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Hope and Walpole are Conservatives, and are sadly shocked at the continued majorities of Mr. Gladstone.

The man just now speaking from notes is Lieutenant-Colonel Sir Robert Anstruther, of the Grenadier Guards, member for Fifeshire, a Harrow man, and an earnest liberal of the Scotch stamp.

The little old man in evening dress, pale face, and having a circle of white beard around his throat, who is playing with his fingers nervously, is The O'Conor Don, member for Roscommon, who is looked up to by all the Irish members.

The slender young gentleman, not yet in his twenty-fifth year, and very fashionably dressed, leaning up against the back of the Speaker's chair in conversation, is Henry George, Earl Percy, son of the Duke of Northumberland, who married the eldest daughter of the Duke of Argyll, and will one day be the proprietor of the second proudest title in England as well as of half a dozen castles, a score of manors, and three or four baronies. This young man was sent to the House of Commons by his father, the Duke of Northumberland, as a Conservative, but it is rarely that he takes the trouble to open his lips in debate. He has a very great reputation for driving tandem, and is known to be a judge of boquets and claret-young as he is as a legislator in the House of Commons-but he bears. a good reputation, and has not done anything to dishonor the proud name of Percy as yet.

That young gentleman with the pointed yellow moustache and goatee of the Vandyke type, is Sir David Wedderburn, of an old Scotch family, and quite an active working young member of the opposition when led by Disraeli. Very often the peers of the Upper House may be found in the Commons, from motives of curiosity or to get intelligence of the birth of new bills before they are sent to the Upper House. They have a gallery of their own, these peers, and hardly ever trouble the floor of the House.

Occasionally a prelate of the English Established Church may be found in the Peers' Gallery of the House of Commons, listening to the debates, and to-night there are two bishops in

the gallery, one of whom is Dr. Fraser, Bishop of Manchester, who is said to be the most practical minded prelate in England. Dr. Fraser has a well outlined face and a very compact head, with a clear, firm eye. He is big with a scheme for the education of the working classes, and looks to be deeply interested in the debate. His companion is the Bishop of Peterborough, who is acknowledged to be the ablest speaker and clearest thinker in the English Episcopate. Viscount Bury is now on his legs. The Viscount is of all the speakers I have heard, the very dullest. He reads from notes which he takes page for page from his hat, and I am certain that I never listened to such a dreadful monotone as his voice. The Viscount dresses plainly, and yet he has a Dundreary look, the light side whiskers which he wears giving him an affected appearance. The Vicountess Bury is a daughter of Sir Allan McNab, and in her younger days was a celebrated beauty, and was a toast in fashionable society.

That young gentleman with the slight, downy moustache and gloriously handsome face, leaning over the side of the Peers' Gallery, is the Marquis of Huntley, a member of the House of Lords, and is the first Marquis in rank of the Scottish peerage. He is only twenty-three years of age, and was married a short time since in Westminster Abbey, the Prince of Wales acting as his best man, and all the notabilities of the court attending. The old, soldierly-looking man who is conversing with him and having a white rose in his button-hole, whose hair is cropped quite close, is the Earl of Fingall, who was formerly an officer in the 8th Hussars, and a hero of the Crimean war.

The medium sized gentleman with the thoroughly English face, wavy hair, and plain and unostentatious attire, who passes behind the Speaker's Chair for a moment, and then whispers to that awful dignitary, is the Duke of Richmond, the leader of the Conservative party in the House of Lords. The Duke is quite popular in England, and has a magnificent park and castle at Goodwood, where a race takes place every year, for a prize called the "Goodwood Cup." Under the administration

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of Mr. Disraeli the Duke held the position now occupied by John Bright, who is President of the Board of Trade.

There was for some time a warm rivalry between the Duke of Richmond, Lord Cairns, and the Marquis of Salisbury, as to which of the three should lead in the House of Lords, and at one time, I believe after the death of the lion-like Earl of Derby, Lord Cairns, who used to be an Irish lawyer before he was ennobled, had the best chance from his great ability, but the high position and family of the Duke carried the day.

That plain looking man who with a slight inclination to the Speaker and doffing his hat, passes out to the Division Lobby, is Lord Stanley-now Earl Derby, since the death of his father. Lord Stanley, who is now in the House of Lords, was one of the ablest members of the House of Commons, a forcible debater, a logical reasoner, and a thorough gentleman in all respects. Lord Stanley entered political life very early, and has filled various offices of trust, being successively-Under Secretary of Foreign affairs in 1852; Secretary for the Colonies in 1858; Secretary of State for India in 1858-9, and Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs in 1866-8.

The tall, dark-haired and handsome looking member who has followed Viscount Bury in debate, and who speaks so fluently without notes, and whose language and gestures are not without a certain grace and elegance, is The O'Donoghue member from Tralee, who was going to marry an Earl's daughter in order to pay his debts-but didn't. The O'Donoghue challenged Sir Robert Peel to fight a duel a few years ago, having been offended by some unparliamentary language of Peel's in the House, but the latter backed out of the row in a very undignified manner.

Lord Stanley having forgot something, comes back to find it, and searches the bench behind the spot where The O'Donoghue is speaking from, which rather confuses the Irish orator a little-but Lord Stanley apologises at once. By the way, Earl Derby is said to be engaged to the Marchioness of Salisbury, whose husband died a year ago. This will be a late marriage for both parties, the intended bride being forty-six years of

age with five children, the youngest of whom is a daughter twenty-two years of age, while Earl Derby is forty-four years of age, and very common-place and prosaic in his domestic habits. The Marchioness is, I believe, a daughter of Earl De La Warr.

Three men now enter the House and take scats-two in the galleries, who are soon joined by a third. This last man is the richest noble in England. He is an old man on the brink of the grave, and yet he could buy up a dozen of the members of Parliament who are fuming and fidgeting below in the freshness of good health. It is the Marquis of Westminster, who owns half of the borough from which he takes his title, and his income I have been told is something like four hundred thousand pounds a year. The Marquis is very charitable, and has spent over £100,000 in erecting model tenements for poor people in London. Beside the title of Marquis, he also bears that of Sir Richard Grosvenor, which is supposed to be derived from the French of Gros Veneur-" Great Huntsman,"-some of the ancestors of the family having acted in that capacity to the Norman Dukes at a remote period.

The other gentlemen are Earl Spencer, the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, a big man with a big head, a big whisker and a big look in the face, wearing a big tweed coat; and the Hon. Robert Wellesley Grosvenor, one of the members for Westminster, a Captain in the 1st Life Guards, and belonging to the family of the old Marquis of Westminster. He has for his colleague who now takes his seat, William Henry Smith, the other member for Westminster, who owns the largest news agency in the world, at No. 186 Strand.

And now the Premier is on his legs at last. I had heard of Gladstone so often that I was curious to hear his voice and look upon his face. Imagine a tall man, six feet in his stockings, with a massive head, a good strong body, sparse side whiskers just whitening with years, a pair of dark eyes, deep as an abyss, with the thoughts and struggles of a mighty spirit welling up-firm lips and cavernous eyebrows, a massive and persistent under jaw, the lines of the face strongly marked