have regarded our work with a critical yet friendly eye, and have incorporated in their own literature one book after another. The path has thus been opened to spiritual fellowship.

Now on the other hand, as to the practical achievement. In the middle of the last century especially, the English work upon the Bible and the history of Christendom was undertaken with extraordinary energy; it gave the impression that they intended to set up for themselves a "two-Power standard" here also. Such men as Hort, Westcott, Lightfoot, Hatch (to name only these), set to work so vigorously that we-in the seventies, for example—received, one after another, theological books of which we were obliged to confess that we would gladly have had them in German. I may add that this is still the case, and the scientific ecclesiastical literature of the English is of such a quality that we, who to-day stand together as two friends, are gladly co-operating with the full power of each.

Such is the present position. I can but express the sincere desire that this community of labor in the theological sciences may endure, for I recognize The Contemporary Review.

that if you English and we Germans work together here we compel other nations (so far as they study theology) to listen to us, and they are doing so. I can only wish the continuance of this co-operation, undisturbed in any direction by limitation of freedom, and that with the earnest study of the Bible there may also proceed a deepening and enlarging unity in all that makes for spiritual culture, the goal of our desire. Luther once said that the word of God is like a passing downpour of rain (Platzregen). To-day it is here, my friends; help us to retain it, or it will vanish and be lost. Science may also be as a passing downpour, and if we fail in the hour of opportunity our spiritual capital will be lost. Embrace we the opportunity, and our theological science becomes one of the mightiest and surest foundations of lasting friendship between our nations. United in science and in Christianity, the cry of "War" sounds as the utterance of lunacy, a voice from depths we have left far behind. On the first page of the Bible it is written: "Replenish the earth, and subdue it." Subdue the earth, but as brothers!

The topic on which I am venturing to speak is one upon which it is, perhaps, presumptuous for me to touch. But one of the purposes I have in view, one of the morals I am anxious to draw, is that the House of Commons is a matter of general interestnot merely of interest to its membersand, therefore, that every citizen in the country is entitled, and even bound, to consider the question of its efficiency for the purposes for which it exists.

A speech delivered before the Westminister Catholic Dining Society.

*

That the House of Commons has fallen in reputation during recent years will, I think, scarcely be disputed by any attentive student of public opinion. I do, indeed, remember hearing the House of Commons described by an eminent member as "the most august of human institutions," but that, as I thought at the time, was simply an illustration of the tendency of human beings to hide an unwelcome truth from themselves by making an exaggerated statement in direct opposition

to it. Nowadays, it may truly be said, the clever young man who used to sneer at the House of Lords sneers at the House of Commons; and that fact marks the decay of the reputation it used to enjoy. There is no counterbalancing compensation to be found in the opinion of those better qualified to form a judgment. The member of the House of Commons is commonly not at all disposed to rally in defence of its reputation. On the contrary, if you get him alone, if you get him anywhere away from the ears of the reporter, he will generally take the lead in criticising the assembly to which he belongs.

Some of the diseases of the House of Commons are so familiar that it would be tedious to dwell on them at great length. First, there is the evil of obstruction; that is to say, discussion carried on not for the purpose of elucidating a subject, or giving information upon it, or educating the uninstructed outside, but simply of consuming time. And associated with that evil is the corresponding evil of remedies for obstruction, which have culminated in the frequent use of what is called "the guillotine." Though every one can appreciate these evils, it is necessary to be of the House of Commons rightly to estimate their gravity; on the one hand the degree to which members, persons even of considerable ability, are content to bend their minds to no other object but the expenditure of as much time as possible in the observations they may make; and, on the other, the extraordinary absurdity of a mechanical closure on discussion, coming at the most inopportune moments, sometimes at the very crisis of a discussion of evident importance, which results in the adoption of paragraphs and even pages of legislation without the slightest deliberation-it requires a close study of the institution to realize in

its full magnitude the extent of these evils. It is only when you have sat through a debate which is to be closed by the guillotine that you understand how vain a discussion becomes which is automatically to be brought to a conclusion. Those opposed to a Bill delight in turning into ridicule the proceedings of the assembly, insisting upon discussion of the less rather than the more important topics, while the Government promoting the Bill care very little what is said in the debate. They have only to wait till it is over, like persons standing in an archway till the rain shower shall abate. I surely need not dilate on these evils beyond recalling the fact that they exist.

