The Project Gutenberg eBook, Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 98,
April 5, 1890, by Various, Edited by Sir F. C. (Francis Cowley) Burnand
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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 98, April 5, 1890
Author: Various
Editor: Sir F. C. (Francis Cowley) Burnand
Release Date: November 17, 2009 [eBook #30492]
Language: English
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
VOLUME 98
APRIL 5, 1890.
MR. PUNCH'S DICTIONARY OF PHRASES.
JOURNALISTIC.
"_The Prisoner, who was fashionably attired, and of genteel
appearance_;" _i.e._, An ill-got-up swell-mobsman.
"_A powerful-looking fellow_;" _i.e._, An awful ruffian.
"_A rumour has reached us_"--(in the well-nigh impenetrable recesses
wherein, as journalists, we habitually conceal ourselves).
"_Nothing fresh has transpired_;" _i.e._, The local Reporter's invention
is at last exhausted.
"_The Prisoner seemed fully alive to the very serious position in which
he was placed_;" _i.e._, He occasionally wiped his mouth on his
knuckles.
"_The proceedings were kept up until an advanced hour_;" _i.e._, The
Reporter left early.
SOCIAL.
"_I'm so sorry I've forgotten to bring my Music_;" _i.e._, I'm not going
to throw away my singing on these people.
"_Dear me, this is a surprise to meet you here! I didn't, you see, know
you were in Town_;" _i.e._, By which I wish her to understand that I
hadn't seen that prominent account of her Mid-Lent dance (_for which I
had received no invitation_) that appeared in last Thursday's _Morning
Post_.
"_Never heard it recited better. Wonder you don't go on the Stage_;"
_i.e._, Then one needn't come and hear you; now one can't keep out of
your way.
FOR SHOW SUNDAY.
"_Shall you have many Pictures in this year?_" _i.e._, He'll jump for
joy if he gets one in.
"_Is your big Picture going to Burlington House or the Grosvenor?_"
_i.e._, They wouldn't have it at an East-End Free Art Show.
"_By Jove, dear boy, Burne-Jones will have to look to his laurels?_"
_i.e._, Green mist and gawky girls, as usual!
"_What I love about your pictures, dear Mr. Stodge, is their Subtle
Ideal treatment, so different, &c., &c.?_" _i.e._, 'Tisn't like anything
on earth.
"_Best thing you've done for years, my boy; and, mark my words, it'll
create a sensation!_" _i.e._, Everybody says it'll be a great go, and I
may as well be in it.
"_Entre nous, I don't think Millais' landscape is to be compared with
it?_" _i.e._, I should hope not--for MILLAIS' sake.
"_Fancy hanging him on the line, and skying you! It's too bad?_" _i.e._,
His picture is.
"_Glad you haven't gone in for mere 'pretty, pretty,' this time, old
man_;" _i.e._, It's ugly enough for a scarecrow.
"_My dear Sir, it's as mournfully impressive as a Millet_;" _i.e._, Dull
skies and dowdy peasants!
"_Well, it's something in these days to see a picture one can get a
laugh out of_;" _i.e._, Or at!
AUCTIONEERING.
"_Every Modern Convenience_;" _i.e._, Electric-bells and disconnected
drain-pipes.
"_Cheap and Commodious Flat_;" _i.e._, Seven small square rooms, with no
outlook, at about the rent of a Hyde Park mansion.
"_A Desirable Residence_;" _i.e._, To get out of.
PLATFORMULARS.
"_And thus bring to a triumphant issue the fight in which we are
engaged_;" _i.e._, Thank Heaven, I managed to get off my peroration all
right.
"_Our great Leader_;" _i.e._, "That's sure to make them cheer, and will
give me time to think."
* * * * *
[Illustration: SOCIAL ECONOMY.
_Mrs. Scrooge._ "I'M WRITING TO ASK THE BROWNS TO MEET THE JONESES HERE
AT DINNER, AND TO THE JONESES TO MEET THE BROWNS. WE OWE THEM BOTH, YOU
KNOW."
_Mr. Scrooge._ "BUT I'VE HEARD THEY'VE JUST QUARRELLED, AND DON'T
SPEAK!"
_Mrs. Scrooge._ "I KNOW. THEY'LL REFUSE, AND WE NEEDN'T GIVE A DINNER
PARTY AT ALL!"]
* * * * *
"MY CURATE."
[The _Law Times_ mentions that a photograph of a well-dressed and
good-looking gentleman has been sent to it, with the words "My
Advocate" beneath. On the back are the name and address of a
Solicitor.]
SCENE--_Drowsiham Vicarage._ Vicar _and Family discovered seated at
breakfast-table. Time--Present._
_The Vicar._ I only advertised for a Curate in last Saturday's _Church
Papers_, and already I have received more than sixty applications by the
post, all of them, apparently, from persons of the highest
respectability, whose views, too, happen to coincide entirely with my
own! Dear me! I suppose these may be called the "Clerical Unemployed."
_Elder Daughter (giddily)._ Pa! Have any of them sent photos?
_Vicar._ Yes, all of them. It seems to be the new method to inclose
_cartes-de-visite_ with testimonials.
_Younger Daughter._ Now I shall be able to fill up my Album!
_Elder Daughter (who has been running her eye over the pictures)._ This
is the pick of the lot, Pa. Take him! Such a dear! He's got an eyeglass,
and whiskers, and curly hair, and seems quite young!
_Younger Daughter (thoughtfully)._ It's a pity we can't lay in _two_
Curates while we are about it.
