[Music: Rᵗ. Hon. H. H. Asquith]
[Music: Rᵗ. Hon. C. T. Ritchie]
[Music: Rᵗ. Hon. Sir John Brodrick]
Mr. Asquith modulates his voice a good deal, but largely uses the power of emphasis at the risk of being unheard at the end of occasional sentences. Resonance, vigour, and brevity characterize his speaking. Mr. Gibson Bowles expresses himself rapidly, readily, and wittily, in a good tone, about D and E. His _rôle_ of candid friend to the Government lends something to the piquancy of his remarks. Mr. Ritchie, in introducing his first, and perhaps last, Budget, used the modulation represented in the diagram at one part of his speech. He has a hurried, broken-up style of delivery, though the possessor of a good voice. Mr. Brodick's manner is anxious, and distinctness suffers, more especially when the mood is that of indignation. As Secretary for War he rose well to the occasion in the severe ordeals he had to pass through last Session. Mr. Chaplin has a serviceable vocal organ, with which he combines an effective manner. His speeches are perspicuous to a degree. There is a big bit of the old-fashioned, dignified Parliamentarian about him, and he is invariably welcomed in debate. Mr. Dillon's voice is like a clenched fist, ready for the striking blow. His manner is often vehement and always forcible. Few are superior in the expression of passionate bitterness. He is fond of dwelling on differently-pitched strings of notes--viz., C sharp, E, or F.
[Music: The Speaker]
The last voice to be mentioned here is that of the Speaker (the Right Hon. W. Court Gully). Its tones are, like the manner of the right hon. gentleman, dignified and gracious. Musical and distinct, it is heard with equal force in storm and calm, and when it speaks it carries a persuasion more certain and effective than does the voice of the Prime Minister himself.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: Mᴿ DONAH]
BY Tom Gallon
"If there is one matter about which I am more particular than another," said Sir Leopold Kershaw, with much emphasis, "it is that due recognition should be given to the absolute equality of man with his fellow-man. Show me my fellow-man"--Sir Leopold was very defiant at this point--"and I will grasp him by the hand and hail him as 'Brother.' And I defy anyone to prevent me!"
Sir Leopold Kershaw--big, portly, and somewhat brow-beating--stood in front of the blazing fire in his comfortable dining-room and addressed these remarks to his son. Some eight or nine winters only having passed over the head of that young gentleman, it must be presumed that his father addressed him for lack of a better audience. Master Teddy Kershaw, for his part, gazed solemnly up at his father from the depths of an easy chair, and took in the ponderous phrases like gospel.
"Then I suppose, papa, that Wilkins is my brother?" said the child, slowly, after some moments of deep thought. Wilkins, it should be said, was the butler.
Sir Leopold Kershaw coughed. "My child, there are certain distinctions absolutely necessary to be observed. Wilkins, although nominally your brother, has already, I am given to understand, an abnormally large following of relatives, and needs no addition to them. When I touched upon the principles of brotherhood just now, I did not speak so much of distinct individuals as of man in the abstract. Wilkins, I trust, knows his place"--Sir Leopold frowned a little, and seemed to suggest that, if Wilkins did not, there were those capable of teaching him--"and is, in a sense, provided for. In an ideal condition of society men would share and share alike: one man would not be permitted to partake of roast pheasant while his less fortunate fellow gnawed the humble trotter; feather beds would be unknown among the classes while the masses continued to court repose upon doorsteps."
Now, the mind of a child is a peculiar thing--having a tendency, by some strange gift of the gods, to retain the true and to cast aside the worthless. So it happened that the mind of little Teddy Kershaw, by some subtle process, eliminated from his father's speech all that was mere verbiage, and began to construct for itself a glorious fabric called Universal Brotherhood. Setting aside those who were well fed and prosperous, the child came to see in every houseless wanderer of the streets--in every toil-worn, white-faced man or woman--some being who had a right, not only to his pity, but to every luxury which he himself enjoyed. And the idea grew and grew until it filled his childish mind, and until--like a small and gallant Crusader--he began to feel that he must do something, more than mere thoughts and words, to carry the thing into effect. He began for the first time to notice, with a sort of pained wonder, that little children, smaller and weaker even than himself, shivered in the streets while he rolled along in his father's carriage; that women carried heavy baskets, while his own mother would scarce put her delicate feet to the ground and was buried in furs and wraps. The incongruity of it came full upon him; and he determined at last, in an inspired moment, to do something to remedy the matter.
