_House of Lords, Monday, August 15th._--Lords met to-day in charmingly
casual way. Since they were last here, Government been defeated;
the MARKISS out, Mr. G. in, and all that means or portends. Not
many present, but the MARKISS in his place smiling in unaffected
joyousness, just as Prince ARTHUR did in Commons when the end came.
[Illustration: "Very odd!"]
"Very odd," said PICKERSGILL, pressing his hat to his bosom; "it seems
nothing amuses the CECILS and their family belongings so much as a
reverse at the Poll."
The MARKISS in such exuberant good humour at seeing KIMBERLEY opposite
to him, could not resist temptation to try on little joke. It was
not, he said, either desirable or usual that he, as outgoing Minister,
should say anything on present occasion. But perhaps KIMBERLEY would
oblige, and would give House full exposition of intentions of new
Ministry with respect to foreign and domestic affairs. KIMBERLEY
gravely answered, that not yet being Minister of the Crown, nor having
had opportunity of consulting with his colleagues, he was unprepared
to make statement on subject.
In this dilemma DENMAN came to front. "My Lords--" he said. What
more he would have uttered is lost to posterity. MARKISS had moved
adjournment of House, and HALSBURY, who has had long practice on this
particular wicket, promptly bowled DENMAN out, by putting question and
declaring it carried. DENMAN stood moment looking, more in sorrow than
anger, at noble Lords hurrying out with unwonted agility.
[Illustration: THE NEW CABINET.]
"They made a mistake," he murmured; "especially HALSBURY. All I wanted
was to propose vote of thanks to him for the grace and dignity with
which he has presided over Debates in this House, and the manner in
which he has, by his dispensation of patronage, preserved the highest
traditions of his office, and even raised its lofty tone. Too late
now, too late;" and the old gentleman putting his crumpled papers in
his pocket, and wrapping his soiled pocket-handkerchief round the knob
of his walking-stick, strode sadly forth.
[Illustration: "Bless me!"]
Perhaps it was sight of this pathetic figure that sobered the MARKISS.
Anyhow, as we walked out together, found him in subdued mood, more
fitting the occasion than that assumed when addressing House. "All
over at last, TOBY," he said; "and I may go down to Hatfield, take
off my coat, and have a day's, or even a week's serene pleasure in my
workshop. I'm nobody of any account now, _ni_ Premier, _ni_ Foreign
Minister. Do you remember the lines written by an unknown hand on the
ruins of Berytus, which TRYPHON, King of Syria, sacked a hundred and
forty years before the Star rose at Bethlehem? I was thinking of them
just now, even when I was chaffing KIMBERLEY:--
'Stay not your course, O Mariners, or me,
Nor furl your sails--is not my harbour dry?
Nought but one vast, forsaken tomb am I.
But steer for other lands, from sorrow free,
Where, by a happier and more prosp'rous shore,
Your anchor ye may drop, and rest your oar.'"
"Not at all," I said.
Rather an inadequate remark, I see, when I come to write it down. I'd
say something better if the MARKISS would repeat the lines.
_Business done._--MARKISS announces Resignation of Ministry.
* * * * *
_House of Commons, Thursday._--House seems to have been meeting all
day. Began at three o'clock: Sitting suspended at half-past; resumed
at 4.30; off again till nine; might have been continued indefinitely
through night, only thunderstorm of unparalleled ferocity burst
over Metropolis, and put an end to further manoeuvring. "Bless me!"
tremulously murmured Lord SALISBURY's Black Man, as a peal of thunder
shook Clock Tower, and lighted up House of Lords with lurid flame, "if
these are home politics, wish I'd stayed in far-off Ind."
At first gathering in Commons, parties changed sides. "The sheep to
the right, the goats to the left," as WILLIAM FIELD, Esq., M.P., said,
daintily crossing the floor.
[Illustration: William Field, Esq., M.P.]
This remark does not imply anything rude. Fact is FIELD, when at home
in Dublin, holds lofty position of President of Irish Cattle-Traders'
and Stock-Owners' Association. Similes from the stockyard come
naturally to his lips. Promises to be acquisition to Parliamentary
life. Is certainly lovely to look upon, with his flowing hair, his
soft felt hat, the glossy black of his necktie contrasting with glossy
white of his boundless shirt-front. Thought at first he was a poet;
rather disappointing to find he's only a butcher. Whatever he be, he's
refreshing to the eye, wearied with monotony of last Parliament.
Writs moved for new Elections consequent on acceptance of Office.
Lobby seems full of new Whips, whom JACOB grimly eyes. CAUSTON with
unusually troubled look on manly brow. "What's the matter?" I asked.
"Afraid you'll be chucked?"
"Oh, no!" he said; "Southwark's safe enough. But they're such doose
of fellows down there. Remember at General Election one took me neat.
After I had made speech to crowded meeting, lot of questions put.
Answered them all satisfactorily. At last one fellow got up, asked
me, in voice of thunder, 'Are you, in favour of temperance?' Rather
ticklish thing that, you know. As many against it as for it. Looked
all round the room; seemed remarkably decent lot; the man who was
heckling me a little rubicund as to the nose; but that might be
indigestion. Anyhow, felt unless I could satisfy him, I'd lose his
vote. 'Are you in favour of temperance?' he roared again. 'Yes, I am;'
I said, heartily. 'Then I ain't!' he roared back; and stamped his
way out of the room. That's the sort of fellows they are down at
Southwark. Never know where you have 'em. Generally turns out they
have _you_."
_Business done._--Thunderstorm and Prorogation.
* * * * *