ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
Extracted from the Diary of Toby, M.P.
House of Commons, Monday, February 18.—Debate on Address finished, at last. Been on the whole dreary business. Instead of sharp roar of honest artillery from Opposition camp at opening of campaign, series of squibs popped off; some of them damp. Novel idea at commencement of new Session for Opposition chiefs to lurk in the wood armed with blunderbusses, watching efforts of lesser villains to waylay and murder Ministers, they coming on scene when these efforts been repulsed. Novel, but on whole not so successful that we are likely to see repetition.
Odd thing is that in series of divisions Government had nearest squeak on motion for the Closure. S. Woods had amendment on paper; wanted to have debate adjourned so that another day might be appropriated for his use; Squire of Malwood thought really been enough talk round Address. Moved closure. Woods and two or three other good Radicals go into Lobby against Ministers; others abstain; Opposition seeing opportunity flock into Lobby; Ministry saved by eight votes.
"Yes," said the Squire of Malwood as we walked home together, after last division, "it is not exactly encouraging. But what distresses me most is the way some of our fellows talk about Rosebery. Used to be old constitutional maxim that the King can do no wrong. Modern reading on our side is that Premier can do no right. Speeches like Dilke's to-night hurt me more than anything else." This conversation followed close on one I had earlier in day with the noble lord.
"How's the Squire looking?" he asked, anxiously. "Bearing up I trust, against the fatigues of a thankless task. What a few of our men say about me not the slightest consequence. Passes over me like fluttering of idle wind. Know all about it. Could, an' I would, describe animating motive in each case. What cuts me to the heart is their treatment of the Squire. He manages admirably. Spares no labour; makes no mistake. Yet whenever some men returned to support us are not permitted to take in own hands direction of public business, they go over to the enemy. Great blessing the Squire is endowed by nature with angelic temper. Otherwise, when this sort of thing happens, he would chuck up the whole business, and tell malcontents and deserters to manage matters for themselves."
So nice to have this state of things existing. Sufferers in common affliction, each thinks only of the other.
Business done.—Address agreed to after ten days talk.
Tuesday Night.—Every prospect of quiet evening, even talk of count out. After spending our nights and days with Address during last fortnight, small wonder if the hearts of Members, untravelled, fondly turn to home. Diversion created by appearance on scene of Howard Vincent. Got up in extraordinary fashion. Round his waist a belt, in which slung miscellaneous assortment of brushes and other articles of domestic use. Pendent were hair brushes, hat brushes, tooth brushes, boot brushes (with case in solid leather), whisk brooms, carpet sweepers, wall brushes, chimney-sweeping machine (with whalebone head and chimney cloth), deck scrubbers, one venetian blind-duster, feather brushes (eight feet long with jointed handles), floor polishers, hearth brushes (white hair and black), lamp brushes, aid one hair waver patent for producing in a few minutes, without the use of heated irons, a natural wavy appearance in the hair. (Frank Lockwood much interested in this.)
Other brushes peeped out from every pocket save those at coat-tails, which, as being more roomy, were reserved for specimens of filters, fish-kettles, bread-platters, revolving boot-cleaners, specimens of boxes in which eggs may be safely sent through the parcel-post, and a lemon-squash stand (oak and nickel mounts complete, with four tumblers, corkscrew, lemon-knife, and glass sugar basin).
Colonel Howard Vincent bristles with indignation, and has a brush with the enemy.
"Been to a bazaar?" I asked; "or are you going to give up military pursuits, and set up a stall somewhere on your own account?"
"No, Toby," said the Colonel, severely—"would you just hitch round the handle of that frying-pan? Thank you; it might get in Bartley's way whilst I am addressing the House—these few things you see only partially concealed about my person are the result of the labours of convicts and felons working in foreign prisons. A Government lost to all sense of public duty permits their free importation, to the detriment of honest British workman. You'd better stop and hear me broil Bryce."
Colonel walked off with curious clatter, much more effective than the spurs he wears on field days with the Queen's Westminster Volunteers. Most interesting lecture, occasionally marred by Colonel, intending at particular point to produce a blacking-brush, fishing forth from his miscellaneous store a plated biscuit-box. But the moral all the same. The articles all made in Germany or elsewhere on Continent. Bryce glad to get out of difficulty by offering Committee.
Business done.—Motion carried for restriction of foreign prison-made goods.
Thursday Afternoon.—"Hist!" said Sir Henry James to Joey C. "A word in thine ear. Prince Arthur away to-night; ground clear; suppose we occupy it? show Prince Arthur how we would manage business, and let the Markiss see that there are statesmen other than those who hail from Hatfield and its dependencies. Here's this import duty added on British yarn entering India. Lancashire members sore about it. Don't know much on subject myself, but can do simple rule in arithmetic. If we can detach seven or eight Lancashire Liberals and put on all our forces, the Government must go. Think how pleasant for Prince Arthur, sitting with his feet in hot water and his head out of the window, to hear the tramp of our messenger along Carlton House Terrace bringing news that Government is out. If we'd only time we might hire man with wooden-leg, like the party in Treasure Island, wasn't it? Sound of wooden-leg tramping along silent broadway where Prince Arthur lives, and is just now nursing his cold, would be most dramatic. That a mere detail. Thing is this, Indian cotton business is so much gun-cotton for Government; I apply torch; up they go—Harcourt, Fowler, Asquith (who was so rude to you the other night), and the rest of them. What do you think?"
Joey C. is sly, de-vilish sly; said nothing. But he winked.
Henry James knew that all was well.
Friday, 12.10 a.m.—Not quite so well as it looked when House met at three o'clock yesterday afternoon. Ministerialists then in state of trepidation; Ministers assuming air of resignation. Odds distinctly in favour of defeat of Government. Henry Fowler, formally recognising situation, had declared they were prepared for the worst. Somehow things got mixed; explosion took place as arranged; gun-cotton went off with genial roar; but it was Henry James blown into the air, and with him Joey C. 109 Members mustered under new Opposition Leadership; 304 going with Ministers. Majority, 195.
"Glad I didn't engage the messenger with a wooden leg," said Henry James with deepened gloom. "Awful to have a man of that kind going stamping through a quiet thoroughfare in the dead of the night carrying news of Government majority of a trifle under 200. Wish Prince Arthur would stick to his post and not take colds at such inconvenient seasons."
Business done.—Henry James and Joey C. go out to shear and come back shorn.
Friday, 8 p.m.—House counted out. Members gone home in state of hair-bristling perturbation. Brunner brought under notice of Speaker circumstances attendant upon mysterious disappearance of Joey C. last night. When House cleared for division on James's motion, Joe seen to leave and go into Lobby. Thereafter all trace lost of him. Name does not appear in division list. Witnesses report he was seen endeavouring to induce Serjeant-at-Arms to unlock door and let him pass through. Serjeant incorruptible, inflexible. Joseph turned back and straightway lost to human ken.
"When I was a lad," says Wilfrid Lawson, "I used to be baffled by inquiry, 'Where was Moses when the candle went out?' That a plain proposition compared with this new one, 'Where was Joseph when the division was taken?'" House faced by mystery could not set itself down to business. Something uncanny about the place. Accordingly got itself counted out at eight o'clock.
Business done.—Second reading of London Waterworks Bill carried.
Daring Act of attempted Incendiarism; or, "The Light that failed."