that resolute attention which the subject demanded. On the present occasion his mind was full of Mr. Quintus Slide and the People's Banner. After all, was there not something in Mr. Slide's proposition? He, Phineas, had come into Parliament as it were under the wing of a Government pack, and his friendships, which had been very successful, had been made with Minis had made up his mind to be Whig Ministerial, and to look for his profession in that line. He had been specially fortified in this resolution by his dislike to the ballot, which dislike had been the result of Mr. Monk's teaching. Had Mr. Turnbull become his friend instead, it may well be that he would have liked the ballot. On such subjects men must think long, and be sure that they have thought in earnest, before they are justified in saying that their opinions are the results of their own thoughts. But now he began to reflect how far this ministerial profession would suit him. Would it be much to be a Lord of the Treasury, subject to the dominion of Mr. Ratler? Such lordship and such subjection would be the result of success. He told himself that he was at heart a true Liberal. Would it not be better for him to abandon the idea of office trammels, aud go among them on the People's Banner? A glow of enthusiasm came over him as he thought of it. But what would Violet Effingham say to the People's Banner and Mr. Quintus Slide? And he would have liked the Banner better had not Mr. Slide talked about the 'Ouse. man, under thirty, not remarkable for clean linen, and who always talked of the "'Ouse." But he was a well-known and not undistinguished member of a powerful class of men. He had been a reporter, and as such knew the "'Ouse" well, and was a writer for the press. And, though he talked of "'Ouses" and "horgans," he wrote good English with great rapidity, and was possessed of that special sort of political fer-ters, and with the friends of Ministers. He vour which shows itself in a man's work rather than in his conduct. It was Mr. Slide's taste to be an advanced reformer, and in all his operations on behalf of the People's Banner he was a reformer very much advanced. No man could do an article on the people's indefeasible rights with more pronounced vigor than Mr. Slide. But it had never occurred to him as yet that he ought to care for anything else than the fight, than the advantage of having a good subject on which to write slashing articles. Mr. Slide was an energetic but not a thoughtful man; but in his thoughts on politics, as far as they went with him, he regarded the wrongs of the people as being of infinitely greater value than their rights. It was not that he was insincere in all that he was daily saying; but simply that he never thought about it. Very early in life he had fallen among "people's friend's," and an opening on the liberal press had come in his way. To be a "people's friend" suited the turn of his ambition, and he was a "people's friend." It was his business to abuse Government, and to express on all occasions an opinion that as a matter of course the ruling powers were the "people's enemies." Had the ruling powers ceased to be the "people's enemies," Mr. Slide's ground would have been taken from under his feet. But such a catastrophe was out of the question. That excellent old arrangement that had gone on since demagogues were first invented was in full vigour. There were the ruling powers and there were the people,—devils on one side and angels on the other, and as long as a people's friend had a pen in his hand all was right. - Phineas, when he left the indignant Bunce to go among his friends, walked to the House thinking a good deal of what Mr. Slide had said to him. The potted peas Committee was again on, and he had intended to be in the committee-room by twelve punctually; but he had been unable to leave Mr. Bunce in the lurch, and it was now past one. Indeed, he had, from one unfortunate circumstance after another, failed hitherto in giving to the potted peas From the committee-room, in which, alas! he took no active part in reference to the potted peas, he went down to the House, and was present when the debate was resumed. Not unnaturally, one speaker after another made some allusion to the row in the streets, and the work which had fallen to the lot of the magistrates. Mr. Turnbull had declared that he would vote against the second reading of Mr. Mildmay's bill, and had explained that he would do so because he could consent to no Reform Bill which did not include the ballot as one of its measures. The debate fashioned itself after this speech of Mr. Turnbull's, and turned again very much upon the ballot, although it had been thought that the late debate had settled that question. One or two of Mr. Turnbull's followers declared that they also would vote against the bill, of course, as not going far enough; and one or two gentlemen from the Conservative benches extended a spoken welcome to these new colleagues. Then Mr. Palliser got up and addressed the House for an hour, struggling hard to bring back the real subject, and to make the House understand that the ballot, whether good or bad, had been knocked on the head, and that members had no right at the present moment to consider anything but the expediency or inexpediency of so much Reform as Mr. Mildmay presented to them in the present bill. Phineas was determined to speak, and to speak on this evening if he could catch the Speaker's eye. Again the scene before him was going round before him; again things became