ON the last day in January Mr. Gladstone undertook to form his Administration. Its complexion was indicated by the first of the new appointments: for Mr. Morley became Chief Secretary to the Lord-Lieutenant. This was followed, without delay, on the one hand by the statement that Lord Spencer had acquiesced in the new Irish policy and would be Lord President of the Council; and upon the other by rumours of Whig refusals. For some days negotiations were protracted with Lord Hartington, Mr. Goschen and Sir Henry James; but, whatever signs of hesitation had marked their previous course, their action now was decided. Sir Henry James was offered successively both the Lord Chancellorship and the Home Secretaryship, and even more important Executive offices were pressed upon the others. All were declined. Doubt and reluctance were also manifested by Mr. Chamberlain and Sir George Trevelyan and both required and received assurances that they were not committed, by joining the Government, to the support of any Irish policy which involved the creation of a separate Parliament. For the rest it may be noticed that Sir William Harcourt became Chancellor of the Exchequer; that Lord Rosebery went to the Foreign Office; and that neither Lord Derby nor Mr. Forster was included in the Government.

The traveller who visits an old battlefield can never fully understand what its various natural features meant to the combatants. He is shown, perhaps, a rocky ridge which is called the key of the position. He reads that it was taken and repurchased on hard terms more than once during the day. But it is an ordinary object in the landscape. A dozen such eminences have been seen during the morning’s ride. Was it really so important? Were the fortunes of kingdoms actually for some hours involved in the possession of those few acres of rank grass and scattered stone? As he stands serenely on ground where once the bravest soldier hardly dared to crawl, he can scarcely believe it. Yet, to the men who fought, those rocks meant much more than life or death. Duty was there; honour was there; and in the end victory. And if the smoky curtain that hangs about the field were lifted and the view enlarged, it might be seen that great causes of truth, or justice, or freedom, and long tranquil years in smiling lands depended indeed upon this ragged ridge, made famous by the blundering collision of two armies, worthless except for the tactical purpose of the moment and probably ill-adapted and wrongly selected even for that.

The actual provisions of the Home Rule Bill do not at all convey the magnitude of the issue or explain the gravity with which it was regarded. A proposal to establish by statute, subject to guarantees of Imperial supremacy, a colonial Parliament in Ireland for the transaction of Irish business may indeed be unwise, but is not, and ought not to be, outside the limits of calm and patient consideration. Such a proposal is not necessarily fraught with the immense and terrific consequences which were so generally associated with it. A generation may arise in England who will question the policy of creating subordinate legislatures as little as we question the propriety of Catholic Emancipation and who will study the records of the fierce disputes of 1886 with the superior manner of a modern professor examining the controversies of the early Church. But that will not prove the men of 1886 wrong or foolish in speech and action.

The controversy of 1886 can never be resolved. Whatever may happen in the future, neither party can be brought to the bar of history and proved by actual experience right or wrong. The cases of Catholic Emancipation, of the Great Reform Bill, of the Repeal of the Corn Laws, are differently placed. We know that in certain circumstances a great change was made and that that change was immediately vindicated by events and afterwards ratified by posterity. The opponents of the change stand condemned. No such assured conclusion of the Home Rule Question of 1886 can ever be reached, unless by some unthinkable coincidence the actual circumstances of that time were reconstructed.

Mr. Gladstone ultimately succeeded in convincing not only his personal friends and half his fellow-countrymen of his entire sincerity, but his most capable opponents also. Yet at the time his motives were impugned, and not without much reason. Concessions to Ireland made by any British Government which depends for its existence on the Irish vote, will naturally and necessarily be suspect. There must always be a feeling in English minds that such a government is not a free agent, that it is trafficking for personal or party advantage with what belongs to the nation. In 1886 Mr. Gladstone’s Administration lay under deep suspicion. His own appeals for an independent majority at the election; the sudden conversion of his principal colleagues; the absolute dependence of his power upon Mr. Parnell’s followers; the precipitate haste with which he had taken office; all tended to confirm the distrust and prejudices of his opponents. Whether his Bill was proposed upon its merits or not, it was not considered, and could not be considered, upon them. It looked like surrender—not advance; and surrender made shameful by the party advantage that was its first-fruits. The violent scenes in the House of Commons, the declarations of hatred towards England reiterated by Irish Nationalism, however historically excusable, the long nightmare of outrage and unrest through which Ireland was struggling, the American gold, the dynamite explosions, the bloody daggers in the Phoenix Park, had bitten deep into British minds and memories. The tireless conflicts of Catholic and Protestant, of landlord and tenant, provoked and disquieted statesmen of every complexion. Some there were who rose to Mr. Gladstone’s level of enthusiasm, who shared his consciousness of unswerving rectitude and dreams of glorious achievement; but by most of the eminent men in England the Irish proposals of 1886 were regarded as the surrender of national heirlooms at the compulsion of public enemies, involving an act of practical secession with potential consequences of revolution and civil war. And once this conviction was adopted, all chance that the plan itself would be fairly weighed was inevitably destroyed. Radicals who, like Mr. Chamberlain, were committed to all sorts of schemes of devolution, who looked with favour upon National Councils or Legislatures of the Canadian provincial type, were, by the stroke of crisis, united with the ultra-Conservatives and authoritarians. A state of war existed and political leaders selected their positions upon tactical reasons alone. Here it was good to fight; there it was bad. At this point a stand might be made; that it would be well to concede. All question of a reasonable settlement vanished. Every man chose his ground and fought upon it to win. ‘Never,’ said Lord Randolph in after years to a friend, ‘have we approached the Irish Question avec de bonnes paroles et de bons procÉdÉs.’

Thus it happened that in the tremendous enterprise upon which Mr. Gladstone had now determined to embark, he found arrayed against him nearly all the leading men and most of the strongest forces in England and Scotland. When a party has been for many years supreme in the State, it draws into itself by its prestige and authority many men who are not really with it in sympathy and opinion. The Whigs and many moderate Liberals had long been estranged. They were held by the force of party associations alone and most of them welcomed a shock which ended the strain and freed them from obligations they could no longer faithfully discharge. The wealthy Whig Peers were glad to escape from Radical associates and to be ranked in the mass of their order. Statesmen of the old school like Mr. Bright, Lord Hartington and Mr. Goschen, with many followers whose talents adorned the Liberal party, were quite unprepared to adapt themselves to the new conditions which a democratic franchise had imposed. The Home Rule proposals—already in themselves a sufficient cause for final separation—were, besides, a convenient opportunity. All this was to have been expected, and no doubt the Irish accession was estimated to fill the gap. But a Radical defection was utterly unforeseen.

Of all the men who followed Mr. Gladstone into the Lobby on the night when the Jesse Collings amendment dismissed the ‘Ministry of Caretakers’ from office, Mr. Chamberlain stood to gain the greatest profit, both in the furtherance of his political opinions and in his personal advancement, from the turn events were taking. For five years he had battled with the Whigs in the Cabinet; for five years they had checked him. He had declared he would not serve with them again. Now they were going. Their influence alone had enabled the Prime Minister to moderate the Radical demands, of which he was the champion. In the place of that influence was now to be substituted the party of Mr. Parnell. If Mr. Chamberlain had been powerful before, what would he be in the Liberal Governments of the future? If Mr. Gladstone had yielded much to his insistence in the past, what must he concede thereafter? At the very moment when the Radical movement was growing in strength, after an election in which the ‘Unauthorised Programme’ had saved the counties from the Tory triumph in the towns, the whole composition of the Liberal party was to be changed—and changed wholly in his favour. The Prime Minister was a very old man. The path was already almost clear. The future of the party lay at the feet of the leader of thorough, precise and militant Radicalism.

And if in one direction all prospects looked so bright, the other seemed entirely barred. He was in acute antagonism with Lord Hartington. Lord Salisbury had just called him ‘Jack Cade.’ The Whigs regarded him as the cause of their undoing. To the Tories he was a warning of the wrath to come. By many acts of his public life, by a hundred speeches, by the affirmation of important principles and the support of definite measures, he had cut himself off from Whigs and Tories alike. Many men will wrestle with their own party or change to another party, but few will face political extinction. That such a man, careless perhaps of office, but ambitious for power, should in such circumstances quarrel with Mr. Gladstone, tear his own Radical following to pieces and go forth into the night-storm almost alone, was a fact not in human wisdom to be known or imagined in dreams. Yet his reply to Parnell’s demand had been prompt and plain. ‘If these, and these alone, are the terms on which Mr. Parnell’s support is to be obtained,’ he declared as early as September, ‘I will not enter into the compact.’

