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 then raise their cocked hats to the Speaker, who gravely inclines his head and gets back to the work-a-day world, whose business has been interrupted in order that this lugubrious farce might be accomplished.

There is no harm in this, and as the Lords through the greater part of the Session have not much else to do, it would be unkind to make an end of it. But it would appear that it is scarcely the sort of thing on account of which the serious business of the nation, going forward in the House of Commons, should be rudely and peremptorily interrupted.

During a Session that has that has almost exclusively been given up to debate on the Home Rule Bill, the House of Commons has fully justified its reputation as the most entertaining theatre within the Metropolitan area. Amid a long series of exciting scenes and swift surprises, nothing exceeds in dramatic quality the episode when Mr. John Dillon "remembered Mitchelstown" nine months and four days before that historic event had happened. It was Mr. Chamberlain who played up to this scene, as he was personally responsible for many others that stirred the passions of the House to their deepest depths.

When the question of transferring the control of the police to the proposed Irish Legislature was under discussion, Mr. Chamberlain argued that the body of men who would probably form the majority in the new Legislature were not to be trusted with control of the liberty and property of the community. In support of this contention he cited a speech delivered by Mr. Dillon at Castlerea, in which the member for East Mayo was reported to have said that when the Irish Parliament was constituted, they would have the control of things in Ireland, and "would remember" the police, sheriffs, the bailiffs, and others who had shown themselves enemies of the people.

This effective attack was made in a crowded and excited House, that awaited with interest Mr. Dillon's rejoinder. It was made in immediately effective style. Mr. Dillon did not defend the threat cited, but urged that it had been uttered in circumstances of cruel provocation. A short time earlier, the massacre at Mitchelstown had taken place. He had seen three innocent men shot down by the police in cold blood. "That recollection," he emphatically said, "was hot in my mind when I spoke at Castlerea."

For ten minutes longer Mr. Dillon went on. At the end of that time the House observed that Mr. Sexton, who sat next to his colleague, handed him a scrap of paper. That is by no means an unusual occurrence in debate in the House of Commons. A member having a case to state or reply to forgets a detail and has it brought to his mind by watchful friends. Mr. Dillon took the paper and closely read it, still slowly proceeding with the incompleted sentence on which he had embarked when the interruption presented itself. Members listened with quickened attention to what followed, curious to know what was the point overlooked, and now to be introduced into the speech. It was not readily discernible in the conclusion of the speech, which Mr. Dillon accomplished without sign of hesitation or perturbation.

Yet the scrap of paper, unflinchingly read, conveyed one of the most terrible messages ever received by a prominent public man addressing the House of Commons. On it was written: "Your speech delivered 5th December, 1886. Mitchelstown affair, 9th September, 1887."

Mr. Dillon had suffered one of the most curious and, in the circumstances, most damaging lapses of memory that ever afflicted a man in the House of Commons. An English member might have done it with comparative impunity. It would have seemed strange and would, for a long time, have been hurtful to his reputation for accuracy. At least, his bona-fides would have remained unchallenged. There would have been no accusation of attempting to "palm off" a false statement on an unsuspicious House. With John Dillon the case was different. Looking across the floor of the House, he could see Mr. Chamberlain, his keen face lighted up, his hands on the corner of the bench ready to spring up the moment he resumed his