DOI issue:
April 20, 1889
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17687#0199
April 20, 1889.] PUNCH, OK THE LONDON CHAKIVAKI.
189
ON COMMISSION.
April 9, 10, 11, and 12.—With commendable self-sacrifice, Sir
Charles Russell, having1 completed his excellent Abridgment of the
History of Ireland, set himself to the task of examining1 the evidence
produced before the Commission. A lawyer of less discretion might
have shirked so dry a subject,
preferring to rest his defence
of the clients whose interests
he had in charge upon his elo-
quent rivalry of the feats of
Macaulay, Lingard, Pinnock,
and (place aux dames!) Mrs.
Markham. But this did not
satisfy the ex-Attorney-Gene-
ral ; so for many days we have
had an exhaustive analysis of
the sayings of the witness-box,
that is calculated to assuage
the thirst for information of
the most exigeant devourer of
Irish testimony. Taking ad-
vantage of this (to him) welcome
lull in the proceedings, the
ticket - dispensing and ever -
courteous Secretary has had quite a little holiday. It is true that
on the Friday, when Sir Charles was at his very best (and how
good that best was only those present can ever know), the Court
was crowded in every part, and then he certainly had his work cut
out for him. At other times he has been almost at rest.
To return to the feature of the sitting—in one part of his admirable
speech, Sir Charles asked “was there not Boycotting at the
Bar ? ” and assuredly the fact that a certain humble individual,
is not Lord Chancellor, suggests that possibly the answer should
be in the affirmative. But, as that is a personal matter, let it
pass. However, I think it only right, in support of my learned
friend’s contention, to confess that, had I been in the place of (say)
the Attorney-General during the early references to the conduct
of this very case, my bearing would have been distinctly different.
On the first day I noticed that Sir Richard left the Court. Now
I humbly submit that it would have been better had he remained
and comported himself in the following fashion. He should have
talked with well-assumed jocularity in an inaudible undertone to
Sir Henry James, watching for the appearance of Sir Charles’s
snuff-box. The moment the refreshment-affording exhibit was pro-
duced, he should have asked for “ a pinch,” as a proof that, in spite
of some provocation, he bore no ill-feeling to his opponent. Having
secured the “ rappee” he should have inhaled the invigorating pre-
paration of tobacco in the customary fashion. If a gigantic sneeze
had thereupon followed (even in the most impressive part of Sir
Charles’s eloquent address), a smile on the faces of all present
would, no doubt, have been the well-merited reward of the mirth-
provoking manoeuvre. Supposing that the orator had shown signs
of pardonable annoyance, Sir Richard might have good-naturedly
pretended that it was the fault of Mr. Lockwood, whose fame as an
accomplished farceur requires no acknowledgment. Thereafter, pro-
mising to be quiet for the future, he might have gently slumbered
until awakened by the bustle consequent on the mid-day adjourn-
ment, I can only add that, should my engagements permit the sacri-
fice, I will willingly hold the Attorney-General’s next brief for
him, so that he may have an opportunity of studying from the well
of the Court, the method that has my recommendation.
Once more returning to the event of the fortnight, I can only
declare that Sir Charles’s peroration was in sober seriousness
magnificent, and made the deepest impression. During its delivery
(thanks to a quaint fancy of Mr. Cuninghame) I was occupying,
a place amongst the Plaintiffs, and I candidly confess I was
deeply moved—nay, unmanned—by my learned friend’s noble
eloquence. I felt conscious that at that moment I must have looked
like a maudlin Times witness in a condition of tearful repentance.
Still I think it is only right to say (much as I regret to have to
make such an observation), that had the task of addressing the
Court fallen to me, I should have made a very, very different oration.
And, I venture to add, I do not believe that even my learned friend
himself will question the probable truth of such an assertion.
Pump-handle Court. (Signed) A. Briefless, Junior.
The Hazard of the Dye.
[It appears from an article in the Daily Telegraph, entitled, “Dyeing to
Live,” that grey-headed toilers find it almost impossible to earn a living
without dyeing their hair.]
The “ Struggle for Existence ” seems of late
To have become more terrible and trying.
“ Is life worth living ? ” Nay, that’s out of date,
The question now would seem, “ Is life ivorth dyeing ? ”
MEATHROPOLITAN IMPROVEMENTS.
