The Mother of Parliaments

Towering above both Houses stands the lofty clock-tower which is one of the landmarks of the metropolis. From its summit "Big Ben" – the successor to "Great Tom of Westminster" – booms forth the hours, while still higher burns that nightly light which shows to a sleeping city that the faithful Commons remain vigilant and at work.[115 - Big Ben was so named after Sir Benjamin Hall, First Commissioner of Works. The light is extinguished by an official in the House of Commons by means of an electric switch, the moment the Speaker's question "that the House do now adjourn" has been agreed to.]

The new Upper Chamber, with its harmonious decorations of gilt and stained glass, its crimson benches, and its atmosphere of dignity and repose, supplies a perfect stage for the leisurely deliberations of our hereditary legislators, and forms a becoming background for such picturesque pageants as the Opening of Parliament.

The present House of Commons, though too small to accommodate a full assemblage of its members, makes up in comfort for what it may lack in space. The Chamber is illuminated by a strong light from the glass roof above; the green benches are cushioned and comfortable. At one end is the Speaker's chair, and in front of it the table – that "substantial piece of furniture," as Disraeli called it, when he thanked Providence that its bulk was interposed between Mr. Gladstone and himself – upon which Sir Robert Peel used to strike resonant blows at regular two-minute intervals during his speeches. On this table lies the heavy despatch-box which countless Premiers have thumped, and which still bears the impress of Gladstone's signet ring. Here, too, reposes the mace, that ancient symbol of the royal authority.

The mace is, perhaps, the most important article of furniture – if it can be so described – in the House. Its absence or loss is an even more appalling catastrophe than would be the absence of the Speaker. It is possible to provide a substitute for the latter, but there is no deputy-mace, and without it the House cannot be held to be properly constituted. The present mace is engraved with the initials "C. R." and the royal arms, and is the one that was made at the Restoration, to replace Cromwell's "bauble," which disappeared with the Crown plate in 1649. It is kept at the Tower of London when the House is not sitting, and the fact that its absence prevents the conduct of any business has been, on one occasion at least, the cause of grave inconvenience. In the middle of the last century Parliament adjourned for the day in order to attend a great naval review at Spithead, and was timed to meet again at 10 p.m. The special return-train containing members of the House of Commons was run in two portions, and the official who held the key of the mace-cupboard happened to be travelling in the second. As this was an hour late in arriving, the House had to postpone its meeting until eleven at night.[116 - Mowbray's "Seventy Years at Westminster," p. 90.]

Upon the position of the mace a great deal depends. When the mace lies upon the table, says Hatsell, the House is a House; "when under, it is a Committee. When out of the House, no business can be done; when from the table and upon the Sergeant's shoulder, the Speaker alone manages." On the famous occasion in 1626, when Sir John Eliot offered a remonstrance against "tonnage and poundage," when Speaker Finch refused to put the question, and the House almost came to blows, Sergeant-at-Arms Edward Grimston tried to close the sitting by removing the mace. At once a fiery member, Sir Miles Hobart, seized it from him, replaced it on the table, locked the door of the House, and put the key in his pocket, thus excluding Black Rod, who was on his way to the Commons with a message from the king.

The Sergeant-at-Arms is custodian of the mace. Attired in his tight-fitting black coat, knee-breeches, and buckled shoes, with his sword at his side, he carries it ceremoniously upon his shoulder whenever he accompanies the Speaker in or out of the Chamber. He is also, as we shall see, responsible for the maintenance of order within the precincts of the House, and is provided with a chair near the Bar, whence he can obtain a good view of the whole Chamber.

The arrangements made for the convenience and personal comfort of a modern legislator are of the most elaborate and thoughtful kind. Members of the Government, Whips, and the Leader of the Opposition are provided with private rooms in which to do their work. The needs of humbler politicians are no less carefully considered. By means of an intricate system of ventilation the atmosphere of both Houses is maintained at an equable temperature, summer and winter. The very air inhaled by our politicians is so cleansed and rarefied by a system of water-sprays, of cotton-wool screens and ice-chambers, that it reaches their lungs in a filtered condition, free from all those impurities of dust and fog which are part of the less-favoured Londoner's daily pabulum.

