Fifteen men on a dead man's chest.
High ho! and a bottle of rum.
What with comforting the mourners, and imbibed as a preventive, rum brought a windfall of £100,000 into the Treasury.
That was well in its way. But then there were those 75,000 mean-spirited people who ought to have died last year, their estates paying tribute to Chancellor of Exchequer, and who positively insisted upon living. The long-trained fortitude of the Squire nearly broke down when he mentioned this circumstance. Pretty to see how it also touched Jokim. The wounds of riven friendship temporarily closed up; the rivalry of recent years forgotten in contemplation of these 75,000 reckless, ruthless people, who, in defiance of law of average, didn't die in financial year ending March 31, 1895. The past Chancellor of Exchequer and his successor in office mingled their tears. But for intervention of table they would probably have flung themselves into each other's arms and sobbed aloud.
"Thus," said Prince Arthur, himself not unaffected by the scene, "doth one touch of nature make Chancellors of the Exchequer kin."
Business done.—Budget brought in.
Friday Night.—Alpheus Cleophas submitted proposal to dock payment of £10,000 annuity to Duke of Coburg. Thinks H.R.H. might, in circumstances, get along nicely without it. Sage Of Queen Anne's Gate agrees. T. H. Boltonparty, on the other hand, gravely differs. Folding his arms as was his wont on eve of Austerlitz, he regards Alpheus Cleophas with awful frown. Imperial instincts naturally wounded. "No trifling with the personal revenues of our Royal cousins, whether at home or abroad," said T. H. Boltonparty in the voice of thunder that once reverberated across the shivering chasms of the Alps.
Business done.—Proposal to cut off Duke of Coburg's pension negatived by 193 votes against 72.