Business done.—The Commons still harping on the Budget. Tim Healy enlivened proceedings by vigorous personal attack on "the most reckless and incapable Chancellor of the Exchequer that ever sat on the Treasury Bench." Lloyd George's retort courteous looked forward to with interest.
House of Commons, Wednesday.—When, shortly after half-past five, Chancellor of Exchequer rose to take part in debate on new development of Budget Bill, House nearly empty. Interests at stake enormous. Situation enlivened for Opposition by quandary of Government. But afternoon is hot, and from the silver Thames cool air blows over Terrace. Accordingly thither Members repair, leaving House to solitude and Chiozza Money.
Benches rapidly filled when news went round that Chancellor was on his legs. Soon there was a crowded audience. Sound of cheering and counter-cheering, applausive and derisive, frequently broke forth. Chancellor in fine fighting form. Malcontents in his own camp are reconciled. Hereditary foe in front. Went for him accordingly Walter Long seated immediately opposite conveniently served as suitable target for whirling lance. Effectively quoted from speeches made by him at other times, insisting upon relief of the rates so heavily burdened as to make it impossible to carry out social reforms of imperative necessity.
"After these lavish professions of anxiety to help local authorities, I did not," said the Chancellor, "expect the right hon. gentleman and his friends would go rummaging in the dustbins of ancient precedent, to find obstacles to place in the way of proposals of reform."
Carried away by his own eloquence, the Chancellor, whilst sarcastically complimentary to Walter Long, went so far as to call him "The Father of Form IV." The putative parent blushed. There were cries of "Order!" and "Withdraw!" Speaker did not interpose, and Chancellor hurried on to another point of his argument.
Quite a long time since our old friend Form IV., at one time a familiar impulse to party vituperation, was mentioned in debate. This unexpected disclosure of its paternity made quite a stir.
Son Austen followed Chancellor in brisk speech that led to one or two interludes of angry interruption across the Table. When he made an end of speaking, debate relapsed into former condition of languor. Talk dully kept up till half-past eleven.
Business done.—Further debate on Budget.
Thursday.—Chancellor of Exchequer admittedly allured by what he describes as "attractive features" of proposal to raise fresh revenue. It is simply the levying of a special tax on all persons using titles.
Idea not absolutely new. Principle established in case of citizens displaying crest or coat-of-arms. What is novel is suggested method of taxation. Differing from the dog-tax, levied at a common rate, it is proposed that our old nobility shall, in this fresh recognition of their lofty estate, be dealt with on a sliding scale. A duke will have his pre-eminence recognised by an exceptionally high rate of taxation. Marquises, earls and a' that will be mulct on a descending scale, till the lowly knight is reached. He will be compen-sated for comparative obscurity in the glittering throng by being let off for a nominal sum.
Chancellor fears it is too late to adopt proposal this year, a way of putting it which seems to suggest that we may hear more of it in next year's Budget.
Business done.—Hayes Fisher's Amendment to Budget Bill negatived by 303 votes to 265. Reduction of Ministerial majority to 38 hailed with boisterous burst of cheers and counter-cheers.
GARDEN CITY WASHING-DAY.
Our sensitive artist insists on a harmonious colour-scheme.
No, this is not the Russian ballet. It is the English Folk Dance Society, and their performances at the Royal Horticultural Hall at Westminster the other day showed that the Russian ballet is not to have things all its own way. I am not going to moralise upon the salacious quality of some of the themes of our exotic visitors, but certainly it would be difficult to find a stronger contrast to their ruling passion than is presented by the purity and simplicity of these country dances.
"Sellinger's Round," danced to an air that lulled Titania to sleep all through the winter at the Savoy, was the most popular, with its ring of a dozen dancers, hands joined, running together into the centre of their circle, as if to honour some imaginary deity—possibly Mr. Cecil Sharp, director of the Society, who has col-lected and revived the airs to which they dance.
Then there were the Morris-dances, "Shepherd's Hey" (with nothing about a "nonny-nonny" in it), and "Haste to the Wedding." There might perhaps be a greater propriety in the latter if it were confined to men; but at least it raised no apprehension that anybody was going to "repent at leisure." In the "Flamborough Sword" dance, the men (with no Amazon assistance) raced through the figure and out again, eight of them, armed with bloodless wooden swords—a finely ordered riot.
"Lady's Pleasure," a Morris-jig for two men, lays hold of you at the first bar, and again with a fresh grip and a tighter as the music slows up for the dancers to do their "capers "—all to the music of Mr. Cecil Sharp at the piano and Miss Avril at the fiddle.
The object of The English Folk Dance Society is to teach rather than to perform in public. Hence the rarity of their displays, and the better reason why we should seize, when they come, our chances of assisting at these delightful exhibitions of an art whose revival has done so much to restore to the countryside the unpretentious joys that gave its name to Merrie England.
The Lord Mayor (on hearing a certain Peel) "Turn again (in your grave), Whittington."
New song for old Cantabs.:—
"O.B., what can the maté be?"
"It was the time when Henry III. was batting with Simon de Montfort and his Barons."—Straits Times.
But not at Lord's, which has only just celebrated its centenary.
