made it almost painful
to look at him; the voice did not shake painfully, and there was a
certain recurrence of that old self-confidence. But still he was far
from what he used to be. The once resonant voice was somewhat muffled
and hoarse, accompanied by a certain tendency to feverish exaggeration
of language--in fact, the old Fourth Party methods of almost conscious
playing to the gallery. However, it was a good fighting speech, and the
Tories had been so depressed by the bad speaking on their own side, and
by the solid bench opposite of cheering, snorting, defiant, but
distinctly practical Welshmen, that they were delighted, and cheered
admiringly.

[Sidenote: Olympian wrath.]

The intimates of Mr. Gladstone declare that composure is perhaps the
most remarkable of his many qualities. In the midst of a Cabinet crisis
he would hand you a postage-stamp as though it were the sole matter that
concerned him. But it is also said by his intimates that he has
possibilities of Olympian wrath which almost frighten people. He was
certainly roused to a passion by Lord Randolph--very much to the
advantage and delight of the House of Commons; for during the earlier
portion of the evening, and especially while the speech of Mr. Asquith
was being delivered, there was an impression that he did not look very
happy. It is known that he is still fondly devoted to the Church, and it
was suspected that though his convictions were settled on the necessity
of doing away with the Establishment in Wales, it was not the kind of
work to which he went with any zest. But Lord Randolph roused the Old
Lion within him, and with flashing eye, with a voice the resonance of
which echoed through the House as though he were twenty years
younger--with abundance of gesticulation, and sometimes with swinging
blows that were almost cruel--he slew the young intruder and wound up
the debate on the Church in a frenzy of excitement and delight among his
followers.

[Sidenote: Mr. Kenyon.]

There came, then, a series of incidents which threw the House into
convulsions of rancorous scorn and farcical laughter. Earlier in the
evening there had been a speech by Mr. Kenyon. Words fail to describe
the kind of speech Mr. Kenyon delivers. Sometimes one is doubtful as to
the sex of the speaker, for he moans out his lamentations over "the dear
old Church of England" exactly as one would imagine a sweet old lady
with a gingham umbrella and a widow's cap to intone it.