und of
Coercion"--as Mr. Carson is usually called--if it was select, was at the
same time, enthusiastic and appreciative. The little band of Unionists,
who get very cold comfort, as a rule, during these hard times, sate
steadily in their seats and eagerly welcomed and warmly cheered Mr.
Carson. Behind him, too, was a pretty strong band of Tories, and Mr.
Balfour sate throughout his entire speech listening to it with the
keenest and most evident appreciation. I have already described the
appearance of Mr. Carson and the impression he makes upon me; curiously
enough, this impression was confirmed by an experience that afternoon. I
happened to stand at a point of the House where I saw Mr. Carson from
profile as he was speaking. He had just got to the point where, with a
hoarse and deep note in his usually cold voice, he said to Mr. Morley
that if the Chief Secretary would move the omission of all the
"safeguards" from the Bill, he would vote along with him. There was a
tone almost of ferocity--the tone which conveyed all the rage and
despair of the Ascendency party in Ireland at the prospect of departing
power--the fury of the Castle official that saw the approaching
overthrow of all the powerful citadel of fraud and cruelty and wrong, of
which he had been one of the chief pillars. And as Mr. Carson was
uttering these words, I saw his profile--which often reveals more of
men's natures than the front face.

[Sidenote: A curious reminiscence.]

I suppose I shall be considered very fantastic--but do you know what I
thought of at that very moment? Some years ago, I stood at Epsom close
to the ropes and saw Fred Archer pass me as he swept like the whirlwind
to the winning-post in the last Derby he ever rode. Between Mr. Carson
and Mr. Fred Archer, especially in the profile, there is a certain and
even a close resemblance; the same long lantern face, the same sunken
cheeks, the same prominent mouth, the same skin dark as the gipsy's.
Never shall I forget the look on Fred Archer's face at the moment when I
saw it--it was but for a second--and yet the impression dwells
ineffaceable upon my memory and imagination. There was a curious mixture
of terror, resolve, hope, despair on the sunken cheeks that was almost
appalling--that look represented, embodied, summed up, as though in some
sudden glimpse of another and a nether world, all the terrible and awful
passions that stormed at the hearts of thousands in the great gambling
panor