LORDS AND COMMONS.--CONTINUED.
DIRECTLY in front of the gallery where I am sitting, is the Reporter's
Gallery. There are fifteen boxes for their use to take notes in, each
reporter sitting separately from his comrade, and writing characters
for dear life. These boxes resemble private boxes in our New York Opera
House, with the difference that they have no roofs above them, and
are open to the public gaze. Behind these fifteen boxes are seats for
twenty more reporters, to take the place of those in the boxes in turn.
Each reporter takes short-hand notes for a space of ten to fifteen
minutes time, and is then relieved by his colleague, waiting above him,
who steps into his place as the other retires to the Reporter's Room,
in the corridor, to write out his notes, and thence to take them to
the newspaper office, or else, if he chooses, he may send them by the
small boys waiting in the gallery, who are employed by the newspapers
at a salary of from eight to twelve British shillings a week to act
as messengers. Late at night, it is customary for the reporter who
has notes of a very important speech--which he desires to get to the
composing-rooms of his journal, to take a cab from the Palace Yard,
where there are dozens of them always waiting, and thus dash off to be
in time for the press. The _Times_ keeps thirteen reporters constantly
in the gallery during the session, and the _Standard_ as many more,
if I am not mistaken. These men are all expert short-hand reporters,
and receive from five to eight guineas per week, according to their
capability. There is also a man who remains late to get the gist of
what is said and done in debate, and from his notes he makes up a
clear and comprehensive summary for the morning edition. Then there is
the "leader-writer," "the editor" proper, and a "special reporter,"
who receive cards of admission to that part of the house under the
Reporter's Gallery, and consequently on the floor of the House behind
the Speaker's chair. This is a high favor, and only granted most
sparingly, and with discretion.
There are generally to be found about twenty reporters in the gallery,
but this number is greatly increased on a "field night," when it is
usual to find as many as thirty-five or forty journalists in the
gallery. From what I have seen of these parliamentary reporters they
seem to be very deliberate in their movements, and they do not allow
anything to hurry them. They are nearly all, however, very pleasant
gentlemen, and with few exceptions, men of experience and scholarly
attainments, two-thirds of them being men who have taken honors at
the universities, or at Harrow, Eton, or Rugby, and in not a few
instances they have begun life by taking minor orders in the church,
and having toyed with journalism for some time they were unable at
last to resist its feverish fascination. Some few of them are in the
Inns of Court--embryo barristers during the day, and at night they
practise short-hand, earn a respectable living, and gain experience
from England's chosen representatives up in their secluded nooks in
the gallery of the House. It was not always that the press and its
reporters had such privileges as they now possess in the House of
Commons.
[Sidenote: 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 the _Gentleman's_ and _London 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 department of the
_Gentleman's Magazine_ was 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 of Parliament_, 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.
[Sidenote: 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 in
London, 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.
[Illustration: 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 my CLUB."
[Sidenote: 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 clause in 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.
[Illustration: 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 of danger 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.
[Sidenote: 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 their honorable 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.
[Sidenote: AMBASSADOR LAYARD.]
Physically speaking, a majority of the members are gallant-looking
fellows, and they are all dressed simply, but with the taste 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 aristocratic faction 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.
[Sidenote: 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 a
maiden 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 he were 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.
[Illustration: 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.
[Sidenote: 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 a _bon
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 certainly would 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 the _Times_,
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.
[Illustration: 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 Lowe never faltered in his career. The more pitiless were his
adversaries in argument, the more pitiless became Robert Lowe.
[Sidenote: 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, the _Saturday 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.
[Sidenote: 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. Both Hope
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 in the 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.
[Sidenote: 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 administration of 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 of age 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.
[Illustration: 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 marked
and 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.
[Sidenote: 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."
[Sidenote: DANIEL O'CONNELL.]
And so the night passes on in the House, member after member getting
upon his honorable legs, and the small hours come on apace, and the
small talk continues, and the Speaker comes in and goes out, yet still
the House remains in Committee--a very wearisome night it is, and hot
and close in the galleries, and many sleep the sleep of exhaustion in
the legislative arena--while off in green fields and on grassy meads,
by lakes and rivers, the dew falls heavily, and the English Moon shines
with a soft light all over the broad land.
