Westminster Corridors
Master R. Maudling, whose Mastery of Economical Matters was once the Talk of the Town, has this Day bent his prodigious Intellect to the' Propounding of various unknown or hitherto neglected Truths, viz — that our World is in reality round and not, as was for long thought, flat; also that the climate of these Northern Isles is less blessed with the Sun than those Territories but lately discovered by Captain Cook — yet that this is a Problem resistant to the Designs of Publick Men, wherefrom it must be borne with as good a Grace as the Mob can muster — and much more in like Vein — to the Great Profit and Edification of his Constituents, Perusers of the Times and such Others as may be Enlightened by these Intelligences.
Neither did the Coffee-houses, to which the Leaders of Opinion have repaired — for You must know that Parliament is closed and our Legislators vanished to Lands of Sun and Low Inflation — resound with Speculation on the Meaning of these Reflections. 'Tis clear. The Hustings are nigh. And all true Lovers of Ambition and Pomp must needs profess Affection for the Common Weal — (which Affection is but rarely consummated in Deed — yet 'tis idle to curse Sin in a general Way). Furthermore, as Tory Noses sniff the rank Odour of Defeat in the Air, there is by Consequence much Jostling, Manoeuvring, and Intriguing among the Paladins lest any fall back in the Contest for Succession. For none can doubt that Mr Heath must conquer again or die at last.
If Master Maudling pitching his Hat into the Ring is but a sign that Lust for Power springs eternal in the Human Breast — for his followers are principally retired — yet there are Dozens who fancy they possess a Claim to Kingship. Among them is Master Whitelaw — a merry, bibulous Fellow who journeys hither and thither in the Kingdom, to wherever Tory festivities are in train, jesting with the local Squires, telling honest Yeomen of the Causes of our present Discontents (viz. Mr Secretary Berm), and purchasing from the Ladies vast Quantities of Jam. At which the Scribblers all Hail him as a Pinnacle of Surpassing Shrewdness and soon destined to be the Leading man in the State. But Puzzle replies: capax imperil nisi imperasset, if that Hibernick Province deserves the style Imperial.
Against Him is placed a subtle Intellectual and quondam Fellow of All Souls, Sir Keith Joseph, who declares at Intervals that He is done with Levelling — even Levelling of the half-hearted Tory variety — and will in future require of Merchants merely that they sell their Goods honestly at a Profit — and not seek ever to suck at the public teat — in pursuit of which aim he would free them from all Chains and Encumbrances. At which the Scribblers pronounce him a wild-eyed Fanatick whose proposals, if adopted by Governors, would presently cause much Idleness and Prices to Rise.
And such Disputations are observed with great Glee by the Treasury's First Lord, who advises the Artisan Factions to remain still and enjoy the August Sun, but to do Little Else, and He and His Ministers will from Time to Time announce Plans and Ideas — provided only that they cause Pain to None or at least to Very Few, and those principally Speculators in Land — that will in Due Course seduce Electors to their Side. Which Cunning is Menaced only by Mr Secretary Benn, who claims second Sight in Matters of Industry and yet who boldly declared that those intending to take the Grand Tour at little Expense were as safe as the Bank of England — a prophecy that may yet be borne out by Events — and thus persuaded them to embark for hostile Foreign lands — at any rate they are hostile now.
Those patriotic Spirits, who holiday in this Isle, may anticipate a rare demonstration of Principles of modern Liberalism. Master Jeremy Thorpe is to move among them, borne in a wondrous Vehicle which glides smoothly and effortlessly over all Manner of Obstacles by means of the constant Effusion of Hot Air.
Tom Puzzle
Previous page
