ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.
House of Commons, Monday, July 30.—Having settled Budget Bill, and, incidentally, brought Chancellor of Exchequer to Death's Door by observations on Death Duties, Tommy Bowles has time to turn his attention to another social question. Looks as if he were going to take the Bicycle Fiend by the scruff of the neck. Herein he has opportunity of deepening and enlarging his hold on affection and esteem of British public. Bicycle Fiend has increased, is increasing, and, at least, ought to be registered. He comes upon the hapless rider or pedestrian in quiet country lanes, brushing him aside as if the earth were the Fiend's and all the highways thereof. Bad enough in the country, where there is room to get out of the way. In crowded streets of metropolis, Fiend pounces round unsuspected corners upon elderly gentlemen, scattering streams of peaceful passengers at peremptory sound of fearsome bell.
Tommy B. got his eye on him. Not without suspicion that this new departure has something to do with old, now closed, campaign against the Budget. Tommy warned the Squire whilst in Committee that his Death Duties would not reap the full harvest anticipated. Every little helps. What with actual concussions and sudden frights, Bicycle Fiend leads in course of financial year to considerable succession of property changing on sudden death, with concurrent toll paid to Treasury. If the Bicycle Fiend can only be placed on same footing as the common carrier, or the harried hansom-cab driver, the death-rate would appreciably decrease, and with it the flow of legacy and succession duties. Tommy may or may not look thus far ahead. No matter, if he only succeeds in restraining a nuisance that is a disgrace to a civilised community.
The Member for Sark tells me he has a Short Way with the B. F., which makes him to considerable extent indifferent to slower action of Home Secretary, who has evidently never had his shins barked by this agency. Sark says when he takes his walks abroad he usually carries a stick or umbrella. When, crossing a road, he hears the tinkle of the Fiend's bell, insolently and imperatively ordering him out of the way on pain of being run over, he, instead of flying for his life, as is the use of the ordinary citizen, carelessly throws stick or umbrella lance-wise across hollow of right or left arm, according as the Fiend approaches from one direction or the other. Thus armed he leisurely pursues his way. If the Fiend continues on the track, he will run with face or chest on to the point of the umbrella. As that would be inconvenient to him, he slows up or goes on another tack, and when he arrives home writes a letter to the Bicycling Blister, indignantly denouncing a street passenger who wouldn't get out of his way.
Business done.—Vote on Account through Committee.
Tuesday.—"Prince Arthur," said Sark, looking across at the Front Opposition Bench whilst Courtney was speaking, "succeeds in hiding all traces of storm behind a smiling countenance. Joseph, on the contrary, more ingenuous, less acute in practice of worldly wiles, enables one to realise, even at this long distance of time, what Balak, the son of Zippor, King of Moab, looked like when he stood in the high places of Baal, and listened to Balaam's remarks on the motion for the time-closure to be applied to the Children of Israel, who had pitched their tents in the plains of Moab beyond the Jordan at Jericho, and declined to budge at the bidding of Balak."
Appearance of Parliamentary Balaam on scene dramatically effective. Crowded House worked up to highest pitch of excitement by swift encounter, in which John Morley had followed Prince Arthur, and Joseph, springing in from behind, had clouted the Chief Secretary on the head. The Squire had moved time-closure on Evicted Tenants Bill in speech the studied tameness and provoking brevity of which had riled Opposition much more than if he had belaboured them with Harcourtian phrase. Sage of Queen Anne's Gate said a few words, preparatory to packing up for holiday; then Courtney rose from Joseph's side to continue debate. Members, taking it for granted that he, possibly with some reservations in favour of Eviction Bill whose second reading he had supported, was about to say ditto to Joseph on question of Closure, began to move towards door. Arrested by Courtney's solemn tone, and his expression of regret, evidently unfeigned, at deplorable condition in which the House found itself. "Woe to those through whom offences come!" cried Courtney in voice which, as he said, was of one crying in the wilderness, and seemed for its perfect effect to lack only hirsute garb, stave and honeypot. "Through whom did the offence come? Surely," continued the Prophet, bending shaggy eyebrows upon the bench where the Busy B's hive, "the offence lies with those Members who, disregarding the true uses, functions, duties, and high mission of the House, abuse their powers, intent to destroy possibility of the right conduct of public business."
