DOI issue:
Punch's essence of parliament
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16615#0115
107
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
UNDER CONSIDERATION.”
5Eragb©omrlJg in Tfjm $cts.
ACT I.—“ THE WAITING-ROOM.”
Scene.— The Waiting-Room if a Public Office, not a hundred mites from
Whitehall. The apartment is solidly, but by no means cheerfully
furnished, with an oak table, six oak chairs-their leather-covered
cushions much worn, and their backs painfully straight,— and an
uneasy settle—formerly a seat in the old House of Commons, but now
■enjoying a dignified retirement: the floor is covered with oil-cloth of
■a rectangular pattern, and chilly colour: the fire is low and sulky,
from excessive poking: the walls are ornamented with a map of
Europe, date 1811, much fly-blown, and a Stationers' sheet Almanack:
over the fire-place, clock with a repulsive expression, of countenance,
and an irritable tone of tick: on the table a Post-Office Directory of
1819: a pad, much bescribbled, and with every sign of a confirmed
habit of drinking ink: three pens a good deal gnawed about the
feather, and hopelessly split up in the quill: a paper-case with three
half-sheets of paper, and an inkstand. Through the door is a view
of the passage and Messengers' room beyond, with Messengers reposing.
A busy traffic in newspapers is carried on throughout the scene, and
luncheon trays are perpetually arriving full and going empty away.
The Scene opens and discovers Persevering Man, with a bad grievance
of twenty years' standing. Gifted Irishman, with strong claims and
ditto brogue, and Monomaniac a r, Inventor, with a universally
unacknowledged substitute for the steam-engine. The Man with a
Gkievance stands firm before the fire The Gifted Irishman is
writing at the table, and the Monomaniacal Inventor is drawing
diagrams with his finger on a window-pane.
Gifted Irishman (,folding a note). That’s the last I’ll sind him, army-
way (advancing to fireplace and accosting Man with Grievance), j
Eome morning, Sir, bur, sharrup. 1 think 1 had the pleasute of seeing
you here yest herday, Sir— ?
Man with Grievance. Probably Sir—I spend most of my mornings
here.
! Gifted Irishman. Well—I’ve had tin days of it here and over the
: way, and its tired I’m getting. But I’ll be all right to-day I’m
thinking,
Man with Grievance. Ten days—why I’ve been here pretty regularly
this twenty years.
Gifted Irishman. Have ye now ? Might I ask what you was waiting
for p
Man with Grievance {calmly). Justice, Sir. I said I ’d have it, when
•they refused me compensation or parliamentary inquiry in 1832, and
I’m a man of my word, I mean to have it—compensation or inquiry.
Gif ted Irishman. Sure I’d go in for the compensation: bother the I
inquiry.
Man with Grievance. The inquiry will bother them yet. However,
since this ministry came in I have hopes. My case is under
consideration.
Gifted Irishman. So’s my testimonials.
Monomaniacal Inventor. And so is my galvanic propeller, gent lemen
{smilingfatuously).-A. last—here’s the letter {pulls out long and very
dirty envelope marked “ On Her Majesty's Service "), I’ve brought my
diagrams—and, if they can’t understand them, I’ve asked the Under
Secretary to come down and see the model. It, ’s in a loft,, at No. 3,
Britt les’s Rents, Avenue Road, Pleasant Place, Holloway {eagerly
fumbling for a card). If you’d like to call and see it. Gentlemen—it
don’t, work yet,— but, it only wants—
Man with Grievance {testily turning to poke the Jire). Humph !
[Gifted Irishman becomes suddenly absorbed in the Directory.
Enter Messenger, all start eagerly.
Messenger {looking at card). Mr. Blister f
Man with Grievance {hastily dropping the poker and seizing his had).
That’s me—Blister, M.D.—Now then, mv man {mooing out).
Messenger {impatiently). Mr. Buffer’s compliments, and if it was
private business he’s got a deputation, and it it’s public business you’d
better put it in writing and it will be considered.
Man with Grievance {bitterly). If it's public! Just you tell Mr.
Buffer, Mr. Blister’s compliments and it’s his claim to compensa-
tion or inquiry, and it has been put into writing fifty times {lugs out an
aged portfolio swollen to an enormous size by papers), and it’s been under
consideration ever since you were a little boy, Sir, and I want, justice,
and I mean to come here till I get it, and I can wait—tell him I cau
wait—I’m in no hurrry—I can wait! {He flings himself into a chair
and smashes a pen), D——me, I’m used to waiting ! I like it! By
Jove, I like it!
[Smashes another pen and grinds his teeth. Messenger, who has
listened calmly, turns to go.
Gij'ted Irishman {catching him by the arm and thrusting a note into
his hand). Isay, my man, you’ll take this to Mr. Buffer, wid my
card {gives a very yellow card, with several directions scored out), and
say, it’s me was mentioned in that letther from the O’Dowd, the
Member for Blarney—he’ll know, and he saw Misther IIayter about
it, yesterday.