That Lord Randolph Churchill was consistent and sincere in his opposition to Home Rule was at the time much questioned by both sides, and some shadow of that suspicion has remained. He it was who had rendered possible the co-operation between the Irish party and the Tory Opposition, which had placed and maintained the late Government in office. He was known to hold liberal views on Irish problems. He was described as being unscrupulous in Parliamentary manoeuvre. He had opposed the renewal of Coercion. He had defended the Maamtrasna inquiry. If it were true that the Conservative Government had had any Home Rule dealings as a Government, he was reputed their agent. If any Minister had trafficked independently, he was that Minister. Many Home Rulers and Orangemen, agreeing in nothing else, agreed in believing that he at any rate had been ready upon a Home Rule basis to bargain with Parnell. These suspicions are injurious. No man was more vigorous in his public resistance to Home Rule or more vehement in his language than Lord Randolph Churchill; and if in the midst of his denunciations of Mr. Gladstone, while he was rousing England and inflaming Ulster, it had been true that he was fortified by no real conviction, and had been ready a few months before to sell all that he now declared sacred, an odious charge would have been brought home.

The documents printed in preceding chapters constitute an unassailable defence. No Unionist politician has a clearer record. Lord Randolph Churchill was perfectly willing to work with the Irish members. He understood how much they had in common with the Conservative party, and with the best part of the Conservative party. He had no prejudices and many sympathies in their direction. But his arrangement with them, or with any of them—for he counted on dividing their forces—would have been social, religious or economic in its character. It would never have been of a National character. To give the Irish the educational system they desired, to court and coax the Bishops, to win the Catholic Church to the side of the Conservative party—these were objects which all his life he faithfully pursued. The first political pamphlet he wrote was on Irish intermediate education. Whether as a Minister in 1885, or out of office in 1888 and 1889, he will be found deep in schemes of Catholic conciliation by Irish educational reform—primary, intermediate and university. One of the last letters this account contains returns to and reiterates this long-cherished idea. Almost his last speech in the House of Commons was in defence of Catholic schools. But to the repeal of the Parliamentary Union he was always unalterably opposed. He did not even think it worth while to consider seriously the many modified alternatives in which the times abounded. They might be wise or unwise; but they were not, he thought, within the functions of the Conservative party. He knew nothing of the Carnarvon incident, and was incensed to discover it. His letter to Lord Morris of December 7, 1885, shows how unyielding he was even to the suggestion of a conference, before the great attempt was made. His correspondence with Mr. Chamberlain, who always inclined to alternative proposals, proves him quite unconvinced in later years by the course of the struggle or by the change in his own position. ‘It would require circumstances widely different and pressure of an almost overwhelming kind,’ he wrote in August 1887, ‘to induce any portion of the Tories to look at any scheme of Home Rule. Gladstone alone can deal with that measure; and I hope that if he does, and when he does, he may be kept in check and controlled by a powerful Opposition.’

The advent of this great crisis therefore threw him for the first time into complete sympathy with the whole Conservative party. All his energies and talents were freely expended in a cause for which he cared intensely. Mr. Gladstone’s vast personal power may perhaps be measured by the opponents by whom he was confronted, and by whom he was so narrowly overborne. It would be profitless to compare the relative services of the various distinguished men who now ranged themselves against him; to observe that Sir Henry James made the heaviest sacrifices, that Mr. Chamberlain ran the greatest risks, that Lord Salisbury showed commanding wisdom or that Lord Hartington struck the weightiest blows. But when the history of the famous battle for the Union in 1886 comes to be worthily written, it will be found that no single man fought with effect in more different quarters of the field than Lord Randolph Churchill or was in the heart and centre of more decisive frays.

Outside the walls of Parliament the issue was determined chiefly in the cities of Birmingham and Belfast. The transference of the whole political strength of the great Midland centre of Radicalism to the Unionist cause and the fierce resistance of the Irish North, were the two most serious obstacles which Mr. Gladstone encountered. In both cities the conflict was marked by every circumstance of passion and excitement. In both Lord Randolph intervened as a leader. He possessed in an eminent degree many of the qualities which may be discovered in a successful military commander. He could detect with almost unerring skill the weak points in his enemy’s array. He could make up his mind with bewildering rapidity and act upon the decision so formed with absolute confidence. He knew well how to separate what was vital from what was merely important or desirable. He was quite ruthless in casting away smaller objects for the sake of a greater. Few men were better suited to the storms of violent times. Till the explosion of Home Rule in the early days of December, he was deep in schemes of educational concession to the Catholic hierarchy—schemes which were in themselves delicate and complicated and which, on account of the suspicion they would have excited in Protestant Lancashire, were necessarily secret while a General Election was pending. But no sooner did Mr. Gladstone’s intentions become known with certainty than Lord Randolph looked towards Ulster. All plans of Catholic Universities and nice correspondence with princes of the Church had to be unceremoniously stowed away till calmer weather. Christmas found him planning his visit to Belfast. By the New Year the arrangements were completed. The Ulster Hall was prepared and the Orange drums were beating. ‘I decided some time ago,’ he wrote bluntly to FitzGibbon, on February 16, 1886, ‘that if the G.O.M. went for Home Rule, the Orange card would be the one to play. Please God it may turn out the ace of trumps and not the two.... I expect,’ he added, ‘your old Commission will go to the devil now.’

Lord Randolph was the first of the out-going Ministers to break silence and in Paddington, on February 13, he defended the violent oscillations in the Irish policy of the late Government—the contrast between the policy of August 1885 and that of January 1886. The reader is already in possession of the main features of that defence, but it is set forth in this speech in a complete argumentative shape; and though it is naturally a partisan account, it will be found to bear a close comparison with the facts now published. The situation in Ireland in August had not, he declared, necessitated the renewal of the Crimes Act. The provisions of the Crimes Act were not suited to deal with the National League; and by January the growth of that organisation required the creation of new and different weapons. ‘If the hateful and malignant domination of the National League had been finally and for ever suppressed, if the restoration of order had been effective—then Lord Salisbury’s Government were prepared to propose to Parliament measures which would to a large extent have met the legitimate aspirations of the Irish people, whether as regards Local Government or as regards the further settlement of some portions of the eternal Land Question, or as regards those wishes of the Catholics of Ireland on higher education which a large concurrence of the opinion of this country is disposed to look upon as right and reasonable.’ He concluded by appealing for the support and encouragement of his constituents in his mission to Ulster upon which he was about to embark.

Lord Randolph crossed the Channel, and arrived at Larne early on the morning of February 22. He was welcomed like a king. Thousands of persons, assembling from the neighbouring townships, greeted him at the port. At Carrickfergus, where the train was stopped, he imitated—almost for the only time—a historic example by addressing a ‘great crowd on the platform.’ In Belfast itself a vast demonstration, remarkable for its earnestness and quality and amounting, it is computed, to more than seventy thousand people, marched past him. One who knew Ireland well declared that he had not believed ‘there were so many Orangemen in the world.’ That night the Ulster Hall was crowded to its utmost compass. In order to satisfy the demand for tickets all the seats were removed and the concourse—which he addressed for nearly an hour and a half—heard him standing. He was nearly always successful on the platform, but the effect he produced upon his audience in Belfast was one of the most memorable triumphs of his life. He held the meeting in the hollow of his hand. From the very centre of Protestant excitement he appealed to the loyal Catholics of Ireland to stand firm by the Union and at the same time, without using language of bigotry or intolerance, he roused the Orangemen to stern and vehement emotion.