The statesman who seeks a momentary relaxation from the arduous duties of the Chamber can find repose in comfortable smoking-rooms where easy-chairs abound. He may stroll upon the Terrace in the cool of the evening, enjoying the society of such lady friends as he may have invited to tea, and watching the stately procession of barges and steamers that flows by him. (Occasionally the barges are loaded with unsavoury refuse, of which his scandalized nostrils are made unpleasantly aware. Sometimes, too, some wag in a passing excursion-boat facetiously bids him return to his work in the House.) Heated by an unusually warm debate, or tired out by a lengthy sitting, he may retire to spend a pleasant half-hour in luxurious bathrooms, whence division bells summon him in vain. His intellectual wants are ministered to in well-furnished libraries, whose courteous custodians are ever ready to impart information, to look up parliamentary precedents, and otherwise to add to his store of knowledge. His inner man is generously catered for by a Kitchen Committee, composed of the gourmets of the House, who choose his wine and cigars, and watch over the cooking of his food with a vigilant and fastidious eye. His meals are appetising and at the same time inexpensive, and, as he sits in the spacious dining-rooms set apart for his use, his mind may travel back with kindly scorn to the days when his political ancestors drank their cups of soup at Alice's coffee-house, munched the homely fare supplied in Bellamy's kitchen, or satisfied their hunger in even simpler fashion on the benches of the House itself. Lord Morpeth, who was a Minister of the Crown in 1840, used always to suck oranges on the Treasury bench during the course of his own speeches. Fox ate innumerable dry biscuits on the hottest nights. David Hume, whose devotion to duty prevented him from leaving his seat in the Chamber, was in the habit of providing himself with a generous supply of pears, which he consumed while his less conscientious colleagues were slaking their thirst in Bellamy's finest port.[117 - Francis' "Orators of the Age," p. 212, and Grant's "Random collections," p. 7.] During a twenty-one hours' sitting in August, 1880, a member (Mr. A. M. Sullivan) brought a large bag of buns into the House, and enjoyed what Mr. Labouchère called "a palpable supper."[118 - T. P. O'Connor's "Gladstone's House of Commons," p. 88.] The sight of a member of Parliament enjoying an al fresco meal under the eye of the Speaker would to-day arouse indignant shouts of "Order!" Even the simple sandwich is taboo in the Chamber of either House, and nothing more solid or more potent than a glass of pure well-water, or perhaps an egg-flip, can be partaken of during debate.

Could Pitt return to the scene of his former triumphs, he would indeed marvel at the splendours of the modern parliamentary restaurant – Pitt, whose thoughts even upon his deathbed are said to have reverted lovingly to the delights of the old House of Commons kitchen. "I think I could eat one of Bellamy's pork pies" were the great statesman's last words as he expired at Putney in January, 1806, and it was no doubt at Bellamy's humble board that he drank many a bottle of that wine for which he entertained so strong a predilection.

Pearson, the famous doorkeeper of the House of Commons, has described Bellamy's as "a damn'd good house, upstairs, where I have drank many a pipe of red port. Here the members, who cannot say more than 'Yes' or 'No' below, can speechify for hours to Mother Bellamy about beef-steaks and pork-chops. Sir Watkin Lewes always dresses them there himself; and I'll be curst if he ben't a choice hand at a beef-steak and a bottle, as well as a pot and a pipe."[119 - Pearson's "Political Dictionary," p. 19.]

Dickens, in his "Sketches by Boz," has left a picture of that old-fashioned eating-room, with the large open fire, the roasting-jack, the gridiron, the deal tables and wax candles, the damask linen cloths, and the bare floor, where peers and members of Parliament assembled with their friends[120 - "25 April, 1822. Eat cold meat at Bellamy's (introduced by Lambton); and did not leave the House till near two." – Thomas Moore's "Memoirs," vol. iii. p. 346.] to sit over their modest meals until it was time for a division, or, as Sheil says, "the whipper-in aroused them to the only purpose for which their existence was recognized."

Old Bellamy, a wine-merchant by profession, was in 1773 appointed Deputy-Housekeeper to the House of Commons, and provided with a kitchen, a dining-room, and a small subsidy to cover his expenses as parliamentary caterer. After nearly forty years' service in this capacity he was succeeded by his son John, who continued to control the culinary department until well into the last century. Refreshments of a serious kind were not really required by politicians until the days when Parliament took to sitting late at night. In 1848, however, Bellamy's system of supplying members with food was not considered sufficiently adequate, and a select committee was appointed to inquire into it. As soon as Parliament reassembled in the new Palace of Westminster, after the fire, the catering of the House of Commons was taken over by a Kitchen Committee, while that of the Lords was placed in the hands of a contractor.

