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Punch, Or The London Charivari
Volume 107, November 10th, 1894
edited by Sir Francis Burnand
THE PARLIAMENTARY FLYING MACHINE.
Maxim—"Keep it up!"
THE CHRONICLES OF A RURAL PARISH.
I.—Fons et Origo Mali.
Snugly nestling in a cosy corner of Blankshire—that county which atdifferent times and places has travelled all over England—our villagepursues the even tenor of its way. To be accurate, I should say didpursue, before the events that have recently happened—events in whichit would be absurd modesty not to confess I have played a prominentpart. Now we are as full of excitement as aforetime we were given overto monotony. Nous avons—— No! J'ai changé tout çela.
It came about in this way. I have always till the 25th of September (achronicler should always be up to dates) been entirely free from anyambition to excel in public. After a successful life I have settled downwith my wife and family to the repose of a truly rural existence. "Youshould come down and live in the country," I am never tired of tellingmy friends. "Good air, beautiful milk, and, best of all, fresh eggs." Idon't know why, but you are always expected to praise the country eggs.So I always make a point of doing it.
Up to September the 25th, accordingly, I extolled the eggs of thecountry and lived my simple, unpretending life. On that day I read anarticle in the paper on the Parish Councils Act. I read that now for thefirst time the people in the villages would taste the sweets of localself-government. The change from fresh eggs struck my fancy, up to thattime singularly dormant. I read on, dashing all unknowing to my fate."It is the duty," I saw, "of every man of education, experience, andleisure in the village who has the welfare of his country at heart tostudy the Act, and to make it his business that his fellow-parishionersshall know what the Act does, and how the greatest advantage can beobtained from its working." Then my evil genius prompted me to undertakethe task myself. I was educated—did I not get a poll degree atCambridge, approved even by Mr. Charles Whibley as a test of culture? Ihad experience—had I not shone as a financial light in the City forfull twenty years? I had leisure—for had I anything in the world to do?Obviously the occasion had come, and I—yes I—was the man to rise toit.
I bought twenty-nine works dealing with the Act. I studied themdiligently section by section, clause by clause, line by line. Ireferred to all the Acts mentioned. I investigated all the Actsrepealed. At the end of it all I felt like a collection of conundrums.But I was not to be denied. One evening, as I was walking through thevillage, I met Robert Hedger, "Black Bob," as he is always called. He isa farm hand, and for some reason looked upon as a leader of men in thevillage. I saw my chance, and promptly took it.
"Good evening, Bob," I said. "I've been wanting to have a bit of a talkwith you about this Parish Councils Act."
"Well, Sir, and what about that?" Of course he sp