hour is at an end, and a little bell rings, another speaker has a right to interrupt him, even should it be in the very midst of his most profound argument, or in the highest flight of his genius, and demand general attention for his speech, which may occupy another hour, after which he again must give place to some one else. And as the speakers in a general way speak with great ease, and have a deal to say, they are anxious to make good use of their power, and that I suppose is the reason for the headlong speed with which the speech is hurled forth, like an avalanche, into the house, at least, it has been so every time I have been there. A certain kind of hurry-skurry seems to prevail in this house, which contrasts strongly with the decorum of the Senate. There, each senator may speak as long as he will, nay even, through the whole of the session if he chose, without any one having a right to interrupt him, except to make an observation or with his consent.
During this talking however, whether in the Senate or in the House of the Representatives, I am often enough reminded of Mr. Poinsett's words, when I praised the American talent for talking, “It is a great misfortune!” But is it better as regards this misfortune in other countries in assemblies where people make speeches? And if I do sigh now and then as I listen to a speech, yet I am interested by many on account of their straightforwardness, on account of the subjects upon which they touch, or on account of the speakers themselves. I like both to see and to hear parliamentary assemblies. Human nature seems to me great, when it stands forth and does battle for some high purpose or principle, and if it be possessed of power or of genius, it wins great victories; and I love to see human nature great and important, to see it from its private little world, its isolated point, labour for—the whole World. And even without genius, human nature here presents, as a moral power, an interesting sight
