House of Commons, Monday, March 3.—Old Morality, decently dressed in black, stood at table to-night, reading through the space of an hour his discourse on Report of Parnell Commission. A decorous, almost funereal function. J. G. Talbot enjoyed it thoroughly. "So like being in church on Sunday afternoon," he said. "Wish Old Morality could have seen his way to put on white neck-tie, and brought his notes bound up in black cover."

Service proceeded very well without these details. Jemmy Lowther early fell victim to gentle influence of occasion. Long before Old Morality had reached his fourthly, James, with head reverently bent on his chest, sweetly slept; dreamt he was a boy again, sitting in the family pew at Easington-cum-Liverton, listening to his revered grandfather bubbling forth orthodoxy. Up in Distinguished Strangers' Gallery sat a little boy on his father's knee. Long he listened to the gentle murmur, broken now and then by a yawn from a back bench, or the rustling of the manuscript as it was turned over folio by folio. It was a great occasion for him; his first visit to the Chamber which still echoed with the tones of his father's uncle, John Bright. He kept gallantly awake as quarter-hour sped after quarter-hour, and then, reminiscent of a nursery story somewhere told, his too audible whisper broke in upon the slumbering gallery.

"Papa, hasn't the Gentleman brought his Amen with him?"

It came at last. Perhaps none so grateful as Old Morality. Curious to note how, when beholding the welcome last folio of his discourse, Old Morality, uplifting his voice, said, "And now to——", there was a sudden movement in the crowd, a shuffling of feet, a rustling of garments, a motion as if the congregation were about to rise to receive the benediction. But Old Morality was only about to observe, "And now to bring these imperfect remarks to a conclusion, I would entreat the House to consider the great interests at stake, to vindicate the reputation of this House, and to do their duty to their Queen and Country."

After peace, the storm. Gladstone ruffled prevalent calm with a tornado of virile eloquence. Grand Old Man in fine form. If he had had the arrangement of course of events, nothing could have been more successfully designed than the contrast. For Old Morality's gentle commonplaces, his pallid platitudes, his copy-book headings strung together in timid flight after the Good and the True, here rushed a flood of burning eloquence, carrying with it the whole audience; jubilant the Opposition, faintly resisting the Ministerialists. Gladstone had no copy-book before him, only the merest skeleton of notes. These, with what seemed to the intently-listening audience the fewest, simplest touches, he informed and inflamed with flesh and blood. Spoke for an hour and forty minutes—a marvellous feat for any man, a miracle of mental and physical force for an octogenarian.

Hick-Beach followed; but spell broken; the listening throng, filling the chamber from floor to topmost range of gallery, swiftly melted away. Thus it came to pass there were few to see Harcourt as presently he went forth whimpering. He, the champion slogger, accustomed to rampage round the tents of the enemy, and bring his shillelagh down on any head accidentally protruding, had been himself attacked. Hicks-Beach girded at him to-night in comparatively gentle fashion. Harcourt tossed about on bench and pettishly protested; claimed Speaker's protection; Speaker declined to interfere. Then, digging lusty knuckles into moist eyes, he sobbed, "I—I—am not going to stay to be abused in this manner; shan't play!" and so went forth, amid the jeers and mocking laughter of naughty boys opposite. Business done.—Debate on Parnell Commission Report opened.

Tuesday.—Haven't seen anything more charming for a long time than Elliott Lees' plunge into debate on the Parnell Commission Report. Rose at same time as Charles Lewis, squaring his elbows, stretching his legs and crooking his knees, as if had just dismounted, after winning steeplechase. Charles Lewis, Bart., on feet at same time; might reasonably be supposed to claim precedence, having Amendment on paper, in addition to wide Parliamentary reputation. Lees didn't even look at Bart. Began his remarks, taking it as a matter of course that Speaker would call on him. House doesn't like Charles Lewis, Bart., so called on Lees, and Bart. withdrew, angrily snorting.

