"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]

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]

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]

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.

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]

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.

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.

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.

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]

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]

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.

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.

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."

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.

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]

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.

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.

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.