the very best man in the House of Commons.  There wasn’t much to criticise in the Budget of Sir William Harcourt from the Tory point of view.  Finding himself with a deficit the Liberal leader was unable to go in for any startling novelty, especially in a Session when everything is to be opposed in order that Home Rule may be defeated.  But one would have thought that this would have delighted the timid and conservative soul of Mr. Goschen.  Not a bit of it.  Taking cleverly the rather auroral promises of the election period, Mr. Goschen contrasted all these hopes and glowing prospects with the thin and meagre fare of Sir William’s Budget.  It was very well done—­full of unwonted fire, of biting and effective raillery and of excellent party hits; it lit up for a brief space the sombreness which has fallen so completely on the Tory Benches in this year of wails and lamentations.

[Sidenote:  Sir William as an early Christian.]

But the debate soon relapsed under a soporific speech from Sir John Lubbock, who made an insinuating proposal to open a discussion on Home Rule in the midst of the debate on the Imperial Budget.  Sir William was a delight during these proceedings.  Everybody knows that he has both a warm heart and a warm temper, and there have been times when the collisions between himself and Mr. Goschen have seemed to indicate a violence of personal as well as of party antagonism.  But the duty of great ministers is to practise the scriptural principle of turning the other cheek to the smiter.  It is wonderful, indeed, to see how humanity can attune itself to a situation.  The most violent and vehement free-lance below the gangway sobers down in office to politeness, and peace with all men of good or bad will.  Sir William, sitting on the Treasury Bench that night—­beneath the wild tirade of Mr. Goschen—­under the dreary drip of Sir John Lubbock—­was a sight that a new Addison might show to his child; not that he might see how a Christian might die, but how a great Christian official could suffer with all the patience of silent and suffering merit.  There was a look of almost dazzling and beatific sanctity on Sir William’s face that was perfectly delightful to behold.  And when he got up to reply to Mr. Goschen and to Sir John Lubbock, whither had departed that splendid rotundity of voice—­that resonant shout of triumph or of defiance?  Sir William coo’d gently as the white-feathered dove; and the Tory Benches, which had been ebullient with excitement a few moments before, could not find it in their hearts to do other than listen reverently to this good and holy man expostulating with heathen foes.  And thus the first resolution of the Budget got quietly through, which was exactly what the Chancellor of the Exchequer wanted; whereupon there might have been observed, perhaps, by a close looker-on, a sinking of one of Sir William’s eyelids, which might have suggested in a lesser mortal the wink of the man who takes off the mask when the comedy is over.  Sir William is a splendid artiste.