DOI Heft:
February 2, 1884
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17756#0057
February 2, 1884.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
49
THE NOTE BOOK OF A DETECTIVE JOURNALIST.
Attendance at a Cabinet Council in a Statesman’s Collars.
Immediately I received the Editor’s telegram, “ Assume any dis-
guise you please, but, without fail, tind out what is going to appear
in the'Queen’s Speech,” I decided upon a course of action. _ Once
again I had to make myself up—this time I had to appear, in the
character of one of the most eminent men of the century. Mistaken
for the Premier, I would be admitted to Downing Street—to the
Inner Chamber.
Fortunately, it was perfectly easy to carry out my plan. All I
had to do was to adopt an ordinary—a very ordinary—morning cos-
tume, and a pair of gigantic collars. I was safe from recognition
mv head was entirely hidden in the collars.
I walked to Downing Street, and knocked at the door of the
Premier’s residence. It was immediately opened by a bowing and
smiling Messenger.
“ In future, Sir, you will be able to gain admission more expe-
ditiously. I have been desired to give you this little packet, and
to say that the article it contains is again returned to you, on con-
dition that you promise to make no more evening excursions to listen
to what she said you called ‘ The Cry of Outcast London.’ ”
The Messenger handed me a packet.
“ I think I ought to tell you, Sir,” continued the Official, “ that
there seemed to be an impression that you and Sir Charles and Mr.
Bright are in the habit of seeking for ‘ the Cry ’ at the Canterbury,
the Oxford, and kindred places of xiublic amusement.”
I now opened the packet. It contained a latch-key. Preceded by
the Messenger, I ascended a flight of Stairs, and found myself in the
Saloon devoted to the holding of Cabinet Councils. Here the Mes-
senger bowed, and left me.
It was a plainly-furnished apartment, containing a long table
covered with green baize, which was surrounded by some dozen
chairs. Most of the Government were present. The Cabinet were
scattered about in groups. Here was Mr. Chamberlain explaining
to Lord Hartington his notions about the breeding of race-horses,
there was Lord Granville listening in rapt attention while Sir
Charles Dllke instructed him in foreign policy. Both Mr.
Childers and Sir William Harcourt were drawing pictures of
proposed Ironclads, and attempting to attract the attention for their
sketches of no less a person than Lord Northbrook. In„the back-
ground Lord Derby was telling Lord Kimberley what he (Lord
Derby) would do were he at the Indian Office; while Lord Kim-
berley, in return, verbally mapped out the policy he should have
pursued had he become Secretary of State for the Colonies.
The moment I entered the Ministers rose, respectfully saluted me,
and took their places at the Council-Board, reserving a chair at the
head of the table for my accommodation. Suddenly, the Lord Chan-
cellor entered the room in full-bottomed wig and robes of office.
There was a general titter at his appearance.
“ Really, I see no reason for this merriment,” exclaimed his Lord-
ship, angrily. “ I was asked to come in this costume, because I was
informed, by post-card, that to-day we were to be photographed. I
insist upon knowing who sent me that post-card.”
There was a dead, silence. The Ministers seemed to be earnestly
engaged in doing nothing in particular. I could not help thinking,
however, that Mr. Chamberlain seemed ill at ease. This demeanour,
so suggestive of guilt, also appeared to attract the attention of Lord
Selborne, who was on the point of addressing the President of the
Board, when I considered it time to intervene.
“lam afraid I must claim to be the culprit, my dear Lord Chan-
cellor,” I said, from behind my collars, in the voice of Mr. Glad-
stone, which I imitated most successfully. “ It was only a practical
joke. You all know my playful waggish humour.”
The Ministers seemed rather astonished, and the Lord Chancellor
suggested that perhaps, after all, the group might be photographed.
