Out of six hundred and seventy or eighty members of the House, there are not present to-night more than one hundred and fifty. Many of the remaining members are scattered all over the Continent in nooks and corners. A large number may be found on the Parisian boulevards; some are at Fontainebleau; some in the Pyrenees, swallowing chalybeate waters; many are yachting in the Mediterranean, or wasting their time with the peasant girls in Isles of the Greek Archipelago; not a few are off at the races at Goodwood or Brighton; some are at Rome, burning, fuming, and cursing the garlic and salads; dozens of them are at Constantinople, at St. Petersburg, or climbing the Alps out of a sheer love of danger and the reckless fondness of physical excitement inborn in the Englishman; and probably as many as could be numbered on the fingers of the hand are scattered over the American Continent in search of novelty. There are also a number of City members absent, in their out-of-town residences, compelled to forego forensic honors, at the command of wife and daughters who are packing and poking preparatory to a flight to the Rhine and Germany. The ministerial benches show a good front for the late season; first, because the government has a great deal of unfinished business on its hands, which must be transacted before Parliament is closed; and secondly, because the exertions of the government whip have been most arduous in hunting up Mr. Gladstone's supporters, and compelling them to remain in their seats, while there is work to be done by them.
DIGNITY OF THE HOUSE.
With a great number of Americans, that have not visited England, there is in some way or another an abiding impression that the House of Commons is the most stately and dignified legislative body in the world. To be disabused of this notion it is only necessary for an American to sit during a night session in the gallery of the House, with a proviso that he has been a visitor at some time or another to the Senate Chamber or the House of Representatives at Washington. When a member of this House rises to claim the attention of the Speaker, it is common to find half a dozen of his fellow members rising also with him for the same purpose. A member of the government gets on his honorable legs with his face turned toward the Speaker. If on the lower bench, he will walk a little forward to the table, and if he is accustomed to speak from notes, it is more than possible that he will lay one hand on the table and with the other turn the leaves of his manuscript. If he speaks extemporaneously, he will probably lean in a lounging position forward, his two hands resting on the Speaker's table.
Many of the members who are best known to the public have this fashion, and it is most unpleasant to hear them drawl forth sentence after sentence as if they were dragged from their honorable throats by sheer force. It has often been reported by English writers that American legislators have a bad fashion of elevating their legs and laying back in an irreverent attitude while listening to a debate. Also, that they expectorate freely. Well, I have seen the most distinguished statesman at present in England—I mean Mr. Gladstone—lounge and disperse his limbs, while within ten feet of the Speaker, in a fashion that would bring shouts of laughter from a crowded theatre, were the same thing done in a farce or low comedy.
Each member of the Commons, as he walks into the House, to-night, has his hat on his head. As he passes the Speaker's chair, he doffs it for an instant, but when he takes his seat the hat is replaced upon his head as before. As a general thing, a member who speaks without notes, addresses the Speaker, with his hat in one hand. They all seem to conclude whatever remarks they have to make with a jerk, and as soon as they sit down the hat is again replaced, or rather slapped on the head, with a vehement motion that seems impelled by some hidden mechanical power. Then they have a fashion of lounging in and out in a free-and-easy way during debate, that is highly suggestive of a bar-room in a frontier town.
There is rarely, or never—in the House of Commons—an exhibition of the nervous, impassioned speaking which may be heard all over America or in the Corps Legislatif. When there is a clear or telling speech made, (as far as the manner of delivery goes,)—mind, I do not speak of its effect practically—or if the eloquence is of a florid description, it will be surely spoken by one of the one hundred and five Irish members. Certainly, when Whalley or Newdegate get on their legs, to smash the Pope or to recount horrible but dramatic stories about the mysteries and child massacres of convents, there is no lack of vehemence and buncombe. But this style of oratory is confined to a few of the members who have hobbies to ride, and who cannot be driven from them even at the point of the bayonet.
AMBASSADOR LAYARD.
Physically speaking, a majority of the members are gallant-looking fellows, and they are all dressed simply, but with the taste always observed by a gentleman in the selection of articles of clothing. A small number of them wear white beaver hats, and their trowsers are cut widely at the bottom in the now prevailing fashion. With the exception of a few of the younger and more fashionable members, who frequent the race-courses, the Opera,—go to hear Schneider, lounge into the Cremorne after eleven o'clock at night, or frequent the society of such famous demi-reps as "Mabel Grey," "Baby Hamilton," "Baby Thornell," or other women who have beggared and ruined hundreds of those young men about town who have a disposition to be fast, there is a total absence of showy or loud colors in their apparel. A great many of the "fast" young men attend the session—occasionally—for the sake of common decency, or because their constituencies compel it, as in the case of a City borough the other day, where a member was rebuked by a public resolution of condemnation and asked to resign, for absence from his seat. Younger sons of noble lords look upon the House of Commons as a necessary evil, which must be "done," like an occasional visit to church, or to Richmond, or Greenwich, to eat fish.
As the members come in one by one and take their places on the benches, I find opportunities to observe and note their peculiarities and looks. That gentleman who comes in so slowly and so quietly, dressed in dark clothes, and having a head, whiskers, and general resemblance to our Longfellow, is the Right Honorable Austin H. Layard, Commissioner of Public Works, one of the Ministers, but not a member of the Cabinet, and lately appointed English Ambassador to Spain. You would take him for a literary man or a thinker, anywhere, by reason of his long, flowing, white hair and thoughtful look. Mr. Layard is the author of the celebrated book on Nineveh. He receives attention in the House always when he rises to speak of Eastern affairs. He was at one time an attache of the English embassy to the Porte, and was Under Secretary for Foreign Affairs in the administration of Earl Granville. Mr. Layard has the reputation of being rather hot tempered in debate, and at one time he earned the ill-will of the aristocratic faction in the House by his persevering liberalism, but at present he is popular enough, and no one can look at his bright dark-blue eye and general appearance, without feeling that he is in the presence of a man who possesses a considerate and calmly philosophical spirit, broken at times by a sudden flash of the scholar's enthusiasm.
That gentleman with the exquisitely carved face and very red hair, with a slight dimple in his chin, and clear, frank eyes, is the Secretary of State for War, the Right Honorable Edward Cardwell, M.P. for Oxford City, and an old follower of Sir Robert Peel. He has in his time held various offices of trust under different administrations, and in June, 1866, when the forces of Col. William R. Roberts, President of the Fenian Brotherhood, invaded the Canadas, Mr. Cardwell, as Secretary for the Colonies, had his hands full of a rather difficult business, which he managed as well as the very annoying circumstances—for a British Crown Minister—would permit. I like to hear Mr. Cardwell speak. He is always ready, yet deliberate, and with these qualities he possesses a happy and easy manner in argument. The most difficult job of Mr. Cardwell's life was the management of the Governor Eyre-Jamaica business, which at its crisis covered the English administration with shame and ignominy. Mr. Cardwell had, while at Oxford, a very good reputation, which he has not as yet contradicted by his course in Parliament, of which body he was returned as a member as early as 1842. Thackeray once ran against him and was defeated.