[All Rights Reserved.] THE SILENT PARLIAMENT.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXVI, Issue X, 9 March 1901, Page 410

[All Rights Reserved.] THE SILENT PARLIAMENT.

By

ROBERT BARR.

Author of “The Mutable Many,” Etc.

SYNOPSIS OF INSTALMENTS I. TO \ Hl.—The reader is iutr«>du< ed to a travelling lecturer, Richard Stanford, who is sitting on the steps of U.s van, sniokaig. xTe is a man alstut 25 years ot age, witn firm mouth and stuhlmrn jaw. To n.m comes a iM.iscmau —the son of the owner of the surloundiug land — who pereniptor.iy orders Luu to move on, which, alter a friendiy

enversation. he does, lie stops again .n a quiet hamlet, and lectures to the villagers. '* beautiful lady, reclining in a boat on the < dge of a lake, is assailed by a rough tramp wao, in pursuit of money, is about to carry i.ur his threats of violence, when Stanford drawn to the spot by the lady s cries for help, and sends the tramp off. An interesting conversation ensues which is. however, terminated by the tramp, who had, unper- < eived. returned, and deals Stanford a blow which sends him into the water. He is icscued by some of Mrs Greenhow’s men. and carried to the Hall, where the doctor attends him. On regaining consciousness he finds the lady of the adventure by his s’de. ami before he govs holds a discussion will’ his hostess on the subject of his life work. Although be hardly convinces her of the feasibility of his scheme of reformation. she is so impressed by his own genuineness that she offers £100,(M>0 to finance the movement. This consists, in short, in the employment of a small army of men to attack the constituencies at the next General Election. The dissolution comes at an early date, bringing keen disappointment to Stanford, for not one of his nominees is .successful. Further efforts, however, on lines suggested by Mrs Greenhow bring hit • existence a new party in English politics. and every new election sees its growth in power, until Stanford is at last called to the premiership. That winter the distress among the labouring classes is awfully severe, ami a labour meeting in Trafalgar Square is charged by the soldiery with what Stanford's political opponents term unexampled cruelty. The Premier frankly >utlines his policy, which naturally astounds the House ami the country. Nothing like it has ever been heard of before. CHAPTER X. On Tuesday morning the press of England could not complain that there was nothing to write about. Never had there been such a day as Monday in the British Houses of Parliament. I'he Premier’s speech was printed in large type in every paper throughout the country, and it is not too much to say that it was universally condemned by the press of the Empire. On the vote for fifty millions opinion, however, was divided. There was a feverish anxiety to know what Stanford was going to do with the money, but that portion of the press which was well disposed towards labour, welcomed the innovation. always with the proviso that the money was to be well spent. They hoped it would not be used in any way which would tend to pauperise the labourers of tb**se islands, and they admitted the step was at least practical, being much more to the purpose than the appointment of some committee to inquire into the case of the unemployed, which had hitherto been the usual expedient of Parliament when confronted by the labour problem. Stanford’s frank and contemptuous distrust of the people was used against him in all quarters, and the Opposition felt that if a general election could be brought on. the young man would find himself without a majority. It was evident to all that Stanford intended to hold power as long as he had a following in the House, so the wise heads of the older parties put themselves together in order to devise means to bring about a crisis which would deprive the Prime Minister of his majority. When the vote for the fifty millions had been nassed Stanford left the House and came out through the lobby, where he was met by a messenger. who handed him a card. Stanford gave orders that the visitor should at once Im* shown to the Premier’s room, where he would come as quickly as possible. When he entered his room he found Mrs. Greenhow waiting for him. The lady rose

as he entered. Stanford noticed that she was very pale, and the smile that hovered about her lips seemed but faint-hearted. She held out her hand to him and said: “Well, Mr. Stanford. 1 feel like a person who has started an avalanche.”

“Ah.” said the Premier, “and is appalled at the result.” “Something of that sort,” answered the lady.

“You were present at the debate tonight, I suppose?” asked the Premier.

“If you call it a debate,” she answered. “yes, I was in the Ladies’ Gallery.”

“And what is your opinion of the result, Mrs. Greenhow?”

“I am afraid that I have been ignorantly and heedlessly tampering with a great and complicated machine. You frightened me by the way you talked to-night. 1 think it was dreadful: deplorable. 1 think it was extremely foolish. Mr Stanford, if you will excuse my saying so. Have you really such a distrust of the people as you pretend?” “Have you forgotten our first conversation or what was practically our first conversation on this subject. Mrs. Greenhow—that morning on the terrace overlooking the lake? I told you then I did not believe in the peo« pie. and 1 do not believe in them now.”