“ Impossible ! ” exclaimed Lord Granville. “ It would be con-
trary to all precedent. We have none of the accessories. We want
a number of half-opened despatch-boxes containing treaties, a few
waste-paper baskets to scatter about, overturned, in the foreground,
and, moreover, should all be sitting on the most uncomfortable of
lu^h-backed chairs. Lnlessthe Public see the chairs, the treaties,
and the overturned waste-paper basket, they will never believe that
the pieture.represents the meeting of a Cabinet Council.”
After a little grumbling, Lord Selborne acquiesced, and took his
seat. Ihen there was a pause, and Sir William Harcourt rose, at
tile invitation of his colleagues.
My dear and valued friend,” he began, addressing me, “ we have
been considering what you said to us at our last meeting, and, as you
insist upon it so strongly, we consent to the insertion of that joke of
yours about jam satis in the initial paragraph.”
... J only objected to it,” continued Mr. Chamberlain, in a con-
ciliatory tone, because I thought I had seen it somewhere before.”
i-f+i n(i L because it seemed to me, as an old-fashioned person, a
unconventional to make Her Majesty commence her address to
her faithful Lords and Commons with a pun—although I admit the
pun was admirable in its mirth-provokingness.” It was Lord Gran-
ville who said this.
“ I am glad that you give way,” I replied, from behind the safe
ambush of my collars, and then, wishing to feel my way, suggested
that I believed that there had been something said about Egypt at
our last meeting.
“Why, we spoke of nothing else,” shouted Lord Hartington, :
suddenly, exchanging his habitual rather gloomy calm for a demeanour
suggestive of the tiercest excitement. In a moment there was a
perfect Babel of voices, in which I could only catch a few fragments
of speech, such as “ Chinese Gordon,” “ Immediate evacuation,”
and “ Temporary protectorate.” The contention waxed angrier and
angrier, until I was really afraid that words would give way to 1
blows. All of a sudden an apparition appeared at the other end of
the table—an apparition which filled me with absolute terror.
“Before we discuss Egypt, said this apparition, which included
an ordinary—a very ordinary—morning suit and a pair of gigantic
collars, “ 1 hope we are all now agreed that the initial paragraph of
the Speech shall contain that little joke of mine about jam satis.”
And the apparition chuckled.
The Ministers were perfectly dumb with astonishment. They
looked at me and then at the apparition. There was but one question,
“ Which of the two was Mr. Gladstone ? ”
“I would suggest,” said Sir Vernon Harcourt, timidly, “that
the Premier should come out of his collars.”
“Never!” cried the apparition and myself together. “Give up
my collars ! Never ! ” At that moment Mr. Herbert Gladstone
hurriedly entered the room.
“ Pa, 1 want to ask you a question,” cried the youthful Lord of
the Treasury, running up to his parent, and embracing him. “ You
won’t* be angry at this interruption f ”
“ The true Premier has been discovered by his son! ” cried the
Ministry en masse. “ The voice of Nature has spoken ! ”
This was the last I heard, as five seconds later I was using my
utmost expedition in leaving Downing Street.
CLASS AA1) CLASS.
That worthy but slightly obstinate bore, Sir Edward Watkin, has
announced to the Shareholders of the South-Eastern Railway Com-
pany that “ country clergymen, local shopkeepers, landowners, and
rich old misers have no right in third-class carriages.” As such an
excellent authority cannot be gainsaid, we have prepared a table for
Sir Edward Watkin’s approval, showing each class of carriage
which ought to be used for the carriage of each class on the S.E.R.:—
First Class.—Archbishops, Dukes, Marquesses, Earls, Miscounts,
Bishops, Barons, Baronets (first-rate), Stockbrokers, Money-Lenders,
newly-married couples, Members of Tattersalls’, Theatrical Managers,
leading Actors and Actresses, operatic Artistes, newspaper Editors,
Stage-door Keepers, Q.C.’s, Barristers (first-rate), Solicitors (first-
rate), Special Correspondents, Members of Parliament, Chorus Ladies,
Peers’ younger sons, ironmasters, manufacturers, bankers, hotel-
keepers, housebreakers, swellmobsmen, pickpockets (first-rate), land-
owners, rich old misers, and Sir Edward Watkin himself.
