and in the Press, all the studied forms of insult, all the marks of social displeasure, only served to convince the Irishmen that they were producing their effect.  Still, the House continued to act on the assumption that it could vindicate its traditions in the old traditional way:  it was determined to change none of the rules which had stood for so many generations:  it would maintain its liberties and put down in its own way those who had the impertinence to abuse them.  The breaking-point came exactly at the moment when Redmond was elected.

On Monday, Jan. 24th, 1881, Mr. Forster introduced his Coercion Bill.  It was open, of course, to any member to speak once, and once only, on the main motion.  But every member had an indefinite right to move the adjournment of the debate, and on each such motion every member could speak again.  The debate was carried all through that week.  It was resumed on Monday, 31st.  The declaration of Redmond’s election was fixed for Tuesday, February 1st, in New Ross—­there being no contest.  A telegram summoned him to come instantly after the declaration to London.  He took the train at noon, travelled to Dublin and crossed the Channel.  At Holyhead about midnight another telegram told him that the debate was still proceeding.  He reached Euston on the Wednesday morning, drove straight to the House, and there, standing at the bar, saw what he thus described: 

“It was thus, travel-stained and weary, that I first presented myself as a member of the British Parliament.  The House was still sitting, it had been sitting without a break for over forty hours, and I shall never forget the appearance the Chamber presented.  The floor was littered with paper.  A few dishevelled and weary Irishmen were on one side of the House, about a hundred infuriated Englishmen upon the other; some of them still in evening dress, and wearing what were once white shirts of the night before last.  Mr. Parnell was upon his legs, with pale cheeks and drawn face, his hands clenched behind his back, facing without flinching a continuous roar of interruption.  It was now about eight o’clock.  Half of Mr. Parnell’s followers were out of the Chamber snatching a few moments’ sleep in chairs in the Library or Smoke Room.  Those who remained had each a specified period of time allotted him to speak, and they were wearily waiting their turn.  As they caught sight of me standing at the bar of the House of Commons there was a cheer of welcome.  I was unable to come to their aid, however, as under the rules of the House I could not take my seat until the commencement of a new sitting.  My very presence, however, brought, I think, a sense of encouragement and approaching relief to them; and I stood there at the bar with my travelling coat still upon me, gazing alternately with indignation and admiration at the amazing scene presented to my gaze.

“This, then, was the great Parliament of England!  Of intelligent debate there