ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.
House of Commons, Tuesday, February 5.—Almost thought just now we were going to have another Bradlaugh business. House crowded; Members on all sides eager for the fray. At the bar, closely packed, stood group of newly-elected Members. Seen some of them here before. Broadhurst back again after what seems years of exile. Elliott Lees, deep in thought as to where he shall next go for his groceries in Birkenhead, in centre of the group. The new Solicitor-General, our old friend Frank Lockwood, like a tall maple (not Sir Blundell), lifts his head and smiles.
Spoiling his Peroration
"Members desiring to take their seats will please come to the table," says the Speaker.
Broadhurst, in the van, sprang forward. Had made a fair start when Henry James, watchful in aerie on corner bench below gangway, leaped to feet and proposed to discuss the legality of situation. Objection founded on abstruse mathematical problem. Two writs had been moved to fill vacancies in the representation of Leicester. There had been only one election. There should, Henry James argued, have been two. Consequently, election invalid; the two new Members for Leicester not Members at all, only strangers, intruders across the bar, liable to be whipped off in custody of Sergeant-at-Arms.
Here was a pretty prospect for opening of Session to which Squire of Malwood had come with his pocket full of Bills! Sergeant-at-Arms glanced uneasily at Broadhurst retreating before interruption. What if repetition of the old process were imminent? Were there to be more carpet-dances on floor of House through summer afternoons, as was the wont of Captain Gosset pirouetting to and from the Mace, House not quite sure whether he was clutching Bradlaugh or Bradlaugh him? Then the merry scenes in the outer hall, Bradlaugh fighting at long odds, finally thrust down the staircase, breathless, his coat torn, his stylographic pen broken. Broadhurst a stone or two lighter than Bradlaugh. But was he equally nimble-footed? Certainly he had not yet acquired the practice which in the second Session of the controversy enabled Bradlaugh and the Sergeant-at-Arms to advance, retire, chasser, and clasp hands across the middle, in perfect time.
But a great deal has happened in the fifteen years that have sped since, from a corner seat on the side of the House facing Henry James, Drummond Wolff rose, and with emphatic gesture barred Bradlaugh's progress to the table. By striking coincidence that strange chapter in Parliamentary history, opening by chance accident and leading to stirring consequences, was finally closed this very night, when Akers-Douglas moved writ to fill vacancy created in South Paddington by death of "Right Hon. Randolph Henry Spencer Churchill, commonly called Lord Randolph Churchill."
Henry James had not concluded his sentence when Speaker interposed with ruling that there must be no interference with Members desiring to take their seats. So incident closed. Members for Leicester sworn in. Broadhurst, in exuberance of moment, made as though he would publicly shake the hand the clerk held out to take writ of return. But Reginald Francis Douce Palgrave not made K.C.B. for nothing. "The writ, the writ!" he hoarsely murmured, waving back the friendly hand. Broadhurst hastily produced document from breast-pocket, and thus fresh scandal was averted.
Business done.—Address moved.
Wednesday.—Exceptional interest in this afternoon's proceedings in view of circumstance that Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett (Knight)—what was it Grandolph said about mediocrity with double-barrelled names?—would appear in his new character as Silomio. Title conferred during recess by delegates from Swaziland. Curiosity quickened by report that début would be made in character. Yesterday we had mover and seconder of Address in velvet suits with silver buttons and brands Excalibur at their side. Why no Silomio in the native dress of the nation that has adopted him? Some disappointment when he turned up in ordinary frock-coat. Understood that weather responsible for this. Swazi morning dress picturesque, but with nine degrees of frost in Palace Yard a little inadequate, especially for a beginner.
Even in commonplace English dress Silomio made a striking figure as he stood at the table, and belaboured it for "Swaziland, my Swaziland." Looked at times as if he were going to leap over, and seize by the throat Sydney Buxton provokingly smiling on the other side. Last week's handkerchief hanging out from his coat tail pocket, in liberal measure though crumpled state, lent a weird effect to back view, not interrupted by inconvenient crowding on front Opposition Bench. Odd how Silomio's colleagues in late Ministry find business elsewhere when he rises to orate.
Business done.—Talking round Address.
Thursday.—Rather painful scene in House to-night. Chaplin resuming debate on Address led its course gently by the still waters of bimetallism. Somehow that a subject that has never quite entranced attention of frivolous Commons. It works certain subtle spell upon them. At clink of sovereign and shilling between argumentative finger and thumb they slink away. So it was to-night whilst Chaplin spoke. Faithful among the faithless found was Jemmy Lowther. He sat attentive beside the orator with an expression of profound wisdom, unmitigated by boyish habit of keeping his hands in his trouser pocket, not without suspicion of furtively counting his marbles or attempting to open his knife with the fingers of one hand.
A Trifle for the Unemployed!
Jemmy and Chaplin rank amongst oldest boys in the school. One took his seat for mid-Lincolnshire in December, 1868; saw the rise to supreme power of Mr. G. and, with some intervals, suffered it up to the end. The other rode in triumphantly from York one July day in 1865. Thus their united Parliamentary ages if fifty-seven, a record hard to beat. Shoulder to shoulder they have, through all this time, resisted attacks on British Constitution. Now, suddenly, publicly, in eye of the scorner, came sharp parting of the ways.
Chaplin viewing state of things depressing industrial communities admitted it was very bad. Mills closed, mines empty, ship-building yards silent, workmen starving. Only one thing would save the State—Bimetallism. "Is there anyone," said the orator with magnificent wave of arm round desolate benches; "who has any other suggestion to make for the salvation of these industries?" Then up spoke Jemmy Lowther. "I have," he said with final tug at the blade of the knife hidden in his pocket.
Chaplin stood aghast. Could it be possible—his own familiar friend? He turned, looked down on him, gasping for breath. Then in a hollow voice he added, "What has my right hon. friend been doing all this time? Why doesn't he make his proposal?"
Here was an opening for apology, recantation, or at least, submissive silence. But Jemmy evidently gone to the bad; got the bit between his teeth and bolted. "I've made it over and over again," he growled, thinking resentfully of his much crying in the wilderness for that blessed thing Protection. Ribald House roared with laughter. Chaplin, cut to heart, avoided repetition of painful incident by bringing oration to early conclusion.
"Let's put this matter to practical test, Toby," he said. "Come along with me, and we'll consult the Unemployed."
Not far to go. On Westminster Bridge a hollow-cheeked man leaning over low wall stared at ice-floes silently gliding down with the tide. "My good man," said Chaplin, "you look unemployed, and I daresay you're hungry. Now, in order to put you straight, which would you rather have, Bimetallism or Protection?"
"Well, if you don't mind, master," said the Unemployed huskily, "I'd like a chunk o' bread."
"Ah!" said Chaplin, "these people are so illogical." And he gave him half-a-crown.
Business done.—Drifted into debate on Bimetallism. Business can wait.
Friday.—Squire of Malwood left sick room to take part in debate and division on Jeffreys' Amendment to Address. Self-devotion dangerous on foggy, frosty night. But the result worth it, at least for crowded House that heard the speech. Best thing of the kind done in House since Dizzy's prime. Squire evidently profited by necessity for rapidity of composition. The sharpest barbs aimed at quivering figure of Jokim sitting opposite.
"Wot's this he means about stealing my clothes when I was bathing?" said Hardie, with puzzled look. "With thirteen degrees of frost under the fog I Don't Keir less than ever about bathing. As for my clothes, they might suit Prince Arthur, but they wouldn't quite fit him."
Business done.—Amendment to Address defeated by twelve votes in House of 534 Members.