But at last he is approaching the peroration. It has
the glad note of coming triumph--subdued, however, to the gentle tone of
good taste. It is delivered, like the whole of the speech, with
extraordinary nerve, and without any abatement of the fire, the
vehemence, the sweeping rapidity of the best days. And it ends in notes,
clear, resonant--almost like a peal of joy-bells.
[Sidenote: The division.]
Then there are the shouts of "Aye" and "No," with "Agreed, agreed!" from
some Irish Benches--a humorous suggestion that highly tickles everybody.
Mr. Gladstone is almost the last to enter from the lobby of the
majority. Alone, slowly, with pale face, he walks up the floor. The
significance of the great moment, the long years of struggle, of heroic
courage, of inflexible temerity, of patient and splendid hope, all this
rushes tumultuously to the minds of his friends and followers, and, in a
second, without a word of warning or command, the Liberals and the Irish
have sprung to their feet, and, underneath their cheers--their waving
hats, their uplifted forms--Mr. Gladstone passes through to his seat as
under a canopy.
At last, Tom Ellis, the Junior Liberal Whip, quickly comes up the
floor--the paper is handed to Mr.
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