DR. JOHNSON TAKING NOTES.
Before the administration of Sir Robert Walpole, there were no satisfactory records of the debates in the House. The fierce contests between Walpole, Windham, Pulteney, and others had, indeed, for some time before 1740, attracted attention to the proceedings of the House, and they had been regularly reported in a confused long-hand sort of fashion every month in theGentleman'sandLondon Magazine, the former publication commencing the debates in January, 1731, the latter in April, 1732, but no attempt can be said to have been made to convey more than the substance of the speeches until that departmentof theGentleman's Magazinewas intrusted to gruff old Samuel Johnson, in November, 1740. This is the commencement of the era of parliamentary reporting in England. Short-hand, before that time is involved in chaos, and it is doubtful if Johnson knew anything more than the rudiments of the then crude system of stenography.
Indeed, Johnson appears to have given more of his own eloquence than of what had actually been uttered in Parliament; but still, what he did was, in all probability, only to substitute one kind of eloquence for another—a better for a worse; or, it might be, sometimes, a worse for a better—and therefore, on the whole, the speeches written by him, though less true to the letter than those given by his predecessors, may be received as a more living, and, as such, a truer representation of the real debates than had ever before been produced.
He would not take the trouble to or be guilty of the absurdity of expending his lofty rhetoric upon the version of a debate or speech which had not really attracted attention by that quality, but I suppose he reserved his strength for occasions on which those who had heard, or heard of, the original oration, would look for something more brilliant than usual. It was not, however, until after a long and severe struggle, with a desperate fight at the close, that the right of reporting the debates of Parliament was gained by the English press of that day. It is only about one hundred and thirty years ago, (in the old days of the Hanoverian and Pretender's troubles), since anything spoken in the House was allowed to be printed until after the session was dissolved. The House, in its wisdom, denounced any earlier publication of the eloquence of the honorable members as a daring act of illegality.
On the 13th of April, 1738, the House resolved "that it is an high indignity to, and a notorious breach of the privilege of this House, for any news matter or letters, or other papers, as minutes, or under any other denomination, or for any printer or publisher of any printed newspaper of any denomination to presume to insert in the said letters or papers, or to give therein any account of, the debates or other proceedings of this House, or any committee thereof,as well during the recess as the sitting ofParliament, and that this House will proceed with the utmost severity against such offenders." The House of Commons, it is needless to say, has progressed somewhat since that day.
The monthly magazines, notwithstanding the resolution of the House, still continued to print the debates, although for some time they took the necessary precaution of indicating the speakers by fictitious names, to which they furnished their readers with a key when the House became dissolved. But it was not until the year 1771, nearly a century ago, that the debates began to be given to the public day by day as they occurred, and then the attempt gave rise to a contest between the House and the newspapers, which occupied the House, to the exclusion of all other business, for three weeks, when a committee was appointed, whose report, when it was read two months after, suggested whether it might not be expedient to order that the offending parties should be taken into the custody of the Sergeant-at-Arms. Edmund Burke compared the decision, in his own brilliant manner, to the resolution of the bewildered convocation of mice,—that the cat, to prevent her doing future destruction, should have a bell hung to her neck, but forgot to say how the rash act was to be performed. Well, that is all past and gone now, and the only complaint made in these busy days by members of Parliament against the score of daily newspapers, published in London, is that they err in not printing enough of the speeches to satisfy each individual representative.
THE CLERK OF THE HOUSE.
I noticed that the majority of the parliamentary reporters in the Gallery were considerably advanced in age, many of them wearing gray hairs, and fully sixty per cent. of the whole number that I saw were above forty years of age. Some of these gentlemen, by careful saving and strict attention to their arduous professional duties, have amassed comfortable competencies, and some of them own, in the environs of the city, snug little houses, with snug little libraries, and in some of them, I can certainly say, are to be found pleasant tables and home-comforts rarely possessed by their brethren of the note-book and pencil in America. There are, to be sure, many improvident ones inLondon, as elsewhere, and here Bohemianism has a lower depth than it ever was known to have in America, for it is here that the really depraved and abandoned Bohemian confines himself exclusively to the consumption of gin—raw and simple gin. A low London Bohemian is a mere animal, and will beg a copper from you in the same breath that he professes his willingness to translate a Greek tragedy—to oblige the giver of the copper, or else he will favor you with an account of his days at Oxford or Trinity, when he was a "first honor" man or a B.A. But one thing I have not found as yet in London on the press, and that is an illiterate or badly taught man, such as can be met with by the score on the American press.
