The modern system of legislating by Bill and Statute dates from the reign of Henry VI. In earlier days legislation was effected by means of humble petitions presented to the Crown by the Commons, and granted or refused according as the King thought fit.

Every Act of Parliament commences its existence in the shape of a Bill. As such, it may be introduced in either House, though the Commons have the undoubted monopoly of initiating financial measures, and Bills for the restitution of honours and blood must originate with the Lords. In the Upper House, any peer may introduce a Bill without notice, but in the Commons a member must give notice of his intention either to present a measure or move for leave to do so. A Bill whose main object is to impose a charge upon the public revenue must first be authorized by a resolution of a Committee of the Whole House.

Bills may be roughly classified under the two headings of Public and Private, according as they affect the general interest or are framed for the benefit of individuals or groups of individuals, though there also exist hybrid Bills which cannot be rightly placed in either category. But whatever their nature, Bills must pass through five successive stages. In the House of Lords, however, the Committee and Report stages are occasionally negatived in the case of Money Bills, and the Committee stage of Private Bills is conducted outside the House either before the Chairman of Committees or, in case of opposition, by a Select Committee of the House.In ancient days the proceedings were not so lengthy as they afterwards became, a Bill being sometimes read three times and passed in a single day;[393] but nowadays the passage through Parliament of a Controversial Bill is a tedious affair.

It will be sufficient for the purposes of this chapter to take the example of a Public Bill introduced in the House of Commons, and follow it from its embryonic state along the course of its career until, as an Act of Parliament, it finally takes its place in the statute-book of the land.

By obtaining the permission of the House, a Member of Parliament may bring in a Bill upon any conceivable subject, but it is not always possible for him to find the necessary opportunity for doing so, unless he happens to be exceptionally favoured by fortune.[394] In these days, when the time at the disposal of Parliament is altogether inadequate to the demands made upon it by legislation, the chances of passing a Bill without the support of the Government are for a private member extremely small. Even with official assistance this is not always an easy matter. It is perhaps as well that the passion for legislation latent in the bosom of every politician should to some extent be curbed. George II. said to Lord Waldegrave that Parliament passed nearly a hundred laws every session, which seemed made for no other purpose than to afford people the pleasure of breaking them, and his opinion that the less legislation effected by Parliament the better for the country is still popular in many quarters.[395]

On the third day of every session the question of the priority of members' claims to introduce Bills and motions is decided by ballot.A member who is lucky, and has, if necessary, obtained the leave of the House, can introduce his Bill briefly and without debate. Taking his stand at the bar, he awaits the summons of the Speaker, when, advancing to the Table, he hands to the Clerk a "dummy" on which the title of the Bill is written. This the Clerk proceeds to read to the House. The Bill is then considered to have been read a first time, and ordered to be printed, and a day is fixed for the Second Reading.

The First Reading is looked upon as a mere matter of form, and rarely opposed.[396] It is on the Second Reading, when the principle of the Bill is by way of being discussed, that any real antagonism begins to make itself felt. Opponents may negative the motion that the Bill be now read a second time—in which case the motion may be repeated another day—or may adopt the more usual and polite method of moving that the Bill be read "this day six (or three) months"—the intention being to destroy the Bill by postponing the Second Reading until after the prorogation of Parliament. No Bill or motion on which the House has given such a decision may be brought up again during the same session, so that a postponement of the reading is merely a courteous way of shelving it altogether.[397]

A Bill that has successfully weathered a Second Reading stands committed to a Committee of the Whole House, unless the House, on motion, resolves that it be referred to some other kind of Committee, viz., a Grand Committee, a Select Committee, or a Joint Committee of both Houses.

