“Ay,” continued the speaker, now carried beyond all self-restraint by the evident sensation he had caused, “there are gentlemen opposite whose confessions would reveal much of this kind of independence. I have my eye on some of them,—men who will be Patriots if they cannot be Peers, ready to put on the cap of liberty for the Mob if they cannot get the coronet from the Crown. Many, too, are absent from this debate: they stand out, perhaps, for high terms; they have got Peerages for their wives, and now, like a hackney-coachman, not content with their fare, they want 'something for themselves.' I heard of two such a while ago; they even came as far as the lobby of this House, where they halted and hesitated: a mitre or a regiment, a blue ribbon or a red one, would have turned the scale, perhaps. Why are they not here now? I ask, what has become of them?”
“Name! name!” screamed the Opposition, in a torrent of mad excitement, while the Government party, outrageous at the blundering folly of the whole harangue, endeavored to pull the speaker back into his seat. Never was such a scene: one party lashed to madness by suspected treachery and open insult; the other indignant at the stupidity of a man who, in his attempts at attack, had raked up every calumny against his own friends. Already, more than one hand was laid on his arms to press him down into his seat, when he, with the obstinacy of thorough dullness, shook himself free, and called out, “I 'm ready to name.”
Again the cries of “Name!” were shouted, mingled with no less vociferous cries of “No, no!” and the struggle now had every appearance of a personal one, when the Speaker, calling to order, asked if it was the sense of the House that the Serjeant should gives the names he alluded to.
“I 'll soon cut the matter short,” called out the Serjeant, in a voice that resounded through every corridor of the House. “I mean the Knight of Gwynne and Bagenal Daly.”
A cry of “Order! order!” now arose from all parts of the House, the direct mention of any member by name being a liberty unprecedented.
“I beg to correct myself,” said the Serjeant. “I should have said the honorable members for Mayo and Old Castle. I ask again, why are they not here?”
“Better you had never put the question,” said a deep, low voice from beneath the gallery; and at the same instant Bagenal Daly advanced along one of the passages, and took his place at the table directly in front of the Serjeant. A tremendous cheer now broke from the Opposition benches, which the Ministerial party in vain essayed to return.
“I perceive, sir,” said the Serjeant, with an effort to resume his former ease,—“I perceive I have succeeded in conjuring up one at least of these truant spirits, and I cannot do better than leave him to make his explanations to the House.”
With this lame, disjointed conclusion the learned Serjeant sat down; and although the greatest exertions were made by his friends to cover this palpable failure, the cries of derision drowned all other sounds, and before they were silenced, a shout of “Daly! Daly!—Bagenal Daly!” resounded through the building.
Daly arose slowly, and saluted the Speaker with a most deferential courtesy. It was several minutes before the tumult had sufficiently subsided to make his words audible; but when silence prevailed, he was heard to regret, in terms of unaffected ease, that any circumstance might occur which should occupy the time of the House by observations from one so rude and unlettered as himself, nor would he now venture on the trespass, were the occasion merely a personal one. From this he proceeded to state that great emergencies were always occurring, in which even the humblest opinions should be made known as evidencing the probable impressions upon others as lowly circumstanced as he who now addressed them.