‘Now may be the time,’ he said, ‘to show whether all those ceremonies and forms which are practised in Orange Lodges, are really living symbols or only idle and meaningless ceremonies; whether that which you have so carefully fostered, is really the lamp of liberty and its flame the undying and unquenchable fire of freedom.... The time may be at hand when you will have to show that the path of honour and safety is still illuminated by the light of other days. It may be that this dark cloud which is now impending over Ireland, will pass away without breaking. If it does, I believe you and your descendants will be safe for a long time to come. Her Majesty’s Government hesitates. Like Macbeth before the murder of Duncan, Mr. Gladstone asks for time. Before he plunges the knife into the heart of the British Empire he reflects, he hesitates.... The demonstrations to-day will have a very useful effect not only upon the public mind in England, but also on the Ministerial mind, and many more of them must be held. And those demonstrations ought to be imposing not only from their numbers, but also for their orderly character. We are essentially a party of law and order and any violent action resorted to prematurely or without the most obvious and overwhelming necessity might have the most fatal and damaging effect upon the cause which we so dearly value and might alienate forces whose resistance would be beyond all price. The Loyalists in Ulster should wait and watch—organise and prepare. Diligence and vigilance ought to be your watchword; so that the blow, if it does come, may not come upon you as a thief in the night and may not find you unready and taken by surprise.

‘I believe that this storm will blow over and that the vessel of the Union will emerge with her Loyalist crew stronger than before; but it is right and useful that I should add that if the struggle should continue and if my conclusions should turn out to be wrong, then I am of opinion that the struggle is not likely to remain within the lines of what we are accustomed to look upon as constitutional action. No portentous change such as the Repeal of the Union, no change so gigantic, could be accomplished by the mere passing of a law. The history of the United States will teach us a different lesson; and if it should turn out that the Parliament of the United Kingdom was so recreant from all its high duties, and that the British nation was so apostate to traditions of honour and courage, as to hand over the Loyalists of Ireland to the domination of an Assembly in Dublin which must be to them a foreign and an alien assembly, if it should be within the design of Providence to place upon you and your fellow-Loyalists so heavy a trial, then, gentlemen, I do not hesitate to tell you most truly that in that dark hour there will not be wanting to you those of position and influence in England who would be willing to cast in their lot with you and who, whatever the result, will share your fortunes and your fate. There will not be wanting those who at the exact moment, when the time is fully come—if that time should come—will address you in words which are perhaps best expressed by one of our greatest English poets:—

‘As I was bold enough to trouble you about your speech,’ wrote Lord Salisbury the next day, ‘I may be allowed to say that I thought it singularly skilful. You avoided all shoals, and said nothing to which any Catholic could object—and yet you contrived to rouse a great enthusiasm among the Protestants. And that I gather to be the general opinion. I am sure the effect of the speech will be very great in Ulster.’ Lord Salisbury made no secret of his opinion, and on March 3 publicly alluded to the Belfast speech as a ‘brilliantly successful effort.’ The Ministerialists, upon the other hand, were furious. Lord Randolph was accused of inciting to insurrection and treason and denounced as ‘a rebel in the skin of a Tory.’ The Parnellites were especially indignant that one whom they had been accustomed to regard with friendly feelings, should so far forget his duty as to make an inflammatory speech in Ireland; and as the delinquent entered the House of Commons the next night, he was greeted by a loud demonstration of hostility from the Nationalist benches, taking, if contemporary descriptions may be trusted, the form of prolonged and dismal groaning.

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"Ulster will fight, & Ulster will be right."
"Ulster will fight, & Ulster will be right."

On the 26th Mr. Sexton requested the Government to afford an opportunity to the House for discussing a vote of censure upon Lord Randolph Churchill; and the Prime Minister, in refusing, was careful to base himself on the needs of public business alone. Lord Randolph, however, persisted in his courses and a few weeks later, in a letter to a Liberal-Unionist member, he repeated his menace in an even clearer form: ‘If political parties and political leaders, not only Parliamentary but local, should be so utterly lost to every feeling and dictate of honour and courage as to hand over coldly, and for the sake of purchasing a short and illusory Parliamentary tranquillity, the lives and liberties of the Loyalists of Ireland to their hereditary and most bitter foes, make no doubt on this point—Ulster will not be a consenting party; Ulster at the proper moment will resort to the supreme arbitrament of force; Ulster will fight, Ulster will be right; Ulster will emerge from the struggle victorious, because all that Ulster represents to us Britons will command the sympathy and support of an enormous section of our British community, and also, I feel certain, will attract the admiration and the approval of free and civilised nations.’

The jingling phrase, ‘Ulster will fight, and Ulster will be right,’ was everywhere caught up. It became one of the war-cries of the time and spread with spirit-speed all over the country. The attitude of the Protestant North of Ireland became daily more formidable. The excitement in Belfast did not subside. Dangerous riots, increasing in fury until they almost amounted to warfare, occurred in the streets between the factions of Orange and Green. Fire-arms were freely used by the police and by the combatants. Houses were sacked and men and women were killed. So savage, repeated and prolonged were the disturbances, breaking out again and again in spite of all efforts to suppress them, that they became in the end the subject of a Parliamentary Commission, the evidence and report of which are not pleasant reading and proved, when finally published, damaging to the Orange party.

The subject was not, however, discussed in the House of Commons until May 20. An interlude in the Home Rule debate was required for the passage of an Arms Bill which the state of Ireland generally, and of Ulster in particular, had rendered necessary. Lord Randolph was, of course, the object of severe attack from the Irish party and especially from Mr. Parnell, who accused him of inciting, unintentionally, to murder and outrage. To this charge, and to a statement of Sir Henry James that his Ulster speech proved him ‘half a traitor,’ he replied indignantly. He was able to cite the authority of Lord Althorp, Sir Robert Peel, Mr. Morley and of the Prime Minister himself in support of the contention that circumstances might justify morally, if not technically, violent resistance or even civil war. He declined to recede in any way from his words, and the Conservative party cheered him loudly when he said so. Sir Henry James made a soft answer; but the extraordinary feature in the debate was the intervention of the Prime Minister. He did not arrive in the House until after Lord Randolph had spoken, but without delay he launched out upon a sonorous denunciation of his proceedings. He declared that such conduct reminded him of Mr. Smith O’Brien, who in 1848 had risen in his place and announced that, regarding constitutional means exhausted, he would forthwith return to Ireland and proceed to levy war against the Queen. But Mr. Smith O’Brien, argued Mr. Gladstone, was only a private member and a representative of the people. How much more reprehensible was such conduct when displayed by a former Minister of the Crown, by an ex-Secretary of State and by a Privy Councillor! It almost seemed, from the measured severity of the Prime Minister, that he intended to conclude by intimating that he had advised the Queen to strike Lord Randolph Churchill’s name from the list of the Privy Council. But he avoided this natural conclusion to his argument. ‘If,’ he said, ‘we were a weaker country, with less solid institutions, such occurrences as this would, in my opinion, have called for severe and immediate notice.’ Mr. Plunket from the Front Opposition Bench defended Lord Randolph, but the Irish continued to attack him all the evening in an acrimonious fashion. The next day Lord Randolph wrote to the Prime Minister, pointing out some inaccuracies in the words attributed to him. Mr. Gladstone replied tartly:—

There the matter ended, being crushed in the throng of greater events. Constitutional authorities will measure their censures according to their political opinions; but the fact remains that when men are sufficiently in earnest they will back their words by more than votes. ‘I am sorry to say,’ said Mr. Gladstone in 1884, in defence of Mr. Chamberlain’s threat to march 100,000 men from Birmingham to London in support of the Franchise Bill, ‘that if no instructions had ever been addressed in political crises to the people of this country except to remember to hate violence and love order and exercise patience, the liberties of this country would never have been attained.’

Lord Randolph immediately on his return from Ulster, at the end of February, threw himself heart and soul into his favourite project of a coalition. To bring all Unionists together in one line of battle, strengthened by trust and comradeship, to spread with roses the path of every man or Minister who would separate from Mr. Gladstone, was his unwearying endeavour. He would not allow personal differences to disfigure that array. As early as January he had made friends with Lord Hartington, who was still deeply offended by the ‘boa constrictor’ speech.

This, of course, put everything right. Lord Hartington replied with much cordiality, and the friendly relations thus re-established were thereafter consistently preserved and improved.

