militant orator of his day. When he was down he attacked those who were uppermost; now he is in power, he wages perpetual war with those who are out. Whether attacking institutions or defending them, however, he has shewn equal ability and determination to conquer at all hazards. When he was a Radical, or at least so very ultra a Whig that the steady ones of the party were almost ashamed or at least afraid of him, he was so thoroughly uncompromising in his denunciations, that Mr. Duncombe, whom he is now nightly striving to extinguish with all the awful terrors of law and order, would have been by his side but a mere wretched shadow of a demagogue. In fact, we have no such Radicals now as Sir James was then. They are all fat, jocular men, growing wealthy upon coronerships, and suchlike abominations; or blasé dandies in search of an excitement. Some of the speeches of Sir James Graham, whether in parliament, at the hustings, or at public meetings, at the time referred to, would in the present day be accounted almost too bold for the most determined aspirant for the honours of political martyrdom. For they were unredeemed by the philosophy of liberalism; they had not even the dignity and tone of Chartism. They were simple, unadulterated, partisan speeches, made to serve a purpose, and forgotten as soon as uttered. But about their talent there was no mistake. It was not that they were distinguished for high eloquence, but for power and downright hard hitting. They gave the speaker a claim on the rising party of the time; and in a few years the quasi-demagogue shot up into a mi

nister.

And a capital minister he made. His most determined enemies do not deny this. Whatever may be thought of Sir James Graham as a politician, no one hesitates to admit that he is one of the best administrative officers this country has for many years produced. The same talent, the tact and aptitude, which had made him so clever an assailant of the former government, rendered him immediately fit for office. He was here, as before, equal to his position. As a speaker on behalf of the government, too, he

proved himself a most valuable ally, -turning the flank of his quondam Radical associates with provoking skill and unerring precision. But the prior claims of those who were already designated as the successors to the chief posts in the Whig party still kept Sir James in the background, and forbade the hope of his taking that distinguished position for which his talents and ambition alike indicated him. The reorganisation of the party at that time, and their adoption of a policy of dangerous progress, afforded an opportunity for a change; and accordingly, in a very short time we find Sir James Graham (after a short time spent in a chrysalis state) a full-blown Conservative. Here, again, he was fully equal to his position; and as it was during the long and glorious struggle of the Conservative opposition headed by Sir Robert Peel, Lord Stanley, and Sir James Graham, that the latter made his best speeches, a better op. portunity cannot be taken to treat of his peculiarities as an orator-which was the part he then laid himself out to fill-before attempting to describe him as he now is in his new character of repressor-general of the insubordinates in the House of Commons, or "crusher"-in-chief to the ministry.

The Conservative speeches of Sir James Graham, made when fighting side by side with Sir Robert Peel and Lord Stanley against the Whigs, were admirable specimens of what may be done by highly cultivated powers, extensive acquaintance with the best models of eloquence, persevering care, and elaborate preparation, without oratorical genius, or that earnestness and sincerity of purpose which will often advantageously supply its place. Assuming them to have been deliberately got up to serve a certain purpose, it would be impossible to withhold admiration from the power, tact, and aptitude, with which the means were made subservient to the end. Upon the supposition that the speaker was really sincere, it was difficult to account for the absence, even in the most solemn appeals to the religious feelings of the auditory, or to their cherished constitutional prepossessions, of those touches of deep feeling which are the utterances of the soul, not the promptings of art, and

