In the "Essence of Parliament" little is said of the arguments, but we get a glimpse of Lord Randolph Churchill's return to the political arena and echoes of the unbridled loquacity of Mr. Sexton. The cartoons are more instructive, notably that on the introduction of the "Guillotine" by Gladstone, with the G.O.M. as chief operator, Harcourt and Morley as republican soldiers, and Amendments, as heads, falling into a waste-paper basket. The fate of the measure is neatly hit off in the "Little Billee" cartoon; Home Rule as "Little Billee" is about to be massacred by the House of Lords, represented by Salisbury and Hartington as chief villains. "Little Billee" in the legend not only survived but attained high distinction in after life; but it is hard to say whether _Punch_ implied a similar resurrection for the Bill of 1893. But whatever were his views on the merits of Home Rule, _Punch_ was decidedly critical of the Government's naval policy, and when Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Morley had simultaneously made seemingly irreconcilable speeches on the subject, he adroitly invoked the shade of Cobden, who had, in certain conditions, proclaimed himself a Big Navyite. _Punch_ fortified the argument by a set of verses headed "Rule Britannia" and ending with this stanza:-- Devotion to the needs of home And claims parochial is not all. Beware lest shades more darkling come With gloomier writings on the wall. Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves! Britons to careless trust should ne'er be slaves. [Sidenote: _Mr. Gladstone and his Successor_] Yet when Mr. Gladstone resigned the premiership, early in 1894, _Punch's_ tribute is an unqualified eulogy of the "Lancelot of our lists":-- "Unarm, _Eros_; the long day's task is done." This is no _Antony_; here's a nobler one; Yet like the Roman his great course is run. From source to sea a fair full-flooded flow Of stainless waters, swelling as they go, Now widening broad in the sun's westering glow, Broad widening to the ocean, whither all The round world's fertilizing floods must fall, The sweeping river with the streamlet small. Hang up the sword! It struck its latest stroke, A swashing one, there where the closed ranks broke Into wild cheers that all the echoes woke. That stroke, the last, was swift, and strong, and keen, Now hang thou there, though sheathed, yet silver-clean, For never felon stroke has dimmed thy sheen! For thee, good knight and grey, whose gleaming crest Leads us no longer, every generous breast Breathes benediction on thy well-won rest. The field looks bare without thee, and o'ercast With dark and ominous shadows, and thy last _Reveille_ was a rousing battle-blast!