On March 2 Lord Randolph visited Manchester again, was received by enormous crowds in the streets and spoke at almost proportionate length in the evening to upwards of 12,000 people in the Pomona Gardens—a spot now occupied by the central pool of the Ship Canal. Certainly the offer which, with Lord Salisbury’s consent, he made to the Whigs and Liberal seceders could not well have been more fair or handsome. ‘Tell us what you want,’ he said: ‘dictate your terms. We believe in your hearts you are animated only by a desire for the welfare of the country; we believe that you possess the capacity, mental and otherwise, for contributing to that welfare. If you like to form a Government yourselves, we will support you. If, on the other hand, you wish for our personal co-operation in that Government, we will give it you. If there are persons to whom you object and with whom you do not wish to serve, those persons will stand aside cheerfully.’ And then he went on, in a passage which those he so faithfully served ought not perhaps to overlook, to urge the formation of a new party. ‘Do you not think,’ he asked, ‘that the time has arrived—and fully arrived—when we might seriously consider together how we might form a new political party in England? Do you not think that that party might be an essentially English party? I say English from no spirit of prejudice whatever. I mean a party which shall be essentially English in all those ideas of justice, of moderation, of freedom from prejudice and of resolution which are the peculiarities of the English race. Do you not think that such a party might be formed, which might combine all that is best of the politics of the Tory, the Whig or the Liberal?—combine them all, whether they be principles or whether they be men; and might not we call that party by a new name—might not we call it the party of the Union? Members of that party might be known as Unionists. Our opponents are the party of Separation, and they may be known as ‘Separatists,’ because they are a party who, in one form or another, would adopt a policy which would be equivalent to the restoration of the Heptarchy—a policy which would throw back our civilisation for centuries, and a policy which must inevitably destroy that great fabric of empire which those centuries have laboriously erected. I ask you to answer that proposition seriously. Let us go in for a party of Union; and it is not only to be a party of union of the United Kingdom, but it is also to be a party which supports as its great and main and leading principle union with our colonies and union with our Indian Empire. I offer this without further elaboration to your most earnest attention, because I believe that it is only by the union of all the subjects of the Queen in all parts of the world and by the re-invigorated cooperation, cohesion and consolidation of all parts of the widely scattered British Empire that you can hope to restore to your commerce and to your industries their lost prosperity.’

Meanwhile the preparation of the Irish Bills was jealously guarded from the public eye. Rumours and reports of their character, and of the resistance they were encountering in the Cabinet, multiplied and perished daily. Whigs and Moderate Liberals arraigned before anxious local associations defended themselves in one way or another from charges of ‘insubordination’ and ‘lukewarmness.’ Even those who had refused great office were subjected to severe examination. But while the agitation and excitement in the country mounted steadily, the proceedings in Parliament were tame and dull. ‘Les jours se passent et se ressemblent,’ wrote Lord Randolph. ‘Waiting on the G.O.M. is weary work.’ Radical resolutions in favour of Disestablishment and the abolition of the House of Lords failed to rouse the smallest interest. All debates on other than Irish subjects were unreal; and as the Government reasonably claimed sufficient time to present their policy in due form, discussion on Ireland degenerated into desultory skirmishing. A Scottish Crofters Bill and the colourless ‘Cottage Budget’ slipped easily through. An unrestful hush preceded the storm.

In this interval Lord Salisbury retired to the Riviera and Lord Randolph kept him supplied, as usual, with every kind of rumour, chaff, gossip and circumstantial information, which his wide and various acquaintanceship enabled him to collect. These chatty letters do not lend themselves to reproduction. They are too full of sharp phrases and personal confidences. But in the main they show only the utter uncertainty and confusion that reigned in the political world and how, even to those best able to judge, much that seemed trivial, turned out to be true and important and much that looked substance, proved moonshine.

Lord Salisbury himself was far-sighted, but not sanguine. He was doubtful of a Whig coalition:—

And a fortnight later:—

But in the last week of March the situation cleared and hardened. Descriptions more or less accurate and detailed of the Home Rule Bill and its companion measure had leaked out. The division in the Cabinet became open. Mr. Chamberlain and Mr. Trevelyan had, it now appears, already wished to resign on the 16th. Mr. Gladstone persuaded them to remain, at any rate until the Irish proposals could be presented to his colleagues in a concrete form. On the 26th the Prime Minister faced his powerful lieutenant for the last time across the Cabinet table. The differences of opinion and mood were not to be reconciled or covered by verbal concessions, however ingenious. Even with goodwill on both sides they could not honestly have come to an agreement. And by this time personal goodwill had ceased to be the determining factor in the decisions of either. The resignations were announced forthwith. Persons were found, as is usual in such circumstances, to occupy rather than to fill their places. Together, in the ensuing five years, Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Chamberlain could have carried almost any measure of Liberal or Radical reform upon which they were resolved. The champion of Tory Democracy, the cautious leader of the Whigs, the astute Conservative general, would have resisted them in vain. But the separation proved as lasting as it was complete and the war declared upon March 26, 1886, did not cease until after Mr. Gladstone had finally retired from the political arena.

Ever since their reconciliation after the Aston Riots, Lord Randolph Churchill and Mr. Chamberlain had been good friends. The Radical leader had been the first to offer his congratulations upon the defeat of ‘the old gang’ in June 1885. He had discountenanced the opposition to Lord Randolph’s re-election on taking office, and had been displeased that a contrary action should have been attributed to him. The bickerings and wranglings of the General Election in Birmingham had left their personal relations quite unaffected. They had fought with fairness, and even with courtesy in public speech, and without rancour of any kind. The friendship that existed between them was now to have an important bearing upon the course of events.

In various ways Lord Randolph Churchill was the only prominent man in the Conservative ranks with whom Mr. Chamberlain could easily deal. Lord Salisbury represented opposite ideas, and his antagonism had been so recent and marked that direct association was impossible, even in this great crisis. But Lord Randolph had been so roundly charged, both by his Conservative comrades and his regular opponents, with being ‘a Radical in disguise,’ and was, in fact, so far advanced on many questions, that Mr. Chamberlain could consort with him without embarrassment or flagrant incongruity. Lord Randolph therefore became a natural and indispensable link. The force of political circumstances was strengthened by personal predilection. Both men liked each other’s company. Their moods and ways of looking at things—to some extent their methods—were not altogether dissimilar. Both were popular leaders drawing their strength from democracy. Both were bold, determined, outspoken and impulsive by nature. Both had been joined to their orthodox party colleagues by slender and uncertain bonds. So long as Chamberlain was a Minister, their communications were necessarily restricted; but as soon as he had resigned, he was free, and the two came together in close and cordial co-operation.

Mr. Chamberlain was not likely to be turned from his purpose by the difficulties and dangers of his position. The determination of such men is only aggravated by these elements. Their doubts are hardened into convictions at the whisper of compulsion. He had made up his mind, and he would certainly not have been bullied out of it. All sorts of ingenious and substantial alternatives occupied his imagination. An Irish National Assembly, sitting at Dublin, ‘free to make bye-laws,’ but ‘subject to the authority’ of Parliament—able to levy rates, but leaving ‘the Queen’s taxes to be settled at Westminster,’ would not have driven him away. But on the main point he would not budge, any more than Mr. Gladstone. He would not on any account erect ‘another sovereign authority similar to the Imperial Parliament.’ Rather than consent thereto he would face political ruin. And, indeed, it might have come very near to that latter conclusion in the summer months of 1886.

Lord Randolph Churchill now set himself to work by every means in his power to make the path of such an ally easy and smooth. To bring ‘the great Joe,’ as he is so often called in the Churchill-Salisbury correspondence, into the main line of the Union party seemed to him, indeed, a worthy aspiration. He possessed in private life a personal attractiveness and a wonderful manner—at once courtly, frank and merry—which he did not by any means always display. Only his intimate friends saw his best side. He now exerted himself to comfort Mr. Chamberlain in the difficulties by which he was beset, and to make him feel, in the midst of so much anxiety, that he was not without generous friends in the Conservative party, who were ready to work with him in this great fight without conditions or explanations of any kind—without, indeed, one thought beyond the immediate overpowering issue of the hour. The two men dined together often; they corresponded freely; they consulted almost every day.

