nce
of Wales has come down to pay the House one of his rare visitations, and
to take that place above the clock which it is his privilege on these
occasions to occupy.

[Sidenote: Sir Henry James.]

The evening began with a speech of Sir Henry James for the Unionist
party--legal and dry as dust, but, towards the end, reaching a
height--or shall I say a depth--of fierce party passion. In language
more veiled, more deliberate, but as intelligible as Mr. Balfour's and
Lord Randolph Churchill's, the ex-Attorney-General called upon the
Orangemen to rise in rebellion. And, working himself up gradually from
the slow and funereal tones which he usually employs, Sir Henry James
wound up with a fierce, rude, savage gibe at Mr. Gladstone. Almost
shouting out the word, "Betrayed!" he pointed a threatening and scornful
finger at the head of Mr. Gladstone, and the Tories and Unionists
frantically cheered.

It was more than ten o'clock when Mr. Balfour rose. The assembly was
brilliant in its density, its character, its pent-up emotion, and in
many respects the speech was worthy of the occasion. He was wise enough
not to entangle himself in the inextricable network of clauses and
sub-sections. In broad, general lines he assailed the policy of the Bill
and of the Government, and now and then worked up his party to almost
frenzied excitement. The cheers of the Tories were taken up by the
Unionists, who thronged their benches with unusual density of
attendance. Now and then there were fierce protests from the Irish
Benches; but, on the whole, they were patient, self-restrained, and
silent.

[Sidenote: Gladstone.]

Mr. Gladstone, meantime, was down early, after but a short stay for
dinner. His face had that rapt look of reverie which it wears on all
these solemn and great occasions, and there was a slightly deadlier
pallor on the cheek. Mr. Balfour persisted with his speech to the bitter
end, and now and then Mr. Gladstone gave an impatient and anxious look
at the clock. The hands pointed to ten minutes to midnight before this
man of eighty-three was on his legs to address a crowded, hot, jaded
assembly in a speech that would wind up one of the great stages in the
greatest controversy of his life.

[Sidenote: The opening.]

We who love and follow him hold our breaths, and our nervous anxiety
rises almost to terror. Can he stand the strain?--will he break down
from sheer physical fatigue and the exhaustion of long waiting? The
fi