Second Class.—Government clerks, City clerks, market-gardeners,
country clergymen (rectors, vicars, &c.), local shopkeepers, prompters,
second principals, baronets (second-rate), younger sons of younger
sons, barristers (second-rate), solicitors (second-rate), barmaids (first-
rate), estate agents, Ladies of the Ballet (first rank), innkeepers,
housebreakers, swellmobsmen, pickpockets (second-rate), moderately
well-off old misers, and Sir Edward Watkin’s chef, valet, coach-
man, and governess, themselves.
Third Class.—Curates, dog-dealers, labourers, under-gardeners,
local sub-shopkeepers, call-boys, younger sons of younger son’s
younger sons, potboys, hop-pickers, barmaids (second-rate), maids of
all work, beershop-keepers, Ladies of the Ballet (second rank),
Gentlemen of the Chorus, costermongers, housebreakers, swell-
mobsmen, pickpockets (third-rate), area-sneaks, policemen, soldiers,
sailors, and Sir Edward Watkin’s scullions, boot-blacks, stable-
helps, and bottle-washers themselves.
By the way, Sir Edward Watkin asserted that, according to
Mr. Punch, wherever the South-Eastern went everything seemed to
perish and decay. In opposition to this Sir Edward averred that
wherever the railway had gone land formerly worth £50 an acre had
risen from £500 to £2000. Sir Edward ought to know that, from an
agricultural point of view, rot and decay are highly beneficial to land.
The After-piece at the Lyceum {by an Impressionist).—A suc-
cess for Miss Anderson. Title and Play rather mixed. Comedy and
Tragedy (like Ctesar and Pompey) very much alike, especially
Tragedy. A nice, crisp, little melodrama, just long enough to send
an audience home mournfully to bed and a nightmare. Like same
Author’s Creatures of Impulse, unquestionably clever. Mr. Gilbert
seems always at his very best in One Act.
49
THE NOTE BOOK OF A DETECTIVE JOURNALIST.
Attendance at a Cabinet Council in a Statesman’s Collars.
Immediately I received the Editor’s telegram, “ Assume any dis-
guise you please, but, without fail, tind out what is going to appear
in the'Queen’s Speech,” I decided upon a course of action. _ Once
again I had to make myself up—this time I had to appear, in the
character of one of the most eminent men of the century. Mistaken
for the Premier, I would be admitted to Downing Street—to the
Inner Chamber.
Fortunately, it was perfectly easy to carry out my plan. All I
had to do was to adopt an ordinary—a very ordinary—morning cos-
tume, and a pair of gigantic collars. I was safe from recognition
mv head was entirely hidden in the collars.
I walked to Downing Street, and knocked at the door of the
Premier’s residence. It was immediately opened by a bowing and
smiling Messenger.
“ In future, Sir, you will be able to gain admission more expe-
ditiously. I have been desired to give you this little packet, and
to say that the article it contains is again returned to you, on con-
dition that you promise to make no more evening excursions to listen
to what she said you called ‘ The Cry of Outcast London.’ ”
The Messenger handed me a packet.
“ I think I ought to tell you, Sir,” continued the Official, “ that
there seemed to be an impression that you and Sir Charles and Mr.
Bright are in the habit of seeking for ‘ the Cry ’ at the Canterbury,
the Oxford, and kindred places of xiublic amusement.”
I now opened the packet. It contained a latch-key. Preceded by
the Messenger, I ascended a flight of Stairs, and found myself in the
Saloon devoted to the holding of Cabinet Councils. Here the Mes-
senger bowed, and left me.
It was a plainly-furnished apartment, containing a long table
covered with green baize, which was surrounded by some dozen
chairs. Most of the Government were present. The Cabinet were
scattered about in groups. Here was Mr. Chamberlain explaining
to Lord Hartington his notions about the breeding of race-horses,
there was Lord Granville listening in rapt attention while Sir
Charles Dllke instructed him in foreign policy. Both Mr.
