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THE MOTHER OF PARLIAMENTS

[Illustration: THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT]




  THE MOTHER OF
  PARLIAMENTS

  BY

  HARRY GRAHAM

  AUTHOR OF "A GROUP OF SCOTTISH WOMEN"

  WITH TWENTY ILLUSTRATIONS

  BOSTON
  LITTLE, BROWN, & COMPANY
  1911
  TO
  MY WIFE




PREFACE


The history of England's Parliament is the history of the English
people. To the latter it must consequently prove a source of
never-failing interest. That it does so is clearly shown by the long
list of writers who have sought and found inspiration in the subject.
To add to their number may perhaps seem an unnecessary, even a
superfluous, task. This volume may indeed be likened to that "Old
Piece in a New Dress" to which Petyt compared his _Lex Parliamentaria_.
"These things, men will say, have been done before; the same Matter,
and much the same Form, are to be found in other Writers, and this is
but to obtrude upon the World a vain Repetition of other men's
observations." But although the frank use of secondhand matter cannot
in this case be denied, it is to be hoped that even the oldest and
most threadbare material may be woven into a fresh pattern, suitable
to modern taste.

In these democratic days a seat in either House of Parliament is no
longer the monopoly of a single privileged class: it lies within the
reach of all who can afford the luxury of representing either
themselves or their fellows at Westminster. It is therefore only
natural that the interest in parliamentary affairs should be more
widely disseminated to-day than ever. It does not confine itself to
actual or potential members of both Houses, but is to be found in the
bosom of the humblest constituent, and even of that shadowy individual
vaguely referred to as the Man in the Street. Though, however, the
interest in Parliament is widespread, a knowledge of parliamentary
forms, of the actual conduct of business in either House, of the
working of the parliamentary machine, is less universal.

At the present time the sources of information open to the student of
parliamentary history may roughly be regarded as twofold. For the
earnest scholar, desirous of examining the basis and groundwork of the
Constitution, the birth and growth of Parliament, the gradual
extension and development of its power, its privileges and procedure,
the writings of all the great English historians, and of such
parliamentary experts as Hatsell, May, Palgrave, Sir William Anson,
Sir Courtenay Ilbert and Professor Redlich, provide a rich mine of
information. That more considerable section of the reading public
which seeks to be entertained rather than instructed, can have its
needs supplied by less technical but no less able parliamentary
writers--Sir Henry W. Lucy, Mr. T. P. O'Connor, Mr. MacDonagh--none of
whom, as a rule, attempts to do more than touch lightly upon
fundamental Constitutional questions.

The idea of combining instruction with amusement is one from which
every normal-minded being naturally shrinks: the attempt generally
results in the failure either to inform or entertain. There does,
however, seem to be room for a volume on the subject of Parliament
which shall be sufficiently instructive to appeal to the student, and
yet not so technical as to alarm or repel the general reader. It is
with the object of supplying the need for such a book that the
following pages have been written.

An endeavour to satisfy the tastes of every class of reader and at the
same time to cover the whole field of parliamentary history within the
limits of a single volume, must necessarily lead to many errors of
admission as well as of omission. The material at the disposal of the
author is so vast, and the difficulties of rejection and selection are
equally formidable. Much of the information given must perforce be so
familiar as to appear almost hackneyed. Many of the stories with which
these pages are sprinkled bear upon them the imprint of extreme old
age; they are grey with the cobwebs of antiquity. But while the
epigram of the past is too often the commonplace of the present, the
witty anecdote of one generation, which seems to another to plumb the
uttermost abysses of fatuity, may yet survive to be considered a
brilliant example of humour by a third. The reader, therefore, who
recognises old favourites scattered here and there about the
letterpress, will deride or tolerate them in accordance with the
respect or contempt that he entertains for the antique.

I cannot lay claim to the possession of expert parliamentary
knowledge, though perhaps, after close upon fifteen years' residence
within the precincts of the Palace of Westminster, I may have acquired
a certain intimacy with the life and habits of the Mother of
Parliaments. For my facts I have to a great extent relied upon the
researches of numerous parliamentary writers, past and present, to
whom I have endeavoured to express my indebtedness, not only in
copious footnotes, but also in the complete list of all sources of
information given at the end of this volume. I wish to express my
thanks to the many friends and acquaintances who have so kindly
assisted me with their counsel and encouragement; to Mr. Kenyon, Mr.
Sidney Colvin and the officials of the Print Room and Reading Room at
the British Museum; to Sir Alfred Scott-Gatty, Garter King-at-Arms; to
Mr. Edmund Gosse, Librarian of the House of Lords, and other officers
of both Houses. My thanks are particularly due to Sir Henry Graham,
Clerk of the Parliaments, who placed his unique parliamentary
experience at my disposal, and whose invaluable advice and assistance
have so greatly tended to lighten and facilitate my literary labours.

  H. G.




CONTENTS


  CHAP.                                            PAGE

        PREFACE                                       v

     I. PARLIAMENT AND PARTY                          1

    II. THE HOUSE OF LORDS                           18

   III. THE HOUSE OF COMMONS                         39

    IV. THE PALACE OF WESTMINSTER                    60

     V. HIS MAJESTY'S SERVANTS                       81

    VI. THE LORD CHANCELLOR                         103

   VII. THE SPEAKER                                 119

  VIII. THE OPENING OF PARLIAMENT                   135

    IX. RULES OF DEBATE                             158

     X. PARLIAMENTARY PRIVILEGE AND PUNISHMENT      173

    XI. PARLIAMENTARY DRESS AND DEPORTMENT          189

   XII. PARLIAMENTARY ELOQUENCE                     203

  XIII. PARLIAMENT AT WORK (I.)                     225

   XIV. PARLIAMENT AT WORK (II.)                    242

    XV. STRANGERS IN PARLIAMENT                     259

   XVI. PARLIAMENTARY REPORTING                     275

        SOURCES AND REFERENCES                      288

        INDEX                                       299




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


  THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT                                _Frontispiece_
      From a Photograph by J. VALENTINE & SONS

  FACING
  PAGE

  THE HOUSE OF LORDS IN 1742                                          26
      From an Engraving by JOHN PINE

  THE HOUSE OF COMMONS IN 1742                                        46
      From an Engraving by JOHN PINE

  WESTMINSTER HALL IN 1797                                            62
      From an Engraving by C. MOSLEY

  THE REMAINS OF ST. STEPHEN'S CHAPEL AFTER THE FIRE OF 1834          72
      From a Lithograph after the Drawing by JOHN TAYLOR, JR.

  SIR ROBERT WALPOLE                                                  84
      From the Painting by FRANCIS HAYMAN, R.A., in the National
      Portrait Gallery

  CHATHAM                                                             92
      From the Painting by WILLIAM HOARE, R.A., in the National
      Portrait Gallery

  A CABINET MEETING (THE COALITION MINISTRY OF 1854)                 100
      From the Drawing by SIR JOHN GILBERT

  LORD ELDON                                                         114
      From the Painting by SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE, P.R.A., in the
      National Portrait Gallery

  CHARLES ABBOT (LORD COLCHESTER)                                    124
      From the Painting by JOHN HOPPNER, R.A., in the National
      Portrait Gallery

  THE TREASURY BENCH IN 1863                                         138
      From an Engraving after the Painting by J. PHILIP

  THE HOUSE OF COMMONS IN 1910                                       162
      From a Photograph by London Electrotype Agency

  THE HOUSE OF COMMONS IN 1835                                       186
      From an Engraving by SAMUEL COUSINS from the Painting
      by H. W. BURGESS

  HENRY BROUGHAM (QUEEN CAROLINE'S ATTORNEY-GENERAL, AFTERWARDS
      LORD HIGH CHANCELLOR OF GREAT BRITAIN)                         194
      From the Painting by JAMES LONSDALE in the National Portrait
      Gallery

  THE HOUSE OF COMMONS IN WALPOLE'S DAY                              200
      From the Engraving by A. FOGG

    The figures from left to right are:--SIR ROBERT WALPOLE, the RT.
        HON. ARTHUR ONSLOW, SYDNEY GODOLPHIN (Father of the House),
        SIR JOSEPH JEKYL, COL. ONSLOW, EDWARD STABLES, ESQ. (Clerk of
        House of Commons), SIR JAMES THORNHILL, MR. AISKEW (Clerk
        Assistant).

  EDMUND BURKE                                                       206
      From an Engraving by J. WATSON after the Painting by SIR
      J. REYNOLDS

  RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN                                          212
      From an Engraving by J. HALL after the Painting by SIR
      J. REYNOLDS

  THE PASSING OF THE REFORM BILL IN THE HOUSE OF LORDS               246
      From an Engraving after the Painting by SIR J. REYNOLDS

  THE HOUSE OF LORDS IN 1910                                         268
      From a Photograph by London Electrotype Agency

  WILLIAM WOODFALL                                                   284
      From the Painting by THOMAS BEACH in the National Portrait
      Gallery




THE MOTHER OF PARLIAMENTS




CHAPTER I

PARLIAMENT AND PARTY


It has been asserted that the different social conditions of various
peoples have their origin, not so much in climate or parentage, as in
the character of their governments. If that be true, there is little
doubt that the social conditions of England should compare most
favourably with those of sister nations. But the admirable form of
Government to which Englishmen have now long been accustomed, did not
come into existence in the course of a single night. "The resemblance
between the present Constitution and that from which it originally
sprang," says an eighteenth-century writer, "is not much nearer than
that between the most beautiful fly and the abject worm from which it
arose."[1] And the conversion of the chrysalis into the butterfly has
been a slow and troublesome process.

  [1] King's "Essay on the English Constitution," p. 17.

Montesquieu, who was an earnest student of the English Constitution,
after reading the treatise of Tacitus on the manners of the early
Germans, declared that it was from them that England had borrowed her
idea of political government. Whether or no this "beautiful system was
first invented in the woods,"[2] as he says, it is certain that we owe
the primary principles of our existing constitution to German
sources. They date back to the earliest days of the first settlements
of Teutons on the Kentish shores.

  [2] "The Spirit of Laws." "Works," vol. i. p. 212.

To the word "parliament" many derivations have been assigned. Petyt
explains the name as suggesting that every member of the assembly
which it designates should _parler le ment_ or speak his mind.[3]
Another authority derives it from two Celtic words, signifying to
"speak abundantly"--a meaning which is more applicable in these
garrulous times than it was in days when debate was often punctuated
by lengthy intervals of complete silence.

  [3] "Lex Parliamentaria" (1690), p. 1.

Whatever its derivation, the word no doubt referred originally to the
"deep speech" which the kings of old held with their councillors. The
first mention of it, in connexion with a national assembly, occurs in
1246, when it was used by Matthew Prior of a general convocation of
English barons. About thirty years later it appears again in the
preamble to the First Statute of Westminster. It has now come to be
employed entirely to describe that combination of the Three Estates,
the Lords Spiritual, the Lords Temporal and the Commons, which with
the Crown form the supreme legislative government of the country.

The ancient Britons possessed a Parliament of a kind, called the
_Commune Concilium_. Under the Heptarchy each king in England enjoyed
the services of an assembly of wise men--or Witenagemot, as it was
called--which advised him upon matters of national importance. The
Witan sat as a court of justice, formed the Council of the chiefs, and
could impose taxes and even depose the King, though the latter too
often took the whole of their powers into his own hands. When the
separate kingdoms became united, their different Councils were
absorbed into the one great Gemot of Wessex. This, in Anglo-Saxon
times, was a small body, consisting of less than a score of Bishops, a
number of Ealdormen (or heads of the different shires), and certain
vassal members. This senate was undoubtedly the germ of all future
systems of Parliamentary government; and though for the first two
hundred years after the Conquest there is no historical record of the
meeting of any body corresponding to our present Parliament, from the
days of the Witenagemot to our own times the continuity of our
national assemblies has never been broken.

The parliamentary historian suffers much from the lack of early
records. None were kept in Anglo-Saxon times, the judgments of the
Witan being only recorded in the memory of the judges themselves. The
Rolls of Parliament begin with the year 1278--though the first mention
of the Commons does not occur until 1304--and somewhere about Edward
III.'s reign was written a volume called the "Vetus Codex" or "Black
Book" which contains transcripts of various parliamentary proceedings.
At the time of the restoration of Charles II., Prynne, the
antiquarian, set himself the task of exhuming old records, and
catalogued nearly a hundred parcels of ancient writs, private
petitions, and returns. The MSS. which he worked upon were so dirty
that he could not induce any one else to clean them, and was forced to
labour alone. Wearing a nightcap over his eyes, to keep out the dust,
and fortified by continual draughts of ale, he proceeded cheerfully
with this laborious undertaking upon which he finally based the book
which has made him famous.[4]

  [4] "A Brief Register of Parliamentary Writs" (1664).

The House of Commons Journals begin with Edward VI. those of the Lords
at the accession of Henry VIII. And though during the early part of
the seventeenth century speeches were reported at some length in the
Commons Journals, in the Lords only the Bills read and such matters
are recorded.[5] The material to work upon is consequently of an
exiguous nature, until we reach the later days of freedom of the Press
and publicity of debates.

  [5] Elsynge, Clerk of the Parliaments in the seventeenth century, took
  notes of the Lords' speeches, which have been published by the Camden
  Society (1870-1879).

The history of Parliament proper divides itself naturally into four
distinct periods. The first may be said to stretch from the middle of
the thirteenth to nearly the end of the fifteenth century; the second
dates from the accession of Henry VII., and extends to the Revolution
of 1688. The remaining century and a half, up to the Reform Bill of
1832, forms the third period; and with the passing of that momentous
Act commences the last and most important epoch of all.

During the first two periods of parliamentary history, the whole
authority of government was vested in the Crown; during the third it
gradually passed into the possession of the aristocracy: and it is
only within the last century that the people, through their
representatives in the House of Commons, have gained a complete
political ascendency.

From the days of the absolute monarchy of Norman sovereigns until the
reign of King John, the Crown, the Church, the Barons, and the people,
were always struggling with each other; in that reign the three last
forces combined against the King. The struggle was never subsequently
relaxed, but it took over six centuries to transfer the governing
power of the country from the hands of one individual to that of the
whole people.

Prior to the reign of Henry III., no regular legislative assembly
existed, though the King would occasionally summon councils of the
great men of the land for consultative purposes. In William the
Conqueror's time the ownership of land became the qualification for
the Witenagemot, and the National Council which succeeded that
assembly thus became a Council of the King's feudal vassals, and not
necessarily an assembly of wise men. When, however, Simon de Montford
overthrew Henry III. at Lewes, he summoned a convocation which
included representative knights and burgesses, and the parliamentary
system, thus instituted, was subsequently adopted by Edward I. "Many
things have changed," says Dr. Gardiner in his "History of England,"
"but in all main points the Parliament of England, as it exists at
this day, is the same as that which gathered around the great
Plantagenet." The first full Parliament in English history may,
therefore, be said to have been summoned by Edward I. on November 13,
1295, and represented every class of the people.

Parliament thereafter gradually resolved itself into two separate
groups; on the one hand the barons and prelates, representing the
aristocracy and the Church, on the other the knights and burgesses,
representing the county freeholders, citizens and boroughfolk. The
former constituted a High Court of Justice and final Court of Appeal;
the chief duty of the latter lay in levying taxes, and they were not
usually summoned unless the Crown were in need of money. These two
component groups originally sat together, forming a collective
assembly from which the modern Parliament has gradually developed.

In the early days of Parliament the Lords came to be regarded as the
King's Council, over which he presided in person; the Commons occupied
a secondary and insignificant position. The power of legislating was
entirely in the hands of the King, who framed whatever laws he deemed
expedient, acting on the humble petition of his people. The Crown thus
exercised absolute control over Parliament, and the royal yoke was not
destined to be thrown off for many hundreds of years.

In the reign of Edward III., the meetings of Parliament were uncertain
and infrequent; its duration was brief. Three or four Parliaments
would be held every year, and only sat for a few weeks at a time. The
King's prerogative to dissolve Parliament whenever he so desired--"of
all trusts vested in his majesty," as Burke says, "the most critical
and delicate"[6] was one of which mediæval monarchs freely availed
themselves in the days when Parliament had not yet found, nor indeed
realised, its potential strength.

  [6] "Works and Correspondence," vol. iii. p. 525. (The power to
  dissolve Parliament is still theoretically in the hands of the
  Sovereign; practically it is in those of the Cabinet. Parliament has
  only been dissolved once by the Sovereign since the beginning of the
  eighteenth century.)

During the reigns of the Tudors and Stuarts, the power of the Crown
was still supreme, though many attempts were made to weaken it. This
second period of history, between 1485 and 1688, was a time of
peculiar political stress, in which Parliament and the Crown were
engaged in a perpetual conflict. Kings maintained their influence by a
mixture of threats and cajolery which long proved effective. In 1536,
for instance, we find Henry VIII. warning the House of Commons that,
unless some measure in which he was interested were passed, certain
members of that assembly would undoubtedly lose their heads.[7]

  [7] Oldfield's "History of Great Britain and Ireland," vol. i.
        p. 280.

The Stuart kings were in the habit of suborning members of both
Houses, by the gift of various lucrative posts or the lavish
distribution of bribes. It was ever the royal desire to weaken
Parliament, and this end was attained in a variety of ways. In the
early part of the seventeenth century, we hear of Charles I. summoning
to Hampton Court certain members whose loyalty he distrusted or whose
absence from Parliament he desired. On one such occasion the Earls of
Essex and Holland refused to obey his command, saying that their
parliamentary writ had precedence of any royal summons--an expression
of independence for which they were dismissed from the Court.[8]

  [8] May's "A Breviary of the History of Parliament" (1680), p. 21.

In the time of Charles II. a definite system of influencing members of
Parliament by gifts of money was first framed, Lord Clifford, the Lord
Treasurer, being allowed a sum of £10,000 for the purpose. The fact of
holding an appointment in the pay of the Crown was in itself
considered sufficient to bind a member to vote in accordance with the
royal will. In 1685, when many members who were in the Government
service threatened to vote against the Court, Middleton, the Secretary
of State, bitterly reproached them with breach of faith. "Have you not
a troop of horse in his Majesty's service?" he asked of a certain
Captain Kendall. "Yes, my lord," was the reply, "but my brother died
last night and left me £700 a year!"[9]

  [9] Burnet's "History of His Own Times," vol. iii. p. 92 n.

Andrew Marvell has drawn a vivid but disagreeable picture of the
Parliament which was summoned immediately after the Restoration. Half
the members of the House of Commons he described as "court
cullies"--the word "to cully" meaning apparently to befool or
cheat--and in "A list of the Principal Labourers in the great Design
of Popery and Arbitrary Law," gives a catalogue of the names of over
two hundred members of Parliament who received presents from the Court
at this time.[10]

  [10] _E.g._, "Sir Edward Turner, who for a secret service had lately a
  bribe of £4000, as in the Exchequer may be seen, and about £2000
  before; and made Lord Chief Baron.

"Sir Stephen Fox--once a link boy; then a singing boy at Salisbury;
then a serving man; and permitting his wife to be common beyond sea,
at the Restoration was made Paymaster of the Guards, where he has
cheated £100,000, and is one of the Green Cloth." "Flagellum
Parliamentarium," pp. 10 and 24.

The independence of Parliament was first asserted by that staunch old
patriot Sir John Eliot, who, during the reign of Charles I., declared
to the Commons that they "came not thither either to do what the King
should command them, nor to abstain when he forbade them; they came to
continue constant, and to maintain their privileges."[11] But in spite
of such brave words, the power of the Crown was not finally subdued
until the Revolution.

  [11] Forster's "Life of Sir John Eliot," vol. i. p. 529.

The downfall of the Monarchy at the time of the Commonwealth was
followed by the temporary abolition of both Lords and Commons, the
latter disappearing in company with Cromwell's famous "bauble." The
Protector then proceeded to call together a body of "nominees," one
hundred and forty in number, who represented the various counties in
proportion to the amount of taxes each of these contributed. Of the
seven nominees supplied by London, Praise God Barebones, a Fleet
Street leather merchant, gave his name to the Parliament thus
assembled. Cromwell also created a new House of Lords, numbering about
sixty.[12]

  [12] See "Journal of the Protectorate House of Lords, from the
  original MS. in the possession of Lady Tangye, January 20, 1657, to
  April 22, 1659." House of Lords MSS. vol. iv. new series, p. 503.

With the Restoration the Crown resumed much of its former power. In
1682 the publisher of a reprint of Nathaniel Bacon's "Historical
Discourse," which declared that Kings could "do nothing as Kings but
that of Right they ought to do," and that though they might be "Chief
Commanders, yet they are not Chief Rulers," was outlawed for these
treasonable statements. It was not, indeed, until the Revolution of
1688 that the royal influence was curtailed, so small a revenue being
allowed to William III. that the ordinary expenses of government could
not be defrayed without assembling Parliament.

The attendance of the King in Parliament had been usual in early days,
but the Commons always deprecated the presence of the Sovereign in
their midst. Charles I. affords the only example of a monarch
attending a debate in the Lower House, when on that famous 4th of
January, 1642, he marched from Whitehall to Westminster, with the
intention of arresting the five leading members, Hampden, Pym, Holles,
Haselrig and Strode, authors of the Grand Remonstrance, whom he had
caused to be impeached on the preceding afternoon. The House had been
put upon its guard by Lady Carlisle, and on the eventful day, a French
officer, Hercule Langres, made his way to Westminster and warned Pym
and his colleagues of the approach of the royal troops. When therefore
the King arrived he found that his birds had already flown, and was
compelled to retire empty-handed, amid cries of "Privilege!" from
members of the outraged assembly.

In those times the desire of the Commons was to keep the Crown as
ignorant as possible on the subject of their doings. The habit of
providing the King with a daily account of Parliamentary proceedings
did not come into fashion until the end of the eighteenth century,
when the House was no longer afraid of the royal power.

The Lords have never objected as strongly as the Commons to the royal
presence. Charles II. often found the time hang heavy on his hands,
and would stroll down to the Upper House, "as a pleasant diversion."
He began by sitting quietly on the Throne, listening to the debates.
Later on he took to standing by the fireplace of the Lords, where he
was soon surrounded by many persons anxious to gain the royal ear, and
thus "broke all the decency of that House."[13] Since the accession of
Queen Anne, however, no Sovereign has been present in Parliament, save
at the opening or closing ceremonies. But long after kings had ceased
to attend Parliament in person they continued to attempt the control
of its proceedings. George III. finally brought matters to a head by
his perpetual interference with the affairs of the Commons, and caused
the passing of that momentous resolution, moved by Dunning on April 6,
1780, "that the influence of the Crown has increased, is increasing,
and ought to be diminished," which disturbed if it could not vex Dr.
Johnson.[14]

  [13] Burnet's "History of His Own Time," vol. i. p. 184.

  [14] "Public affairs vex no man," said Dr. Johnson, when asked whether
  he were not annoyed by this vote. "I have never slept an hour less,
  nor eat an ounce less meat. I would have knocked the factious dogs on
  the head, to be sure; but I was not _vexed_."

Between 1688 and 1832 political life in England was excessively
corrupt. Parliament had grown to a certain extent independent of the
Crown, but had not yet learnt to depend upon public opinion. It was
consequently a difficult body to deal with, and had to be managed by a
system of open bribery which first showed itself most conspicuously in
the shape of retaining fees paid to Scottish members.[15] In 1690 the
practice of regularly bribing members of the House of Commons was
undertaken by the Speaker, Sir John Trevor, on behalf of the Tory
party. In Queen Anne's reign a statesman paid thousands of pounds for
the privilege of being made Secretary of State, and a few years later
we find Sir Robert Walpole assuring a brother of Lord Gower that he
knew the price of every man but three in the House of Lords.[16]

  [15] Boswell's "Life of Johnson," p. 731. (Cromwell had already
  stigmatized Scotland as corrupt. He had been told, he said, that it
  was a poor country inhabited by honest people, but found that the
  country was not poor and the people anything but honest.)

  [16] Dr. King's "Anecdotes of His Own Time," p. 44.

Bribery no longer emanated direct from the Crown, but was practised
vicariously by the King through his ministers. They might object to
the system, but, as King William once said to Bishop Burnet, they had
to do with "a set of men who must be managed in this vile way or not
at all."[17] Macaulay likens the Parliament of that time to a pump
which, though it may appear dry, will, if a little water is poured
into it, produce a great flow. So, he says, £10,000 given in bribes to
Parliament would often produce a million in supplies.[18] Even Pelham,
a man of unblemished reputation in private life, saw the absolute
necessity of distributing bribes right and left. And in 1782 we find
Lord North writing to George III. to remind him that "the last general
election cost near £50,000 to the Crown, beyond which expense there
was a pension of £1000 a year to Lord Montacute and £500 a year to Mr.
Selwyn for their interest at Midhurst and Luggershall."[19]

  [17] "History of His Own Time," vol. ii. p. 76.

  [18] "History," vol. iii. p. 545.

  [19] "Correspondence of George III. and Lord North," vol. ii. p. 425.

Seats in Parliament were regularly bought and sold, the price varying
from £1500 to as much as £7000. Flood, the Irish politician, purchased
a seat in the English House of Commons for £4000. The notoriously
corrupt borough of Gatton was publicly advertised for sale in 1792,
with the power of nominating two representatives for ever, described
by the auctioneer as "an elegant contingency."[20] This same seat was
sold in 1831 by Sir Mark Wood for the huge sum of £60,000, and the
purchaser's feelings may well be imagined when, under the Reform Act
of the following year, the borough was disfranchised and rendered
worthless.[21]

  [20] Bell's "Life of Canning," p. 347.

  [21] Mark Boyd's "Social Gleanings," p. 246.

Parliament was for long in the hands of a few rich persons. Wealthy
individuals would buy property in small boroughs in order to increase
their political influence, and cared little for the fitness of the
representatives whom they nominated. The story is told of a peer being
asked who should be returned for one of his boroughs, and casually
mentioning a waiter at White's Club whom he did not even know by name.
The waiter was duly elected, and, for aught we know, may have made a
most worthy and excellent member of Parliament.[22]

  [22] Russell's "Recollections," p. 35.

In 1815 the House of Commons contained 471 members who were the
creatures of 144 peers and 123 Commoners. Sixteen representatives were
Government nominees; and only 171 members were actually elected by the
popular vote.[23] Five years later nearly half the House were returned
by peers.[24]

  [23] Oldfield's "Representative History," vol. vi., App.

  [24] "The Black Book," vol. i. p. 430.

The passing of the Septennial Act in 1716, in place of the Triennial
Act of 1694, though meeting with much hostile criticism,[25] had
helped to further that growing independence of both Lords and Crown
which was the chief aim of the Commons. Before the Triennial Act
Parliament could only be dissolved by the Crown. Under the Triennial
Act it suffered a natural death three years after the day on which it
was summoned. The Septennial Act lengthened that existence by a
further period of four years. Members were no longer kept in a state
of perpetual anticipation of an imminent General Election; they were
no more harassed by the fear of losing their seats at any moment. With
security came strength, but purity was a long time in following. The
Septennial Act, says Lecky, gave "a new stability to English policy, a
new strength to the dynasty, and a new authority to the House of
Commons." But it certainly did not tend to decrease the corruption
which was then rampant both in Parliament and in the country.

  [25] "By the same violence that one Parliament, chosen but for _Three
  Years_, could prolong their own sitting for _Seven_, any other may
  presume to render themselves perpetual." Ralph's "Uses and Abuses of
  Parliament," vol. ii. p. 716.

The whole body politic was, indeed, utterly rotten, and it was only
considered possible to maintain the ministerial influence by a system
of disciplined Treasury corruption. The secret service money with
which votes were bought was in the control of the Prime Minister, and
Walpole is said to have stated that he did not care a rap who made
Members of Parliament so long as he was allowed to deal with them
after they were made. The produce of the taxes descended in
fertilizing showers upon the proprietors, the agents and the members
for boroughs. For them, as Lord John Russell said, the General
Election was a state lottery in which there was nothing but prizes.
"The elector of a borough, or a person he recommends, obtains a
situation in the Customs; the member of Parliament obtains a place in
the Mediterranean for a near relation; the proprietor of the borough
obtains a peerage in perspective; and the larger proprietor, followed
by his attendant members, shines in the summer of royal favour, with a
garter, a regiment, an earldom, or a marquisate."[26] So ingrained had
this idea become in the public mind that the Duke of Wellington is
supposed to have asked ingenuously, on the abolition of the rotten
boroughs, "How will the King's Government be carried on?"

  [26] "Essays and Sketches of Life and Character," p. 148.

Several ineffectual efforts had from time to time been made to slay
the monster of corruption. From the days of Cromwell the question of
Parliamentary reform had been anxiously urged by many statesmen,
notably Lord Shaftesbury and Pitt, of whom the latter introduced
reformative measures in 1781, 1782 and 1785. But though Pitt, the
first Prime Minister who did not retain any of the public money for
distribution among his friends and supporters, managed to reduce
"places" worth over £200,000, after the American War, there still
remained any number of inflated pensions and sinecures in the gift of
the Government,[27] and it was not until Parliament came to be
controlled entirely by public opinion that the change from corruption
to purity took place. But notwithstanding many flaws in theory and
blots in practice, the English Parliamentary Constitution prior to the
Reform Bill was, as Mr. Gladstone called it, one of the wonders of the
world. "Time was its parent, silence was its nurse.... It did much
evil and it left much good undone; but it either led or did not lag
behind the national feeling and opinion."[28] With the Reform Act of
1832, Parliament advanced another stage in its career. The House of
Commons definitely shook itself free from the active corruption which
had so long impeded its movements.

  [27] For example, one of £7000 for a retired Auditor of the Imprest,
  and another of £7300 granted to Lord Bute as some slight compensation
  for his loss of office. See Rose's "Influence of the Crown."

  [28] "Gleanings of Past Years," vol. i. pp. 134-5.

The principle of Party Government, which now lies at the very root of
our parliamentary system, had its origin during the second period of
parliamentary history, and formed no part of the constitutional scheme
of earlier days.

In Queen Elizabeth's time two definite and distinct parties arose, the
one maintaining the privileges of the Crown, the other upholding the
interests of the people. In Stuart days Cavaliers and Roundheads were
followed by Court and Country Parties, and in the year 1679, when the
Exclusion Bill was being bitterly debated, the distinctive names of
"Whigs" and "Tories" first came into existence. "Whig" was originally
a word applied to the lowland peasantry of the West of Scotland;
thence it came to mean Covenanters, and so politicians who looked
kindly upon Nonconformity. "Tory" was an expression popularly used
with reference to the rebel Irish outlaws who harassed the
Protestants; and thus implied leanings towards Catholicism.[29]

  [29] O'Connell showed Pryme an Irish Act of Parliament for the
  suppression of "Rapparees, Tories, and other Robbers." Pryme's
  "Recollections," p. 231.

The growth of a respect for the people's rights forced politicians to
separate into two sections, and the schism between the rival camps was
still further emphasized by the Revolution of 1688. Regular opposing
parties do not, however, seem to have existed in the Commons until the
eighteenth century, and the party system was not finally established
as a necessary element of constitutional government until the reign of
William III. Kings had hitherto chosen their advisers irrespective of
their political views. William III. was, however, induced by the Earl
of Sunderland to form a Ministry from the party that held a majority
in Parliament, and thus became to a certain extent controlled by that
party.

There have always been, as Macaulay says, under some name or other,
two sets of men, those who are before their age, and those who are
behind it, those who are the wisest among their contemporaries, and
those who glory in being no wiser than their great-grandfathers. But
this definition of the two great political parties of England can no
longer with justice be applied. The Tory of to-day is not at all the
Tory of two hundred years ago: indeed, he rather resembles the Whig of
Queen Anne's time. And though Disraeli continued to use the word
"Tory," and was never ashamed of it, it has now gradually fallen into
disuse, save as a term of reproach on the lips of political opponents.
A change of nomenclature was adopted in 1832. The Tories became
Conservatives, and for the benefit of wavering Whigs it was proposed
that the latter should be known as Liberal-Conservatives, a name
which, as Lord John Russell remarked, expressed in seven syllables
what Whig expressed in one.[30] The term "Radical" did not come into
use until the days of the famous reformer, Francis Place (1771-1854);
his political predecessors contenting themselves with the more modest
name of Patriots. Called by whatever name is popular for the moment,
either party may now claim to come within the scope of Burke's
well-known definition as "a body of men united for promoting, by their
endeavours, the national interest upon some particular principle in
which they are all agreed."

  [30] A German writer, Herr Bucher, wrote as follows, in 1855:--"It
  would be difficult to give any other definition of the two parties
  than that a Whig is a man who is descended from Lord John Russell's
  grandmother, a Tory, one who sits behind Disraeli." "Der
  Parliamentarismus wie er ist," p. 152.

Our modern parliamentary system comprises the party spirit as its most
vital element, and owes its success to the fact of being government by
party and not by faction.[31] The existence of an admittedly
constitutional body perpetually opposed to the Government of the
day--"His Majesty's Opposition," as it has been called since 1826--is
now recognised as a very necessary portion of the Parliamentary
machine. The principle of fairness to the minority is never lost sight
of, and expresses itself in many different ways. When, for instance,
the Leader of the Opposition gives notice of a motion of censure on
the Government, the latter consider it their duty to accord their
critics an early opportunity for its discussion; and, generally
speaking, the due consideration of the rights of minorities is among
the primary instincts of party government. The excellent effects of
this system are obvious. Of the two ways of obtaining political
adherents the attachment of party is infinitely preferable to the
attachment of personal interest, formerly so prolific a source of
corruption. Party feeling may also be said to have created general
rules of politics, similar to a general code of morals by which a man
may "walk with integrity along the path chosen by his chiefs,
surrounded and supported by his political colleagues."

  [31] "I have a maxim," wrote Horace Walpole to his friend Montague in
  1760, "that the extinction of party is the origin of faction."
  "Letters," vol. iii. 370.

Opposition is invaluable as providing a stern criticism of the
Government's policy; it can also very often be of service to the cause
it is intended to injure. It excites a keener public curiosity, by
directing attention to the motives of those whom it suspects. And "the
reproaches of enemies when refuted are a surer proof of virtue than
the panegyrics of friends."[32] That the system must possess certain
disadvantages is inevitable. It no doubt engenders animosity and
provokes violent contentions: it stimulates politicians to impute to
their opponents corrupt motives which they could not for a moment
imagine themselves capable of entertaining. It may also on occasion
tempt them to continue obstinately in the support of wrong, because
the admission of a mistake would be hailed as a triumph for their
enemies. "The best cause in the world may be conducted into Faction,"
as Speaker Onslow said; "and the best men _may_ become party men, to
whom all things appear lawful, which make for their cause or their
associates."[33] But as a rule the game of politics is played with
commendable fairness and an absence of undue acrimony. The Opposition,
whose well-known duty it is "to oppose everything, to propose nothing,
and to turn out the Government,"[34] rarely makes its attacks the
vehicle for personal spite. Politicians of adverse views do not carry
their antagonism into private life, and off the stage of Parliament
the bitterest opponents are able to exist upon amicable terms.
Occasionally, however, political differences have been the cause of
ruptured friendship. When Burke made a violent attack upon Fox, in
1791, on the Canada Bill, he declared that if necessary he would risk
the latter's lifelong friendship by his firm and steady adherence to
the British Constitution. Fox leaned across and whispered that there
was no loss of friends. "Yes," replied Burke, "there _is_ a loss of
friends. I know the price of my conduct. I have done my duty at the
price of my friend. Our friendship is at an end!" So terminated an
intimacy of twenty-five years' standing. Such an incident may,
nevertheless, be considered exceptional, the relations of antagonists
being usually of a most harmonious kind. Sir Robert Peel and Lord John
Russell would often be seen together engaged in friendly conversation.
O'Connell once walked arm in arm down Whitehall with Hughes Hughes,
the member for Oxford, whose head he had but recently likened to that
of a calf.[35] And the present Prime Minister and Leader of the
Opposition are doubtless able to play bridge or golf together without
actually coming to blows. In spite, therefore, of much criticism, what
Emerson calls "that capital invention of freedom, a constitutional
opposition,"[36] has been found to be the most practical and
satisfactory means of carrying on government.

  [32] See Parr's "Discourse on Education," p. 51.

  [33] "Anecdotes and other miscellaneous pieces" left by the Rt. Hon.
  Arthur Onslow. (From the MS. at Clandon.)

  [34] This saying has often been wrongly attributed to Lord Randolph
  Churchill. That statesman's most famous maxim on the subject of
  Opposition is given in his son's "Life" (p. 188-9): "Whenever by an
  unfortunate occurrence of circumstances an Opposition is compelled to
  support the Government," said Lord Randolph, "the support should be
  given with a kick and not with a caress, and should be withdrawn on
  the first available moment."

  [35] This was evidently a favourite simile of O'Connell's. He used it
  again with reference to Mr. Shaw, member for Dublin University, in the
  debate on the resolution for giving a grant to Maynooth College for
  the education of Roman Catholics.

  [36] "English Traits," p. 46.




CHAPTER II

THE HOUSE OF LORDS


No constitutional principle has been so strongly criticised and so
freely abused as the one embodied in the hereditary chamber which
forms so important a branch of our legislature. Pulteney labelled the
House of Lords a "hospital for invalids"; Burke contemptuously
referred to it as "the weakest part of the Constitution"; Lord
Rosebery has compared it to "a mediæval barque stranded in the tideway
of the nineteenth century." A more democratic modern statesman, who
doubtless hopes--

    "To build, not boast, a generous race;
    No tenth transmitter of a foolish face,"

has declared the only legislative qualifications of peers to consist
in their being the first-born of persons possessing as little
qualifications as themselves. While another politician cynically
observes that they represent nobody but themselves, and enjoy the full
confidence of their constituents.

The House of Lords has long been the butt of the political satirist,
and parliamentary reformers have attacked it for years patiently and
persistently, hitherto without much success. "We owe the English
Peerage to three sources," said a character in "Coningsby"; "the
spoliation of the Church; the open and flagrant sale of its honours by
the elder Stuarts; and the borough-mongering of our own times." And
this bitter criticism is often quoted to prove the weakness of any
form of hereditary government.

The suggestion that heredity can confer any peculiar qualifications,
rendering a person more fit than his fellows for parliamentary power,
is no doubt illogical, but not more so perhaps than a thousand other
ideas which govern the affairs of men. The form of government by
majority, for instance,--which Pope called "the madness of the many
for the gain of a few"--is obviously open to criticism. Hereditary
legislation has, at any rate in the eyes of its supporters, the merit
of having answered well enough in practice, and, however theoretically
indefensible, is not more so than hereditary kingship. The Sovereign
does not inherit sagacity any more than the Duke of Norfolk, as Lord
John Russell justly observed, and it would be unwise as well as unsafe
to hang the Crown on the peg of an exception. It is as well, however,
to remember that the Sovereign is a constitutional monarch whose
powers nowadays are much restricted, whereas the Lords have the right
to exercise a legislative veto the use of which kings have long since
resigned.

Talent is not hereditary. No man chooses a coachman, as the first Lord
Halifax once remarked, because his father was a coachman before him.
But the descendant of a long line of coachmen is likely to know more
about the care of horses than the grandson of a pork butcher, however
eminent; and the scion of a race of legislators is at least as fully
qualified for the duties of a legislator as many a politician whose
chief reason for entering Parliament is the desire to add the letters
M.P. to his name. Nevertheless, as has been recently pointed out by
tactless statisticians, the great men of the past have but seldom
bequeathed their admirable qualities to their _eldest_ sons, and in a
list of modern statesmen will be found but few of the names once
famous in English history.

The necessity for a second chamber of some sort has always been
admitted, if only to prevent the other House from being exposed to
what John Stuart Mill calls "the corrupting influence of undivided
power," and Cromwell "the horridest arbitrariness that was ever known
in the world." Few, however, of the most ardent admirers of the
hereditary system will pretend that the problem of a perfect bicameral
system is solved by the present House of Lords, though they may
doubtless claim that the cause of its failure does not rest entirely
upon its basis of heredity. "You might as well urge as an objection to
the breakwater that stems the unruly waves of the sea, that it has its
foundations deep laid in another element, and that it does not float
on the surface of that which it is to control," said Palmerston, "as
say that the House of Lords, being hereditary, ought on that account
to be reformed."[37]

  [37] In a speech delivered at a banquet in Glasgow on January 13,
  1837.

If age can confer dignity and distinction upon any assembly, then must
the House of Lords be peculiarly distinguished, for it is certainly
the most venerable as well as the most antiquated of our Parliamentary
institutions.

When Christianity became firmly established in England, each king of
the Heptarchy was attended by a bishop, whose business it was to
advise his royal master upon religious questions, and who thus
acquired the power of influencing him in other matters as well. The
minor kings were gradually replaced by earls, who were summoned,
together with their attendant bishops, to the Witenagemot of the one
ruling sovereign of the country. An assembly of this nature was held
as far back as 1086, but it was more in the nature of a judicial Court
than a Parliament. It consisted of the Archbishop of Canterbury and
all other bishops, earls, and barons, and was summoned to decide
important judicial cases. This Court, or _Curia Regis_ as it was
called, met at different times and in divers places. It transacted
other business besides the judicial, and also corresponded to some
extent with the more modern _levée_. It was originally composed of the
Lords, the great officers of State, and some others whom the king
wished to consult.

The exact position which such nobles held in the great Council of the
land is not very definite. Immediately after the Conquest an earldom
appears to have been regarded as an office; but it was not necessarily
hereditary. Later on the possession of lands, either granted direct by
the Crown or inherited, became a necessary qualification for the
holder of an earldom. The transfer of titles and property in early
days was a rough and ready affair, in which might played as great a
part as right. (When Edward I. required the old Earl de Warrenne to
produce his title deeds, the latter brought out a rusty sword that had
belonged to his ancestors. "By this instrument do I hold my lands," he
said, "and by the same do I intend to defend them!") But with the
natural idea of the transference of land from father to son there
developed the principle of the natural hereditary descent of the title
dependent upon the possession of those lands.

The baronage did not come into existence until after the Conquest. In
the reign of Henry I. it was entirely composed of foreigners from
France. Barons held no regular office, but their lands were
transferred on the hereditary principle. They owed military allegiance
to the Crown, but did not necessarily sit in Parliament unless
summoned to attend by the king. Such a summons was long regarded as a
burden rather than a privilege, and even in the days of King John the
barons only desired it as a protection from the imposition of some
exceptional tax. The bishops and barons were then the natural leaders
of the people; they alone were educated and armed, and they alone
could attempt any successful resistance to the exorbitant demands of
the Crown. They paid nearly all the taxes, and provided money for the
prosecution of every war. Upon them the commonalty was dependent,
looking to them for assistance when the sovereign became too grasping
or tyrannical. It was the barons who forced King John to sign Magna
Charta, and to them, therefore, we are indebted for the laws and
constitution which we now possess. "They did not confine it to
themselves alone," as Chatham declared in the House of Lords, on
January 9, 1770, "but delivered it as a common blessing to the whole
people." But though the present House of Lords has been described as
composed of descendants of the men who wrung the Charter from King
John on the plains of Runnymede, not more than four of the existing
peerages are, as a matter of fact, as old as Magna Charta.

The feudal barons by tenure, whose right to a Parliamentary summons
gradually became hereditary as going with their lands, were gradually
joined by other prominent men who, though not landowners, were
summoned to give the Council the benefit of their experience and
advice. Thus gradually evolved the modern system of hereditary
legislators, and the House of Lords developed into an assembly such as
we now know it, though numerically far smaller.

In Richard II.'s reign the _Curia Regis_ separated from Parliament and
became a Privy Council. The Lords were then as unwilling as the
Commons to attend diligently to their Parliamentary duties, and it was
only the subsequent creation of dukes, marquesses, and viscounts that
stimulated the desire to sit and claim a writ of summons as a right.

The number of earls and barons summoned to Parliament in the reigns of
the first three Edwards varied from fifty to seventy-five. At times,
owing to the absence of the fighting men of the country who were
engaged in foreign warfare, it fell as low as sixteen. In the first
Parliament of Henry VIII. there were less than thirty temporal peers,
but in Elizabeth's time this number had doubled. Since Stuart days the
Lords have become more and more numerous. James I. granted peerages
right and left to his favourites, and, by selling baronies,
viscountcies, and earldoms for sums ranging from £10,000 to £20,000,
enriched his coffers and added some fifty members to the Upper House.
The eighty-two temporal peers who sat in his first Parliament were
gradually reinforced by his successors, until, in the time of George
III., they numbered two hundred and twenty-four, exclusive of their
ecclesiastical brethren.

The Lords spiritual have not always sat in the House of Lords. In
early days the abbots and priors largely predominated in that
assembly, but with the abolition of the monasteries they were banished
from it, though a certain number retained their seats in right of the
baronies which they possessed.[38] Bishops were excluded from the
House of Lords by Act of Parliament in 1640--Cromwell omitted to
summon them to his Upper House in 1657--and were not finally
readmitted until 1661. Within living memory several unsuccessful
attempts have been made to keep them out of Parliament. In 1836 a
member of the Commons moved that spiritual peers be released from
attendance, but his motion was defeated. Another member in the
following year suggested their exclusion on the ground that they had
plenty to occupy them elsewhere, that their contributions to debate
upon most legislative subjects were not particularly edifying, and
that they always voted with the Minister to whom they were indebted
for preferment. This motion met a fate similar to that of its
predecessor, as did another of the same kind in 1870.

  [38] In the sixteenth century the Prior of the Hospital of St. John of
  Jerusalem (near Clerkenwell), whom Selden calls "a kind of an otter, a
  knight half-spiritual and half-temporal," had precedence of all the
  lay barons in Parliament. His priory was suppressed in 1536, but his
  name continued to appear spasmodically in the Journals of the House of
  Lords until some time in Queen Elizabeth's reign.

To-day some twenty-six spiritual peers, including the two Archbishops
of Canterbury and York, are given seats in the House of Lords, where
they help to swell the number of that ever-increasing assembly.

Bishops usually confine themselves exclusively in the House of Lords
to the discussion of matters which concern the spiritual welfare of
the nation. Their contributions to debates are generally "edifying,"
and when they happen to cross swords with their lay brethren they are
well able to hold their own. Bishop Atterbury, of Rochester, once said
of a Bill before the House that he had often prophesied that such a
measure would be brought up, and was sorry to find himself a true
prophet. Lord Coningsby retorted that the Right Reverend Prelate had
put himself forward as a prophet, but he would only liken him to a
Balaam, who was reproved by his own ass. The Bishop at once replied
that he was well content to be compared to Balaam. "But, my Lords," he
added, "I am at a loss to make out the other part of the parallel. I
am sure that I have been reproved by nobody but his Lordship!"[39]

  [39] Dr. King's "Anecdotes," p. 130. (It was a more modern politician
  who, on being reproved by an opponent, said, "Consider the case of
  Balaam's ass; before it spoke all men regarded it as quite an ordinary
  quadruped, but after it had spoken they discovered what an
  extraordinary ass it was!")

With the creation of new peerages by successive monarchs the list of
temporal peers lengthened year by year. The Union of the three
kingdoms still further added to their number. By the Acts of Union
with Scotland and Ireland it was laid down that sixteen Scottish and
twenty-eight Irish representative peers should sit in the House of
Lords. These were to be elected by their fellow-peers, the former for
each Parliament, the latter for life.[40] They may be distinguished in
other particulars as well, for though a Scottish peer can at any time
resign his seat, an Irish peer can never do so. Even though he be a
lunatic, or otherwise incapable of attending, he still retains his
place in the legislature. He is also privileged in other ways. In 1699
the Commons resolved that no peer could give his vote at the election
of a Member of Parliament, and, three years later, that he could not
interfere in elections. To-day a standing order of the House of
Commons imposes the same restraint upon all but Irish peers, who are
exempt from these restrictions.

  [40] In November, 1908, the election of an Irish peer resulted in a
  tie between Lords Ashtown and Farnham. Such a thing had not happened
  since the Union. The difficulty was settled in a manner only perhaps
  possible in an institution as venerable as the House of Lords. In
  accordance with the provisions of the Act of Union, the Clerk of the
  Parliaments wrote the names of the candidates on two pieces of paper
  which he then put into a glass. One of these he drew out at random,
  and the peer whose name was inscribed thereon was declared to be duly
  elected.

In 1875 the House of Lords was strengthened judicially by the
introduction of four Lords of Appeal. The House, as is well known,
has judicial as well as legislative functions to perform. It has
always been the Supreme Court of the realm, and, ever since the reign
of Queen Elizabeth, the ultimate Appeal has lain to it in all cases
except those arising in Ecclesiastical Courts. Moreover, as the High
Court of Parliament, in conjunction with the Commons, it is empowered
to try offenders against the State whom the Commons have impeached. It
also enjoys the privilege of trying any of its own members who may be
charged with treason or felony, and of determining any disputed claims
of peerage which may arise.

There have always been a sufficient number of Lords learned in the law
to provide a court for the trial of legal cases. In the past, however,
occasions have arisen when the presence of lay peers has threatened to
replace the judicial aspect of the House by a political one which
would be fatal to its reputation as a court of appeal. It was not,
indeed, until 1845 that lords unlearned in the law began to consider
their presence during the hearing of judicial causes to be not only
unnecessary but undesirable, and discontinued their attendance. Thirty
years later the institution of four life peerages, conferred upon
eminent lawyers, added still further weight to the legal decisions of
the House. The hearing of appeals is now left entirely to what are
called the Law Lords, who consist of the Lord Chancellor, a number of
peers who have held certain high judicial offices, and the four Lords
of Appeal in Ordinary--three of whom must, by the Appellate
Jurisdiction Act of 1876, be present on all appeal cases.

The granting of life peerages, conferring rights of summons to the
House of Lords, save as above stated, has been adjudged to be beyond
the powers of the Crown. It may truly be said that in the first days
of Parliament the House of Lords consisted almost entirely of life
members. But when the Government of Queen Victoria attempted to revive
a practice that had lain in abeyance for some centuries they were not
allowed to do so.

The Supreme Court of Appeal had been violently attacked in the
Commons, where certain members declared it to be inferior to any
tribunal in the land. Palmerston in 1856 determined to remedy its
defects by the addition of two Law Lords who should be life peers.
This scheme was upheld by the Lord Chancellor, Lord Cranworth, but met
with determined opposition in the Upper House. The Law Lords were
especially opposed to it, fearing that, if such a precedent were
allowed, no lawyer in the future would ever be given an hereditary
peerage. On the Premier's recommendation the Queen proposed to confer
life peerages upon two distinguished lawyers, Parke and Pemberton
Leigh, and proceeded to issue a patent to the former, creating him
Baron Wensleydale for life. When, however, the matter was referred to
the Committee for Privileges, they decided that no life peer could
either sit or vote in the House of Lords, and the Wensleydale and
Kingsdown peerages had consequently to be made hereditary.

Persons who are raised to the peerage to-day are made peers of the
United Kingdom. No Scotch peer has been created since the Union in
1707, and the right of conferring an Irish peerage which existed under
certain restrictions in the Act of Union has ceased to be exercised
except upon one notable recent occasion.[41]

  [41] Lord Curzon of Kedleston was so created in 1898.

During the last fifty years some one hundred and fifty additions have
been made to the membership of the House of Lords. The only limit to
the numerical increase of peers would seem to lie in the good sense of
the Prime Minister or the patience of the Sovereign. It is of course
the latter who confers peerages, though as the former usually brings
suitable candidates for ennoblement to the royal notice, he is
generally held responsible for the result of his recommendations.[42]

  [42] When the last Liberal Government of Queen Victoria came into
  office the Court officials were discussing the new Administration one
  day at Windsor. "I wonder what peers they'll make," remarked one of
  the ladies-in-waiting. The Queen turned upon her with uplifted
  eyebrows. "_They!_" she exclaimed. An uncomfortable silence ensued.
  Again, in 1909, a Cabinet Minister's allusion in a speech to certain
  newspaper proprietors whom a Conservative Prime Minister had "taken
  the precaution to make into barons" inspired the King's private
  Secretary to write a letter to a correspondent in which he stated
  that, notwithstanding the Minister's statement, "the creation of Peers
  remains a Royal prerogative."

[Illustration: THE HOUSE OF LORDS IN 1742

FROM AN ENGRAVING BY JOHN FINE]

The House of Lords now includes some 616 members, divided, as we have
seen, into four classes; the Lords Spiritual, the Lords
Temporal--Princes of the Blood, Dukes, Marquesses, Earls, Viscounts,
Barons--the Representative Peers of Scotland and Ireland, and the
Lords of Appeal in Ordinary.

The writ of summons, which did not cease to be regarded as a burden
until the reign of Edward II., is now looked upon as a privilege and
right which few peers would willingly forego. And the question of
mutual precedence which was never mooted until the creation of
Viscounts in Henry VI.'s time, is now a matter of the utmost
importance to the occupants of the Gilded Chamber.

The first Parliament that is recognized as conferring the right of
peerage was that of the eleventh year of Edward I. The Lords decided,
in the recent case of Lord Stourton claiming the Barony of Mowbray,
that a writ summoning a peer to this Parliament, followed by a
sitting, gave his descendants a seat in the House.

All Peers of the Realm--a phrase which came into use in 1322--are
entitled to seats in the House of Lords once they have attained their
majority. Infancy disqualifies a peer from receiving a writ of
summons; failure to take the oath or to affirm deprives him of the
right of sitting. No alien may sit in the Lords, nor may a bankrupt or
a felon, and the House as a Court of Justice may at any time pass
sentence disqualifying a peer from sitting.

The functions of the Upper House which have been the subject of so
much recent controversy and are still engrossing the attention of
Parliament and the public, have been in former times variously defined
by friendly or adverse critics. The Lords have been described as the
brake on the parliamentary wheel or as the clog in the parliamentary
machine. Horace Walpole wrote some bitter verses on the subject of
that House whose members "sleep in monumental state, to show the spot
where their great Fathers sate;"

    "Thou senseless Hall, whose injudicious space,
    Like Death, confounds a various mismatched race,
    Where Kings and clowns, th' ambitious and the mean,
    Compose th' inactive soporific scene."[43]

  [43] "Letters to Sir H. Mann," vol. i. p. 380.

Peers themselves no doubt regard the Upper Chamber as a haven where
merit may receive its ultimate reward; where the achievements and the
recompense of the deserving are suitably immortalized. As a "compact
bulwark against the temporary violence of popular passion," to use
Disraeli's phrase, and as a council for weighing the resolutions of
the Commons who may at times be led away by public clamour or a sudden
impulse, the Second Chamber is regarded by its defenders as of the
greatest constitutional value. Lord Salisbury once declared that the
chief duty of the House of Lords was to represent the permanent as
opposed to the passing feelings of the English nation; "to interpose a
salutary obstacle to rash or inconsiderate legislation; and to protect
the people from the consequences of their own imprudence." Moreover,
the Upper House thus has an opportunity of improving the details of
measures, many of which leave the House of Commons in an unworkable
shape, owing to the conditions under which they are amended and passed
through it, and, but for the alterations effected by the Lords, would
remain unworkable when they came to be embodied in the Statute-book.

It has never been the course of the Upper House to resist a continued
and deliberately expressed public opinion. The Lords, as Lord Derby
affirmed in 1846, "always have bowed and always will bow, to the
expression of such opinion."[44] But although history to a certain
extent bears out this statement, on more than one occasion the hand of
popular clamour has battered at their doors for a long time before
wringing from them a reluctant acquiescence. There can be no doubt
that if the country were to express itself definitely upon any
question at a General Election, no House of Lords would be strong
enough (or weak enough) to attempt to thwart the public will. But
there have been numerous instances in which the peers have endeavoured
without success to do so. In vain did they delay Parliamentary Reform
in 1831, when Sidney Smith likened the House of Lords to Mrs.
Partington, the old lady of Sidmouth who, during the great storm of
1824, tried to push away the Atlantic with her mop.[45] In vain did
they inveigh against the passing of the Jewish Oaths Bill or the Bill
for the abolition of the Corn Laws. They were eventually compelled to
pass the latter, not because they thought it a good Bill, but because,
as the Duke of Wellington said, it had passed the House of Commons by
a huge majority, and "the Queen's Government must be supported."

  [44] On the Second Reading of the Corn Importation Bill, May 25, 1846.

  [45] "Works," p. 564.

On the other side it may be said that they have occasionally
interpreted more successfully than the Lower House the views of the
electorate, and of this perhaps the rejection of the Home Rule Bill of
1893 is the most prominent example.

Even without actually rejecting Bills the Lords have frequently
opposed the will of the Commons by returning the Bills sent up to them
in so amended and altered a shape as to prove wholly unacceptable; and
an appeal to the country upon every point of difference, or even upon
every Bill wholly rejected, is of course impracticable.

In some such cases the Commons have had recourse to a method of
coercing the Lords, known by the name of "tacking," which depends for
its efficacy upon the acceptation of certain doctrines relating to
Money Bills laid down by the Commons at intervals during the last
three centuries, and in the main acquiesced in by the Lords.

The history of the matter, though of acute interest at the present
time, is too long to go into here. It will be sufficient to mention
that in 1678, as the result of a violent struggle between the two
Houses, the Commons passed Resolutions asserting (not for the first
time) that all Money Bills must have their origin in the Lower House,
and that the Hereditary Chamber is powerless to amend them. And though
the Lords at the time protested against both these conclusions, by
their action through a long course of years they must be taken to have
acquiesced in them. If, then, the Lords were unable to amend a Money
Bill, they might be compelled to accept an obnoxious measure of a
different nature if it were included in such a Bill, the whole of
which they would be loth to throw out. This was the process adopted in
several instances by the Commons, against which the Lords passed, in
1702, a Standing Order declaring the "annexing any foreign matter" to
be "unparliamentary and tending to the destruction of the
Constitution."

In 1770 the Commons brought in a Bill to annul the royal grants of
forfeited property, and, knowing that it would be objectionable to the
Upper House, cunningly tacked it on to a Money Bill. The Lords
returned it, with the foreign matter excised; but it was sent back to
them once more, and, acting on the advice of the Duke of Marlborough
who counselled concession, they eventually swallowed the whole mixture
as gracefully as they could find it in their hearts to do. In 1860,
the two Houses came into collision again on the same subject, when the
Lords threw out the Bill abolishing the duty on paper, which was a
financial question. Gladstone retorted in the following year by
tacking this Bill on to the Budget, and in this shape the Lords passed
it. But their right of rejection--which indeed is involved in the
necessity for their assent to every Bill--was never questioned, either
in 1678 or since, until the Budget Bill was thrown out in December,
1909, when the whole question of the relations between the two Houses
was brought into vital prominence and made the subject of an agitation
not easily to be assuaged.

There has always existed a spirit of antagonism between the two
Houses. Gladstone declared that the Commons were eyed by the Lords "as
Lancelot was eyed by Modred," and this mutual antipathy has
occasionally expressed itself in overt acts of rudeness. During a
debate in the Lords in 1770, on the defenceless state of the nation, a
peer moved that the House be cleared of strangers. A number of the
Commons happened to be standing at the Bar, but, notwithstanding their
protests, they were unceremoniously hustled out, being followed by a
volley of hisses and jeers as they left the Chamber. The Duke of
Richmond and many other peers were so disgusted at this exhibition of
ill-feeling that they walked out of the House. Colonel Barré has left
a graphic description of the scene. The Lords, he says, developed all
the passions and violence of a mob. "One of the heads of this mob--for
there were two--was a Scotchman. I heard him call out several times,
'Clear the Hoose! Clear the Hoose!' The face of the other was scarcely
human; for he had contrived to put on a nose of enormous size, that
disfigured him completely, and his eyes started out of his head in so
frightful a way that he seemed to be undergoing the operation of being
strangled."[46]

  [46] The peer in question had not donned a false nose for the
  occasion, as might be imagined, but was merely wearing the ordinary
  working nose of aristocratic proportions with which Providence had
  supplied him.

Two years after this scene, in 1772, Burke was kept waiting for three
hours with a Bill which he was carrying from the Commons to the Lords.
When he subsequently reported his ill-treatment to the Lower House,
their indignation knew no bounds, and they proceeded to revenge
themselves in a somewhat puerile manner. The very next Bill that the
House of Lords sent down to them was rejected unanimously, and the
Speaker threw the offensive measure on to the floor of the House,
whence it was kicked to the door by a number of indignant members.

It is not difficult to understand the cause of jealousy and anger
between the Houses, in spite of the fact that so many of the Lords
have at one time or another been members of the Commons, and so many
of the Commons hope to end their days in the Lords. (Croker, in a
letter to Lord Hatherton, recalls a visit he paid as a stranger to the
Upper House in 1857, where, of the thirty peers present, there was not
one but had sat with him in the Commons, including the Duke of
Wellington and the Lord Chancellor. "It shows," he says, "how
completely the House of Commons has been the nursery of the House of
Lords."[47]) The resentment against the Lords that undoubtedly exists
in the bosoms of the Commons, which is not confined to one side of the
House, but seems to be universal, results from the power of rejection
which the peers can at any time exercise with regard to a measure, or
of making amendments by which they can alter it out of all
recognition, thus nullifying in a single day the labours of months in
the Lower House. And when it is considered that this ruinous result is
due not only to men who owe their seats to their successful exertions
in various professions, but also in larger proportion to those who owe
them to being, as Lord Thurlow said of the Duke of Grafton, "the
accident of an accident,"[48] the situation must to many minds appear
wholly intolerable.

  [47] Croker's "Letters," vol. i. p. 85.

  [48] One is reminded of the reply addressed by the Emperor Alexander
  to Madame de Stael who was complimenting Russia on possessing so able
  a ruler. "Alas, Madame," he said, "I am nothing but a happy accident!"

One very clear cause of failure in the House of Lords to give
satisfaction lies in the fact that, although government by Party is
the very groundwork of the parliamentary constitution, as far as the
Upper House is concerned such an idea might just as well not exist at
all. Whatever the political complexion of the party in power in the
House of Commons, the Lords maintain an invariable Conservative
majority, indifferent to the swing of any popular pendulum, and as
fixed and unalterable as the sun. But at no time for the last century
has the inequality been so marked as at present, when it may be
truthfully said that the Liberal peers would scarcely fill a dozen
"hackney coaches."[49] And though the Liberal party has created a
considerable number of peers during the last few years, it has never
recovered from the secession of Liberal Unionists, and it would take
many years of Liberal supremacy and large drafts upon the Prerogative
of the Crown to restore even the comparative balance of early
Victorian days.

  [49] At the time of the French Revolution, the country supported the
  Government so strongly that the Opposition dwindled away to nothing.
  It was even jestingly asserted that the Whigs could all have been held
  in one hackney coach. "This is a calumny," said George Byng; "we
  should have filled two!" Campbell's "Lives of the Chancellors," vol.
  v. p. 614.

This may or may not be an advantage, for though the staunch Tory is
tempted to exclaim in the words of Disraeli: "Thank God there is a
House of Lords!" the equally staunch Radical is scarcely likely to
consider the existence of this perpetually antagonistic majority a
sufficient cause for gratitude towards the Almighty. The difficulty of
equalising the parties seems insurmountable, so long as ennoblement is
an expensive luxury and Peers continue to be drawn from the wealthy
classes.[50] There is, too, something essentially Conservative about
the atmosphere of the House of Lords, which sooner or later
impregnates the blood of its inmates; under its influence the Liberal
of one generation rapidly exhibits a tendency to develop into the
Conservative of the next. But this charge is no doubt one which may be
brought with more or less truth against any Second Chamber, however
constituted, which is composed of men of a certain age and position,
not immediately responsible to the fluctuating voices of the people.
Whether one considers such stability to be a merit or the reverse
depends upon whether one adopts Lord Palmerston's and Lord Salisbury's
views of the functions of a Senate, or regards it merely as a useful
and select body of legislators enjoying certain limited powers of
criticism and delay.

  [50] It is suggested that the balance of party could be adjusted by
  the Government persuading the Crown to create a number of peerages
  sufficient to flood the House with peers of their particular political
  persuasion. In 1712, Queen Anne was prevailed upon to create twelve
  peers in a single day, in order to pass a Government measure. "If
  these twelve had not been enough," said Bolingbroke, "we could have
  given them another dozen!" William IV. was prepared to create a
  hundred new peers to ensure the passing of the Reform Bill of 1832. It
  remains to be seen whether such an idea is nowadays practicable.

So much has been written about this great modern controversy, that it
is unnecessary to increase the literature which exists upon both
sides. The issue seems to lie between reducing the Second Chamber to
comparative impotence or attempting by judicious reforms in its
composition to bring it into greater sympathy with the First Chamber.

The Resolutions recently passed by the Commons,[51] have for their
object the complete annihilation of the latter in all matters of
finance, and the retention for them of such modified powers of
influencing other legislation as would enable them to delay Bills
during the early years of a shortened Parliament, and refer them to
the country during its last two years. The question of "tacking," in
Money Bills, is to be referred to the sole arbitrament of the Speaker;
but this becomes of trifling importance when it is argued that almost
any revolutionary change could be effected within the corners of a
legitimate financial measure. The objection taken to the overriding of
the Veto in the case of a Bill thrice presented, is that it amounts to
one-Chamber legislation and would result in two classes of Acts--one
passed by the Commons alone, and the other by both Houses.

  [51] "1. That it is expedient that the House of Lords be disabled by
  Law from rejecting or amending a Money Bill, but that any such
  limitation by Law shall not be taken to diminish or qualify the
  existing rights and privileges of the House of Commons.

"For the purpose of this Resolution a Bill shall be considered a Money
Bill if, in the opinion of the Speaker, it contains only provisions
dealing with all or any of the following subjects, namely, the
imposition, repeal, remission, alteration, or regulation of taxation;
Charges on the Consolidated Funds or the provision of Money by
Parliament; Supply; the appropriation, control, or regulation of
public money; the raising or guarantee of any loan or the repayment
thereof; or matters incidental to those subjects or any of them."

"2. That it is expedient that the powers of the House of Lords, as
respects Bills other than Money Bills, be restricted by Law, so that
any such Bill which has passed the House of Commons in three
successive Sessions, and, having been sent up to the House of Lords at
least one month before the end of the Session, has been rejected by
that House in each of those sessions, shall become Law without the
consent of the House of Lords on the Royal Assent being declared;
Provided that at least two years shall have elapsed between the date
of the first introduction of the Bill in the House of Commons and the
date on which it passes the House of Commons for the third time.

"For the purposes of this Resolution a Bill shall be treated as
rejected by the House of Lords if it has not been passed by the House
of Lords either without Amendment or with such Amendments only as may
be agreed upon by both Houses."

"3. That it is expedient to limit the duration of Parliament to five
years."

The policy of Reform, on the other hand, is unacceptable to those who
desire the predominance of the First Chamber, as any successful scheme
for removing present defects in the constitution of the Lords--_e.g._
the excessive size of the House, the preponderance therein of one
party, and the presence of undesirable members--must result in its
increased strength and importance. Consequently the Commons have
neither made nor encouraged any attempts in that direction.

Such suggestions as have taken any shape have been proposed by the
Lords themselves, and the history of the last thirty years exhibits
many internal efforts to reform on the part of those dissatisfied with
the ancient constitution of the House. In 1884, Lord Rosebery's motion
for a Select Committee to consider the best means of promoting the
efficiency of the House of Lords, was negatived. Four years later he
moved for another Select Committee to inquire into the Constitution of
the House. In the same year an elaborate Bill of Lord Dunraven's for
reforming the Lords was rejected, and another, promoted by Lord
Salisbury, was withdrawn after having passed the second reading. In
1908 a committee met, under the chairmanship of Lord Rosebery, to look
into the whole question, and issued a most interesting and practical
report, full of admirable recommendations. This committee began by
pointing out the expediency of reducing the numbers of an assembly
which, within recent years has increased to such an extent as to
render itself too unwieldy for legislative purposes. It strongly urged
that the recommendations to the Crown for the creation of hereditary
peerages should be restricted within somewhat narrower limits. Many
peers, as the report explained, are obviously ill-suited to their
Parliamentary duties; others find the work irksome and distasteful; of
a few it may euphemistically be observed that their release from the
burden of legislative responsibilities would be eminently desirable.
Lord Rosebery's committee therefore came to the conclusion that the
dignity of a peer and the dignity of a Lord of Parliament should be
separate and distinct, and that, except in the case of peers of the
Blood Royal, the possession of a peerage should not necessarily be
attended with the right to sit and vote in the House of Lords. A
further suggestion was made that the hereditary peers should be
represented by two hundred of their number, elected by them to sit as
Lords of Parliament, not for life, but for each parliament, and that
the number of Spiritual Peers should be proportionately reduced to
ten. The inclusion of representatives from the Colonies, and the
granting of a writ of summons to a number of qualified persons who had
held high office in the State, figured prominently in this scheme of
reform.

Following up these recommendations, the House on the motion of Lord
Rosebery has recently adopted the following resolutions for its own
reconstitution:--

     "(1) That a strong and efficient Second Chamber is not
     merely an integral part of the British Constitution, but is
     necessary to the well-being of the State and to the balance
     of Parliament.

     "(2) That such a Chamber can best be obtained by the reform
     and reconstitution of the House of Lords.

     "(3) That a necessary preliminary of such reform and
     reconstitution is the acceptance of the principle that the
     possession of a peerage should no longer of itself give the
     right to sit and vote in the House of Lords."[52]

  [52] The following further Resolutions stand upon the Notice Paper and
  still await consideration:--

  "(1) That in future the House of Lords shall consist of Lords of
  Parliament: A. Chosen by the whole body of hereditary peers from among
  themselves and by nomination by the Crown. B. Sitting by virtue of
  offices and of qualifications held by them. C. Chosen from outside.

  "(2) That the term of tenure for all Lords of Parliament shall be the
  same, except in the case of those who sit ex-officio, who would sit so
  long as they held the office for which they sit."

We are sometimes tempted nowadays to laugh, like "the gardener Adam
and his wife," at the claims of long descent. But the pride of birth
and blood is common to all nations, perhaps less so in England than
elsewhere. The French ducal family of Levis boasted a descent from the
princes of Judah, and would produce an old painting in which one of
their ancestors was represented as bowing, hat in hand, to the Virgin,
who was saying, "Couvrez-vous, mon cousin!" Similarly the family of
Cory possessed a picture of Noah with one foot in the ark, exclaiming,
"Sauvez les papiers de la maison de Cory!"[53] Byron is said to have
been prouder of his pedigree than of his poems, and it is to be hoped
that our aristocracy will never entirely forget that their ancestors
have handed down to them traditions which are more precious than the
titles and lands by which they are represented.

  [53] Hayward's "Essays," p. 305.

