“‘Oh! indeed. Dublin used to send us a gentleman and a blackguard; this creature is neither.’”
This was not quite so bad, and we joined the honorable member for Doodleshire in his mirth, which continued long after our responsive haw-haws had become things of the past.
Mr. Hawthorne, being thus encouraged, was good enough to enliven us with a prolonged description of his original Parliamentary yearnings, his first and unsuccessful contest, and his subsequent triumphant victory—a victory which we were led to believe was unparalleled in the annals of electioneering struggles, and one that caused a thrill of dismay all along the entire line of the great conservative party. We were solemnly inducted into the forms of the House, from the entrance of a newly-fledged member to his maiden speech. We were initiated into the mysteries of the “Opposition benches,” the “gangway,” the “table,” the “bar,” the duties of the “whip” and the “tellers,” the modus operandi as regards notices of motion and divisions, the striking of committees, and the rules of Parliament generally, until we were surfeited ad nauseam. These pleasing preliminaries having been satisfactorily gone through, Mr. Hawthorne very obligingly proceeded to give us brief biographical sketches of Gladstone, Bright, Disraeli, Northcote, Hartington, and other leading men of that august assembly, dilating upon the peculiarities in their style and the mistakes in their several Parliamentary careers, until I wished him—in the drawing-room. The windows were open, and across the sensuous night-glow came sweet, soothing strains from the piano, now in low, wailing cadences soft and sorrow-laden as the cry of the Banshee, now in the dashing brilliancy, the élan of those chromatic fireworks which none but the most skilled pyrotechnist dare handle save à deux mains.
“Miss Hawthorne is at the piano,” I ventured, in the earnest hope that her father, in the pride of parental fondness, might suggest an adjournment.
“Yes, yes,” coolly and imperturbably.
“She plays divinely.”
“Rubinstein, who gave her lessons at I’m ashamed to say how much per lesson, said she was his best amateur pupil. But, as I was observing, Mr. Gladstone pronounces some words very strangely; for instance, issue he always pronounces ‘issew,’ and Mr. Bright invariably says ‘can’t’ for ‘cawnt.’”
After a dissertation of about half an hour’s duration upon the Marquis of Hartington’s lisp, the unwieldy oratory of Ward Hunt, Mr. Roebuck’s ‘no,’ and Mr. Whalley’s ‘heaw, heaw,’ I again hinted at an adjournment, and on this occasion with a view to a general move, suggested the billiard-room.
“Ah! no, my dear sir, we overworked members of the legislature value too much the delightful tranquillity of our claret to ‘rush things,’ as they say in America. We must make hay while the sun shines. How many nights during the coming session shall I not have to snap at my food with the ting! ting! of the division-bell ringing in my ear! How often have I just raised my soup to my lips, when ting! ting! and away into the House or to the division-lobby, and back to find it cold. Fish!—ting! ting!” playfully tapping a wine-glass with his dessert-knife by way of illustration. “Entrée!—ting! ting! And as for wine, I have been compelled, ay, six nights out of the seven, to gulp it, gentlemen. Fancy gulping claret as a navvy tosses off a quart of ale. Festina lente, young gentlemen. Make haste slowly with your dinner and your post-prandial wine; the pace of the tortoise is the winning, and assuredly the most pleasant, one.”
Harry Welstone, who had been sipping his claret in dogged silence, suddenly started from his chair, and exclaiming, “By Jove! she’s playing Les Baisers d’Amour; excuse me, Fred,” hurriedly quitted the apartment, leaving me in a condition of the deepest dejection, and writhing under the dreary torture of the Parliamentary souvenirs of the member for Doodleshire.