Punch (94.1888)

Januaby 21, 1888.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

25

THE LETTER-BAG OF TOBY, M.P.

From. Uncle Potiblechook.

Lyndhurst, Hants, Saturday.

eae Toby,

Hanging with grooms
and porters on one of the
many bridges at Clapham
Junction, and having a
few minutes to spare, I
accepted the mute invita-
tion to try my weight ex-
tended by one of the
automatic machines which
deck, not to say dominate,
our railway stations. In
view of some such oppor-
tunity, I had in my waist-
coat pocket a leaden disc,
in size and weight some-
what resembling a penny.
I confess it was in my
mind to drop this into the
receptacle. But it was a
busy hour of the day, the
station was crowded, I
might have been observed
and the action miscon-
strued. Accordingly I inserted a coin of the realm of the proper
designation, and, having tried my weight, found it guilty of being
nearer eighteen stone than it should have been.

Which thing, dear Toby, your keen intellect will have discerned
is an allegory. What I picture to my fancy as having been done at
Clapham Junction, I do daily with huge and natural satisfaction.
The Automatic Try-your-Weighter, if one may so name it, is Public
Opinion, and I miss no opportunity of measuring myself by that
standard. The occupation is the more inviting because, as 1 have
hinted, the results are invariably satisfactory. Like Ebsklne, as
described in the Anti-Jacobin, " With respect to the extent of my
faculties, I consider myself in many respects a finite being." Still,
as I sit and caress my chin and smile softly to myself, I come to the
conclusion, I trust not egregiously, that there are few men in
England, not excepting the Grand Old One, who possess in fuller
measure the enthusiastic approbation of their fellow citizens. It is
true that there are persons in the House of Commons that assume
indifference to my excellent points, and even achieve the semblance
of amused contempt for my performances. Also the Times news-
paper as we call the journal, to distinguish it from the Times Four-
storied House, the Times Bathing-Machine, or the Times Ready
Reckoner,—the Times newspaper, I say, misses no opportunity of
goading me. But the reasons for this are obvious. In the House
of Commons it is either envy or apprehension that assails me. In
the Times newspaper it is disappointment. You will know that at
one time I was habituated to enliven its ponderous columns with
disquisitions having legal bearing upon the events of the day. I
nave abandoned that habit, and the Times newspaper, angry and
dl8*PPointed, takes such revenge as is open to its capacity.

.But place me on the platform, face to face with my countrymen in
thousands assembled. Is there anyone received with more enthu-
siasm!' Is there anyone with lighter touch, with defter fence, or,
when need be, with heavier stroke ? For such an hour's triumph as

from time to time falls to my lot when occupying the public plat-
form, I count labour as nought. Many is the hour, pacing the
glades of the New Forest, that I have wrestled with Meditation in
quest of impromptus. You who have heard me will bear witness
that there is no smack of the New Forest in their delivery. Some
among the envious talk of a little ponderosity in leading up to the
flash of wit, a trifle too much humming and hawing, a too nervous
research in my coat-tail pocket. But there are no hounds to the
misrepresentations of envy. You know that my jokes, my quips
and cranks, seem to be born on the very platform where I stand in
face of men.

And how they live and spread till they become household words!
j It sometimes happens that I am a humorist in spite of myself. I
suppose even the Times newspaper will admit that there is no phrase
of recent years that has become so familiar a part of the English-
spoken language as the " Grand Old Man." Who gave birth to this
empyrean flash of characterisation ? It was I—mot qui park. It
was at Derby, now some years ago, that, addressing my constituents,
I flashed forth this impromptu. It was quite true I did not at the
moment mean it quite as it was taken. Gladstone was at the time
emerging from a cloud. I saw it clearly enough, though I confess I
made a mistake in the summer of 1874, when I delighted the Con-
servatives by turning and rending my former leader. I really
thought at the time he was done for. He had but a year before
taken me from below the Gangway, knighted me, and made me
Solicitor-General. But it looked at the moment as if his power of
conferring benefits was exhausted. So I took him by the collar and
ignominiously shook him, whilst the Conservatives shrieked with
laughter and applause.

But it was different in 1879. His time had come again, and, as
you know, even in temporary reverses I have never committed again
the mistake of that July night in 1874. It was with tears in my
eyes and emotion softening my strident voice that to my constituents
in Derby, I pointed with patronising pitiful finger to the Grand Old
Man. For the moment I felt like Mr. Pumblechook contemplating
Pip in his hour of misfortune, "This is him as I have rode in my
shay-cart. This is him as I have seen brought up by hand. This is
him to whom I have been earliest benefactor and the founder of his
fortun's—The Grand Old Man I " The phrase was not taken quite
in the sense I meant. It was turned and twisted by unsympathetic
Tories, and instead of a tribute of affection, became a term of derision.
But with the Liberals it is to-day an epithet of sincere and warm
affection. Thus genius, if I may say so, coins in a moment of in-
spiration a phrase that suits the manifold views and needs alike of
the Masses and the Classes. Never mind with what intent I invented
the phrase. " The Grand Old Man," will last as long as the English
language.

These things do not induce in me any feeling" of self-elation.
Rather I am depressed with apprehension for my Party and my
country when the time comes to lose the benefit of my counsel and
advice. I read the other day some remarks on the infinite Heavens,
delivered at the Royal Institution by my friend Sir Robert Ball.
The subject is one that curiously attracts me, being as I think, just
suitable to my range of thought and my style of oratory. Says my
friend Ball : " Were the Sun with his whole_ system to be suddenly
annihilated, an observer on a star in the distant realms of space
would only notice that a tiny star had ceased to twinkle." Mr.
Speakeb,—I mean Toby, Sir; that may be all very well for the
Solar System. But when I drop out of political life I fear there will be
consternation in Arcturius, seriousness will settle down on Sirius,
and Betelgeuze, brightest jewel in the belt of Orion, will momentarily
pale. Yours faithfully, W. V. H-bc-bt.

When the Winter nights close in,
And the pleasant fogs begin;
When the moon's intrusive light
Is obscured from mortal sight;
He who burgles by sound rules,
Then should furbish up his tools.
As the surgeon whets his knife,
For preserving human life ;
As the sportsman oils his gun,
With the season's earliest sun;
So the burglar, cool and keen,
Sees his instruments are clean.
Wipe the jemmy, oft 'tis said
Harder than a policeman's head;
See that no corroding grit
Harms the wily centre-bit;

THE CAREFUL BURGLAR.

That no rust appears upon
Dainty keys, called skeleton.

Although hidden by the mist,
We shall need the shoes of
list;

And our modesty may ask
Coy concealment from the mask;
Bull's-eye lanterns we, of course,
Carry, like our friends the

"Force."
There's the small revolver, still
Careful burglars do not kill;
Conscientious men like me
Operate in secrecy.
Some Directors do the same,
And we blush to find it fame.

Motto as a Rule oe Guidance eob Metropolitan Boabd or
Wobks' Officials.—" ' Orders' is Heaven's first Law.

vol. xcrv.