_Vicar._ Hem! A rather nice-looking young man, certainly. Let's see what
he says about himself. The new system saves a lot of trouble, as
candidates for posts write down their qualifications on the back of
their photographs.
_Elder Daughter (reading)._ "Views strictly orthodox." Oh, bother views!
Here's something better--"Very Musical Voice"--the _darling_! He _looks_
as if he had a musical voice. "Warranted not to go beyond fifteen
minutes in preaching." Delicious!
_Vicar's Wife._ I don't know if the parishioners will like _that_.
_Both Daughters (together)._ But _we_ shall!
_Elder Daughter (continues reading)._ "Quite content to preach only in
the afternoons. No attempts to rival Vicar's eloquence." What _does_ he
mean?
_Vicar (cordially)._ I know! I think he'll do very well. _Just_ the sort
of man I want!
_Elder Daughter._ Ha! Listen to this! "Can play the banjo, and
twenty-six games of lawn-tennis without fatigue." The pet!
_Younger Daughter._ Perfectly engaging! Oh, Pa, wire to him _at once_!
_Elder Daughter (turning pale)._ Stop! What is this? "Very steady and
respectable. _Has been engaged to be married for past three years!_"
Call _him_ engaging, indeed! No chance of it. The wretch!
_Younger Daughter._ A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing! Can't you prosecute him,
Pa?
_Vicar (meditatively)._ I might--in the Archbishop's Court. Really this
new self-recommendation plan, though useful in some ways, seems likely
to disturb quiet households. And I've fifty-nine more photos to look at!
[_Retires to Study, succumbs to slumber._
* * * * *
_SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER_ has been announced as in preparation at the
Criterion and the Vaudeville. Miss MARY MOORE v. Miss WINIFRED EMERY as
_Miss Hardcastle_. Which is to "stoop," and which to "conquer?" Why not
run it at both Houses?--and, to decide, call in a jury of "the
GOLDSMITH'S Company."
* * * * *
THE MAYFAIR ROW.--GOODE, BAIRD, and very indifferent.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE IMPERIAL SOCIALIST.
_A Song of the Situation._ _AIR--"The King and I"._ _Socialist Workman
sings_:--
_Emperor._ "I'M ONE OF YOU!" _Socialist._ "ALL RIGHT, MATE. THEN--TAKE
OFF YOUR CROWN!"]
The Kaiser swears that he can work;
So can I! So can I!
Strain and long hours he will not shirk.
Nor do I, nor do I.
But he may work at his sweet will;
So they say, so they say.
Whilst I must toil my pouch to fill;
A long day, a long day!
So there's _some_ difference I see
Betwixt the Emperor and me.
He hath his army and his ships;
Great are they! Great are they!
Their price, which my lean pocket nips,
I must pay, I must pay.
Yet here he comes to grip my hand;
That's his plan, that's his plan;
And at my side to take his stand,
Working-man, working-man!
Strange that such likeness there should be
Betwixt the Emperor and me!
BISMARCK, it seems, he does not trust;
Nor do I, nor do I.
He thinks the toiler's claims are just;
So do I, so do I.
He's called a Conference of Kings,
Novel scheme, novel scheme!
To talk of Socialistic things--
Pleasant dream, pleasant dream!
What difference, now, would KARL MARX see
Betwixt my Emperor and me?
The "International" they banned.
_That_ was vile, _that_ was vile.
But now a similar thing _they've_ planned,
Makes me smile, makes me smile.
Labour world-over they'll discuss,
Far and near, far and near.
Will it all end in futile fuss?
That's my fear, that's my fear.
A difference of view I see
Betwixt the Emperor and me.
But here he comes to grip my fist,
Fair and free, fair and free.
Thinks he the chance I can't resist?
We shall see, we shall see.
I wear the Cap and he the Crown--
Awkward gear, awkward gear!
Is he content to put it down?
No, I fear; no, I fear.
If Workman I as Workman he,
Perhaps he'll just change hats with me!
* * * * *
THE FRENCH GALLERY.--Oddly enough the French Gallery contains but a
small proportion of French pictures. Possibly Mr. WALLIS thinks it is
not high-bred to appear too long in a French _rôle_--perhaps he fancies
the public would get crusty or the critics might have him "on toast."
Anyhow, he has taken French leave to do as he pleases, and the result is
very satisfactory. He does not lose our Frenchship by the change. There
are three remarkable pictures by Prof. FRITZ VON UHDE, and two by Prof.
MAX LIEBERMANN, which ought to make a sensation, and there is an
excellent MUNKACSY, besides a varied collection of foreign pictures.
* * * * *
MR. HENRY BLACKBURN, author of that annually useful work, _Academy
Notes_, is announced to give lectures at Kensington Town Hall, April 13.
One of his subjects, "Sketching in Sunshine," will be very interesting
to a Londoner. First catch your sunshine: then sketch. Mr. BLACKBURN
will be illuminated by oxy-hydrogen; he will thus appear as Mr.
White-burn; so altogether a light entertainment.
* * * * *
[Illustration: AT THE "ZOO."
_Arabella._ "OH, AUG----MR. BROWN, LET'S GO TO THE APEIARY. I THINK THE
MONKEYS ARE SUCH FUN!" [_He did not Propose that afternoon!_]]
* * * * *
THE WAY TO THE TEMPLE.
