In any case there would be very little good of sending him to "the other place." Like the jovial monk of the old church legend, he would almost certainly, if ordered downstairs, make a little heaven of mirth in his own more immediate neighborhood, and so disturb general arrangements that it would speedily be found necessary to have him removed to more comfortable quarters. For not only is he witty in himself, but the cause that wit is in other men. It is impossible to converse with him for five minutes running without becoming in some measure infected by his irresistible spirit of "gay wisdom," as Earl Beaconsfield has felicitously designated his peculiar humor.
It is a total mistake to suppose that Sir Wilfrid's jokes are mere closet reproductions. He is even more witty in private than in public; and you never meet him that he has not the air of a man who has just experienced some extraordinary piece of good luck, in which you are called upon, if you are not an absolute churl, to participate. He is brimful and running over with sprightly sallies and clever epigrams. Indeed, they seem to come as naturally to him as dulness to most of us. And his wit is of the best kind. It is never used to wound the feelings of any, but to laugh men out of their follies, pretences, and insincerities. His keenest shafts are never envenomed, and are never sped except with a moral purpose. Were it otherwise, he might be classed with the humorous light horsemen of debate,—of whom Mr. Bernal Osborne was a favorite specimen,—in which case he would, of course, be entitled to no place in this series.
As it is, I believe Sir Wilfrid Lawson to be one of the most earnest and trustworthy Radicals in the House