The House to-night is in a Committee of the Whole on the Scottish Education bill. The Ministerial benches are pretty well filled, while the Opposition benches, to the left of the Speaker's chair, are but thinly populated. Fronting the Speaker's chair of state is a table of polished mahogany, the surface of which is about ten feet wide by fifteen feet long. Directly before the chair of the Right Honorable Speaker are two low-seated chairs of less pretension, occupied by the Clerk of the House of Commons, Sir Denis Le Marchant, and his assistant, Sir Thomas Erskine May, K.C.B. The former is a smooth-faced man, having the inevitable wig upon his head, which gives him a much older appearance than his years would warrant. His shoulders are enveloped in an ample black silk gown, and a blank book of large dimensions is open before him upon whose leaves he is supposed to enter the minutes of the House. This person has a magnificent suite of apartments in a wing of the Parliament House, beside a very large salary, and is as comfortably housed as if he belonged to the royal blood of Britain. Sir Thomas Erskine May, K.C.B., seated upon his left, is a clean-shaved gentleman in evening dress, who also has apartments in the palace, and a good salary. He has nothing remarkable about his person or manner, with the exception of a very drawling voice and a hesitancy in announcing motions made by the members, or in calling a division when the House so wills it. He is the author of the continuation of Hallam's Constitutional History of England. Beside these high officials there are four "Principal Clerks," one of whom, like Sir Thomas May, enjoys the high dignity of a Knight Companion of the Bath, &c. Then there are twelve "Assistant Clerks" and twelve "Junior Clerks," with an "Accountant," an "Assistant Accountant," a "Private Secretary to the Chairman of Ways and Means;" a "Sergeant-at-Arms," who is a Lord; two "Deputy Sergeants;" a "Chaplain," no less a man than Canon Merivale, the accomplished Roman historian, who has the good sense to make his prayers at the commencement of the proceedings very short; a "Secretary to the Speaker;" a "Librarian," a poor cadet of the great overshadowing family of Howard; an "Assistant Librarian," with an Irish name; two "Examiners of Petitions for Private Bills," one of whom is Mr. R.D.F. Palgrave, of whom Americans have heard, and finally a "Taxing Officer," beside innumerable servants, of superfine bearing, correct evening dress, and consummate self-possession. I asked one of these ponderous servants, whom at first sight I took to be the "Juke of Linsther," as an Irish reporter pronounced it, if he was not awed by the dignity of the house.
tanner
COULD YOU MAKE IT A TANNER?
"Aw," said he, in a gracious manner, "you er, I preeszhume, en Eemireken. This sawt of thing boaws me 'orrid; it does. I hev dun hit for heit yeers. I wish they wud adjoan, and I wud go to myCLUB."
THE SPEAKER AND HIS WIG.
Timidly I offered this gorgeous being four-pence, expecting to be rebuked in a dignified manner for my presumption by the personage who talked so fluently of "'is club." He never turned around, but, gazing steadily at the Speaker's chair, as if he was desirous of catching the Right Honorable Gentleman's eye, thrust his hand behind him, counted the pennies with his fingers, and said to the writer in a stage whisper:
"Would your 'onor pleese to make it a 'tanner'? We 'ave no perkisites in the Commons, pleese." Let me here state that a "tanner" is the slang term for sixpence, and a "bob" is a shilling among the London cockneys, servants, bar-boys, and wild children of the thousand streets and lanes of London.
When the House is in committee it is not the custom for the Speaker to be present. When the House is in open session, then the Speaker is arrayed in wig and gown, and he sits far back in the recesses of his chair, like some dried-up mummy, so closely is he swathed and covered. It is pretty hard work for a member to actually catch his eye, being so muffled up as to defy recognition by a casual observer. Yet it is a part and parcel of the British Constitution, that this Right Honorable John Evelyn Dennison should be smothered in this huge box and gown and wig on a warm August night like this. During committee proceedings the Speaker may walk out, doff his wig and gown, and dine as he has done to-night, and then come back, and finding the House still in committee, he will seat himself in his chair without his legal vesture. I have been in this House four nights, and this is the first time that I have seen the Speaker's legs—palpably. He lolls back without any of that reverence that I have heard so much of, as belonging to the Commons, and he has at last gone to sleep, like Mr. Greeley under Dr. Chapin's sermons. In the meantime, the bill, which has twenty-five clauses or sections, is being canvassed and considered by the members who stream in, now that the dinner hour has passed.
While the Speaker slumbers in a quiet way, the chief and assistant clerks of the House conduct the business, the assistant taking up the bill, and repeating as he reads each clausein detail: "It is moved," or "it is proposed that a substitute," or that the "word —— instead of ——," and so on, in soporific tones, for two long hours. A number of people in the gallery are gently dozing, and visibly many of the messengers are relapsing into a blissful repose.
The Speaker's table is covered with reports, large bound and gilt volumes, books of reference, pamphlets, newspapers, costly ink-horns, and other clerical paraphernalia of the state service. The huge gilded mace of the Speaker, which lies on the further end of the table below his chair, when the House is not in committee, is now pendant under the table on a rack, to show that it is not an open session for the introduction of new measures or for the making of set speeches.
speaker
THE SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE.
