DOI issue:
October 19, 1867
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16880#0168
October 19, 1867.} PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 157
jeering. My Funny Friend is very energetic in scattering them. I
don’t understand why the Policeman smiles, and evidently about to
speak, suddenly stops himself, at, as I fancy, a wink from Grigg, over my
shoulder. He, Grigg, tells me not to turn, as my “collar is up,”
which he is feigning to arrange. Suspecting him of some nonsense, I
step out suddenly, and there fall on the pavement, several little comic-
coloured heads about the size of stamps, with gum on the back. Not
in the least abashed (he never is) he shows me how he sticks them on,
by patting anybody on the shoulder while talking—he has a pocket full
of them. A light breaks in on me. “ Have I been walking about
with these on my back ? ” I ask. “ Yes,” he says, roaring with laughter,
in which the Policeman, at a short distance, joins, “only down High
Street. The first one wouldn’t stick; the people were all in fits,” he
adds in intense enjoyment of the joke.
“ Are they all off, now ? ” I demand, sternly.
“Oh, yes,” he replies, “they’re all off now; won’t hurt your coat
a bit.” I tell him it is not my coat, but my character, that he injures.
And now, being at the door of the Factory, I will not take him unless
he gives me his word to be quiet. He pretends to be very much hurt
by my distrust, makes a great show of crying, and sobs out like a child,
“Please—Sir—I (sob) won’t (sob) do it again!” (sob, sob, sob), and
attracts the attention of the Foreman, who is coming down the yard.
He holds me a minute. “ Here’s some fun,” he says. I ask what
it is. He replies, “ Look here : if you ’ll call me * My Lord ’ all over
the Factory, I promise to be quite quiet and serious.” As this is a
very harmless jest, and one which really won’t sound badly with these
manufacturing people, I agree. Anything to keep him qniet. He
immediately becomes very upright, buttons his coat, allowing a little of
his handkerchief to ooze out, as it were, from his breast pocket under-
neath [this is his idea of a Lord], and poses himself in the attitude of
what he calls, “ Portrait of a Gentleman.”
The Foreman is ready to take us in. “ This way, my Lord,” I say
to him, according to agreement. The Foreman is impressed.
He frowns upon me, and answers in a deep tone, “ Proceed, Mr.
Inspector. I trust that I may have to give tne Government a satis-
factory account of your conduct.” I smile, to show him I appreciate
the joke. He resumes, severely, “ Do not smile, Sir! this is no time
for levity.” He repulses me, on my attempt to expostulate with him
about “ not carrying the joke too far,” and adds distinctly and more
severely than before, “No, Mr. Inspector, I will have no ex parte
statements. Any dereliction of your duty I shall be compelled to
report to the Government.”
The Foreman hears this, and so do several of the Factory officials.
They eye one another as we enter, and I begin to regret my compact
with my Funny Friend.
A SONG OF THE SYNOD.
“ Great virtue in an if.”
Touchstone.
The Pan-Anglican Synod has met;
The Pan-Anglican Synod has parted :
Lambeth’s board has for forty been set :
Hosts of clerical hares have been started.
Colonial mitres and Yankee
Have wagged Primate Longley’s beside,
And earned a most unctuous “ thankee,”
From the Bench with whose call they’ve complied.
Its stout northern pillars withdrawn,
(York don’t like to play second fiddle),
Our Bench, on the broad of its lawn
Might have come down, split up in the middle.
But thanks to rough-hewn Yankee props,
And supports from Colonial quarters.
It has staved off undignified drops—
Said its say, and kept out the reporters.
But though access to short-hand’s refused.
Except for the “ authorised version,”
Some whisperings out-doors have oozed,
Of collision and counter-assertion.
How Bishops through trouble and tiff,
Having found out what “ being at sea” meant,
Have learnt the great virtue of “ if,”
As a means of securing agreement.
Thus since they’d to settle Natal,
And Natal isn’t easy to settle.
Since Colenso St. Davids might call
Yery much what the pot called the kettle.
They adopt Convocation’s decree,
Against that misleader of Zooloos—
On an “ if” it all hinges, d’ye see,
And so saves from owning a screw loose.
So methinks Mr. Punch can’t do better
Thau follow the Synod’s example,
And put forth his encyclical letter—
The materials for it are ample.
Giving reasons—with “ ifs ” duly packed—
Why for John Bell and all his relations,
The Synod’s the greatest of facts,
And most vital of organisations.
T/’the Bishops were all of one mind;
T/1 the Bishops’ one mind were the right one ;
If black Church or white we could find ;
If each Church weren’t a black and a white one ;
If of clerics the Church were composed ;
If the laity hadn’t a say in’t ;
iT* all truth in one volume were closed ;
If only the Priest knew his way in’t :
If Capetown were certainly right;
If Colenso'were proveably wrong ;
If Sam Oxon’s soft-sawder held tight ;
A Denison’s logic were strong ;
If Rational question were sin ;
If Ritual roads were salvation ;
If Priestcraft had nothing to win.