One cannot altogether relish the sight of several peers, who had been
considered incompetent to manage their own affairs, hastening to
Westminster at the call of a party "Whip" to record their votes upon
Imperial concerns of the greatest importance. And though it must be
admitted that it is rare indeed for the incompetent or degenerate
members of the Upper House to take any part in its deliberations, the
fact that they have the undoubted right to do so scarcely tends to
enhance the respect in which that assembly is popularly held. In
spite, however, of the occasional presence of "undesirables," it is
generally acknowledged that if any question arises requiring a display
of more than ordinary knowledge of history, or more practical wisdom
or learning, these can nowhere be found so well as in the Upper House.
There, too, the level of oratory and of common sense is perceptibly
higher than in the popular assembly. But the Reform Bill of 1832
enabled the Commons to speak in the name of the people, which they had
never hitherto done, and which the Lords cannot do, and thus created
that wide gulf which now separates them from the House of Lords. Here,
however, as well as there, are many men who realise that, in the words
of Lord Rosebery, they have a great heritage, "their own honour, and
the honour of their ancestors, and of their posterity, to guard."[54]

  [54] Hansard, vol. 289, p. 957 (1884).




CHAPTER III

THE HOUSE OF COMMONS


The Witenagemot, as we have already seen, was essentially an
aristocratic assembly. The populace sometimes attended its meetings,
but, beyond expressing their feelings by shouts of approval, took no
part in its deliberations. For many years after the Conquest the
People continued to be unrepresented in the Great Council of the
nation, though they were still present as spectators. From 1066 until
about 1225, says Blackstone, the Lords were the only legislators.
After the latter date the Commons were occasionally summoned, and in
1265 they formed a regular part of the legislature. Then for the first
time did the counties of England return two knights, and the boroughs
and cities two deputies each, to represent them in Parliament.
Seventy-four knights from all the English counties except Chester,
Durham, and Monmouth,[55] and about two hundred burgesses and
citizens, sat in the Parliament of Edward I.; but it was not until the
reign of his successor that any attempt was made to form a
constitutional government.

The Three Estates in those days sat in the same Chamber, but did not
join in debate. The Lords made the laws, and the Commons looked on or
perhaps assented respectfully. The separation of the two Houses took
place in the reign of Edward III., when the knights threw in their
allegiance with the burgesses, and in 1322 the Lower House[56] first
met apart.

  [55] Durham, both County and City, was not enfranchised until 1673,
  and Monmouth was regarded as a Welsh County.

  [56] "The House of Commons is called the Lower House in twenty Acts of
  Parliament," says Selden. "But what are twenty Acts of Parliament
  amongst friends?"--"Table Talk," p. 36.

The power of the Commons increased gradually as time advanced. By the
end of the thirteenth century they had secured sufficient authority to
ensure that no tax could be imposed without their consent. By the
middle of the fourteenth no law could be passed unless they approved.
But many centuries were yet to elapse before the chief government of
the country passed into their hands.

The expense of sending representatives to Parliament was long
considered a burden, many counties and boroughs applying to be
discharged from the exercise of so costly a privilege. The electors of
those days were apparently less anxious to furnish a Member for the
popular assembly than to save the payment of his salary. Indeed, the
city of Rochester, in 1411, practised the frugal custom of compelling
any stranger who settled within its gates to serve a term in
Parliament at his own expense. He was thus permitted to earn his
freedom, and the parsimonious citizens saved an annual expenditure of
about £9.[57]

  [57] "Quarterly Review," vol. xxix. p. 63.

With the gradual growth of parliamentary power the importance of
electing members to the House of Commons began to be recognized, and,
during the Wars of the Roses, fewer and fewer applications were made
by boroughs and cities anxious to be relieved of this duty.

Until Henry VI.'s time, when the modern system of Bills and Statutes
began to come into being, legislation was by Petition. The control of
Parliament was still very largely in the hands of the Crown, and
successive sovereigns took care that their influence over the Commons
should be maintained. With this object in view Edward VI. enfranchised
some two-and-twenty rotten boroughs, Mary added fourteen more, and in
Elizabeth's time sixty-two further members, all under the royal
control, were sent to leaven the Commons.

The attendance in the Lower House was still poor, not more than two
hundred members ever taking part in the largest divisions, and it was
only at the culmination of the conflicts between Parliament and the
Stuart Kings that the Commons began to display a real desire for
independent power.

If the Revolution of 1688 firmly and finally established the supremacy
of Parliament, it was only a supremacy over the Crown. The democratic
element to which we are accustomed in a modern House of Commons was
still conspicuously lacking. Both Houses remained purely aristocratic
in character until long after this. Whigs and Tories might wrangle
over political differences; they were at one in their determination to
uphold the interests of a single privileged class. "This House is not
the representative of the people of Great Britain," said Pitt in the
Commons in 1783; "it is the representative of nominal boroughs, of
ruined and exterminated towns, of noble families, of wealthy
individuals, of foreign potentates." Eight members of Parliament were
then nominated by the Nabob of Arcot, and in 1793 the Duke of
Norfolk's nominees in the House numbered eleven. The Crown, the
Church, and the aristocracy governed the country. The Commons were an
insignificant body, open to bribery, dependent upon rich patrons or
upon electors whose corruption was notorious. Prior to 1832, only 170
out of some 658 members of Parliament were independent; the remainder
were nominated by wealthy individuals. The Reform Bill of 1832,
however, brought about a mighty change for the better. The electorate
of the country was raised from 300,000 to 1,370,000. Fifty-six corrupt
boroughs were disfranchised, thirty-one were deprived of one member
each, and two others were reduced; and the hitherto inadequate
representation of other towns and boroughs was rectified.

The Reformed Parliament that met in the following year differed in
many respects from its predecessors. Sir Robert Peel was much struck
by the alteration in tone, character, and appearance of the new House
of Commons. "There was an asperity, a rudeness, a vulgar assumption
of independence, combined with a fawning reference to the people out
of doors, expressed by many of the new members, which" (as he told his
friend Raikes) "was highly disgusting."[58] The Duke of Wellington,
who had gone to the Peers' Gallery of the House of Commons to inspect
the new Parliament, expressed his opinion more tersely. "I never saw
so many shocking bad hats in my life!" he said. The spirit of
democracy had crept in, but it was still an unwelcome visitor. For
many years the aristocracy maintained a great preponderance in the
House of Commons--in 1868 that assembly comprised 45 heirs of
peerages, 65 younger sons of peers, and 57 baronets[59]--but its power
decreased year by year, though even now it cannot be said to be wholly
extinct.

  [58] Raikes's "Journal," vol. i. p. 157.

  [59] "Pall Mall Gazette," December 28, 1860.

By the Reform Acts of 1867 and 1884 the franchise qualifications were
once more extended, and three and a half million names added to the
register. With the election, in 1874, of the first Labour
candidates--of whom one, at least, was a genuine working-man--the
Commons gradually began to assume that representative appearance which
it now presents.

During the last three centuries the Lower House has increased very
considerably in size as well as in importance. It numbered 300 in the
reign of Henry VI., and 506 at the time of the Long Parliament. In
1832, by which time the Acts of Union had added 45 Scottish and 100
Irish members,[60] the numbers had risen to 658, and to-day some 670
members sit in Parliament.

  [60] The Irish members were increased to 105 in 1832, but subsequently
  reduced to 103, fifty years later.

The House of Commons has long ago shaken off the shackles of the
Crown, and will perhaps some day be almost as wholly emancipated from
the influence of the aristocracy. Its power is increasing yearly,
owing mainly to the fact that it has gained the confidence of the
country, and it is now generally felt that when any great question
arises, the House will solve it, as Disraeli said some fifty years
ago, "not merely by the present thought and intelligence of its
members, but by the accumulated wisdom of the eminent men who have
preceded them."[61]

  [61] Hansard, "Debates," 18 April, 1864.

To appreciate the exact nature of those inducements which tempt a man
to enter Parliament must often prove perplexing to the lay mind. To
Charles James Fox the pleasures of patronage seemed the circumstances
which chiefly rendered desirable the possession of political power.
But the patronage in the hands of a private member to-day is of too
insignificant a nature to prove an irresistible temptation, and
political power of an appreciable kind is reserved for the very few.

The life of the modern legislator is a strenuous and an expensive one;
it cannot be successfully undertaken by a poor or an idle man. Before
a candidate may stand for Parliament at all he must deposit a
substantial sum with the Returning Officer, and the mere expenses of
election vary from £350 to £900 in boroughs, and from £650 to as much
as £1800 in counties.[62] Add to this the annual sum--variously
computed at from £200 to £500--which a member spends in subscriptions
within his constituency, and it can readily be imagined that the
parliamentary life is not open to all. There would, indeed, seem to be
some justification for the criticism of that cynical member who said
that he had often heard the House of Commons called "the best club in
London," and supposed that it was so termed because it demanded the
largest entrance fee.[63] A few fortunate candidates have their
election expenses paid by a party or by Trades Unions, but these are
in the minority, and the comparatively large cost of entering
Parliament is the chief reason why, in spite of the democratic
tendency of modern political thought, the House of Commons still
remains in large measure a delegation of the richest if not perhaps of
the most aristocratic class in England. This state of things is likely
to continue unless some system is adopted of remunerating the services
of legislators in the fashion which long prevailed in England and is
still in vogue upon the Continent. But it is certainly open to
argument whether its adoption would improve the quality of the House
or the respect entertained for it in the country.

  [62] The General Election of 1880 cost £1,700,000. This expenditure
  was reduced to about a million pounds after the passing of the Corrupt
  and Illegal Practices Prevention Act and the Redistribution Bill of
  1883 and 1885. By the former the expenses in boroughs are limited to
  £350, if the number of electors does not exceed 2000; and to £380 if
  it does exceed 2000, with an extra £30 for every further 1000
  electors. In counties, where the electors do not exceed 2000, the
  expenses are limited to £650, and to £710 if they exceed 2000, with an
  extra £60 for every further 1000 electors. These sums do not include
  personal expenses up to £100 and the charges of the returning officer.

  [63] Hansard, "Debates," vol. 288, p. 1563. (5 June, 1884.) (The
  phrase was first used in a novel entitled, "Friends of Bohemia, or
  Phases of London Life," published in 1857, by a Parliamentary writer
  named E. M. Whitty.)

In the Parliaments of Edward III. members received regular payment,
the wages varying from year to year. At the beginning of the
fourteenth century, for example, the knights of Dorsetshire were paid
5_s._ a day; later on this was reduced to 1_s._ 6_d._ In 1314 the
daily wage of county members was 4_s._, and they were also allowed a
small sum to cover travelling expenses. In Henry VIII.'s reign
boroughs were expected to pay their own members' expenses. Frugal
constituencies occasionally bargained with their would-be
representatives, and candidates, stimulated to generous impulses by
the idea of imminent election, would agree to defray their own
expenses or even to go without wages altogether. Sometimes, too,
members appear to have been willing to pay for the privilege of
election. In 1571 a certain Thomas Long was returned for the Wiltshire
borough of Westbury by the simple process of paying the mayor a sum of
£4. Long's unfitness for a seat in Parliament--he was a simple
yeoman--became apparent as soon as he entered the House. On being
questioned, he admitted having bribed the constituency to elect him,
and was at once informed that the House had no further need of his
services. The inhabitants of Westbury were fined £20, and the Mayor
was compelled to refund his money.[64]

  [64] "Parliamentary History," vol. i. p. 766.

The practice of paying members long continued. In the year 1586 we
find the member for Grantham suing the borough for his salary. The
House of Commons does not, however, appear to have been anxious to
uphold this claim, and requested that it should be withdrawn. By this
time, indeed, it had become usual for members to forego the financial
advantages of election--though there still remained some notable
exceptions who were not satisfied with the honorary rewards attaching
to the possession of a seat in Parliament--and in 1677 the Commons
repealed the Statute by which wages were paid to members.[65]

  [65] Andrew Marvell continued to receive a salary from Hull until his
  death in 1678 (see his "Works," vol. ii., xxxv.), and the member for
  Harwich obtained a writ against that borough for his salary in 1681.

Samuel Pepys deplored the gradual neglect of the old practice
requiring constituencies to allow wages to their representatives,
whereby, he said, "they chose men that understood their business and
would attend it, and they could expect an account from, which now they
cannot."[66] But this view was not the popular one, and electors
gladly availed themselves of the change in public opinion to
discontinue the earlier system. Motions have been brought forward on
more than one occasion, "to restore the ancient constitutional custom
of payment of members,"--notably in 1870 and 1888--but have always
been rejected by a large majority.[67] Nowadays, however, there seems
some inclination to revert to the old-fashioned and more expensive
method, and within recent years a Liberal Prime Minister has promised
to provide payment for members whenever funds for the purpose are
available. In other respects the desire of the member of Parliament
today would appear to be rather in the direction of relinquishing than
of adding to his personal privileges. In the eighteenth century, for
example, he would never have dreamt of paying postal fees. Members
transmitted their correspondence without charge by the simple process
of inscribing their names in one corner of the envelope. The privilege
of "franking," as this was called, was afterwards limited by its being
required that the date and place of posting should be added in the
member's handwriting, and the daily number of free letters was
restricted to ten sent and fifteen received. In those free and easy
days kind-hearted members would provide their friends with large
bundles of franked half-sheets of paper, and the number of persons who
paid any postage on their correspondence two hundred years ago must
have been very small indeed. In a letter written by Mrs. Delany to a
friend in 1749 we find the subject mentioned in a way that shows how
universally available had become such opportunities for defrauding the
revenue. "I have been so silly as to forget franks," she writes. "I
must beg the favour of you to get _a dozen or two_ for me from Sir
Charles Mordaunt.... I don't know," she adds, "but you will find a few
of the Duke of Portland's in the drawer with the paper."[68]

  [66] "Diary," 30 March, 1668.

  [67] Irving's "Annals of Our Time," p. 912. (The majority in 1870 was
  187.)

  [68] "Autobiography of Mrs. Delany," vol. ii. p. 511.

[Illustration: THE HOUSE OF OF COMMONS IN 1742

FROM AN ENGRAVING BY JOHN PINE]

By the end of the eighteenth century the improper franking of letters
threatened to become a public scandal. Covers were transmitted by the
hundred, packed in boxes, the only limit to their distribution being
the good nature of members. A London banker once received thirty-three
covers containing garden seeds from a Scottish member, and it became
apparent to the postal authorities that some effort must be made to
put a stop to the practice.[69] This was eventually done in 1840, not
without a struggle, and the modern member of Parliament who writes
letters to his friends must do so at his own expense. He is still,
however, allowed to send a certain number of printed copies of bills
to his constituents, free of charge, by writing his name in a corner
of the packet.

  [69] Wraxall's "Posthumous Memoirs."

To-day the privileges of membership are certainly not of a material
kind. A few men enter the House of Commons for social purposes, and
must be sadly disappointed in the result. The simple letters, "M.P."
on a card are indeed no longer, as the author of that entertaining
work, "Men and Manners in Parliament," declared them to be thirty
years ago, "the surest passport to distinction for mediocrity
travelling on the continent."[70] Bitter experience has shattered the
simple faith in human nature which was once the chief charm of the
Swiss innkeeper. The sight of a British member of Parliament signing a
cheque no longer inspires him with confidence. He is only too well
aware that among those--

    "Types of the elements whose glorious strife
    Form'd this free England, and still guard her life,"

there exist a few who are not above leaving their hotel bills
permanently unpaid; and this knowledge has endowed him with a caution
which is both galling to the sensitive soul of the average M.P. and
extremely inconvenient to the tourist who has momentarily mislaid his
letter of credit.

  [70] p. 270.


If the member cannot now enjoy the unmixed respect of the foreigner,
it is equally certain that at home he is no longer looked upon with
the veneration with which his predecessors were commonly regarded. His
constituents treat him as their servant no less than as their
representative. And though he may find some comfort in that definition
of a member's duties for which Edmund Burke is responsible--which
perhaps cost that statesman his seat at the General Election of
1780--this will prove but a slight consolation when he is suddenly
called upon by his local committee to explain some change of views or
to account for constant neglect of his parliamentary duties.

Parliament is not, indeed, as Burke told the electors of Bristol, a
congress of ambassadors from different and hostile interests, which
interests each must maintain, as an agent and advocate, against other
agents and advocates. It is a deliberate assembly of one nation, with
one interest, that of the whole; where not local purposes, not local
prejudices, ought to guide, but the general good, resulting from the
general reason of the whole. "You choose a member indeed," he said;
"but when you have chosen him, he is not a member of Bristol, but he
is a member of _Parliament_."[71] At the same time a member cannot
afford to forget that he owes much to his constituents; his existence
in Parliament depends very greatly upon their good pleasure. He must
be to a certain extent at their beck and call, willing to subscribe to
their local charities, to open their bazaars, visit their hospitals,
kick off at their football matches, take the chair at their farmers'
dinners or smoking-concerts. He must have a welcome hand ever extended
in the direction of the squire, a smile for the licensed victualler, a
kindly nod of the head for the meanest elector, and (at election
times) a kiss for the humblest voter's stickiest child. When
constituents call upon him at the House he must greet them with a
display of effusiveness which gives no hint of his annoyance at being
interrupted in the middle of important business. They may want to be
shown round the House, and such a natural desire on their part must be
acquiesced in, though it is not every one who has the courage to
escort a band of six hundred constituents round the Chamber, as did a
member in 1883. Every morning the postman will bring him--besides that
voluminous bundle of parliamentary papers and bluebooks, with the
contents of which he is mythically supposed to make himself
acquainted--a score of applications of various kinds from his
constituents, all of which must be attended to. The day is long past
when he can emulate the cavalier methods of Fox who, as Secretary of
State for Foreign Affairs, affixed a notice to the door of his office:
"No letters received here on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays,
Fridays or Saturdays! and none answered on any day!"[72]

  [71] Speech at Bristol in 1774. ("Works and Correspondence of E.
  Burke," vol. iii. p. 236). Algernon Sidney anticipated this remark.
  "It is not therefore for Kent or Sussex, Lewes or Maidstone, but for
  the whole nation, that the members chosen in those places are sent to
  serve in Parliament."--"Discourse Concerning Government," vol. ii. p.
  370.

  [72] Bell's "Biographical Sketches," p. 82.

The modern member's duties are by no means confined to the House of
Commons, nor are they limited to the duration of the session. Formerly
it would never have occurred to a member to make a speech in his
constituency, once he was elected; though as a candidate he would of
course address the voters, and might even be compelled to attend a
banquet or a provincial dance.[73] The idea of paying a visit to the
electors of any constituency other than his own would, a century ago,
have been considered in the worst possible taste. Nowadays, however,
the point of view is changed. No sooner has he completed his share in
the arduous work of the session--the long tedious hours of debate, the
wearisome attendance on committees, the continual tramping through the
division lobbies--and shaken the dust of Westminster from his feet,
than he must hasten to the country to give some account of his
stewardship, to dazzle his constituents with the oratorical platitudes
which have failed to move the more fastidious audience of the House of
Commons. He must even be ready to rush off to the assistance of a
fellow-member in some distant shire, and purge his bosom of the same
perilous stuff upon various platforms all over the country.

  [73] Croker, in 1820, complains of having to attend a three o'clock
  dinner and dance at Bodmin, when he stood as candidate; the whole
  affair being, he says, "at once tiresome and foolish." "Croker
  Papers," vol. i. p. 166.

Sir Edward Coke declared three hundred years ago that every member of
Parliament should in three respects at least resemble the elephant;
"first, that he hath no gall; secondly, that he is inflexible, and
cannot bow; thirdly, that he is of a most ripe and perfect
memory."[74] He might well have added some of the other qualities of
that admirable beast--patience, docility, the capacity for hard work,
and, above all, a thick skin. Though outwardly inflexible, a modern
member must be prepared to bow to the wishes of his party; and in his
ripe and perfect memory there should be room for the names and faces
of his constituents and their wives. He must be patient when he has
failed for the hundredth time to "catch the Speaker's eye"; he must be
docile when the Whip urges him to vote in favour of a motion with
which he disagrees fundamentally; and if he be of a thin-skinned
disposition or of a delicate constitution, the labours of the House of
Commons may soon prove too much for him. If he is unambitious and
anxious to lead a peaceful life, he will do well to remember the
advice given by Ferguson of Pitfour, who summed up his parliamentary
experiences, in 1826, as follows: "I was never present at any debate I
could avoid, or absent from any division I could get at. I have heard
many arguments which convinced my judgment, but never one that
influenced my vote. I never voted but once according to my own
opinion, and that was the worst vote I ever gave. I found that the
only way to be quiet in Parliament was always to vote with the
Ministry, and never to take a place."[75]

  [74] "Institute of the Laws of England," 4th part, p. 3.

  [75] Sir H. C. Robinson's "Diary and Reminiscences," vol. ii. pp.
  315-6.

No doubt the member of Parliament enjoys many privileges which are
denied to the mere layman. He is stimulated by the excitement of
participating in a perpetual political conflict; he delights in the
intellectual pleasure of hearing the most interesting questions of the
day debated by the shrewdest men of the age; he is conscious of being
in a sense a public benefactor, with a direct (if somewhat slight)
influence upon the policy of his country. He is given a front seat in
what Mr. Biggar once called the "best theatre in London," and there is
always the chance that some day he may himself be cast for a leading
part in that great political drama which is performed night after
night on the boards of the Theatre Royal, Westminster. Politics--"l'art
de mentir à propos," as Voltaire defined them--may have their origin
in the perversity rather than in the grandeur of the human soul, but
the attraction they exercise over the average Englishman is very
great.[76] But for the privileges of a parliamentary career--one of
the worthiest to which a patriot can devote himself, in Mr. Balfour's
opinion--a heavy price has to be paid, and to the toll of toil and
treasure levied by Parliament must be added the sacrifice of
independence as well as of time.

  [76] Moore wrote to Lady Donegal in 1807: "I begin at last to find out
  that _politics_ is the only thing minded in this country, and that it
  is better even to _rebel_ against government than have nothing to do
  with it." "Memoirs," vol. i. p. 225.

In this twentieth century the initiative of the private member has
almost disappeared. The Government is alone responsible for
legislation; all the most important measures brought in are Government
measures. The time of the House is placed, very early in each session,
at the disposal of the Government, its business is arranged to suit
their convenience, and the private member must be content to make the
most of such fragmentary opportunities as are flung to him. He is
controlled by his party and by his Whip; he may not leave the House
without permission; he must vote at the word of command. At one moment
he may be called upon to speak at length upon a subject of which he is
sublimely ignorant, in order to allow his party a chance of gathering
their forces to meet an unexpected division; at another he is
compelled to refrain from good words, though it may be pain and grief
to him, in order to save the precious time of the Government. And
perhaps he will occasionally be inclined to agree once more with Burke
that the same qualifications, nowadays, make a good member of
Parliament that formerly made a good monk: "Bene loqui de superiore,
legere breviarum taliter qualiter, et sinere res vadere ut vadunt"--to
speak well of the minister, read the lesson he sets you, and let the
State take care of itself![77]

  [77] Prior's "Life of Burke," vol. ii. p. 454.

Even so, the advantages of membership are not to be despised; and once
a man has tasted the sweets of political life, all other professions
fade into insignificance. He may have been moved to enter Parliament
by some ambitious yearning after fame; he may have been prompted by
patriotic motives, or merely the desire to prove himself a useful
member of society, his serious opinion being (like that of Buxton, the
great opponent of Slavery) that "good woodcock-shooting is a
preferable thing to glory."[78] His contributions to debate may be of
poor quality, but they will not be altogether valueless, and, after an
arduous day in the House, he will listen with a glow of conscious
rectitude to the ancient and welcome cry of "Who goes Home?" which
rings through the lobbies and announces the close of the sitting.[79]
Though he may never, perhaps, wake to find himself famous, he will
often sink comfortably to sleep on his return home from the House in
the early hours of the morning, soothed by the consciousness of duty
done. That in itself is a thing not to be despised, and there may
possibly be other benefits in store for him. If he is sufficiently
painstaking and intelligent he may perchance have greatness thrust
upon him in the form of an under-secretaryship, and, when he has
scaled the outer breastworks of that Cabinet zareba to which access is
so difficult, the suspicion that he has long cherished of being a
heaven-born politician is at length confirmed.

  [78] Buxton's "Memoirs," p. 154.

  [79] In olden days members used to return from Westminster to London
  through lanes infested with robbers. This cry enabled them to assemble
  and leave the House in one another's company.

Socrates was right when he said that whereas no man undertook a trade
that he had not thoroughly learnt, everybody considered himself
sufficiently qualified by nature to undertake the trade of government,
probably the most difficult in the world. There are, however, certain
disqualifications which prevent the most ambitious man from serving in
Parliament.[80]

  [80] It is curious to reflect that a man may be a member of Parliament
  even though he is not entitled to a vote as an elector. The Rt. Hon.
  Austen Chamberlain was not only a member, but even a Cabinet Minister,
  at a time when he had no vote.

Infants and minors may not be elected to the House of Commons. But
though they have always been excluded by custom or statute, their
presence was winked at until the end of the eighteenth century. The
members of those bygone times seem generally to have been more
youthful than the members of to-day. Even the Chair was occupied by
men comparatively young, Seymour, Harley, and Sir Thomas More each
being elected Speaker before he had reached the age of forty. The
last-named speaks of himself as a "beardless boy resisting greybeards
and Kings themselves," referring no doubt to the time when Cardinal
Wolsey came to the House of Commons in 1523, to ask for money for his
royal master, and he actively opposed the grant.

In Queen Elizabeth's time the Lower Chamber was not weakened by the
admission of too many infants; but during the reign of James I. the
ancient custom for old men to make laws for young ones seems to have
been inverted, there being as many as forty members of Parliament who
were minors, and several who were not more than sixteen years old.[81]
The poet Waller sat in the Commons before he was seventeen, while Lord
Torrington (afterwards Duke of Albemarle) took part in debate when he
was only fourteen, and at that age addressed the House in 1667, on the
subject of Clarendon's impeachment.[82] The infant members of that day
were singularly precocious and well able to look after themselves.
When, for instance, some one urged that Lord Falkland was too young to
sit in Parliament, as he had not yet sown his wild oats, that young
nobleman rudely replied that he could imagine no more suitable place
for sowing them than the House of Commons, where there were so many
geese to pick them up.[83]

  [81] Naunton's "Fragmenta Regalia," p. 21.

  [82] Shaftesbury's "Life," vol. i. p. 30 n.

  [83] Townsend's "History," vol. ii. p. 400.

The Crown saw no disadvantage in having youthful legislators, who
could all the more easily be influenced. When Parliament assembled in
1661 and the tender age of many of the members was pointed out to King
Charles, he answered that he found no great fault in that, "for he
could keep them till they got beards."[84] By the Act of 1695,
however, infants were formally excluded from Parliament, but for a
long time they continued to sit in the House, though they most
probably abstained from voting.

  [84] Reresby's "Memoirs," p. 51.

Extreme youth was not considered a bar to parliamentary success in
days when it was possible for a politician to become Prime Minister,
as Pitt did, at the age of twenty-five, though that statesman's father
found it necessary on one occasion to defend himself against the
charge of immaturity.[85] Both Fox and Philip Stanhope (afterwards
Lord Chesterfield) delivered their maiden speeches a month or so
before they came of age,[86] and Lord John Russell was returned to
Parliament when he was still a minor.

  [85] "Sir," he said in debate, "the atrocious crime of being a young
  man, which the hon. gentleman (Horace Walpole) has with such decency
  and spirit charged against me, I shall neither attempt to palliate or
  deny; but content myself with wishing that I may be one of those whose
  follies may cease with their youth, and not of that number who are
  ignorant in spite of experience."

  [86] Chesterfield's "Letters," vol. ii. p. 339. In order to escape the
  fine of £500 Chesterfield retired from political life for a short
  time.

As the years advanced the House of Commons became more and more
particular in this respect, and at the beginning of the nineteenth
century an eye-witness was struck by the large proportion of
bald-headed men--nearly a third of the whole number--in the Lower
Chamber.[87] To-day no one who has not reached the mature age of
twenty-one can stand for Parliament, much less sit upon the sacred
green benches.

  [87] Grant's "Recollections," p. 62.

Lunatics and idiots are also disentitled to parliamentary election. A
member who goes mad after having taken his seat can only be removed,
however, if his case is proved to be a hopeless one, the House being
then petitioned to declare the seat vacant, and the Speaker issuing a
new writ. In one well-known instance a committee of the House found
that a member's lunacy was not so incurable as to justify his removal,
and he retained his seat. In 1881 the case of a lunatic recording his
vote in a division was the occasion of a painful and futile debate.
The member in question suffered from periodical bouts of insanity, and
had recently been certified "dangerous" at his own request, in order
that he might retire temporarily to an asylum. It was therefore
obviously improper for him to vote. The House, however, declined to
take any serious notice of the incident, the motion for an inquiry by
a Select Committee into the circumstances of the case being negatived,
and the matter tactfully allowed to drop.[88]

  [88] See Hansard, vol. clxii. p. 1941.

Aliens cannot sit in Parliament until they have taken the precaution
of becoming naturalised British subjects. In William III.'s time all
persons born outside the dominions were disqualified, and when the
Test and Corporation Acts were repealed in George IV.'s reign, an
amendment was inserted by the Bishop of Llandaff in the House of Lords
by which Jews were excluded from Parliament. They were finally
admitted to the House of Commons in 1858, and during the reign of
Queen Victoria naturalisation was held to carry with it full political
rights.

English and Scottish peers are incapacitated from serving in the
Commons. Irish peers, however, may do so, provided that they are not
already sitting as representative peers in the House of Lords.[89] The
eldest sons of peers were excluded from the Lower House down to the
middle of the sixteenth century, when they were gratefully admitted
and given seats of honour on the front bench with the Privy
Councillors.

  [89] When the Lords were temporarily abolished in 1648, peers were
  elected to the Commons, but only a few seem to have availed themselves
  of this privilege. Porritt's "Unreformed House of Commons," vol. i. p.
  123.

Irishmen enjoy parliamentary privileges not only as peers but also as
bankrupts. The occasional combination of the two therefore carries
with it some slight compensation. A bankrupt Englishman or Scotsman is
disabled from even standing as a candidate for Parliament, whereas his
more fortunate Irish brother may be elected. Members of Parliament who
become bankrupt after election may continue to sit and vote in the
Commons until the Speaker has received official notification of their
bankruptcy, or the House has ordered their withdrawal.

The election of clergymen and other ministers was prohibited by an Act
of 1801, passed in order to deal with the case of the Rev. J. Horne
Tooke, the "Father of Radicalism," who had been elected for Old Sarum.
It did not succeed in its object, however, for he continued to sit for
the remainder of the Parliament.[90] And by another Act, passed about
1870, any one who has relinquished the office of priest or deacon is
eligible for election. Otherwise no minister of the Established Church
may sit in Parliament.

  [90] Horne Tooke was a man of strength and determination. Upon all
  great public questions, as he once declared, "neither friends nor
  foes, nor life nor death, nor thunder nor lightning, would ever make
  him give way the breadth of one hair." When Lord Temple claimed a
  superior right to sit in Parliament because he had "a stake in the
  country," "So have I," said Tooke, "but it was not stolen from a
  public hedge!"

Many other persons are similarly debarred, among whom may be mentioned
the holders of offices under the Crown created since 1705, Crown
pensioners (exclusive of civil servants and diplomats), and Government
contractors. Persons guilty of treason or felony (who have neither
served their sentence nor been pardoned), or of corrupt practices at
elections are likewise disqualified,[91] as are also those who are
unable to take the Oath of Allegiance or to affirm. There are,
besides, a number of officials connected with the administration of
justice, or concerned with the collection of the Revenue, or
representatives of the Crown--judges, colonial governors, etc.--who
are incapacitated by their positions from sitting in the House of
Commons.

  [91] In 1558 it was voted by a small majority that one outlawed or
  guilty of various frauds might sit in the House if duly elected, his
  crimes being apparently purged by virtue of his election. See Raikes's
  "English Constitution," vol. i. p. 323.

At one period of parliamentary history lawyers were excluded from the
House of Commons, enactments in favour of keeping out "gentlemen of
the long robe" being passed in Edward III.'s time. They were always
unpopular members, it being supposed that they only entered Parliament
as a stepping-stone to wider practice at the Bar or to some sort of
Government employment. The legal profession was looked upon as one
into which no one entered without views of self-aggrandisement, and
the use of a seat in Parliament as a means of advertising oneself did
not appeal to the country at large.[92] Lawyers are allowed to sit in
the House to-day, but they may not practise as counsel before
Parliamentary Committees, nor even advise professionally upon any
private Bill.

  [92] See the "Black Book," p. 61.

Having successfully eluded all these disqualifications, paid a large
sum for the privilege of serving his country, talked himself hoarse on
the platforms of his constituency, and finally been returned in
triumph to the House of Commons, the private member may consider
himself safely launched upon the parliamentary sea. It now remains to
be seen whether or not political life comes up to his expectations. If
he is energetic, ambitious, and eloquent he will find free scope for
his talents on the green benches at Westminster. He will be given a
chance of proving his worth upon Select Committees. Here he can serve
his apprenticeship in preparation for that glorious day when he may be
inspired to thrill and enrapture a delighted assembly with such an
outburst of oratory as shall at once establish his claim to the
consideration of his party. Then indeed does Fortune seem ready to
smile upon the embryo statesman. In imagination he sees himself
lounging upon the Treasury bench, his feet cocked up against the
historic Table, while he writes a report of the debate for the
edification of his Sovereign. To the political enthusiast the
prospect is a rosy one. But alas! it is not every man who can aspire
to the giddy heights of the front bench. After many a session of
laborious days and sleepless nights, after many a recess devoted to
the tiresome art known as "nursing" his constituency, after many
disappointments and trials, our member may still find himself at the
bottom of the parliamentary ladder. Even if he ascends to what Mr.
Gladstone would have called "measurable distance" of the top, his
tenure is precarious; in the defeat of a Government at a General
Election he too may fall. And though his constituents remain loyal and
his seat secure, there arrives a day when he begins to weary of the
slavery of parliamentary life, of the drudgery of a political career.
Like Macaulay, he may at length come to define politics as a pursuit
from which the most that those who are engaged in it can expect is
that by relinquishing liberal studies and social pleasures, by passing
nights without sleep and summers without one glimpse of the beauty of
nature, they may attain "that laborious, that invidious, that closely
watched slavery which is mocked with the name of power."[93] When this
tragic moment arrives, or when through physical infirmity, advancing
years, or penury, he wishes to bid a long farewell to the scene of his
parliamentary labours, he has still a minor obstacle to contend with.

  [93] "Edinburgh Review" (October, 1838), vol. lxviii. p. 114. The two
  happiest days of a statesman's life are said to be the day when he
  accepts high office and the day when he resigns it (Campbell's "Lives
  of the Chancellors," vol. i. p. 561). Lord Rosebery defined the
  acceptance and resignation of office as "the two supreme
  pleasures--one ideal, the other real."

A member cannot resign his seat, nor is it permissible for him to
exchange it for any other. Only his own death or the dissolution of
Parliament can enable him to cease from being a member, unless the
House itself declares his seat to be vacant. Even expulsion from the
House does not prevent his immediate re-election by a constituency
determined to retain his services, as was shown in the case of
Walpole--twice expelled from the House, and re-elected by the voters
of Lynn--and of Wilkes and Bradlaugh. The only thing that can prevent
a man from sitting in the House, or allow a member to escape from its
service, is the fact of his coming within the range of that long list
of disqualifications already enumerated.

How then can a member vacate his seat in the simplest fashion? Many
members would think twice before becoming bankrupt or committing a
felony in order to avoid parliamentary duty. It is not given to every
one to be a Colonial Governor, an Auditor General, or even a Charity
Commissioner. But, by the merciful connivance of the powers that be,
it is always possible for a member to incapacitate himself by holding
a Crown appointment. For this beneficent purpose two ancient
stewardships of a purely nominal value are upheld, that by accepting
either of these offices a member may be enabled to retire gracefully
from Parliament.

The steward or bailiff of the three Chiltern Hundreds of Stoke,
Desborough and Boneham, and the steward of Northstead, were officers
appointed by the Crown in past ages to look after certain
Buckinghamshire forests in which brigands abounded. The brigands are
long since dead, and the forests themselves have been converted into
parks and pasture lands, but the stewardships remain, a convenient
city of refuge for members who desire to escape from the active strife
of Parliament, to whom they are sometimes presented as often as nine
times in one session. "The parliamentary constitution of England,"
said Disraeli, "was born in the bosom of the Chiltern Hills; as to
this day our parliamentary career is terminated among its
Hundreds."[94] And since no county is fraught with greater historical
and political interest than Buckinghamshire, it is perhaps fitting
that it should be the means of providing a merciful release for the
jaded parliamentarian whose course is run.

  [94] Speech made to the farmers at Amersham Market, 1847.




CHAPTER IV

THE PALACE OF WESTMINSTER


Parliament may be summoned to assemble wherever the king pleases.
Westminster, the site of that royal palace which has sheltered so many
English sovereigns, from King Canute to Henry VIII., was for centuries
the most natural meeting-place for the Great Council of the nation.
But many another town, such as Winchester, Bury St. Edmunds,
Leicester, Coventry, Reading, Salisbury, and half a dozen more, has at
different times been selected as the temporary seat of Parliament,
either to suit the royal convenience, or for other reasons.

Of the twenty Parliaments of Edward II. one met at Ripon, one at
Northampton, and three at York and Lincoln. In Stuart days Oxford was
the place chosen on two occasions, in 1625 and in 1665, when London
was being ravaged by the Plague. Since the Revolution of 1668,
however, Parliament has ceased to be nomadic in its habits; in its old
age it has definitely settled down at Westminster, and there it is
likely to remain.

The palace in which Canute first resided, within a stone's throw of
the Thames, was burnt to the ground somewhere about the year 1040.
Edward the Confessor rebuilt it ten years later, and in the days of
William Rufus the addition of the Great Hall further enhanced the
dignity of the palace. Here William held his first court, on his
return from Normandy, and since his day a succession of kings have
made it the centre of innumerable scenes of royal pomp and pageantry.

William Rufus was a man of large ideas. Even the magnificence of the
Great Hall did not entirely satisfy his taste for grandeur. In his
imagination he had conceived a still more splendid scheme of
architecture, and was disappointed with the size of the new building.
On first entering to inspect it, accompanied by a large military
retinue, he overheard some tactless persons remark that, in their
opinion, the Hall was far too large. With a scornful look the King
reduced these critics to silence, explaining that, so far from this
being the case, the Hall was not half large enough, being, in fact,
but a bed-chamber in comparison with the building of which he intended
it to form part.[95]

  [95] Knight's "London," vol. vi. p. 135.

By the end of the fourteenth century Westminster Hall had fallen into
disrepair, and during the reign of Richard II., when the poet Chaucer
was clerk of the works, it was rebuilt, the expense being met by a tax
levied upon all foreigners in the kingdom. Richard celebrated the
event by keeping Christmas there in a suitably seasonable fashion,
"with daily justings and runnings at tilt; whereunto resorted such a
number of people that there was every day spent twenty-eight or
twenty-six oxen, and three hundred sheep, besides fowl without
number."[96]

  [96] Stow's "A Survey of London," p. 173.

Prior to the days when such feats of engineering as the building of
the modern Thames Embankment were possible, the proximity of the
Palace to the river necessitated a system of constant repair. Until
confined within reasonable limits, the Thames showed a disposition to
overflow its banks upon the slightest provocation, much to the
inconvenience of the royal residents in the neighbourhood. In 1236 the
Palace was completely flooded, so that "men did row with wherries in
the midst of it," and six years later a similar fate befell
Westminster Hall. In 1579 the river once more trespassed upon the
royal domain, fish being afterwards found in a moribund condition on
the floor of the Great Hall. The latter, indeed, continued to be
visited by periodical floods as late as the year 1841.

Fire, too, seems to have proved a constant menace to the safety of the
palace, though at the time of the Fire of London the Great Hall was
one of the few places in which citizens could store their goods out of
harm's way. In 1299 part of the palace was burnt to the ground, and at
the beginning of the sixteenth century so great a proportion of it
fell a prey to a "vehement conflagration" that Henry VIII. decided to
forsake it altogether, and removed his court to Whitehall. Since that
day royal personages have ceased to lodge at the Palace of
Westminster, which is still, however, nominally a royal residence, and
as such remains in the custody of an officer of the King's
household.[97]

  [97] The Lord Great Chamberlain, who holds an hereditary freehold
  office of state, is the custodian of the Palace of Westminster. He was
  originally an executive officer of the King's household, appointed to
  look after the royal residence. In 1133 the office was granted by
  Henry I. to Aubrey de Vere, father of the first Earl of Oxford, and to
  his heirs. Henry VIII. gave the post on several occasions for life to
  different favourites, not necessarily of the De Vere family, but since
  the time of Elizabeth the Lord Great Chamberlainship has been held
  without exception by descendants of the Earl of Oxford. To-day the
  families of Cholmondeley on the one side, and Ancaster and Carrington
  on the other, share the privileges of the office, a representative of
  each branch holding the Chamberlainship in turn during the lifetime of
  alternate sovereigns. The Lord Great Chamberlain retains authority
  over the buildings of both Houses, even during the session, whenever
  Parliament is not sitting. Here his official responsibilities end. In
  former times a considerable part of his duties consisted in attending
  his sovereign at the Coronation, when he was not only expected to
  dress the King, to "carry the coif, swords, and gloves, etc."; but
  also to undress him, and to wait on him at dinner, "having for his fee
  the King's bed and all the furniture of his chamber, the night apparel
  and the silver basin wherein the King washes, with the towels." It is
  traditional that if the King sleeps at Westminster he must occupy the
  Lord Great Chamberlain's house. George IV. did so on the eve of his
  Coronation, the Speaker of the House of Commons handing over his
  residence for the purpose to the Lord Great Chamberlain for a nominal
  fee. On this occasion the officials in waiting on His Majesty spent a
  restless night. Lord Gwydyr, the Deputy Lord Great Chamberlain, and
  his secretary, took their stand on one side of the King's chamber, and
  the Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod on the other, and there they
  remained until morning. (See "The Gentleman's Magazine." July, 1821.)

[Illustration: WESTMINSTER HALL IN 1797

FROM AN ENGRAVING BY C. MOSLEY]

The Great Hall still continued to be used as the most appropriate
stage for State ceremonies, for coronations and the banquets with
which such events were celebrated. It was also the scene of most of
the great State trials famous in English history. Such men as William
Wallace, the Earls of Arundel, of Essex, and of Strafford, were here
arraigned upon a charge of high treason; here Charles I. was condemned
to death. In Westminster Hall Titus Oates was stripped of his
ecclesiastical habit and exposed to public obloquy, with a placard
upon his breast declaring his offence. Beneath this wide oak roof the
Duchess of Kingston was tried for bigamy, much to her delight. Here,
too, Warren Hastings faced his accusers, and triumphed over them. This
is the Hall, as Macaulay says in a well-known passage, which witnessed
the just sentence of Bacon and the just absolution of Somers; the Hall
where the eloquence of the latter for a moment awed and melted a
victorious party inflamed with just resentment. This, we may now add,
is the Hall where the body of Gladstone lay in state, and the mortal
remains of King Edward VII. received the homage of his sorrowing
subjects.

No State trial has been held in Westminster Hall since Lord Melville
was acquitted there in 1806, and on the only recent occasion on which
a member of the House of Lords was tried by his peers, on July 18,
1901, the Royal Gallery of the Lords was fitted up as a court.

For centuries the coronation feasts, which were held in Westminster
Hall, provided the public with a stately and imposing spectacle. Not
the least interesting part of the ceremony consisted in the entrance
of the King's Champion, clad in armour and mounted upon a fiery
charger, who flung down his gauntlet and challenged to mortal combat
all who dared to question the monarch's right to the throne. The feat
required some personal courage, as well as the possession of a docile
steed, for if it were not accomplished successfully the effect might
well be ludicrous. Before the coronation of George III., Horace
Walpole relates, Lord Talbot had spent much care in training his
charger to walk backwards, so that it might make a graceful exit from
the Hall without ever exposing its tail to the royal gaze.
Unfortunately, the lesson had been too well learnt, and the horse
insisted upon entering the Hall backwards, much to the amusement of
the spectators.

Sovereigns are no longer crowned in Westminster Hall, but in the Abbey
close by, and no coronation feast has been held there since the
accession of George IV., when the guests repaid their sovereign's
hospitality by carrying away most of his spoons as souvenirs of the
event. The Hall has, however, been the scene of other less-important
banquets, as, for instance, in 1905, when the officers of the visiting
French fleet were entertained there as the guests of the British
nation.

To Westminster Hall, Henry II. summoned his Barons in Council, and in
the reign of Henry III. parliaments were often held there. Gradually,
however, the building became devoted exclusively to the judicial side
of the king's Great Council, and, when Edward I. occupied the throne
of England, the Courts of King's Bench and Chancery held their
meetings regularly at the south end of the Hall. Peter the Great,
during a brief stay in England, paid a visit to Westminster Hall, and
was much struck by the presence of a number of busy people in long
black gowns and bobtailed wigs. On being informed that these were
lawyers, "I have but two in my dominions," he observed thoughtfully,
"and I believe I shall hang one of those directly I get home!"

New buildings were erected in 1738, on the west side of the Hall, to
accommodate the judges, and when, about a hundred and fifty years
later, the Palace of Justice was built in the Strand, the
representatives of the law emigrated thither in a body.

The general public for a long time shared with the lawyers the
privilege of trading within the precincts of Westminster Hall. In
Edward III.'s reign merchants' stalls abounded there, being
temporarily boarded over on the occasion of State pageants, and, at a
much later date, Laud tells us in his diary, a conflagration in one
of these shops threatened to destroy the entire building.

During the seventeenth century, book-sellers, law-stationers, and
other tradesmen still plied their callings in the Hall, undisturbed by
the pleadings of their legal rivals.[98] On the one side, as we read
in a contemporary chronicle, were to be seen "Men with Baubles and
Toys, and on the other taken up with the Fear of Judgment, on which
depends their inevitable Destiny. On your Left Hand you hear a nimble
Tongu'd _Sempstress_, with her Charming Treble, Invite you to buy some
of her Knick-Knacks: And on your Right, a Deep-mouth'd Cryar
commanding Impossibilities, viz. Silence to be kept among Women and
Lawyers."[99] In the days of Pepys, the Great Hall had become a
regular meeting-place for the public, and was still the most popular
market for the sale of books.[100]

  [98] Forster's "Grand Remonstrance," p. 276, note.

  [99] Brown's "Amusements," pp. 39-40.

  [100] "At Westminster Hall, where Mrs. Lane and the rest of the maids
  had their white scarfs, all having been at the burial of a young
  bookseller in the Hall," "Pepys' Diary," 20 January, 1659.

Trade has long been banished from the portals of Westminster Hall, its
stately precincts are now desecrated by no foot less worthy than that
of the Member of Parliament or the Saturday sight-seer. In other
respects the Hall remains unchanged. Save for the retimbering of the
roof in 1820 with oak taken from old men-of-war, it stands to-day much
as it has stood for centuries. Structural alterations have
occasionally been suggested, but without effect. One projected by Lord
Grenville, necessitating the removal and raising of the entire roof,
evoked many indignant protests.[101]

  [101]
      "With cedar roof, and stony wall,
      Old William Rufus built this hall;
      Without a roof, with scarce a wall,
      William Unroof-us spoils it all."

  Hawkins's "Biographical Sketches," vol. i. p. 341.

In New Palace Yard, opposite the entrance of Westminster Hall, a huge
clock-tower once stood. It had been erected in the reign of Edward I.,
the cost being defrayed by a fine levied on Sir Ralph de Hengham,
Chief Justice of the King's Bench, as a penalty for altering a
judicial record in favour of a pauper litigant. In this tower hung a
bell, known as "Great Tom of Westminster," whose voice on a clear day
could be beard as far away as Windsor.[102] In 1707 both tower and
bell were pulled down, the latter being recast and presented to St
Paul's Cathedral where it still hangs.

  [102] There is a well-known story of a sentry at the Castle who was
  accused of sleeping at his post, and secured his acquittal by proving
  that he had heard "Great Tom" strike thirteen times at midnight--a
  fact which was corroborated by the evidence of independent witnesses.

Near the tower was a fountain from which on great occasions wine was
made to flow for the delectation of the populace, while close by stood
the pillory in which Titus Oates, John Williams, the publisher of John
Wilkes's _North Briton_, and many other offenders against
parliamentary privilege, suffered the penalty of their crimes.

Westminster Hall lies nearly due north and south. At its south-east
angle, stretching towards the river, stands St. Stephen's Hall, on the
site of that famous Chapel, founded by King Stephen and called after
his sainted namesake, which was for so long the home of the Commons.

The Chapel was partly destroyed by fire in 1298, but was subsequently
restored at great cost by Edward III., who also built an adjacent
belfry of stone and timber containing three huge bells which were rung
at "coronations, triumphs, funerals of princes, and their obits."[103]
After the Reformation the thirteenth century decorations which
originally adorned the walls of St. Stephen's Chapel were whitewashed
and covered with boards, and the building was given over to
Parliament.

  [103] These bells must have been extremely unpopular, since it was
  fabled that their ringing "soured all the drink in the town." Stow's
  "Survey of London," p. 175.

Though the Three Estates originally sat together, they seem to have
deliberated separately. Parliament used to meet occasionally in the
Priory Church of Blackfriars Monastery, but when the Houses parted
company a chamber in the Palace of Westminster was reserved for the
Lords, while the Commons retired to the Chapter House of the Abbey.
Later on they assembled in or near Westminster Hall--Richard II. held
a parliament in a building erected for the purpose outside the Great
Hall--and finally, about the year 1550, St. Stephen's Chapel was fixed
upon as the regular meeting-place of the Commons.

The Chapel was an oblong building, but half as long and half as broad
as Westminster Hall, and most of the floor space was occupied by the
Lobby. It was a gloomy and narrow chamber, and what the German
traveller Moritz calls "mean-looking." At the western end was a
gallery to which members ascended by means of a ladder near the
southern window.[104] At the eastern end stood the Speaker's chair,
and opposite it the famous bar where so many persons have stood,
either as prisoners, witnesses, or patriots. Here Pepys, buoyed up
with brandy, appeared to answer the charges that had been brought
against the Navy Office in 1667-8. Here, a century and a half later,
Mrs. Clarke, the Duke of York's discarded mistress, was examined for
two hours on the subject of his alleged corrupt sale of
commissions--an ordeal from which she emerged triumphantly. At this
bar victorious soldiers, from the days of Schomberg to those of
Wellington, have received the thanks of Parliament for the services
they rendered to their country. And many a trembling prisoner has
stood here to receive sentence or reprimand at the mouth of the
Speaker.

  [104] Speaker Lenthall once rebuked a youthful member who was sitting
  perched upon the topmost rung, listening to a debate, and bade him
  come down and not "sit upon the ladder as though he were going to be
  hanged." Forster's "Historical Sketches," vol. i. p. 82.

On either side of the old House were ranged rows of wooden benches,
hard and comfortless, with neither backs nor covering. Not even were
Ministers provided with padded seats.

    "No satin covering decks th' unsightly boards;
    No velvet cushion holds the youthful Lords;
    And claim illustrious tails such small regard?
    Ah! Tails too tender for a seat so hard!"[105]

  [105] "The Rolliad."

St Stephen's Chapel was in size quite inadequate to the needs of
legislators--the only point, perhaps, in which it resembled the
present House of Commons. David Hume complained perpetually of the
lack of room; while Cobbett cynically referred to it as "the little
hole into which we are all crammed to make the laws by which this
great kingdom is governed."[106] Lined with dark wainscot and lit by
three chandeliers, the gloomy chamber did not impress the stranger
with the dignity or splendour of parliaments, and a visitor to St
Stephen's might well have been excused for mistaking the House of
Commons for a den of thieves or a crew of midnight conspirators.[107]

  [106] Dalling's "Historical Characters," vol. ii. p. 175.

  [107] Knight's "London," vol. ii. p. 68.

As was only natural, the dingy surroundings exercised a detrimental
influence upon the manners of members. Moritz was surprised to see
many of them lying stretched out at full length on the uncomfortable
benches fast asleep, while others cracked nuts or ate oranges. "The
many rude things the members said to one another," he observes sadly,
"struck me much."[108] Not only was the House squalid and dirty, it
was also infested with rats. Speaker Manners Sutton told Thomas Moore
that the only time he had ever laughed while occupying the Chair was
during a debate in which members of the Opposition had been squabbling
fiercely together, when he saw a large rat issue from beneath the
front Opposition bench and walk deliberately across to the Treasury
side of the House.[109]

  [108] Pinkerton's "Voyages," vol. ii. p. 508.

  [109] Moore's "Memoirs," vol. iv. p. 320.

The Lobby of St Stephen's was, if possible, the scene of even greater
discomfort and squalor than was the House itself. It was perpetually
crowded, not only with members and their servants, but also with the
general public, and was "as noisy as a Jews' synagogue." Pearson, for
many years head doorkeeper of the Commons, tells us that orange women
traded there regularly, selling their wares to thirsty politicians
during the sitting of the House. One old woman named Drybutter was a
great favourite among a certain class of members, and knew more of
their private affairs (we are told) than "all the old bawds in
Christendom put together."[110] Another, Mullins by name, "a young,
plump, crummy, rosy looking wench, with clean white silk stockings,
Turkey leather shoes, pink silk _short_ petticoat, to show her ancle
to the young bulls and old goats of the House," appealed especially to
the more amorous members.

    "Mark how her winning smiles and 'witching eyes
    On yonder unfledg'd orator she tries!
    Mark with what grace she offers to his hand
    The tempting orange, pride of China's land!"[111]

  [110] Pearson's "Political Dictionary," p. 37.

  [111] "The Rolliad."

She was said to have killed more men with her eyes and sighs than did
many a general with his canister and grape-shot in the American war.
Oranges and biscuits were not, as may be imagined, this fascinating
creature's sole stock in trade.

In Stuart days the walls of St Stephen's Chapel were temporarily
brightened by the presence of the tapestry which Charles II. hung
there. This, however, was taken down in 1706. About a hundred years
later, when alterations were being made to provide accommodation for
the recently added Irish members, the old thirteenth-century mural
paintings were discovered beneath the wainscot. No one, however, seems
to have realised their value, and they were carelessly allowed to
perish, sharing the fate that befell the curious old tapestries which
once adorned the walls of the famous Painted Chamber.

This Painted Chamber, which lay between the two Houses of Parliament,
was the original Council Chamber of the Norman kings. Here parliaments
were opened, and conferences of both Houses held. Its walls were hung
with tapestry on which were depicted various scenes from the Siege of
Troy. This was removed at the commencement of the nineteenth century
and thrown into a cellar, being subsequently sold in 1820 for the
paltry sum of £10, and beneath it was found the series of
paintings--representing the Wars of the Maccabees and scenes from the
life of Edward the Confessor--from which the Chamber derived its name.
It was in this apartment that the death warrant of Charles I. was
signed, when Oliver Cromwell and Henry Martin distinguished themselves
by childishly blacking one another's faces with ink. Here Charles II.
lay in state after his death, as did also Chatham and William Pitt.

Adjoining the Painted Chamber was the room in which the Peers formerly
met and sat, and which may therefore be styled the old House of Lords.
The Prince's Chamber, afterwards the Robing Room of the Lords, was
decorated with elaborate tapestries, of Dutch workmanship,
representing the destruction of the Spanish Armada, which had been
presented to Queen Elizabeth by the States of Holland, and
subsequently sold by Lord Howard to James I. These tapestries were
afterwards transferred to the Court of Requests, and, when the greater
part of the Palace of Westminster was destroyed by fire in October,
1834, perished in the flames.

It was proposed, in 1834, to find temporary quarters for the Court of
Bankruptcy in the old tally-room of the exchequer. For this purpose it
became necessary to remove several cartloads of old "tallies" which
had accumulated during past years and were likely to interfere with
the arrangements. These tallies were nothing but pieces of wood on
which were recorded by a primitive method of notches the sums paid
into the exchequer. The system dated from the Conquest and, though it
had been officially abolished in 1783, was still in use as late as
1826. Old tallies were usually burnt on bonfires in Tothill fields or
in Palace Yard, but in 1834 some official of an economical turn of
mind decided to make use of them as fuel for the stoves of the House
of Lords. The workmen engaged upon the work shared with all honest
British labourers the desire to finish their job as quickly as
possible and get home to their tea. They consequently piled the
tallies into the stoves with more energy than discretion, little
dreaming of the possible effect upon the overheated furnaces.

At four o'clock in the afternoon of the 16th of October, some visitors
who were being shown round the House of Lords observed that the floor
was very hot under their feet, and that the Chamber seemed to be half
filled with smoke. They were reassured by the officials, and no
further notice was taken of their remarks. Two hours later the tallies
had done their work, the flues were red-hot, one of the walls was well
alight, and flames were seen to be issuing from the windows of the
House. The alarm was immediately given. Fire-engines were hastily
summoned to the scene, and police and troops assembled in force in
Palace Yard.

The appliances for coping with any but the mildest of conflagrations
were then altogether inadequate, and it soon became evident that most
of the Palace was doomed. Vast crowds had meanwhile gathered to
witness the destruction of the parliament building, while peers and
members hastened to Westminster to assist in the work of salvage.
Hume, who had so often tried to obtain for the Commons a Chamber more
suitable to their needs, was one of the first to arrive, and did
yeoman service in saving the contents of the House of Commons
Library.[112] He was chaffingly accused of being the author of the
fire, and, as the ancient home of the Commons rose in smoke to the
sky, his friends declared that his motion for a new House was being
"carried without a division." Lord Althorp, another interested
spectator, cared even less for the preservation of St. Stephen's
Chapel than did Hume. "D---- the House of Commons!" he cried, "Save,
oh, save the Hall!"[113] His wish was gratified, and Westminster
Hall, together with the old House of Lords and the Painted Chamber,
was among the few buildings snatched from the flames. St. Stephen's
Crypt, situated underneath the old House of Commons, survived not only
the fire, but also the subsequent rebuilding.

  [112] A comparatively modern institution which did not exist until the
  year 1818.

  [113] Miss Martineau's "History of the Peace," vol. iii. p. 147.

When the flames had at last been extinguished, or had died down from
sheer lack of fuel, and the extent of the damage had been ascertained,
Parliament assembled once more--the Lords in what remained of their
library, the Commons in one of the surviving committee rooms. It was
then decided temporarily to fit up the old House of Lords for the use
of the Commons, and to relegate the Peers to the Painted Chamber,
until steps could be taken to provide the Great Council of the nation
with a more suitable home.

In the following year, British architects were invited to submit
designs for the new Houses of Parliament, which it was proposed to
erect on the site of the old Palace of Westminster, and, in 1836, the
design of Charles Barry was selected from some ninety-seven others.
With as little delay as possible the work was put into the hands of
the successful competitor, and on April, 27, 1840, the first stone was
laid without ceremony by the architect's wife.

From that moment until the completion of the building, poor Barry's
life was made a burden to him by the continual petty interference of
the authorities. Perpetual squabbles arose between the architect and
the superintending officials over every point of the construction--even
the contract for the manufacture of the clock gave rise to an acrimonious
controversy--while the question of expense was a never ending source of
worry and difficulty.

[Illustration: THE REMAINS OF ST. STEPHEN'S CHAPEL AFTER THE FIRE OF
1834

FROM A LITHOGRAPH AFTER THE DRAWING BY JOHN TAYLOR, JR.]

Barry's original design had included the enclosing of New Palace Yard,
and the building of a huge gate-tower at the angles. He had also
proposed to make Victoria Tower the chief feature of a big quadrangle,
whence a splendid processional approach should extend to Buckingham
Palace. The cost of such a scheme, however, precluded its
execution, and the architect had to content himself with the present
magnificent group of buildings, too well known to require detailed
description, which form the best possible memorial to Sir Charles
Barry's genius.[114]

  [114] Barry was assisted in his work by another well-known artist,
  Augustus Welby Pugin. The latter's son afterwards claimed for his
  father the honour of being the real designer of the Houses of
  Parliament, but his efforts to wrest the laurels from Barry's brow met
  with little success.

In 1852 Queen Victoria entered the new Houses of Parliament for the
first time, and some eight years later the whole building was
completed.

The fire of 1834 proved a blessing in disguise. The ancient congeries
of huddled buildings, to which additions had been made in various
styles by so many kings, and which went by the name of the Palace of
Westminster, had long ceased to provide a suitable home for the Mother
of Parliaments. From the ashes of the royal residence arose at length
a structure worthy to rank with any legislative building in the world,
and adequate to the requirements of that national council which
controls the destiny of the British Empire.

Towering above both Houses stands the lofty clock-tower which is one
of the landmarks of the metropolis. From its summit "Big Ben"--the
successor to "Great Tom of Westminster"--booms forth the hours, while
still higher burns that nightly light which shows to a sleeping city
that the faithful Commons remain vigilant and at work.[115]

  [115] Big Ben was so named after Sir Benjamin Hall, First Commissioner
  of Works. The light is extinguished by an official in the House of
  Commons by means of an electric switch, the moment the Speaker's
  question "that the House do now adjourn" has been agreed to.

The new Upper Chamber, with its harmonious decorations of gilt and
stained glass, its crimson benches, and its atmosphere of dignity and
repose, supplies a perfect stage for the leisurely deliberations of
our hereditary legislators, and forms a becoming background for such
picturesque pageants as the Opening of Parliament.

The present House of Commons, though too small to accommodate a full
assemblage of its members, makes up in comfort for what it may lack in
space. The Chamber is illuminated by a strong light from the glass
roof above; the green benches are cushioned and comfortable. At one
end is the Speaker's chair, and in front of it the table--that
"substantial piece of furniture," as Disraeli called it, when he
thanked Providence that its bulk was interposed between Mr. Gladstone
and himself--upon which Sir Robert Peel used to strike resonant blows
at regular two-minute intervals during his speeches. On this table
lies the heavy despatch-box which countless Premiers have thumped, and
which still bears the impress of Gladstone's signet ring. Here, too,
reposes the mace, that ancient symbol of the royal authority.

The mace is, perhaps, the most important article of furniture--if it
can be so described--in the House. Its absence or loss is an even more
appalling catastrophe than would be the absence of the Speaker. It is
possible to provide a substitute for the latter, but there is no
deputy-mace, and without it the House cannot be held to be properly
constituted. The present mace is engraved with the initials "C. R."
and the royal arms, and is the one that was made at the Restoration,
to replace Cromwell's "bauble," which disappeared with the Crown plate
in 1649. It is kept at the Tower of London when the House is not
sitting, and the fact that its absence prevents the conduct of any
business has been, on one occasion at least, the cause of grave
inconvenience. In the middle of the last century Parliament adjourned
for the day in order to attend a great naval review at Spithead, and
was timed to meet again at 10 p.m. The special return-train containing
members of the House of Commons was run in two portions, and the
official who held the key of the mace-cupboard happened to be
travelling in the second. As this was an hour late in arriving, the
House had to postpone its meeting until eleven at night.[116]

  [116] Mowbray's "Seventy Years at Westminster," p. 90.

Upon the position of the mace a great deal depends. When the mace
lies _upon_ the table, says Hatsell, the House is a House; "when
_under_, it is a Committee. When _out_ of the House, no business can
be done; when _from_ the table and upon the Sergeant's shoulder, the
Speaker alone manages." On the famous occasion in 1626, when Sir John
Eliot offered a remonstrance against "tonnage and poundage," when
Speaker Finch refused to put the question, and the House almost came
to blows, Sergeant-at-Arms Edward Grimston tried to close the sitting
by removing the mace. At once a fiery member, Sir Miles Hobart, seized
it from him, replaced it on the table, locked the door of the House,
and put the key in his pocket, thus excluding Black Rod, who was on
his way to the Commons with a message from the king.

The Sergeant-at-Arms is custodian of the mace. Attired in his
tight-fitting black coat, knee-breeches, and buckled shoes, with his
sword at his side, he carries it ceremoniously upon his shoulder
whenever he accompanies the Speaker in or out of the Chamber. He is
also, as we shall see, responsible for the maintenance of order within
the precincts of the House, and is provided with a chair near the Bar,
whence he can obtain a good view of the whole Chamber.

The arrangements made for the convenience and personal comfort of a
modern legislator are of the most elaborate and thoughtful kind.
Members of the Government, Whips, and the Leader of the Opposition are
provided with private rooms in which to do their work. The needs of
humbler politicians are no less carefully considered. By means of an
intricate system of ventilation the atmosphere of both Houses is
maintained at an equable temperature, summer and winter. The very air
inhaled by our politicians is so cleansed and rarefied by a system of
water-sprays, of cotton-wool screens and ice-chambers, that it reaches
their lungs in a filtered condition, free from all those impurities of
dust and fog which are part of the less-favoured Londoner's daily
pabulum.

The statesman who seeks a momentary relaxation from the arduous duties
of the Chamber can find repose in comfortable smoking-rooms where
easy-chairs abound. He may stroll upon the Terrace in the cool of the
evening, enjoying the society of such lady friends as he may have
invited to tea, and watching the stately procession of barges and
steamers that flows by him. (Occasionally the barges are loaded with
unsavoury refuse, of which his scandalized nostrils are made
unpleasantly aware. Sometimes, too, some wag in a passing
excursion-boat facetiously bids him return to his work in the House.)
Heated by an unusually warm debate, or tired out by a lengthy sitting,
he may retire to spend a pleasant half-hour in luxurious bathrooms,
whence division bells summon him in vain. His intellectual wants are
ministered to in well-furnished libraries, whose courteous custodians
are ever ready to impart information, to look up parliamentary
precedents, and otherwise to add to his store of knowledge. His inner
man is generously catered for by a Kitchen Committee, composed of the
gourmets of the House, who choose his wine and cigars, and watch over
the cooking of his food with a vigilant and fastidious eye. His meals
are appetising and at the same time inexpensive, and, as he sits in
the spacious dining-rooms set apart for his use, his mind may travel
back with kindly scorn to the days when his political ancestors drank
their cups of soup at Alice's coffee-house, munched the homely fare
supplied in Bellamy's kitchen, or satisfied their hunger in even
simpler fashion on the benches of the House itself. Lord Morpeth, who
was a Minister of the Crown in 1840, used always to suck oranges on
the Treasury bench during the course of his own speeches. Fox ate
innumerable dry biscuits on the hottest nights. David Hume, whose
devotion to duty prevented him from leaving his seat in the Chamber,
was in the habit of providing himself with a generous supply of pears,
which he consumed while his less conscientious colleagues were slaking
their thirst in Bellamy's finest port.[117] During a twenty-one hours'
sitting in August, 1880, a member (Mr. A. M. Sullivan) brought a
large bag of buns into the House, and enjoyed what Mr. Labouchère
called "a palpable supper."[118] The sight of a member of Parliament
enjoying an _al fresco_ meal under the eye of the Speaker would to-day
arouse indignant shouts of "Order!" Even the simple sandwich is taboo
in the Chamber of either House, and nothing more solid or more potent
than a glass of pure well-water, or perhaps an egg-flip, can be
partaken of during debate.

  [117] Francis' "Orators of the Age," p. 212, and Grant's "Random
  collections," p. 7.

  [118] T. P. O'Connor's "Gladstone's House of Commons," p. 88.

Could Pitt return to the scene of his former triumphs, he would indeed
marvel at the splendours of the modern parliamentary restaurant--Pitt,
whose thoughts even upon his deathbed are said to have reverted
lovingly to the delights of the old House of Commons kitchen. "I think
I could eat one of Bellamy's pork pies" were the great statesman's
last words as he expired at Putney in January, 1806, and it was no
doubt at Bellamy's humble board that he drank many a bottle of that
wine for which he entertained so strong a predilection.

Pearson, the famous doorkeeper of the House of Commons, has described
Bellamy's as "a damn'd good house, upstairs, where I have drank many a
pipe of red port. Here the members, who cannot say more than 'Yes' or
'No' below, can speechify for hours to Mother Bellamy about
beef-steaks and pork-chops. Sir Watkin Lewes always dresses them there
himself; and I'll be curst if he ben't a choice hand at a beef-steak
and a bottle, as well as a pot and a pipe."[119]

  [119] Pearson's "Political Dictionary," p. 19.

Dickens, in his "Sketches by Boz," has left a picture of that
old-fashioned eating-room, with the large open fire, the
roasting-jack, the gridiron, the deal tables and wax candles, the
damask linen cloths, and the bare floor, where peers and members of
Parliament assembled with their friends[120] to sit over their modest
meals until it was time for a division, or, as Sheil says, "the
whipper-in aroused them to the only purpose for which their existence
was recognized."

  [120] "25 April, 1822. Eat cold meat at Bellamy's (introduced by
  Lambton); and did not leave the House till near two."--Thomas Moore's
  "Memoirs," vol. iii. p. 346.

Old Bellamy, a wine-merchant by profession, was in 1773 appointed
Deputy-Housekeeper to the House of Commons, and provided with a
kitchen, a dining-room, and a small subsidy to cover his expenses as
parliamentary caterer. After nearly forty years' service in this
capacity he was succeeded by his son John, who continued to control
the culinary department until well into the last century. Refreshments
of a serious kind were not really required by politicians until the
days when Parliament took to sitting late at night. In 1848, however,
Bellamy's system of supplying members with food was not considered
sufficiently adequate, and a select committee was appointed to inquire
into it. As soon as Parliament reassembled in the new Palace of
Westminster, after the fire, the catering of the House of Commons was
taken over by a Kitchen Committee, while that of the Lords was placed
in the hands of a contractor.

In the days of the Bellamys the charges for solid refreshments were
not really high--the caterer relied very largely for his profits upon
the sale of wine--but in comparison with the tariff of to-day they
must appear exorbitant. For half-a-crown Bellamy provided his patrons
with a meal consisting of cold meat, bread and cheese; double that sum
secured a liberal dinner, which included tart and a salad. Claret cost
10s. a bottle, while a similar quantity of port and madeira was to be
had for 6_s._ or 8_s._ To-day a member of Parliament can be supplied
with a dinner of several courses for the modest sum of 1_s._, and
every item on the daily bill of fare is proportionately inexpensive.

