oncoming generation of statesmen, said to the Premier, "Pray tell me, Lord John, whom do you consider the most promising young man in your party

second time. The Queen, apparently hard put to it for conversation, asked him whom he now considered the most promising young man in the Liberal part

as singularly unchanging. He lived to be close on eighty-six; he spent more than half a century in active politics; and it would be difficult to detect in all tho

eal too much-of the wisdom of our ancestors. I wish we could imitate the courage of our ancestors. They were not ready to lay their liberties at the foot of the Crown upon every vain or imaginary al

al fibre of more boisterous politicians. Though profoundly attached to the Throne and to the Hanoverian succession, he was no courtier. T

nce said: "Is it true, Lord John, that you hold that a subject is justified, under certain circumstances, in disobeyin

age the revolutionary party. He promptly referred Her Majesty to "the doctrines of the Revolution of 1688," and informed her that, "according

oppressive. When the starving labourers of Dorset combined in an association which they did not know to be illegal, he urged that incendiaries in

he Judicature resisted on th

the Exchequer and confess that you have no right to raise taxes for the protect

is pleasant library looking out on the lawn of Pembroke Lodge-the prettiest villa in Richmond Park. In appearance he was very much what Punch always represented him-very short, with a head and shoulders

called "an aristocratic drawl," and his pronunciation was archaic. Like other high-bred people of his time, he talked of "cow

o an innate and incurable shyness, but they produced, even among people who ought to h

it impossible for him to feign a cordiality he did not feel. In his last illness he said: "I have seemed cold to my friends, but it was not in my heart." The friends needed no such assurance, for in private life he was not only gentle, affectionate, and tender to an unusual degree, but full of fun and playfulness, a genial host

whispers" of Downing Street. Lord Russell resented journalistic dictation. "I know," he said, "that Mr. Delane is very

en although the recoil might injure their colleagues. But Lord Russell has never bowed the knee to the potentates of the Press; he has offered no sacrifice of invitations to social editors; and social editors hav

n the rottenest of rotten boroughs; the enfranchisement of the Middle Class was the triumph of his middle life. As years advanced his zeal showed no abatement; again and again he returned to the charge, though amidst the

ting measure. It lowered the qualification for the county franchise to ￡14 and that for the boroughs to ￡7;

ain to this day among the masterpieces of political oratory, and eventually it was lost, on an amendment moved in committee, by a majority of eleven. Lord Russell of course resigned. The Queen received his decision with regret. It was evident that Prussia and Austria were on the brink of war, and Her Majesty considered it a most unfortunate mome

een had sent for Lord Derby. Lord Russell retained the Liberal leadership till Christmas, 1867, and then d

efeat of the Reform Bill of 1866. They contrasted strangely with the apathy and indifference whi

mocratic measure which they thought he was destined to carry in the very near future.

ide of one who had played bat, trap and ball with Charles Fox; had been the travelling companion of Lord Holland; had corresponded with Tom Moore, debated with Francis Jeffrey, and dined with Dr. Parr; had visited Melrose Abbey in the company of Sir Walter Scott, and cri

self upon the

has been, and I