ways of the place generally plant themselves as close to the door as possible, in the hope of rushing in first. Vain delusion! The numbers on their tickets betray them, and the courteous official in charge gently relegates them to their own place. There are only eighteen seats in the gallery in all, and these are divided into two rows, the back one being raised a step higher than the front. In spite of this, a position in the second row is not much to be coveted, as from it little can be seen of the House, except by standing up and craning over the heads of those seated below. In the front row the case is quite different; there you can draw your chair close up to the oft complained-of, over-abused grating, and look down comfortably upon all that passes. As regards the said grating, it really is not so bad as it has been painted. Its meshes are wide, and, beyond rendering the gallery rather dark, and producing a slight sensation as of a veil continually before the eyes, it interferes not at all with the comfort of those seated behind it, or with the view they obtain. At present the House is almost entirely empty. A few officials stand idly near the door, an odd member or so wanders aimlessly in, gazes about him vaguely for a few moments, deposits a hat on a chosen seat, and wanders out again. It is not yet three o'clock. Benches, therefore, below this are "below the gangway." The principal entrance to the House is through a wide door facing us, on either side of which are the "crossbenches," extending as far as the "bar of the House." From where we sit, the brass knobs of the latter can only just be faintly discerned sticking out from the ends of the nearest cross-bench on each side. Here, too, is placed the big elbow-chair of the serjeant-at-arms. Above the doorway and over the cross-benches are the galleries for peers and strangers, the latter generally well filled. Galleries also extend along the sides of the House for the use of members; on the night of a great debate these are full to overflowing, but at other times frequently empty. At length on the stroke of three, the cry of "Speaker!" is raised in the lobbies without, and presently the doors are swung back, and the great man appears in his wig and gown. Preceded by the serjeant-atarms bearing the mace, and followed by the chaplain, he passes towards the chair, bowing right and left at every step. The doors are then closed, and prayers are read by the chaplain. During this ceremony the few members present fidget somewhat after the manner of schoolboys on a similar occasion. Then comes "Question-time." This lasts a longer or shorter period, according to the number and character of the questions honorable members desire to ask those in authority. It is no doubt a most useful indispensable institution; but question-time is nevertheless, as a rule, rather dull, though sometimes enlivened by a sharp skirmish between smart speak. ers on both sides of the House. We look about us for a while. The Ladies' Gallery is set far back, and commands a view of almost the entire hall. On the right, between the end of the Ladies' Gallery and the wall, is the Speaker's Gallery, which of course we cannot see. Just below is the Reporters' Gallery, extending the whole width of the House A slight pause precedes the commence. and a little round on each side. It is ment of the serious business of the day. divided into a number of small compart- The benches are by this time fairly well ments, just large enough to hold one man, filled, and a slight rustle goes through the who enters from the back, steps down, assembly as the first speaker rises to adshuts himself in, and sits like a Jack-in-dress the House on the matter in hand. the-Box. Over the edge of this gallery appears the green canopy of the speaker's chair, which will effectually screen him from our view when he is seated beneath. In front of the chair stands a big table, covered with books, pamphlets, etc. This is the clerks' table, and along the foot of it, presently, the glittering mace will be laid. The members' benches are on either side, the front Ministerial and Opposition Benches facing the table on the right and left hand of the speaker respectively. A narrow gangway on both sides of the House divides the front benches and those immediately behind them from the rest. On the night of a big speech by some leading orator and statesman, the House of Commons is indeed a sight worth seeing. The floor and galleries are crammed, not a vacant seat is to be found anywhere; the members are disposed in various attitudes, characteristic or peculiar, yet all listening intently. At one moment a stillness deep as death may prevail, broken only by that one voice ringing through the room, sweeping its hearers along in a tide of eloquence, swaying them this way and that with its persuasive eloquence. The next some chance word of the orator breaks the spell a storm arises; cheers, counter-cheers, calls and other expression of accord or dis- | seated in state, get a near view of a gessent. "Order! Order! Order!" "Hear! ticulating orator, scan the green leatherHear! Hear!" roll like waves of sound covered benches and the rows of faces, from one end of the building to the other. inspect the "bar of the House," glance The wildest confusion of voices obtains, upwards to the bars of the Ladies' Gallery, and it is some time before the tumult is and descry dim forms within. This peepstayed. Such a scene is superb but inde- hole is very enticing; but we must tear scribable. ourselves away, and once more mounting the weary stairs, find our way back to our old places. The House has wakened up over some question, and a lively debate is in process, amid much laughter, cheering, and cries of "No! No!" Then comes the shout How great, then, is the contrast when some prosy individual holds the floor, boring the House with his especial fad. Rapidly the seats empty; one by one the members steal away; while those who remain to suffer martyrdom for the sake of "keeping a house" stretch themselves" Divide! Divide!" It is a great misforcomfortably to sleep if they can. Occasionally a stray member or two peeps in, listens for a few minutes, then hurries away; sometimes one look at the speaker is a sufficient reason for beating a hasty retreat. It is while a particularly pronounced specimen of the latter type of orator is holding forth that we retire for afternoon tea. On the fine bright afternoons of summer, gallant members are wont to entertain their lady friends to tea on the terrace, which runs along by the river. Here we can sit and see the boats glide up and down the Thames, or watch the living stream passing ceaselessly over Westminster Bridge. On such an occasion as this the terrace is a pretty sight; the gay hues of the ladies' dresses brighten the sombre stone walls and add picturesqueness to the scene. Talk and laughter float lightly round, forming a merry accompaniment to the demolition of cake and strawberries. Our staid legislators for the time being have laid aside the cares of the State. But to-day the harmony is not destined to remain undisturbed. The division bell rings imperatively, attendants appear to shout the summons in our deafened ears, members depart hastily, and for a while the ladies are left forlorn. 