his maiden speech is a failure, "farewell, a long farewell" to all his
political aspirations. Few men have risen from such a fall. Now and
then, as in the well-known instances of Sheridan, Disraeli, and some
less prominent names, real genius, aided by dogged determination, has
forced its way upward in spite of early ill-success; but such cases are
very rare. The rule may work occasional injustice, but is it after all
so very unreasonable? "Talking," they contend, "must be done by those
who have something to say."

Everything one sees in the House partakes of this practical tendency.
There are no conveniences for writing. A member who should attempt to
read a manuscript speech would never get beyond the first sentence. Nor
does anybody ever dream of writing out his address and committing it
to memory. In fact, nothing can be more informal than their manner in
debate. You see a member rising with his hat in one hand, and his gloves
and cane in the other. It is as if he had just said to his neighbor, "I
have taken a good deal of interest in the subject under discussion, and
have been at some pains to understand it. I am inclined to tell the
House what I think of it." So you find him on the floor, or "on his
legs," in parliamentary phrase, carrying this intention into effect in
a simple, business-like, straightforward way. But if our friend is very
long, or threatens to be tedious, I fear that unequivocal and increasing
indications of discontent will oblige him to resume his seat in
undignified haste.

Perhaps no feature of the debates in the House of Commons deserves more
honorable mention than the high-toned courtesy which regulates the
intercourse of members.

Englishmen have never been charged with a want of spirit; on the