Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 2/The previous question - Part 2
THE PREVIOUS QUESTION.
CHAPTER III.
Who was the Sloth? Where was he to be found? I had been a reasonably attentive reader of political discussions in my own day, and I can very confidently assert that I had never heard of any gentleman known by this sobriquet as possessing any extraordinary influence over public events. Rareton had disappeared into the House. I did not, however, choose to return to Marigold Lodge without having arrived at some definite results, for it was borne in upon my mind that Flora would have prepared something very particular for our little evening repast upon this memorable occasion, and it would never do for me to say that, as far as I was concerned, the day had been barren of results.
Under these circumstances, I resolved to step round to the Brutus Club, and consult my friend Jeremiah Moon about the Sloth, and how I could soonest obtain speech of that gentleman. J. M. is the best of good fellows, and for many years past, whenever any of our little circle had got into a scrape or trouble of any kind, it had been our invariable habit to apply to him to get us out of it—and we had never applied in vain. I thought I could not do better than go round to him now and state my difficulty.
Moon received me in the vestibule of that well-known establishment with his usual kindness; but immediately I made him acquainted with the nature of my business, he put his finger to his lips in a mysterious way.
“Hush! Jones, be cautious,—who told you about the Sloth? You must have been well-informed. It is perfectly true that he is the pivot on which the administration of public affairs in this country ultimately turns. Some fellows can speak, and some can act, but the Sloth is the man who is never wrong. You won’t catch him making speeches like Phaeton, or Towzer, or coming forward like Merryton, or Tarboy, to take the ostensible lead of a party. The Sloth would as soon think of being the prima ballerina in a ballet. The fact is, he’s the Manager. If you can get him to indorse you, you’re all right. Can I rely on your discretion? I think I can: then come with me up-stairs.”
With these words Moon led the way; but there was something mysterious in his gestures and demeanour which affected me in a strange manner, and inspired me with the feeling that M. and I were doing something wrong. We stole up-stairs like a pair of conspirators, and when we reached a lobby, out of which several doors opened, M. by a gesture indicated to me that I was to stand still whilst he himself stole over on tip-toe to a door, and, looking round to see that he was unobserved, opened it cautiously and peeped into this room. In a moment it was obvious that the occasion for mystery was over—for M. called to me in a loud and sonorous way:
“Jones, you may come on,” and then, sotto voce, “the Sloth is gone! I had thought to do you a good turn, but it can’t be helped.”
“But where is this mysterious individual now, Moon? Everybody must be somewhere. The Sloth, as you call him, must be somewhere.”
Moon looked at me with a pitying smile. “He may be dining with the Queen at Osborne. He may have started for Rio, as Brazilian politics are now at a hitch. He may be passing his judgment in private upon the new singer from Vienna. All I know is, that he was here half-an-hour ago, and nobody has seen him go out. This very afternoon he sat upon that sofa, and I conversed with him—but if you’re wise you will not ask any questions. In the Sloth’s own time you will see him, but not a moment before.”
Under the most tremendous promises of secrecy, M. then informed me, in a whisper, that the Sloth was no other than Mr. , the member for ***. It was he who kept the Forward-Backward party together, and but for his suggestions it was supposed that that inestimable and patriotic band—inclusive of the celebrated Back Parlour coterie—would speedily melt away into thin air. Certainly from the course of debate, one would never have supposed that a gentleman whose name was so seldom recorded as taking any share in the business of the House, and who never accepted office, could in reality be the primum mobile of the puppet-show. Moon, however, was unquestionably a better authority on the point than I could pretend to be—so if in the end I was to be an additional pawn on the Sloth’s chess-board, there was no help for it.
