The Sun.
London, England, 1851-05-20 00:00:00

M 1 Y '2O,

.1861.

PARLIAMENT

AND THE EXHIBITION.

Were it to be asked—What is there for Parliament
still to do, and why should it sit till the middle of August,
there are people who would be at no loss for a reply.
There are people, that is to say, who at all times and
seasons, and under all possible circumstances, will advise
the immediate commencement of the most arduous nu-
dertakings, to be pressed with the greatest rapidity, in
the face of the most formidable obstacles. What is
there for Parliament to do! Parliament has to reform
itself. Parliament has to deliver the administration of
law from abuses a thousand years old. Parliament has
to give the metropolis what it has not—municipal
insti-
tntions, Parliament has to solve a hundred problems
that have long been vexing the brains of journalists,
ani converting shiploads of good paper into unreadable
pamphlets. Consult these people, and at twelve o'clock
night they would, have the Cabinet
on any Saturday
summoned and Parliament assembled for the leer:le:Hate
onaestreent of household suffrage and vote by ballot. On
the prieciple that good deeds are never out of season, ,
they would have Parliament set about the entire mean-
struction of the British C,austitution at the very moment
when it is diCicult to muster a House for any purpose
whatever. We are perfectly aware that we shall net
please all men by suggesting the consideration of time
and place; but believing, as we do, that there is a time
for all things, and that opportunity is one ef the pied
coedithets of success, we must say that just now it is
not very easy to answer the question, ‘• What is there
for Parliament still to do, and wily should it sit oil the
vaiddie of August ?"
The Great Exhibition has gilled everything else. The
Court, the two Houses of Parliament, the nubility, the
gentry, the coairoonalty, the army, the police, carriages, I
cabs, and omnibuases are all dancing attendance upon
, it. 'l' he shops are unfrequented. The places of public
amusement are comparatively deserted. Even the rail-
ways lose their summer excursionists. Hainnton Court
and Greenwich exhibit in vain their horse chestnuts in
bloom and their whitebait ire season. We question
whether even the great Derby-day will attract so large
a fraction of a million as it has usually done. The
tall plant in Hyde-park has smothered everythin; in its
neighbourhood.
The Exhibition
ihition is London; the Exhi-
bition is the Parliament; it is the British empire; it is
house and home; it is drawing-room and study; it is
parterre, conservatory, and promenade; it is park and
club; it is shop and bazaar, theatre, picture gallery,
panorama—everything, in a word, which a man
or a woman wants in the metropolis. The
possessor of a season ticket, with a small surplus for
cabs, or, in default thereof, a good pair of
legs, is set up for the season. In a palace large
enough to be a glass-case for Versailles, or Windsor
Castle, filled with all that is ingenious, precious, beauti-
ful, curious, or rare, he walks at large, monarch of all ho
surveys. From the regalia of Indian dynasties to the
last invention of European science—from the rude manu-
factures of people who dwell by the desert, or under the
mountains of the Moon, to the patent for separating the
long and short fibres of wool, which is to found a new
family of millionaires, everything that the eye can gaze
on or the mind can comprehend, invites admiration.
There is no door to be opened—no wants intimated—no
importunity to be repelled—no purchases expected. To
all appearance some twenty or thirty thousand of this
metropolis have resolved to enjoy themselves in this
palace till they are compelled to he content with two
days in the week, or to be lost in a crowd still larger
than themselves. But such days and such insatiable
wanderings are very exhaustive. Even two or three
hours amid " the hum of nations" is enough to knock
up a strong man ; and we question whether, since the
war, there ever was such an amount of physical and
mental fatigue es there has been in this metropolis every
evening since the first of this month.
Parliament cannot continue to sit with any effect in the
face of so powerful a rival, and with so great a drain on
the strength of legislators as well as of all other classes.
June and July, too, have other attractions, which will
begin to hold up their heads and exert their influence,
should the novelty of the Exhibition woar off. The
season will probably be one of more than usual hospi-
tality; for there is hardly a family of any position or
means in the country that will not find its way to town.
With so much to distract, and no much to fatigue, it is
useless to say that Members of Parliament ought to be
at their posts, to make a House when wanted, to support
their party, and do other political drudgery. They
ought perhaps, but nevertheless they will not. The
sessions will he the struggle of a sleepy man under a long
and heavy sermon. He may open his eyes, shake him-
self, and pinch himself, but all to no purpose. After a
hundred convulsive efforts at attention, he will be utterly
unable to state either the text or the subject of the dis-
course. He will have lost an hour, and gained nothing
but the discredit of an involuntary inattention. Perhaps
the House of Commons ought to do more this session;
but, in matter of fact, it will do no more. It will only
waste its time, and injure its character by an obstinate
and slovenly perseverance in its duties, when it has
neither the heart nor the strength for them. Under such
circumstances the sooner it shuts up shop the better for
itself, and the better eventually for the business of the
country.— Times.