ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.
The Joys of Office.
"Speaker! Hats off, Strangers!"
The Cares of Office.
Mr. Cawmel-Bannerman crosses the Lobby.
House of Commons, Monday, May 6.—Welsh Disestablishment Bill on. So is The Man from Shropshire. Stanley Leighton, as George Trevelyan pointed out long ago, is irresistibly like the ruined Chancery Suitor of Bleak House. Always dashing into debate as The Man from Shropshire broke in on the business of the Court of Chancery. "Mr. Chairman!" he shouts, and waves his arms, as The Man from Shropshire cried aloud, "My lord! My lord!" and tried to seize the Lord Chancellor by wig or neck. After first ebullition, our Man from Shropshire quietens down. Argues with gravity of tone and manner that seem to imply he has something to say. Turns out he hasn't; but, on the Welsh Disestablishment Bill, that no matter.
Curious how this Church Bill brings to the front men who, if heard at all, certainly do not speak in chorus on any other question. After The Man from Shropshire comes Tomlinson, who, early in proceedings, displays irresistible tendency to discuss points of order with Speaker. New Speaker has, however, already got hand in, and, before Tomlinson, who remembers being on his feet addressing Chair, quite knows where he is, he finds himself sitting down again, Cranborne also on warpath, his very hair bristling with indignation at this fresh attack on the Church. Glib Griffith-Boscawen has a field-night; makes long speech on moving Instruction standing in his own name. His obvious, unaffected enjoyment of his own oratory should be infectious; but isn't.
Colonel Lockwood, that pillar of the Church, was the first called on in Committee to move amendment. Colonel not in his place. Report has it the devout man is in library reading Thomas À Kempis, or Drelincourt on Death. Here is opportunity for Glib-Griffith to make another speech. Dashes in; starting off with promise of good half-hour; desire for Lockwood's appearance irresistible. As Addison says, with hereditary disposition to drop into poetry, and the belief that he is quoting Tennyson,
Better fifty words from Lockwood
Than a thousand from Boscawen.
Scouts sent out in all directions. The Colonel discovered in sort of oratory he has contrived in far recess of library. Brought back to House; found Boscawen bowling along. "This is my show," said the Colonel as he passed Boscawen on his way to his seat. More fierceness in his eye than befit the man or the occasion. Boscawen stared over his head, and went on with his speech. Opportunity too precious to be lost. If Lockwood meant to move his amendment he should have been there when called upon. He wasn't: Boscawen found it, so to speak, by roadside. Now it was his; would make the most of it; pegged along whilst the Colonel muttered remarks as he glared upon him. Some who sat by said it was a prayer. Others, catching a word here and there, said it was a quotation from Thomas À Kempis. Whatever it might have been, Colonel seemed much moved. Hardly pacified when, at end of twenty minutes, Glib-Griffith sat down, and Lockwood, finding himself in peculiar position of seconding his own amendment, delivered the speech he had prepared for moving it.
Business done.—Got into Committee on Welsh Disestablishment Bill.
Tuesday.—Pretty to see Prince Arthur drop down on George Russell just now for speaking disrespectfully of Silomio. That eminent patriot, having in his newly-assumed character of Patron Saint of Japan, cross-examined Edward Grey upon latest Treaty negotiations, accused Asquith of nothing less than stealing a county. "Filching" was precise word, which has its equivalent in Slang Dictionary in sneaking. Idea of Home Secretary hovering over the Marches in dead of night, and, when he thought no one was looking, picking up Monmouthshire, and putting it in his coat-tail pocket, amused scanty audience. But Silomio really wrath. "Always Anti-English this Government," he exclaimed, with scornful sweep of red right hand along line of smiling faces on Treasury Bench. "A stirring burst of British patriotism," George Russell characterised it. John Bull in excelsis. The more notable since, on reference to official record, he found the Knight from Sheffield was born in the United States, and descended from the Pilgrim Fathers.
"Which one?" inquired voice from back bench, an inquiry very properly disregarded. (A new phrase this, Sark notes, for use by retired tradesmen, setting up to spend rest of useful lives in retirement at Clapham or Camberwell. To trace their family tree back to transplantation at period of Conquest, played out. Instead of "Came over with the Conqueror," newer, more picturesque, equally historical to say, "Came over with the Pilgrim Fathers.")