In the meanwhile M. was good enough to give me a line of introduction to Mr. Lobby, the well-known Parliamentary Agent in Whitehall Place—a gentleman who, as he informed me, had been more frequently the victim of misplaced confidence than any man of his day. Lobby was in point of fact a man of a sweet and trusting nature, and no amount of detected deception was sufficient to open the eyes of this amiable person. “I will trust on to the end,” he used to say to his intimates—“it would be better to die at once, than to live on in a state of permanent suspicion. The citizen of a free country such as this, who seeks for a seat in the House of Commons, gives primâ facie presumption of his patriotic spirit; and, therefore, of the purity of his character. I have not myself the requisite ability for public life, but I have an ardent admiration for its votaries. In my own little humble way I will assist intending statesmen in securing a position in that illustrious assembly which is their appropriate field for action.” Poor Lobby was indeed frequently deceived—and his name was mixed up with the wildest incidents of many strange electioneering stories, but he never would give up the names of his betrayers. “My confidence,” he would say upon these occasions, “has been violated again—but some day the world will do me justice—let us trust on!”
It was too late to do anything that day, but at least in Moon’s letter to Lobby I had something to show for my day’s work—a practical pledge of the energetic manner in which I was about to tread the Parliamentary career upon which I had just entered. There was nothing for it but to present myself in Whitehall Place at noon on the morrow—and meanwhile to return to Flora, and report progress.
The Hansom cab passed up the Edgware Road, and visions of future Parliamentary distinction flitted before my eyes. As we were rattling over the stones, and the omnibuses and various vehicles made a considerable noise, I could even venture to deliver myself of various scraps of oratory which were to be welded up into the future thunderbolt. It certainly was awkward when, upon one or two occasions, a stoppage occurred before I could check the flow of my fervid periods, and I was only brought to a sense of my real situation by the astonished looks of the spectators. At the top of Maida Hill we got upon a clearer road, and both the horse and myself could proceed more uninterruptedly with our respective tasks.
Somewhat before we reached the reservoir, the sweet balmy air of the country and the fragrance of the meadows seemed to pass into me in some strange way, and to drive out of my mind the ambitious thoughts with which my mind had lately been filled. How pleasant it was to bowl along between the green hedge-rows after all the noise, and dust, and turmoil of London. Was the game which I was about to commence worth playing, after all? Surely the jasmine and honeysuckle odours of our little garden at Marigold Lodge were sweeter than the perfumes of the Lobby, or of a Committee Room. Dear Flora was decidedly a lovelier object to look upon even than Mr. Speaker himself, and I should be perfectly willing to leave the decision upon this point to the candid judgment of England’s First Commoner in person.
Jones, M.P.
Great men have their moments of weakness, and this was mine. All thoughts of hesitation were driven fairly out of my mind by the appearance of my excellent little consort, who had walked down to a particular bend of the road known as “The Miller’s Thumb” to meet me. F. had brought the two children with her, and stood between them like the mother of the Gracchi awaiting the return of their lord from some public struggle of a terrific nature. There was not wanting a certain tinge of solemnity in the demonstrations of F.’s affection upon this memorable occasion; and indeed I felt that she addressed me with more respect than was usual with her, for her long familiarity with the innermost workings of my mind had not inspired my wife with that degree of reverence for me which the most harmless husband would naturally desire. She would not, at first, permit me to speak of the events of the day, inasmuch as in her opinion it was the duty of the wife to soothe, comfort, and console her husband when overtasked and overburdened with the weight of public affairs. There must, however, have been some degree of latent curiosity lurking in the sweet recesses of her mind, for, just as we got up to the smith’s forge, she intimated to me, that if it would be at all a relief to me to make any disclosures to her upon the occurrences of the last eight hours her ears were open, and her sympathies at my command. Of course I asked no better than to put my day’s exertions in a proper point of view before her. I had not done much, to be sure, in the sense of work actually done; but at least I saw my way to a good opening. That was a great point. Flora was very indignant with P. Poladek, the Cornish patriot—she had frequently noticed that he was a soured and disappointed man—but that came of people thrusting themselves into situations for which they were unfit. With Mr. Milkwell, our county member, on whose behalf I had taken so much trouble, F. had not “common patience,” and instantly organised in her mind a little retaliatory drama, to be carried out, in fact, upon the very next occasion when Mr. Milkwell solicited our vote and interest. With Moon she was delighted—he was a true friend. But the mystery connected with the Sloth was the most attractive feature in the day’s proceedings. She did me the honour of supposing that if the gentleman known by that unpleasing sobriquet could but once see and converse with me, he would instantly perceive that in me he had at last found an instrument capable of carrying out his most ambitious designs, and that he would at once take me into his confidence, and impart to me all his projects, both with regard to foreign and domestic policy. I could not help thinking that F. was a little sanguine.
