brought by a considerate friend. Amid howls of contumely the orator gulped it down. Evidently refreshed, he began again. Nothing was heard beyond the invocation, "Mr. Speaker," and the chorus, ""Vide! 'Vide! 'Vide!"" The roar of human voices filled the Chamber with angry wail. When it seemed dying away Mr. Courtney's lips moved, whereat the blast broke forth with renewed fury. Another glass of water was brought, and drunk amid demoniac shouts. So the moments sped till a quarter to six rang out from the Clock Tower, and Mr. Courtney sat down pale and breathless, secure in the rare triumph of having talked out the Bill whose passage through a second reading he had risen with intent to enforce. That is a scene the like of which members of the House of Commons living under the New Rules will never more look upon.

A Night

A well-known member of the House of Commons has brought up from the country a story which illustrates the responsibilities of hospitality. His house standAlarm. ing in an isolated position, with the highway skirting the park walls, he became concerned for the safety of many precious portable things collected under his roof. Taking advice in an experienced quarter, he was advised that the best thing to do was to have all the doors and windows on the ground-floor connected with electric bells. Any attempt to effect burglarious entry would result, not only in the ringing of the bell in the particular room upon which attempt was made, but in every room and every passage on the ground-floor.

Shortly after midnight on what had been a peaceful Sabbath, the household were alarmed by a furious ringing of bells. The householder was up with delighted alacrity. Now he would have them! On the way downstairs he met several men of the house party, for the most part scantily dressed, but full of ardour for any possible fray.

As the bells were still ringing in all the rooms, it was difficult to hit upon the one assailed. The host was assisted by the appearance at one of the doors of an esteemed friend

with painfully scared look. Explanations following, it appeared that the guest, fancying the room was warm, and being accustomed to sleep at home with his window open, unfastened the latch and threw up the window, with the astounding results recorded.

In future, guests sleeping on the ground-floor will be warned of what they may expect as the result of too insistent search of fresh night air.

CHAPTER III

FEBRUARY

IT is probable that amongst other results the new procedure governing Committee of Supply will settle the vexed question Work-time at of the time of the year through which ParliaWestminster. ment should sit. It has long been regarded as an unpardonable and unnecessary anomaly that Parliament should be condemned to hard labour in London through the fairest months of the year. Since the birth of organised obstruction in the Parliament of 1874, it has come to pass that members of the House of Commons have been practically debarred from enjoying the delights of the country in its prime. The custom has been to meet the first week in February, adjourning somewhere between the third week in August and the last week in September.

This arrangement of Parliamentary times and seasons is not consecrated by the dust of ages. It does not go even as far back as the Georgian Era. When George III. was King, Parliament met in November, sat till May or June, and thus earned a recess endowed with the warmth and light of summer time. As we are reminded by recurrence of the anniversary of Gunpowder Plot, the custom of Parliament meeting for a new Session early in November dates back beyond Stuart times. Seven years ago, Sir George Trevelyan made an attempt to induce the House to return to old Conservative customs. He moved a resolution recommending that the Session should open in November, that the

House should adjourn for brief recess at Christmas, and not sit far into June. The proposal was negatived by a bare majority of four in a House of over 350 members.

Mr. W. H. Smith, then leading the Commons, was so impressed by this declaration of opinion, that it was resolved to try the experiment. Accordingly, in 1890, the Session commenced on the 25th of November. Parliament sat till the 9th of December, and adjourned till the 22nd of January. It was a rather long Christmas holiday, and it had to be paid for later on, the prorogation not being brought about till the 5th of August.

This was an arrangement fatal to a movement that had commenced with sprightly hope. When members were brought to town in November, they were promised that school should break up on or about Midsummer Day. What actually happened was that the prorogation took place about the date which was, prior to 1874, regarded as customary, the difference being that members had been in harness since November instead of meeting in February.

Since that lamentable fiasco, there has been no further talk of winter sessions and summer holidays. Mr. Balfour's scheme of appointing a limited number of nights Mr. Balfour's for Committee of Supply, backed up at the end Plan. by the Closure, will certainly—assuming good faith on the part of the Ministry-prevent the indefinite dragging out of the Session through August into September.1 In spite of all temptation, turning a deaf ear to the entreaty of powerful interests, Mr. Balfour last year kept faith with the House of Commons. The prorogation took place about the middle of August, as he had promised when, early in the Session, he appropriated the time of private members for Committee of Supply. As long as honourable understanding in this direction is observed, so long will the new procedure in the matter of Committee of Supply be adhered to. It admirably serves the larger purpose for which it was designed, discussion of the Estimates being made possible last year with a

1 This anticipation has been fully justified. Parliament is now invariably prorogued in the second week in August.

fulness of time and convenience of opportunity long unknown at Westminster.

Men of Letters in Parliament.

The General Election of 1895 added to the historic store of the House of Commons one fresh opportunity of testing the problem whether there is insuperable obstacle to the Parliamentary success of a man who has made his earliest fame in literature. It was a fortunate accident, full of good augury, that Mr. Lecky's much-looked for maiden speech was delivered without preparation. He chanced to be in the House when, on the Address, debate arose on the question of extending amnesty to the Fenian prisoners. He was moved by some remarks from Mr. Horace Plunkett, one of those simple, businesslike addresses with which the member for Dublin County occasionally varies the ordinary business of speechmaking in the House of Commons. Mr. Lecky, finding himself on his feet for the first time, going through the dread ordeal of speaking in the House of Commons, was manifestly nervous. He wrung his hands with despairing gesture; his knees, trembling, lent the appearance of a series of deprecatory curtsies towards the Chair. Soon he recovered his self-possession, and proceeded to the end of a wisely brief speech delivered in a pleasant voice with clear enunciation. He doubtless did much better than if, foreseeing the opportunity, he had in the retirement and leisure of his study prepared a more elaborate oration.

Another man of letters, not brought in with the present Parliament, though in it he has made his first distinct bid for position as a debater, is Mr. Augustine Birrell. The member for West Fife undoubtedly prepares the good things