When the House is to resolve itself into Committee a motion to that effect is made in the Lords, to which an amendment may be moved; in the Commons the Speaker leaves the chair, and the Chairman of Committees at once presides, sitting in the Clerk's chair at the Table. The Bill is then discussed clause by clause, and any number of amendments may be proposed to each line, and any number of speeches made by any member on each amendment. No limit is set to the number of amendments that may be moved, provided they are relevant and consistent with the policy of the Bill. This is therefore by far the most lengthy stage of the Bill, and it was in order to accelerate the progress of business that, in 1883, Standing Committees, consisting of from sixty to eighty members, were created to which Bills relating to Law and Trade were to be referred instead of to the Committee of the Whole House.

When the Bill has passed through the Committee stage, it is reported to the House with or without amendments. In the former case, a day is fixed for the discussion of its altered shape, and on this "Report" stage further amendments may be made. At the Third Reading a Bill may still be rejected, or postponed "for six months," or re-committed, but in the Commons no material amendments may be made to it. This stage is usually taken at once after the Report; but in the Lords the two stages must be on different days, and amendments may be made after due notice on the Third Reading.

When a Bill has safely passed all its stages in the Lower House, the Clerk of the Commons attaches to it a polite message in Norman-French—"soit baillÉ aux seigneurs"—and hands it to his colleague in the Lords. The latter lays it on the Table of the Upper House, where it lies until taken up by some peer—which must be done within twelve sitting days, if the Bill is not to be lost (though it may be raised from the dead by notice of a motion to revive it of the same duration)—when its subsequent treatment, with the few differences noted above, is very similar to that which it has already undergone.

Should the Lords pass a Bill as it stands, a message to that effect is sent to the Commons. If, however, they have made alterations, the Clerk of the Parliaments writes, "A ceste bille avesque des amendemens les seignieurs sont assentus" across it, and returns it to the Clerk of the other House.[398] The Commons then proceed to consider the Lords' amendments on some future day. If the two Houses cannot agree, they must either summon a Conference—nowadays an unusual step to take[399]—or a Select Committee of the dissenting House sends a specially prepared message to the other Chamber, explaining the reasons for its disagreement. Numerous messages may pass in this way, for the purpose of coming to an agreement; but if they fail, the Bill is lost for the Session.

When a Bill has passed both Houses, nothing remains but to give it the Royal Assent, which is done by the Clerk of the Parliaments.[400] The Royal Assent is nowadays a mere formality—a final ceremonial which marks the last stage of a Bill's progress ere it becomes law. It is usually given by the Lords Commissioners, who act as representatives of the Crown, though there is nothing to prevent a sovereign from performing this duty himself. On August 2, 1831, when the Bill making separate financial provision for Queen Adelaide received the Royal Assent, both the King and Queen attended in Parliament, and the latter acknowledged her indebtedness by bowing thrice, presumably to King, Lords and Commons. As a rule, however, the sovereign is not present on these occasions, his place being taken by a Commission. This consists of the Lord Chancellor and two other Lords, who take their seats, prior to the ceremony, upon a form placed between the Throne and the Woolsack. The Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod is then commanded to summon the faithful Commons, and, on the arrival of the latter at the bar of the Lords, the titles of the various Bills are read aloud by the Clerk of the Crown, and the Royal Assent is given by the Clerk of the Parliaments in old-fashioned Norman-French. In the case of a Money Bill, brought up by the Speaker of the Commons, and received by the Clerk of the Parliaments, who bears it to the Table bowing, the formula runs as follows:—

"Le Roi remerÇie ses bons sujets, accepte leur benevolence, et ainsi le veult."

In the case of a Public or Private Bill, the respective phrases, "Le Roi le veult" or "Soit fait comme il est dÉsirÉ" are substituted, though, as a matter of practice, the latter phrase is only used for Estate, Naturalisation and Divorce Bills.

In olden days, when the Crown was often in the habit of refusing to consent to the passing of particular Bills, the words used by the Clerk of the Parliaments to signify the royal veto were "Le Roi s'avisera." In this way Queen Elizabeth quashed no less than forty-eight Bills that had passed through Parliament, and William III. similarly declined to assent to the Parliamentary Proceedings Bill of 1693, much to the annoyance of the Commons. But never since Queen Anne vetoed the Scotch Militia Bill, in 1707, has any sovereign refused the Royal Assent.

