It seemed in stumbling inadequate phrase that CRANBROOK, KIMBERLEY, DERBY, and SELBORNE strummed their lament.  But, speaking from different points of view, without pre-concert, they struck the same chord in recognising the ever unruffled gentleness of the nature of LYCIDAS—­a gentleness not born of weakness, a sweetness of disposition that did not unwholesomely cloy.  Only Mr. G. could have fitly spoken the eulogy of GRANVILLE.  After him, the task belonged to the MARKISS, and it was a pity that circumstances prevented his undertaking it. Business done,—­Irish Land Bill in Commons.

Wednesday.—­Brer FOX turned up to-day, unexpectedly.  So did MAURICE HEALY, even more unexpectedly.  Irish Sunday Closing Bill under discussion.  Great bulk of Irish Members in favour of it.  First note of discord introduced by Windbag SEXTON.  Belfast Publicans, who find their business threatened, insist that he shall oppose the Bill; does so accordingly, separating himself from his party.  Brer FOX quickly seized the opportunity; he, too, on he side of the Publicans, who hold the purse, and, money (like some of their customers) is tight.  So PARNELL lavishly compliments Windbag SEXTON on his “large and patriotic view”; hisses out his scorn for the Liberal Party; declares that Ireland abhors the measure, which he calls a New Coercion Bill.

[Illustration:  “The mildest-mannered Man.”]

Then, from bench below him, uprises a bent, slight figure, looking less like a man of war than most things.  A low, quiet voice, sounds clearly through the House, and Mr. MAURICE HEALY is discovered denying Brer FOX’S right to speak on this or any other public question for the constituency of Cork.

“If he has any doubt on this subject,” the mild-looking young man continued, “let him keep the promise he made to me about contesting the seat.”

That was all; only two sentences; but the thundering cheers that rang through House told how they had gone home.

Business done.—­Irish Sunday Closing Bill read Second Time.

[Illustration]

Friday.—­GRANDOLPH looked in for few minutes before dinner.  A little difficulty with doorkeeper.  So disguised under beard, that failed to recognise him; thought he was a stranger, bound for the Gallery.  But when GRANDOLPH turned, and glared on him, saw his mistake as in a flash of lightning.

“Same eyes, anyhow,” said Mr. JARRATT, getting back to the safety of his chair with alacrity.

GRANDOLPH sat awhile in corner seat, stroking his beard, to the manifest chagrin of his jilted moustache.

“Awfully dull,” he said.  “Glad I’m off to other climes; don’t know whether I shall come back at all.  If Mashonaland wants a King, and insists upon my accepting the Crown, not sure I shall refuse.”

“GRANDOLPH seems hipped,” said WARING, watching him as he swung through the Lobby.  “It’s the beard.  Never been the same man since he grew it.