ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
Extracted from the Diary of Toby, M.P.
House of Commons, Monday Night, February 11.—The other day rumour about that Tim Healy, weary of strife, finding how sharper than a serpent's tooth is the enmity of parted friends, had resolved to retire from political life. That news, if true, would eclipse the gaiety of Parliament. Tim's manner may not be precisely described as gay. It is, in truth, somewhat saturnine; rather raspy, occasionally vitriolic. If there is any instruction to be conveyed, Tim approves the fashion of the ancient Israelitish captain, who "taught the men of Succoth with thorns of the wilderness and briars." Tim's former colleagues, now ranged under modest leadership of John Redmond, are, he conscientiously believes, much in need of instruction. So to-night Tim "taught them" with thorns of the wilderness and briars.
A brisk debate, falling into most attractive sequence. This in measure accidental; looked like admirable stage management. First John Redmond, with his neatly-moulded phrases, his assumption of profound statecraft, his assertion that Tories please him not, nor Liberals either; his conclusion that since Government are on friendly terms with the major Irish Party, the minor (nine strong) will march into lobby with Prince Arthur, whom they used to hate, and Joseph of Birmingham, whom they scarcely love. Next John Morley, stirred to unusually profound depths, his speech glowing above the unwonted fire. Then Prince Arthur, gracefully skating on exceedingly thin ice, incidentally dropping into imagery on successive phases of the married state, which House, ever alert for personal references, listened to with quickened interest. A scholar's current speech or writing is insensibly tinctured with flavour of his latest study. Odd that just now Prince Arthur should display this curiously minute knowledge and appreciation of various phases of married life as it is to be studied in books of reference.
Finally, Tim, his truculence tempered by humour of the situation. John Redmond protested he had made no bargain with Opposition in transferring to them his handful of votes. Prince Arthur had confirmed disclaimer. Too much for tender-hearted Tim. Tears glistened in his eyes; his voice trembled; his hand shook; his body seemed to grow limp, as he lamented this last degeneration of ancient Irish spirit.
"I have," he said, "been in alliance with the Tory Party before now, and may be again; but I know of no occasion when any Irish party gave their votes unless they got something for them."
That only Tim's fun. Overcoming his emotion, he, with ruthless force, pitiless logic, laid bare position of the new Party of the Muses.
Business done.—Parnellite Amendment, supported by Unionists, negatived by 256 against 236.
Tuesday.—If you want to make your flesh creep, you should have heard the Speaker just now challenging the Lord Mayor of Dublin, whom he discovered standing at Bar; and, as Sir Wilfrid Lawson adds, "not drinking." Lord Mayor got up in gorgeous apparel; scarlet gown, ermine-tipped, with gold chain gleaming across manly chest. Recalls days of yesteryear when Dawson was Lord Mayor of Dublin. Being also Member for an Irish constituency, no autocratic Speaker might challenge his right to cross the Bar, whether in civilian dress, or in robes of office. On occasions when he had a petition to deliver he came down, cloaked, in a four-wheeler. Made the heart of Mr. Cove in Members' cloak-room stand still, when he suddenly threw back his wraps, and disclosed glittering garb beneath. Sat on front bench below gangway with inadequate legs partially crossed, his chain mysteriously clanking, motion understood at time to serve double purpose of calling attention to Lord Mayor's presence, and of hinting at the kind of bond that held Ireland to Great Britain.
Present Lord Mayor of Dublin, not being a Member had to sue for admission at door of House. Word passed to Sergeant-at-Arms; gallant officer, having heard something of Irish habits, observed precaution of shouldering mace before he went out to confront the strangers. If they had shillelaghs, the mace, twirled about by lusty arms, might be reckoned on to keep the gate. The messengers not behind in military precaution; hauled out the bar—the veritable Bar of House of Commons of which we hear so much and see so little.
"Now," said the oldest Messenger, folding his arms and clenching his teeth, "let them do their worst."