I wish I were not deterred by considerations of space from giving in detail the particulars of that charming evening. It was the triumph without the perils of the conflict. If F. was ambitious, it must fairly be admitted that she was not unwilling to take upon herself her fair share of the burdens of the day. Her great desire was to be of use, and so she had spent her morning in getting up the more recondite points of the Schleswig-Holstein question, carrying them down to the dates of the latest advices. She also informed me that to-morrow, after she had given the children their dinners, it was her intention to make herself complete mistress of the late Mr. Muntz’s opinions on the currency; but, as I told her, the subject was not now attracting any great share of public attention, and, besides, it was not quite as simple as it looked at first sight. Upon these points, and many others of equal moment, I must be silent, and entreat the reader to accompany me at noon of the next day to the offices of Mr. Lobby in Whitehall Place.
That gentleman received me with great courtesy, but although I had been led to believe that many of the stories which were afloat about him contained a great deal of exaggeration, I confess I was not prepared for the perfect simplicity of character which he evinced during our interview. It was indeed somewhat difficult to hold him to the precise point on which I was seeking his advice. He besought me, not without a certain degree of pathos, whatever I did, never to countenance bribery or corruption in any way. “A humble meal and a clear conscience, Mr. Jones, are better than a seat for the West Riding obtained by such means—besides, it always comes out before the Committee. There’s very little of it now o’ days—very little of it. It is not as when I first came into the profession. In those days—to make no mention of bribery—people used to think nothing of making a few scores of voters drunk, and shipping them off in coal-lighters till the election was over. It was shocking, indeed. Ah! sir, I could tell you such stories of matters that were brought to my knowledge after the fact. It is quite painful to the better part of our nature to think that such things have been. There’s very little of it now, though—very little indeed.”
Jones. “But what do you say to the story of Peckover the other day, Mr. Lobby?”
Mr. Lobby. “Well, well, pork always will rise in price at election times—”
Jones. “—and what do you think of the Man in the Moon, eh, Mr. Lobby?”
Mr. Lobby. “My dear sir, I am a humble Parliamentary agent—not an astronomer. I have no opinion about such things. I hope for the best, and am reluctant to believe ill of my fellow-creatures. Now what was the story you are speaking about?”
It was very odd that Mr. L. should be ignorant of this story, which seemed to be very much in the way of his profession; but I thought that if I were to give him the little narrative in a succinct, but yet in a jocular manner, I should convey to his mind the impression that I was a person who could be trusted. Of course I did not want Mr. Lobby to understand that I was ready to buy and pay for a constituency as I would for a cask of beer, but at the same time I did not wish him to think of me as an impracticable purist. I was not indisposed to do just what all quiet members do, without asking any questions, or making any undue disturbance. All that I obtained, however, from Mr. L., was a renewal of entreaties never to countenance bribery and corruption in any form.
“Such practices,” that gentleman was pleased to observe, “struck at the roots of private morality, and sapped the bulwarks of the constitution. There was another custom too, against which he would earnestly warn me. It had come to his knowledge, in an indirect way, that in certain of the smaller constituencies, certain attorneys, who were the opprobrium of their profession, were in the habit of establishing pecuniary claims against the humbler voters, which they could either hold over or enforce at their pleasure. This also was a practice which struck at the roots of private morality, and sapped the bulwarks of the constitution. Was not a vote a trust?—a public trust of the most sacred character? Was it not most wicked and abominable to put pressure upon the voter, and cause him to register his vote against his own deliberately formed opinions? If this was right, what became of the settlement of 1832? However, Mr. L. was obliged to recognise the existence of such persons in certain constituencies, and he had been informed, upon authority which he saw no reason to doubt, that they had made themselves indispensable to any one who hoped to carry the seats. He warned me, however, to have nothing to do with them—for a seat obtained by such means would never be retained with a clear conscience—and without a clear conscience a man could never hope to prosper in public life. I had brought him an introduction from our mutual friend Moon, and he thought the best thing he could do was to be of service to me by putting me on my guard against such traps and pitfalls as those he had indicated.”
