of determination, try a fall again and again
with the House, and may sometimes, as in the case of Mr. O'Donnell, seem
to win. But in the end the House of Commons proves victorious. It is a
sort of whetstone on which blades of various temperature operate. In
time, they either forego the practice or wear themselves away. In either
case the whetstone remains.

This is a rule without exception, and is a reassuring reflection in view
of the talk about the degeneracy of the House of Commons, and the
decadence of its standard of manner. It would not be difficult to show
that the House at present in Session will, from the point of view of
manners, favourably compare with any that have gone before--though, to
be just, the comparison should be sought with Parliaments elected under
similar conditions, with the Liberals in office and the Conservatives in
opposition. That is an arrangement always found to be more conducive to
lively proceedings than when parties are disposed in the contrary order.
The Parliament dissolved last year was decorously dull. Mr. Gladstone in
opposition is not prone to show sport, and no encouragement was held out
to enterprising groups below the gangway to bait the Government. It was
very different in the Parliament of 1880-5, of which fact the
Challemel-Lacour episode is an illustration, only a little more piquant
in flavour than the average supply.

There are already signs that the new Parliament will not lie under the
charge of deplorable dulness brought against its predecessor. But these
varying moods are due to waves of political passion, and do not affect
the question whether the House of Commons as a body of English gentlemen
met for the discharge of public business has or has not deteriorated. I
have an engraving of a picture of the House of Commons in pre-Reform
days. It was carefully drawn in the Session of 1842. A more respectable
body of the gentlemen of England it would be difficult to gather
together. With the possible exception of one or two political
adventurers like the then member for Shrewsbury, there is probably not a
man in the House who is not well born or at least rich. Mr. Keir Hardie
would look strange indeed in these serried ranks of portly gentlemen
with high coat collars, cravats up to their chin, short-bodied coats
showing the waistcoat beneath, and the tightly trousered legs. Yet this
House, and its equally prim successors, had its obstruction, its
personal wrangles, and its