In the days of the Bellamys the charges for solid refreshments were not really high – the caterer relied very largely for his profits upon the sale of wine – but in comparison with the tariff of to-day they must appear exorbitant. For half-a-crown Bellamy provided his patrons with a meal consisting of cold meat, bread and cheese; double that sum secured a liberal dinner, which included tart and a salad. Claret cost 10s. a bottle, while a similar quantity of port and madeira was to be had for 6s. or 8s. To-day a member of Parliament can be supplied with a dinner of several courses for the modest sum of 1s., and every item on the daily bill of fare is proportionately inexpensive.

Bellamy's was not only the eating-place of Parliament; it also partook of some of the qualities of the modern smoking-room as a refuge from debate. The sudden concourse of members who came hurrying into the kitchen as soon as a bore rose to his feet in the House has been amusingly described by Sheil in his essay on John Leslie Foster. Poor Mr. Foster seems to have exercised an extraordinarily clearing effect upon the House. The first words of his speech were the signal for a unanimous excursion of his fellows, and he was left in full possession of that solitude which he ever had the unrivalled power of creating. Members hastened to the kitchen where the tiresome voice of the parliamentary bore could not penetrate, and there indulged themselves in conversation, eked out with tea or stronger beverages. "The scene which Bellamy's presents to a stranger is striking enough," says Sheil. "Two smart girls, whose briskness and neat attire made up for their want of beauty, and for the invasions of time, of which their cheeks showed the traces, helped out tea in a room in the corridor. It was pleasant to observe the sons of dukes and marquises, and the possessors of twenties and thirties of thousands a year, gathered round these damsels, and soliciting a cup of that beverage which it was their office to administer. These Bellamy barmaids seemed so familiarized with their occupation that they went through it with perfect nonchalance, and would occasionally turn with petulance, in which they asserted the superiority of their sex to rank and opulence, from the noble or wealthy suitors for a draught of tea, by whom they were surrounded." The unfortunate Irish members, we are told, were regarded with a peculiar disdain, being continually reminded of their provinciality by the scornful looks of these parliamentary Hebes, who treated them "as mere colonial deputies should be received in the purlieus of the State." Dickens, too, describes how one of the waitresses, Jane by name, who was something of a character, would playfully dig the handle of a fork into the arm of some too amorous member who sought to detain her.[121 - "Sketches by Boz," p. 109 (1855).] "I passed from these ante-chambers to the tavern," continues Sheil, "where I found a number of members assembled at dinner. Half an hour had passed away, tooth-picks and claret were now beginning to appear, and the business of mastication being concluded, that of digestion had commenced, and many an honourable gentleman, I observed, seemed to prove that he was born only to digest. At the end of a long corridor which opened from the room where the diners were assembled, there stood a waiter, whose office it was to inform any interrogator what gentleman was speaking below stairs. Nearly opposite the door sat two English county members. They had disposed of a bottle each, and just as the last glass was emptied, one of them called out to the annunciator at the end of the passage for intelligence. 'Mr. Foster on his legs,' was the formidable answer. 'Waiter, bring another bottle!' was the immediate effect of this information, which was followed by a similar injunction from every table in the room. I perceived that Mr. Bellamy owed great obligations to Mr. Foster. But the latter did not limit himself to a second bottle; again and again the same question was asked, and again the same announcement was returned – 'Mr. Foster upon his legs!' The answer seemed to fasten men in inseparable adhesiveness to their seats. Thus hours went by, when, at length, 'Mr. Plunket on his legs!' was heard from the end of the passage, and the whole convocation of compotators rose together and returned to the House."[122 - Sheil's "Sketches of the Irish Bar," vol. ii. p. 236.]

Alas! Bellamy's roaring fire is long extinguished, his candles have burnt down to their sockets, and been replaced by electric light. The comfortable days of lengthy dinners are past and gone, and the modern member has barely time to snatch a hasty meal in the Commons' dining-room ere he returns to the bustle and confusion of the House. Things have indeed changed since the leisurely days when Bellamy could adequately cater for the needs of Parliament. His small staff and humble kitchen would have but little chance of satisfying modern requirements in an age when over a hundred thousand meals are served to members and their friends in the course of a single session.

CHAPTER V

HIS MAJESTY'S SERVANTS

Parliament is not an administrative body. Summoned by the Crown, with its assent it passes laws, gives and takes away rights, authorises and directs taxation and expenditure; but in executive business the Crown acts through Ministers who are not appointed by Parliament, though undoubtedly responsible to it for their conduct.

