The British Republic and the House of Commons.

London, July 15, 1902.

The nominal ruler of the British Empire is His Majesty, Edward VII. The real ruler is the House of Commons. Though I was in Great Britain at the time of the coronation, and saw something of the pomp with which it was celebrated, I have not thought it worth while to occupy the time of my readers with descriptions of it, since it is only one of those glittering fictions which the English people see fit to preserve, notwithstanding their general good sense—a somewhat childish observance of outworn mediÆval ceremonies, a foolish and expensive form. But certainly I ought not to quit the subject of the political ideas suggested by a sojourn in London, and especially by repeated visits to that most interesting portion of it, Westminster, without some reference to the part it has played in developing the model of all the free governments of the world. For, as a British writer has truly said, Westminster is historically the centre of politics, not for London and Great Britain only, but for the civilized world. "All civilized nations, both in Europe and America, as well as all the British colonies, have now adopted the constitution which was here founded and developed, with a single head of the State and two chambers; though, with regard to the headship of the State and the upper chamber, the elective has, in the most advanced politics, been substituted for the hereditary principle, while in the cases of the United States and Switzerland there is a federal as well as a national element. The Roman imposed his institutions with arms upon a conquered world; a willing world has adopted the institutions which had their original seat at Westminster. But the British Constitution now means little more than the omnipotence of the House of Commons. The immense edifice is still styled the palace; but the King who now dwells in the palace is the sovereign people."

For this reason it is more common now to speak of the Palace of Westminster as the Houses of Parliament. It is a vast and costly pile, one of the largest Gothic buildings in the world, erected about fifty years ago, in the Tudor style, at an outlay of fifteen million dollars. The extremely florid exterior is constructed of a limestone so perishable that already it costs ten thousand dollars a year to keep it in repair. Tastes differ as to the merit of the architecture. Some pronounce the building majestic and imposing. Others say that at a little distance the river front looks like a large modern cotton mill. All agree that there is too much elaborate ornamentation.

This is true of the interior, as well as the exterior, and, as some one has said, it is interesting to observe the attempt made to preserve a constitutional fiction by decorating with special gorgeousness that Chamber of the House which has been stripped of all its power, viz., the House of Lords. It is resplendent in the vivid red leather which covers the seats and backs of the straight benches, rising in tiers on the opposite sides, and in the sumptuous frescoes of the walls, the rich stained glass of the windows, and the excessive gilding of the ceiling. The leather on the benches in the House of Commons is black, and there is less of magnificence in general than in the Chamber of the Peers, though it also is a rich interior.

Yet neither of them makes an impression of spaciousness and grandeur, and, to one who has seen the noble halls in which our Senate and House of Representatives sit at Washington, both of these legislative chambers of Britain seem small and cramped. They are also mean and uncomfortable in their arrangements as compared with those of our Congress. At Washington each member has his own chair, and a desk for his books and papers. But here there are no desks, only rigid benches, upon which the members sit or loll, facing each other across the narrow chamber, the supporters of the government on the Speaker's right, and the opposition on his left. Worst of all is the fact that, though the combined science of the country was employed in the construction of these halls of session and debate, they are both wretched failures as to ventilation and acoustics, the House of Lords being so bad in the latter particular that it used to be said that members went out to buy an evening paper in order to learn what the debate was about.

As the House of Commons is King, we looked forward with eager interest to a visit to that potent body. At the instance of our good friend, Dr. Kerr, Sir James Campbell, a Presbyterian member of the House from Scotland, wrote us an invitation to visit the Commons in session, but, when we reached the door, at the appointed hour, and sent in our cards through the line of policemen and doorkeepers, there was no reply. When we had waited some time, a gentleman in the crowd at the entrance accosted us, and asked if we were not Americans, and if we did not wish to get into the House, both of which polite inquiries we answered with an eager affirmative. He said he thought he could arrange it for us, and, handing us his card, from which we learned that he was the London correspondent of a great American newspaper, he left us for a minute, and soon returned, accompanied by a friend of his, one of the Irish members of the House, to whom we were introduced, and who promptly procured us permission to enter the visitors' gallery. At Washington, any one who chooses can go into the visitors' gallery, and listen to the debates, but here there is a good deal of red tape. You must even register your name and address, besides being introduced by a member, before you can pass the turnstile and go in.