Bellamy's was not only the eating-place of Parliament; it also partook
of some of the qualities of the modern smoking-room as a refuge from
debate. The sudden concourse of members who came hurrying into the
kitchen as soon as a bore rose to his feet in the House has been
amusingly described by Sheil in his essay on John Leslie Foster. Poor
Mr. Foster seems to have exercised an extraordinarily clearing effect
upon the House. The first words of his speech were the signal for a
unanimous excursion of his fellows, and he was left in full possession
of that solitude which he ever had the unrivalled power of creating.
Members hastened to the kitchen where the tiresome voice of the
parliamentary bore could not penetrate, and there indulged themselves
in conversation, eked out with tea or stronger beverages. "The scene
which Bellamy's presents to a stranger is striking enough," says
Sheil. "Two smart girls, whose briskness and neat attire made up for
their want of beauty, and for the invasions of time, of which their
cheeks showed the traces, helped out tea in a room in the corridor. It
was pleasant to observe the sons of dukes and marquises, and the
possessors of twenties and thirties of thousands a year, gathered
round these damsels, and soliciting a cup of that beverage which it
was their office to administer. These Bellamy barmaids seemed so
familiarized with their occupation that they went through it with
perfect nonchalance, and would occasionally turn with petulance, in
which they asserted the superiority of their sex to rank and opulence,
from the noble or wealthy suitors for a draught of tea, by whom they
were surrounded." The unfortunate Irish members, we are told, were
regarded with a peculiar disdain, being continually reminded of their
provinciality by the scornful looks of these parliamentary Hebes, who
treated them "as mere colonial deputies should be received in the
purlieus of the State." Dickens, too, describes how one of the
waitresses, Jane by name, who was something of a character, would
playfully dig the handle of a fork into the arm of some too amorous
member who sought to detain her.[121] "I passed from these
ante-chambers to the tavern," continues Sheil, "where I found a number
of members assembled at dinner. Half an hour had passed away,
tooth-picks and claret were now beginning to appear, and the business
of mastication being concluded, that of digestion had commenced, and
many an honourable gentleman, I observed, seemed to prove that he was
born only to digest. At the end of a long corridor which opened from
the room where the diners were assembled, there stood a waiter, whose
office it was to inform any interrogator what gentleman was speaking
below stairs. Nearly opposite the door sat two English county members.
They had disposed of a bottle each, and just as the last glass was
emptied, one of them called out to the annunciator at the end of the
passage for intelligence. 'Mr. Foster on his legs,' was the formidable
answer. 'Waiter, bring another bottle!' was the immediate effect of
this information, which was followed by a similar injunction from
every table in the room. I perceived that Mr. Bellamy owed great
obligations to Mr. Foster. But the latter did not limit himself to a
second bottle; again and again the same question was asked, and again
the same announcement was returned--'Mr. Foster upon his legs!' The
answer seemed to fasten men in inseparable adhesiveness to their
seats. Thus hours went by, when, at length, 'Mr. Plunket on his legs!'
was heard from the end of the passage, and the whole convocation of
compotators rose together and returned to the House."[122]

  [121] "Sketches by Boz," p. 109 (1855).

  [122] Sheil's "Sketches of the Irish Bar," vol. ii. p. 236.

Alas! Bellamy's roaring fire is long extinguished, his candles have
burnt down to their sockets, and been replaced by electric light. The
comfortable days of lengthy dinners are past and gone, and the modern
member has barely time to snatch a hasty meal in the Commons'
dining-room ere he returns to the bustle and confusion of the House.
Things have indeed changed since the leisurely days when Bellamy could
adequately cater for the needs of Parliament. His small staff and
humble kitchen would have but little chance of satisfying modern
requirements in an age when over a hundred thousand meals are served
to members and their friends in the course of a single session.




CHAPTER V

HIS MAJESTY'S SERVANTS


Parliament is not an administrative body. Summoned by the Crown, with
its assent it passes laws, gives and takes away rights, authorises and
directs taxation and expenditure; but in executive business the Crown
acts through Ministers who are not appointed by Parliament, though
undoubtedly responsible to it for their conduct.

Alfred the Great called together Councils, which in some ways
resembled our present Cabinets or the Privy Council, to consider such
measures as were afterwards submitted to the Witenagemot. In William
the Conqueror's time the _Curia Regis_ was the Great Council which he
consulted on questions of State policy. Later on, in Henry I.'s reign,
the King formed a smaller consultative body from the royal household,
whose duty it was to deal with administrative details, legislation
being left in the hands of the National Council.

In Tudor days the Sovereign had almost dispensed with Parliament
altogether--in the course of Queen Elizabeth's lengthy reign it was
only summoned thirteen times--and the country was governed
autocratically by the monarch, with the aid of his Privy Council. This
advisory body varied in size from year to year. In Henry VIII.'s reign
it consisted of about a dozen members; later on, the number was much
increased. In time the Privy Council became too large and cumbersome
an assembly to act together without friction, and was gradually
subdivided into various committees, to each of which was given some
specific legislative function.

In the reign of Edward VI. one of these smaller bodies was known as
the Committee of State, and from this has slowly developed the Cabinet
to which we are accustomed to-day. When the Great Council of Peers was
convened at York in 1640, the Committee of State was reproachfully
referred to as the "Cabinet Council,"--from the fact that its meetings
were held in a small room in the Royal Palace,--and afterwards as the
"Juncto." It consisted of the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Earl of
Strafford, and a few other leading men, and met at odd times to
discuss important intelligence, the Privy Council only meeting when
specially summoned.

James I. acquired the habit of entrusting his confidence to a few
advisers, and his successors followed suit. The inner council, or
cabal, thus originated, was the cause of much parliamentary jealousy
and popular suspicion. After the fall of Clarendon in 1677, and of
Danby twelve years later, Charles II. promised, in accordance with the
general desire, to be governed by the Privy Council, and to have no
secrets from that body. It soon became evident, however, that the King
had no intention of keeping his promise, and the Remonstrance of 1682
complained that great affairs of State were still managed "in Cabinet
Councils, by men unknown, and not publicly trusted."

In Stuart days the Commons had grown in strength from year to year,
and the Privy Council had weakened proportionately, though it had
increased in size. Besides being so unwieldy as to be impracticable
for administrative purposes, it was largely composed of men who were
not in any way fitted for the post of responsible advisers. Naunton,
writing of Elizabeth's day, observed that "there were of the Queen's
Councell that were not in the Catalogue of Saints."[123] And much the
same criticism would apply to the Privy Councillors of Stuart times.
The inner Cabinet, therefore, gradually assumed all the more important
functions of the Legislature, and eventually became the ruling power
in the State.

  [123] "Fragmenta Regalia," p. 23.

In the time of Charles II. the Ministry was not a united body, but was
composed of men of different political opinions, each of whom held his
office at the King's pleasure. The Cabinet long remained, therefore,
in a disorganised and subordinate condition, largely dependent upon
the royal will. Under the Tudors and Stuarts, Ministers were the
masters or servants of the Crown, according as the Sovereign was a
weak or a strong one. They did not necessarily sit in Parliament, nor
did they act together in response to the views of a parliamentary
majority. The Cabinet itself consisted of an inner group of
responsible advisers and an outer circle of members with whom they
often differed fundamentally. There was no need for unanimity of
political thought in the Cabinet of those days, so long as its members
were unanimous in their subservience to the King.

After the Revolution of 1688, however, the powers of the Crown were
limited and those of Parliament extended. Ministers now customarily
sat in Parliament, and gradually acquired unanimity of thought and
purpose, working together with common responsibility and for common
interests.[124] The Cabinet thus became what Walter Bagehot calls a
"combining committee--a hyphen which joins, a buckle which fastens,
the legislative to the executive part of the State"--and remained an
essentially deliberative assembly, as opposed to the Privy Council, or
administrative body.

William III. had begun by convening mixed Cabinets of Whigs and
Tories, but in 1693 he determined to appoint Ministers all of one
party, and in two years his Cabinet was entirely composed of Whigs.
This example was followed by his successor, though unwillingly, and
the Cabinet system, as we understand it to-day, may be said to date
from the moment when Godolphin forced Queen Anne to accept Sunderland,
and, later, to remove Harley, in accordance with the views expressed
by the country at elections.

  [124] It is not absolutely necessary for a Cabinet Minister to sit in
  either House. Gladstone was a Secretary of State from December 1845,
  to July, 1846, without a seat in Parliament.

By this time Parliament had learnt to tolerate the idea of a Cabinet,
and the word itself appears for the first time officially in the
Lords' Address to the Queen in 1711. In that year a lengthy debate
took place on the meaning of the words "Cabinet Council," several
peers preferring the term "Ministers." Among the latter was the Earl
of Peterborough, who declared that sometimes there was no Minister at
all in the Cabinet Council. He seems to have regarded the members of
the Privy Council and of the Cabinet with equal contempt. The Privy
Councillors, he said, "were such as were thought to know everything
and knew nothing, and the Cabinet Councillors those who thought that
nobody knew anything but themselves."

When Walpole was Prime Minister, the country was governed by three
bodies--the Great Council, somewhat similar to the modern Privy
Council; the Committee of Council, a smaller assembly which met at the
Cockpit in Whitehall, and seems to have concerned itself chiefly with
foreign affairs; and the Cabinet.

[Illustration: SIR ROBERT WALPOLE

FROM THE PAINTING BY FRANCIS HAYMAN, R.A., IN THE NATIONAL PORTRAIT
GALLERY]

The members of the Cabinet varied in number from eight to fourteen,
and included the Great Officers of the Royal Household. In April,
1740, for instance, it consisted of the Archbishop of Canterbury, the
Lord Chancellor, the Lord President of the Council, the Lord Privy
Seal, the Lord Steward, the Lord Chamberlain, the Master of the Horse,
the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, two Secretaries of State, the Groom of
the Stole, the First Minister for Scotland, the Chancellor of the
Exchequer, the First Commissioner of the Admiralty, and the Master of
the Ordnance. Besides these, the Duke of Bolton was also included, for
the somewhat inadequate reason that "he had been of it seven years
ago."[125] As such an immense body must have been quite unmanageable
from a business point of view, there also existed an interior council,
consisting of Walpole, the Lord Chancellor, and the two Secretaries of
State, who consulted together, in the first instance, on the more
confidential points, and reported the result of their deliberations
to the rest of the Cabinet.

  [125] Hervey's "Memoirs of George II.," vol. ii. p. 551.

The size and composition of a Cabinet is a question which has always
been left entirely to the discretion of the Prime Minister. In 1770
and 1783, when Lord North and Pitt were Premiers, the number was
reduced to seven. Later on, this was increased; but Lord Wellesley, in
1812, expressed his conviction that thirteen was an inconveniently
large number, and Sir Robert Peel, some twenty years later, declared
that the Executive Government would be infinitely better conducted by
a Cabinet composed of only nine members.

Among His Majesty's advisers in Georgian days, and earlier, peers
usually preponderated. The younger Pitt was the only Commoner in his
first Cabinet. Nowadays both Houses are suitably represented.

There is no definite rule laid down as to which posts in the
Administration carry with them a seat in the Cabinet; but the First
Lord of the Treasury, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the First Lord
of the Admiralty, the Lord President of the Council, the Lord Privy
Seal, and the Lord Chancellor are invariably included. Statesmen who
hold no office at all, as we have seen in the case of the Duke of
Bolton, have occasionally been given a seat. Hyde, afterwards Lord
Clarendon, sat in Charles I.'s Cabinet without office; and, later on,
Lord Fitzwilliam, the Duke of Wellington, and Lord John Russell were
each accorded a similar privilege. Lord Mansfield, on his elevation to
the seat of the Lord Chief Justice, in 1756, became a member of the
Cabinet, and did not cease to take part in the discussions until 1765.
The precedent he thus created was afterwards cited in the case of Lord
Ellenborough, another Lord Chief Justice, who was admitted to the
Cabinet of "All the Talents" in 1806. By this time, however, the
inclusion of any but the actual holders of parliamentary offices was
considered unusual, and it has never been repeated.

Cabinet meetings in Charles II.'s time were first of all held twice a
week, and then on Sunday evenings. It was long customary for the
Sovereign to be present, and Queen Anne presided regularly over these
Sunday gatherings. Indeed, the absence of the King from Cabinet
meetings did not occur until the time of George I., and only arose
from that monarch's inability to speak English. Since his day,
however, no Sovereign has thought it necessary, or even politic, to
attend.

Besides the regular official meetings of the Cabinet, informal
gatherings of Ministers were occasionally convened. Walpole used often
to invite a few colleagues to dinner to discuss the affairs of the
nation, and in the Aberdeen Government a Cabinet dinner was held
weekly.[126] After the tablecloth had been removed, and the port began
to circulate, measures of State were agitated and discussed, and
questions of policy decided upon. Whether Ministers were always in a
condition fit for the consideration of such grave topics is a matter
of doubt. Lord Chancellor Thurlow sometimes refused to take part in
these post-prandial discussions. "He has even more than once left his
colleagues to deliberate," says Wraxall, "whilst he sullenly stretched
himself along the chair, and fell, or appeared to fall, fast
asleep."[127]

  [126] "Our immemorial Cabinet Dinner was at Lord Lonsdale's," writes
  Lord Malmesbury, on March 17, 1852. "Each of us gives one on a
  Wednesday."--"Memoirs of an Ex-Minister," vol. i. p. 321.

  [127] Wraxall's "Memoirs," vol. i. p. 527.

The Cabinet no longer meets on Sundays, and the practice of holding
weekly dinners has been given up. It has no regular times of
assembling, but can be summoned at any moment when the Prime Minister
wishes to consult his colleagues. It is not necessary for all the
members of the Cabinet to be present, as no quorum is needed to
validate the proceedings, nor is there any rule laid down as to the
length of a Cabinet meeting, which may last from a brief half-hour to
as much as half a day.[128]

  [128] "Granville dined at the Lord Chancellor's yesterday," wrote Lady
  Granville to the Duke of Devonshire, on November 8, 1830, when the
  question of the postponement of the King's visit to the city was
  filling the minds of Ministers. "The Chancellor came in after they
  were all seated from a Cabinet that had lasted five hours, returned to
  be at it again till two, and the result you see in the papers."--Lady
  Granville's "Letters," vol. ii. p. 63.

The chief point with regard to Cabinet meetings is their absolute
secrecy. No minutes are kept, no secretary or clerk is present, and
only in exceptional circumstances is some private record made of any
matter that may have been discussed. The meetings are usually held at
No. 10, Downing Street, the official residence of the Prime Minister,
or occasionally at the Foreign Office, a practice instituted by Lord
Salisbury when he was Foreign Secretary, his Cabinet being so large
that the room in Downing Street could barely contain it.

In George II.'s time, No. 10, Downing Street--called after Sir George
Downing, a statesman of Charles II.'s day, whom Pepys styles "a
niggardly fellow"--belonged to the Crown, and was the town residence
of Bothmar, the Hanoverian Minister. On the latter's death, King
George offered the house to Walpole as a gift. The Prime Minister
declined it, however, and suggested that it should henceforward
accompany the offices of the First Lord of the Treasury and the
Chancellor of the Exchequer. Externally the Prime Minister's house is
not a very imposing structure, but the traditions attached to it as
the official residence of so many eminent Englishmen enchance its
value in the eyes of its occupants and of the public.

Here, then, the Cabinet assembles to discuss the problems of Empire,
whose solution at times of stress the country awaits with such
breathless interest. Here the Prime Minister presides over that
assembly which, however internally discordant, must ever present an
harmonious and united front to the public. The decisions arrived at by
"His Majesty's Servants"--no longer known as the "Lords of the Cabinet
Council," as in olden times--must always be presumably unanimous. Each
Minister is held responsible for the opinions of the Cabinet as a
whole. His only escape from such responsibility lies in resignation,
in either sense of that word. The defending and supporting in public
of what they are really opposed to in private, is the common practice
of Ministers. It is thought that one man's scruples should yield to
the judgment of the many, and "minorities must suffer" that
Governments may be carried on and Ministries remain undivided.[129]
There is a well-known story of Lord Melbourne's Ministry which
illustrates this point. The Government had proposed to put an
eight-shilling duty on corn. Melbourne, who was strongly opposed to
the tax, found himself out-voted and overruled by the other members of
the Cabinet. At the end of the meeting he put his back against the
door. "Now, is it to lower the price of corn, or isn't it?" he asked.
"It doesn't much matter what we say, but mind, we must all say the
same!" In 1860, again, Lord Palmerston as Prime Minister was in favour
of the House of Lords throwing out the Paper Duties Bill, which was
the measure of his own Chancellor of the Exchequer.

  [129] See Speaker Onslow's "Essay on Opposition," "Hist. MSS.
  Commission" (1895), App. ix. p. 460.

It is not perhaps easy to imagine a modern Premier being placed in a
situation similar to that of either Lord Melbourne or Lord Palmerston.
He must necessarily, to a certain extent, have the whip hand of the
Cabinet. For if several of his colleagues disagree with him on a
question of principle, and resign, he can generally appoint others;
whereas, if he resigns, the whole Ministry crumbles and falls to
pieces.

The Prime Minister nowadays has indeed acquired a position which is
almost that of a dictator. In many ways his power is absolute and his
will autocratic. More especially is this true as regards his dealings
with the Crown. In olden days he was the servant and creature of the
sovereign. He had no voice in the selection of his colleagues; he
acted merely as His Majesty's chief adviser, and, as such, was liable
to instant dismissal. When Pelham resigned in 1746, because he could
no longer agree with the King, he was acting in a fashion that was
then unprecedented. Before that time, a Prime Minister whose views did
not coincide with those of his sovereign, was summarily dismissed.
Many kings had, indeed, been in the habit of themselves undertaking
the duties of Prime Minister--Charles II. delighted in referring to
himself as his own _Premier Ministre_, though he was far too indolent
to perform the work of that official--and merely looked upon their
chief adviser as a convenient channel of communication between
themselves and Parliament.

It was not until the eighteenth century that a Premier of the modern
type came into existence. With the development of the party system,
the gradual growth of the Cabinet's prestige, and the consequent
weakening of the sovereign's prerogatives, the Prime Minister ceased
to be the choice of the Crown, and became the nominee of the nation.
As the leader of the party in office, he acquired the unquestioned
right of selecting his own Ministers. To-day, though the King still
nominally chooses his Prime Minister, little individual freedom is
left to the sovereign, who is guided in his choice by the advice of
the outgoing Premier and his interpretation of the wishes of the
country.

For a very long time the very name of Prime Minister stank in the
nostrils of the public and of Parliament. The word "Premier" was used
in 1746,[130] but as late as 1761 we find George Grenville in a debate
in the Commons declaring "Prime Minister" to be an odious title. The
holder of it long occupied an anomalous position. Legally and
constitutionally he had no superiority over any other Privy
Councillor. Eight members of the Cabinet took precedence of him, by
virtue of office--a fact which naturally resulted in situations
puzzling to the lay mind--the exact rank of the Prime Minister being
apparently impossible to define. When Lord Palmerston visited Scotland
in 1863, the commander of the naval guardship was very anxious to
receive that distinguished statesman with all the ceremony befitting
his exalted position. On the subject of salutes due to a Prime
Minister the naval code-book unfortunately maintained an impenetrable
silence, and gave the officer no information as to how he should act.
He eventually solved the difficulty in a thoroughly tactful manner by
giving Palmerston the salute of nineteen guns which were due to him
as Lord Warden of the Cinq Ports.[131] Mr. Gladstone, who was ever
most punctilious in matters of etiquette, always resolutely declined
to leave a room in front of any person of higher social rank, and many
a youthful peer vainly endeavoured to induce the aged Prime Minister
to precede him.

  [130] Coxe's "Pelham Administration," vol. i. p. 486.

  [131] Ashley's "Life of Palmerston," vol. ii. p. 233.

The Prime Minister continued to occupy an ambiguous position until
quite recently. It was not, indeed, until the close of Mr. Balfour's
Premiership that his proper precedence was recognised. Matters were
simplified, however, when he held some ministerial office, as First
Lord of the Treasury, Lord President of the Council, or Foreign
Secretary, whereby he became entitled to an adequate salary and an
assured, if inadequate, precedence.

Sir Robert Walpole, who held the Premiership for twenty-one
years--though not consecutively[132]--was the first Prime Minister in
the modern sense of the word, the first to sit in the Commons, and the
first to resign because of an adverse vote of Parliament.

  [132] Walpole was First Lord of the Treasury for more than twenty-one
  years, but Macaulay says that he cannot be called Prime Minister until
  some time after he had been First Lord.--"Miscellaneous Writings," p.
  359.

Walpole was in many ways a model Premier. Though not, indeed, as
incorruptible as Harley, he yet possessed many of the qualities which
contributed to that statesman's success.[133] It was not genius, it
was not eloquence, it was not statesmanship that gave Harley his
astounding power in Parliament, as Forster has remarked; it was
"House of Commons tact." Sir Robert Peel, Lord John Russell, and
Disraeli each understood that art of "managing Parliament," which is
probably of far greater value to a Prime Minister than either virtue
or eloquence. Lord Rockingham, George Grenville, and Lord Bute--the
last uttering his words with hesitation and at long intervals, causing
Charles Townshend to liken them to "minute-guns"--each lacked that
power of oratory for which another Premier, Lord Derby, the "Rupert of
debate," was more famous than for any intellectual ability.[134] Lord
Castlereagh had a great influence with his party, and was a most
successful leader of the House of Commons. Yet he was a shocking
speaker, tiresome, involved, and obscure.[135] On one occasion he
harangued the House for an hour, during no single moment of which
could any of his hearers make out what on earth he was driving at "So
much, Mr. Speaker, for the law of nations!" he finally exclaimed, as
he prepared to turn to other matters.

  [133] Walpole distributed government patronage freely among the
  members of his own family. His relations held offices worth nearly
  £15,000 a year, and, two years after he relinquished office, his own
  places brought him in an annual income of £2000. He made his eldest
  son Auditor of the Exchequer, and his second son Clerk of the Pells.
  He gave his son Horace two posts, as Clerk of the Estreats and
  Comptroller of the Pipe, when the boy was still an infant. Later on he
  gave him a position in the Customs, and lastly made him Usher of the
  Exchequer, an office worth about £1000 a year. See "Memoirs of Sir
  Robert Walpole," vol. i. p. 730; Cunningham's "Letters of Horace
  Walpole," vol. i. pp. lxxxiv. and 314.

  [134] "My father would be a very able man--if he knew anything," Lord
  Stanley is supposed to have said of him. Hutton's "Studies," p. 48.

  [135] "He evidently attempts to imitate Mr. Pitt in his manner and
  rhetorick; but the clumsy attempts of a heavy domestic fowl to take
  wing are very different from the vivid and lofty soaring of the lark."
  Courtney's "Characteristics," p. 42.

Parliament will, indeed, put up with a great deal from a Minister
whose honesty is unquestioned, and who has sufficient common-sense not
to blunder at a moment of crisis. Nowadays, however, no man who was
utterly lacking in ordinary power of speaking would be given a place
on the front bench. A talent for debate may not necessarily be a gauge
of a man's capacity as a Minister, but only in debate can he show his
powers. His success in Parliament is a test of intellect, for there,
at any rate, he cannot conceal departmental ignorance. But it requires
judgment, ability, and tact to become a leader. Charm and personal
magnetism are the qualities that endear a man to his followers. A
kindly word, a smile, or a glance of recognition will often win the
affection of a supporter more surely than the most eloquent speech,
and it was in this respect that Lord John Russell, Gladstone, and Lord
Salisbury, either from shortness of sight or absence of mind, failed.
The same qualities which young Grattan considered necessary for a
successful leader of Opposition may also prove invaluable to a Prime
Minister. "He must be affable in manner, generous in disposition, have
a ready hand, an open house, and a full purse. He must have a good
cook for the English members, fine words and fair promises for the
Irish, and sober calculations for the Scotch."[136] He must, indeed,
be a man who breeds confidence and inspires affection among his
subordinates.

  [136] Grattan's "Life and Times," vol. v. p. 417.

[Illustration: CHATHAM

FROM THE PAINTING BY WILLIAM HOARE, R.A., IN THE NATIONAL PORTRAIT
GALLERY]

Men in the House of Commons, as Bolingbroke said, "grow, like hounds,
fond of the man who shows them sport, and by whose halloos they are
used to be encouraged." If, in addition, the Prime Minister possesses
singleness of purpose and supreme self-confidence, his power in
Parliament is supreme. The "Great Commoner" owed his political success
as much to his courage and assurance as to his splendid gifts as an
orator. "I know that I can save the country," he once observed to the
Duke of Devonshire, "and I know that no other man can!"[137] The Duke
of Cumberland, a political adversary, described him very justly when
he said that he was "that rare thing--a man!" His position in the
House of Commons was in many ways unique. His very presence seemed to
instil fear into the hearts of his opponents, and promote confidence
in those of his supporters. A member named Moreton, Chief Justice of
Chester, in a speech in the Lower House, once made some allusion to
"King, Lords, and Commons, or, as that Right Honourable
Member"--looking across at Pitt--"would call them, Commons, Lords, and
King!" The Prime Minister rose at once in that slow dignified manner
which always commanded silence, and, fixing the speaker with a cold
and terrifying gaze, asked the Clerk of the House to make a note of
Moreton's words. "I have heard frequently in this house doctrines
that have surprised me," he said; "but now my blood runs cold!"
Moreton, in some alarm, hastened to apologise for his ill-chosen
words, saying that he had intended nothing offensive. "King, Lords,
and Commons; Lords, King, and Commons; Commons, Lords, and King--_tria
juncta in uno_! Indeed, I meant nothing!" he explained. Pitt gravely
accepted this apology, but took the opportunity of giving the
trembling Moreton some very sound advice. "Whenever that honourable
gentleman means nothing," he said, in his sternest and most frigid
tones, "I strongly recommend him to say nothing!"

  [137] Hayward's "Biographical Essays," vol. ii. p. 39.

The terror he inspired among his opponents was shown on another
occasion when he replied to an attack of Murray, the Solicitor-General,
afterwards Lord Mansfield. "I must now address a few words to Mr.
Solicitor," said Pitt; "they shall be few, but they shall be daggers!"
Murray at once became much agitated. "Judge Festus trembles,"
continued Pitt relentlessly, pointing his finger on him. "He shall
hear me some other day." He sat down, Murray made no reply, and a
languid debate showed the paralysis of the House.[138]

  [138] Butler's "Reminiscences," pp. 154-157.

It was not only in Parliament that Pitt's power made itself felt, or
that his words were received with a kind of reverential awe bordering
on terror. Government officials knew well that he was not a man to be
trifled with, or, if they did not know it, he soon found occasion to
bring the fact to their notice. Once, when he had sent a message to
the Admiralty saying that the Channel Fleet was to be got ready to
sail on the following Tuesday, the Board of Admiralty respectfully
replied that such a thing was an impossibility; the time was too
short. The Prime Minister drily rejoined that in that case he would
recommend the King to name a new Board of Admiralty. Needless to say,
the Channel Fleet sailed on Tuesday.[139]

  [139] Russell's "Recollections," p. 263.

Pitt, indeed, possessed all the attributes of a successful Prime
Minister. He was himself infused with a fervid enthusiasm which he
could transmit into the hearts of all who shared his confidences. His
courage was infectious. No man, said Colonel Barré, could come out of
the Minister's private room without feeling himself braver than when
he entered. He was gifted with a serene composure, a perfect
self-possession, and understood the House of Commons as well as did
Disraeli after him, and as well as Lord Salisbury understood the
Lords.

Both these two last statesmen possessed that polished style, dry
humour and sarcasm which are beloved of parliamentary audiences.
Disraeli was the more ornamental speaker of the two, but seldom wasted
time in rhetoric, and, like Lord North, never weakened his argument by
superfluous declamation. One of the secrets of his success was that he
knew when to keep silent--knowledge that is of infinite importance to
a Prime Minister. Gladstone--great as a Premier, and still greater as
Chancellor of the Exchequer--could not always stay his speech. His
earnestness and enthusiasm carried him away, and he thereby often
dissipated in debate those powers which his rival was reserving for
great occasions. Lord Salisbury adopted a studiously common-place tone
in the House; he did not orate, he talked confidentially. And
Parliament has always preferred this quiet fashion of speaking, to
what Dizzy once called the "somewhat sanctimonious eloquence" of
Gladstone. Lord Palmerston's jaunty manner was far more popular than
the exuberant eloquence of greater orators. People said that they
preferred his "ha! ha!" style to the wit of Canning or the gravity of
Peel.

The Premiership is not a bed of roses, and it requires the phlegm of a
Lord North to sleep there at all. It is, no doubt, the pinnacle of
political ambition, but from that giddy height many a statesman has
looked down with envy, like St. Simon on his column, at the
groundlings who walk securely beneath his feet. Elevation brings with
it many disadvantages. The searchlight of public opinion beats
relentlessly upon a Prime Minister; even his private life is open to
criticism. Enemies lay snares for him on every side; friends and
political allies have to be treated with tact and tenderness; his
labours never cease, day or night.[140] It is his duty, as Gladstone
said, "to stand like a wall of adamant between the people and the
sovereign," and the burden of an Empire hangs heavy upon his
shoulders. From the very moment of a Prime Minister's appointment his
responsibilities commence. Entrusted by the sovereign with the
delicate duty of forming a Ministry, he is at once faced with a task
of exceptional difficulty. Whom shall he choose? This problem awaits
his instant solution. Luckily, as Bagehot says, the position of most
men in Parliament forbids their being invited to the Cabinet, while
that of a few men ensures their being invited.[141] Between the
compulsory list, whom he must take, and the impossible list, whom he
cannot take, a Prime Minister's independent choice is not very large;
it extends rather to the division of the Cabinet offices than to the
choice of Cabinet Ministers.

  [140] Among the unpublished manuscripts at Welbeck Abbey are some
  private notes made by the Duke of Portland, who was Prime Minister in
  1783, suggesting methods of treatment suitable for various political
  allies at the time of the Coalition Ministry. The following extracts
  are of interest:--

    "Lord Salisbury. Irish jobs.

    Lord Thanet. Personal attention.

    Lord Cornwallis. Should be spoken to: has two members in the
    House of Commons.

    Lord Clarendon. Anything for himself or Lord Hyde.

    Lord Wentworth. Wants something. He voted against.

    Duke of Argyle. Great attention. Scotch jobs.

    Gen. Luttral. To be sent for next session. Lord Temple should not
    be allowed all the merit of the job that we done for him lately.

    Gen. Vaughan. Quebec, or a Command anywhere.

    Lord Westcote. Distant hopes of a Peerage.

    Mr. Gibbon. Will vacate his seat for an employment out of Parliament:
    very much wished by Lord Loughborough."

  (N.B.--This Gibbon is the historian.)

  [141] "Fortnightly Review," No. I, p. 10.

This distribution of places is, however, an invidious duty; there are
so many reasons governing a Premier's choice of his colleagues.
Valuable services to the party have to be rewarded; the claims of men
who have held Cabinet rank in former Governments cannot be
disregarded; the wishes of the Sovereign must be considered.[142] To
satisfy all who expect office is impossible; to satisfy the few who
deserve it is a laborious and not altogether grateful business. The
statesman whom it is proposed to appoint as Minister for War may yearn
for the Lord Chancellorship; the prospective President of the Board of
Trade desires to become Irish Secretary. It is for the Prime Minister,
by coaxing or entreaties, to content them both. But there are less
pleasant duties than this to perform. Certain ex-Cabinet Ministers who
have not proved a success in their various departments must be shelved
with as little damage to their feelings as possible; salves in the
form of peerages must be administered to other aggrieved politicians
who have been left out. At times ex-Ministers who are no longer
members of the Cabinet have shown signs of disinclination to retire.
In 1801, for instance, when Addington became Prime Minister, Lord
Loughborough, who had been Chancellor in Pitt's administration,
resigned the Great Seal, but continued to attend Cabinet meetings, and
Addington was eventually compelled to write and ask him to deprive the
Cabinet of the pleasure of his distinguished presence.[143]

  [142] The necessity of pleasing George III. compelled many Prime
  Ministers to include his friend Addington in their administrations,
  and inspired Canning to remark that this Minister was like the
  small-pox, which everybody was obliged to have once in their lives.

  [143] Campbell's "Lives of the Chancellors," vol. v. p. 327.

The manner of appointing a Minister, as also the manner of acquainting
a colleague that his services are no longer required, varies with
different Premiers. One may be as curt in his methods of appointment
as another is in his mode of dismissal. Walpole and North provide
excellent examples of this. On the death of Lord Chancellor Talbot in
1736-7, Walpole offered the Great Seal to Lord Hardwicke who was then
Lord Chief Justice. The latter hesitated about accepting the office,
until one day the Prime Minister impatiently informed him that unless
he made up his mind without any further delay, the Seal would be
given to Fazakerley, another famous lawyer. Hardwicke remonstrated
that Fazakerley was quite unfit for the post of Lord Chancellor, being
both a Tory and a Jacobite. "Never mind," replied Walpole, pulling out
his watch. "It is now exactly noon. If you do not let me know that you
have closed with my offer before eight o'clock this evening, I can
only tell you that, by twelve, Fazakerley will be as good a Whig as
any man in His Majesty's dominions!" Hardwicke hesitated no
longer.[144]

  [144] "Life of Eldon," vol. iii. p. 486.

Lord North's method of dismissing Fox from his Cabinet in 1774 was no
less peremptory. "Sir," wrote the Prime Minister, "His Majesty has
thought proper to order a new commission of the Treasury to be made
out, in which I do not perceive your name."[145]

  [145] "History of the Political Life of C. J. Fox," pp. 76-7.

It is seldom that a Prime Minister can give complete satisfaction in
the formation of a Ministry, though the task is perhaps lightened by
the fact that the possession of rare ability is not an absolute
necessity for a Cabinet Minister.

In 1851 the Prince Consort sent Lord Derby the examination papers
which Prince Alfred had been set when he passed as a naval cadet "As I
looked over them," wrote the Prime Minister in his reply, "I couldn't
but feel very grateful that no such examination was necessary to
qualify Her Majesty's Ministers for their offices, as it would very
seriously increase the difficulty of framing an administration!"

A curious list, as Macaulay suggested, could be made out of successful
Lord Chancellors ignorant of the principles of equity, and of First
Lords of the Admiralty ignorant of the principles of navigation.
Sheridan even went so far as to say that a competent knowledge of the
Rule of Three was a sufficient qualification for the Chancellorship of
the Exchequer. Fox never understood what was meant by Consols. He only
knew them to be things which rose and fell, and he was delighted when
they fell, because, as he said, it annoyed Pitt so much. Lowe, who
took a gloomy view of his office,[146] always admitted that he was "a
bad hand at figures," and his financial statements as Chancellor were
both obscure and unintelligible. Lord Randolph Churchill, too, when he
was at the Treasury, is always supposed to have remarked to a clerk
who brought him a list of decimal figures, that he "never could
understand what those d----d dots meant!"

  [146] "The Chancellor of the Exchequer exists to distribute a certain
  amount of human misery," he once remarked, "and he who distributes it
  most equally is the best Chancellor."

Government departments are to a great extent run by the permanent
officials. As Sir George Lewis, himself successively Chancellor of the
Exchequer, Home Secretary, and Minister for War, justly observed, it
is not the business of a Cabinet Minister to work his department. His
business is to see that it is properly worked. If he does too much, he
is probably doing harm. The permanent staff of the office can do what
he chooses to do much better than he, or, if they cannot, they ought
to be removed. Strength of purpose, quickness of decision, and a good
supply of sterling common-sense are worth more to a Minister than mere
technical knowledge.[147]

  [147] See Bagehot's "English Constitution," p. 200.

Besides the appointment of his colleagues, the Prime Minister also has
in his patronage a number of posts in the Royal Household, which
become vacant when an Administration changes. These are not so
difficult to fill, and are usually distributed among members of the
House of Lords, who are thus bound to their party by ties even
stronger than those of sentiment.[148]

  [148] Among the offices in the Royal Household which are filled by the
  Prime Minister, the most important are those of the Master of the
  Horse, the Lord Steward, the Lord Chamberlain, the seven Lords in
  Waiting, and the Mistress of the Robes.

The actual Ministry consists of over forty persons, of whom perhaps a
quarter form the Cabinet.[149] The annual cost to the country in
ministerial salaries is well under £200,000, and cannot therefore be
considered excessive, considering the delicacy of the administrative
machine, the efficiency with which it is run, and the amount of work
that has to be accomplished.

  [149] A complete list of the salaries and offices of Ministers does
  not lie within the scope of this volume. It will be sufficient to
  enumerate briefly the most important members of the administration.
  First in order of precedence stand the Prime Minister, the Lord High
  Chancellor, the Lord President of the Council, the Lord Privy Seal (an
  office to which, like that of the Prime Minister, no salary is
  attached), and the First Lords of the Treasury and Admiralty. After
  these come the five Secretaries of State: for Home Affairs, Foreign
  Affairs, the Colonies, War, and India. These are followed by the
  Chancellor of the Exchequer, the Secretaries for Scotland and Ireland,
  the Postmaster-General, the Presidents of the Board of Trade, Local
  Government Board, Board of Agriculture, and Board of Education, the
  Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, and the First Commissioner of
  Works. There are, besides, eight Parliamentary Under-Secretaries, four
  Junior Lords of the Treasury (one of whom is unpaid), a Patronage
  Secretary, a Financial Secretary, a Paymaster-General,
  Attorney-General, and Solicitor-General. Scotland is represented by a
  Lord-Advocate and a Scottish Solicitor-General; Ireland by a
  Lord-Lieutenant, a Lord Chancellor, an Attorney-General, and a
  Solicitor-General.

The labours of Cabinet Ministers have increased enormously in modern
times. This is perhaps one of the reasons why they no longer deem it
necessary to attend debates as regularly as their predecessors. In
Disraeli's time all the members of the Cabinet sat on the Treasury
Bench throughout a debate, and listened attentively to every speech.
It was considered obligatory upon the Leader of the House to be
present perpetually in his place in Parliament. Neither Gladstone nor
Disraeli would have thought of leaving the Chamber, except for a
hurried dinner, until the House rose. The sittings have become so
lengthy of late that it would be impossible for any Minister thus to
give up his whole time to debate. Ministers are consequently provided
with private rooms within the precincts of the House, whither they
betake themselves as soon as question time is over, leaving one or two
of their number to act as sentinels.

The cup of a young politician's happiness is filled to the brim on
that glad day when he is offered a post in the Ministry. It does not
actually overflow until he has been given a seat in the Cabinet
itself. Should such success attend him, the summit of his ambition is
within sight. In imagination he sees the mantle of Walpole descending
upon his shoulders. Before his eyes stretches a vista of political
splendour which only reaches a glorious conclusion when the vaults of
Westminster Abbey open to receive his ashes. There is but one fly in
the ointment. A member of the House of Commons who is appointed to
ministerial office has perforce to submit himself once more to the
judgment of the electors, and beg his constituents to return him again
to Parliament. This rule is some two centuries old, and was designed
to prevent the corruption of unworthy members who might otherwise be
bought by the offer of lucrative Crown appointments.[150] It is no
longer of any practical value for this purpose, and so tiresome a
practice, entailing as it does much hardship and expense upon a newly
created Minister, could well be abolished. Old customs die hard,
however, and nowhere do they take so "unconscionably long a time
a-dying" as in Parliament.

  [150] Exceptions are made by Statute in favour of the Secretary of the
  Treasury and some other officers, or of a Minister who is transferred
  from one office to another in the same Administration.

The ratification by the sovereign of the Prime Minister's choice in
the matter of colleagues is a brief but not unimposing ceremony. To
each of the three Secretariats of State there belongs a seal which is
the outward and visible sign of the authority attaching to the post.
When a Government goes out of office and a fresh Ministry is
appointed, the seals are delivered up in person to the sovereign by
the outgoing Ministers. His Majesty then hands them to the members of
the new Administration, who receive their badges of office in a
suitably humble attitude, on their knees, and kiss the royal hand that
confers these favours.

[Illustration: A CABINET MEETING (THE COALITION MINISTRY OF 1854)

FROM THE DRAWING BY SIR JOHN GILBERT]

The seals of office have been the unconscious cause of more
indifferent puns than any other parliamentary institution. Statesmen
who have never previously been guilty of a sense of humour, and have
otherwise led blameless lives, seem unable to refrain from making
little jokes on the subject of seal fisheries--jokes which their
biographers affectionately enshrine as epigrams in their published
Lives.[151] We have fortunately outgrown such humour as this, and puns
are nowadays only to be found elsewhere among the _obiter dicta_ of
our judges and magistrates upon their respective benches.

  [151] Lord Chancellors and Keepers of the Great Seal are very prone to
  puns. When Lord Campbell replaced Lord Plunket as Chancellor of
  Ireland he had to cross the Channel in a storm. Plunket's secretary
  remarked that if the new Chancellor were not drowned, he would be very
  sick. "Perhaps," said Plunket, "he'll throw up the seals!" Lord
  Chancellor Westbury once told an eminent counsel that he was getting
  as fat as a porpoise. "In that case," replied the other, "I am
  evidently a fit companion of the great Seal." Lord Lyndhurst is
  another Chancellor who made a joke of this sort. There must be
  something, too, in the atmosphere of a change of Ministry which evokes
  bad puns. When Disraeli was appointed to Lord Derby's Cabinet in 1852,
  more than one eminent politician facetiously remarked that now
  Benjamin's mess would be five times as great as that of the others.
  And, fourteen years later, when the same statesman was bidden to form
  a Ministry of his own, Lord Chelmsford, whom he had relieved of the
  Chancellorship of the Exchequer, shamelessly observed that if the old
  Government was "the Derby," this new one was certainly "the Hoax" (see
  Martin's "Life of Lyndhurst," p. 481 n., and the "Life of Lord
  Granville," vol. i. p. 479, etc.).

The Ministry is now formed. The Prime Minister moves into Downing
Street; his colleagues hasten to make themselves acquainted with the
work of their various departments. The parliamentary concert is about
to commence, and it is for the Premier as leader of the Government
orchestra to keep his band together as best he may. This is no easy
task. A single false note may mar the harmony of the whole
performance; the failure of one solitary instrumentalist may cause the
dismissal of the entire band. It is the conductor's duty to see that
his orchestra plays in unison, or, if not in unison, at least in
harmony. He must keep a watchful eye upon each individual, and quash
the efforts of any one member to perform a solo upon his own peculiar
trumpet. All round the platform sit the members of a former band,
stern critics anxious to seize the instruments from the hands of their
rivals and show the public how the tune should be played. Their
chance will soon arrive. For when the concert has gone on sufficiently
long, the popular audience grows weary of the performance and demands
something fresh. Another conductor is chosen, and another orchestra
engaged to play. The old band is dismissed, and its members are free
to return to their former avocations, wiser no doubt, but perhaps
poorer men.[152] But though from Parliament to Parliament the
performers may vary and the leaders change, the music remains very
much the same; and, while the country enjoys the privilege of paying
the piper, it is generally the piper who calls the tune.

  [152] If Pitt had been dismissed from office "after more than five
  years of boundless power," says Macaulay, "he would hardly have
  carried out with him a sum sufficient to furnish a set of chambers in
  which, as he cheerfully declared, he meant to resume the practice of
  the Law."--"Miscellaneous Writings," p. 347.




CHAPTER VI

THE LORD CHANCELLOR


From the days of Sir Thomas More to the present time the Woolsack has
continuously enriched the annals of English history with famous and
distinguished names. The well-known biographies of Lord Campbell,
whose habit of writing the lives of the deceased as soon as the breath
was out of their bodies added, as Brougham declared, a new terror to
death, supply abundant evidence of the statesmanlike qualities that
attach to the holders of the office. The most eminent men of their day
have held the Chancellorship, proving the truth of Burke's well-known
assertion that of all human studies the law is the most efficacious in
forming great men, and that to be well versed in the laws of England
is to be imbued in the sublimest principles of human wisdom.

The office of Chancellor is of very ancient origin.[153] It existed in
England in the days of the Anglo-Saxon kings, when the official who
acted as judicial secretary or clerk to the sovereign is supposed to
have derived his title from the _cancelli_ or screens behind which he
carried on his clerical duties.

  [153] Lord Ellesmere observes that in the 8th Chapter of Samuel,
  Jehoshaphat the son of Abilud, the Chancellor among the Hebrews, was
  called "Mazur," which, translated into English, becomes "Sopher," or
  Recorder. "Whether the Lord Chancellor of _England_ as now he is, may
  be properly termed _Sopher_ or Mazur, it may receive some needlesse
  question, howbeit it cannot be doubted but his office doth participate
  of both their Functions."--"Observations concerning the Office of Lord
  Chancellor," p. 2.

After their conversion to Christianity, the kings employed the
services of a priest as chaplain or confessor, and in the person of
the Chancellor the posts of "Keeper of the King's Conscience" and
secretary were thus naturally combined. In King Ethelred's time the
Chancellorship was divided between the Abbots of Ely, Canterbury and
Glastonbury, who exercised it in turn, each for four months.

The appointment continued for several centuries to be held by a
cleric. In the early days of Parliament, indeed, the Chancellor
received his writ of summons as a Bishop and not as Chancellor, and,
though he attended in the latter capacity in any case, no summons was
sent to him if he did not happen to be a bishop. Ecclesiastics were
appointed to the Chancellorship, without exception, until the time of
Sir Robert Bourchier in 1340, and it was not for a long time after
this that spiritual statesmen wholly gave place to lawyers. Thomas à
Beckett, William of Wykeham and Cardinal Wolsey, figure prominently
among the clerical Chancellors of early times, and it was not until
the beginning of the seventeenth century that laymen succeeded in
establishing themselves firmly upon the Woolsack. Since that time no
cleric, with the single exception of Bishop Williams, in 1621, has
been entrusted with the Chancellorship or the custody of the Great
Seal.

One of the chief duties of the Chancellor in early times consisted in
affixing the royal Seal with which from time immemorial the will of
the sovereign has been expressed. At the present day Royal grants and
warrants, Letters-Patent of Peerage or for inventions, Commissions of
the Peace, etc., are issued under what Coke calls the _Clavis Regni_.
When the sovereign is absent it acts as his representative, and
Parliament itself is opened by a Commission under the Great Seal. This
emblem of sovereignty may therefore be considered one of the most
important instruments of the Constitution, and, as its loss would
entail endless inconvenience, it is given into the custody of the Lord
Keeper or Lord Chancellor.[154] As secretary to the King the
Chancellor would seem to have been its natural custodian, but when he
fell sick or died, or went abroad, it was occasionally placed in other
hands. Later on it became the custom to make the Keepership of the
Great Seal a regular appointment, separate and distinct from the Lord
Chancellorship.

  [154] The Seal was stolen from Lord Thurlow by burglars in 1784, and
  the offer of a reward of £200 failed to retrieve it. When Lord
  Chancellor Eldon's house at Encombe caught fire in 1812, he buried the
  Seal for safety's sake in the garden, and then forgot where he had
  buried it. His family spent most of the next day digging for it before
  it was finally recovered. Eldon seems to have taken the fire very
  easily. "It really was a very pretty sight," he wrote, "for all the
  maids turned out of their beds, and formed a line from the water to
  the fire-engine, handing the buckets; they looked very pretty, _all in
  their shifts_." Campbell's "Lives of the Chancellors," vol. vii. p.
  300.

The post of Lord Keeper has been held by statesmen, courtiers, and
divines, and the duties of the office have even been undertaken on two
occasions by women. Queen Eleanor, the first Lady Keeper, was also the
most unpopular. While her husband was abroad in 1253, and the Great
Seal was in her custody, she made use of her delegated power to lay a
heavy tax on all vessels bearing cargo to London, and showered gifts
of English land and places upon her foreign relatives. She thus
succeeded in arousing the hatred of the London mob, who expressed
their dislike in a material fashion by pelting her with mud. To avoid
the fury of the populace Queen Eleanor fled abroad, and only returned
to England to take refuge in a convent.[155] The other Lady Keeper,
Queen Isabella, who held the Great Seal in 1321, had no actual
commission, and was not entrusted with any judicial power. But she
kept the Seal in a casket, and delivered it each day as it was
required to the Master of the Rolls, and may therefore claim to be
included in the list of Keepers.

  [155] Queen Eleanor was a remarkable woman. At the age of thirteen she
  was the author of a heroic poem, and in the following year became a
  wife. Piers of Langtoft describes her as

      "The fayrest Maye in lyfe,
      Her name Elinore of gentle nurture,
      Beyond the sea there was no such creature."

The post of Lord Keeper and Lord Chancellor first became identical in
Queen Elizabeth's time, when the Great Seal was entrusted to Sir
Nicholas Bacon, who, with his son Sir Francis and the great Lord
Burghley, may be considered the most eminent of Elizabethan
Chancellors. Sir Nicholas has been called an "archpiece of wit and
wisdom",[156] and was also well suited physically to combine the two
important offices. By nature a man of gigantic size, he grew more
bulky with advancing years, and though his dignity was thus increased,
the progress of Chancery business suffered in proportion. When he took
his seat on the bench, after walking from the Court of Chancery to the
Star Chamber, Sir Nicholas always spent some considerable time in
recovering his breath. The proceedings were accordingly delayed until
he had struck the ground three times with his stick as a signal that
he was in a condition to resume work. As was fitting in a man of his
position, Lord Keeper Bacon inspired intense awe amongst his
subordinates. Indeed, the reverence with which he was universally
regarded eventually proved the indirect cause of his death. One day,
while he was having his hair cut, he fell into a profound slumber,
from which no one had the courage to rouse him. "I durst not disturb
you," said the barber, when Sir Nicholas at last awoke, chilled to the
bone. "By your civility I lose my life," was the Lord Keeper's reply;
and in a few days his prophecy was fulfilled. Though, with Sir
Nicholas Bacon, the two posts of Keeper and Chancellor became united,
it was not until the time of George III. that the modern system
originated of conferring the Great Seal and the title of Lord
Chancellor simultaneously.

  [156] Naunton's "Fragmenta Regalia," p. 38.

In mediæval days the Chancellorship and the Lord Keepership were often
held in conjunction with other offices. Stratford was Archbishop of
Canterbury as well as Lord Chancellor in 1334, and, though his
ecclesiastical duties were too onerous to permit of his discharging
the functions of the Lord Keepership, they did not prevent him from
retaining to himself the fees of that office. In 1532, Thomas Audley,
the Speaker of the House of Commons, was appointed Lord Keeper in
succession to Sir Thomas More, and held both appointments
simultaneously until he was made Lord Chancellor. And as recently as
the reign of Charles II., a Prime Minister, the Earl of Clarendon,
combined the posts of Premier and Chancellor.

The office of Lord Chancellor developed into one of primary importance
in the time of Edward I., when, from being but a member of the _Aula
Regis_, he became the president of a separate court, a Court of
Equity. Law and Equity have, to a certain extent, been antagonistic
ever since the days when kings were advised by clerics and opposed by
lawyers. In the eyes of the latter Equity was often, as Selden says,
"a roguish thing," untrustworthy, and largely dependent upon the
conscience of individual Chancellors, "and as that is larger or
narrower, so is Equity." But however exaggerated the claim of Equity
to be the "law of God," "the law of nature," or "law of reason,"[157]
it has at least vindicated its position in the statutory enactment
that, where there is a conflict, its rules are to prevail over those
of the Common Law.[158]

  [157] "The Fyrste Dyaloge in Englys, between a Doctoure of Dyvynyte
  and a Student in the Lawes of England" (1539).

  [158] Judicature Act of 1873, section 24.

The conscience of some, at least, of England's early Lord Chancellors
possessed peculiarly plastic qualities. They themselves were not
infrequently ignorant of the principles of law. Occasionally, too,
their conduct and character were such that it is hard to imagine them
as the fount of Equity or justice. Lord Wriothesley, Chancellor in
1544, combined legal incompetence with the most intense religious
bigotry.[159] Chancellor Sir Francis Bacon, philosopher, writer, and
lawyer, whose name is one of the most famous in English history, was
forced to plead guilty to a charge of "corruption and neglect," for
which offence he was deprived of the Great Seal, fined a sum of
£40,000, and imprisoned in the Tower. A hundred years later Lord
Chancellor Macclesfield was impeached and fined for corrupt practices
with regard to the sale of Masterships in Chancery; while the brutal
Jeffreys, stained with the blood of hundreds of innocent and
defenceless persons, was another Lord Chancellor whose presence added
nothing to the prestige of the Woolsack.[160]

  [159] His barbarous treatment of the wretched Anne Askew is notorious.
  For denying that the sacramental blood and wine lost their material
  elements after consecration, Anne was condemned to be tortured, and
  the Lord Chancellor with his own hands stretched the rack on which the
  unfortunate woman was bound, in the hope of extracting a confession.
  It must, however, be admitted that Wriothesley's heart was not
  entirely impervious to emotion, for when, as Lord Chancellor, he
  announced the death of Henry VIII. in the House of Lords, he could not
  refrain from bursting into tears.

  [160] He was, however, an able lawyer, and reserved his orgies for
  private life. "If my Lord Jefferies exceeded the bounds of temperance
  now and then in an evening, it does not follow that he was drunk on
  the bench or in council." (Campbell's "Lives," vol. iii. p. 595
  _note_.)

Many centuries elapsed before the standard of judicial morality in
England attained its present high level, but even in the earliest days
of the Chancellorship we find occupants of the Woolsack combining
legal wisdom with particularly blameless lives. The great Sir Thomas
More, statesman and author, was as famous for the extreme simplicity
of his habits as for the ability with which he despatched Chancery
business. The former virtue he almost carried to excess, and his
practice of singing in the choir of the parish church at Chelsea,
dressed in a surplice, surprised and even shocked his contemporaries.
"God's body!" once exclaimed the Duke of Norfolk, seeing More thus
attired and singing lustily; "My Lord Chancellor a parish clerk! You
dishonour the King and his office." "Nay," replied More, "Your Grace
may not think that the King, your master and mine, will be offended
with me for serving _his_ Master, or thereby account his office
dishonoured," and he resumed his interrupted hymn.

Jeffreys' predecessor, Lord Guilford, who, as Campbell tells us, "had
as much law as he could contain," was another Chancellor of blameless
morals. In an age when the possession of a few redeeming vices was
considered the mark of a gentleman, the purity of his conduct caused
him some natural unpopularity. Indeed, his friends strongly advised
him to take a mistress, if he did not wish to lose all interest at
Court, saying that people naturally looked suspiciously at a man who
declined to follow the general practice and seemed to be continually
reprehending them by his superior moral tone. Lord Guilford's enemies
even sought to revenge themselves upon him by spreading reports
calculated to make him look ridiculous, and once, when the Lord Keeper
had gone to the city to see a rhinoceros which was on view there,
circulated a story to the effect that he had insisted upon riding this
animal down the street. Poor Lord Guilford was much annoyed; he was
blessed with a most exiguous sense of humour, and could see nothing
amusing in so preposterous a suggestion. "That his friends,
intelligent persons, who must know him to be far from guilty of any
childish levity, should believe it, was what _roiled_ him
extremely,"[161] he declared.

  [161] Roger North's "Life of Lord Guilford," vol. ii. p. 167. (The
  word _roiled_, so we are informed, was an import from the American
  plantations.)

The duties of the Lord Chancellor are manifold and of supreme
importance. Lord Lyndhurst, who himself held the Seal three times, and
is famous not only as an orator but also as the originator of the
policy of what is known as the Two Power Standard,[162] once said that
the Chancellor's work might be divided into three classes: "first, the
business that is worth the labour done; second, that which does
itself; and third, that which is not done at all."[163]

  [162] "If we wish to be in a state of security," he said, in 1859, "if
  we wish to maintain our great interests, if we wish to maintain our
  honour, it is necessary that we should have a power measured by that
  of any two possible adversaries."

  [163] H. Crabb Robinson's "Diary," vol. iii. p. 453.

In his Court of Chancery the Lord Chancellor formerly exercised a vast
jurisdiction. At one time all writs were issued from this Court, and
he was not only considered the guardian of all "children, idiots, and
lunatics," but, as Blackstone says, "had the general superintendance
of all charitable uses in the Kingdom," and was the visitor of all
hospitals of royal foundation.[164] His former duties in these
respects have to some extent been delegated to other judges and
officers, acting in his name; the issuing of writs, though also in his
name, has been transferred to the Central Office, and the jurisdiction
of the Court of Chancery removed to the Chancery Division of the High
Court of Justice.

  [164] "Commentaries," vol. iii. p. 47.

His judicial position, however, is probably greater than ever. He is
head of the Law and of the Judges--a vast though still, perhaps,
inadequate number--President of the High Court of Justice and of the
Court of Appeal, and, above all, of the highest and final Court of the
realm, the House of Lords. Here he sits continuously, with occasional
excursions to preside over the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council
to which come all appeals from India and the Colonies. As the only
legal member of the Cabinet, he is virtually chief law officer of the
Crown, and questions of domestic or international law are submitted
for his advice by his colleagues, the heads of the other Departments
of the Government. In his capacity of Keeper of the Great Seal he may
never leave the Kingdom, and is _ex officio_ Speaker of the House of
Lords, and must attend all its sittings. The Chancellor does not,
however, enjoy rights similar to those of the Commons' Speaker; he is
not addressed in debate; he does not call upon peers to speak, and has
no authority to settle questions of order.

As the Woolsack is not considered to be within the limits of the House
of Lords, the fact of a Chancellor being a Commoner does not prevent
him from sitting there and discharging the duties of Speaker; but he
may not take any other part in the proceedings unless he be himself a
peer. Only in recent times has the Chancellor been necessarily made a
peer, and there exists no statutory restriction incapacitating any
man, unless he be a Roman Catholic, from holding the office of Lord
Chancellor.[165]

  [165] Sir Robert Harley, Chancellor in 1757, was not made a peer until
  1764. In 1830, Brougham took his seat on the Woolsack as a Commoner,
  and at least one other Chancellor has since followed his example.

The limitation of his powers as Speaker of the Lords owes its origin
to the fact that, unlike the Chairman of the Commons, the Chancellor
is always a partisan appointed by a particular Government, and retires
when that Government goes out of office. As such, he takes an active
part in debate, and, though much respect would be paid to his advice
on points of order, it need never be followed, and he has no power to
decide questions of procedure or to control the conduct of his fellow
peers.

The first Chancellor of an actively partisan character was Lord
Thurlow--

    "The rugged Thurlow who with sullen scowl,
    In surly mood, at friend or foe will growl"--

whose well-known asperity had earned for him the title of "the Tiger."
It was said of him that in the Cabinet he "opposed everything,
proposed nothing, and was ready to support anything." He was supposed
to have derived his descent from Thurloe, Cromwell's secretary. "There
are two Thurlows in my county," he remarked, when questioned upon the
subject, "Thurloe the secretary and Thurlow the carrier. I am
descended from the carrier."[166] His bad manners on the bench were
proverbial, but not apparently incorrigible. Once at the commencement
of the Long Vacation, when he was quitting the court without taking
the usual leave of the Bar, a young barrister whispered to a
companion, "He might at least have said 'D---- you!'" Thurlow
overheard the remark, returned to his place, and politely made his
bow.[167] Eldon said of Thurlow that he was a sturdy oak at
Westminster, but a willow at St James's, where he long figured as the
intimate and grateful confidant of George III.[168]

    "Oft may the statesman in St Stephen's wave,
    Sink in St. James's to an abject slave,"

but Thurlow's attitude towards his royal master does not appear to
have been marked by extreme servility. Once, indeed, when the
Chancellor had taken some Acts to receive the royal assent, he read
one or two of them through to the King and then stopped. "It's all
d----d nonsense trying to make you understand this," said Thurlow,
with brutal frankness, "so you had better consent to them at once!"
And if he adopted this tone to his King, it may be certain that his
attitude towards his equals or inferiors was no less overbearing.

  [166] Roscoe's "Eminent British Lawyers," p. 258. Other Chancellors
  were sprung from equally humble origin. Edward Sugden, afterwards Lord
  St. Leonards, was the son of a barber. To him is attributed a repartee
  similar to that made many years earlier by Colonel Birch, M.P., who
  was taunted with having in his youth been a carrier. "It is true, as
  the gentleman says, I once was a carrier," replied Birch. "But let me
  tell the gentleman that it is very fortunate for him that he never was
  a carrier; for, if he had been, he would be a carrier still." See
  Burnet's "History of His Own Time," p. 259.

  [167] Hawkins's "Memoirs," vol. ii. p. 312.

  [168] He declared, on a famous occasion, that his debt of gratitude to
  His Majesty was ample, for the many favours he had graciously
  conferred upon him, which, when he forgot, might his God forget him!
  Wilkes, who was present, muttered, "God forget you! He will see you
  d----d first!" while Burke remarked that to escape the memory of the
  Almighty would be the very best thing Thurlow could hope for.

Thurlow's character has been cruelly portrayed in the _Rolliad_ under
the heading:


                "HOW TO MAKE A CHANCELLOR."

"Take a man of great abilities, with a heart as black as his
countenance. Let him possess a rough inflexibility, without the least
tincture of generosity or affection, and be as manly as oaths and
ill-manners can make him. He should be a man who should act
politically with all parties--hating and deriding every one of the
individuals who compose them."[169]

  [169] Page 430.

If the Speaker of the Lords had been expected to conduct himself in a
fashion similar to that of the Speaker of the Commons, Thurlow's
behaviour on the Woolsack would certainly have given rise to adverse
criticism. He was a frank and bitter partisan, and when some opponent
had spoken, would step forward on to the floor of the House and, as he
himself described it, give his adversary "such a thump in the
bread-basket" that he did not easily recover from this verbal
onslaught.[170] Thurlow's pet aversion was Lord Loughborough, his
successor on the Woolsack. When Loughborough spoke effectively upon
some subject opposed by Thurlow, who had not however taken the trouble
to study it, the latter could be heard muttering fiercely to himself.
"If I was not as lazy as a toad at the bottom of a well," he would
say, "I could kick that fellow Loughborough heels over head, any day
of the week." And he was probably right, for Lord Loughborough was a
notoriously bad lawyer,[171] whereas his rival's sagacity almost
refuted Fox's celebrated saying that "Nobody could be as wise as
Thurlow _looked_."

  [170] Twiss's "Life of Eldon," vol. i. p. 214.

  [171] Lord Ellenborough was once asked by his hostess after dinner to
  cease conversing with his host--a judge--and to give the ladies some
  conversation, as he had been talking law long enough. "Madam," he
  replied, "I beg your pardon; we have not been talking law, or anything
  like law. We have been talking of one of the decisions of Lord
  Loughborough."--Campbell's "Lives," vol. vi. p. 251.

The amount of work accomplished by a Lord Chancellor depends very
largely upon the man himself, as we may see by comparing the two most
distinguished Chancellors of their day--Lord Eldon and Lord Brougham.

Eldon had worked his way laboriously from the very foot to the topmost
rung of the legal ladder. It was his own early experiences that
inspired him to say that nothing did a young lawyer so much good as to
be half-starved. And in action as well as in word he always maintained
that the only road to success at the Bar was "to live like a hermit,
and work like a horse."

He was in many ways an original character. He always wore his
Chancellor's wig in society, and was otherwise unconventional. One
day, after reading much of "Paradise Lost," he was asked what he
thought of Milton's "Satan." "A d----d fine fellow," he replied; "I
hope he may win." In spite of this view, however, he was an extremely
religious man, though he did not attend divine service regularly.
Indeed, when some one referred to him as a "pillar of the church," he
demurred, saying that he might justly be called a _buttress_ but not
a pillar of the church, since he was never to be found inside it. He
is probably the most typical Tory of the old school that can be found
in political history. His conservatism was of an almost incredibly
standstill and reactionary character. As Walter Bagehot said of him in
a famous passage, he believed in everything which it is impossible to
believe in--"in the danger of Parliamentary Reform, the danger of
Catholic Emancipation, the danger of altering the Court of Chancery,
the danger of altering the Courts of Law, the danger of abolishing
capital punishment for trivial thefts, the danger of making landowners
pay their debts, the danger of making anything more, the danger of
making anything less."[172]

  [172] Bagehot's "Literary Studies," vol. i. p. 150.

Though on political questions Eldon could make up his mind quickly
enough, on the bench the extreme deliberation with which he gave
judicial decisions was the subject of endless complaints. He agreed
with Lord Bacon that "whosoever is not wiser upon advice than upon the
sudden, the same man is not wiser at fifty than he was at
thirty."[173] His perpetual hesitation in Court, the outcome of an
intense desire to be scrupulously just, gave rise to attacks both in
Parliament and the press.[174]

[173] Like Lord Bacon, too, he compiled an indifferent "Anecdote
Book." Bacon's "Collection of Apothegms," was supposed to have been
taken down from his dictation all on "one rainy day," but neither the
brevity of the time nor the inclemency of the weather is a sufficient
excuse for so poor a production.

  [174] These occasionally took the form of lampoons in verse, such as
  the following:--

      THE DERIVATION OF CHANCELLOR

      "The Chancellor, so says Lord Coke,
      His _title_ from Cancello took;
      And ev'ry cause before him tried
      It was his duty to _decide_.
      Lord Eldon, hesitating ever,
      Takes it from Chanceler, to _waver_,
      And thinks, as this may bear him out,
      His bounden duty is to _doubt_."

           Pryme's "Recollections," p. 111.

[Illustration: LORD ELDON

FROM THE PAINTING BY SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE, P.R.A., IN THE NATIONAL
PORTRAIT GALLERY]

A Commission was eventually appointed, ostensibly to inquire into the
means by which time and expense might be saved to suitors in
Chancery--where, as Sydney Smith said, Lord Eldon "sat heavy on
mankind"--but really to expose the dilatory methods of the Chancellor.
Eldon came well out of the inquiry, however, and it was proved that in
the twenty-four years during which he had held the Great Seal, but few
of his decisions had been appealed against, and still fewer reversed.

If some fault could be found with Lord Eldon for being a slow if
steady worker, no such complaint could be levelled at the head of Lord
Brougham. The latter, indeed, erred on the side of extreme haste, and
was as restless on the bench as Eldon was composed, and as ignorant
and careless of his duties as his predecessor was learned and
scrupulous. Brougham's cleverness, was, however, amazing. If he had
known a little law, as Lord St. Leonards dryly observed, he would have
known a little of everything. He has been called "the most misinformed
man in Europe," and in early life, when he was one of the original
founders of the _Edinburgh Review_, is said to have written a whole
number himself, including articles upon lithotomy and Chinese music.
His ability and brilliance were unsurpassed, and his oratory was
superb. His famous speech (as her Attorney-General) in defence of
Queen Caroline was one of the finest forensic efforts ever heard in
the House of Lords.[175] His many talents have been epitomised in a
famous saying of Rogers: "This morning Solon, Lycurgus, Demosthenes,
Archimedes, Sir Isaac Newton, Lord Chesterfield, and a great many
more, went away in one post-chaise." Yet he was eminently unsuccessful
as Chancellor, and his domineering fashion of treating his colleagues
made him extremely unpopular. Brougham's loquacity was intolerable,
and his conceit immense. "The Whigs are all cyphers," he once
declared, "and I am the only unit in the Cabinet that gives a value to
them." It must, however, be admitted that he was a great statesman if
not a great Chancellor, and that to his unique intellectual talents we
owe in great measure the emancipation of the negro slave and the
passing of the Reform Bill.

  [175] "There never was anything like the admiration excited by
  Brougham's speech. Lord Harrowby, G. Somerset, Mr. Montagu, and
  Granville told me it was in eloquence, ability, and judicious
  management beyond almost anything they ever heard."--Lady Granville's
  "Letters" (to Lady G. Morpeth, 5 October, 1820), vol. i. p. 181.

In his lifetime, Brougham was almost universally disliked and feared.
"A 'B' outside and a wasp within," said some wag, pointing to the
simple initial on the panel of that carriage which Brougham invented,
and which still bears his name.[176] And this was the popular view of
that Chancellor whom Sheil called "a bully and a buffoon." Even his
friends distrusted him, and in 1835, when Lord Melbourne returned to
power, the Great Seal, which Brougham had held but a year before, was
not returned to him, but was put into Commission. No reasons were
assigned for this step, but they were sufficiently obvious. "My
Lords," said Melbourne in the Upper House, when Brougham subsequently
attacked him with intense bitterness, "you have heard the eloquent
speech of the noble and learned Lord--one of the most eloquent he ever
delivered in this House--and I leave your Lordships to consider what
_must be_ the nature and strength of the objections which prevent my
Government from availing themselves of the services of such a
man!"[177] Perhaps one of the strongest objections was the intense
dislike with which the ex-Chancellor was regarded by the King. This
was not lessened by the cavalier fashion in which Brougham treated his
sovereign. When he was forced to return the Great Seal into the Royal
hands in 1834, he did not deliver it in person, as was proper, but
sent it in a bag by a messenger, "as a fishmonger," says Lord
Campbell, "might have sent a salmon for the King's dinner!"

  [176] The Duke of Wellington once chaffed Brougham, saying that he
  would only be known hereafter as the inventor of a carriage. The
  Chancellor retorted by remarking that the Duke would only be
  remembered as the inventor of a pair of boots. "D---- the boots!" said
  Wellington. "I had quite forgotten them; you have the best of it!"

  [177] Russell's "Recollections," p. 138.

A Privy Councillor, by virtue of his office, and "Prolocutor of the
House of Lords by prescription,"[178] the Lord High Chancellor of
Great Britain occupies to-day the "oldest and most dignified of the
lay offices of the Crown." By ancient statute, to kill him is a
treasonable offence, and his post as Lord Keeper is not determined by
the demise of the Crown. He enjoys precedence after the Royal Family
and the Archbishop of Canterbury, holds one of the most prominent
places in the Cabinet, and is the highest paid servant of the Crown.

  [178] Blackstone's "Commentaries," vol. iii. p. 47.

In Henry I.'s time the Lord Keeper of the Great Seal was paid 5_s._ a
day, and received a "livery" of provisions, a pint and a half of
claret, one "gross wax-light" and forty candle-ends. The Chancellor's
perquisites used always to include a liberal supply of wine from the
King's vineyards in Gascony. At the beginning of the nineteenth
century, he received a salary of £19,000; but Lord Eldon, in 1813,
gave up £5000 of this to the Vice-Chancellor, and for a long time the
Woolsack was worth £14,000 a year. A modern Chancellor's salary is
£10,000--£5000 as Lord Chancellor, and £5000 as Speaker of the House
of Lords--and he is further entitled to a pension of half that amount
on retirement.

The extensive patronage that attaches to the office adds much to its
importance. The Chancellor recommends the appointment of all judges of
the High Court and Court of Appeal, and is empowered to appoint or
remove County Court judges and Justices of the Peace. He also has the
gift of all Crown livings of £20 or under, according to the valuation
made in Henry VIII.'s reign, and of many other places.[179] One of
his perquisites is the Great Seal, which, when "broken up," becomes
the property of the reigning Chancellor. The breaking up of the Great
Seal is a simple ceremony which inflicts no actual damage upon the
article itself. Whenever a new Great Seal is adopted, at the beginning
of a new reign, on a change of the royal arms, or when the old Seal is
worn out, the sovereign gives the latter a playful tap with a hammer,
and it is then considered to be useless, and becomes the property of
the Lord Chancellor. On the accession of William IV. a dispute arose
between Lord Lyndhurst and Lord Brougham as to who should possess the
old Seal. The former had been Chancellor when the order was made for
the engraving of the new Seal; the latter had occupied the Woolsack
when the new Seal was finished and ordered to be put into use. The
King, to whom the question was referred, decided, with truly
Solomonian sagacity, that the Seal should be divided between the two
Chancellors.[180]

  [179] Lord Eldon, who dearly loved a joke, wrote as follows to his
  friend, Dr. Fisher, of the Charter House, who had applied to him for a
  piece of preferment then vacant--

    "DEAR FISHER,

      "I cannot, to-day, give you the preferment for which you ask.