Surely here was a man who had been much wronged by public rumour.
This, however, was not the precise point on which I had visited Mr. Lobby’s offices. I confess I was a little ashamed of myself for having dared to speak of the hideous offences of bribery and corruption with any approach to levity in the presence of a gentleman who approached the hustings with so much austerity, and in so truly Spartan a spirit. To change the subject, I incidentally mentioned that I had just missed the Sloth yesterday, when I noticed that Mr. Lobby gave me a sharp curious glance, and asked if I had brought him anything from that gentleman. My reply was of course in the negative, and Mr. Lobby instantly relapsed into his highly moral and didactic strain. There would be a general election in the autumn, and, in the interval, if any vacancy occurred which seemed to promise fairly for the chances of a candidate who was ready to take the field upon strict principles of purity, and as Mr. L. jocosely observed, the three nons, he would communicate with me. The three nons, as he informed me, were non-bribery, non-corruption, non-intimidation. With these words, and with a final warning never to strike at the roots of private morality, nor to sap the bulwarks of the constitution, Mr. Lobby dismissed me from his severe presence.
To do him but justice, he did communicate with me two or three times in the course of the session, and I was sent down to contest two or three important constituencies; but as I never upon any occasion obtained more than 23 votes, and spent a good deal of money to no purpose, it would be useless to dwell upon this portion of my political career. Another source of considerable expense to me was, that I was induced to enrol my name as a member of a society for promoting certain ultra-democratic objects; and as far as I was concerned the only advantage I obtained was, that I was sent about the country at my own expense as an Honorary Committee, whilst a set of vulgar men, in short trousers of a rusty black hue, who looked very much like Dissenting Ministers of a fierce turn of mind, made all the speeches, and got all the glory. I also made many attempts during this period to get speech of the Sloth, but quite in vain. I always arrived at the place where I was to have had my interview with this mysterious being either five minutes too late, or five hours too soon. I never could see him, either in the Lobby or the House, although his name often appeared in the Division Lists. The nearest approach I ever arrived at was when I was going down to Manchester with Moon by the Morning Express. Upon the road we were passed by the corresponding up train; and as the two sets of carriages shot past each other with the velocity of cross cannon-balls in full flight, M. with great excitement caught me by the arm, and jerking his hand back towards the metropolis, observed, “There goes the Sloth!” It was, however, under the circumstances, impossible to hold any personal communication with him.
At length the early autumn came on, and with it the General Election. It is not my intention to dwell upon this point at any great length. Just before the election commenced, and whilst Parliament was yet sitting, I was introduced by Moon into a small house near Westminster Abbey. The great peculiarity of this place seemed to be, that it contained an infinite number of small rooms and cupboards; and as you walked up-stairs the doors of these would be opened, and you would catch glimpses of the most distinguished members of the House, who jerked the doors to quickly when they saw that anybody was going up or down stairs. You would have supposed the place to be a pawnbroker’s establishment, and that they had all been driven, by the sharp pressure of necessity, to pawn their watches, and very naturally wished to escape observation during the process, as well as eundo et redeundo. What they were about, I am wholly unable to say; all I know is, that I was taken up-stairs to a small room, in which were seated Mr. Lobby and a gentleman who was constantly of great service to his party in the House. I was then informed that my case had been mentioned to the Sloth, and that gentleman was of opinion that there would be at the next election a fair opening at Bribingford-upon-Thames which would suit me to a T. The party had reason to be dissatisfied with the votes recorded by Mr. Rubble, the sitting member, throughout the Session, and would be glad to see a safe man in his place. I am bound to say, that not a pledge was asked of me, nor a condition imposed. I was recommended, however, by Mr. Lobby to be particularly cautious, for my own sake, in the preparation of my address, and to make it as general as possible. I was a young man, and as yet unknown in public life. Why should I put handcuffs on my own wrists? He had a most well-considered aversion to special pledges which it was often found very inconvenient to keep. They were calculated, in his opinion, to strike at the roots of private morality, and to sap the bulwarks of the constitution.
