supreme effort. It was, in its way, akin to the wooing of Jacob. For seven years that eminent diplomatist had worked and waited for Rachel, and might well rejoice, even in the possession of Leah, when the term of probation was over. For nearly seven years Mr. Ashmead-Bartlett had sat on the Treasury Bench wrapped in the silence of a Civil Lord of the Admiralty. Now his time was come, and he threw himself into the enjoyment of opportunity with almost pathetic vigour. It was eleven o'clock when he rose, and the debate must needs stand adjourned at midnight. When twelve o'clock struck, Sir Ellis was still in the full flow of his turgid eloquence. His speech was constructed on the principle of, and (except, perhaps, in the matter of necessity) resembled, the long bridge in Cowper's "Task"—
Bestrides the wintry flood.
The scene and the atmosphere were sufficiently Arctic to bear out the comparison. The audience had long since fallen away, like leaves in wintry weather. In ordinary circumstances Sir Ellis, an old Parliamentary Hand, would have wound up his speech, and so made an end of it, just before the stroke of midnight gave the signal for the Speaker's leaving the chair.
Sir Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett.
There were, however, two reasons, the agony of whose weight must have pressed sorely on the orator. One was the recollection of an incident in his career still talked of in the busy circles round Sheffield. One night in yesteryear he was announced to deliver a speech at a meeting held in Nottingham. "For greater accuracy"—as the Speaker says, when, coming back from the House of Lords on the opening day of a Session, he reads the Queen's Speech to hon. members who have two hours earlier studied it in the evening papers—Mr. Ashmead-Bartlett had written out his oration and supplied it to the Sheffield paper whose recognition of his status as a statesman merits reward. Proceedings at the Nottingham meeting were so protracted, and took such different lines from those projected, that the orator of the evening, when his turn came, found the night too far advanced for his ordered speech, which would in other respects have been beside the mark. He accordingly, impromptu, delivered quite another speech, probably better than the one laboriously prepared in the seclusion of the closet. In the hurry and excitement of the moment he forgot to warn the Sheffield editor, with the consequence that the other speech was printed in full and formed the groundwork of a laudatory leading article.
That was one thing that agitated the mind of Sir Ellis, and probably gave a profounder thrill to his denunciation of Mr. Gladstone's iniquity in the matter of the Home Rule Bill. Another was that this later speech, with all its graceful air of ready wit, fervid fancy, and momentarily inspired argument, was also in print, and, according to current report, was in advance widely circulated among a friendly Press. It turned out to be impossible to recite it all before the adjournment; equally impossible to cut it down. That mighty engine, the Press, was already, in remote centres of civilization, throbbing with the inspiration of his energy, printing off the speech at so many hundreds an hour. It was impossible to communicate with the unconscious editors and mark the exact point at which the night's actual contribution to debate was arrested. There was only one thing to be done: that was boldly to take the fence. So Sir Ellis went on till twelve o'clock as if nothing were happening elsewhere, was pulled up by the adjournment, and, turning up bright and early with the meeting of the House next day, reeled off the rest regardless of the gibes of the enemy, who said some of the faithful papers had muddled the matter, reporting on Tuesday morning passages that were not delivered in the House of Commons till Tuesday night.
THE PITY OF IT. These accidents have their comical aspect. When it comes to appropriating two hours of the time of a busy Legislature, they also have their serious side. The House of Commons is a debating assembly, not a lecture hall, where prosy papers may be read to sparse audiences. The House is seen at its best when masters
