THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.
The building in which the representatives of the nation assemble at
Westminster, is about as insignificant, ill-contrived, and inconvenient
a place as can be well conceived. It is true that the edifices
appropriated to both Lords and Commons are both only temporary ones;
nevertheless, it would have been easy to construct halls of assembly
more suitable for their purposes than those that now exist.
The House of Commons is an oblong, with rows of plain wooden benches on
each side, leaving a space in the middle which is occupied by the table,
whereon petitions are laid. At one end of this table is the mace: at the
other, sit the clerks who record all proceedings that require to be
noted. Close behind the clerks, and at one extremity of the apartment,
is the Speaker's chair: galleries surround this hall of assembly;--the
one for the reporters is immediately over the Speaker's chair; that for
strangers occupies the other extremity of the oblong; and the two side
ones are for the use of the members. The ministers and their supporters
occupy the benches on the right of the speaker: the opposition members
are seated on those to the left of that functionary. There are also
cross-benches under the strangers' gallery, where those members who
fluctuate between ministerial and opposition opinions, occasionally
supporting the one side or the other according to their pleasure or
convictions, take their places.
At each extremity of the house there is a lobby--one behind the
cross-benches, the other behind the Speaker's chair, between which and
the door of this latter lobby there is a high screen surmounted by the
arms of the united kingdom. When the House divides upon any question,
those who vote for the motion or bill pass into one lobby, and those who
vote against the point to question proceed to the other. Each party
appoints its _tellers_, who station themselves at the respective doors
of the two lobbies and count the members on either side as they return
into the house.
The house is illuminated with bude-lights, and is ventilated by means of
innumerable holes perforated through the floor, which is covered with
thick hair matting.
According to the above-mentioned arrangements of benches, it is evident
that the orator, in whatever part he may sit, almost invariably has a
considerable number of members behind him, or, at all events, sitting in
places extremely inconvenient for hearing. Then, the apartment itself is
so miserably confined, that when there is a full attendance of members,
a least a fourth cannot obtain seats.
It will scarcely be believed by those previously unaware of the fact,
that the reporters for the public press are only allowed to attend and
take notes of the proceedings _upon sufferance_. Any one member can
procure the clearance of both the reporters' and the strangers'
galleries, without assigning any reason whatever.[76]
At half-past four o'clock the members began to enter the home pretty
thickly.
Near the table stood a portly happy-looking man, with a somewhat florid
and good-natured countenance, grey eyes, and reddish hair. He was well
dressed, and wore enormous watch-seals and a massive gold guard-chain.
He conversed in an easy and complacent manner with a few members who had
gathered around him, and who appeared to receive his opinions with
respect and survey him with profound admiration: this was Sir Robert
Peel.
One of his principal admirers on this (as on all other occasions) was a
very stout gentleman, with dark hair, prominent features, a full round
face, eyes of a sleepy expression, and considerable heaviness of tone
and manner: this was Sir James Graham.
Close by Sir James Graham, with whom he exchanged frequent signs of
approval as Sir Robert Peel was conversing, was a small and somewhat
repulsive looking individual, with red hair, little eyes that kept
constantly blinking, a fair complexion, and diminutive features,--very
restless in manner, and with a disagreeable and ill-tempered expression
of countenance. When he spoke, there was for more of gall than honey in
his language; and the shafts of his satire, though dealt at his
political opponents, not infrequently glanced aside and struck his
friends. This was Lord Stanley.
Shortly before the Speaker took the chair, a stout burly man,
accompanied by half-a-dozen representatives of the Emerald Isle, entered
the house. He was enveloped in a cloak, which he proceeded to doff in a
very leisurely manner, and then turned to make some observation to his
companions. They immediately burst out into a hearty laugh--for it was a
joke that had fallen upon their ears--a joke, too, purposely delivered
in the richest Irish brogue, and, accompanied by so comical an
expression of his round good-natured countenance that the jest was
altogether irresistible. He then proceeded slowly to his seat, saying
something good-natured to his various political friends as he passed
along. His broad-brimmed hat he retained upon his head, but of his cloak
he made a soft seat. His adherents immediately crowded around him; and
while he told them some rich racy anecdote, or delivered himself of
another jest, his broad Irish countenance expanded into an expression of
the most hearty and heart-felt good-humour. And yet that man had much to
occupy his thoughts and engage his attention; for he of whom we now
speak was Daniel O'Connell.