'Monomaniacal Inventor. I say. I’m the galvanic propeller {lugging
out his official letter)—and if you’d say they acknowledged it, and it’s
under consideration, and I’m ready to explain everything, if he
can only give me an hour of serious attention—mind—say serious,
please.
Messenger {-pleasantly, as he edges lo the door). One at a time, gents.
Now then, {to Gaunt Stranger, who enters). This way, Sir. What
was it, Sir ?
Gaunt Stranger. Jest tote in that case one of ye.
[Second Messenger brings in oblong mahogany-box.
Now clear out smart, and give your boss my card, and say I’ve to be
at the Ordnance Office at two, and I han’t time to wait. There:
up stakes—vamose—there.
Messenger {overcome willi the straightforward energy of the Gaunt
Stranger). Well, to be sure !
Gaunt Stranger {looking fixedly at him). Waal, air you a-goin’, or
must I ?
Messenger {oozing out of the room). Certainly, Sir—if you’ll take a
seat, Sir—immediately. Sir
[Exit Messenger, the others look on in admiration.
Gaunt Stranger (complacently). Waal, gentlemen—good morning—
{to Man with Grievance)—Heow do you do, Sir? Guess those
critters ain’t up to pace—(to Gifted Irishman)—We’re go a-head.
Sir, we air. {Warming his hands at the fire). Almighty bad grate
that; all draught, and no radioing power. Guess you ’ll come to close
stoves soon, if this weather holds on.
Man with Grievance. Prom America, I think, Sir ?
Gaunt Stranger. Yes, Sir—came out last Cunard boat, Sir—twelve
days’ run, Sir. Brought a notion of mine here {pointing lo box).
Like to offer it to the old Country first. Sir. Yes, Sir—{looking at
dock)— ten minutes slow. Sir, that clock lhar. All your clocks air
slow here, I guess.
Monomaniacal Inventor (who has been sniffing about the box). It ain’t
a propeller, Sir, is it ?
Gaunt Stranger. Waal, I reckon it’s a sorter propeller—a warlike
engine, gentlemen. {Rapidly unlocks box). The American Breech-loading
Carbine. We use it in the field—{as he speaks he brings out the
weapon, screws, unscrews, demonstrates, dismounts, remounts, snaps,
slaps, takes to pieces, -puts together again, replaces the weapon, and locks
the box, talking rapidly, coherently, and clearly all the while)—but may
be adapted to any rifle for service or sport. You bring down the
trigger-guard so—which displaces the nipple-piece and breech, and
exposes the chamber so; insert cartridge, bring up trigger-guard,
sharp edge of breech-piece nips off the cartridge end and primes nipple
so—will fire twenty shots a minute. You observe the primer, carries
from twelve to lliirty caps, inside the nipple—keeps caps dry, you see,
—two regiments of our dragoons had ’em last Texan war—no ramrod,
you see ; loads with butt up or down, in or out of the boot—no need
to bite cartridge—simple jint and pin, you see, Gentlemen, any
armourer could mend that. It’s been tried at Hythe ; they fired 120
shots without cleanin’ or ’ilin’ or any thing. Colonel Flint, C.B., he
put if through the ice into the canal, and it went off at the third cap.
The Colonel promised to re port-—that’s a week since—so I s’pose the
Colonel ought to’ve re ported before this. I’m to see the Master-
Gineral to-day, but they told me to bring it bere first; so I’ve brought
it. Gentlemen. But, I don’t calkilate to wait long. If they can make
up their minds this morning, right out, they can have it; aud I’ll start
a factory that will turn out tour thousand a week. But if they don't,
I calkilale to try Louis Nafoleon, or maybe the Czar, or some
other European Potentate. I’ve made my arrangements. I can’t
stand the everlastin’ waiting that goes on in this old Country of yourn.
Gentlemen. I can’t really, Sir—yes, Sir—it ain’t what we ’re used to,
Sir, over the water, Sir, ’tain’t really—no how—there’s that fellow—
Re-enter Messenger.
Messenger. Major -- ?
Gaunt Stranger Crushing to the door). Yas—that’s me—all right—
Messenger {strugglingfor utterance). No, I was to say—
Gaunt Stranger. He’d see me—I know—
Messenger. No—no—that your arm was under—
Gaunt Stranger Under eight pounds weight—seven pound seven
exact. Go ahead {whips u-p his box). Good day, Gentlemen—Now then
—Up hook.
[Exit rapidly, pushing out the bewildered Messenger. All gaze
at each other and d-raio long breaths.
Man with Grievance. That’s an energetic man. But he'd never have
waited for his rights as long as I’ve done.
