hus the speech by the Irishman, or
the Liberal, would give an excellent excuse for another series of
harangues by the Obstructives. And this brings me to describe one of the
portents of the present House of Commons which has excited a great deal
of attention and a great deal of unfeigned admiration. As speakers of
eloquence--as Obstructives--as Parliamentarians of exhaustless
resources--as gladiators, tireless, brave, and cool--and, again, as
stormy Parliamentary petrels--fierce, disorderly, passionate--the Irish
members have been known to the House of Commons and to all the world
during all the long series of years through which they have been
fighting out this struggle. In this Parliament, and at this great hour,
they appear in quite another, and perfectly new character. Amid all the
groups of this House they stand out for their unbroken and unbreakable
silence, for their unshakable self-control. Taunts, insults, gentle and
seductive invitations, are addressed to them--from the front, from
behind, from their side; they never open their lips--the silent, stony,
and eternal silence of the Sphinx is not more inflexible. And similarly
men rage, some almost seem to threaten each other with physical
violence; _they_ sit still--silent, watchful, composed. Not all, of
course. There are the young, and the vehement, and the undisciplined;
but that Old Guard which was created by Parnell--which went with him
through coercion, and the wildest of modern agitations--which contains
men that have lived for years under the shadow of the living death of
penal servitude--men who have passed the long hours of the day--the
longer hours of the night--in the cheerless, maddening, spectral silence
of the whitewashed cells--the Old Parliamentary Guard is silent.

I have been in the House of Commons for upwards of thirteen years; and
in the course of that stormy time have, of course, seen many scenes of
passion, anger, and tumult; but the scene which ensued on May 8th, after
Mr. Morley's motion, was the worst thing I have ever beheld. I am a
lover of the British House of Commons--with all its faults, and
drawbacks, and weaknesses, it is to me the most august assembly in the
world, with the greatest history, the finest traditions, the best
oratory. And, verily, I could have wept as I saw the House that night.
It was not that the passion was greater than I have ever seen, or the
noise even, or the dramatic excitement, it was that for hours, there