[Sidenote:  A vulgar and caddish interruption.]

And, finally, what contributed to the marvellous effect of this speech was its temper and one interruption.  In all the speech there was not one trace of the bitterness that must often have corroded that poor soul during the nine years of living death—­even the allusions to political opponents of to-day were kindly and gentle.  Above all things, the speech was one—­not merely of an Irish Nationalist, but of a true Democrat—­as desirous of the happiness of other nationalities and other peoples as of his own.  It was while every part of the House was listening to this beautiful and touching speech, that a gentleman called Brookfield—­one of the most offensive of the narrow and malignant section of Tories—­rose and tried to trip Davitt up, by alleging that he was reading his speech.  I am told that Mr. Balfour sprang in anger from his seat—­there was a significant and a pained silence on the Tory Benches—­there was a loud shout of anger and disgust from the Liberal and the Irish seats—­with William O’Brien’s voice shouting hoarsely above the tempest, “The party of gentlemen!” The Speaker showed what he thought, in that deadly quiet way with which he can administer a snub, that will never be forgotten.  It was all that was wanted to complete the success of this wonderful speech.

[Sidenote:  Sir John Rigby.]

Then came hand-shakings and clappings on the back, and a light in the eyes of Irish members that told of a great step forward in the progress of their cause.  To a house thinned by the endless rhodomontade of a dull Orangeman—­with a style of elocution to which the House is unaccustomed, and which has almost every fault delivery could have—­the speech of Sir John Rigby, the Solicitor-General, was one of the finest and weightiest utterances delivered on the Bill.  The massive head, the fine face, the rugged sense and leonine strength in face and figure, lent force to a criticism of extraordinary effectiveness on the attacks levelled against the Bill.  First, the Solicitor-General took up the wild and whirling statement of one of the opponents of the Bill, and then coolly—­as though it were a pure matter of business—­he put in juxtaposition the enactments of the Bill, and the contrast was as laughter provoking with all its deadly seriousness, as the conflict between the story of Falstaff and the contemptuously quiet rejoinder of Prince Hal.  Lord Randolph was taken in hand; he was soon disposed of.  Then Mr. Dunbar Barton was crumpled up and flung away.  Sir Edward Clarke ventured an interruption; he was crushed in a sentence.  It was an admirable specimen of destructive criticism, and it hugely and palpably delighted Mr. Gladstone.

[Sidenote:  Mr. Asquith.]