[Sidenote:  A coming storm.]

But anybody with the slightest acquaintance with the House of Commons would have soon perceived that matter of much greater pith and moment was at stake.  The Senior Ministerial Whip is the danger-signal of the House of Commons; and the danger-signal was very much in evidence.  Mr. Marjoribanks—­of all Whips the most genial, even-tempered, and long-suffering, as well as the most effective—­was to be seen, rushing backwards and forwards between the lobby and the Treasury bench, where, with Mr. Gladstone, he held whispered and apparently excited conversations.  Meantime, there grew up in the House of Commons that mysterious sense of coming storm which its quick sensibilities always enable it to see from afar.  There came a sudden murmuring, and then a strange stillness, and older members almost held their breaths.  From the Irish benches not a sound escaped.  In most Parliamentary frays—­especially when the storm rages—­there are certain Irish members who are certain to figure largely and eminently; but on these benches there was a silence, ominous to those who are able to note the signs of the Parliamentary firmament.  Anyone looking on could have seen that the silence did not come from inattention or want of interest, for the looks betrayed keen and almost feverish excitement.

[Sidenote:  Ireland in danger.]

For what was going on was a fight whether Ireland was to be lost or saved, and lost through the folly, desertion, or levity of some of the men that had sworn to save her.  Fortunately, the strains of the most tragic situations have their relief in the invincible irony of life, and there was a welcome break in the appearance on the scene of him whom all men know as “Alpheus Cleophas”—­the redoubtable Mr. Morton.  Some men are comic by intention, some are comic unconsciously and unintentionally, some men are comic half by intention and half in spite of themselves.  To this last class belongs our Alpheus Cleophas.  He played his part of comic relief with a certain air of knowing what was expected of him—­you see this demoralizing House of Commons makes everybody self-conscious, and one could see that he himself anticipated the roar of laughter with which the House received his statement, “I have now a majority”—­by which, for the moment, Alpheus appeared as the leader of the Government, and a party which controlled the destinies of the House of Commons.

[Sidenote:  Mere comic relief.]

Still, as I have said, this was only comic relief—­the jokes, ofttimes mechanical, by which the young men and women downstairs prepare to pass the time which is required for the preparation of the great scene, in which their principals have to enact their great situation.  Still, the denouement of the drama was uncertain.  Mr. Marjoribanks rushed from lobby to Mr. Gladstone, from Mr. Gladstone to lobby—­and still there hung in the air the fatal question:  “Was the Government going out?” Ah! think