As Thomas Bayley thus mused, he gazed across Gangway on to Front Opposition Bench. An interesting incident developing. Henry James on his legs (generally on one) opposing Parnell's Amendment to Address. He stands between the outstretched legs of his two dear and right hon. friends, Gladstone and John Morley. Just beyond John Morley, Trevelyan sits. At the other side of Gladstone, Harcourt towers, toying with the gracious folds of his massive chin, looking straight before him with sphynx-like gaze. According to etiquette and usage, James should be addressing the Chair; but his back is turned to Speaker. He faces half round to Front Opposition Bench, and, with left foot clasped round right ankle, elbow of right arm leaning on box, and clenched left hand swinging to and fro in perilous proximity to a grand old proboscis, he literally drives home his argument. House may listen, if it pleases, like crowd closing in on street squabble; Henry James is having it out with his old friends and Leader; professing fullest respect, and even reverence for his right hon. friend the Member for Midlothian, but at same time showing how utterly, hopelessly wrong he and his have gone since his former Solicitor-General parted company.
Harcourt, a little out of it, sits and ponders, possibly thinking of the days when he was plain Mr. Vernon Harcourt, and, seated below the Gangway, used to, in company with his young friend, Mr. Henry James, bait Gladstone, then on Treasury Bench, hastening to the catastrophe of 1874.
"Makes me feel quite old," said Thomas Bayley Potter, dexterously appropriating another half-inch of the space that rightfully belonged to Peter O'Brien. "Seems but yesterday that Harcourt and James were in the running, one for Attorney-General, the other Solicitor-General. But getting it, having got it, or having abandoned it, seems all to lead to the same end—the worrying of the Grand Old Man."
Business done.—Parnell's Amendment to Address negatived by 307 Votes against 240.
Wednesday.—Lycidas is dead—dead in his prime! It was this very morning, in the earliest moments of its birth, that I watched Joseph Gillis walking up the floor shoulder to shoulder with old friend Dick Power, "telling" in division on Parnell's Amendment to Address. Beaten, of course, but majority diminished, and Joey beamed as he walked across Lobby towards Cloak-Room. Rather a sickly beam, compared with wild lights that used to flash from his eyes in the old times, when majority against Home Rule was a great deal more than 67.
"Yes, I am a little tired, Toby, dear boy," he said. "These dull sittings and early adjournments don't suit me. I was better and stronger in the old times, when we used to sit up all night and fight all day. Remember thirteen years ago, when I slept for an hour on two chairs in the Library? Returned to House at five in morning; found them all looking jaded and worn; cheered them up by saying I'd come back like a giant refreshed. Well, I'll go home now, have a good sleep, be all right in the morning."
And when we are gathered in House for Wednesday's sitting we learn that all is right indeed, and that poor old Joey B. lies quiet, with face upturned, in his alien lodgings off Clapham Common.
He would be surprised if he knew with what warm and sincere feeling his sudden taking-off is mourned. At the time he spoke of, thirteen years back, he was certainly the most abhorred person on the premises, and gleefully chuckled over consciousness of the fact. But the House, with nearer knowledge, learned to recognise his sterling qualities, and now, when Death rounds off with tragic touch the comicalities of his public life, everyone has a kindly word to say for Joseph Gillis.
Business done.—Debate on Address.
Thursday.—"Curious," said Campbell-Bannerman, "how habits ingrained in early life, born in the blood as it were, come out at chance times. Here's Old Morality been for a generation practically divorced from business affairs in the Strand, and yet look at him now, and listen to him!"