Another less noticed evil is one that may be described as the evil of the empty house. Nothing can be more astounding than the experience of an enthusiastic stranger who obtains (or, rather, I should say, in happier times obtained) an order for the Gallery, and is present on the occasion of some great discussion, perhaps on the Army or Navy estimates, when it may happen that the number of members present is less than the legal quorum, and when, except for the Minister in charge of the estimates, there is no one of the slightest distinction or interest to look at or to listen to. That, I believe, at any rate to the extent to which it now exists, is a new phenomenon. I reckon the palmy period of the House of Commons' existence to have been between 1832 and 1878. I do not think you can find in English history a period in which, by general consent, the House of Commons played a more creditable, dignified and useful part. Some people may consider that the Long Parliament was greater, some may prefer the claims of that of 1689. But those were great controversial occasions, remote from our quiet needs and habits. 1832-78 was the palmy

period of the House of Commons as we know it and think of it. During that period there were, doubtless, many occasions when the sittings were badly attended, but when business of importance was on hand members of the first rank of ability thought it their duty to be present. In Lord Beaconsfield's Government of 1874 every Minister was expected to be usually on the Bench for important business, and was there as an ordinary rule. There is a remarkable account of regular attendance at an earlier date in Lord George Bentinck's life. He thought it necessary, when he was playing a great part in the House of Commons, to be present regularly during the whole sitting, remaining from 4.30 to 1 or 2 in the morning without leaving even to get food. When he went home, of course, he had a large supper late at night, the consequence of which was that he died of heart disease. There is no defending this practice, but he felt he must be there because, if not, some return or motion would slip through before anyone was aware. That represents a House of Commons altogether different from the present assembly. The idea of a motion or a return slipping through while no one is looking has an almost mythical air, and the leader of a party being present during the whole sitting is almost incredible to our experience.

What is the extent of this change? Perhaps it will be convenient if I briefly refer to the different kinds of debate, the extent to which this evil of the empty House exists, and the changes which have taken place in respect of the different kinds of debate.

I reckon there are four different kinds of debate which are of importance in the present House of Commons. First, there is the occasion of Government statements. These are always very well attended. They are

not very frequent. The Budget is a typical case, or the Navy Estimates. The other day a debate began with a great statement and then developed into controversial deliberation.

Secondly, there is the great parliamentary field day, when the parties have a fixed pitched battle. The only change which the student of parliamentary debate will notice in these is that the speeches are less elaborate and thorough than thy used to be. It is very interesting to look up a great debate in Hansard, and to see what sort of speech was thought adequate in olden times. Every one must be struck by the fact that speeches were then very much longer and more thorough on a great occasion than they are to-day. Mr. Gladstone's great speeches extended to two or three hours, and sometimes longer still. Lord Palmerston's famous Don Pacifico speech lasted for five hours. No one thought it at all odd that a distinguished politician should rise at midnight or one in the morning and deliver a speech, even of great length. In Lord George Bentinck's life there is a little incident of this kind which is striking. The effect of Peel's reforms on the colonies was reached late at night-not as a part of the question under discussion but as a new motion coming up. Lord George thought it not at all inconvenient, and nobody else was surprised, that he should then rise and make a long speech full of statistics; and debate followed.

Thirdly, there are debates on grievances. The Committee of Supply is the great occasion for these, and the only change that really has taken place here is one in the relations of the Government and the House. Formerly the Government was called to account by the House as by a superior. The old forms are to some extent kept up, but bit by bit the reality has been modi

fied; and now, I think, it is not untrue to say that a very considerable part of the debates on grievances is taken up by individual members, who bring the grievances in which they or their constituents are interested before the Government, very much in the way that a person in some Oriental country may bring his grievance before the Pasha and seek for redress. The change to be noticed here is that the Government are now supreme, and the individual member brings his grievance before them. In olden days the House of Commons was the superior and called the Government to account.

Fourthly and finally, there are the real debates for deliberation, such as the proceedings on a Bill. In the olden days, and even within my recollection, deliberation was more elaborate than now. Formerly there were long debates on the main principles of a Bill, while the details passed with comparative ease. Then there came a time when the Committee stage was greatly prolonged, and discussion, half obstructive, half useful, was poured on to the details. But now this is diminishing, and is even less than when I left the House of Commons. The mode of procedure now in a Committee of the whole House on the Bill is to debate before empty benches, and, if the Bill is a controversial one, under the guillotine. The consequence is that the whole system of deliberation is altered, and it is scarcely ever possible to impose a change upon the Government in the legislation they have proposed. And Government legislation is now the only

controversial legislation. In earlier times no inconsiderable part of the time of the House was devoted to private members' legislation on which the deliberative power of the House was quite unrestricted. Speeches were made which were directed to persuasion, and which did persuade.

