and immortal scene.  Outside there is an even denser crowd—­ready to hoot or cheer their favourites.  The galleries are all crowded; peers stand on each other’s toes, and patiently wait for hours.  About ten o’clock a man rushes into the lobby, and there is a movement that looks most like a scare—­as though the messenger were some herald of disaster.  In a few minutes you see a great stir and a curious suppressed excitement in the lobby, and then you observe that the Prince of Wales has come down to pay the House one of his rare visitations, and to take that place above the clock which it is his privilege on these occasions to occupy.

[Sidenote:  Sir Henry James.]

The evening began with a speech of Sir Henry James for the Unionist party—­legal and dry as dust, but, towards the end, reaching a height—­or shall I say a depth—­of fierce party passion.  In language more veiled, more deliberate, but as intelligible as Mr. Balfour’s and Lord Randolph Churchill’s, the ex-Attorney-General called upon the Orangemen to rise in rebellion.  And, working himself up gradually from the slow and funereal tones which he usually employs, Sir Henry James wound up with a fierce, rude, savage gibe at Mr. Gladstone.  Almost shouting out the word, “Betrayed!” he pointed a threatening and scornful finger at the head of Mr. Gladstone, and the Tories and Unionists frantically cheered.

It was more than ten o’clock when Mr. Balfour rose.  The assembly was brilliant in its density, its character, its pent-up emotion, and in many respects the speech was worthy of the occasion.  He was wise enough not to entangle himself in the inextricable network of clauses and sub-sections.  In broad, general lines he assailed the policy of the Bill and of the Government, and now and then worked up his party to almost frenzied excitement.  The cheers of the Tories were taken up by the Unionists, who thronged their benches with unusual density of attendance.  Now and then there were fierce protests from the Irish Benches; but, on the whole, they were patient, self-restrained, and silent.

[Sidenote:  Gladstone.]

Mr. Gladstone, meantime, was down early, after but a short stay for dinner.  His face had that rapt look of reverie which it wears on all these solemn and great occasions, and there was a slightly deadlier pallor on the cheek.  Mr. Balfour persisted with his speech to the bitter end, and now and then Mr. Gladstone gave an impatient and anxious look at the clock.  The hands pointed to ten minutes to midnight before this man of eighty-three was on his legs to address a crowded, hot, jaded assembly in a speech that would wind up one of the great stages in the greatest controversy of his life.

[Sidenote:  The opening.]