ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.
House of Commons, Monday, April 11.—Lord Mayor of Dublin dropped in to pass time of day with Speaker. Accompanied by a score of his merry Councilmen, arrayed in scarlet cloaks trimmed with costly furs. Made ordinary Members in black coats feel very small. T. D. Sullivan, the Bard of Erin, long known at Westminster, is also Member of Dublin Corporation. Brought over his scarlet robes; took his seat within the Bar; other Members of Corporation, of course, kept outside sacred precincts. Some little disturbance at door when Lord Mayor arrived in procession, preceded by Mace, and accompanied by Sword-Bearer. These wanted to enter House, and support his Lordship as he stood at Bar in alien assembly.
"You enter only across my body," said the Serjeant-at-Arms, lightly, but firmly, touching the hilt of his terrible brand.
A moment's awful pause. The sword brought over from Ireland would, in weight and cubic capacity, have made ten of the rapier to which Erskine of Cardross had significantly called attention. When, later, it peacefully rested behind doorkeeper's chair, its mighty hilt rose above topmost height like the cross on a cathedral spire. Sword-Bearer looked at Lord Mayor; Mace-Bearer grasped with both hands shaft of his ponderous weapon. Both warriors accustomed to public meetings in Dublin; knew what was expected of them by way of argument. Lord Mayor happily in placable mood. Readjusting around his neck the collar of gold (the very one "Malachi won from the proud Invader"), he bowed his head; Mace and Sword were deposited behind doorkeeper's chair, and his Lordship strode in, escorted by the crimson-gowned, fur-betrimmed City Fathers.
Lord Mayor, supported on either side by a stately Alderman, stood at Bar holding what at first sight looked like a shillelagh.
"What have you there, my Lord Mayor of Dublin?" asked the Speaker, in tones so stern they made the sword rattle in the scabbard on the other side of the closed door.
Nothing escapes Speaker's Eye when he pleases to bring it to bear on a particular focus. Had seen the implement in Lord Mayor's hand; insisted upon knowing all about it before proceedings went further. Turned out to be nothing more dangerous than petition from Corporation of Dublin in favour of Home-Rule Bill. Speaker, instantly mollified, allowed it to be read; after which Lord Mayor, bowing, retired; Mace and Sword found all right, and possession resumed. As the thin red streak filed out of doorway, T. D. S. still lingering in seat by Cross Benches, said, as he looked admiringly upon the befurred crimson robes. "Reminds me, Toby, of a line from Goldsmith. You remember it in The Deserted Village?
'With blossom'd furze, unprofitably gay.'"
Business done.—Eighth Night Debate on Home-Rule Bill.