The 'dreary drip of dilatory declamation' to which Lord Salisbury, in one of his happiest phrases, once drew attention, shows no sign of exhaustion, or even of diminution; and the Conservative chief has followed up his admirable epigram by picturing the time when, all rational discussion and all beneficial legislation being out of the question, the House of Commons may become a mere mechanical puppet-show, and may present the spectacle of 'a steam Irish Party, an electric Ministry, and a clockwork Speaker.' It is certain that there never was so much talk in the Lower House as at the present moment; but it is also certain that the complaint of 'much speaking' has before now been frequently preferred against both Chambers. Politicians have always been a wordy race, and many a sharp shaft has been aimed at their besetting weakness. A last-century satirist once wrote: '"Do this," cries one side of St. Stephen's great hall; "Do just the reverse," the minority bawl.... And what is the end of this mighty tongue-war? --Nothing's done for the State till the State is done for!' And, unfortunately, the quality of the talk has often been as poor as the quantity was considerable. It was, we believe, a pre-Victorian pen which perpetrated this couplet on the House of Commons: 'To wonder now at Balaam's ass were weak: Is there a night that asses do not speak?' Fun has constantly been made of the typical drawbacks of political oratory--of the dull men, of the heavy, of the shallow, of the unintelligible, and what not. We have been told how 'a lord of senatorial fame' was known at once by his portrait, because the painter had so 'play'd his game' that it 'made one even yawn at sight.' It has been said of an M.P., that his speeches 'possessed such remarkable weight' that it was 'really a trouble to bear them.' Of a third it was written that his discourses had some resemblance to an hour-glass, because, the longer time they ran, the shallower they grew. Of yet another orator we read that his reasoning was really deep, his argument profound, 'for deuce a bit could anybody see the ground.' Nor have certain historical personages been able to escape the lash. When Admiral Vernon was appointed to take charge of the herring fishery, Horace Walpole wrote: 'Long in the Senate had brave Vernon rail'd, And all mankind with bitter tongue assail'd; Sick of his noise, we wearied Heav'n with pray'r In his own element to place the tar. The gods at length have yielded to our wish, And bade him rule o'er Billingsgate and fish.' From which it will be gathered anew that a somewhat bitter style of debate is no novelty in this country--that strong language has been heard in the House of Commons _ante Agamemnona_.