Mr. Gladstone was very noticeable. Placing one hand
artistically upon the box in front of him, and the other under his coat
tails, he commenced to speak, and in the calmest manner possible,
although with the most telling and polished satire, he aimed dart after
dart across the table at Mr. Gladstone. As he proceeded to traverse the
speech of his distinguished opponent with the most perfect and effective
skill, it soon became evident that in reality he had slept with one eye
open. With masterly tact, he had reserved the principal point in his
reply to the end, and then, bringing his full force to bear upon it, the
conclusion of his speech told with redoubled effect.

[Illustration: LORD BEACONSFIELD. A SKETCH FROM LIFE.]

Whilst upon the subject of Mr. Gladstone and Lord Beaconsfield, I may
narrate a remarkable story, although I am unable to vouch for the
accuracy of it, as I cannot remember who was my original informant, nor
among my friends in or out of Parliament have I succeeded in discovering
anyone who actually witnessed the incident to which it refers. Should it
turn out to be an invention, like the champagne jelly of Lord
Beaconsfield or the eye-glass of Mr. Bright, I shall no doubt be
corrected. But if on the contrary the anecdote be authentic, I may earn
some thanks for resuscitating it. In any case I can testify that at the
time the story was told to me I had undoubtedly every reason to believe
that it was true.

A similar scene to that which I have described above was taking place in
the House between Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Disraeli, when the latter in the
course of his remarks had occasion to quote a passage from a recent
speech made by his rival upon some platform in the country.

Suddenly Mr. Gladstone started up and exclaimed:

"I never said that in my life!"

Disraeli was silent, and, putting his hands behind his back, simply
gazed apparently in blank astonishment at the box in front of him.
Several seconds went by, but he never moved. The members in the crowded
House looked from one to the other, and many imagined that Disraeli was
merely waiting for his opponent to apologise. But Mr. Gladstone, who had
a habit, which he developed in later years, of chatting volubly to his
neighbour during any interruption of this kind in which he was
concerned, made no sign. A minute passed, but the sphinx did not move.

A minute and a quarter, but he was still motionless.

A minute and a half of this silence s