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 was nothing but sheer downright chaos, drivel, and anarchy.

[Sidenote:  The unloosing of anarchy.]

It began when Mr. Mellor accepted the motion for closure.  At once there arose from the Tory Benches wild, angry, insulting cries of “Shame! shame! scandalous! the gag! the gag!” This would have been all right if it had been addressed to Mr. Gladstone.  Party leaders have to give and take, and in moments of excitement they must not complain if their political opponents denounce them.  But closure is the act of the presiding officer of the House, and it has been an almost unbroken rule and tradition of Parliament that the presiding officer shall be safeguarded against even an approach to attack or insult.  It is a tradition that has its weak side; but, on the whole, it is in accordance with that great national English characteristic of subordination to necessary authority and the maintenance of order, decency, and self-control as the trinity of public virtues and personal demeanour.  If Mr. Peel had been in the chair he would have called those Tories to order; and if they had persisted as they did, he would have promptly named the highest among them.  Mr. Chamberlain was not ashamed to join in those hoarse and disorderly shouts; and it was in this temper that the different sides walked slowly, silently, and frowningly to the division lobbies.