It is amusing to see the Speaker of the House settle a point of order
when members become obstreperous, with his little cocked hat in his
hand, or to see him reprimand a member who crosses the horizon of a
member who is addressing the House. This last offence is considered
a great breach of etiquette, and the Speaker always instructs the
offender that he should have made a tour around the House to avoid
giving offence to the orator. Sometimes a tired member will notice that
there is not a sufficient number of members in the House to transact
business, and if he wishes to escape a threatened monstrous debate, he
must notify the Speaker that there is not a quorum present. Perhaps the
Speaker may desire to rush some business through, and he will therefore
have to be notified several times before he will take warning to count
the members, which he does at last with slow reluctance.
It has been the privilege of any member (from time immemorial,) to
inform the Speaker that there are strangers in the gallery, meaning
ladies, reporters, or any one who is not a member of Parliament. When
so notified, the Speaker, by this musty old rule, is compelled to order
the strangers to leave the House. Thirty years ago Daniel O'Connell
quarreled with the London _Times_, and that paper in revenge would not
print his speeches. O'Connell determined to be even with the journal,
and whenever he saw a _Times'_ reporter in the gallery, he would cry
out, "Mr. Speaker, I beg to call your attention to the fact that
there are strangers in the gallery." Then the Speaker would order the
galleries cleared, and the _Times'_ reporters had to take their note
books and march off disgusted. It was not long before the _Times_ gave
in and stopped the fight, and O'Connell's speeches were reported with
fidelity. This has always been regarded as a joke of O'Connell's, but I
see that lately a Scotch member named Craufurd, who represents the town
of Ayr, and is also editor of the _Legal Examiner_, has been putting
O'Connell's joke in practice.
Miss Florence Nightingale, Miss Lydia Beckett, and Miss Harriett
Martineau, as well as many other well known ladies, have been for
some time working with great zeal for the repeal of the act which
licenses prostitution in garrison towns. Many members of the House are
opposed to the repeal of the act, and consequently when the question
of repealing it came up in the House, and just as the debate had
opened, the member for Ayr, Mr. Craufurd, rose and said, "Mr. Speaker,
I beg to call your attention to the fact that there are strangers in
the gallery," pointing to the gallery where a few ladies had placed
themselves, for the purpose of hearing a question of so much moment to
their sex, discussed. The Speaker and many members urged Mr. Craufurd
not to look that way, and to permit the obnoxious persons to stay where
they were; but with Scotch obstinacy he insisted, and Mr. Bouverie
upheld him in it, saying, "I believe it is an undoubted rule of the
House, sir, that if an honorable member does notice the presence of
strangers, the galleries are cleared." Accordingly they were cleared;
the reporters, as well as the ladies, were put out, and then the debate
went on for several hours. At the close of this, the Prime minister,
Mr. Gladstone, got up and lectured Mr. Craufurd for his ill-timed
modesty, telling him that the feeling of the whole House was against
him. The debate was therefore adjourned, by a strong vote of 229 to 88,
to come up again in the presence of reporters, and most likely, of such
strangers of either sex as may choose to come in.
[Sidenote: DUCAL HOUSES.]
The House of Lords is the Upper House of Parliament; in England all
bills that are born in the Commons have to be confirmed by the Lords
and signed by the Queen, before they become part of the statutory law
of the land. There are about four hundred of these legislators in the
House of Peers, for it must be understood that every nobleman does not
sit by right in the House of Lords. In many families the privilege is
hereditary, and generation after generation a family is represented by
the oldest son, who, on the death of his father, takes the seat made
vacant in the Lords. The highest rank of nobility in England is that of
Duke. There are eighteen nobles who enjoy the Ducal dignity in England,
two in Ireland, and six in Scotland. They are as follows:
English Dukes.--Norfolk, Somerset, Richmond and Lennox, Grafton,
Beaufort, St. Albans, Leeds, Bedford, Devonshire, Marlborough, Rutland,
Manchester, Newcastle, Northumberland, Wellington, Buckingham and
Chandos, Sutherland, and Cleveland.
