When a few days ago I was half-way through the speech I delivered in the House of Commons on the land system the faithful Commons were summoned in the manner consecrated by centuries of tradition to the bar of the House of Lords to hear the royal assent being given to the bill for the constitution of the Irish Free State. Notwithstanding a natural preoccupation with my interrupted speech two scenes came to my mind during my short journey to and from the upper chamber.  
The first was the spectacle of a crowded House of Commons nearly thirty years ago. When the doors were opened for prayers there was the unwonted sight of a throng of hustling M.P.'s pressing through the swing doors to secure seats. I need hardly say this was not the symptom or the outcome of any religious revival amongst our legislators. It was entirely due to the ancient custom that confers upon a member occupying a seat at[Pg 340] prayers the unchallengeable right to that seat for the rest of the sitting. Rows of chairs were arrayed on the floor of the House. That was an innovation never since followed. What was it all about? There sat in the middle of the Treasury bench huddled up and almost hidden by more stalwart and upright figures an old man of 83 years, to all appearances in the last stage of physical decrepitude and mental lassitude. His name was William Ewart Gladstone, the greatest parliamentary gladiator of all time. The lifelong champion of oppressed nationalities was to-day to inaugurate his final effort to give freedom to the Irish race trodden for centuries by ruthless force. The last remnant of his strength was to be consecrated to the achievement of Irish liberty, and hundreds of eager legislators to whom Peel and Russell, Palmerston and Disraeli were but historical names, were avid competitors for seats from which they could better listen to a man who had sat in governments with the first three and crossed swords with the fourth. It was a memorable sight.
 
The preliminary questions which precede all parliamentary business were by common consent postponed, and a deep and solemn silence thrilling with[Pg 341] expectancy fell upon the humming assembly as Mr. Speaker Peel in his sonorous voice called out "the Prime Minister." The inert heap which was the centre of all gaze sprang to the table an erect and alert figure. The decrepitude was cast off like a cloak—the lassitude vanished as by a magician's wand, the shoulders were thrown back, the chest was thrown forward, and in deep, ringing tones full of music and force the proposed new Irish charter was expounded for three unwearying hours by the transfigured octogenarian rejuvenated by the magic of an inspired soul. I had a seat just opposite the great orator. I was one of the multitude who on that occasion listened with marvel to that feat of intellectual command and physical endurance. It was more than that. It was an unrivalled display of moral courage, rare in political conflict. Mr. Gladstone had only just emerged out of a general election where, in spite of six years of his eloquent advocacy, the voice of Great Britain had declared emphatically against his Irish policy, and the poor parliamentary majority at his back was made up out of the preponderating Irish vote in favour of Home Rule. He was confronted with the most formidable parliamentary opposition ever ranged[Pg 342] against a minister, redoubtable in debating quality, still more redoubtable in its hold on British pride. He was eighty-three years of age, but he never quailed, and through the sultry summer months of 1893 he fought night by night with mighty strokes the battle of Irish emancipation. He did not live to carry the cause through to victory, but he planted the banner so firmly in the soil that no assault could succeed in tearing it down, and on the day when I stood with Mr. Bonar Law at the bar of the House of Lords I saw this banner flourished in triumph from the steps of the throne by a unionist Lord Chancellor. That was the first memory that flashed through my brain.
 
The next was of a dreary December night just one year ago when on one side of the Cabinet table in 10 Downing Street sat four representatives of Great Britain and on the other five Irish leaders. It was the famous room wherein British cabinets have for generations forged their Irish policies. Coercion and concession alike issued from that chamber. Pitt's Act of union was discussed there, and so were Gladstone's Home Rule bills, the decision to use British soldiers to throw Irish tenants out of their houses with battering ram and torch[Pg 343] and equally the bill which made every Irish tenant lord and master of his home at the expense of the British treasury—all issued forth from this simple and unadorned council chamber. And now came the final treaty of peace. Would it be signed? It was an anxious moment charged with destiny for the two great races who confronted each other at that green table.
 
The British representatives who were associated with me on the occasion were Mr. Austen Chamberlain; [I recall now how he sat by the side of his doughty father, Mr. Joseph Chamberlain, in 1893, during the famous nightly duel between him and Mr. Gladstone. How strangely little thirty arduous years have changed his personal appearance!] Lord Birkenhead, who, in 1893 was carving for himself a brilliant career as a student at Oxford and as a debater in the union; Mr. Winston Churchill who was then a cadet at Sandhurst whilst his father was engaged in the last great parliamentary struggle of his dazzling but tragic career; Sir Gordon Hewart, now Lord Hewart, the man who has risen on the pinions of a powerful intelligence to the height of Lord Chief Justice of England. My recollection is that the other two British [Pg 344]delegates—Sir Laming Worthington-Evans and Sir Hamar Greenwood—were stricken with illness and were unable to be present. After weeks of close investigation the climax of decision had been reached. Britain had gone to the limit of concession. No British statesman could have faced any assembly of his countrymen had he appended his signature to a convention that placed I............