with Mr. Gladstone, he held whispered and apparently excited
conversations. Meantime, there grew up in the House of Commons that
mysterious sense of coming storm which its quick sensibilities always
enable it to see from afar. There came a sudden murmuring, and then a
strange stillness, and older members almost held their breaths. From the
Irish benches not a sound escaped. In most Parliamentary
frays--especially when the storm rages--there are certain Irish members
who are certain to figure largely and eminently; but on these benches
there was a silence, ominous to those who are able to note the signs of
the Parliamentary firmament. Anyone looking on could have seen that the
silence did not come from inattention or want of interest, for the looks
betrayed keen and almost feverish excitement.

[Sidenote: Ireland in danger.]

For what was going on was a fight whether Ireland was to be lost or
saved, and lost through the folly, desertion, or levity of some of the
men that had sworn to save her. Fortunately, the strains of the most
tragic situations have their relief in the invincible irony of life, and
there was a welcome break in the appearance on the scene of him whom all
men know as "Alpheus Cleophas"--the redoubtable Mr. Morton. Some men are
comic by intention, some are comic unconsciously and unintentionally,
some men are comic half by intention and half in spite of themselves. To
this last class belongs our Alpheus Cleophas. He played his part of
comic relief with a certain air of knowing what was expected of him--you
see this demoralizing House of Commons makes everybody self-conscious,
and one could see that he himself anticipated the roar of laughter with
which the House received his statement, "I have now a majority"--by
which, for the moment, Alpheus appeared as the leader of the Government,
and a party which controlled the destinies of the House of Commons.