DOI issue:
November 18, 1882
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17753#0239
November 18, 1882.]
PUNCH. OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
233
organ going. When one tune finished, gives a turn of the handle,
and another commences. All much the same.
One remarkable result is the bringing out of new men. Speaker,
doesn’t know half of them by sight. At first there was strong sus-
picion that Rowland was playing larks—that he’d smuggled in
some men from the Speaker’s Gallery, and put them up to talk.
Sir Charles Forster amazed.
“ Wonderful! ” he says. “Actual fulfilment of the Last Words
of Marmion—
“ And men speak now who never spoke before,
And those who always speak now spoke the more.”
Amongst other curious discoveries made, we find we have two
Phippses in the House. Never saw or heard either before. Now
both appear, and burst forth in impassioned prose. Pickering got
on pretty well, but Charles rather stuck.
“ Phipps is certainly not fluent,” Sir William Harcourt audibly
remarked as the Member for Westbury rambled through one of the
sentences that varied the brilliant flashes of silence which chiefly con-
stituted his speech. Business done.—Rowland Winn’s coup-d'etat.
Thursday Night.— Great day this for the Lord Mayor of Dublin.
Yery odd, when one comes to think of it, how Mr. Dawson’s “ body ”
is always being made the centre of a struggle. On a famous occa-
sion, Mr. Forster, suspected of designs upon Mrs. Dawson, was
solemnly warned in House of Commons that he would have to step
over the dead body of Mr. D. That happily was sufficient. Gave
time to Forster to reflect. And with reflection came the re-estab-
lishment of better principles more suited to Quaker parentage. He
refrained ; shortly afterwards resigned Chief-Secretaryship; Mr.
Dawson found the prostrate attitude unnecessary, and the Lord
Mayor of Dublin still walks among us with head erect and great
thoughts glowing in his bosom.
To-night, Lord Mayor breaks out in fresh place. Some Members
of the Corporation of Dublin want to present a sword of honour to
Garnet Wolselet. Others object, presumably on ground that it
would not be an honour at all. Yoting very close. Lord Mayor
Dawson and three others would probably turn scale one way or
other Shall he go, or shall he stay ? Dublin cries, “ Come! ” West-
minster whispers “ Stay ! ”
“ If I could, only succeed in Dublin myself, I could manage,” says
the Lord Mayor, who sometimes unbends and makes little jokes.
But that cannot be. It is only a bird that can be in two places at
one time, and the Lord Mayor has only the majestic manners of the
Eagle, being short of his wings.
“We must have Dawson’s vote,” says Sir Stafford Northcote.
“As a rule, I agree with Chaplin—Irish Yote is demoralising.
Leads to dark rumours in ihe Lobby of unholy alliances. But
Dawson’s support is
morally worth a score.
Whilst we ’re about it,
we may as well have other
three.”
Mr. Gibson, man-of-
all-work on Front Oppo-
sition, undertook to see it
through.
“The Irish Yote is
nothing to us. Your
Lordship’s countenance is
everything,” he said in
mellifluous tones.
Lord Mayor said he
would think it over. At
present his mind occupied
with other matters ; but
u Really don’t know anything about it,” said late War Minister.
“Gibson manages these things for us. All I know is we never
traffic in the Irish vote.”
Business done — Four Irish votes saved to the Constitution.
Sir C. Dilke put to the Torture of the Question.
Saturday Morning.—First Resolution disposed of at last. Not
quite a dozen more. Begin to hope prorogation wall take place on
Midsummer Day, with three days’ holiday at Christmas. Rather
lively last night. Joe Cowen came out pretty strong, and said all
Hie Conservatives have been trying to say for three weeks.
Business done.—First Resolution carried by 304 votes against 260.
Egypt v. Northampton ; or, The Silenced
Member.
KABBY AND SKOOL BORD.
Dear Mr. Punch,
I ave been purvented standin for skool bord by wot I reads
in Punch. I sees as every chap as wants to get on skool bord must
pass 7 stanards. And then there is summat about igher edication
as I don’t understand. I knows that my son Jem has druv the
ighest buss in London this three months—one of them Yankee
fashioned things more like a herse than an onest buss— and says I to
im, Jem, my boy, says I, you just mind your i wen you is up yonder,
for they says as ow that pride will ave a fall. But to come back to
skool bord there be two coves as wants my vote, one is for igher
edication and tother isn i, and what the dooce they means I’m
blamed if I know. P-low me if I think they knows themsels.
Between you and me md the door post I am shure it’s just a trick
to get more money out of us poor foax. I shan’t anayow vote for
the igher edication dodge—not if I knows it.
