When Mr. Gladstone came to the words. “‘Oh,’ he said, ’I have got the papers,’” Mr. Gladstone began fumbling in his pockets, just as Mr. Chamberlain had done—­with that air of distraction and coming despair which appears on everybody’s face when he is anxiously seeking for an important but mislaid paper; and the resemblance, heightened by just the least imitation of Mr. Chamberlain’s voice, was so striking, so startling, so melodramatic, that the whole House, Tories and all, joined in the wild delight of laughter and cheers—­laughter at the comic power, delight at the splendid courage and exuberant spirit of the prancing old war-horse, delighted, exhilarated, and fortified by the joy of battle and by the richness of his own powers and courage.  Even yet the comic vein was not exhausted.  Mr. Chamberlain—­as I have said—­had made copious quotations from past Irish speeches, and asked that they should be retracted.  “If the work of retraction were to begin, is my right hon. friend,” asked Mr. Gladstone, with scorn in every tone, “willing to submit himself to the same process of examination?  If the work of retraction were to begin he would have a lot to do.”  And then came the passage which has already passed into Parliamentary history.  “If we are to stand in white sheets, my right hon. friend would have to wear that ornamental garment standing in a very conspicuous position.”

[Sidenote:  and Tragedy.]

And then came the other and the tragic note.  Again I have to quote the exact words to convey the impression and explain the description:—­

“If I were in the position of one of those gentlemen—­if I had seen the wrongs and the sufferings of Ireland in former times, if the iron had entered into my soul as it had entered into theirs, it would have been impossible.  I should not have been more temperate possibly than some of them under those circumstances of the language I used. (Cheers.)”

It was when he uttered the words, “if the iron had entered into my soul,” that Mr. Gladstone ventured on the bold gesture of striking his hand against his breast—­a simple gesture, and not an uncommon gesture in itself—­but you should have heard the resonant and thrilling voice—­you should have been under the entrancing and almost bewildering spell beneath which at this moment all the imagination and emotion of the House lay supine, helpless, and drugged—­to have understood the shiver of feeling which passed through everybody.  And so he went on—­rising higher and higher—­a deeper harmony in every note—­a more splendid strength in every sentence—­till you almost thought you were looking at some great bird—­with the strength and splendour of the eagle, the full-hearted and passionate melody of the lark—­as it soared on, on its even and well-poised wing, higher and higher to the dim and blue ether of the upper air.

[Sidenote:  A strange scene.]