[Illustration:  A Cameron Man.]

“No,” said CAMPBELL-BANNERMAN; “it was meant to be STALBRIDGE’S; but I fancy SEXTON will save him from full inconvenience of the ceremony.”

So it turned out; House tired of business long before Windbag SEXTON had blown himself out.  Poor JOHN MOWBRAY admittedly flabberghasted by the interminable string of questions under which SEXTON had tried to disguise his speech.  STALBRIDGE got off without direct censure, and DONALD CAMERON abruptly turned the conversation in the direction of Opium.

Business done.—­In Committee on Irish Land Bill.

House of Lords, Tuesday.—­Lords met to-night after Easter Recess; come together with a feeling that since last they met a gap been made in their ranks that can never be filled.  The gentle GRANVILLE’S seat is occupied by another.  Never more will the Peers look upon his kindly face, or hear his lisping voice uttering bright thoughts in exquisite phrase.

KIMBERLEY sits where he was wont to lounge.  K. a good safe man; one of the rare kind whose reputation stands highest with the innermost circle of those who work and live with him.  To the outside world, the man in the street, KIMBERLEY is an expression; some not quite sure whether he isn’t a territory in South Africa.  Known in the Lords, of course; listened to with respect, much as HALLAM’S Constitutional History of England is occasionally read.  But when to-night he rises from GRANVILLE’S seat and makes a speech that, with readjustment of circumstance, GRANVILLE himself would have made, an assembly not emotional feels with keen pang how much it has lost.

The MARKISS should be here.  Perhaps for himself it is as well he’s away.  To him, more than anyone else in the House, the newly filled space on the Bench opposite is of direful import. The MARKISS has no peer now GRANVILLE is gone; the two were in all characteristics and mental attitudes absolutely opposed, and yet, like oil and vinegar, the mixing perfected the salad of debate.  The lumbering figure of the black-visaged Marquis at one side of the table talking at large to the House, but with his eye fixed on GRANVILLE; at the other, the dapper figure, with its indescribable air of old-fashioned gentlemanhood, the light of his smile shed impartially on the benches opposite, but his slight bow reserved for the MARKISS, as, leaning across the table, he pinked him under the fifth rib with glittering rapier—­this is a sight that will never more gladden the eye in the House of Lords.  GRANVILLE was the complement of the MARKISS; the MARKISS was to GRANVILLE an incentive to his bitter-sweetness.  Never again will they meet to touch shield with lance across the table in the Lords.  LYCIDAS is dead, not ere his prime, it is true;

  “But, O the heavy change, now thou art gone,
  Now thou art gone, and never must return!”