Prime Minister if he had detected any departure from the narrow and straight path which leads to Radical salvation.  In the background were the dim forces of Unionism, more eager—­perhaps even more reckless—­in readiness to attack Mr. Gladstone than his opponents on the opposite benches.  And behind them and above them, in all parts of the House, was that countless host of busybodies, bores and specialists who see in Egypt an opportunity of airing fads, fanaticism, or vanities.

[Sidenote:  A great eirenicon.]

The paper which contained the list of pairs for the night was crammed with the names of members from both sides, who, anticipating a debate of hours’ duration, had wisely resolved to spend the interval between the motion and a division in the bosoms of their families—­miles away from the floor of the House of Commons.  The Whips had prepared their followers for a big division somewhere about midnight.  And, lo! on all this vast and turbulent sea of conflicting waves the Prime Minister poured half an hour of oratorical oil, and the waters were stilled, and the great deep at perfect rest.  In other words, Mr. Goschen threw away his notes; Labby advised Sir Charles Dilke not to go to a division; the debate had not begun and then it was over, and all that followed was addressed to a House empty of everybody.  The Old Man—­dexterous, calm, instinctive—­had spoken the right word to meet every view, and there was nothing more for anybody to say.  There is nobody else in the House who can do it; when his voice is stilled, the greatest of all Parliamentary secrets will die with him—­the secret of saying the exact thing in the most difficult and embarrassing of situations.  To the outside public, perhaps, this speech appeared nothing remarkable, and the allusions to it I have seen in the press have been few and perfunctory.  You should hear House of Commons’ opinion; you should listen to Unionists who hate him, to Tories who distrust him, to know what an estimate was formed of this marvellous speech by House of Commons’ opinion.

[Sidenote:  The triumph of the miners.]

On the Wednesday, again, Mr. Gladstone gave another example of his extraordinary dexterity.  The miners had come down in full force to demand a legal eight hours.  Sam Woods, of the Ince Division, on the one side, John Burns, of the Battersea Fields, on the other, frowned on the Old Man and bade him surrender.  Behind him sat the great Princes of Industry—­silent, but none the less militant, fierce, and minatory; opposite him was Lord Randolph Churchill, ready to raise the flag of Social Democracy and to wave it before the advancing masses against the Liberal party.  Out of this difficulty, Mr. Gladstone rescued himself with all that perfect, that graceful ease which he most displays when situations are most critical.  The debate was further made remarkable by a speech from Lord Randolph Churchill, who, amid the grim and ominous silence of the Tory Benches, thundered against Capital and Capitalists in tones for which Trafalgar Square or the Reformers’ Tree would be the appropriate environment; and then came the remarkable division, with 279 for the Bill and 201 against.