To carry out his desires in the presence of those who were responsible for him was, of course, out of the question; instead, he watched his opportunity, and slipped out of the house one day unobserved.
The town house of Sir Leopold Kershaw was in a very fine and extremely aristocratic square; but quite near to it--crouching and hiding under the wing of its grandeur--was a terrible nest of slums. And into this, by some natural instinct, drifted Master Teddy Kershaw.
With that newly-kindled love of humanity fairly bursting out of him he was prepared to seize the first likely wastrel by the hand and give instant effect to his father's many speeches; and he had not far to seek.
Just on the borderland, where the genteel streets began to grow more shabby and where untidy women and children seemed to be overflowing out of every house, stood a costermonger's barrow, the proprietor of which was leaning, in a dejected attitude, against it. It was the poorest barrow imaginable, with one of its shafts mended with string, and with a few sorry-looking vegetables, which never by any chance could have grown in any imaginable garden, displayed upon it.
The costermonger himself had evidently come to the conclusion that it was quite useless to attempt to impose his wares, at any price, even in that most poverty-stricken market; despair sat heavily upon him, and lurked even in the empty bowl of his cold pipe. Yet he was comparatively a young man, and not ill-looking; and the woman who leaned near him, with her elbows on the barrow and her chin propped in her hands, had once, and not so long ago, been quite pretty, despite the gaudy hat which drooped disconsolately over her eyes.
Here, surely, was a forlorn brother indeed! Teddy hesitated for but an instant, and then advanced towards the man. He felt that it would be wiser not to shake hands with him at once, as that smacked too much of familiarity; so he merely bowed and put a casual question--suggested by the barrow--as to the state of trade.
"Can't you sell anything?" he asked.
The costermonger looked Teddy up and down in astonishment, and then looked round at the woman and jerked his head sideways in a very curious fashion; drew the back of his hand slowly and elaborately across his mouth, and looked at Teddy again.
"No, yer 'Ighness, I can't," he replied, slowly and emphatically. Turning to the woman, with another jerk of the head, he muttered something about a "rum start."
"But wouldn't people buy the things if you shouted?" asked the boy. "Other people shout what they have to sell." Which was evident by the babel of noise about them.
The costermonger, who appeared to have got over his surprise, and who seemed to be rather a friendly sort of fellow, proceeded to explanations. "You see, yer 'Ighness, it's this 'ere way," he began. "I've 'ollered an' 'ollered till there ain't a puff of bref left in me; an' it's me private opinion that if yer was to bring sparrergrass tied up wiv pink ribbin into this 'ere street an' chuck it at 'em, they'd chuck it back agin. As fer this little lot"--he indicated the contents of the barrow with a backward jerk of his thumb--"they'll see me blue-mouldy afore they'll lay out a bloomin' farden on 'em."
Having so far relieved his mind, the man looked into the bowl of his pipe and, finding nothing there, returned the pipe to his pocket; then took up the handles of the barrow and prepared to move away.
Now it happened that Master Teddy knew that his father and mother were out and were not expected to return until late; it was probably owing to that circumstance that he had escaped from durance so easily. Further, the boy knew that, in a household where he ruled supreme as the only child of a rich man, he could practically do as he liked. True, he had never attempted so bold a scheme as that which was at the present moment seething in his small brain; but he felt not the slightest doubt that he could carry it through successfully and without opposition. Accordingly, in the most casual fashion possible, he asked the costermonger if he would come and have some lunch.