right to suspend on his own motion, and without any appeal to the House.  The latter rule was that under which Mr. Mellor acted.  Mr. Sexton demanded that he should be treated under the other rule, believing that if a division had taken place the majority of the House, or at least a very big minority, would have refused to sanction the action of the Chairman.  This would have meant that Mr. Mellor would have been censured, and thereby compelled to resign the Chairmanship.

Mr. Gladstone, I say, saved the situation.  In language of touching delicacy and grace, he appealed to Mr. Sexton to obey the chair.  Mr. Sexton at first would not yield; but when the appeal was renewed—­when it was backed by all the resources of that thrilling and vibratory voice of Mr. Gladstone, his stubborn resolve gave way.  He rose from his seat—­several Liberal members got up and waved their hats; the Irishmen followed their example.  And then Mr. Brodrick was able to make his tardy apology, and the matter for the moment was ended.

[Sidenote:  The interfering Milman.]

There had been one little scene fiercer almost than any of the others.  When Mr. Mellor proceeded to call Mr. Sexton to order, Mr. Milman, the clerk at the table, handed to him, with some appearance of ostentation and of eagerness, the rule which allowed him to compel Mr. Sexton’s withdrawal without an appeal to the House.  This provoked some now fiercely excited Irishmen to an outburst of blind rage.  They shouted at Mr. Milman fiercely, desperately—­called upon him to leave the Chairman alone, to take the chair himself; and Mr. Sexton made a bitter little speech to the effect that it was Mr. Milman’s malignant interference which had produced his suspension.  It was thought that on Wednesday this matter would be again raised; and even as early as noon there was a big array of members, expecting another outburst.  But Mr. Balfour held his peace.  Mr. Sexton asked a formal question, and gave notice of a motion of censure on the Chairman.  Mr. Mellor took the chair amid a wild outburst of Tory cheers; and we got back to the tranquil consideration of clause nine, and to a delightful, good-humoured historical speech by Mr. Swift McNeill on the representation of Trinity College, Dublin.

[Sidenote:  Divisions.]

The old story came back to our minds on July 13th of the historic scene at Tyburn when all the traitors were hanged in succession.  When the first head was held up there was an awful shudder; the shudder was less vivid when the second head was held up; and when the executioner accidentally dropped the third there was a loud and mocking shout of “Butter-fingers.”  So it was in the House that night until the dinner hour came; but as ten o’clock approached, the House filled and there was a rise in the excitement.  The scene, however, bore no comparison to the frenzied excitement of the preceding Thursday—­it was evident we were going to have an anti-climax,