O'Shea began with due solemnity, modestly assuring the House that he wished the task had fallen to one more competent than himself, and more conversant with those professional details which would necessarily occupy a large space in the narrative. “Surely the honorable member held a commission in the Clare Fencibles.” “Was not the honorable member's father a band-master in the Fifty- fourth?” cried another. “To the insolent interruptions which have met me,” said O'Shea, indignantly-- “Order! order!” “Am I out of order, sir?” asked he of the Speaker. “Clearly so,” replied that functionary. “Every interruption, short of a knock-down, is parliamentary.” “I bow to the authority of the chair, and I say that the ruffianly allusions of certain honorable members 'pass by me like the idle wind, that I regard not.'” “Where 's that from? Take you two to one in half-crowns you can't tell,” cried one. “Done!” “Order! order!” “Spoke!” with cries of “Goon!” here convulsed the meeting; after which O'Shea resumed his discourse. “When, sir,” said he, “I undertook to bring under the notice of this House, and consequently before the eyes of the nation, the case of a distinguished officer, one whose gallant services in the tented field, whose glorious achievements before the enemy have made his name famous in all the annals of military distinction, I never anticipated to have been met by the howls of faction, or the discordant yells of disappointed and disorderly followers--mere condottieri--of the contemptible tyrant who now scowls at me from the cross-benches.” Loud cheers of applause followed this burst of indignation. An animated conversation now ensued as to whether this was strictly parliamentary; some averring that they “had heard worse,” others deeming it a shade too violent, O'Shea insisting throughout that there never was a sharp debate in the House without far blacker insinuations, while in the Irish Parliament such courtesies were continually interchanged, and very much admired. “Was n't it Lawrence Parsons who spoke of the 'highly gifted blackguard on the other side?'” and “Didn't John Toler allude to the 'ignorant and destitute spendthrift who now sat for the beggarly borough of Athlone?'” cried two or three advocates of vigorous language. “There's worse in Homer,” said another, settling the question on classical authority. The discussion grew warm. What was, and what was not, admissible in language was eagerly debated; the interchange of opinion, in a great measure, serving to show that there were few, if any, freedoms of speech that might not be indulged in. Indeed, Heathcote's astonishment was only at the amount of endurance exhibited by each in turn, so candid were the expressions employed, so free from all disguise the depreciatory sentiments entertained.