DEAR MR. PUNCH, _Willesden Junction._
Having been assured by a Phrenologist that my bump of locality is very
highly developed, I attempted the other day--although a perfect stranger
to London--to walk from Charing Cross to the Temple without inquiring
the route. I had absolutely no assistance but a small map of Surbiton
and the neighbourhood, from which I had calculated the general lie of
the country, and a plain, ordinary compass, which I had bought cheap
because it had lost its pointer. I am not sure that the route I took was
the most direct. But when, after several hours' walk, I found myself at
Willesden Junction, I was assured by a boy in the district, whom I
asked, that I could not possibly have gone straighter. He advised me to
take a ticket at once for Chalk Farm, as I still had some way to go, and
said that he thought I might have to change at Battersea. He was a nice,
bright little boy, and laughed quite merrily.
I have now been at Willesden Junction for eighteen hours, and I have not
yet secured a train for Chalk Farm. There have been several, but they
have always gone from the platform which I had just left. So I have
camped out on the 101th platform, and I intend to stop there till a
train for Chalk Farm comes in. Of course the porters have remonstrated,
and tried to explain where and when the train really does start. But I
would sooner trust my natural instincts than any porter. That bright
little boy has been twice to see how I am getting on. He brought two
other boys last time. They all told me to stick to it, and seemed much
amused--probably at the stupidity of those porters. But really, _Mr.
Punch_, Willesden Junction ought to be simplified. It may be all very
well for me, with a phrenological aptitude for this sort of thing; but
these different levels, platforms, and stairs must be very puzzling to
less gifted people, such as the green young man from the country.
But the last suggestion which I have to make is the most important.
There ought to be a great many more doors _into_ the refreshment-room,
and only one door out of it. I lost the thirteenth train for Chalk Farm
by going out of the wrong door. One door out would be ample, and it
should certainly be made--by an easy arrangement of pivots and pneumatic
pressure--to open straight into the train for anywhere where you wanted
to go. If this simple alteration cannot be made, Willesden Junction must
be destroyed at once, route and branch; or removed to Hampton Court, to
take the place of the present absurdly easy Maze. I am, _Mr. Punch_,
Your humble and obedient Servant, PHRENITIC.
* * * * *
UNIVERSITY INTELLIGENCE. (_New "Physical Examination" Style._)
OXFORD, _April 1, 1890_.
THE Regius Professor of High Jumping will commence his Course of
Lectures, accompanied, in the way of illustration, by a practical
exhibition of several physical _tours de force_ on the spare ground at
the back of the Parks, at some hour before 12 o'clock this morning.
Candidates for honours in Hurdle Racing, Dancing, and Throwing the
Hammer, are requested to leave their names at the Professor of
Anthropometry's, at his residence, in the new Athletic Schools, on or
before the 3rd inst. The subject selected for the next Term's Prize
Physical Essay Composition, which will have on the reading to be
practically and personally illustrated by several feats of the
successful candidate himself, will be "_Leap Year_."
* * * * *
LIGHT AND AYRY.
Rejected! in bad grammar I declare
I can't forget this year, nor yet that Ayr!
* * * * *
THE RECORDING ANGEL IN THE HOUSE, OR THE GAL IN THE GALLERY.--"_Que
diable allait-elle faire dans cette 'galerie.'_"
* * * * *
MODERN TYPES.
(_By Mr. Punch's Own Type-Writer._)
No. VII.--THE PATRON OF SPORT.
IN order to qualify properly for the patronage of sport, a man must
finally abandon any vestiges of refinement which may remain to him after
a youth spent mainly in the use of strong language, and the abuse of
strong drink. The future patron, who has enjoyed for some years the
advantages of a neglected training in the privacy of the domestic
circle, will have been sent to a public school. Like a vicious book, he
will soon have been "called in," though not until he has been cut by
those who may have been brought in contact with him. Having thus left
his school for his school's good, he will find no difficulty in
persuading his parents that the high spirits of an ingenuous youth,
however distasteful they may have been to the ridiculous prejudices of a
pedantic Head Master, are certain to be properly appreciated by the
officers of a crack Regiment. He will, therefore, decide to enter the
Army, and after pursuing his arduous studies for some time at the
various Music Halls and drinking saloons of the Metropolis, he will
administer a public reproof to the Civil Service Commissioners, by
declining on two separate occasions to pass the examination for
admission into Sandhurst.
He will then inform his father that he is heavily in debt, and, having
borrowed money from his tailor, he will disappear from the parental ken,
to turn up again, after a week, without his watch, his scarf-pin, or his
studs. This freak will be accepted by his relatives as a convincing
proof of his fitness for a financial career, and he will shortly be
transferred to the City as Clerk to a firm of Stockbrokers. Here his
versatile talents will have full scope. He will manage to reconcile a
somewhat lax attention to the details of business with a strict
regularity in his attendance at suburban race-meetings. Nothing will be
allowed to stand in his way when he pursues the shadow of pleasure
through the most devious windings into the lowest haunts. For him the
resources of dissipation are never exhausted. Pot-houses provide him
with cocktails, restaurants furnish him with elaborate dinners, tailors
array him in fine clothes, hosiers collar him up to the chin, and cover
his breast with immaculate fronts. The master-pieces of West-End
jewellers, hatters, and boot-makers, sparkle on various portions of his
person; he finds in a lady step-dancer a goddess, and in _Ruff's Guide_
a Bible; he sups, he swears, he drinks, and he gambles, and, finally, he
attains to the summit of earthly felicity by finding himself mentioned
under a nickname in the paragraphs of a sporting organ.
Having about the same time engaged in a midnight brawl with an
undersized and middle-aged cabman, he appears the next morning in a
Police Court, and, after being fined forty shillings, is hailed as a
hero by his companions, and recognised as a genuine Patron of Sport by
the world at large. Henceforward his position is assured. He becomes the
boon companion of Music-hall Chairmen, and lives on terms of intimate
vulgarity with Money-lenders, who find that it pays to take a low
interest in the pleasures, in order the more easily to obtain a high
interest on the borrowings, of reckless young men.