Gifted Irishman. By the powers, bud its too bad, Heie’s meself,
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
UNDER CONSIDERATION.”
5Eragb©omrlJg in Tfjm $cts.
ACT I.—“ THE WAITING-ROOM.”
Scene.— The Waiting-Room if a Public Office, not a hundred mites from
Whitehall. The apartment is solidly, but by no means cheerfully
furnished, with an oak table, six oak chairs-their leather-covered
cushions much worn, and their backs painfully straight,— and an
uneasy settle—formerly a seat in the old House of Commons, but now
■enjoying a dignified retirement: the floor is covered with oil-cloth of
■a rectangular pattern, and chilly colour: the fire is low and sulky,
from excessive poking: the walls are ornamented with a map of
Europe, date 1811, much fly-blown, and a Stationers' sheet Almanack:
over the fire-place, clock with a repulsive expression, of countenance,
and an irritable tone of tick: on the table a Post-Office Directory of
1819: a pad, much bescribbled, and with every sign of a confirmed
habit of drinking ink: three pens a good deal gnawed about the
feather, and hopelessly split up in the quill: a paper-case with three
half-sheets of paper, and an inkstand. Through the door is a view
of the passage and Messengers' room beyond, with Messengers reposing.
A busy traffic in newspapers is carried on throughout the scene, and
luncheon trays are perpetually arriving full and going empty away.
The Scene opens and discovers Persevering Man, with a bad grievance
of twenty years' standing. Gifted Irishman, with strong claims and
ditto brogue, and Monomaniac a r, Inventor, with a universally
unacknowledged substitute for the steam-engine. The Man with a
Gkievance stands firm before the fire The Gifted Irishman is
writing at the table, and the Monomaniacal Inventor is drawing
diagrams with his finger on a window-pane.
Gifted Irishman (,folding a note). That’s the last I’ll sind him, army-
way (advancing to fireplace and accosting Man with Grievance), j
Eome morning, Sir, bur, sharrup. 1 think 1 had the pleasute of seeing
you here yest herday, Sir— ?
Man with Grievance. Probably Sir—I spend most of my mornings
here.
! Gifted Irishman. Well—I’ve had tin days of it here and over the
: way, and its tired I’m getting. But I’ll be all right to-day I’m
thinking,
Man with Grievance. Ten days—why I’ve been here pretty regularly
this twenty years.
Gifted Irishman. Have ye now ? Might I ask what you was waiting
for p
Man with Grievance {calmly). Justice, Sir. I said I ’d have it, when
•they refused me compensation or parliamentary inquiry in 1832, and
I’m a man of my word, I mean to have it—compensation or inquiry.
Gif ted Irishman. Sure I’d go in for the compensation: bother the I
inquiry.
Man with Grievance. The inquiry will bother them yet. However,
since this ministry came in I have hopes. My case is under
consideration.
Gifted Irishman. So’s my testimonials.
Monomaniacal Inventor. And so is my galvanic propeller, gent lemen
{smilingfatuously).-A. last—here’s the letter {pulls out long and very
dirty envelope marked “ On Her Majesty's Service "), I’ve brought my
diagrams—and, if they can’t understand them, I’ve asked the Under
Secretary to come down and see the model. It, ’s in a loft,, at No. 3,
Britt les’s Rents, Avenue Road, Pleasant Place, Holloway {eagerly
fumbling for a card). If you’d like to call and see it. Gentlemen—it
don’t, work yet,— but, it only wants—
Man with Grievance {testily turning to poke the Jire). Humph !
[Gifted Irishman becomes suddenly absorbed in the Directory.
Enter Messenger, all start eagerly.
Messenger {looking at card). Mr. Blister f
Man with Grievance {hastily dropping the poker and seizing his had).
That’s me—Blister, M.D.—Now then, mv man {mooing out).
Messenger {impatiently). Mr. Buffer’s compliments, and if it was
private business he’s got a deputation, and it it’s public business you’d
better put it in writing and it will be considered.
Man with Grievance {bitterly). If it's public! Just you tell Mr.
Buffer, Mr. Blister’s compliments and it’s his claim to compensa-
tion or inquiry, and it has been put into writing fifty times {lugs out an
aged portfolio swollen to an enormous size by papers), and it’s been under
consideration ever since you were a little boy, Sir, and I want, justice,
and I mean to come here till I get it, and I can wait—tell him I cau
wait—I’m in no hurrry—I can wait! {He flings himself into a chair
and smashes a pen), D——me, I’m used to waiting ! I like it! By
Jove, I like it!
[Smashes another pen and grinds his teeth. Messenger, who has
listened calmly, turns to go.
Gij'ted Irishman {catching him by the arm and thrusting a note into
his hand). Isay, my man, you’ll take this to Mr. Buffer, wid my
card {gives a very yellow card, with several directions scored out), and
say, it’s me was mentioned in that letther from the O’Dowd, the
Member for Blarney—he’ll know, and he saw Misther IIayter about
it, yesterday.
