DOI Heft:
February 17, 1883
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17754#0084
76
PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHAPIVAEI.
[February 17, 1883,
Commencement of Lent. Peter
refusing a Little Party.
walked across lobby. Sir William Knollys too much of a
gentleman to take notice of this. They let him in after he d given
three raps that shook the door. Walked up, bowing to the Mace
with ease and dignity. Going back was
the difficulty. Mr. Bradlaugh, from
under the Gallery, looked on with inte-
rest. Thought at one time he was going
to offer to accompany Black Rod to the
door. Capital opportunity of practising
the reverse step. But gave up notion,
and, amid breathless attention, Black
Rod bowed himself out backwards.
Everybody relieved when crisis passed.
No precedent for dealing with Black-
Rod when prone on his back on floor of
House of Commons. Sure to do the
wrong thing. The House of Lords would
raise question of privilege, and on very
threshold of Session there’d be conflict
between two Houses.
All rushed off after Speaker to other
House, where Lord Chancellor, made
up like an old. butterwoman in red cloak
patched with white rabbit-skin, lugubriously read the Queen s
Speech. Not liking to push and scramble like some Hon. Members,
I got a little behind, where couldn’t hear very well. But, as far as
could gather, Speech ran thusly :—
“ My Lords and Gentlemen,
“ It is with more than usual satisfaction I again invite your
advice and assistance in the conduct of public affairs. Not but what
in your absence things have been going along pretty smoothly.
Indeed, I sometimes think of recurring to the example of some of
my ancestors of the Plantagenet line, and giving you a few
years’ recess right off.
“ Gentlemen oe the House of Commons,
“ You, in particular, are inclined to be meddlesome, poking
your honourable nose into all kinds of things, worrying our trusty
and well-beloved counsellor, Sir Charles Dilke, and unduly and
untimeously elevating the collar of our immaculate William. _ A
pretty mess you would have made of the Egyptian Question, supposing
you’d been permitted to revel in the niceties of the negotiation ! A
bull in a china shop, an elephant in an egg-store, would have been
narmless and adroit as compared with you. Now, we’ve managed
it nicely and quietly, got our own way in everything, shown Europe
that we are Diplomatists as well as soldiers, and raised the prestige of
England to a point at which it has not stood since the days of Pitt.
“You are all very well in your way, especially when money is
wanted—and, by the way, I may here mention that the Estimates for
the service of the year are in an advanced state of preparation, and
will be promptly submitted to you—but what with your inconve-
nient questions, your party manoeuvres, your intervention, and your
non-intervention, your sentimentality and impracticability, your
habit, in short, of playing to the Gallery, you are sometimes best
away. As Lord Beaconsfield used to say, ‘ Parliamentary Govern-
ment would he impossible but for the Recess.’
“ My Lords and Gentlemen,
“ I trust we shall not have any time wasted this Session by
conflicts between your two Hon. Houses. There was a good deal too
much of this last year. We all mean business this Session, and I
look forward to the opportunity, early in August, of congratulating
you upon the amount of useful work accomplished. Both at
home and abroad affairs are in a condition which leave you time to
mind your own business. Whilst we were prancing abroad, getting
up wars, little and big, and at home were misgoverning Ire-
land, my people in England, Scotland, and Wales have been
woefully neglected. Now that all the running accounts of our
spirited Foreign Policy in Europe, Asia, and Africa are happily
closed, and when Ireland is in a more settled condition than it has
been tor six years, let us give the other parts of my Empire a turn.
Bend your lofty souls to the Bankruptcy Bill. Curb your boundless
aspirations to the level of the Corporation of London' Bill, the Con-
sondation of the Criminal Code, the Repression of Corrupt Practices
at Elections, the Conservancy of Rivers, and the Prevention of
Floods. In brief, talk less and do more, and so shall your wisdom
and energy prove equal to the varied and increasing needs of this
extended Empire.
Thought Lord Selborne’s emotion would have choked him.
Scarcely a dry eye in the assembly when he finished. Then all away
to come back at four o clock, and see the revival of the favourite
Westminster piece, Pas de Deux; or, The Mace, the Speaker, mid
the Bounding Brothers,
Peculiar Illustration of the
Cannes.
1 Canny Scot ’’-The Chateau Scott,
WAITING AN ANSWER.
A “Justice of the Peace” complained the other day in the
columns of a contemporary that the use of the honoured affix,
“ J. P.,” was not solely restricted, as it ought to be, to the magnates
of his own order, to wit, the County Magistrates “ chosen from the
chief landowners and men of position in the county,” but was borne
equally by “ Brown, Jones, and Robinson, small shopkeepers, with
jurisdiction in their own small borough only.” Let such small fry,
adds the indignant County Justice, “be satisfied by being called
‘ Justices of the Borough,’ or ‘ J.B.’ ” Mr. Punch is not in the
habit of troubling himself with the petty squabbles of puny people,
but as the rather too often repeated phrase “Justices’ Justice”
occurs to him, he confesses to being struck with a certain stolid
robustness about the intelligence of this particular J.P. He had
always been under the impression that some of the worst decisions
in the three kingdoms invariably emanated from provincial benches
graced not by Brown, Jones, and Robinson, the small shopkeepers
of the borough, but by the very bigwigs, “ the chief landowners and
men of position in the County,” to whom the J.P. in question (who
might also sign himself S.N.O.B.) so proudly refers.