Out of six hundred and seventy or eighty members of the House, there are not present to-night more than one hundred and fifty. Many of the remaining members are scattered all over the Continent in nooks and corners. A large number may be found on the Parisian boulevards; some are at Fontainebleau; some in the Pyrenees, swallowing chalybeate waters; many are yachting in the Mediterranean, or wasting their time with the peasant girls in Isles of the Greek Archipelago; not a few are off at the races at Goodwood or Brighton; some are at Rome, burning, fuming, and cursing the garlic and salads; dozens of them are at Constantinople, at St. Petersburg, or climbing the Alps out of a sheer love ofdanger and the reckless fondness of physical excitement inborn in the Englishman; and probably as many as could be numbered on the fingers of the hand are scattered over the American Continent in search of novelty. There are also a number of City members absent, in their out-of-town residences, compelled to forego forensic honors, at the command of wife and daughters who are packing and poking preparatory to a flight to the Rhine and Germany. The ministerial benches show a good front for the late season; first, because the government has a great deal of unfinished business on its hands, which must be transacted before Parliament is closed; and secondly, because the exertions of the government whip have been most arduous in hunting up Mr. Gladstone's supporters, and compelling them to remain in their seats, while there is work to be done by them.
DIGNITY OF THE HOUSE.
With a great number of Americans, that have not visited England, there is in some way or another an abiding impression that the House of Commons is the most stately and dignified legislative body in the world. To be disabused of this notion it is only necessary for an American to sit during a night session in the gallery of the House, with a proviso that he has been a visitor at some time or another to the Senate Chamber or the House of Representatives at Washington. When a member of this House rises to claim the attention of the Speaker, it is common to find half a dozen of his fellow members rising also with him for the same purpose. A member of the government gets on his honorable legs with his face turned toward the Speaker. If on the lower bench, he will walk a little forward to the table, and if he is accustomed to speak from notes, it is more than possible that he will lay one hand on the table and with the other turn the leaves of his manuscript. If he speaks extemporaneously, he will probably lean in a lounging position forward, his two hands resting on the Speaker's table.
Many of the members who are best known to the public have this fashion, and it is most unpleasant to hear them drawl forth sentence after sentence as if they were dragged from theirhonorable throats by sheer force. It has often been reported by English writers that American legislators have a bad fashion of elevating their legs and laying back in an irreverent attitude while listening to a debate. Also, that they expectorate freely. Well, I have seen the most distinguished statesman at present in England—I mean Mr. Gladstone—lounge and disperse his limbs, while within ten feet of the Speaker, in a fashion that would bring shouts of laughter from a crowded theatre, were the same thing done in a farce or low comedy.
Each member of the Commons, as he walks into the House, to-night, has his hat on his head. As he passes the Speaker's chair, he doffs it for an instant, but when he takes his seat the hat is replaced upon his head as before. As a general thing, a member who speaks without notes, addresses the Speaker, with his hat in one hand. They all seem to conclude whatever remarks they have to make with a jerk, and as soon as they sit down the hat is again replaced, or rather slapped on the head, with a vehement motion that seems impelled by some hidden mechanical power. Then they have a fashion of lounging in and out in a free-and-easy way during debate, that is highly suggestive of a bar-room in a frontier town.
There is rarely, or never—in the House of Commons—an exhibition of the nervous, impassioned speaking which may be heard all over America or in the Corps Legislatif. When there is a clear or telling speech made, (as far as the manner of delivery goes,)—mind, I do not speak of its effect practically—or if the eloquence is of a florid description, it will be surely spoken by one of the one hundred and five Irish members. Certainly, when Whalley or Newdegate get on their legs, to smash the Pope or to recount horrible but dramatic stories about the mysteries and child massacres of convents, there is no lack of vehemence and buncombe. But this style of oratory is confined to a few of the members who have hobbies to ride, and who cannot be driven from them even at the point of the bayonet.
AMBASSADOR LAYARD.
Physically speaking, a majority of the members are gallant-looking fellows, and they are all dressed simply, but with thetaste always observed by a gentleman in the selection of articles of clothing. A small number of them wear white beaver hats, and their trowsers are cut widely at the bottom in the now prevailing fashion. With the exception of a few of the younger and more fashionable members, who frequent the race-courses, the Opera,—go to hear Schneider, lounge into the Cremorne after eleven o'clock at night, or frequent the society of such famous demi-reps as "Mabel Grey," "Baby Hamilton," "Baby Thornell," or other women who have beggared and ruined hundreds of those young men about town who have a disposition to be fast, there is a total absence of showy or loud colors in their apparel. A great many of the "fast" young men attend the session—occasionally—for the sake of common decency, or because their constituencies compel it, as in the case of a City borough the other day, where a member was rebuked by a public resolution of condemnation and asked to resign, for absence from his seat. Younger sons of noble lords look upon the House of Commons as a necessary evil, which must be "done," like an occasional visit to church, or to Richmond, or Greenwich, to eat fish.
