to a debate in the Lords. He probably thinks his time might be more usefully employed. I remember one night last session seeing a very small schoolboy, presumably the eldest son of a peer, standing by the rails side by side with Sir William Harcourt, both intently listening to a debate, a concatenation of circumstances that somehow recalled Landseer's picture of Dignity and Impudence.

Whilst the chamber of the House of Lords is more imposing to look at it is not nearly so easy to speak in as its more modest neighbour. The House of Commons was not always endowed with the acoustical properties which now make it one of the best chambers for debating purposes the world possesses. When the Commons first met in their new home it was found almost impossible for a man to make himself heard. All kinds of devices were tried, and finally the expedient of the glass roof was hit upon. It is among the things not generally known that the glass ceiling of the House of Commons hides a noble roof upon which skilled carvers bestowed infinite care. The

Commons had to consider whether they would retain the fair proportions of their chamber or sacrifice them to utility. They chose the latter course, and so the beautiful roof is hidden away. Possibly a similar sacrifice of ornamentation might bring about equally desirable results in the House of Lords. But the Lords stick to their architectural endowments and let their speeches take their chance.

The number of peers who are successful in making themselves heard might be counted on the fingers of both hands. By a happy good fortune these are the very men whom the public desire to hear. Whilst the vast majority of the peers are practically inaudible in the press gallery, I cannot call to mind any individual case in which the public interest materially suffers owing to the faulty acoustics of the chamber. Lord Granville and Lord Derby, it is true, can be followed throughout a speech only by painfully concentrated attention. Lord Granville has a slight lisp which detracts from the clearness of his enunciation, and Lord Derby is a little thick in utterance.

Aware of their defect, these two noble lords make a point of turning towards the press gallery maintaining their voice at a high pitch. But Lord Beaconsfield made himself as well heard in the House of Lords as Mr. Disraeli was wont to do in the House of Commons. The same statement holds good with respect to Lord Iddesleigh. He has not a particularly sonorous voice nor does he uplift it far above conversation pitch. Yet, apparently without effort, he, the first time he spoke in the Lords, overcame the difficulty which has proved insurmountable to many of his peers. Lord Salisbury's voice fills the

debate. They hoped that by meeting an hour earlier they would get some chance of speaking. The result has not justified their ardent expectation. Matters are now very much as they were heretofore, except that the House on the average adjourns earlier. The first principle of debate in the House of Lords is that, except under direst pressure, discussion shall be concluded in time to dress for eight o'clock dinner.

There is no such thing in the Lords as debate in the sense that it exists in the House of Commons. There are some half dozen members whose opinion is looked for, and

chamber and echoes through the passages. Lord Cranbrook is distinctly heard. So is Lord Rosebery, and, so alas! is the Earl of Wemyss. These exceptions seem to show that perhaps after all the difficulty of which so much is heard is due rather to individual failing than to structural defects in the chamber.

The House of Lords commences public business at a quarter past four, an innovation of recent date. A few years ago public business was approached an hour later, and the change was made at the instance of the younger section of peers who complained that they were practically shut out from

this given there remains only to vote. The peers have no constituents and are freed from the necessity of periodically putting themselves en evidence. It follows that as a rule debate in the House of Lords on a big subject frequently reaches a higher level than a debate in the House of Commons. In the latter case controversy is so woefully diluted with wordiness. Men who have something to say which the House would willingly hear are so handicapped by a rush of fussy and fluent mediocrity, that the vast tract of debate, regarded as a whole, reaches a painfully low level. In the Lords only the big men speak, and when they have said their

say all is over. Thus it comes to pass that dinner at eight o'clock may be looked forward to with certainty. When Lord Salisbury, Lord Granville, and perhaps a couple of peers not sitting on the front benches have spoken, members just leave the House, and if any outsider wants to make a speech he finds himself without an audience, and so desists.

Lord Denman is the only peer who systematically endeavours to struggle against this unwritten law. He is a harmless, elderly gentleman, something of the Mr. Dick type, who regards his parliamentary duties as a serious portion of his life. One of his pecu

THE EARL OF IDDESLEIGH.

