Fox just started, when happy thought struck Irish Members. If they divided at once, before Ministerial majority arrived, could carry Second Reading; so Brer Fox doubled, and in ten minutes got back home. Long John folded himself up, till casual passer-by might have mistaken him for Picton. Conservatives, not ready for this manœuvre, dumfounded. Division imminent; only thing to be done was to make speeches till four o'clock and majority arrived. Everybody available pressed into service. Charles Lewis, coming up breathless, declared that "promoters of Bill, wished by a side-stab in the wind of the Government"—he meant by a side-wind—"to stab the Measure on the same subject the Government had brought forward."
That was better; though how you stab by a side-wind not explained. Prince Arthur threw himself languidly into fray. Talked up to quarter past three; majority beginning to trickle in, T. W. Russell moved Adjournment of Debate. Defeated by 94 votes against 68. Irish Members evidently in majority of 26. Prince Arthur, with eye nervously watching door, wished that night or Blucher would come. Neither arriving, stepped aside, letting Irish Members carry their Bill; which they did, amid tumultuous cheering.
"It's of no consequence, I assure you," Prince Arthur said, quoting Mr. Toots when he inadvertently sat down on Florence Dombey's best bonnet. "They may carry their Bill, but we'll take the money."
Business done.—Irish Members out-manœuvre Government.
Friday.—Second Reading of Compensation Bill carried at early hour this morning, after dull debate. Morning Sitting to-day for Supply. Duller than ever. Dullest of all, Jokim on Treasury Bench in charge of Estimates.
Sympathy.
"Yes, Toby," he said, in reply to sympathetic greeting, "I am a little hipped; situation growing too heavy for me. Patriotism all very well; public spirit desirable; self-abnegation, as Old Morality says, is the seed of virtue. But you may carry spirit of self-sacrifice too far. Read my speech at dinner to Hartington, of course? Put it in the right light, don't you think? We Dissentient Liberals, as they call us, are the Paschal Lambs of politics; except that, instead of being offered up as sacrifice, we offer up ourselves. Still there are degrees. Hartington given up something; Chamberlain chucked himself away; James might have been on the Woolsack. But think of me, dear Toby, and all I've sacrificed. Four years ago a private Member, adrift from my Party; no chance of reinstatement; not even sure of a seat. Now Chancellor of the Exchequer, with £5000 a-year, and a pick of safe seats. Too much to expect of me, Toby; sometimes more than I can bear;" and Jokim hid his face in his copy of the Orders of the Day, whilst Theodore Fry looking on, was dissolved in tears.
Business done.—Supply.