If the Pulpit supplied inspiration :
If with Heathen we were not o’er-run ;
If missions weren’t needed at home ;
If the Church and the School wi*re at one ;
7/" the worst of our dangers were Rome ;
If Science through Church specs would read;
If Greed would to preaching give ear ;
If the poor found the Church fit their need ;
If the wealthy the devil would fear:
If curates were decently paid;
If paupers in germ had good schooling ;
If polemical hates were allayed;
If sense restrained clerical fooling ;
If bishops were more like St. Paul;
If Truth to all kens were one colour •
If the beam in our eyes were more small;
If our sense of our brother’s mote duller:
If all of these “ ifs ” could be gained,
Then to Lambeth we all might betake us.
To its mitres pay rev’rence unfeigned,
And all that they would let them make us.
But while these “ ifs ” “ ifs ” must remain,
Pan-Anglican Synod, excuse us—
Dead letters your letters remain,
Your resolves only serve to amuse us.
THE HANGMAN’S PRACTICAL DIRECTOR.
The following remarks, in a letter addressed to the Lancet by Dr.
Tuke, on the question to hang or not to hang an alleged maniac under
sentence of death, deserve consideration :—
“ If, after due examination, he be pronounced sane, let him undergo his deserved
punishment; if insane, send him to a criminal asylum : or, if the law inexorably
demands his life, let him be hung as a declared ‘ madman.’ ”
Your alternative. Dr. Tuke, is the thing to do. Hang everybody
who commits murder, whether he is mad or sane. If any madmen are
murderers, hang all such madmen. Never mind the motives of crimi
nals, look only to their acts; retributive justice is sentimental bosh.
You punish a convict for the crime which he has committed simply
to deter others from committing the same, and to deter himself also
from doing it again; or to prevent him, in case you hang him. Hang
every man who has done what the law calls murder; hang him with
the sole view of getting rid of him and constituting him a scarecrow.
In that case hang a madman with no more scruple than you would
have to hang a mad dog. This has got of late to be a fashionable
preachment on the part of some public instructors. Yery well. But
if these counsels are to be followed, first legalise their practice. Be it
enacted, then, duly and formally enacted, that everyone convicted of a
crime capitally punishable shall be hanged whether he is a madman or
not. Suppose we agree that expediency shall be the object exclusively
regarded in the infliction of punishment, and righteousness be set
altogether aside ; only, in the meanwhile, let a declaratory Act of
Parliament definitely ordain that the former only shall be consulted,
and that the latter shall not be considered at all in sending a man to
the gallows. __
Distinguished C. B.’s.—Towel and Sponge.
jeering. My Funny Friend is very energetic in scattering them. I
don’t understand why the Policeman smiles, and evidently about to
speak, suddenly stops himself, at, as I fancy, a wink from Grigg, over my
shoulder. He, Grigg, tells me not to turn, as my “collar is up,”
which he is feigning to arrange. Suspecting him of some nonsense, I
step out suddenly, and there fall on the pavement, several little comic-
coloured heads about the size of stamps, with gum on the back. Not
in the least abashed (he never is) he shows me how he sticks them on,
by patting anybody on the shoulder while talking—he has a pocket full
of them. A light breaks in on me. “ Have I been walking about
with these on my back ? ” I ask. “ Yes,” he says, roaring with laughter,
in which the Policeman, at a short distance, joins, “only down High
Street. The first one wouldn’t stick; the people were all in fits,” he
adds in intense enjoyment of the joke.
“ Are they all off, now ? ” I demand, sternly.
“Oh, yes,” he replies, “they’re all off now; won’t hurt your coat
a bit.” I tell him it is not my coat, but my character, that he injures.
And now, being at the door of the Factory, I will not take him unless
he gives me his word to be quiet. He pretends to be very much hurt
by my distrust, makes a great show of crying, and sobs out like a child,
“Please—Sir—I (sob) won’t (sob) do it again!” (sob, sob, sob), and
attracts the attention of the Foreman, who is coming down the yard.
He holds me a minute. “ Here’s some fun,” he says. I ask what
it is. He replies, “ Look here : if you ’ll call me * My Lord ’ all over
the Factory, I promise to be quite quiet and serious.” As this is a
very harmless jest, and one which really won’t sound badly with these
manufacturing people, I agree. Anything to keep him qniet. He
immediately becomes very upright, buttons his coat, allowing a little of
his handkerchief to ooze out, as it were, from his breast pocket under-
neath [this is his idea of a Lord], and poses himself in the attitude of
what he calls, “ Portrait of a Gentleman.”
The Foreman is ready to take us in. “ This way, my Lord,” I say
to him, according to agreement. The Foreman is impressed.
He frowns upon me, and answers in a deep tone, “ Proceed, Mr.
Inspector. I trust that I may have to give tne Government a satis-
factory account of your conduct.” I smile, to show him I appreciate
the joke. He resumes, severely, “ Do not smile, Sir! this is no time
for levity.” He repulses me, on my attempt to expostulate with him
about “ not carrying the joke too far,” and adds distinctly and more
severely than before, “No, Mr. Inspector, I will have no ex parte
statements. Any dereliction of your duty I shall be compelled to
report to the Government.”
