“In one case,” he said, turning gravely to the place where he expected to see but was disappointed not to see the very aged frame of Lord Ballymulrock, “in one case which referred to a peer whose health I am distressed to say has made it impossible for him to be present upon this occasion” (a protest from an exceedingly old man who sat folded up on high—it was Bally himself!), “in one case a direct accusation has been made.... Melords, you know the issue. An appeal still lies, and it is not for me to deal with a matter which is sub judice; but apart from that case, these anonymous hacks who have for so long corrupted or attempted to corrupt the public mind in respect to this House, confine themselves to generalities upon which the law can take no hold.”
It was upon this very account that the general resolution of which he had spoken had been framed, and he would pass at once from the unsavoury recollection of such acts, to that part of his argument which he thought would have most weight with his fellow-subjects.
“This House, including the more recent creations, the Colonial Peers, and the ex-officio additions with which a recent—and in my opinion a beneficent reform—has recruited it, still numbers less than fifteen hundred men. Of these the ex-officio members, the lords spiritual” (and he bowed to the Bishop of Shoreham, who was deaf) “the elected members from the Britains Overseas (among whom I am glad to see present the Nerbuddah Yah) between them account for no less than forty-two. Two hundred and eighty” (he quoted from a paper in his hand) “are imbeciles, minors or permanent invalids; somewhat over fifty are for one reason or another incapacitated from attendance at their debates; ten are in gaol.”
“Now, Melords,” he continued, “of the eleven hundred remaining—they are roughly eleven hundred,—what do we find? We find”—emphatically striking his right-hand fist into his left-hand palm,—“we find no less than five hundred and twelve to be the sons of their fathers—or in some other way direct heirs: ninety-eight to have succeeded to their titles from collaterals of the first or of the second degree; sixteen to have succeeded in some more distant manner; eleven to owe their position to the revival of ancient tenures; the claims of six to have been recently proved through the female line; and one by Warranty and Novel Disseizin. What remains?”
He looked round the eager assembly before him with an attitude of the head dignified but wonderfully impressive.
“Melords, I ask again, what remains? Less than four hundred men, the representatives of all the chief energies of our national life. We have here the great champions of industry, the great admirals of our fleets, the great generals of our armies—and I am happy to include the Salvation Army, (the head of that great organisation lifted his biretta)—men who have distinguished themselves in every conceivable path of public life, who have loyally served their country and many of whom after such service are still honourably poor.”
At this phrase which was evidently the approach to his peroration, many Peers who had hitherto been sitting with their knees apart, crossed one leg over the other; some few who, on the contrary, had had their legs crossed, uncrossed them and reposed both feet upon the floor; more than one took the opportunity to recline his head upon his right hand, and the most venerable member of the bench of Bishops coughed in a manner that would have wrung a heart of stone.
When these slight interruptions were over, Lord Repton of Giggleswick found it possible to proceed. He showed by a strict process of inquiry how those to whom the abominable suggestion might conceivably apply, could not by any stretch of the imagination amount to eighty in number.
“Less than eighty men, Melords, in an assembly of fifteen hundred! Hardly five per cent.—hardly, if I may use a bold metaphor, thirteen pence in the pound! It is by this proportion alone, even did these detestable falsehoods contain—which they do not—a grain of truth, that our whole body is forsooth to be judged! But, Melords, who are these eighty men, if I do not insult them by permitting my argument to approach their names?
“I will not cite my own case; my public career is open for any man to examine, and I think I know the temper of my own people too well to delay upon that score. But there are around me others perhaps (I know not) more sensitive, or less experienced in the petty villainies of the world, than am I, who may have thought themselves especially marked out.