AROUND AND ABOUT THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.

Otago Witness, Issue 3100, 13 August 1913, Page 75

AROUND AND ABOUT THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.

By T. I’. O' Con no u Dr Farquharson, emboldened by the great success of his book “In and Out of Parliament” —one of the most widely read chapters of autobiography published in recent times—has given another book to the public (‘‘The House of Commons from Within,” by the flight Hon. Robert Farquharson; Williams and Norgate) It Is not quite on the same lines as his first volume; it consists less of anecdote and more of reflection. The well-known and highly popular author has now so far receded from the party atmosphere of the House and from the shackles of party discipline that he feels inclined to let himself go and have his independent fling on many of the thorny questions of the day with the result that now and then you come across a passage of refreshing vigour in which the ordinary shibboleths of party, on either the one side or the other, get some very faithful treatment. Indeed, the doctor is an archheresiarch occasionally even in his own conventicle. He is lukewarm about liquor legislation ; he is frankly opposed to further restrictions on opium ; lie is in open revolt against payment of members: lie is a tepid land reformer —in short, be is a shocking fellow.

But that is just what makes his book so readable.

—Legal Training. —

The first of the many questions which Dr Farquharson discusses as tt> the domestic economy of the House of Commons_ is the part which legal education and which lawyers play in that Assembly; and on this point he has some very shrewd observations'. “I will start off by saying, he writes, “that as a matter of practical political equipment I would place very high up a legal training.” And then he goes on :

By this, I don’t necessarily mean that a man should become a practising: barrister. This tends to his outlook, to make him expend his energy on small points that may be effective in the Law Courts but which are heard with im]>atience in the wider atmosphere in the House of Commons. _ And hence the generally received opinion, with which I am inclined to agree, that there are too many lawyers there, and that their habits of talking to briefs, on this side or that, gives a sort of artificiality and absence of conviction to what they say, which fails to impress their hearers. What I mean is, that the habits of mind and the methods fostered by a study of the law enables us to grasp quickly and readily small details in Bills invented by lawyers and hard to understand by the ordinary layman. When these become Acts later tin, their absolute unintelligibility is a real weariness of the flesh to the ordinary mortal, and gives abundant occupation to the gentlemen of the long robe, who reap a rich harvest in unravelling the mysteries concocted by their own brethren. And to make confusion more confounded there -is the abominable system known as legislature by reference, by which an obscure part of a particular Bill or Act is supposed to be cleared up by reference to a special section in some former Act. You can easily understand the mental confusion and the tedious searching which this involved.

—Consequences Never Contemplated. — There are questions discussed in this paragraph of the book which are constantly being debated among members of the House of Commons. On the whole I lean to the views expressed by our author. 1 would put some of them even a little higher than he does. I think no man is really thoroughly equipped for House of Commons work who lias not learned at least the leading principles of law. Law represents the gathered wisdom and experience of many centuries of human life and thought, and brings to the individual student the first principles that lie behind all law-making. This is an enormous advantage when the legislator has to make up his mind as to any new proposal which he may have to think and to vote upon. You hear a Chancellor of the Exchequer propose a new tax, for instance, and you really feel at a loss to determine in your own mind what its ultimate consequences will be. Yon are warned, as every student of legislation and of human character must be, that nearly every proposal in the world has consequences which are never contemplated bv those who make them. What seems the most obvious is often the most complicated, what the most necessary and effective, proves frequently the most futile in political measures. Legislation against luxury has produced more luxury; against gambling, more gambling; against immorality, has led to worse immorality; often legislation against drink has produced more and worse drinking.

And similarly there are by-products to every legislation, unexpected unforeseen, even unintended by those who have been responsible for them. I take a recent in stance: When a Liberal Ministry passed the Parliament Act they probably thought they were making things easier for their own supporters, and to a certain extent they have But on the other side life has never been so difficult for the Liberal as in the years that have followed the Parliament Act. It means that every single supporter of a Liberal Ministry has to be in his place in the House of Commons—unless he can find a. pair—every hour of every day of every year that his party is in power. Which accounts for the growing languor of the present House of Commons; the spreading disinclination of men in a large way of business to enter political life—and, finally, which accounts for the “snap” division.