66 tune that from our present position we cannot hear the words of the speaker very well, but we manage to make out that he puts the question, that there is a shout of aye! on the one hand, and of no! on the other, and then the speaker announces that the ayes! have it. "No!" is shouted again. So an adjournment to the lobbies is necessary to settle the matter. A pause ensues, during which we can hear the attendants calling "Division!" from lobby to lobby, till the sound dies away in the distance. Members drawn from various occupations, and from remote parts of the building, come sauntering or hurrying in. There is a moment of expectation before the speaker puts the question for the second time, and the same performance is repeated as at first. Ayes to the right, Noes to the left," says the speaker, and the members file out. It is curious and interesting to watch the various methods of progression adopted: some saunter languidly; others move with a quick, brisk, decided step; many join in groups of two or three to hold an earnest conversation as they pass out; a few rush out the instant the word is given; far more hang back till the House is nearly empty before they slowly take their departure. The lobby without is then cleared and the After tea, before returning to the gal- doors locked. Presently, a thin stream of lery, a walk through the building is pro- men begins to come back, while the sound posed by our entertainer. So away we go of a teller's voice falls faintly on our listhrough corridors and up staircases, mazy tening ears. At last all are counted, and and bewildering to the stranger. Every the four tellers forming into line, march now and again we catch glimpses of invit- up to the table, bow to the speaker, one ing-looking reading and smoking rooms, of the tellers on the winning side anwhither we may not enter; but at length nounces the numbers, and the episode is our pilgrimage ends in the waiting-lobby | over. outside the hall of the Commons. Be- Soon after half past seven we descend tween the outer and inner doors of the for dinner to a dining-room overlooking entrance to the latter is a little seat in the left-hand corner. To this we are conducted, and standing on it in turn, peep through the little glass window into the House. Now at last we see the speaker the terrace. Here members may only dine when they are accompanied by ladies. At this hour numerous ladies in evening dress are to be met with flitting about the corridors and staircases, while cosy parties assemble in the privileged dining-rooms. | The House is becoming more and more a dining club for ladies since the fair sex is so ungallantly excluded from other clubs in London. Dinner over, we adjourned to the terrace for coffee. The night was soft and balmy, the lights were gleaming far along the Embankment; and the scene was even more picturesque than by day. It is not till eight o'clock that the speaker adjourns for his dinner; but he had long been back at his duties again, before we even thought of wending our way once more to our seats in the gallery. After the cool air of the terrace, the gallery felt hot, stuffy, and dull, particularly as the debate had once more settled down into a semi-somnolent condition. Our eyes and thoughts wandered, and fell on the reporters, still scribbling or occasionally snoozing at their posts. Did they get very cramped, we wondered, sitting in that confined position? We ourselves were nearly asleep, and began to make preparations for departure. One more look at the House first. Let us see how many members are taking a nap. What a lot of bald heads there are among them. Shining crowns are very much in the ascendant here. Is it because they keep their hats on so much? But, dear me! how few members there are surely not forty. At this moment a member rises, and with what looks like a slightly malicious smile on his face, remarks, "Mr. Speaker, I beg to call your attention to the fact that there are not forty members in the House.' But the words arouse no stir; there is no crowding of members back to the scene. The thing has either been pre-arranged or there is no interest in prolonging the sitting further that night. Slowly the speaker begins to count: "One, two- "There are not indeed forty members present. It is a "Count out." All is over for that night. "Who goes home?" From Chambers' Journal. And wildly tossed from cheeks and chin, Tales of a Wayside Inn. LIKE many another thing insignificant enough in itself, the human beard has played an important part in the affairs of mankind, so much so, that we find it to have been the cause of a long and bloody war between the Tartars and Persians, co religionists, from the former declaring the latter to be infidels merely because they refused to trim their beards in accordance with a certain rite. Some of the customs and ceremonies pertaining to this facial appendage, in vogue among different peoples at, different times, are sufficiently curious to deserve mention; and we notice that nearly every calling and profession has in its turn been subject to stringent regulations regarding it. In the same way as the wearing of beards, with certain few exceptions, is prohibited in our army in the present day, so, among the ancient Romans, military men wore it short and frizzled. Alexander commanded the Macedonians to shave themselves, lest the length of their beards should give a handle to their enemies; while, on the other hand, among the