[Illustration]
In company with these associates, and with others of more or less
repute, the Patron of Sport sets the seal to his patronage by becoming a
member of a so-called Sporting Club, at which professional pugilists
batter one another in order to provide excitement for a mixed assemblage
of coarse and brainless rowdies and the feeble toadies who dance
attendance upon them. Here the Patron is at his best and noblest. Though
he has never worn a glove in anger, nor indeed taken the smallest part
in any genuine athletic exercise, he is as free with his opinions as he
is unsparing of the adjectives wherewith he adorns them. He talks
learnedly of "upper-cuts" and "cross-counters," and grows humorous over
"mouse-traps," "pile-drivers on the mark," and "the flow of the ruby."
Having absorbed four whiskeys-and-soda, he will observe that
"if a fellow refuses to train properly, he must expect to be
receiver-general," and, after lighting his tenth cigar as a tribute,
presumably, to the lung power of the combatants, will indulge in some
moody reflections on the decay of British valour and the general
degeneracy of Englishmen. He will then drink liqueur brandy out of a
claret glass, and, having slapped a sporting solicitor on the back and
dug in the ribs a gentleman jockey who has been warned off the course,
he will tread on the toes of an inoffensive stranger who has allowed
himself to be elected a member of the Club under the mistaken impression
that it was the home of sportsmen and the sanctuary of honest boxers.
After duly characterising the stranger's eyes and his awkwardness, the
Patron will resume his seat near the ropes, and will stare vacuously at
the brilliant gathering of touts, loafers, parasites, usurers,
book-makers, broken-down racing men, seedy soldiers, and over-fed City
men who are assembled round the room. Inspired by their society with the
conviction that he is assisting in an important capacity in the revival
of a manly sport, he will adjust his hat on the back of his head, rap
with his gold-headed cane upon the floor, and call "Time!"--a humorous
sally which is always much appreciated, especially when the ring is
empty. After witnessing the first three rounds of the next competition,
he will rise to depart, and observing a looking-glass, will excite the
laughter of his friends and the admiration of the waiters by sparring
one round with his own reflection, finally falling into the arms of a
companion, whom he adjures not to mind him, but to sponge up the other
fellow.
After this exploit a supper-club receives him, and he is made much of by
those of both sexes who are content to thrive temporarily on the money
of a friend. He will then drive a hansom through the streets, and,
having knocked over a hot potato-stall, he will compensate the
proprietor with a round of oaths and a five-pound note.
In appearance the Patron of Sport is unwholesome. The bloom of youth
vanished from his face before he ceased to be a boy; he assumes the worn
and sallow mask of age before he has fairly begun to be a man. His hair
is thin, and is carefully flattened by the aid of unguents, his dress is
flashy, his moustache thick. In order the more closely to imitate a true
sportsman, he wears a baggy overcoat, with large buttons. Yet he abhors
all kinds of honest exercise, and, in the days of his prosperity, keeps
a small brougham with yellow wheels. Soon after he reaches the age of
thirty, he begins to feel the effects of his variegated life. He fails
in landing a big _coup_ on the Stock Exchange, and loses much money over
a Newmarket meeting, in which he plunges on a succession of rank
outsiders, whom a set of rascals, more cunning than himself, have
represented to him as certainties. His position on the Stock Exchange
becomes shaky, and he attempts to restore it by embarking with a gang of
needy rogues on a first-class "roping" transaction, in connection with a
prize-fight in Spain. Having, however, been exposed, he is shunned by
most of those who only heard of the swindle when it was too late to join
in it.
This is the beginning of the end. He becomes careless of his appearance;
with the decrease of his means his coats become shiny, and his cuffs
more and more frayed. Eventually he falls into a state of sodden
imbecility, relieved by occasional flashes of delirium tremens, and dies
at the age of thirty-six, regretted by nobody except the faithful
bull-dog, whose silver collar was the last thing he pawned.
* * * * *
A New Opera (in Preparation).
_Librettist._ Now here's a grand effect. They all say, "We swear!" Then
there's a magnificent "Oath Chorus!" How do you propose to treat that?
_Composer._ Oath Chorus? In D Major.
* * * * *
A PAGE FROM AN IMPERIAL NOTE-BOOK.--So far so good. Got rid of the Grand
Old Chancellor and the rest of _that_ crew--without much of a row! Been
civil to my English Uncle, the Pope and the Democrats. Can't be idle, so
what shall I do next? Why not take a trip to America where I might stand
for President? If I propose extending trip to Salt Lake, would have to
go _en garçon_. Or I might see if I could not get a little further than
STANLEY in Africa. When I returned might write a book to be called, _The
Extra Deep-Edged Black Continent_. Or why not turn painter? With a
little practice would soon cut out all the Old Masters, native and
foreign. And if I gave my mind to poetry, why GOETHE and HEINE would be
simply nowhere! How about horse-racing? A Berlin Derby Day would make my
English cousins "sit up." And sermons, there's something to be done in
sermons! I believe I could compose as good a discourse as any of my
Court chaplains. And then, possibly, I might be qualified to do that
which would satisfy the sharpest craving of my loftiest ambition--_I
might write for Punch!_
[So he shall. He shall "write for _Punch_," enclosing stamps, and
the Number shall be sent to him by return.--ED.]
* * * * *
PLAY-TIME.
