Gladstone made some mistakes and he left us one heritage of woe—yet his personality and the respect which it commanded still survive; it will be for another generation to estimate the results of what some of us think to be the unhappy dislocation caused by his Irish policy. It has taken forty-four years to show the full value of the theft of Alsace and Lorraine. What will be said of Home Rule forty-four years hence? Let us pray! Sir William Harcourt was now the leader of the House of Commons, and very well and ably he filled that difficult office. He was really a great parliamentarian, thoroughly imbued with respect for the House and its great traditions, versed in all the intricacies of its procedure, and a jealous defender of its dignity and privileges. People may say what they like, but a great and commanding presence is an asset to him who would be a ruler of men. Harcourt’s tall and imposing figure like that of Saul the son of Kish, his ready wit and facility of speech, combined with ripe knowledge and tried experience, made him a great leader. His qualities gave point to his praise and inspired a certain awe in his followers. If officially he was rather a Tartar, out of Office he was a most agreeable member of society, full of fun and an excellent _raconteur_,—as a host incomparable. In the new session the first spark of interest, or perhaps it would be more fair to say of amusement, was struck by that delightfully saucy imp of mischief, Henry Labouchere who, with his tongue in his cheek, proposed an amendment to the address in which he argued for the abolition of the Veto of the House of Lords. No account of the House of Commons of his time could by any possibility omit to take notice of “Labby.” In spite of all his impertinencies everybody liked him. The smoking-room was his kingdom, and there he sat enthroned, always witty and amusing, and serving as a bond of union between men of all shades of opinion, some of whom, but for him, would never have exchanged a word. He was no respecter of persons, but was never malevolent except in the case of the chief of his party, to whom he would quite openly allude as the “grand old Ananias.” “Don’t you trust that fraudulent old impostor,” was a frequent saying of his. There must have been some deep-rooted cause of offence to provoke such hostility, for Labouchere was really one of the kindest of men. No trouble was too great for him to take on behalf of a friend.