Alfred the Great called together Councils, which in some ways resembled our present Cabinets or the Privy Council, to consider such measures as were afterwards submitted to the Witenagemot. In William the Conqueror's time the Curia Regis was the Great Council which he consulted on questions of State policy. Later on, in Henry I.'s reign, the King formed a smaller consultative body from the royal household, whose duty it was to deal with administrative details, legislation being left in the hands of the National Council.

In Tudor days the Sovereign had almost dispensed with Parliament altogether – in the course of Queen Elizabeth's lengthy reign it was only summoned thirteen times – and the country was governed autocratically by the monarch, with the aid of his Privy Council. This advisory body varied in size from year to year. In Henry VIII.'s reign it consisted of about a dozen members; later on, the number was much increased. In time the Privy Council became too large and cumbersome an assembly to act together without friction, and was gradually subdivided into various committees, to each of which was given some specific legislative function.

In the reign of Edward VI. one of these smaller bodies was known as the Committee of State, and from this has slowly developed the Cabinet to which we are accustomed to-day. When the Great Council of Peers was convened at York in 1640, the Committee of State was reproachfully referred to as the "Cabinet Council," – from the fact that its meetings were held in a small room in the Royal Palace, – and afterwards as the "Juncto." It consisted of the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Earl of Strafford, and a few other leading men, and met at odd times to discuss important intelligence, the Privy Council only meeting when specially summoned.

James I. acquired the habit of entrusting his confidence to a few advisers, and his successors followed suit. The inner council, or cabal, thus originated, was the cause of much parliamentary jealousy and popular suspicion. After the fall of Clarendon in 1677, and of Danby twelve years later, Charles II. promised, in accordance with the general desire, to be governed by the Privy Council, and to have no secrets from that body. It soon became evident, however, that the King had no intention of keeping his promise, and the Remonstrance of 1682 complained that great affairs of State were still managed "in Cabinet Councils, by men unknown, and not publicly trusted."

In Stuart days the Commons had grown in strength from year to year, and the Privy Council had weakened proportionately, though it had increased in size. Besides being so unwieldy as to be impracticable for administrative purposes, it was largely composed of men who were not in any way fitted for the post of responsible advisers. Naunton, writing of Elizabeth's day, observed that "there were of the Queen's Councell that were not in the Catalogue of Saints."[123 - "Fragmenta Regalia," p. 23.] And much the same criticism would apply to the Privy Councillors of Stuart times. The inner Cabinet, therefore, gradually assumed all the more important functions of the Legislature, and eventually became the ruling power in the State.

In the time of Charles II. the Ministry was not a united body, but was composed of men of different political opinions, each of whom held his office at the King's pleasure. The Cabinet long remained, therefore, in a disorganised and subordinate condition, largely dependent upon the royal will. Under the Tudors and Stuarts, Ministers were the masters or servants of the Crown, according as the Sovereign was a weak or a strong one. They did not necessarily sit in Parliament, nor did they act together in response to the views of a parliamentary majority. The Cabinet itself consisted of an inner group of responsible advisers and an outer circle of members with whom they often differed fundamentally. There was no need for unanimity of political thought in the Cabinet of those days, so long as its members were unanimous in their subservience to the King.

After the Revolution of 1688, however, the powers of the Crown were limited and those of Parliament extended. Ministers now customarily sat in Parliament, and gradually acquired unanimity of thought and purpose, working together with common responsibility and for common interests.[124 - It is not absolutely necessary for a Cabinet Minister to sit in either House. Gladstone was a Secretary of State from December 1845, to July, 1846, without a seat in Parliament.] The Cabinet thus became what Walter Bagehot calls a "combining committee – a hyphen which joins, a buckle which fastens, the legislative to the executive part of the State" – and remained an essentially deliberative assembly, as opposed to the Privy Council, or administrative body.

William III. had begun by convening mixed Cabinets of Whigs and Tories, but in 1693 he determined to appoint Ministers all of one party, and in two years his Cabinet was entirely composed of Whigs. This example was followed by his successor, though unwillingly, and the Cabinet system, as we understand it to-day, may be said to date from the moment when Godolphin forced Queen Anne to accept Sunderland, and, later, to remove Harley, in accordance with the views expressed by the country at elections.

By this time Parliament had learnt to tolerate the idea of a Cabinet, and the word itself appears for the first time officially in the Lords' Address to the Queen in 1711. In that year a lengthy debate took place on the meaning of the words "Cabinet Council," several peers preferring the term "Ministers." Among the latter was the Earl of Peterborough, who declared that sometimes there was no Minister at all in the Cabinet Council. He seems to have regarded the members of the Privy Council and of the Cabinet with equal contempt. The Privy Councillors, he said, "were such as were thought to know everything and knew nothing, and the Cabinet Councillors those who thought that nobody knew anything but themselves."