As the members come in one by one and take their places on the benches, I find opportunities to observe and note their peculiarities and looks. That gentleman who comes in so slowly and so quietly, dressed in dark clothes, and having a head, whiskers, and general resemblance to our Longfellow, is the Right Honorable Austin H. Layard, Commissioner of Public Works, one of the Ministers, but not a member of the Cabinet, and lately appointed English Ambassador to Spain. You would take him for a literary man or a thinker, anywhere, by reason of his long, flowing, white hair and thoughtful look. Mr. Layard is the author of the celebrated book on Nineveh. He receives attention in the House always when he rises to speak of Eastern affairs. He was at one time an attache of the English embassy to the Porte, and was Under Secretary for Foreign Affairs in the administration of Earl Granville. Mr. Layard has the reputation of being rather hot tempered in debate, and at one time he earned the ill-will of the aristocraticfaction in the House by his persevering liberalism, but at present he is popular enough, and no one can look at his bright dark-blue eye and general appearance, without feeling that he is in the presence of a man who possesses a considerate and calmly philosophical spirit, broken at times by a sudden flash of the scholar's enthusiasm.
That gentleman with the exquisitely carved face and very red hair, with a slight dimple in his chin, and clear, frank eyes, is the Secretary of State for War, the Right Honorable Edward Cardwell, M.P. for Oxford City, and an old follower of Sir Robert Peel. He has in his time held various offices of trust under different administrations, and in June, 1866, when the forces of Col. William R. Roberts, President of the Fenian Brotherhood, invaded the Canadas, Mr. Cardwell, as Secretary for the Colonies, had his hands full of a rather difficult business, which he managed as well as the very annoying circumstances—for a British Crown Minister—would permit. I like to hear Mr. Cardwell speak. He is always ready, yet deliberate, and with these qualities he possesses a happy and easy manner in argument. The most difficult job of Mr. Cardwell's life was the management of the Governor Eyre-Jamaica business, which at its crisis covered the English administration with shame and ignominy. Mr. Cardwell had, while at Oxford, a very good reputation, which he has not as yet contradicted by his course in Parliament, of which body he was returned as a member as early as 1842. Thackeray once ran against him and was defeated.
LORNE AND CHILDERS.
That really handsome young gentleman, who is said to have the best-shaped leg in the House, as well as the friendship of the most charming female members of the aristocracy, as he certainly is the owner of a most beautiful head of hair, of the hue of a new guinea, such as is seen in Carlo Dolce's Virgins—is the member for Argyllshire, the Marquis of Lorne, heir presumptive to George Douglas Campbell, eighth Duke of Argyll, the Liberal Secretary of State for India in the Gladstone Cabinet, a Privy Counsellor, and a Knight of the Thistle. The young marquis, at twenty-five, has the face and skin of amaiden of twenty, and I could not but observe that his trowsers were of a fashion superior to any other known trowsers in the House of Commons. I do not know whether the handsome Marquis inherits the Covenanting piety of the Argyll-Campbells, his ancestors; but he bears a wonderful resemblance to his father, the Duke, and among the frescoes in the corridors of the House there is one by Copely, entitled the "Sleep of Argyll," and I was astonished to notice the strong likeness of the young Marquis—who passed the fresco at the moment—to the face of his illustrious ancestor of two hundred years ago, as it was depicted by the artist—lying on a prison pallet. The Marquis of Lorne, while I was in the gallery, sat behind Mr. Gladstone, on an upper bench, as a Liberal, like his father who sits in the Lords. When the hereditary Campbell got up on his well-shaped legs to speak as a Scotch member on the Parochial Schools bill, he did it quietly, and in a clear, musical voice, that seemed to attract attention.
The Marquis of Lorne has a very ready delivery, though he is not as yet of great account in debate, and he is I believe, from all reports, a marvelously proper young man, compelled to exist upon about £25,000 a year, which amount will be largely augmented when the present Duke is committed to the family vaults.
That big, bulky six-footer, of great shoulders and massive limb, wearing tightly fitting clothes, his forehead overshadowed with dark, reddish-brown hair, and his whole manner indicative of pluck and a contest against life-long odds, is the Right Honorable H.C.E. Childers, member for Pontefract, and First Lord of the Admiralty, an office that in England somewhat resembles the position of Secretary of the Navy of the United States, having this difference only—that the First Lord, while in his place on the Treasury or Cabinet benches in the House of Commons, is compelled to reply to all attacks on the management of the Navy, and to defend the expenditure and estimates of that department. He is now giving facts from a pamphlet which he holds in one hand, while he rests his body on his other hand across the table in a negligent manner, as if hewere more used to roughing it in the bush than supporting a minister by a recapitulation of dreary statistics in the House.
