A LOST VOTE.
On the very few occasions when Mr. Gladstone visits the inner lobby on his way to and from the Whips' room, he strides through the groups of members with stiffened back and head erect, apparently seeing nobody. This is a habit, certainly not discourteously meant, which cost him a valuable friend, and made for the Liberal party one of its bitterest and most effective enemies. Twenty years ago there entered the House of Commons in the prime of life a man who early proved the potentiality of his becoming one of its brightest ornaments. A Radical by conviction, instinct, and habits dating from boyhood, he had raised in an important district the drooping flag of Liberalism, and amid the disaster that attended it at the General Election of 1874, had carried nearly every seat in his own county.
There were other reasons why he might have looked for warm welcome from the Liberal chief on entering the House of Commons. Mr. Gladstone had a few years earlier, at another crisis in the fortunes of the party, been a guest at his father's house, and was indebted to him for substantial assistance in carrying the General Election of 1868. A singularly sensitive, retiring man, the new member felt disposed to shrink from the effusive reception that would naturally await him when he settled in London within the circuit of personal communication with Mr. Gladstone. He was in his place below the gangway on the Opposition side for weeks through the Session of 1874. Mr. Gladstone, it is true, was not then in constant attendance, but he not infrequently looked in, and was at least within morning-call distance of the new member. They met for the first time in the quiet corridor skirting the Library, and Mr. Gladstone, his head in the air, passed his young friend, son of an old friend, without sign of recognition.
It was, of course, a mere accident, an undesigned oversight, certainly not enough to shape a man's political career. I do not say that alone it did it, but I have personal knowledge of the fact that it rankled deeply, and was the beginning of the end that wrecked a great career and has cost the Liberal party dearly.
MR. DISRAELI AND DR. O'LEARY.
There is a well-known story of close upon this date which illustrates Mr. Disraeli's manner in analogous circumstances. In the Parliament of 1874 there was a gentleman named Dr. O'Leary—William Haggarty O'Leary, member for Drogheda. The Doctor was a very small man, with gestures many sizes too big for him, and a voice that on occasion could emulate the volume of Major O'Gorman's. He was fierce withal, as one of his colleagues will remember. One night in the Session of 1875, when the Coercion Bill was under discussion, Dr. O'Leary was put up to move the adjournment. In those halcyon days it was possible for a member to recommend such a motion in a speech of any length to which he felt equal. Dr. O'Leary was proceeding apace when, his eye alighting on the immobile face of the noble lord who was then Mr. Dodson, he alluded to him as "the right hon. gentleman the Financial Secretary to the Treasury." A compatriot touched Dr. O'Leary's arm and reminded him that Mr. Dodson was no longer in office. "The late right hon. gentleman, then," retorted Dr. O'Leary, turning a blazing countenance on his interrupter.
"BEFORE THE FIRE."
It was pending the division on the third reading of the Empress of India Bill that Mr. Disraeli won over this irate Irishman. The Premier was anxious to have the third reading carried by a rattling majority, and spared no pains to gain doubtful votes. One night in a division on another Bill he came upon Dr. O'Leary in the Ministerial lobby, a place the then budding Parnellite party fitfully resorted to. Dizzy walked a few paces behind the member for Drogheda. Quickening his pace, he laid a hand on his shoulder and said: "My dear Doctor, you gave me quite a start. When I saw you I thought for a moment it was my old friend Tom Moore."