The Foreman hears this, and so do several of the Factory officials.
They eye one another as we enter, and I begin to regret my compact
with my Funny Friend.
A SONG OF THE SYNOD.
“ Great virtue in an if.”
Touchstone.
The Pan-Anglican Synod has met;
The Pan-Anglican Synod has parted :
Lambeth’s board has for forty been set :
Hosts of clerical hares have been started.
Colonial mitres and Yankee
Have wagged Primate Longley’s beside,
And earned a most unctuous “ thankee,”
From the Bench with whose call they’ve complied.
Its stout northern pillars withdrawn,
(York don’t like to play second fiddle),
Our Bench, on the broad of its lawn
Might have come down, split up in the middle.
But thanks to rough-hewn Yankee props,
And supports from Colonial quarters.
It has staved off undignified drops—
Said its say, and kept out the reporters.
But though access to short-hand’s refused.
Except for the “ authorised version,”
Some whisperings out-doors have oozed,
Of collision and counter-assertion.
How Bishops through trouble and tiff,
Having found out what “ being at sea” meant,
Have learnt the great virtue of “ if,”
As a means of securing agreement.
Thus since they’d to settle Natal,
And Natal isn’t easy to settle.
Since Colenso St. Davids might call
Yery much what the pot called the kettle.
They adopt Convocation’s decree,
Against that misleader of Zooloos—
On an “ if” it all hinges, d’ye see,
And so saves from owning a screw loose.
So methinks Mr. Punch can’t do better
Thau follow the Synod’s example,
And put forth his encyclical letter—
The materials for it are ample.
Giving reasons—with “ ifs ” duly packed—
Why for John Bell and all his relations,
The Synod’s the greatest of facts,
And most vital of organisations.
T/’the Bishops were all of one mind;
T/1 the Bishops’ one mind were the right one ;
If black Church or white we could find ;
If each Church weren’t a black and a white one ;
If of clerics the Church were composed ;
If the laity hadn’t a say in’t ;
iT* all truth in one volume were closed ;
If only the Priest knew his way in’t :
If Capetown were certainly right;
If Colenso'were proveably wrong ;
If Sam Oxon’s soft-sawder held tight ;
A Denison’s logic were strong ;
If Rational question were sin ;
If Ritual roads were salvation ;
If Priestcraft had nothing to win.
If the Pulpit supplied inspiration :
If with Heathen we were not o’er-run ;
If missions weren’t needed at home ;
If the Church and the School wi*re at one ;
7/" the worst of our dangers were Rome ;
If Science through Church specs would read;
If Greed would to preaching give ear ;
If the poor found the Church fit their need ;
If the wealthy the devil would fear:
If curates were decently paid;
If paupers in germ had good schooling ;
If polemical hates were allayed;
If sense restrained clerical fooling ;
If bishops were more like St. Paul;
If Truth to all kens were one colour •
If the beam in our eyes were more small;
If our sense of our brother’s mote duller:
If all of these “ ifs ” could be gained,
Then to Lambeth we all might betake us.
To its mitres pay rev’rence unfeigned,
And all that they would let them make us.
But while these “ ifs ” “ ifs ” must remain,
Pan-Anglican Synod, excuse us—
Dead letters your letters remain,
Your resolves only serve to amuse us.
THE HANGMAN’S PRACTICAL DIRECTOR.
The following remarks, in a letter addressed to the Lancet by Dr.
Tuke, on the question to hang or not to hang an alleged maniac under
sentence of death, deserve consideration :—
“ If, after due examination, he be pronounced sane, let him undergo his deserved
punishment; if insane, send him to a criminal asylum : or, if the law inexorably
demands his life, let him be hung as a declared ‘ madman.’ ”
Your alternative. Dr. Tuke, is the thing to do. Hang everybody
who commits murder, whether he is mad or sane. If any madmen are
murderers, hang all such madmen. Never mind the motives of crimi
nals, look only to their acts; retributive justice is sentimental bosh.
You punish a convict for the crime which he has committed simply
to deter others from committing the same, and to deter himself also
from doing it again; or to prevent him, in case you hang him. Hang
every man who has done what the law calls murder; hang him with
the sole view of getting rid of him and constituting him a scarecrow.
In that case hang a madman with no more scruple than you would
have to hang a mad dog. This has got of late to be a fashionable
preachment on the part of some public instructors. Yery well. But
if these counsels are to be followed, first legalise their practice. Be it
enacted, then, duly and formally enacted, that everyone convicted of a
crime capitally punishable shall be hanged whether he is a madman or
not. Suppose we agree that expediency shall be the object exclusively
regarded in the infliction of punishment, and righteousness be set
altogether aside ; only, in the meanwhile, let a declaratory Act of
Parliament definitely ordain that the former only shall be consulted,
and that the latter shall not be considered at all in sending a man to
the gallows. __
Distinguished C. B.’s.—Towel and Sponge.