Mr. Childers was at one time, I believe, a fellow-member with Mr. Robert Lowe, of the Parliament of Victoria, after both of them had exiled themselves voluntarily to the antipodes. Mr. Childers only became a member of the House in 1860, and his rise to eminence was achieved with more than American rapidity, in a country where it is a cardinal principle that a man should not receive emolument, honor, or position, until he has grown the gray hair of sixty years.
Mr. Childers is the chairman and director also of at least threescore of corporations and foundations of charity of one kind or another, and is said to be very good in figures—a necessary gift in a Lord of the Admiralty. If his mind is half as big as his whiskers, he is certainly a genius. The hard work of defending the Gladstone administration in detail is usually given to Mr. Childers, to W.E. Foster, M.P. for Bradford, or to Mr. Bruce, the Home Secretary. In all Irish matters, Mr. Chichester Fortescue, the Chief Secretary for Ireland, is expected to stand by his leader, Mr. Gladstone, and he has been of great service to him in the Irish Land Bill legislative measures. Mr. Childers, like the young Marquis of Lorne, is a Trinity College, Cambridge, man, but not an Eton boy like the former.
lord
FIRST LORD OF THE ADMIRALTY.
The next noticeable person on the ministerial bench, and by all acknowledged to be one of the ablest men in Parliament,is the Right Honorable Robert Lowe, member for London University, an Oxford man, and son of a Church of England clergyman. London University, which Mr. Lowe represents, is the most liberal educational institution in England, and grants University degrees to students, irrespective of their religious belief. A short time ago the Queen opened the new London University buildings, which are, I believe, unequaled in the metropolis for beauty of design and commodious comfort. Mr. Lowe is now in his fiftieth year, and is a member of the Gladstone Cabinet, and Chancellor of the Exchequer—the office formerly held by his illustrious chief, and one of the greatest trust and responsibility in England.
THE SATIRICAL LOWE.
As an orator Lowe has few equals, and stands in the following order of precedence: Gladstone,—Bright,—Disraeli,—Lowe,—according to the best judges. By many he is said to be superior to Disraeli in satirical power, although not his equal in vehement philippic, and not a few consider him equal in logical force to Bright. Yet, with all his ability and power, he is one of the best-hated public men in all England, and this is said to be the result of his unfortunate proclivity for satire, and for a certain unpleasant gruffness, that, spite of his education and inward natural courtesy, will break out, and in a minute demolish the labor of a year of statesmanship. I might call Mr. Lowe a pure-blooded Albino, as he is first noticeable by his bushy white eyebrows, white hair of great length, and rather pinkish eye-lids.
He has a positive, firm chin, a clear eye, and, from the abutment of his nostril to the corner of his lower lip on either side deep ridges extend, giving him in that part of the face the look of abon vivant. The eye is very steady, and looks at a stranger of doubtful appearance with a sneering way that seems to say: "I have to be polite; but if I choose to think you an idiot, it is my own business." The ears are large, and seem to be buttoned back, as if ready for a row on the slightest provocation. Mr. Lowe is quite near-sighted, and it is said that to this defect he owed his release from holy orders, having studied for the Church at University College, Oxford. He certainlywould have made a very unpleasant sort of a clergyman for some of the lax and rather immoral public men who illuminate the House occasionally. He is a man of many edges, bristling all over with sharp and hard angles, and is in every way an aggressive person. Lord Palmerston, who was with every other member of the House—on the footing of a jolly good fellow, could never be brought to like Robert Lowe. Lowe never laughed at the veteran Premier's jokes.
Mr. Lowe owes his first important advancement from an ordinary station in life to the fact that when he returned to England from Sydney, he had the good fortune to contribute a smashing article to theTimes, and since that time Mr. Lowe, it is understood, has been a regular outside contributor of that journal, with great good luck to back him. Mr. Lowe has also the reputation of being a very quick and facile "leader" writer upon the topics with which he is best acquainted.
lowe
ROBERT E. LOWE.
Mr. Lowe once had his head well smashed by the roughs at an election row, and it is said that the memory of it has stuck to him ever since, like the caning of Charles Sumner by Preston Brooks, and, like that episode, it has served to keep old fires burning. In the memorable debates of 1866, upon the suffrage question, Mr. Lowe shone with his greatest force. With such rivals as Bright, Disraeli, Gladstone, Hardy, and Milner Gibson, it was no joke to keep on the top of the tide, but Lowenever faltered in his career. The more pitiless were his adversaries in argument, the more pitiless became Robert Lowe.
THE MARQUIS OF HARTINGTON.
