STUDIES FROM MR. PUNCH’S STUDIO.
No. XXX.—Mr. Alderman Slocoach.
What a strange, unreal, almost incomprehensible life must that of a City Alderman be at the present time. Regarded in the light of centuries ago, it all seems in accordance with the fitness of things, and neither ludicrous nor out of place. But now, in these days of earnestness and common sense, what a great sham it seems to the merely superficial observer, and yet, however great an anomaly it may appear, when tested by results it seems to work fairly well.
Suppose we take Mr. Alderman Slocoach as an example. He was taken from his warehouse, some years ago, and made an Alderman by the votes of some three or four hundred of the rate-payers of his Ward, the majority of whom knew little or nothing about him, and probably cared less, and in a week or two, he found himself seated on the Magistrate’s Bench at Guildhall, to declare the Law, of which he literally knew nothing, and to administer Justice under circumstances so apparently absurd as to be hardly credible. Being probably a conscientious man, and knowing his utter ignorance of the duties that his position demanded of him, what was he to do? What he did was probably the best he could do under the circumstances, and thinking, as he told an old friend with whom he conversed on the matter, that it was better, as err he must, to err on the side of mercy, he made it a point always to consult the Clerk of the Court, and whatever amount of punishment he advised him to inflict, he generally halved it.
Having long since got thoroughly accustomed to the whole matter, and having acquired a certain amount of dignity of demeanour, he is able to go through the wondrous ceremony with comparative ease, but is still greatly troubled with certain qualms of conscience in certain special cases. For instance, when fining a poor working-man five shillings for drunkenness,—he having met an old friend and been persuaded to take more than was good for him,—and that amount probably constituting a full day’s income, his thoughts will revert to that particularly jovial banquet with his worshipful Company the previous evening, and whether some one or two of the guests not sufficiently seasoned to these matters, were not quite as guilty as the poor workman he had just fined, and how they would like to have to pay a day’s income for this folly, amounting in one case to probably £100! and yet possibly the workman had the better excuse of the two! And then, again, there is that very awkward and puzzling question, that so troubles some of his more conscientious brethren as well as himself, that of punishment for gambling. When inflicting some of those very heavy fines and penalties, which he is told it is his bounden duty to do in the case of betting in public houses, his thoughts must revert to those two most intimate friends of his who are regular visitors at Tattersall’s in the height of the racing season; and also to the fact that he himself, as his stock-broker well knows, after leaving the Bench, occasionally wends his way to Capel Court, and buys or sells for the account to very very large amounts; and, though he probably tries his best, as others do, to convince himself that there is no doubt a very great difference between the cases of Mr. Bung and Mr. Tattersall, and between playing cards for half-crowns, and buying or selling £50,000 Consols for the account, it was not until his conscience had lost its natural elasticity that he succeeded, and, even now its twinges are, occasionally, very sharp.
When Alderman Slocoach was first elected to his high position, his great delight was to attend at the Old Bailey, and occupy a seat on the judicial Bench, and enjoy the supreme satisfaction of feeling that, without his absolutely useless presence, the whole proceedings must necessarily come to a stand-still, and fond memory still looks back to the occasion on which one of Her Majesty’s Judges actually said to him, in quite a friendly manner, “Shall we say twelve or fifteen months, Alderman?” On the other hand, he will probably remember, to his dying day, the look of mingled anger and contempt with which he was received by another of Her Majesty’s Judges, of rather irascible temper, when he rushed breathless into Court, having, by his absence, delayed the proceedings for more than an hour.
Naturally, the one particular event to which an Alderman looks forward with the most especial anticipations of honour and renown, is the year of his Mayoralty, when he will have his otherwise humble name associated with those of the famous men who, in very different times to those in which we live, ruled the great City, with courage and discretion.
Much, however, depends upon the public events of his year of office, as to its importance, or want of it, to himself personally, and Mr. Alderman Slocoach was not particularly fortunate in that respect. There was no European Monarch on a visit to this country, whom the Corporation was requested by the Government to honour, with the customary satisfactory result to the Lord Mayor of the day; there was no public ceremonial of unusual importance that required the brilliant surroundings of Civic pomp to give it full éclat, and as his year of office approached its termination, his solemn look became more solemn, and his hopes evidently grew fainter and fainter. But fortune was kind to him, and a change of Government, which made it desirable to gain the City’s sweet voices, brought him the coveted honour.
Like most of his colleagues who have what is technically called “passed the Chair,” he takes things very coolly, probably thinking that nothing remains to be done after having passed through such an ordeal. But there is one especial duty still left for Aldermen to perform from which he is seldom absent. They have been deprived of their control over prisons, and of their government of the Royal Hospitals, their control of the Police is almost nominal, but they still have charge of City Lunatics, and it is said that Alderman Slocoach is seldom absent from the official visits to them, when the reciprocity of feeling manifested between the poor patients and their visitor is described as quite touching. He is also often seen at City Banquets, and is always quite ready to return thanks for what he calls the Grand Old Corporation, and repeats with painful iteration the old bit of twaddle about the infallibility of Aldermanic judgments and the increasing popularity of their order; but he is wonderfully good-natured, devotes a great deal of time to the gratuitous performance of public duties, assists very efficiently in brightening up many an otherwise dull scene with the brilliancy of his handsome scarlet robe, and would, with his worshipful Brethren, be much missed if deprived of those civic functions that have been performed by them, and such as they, for many centuries past, and which entitle them in all respects to the esteem of their fellow citizens as a trustworthy, sober and honourable body of men.