All this, I say, you could see in the abstracted, resigned and composed look of Mr.Gladstone at the moment when his triumphant enemies, in their summer garb, with their smiling faces, and strutting walk, entered the House of Commons.

If you wanted to see at once the contrast, not only of the temper of the hour, but the still greater and more momentous contrast of temperaments, you had only to look from the face of Mr.Gladstone to that of Mr.Chamberlain.

The contrast of their years--the deeper contrast of their natures--above all, the profounder contrast of their worlds of thought, training and environment--all were brought out.

In that perky, retrousse-nosed, self-complacent, confidently smiling man you saw all the flippancy--so-called realism--the petty commercialism of the end of the middle of the nineteenth century.

The mysticism, the poetry, the rich devotion, the lofty and large ideals of the beginning of the century--of the time that remembered Byron and produced Newman--all these things were to be seen in the rapt look of that noble, beautiful and refined face on the Treasury Bench.