          "I remain, your sincere friend,
                   "ELDON.
                     "_Turn over._"

    (On the other side of the page he added)
            "I gave it to you yesterday."

                        "Life of Eldon," vol. ii. p. 612.

  [180] The same difficulty arose in 1878, when Queen Victoria solved it
  by following the precedent set in 1831, and divided the Seal between
  Lord Cairns and his predecessor.

The people of England, as Disraeli said some seventy years ago, have
been accustomed to recognize in the Lord Chancellor a man of singular
acuteness, of profound learning, and vast experience, who has won his
way to a great position by the exercise of great qualities, by patient
study, and unwearied industry. They expect to find in him a man who
has obtained the confidence of his profession before he challenges the
confidence of his country, who has secured eminence in the House of
Commons before he has aspired to superiority in the House of Lords; a
man who has expanded from a great lawyer into a great statesman, and
who "brings to the Woolsack the commanding reputation which has been
gained in the long and laborious years of an admired career."[181]
Seldom, indeed, are the people of England disappointed.

  [181] "The Runnymede Letters," p. 230.




CHAPTER VII

THE SPEAKER


The position of "First Commoner of the Realm" is, after that of Prime
Minister, the most distinguished as well as the most difficult to
which it is possible for any man to attain while still a member of
Parliament. A comparison of the two offices proves, in one respect at
any rate, favourable to the former; for whereas it has been said that
the Premier "can do nothing right," the Speaker can do no wrong. He
may indeed be considered to enjoy in the House the prerogative which
the sovereign is supposed to possess in the country. But it is not
upon his presumable infallibility that the occupant of the Chair
relies to-day for the unquestioned honour and dignity of his position.
It is rather to the reputation for absolute integrity with which, for
close upon a hundred years, each Speaker in turn has been justly
credited, that he owes the tribute of esteem and respect, almost
amounting to awe, which is nowadays rightly regarded as his due. The
reverence he now inspires is the product of many Parliaments; his
present state is the gradual growth of ages.

From very early days, when the two Houses began to sit apart, the
Commons must probably have always possessed an official who, in some
measure, corresponded to the modern idea of a Speaker. And though Sir
Thomas Hungerford, elected to the Chair in 1377, was the first upon
whom that actual designation was bestowed, the Lower House undoubtedly
employed the services of a spokesman--or "pourparlour," as he was
then called--at an even earlier date.[182]

  [182] Hakewell gives a list of Hungerford's predecessors in the Chair,
  which includes Sir Peter de la Mare, commissioned by Parliament to
  rebuke Edward III. for his misconduct with Alice Perrers, and
  imprisoned for so doing.

The name "Speaker" is perhaps a misleading one, since speaking must be
numbered among the least important of the many duties that centre
round the Chair, though in bygone days it was customary for a Speaker
to "sum up" at the close of the proceedings. Grattan's landlady used
to complain feelingly that it was a sad thing to see her misguided
young lodger rehearsing his speeches in his bedroom, and talking half
the night to some one whom he called "Mr. Speaker," when there was no
speaker present but himself.[183] It is, however, as the mouthpiece of
the Commons, as one who speaks for, and not to, his fellow-members,
and was long the only channel through which the Commons could express
their views to the Crown, that the Speaker earns his title.

  [183] Phillips's "Curran and his Contemporaries," p. 88.

The Speaker may well be called the autocrat of the House; his word
there is law, his judgment is unquestioned, his very presence is
evocative of a peculiar deference. He is at the same time the servant
of the House, and, in the memorable words which Speaker Lenthall
addressed to Charles I., has "neither eyes to see nor tongue to speak
but as the House is pleased to direct." It is upon the good pleasure
of the Commons that his power is based; by their authority alone he
rules supreme.

The prestige which nowadays attaches to the office has been slowly
evolved on parallel lines with the gradual public recognition of the
necessary impartiality of the Chair. In proportion as the Speaker
became fair minded, the strength of his position was enhanced, until
to-day the occupant of the Chair is as powerful as he is impartial.

That there was a time when he could not justly be accused of being
either the one or the other is a matter of history. Speakers in the
past displayed little of the dignity and none of the fairness to which
their successors have now for so many generations accustomed us. They
were frequently subjected to intentional disrespect on the part of the
unruly members of that assembly over which it was their duty to
preside. In the early Journals of the House, for instance, we find a
Speaker complaining that a member had "put out his tongue, and popped
his mouth with his finger, in scorn," at him.[184] And the worthy
Lenthall himself was much upset on one occasion when a member came
softly up behind him, as he was engaged in putting a question to the
vote, and shouted "Baugh!" in his ear, "to his great terror and
affrightment."[185] Even as recently as in the reign of George III.
the parliamentary debates were marked by perpetual altercations of an
undignified and acrimonious description between the members and the
Chair.

  [184] July 16, 1610.

  [185] Palgrave's "House of Commons," p. 51.

That such things would be impossible nowadays is the result not so
much of an improvement in the manners of the House--though that may
have something to do with it--as in the complete change which has
taken place in the character of its Chairman.

Up to the end of the seventeenth century the Chair was to all intents
and purposes in the gift of the Crown: its occupant was a mere
creature of the reigning sovereign. "It is true," wrote Sir Edward
Coke, in 1648, "that the Commons are to chuse their Speaker, but
seeing that after their choice the king may refuse him, for avoiding
of expense of time and contestation, the use is that the king doth
name a discreet and learned man whom the Commons elect."[186] The
Speaker was, indeed, nothing more nor less than the parliamentary
representative of the King, from whom he received salaried office and
other material marks of the royal favour.

  [186] "The Institutes of the Laws of England," fourth part (1648), p.
  8.

In Stuart days the Commons had grown so jealous of the influence of
the Crown, and found the Speaker's spying presence so distasteful,
that they often referred important measures to Giant Committees of
which they could themselves elect less partial chairmen. That they
were justified in their fears is beyond doubt. In 1629, for example,
Speaker Finch, who was a paid servant of King Charles, declined to put
to the House a certain question of which he had reason to believe that
His Majesty disapproved. Again and again he was urged to do his duty,
but tremblingly refused, saying that he dared not disobey the King. On
being still further pressed, the timorous Finch burst into tears, and
would have left the Chair had not some of the younger and more
hotheaded members seized and held him forcibly in his seat, declaring
that he should remain there until it pleased the House to rise.[187]

  [187] Carlyle's "Letters and Speeches of Oliver Cromwell," vol. i. p.
  88. Until comparatively recently it was not permissible for a Speaker
  to leave the Chair until, at the instigation of some member, the
  motion "that this House do now adjourn" had been put. In this
  connexion a pathetic story is told of Speaker Denison. On one occasion
  the House broke up rather hurriedly, and the necessary formula for
  releasing the Speaker was forgotten. He was consequently compelled to
  remain a lonely prisoner in the Chair until some good-natured member
  could be brought back to set him free.

Even in the days of the Commonwealth, the choice of a Chairman was not
left entirely to the independent will of the Commons, and Lenthall,
himself the first Speaker to treat the Crown with open defiance, owed
his election to the urgent recommendation of Cromwell.

The Chair did not altogether succeed in clearing itself of Court
influence until the close of the seventeenth century, when the
memorable and decisive conflict between the Crown and the Commons took
place over the Speakership. The refusal of Charles II., in 1678-9, to
approve of Sir Edward Seymour, the Commons' choice, aroused the most
intense resentment in the breast of every member of the House, and was
the subject of many heated debates. Though the popular assembly had
eventually to bow to the royal will, the election of the King's
original candidate was not pressed, and the Commons may be said to
have gained a moral victory. From that day to this no sovereign has
interfered in the election of a Speaker, nor since then has the Chair
ever been filled by a royal nominee.

As a result of this great constitutional struggle between King and
Parliament, the Speaker gained complete independence of the royal
will, but he had still to acquire that independence of Party to which
he did not practically attain until after the Reform Act of 1832.

From being the creature of the Crown, the Speaker developed into the
slave of the Ministry, thus merely exchanging one form of servitude
for another. He was an active partisan, and, in some instances, openly
amenable to corruption. Sir John Trevor, the first Speaker to whom was
given (by a statute of William III.) the title of "first Commoner of
the realm," an able but unscrupulous man who began life in humble
circumstances as a lawyer's clerk, was actually found guilty of
receiving bribes, and forced to pronounce his own sentence.
"Resolved," he read from the Chair on March 12, 1695, "that Sir John
Trevor, Speaker of this House, for receiving a gratuity of 1000
guineas from the City of London, after the passing of the Orphans
Bill, is guilty of a high crime and misdemeanour." This resolution was
carried unanimously, and on the following day, when Sir John should
have been in his place to put to the vote the question of his own
expulsion, he wisely feigned sickness, and was never more seen within
the precincts of the House.[188]

  [188] After his dismissal from the House of Commons, Sir John Trevor
  lived quietly at home and amassed money. His miserly habits became
  notorious. Once when he was dining alone and drinking a bottle of
  wine, a cousin was introduced by a side door. "You rascal," said
  Trevor to his servant; "how dare you bring this gentleman up the back
  stairs? Take him instantly down the back stairs and bring him up the
  _front_ stairs!" In vain did the cousin remonstrate. While he was
  being ceremoniously conveyed down one staircase and up the other his
  host cleared the dinner table, and he returned to find the bottles and
  glasses replaced by books and papers. Campbell's "Lives of the
  Chancellors," vol. v. pp. 59-60.

Arthur Onslow, who was elected to the Chair in 1727, and filled it
with distinction for three and thirty years, has been called "the
greatest Speaker of the century," and was the first to realise the
absolute necessity for impartiality. So determined was he to ensure
himself against any possible suspicion of bias that he insisted upon
sacrificing that portion of his official salary which was customarily
paid by the Government.

Excellent though such an example must have been, it was many years
after Onslow's retirement before his successors ceased to display a
partisan spirit wholly incompatible with the dignity of their office.
Speaker Grenville threatened to leave the Chair because the Ministry
of the day refused to accelerate the promotion of a military relative
of his; Addington frequently overlooked trifling breaches of the rules
of procedure committed by his political chief and crony, Pitt; Abbot
contrived that the scheme for the threatened impeachment of Lord
Wellesley should prove abortive. It was the last-named Speaker,
however, who unwittingly brought to a head the question of the
impartiality of the Chair, and thereby settled it once and for all.

On July 22, 1813, at the prorogation of Parliament, Speaker Abbot took
it upon himself to deliver at the bar of the House of Lords a lengthy
party harangue on the subject of Catholic emancipation. This frank
exposition of his private political views roused the indignation of
the Commons, who took an early opportunity of expressing their
disapproval of his conduct. Not even his friends could condone Abbot's
action, and in April of the following year a resolution was moved in
the Commons gravely censuring him for his behaviour on this occasion.
For several hours he was forced to listen to criticisms and abuse from
both sides of the House, and though, as a matter of policy, the
resolution was not carried, the Commons in the course of this debate
proved beyond doubt their determination to secure the impartiality of
their Chairman.

[Illustration: CHARLES ABBOT (LORD COLCHESTER)

FROM THE PAINTING BY JOHN HOPPNER, R.A., IN THE NATIONAL PORTRAIT
GALLERY]

That they succeeded in accomplishing their purpose may be gauged
from the conduct and character of Abbot's successors. So divorced from
all political prejudice is the modern Speaker, that he does not deem
it consistent with his position to enter the portals of any political
club of which he may happen to be a member. Even at a General Election
he steers as widely clear of politics as possible. It is not, indeed,
usual for his candidature to be opposed at such a time--though an
exception was made as recently as 1895, when Speaker Gully was forced
to contest Carlisle--and though he may appeal in writing to his
constituents, he is not supposed to touch, in his election address,
upon any political questions.

The duties of a Speaker may be summarized in a few words. As the
representative of the House he alone of the Commons is privileged to
communicate direct with the Crown, either as the personal bearer of an
address, or at the bar of the House of Lords when the sovereign is
present.[189] As the mouthpiece of the House he delivers on its behalf
addresses of thanks to whomever Parliament delights to honour; he
censures those who have incurred its displeasure. In his hands lies
the issuing of writs to fill parliamentary vacancies; he alone can
summon witnesses or prisoners to the bar of the House, or commit to
prison those persons who have offended against its privileges. His
powers have been greatly increased of late years by the discretion
committed to him under various Standing Orders of accepting or
refusing motions for the closure of debate. It is, besides, a part of
the daily routine of the Chair to put questions to the vote, to
declare the decision of the House, and, finally, to maintain order in
debate.

  [189] Sir Arnold Savage, Speaker in Henry VI.'s time, was so voluble,
  and addressed the King so often, and at such length, that the latter's
  patience became exhausted, and he asked that all requests from the
  Commons might hereafter be addressed to him in writing.

Successfully to accomplish the last-named duty is a matter that
requires all that a man has of tact, strength of character, and
promptness of judgment. It is, above all things, necessary that by
his personal integrity he should gain the confidence of the House, so
that a willing acquiescence, and not a reluctant submission, may be
given to the force of his decisions. He must, as Sir Robert Peel
declared, have a mind capable of taking the widest view of political
events, but at the same time able "to descend to the discussion of
some insulated principle, to the investigation of some trifling point
of order, some almost obsolete form, or some nearly forgotten
privilege."[190]

  [190] In 1818, on the election of Manners Sutton.

Ever ready to quell turbulence with a firm hand, he must yet display
an habitual urbanity of manner calculated to soothe the nerves of an
irritable or excited assembly. He must make up his mind calmly and
dispassionately, but on the spur of the moment, and, once his judgment
is formed, adhere to it inflexibly. Difficult questions arise for his
decision with startling rapidity; intricate points of order loom
suddenly forth from a clear sky; and any show of vacillation would
tend very materially to weaken the Speaker's authority.

When a member uses unparliamentary language, or makes a personal
attack upon an opponent, the Speaker must summon his most persuasive
powers to induce the culprit to withdraw the offensive words. At a
moment's notice he has to decide a matter between two eminent
debaters, who would be little likely to consult him on any private
occasion, and give satisfaction to both. To a perpetual serenity, as a
member once said in describing the Speaker's office, he must add "a
firmness of mind as may enable him to repress petulance and subdue
contumacy, and support the orders of the House, in whatever
contrariety of counsels, or commotion of debate, against all attempts
at infraction or deviation."[191]

  [191] Dr. Johnson's "Debates in Parliament," vol. ii. p. 2.

To sum up, then, it may be urged that a Speaker should combine
intellectual ability with those qualities of character which are the
mark of what is called a "gentleman"--a term that has, perhaps, seldom
been more aptly defined than in a speech in which Lord John Cavendish
recommended the claims of a candidate to fill the chair vacated by the
death of Sir John Cust in 1770.[192]

  [192] Of his nominee for the Speakership Lord John declared that he
  had "parts, temper, and constitution." "And he has," he added,
  "besides the principle of common honesty, which would prevent him from
  doing wrong, a principle of nice honour, which will always urge him to
  do right. By honour I do not mean a fashionable mistaken principle,
  which would only lead a man to court popular reputation, and avoid
  popular disgrace, whether the opinion on which they are founded is
  false or true; whether the conduct which they require is in itself
  just or unjust, or its consequences hurtful or beneficial to mankind.
  I mean a quality which is not satisfied with doing right, when it is
  merely the alternative of doing wrong, which prompts a man to do what
  he might lawfully and honestly leave undone; which distinguishes a
  thousand different shades in what is generally denominated the same
  colour, and is as much superior to a mere conformity to prescribed
  rules as forgiving a debt is to paying what we owe." "Parliamentary
  History," vol. xvi. p. 737.

The physical qualifications necessary for the Speakership include a
clear, resonant voice and a commanding presence. A little man with a
flute-like falsetto might be endowed with the wisdom of Solomon and
the virtue of Cæsar's wife, and yet fail to claim the respect of the
House, even though he contrived to render audible his shrill cries of
"Order!" When Sergeant Yelverton was elected to the Chair in 1597, he
declared that a Speaker ought to be "a man big and comely, stately and
well spoken, his voice great, his carriage majestical, his nature
haughty, and his purse plentiful,"[193] and, with the omission of the
last qualification, now no longer necessary, the same may truly be
said to-day.

  [193] D'Ewes' "Journal," p. 449.

The enjoyment of perfect health might also be added to this list,
since only the most robust constitution can support the strain of
labours which were always arduous, and, with the rapid increase of
business and the prolongation of each succeeding session, grow
annually more onerous.

Hour after hour does the Speaker sit in the splendid isolation of the
Chair, listening to interminable speeches, of which no small
proportion are insupportably wearisome.

    "Like sad Prometheus, fastened to his rock,
    In vain he looks for pity to the clock;
    While, vulture-like, the dire [M.P.] appears,
    And, far more savage, rends his suff'ring ears."[194]

  [194] "The Rolliad."

He may not rest, though the cooing of Ministers on the immemorial
front bench, and the murmur of innumerable M.P.'s, must often threaten
to reduce the hapless listener to a condition bordering upon coma. He
must pay the strictest attention to every pearl that falls from the
lips of "honourable gentlemen," many of whom delight to air their
vocabulary at an unconscionable length, and, like Dryden's Shadwell,
"never deviate into sense." He must be ever ready to check
irrelevancy, to avert personalities, to guide some discursive speaker
back to the point at issue; nor is he upheld by the stimulus of
interest which might possibly be his could he look forward to replying
to the member who is addressing the House.

For the last hundred years it has been considered undignified for the
Speaker to take any personal part in debate, even when the House is in
Committee, though Speaker Denison once broke this rule, and made a
long speech upon some agricultural question. Speaker Abbot often spoke
in Committee, and once actually moved an amendment to a Bill which had
been read a second time, and succeeded in getting it thrown out. At a
still earlier date, in 1780, we read of Sir Fletcher Norton inveighing
vehemently against the influence of the Crown, and making a violent
attack upon Lord North which resulted in what Walpole calls "a strange
scene of Billingsgate between the Speaker and the Minister."[195] But
though Speaker Norton, who was reputed to be the worst-tempered man in
the House, could thus relieve his pent-up feelings in occasional
bursts of eloquence, he took no pains to conceal his boredom, and
during the course of a particularly tedious debate would often cry
aloud, "I am tired! I am weary! I am heartily sick of all this!"[196]
Speaker Denison, even, on one occasion, at the end of a protracted
session, grew so anxious for release that when a tiresome orator rose
to continue the debate he could not refrain from joining in the
members' general chorus of "Oh! oh!"

  [195] Horace Walpole's "Letters," vol. vii. p. 340. (This Speaker's
  criticism of the royal expenditure on a later occasion roused the
  animosity of George III., and cost him the loss of the Chair.)

  [196] May's "Constitutional History," vol. i. p. 503 n.

As a rule, however, modern Speakers seem able to exercise complete
self-control, and, bored though they must often be, are polite enough
to hide the fact. They cannot now have recourse to that flowing bowl
of porter which Speaker Cornwall kept by the side of the Chair, from
which he drank whenever he felt the need of a mental fillip,
subsequently falling into a pleasing torpor which the babble of debate
did nothing to dispel. To-day, indeed, the Speaker neither slumbers
nor sleeps, and the advice given by the poet Praed to the occupant of
the Chair during one of the debates of the first reformed Parliament
would fall on deaf ears.

    "Sleep, Mr. Speaker; it's surely fair,
    If you don't in your bed, that you should in your chair;
    Longer and longer still they grow,
    Tory and Radical, Aye and No;
    Talking by night, and talking by day;
    Sleep, Mr. Speaker, sleep, sleep while you may!

    "Sleep, Mr. Speaker; sweet to men
    Is the sleep that comes but now and then;
    Sweet to the sorrowful, sweet to the ill,
    Sweet to the children who work in a mill.
    You have more need of sleep than they;
    Sleep, Mr. Speaker; sleep, sleep while you may!"

It is very necessary for the proper performance of his duties that a
Speaker should possess good eyesight, and a memory exceptionally
retentive of names and faces. In 1640, when a heated dispute rose
between members of the House, several of whom claimed precedence of
speech, a rule was made that whoever first "caught the Speaker's eye"
should have the right to address the House.[197] This rule still holds
good. Much confusion may therefore arise if the Speaker happens to
suffer from obliquity of vision. Sir John Trevor squinted abominably;
consequently two members would often catch his eye simultaneously, and
decline to give way to one another.[198] To obviate this, a further
rule was framed to the effect that the Speaker should call by name
upon the member privileged to address the House--a rule which must
often prove a severe tax upon a Speaker's memory.

  [197] "People say, when you get on the blind side of a man, you get
  into his favour; but it is quite the reverse with the members when
  they get on the blind side of the Speaker." Pearson's "Political
  Dictionary," p. 53.

  [198] When Trevor was Master of the Rolls, a post he combined with
  that of Speaker, it was said that if Justice were blind, Equity was
  now seen to squint!

In former days, when there was any doubt as to who should speak, the
matter was referred to the House, as is still the practice of the
House of Lords. Nowadays it is settled by the Speaker. It is the usual
practice of the Chair to fix an alternate eye upon either side of the
House, and thus provide both parties with equal opportunities of
speech.

The tension of this perpetual strain upon a Speaker's nerves is not
altogether relieved when he quits the Chair. As long as the House is
sitting it is obligatory upon him to remain within the precincts of
the building, close at hand, lest the proceedings in Committee of the
whole House come to an end, and the House be resumed, or in case a
sudden emergency should arise to demand his immediate presence. And
well it is that this should be so. Who that was present on that
painful occasion in the summer of 1893, when for once the decencies of
debate were violated, and the House degenerated into a bear-garden,
can have forgotten the effect of Mr. Speaker Peel's sudden advent upon
the scene?

Mr. Chamberlain had drawn a comparison between Herod and Mr.
Gladstone. A Nationalist member retaliated by shouting "Judas!" at the
member for West Birmingham. In vain did a weak Chairman seek to
restore order, and when a Radical member crossed the floor and sat
down in the accustomed seat of the Leader of the Opposition, he was at
once pushed on to the floor by an indignant Unionist. This was the
signal for an impulsive group of Nationalists to detach itself from
the main body of the Irish party, and rush towards the front
Opposition bench. In a moment the House was in an uproar. It is not
known who struck the first blow, but before many moments had elapsed
the floor of the Commons was the arena of a hand-to-hand struggle
between hysterical politicians of all parties, while from the
Government bench Mr. Gladstone watched this tumultuous scene with all
the bitter emotions of one to whom the honour of the House was
especially dear.

Meanwhile the Speaker had been sent for, and in an incredibly short
space of time appeared upon the scene. With his advent hostilities
ceased as suddenly as they had begun. The storm died away; passion
quailed before "the silent splendid anger of his eyes." In the breasts
in which but a moment ago fury had been seething there was now room
for no feelings save those of shame.

The authority of the Chair is no doubt enhanced by the distinctive
dress which a modern Speaker wears. The flowing wig and full robes
have an important use. Mankind pays an involuntary homage to the pomp
and circumstance of such attire. Perhaps it was because Lenthall
possessed no peculiar costume to distinguish him from his fellows, but
wore the short grey cloak and peaked hat of the Puritan, that he was
subjected to the humiliation of having "Baugh!" shouted in his
astonished ear. Indeed, were a modern Speaker dressed "in smart
buckskin breeches, with well-topped boots, a buff waistcoat and blue
frock-coat, with a rosebud stuck in the buttonhole," as a
Parliamentary writer of the last century suggested, "he might roar to
the crack of his voice before he would be able to command order in a
tempestuous debate."[199]

  [199] Barnes's "Political Portraits," p. 218.

During the first four centuries of Parliament the Speaker received no
regular salary adequate to his needs. In 1673, Sir Edward Seymour was
paid £5 a day, and relied for the remainder of his income upon the
fees on private bills which accompanied the office. Other Speakers in
the past were remunerated by the gift of Government appointments or
sinecures conferred upon them by the Crown. This casual system was put
a stop to in 1790, when a fixed salary was first paid by the House to
its chief officer.

For the next fifty years the Speaker could also claim valuable
perquisites in the shape of equipment money, amounting to £1000, at
the commencement of each new Parliament, a service of plate (valued at
about the same sum), and a sessional allowance of £100 for stationery.
He was also permitted to carry the Chair away with him at the end of
every Parliament, and Speaker Onslow is said to have thus acquired
five of these bulky pieces of furniture, the disposal of which in his
private residence must have afforded him a perplexing problem.[200]

  [200] None of these chairs is to be found at Clandon, nor has the
  Onslow family any record of their existence, so perhaps the story of
  this particular perquisite is nothing but a legend and a myth.

The Speaker also received a gift of wine and a Christmas present of
broadcloth from the Clothworkers' Company; and, as a buck and doe were
sent to him annually from the Royal Park at Windsor, had probably more
opportunities of burying venison than any of his contemporaries. The
£1000 equipment money is still provided, and a service of plate, while
an adequate supply of stationery is substituted for the allowance.

As "First Commoner" the Speaker takes precedence of all others, and
among his many honorary dignities is the Trusteeship of the British
Museum, to which all Speakers, since and including Arthur Onslow, have
been appointed. His present salary amounts to £5000 a year, and he is
also provided with an official residence in the Palace of Westminster,
exempt from the payment of all rates and taxes.

Out of this income he is expected to entertain, and invitations to the
"Speaker's Dinners" have come to be looked upon as one of the minor
delights of membership. During the eighteenth century the Speaker was
in the habit of giving evening parties and official dinners on the
Saturdays and Sundays of the session.[201] Speaker Abbot, in his
Diary, describes one of these dinners at which twenty guests were
entertained. "The style of the dinner was soup at the top and bottom,
changed for fish, and afterwards changed for roast saddle of mutton
and roast loin of veal." The wine was champagne, Hock, Hermitage, and
(which sounds unpleasant) iced Burgundy.[202] His successors have
always continued the practice of holding regular weekly entertainments
of a social character, at which the members attend in _levée_ dress,
and it is doubtful whether any guest to-day would follow the example
of Cobbett, who declined an invitation to dine with Speaker Manners
Sutton on the grounds that he was "not accustomed to the society of
gentlemen."[203]

  [201] Pellew's "Life of Sidmouth," vol. i. p. 368.

  [202] "Diary of Lord Colchester," February 2, 1796.

  [203] Dalling's "Historical Characters," vol. ii. p. 181.

In old days, as we have seen, the Speakership was often a
stepping-stone to some higher appointment. Sir Thomas More, "the first
English gentleman who signalized himself as an orator; the first
writer of prose (as Townsend calls him) which is still intelligible"[204]--
whatever that may mean--was also the first lay Chancellor of England.
It was not considered strange for the Speaker to hold some ministerial
appointment both while he sat in the Chair and after his retirement.
Sir Edward Coke was Solicitor-General as well as Speaker; Harley
occupied the office of Secretary of State and the Chair
simultaneously. Spencer Compton was Paymaster-General as well as
Speaker, and, as Lord Wilmington, became Prime Minister in 1742. Nor
was he the only Speaker to exchange the Chair for the Premiership.
Addington succeeded Pitt in that office in 1801; Grenville became
Prime Minister in the Government of "All the Talents," five years
later; and Manners Sutton is said to have been urged by the Duke of
Wellington to form a Ministry in 1831-2.[205]

  [204] Townsend's "History of the House of Commons."

  [205] "Croker Papers," vol. ii. p. 164.

Nowadays, when a Speaker finally relinquishes the Chair, it would be
considered derogatory to his dignity for him to reappear in the House
as a simple member of Parliament. Addington did so, but soon realized
the difficulty of his position, and requested that he might be
elevated to the House of Lords.

It has long been the custom for the Commons to ask the Crown to
recognize in a material fashion the services of a retiring Speaker. He
is allowed a pension of £4000 a year, and, ever since the retirement
of Abbot in 1817, a peerage of the rank of a viscountcy has been
conferred upon him.

Placed in a position of extraordinary trust, hedged about with the
lofty traditions of his office, weighed down by heavy responsibilities,
engaged in a sedentary occupation during the greater part of the day
or night, a Speaker may well agree with that candid correspondent who,
in congratulating Addington on his elevation to the Chair in 1789,
referred to the Speakership as "one of the most awful posts I
know."[206]

In the long list of those who have so ably guided and controlled the
proceedings of the House of Commons during the last hundred years,
many names stand forth conspicuously--Manners Sutton, Shaw Lefevre,
Denison, Brand, Peel. No Speaker has ever fallen short of the trust
reposed in him, or failed in his duty to the House, and it may
confidently be asserted that so long as the standard of English
political life maintains its present high level, no difficulty will
ever be experienced in providing the Chair with an occupant who shall
fill it, not only worthily, but with distinction.

  [206] Pellew's "Life of Sidmouth," vol. i. p. 66.




CHAPTER VIII

THE OPENING OF PARLIAMENT


Parliament, like everything else, must have a beginning. The opening
of a session which is also the commencement of a new Parliament is an
event which tradition invests with all the accompaniments of what
Cobden contemptuously referred to as "barbaric pomp." The inaugural
rites are performed with a stately ceremonial of which Selden himself
would have approved[207]; everything is done to make the pageant as
impressive as possible.

  [207] "Ceremony," says Selden, "keeps up all things; 'tis like a penny
  glass to a rich spirit, or some excellent water; without it the water
  will be spilt, the spirit lost."

The actual business of the opening may be described as extending over
several days, the climax being reached when the sovereign arrives in
person to deliver his speech.

The opening itself is nowadays performed by a Commission issued for
that purpose under the Great Seal. On the day appointed by royal
proclamation for the meeting of a new Parliament, the Houses assemble
in their respective chambers. Before doing so, however, special
precautions have been taken to ensure the safety of our legislators. A
picturesque procession, composed of Yeomen of the Guard in their
striking uniforms, makes its way through the numerous subterranean
vaults of the Palace of Westminster, seeking diligently for the
handiwork of some modern Guy Fawkes. This now familiar search is an
ancient custom kept up more in accordance with popular sentiment than
for any practical reason. The duties of the Beefeaters have no doubt
already been anticipated by the police, but though the fruitlessness
of their quest is now a matter of regular recurrence, they
persistently refuse to be discouraged, and the search is prosecuted
with renewed hopefulness at the commencement of every session.[208]

  [208] They even carry lighted lanterns, though the whole place is
  ablaze with electric light!

At two o'clock in the afternoon, the Lord Chancellor, preceded by the
Mace and Purse, and attended by his Train Bearer, enters the House of
Lords by the Bar. He is dressed in his robes, and when he has taken
his seat, places his cocked hat upon his head. Four other Lords
Commissioners, similarly attired, are seated beside him on a bench
situated between the Woolsack and the Throne. From this point of
vantage the Chancellor summons the Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod,
and commands him to inform the Commons that their immediate attendance
is desired in the House of Lords to hear the Commission read.

The post of Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod dates from the reign of
Henry VIII. By the constitution creating the Order of the Garter, he
was to be an officer "whom the Sovereign and Companions will shall be
a gentleman famous in Arms and Blood, and live within the Dominions of
the Sovereign, and, for the dignity and honour of the Order, shall be
chief of all Ushers of this Kingdom, and have the care and custody of
the doors of the High Court called Parliament." Black Rod, either
personally or through his deputy, the Yeoman Usher, fulfils in the
House of Lords the functions which are performed in the Lower House by
the Sergeant-at-Arms of the Commons. As custodian of the doors of
Parliament, he once had the right to appoint all the doorkeepers and
messengers of the House of Lords, as well as his assistant, the Yeoman
Usher. He used in old days to sell these appointments for large sums,
and as his fees brought him in a substantial income--in 1875 they
amounted to £5300--and he was also provided with an official
residence, his post was one to be coveted. The system of paying
officials by fees was, however, abolished in 1877, and Black Rod's
annual salary was fixed at £2000, which to-day has been reduced by
half, while his residence has been taken from him and given to the
Clerk of the Parliaments.

On receipt of the Lord Chancellor's command, Black Rod at once
obeys--he is usually a retired naval or military officer and the
spirit of discipline is still strong within him--and repairs to the
Lower House to deliver his message.

Meanwhile a busy scene is being enacted in the House of Commons. From
the earliest hours before the dawn members have been gradually
assembling at Westminster. At the gates of Palace Yard a respectful
crowd collects to watch the arrival of the nation's lawmakers.
Motor-cars, carriages, and the more humble public conveyances flow in
a ceaseless stream through the Commons' gates. The traffic at the
corner of Whitehall is perpetually held up to allow some member to
cross the street in safety, much to the annoyance of travellers who
desire to catch a train at Waterloo Station. Smiling police constables
salute the old familiar faces, carefully scrutinizing the new ones for
future reference.

The House within presents something of the appearance of a school on
the first day of a new term. The old boys welcome each other
effusively, exchanging holiday reminiscences; the new boys wander
timidly about the precincts, seeking to increase their topographical
knowledge. Friend greets friend with all the warmth engendered by
separation; colleagues describe their own, and inquire tenderly after
one another's ailments. Even the bitterest opponents may be seen
congratulating each other on re-election, or exchanging accounts of
their individual experiences during the recess. An atmosphere of peace
and goodwill pervades the whole House.

All is bustle and confusion in the Chamber itself, where members
hasten to secure places on the green benches upon either side of the
Speaker's Chair. By the rules of the House no member has a right to
reserve a seat unless he has been present within the precincts during
prayers, and has staked out his claim either with a hat or a card
provided for the purpose. The hat used on this occasion must be a
member's own "real working hat." He may not arrive with two hats, one
to wear and the other to employ as a seat-preserver; nor is he
permitted to borrow the headgear of a friend who has already secured a
seat. A story is told of some wily member appearing at Westminster, on
the morning of an important debate, in a four-wheeler brimming over
with hats which he proposed to distribute upon the benches in order to
retain places for his party. Such conduct, however, though ingenious,
is strictly contrary to regulations, and could scarcely hope to escape
the vigilant eye of the Sergeant-at-Arms.

[Illustration: THE TREASURY BENCH IN 1863

FROM AN ENGRAVING AFTER THE PAINTING BY J. PHILIP]

Certain privileges are accorded to members who by reason of their
distinguished position, or long service in the House, have acquired a
claim to particular seats. The two front benches on either side have
long been reserved for the more prominent politicians. On the right of
the Chair is the Treasury Bench, where Ministers sit; while the front
seat facing them is occupied by the leading members of the Opposition.
It has been customary for Privy Councillors to sit on these two
benches, and at the opening of Parliament the members for the City of
London may claim a similar privilege.

The right of Cabinet Ministers to occupy front seats, now undisputed,
was sometimes questioned in olden days. In 1601, as the outcome of
complaints on this subject, Robert Cecil, then Secretary of State,
offered to give up his place most willingly to any member who wished
to sit near the Chair. "We that sit here," he said, "take your favours
out of courtesy, not out of right."[209] Courtesy, has, indeed,
generally been displayed by members on this particular question,
though there have been occasional exceptions. That rough diamond,
Cobbett, who was frequently complaining of the lack of space in the
House, occupied Sir Robert Peel's accustomed seat one day, as a
protest against the insufficient accommodation of the Chamber. No
notice, however, was taken of his conduct, and his rude but
legitimate methods have never since been emulated.

  [209] D'Ewes' "Journal," p. 630.

A member who has been honoured by a parliamentary vote of thanks, or
has grown grey in the service of the House, is usually allowed to
retain his seat.[210] Hume, who attended every single debate during
the period of his membership, for years occupied the same bench close
to one of the pillars supporting the gallery above the Speaker's
Chair. "There is Joseph," remarked a wag who was not above making a
pun, "always at his _post_!"[211]

  [210] Sir George de Lacy Evans (1787-1870) was the last member
  honoured by being allowed to retain the seat in which he had received
  his vote of thanks.

  [211] Grant's "Random Recollections," p. 7.

Otherwise members may sit wherever they please, provided they have
qualified by presence at prayers. Certain positions in the House have,
however, come to be regarded as symbolical of the political views of
their occupants. Supporters of the Government sit on the right and
those of the Opposition on the left of the chair. The aisle or passage
that divides the House transversely has always acted as a sort of
political boundary, and members who are independent of either party
proclaim their freedom by sitting "below the gangway." Here on the
Opposition side the Irish party has sat for many years; here, too, the
Labour members mostly congregate.

On the opening day the Speaker's Chair is, of course, vacant, and the
mace reposes peacefully underneath the table. The duties of Chairman
are undertaken by the Clerk of the House, who sits in his usual place,
and presides in dumb show over the proceedings.

The clerkship of the House of Commons is an important post, and has
been in the hands of many capable and distinguished men. Among the
famous lawyers who have held this office may be instanced
Elsynge--ridiculed in Hudibras as "Cler: Parl: Don: Com:"[212]--Hatsell,
Erskine May, and Palgrave, all of whom have made valuable literary
contributions to the annals of parliamentary history.

  [212] "Hudibras," vol. i. p. 120. During the first years of the Long
  Parliament Elsynge brought so much distinction to the position that
  his authority was said to be greater than that of the Speaker
  (Lenthall). His abilities, "especially in taking and expressing the
  sense of the House," became so conspicuous that "more reverence was
  paid to his stool than to the Speaker's chair."--Wood's "Athenæ
  Oxonienses," vol. iii. p. 363.

The post has also been temporarily filled by persons of considerably
less eminence. In 1601, for example, Fulk Onslow, who was then clerk,
was permitted to appoint his servant, one Cadwallader Tydder, to act
as his deputy. Again, in 1620, the clerk being incapacitated by
illness, his son was allowed to take his place, and it was advised
that a lawyer should sit beside him "with a hat upon his head" to
assist the youth in his unaccustomed _rôle_.[213] It is the Clerk's
duty to record the proceedings, edit the Journals, and sign any orders
issued by the House. Up to the year 1649, when he was given an annual
salary of £500, his income consisted of £10 a year (paid half-yearly!)
and certain fees on private bills. A collection, amounting to about
£25,[214] to which all members were expected to contribute sums
varying from 5_s._ to £1, was also made for him at the close of the
session. This sounds a paltry sum, but Hatsell is said to have made
£10,000 a year while Clerk of the House, among his other perquisites
being a _douceur_ of £300, which the Clerk Assistant paid to his chief
for the privilege of appointment. In those days the Clerk could also
earn small sums by copying Bills or making extracts from the Journals
of the House for members, who paid him at the rate of ten lines a
penny, though if they declared upon oath that they were unable to pay
this sum, no charge was made for the work.[215]

  [213] Hatsell's "Precedents," vol. ii. p. 251 n.

  [214] D'Ewes' "Journal," p. 688.

  [215] "Modus Tenendi Parliamentum," p. 46.

The arrival of the messenger from the House of Lords is heralded in
the lobbies by loud cries of "Black Rod!" The door of the House of
Commons is flung open, and the Gentleman Usher, in full uniform and
decorations, and bearing the wand of his office in his hand, advances
in a stately fashion up the floor of the House and delivers his
message. He then retires backwards as gracefully as possible until he
reaches the Bar, where he awaits the arrival of the Clerk. The two now
walk together, attended by as many members as care to accompany them,
to the Bar of the House of Lords, where the Lords Commissioners are
awaiting their advent.

As soon as the Commons' contingent appears, the Lord Chancellor orders
the reading of the Letters Patent constituting the Commission for the
opening of Parliament, and when this task has been performed by the
Reading Clerk of the House of Lords, desires the faithful Commons to
retire and choose a Speaker. With this purpose in view the members
return forthwith to the Lower House.

The election of a Speaker is the most important part of the day's
business, for without it the House of Commons cannot be constituted,
nor can members be permitted to take the oath.

Theoretically a Speaker leaves the Chair with the Parliament that
elected him. Practically, nowadays, he is retained in office. He is
reappointed with the usual ceremonies at the beginning of every
Parliament, and it is rare for an incoming Ministry to supplant the
occupant of the Chair, even though he may have been the nominee of
political opponents. Manners Sutton was six times Speaker, Arthur
Onslow five times, while Shaw Lefevre, Denison, and Peel each occupied
the Chair in four successive Parliaments. Since their day an unwise
and abortive attempt was made to replace Speaker Gully by a
Conservative nominee in 1895, but it is unlikely that such an incident
will recur.

The motion for a Speaker's election is made by a member on the
Government side of the House, and usually seconded by a member of the
Opposition, both being called upon to speak by the Clerk who silently
points his finger at each in turn. If it is intended to contest the
election, the two candidates put forward are proposed and seconded
separately by members of their own party. The question that the
Government candidate "do take the Chair of this House as Speaker" is
first put by the Clerk, and divided upon in the ordinary way. If a
majority of the House is in favour of the election of this candidate,
no further division is necessary. If not, the same proceeding is
carried out with regard to the second candidate. In such cases it has
been the custom for each nominee to vote for his opponent. The
division is naturally one of intense interest. Perhaps the most
exciting elections of a Speaker that have ever occurred were those
that took place in 1835 and 1895. On the first occasion Abercrombie
was elected to replace Manners Sutton, by the narrow margin of
ten,[216] and in 1895 Speaker Gully's majority only exceeded this by a
single vote.

  [216] Torrens' "Life of Graham," vol. ii. p. 30.

"When it appeareth who is chosen," says Elsynge, "after a good pause
he standeth up, and showeth what abilities are required in the
Speaker, and that there are divers amongst them well furnished with
such qualities, etc., disableth himself and prayeth a new choice to be
made. After which two go unto him in the place where he sits and take
him by the arms, and lead him to the chair."[217] In old days it was
customary for the Speaker-Elect to "disable" himself at great length
and in the humblest possible terms. Christopher Wray, in 1570, spoke
for two hours in this self-deprecatory style. Sergeant Yelverton,
twenty-six years later, explained his unfitness for the post in a
lengthy harangue in which he remarked that if "Demosthenes, being so
learned and eloquent as he was, one whom none surpassed, trembled to
speak before Phocion at Athens, how much more shall I, being unlearned
and unskilful, supply this place of dignity, charge, and trouble to
speak before so many Phocions as here be?"[218] Other Speakers put
forward "a sudden disease," "extreme youth," or some similar
disability as their excuse for escaping from the service of the Chair.
Even as late as the beginning of the eighteenth century Sir Spencer
Compton thought it necessary to declare to the Commons that he had
"neither the memory to retain, the judgment to collect, nor the skill
to guide their debates."[219]

  [217] Elsynge's "Parliaments of England," pp. 160 and 161.

  [218] D'Ewes' "Journal," p. 549.

  [219] Townsend's "History of the House of Commons", vol. i. p. 228.

This excessive humility on the part of a Speaker-Elect has now
disappeared, together with the ridiculous old custom whereby it was
considered correct for him to evince actual physical reluctance to
take the Chair. It was once deemed proper for the newly elected
Speaker to refuse to occupy the exalted throne that awaited him until
his two supporters had seized him by the arms and dragged him like
some unwilling victim to the scaffold. To-day, he "goes quietly," as
the police say; the proposer and seconder lead him gently by the hand,
and he gives his attendants no trouble at all.

After the Speaker has taken the Chair, the mace is laid upon the table
before him, the leaders of either Party offer their congratulations,
and the business of the day is over.

When Parliament meets once more, on the following afternoon, the
Chancellor and his four fellow Lords Commissioners, attired as before,
in their robes, resume their seats upon the bench in the House of
Lords, and Black Rod is again commanded to summon the Commons. This
time his task is not so simple. When the messenger from the Lords
arrives at the door of the House of Commons, he finds it barred
against him, nor is it opened until he has knocked thrice upon it and
craved permission to enter. This custom of refusing instant admittance
to the Lords' official dates from those early times when messages from
the Crown were regarded by the jealous Commons with feelings bordering
on abhorrence.

The Speaker-Elect, clad in his official dress, but without his robe,
and wearing upon his head a small bob-wig in place of that luxuriant
full-bottomed affair which he is so soon to don, has already taken his
seat in the Chair, making three profound obeisances to that article of
furniture as he advances towards it.

When Black Rod has delivered his message, the Speaker-Elect,
surrounded by his official retinue, proceeds at once to the House of
Lords. Here he is politely received by the Lords Commissioners, who
raise their hats three times in acknowledgment of his three
obeisances. After acquainting the Lords Commissioners of his recent
election, he humbly submits himself to the royal approbation. The Lord
Chancellor thereupon expresses His Majesty's approval of the Commons'
choice, and the election of the Speaker is confirmed. In former days
the sovereign was in the habit of undertaking this duty in person. On
January 27, 1562, Queen Elizabeth came to Westminster in her state
barge, "apparelled in her mantles open furred with ermine and in her
Kyrtle of crimson velvet closed before, and close sleeves, but the
hands turned up with ermine. A hood hanging loose round about her neck
of ermine. Over all a rich collar set with stones and other jewels,
and on her head a rich call."[220] Thus attired, she proceeded to give
the royal assent to the election of the Speaker. This nowadays is a
mere formality--it has indeed only once been refused, in 1678, when
Charles II. declined to sanction the election of Sir Edward
Seymour--and is given by the Lords Commissioners on the sovereign's
behalf.

  [220] "The Order for Proceeding to the Parliament" (from the MS. at
  the College of Arms).

In the days when the sovereign was in the habit of being present in
the House of Lords to ratify the choice of Speaker, the latter would
often excuse himself to his monarch in terms even more abject than he
had used in the Lower House. Before the election of Sir Richard
Waldegrave, in 1381, Speakers did not excuse themselves at all, and
until Henry VIII.'s time they do not seem to have done so as a matter
of etiquette, but merely from personal motives, wishing to ingratiate
themselves with the sovereign in whose pay they were and to whom they
looked for advancement. But towards the middle of the sixteenth
century they began regularly to address the king in a fulsome
fashion.[221] In 1537, for instance, we find Speaker Rich grovelling
in abject prostration at the royal feet, and comparing the King to
Solomon, Samson, Absalom, and most of the other heroes of Old
Testament history. Even among the Speakers of that day, however, there
were men who refused to demean themselves to this form of flattery,
and Queen Elizabeth was once forced to listen patiently while Richard
Onslow, who declared himself to be "a plain speaker, fit for the plain
matter, and to use plain words," delivered to Her Majesty an
"excellent oration," which lasted for two solid hours.[222]

  [221] For a particularly servile speech of this kind see "The
  Sovereign's Prerogative," p. 7.

  [222] "Observations, Rules and Orders collected out of Divers Journals
  of the House of Commons," p. 25.

This practice is fortunately extinct, but one other custom of Henry
VIII.'s time still obtains. To-day the Speaker, on receipt of the
royal approbation, takes the opportunity of at once demanding the
"ancient and undoubted rights and privileges of the Commons"--freedom
from arrest, liberty of speech, access to the royal person, and that a
favourable construction be put upon their proceedings--and on his own
behalf begs that whatever error may occur in the discharge of his
duties shall be imputed to him alone, and not to His Majesty's
faithful Commons.

These ancient rights and privileges having been confirmed by the King,
through his Lords Commissioners and by the mouth of his Lord
Chancellor, the Speaker withdraws to the Lower House. There he
acquaints the Commons of the result of his recent pilgrimage, and
gratefully assures them once more of his complete devotion to their
service. After retiring for a few moments to make the necessary
alterations in his costume, he returns, clad in his robe and wearing
his full-bottomed wig, and is now a complete and perfect Speaker.

While this is going on, the Upper House has temporarily adjourned to
unrobe, and afterwards resumes to enable the Lords to continue taking
the Oath, which is meanwhile being administered to the Commons.

Prior to the sixteenth century, members of Parliament were not
required to swear; the Lords did not do so until 1678. But the Act of
Supremacy of 1563 made it necessary for all members of the Commons to
take the oath, and in 1610 were introduced further oaths of Allegiance
and Abjuration which were maintained until 1829. The old oaths aimed
at excluding Roman Catholics from Parliament, and the regulation which
in 1614 ordered every member to take the sacrament in St. Margaret's
Church on the Opening Day was but another means of ensuring the
religious loyalty of the Commons.

Members of the Lower House cannot take the oath until their Speaker
has been approved and sworn; the Lords may do so as soon as Parliament
opens. In the Upper House the oath may be taken at any convenient time
when the House is sitting; in the House of Commons likewise it may be
taken whenever a full House is sitting at any hour before business has
begun.

The Lord Chancellor leads the way in the House of Lords. When he has
presented his writ of summons, repeated the formal words of the Oath
of Allegiance after the Clerk, kissed the New Testament, and
subscribed to the Test Roll, he resumes his seat on the Woolsack. The
peers then succeed one another in rapid rotation at the table, handing
their writs of summons to the Clerk, and following the Chancellor's
example.

In the Commons the Speaker first takes the oath in a very similar
fashion, and writes his name in the Roll of Members. After this
ceremony is accomplished, members come up to the table in batches of
five, and are sworn simultaneously. They then shake hands with the
Speaker, and can now consider themselves full-fledged members of
Parliament.

Up to the middle of the last century three oaths had to be taken by
every member of either House: the oaths of Allegiance, of Supremacy,
and Abjuration. There was further a declaration against
transubstantiation which effectually excluded Roman Catholics. But in
1829 these last received relief, though the final words of the Oath of
Abjuration still kept out the Jews.[223] In 1849 Baron Lionel de
Rothschild was excluded from the Commons because of his failure to
swear on "the true faith of a Christian." He accepted the Chiltern
Hundreds, but was again returned to Parliament by the City of London.
And though he once more failed to obtain permission to vote in the
House, he was allowed to sit there until 1857.[224] Six years before
this latter date another Jew, Alderman Salomons, insisted upon taking
his seat and voting in a division. He was forcibly ejected by the
Sergeant-at-Arms, and subsequently fined £500 in the Exchequer Court
as a penalty for voting without having previously taken the oath. In
1858 an Act was passed substituting a single oath for the former
three, and giving both Houses power to deal with the Jewish difficulty
by resolution, but it was not until 1866 that the words referring to
Christianity were finally omitted from the oath.

  [223] A peer in support contended that otherwise a Jew might become
  Lord Chancellor. "Why not?" asked Lord Lyndhurst, in an undertone.
  "Daniel would have made a very good one!" (Atlay's "Victorian
  Chancellors," vol. i. p. 61.)

  [224] Failure to take the oath only prevents a member from sitting
  within the Bar, voting in divisions, and taking part in debate. It
  does not disqualify him from the other privileges of membership, nor
  does it render his seat vacant.

The refusal of Quakers and atheists to take the oath disturbed for
many years the peace of mind of Parliament, and was the subject of
frequent legislation. In 1832 the Quaker Pease was elected for a
Durham division, and claimed the right of affirming instead of taking
the oath. A Committee was appointed to consider the validity of such
an affirmation, and came to the conclusion that this form might be
substituted harmlessly for the more usual oath.

The case of the atheist Bradlaugh, which lasted for nearly ten years,
was a much more complicated affair, and presented endless difficulties
to the parliamentary mind.

We have grown more broad-minded during the last fifty years, and the
story of Bradlaugh's persecution sounds incredible to modern ears.
This unfortunate man was hounded and harassed with a degree of
intolerance which was almost mediæval in its ferocity. Politicians of
every grade combined to insult and bait him; he became the butt of
Parliament, and evoked from men who had hitherto shown but little zeal
in their faith a religious ardour of the most fanatical and bigoted
description.

Bradlaugh was returned to Parliament as member for Northampton in
1880. As an atheist it was against his principles to swear upon the
Bible. When, therefore, he presented himself in the House of Commons
with the intention of taking his seat, he asked to be allowed to
affirm instead of taking the oath. The fact of his being entirely
devoid of any religious beliefs or scruples rendered an affirmation in
the form usual in Parliament practically valueless. His request was
accordingly refused, and when he declined to withdraw from the House,
he was committed to the custody of the Sergeant-at-Arms.

Many members of the House of Commons were determined to prevent such a
man from taking his seat, and for a long time its doors remained
closed against him. Lord Randolph Churchill made a violent attack upon
him on the 24th of May, in the course of which he read an extract from
Bradlaugh's book, "The Impeachment of the House of Brunswick," hurling
the offensive volume on the floor and trampling it underfoot. The
House of Commons has always disliked anything that borders upon
melodrama, and this action, more suited to the boards of the Adelphi
than to the stage of Parliament, fell as flat as Burke's famous
dagger.[225] But the spirit that prompted it was the popular one, and
it long seemed impossible for an atheist to sit in the House.

  [225] In 1792 a sample dagger was sent from France to a Birmingham
  firm, who were asked to make 3000 more of similar pattern. They
  thought the order suspicious, and consulted the Secretary of State.
  Burke happened to call at the latter's office, saw the dagger there,
  and borrowed it. During the Second Reading of the Aliens Bill he
  hurled this weapon on to the floor of the House, exclaiming, "Let us
  keep French principles from our heads, and French daggers from our
  hearts!" The Commons were not impressed, and only laughed, while
  Sheridan whispered to a neighbour, "The gentleman has brought us the
  knife, but where is the fork?" Another attempt at dramatic effect,
  equally unsuccessful, occurred on the second reading of the Reform
  Bill in 1831. Lord Brougham spoke for four hours, fortified by
  frequent draughts of mulled port. At the end he exclaimed, "By all the
  ties that bind every one of us to our common order and our common
  country, I solemnly adjure you--yea, on my bended knees, I supplicate
  you--reject not this Bill!" With these words he fell upon his knees,
  and remained in this attitude so long that his friends, fearing that
  he was suffering as much from mulled port as emotion, picked him up
  and replaced him on the Woolsack.

On July 1, Gladstone moved a resolution allowing members who could not
conscientiously take the oath to affirm, subject to any legal
liabilities they might incur, and on the following day Bradlaugh made
the necessary affirmation. The affair did not end here, however. The
legal authorities had been stirred up to investigate the judicial
aspect of the case, and decided that a man of Bradlaugh's opinions was
by law disqualified from affirming. He thus lost his seat, but was
promptly re-elected. Whereupon the House of Commons carried a
resolution that he be not permitted to go through the form of
repeating the words of the Oath, which, as far as Bradlaugh was
concerned, was an absolutely meaningless formality, and, in the
opinion of many, an act of sheer blasphemy.[226]

  [226] Bradlaugh is not the only politician who has failed to interpret
  the words of the Oath in too literal a sense. Walpole became possessed
  of some treasonable letters written by William Shippen, a Jacobite and
  violent opponent of his. Walpole sent for Shippen, and burnt the
  incriminating papers in his presence. Later on, when Shippen was
  taking the oath of allegiance in the Commons, Walpole, who stood near
  and knew the other's principles to be as treasonable as ever, smiled.
  "Egad! Robin," said Shippen, "that's hardly fair!"

When Bradlaugh next attempted to take his seat, a further resolution
was carried excluding him altogether from the House. He refused,
however, to acquiesce in this view of the situation, and, after giving
due notice of his intention to the Speaker, forced his way into the
House, whence he was removed with some difficulty by the
Sergeant-at-Arms and police.

For a short time he remained quiet, and then suddenly, in 1882, he
reappeared in the House of Commons, walked alone to the Table,
administered the oath to himself, and claimed the right to sit. Upon a
motion of Sir Stafford Northcote he was once more expelled, and once
more the electors of Northampton returned him as their representative.

During the two following years Bradlaugh brought actions against the
Sergeant-at-Arms and his deputy, and tried to induce a court of law to
restrain these officials from carrying out the orders of the House.
His efforts, however, were vain, the courts deciding that the Commons
had a perfect right to control their own internal affairs.

In 1884 he again entered the House and took the oath. He was again
excluded from the precincts, applied for the Chiltern Hundreds, and
was again returned for Northampton.

Meanwhile he had voted in several divisions, and the Attorney-General,
on behalf of the Crown, brought an action against him to recover three
separate sums of £500, as penalties for having voted without
previously taking the oath.

For two more years the conflict continued to rage round the burly
figure of this remarkable man. By 1886, however, the Commons had grown
weary of this ceaseless and senseless persecution, and Bradlaugh was
at last permitted to take his seat; and in 1888 an Act was passed
extending the right to affirm to those who state that they have no
religious belief.

Parliament thus gradually came to take a broader view of the
situation, and during Bradlaugh's absence, in 1891, the House of
Commons passed a resolution expunging from the Journals the original
motion whereby he was prevented from affirming. Thus ended a long
controversy, in the course of which the much-harassed victim had
behaved with exemplary self-control, only once showing signs of
annoyance, when the rough handling to which he was subjected by the
police resulted in the breakage of a favourite stylographic pen.

This taking of the oath or making an affirmation at the commencement
of a new Parliament is the only introduction necessary for a member
who has been elected during the recess, or of a peer who has succeeded
to a title.

The introduction of a newly created peer, or of one who has been
elevated to higher rank, is a ceremony that strikes the spectator as
quaint or impressive, according as he has or has not a sense of
humour. Attired in his robes, and supported by two other peers of his
own degree, who act as his sponsors, the new peer walks slowly up the
floor of the House of Lords, preceded by a procession of State
officers--Black Rod, Garter King-at-Arms, the Hereditary Earl Marshal
of England, and the Lord Great Chamberlain, in full dress.

On reaching the Woolsack the neophyte falls upon one knee and presents
to the Lord Chancellor, and receives back from him, his patent of
peerage and his writ of summons, both of which are read aloud by the
Reading Clerk. The new peer then takes the oath and signs the roll,
and is led by his supporters and the officers of State on a ceremonial
pilgrimage round the Chamber to the bench on which he is by rank
entitled to sit. Here the three peers in their scarlet robes seat
themselves. They are, however, only allowed a few moments' rest, and
at a pre-concerted signal the trio rise together and lift their hats
in unison to the Chancellor, who responds in similar fashion. Three
times this gesture is repeated, after which the original procession is
reformed, and the new peer retires, shaking hands with the Chancellor
on his way.

Much the same procedure is followed in the case of bishops, though
spiritual peers are not preceded by the Great Officers, nor have they
any patent to present. Representative peers of Scotland or Ireland are
not introduced in this formal manner, but merely take the oath and
sign the roll.

The introduction of a member of the House of Commons, elected in the
course of the session, is a somewhat similar but less formal affair.
Accompanied by two other members of Parliament he advances up the
floor of the House, "making his obeisances as he goes up, that he may
be better known to the House," and frequently evoking cheers from the
party to which he belongs.[227] He may take the oath at any time, if
the Clerk of the House has received the certificate of his return. In
1875 Dr. Kenealy, whose methods of conducting the defence of the
notorious Tichborne claimant had alienated the respect of most
right-thinking men, was unable to persuade any member to introduce him
in the House of Commons. At last, out of sheer kindness of heart, John
Bright declared that he would accompany the unpopular member. He was
not called upon to do so, however, the rule being in this instance
dispensed with, at Disraeli's suggestion, and Kenealy walked alone to
the Table.

  [227] Hatsell adds that it was contrary to custom for members so
  introduced to appear in top-boots. Hatsell's "Precedents," vol. ii. p.
  85.

The swearing in of peers and members occupies several days, and by the
time this task is accomplished Parliament is ready to listen to the
King's Speech, with which every new session is opened.

This final ceremony is a State function of the most picturesque and
spectacular description. The road leading from Buckingham Palace to
Westminster is lined with troops; flags fly from all the public
buildings; the pavements and windows along the route are packed with
sightseers. In the famous glass coach, drawn by the fat cream ponies
so dear to the heart of every loyal subject, the King and Queen drive
in State to the House of Lords. Here they are met by the Lord
Chancellor, Purse in hand, while the Great Officers of State form a
long procession through the Royal Gallery, and precede their Majesties
into the Gilded Chamber.

The House presents a magnificent spectacle. Every bench is crowded
with peers in their scarlet and ermine robes. At their sides sit the
peeresses in evening dress, adorned, according to custom, with
feathers and veils, while the Woolsacks in the centre of the House are
occupied by the Judges arrayed in their judicial finery, and in a box
at one side are the Ambassadors and Ministers of Foreign Powers.[228]
The galleries are filled with specially privileged visitors of both
sexes, and, as the royal procession enters, the whole assembly rises
to its feet and remains standing until their Majesties have reached
the two thrones at one end of the Chamber.

  [228] Peeresses cannot claim the right to be present, but are allowed
  to attend in accordance with a privilege of long standing, which adds
  much to the beauty of the ceremony. Judges have always enjoyed the
  right of attendance. In old days they took a prominent part in the
  public business of the House, but were not regular members, and,
  though they gave their legal opinions upon constitutional questions
  before Parliament, could neither vote nor join in debate.

On taking his place upon the throne, the King bids the peers to be
seated, and, through the Lord Great Chamberlain, commands Black Rod to
inform the Commons that it is His Majesty's pleasure that they attend
him immediately in the House of Lords.[229]

  [229] If Parliament is opened by Commission, Black Rod is sent to
  _desire_ (not to _command_) the attendance of the Commons, and the
  King's Speech is read by the Lord Chancellor.

The delivery of this royal message to the Commons is the signal for a
stampede of members towards the Upper House; grave politicians vieing
with one another in the endeavour to be first at the Bar of the Lords.
O'Connell compared the rush of members on such occasions to that of a
pack of boys released from school, scrimmaging together to get out of
the class-room. In their haste to arrive at the goal, the Commons are
apt to hurry the unhappy Speaker before them like the sacrificial ox,
urged along reluctant to the horns of the altar.[230] The rude
incursion of the Commons once provoked the Yeoman of the Guard, who
kept the doors of the Lords, to shut it in their faces. "Goodmen
burgesses," said the Sergeant of the Guard, in 1604, "ye come not
here!" much to the Commons' indignation.[231] Members have often had
their clothes torn in the confusion and tumult of this rush, and one
at least has suffered a dislocated shoulder. Sir Augustus Clifford,
who was Black Rod in 1832, lost his hat and was physically injured in
a _melée_ on the opening day. In 1901, the first opening of Parliament
by the sovereign in a new reign, after a long discontinuance of the
ceremony, and the number of new members after a general election,
combined to make the occasion exceptional. In spite of the employment
of eighty extra police, engaged to keep the way clear for the
Speaker's procession, several persons were badly hurt, owing to the
overpowering rush of members struggling to secure the limited number
of places available below the Bar of the Lords, and many policemen
lost their helmets in the struggle.[232]

  [230] O'Connell's "Experiences," vol. i. p. 9.

  [231] Hatsell says that such expressions were "very opprobrious," and
  might not unfitly have been applied "to the Peasants of France or the
  Boores of Germany." "Precedents," vol. i. p. 237.

  [232] In 1860 such occurrences were prevented by the seats being
  balloted for by the Commons. "The faithful Commons being elected by
  ballot," as we read in "The Times" of January 25, "not now as formerly
  rushing in like the gods in the gallery on Boxing Night; on the
  contrary, they came steadily up to the Bar, the Speaker leading, and
  on his right Lord Palmerston." Today the system of balloting is again
  employed, and a much larger space both on the ground and in the
  galleries is allotted to the Commons.

Headed by their Speaker, then, the Commons surge into the Upper
Chamber, and stand at the Bar, awaiting the reading of the King's
Speech.

The anxiety of the Commons to gain good places from which to listen to
the Speech is all the greater nowadays, since it has ceased to be
customary to publish it beforehand. In Walpole's time the Government
used to meet at the Cockpit in Whitehall on the eve of the opening to
consider the royal speech.[233] This practice came to an end with the
eighteenth century, but the Speech was still made public property by
being sent to the papers on the evening of the Ministerial and
Opposition dinners which precede the opening of Parliament. It is
still read aloud by the official hosts at these banquets, but does not
appear in the Press on the following morning, and the contents of the
Speech are not made public until it is read by the King (or the Lords
Commissioners) at the Opening of Parliament.[234] In 1756 a spurious
speech was published and circulated, just before the opening, much to
the annoyance of the authorities. King George, however, took a lenient
view of this outrage. He even expressed a hope that the printers might
not be too severely punished. He had read both speeches carefully, he
said, and, as far as he could understand either, infinitely preferred
the spurious one to his own.[235]

  [233] The Cockpit was pulled down in 1733, but the name continued to
  be given to the Treasury meeting-room. See Dodington's "Diary": "Went
  to the Cockpit to a prize cause," p. 72 (1828).

  [234] "November 20, 1798. Called on Sir Francis Burdett, who had just
  been reading in the newspaper the King's intended Speech to-day (which
  for some sessions past has been published the morning before it is
  spoken)." Holcroft's "Memoirs," p. 229.

  [235] It was burnt by the hangman in Palace Yard. Waldegrave's
  "Memoirs," p. 89.

The King's Speech is not usually a very remarkable production, either
from a literary or any other point of view, though many of those for
which Gladstone, Disraeli, or Lord Salisbury were responsible were
exceptionally lucid and well written. Macaulay has described it as
"that most unmeaningly evasive of human compositions." As a rule, it
exudes platitudes at every paragraph; its phraseology is florid
without being particularly informing. "Did I deliver the Speech well?"
George III. inquired of the Lord Chancellor, after the opening of
Parliament. "Very well, Sire," was Lord Eldon's reply. "I am glad of
it," answered the King, "for there was nothing in it!"[236] If speech
was given us to conceal thought, the King's Speech may often be said
to fulfil its mission as a cloak to drape the mind of the Ministry.
Lord Randolph Churchill once declared that the Cabinet had spent some
fifteen hours eliminating from it anything that might possibly have
any meaning. From the ambiguous suggestions it contains, the public is
left to infer the exact form of legislation foreshadowed. The King's
Speech is popularly supposed to be written by His Majesty himself. But
though approved by him, it is composed by the Prime Minister and the
Cabinet, of which probably each member contributes the paragraphs
referring to his own department. It expresses, therefore, the
Government's rather than the sovereign's views.

  [236] Twiss's "Life of Eldon," vol. ii. p. 359.

Queen Victoria discontinued the reading of her Speech after the death
of the Prince Consort, delegating this duty to the Lord Chancellor.
Other monarchs, however, have usually been their own spokesmen on this
occasion--sometimes at great personal inconvenience. William IV., in
his old age, found much difficulty in reading his Speech, one gloomy
winter's afternoon. The light in the Upper House was so poor that he
could scarcely decipher a word, and he was forced to refer perpetually
for assistance to Lord Melbourne. At last two wax tapers were brought,
and the King, quietly remarking that the Speech had not received the
treatment that it deserved, proceeded to read it right through again
from beginning to end.

Another royal personage treated the Speech with far less respect.
George IV., when Prince Regent, is said to have bet Sheridan a hundred
guineas that he would introduce the words "Baa, baa, black Sheep!"
into the King's Speech without arousing comment or surprise. He won
his bet, and afterwards, when Sheridan asked Canning whether he did
not think it extraordinary that no one should have noticed so strange
an interpolation: "Did you not hear His Royal Highness say, 'Baa, baa,
black sheep'?" he asked. "Yes," replied Canning; "but as he was
looking straight in your direction at the moment, I deemed it merely a
personal allusion, and thought no more about it!"

After the delivery of the King's Speech, His Majesty and the other
members of the Royal Family retire from the Chamber, and the Commons
return to their own House. Here the Speaker "reports" or reads the
Speech once more. In the House of Lords the Chancellor is undertaking
a similar duty, standing in his place at the Woolsack. Lords and
Commons remain uncovered while the Speech is being read.

Before this happens, however, a Bill _pro formâ_ is read a first time
in both Houses, on the motion of the two Leaders, as a sign that
Parliament has a right to deal with any matter in priority to those
referred to in the King's Speech.

When this formality has been carried out and the Speech read, an
Address of thanks to the King is moved by two members of each House.
The motion for the Address is proposed and seconded by some rising
young politicians selected by the Government, who are thus given an
opportunity of displaying their oratorical prowess, and a debate
ensues. The debate on the Address originated in Edward III.'s reign,
and sometimes lasted two or three days. It was the regular preliminary
of Parliamentary deliberations. To-day in the Commons it occasionally
extends over a whole fortnight, or even longer.

After the Address has been agreed to, and ordered to be presented to
His Majesty, both Houses proceed to make various arrangements for the
conduct of their internal affairs, committees of different kinds are
appointed, and other preparations made for facilitating the labours of
the Legislature.

Parliament is now open, and the serious business of the Session
begins.




CHAPTER IX

RULES OF DEBATE


"It is true," says Bacon, "that what is settled by custom, though it
be not good, at least is fit. It were good, therefore, that men in
their innovations would follow the example of time itself, which,
indeed, innovateth greatly, but quietly." Parliament has certainly
acted upon this advice, and nowhere is the steady and silent
legislation by precedent more conspicuous than in the forms which
govern the procedure of both Houses. Occasional practices have become
usages, growing with the growth of Parliament, adapting themselves
imperceptibly to the circumstances which at once created and required
them, "slowly broadening down from precedent to precedent," like that
national freedom of which the poet sings.

Parliament has kept as close as possible to the wings of Time, and, as
Plunket said, has watched its progress and accommodated its motions to
their flight, varying the forms and aspects of its institutions to
reflect their varying aspects and forms. For if this were not the
spirit that animated Parliament, "history would be no better than an
old almanack."[237] In spite of this, however, the maxim which Sir
Edward Coke declared to be written on the walls of the House of
Commons, that old ways are the safest and surest ways, still prevails,
and it is not often that any parliamentarian has the courage to say,
as Phillips said to Coke on a memorable occasion, "If there be no
precedent for this, _it is time to make one_."[238]

  [237] O'Flanagan's "Lives of the Irish Chancellors," vol. ii. p. 541.
  (The same simile was used by Boswell. See Croker's "Dr. Johnson," vol.
  iii. p. 41.)

  [238] Forster's "Sir John Eliot," vol. i. p. 405.

The machine of a free constitution, as Burke declared, is no simple
thing, but as intricate and delicate as it is valuable; and to keep
that machine in good working order, to make the wheels run smoothly,
it has been found necessary to frame a code of procedure which has its
roots in the traditions and precedents of the parliamentary history of
the past. For hundreds of years any attempt to alter the ancient
procedure was looked upon as a kind of sacrilege. It was not until the
Speakership of Shaw Lefevre that any serious changes were made in the
business methods of Parliament, and Rules and Standing Orders devised
to expedite business and reduce waste of time to a minimum.

The maintenance of order and the acceleration of business have always
been the main objects sought for, for which provision is now made in
the Standing Orders of both Houses. These have been revised and their
number increased from time to time, no fewer than twenty-one
committees having been appointed between the years 1832 and 1881, for
the sole purpose of improving the procedure of the House of
Commons.[239]

  [239] Select Committees met in 1837, 1848, 1854, 1861 and 1871, and a
  Joint Committee of both Houses considered the question in 1869.