There is my boy Tommy 12 year old and could earn his eight bob
a week and can read and rite as well as the parson but the skool bord
won’t let him do a days work. If he do, skool bord man threatens
to sell me up and send me to quod slick off. And Jemimar Ann
mustn’t stop at home to mind the babby. Babbies indeed! Babbies
must look arter themselves—that is the babbies of us poor foax. But
my neighbour as lives round the corner and pays forty quid of rent
skool bord man never comes and bullies his missus. His kids may
run about the streets all day long and play all sorts of devilment for
ought skool bord cares. It is only us poor foax that gits bullied
and fined and sent to quod. If I was on the skool bord 1 ’d just tell
em a bit of my mind. But it’s to keep out the likes of me that they
talks of their seven stanards and their igher edication. The fact
is they know nowt about us poor foax and they don’t want to know.
Your humble servant to command,
A West End Kabby.
if meeting of Corporation were postponed, his way would be easier.
“Ha!” said Mr. Gibson, “then we’ll see about that. Her
Ladyship quite well, I trust ? No midnight marauders, I am sure ?
How well your Lordship looked in your red gown and gold chain the
other week. Have always thought there should be a special
ordinance that Lord Mayor of Dublin should sit in the House of
Commons in gown and chain. When we come back to office we
must see about it.”
In meantime Gibson saw about Corporation Meeting in Dublin.
Arranged to get it postponed. Lord Mayor remains to vote. Tele-
graphed all over the country to stop homeward flight of other three
Irish Members, and State is once more saved.
“ I ’ll write a chapter on this for the next edition of A History of
Our Own Timesf says Justin M‘Carthy. “ Carlyle’s story of
the chace after the New Berline shall pale before my account of
how they stopped T. D. S. at Holyhead, and how they dogged by
telegraph the steps of Gill as he fled towards Dublin.”
“A little hard on Wdlseley,” Colonel Home said to Colonel
Stanley. “Rather spoils his chance, doesn’t it, by postponing
Division from day inconvenient to Land-Leaguers to one that will
suit them ? ”
Putting it Pleasantly.
Dear Malet,—That old Sultan is a shammer.
Tewfik—well, every Copt can do a “ crammer.”
Hot work, you see, upon the Egyptian anvil!
A Malet ’s good, but for a regular “ lammer,”
We need a man who “ comes down like a hammer.”
Duffebin’s a Nasmyth. Twiggez-vous ?
Yours, Granville.
A Word in Season.—In the approaching Royal Review we hopt
to see the Marines and the Naval Contingent efficiently represented
Gratitude is short-lived, and the work once over, we soon manag<
to forget who did it, in our satisfaction at its having been thoroughly
done. In honouring Tommy Atkins, don’t let us overlook Jack am
the Jollies. __
The Sublime Burke.—The Cloture.
Vol, 83.
B
PUNCH. OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
233
organ going. When one tune finished, gives a turn of the handle,
and another commences. All much the same.
One remarkable result is the bringing out of new men. Speaker,
doesn’t know half of them by sight. At first there was strong sus-
picion that Rowland was playing larks—that he’d smuggled in
some men from the Speaker’s Gallery, and put them up to talk.
Sir Charles Forster amazed.
“ Wonderful! ” he says. “Actual fulfilment of the Last Words
of Marmion—
“ And men speak now who never spoke before,
And those who always speak now spoke the more.”
Amongst other curious discoveries made, we find we have two
Phippses in the House. Never saw or heard either before. Now
both appear, and burst forth in impassioned prose. Pickering got
on pretty well, but Charles rather stuck.
“ Phipps is certainly not fluent,” Sir William Harcourt audibly
remarked as the Member for Westbury rambled through one of the
sentences that varied the brilliant flashes of silence which chiefly con-
stituted his speech. Business done.—Rowland Winn’s coup-d'etat.
Thursday Night.— Great day this for the Lord Mayor of Dublin.
Yery odd, when one comes to think of it, how Mr. Dawson’s “ body ”
is always being made the centre of a struggle. On a famous occa-
sion, Mr. Forster, suspected of designs upon Mrs. Dawson, was
solemnly warned in House of Commons that he would have to step
over the dead body of Mr. D. That happily was sufficient. Gave
time to Forster to reflect. And with reflection came the re-estab-
lishment of better principles more suited to Quaker parentage. He
refrained ; shortly afterwards resigned Chief-Secretaryship; Mr.
Dawson found the prostrate attitude unnecessary, and the Lord
Mayor of Dublin still walks among us with head erect and great
thoughts glowing in his bosom.
To-night, Lord Mayor breaks out in fresh place. Some Members
of the Corporation of Dublin want to present a sword of honour to
Garnet Wolselet. Others object, presumably on ground that it
would not be an honour at all. Yoting very close. Lord Mayor
Dawson and three others would probably turn scale one way or
other Shall he go, or shall he stay ? Dublin cries, “ Come! ” West-
minster whispers “ Stay ! ”
“ If I could, only succeed in Dublin myself, I could manage,” says
the Lord Mayor, who sometimes unbends and makes little jokes.
But that cannot be. It is only a bird that can be in two places at
one time, and the Lord Mayor has only the majestic manners of the
Eagle, being short of his wings.
