Rough Scan
AS A PARLIAMENTARY CANDIDATE
DEAR BAILIE,—
The result o’ an influentially - signed requisition, asking me to staun
for M.P., was a meeting I held last Friday tae address the electors
an’ non-electors (only they’re a’ electors nae).
I needna gie ye my speech, but I finished up a thrilling address
wi’ a glowing peroration, which ran in this wise—
“Yes, gentlemen,
if ye want to mak’ the Saltcoats district o’ burghs staun oot boldly
before the nation at large as a burning and shining licht o’ enterprise,
clear-heidedness, and influence, dinna vote for any o’ thae carpet-baggers
frae London, that come doon here wi’ a toothpick an’ a clean collar,
an’ ken as little aboot the wants o’ the district as my wee manager
kens about Julius Ceasar. No,
no, never min’ them; support your fellow-citizen, that can lay his haun
on his hert an’ say his wants are the same as the district’s, an’ the
district’s are the same as his. Rally
roon the star - spangled banner that floats proodly, for this occasion
only, frae the tap o’ the coal ree, an’ come boldly tae the polling
booth, wi’ a clean face an’ an upright hert, an’ record your vote in
fear an’ trembling, remembering that into your hands is committed the
well-being of this great empire. Gentlemen, I’m noo ready to answer ony questions.”
(Great cheers.)
At this up gets
Mr Balderstone, an’ says— Wid the honourable gentleman support a bill
for legalising marriage wi’ a wife’s deceased sister? (Cries of “Aha, where are ye noo? “)
Mr Kaye — But what d’ye
want tae marry a deid woman for?
Mr Caleb Balderstone — The right
honourable gentleman didna understaun me.
It’s the wife
that’s deid, and no’ the sister.
Mr Kaye — Oh, it’s
the wife that’s deid. Weel,
why didna ye marry the sister at first?
(Cries of “The auld boy’s ‘cute.”)
Mr Balderstone — Ah, mony
a time I wished I had.
Mr Kaye — That’s
aye the way — ye go an’ mak’ a mistake and marry the wrang woman, and
then ye want me tae alter the laws tae suit you; hooever, the next time
ye’re thinking o’ matrimony, marry the sister first; but sae faur as
I’m concerned, ye can marry your wife’s deceased auntie, or her grannie
if ye like - if ye’re pleased it’s nane o’ my business.
(Great cheers.)
Mr Dandie Dinmont — Would the
gallant colonel vote for Henry George’s plan o’ dividing the land?
Mr Kaye — Weel,
I wid like tae see a calculation made first. If I was tae get mair than I have I wid support a bill for dividing
the land, the siller, an’ a’thegither. Isn’t that fair? (Cries
of “Quite fair.”)
Mr Dirk Hatterick — Wid the candidate vote for payment
of members?
Mr Kaye — If I get
in I will — if I don’t I’ll no’.
An Elector — Does Sir
Jeems think it consistent wi’ his position as an elder tae staun at the kirk door Sunday after
Sunday, haunin’ oot his address to every one that gangs in, instead
o’ attending tae his duty o’ watchin’ the plate?
(Cries o’ “That’s intae him.”)
Mr Kaye — Gentlemen,
alloo me to explain. I had gi’en
the minister some valuable assistance on the Disestablishment question,
an’ he agreed to let me be the elder at the plate for a wheen Sundays.
an’ I will acknowledge I gied every one that gaed in one o’ my addresses,
wi’ a wheen lozengers rouwed up in’t.
They read it in the pews tae wile awa’ the time till the minister
began; but it served twa guid purposes — it brocht my views before them,
an’ prevented them meditating on their ain worldly concerns.
(Cheers an’ cries of “Quite richt.”)
An Elector — What is your opinion of the Aurora Borealis?
Mr Kaye — I wid vote
for the total abolition o’t a’thegither.
Why should the working
man hae to pay taxes for the support of the Rory Borealus? (Cries of “Bravo,” and “You’re the man for
us.”)
Mr Saunders Wylie — Hoo many
acres is’t we’ve tae get, Mr Kaye?
Mr Kaye — Three
an’ a coo — but, min’ ye, that’s only if ye vote for me. If ye vote for the ither man ye’ll no’ get
as much as wid feed a rabbit. (Cries
of “We’ll a’ vote for you.”)
Mr Wylie -Hoo often
is the land tae be divided did ye say?
