Things happen oddly in this odd world; and a few years ago, could anybody have imagined that the brush of Joe Cowl, the chimney-sweep, would ever come out at the top of the pot of the English Constitution? And not only so, but that you would find it there, brandished against, and quite covering with smuts the new bright steel cleaver from the shop of Mr. Chumps! Time works wonders; and perhaps you will exclaim, that the greatest wonder of all was the fact, that the son of "Bubbly Upmore" the boiler—however, let that stop till we come to it.
Joe had a very large command of words, irregular perhaps, and undisciplined, and more than once, we had to call out, "Order!" At first, from professional habit, he stopped, and pulled out his book, as if to enter "Kitchen-chimney, at five o'clock;" which made Bill, and me, who understood this motion, look at one another, and laugh heartily. Moreover, he had a large command of voice; as behoved a man who had beaten all the rest on his walk, with the shrill cry of, "Se-veep!" I whispered to the honourable Member on our side, who had done the hen so beautifully; and he (being gifted with ventriloquism) in the middle of one of Joe's grandest passages, upset the whole effect, by producing the loud call of the trade, in its longest melancholy—"Se-veep!" so that Joe jumped round, and stared; as if a rival bag, and brush were after him. This was not fair play perhaps; but Cowle deserved it; for the whole of his eloquence was nothing but abuse. He blackened all the people, on whose shillings he had lived, and besmutted everybody with a slate above his head. In short, there was no man, or woman, in existence, with any right to be so, except Joseph Cowle.
We wanted Sir Roland to deliver his speech next; but he said, perhaps too loudly, "I never follow sweeps;" and presently the House was listening to a gentleman, who is always heard with pleasure for his brave manly sentiments, impartiality, and scorn of all pretences. He demolished the Bill, in most admirable style, putting all the arguments against it, better than our side had put them; and then to my surprise declared, that in spite of all that, he had made up his mind to vote for it.
This brought up Sir Roland, and his speech was very fine. Strong indignation made strong words; as the wrath of the billow creates its roar. "For finicking argument what care I? Can a man split straws with a dagger at his throat? Eternal shame falls upon our land, that any man in it should have dreamed of such an act. The man who proposed such an outrage, must have done it, as a lesson towards the stabbing of his own mother." For this he was loudly called to "order;" but disdained the call, and went on reckless. "Where can I find words strong enough? The difficulty is, not to fashion, but to find them. Language has never been made for such cases; for what tongue could have told, that such a case would ever be? Yet, perhaps, it was as well, that there should be this defect; for what language could move lunatics?" Here there was a great row; but Sir Roland's voice was strong. "The word I have used may not be of high courtesy; but it is of deepest charity. I can look across this House, with my hands hanging down, solely upon that supposition. Her Majesty's Ministers love to leave us in the dark. They keep us so still—whether common sense demands their consignment to strait-waistcoat, or to the gallows."
Seldom perhaps has any "limited number of human beings" made a greater row—except in some Liberal massacre—than was now to be had, in all sizes and samples, among men whose names are watchwords. I saw—though he tried to do it quite behind his hat—a Right Honourable Member, whose name is fame, make a trumpet of his hand, and blow out the most hideous screech that ever quelled a "railway-hooter;" and I could not have believed my eyes, unless my ears had been at the back of them. In a word, there was no word, neither any sense among us, head being gone universally, and body left working about, like a worm cut in two.
In the thick of this turmoil, Lord Grando came up, and shook hands with Roly; who was now as quiet, as the stump of the match, that has blown up the castle.
"Something like a maiden speech that was," he said; "but the guillotine maiden, I'm afraid my dear fellow. And we shall operate first upon our own heads. However, better that than slow poisoning."
At first, I did not understand what he meant; but seeing that Roly did, I asked him to explain. He seemed to find me wonderfully stupid—as I am, especially when at all excited, and by this time I was all excitement—but he managed to explain that he had done more harm, than good by his strong short eloquence. He had moved many hearts, which had been covered up (for reasons of Inland Revenue, like a vehicle unused), but he had not done it in the way to bring them out, comfortably, and with himself inside them. To do that properly, there must be no appearance of call, or demand, or anything at all unpleasant—such as rebukes of conscience are—but a gentle opening of a quiet door at first; as if one came by accident, to find something that belonged to one. But who can blame Roly, for not understanding that? He had stirred up right feeling, all the wrong way of the grain; and it was not at all thankful, for being stirred up.