Punch: Punch (19.1850)

PUNCH. OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI

87

HEY! FOR SCOTLAND'S LAW.

onscientiously

we always used
to look upon
the law of Eng-
land as the very
acme of the un-
intelligible, and
we were accus-
tomed to think
that mystifica-
tion could no
further go, when
it had taken the
shape of a de-
cree in Equity.
Our attention
has, however,
been called to a
recent Scotch
judgment — or
interlocution, as
it is termed—
pronounced by
one of the

learned Judges who preside in the superior Courts at Edinburgh. It
sets out with the following intricate labyrinth of words, from which,
after scratching ourselves nearly to pieces among the brambles of
obscurity, we emerge in as blessed a state of ignorance as we were
in when we made our first rush into the maze, which we now invite
the venturesome reader to dash at.

" The Lord Ordinary having heard parties' procurators on the conjoined processes of
suspension and interdict, and declarator, and thereafter made avizandum, and con-
sidered the closed record productions and proceedings."

We here leave off for a moment to allow the taking of breath; and
we beg leave to ask in the joint names of Lindley Murray, Doctor
Johnson, poor old Dilworth, the two Mavors, father and son,
Mrs. Barbauld—her of the hymns, we mean—and Mrs. Trimmer,
what it all means. As a "process of suspension'' is spoken of, we
presume of course that the judgment relates to a hanging matter; but
farther than this, we are not prepared to go. The "interlocution"
then proceeds thus :—

" In the suspension and interdict repels the reasons of suspension (the culprit, it
seems, is not to be hanged) and discerns ; and in the declarator sustains the defences,
assoilsies the defender from the whole conclusions of the libel, and discerns."

Here we must pause again, lest against the extreme hardness of the
words, we " dash out our desperate brains." What does the learned
judge mean by " assoilzying a defender r" Is it a genteel way of saying,
"gets him out of the soil," or "picks him out of the mire," or "helps
him when stuck in the mud?" We will not "pause for a reply," because
we might just as well keep our pause off; but we proceed to what the
Lord Ordinary, in his great discernment, says that he "discerns."
Well then, he*

" Finds the suspenders and pursuers liable to expenses [What! both sides pay in
Scotland, do they?] of the conjoined action, allowing an account thereof to be given in
and remits the same [Oh, ho! Then the judge himself pays the costs, does he? Oh
yes, certainly, for he ' remits the same '] to the auditor to tax and report.

We have a great mind to have this Scotch judgment hung up in the
window of our office in Fleet Street, like the patent lock in Bramaii's
vindow, with an intimation that whoever can produce a key to it shall
receive a reward of Five Hundred Pounds—of Wall's End coals.
We have seen in our day a large assortment of Chancery decisions,
which would have justified any non-professional parties in resorting to
a half-crown or a halfpenny to toss up, for the purpose of determining
which side had gained the" advantage, but this Scotch "interlocution"
makes our English equity a simple sort of matter, in comparison to the
intricacies in which we have found ourselves entangled just now. We
can only exclaim, " Well, we never, Lord Brougham, did you ever ? "
We are sure Lord Brougham will admit that " No, he never," and we
hope his Lordship never may have to sit upon such a case in the way of
appeal. _

A MONUMENT TO LOED ASHLEY.

Yesterday will long be remembered in the annals of the libro d'oro
of the Beadle of Exeter Hall. There never has been such a meeting m
the memory of the oldest Sabbatarian; and it was confidently prophe-
sied that Time may stand upon tiptoe to watch the advent of such
another and never behold it.

It is the peculiar felicity of a grand idea to beget a number of smaller
notions, bearing some resemblance to the original thought. Alike, but
very different. Thus, it was no sooner determined to erect a monument
to the benevolent genius of a great statesman: of a man who, whilst he
patronised the cheap loaf, did not loftily eschew the patronage of art
and letters,—than a monument was determined for his late Royal
Highness the Duke op Cambridge ; a monument as it now appears,
put off until next season, in consideration of the calls upon Parliament,
by grouse and the German spas. In the meantime, the architects of
England have, until February next, to mature their designs for a monu-
ment to departed royalty, whose peculiar goodness it was—boldly
avouched Lord Grosvenor—to have subscribed every minute of time,
and every farthing of money, towards the necessities of human nature,
recent Scotch To eternise such a fame (when duly proved, as no doubt it will be when
the shooting season ends), will tax to the highest the creative genius of
England's sculptural worthies. In a while, and progressing at the rate
we have travelled for the past month, monuments will start into stony
existence, rapidly as muslirooms.

