IVANHOE;
Or, The Disguised Knight, the Distressed Jewess, and the Templar who did not Behave like a Gentleman.
Chapter I.
"You are very welcome," said Cedric the Saxon, for the fifth time, as Sir Brian de Bois-Gilbert took down the Fair Rowena to supper. "As for you, Wilfrid the Pilgrim, sit below the salt, and, Sir Seneschal, keep your eyes upon the horn spoons."
"And this is the curse of the land," murmured the heir, as he helped himself to plum-pasty, the forerunner of plum-pudding. "It is this haughtiness that causes our yeomen to strike, and makes Robin Hood, Friar Tuck, and the rest of his merry men possible!"
Chapter II.
The next day joined in the tournament. It was a grand sight. The horses pranced, the plumes flowed in the wind. The refreshments were executed by contract, at so much a head, by a body of adventurers, who had combined together to keep down prices.
"Nay, beshrew thee, man!" exclaimed John, the Smith, to Thomas the Jones—a contraction of joiner. "It is these combinations—co-operations, as Sir Evans, the Clerk at the church over yonder hath it—that ruin trade." Before Thomas the Jones or joiner could reply, there was a crash, and it was known that Sir Brian had been overcome by a Knight who had no crest.
"He does not deserve to win," said a Herald to a Pursuivant—"defrauding us of our fees! No coat-of-arms; no pedigree! It is simply disgraceful."
"Ay, and so it is," replied the under-officers of the College of Arms. "But see yonder is Isaac of York the Jew. Join me in a bond, and we will avail ourselves of his usury." And within twenty-four hours the two gentles had borrowed one-and-sevenpence-halfpenny!
Chapter III.
In the meanwhile Sir Brian had carried off Rebecca, been slain, and disposed of.
Chapter IV.
Then there was a magnificent wedding, as Wilfrid of Ivanhoe, no longer the disowned, but the heir to estates belonging to a highly respectable county family led his bride to the altar.
"Methinks she takes the cake," whispered Wamba the Jester.
"Not until after the breakfast," replied Richard Cœur de Lion, throwing off his disguise as the Nameless Knight, and appearing in the full costume of a monarch.
"Long live the King!" shouted the populace.
"You are right to utter that wish," returned His Majesty, "so long as I reign without attempting to govern. Believe me, it is better to have universal suffrage than a despot who may be at once cruel and incompetent."
"In fact, an idiot," put in a reporter, who was doing the ceremony for a local record.
"Quite so," acquiesced the Monarch; and then, turning to the newly-married pair, he observed, "Bless you, my children! Mark me, I order you to live in happiness for ever afterwards."
And Ivanhoe and his bride obeyed the royal command.
House of Commons, Monday, February 17.—"Better be in your place early," said Chaplin, passing me as he marched with long strides across resounding corridor.
"Yes, I know. Old Morality's going to say what Government will do about Parnell Commission's Report; everybody anxious to know."
"It's not that, dear boy, not that," said our new Minister, in compassionate tone. "I have two questions to answer. First time, don't you know; everybody dying to see how it goes off; warrant you they shan't be disappointed."
Cobb the Curious came on with first interrogatory. All about fox-hunting and fox-hunters. Pretty to see Cobb, having submitted his question under ten sub-heads, place hands on knees and fix Minister with steady stare. Chaplin advanced to table with graceful carriage and confident bearing; produced with imposing flourish a sheaf of notes, foolscap size, stoutly sewn, apparently exceeding a dozen in number; began to read with practised elocutionary art; drew the covert, "so to speak," as T. W. Russell protests he said when telling the men of Manchester that William O'Brien must be taken by the throat. No draw; went to next covert—I mean turned over another folio. House began to murmur; Chaplin, accepting involuntary applause, read on with increased impressiveness and complacency; murmurs grew into shout. At view-halloa! fox started; fifth folio now reached; only seven more to read. Chaplin began to wish Goschen or Old Morality would go and fetch him glass of water. Cries from crowd grew louder. At last Chaplin, looking up, beheld, through astonished glasses, Opposition indulging in roar of contumely. Wouldn't have taken him more than quarter of an hour or twenty minutes to finish his few remarks, and yet a lot of miserable Members who didn't know a fox from a hare wouldn't let him go on! Struggled gallantly for some minutes; at last sat down; whole pages of his answer unrecited.