When Walpole was Prime Minister, the country was governed by three bodies – the Great Council, somewhat similar to the modern Privy Council; the Committee of Council, a smaller assembly which met at the Cockpit in Whitehall, and seems to have concerned itself chiefly with foreign affairs; and the Cabinet.

The members of the Cabinet varied in number from eight to fourteen, and included the Great Officers of the Royal Household. In April, 1740, for instance, it consisted of the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Lord Chancellor, the Lord President of the Council, the Lord Privy Seal, the Lord Steward, the Lord Chamberlain, the Master of the Horse, the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, two Secretaries of State, the Groom of the Stole, the First Minister for Scotland, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the First Commissioner of the Admiralty, and the Master of the Ordnance. Besides these, the Duke of Bolton was also included, for the somewhat inadequate reason that "he had been of it seven years ago."[125 - Hervey's "Memoirs of George II.," vol. ii. p. 551.] As such an immense body must have been quite unmanageable from a business point of view, there also existed an interior council, consisting of Walpole, the Lord Chancellor, and the two Secretaries of State, who consulted together, in the first instance, on the more confidential points, and reported the result of their deliberations to the rest of the Cabinet.

The size and composition of a Cabinet is a question which has always been left entirely to the discretion of the Prime Minister. In 1770 and 1783, when Lord North and Pitt were Premiers, the number was reduced to seven. Later on, this was increased; but Lord Wellesley, in 1812, expressed his conviction that thirteen was an inconveniently large number, and Sir Robert Peel, some twenty years later, declared that the Executive Government would be infinitely better conducted by a Cabinet composed of only nine members.

Among His Majesty's advisers in Georgian days, and earlier, peers usually preponderated. The younger Pitt was the only Commoner in his first Cabinet. Nowadays both Houses are suitably represented.

There is no definite rule laid down as to which posts in the Administration carry with them a seat in the Cabinet; but the First Lord of the Treasury, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the First Lord of the Admiralty, the Lord President of the Council, the Lord Privy Seal, and the Lord Chancellor are invariably included. Statesmen who hold no office at all, as we have seen in the case of the Duke of Bolton, have occasionally been given a seat. Hyde, afterwards Lord Clarendon, sat in Charles I.'s Cabinet without office; and, later on, Lord Fitzwilliam, the Duke of Wellington, and Lord John Russell were each accorded a similar privilege. Lord Mansfield, on his elevation to the seat of the Lord Chief Justice, in 1756, became a member of the Cabinet, and did not cease to take part in the discussions until 1765. The precedent he thus created was afterwards cited in the case of Lord Ellenborough, another Lord Chief Justice, who was admitted to the Cabinet of "All the Talents" in 1806. By this time, however, the inclusion of any but the actual holders of parliamentary offices was considered unusual, and it has never been repeated.

Cabinet meetings in Charles II.'s time were first of all held twice a week, and then on Sunday evenings. It was long customary for the Sovereign to be present, and Queen Anne presided regularly over these Sunday gatherings. Indeed, the absence of the King from Cabinet meetings did not occur until the time of George I., and only arose from that monarch's inability to speak English. Since his day, however, no Sovereign has thought it necessary, or even politic, to attend.

Besides the regular official meetings of the Cabinet, informal gatherings of Ministers were occasionally convened. Walpole used often to invite a few colleagues to dinner to discuss the affairs of the nation, and in the Aberdeen Government a Cabinet dinner was held weekly.[126 - "Our immemorial Cabinet Dinner was at Lord Lonsdale's," writes Lord Malmesbury, on March 17, 1852. "Each of us gives one on a Wednesday." – "Memoirs of an Ex-Minister," vol. i. p. 321.] After the tablecloth had been removed, and the port began to circulate, measures of State were agitated and discussed, and questions of policy decided upon. Whether Ministers were always in a condition fit for the consideration of such grave topics is a matter of doubt. Lord Chancellor Thurlow sometimes refused to take part in these post-prandial discussions. "He has even more than once left his colleagues to deliberate," says Wraxall, "whilst he sullenly stretched himself along the chair, and fell, or appeared to fall, fast asleep."[127 - Wraxall's "Memoirs," vol. i. p. 527.]

