Against humour, conscious or unconscious, the voters seem to have solidly set their faces. It was bad enough that Mr. JOE KING—who has probably helped to provide more deserving journalists with a living than any other legislator who ever lived—should have declined the contest. Question-time without Mr. KING and his unerring nose for mare’s-nests will be like Alice without The Mad Hatter. It was bad, too, that Sir HEDWORTH MEUX should have decided to interrupt the flow of that eloquence which we were forbidden to call “breezy,” and that Major “Boadicea” HUNT, Mr. JOHN BURNS, Mr. TIM HEALY, and Mr. SWIFT MACNEILL should have withdrawn from a scene in which they had provided so much profitable entertainment for the gods in the Press Gallery.
These losses made it all the more incumbent upon the electors to see that the House should retain as much as possible of the remnant of its comic relief. But what do we find? Why, that practically every one of the gentlemen who made the journalist’s life worth living in the last Parliament has been cruelly turned down.
For much of this grief the Sinn Feiners are responsible. They have easily accomplished what a few years ago six stalwart British constables could scarcely do and have removed the gigantic Mr. FLAVIN from his emerald bench. With him have gone nearly all his comrades; and the once-powerful Nationalist party, which for nearly forty years has been such an unfailing source of sparkling paragraphs, is reduced to the number immortalised by WORDSWORTH’S little maid.
Almost more distressing than the loss of individuals is the breaking up of Parliamentary partnerships. What is the use of Mr. HOUSTON being returned if he has no longer Sir LEO CHIOZZA MONEY to heckle? Captain PRETYMAN-NEWMAN will doubtless continue to ask questions about the shocking condition of his native country, but without Mr. REDDY’S squeaking obbligato, “Why isn’t the honourable and gallant Member out at the Front?” they will lose half their savour. He will be as dull as Io without her gad-fly. Mr. “Boanerges” STANTON is happily still with us, but with no pacifists to bellow at I fear that his vocal chords will atrophy.
Then the famous Young Scots Trio, which has given us so many attractive “turns,” has been violently dissolved. Mr. PRINGLE, whose ample supply of vitriolic invective was always at the service of the PRIME MINISTER, has been left by an ungrateful constituency at the bottom of the poll, and Mr. WATT has shared his fate. It is true that Mr. HOGGE managed to save his bacon, but without the support of Harlequin and Pantaloon I fear his clowning will fail to draw.
With so many of the old puppets gone I feel very lonely, and can only try to comfort myself with the hope that the new Parliament may provide some adequate substitutes. After all, so vast a machine must contain a few cranks.
Meantime I remain, Sir, with the highest respect,