ioned
checked trousers,--of course, this can only be Lord Brougham. He is
eighty-five years old, and yet his physical activity would do no
injustice to a man in the prime of life. If you watch him a few moments,
you will have abundant evidence of his restless energy. While we look,
he has crossed to the opposite side of the House, and is enjoying a
hearty laugh with the Bishop of Oxford. The round, full face of
"Slippery Sam" (as he is disrespectfully called throughout England) is
beaming with appreciative delight; but before the Bishop has time to
reply, the titled humorist is on the wing again, and in an instant we
see him seated between Earl Granville and the Duke of Somerset,
conversing with all the vivacity and enthusiasm of a school-boy. In a
moment he is in motion again, and has shaken hands with half a dozen
peers. Undeterred by the supernaturally solemn countenance of the
Marquis of Normanby, he has actually addressed a joke to that dignified
fossil, and has passed on without waiting to observe its effect. A few
words with Earl Derby, a little animated talk with the Earl of
Ellenborough, and he has made the circuit of the House, everywhere
received with a welcoming smile and a kindly grasp of the hand, and
everywhere finding willing and gratified listeners. Possibly that is
pardoned to his age and eminence which would be resented as impertinence
in a younger man, but certainly he enjoys a license accorded to no one
else in this aristocratic assembly.

The dull debate of the past hour is now concluded, the House is thin,
and there are indications of immediate adjournment. Remain a little
longer, however, and your patience may possibly be richly rewarded.
There is no order in the discussion of topics, and at any moment while
the House continues in session there may spring up a debate calling out
all the ability of the leading peers in attendance. After a short pause
the quiet is broken by an aged nobleman on the opposition benches. He
rises slowly and feebly with the assistance of a cane, but his voice is
firm and his manner is forcible. That he is a man of mark is evident
from the significant silence and the deferential attention with which
his first words are received. You ask his name, and with ill-disguised
amazement at your ignorance a gentleman by your side informs you that
the speaker is Lord Lyndhurst.

Perhaps the life of no public man in England has so much of interest to
an American as that of this d