Chapter 3

_Wednesday_.--"I wonder," said SAGE OF QUEEN ANNE'S GATE, curiously regarding CHAMBERLAIN discoursing on the Eight Hours Bill, "whom JOE meant by his reference at Birmingham on Saturday night to 'the funny man of the House of Commons,'--'A man who has a natural taste for buffoonery, which he has cultivated with great art, who has a hatred of every Government and all kinds of restraint, and especially, of course, of the Government that happens to be in office.' Couldn't be HENEAGE, and I don't suppose he had JESSE in his mind at the moment. Pity a man can't make his points clearly. JOE used to be lucid enough. But he's falling off now in that as in other matters. Made me rub my eyes when I read his remarks about House of Lords, and remembered what he used to say on subject when he and I ran together. Certainly JOE is a man of courage. There are topics he might, with memory of past speeches, easily avoid or circumnavigate. But he goes straight at 'em, whether fence or ditch, takes them at a stride regardless of his former self, splashed with mud in the jump, or smitten with the horse's hoof. Makes me quite sentimental when I sit and listen to him, and recall days that are no more. _Mrs. Gummidge_ thinking of the Old 'Un is nothing to me thinking of the Young 'Un who came up from Birmingham in 1876, and who from '80 to '85 walked hand in hand with me.

We were patriots together.--Ah! placeman and peer Are the patrons who smile on your labours to-day; And Lords of the Treasury lustily cheer Whatever you do and whatever you say. Go, pocket, my JOSEPH, as much as you will, The times are quite altered we very well know; But will you not, will you not, talk to us still, As you talked to us once long ago, long ago?

We were patriots together!--I know you will think Of the cobbler's caresses, the coalheaver's cries, Of the stones that we throw, and the toasts that we drink Of our pamphlets and pledges, our libels and lies! When the truth shall awake, and the country and town Be heartily weary of BALFOUR & CO., My JOSEPH, hark back to the Radical frown, Let us be what we were, long ago, long ago!"

"Bless me," I cried, "how beautiful! I didn't know that, among your many accomplishments, you were given to dropping into poetry."

"Tut, tut!" said the SAGE, blushing, "it isn't all my own; written years ago by MACKWORTH PRAED, about JOHN CAM HOBHOUSE. I've only brought it up to date."

_Business done_.--Eight Hours' Bill thrown out on a Division.

_Thursday_.--Private O'GRADY, of the Welsh Fusiliers, the hero of the hour. His annals short and simple. Got up early in the morning of St. Patrick's Day; provided himself with handful of shamrock, which he stuck in his glengarry. (_Note_.--O'GRADY, an Irishman, belongs to a Welsh Regiment, and, to complete the pickle, wears a Scotch cap.) The ignorant Saxon officer in command observing the patriot muster with what he, all unconscious of St. Patrick's Day, thought was "a handful of greens" in his cap, instructed the non-commissioned officer to order him to take it out.

"I won't do't," said gallant Private O'GRADY, the hot Celtic blood swiftly brought to boiling pitch by this insult to St. Patrick. Irish Members vociferously cheered when STANHOPE read the passage from Colonel's report. Another non-commissioned officer advancing from the rear, repeated order.

"I won't do't!" roared the implacable Private O'GRADY.

Once more the Irish Members burst into cheering, whilst a soldier in uniform in Strangers' Gallery looked on and listened. Would like to hear his account of scene confided to comrades in privacy of barrack-room.

When STANHOPE finished reading report of officer commanding battalion, Irish Members leaped to their feet in body, each anxious to stand shoulder to shoulder with Private O'GRADY defying the Saxon. NOLAN, who had set ball rolling, might have got in first, but was so excited as to be momentarily speechless; could only paw at the air in direction of Treasury Bench where STANHOPE sat, PAT O'BRIEN, ARTHUR O'CONNOR, the wily WEBB, and the flaccid FLYNN, all shouting together. But SEXTON beat them all, and will duly figure in Parliamentary Report as Vindicator of Nationality, Defender of St. Patrick, and Patron of Private O'GRADY.

"There's nothing new about Ireland," said POLTALLOCH, talking the matter over later in the Lobby. "'Tis the most distressful country that ever yet was seen, Where they punish T. O'GRADY For the wearing of the Green."

_Business done_.--Small Holdings Bill read Second Time.

_Friday Night_.--House behaved nobly to-night; FENWICK brought forward Motion proposing payment of Members. House arbiter of situation; might have voted itself anything a year it pleased. Only say the word, and JOKIM would have been bound to find the money. Members flocked down in large numbers: CAMPBELL-BANNERMAN, seated on Front Opposition Bench, declares he could distinctly hear smacking of lips of Hon. Members below Gangway when FENWICK observed he thought £365 a year would be reasonable allowance. However insidious temptation may have been, it was nobly resisted. Of nearly 400 Members who took part in Division, only 162 reached out their hand for the pittance, 227 lofty souls going into other Lobby.

_Business done_.--Private Bill Procedure Bill brought in.

* * * * *

* * * * *

VERY ORCHID!

["The more I think about it, the more I am convinced that the life of a Peer is not a happy one."--_Mr. Chamberlain, before the Jewellers' and Silversmiths' Association at Birmingham_.]

The Orchid is a thoughtful plant--it loves the lordly hot-house, And naturally reprobates poor gilliflowers as "pot-house;" 'Tis rich, exotic, somewhat miscellaneously florid; The rough herbaceous annuals it vulgar deems, and horrid.

With all that's forced and precious it should fraternise in reason, With luscious fruits and rarest roots, and produce out of season; It may perhaps at primroses a condescending hand point; It might be friends with stocks--but from a pure commercial standpoint.

And yet--it is a thoughtful plant--though such a growth fastidious, The proud but simple strawberry still seems to it invidious; Those ducal leaves that shine and twine around the nation's garden, It fancies more delectable than all the blooms of Hawarden.

This orchid's bosom bleeds to feel that, while he flaunts in colour, The chaplet of the strawberry should duller pine and duller, That obsoleteness, though delayed, should still be on the _tapis_, That, pending its extinction, its existence isn't happy.

O courtly leaves of strawberries, old England's grace and glory, Emblazoned o'er the castle-keeps that moulder nigh and hoary, What comfort for your drooping days, what balm in dire dejection, That yonder orchid spruce extends his shelter and protection.

But, garland sere of Vere de Vere, wan ornaments of Fable, The orchid is a thoughtful plant, and likes a gorgeous table; And, should from out your coronals one berry bright be shining, His patronage may snap it up--to save it from declining!

* * * * *

NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.