England, Ireland, Scotland, and our forty colonies are ruled, not from
Downing-street, not from Privy Councils at Buckingham Palace, nor by the
_Times_ newspaper, as some pretend, nor even by the stump orator, but by
the Lobby of the House of Commons. This I know, that if I were a member
of the United Kingdom Alliance, and wished to root up the liquor traffic
in England--that if I were a Scotchman, and endeavoured to confirm and
extend the provisions of the Forbes Mackenzie Act--that even were I of
the Green Isle, and raised the cry of justice for Ireland, whatever that
may mean--I'd plant myself in the Lobby of the House of Commons, and
there win victory or die.
Externally the Lobby is a handsome one; little more. Mr. Timbs tells me
it is "a rich apartment, forty-five feet square, and has on each side an
archway, carved open screens, inscribed _Domine salvam fac Reginam_, and
windows painted with the arms of parliamentary boroughs. The brass gas
standards by Hardman are elaborately chased. The doorways lead to the
library, the post-office, vote paper office, central hall, &c." Is this
all? Yes, is the answer of one of the matter-of-fact class, of whom
Peter Bell is such an illustrious example.
We are not all Peter Bells. We are of those who can read sermons in
stones. We fancy for every why there is a wherefore. Wealthy men, and
busy men, and great men, don't stand talking and grimacing for nothing;
and when I catch one member in a corner with Brown I am not greenhorn
enough to suppose that they are merely inquiring after each other's
health, or commenting on the extraordinary mildness of the season, and
its probable effect on the growth of cabbages. No, no, you may be
certain that the Lobby of the House of Commons, where I have seen our
greatest statesmen, our proudest peers, the nation's most illustrious
guests, ambassadors, and princes, and wags, is not the place for small
talk. Without studying "De Morgan on Probabilities" (a sin of which I am
never likely to be guilty), you will not be far wrong if you come to the
conclusion that in the Lobby, somehow or other, between the hours 4 P.M.
and 2 A.M., not a little business is settled more or less agreeable to
all parties concerned. (Of course I am not referring to the young sprigs
of nobility, who come into the House merely as an amusement, and without
the slightest idea of the rights and duties of their class, and who are
neither more nor less than a parody upon the representative system of
which we are all so proud.) A few sentences will point to the
significancy of the Lobby. Every member of the House of Commons passes
through the Lobby. That is a given fact. Another is, that the Treasury
Whipper-in affects the Lobby. Another is, that if you have anything to
say to your member, or if he has anything to say to you, the Lobby is the
place of rendezvous. These facts are suggestive. I am member for
Bullock Smithy. I am not wealthy, and I have a large family. The
Ministry are hard driven, one vote will save them. I meet their
Whipper-in in the Lobby. We have a little chat. I give an honest vote,
and virtue is rewarded by the appointment of my son to a place in the
Circumlocution Office. "This is an exaggeration!" exclaims the general
public. Let me then, give another case. I am member for Bullock Smithy;
I am rich, but I have no family, and I am a man of no birth. I'd give my
ears, and my wife would not merely give them, but her diamond earrings as
well, to see her name in the _Court Circular_, or to get a ticket to Lady
Plantagenet's Sunday-evening parties. Promiscuously I hint this in the
Lobby, and lo! the magician's wand waves, and I and my wife enter the
stately portals we had long aspired to cross. If certain parties, in the
course of the parliamentary session, find there is nothing lost by
civility, where's the harm? But look round the Lobby; the electioneering
agent is there to discuss how to make things pleasant; the getter-up of
public companies comes there to catch a few M.P.'s as directors. There
is the local deputation of the Stoke Gas Company--limited
liability--whose Bill stand for reading a third time to-night; and there
is the Secretary of the United Metropolitan Association for making every
householder consume his own smoke. Smith from the provinces has caught
his member's eye, and has got an order for the gallery. Alas, Smith, the
gallery has been full this hour; and there are now fifty individuals,
fortunate holders of orders like yourself, waiting their turn. Here is
"Our Correspondent" gossiping with the door-keepers, attacking every
member with whom he is on speaking terms, in order that he may concoct
the luminous epistles which form the attraction of the paper whose
columns he adorns. This man is a spouter at public-house discussion
clubs, and fancies himself, as he stands surrounded by M.P.'s, almost an
M.P. himself. What does he here? I know not, except waste his time. A
grand debate is coming on; a ministerial crisis is imminent. How full
the Lobby gets; and how scrutinised is every action of hon. gentlemen as
they take a turn, as they all do in the course of the evening, in the
Lobby! There is the leader of the Opposition; he meets his bitterest
foe, and bows to him and smiles. In what agony are the quidnuncs to know
the hidden meaning of that bow and smile! The Ministerialist Whipper-in
has a little book in his hand, and is busy in his calculation. By the
twinkle in his eye I fancy it is all right; and now he may whistle
"Begone, dull care, I prythee begone from me." He need not fear next
quarter-day. Ah! that cheer which comes sounding to us through the glass
doors denotes that the Premier has concluded his defence, and that the
House is on his side. But out rushes the Sergeant-at-Arms. "Clear the
Lobby for a division," exclaim the door-keepers. The police point us the
door: we take the hint while all the bells are tinkling, and all the
members are rushing from every quarter, through the Lobby to the House,
as if members and bells were alike mad. We wait outside. By the clock
nearly a half-hour is gone. Hark, what a cheer! By Jove! the division
is taken, and the ministry are saved. It is midnight; yet the Lobby is
full and gay. We won't go home yet. Just behind is the bar, and members
are drinking pale ale and sherry, and soda with a little brandy in it,
and the whole place begins to have the air of the London Tavern after an
anniversary dinner on behalf of the Indignant Blind. Look at those
swells just entering the House: evidently they have been dining out, and
presently one of them will speak, and the whole House will be in a roar
at his vinous oratory; out in the Lobby we catch faint echoes of the
mirth. The House is in committee on the Cab Act, and are now enacting a
clause relative to drunken and disorderly cabmen. Our friend is
vehement, inconclusive, and indistinct. Happily the reporters will
merely mention that he addressed the House amidst considerable laughter.
As we leave the Lobby, we hear hints about "physician, heal thyself."