ight to a seat on that bench equal, at least,
to that of Sir Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett. One evening, coming in at
question time and finding his seat appropriated by an Irish member, he
dropped on to the remote end of the Front Opposition Bench, hoping he
did not intrude. His old colleagues warmly welcomed him, made much of
him, entreated him to go up higher, and it came to pass that the House
of Commons grew accustomed to seeing the strayed reveller sitting in
close companionship with Mr. Arthur Balfour. If the whole story of the
tragedy of Christmas, 1886, were known, it would appear more remarkable
still that from time to time he should have been observed in friendly
conversation with Mr. Goschen.

[Illustration: "IN CLOSE COMPANIONSHIP."]

It was from this quarter that, within the first fortnight of the
Session, Lord Randolph rose to make his _rentree_. It was characteristic
of him that he had sat silent through the long debate on the Address.
That meant nothing, except the occupation of a certain space of time.
There was no substantial amendment before the House, nor any prospect of
the existence of the new Government being challenged on a division. But
when the Home Rule Bill was brought in, things were different; there was
a tangible substance round which statesmen might give battle.

[Illustration: "ROSE TO MAKE HIS RENTREE."]

It was known that Lord Randolph would resume the debate on this
particular night, and the thronged state of the House testified to the
deathless personal interest he commands. Not since Mr. Gladstone had, a
few nights earlier, risen to expound the Bill was the House so crowded.
The Prince of Wales, accompanied by the Duke of York, returned to his
seat over the clock, whilst noble lords jostled each other in the effort
to obtain seats in the limited space allotted to them. It happened that
the _debutant_ was destined to undergo a serious and unexpected ordeal.
His time should have come not later than five o'clock, questions being
then over, and the House permitted to settle down to the business of the
day. But there intervened a riotous scene, arising on a question of a
breach of privilege. This extended over an hour, and throughout it Lord
Randolph sat in a state of almost piteous nervousness.

That was a sore trial for the intending orator, but it reacted with even
worse effect on the audience. The House of Commons, though it likes its
dishes highly spiced, cares for only one such at a m