Childers and Sir William Harcourt were drawing pictures of
proposed Ironclads, and attempting to attract the attention for their
sketches of no less a person than Lord Northbrook. In„the back-
ground Lord Derby was telling Lord Kimberley what he (Lord
Derby) would do were he at the Indian Office; while Lord Kim-
berley, in return, verbally mapped out the policy he should have
pursued had he become Secretary of State for the Colonies.
The moment I entered the Ministers rose, respectfully saluted me,
and took their places at the Council-Board, reserving a chair at the
head of the table for my accommodation. Suddenly, the Lord Chan-
cellor entered the room in full-bottomed wig and robes of office.
There was a general titter at his appearance.
“ Really, I see no reason for this merriment,” exclaimed his Lord-
ship, angrily. “ I was asked to come in this costume, because I was
informed, by post-card, that to-day we were to be photographed. I
insist upon knowing who sent me that post-card.”
There was a dead, silence. The Ministers seemed to be earnestly
engaged in doing nothing in particular. I could not help thinking,
however, that Mr. Chamberlain seemed ill at ease. This demeanour,
so suggestive of guilt, also appeared to attract the attention of Lord
Selborne, who was on the point of addressing the President of the
Board, when I considered it time to intervene.
“lam afraid I must claim to be the culprit, my dear Lord Chan-
cellor,” I said, from behind my collars, in the voice of Mr. Glad-
stone, which I imitated most successfully. “ It was only a practical
joke. You all know my playful waggish humour.”
The Ministers seemed rather astonished, and the Lord Chancellor
suggested that perhaps, after all, the group might be photographed.
“ Impossible ! ” exclaimed Lord Granville. “ It would be con-
trary to all precedent. We have none of the accessories. We want
a number of half-opened despatch-boxes containing treaties, a few
waste-paper baskets to scatter about, overturned, in the foreground,
and, moreover, should all be sitting on the most uncomfortable of
lu^h-backed chairs. Lnlessthe Public see the chairs, the treaties,
and the overturned waste-paper basket, they will never believe that
the pieture.represents the meeting of a Cabinet Council.”
After a little grumbling, Lord Selborne acquiesced, and took his
seat. Ihen there was a pause, and Sir William Harcourt rose, at
tile invitation of his colleagues.
My dear and valued friend,” he began, addressing me, “ we have
been considering what you said to us at our last meeting, and, as you
insist upon it so strongly, we consent to the insertion of that joke of
yours about jam satis in the initial paragraph.”
... J only objected to it,” continued Mr. Chamberlain, in a con-
ciliatory tone, because I thought I had seen it somewhere before.”
i-f+i n(i L because it seemed to me, as an old-fashioned person, a
unconventional to make Her Majesty commence her address to
her faithful Lords and Commons with a pun—although I admit the
pun was admirable in its mirth-provokingness.” It was Lord Gran-
ville who said this.
“ I am glad that you give way,” I replied, from behind the safe
ambush of my collars, and then, wishing to feel my way, suggested
that I believed that there had been something said about Egypt at
our last meeting.
“Why, we spoke of nothing else,” shouted Lord Hartington, :
suddenly, exchanging his habitual rather gloomy calm for a demeanour
suggestive of the tiercest excitement. In a moment there was a
perfect Babel of voices, in which I could only catch a few fragments
of speech, such as “ Chinese Gordon,” “ Immediate evacuation,”
and “ Temporary protectorate.” The contention waxed angrier and
angrier, until I was really afraid that words would give way to 1
blows. All of a sudden an apparition appeared at the other end of
the table—an apparition which filled me with absolute terror.
“Before we discuss Egypt, said this apparition, which included
an ordinary—a very ordinary—morning suit and a pair of gigantic
collars, “ 1 hope we are all now agreed that the initial paragraph of
the Speech shall contain that little joke of mine about jam satis.”