The Ministerial resignations and the imminence of the Parliamentary crisis induced Lord Randolph to urge by telegraph Lord Salisbury’s return. The latter was, however, not well enough to travel for several days and in the meanwhile his lieutenants were in much perplexity. Lord Randolph wrote to Lord Salisbury on March 29:—

Political apprehension increased as the date for the declaration of the Irish policy drew near. This event, after various postponements, was finally fixed for April 8. Early in the month Lord Randolph persuaded Mr. Chamberlain and Lord Salisbury to meet. The Turf Club was the neutral ground selected. Thither Lord Salisbury repaired—not, as it appears, without trepidation and misgivings, and in the little dingy downstairs room where visitors are received, was begun that strange alliance afterwards so powerfully to affect the course of history. ‘I was very anxious to see you to-day,’ wrote Lord Randolph to Mr. Chamberlain on the 5th, ‘but learn you are gone home. Your friends, of whom you have many, of whose existence you are not perhaps aware, are desperately anxious that in any reply which you may make to Gladstone on Thursday, you should not commit yourself to, or acknowledge the authorship of, any alternative scheme. It would be a very dangerous piece of manoeuvring with such a skilful opponent as the G.O.M., and besides might scatter dissension among the allies without conciliating estranged Radicals or infuriated Irish. Don’t be cross with me for troubling you. The situation is so critical for everybody that any genuine opinion is worth consideration.’

And again later from the House of Commons:—

‘My anxiety about Thursday forces me to write to you again to remind you, in case of forgetfulness among many other anxieties, that the Queen’s consent to a detailed explanation of Cabinet proceedings is required, which consent I am informed on high authority must be asked for in a formal letter.... The G.O.M. is capable of trying to trip you up on any formality.’

Mr. Chamberlain replied on the 6th. He was vexed with Lord Hartington, who had changed his mind about the arrangements of the debate and who now wished to follow Mr. Gladstone immediately. To this Mr. Chamberlain had assented, not without irritation. ‘The whole matter,’ he wrote, ‘is rendered more uncertain by the fact that the permission from the Queen is curiously worded. It seems to preclude reference to Land Purchase; and as this is bound up with the scheme of Home Rule, I shall decline to say a word unless I am free to tell the whole story. I have written to Mr. Gladstone, but at present have no idea whether or when I shall speak.’

Lord Randolph answered:—

But in the meanwhile Mr. Chamberlain had abandoned all idea of speaking on the first day. The uncertainty as to whether the Bill had been changed or not seemed to him a good reason for delay. His doubts about the Land Bill had, moreover, been removed. ‘Mr. Gladstone,’ he writes (April 7), ‘makes no objection to my referring to the Land scheme; so this difficulty will not arise.’

The debate was marshalled with the utmost care. Lord Randolph feared lest some trifle might make the mutual relations of his two powerful allies more difficult than they were already. He understood how easily vast consequences may in times of strain and emergency arise from personal matters.

The famous ‘Bill for the better government of Ireland,’ after various delays, came before the House of Commons on April 8, and was expounded by the Prime Minister with his usual power and more than his usual restraint. The Chamber, crowded from floor to ceiling with persons of distinction and authority, the purlieus of Parliament invaded by an excited throng, reflected the anxiety of his opponents and enforced the memorable importance of the day. It was discovered that the Irish members had taken possession of many places on the Conservative benches above the gangway. The group of ex-Ministers, clustered together as if on an island, seemed surrounded on every side by the exultant cheers of their opponents. And as they listened to the oratory of their grand antagonist and to the loud applauses which were raised from all parts of the House, more than one heart sank at the onslaught which must now be met.

Mr. Chamberlain did not speak till the following afternoon. Lord Randolph’s anxiety about the exact terms of the Royal permission was justified by the event. So soon as Mr. Chamberlain, in the course of his explanation, found it necessary to refer to the Land Bill, ‘a very startling proposal, involving the issue of 120,000,000l. Consols,’ Mr. Gladstone rose at once to remind ‘his right honourable friend,’ as he was always careful to call him, that the permission obtained from the Queen on his behalf had no relation whatever to the Land Bill, but referred to the Government of Ireland Bill alone. Mr. Chamberlain at once asserted that he had resigned on the Irish policy as expressed in the two Bills, and his explanation could not be complete unless he was allowed to refer to both. He asserted that he had asked the Prime Minister to obtain for him permission to read his letter of March 15, which dealt exclusively with the Land scheme, and that Mr. Gladstone had consented to this. The Prime Minister suavely observed that he could not recollect what letter was written to him on March 15, and that he had no power to extend the Queen’s permission beyond the limits of the Government of Ireland Bill. The situation was painful and acute. Mr. Chamberlain found himself in a position of astonishing difficulty. Quite apart from the painful nature of a misunderstanding upon matters almost of personal honour between distinguished men who had hitherto belonged to the same party, his whole speech—the ‘speech for dear life,’ on which so much depended—must at every step in the argument be interrupted, restricted and recast. In the hush of a great assembly, stirred by passions the fiercer that they were restrained, surrounded by political opponents and personal enemies, menaced by the rancorous attitude of the Nationalist members, and confronted by the greatest Parliamentarian of the age, the resigning Minister had to make up his mind whether to go on and defy the Prime Minister, whether to sit down at once and refuse to attempt a mutilated explanation, or whether to submit and say what could be said as well as possible. He chose the last, and he succeeded in delivering a speech of nearly an hour which proceeded by steps of close and sustained argument to a triumphant conclusion. Lord Randolph Churchill’s admiration for this memorable personal and Parliamentary feat was boundless. ‘By a supreme and unequalled effort,’ he wrote at once, ‘you have reasserted your position as leader of the Radical party, and on questions of Imperial policy you have gained the confidence of the country. I never heard anything better.’

In spite of all its unexpected restriction the speech of the resigning Minister had proved damaging to Bill and policy. But a more formidable shock was to follow. Mr. Chamberlain has been censured for having joined the Government of 1886 at all; and at the time, while passion was hot, he was freely accused of having joined it in order to wreck it. The letter which he had written to the Prime Minister before accepting office on January 30, asserting his opinions in perfectly unmistakable terms upon the Irish Question, and the ‘unlimited liberty of judgment and rejection’ which Mr. Gladstone had formally accorded him, are in themselves a powerful defence of his action. But Lord Hartington, who had from the very first held aloof, occupied a far stronger position; and from that position, with the ‘hereditary virtue of the whole House of Cavendish,’ in his usual temper of sober integrity, and in that style of homely yet profound argument which has always influenced the English mind, he now delivered a tremendous blow. For a long Parliament he had led the Liberal Opposition; for almost a generation he had filled great office; on a hundred important occasions he had been the spokesman of a Government and a party, and yet until he sat down after his speech on the introduction of the Home Rule Bill, no one on either side of the House knew what he could do. Mr. Chamberlain could answer the Prime Minister, Lord Randolph could attack him and fight him, Mr. Goschen could rate him; but Lord Hartington on this occasion did that to Mr. Gladstone which no other living man could do, and which Disraeli himself had seldom done—he rebuked him.

