e, for, impetuous as he
was when stirred by some sudden excitement, he showed an Ulyssean
caution whenever he took a deliberate survey of the conditions that
surrounded him. It was the proud self-confidence of a strong
character, which was willing to risk fame and fortune in pursuing a
course it had once resolved upon; a character which had faith in its
own conclusions, and in the success of a cause consecrated by
principle; a character which obstacles did not affright, but rather
roused to a higher combative energy. Few English statesmen have done
anything so bold as was Mr. Gladstone's declaration for Irish Home
Rule in 1886. He took not only his political power but the fame and
credit of his whole past life in his hand when he set out on this new
journey at seventy-seven years of age; for it was quite possible that
the great bulk of his party might refuse to follow him, and he be left
exposed to derision as the chief of an insignificant group. As it
happened, the bulk of the party did follow him, though many of the
most influential refused to do so. But neither he nor any one else
could have foretold this when his intentions were first announced.

We may now, before passing away from the public side of Mr.
Gladstone's career, return for a moment to the opposite views of his
character which were indicated some pages back. He was accused of
sophistry, of unwisdom, of want of patriotism, of lust for power.
Though it is difficult to sift these charges without discussing the
conduct which gave rise to them, a task impossible here, each of them
must be briefly examined.

The first charge is the most plausible. His ingenuity in discovering
arguments and stating fine verbal distinctions, his subtlety in
discriminating between views or courses apparently similar, were
excessive, and invited misconstruction. He had a tendency to persuade
himself, quite unconsciously, that the course he desired to take was a
course which the public interest required. His acuteness soon found
reasons for that course; the warmth of his emotions enforced the
reasons. It was a dangerous tendency, but it does not impeach his
honesty of purpose, for the influence which his predilections
unconsciously exerted upon his judgment appeared also in his
theological and literary inquiries. I can recall no instance in which
he wilfully misstated a fact, or simulated a feeling, or used an
argument which he knew to be unsound. He did not, as does the sophist,