Catti, a nation of Germany, a young man was not allowed to shave until he had slain an enemy. But perhaps ecclesiastics have suffered most. At one time they have been enjoined to wear beards, from a notion that it was effeminate to shave; and at another, not to, on the score that they might take pride in them, like the kings of Persia and some of the first kings of France, who had them woven and matted together with threads of gold. After the introduction of Christianity, the AngloSaxons obliged their clergy to shave, in obedience to the laws and in imitation of the Western churches; a distinction between them and the laity of long duration, concerning which a writer in the seventh century complained that the manners of the clergy were so corrupt that the priests could not be distinguished from the laity by their actions, but only by their want of beards. As a distinguishing mark, Perseus seems to have been so convinced of the beard being the symbol of wisdom, that he thought he could not bestow a greater encomium on Socrates than calling him "Magistrum barbatum." Slaves among the Romans wore their beard and hair long. It was always in olden times, and is still among the Hindus, a sign of grief or joy according as the custom was to wear it or not; thus, the Romans, who shaved daily, suffered it in times of grief and affliction to grow; while the Greeks, who wore them, shaved at such times, like the Hindus. Potter, in his "Archæologia Græca," tells us that in solemn and public mournings it was common to extend this practice to their beasts, that all things might appear as deformed and ugly as might be. Thus Admetus, on the death of Alcestis, commands his chariot horses | served their shorn beard, and had it deto be shorn: My chariot horses, too, my grief shall share; posited in the coffin with them on their decease, that they might present it to St. Nicholas, on his refusing to admit them, as beardless Christians, into the kingdom of heaven. The fact of Philip V. of Spain ascend And Alexander, at the death of Hephæstion, not only cut off the manes of his horses and mules, but took down the bat-ing the throne with a shaved chin gave tlements of the city walls, that even the town itself might seem to mourn, and instead of its former beauteous appearance, look bald at the funeral. Among the Normans, to allow the beard to grow was an indication of the greatest distress and misery. It is mentioned by some of our ancient historians, as one of the most wanton acts of tyranny in William the Conqueror, that he compelled the English to shave their whole beards, and that this was so disagreeable to some, that they chose rather to abandon their country than resign their whiskers. Among the Turks, it is more infamous for any one to have his beard cut off than almost anything else, and there are many in that country who would prefer death to such disgrace. rise to the Spanish proverb, "Since we have lost our beards we have lost our souls," for they were in a manner bound to follow his example. The Arabs make the preservation of the beard a capital article of religion, because Mohammed never cut his. The Moors of Africa hold by their beards while they swear, in order to give validity to their oath, which after this formality they rarely violate. The Turks when they comb their beards spread a handkerchief on their knees and gather very carefully the hairs that fall. When they have got together a certain quantity, they fold it up in paper and carry it to the place where they bury their dead - a custom similar to that of the ancient Greeks, as we find in Eschylus: I see his hair upon the grave; and in Ovid, where Canace bewails her To bathe thy lifeless corpse, or bring my hairs With regard to religious ceremonies, the day on which a Roman or Grecian youth removed the first growth from his chin was held as a festival; visits of ceremony were paid, and presents made to him, while the down itself was consecrated to some god, usually to the Lares. Nero consecrated his in a golden box, set with pearls, to Jupiter Capitolinus. By the statutes of some of the old monas- Anointing the beard was an ancient teries, the lay monks were to let their practice observed in serious visits, where beards grow and the priests among them the ceremony was to throw scented water to shave. The beards of all that were on the visitor's beard, perfuming it afterreceived into the monasteries were blessed wards with aloes wood to give it an agreewith a great deal of ceremony; and there able smell. Plucking the beard was a sign are still extant the prayers used in the of contempt, a practice which tried the solemnity of consecrating the beard to patience of both Stoic and Cynic, in spite God, when an ecclesiastic was shaven. of their affected insensibility to insult or The Russians wore beards until near the injury. Touching the beard was an action close of the last century, when their czar performed by supplicants towards those enjoined them all to shave; but, notwith-whose compassion they wished to excite; standing his injunction, he was obliged to while among the ancient French, touching keep a number of officers to cut off by or cutting off a small part of it was the violence the beards of such as would not most sacred pledge of protection and conotherwise part with them. He also levied fidence. For a long time, all letters issua tax on long beards, which many sub-ing from the sovereign had, for greater mitted to rather than part with what was satisfaction, three hairs of his beard in the universally held to be an ornament to the seal. A charter of 1121, still extant, conperson. The superstitious among them cludes with these words: "And that this thought it to be an external characteristic writing may go down to posterity firm and of the orthodox faith; and those who were stable like the oak, I have applied to my too poor to pay the tax, religiously pre-present seal three hairs of my beard." For EIGHT DOLLARS remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punotar forwarded for a year, free of postage. Remittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post-office money-order, if possib' If neither of these can be procured, the money should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks, and money-orders should be made payable to the order of LITTELL & Co. Single copies of the LIVING AGE, 18 cents. |