which act like a talisman upon the sympathies. The speeches referred to were, many of them, superior as compositions to those of Sir Robert Peel or Lord Stanley, containing more of the great argument on which the whole movement of the Conservative party was based. For, although Sir James Graham evinces so little readiness to bend his will to those around him, he shews an almost chameleon-like power of reflecting their sympathies, opinions, or prejudices. They were in this respect admirable manuals for the party, and no doubt did good service in the country. But the impetuous eloquence of Lord Stanley, and the admirable persuasive art of Sir Robert Peel, enabled them to achieve more, with materials which in justice to Sir James Graham we must admit were not superior to those which are to be found in his speeches of that period. What detracted from the effect of the declamatory passages was a somewhat pompous and stilted tone, a too evident affectation of solemnity and earnestness; which might have been partly natural, arising from physical causes, and therefore not fairly the object of criticism, though. materially marring the effect of the speeches. But allowing for all these defects, they were yet remarkable efforts of oratorical skill, which raised Sir James to a level with the best speakers in the House of Commons. The exordiums and perorations always bore marks of the most careful preparation, and were usually models of fine composition; the quotations were most apt, and often from recondite sources; the poetical passages delivered with a fine emphasis and full appreciation of the rhythm. As a debater, rising at a late hour, perhaps, to reply suddenly to the arguments of a previous speaker or speakers, where the novelty of the topics precludes all preparation, and the real powers of the orator are therefore tried to the utmost, Sir James shewed himself the possessor of the very highest order of talent,in readiness of argument, retentiveness of memory, suddenness of quotation, quickness of retort, in invective, sarcasm, repartee, declamation, he was seldom or never at fault, and was always the antagonist most dreaded by the ministers. Perhaps

one reason for this might be the virulence of tone, and unscrupulousness in the use of weapons, of which mention has already been made, as one of the chief faults of Sir James Graham.

But all these successes as a politi cian, and all these triumphs as a speaker, will not account for or justify the assertion with which these observations commenced, - that Sir James Graham's influence over the House of Commons is only second to that of Sir R. Peel or Lord John Russell. For influence he does possess, although in the face of all that has been here said to his disadvantage, it is most difficult to trace it to its source, seeing that there is no man in the house who appears less to court popular favour than Sir James Graham. Looking back at his career while joint leader of the Conservative opposition, it was certainly then im→ possible to predict that he would develope into the sort of character he has exhibited as minister and home secretary. Prominent as his position then was, he was rather the servitor of party than otherwise: he never assumed to take the lead. Still less would you have supposed that he would have had the boldness to flout the house as he has since done; or so ostentatiously to defy the sovereign people through their representatives. All honour to him for his courage, though it might have been exercised in a better cause. It is because Sir James Graham affects, or really feels, an indifference to the good opinion of the house, that they submit so spaniel-like to his caprices or his studied coldness and indifference, and pay so much attention, often so much deference, to his opinion.

A hardness and impassibility of temperament, which is to censure or obloquy as adamant or rhinoceroshide, joined to a wonderful knowledge of human nature, great talents, clear perception, readiness, determination of purpose, and a steady resolution to seize all opportunities and yield none, give him great advantage in an assembly where the average of ability is not above mediocrity, and where there are so few who have the courage or feel the inclination to stand forth as champions. With the exception of Mr. Duncombe, Mr.

Ferrand, and Mr. Wakley, the members generally bend before his consistent will and determination of purpose, which, in such a place, are almost tantamount to a strong or superior mind. If they would say the truth, they are not a little afraid of him. At the same time, it must not be forgotten that such a man as Sir James is in these times particularly useful. Utilitarianism, on which are grafted some of the colder and harsher doctrines of political economy, has become the political religion of our public men. Centralisation, with its train of paralysing evils, has become the fashionable machinery of government. The farther the ear and eye are removed from the actual scene, the less chance there is of the evil being seen or the complaint heard. The selfishness of classes needs excuses. It thinks to hide its naked hideousness in systems. Weaker natures fear to lay down, still more to carry out principles, which this selfishness would fain see adopted. A firmer spirit, which, perhaps, because it has faith in such principles, asserts them broadly and maintains them in act, through good and evil report, becomes a powerful and valuable ally. A Sir James Graham will be clung to, in an instinctive deference for his vigour of mind and boldness of purpose. Such a man serves, to rule. Less remote causes of his influence may, however, be found; causes on the surface quite sufficient in the present state of things to account for his contradicting all the usual calculations on which ministerial popularity is based.

