Admiral Field as the honest British Sailor.
Tuesday.—Just before eight bells, when all hands were piped below, Admiral Field turned up in favourite character as the honest British sailor. Rather modelled on transpontine style; a little unnecessarily noisy; too humorously aggressive; hopelessly obvious. But in present circumstances House grateful for anything; gleefully laughed whilst the Admiral shivered his timbers, talked about losing his soundings in a fog, declared against all shams, referred to himself as "honest and modest sailor who believed in straightforward action, and refused to have his eyes blinded by abstract proposals."
That last phrase didn't sound seafaring, but, as another honest sailor was accustomed to say, its bearings lay in the application of it. Motion before House was to eliminate Second Chamber from Home-Rule scheme; brought forward by Radicals; situation difficult for Opposition. If they voted against the Government they would be declaring against principle of House of Lords. If they voted with them they would be approving a proposition of the hated Bill. Joseph judiciously got out of difficulty by declining to vote at all. Prince Arthur elaborately explained that in going into Lobby with the Radicals he was voting against a concrete proposal and in favour of an abstract principle. This too subtle for Courtney, who announced his intention of voting with Government who happened to agree with him in approving principle of Second Chamber. It was amid these cross blades that the Admiral, hitching up his trousers, danced a hornpipe. Tomlinson attempting to bring House back to more serious views, Members with one accord rushed into Lobby, and Government came out with majority of 83.
Business done.—Seventh night in Report Stage Home-Rule Bill.
Thursday.—"Whew!" said the Member for Sark. "I don't know what will become of us if things go on much longer like this. With a Premier over eighty, and the thermometer over 90, the situation is at least unusual. Even Joseph not able to maintain his favourite attitude, grafted on the iced cucumber. Just now Mr. G. made a passing remark, quite mild compared with Joey's own sly hits. J. C. up on instant, with boding brow and angry plaint that Mr. G. had attempted to slay him with a sneer."
"Yes," said Plunket, "times are hot. I don't know what we should do without Tommy Bowles. The spectacle of his white ducks is to me as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land. They talk about an army of men in the basement working machinery that keeps the temperature ten degrees below what it is marked on the Terrace. Also there is, it seems, a ton and a half of ice melting in ventilating chambers at the taxpayers' expense for our comfort. But I don't think ice is in it with Tommy's ducks. Even if they were stationary it would be something. But observe how, coming and going, Tommy's brain an argosy of great thoughts, the ducks seem to skim over our prosaic floor, calling up even to the unimaginative mind a vision of deep, tree-shaded, quietly-rippling Broad, over which the wild duck swiftly moves, waving white wings."
Only Plunket, I fancy, could evolve poesy out of to-night's scene; hot above precedent, dull beyond endurance.
"Plunket's duck picture cool and refreshing. But," said Edward of Armagh, drawing on his military experiences, "what we're doing just now may be much more accurately described as the goose step."
Quite so. We sit all afternoon and far into the night, always talking, sometimes dividing; every appearance of motion, no advance; feet lifted with due sign of walking, but when midnight strikes and parade dismissed we are found posted exactly at the same spot as that on which we took our stand at half-past three in the afternoon.