Flora accompanied me to Bribingford. In due course the election came on; and, after an arduous struggle, at the close of the afternoon I was returned by a majority of seven. The expenses of the election, as certified by the auditor, were £69 13s. 4d., which I cheerfully paid.
Some months afterwards, my friend Moon gave me a hint that if I paid into a particular Bank the sum of £2150 to the credit of the Secretary of The Canadian Balsam Company, I should in the usual way receive the coupons; and it was an enterprise to which he begged to call my particular attention. I always had a very high opinion of Moon’s capacity and judgment in commercial matters, so I acted upon his suggestion.
A few days afterwards, as it had reached my ears that some low people at Bribingford were getting up a petition against my return, on the ground of bribery and corruption, I thought I might as well look in upon Mr. Lobby in Whitehall Place. He had heard nothing about it, he said, and could not believe the report, because he was very confident that our friends at Bribingford had proceeded on the strictest principles of purity. There was the bill certified by the auditor—that was all he knew about the matter; and, as far as we were concerned, he felt perfectly satisfied that the interests of private morality, and the bulwarks of the constitution, were quite safe. At the same time, Mr. Lobby cautioned me, as I had not yet much experience of public life, to be exceedingly cautious about my votes, and to say as little as possible during my first Session. They were kind people at Bribingford, and would overlook the shortcomings of so young a member. Still I was only to take this as a friendly hint. I was an independent member—free as air.
CHAPTER IV.
If there had been happiness in the mere idea, what was the reality? Delighted as I was on my own account to have at last obtained an opportunity of rendering service to my country, I protest that I was still more rejoiced at the event for Flora’s sake. The autumn months were devoted to strong intellectual labour, for I felt it absolutely necessary to render myself as fit as might be for the discharge of my Parliamentary duties. The knowledge I had already acquired I felt to be flimsy and incomplete, now I was called upon to address the British Senate upon every occasion when worthier men (?) had not stepped in before me to fill up the gap. Foreign and domestic policy were equally worthy of the attention of a master-mind, for I entirely repudiated the vulgar idea that a young member should confine his attention to any particular subject. A statesman should be prepared to take a statesmanlike view of every question. Who could tell in what department of administrations my services might at any moment be required? How political ideas thickened on my brain, and clung to it! At one moment I saw the Russians marching to the conquest of British India over the deserts of Asia: at another the institutions of this country were swept away by the surge of approaching democracy. Who was he amongst existing statesmen who would weather the storm then? Clearly no one. The country must seek its natural guide amongst younger and more energetic men. My idea of the Coming Man was of a young statesman some three or four years older than myself: of one not connected with the aristocracy directly by birth; nor of one risen from the ranks of the people. In either case you would arrive at a class-man, not a statesman. He should have been brought up at one of the Universities, if only for the purpose of feeling profoundly how worthless was the learning taught there. I should not have liked him to have been a high honour man either, for such a one is apt to degenerate into pedantry—still less could I tolerate the guidance of a person wholly without education or literature, for a dunce could never walk in the van of educated England. I did not lay any stress upon dazzling oratory, so the future Premier possessed a grave and weighty faculty of speech. Character and political consistency were indispensable requisites—and these were sufficient to exclude nine-tenths of existing statesmen from my calculations altogether. The man of the future should also, if possible, reside not in town, for the dissipations of the great capital might distract his thoughts;—nor absolutely in the country, for a man is apt to grow rusty and fall behind the age under such circumstances. A villa, now, in the neighbourhood of London would be the spot I should fix on as the residence of a great statesman. But where was England’s future Premier to be found? Down, ambitious thoughts—down, busy Fiend! I had forgotten to say that practising lawyers were out of the question.
