EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.
House of Commons, Monday, August 12.—"Are you ready? Go!" No mistaking the voice. It was the clear, sharp notes of Hemprer Joe, ringing from behind Speaker's Chair, high above buzz of talk and bustle of movement in crowded House. Wondering what it might portend, when discovered Prince Arthur and Squire of Malwood entering simultaneously, after the fashion of the Bounding Brothers from the Breathless Baltic. Only, if you remember, those eminent artistes appeared in ring from directly opposite approaches, advancing towards each other with startling, though graceful evolutions. Prince and Squire, on contrary, started from door at back of Speaker's Chair, advanced fair toe and heel to table; walked step by step together along either front bench, till each reached the seat kept vacant for him.
House so surprised at this performance it almost forgot to shout. What usually happens on like occasions is for one Leader of Party to take his seat amid loud cheers from his friends, taken up with strident voice from other side when their man comes in. Now cheers, if indulged in, would mingle, and might be misunderstood. A welcome meant for Prince Arthur might seem to be bestowed upon Squire, and vice versâ, as Mr. Anstey once said. Whilst perturbed House looked on, Hemprer Joe, having watched his men, fairly started, reach their goal, followed with swinging step and the inevitable orchid.
To see him seat himself on Treasury Bench, the right-hand man of a Tory Government, too much for the feelings of Tim Healy, usually held in stern reserve. During interval of General Election Tim been holding sweet converse with his colleagues in general, Blake and Tay Pay in particular. By odd chance he, taking his place in new Parliament to-day, found himself seated between his two friends, to whom presently entered the "dear Justin" of a voluminous missive. Soothed by such companionship Tim in melting mood. But sight of Hemprer Joe finally crossing the gangway, formally completing marvellous journey from Birmingham to Hatfield, too much for trained equanimity. Tim groaned aloud. Swift MacNeill roared as if in anguish. Dr. Tanner (figuratively of course) cut himself with knives, emitting sounds that nearly frightened to death two new members seated on either side of him. l'Hemprer smiled benignly. Clerk at Table, dexterously interposing, pointed spectral forefinger at John Mowbray, who rose to "move that the Right Hon. William Court Gully do take the Chair as Speaker."
A delicate task, seeing that a few short months back he had run White Ridley for the Chair against the man whose price to-day he fixed far above rubies. Admirably performed; made easier by fact that meanwhile Gully had filled the Chair, acquitting himself in manner that justified choice of friends and extorted admiration on other side.
"All very well," says Sark, "to talk about preserving cherished traditions and best precedents of House. But suppose Gully had been—I won't say a failure, but—anything short of perfect manner in the Chair, where would he have been to-day?"
Certainly not in the Chair, whither Mowbray led him, escorted by John Ellis, and where Prince Arthur welcomed him in terms which indicated that now was the dearest desire of his heart fulfilled. As for Squire of Malwood, he was so affected that he fell into his most funereal manner.
"One would think," said Chaplin, himself in the highest spirits, "that he had come to bury Gully, not to praise him."
Business done.—Speaker re-elected.
Tuesday.—"Our army may have sworn terribly in Flanders," said Mr. Milman, tossing back the wig from his throbbing brow and rearranging his crumpled gown; "it was nothing to what the House of Commons can do when called upon."