“We must have Dawson’s vote,” says Sir Stafford Northcote.
“As a rule, I agree with Chaplin—Irish Yote is demoralising.
Leads to dark rumours in ihe Lobby of unholy alliances. But
Dawson’s support is
morally worth a score.
Whilst we ’re about it,
we may as well have other
three.”
Mr. Gibson, man-of-
all-work on Front Oppo-
sition, undertook to see it
through.
“The Irish Yote is
nothing to us. Your
Lordship’s countenance is
everything,” he said in
mellifluous tones.
Lord Mayor said he
would think it over. At
present his mind occupied
with other matters ; but
u Really don’t know anything about it,” said late War Minister.
“Gibson manages these things for us. All I know is we never
traffic in the Irish vote.”
Business done — Four Irish votes saved to the Constitution.
Sir C. Dilke put to the Torture of the Question.
Saturday Morning.—First Resolution disposed of at last. Not
quite a dozen more. Begin to hope prorogation wall take place on
Midsummer Day, with three days’ holiday at Christmas. Rather
lively last night. Joe Cowen came out pretty strong, and said all
Hie Conservatives have been trying to say for three weeks.
Business done.—First Resolution carried by 304 votes against 260.
Egypt v. Northampton ; or, The Silenced
Member.
KABBY AND SKOOL BORD.
Dear Mr. Punch,
I ave been purvented standin for skool bord by wot I reads
in Punch. I sees as every chap as wants to get on skool bord must
pass 7 stanards. And then there is summat about igher edication
as I don’t understand. I knows that my son Jem has druv the
ighest buss in London this three months—one of them Yankee
fashioned things more like a herse than an onest buss— and says I to
im, Jem, my boy, says I, you just mind your i wen you is up yonder,
for they says as ow that pride will ave a fall. But to come back to
skool bord there be two coves as wants my vote, one is for igher
edication and tother isn i, and what the dooce they means I’m
blamed if I know. P-low me if I think they knows themsels.
Between you and me md the door post I am shure it’s just a trick
to get more money out of us poor foax. I shan’t anayow vote for
the igher edication dodge—not if I knows it.
There is my boy Tommy 12 year old and could earn his eight bob
a week and can read and rite as well as the parson but the skool bord
won’t let him do a days work. If he do, skool bord man threatens
to sell me up and send me to quod slick off. And Jemimar Ann
mustn’t stop at home to mind the babby. Babbies indeed! Babbies
must look arter themselves—that is the babbies of us poor foax. But
my neighbour as lives round the corner and pays forty quid of rent
skool bord man never comes and bullies his missus. His kids may
run about the streets all day long and play all sorts of devilment for
ought skool bord cares. It is only us poor foax that gits bullied
and fined and sent to quod. If I was on the skool bord 1 ’d just tell
em a bit of my mind. But it’s to keep out the likes of me that they
talks of their seven stanards and their igher edication. The fact
is they know nowt about us poor foax and they don’t want to know.
Your humble servant to command,
A West End Kabby.
if meeting of Corporation were postponed, his way would be easier.
“Ha!” said Mr. Gibson, “then we’ll see about that. Her
Ladyship quite well, I trust ? No midnight marauders, I am sure ?
How well your Lordship looked in your red gown and gold chain the
other week. Have always thought there should be a special
ordinance that Lord Mayor of Dublin should sit in the House of
Commons in gown and chain. When we come back to office we
must see about it.”
In meantime Gibson saw about Corporation Meeting in Dublin.
Arranged to get it postponed. Lord Mayor remains to vote. Tele-
graphed all over the country to stop homeward flight of other three
Irish Members, and State is once more saved.
“ I ’ll write a chapter on this for the next edition of A History of
Our Own Timesf says Justin M‘Carthy. “ Carlyle’s story of
the chace after the New Berline shall pale before my account of
how they stopped T. D. S. at Holyhead, and how they dogged by
telegraph the steps of Gill as he fled towards Dublin.”
“A little hard on Wdlseley,” Colonel Home said to Colonel
Stanley. “Rather spoils his chance, doesn’t it, by postponing
Division from day inconvenient to Land-Leaguers to one that will
suit them ? ”
Putting it Pleasantly.
Dear Malet,—That old Sultan is a shammer.
Tewfik—well, every Copt can do a “ crammer.”
Hot work, you see, upon the Egyptian anvil!
A Malet ’s good, but for a regular “ lammer,”
We need a man who “ comes down like a hammer.”
Duffebin’s a Nasmyth. Twiggez-vous ?
Yours, Granville.
A Word in Season.—In the approaching Royal Review we hopt
to see the Marines and the Naval Contingent efficiently represented
Gratitude is short-lived, and the work once over, we soon manag<
to forget who did it, in our satisfaction at its having been thoroughly
done. In honouring Tommy Atkins, don’t let us overlook Jack am
the Jollies. __
The Sublime Burke.—The Cloture.
Vol, 83.
B