amount of time. Everybody knows that Lowtherism reached its climax on
Saturday, March 11th. On that day, men, who had held high office, were
not ashamed to resort to so mean and palpable an obstructive expedient
as to put on paper twenty-two questions to their successors in office.
The previous Friday had been bad enough. That was the day which tried
Mr. Gladstone more, perhaps, than any day for many a year; and, indeed,
it tried others as much as he, though not everybody bore it with the
same iron and inflexible courage. There were large absences--some of the
Irish away at conventions in Ireland, others without that legitimate
excuse; there were Liberal absentees as well. Obstruction, meantime,
stalked triumphantly; and when the divisions came, our strength sank
down to almost invisible figures. Ah! it was saddening to look at Mr.
Gladstone's face throughout that long morning sitting of Friday, March
10th. There are some days that live in one's memory, not so much as days
as nights--with the ghastly spectres of darkness--nightmares--hauntings
of a hideous past--anticipations of a joyless future. Such that Friday
remains in my memory--with Mr. Gladstone's face standing out from the
surrounding figures--pale, remote, pained.

[Sidenote: The G.O.M. as a lecturer.]

The announcement of the following Monday came only as a surprise to
those who had not been fully behind the scenes. There were few, who knew
the impression that the Friday had made, who did not feel sure that the
game of pushing the Home Rule Bill on before Easy Easter was up, and
that Mr. Gladstone had been beaten by the sheer brutality of
Obstruction. But still hope springs eternal in the Irish breast, and
there was still the lingering feeling that Mr. Gladstone would make a
further and more desperate effort to break down one of the most
shameless crusades of Obstruction on which a great party had ever