The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1840-08-04 00:00:00

to stranger...
At the further end of the house, between the two high
glazed doors which form the peers' entrance, is the throne.
It is placed under a splendid canopy, and raised two or three
steps from the floor. All that is not gilded is covered with
crimson cloth. Behind the throne, under the canopy, in a
circular emblazonment of gold, are the Royal initials ; but,
by a strange negligence, the " W. R." has not yet been re-
placed by the initial of the Queen. The space in front of
the throne, and on the steps, is occasionally occupied by
gentlemen who are introduced by the Lord Chancellor's or-
der, and the three or four aristocratic-looking boys who are
paying such devout attention to the proceedings are the sons
of peers. Immediately in front of the throne is what is
called the woolsack—a large crimson mound or bank, like
nothing but itself, in the centre of which sits the Lord
Chancellor, in all the glories of a silk gown and full judicial
wig. A less commodious seat for one who has to be there
for many hours, after a fatiguing day in the Chancery Court,
cannot well be conceived. Other peers occasionally lounge
about on the woolsack, though, as there is no back to lean
against, one is at a loss to account for their taste. Imme-
diately in front of the woolsack are two other banks of the
same kind stretching forward into the house, which are also
used as seats or lounging-places. The Princes of the Blood
generally occupy them when present in the house. In front
of these is the table, at which sit, wall their faces to the
Chancellor, two or snore clerks (barristers) in wigs and
gowns ; and, occasionally, a master-in-chancery or so. The
former individuals have to read petitions and other matters
to the house, when desired to do so, and are chiefly distin-
guished by being the worst readers in the United Kingdom.
In front of the table, between it and what is called the " bar,"
behind which strangers and members of the other house are
admitted, are situated the cross benches of the Duke of
Richmond and other neutral noblemen—those who have not
yet made up their minds, or who have no minds to make up.
The great mass of peers are ranged on benches stretching
on each side along the 'sides of the house, from the glass
doors before mentioned down to the bar. Of these the go-
vernment and their supporters sit on the right of the Chan-
cellor, and the opposition on the left. As you view them
from the strangers' gallery, or stand at .the bar, however,
these positions, of course, appear reversed—the opposition
being on your right and governinent on your left.
So much for the ground plan ; now for the tilling up. But
before you begin to inquire who the individual peers are, the
first impression that strikes you is the gentlemanly aspect of
the whole assembly. No buzz, no creaking of boots and
scraping of feet, such as you hear in the House of Commons
—but all quiet, easy, and well-bred. You instinctively feel
that you are in an assembly of gentlemen, nor do you see or
hear anything to dispel the illusion. The peers are in one
peculiar respect distinguished from the commons: they pay
a due attention to dress. There are no dirty, vulgar men in
the House of Lordss—no men with soiled stockings and dis-
ordered shoe-ties. They do not seem to favour the delusion
that slovenliness and talent have any necessary relationship.
Now for the peers themselves. Immediately on the right
of the lord chancellor, and on the extreme left of the house,
as viewed from the gallery, is the bench of bishops. In the
front is a meek, sickly-looking prelate, in a close-fitting dark
wig. He is the Archbishop of Canterbury, against whom
not even his enemies have a word to say. He can champion
the church without provoking the ire of her foes. Near him
is
.the less abstracted, but scarcely less respected, Bishop of
London. His full, ruddy face, offers a fine contrast to the
pale visage of the archbishop. Conspicuous among these
divines is the celebrated Bishop of Exeter. The next seats
to the bench of bishops, farther down the house on the right
of the chancellor, are occupied by ministers. In the midst
of them sits, or rather lolls, the all-potent, because all-
impotent, Melbourne. Observe the careless air with which
his white hat is tilted off his forehead, and the dolce far
niente which his whole bearing expresses. He is turning
hastily over the leaves of a government bill—it is the first
time he has looked at it, though the order of the day for its
second reading is now being moved ! The tall dandy, with a
face like the Saracen's Head in acute grief, is the Marquis
of Normanby. An elderly gentleman next him, fresh-co-
loured, and with a staid, respectable air, is his brother-Mar
quis, of Lansdowne. A very stout, infirm old man, with
crutches, a bald head, and bearing in his face a marked re-
semblance to the great Charles James Fox, is his nephew,
Lord Holland. He is chiefly remarkable for vociferous
cheering at inconvenient times, and for making good speeches
greatly to the embarrassment of his colleagues. To the right
of the Marquis of Lansdowne you will observe a peer with a
peculiarly sheepish expression and enormous shirt-collar—
that is Lard Duncannon. In spite of his very silly appear-
ance, his lordship is one of the few men of business in the
ministry; but the desk, not the house, is his sphere. Im-
mediately adjoining ministers, on their right, and at the head
of a bench that is scarcely separated from theirs, sits Lord
Brougham. He displayed his usual sagacity in the choice
of that seat. He is as it were among the ministers, but not
of them ; yet the neutrality of his position is not so marked
as to signify the impossibility of reunion. Behind the noble
and learned lord, on the back bench, sits the Earl of Radnor.