And the apparition chuckled.
The Ministers were perfectly dumb with astonishment. They
looked at me and then at the apparition. There was but one question,
“ Which of the two was Mr. Gladstone ? ”
“I would suggest,” said Sir Vernon Harcourt, timidly, “that
the Premier should come out of his collars.”
“Never!” cried the apparition and myself together. “Give up
my collars ! Never ! ” At that moment Mr. Herbert Gladstone
hurriedly entered the room.
“ Pa, 1 want to ask you a question,” cried the youthful Lord of
the Treasury, running up to his parent, and embracing him. “ You
won’t* be angry at this interruption f ”
“ The true Premier has been discovered by his son! ” cried the
Ministry en masse. “ The voice of Nature has spoken ! ”
This was the last I heard, as five seconds later I was using my
utmost expedition in leaving Downing Street.
CLASS AA1) CLASS.
That worthy but slightly obstinate bore, Sir Edward Watkin, has
announced to the Shareholders of the South-Eastern Railway Com-
pany that “ country clergymen, local shopkeepers, landowners, and
rich old misers have no right in third-class carriages.” As such an
excellent authority cannot be gainsaid, we have prepared a table for
Sir Edward Watkin’s approval, showing each class of carriage
which ought to be used for the carriage of each class on the S.E.R.:—
First Class.—Archbishops, Dukes, Marquesses, Earls, Miscounts,
Bishops, Barons, Baronets (first-rate), Stockbrokers, Money-Lenders,
newly-married couples, Members of Tattersalls’, Theatrical Managers,
leading Actors and Actresses, operatic Artistes, newspaper Editors,
Stage-door Keepers, Q.C.’s, Barristers (first-rate), Solicitors (first-
rate), Special Correspondents, Members of Parliament, Chorus Ladies,
Peers’ younger sons, ironmasters, manufacturers, bankers, hotel-
keepers, housebreakers, swellmobsmen, pickpockets (first-rate), land-
owners, rich old misers, and Sir Edward Watkin himself.
Second Class.—Government clerks, City clerks, market-gardeners,
country clergymen (rectors, vicars, &c.), local shopkeepers, prompters,
second principals, baronets (second-rate), younger sons of younger
sons, barristers (second-rate), solicitors (second-rate), barmaids (first-
rate), estate agents, Ladies of the Ballet (first rank), innkeepers,
housebreakers, swellmobsmen, pickpockets (second-rate), moderately
well-off old misers, and Sir Edward Watkin’s chef, valet, coach-
man, and governess, themselves.
Third Class.—Curates, dog-dealers, labourers, under-gardeners,
local sub-shopkeepers, call-boys, younger sons of younger son’s
younger sons, potboys, hop-pickers, barmaids (second-rate), maids of
all work, beershop-keepers, Ladies of the Ballet (second rank),
Gentlemen of the Chorus, costermongers, housebreakers, swell-
mobsmen, pickpockets (third-rate), area-sneaks, policemen, soldiers,
sailors, and Sir Edward Watkin’s scullions, boot-blacks, stable-
helps, and bottle-washers themselves.
By the way, Sir Edward Watkin asserted that, according to
Mr. Punch, wherever the South-Eastern went everything seemed to
perish and decay. In opposition to this Sir Edward averred that
wherever the railway had gone land formerly worth £50 an acre had
risen from £500 to £2000. Sir Edward ought to know that, from an
agricultural point of view, rot and decay are highly beneficial to land.
The After-piece at the Lyceum {by an Impressionist).—A suc-
cess for Miss Anderson. Title and Play rather mixed. Comedy and
Tragedy (like Ctesar and Pompey) very much alike, especially
Tragedy. A nice, crisp, little melodrama, just long enough to send
an audience home mournfully to bed and a nightmare. Like same
Author’s Creatures of Impulse, unquestionably clever. Mr. Gilbert
seems always at his very best in One Act.