We soon discovered that we were very fortunate in gaining admission just when we did, as the greatest question of the whole year, and, indeed, the greatest question that has been before the House for many years, was up, viz., the Education Bill, the object of which is to put the schools of England, for the support of which the whole population is taxed, under the control, not of the representatives of the public, but of the ritualistic clergy of the Church of England; and in the course of this very afternoon nearly every prominent man in both of the great political parties was drawn into the discussion. When we entered, Sir William Vernon Harcourt, the veteran Liberal statesman, had the floor. Among others who followed him on the same side of the House were Mr. James Bryce, the well-known author of The Holy Roman Empire and The American Commonwealth, Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman, the leader of the Liberal party in the House, and Mr. Lloyd George, who has made the most active and brilliant opposition to this treacherous, sectarian measure. The Irish Roman Catholics, who, of course, have voted steadily and solidly with the Anglican High Churchmen for this iniquitous bill, which strikes at the root of the fundamental republican principle of public control of public funds, were represented in the debate by John Dillon. Of the others who spoke in support of the bill, the two who interested me most were Lord Hugh Cecil, the special patron of the measure, and his gifted cousin, Mr. Arthur J. Balfour, the government leader of the House. The former, who, I believe, is the son of the veteran Prime Minister, Lord Salisbury, is a slender, pale, nervous young man, who advocates very narrow views in very good language, nervously pressing or wringing his slim fingers the while, and who is the special champion of the ritualists and reactionaries. Far more able and far more interesting in every way is his accomplished kinsman, Mr. Balfour, who, a few days later, was appointed Prime Minister. He is a tall, ruddy, handsome Scotchman, with a rare grace and charm of manner, and an exceptional air of high breeding, who speaks in a manly, straightforward way, with no trace of the bitterness, or even the heat so common in political discussions. When one notes the clearness of his mind, and the attractiveness of his address, it gives a keener edge to the regret that such a man should be on the wrong side of a great question like this. Mr. Balfour is well known to the sporting world as a golf player, and to the reading world as the author of a thoughtful book on The Foundations of Religious Belief.

It will interest the readers of this paper to know that he is a Presbyterian, as Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman, the leader of the Opposition, also is. So that the leaders of both the great parties in the House of Commons are Scotchmen and Presbyterians.

One of the interesting consequences of Great Britain's having a Presbyterian Prime Minister is, that under their system of the union of church and state, a Presbyterian will appoint the bishops and archbishops of the Church of England to the vacancies of those offices which occur during his premiership. This must be a very bitter pill for the extreme High Churchmen.

The failure of our arrangement with Sir James Campbell turned out to be the result of a misunderstanding, so he courteously renewed it for the following day, when his friend and fellow-member, Mr. Maxwell, who is also a Scotch Presbyterian, met us at the door, in the absence of Sir James, and, after showing us again everything of interest about the Houses, including the restaurant, and the wide and spacious terrace, running nearly the whole length of the building alongside the Thames, where the members come, on fine afternoons, to drink their tea, ushered us into seats "under the gallery" of the House, which are regarded as the most desirable for visitors, since there the spectator is on a level with the speakers.

The Education Bill was still under discussion, and we heard some good speaking, but not so good as I have heard at Washington, and in the Constitutional Convention at Richmond. The matter was generally good, but the manner was in most cases constrained, if not hesitating, and nearly all the members, including Mr. Balfour himself, have a habit of grasping the lapels of their coats, "taking themselves in hand," as some one has described it. In short, the speaking itself lacks the ease, freedom, fluency and force of our better American oratory.

However, it is only fair to give, before closing, the estimate of a Canadian writer, who is familiar with both London and Washington, and who says:

"The average of speaking is not so high in the House of Commons as in Congress; but the level of the best speakers is higher. American oratory almost always savors somewhat of the school of elocution, and has the fatal drawback of being felt to aim at effect. The greatest of English speakers, such as John Bright, the greatest of all, or Gladstone, create no such impression; you feel that their only aim is to produce conviction."

One of the most striking things about the House of Commons to the view of an American visitor is the well-groomed appearance of the members. They are invariably attired in faultless Prince Albert coats, often with a boutonniere on the lapel, and they all wear silk hats, which, by the way, they are not expected to take off during the sittings, except when addressing the House. It is said to be the best-dressed assembly in the world, and is in sharp contrast with the more democratic and unconventional, not to say slovenly, mode of dressing which obtains in our House of Representatives, where the ordinary costume is a long, loose frock coat—sometimes even a sack—and a derby or felt hat.