All questions before Parliament are decided by the voice of the majority. And though, as Gladstone once said, decision by majorities may be as much an expedient as lighting by gas, it is an expedient that answers very well in practice, and for which an effective substitute has yet to be found. Majority may sometimes seem a clumsy argument, but it always remains "the best repartee."

The procedure in either House for ascertaining the general opinion upon any measure or motion differs but slightly in form, and not at all in principle. At the end of every debate the question under discussion is laid before the House by its Speaker or Chairman. This he does by rising in his place and saying, "The question is that ..." (here follows the exact words of the motion). "As many as are of that opinion say 'Aye!'; as many as are of the contrary opinion say 'No!'" (In the Lords the words "Content" and "Not Content" are substituted for "Aye" and "No.") Members or peers thereupon express their views in the required manner, and the Speaker (or Chairman), gathering what is called the "sense of the House" by the volume of sound proceeding from either party, says, "I think the Ayes (or Noes)"—or, in the Lords "the Contents" or "Not Contents"—"have it!"

If the judgment of the Chair be unchallenged, the question is deemed to be resolved in the affirmative or negative, as the case may be, and nothing further remains to be done. Should, however, either party question the correctness of the Chairman's opinion, recourse is had to a division, and certain necessary formalities have to be observed before the matter is definitely settled one way or the other.

When a division is challenged in the House of Commons, the Speaker (or Chairman) orders the Sergeant-at-Arms to "Clear the lobby," and the tellers' doors leading from the lobbies, as well as the door leading from the Central Hall, are immediately locked. After the lapse of two minutes, during which the loud division-bells are set ringing all over the building to summon breathless members to the Chamber, the question is again put from the Chair. If once more challenged, the Speaker names two members of either party to act as "tellers." Should no one be found willing to undertake this duty, a division cannot take place, and the Speaker declares that the "Noes" have it. If, however, tellers are duly appointed, they take their place at the exit doors leading from the two lobbies, which are now unlocked. After another interval, this time of four minutes' duration, the doors leading from the House to the lobbies are locked. Meanwhile, all members who wish to vote have left the Chamber, and are streaming through their respective lobbies, where their names are recorded by clerks, while the tellers count them as they pass through the lobby doors.

In the old days of St Stephen's Chapel, the "Ayes" used to remain in the House, while the "Noes" withdrew, and were counted on their return. This practice led to endless difficulties, many members refusing to go out for fear of losing their seats, while others were forcibly detained by their friends. In Elizabeth's time, Sir Walter Raleigh admitted that he often held a fellow-member by his sleeve, and others were accused of pulling each other back, as Cecil said, "like a dog on a string."[401] Later on, it was decided that members who gave their votes for the introduction of "any new matter" should alone withdraw, while the votes of those who remained behind were recorded. This system also had its disadvantages. In 1834, for instance, when a certain Whig member, Colonel Evans, fell asleep in one of the side galleries during a division, he woke to find that he had been counted among the Tories, much to his disgust. Finally, two years later, the practice of clearing the House altogether for a division was first instituted, and continued in force until the establishment of the modern method in 1906.[402]

When all members who desire to vote have filed through the lobbies, and are once more reassembled in the House, the four tellers advance together to the Table. The senior teller of the party having a majority, walks on the right, bearing in his hand a slip of paper, on which are written the numbers of the division. By the position of the teller it is thus possible to gauge the result of a division before it has been officially announced, and his advance to the Table in the place of honour is usually the signal for an outburst of cheering from his own victorious party. He proceeds to report the result of the division to the Clerk at the Table, who writes the numbers on a piece of paper, which he hands back to him. This the teller passes to the Speaker, who, in turn, announces the numbers to the House. The doors are then unlocked, and the division is at an end.

On one famous occasion the tellers failed to agree in their reports of the figures. This happened on May 10, 1675, when the House in Committee had divided on a motion with regard to the English regiments serving in the French army. The tellers' difference of opinion gave rise to a scene of great confusion, during which one member spat in another's face, and a free fight would probably have ensued but for the sudden arrival of the Speaker.

