Meanwhile, Gladstone, by his indefatigable insistence on Home Rule and by judicious concessions to opponents, had to some extent repaired the damage done in 1886; but not sufficiently.  Parliament was dissolved in June, 1892, and, when the Election was over, the Liberals, plus the Irish, made a majority of forty for Home Rule.  Gladstone realized that this majority, even if he could hold it together, had no chance of coercing the House of Lords into submission; but he considered himself bound in honour to form a Government and bring in a second Home Rule Bill.  Lord Rosebery became his Foreign Secretary, and Sir William Harcourt his Chancellor of the Exchequer.  The Home Rule Bill struggled through the House of Commons, but was thrown out in the Lords, 41 voting for and 419 against it.  Not a single meeting was held to protest against this decisive action of the Lords, and it was evident that the country was sick to death of the Irish Question.

Gladstone knew that his public work was done, and in the spring of 1894 it began to be rumoured that he was going to resign.  On the 1st of March he delivered his last speech in the House of Commons, and immediately afterwards it became known that he was really resigning.  The next day he went to dine and sleep at Windsor, taking his formal letter of resignation with him.  He had already arranged with the Queen that a Council should be held on the 3rd of March.  At this moment he thought it possible that the Queen might consult him about the choice of his successor, and, as we now know from Lord Morley’s “Life,” he had determined to recommend Lord Spencer.

Lord Harcourt’s evidence on this point is interesting.  According to him—­and there could not be a better authority—­Sir William Harcourt knew of Gladstone’s intention.  But he may very well have believed that the Queen would act (as in the event she did) on her own unaided judgment, and that her choice would fall on him as Leader of the House of Commons.  The fact that he was summoned to attend the Council on the 3rd of March would naturally confirm the belief.  But Dis aliter visum.  After the Council the Queen sent, through the Lord President (Lord Kimberley), a summons to Lord Rosebery, who kissed hands as Prime Minister at Buckingham Palace on the 9th of March.

Bulwer-Lytton, writing “about political personalities, said with perfect truth: 

 “Ne’er of the living can the living judge,
  Too blind the affection, or too fresh the grudge.”

In this case, therefore, I must attempt not judgment but narrative.  Lord Rosebery was born under what most people would consider lucky stars.  He inherited an honourable name, a competent fortune, and abilities far above the average.  But his father died when he was a child, and as soon as he struck twenty-one he was “Lord of himself, that heritage of woe.”