Sir William, sitting on the Treasury Bench that night--beneath the wild tirade of Mr.Goschen--under the dreary drip of Sir John Lubbock--was a sight that a new Addison might show to his child; not that he might see how a Christian might die, but how a great Christian official could suffer with all the patience of silent and suffering merit.

There was a look of almost dazzling and beatific sanctity on Sir William's face that was perfectly delightful to behold.

And when he got up to reply to Mr.Goschen and to Sir John Lubbock, whither had departed that splendid rotundity of voice--that resonant shout of triumph or of defiance?
Sir William coo'd gently as the white-feathered dove; and the Tory Benches, which had been ebullient with excitement a few moments before, could not find it in their hearts to do other than listen reverently to this good and holy man expostulating with heathen foes.

And thus the first resolution of the Budget got quietly through, which was exactly what the Chancellor of the Exchequer wanted; whereupon there might have been observed, perhaps, by a close looker-on, a sinking of one of Sir William's eyelids, which might have suggested in a lesser mortal the wink of the man who takes off the mask when the comedy is over.

Sir William is a splendid artiste.
[Sidenote: A great night.] It was probably under the influence of Sir William that this turned out to be the greatest and best night the Government had had so far.