SINCE the first night, if hearsay evidence can be accepted, as I didn't
see the _première_, Mr. SUGDEN must have immensely improved his
_Touchstone_. He plays it now with much dry, quaint humour, and when I
saw him in the part last week, every line told with a decidedly
discriminating but appreciative audience. His scenes with that capital
_Audrey_, Miss MARION LEA, and with _William_, were uncommonly good. I
confess I was surprised. Mr. BOURCHIER--but now an amateur, now
thus--gives _Jaques'_ immortal speech of "All the world's a stage," in a
thoroughly natural and unconventional manner, chiefly remarkable for the
absence of every gesture or tone that could make it a mere theatrical
recitation by a modern professional reciter at a pic-nic. Mrs. LANGTRY'S
_Rosalind_ is charming, her scenes with _Orlando_ being as pretty a
piece of acting as any honest playgoer could wish to see. And what a
pretty Lamb is she they call BEATRICE who plays _Phoebe_! What a
sweet, gentle, restful play it is! How unlike these bustling times! To
witness this idyllic romance as it is put on at the St. James's, is as
if one had stepped aside out of "the movement," had bid adieu for a
while to the madding crowd, and had plunged into the depths of the
forest of Arden, to find a tranquil "society of friends," among whom,
under the greenwood tree, one can rest and be thankful.
I was curious to see how ALEXANDER "the (Getting) Great" would comport
himself as the hero of light farce, associated as he has always hitherto
been with heroes of romance and high comedy. The theatre-going public
and his admirers--the terms are synonymous--may breathe again. ALEXANDER
is surprisingly good as _Dr. Bill_, and the serious earnestness with
which he invests the part intensifies the drollery of the complications.
And to think that the adapter of this gay and festive piece should be
none other than the sentimental troubadour, song-writer and composer,
author of a Lyceum Tragedy and other similar trifles, Mr. HAMILTON
AÏDÉ!! "Sir," in future will HAMILTON AÏDÉ say, when being interviewed
by a Manager, "I will now read you my Five Act Tragedy entitled----"
"Hang your tragedies!" will the Manager exclaim, "Give me a farce like
'_Dr. Bill_,' my boy!" And once more will the poet put his pride and his
tragedy in one pocket, and all the money which the Comic Muse will give
him in the other. I back the _argumentum ad pocketum_ against the Tragic
Muse.
[Illustration: The Kan-Kan (-garoo) Dance.]
How capitally it is played! Miss BROUGH excellent; and so also is Mr.
CHEVALIER, who entirely loses his own identity in his make-up, and is
not to be recognised at all, save for a few mannerisms. Charming
housemaid is pretty Miss MARIE LINDEN; and the idiotic youth, _George
Webster_, played by Mr. BENJAMIN WEBSTER,--two Websters rolled into
one,--is very funny. But they're all as good as they can be. I
congratulate ALEXANDER the (Getting) Great, who, for pecuniary reasons,
I should like to be, were I not
DIOGENES OUT OF THE TUB.
* * * * *
The Bitter Cry of the Dramatic Critic.
'Tis the voice of the Critic
I hear him complain,
"One more afternoon!
Fools! they're at it again!
These dull _Matinées_!
Wretched plays I must see!
But, alas, 'tis no play,
And there's no peace for me!"
* * * * *
"Le Sport" in Bouverie Street.
THE excellent columns of "This Morning's News" in the _Daily News_ the
other day were endowed with fresh interest by an announcement made with
respect to the Emperor of AUSTRIA. It runs thus:--
"When informed that on the Imperial preserves in the neighbourhood
of Vienna the first snipe had been seen, _the passionate huntsman_
said, 'I am exceedingly sorry, but I've no time for them this
week.'"
Every one has heard of "The Hunting of the Snark;" but this is the first
time reference has been publicly made to the hunting of the Snipe.
* * * * *
AT THE FIRST BOTANIC GARDEN SHOW. MARCH 26.
HIMANTOPHYLLUMS and Cyclamens were there to be seen,
And some pretty baskets full of strawb'rries from Englefield Green.
* * * * *
OUR ADVERTISERS.
HIGH LIFE, COMMERCIAL, TRADING, AND OTHER.
THE BEST SCREENED DUCAL KNOBBLES.--As supplied direct from the ancestral
estates of His Grace the Duke of WAGOVER.
* * *
THE BEST SCREENED DUCAL KNOBBLES.--This fashionable coal, throwing down
a pleasing and prettily-coloured but plentiful light blue ash, is now
confidently recommended to the general public, by His Grace the Duke of
WAGOVER, who begs to inform his numerous patrons and clients that he has
now completed his final arrangements to enable him entirely to
relinquish his duties in the Upper House of the Legislature, for the
purpose of being free to devote the whole of his time to the personal
supervision of the working of the lucrative seams recently discovered on
his family estate. Orders, that should be accompanied by postal orders
or cheque, may be sent direct to His Grace, addressed either to Wagover
Castle, or to his town residence in Belgrave Square, S.W.
* * *
THE BEST SCREENED DUCAL KNOBBLES.--N.B. Customers are respectfully
invited to note that the Ducal Arms, Coronet and Family Tree, are
properly blazoned on every sack on delivery, as a guarantee that the
coal supplied is that now offered at the extremely low figure of 28s. a
ton as "Ducal Knobbles," screened under the immediate supervision of His
Grace's own eye.
