Then Irish Members come on. Cream seems spooned off the mass in
preparation for festivities on St. Patrick's Day, and only the
skimmest of skim milk left. WEBB wobbles to the front; talks out vote
for Chicago Royal Committee, although ATTORNEY-GENERAL tells him it
will be all right as to Irish interests; being now close upon ten
minutes to seven, when Committee must adjourn, WEBSTER hasn't time
to make detailed explanations, but promises to do so on Report. WEBB
maunders on all the same, and Vote postponed.

Great day for FLYNN. TIM HEALY thinks he's pretty smart as a debater;
SEXTON believes he knows a thing or two; O'BRIEN is understood to be
something of an orator. FLYNN will show House how all these qualities
may be combined in one man. Does it by the tiresome twenty minutes,
the lamentable half-hour; popping up on every question with comically
judicial air; talking on with fatal feeble flatulent fluency, whilst
GILL sits nursing his hat awaiting his turn.

Alack for Irish humour, eloquence and deviltry, that it should come to
this!

Whilst FLYNN once again turns on the tap of his tepid dish-water, news
comes that Lord HAMPDEN died this morning in far-off Pau. HAMPDEN was
the BRAND who sat in Chair during Parliament of 1874, and wrestled
nightly with the "bhoys" when they were in their prime--MAJOR
O'GORMAN rollicking through the night; JOSEPH GILLIS with lean hand
outstretched and his "It seems to me, MR. SPEAKER"; PARNELL in the
white heat of passion; DELAHUNTY with his One Pound Notes, and poor
MCCARTHY DOWNING with his scared look and his indescribable but
unmistakable air of one accustomed to frequent the best society in