on Wednesdays were fixed for the evening, like other days. In that year it was ordered that the House should, on Wednesdays, meet at noon, rising at six.

Mr. Gladstone's Oratorical

Gestures.

The familiar story of the barrister who acquired a habit of fingering a particular button when he was pleading, and lost the thread of his discourse when the button was secretly cut off, finds no parallel in the House of Commons. But whilst in no case is mannerism of the kind marked to exaggerated extent, some members have certain tricks of action more or less indispensable to successful speech. Mr. Gladstone's gestures, like his other resources, were infinite. At one time it was during the fever heat of the turbulent Parliament of 1880-85-he fell into a habit of emphasising his points either by beating his clenched fist into the open palm of his left hand, or violently thumping the harmless box with open right hand. This last trick was recurrence to an earlier manner, observation of which drew from Disraeli an expression of heartfelt thanksgiving that so substantial a piece of furniture as the table of the House of Commons separated him from the right hon. gentleman.

The exercise occasionally became so violent that the very point he desired to force on the attention of his audience was lost in the clamour of collision. Mr. Gladstone was, of course, unconscious of this habit, as he was of another trick, manœuvred by stretching his right arm to its full length, rigidly extending his fingers and lightly scratching the top of his head with his thumb-nail.

The Premier's colleagues on the Treasury Bench were so perturbed by the fisticuffing, which frequently gave cause to the enemy to guffaw, that they proposed among themselves that one of them should delicately call his attention to the matter. The proposal was pleasing, but who was to bell the cat? After fruitless discussion of this question in the inner camp, the Dean of Windsor, an old personal friend of Mr. Gladstone's, was meanly approached and induced to undertake

the task. I do not know how the mission fared. Its curative effects were certainly not permanent.

Sir William Harcourt, while addressing the House of Commons, has a persuasive habit of lightly swinging his eye-glasses suspended from an outstretched

Some Others.

forefinger. He also, when occasion arises, thumps the box with mailed fist. When he fires a heavy

shot into the opposite camp he revolves swiftly on his heel, looking to right and left of the benches behind him in jubilant response to the cheers that applaud his success. Mr. Arthur Balfour, whose always growing perfection of Parliamentary debate sloughs off tricks of manner, is still sometimes seen holding on to himself with both hands by the lapels of his coat, apparently afraid that otherwise he might run away before his speech. was ended. A similar fancy is suggested by Mr. Goschen's trick of feeling himself over, especially in the neigh

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AUTOMATIC GESTURES.-I. SIR WILLIAM
HARCOURT.

bourhood of the ribs. Finding he is all right (on the spot, so to speak), he proceeds to wash his hands with invisible soap in imperceptible water.

Even more apologetic in manner when delivering an excellent speech is Mr. Lecky. If he had chanced to be born, like another Irish member long since departed, without arms or legs, he would be a much more effective debater.

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As it is there are arms and legs, even of exceptional length, and Mr. Lecky, whilst discoursing on high themes of politics, painfully conscious of their presence, mutely apologises for their intrusion.

Sheets of

Lord George Hamilton explaining away Chitral campaigns, or other awkward things, with swift action and painful precision rearranges the pages of his MS. notes. of his MS. notes. Using both hands to move a sheet off the box on to the table, he straightway, with equally anxious care, returns it. paper have an irresistible fascination for the Secretary of State for India. Seated on the Treasury Bench following the debate, he occupies himself hour after hour in folding notepaper into strips, refolding them lengthwise, and tearing them up in square inches. If his life, or even his office, depended on the mathematical accuracy of the square, he could not devote more time to its achievement.

Sir John Gorst, leaning an elbow on the box, turns his head slowly to the left, then to the right, as if he were

expecting the entrance

upon the scene of the corporate body of that mystic entity the Committee of Council. Lord Rosebery is a more marked offender than Sir John in the matter of the almost fatally ineffective habit of leaning an elbow on the table whilst addressing the House. In the Lords the effect is more disastrous, since neither Ministers nor ex - Ministers have anything corresponding to the historic boxes on the table of the House of Commons. Sir John Gorst, falling into this attitude, has not to stoop lower than the height of the box. Lord Rosebery, lounging at the table of the House