The most important, perhaps, are those which refer to speaking in
debates--the chief duty of those who take any part in the
deliberations of Parliament.

Speeches in either House must be delivered in English and _extempore_,
the speaker standing uncovered above the bar. Formerly, when the House
of Commons was in Committee, members could speak sitting, and nowadays
invalid members are usually allowed this privilege. Even these,
however must obey the rule as to being bareheaded. The only occasion
on which a member may--and indeed must--speak sitting and covered is
during a division when a question of order arises upon which he wishes
to address the House. Gladstone, who never wore his hat in the House,
once provoked loud cries of "Order!" by forgetting this last rule.
Realising his mistake, he hastily borrowed the headgear of a friend.
Being, however, blessed with an unusually large head, his appearance
in a hat several sizes too small for him caused much amusement.

Peers and members occasionally wear their hats while sitting in their
respective Houses, as a protection from the glaring light or from the
extraordinary draughts caused by the modern system of ventilation; but
they invariably uncover to move about from one place to another. They
also momentarily remove their hats when the Chancellor or Speaker
enters, or when a message from the Crown is read. It is customary,
too, to uncover as a sign of respect when a vote of thanks is proposed
or an obituary speech made in memory of a deceased statesman. There is
an instance in Stuart days of a member expressing his disapproval of a
vote of thanks by clasping his hands upon the crown of his hat and
cramming it down over his eyes, but this has never been repeated.

The Quaker Pease was always disinclined to comply with the rule that
members should walk about the House uncovered. A doorkeeper was
therefore instructed to remove this member's hat quietly as he
entered, and keep it safely hidden until he wished to leave. After a
time, Pease became accustomed to doing this for himself, and the
doorkeeper was relieved of his duty.[240]

  [240] Pryme's "Recollections," p. 220.

Disraeli, like Gladstone, sat bareheaded in the House of Commons, but
kept his hat under his seat ready for an emergency. It was then the
general custom of members to wear their hats in the House, but
fashions have changed, and Cabinet Ministers to-day generally leave
their head-gear in the private rooms with which they are now
accommodated, while humbler legislators make use of the hat-pegs
provided for the purpose in the entrance hall of both Houses.

In the Commons, as we have already noted, the member who first
catches the Speaker's eye has the prior claim to speak. In the Lords a
different rule obtains. Should two peers rise simultaneously, one
usually gives way to the other. Otherwise the House decides, if
necessary by a division, which of the two is to address it.

In the House of Lords peers address their fellows; in the Commons
members are bidden to direct their remarks to the Speaker, or in
Committee to the Chairman. This practice dates from the old days when
the Speaker was the mouthpiece of the House and it was very necessary
for members to make clear to him the exact nature of their grievances
or petitions, so that he might transfer them correctly to the Crown.

In the Commons the rules prescribe that no reference to previous
debates of the same Session shall be made, unless these were upon the
subject now under discussion. It is likewise "out of order" to read
from a newspaper or book any printed speech made within the same
Session. No allusion is allowed to speeches made in the other Chamber,
the idea being that debates are secret and unknown. This rule,
however, is neatly evaded by the simple process of referring to
"another place," a euphemism under which members of either House can
disguise their allusions to the proceedings of the other.

Seditious or treasonable words are sternly forbidden in Parliament, as
is also the use of the sovereign's name to influence debates. No
member may commit contempt of court by referring to matters that are
_sub judice_, nor may he insult the character or proceedings of either
House, or use his right of speech for the purpose of obstructing
public business in his own.

In May, 1610, "a member speaking, and his Speech seeming impertinent,
and there being much Hissing and Spitting. It was conceived for a
Rule, that _Mr. Speaker may stay Impertinent Speeches_."[241] Thirty
years later an order of the House was framed, whereby, "If any touch
another by nipping or irreverent speech, the Speaker may admonish
him. If he range in evil words, then to interrupt him, saying: 'I pray
you to spare those words.'"[242] Nowadays debate must be relevant to
the matter before the House, and the Speaker may not only call upon an
impertinent or irrelevant member to cease speaking, but may even use
his discretion as to refusing to propose to the House a motion which
he considers to be of a purely obstructive character.

  [241] Scobell's "Rules and Customs of Parliament," p. 19.

  [242] "Orders, Proceedings, Punishments, and Privileges," etc.
  ("Harleian Miscellany," vol. v. p. 259.)

Disorderly conduct in Parliament was punishable by fine in 1640, when
Strode, ever a stickler for parliamentary decorum, moved that "every
one coming into the House who did not take his place, or did, after
taking his place, talk so loud as to interrupt the business of the
House from being heard, should pay a shilling fine, to be divided
between the sergeant and the poor."[243]

  [243] Forster's "Grand Remonstrance," p. 206 n.

Since Strode's day a number of further regulations have been added to
the code of parliamentary procedure, but the Speaker's task of keeping
order is facilitated by the desire on the part of every member to
uphold the authority of the Chair. This expresses itself in the
courtesy with which that piece of furniture, or rather, its occupant,
is treated. Whenever a member of the House of Commons passes the Chair
he accords it a slight bow, and this rule is never willingly
infringed. He bows to it when he enters the chamber, and again when he
leaves, and is always particularly careful not to intercept his person
between it and the speaker who happens to be addressing the House. In
the Upper House, the Woolsack is treated with similar deference, no
lord knowingly passing between it and any other lord who is speaking,
or between it and the table. There being no Speaker authorized to keep
order in the Lords, when "heat is engendered in debate," it is open to
any peer to move that an ancient Standing Order referring to asperity
of speech be read by the Clerk.

[Illustration: THE HOUSE OF COMMONS IN 1910]

Whether or not language be "parliamentary" is always a matter
difficult to determine. In the House of Commons it is left entirely to
the discretion of the Chair. Lord Melbourne remembered a Speaker
ruling it out of order to refer to any one as "a member of the
Opposition."[244] Even the familiar "Hear! hear!"--the modern version
of "Hear him!" which was the sign of approbation in the days of
Pitt--has been ruled to be disorderly, if uttered in an offensive
manner. Major O'Gorman was "named" by Speaker Brand for insisting that
he had the right to shout "Hear! hear!" after every word, every
semi-colon, and every comma of a member's speech. In 1887, Speaker
Peel called the attention of the House to the fact that "Shame!" was
an unparliamentary expression, and rebuked an Irish member for
continuously shouting "Order! Order!" in a disorderly manner.

  [244] Torrens' "Life of Melbourne," vol. ii. p. 375.

Any epithet which reflects upon the character of a member of either
House, or upon the conduct of the King or of others in high places, is
considered to be disorderly, though notice is not always taken of it.
In 1672, on the first day that Lord Shaftesbury took his seat as Lord
Chancellor, the Duke of York called him a rascal and a villain. "I am
much obliged to your Royal Highness for not calling me likewise a
coward and a Papist," was the Chancellor's urbane reply. When Feargus
O'Connor, in 1848, denying the charge of Republicanism that had been
brought against him, said that he didn't care whether the Queen or the
devil sat on the Throne, what threatened to develop into a
disagreeable incident was averted by the pleasantries of the Prime
Minister. "When the honourable gentleman sees the sovereign of his
choice on the throne of these realms," said Peel, "I hope he will
enjoy, and I feel sure he will deserve, the confidence of the Crown!"

Matters were not always so easily smoothed over. In 1675, during the
debate on the Address, Coke was committed to the Tower for remarking,
"I hope we are all Englishmen, and are not to be frightened out of
our duty by a few high words"--an observation which was considered to
cast a reflection upon James II. In 1823 Canning stigmatized as
"false" a statement of Brougham's, and for a long time refused to
withdraw the offensive expression. The worthy Plimsoll was carried
away by feelings of righteous indignation in 1875, and referred to
certain shipowners, who were also members of the House, as "villains."
It was not until a week later that he could be induced to apologise.
O'Connell called Lord Alvanley a "bloated buffoon," and declared
Disraeli to be the lineal descendant of the impenitent thief on the
Cross.[245] Disraeli himself, in 1846, likened Lord John Russell to a
vulture, and Mr. Biggar was termed an "impudent scoundrel" by a
fellow-member in 1881. Nine years later Dr. Tanner referred to Mr.
Matthews, the Home Secretary, as "one of the basest and meanest skunks
that ever sat upon that bench"; and among the titles which have been
freely conferred upon Mr. Chamberlain by his enemies, "Judas" and
"d----d liar" are by no means the most opprobrious. Such language,
however, is mercifully rare, and no modern Prime Minister could say,
as Lord North did to the alderman who presented a petition from the
electors of Billingsgate, that the honourable gentleman spoke not only
the sentiments, but even the very language of his constituents.

  [245] Grant's "Recollections of the House of Lords," p. 407. Lord
  Alvanley was the sporting peer who out hunting met a well-known West
  End artist in pastry who was having some trouble with his horse. "I
  can't hold him," said the confectioner, "he's so devilish hot!" "Why
  don't you ice him, Mr. Gunter?" said Lord Alvanley.--(Maddyn's "Chiefs
  of States," vol. ii. p. 214.)

A member may not speak at all unless a question is before the House,
or he intends to conclude with a motion or amendment; but an exception
is made in favour of a personal explanation, or of a question of
privilege suddenly arising, which commands precedence over all other
business. Questions also may be addressed to Ministers before public
business commences, and the latter may make statements of public
interest.

Save when the House is in Committee, a member or peer is not allowed
to speak twice upon the same question, unless on a point of order, or
to explain some unintelligible portion of a first speech. If, however,
he has moved a substantive motion, he has a right of reply at the end
of the debate. Once when Lord North was speaking, a dog ran barking
into the House. "Mr. Speaker," said the Prime Minister, "I am
interrupted by a new member!" The dog was eventually driven out with
some difficulty, but shortly afterwards re-entered by another door,
when it began barking as loudly as ever. Lord North remarked dryly
that the new member had spoken once already, and was consequently
violating the rules of the House.[246]

  [246] Harford's "Recollections of Wilberforce," p. 93. An exception to
  this rule was made on November 4, 1909, when, in accordance with the
  general wish of the House, the Speaker permitted the Prime Minister
  and the Leader of the Opposition to speak, although both had already
  joined in the debate on the previous night.

In the House of Lords peers speak of one another by name, but in the
Commons it is the custom to refer to colleagues by their
constituencies, as "the Honourable (or Right Hon.) gentleman, the
member for Hull (or West Birmingham, etc.)." The title "honourable" is
always used in conjunction with a member's name, but should be
reinforced by the epithet "gallant" or "learned" in the case of a
naval (or military) member, or of a lawyer.[247]

  [247] Sir Wilfred Lawson was once sarcastically referred to as "the
  honourable and amusing baronet" (See "Men and Manners," p. 152.)

It was not until after the Reform Act of 1832 that the practice of
referring to members by their constituencies came into fashion. In
Stuart days it was not customary to mention either the names or the
constituencies of members. They were simply referred to as "the
gentleman on the other side of the way," "the member that last spake,"
etc. Nowadays it is usual to talk of a member, if on the same side of
the House, as "my honourable friend"; and if on the opposite side, as
"the honourable gentleman (or member)." But opponents sometimes
publicly include one another within the sacred circle of honourable
friendship, though politically they may be the bitterest enemies.

There is no rule of procedure regulating the length of speeches in
either House. A man may speak for as long as he likes, the only limit
being set by his own powers of endurance or the patience of his
audience; but his remarks must be relevant. "If any speak too long,
and speak _within the matter_, he may not be cut off; but if he be
long, and _out of the matter_, then may the Speaker gently admonish
him of the shortness of the time, or the business of the House, and
pray him to make as short he may."[248] As a matter of practice his
fellow-members will probably have admonished him of the shortness of
the time long before by shouting "'Vide! 'Vide!" until he brings his
speech to a welcome close.

  [248] "Orders, Proceedings, Punishments, and Privileges of the
  Commons" ("Harleian Miscellany," vol. v. p. 8).

The determination to proceed in spite of this hint that his efforts
are unappreciated only increases the uproar, for, as Burke once said,
the House of Commons has an intense dislike for anything resembling
obstinacy.[249] A Khedive of Egypt, who visited the House of Commons
at the beginning of the nineteenth century, and listened with surprise
to the deafening noise made by a political audience, came to the
conclusion that the shouting of "'Vide!" was the ordinary English mode
of expressing intense boredom. On his return to Egypt he suffered much
from the protracted interviews which he was compelled to grant to Sir
John Bowring, a prosy talker, who had been sent to Cairo in 1837 on a
commercial mission. The Khedive's patience finally became exhausted,
and one day, while Sir John was as usual addressing him at
unconscionable length, His Highness began exclaiming "'Vide! 'Vide!
'Vide!" and continued doing so until his visitor was reduced to
silence.

  [249] "The House has a character of its own. Like all great public
  collections of men, it possesses a marked love of virtue and an
  abhorrence of vice. But among vices there is none which the House
  abhors in the same degree with _obstinacy_" ("Works and
  Correspondence," vol. iii. p. 215).

The words of Speaker Spencer Compton have often been quoted to show
that members are acting within their rights in preventing the delivery
of a speech; that, as Bright said, the House can employ noise "as a
remedy" against a dull or prolix speaker. A member appealed to Compton
to restore order, urging that he had a right to be heard. "No, sir,"
replied the Speaker, "you have a right to speak, but the House has a
right to judge whether they will hear you!" This, according to so
great an authority as Hatsell, was an altogether wrong decision, the
Speaker's chief duty being to keep the House attentive and quiet.

In the House of Lords, where there is no Speaker to curtail a lengthy
or irrelevant speech, any peer may propose that the noble lord who is
on his legs "be no longer heard"--a disagreeable but effective way of
informing a bore of his prolixity.[250] This method was unsuccessfully
tried in the Commons in 1880. O'Donnell had put down a question asking
whether M. Challemel Lacour, the prospective French Ambassador at the
Court of St. James's, had, "as one of the Prefects of the Provisional
Government of September 4, 1870, ordered the massacre of Colonel
Latour's battalion, and had been fined £3000 by a Court of Justice for
plundering a convent." Gladstone moved that the honourable member "be
no longer heard;" but the Speaker, on being appealed to, stated that
this was an unusual course, which had certainly not been adopted for
at least two hundred years. A "scene" ensued, and finally O'Donnell
was induced to put down the question again for a later date. Before
this day arrived, however, the Speaker tactfully managed to suppress
the question altogether, as being "beyond the cognisance of the House
or the Queen's Government."

  [250] The last instance of this occurred on May 6, 1884, when Lord
  Waveney was addressing the House.

Occasional efforts have been made to stem the flow of parliamentary
eloquence in the Commons, but without much success. The late Sir Carne
Rasch tried for years to shorten speeches, but in vain. Mr. Hogan
sought to introduce the New Zealand scheme, whereby the Speaker rings
a bell when any member has spoken for twenty minutes; but though Mr.
Balfour declared that twenty minutes erred on the side of generosity,
nothing came of this suggestion. In spite of a good deal of
unnecessary talking, the House of Commons gets through a lot of work,
though there is no doubt that, as Bright said, more business could be
done if so much time were not wasted in unprofitable eloquence.[251]
Dr. Johnson, visiting a musical family of his acquaintance, suggested
that they should all perform together. "There will then," he
explained, "be more noise, but it will be sooner over." Similar
suggestions have been made with regard to the House of Commons, but
the question of stifling parliamentary loquacity remains unsolved.

  [251] "I must say that it (the House of Commons) would be a better
  machine if men were a little less vain, and would adopt a policy of
  silence. If they would be anxious to get through the business of the
  House without so much anxiety for self-exhibition as I have sometimes
  observed, I think the House of Commons might do a good deal more work,
  and very much better work than it does at present."--Speech at the
  Fishmongers' Hall, April 27, 1881.

When such loquacity was deliberately employed to delay business,
obstruction took various forms, of which the favourite one a few years
ago consisted of motions to adjourn the debate or adjourn the House.
Sheridan once made this motion nineteen successive times, until
members were so tired of tramping through the lobbies that they gave
in and went home.[252] In 1831, on July 12th, the opponents of the
Reform Bill saw that their only hope lay in retarding the business of
the House. They set about to force a division on repeated motions for
adjournment, and it was not until 7.30 a.m. of the following day that
the Commons at length adjourned. Sir Charles Wetherell, who led the
Opposition on this occasion, came out of the House to find that it
was raining hard. "By God!" said he, "if I'd known this, they should
have had a few more divisions!"[253]

  [252] Grant's "Recollections," p. 53. Nowadays no member can make this
  motion more than once.

  [253] Molesworth's "History of the Reform Bill," p. 214.

In 1833, and again ten years later, the Irish party resisted two Bills
by this means, on the latter occasion calling for no less than
forty-four divisions. And when the Copyright Bill of 1839 was being
debated, a minority of nine members compelled one hundred and
twenty-seven of their colleagues to divide sixteen times.

There is, as Gladstone said, no art or science which has made such
advance in modern times as has that of parliamentary obstruction.
Gladstone himself resolutely and systematically obstructed the passage
of the Divorce Bill, as Sir Robert Peel before him had obstructed Lord
Grey's Reform Bill. These statesmen, however, employed a recognised
form of opposition to some particular measure. It was left for the
Irish party to devise a system of regular opposition to the conduct of
any parliamentary business whatsoever.

Parnell's knowledge of the rules of debate was extensive and peculiar.
He himself acted upon the advice which he once gave to a new member
when he told him that the best way to learn the regulations of the
House was by breaking them. It was he who originated the idea of
employing what he called "the sacred right of obstruction" as a
protest against the alleged Government neglect of Irish grievances. He
sought by this means to show that, though his party was not powerful
enough to carry through its own work properly, it was sufficiently
strong to prevent the English Government from doing any work at all.
In this way he no doubt thought to carry out the last wishes of
Grattan, and to "keep knocking at the Union."

The forms of the House of Commons, as Sir George Cornwall Lewis has
said, were avowedly contrived for the protection of minorities; and
they are so effectual for their purpose as frequently to defeat the
will of the great body of the House, and enable a few members to
resist, at least for a time, a measure desired by the majority.[254]
The Irish have, of course, always been dissatisfied. If they had
happened to be in the wilderness with Moses, as Bright once observed,
they would probably have complained of the Ten Commandments as a
harassing piece of legislation--and not altogether without
justification. But in 1874, when they adopted the attitude of
antagonism to the transaction of all business, obstruction in such a
form as this was a novelty, and their more constitutionally-minded
leader, Butt, repudiated Parnell and his methods. The latter was not
to be moved from his purpose, however, and with half a dozen intrepid
and obstinate followers continued the practice of an organized plan of
obstruction, of which the only flattering thing that can be said is
that it was for a long time completely successful.

  [254] See "Influence of Authority in Matters of Opinion," p. 219.

Parnell himself deliberately expressed his satisfaction in thwarting
the Government and preventing the progress of parliamentary business.
He gloried in his offence, thinking very probably that England's
difficulty was Ireland's opportunity. On sixty-nine occasions in 1877,
when the House of Commons was forced to divide, the minorities never
consisted of more than eleven members, and in one hundred divisions
they did not exceed twenty-one. Parnell addressed the House five
hundred times in the session of 1879, constantly repeating the same
arguments, raising points which had already been ruled out of order,
making a variety of frivolous objections, and showing in a hundred
ways that his evident desire was merely to waste the time of
Parliament.

Owing to obstructive Irish tactics, the Land Act of 1881 required no
less than fifty-eight sittings before it could be passed. In the same
year the climax of obstruction was reached, and it became obvious that
some measures must be taken to prevent the continuation of such a
state of affairs. On January 31, which was a Monday, the House of
Commons met at 4.30 p.m. and sat without interval until 9.30 a.m. on
the following Wednesday. But for the intervention of the Chair, the
sitting might have been prolonged indefinitely. Fortunately, Speaker
Brand was a strong man, and had privately determined to put a stop to
a condition of things which was bringing the House into contempt and
threatening the complete breakdown of all legislative business.

On resuming the Chair on the Wednesday morning, the Speaker rose and
addressed the House in a carefully prepared speech. He began by
expressing his unqualified disapproval of the continual obstruction of
a stubborn and inconsiderable minority, whereby the ordinary rules of
procedure had been rendered ineffective, and the dignity of the House
endangered. Acting on his own responsibility, he declared that a new
course was imperatively demanded. He declined therefore to call upon
any more members to speak, and proceeded to "put the question,"
relying upon the House to support him in this unusual act.

The Speaker had accurately gauged the "sense of the House";[255] his
solution of the difficulty was loudly applauded, save of course upon
the Irish benches, and, after a sitting that had lasted for over
forty-one consecutive hours, weary members were at last enabled to
enjoy a well-earned repose.

  [255] With regard to those well-worn expressions, the "sense" of the
  House and the "feeling" of the House, it has been stated that the
  House of Commons has more sense and feeling than any one who sits upon
  its benches: "The collective wisdom of Parliament exceeds the wisdom
  of any single head therein."

Shortly after this memorable scene, a new set of rules was framed,
restricting debate on all dilatory motions, and preventing any member
from making them more than once. The authority of the Speaker also was
increased, and it was made optional for him to put the question
forthwith, if he thought the rules were being abused. He was also
endowed with the power of at any time silencing an unruly or
obstructive member.

In 1882, Gladstone proposed an alteration of the Procedure
Regulations, which allowed the Speaker or Chairman, when a subject had
been adequately discussed, and it was evidently the sense of the House
that the question be put, so to inform the House; and, if a motion to
this effect was put and carried, supported by more than two hundred
members, or supported by one hundred and opposed by less than forty,
the question was to be put forthwith. This "Closure" rule was amended
six years later, when it was resolved that, after a question had been
proposed, any member could move that "the question be now put," and,
with the Speaker's approval, this motion might be put without debate,
provided that in the division not less than one hundred members voted
in its support.

Still more stringent regulations have since been made to thwart the
obstructive tendencies of a certain section of every Opposition. By a
recent Standing Order, the end of a debate may be fixed by resolution
of the House for a certain hour and date, and, if the subject is not
disposed of by that time, the undiscussed remainder must be decided by
a vote upon which there can be no debate. This is known as the
"guillotine" or "closure by compartments," and has been commented on
adversely by all minorities and sedulously practised by every
Government since its inception.

In spite, however, of the many efforts which have been made to
accelerate business, the parliamentary machine moves but slowly, and
the time spent in discussing any measure to which there is active,
sincere, and persistent opposition shows no signs of diminishing in
length. Thus, while the Home Rule Bill of 1893 required 180 divisions,
the Education Bill of 1902 required 295; and over the Finance Bill of
1909 Parliament spent something like 73 days (or 740 hours) and
divided no less than 420 times.




CHAPTER X

PARLIAMENTARY PRIVILEGE AND PUNISHMENT


Parliament has ever been most tenacious of its historic and
traditionary rights and privileges. Of these, freedom of speech and
freedom from arrest may be considered the most important. The right of
personal access to the Crown is claimed by peers, any one of whom may
demand a private audience with the sovereign, and, though the Commons
are not granted a similar privilege, it is permissible for them to
accompany their Speaker when he presents an address to the King, and
to wear ordinary dress on such an occasion.

In olden days peers enjoyed other indulgences denied to their humbler
brethren. They were, for instance, permitted to kill deer in the
King's forests whenever, in obedience to a royal summons, they
journeyed to or from the sovereign. At such times the bag was limited
to two deer, and these might only be slain in the presence of the
King's Forester. If that official were not at hand, the sporting peer
was enjoined to blow several loud blasts upon his hunting-horn before
pursuing his quarry to the death.[256] Peers were further allowed
"benefit of clergy," in the good old days, for such crimes as highway
robbery, horse-stealing and house-breaking, but only for a first
offence. If they took up burglary as a hobby, or if the robbery of
churches became with them a daily habit, they could no longer escape
from the consequences of their misdeeds, and were haled to prison just
as though they had been mere ordinary mortals. "Benefit of clergy"
was a privilege which was repealed by Act of Parliament in 1801, and a
peer to-day cannot steal a single gold watch with impunity.

  [256] Pike's "Constitutional History," p. 267.

Exemption from arrest on a civil process during the session, or for
forty days before and after, is a privilege which members of the House
of Commons as well as the Lords have always enjoyed.[257] It extended
to their estates until 1857, and to their servants until 1892. This
immunity does not, however, extend to breaches of the criminal law,
nor can it be claimed in the case of an indictable offence or of
contempt of court, its original object being merely to secure freedom
of arrival and attendance. The Speaker of the Commons, Thomas Thorpe,
who was summoned in Henry VI.'s time for carrying away certain goods
and chattels from the Bishop of Durham's Palace, was fined £1000, and
committed to the Fleet until this sum should be paid. The question of
privilege was raised, but the House of Lords decided that the culprit
must remain in prison, and the Commons were directed to elect another
Speaker.

  [257] Peeresses may also claim this as a right.

In the early days of Parliament, privilege from arrest was generally
enforced by a resolution of the House or by a Chancery writ, though
there is at least one instance of a member being released without any
such formality. This occurred in the case of a member named Ferrars,
who had been arrested for debt by the Sheriff of London in 1543. The
Sergeant-at-Arms who went to demand his release was illtreated, and
sent back empty-handed. The House thereupon summoned the sheriff to
the Bar, and with him the creditor who had sued Ferrars, and committed
both to prison.

In 1575 the privilege was extended, the servants of members of the
House of Commons being included within the pale of its protection.
This naturally led to many abuses, culminating in the case of the
notorious Colonel Wanklyn. This member gave a signed "protection" to a
wealthy friend whom he falsely named as his servant in order to
enable him to escape the payment of a debt which he owed to his own
wife. The fraud being made public, the culprit was expelled from the
House, and went away weeping bitterly, "to the scandal of his brother
officers."[258] In the same year a man named Smalley, the servant of
Arthur Hall, member for Grantham, was arrested for debt and released
by the Speaker's order. It was afterwards discovered that he had
arranged his arrest so as to elude his financial liabilities, and the
indignant House ordered him to be imprisoned and fined £100.[259]
Further discredit was cast upon one of the ancient privileges of
Parliament by another member named Benson, who was found guilty of
selling "protections" at sixteen shillings apiece, and was turned out
of the House.

  [258] Townsend's "History," vol. i. p. 253.

  [259] Raikes's "Journal," vol. i. p. 320.

If the Commons were justly severe in their treatment of members who
abused this particular privilege, they punished with even greater
severity any unfortunate persons who attempted to violate it. In 1584
an official of the mighty Star Chamber was committed to the Tower for
daring to serve a _subpoena_ on a member of Parliament. At the
beginning of the next century, two officers who had arrested a
member's servant were condemned to ride together upon a single horse,
back to back, through the streets of London. In this insecure and
undignified position they were taken from Westminster to the Exchange,
wearing upon their breasts a placard inscribed with their offence, an
awful example to all who would dream of laying hands on the sacred
persons of parliamentarians or their dependents.

The immunity which members had hitherto enjoyed was slightly modified
in 1700, when an Act was passed permitting civil suits to be commenced
against them after a dissolution or prorogation, or during any
adjournment of more than fourteen days. Later on, in George III.'s
reign, their privileges were still further curtailed, their persons
alone being held sacred, and that for a period of only forty days
before or after the meeting of Parliament. Use was still made of this
privilege as a shield from the power of the law, and as late as 1807
there are instances of the unscrupulous purchase of seats in the
Commons for the sole purpose of obtaining release from prison or
escaping the payment of debt.

To this day members of Parliament are safe from arrest within the
precincts of the Palace of Westminster. Irish members who had been
convicted under the Coercion Act, in the palmy days of the Land
League, found in the House of Commons a useful if only temporary
sanctuary. Dr. Tanner took his seat there at a time when a warrant for
his arrest had been issued, and it was not until the adjournment of
the House and the return to his hotel of this member, so badly "wanted
by the police," that he could be lawfully apprehended.

The jealous care with which Parliament guarded its rights in olden
days often threatened to bring the very name of privilege into
contempt. The Commons especially acquired the pernicious habit of
voting that whatsoever displeased them was an insult to Parliament,
requiring instant and drastic punishment. Books or sermons which
criticized or reflected upon the doings of either House were condemned
wholesale, confiscated, and publicly burnt by the common hangman;
authors or preachers were imprisoned and otherwise penalized. "The
Parliament-men are as great Princes as any in the World," says Selden,
"when whatsoever they please is privilege of Parliament; no man must
know the number of their privileges, and whatsoever they dislike is
breach of privilege."[260]

  [260] "Table Talk," p. 109.

Impeachment, imprisonment, fines, confiscation of property, or
committal to the Tower, were among the penalties meted out with a
lavish hand to all who gave offence to the Commons. In 1624, Dr.
Harrys, vicar of Blechingly, was brought to the bar of the Commons for
interfering at elections, and compelled to confess his guilt, and
afterwards to apologise to his parishioners. A Welsh judge named
Jenkins was summoned before the Long Parliament for having called the
House of Commons a den of thieves, and, on refusing to "bow himself in
this house of Rimmon," was sentenced to death.

The most trivial faults, the most innocent acts, were from time to
time voted contempts of Parliament, and the offenders chastised with a
barbarity which was out of all proportion to the nature of their
misdeeds. So harmless an offence as crowding or jostling against a
member of Parliament was at one time considered a crime. In the days
when the great Arthur Onslow occupied the Chair of the House of
Commons, it was his custom to traverse Westminster Hall on his way to
the House, saluting the Judges as he passed. An unfortunate man who
accidentally blocked the Speaker's path on one occasion was instantly
ordered into custody.[261]

  [261] Hatsell's "Precedents," vol. ii. p. 241 n.

Poaching the game of a member of Parliament was also adjudged a
misdemeanour worthy of severe retribution. A poacher who trespassed on
the fishing rights of Admiral Griffiths, M.P., in 1759, was
reprimanded on his knees at the bar of the Commons.[262]

  [262] Lord Russell's "Essays and Sketches," p. 346.

The presentation of fraudulent petitions has always been regarded as a
breach of parliamentary privilege; and, in 1887, a man named Bidmead,
who presented a petition which was found to be full of false
signatures, was brought to the bar and severely reprimanded. This
process of haling an offender to the bar to receive the censure of the
House was an impressive one, calculated to strike fear into the
boldest heart. The culprit was brought in, in the custody of the
Sergeant-at-Arms, and compelled to kneel at the bar, where the Speaker
sentenced him in his severest tones to such penalties as the House
deemed sufficient to expiate his crime. One wretched prisoner was so
alarmed that he had a fit, and was carried out in an unconscious
condition.

The rule requiring an offender to kneel was not finally repealed until
the middle of the eighteenth century. In 1751 an attorney named
Crowle was reprimanded on his knees for misconduct of some kind or
other at an election. On rising to his feet Mr. Crowle carefully wiped
the knees of his trousers, remarking contemptuously that he had never
before been in so dirty a house.[263] In this same year Alexander
Murray, brother of the Jacobite Lord Elibank, was summoned for
obstructing the High Bailiff of Westminster at election time. He
resolutely declined to kneel when brought to the Commons bar, nor
could the threats or entreaties of the Sergeant-at-Arms prevail upon
him to conform to the rules of the House in this respect. "I never
kneel but to God," he said. "When I have committed a crime I kneel to
God for pardon, but, knowing my own innocence, I can kneel to no one
else." As a punishment for his obstinacy, Murray was committed to
Newgate, and remained there until the prorogation of Parliament. The
close of the session operated as his release, and he was acclaimed in
triumph by the City populace. When Parliament met again he was once
more committed, but fled abroad, and so escaped further imprisonment.

  [263] Oldfield's "History of the House of Commons," vol. i. p. 420.

This ceremony of enforced kneeling was a humiliation repulsive to
many. Windham told Fanny Burney that the sight of Warren Hastings on
his knees at the bar was so repugnant to his feelings that he looked
the other way to avoid seeing the degradation of the impeached
statesman. "It hurt me," he says, "and I wished it dispensed
with."[264] This wish soon became universal, and the practice was
discontinued in 1772, Baldwin, the printer of the "St. James's
Chronicle," who was reprimanded for publishing a report of the
parliamentary proceedings, being the last man to kneel at the bar of
the House.

  [264] "Diary and Letters of Mme. D'Arblay," vol. iv.

When a member of Parliament incurs the displeasure of the House its
censure may be visited upon him in various ways, either by a
reprimand, or by fine, or by committal to prison. The first instance
of the Commons punishing one of their own number occurs in 1547, when
a member named Storie was arrested by the Sergeant-at-Arms for
speaking disrespectfully of the Duke of Somerset, and was confined to
the Tower. The House of Commons has never allowed its members to
reflect upon the conduct of those in high places. It also forbids any
criticism of a Resolution of the House, unless the critical member
intends to conclude with a motion for rescinding it. Eight years after
the committal of Storie, another member, Dr. Parry by name, was
brought to the bar for speaking in the House against a Bill that had
already passed its third reading, saying that it was "full of
confiscations, blood, danger, despair, and terror to the English
subjects of this realm, their brothers, uncles, and kinsfolk."[265]
Dr. Parry absolutely declined to give his reasons for holding this
view, nor would he deign to explain why the Bill should cause his
uncles to become desperate and terrorstricken. He was therefore
committed to the Tower, and expelled from the House. Later on an
accusation of treason was brought against him, and a motion made (but,
let us hope, not carried) that he be executed. In 1581, another
member, Arthur Hall, was fined and imprisoned in the Tower for
publishing a book of a slanderous character.

  [265] D'Ewes' "Journal," p. 341.

When the House of Commons punished in those days it certainly never
erred on the side of leniency. A Roman Catholic member named Floyd,
who had made use of insulting expressions with reference to the
daughter of James I., was found guilty of gross breach of privilege.
He was sentenced to be degraded, branded, whipped, fined £1000, and to
stand twice in the pillory. After this, whatever was left of him was
to be imprisoned for life. The pillory was evidently a favourite
punishment for recalcitrant members, and as late as 1727 we find a
legislator named Ward suffering this unpleasant penalty in addition to
expulsion from the House.[266]

  [266] Ward was expelled for forgery. He is referred to in Pope's
  "Dunciad"--

    "As thick as eggs at Ward in pillory."--

                         Book iii. line 34.

In James I.'s reign a certain Sir Giles Mompesson, member of
Parliament, was accused of "being a Monopolist." For this crime he was
turned out of the House, perpetually outlawed, excepted from all
general pardons, bereft of his goods, imprisoned for life, and, last
of all, sentenced to be "for ever held an infamous person."[267]
Another member was sent to the Tower for "speaking out of season," an
offence which is fortunately no longer considered particularly
heinous, or perhaps few members would be at liberty to-day.

  [267] "Lex Parliamentaria," pp. 94, 101.

In 1642 Parliament appears to have been especially pitiless,
dispensing fines and imprisonments right and left upon any one who
displeased it. Sir Edward Dering was impeached for promoting a
petition from the county of Kent, and the petition itself was ordered
to be burnt at the hands of the common hangman. Sir Ralph Hopton was
imprisoned in the Tower for saying in the House that his
fellow-members seemed to ground their views of the King's apostacy
upon evidence insufficient to convict a horse-thief; and a wretched
tradesman named Sandeford, who cursed Parliament and all its works,
was fined a hundred marks, pilloried, whipped, and sentenced to
life-long confinement in a House of Correction. So assertive of their
power and so jealous of their privileges were the Commons at this time
that they even made an order to issue a warrant for the apprehension
of all such persons as one of their members, Sir Walter Erie, should
name.[268]

  [268] Sir Walter had lodged information of scandalous words spoken by
  certain individuals. See Lister's "Life of Clarendon," vol. iii. p.
  125.

Peers and prelates were no safer than the humbler members from the
vindictive spirit of Parliament, and any breach of its privileges on
their part brought instant punishment. In 1603 the Bishop of Bristol
published a book which was considered by Parliament to be most
offensive. At a conference of both Houses he was sternly rebuked "for
presuming to see more than a Parliament could," when he at once
recanted, withdrew his obnoxious presumptions, and declared, "first,
that he had erred; secondly, that he was sorry for it; and, thirdly,
that if it were to do again, he would not do it."[269] Only on these
abject terms could he expiate his offence. A hundred years later, in
1712, a volume of sermons written by the Bishop of St. Asaph,
deploring the terms of the peace with France and Spain, was condemned
to be burnt in Palace Yard.

  [269] Petyt's "Miscellanea Parliamentaria," p. 64.

The Sergeant-at-Arms is the official entrusted with the duty of
enforcing the penal decisions of the House of Commons. All warrants
issued by the House are executed by him. He brings witnesses and
culprits to the bar, sees that members and strangers do not infringe
its resolutions, and has the custody of such persons as may be
committed to his charge. The doorkeepers, messengers, and police
employed in the Commons are under his control, as are the buildings
themselves while Parliament is sitting. As an officer of the Crown, he
may be summoned to attend upon the sovereign on such occasions as the
opening of Parliament, when the Deputy Sergeant-at-Arms takes his
place as the personal escort of the Speaker. Like his colleagues, the
Sergeant used formerly to eke out a precarious living upon fees, and
received all or a part of the fines inflicted upon members for absence
or unpunctuality. To-day, however, he enjoys a regular salary, and an
official residence.[270]

  [270] In bygone days his duties evidently entailed much pedestrian
  exercise, as may be gathered from an Order of the House issued in
  Queen Elizabeth's time. "Upon Motion of the House" (say the records),
  "in regard to the Infirmity and Pains in the Sergeant's Feet, he is
  licensed by the House to ride a Footcloth Nag." "Observations, Rules,
  and Orders Collected out of Divers Journals of the House of Commons"
  (1717), p. 138.

Only once since the attempt of Colonel Pride to purge the House have
representatives of the law traversed the bar of the Commons. The
Palace of Westminster, within and without, is guarded by members of
the Metropolitan Police, but they studiously refrain from trespassing
upon the sacred ground that lies within the bar of either House.
During the Speakership of Mr. Gully, however, in 1901, several Irish
members declined to leave the House when ordered to do so for a
division, and resisted the Sergeant-at-Arms and his myrmidons. Stout
police-constables were therefore summoned, and bore the unwilling
members struggling to the door in that kindly but determined grasp
which, as Suffragettes have since learnt by experience, is one of the
chief charms of the A Division.

The right of the Houses of Parliament to regulate their own internal
concerns has always been admitted. In Henry VI.'s reign the Lord Chief
Justice informed the House of Lords that the High Court of Parliament
"is so high and mighty in its nature that it may make law, and that
that is law it may make no law, and the determination and knowledge of
that privilege belongs to the Lords of the Parliament, and not to the
Justices."[271] Courts of law have never interfered with anything that
took place in Parliament unless it were of an essentially criminal
character. Parliament, however, has not always shown the same
consideration for courts of law. In 1703, a man named Ashby brought an
action against the constables of Aylesbury for refusing to record his
vote at an election. The Commons thereupon declared it a gross breach
of privilege that any court other than themselves should presume to
try a case that had any reference to an election, and proceeded to
take into custody everybody concerned in the affair. The Speaker went
in person to the Court of Queen's Bench to summon the Lord Chief
Justice to attend upon the Commons and explain the law's unjustifiable
interposition. For once, however, the representative of Parliament was
forced to beat an undignified retreat. Old Lord Chief Justice Holt was
a quick-tempered man, and not at all awed by the presence of Speaker
Smith. "If you do not depart from this court," he said to him in his
sternest voice, "I will commit you, though you have the whole House of
Commons in your belly!"

  [271] "Rot. Parl;" vol. v. 239-240.

This was but one example of the numerous collisions between Parliament
and the law, resulting from the former's rigid insistence upon bygone
privileges, and the difficulty of settling which questions should be
left to the arbitrament of either authority. If matters were left to
the decision of the Commons, it is clear that everything would
probably be brought within the scope of privilege; if to courts of
law, all privilege would possibly be abolished. Some thought the
former alternative was the least to be feared. "While men are but
men," said Lord Jeffrey, "we must be at the mercy of a fallible and
irresponsible despotism at best; and if we have to choose, as in an
open question, few would hesitate to say that they would rather have
the House of Commons for a despot than the courts of law."[272] But
the matter became ridiculous when Parliament insisted on interfering
in questions which it had clearly no right to decide. In 1721, for
instance, the House of Commons committed the proprietors of a paper
called "Mist's Journal" to Newgate for publishing an article favouring
the restoration of the Pretender. This could scarcely be considered a
breach of privilege, but the House thought itself empowered to deal
with all political offenders. Since that time no one has been
committed, except for a distinct breach of privilege, or for contempt
of Parliament. The latter term, however, embraces the most trivial
offences. In 1827, a stranger who was visiting the House of Lords left
his umbrella in the cloak-room, by order of the attendant. On
returning to claim his property at the end of the sitting, he found
that his umbrella--following the universal fashion of that elusive
article--had disappeared. He proceeded to bring an action against the
doorkeeper, and was awarded damages amounting to £1 0_s._ 4_d._ Lord
Chancellor Eldon thereupon summoned him to the bar of the Lords, and
forced him, on pain of imprisonment, to refund the value of his
umbrella and apologise. Four years later, the printer of "The Times"
was fined £100 and sent to Newgate for having dared to call the Earl
of Limerick "a thing with human pretensions."

  [272] Cockburn's "Life of Jeffrey," vol. ii. p. 354.

The House of Lords has always considered itself empowered to inflict
fines as well as imprisonment for a fixed period. When the Commons
confine an offender they may put no term to his sentence, and he is
released automatically on a prorogation. For the last two hundred
years they have ceased to exercise the right of fining delinquents,
but in early days, as we have seen, they often inflicted financial
penalties, and stimulated the attendance of their own members by an
inroad upon their pockets.

At the very commencement of parliamentary history the shires or
boroughs whose representatives did not appear in their places in
Parliament were fined £100. In 1580, any knight who stayed away for a
whole session was fined £20, while citizens and burgesses were fined
£10. Besides this, members lost their pay during absence, and, by an
Act of Henry VIII., boroughs and shires were exonerated from the
payment of wages to members who left Parliament before the end of the
session without the Speaker's permission.

In similar fashion peers and bishops were punished for non-attendance,
the size of their fines varying in proportion to the rank of the
offender. An ordinance framed in Henry VI.'s time, about 1452, imposed
fines of from £40 to £100 upon absentee peers, the sum thus raised to
be appropriated to the defence of Calais.[273] In 1625 a fine of 5_s._
per day was imposed upon peers who disregarded their summons to
Parliament, and we read of the Cinque Ports being mulcted in the sum
of a hundred marks because their baron absented himself.[274] When the
Bill for degrading Queen Caroline was before the Lords a fine of £100
was imposed during the first three days, and £50 for any subsequent
day, on which any peer did not attend, unless he could prove illness
or unavoidable absence. By a former Standing Order, every lord who
entered the House after prayers was fined, if a baron or a bishop,
1_s._; if of higher rank, 2_s._ What a contrast to these degenerate
days in which the Lord Chancellor, the bishop, and one peer, hunted
up for the purpose, form a reluctant congregation!

  [273] Nicholas's "Proceedings of the Privy Council," vol. vi. p. lxv.

  [274] "Modus Tenendi Parliamentum," p. 28.

In the days of Charles I. penalties were extremely necessary if the
business of Parliament was to be carried on at all. Members took their
duties lightly, and at times not more than a dozen would appear in
their places at Westminster. Prynne describes them as wasting their
time in taverns, playhouses, dicing-houses, cockpits, and bowling
alleys, "rambling abroad to such places at unreasonable Hours of the
Night in antique Parliamentary Robes, Vestments fitter for a Mask or
Stage than the gravity of a Parliament House." They would only come to
peep into the House once or twice a week, he says, to show themselves
in such disguises, and ask, "What news?"[275]

  [275] "Brief Register of Parliamentary Writs," p. 672.

In the Parliament which passed the Grand Remonstrance there were
sometimes as many as two hundred absentees. To remedy this evil it was
proposed by Strode that any member who stayed away without leave
should be fined £50, or expelled. This proposal, says D'Ewes, "was
much debated, but laid aside."[276] Even those members who attended
did so in a casual and perfunctory fashion, which proved a source of
great inconvenience to colleagues who took their responsibilities more
seriously. In order, therefore, to enforce punctuality, minor fines
were inflicted, and in 1628 an order was made that any member who came
in late for prayers must contribute 1_s._ to the poor box. The House
met at seven or eight o'clock in the morning in those days; members
therefore had some excuse for arriving late, and the system had to be
temporarily abandoned in 1641, owing to the interruption of business
resulting from the cries of "Pay! Pay!" with which unpunctual persons
were greeted. "Scenes" would often take place when members arrived
just as the clock was striking, and either refused to pay their
shillings, or flung them angrily upon the floor for the Sergeant to
pick up. Later on, when the House rose at midday, instead of in the
afternoon, the regulation was revived. Speaker Lenthall himself was
late on one occasion, much to the delight of the House, and, his
attention being drawn to the fact, threw his shilling down on to the
table with every sign of annoyance.

  [276] Forster's "Grand Remonstrance," p. 316 n.

[Illustration: THE HOUSE OF COMMONS IN 1835

FROM AN ENGRAVING BY SAMUEL COUSINS FROM THE PAINTING BY H. W.
BURGESS]

As late as the middle of the eighteenth century members did not allow
their parliamentary duties to interfere with their social pleasures.
Burke once complained because the Commons rose early in order to
attend a _fête-champêtre_ given by Lady Stanley.[277] And in 1751
Horace Walpole told a friend that on the day appointed for the debate
on the Naturalization Bill the House "adjourned to attend Drury
Lane."[278]

  [277] Townsend's "History," vol. iii. p. 377.

  [278] "Letters," March 7, 1731.

From time to time attempts were made to secure the attendance of
members by means of a "call of the House," of which due notice was
given, members who failed to answer their names being punished. A
"call" which was taken in October, 1647, resulted in the discovery
that one hundred and fifty members were absent, and after a prolonged
debate it was decided that they should be ordered to pay a fine of £20
each. This system has fallen into disuse, the last "call" taking place
in 1836.[279] Five years before this date, however, on March 17, 1831,
three members, including Lord F. L. Gower, who were not in their
places when their names were called, were given into the custody of
the Sergeant-at-Arms, and compelled to pay fines ranging from £8 to
£10.[280]

  [279] The last "call" of the Lords took place in 1901 on the trial of
  Earl Russell.

  [280] Grant's "Recollections," p. 52.

A member who offends against any of the rules or orders of the House
of Commons may be dealt with in several ways, either by being
silenced, suspended, expelled, or committed to prison. If any member
indulges in irrelevance or tedious repetition the Speaker can call
upon him to discontinue his speech. Should the offence against order
be more serious the Speaker may either order the offender to
withdraw from the House or may "name" him, whereupon, on the motion of
the Leader of the House, he is suspended from its service. The
practice of "naming" originated in 1841, when Speaker Lenthall, after
trying in vain to silence certain noisy members who were chatting
together under the gallery, called upon Sir W. Carnabie by name. In
former days little unpleasantness seems to have attached to the
process of "naming," and when Speaker Onslow was asked what the result
would be of "naming" a refractory member he could but answer, "Heaven
only knows!"[281]

  [281] Fox asked Sir Fletcher Norton the same question. "What will
  happen?" replied the Speaker: "hang me if I either know or care!"
  "Life of Sidmouth," vol. i. p. 69 n.

To-day a Speaker may order any member whose conduct is unruly to
withdraw from the House for the remainder of the sitting. By a
Standing Order any member wilfully abusing the regulations of the
House can be "named" by the Chairman or Speaker, and suspended until
the end of the session, unless the House decides to re-admit him
sooner. When a member is "named," the Sergeant-at-Arms escorts him
from the precincts of the chamber, and he is seen off the premises by
the police. Should he decline to obey the Sergeant's invitation to
accompany him beyond the bar, a couple of elderly attendants step
forward and prepare to expedite his progress towards the door. If
force has to be used in order to make a member withdraw, his
suspension lasts unquestionably until the end of the session.

The punishment of suspension had not been used for two hundred years
when it was revived in 1877. Immediately following the extraordinary
scenes of obstruction which gave rise to Speaker Brand's resolute
action, a wholesale suspension of Irish members took place. On
February 3, 1881, Parnell and more than a score of his colleagues were
named and suspended for refusing either to take part in a division or
to withdraw from the House. When the "closure" was applied for the
first time in February, 1885, a scene of uproar ensued, as a result
of which Mr. O'Brien was suspended, and in March, 1901, as already
mentioned, twelve Irish members who declined to leave their places for
a division were forcibly removed by the Sergeant-at-Arms and police,
and subsequently suspended.

Committal to the custody of the Sergeant-at-Arms is nowadays an
uncommon parliamentary punishment, Bradlaugh being one of the last
members to be confined in the Clock Tower.[282] Both Houses, however,
have the legal right of imprisoning (at Holloway or elsewhere) any
British subjects who offend against their privileges.

  [282] In 1834 Lord Althorp and Sheil were locked up by the
  Sergeant-at-Arms, by order of the Speaker, until they had apologised
  to the House and one another for the use of unparliamentary language.
  Cf. O'Connell's "Recollections and Experiences," vol. i. p. 169.

Expulsion from the House of Commons is, perhaps, the direst penalty
that can be inflicted upon a member. In 1714, Lord Cochrane and Steele
the essayist were both expelled--the one for spreading false reports
on the Stock Exchange, the other for publishing "The Crisis," a
pamphlet antagonistic in tone to the Government. Some fifty years
later Wilkes, who had been prosecuted for his articles in the "North
Briton," was also expelled from the House. The voters of Middlesex at
once re-elected him, but Parliament declared his opponent, the
defeated candidate, to be duly elected. In 1782, however, the
resolution against Wilkes was erased from the journals of the House.
At the time of the South Sea Bubble a number of members were turned
out for fraud. Since then, however, the list of expulsions has
dwindled, until to-day such a thing would be considered a rare and
unique occurrence. Though expulsion does not preclude re-election, a
grave moral stigma attaches to the penalty, and a modern member who
incurred it would find but little consolation in the reflection that
he shared this invidious distinction with men of no less eminence than
Steele and Walpole.




CHAPTER XI

PARLIAMENTARY DRESS AND DEPORTMENT


Parliament to-day differs in very many respects from the Parliaments
of the past; nowhere does that difference express itself more forcibly
than in the remarkable improvement in parliamentary manners of which
the last century has been the witness.

Sir John Eliot's well-known words are far more applicable to the
modern House of Commons than they can ever have been three hundred
years ago. "Noe wher more gravitie can be found than is represented in
that senate," he said, speaking of the Chamber of which he was so
distinguished a member. "Noe court has more civilitie in itself, nor a
face of more dignitie towards strangers. Noe wher more equall justice
can be found: nor yet, perhaps, more wisdom."[283] It was no doubt a
pardonable sense of pride that caused Sir John to take so optimistic a
view of the assembly of his day, for there is ample evidence to show
that the House of Commons of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries
was not always the grave or civil chamber which he describes. Its
passions were not invariably under control; they flared up into a
blaze on more than one occasion. The appearance of Cardinal Wolsey to
demand a subsidy for his royal master was the signal for an outburst
of feeling which almost ended in bloodshed; the Long Parliament was in
a perpetual state of storm and disorder.

  [283] Forster's "Sir John Eliot," vol. i. p. 238.

During the Stuart period, and even more so towards the close of the
Commonwealth, the conduct of the Commons was anything but decorous.
The Speaker of those days frequently found it impossible to maintain
order; the Chair was held in little respect. The behaviour of the
House was but little better than that of the Irish Parliament in the
time of Elizabeth, which spent most of its time in futile argument and
disagreement: "The more words, the more choler; and the more speeches,
the greater broils."[284] It was at the commencement of the
seventeenth century that the first violent manifestations of party
feeling took place which were afterwards destined to cause so many
"scenes" in the Commons. Owing to the constant discord prevalent
there, that House was, by one member, likened to a cockpit; another
wrote to Sir Dudley Carleton that "many sat there who were more fit to
be among roaring boys"; and a third declared his desire to escape, not
only to the Upper House, but to the upper world altogether.

  [284] Mountmorris's "History of the Irish Parliament," vol. i. p. 77.

During the lengthy debates on the publication of the Grand
Remonstrance in 1641, feeling ran so high that members would have
sheathed their swords in one another's vitals but for the timely
intervention of Hampden. Even those who did not actively assault each
other seem to have expressed so much malice in their looks as to cause
serious alarm to their opponents. In 1642, for instance, Sir H.
Mildmay complained to the House that the member for Coventry "looked
very fiercely upon him when he spoke, and that it was done in an
unparliamentary way."[285]

  [285] Palgrave's "House of Commons," p. 18. (The Speaker, however,
  does not appear to have thought it necessary to call upon the member
  for Coventry to withdraw his fierce and unparliamentary expression.)

In the reign of Charles II. riotous debates were of frequent if not
daily occurrence. When Titus Oates appeared at the bar of the Commons
to accuse Queen Katherine of high treason, partisan excitement reached
a dangerous pitch. In 1675, a free fight between Lord Cavendish and
Sir John Hanmer was only prevented by the tact of Speaker Seymour,
who resumed the Chair on his own responsibility--the House was in
Committee at the time--and managed to quell the disturbance before
blows had been exchanged.

Scenes of a less serious nature took place on many occasions. Andrew
Marvell, the much respected member for Hull, was entering the House of
Commons one morning when he accidentally stumbled against the
outstretched leg of Sir Philip Harcourt. In recovering himself,
Marvell playfully dealt Sir Philip a resounding box on the ear. The
Speaker at once drew the attention of the House to this affront, and
members became greatly excited. When Marvell was at length allowed an
opportunity of speaking, he explained that "what passed was through
great acquaintance and familiarity" between Sir Philip and himself,
and that his blow was merely a token of deep affection. After a heated
debate the matter was allowed to drop, though other members of the
House must subsequently have fought shy of making friends with a man
who expressed his liking in so boisterous and painful a fashion.[286]

  [286] Andrew Marvell's "Works," vol. ii. p. 33. (Sir Philip Harcourt
  might well have anticipated the remark made by the Georgian monarch
  who, while leaning out of a window, received a severe blow from a
  footman who had mistaken the royal back for that of his
  fellow-domestic, James. "Even if I had been James," the King
  plaintively exclaimed, "you needn't have hit me so hard!")

The fact that many members of both Houses frequently attended the
debates in an advanced stage of intoxication was, perhaps, the cause
of most of the parliamentary unpleasantness of past days. At
Westminster, indeed, the sobriety of legislators was scarcely more
noticeable than at Edinburgh, where the Scottish Parliament that met
on the Restoration of Charles II. was forced to adjourn, owing to the
fact that the Commissioner Middleton and most of the members were too
drunk to deliberate.

Instances of parliamentary intemperance and its natural results were
common enough in those days. In 1621, a quarrel arose in the House of
Lords between the Earl of Berkshire and Lord Scrope. The former
quickly lost his temper and laid violent hands on his colleague. For
this he was called to the bar, censured by the Lord Chancellor, and
committed to the Tower. Again, at a conference between the two English
Houses, in 1666, the Lords behaved to one another with extreme
discourtesy. The Duke of Buckingham opened the proceedings by leaning
across Lord Dorchester in a rude and offensive manner. The latter
gently but firmly removed the intruding elbow, and on being asked if
he were uncomfortable, replied that he certainly was, and that nowhere
but in the House of Lords would the Duke dare to behave in so boorish
a fashion. Buckingham irrelevantly retorted that he was the better man
of the two, whereupon Dorchester told his noble colleague that he was
a liar. The Duke then struck off the other's hat, seized hold of his
periwig, and began to pull him about the Chamber. At this moment,
luckily, the Lord Chamberlain and several peers interposed, and the
two quarrelsome noblemen were sent to the Tower to regain control of
their tempers.

The Commons meanwhile were behaving in no less reprehensible a manner.
"Sir Allen Brodricke and Sir Allen Apsly did come drunk the other day
into the House," says Pepys, "and did both speak for half an hour
together, and could not be either laughed, or pulled, or bid to sit
down."[287] Such a state of things was so usual in either House at the
time as to provoke neither comment nor criticism. The tone of society
may be gauged from the fact that at the end of the seventeenth century
it was not thought peculiar for a party of Cabinet Ministers,
including the Earl of Rochester, then Lord High Treasurer of England,
stripped to their shirts and riotously intoxicated, to climb the
nearest signpost in order to drink the King's health from a suitable
point of vantage.[288]

  [287] "Diary," December 19, 1666.

  [288] Reresby's "Memoirs," p. 231.

The usual condition of the Commons during the hearing of election
petitions a hundred years later has been forcibly described by Thomas
Townshend. "A House of twenty or thirty members," he says, "half
asleep during the examination of witnesses at the bar, the other half
absent at Arthur's or Almack's, ... returning to vote so intoxicated
that they could scarcely speak or stand." It must, however, be
admitted that members' frequent potations did not always affect their
utterance. Indeed, they sometimes appear to have had an entirely
opposite result. In 1676, Lord Carnarvon, under the influence of wine,
made a remarkably humorous and able speech in the House of Lords,
causing the Duke of Buckingham to exclaim, "The man is inspired, and
claret has done the business!" Charles Townshend, too, whom Burke
called the delight and ornament of the House, and who was offered the
Chancellorship of the Exchequer by Pitt, seems to have been far more
eloquent in his cups than at any other time. He is chiefly famous for
making what is known as the "Champagne Speech" of May 12th, 1767--a
speech which, as Walpole declared to a friend, nobody but Townshend
could have made, and nobody but he would have made if he could. It was
at once a proof that his abilities were superior to those of all men,
and his judgment below that of any man. It showed him capable of
being, and unfit to be, Prime Minister. "He beat Chatham in language,
Burke in metaphors, Grenville in presumption, Rigby in impudence,
himself in folly, and everybody in good humour."[289] Half a bottle of
champagne, as Walpole said, poured on genuine genius, had kindled this
wonderful blaze.

  [289] "Extracts of the Journals and Correspondence of Miss Berry,"
  vol. ii. p. 35.

Pitt, as is well known, possessed a marvellously strong head. He and
Dundas one evening finished seven bottles without the slightest
difficulty, and he would often fortify himself with whole tumblers of
his favourite wine before going down to Westminster.[290]

  [290] Samuel Rogers' "Recollections," p. 112.

It was during the famous debate of February 21, 1783, when Fox was
defending the Peace of Paris, that Pitt retired behind the Speaker's
Chair to be actively unwell, at the same time keeping his hand up to
his ear that he might miss none of his rival's points. His conduct on
this occasion affected one of the sensitive clerks at the Table with a
violent attack of neuralgia--a providential division of labour, as
Pitt pointed out, whereby he himself had enjoyed the wine while the
clerk had the headache! It has often been considered surprising that
Pitt should have been able to exercise such influence on the House
after drinking three bottles of strong port, but, as a distinguished
statesman has observed, it must be remembered that he was addressing
an assembly few of whose members had drunk less than two.

[Illustration: HENRY BROUGHAM

QUEEN CAROLINE'S ATTORNEY-GENERAL, AFTERWARDS LORD HIGH CHANCELLOR OF
GREAT BRITAIN

_From the painting by James Lonsdale in the National Portrait
Gallery_]

At the commencement of the nineteenth century, when Abbot was in the
Chair, the member for Southampton, Fuller by name, entered the House
in a hazy but happy frame of mind, which induced him to mistake the
Speaker in his wig for an owl in an ivy bush. He was promptly removed
by the Sergeant-at-Arms, and kept in custody until his eyesight had
resumed its normal condition.[291] Another member, Sir George Rose,
arrived at Westminster in a condition which inspired him to call upon
the Speaker for a comic song, and led to his being taken in charge by
the Sergeant-at-Arms.

  [291] Townsend's "History," vol. ii. p. 93.

Lord Chancellor Brougham used to refresh himself copiously while upon
the Woolsack, and, during his four-hour speech on the Reform Bill,
drank no less than five tumblers of mulled port and brandy.[292] There
was, therefore, perhaps some reason for his extreme indignation when
the Duke of Buckingham referred to the possibility of disturbing him
in the midst of his "potations pottle deep"--a quotation which
Brougham did not recognize, and which evoked from him a violent
outburst.[293]

  [292] Campbell's "Lives of the Chancellors."

  [293] Grant's "Recollections of the House of Lords" (1834). (This is
  not the only instance of a well-known quotation passing unrecognized
  in Parliament. In 1853, when Bishop Wilberforce made a good-humoured
  attack on Lord Derby, the latter remarked that a man might "smile and
  smile and be a villain," and thereby caused much excitement among the
  Lords, who had not recently studied their "Hamlet.")

Peers and members of Parliament to-day have no such weaknesses, or, at
any rate, refrain from exhibiting them in Parliament. There have been,
of course, exceptional instances, even in modern times, of persons
speaking under the influence of drink, but these are so rare as
scarcely to deserve mention. An Irishman in a conspicuously genial
frame of mind referred to a Conservative member in the lobby as a
"d---- fool." The latter overheard this remark and contemptuously
retorted that his honourable friend was drunk. "I may be drunk,"
admitted the Irishman, "but to-morrow I shall be sober. Whereas you'll
be a d---- fool to-morrow, and the next day, and all the rest of your
life!" During one of those interminable sittings of 1877, when
obstruction was at its height, another Irishman, "weary with watching,
and warm with whisky," applied the same opprobrious term to a fellow
member. On being ordered to withdraw the expression he explained that
it "was only a quotation." "Whether the remark of the hon. gentleman
can be explained by a quotation or a potation," said the Chairman, "it
is equally inadmissible, and I must beg him in future to mind his p's
and q's."[294]

  [294] "Quarterly Review," vol. cxlv. p. 247.

Irish members have probably been the cause of more parliamentary
disturbance than all the rest of their colleagues put together. Daniel
O'Connell, whom Disraeli once called "the vagabond delegate of a
foreign priesthood,"[295] was a perpetual source of trouble to the
House. In 1840, he was the centre of one of the most noisy scenes that
has ever outraged its dignity. Macaulay declared that he had never
before or since seen such unseemly behaviour, or heard such scurrilous
language used in Parliament. Members on both sides of the House stood
up and shouted at the tops of their voices, shaking their fists in one
another's faces.[296] Lord Norreys and Lord Maidstone particularly
distinguished themselves by the pandemonium they created, while others
of their colleagues gave farmyard imitations, and for a long time the
whole House continued in a state of ferment. O'Connell's reference to
the sounds emitted by honourable gentlemen as "beastly bellowings"
only made matters worse. As a French visitor who was present during
this scene has described: "Pendant plusieures heures plus de cinq
cents membres crient de toutes leurs forces 'à l'ordre! à la porte
O'Connell!' le tout accompagné des imitations zoologiques les plus
étranges et les plus affreuses. C'étaient les cris de deux armées de
sauvages en presence."[297]

  [295] "Letters of Runnymede," p. 6.

  [296] Trevelyan's "Life of Macaulay," vol. ii. p. 76.

  [297] "La France et L'Angleterre," par F. de Tassies. (Quoted in
  O'Connell's "Recollections," vol. i. p. 261.)

"Imitations zoologiques" have always been a popular but by no means
the only method employed by members desirous of drowning the words of
a tiresome speaker. John Rolle, the hero of the "Rolliad," promoted a
"smoking and spitting party "to interrupt and annoy Burke.[298] In
1784, the latter told a number of youthful opponents who interrupted
him with their howls that he could teach a pack of hounds to yelp with
more melody and equal comprehension. Ten years before the O'Connell
scene Brougham excited the House to uproar of a similarly puerile
character. He remained calm and unmoved, however, and, when the
bestial cries of his audience subsided for a moment, pleasantly
observed that by a wonderful disposition of nature every animal had
its peculiar mode of expressing itself, and that he was too much of a
philosopher to quarrel with any of those modes--a remark which does
not appear to have subdued the clamour to any appreciable extent.[299]
A similar uproar which the Speaker was powerless to quell arose in
1872, when Sir Charles Dilke brought forward a motion to inquire into
the manner in which the income and allowances of the Crown were spent.

  [298] Thomas Moore's "Memoirs," vol. ii. p. 296.

  [299] Miss Martineau's "History of the Peace," vol. ii. p. 381.

Members who are anxious to bring a debate to a close still have
recourse to sound, crying, "'Vide! 'Vide!" in an earsplitting
fashion, which occasionally evokes a rebuke from the Speaker. But
there is seldom, nowadays, such a scene of violence as occurred in
both Houses upon the dissolution of Parliament in April, 1831. The
Commons indulged in a painful scene "of bellowing, and roaring, and
gnashing of teeth, which it was almost frightful to look at," says
Cockburn.[300] In the Upper House peers behaved no less childishly.
Lord Mansfield doubled up his fist, elbowed Lord Shaftesbury into the
Chair, and hooted Lord Brougham as he left the House.[301] Lord
Lyndhurst, meanwhile, was threatening the Duke of Richmond with
physical violence, and the uproar was only quelled by the arrival of
the King.[302] One must not, of course, forget the notorious modern
instance of ill manners, already described,[303] when, in 1893,
members exchanged blows upon the floor of the Commons. This, however,
is a painful exception, little likely to recur.

  [300] Cockburn's "Life of Jeffrey," vol. i. p. 317.

  [301] Duncombe's "Life of his Father," vol. i. p. 115.

  [302] Brougham's "Life," vol. iii. p. 117.

  [303] Supra, p. 131.

Politicians have learnt to control their feelings, and the present
publicity of parliamentary proceedings acts as a salutary deterrent to
outbursts of the elemental passions. Neither House to-day would dream
of expressing its emotion in the open fashion common to Parliaments of
long ago. The sight of a Lower Chamber dissolved in tears is no longer
possible. Yet, in 1626, when, by the King's command, no discussion was
permitted on the question of Buckingham's impeachment, a lachrymose
Speaker led the whole House of Commons in a chorus of weeping. Two
years later Sir Edward Coke welcomed the introduction of the Petition
of Right in a voice choked with sobs. Wingfield wept for joy when
monopolies were abolished in Queen Elizabeth's reign,[304] and we have
already noted the tears shed by Colonel Wanklyn when he was expelled,
and by Speaker Finch when he was forcibly detained in the Chair. Fox
shed frequent tears in the House of Commons; Pitt wept bitterly when
his friend, Lord Melville, was impeached. Lord Chancellors, too, were
not ashamed to express their feelings in loud sobs, Eldon's eyes
becoming sympathetically moist, while even the "rugged Thurlow"
sprinkled the Woolsack with his tears.

  [304] Townshend's "Proceedings of Both Houses," p. 252.

Members no longer weep, except perchance in the privacy of their own
homes; nor do they follow their predecessors' fashion of converting
the House of Commons into a smoking-room or a lounge, in which to
sleep off the effects of their potations. The free and easy habits of
seventeenth-century politicians made it necessary for a regulation to
be framed that "No tobacco should be taken by any member in the
gallery, nor at the table sitting in Committees."[305] And it was no
uncommon sight, a hundred years ago, to see members stretched at full
length on the benches of the Chamber, with their feet resting on the
backs of the seats in front of them, punctuating the proceedings with
their stertorous snores.[306]

  [305] Regulations in the Journals, March 23, 1693.

  [306] "L'lllustre enceinte présente souvent l'aspect d'une assemblée
  de _yankees_ beaucoup plus que celui d'une réunion de _gentlemen_."
  Franqueville's "Le Gouvernement et le Parlement britaniques," vol.
  iii. p. 74.

Lord North was notorious for his gift of somnolence in the House of
Commons. "Behold," said Edmund Burke, with that indifferent taste for
which he was noted, as he pointed to the recumbent figure of the Prime
Minister, "the Government, if not defunct, at least nods; brother
Lazarus is not dead, but sleepeth." North was dozing on another
occasion when a member attacked him fiercely, saying that he ought
certainly to be impeached for his misdeeds. "At least," exclaimed the
Minister, waking for a moment, "allow me the criminal's usual
privilege--a night of rest before the execution!"[307] He felt no
shame at giving way to slumber in debate, and when an opponent
remarked that "Even in the midst of these perils, the noble lord is
asleep!" "I wish to God I was!" he replied with heartfelt
fervour.[308] He would always take the opportunity afforded by a
lengthy speech to snatch forty winks. Once, when the long-winded
Colonel Barré was addressing the House on the naval history of
England, tracing it back to the earliest ages, North asked a friend to
wake him up as soon as the speaker approached modern times. When at
length he was aroused, "Where are we?" asked the Premier, anxiously.
"At the battle of La Hogue, my lord." "Oh, my dear friend," said
North, "you've woken me a century too soon!"[309]

  [307] Timbs' "Anecdotal Biography," vol. i. p. 234.

  [308] Pryme's "Recollections," p. 114.

  [309] Harford's "Recollections of Wilberforce," p. 94.

A marked improvement in the conduct of modern debate is to be noticed
in the comparatively inoffensive character of the epithets used by
members with reference to their opponents. The decencies of debate
are, as a rule, religiously observed. Recriminations are rare.
Measures are attacked, not men. The secession of a statesman is
considered a political but not a personal offence, and what Palmerston
once called the "puerile vanity of consistency" is no longer
worshipped fanatically. Gladstone rightly called the House of Commons
a "school of temper," as well as a school of honour and of justice.
Offensive allusions have always been deprecated there, but it is only
within the last few score years that members have controlled their
tongues to any appreciable extent in this direction. Hasty remarks are
nowadays withdrawn at the first suggestion of the Speaker, though on
occasion an apology may be as offensive as the original insult. Lord
Robert Cecil (afterwards Lord Salisbury) said of a speech of
Gladstone's in 1861, that it was "worthy of a pettifogging attorney."
Soon afterwards he rose in the House, and said that he wished to
apologise for a remark he had lately made. "I observed that the speech
of the right hon. gentleman was worthy of a pettifogging attorney," he
said, "and I now hasten to offer my apologies--to the attornies!"

It is usual nowadays to wrap up offensive criticisms in a more or less
palatable covering, to attack by inference rather than by direct
assault. "I am no party man," said Colonel Sibthorpe, member for
Lincoln, after the dissolution of Sir Robert Peel's Government. "I
have never acted from party feelings; but I must say I do not like the
countenances of honourable gentlemen opposite, for I believe them to
be the index of their minds. I can only say, in conclusion, that I
earnestly hope that God will grant the country a speedy deliverance
from such a band."[310] This is a good example of an unpleasant thing
framed in a manner which does not lay it open to the stigma of
disorderly language, and is just as effective as that oft-quoted
attack made by a member of the Irish House of Commons on George
Ponsonby (afterwards Irish Chancellor), whose sister was sitting in
the gallery at the time. "These Ponsonbys are the curse of my
country," said the member; "they are prostitutes, personally and
politically--from the toothless old hag who is now grinning in the
gallery to the white-livered scoundrel who is now shivering on the
floor!"[311]

  [310] Grant's "Recollections," p. 140.

  [311] Hayward's "Essays," pp. 364-5.