Intent as I was upon my new occupations, it was impossible for me not to notice the change in F.’s manner since I had obtained a seat. There was an addition of dignity to her general bearing, for which I was not prepared. It was beautiful to see her as she walked along the cliff at Helmstone, followed by the phaeton drawn by the identical old horse (Tommy, as we used to call him), who in our less magnificent days used to take us from Marigold Lodge to London and back within the two hours—affording us time for shopping as well within reasonable distances—and how she carried her card-case in her hand in a majestic way—and with what sweet condescension she greeted her friends and acquaintances. Truly, there was a wife for a future Minister. Upon one occasion, when we met Mrs. Moppen with her van full of vulgar, ugly children—no more to be compared to our little Jemmy and Adeline than chalk to cheese—how F. did patronise her, but in a manner which Mrs. Moppen found it impossible to resent openly.
The autumn soon glided away, and winter came on; but winter brought with it grave solicitudes, for the attitude of the French Emperor gave abundant cause for suspicion as to his ultimate designs. Lord Merryton and his colleagues seemed to me like the people before the Flood, who were piping and dancing when the end of all things was at hand. As a Patriot and an Independent Member, I could not but feel that I might be prematurely forced into action, however much I might desire to blush unseen during the spring-tide of my Parliamentary career. I had private information from various foreign gentlemen actually resident in London as to the imminent nature of the peril, and unless matters, mended considerably before the Meeting of Parliament, it seemed to me that it would be impossible to tamper any longer with the obvious dictates of duty.
What an exciting time it was when Parliament did meet at last, and the oaths were taken, and we had a little fracas about swearing in a Jewish Member, and we were all summoned to hear the speech of our gracious Sovereign in the Upper House. I did not think a very happy selection had been made of the two gentlemen who had been chosen to move and second the formal answer to the Royal Speech, and I confess I was astonished when I heard Lord Merryton rise up and declare that “long as had been his experience of Parliamentary life—an experience which now unhappily extended over more than half a century, it had never been his good fortune to hear topics of such transcendent importance to the common welfare examined and discussed with such singular ability as by the two Honourable Members who had opened the debate. Sure he was that if this commencement was to be taken as an earnest of their future career, the House and the Country would have reason to rejoice that there had been such an accession of ability to the councils of the State.” Now I must be permitted to mention that the Mover had repeated his speech off—it was a sorry business at best—just like a schoolboy on speech-day. I am very confident that he had learned it by heart. As for the Seconder, I can only say that he was always referring to his hat.
And now the votes and presently the Blue Books began to pour in, and I can very honestly say that I devoted to them all my spare time and attention. It was also incumbent on me to call in at The Brutus every afternoon and hear the political gossip of the day. Dear me! when one got behind the scenes how different it all appeared. I remember well how an old member of great experience, with whom I was gossiping in the gallery one evening, told me that he would help me on five years in my political career, by explaining to me the real constitution of the House. There were a hundred and some odd lawyers who looked upon the House as a stepping-stone to professional preferment; there were fifty or sixty members who sate there merely to defend various railway adventures and interests of the like kind; then there was a firm phalanx of military gentlemen whose duty it was to stand up for the Horse-Guards, and resist inquiry into military matters. Then there was the select Back-Parlour Coterie, who all hung together like a knot of onions; and a brotherly band of Irish Members who were bound to do their very best for the Irish priests upon all occasions—and so on. When his melancholy explanations were over, I could not but reflect with humiliation upon the numerical weakness of the Independent Members, of whom I was one.
I had, as was to have expected, felt the influence of my new dignity upon my social position. Invitations poured in thickly. Many persons of great distinction in the country, who had, to all appearances, been wholly unaware of the joint existence of myself and my beloved Flora during our protracted residence at Marigold Lodge, seemed now most anxious to make our acquaintance. We were literally assailed with social importunities both from the Tarboy and Merryton party. Overtures were made to me to know if I was willing to put myself under the political leadership of Mr. Towzer, as that eminent orator had conceived the idea of organising the Independent Members into a firm and compact body; for unless this were done, as he conceived, they could never make their importance duly felt. Somehow or other it seemed to me that Mr. T. had a knack of quarreling with everybody, and as I had no desire to waste my Parliamentary life in a series of brawls, I respectfully, but firmly, declined his obliging offer. My friend, P. Poldadek, would occasionally take a stroll with me in Hyde Park, and gnash his teeth at everybody—more especially at the minions of a corrupt Court—and the horrible hangers-on of the Treasury Bench. But it seemed to me that somebody must be there, and I felt by no means convinced that if P. P. and his friends ever got there that they would be much better than their neighbours.
