PUNCH’S ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
Sound, Harp, for the clash of swords, for the meeting of chieftains in battle, for the deadly grapple, and the garments rolled in blood. Wail, Harp, for the heroes who have fallen, and whose souls wander on the banks of the gloomy lake. Cut on, Harp, will you, and wake up!
Grandly the terrible Gladstone to the Council his Budget propounded, and grave were the faces of those who listened to the champion. Then said a young chieftain, Du Cane, of the county of calves, “Shall these things be? Young as I am, I will throw myself on the lance of Gladstone. A man can but die. Who follows me?”
Then Gladstone Cecil, of Salisbury, called his friends together in his house, and they accoutred the young Du Cane for the battle; Derby giving him the shield of prudence, and Disraeli the helmet of sincerity; Pakington adding the spurs of modesty, and Henley throwing on him the mantle of suavity. And the battle day was set. And Gladstone looked upon his terrible lance, and smiled grimly, as thinking how speedily he should sheathe its point in his adversary’s internals.
But on the third night before the battle should have raged, the crafty Disraeli espied some three of four traitors in the camp of Gladstone. And he said, Du Cane is a boy; but if I take this battle on me, those men will revolt against their leader, and shoot him boldly in the back. And suddenly, and late in the night, and to the astonishment of all who heard him, Disraeli defied his enemy to combat on the day that had been set for the battle with Du Cane. And the hearers said, Aha! And Gladstone said nothing, but looked on his terrible lance. Now, Harp, go it!
The Monday came, and the Armies were drawn up in stern array. Du Cane, of the county of calves, had been warned that he must not thrust himself into the mêlée, and the signal for charging was given. Proclamation to Gladstone made Disraeli that his Budget might be good or bad, but that it should certainly not be considered until the Council of Sages had first considered the compact made with the Lord of the Tuileries, Electus of France. And, invoking the manes of Pitt, he defied the terrible Gladstone.
Answered the terrible Gladsone, in language of scorn and contumely, that the words of Disraeli were Puerile words, and that for practical purposes that Compact was fully before the Sages. And he also invoked the manes of Pitt, and bid Disraeli defiance. Now or never, Harp. Do it like a bird!
They charged. Well and fairly Disraeli drove his glittering lance at the Homeric breast of his foe, but upon that etherial armour the lance shivered into fragments, and the immeasurable spear of Gladstone the next instant went into the vitals of his antagonist, who lay stretched before the armies. Yet he died bravely, and like Memnon under the death-stroke of Achilles, who slew him between the hosts. Then Sir Hugh, of Belfast, no mean soldier, rushed upon the adroit Sir Richard of Wolverhampton, and sought to pin him to the earth, but that facile warrior with a calm smile of scorn put aside the stroke, and clove his enemy from the brain to the teeth. “Among the Cairns let one be raised for him,” said the still smiling conqueror, wiping his gory weapon. Next, four champions rushed out, three from the ranks of Opposition, and one, a traitor from the Gladstonian camp, and his name was Ayrton. Would ye know the names of the others? There was Kelly of the Shiny Head, Newdegate the Wild Protestant, and Malins, the long-winded, and they made a united charge towards Gladstone. When came a voice like a trumpet-call, “Burlibroadbrim to the rescue!” and the thundering Bright was upon them. The next moment the Shiny Head was low; the Protestant on the earth protested with his last breath against free trade; the long-winded Malins was slivered like a carrot; and the traitor Ayrton, in the grip of Bright, dropped strangled in the dust. “Truly and of a verity I have been and done it,” said the victor, lighting his cigar.
Seymour Fitzgerald drew his sword, and might have done execution, but that the fiery Russell, who had held himself in with difficulty, now mingled in the fray, and crossed blades with the gallant Knight of Horsham, “Enviable fate,” said the haughty John, as he turned from the slain, “to die by the hand of Russell – tell it with glory to thy fellow ghosts.” That instant, mad with ambition and vanity, the doomed Horsman was seen in full career, and the battle paused, as all saw, with a shudder, that he was rushing upon his fate. Breath was held, hearts beat high, as Horsman, in heedless disregard of all warning, held on his mad way – he levelled his lance at the broad breast of the gigantic Palmerston. Not long hung his fate in doubt, not long had Atropos to pause ere she closed her shears, for with a laugh of jovial derision the giant heaved his steel mace in air, and as Bruce shattered the head of De Bohun at Bannockburn, did Palmerston shatter the head of Horsman at a quarter past twelve. That fearful blow ended the battle – the armies drew off, and counted their numbers. The Gladstone host had 293, the vanquished Disraelites had but 230, and the shouts of victory ascended into the calm, cold air of the wintry morning. Harp, thou hast done well. So well, O Harp, that thou shalt hang upon the hook henceforth. Harp, hook it!
Tuesday. There was a new moon, and the Opposition went into a new lunacy. To-night Mr. Du Cane’s motion, postponed by his Leader, who thought he saw victory in another direction, was brought on, and was battled for three nights. Du Cane, duly instructed at Lord Salisbury’s, moved that much additional money was wanted, but that it was not the thing to reduce revenue or to increase Income-Tax. Mr. Punch is not going to immortalise everybody who contributed his dulness to the debate. On this Tuesday night nobody spoke whom Mr. Punch cared to leave the Members’ Smoking Room to go in and hear. On the Thursday Mr. Hubbard went to the cupboard of the Bank of England for arguments against the Budget, but when he got there the cupboard was bare. Mr. Bright made a smart speech for the Ministers, and Mr. Whiteside rather an amusing and abusive one on the over side. On the Friday the greater guns – not those of greatest Bore – were let off. Gladstone, Disraeli, and Palmerston finished the fight, and the week ended, as it began, by a tremendous beating for the Derbyites. The House of Commons approved of the principle of the Budget, by 339 to 223 – a goodly majority of 116.
Mr. Punch has put together the Budget story in order to save his invaluable space. As for the proceedings Up-stairs, they have scarcely demanded his august attention. Lord Derby took an opportunity of cavilling at the Treaty, and was informed by Lord Granville that the Treaty was a very good one. Lord Elgin made a speech in his own honour, about his Chinese proceedings, and bore a warm tribute to the merit of Captain Sherard Osborne, which Mr. Punch begs heartily to endorse. Heaps of bills made progress, and there was one rather interesting debate on the subject of preaching in theatres, which practice Lord Shaftesbury (Lord Palmerston’s bishop-maker) defended as most beneficial to those who could be brought to listen to sermons in no other way. The Puseyite Lord Dungannon had attacked the practice, but did not get much support from the Bishops. Dr. Tait incidentally gave a proof of his liberal and enlightened views, for in alluding to theatrical entertainments he deplored that there were many things done and said on the stage which hindered persons of religious principles from partaking of “a highly innocent and improving amusement.” Perhaps the hint from a bishop may do good, both to those who have a bigot hatred for the theatre, and those who support and applaud what is objectionable. The only other thing worth mention is an announcement by Mr. Gladstone -
“The Licensed Witlers will be glad to hear -
He will not license the Slap-bang for Beer;
Therefore the folks who for elevenpence dine,
Must still fork out the Browns – or take to Wine.”
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