at they gave pledges in favor of the ballot without
due consideration."

He said: "There is a celebrated river, which has been the
subject of political interest of late, and with which we
are all acquainted. It rolls its magnificent volume, clear and
pellucid, in its course; but it never reaches the ocean; it
sinks into mud and morass. And such will be the fate of
this mechanical majority. The conscience of the country is
against it. It is an old-fashioned political expedient;
it is not adapted to the circumstances which we have to encounter
in the present, and because it has no real foundation of truth
or policy, it will meet with defeat and discomfiture."

Gladstone had, what is quite rare, and what no famous American
orator that I now think of, except Choate and Evarts, have
had--a tendency to diffuse and somewhat involved speech, and
at the same time a gift of compact epigrammatic utterance
on occasions. When Mr. Evarts, who was my near relative,
and a man with whom I could take a liberty, came into the
Senate, I said to him that we should have to amend the rules
so that a motion to adjourn would be in order in the middle
of a sentence; to which he replied that he knew of nobody
in this country, who objected to long sentences, except the
criminal classes.

Gladstone was the last of a school of oratory, and the last
of our time--I hope not for all time--of a school of statesmen.
When he entered upon a discussion in Parliament, or on the
hustings, he elevated it to the highest possible plane. The
discussion became alike one of the highest moral principles
and the profoundest political philosophy. He seemed to be
speaking as our statesmen of the Revolutionary time, and the
time of framing our Constitution. He used to speak to all
generations alike. What he had to say would have been true
and apt and fit to be uttered in the earlier days of Athens
and Rome, and true and apt and fit to be uttered for thousands
of years to come. He had, in a large measure, a failing which
all Englishmen have, and always had; the notion that what
is good for England is good for humanity at large. Still
it was a lofty morality and a lofty ideal statesmanship. It
was sincere. What he said, that he believed. It came straight
from his heart, and he kindled in the bosoms of his listeners
the ardor of his own heart. He was not afraid of his ideals.

I heard Dr. Guthrie in Edinburgh in 1860. It was a hot day.
My companio