“ Somehow, I fancied that London was such an ugly Capital,” said
Sir Titus Macduff, ex-Premier of the South-West Windward Isles,
as he stood, in company with an intelligent Cicerone, on the site of
what was once Smithfield Market. As far as eye could reach nothing
was to be seen but waving greenery, verdant lawns, and sheep peace-
fully browsing by the side of purling brooks.
_ “ You must have been away from England along time ? ” suggested
his companion.
“ For thirty years,” replied the distinguished Colonist.
‘ ‘ Ah, then perhaps you never heard of an article in the Nineteenth
Century for April, 1889, written by Lord Meath, advocating Open
Spaces, Boulevards, Pure Water, Covered Streets, and Public Bands,
for the Metropolis ? ”
“Never! ” replied Sir Titus ; “ and do you mean that this Park is
a result of that single article ? ”
“ Not only this Park, which stretches from the Thames, at Black-
friars Bridge to King’s Cross, but the general transformation of
London into a City where life is a pleasure for all classes, is due to
the initiative of Lord Meath, and the energetic action of the London
County Council, which came into existence the very year that the
article I have mentioned was written.”
“Dear me!” said the Colonist. “I hardly know where I am.
Take me to some place I can remember. Take me to Regent Street.”
They set off on foot, and soon were pacing along a broad thorough-
fare running westward, planted with trees on either side, and orna-
mented here and there with tasteful kiosques, where light refresh-
ments and still lighter literature were on sale at an extremely
reasonable price. Whenever they felt tired they could sit down on
elegant and comfortable seats, under glass awnings, and at frequent
intervals bands of native musicians were discoursing excellent music
on stringed instruments,
“These bands, now,” said the Colonial visitor, “who pays for
them ? Is it some philanthropic Society ? ”
“It is Society in general, Sir,” his companion rejoined, “which
has unquestionably become of late very philanthropic. This and
other public improvements have been provided for partly out of the
rates, but stiR more out of an extremely moderate and equitable tax
placed on Metropolitan Ground-Landlords, and representing a very
small part of the enhanced value which their property gains during
every year that London continues to exist and grow bigger.”
“Dear me!” said the Antipodean Statesman, regretfully; “I
wish I had thought of that plan in the South-West Windward
Islands. Pay for Improvements out of the pockets of Ratepayers
and Ground-Landlords; a case of ground landlords and ground
tenants, in fact. An excellent notion! By the bye, what is the
name of this street—or rather this avenue ? ”
“ Holborn, Sir.”
“Holborn! What! That narrow, dirty, ill-conditioned-”
“No other, Sir, I assure you,” replied his conductor, coolly. The
ex-Premier was too surprised to say anything, and continued silent
till they reached a broad open space where fountains and operatic
bands were both playing, and from which four magnificent roads
diverged.
“ What is that noble Arcade like street covered over with glass,
and adorned with evergreen shrubs and the electric light ? ” asked
the dazed Colonist.
“ That, Sir ? Surely you have not forgotten Regent Street F ”
“ Regent Street turned into an Arcade ! ”
“Yes. The whole of London is more or less Arcadian,” rejoined
the satellite.
“You must be very grateful to Lord Meath for all this,” said
Sir Titus, thoughtfully.
“ Grateful is not the word, Sir. A new and much finer West-
minster Abbey has recently been erected, solely out of penny contri-
butions from the working-classes, to which the remains of Lord
Meath, the Editor of the Nineteenth Century, and the Chairman of
the London County Council, will all be consigned, when those great
benefactors of their race are unhappily no more.”
“Dear me!” exclaimed the _ Colonist. “And you—you talk
remarkably well for a person hired by the day to escort visitors
about. Where were you educated ? ”
“ Where everybody who desires to make the most of his oppor-
tunities receives his education nowadays,” replied the Cicerone,
proudly. “ At a Polytechnic.”
“Polytechnic ! What in tbe name of wonder is that ?”
“Nobody but a Polynesian could ask the question, Sir;” and
receiving his modest remuneration, the Cicerone retired for two
hours’ private reading into the nearest Free Library, while Sir Titus
Macduff stood in a state of bewilderment gazing on the beauties of
regenerated London.
Mem. a Would-be Musical Reformer.—You cannot touch
(Concert) pitch without being reviled.