The amount of time spent in dividing has always been a source of annoyance to earnest politicians, more especially when divisions are made use of as a recognised form of obstruction, and the progress of parliamentary business thereby much impeded. In 1902, to name a recent example, the opponents of the Deceased Wife's Sister Bill, which had already passed a Second Reading, deliberately walked so slowly through the lobbies during four divisions that there was no time left to move that it should be sent to a Grand Committee. Members naturally grudge the precious hours wasted in trudging through the lobbies; but it seems impossible to invent any scheme that shall further expedite matters, the present system being apparently as perfect as the mind of man can devise.[403]

When a division is called in the House of Lords, the procedure is very similar in character to that of the Commons. The Chancellor (or Lord on the Woolsack) orders strangers to withdraw by saying, "Clear the bar!" and the Clerk of the Parliaments thereupon turns a two-minute sand-glass.

When the sand has run out of the glass, the doors are locked, and the question is once more put to the House. If the Lord Chancellor's decision is challenged he at once says, "the 'Contents' will go to the right by the Throne, and the 'Not Contents' to the left by the bar." Each party then passes through its own lobby, the "Contents" re-entering the House on the right of the bar, the "Not Contents" through the door on the left of the Throne, their votes being duly recorded by clerks in the lobbies. The subsequent procedure resembles that in vogue in the Lower House.

Until 1857, when the present system was adopted, the "Contents" remained within the bar, while the "Not Contents" went below the bar. Peers, who through infirmity, or other causes, are disabled from leaving the House, may by its permission be "told" in their seats, and those who do not wish to vote at all are allowed to go within the railings on the steps of the Throne.In old days the practice of voting by proxy was habitual in the House of Lords. During the reign of Edward I., nobles who were unable to attend in person invariably sent messengers to act for them. Peers were permitted to appoint any individuals to represent them, either permanently or on special occasions, and, up to the fifteenth century, these proxies did not even have to be peers themselves. In the time of Henry VIII. the custom of allowing peers to represent one another was first instituted, and in Charles I.'s day we find the Duke of Buckingham holding no less than fourteen proxies. Such a custom naturally led to many abuses, and an order was eventually passed forbidding any peer to hold more than two proxies. Finally, in 1868, the House of Lords realised that the practice was reprehensible, and passed a Standing Order whereby the system of calling for proxies on a division was discontinued.

To-day, peers are in some ways even more particular than their colleagues in the Commons, and do not allow any one of their number to take part in a division unless he has himself been in the House when the question was put. In other respects they enjoy a wider latitude. If a lord occasionally strays into the wrong lobby, he may refuse to be counted by the tellers, and his vote may afterwards be recorded as he desires. A member of the House of Commons who commits a like indiscretion is required to bear the consequences, and can neither alter nor rescind his vote.

In the event of an equal number of votes being recorded on either side in a division the procedure differs in the two Houses. In the Lords the question is invariably resolved in the negative, in accordance with the ancient rule of the Law: "semper prÆsumitur pro negante." In the Commons the Speaker has to decide it by a casting vote, which he generally gives in such a manner as to leave the question open for another division. This, however, is not always an easy task; indeed, it is often a most invidious and unpleasant one. In April, 1805, Speaker Abbot was compelled to give a casting-vote on the resolution leading to the impeachment of Lord Melville. After ten minutes' distressing hesitation, while the House remained in a state of agonized suspense, Abbot reluctantly gave his vote against Lord Melville, and thus secured the defeat of Pitt.[404]

This is by no means the only instance of a momentous question such as the life of a Government being decided by a single vote. The Second Reading of the Reform Bill in 1831 was carried by a majority of one; the House on that occasion presenting a sight which, as Macaulay said, was to be seen only once and never to be forgotten. "It was like seeing CÆsar stabbed in the Senate House, or seeing Oliver taking the mace from the Table." When the tellers announced the majority the victorious party shouted with joy, while some of them actually shed tears. "The jaw of Peel fell; and the face of Twiss was as the face of a damned soul; and Herries looked like Judas taking his necktie off for the last operation." In 1854 Lord Russell was defeated and Sir Robert Peel returned to victory on the crest of an equally diminutive wave; and a century earlier Walpole's administration was overthrown by a small majority of three.