Prince Arthur not in mood for speculation of this kind. Cut to the heart by remarks he suspected of slighting intent towards his friend and colleague. In Silomio Prince Arthur has long learned to recognise all the graces and all the talents. Apart from personal consideration, he feels how much the Party owe to him for having raised within its ranks the standard of culture and conduct. To have him attacked, even in fun, by an Under Secretary, was more than he could stand. So, in gravest tone, with no flicker of a smile on his expressive countenance, he declared that a more unfortunate speech he had never heard. "If the hon. gentleman intends," he added, "to take a considerable part in debate, I would earnestly recommend him either to change the character of his humour, or entirely to repress the exhibition."
Beautiful! In its way, all things considered, best thing Prince Arthur has done this Session. House grinned; but two big hot tears coursed down cheek of Silomio, making deep furrows in the war paint.
"That's tit for tat with Georgie Russell," said Herbert Gardner to Solicitor-General, with vague recollection of a historic phrase.
"Quite perfect," said Lockwood. "But what a loss the stage has sustained by Prince Arthur taking to politics? Tried both myself and know something about it." Business done.—An eight hours day with Welsh Disestablishment Bill.
Piling Peeler upon Rossa!
Thursday.—Tanner's curiosity inconveniently uncontrollable. At end of sitting given up to Scotland no one thinking about Commander-in-Chief or Tanner either. Successive divisions had carried sitting far beyond midnight, that blessed hour at which, in ordinary circumstances, debate stands adjourned. Quarter of an hour occupied in dividing on question whether they should divide on amendment. Proposal affirmed; another quarter of an hour spent in fresh division. Nothing possible further to be done, Members streamed forth, scrambling for cabs in Palace Yard. Conybeare in charge of a Bill dealing with false alarms of fire, managed to get it through Committee unopposed. Members little recked how near they were to real alarm of worse than fire.
Twenty minutes earlier, when last division taken, over 330 Members filled House. Now the tide ebbed; only the thirty odd Members in their places jealously watching Speaker running through Orders of the Day. Tanner bobbing up and down on bench like parched pea. Heard it somewhere whispered that Duke of Cambridge, worn out with long campaign, about to unhelm, unbuckle his sword, hang up his dinted armour. Tanner feels he can't go to bed leaving unsettled the problem of truth or phantasy. Not a moment to be lost. Speaker risen to put question "That this House do now adjourn." Then Tanner blurts out the inquiry, "Is it true?" "Order! order!" says the Speaker. Well, if they didn't like the question in the form he had first put it, he would try again.
"I would ask," he said, adopting conditional mood as least likely to hurt anyone's feelings, "whether a member of the Royal Family who has really" (most desirous of not putting it too strongly, but really you know) "been drawing public money too long is going to retire?"
"Order! order!" roared the few Members present.
"I would ask that question," repeated Tanner, still in the conditional mood, but nodding confidentially all round.
The Blameless Bartley happily at post of duty. Broke in with protest. Speaker ruled question out of order. But the good Tanner came back like a bad sixpence.
"Is his Royal Highness going to retire?" he insisted, getting redder than ever in the face. "Order! order!" shouted Members in chorus. Thus encouraged, Tanner sang out the solo again, "Is his Royal Highness going to retire?"
That was his question. The Speaker, distinctly differing, affirmed "The question is that the House do now adjourn;" which it did straightway, leaving Dr. Tanner to go to a sleepless bed haunted by an unanswered question.
"What I should like," said Lieut.-General Sir Frederick Wellington Fitz Wygram, who served in the Crimea with H.R.H., has been in command of the Cavalry Brigade at Aldershot, and in other positions come in personal contact with the Commander-in-Chief, "What I should like," he repeated reflectively, stroking his chin, "would be the opportunity, enjoyed from a safe distance, of hearing the Dook personally reply to Tanner's interrogation."
Business done.—Wrangle all night round Scotch Committee.
Friday.—Squire sat through dull morning sitting listening with air of pathetic resignation to Members talking round Budget. Quilter led off with prodigiously long paper on the Art of Brewing Beer. Seems they fill up the cup with all kinds of mysterious ingredients. Brookfield, looking round and observing both Joseph and Jesse absent, whispered in ear of sympathetic Chairman that Birmingham has reputation in the Trade of making and drinking beer containing minimum of malt, maximum of sugar, and warranted to do the greatest damage to the system. Squire, momentarily waking up from mournful mood, observed that Birmingham is also headquarters of Liberal Unionism. Might be nothing in coincidence, but there it was. Rasch posed as the distressed agriculturist. Jokim tried to walk on both sides of road at same time, and Government got majority of 24. Business done.—Budget Resolutions agreed to.