[Sidenote:  A pounce.]

At once he pounced on a passage in the speech of Mr. Balfour, who had made the statement that such a policy as Home Rule had always led to the disintegration and destruction of empires.  He rolled out the case of Austria, which had been preserved from ruin by Home Rule; and when there was a sniff from the Tory benches, Mr. Gladstone, in tones of thunder, referred to the speech of Lord Salisbury in 1885, when he was angling for the Irish vote, and when he pointed to Austria as perhaps supplying some indication of the method of settling the Irish question.  This was good old party warfare; the Liberals cheered in delight, and the old warrior glowed with all his old fire.  There was a softer and more subdued tone when the Prime Minister referred to Foreign Affairs, speaking of these things with the slowness and the gravity which such ticklish subjects demand.  But again Mr. Gladstone was in all the full blast of oratorical vehemence when he took up the attack that had been made on the Irish policy of Mr. Morley.  Now and then prompted by that gentleman, and with an occasional word from Mr. Asquith, the Old Man gave figure after figure to show that Ireland has vastly improved since coercion had been dropped as a policy.  Altogether it was a splendid fighting speech, and dissipated in a few moments all prophecies of gloom and forebodings of dark disaster which have been prevalent for so many weeks with regard to the health of the old leader.  Thus in fire and fury began the Session, the leaders on both sides fully equal to their reputation and at their best, and all the dark and slumbering forces that lie behind them as yet an undiscovered country of grim and strange possibilities.

[Sidenote:  Lord Randolph.]

But the solid and united ranks of the Tories were broken by one figure that was once the most potent among them all.  I had been strangely moved at a theatre, a week or so before, as I looked at Lord Randolph Churchill.  I remembered him twelve years ago—­a mere boy in appearance, with clean-shaven face, dapper and slight figure, the alertness and grace of youth, and a face smooth as the cheek of a maiden.  And now—­bearded, slightly bowed, with lines deep as the wrinkles of an octogenarian, he sometimes looks like the grandfather of his youthful self.  It is in the deep-set, brilliant eyes that you still see all the fire of his extraordinary political genius, and the embers, that may quickly burst into flame, of all the passion and force of a violently strong character.  For the moment he sits silent and expectant.  He has even refused to take his rightful place among the leaders of the party on the Front Opposition Bench.  Still he sits in the corner immediately behind, which is the spectral throne of exiled rulers.  He has the power of all strong natures of creating around him an atmosphere of uncertainty, apprehension, and fear.  Of all the many problems of this Session of probably fierce personal conflict, this was the most unreadable sphinx.