This letter, said Mr. Gladstone,
was not addressed to him. It was not addressed to a Home Ruler. By this
time, curiosity was keenly excited. But Mr. Gladstone--smiling, holding
the House in firm attention and rapt admiration--was determined to play
with the subject a little longer. The letter was not directed even to
the Commoner. It was directed to a "Peer;" and as he uttered this sacred
word, with a delicious affectation of reverence, he raised the index
finger of his hand to high heaven, as though only a reference to a
region so exalted could sufficiently manifest the elevation of the
personage who had been the recipient of the letter. The House saw the
point, and laughed in great delight. It is on occasions like these that
one sees the immense artistic power which lies under all the seriousness
and gravity of Mr. Gladstone--the thorough exuberance of vitality which
marks the splendid sanity of his healthy nature.
[Sidenote: Mr. Birrell.]
I always tremble when I see a literary man, and especially a literary
man with a high reputation, rise to address the House of Commons. The
shores of that cruel assembly are strewn with the wrecks of literary
reputations.
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