and other voices denying the fact. “I will
name no one,” said the Senator. “How
could I tell what noble friend I might put on a stool
of repentance by doing so.” And he looked
round on the gentlemen on the platform behind him.
“But I defy any member of Parliament here present
to get up and say that it is not so.” Then
he paused a moment. “And if it be so, is
that rational? Is that in accordance with the
theory of representation as to which you have all
been so ardent, and which you profess to be so dear
to you? Is the country not over-ridden by the
aristocracy when Lord Lambswool not only possesses
his own hereditary seat in the House of Lords, but
also has a seat for his eldest son in the House of
Commons?”
Then a voice from the back called out, “What
the deuce is all that to you?”
The Senator’s Lecture.—No. II
“If I see a man hungry in the street,”
said the Senator, instigated by the question asked
him at the end of the last chapter, “and give
him a bit of bread, I don’t do it for my own
sake but for his.” Up to this time the
Britishers around him on the platform and those in
the benches near to him, had received what he said
with a good grace. The allusion to Lord Lambswool
had not been pleasant to them, but it had not been
worse than they had expected. But now they were
displeased. They did not like being told that
they were taking a bit of bread from him in their
own political destitution. They did not like
that he, an individual, should presume that he had
prayer to offer to them as a nation. And yet,
had they argued it out in their own minds, they would
have seen that the Senator’s metaphor was appropriate.
His purpose in being there was to give advice, and
theirs in coming to listen to it. But it was
unfortunate. “When I ventured to come before
you here, I made all this my business,” continued
the Senator. Then he paused and glanced round
the hall with a defiant look. “And now about
your House of Lords,” he went on. “I
have not much to say about the House of Lords, because
if I understand rightly the feeling of this country
it is already condemned.” “No such
thing.” “Who told you that?”
“You know nothing about it” These and other
words of curt denial came from the distant corners,
and a slight murmur of disapprobation was heard even
from the seats on the platform. Then Lord Drummond
got up and begged that there might be silence.
Mr. Gotobed had come there to tell them his views,—and
as they had come there expressly to listen to him,
they could not without impropriety interrupt him.
“That such will be the feeling of the country
before long,” continued the Senator, “I
think no one can doubt who has learned how to look
to the signs of the times in such matters. Is
it possible that the theory of an hereditary legislature
can be defended with reason? For a legislature
you want the best and wisest of your people.”