The fancy, the vigor, the antithesis, the irony, wit, force, energetic subtlety, and strength of his speeches during that stormy session of 1866, are not likely to be forgotten soon, by friend or adversary, in the House of Commons. Lowe is, I believe, the only instance of a man who has at one and the same time a dimpled chin and a bad temper.
That mild-looking, dark-faced man, with neat attire and jeweled fingers, who comes in almost stealthily from behind the Speaker's chair, and takes his seat upon the Ministerial Bench, is Goschen, who represents London, and is a member of the Cabinet, President of the Poor Law Board, and son of a Leipsic bookseller of moderate circumstances.
Mr. Goschen is evidently of Jewish origin, and his rise to power has been speedy. He is still a young man—of polished manners, and more than any other member in Parliament represents the moneyed interests of the great city for which he sits. He is a Rugby and Oriel College man, and was at one time Vice-President of the Board of Trade, and afterwards Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster. Yet he is scarcely developing the statesmanlike power which was predicted for him by his friends who had watched his career as a Director in the Bank of England, and as the author of essays and treatises on some topics of political economy.
The middle-sized gentleman, inclined to baldness, wearing a brown coat and a mixed trousers, with straps at the bottom of the latter, and who has a slight fringe of whiskers and a round bright eye, is no less a personage than the Marquis of Hartington, Postmaster-General, a member of the Cabinet, heir presumptive to the Dukedom of Devonshire, the Earldom of Burlington, Baron Cavendish in Derbyshire and Baron Cavendish in York, chiefly celebrated for his advocacy of the Confederacy in Parliament, and a man of not exceedingly great calibre as a debater or thinker; but from the possessions which he will one day inherit in this broad and merry England, a man of most decided influence and power. He has for his family motto, "Secure in Caution," and generally sticks to it in the House.
In his young days, it is hinted that the Marquis of Hartington was in the habit of going home very late with his night key in his coat-tail pocket, and at one time it is said that the notorious "Skittles," (since dead,) had emblazoned on her handsome brougham—presented her by the Marquis—the crest of the now steady and religiously inclined Postmaster-General of Great Britain. He is just now conversing with a tall, black-whiskered man, of sharp features and equally sharp accent, in drab clothing. This is George Armistead, M.P. for Dundee, formerly a Russia merchant, and said to be a good man on committees.
A medium-sized, dark-faced, and portly person in black clothes walks in slowly by the Speaker and seats himself, with his hat bent forward over his eyes, and having a book, whose leaves he is cutting, in his hand. This is Alexander James Beresford-Hope, one of the two M.P.'s for Cambridge University—the other being the Right Hon. Spencer Horatio Walpole, whose mother was Countess of Egmont.
Mr. Beresford-Hope is part proprietor of that well known weekly and satirical journal, theSaturday Review, and is or has been a writer for the same sheet. During the Civil War in America, Mr. Beresford-Hope spoke early and often in support of the Confederacy while in Parliament, and also wrote a book favoring Jefferson Davis and his cause. In this course he had no more ardent colleague than the gentleman who now approaches him with his head moving from right to left, in a nervous fashion—I mean William Henry Gregory, member for Galway.
PEERS IN THE GALLERY.
Mr. Hope is no doubt a good liver, and is a member of the Carlton, Athenæum, University, Oxford and Cambridge, and New University Clubs, where, possibly, he has a great opportunity to study cookery as a fine art. His fellow member from Cambridge, who stands toying with his watch chain and drumming on the floor, bears the imposing name of Spencer Walpole, and has no decided individuality in the House. BothHope and Walpole are Conservatives, and are sadly shocked at the continued majorities of Mr. Gladstone.
The man just now speaking from notes is Lieutenant-Colonel Sir Robert Anstruther, of the Grenadier Guards, member for Fifeshire, a Harrow man, and an earnest liberal of the Scotch stamp.
The little old man in evening dress, pale face, and having a circle of white beard around his throat, who is playing with his fingers nervously, is The O'Conor Don, member for Roscommon, who is looked up to by all the Irish members.
The slender young gentleman, not yet in his twenty-fifth year, and very fashionably dressed, leaning up against the back of the Speaker's chair in conversation, is Henry George, Earl Percy, son of the Duke of Northumberland, who married the eldest daughter of the Duke of Argyll, and will one day be the proprietor of the second proudest title in England as well as of half a dozen castles, a score of manors, and three or four baronies. This young man was sent to the House of Commons by his father, the Duke of Northumberland, as a Conservative, but it is rarely that he takes the trouble to open his lips in debate. He has a very great reputation for driving tandem, and is known to be a judge of boquets and claret—young as he is as a legislator in the House of Commons—but he bears a good reputation, and has not done anything to dishonor the proud name of Percy as yet.
