In a moment, several Irish members--Mr.Swift McNeill, Mr.Crilly, and others--were on their feet, shouting in accents hoarse with anger, inarticulate with rage.

The Speaker was also on his feet, and, for a while, his shouts of "Order! Order!" failed to calm the sudden, fierce cyclone.

Above the din, voices were shouting, "Name! Name!" with that rancorous and fierce note which the House of Commons knows so well when passion has broken loose, and all the grim depths of party hate are revealed.

At last, it was discovered that Lord Cranborne was the culprit, and that when Mr.Asquith, amid universal sympathy and assent, was alluding to the beautiful speech of Mr.Davitt, this most unmannerly of cubs had uttered the word, "Murderer." [Sidenote: A whipped hound.] If he had not been so unspeakably rude, vulgar, odious, and impertinent, one might have almost felt sympathy for Lord Salisbury's son in the position in which he found himself.

His face is usually pale, but now it had the deadly, ghastly, and almost green pallor of a man who is condemned to die.