Mr.Marjoribanks rushed from lobby to Mr.Gladstone, from Mr.Gladstone to lobby--and still there hung in the air the fatal question: "Was the Government going out ?" Ah! think of it.

Was Gladstone going to end his days in baffled purpose, in melancholy retirement, with the great last solemn issue of his life ended in puerile fiasco and farcical anarchy, instead of in the picture of two nations reconciled, an empire strengthened and ennobled, all humanity lifted to higher possibilities of brotherhood and concord, by the peaceful close of the bloody and hideous struggle of centuries?
Think of it all, I say, and then go also in imagination to the door of the House of Commons, and see a Scotch Liberal fighting for dear life to bring into the Tory lobby the necessary number of misguided and ignorant neophytes to bring down this disastrous catastrophe.
[Sidenote: Why no signal ?] Meantime, confusion still reigned on the Liberal benches.

Men were confused, and bewildered, and irresolute, and frightened, conscience of calamitous danger, and yet unable to understand it all.

And here let me say that this state of confusion was due partly to bad leadership.

There is a want of cohesion--on this day in particular--on the Treasury bench.
Mr.Gladstone, like all ardent natures, takes too much on himself.