The Cabinet no longer meets on Sundays, and the practice of holding weekly dinners has been given up. It has no regular times of assembling, but can be summoned at any moment when the Prime Minister wishes to consult his colleagues. It is not necessary for all the members of the Cabinet to be present, as no quorum is needed to validate the proceedings, nor is there any rule laid down as to the length of a Cabinet meeting, which may last from a brief half-hour to as much as half a day.[128 - "Granville dined at the Lord Chancellor's yesterday," wrote Lady Granville to the Duke of Devonshire, on November 8, 1830, when the question of the postponement of the King's visit to the city was filling the minds of Ministers. "The Chancellor came in after they were all seated from a Cabinet that had lasted five hours, returned to be at it again till two, and the result you see in the papers." – Lady Granville's "Letters," vol. ii. p. 63.]

The chief point with regard to Cabinet meetings is their absolute secrecy. No minutes are kept, no secretary or clerk is present, and only in exceptional circumstances is some private record made of any matter that may have been discussed. The meetings are usually held at No. 10, Downing Street, the official residence of the Prime Minister, or occasionally at the Foreign Office, a practice instituted by Lord Salisbury when he was Foreign Secretary, his Cabinet being so large that the room in Downing Street could barely contain it.

In George II.'s time, No. 10, Downing Street – called after Sir George Downing, a statesman of Charles II.'s day, whom Pepys styles "a niggardly fellow" – belonged to the Crown, and was the town residence of Bothmar, the Hanoverian Minister. On the latter's death, King George offered the house to Walpole as a gift. The Prime Minister declined it, however, and suggested that it should henceforward accompany the offices of the First Lord of the Treasury and the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Externally the Prime Minister's house is not a very imposing structure, but the traditions attached to it as the official residence of so many eminent Englishmen enchance its value in the eyes of its occupants and of the public.

Here, then, the Cabinet assembles to discuss the problems of Empire, whose solution at times of stress the country awaits with such breathless interest. Here the Prime Minister presides over that assembly which, however internally discordant, must ever present an harmonious and united front to the public. The decisions arrived at by "His Majesty's Servants" – no longer known as the "Lords of the Cabinet Council," as in olden times – must always be presumably unanimous. Each Minister is held responsible for the opinions of the Cabinet as a whole. His only escape from such responsibility lies in resignation, in either sense of that word. The defending and supporting in public of what they are really opposed to in private, is the common practice of Ministers. It is thought that one man's scruples should yield to the judgment of the many, and "minorities must suffer" that Governments may be carried on and Ministries remain undivided.[129 - See Speaker Onslow's "Essay on Opposition," "Hist. MSS. Commission" (1895), App. ix. p. 460.] There is a well-known story of Lord Melbourne's Ministry which illustrates this point. The Government had proposed to put an eight-shilling duty on corn. Melbourne, who was strongly opposed to the tax, found himself out-voted and overruled by the other members of the Cabinet. At the end of the meeting he put his back against the door. "Now, is it to lower the price of corn, or isn't it?" he asked. "It doesn't much matter what we say, but mind, we must all say the same!" In 1860, again, Lord Palmerston as Prime Minister was in favour of the House of Lords throwing out the Paper Duties Bill, which was the measure of his own Chancellor of the Exchequer.

It is not perhaps easy to imagine a modern Premier being placed in a situation similar to that of either Lord Melbourne or Lord Palmerston. He must necessarily, to a certain extent, have the whip hand of the Cabinet. For if several of his colleagues disagree with him on a question of principle, and resign, he can generally appoint others; whereas, if he resigns, the whole Ministry crumbles and falls to pieces.

The Prime Minister nowadays has indeed acquired a position which is almost that of a dictator. In many ways his power is absolute and his will autocratic. More especially is this true as regards his dealings with the Crown. In olden days he was the servant and creature of the sovereign. He had no voice in the selection of his colleagues; he acted merely as His Majesty's chief adviser, and, as such, was liable to instant dismissal. When Pelham resigned in 1746, because he could no longer agree with the King, he was acting in a fashion that was then unprecedented. Before that time, a Prime Minister whose views did not coincide with those of his sovereign, was summarily dismissed. Many kings had, indeed, been in the habit of themselves undertaking the duties of Prime Minister – Charles II. delighted in referring to himself as his own Premier Ministre, though he was far too indolent to perform the work of that official – and merely looked upon their chief adviser as a convenient channel of communication between themselves and Parliament.

It was not until the eighteenth century that a Premier of the modern type came into existence. With the development of the party system, the gradual growth of the Cabinet's prestige, and the consequent weakening of the sovereign's prerogatives, the Prime Minister ceased to be the choice of the Crown, and became the nominee of the nation. As the leader of the party in office, he acquired the unquestioned right of selecting his own Ministers. To-day, though the King still nominally chooses his Prime Minister, little individual freedom is left to the sovereign, who is guided in his choice by the advice of the outgoing Premier and his interpretation of the wishes of the country.