C R\i ! ||
“ Resting.”
189
ON COMMISSION.
April 9, 10, 11, and 12.—With commendable self-sacrifice, Sir
Charles Russell, having1 completed his excellent Abridgment of the
History of Ireland, set himself to the task of examining1 the evidence
produced before the Commission. A lawyer of less discretion might
have shirked so dry a subject,
preferring to rest his defence
of the clients whose interests
he had in charge upon his elo-
quent rivalry of the feats of
Macaulay, Lingard, Pinnock,
and (place aux dames!) Mrs.
Markham. But this did not
satisfy the ex-Attorney-Gene-
ral ; so for many days we have
had an exhaustive analysis of
the sayings of the witness-box,
that is calculated to assuage
the thirst for information of
the most exigeant devourer of
Irish testimony. Taking ad-
vantage of this (to him) welcome
lull in the proceedings, the
ticket - dispensing and ever -
courteous Secretary has had quite a little holiday. It is true that
on the Friday, when Sir Charles was at his very best (and how
good that best was only those present can ever know), the Court
was crowded in every part, and then he certainly had his work cut
out for him. At other times he has been almost at rest.
To return to the feature of the sitting—in one part of his admirable
speech, Sir Charles asked “was there not Boycotting at the
Bar ? ” and assuredly the fact that a certain humble individual,
is not Lord Chancellor, suggests that possibly the answer should
be in the affirmative. But, as that is a personal matter, let it
pass. However, I think it only right, in support of my learned
friend’s contention, to confess that, had I been in the place of (say)
the Attorney-General during the early references to the conduct
of this very case, my bearing would have been distinctly different.
On the first day I noticed that Sir Richard left the Court. Now
I humbly submit that it would have been better had he remained
and comported himself in the following fashion. He should have
talked with well-assumed jocularity in an inaudible undertone to
Sir Henry James, watching for the appearance of Sir Charles’s
snuff-box. The moment the refreshment-affording exhibit was pro-
duced, he should have asked for “ a pinch,” as a proof that, in spite
of some provocation, he bore no ill-feeling to his opponent. Having
secured the “ rappee” he should have inhaled the invigorating pre-
paration of tobacco in the customary fashion. If a gigantic sneeze
had thereupon followed (even in the most impressive part of Sir
Charles’s eloquent address), a smile on the faces of all present
would, no doubt, have been the well-merited reward of the mirth-
provoking manoeuvre. Supposing that the orator had shown signs
of pardonable annoyance, Sir Richard might have good-naturedly
pretended that it was the fault of Mr. Lockwood, whose fame as an
accomplished farceur requires no acknowledgment. Thereafter, pro-
mising to be quiet for the future, he might have gently slumbered
until awakened by the bustle consequent on the mid-day adjourn-
ment, I can only add that, should my engagements permit the sacri-
fice, I will willingly hold the Attorney-General’s next brief for
him, so that he may have an opportunity of studying from the well
of the Court, the method that has my recommendation.
Once more returning to the event of the fortnight, I can only
declare that Sir Charles’s peroration was in sober seriousness
magnificent, and made the deepest impression. During its delivery
(thanks to a quaint fancy of Mr. Cuninghame) I was occupying,
a place amongst the Plaintiffs, and I candidly confess I was
deeply moved—nay, unmanned—by my learned friend’s noble
eloquence. I felt conscious that at that moment I must have looked
like a maudlin Times witness in a condition of tearful repentance.
Still I think it is only right to say (much as I regret to have to
make such an observation), that had the task of addressing the
Court fallen to me, I should have made a very, very different oration.
And, I venture to add, I do not believe that even my learned friend
himself will question the probable truth of such an assertion.
Pump-handle Court. (Signed) A. Briefless, Junior.
The Hazard of the Dye.
[It appears from an article in the Daily Telegraph, entitled, “Dyeing to
Live,” that grey-headed toilers find it almost impossible to earn a living
without dyeing their hair.]
The “ Struggle for Existence ” seems of late
To have become more terrible and trying.
“ Is life worth living ? ” Nay, that’s out of date,
The question now would seem, “ Is life ivorth dyeing ? ”
MEATHROPOLITAN IMPROVEMENTS.
