Nevertheless, considering all things, society might be a great deal worse, and it certainly does not deserve the indiscriminate censure which is frequently passed upon it, there being, after all, a large measure of real kindliness and generous feeling to be found hidden beneath its veneer of frivolity. Society, however, is always an easy and attractive subject for attack, the British public being apparently never tired of hearing of its crimes. Sometimes it is blamed for the vast sums expended in entertaining, which, after all, circulates money and is good for trade; nor is it clear why people in a position to do so should not entertain their friends, or even their enemies for that matter. By the austere it is upbraided for its bridge playing, and here, perhaps, is a more legitimate reason for censure, the game in question (which I do not play, disliking all card games) having utterly destroyed much pleasant conversation. At the same time it seems to amuse a great number who would otherwise be bored, and many people welcome the game as a pleasant change from the exchange of empty and commonplace remarks.
DECREASE OF GAMBLING
The question of gambling is another and a graver matter, though I personally have never heard of any young lady being dragged into playing for stakes which she could ill afford, and, indeed, I wonder very much what sort of host or hostess it could be who would allow such proceedings under his or her roof. Society is to-day a very wide term, covering as it does a great number of different sets which gradually fade away into an almost imperceptible outer fringe; but even in the most remote of its confines, surely any man who deliberately laid himself out to win money from a young girl (as has been alleged) would be visited with the censure he deserved. As a matter of fact good bridge players, as is perfectly well known, dislike nothing more than the intrusion of a novice whose errors must of necessity ruin their game.
Gambling on the Turf has without question decreased. Where are the plungers of to-day? Non-existent. Modern youth, except in a few rare instances, knows better than to risk a fortune on a racehorse—an act of folly which in former days was very often committed. On the other hand, the insidious craze for speculating in stocks and shares has an almost unlimited number of votaries—women as well as men—whose one thought is to obtain information (as a rule unreliable) as to the chances of a rise or fall. This is an entirely new development. The great ladies of the past would as soon have thought of dabbling in City matters as of witnessing a prize fight; in fact, of the two I think they would have given the preference to the latter as being the more select. Those, however, were the days before the City had conquered the West End, and when the jargon of the Stock Exchange was as yet unfamiliar to aristocratic ears.
Finance in these latter days has become as much the appanage of society as politics were in the past, whilst all doors fly open at the advent of a successful speculator or financier. Politics, of course, which in old days were something of an engrossing pastime for the leisured classes, have now become a much more serious affair altogether.
Since the days of my childhood many and great changes have occurred in Parliament in the method of electing its members, and in the admission of others than Protestants to sit in the House of Commons. The first Roman Catholic to take his seat since the downfall of the Stewarts was Daniel O’Connell, who, elected member for Clare County in 1828, was admitted to Westminster in the following year, when the Catholic Emancipation Act having been passed, the Duke of Norfolk, Lord Dormer, and Lord Clifford also took their seats in the House of Lords. The first English Roman Catholic member of the House of Commons was Lord Surrey, who was returned for Horsham at the same time.
MR. BRADLAUGH
Though Mr. Joseph Pease had been admitted as an M.P. on making an affirmation in 1833, the objection of the late Mr. Bradlaugh as a Freethinker to taking the Parliamentary oath created a very great sensation some forty-seven years later. In May 1880 the member for Northampton was refused permission to affirm, and it was only some two months later that a resolution moved by Mr. Gladstone allowed him to do so. Much acrimonious controversy ensued as to the legality of such an act, Mr. Bradlaugh being on one occasion prevented from entering the House of Commons by the police. Finally, in 1886, Mr. Bradlaugh was permitted to take the oath, further intervention being stopped by the Speaker. A thoroughly sincere man, the member for Northampton lived to gain the goodwill and respect of the House of Commons, and when he died in 1891, worn out by hard work and worry, universal regret was expressed at his demise. A pronounced individualist, he was quite uncompromising in his denunciation of anything which he deemed to be false or untrue, and in the debates in which he indulged with certain ministers of religion was very outspoken as to his views on the Christian faith. This not unnaturally caused him to be regarded as a monster of iniquity by many who had no opportunity of realising the splendid qualities which he in reality possessed, and many were the absurd stories circulated about him—generally, I fear, to his discredit.
It was declared, for instance, that on more than one occasion he had defied Heaven itself, by taking out his watch at public meetings and saying, “If there be a God, let Him strike me dead within the next five minutes.”
I do not know what truth there may have been in this story, but some of the Russian revolutionary agitators (so I hear) have actually uttered this blasphemous challenge—their idea being to emancipate the peasants from the thraldom of their priests. It is said that an agitator of this sort came one day to an out-of-the-way village, and proceeded to address the peasants thus: “The God whom you fear so much does not exist, and I will prove it to you; for if I am not speaking the truth let Him kill me within the next five minutes!” Four minutes passed and the orator, more defiant than ever, jubilantly exclaimed, “You see I am right; there is no God, for I am still alive.” The headman of the village, however, stepping to the front, altogether changed the aspect of affairs. “You have proved nothing,” said he. “God exists, and you are going to die. God has not chosen to kill you, for He knew we should do so for Him,” after which statement the unfortunate apostle of Atheism was duly despatched.