Ilis demeanour in the house is a study. As he enters below the bar, his red despatch-box in hand, his figure towers above most of the members, notwithstanding that of late years he has contracted a slight stoop. Extreme hauteur, tempered by a half-sarcastic superciliousness, is his prevailing characteristic; and, as he slowly drags along his tall and massive frame, which still retains much of the fine proportion of youth, in his heavy-measured, almost slipshod tread, towards his seat at the right of the Speaker's table, there is a self-satisfied, almost inane ex, pression on the countenance, produced by a peculiar fall of the nether

lip and a distorted elevation of the eyebrows, that does not by any means prepossess you in his favour, or suggest any high idea of his intellect. He rather looks like some red-tape minister of the Tadpole school, or some pompous placeman, conceited of his acres. But by and by you learn to separate the more fixed habit of the features from this odd expression of the countenance, till you sce that the superciliousness is real, though exaggerated by the physical peculiarity. There are no traces of ill-nature in the face; but, on the other hand, there is nothing to encourage. Meanwhile he has seated himself, placed his red box on the table before him, stretched himself out to his full length, and awaits, with arms folded and hat slouched over his face, the questioning to which he knows he will be subjected at this particular hour, from half-past four to half-past five. He is not left long in his moody silence. Some one has put a question to him. It is Mr. Duncombe, who, if one is to judge by the malicious twinkle in his eye and his affected tone of moral indignation, has got hold of some grievance -some letter-opening delinquency, or some case of magisterial cruelty and Home-Office indifference, with which he has worked upon the members who do the "British-public part in these little political dramas, for they are crying "hear, hear!" with a forty- John Bull power. Does the home-secretary start up to answer? Is he indignant at the insinuations thrown out by his smart and ready antagonist? Does he burn to relieve himself of the odium of having sanctioned a system of espionage or of having neglected to redress some wrong-as he, the poor man's ex-officio trustee, is bound to do? Oh, no! he is in no hurry. The breath of the questioner has full time to cool, and the voice of moral indignation to abate its energy, ere he stirs. Then he uncoils himself, rising slowly to his full height, and confronting his antagonist with a well-assumed consciousness of the extreme absurdity of his question, and the absolute impregnability of the defence; if, indeed, he shall condescend to make any answer at all; for you are left in doubt a moment, whether he will not allow his super

19

eilious expression to expand into a contemptuous laugh, and so sit down again. However, such things not being allowed by the sovereign people, and, as ministers, however despotically disposed, must answer questions, the next thing to be accomplished is to give as homœopathic a dose of information as possible, conveyed in the largest possible amount of indifference, superciliousness, and wholesome parliamentary contempt. There are stereotyped forms. The initiated know almost the words. The cool, phlegmatic, impassible style is, of course, peculiar to the particular Home Secretary of whom we speak. His idea of the functions of his office seems to be, that he is to exercise the utmost possible power with the least possible accountability. He is to know nothing, see nothing, do nothing, but what he is absolutely compellable to know, see, or do. If the enemy can ferret out a fact and prove it, so much the better for his case. Then, perhaps, it may be admitted. But the usual course is for Sir James, in his low, monotonous voice, and steady determined manner, to give an elaborate formal statement of words, with as few facts as possible, and leaving the matter as nearly as possible where he found it. This course has its advantage; for the questions put are often unmeaning, and even detrimental to the public service. Sometimes, however, matters grow more serious. The cool, hard, impassible functionary is compelled by a sense of duty to make a more elaborate statement, and then

it is you perceive his superiority as a minister. The clearness, firmness, extent of information, and sound knowledge of his duty he displays, shew him to be not deficient, either in act or in explanation, when he thinks it necessary. His questioner is then put hors de combat, and he himself gets a sort of license for that superciliousness and apathetic indifference to popular censure, which are so fatally urged to his prejudice. In still more dubious cases, as, for instance, in that of Mazzini, Sir James Graham has carried this impassibility and indifference to an insulting extent. If he believed himself right, of course he shewed great moral courage; but moral courage in a bad cause is scarcely distinguishable from obstinacy; and Sir James Graham's conduct in that case laid him open to great obloquy, much of which was deserved. Yet the determination he shewed under such circumstances rather increased than diminished his influence with the house. If it made him, politically speaking, hated by many, it also made him feared. Such steady self-possession, joined to such talents and information, and to such debating powers as he has in his former career displayed, though now he rarely exercises them, are quite sufficient to account for that influence which we have ascribed to him; in the absence of personal respect which, generally speaking, he does not command; or of party gratitude, which he has done little to deserve on the one hand, and so much to forfeit on the other.