Beside these speeches the rest of the debate, distinguished as it was by so much wit and vigour, lay somewhat in shadow. The Chief Secretary, as the living embodiment of the new Irish policy, was heard with the greatest attention when he closed the discussion for that evening. In arraigning the late Government for their bewildering changes of mood and action towards Ireland, he fastened upon Lord Randolph a sharp adaptation of a famous verse which was devoid neither of justice nor severity:—

Lord Randolph, when he resumed the debate next day, chose, like a good general, other ground to fight upon than that selected by his adversary as suited to attack. He spoke with unusual moderation, paying many elaborate tributes to the Prime Minister’s eloquence and glory, and dealing mainly, in laborious detail, with the fiscal and financial proposals of the Bill. He contrived, without actually applying the quotation, to remind the Chief Secretary of Grattan’s description of a speech of Lord Clare. ‘Great generosity of assertion, great thrift of argument, a turn to be offensive without the power to be severe—fury in the temper and famine in the phrase.’ He kept his most effective retort till the end. Mr. Morley had suggested that the consequences of the rejection of the Bill might be an outbreak of crime and outrage in Ireland, and against those responsible for its defeat. Lord Randolph rejoined with force and dignity that such considerations ought not to influence the House. ‘Are these new dangers? Have we never known of a "No Rent" Manifesto? Have we had no experience of dynamite explosions? The right honourable member for Bury can tell the House how we were providentially, and almost miraculously, preserved from an awful disaster. But the dynamiters—the people who were inculpated in these atrocities—are now undergoing what has been called a living death.... Then, sir, as to assassination. Assassination is one of the rarest incidents in modern political life. It used to be a common method of political warfare; but the growth and progress of civilisation has demonstrated its utter folly and inutility. A man in public life ought not to be deterred by the knowledge that by some mischance some day or other he might be the mark of a lunatic or criminal, any more than anybody contemplating a railway journey would be deterred by the fear of an accident.’ All this was greatly approved. ‘I think you must be quite satisfied,’ wrote Lord Salisbury, ‘that your care over your speech was not thrown away. Everybody acknowledges it to have been admirably judicious.’ But Lord Randolph did not set much store by his effort. ‘It appears,’ he wrote to his wife, ‘to have been rather a succÈs d’estime than anything else; but the Whigs were very grateful to me for not being abusive of the G.O.M. or violent.’ And again to FitzGibbon: ‘I fear you must have thought my speech dull, but I was under an apprehension of saying anything to hurt the susceptibilities of timorous Whigs and Radicals, which made me very ineffective.’

No division was taken upon the first reading out of consideration for these same susceptibilities, and the debate was terminated on the 13th by Mr. Gladstone in another great oration. The introduction of the Bill being thus formally agreed to by Parliament, the agitation in the country and the fusion of the opposing forces proceeded amain. On the next day a meeting was held in Her Majesty’s Theatre, at which Lord Hartington appeared on the same platform as Lord Salisbury. The chair was taken by Lord Cowper, Mr. Gladstone’s late Viceroy, and he was supported by such representative men as Mr. Smith, Mr. P. Rylands and Mr. Goschen. The great company who assembled, mainly Conservative in their character, had no difficulty in coming to agreement upon a resolution hostile to the measure. Lord Randolph Churchill, for reasons which do not appear, thought this demonstration, known to history as ‘the Opera House meeting,’ a mistake, and he describes it in his private letters as a ‘piece of premature gush.’ He was inclined to attach more importance to a private conclave of Whig Peers which was held two days later at Derby House, which he attended, and of which he kept a record. All Mr. Gladstone’s Peers were present, there were scarcely any absentees and much practical business was settled. The Duke of Argyll and Lords Derby, Hartington, Camperdown, De Vesci, Ribblesdale and Selborne, all spoke. Lord Hartington explained that there was no question of a coalition. He said that nothing could exceed the loyalty and good faith of Lord Salisbury and the Tories. In his opinion they were fighting for the unity of the Empire, and not for personal advantage. He could not make any definite statement; but he told them they might take it for granted that the Tory party would loyally support all Unionist candidatures. The Lords were urged not to be afraid to use their influence upon local Liberal leaders; to tell the members that their seats would be unsafe if they supported the Bill; and to attend meetings, if possible, under Liberal auspices. If the Bill ever reached the House of Lords great efforts must be made to reject it unanimously. Meanwhile it was arranged that opposition to the measure was to be fanned by all imaginable means. The meeting separated in much enthusiasm and determination. ‘The feeling against the whole policy,’ wrote Lord Randolph to FitzGibbon the next day, ‘grows steadily; it is an undercurrent which the outside public cannot detect.’

Upon the Parliamentary tactics Lord Randolph had the clearest views:—

The second half of Mr. Gladstone’s Irish policy—the Land Bill—was brought before Parliament on April 16. The Prime Minister had shown no apparent eagerness to make public this plan, and was credited by his opponents with intending to hold it back till after the Easter Recess, in order that the consideration of the Home Rule Bill might not be prejudiced and complicated. Any misgivings which he may have felt, were fully justified by the event. The measure was on all sides ill received. The landlords, whom it was meant to conciliate, would have nothing to do with it. Radicals disliked buying them out at such a price. Economists deplored the drain on national credit. The Irish members denounced the appointment of a Receiver-General. The Press, Metropolitan and provincial alike, was almost uniformly hostile. The Bill scarcely survived its birthday. No further progress was made or attempted with it in Parliament. It perished meanly, and its carcass was kept by enemies only in order to infect its companion.

The Easter holiday was a period of intense political activity. The Prime Minister must, of course, have known from the beginning that the Home Rule Bill would be thrown out in the Lords. The stakes were high. A direct conflict between the two Houses and a dissolution thereupon was an inevitable and perhaps an indispensable consequence of his policy. A defeat in the Commons would shield the Lords from the responsibility. They would not be concerned in any way. The issue would be confined to Home Rule alone, and democratic wrath could fall only upon the members of a representative assembly. It was therefore vital to Mr. Gladstone to secure the passage through the House of Commons of at least one of the two Bills, and every exertion was made by both sides to win the dissentients who held the fortunes of the struggle in balance.

The machinery of the Liberal party acted as machinery is intended to act. If the changes the leader of the party had proposed, had been twice as vast, and half as reasonable, it would have been equally obedient. If he had been an ordinary politician, instead of a great and famous man, he would, consciously or unconsciously, have controlled it still. Although Mr. Gladstone knew little of its ordinary workings, and would have been disquieted had he known more, it responded readily to his will. All its gigantic force began to grind up against the men who withstood him, and to it was added the fierce wave of enthusiasm that his magic drew from the Radical electorate. Nothing availed his opponents within their own party. Long, distinguished, faithful service, earnest agreement on all other subjects, the comradeship of battles scarcely ended, the chances of victories yet to come—all ceased to be worth consideration. Local Associations hastened to pass resolutions of confidence in the Prime Minister. To all members who were declared or reputed opponents of his measures—right or wrong—a hard and growing pressure was applied. Lord Hartington was required to explain his vote on the Jesse Collings amendment and his presence at the Opera House Meeting to the satisfaction of the Rossendale Liberal Council. ‘I have retracted,’ he said, ‘no word of condemnation or censure which I have uttered in regard to Conservative policy; and in regard to any question which is at issue between Liberals and Conservatives outside this question of the future government of Ireland, I hold that I am as free and as uncommitted as I ever was. Much as I value the unity of the Liberal party, I value the unity of the British Empire much more, and I will not be prevented by any party consideration from doing what, in my opinion, may be best fitted to maintain that union.’ Yet these brave, honest words from a representative so long trusted, preceded as they were by a letter from John Bright himself declaring that Lord Hartington’s attitude was thoroughly consistent with true Liberalism, failed to win a vote of confidence, and the most that could be obtained from the Rossendale Liberals was an expression of thanks for their member’s address.

The course of events in Birmingham was, for reasons some of which belong to this narrative, more remarkable. In all the arts of political warfare, especially in that which concerns the management of constituencies and electoral machinery, Mr. Chamberlain was unrivalled. The forces at his disposal were small; but he did not throw away a man or a chance. The introduction of the Land Bill gave him the opportunity of reading his letter of March 15 which Mr. Gladstone had formerly denied him, and of making many damaging criticisms upon that measure. Yet the tone which he adopted was more friendly than had been generally expected and his closing words, in which he expressed a hope that the differences between him and the Prime Minister would not prove irreconcilable or lasting, were warmly cheered from the Liberal benches. Mr. Chamberlain has stated with the utmost frankness, in an interview with Mr. Barry O’Brien,[52] that his intention ‘all the time’ was to kill the Home Rule Bill. ‘I was not opposed to the reform of the land laws. I was not opposed to Land Purchase. It was the right way to settle the Land Question. But there were many things in the Bill to which I was opposed on principle. My main object in attacking it, though, was to kill the Home Rule Bill. As soon as the Land Bill was out of the way, I attacked the question of the exclusion of the Irish members. I used that point to show the absurdity of the whole scheme.’ The belief in an accommodation was therefore baseless, and neither Mr. Chamberlain nor the Prime Minister could share the hopes of their followers.