It will be seen, then, what an advantage it is to the legislator to have been trained in the wisdom of the world through the study of law; and to have thus, when a proposition comes before him, especially one of an apparently novel character, all the light that comes from centuries of experiment and experience. He will often find that proposals which seem new are in reality old in the world’s experience, and that the proposal lias been cither instilled or condemned by previous experiments in other countries or in oth n .ages. The saying that there is nothing new under the sun finds its exemplification as much in legal and political controversy as in any other sphere of human activities. Socialism is not new; Mr Lloyd George's land taxes are not new : temperance legislation is not new : the Bill of the Taihonr party called the Right to Work Bill is not new (there has just been published an interesting book describing how the experiment suggested by that proposal worked when France had its Second Republic and horn’s Blanc was its chief prophet). But there is another wav in which a legal training is most useful and most necessary to the politician who wants to he really trained for his work. Mv readers know what a supreme value I attach in writing to perfect lucidity: I try myself never to write sentences the meaning of which anybody can misunderstand—with what success my readers must pronounce. And the hooks which reallv appeal to me and which T think make the most enduring appeal to mankind are those whose style is ns limpid as the water of a country brook- under the midsummer sun. And yet when I Lake up a Hill or an Act of Parliament I constantly find myself puzzled and sometimes almost

driven to distraction. The language does not appear to me to he English at all; it is not half as easily understood as the sentences of a good French book. It seras to be tautological, crabbed, selfcontradictory—something, in short, like gibberish; and often I have puzzled my poor brains in vain to find out what it all meant. In this respect I sin in illustrious company. I have heard it said often that John Bright, in the course of his long political life, never read through an entire Bill or Act of Parliament; I suppose it was that, like myself, he never did succeed in finding the key to the strange language in which these mysterious documents are couched. I am sure that Mr Balfour can plead guilty to something like the same mental malady —and yet here is a man who can entrance the House of Commons by a speech perfect in style as well as in temper; he can command more attention now that he is bereft of any official position than, any other member of the House; but give him an Act of Parliament or a Bill and he often painfully flounders, while a glib young lawyer behind him can read the acrostic with the facility of a prize-winner in one of our popular weeklies. —Legal Failures. — As to the other question which Dr Farquharson discusses—namely, the failure of many lawyers in the House of Commons, I have diffierent opinions from those I have usually heard expressed. Dr Farquharson gives a lung list of great lawyers who have made but a por show in the House of Commons. He mentions the late Sir Charles Russell, who was a contemporary of his and of mine; and I quite agree with him in the judgment that Russell made a sorry figure as a rule on the floor at Westminster. I can add that who have made but a poor show in the platform. He was kind enough to ask me more than once to accompany him when he was going to a great popular meeting of his constituents in Hackney; he was simply appalling—halting, dry, without the least self-confidence, almost as if he were a young beginner and not tine of the most trained and brilliant orators of his time. For he was an orator; I never would have discovered that fact if I had not been present a few times when he was pleading a case in the Law Courts. In that lofty form, handsome, with his beautiful and abundant silver hair, his broad capacious forehead, his flashing eyes, his determined month and resolute jaw, Russell seemed to tower above the whole court —judges, rivals, and all; and he put his case with a clearness, a vigour, a ruthless strength that suggested to me the figure that it was as if you were listening to the thud of a great pile-driver thrusting down the big blocks of wood into the depths of the sea or the deep river. Never shall I forget his appearance and his speech in the famous baccarat case which convulsed society some 20 years ago, and at one time seemed even to threaten an ancient dynasty and an historic throne. Every sentence told; and you felt that it was impossible for any jury in the world to refuse the verdict he demanded. He would not have g'ot a verdict from me; for I had prejudices too strong, drawn from my old-fashioned ideas of the sacredness of the guest under your roof; but probably mv verdict would have been tainted by irrational and irrelevant feeling. There have been many other cases of comparative failure of great lawyers in the House of Commons. Lord Halsbnry, who rose to parliamentary eminence for the first time when he was over 7U and a member of the House of Lords, did not leave a trace or a faint memory of his many years in the House of Commons. Holker Jess el, one of the greatest judges the Bench ever saw; Rigby, one of England’s greatest lawyers ; Davey, who made the largest income of any man up to the modern days of Isaacs and Carson —all these were House of Commons failures. All kinds of reasons have been given for this well-known parliamentary phenomenon. all reasons but what I regard as the real one. And the real reason is that the House of Commons is a very jealous mistress, that it demands the entire attention and the undivided love of its votaries, and that any man who tries to serve God and Mammon finds the compromise more impossible in the-House oi Commons than anywhere else in the world. The great lawyer comes down to the House of Commons after lie has had aheadv a long and hard day's work—a man like Sir Rufus Issacn. for instance, has often been at, work from 4 o’clockin the morning when he has to rise and make an important speech in the House of Commons. How can anvbodv expect him to deliver a speech as effective as that of the man who has been studying the speech which lias preceded Ids for days, perhaps for weeks, with undivided attention? It is impossible for anv ordinary man to just, treat bis mind as a kaleidoscope which can turn itself right round from the consideration of one ret of human acts, thoughts, and considerations to another set. And finally (he lawyer is often a failure because of the pr.’-elv physical reason that he comes to the House of Commons a tired man. Very few men can speak well when they are tired; some men. mvself among the rest, cannot sneak even if they hfi'-e had a. meal immediately before they have to speak. I hold strongly that a man when ho is going to make a speech of importance to a large audience ought to treat himself as most actors and singers do on the da vs when (hcv have to sing: he ought to have had neb her food nor drink for hours before he nets on his lens, even if he has to- pav the serious penalty oi dining at midnight instead of at 8. !M A BURMFSE TOVVV. INTERESTING FEATURES OF NATIVE LIFE. Perhaps town is hardly the proper word to apply to Myanngmya. When one sees it. lying almost hidden in the bend of an Irrawaddy creek, the line of scat lewd buildings along the water’s edge gives the impression of sleep*, villagedom: on the

