At Bay.
Very like old times, indeed. Seventy questions on the paper, increased fourfold by others put arising out of the answer. Practice is for Irish Members to put question; Prince Arthur reads answer from manuscript supplied from Irish Office; then uprise in succession half-a-dozen other Irish Members, each asking fresh question. Prince Arthur with one leg crossed over other and hand to chin sits looking and listening; presently when there is lull, lounges up to table and makes answer. Fergusson looks on in wonder. "What would become of me," he said, "supposing after I had read out my cut-and-dried answer, half-a-dozen fellows sprang on my back, and with fists in my face demanded reply to quite new question. I'm afraid I'd be lost."
That exceedingly probable. Fergusson's floundering when momentarily adrift from sheet-anchor of his written reply decidedly painful. Prince Arthur saunters up to very mouth of guns of battery opened on him from Irish camp; looks straight down them; fires his shot; and saunters back; often a nasty shot, too; plumps in middle of camp and sets them all a roaring. This takes place every night. To-night lasted an hour. Once threatened repetition of scenes of decade after '74. Would have so happened but for tact and presence of mind of Speaker; cool and collected amid the clash of arms and roar of constant cannonading. John Dillon standing with folded arms and flashing eyes, "Like Napoleon when he couldn't cross the Alps," said Nicholas Wood, looking on from a safe distance.
The Speaker also on his feet with stern cry of "Order! Order!" Long John O'Connor sitting on Bench below, darting straight up and down, with swift regular movement, for all the world like the piston of a steam-engine. Ministerialists bellowing in continuous roar at John Dillon, still on his feet; uprises John O'Connor with intent to offer observation; roar redoubled; reaches demoniac proportions; John O'Connor plops down again; noise partially subsides; suddenly the piston discovered bolt upright; another roar; down it goes; all the while the Speaker crying aloud for "Order!" and John Dillon standing with fiercer frown and arms more tightly folded.
"What was it Napoleon said when he couldn't cross the Alps?" Nicholas whispered, tremulously. "'If the Alps won't come to Mahomet, Mahomet must go to the Alps.' No, I don't think it was quite that; but was something to that effect; and I'm sure something will happen if Dillon doesn't sit down."
Just when matters reaching crisis, Dillon gave way; the piston on the bench below simultaneously ceased its action; and the Speaker, in quiet, grave tones, that had immediately soothing effect, suggested that, if any more information was required, it should be sought in the usual way, by Questions placed on the Paper. Johnston o' Ballykilbeg, who had overheard Gill incidentally allude to Prince Arthur as prone to untruth, wanted the Speaker to take notice of irregularity. But Speaker judiciously deaf. As for John O'Connor, glad of a little rest.
"All I wanted, Toby," he explained, "was to hurl the word 'Crime' in Balfour's teeth."
"Exactly," I said; "nothing more natural or desirable. But you should tone down the tendency towards the steam-engine-piston action, for which, I do not deny, you possess some natural advantages."
Business done.—In Committee on Compensation Bill.
Tuesday.—"What's this I hear about Heligoland?" says Nicholas Wood. Hardly knew him; so changed. A dull, heavy look faded over his usually mobile countenance; his svelte figure puffed out, and bent. "Only fortnight ago, Sage of Queen Anne's Gate proposed to give up Heligoland; barter it for a case of German Sausages, says he. Fergusson very properly angry; me and other good Tories protested against this new Separatist policy. Couldn't find Heligoland on the map."