his usual course of genial jocosity. It seemed profanation to raise a laugh out of the deep-toned feeling that had been induced. There was another contrast in the appearance of the two men, Instead of the short unmoving figure, breathing forth solemn but sweet and thrilling tones, there was before us a tall slender gentleman, moving here and there along the stage, now bending over the table as if he would jump into the pit, and now with his hands on his haunches addressing the galleries, waving his arms about like a windmill, and uttering joke after joke, with as much enjoyment to his auditors as to himself. But Gisborne was capable of more than a joke, and if he raised a laugh, he showed that he could also furnish some good materials for thinking. His speech was on the whole exccedingly good and effective.
Richard Cobden came, last not least, and had a reception which justified what I had heard said before, that he was the most popular man in London. I acknowledge that I was somewhat disappointed. I had heard him speak, over and over again, with more effect. I was jealous of his reputation, and grudged that he should utter one sentence without evident effect. But from him I turned to the audience, and soon perceived that they had formed just appreciation of the man. There was not that strained attention which was seen when Mr. Fox and Mr. Gisborne addressed them, and when every one seemed prepared for a burst of enthusiasm or a burst of laughter; but there was the quiet listening silence, expective not of excitement but of sound instruction,—the manifestly-expressed faith that there was something well worth hearing and well worth waiting for. And on reflection I thought the more of the intelligence of the audience for this—the more of the rapidly-maturing public opinion of London. It seemed to say: "Here is a man who does not strain after effect—does not divest an argument of one thread of sequence for effect-goes plainly on to instruct, not to