See p. 474.
All this while the affair of the Petition was simmering on. The people on the other side had got hold of a ridiculous story of a rat-catcher, who just before the election, and on the very day, had been excessively busy in his professional duties in the ancient Borough of Bribingford. It was asserted that this individual called at the houses of the voters—and asked them if they would like to be rid of their vermin? If they answered in the affirmative, his next inquiry was, “how many ferrets he should bring?” If they arrived at an understanding upon this point, by a very singular coincidence it was found that as many sovereigns as ferrets had been named were found on a chair near the spot where the rat-catcher had been standing. It was further remarkable that all the voters who had had dealings with this individual did me the honour of reposing their political confidence in me, and recording their votes in my favour. Another story, equally preposterous, was that a venerable white-headed old man, who was so much respected in the Borough that he was known as the Father of the Freemen, and who had acted warmly in my favour from the first, had been corrupted by my agents, and had in his turn corrupted all the freemen in the Borough. Daddy Dobbs, for so was this most respectable old gentleman affectionately named by his neighbours, was said to have received £1000 in a lump from my agents, and to have divided it amongst his fellows under the name of their “reg’lars.” I am sure if any one had witnessed his patriotic enthusiasm as he marched to the hustings at the head of his friends, just before the poll was closed, and turned the scale in my favour, he would never for a moment have suspected him of complicity with the baseness imputed. Why did he hang back to the last? How could such a lump as £1000 be extracted from the sixty and odd pounds of legitimate expenditure to which the auditor had certified? Mr. Lobby in consultation admitted the force of these arguments, and smiled contemptuously at the story; he had that degree of confidence in the better part of our nature that he was quite sure Mr. Dobbs would never have struck so harshly at the roots of morality—nor so basely tampered with the bulwarks of the constitution.
And now I come to the leading incident of my Parliamentary life, very nearly the last with which I shall venture to trouble any one who does me the honour of glancing at these fleeting records of my brief but earnest public career. Invitations had been forwarded to Flora and myself for a soirée which was to take place at Merryton House. Of course we went, as a matter of social courtesy, although, as I gave F. clearly to understand, I would not for a moment have it supposed that, by accepting this invitation, I was at all about to compromise my position as an Independent Member. Political affairs were in an inextricable tangle even at this early period of the Session, and I knew that the Back-Parlour and Merryton Combination was every day becoming more and more unacceptable to the country. Even before the Easter recess, it was obvious to all far-sighted politicians that a very few votes indeed would be sufficient to turn the scale, and give the Tarboy party another spell of power. It was not, then, to be wondered at, if social seductions were largely employed, to reward the steadfast, to attract the wavering, and to disarm the hostile members of the House. I have neither space nor inclination to give a description of Merryton House and its guests upon that memorable night. We were received with great but possibly with exaggerated courtesy by Lady M. That distinguished leader of the political world inquired affectionately for Flora’s sister, whom, as she was pleased to observe, she had so greatly admired last year at Cogsworth. Now Flora never had a sister, and there exist no friendly relations whatsoever between the ducal mansion of Cogsworth and Marigold Lodge. F., however, with great tact, answered, that when she had last heard from her sister that lady was as well as she had ever known her in her life. This assurance made Lady M. so happy. She then turned round to me with a sweet smile, and congratulated me upon the success of my last volume of beautiful poems; Lord M. had been so enchanted with them, that he would even steal an hour from sleep when he came back from the House, and devote it to the perusal of these exquisite effusions. Now, as it happens, I have never jingled two rhymes together in my life; but my cousin, Theophilus Jones, of Oriel, Oxon, has certainly brought ridicule upon our family name by publishing a parcel of songs and sonnets, together with a longer piece of nonsense, which he calls The Blighted Heart, and which I have no hesitation in pronouncing to be the most contemptible trash that was ever extracted from the injured inkstand of a paltry poetical scribe. What! I the author of The Blighted Heart, and Lord Merryton the enthusiastic admirer of that miserable trash! Flora, who knew my sentiments with regard to this poem, gave me an imploring glance. I restrained my emotion, and passed on.
