DOI Heft:
February 3, 1883
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17754#0068
60 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON OH ARTY ART [Februak S, 1883.
PUNCH’S PREMIER PUZZLE.
Here is Cannes! fine Place to play at “ Catch-as-Catch-Can.”
Try it then. Turn round three Times, and catch the Grand Old Man !
again the time arrives for him to stop the proceedings in the usual
manner. The title of the Court might be “ Rough and Ready,” in
recognition of the hearty simplicity with which it is conducted. It is
only fair to add that, in spite of the noise and confusion, the best feeling
seems to prevail everywhere, so much so, that it is no unusual thing
to see a Police-Janitor offering a pinch of snuff to a gown-glorified
Solicitor.
Two minutes’ walk, and the realm of the Commissioner is replaced
by the Guildhall Police-Court. Here is a decided change. Decorum
is the order of the day. The room is well-arranged. The officials
Guildhall.—Police Caught Swearing!
wear a bright and neat costume, looking as if they wished to be
taken for the ideal heroes of that capital tale, Dandy. They
are, moreover, most careful in their diction, whispering “ bad
language ” whenever they have to make use of it in giving their
evidence. In fact, it is a most painful duty to a Policeman when-
ever he has to swear himself before entering the witness-box.
A case of assault is heard, when the greatest possible interest is taken
m the condition of the prisoner, so far as his sobriety is concerned,
by everyone in Court. One Witness considers he was “ intoxi-
cated,” another “ perfectly sober,” a third “ not drunk, but a little
in liquor.” Each of those called upon to testify seems to have a
different standard of “ alcoholic deportment.” However, the Aider-
man decides against the luckless defendant, and finally addresses
him very much as follows, evidently framing his style upon a
hanging-Judge presiding at the Old Bailey :—
11 You have been guilty of three most serious offences. You have
been proved to have been drunk, to have committed an assault, and
to have refused to give up a ticket.” At this point the prisoner
plucks up his courage. ‘‘This is a very grave matter, indeed—
so grave that I must deal with it with the utmost severity. Had
you struck the Plaintiff in a fatal part, you might have been
guilty of murder ; had you, in a state of intoxication, burned down
a house, you would have committed arson ; and, by refusing to j
deliver up your ticket, you might have caused, by the delay arising
out of your refusal, an accident entailing the loss of scores, if not |
hundreds of valuable lives.” Here the Alderman pauses, and the I
prisoner turns pale with apprehension. “Under these circum-
stances,” continues his Worship, in solemn tones, “in spite of the
pain it gives me, 1 must deal with you with the utmost severity, f
The sentence of this Court is, that you shall be taken from hence to
the office of the Clerk from whence you came,”—the prisoner by this j
time is in a fainting condition, and scarcely hears the following i
words—“ where you shall pay sixty shillings and costs, and
may——” But here the Alderman pauses abruptly, and the con- f
elusion of the Death Doom remains unspoken. And so the matter
ends.
If the Guildhall Police Court is “respectable,” the Justice Room
at the Mansion House is even “ more so.” Here the work is done—
nearly entirely—by Mr. Martin, the Chief Clerk, who seems to
tolerate with cheerful kindliness the presence of the Lord Mayor or
the presiding Alderman. When Sir Robert Carden is in the Chair,
geniality, not to say boundless and innocent hilarity, is the watch-
word of the day—dashed only by a latent dread on the part of the
officials that the huge Sword of State which hangs over the magiste-
rial bench may descend unexpectedly upon the devoted head, of the
nominal Dispenser of Law and the actual Preserver of Order.
However, when it is remembered that the worthy Alderman seems
to possess a charmed life, good-humour is instantly restored, as it
is felt that any inconvenience to which his Worship might be put by
such an awkward contretemps would certainly be of a purely tran-
sitory character. To sum up—Justice east of Temple Bar does not
appear to differ materially from Justice east of anywhere else.
PUNCH’S PREMIER PUZZLE.
Here is Cannes! fine Place to play at “ Catch-as-Catch-Can.”
Try it then. Turn round three Times, and catch the Grand Old Man !
again the time arrives for him to stop the proceedings in the usual
manner. The title of the Court might be “ Rough and Ready,” in
recognition of the hearty simplicity with which it is conducted. It is
only fair to add that, in spite of the noise and confusion, the best feeling
seems to prevail everywhere, so much so, that it is no unusual thing
to see a Police-Janitor offering a pinch of snuff to a gown-glorified
Solicitor.
Two minutes’ walk, and the realm of the Commissioner is replaced
by the Guildhall Police-Court. Here is a decided change. Decorum
is the order of the day. The room is well-arranged. The officials
Guildhall.—Police Caught Swearing!
wear a bright and neat costume, looking as if they wished to be
taken for the ideal heroes of that capital tale, Dandy. They
are, moreover, most careful in their diction, whispering “ bad
language ” whenever they have to make use of it in giving their
evidence. In fact, it is a most painful duty to a Policeman when-
ever he has to swear himself before entering the witness-box.
A case of assault is heard, when the greatest possible interest is taken
m the condition of the prisoner, so far as his sobriety is concerned,
by everyone in Court. One Witness considers he was “ intoxi-
cated,” another “ perfectly sober,” a third “ not drunk, but a little
in liquor.” Each of those called upon to testify seems to have a
different standard of “ alcoholic deportment.” However, the Aider-
man decides against the luckless defendant, and finally addresses
him very much as follows, evidently framing his style upon a
hanging-Judge presiding at the Old Bailey :—
11 You have been guilty of three most serious offences. You have
been proved to have been drunk, to have committed an assault, and
to have refused to give up a ticket.” At this point the prisoner
plucks up his courage. ‘‘This is a very grave matter, indeed—
so grave that I must deal with it with the utmost severity. Had
you struck the Plaintiff in a fatal part, you might have been
guilty of murder ; had you, in a state of intoxication, burned down
a house, you would have committed arson ; and, by refusing to j
deliver up your ticket, you might have caused, by the delay arising
out of your refusal, an accident entailing the loss of scores, if not |
hundreds of valuable lives.” Here the Alderman pauses, and the I
prisoner turns pale with apprehension. “Under these circum-
stances,” continues his Worship, in solemn tones, “in spite of the
pain it gives me, 1 must deal with you with the utmost severity, f
The sentence of this Court is, that you shall be taken from hence to
the office of the Clerk from whence you came,”—the prisoner by this j
time is in a fainting condition, and scarcely hears the following i
words—“ where you shall pay sixty shillings and costs, and
may——” But here the Alderman pauses abruptly, and the con- f
elusion of the Death Doom remains unspoken. And so the matter
ends.
If the Guildhall Police Court is “respectable,” the Justice Room
at the Mansion House is even “ more so.” Here the work is done—
nearly entirely—by Mr. Martin, the Chief Clerk, who seems to
tolerate with cheerful kindliness the presence of the Lord Mayor or
the presiding Alderman. When Sir Robert Carden is in the Chair,
geniality, not to say boundless and innocent hilarity, is the watch-
word of the day—dashed only by a latent dread on the part of the
officials that the huge Sword of State which hangs over the magiste-
rial bench may descend unexpectedly upon the devoted head, of the
nominal Dispenser of Law and the actual Preserver of Order.
However, when it is remembered that the worthy Alderman seems
to possess a charmed life, good-humour is instantly restored, as it
is felt that any inconvenience to which his Worship might be put by
such an awkward contretemps would certainly be of a purely tran-
sitory character. To sum up—Justice east of Temple Bar does not
appear to differ materially from Justice east of anywhere else.