"I beg the hon. member's pardon," said Mr. Macartney, "he is the one exception to the rule. He is not a producer, he is only a consumer," a hit at the Captain's convivial habits much appreciated by the Committee.
MAJOR O'GORMAN.
Captain Stacpoole has gone to rejoin his old friend and pupil, "Pam." Gone, too, are the O'Gorman Mahon, Mr. Delahunty, Mr. Ronayne, and Major O'Gorman, noblest Roman of them all. The Major had physical advantages which placed him head and shoulders above all contemporary humorists, conscious or unconscious. Whether he sailed up the House like an overladen East Indiaman; whether he sat on the bench with the tips of his fingers meeting across his corpulence, whilst his mouth twitched sideways as if he were trying to catch a fly; or whether he stood on his feet addressing the House apparently through a speaking trumpet, the Major irresistibly moved to laughter.
I suppose no man was so genuinely surprised as he when his maiden speech was received with shouts of laughter, members literally rolling about in their seats, holding with both hands their pained sides. The occasion was Mr. Newdegate's annual motion for the inspection of convents. The Major, not only a chivalrous gentleman but a good Catholic, was shocked at the threat of desecration of the privacy of Irish ladies by Commissioners armed with the authority of the law. He had devoted much care and research to the preparation of a speech opposing Mr. Newdegate's motion. The choicest part of it, to which everything led up, was the picture of some historic nun, boldly facing the Commissioners, with a verbatim report of her remarks on the occasion. It was understood that the nun in question was of Royal birth, who, either wearied of pomp and vanity, or driven from her high estate by cruel man, had betaken herself to a nunnery.
The House had with difficulty kept merriment within bounds up to the moment when the Royal recluse faced the wicked Commissioners. Thereupon the Major, having to speak the nun's part, with dramatic instinct assumed a plaintive, almost a piping, voice. The nun was supposed to give a summary of her personal history to the Commissioners. But the Major never got beyond the detail, "I had a sister, her name was Sophia——." Even Disraeli, accustomed to sit sphinx-like on the Treasury Bench, joined in the shout of laughter that greeted this effort, and brought the Major's address to incoherent conclusion. This speech lifted the Major into a favoured position occupied by him till, cut off by the relentless command of Mr. Parnell, who had no sympathy with this kind of thing, he exchanged the Senate for the Board Room of the Waterford Poor Law Guardians.
THE SPHINX SMILES.
Possibly there is no place in the present Parliament for a Major O'Gorman. Certainly there was no one returned at the last General Election who could fill it.
BALLOTING FOR PLACES.
Among the not least substantial reforms effected in the present Session is that whereby, on the opening day, the process of balloting for places for private motions was relegated to an upper chamber. When, last year, the House of Commons, fresh from the polls, met on the eve of a memorable Session, two full hours of its precious time were wasted by a process that would not be tolerated in any other business assembly of the world. Out of a total of 670 members, 400 came down inflamed with desire to set somebody or something right. This they proposed to do either by moving a resolution or introducing a Bill. The House of Commons, whose order of procedure dates back to the Commonwealth, has ever been accustomed to this human weakness. It provided for it by the regulation that private members so possessed should ballot for precedence. Ministers, who also have a Bill or two to bring in, being masters of the situation, forthwith fix the day upon which they will take action. Private members must take the chances of the ballot.