"I have," he said, "been in alliance with the Tory Party before now, and may be again; but I know of no occasion when any Irish party gave their votes unless they got something for them."
That only Tim's fun. Overcoming his emotion, he, with ruthless force, pitiless logic, laid bare position of the new Party of the Muses.
Business done.—Parnellite Amendment, supported by Unionists, negatived by 256 against 236.
Tuesday.—If you want to make your flesh creep, you should have heard the Speaker just now challenging the Lord Mayor of Dublin, whom he discovered standing at Bar; and, as Sir Wilfrid Lawson adds, "not drinking." Lord Mayor got up in gorgeous apparel; scarlet gown, ermine-tipped, with gold chain gleaming across manly chest. Recalls days of yesteryear when Dawson was Lord Mayor of Dublin. Being also Member for an Irish constituency, no autocratic Speaker might challenge his right to cross the Bar, whether in civilian dress, or in robes of office. On occasions when he had a petition to deliver he came down, cloaked, in a four-wheeler. Made the heart of Mr. Cove in Members' cloak-room stand still, when he suddenly threw back his wraps, and disclosed glittering garb beneath. Sat on front bench below gangway with inadequate legs partially crossed, his chain mysteriously clanking, motion understood at time to serve double purpose of calling attention to Lord Mayor's presence, and of hinting at the kind of bond that held Ireland to Great Britain.
Present Lord Mayor of Dublin, not being a Member had to sue for admission at door of House. Word passed to Sergeant-at-Arms; gallant officer, having heard something of Irish habits, observed precaution of shouldering mace before he went out to confront the strangers. If they had shillelaghs, the mace, twirled about by lusty arms, might be reckoned on to keep the gate. The messengers not behind in military precaution; hauled out the bar—the veritable Bar of House of Commons of which we hear so much and see so little.
"Now," said the oldest Messenger, folding his arms and clenching his teeth, "let them do their worst."
Sergeant-at-Arms marched in, mace on shoulder, escorting Lord Mayor and two sheriffs. If they had meant mischief they thought better of it on looking round. Lord Mayor might, it is true, if he were in good condition have vaulted over bar or ducked beneath it, and run amuck up floor. But then the sheriffs, before they could have imitated him, would have been awfully mauled with the mace.
Any piratical mention that may have lurked in minds of the insurgents was finally crushed by really awful tone in which the Speaker, fixing glittering eye on group at bar, said, "My Lord Mayor of Dublin, what have you there?"
Members expected trembling culprit would produce from under his cloak the horse-pistol, dagger, cup of poison, or whatever he may have brought with him with felonious intent. But he meekly answered, "A petition." This he unfolded, and as he showed a disposition to read it through, Members went off.