“Oh. I know you said so. but it seemed so foolish to express distrust of the people in the twentieth century when we, know that all Governments take their power from the people. To express such distrust is very unusual.” “I intend to do some very unusual things, so I begin with what you, and probably everyone else, think is J

ish: but when have you Tories had anything but distrust of the people?”

"We Tories, as you call us, have always legislated for the real good of the people at large. Most of the great measures for the relief of the people have been passed by Conservative Governments.” "Yes. I have often heard that before.” cried Stanford, “and granted it is true, what is the result? The condition of the people to-day is worse than ever it was. I intend to introduce seme radical improvements.”

"But. Mr Stanford, if wise statesmen for ages have done their best to improve the condition of the people, how can you hope to accomplish good where they have failed? How can you be sure that your meddling will not make matters worse? Look at the condition of England to-day. and that, not because anything has been done, hut merely because of a threat to do something. If the rumour of change has bad such disastrous results what will the changes themselves do?”

“Well, as matters can’t be made worse I hope for great improvement. The darkest hour is before the dawn, and that you know. Nirs Greenhow. is an ancient adage. To state a fact that 1 don’t believe has ever been controverted by the scientists: when a patient is at his worst, he begins to improve.” "Yes,” said Mrs Greenhow. shaking her head, “or he dies.” "But death is preferable to some states of existence.” “Then you are resolved to cither kill or cure your patient?” “Exactly.” “And which is it going to be, Mr Stanford? That’s what I’m anxious about.” “Oh. there is no question aliout that: 1 think we are going to cure the patient. He may imagine his

treatment rough at first, perhaps, but it will be all for his good.” "Do you really think so?” "Of course, or I could not go forward."

The lady did not meet his eager gaze but cast her eyes on the floor. She stood before him silent for some moments, then Stanford said: —

"Won’t you sit down, Mrs Greeuhow? And may I offer you some refreshment? It is late in the day tor tea. but anything in the House I shall be pleased to get for you. What shall 1 order? I confess 1 am th.rsty myself. for over-taiking, as i did in the House, is hot work, so what shall 1 order?”

"1 think, late as it is, 1 will have some tea. My nerves are a little shaken to-night, I am afraid. ’ Stanford gave the necessary order, and then, looking across at his visitor, said:—

"i fear you are displeased with me, Mrs Greenhow, and I hope you will tell me just what is on your mind. While I was speaking I found myself wishing you were in the Gallery to hear what was being said, not only by myself, but by the others. Now that you have been there, tell me what you think of it all.” “Well,” said the lady with some hesitation. “I’ll tell you what occuned to me while I was listening to you. It seemed to me that you were a mm who didn’t care; that you were riding recklessly, quite without regard to yourself or to others. I hope you will forgive me for saying it, but you appeared to me to be a man of tremendous personal ambition, who thought only of making your power felt, and who cared nothing for the people for whom you are supposed to be working. Now do you care?” “I do eare. I eare for nothing else upon earth so much except perhaps for one thing, as to improve the c.ndition of the people.” “And what is that one thing?” asked Mrs Greenhow. glancing up at him. As she looked at him a bright colour lit up his face, and Mrs Greenhow regretted she had asked the question, but he only replied: — “I shall tell you that some other day. 1 have absolutely no personal ambition:'! have no desire for any honour that my Sovereign can bestow upon me. nor do I care to be known even as the man who has inaugurated these great changes in England, but I have a hope that such honour will rest upon you. and that I shall be perhaps recognized as the instrument through which the changes were effected.”

Mrs Greenhow shook h“v head as he said this.

“I’m afraid. I’m afraid,” she said. “People say there will be a revolution in England if these measures of yours are adopted.”

“Who will revolt?” asked Stanford. “Fools, as the people undoubtedly are, they are not sueh jibbering idiots as to fight because they are put back into their own again. Who then would revolt? The aristocracy? I would smash their revolt in fifteen minu’es

with the police alone.” “You can't treat the aristocracy,” said Mrs Greenhow, looking up at him, “as you did those unfortunate wretches in Trafalgar Square.” “Can’t I? Just let them try. Oh, no, Mrs Greenhow, there won't be any revolution, and there won’t be any bloodshed. We have heard this talk before, but it has never come off. The House of Lords is always going to do something dreadful, but they are a very estimable body of old gentlemen, too fond of their own comfort, and too good judges of wine to care about making outlaws of themselves. No, much as I should like to see it, there will be no revolution, Mrs Greenhow.” “What are you going to do with the money, if you get it, Mr Stanford? “If I get it? Why the Bill passed the House to-night, and I have practically got it.” “Yes. but there are the Lords, you k now.”

