[Illustration: THE MOTHER OF PARLIAMENTS.
"AM I REALLY SUFFERING FROM SENILE DECAY?"]
_Tuesday, June 3rd_.--According to the view of Major WOOD and his
friends the Mother of Parliaments is played out. The Grand Committees
which were to have restored her vigour have left her more enfeebled
than ever, and unless she devolves a large part of her duties upon
subordinate assemblies her end is near. But I noticed that, although
Ireland was expressly excepted from their resolution, most of them
talked of little else, and I fancy that but for Dublin we should not
have heard much of devolution.
As a statesman His Grace of CANTERBURY has hitherto enjoyed the
reputation of being "safe" rather than dashing. But that is evidently a
mistake, for in introducing the Bill which is to enable the Church to
free itself from some of the trammels imposed upon it by the State he
begged his hearers not to be afraid of "brave adventurous legislation."
His appeal was quite lost upon Lord HALDANE, who was shocked by the
terrible possibilities of the measure, and warned the PRIMATE that
if the Bill became law he would have signed the death-warrant of the
Establishment. Coming from a Presbyterian who helped to disestablish the
Church in Wales, this showed the heights of altruism to which a real
philosopher may rise.
Colonel WEDGWOOD was shocked to learn that in the occupied territories
Germans had to take off their hats when addressing British officers.
But it would be a mistake to assume that his concern was due to any
tenderness for our foes. On the contrary, it was exhibited out of regard
for the feelings of British officers. Mr. CHURCHILL regretted
the inconvenience, but pointed out that it had always been the
practice--even in Belgium--for an Army of Occupation to exact certain
acts of respect from the inhabitants.
Mr. KELLAWAY, who announced last week with such pride that "the
Government have struck oil," was now able to state that the oil had
reached a height of 2,400 feet and was still rising steadily. There is
some talk of inviting the successful engineers to put down bores at
Westminster.
_Wednesday, June 4th_.--Complaint was made recently that under the new
Rules of Procedure Members were expected to be in three places at once.
I fancy that a good many of them settled their difficulty to-day by
betaking themselves to a fourth place, not in the precincts of the
Palace of Westminster.
There was anything but a Grand Parade on the green benches, and the
faithful few who were present put a good many questions "on behalf of my
honourable friend." The Front Benches were well manned, however, and
Mr. LONG had quite a busy time explaining to Commander BELLAIRS why the
Admiralty thought it inadvisable at this date to hold courts-martial in
regard to the Naval losses of 1914. The House was more interested to
hear that the Peace celebrations will include a Naval procession through
London, and that there will be a display in the Thames of war-ships of
various classes, including, possibly, some of those captured from the
enemy.
A feature of the afternoon was Mr. MACQUISTEN'S brief comments upon
Ministerial replies. Divorced from their setting, such remarks as "Fish
is very dear!" (_à propos_ of Admiralty parsimony in compensating the
owners of drifters) or "By thought-reading?" (when the best method of
ascertaining native opinion on the future of Rhodesia was in question),
may not sound particularly funny, but, when delivered in a voice of
peculiar penetration and "Scotchiness," at precisely the right moments,
they were sufficient to convulse the Benches. Mr. MACQUISTEN must be
careful or he will soon be a spoiled DARLING.
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[Illustration: _Waiter (at public dinner, to very hot and red-faced
diner_). "I'M GOING NOW, SIR. ANYTHING MORE I CAN GET YOU? BRANDY OR
PORT? NO, SIR? SHALL I GET YOU A COOL CHAIR, SIR?"]
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"Cigar smokers will be interested very much in the likelihood of
that luxury being soon dearer than ever.... It will most likely
develop into a habit of getting the very last whiffff ffffout of
every cigar."--_Provincial Paper_.
The printer would seem to be practising already.
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"HOW TO HEAR MUSIC."
_(With humble acknowledgments to the critic of "The Times.")_
We were grateful to Mlle. Snouck Hugronje for giving us an opportunity
of hearing the Violin Concertos of Prenk Bib Doda in C sharp minor, and
of Basil Tulkinghorn in the composite key of F.E. The latter work, we
may explain, is dedicated to Lord BIRKENHEAD. Doda's work is so rarely
played that Mr. ERNEST NEWMAN has wittily suggested that he ought to be
renamed Dodo. But let that pass. Here he is abundantly like himself,
rich in self-determining phrases which emerge from a Hinterland of wild
surmise, and tower aloft in peaks of Himalayan majesty like Haramokh or
Siniolchum ---- Mr. CANDLER must finish this sentence.
Tulkinghorn is also a master of transcendental effects, and as
relentless in pushing home his points as Mr. SMILLIE when examining a
duke before the Coal Commission. But he is not always to be trusted. He
lacks the architectonic faculty. In between the clusters of clear-cut
phrases there are too many nebulae of gaseous formation and spiral type,
which deflect the orbital movement of his essentially electronic melody
and impair its impact on the naked ear.
But when Mlle. Snouck Hugronje plays you forget all about
self-determination, syndicalism, guild-control, proletariats, sunspots
and even Mr. SMILLIE. If you are a poet, and we are all poets nowadays,
you dream yourself into a punt on the Sonning backwater, wondering if
the summer was ever so amazing before, nearly being shipwrecked on
a sandy spit, startling moorfowl or it may be dabchicks, sending a
_frisson_ into the fritillaries, losing and regaining your punt-pole,
always believing that the next bend ---- Mr. FILSON YOUNG must really
finish the sentence.
If you are a musician and an occultist you will, by due concentration of
your pineal gland and pituitary body, rise with the rapidity of a HAWKER
to astral altitudes immune from all mundane disquiet. You will notice
---- However, this is best, left to Mr. CYRIL SCOTT or Sir RABINDRANATH
TAGORE or Sir OLIVER LODGE. But if you are a mere listener you will
listen and be thankful. But if you never go to concerts you will still
be able, by the aid of the New Criticism, to attain to an ecstasy of
appreciation far greater than if you had relied on the crude medium of
your senses.
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[Illustration: _Niece_. "BUT AREN'T YOU GOING TO GIVE THAT NICE PORTER A
TIP, AUNTIE? HE'S AN OLD SOLDIER."
_Aunt_. "_EXACTLY_, MY DEAR. MUCH TOO POLITE TO BE UNPLEASANT TO ONE."]
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