That, however, was, as everybody knows, a Cabinet of many resignations. It was said, when it at last came to an end, that there was no man in it who had not resigned once at least, and that one or two had resigned many times. The fact is that the disruption of the old Liberal party had already begun. The new wine provided by Chamberlain and Company fermented in the old bottles. Nobody felt very happy in the presence of the member for Birmingham. He was the reverse of conciliatory, and seemed anxious to let everybody know that he recognised no superior. This would not have mattered so much if his conduct had been more consistent with the traditions of Cabinets. Sir William Harcourt was not unversed in intrigue, and one wonders now how a Cabinet which contained those two men held together as long as it did. It was the leakiest Cabinet, so far as its secrets were concerned, that I have known. It is amusing now to recall the fact that at that time an innocent public, which still regarded Mr. Chamberlain as a man with more self-assertion than intellect or force of character, pictured him to itself as the tool of Mr. Morley. It was Mr. Morley, we were told, who found the policy and the brains, and Mr. Chamberlain was but the instrument of his will. This is not the only point upon which the public fell into error, but it is one that deserves to be noted. The ugly wrench which was given to the Ministry by Forster's retirement and the Phoenix Park tragedy that immediately followed it, was aggravated by the revelations at the trial of the murderers of Lord Frederick Cavendish and Mr. Burke. Whilst Mr. Forster was still Chief Secretary it was vaguely known that he had been the object of murderous conspiracies. The _Pall Mall Gazette_ had sneered at the rumours of plots against his life, and had pleasantly hinted that they were all a myth, concocted by Forster's friends in his interests. When James Carey, the infamous ringleader of the assassins, told his dreadful story in the witness-box in order to save his neck, the truth was made known, and the world learned that for months Forster, whilst meeting slander and hostile criticism in England, had been in constant danger of murder in Ireland. I have told elsewhere the story of his last week in Dublin, and of the daily attempts that were made by Carey and his confederates to compass his death. Some of my readers may remember how at the last he only escaped the knives of the assassins by something like a miracle. He was leaving Dublin for the last time, though he himself was not aware of the fact, and he had arranged to go from Westland Row Station by a certain train in order to catch the night boat for Holyhead. In the afternoon his work at the Castle was got through rather sooner than had been expected, and his private secretary, Mr. Jephson, suggested to him that instead of waiting for the train they should drive together to Kingstown, and dine at the club there.