dim, and again he felt his blood beating hard at his heart. But things were not so bad with him as they had been before, because he had nothing to remember. He hardly knew, indeed, what he intended to say. He had an idea that he was desirous of joining in earnest support of the measure, with a vehement protest against the injustice which had been done to the people in general, and to Mr. Bunce in particular. He had firmly resolved that no fear of losing favour with the Government should induce him to hold his tongue as to the Buncean cruelties. Sooner than do so he would certainly 66 go among them" at the Banner office. He started up, wildly, when Mr. Palliser had completed his speech; but the Speaker's eye, not unnaturally, had travelled to the other side of the House, and there was a Tory of the old school upon his legs, Mr. Western, the member for East Barsetshire, one of the gallant few who dared to vote against Sir Robert Peel's bill for repealing the Corn Laws in 1846. Mr. Western spoke with a slow, ponderous, unimpressive, but very audible voice, for some twenty minutes, disdaining to make reference to Mr. Turnbull and his politics, but pleading against any Reform, with all the old arguments. Phineas did not hear a word that he said did not attempt to hear. He was keen in his resolution to make another attempt at the Speaker's eye, and, at the present moment was thinking of that, and of that only. He did not even give himself a moment's reflection as to what his own speech should be. He would dash at it and take his chance, resolved that at least he would not fail in courage. Twice he was on his legs before Mr. Western had finished his slow harangue, and twice he was compelled to reseat himself, thinking that he had subjected himself to ridicule. At last the member for East Barset sat down, and Phineas was conscious that he had lost a moment or two in presenting himself again to the Speaker. He held his ground, however, though he saw that he had various rivals for the right of speech. He held his ground, and was instantly aware that he had gained his point. There was a slight pause, and as some other urgent member did not reseat himself, Phineas heard the president of that august assembly call upon himself to address the House. The thing was now to be done. There he was with the House of Commons at his feet, a crowded House, bound to be his auditors as long as he should think fit to address them, and reporters by tens and twenties in the gallery ready and eager to let the country know what the young member for Loughshane would say in this his maiden speech. Phineas Finn had sundry gifts, a powerful and pleasant voice, which he had learned to modulate, a handsome presence, and a certain natural mixture of modesty and self-reliance, which would certainly protect him from the faults of arrogance and pomposity, and which perhaps might carry him through the perils of his new position. And he had also the great advantage of friends in the House who were anxious that he should do well. But he had not that gift of slow blood which on the former occasion would have enabled him to remember his prepared speeeh, and which would now have placed all his own resources within his own reach. He began with the expression of an opinion that every true reformer ought to accept Mr. Mildmay's bill, even if it were accepted only as an instalment, but before he had got through these sentences, he became painfully conscious that he was repeating his own words. He was cheered almost from the outset, and yet he knew as he went on that he was failing. He had certain arguments at his fingers' ends, -points with which he was, in truth, so familiar that he need hardly have troubled himself to arrange them for special use, and he forgot even these. He found that he was going on with one platitude after another as to the benefit of reform, in a manner that would have shamed him six or seven years ago at a debating club. He pressed on, fearing that words would fail him altogether if he paused; but he did in truth speak very much too fast, knocking his words together so that no reporter could properly catch them. But he had nothing to say for the bill except what hundreds had said before, and hundreds would say again. Still he was cheered, and still he went on; and as he became more and more conscious of his failure there grew upon him the idea, the dan gerous hope, that he might still save himself from ignominy by the eloquence of his invective against the police. He tried it, and succeeded thoroughly in making the House understand that he was very angry; but he succeeded in nothing else. He could not catch the words to express the thoughts of his mind. He could not explain his idea that the people out of the House had as much right to express their opinion in favour of the ballot as members in the House had to express theirs against it; and that animosity had been shown to the people by the authorities because they had so expressed their opinion. Then he attempted to tell the story of Mr. Bunce in a light and airy way, failed, and sat down in the middle of it. Again he was cheered by all around him, cheered as a new member is usually cheered, and in the midst of the cheer would have blown out his brains had there been a pistol there ready for such an operation. That hour with him was very bad. He did not know how to get up and go away, or how to keep his place. For some time he sat with his hat off, forgetful of his privilege of wearing it; and then put it on hurriedly, as though the