_House of Commons, Monday, February 21._--"What a day he _is_ having to be
sure!" murmured the SQUIRE OF MALWOOD, looking across the table at the
other eminent country gentleman who is our First Minister of Agriculture.
Truly a great occasion for CHAPLIN, and he rose to its full height. Just
the same man he was six years ago when he from same place, drew lurid
picture of the Empire staggering to its doom overweighted with Small
Holdings. Now he is bringing in a Bill to establish Small Holdings, and
recommends the expedient to House as crowning edifice of Empire's
prosperity. At such a crisis some men would have blushed, however entirely
foreign to their habit the pretty weakness might be. CHAPLIN, on contrary,
made out in vague, but luminous, manner that he had been right in both
instances. Indeed, the anxious listener had conveyed to him the conviction,
still vague but not less irresistible, that this direct contradiction was
peculiarly creditable to the Right Hon. Gentleman addressing the House,
displaying a flexibility of genius not common to mankind.
CHAPLIN always looms large on whatever horizon he may appear. To-night,
standing at Table introducing Small Holdings Bill, he seemed to swell
wisibly before our eyes. Prince ARTHUR early in progress of the speech
observed precaution of moving lower down Bench. By similar strategic
movement, HENRY MATTHEWS drew nearer to Gangway. Thus CHAPLIN was, so to
speak, planted out in Small Holding exclusively his own.
House anxious to hear particulars of Government measure, CHAPLIN,
remembering old times when they used to jeer at his sonorous commonplaces
uttered below Gangway, took a pretty revenge. Out of oration of fifty-five
minutes duration, he appropriated twenty-five to general observations
prefacing exposition of clauses of Bill. Just the same kind of pompous
platitude conveyed in turgid phraseology, at which, in old times, Members
used to laugh and run away. But CHAPLIN had them now. Like the wedding
guest whom the Ancient Mariner button-holed--though as PLUNKET reminds me,
the A.M. was meagre in frame, and CHAPLIN is not--the House could not help
but hear. Once, when the orator dropped easily into autobiographical
episode, described himself strolling about the fields of Lincolnshire,
turning up a turnip here, drawing forth a casual carrot there, meditating
on the days when
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[Illustration: YOUNGER THAN EVER!