Irish Dukes.--Leinster, Abercorn.
Scotch Dukes.--Hamilton and Brandon, Buccleuch, Argyll, Athole,
Montrose, and Roxburghe.
There is only one Duchess in her own right--the Duchess of Inverness,
which is a Scotch title. On state occasions Dukes wear velvet robes and
ducal caps of state, with strawberry leaves in gold.
A stranger addressing one of these Dukes, has to begin his letter as
follows:
"My Lord Duke, may it please your Grace." And in state proceedings a
Duke is styled "High, Puissant, and Noble Prince." There are Dukes
and Dukes. Dukes of the royal blood are still higher in rank than the
noble Dukes. The eldest son of the reigning monarch always bears the
title of "Prince of Wales." The eldest daughter is called the "Princess
Royal." This princess is married to the Crown Prince of Prussia. These
two dignitaries, according to court etiquette, are served by the
attendants, when at table, on bended knees with uncovered heads. Those
admitted to kiss their hands must also kneel. In the House of Lords,
when the Queen is present, the Prince of Wales, as heir apparent, sits
on the right hand of Her Majesty, while Prince Albert always sat on her
left hand. The younger sons of the Queen, when they are Peers, sit on
the left hand of the throne, but after the father dies, they sit below
the Wool Sack, (a huge fiery red bed-tick full of wool, on which the
Lord Chancellor takes it easy when the Lords are in session,) on the
bench assigned to the other Dukes.
The Prince of Wales, when on his throne, wears a robe of ermine, a
cape of ermine, and a red velvet cap, with a gold tassel over a gold
crown, ornamented with pearls. The younger sons and daughters have no
diamonds, pearls, or crosses surmounting their diadems--unlike the
Prince of Wales.
The three highest subjects after the Queen and the Royal Family in
England, are: First, The Lord Archbishop of Canterbury. Second, The
Lord High Chancellor of England. Third, The Lord Archbishop of York.
The Archbishop of Canterbury, who is Primate of England, is styled in
public documents, and he also writes himself, "The most Reverend Father
in God, the Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, by Divine Providence." The
Archbishop of York signs himself, "By Divine Permission," as do all the
other Bishops. There are only two Ecclesiastical Provinces in England,
those of York and Canterbury, and two Archbishops. In the House of
Lords the Archbishops and Bishops, (excepting the Irish Bishops now
disfranchised,) sit as Spiritual Peers, and the two Archbishops wear
Ducal Coronets--the Bishops wearing fillets of gold on their heads,
with pearls and jewels. The Bishop of Sodor and Man, and the junior
Bishops have no seats in the House of Lords. A Bishop ranks next to a
Viscount. The nobility of Great Britain own three-fifths of the landed
property of the Kingdom, while starvation and want run riot in the land.
England is studded with parks, villas, castles, game preserves, rabbit
warrens, trout streams and deer parks, all of which are held by right
of primogeniture. No poor man can enter these beautiful ancestral
domains, and the severest penal punishments are meted out to those poor
wretches who dare to infringe on the game laws.
The English nobility are not cowardly or treacherous, but many of the
younger members are very corrupt, extravagant, and reckless, and no
doubt in time their order will pass away, for they are out of place in
this century.
[Sidenote: PRIVILEGES OF THE PEERS.]
England has nineteen Dukes, seventeen Marquises, one hundred and
three Earls, one Countess (widow of an Earl), nineteen Viscounts, one
Viscountess, and one hundred and fifty-two Barons.
Ireland has two Dukes, twelve Marquises, sixty-four Earls, and sixty
Barons, besides twelve Viscounts. When three Irish Peers die in
succession without issue, one other Irish Peer is created to fill the
gap.