Close by Mr. O'Connell's place was seated a gentleman of most enormously
portly form, though little above the middle height. On the wrong side of
sixty, he was as hale, robust, and healthy-looking a man as could be
seen. His ample chest, massive limbs, ponderous body, and large head
denoted strength of no ordinary kind. His hair was iron-grey, rough, and
bushy; his eyes large, grey, and intelligent; his countenance rigid in
expression, although broad and round in shape. This was Joseph Hume.
Precisely at a quarter to five the Speaker took the chair; Mr. Greenwood
was then introduced by the Tory whipper-in, and (as the papers said next
morning) "took the oaths and his seat for Rottenborough."
The Whig whipper-in surveyed him with a glance of indignant
disappointment; but Mr. Greenwood affected not to notice the feeling
which his conduct had excited. On the contrary, he passed over to the
Opposition benches (for it must be remembered that the Whigs then
occupied the ministerial seat) where his accession to the Tory ranks was
very warmly greeted--being the more pleasant as it was totally
unexpected--by Sir Robert Peel and the other leaders of that party.
Mr. Greenwood was not a man to allow the grass to grow under his feet.
He accordingly delivered his "maiden speech" that very evening. The
question before the House was connected with the condition of the poor.
The new member was fortunate enough to catch the Speaker's eye in the
course of the debate; and he accordingly delivered his sentiments upon
the topic.
He declared that the idea of a diminution of duties upon foreign produce
was a mere delusion. The people, he said, were in a most prosperous
condition--they never were more prosperous; but they were eternal
grumblers whom nothing could satisfy. Although some of the most
enlightened men in the kingdom devoted themselves to the interests of
the people--he alluded to the party amongst whom he had the honour to
sit--the people were not satisfied. For his part, he thought that there
was too much of what was called _freedom_. He would punish all
mal-contents with a little wholesome exercise upon the tread-mill. What
presumption, he would like to know, could be greater than that of the
millions daring to have an opinion of their own, unless it were the
audacity of attempting to make that opinion the rule for those who sate
in that House? He was astounded when he heard the misrepresentations
that had just met his ears from honourable gentlemen opposite relative
to the condition of the working classes. He could prove that they ought
to put money in the savings-banks; and yet it was coolly alleged that in
entire districts they wanted bread. Well--why did they not live upon
potatoes? He could demonstrate, by the evidence of chemists and
naturalists, that potatoes were far more wholesome than bread; and for
his part he was much attached to potatoes. Indeed, he often ate his
dinner without touching a single mouthful of bread. There was a worthy
alderman at his right hand, who could no doubt prove to the House that
bread spoilt the taste of turtle. Was it not, then, a complete delusion
to raise such a clamour about bread? He (Mr. Greenwood) was really
astonished at honourable gentlemen opposite; and he should give their
measure his most strenuous opposition at every stage.
Mr. Greenwood sat down amidst loud cheers from the Tory party; and Sir
Robert Peel turned round and gave him a patronising nod of most gracious
approval. Indeed his speech must have created a very powerful sensation,
for upwards of fifty members who had been previously stretched upon the
benches in the galleries, comfortably snoozing, rose up in the middle of
their nap to listen to him.
The Conservative papers next morning spoke in raptures of the brilliancy
of the new talent which had thus suddenly developed itself in the
political heaven; while the Liberal prints denounced Greenwood's
language as the most insane farrago of anti-popular trash ever heard
during the present century.
Mr. Greenwood cared nothing for these attacks. He had gained his aims:
he had already taken a stand amongst the party with whom he had
determined to act;--he had won the smiles of the leader of that party;
and he chuckled within himself as he saw baronetcies and sinecures in
the perspective.
That night he could not sleep. His ideas were reflected back to the time
when, poor, obscure, and friendless, he had commenced his extraordinary
career in the City of London. A very few years had passed;--he was now
rich, and in a fair way to become influential and renowned. The torch of
Fortune seemed ever to light him on his way, and never to shine
obscurely for him in the momentous affairs of life:--like the fabled
light of the Rosicrucian's ever-burning lamp, the halo of that torch
appeared constantly to attend upon his steps.
Whether he thus prospered to the end, the sequel of our tale must show.