Punch (93.1887)

December 10, 1887.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

265

THE LETTER-BAG OF TOBY, M.P.

Feom the Rochdale Raspeb (Late the Biemingham Pet).

One Ash, Rochdale, Saturday.

eab Toby,

The address from •which
I write to you is familiar in
the public ear in connection
with a long series which, such
is the ignorance of mankind,
I have heard described as
petulant, querulous, self-adu-
latory notes. I have often
wondered that it has not
occurred to any one to notice
the singular appropriateness
of the name of my humble
home. It is not for me, at
my time of life, to claim any-
thing like preBcienoe of affairs.
I may have been right in my
views of the succeeding events
of the past half-century, or I
may have been wrong. I will
just mention that my friend, T-kjt-S-n, who has a pretty faculty for poetry,
once summed me up in a couplet which I venture to think is not without its
charm. " J-hn Be-ght," he wrote—

J-hn Br-ght
Is always right.

He told me in confidence that he had at one time contemplated a eulogistic
poem of some seventy or eighty lines, price to the Nineteenth Century a guinea
each. But, having thrown off this couplet, it appeared in itself so sufficient, so
comprehensive yet so precise, that amplification would have rather reduced than
increased its value. Therefore it remains a brilliant fragment.

But I am wandering from the theme, which, in the present instance, is not
myself hut my country address. "What I thought might be interesting to point
out is the curious felicity of the nomenclature, and the remarkable foresight of
which it is proof. More than a generation ago it received this singular appella-
tion. At that time nothing seemed more remote from ordinary apprehension
than that in this year I should be what we call " a Unionist." an ally and
supporter of Lord S-l-b-by. pulling in the same boat as the H-m-lt-ns, and
marching shoulder to shoulder with Ashm-d B-etl-tt. In those days I was
Wont to pour forth torrents of angry contempt upon the Conservative party.
IJ-se-li was my wash-pot. over the Markiss 1 cast out my shoe ; but even then
ffiy address was One Ash, Rochdale. Do you begin to see what I mean ? One
-Empire, One Parliament, One Ash! Some of my old colleagues and disciples
among the Radicals scoff at me because of my new companions. But. as usual,
a nave been right from the first, I have always been what the Marchioness
called a " wonner." "What has happened is that the Liberal Party and my old
companions have moved away from me, whilst the Conservatives have movtd
towards me. I am the same to-day as yesterday, or as these fifty years past.
. J-Hn Be-ght, always right," and any change of relationship or appearance
is due to the ineradicable error and fatal foolishness of others.

What I feel, dear Toby, in reviewing a long and honourable life, is the
terrible feeling of monotony. I sometimes find myself envying ordinary men
like G-l-dst-ke, who, looking hack over their past lii'e, can put their hand down
and say, "There I blundered, there I was misled by circumstances." For a long
£ime Gl-dst-ne kept pretty straight—that is to say I agreed with him. But he
has gone wrong lamentably on this Irish Question, and all the righteous acts of
ins life—that is to say, steps in which he has chanced to walk in time with me—
We obliterated. It is true that, at one time, it was I who was the foremost
Apostle of Irish National feeling. At this date people with inconvenient memories

are constantlyTraking up'passages in'my speeches about
Ireland, and the English yoke which, except that they
are too finely cut, and of too noble a style of eloquence,
would exactly suit Gl-dst-ne to-day. I said these
things then, it is true, and then they were right. I do
not say them to-day, and therefore they are wrong. Quod
erat demonstrandum. (You will observe that since, with
a distinguished friend, I have joined the political com-
pany of gentlemen, I have forsaken my old habit of
keeping to the Saxon tongue, and sometimes, as here, I
drop into Latin. Occasionally I fall into French. Autres
temps, autres mceurs.)

My nearest approach to human frailty, is, perhaps, to
be found in a certain measure of absence of suavity. It
is perhaps possible that my temper was,—I will not say
soured, but—not sweetened by the vile attacks made upon
me personally by Irish Members in Parliament during
the last ten years. You remember what B-nt-uck said
about me ? I don't mean Rig Ben, or Little Ben, but
Lord Geoege B-nt-nce. "If Be-ght," he said, "had
not been a Quaker, he would have been a prize-fighter."
I think there is about the remark some suspicion of lack
of respect. But, also, it is not without some foundation
of truth. I admit an impulse to strike back when I am
hit; sometimes when I am not. Through two Parlia-
ments the ragged regiment that live upon the contribu-
tions of their poor relations in domestic service in the
United States have girded at me in the House of
Commons. This was my reward for the rhetorical
services I did for Ireland a quarter of a century ago.
They pummelled me, kicked me, dragged my honoured
name in the dust, and spat upon me in the market-place.
That gross ingratitude I could never forgive, and if in
reprisal, the cause I once advocated suffers, can I be held
blameable ?

But this seems to be running into the groove of apology,
and I never apologised to anyone for anything in my
life. For fear I should begin now, I will close this letter,
remaining, Your friend, J-hn Be-ght.

P.S.—I observe that in my haste I have not called you
a fool, or directly stigmatised as such anyone alluded to
in this letter. I am afraid this will be regarded as a sign
of growing weakness. But I will bring up the average
in the next letter I write for publication.

DARWINIAN ANCESTOR

Composing the Song, " For 0 it is such a Norrible Tail! !»

'•' 0llri "'lcestor 1vas an animal which breathed water, had a
swim-bladder, a ureat swimming tail, and an imperfect skull."—
Dartvw to Lycll.

vol. icm.