the darkness, and the ghosts of dead statesmen and forgotten scenes of oratory, passion, and triumph.  But as six o’clock was striking, there entered the yard around the House two figures—­similar in purpose—­different in appearance.  Mr. Johnson, of Ballykilbeg, is by this time one of the familiar types of the House; and, from his evident sincerity, is, in spite of the terrible and mediaeval narrowness of his creed, personally popular.  Mr. Johnson is an Orangeman of Orangemen.  Now and then he delivers a speech, in which he declares that rather than see Home Rule in Ireland, he and his friends will line the ditches with riflemen.  The Pope disturbs his dreams by night and stalks across his speeches by day; and there is a general impression about him that he is resolved, some time or other, to walk through a good large stream of Papist blood.  He is also a violent teetotaller; and is so strong on this point that he is ready to shake hands, even with the deadliest Irish opponent, across the back of a Sunday Closing Bill.  Like most Parliamentary fire-eaters, he is a mild-mannered man.  Time hath dealt tenderly with him.  But still he is well on to the seventies:  his hair, once belligerently red, is thin and streaked with grey; and he walks somewhat slowly, and not very vigorously.  Dr. Rentoul is a man of a different type.  What Johnson feels, Rentoul affects.  He is a tall, common-looking, heavily-built, blustering kind of fellow; great, it is said, on the abusive Tory platform, almost dumb and utterly impotent in the House of Commons.  These were the vanguard of the Orange army, and they proceeded to appropriate the first and best seats they could lay their hands upon.

[Sidenote:  Dr. Tanner and his waistcoat.]

Dr. Tanner, soon after this, appeared blazing on the scene; and sorrow came upon him that any of the enemy should have forestalled him.  Like Mr. Johnson, Tanner is a Protestant—­but, unlike him, is as fiercely Nationalist as the other is Orange; and, whenever the waves are disturbed by the Parliamentary storm, Tanner is pretty sure to be heard of and from.  Viewing the scene of battle strategically, Tanner struck on an idea which was certainly original.  Accounts differ as to whether he was the possessor of one hat or several; but tradition would suggest that he had more than one.  It is certain, however, that he did take off his coat and waistcoat; and stretching these across the unclaimed land of seats, did thereby signify to all mankind that the seats thus decorated were his.  But the novel form of appropriation—­it suggests a wrinkle to prospectors in mining countries—­was held to be illegal; and the poor doctor had to content himself with using the hat, or hats, as a means of securing seats.

[Sidenote:  Colonel Saunderson.]