The Inquiring Cobb.
Speeches all night in continued Debate on the Address. Parnell has moved Amendment arraigning Balfour's administration in Ireland. William O'Brien, chancing to be out of prison, looks in and delivers fiery harangue in support of Amendment. But yesterday, Balfour, his gaoler; ordered his food; not too much of it and not full variety; fixed his hours of going to bed and getting up. Now prison-doors opened by lapse of time; O'Brien walks out through Westminster Hall into House of Commons; stands before Speaker on equal terms with his whilom gaoler, and scolds him magnificently. By-and-by Balfour will probably have his turn again, and O'Brien will be eating and drinking the bread and water of affliction. Meanwhile, storms at top of his voice, beats the air with long lean arm and clenched hand, and makes dumb dogs of English Members sad with musing on the inequalities of fortune, which has given these Irishmen the great gift of pointedly saying what they have at heart.
Business done.—Debate on Address.
The Cobden Club
Tuesday.—"Well," said Thomas Bayley Potter, sinking slowly into corner seat, grateful to find that Peter O'Brien was his neighbour, for Peter finds it possible to pack himself into a limited space and Thomas Bayley's proportions are roomy—"well it is nice to see how these old colleagues love one another. Come next April, I have sat in House man and boy for twenty-five years. Have found that on some pretext, on one occasion or another, they are always at it, scratching each other's face, pulling one another's hair, or stabbing each other in the back. Why don't they all join the Cobden Club, sink minor differences, and be friends ever after?"
As Thomas Bayley thus mused, he gazed across Gangway on to Front Opposition Bench. An interesting incident developing. Henry James on his legs (generally on one) opposing Parnell's Amendment to Address. He stands between the outstretched legs of his two dear and right hon. friends, Gladstone and John Morley. Just beyond John Morley, Trevelyan sits. At the other side of Gladstone, Harcourt towers, toying with the gracious folds of his massive chin, looking straight before him with sphynx-like gaze. According to etiquette and usage, James should be addressing the Chair; but his back is turned to Speaker. He faces half round to Front Opposition Bench, and, with left foot clasped round right ankle, elbow of right arm leaning on box, and clenched left hand swinging to and fro in perilous proximity to a grand old proboscis, he literally drives home his argument. House may listen, if it pleases, like crowd closing in on street squabble; Henry James is having it out with his old friends and Leader; professing fullest respect, and even reverence for his right hon. friend the Member for Midlothian, but at same time showing how utterly, hopelessly wrong he and his have gone since his former Solicitor-General parted company.
Harcourt, a little out of it, sits and ponders, possibly thinking of the days when he was plain Mr. Vernon Harcourt, and, seated below the Gangway, used to, in company with his young friend, Mr. Henry James, bait Gladstone, then on Treasury Bench, hastening to the catastrophe of 1874.
"Makes me feel quite old," said Thomas Bayley Potter, dexterously appropriating another half-inch of the space that rightfully belonged to Peter O'Brien. "Seems but yesterday that Harcourt and James were in the running, one for Attorney-General, the other Solicitor-General. But getting it, having got it, or having abandoned it, seems all to lead to the same end—the worrying of the Grand Old Man."
Business done.—Parnell's Amendment to Address negatived by 307 Votes against 240.
Wednesday.—Lycidas is dead—dead in his prime! It was this very morning, in the earliest moments of its birth, that I watched Joseph Gillis walking up the floor shoulder to shoulder with old friend Dick Power, "telling" in division on Parnell's Amendment to Address. Beaten, of course, but majority diminished, and Joey beamed as he walked across Lobby towards Cloak-Room. Rather a sickly beam, compared with wild lights that used to flash from his eyes in the old times, when majority against Home Rule was a great deal more than 67.
"Yes, I am a little tired, Toby, dear boy," he said. "These dull sittings and early adjournments don't suit me. I was better and stronger in the old times, when we used to sit up all night and fight all day. Remember thirteen years ago, when I slept for an hour on two chairs in the Library? Returned to House at five in morning; found them all looking jaded and worn; cheered them up by saying I'd come back like a giant refreshed. Well, I'll go home now, have a good sleep, be all right in the morning."