[Illustration: THE HOUSE OF COMMONS IN WALPOLE'S DAY

FROM THE ENGRAVING BY A. FOGG

THE FIGURES FROM LEFT TO RIGHT ARE:--SIR ROBERT WALPOLE, THE RT. HON.
ARTHUR ONSLOW, SYDNEY GODOLPHIN (FATHER OF THE HOUSE), SIR JOSEPH
JEKYL, COL. ONSLOW, EDWARD STABLES, ESQ. (CLERK OF HOUSE OF COMMOMS),
SIR JAMES THORNHILL, MR. AISKEW (CLERK ASSISTANT)]

Members who consider themselves aggrieved or insulted have now no
redress save by an appeal to the Speaker. In old days they often took
the matter into their own hands, and many a duel was the outcome of
hasty words spoken in Parliament. So prevalent, indeed, did the habit
of duelling become, that in 1641 a resolution was passed in the
Commons empowering the Speaker to arrest any member who either sent or
received a challenge. The practice of parliamentary duelling long
continued, in spite of every effort to stifle it. Wilkes was wounded
in 1763 in Hyde Park by a member named Martin, who had called him "a
cowardly scoundrel." Lord Castlereagh and Canning met in 1809, and
had, in consequence, to resign their seats in the Cabinet.[312] Lord
Alvanley fought Morgan O'Connell, son of the Liberator, on his
father's account. Charles James Fox was challenged by Mr. Adam, of the
Ordnance Department, for a personal attack made in the House of
Commons, and faced him in the old Kensington Gravel Pits. At the first
shot Adam's bullet lodged harmlessly in his opponent's belt. "If
you hadn't used Ordnance powder," said Fox, with a laugh, as he shook
hands with Adam after the fight, "I should have been a dead man."[313]

  [312] Bell's "Life of Canning," p. 251.

  [313] Pryme's "Recollections," p. 235.

If duels were fought in those days on very slight provocation,
challenges were also occasionally declined on equally poor grounds.
Colonel Luttrell, member for Middlesex, and afterwards Lord
Carhampton, refused to fight his own father, not because he was his
father, but because he was not a gentleman!

The last duel between politicians was that fought by the Duke of
Wellington and Lord Winchelsea, as the result of some remarks made by
the latter during a debate on the Roman Catholic Emancipation Bill in
1830. Since that time no parliamentary dispute has been referred to
the arbitrament of the pistol.

Although there has been a perceptible improvement in parliamentary
deportment as the centuries have advanced, the same can scarcely be
said of parliamentary dress. In the time of Charles II.,
knee-breeches, silk stockings, and silver-buckled shoes were
absolutely _de rigueur_ for members of the Commons. A hundred years
later members of Parliament always wore court dress, with bag-wig and
sword, in the House. The formal costume prescribed by etiquette was
rigidly adhered to, and none but county members were permitted the
privilege of wearing spurs.[314] At this time, too, Cabinet Ministers
were never seen in Parliament without the ribbons and decorations of
the various orders to which they belonged. The regulation which bids
the mover and seconder of the Address to appear in court dress on the
first day of the new Parliament is the only relic of this custom.

  [314] Lord Colchester's "Diary," vol. i. p. 45.

Fifty years ago no member of either House would have appeared within
the precincts of the Palace of Westminster wearing anything upon his
head but a high silk hat. Gradually, however, a certain laxity in the
matter of head-gear has crept into Parliament, and to-day, not only
"bowlers," but even "cricketing caps" may be seen reposing upon the
unabashed heads of members. Peers, as a rule, conform to the older
fashion, and Cabinet Ministers usually dress in a respectably sombre
garb. But among the rank and file of the House of Commons may
occasionally be found members wearing check suits of the lightest and
loudest patterns, and hats of every conceivable variety, ranging from
the æsthetic "Homburg" to the humble cloth cap. The passing of the top
hat must necessarily appear somewhat in the light of a tragedy to
older parliamentarians. In both Houses the hat has long come to be
regarded as a sacred symbol. It is with this article of clothing that
the member daily secures his claim to a seat on the benches of the
House of Commons; with a hat he occasionally expresses his enthusiasm
or sympathy; on a hat does he sit at the close of a speech, with the
certainty of raising a laugh; and without a hat he cannot speak upon a
point of order when the House has been cleared for a division.

When the Labour Party began to take an important place in the popular
assembly, it was thought that this democratic invasion would have an
actively detrimental effect upon the dress of the House. Old-fashioned
members shook their heads and prophesied an influx of hobnailed
artisans, clad in corduroys, their trousers confined at the knee with
string, and in their mouths a short clay pipe. These gloomy
forebodings have not been realised. With very few exceptions the dress
of Labour members is little calculated to offend the most sensitive
eye, though it was certainly one of their number who first entered a
startled House of Commons in a tweed stalking-cap--a form of
head-dress which it is certainly difficult to forgive.




CHAPTER XII

PARLIAMENTARY ELOQUENCE


When Pitt was asked what he considered most to be lamented, the lost
books of Livy, or those of Tacitus, he replied that to the recovery of
either of these he would prefer that of a speech by Bolingbroke. Not a
fragment of what Dean Swift called the "invincible eloquence" of that
statesman is left to us. But though we are compelled to take his
reputation as an orator on trust, we should do wrong to complain, for
it is more than probable that a perusal of Bolingbroke's speeches
to-day would prove disappointing.

"Words that breathed fire are ashes on the page," and the utterances
that have stirred a thousand hearts in the Senates of old days too
often leave the modern reader cold and unmoved. We miss the
inflections of a magical voice, the stimulating plaudits of friends or
followers, the magnetism that can only be communicated by a personal
intercourse between a speaker and his audience. The reading of old
speeches is, as Lord Rosebery has observed, a dreary and reluctant
pilgrimage which few willingly undertake. It supplies, as a rule, but
a poor explanation of the effect which the eloquence of past orators
produced upon their contemporaries. It is like attending an undress
rehearsal of a play in an empty theatre on a cold winter's afternoon.
The glamour of costume, of limelight, is lacking; the atmosphere of
appreciation, excitement, enthusiasm, is absent. The difference
between the spoken and the published oration has been aptly defined as
the difference between some magnificent temple laid open to the
studious contemplation of a solitary visitant, and the same edifice
beheld amidst the fullest accompaniments of sacrificial movement and
splendour, thronged with adoring crowds, and resounding with solemn
harmonies.[315]

  [315] "Quarterly Review," vol. xxii. p. 496.

It has often been affirmed that no speech in Parliament has ever
resulted in the winning of a division. Byron declared that "not Cicero
himself, nor probably the Messiah, could have altered the vote of a
single lord of the Bedchamber or Bishop."[316] There are, however, one
or two instances of orations which have been so moving in their appeal
that they may claim to be exceptions to this rule. Plunket's famous
speech in the debate on Grattan's motion for Catholic Emancipation in
1807 is said to have gained many votes. Macaulay won the support of
several opponents by an eloquent speech on the second reading of Lord
Mahon's Copyright Bill in 1842, and, on a Bill introduced by Lord
Hotham to exclude certain persons holding offices from the House of
Commons, actually caused the anticipated majority to be reversed.

  [316] Moore's "Life of Byron," 185.

On one memorable occasion when Sheridan, with that impassioned oratory
for which he had already become famous, was advocating the prosecution
of Warren Hastings, the House of Commons was so stirred that a motion
for adjournment was made in order to give members time to recover from
the overpowering effect of his eloquence.[317] Again, during the
debate on Commercial Distress in December, 1847, Peel roused the fury
of the Protectionists by a violent and able speech, and, when he
resumed his seat, an adjournment was moved on the ground that the
House was not in a condition to vote dispassionately. Burke, too,
seems at times to have stimulated his hearers to an active expression
of their emotion; and when he was lamenting the employment of Indians
in the American War, a fellow-member was so moved that he offered to
nail a copy of his speech upon the door of every church in the
kingdom.[318]

  [317] Barnes' "Reminiscences," p. 203.

  [318] Prior's "Life of Burke," vol. i. p. 337.

Yet the speeches of Burke and Sheridan do not affect us to-day with
anything but a mild enthusiasm, chiefly founded upon our admiration of
their literary excellence. We remain comparatively indifferent to
their appeal; our hearts beat no faster as we read.

Sheridan's two orations on the subject of Warren Hastings'
impeachment--the one delivered in the House of Commons on February 7,
1787, and the other in Westminster Hall during the trial--have been
considered among the very finest ever made in Parliament. It was after
the first of these, which lasted for five hours, that the House
adjourned to enable members to survey the question calmly, freed from
the spell of the enchanter. Sheridan's style, according to Burke, was
"something between poetry and prose, and better than either."[319]
Even the fastidious Byron declared him to be the only speaker he ever
wished to hear at greater length. He was offered £1000 by a publisher
for his great "Begum Speech," if he would but consent to correct the
proofs; but for long he refused. Eventually he agreed to its
publication, but by that time popular interest had subsided.[320] As
much as fifty guineas was paid for a seat to hear his speech at the
trial of Hastings, when, as Ben Jonson wrote of Bacon, "the fear of
every man that heard him was lest he should make an end."[321]

  [319] Moore's "Life of Sheridan," vol. i. p. 523.

  [320] He never received the promised £1000. (See Harrington's
  "Personal Sketches of His Own Times," vol. i. p. 429.)

  [321] "Cornwallis Papers," vol. i. p. 364 n.

The speeches of Burke, whom Macaulay has described as the greatest man
since Milton, are perhaps the most suitable for perusal of any ever
delivered in Parliament. They read better than they sounded as
delivered; they are rather pamphlets than orations. Burke himself was
deficient in many of the qualities of an orator. His voice was harsh
and his gestures ungainly. He never consulted the prejudices of his
audience. His lapses from good taste were frequent, and among his most
splendid passages may be found occasional coarse and vulgar epithets
and expressions. Yet so great was his eloquence, so marvellous his
oratorical powers, that Byron has included him with Pitt and Fox among
the "wondrous three whose words were sparks of immortality." And the
florid Dr. Parr can scarcely find words sufficiently eulogistic to
sing his praises.[322]

  [322] "Burke ... By whose sweetness Athens herself would have been
  soothed, with whose amplitude and exuberance she would have been
  enraptured, and on whose lips that prolific mother of genius and
  science would have adored, confessed, the Goddess of Persuasion."
  Prior's "Burke," p. 484.

[Illustration: EDMUND BURKE

FROM AN ENGRAVING BY J. WATSON AFTER THE PAINTING BY SIR J. REYNOLDS]

In the seventeenth century parliamentary attendance and eloquence were
equally poor. Not only did many members speak indifferently; at times
there would be long intervals of silence when members did not speak at
all. "A pause for two or three minutes," ... "The House sat looking at
each other,"[323] are some of the entries in the reports which must
strike the modern mind, accustomed to the present House of Commons, as
peculiar. Steele described the House of his day as being composed of
silent people oppressed by the choice of a great deal to say, and of
eloquent people ignorant that what they said was nothing to the
purpose.[324]

  [323] Townsend's "History of the House of Commons," vol. ii. p. 427.

  [324] Forster's "Biographical Essays," vol. ii. p. 197.

It was not until the Georgian age that parliamentary oratory reached
its heyday. Then, too, speeches began to lengthen, and by the time
Lord North became Prime Minister it was not unusual for a member to
address the House for two or three hours on end. Lord Brougham once
spoke for six hours on the amendment of the law. Even in Walpole's day
occasional prolixity was not unknown. One Hutcheson, member for
Hastings, when the Septennial Bill of 1716 was under discussion, made
a speech of which the summary fills more than twenty-five pages of the
Parliamentary History.[325] Again, when David Hartley, a notorious
bore, rose to speak one day, Walpole went home, changed his clothes,
rode to Hampstead, returned, changed once more, and came back to
the House to find this tiresome member still upon his legs.[326]

  [325] Vol. vii. pp. 339-367.

  [326] Pryme's "Recollections," p. 218 n.

Chatham was the first statesman to make a habit of delivering long
speeches. The practice was never popular, and has now fallen into
desuetude. The rising to his feet of a tedious member has ever been
the signal for the House to clear as though by magic. Sergeant Hewitt,
member for Coventry in 1761, was a well-known parliamentary emetic.
"Is the House up?" asked a friend of Charles Townshend, seeing the
latter leaving St. Stephen's Chapel. "No," replied Townshend, "but
Hewitt is!"[327] The departure of his audience is, however, a hint to
which the habitual bore is generally impervious. A dull and lengthy
speaker, addressing empty benches in the House of Commons, whispered
to a friend that the absence of members did not affect him, as he was
speaking to posterity. "If you go on at this rate," was the unkind
reply, "you'll see your audience before you!"[328]

  [327] O'Flanaghan's "Lives of the Irish Chancellors," vol. ii. p. 128.

  [328] Townsend's "House of Commons," vol. ii. p. 394.

When Gladstone brought in his first Budget in 1853 he spoke for five
hours. He had been advised by Sir Robert Peel to be long and diffuse,
rather than short and concise, seeing that the House of Commons was
composed of men of such various ways of thinking, and it was important
to put his case from many different points of view so as to appeal to
the idiosyncrasies of each.[329] In the days of his Premiership,
however, Gladstone's speeches were considerably shortened, and even
the introduction of so momentous and intricate a measure as the Home
Rule Bill of 1886 was accomplished in three and a half hours. Lengthy
speeches are no longer fashionable, though Mr. Biggar spoke for four
hours on a famous occasion in 1890, and Mr. Lloyd George occupied the
same time in unfolding the much-discussed Finance Bill of 1909.

  [329] Morley's "Life of Gladstone," vol. i. p. 143.

Though the oratorical masterpieces of the past may, for the most part,
be dull reading, to the student or historian they must always prove
interesting and instructive, as revealing those peculiar qualities
which appeal to a parliamentary audience. They explain to a certain
extent what it is that a speech must possess in order to meet with the
approval of either House.

Parliament--and more especially the House of Commons--is no very
lenient critic; but it is a sound one. It pardons the faults of style
or manner due to inexperience; it tolerates homeliness that is the
outcome of sincerity. It has a keen eye for motives, and anything
pretentious or dishonest is an abomination to it. Matter is of far
greater importance than manner, and Parliament agrees with Sir Thomas
More that whereas "much folly is uttered with pointed polished speech,
so many, boisterous and rude in language, see deep indeed, and give
right substantial counsel."[330] Sincerity, in fact, has far more
influence in the House of Commons than either brilliancy or wit, and
any attempt at platform heroics is certain to fail. There is nothing
the House is so fond of, Sheil used to say, as facts.[331] There is
nothing it so much resents, we might now add, as violations of good
taste. This fastidiousness is no doubt of modern growth, for we find
Burke's coarseness readily condoned, and Sheil himself lapsing into
occasional vulgarity.[332]

  [330] Roper's "Life of More," p. 16.

  [331] MacCullagh's "Memoirs of Sheil," vol. ii. p. 99.

  [332] Speaking on Church reform, Sheil once said that when this was
  effected, "the bloated paunch of the unwieldy rector would no longer
  heave in holy magnitude beside the shrinking abdomen of the starving
  and miserably prolific curate." Francis's "Orators," p. 274.

Like all assemblies of human beings, Parliament has always welcomed an
opportunity for laughter. In the House of Commons the poorest joke
creates amusement; the man who sits upon his hat at once becomes a
popular favourite; a "bull" is ever acceptable. When Sheridan, in
1840, attacked another member, saying, "There he stands, Mr. Speaker,
like a crocodile, with his hands in his pockets, shedding false
tears!" the House rocked with laughter.[333] Yet the phrase did not
originate with Sheridan, but was one of the many "bulls" that had been
coined by that prince of bull-makers, Sir Boyle Roche. It was Roche
who declared that he could not be in two places at once "like a bird";
who attempted to "shunt a question by a side-wind"; and announced that
he was prepared to sacrifice not merely a part but the whole of the
Constitution to preserve the remainder! "What, Mr. Speaker!" he
inquired on a famous occasion in the Irish House of Commons, "are we
to beggar ourselves for fear of vexing posterity? Now, I would ask the
honourable gentleman, and this _still more_ honourable House, why we
should put ourselves out of our way to do anything for _posterity_;
for what has posterity done for us?"[334]

  [333] Raikes's "Journal," vol. ii. p. 256.

  [334] Barrington's "Personal Sketches," vol. i. p. 213. (Curran once
  made a happy retort to Roche. "Do not speak of my honour," said the
  latter, "I am the guardian of my own honour." "Faith!" answered
  Curran, "I knew that at some time or other you would accept a
  sinecure." Philips's "Life of Curran," p. 59.)

"The House loves good sense and joking, and nothing else," said Sir T.
F. Buxton, in 1819; "and the object of its utter aversion is that
species of eloquence which may be called Philippian."[335]
Sentimentality of any kind is rarely tolerated in Parliament, as may
be seen by the indifference with which Burke's dagger and Lord
Brougham's melodramatic prayer were greeted. When Bright, during the
Crimean War, delivered himself of that famous phrase, "The Angel of
Death has been abroad throughout the land; you may almost hear the
beating of its wings!" it was a question as to how members would take
so sentimental a simile. Had the speaker substituted the word
"flapping" for "beating," as Cobden afterwards observed to him, they
would have roared with laughter.

  [335] "Memoirs," p. 89.

The House of Commons, as a writer has remarked, is a body without any
principles or prejudices, except against bores. "He who comes to it
with a good reputation has no better chance than he who besieges it
with a bad one. It rejects all pretensions it has not of itself
justified, and all fame it has not itself conferred."[336] It has,
indeed, always been remarkable for a great reluctance in confirming
reputations for oratory gained elsewhere. Wilkes could sway the
populace with his grandiloquent declamations, but failed ignominiously
in Parliament; Kenealy was refused a hearing. The chastening effect of
the Lower House is notorious, and many a conceited, self-opiniated
individual has found his level after a brief course of subjection to
what Sir James Mackintosh called the "curry-comb of the House of
Commons."[337]

  [336] Whitty's "History of the Session" (1852-3), p. 7.

  [337] "Journal," vol. i. p. 342.

Besides bores and demagogues, of which it is justly intolerant, the
House of Commons may at one time be said to have numbered lawyers
among its pet aversions. The latter are apt to lecture their
fellow-members as though they were addressing a jury, explaining the
most patent facts, and generally assuming a didactic air which the
House finds it difficult to brook.[338] This perhaps explains the
failure of such distinguished men as Lord Jeffrey and Sir James
Mackintosh, both eloquent lawyers who made little or no mark in
Parliament, and of many other "gentlemen of the long robe," as
Disraeli contemptuously called them.

  [338] "Accustomed in their courts to consider every matter of equal
  importance," says Barnes, "they adopt the same earnest and stiff
  solemnity of manner, whether they are disputing about violated
  morality or insulted liberty, or about a petty affray where a hat,
  value one shilling, has been torn in a scuffle." "Parliamentary
  Sketches," p. 79.

Speaking in Parliament is indeed a matter very different to addressing
an audience in the country, on the hustings, or in some local town
hall. The platitudes that evoke such enthusiasm when delivered from a
village platform fall very flat in either House. The chilling
atmosphere and sparse attendance of the Lords is not conducive to
feelings of self-confidence: the critical gaze of fellow-members in
the Commons is little calculated to alleviate a sudden paroxysm of
shyness.

The unknown parliamentary speaker is greeted with a respectful but
ominous silence when he rises to his feet. He misses the applause of
electors or tenantry to which he is accustomed in his constituency or
on his estate. He has no table on which to place his sheaf of notes;
there is no water-bottle at hand to moisten his parched lips or give
him a moment's pause when the stream of his eloquence runs temporarily
dry. He cannot choose the best moment for delivering his speech, but
must be content to take such opportunities as are afforded by
circumstances. In the House of Commons a member may have waited half
the night to catch the elusive eye of the Speaker--though a man who
wishes to make his maiden speech is usually accorded this
privilege--and, by the time his turn comes, most of his choicest and
brightest thoughts have already been anticipated by former speakers.
It is not, therefore, to be wondered at that many men find themselves
unequal to the task of passing successfully through this ordeal, and
that the maiden speech of a future statesman has often proved a
complete fiasco.

In 1601, we read of a Mr. Zachary Lock, a member who "began to speak,
who for very fear shook, so that he could not proceed, but stood still
awhile, and at length sat down."[339] This same experience has since
befallen many another politician. The bravest men become inarticulate
in similar circumstances. After the naval victory of June 1, 1794,
Vice-Admiral Sir Alan Gardiner received a vote of thanks from the
House of Commons, and, though he had taken the precaution of
fortifying himself with several bottles of Madeira, could scarcely
summon up courage to mumble a reply.[340] And in our own time we have
seen another gallant officer overcome with "House-fright" to such an
extent as to be unable to deliver the message which, in his official
capacity as Black Rod, he had brought to the Commons. John Bright
never rose in the House without what he called "a trembling of the
knees." Gladstone was always intensely nervous before a big speech.
Disraeli declared that he would rather lead a forlorn hope than face
the House of Commons.

  [339] D'Ewes' "Journal," p. 666.

  [340] "Life of Sidmouth," vol. i. p. 119.

[Illustration: RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN

FROM AN ENGRAVING BY J. HALL AFTER THE PAINTING BY SIR J. REYNOLDS]

A good description of the sensations felt by a panic-stricken member
making his debut is given by Lord Guilford, son of Lord North, whose
appearance in the House was brief, if not exactly meteoric. "I brought
out two or three sentences," he says, "when a mist seemed to rise
before my eyes. I then lost my recollection, and could see nothing but
the Speaker's wig, which swelled and swelled and swelled till it
covered the whole House."[341]

  [341] Harford's "Recollections of Wilberforce," p. 95. (Guilford
  hastily resumed his seat, shortly afterwards applied for the Chiltern
  Hundreds, and retired into comfortable obscurity.)

The failure of a first speech has not always been the presage of a
politician's future non-success. Addison broke down on the only
occasion on which he attempted to address the House, yet he reached
high office as Irish Secretary before he had been nine years in
Parliament.[342] Walpole's first speech was a complete failure, as
was, in a lesser degree, Canning's, though both were listened to in
silence. Even the silver-tongued Sheridan himself made a poor
impression upon the House with his earliest effort. After delivering
his maiden speech, he sought out his friend Woodfall, who had been
sitting in the gallery, and asked for a candid opinion. "I don't think
this is your line," said Woodfall. "You had much better have stuck to
your former pursuits." Sheridan pondered for a moment. "It is _in_
me," he said at length with conviction, "and, by God, it shall come
out!"[343] It certainly did.

  [342] His first effort in the Irish House, in 1709, was singularly
  abortive. "Mr. Speaker, I conceive----" he began. "Mr. Speaker, I
  conceive----" he stammered out again. Shouts of "Hear! hear!"
  encouraged him. "I conceive, Mr. Speaker----" he repeated, and then
  collapsed. A cruel colleague at once rose and remarked that the hon.
  gentleman had conceived three times and brought forth nothing!
  O'Flanagan's "Irish Chancellors," vol. ii. p. 8.

  [343] Moore's "Life of Sheridan," vol. i. p. 348.

Disraeli, as is well known, was not even listened to, and had to bring
his maiden speech to an abrupt end. "The time will come when you
_shall_ hear me!" he exclaimed prophetically as he resumed his seat.
Such treatment was, however, unusual, for though the House of Commons
is occasionally, as Pepys called it, a beast not to be understood, so
variable and uncertain are its moods, new members are commonly
accorded a patient and attentive hearing.

Sometimes a momentary breakdown has been retrieved under the stimulus
of encouraging cheers from the House, and an infelicitous beginning
has led to an eloquent peroration. Lord Ashley, afterwards Earl of
Shaftesbury, had prepared a speech on behalf of the Treason Bill of
1695, which enacted that all persons indicted for high treason should
have a copy of the indictment supplied to them and be allowed the
assistance of counsel. He was, however, so overcome with nervousness
on rising to his feet, that he could not proceed. Wittily recovering
himself, "If I, who rise only to give my opinion on the Bill now
depending, am so confounded that I am unable to express the least of
what I proposed to say," he observed, "what must be the condition of
that man who without any assistance is pleading for his life, and is
under apprehensions of being deprived of it?" He thus contrived to
turn his nervousness to good account. Again, when Steele was brought
to the bar for publishing "The Crisis," a young member, Lord Finch,
whose sister Steele had defended in the "Guardian" against a libel,
rose to make a maiden speech on behalf of his friend. After a few
confused sentences the youthful speaker broke down and was unable to
proceed. "Strange," he exclaimed, as he sat down in despair, "that I
cannot speak for this man, though I could readily fight for him!" This
remark elicited so much cheering that the member took heart, rose
once more, and made an able speech, which he subsequently followed up
with many another.[344]

  [344] Forster's "Biographical Essays," vol. ii. p. 195.

Although early failure is no sure gauge of a politician's reputation
or worth, many a happy first speech has raised hopes that remained
eternally unfulfilled. In the eighteenth century James Erskine, Lord
Grange, made a brilliant maiden effort in the Commons and was much
applauded. But the House soon grew weary of his broad Scots accent,
and after hearing him patiently three or four times, gradually ceased
to listen to him altogether.[345] William Gerard Hamilton, secretary
to Lord Halifax (Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland), and afterwards Irish
Chancellor of the Exchequer, though not fulfilling Bolingbroke's
definition of eloquence,[346] earned the title of "single-speech
Hamilton" by one display of oratory which was never repeated.

  [345] Dr. King's "Anecdotes of His Own Time," p. 114.

  [346] "Eloquence," said Bolingbroke, "must flow like a stream that is
  fed by an abundant spring, and not spout forth a little frothy water
  on some gaudy day and remain dry the rest of the year."

It is customary for the parliamentary novice to crave the indulgence
of the House for such faults of manner or style as may be the result
of youth or inexperience. This modest attitude on the part of a
speaker inspires his audience favourably; they become infused with a
glow of conscious superiority which is most agreeable and inclines
them to listen with a kindly ear to the utterances of the budding
politician. Not always, however, is this humility expressed. William
Cobbett began his maiden speech on January 29, 1833, by remarking that
in the short period during which he had sat in the House he had heard
a great deal of vain and unprofitable conversation.[347] Hunt, the
Preston demagogue, showed his contempt for the Commons and his own
self-assurance by speaking six times on six different subjects on the
very first night of his introduction.[348] William Cowper, afterwards
Lord Chancellor, addressed the House three times on the day he took
his seat.

  [347] Dalling's "Historical Characters," vol. ii. p. 175.

  [348] Barrow's "Mirror of Parliament" (1830).

In the House of Lords, too, can be heard maiden speeches delivered in
many varying styles. One perhaps may be made by an ex-Cabinet
Minister, a distinguished member of Parliament recently promoted to
the Upper House, apologising in abject tones for his lack of
experience, and commending his humble efforts to the indulgence of his
audience. Another emanates from some youthful nobleman who has just
succeeded to a peerage, whose political experience has yet to be won,
and who addresses his peers in the didactic fashion of a headmaster
lecturing a form of rather unintelligent schoolboys. It is not so very
long ago that a young peer--who has since made the acquaintance of
most divisions of the Supreme Court, from the Bankruptcy to the
Divorce--astonished and entertained his colleagues by closing his
peroration with a fervent prayer that God might long spare him to
assist in their lordships' deliberations.

There is a golden mean between the two styles, the humble and the
haughty, which it is well for the embryo politician to cultivate
before he attempts to impress Parliament with his eloquence.

Oratory has been defined in many different ways by many different
writers. Lord Chesterfield and Dr. Johnson, respectively, described it
as the power of persuading people, or of beating down an adversary's
arguments and putting better ones in their place. The business of the
orator, according to Sir James Mackintosh, is to state plainly, to
reason calmly, to seem transported into vehemence by his feelings, and
roused into splendid imagery or description by his subject, but always
to return to fact and argument, as that on which alone he is earnestly
bent.[349] Gladstone, again, defined oratory as the speaker's power of
receiving from his audience in a vapour that which he pours back upon
them in a flood.

  [349] Sir J. Mackintosh's "Memoirs," vol. ii p. 192.

Oratory is perhaps the gift of the gods, but skill in speaking is
undoubtedly an art that can be acquired by practice, if sought
diligently and with patience. Demosthenes gloried in the smell of the
lamp; Cicero learnt every speech by heart. The former would go down to
the seashore on a stormy day, fill his mouth with pebbles, and speak
loudly to the ocean, thus accustoming himself to the murmur of popular
assemblies; the latter on one occasion rehearsed a speech so
diligently that he had little strength left to deliver it on the
following day. The sight of a modern politician sitting on the pier at
Brighton delivering a marine address as intelligibly as a mouthful of
gravel would permit, is one that would only excite feelings of alarm
in the bosoms of his friends; the thought of a Cabinet Minister
fainting before his looking-glass, as the result of an excessive
rehearsal of his peroration, is more pathetic than practical. There
is, however, nothing to prevent a member of Parliament from practising
his elocution upon the trees of the forest, as Grattan did,[350] or
upon the House of Commons itself, and it is thus alone that he will
acquire proficiency in that art in which it is so desirable for the
statesman to excel. "It is absolutely necessary for you to speak in
Parliament," Lord Chesterfield wrote to his long-suffering son. "It
requires only a little human attention and no supernatural
gifts."[351]

  [350] Grattan used to walk about the park at Windsor haranguing the
  oaks in a loud voice. A passer-by once found him apostrophising an
  empty gibbet. "How did you get down?" asked the stranger politely.
  O'Flanagan, "Irish Chancellors," vol. ii. p. 416.

  [351] Letters, vol. ii. pp. 328-9.

Charles James Fox resolved, when young, to speak at least once every
night in the House. During five whole sessions he held manfully to
this resolution, with the exception of one single evening--an
exception which he afterwards regretted. He thus became the most
brilliant debater that ever lived, "vehement in his elocution, ardent
in his language, prompt in his invention of argument, adroit in its
use."[352] He was, however, too impetuous to be as great an orator as
his rival Pitt, whose majestic eloquence was almost divine,[353] and
offended continually by the tautology of his diction and the constant
repetition of his arguments. The hesitation and lack of grace of his
delivery detracted greatly from the force of his speeches; the
keenness of his sabre, as Walpole said, was blunted by the difficulty
with which he drew it from the scabbard.[354] In a comparison of the
two statesmen, Flood calls Pitt's speeches "didactic declamations,"
and those of Fox "argumentative conversations."[355]

  [352] "Lord Colchester's Diary," vol. i. p. 23.

  [353] "Pitt spoke like ten thousand angels," wrote Richard Grenville
  to George Grenville in November, 1742 ("Grenville Papers," vol. i. p.
  19).

  [354] "Memoirs," vol. i. p. 490.

  [355] Prior's "Life of Malone," p. 361.

It was said that it required great mental exertion to follow Fox while
he was speaking, but none to remember what he had said; but that it
was easy to follow Pitt, but hard to remember what there was in his
speech that had pleased one. The difference between the two men was
the difference between the orator and the debater. It resulted largely
from the fact that the one gave much time to the preparation of his
speeches, while the other relied upon the inspiration of the moment.
Pitt, as Porson says, carefully considered his sentences before he
uttered them; Fox threw himself into the middle of his, "and left it
to God Almighty to get him out again."[356] If the former was the more
dignified as a speaker, the latter scored by being always so terribly
in earnest. Grattan, who affirmed that Pitt's eloquence marked an era
in the senate, that it resembled "sometimes the thunder, and sometimes
the music, of the spheres," and admitted that Pitt was right nine
times for once that Fox was right, declared that that once of Fox was
worth all the other nine times of Pitt.[357]

  [356] Samuel Roger's "Recollections," p. 80.

  [357] "Memoirs of Thomas Moore," vol. iv. p. 215. (Francis Howard
  compared Pitt's eloquence to Handel's music, see "Memoirs of Francis
  Howard," vol. i. p. 149.)

No doubt the Parliament of those days was not so critical a body as it
has since become. Lord Chesterfield, at least, held it in the
profoundest contempt. "When I first came into the House of Commons,"
he says, "I respected that assembly as a venerable one; and felt a
certain awe upon me; but, upon better acquaintance, that awe soon
vanished; and I discovered that, of the five hundred and sixty, not
above thirty could understand reason, and that all the rest were
_peuple_; that those thirty only required plain common-sense, dressed
up in good language; and that all the others only required flowing and
harmonious periods, whether they conveyed any meaning or not; having
ears to hear, but not sense enough to judge."[358] This scathing
indictment of the intelligence of the Commons may possibly have been
true at the time when it was written: it would certainly not be
applicable to-day. Meaningless periods, however harmonious, are no
longer tolerated. In Lord Chesterfield's day, however, sound seems to
have been more important than sense, as may be gathered from an
account he gives elsewhere of a speech made in 1751 in the House of
Lords. He was speaking upon a Bill for the Reform of the Calendar, a
subject upon which he knew absolutely nothing. To conceal his
ignorance he conceived the idea of giving the House an historical
account of calendars generally, from Ancient Egyptian to modern times,
being particularly attentive to the choice of his words, to the
harmony of his periods, and to his elocution. The peers were
enchanted. "They thought I informed," he explains, "because I pleased
them; and many of them said that I had made the whole very clear to
them, when, God knows, I had not even attempted it."[359]

  [358] "Letters to his Son," vol. ii. p. 329.

  [359] "Letters," ii. 121.

The gift of oratory is most certainly heaven-born, but its development
demands a vast amount of purely mundane labour. The best speeches have
ever been those in the preparation of which the most time and trouble
have been expended. Burke's masterpieces were essays, laboriously
constructed in the study; Sheridan's elaborate impromptus were
carefully devised beforehand, and, if successful, occasionally
repeated.[360] Chatham, whose wonderful dominion over the House does
not perhaps appear in his speeches, chose his words with the greatest
care, and confided to a friend that in order to improve his vocabulary
he had read "Bailey's Dictionary" twice through from beginning to end.

  [360] "The hon. gentleman has applied to his imagination for his
  facts, and to his memory for his wit," is a remark he made in
  different forms on more than one occasion. See Harford's
  "Wilberforce," p. 167; Brougham's "Sketches," vol. iii. p. 294, etc.

The fervid eloquence of such men as Plunket, Macaulay, Brougham, and
Canning--"the last of the rhetoricians"--was the fruit of many an hour
of laborious thought and study. Canning especially never spared
himself. He would draw up for use in the House a paper, on which were
written the heads of the subjects which he intended to touch upon.
These heads were numbered, and the numbers sometimes extended to four
or five hundred. Lord North, when he lost the thread of his discourse,
would look through his notes with the utmost nonchalance, seeking the
cue which was to lead him to further flights of eloquence. "It is not
on this side of the paper, Mr. Speaker," he would declaim, still
speaking in his oratorical tone; "neither is it on the other side!"
Then, perhaps, he would suddenly come upon the desired note, and
continue his unbroken oration without a sign of further
hesitation.[361] Bright used to provide himself with small slips of
paper, inscribed with his bon-mots, which he drew from his pocket as
occasion required. He excelled, nevertheless, in scathing repartee.
Once, during his absence through illness, a noble lord stated publicly
that Bright had been afflicted by Providence with a disease of the
brain as a punishment for his misuse of his talents. "It may be so,"
said Bright, on his return to the House, "but in any case it will be
some consolation to the friends and family of the noble lord to know
that the disease is one which even Providence could not inflict upon
him."[362] He did not always get the best of it, however, and when he
ridiculed Lord John Manners for the youthful couplet--

    "Let wealth and commerce, laws and learning die,
    But leave us still our old nobility!"

the author justly retorted that he would far sooner be the foolish
young man who wrote those lines than the malignant old man who quoted
them.

  [361] Stapleton's "Life of Canning," p. 21.

  [362] "Men and Manners in Parliament," pp. 56-59.

That speeches should be as effective when read as when delivered is
the highest quality of oratory. For this reason, perhaps, some
speakers write out their speeches and commit them to memory. Disraeli
did so with his more important orations, a fact which greatly enhances
the pleasure of their perusal. Macaulay followed the same practice,
and, indeed, it is said that the excessive elaboration of his oratory
sometimes weakened its effect. Lord Randolph Churchill's earlier
speeches were all memorised in this fashion. But it is not every man
whose memory is sufficiently retentive to enable him to accomplish
this feat, and a breakdown in the very middle of a humorous anecdote
thoughtfully interspersed in a speech is a catastrophe which casts
ridicule upon the speaker.[363]

  [363] Mr. R. Tennant, member for Belfast, in 1834, on O'Connell's
  motion for a repeal of the Union, made a speech which he had learnt by
  heart and sent to the papers, which lasted three and a half hours.
  Grant's "Recollections," p. 66.

Though matter may be a most important element in parliamentary
speaking, manner undoubtedly counts for a good deal. Demosthenes
practised declaiming with sharp weapons suspended above him so as to
learn to keep still, and, as we have already seen, had some obscure
reason for filling his mouth with pebbles. Neither of these practices
is to be commended to modern orators, many of whom already speak as
though their mouths were filled with hot potatoes, while their
habitual gesticulations, if made in the neighbourhood of dependent
cutlery, would result in reducing their bodies to one huge wound. Sir
Watkin Wynne and his brother were long known in the House of Commons
as "Bubble and Squeak," the former's voice being a smothered mumble
suggestive of suppressed thunder, the latter's a childish treble.
Mannerisms of gesture, as well as of speech, are easily contracted.
Lord Mahon, "out-roaring torrents in their course," reinforced his
stentorian lungs by violent gestures which were at times a source of
bodily danger to his friends. Once, when speaking on a Bill he had
brought in for the suppression of smuggling, he declared that this
crime must be knocked on the head with one blow. To emphasize his
meaning, he dealt the unfortunate Pitt, who was sitting just in front
of him, a violent buffet on the head, much to the amusement of the
House.[364] The gesticulations of Sir Charles Wetherell, the
well-known member, were less dangerous, if quainter. He used to
unbutton his braces in a nervous fashion while addressing the House,
leaving between his upper and lower garments an interregnum to which
Speaker Manners Sutton once alluded as the honourable gentleman's only
lucid interval. The late Lord Goschen would grasp himself firmly by
the lapel of his coat, as though (to quote a well-known parliamentary
writer) "otherwise he might run away and leave matters to explain
themselves."[365]

  [364] Wraxall's "Memoirs," vol. iii. p. 402.

  [365] "Men and Manners in Parliament," p. 109. (Further on the writer
  describes the peculiarities of another member who used to fold his
  arms tightly across his chest when he spoke. Thereafter a constant
  struggle went on, the arms restlessly battling to get free, and the
  speaker insisting that they should remain and hear the speech out, p.
  130.)

Parliamentary eloquence to-day makes up in quantity for what it lacks
in quality. The number of members who follow the advice of the
Psalmist and earn a reputation for wisdom by a continual policy of
eloquent silence[366] has dwindled to vanishing point, since to speak
in Parliament has come to be regarded as part of a member's duty to
his constituents. In Gladstone's first session, in 1833, less than
6000 speeches were made in the House of Commons; fifty years later the
number had increased to 21,000; to-day the steadily growing bulk of
each volume of the "Parliamentary Debates" testifies to the swelling
flood of oratory which is annually let loose within the precincts of
Parliament. And if La Rochefoucauld's maxim be true, that we readily
pardon those who bore us, but never those whom we bore, the House of
Commons has need of a most forgiving spirit to listen patiently to so
much of what can only be described as _vox et praeterea nihil_.

  [366] "Even a fool, when he holdeth his peace, is counted wise; and he
  that shutteth his lips is esteemed a man of understanding."

The level of eloquence is, no doubt, higher in the House of Lords than
elsewhere. Peers include a greater number of orators among their
numbers; opportunities for a display of their talents are more rare;
their powers are not dissipated in prolonged debates, as in the
Commons, but are reserved for full-dress occasions.

In neither House nowadays is there any exhibition of that
old-fashioned rhetoric, florid and flamboyant, which was once so
popular. What Mackintosh calls "an elevated kind of after-dinner
conversation," such as Lord Salisbury affected so successfully, is the
form taken by modern parliamentary eloquence. There are no appeals to
sentiment, no quotations from the classics, no bombastic
declamations.[367] The House of Commons is still "a mob of gentlemen,
the greater part of whom are neither without talent nor
information,"[368] and with such an audience learned generalities are
out of place. Passion has to a large extent given way to business, and
in Parliament to-day are rarely heard those "splendid common-places of
the first-rate rhetorician," which Lord Morley considers necessary to
sway assemblies.

  [367] "Don't quote Latin. Say what you have to say and then sit down!"
  was the Duke of Wellington's excellent advice to a young member.
  Walter Bagehot, on the other hand, stated that he had heard an
  experienced financier say, "If you want to raise a certain cheer in
  the House of Commons, make a general panegyric on economy; if you want
  to invite a sure defeat, propose a particular saving!" "The English
  Constitution," p. 136.

  [368] Dalling's "Historical Characters," vol. ii. p. 39.

We live in a material age. The flowers of rhetoric bloom no longer in
the cold business-like atmosphere of the parliamentary garden; only
the more practical but unromantic vegetables remain. The rich
embroideries of trope and metaphor have been roughly torn from modern
speech, leaving the bare skeleton of reason exposed to the public
gaze. The grandiose orator of the past, with his ornate phraseology,
his graceful periods, his quotations from the poets, has been ousted
by the passionless debater, flinging, like the improvident O'Connell,
his brood of robust thoughts into the world, without a rag to cover
them. No one to-day would dream of expending fifty shillings--let
alone fifty guineas--for the privilege of hearing a modern Sheridan
address a twentieth-century Parliament; no modern Grattan (as Sheil
might say) shatters the pinnacles of this establishment with the
lightning of his eloquence.

The successful parliamentary speaker is no longer one who is able, in
the words of Macaulay, to produce with rapidity a series of stirring
but transitory impressions, to excite the minds of five hundred
gentlemen at midnight, without saying anything that any of them will
remember in the morning.[369] Rather is he the cold judicious
politician who chooses his words less for their beauty than for their
immunity from subsequent perversion, who can crystallise in a few
brief sentences, within the compass of a few minutes, the opinions
that it would have taken his ancestors as many hours to express in the
turgid rhetoric of a bygone age. The orator--as the name was once
understood--is now a _rara avis_, but seldom raising his tuneful voice
above the raucous cawing of his fellows. And whoever feels with Gibbon
that the great speakers fill him with despair, and the bad ones with
terror, will leave the precincts of Parliament to-day more often
terrorstricken than desperate. That this should be so is no reason for
giving way to gloom or sorrow. Parliamentary eloquence is not
necessarily the sign of a country's greatness. The English Parliament,
which began by acclaiming Burke as the prince of orators, soon became
indifferent to his powers, and ended by labelling him the "Dinner
Bell." Fox has left no memorial of any good wrought by his oratory.
"Neither the Habeas Corpus Act, nor the Bill of Rights, nor Magna
Charta originated in eloquence," and if it be true that "a senate of
orators is a symptom of material decay,"[370] we may look forward to
the future of England with calm and perfect confidence.

  [369] "Essays," vol. ii. p. 206.

  [370] Sir H. Crabb Robinson's "Diary, Reminiscences and
  Correspondence," vol. i. p. 330.




CHAPTER XIII

PARLIAMENT AT WORK--(1)


In their efforts to grapple successfully with the ever-increasing mass
of business brought before them, modern Parliaments show a tendency to
prolong their labours to an ever-increasing extent. Each succeeding
session lengthens, as Macaulay said, "like a human hair in the mouth."

In Tudor times the statutes to be passed were few in number, and the
time occupied in legislation was consequently short. Members returned
by "rotten" boroughs had no temptation to be prolix; their seats did
not depend upon their parliamentary exertions, and their speeches were
therefore commendably brief. Parliament to-day is often censured for
the sterility of its legislative output, but during the seventeenth
and eighteenth centuries legislation in the modern sense of the word
scarcely existed at all. Its time was chiefly spent in the discussion
of libellous books and in disputes over constitutional questions of
privilege.

October and November were the months fixed for the meeting of
Parliament in Hanoverian times, and the prorogation usually took place
in April. From 1805 to 1820 it met after Christmas. Since 1820
February has been the month generally chosen. Nowadays, not only have
the sessions grown much longer--even the feast of St. Grouse on the
12th of August is no longer observed by politicians--but the hours of
each sitting have been considerably extended. The session of 1847 was
prolonged over 293 days; the Parliament of 1852 met on November 4 and
sat until August 20 of the following year, and during the last two
months of that session the House of Commons continued sitting for
fifteen out of every twenty-four hours. In 1908, which contained two
sessions, the House sat for 253 days, and the session of 1909 lasted
from February 16 till December 3, during the latter weeks of which
all-night sittings were of the commonest occurrence.

In proportion as the daily labours of the Legislature increased the
hour for commencing work became later and later. In Charles I.'s time
Parliament often met as early as 7 a.m., and would sit until twelve,
the afternoon being devoted to the work of the committees.[371] Later
on the hour of meeting was fixed for 8 or 9 a.m., and the House
usually rose at 4 p.m., or earlier. The Commons always showed the
strongest disinclination to sit in the afternoon, either because the
midday meal did not leave them in a fit condition to legislate, or
because no regular provision was made for lighting the House when
twilight fell. "This council is a grave council and sober," said a
member in 1659, and "ought not to do things in the dark," and the
Speaker would occasionally regard his inability to distinguish one
member from another as a sufficient excuse for adjourning the
House.[372] The practice of sitting regularly after dark did not
commence until the year 1717, when, by an order of the House, the
Sergeant-at-Arms was directed to bring in candles as soon as daylight
failed. Prior to that year the employment of artificial light had to
be made the subject of a special motion, and Sergeants were sometimes
reprimanded for providing candles without the necessary order.

  [371] On Sunday, August 8, 1641, both Houses attended divine service
  at St. Margaret's Church at 6 a.m., after which they sat in the House
  all the morning, and in the afternoon the King met them in the
  banqueting room at Whitehall. "Duirnall Occurrences," p. 80.

  [372] Forster's "Grand Remonstrance," p. 342.

During the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries the hours of sitting
varied from time to time. Up to 1888 the House of Commons sat from 10
a.m. until 3.45 p.m. In that year the time for meeting was fixed at 3
p.m. and this was subsequently postponed for an hour.

Saturday and Sunday have long been recognised as regular parliamentary
holidays, and on one other day in the week--either a Wednesday or
Friday--the House of Commons has adjourned at an earlier hour than
usual. This, however, was not always the case. In Stuart times
Parliament sometimes sat on Sunday and even on Christmas Day,[373] and
it was on a Sunday--December 18, 1831--that the Reform Bill was read a
second time. This, however, was an exceptional instance, the
adjournment over Saturday having been initiated by Sir Robert Walpole,
who, as a keen sportsman, was always anxious to get away to the
country, and believed that, as Dryden says, it were:

    "Better to hunt in fields for health unbought,
    Than fee the doctor for his noxious draught."

  [373] Elsynge's "Ancient Method of Holding Parliaments," pp. 114-115.

In more recent times it became the fashion to adjourn the House on
Derby Day, in order to allow legislators to take part in the sport of
kings. In 1872, this adjournment was made the subject of a heated
debate, and though the division that ensued resulted in a large
majority for the holiday-makers, the claims of sport gradually gave
way to the more pressing demands of business, and ten years later,
when the Prevention of Crimes (Ireland) Act was under discussion, the
matter was considered too serious to allow of the usual Derby Day
adjournment. The late Sir Wilfrid Lawson once cynically argued that if
the Derby Day became a recognised official holiday the Speaker of the
House of Commons ought to go to Epsom in his State-coach, "as he did
at the thanksgiving for the Prince of Wales's recovery." The game of
politics is nowadays treated more gravely than ever, and the most
frivolous of modern politicians would scarcely dream of suggesting
that the stern business of Westminster should be deserted for the
pleasures of Epsom Downs. The House of Lords has always, until a year
or two ago, adjourned over Ash Wednesday and Ascension Day, on the
ground that if they met they would be taken to Church at the Abbey;
but lately they have braved this terror and nothing so serious has
happened.

Prior to 1882 the House of Lords met at five o'clock in the afternoon;
they now meet three-quarters of an hour earlier.[374] Except under
circumstances of special pressure they take holidays on Friday and
Saturday, and Sunday is, of course, for them, as for everybody else, a
day of complete rest. Occasionally on other days the amount of work to
be undertaken in the Upper House is so small as to be accomplished in
a few minutes. The Lords, as has been irreverently observed, often sit
scarcely long enough to boil an egg, and it is only towards the end of
the session that they are compelled to extend their deliberations
beyond the dinner-hour.[375]

  [374] The judicial sittings of the House begin at 10.30 a.m.

  [375] The proceedings very often resemble those of the old Irish House
  of Lords, which we find recorded in the Journals as "Prayers. Ordered,
  that the Judges be covered. Adjourned." See Charlemont's "Memoirs,"
  vol. i. p. 103.

The labours of the Commons are more arduous, and entail longer hours
of sitting. On Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday the House
meets at 2.45 p.m. and continues sitting until 11 p.m., unless the
day's business has been disposed of before that hour. At eleven
o'clock the Speaker interrupts business, after which no opposed matter
can be dealt with, but, by a Standing Order, it is permissible for a
Minister of the Crown, at the commencement of the day's work, to move
the suspension of the eleven o'clock rule. In this case no
interruption takes place until the business under discussion is
finished.

All-night sittings are not uncommon nowadays, but in former times they
occurred but rarely. In 1742, the Speaker once sat in the Chair for
seventeen hours at a stretch, and some fifty years later we find the
Commons keeping an occasional all-night vigil. Sir Samuel Romilly left
the House one evening to go to bed, and returned the next morning to
find his colleagues still sitting. He began his speech by saying that
he made no apology for rising to address the House at such a time, as
seven o'clock was his usual hour for "getting up."[376] In 1877, the
Commons sat for a day and night, and again in 1881, the sitting on the
latter occasion lasting forty-one hours; and since that day many
sittings have been prolonged over the twenty-four hours. In 1909, the
House sat after 1 a.m. o'clock on no less than thirty-seven occasions,
after 4 a.m. on ten occasions, and once as late as nine o'clock in the
morning.

  [376] Palgrave's "House of Commons," p. 45.

Friday is, so to speak, a half-holiday for the Commons. On that day
the House meets at noon, the interruption of business occurs at five
o'clock, and, no matter what subject is under discussion, the House
adjourns at 5.30 p.m. Before 1902, Wednesday was the day chosen for
the short sitting, but the desire of many members to escape from
London at the end of the week led to a change, and it is now possible
for representatives from the most distant parts of England to pay
flying weekly visits to their homes or constituencies.

For a few years recently the House of Commons always enjoyed an
evening interval for dinner, but this agreeable adjournment was
reluctantly sacrificed in 1906, and the "Speaker's chop" is now
nothing but a fragrant memory. The dinner-hour is much too precious to
be wasted at any table other than that of the House, for at 8.15 on
many days any private business not disposed of at the beginning of the
sitting is given precedence of all else, and what is known as
"opposed" private business is also taken between that hour and 9.30
p.m.[377]

  [377] The fact of any single member taking objection to a motion is
  sufficient to include it among "opposed" business, and in an assembly
  of partisans it would be too much to expect that any private member's
  Bill should avoid giving grounds of objection to at least one
  opponent.

For the information of members a daily "notice paper" is published in
two editions--a blue edition in the morning, and a white one in the
early afternoon--containing the orders of the day and all notices of
motions. To this is attached the "votes and proceedings," division
lists, and an account of the business accomplished at the last
sitting. In the "order book" of the House, also published daily, is a
list of all future business definitely assigned to any particular
sitting; while once a week a catalogue of all Public Bills that have
been introduced, and some report of their progress, is also included.

By no means the least arduous of the many labours of Parliament are
those which are undertaken by legislators serving upon the various
Committees, of which the public knows so little, but whose work is
very necessary to the carrying on of public business.

The appointment of Select Committees in both Houses has been practised
ever since the earliest days of Parliament. The duties of these
subsidiary bodies, which may be appointed for any purpose, are
prescribed by the terms of the reference: they may collect facts for
future legislation, investigate conduct, or examine the terms of a
Bill referred to them, thus saving the time of the House. To them go
all opposed Private Bills, when counsel appear to argue the merits of
clashing interests.

The system of Committees perhaps originated in the conferences held in
former times by the two Houses in the Painted Chamber. There are
records of small deliberative bodies, somewhat similar in character to
the modern Committees, in the middle of the sixteenth century. By the
time Queen Elizabeth came to the throne such Committees were common,
and were usually composed of members of one or other House. Select
Committees did not exist until the eighteenth century, and were
originally semi-judicial in character.

All members of the House of Commons are subject to be called upon to
serve on Select Committees, being chosen for the purpose by a
Committee of Selection, and the work thus done outside the actual
Chamber adds considerably to the daily labours of politicians. No
member may refuse to serve, if called upon to do so, and when, in
1846, Mr. Smith O'Brien declined to sit on an English Railway
Committee, he was confined in the Clock Tower in the custody of the
Sergeant-at-Arms.

The whole House can also resolve itself at any time into a Committee,
when its function becomes one of "deliberation rather than
inquiry."[378] Every Public Bill not referred to a Grand Committee
must be considered in a Committee of the Whole House, and, indeed, the
greater part of each session is occupied by this stage of legislation.
The Committee of Supply and the Committee of Ways and Means are both
"Committees of the Whole House," and are appointed to discuss the
financial projects of the Government, the one to supervise
expenditure, the other to devise taxation.

  [378] May, p. 430.

A Committee of the Whole House differs in no respect from the House
itself, save that it is presided over by a chairman in place of the
Speaker, and that the mace is removed from the Table. There are also
some changes in the procedure of debate, as, for example, the
cancelling of the rule forbidding a member to speak twice on the same
question.

The idea of forming the House itself into a committee has developed,
like so many parliamentary institutions, gradually and almost
unconsciously. In days when the Speaker was too often the spy of the
King it was considered advisable to get rid of him, and this could
best be done by turning the House into a Committee and putting some
other member in the Chair.

The Chairman of Committees in the Lords, and the Chairman of Ways and
Means, or his deputy, in the Commons, takes the Chair when the House
is in Committee, but it is permissible for either House to nominate
any one of their number as a temporary Chairman.[379]

  [379] In 1641, during the Long Parliament, Hyde was appointed Chairman
  of Committees, so as to get him out of the way, that he might not
  obstruct business by too much speaking. Parry's "Parliaments of
  England," p. 354.

As a substitute for Committees of the Whole House in the Commons, two
large Standing Committees, sometimes called Grand Committees,
numbering from sixty to eighty members, are appointed to consider
respectively all Bills relating to Law and Trade committed to them by
the House. Besides the smaller committees already referred to there
are Sessional Committees, appointed for each session, consisting of
from eight to twelve members--as, for instance, the committee on
Public Accounts, which meets once a week to look into the department
of the Auditor-General--which control the internal arrangements of the
House; and joint Committees of the two Houses, which discuss matters
in which both are interested.

In the Lords also Standing Committees were instituted in 1889, but
these were to supplement and not supersede the Whole House Committee
stage, and after an experience of more than twenty years have proved
their insufficient utility, they were abolished on June 24, 1910.

In the sixteenth century committees generally met outside the House,
in the Star Chamber, in Lincoln's Inn, or elsewhere, but they have not
done so for many years, numerous committee-rooms being nowadays
provided within the precincts of the House.

At the commencement of every session the House of Lords elects a
Chairman of Committees from among its own members. His duty it is to
preside over Committees of the Whole House, or over Select Committees
on whom the power of appointing their own Chairman is not expressly
conferred. He is a salaried official of Parliament, and receives a sum
of £2500 a year for his services. Similar duties are undertaken in the
House of Commons by a Chairman of Committees and a Deputy Chairman, at
salaries of £2500 and £1000 respectively.

The Crown usually appoints by commission one or more Lords to supply
the place of Lord Chancellor, should that official be unavoidably
absent. On emergency it may be moved that any lord present may be
appointed temporarily to sit Speaker. In the House of Commons the
Chairman of Ways and Means and the Deputy Chairman are similarly
empowered to replace the Speaker when absent.

The problem of providing a substitute for the Speaker was not settled
until 1855, prior to which date no steps seem to have been taken to
fill the Chair in the event of a Speaker's sudden illness or absence.
It appears to have been considered inadvisable to frame any scheme of
relief which should facilitate his frequent absence. It was, further,
the general sense of the House that no temporary president could
command that implicit acquiescence in the rulings of the Chair which
is so necessary for the maintenance of order in debate.

To the Chairman of Committees, whom one would regard as a natural
substitute for the Speaker, the House has never been willing to accord
the complete consideration to which the Chair is entitled; the fact
that he is liable at any moment to sink again into the body of the
House robs this official of much of his authority. In the reign of
James I. we find a Chairman complaining that some member had
threatened to "pull him out of the Chair, that he should put no more
tricks upon the House." And in 1810 another member, Fuller by name,
who had lost the Chairman's eye and his own temper, called that
official a "d---- insignificant puppy," and said that he didn't care a
snap of the fingers for him or for the House either.[380]

  [380] Lytton's "Life of Palmerston," vol. i. p. 115.

The question of replacing the Speaker has, therefore, always been a
delicate one, and for many years no attempt was made to solve it. In
1656, owing to the illness of Sir Thomas Widdrington, another member
occupied the Chair for a period of a few weeks, and, during the next
few years, several Speakers complained of ill-health and were
temporarily relieved. From 1547, when the Journals commence, to 1660,
the Speaker was only absent on twelve occasions, and during the next
hundred years the records of the House show only six cases of absence.
The inconvenience caused by the rule which necessitated an
adjournment on such occasions--curiously few in number though they
were--can readily be imagined. On the death of Queen Anne, in 1714,
the whole proceedings of Parliament were delayed, and the sittings
postponed from day to day owing to the Speaker being away in the
country and taking a long time to travel to London. The duty of being
ever in his place at times involved great hardships. Addington was
obliged to take the Chair three days after the death of his father,
persevering by a painful effort in this stern adherence to the path of
duty.[381]

  [381] Pellew's "Life of Sidmouth," vol. i. p. 76.

In the year 1640, a prolonged session was the cause of many members
absenting themselves from their places in the House of Commons. In
order to ensure a more general attendance it was then determined that
the Speaker should not take the Chair unless there were at least forty
members present in the House. This rule still holds good, and to-day,
if a quorum of forty is not obtainable before four o'clock, the
sitting is suspended until that hour. Should the same difficulty arise
after four o'clock, the House is adjourned until the next sitting
day.[382] An exception is made in favour of the hour between 8.15 and
9.15, but if a division be taken during that hour in the absence of a
quorum, the business in debate must be postponed and the next business
brought on. When, too, a message from the Crown is delivered, the
House of Commons is held to be "made" even though forty members are
not present. On such an occasion the business of the day can be
proceeded with so long as no notice is taken of the absence of a
quorum.

  [382] The right of "counting out" the House was not exercised until
  1729. On May 19, 1876, the Commons failed to "make the House" for the
  first time since April 4, 1865. See Irving's "Annals of Our Time,"
  vol. ii. p. 197.

It is not the Speaker's (or Chairman's) duty to notice the absence of
a quorum, but if his attention is drawn to it by a member he must at
once rise in his place and proceed to count the House. There is a
well-known story of a prolix member speaking to empty benches in the
Commons who referred sarcastically to the packed audience hanging upon
his words, and was interrupted by the Speaker, who at once proceeded
to "count out" the House, and put an end to the sitting as well as to
the member's oration. The Speaker's inability to count the House out
of his own accord has occasionally given rise to inconvenient
situations. Lord George Gordon once rose and requested permission to
read from a book, which was granted. He then proceeded to read the
Bible until the House dwindled from upwards of four hundred members to
two, namely, the Speaker and Lord George himself, who had the
indecency to keep the former in the Chair till the candles were
"fairly in the socket."[383]

  [383] Pearson's "Political Dictionary," pp. 23-4.

In the House of Lords three peers form a quorum. If, however, thirty
lords are not present on a division upon any stage of a Bill, the
question is declared to be not decided, and the debate is adjourned
until the next sitting. Lord Rosebery, in 1884, recalled an occasion
when a noble lord, Lord Leitrim, addressed a quorum of the House,
consisting, besides himself, of the Lord Chancellor and the Minister
whose duty it was to answer him, for four mortal hours. Another
instance of the same kind is supposed to have occurred when Lord
Lyndhurst was on the Woolsack and a noble lord spoke at considerable
length to an audience of even smaller proportions. After a time the
Chancellor became very weary and could scarcely conceal his
impatience. "This is too bad," he said at length, "can't you stop?"
Still, the peer prosed on, showing no sign of reaching his peroration.
Finally, Lyndhurst could stand it no longer. "By Jove," he cried,
suddenly inspired with a brilliant idea, "I will count you out!" As he
and the speaker only were present in the House at the time, the
Chancellor was able to do this, and the long-winded nobleman was
effectually silenced.

In early times the daily sittings of Parliament were preceded by Mass
held in St. Stephen's Chapel. Later on it became the custom for the
lords to repair to the Abbey, and the Commons to St. Margaret's
Church, for a brief morning service. In the Parliaments of Queen
Elizabeth the Litany was read daily, and a short prayer offered up by
the Speaker at the meeting of the House. Prior to 1563, no regular
daily prayers were held, but on the first five days of any Parliament
"an archbishop, bishop or famous clerk, discrete and eloquent,"
preached to the House.[384] This practice long continued, and we read
of "Dr. Burgesse and Master Marshal," preaching to Parliament on a
fast day in the year 1640 for "at least seven hours betwixt
them"[385]--an occasion when their eloquence seems to have outrun
their discretion.

  [384] "The Manner of Holding Parliaments Prior to the Reign of Queen
  Elizabeth." "Somers Tract," p. 12.

  [385] "Diurnall Occurrences," p. 8.

Nineteen years later Richard Cromwell appointed the first regular
chaplain to relieve the Speaker and the discreet and eloquent prelates
and clerks of their duties. This official enjoyed no fixed emoluments,
but was upheld and nourished by the consciousness of duty nobly done
and the hope of subsequent preferment. His counterpart to-day is
appointed by the Speaker and paid by the House, and his duties consist
in reading the three brief prayers with which each daily session of
the House commences.[386] In the Lords this task is undertaken by the
bishops in rotation.

  [386] In 1909, during the temporary absence of the Chaplain, the
  Speaker read prayers himself.

When prayers are over in the Lower House any "private business" that
has to be taken is called on, and Private Bills pass through the
initiatory stages of their career. The procedure in this case is, as a
rule, purely formal, and lasts but a short time.

The dispatch of private business is immediately followed by the oral
presentation of petitions by those members who have informed the
Speaker of their intention to do so.

In these days of open courts of justice, a free Press, and wholesale
publicity the need for petitions is not so great as it was in times
when the voice of the people could not always obtain a hearing. To-day
the papers are only too ready to lend their columns to the airing of
any grievance, real or imaginary, and politicians are not unwilling to
make party capital out of any individual instances of apparent
injustice or oppression that may be brought to their notice.

A hundred years ago all petitions were read to the House by the
members presenting them, and lengthy discussions often ensued. Much
waste of time resulted from this practice, and the frequent arrival at
Westminster of large bodies of petitioners caused great inconvenience,
and sometimes led to rioting. In 1641, a huge crowd of women
completely blocked the entrance of the House. They were led by a
certain Mrs. Anne Stagg, "a gentlewoman and brewer's wife," and their
object was to present a petition directed against the Popish
bishops.[387] The Sergeant of the Parliamentary Guard appealed to the
House for advice as to how he should treat these women, and was told
to speak them fair and send them away. This he accordingly proceeded
to do, but not without much difficulty.

  [387] "Parl. Hist." ii. 1072. Butler refers to them in "Hudibras":

      "The oyster women lock'd their fish up,
       And trudg'd away to cry 'No Bishop!'"

Two years later three thousand other "mean women," wearing white
ribbons in their hats, arrived at Westminster with another petition.
"Peace! Peace!" they cried, in a manner which was little calculated to
gain that which they were seeking. "Give us those traitors that are
against peace, that we may tear them to pieces! Give us that dog Pym!"
The conduct of these viragoes at length became so unruly that the
trained bands were sent for, and the order was eventually given to
fire upon the mob. "When the gentle sex can so flagrantly renounce
their character, and make such formidable attacks on the men," says a
contemporary historian, "they certainly forfeit the polite treatment
due to them as women"--and in this case their forgetfulness cost them
the loss of several lives.[388]

  [388] Noorthouck's "A New History of London," p. 180. Scenes of a
  similar character occurred in the reign of George III., when the
  Gordon rioters stormed the Houses of Parliament, shouting "No Popery!"
  In 1871, a mob of matchmakers marched to Westminster to protest
  against a tax on matches, and were dispersed by the police. In still
  more recent times female deputations in favour of Woman's Suffrage,
  accompanied by a mob of inquisitive sightseers and a section of the
  criminal classes, have besieged the Palace of Westminster in a vain
  attempt to gain admittance to the House of Commons.

To-day, under the provisions of the One Mile Act of George III.--the
result of an attack made upon the Regent on his way from the opening
of Parliament in 1817--no assembly of petitioners or public meeting is
allowed within a mile of the Palace of Westminster. Petitions
themselves are treated in a summary manner which permits of little
time being wasted. No debate is permitted upon the subjects raised by
petitions, and the formal method of presentation has given place to a
more satisfactory (if somewhat perfunctory) fashion of dealing with
them.

Behind the Speaker's Chair hangs a large bag. In this a petition may
be placed, at any time during a sitting, by the member in charge of
it. Thence it is sent to the Committee on Public Petitions, and
presumably never heard of again. Petitions sometimes contain so many
signatures, and are consequently so bulky, that no earthly bag could
possibly contain them. In 1890, for instance, a petition eight miles
in length, in favour of the Local Taxation Bill, was presented to
Parliament, and in 1908 another, almost as voluminous, provided a
material protest against the Licensing Bill. Petitions of such
proportions are carried into the House on the shoulders of stout
officials, and, after reposing for a brief space upon the floor, are
presently borne away to be no more seen or remembered.

When petitions have been disposed of, motions for unopposed returns
are taken, and other formal business; and then follows question-time,
perhaps one of the most important hours of the parliamentary day,
when a hitherto languid House begins to take some interest in the
proceedings.

Politicians would appear to be among the most inquisitive individuals
on the face of the globe; their thirst for general information is as
insatiable as it is amazing. The time spent by various Government
officials in pandering to this craving for knowledge on the part of
legislators is very considerable: it has even been hinted that the
clerks at the Irish Office are employed exclusively upon the task of
answering conundrums set by members of the House of Commons. Nothing
is too insignificant, no matter is too sacred, to be made the subject
of a question in the House. But, although any member has a perfect
right to apply for a return, or to ask any question he pleases, within
certain bounds, a Minister of the Crown may always refuse to supply
the return, or decline to answer the question; nor need he give any
reason for so doing. This rule provides a loophole for a Minister who
is confronted with an awkward question to which it would need the
powers of subtlety and casuistry of a Gladstone to find a
non-committal reply.[389]

  [389] When during Garibaldi's visit to London, some one suggested that
  he should marry a wealthy widow with whom he spent much of his time it
  was objected that he already had a wife living. "Never mind," said a
  wag, "we will get Gladstone to explain her away!"

A member of Lord Aberdeen's Ministry in 1854 was attacked for not
rendering a certain return that had been applied for. He made no
comment at the time, but on a subsequent occasion produced and laid on
the Table of the House a huge folio volume weighing 1388 lbs. and
containing seventy-two reams of foolscap. The compilation of this
return, as he informed the House, had caused the dispatch of 34,500
circular letters and the cataloguing and tabulating of 34,500 replies.
The result of the figures mentioned therein had not been arrived at,
the Minister went on to explain, as it would have taken two clerks a
whole year to add them up. Further, he added, the return, if
completed, would afford no information beyond that which the House
already possessed.[390]

  [390] Palgrave's "House of Commons," p. 41.

Ever since 1902, a written instead of an oral reply can be rendered to
all questions that are not marked with an asterisk by the member who
asks them. No questions may be asked after a certain hour, and the
answers to those that have not been reached at that hour, as well as
to those that are not marked with an asterisk, are printed and
circulated, thus saving a great deal of valuable time.

Questions must be brief and relevant. No member may ask an excessive
or unreasonable number, nor may he couch them in lengthy terms. They
may not be framed argumentatively nor contain personal charges against
individuals. The Speaker is empowered to disallow any question if he
thinks fit, and often interposes to check supplementary questions
which are not relevant, or which constitute an abuse of the right to
interrogate Ministers; and the latter are always at liberty to refuse
an answer on the grounds that a reply would be contrary to the public
interest. Whenever our relations with foreign Powers are in any way
strained, certain members seem to take a delight in asking questions
calculated to hamper the movements of the Foreign Office, or to
provide other nations with all the secret information they desire. And
it is not always expedient or easy for Ministers to refuse to satisfy
the thirst for knowledge of their friends or opponents, or to try and
choke off the inquisitive or importunate with evasive answers. It was
always said that "Darby Griffith destroyed Lord Palmerston's first
Government," by asking perpetual questions which the Premier answered
with a "cheerful impertinence which hurt his parliamentary
power."[391] And the amount of patience and tact displayed by modern
Ministers in replying to frivolous or petty queries is always a
subject of admiration to the stranger.

  [391] Bagehot's "English Constitution," p. 181.

Members no doubt feel it their duty to provide their constituencies
with some material evidence of their parliamentary labours, and no
easier method can be imagined than the asking of questions on subjects
in which they possibly take not the slightest interest. Some
politicians openly confess that their secretaries have orders to make
out a regular weekly list of conundrums which they can hurl at the
heads of unoffending Ministers, with no other purpose than that of
showing their constituents that they are taking an active interest in
the affairs of the nation. The criticism made by a parliamentary
writer fifty years ago is equally applicable to-day. "It would seem to
be the chief amusement of some members diligently to read the
newspapers in the morning, and to ask Ministers of State in the
afternoon if they have read them too, and what they think of
them."[392]

  [392] "Edinburgh Review," January, 1854, p. 254.

The growth of this yearning for information is very clearly shown by a
glance at the parliamentary statistics for the last hundred years. In
1800 not a single question was put during the whole of one session. In
1846 the number of questions asked with due notice was sixty-nine. In
1850 the number had risen to 212, in 1888 to 5000; in 1901 over 7000
questions were put, and to-day the number is still steadily
increasing.

At four o'clock, or earlier if questions have been disposed of, the
House proceeds to the consideration of its public business and the
"orders of the day," and the real business of Parliament begins.




CHAPTER XIV

PARLIAMENT AT WORK (II)


The modern system of legislating by Bill and Statute dates from the
reign of Henry VI. In earlier days legislation was effected by means
of humble petitions presented to the Crown by the Commons, and granted
or refused according as the King thought fit.

