guide our expectations from the Reform Bill, nor such as under
ordinary circumstances we should have had.

Nor does the experience of the last election much help us. The
circumstances were too exceptional. In the first place, Mr.
Gladstone's personal popularity was such as has not been seen since
the time of Mr. Pitt, and such as may never be seen again. Certainly
it will very rarely be seen. A bad speaker is said to have been
asked how he got on as a candidate. "Oh," he answered, "when I do
not know what to say, I say 'Gladstone,' and then they are sure to
cheer, and I have time to think." In fact, that popularity acted as
a guide both to constituencies and to members. The candidates only
said they would vote with Mr. Gladstone, and the constituencies only
chose those who said so. Even the minority could only be described
as anti-Gladstone, just as the majority could only be described as
pro-Gladstone. The remains, too, of the old electoral organisation
were exceedingly powerful; the old voters voted as they had been
told, and the new voters mostly voted with them. In extremely few
cases was there any new and contrary organisation. At the last
election, the trial of the new system hardly began, and, as far as
it did begin, it was favoured by a peculiar guidance.

In the meantime our statesmen have the greatest opportunities they
have had for many years, and likewise the greatest duty. They have
to guide the new voters in the exercise of the franchise; to guide
them quietly, and without saying what they are doing, but still to
guide them. The leading statesmen in a free country have great
momentary power. They settle the conversation of mankind. It is they
who, by a great speech or two, determine what shall be said and what
shall be written for long after. They, in conjunction with their