"Spurgeon's Pulpit, Ha, ha!"
Why not? On Friday, the 14th March, Trevelyan will put the question in formal way before House, so that they may vote on it. Conservative majority may well be expected to support it. No new thing; simply revival of older fashion. Our great grandfathers knew better than to swelter in London through July, pass the Twelfth of August at Westminster, and go off forlorn and jaded in the early days of September. Hunting men may have objections to raise; but then hunting men, though eminently respectable class, are not everybody, not even a majority; may even be spared to go hunting as usual. Walpole hunted like anything, yet in Walpole's day Parliament oftener met in November than at any other time of year, and with due provision for Christmas holidays, sat into early summer. The thing can be done, and ought to be done—will be done if Trevelyan sticks to it. Not nearly such a revolution in Procedure as that which, only a couple of years ago, established the automatic close of Debate at midnight. Who is there would like to go back to the old order of things in this respect?
Got into Committee of Supply to-night on Vote for Houses of Parliament. Tony Lumpkin turned up again. Last Session, in moment of inspiration, Tony spluttered forth a joke; likened new staircase in Westminster Hall to Spurgeon's Pulpit. It is just as like the River Thames or Finsbury Park; but that's where the fun lies. Incongruity is the soul of wit. Everybody laughed last Session when Tony, with much gurgling, produced this bantling; brings it out again to-night.
"Can't have too much of a good thing, Toby," he says, wrestling with his exuberant shirt-front, and rubbing his hair the wrong way. "Always had my joke, you know, down in the country. Remember the little affair of the circuitous drive? This is what you may call my urban class of humour. Spurgeon's Pulpit, Ha, ha!"—and Tony walked off delighted with himself.
Business done.—Supplementary Estimates.
Thursday.—Pity that prejudice should be allowed to stand in way of doing the best thing. Talk just now of pending vacancies on the Bench; such talk recurrent; sometimes more talk than vacancy. "But I pass from that," as Arthur Balfour says, when gliding over knotty points of question put from Irish Benches. If not vacancy to-morrow, sure to be within week, or month, or year. Why not make Jemmy Lowther a Judge? It is true he has no practice at the Bar; but he was "called," and, I believe, went. That is a detail; what we desire in our Judges are, a certain impressive air, a striking presence, and an art of rotund speech. James has played many parts in his time—Parliamentary Secretary to the Poor-Law Board, Under-Secretary for the Colonies, Chief Secretary for Ireland, and Steward of the Jockey Club. In this last capacity he, a year ago, temporarily assumed judicial functions. How well he bore himself! with what dignity! with what awful suavity! with what irreproachable integrity!