The war on both sides was fair and fierce. Mr. Chamberlain was throughout at heart uncompromising; but he practised a conciliatory manner so that he might carry Birmingham with him. The Prime Minister, on his part, was duly grateful for his ex-colleague’s kindness; but he allowed the necessary preparations to go steadily forward for twisting from Mr. Chamberlain’s hands the organisations, local and national, he had so long controlled. ‘Gladstone,’ wrote Lord Randolph to FitzGibbon on the morrow of the Land Bill debate, ‘is pretending to make up to Joe, in order to pass his Bill; and Joe is pretending to make up to Gladstone, in order to throw out his Bill. Diamond cut diamond.’

On April 21 the Liberal ‘Two Thousand’ assembled in the Birmingham Town Hall to hear their member’s explanations. The meeting, which densely crowded the building, had been organised by Mr. Schnadhorst, and the exertions of that astute person to obtain a vote favourable to the Prime Minister had been unremitting. The speaker was not slow to understand the dangerous blow by which he was threatened. He excelled himself. If speeches rarely turn votes in Parliament, it is otherwise in the country. The man himself, their fighting leader, their most distinguished fellow-citizen, appealing for support from his own people, using arguments which none could answer, with a skill which none could rival, was irresistible. Mr. Chamberlain turned the meeting. Some were moved by the hopes—which he was careful not to destroy—that, after all, there would be peace. Others resolved to share with him the fortunes of the struggle. They came to curse; they remained to bless. Before he had finished, it was evident that he had won. The officials on the platform saw themselves almost deserted. In vain they pleaded for delay, for an adjournment, for anything rather than a vote from an assembly so moved. But Chamberlain demanded an immediate decision, and the meeting thought his demand was just. By an overwhelming majority—it is said, with only two dissentients—they passed a resolution of ‘unabated confidence’ in their member, and later a resolution which, though courteously worded, was in effect a condemnation of the Land Bill.

On May 3 Mr. Gladstone published a manifesto practically declaring that the Land Bill was no longer an essential article of the Liberal faith, and that in the Home Rule Bill all questions of detail were subsidiary to the one vital principle—the establishment of a legislative body in Dublin empowered to make laws for Irish as distinguished from Imperial affairs. On paper this should have met Mr. Chamberlain’s principal objections. Yet two days later, without waiting for any fresh declaration from him, the official Gladstonians carried at a special meeting of the National Liberal Federation a series of resolutions pledging that body—upon which Mr. Chamberlain’s influence had hitherto been supreme—to an unconditional support of the Government. The policy of making diplomatic concessions while fleets and armies are moving into advantageous positions, seldom leads to peace, and Parliament met after the Easter Recess more confused and divided than ever before.

The Second Reading of the Home Rule Bill had been fixed for May 6, the anniversary, as Lord Randolph Churchill lost no time in pointing out, of the Phoenix Park murders. It was postponed until the 10th, and on that day began the protracted and memorable debate that ended the Parliament and shattered the Liberal party. Up to the time when the Land Bill was introduced Ministers believed that they would certainly carry Home Rule through the House of Commons. But day by day the Parliamentary situation grew darker. Lord Hartington moved the rejection of the Bill in an impressive speech. Fifty-two Liberal and Radical members met Mr. Chamberlain on the 12th to concert resistance and request him to negotiate no longer. Sixty-four, including thirty-two who had been at the former meeting, assembled at Devonshire House on the 14th. By the 18th Lord Hartington felt himself strong enough to make at Bradford declarations which foreshadowed a hostile vote. On the 22nd the National Liberal Union was formed of the principal Liberal dissentients all over the country; while in Birmingham Mr. Chamberlain actually created an entirely new democratic caucus of his own, to replace the organisation which Mr. Schnadhorst had wrested from him.

But at the last moment everything came near being thrown into the melting-pot again. On May 27 Mr. Gladstone called a meeting of the Liberals at the Foreign Office. Above 260 members attended. The proceedings were harmonious, and the speech of the Prime Minister most conciliatory. He said that the Government desired by a vote on the Second Reading no more than to establish the principle of the measure, which was the creation in Ireland of a legislative body for the management of affairs exclusively and specifically Irish. If the Second Reading were affirmed, no further steps would be taken for passing the measure that session; it would be withdrawn, and could be proceeded with in an autumn session, or reintroduced in a new session with the clauses which presented most difficulty remodelled or reconstructed. Moreover, a vote for the Second Reading of the Irish Government Bill given by an independent member, left the giver absolutely free as to his vote on the Land Purchase Bill.

The plan was at once practical and alluring. The House was invited to pass little more than an abstract resolution. The controversy of the Land Bill was put aside; many of the controversies of the Home Rule Bill would be relegated to the Committee stage. Yet, once the Second Reading was passed, the Government would be immensely strengthened. A great decision favourable to them would have been taken by Parliament. Above all, there would be delay. Time would be secured to the Government to win back their followers by blandishments and concessions, as well as by the pressure of local organisations. Time was offered to the waverer and the weakling—and among all the plain men jostled and buffeted in this fierce contention there were many such—to put off the evil and momentous hour of decision and to cling for a while to a middle course. Time, too, would be at work among the slender new-formed Unionist alliances. Was it strange that the rank and file of the Liberal party should welcome this easy yet honourable escape and certain respite amid alternatives so full of hazard?

The dangerous character of this manoeuvre, not less than its extreme ingenuity, was patent to the Unionist leaders. The Whigs were embarrassed and perplexed, and Mr. Chamberlain’s position became one of aggravated and peculiar difficulty. On all sides forces laboriously accumulated threatened to dissolve. In this crisis Lord Randolph Churchill’s instinct and resolution were decisive. One course opened perfectly clear and distinct before him. A hot debate must be forced at once and at all costs in the House of Commons. Mr. Gladstone must be stung into reply; and then, what with the taunts and interruptions of the Opposition and the powerful influence of the Irish audience—not represented at the Foreign Office meeting—he would in all probability be driven to a more uncompromising declaration. As soon as he came down to the House on Friday the 28th, he thrust this forward upon his colleagues on the Front Opposition Bench and urged that Smith or Beach should move the adjournment without delay. The others hesitated. The movers of the adjournment would be on very weak ground and possessed, as it seemed, but a slight and doubtful pretext. The skill of the Prime Minister in explanations soothing to all parties was measureless and unrivalled. A Parliamentary rebuff at such a moment might have the most serious consequences. But Lord Randolph clinched the matter.

At the conclusion of questions Sir Michael Hicks-Beach rose and invited the Prime Minister to declare definitely his intentions in regard to the Bill. Mr. Gladstone’s reply was suave, and ended as follows: ‘Reference must be made elsewhere before I proceed to give authoritative information to the House; but there is nothing at all improper in asking for that information, and on an early day I may be in a position to give it.’ Forthwith Sir Michael Hicks-Beach asked leave to move the adjournment of the House, and in spite of the angry cries of ‘No’ which were raised by Ministerialists he handed to the Speaker a written notice of motion, which the Speaker somewhat doubtfully accepted. All the members on the Opposition benches and a few on the Government side of the House rose amid much cheering and some laughter in its support. Sir Michael then delivered a vigorous and provocative speech. Mr. Gladstone had said that the Bill was urgent: yet now it was to be postponed for five months. He had declared that the Government had a plan, that no one else had a plan, and that their plan held the field: yet now the House was asked to give an indefinite vote on some undefined principle of autonomy for Ireland, which might mean anything or nothing and was, in fact, a mere abstract resolution. If the Second Reading of the Bill were carried under conditions like that, it would be nothing more nor less than a ‘Continuance in Office Bill.’

This was all received with great Opposition cheering, and Mr. Gladstone laid aside the letter he was writing and rose to reply. He began in his most majestic manner. He was struck by the warmth of the speech to which they had listened. He would not imitate it. The imputation that the Government were considering their own continuance of office was one he would not condescend to discuss. That he left to the generous consideration of his countrymen. But as his speech proceeded, the cheers of his followers and the wealth and splendour of his language and ideas produced an exhilarating effect. ‘We have before us a conflict in which we are prepared to go through to the end—(loud cheers)—and in which we are perfectly confident of the final issue. (Renewed cheers.) But we will not take our tactics from the Opposition.’ (Cheers.) And then followed a passage which proved of momentous importance. ‘The right honourable gentleman says that we are going to give an indefinite vote, and that the Bill is to be remodelled. I think that happy word is a pure invention. I am not aware that there is a shadow or shred of authority for any such statement.’

