unflinching toil--of so many a defence of party spoken in another
place--of so many a clever piece of intrigue. We mean the woolsack, on
which sits the Lord Chancellor Chelmsford. If the debate is continued
till a late hour, and the keeper of her Majesty's conscience retires to
dine, Lord Redesdale acts as chairman _pro tem_. His lordship is
eccentric in his dress--black trousers, white cravat, buff waistcoat,
blue coat and brass buttons, white stockings and shoes, compose a _tout
ensemble_ rarely seen in the House of Lords or elsewhere. Greater men
than Lord Chelmsford have sat on the woolsack. We live in a little age.
Our great men are little men after all. Our Lord Chancellor has never
done what other Lord Chancellors have done, viz., wielded the fierce
democracy of the lower house, shone unrivalled on the parliamentary
arena, thundered from the platform, won fame by their daring, and acumen,
and learning, and eloquence, in every corner of the land. Indeed, he
makes no pretensions to oratory or greatness of any kind. He is an able
lawyer and eager partisan, little more. In this respect not at all
resembling, or rather very much differing from, the extraordinary
individual who has just darted on the woolsack, as if he would edge off
the Chancellor and take his very seat. That individual we need not name;
a glance at the nose and plaid trousers--trousers which he is incessantly
hitching up when he speaks--are sufficient. It must be my Lord Brougham,
and no one else. To no other man born of woman has nature vouchsafed the
same power of universality. No other man would attempt to do what he is
now doing, talking law with one man, politics with another, and scandal
with a third, and all the while listening to the debate, and qualifying
himself to take a part in it. In the course of time we shall see him
pursuing an erratic career in any part of the house except in that one
part in which sit ministers and their supporters. Amongst their ranks
Lord Brougham is never to be found. To the party in power he is always
opposed. It is his pride that he never worships the rising sun. The
Ex-Chancellor has never forgotten or forgiven the treatment he received,
but it does not affect his health--it does not tinge his life with
melancholy. He does not let disappointment, like a worm in the bud, prey
upon his damask cheek. His hair is a little greyer--his face is a little
fatter; that is all the change the wear and tea