“The Lords! They have nothing to do with the question of supply, or the finances of the country.” “Don’t be too sure of it.” “Well I am sure of it. They would not be. silly as they are, so indescribably foolish as that. Nothing would please me better than to have them throw out the Bill for the relief of the unemployed. It would do more than anything else to help stop the panic which the labouring people seem to be in. *1 hope they will throw out the Bill: it will merely delay us a day or two longer.” “But they may not throw it out,’” said Mrs Greenhow. “Suppose they discuss it for the next three months?’ Stanford’s eyes nearly closed and a hard steely glitter came into them. “Are you speaking from the card now. Mrs Greenhow? Have you had any hint of such a thing?” “ Oh. no, no,” cried the lady, “do not think I am speaking for anyone but myself.” “ Then when you asked me what I was going to do with the money, you were not speaking for the Opposition?”

“ No. I was not. I only wanted to know what your plans were. I will tell them to nobody, if you will permit me to know them.” “ Very well. You see I am telling them to you when I would not reveal them to the House of Commons. You see what a power you have over me. Mrs. Greenhow: I hope you will use it mercifully!” " Oh. you must not tell me unless you want to. I have heard it said that you have no definite ideas about the money, but hoped to use it as an immense corruption fund in case a General Election came on again, which everybody says must be the case within the next two or three weeks.” “Ah! I hoped I had made it plain when the next election would be. As to the money. I intend to use it to reclaim a large quantity of land which is now under water on the East Coast. Holland has shown us how to do that, and there are hundreds of acres to be had out of that bay called the Wash. That, I expect, will absorb nearly all the unemployed in this country. And to those who are mechanics, I intend to give the regeneration of London. I want to pull down all the old unsanitary buildings and erect good ones in their place. lam a believer in land, as you know, and I want to give England more land and better houses.” “ Won't a reclamation of The Wash cost more than it will be worth?” “ I don’t know, and for my purposes, I don’t care. I will see, as I said in Parliament, that every ablebodied man. who is willing to work, shall have work. 1 intend that the unemployed and starvation shall go out of fashion.” “ And how about bankrupting the country, as that man said? You spoke as if you didn’t care whether the British Empire drifted into bankruptcy or not. You surely were not in earnest when you said that?”

“ 1 don't know that I care, but I don't intend that it shall drift into bankruptcy. The land, as it at present exists, can produce enough to feed every man, woman, and child on these islands, if properly tilled, and I intend that it shall be so tilled. Here is England, a fertile island in the ocean. Look on it as a ship adrift. Imagine a ship adrift on the ocean with plenty to feed everybody, and yet the great bulk of the passengers starving, while many have more than they can eat. The vast majority must starve or pick up what it can get. It is monstrous, outrageous, and how a woman can defend the present state of things I do not comprehend.” “ Oh, I am not defending it, Mr. Stanford, I am anxious, and just a little bit afraid. You seemed to talk so recklessly this afternoon that I lost confidence, but hearing you speak to me in private again has restored it to me. Why can’t you talk to Parliment as you do to me?” Stanford laughed and said: “There is a great difference: you know, I am no believer in talk at all. You see. my dear lady. I am not going to be able through any eloquence I may have, to persuade anybody that what I think right is right; therefore. I am going to force these measures through the House with the mechanical majority I have at my back. If I talked from now till doomsday. I would not be able to convince a single member of the Opposition thaL-mv way of thinking was right. These things have been talked of, and talked of for ages, but nothing has been done. Now, I intend to do something. Perhaps it will all end in disaster. I don’t know. We can’t lie sure of anything upon earth, but I do know that what has already been done, and all the talk that has been listened to in the House of Commons has left a result as bad as at the beginning. Therefore, lam willing to risk disaster and to stand my share of it in order to try to accomplish something. If I don’t succeed in driving starvation out of the land, then I shall not at least, have snatched anybody else’s crust, and I shall ask no person to feed me whether that person goes hungry or not. I will have to take my chances and the landowners will have to take theirs. They have had a long, long innings. People talk glibly, as Bond did this afternoon, about what we owe our country, and our loyalty to the country, but what loyalty does a man owe to the conn try which allows him to starve during his hopeless, despairing search for work: that allows his wife and children to die for want of bread; that sends him and them at last, when his work is done, to a pauper’s home in the poorhouse. Damn such a country. I say!” And Stanford brought his closed fist down on the table with a force that made the teacups iingle.

“Oh, Mr. Stanford!” cried Mrs. (ireenhow, shocked at his expression, and rising to her feet. “ I beg your pardon,” said Stanford, also rising. “That is language which should be used only in the House of Commons. I hope you are not angry with me.” “ I know I ought to be.” she answered. “but I’m afraid I’m not. Goodevening!” and she held out her hand to him and was gone. (To be continued.)