That young gentleman with the pointed yellow moustache and goatee of the Vandyke type, is Sir David Wedderburn, of an old Scotch family, and quite an active working young member of the opposition when led by Disraeli. Very often the peers of the Upper House may be found in the Commons, from motives of curiosity or to get intelligence of the birth of new bills before they are sent to the Upper House. They have a gallery of their own, these peers, and hardly ever trouble the floor of the House.
Occasionally a prelate of the English Established Church may be found in the Peers' Gallery of the House of Commons, listening to the debates, and to-night there are two bishops inthe gallery, one of whom is Dr. Fraser, Bishop of Manchester, who is said to be the most practical minded prelate in England. Dr. Fraser has a well outlined face and a very compact head, with a clear, firm eye. He is big with a scheme for the education of the working classes, and looks to be deeply interested in the debate. His companion is the Bishop of Peterborough, who is acknowledged to be the ablest speaker and clearest thinker in the English Episcopate. Viscount Bury is now on his legs. The Viscount is of all the speakers I have heard, the very dullest. He reads from notes which he takes page for page from his hat, and I am certain that I never listened to such a dreadful monotone as his voice. The Viscount dresses plainly, and yet he has a Dundreary look, the light side whiskers which he wears giving him an affected appearance. The Viscountess Bury is a daughter of Sir Allan McNab, and in her younger days was a celebrated beauty, and was a toast in fashionable society.
That young gentleman with the slight, downy moustache and gloriously handsome face, leaning over the side of the Peers' Gallery, is the Marquis of Huntley, a member of the House of Lords, and is the first Marquis in rank of the Scottish peerage. He is only twenty-three years of age, and was married a short time since in Westminster Abbey, the Prince of Wales acting as his best man, and all the notabilities of the court attending. The old, soldierly-looking man who is conversing with him and having a white rose in his button-hole, whose hair is cropped quite close, is the Earl of Fingall, who was formerly an officer in the 8th Hussars, and a hero of the Crimean war.
LORD STANLEY AND THE O'DONOGHUE.
The medium sized gentleman with the thoroughly English face, wavy hair, and plain and unostentatious attire, who passes behind the Speaker's Chair for a moment, and then whispers to that awful dignitary, is the Duke of Richmond, the leader of the Conservative party in the House of Lords. The Duke is quite popular in England, and has a magnificent park and castle at Goodwood, where a race takes place every year, for a prize called the "Goodwood Cup." Under the administrationof Mr. Disraeli the Duke held the position now occupied by John Bright, who is President of the Board of Trade.
There was for some time a warm rivalry between the Duke of Richmond, Lord Cairns, and the Marquis of Salisbury, as to which of the three should lead in the House of Lords, and at one time, I believe after the death of the lion-like Earl of Derby, Lord Cairns, who used to be an Irish lawyer before he was ennobled, had the best chance from his great ability, but the high position and family of the Duke carried the day.
That plain looking man who with a slight inclination to the Speaker and doffing his hat, passes out to the Division Lobby, is Lord Stanley—now Earl Derby, since the death of his father. Lord Stanley, who is now in the House of Lords, was one of the ablest members of the House of Commons, a forcible debater, a logical reasoner, and a thorough gentleman in all respects. Lord Stanley entered political life very early, and has filled various offices of trust, being successively—Under Secretary of Foreign affairs in 1852; Secretary for the Colonies in 1858; Secretary of State for India in 1858-9, and Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs in 1866-8.
The tall, dark-haired and handsome looking member who has followed Viscount Bury in debate, and who speaks so fluently without notes, and whose language and gestures are not without a certain grace and elegance, is The O'Donoghue member from Tralee, who was going to marry an Earl's daughter in order to pay his debts—but didn't. The O'Donoghue challenged Sir Robert Peel to fight a duel a few years ago, having been offended by some unparliamentary language of Peel's in the House, but the latter backed out of the row in a very undignified manner.
Lord Stanley having forgot something, comes back to find it, and searches the bench behind the spot where The O'Donoghue is speaking from, which rather confuses the Irish orator a little—but Lord Stanley apologises at once. By the way, Earl Derby is said to be engaged to the Marchioness of Salisbury, whose husband died a year ago. This will be a late marriage for both parties, the intended bride being forty-six years ofage with five children, the youngest of whom is a daughter twenty-two years of age, while Earl Derby is forty-four years of age, and very common-place and prosaic in his domestic habits. The Marchioness is, I believe, a daughter of Earl De La Warr.
Three men now enter the House and take seats—two in the galleries, who are soon joined by a third. This last man is the richest noble in England. He is an old man on the brink of the grave, and yet he could buy up a dozen of the members of Parliament who are fuming and fidgeting below in the freshness of good health. It is the Marquis of Westminster, who owns half of the borough from which he takes his title, and his income I have been told is something like four hundred thousand pounds a year. The Marquis is very charitable, and has spent over £100,000 in erecting model tenements for poor people in London. Beside the title of Marquis, he also bears that of Sir Richard Grosvenor, which is supposed to be derived from the French of Gros Veneur—"Great Huntsman,"—some of the ancestors of the family having acted in that capacity to the Norman Dukes at a remote period.