other hand, Myaungxnya’e population it greater than some of our home cities. Possibly an enterprising property agent would call it a desirable locality, or even a health resort. Certainly, during the winter months the climate is delightful, and in the rainy season—well. Myaungmya is no worse than the rest of Lower Burma. The Industrious Chinaman.—

The population is mixed—very much so. Here, as elsewhere in Burma, the easygoing native is showing his dislike for the strenuous life, and every year allows more business to pass into alien hands, generally Chinese. Of course, the Chinaman is a born storekeeper. Still,, it is a remarkable feature of Burmese life that not only in towns, but even in remote hamlets which may not be visited by more than three white men in a year, will be found an emporium well stocked with Reading biscuits and Dundee marmalade, Yorkshire relish, and Chicago tongues. John has educated the native palate to appreciate every modern delicacy, tinned or bottled. Doubtless, there must have been a time when the Chinaman found it necessary to announce that he hoped his close attention to business would merit a share of public patronage. To-day he is recognised as a quiet and industrious citizen, whose chief luxuries are highly-plated bicycles and (since the pigtails disappeared) loud, shepherd-checked caps of the “Haw, Wall!” type. Indeed, John Chinaman is a very eligible parti for the Burmese belle, now fully alive to the advantage of having a husband with no prejudice against work. One thing lie will not (or cannot) do, that is mental arithmetic. Instead, he tots up one’s bill for a tin of ginger-snaps, a bottle of cooking sherry, 50 cigarettes, half a dozen soda water, and two tins of sardines by flicking along the rows of beads on wires in a frame reminiscent of one’s infant school days. Dominating Woman.— To the visitor from Europe, and even more to anyone who has seen the servile position of women in India, it is strange to notice how the fair sex dominates here. The Burmese lady not only rules in household affairs, but is the leading spirit in all the family business ventures as well. The mere male often works tire sewing machine, without which no Burmese homo is now complete, but otherwise is literally the sleeping partner. In the course of his wanderings the writer one day came to a hamlet famous for its pottery. A long row of clay' pots set out to dry in the sun pointed the way to one of the “ factories,” where we were received by a wizened dame who seemed to be the manageress. Removing a 9in cheroot from her month, the old lady said something in Burmese, which, being interpreted, meant, ‘‘Are you going to buy anything? IT so, what?” When it was explained that we had only come to look, her interest in us dropped .perceptibly. She appeared to hint that it was early closing day ; but for the sum of two annas she set thr’ee of her girls to work, and made a few flowerpots on a wheel that might have done duty for her ancestors a thousand years before. The male members of the household (If any) were not in evidence, —An Alternative to St. .Andrew’s. —

The British residents in Myaungmya are few and hard-worked ; but to their simple pleasures of tennis and bridge, golf has recently been added. The Royal and Ancient member, sick of the ballot and congestion at St. Andrew's, should come out here. He would look in vain for a blade of grass on the tees or putting-greens, and most of the bunkers are mounds which, at olh-fcL- times, are used for range practice by the local Volunteer Rifles. In the dry season the “ fairway ” is burnt brickhard ; during the rains it goes to the other extreme. But there are compensations, as, for instance, in the handicaps; it is possible to get an allowance of 24 strokes—for nine holes!