Sergeant-at-Arms marched in, mace on shoulder, escorting Lord Mayor and two sheriffs. If they had meant mischief they thought better of it on looking round. Lord Mayor might, it is true, if he were in good condition have vaulted over bar or ducked beneath it, and run amuck up floor. But then the sheriffs, before they could have imitated him, would have been awfully mauled with the mace.
Any piratical mention that may have lurked in minds of the insurgents was finally crushed by really awful tone in which the Speaker, fixing glittering eye on group at bar, said, "My Lord Mayor of Dublin, what have you there?"
Members expected trembling culprit would produce from under his cloak the horse-pistol, dagger, cup of poison, or whatever he may have brought with him with felonious intent. But he meekly answered, "A petition." This he unfolded, and as he showed a disposition to read it through, Members went off.
Business done.—Another day passed talking round Address. Naoroji moved Amendment raising question of financial relations between England and India. Read a paper of prodigious length; beat the tom-tom for nearly an hour. "In churches," said the (almost) Reverend Jemmy Lowther, "an incumbent sometimes reads himself in. Naoroji reads his congregation out. Mayn't be quite so black as the Markiss painted him, but he's quite as long-winded as could have been expected."
Thursday.—New Session not quite a fortnight old, and lo! a strange thing has happened. Electric bells struck—I mean they won't strike. When, just now, House cleared for division on Amnesty motion electric knobs touched as usual. Thereupon should have followed tintinnabulation of the bells in all the rooms and corridors outside the Chamber. Only little tinkle heard; sort of weird mocking laugh, "Ha! ha!" and then silence.
Labby's Share.
Consequences might have been serious. Last thing well-trained Member regards as absolute preliminary to voting is to sit throughout the debate. Scattered far and wide, in library, tea-room, dining-room, or smoking-room, when they hear the bell they rush in to vote. If they don't hear it they stop where they are. Difficulty temporarily overcome by sending policemen and messengers bawling along all the passages, "Division! division!" This all very well for the moment; but what is to be done about the bells?
Albert Rollit, steeped in parliamentary usages, says, "If the bells won't obey the Speaker's order, send them to the Clock Tower."
Stuart promptly places at disposal of Speaker a squadron of Star boys, to run about premises on given signal and proclaim division. "They'd do it much better than the policemen and messengers," he says.
True; but as Colonel Legge apprehends, they would be certain in excitement of moment, instead of calling out "Division," to lapse into more familiar cry, "Hextra Speshul!" That would never do. Simplest plan is to stop this interminable talk round the Address and get to work. When the electric bells shut up in sheer disgust at waste of time, grown-up men of business may be expected to reconsider the position.
Business done.—Tim Harrington talked for two hours and five minute about ancient history of Maamtrasna.
Friday.—Much murmuring below Gangway just now because to programme of Session already overloaded Government decline to add Bill providing for payment of Members. Sage of Queen Anne's Gate been observed to regard this topic with smiling equanimity. Secret of his content now disclosed. Papers report how Spanish merchant, resident in Barcelona, having studied Sage's public Parliamentary career, begs leave, as trifling indication of his esteem and admiration, to be permitted to pay Sage's election expenses whenever incurred.
"'Tis a pretty variation on Spanish devotional habit," says Plunket, who has followed Borrow's footsteps in Spain, "More especially in rural districts, pious men approach the shrine of favourite saint and hang upon it an offering, peradventure poor in intrinsic value, but rich in proportion to their revenues. Expect by-and-by the Sage will be canonised, and straying by the banks of the Guadalquivir, you shall here and there come upon shrines to Saint Labby, rich with votive offerings."
"That may be so," said Gorst. "You're always ready to take the poetic view of a thing. But I'd like to wait and see the colour of the money. You know the Sage has long been firing away at enterprising traders in Spain who, usually dating their missives from a State prison, offer for a slight consideration to disclose fabulous stores of hidden wealth. The Sage has spoiled their little game. Should like to be quite sure they've not broken out in a new place, and are trying it on first with the Sage."
Business done.—Set-to between the Birmingham Cock and the Yorkshire-cum-Fifeshire Bantam. Odds at first in favour of the veteran. Admitted on both sides the young 'un beat him hollow.