From a Drawing by HARRY FURNISS.

liarities is to turn up in unexpected parts of the House and commence a statement which has neither beginning nor middle, and of which the end is long deferred. He affects the Liberal side, sometimes presenting himself from a back bench in the rear of the bishops, sometimes speaking from below the gangway, and not infrequently appearing at the table in the immediate neighbourhood of Lord Granville. This is a delicate attention probably due to the circumstance that more than once Lord Granville in blandest manner has intimated his regret that he has not been able to follow the remarks of the noble lord.

So Lord Denman draws as near as possible in order that he may be heard.

For this there is a precedent in the other House created by Mr. Biggar. During his memorable four hours' speech in the session of 1875, Mr. Biggar's voice, at the end of three hours, began to fail. He was speaking from his usual place below the gangway, and his remarks were quite inaudible at the chair, a circumstance to which the Speaker called his attention.

"Very well, Mr. Speaker," said Mr. Biggar, "I will come across."

So gathering up his blue-books, his notes, his glass of water, and his spectacles, he crossed the gangway and planted himself in convenient contiguity to the Speaker. Thus Lord Denman takes pains that Lord Granville shall not lose the benefit of his remarks.

Another peer between whom and the House there is difference of opinion as to the desirability or necessity of his being heard is Lord Stratheden and Campbell. Foreign policy is his forte, and he is as deep in the secrets of scheming continental potentates as Mr. Ashmead Bartlett used to be when Mr. Gladstone was in office. Lord Stratheden has a curious way of walking about on tiptoe as if he shrank from interrupting some colloquy between the Three Emperors. He nearly always throughout the session has a notice on the paper calling attention to some portentous movement in foreign affairs. But when the appointed day comes he generally postpones the motion, which, remaining upon the paper, serves to keep Prince Bismarck, the Czar, or the French Government in a state of unremitting anxiety. In the Commons Lord Stratheden and Campbell and Lord Denman would be howled down if they attempted to interpose in public business; in the Lords they are treated with a grave courtesy delightful to witness. They are peers whose patent of nobility is indisputable, and to suppose that a hereditary legislator could be slightly cracked would strike a blow at the very foundations of the House.

Undoubtedly the foremost man in the House of Lords is the Marquis of Salisbury. A debater of great power, an orator of singular felicity, he has in unbounded meaure that strong individuality which fascinates an assembly or a nation. He is always personally interesting, in the sense that Lord Beaconsfield was, and that Lord Randolph Churchill is, a peculiar quality lacking alike in Mr. Gladstone

few intellectual treats of a higher character than to be present at a controversy in the House of Lords between the two leaders.

Close behind the bench on which Earl Granville sits, in company with Lord Northbrook, Lord Kimberly, Lord Derby, and other of his colleagues, is a notable figure with white hair, bushy white eyebrows, and pinky face. This is Lord Sherbrooke, better known as Mr. Robert Lowe. Lord Sherbrooke is a pretty close attendant upon the sittings of the House of Lords, but he never speaks. He seems to have accepted his promotion as a death warrant of his political position, and is content to vote whilst others debate. It was curious in bygone times to see Lord Beaconsfield intently watching his old foeman and possibly anticipating amid. new circumstances a renewal of old conflict. But Lord Sherbrooke never opened his mouth. This vow of silence was doubtless imposed by physical inability. Mr. Lowe in all his speeches in the House of Commons was accustomed to fortify himself with numerous notes. These he could doubtless prepare for the House of Lords with as much effect as he was wont to do in the House of Commons; but the difficulty of deciphering them after they are written out grows upon him.

It is more than six years since Lord Sherbrooke made the painful discovery that his career as a parliamentary orator was drawing to a close. Early in the session of 1879, being then in the House of Commons, he rose to take part in a debate on a vote of censure on the Government, moved by Sir Charles Dilke. A great deal was looked for from this interposition, and Mr. Lowe had evidently made a special effort to meet general anticipation. He got along successfully for a quarter of an hour. Then arose the necessity for citing extracts from blue-books in support of his argument. Taking up his notes he began to search for a particular memorandum, but could not find it. He floundered on for a while, and abruptly resumed his seat. That was his last speech in the House of Commons, and he has not attempted to fight against fortune in the House of Lords.

Oddly enough many of Mr. Lowe's contemporaries in the House of Commons have accepted their translation to the House of Lords as a condemnation to habitual silence. There is Lord Aberdare, who, as Mr. Bruce, sometime Home Secretary, was well known in the House of Commons and a regular participator in debate. He has not been wholly silent in the Lords; but is so rarely heard that his name is forgotten by the