Every Act of Parliament commences its existence in the shape of a
Bill. As such, it may be introduced in either House, though the
Commons have the undoubted monopoly of initiating financial measures,
and Bills for the restitution of honours and blood must originate with
the Lords. In the Upper House, any peer may introduce a Bill without
notice, but in the Commons a member must give notice of his intention
either to present a measure or move for leave to do so. A Bill whose
main object is to impose a charge upon the public revenue must first
be authorized by a resolution of a Committee of the Whole House.

Bills may be roughly classified under the two headings of Public and
Private, according as they affect the general interest or are framed
for the benefit of individuals or groups of individuals, though there
also exist hybrid Bills which cannot be rightly placed in either
category. But whatever their nature, Bills must pass through five
successive stages. In the House of Lords, however, the Committee and
Report stages are occasionally negatived in the case of Money Bills,
and the Committee stage of Private Bills is conducted outside the
House either before the Chairman of Committees or, in case of
opposition, by a Select Committee of the House.

In ancient days the proceedings were not so lengthy as they afterwards
became, a Bill being sometimes read three times and passed in a single
day;[393] but nowadays the passage through Parliament of a
Controversial Bill is a tedious affair.

  [393] Hakewell's "Modus Tenendi Parliamentum," p. 142.

It will be sufficient for the purposes of this chapter to take the
example of a Public Bill introduced in the House of Commons, and
follow it from its embryonic state along the course of its career
until, as an Act of Parliament, it finally takes its place in the
statute-book of the land.

By obtaining the permission of the House, a Member of Parliament may
bring in a Bill upon any conceivable subject, but it is not always
possible for him to find the necessary opportunity for doing so,
unless he happens to be exceptionally favoured by fortune.[394] In
these days, when the time at the disposal of Parliament is altogether
inadequate to the demands made upon it by legislation, the chances of
passing a Bill without the support of the Government are for a private
member extremely small. Even with official assistance this is not
always an easy matter. It is perhaps as well that the passion for
legislation latent in the bosom of every politician should to some
extent be curbed. George II. said to Lord Waldegrave that Parliament
passed nearly a hundred laws every session, which seemed made for no
other purpose than to afford people the pleasure of breaking them, and
his opinion that the less legislation effected by Parliament the
better for the country is still popular in many quarters.[395]

  [394] Bills of the most fantastic kind are from time to time
  introduced, though they seldom see the light of a Second Reading. In
  1597 a member, Walgrave by name, brought in a Bill to prevent the
  exportation of herrings to Leghorn, "which occasioneth both a very
  great scarcity of Herrings within the Realm and is a great means of
  spending much Butter and Cheese, to the great inhancing of the prices
  thereof by reason of the said scarcity of Herrings."--D'Ewes'
  "Journal," p. 562.

  [395] Lord Waldegrave's "Memoirs," p. 133.

On the third day of every session the question of the priority of
members' claims to introduce Bills and motions is decided by ballot.

A member who is lucky, and has, if necessary, obtained the leave of
the House, can introduce his Bill briefly and without debate. Taking
his stand at the bar, he awaits the summons of the Speaker, when,
advancing to the Table, he hands to the Clerk a "dummy" on which the
title of the Bill is written. This the Clerk proceeds to read to the
House. The Bill is then considered to have been read a first time, and
ordered to be printed, and a day is fixed for the Second Reading.

The First Reading is looked upon as a mere matter of form, and rarely
opposed.[396] It is on the Second Reading, when the principle of the
Bill is by way of being discussed, that any real antagonism begins to
make itself felt. Opponents may negative the motion that the Bill be
_now_ read a second time--in which case the motion may be repeated
another day--or may adopt the more usual and polite method of moving
that the Bill be read "this day six (or three) months"--the intention
being to destroy the Bill by postponing the Second Reading until after
the prorogation of Parliament. No Bill or motion on which the House
has given such a decision may be brought up again during the same
session, so that a postponement of the reading is merely a courteous
way of shelving it altogether.[397]

  [396] In June, 1835, however, a Mr. Fox Maule was refused permission
  to bring in a Bill "for the better protection of tenants' crops in
  Scotland from the ravages committed on them by several kinds of
  game."--Grant's "Recollections," p. 38.

  [397] Our ancestors were not always so well-mannered in their methods.
  Once when a Bill had been returned to them from the Lords with an
  amendment to a money clause, they expressed their active disapproval
  by literally kicking it along the floor of the House, and so out at
  the door. "Parl. Hist.," vol. xvii. p. 515.

A Bill that has successfully weathered a Second Reading stands
committed to a Committee of the Whole House, unless the House, on
motion, resolves that it be referred to some other kind of Committee,
viz., a Grand Committee, a Select Committee, or a Joint Committee of
both Houses.

When the House is to resolve itself into Committee a motion to that
effect is made in the Lords, to which an amendment may be moved; in
the Commons the Speaker leaves the chair, and the Chairman of
Committees at once presides, sitting in the Clerk's chair at the
Table. The Bill is then discussed clause by clause, and any number of
amendments may be proposed to each line, and any number of speeches
made by any member on each amendment. No limit is set to the number of
amendments that may be moved, provided they are relevant and
consistent with the policy of the Bill. This is therefore by far the
most lengthy stage of the Bill, and it was in order to accelerate the
progress of business that, in 1883, Standing Committees, consisting of
from sixty to eighty members, were created to which Bills relating to
Law and Trade were to be referred instead of to the Committee of the
Whole House.

When the Bill has passed through the Committee stage, it is reported
to the House with or without amendments. In the former case, a day is
fixed for the discussion of its altered shape, and on this "Report"
stage further amendments may be made. At the Third Reading a Bill may
still be rejected, or postponed "for six months," or re-committed, but
in the Commons no material amendments may be made to it. This stage is
usually taken at once after the Report; but in the Lords the two
stages must be on different days, and amendments may be made after due
notice on the Third Reading.

When a Bill has safely passed all its stages in the Lower House, the
Clerk of the Commons attaches to it a polite message in
Norman-French--"soit baillé aux seigneurs"--and hands it to his
colleague in the Lords. The latter lays it on the Table of the Upper
House, where it lies until taken up by some peer--which must be done
within twelve sitting days, if the Bill is not to be lost (though it
may be raised from the dead by notice of a motion to revive it of the
same duration)--when its subsequent treatment, with the few
differences noted above, is very similar to that which it has already
undergone.

[Illustration: THE PASSING OF THE REFORM BILL IN THE HOUSE OF LORDS

FROM AN ENGRAVING AFTER THE PAINTING BY SIR J. REYNOLDS]

Should the Lords pass a Bill as it stands, a message to that effect is
sent to the Commons. If, however, they have made alterations, the
Clerk of the Parliaments writes, "A ceste bille avesque des amendemens
les seignieurs sont assentus" across it, and returns it to the Clerk
of the other House.[398] The Commons then proceed to consider the
Lords' amendments on some future day. If the two Houses cannot agree,
they must either summon a Conference--nowadays an unusual step to
take[399]--or a Select Committee of the dissenting House sends a
specially prepared message to the other Chamber, explaining the
reasons for its disagreement. Numerous messages may pass in this way,
for the purpose of coming to an agreement; but if they fail, the Bill
is lost for the Session.

  [398] It may be observed that among the many traditionary differences
  of opinion entertained by the two Houses is a divergence as to the
  proper spelling of the word "seigneurs."

  [399] A Conference of both Houses has not been held since 1836.

When a Bill has passed both Houses, nothing remains but to give it the
Royal Assent, which is done by the Clerk of the Parliaments.[400]

  [400] The Clerkship of the Parliaments is an ancient office, dating
  from the commencement of the fourteenth century. It was originally
  held by an ecclesiastic, to whom were assigned, in times when the two
  Houses sat together, the clerical work of Parliament. The Clerk of the
  Parliaments is appointed by the Crown under Letters Patent, and can
  only be removed by the Crown on an address from the House of Lords. Up
  to the year 1855, the post was a lucrative sinecure, worth about £7000
  a year, the actual duties of the office being performed by the Clerk
  Assistant. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, the Clerk of
  the Parliaments enjoyed the privilege of nominating and appointing all
  the clerks on the House of Lords establishment, but in 1824 the
  appointment of the two other Clerks at the Table was transferred to
  the Lord Chancellor. He still, however, appoints all the other clerks,
  regulates and controls the duties and promotion of the staff, appoints
  the Librarian and his assistant, and exercises superintendence over
  the Library and the Refreshment Department of the House. It is his
  duty to attend all the sittings of the House, to call on the Orders of
  the Day, and to invite peers to bring forward their Bills or Motions.
  He also performs functions analogous to those of the Speaker in the
  Commons, when he signs Addresses to the sovereign, other Addresses of
  thanks or condolence, the minutes of the daily proceedings, and all
  the returns ordered by the House. As registrar of the Court of Final
  Appeal, he takes the instructions of the judicial authorities upon all
  questions relating to appeals, and keeps a record of all judgments,
  etc. Lastly, and this is perhaps not the least important of his
  duties, he gives the Royal Assent to Bills.

The Royal Assent is nowadays a mere formality--a final ceremonial
which marks the last stage of a Bill's progress ere it becomes law. It
is usually given by the Lords Commissioners, who act as
representatives of the Crown, though there is nothing to prevent a
sovereign from performing this duty himself. On August 2, 1831, when
the Bill making separate financial provision for Queen Adelaide
received the Royal Assent, both the King and Queen attended in
Parliament, and the latter acknowledged her indebtedness by bowing
thrice, presumably to King, Lords and Commons. As a rule, however, the
sovereign is not present on these occasions, his place being taken by
a Commission. This consists of the Lord Chancellor and two other
Lords, who take their seats, prior to the ceremony, upon a form placed
between the Throne and the Woolsack. The Gentleman Usher of the Black
Rod is then commanded to summon the faithful Commons, and, on the
arrival of the latter at the bar of the Lords, the titles of the
various Bills are read aloud by the Clerk of the Crown, and the Royal
Assent is given by the Clerk of the Parliaments in old-fashioned
Norman-French. In the case of a Money Bill, brought up by the Speaker
of the Commons, and received by the Clerk of the Parliaments, who
bears it to the Table bowing, the formula runs as follows:--

"Le Roi remerçie ses bons sujets, accepte leur benevolence, et ainsi
le veult."

In the case of a Public or Private Bill, the respective phrases, "Le
Roi le veult" or "Soit fait comme il est désiré" are substituted,
though, as a matter of practice, the latter phrase is only used for
Estate, Naturalisation and Divorce Bills.

In olden days, when the Crown was often in the habit of refusing to
consent to the passing of particular Bills, the words used by the
Clerk of the Parliaments to signify the royal veto were "Le Roi
s'avisera." In this way Queen Elizabeth quashed no less than
forty-eight Bills that had passed through Parliament, and William III.
similarly declined to assent to the Parliamentary Proceedings Bill of
1693, much to the annoyance of the Commons. But never since Queen Anne
vetoed the Scotch Militia Bill, in 1707, has any sovereign refused the
Royal Assent.

All questions before Parliament are decided by the voice of the
majority. And though, as Gladstone once said, decision by majorities
may be as much an expedient as lighting by gas, it is an expedient
that answers very well in practice, and for which an effective
substitute has yet to be found. Majority may sometimes seem a clumsy
argument, but it always remains "the best repartee."

The procedure in either House for ascertaining the general opinion
upon any measure or motion differs but slightly in form, and not at
all in principle. At the end of every debate the question under
discussion is laid before the House by its Speaker or Chairman. This
he does by rising in his place and saying, "The question is that ..."
(here follows the exact words of the motion). "As many as are of that
opinion say 'Aye!'; as many as are of the contrary opinion say 'No!'"
(In the Lords the words "Content" and "Not Content" are substituted
for "Aye" and "No.") Members or peers thereupon express their views in
the required manner, and the Speaker (or Chairman), gathering what is
called the "sense of the House" by the volume of sound proceeding from
either party, says, "I think the Ayes (or Noes)"--or, in the Lords
"the Contents" or "Not Contents"--"have it!"

If the judgment of the Chair be unchallenged, the question is deemed
to be resolved in the affirmative or negative, as the case may be, and
nothing further remains to be done. Should, however, either party
question the correctness of the Chairman's opinion, recourse is had to
a division, and certain necessary formalities have to be observed
before the matter is definitely settled one way or the other.

When a division is challenged in the House of Commons, the Speaker (or
Chairman) orders the Sergeant-at-Arms to "Clear the lobby," and the
tellers' doors leading from the lobbies, as well as the door leading
from the Central Hall, are immediately locked. After the lapse of two
minutes, during which the loud division-bells are set ringing all over
the building to summon breathless members to the Chamber, the question
is again put from the Chair. If once more challenged, the Speaker
names two members of either party to act as "tellers." Should no one
be found willing to undertake this duty, a division cannot take place,
and the Speaker declares that the "Noes" have it. If, however, tellers
are duly appointed, they take their place at the exit doors leading
from the two lobbies, which are now unlocked. After another interval,
this time of four minutes' duration, the doors leading from the House
to the lobbies are locked. Meanwhile, all members who wish to vote
have left the Chamber, and are streaming through their respective
lobbies, where their names are recorded by clerks, while the tellers
count them as they pass through the lobby doors.

In the old days of St Stephen's Chapel, the "Ayes" used to remain in
the House, while the "Noes" withdrew, and were counted on their
return. This practice led to endless difficulties, many members
refusing to go out for fear of losing their seats, while others were
forcibly detained by their friends. In Elizabeth's time, Sir Walter
Raleigh admitted that he often held a fellow-member by his sleeve, and
others were accused of pulling each other back, as Cecil said, "like a
dog on a string."[401] Later on, it was decided that members who gave
their votes for the introduction of "any new matter" should alone
withdraw, while the votes of those who remained behind were recorded.
This system also had its disadvantages. In 1834, for instance, when a
certain Whig member, Colonel Evans, fell asleep in one of the side
galleries during a division, he woke to find that he had been counted
among the Tories, much to his disgust. Finally, two years later, the
practice of clearing the House altogether for a division was first
instituted, and continued in force until the establishment of the
modern method in 1906.[402]

  [401] D'Ewes' "Journal," p. 683, and Townshend's "Proceedings of
  Parliament," p. 322.

  [402] In 1810, another system was temporarily introduced, the members
  ranging themselves on either side of the House and being counted by
  the tellers. Croker, when Ministerial teller, once accidentally missed
  out a whole bench full of Government supporters, thereby reducing the
  Ministerial majority by about forty. The Opposition teller watched the
  error with a smile, but did not feel called upon to correct it. See
  "The Observer," March 11, 1810.

When all members who desire to vote have filed through the lobbies,
and are once more reassembled in the House, the four tellers advance
together to the Table. The senior teller of the party having a
majority, walks on the right, bearing in his hand a slip of paper, on
which are written the numbers of the division. By the position of the
teller it is thus possible to gauge the result of a division before it
has been officially announced, and his advance to the Table in the
place of honour is usually the signal for an outburst of cheering from
his own victorious party. He proceeds to report the result of the
division to the Clerk at the Table, who writes the numbers on a piece
of paper, which he hands back to him. This the teller passes to the
Speaker, who, in turn, announces the numbers to the House. The doors
are then unlocked, and the division is at an end.

On one famous occasion the tellers failed to agree in their reports of
the figures. This happened on May 10, 1675, when the House in
Committee had divided on a motion with regard to the English regiments
serving in the French army. The tellers' difference of opinion gave
rise to a scene of great confusion, during which one member spat in
another's face, and a free fight would probably have ensued but for
the sudden arrival of the Speaker.

The amount of time spent in dividing has always been a source of
annoyance to earnest politicians, more especially when divisions are
made use of as a recognised form of obstruction, and the progress of
parliamentary business thereby much impeded. In 1902, to name a recent
example, the opponents of the Deceased Wife's Sister Bill, which had
already passed a Second Reading, deliberately walked so slowly through
the lobbies during four divisions that there was no time left to move
that it should be sent to a Grand Committee. Members naturally grudge
the precious hours wasted in trudging through the lobbies; but it
seems impossible to invent any scheme that shall further expedite
matters, the present system being apparently as perfect as the mind of
man can devise.[403]

  [403] In the Session of 1881 the number of divisions was about 400; in
  1908, including the autumn Session, the number was 463, and in 1909
  the House of Commons divided 918 times.

When a division is called in the House of Lords, the procedure is very
similar in character to that of the Commons. The Chancellor (or Lord
on the Woolsack) orders strangers to withdraw by saying, "Clear the
bar!" and the Clerk of the Parliaments thereupon turns a two-minute
sand-glass.

When the sand has run out of the glass, the doors are locked, and the
question is once more put to the House. If the Lord Chancellor's
decision is challenged he at once says, "the 'Contents' will go to the
right by the Throne, and the 'Not Contents' to the left by the bar."
Each party then passes through its own lobby, the "Contents"
re-entering the House on the right of the bar, the "Not Contents"
through the door on the left of the Throne, their votes being duly
recorded by clerks in the lobbies. The subsequent procedure resembles
that in vogue in the Lower House.

Until 1857, when the present system was adopted, the "Contents"
remained within the bar, while the "Not Contents" went below the bar.
Peers, who through infirmity, or other causes, are disabled from
leaving the House, may by its permission be "told" in their seats, and
those who do not wish to vote at all are allowed to go within the
railings on the steps of the Throne.

In old days the practice of voting by proxy was habitual in the House
of Lords. During the reign of Edward I., nobles who were unable to
attend in person invariably sent messengers to act for them. Peers
were permitted to appoint any individuals to represent them, either
permanently or on special occasions, and, up to the fifteenth century,
these proxies did not even have to be peers themselves. In the time of
Henry VIII. the custom of allowing peers to represent one another was
first instituted, and in Charles I.'s day we find the Duke of
Buckingham holding no less than fourteen proxies. Such a custom
naturally led to many abuses, and an order was eventually passed
forbidding any peer to hold more than two proxies. Finally, in 1868,
the House of Lords realised that the practice was reprehensible, and
passed a Standing Order whereby the system of calling for proxies on a
division was discontinued.

To-day, peers are in some ways even more particular than their
colleagues in the Commons, and do not allow any one of their number to
take part in a division unless he has himself been in the House when
the question was put. In other respects they enjoy a wider latitude.
If a lord occasionally strays into the wrong lobby, he may refuse to
be counted by the tellers, and his vote may afterwards be recorded as
he desires. A member of the House of Commons who commits a like
indiscretion is required to bear the consequences, and can neither
alter nor rescind his vote.

In the event of an equal number of votes being recorded on either side
in a division the procedure differs in the two Houses. In the Lords
the question is invariably resolved in the negative, in accordance
with the ancient rule of the Law: "semper præsumitur pro negante." In
the Commons the Speaker has to decide it by a casting vote, which he
generally gives in such a manner as to leave the question open for
another division. This, however, is not always an easy task; indeed,
it is often a most invidious and unpleasant one. In April, 1805,
Speaker Abbot was compelled to give a casting-vote on the resolution
leading to the impeachment of Lord Melville. After ten minutes'
distressing hesitation, while the House remained in a state of
agonized suspense, Abbot reluctantly gave his vote against Lord
Melville, and thus secured the defeat of Pitt.[404]

  [404] Only fifteen ties are known in the history of Parliament On
  April 3, 1905, Speaker Gully gave a casting vote on the Embankment
  Tramways Bill, as did Speaker Lowther, on July 22, 1910, on the
  Regency Bill.

This is by no means the only instance of a momentous question such as
the life of a Government being decided by a single vote. The Second
Reading of the Reform Bill in 1831 was carried by a majority of one;
the House on that occasion presenting a sight which, as Macaulay said,
was to be seen only once and never to be forgotten. "It was like
seeing Cæsar stabbed in the Senate House, or seeing Oliver taking the
mace from the Table." When the tellers announced the majority the
victorious party shouted with joy, while some of them actually shed
tears. "The jaw of Peel fell; and the face of Twiss was as the face of
a damned soul; and Herries looked like Judas taking his necktie off
for the last operation." In 1854 Lord Russell was defeated and Sir
Robert Peel returned to victory on the crest of an equally diminutive
wave; and a century earlier Walpole's administration was overthrown by
a small majority of three.

A minority of one is more unusual, but not altogether unknown. At the
end of the eighteenth century, when the Duke of Somerset divided the
House of Lords on a question of war with France, he walked alone into
the Opposition division lobby. The same fate befell Dr. Kenealy in
1875, when his motion on behalf of the Tichborne Claimant was defeated
by 433 votes to 1. On July 16, 1909, when a division was taken on an
amendment to reject a Bill prohibiting foreign trawlers from landing
their catches at British ports, the Noes numbered 158 while there was
but a solitary Aye. And on July 18, 1910, on a motion for the
adjournment of the House, there was but a single No.

No secrecy is maintained as to the voting of peers or members in
divisions. In the old Journals of the Lords the division lists used
always to be entered, but in 1641 this practice was abandoned, and the
minority could only record an adverse vote by a formal protest of
dissent.[405] Division lists were not regularly printed in the Commons
until 1836, and the Lords followed suit about twenty years later.

  [405] This right of protest recorded in the Journals of the House is
  still occasionally exercised.

Divisions provide legislators with plenty of exercise, combined
occasionally with acute mental anxiety. The latter they share with
those hardworked and hardworking individuals, the "Whips" or
"Whippers-in," whose duties are at all times heavy and become
especially onerous with the approach of a division.

These Whips, who are four in number--two representing the Government,
two the Opposition--have rooms provided for them in the Lobby, and
hold positions of the utmost responsibility and influence. In the
House of Commons the office of principal Government Whip is one of
immense importance and requires, as Disraeli said, "consummate
knowledge of human nature, the most amiable flexibility, and complete
self-control."[406] As Patronage Secretary to the Treasury, with a
salary of £2000 a year, he is the descendant of that official,
sometimes known as the "Secretary for Political Jobs," who in former
times bought members, their votes and constituencies, and disposed of
the Government secret service money to obtain (and retain) a majority
for the party in power.

  [406] "Life of Lord George Bentinck," p. 314.

The Chief Whip is generally assisted by two of the Junior Lords of the
Treasury, and, in conjunction with the Opposition Whips, arranges all
the details of the sessional campaign. On the occasion of important
debates the Whips conspire to choke off any garrulous nonentities who
may wish to make their voices heard, and practically arrange a list of
the influential speakers on both sides in the order in which they are
to address the House. At such a time the Speaker's eye may almost be
said to be a party to the conspiracy, though never yielding its
discretion to be caught by members whose names are not upon the Whips'
list.

Tact, good temper and unceasing vigilance are virtues necessary to
Whips. They must combine the discretion of the diplomatist with the
acumen of the sleuth-hound. It is their business to smooth the ruffled
feathers of any members who consider themselves aggrieved, to listen
patiently to the bores, to suffer the fools gladly. They are expected
to ascertain the "sense" of the House upon all important questions,
either by instinct, by worming their way into the confidence of
members, or by secret detective work in the Smoking Room. They must
keep their leader informed of their discoveries, and thus guard the
party against any sudden unexpected attack. If necessary they act as
emissaries or ambassadors between the party heads, arranging an
occasional compromise or deciding what particular questions shall be
discussed in an uncontroversial spirit.

The Whips have been called the autocrats of the House of Commons, but
though they rule individual members with an iron hand, it must ever be
their desire to keep their party contented and happy and harmonious.
When a private member is very anxious to escape from the House for a
holiday it is to the Whip he applies for permission. If possible he
"pairs" with some member on the other side who is equally desirous of
escaping. At the door of the House lies a book in which members
"pairing" with one another inscribe their names, and it is one of the
Whips' duties to arrange these "pairs," and, above all, to see that no
member gets away unpaired.

At a time when a ticklish division is expected, when the majority on
either side is uncertain, the Whips are stimulated to herculean
labours. Threats, entreaties, cajoleries, all must be employed to
bring members up to the scratch. The waverers must be secured, the
doubtful reassured. Nothing can be left undone to ensure that every
available member shall be in his place when the decisive moment
arrives. The byways and hedges are scoured for absentees, who are
besought to return at once to Westminster to record their votes and
perhaps save their party from defeat.

When Pulteney, whom Macaulay considered the greatest leader of the
Opposition that the House of Commons had ever seen, gathered his
forces in 1742 to overthrow Walpole, the Opposition left no stone
unturned to ensure a majority. They collected every man of the party,
no matter what excuses he put forward. One was brought into the House
in a dying condition, but contrived to defer his impending dissolution
until he had recorded his valuable vote. Both sides produced a number
of incurables, and the House looked (as Ewald says) more like the Pool
of Bethesda than a legislative assembly. The Prince of Wales was an
interested spectator of the scene. "I see," he remarked to General
Churchill, "you bring in the lame, the halt and the blind!" "Yes,"
replied the General, "the lame on our side, the blind on yours!"[407]

  [407] Ewald's "Biography of Walpole," p. 419.

A similar scene took place in 1866 when the Russell-Gladstone Cabinet
was defeated over the Reform Bill. The Whips had achieved wonders in
collecting their flocks together; they had haled to Westminster the
sick, the senile, the decrepit, the doting and the moribund. The grave
alone seems to have been sacred from their ravages. Some of the
members, as we read in a contemporary account, "had been wooed from
the prostration of their couches; one had been taken from the delights
of his marriage-trip; and several from the bedsides of relatives in
extremity."[408]

  [408] "Chambers' Journal," December 26, 1886, p. 819.

To be able to accomplish such feats the Whips must be well acquainted
with the habits and haunts of the individuals beneath their charge, so
that at any moment of the day or night they may send a telegram or a
message to an absentee whose presence is urgently required. Pepys in
his Diary (December 8, 1666) describes how the King gave an order "to
my Lord Chamberlain to send to the playhouses and brothels, to bid
all the Parliament-men that were there to go to the Parliament
presently," to vote against some Bill of which he disapproved. The
modern Whip in like manner must be ready at any moment to despatch an
urgent summons to the Opera, to the Clubs, to houses where parties are
being given, recalling members to their parliamentary duties. And in
doing so he must exercise the greatest possible tact. The wife of a
much respected member of Parliament was sleeping peacefully in her bed
one night when a frantic message arrived from the party Whip imploring
her husband to come at once to Westminster. She remembered that her
spouse had informed her that he would probably be kept at the House
until late and had begged her not to sit up. Inspired with horrible
suspicions of conjugal perfidy, the good lady rose in haste and
hurried down to the House of Commons to confirm them. As a matter of
fact her husband had never left the precincts of Parliament, and the
Whip's message had been despatched in error. The member was therefore
much surprised at the sudden appearance of his wife upon the scene.
His attachment to home and duty had been equally unimpaired, and he
received her explanation somewhat coldly.

A notice, more or less heavily underlined, is sent to each member of
Parliament every morning, apprising him of the business of the day's
sitting and of the necessity for his presence in the House. These
"whips," as they are called, were in vogue as long ago as the year
1621, when, Porritt tells us, notices underlined six times were sent
to the King's friends.[409] The urgency of the summons can be gauged
by the number of underlines, and a "whip" that is underlined three
times can only be ignored at the peril of the member who receives
it.[410]

  [409] Porritt's "Unreformed House of Commons," vol. i. p. 509.

  [410] Until a few years ago all "whips" were underlined twice and in
  urgent cases five times.

Though the Whips seldom address the House themselves, they must on all
occasions be ready to provide other speakers who shall feed the dying
embers of debate with fresh fuel. At all hazards the ball must be kept
rolling. Sometimes a debate shows signs of languishing in an
unexpected fashion, and the Whip is horrified to find that his usual
majority has dwindled away to nothing. When this occurs he must at
once find members who are willing to talk against time while he and
his colleagues hasten round and beat up a majority. On one famous
occasion within recent memory, while most of the supporters of the
Conservative Government were disporting themselves at Ascot on the Cup
day, the Opposition prepared to spring an unexpected division upon the
House. The situation was only saved by Mr. Chaplin, who spoke for
several hours, in spite of the howls of his opponents, while a special
train was bringing absentees from the racecourse to the House of
Commons.

It is, then, the Whip's duty, not only to "make" a House and to "keep"
a House, but also, like Sidmouth's sycophantic relatives, to "cheer
the Minister." To quote the lines of Canning--

    "When the faltering periods lag,
      Or the House receives them drily,
    Cheer, oh, cheer him, Brother Bragge;
      Cheer, oh, cheer him, Brother Riley!

    "Brother Bragge and Brother Riley,
      Cheer him! when he speaks so vilely,
    Cheer him! when his audience flag,
      Brother Riley, Brother Bragge!"[411]

  [411] "Ode to the Doctor." (Bragge Bathurst, Lord Sidmouth's
  brother-in-law, and Riley, his brother, were place-hunters who felt
  bound to applaud their patron.)




CHAPTER XV

STRANGERS IN PARLIAMENT


Theoretically speaking, Parliament is averse to the presence of
strangers; in practice both Houses are as hospitably inclined as is
compatible with the limited space at their disposal.

One of the chief duties of the Sergeant-at-Arms originally consisted
in "taking into custody such strangers who presume to come into the
House of Commons."[412] This duty has however, long been neglected,
and a modern Sergeant-at-Arms who sought to accomplish such a task
would find his hands full.

  [412] House of Commons "Journals," vol. x. 291.

In the early days of Parliament, the most drastic measures were taken
to maintain the secrecy of debate, and the intrusion of a stranger was
looked upon as a cause for grave alarm. In 1584, a man named Robinson
succeeded in obtaining admission to the Commons, and sat in the House
unnoticed for two hours. When at last his presence was discovered, Mr.
Robinson was roughly handled by the Sergeant-at-Arms, and, before he
had time to utter his own name, was "stript to the shirt" and
searched.[413] Nothing of an incriminating nature being found beneath
the intruder's clothing, he was brought to the bar, sworn to secrecy
and compelled to take the Oath of Supremacy before being finally
released with a severe reprimand. A hundred years later two
inoffensive but ignorant strangers walked into the House and sat
quietly down beside the Sergeant-at-Arms. Here they remained for some
time, much impressed by the hospitality of the Commons, until a
division happened to be called. Their presence was not observed until
the lobby doors had been finally locked, and they had to be hurried
out of the way by a side staircase to the Distinguished Strangers'
Gallery. Here they remained until the division was over, and were
subsequently dismissed with a caution. In 1771, a stranger who had
accidentally mingled with the members in the lobbies was actually
counted in a division.

  [413] D'Ewes' "Journal," p. 334.

As time went on Parliament grew more and more tolerant of the presence
of strangers, and, though the order forbidding their admission
remained upon the order book of the House of Commons, it soon came to
be universally disregarded.

In the old House members would sometimes be accompanied by their sons,
quite little boys, whom they would carry to their seats beside them,
and strangers could always obtain a seat in the gallery by means of a
written order given them by a member, or by the simple method of
slipping half-a-crown into the hand of the attendant at the door. When
C. F. Moritz, the German traveller, visited the House in 1782, he
sought admission to the gallery, but, being unprovided with a pass,
was turned away. As he was sadly withdrawing he heard the attendant
murmur something of an apparently irrelevant nature concerning a
bottle of rum, but not until he reached home did it occur to him that
the remark might possibly have some bearing upon the situation. The
next day, having been enlightened as to the general custom in vogue
among those who wished to be present during a debate, he returned to
the gallery. He had taken the wise precaution of providing himself
with a small sum of money. This he had no difficulty in pressing upon
the door-keeper, who at once showed him into a front seat.[414] No
doubt Edmund Burke, who in his youth spent so much time listening to
the debates and gaining that Parliamentary experience which was
afterwards destined to stand him in such good stead, unlocked the
gallery door with the same golden key.

  [414] Pinkerton's "Voyages," vol. ii. p. 506.

Up to the year 1833 the doorkeepers and messengers of the House of
Commons were paid principally in fees and gratuities. Members were
called upon to contribute about £9 per session towards a fund raised
on their behalf, and they received a small nominal salary of less than
£13. The doorkeepers earned farther payment by delivering the Orders
and Acts of the House to members, as well as various fees from
parliamentary agents, and were likewise entitled to a quarter of the
strangers' fees. In 1832 the two chief doorkeepers were making between
£800 and £900 a year, and the chief messenger nearly £600. The man
whose duty it was to look after the room above the ventilator to which
ladies were admitted was not so successful as his colleagues, and
complained that he only received about £10 a year in tips from the
more economical sex.[415]

  [415] "Report of the Select Committee on the Establishment of the
  House of Commons" (1833), pp. 84-5. (To-day the messengers and
  doorkeepers, of whom there are about a score, earn regular salaries
  ranging from £120 to £300. Except for a share in the fund for
  messengers and police to which members may or may not contribute, no
  gratuities of any description are allowed to them.)

Pearson, for over thirty years doorkeeper in the old House of Commons,
was one of the most familiar figures in and about St Stephen's Chapel
during the latter part of the eighteenth century. In his box near the
gallery he sat--

    "Like a pagod in his niche;
    The Gom-gom Pearson, whose sonorous lungs,
    With 'Silence! Room there!' drown an hundred tongues."

Long service had given him a position of authority of which he took
every advantage. If a member were negligent in the matter of paying
the door-keeper his fee, or treated that official in a manner which he
considered derogatory to his dignity, Pearson revenged himself by
sending the offender to the House of Lords or the Court of Requests in
search of imaginary friends. By such means he generally reduced the
irritated member to submission, and could extract a handsome present
and a promise of future politeness. Pearson had his own importance so
much at heart, as we read in his biography, that he spurned a member's
money unless he had previously humbled the man. Long experience had
enabled him to time the length of a debate or even of an individual
speech with extraordinary accuracy. Members wishing to be informed as
to the probable hour of adjournment would ask him at what time the
Speaker had ordered his carriage. "The Speaker has ordered his coach
at eight," Pearson would reply, "but I'll be d----d if you get away
before twelve!"[416]

  [416] The familiar way in which Pearson addressed members seems to
  have been generally condoned on account of his long service. Once when
  General Grant, who had boasted that he would march victoriously
  through America with three thousand men, asked the door-keeper how
  long a certain member would speak, Pearson replied, "As long, General,
  if he was allowed, as you would be in marching through and conquering
  America!" Pearson's "Political Dictionary," p. 10.

Pearson's treatment of strangers was no less autocratic. He could not
always be corrupted into finding room for them in the galleries unless
he happened to take a fancy to the appearance of the visitors. "If a
face or a manner did not please him," says his biographer, "gold could
not bribe him into civility, much less to the favour of admission. One
stranger might be modest and ingratiating; Pearson, like Thurlow,
would only give him a silent contemptuous stare; another would be
rude; Pearson would laugh at his rudeness, tell him the orator of the
moment, and, perhaps, shove him in, although he had before refused
dozens who were known to him."[417]

  [417] Ibid., p. 6.

In the first year of Queen Victoria's reign a suggestion was made that
the public should be admitted without orders of any kind. This idea
was successfully opposed by Lord John Russell, who expressed a fear
that in such circumstances the galleries would be filled with
pickpockets and other objectionable persons.

Prior to 1867 strangers sometimes hired substitutes to keep places for
them in the crowd which thronged St. Stephen's Hall on the morning of
a big debate. These representatives would arrive as early as 2.30
a.m., and, like the messenger boys in the _queue_ outside a modern
theatre, wait patiently until the door was opened in the afternoon.

In 1867 the system of balloting for seats in the Strangers' Gallery
was first instituted. Members had long been in the habit of giving
orders "to bearer," written on the backs of envelopes or any scraps of
paper, which were freely forged and transferred from one visitor to
another. Strangers who were armed with these gallery passes were now
compelled to ballot for precedence, and though on important nights the
number of disappointed applicants was great, visitors gained the
advantage of not being kept waiting for hours on the chance of
obtaining a seat.

This system continued to obtain until the time of the Fenian scares,
in 1885, when, owing to the fact that two strangers admitted to the
Gallery on August 4th proved to be well-known dynamiters, the police
became alarmed for the safety of the House. To prevent the recurrence
of such an unwelcome visit it was ordered that all applications for
admission should be made in writing to the Speaker's secretary. The
signatures of the strangers applying for places could thus be verified
by comparison with their signatures in the Gallery book.

The deliberations of Parliament are supposed to be secret, and, though
the practice of avoiding publicity has long fallen into disuse, it is
still always possible for strangers to be excluded should the occasion
demand it. They were not welcomed with effusion in either House, a
century or two ago. In 1740 Lord Chancellor Hardwicke declared to the
Lords that "another thing doth diminish the dignity of the House;
admitting all kinds of auditors to your debates. This makes them be
what they ought not to be, and gives occasion to saying things which
else would not be said."[418] Thirty years later, as we have already
seen, during a speech of the Duke of Manchester's on the state of the
nation, Lord Gower rose and desired that the House of Lords should be
cleared of all who were not peers. The Duke of Richmond strongly
objected, considering this an insult to the members of Parliament and
others who were present. Chatham tried in vain to address the House,
and finally, as a dignified protest, he and a score of other peers
left the Chamber.

  [418] "Life of Lord Hardwicke," vol. i. p. 489.

Somewhat similar scenes have occurred in the Lower House. On one
occasion, indeed, the members of the popular assembly so far forgot
themselves as to hurl epithets of abuse at a distinguished stranger
who was in their midst. On February 22, 1837, Sheil made a violent
attack in the House of Commons upon ex-Lord Chancellor Lyndhurst, the
Irish Municipal Bill being under discussion at the time. Lyndhurst had
been accused of saying that three-quarters of the people of Ireland
were aliens in blood and only awaited a favourable opportunity to cast
off the government of England as the yoke of a tyrannical oppressor,
and this had roused the Irish to fury. The ex-Chancellor happened to
stroll into the House of Commons while Sheil was speaking, and took
his seat below the bar. Immediately the Irish members turned upon him,
and for about ten minutes shouted insults at the venerable statesman,
who remained apparently unmoved by the clamour.[419]

  [419] Greville, "Memoirs," vol. iii. p. 389.

Up to within the last forty years it was quite sufficient for a member
of Parliament to inform the Speaker that he "espied strangers" for the
galleries to be instantly cleared. On April 27, 1875, however, the
cantankerous and obstructive Mr. Biggar brought this rule into
disrepute by calling the Speaker's attention to the Strangers' Gallery
at a time when its occupants included the Prince of Wales and the
German Ambassador. In accordance with the regulations of the House,
these distinguished visitors were compelled to leave forthwith. This
quite gratuitous act of discourtesy on the part of an extremely
unpopular member was little to the taste of the House. The sentiments
of the majority were aptly voiced by Disraeli when he begged Mr.
Biggar to bear in mind that the House was above all things "an
assembly of gentlemen." On the Prime Minister's motion, carried by a
unanimous vote, the Standing Order relative to the exclusion of
strangers was temporarily suspended, and the galleries reopened. A
resolution of Disraeli's was eventually adopted whereby strangers
could only be compelled to withdraw on a division in favour of their
exclusion, no debate or amendment being permitted; though it was still
left to the discretion of the Speaker or Chairman to order their
withdrawal at any time and from any part of the House, if necessary.

Visitors to the House of Commons enter by St Stephen's porch, where,
until recently, they were interrogated by the police constable on
duty. If their answers proved satisfactory, they were admitted to the
Central Hall, whence they dispatched printed cards inscribed with
their names, addresses, and the object of their visit, to such members
as they desired to see. The duty of ministering to the needs of
friends who were anxious to listen to the debates was one of the minor
discomforts of membership. There is a story of a member of Parliament
receiving a letter from a constituent asking for a pass to the
Speaker's Gallery or, if that were impossible, six tickets to the
Zoological Gardens. The natural inference to be gathered from this
request must be that the House of Commons, which Lord Brougham once
likened to a menagerie, is capable of affording six times as much
entertainment as the monkey-house in Regent's Park.

Until the last session of 1908 members could obtain two daily orders
of admission for strangers from the Speaker's secretary or the
Sergeant-at-Arms, the Speaker's and Strangers' Galleries (which were
amalgamated in 1888) providing accommodation for about one hundred and
sixty visitors. In the autumn of 1908, however, a man who wished to
advertise the cause of Female Suffrage--and incidentally
himself--threw a number of pamphlets down from the gallery on to the
floor of the House, and was summarily ejected. This resulted in an
order issued by the Speaker that for the remainder of the session no
strangers should be admitted. The Strangers' Galleries were reopened
in May of the following year, and new regulations were framed to
prevent the recurrence of such a scene. Visitors are now permitted to
apply at a special bureau in St. Stephen's Hall, at any time after
4.15 p.m. and, if there is room, are at once admitted to the gallery
without the formality of searching for a member. Each stranger signs a
declaration undertaking to abstain from making any interruption or
disturbance, and to obey the rules for the maintenance of order in the
galleries.

Applause, or the expression of any feeling, is strictly prohibited in
the Strangers' Gallery, and the attendants on duty there have
instructions to expel offenders without waiting for any explanation of
their conduct. In the commencement of the last century a stranger once
shouted, "You're a liar!" while O'Connell was speaking, and was
arrested by the Sergeant-at-Arms and compelled to apologise the next
day.[420] Since that time, until recently, visitors have behaved with
commendable decorum.

  [420] Boyd's "Reminiscences," p. 49.

The instances of strangers causing a commotion in Parliament by
extraordinary or improper behaviour are few in number. The
assassination of Spencer Perceval, the Prime Minister, by a visitor in
1812 is undoubtedly the most tragic event that has ever taken place
within the precincts of the House of Commons, the murderer being a mad
Liverpool merchant, named Bellingham, who had a grievance against the
Government. The recollection of this outrage almost gave rise to a
panic some years later when a wild-eyed, haggard man rushed into the
House while Sir Robert Peel was speaking, and walked boldly up to the
Minister. Stopping within a few feet of the speaker, this alarming
stranger made a low bow. "I beg your pardon," he remarked suavely,
"but I am an unfortunate man who has just been poisoned by Earl Grey!"
He was at once removed to the nearest lunatic asylum.[421]

  [421] Doyle's "Recollections," p. 174.

Other strangers have from time to time created a mild consternation or
amusement by some eccentricity of dress or deportment. In 1833 a young
Scotsman crossed the bar of the Commons and sat deliberately down on a
bench among the members, where he remained undiscovered for some time.
In the same year a compatriot, garbed in full Highland costume,
unwittingly entered the side gallery reserved for members, and
prepared to listen to the debate from this comfortable quarter. On
being informed of his mistake, this hardy Northman was so overcome
with terror at the contemplation of his crime and the consequences
that would probably ensue--nothing short of death could, he imagined,
be the punishment appropriate to such an offence--that he took to his
heels and ran like a hare, never pausing for breath until he reached
Somerset House, a mile and a half away.[422] Sir Wilfrid Lawson in
1894 was shown a man in the Lobby who had been turned out of the
gallery for being drunk. On asking what crime the stranger had
committed, he was told that he had said "Bosh!" to some of the
speeches. This, as Sir Wilfrid remarked, was not conclusive evidence
of drunkenness.[423]

  [422] Grant's "Recollections," p. 16.

  [423] G. W. E. Russell's "Sir Wilfrid Lawson," p. 227.

A strange Irishman provided the peers with some amusement in 1908 by
appearing in the House of Lords attired in a saffron-coloured kilt and
toga which he claimed to be his national costume, and which had
doubtless been so ever since the days of Darwin's missing link. He
turned out to be harmless enough, and, though momentarily disturbing
to Black Rod's peace of mind, did nothing more alarming than to
provide another example of the well-known fact that it is possible to
be a Celt and at the same time to lack a sense of humour.

Strangers of the male sex who visit the Upper House may be
accommodated in the large Strangers' Gallery facing the throne, or, if
members of Parliament, in the special House of Commons' gallery, or at
the bar. Privy councillors and the eldest sons of peers are allowed to
sit or stand upon the steps of the Throne, and there are special
galleries set apart for the use of the _corps diplomatique_ and the
Press.

[Illustration: THE HOUSE OF LORDS IN 1910]

The question of allowing women to attend the debates has long
presented difficulties to the parliamentary mind, though at one time
it was not unusual to see lady visitors actually sitting in the
Chamber itself side by side with their husbands and friends. "Ought
females to be admitted?" asked Jeremy Bentham, many years ago,
unhesitatingly answering his own question in the negative a moment
later. To remove them from an assembly where tranquil reason ought
alone to reign was, as he explained, to avow their influence, and
should not therefore be wounding to their pride. "The seductions of
eloquence and ridicule are most dangerous instruments in a political
assembly," he says. "Admit females--you add new force to these
seductions." In the presence of the gentler sex, Bentham suggests,
everything must necessarily take an exalted tone, brilliant and
tragical--"excitement and tropes would be scattered everywhere." All
would be sacrificed to vanity and the display of wit, to please the
ladies in the audience.[424] If the serious business of debate were to
be sacrificed to "tropes," no doubt the British Constitution would be
considerably endangered; but experience has taught us that the
presence of ladies has not affected the debates detrimentally, and the
excitement caused in the breasts of our legislators by the sight of a
contingent of the fair sex is not of a kind to prove alarming.

  [424] "Works," vol. ii. 327.

Women have taken a strong interest in political matters in England
from very early days.[425] We even find them giving occasional
expression to their views upon some Government measure with a violence
which did not at all commend itself to the authorities. In the
Journals of the House for March 5, 1606, is the following entry: "A
Clamour of Women against Sir Robert Johnson, for speaking against a
Bill touching Wherry-men; upon complaint of which the Commons ordered,
that Notice should be given to the Justices of the Peace, to prevent
and suppress such disorders."[426] What steps the Justices of the
Peace took to quell this feminine clamour history does not relate. In
1675 some confusion was caused by the Speaker observing ladies in the
gallery, and though a member suggested that they were not ladies at
all, but merely men in fine clothes, the Speaker insisted that he had
caught sight of petticoats.

  [425] Ladies of rank often attended the Saxon Witenagemots, and in the
  reigns of Henry III., Edward I., and Edward III. certain abbesses were
  summoned to send proxies to Parliament. (See G. B. Smith's "History,"
  vol. i p. 11.) In the sixteenth century the right to elect a member
  for the rotten borough of Gatton was in the hands of a woman. See
  Porritt' s "Unreformed House of Commons," vol. i. p. 97.

  [426] "Observations, Rules, etc.," p. 162.

In the time of Queen Anne ladies were strongly infected with the
spirit of party. Addison declares that even the patches they wore on
their faces were so situated that the political views of the wearer
could be recognised at a glance. Friends might be distinguished from
foes in this delightful fashion, Tory ladies wearing their patches on
the left, Whigs on the right side of the face. An old number of the
"Spectator"[427] contains the sad story of one Rosalinda, a famous
Whig partisan who suffered much annoyance on this account. The fact
that Rosalinda had a beautiful mole on the Tory part of her forehead
gave her enemies the chance of misrepresenting her face as having
revolted against the Whig interest--an accusation which naturally
depressed the poor lady considerably.

  [427] No. 812, June 2, 1711.

The House of Lords has always been more hospitable than the Commons in
its treatment of women. The two side galleries are reserved for
peeresses--though a certain portion is kept for members of the _corps
diplomatique_, and for the Commons--and there is a large box on the
floor of the House where the wives of peers' eldest sons sit, and a
number of seats below the bar to which Black Rod may introduce ladies.

The peers have not, however, been exempt from the occasional
inconveniences attaching to the presence of women. Lord Shaftesbury,
during the term of his Lord Chancellorship, complained bitterly of the
"droves of ladies that attended all causes," and said that things had
reached such a pass that men "borrowed or hired of their friends,
handsome sisters or daughters to deliver their petitions."[428] And in
1739, the fair Kitty, Duchess of Queensberry, headed a storming party
and successfully besieged a gallery in the House of Lords from which
ladies had been excluded in order to make room for members of the
Commons.[429] Grenville declares that the steps of the Throne were
inconveniently thronged with women in 1829. "Every fool in London
thinks it necessary to be there," he says. "They fill the whole space,
and put themselves in front, with their large bonnets, without either
fear or shame."[430]

  [428] Townsend's "Memoirs," vol. ii. p. 461.

  [429] "Letters and Works of Lady M. W. Montagu," vol. ii. p. 37. (I
  have described this incident at length in "A Group of Scottish Women,"
  pp. 137-8.)

[430] "Memoirs," 4 April, 1829.

In 1775, women were allowed to be present in Parliament to listen to
election petitions, and continued to be admitted to the body of the
House of Commons until 1778.[431] In this year a member named Captain
Johnstone insisted that strangers should withdraw, and the female
section of the audience absolutely declined to do so. Threats,
entreaties, all were useless. With the charming obstinacy of their
sex, the fair visitors clung to their seats, and refused to budge an
inch. Among the ladies who led this revolt was the Duchess of
Devonshire, and a celebrated beauty of the name of Musters. They were
assisted by a certain number of male admirers, and, so successful were
their efforts, that two long hours elapsed before the galleries could
be cleared. This incident caused the Speaker to forbid the future
admittance of women, and until after the fire of 1834, ladies could
only listen to debates clandestinely, and in a manner which entailed
the maximum of personal discomfort. Their absence does not seem to
have had any effect upon the length of the debates. "I was in hopes
that long speeches would have been knocked on the head when the ladies
were excluded from the galleries," said the doorkeeper; "they often
used to keep the members up."[432]

  [431] See A. Young's "Autobiography," p. 17. (Election Petitions were
  tried before the whole House, and thus resolved themselves into mere
  party struggles. In 1770, Grenville moved that they be referred to
  small committees.)

  [432] Pearson's "Political Dictionary," p. 34.

When the Commons sat in the old St Stephen's Chapel, that chamber was
divided into two parts by a false roof. The upper half consisted of a
big empty room like a barn, with unglazed windows. In the centre of
the floor of this apartment was the ventilating shaft of the House, a
rough casement with eight small openings, situated exactly above the
chandelier in the ceiling of the chamber below. To this room were
conducted the lady friends of members desirous of catching a glimpse
of the Commons at work. The door was locked upon them, and they were
permitted to sit on a circular bench which surrounded the ventilator,
and peer down through the openings, while every now and then their
imprisonment would be lightened by a visit from some kindly attendant,
who would tell them the name of the member addressing the House. The
only light was provided by a farthing dip stuck in a tin candlestick,
and the room was gloomy and depressing. It is an ill wind, however,
that blows nobody any good, and once when O'Connell went up there
expecting to find his wife, he kissed the Dowager Duchess of Richmond
by mistake.[433]

  [433] Grantley Berkeley's "Recollections," vol. i. p. 369.

Maria Edgeworth has left a description of a visit she paid to this
melancholy spot in 1822. "In the middle of the garret," she says, "is
what seemed like a sentry box of deal boards, and old chairs placed
round it; on these we got, and stood and peeped over the top of the
boards."[434] From this vantage-point she could see the chandelier
blazing just beneath her, and below it again the Table, with the mace
resting upon it, and the Speaker's polished boots--nothing more.

  [434] "Life and Letters," vol. ii. p. 66.

The twenty-five tickets issued nightly by the Sergeant-at-Arms for
admission to this dungeon were much sought after, a fact which
testifies eloquently to the political enthusiasm of our
great-grandmothers.

In spite of the Speaker's order, ladies still continued occasionally
to find their way into more comfortable parts of the House. Wraxall
declares that he saw the famous Duchess of Gordon sitting in the
Strangers' Gallery dressed as a man.[435] And in 1834, a sister of
some member entered one of the side galleries, and sat there
undisturbed for a long time, the gallantry of the officials forbidding
them to turn her out.[436]

  [435] "Posthumous Memoirs."

  [436] Grant's "Recollections," p. 17.

When the new Houses of Parliament were built, slightly better
accommodation was provided for the fair sex. It was at first proposed
that they should be seated in the open galleries of the Commons, but
this suggestion met with little support. Miss Harriet Martineau,
writing somewhere about 1876, prophesied pessimistically that if such
a proposition were carried out, the galleries would be occupied by
giddy and frivolous women, lovers of sensation, with plenty of time
upon their hands; "a nuisance to the Legislature and a serious
disadvantage to the wiser of their own sex."[437] This idea seems to
have been the popular one, and it was resolved to keep the ladies who
attended debates as much in the background as possible.

  [437] "History of the Peace," vol. iii. p. 375.

The present gallery has many disadvantages. Its occupants are enclosed
in a cage which prevents them from obtaining a good view of the
proceedings, and altogether conceals them from the gaze of the
members. Repeated attempts have been made to secure better
accommodation, notably by Mr. Grantley Berkeley, to whom a number of
ladies in 1841 presented a piece of plate in recognition of his
services on their behalf. The House is determined, however, that its
deliberations shall not be affected by the presence of any disturbing
element, agreeing apparently with that member who assured the Speaker
that if ladies were permitted to sit undisguised in the gallery, "the
feelings of the gallant old soldiers and gentlemen would be so excited
and turned from political affairs, that they would not be able to do
their duty to their country."[438]

  [438] Berkeley's "Recollections," vol. i. p. 359.

The suggestion has often been made that the grille should be taken
away from the front of the Ladies' Gallery, but it is doubtful whether
the removal of this screen would commend itself to the visitors. Its
retention bestows one undoubted benefit upon them; it allows ladies to
steal away unnoticed during the speech of some bore, with whom they
may be personally acquainted, or whose feelings they would not like to
hurt. This is an advantage which cannot be esteemed too highly.

The Ladies' Gallery, which, as has often been said, might be called,
but for its occupants, a veritable "chamber of horrors," is not
considered to be within the House. Consequently, when strangers are
forced to withdraw, ladies may still remain. They are even allowed to
be present during prayers. The feminine privilege of not being
excluded with other strangers is shared by the peers, who, since 1698,
have always (with the exception of a few years) had a gallery reserved
for them.

Up to a short time ago members of the House of Commons were allowed to
introduce ladies to the inner lobby, whence they could obtain a
fragmentary glimpse of the proceedings through a small window. This
privilege was withdrawn in 1908, when a lady who was the guest of a
member sought to make some return for his hospitality by rushing on to
the floor of the House and shouting, "Votes for Women!" Shortly before
this two other ladies in the gallery, also the guests of members, had
attempted to prove the fitness of their sex for the franchise by
chaining themselves to the grille and screaming. This was the first
instance of unruly behaviour in the Ladies' Gallery since June of the
year 1888, when some women applauded a speech, much to the indignation
of Speaker Peel. It resulted in the closing of the gallery, and the
exclusion of all but the Speaker's own personal guests, on whose sense
of honour and decency he could rely. In 1909, however, the Ladies'
Gallery was once more thrown open to members of the fair sex, tickets
of admission being confined to the relatives of members, who balloted
for them a week in advance. The ladies were required to sign an
undertaking to behave decorously while they occupied seats in the
gallery, and their exact relationship to members was not inquired into
too closely.




CHAPTER XVI

PARLIAMENTARY REPORTING


Of all the strangers who honour the Palace of Westminster with their
presence none are treated with greater consideration than the
reporters. This touching regard shown for the comfort of the Press is
a flower of modern growth. It has blossomed forth within the last
fifty years, watered by that love of publicity which is nowadays as
common in St. Stephen's as elsewhere. Journalists are in the habit of
complaining that the public no longer requires those full reports of
parliamentary utterances which a few years ago were considered a very
necessary part of the day's news. Short political sketches have taken
the place of full verbatim reports, and very few papers give anything
but a rough outline of the daily parliamentary proceedings.
Politicians themselves, however, do not appear to share the general
aversion to reading their speeches in print, and it is strange to
contrast the warm welcome accorded by Parliament to modern journalism
with the cold reception met with by reporters in the days of our
ancestors.

In the Order Book of the House of Commons there still exists a
Standing Order which, though long in disuse, has never been repealed,
declaring it a gross breach of privilege to print or publish anything
relating to the proceedings of either House. This is but a relic of
those distant days when the perpetual conflicts between the Commons
and the Crown made secrecy a necessity of debate.

In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries Parliament was anything
but anxious that the result of its deliberations should be made
public, except in such a form as it considered desirable. The Commons
especially feared that information as to their intentions should reach
the King's ears, and took every possible precaution to avert such a
calamity. In this they were not altogether successful. During the
debates on the proposed impeachment of the Duke of Buckingham, in
1626, members were very busy with their pencils. The King himself had
as many as four or five amateur note-takers present to supply him with
reports, and among the private members were many other unofficial
reporters. Of these, perhaps, the most famous was Sir Symonds D'Ewes,
the member for Sudbury, a lawyer with only one eye, devout, ambitious,
conceited, and something of a snob.[439] Records were, to his way of
thinking, the most ravishing and satisfying part of human knowledge.
His historical researches had given him an acquaintance with
precedents which was long the envy of his colleagues in Parliament. In
1629 he transcribed the Journals of both Houses from the original
Journal books, adding comments of his own, and inserting various
interesting speeches which he obtained from private manuscripts and
diaries. When objections were raised to his incorrigible _cacoethes
scribendi_, "If you will not permit us to write," he observed
pathetically, "we must go to sleep, as some among us do, or go to
plays, as others have done."[440] The contemplation of such tragic
alternatives did not, however, shake the resolution of the Commons,
and the practice of note-taking was put a stop to by a peremptory
order of the House.

  [439] "Next to religion," he says in his "Autobiography" (i. 309), "my
  chief aim is to enrich my posterity with good blood, knowing it to be
  the greatest honour that can betide a family, to be often linked with
  the female inheritrices of ancient stock."

  [440] Forster's "Grand Remonstrance," p. 124 n.

Sir Symonds' peculiar knowledge of parliamentary precedents resulted
in his perpetual interference with the procedure of the House. His
frequent attempts to set the Speaker right upon various points of
order at length irritated the Commons to the verge of madness, and it
was with a sigh of relief that his colleagues bade him farewell when
he reluctantly retired into private life to continue uninterrupted his
antiquarian pursuits.

Rushworth, who was Assistant Clerk of the Commons at the time of the
Long Parliament, proved almost as energetic a reporter as D'Ewes, and
thereby repeatedly got himself into trouble. In 1642, he was forbidden
to take any notes without the sanction of the House, and a Committee
was appointed to look through his manuscripts and settle how much of
them was worthy of preservation. The result of Rushworth's passion for
reporting is the "Historical Collections," which Carlyle has called a
"rag-fair of a book; the mournfullest torpedo rubbish-heap of jewels
buried under sordid wreck and dust and dead ashes, one jewel to the
waggon-load."[441] One of the undoubted gems from this dust-heap is a
full account of the proceedings in Parliament on the famous occasion
of Charles I.'s violent attempt to arrest the five members. This
dramatic incident does not appear to have deprived Rushworth of his
presence of mind. While the Commons sat openmouthed and aghast, the
Assistant Clerk calmly continued to take notes of every word that fell
from the royal lips. For this posterity owes him a debt of the deepest
gratitude.

  [441] Cromwell's "Letters and Speeches," vol. i. p. 79.

The right of Parliament to deliberate in secret was long jealously
guarded, any breach of that privilege being punished with extreme
severity. In 1641, an oration delivered by Lord Digby on the Bill for
Strafford's attainder, and circulated on his own initiative, was
ordered to be burnt by the common hangman. At the same time it was
formally resolved that no member should publish any speech without the
express permission of the House.

In the reign of Charles II. such men as Shaftesbury, Halifax, Hampden,
and Hyde were not reported, though the first would occasionally issue
his speeches in pamphlet form. Towards the middle of the seventeenth
century, however, the House ordered utterances of exceptional
importance to be printed. During the Long Parliament licensed reports
appeared under the title of "Diurnal Occurrences of Parliament," and
later on a meagre outline of the daily proceedings of Parliament began
to be published. But when Locke, in 1675, printed a report of a House
of Lords' debate, calling it "A letter from a Person of Quality to His
Friend," it was ordered by the Privy Council to be burnt.

The Licensing Act of 1662 confined printing to London, York, Oxford,
and Cambridge, and did not permit the number of master printers to
exceed twenty. The Commons' refusal in 1695 to renew the censorship
marks the commencement of the emancipation of the Press.

A system of newsletters had been started with the Restoration, whereby
the outside world could learn something of the doings of Parliament.
This no doubt whetted the public appetite, and increased the popular
interest in political affairs. In 1694, however, it was resolved in
Parliament that "no newsletter writers do in their letters or other
papers that they disperse presume to intermeddle with the debates or
any other proceedings of the House."

Newsletters were rapidly followed by regular newspapers, which
supplied their readers with somewhat imaginative accounts of the
debates. The periodicals of William III.'s day sometimes reported the
speeches of particular speakers, who contributed their manuscripts to
the papers. During the factious years that followed, the debates were
officially distributed in monthly parts, but at the beginning of the
eighteenth century the publication of newspaper reports was again
declared a breach of parliamentary privilege, and a stamp duty was
imposed with a view to arresting the circulation of the Opposition
Press.

A regular party organ first appeared in Queen Anne's reign. This was
"The Examiner," subsidised by Harley's Ministry, and conducted by
Swift. It was answered by "The Whig Examiner," edited by Addison,
which was followed by "Manwaring's Medley," a paper which soon became
the recognised journal of the Opposition.[442] Towards the close of
Anne's reign Boyer began to publish "The Political State of Great
Britain" in which he included accounts of all the important
parliamentary debates.[443] This was succeeded in 1716 by "The
Historical Register," which purported to describe the proceedings in
both Houses. In the reports of the Commons' debates the names of the
speakers were published without concealment, but the Lords were
treated more cautiously. Thus, in an account of the Septennial Bill,
we find such sentences as, "a noble Duke stood up and said," or "this
was answered by a northern peer," no further clue being given as to
the identity of the several speakers.[444]

  [442] Cook's "History of Party," vol. i. pp. 357, 582.

  [443] May's "Constitutional History," vol. i. p. 422.

  [444] Hawkins' "Life of Johnson," vol. xii.

"The Historical Register" was superseded twenty years later by the
"Gentleman's Magazine," a monthly periodical founded by the bookseller
Cave and edited by Guthrie. Cave used to obtain admission to the House
of Commons for himself and a few friends, and would there take
surreptitious notes of the proceedings. These he subsequently
elaborated in some adjoining coffee-house, evolving lengthy and vivid
descriptions of the debates from his inner consciousness. His editor
was the first journalist to obtain access to the official
parliamentary Journals. The Government had apparently by this time
begun to regard the Press as a more or less necessary evil, and
thought it worth while to pay Guthrie a small sum for his services,
even providing him with a pension when he retired.

The parliamentary articles in the "Gentleman's Magazine" were
published under the title of the "Senate of Lilliput," the real names
of the various debaters being replaced by pseudonyms which deceived
nobody.[445] This periodical is famous as being the medium through
which Dr. Johnson originally published his political views. When he
was first employed by Cave upon the staff of his paper Johnson was
still struggling, not for fame, but for existence, and had no
objection to any form of literary labour so long as it provided him
with a means of livelihood. His original duties consisted in revising
the rough notes made by Guthrie, but by 1740 he had become entirely
responsible for the parliamentary articles, and five years later
succeeded Guthrie in the editorial chair.

  [445] For example: Sholming for Cholmondeley, Ptit for Pitt, and
  Gumdahm for Wyndham.

The reports of the proceedings were often written under great
difficulties. Dr. Johnson would at times be compelled to invent the
whole debate, depending solely upon his imagination, and being
provided with nothing more inspiring than a list of the speakers and
of the subjects under discussion. "I wrote that in a garret!" he is
always supposed to have said of a much admired speech of Pitt's, and
perhaps the oratorical fame of many a statesman of that day is due to
Dr. Johnson's literary skill. His style was as a rule far too perfect
to pass for that of an ordinary member of Parliament, and in his
reports he is often accused of giving not so much what the speakers
said as what they ought to have said. Nor was his pen an entirely
impartial one, for he always took care, as he explained to Boswell,
that the "Whig dogs" should not have the best of it in debate. Writing
as he did, very hurriedly and from scanty materials, the compilation
of parliamentary reports gave him little satisfaction. As soon as he
found that his debates were thought to be genuine, he determined to
cease their composition, and in the later years of his life often
expressed regret at having been engaged in work of this kind.

The "London Magazine" was the next journal to publish debates,
imitating the methods of the "Gentleman's Magazine," by pretending to
report the proceedings of an imaginary Roman Senate, and alluding to
the speakers by more or less appropriate Latin names.

In spite of these various efforts to establish the liberty of the
Press, the attitude of Parliament long remained antagonistic. In 1728
a fresh resolution was passed in the House declaring it to be a
breach of privilege for any one to print any account of the debates,
and in the following year a printer of Gloucester was summoned to the
bar of the Lords and severely reprimanded for publishing a report of
their proceedings.[446] In 1738 Speaker Onslow brought up the subject
of parliamentary reporting in the Commons, and a debate ensued. "If we
do not put a speedy stop to this practice," said Winnington, "you will
have the speeches of this House every day printed, even during your
session, and we shall be looked upon as the most contemptible assembly
on the face of the earth." Pelham, however, was inclined to deal
lightly with the Press. "Let them alone," he said once, "they make
better speeches for us than we can make for ourselves."[447] But it
was a long time before this sensible view became general.

  [446] Raikes's "Journal," vol. ii. p. 321.

  [447] Coxe's Pelham Administration, vol. I. p. 355.

The struggle between Press and Parliament reached a climax in 1771,
when Wilkes's paper, the "North Briton," was publishing the much
discussed "Junius letters." Public opinion was by this time becoming
gradually alive to the necessity for granting freedom to the Press,
and needed but the opportunity to express itself openly upon the
subject. The occasion had at length arrived. The Commons in this year
were much incensed at the behaviour of some wretched City printers who
had offended against the privileges of the House, and despatched the
Sergeant-at-Arms to arrest them. After much difficulty two of the
culprits were apprehended, but on being taken before the City Aldermen
the latter at once ordered their release. When a messenger from the
House of Commons attempted to arrest another printer, he was himself
seized and carried before the civic authorities, charged with assault.
The House was furious at this treatment of their officer, and
committed the Lord Mayor and one of the offending aldermen--both
members of Parliament--to the Tower.

The Press on this occasion found a worthy champion in Edmund Burke.
On the 2nd of March, in a debate which lasted twenty-two hours, Burke
effectually held his own, and so bullied and ridiculed the House that
he brought the whole business to a standstill. By continually forcing
divisions and making use of other obstructive tactics, he managed to
delay the parliamentary attempt to muzzle the Press, and gained a
great victory for the cause of freedom.

From being actively disliked the Reporters gradually grew to be
tolerated, and finally courted and cultivated. Members who had
formerly objected to the publication of their speeches soon began to
complain with equal bitterness that they were not reported at all.
Others, again, grumbled at being misreported, words being attributed
to them for which they altogether declined to be responsible.
Wedderburn, afterwards Lord Loughborough, complained, in 1771, that
the reporting in the Commons was shocking. Of the report of one speech
which he was supposed to have delivered he said that "to be sure,
there are in that report a few things which I did say, but many things
which I am glad I did not say, and some things which I wish I could
have said."[448] Burke's famous sentiment that "Virtue does not depend
on climates or degrees" was first printed as "on _climaxes_ and
_trees_." When Sheridan made his great speech at the trial of Warren
Hastings, the "Morning Chronicle" reported him as having said that
"nothing equal in criminality was to be traced either in ancient or
modern history, in the correct periods of Tacitus, or the luminous
page of Gibbon."[449] The historian was delighted at being mentioned
in so flattering a fashion; "I could not hear without emotion the
personal compliment," he says in his autobiography. But when Sheridan
was asked how he came to apply the epithet "luminous" to Gibbon, "I
said Vo-luminous!" he replied shortly.[450]

  [448] Campbell's "Lives of the Chancellors," vol. vi. p. 93.

  [449] "Morning Chronicle," June 14, 1788.

  [450] Samuel Rogers' "Recollections," p. 67.

Cobbett, too, suffered much from bad reporting, and when he ventured
to find fault, the Press retaliated by ceasing to report him at all.
Spring-Rice (afterwards Lord Monteagle) was punished in a similar
fashion for two years, because he had said something deprecatory of
journalism. Another member complained that his speeches had been
published in the papers with certain of the sentences printed in
italics. "I never spoke in italics in my life!" he exclaimed
indignantly.

O'Connell in 1833 accused a reporter of wilfully perverting one of his
speeches. By way of excuse the Pressman stated that on his way home
from the House he had been caught in a shower of rain, which had
washed out many of his notes. This explanation did not satisfy the
Liberator, who justly remarked that it must surely have been an
extraordinary shower which could not only wash out one speech, but
actually wash in another![451] He was never a favourite of the Press,
and they finally decided to discontinue the report of his speeches. As
a means of revenge, he determined to prevent all newspaper reporting,
and for some time succeeded in doing so. With this end in view, he
made a practice of "espying strangers" on every opportunity, and each
time he did so the galleries had to be cleared. The withdrawal of the
reporters had a natural but most depressing effect upon the oratory of
Parliament. "For the first time within my recollection," says Grant,
"members kept their word when, on commencing their orations, they
promised not to trespass at any length on the patience of the
House."[452]

  [451] O'Connell's "Recollections and Experiences," vol. i. p. 220.

  [452] Grant's "Recollections," p. 48.

The "Diary," published in 1769, and edited by William Woodfall, was
the first paper to give accounts of the parliamentary debates on the
day after they had taken place. Woodfall had a marvellous memory, and
would sit in the gallery or stand at the bar of either House for
hours, without taking a note of any kind, and afterwards reproduce the
speeches verbatim. He seemed not to require rest or refreshment, but
occasionally fortified himself with a hard-boiled egg. His efforts
were, however, spasmodic and irregular, and it was not until 1802,
when William Cobbett started the "Weekly Political Register," which
afterwards published the debates as supplements under the title of
"Cobbett's Parliamentary Debates," that the system of providing
regular reports of the proceedings was inaugurated. In 1809 the
publication of the "Weekly Political Register" was transferred to T.
C. Hansard, whose name has been so long and honourably connected with
parliamentary reporting that it is still used colloquially to describe
the official volumes.

[Illustration: WILLIAM WOODFALL

FROM THE PAINTING BY THOMAS BEACH IN THE NATIONAL PORTRAIT GALLERY]

For over fifty years Hansard carried on the publication of debates as
a private speculation, by which time the Government had realised the
useful nature of his labours, and assisted him by subscribing for a
certain number of sets of the reports for public distribution. In 1877
a Treasury grant was made to enable him to continue the good work with
greater fullness and facility, and twelve years later he sold his
rights to a syndicate. This new venture proved anything but a
financial success, and the publication of the "Parliamentary Debates,"
as they are now called, was then undertaken by the official Government
printers, the reports being composed from notes furnished by the staff
of the "Times."

It was not until 1909 that the present system was instituted, and both
Houses, while leaving the printing of debates in the hands of the
King's Printer, provided themselves with a regular staff of reporters,
who were their own officials and unconnected with any company or
newspaper.