The other gentlemen are Earl Spencer, the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, a big man with a big head, a big whisker and a big look in the face, wearing a big tweed coat; and the Hon. Robert Wellesley Grosvenor, one of the members for Westminster, a Captain in the 1st Life Guards, and belonging to the family of the old Marquis of Westminster. He has for his colleague who now takes his seat, William Henry Smith, the other member for Westminster, who owns the largest news agency in the world, at No. 186 Strand.
commons
GLADSTONE SPEAKING IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.
And now the Premier is on his legs at last. I had heard of Gladstone so often that I was curious to hear his voice and look upon his face. Imagine a tall man, six feet in his stockings, with a massive head, a good strong body, sparse side whiskers just whitening with years, a pair of dark eyes, deep as an abyss, with the thoughts and struggles of a mighty spirit welling up—firm lips and cavernous eyebrows, a massive and persistent under jaw, the lines of the face strongly markedand indicating by their rigidness the conflict that has been going on inwardly for years, and dress that figure up in deep black upper garments and mixed trousers, and you have something like the Premier of Great Britain as I saw him in his seat on the end of the Treasury benches in Parliament. One leg is thrown over another in a negligent and thoughtful attitude, the head being bowed forward on the breast, while every few minutes he raises his eyes with a wonderful mystery glittering in them, to the face of the member who has the floor, as if he were taking the mental measurement of the speaker. The face represents a fierce enthusiasm which can kindle into great deeds, or express with a glance great thoughts.
MR. GLADSTONE'S EARLY LIFE.
This wonderful man started in life as a High Churchman and Tory, believing that all bishops should know Greek and acknowledge the Apostolic Succession, and now he is an advanced Liberal, but opposes woman's suffrage as a dangerous measure. In religion Gladstone sticks to his Oxford teachings, and this is best proved by his Episcopal appointments, nearly all of whom are High Churchmen.
How grandly the sentences roll from the lips of the scholarly Premier, as he stands up to reply to some attack on the administration. Every sentence is rounded, full, concise, and flowing, and every phrase seems chosen with elegance. He is a marvelously brilliant speaker, but it is better to hear him than to read his speeches, which though perfect literary compositions, are yet, in type, brilliant and dry abstractions, while the contrary may be said of Bright's speeches, whose productions sound better in a report than they do when they are delivered.
And now he has done, and sits down, slamming his hat on his head, and reclining back, with his eyes glued on his shirt bosom; and from the Opposition benches at the other side of the House, a tall, massive figure, which is radiant with jewelry and surmounted by a poll of black curly hair, rises to answer Mr. Gladstone. The face is corrugated, the nose like an eagle's beak—curved—like those on Roman coins, or just such a nose as Titus encountered by the thousand, under piercing, almond-shaped black eyes, in the Court of the Holy of Holies, when the Chosen People fell in heaps behind their shields, only glad to die for Jerusalem.
Yes, here is one of that same wonderful, plucky race, which has survived hundreds of years' of war, pestilence, famine, persecution, and contumely, and now finds its best representative in Benjamin Disraeli, the author of "Tancred," "Coningsby," "Henrietta Temple," and "Lothair," that book of books. This is the same Jew whom O'Connell thundered at thirty years ago, and whom he denounced as the lineal descendant of the impenitent thief who died upon the Cross. Thirty-three years ago this man entered Parliament and made his maiden speech, or attempted to make it,—as a member from Maidstone. The crowded House laughed at him that night,—men who were used to Canning, and Henry Brougham; to that consummate orator, Daniel O'Connell, and to the brilliant fireworks of Richard Lalor Sheil,—laughed at the young member with the Jewish beak and profile, and he sat down discomfited, but not beaten, crying out to the House, which was indulging in cock-crowing and geese-cackling at his expense, "You will not hear me now, but you shall hear me yet."
He is an older man now, and success in everything he has attempted, such as has never been given to any living man but Louis Napoleon, has rewarded his efforts. Hear how he dashes into Gladstone's eloquent sentences with his biting, withering words of sarcasm,—how he overthrows the airy edifice which the Liberals were just now contemplating,—listen to the fiery words of this master of wit and trenchant, cutting invective—invective that spares no feeling or cherished opinion, but bares the breast of the Minister like the surgeon's hand to plunge still deeper the scalpel in the roots of the wound.
Now he has done, and he sits down, and members crowd around him and congratulate him, but he receives their incense with a wearied, indifferent air, that seems to say, "I have been Premier myself, and I think it to be a small place for a man of ability."