By the way, did not the unhappy woman sent up only last week,
in a dying condition, from Guildford to Westminster,—and of whose
case—for it was a terrible and sorry one—Mr. Punch hopes he has
not yet heard the last,—receive her gentle sentence of three months’
hard labour for the heinous offence of sleeping in an outhouse, from
one of these same rural Solomons ? If so, the less for the moment
the public hear about such worthies in a vaunting key, the better.
Anyhow, Mr. Punch puts the question; and, in the interests not
only of peace and justice, but of common humanity, if there is any
satisfactory reply to it forthcoming that will clear the fair fame of
a J.P. or of anybody else, he will be mightily glad to hear it. Mr.
Punch waits an answer.
POETICAL LICENCES.
We understand that a new feature will shortly be added to the
Inland Revenue by the introduction of a Poetical Licence tax. By
a curious coincidence, which is only an additional proof of the great-
ness of our nation and the readiness with which the people of these
islands resent any interference with their liberties, attention of the
Government has been drawn simultaneously from all quarters of
Britain to the extraordinary extravagance and waste which has been
permitted in the human mind by the reproduction, annually, of
what is known as the “rhetoric of the recess,” and the increasing
exuberance of volumes of poetry and sermons by budding poets and
country clergymen. The new licence, unlike those for dogs and
guns, will vary according to the requirements of the applicant.
Country residents will be supplied at the local post-offices ; the post-
master to decide whether the application shall be granted or not. It
is expected that the new measure will be largely taken advantage of
by the Editors of the leading London journals.
“ PtEADY, aye Ready!”—Mr. Punch begs to acknowledge the
receipt of a Five-pound Note from “ A Constant Subscriber,”* in
generous response to the Life-Boat verses in last week’s number.
The donation has been forwarded to the National Life-Boat Fund.
* What does this signature mean? “A Constant Subscriber” of Five-
pound Notes ? How nice!
WHAT WILL HE DO WITH HIM?”
The First Commissioner wants to
know where on earth, or under the
earth, he’s to put him? He can’t
go dragging this thing about with him
all over London.
PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHAPIVAEI.
[February 17, 1883,
Commencement of Lent. Peter
refusing a Little Party.
walked across lobby. Sir William Knollys too much of a
gentleman to take notice of this. They let him in after he d given
three raps that shook the door. Walked up, bowing to the Mace
with ease and dignity. Going back was
the difficulty. Mr. Bradlaugh, from
under the Gallery, looked on with inte-
rest. Thought at one time he was going
to offer to accompany Black Rod to the
door. Capital opportunity of practising
the reverse step. But gave up notion,
and, amid breathless attention, Black
Rod bowed himself out backwards.
Everybody relieved when crisis passed.
No precedent for dealing with Black-
Rod when prone on his back on floor of
House of Commons. Sure to do the
wrong thing. The House of Lords would
raise question of privilege, and on very
threshold of Session there’d be conflict
between two Houses.
All rushed off after Speaker to other
House, where Lord Chancellor, made
up like an old. butterwoman in red cloak
patched with white rabbit-skin, lugubriously read the Queen s
Speech. Not liking to push and scramble like some Hon. Members,
I got a little behind, where couldn’t hear very well. But, as far as
could gather, Speech ran thusly :—
“ My Lords and Gentlemen,
“ It is with more than usual satisfaction I again invite your
advice and assistance in the conduct of public affairs. Not but what
in your absence things have been going along pretty smoothly.
Indeed, I sometimes think of recurring to the example of some of
my ancestors of the Plantagenet line, and giving you a few
years’ recess right off.
“ Gentlemen oe the House of Commons,
“ You, in particular, are inclined to be meddlesome, poking
your honourable nose into all kinds of things, worrying our trusty
and well-beloved counsellor, Sir Charles Dilke, and unduly and
untimeously elevating the collar of our immaculate William. _ A
pretty mess you would have made of the Egyptian Question, supposing
you’d been permitted to revel in the niceties of the negotiation ! A
bull in a china shop, an elephant in an egg-store, would have been
narmless and adroit as compared with you. Now, we’ve managed
it nicely and quietly, got our own way in everything, shown Europe
that we are Diplomatists as well as soldiers, and raised the prestige of
England to a point at which it has not stood since the days of Pitt.
