It is a remarkable fact that a Scotchman has never led the House of Commons. The real reason is, I imagine, that Scotchmen are not generally very oratorical. The Scots suffer from the _fercidum ingenium_ which old Buchanan claimed for them, undoubtedly; but it does not generally assume an oratorical form: it finds other ways of development. It leads Sawney, junior, to bid farewell to the porridge of the paternal roof, to cross the Tweed, to travel in whatever dark and distant land gold is to be had, and a fortune to be won. But there it stops. Joseph Hume was a model of a Scotch orator. There was not a duller dog on the face of the earth than that most excellent and honoured man. One would as soon listen to a lecture from Elihu Burritt, or sit out a pantomime, as listen to a speech from the Scottish Joseph. So it is with the Scottish pulpit. It is generally hard and heavy, destitute of life and power, abstruse, metaphysical, learned, and consequently dull. Yet there have been splendid exceptions. The fiery and holy Chalmers was one, and Edward Irving was another. The Scottish Church in Regent Square was at one time a place of no common repute. Irving, with his splendid face, half fiend half angel—with his intellect hovering between insanity and genius, the companion of fanatics and philosophers—there ‘Blazed the comet of a season.’ To this day his name yet lives. In spite of the delusions and follies with which his name was connected—in spite of the reaction, the natural result of all enthusiasm, no matter what—Irvingite churches remain amongst us to this present hour. But at one time they threatened to pervade the land. All London flocked to Regent Square Church: the religious world was in a state of intense excitement. Timid men and nervous women went there, Sunday after Sunday, till they became almost mad. Unknown tongues were heard; strange sights were seen. Some thought the end of the world had come, and were seized with trembling and fear. It was a time of wonder, and mystery, and awe; but it passed away, as such things in this world of ours must pass away. The great magician died. The crowd that had wondered and wept at his bidding, went to wonder and weep elsewhere.