ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
(Extracted from the Diary of Toby, M.P.)
House of Commons, Tuesday, June 9.—Recorded in Parliamentary history how a debate on Budget of the day a great statesman began his speech by utterance of he word "Sugar." Contrast of imposing personality of the Minister and sonorousness of his voice with commonplace character of utterance tickled fancy of House, then as now almost childishly eager to be amused. The great man looked round with stern glance that cowed the tittering audience. "Sugar," he repeated amid awed silence, and triumphantly continued his remarks.
It wasn't sugar that occupied attention of House on resuming sittings after Whitsun recess. It was Milk. Naturally Bill dealing with subject was in hands of the Infant Samuel. Debate on Second Reading presented House in best form. Impossible for most ingenious and enterprising Member to mix up with milk the Ulster question or hand round bottles accommodated with india-rubber tubes and labelled Welsh Church Disestablishment. Consequence was that, in Second Reading debate on Bill promoted by Local Government Board, Members on both sides devoted themselves to single purpose of framing useful measure.
THE INFANT SAMUEL.
Animated debate on another Bill in charge of John Burns amending Insurance Act in direction of removing administrative difficulties and diminishing working costs. Nothing to complain of in way of acerbity. Second Reading stages of both measures passed without division, and House adjourned before half-past ten.
At Question time peaceful prospect momentarily ruffled. The Sahib Rees, taking advantage of absence of Speaker, prolonging his holiday amid balmy odours of Harrogate Pump Room, was in great form. With extensive view he surveyed mankind from British Columbia to the Persian Gulf, just looking in at Australasia to see what Ian Hamilton has lately been up to in matter of compulsory military service.
It was in Persian Gulf that squall suddenly threatened. Sahib wanted to know whether His Majesty's ships in that quarter of the world "had been engaged with gun-runners."
Byles of Bradford, seated on Front Bench below Gangway, pricked up his baronial ears. What! More gun-running and nobody either hanged or shot? On closer study of question perceived that use of ambiguous word misled him. When the Sahib enquired whether His Majesty's ships had been "engaged" with gun-runners he did not mean that they had rendered assistance in illegal enterprises, nocturnal or other. On the contrary, word had directly opposite meaning.
Byles of Bradford accordingly abandoned intention of putting Supplementary Question, reserving his energy for his own searching inquiry, which appeared lower down on paper, impartially denouncing importation of arms "whether by the Ulster Volunteers or the National Volunteers, or both."
"Who said 'gun-running'?"
(With acknowledgments to a popular picture.)
["Byles of Bradford pricked up his baronial ears.">[
Business done.—National Insurance Act Amendment Bill, and Milk and Dairies Bill read a second time.
Wednesday.—Attendance still small, especially on Opposition Benches. Hapless Ministerialists, warned by urgent summons hinting at surprises in store in the Division Lobby, loyally muster. Nothing happened; perhaps in other circumstances something might.
Whilst the Benches are half empty Order Book is crowded. To-day's list catalogues no fewer than 142 Bills standing at various stages awaiting progress. Thirty-five are Government measures. The rest proofs of the energy and legislative capacity of private Members.
Of course at this stage of Session only small proportion of Government Bills are likely to reach the Statute Book; those in hands of private Members have no chance whatever. Still, imposing display looks well on paper. In its various developments adds considerably to amount of stationery bill.
Business done.—In Committee of Supply on Post Office Vote, a trifle of £26,151,830, the Holt Report on postmen's demand for higher wages discussed.
Thursday.—Walking down Victoria Street on way to House of Commons, as is my custom of an afternoon, I come upon my old friend the sandwich-board man. He stands in the shadow of Westminster Abbey panoplied back and front with boards making the latest announcement of newcomers to Madame Tussaud's. Morning and afternoon, all day long, he stands there, the life of London surging past. We generally have a little chat, and occasionally he gets a cigar.
One mystery that long piqued me he solved. If you chance upon sandwich-board men marching to head-quarters, like old Kaspar at his garden gate their day's work done, you will notice they always carry their boards upside down. The passer-by, consumed by desire to know what truth these proclaim, must needs assume inverted attitude in order to profit by announcement. Why do they so scrupulously observe that custom?
"Point of honour," says my sandwich-board man. "What you call class interests. We are paid little enough for so many hours' tramp. When the hour of deliverance strikes we turn the board upside down. So we do when we sit down by crowded thoroughfare to eat our mid-day bread-and-cheese, or bread without cheese as may happen. Not going to give the master more than he pays for."
What specially attracted me to-day was communication received from Member for Sark. Says he hears that Winterton is about to be added to Madame Tussaud's!
THE WINTERTON WAX-WORK.
Suppose this, next of course to Westminster Abbey, is highest compliment possible for public man. On reflection I say not quite. Lulu stands on triple pinnacle of fame. On one or other the New Zealander, bored with the monotony of the ruins of London Bridge, sure to hap upon his name writ large.
There is the Harcourt Room in House of Commons, a spacious dining-hall cunningly contrived with lack of acoustical properties that make it difficult to hear what a conversational neighbour is saying. In time of political stress this useful, as preventing lapse into controversy at the table. Homeward bound from his last Antarctic trip, Ernest Shackleton discovered three towering peaks of snow and ice. One he named Mount Asquith; another Mount Henry Lucy; a third Mount Harcourt.
Now a great shipping company, having business on the West Coast of Africa, making welcome discovery of a deep water port in the estuary of the Bonny River, have named it Port Harcourt.
This concatenation of circumstance more striking than the lonely eminence of a pitch in the hall of Madame Tussaud, and a name flaunting on her sandwich-board. Moreover than which, as grammarians say, Sark has evidently been misinformed. My sandwich-board man has heard nothing of reported addition to our Valhalla. Certainly his boards do not confirm the pleasing rumour.
Business done.—Home Secretary announces intention of Government to go to fountain-head of trouble with Militant Suffragists. Will proceed by civil or criminal action directed against the persons who subscribe sinews of war. Loud cheers from both sides approved the plan. Followed at short interval by sharp report distinctly heard in Lobby. Was it echo of the strident cheer? No. It was the ladies demonstrating afresh their eligibility for exercise of the suffrage by attempting to blow up the Coronation Chair in Westminster Abbey.
"Candidates for divinity degrees at Cambridge should, it is proposed, be required to give evidence of a competent general knowledge of Christian theology."—Times.
Every now and then the authorities get these bright ideas, and thus our old Universities keep up to date.
From a list of entries for the golf championship:—
"Geo. Oke (Honor Oke)."—Dundee Courier.
We will if he wins.
"How can you have precisely the same cottage on the north and the south side of a road? In the one case the larder is to the south, and the butler is melting."
Manchester Guardian.
He should return to the wine cellar.