“You are all very well in your way, especially when money is
wanted—and, by the way, I may here mention that the Estimates for
the service of the year are in an advanced state of preparation, and
will be promptly submitted to you—but what with your inconve-
nient questions, your party manoeuvres, your intervention, and your
non-intervention, your sentimentality and impracticability, your
habit, in short, of playing to the Gallery, you are sometimes best
away. As Lord Beaconsfield used to say, ‘ Parliamentary Govern-
ment would he impossible but for the Recess.’
“ My Lords and Gentlemen,
“ I trust we shall not have any time wasted this Session by
conflicts between your two Hon. Houses. There was a good deal too
much of this last year. We all mean business this Session, and I
look forward to the opportunity, early in August, of congratulating
you upon the amount of useful work accomplished. Both at
home and abroad affairs are in a condition which leave you time to
mind your own business. Whilst we were prancing abroad, getting
up wars, little and big, and at home were misgoverning Ire-
land, my people in England, Scotland, and Wales have been
woefully neglected. Now that all the running accounts of our
spirited Foreign Policy in Europe, Asia, and Africa are happily
closed, and when Ireland is in a more settled condition than it has
been tor six years, let us give the other parts of my Empire a turn.
Bend your lofty souls to the Bankruptcy Bill. Curb your boundless
aspirations to the level of the Corporation of London' Bill, the Con-
sondation of the Criminal Code, the Repression of Corrupt Practices
at Elections, the Conservancy of Rivers, and the Prevention of
Floods. In brief, talk less and do more, and so shall your wisdom
and energy prove equal to the varied and increasing needs of this
extended Empire.
Thought Lord Selborne’s emotion would have choked him.
Scarcely a dry eye in the assembly when he finished. Then all away
to come back at four o clock, and see the revival of the favourite
Westminster piece, Pas de Deux; or, The Mace, the Speaker, mid
the Bounding Brothers,
Peculiar Illustration of the
Cannes.
1 Canny Scot ’’-The Chateau Scott,
WAITING AN ANSWER.
A “Justice of the Peace” complained the other day in the
columns of a contemporary that the use of the honoured affix,
“ J. P.,” was not solely restricted, as it ought to be, to the magnates
of his own order, to wit, the County Magistrates “ chosen from the
chief landowners and men of position in the county,” but was borne
equally by “ Brown, Jones, and Robinson, small shopkeepers, with
jurisdiction in their own small borough only.” Let such small fry,
adds the indignant County Justice, “be satisfied by being called
‘ Justices of the Borough,’ or ‘ J.B.’ ” Mr. Punch is not in the
habit of troubling himself with the petty squabbles of puny people,
but as the rather too often repeated phrase “Justices’ Justice”
occurs to him, he confesses to being struck with a certain stolid
robustness about the intelligence of this particular J.P. He had
always been under the impression that some of the worst decisions
in the three kingdoms invariably emanated from provincial benches
graced not by Brown, Jones, and Robinson, the small shopkeepers
of the borough, but by the very bigwigs, “ the chief landowners and
men of position in the County,” to whom the J.P. in question (who
might also sign himself S.N.O.B.) so proudly refers.
By the way, did not the unhappy woman sent up only last week,
in a dying condition, from Guildford to Westminster,—and of whose
case—for it was a terrible and sorry one—Mr. Punch hopes he has
not yet heard the last,—receive her gentle sentence of three months’
hard labour for the heinous offence of sleeping in an outhouse, from
one of these same rural Solomons ? If so, the less for the moment
the public hear about such worthies in a vaunting key, the better.
Anyhow, Mr. Punch puts the question; and, in the interests not
only of peace and justice, but of common humanity, if there is any
satisfactory reply to it forthcoming that will clear the fair fame of
a J.P. or of anybody else, he will be mightily glad to hear it. Mr.
Punch waits an answer.
POETICAL LICENCES.
We understand that a new feature will shortly be added to the
Inland Revenue by the introduction of a Poetical Licence tax. By
a curious coincidence, which is only an additional proof of the great-
ness of our nation and the readiness with which the people of these
islands resent any interference with their liberties, attention of the
Government has been drawn simultaneously from all quarters of
Britain to the extraordinary extravagance and waste which has been
permitted in the human mind by the reproduction, annually, of
what is known as the “rhetoric of the recess,” and the increasing
exuberance of volumes of poetry and sermons by budding poets and
country clergymen. The new licence, unlike those for dogs and
guns, will vary according to the requirements of the applicant.
Country residents will be supplied at the local post-offices ; the post-
master to decide whether the application shall be granted or not. It
is expected that the new measure will be largely taken advantage of
by the Editors of the leading London journals.
“ PtEADY, aye Ready!”—Mr. Punch begs to acknowledge the
receipt of a Five-pound Note from “ A Constant Subscriber,”* in
generous response to the Life-Boat verses in last week’s number.
The donation has been forwarded to the National Life-Boat Fund.
* What does this signature mean? “A Constant Subscriber” of Five-
pound Notes ? How nice!
WHAT WILL HE DO WITH HIM?”
The First Commissioner wants to
know where on earth, or under the
earth, he’s to put him? He can’t
go dragging this thing about with him
all over London.