* * *
THE EARL'S PICKLED PIES.--These delicious breakfast-table delicacies
(now the rage everywhere) can be obtained by special arrangement, at any
pastrycook's, cheesemonger's, or grocer's in the Three Kingdoms. A Noble
Earl having by an agreement with his head-keeper and chief tenants,
secured the right of shooting his own ground game, has commenced on his
own estate the manufacture, for which he has taken out patent rights, of
the above celebrated "rabbit" pies, the demand for which has so
increased that for the last six months his house has never contained a
shooting-party of less than ten guns at a time, that have all been
busily engaged at making a bag for their manufacture, continually, from
morning till night. An analyst, writing to the _Stethoscope_, says, "_I
have examined a sample of the pie sent me. It appears to be all rabbit.
I cannot discover a particle of cat in it anywhere_."
* * *
THE EXCLUSIVE SOCIETY INTRODUCTION SYNDICATE. With the above
appellation, a Company has been organised, under the Direction of an
Impecunious Duchess, assisted by a Committee of Upper Class Ladies,
whose want of ready money has become urgent, for the purpose of selling,
at a fixed sale of prices, to any low-bred _parvenue_ who can afford to
pay for it, the _entrée_ to those exclusive and hitherto unapproachable
circles to which they, by the accident of their birth and family
connections, possess the privilege of offering and securing an
introduction.
* * *
HIGH CLASS SOCIAL PRIVILEGES.--THE EXCLUSIVE SOCIETY INTRODUCTION
SYNDICATE beg to direct the attention of enterprising and ambitious
aspirants to the advantages of an introduction to various social
privileges of a High Class and Exclusive character, to the fact that the
following "items," that have been carefully thought out, and priced
according to scale, conformably with the present condition of the social
market, are now offered for their consideration:--
£ _s._ _d._
Invitation and admission to a "crush" in the neighbourhood
of Belgrave Square (without introduction to Host or Hostess) 21 0 0
Ditto, ditto, (with introduction) 31 10 0
Ditto, ditto, at Bayswater, or West Kensington 1 11 6
Five o'clock tea, including introduction to Leading Actor,
Royal Academician, Distinguished Literary Man, or other
celebrity 10 10 0
Same privilege enjoyed at select little dinner-party of
eight 26 5 0
Other "Social Privileges" provided according to the special requirements
of the case. Underbred people, with no position, but possessing means,
may be launched under the protection of carefully selected Chaperons,
into the very best Society, on applying personally to the Manageress.
* * *
DINING WITH A DUCHESS.--THE EXCLUSIVE SOCIETY INTRODUCTION SYNDICATE beg
to inform their patrons and clients that their charge for satisfactorily
securing them this eminent and obvious social advantage is, at the
present moment, through the rare opportunity due to financial losses
incurred recently by several distinguished Noble Families, only one
hundred and fifty guineas. This sum does not include any personal
introduction, but the latter may be arranged for with or without three
minutes' conversation over a cup of tea later in the course of the
evening by the payment of the comparatively small additional fee of
fifty guineas extra.
* * * * *
[Illustration: IMITATION THE SINCEREST FLATTERY.]
* * * * *
"THE GIFT HORSE."
Niver look a gift horse in the mouth? Moighty foine,
But how if the crayture is not worth its kape?
Faix, it isn't the nag for a stable o' moine.
Oive doubts of its blood and oi don't loike its shape.
What! we ought to accipt it and think it an honour?
We moight do that same did we not know the donor!
Oh, I grant ye it's big, and I grant ye it's bould,
A blood-looking Bucephalus ivery inch;
But its oi if ye look, Sorr, is cruel and could,
And that big aff-hind leg has a fidgety flinch.
Oi'd git out av the way av its heels moighty quick,
For I fancy the baste has a botherin' kick!
It looks all very well in the front, to be shure,
Though I don't loike the way that it lays back its ears,
But your sate in the saddle had need be secure
If it lash out behoind, as it _could_, oive me fears.
By the sowl of St. PAT. oi'd as soon risk a spill
From those blayguard buck-jumpers of BUFFALO BILL!
Gift horse? Oh, by jabers _that's_ not what we're afther,
We'd breed for ourselves if they'd give us a chance.
BALFOUR, ye stand there wid an oi full o' laughter.
Ye divil, we know that cool optical dance.
Come the comether on us then, would ye, ye wag,
Wid this "ginerous" gift of a dangerous nag?
All shenanigin', that's what it is, sheer purtence;
But ye don't catch us ould Oirish birds wid such chaff!
Ye'd loike us to take it,--and take no offence.
And thin it's yourself as 'ud just have the laugh.
It may do for the North, but won't suit us down South;
So, PARNELL, my boy, _take a squint at its mouth!_
* * * * *
FASTER AND FASTER.--In France there is now a Fasting Girl. If she beats
the record, and if the winners, who back her staying powers against
those of Succi, give her a handsome _dot_, she will be known as _La
Jeûnesse Dorée_.
* * * * *
DUNRAVEN. (_Verses from the Very Latest Version._)
Once on a Commission dreary sat DUNRAVEN, worn and weary.
Hearing many a snuffling Hebrew, many a Sweater's victim poor,
Oft he nodded, nearly dozing, but, on the Commission's closing,
Schemed out a Report, supposing that by such Report he'd score.
"Tone it down," his colleagues muttered; "like a sucking-dove let's roar,
Gently purr, and nothing more."
* * * * *
"Be those words our sign of parting!" cried DUNRAVEN, swift upstarting;
"Sweating's an accursed system, but if now our toil is o'er,
We leave twaddle as sole token of the swelling words we've spoken.
Public faith in us is broken! Bah! I quit, I "bust", boil o'er!
Take my seat, sign your Report, about such bosh my spirit bore?"
Quoth DUNRAVEN, "Nevermore!"