We had been about an hour in the rooms. Merryton House was filled with the most beautiful, the most distinguished, the most all-that-sort-of-thing people in London. Flora and I made our way not without some little difficulty from room to room, and at last we reached one which seemed to be a kind of chapel-of-ease, or reserved sanctum. Oppressed by the heat and noise, we sought momentary refuge there. This chamber was a little darker than the others, and our eyes, dazzled by the glare of the lights outside, did not at first distinguish objects in this inner apartment. It seemed to me, however, and also—as she subsequently informed me—to Flora, that well-known voices fell upon and outraged our sense of hearing.
With Lord Merryton’s voice I was now familiar from my Parliamentary experience. Lady M. had done us the honour of addressing certain observations to us—but why Moppen? Why Mrs. Moppen, née Jane Slomax? Could we be mistaken?
When we recovered our powers of vision, this was what Flora and I saw. That beast Moppen, the very vulgarest dog in the House of Commons, was there in that innermost sanctum of the Forward-Backwards Party surrounded by Duchesses, and Lady M. was poisoning his ear with delicious flattery. She was telling him that such nature’s gentlemen as he were the real representatives of the people of England, and if she had a regret, it was that she foresaw that the inevitable tendency of his public career was towards the House of Peers. What would the people do without him? The fellow took it all in—he did, indeed. Lord Merryton meanwhile was playing at cat’s-cradle in the most seductive manner with Mrs. Moppen (Jenny Slomax), and asked her at what hour she rode in the Park.
Mrs. Moppen. “My Lord, hat heleven!”
Flora and I advanced into the room, determined to unmask the impostors. The Merrytons interchanged glances—they had comprehended the nature of the incident—and without hesitation threw the whole weight of their influence into the Moppen scale. This was clearly no longer any place for us. I endeavoured to convince Lord M. by the stately reserve of my manner that private considerations could not be suffered to influence my public career. I had partaken of his hospitality—Marigold Lodge was open to him in return. The floor of the House of Commons was neutral ground where none but public considerations could prevail. We understood each other, and left the Merrytons to their Moppens.
It did not require much argument to convice my Flora that henceforward there was but one course open to me, which was that of the Truly Independent Member. The Ionian question was coming on. I prepared a speech with great care, which certainly would have destroyed the administration, had it been delivered. Flora thought so too, so cogent were the arguments employed. I had determined to reserve it till after nine o’clock, and rehearse till the last moment. When I got down to the House I found that an hour previously the Speaker had proposed “that this question be now put?” and that this had been resolved in the negative. The Previous Question had killed my speech. The House was now sitting upon Russian Bristles.
A few days afterwards I put to Lord Merryton a question of which I had given notice; it certainly was of an offensive character, and bore reference to a recent appointment on which I will not enlarge, as I have no desire to rip up old sores. Lord M. tried to laugh the arrow off, but it would not do—it had hit the bull’s-eye.
Next day Mr. Lobby sent for me, and told me, with great regret, that the Sloth had informed him there was something in the story of the rat-catcher, and Mr. Dobbs. Bribingford was excluded from the usual compromise, and included in the fighting balance. Mr. L.’s confidence had been again betrayed.
A few days afterwards it was reported to the House that Bribingford had been the seat of awful corruption and bribery at the last election—which bribery and corruption were carried on by the agents of John Augustus Jones, Esq., with his full privity and cognisance.
A few days afterwards Flora and I were back at Marigold Lodge, rejoiced to escape from the turmoils of London, and the anxieties of public life. We believe that all real power has departed from the House of Commons, and that the members are the mere slaves of public opinion expressed elsewhere. I am engaged in writing a history of the Byzantine Empire.
It now appears to us that ladies ambitious for their husbands—and husbands ambitious for themselves—of seats in the House of Commons, should carefully consider beforehand if the worry and expense are repaid by the honours and emoluments of the position. That is the true—Previous Question.