Punch, or the London Charivari. Volume 93. August 27, 1887

A Fragment of a coming Contemporary Romance.
Is it possible that Mr. Gladstone, not content with having allied himself with the Parnellites, or with having endeavoured to sow jealousies between the component parts of the United Kingdom, is at last endeavouring to purchase the parliamentary support of the South-Eastern Railway? The idea seems almost too humiliating to be entertained; but it is not easy to place any other interpretation upon this new and startling announcement. Can it be conceived that the safety of England ranks as nothing in his estimation when it is brought into competition with the possibility of winning a few votes from the interested supporters of a commercial enterprise? — Times.
VOL. I.—The Compact.
It was on a sultry August evening in the memorable year 1887 that a stranger, whose anxious gaze, now and again fixed on the entrance, denoted the fact that he was awaiting the arrival of one of the Members, crossed and re-crossed the pavement of the Hall of the Reform Club with a step that indicated a high condition of nervous trepidation. To the casual observer he might have passed for a solicitor in an extreme state of irritability. The Hall-Porter, however, who had watched him narrowly, had recognised him for who he was. He knew that the restless interloper, who had several times peered into his carpet-bag, and examined specimens of Channel chalk, and had, when he thought no one was looking, hacked a London, Chatham and Dover trains'-bill with his penknife, was no other than the famous Sir Edward Watkin, the then Chairman of the South-Eastern Railway Company. He approached him.
He won't be long, he said, intuitively guessing the object of his visit, and addressing him kindly. Ha! hark! Here he comes! He had scarcely spoken, when a roaring cheer, borne on the sweet evening air, broke the comparative silence of the street outside, and in another minute a surging and struggling mob, who were shouting themselves hoarse, had deposited safely from their shoulders, on the door-step of the Club, their great hero and idol, whom they had thus, as was their wont, nightly carried in triumph from the House.