A minority of one is more unusual, but not altogether unknown. At the end of the eighteenth century, when the Duke of Somerset divided the House of Lords on a question of war with France, he walked alone into the Opposition division lobby. The same fate befell Dr. Kenealy in 1875, when his motion on behalf of the Tichborne Claimant was defeated by 433 votes to 1. On July 16, 1909, when a division was taken on an amendment to reject a Bill prohibiting foreign trawlers from landing their catches at British ports, the Noes numbered 158 while there was but a solitary Aye. And on July 18, 1910, on a motion for the adjournment of the House, there was but a single No.

No secrecy is maintained as to the voting of peers or members in divisions. In the old Journals of the Lords the division lists used always to be entered, but in 1641 this practice was abandoned, and the minority could only record an adverse vote by a formal protest of dissent.[405] Division lists were not regularly printed in the Commons until 1836, and the Lords followed suit about twenty years later.

Divisions provide legislators with plenty of exercise, combined occasionally with acute mental anxiety. The latter they share with those hardworked and hardworking individuals, the "Whips" or "Whippers-in," whose duties are at all times heavy and become especially onerous with the approach of a division.

These Whips, who are four in number—two representing the Government, two the Opposition—have rooms provided for them in the Lobby, and hold positions of the utmost responsibility and influence. In the House of Commons the office of principal Government Whip is one of immense importance and requires, as Disraeli said, "consummate knowledge of human nature, the most amiable flexibility, and complete self-control."[406] As Patronage Secretary to the Treasury, with a salary of £2000 a year, he is the descendant of that official, sometimes known as the "Secretary for Political Jobs," who in former times bought members, their votes and constituencies, and disposed of the Government secret service money to obtain (and retain) a majority for the party in power.

The Chief Whip is generally assisted by two of the Junior Lords of the Treasury, and, in conjunction with the Opposition Whips, arranges all the details of the sessional campaign. On the occasion of important debates the Whips conspire to choke off any garrulous nonentities who may wish to make their voices heard, and practically arrange a list of the influential speakers on both sides in the order in which they are to address the House. At such a time the Speaker's eye may almost be said to be a party to the conspiracy, though never yielding its discretion to be caught by members whose names are not upon the Whips' list.

Tact, good temper and unceasing vigilance are virtues necessary to Whips. They must combine the discretion of the diplomatist with the acumen of the sleuth-hound. It is their business to smooth the ruffled feathers of any members who consider themselves aggrieved, to listen patiently to the bores, to suffer the fools gladly. They are expected to ascertain the "sense" of the House upon all important questions, either by instinct, by worming their way into the confidence of members, or by secret detective work in the Smoking Room. They must keep their leader informed of their discoveries, and thus guard the party against any sudden unexpected attack. If necessary they act as emissaries or ambassadors between the party heads, arranging an occasional compromise or deciding what particular questions shall be discussed in an uncontroversial spirit.

The Whips have been called the autocrats of the House of Commons, but though they rule individual members with an iron hand, it must ever be their desire to keep their party contented and happy and harmonious. When a private member is very anxious to escape from the House for a holiday it is to the Whip he applies for permission. If possible he "pairs" with some member on the other side who is equally desirous of escaping. At the door of the House lies a book in which members "pairing" with one another inscribe their names, and it is one of the Whips' duties to arrange these "pairs," and, above all, to see that no member gets away unpaired.

At a time when a ticklish division is expected, when the majority on either side is uncertain, the Whips are stimulated to herculean labours. Threats, entreaties, cajoleries, all must be employed to bring members up to the scratch. The waverers must be secured, the doubtful reassured. Nothing can be left undone to ensure that every available member shall be in his place when the decisive moment arrives. The byways and hedges are scoured for absentees, who are besought to return at once to Westminster to record their votes and perhaps save their party from defeat.