Very few Members present. Getting on for dinner-hour. General conviction that it's going to be a dull night. Nothing can help it. But Gladstone waits, and presently, attracted by Lees' superb sense of superiority, sits with hand to ear, listening with kindly smile. Nothing delights Grand Old Man so much as youth, especially aggressive youth—youth that knows about everything, with fuller information and judgment more accurate than its elders. This is what, years ago, first attracted him to Randolph. Now sits listening while Young Twenty-Nine, who represents Omniscience and Oldham, in drawling voice, hesitating for a word, but having no hesitation in keeping the House waiting for it, settles the question that for two years has riven parties and convulsed continents.

Young Twenty-Nine knew all about it from the beginning. Wasn't born in 1860 for nothing. When his own party were rushing headlong down to destruction, arranging for appointment of Commission, he had warned them of their error. But no use going back on the irrevocable. Thing is, what is to be done now? Young Twenty-Nine casting patronising look on Old Eighty, listening on the Front Opposition Bench, would really like to have voted for his Amendment. But, on his conscience, couldn't; too strongly drawn, doncha; why hadn't he taken counsel of some young friend, and drafted his Amendment with more moderation? At same time, Young Twenty-Nine couldn't do otherwise than condemn the Times for its recklessness in publishing the forged letters. Generally approved the conduct of Attorney-General; regarded the proceedings of Irish Members with mixed feelings, and, on the whole, would vote for Resolution. Whereat Old Morality, long on tenterhooks, gave sigh of honest relief, and Grand Old Man went off to dinner with a twinkle in his eye and an amused smile lighting up his countenance. Writ moved to-night for new election for Stoke, Willie Bright having had enough of it. "Good-bye, Toby," he said, as he cleared out his locker; "they call me W. Leatham Bright, now I suppose it will be W. Leave-'em."

Business done.—Debate on Report of Commission.

Wednesday.—Curious little difficulty arose at meeting of House to-day. No House to meet. On Wednesdays Speaker takes chair at twelve o'clock. Crosses Lobby, accompanied by Sergeant-at-Arms carrying Mace, and tall gentleman in shorts carrying train. Walks up floor between rows of Members, standing and bending heads like sheaves of corn over which wind passes. To-day benches bare. Chamber empty. Speaker feels like one who treads alone some banquet-hall deserted, whose guests are fled, whose garlands dead, and all but he departed. Only in this case they haven't arrived. Chaplain in his place, ready to say his prayers. Everything here but congregation. House, it is well known, thrilled with excitement over Parnell Commission Report. Throbbing with anxiety to debate it. Manages somehow to dissemble its feelings, smother its aspirations. Presently two Members drop in; take their seats.

"Rather a small gathering," whispered the Speaker, pleasantly.

"Yes," says Chaplain, forlornly looking round empty chamber. "A very small gathering indeed; might almost call it a pimple."

Word scarcely Parliamentary in this connection.

"Order! order!" said the Speaker, sotto voce; and, to avoid the beginning of the sundering of friendship, Chaplain read prayers.

Business done.—Debate on Parnell Commission Report.

Thursday.—For ordinary mild-mannered man, Justin McCarthy to-night dealt Charles Lewis, Bart., what The Marchioness used to call "a wonner." Yesterday, Lewis delivered carefully prepared diatribe on Report. Not particularly friendly to Ministers, especially Jokim; but death on Irish Members. McCarthy to-day complained that, without giving notice, Bart. had made personal attack on him; and, what was worse, holding Report in hand, and purporting to quote from it, had misled House on matter of fact.

"But then," said Justin, sweetly smiling, "the Hon. Baronet is a lawyer—a lawyer of the school of Mr. Sampson Brass."

Pretty graphic that; House cheered and laughed, consumedly. But what about the phrase being Parliamentary? Is there to be one rule for Chaplain of House, and another for Member for Derry?

Business done.—Still on Commission Report.

Friday Night.—Supposed to have reached full tide of surging Debate to-night. Been piling up agony all week. Now nearing crisis. Lobbies thrilling with excitement; corridors crowded with senators; competition for Speaker's eye threatens personal danger. A great occasion, a memorable struggle. That's the sort of thing imagined outside by ingenuous public. Fact is, when Speaker came back from chop at twenty minutes to nine, House almost as empty as on Wednesday afternoon. Count called; bell rang; only thirty-five Members mustered; no quorum; adjourned.

Business done.—House Counted Out.

NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.