he afterwards concealed. He looked like a retired old croupier
from Baden."

Having frequented the Gallery of the House of Commons, or the more
privileged seats "under the Gallery," from my days of knickerbockers,
I often heard Palmerston speak. I remember his abrupt, jerky, rather
"bow-wow"-like style, full of "hums" and "hahs"; and the sort of
good-tempered but unyielding banter with which he fobbed off an
inconvenient enquiry, or repressed the simple-minded ardour of
a Radical supporter.

Of course, a boy's attention was attracted rather by appearance and
manner than by the substance of a speech; so, for a frank estimate
of Palmerston's policy at the period which I am discussing, I turn
to Bishop Wilberforce (whom he had just refused to make Archbishop
of York).

"That wretched Pam seems to me to get worse and worse. There is
not a particle of veracity or noble feeling that I have ever been
able to trace in him. He manages the House of Commons by debauching
it, making all parties laugh at one another; the Tories at the
Liberals, by his defeating all Liberal measures; the Liberals at
the Tories, by their consciousness of getting everything that is to
be got in Church and State; and all at one another, by substituting
low ribaldry for argument, bad jokes for principle, and an openly
avowed, vainglorious, imbecile vanity as a panoply to guard himself
from the attacks of all thoughtful men."

But what I remember even more clearly than Palmers ton is appearance
or manner--perhaps because it did not end with his death--is the