Punch (86.1884)

168 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [April 5. 1884.

misdemeanor to hold any infant in a position that would bring- its
head where its feet ought to be. Clause Two regulates the heat of
the bath, and, read in conjunction with Clause Five, will reduce the
annual production, unhappily increasing, of parboiled infants.
Clause Three provides for damages in cases where children have
been (so-called) accidentally sat upon. Second Section of the Bill deals
with perambulator question: Provides that on fine Spring or Summer
days, when streets crowded, extra police (to be charged to the Rate-
payers) shall be engaged to clear way for perambulators. All
persons obstructing perambulators, or, in cases of previous convic-
tions, openly objecting to be run over, may be taken before nearest
Magistrates, and summarily dealt with.

Bill had very favourable reception. Ince moved rejection;
on other hand, Horace took his Davey in favour of it. Eminent
legal opinion being thus divided, paternal instinct prevailed, and
Second Beading carried by rattling majority. Business done.—
Infants Bill read a Second time by 208 votes against 73.

Thursday.—“ This is what the Marchioness would call ‘ a wonner
for Warton,’ ” said Captain O’Shay; Firth had called attention to
wholesale blocking of Bills by intelligent representative of Bridport.
Asked whether it was not wilful obstruction, Speaker could not
say it came within letter of Buie, but was distinct violation of its
spirit. Finished by throwing out broad hint to House to take the
matter in its own hands. AVarton a little downcast.

“ Cheer up, old man,” said Labby. “You’re not at the end of
your tether. House may growl, but it won’t bite. Haven’t been
here so long as some people, but think I know the House pretty well.
In all things that concern its own procedure, it’s the most timid old
woman in the world. There’s not a Vestry in the kingdom would
stand you for a fortnight. You are an exceedingly stupid person,
vulgar in your manner, limited in your intelligence, neither good-
humoured nor good-natured. Yet here you’ve been Session after
Session sitting on the House like a nightmare, neither doing good
yourself, nor letting other people do good. House grumbles and
groans, protests its time’s wasted, and that it’s made the laughing-
stock of the country, and does nothing more. And it ’ll go on doing
nothing more till palings are pulled down somewhere. Don’t distress
yourself about to-night. You’re quite safe; much safer than the
prospects of public business.”

More Debate on Franchise Bill. Lively speech from young George
Bussell who has grit in him. Promising maiden oration from
Loavther, not “ Jemmy,” but James W. Raikes gloomily vitriolic.

“ Looks as if he had risen from the tomb to whack Gladstone on
the head and warn us against the Agricultural Labourer,” said Har-
coiirt, in carefully subdued aside.

For hour or two House empty. Thorold Rogers, moving softly
about in new pair of patent leather pumps, whispers his latest
epigram by way of cheering depressed spirits of few Members present:

“ What lawyers, and critics, and artists have felt,

Your Coleridges, Russells, and Frosts.

Is that Lawes is a far better sculptor than Belt,

For he’s chiselled him out of his costs.”

Towards eleven o’clock, when we ought to be going home, having
done good night’s work, Chamberlain appears. House filled up.
Scene grows lively. Chamberlain—“mildest-mannered man that
ever cut a throat”—plods pleasantly along, dropping little bits of hot
sealing-wax all over Conservative Benches, which are in constant
commotion. “ Like popped corn on the frying-pan,” as Mr. Charles
Russell (who has been to America) observes.

Business done.—Further Debate on Franchise Bill.

Friday.—Sad news to-night. Young Albany’s dead—dead ere
his prime. A blameless, kindly gentleman, with scholarly instincts
and a great desire to do his duty. Question whether House should
forthwith adjourn ? Yo precedent found for such course. Ministers
wisely decline to make one. All very well to postpone festivities,
but House of Commons not a festive scene. So, having dried our
eyes, get to work again. Business done.—Farmer Pell’s Local Tax-
ation Resolution carried against Government by 208 against 197.

Quite a little Surprise.—Last Friday, England was suddenly
informed by the Correspondents, who represent the Wise Men of the
East, that the War was over, and the troops were coming back. Yo
more flourish about the announcement than there wuuld have been
had the troops gone out for a holiday, to a tea-fight, and were return-
i ing the same evening. The War over ? Dear me ! is it, really ?
j What’s the line in Tom Thumb? “Rebellion’s dead! and now
j we ’ll go to breakfast! ” But stop—isn’t there someone still out there
| in a difficulty ? Oh, yes, Gordon—General Gordon. Ah—yes—of
| course. Well, before this appears we shall probably have heard
i something more about him, but—anyhow—the War’s over; and
even if we are still fighting, still killing and being killed, yet we
have it on the best authority the War is over, and it’s all right.
Ah ! hum !—is it ?

