glimpses into the great area of Westminster Hall, in which burned only one far-away light.  Its grandeur was more impressive in the dimness than in the glare.  The lofty associations of the spot, coronations of kings, the reverberations of eloquence, the illustrious victims that had gone out from its tribunal to the scaffold thronged in my thought as I momentarily paused.  But time pressed and I passed on to the central Hall where I stood in a jostling crowd, absorbed in the present with little thought of the fine frescoes that lined the walls or of the history that had been made in that environment.  I was to send in my card to Mr. Bryce and while I stood puzzled as to what course to take, a good friend came to my side in the person of Sir Henry Norman.  He had not then received his knightly title but was simply assistant to W.T.  Stead on the Pall Mall Gazette, pushing his way, but already marked for a distinguished and eccentric career.  He came to America as a youth and entered the Harvard Theological School.  Inverting his pyramid, after beginning with the cone, he put in the base, taking up the work of undergraduate, and studying for an A.B.  At Harvard he is best remembered as Creon in the Oedipus Tyrannus, where his handsome face and figure and mellifluous Greek won much admiration.  Soon after, he cast to the winds both his Greek and theology and was in London fighting his way in the Press.  Since then he has become famous for Oriental travel and observation, in which field he is an authority, and also as a member of Parliament.  A friendship with him had been conciliated for me by a good letter from Edwin D. Mead, and I was glad to have him by my side that night.  Through his help I soon was in the hands of Mr. Bryce and under his guidance found the way to my appointed seat.  The House was in an uproar as I entered and from my point of vantage I looked down upon the scene, undignified, but full of most virile life.  At the opposite end of the Hall sat Speaker Peel, in gown and wig, his sonorous cries of “Order! order!” availing little it seemed, to quiet the assembly.  In the centre of the Chamber stood the famous table, the mace reposing at the end, the symbol that the House was in formal session.  On one side sat the members of the new Cabinet, the foremost and most interesting figure, Lord Randolph Churchill.  Opposite to them across the width of the table were the leaders of the opposition, Gladstone at the fore.  The benches were densely crowded with members.  Under my feet where I could not see them were the Irish members, not visible but noisily audible.  Many men of note were in their seats that night.  A powerful voice was ringing through the Chamber as I took my seat, which I soon found was that of Bradlaugh.  His utterance was a sustained declamation.  But there were ejaculations, sometimes mere hoots and cat-calls, sometimes crisply-shouted sentences rose into the air.  “I belong to a society for the abolition of the House of Lords,” came thundering