earnestly eloquent as if he were addressing a considerable audience, his usually homely features admirably mirroring the thoughts which rose spontaneously to his lips.
Mr. Cowen's abhorrence of atheistic or unbelieving politicians was to me all the more impressive, that his own mind was evidently not untinged by sadness,—had not altogether escaped the influence of that great despair with respect to the supernatural which has in our day overtaken the bravest and the best.
On taking leave of Mr. Cowen, I had no hesitation in concluding that I had never met a more singular combination of simplicity of manner, business-like shrewdness, intellectual vigor, comprehensive sympathy, and powerful imagination. These qualities appear to me to mingle in disproportionate measure; but their co-existence in his mind affords a clew to the surprising splendor of his imagery, which, if the House had had a few more samples of it, might almost justify me in ranking him next to Bright as a master of senatorial eloquence.
If great poets are born, not made, so likewise are great orators; and sure enough Mr. Cowen is one of the few really great orators in the House. His style is neither that of Bright, Gladstone, nor Beaconsfield. His best periods have an antique, Roman-like stateliness, which is to me peculiarly attractive. In their majestic roll they are more like those of the late Ledru Rollin than of any modern speaker.
Mr. Cowen was born at Blaydon Burn, near Newcastle, in the month of July, 1831. His father, Sir Joseph Cowen, knight, who preceded him in the representation of Newcastle, was originally a working blacksmith. He was of an inventive turn of mind; and, when