* * * * *
ROBERT TRIHUMFUNT!
I ONLY hopes as most of my thowsands of readers took my strait tip last
Wensday morning, and got their 9 to 4 against the winner, if not it most
suttenly wasn't my fault. My directions was as clear as daylight. "Dark
morning, dark blew carnt lose." And wosent it a dark morning? and wosent
it luvly arterwuds? Any of my winners may send my 5 per sent commishun
to the hoffice as ushal, and they will all receve a copy of my emortle
Book by post.
It was a puffeckly lovely race! fust Cambridge got fust, then Hoxford
got fust and Cambridge second, and so on all through, but in course
Hoxford wun as I proffysized.
I seed all the River Tems Conserwatives, with the Right Honnerabel the
LORD MARE at the hed of 'em all, a laying carmly at rest in their
bootifool Steam Bote, a trying for to look as if they wasn't responsibel
for all the hundreds of thousands of peeple as lined all the banks of
the River a gitting ome safely. Many on 'em I remarked kept on a
disappearing down below ewery now and then, probberbly to seek that
strengthening of the system so werry nessessery under such trying
suckemstances. Upon the hole, I wentures werry humbly to pronounce it to
be one of the werry sucksessfullest races of moddun times, which I
bleeves means about 6 years. ROBERT.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "THE GIFT HORSE."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: TIT FOR TAT.
_Captain Pullem (having just effected a "Swop" with his Friend)._ "NOW,
I'LL BE STRAIGHT WITH YOU, OLD MAN. THAT HORSE YOU'VE GOT FROM ME IS A
BIT OF A CRIB-BITER!"
_Friend._ "_Oh, don't mention it, Old Chap. You'll find mine to be a
confirmed Runaway_!"]
* * * * *
SONG SENTIMENTIANA.
(_A Delightful "All-the-Year-Round" Resort for the Fashionable
Composer._)
EXAMPLE II.--SHOWING HOW CURIOUSLY RETENTIVE IS THE LOVER'S MEMORY.
'Tis ninety years ago, love!
It seems but yestermorn
We sat upon the snow, love,
And watch'd the golden corn!
I mind the bitter wind, love--
I mind it well, although
The wind I say I mind, love,
Blew ninety years ago!
The plough stood on the hill, love--
The horse stood in the plough!
And both were standing still, love--
I seem to see them now!
The lamb frisk'd in the glen, love--
A stranger _he_ to _whoa_!
And so was I--but then, love,
'Twas ninety years ago!
The roses by the way, love,
Were large and, oh, so fair!
And so they are to-day, love,
For all I know--or care!
And softly unto thou, love,
While yet among the snow,
I breathed that fatal vow, love,
Of ninety years ago!
* * * * *
A "FISHING INTERROGATORY."--"What's this new French book on angling?"
asked Mrs. R., who is not very well up in the French language and
literature. "I believe," she went on, "it is called _The Bait Humane_. I
do hope it is against the cruel practice of putting live worms on a
hook, which is so cruel."--[It is supposed that our dear Mrs. R. has
heard some mention of _La Bête Humaine_.--ED.]
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
ADVICE to those who are about to give Easter presents--send to
MACMILLAN'S for "The Nursery 'Alice,'" who re-appears "as fresh as
paint," that is, with twenty-four of "Our Mr. TENNIEL'S" illustrations,
coloured by Miss GERTRUDE THOMSON, under his direction.
The _Universal Review_ is specially noteworthy for a short play by Mr.
W. L. COURTNEY, entitled, _Kit Marlowe's Death_. Mr. BOURCHIER of the
St. James's, so it is stated, is going to add this "Kit" to his
theatrical wardrobe. Some of the stage-directions,--such, for instance,
as "_They pour out wine in his cup, which he swallows_," and "_The
others laugh at_ NASH'S _expense_,"--are well worth all the money that
the spirited purchaser may have paid for this almost priceless work. In
the same Magazine, the coloured frontispiece of "_Count Tolstoy at
Home_," showing the Count, not labouring in the fields of literature,
but simply guiding the plough, is as good as the article on the
_Kreutzer Sonata_ is interesting; and interesting also is the paper
entitled, "Musings in an English Cathedral," by the Dean of
GLOUCESTER,--henceforth to be known as "A Musing Dean."
Mr. ANDREW LANG in _Longman's_--or rather _Lang-man's--Magazine_, is
still stopping at "The Sign of The Ship"--[The Baron moves "that the
words 'and Turtle' be inserted after 'Ship'"]--and as he has recently
been delighting us with wanders in the land of Ham, it will gratify his
readers to learn that he is now ceasing to be "All for 'Hur,'" in order
to join the author of She in a plot for a new romance. They are
undeterred by the eye of Detective RUNCIMAN. I wish success to Merry
Andrew Languid in this collaboration. In this same _Lang-man's Mag._,
Mr. VAL PRINSEP, A.R.A., having temporarily dissociated himself from the
paint-brush and canvas, by which he has made his name and fame,
continues his novel _Virginie_. In the present chapter he incidentally
gives a description of the service of Mass in the good _Abbé Leroux's_
parish church, which is a triumph of imagination and subtle humour. No
wonder "the _Abbé Leroux_ was scandalised," when the service had been
turned topsy-turvy, the _credo_ put before the _gloria_, and a young
person among his congregation, topping all other voices, was singing a
solo! Where was the Beadle? or a Churchwarden? or an Aggrieved
Parishioner? Three cheers for Facile PRINSEP'S novel!
In _Plain Tales from the Hills_, by Mr. RUDYARD KIPLING, the jaded
palate of the "General Reader" will recognise a new and piquant flavour.
