I never heard of a Town Councillor offering a bribe to a reporter; but I have heard of something more phenomenal—a Town Councillor indignantly rejecting what he conceived to be a bribe. He took good care to boast of it afterwards to his constituents. It happened that this Councillor was the leader of a select faction of three on the Corporation, whose métier consisted in opposing every scheme that was brought forward by the Town Clerk, and supported by the other members of the Corporation. Now the Town Clerk had hired a shooting one autumn, and as the birds were plentiful, he thought that it would be a graceful act on his part to send a brace of grouse to every Alderman and every Councillor. He did so, and all the members of the Board accepted the transaction in a right spirit—all, except the leader of the opposition faction. He explained his attitude to his constituents as follows:
“Gentlemen, you’ll all be glad to hear that I’ve made myself formidable to our enemies. I’ve brought the so-called Town Clerk down on his knees to me. An attempt was made to bribe me last week, which I am determined to expose. One night when I came home from my work, I found waiting for me a queer pasteboard box with holes in it. I opened it, and inside I found a couple of fat brown pigeons, and on their legs a card printed ‘With Mr. Samuel White’s compliments.’ ‘Mr. Samuel White! That’s the Town Clerk,’ says I, ‘and if Mr. Samuel White thinks to buy my silence by sending me a pair of brown pigeons with Mr. Samuel White’s compliments, Mr. Samuel White is a bit mistaken;’ so I just put the pigeons back into their box, and redirected them to Mr. Samuel White, and wrote him a polite note to let him know that if I wanted a pair of pigeons I could buy them for myself. That’s what I did.” (Loud cheers.)
When it was explained to him some time after that the birds were grouse, and not pigeons, he asked where was the difference. The principle would be precisely the same, he declared, if the birds were eagles or ostriches.
It has often occurred to me that for the benefit of such men, a complete list should be made out of such presents as may be legitimately received from one’s friends, and of those that should be regarded as insultive in their tendency. It must puzzle a good many people to know where the line should be drawn. Why should a brace of grouse be looked on as a graceful gift, while a pair of fowl—a “yoke,” they are called in the West of Ireland—can only be construed as an affront? Why should a haunch of venison (when not over “ripe”) constitute an acceptable gift, while a sirloin of prime beef could only be regarded as having an eleemosynary signification? Why may a lover be permitted to offer the object of his attachment a fan, but not a hat? a dozen of gloves, but not a pair of boots? These problems would tax a much higher intelligence—if it would be possible to imagine such—than that at the command of the average Town Councillor.
It was the same member of the Corporation who, one day, having succeeded—greatly to his astonishment—in carrying a resolution which he had proposed at a meeting, found that custom and courtesy necessitated his providing refreshment for the dozen of gentlemen who had supported him. His ideas of refreshment revolved round a public-house as a centre; but when it was explained to him that the occasion was one that demanded a demonstration on a higher level, and with a wider horizon, he declared, in the excitement of the moment, that he was as ready as any of his colleagues to discharge the duties of host in the best style. He took his friends to a first-class restaurant, and at a hint from one of them, promptly ordered a couple of bottles of champagne. When these had been emptied, the host gave the waiter a shilling, telling him in a lordly way to keep the change. The waiter was, of course, a German, and, with a smile and a bow, he put the coin into his pocket, and hastened to help the gentlemen on with their overcoats. When they were trooping out, he ventured to enquire whom the champagne was to be charged to.
The hospitable Councillor stared at the man, and then expressed the opinion that all Frenchmen, and perhaps Italians, were the greatest rogues unhung.
“You savey!” he shouted at the waiter—for like many persons on the social level of Town Councillors, he assumed that all foreigners are a little deaf,—“You savey, I give you one shilling—one bob—you savey!”