Scotland has seven Dukes, four Marquises, forty-four Earls, five
Viscounts, and twenty-five Barons. The wife of a Duke is entitled
"Duchess," the wife of a Marquis "Marchioness," the wife of an Earl is
a "Countess," the wife of a Viscount is called a "Viscountess," and
the wife of a Baron enjoys the title of "Baroness." The better-half
of a Baronet, which is a title bestowed upon fat aldermen and rich
manufacturers--being a cheap order of knighthood, conferred by the
Queen, is called "My Lady This," or "My Lady That," as the case may be.
The people of England are heartily tired of their nobility, and the
success of American principles upon this continent has a tendency
to cause the destruction of this social outrage upon the Nineteenth
Century.
Peers, or members of the House of Lords, have many privileges which
others of noble blood do not enjoy. A Peer can only be tried for High
Treason or murder by his Peers, who compose the House of Lords, and the
trial takes place in a session of that body specially convened for that
purpose, after the fashion here described.
The Peers having taken their seats in full, flowing robes, the Lord
Chancellor seats himself on the Woolsack in the middle of the House of
Lords, the Garter-King-at-Arms, in his gorgeous surcoat and tabard,
makes proclamation of the offences against the culprit Peer. The Lord
High Steward puts the question to each peer in his seat, after the
evidence has been heard;
"Is the prisoner at the Bar Guilty or Not Guilty?"
Then each Peer, rising, says, "Guilty," or, "Not Guilty upon my Honor,"
as the case may be. A Peer cannot be taken into custody unless for
an indictable offence. This is also a parliamentary privilege of the
members of the House of Commons, who cannot be arrested for debt while
the House is in session, or while attending the proceedings, or going
to or from Parliament. An old custom of England allows a Peer, going to
or from Parliament, the privilege of killing one or two deer belonging
to the Sovereign, after he has blown a horn. This is very seldom done
now-a-days. A Peer cannot be bound over to keep the peace, excepting
in the Court of Queen's Bench. Slander against a Peer is known in the
courts as _scan. mag._ and is severely punishable.
A Peer cannot lose his title of nobility excepting by death, or when
he has been attainted for High Treason. He is allowed to answer to a
bill in Chancery upon his word, and is not required to take an oath.
The Sovereign may degrade a Peer from his rank for wasting his estate,
as in the case of George Neville, Duke of Bedford, who had led a
dissolute life and had squandered all his fortune. He was deprived of
his title, honors, and possessions, by Edward IV, the latter being
forfeited to the Crown. If that precedent was followed in these times,
a great number of scampish young nobles would lose their titles and the
remnants of princely estates.
Lately, I believe, Parliament has ordered it so that a Peer may be
proceeded against for debt, as in the case of the bankrupt Duke of
Newcastle. Besides all these manifold privileges, which exist for
the benefit of the nobility, the Diplomatic Service is chiefly for
their support, and here, as in the Foreign Office, fat sinecures are
available at all times, for the improvident and spendthrift nobles.
Some idea of the rich prizes of the Diplomatic Service may be got from
the following list of salaries of the different Ambassadors, Ministers,
and Charges d'Affaires, at the principal countries with which Great
Britain holds intercourse. The salaries I give are those of the
Ministers alone, not including the salaries of attaches, and they are
thus enumerated:
[Sidenote: SALARIES OF AMBASSADORS.]
France, £10,000; Turkey, £8,000; Russia, £7,800; Austria, £8,000;
Prussia, £7,000; Spain, £5,000; United States, £5,000; Portugal,
£4,000; Brazil, £4,000; Netherlands, £3,600; Belgium, £3,480; Italy,
£5,000; Bavaria, £3,600; Denmark, £3,600; Sweden, £3,000; Greece,
£3,500; Switzerland, £2,500; Wirtemberg, £2,000; Argentine Republic,
£3,000; Central American Republics, £2,000; Chili, £2,000; Peru,
£2,000; Columbia, £2,000; Venezuela, £2,000; Ecuador, £1,400; Coburg,
£400; Dresden, £500; Darmstadt, £500; Rome, £800; Persia, £5,000;
China, £6,000; and Japan, £4,000.
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