_House of Commons, Monday Night, February 11._--The other day rumour
about that TIM HEALY, weary of strife, finding how sharper than a
serpent's tooth is the enmity of parted friends, had resolved to
retire from political life. That news, if true, would eclipse the
gaiety of Parliament. TIM'S manner may not be precisely described as
gay. It is, in truth, somewhat saturnine; rather raspy, occasionally
vitriolic. If there is any instruction to be conveyed, TIM approves
the fashion of the ancient Israelitish captain, who "taught the men of
Succoth with thorns of the wilderness and briars." TIM'S former
colleagues, now ranged under modest leadership of JOHN REDMOND, are,
he conscientiously believes, much in need of instruction. So to-night
TIM "taught them" with thorns of the wilderness and briars.
A brisk debate, falling into most attractive sequence. This in measure
accidental; looked like admirable stage management. First JOHN
REDMOND, with his neatly-moulded phrases, his assumption of profound
statecraft, his assertion that Tories please him not, nor Liberals
either; his conclusion that since Government are on friendly terms
with the major Irish Party, the minor (nine strong) will march into
lobby with PRINCE ARTHUR, whom they used to hate, and JOSEPH of
Birmingham, whom they scarcely love. Next JOHN MORLEY, stirred to
unusually profound depths, his speech glowing above the unwonted fire.
Then PRINCE ARTHUR, gracefully skating on exceedingly thin ice,
incidentally dropping into imagery on successive phases of the married
state, which House, ever alert for personal references, listened to
with quickened interest. A scholar's current speech or writing is
insensibly tinctured with flavour of his latest study. Odd that just
now PRINCE ARTHUR should display this curiously minute knowledge and
appreciation of various phases of married life as it is to be studied
in books of reference.
Finally, TIM, his truculence tempered by humour of the situation. JOHN
REDMOND protested he had made no bargain with Opposition in
transferring to them his handful of votes. PRINCE ARTHUR had confirmed
disclaimer. Too much for tender-hearted TIM. Tears glistened in his
eyes; his voice trembled; his hand shook; his body seemed to grow
limp, as he lamented this last degeneration of ancient Irish spirit.
"I have," he said, "been in alliance with the Tory Party before now,
and may be again; but I know of no occasion when any Irish party gave
their votes unless they got something for them."
That only TIM'S fun. Overcoming his emotion, he, with ruthless force,
pitiless logic, laid bare position of the new Party of the Muses.
_Business done._--Parnellite Amendment, supported by Unionists,
negatived by 256 against 236.
_Tuesday._--If you want to make your flesh creep, you should have
heard the SPEAKER just now challenging the Lord Mayor of Dublin, whom
he discovered standing at Bar; and, as Sir WILFRID LAWSON adds, "not
drinking." Lord Mayor got up in gorgeous apparel; scarlet gown,
ermine-tipped, with gold chain gleaming across manly chest. Recalls
days of yesteryear when DAWSON was Lord Mayor of Dublin. Being also
Member for an Irish constituency, no autocratic SPEAKER might
challenge his right to cross the Bar, whether in civilian dress, or in
robes of office. On occasions when he had a petition to deliver he
came down, cloaked, in a four-wheeler. Made the heart of Mr. COVE in
Members' cloak-room stand still, when he suddenly threw back his
wraps, and disclosed glittering garb beneath. Sat on front bench below
gangway with inadequate legs partially crossed, his chain mysteriously
clanking, motion understood at time to serve double purpose of calling
attention to Lord Mayor's presence, and of hinting at the kind of bond
that held Ireland to Great Britain.
Present Lord Mayor of Dublin, not being a Member had to sue for
admission at door of House. Word passed to Sergeant-at-Arms; gallant
officer, having heard something of Irish habits, observed precaution
of shouldering mace before he went out to confront the strangers. If
they had shillelaghs, the mace, twirled about by lusty arms, might be
reckoned on to keep the gate. The messengers not behind in military
precaution; hauled out the bar--the veritable Bar of House of Commons
of which we hear so much and see so little.
"Now," said the oldest Messenger, folding his arms and clenching his
teeth, "let them do their worst."
Sergeant-at-Arms marched in, mace on shoulder, escorting Lord Mayor
and two sheriffs. If they had meant mischief they thought better of it
on looking round. Lord Mayor might, it is true, if he were in good
condition have vaulted over bar or ducked beneath it, and run amuck up
floor. But then the sheriffs, before they could have imitated him,
would have been awfully mauled with the mace.
