]

Mr. Chamberlain spoke, as I have said, in the debate. It was a very
characteristic speech. I know people think I am prejudiced about this
gentleman. Not in the least. I recognize that he has many splendid
qualities for political life. They are not qualities which I think
highest either in the oratorical or the intellectual sense. He also has
staying power, and has gone through seven terrible years. There is the
trace of all the bitterness of that struggle in his face--which has lost
in these years the almost boyish freshness of expression and outline,
which bears in every deep line a mark of the ferocity of the passions by
which his breast has been torn. He is one of the many men in the House
of Commons that give one the impression of being hunted by the worst and
most pitiless of all furies--violent personal passion--especially for
power, for triumph, for revenge. But still, there he is--ready as ever
to take part in the struggle--still holding the position he held seven
years ago--with no sign of weakening or repentance, though there be
plenty of the hunger of baulked revenge.

[Sidenote: The tragedy of politics.]

What a pity it is we can't see some of those great political figures in
the nudity of their souls. They must have many a bitter moment--many an
hour of dark and hopeless depression--probably far more than other men;
for them emphatically life is a conflict and a struggle. And the
conflict and the struggle often kill them long before their time. Was
there ever anything much more tragic than the cry of M. Ferry for "le
grand Repos," as he lay stifling from the weakening heart which the
bullet of a political enemy and the slings and arrows of years of
calumny and persecution had at last broken? To any man with ordinary
sensitiveness of nerves, a political career is a crucifixion--many times
repeated. But Mr. Chamberl