It was pleasant, even to those who do not love Mr. Chamberlain either personally or politically, to watch him during this episode.  When the son first stood up, the pallor of the face, the unsteadiness of the voice, the broken and stumbling accents, told of the high state of nervous strain through which he was passing, and it was easy to see that the emotions of the son had communicated themselves to the father.  Mr. Chamberlain had his hat low down on his forehead so as to conceal his face and its tell-tale excitement as much as possible.  But it turned out that he need not have been in the least alarmed.  The speech of young Mr. Chamberlain, for a maiden speech, was really wonderful.  It was lucid, well knit, pointed, cogent.  Its delivery was almost perfect; it had the true House of Commons air and manner.  This young man will go far.  I shouldn’t be surprised if he became in time even a better debater than his father.  His education, I should say, is broader and deeper, his mind finer, and his temper sweeter and more under control.  During the latter portion of the speech his father’s face had a smile, pleasant to behold; one could forgive him a great deal of his hardness, rancour, even ferocity, for this manifestation—­open and frank—­of kindly human-feeling.

[Sidenote:  And angry.]

But, as I have said, there was another manifestation of Mr. Chamberlain in the course of this very evening.  Shortly before ten o’clock Mr. Morley rose to make his reply.  It was twenty minutes to ten when he rose.  It was close upon midnight when he sate down.  And yet there wasn’t one word too many—­indeed, Mr. Morley might have gone even longer without wearying the House, for it was a speech which, although not free from some of the besetting weaknesses of his oratory, was an eloquent, impressive and convincing addition to the great argument on the Irish question.  Giving himself a certain freedom—­departing from the over-severe self-restraint which he so often imposes upon himself—­abandoning the frigidity of manner which conceals from so many people his warmth of heart and of temper, he spoke with a go, a fire and a force of attack not very common with him.  Above all things the speech gave the impression of one who spoke from the inside—­who knew the subjects of which he was talking, not merely in their general aspects, but in their dark recesses—­in their latent passion—­in their awful and appalling depths.  It was while this fine speech was being delivered that the other and the darker side of Mr. Chamberlain’s nature was to be seen.  There are no such enmities as those between relatives or former friends; and so it apparently is between Mr. Chamberlain and Mr. Morley—­though it should be said most of the bitterness of the hatred seems to be on the one side.  While Mr. Morley is speaking there is a frown on the face of Mr. Chamberlain that never lifts.  Now and then, the sulky and sullen and frowning silence was broken by an observation