And when we are gathered in House for Wednesday's sitting we learn that all is right indeed, and that poor old Joey B. lies quiet, with face upturned, in his alien lodgings off Clapham Common.
He would be surprised if he knew with what warm and sincere feeling his sudden taking-off is mourned. At the time he spoke of, thirteen years back, he was certainly the most abhorred person on the premises, and gleefully chuckled over consciousness of the fact. But the House, with nearer knowledge, learned to recognise his sterling qualities, and now, when Death rounds off with tragic touch the comicalities of his public life, everyone has a kindly word to say for Joseph Gillis.
Business done.—Debate on Address.
Thursday.—"Curious," said Campbell-Bannerman, "how habits ingrained in early life, born in the blood as it were, come out at chance times. Here's Old Morality been for a generation practically divorced from business affairs in the Strand, and yet look at him now, and listen to him!"
Strange transmogrification truly. Arose on question put by Hunter as to when the ten volumes of evidence, upon which Report of Special Committee founded, would be on the bookstalls. Old Morality at the table in a moment, his manner brisk yet deferential, his hands involuntarily wandering over the books and papers scattered about, as if he were looking for special edition someone on other side of counter had asked for.
"The Evidence," he said, "given before the Special Commission occupies eleven volumes, consisting of the Evidence and Appendix, and they will probably be followed by a twelfth volume containing Index matter. We trust that the first eleven volumes will be ready for delivery to customers before the 1st of March."
District Councils.
Peter O'Brien, not yet expanded since compressed by contiguity of Thomas Bayley Potter, asked whether complete copies of the evidence would be supplied to other persons incriminated, but not being Members of the House? Old Morality at the counter again; the old Adam in him stronger than ever. Here was a pretty proposal! Bound to supply this interesting work gratuitously to Members of Parliament; to go beyond that most unbusinesslike.
"No, Sir," he said, firmly; "it is open to other persons to obtain the volumes by purchase."
House roared with laughter, turned delighted from this little comedy to face the gloomy prospect of Stansfeld on District Councils.
Business done.—Still harping on Address.
Friday Night.—"Strange," said J. A. Picton, slowly rubbing his brawny hands, "how in our ashes live our wonted fires."
Dwelt amongst dead ashes all week; dreary dulness. To-night, in very last hour of week, Debate suddenly flashes forth in brilliant flame, worthy of old traditions. Chamberlain, with his back to the wall, faced and flanked by jeering, scornful, angry Liberals. Explains why he's going to vote with Government against demand for Free Education. A tough, dialectical job, requiring skill, temper, courage. Chamberlain displays each quality. Cool, collected, master of the situation, deftly warding off thundering blows, and now and then changing, with swift action, from defensive to offensive. A pretty sight, worth waiting a week for.
Business done.—Acland's Motion for Free Education rejected by 223 Votes against 163.
"THE MISS!"
Gillie. "Eh, Mon! But it's fortunate there's Beef in Aberdeen!
THE KENT COAL HOLE.
Finding Coal in the Channel Tunnel Works. Rush of delighted S.E.R. Shareholders to Shakspeare's Cliff.
SONG FOR MR. STANSFELD, M.P.
(Adapted from Mr. J. L. Toole's "Speaker's Eye.") Refrain.
In Eyer-land I used to try,
But I never could catch a P'leeceman's eye.
I never could catch—— [Whistles.
Chorus of Members, led by the Speaker.
He never could catch——
Mr. Stansfeld and Chorus ensemble.
| I | ||
| } | never could catch the P'leeceman's eye. | |
| He |
Copies should be on sale in the House, with an illustration by Mr. Frank Lockwood, Q.C., M.P.
Forthcoming Book, a "Standard" Work (in the Press), New Edition of Allsopp's Fables. N.B.—This volume will contain two extra Fables, illustrating the proverb of "Allsopps to Cerberus," and "There's many a slip between the mug and the Hind-lip." Many novel pints will be introduced.
"Festina Lente."—Get through Lent festively.
NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.