Speeches made on private members' business influenced the House in important decisions. Now, all controversial legislation originates with the Government, and with the Government alone; and it is the rarest thing in the world for the Government to be forced seriously to modify their legislative proposals. Accordingly, the deliberative function of the House has sunk to insignificance, except on Bills relating to private interests, technically called Private Bills. Deliberation has sunk into a subordinate position altogether. There is, in short, no room for persuasion. That is the source of all the House of Commons' diseases. In olden days, even within the last thirty years, there were occasions on which great speeches were made which produced an immediate and powerful effect. And apart from immediate effects there is the case of ultimate persuasion. Though for the moment no change in votes may be made, the majority feel uncomfortable, they are conscious of defeat in the debate, and though, on that particular night, no change is observable, they are uneasy, remonstrating with the Government in private and ultimately changing the decision of the House. That still happens occasionally, I believe, but much more rarely than it used to.

The function of persuasion in the life of the House of Commons is steadily diminishing, and it is diminishing because there is no one to persuade. This is the source of all the evils I have alluded to. People do not obstruct because they like obstructing, but because they have nothing else to do, because it is useless to try to persuade. The uselessness of persuasion leads to obstruction, and obstruction to "the guillotine." So, too, with the empty House. No one cares to sit on the benches of the House of Commons if the debate can have no real result,

if it is known beforehand that people may speak till they are hoarse and influence nobody. The only occasions on which the members care to attend are the occasions when there are other interests-when there is a great statement or a speech in itself interesting. They won't attend to the ordinary deliberative business of the House, even when it is highly important, because they know that persuasion is useless. If there were any members of Parliament who were open to persuasion, the evils of which we have been speaking would be cured directly. Indeed, it is remarkable that on the rare occasions when there is any doubt as to the result the debate is raised to a higher level. Members attend; the debate is spirited and interesting. The bore the member to whom no one wishes to listen-is suppressed, not by his opponents, but by his own friend who will not allow him to spoil thei opportunity of persuading some one known to be in doubt. This better tone was illustrated in the Home Rule debates, when the House was nearly balanced. It was also apparent in the Fiscal debates in the last Parliament. On the Ministerial side there was a batch of Unionists known to be in doubt. Accordingly the Liberal party were most anxious to put forward their case as strongly as possible, and exercised the most severe censorship over those who were allowed to take part in it. I was much struck on one occasion by the discourtesy with which a tedious speaker was checked by those sitting round him.

Some people will say, "All this is very true, but it does not much matter. We do not care whether the House of Commons deliberates or not. In the end the people will decide, and all that has really taken place of recent years is that the process of deliberation has been transferred from the House of Commons to the country."

I am quite clear that, if deliberation, in the true sense of the word, does not take place in the House of Commons, it will take place nowhere. Deliberation in the country is not a reality in the sense that it is a reality in an assembly. In the country it is chiefly conducted by the Press, who are largely the exponents of wealthy interests. We are but at the beginning of a development in that direction, which is sure to go further. The Press will speak the mind of a certain number of wealthy people who can start or buy newspapers with a political object in view. Discussion by the Press cannot be so disinterested, nor at such close quarters, and is never so candid as discussion in an assembly, where people are face to face and bring one another to book. And, however the discussion be conducted, the electors themselves have no opportunity of deciding any particular issue. They are obliged to decided between two very broad syntheses of issues. One party puts forward a case extending over a great number of political issues, and another party advocates the opposite case. At the present moment we are told that the next General Election will be fought on two dominant issues -Free Trade and the House of Lords. What possibility of deliberation has an elector in such a situation? How is he to determine on either of these issues? He will also have to consider the question of Education, the question of Licensing, and the personal merits of the candidates before him. Therefore, there can be no real decision on any one particular issue submitted to him. Then again, the machinery of electioneering being SO elaborate, the choice of a candidate is placed to a large extent in the hands of political organizations. A large proportion of the electorate are apathetic; consequently any candidate must have some sort of organization behind him. It