I rejoice to say the Terrace sumed,-"who have told me was saved. that they prefer the retention of the grill," and my own inquiries have persuaded me that he was right in this. The accommodation for strangers, like everything else in that strangely-constructed House, is absurdly inadequate. One of the greatest worries that afflicts the member is the constant demand for places in the strangers' gallery. It is extremely hard to convince people how difficult it is to find them seats there, and I was told of a farmer, a constituent of mine, who was so disgusted at what I suppose he thought an unnecessary refusal to supply his wants, that he voted against me at the election and persuaded his labourers do the same. Things are, of course, much worse in what is sometimes called the grill, from behind which ladies furtively regard the life down below: it always reminds me of the cage which contains the occupants of a Turkish harem when they attend the theatre at Cairo, or elsewhere. There is usually an annual debate on the advisability of removing the lattice screen which conceals the other sex from view, and recent events have brought this question into acute prominence. The subject generally develops some amusing speeches, and I remember a very successful one by Herbert Gladstone, then First Commissioner of Works. "Mr Speaker," he said, "I know a great many ladies,"-at this loud laughter and cheering broke out and continued for a minute or two, and then the boyish - looking Minister re are The smoking - rooms thoroughly cosmopolitan places, and thanks again to the ingenuity of Mr Harcourt, who filched a chamber from the overflowing accommodation of the Lords, there is a fair amount of room for blowing clouds which do not overwhelm you afterwards, and here the utmost good-fellowship prevails. Cabinet members hobnob with the obscurists of the rank and file, Nationalists and Orangemen and rabid Tories, red-hot Socialists and Independent Labourists, meet on a common ground of social equality, and rub off angles and round awkward corners and harmonise in friendly fashion under the auspices of Lady Nicotine. The libraries are spacious and handsome rooms, and on a cold winter night one may become very comfortable in a deeply-cushioned arm-chair, before a blazing fire, and with one of those magazines in hand which contribute towards an exposition of sleep. For nothing light and airy is tolerated there. The shelves are laden with blue-books and Parliamentary literature of every sort and description bound in dignified calf, and encased in the dust which may have greeted the olfactory organs of Pitt and Fox. And the books which stand on the table below and beguile the weary moments of the jaded legislator can hardly be said to be light reading. But the proposal to relieve mental tension by the elastic medium of & novel would be no better received than the suggestion occasionally made that bridge should be allowed in the smokingroom. At present chess is the only game, and it is played very seriously and successfully, for there are many expert performers on both sides of the House, and we generally find a little group watching any specially interesting match. Hardly a silly season passes without a scare about the ventilation of the House, and I always used to reply, when tackled on the subject, that it is the only really well-ventilated building I know. The system, no doubt, is highly artificial, but there are no draughts, and the temperature is carefully regulated to suit those who belong to what Plunket called the hot or the cold school, and best of all, even when most erowded, it is never really stuffy, and perfectly free from that most sickening and depressing of all atmospheric conditions, what I am in the habit of calling the bouquet de l'homme-the odour, whether of sanctity or otherwise, tainting the air of every other large hall in which people most do congregate. When tropical heat afflicts the outside world, well-iced air is served out to us; and when the rest of London is plunged into the outer darkness of a fog, thick layers of cotton-wool intercept the dust and dirt which otherwise would olog our lungs, and enable us to breathe the filtered atmo sphere with complete comfort. In the early 'eighties a Committee, of which I was a member, sat under the able chairmanship of my friend Sir Henry Roscoe, and began to investigate the drainage of St Stephens. We found that Sir Charles Barry, in revenge for the curtailment of his architect's fee by a parsimonious Government, had refused to give up the plans, and we had to gain our information by long and laborious groping below ground. And there we made the disconcerting discovery that we were in direct communication with the main sewer, and the brilliant investigations of the late lamented Professor Carnelly proved beyond all doubt that we were breathing sewer air. Shone's ingenious ejectors have now remedied all that, and any impurities that may exist are of our own formation; and although bacteriological research has shown that our air is crammed with microbes, they are not pathogenic, and, as Sir Michael Foster pointed out in a memorable speech, these allpervasive bodies may be good as well as bad, and may be actively working for us in overcoming the forces of evil. The Committee Rooms are dreary places, far too lofty, full of echoes, and having the unfortunate faculty of being hot in summer, cold in winter, and oppressively stuffy when crowded, as they often are, with witnesses, counsel, and the general public. The air must be a happy hunting-ground for microbes, and all will remember the epidemic of influ by which the time spent in divisions is much shortened, and much time, temper, and