Lord Randolph Churchill: Reconstructed.

Mr. Gladstone: The noble lord says ‘reconstructed’ was the word. It is quite true that the word ‘reconstructed’ was used. (Loud Opposition cheers and laughter.) What confidence these gentlemen who use those means of opposition must have in the rectitude of their own cause and the far-seeing character of their own statesmanship! (Cheers.) The word ‘reconstructed’ was used. Does the noble lord dare to say it was used with respect to the Bill?

Lord Randolph Churchill: Yes.

Mr. Gladstone: Never! Never! (Cheers.) It was used with respect to one particular clause of the Bill. This grand attack, founded upon the fact that our Bill was to be remodelled, therefore fails. What a woeful collapse! It is not the Bill that is to be remodelled, it appears, after all. (Home Rule cheers and laughter.) The noble lord spoke boldly of my speech, but now it turns out that he read it wrong. (More laughter.)

Seldom has rhetorical success been more dearly purchased. If Mr. Gladstone had made a lame and ineffective speech, if he had contrived to sit down leaving the impression that he was hesitating and uncertain, the course of history might have run very differently. The support of wavering friends might have been secured. A word would have reassured Parnell. The Second Reading might have been carried. But the very excellence of his arguments defeated his schemes and his uncompromising statements settled the fate of the Bill. ‘Never! Never!’ was the last word in the negotiations with the Liberal and Radical Unionists; it was the wrench which broke finally and for ever the many ties of sentiment and interest which bound them to their party: henceforth they looked back no more, and strode forward into the future, anxious but not undecided.

Some realisation of the possible effect of his words seemed to come to the Minister after they were spoken, for he lapsed into ambiguity and reservations; ‘and,’ said he before sitting down, ‘if we had made some great error in the management of this Bill, the right honourable gentleman would not have interposed to-day with his motion for adjournment, but would probably have sat with folded arms, delighted to see how we walked into some one of the many snares set for us.’

Lord Randolph Churchill followed in debate. It was not possible then to know how deep was the impression made upon the Liberal-Unionists by the uncompromising statements of the Prime Minister, and Lord Randolph, in a speech which provoked the occupants of the Treasury Bench, which many mistook for a mere taunting attack, but which was, in reality, a very adroit and skilful performance, endeavoured with no little success to extort from Mr. Gladstone and the Home Rulers repeated admissions that the division on the Second Reading was to be a real trial of strength and repeated denials that the Bill was to be dropped or reconstructed. To do this it was necessary to assert the contrary in an exaggerated form—yet without exciting suspicion; and anyone who may chance to read the speech from this point of view will discern the artifice lurking in every part. The offer which the Government made to the House was, he suggested, this: ‘If you vote for the Second Reading of this Bill, we will withdraw the Bill, and you shall never hear of it again’; and when this excited protests he swiftly changed his ground and declared that the Prime Minister was speaking with two voices—‘a voice to the Irish members that the Bill is not to be reconstructed—[No!]—a voice to the Liberals below the Gangway that it is to be reconstructed.’ [No! No!] He asked Mr. Gladstone why he would not ‘present a fair issue and stick to his guns,’ adding, amid a storm of Ministerial wrath, ‘we are being jockeyed.’ Why was it necessary to delay the Bill? ‘The right honourable gentleman says he has no time. Why has he no time? To whom is it principally due that this debate has been so protracted? Who refused to take it de die in diem? Who interposed every obstacle which Parliamentary experience and ingenuity could suggest? Why, sir, if it had not been for the obstacles interposed by the Prime Minister himself, we might have divided on this Bill a week ago. And what is the remedy? "The question," says the Prime Minister, "is very urgent. I still hold to the doctrine of extreme urgency; but we have no time to deal with it this summer and we will therefore put off further dealing with it till the end of the year." [Mr. Gladstone dissented.] The Prime Minister is very captious about dates. We will put off dealing with the Bill then to some period in the future marked out for us by those "limitations which are imposed upon us by the revolutions of the heavenly bodies." The right honourable gentleman complains of want of time, and he says: "We will not send the Bill up to the House of Lords in August." Because why? Because the House of Lords will seek refuge in the excuse that they cannot consider the measure in the time at their disposal. [Mr. Gladstone: ‘Hear! Hear!’] Sir, I dare say that the Prime Minister is far better acquainted with Peers than I am. He has made a great many of them—but whatever course the House of Lords may take will not, I am certain, be based upon such frivolous grounds as that, and I am perfectly convinced that he need not have the smallest fear whatever that the question of time will be raised. I have not a doubt about it that the decision of the House of Lords upon this Bill will be serious, calm, immediate and final.’ After complaining that information should be given to one group of members at the Foreign Office and refused to the House of Commons as a whole, Lord Randolph proceeded: ‘What has been the great bribe offered by the Prime Minister—a bribe as great as any offered at the time of the Act of Union? "If you vote for the Second Reading of a Bill which you do not approve of in your hearts and which you disbelieve in, I promise that at any rate for another twelve months you shall not be sent back to your constituencies." This is the noble policy of the right honourable gentleman, and the noble motives by which he appeals to Parliament: "Vote for anything you like; you are committed to nothing."’

Mr. Gladstone: Oh no.

Lord Randolph Churchill: What? Then they are committed!

Mr. Gladstone: Certainly.

Lord Randolph Churchill: The Prime Minister surprises me. I did not think it possible to be surprised by him. Does he contend, from a Parliamentary point of view, that members by voting for the Second Reading of the Bill can be committed to the Bill if that Bill dies or is withdrawn?

Mr. Gladstone: The principle of the Bill.

Lord Randolph Churchill: Never was such a view held in Parliament before. I venture to say never; and that is why the Prime Minister holds out to members the bribe that if they will only vote for the principle of the Bill, which they disapprove of, and which is going to be withdrawn and possibly never heard of again, he will consent to give them a little longer lease of political life. The manoeuvres of the Government were such as might be expected from ‘an old Parliamentary hand’; they were not those which statesmen like Lord Russell, Lord Althorp or Sir Robert Peel would have contemplated; and, having drawn forth one final demonstration from the Ministerial benches by protesting in a concluding sentence against this attempt to ‘hocus’ the House of Commons, Lord Randolph sat down well satisfied.

The Chancellor of the Exchequer rose to reply. In his most impressive style he undertook to administer a solemn rebuke for the use of such words as ‘jockey’ and ‘hocus.’ ‘This, sir,’ he said portentously, ‘is the language of the Derby.’ ‘No,’ retorted Lord Randolph across the table, in one of those penetrating half-whispers with which he so often riveted his hearers, ‘it is the language of the Hoax.’ It was some time before Sir William Harcourt was able to regain the serious attention of the House.

The manoeuvre had indeed been successful—but how successful could not yet be known. Mr. Chamberlain summoned a meeting of his followers for May 31, finally to determine whether to vote against the Bill or to abstain. ‘Everything,’ he wrote to Lord Randolph (May 29), ‘turns on Monday’s meeting’; and it is clear from his letter that he had not absolutely decided upon his course. He even states elaborately the reasons which made for abstention instead of a direct vote. Lord Randolph ventured upon a final appeal. He wrote:—

May 29, 1886.

I feel almost certain that if you remain as firm in the future as you have been in the past the Bill will be destroyed now; otherwise it will only be ‘scotched,’ and will wriggle about more venomous and mischievous than before. I think you must be satisfied with your decision to delay your meeting and your speech. I am sure that the greater bulk of your followers will stick to you, and stick to you with all the more admiration and fidelity, if you keep your foot down. Every day is showing more distinctly what madness it is to trust the G.O.M.... It seems to me that if you allow your party to give way, now that they know that the Bill in the autumn will not be a reconstructed Bill, but the same Bill, both you and your party will occupy a position of much humility, and you will have missed at the last moment the prize which was actually in your grasp. If you have any who are very weak about their seats let me know the names, and I will do my best to secure them from Tory opposition. But I do implore you to stick to your guns.... You won’t mind my troubling you with these lines.