In a Burmese town there is seldom any difficulty in recognising tlic courthouse. In front of nearly every seat of law and order will be found a canoe or other boat “ held up ” pending the settlement of a dispute about the ownership. Then one sees the point of a common Bnrmc: • proverb, “ Never tie up a drifting boat.” One would probably be accused of stealing it. The idea that the Burman is as honest as he is indolent gets a rude shock when one sees the size of Myaungmya V gaol. When the Governor courteously showed the writer over the buildings there were only 1190 prisoners, convicted of si 11 manner of crime, from stealing a duck to double murder. The Tatoocd Burman.— Most Burma ns are tattooed in some way; often their thighs are covered with designs to such an extent that not a square inch of skin is left unmarked, and m addition they prick out queer hieroglyphics as charms to ensuie success in fishing, or to ward off fever. But to the V- (stern mind it is curious to find professional thieves branding themselves with a special and easily-recognisable mark of their own—a cat. Tattooed running up a man’s arm or leg, a cat is supposed to assist him in climbing walls and buildings: a similar mark “head down” makes descending an easier matter for the thief. One prisoner, known as the 100-cat, span, was believed by his lees-tattooed brethren to have the power of making himself invisible. Once, indeed, he did nearlv make in's escape in a cart of rubbish. More often than not, however, the Burman makes a good prisoner from the gaoler’s point, of view. Many criminals seem reluctant to leave, and come back with unfailing regularity to the place where they arc probably better housed, and certainly hotter fed than when at liberty. In gaol they nearly all gain in weight, for most of the work is net really hard. The prisoners spin and weave their own blankets and clothes : plant, reap, and grind rice for their own food; besides doing at.' “export” trade in cane- -

and mats. The old practice was for one man to split canes, another to prepare frames, while a third wove seats, and so on; but of late years an effort has been made to teach young prisoners all the processes necessary to produce one article, in the hope that they would be able to earn an honest living afterwards. This step in the right direction has not been an unqualified success. As one native fellow put it. he had tried hontc-ty for three months, but found hj had made less than the result ot one night’s loot, so he preferred thieving-—and the risk of being caught. And life in gaol is not without its relaxations. We were introduced to one weather-beaten old ruffian, who was evidently a born naturalist. He was sitting with the rest of his gang spinning yarn in a primitive way. and though in the middle of a crowd, he had managed to attract some small birds that flew in and out of tlie shed. They perched on his shoulder, ate out of his hand, and chirped to him as a known friend. He handled his pets as gently as a nurse would a baby. Yet on the bodies and close-cropped heads of this man and his neighbours were scars of old wounds that spoke eloquently ot their stormy careers. Here, even more than elsewhere, a man is known by his clothes. First offenders wear white, habituals have a blue striped garment, “ lifers ” are distinguished by yellow stripes, or, if they have a bad record, by blue and yellow alternated. The colour of the cap has a significance also. Round his neck each man has a ring bearing a zinc tab with his sentence, crime, and date of conviction ; one notorious character was serving two life terms, equal to 50 years. The Warders. — The warders are themselves convicts who, by good conduct, have earned promotion with certain privileges. “Set a thief to watch a thief ” is the Burmese rendering of the old saw, justified by results. Even the cooking is done by convicts, and well done, too. Curry and rice is, of course, the staple diet, lib 14oz of rice being allowed for the principal meal. The expert who was dishing up the rice divided the “portions” quite accurately without scales. As a test the governor asked him to weigh out lib 12oz, and again his measure was exact. To prevent favouritism, however, the prisoners file past the end of the cookhouse, and the food is handed out to them through a slit in the wall, so narrow that the man inside cannot see who is taking any dish. Before being passed through the watch tower which, besides its supply of torches, flags, and .others alarm signals, holds a miniature arsenal, the stranger has his weight entered on the visitors’ roll in continuation of a long-standing custom. Then he is bowed out, carrying away the impression that there are worse places than a Burmese gaol.—Weekly Scotsman.