SOMETHING LIKE A PUNISHMENT!

(A Fragment from the Records of a Court.)

Cold and shivering, the poor creature was torn from her home!
A few hours before she had been warmly clad, and seated in front of
a.bright and cheerful fire. What a contrast! A biting cruel wind—•
her dress scarcely reaching to her neck, and certainly not covering
an inch of arm !

Ah ! she was too old for this cruelty! It would have tried the
strength of her youngest daughter, so it was too much for her with
her threescore years and more ! Oh, the pity o’ it, the pity o’ it!

And she had led a comparatively blameless life. She was no
political prisoner, she had been fairly just in all her dealings. Then
why drag her forth like this—half naked—to face the cruel blast of a
wintry forenoon ?

But she had to face more than a wintry blast. For hours, as she
was carried to the House of Detention, she had to run the gauntlet
of a brutal mob thirsting to jeer at her wretchedness. A terrible
ordeal this ! There she sat in her vehicle of torture, while the very
scum of a mighty city made her a target for their brutal jests !

And then, weary and sick at heart, she became hungry ! But,
bound in many wrappings, she could not move. It was her part to
suffer the pains of semi-starvation !

At length the march of degradation was over ! The vehicle had
rolled, step by step, yard by yard, through the mouthing mob until
it reached that gloomy pile which for a time was to become her
prison. Her progress had been slow, but now she was hustled out of
her conveyance, and pushed, half fainting, up a flight of steps. She
noticed that she had many sister victims—some matrons like herself,
some crones even older, some mere girls who had scarcely left the
nursery—and one and all were cold and browbeaten. They had no
strength left for resistance, and so yielded without a struggle to the
rough treatment of the red-coated official who received them.

Our victim entered the stone hall. After a pause in a side room,
where she was deprived of a poor cloak she had managed to fling
around her before she was driven from home, she was hurried up a
stone staircase lined with armed men, who roughly motioned her to
proceed.

And now she found herself in a gloomy prison, guarded at its two
entrances by more armed men, who carried halberds, and seemed
prepared immediately to slaughter those from whom any kind of
opposition might he expected. The apartment which she now occu-
pied was full of fellow sufferers. The wind whistled through this
room mournfully. In the centre were a few chairs, which had been
fought for, and secured by the first-comers.

Hungry, cold, thirsty, and weary, our poor victim stood near a
window, waiting to see what next would happen. At a signal of the
armed men, the crowd of prisoners rushed, squabbling and pushing
amongst themselves, into a new apartment, similar in appearance to
the one they had just left. The moment they were all in, bars and
chains were put up to keep them safe. Again and again was this
change made, until at length our poor victim was nearly dead with
fatigue.

And now the moment of supreme torture had arrived. Encum-
bered by a heavy garment, which nearly tripped her up, she was
ordered to approach a group of gorgeously-attired strangers, who
seemed to regard her without a vestige of compassion. But this was
not enough. She was required to toalk backwards ' For a moment
she refused. But men with swords and spears were there to over-
come resistance ! Broken down with hunger and fatigue, cold and

old and miserable, she-

* * * * * *

“ But what is all this about?” interrupts the gentle Reader at
this point. “Is Mr. Punch giving some details about a case of
Venetian Torture in the olden time ? ”

“Yo,” comes the answer. “ Although the mistake is reasonable
enough, Mr. Punch is doing nothing of the sort. He is merely
recounting the adventures of a London Dowager attending a modern
Drawing Room! ”

“Dear me!” exclaims the gentle Reader. “The sketch reads
more like the story of a visit to a prison than a sojourn in a palace! ”

And Mr. Punch agrees with him !

SHAKSPEARE IN THE SOUDAN.

There is a Parliament that shapes our end,
Rough Hewett, how we will.

Jayful Yewfs !—(From a Reuter's Telegram.)—“Several Sheiks
belonging to the Samarar, Damileh, and Hoorah tribes, formerly
hostile to the British, arrived here last night.” The Hoorah Tribes
are friendly! Hoorah ! Yo more fighting between the Hoorahs and
the Hussars ! Huzzah ! Lloorah !