and candelabra, a few portraits (such as in these days we should call daubs), knights grim in armour and dames grim in jewels and minever, hung about the walls; but there were no trophies of war or of the chase. Some flowers in vases, a lute, and two or three small and beautifully illuminated MSS. of the German Minnesingers lying open on a table, shewed that the presiding genius there was feminine. In the middle of the room stood a tapestry frame, and the subject of the work

Ꮮ

was the election of Frederic (surnamed Barbarossa), when Duke of Swabia, to the German throne of empire. Beside the frame sat two fair embroideresses, but neither of them working. A theme of interest had absorbed them both, and they sat with the needles and worsted unemployed in their hands. They were Adelaide, daughter of the reigning Margrave of Vohberg, and Gela, her attendant and friend, filling such office as among the Germans was formerly called kammer jungfer, and among the French dame de compagnie, for Gela was the daughter of the Margrave's chief forester, and had been brought up with the princess from a child.

Both were young, but the princess was a year or two the elder; both were handsome, but Gela was the loveliest. Adelaide had a noble presence, she felt that illustrious blood flowed through her veins, and she looked "every inch a princess." Her form was majestic, her eye bright and piercing, her beautiful mouth firm, her fine forehead open; she was a brilliant and lofty brunette. Gela was all grace, all symmetry, all gentle and winning beauty; she did not command, but she attracted; her eyes were blue and soft, her hair fair and wavy, her white forehead serene, her air mild, pure, and holy. She had not the majesty of the princess, but she preserved the aspect of self-respect, which demands and obtains the respect of others. She was sweetly, touchingly beautiful. The princess was made to be admired, but Gela to be loved. IIe who gazed first on Adelaide said to himself, "Splendid, glorious woman!" But when he turned to Gela he said, "Sweetest and loveliest of creatures!"

The tapestry before them was a favourite task of Adelaide's, but they had now been talking too intently to work; their theme admitted of no concomitant occupation. It was the theme of deepest interest to the

young, unshackled, unwearied spirit, for it was of love-it was the tale of Gela's first and only love.

Those are happy days when the young fresh affections of the heart are our all of life, our all of interest -when our study is not wise books, but living looks and gestures, and we become very learned in expression, and can discriminate its various shades; when a flower is a treasure, an hour of meeting a lifetime; when we first learn the poetry of life; when we live in a world of our own and people it with our own creations; then we are so easily pleased, so unselfish, so benevolent; then the heart guides the head. Alas, how ill-exchanged for later times, when the head controls the heart! the cool, plodding head, perhaps a safer guide than the warm impulse-full heart, but surely a less amiable one. we are to be pitied, if we would but own it, when we grow old, and cold, and wise-too wise to be pleased with what was our happiness before, when we say of our warm, young, kind feelings, "what nonsense!" and of our hoarded relics, "what rubbish!" Then the world, with its gnawing cares, its heartless counsels, and its withering experiences, has seared us as with a hot iron; the poetry of life has fled. We think ourselves much wiser, but are we half as happy? Nay, are we half as amiable? Truly and touchingly has Schiller sung,—

"O zarte Sehnsucht, süsses Hoffen,

Ah!

Der ersten Liebe goldne zeit,
Das Auge sieht den Himmel offen,

Es schwelgt das Hertz in Seligkeit.
O, dass sie ewig grünen bliebe,
Die schöne Zeit der jungen Liebe."*
Das Lied von der Glocke.

But the romance of life was only beginning for Adelaide and Gela. The one was pouring out the secrets of her young heart to the other, who was worthy of the confidence because she received it with interest and with candour. It was when they had sat down to