“ Somehow, I fancied that London was such an ugly Capital,” said
Sir Titus Macduff, ex-Premier of the South-West Windward Isles,
as he stood, in company with an intelligent Cicerone, on the site of
what was once Smithfield Market. As far as eye could reach nothing
was to be seen but waving greenery, verdant lawns, and sheep peace-
fully browsing by the side of purling brooks.
_ “ You must have been away from England along time ? ” suggested
his companion.
“ For thirty years,” replied the distinguished Colonist.
‘ ‘ Ah, then perhaps you never heard of an article in the Nineteenth
Century for April, 1889, written by Lord Meath, advocating Open
Spaces, Boulevards, Pure Water, Covered Streets, and Public Bands,
for the Metropolis ? ”
“Never! ” replied Sir Titus ; “ and do you mean that this Park is
a result of that single article ? ”
“ Not only this Park, which stretches from the Thames, at Black-
friars Bridge to King’s Cross, but the general transformation of
London into a City where life is a pleasure for all classes, is due to
the initiative of Lord Meath, and the energetic action of the London
County Council, which came into existence the very year that the
article I have mentioned was written.”
“Dear me!” said the Colonist. “I hardly know where I am.
Take me to some place I can remember. Take me to Regent Street.”
They set off on foot, and soon were pacing along a broad thorough-
fare running westward, planted with trees on either side, and orna-
mented here and there with tasteful kiosques, where light refresh-
ments and still lighter literature were on sale at an extremely
reasonable price. Whenever they felt tired they could sit down on
elegant and comfortable seats, under glass awnings, and at frequent
intervals bands of native musicians were discoursing excellent music
on stringed instruments,
“These bands, now,” said the Colonial visitor, “who pays for
them ? Is it some philanthropic Society ? ”
“It is Society in general, Sir,” his companion rejoined, “which
has unquestionably become of late very philanthropic. This and
other public improvements have been provided for partly out of the
rates, but stiR more out of an extremely moderate and equitable tax
placed on Metropolitan Ground-Landlords, and representing a very
small part of the enhanced value which their property gains during
every year that London continues to exist and grow bigger.”
“Dear me!” said the Antipodean Statesman, regretfully; “I
wish I had thought of that plan in the South-West Windward
Islands. Pay for Improvements out of the pockets of Ratepayers
and Ground-Landlords; a case of ground landlords and ground
tenants, in fact. An excellent notion! By the bye, what is the
name of this street—or rather this avenue ? ”
“ Holborn, Sir.”
“Holborn! What! That narrow, dirty, ill-conditioned-”
“No other, Sir, I assure you,” replied his conductor, coolly. The
ex-Premier was too surprised to say anything, and continued silent
till they reached a broad open space where fountains and operatic
bands were both playing, and from which four magnificent roads
diverged.
“ What is that noble Arcade like street covered over with glass,
and adorned with evergreen shrubs and the electric light ? ” asked
the dazed Colonist.
“ That, Sir ? Surely you have not forgotten Regent Street F ”
“ Regent Street turned into an Arcade ! ”
“Yes. The whole of London is more or less Arcadian,” rejoined
the satellite.
“You must be very grateful to Lord Meath for all this,” said
Sir Titus, thoughtfully.
“ Grateful is not the word, Sir. A new and much finer West-
minster Abbey has recently been erected, solely out of penny contri-
butions from the working-classes, to which the remains of Lord
Meath, the Editor of the Nineteenth Century, and the Chairman of
the London County Council, will all be consigned, when those great
benefactors of their race are unhappily no more.”
“Dear me!” exclaimed the _ Colonist. “And you—you talk
remarkably well for a person hired by the day to escort visitors
about. Where were you educated ? ”
“ Where everybody who desires to make the most of his oppor-
tunities receives his education nowadays,” replied the Cicerone,
proudly. “ At a Polytechnic.”
“Polytechnic ! What in tbe name of wonder is that ?”
“Nobody but a Polynesian could ask the question, Sir;” and
receiving his modest remuneration, the Cicerone retired for two
hours’ private reading into the nearest Free Library, while Sir Titus
Macduff stood in a state of bewilderment gazing on the beauties of
regenerated London.
Mem. a Would-be Musical Reformer.—You cannot touch
(Concert) pitch without being reviled.
C R\i ! ||
“ Resting.”