When Pulteney, whom Macaulay considered the greatest leader of the Opposition that the House of Commons had ever seen, gathered his forces in 1742 to overthrow Walpole, the Opposition left no stone unturned to ensure a majority. They collected every man of the party, no matter what excuses he put forward. One was brought into the House in a dying condition, but contrived to defer his impending dissolution until he had recorded his valuable vote. Both sides produced a number of incurables, and the House looked (as Ewald says) more like the Pool of Bethesda than a legislative assembly. The Prince of Wales was an interested spectator of the scene. "I see," he remarked to General Churchill, "you bring in the lame, the halt and the blind!" "Yes," replied the General, "the lame on our side, the blind on yours!"[407]

A similar scene took place in 1866 when the Russell-Gladstone Cabinet was defeated over the Reform Bill. The Whips had achieved wonders in collecting their flocks together; they had haled to Westminster the sick, the senile, the decrepit, the doting and the moribund. The grave alone seems to have been sacred from their ravages. Some of the members, as we read in a contemporary account, "had been wooed from the prostration of their couches; one had been taken from the delights of his marriage-trip; and several from the bedsides of relatives in extremity."[408]

To be able to accomplish such feats the Whips must be well acquainted with the habits and haunts of the individuals beneath their charge, so that at any moment of the day or night they may send a telegram or a message to an absentee whose presence is urgently required. Pepys in his Diary (December 8, 1666) describes how the King gave an order "to my Lord Chamberlain to send to the playhouses and brothels, to bid all the Parliament-men that were there to go to the Parliament presently," to vote against some Bill of which he disapproved. The modern Whip in like manner must be ready at any moment to despatch an urgent summons to the Opera, to the Clubs, to houses where parties are being given, recalling members to their parliamentary duties. And in doing so he must exercise the greatest possible tact. The wife of a much respected member of Parliament was sleeping peacefully in her bed one night when a frantic message arrived from the party Whip imploring her husband to come at once to Westminster. She remembered that her spouse had informed her that he would probably be kept at the House until late and had begged her not to sit up. Inspired with horrible suspicions of conjugal perfidy, the good lady rose in haste and hurried down to the House of Commons to confirm them. As a matter of fact her husband had never left the precincts of Parliament, and the Whip's message had been despatched in error. The member was therefore much surprised at the sudden appearance of his wife upon the scene. His attachment to home and duty had been equally unimpaired, and he received her explanation somewhat coldly.

A notice, more or less heavily underlined, is sent to each member of Parliament every morning, apprising him of the business of the day's sitting and of the necessity for his presence in the House. These "whips," as they are called, were in vogue as long ago as the year 1621, when, Porritt tells us, notices underlined six times were sent to the King's friends.[409] The urgency of the summons can be gauged by the number of underlines, and a "whip" that is underlined three times can only be ignored at the peril of the member who receives it.[410]

Though the Whips seldom address the House themselves, they must on all occasions be ready to provide other speakers who shall feed the dying embers of debate with fresh fuel. At all hazards the ball must be kept rolling. Sometimes a debate shows signs of languishing in an unexpected fashion, and the Whip is horrified to find that his usual majority has dwindled away to nothing. When this occurs he must at once find members who are willing to talk against time while he and his colleagues hasten round and beat up a majority. On one famous occasion within recent memory, while most of the supporters of the Conservative Government were disporting themselves at Ascot on the Cup day, the Opposition prepared to spring an unexpected division upon the House. The situation was only saved by Mr. Chaplin, who spoke for several hours, in spite of the howls of his opponents, while a special train was bringing absentees from the racecourse to the House of Commons.

It is, then, the Whip's duty, not only to "make" a House and to "keep" a House, but also, like Sidmouth's sycophantic relatives, to "cheer the Minister." To quote the lines of Canning—