To his right sits the Marquis of Clanricarde, concerning
whom even his friends are silent ; near him, also, sits Lord
Denman, with that tine severe face of his—the index of so
much more than his mind contains.
Let us now turn to the conservative benches—on the left
of the Chancellor.. First, in all points of view, let us single
out the Duke of Wellington. He sits at the end of the first
bench, in front. His dress is the simplest, consisting of a
blue frock coat, and plain white trousers. His attitude is
singular. ' With his arms folded, his head sunk on his breast,
his hat Blotched over his eyes, and his legs stretched out their
full length on the floor, he would appear to be asleep and re-
gardless of all that is going on. But if you watch his mouth,
you will perceive that he is engaged in deep thought, and fre-
quently he rises and proves that he has been so, either by
delivering a plain, manly John-Bull-like exposition ,of his
views, or by answering in detail the arguments of those who
have gone before. Next to the illustrious duke, is his par-
liamentary squire, Lord Ellenborough—the peer with a full,
fresh colour, and curling bead of dark hair. One of the most
clear-headed and sensible of his party, he has until lately ne-
glected business for pleasure, but he is now an altered man,
and seems wisely to have become a sort of parliamentary pupil
of the duke. Immediately on his right is a dark-haired, pale
man, dressed in black, and with the air of a very serious
clergyman of the establishment—it is the Earl of Aberdeen.
also a strong, clear-headed man. Lower down, an infirm old
man, with white hair and supported by crutches, is Lord
Wynford ; near him is Lord Kenyon, the peer whose cheek
is ruddy with health, but whose hair and whiskers are white
as snow. Behind the Duke, on the back bench, is the Earl
of Wicklow, a stout, ruddy-faced man, with sandy hair.
When he does not get into a passion, there are few more sen-
sible men in his party. On the same row at the extreme end
of the house, farthest from the Lord Chancellor, Lord Lynd-
hurst has chosen to post himself, for what reason it is difficult
to say. Quite cut oil from the other leaders of his party, jt
would seem that the inconvenience of the position is its
charm. Any other man would feel embarrassed at having to
address the house from such a distance ; but Lord Lynd-
hurst's fine, clear, manly, trumpet-like voice, overcomes all
obstacles of space, as his self-possession overcomes all those
of situation ; and he makes himself heard, aye, and felt too,
in any part of the house.
If the strong and characteristic contrast between the Houie
of Commons and the Upper House be marked in the build-
ing, its decorations, and the personal appearances of the
members, how much the more evident is it in their respec-
tive modes of conducting a debate ! The reader is aware that
scenes of riot and confusion occur at times in the Lower
House, in comparison with which the councils of the Indian
Sagenachs are venerable. In the House of Lords no such
scenes occur. The only event of the kind that at all ap-
proached to them, was when the late King came down to
prorogue parliament after the rejection of the reform bill.
But how different was the display of feeling ! If ever strong
excitement was pardonable, it was on such an unprecedented
occasion. Yet it did not degenerate into riot, 'as is the case
in the House of Commons; and their lordships had scarcely
given way to it when it was put a stop to. The fact is, that
the tone which pervades the house, and the good breeding of
its members, precludes such exhibitions. No man is in that
house by accident—all have their credentials, either of birth
or of talent. But not in the absence of noise, and the main-
tenance of order alone, is the superiority of the House of
Lords evident ; the tone of the debating is far superior.
Almost every man who rises in that house is, more or less, a
statesman. He feels himself—not the representative of a
mere class, the advocate of an isolated few, but one of the
guardians of the welfare of the community—a member of the
high court of appeal of the nation—the constitutional mode-
rator of the passions and prejudices of the people.