like a giant refreshed about ten o’clock, Mr. Chamberlain contrived to once more set aflame the embers of dying passion; and he threw himself into the fight over Lord Wolmer’s amendment at the moment when all life seemed to have gone out of it.  His speech was full of cleverness—­of what the Americans call smartness, and it had all that point, personal and party, which sets your friends in a roar.  The Tories cheered him vociferously, and point after point of brilliant and effective invective pleased the House—­always anxious with its jaded appetite for a sensation.  But when you had time to compare, it with that little speech delivered by Mr. Gladstone earlier in the evening—­when you contrasted its fitful and gaudy brilliancy with the sober and broad wisdom of Mr. Gladstone’s utterance—­then, indeed, you were able to see what a gulf there is between the smart debater and the genuine statesman.

[Sidenote:  A narrow shave.]

At last the debate was over; and then came what was, perhaps, the most exciting and most momentous incident of the evening.  I have already spoken of the interest with which every division is regarded.  The interest in this particular division was fully justified when the numbers were told; for the Government majority had fallen to twenty-one.  At once there was a wild outburst of cheering from the Tory Benches.  Some wits ventured on the cry, “Resign!  Resign!”—­altogether, the Tories had the best quarter of an hour they have enjoyed since that hideous afternoon before the Easter vacation, when, after a prolonged fight, the Old Man had to announce that he could not propose the second reading of the Bill until after Easter.  It was all more or less of an accident; there were plenty of things to account for it—­a reception at the House of a prominent Liberal lady, and many other explanations:  but, all the same, it was a very ugly little incident; and though Mr. Gladstone carried it off with that indomitable courage of his, which doesn’t know what a confession of defeat means, one could see that he did not like it; and for the rest of the evening there was a visible gloom in the Liberal ranks.

[Sidenote:  Happy again.]

But May 31st brought the Derby, and with the Derby there came upon the Tory Benches one of those moments of temptation which the natural man is utterly unable to resist.  The amendments followed each other in rapid succession; division came on top of division; and in them all the Liberals jumped back to their old superiority of numbers.  In the earlier part of the day, when the fortunes of Isinglass were still undetermined, the majorities were enormous; and though there was a certain falling off when sporting gentlemen began to get back from the dusty Downs, the average was well kept up; and it was with a distinct rise in the temperature of Liberal hopes and confidence that this stage was reached.  On the following day the lowness of the voice in the Old Man was a little