ate diatribes against Pitt. One phrase has always stuck in my
memory. "There is no crime recorded in history--I do not except the
Massacre of St. Bartholomew--which will compare for a moment with the
means by which the Union was brought about." When the party was breaking
up, one of the diners said: "I hope Mr. Gladstone won't draw that
parallel, between the Union and the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, on a
public platform, or we shall stand even less well with the thinking
public than we do now."

Parliament was dissolved in June, 1892, and, when the elections were
over, it was found that the Liberal Party, including the Irish, had only
a majority of 40. When Gladstone knew the final figures, he saw the
impossibility of forcing Home Rule through the Lords, and exclaimed: "My
life's work is done." However, as we all remember, he took the
Premiership for a fourth time, and during the Session of 1893 passed a
Home Rule Bill through the House of Commons. The Lords threw it out by
419 to 41, the minority being mainly wage-receivers. Other troubles
there were, both inside the Government and outside it; Mr. Gladstone
told his friends that the Naval Estimates demanded by the Admiralty were
"mad and drunk"; and people began to suspect that the great change was
at hand.

On the 1st of March, 1894, Gladstone made his last speech in the House
of Commons. In that speech he bequeathed to his party the legacy of a
nobly-worded protest against the irresponsible power of the "Nominated
Chamber"; and then, having accomplished sixty-one years of Parliamentary
service, he simply disappeared, without ceremony or farewell. In my
mind's eye I see him now, upright as ever, and walking fast, with his
despatch-box dangling from his right hand, as he passed the Speaker's
Chair, and quitted the scene of his life's work for ever.

In spite of warnings and anticipations, the end had, after all, come
suddenly; and, with a sharp pang of regretful surprise, we woke to the
fact that "our master was taken away from our head to-day." Strong men
were shaken with emotion and hard men were moved to unaccustomed tears,
as we passed out of the emptied House in the dusk of that gloomy
afternoon.

On the 6th of March, 1894, Gladstone wrote to me as follows, in reply to
my letter of farewell:

"My speculative view into the future shows me a very mixed spectacle,
and a doubtful atmosphere. I am thankful to have borne a part in the
emancipating labours of the