So it was arranged.  But Member for Accrington wouldn’t stand the smock-frock.  Insisted upon coming out in war-like uniform.  Trousers a little tight about the knees, and jacket perhaps a trifle too tasselly.  But made very good speech in the circumstances.

[Illustration:  Orator Hodge (in mufti).]

Business done.—­Bills brought in by the half hundred.

Thursday Night.—­Things been rather dull hitherto.  House as it were lying under a pall, “Every man,” as O’HANLON says, “not knowing what moment may be his next.”  Still on Debate on Address.  When resumed to-night, CHAMBERLAIN stepped into ring and took off his coat.  When Members saw the faithful JESSE bring in sponge and vinegar-bottle, knew there would be some sport.  Anticipation not disappointed.  JOE in fine fighting form.  Went for the SQUIRE OF MALWOOD round after round; occasionally turned to aim a “wonner” at his “Right Hon. Friend” JOHN MORELY.  Conservatives delighted; had always thought just what JOE was saying, but hadn’t managed to put their ideas into such easily fleeting, barbed sentences.  Only once was there any shade on the faces of the country gentlemen opposite.  That spread when JOE proposed to quote the “lines of CHURCHILL.”

“No, no,” said Lord HENRY BRUCE in audible whisper, “he’d better leave GRANDOLPH alone.  Never knew he wrote poetry.  If he did, there’s lots of others.  Why, when we’re going on so nicely, why drag in CHURCHILL?”

Depression only momentary.  Conservative cheers rose again and again as JOE, turning a mocking face, and shaking a minatory forefinger at the passive monumental figure of the guileless SQUIRE OF MALWOOD, did, as JOHN MORLEY, with rare outburst of anger, presently said, from his place in the centre of the Liberal Camp, “denounce and assail Liberal principles, Liberal measures, and his old Liberal colleagues.”

After this it was nothing that, some hours later, O’HANLON, rising from a Back Bench, and speaking on another turn of the Debate, should observe, in loud voice, with eye fixed in fine frenzy on the nape of the Squire’s neck, as he sat on the Front Bench with folded arms, “I do not believe in the Opposition Leaders, who have split up my Party, and are now living on its blood.”

Business done.—­JOSEPH turns and rends his Brethren.

Friday Night.—­In Commons night wasted by re-delivery of speeches made last year by Irish Members pleading for amnesty for Dynamitards.  JOHN REDMOND began it.  No Irish Member could afford to be off on this scene, so one after another they trotted out their speeches of yester-year.

Lords much more usefully occupied in discussing London Fog.  MIDDLETON moved for Royal Commission.  MARKISS drew fine distinction.  “What you really want to remedy,” he said, “is not the fog itself, but its colour.”  Rather seemed to like the fog, per se, if only his particular fancy in matter of colour gratified.  Didn’t mention what colour he preferred; but fresh difficulty looming out of the fog evident.  Tastes differ.  If every man is to have his own particular coloured fog, our last state will be worse than the first.