fact of his not wearing it must have been observed by every body. At last, at about two, the debate was adjourned, and then as he was slowly leaving the House, thinking how he might creep away without companionship, Mr. Monk took him by the arm. "Ah! I thought you had some such feeling as that, and therefore I was determined to speak to you. You may be sure, Finn, that I do not care to flatter you, and I think you ought to know that, as far as I am able, I will tell you the truth. Your speech, which was certainly nothing great, was about on a par with other maiden speeches in the House of Commons. You have done yourself neither good nor harm. Nor was it desirable that you should. My advice to you now is, never to avoid speaking on any subject that interests you, but never to speak for above three minutes till you find yourself as much at home on your legs as you are when sitting. But do not suppose that you have made an ass of yourself,- that is, in any special degree. good-night." Now, ANDROMACHE. AH me, my happy youth, my woful age! Methinks I stand upon the Trojan wall I hear the tramp of the returning host, W. G. C. From The Spectator. POEMS FOR A CHILD.* WE have read some of these lively and fanciful poems before in Aunt Judy's clever magazine, but many of the best are quite new to us, and more genuinely childlike humour we have found in no volume of poetry since the publication of Lilliput Levée, which contained very much the same blended qualities of warm, poetical feeling, and buoyant, sparkling, playful vivacity. Whether this book be due to the same authors as Lilliput Levée it is impossible for any critic on purely internal evidence to assert, but if not due to the same authorship, it is due to a very similar combination both of powers and moods. Of the two authors who are represented in this little book by A and B, A has the greater vivacity, and B the greater depth of poetical feeling. If Lilliput Levée had been due to the same authors as this little book, we should say that the exquisite autumn piece which was quoted in these columns† called "Trumpeter Redbreast" had been written by B, and "Order reigns in Lilliput Town" probably by A. A is far the more fertile, and has a bright volatile fancy with a charming impertinence of its own, only verging here and there (say in page 304, for example) on the flippant, -a fancy which has generally the true ring of airy, childlike laughter in it, and which here and there attains a strain of poetical feeling of a deeper kind. But both moods of A's mind, both the lively and the meditative, are in their light fashion, poetical. Nothing can be more truly poetical in its light laughing fashion than the little poem on Hunting the Wind," which describes how the wind cried like a child in pain" against the nursery windows, - how little Curlyhead let it in to warm and revive it, how the wind came tearing in with the most unmannerly violence, blew both the candles out, and made the nursery in a mess which induced the children to dread the instant penalty of being sent to bed if discovered by their nurse, how Curlyhead, RedCheeks, and Blue-Eyes, having wisely first shut the window, sat to catch the Wind in an empty cage into which Blue Eyes thrust her chubby, hollowed hand, while Curlyhead shut the door, an achievement commemorated in this pretty little final verse : Poems written for a Child by two Friends. London: Strahan. ↑ Spectator for 28th September, 1867, page 1,092. Nothing can be livelier than A's extravagance. The fairy stories in verse are admirable. The story of the fairy who intoxicates herself with the cream in the dairy, goes to sleep in the butter, is made up into a butter-pat and swallowed next morning at breakfast by greedy Jim, and who turns that unfortunate young gentleman into the most violent of convulsionnaires, is told with a vivacity that leaves nothing to be desired. No child will fail to be moved by this very captivating description of a singular and perplexing occurrence: But with all our regard for A, which is great, - and though both A and B wrote for a child by their own confession, we must say we think A will be most successful in fascinating children in general, if not the special child in question,- we must admit to a belief in the greater depth and beauty of B's much fewer pieces. B's poetry is childlike in spirit, but scarcely suitable for children's use. It appeals to a greater depth of feeling than they can enter into, — a depth of feeling of which even so far as they could enter into it, they would feel ashamed, with the usual reserve of children, to express. Children, even when they are most alive to the beauty of the world, shrink from interpreting their feelings by the passionate words of true poetic insight. They like to have it veiled under a jest or masked by a parable. They are chary of emotion and afraid of pathos unless it find a dramatic occasion in narrative. This is a true and exquisite poem, and a poem that might well have been written by one striving to enter, from a higher level of feeling, into the heart of a child, but very far indeed from a poem for children: "IN THE FIELDS. "Airy budding ash-tree, You have made a throne, And the sweetest thrush in all the world Drawn in tints of tender brown He sings up and he sings down, "Through the thin leaves thrilling Goes each glittering note, Hearts of all happy trees are drawn And all the growing blooms of morn "Now he asks a question! The answer who can guess - And will the Summer last this year "Now he states a dogma! |