For a very long time the very name of Prime Minister stank in the nostrils of the public and of Parliament. The word "Premier" was used in 1746,[130 - Coxe's "Pelham Administration," vol. i. p. 486.] but as late as 1761 we find George Grenville in a debate in the Commons declaring "Prime Minister" to be an odious title. The holder of it long occupied an anomalous position. Legally and constitutionally he had no superiority over any other Privy Councillor. Eight members of the Cabinet took precedence of him, by virtue of office – a fact which naturally resulted in situations puzzling to the lay mind – the exact rank of the Prime Minister being apparently impossible to define. When Lord Palmerston visited Scotland in 1863, the commander of the naval guardship was very anxious to receive that distinguished statesman with all the ceremony befitting his exalted position. On the subject of salutes due to a Prime Minister the naval code-book unfortunately maintained an impenetrable silence, and gave the officer no information as to how he should act. He eventually solved the difficulty in a thoroughly tactful manner by giving Palmerston the salute of nineteen guns which were due to him as Lord Warden of the Cinq Ports.[131 - Ashley's "Life of Palmerston," vol. ii. p. 233.] Mr. Gladstone, who was ever most punctilious in matters of etiquette, always resolutely declined to leave a room in front of any person of higher social rank, and many a youthful peer vainly endeavoured to induce the aged Prime Minister to precede him.

The Prime Minister continued to occupy an ambiguous position until quite recently. It was not, indeed, until the close of Mr. Balfour's Premiership that his proper precedence was recognised. Matters were simplified, however, when he held some ministerial office, as First Lord of the Treasury, Lord President of the Council, or Foreign Secretary, whereby he became entitled to an adequate salary and an assured, if inadequate, precedence.

Sir Robert Walpole, who held the Premiership for twenty-one years – though not consecutively[132 - Walpole was First Lord of the Treasury for more than twenty-one years, but Macaulay says that he cannot be called Prime Minister until some time after he had been First Lord. – "Miscellaneous Writings," p. 359.]– was the first Prime Minister in the modern sense of the word, the first to sit in the Commons, and the first to resign because of an adverse vote of Parliament.

Walpole was in many ways a model Premier. Though not, indeed, as incorruptible as Harley, he yet possessed many of the qualities which contributed to that statesman's success.[133 - Walpole distributed government patronage freely among the members of his own family. His relations held offices worth nearly £15,000 a year, and, two years after he relinquished office, his own places brought him in an annual income of £2000. He made his eldest son Auditor of the Exchequer, and his second son Clerk of the Pells. He gave his son Horace two posts, as Clerk of the Estreats and Comptroller of the Pipe, when the boy was still an infant. Later on he gave him a position in the Customs, and lastly made him Usher of the Exchequer, an office worth about £1000 a year. See "Memoirs of Sir Robert Walpole," vol. i. p. 730; Cunningham's "Letters of Horace Walpole," vol. i. pp. lxxxiv. and 314.] It was not genius, it was not eloquence, it was not statesmanship that gave Harley his astounding power in Parliament, as Forster has remarked; it was "House of Commons tact." Sir Robert Peel, Lord John Russell, and Disraeli each understood that art of "managing Parliament," which is probably of far greater value to a Prime Minister than either virtue or eloquence. Lord Rockingham, George Grenville, and Lord Bute – the last uttering his words with hesitation and at long intervals, causing Charles Townshend to liken them to "minute-guns" – each lacked that power of oratory for which another Premier, Lord Derby, the "Rupert of debate," was more famous than for any intellectual ability.[134 - "My father would be a very able man – if he knew anything," Lord Stanley is supposed to have said of him. Hutton's "Studies," p. 48.] Lord Castlereagh had a great influence with his party, and was a most successful leader of the House of Commons. Yet he was a shocking speaker, tiresome, involved, and obscure.[135 - "He evidently attempts to imitate Mr. Pitt in his manner and rhetorick; but the clumsy attempts of a heavy domestic fowl to take wing are very different from the vivid and lofty soaring of the lark." Courtney's "Characteristics," p. 42.] On one occasion he harangued the House for an hour, during no single moment of which could any of his hearers make out what on earth he was driving at "So much, Mr. Speaker, for the law of nations!" he finally exclaimed, as he prepared to turn to other matters.