Not Ministers, then, with the Squire at their head, responsible for the deadlock, as Prince Arthur had painted the scene, and as Joseph had touched it up with stronger colour. It was the Busy Bees. They and "a junta of irresponsible landlords enforcing their will upon those who ought to resist them."
O Balaam! Balaam! M.P. for Bodmin. Was it for this Joseph led thee into the field of Zophim, to the top of Pisgah? For this did Prince Arthur build seven altars, and offer up the Squire of Malwood on every one of them? Long time since such a scene was wrought in the House. Saunderson pished and pshawed, and looked anxiously round for Logan. Bartley blushed; Hanbury was hushed; and a tear trickled down the pale cheek of Tommy Bowles—Cap'en no longer, disrated and denounced.
Business done.—Time-Closure resolution carried.
Thursday.—Such larks! Yesterday time-closure came into operation in connection with Evicted Tenants Bill. Arranged that if debate on Clause I not finished by eleven o'clock to-night, all Amendments remaining on paper shall be submitted to vote without further debate. Obstruction scotched; wriggles helplessly, like eel in muddy depths of river, smitten by the spear.
"Shan't play," whimper Prince Arthur and Joseph, mingling their tears at this fresh evidence of tyranny, this last illustration of man's inhumanity to man.
Strike ordered in Unionist lines. Men throw down the pick; hand in the shovel and the hoe; put on their coats; hang about corners of Lobby in approved strike fashion. If Hanbury and the Blameless Bartley could only be induced to stick short clay pipe in side of mouth (bowl downwards), fasten a leather strap outside their trousers just below the knee, and drink four-half out of pewters at bar in the Lobby, scene would be complete.
Strike only partial. Fully one half the men refuse to go out; stand by the masters, turning deaf ear to blandishments and threats of pickets outside. Strange thing is that, working at half strength, output more than doubled. Time-closure, with all hands at work, proposed to complete Committee by eleven o'clock next Tuesday night. At ten minutes past six this afternoon the whole thing through. Not hurried either. Thoroughly debated, divided on, and Bill, in more than one instance, amended.
"Fact is," said the Squire, beaming with chastened delight at turn events taken, "we are over-manned just as London is over-cabbed. Must see if something can't be done to reduce numbers by refusing licenses for fresh elections when vacancies occur."
Business done.—Evicted Tenants Bill through Committee. Building Societies Bill far advanced.
Friday.—Back in the mud again. Strike operative only when Evicted Tenants Bill under consideration. That standing over now for Report Stage. Meanwhile take up again Equalisation of Rates Bill. Men on strike stream in, tired of "playing." Wonderful their eagerness to get to work again, their keen delight in sound of their own voices, so strangely intermitted. Bartley, Kimber, Fisher, Jokim, and the Woolwich Infant all here again, with Webster (of St. Pancras) wobbling all over the place, like a hen that has laid an egg somewhere and can't for the life of her just at the minute think where she left it.
Business done.—Hardly any. As Bartley says, "must make up for lost time when yesterday and day before work advanced by leaps and bounds."
THE CARSON BANSHEE.
John Morley. "You see it's all right, my little man. I told you you needn't be frightened of him. It was only his vapour. We're through the Commons now! Come along, and I'll leave you at the door of the Lords'. See how you get on there!"
Cryptogrammatist Wanted.—After a plain matter-of-fact paragraph in the Daily Telegraph, stating that "Lord Greville leaves town to-day for Harrogate" (to undergo the "tonic sul-phur" cure, of course, i.e., of water-course), there appeared this mysterious announcement, "Lord Rowton leaves London to-day for some weeks." Now where is "some weeks"? Of course as his Lordship has quitted town for "some weeks," he evidently prefers "some weeks," wherever it is, to London. And that is all we know at present. Strange disappearance. Weird.
The Coster Knight.—There are pictures on almost all the hoardings, in the suburbs especially, of the celebrated Mr. Albert Chevalier. This chevalier "sans peur et sans reproche" is so busy a man that in the best sense of the term he may well be considered as the type of an honest "Chevalier d'Industrie."
Query.—"The Lancashire Rubber Company"—is this something new in the way of Massage? or is it a Company got up for the express purpose of supplying Society with Whist-players?
The Latest Made of Honour at Richmond.— Sir James W. Szlumper, Knight.