Any piratical mention that may have lurked in minds of the insurgents
was finally crushed by really awful tone in which the SPEAKER, fixing
glittering eye on group at bar, said, "My Lord Mayor of Dublin, what
have you there?"
Members expected trembling culprit would produce from under his cloak
the horse-pistol, dagger, cup of poison, or whatever he may have
brought with him with felonious intent. But he meekly answered, "A
petition." This he unfolded, and as he showed a disposition to read it
through, Members went off.
_Business done._--Another day passed talking round Address. NAOROJI
moved Amendment raising question of financial relations between
England and India. Read a paper of prodigious length; beat the tom-tom
for nearly an hour. "In churches," said the (almost) Reverend JEMMY
LOWTHER, "an incumbent sometimes reads himself in. NAOROJI reads his
congregation out. Mayn't be quite so black as the MARKISS painted him,
but he's quite as long-winded as could have been expected."
_Thursday._--New Session not quite a fortnight old, and lo! a strange
thing has happened. Electric bells struck--I mean they won't strike.
When, just now, House cleared for division on Amnesty motion electric
knobs touched as usual. Thereupon should have followed
tintinnabulation of the bells in all the rooms and corridors outside
the Chamber. Only little tinkle heard; sort of weird mocking laugh,
"Ha! ha!" and then silence.
Consequences might have been serious. Last thing well-trained Member
regards as absolute preliminary to voting is to sit throughout the
debate. Scattered far and wide, in library, tea-room, dining-room, or
smoking-room, when they hear the bell they rush in to vote. If they
don't hear it they stop where they are. Difficulty temporarily
overcome by sending policemen and messengers bawling along all the
passages, "Division! division!" This all very well for the moment; but
what is to be done about the bells?
ALBERT ROLLIT, steeped in parliamentary usages, says, "If the bells
won't obey the SPEAKER'S order, send them to the Clock Tower."
STUART promptly places at disposal of SPEAKER a squadron of _Star_
boys, to run about premises on given signal and proclaim division.
"They'd do it much better than the policemen and messengers," he says.
True; but as Colonel LEGGE apprehends, they would be certain in
excitement of moment, instead of calling out "Division," to lapse into
more familiar cry, "Hextra Speshul!" That would never do. Simplest
plan is to stop this interminable talk round the Address and get to
work. When the electric bells shut up in sheer disgust at waste of
time, grown-up men of business may be expected to reconsider the
position.
_Business done._--TIM HARRINGTON talked for two hours and five minute
about ancient history of Maamtrasna.
_Friday._--Much murmuring below Gangway just now because to programme
of Session already overloaded Government decline to add Bill providing
for payment of Members. SAGE OF QUEEN ANNE'S GATE been observed to
regard this topic with smiling equanimity. Secret of his content now
disclosed. Papers report how Spanish merchant, resident in Barcelona,
having studied SAGE'S public Parliamentary career, begs leave, as
trifling indication of his esteem and admiration, to be permitted to
pay SAGE'S election expenses whenever incurred.
"'Tis a pretty variation on Spanish devotional habit," says PLUNKET,
who has followed BORROW'S footsteps in Spain, "More especially in
rural districts, pious men approach the shrine of favourite saint and
hang upon it an offering, peradventure poor in intrinsic value, but
rich in proportion to their revenues. Expect by-and-by the SAGE will
be canonised, and straying by the banks of the Guadalquivir, you shall
here and there come upon shrines to Saint LABBY, rich with votive
offerings."
[Illustration: Labby's Share.]
"That may be so," said GORST. "You're always ready to take the poetic
view of a thing. But I'd like to wait and see the colour of the money.
You know the SAGE has long been firing away at enterprising traders in
Spain who, usually dating their missives from a State prison, offer
for a slight consideration to disclose fabulous stores of hidden
wealth. The SAGE has spoiled their little game. Should like to be
quite sure they've not broken out in a new place, and are trying it on
first with the SAGE."
_Business done._--Set-to between the Birmingham Cock and the
Yorkshire-cum-Fifeshire Bantam. Odds at first in favour of the
veteran. Admitted on both sides the young 'un beat him hollow.
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