Parliament will, indeed, put up with a great deal from a Minister whose honesty is unquestioned, and who has sufficient common-sense not to blunder at a moment of crisis. Nowadays, however, no man who was utterly lacking in ordinary power of speaking would be given a place on the front bench. A talent for debate may not necessarily be a gauge of a man's capacity as a Minister, but only in debate can he show his powers. His success in Parliament is a test of intellect, for there, at any rate, he cannot conceal departmental ignorance. But it requires judgment, ability, and tact to become a leader. Charm and personal magnetism are the qualities that endear a man to his followers. A kindly word, a smile, or a glance of recognition will often win the affection of a supporter more surely than the most eloquent speech, and it was in this respect that Lord John Russell, Gladstone, and Lord Salisbury, either from shortness of sight or absence of mind, failed. The same qualities which young Grattan considered necessary for a successful leader of Opposition may also prove invaluable to a Prime Minister. "He must be affable in manner, generous in disposition, have a ready hand, an open house, and a full purse. He must have a good cook for the English members, fine words and fair promises for the Irish, and sober calculations for the Scotch."[136 - Grattan's "Life and Times," vol. v. p. 417.] He must, indeed, be a man who breeds confidence and inspires affection among his subordinates.

Men in the House of Commons, as Bolingbroke said, "grow, like hounds, fond of the man who shows them sport, and by whose halloos they are used to be encouraged." If, in addition, the Prime Minister possesses singleness of purpose and supreme self-confidence, his power in Parliament is supreme. The "Great Commoner" owed his political success as much to his courage and assurance as to his splendid gifts as an orator. "I know that I can save the country," he once observed to the Duke of Devonshire, "and I know that no other man can!"[137 - Hayward's "Biographical Essays," vol. ii. p. 39.] The Duke of Cumberland, a political adversary, described him very justly when he said that he was "that rare thing – a man!" His position in the House of Commons was in many ways unique. His very presence seemed to instil fear into the hearts of his opponents, and promote confidence in those of his supporters. A member named Moreton, Chief Justice of Chester, in a speech in the Lower House, once made some allusion to "King, Lords, and Commons, or, as that Right Honourable Member" – looking across at Pitt – "would call them, Commons, Lords, and King!" The Prime Minister rose at once in that slow dignified manner which always commanded silence, and, fixing the speaker with a cold and terrifying gaze, asked the Clerk of the House to make a note of Moreton's words. "I have heard frequently in this house doctrines that have surprised me," he said; "but now my blood runs cold!" Moreton, in some alarm, hastened to apologise for his ill-chosen words, saying that he had intended nothing offensive. "King, Lords, and Commons; Lords, King, and Commons; Commons, Lords, and King —tria juncta in uno! Indeed, I meant nothing!" he explained. Pitt gravely accepted this apology, but took the opportunity of giving the trembling Moreton some very sound advice. "Whenever that honourable gentleman means nothing," he said, in his sternest and most frigid tones, "I strongly recommend him to say nothing!"

The terror he inspired among his opponents was shown on another occasion when he replied to an attack of Murray, the Solicitor-General, afterwards Lord Mansfield. "I must now address a few words to Mr. Solicitor," said Pitt; "they shall be few, but they shall be daggers!" Murray at once became much agitated. "Judge Festus trembles," continued Pitt relentlessly, pointing his finger on him. "He shall hear me some other day." He sat down, Murray made no reply, and a languid debate showed the paralysis of the House.[138 - Butler's "Reminiscences," pp. 154-157.]

It was not only in Parliament that Pitt's power made itself felt, or that his words were received with a kind of reverential awe bordering on terror. Government officials knew well that he was not a man to be trifled with, or, if they did not know it, he soon found occasion to bring the fact to their notice. Once, when he had sent a message to the Admiralty saying that the Channel Fleet was to be got ready to sail on the following Tuesday, the Board of Admiralty respectfully replied that such a thing was an impossibility; the time was too short. The Prime Minister drily rejoined that in that case he would recommend the King to name a new Board of Admiralty. Needless to say, the Channel Fleet sailed on Tuesday.[139 - Russell's "Recollections," p. 263.]

Pitt, indeed, possessed all the attributes of a successful Prime Minister. He was himself infused with a fervid enthusiasm which he could transmit into the hearts of all who shared his confidences. His courage was infectious. No man, said Colonel Barré, could come out of the Minister's private room without feeling himself braver than when he entered. He was gifted with a serene composure, a perfect self-possession, and understood the House of Commons as well as did Disraeli after him, and as well as Lord Salisbury understood the Lords.