Lord Ashley is to have a monument; and his Lordship deserves
one. It was this deep conviction of his merits—a conviction throbbing
at the hearts of his admirers—that yesterday filled Exeter Hall with
the elect of the wicked City of London, gathered together to pay
homage to the bold and subtle genius of that " pious and excellent
nobleman," as the Times fleeringly called him, who "stole a march
upon Parliament" on the day of the Derby, to shut up the Sunday
post-office ; and, with the dexterity of a professor of the persecuted art
of pea-and-thimble, worked a work of zealous holiness.

The chair was taken by Mr. De Newgate, who called upon every
really pious man with a heart in his breast and a shilling in his pocket
to come forward with his sixpence. They woidd build such a monu-
ment to the good intentions of the noble and pious lord, that an
admiring posterity should go down upon its knees to it. Their oppo-
nents had flung it in their teeth that a certain place, to which at that
meeting _ it was not necessary for him more particularly to allude, was
paved with good intentions; he, however, came not there to dwell upon
the enlargement of that pavement, but to propose a monument to good
intentions. Lord Ashley had been defeated {groans), wickedly
defeated by a mammon-loving Government; but his Lordship's inten-
tions remained the same : he would not only have gone the whole hog,
but have compelled every man, woman, and child, to wear a Sunday
inner garment of its bristles. {Cheers.)

Mr. Sleeklocks rose to move a resolution. For his own part, he
wished to express to the noble, the heroic, but defeated lord, the pious
admiration 01 his disciples in the most significant and touching material
—of course he meant gold. The iniquitous Sunday letter-delivery had
been stopped. A sinner under sentence of death had been reprieved;
but—the mail-bag remaining at the Post-Office—the evil-doer was, for
the day, kept in ignorance of the mercy; and thereupon had his
thoughts directed as they ought to be ; whereas, had the sinful post
run upon that day, the malefactor would have been rejoicing. Mr.
Sleeklocks thought that a handsome gold ink-stand in the shape of a
death's-head should be presented to Lord Ashley in commemoration
of his triumph—a triumph to be renewed next session—{Cheers)—over
the carnal authorities ot St. Martin's-le-Grand.

Mr. Phosphor thought a lucifer-box, delicately chased with the
armorial bearings of his Lordship, would—to use the express words of
the speaker—" find an echo in the heart of every genuine Sabbatarian."

Here ensued a long and desultory conversation, which it is needless
to report. We shall therefore omit all details, coming at once to the
determination of the meeting, which was, namely—

To erect, immediately opposite to the Post-Office, an obelisk to the
memory of Lord Ashley's fleeting triumph, made of the very best and
most enduring black sealing-wax.

The Sunday Post Delivery.

A PvEAN.

CocK-a-doodle-doo!
The Sabbatarian crew,
Our letters that stopp'd,
At last have been whopp'd;
For which thank—you know who !

Too Horrible to Contemplate !—If a lady who hesitates is lost,
what must it then be for a lady who stammers or stutters !

From a Very Old Friend.

"Dear Punch,—I say ! old fellow,—you don't appear to have anv
reg'lar Poet's Corner on your territories. However, I suppose you know
the original one somewhere in Westminster; and, for your information,
there is another just begun at the corner of Queen Square, Bloomsbury^
not to commemorate dead poets, but to show the talents of real five 'uns'
The following has been perpetrated within a few yards of me—on a black
board and white letters :—

" ' There is no thoroughfare
At the north end of this Square.'

"Pray, stop this.

"I am, dear Punch, The Queen Square Pcmr"