This is Mr. Gladstone, Chancellor of the Exchequer, by right of eloquence, statesmanship, and scholarly attainments, the foremost man in England.  I cannot hope to give a satisfactory description of his speech, nor of its effect upon the House.  His eloquence is of that quality to which no sketch, however accurate, can do justice.  Read any one of his speeches, as reported with astonishing correctness in the London “Times,” and you will appreciate the clear, philosophical statement of political truth,—­the dignified, elevated, statesmanlike tone,—­the rare felicity of expression,—­the rhetorical beauty of style, never usurping the place of argument, though often concealing the sharp angles of his relentless logic,—­the marvellous ease with which he makes the dry details of finance not only instructive, but positively fascinating,—­his adroitness in retrieving a mistake, or his sagacity in abandoning, in season, an indefensible position,—­the lofty and indignant scorn with which he sometimes condescends to annihilate an insolent adversary, or the royal courtesy of his occasional compliments.  But who shall be able to describe those attributes of his eloquence which address themselves only to the ear and eye:  that clear, resonant voice, never sinking into an inaudible whisper, and never rising into an ear-piercing scream, its tones always exactly adapted to the spirit of the words,—­that spare form, wasted by the severe study of many years, which but a moment before was stretched in languid ease on the Treasury benches, now dilated with emotion,—­that careworn countenance inspired with great thoughts:  what pen or pencil can do justice to these?

If any one of that waiting audience has been impatiently expectant of some words equal to this crisis, some fearless and manly statement of the real question at issue, his wish shall be soon and most fully gratified.  Listen to his opening sentence, which contains the key-note to his whole speech:—­“It appears to be the determination of one moiety of this House that there shall be no debate upon the constitutional principles which are involved in this question; and I must say, that, considering that gentlemen opposite are upon this occasion the partisans of a gigantic innovation,—­the most gigantic and the most dangerous that has been attempted in modern times,—­I may compliment them upon the prudence they show in resolving to be its silent partisans.”  After this emphatic exordium, which electrified the House, and was followed by such a tempest of applause as for some time to drown the voice of the speaker, he proceeded at once to demonstrate the utter folly and error of contending that the action of the Lords was supported or justified by any precedent.  Of course, as a member of the Cabinet, he gave his adhesion to the resolutions before the House, and indorsed the speech of the Premier.  But, from first to last, he treated the question as its importance demanded, as critical and emergent, not to be passed by in silence, nor yet to be encountered with plausible and conciliatory expedients.  He reserved to himself “entire freedom to adopt any mode which might have the slightest hope of success, for vindicating by action the rights of the House.”