Up to the time of the Fire, reporters in the Commons always sat in the
back row of the Strangers' Gallery, to which they obtained admission
by a sessional payment of three guineas. In 1831, the House of Lords
provided separate accommodation for the Press, and in the temporary
House which was constructed in 1834 a special gallery was reserved for
their use.

The Press Gallery in the present House of Commons holds about sixty
persons, and is situated exactly behind and above the Speaker's chair.
Reporters of the newspapers in the Lords occupy a similar position,
but as the acoustic properties of the Upper Chamber are notoriously
bad, a special arrangement has existed for some years, whereby the
official reporter of the "Parliamentary Debates" is given a seat on
the floor of the House immediately behind the Clerks at the Table.

A hundred years ago the path of the Pressman was not so smooth as it
is to-day. Up to 1840 the publication of debates was undertaken at the
risk of the printer. In that year Hansard published the report of a
Select Committee of the House of Commons, in which a certain book was
referred to as "disgusting and obscene." Stockdale, the publisher of
the book in question, took the matter into Court and obtained £600
damages for libel. The House retorted by summoning to the bar the
Sheriffs of Middlesex who had tried the case, and reprimanded them for
their contempt of its privileges. After this Lord John Russell took
the first opportunity of introducing a Bill rendering all publication
of speeches and documents, if by the authority of Parliament, matters
of privilege not amenable to ordinary law. A member of Parliament
cannot, however, claim privilege for publishing or circulating the
report of any libellous speech made in the House, though he is, of
course, protected there for anything he may say. The suggestion that
privilege of Parliament should protect members from being proceeded
against for writing and publishing libellous articles was discussed in
November, 1763, and finally relinquished by a large majority.[453]

  [453] Walpole's "Memoirs of the Reign of George III.," vol. i. p. 261.

The subject of reporting cannot be left without some mention of that
official amateur reporter who sits upon the Treasury bench and
prepares his nightly précis of the day's parliamentary proceedings.
Amateur reporters there have always been in the Commons from the days
of Sir Symonds D'Ewes and Sir Henry Cavendish[454] to the present
time; but there is only one upon the floor of the House whose duties
have ever been officially recognised.

  [454] In the heyday of parliamentary corruption, when a critical
  division was impending, Sir Hercules Langrishe was asked whether Sir
  Henry Cavendish had as usual been taking notes. "He has been taking
  either notes or money," he replied, "I don't know which."

In accordance with a custom of many years standing the Leader of the
House of Commons writes a nightly letter to the sovereign, whenever
the House is sitting, giving a brief _résumé_ of the debates. This
letter, often composed somewhat hastily during the course of an
exciting debate, is at once sent off in an official dispatch box to
His Majesty, and is subsequently filed in the library at Buckingham
Palace.[455] The practice dates from the reign of George III., who
required George Grenville, then Leader of the House of Commons, to
provide him with daily reports of the debates relating to the contest
between Parliament and John Wilkes.

  [455] On one occasion, in the hurry of dispatching his nightly
  missive, Lord Randolph Churchill accidentally enclosed a quantity of
  tobacco in the box which he forwarded to Queen Victoria, much to Her
  Majesty's amusement.

The sovereign is not supposed to enter the Lower House--Charles I. was
the only monarch who broke this rule--and thus, in days before debates
were published at length in the papers, the Crown had no means of
ascertaining the doings of the Commons save through the medium of this
letter. The need for this one-sided nightly correspondence no longer
exists, but the custom still prevails, and adds one more to the
already multifarious duties of the Leader of the House, though
nowadays it is occasionally delegated to some other Minister, or to
one of the Whips.

To-day Press and Parliament are mutually dependent. A great newspaper
proprietor who was recently asked which of the two he considered to be
the most powerful, found some difficulty in replying. "The Press is
the voice without which Parliament could not speak," he said. "On the
other hand, Parliament is the law-making machine without which the
Press could not act." The question of their relative power and
importance must be left to the decision of individual judgment and
taste. "Give me but the liberty of the Press," said Sheridan in 1810,
in answer to the Premier, Spencer Perceval, "and I will give the
Minister a venal House of Peers, I will give him a corrupt and servile
House of Commons, I will give him the full swing of the patronage of
office, I will give him the whole host of ministerial influences, I
will give him all the power that place can confer upon him to purchase
submission and overawe resistance; and yet, armed with the liberty of
the Press, I will go forth to meet him undismayed; I will attack the
mighty fabric he has reared with that mightier engine; I will shake
down from its height corruption, and lay it beneath the ruins of the
abuses it was meant to shelter!"[456]

  [456] Hansard's "Debates," 1st series, vol. xv.




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  Ashley, Hon. A. E., Life of Lord Palmerston. 1876.

  Ashwell, A., Life of Bishop Samuel Wilberforce. 1880.

  Atlay, J. B., The Victorian Chancellors. 1908.


  Bacon, N., Historical Discourse of the Laws and Government of
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  Bell, R., Life of Canning. 1846.

  Bentham, J., Works of. 1843.

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        by Lady T. Lewis). 1865.

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INDEX


  Abbott, Speaker, 124, 128, 133, 134, 194, 252-53

  Abercrombie, 142

  Aberdeen, Lord, 86, 239

  Abjuration, Oath of, 146, 147

  Adam, duel, 200, 201

  Addington, 96 _note^1_, 124, 133, 134, 234, 258

  Addison, his first speech, 212 _and note^2_;
    _cited_, 269;
    the "Spectator," 269;
    "The Whig Examiner," 278

  Address, the, debate on, 157

  Adelaide, Queen, 247

  Adelphi, the, 148

  Admiralty, Pitt and the, 93

  Affirmation, 56;
    the Bradlaugh incident, 147-151

  Albemarle, Duke of, _see_ Torrington, Lord

  Alexander, Emperor, saying of, _quoted_, 32 _note^2_

  Alfred, Prince, 97

  Alfred the Great, councils of, 81

  Alice's coffee house, 76

  Aliens Bill, 1792 ... , 148 _note^1_

  Aliens, disabilities, 55

  All-night sittings, 228

  "All the Talents," 85, 133

  Allegiance, Oath of, 146

  Almack's, 193

  Althorp, Lord, the fire at St. Stephen's, 71, 72;
    punishment, 188 _note^1_

  Alvanley, Lord, 164 _and note^1_;
    duel, 200

  American War, the, 12;
    employment of Indians in, 204

  Amersham market, 59 _note^1_

  Ancaster, family of, 62 _note^1_

  Anne, Queen, Parliaments, 9;
    Parties, 14;
    creation of peers, 33 _note^2_;
    Cabinets, 83, 86;
    death of, 234;
    bills quashed, 248;
    women partisans, 269;
    reporting in Parliament, 278, 279

  Appeal, Court of, 110

  Appeal, Lords of, 24, 25

  Appellate Jurisdiction, Act of 1876 ... , 25

  Apsley, Sir Allen, 192

  Arcot, Nabob of, 41

  Argyle, Duke of, 95 _note^1_

  Arrest, exemption from, 174

  Arthur's, 193

  Arundel, Earl of, trial, 63

  Ascension Day, 227

  Ascot, 258

  Ash Wednesday, 227

  Ashby, case of, 182

  Ashley, Lord, _See_ Shaftesbury

  Ashtown, Lord, 24 _note^2_

  Askew, Anne, 107 _note^3_

  Atheists and the oath, 147

  Atterbury, Bishop of Rochester, his reply to Lord Coningsby, 23, 24

  Auditor General, 232

  Audley, Thomas, Lord Keeper, 106

  _Aula Regis_, the, 107

  Aylesbury, constables of, 182


  Bacon, Francis, trial, 63, 107, 108;
    "Collection of Apothegms," 114 _and note^2_;
    _quoted_ 158;
    _mentioned_, 106, 205

  Bacon, Nathaniel, "Historical Discourses," 8

  Bacon, Nicholas, 106

  Bagehot, Walter, _quoted_, 83, 95, 114, 222 _note^1_

  Balaam, reference to, 23, 24, 24 _note^1_

  Baldwin, printer of "St. James's Chronicle," 178

  Balfour, Rt. Hon. A. J., 168;
    opinion of a member of Parliament's position, 51;
    premiership, 90

  Bankrupts, election of, 55, 56

  Barnes, on lawyers, _quoted_, 210 _note^3_

  Baronage, the, composition and antiquity of, 21, 22

  Barons in Council, 4;
    summoned by Henry II., 64

  Barré, Colonel, 31, 94, 199

  Barry, Sir Charles, design for Houses of Parliament, 72, 73, 73
        _note^1_

  Bathurst, Bragge, 258 _note^1_

  Beckett, St. Thomas à, 104

  Beefeaters, the, duties, 135, 136

  Bellamy, John, 78

  Bellamy's kitchen, 76-80

  Bellingham, merchant, 266

  "Benefit of Clergy," 173, 174

  Benson, sale of "protections," 175

  Bentham, Jeremy, _quoted_, 268

  Berkeley, Grantley, 272, 273

  Berkshire, Earl of, 191

  Bidmead, 177

  Big Ben, 73 _and note^2_

  Biggar, 164;
    saying of, _quoted_, 50;
    speeches, 207;
    "spying strangers," 264, 265

  Billingsgate, 164

  Bills, classification, 242;
    introduction of the bill, 243, 244;
    1st and 2nd reading, 244;
    Committee stage, 244, 245;
    Report stage and 3rd reading, 245;
    reception in the Lords, 246;
    Royal assent, 246 _and note^3_, 247

  Birch, Colonel, 111 _note^1_

  Bishops, attendance on the Kings, 20;
    introduction to the House of Lords, 151

  "Black Book" of Edward III., 3

  Blackfriars, Priory Church, 67

  Black Rod, duties, 75, 137, 140, 143, 151, 153, 154, 211, 212, 247;
    salary, 136, 137

  Blackstone, _quoted_, 39, 109

  Bodmin, 49 _note^2_

  Bolingbroke, on the creation of peers, 33 _note^2_;
    on leaders, 92;
    style, 203;
    on eloquence, 214 _note^2_

  Bolton, Duke of, 84, 85

  Boneham, 59

  Boswell, 280;
    "Dr. Johnson," 158 _note^1_

  Bothmar, 87

  Bourchier, Sir Robert, 104

  Bowring, Sir John, and the Khedive, 166, 167

  Boyer, "The Political State of Great Britain," 279

  Bradlaugh, the affirmation incident, 147-151;
    "The Impeachment of the House of Brunswick," 148;
    committed to the Clock Tower, 188;
    _mentioned_, 59

  Brand, Speaker, 134, 163, 171, 187

  Bribery, devices of the Stuarts, 6-9;
    retaining fees to Scottish members, 9;
    prices of posts, 9, 10;
    prices of seats, 10-12;
    corruption of the treasury, 12;
    effort to destroy, 12, 13

  Bright, John, Dr. Kenealy and, 152;
    sayings of, 167, 168, 170, 209;
    speeches, 212, 219

  Bristol, Bishop of, punishment, 180, 181

  Bristol, Burke's speech in, 47-49, 48 _note^1_

  British Museum, trusteeship, 132

  British Parliament, the, 2

  Brodricke, Sir Allen, 192

  Brougham, Lord, sayings of, _quoted_, 103, 265;
    Chancellor, 110 _note^1_;
    character, 113, 115;
    defence of Queen Caroline, 115 _and note^1_;
    unpopularity, 115, 116;
    returning the seal, 116;
    and Wellington, 116 _note^1_;
    and the old seal, 118;
    speeches, 148 _note^1_, 206, 209, 219;
    a scene in the house, 196;
    _mentioned_, 164, 194, 197

  Bucher, _quoted_, 14 _note^1_

  Buckingham, 1st Duke, 197, 252, 276;
    2nd Duke, 192, 193;
    Buckingham and Chandos, Duke of, 194

  Buckingham Palace, 152, 286

  Buckinghamshire, 59

  "Bulls," 208, 209

  Burdett, Sir Francis, 155 _note^1_

  Burgesse, Dr., 236

  Burghley, Lord, 106

  Burke, Edmund, "Works and Correspondence," _cited_, 5;
    his definition of Party, 15;
    the quarrel with Fox, 16, 17;
    on the House of Lords, 18;
    an incident, 31;
    speech at Bristol, 47-49, 48 _note^1_;
    _cited_, 51, 159, 186, 193;
    on the study of the law, 103;
    sayings of, 112 _note^1_, 166 _and note^2_, 282;
    incident of the dagger, 148 _and note^1_, 209;
    Rolle and, 196;
    on Lord North, 198;
    speeches of, 204-206, 218, 223;
    on Sheridan, 205;
    style, 208;
    fondness for debate, 260, 261;
    and the Press, 282;
    _mentioned_, 193

  Burnet, Bishop, 10

  Burney, Fanny, 178

  Bury St. Edmunds, 60

  Bute, Lord, 13 _note^1_;
    premiership, 91

  Butt, 170

  Buxton, "Memoirs," 52

  Buxton, Sir T. F., saying, 209

  Byng, George, _quoted_, 33 _note^1_

  Byron, pedigree of, 37;
    _quoted_, 204;
    on Burke, 205, 206


  Cabinet Council, the, origin, 81-82;
    under the Stuarts, 83;
    the system of to-day, 83;
    first official use of the term, 84;
    members of, in 1740, 84;
    members not holding office, 85;
    times of meeting, 85, 86;
    the Sovereign's presence, 86;
    secrecy, 87;
    10, Downing Street, 87, 88;
    the Prime Minister's position, 89;
    qualities of successful prime ministers, 90-95;
    Cabinet dinners, 86 _and notes_;
    privileges of Cabinet ministers, 138

  Cairns, Lord, 118 _note^1_

  Calais, defence of, 184

  Calendar reform, 218

  "Call of the House," 186

  Camden Society, the, 3 _note^2_

  Campbell, Lord, Chancellor of Ireland, 101 _note^1_;
    "Lives," _quoted_, 108 _and note^1_, 103, 123 _note^1_

  Canada Bill, the, of 1791 ... , 16

  Canning, style, 94;
    sayings, _quoted_, 96 _note^1_;
    and the King's Speech, 156;
    attack on Brougham, 164;
    duel, 200;
    first speech, 212;
    eloquence of, 219

  Canterbury, Abbot of, 104

  Canterbury, Archbishop of, 23, 82, 84

  Canute, 60

  Carhampton, Lord, _see_ Luttrel, Colonel

  Carleton, Sir Dudley, 190

  Carlisle, Lady, 8

  Carlyle, "Letters and Speeches of Oliver Cromwell," _quoted_, 122
        _note^1_;
    on "Historical Collections," _quoted_, 277

  Carnabie, Sir W., 187

  Carnarvon, Lord, speech of, 193

  Caroline, Queen, 115, 184

  Carrington, family of, 62 _note^1_

  Castlereagh, Lord, premiership, 91;
    duel, 200

  Catholic emancipation, 204;
    Abbot on, 124

  Catholicism, 13

  Cavaliers, the, 13

  Cave, bookseller, 279, 280

  Cavendish, Lord, 190

  Cavendish, Lord John, speech _quoted_, 127, 127 _note^1_

  Cavendish, Sir Henry, reporting, 285 _and note^2_

  Cecil, Lord Robert, _see_ Salisbury

  Cecil, Robert, 138, 249

  Censorship, Commons refuse to renew, 1695 ... , 278

  Ceremony, Selden's saying regarding, 134 _and note^1_

  Chair, the, deference to, 162

  Chairman of Committees, 231, 232

  Chairman of Ways and Means, 231, 233

  Chamberlain, Austen, 52 _note^3_

  Chamberlain, Joseph, the attack on Gladstone, summer, 1893 ... ,
        130, 131;
    opprobrious names for, 164

  Chamberlain, the Lord Great, his duties at the Palace of
        Westminster, 62 _note^1_, 151

  Chanceller, the Lord, origin of the office, 103, 104;
    the office held by Clerics, 104;
    duties, 104, 105, 109, 110;
    the Chancellorship and the Lord Keepership joined, 105, 106;
    famous Lord Chancellors, 107-109;
    judicial position, 110;
    salary, 117;
    social position, 117;
    perquisites, 118;
    the opening of Parliament, 136, 137, 141;
    approval of the Speaker-Elect, 144, 145;
    taking the Oath, 146;
    receiving a newly created peer, 151;
    meeting the King, 152;
    reading the King's Speech, 156, 157;
    deputies, 232, 233

  Chancery, Court of, 106, 109, 110

  Chaplain, the Parliamentary, 236, 237

  Chaplin, H., 258

  Charles I., reign of, 6, 7;
    presence in the Commons, 8;
    trial, 63;
    death sentence, 70;
    Cabinets, 85;
    Parliaments, 120, 226, 252;
    Speakers, 122;
    parliamentary fines, 185;
    attempt to arrest the five members, 277;
    relations with the Commons, 286

  Charles II., restoration, 3;
    Parliaments, 6, 190, 277, 278;
    presence in the Lords, 9;
    decoration of St. Stephen's, 69;
    lying-in-State, 70;
    the Privy Council, 82;
    Cabinets, 83, 85, 86, 87, 89;
    Chancellors, 107;
    Speakers, 122, 123, 144;
    the restoration, 191;
    Parliamentary dress, 201

  Chatham, _see_ William Pitt;
    on the Magna Charta, _quoted_, 21;
    his reply to Walpole, 54 _and note^2_;
    speeches, 207, 219;
    a protest by, 264;
    _mentioned_, 70, 193

  Chaucer, 61

  Chelmsford, Lord, 101 _note^1_

  Chelsea parish church, 108

  Chester, representation, 39

  Chesterfield, Lord, 115;
    "Letters," 54 and _note^3_;
    on oratory, 215;
    on the intelligence of the Commons, 217, 218

  Chiltern Hundreds, the, 59, 147, 150, 212 _note^1_

  Cholmondeley, 279 _note^4_;
    family of, 62 _note^1_

  Churchill, Lord Randolph, saying of, _quoted_, 16 _note^3_;
    at the Treasury, 98;
    attack on Bradlaugh, 148;
    on the King's speech, 155;
    speeches of, 220;
    his nightly letter to the Queen, 286 _note^1_

  Cicero, 204, 216

  Cinque Ports, the Lord Warden of, 90;
    fine inflicted on the, 184

  Clandon, 132 _note^1_

  Clarendon, Hyde, Earl of, impeachment, 53, 82;
    _mentioned_, 85;
    offices held, 107;
    speeches of, 231 _note^2_, 277, 278

  Clarendon, Lord, 95 _note^1_

  Clarke, Mrs., 67

  _Clavis Regni_, 104

  Clergymen, election of, 56

  Clerk of the House, his duties, 139-142

  Clerk of the Parliaments, 246 _and note^3_

  Clifford, Lord, 6

  Clifford, Sir Augustus, 154

  Clock Tower, the, 188, 231

  "Closure" rule, the, 171, 172;
    first application, 187, 188

  Clothworkers' Company, 132

  Cobbett, William, 68, 133, 138, 139, 214, 282-284;
    "Cobbett's Parliamentary Debates," 284;
    "Weekly Political Register," the, 284

  Cobden, sayings _quoted_, 134, 209

  Cochrane, Lord, expelled, 188

  Cockburn, "Life of Jeffrey," _quoted_, 197

  Cockpit, the, Whitehall, 84, 154 _and note^2_

  Coercion Act, 176

  Coke, Sir Edward, 49, 104, 121, 133, 143, 158, 159, 163, 164, 197

  Commercial Distress, debate on, 204

  Commission, Parliament opened by, 135, 136

  Committees, 81;
    the Committee of State, 82;
    the Committee of Council, 84;
    Select Committees, 159 _and note^1_, 230;
    origin of system, 230;
    Committees of the whole House, 231;
    Committees of Public Petitions, 238

  Commons, House of, Journals, 3;
    first mention, 3;
    political ascendancy, 4;
    under Cromwell, 7, 8;
    the Royal presence in, 8, 9;
    Constitution in 1815 ... , 11;
    the Party system established, 14;
    the method of "tacking," 30;
    doctrines concerning money bills, 30, 31;
    relations with the Lords, 31-33;
    resolutions for the reform of the House of Lords, 34
          _and notes_, 38;
    separated from the Lords, 39, 40;
    the Reformed Parliament, 41, 42;
    increase in size, 42;
    the first Labour Candidates, 42;
    life of a modern legislator, 43;
    payment of members, 44-47;
    advantages of the position, 47-49;
    the members' duties, 49-51;
    advantages of membership, 52;
    qualification for election, 52-54;
    disqualifications, 53-57;
    exclusion of infants, 53, 54;
    peers elected to, 55 _note^2_;
    vacating a seat, 58;
    establishment in St Stephen's Chapel, 66-67;
    the present House, 74;
    the mace, 74, 75;
    members' comforts, 75-78;
    Bellamy's old kitchen, 76-80;
    the Kitchen Committee, 78;
    Commoners in the Cabinet, 85;
    the scene in the House, summer, 1893 ... , 130-31;
    the opening of Parliament by Commission, 135-137;
    retention of seats, 137-139;
    the Clerk of the House, 139, 140;
    arrival of Black Rod, 140, 141;
    election of the Speaker, 141-143;
    called to the Bar of the Lords, 140, 141, 153-155;
    second arrival of Black Rod, 143;
    taking the Oath, 145-147;
    introduction of a new member, 151, 152;
    balloting for places at the bar of the Lords, 154 _and note^1_;
    rules of debate, 160-172;
    hours of sitting, 228;
    summoned to the Lords to hear the Royal Assent, 247;
    divisions, 248-251;
    the Press Gallery, 284, 285

  Commonwealth, Parliament under the, 7, 8

  _Commune Concilium_, the, 2

  Compton, Spencer, _see_ Wilmington, Lord

  Conferences, 246

  "Coningsby," 18

  Coningsby, Lord, 23, 24

  Consort, Prince, 156

  Contempt of Parliament, 176, 177, 183

  Copyright Bill, (1839), 169;
    (1842), 204

  Corn duties, 88

  Corn Importation Bill, 29 _and note^1_

  Corn Laws abolition, bill for, 29

  Cornwall, Speaker, 129

  Cornwallis, Lord, 95 _note^1_

  Corporation Act, 27 _note^1_, 55

  Correction, House of, 180

  Corrupt and Illegal Practices Prevention Act, 43 _note^2_

  Cory, family of, descent, 37

  Council of the Chiefs, 2

  Councils, early, 81;
    Great Council of Peers, 1840 ... , 82

  "Counting out," 234, 235

  Country Party, the, 13

  Court Cullies, 7

  Court Party, the, 13

  Courtney, of, "Characteristics," _quoted_, 91 _note^2_

  Covenanters, the, 13

  Coventry, 60, 190

  Cowper, William, afterwards Lord Chancellor, 214, 215

  Cranworth, Lord, 26

  Crimean War, 209

  "Crisis," the, 188

  Croker, 250 _note^1_;
    on the relations between the two Houses, 32;
    "Papers," _quoted_, 49 _note^2_

  Cromwell, Oliver, the famous "bauble," 7, 74;
    his opinion of Scotland, 9 _note^3_;
    and corruption, 12;
    on the House of Lords, 19;
    and the Lords Spiritual, 23;
    death warrant of Charles I., 70;
    and Parliament, 122

  Cromwell, Richard, 236

  Crowle, attorney, 178

  Crown, power of the 4-6;
    curtailed, 8, 9

  "Cullies," 7

  Cumberland, Duke of, 92

  _Curia Regis_, the, constitution, 20, 81;
    separated from Parliament, 22

  Curran, a retort of, 209 _note^2_

  Curzon, Lord, of Kedleston, 26 _note^1_

  Cust, Sir John, death 1770 ... , 127

  Customs, corruption in the, 12


  Danby, fall of, 82

  Daniel, 27 _note^1_

  Debate, rules of, 158

  Deceased Wife's Sister Bill, 251

  Delany, Mrs., "Autobiography," 46

  Demosthenes, 216, 220

  Denison, Speaker, 122 _note^1_, 128, 129, 134, 141

  Deportment, Parliamentary, 189-202

  Derby Day, 227

  Derby, Lord, 29, 91 _note^1_, 97, 101 _note_, 194 _note^3_

  Dering, Sir Edward, punishment, 180

  Desborough, 59

  Devonshire, Duchess of, 270

  Devonshire, Duke of, 86 _note^3_, 92

  D'Ewes, Sir Symonds 185, 285;
    his note-taking, 276, 277

  _Diary_, Woodfall's, 283, 284

  Dickens, _cited_, 77, 79

  Digby, Lord, speech, 277

  Dilke, Sir Charles, 196

  Dinners, ministerial, 155

  Disraeli, use of the term "Tory," 14;
    and the Lords, 38, 33;
    sayings of, _quoted_, 43, 59, 74, 94;
    premiership, 91, 94;
    cabinet, 99;
    a pun on, 101 _note^1_;
    Queen's speeches, 155;
    unparliamentary language, 164;
    and O'Connell, 195, 196;
    and lawyers, 210;
    speeches, 212, 213, 220;
    description of Peel, 1846 ... , 253 _note^2_;
    on "whips," 254;
    and Biggar, 265

  Divisions, in the Commons, 248-51;
    in the Lords, 251 _note^1_, 253

  Divorce Bill, the, 169

  Donegal, Lady, 51 _note^1_

  Doorkeepers, remuneration of, 261

  Dorchester, Lord, 192

  Downing, Sir George, 87

  Downing Street, 87

  Dress, Parliamentary, 189-202

  Drury Lane, 186

  Drybutter, 69

  Dryden, "Shadwell," 128;
    _quoted_, 227

  Dublin University, 17 _note^1_

  Duelling, Parliamentary, 200, 201

  Dundas, _see_ Melville, Lord

  Dunning, 9

  Dunraven, Lord, bill for reforming the House of Lords, 36

  Durham, Bishop of, 174

  Durham, enfranchisement of, 39 _and note^1_


  Earldormen, 2

  Earl Marshal, duties, 151

  Edgeworth, Maria, "Life and Letters," _quoted_, 271, 272

  Edinburgh, 191

  "Edinburgh Review," 115

  Education Bill of 1902 ... , 172

  Edward I., reign of, 4, 27, 64, 66;
    and the Earl de Warrene, 21;
    Chancellors, 107;
    Parliaments, 252, 268 _note^2_

  Edward II., 27, 60

  Edward III., reign of, 3, 39, 57, 64, 120 _note^1_, 156;
    Parliaments of, 44, 268 _note^2_;
    restoration of St. Stephen's, 66

  Edward VI., 3;
    enfranchisement of rotten boroughs, 40

  Edward VII., (Prince of Wales) 227;
    incident in the Stranger's gallery, 264, 265;
    lying-in-state, 63

  Edward the Confessor, 60

  Eldon, Lord, Chancellor, 104 _note^1_, 155, 198;
    on Thurlow, 111;
    character of, 113-15;
    his "Anecdote Book," 114 _note^2_;
    salary, 117;
    letter to Dr. Fisher, 117 _note^2_;
    decisions of, 183

  Eleanor, Queen, 105 _and note^1_

  Elections, cost of, 43 _and note^2_

  Elibank, Lord, 178

  Eliot, Sir John, 7, 75, 189

  Elizabeth, Queen, Parliaments, 22, 53, 81, 82, 190, 236, 249;
    reign of, 23 _note^1_, 25, 62 _note^1_;
    creation of rotten boroughs, 40;
    and Holland, 70;
    Chancellors of, 105-6;
    visit to Westminster, 144;
    Speakers, 145;
    the sergeant-at-arms, 181 _note^2_;
    monopolies, 197;
    Parliamentary Committees, 230;
    bills quashed, 248

  Ellenborough, Lord, 85;
    sayings of, _quoted_, 103 _note^2_

  Ellesmere, Lord, on the office of the Lord Chancellor, _quoted_,
        103 _note^1_

  Elsyng, 3 _note^2_, 139 _and note^3_;
    "Parliaments of England," _quoted_, 142

  Ely, Abbot, of, 104

  Emerson, _quoted_, 17

  English Railway Committee, 230, 231

  Epsom, 227

  Equity, Court of, 107

  Erle, Sir Walter, 180 _and note^2_

  Erskine, James, _see_ Grange, Lord

  "Espying Strangers," 264, 265, 283

  Essex, Earl of, 6;
    trial, 63

  Ethelred, Chancellors of, 104

  Evans, Colonel, 250

  Evans, Sir George de Lacy, 139 _and note^1_

  "Examiner," the, 278

  Exchange, the, 175

  Exchequer Court, 147

  Exclusion Bill, 1679 ... , 13

  Executive, the, 81


  Falkland, Lord, saying of, _quoted_, 53

  Farnham, Lord, 24 _note^2_

  Fawkes, Guy, 135, 136

  Fazakerley, 97

  Female Suffrage, 265

  Fenian scares, 1885 ... , 263

  Ferguson of Pitfour, 50

  Ferrars, arrest of, 174

  Finance Bill of 1909 ... , 172, 207

  Finch, Lord, speech of, 213, 214

  Finch, Speaker, 122, 197

  Fines, Parliamentary, 183-185

  Fire of London, 62

  "First Commoner," 132

  First Statute of Westminster, 2

  Fisher, Dr., of the Charter House, 117 _note^2_

  Fitzwilliam, Lord, 85

  Fleet, the, 174

  Flood, corruption by, 10;
    on Pitt, 217

  Floyd, punishment of, 179

  Foreign Office, 87, 240

  Forster, _quoted_, 91

  Foster, John Leslie, Sheil's essay on, 78-80

  Fox, Charles James, Burke's quarrel with, 16, 17;
    Lord North's dismissal, 97;
    saying of, _quoted_, 113;
    the Peace of Paris, 193;
    scene in the House, 197, 198;
    duel, 200-201;
    eloquence, 206;
    his speeches, 216, 217, 223, 224;
    _mentioned_, 43, 49, 54, 76, 187 _note^1_

  Fox, Sir Stephen, 7 _note^1_

  "Franking," the privilege of, 46, 47

  French Fleet, visit to London, 64

  French Revolution, the, 33 _note^1_

  Fuller, 194;
    insults the Chair, 233


  Gardiner, Dr., "History," _cited_, 4

  Gardiner, Sir Alan, 211

  Garibaldi, 239 _note^1_

  Garter-King-at-Arms, duties, 151

  Garter, Order of the, 136

  Gascony, 117

  Gatton, rotten borough of, 10, 268

  Gemot of Wessex, 2, 3

  "Gentleman's Magazine," the, 279, 280

  George I., cabinets, 86

  George II., cabinets, 87;
    the King's Speech, 155;
    sayings of, _quoted_, 243

  George III., relations with the Commons, 9;
    correspondence with Lord North, 10;
    creation of Peers, 22;
    coronation, 63;
    cabinets, 96 _note^1_;
    Chancellors, 106;
    and Thurlow, 112;
    Parliaments, 121, 238, 286;
    Speakers, 128 _note^2_;
    the King's Speech, 155;
    parliamentary privileges under, 175, 176;
    (Prince of Wales), 256

  George IV., at Westminster Palace, 62 _note^1_;
    accession, 64;
    the King's Speech, 156;
    (Regent), 238

  George, Lloyd, 207

  German sources of the English constitution, 1, 2

  Germans, early, manners of, 1

  Gibbon, 95 _note^1_, 223;
    Sheridan and, 282

  Gladstone, sayings of, _quoted_, 13, 58, 95, 199;
    "tacking," 30-31;
    on the relations between the two Houses, 31;
    lying-in-State, 63;
    and Disraeli, 74;
    offices held by, 83, _note^1_;
    on etiquette, 90;
    premiership, 92, 94, 167, 221;
    at debate, 99;
    Chamberlain's attack on, summer 1893 ... , 130-31;
    the Bradlaugh incident, 149;
    Queen's speeches, 155;
    the hat incident, 159, 160;
    on obstruction, 169;
    proposed alteration in procedure, 171, 172;
    speeches, 207, 212;
    on oratory, 215;
    _mentioned_, 239 _and note^1_

  Glasgow, 20

  Glastonbury, Abbot of, 104

  Godolphin, 83

  Gordon, Duchess of, 272

  Gordon, Lord George, 235

  Gordon Riots, the, 238 _note^1_

  Goschen, Lord, speeches, 221

  Gower, Lord, 10, 264

  Gower, Lord F. L., 186

  Grafton, Duke of, 32

  Grand Committees, 232

  Grand Remonstrance, the, 8, 185, 190

  Grange, Lord, speeches, 214

  Grant, General, 262

  Grant, "Recollections," _quoted_, 164 _and note_, 283

  Grantham, borough of, 45

  Granville, Lady, "Letters," _quoted_, 86 _note^3_, 115 _note^1_

  Granville, Lord, 86 _note^3_, 115 _note^1_

  Grattan, "Life and Times," _cited_, 92;
    speeches, 120, 216 _and note^1_, 223;
    saying, _quoted_, 169;
    motion for Catholic emancipation, 204;
    on Pitt, _quoted_, 217

  Gravel Pits, Kensington, 200

  Great Council, the, 84

  "Great Tom of Westminster," 66 _and note^1_, 73

  Grenville, George, 89, 91, 124, 133, 193, 286

  Grenville, Lord, proposal regarding Westminster, 65

  Grenville, Richard, 217 _note^1_

  Grenville, on the presence of women in Parliament, 270 _and note^4_

  Grey, Lord, 266;
    his Reform bill, 169

  Griffith, Darby, 240

  Griffiths, Admiral, 177

  Grimston, Edward, 75

  "Guardian," the, 213

  Guilford, Lord, Chancellor, 108, 109

  Guilford, Lord, son of Lord North, 212 _and note^1_

  "Guillotine," the, 172

  Gully, Speakership, 125, 141, 142, 181

  Gunter, 164 _note^1_

  Guthrie, editor, 279, 280

  Gwydyr, Lord, 62 _note^1_


  Habeas Corpus Act, 224

  Hakewell, _cited_, 120 _note^1_

  Halifax, 277

  Halifax, 1st Lord, saying of, _quoted_, 19

  Halifax, Lord, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, 214

  Hall, Arthur, member of Parliament for Grantham, 175;
    punishment, 179

  Hall, Sir Benjamin, 73 _note^2_

  Hamilton, William Gerard, his speech, 214

  Hampden, 8, 190, 277

  Hampton Court, 6

  Handel, 217 _note^3_

  Hanmer, Sir John, 190

  Hanoverian Parliaments, times of session, 225

  Hansard, T. C., publication of debates, 284, 285

  Harcourt, Sir Philip, 191

  Hardwicke, Lord, Chancellor, 96, 97;
    on Strangers, 263, 264

  Harley, Sir Robert, Speaker, 53, 83, 133;
    Premier, 90, 91, 278;
    Chancellor, 110 _note^1_

  Harrowby, Lord, 115 ^1

  Harrys, Dr., 176

  Hartley, David, speech of, 206, 207

  Harwich, borough of, 45 _note^2_

  Haselrig, 8

  Hastings, Warren, impeachment, 63, 178, 204, 205, 282

  Hatherton, Lord, 32

  Hats, etiquette concerning, 159, 160

  Hatsell, Clerk of the House, 139, 140;
    "Precedents," _cited_, 75, 152 _and note^1_, 153 _note^4_, 167

  Hengham, Sir Ralph de, 66

  Henry I., reign, 21, 62 _note^1_, 81;
    Chancellors, 117

  Henry II., 64

  Henry III., 4;
    Parliaments, 64, 268 _note^2_

  Henry VI., reign, 27, 40, 42;
    Parliaments, 125 _note^1_, 174, 182, 184

  Henry VII., reign, 4

  Henry VIII., reign, 3, 60, 62 _note^1_, 81, 144, 145;
    Parliaments of 6, 22, 44, 136, 144, 184, 252;
    removal to Whitehall, 62;
    death, 107 _note^2_

  Heptarchy, the, 2, 20

  Heredity, the principle of, 18-20

  "Herod," 130

  Herries, 253

  Hewitt, speeches, 207

  "Historical Register," the, 279

  Hobart, Sir Miles, 75

  Hogan, 168

  Holland, Earl of, 6

  Holles, 8

  Holt, Lord Chief Justice, 182

  Home Rule Bill, (1886), 207;
    (1893), 29, 172

  "Honourable," the title, 165

  Hopton, Sir Ralph, 180

  Hotham, Lord, 204

  "House-fright," 210-212

  Howard, Lord, 70

  Howard, Francis, "Memoirs," 217 _note^3_

  "Hudibras" 139 and _note^3_

  Hughes, Hughes, 17

  Hull, borough of, 45 _note^2_

  Hume, David, 68, 76

  Hume, Joseph, in the House, 71, 139

  Hungerford, Sir Thomas, Speaker, 119, 120 _note^1_

  Hunt, first speeches, 214

  Hutcheson, speech, 206

  Hyde, Lord, 95 _note^1_;
    _see also_ Clarendon


  Idiots, laws concerning, 54, 55

  Ireland, Act of Union, 24

  Irish members in Bellamy's, 79;
    suspension of, 187, 188

  Irish Municipal Bill, 264

  Irish Office, the, 239

  Irish Parliament, 190

  Irish Party tactics, 169-171

  Irish Peers, 26;
    rights of, 55, 56;
    introduction in the Lords, 151

  Isabella, Queen, 105


  James I., creation of Peers, 22;
    Parliaments, 53, 70, 179, 180, 233;
    Councils, 82

  James II., 164

  "Jane," 79

  Jeffrey, Lord, saying of, _quoted_, 183;
    style, 210

  Jeffreys, Chancellor, 108 _and note^1_

  Jenkins, Judge, 176, 177

  Jewish Oaths Bill, 29

  Jews, disabilities, 27 _and note^1_ 55, 147

  John, King, 4, 21, 22

  Johnson, Dr., and Dunning's resolution, 9 _and note^2_;
    saying of, _quoted_, 168;
    on oratory, 215;
    and Cave, 279, 280

  Johnson, Sir Robert, 269

  Johnstone, Captain, 270

  Jonson, Ben, saying of, _quoted_, 205

  Journals, Parliamentary, 3, 233, 276, 279

  "Judas," 130

  Judges at the opening of Parliament, 152, 153 _note^1_

  Judicature Act, 1873 ... , 107, _note^2_

  "Juncto," the, 82

  "Junius letters," the, 281

  Justice, High Court of, 110


  Katherine, Queen, 190

  Keepership of the Great Seal, 105

  Kendall, Captain, his reply to Middleton, 6

  Kenealy, Dr., introduction to the House, 152;
    speeches, 210;
    the Tichborne case, 253

  Khedive, the, visit to the House of Commons, 166, 167

  King, Dr., "Anecdotes," _quoted_, 24 _note^1_

  King's champion, the, 63, 64

  King's Speech, the, 152-157

  Kingsdown, Baron, _see_ Leigh, Pemberton

  Kingston, Duchess of, trial, 63

  Kneeling at the Bar of the House, 177, 178


  La Hogue, battle of, 199

  Labouchère, sayings of, _quoted_, 77

  Labour Members, the first, 42;
    dress of, 202

  Lacour, M. Challemel, 167

  Ladies' Gallery, the, unruly scenes, 273, 274

  Lancelot, 31

  Land Act, 1881 ... , 70

  Land League, the, 176

  Lane, Mrs., 65 _note^2_

  Langres, Hercule, 8

  Langrishe, Sir Hercules, 285 _note^2_

  Language, "Parliamentary," 163

  Latour, Colonel, 167

  Laud, "Diary," _cited_, 64, 65

  Law Courts, London, 64

  Law Courts, the, collisions with Parliament, 182

  Law Lords, the, 25, 26

  Lawson, Sir Wilfrid, 165 _note^2_, 227, 267

  Lawyers and the House of Commons, 57, 210

  Lecky, _quoted_, 11, 12

  Lefevre, Shaw, Speakership, 134, 141, 159

  Leicester, 60

  Leigh, Pemberton, 26

  Leitrim, Lord, speech of, 235

  Lenthall, Speaker, 67 _note,^1_ 120, 121, 122, 131, 139
        _note^3_, 186, 187

  Levis, family of, 37

  Lewes, 4

  Lewes, Sir Watkin, 77

  Lewis, Sir George Cornwall, sayings of, _quoted_, 98, 169

  Liberal Conservatives, the, 14

  Liberal Unionists, the, 33

  Licensing bills, 238, 278

  Life Peerages, 25, 26

  Limerick, Earl of, 183

  Lincoln, 60

  Lincoln's Inn, 232

  Livy, 203

  Llandaff, Bishop of, his amendment, 55

  Local Taxation Bill, 238

  Lock, Zachary, 211

  Locke, report of Lord's debate, 278

  "London Magazine," 280

  Long, Parliament, the, 42, 177, 189, 231 _note^2_, 277, 278

  Long, Thomas, 44, 45

  Lonsdale, Lord, 86 _note^1_

  Lord Mayor, the, collision with Parliament, 281

  Lords, House of, Journals, 3;
    under Cromwell, 7, 8;
    the Royal Presence, 8, 9;
    the principle of heredity, 18-20;
    origin and antiquity, 20-22, 39;
    number of Peers attending, 22;
    the Lords Spiritual, 22, 23;
    election of the Irish and Scottish Peers, 24 _and note^2_;
    judicial functions, 24, 25;
    introduction of the four Lords of Appeal, 24, 25;
    the Supreme Court of Appeal, 25, 26;
    numerical increase, 25-27;
    composition to-day, 27;
    the writ of summons, 27;
    functions, 28;
    public opinion on, 29;
    rejection of bills, 29, 30;
    money bills and foreign matter, 30, 31;
    relations with the Commons, 31-33;
    the Liberal Peers, 33;
    Conservative character, 33, 34;
    proposed reform, 34 _and notes_-38;
    separation from the Commons, 39, 40;
    temporary abolition, 55 _note^2_;
    the new Upper Chamber, 73;
    the Chancellor's position, 110;
    The Lords Commissioners, 136, 141, 143, 144, 145, 155, 247;
    opening by commission, 136-141;
    arrival of the Commons, 141;
    approval of the Speaker-Elect, 144, 145;
    taking the Oath, 145-47;
    introduction of a newly created peer, 151;
    arrival of the King and Queen, 152;
    the Gilded Chamber, 152;
    rules of debate, 160 _et seq_;
    length of speeches, 167;
    "call" of the Lords, 186 and _note^3_;
    maiden speeches, 215;
    days of adjournment, 227, 228;
    divisions, 251, 253;
    voting by proxy, 252;
    the presence of women, 269;
    the Press gallery, 284, 285

  Lords, the old Irish House of, 228 _note^2_

  Loughborough, Lord, 95 _note^1_, 96, 113 _and note^2_, 282

  Lowe, Chancellor, 98

  Luggershall, 10

  Lunatics, laws concerning, 54, 55

  Luttrel, Colonel, 95 _note^1_, 201

  Lyndhurst, Lord, sayings of, _quoted_, 27 _note^1_, 101 _note^1_;
    the Two Power Standard, 109 _and note^2_;
    and the old seal, 118;
    scenes in the House, 197, 235, 264

  Lynn, voters of, 59


  Macaulay, _cited_, 10, 14, 58, 63, 97, 223, 253, 256;
    "Miscellaneous writings," _quoted_, 90 _note^2_, 102 _note^1_;
    on the King's Speech, 155;
    on parliamentary scenes, 195;
    speeches 204, 220;
    on Burke, 205;
    eloquence of, 219;
    sayings of, _quoted_, 225

  Macclesfield, Lord, 108

  Mace, the, 74, 75, 139

  Mackintosh, Sir James, sayings of, _quoted_, 210, 215, 222

  Magna Charta, 21, 22, 224

  Mahon, Lord, 204;
    speeches, 221

  Maidstone, Lord, 195

  Malmesbury, Lord, "Memoirs," 86 _note^1_

  Manchester, Duke of, 264

  Mann, Sir H., 28

  Manners, Lord John, 220

  Mansfield, Lord, 85, 93, 197

  "Manwaring's Medley," 279

  Mare, Sir Peter de la, 120 _note^1_

  Marlborough, Duke of, 30

  Marshal, Master, 236

  Martin, Henry, 70

  Martineau, Harriet, on the presence of women in Parliament, 272

  Marvell, Andrew, 7, 45 _note^2_, 191

  Mary, Queen, creation of rotten boroughs, 40

  Mass, the, 236

  Matchmaker's petition, 238 _note^1_

  Matthews, Home Secretary, 164

  Maule, Fox, 244 _note^1_

  May, Erskine, 139

  Maynooth College, 17 _note^1_

  "Mazur," 103 _note^1_

  Mediterranean, the, 12

  Melbourne, Lord, Prime Minister, 88, 156;
    and Lord Brougham, 116;
    rules of order, 163

  Melville, Lord, 193;
    impeachment, 63, 198, 252, 253

  Middleton, Commissioner, 191

  Middleton, Secretary of State, 6

  Midhurst, 10

  Mildmay, Sir H., 190

  Mill, John Stuart, _quoted_, 19

  Milton, 205;
    "Paradise Lost," Lord Eldon's opinion on, 113

  "Minister," the term, 84

  Ministers, appointment of 96-98;
    number of, 98;
    the members of the administration, 98 _note^4_

  "Mist's Journal," 183

  Modred, 31

  Mompesson, Sir Giles, 180

  Money Bills, doctrines of the Commons concerning, 30, 31, 34;
    returned from the Lords, 244 _note^2_;
    royal assent to, 247

  Monmouth, representation of, 39 _and note^1_

  Monopolies, abolition of, 197;
    punishment of monopolists, 180

  Montacute, Lord, 10

  Montagu, Lady M. W., "Letters," _cited_, 270 _note^3_

  Montagu, Mr., 115 _note^1_

  Montague, Walpole's letters to, _quoted_, 15 _note^1_

  Monteagle, Lord, _see_ Spring-Rice

  Montesquieu, _cited_, 1

  Moore, Thomas, 68;
    letters of, _quoted_, 51 _note^1_;
    "Memoirs," 77

  Mordaunt, Sir Charles, 46

  More, Sir Thomas, 53, 103, 106-108, 133, 208

  Moreton, Chief Justice of Chester, 92, 93

  Moritz, C. P., 67, 68, 260

  Morley, Lord, 222

  "Morning Chronicle," reports, 282

  Morpeth, Lady G. 115 _note^1_

  Morpeth, Lord, 76

  Moses, 170

  Mowbray, Barony of, 27

  Mullins, 69

  Murray, Alexander, punishment of, 178

  Murray, Solicitor-General, _see_ Mansfield, Lord

  Musters, famous beauty, 270


  "Naming," practise of, 187

  National Council, the, 41, 81

  Naturalization Bill, 1751 ... , 186

  Naturalization, political rights and, 55

  Naunton, _cited_, 82

  Navy office, the, 67

  New Palace Yard, 65, 72

  Newgate, 178, 183

  Newsletters, 278

  Newspapers, party organs, 278-79

  Newton, Sir Isaac, 115

  Nonconformity, 13

  Norfolk, 3rd Duke of, 108;
    11th Duke, 41

  Norreys, Lord, 195

  _North Briton_, 281

  North, Lord, correspondence with George III., 10;
    premiership, 85, 94, 96, 164, 206;
    dismissal of Fox, 97;
    _mentioned_, 128, 165;
    somnolence of, 198, 199;
    speeches 219

  North, Roger, "Life of Lord Guildford," _quoted_, 108, 109

  Northampton, 60

  Northcote, Sir Stafford, 150

  Northstead, 59

  Norton, Sir Fletcher, Speakership, 128 _and note^2_, 129;
    saying of, _quoted_, 187 _note^1_

  "Notice-paper," 229, 230


  Oates, Titus, 63, 66, 190

  Oath of Allegiance, the, disabilities under, 27 _and note^1_, 56;
    administration, 145-147;
    the Bradlaugh incident, 148-151

  Oath of Supremacy, the, 259

  Oaths Act, 1888 ... , 147, 148

  O'Brien, Smith, 230, 231

  Obstruction, Irish tactics, 168-172

  O'Connell, Daniel, saying of, _quoted_, 17 and _note^1_;
    "Experiences," 153;
    unparliamentary language, 164;
    noisy scenes caused by, 195, 196;
    motion for repeal of the Union, 220 _note^1_, speeches, 223;
    scene in the Strangers' Gallery, 266;
    an incident, 271;
    and the Press, 283;
    _mentioned_, 13 _note^3_

  O'Connell, Morgan, 200

  O'Connor, Feargus, saying of, _quoted_, 163

  O'Connor, T. P., "Gladstone's House of Commons," _cited_, 77

  O'Donnell, 167

  O'Gorman, Major, 163

  Old Sarum, 56

  One Mile Act, 238

  Onslow, Arthur, Speakership, 16, 132, 124, 141, 177, 187, 281

  Onslow, Fulk, Clerk of the House, 140

  Onslow, Richard, Speaker, 145

  Opposition, the recognition, 15, 16

  Orange-Women, 69

  Oratory, the gift of, 215, 216

  "Order Book" of the House, 230

  Orphans Bill, 1695 ... , 123

  Outlaws, Irish, 13

  Oxford, 60

  Oxford, Earl of, _see_ Harley

  Oxford, 1st Earl, 62


  Painted Chamber, the, 230

  "Pairing," 255

  Palace Yard, 70, 137, 181

  Palgrave, Sir F., Clerk of the House, 140

  Palmerston, Lord, on the Lords, 20, 26;
    cabinets, 88;
    visit to Scotland, 89, 90;
    style, 94;
    saying of, _quoted_, 199;
    _mentioned_, 34, 240

  Paper Duties Bill, 88

  Parke, lawyer, 26

  Parliament, derivation of the word, 2;
    history of, 3, 4;
    the first, 4, 5;
    the two Houses, 5;
    duration, 5 _and note^1_-6;
    the Commonwealth, 7, 8;
    the Royal Presence in, 8, 9;
    prices of seats, 10;
    the Party principle, 13-17;
    separation of the two Houses, 39, 40;
    summoning of, 60;
    opening by commission, 136-152;
    the King's speech, 152-157;
    collisions with the law, 182, 183;
    times of meeting, 225

  Parliamentary Proceedings Bill, 248

  Parnell, policy of obstruction, 169-171;
    "named," 187

  Parr, Dr., 206

  Parry, Dr., arrest, 179

  Partington, Mrs., 29

  Party principle, the origin, 13-17

  Patriots, 14

  Payment of Members, 44-47

  Peace of Paris, 193

  Pearson, head doorkeeper, 69, 77, 261, 262, 262 _note^1_, 271

  Pease, quaker, 147, 160

  Peel, Sir Robert, and Lord John Russell, 17;
    and reform, 41, 42, 169;
    _mentioned_, 74, 85, 253 _and note^2_;
    premiership, 91, 163;
    style, 94;
    on the speakership, _quoted_, 126;
    dissolution, 199, 200;
    speech, 204;
    a scene in the House, 266

  Peel, Speaker, 130, 134, 141, 163, 274

  Peeresses, at the opening of Parliament, 152, 153, _note^1_;
    privileges of, 174 _note^1_, 269

  Peers, Liberal, 33;
    creation of new, 33 _note^2_;
    exclusion from the Commons, 55;
    rights of Irish, 55, 56;
    privileges of, 173, 174

  Pelham, 10, 88, 281

  Pepys' "Diary," _quoted_, 45, 65 _and note^3_, 87, 192, 213, 256;
    accusations against, 67

  Perceval, Spencer, 287;
    assassination of, 266

  Perrers, Alice, 120 _note^1_

  Peter the Great, saying of, quoted, 64

  Peterborough, Earl of, 84

  Petition, legislation by, 40

  Petition of Right, 197

  Petitions, 237-239

  Petyt, _cited_, 2

  Phillips, 158

  Piers of Langtoft, 105 _note^1_

  Pillory, use of the, 179-80

  Pitt, William, 1st Earl of Chatham, _see_ Chatham;
    reason of his success, 92;
    reply to Moreton, 92, 93;
    attack on Murray, 93;
    and the Admiralty, 93;
    personality, 93, 94;
    style, 217;
    Dr. Johnson and, 280

  Pitt, William, reformative measures of, 12, 13;
    saying of, _quoted_, 41;
    premiership, 54, 85, 96;
    death, 77;
    and Addington, 124;
    hard drinking, 193, 194;
    on Bolingbroke, 203;
    and Lord Mahon, 221;
    _mentioned_, 70, 133, 253

  Place, Francis, 14

  Plague, the, 60

  Plimsoll, 164

  Plunket, 80, 158, 204, 219

  Plunket, Lord, Chancellor of Ireland, 101 _note^1_

  Poaching, punishment for, 177

  Police, Metropolitan, duties, 181, 182

  Ponsonby, George, 200

  Pope, on government, _quoted_, 19;
    the "Dunciad," 179 _note^2_

  Porritt, _cited_, 257

  Porson, 217

  Portland, Duke of, 46;
    notes on forming a ministry, 95 _note^1_

  Praed, poet, his advice to the Chair, 129

  Praise God Barebones, 7, 8

  Precedence, the question of, 27

  "Premier," the word, 89

  Prevention of Crimes (Ireland) Act, 227

  Press, the, freedom of, 3;
    Parliament and, 275-287

  Pride, Colonel, 181

  Prime Minister, his position to-day, 88-89;
    the title, 89;
    qualities of successful Prime Ministers, 90-95;
    choosing a ministry, 95-96;
    appointing Ministers, 96-98;
    offices filled by the Prime Minster, 98 _note^2_;
    the number of ministers, 98-100;
    delivery of the seals, 100

  Printing, laws regulating, 278

  Prior, Matthew, 2

  Priory Church, Blackfriars, 67

  "Privilege," 4th January, 1642 ... , 8

  Privileges, Parliamentary, 173-188

  Privy Council, the, 22, 81, 82, 84;
    the Judicial Committee, 110;
    members, 138

  Procedure, Standing Orders, 159;
    Gladstone's proposed alteration, 171, 172

  Property qualification, 4

  Protectionists, 204

  "Protections," sale of, 175

  Protestants, 13

  Proxies, 252

  Pryme, "Recollections," 13 _note^2_

  Prynne, "Brief Register," _quoted_, 3 _and note^1_, 185

  Public Bills, 231

  Pugin, Augustus Welby, 73 _note^1_

  Pulteney, 18, 256

  Punishments, Parliamentary, 173-188

  Puns, 100, 101, 101 _note^1_

  Putney, 77

  Pym, 8, 237


  Quakers and the oath, 147

  Queensberry, Kitty, Duchess of, 270

  Questions, 239-241

  Quorum, 234, 235


  "Radical," the term, 14

  Raikes, 42

  Raleigh, Sir Walter, 249

  "Rapparees," 13 _note^3_

  Rasch, Sir Carne, 168

  Reading, 60

  Records, lack of early, 3

  Redistribution Bill of 1883 and 1885 ... , 43 _note^2_

  Reform Act of 1832 ... , 4, 10, 33 _note^2_, 38, 41, 116, 123,
        148 _note^1_, 165, 168, 227, 253;
    Brougham's speech, 194

  Reform Acts of 1867, 1884 ... , 42, 256

  Reform, Parliamentary, 1831 ... , 29

  Remonstrance of 1682 ... , 82

  Reporting, Parliamentary, 275-387;
    "Diurnal occurrences of Parliament," 278;
    the nightly letter to the Sovereign, 286

  Requests, Court of, 70

  Restoration, Parliament under the, 8

  Revolution, 1688 ... , 4, 8, 14, 41, 60, 83

  Rich, Speaker, 145

  Richard II., 22, 61, 67

  Richmond, Duchess of, 271

  Richmond, (3rd) Duke of, 31, 264;
    (4th, 1831), 197

  Rigby, 193

  Rights, Bill of, 224

  Riley, 258 _note^1_

  Ripon, 60

  Robinson, 259

  Robinson, Sir H. Crabb, "Diary," _quoted_, 224

  Roche, Sir Boyle, "bulls" of, 209

  Rochefoucauld, La, saying of, _quoted_, 222

  Rochester, Earl of, 192

  Rochester, representation of, 40

  Rockingham, Lord, 91

  Rogers, saying of, _quoted_, 115

  Rolle, John, 196

  _Rolliad_, the, Thurlow's character portrayed in, 112

  Rolls of Parliament, 3, 146

  Roman Catholic Emancipation Bill, 201

  Roman Catholics, disabilities, 17 _note^1_, 110, 146, 147

  Romilly, Sir Samuel, speech, 228, 229

  Rosalinda, story of, 269

  Rose, Sir George, 194

  Rosebery, Lord, on the reform of the Lords, 18, 35-37, 37
        _note^1_, 38;
    saying of, _quoted_, 58 _note^1_;
    on old speeches, 203, 235

  Rothschild, Baron Lionel de, 147

  Rotten boroughs, 12, 40, 225

  Roundheads, the, 13

  Royal assent, 246 _and note^3_, 247

  Runnymede, 21

  Rushworth, 277

  Russell, Earl, trial, 186 _note^3_

  Russell, Lord John, and corruption, 12;
    saying of, _quoted_, 14;
    and Peel, 17;
    on heredity, _quoted_, 19;
    minority 54;
    in the Cabinet, 85;
    premiership, 91, 92;
    Disraeli and, 164;
    defeat in 1854 ... , 253;
    and the admission of strangers, 262;
    and the Press, 285

  Russell-Gladstone Cabinet, the, 256


  St. Asaph, Bishop of, 181

  "St. James's Chronicle," 178

  St. James's, Court of, 111, 112

  St. John of Jerusalem, Hospital of, the Prior, 23 _note^1_

  St. Leonards, Lord, 111 _note^1_;
    saying of, _quoted_, 115

  St. Margaret's Church, Westminster, 146, 226 _note^1_, 236

  St. Paul's Cathedral, 66

  St. Simon, 94

  St. Stephens, the Chapel, 66-68, 236, 249, 261, 271;
    the Lobby, 68, 69;
    the Painted Chamber, 69, 70, 72;
    the Prince's Chamber, 70;
    the Crypt, 72;
    Hall, 263;
    Porch, 265

  Salisbury, Lord, on the functions of the Lords, 28, 34;
    bill for reforming the House of Lords, 36;
    Premiership, 87, 92, 94;
    Queen's Speeches, 155;
    an apology, 199;
    style, 222;
    _mentioned_, 95 _note^1_

  Salisbury, town of, 60

  Salomons, Alderman, 147

  Sandeford, 180

  Savage, Sir Arnold, speaker, 125, _note^1_

  Schomberg, 67

  Scotch Militia Bill, 248

  Scotland, bribery of Members of Parliament, 9 _and note^3_;
    Act of Union, 24

  Scottish Parliament, the, 191

  Scottish Peers, 26;
    introduction ceremony, 151

  Scrope, Lord, 191

  Seal, the Great, stolen from Lord Thurlow, 104 _note^1_;
    Keepership, 105;
    Women Keepers, 105;
    Lord Brougham's method of returning, 116;
    breaking up of the, 118

  Seals, the, delivery of, 100, 101;
    puns on, 101 _note^1_

  Seats, retention of, 138;
    purchase of 176

  Selden, on Law and Equity, 107;
    sayings of, _quoted_, 134 _and note^1_;
    on Parliamentary privileges, _quoted_, 176

  Select Committees, appointment of, 230

  Selwyn, 10

  "Senate of Lilliput," 279, 280

  Septennial Act, the, 11, 12, 206, 279

  Sergeant-at-Arms, the, 75, 136, 138, 147, 148, 150;
    duties, 181 _and note^3_-82, 259

  Servants and privileges, 174, 175

  Session, the Parliamentary, 225

  Seymour, Sir Edward, Speakership, 122, 123, 132, 144, 190

  Shaftesbury, Earl of, (Baron Ashley), 12, 163, 213, 270, 277;
    Lord Shaftesbury, (1831), 197

  Shaw, 17

  Sheil, "Sketches of the Irish Bar," 78-80;
    on Brougham, _quoted_, 116;
    punishment, 188 _note^1_;
    facts, _quoted_, 203 _and note^3_;
    attack on Lord Lyndhurst, 264

  Sheridan, sayings of, _quoted_, 97, 148 _note^1_, 208;
    and George IV., 156;
    motions to adjourn, 168;
    speeches of, 204, 205, 212, 213, 218, 223;
    the "Begum" speech, 205 _and note^2_;
    speech at the trial of Hastings, 282;
    on the liberty of the Press, 287

  Shippen, William, 149 _note^1_

  Sibthorpe, Colonel, saying of, _quoted_, 199, 200

  Sidmouth, Lord, _see_ Addington

  Sidney, Algernon, saying of, _quoted_, 48 _note^1_

  Simon de Montford, 4

  Slaves, emancipation of the, 116

  Smalley, servant, 175

  Smith, Sidney, _cited_, 29, 115

  Smith, Speaker, 182

  Socrates, saying of, _quoted_, 52

  Somers' trial, 63

  Somerset, Duke of, (1547), 179;
    (1790, 1800), 253

  Somerset, G., 115 _note^1_

  Somerset House, 267

  "Sopher," 103 _note^1_

  South Sea Bubble, 188

  Sovereign, the, and the Barons, 4;
    presence in Parliament, 8;
    approval of the Speaker elect, 144

  Spanish Armada, 70

  Speakers of the House of Commons, youthful Speakers, 53;
    origin of the office, 119;
    character, 120-122;
    the Crown's influence, 122, 123;
    influence of the Ministry, 123;
    impartiality established, 124, 125;
    duties and qualifications, 125, 126;
    physical qualifications, 127-131;
    "catching the Speaker's eye," 129, 130;
    dress, 131;
    remuneration, 132, 133;
    Speaker's dinners, 132, 133;
    collateral appointments, 133, 134;
    retirement, 134;
    his election, 141-143;
    election confirmed in the House, 144;
    servile speeches, 144, 145;
    taking the oath, 146;
    "reporting" the King's speech, 156;
    deference to the Chair, 162;
    substitutes, 233, 234;
    the casting vote, 252

  "Speaker's chop," 229

  "Speaker's dinners," 132

  Speaker's Gallery, 265

  Spiritual Lords, 22, 23

  Spithead, naval review, 74

  Spring-Rice, 283

  Stael, Mme. de, 32 _note^2_

  Stagg, Mrs. Anne, 237

  Stamp duties, 278

  Standing Committees, 232

  Standing Orders, 159

  Stanley, Lady, 186

  Stanley, Lord, 91 _note^1_

  Star Chamber, 106, 175, 232

  Statute, legislation by, 242

  Steele, expelled, 188;
    on the House of Commons, 206;
    "The Crisis," 213

  Stock Exchange, the, 188

  Stockdale, publisher, 285

  Stoke, 59

  Storie, arrest of, 179

  Stourton, Lord, 27

  Strafford, Earl of, 63, 82, 277

  Strangers in Parliament, 259-274;
    balloting for seats, 263;
    Disraeli's resolution, 265

  Stratford, Archbishop and Chancellor, 106

  Strode, 8, 162, 185

  Stuarts, the, and the Parliament, 6, 13, 190

  Sudbury, 276

  Suffragettes, the, 182

  Sugden, Edward, _see_ St. Leonards, Lord

  Sullivan, A. M., 76, 77

  Sunderland, Earl of, 14, 83

  Supremacy, Act of, (1563), 146

  Suspension of a member, 187

  Sutton, Speaker Manners, 68, 126 _and note^1_, 133, 134,
        141, 142, 221

  Swift, 203;
    "The Examiner," 278


  Tacitus, 1, 203, 282

  "Tacking," 30, 31, 34

  Talbot, Lord, King's Champion, 63, 64;
    Lord Chancellor, 96

  "Tallies," 70,71

  Tangye, Lady, 7 _note^3_

  Tanner, Dr., 164;
    arrest of, 176

  Tapestries at Westminster, 69, 70

  Temple, Lord, 95 _note^1_;
    and Horne Tooke, 56 _note^1_

  Tennant, R., 220 _note^1_

  Test Act, 27 _note^1_, 55

  Test Roll, the, 146

  Thames Embankment, the, 61

  Thanet, Lord, 95 _note^1_

  Thorpe, Thomas, Speaker, 174

  Thurloe, Cromwell's Secretary, 111

  Thurlow, Lord, saying of, _quoted_, 32;
    Chancellor, 86, 111-113, 198;
    loss of the Great Seal, 104 _note^1_

  Tichborne case, 152, 253

  "Times, The," article, _quoted_, 154 _note^1_;
    printer fined, 183;
    Parliamentary reports, 284

  Tooke, Rev. J. Horne, 56 _and note^1_

  Tories, 269;
    origin, 13, 14

  Torrington, Lord, 53

  Tothill fields, 70

  Tower of London, 74, 108, 163, 175, 179, 180, 192, 281

  Townsend, "History of the House of Commons," _quoted_, 133

  Townshend, Charles, sayings, _quoted_, 91, 207;
    his "Champagne Speech," 193

  Townshend, Thomas, 193

  Treason Bill, (1695), 213

  Treasury Bench, 138

  Treasury, corruption of the, 12

  Trevor, Sir John, bribery practised by, 9;
    speakership, 123 _and note^1_; 130 _and note^2_

  Triennial Act (1694), 11

  Troy, Siege of, 70

  Tudors, the, and Parliament, 81

  Turner, Sir Edward, corruption of, 7 _note^1_

  Twiss, 253

  Two Power Standard, principle of the, 109 _and note^2_

  Tydder, Cadwallader, 140


  Union, Acts of, 24, 42

  Usher of the Black Rod, 136


  Vaughan, General, 95 _note^1_

  Vere, Aubrey de, 62, _note^1_

  "Vetus Codex," the, 3

  Victoria, Queen, Parliament under, 25, 55, 286 _note^1_;
    and the creation of Peers, 26 _note^2_;
    dividing the Seal, 118 _note^1_;
    the Queen's Speech, 156

  Viscounts, creation by Henry VI, 27

  Voltaire, _quoted_, 50, 51

  "Votes for Women," 182, 273, 274, 238, _note^1_

  Voting by proxy, 252


  Waldegrave, Lord, 243

  Waldegrave, Sir Richard, 144

  Wales, Prince of, at the opening of Parliament, 153

  Walgrave, Bill of, 243 _note^2_

  Wallace, William, trial, 63

  Waller, the poet, 53

  Walpole, Horace, on the functions of the House of Lords, 28;
    Pitt's reply to, 54 _note^2_;
    _cited_, 63, 64;
    "Letters," _quoted_, 90 _note^3_, 128 _and note^2_, 186

  Walpole, Sir Robert, on corruption, 10, 12;
    expulsion and re-election, 58, 59, 188;
    ministry, 84, 86, 90 _and note^3_, 91, 96, 100, 154, 227, 253;
    refusal of Downing Street, 87;
    and William Shippen, 149 _note^1_;
    on Townshend, 193;
    a story of, 206, 207;
    first speech, 212;
    on Fox, 217;
    Pulteney and, 256

  Wanklyn, Colonel, case of, 174, 175, 197

  Ward, punishment, 179 _and note^2_

  Wars of the Roses, 40

  Waterloo Station, 137

  Waveney, Lord, 167 _note^1_

  Wedderburn, _see_ Loughborough, Lord

  "Weekly Political Register," 284

  Welbeck Abbey, unpublished manuscripts, 95 _note^1_

  Wellesley, Lord, 85;
    threatened impeachment, 124

  Wellington, Duke of, and the rotten boroughs, 12;
    and the Corn Law, 29;
    on the Reformed House of Commons, 42;
    sayings of, _quoted_, 116 _note^1_ 222 _note^1_;
    and Manners Sutton, 134;
    duel, 201;
    _mentioned_, 32, 67, 85

  Wensleydale, Lord, _see_ Parke

  Wentworth, Lord, 95 _note^1_

  Wessex, Gemot of, 2, 3

  Westbury, borough of, 44, 45

  Westbury, Lord Chancellor, puns, 101 _note^1_

  Westcote, Lord, 95 _note^1_

  Westminster Abbey, 100, 227, 236;
    coronations in, 64

  Westminster Hall, inundation, 61;
    the Law Courts removed from, 64;
    trading within the precincts, 64, 65;
    structural alterations, 65,66;
    the fire of 1834 ... , 70-72;
    Hastings' trial, 205

  Westminster, Palace of, history, the seat of Parliament, 60-62;
    the Lord Great Chamberlain's duties, 62 _note^1_;
    historic scenes, 63, 64;
    Court of Requests, 70;
    Court of Bankruptcy, 70;
    fire of 1834 ... , 70-72;
    Victoria Tower, 72;
    the new houses of Parliament, 72, 73, 73 _note^1_;
    Speaker's residence, 132;
    searching the vaults, 135, 136

  Wetherell, Sir Charles, sayings of, _quoted_, 168, 169;
    speeches, 221

  Wherry-men, 269

  "Whig Examiner," the, 278

  Whigs, the, origin, 13;
    principles, 14, 269

  Whips, parliamentary, 254-258

  Whitehall, 8, 17, 62, 84, 137;
    the banqueting room, 226 _note^1_

  White's Club, 11

  Whitty, E. M., book of, 44 _note^1_

  "Who Goes Home?" 52 and _note^2_

  Widdrington, Sir Thomas, Speakership, 233

  Wilberforce, Bishop, attack on Lord Derby, 194 _note^2_

  Wilkes, John, 59, 286;
    _North Briton_, 66, 188, 281;
    sayings of, _quoted_, 112 _note^1_;
    duel 200;
    speeches, 210

  William I., 4, 81

  William II., and Westminster Hall, 60, 61, 65 _note^3_

  William III., reign, 8, 14, 55;
    the Party principle, 14;
    Cabinets, 83;
    statutes of, 123;
    bills quashed, 248;
    newspapers, 278

  William IV., 33, _note^2_, 197;
    Chancellors, 118;
    the King's Speech, 156

  Williams, Bishop, 104

  Williams, John, pilloried, 66

  Wilmington, Lord, 133, 143, 167

  Winchelsea, Lord, duel, 201

  Winchester, 60

  Windham, 178

  Windsor, 66

  Windsor Royal Park, 132

  Wingfield, 197

  Winnington, on the freedom of the Press, 281

  Witan, the, 2

  Witenagemot, 2, 39, 81;
    property qualification, 4;
    presence of women, 268 _note^2_

  Wolsey, Cardinal, 53, 104;
    appearance in the Commons, 189

  PRINTED BY

  WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,

  LONDON AND BECCLES.


       *       *       *       *       *


Transcriber's note:

Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).

Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.

The carat character (^) indicates that the following number
is superscripted (example: note^1).

Variations in spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been retained
except in obvious cases of typographical error.

The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up
paragraphs.

Page 87: "many eminent Englishmen enchance its value" The transcriber
has replaced "enchance" with "enhance".

Page 91: The transcriber has inserted an anchor which was missing for
footnote 134.

Page 143: "a small bob-wig in place of that luxuriant full-buttomed
affair" "Full-buttomed" has been replaced with "full-bottomed".





End of Project Gutenberg's The Mother of Parliaments, by Harry Graham