inconvenience are thereby saved. enza brought up from Sheffield by some one interested in the case, which attacked the chairman and members, and finally spread through the House, recalling the famous black assizes, when the effluvium spread by the prisoners temporarily released from their pestilential cells was so overpowering that the judges were seized with a pernicious fever, and were carried off the bench, some of them to die. And the division lobbies in the old days were thoroughly depressing. We were packed into narrow passages very like the salles d'attente which worry us so much at French railway stations, and compelled to waste our time kicking our heels and breathing a curious atmospheric blend, permeated by various odoriferous materials used by honourable members. Patchouli and various hair-oils could readily be recognised, as well as the oleaginous substance with which a venerable and highly respected Radical, in accordance with some sanitary theory, smeared his body. As it was evidently not "thy incomparable oil, Macassar, but something better known than appreciated by children in their youthful days, we had no difficulty in our diagnosis, and came to the conclusion that we could have discovered the whereabouts of our good friend, even with our eyes shut. "Mais nous avons changé tout cela." Ventilating fans have vastly improved the air, and once more the ingenious Mr Harcourt has come to our assistance, and unveiled a plan I have never been able to understand, nor, so far as I know, has any one attempted to explain, why the House of Commons was deliberately built to hold barely half its members. No doubt the knights of the shire who largely abounded in those days were somewhat casual in their attendance, and of course the contrast with that miserable dog hole, its predecessor, was most marked. Although the Mother of Parliaments can still give points to her Continental offspring, we sometimes turn our longing eyes to the American senate, where every one has his definite place allotted to him and retained throughout the session. With us the difficulty of getting seats is one of the small worries of Parliamentary life, which sum up in the end against the Constitution. Unless we come down early on an important day we find a row of cards placed along all the benches telling us that we must seek refuge in the back settlements or in the gallery, and more energetic people sometimes drop down late at night or in the early morning to secure eligible places. Formerly we had to put our hats where we wished to sit, and were expected and thus compelled to remain in the precincts until prayers were over. But when Dr Tanner, then Whip of the Nationalist Party, arrived one day in a four-wheeled cab crowded with Hibernian head- to us. Mr Mitchell Henry took the unusual, and I think The question of how Parliamentary life affects health is too large a one to be fully considered now, but in spite of its worries and vexations and disappointments, the dislocation of old habits, the formation of new, and the undoubted mental wear and tear involved in a conscientious performance of the duties involved, I should say that it is beneficial on the whole. No doubt Pitt and Fox died early, that great War Minister, Sidney Herbert, and the Duke of Newcastle were prematurely removed by diseases directly due to the responsibilities of their work, and other examples of impaired vitality will naturally come to our memory. But against that we may place two octogenarian Premiers, and a large number of of old and elderly men in and out of office, who seem to thrive on the daily round of their life's work. The fact is that comparatively few people suffer from overwork, but that many are deteriorated in health and from not having enough to do. So that when a man of sound constitution, who has been leading a somewhat aimless and monotonous existence, is suddenly faced by the varied interests and excitements of the House of Commons, he feels stimulated and braced up, and takes literally a fresh lease of life. And if the active business man chafes a little at first under the, to him, inexplicable delays and obstructions which clog the wheels of the Parliamentary machine, and the busy lawyer feels the strain of the new demands upon his already overworked energies, even they learn in time to recognise that it is sometimes well to "creep before ye gang," and to adapt themselves to circumstances over which they have only a very limited control. During the first year or two, until you finally settle into your proper groove, you will be greatly annoyed by the difficulties and obstructions placed in the way of the private member. How you will fail to catch the Speaker's eye to expound your views on some familiar topic, or how, when you rise to move the adjournment on some matter of urgent importance, some obscure satellite of the powers that be bowls you out with a blocking motion; or private business or an adjourning motion cuts away your chances, or you fail once and once again in the ballot, or when you have succeeded in drawing a good place the burglarious government takes all the time of the House and sweeps your poor little ewe-lamb into the dustheap. heap. A succession of these disasters gives you what my old friend Sir David Wedderburn called "an acute attack of the Chiltern Hundreds," but you will get used to being snubbed and pushed aside and sat upon, and in the end you will thicken your hide and fight your way along through the crowd with manly composure. It is well to have a hobby, if it is only the composing of frequently rejected magazine articles, the visiting of picture-galleries with possible dabbling in art, or the collecting of bits of china, real |