Mr Kaye — Every Saturday; but there’s a proviso that if
ony man’s land gets dune in the middle o’ the week be may sign a requisition
tae the Provost saying he’s dissatisfied, an’ then the Provost is bound
tae divide it ower again withoot waiting tae next Saturday. Could onvihing be fairer than that? (Cries of “No! no !”)
Mr Steenie Mucklebackit — Will the
candidate see that a royal residence is built
in Saltcoats, an’ that some o’ the royal family reside in it permanently? (Cries of “Mak’ it hot for him, Steenie.”)
Mr Kaye — Certainly,
gentlemen; that’s a matter I’ve aye intended speaking to the Prince
o’ Wales aboot, for I hiv his Royal Highness’s own assurance that he
wid never ask tae leeve in a more enchanting spot, an’ where he wid
aye be able tae hae a gemm at the dominoes wi’ Mr Pinkerton an’ me.
(Deafening cheers.)
Mr Fairservice — Is Mr Kaye
in favour o’ local option?
Mr Kaye — No, gentlemen,
I’m in favour o’ individual option—tak’ it or want it—but I’m certainly no prepared tae want
my gless o’ toddy because anither man likes lemonade best. If we gie in tae thae notions, the next thing’ll
be the vegetarians wanting tae hae local option tae shut up the butchers.
(Cries o’ “Bully for you.”)
Mr Dominic Sampson — Is Mr Kaye
in favour o’ free education?
Mr Kaye — Free
education, gentlemen! Put me
in, an’ it’s no’ only free education your bairns’ll get, but free books,
an’ slates, an’ free pinafores, an’ free bonnets — aye, an’ free peevers
an’ free books — in fac’, everything ‘ll be free.
Mr Sampson — An’ whaur’s
a’ the money tae come frae?
Mr Kaye — Oh! we’ll
just fin’ that oot as we go alang, an’ if it works weel we’ll then gie ye free butter, free ham
an’ eggs, an’ free sausages; in short, the law’ll be that ye’ll jist
help yersel’ tae everything at a shop door as ye walk alang. Every hoose’ll be thatched wi’ pancakes, an’ milk an’ honey ‘ll
flow doon the streets o’ Saltcoats.
But really, gentlemen, the discussion o’ politics is dry wark. I propose that the chairman gies us a sang,
an’ then Mr Pettigrew’s uncle, that’s jist hame frae the Baltic, ‘ll
dance a nigger breakdown. He
says the black folk on the plantations oot there dances it when they’re
squeezin’ oot the sugar. Order!
order! for the chairman’s sang.
Here the chairman
cleared his throat, turned up his eyes tae the gasalier, an’ began tae
sing—
The
standard on the coal ree
Is
up an’ streaming early.
Man, BAILE, at this point mine’s promised tae be
the happiest political meeting ever held in Saltcoats. Everything went on fine. The
audience lichtit their pipes, an’ we up on the platform a’ had ceegaurs
— we had sent oot for a shillingsworth. Then we lay back and dreamily listened to the sangs. In fac’, a’ went merry as a marriage bell.
After a wee we sent ower for the minister’s fiddle, an’ he played
“Tullochgorum” on’t, an’ Mr Pinkerton an’ the lamplichter, wha wis an
energetic member o’ my committee, waltzed roon the chairs, an’ up an’
doon, and back an’ forrit, an’ I beat time wi’ my silver-heided walking-stick.
But there’s some evil-disposed minds in this worl’, BAILIE. As we were a’ enjoying oorsel’s innocently,
somebody screwed oot the gas, an’ then there wis a hubbub. The minister’s fiddle got such a dunshing that
he’s mending awa’ at it yet. The
leading Radical was lowered ower the gallery by the legs, the crood
below tearing him by the hair a’ the time.
Mr Pinkerton’s leg got fankled in among the chairs, an’ he fell
on the tap o’ the minister, wha, pitting oot his haun tae save himsel’,
drew me doon, but I didna fa’ alane.
I grippit twa o’ the opposition frae Glasgow, an’ if I didna
mak’ them look twa ways for Sunday when I scrambled up it’s queer.
I cam’ doon wi’ my stick on the shoothers first o’ the ane an’
then the ither — till I wis maist oot o’ breath.
BAILIE, my thoom’s
sprained yet. Hooever, I need
hardly say that I’ve altered my mind.
I’ve resigned.