'Monomaniacal Inventor. I say. I’m the galvanic propeller {lugging
out his official letter)—and if you’d say they acknowledged it, and it’s
under consideration, and I’m ready to explain everything, if he
can only give me an hour of serious attention—mind—say serious,
please.
Messenger {-pleasantly, as he edges lo the door). One at a time, gents.
Now then, {to Gaunt Stranger, who enters). This way, Sir. What
was it, Sir ?
Gaunt Stranger. Jest tote in that case one of ye.
[Second Messenger brings in oblong mahogany-box.
Now clear out smart, and give your boss my card, and say I’ve to be
at the Ordnance Office at two, and I han’t time to wait. There:
up stakes—vamose—there.
Messenger {overcome willi the straightforward energy of the Gaunt
Stranger). Well, to be sure !
Gaunt Stranger {looking fixedly at him). Waal, air you a-goin’, or
must I ?
Messenger {oozing out of the room). Certainly, Sir—if you’ll take a
seat, Sir—immediately. Sir
[Exit Messenger, the others look on in admiration.
Gaunt Stranger (complacently). Waal, gentlemen—good morning—
{to Man with Grievance)—Heow do you do, Sir? Guess those
critters ain’t up to pace—(to Gifted Irishman)—We’re go a-head.
Sir, we air. {Warming his hands at the fire). Almighty bad grate
that; all draught, and no radioing power. Guess you ’ll come to close
stoves soon, if this weather holds on.
Man with Grievance. Prom America, I think, Sir ?
Gaunt Stranger. Yes, Sir—came out last Cunard boat, Sir—twelve
days’ run, Sir. Brought a notion of mine here {pointing lo box).
Like to offer it to the old Country first. Sir. Yes, Sir—{looking at
dock)— ten minutes slow. Sir, that clock lhar. All your clocks air
slow here, I guess.
Monomaniacal Inventor (who has been sniffing about the box). It ain’t
a propeller, Sir, is it ?
Gaunt Stranger. Waal, I reckon it’s a sorter propeller—a warlike
engine, gentlemen. {Rapidly unlocks box). The American Breech-loading
Carbine. We use it in the field—{as he speaks he brings out the
weapon, screws, unscrews, demonstrates, dismounts, remounts, snaps,
slaps, takes to pieces, -puts together again, replaces the weapon, and locks
the box, talking rapidly, coherently, and clearly all the while)—but may
be adapted to any rifle for service or sport. You bring down the
trigger-guard so—which displaces the nipple-piece and breech, and
exposes the chamber so; insert cartridge, bring up trigger-guard,
sharp edge of breech-piece nips off the cartridge end and primes nipple
so—will fire twenty shots a minute. You observe the primer, carries
from twelve to lliirty caps, inside the nipple—keeps caps dry, you see,
—two regiments of our dragoons had ’em last Texan war—no ramrod,
you see ; loads with butt up or down, in or out of the boot—no need
to bite cartridge—simple jint and pin, you see, Gentlemen, any
armourer could mend that. It’s been tried at Hythe ; they fired 120
shots without cleanin’ or ’ilin’ or any thing. Colonel Flint, C.B., he
put if through the ice into the canal, and it went off at the third cap.
The Colonel promised to re port-—that’s a week since—so I s’pose the
Colonel ought to’ve re ported before this. I’m to see the Master-
Gineral to-day, but they told me to bring it bere first; so I’ve brought
it. Gentlemen. But, I don’t calkilate to wait long. If they can make
up their minds this morning, right out, they can have it; aud I’ll start
a factory that will turn out tour thousand a week. But if they don't,
I calkilale to try Louis Nafoleon, or maybe the Czar, or some
other European Potentate. I’ve made my arrangements. I can’t
stand the everlastin’ waiting that goes on in this old Country of yourn.
Gentlemen. I can’t really, Sir—yes, Sir—it ain’t what we ’re used to,
Sir, over the water, Sir, ’tain’t really—no how—there’s that fellow—
Re-enter Messenger.
Messenger. Major -- ?
Gaunt Stranger Crushing to the door). Yas—that’s me—all right—
Messenger {strugglingfor utterance). No, I was to say—
Gaunt Stranger. He’d see me—I know—
Messenger. No—no—that your arm was under—
Gaunt Stranger Under eight pounds weight—seven pound seven
exact. Go ahead {whips u-p his box). Good day, Gentlemen—Now then
—Up hook.
[Exit rapidly, pushing out the bewildered Messenger. All gaze
at each other and d-raio long breaths.
Man with Grievance. That’s an energetic man. But he'd never have
waited for his rights as long as I’ve done.
Gifted Irishman. By the powers, bud its too bad, Heie’s meself,