Punch,
or the London Charivari
VOL. 93.
December 10th 1887
edited by Sir Francis Burnand
THE LETTER-BAG OF TOBY, M.P.
From the Rochdale Rasper (Late the Birmingham Pet).
Dear Toby,
The address from which I write to you is familiar inthe public ear in connection with a long series which, suchis the ignorance of mankind, I have heard described aspetulant, querulous, self-adulatory notes. I have oftenwondered that it has not occurred to any one to noticethe singular appropriateness of the name of my humblehome. It is not for me, at my time of life, to claim anythinglike prescience of affairs. I may have been right in myviews of the succeeding events of the past half-century, or Imay have been wrong. I willjust mention that my friend, T-nn-s-n, who has a pretty faculty for poetry,once summed me up in a couplet which I venture to think is not without itscharm. "J-hn Br-ght," he wrote—
J-hn Br-ght
Is always right.
He told me in confidence that he had at one time contemplated a eulogisticpoem of some seventy or eighty lines, price to the Nineteenth Century a guineaeach. But, having thrown off this couplet, it appeared in itself so sufficient, socomprehensive yet so precise, that amplification would have rather reduced thanincreased its value. Therefore it remains a brilliant fragment.
But I am wandering from the theme, which, in the present instance, is notmyself but my country address. What I thought might be interesting to pointout is the curious felicity of the nomenclature, and the remarkable foresight ofwhich it is proof. More than a generation ago it received this singular appellation.At that time nothing seemed more remote from ordinary apprehensionthan that in this year I should be what we call "a Unionist," an ally andsupporter of Lord S-l-b-ry, pulling in the same boat as the H-m-lt-ns, andmarching shoulder to shoulder with Ashm-d B-rtl-tt. In those days I waswont to pour forth torrents of angry contempt upon the Conservative party.D-sr-li was my wash-pot, over the Markiss I cast out my shoe; but even thenmy address was One Ash, Rochdale. Do you begin to see what I mean? OneEmpire, One Parliament, One Ash! Some of my old colleagues and disciplesamong the Radicals scoff at me because of my new companions. But, as usual,I have been right from the first. I have always been what the Marchionesscalled a "wonner." What has happened is that the Liberal Party and my oldcompanions have moved away from me, whilst the Conservatives have movedtowards me. I am the same to-day as yesterday, or as these fifty years past."J-hn Br-ght, always right," and any change of relationship or appearanceis due to the ineradicable error and fatal foolishness of others.
What I feel, dear Toby, in reviewing a long and honourable life, is theterrible feeling of monotony. I sometimes find myself envying ordinary menlike Gl-dst-ne, who, looking back over their past life, can put their hand downand say, "T