Be it good, or be it ill--let it come at once.

The Whips from the two lobbies enter almost simultaneously--this shows plainly enough that it has been a very near thing; then a dreadful hush as the numbers are announced; we have won--aye, but we have by only fourteen! There is a burst of cheers from the Irish Benches; Sir William Harcourt laughs aloud in his triumph; the composure of the Old Man's face remains unchanged; you see he has gone through a great many things like this; and that great heart and sane mind are prepared for any fate.

Mr.
Chamberlain says nothing; but looking into the recesses of his amendment paper, attempts to hide the choking rage of disappointment that has come over him at this final defeat of his brightest hopes of trampling his former friend and his former chief in the dust.
[Sidenote: A squabble.] And now comes the squalid sequel to all this glorious and splendid fight--the disorderly--the chaotic--the anarchic scene of the 11th of July.

The whole thing began simply enough.

Mr.Brodrick, the son of an Irish landlord--a very light, though very serious young man--managed in the course of his speech to speak of the people from whom he springs as "impecunious and garrulous." At first nobody took any notice of what was probably a mere mauvaise plaisanterie; and the incident would have passed altogether had not Mr.Brodrick immediately afterwards made a more direct appeal to the Irish Members.