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 very considerable oratorical gifts, and I remember Mr. Balfour publicly thanking him for the valuable assistance that he had rendered in debate in the shaping of one of the Irish Land Bills of that time. But the nickname with which Punch christened him, "Windbag Sexton," gave an unfair impression of his abilities, which were great, although the air of self-satisfaction with which his inexhaustible periods flowed from his lips was sometimes a source of irritation to his opponents.

At that time Mr. Redmond had not developed the powers either of speech or command which have since maintained him for over twenty years in the troubled but uncontested leadership of his party, and, as some allege, the dictatorship of British politics. One of the main sources of his success has been a power of speech, consistently verging upon eloquence, and sometimes tinged with genuine emotion. I have heard him described as the "Master of Parliamentary plausibility."

The most talented member of the Irish party, with an unsurpassed gift of corrosive humour and almost diabolical irony was, and is, Mr. Timothy Healy. His witty sallies were a great delight to a jaded House. Some of the best were perpetuated at the expense of the late Sir Richard Temple, whom Providence had not blessed with great natural beauty. "The Burmese idol nods"—was one interjection as Temple's head fell forward with a series of somnolent jerks upon his chest. On another occasion Temple had interjected a "No, no!" while Healy was speaking, only to be met by the irrepressible humorist with the rejoinder, "The hon. member is very great with his Noes (nose)." Though he now intervenes less frequently in debate, Mr. Healy always struck me for sheer cleverness as one of the best speakers I ever heard in the House of Commons, and on rare occasions—I recall one passage about the Catholic Church—he was lifted above himself and became inspired.

The contemplation of speakers still with us has almost