hierarchy, makes that body a silent assemblage without the power which the law intended it to exercise." 1 An editorial from the "Outlook" of April 7, 1906, may illustrate the more temperate personal criticism of the time. In part it read: "Of the presence of a number of men of ability and integrity in the Senate there is no question; but it is a great misfortune that a body which is in the habit of regarding itself as the most important legislative body in the world should have had three of its members under indictment for felonies within two years; that it should count among its members a few men who are very gravely and for good reason distrusted by their fellow citizens; that it includes altogether too many managers of political machines who control the entire political organizations of their States; that a small group of Senators stand together too definitely for business in politics - that is to say, for that 'system' of interweaving business and political interests which more than any other single thing has corrupted and lowered the tone of our public life. . . . In our judgment nothing can more effectively remove these causes than the election of Senators by popular vote." Such criticism from thoughtful men, together with much that was far less merited, ended by developing the public opinion necessary to accomplish that well-nigh impossible thing, an amendment of the Constitution, whereby in 1913 direct election of Senators was achieved. Enough time has now elapsed to warrant the passing of judgment upon the effects of the change. Lacking the opportunity for personal observation of the Senate as chosen under both the old and the new plan, I have turned to a capable and experienced Washington correspondent, William E. Brigham of the "Boston Transcript." He answers my inquiry: "I am unable to feel that the personnel of the United States Senate has improved in character under the new system of election of Senators by the people. I think, on the contrary, it has distinctly deteriorated. It was said of the Senate, when that body was elected by the Legislatures: 'It is a rich man's club.' If that was true then and it was not it is doubly true now; for under the old system a candidacy for the Senate involved much less expenditure than one before the people, if a thorough campaign is made. But that is not the major point, which is that Legislatures never dared to send cheap men to the Senate. If "The Overshadowing Senate," Century Mag., Feb., 1903. there were exceptions, they merely proved the rule. The man who served 'special interests' in the old days was no more dangerous than the demagogue of to-day; he at least had business sense, which the oratorical demagogue who goes shouting for his own election usually has not." From time to time appear suggestions for what their authors think will be improvement of the membership and character of the Senate. The most common has been to the effect that our ex-Presidents might well be made members for life. The proposal makes no headway. Indeed, no change is likely unless our conceptions of the function of the Senate radically change. CHAPTER XIX PRESIDING OFFICERS THERE were presiding officers in the assemblies of the ancient states, but nothing leads us to suppose that they played an important part in the early gatherings of Englishmen, except so far as the King himself presided in the days of the Witanagemot. When Parliaments came, there was at first little occasion for what we now think of as a presiding officer, for these at the outset were not essentially deliberative bodies. The agents of boroughs and shires were instructed what sort of a bargain to make with the Crown, and the need for consulting with each other was small. Gradually they undertook to make decisions on which their principals had not been consulted and then it became necessary to choose somebody to lay these before the King. Such a spokesman might be an outsider. There is record of at least one instance in which the messenger appears to have been a man employed as counsel, but members were chosen at any rate from 1376, when Peter de la Mare acted. His successor, Thomas Hungerford, was said "avoir les paroles" to speak for the Commons, and from that day the list of "Speakers" is complete.1 The Speaker, then, was really the speaker of the Houseto the King. As Sir Thomas Smith described him, he was "the mouth of Parliament." At first he was chosen by the body for which he was to speak, and it seems absurd that any other method of choice should ever have been permitted, but with the subserviency that befell Parliament in Tudor times, the monarch added this to his prerogatives. Coke (4 Inst., 8) finds an excuse: "For avoiding of expense of time and contestation, the use is, as in the congé d'eslire of a bishop, that the King doth name a discreet and learned man whom the Commons elect." The procedure did no credit to the independence or self-respect of Englishmen. When the House had gone through the form of an election, one of its members presented their nominal choice to the King, as their "parlour et procurateur." With feigned humility the object of the King's favor protested his insufficiency for so 1 Stubbs, Const. Hist. of England, 111, 453. great a responsibility, but the King, no doubt laughing in his sleeve, solemnly reassured the diffident parasite. Thereupon, the overpowered Speaker begged that his words might be regarded as those of the House and that no offense might be taken if he omitted what he ought to say or said what he ought not to say, with much more of like deprecation. Long after the servile formula became meaningless, the pretense was continued. In the contests with the Stuarts, Speakers began to pluck up courage. There is no more honorable episode in parliamentary history than that of 1642 when the House refused to give up to Charles I five of its members impeached of high treason and the King determined to go to the House at the head of an armed body in order to remove by force the leaders of the opposition. From the Speaker's dais he addressed the House, demanding the surrender of the five members whom he had accused. Receiving no response to his inquiries, he turned to the Speaker, William Lenthall, and asked whether they were present. Lenthall, falling on his knees before the King, replied: "May it please your Majesty, I have neither eyes to see nor tongue to speak in this place but as the House is pleased to direct me, whose servant I am here." One of the liberties brought to the Commons by the Revolution of 1688, in effect if not in form, was the independent choice of their spokesman. Another change, gradually made, was the shifting of emphasis from the function of spokesman to the function of president. The Speaker is still the official voice of the House, as in all other legislative bodies, speaking for it in receiving visitors, messages, invitations, in extending thanks, administering censure, or otherwise giving expression to the will of the House. These, however, are mere formalities, now of no importance in comparison with the province of real consequence, that of conducting the business of the House and umpiring its deliberations. The word "umpire," though to-day in America, at least, so commonly confined to the athletic field as to make its use in matters of legislation almost undignified, yet has good legal warrant and describes better than any other the position of the English Speaker. It carries somewhat more of the idea of guiding authority than "arbitrator" or "referee," and at the same time predicates complete impartiality. Herein lies the essential difference between an English and an American Speaker. Our presid ing officers are expected to be impartial to a degree only. Not so in England. There the Speaker is expected to sever himself from partisan motives as far as human nature will permit. Custom forbids him to give any help to his own party even by personal advice. Such is the anxiety to avoid so much as a suspicion of partisan thought that most if not all of the recent Speakers have never entered the political clubs of their party after accepting the office. Upon election the Speaker forfeits in effect his rights and privileges as the representative of a constituency. Although chosen each time for the duration of one Parliament, he usually serves through several terms, retaining office regardless of changes of ministry, until his health fails or for some personal reason he sees fit to resign. His salary is five thousand pounds a year, and he has the use of a palatial house forming part of Westminster Palace. On retirement he gets a pension of four thousand pounds a year or more, with a peerage carrying a seat in the House of Lords. Although his duties, ordinarily covering but parts of five days each week for half the year, seem light in comparison with the reward, yet the abilities required are of no mean order, the isolation of his position must become very irksome, and the requirements of etiquette imposed on him by ironclad custom would in the course of time gall most men. For instance, when in the chair, he can be approached only upon matters strictly of business. He may not leave the chair unless serious cause makes it necessary. John Quincy Adams quotes of him the lines of the "Rolliad": There Cornwallis sits, and, oh, unhappy fate; Long debates have killed Speakers. Two were brought to an untimely end by a debate in Richard Cromwell's Parliament. After nine days of incessant controversy, the House sat all one night and on till 10 P.M. the next day. Mr. Chalmer Chute, the Speaker, was taken ill and died a few weeks later. Mr. Long, Recorder of London, took his place and sat for four days, when he also was taken ill and died. It was in the course of this debate that the following plaintive appeal was made: "Mr. Speaker, I perceive the House grows empty; so do our bellies. I pray you |