In places the manner suggests an Anglo-Indian BRET HARTE, and there is
perhaps too great an abundance of phrases and local allusions which will
be dark sayings to the uninitiated. But the stories show a quite
surprising knowledge of life, a familiarity with military, civil, and
native society, and a command of pathos and humour, which have already
won a reputation for the author. Few can read _Beyond the Pale_, _The
Arrest of Lieutenant Golightly_, _The Story of Muhammed Din_, _The Germ
Destroyer_, and _The Madness of Private Ortheris_, for example, without
admiration for the versatility which can cover so wide a range, and
impress, amuse, or touch with the same ease and epigrammatic
conciseness.
BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & CO.
* * * * *
THE ROOT OF THE MATTER.
(_The Sporting M.P.'s Straight Tip to Trevelyan._)
In the intervals of Sport
M.P.'s vamp the country's work,
Therefore cut the Sessions short,
Supplementary Sessions shirk.
_Must_ have time to pot the grouse,
_Must_ have time to hook the salmon,
Spoil our Sport to help the House?
Gammon!!!
* * * * *
LOST, somewhere between Land's End and John O'Groat's, a
highly-treasured heir-loom, known as the "British Sense of Fair Play."
It disappeared immediately after the issuing of the Report of the
Parnell Commission, and has never been seen or heard of since. Many
applicants have claimed to have re-discovered it; but, from Sir R-CH-RD
W-BST-R and Sir W-LL-M H-RC-RT, to L-RD D-NR-V-N, and (last and least)
Sir W. M-RR-TT, all have absolutely failed to substantiate their claims.
Any Public Man, of whatever party, who can prove his possession of the
lost treasure, by making a speech embodying a judicial survey of the
Judges' Report, without party-feeling, special pleading, or paltry
spite, will, on applying personally to _Mr. Punch_, be HANDSOMELY
REWARDED!!!
* * * * *
PUT THIS IN YOUR PIPE.
[Pipe-Major MCKELLAR has thrown doubts upon the pretty and pathetic
story of "JESSIE BROWN of Lucknow."]
Our faith to the winds you would chuck now,
Concerning that Legend of Lucknow.
That sweet Scottish girl
Never heard the pipes "skirl?"
Come! This is mere sceptical muck now!
The Ross-shire Buffs' slogan I'll wager
Will survive many stories much sager.
Our faith in the tale
Is confirmed, and won't fail
At the word of a single Pipe-Major.
* * * * *
[Illustration: TIME WORKS WONDERS.
(_Mr. Punch's Suggestions, à propos of the recent Discussions about Mr.
Gladstone's Head._)]
* * * * *
MUSICAL NOTES.
I HAVE just received FLORIAN PASCAL'S Music composed for _Tra la la
Tosca_, published by JOSEPH WILLIAMS of Berners Street. Justice was not
done to it on the stage at the Royalty, but there are two _morçeaux_ in
it which ought to become popular; one being a song entitled "_Her Eye_,"
which, were it wedded to serious words, would be highly popular as a
contralto song, just as SULLIVAN'S charming "_Hush a bye Bacon_," in
_Cox and Box_, became "_Birds of the Night_." Then the Gavotte in this
book is as graceful and catching as the _Gavotte de Louis Treize_, and
would be in great request with orchestras and bands everywhere.
KLEIN'S _Musical Notes of the Year_, a useful and trustworthy historical
record, was sent to me, and not "de-KLEIN'd with thanks." I have just
heard that there is a new pick-me-up called "Zingit." What it is I don't
know, and I haven't as yet come across the inevitable big advertisement;
but what I have ascertained is, that Mr. EDWARD SOLOMON, who is now
wearing the diamond scarf-pin presented to him by the Guards whom he led
on to victory in their recent burlesque engagement, has composed a polka
or waltz which bears the name of "_Zingit_," and which might bear on the
wrapper, "If you can't play it, or dance it, Zing it."
(_Signed_) OTTO PICCOLO (DU CONSERVATOIRE).
* * * * *
Mr. HUBERT VOS requests the honour of our company at his studio near
Vauxhall Bridge. Very sorry: couldn't get there. "_Sic_ Vos _non
vobis_."
* * * * *
A "SCRATCH COMPANY."--A Cat Show.
* * * * *
[Illustration: WHAT OUR ARTIST HAS TO PUT UP WITH--AND HOW HE
RETALIATES.
_She._ "OH, HE MAY BE A _GENIUS_. BUT I CONFESS I DON'T _CARE_ FOR THE
SOCIETY OF GENIUSES!"
_He._ "HOW VERY PERSONAL OF YOU! IT'S AS IF _I_ WERE TO CONFESS I DIDN'T
CARE FOR THE SOCIETY OF HANDSOME WOMEN!"]
* * * * *
WHERE MARRIAGES ARE MADE.
THE application for a licence to marry at St. George's, Albemarle
Street, made by the JEUNE PREMIER, Q.C., on behalf of the Rev. Dr. KER
GRAY, was opposed by Canon CAPEL CURE, of St. George's, Hanover Square,
the Hymeneal Temple _par excellence_ of the Metropolis. Dr. TRISTRAM,
with traditional Shandyan caution, said he would "take time to consider
his decision." Should Dr. Time be adverse to the opponents, then will
the Minister with the sad-dog name of "KER GRAY" become the Canon's
_bête noire_. If the decision be t'other way, then KER GRAY may twit the
Canon with being "a regular Cure," and might compose a chant on the old
lines of
"A Cure, a Cure, a Cure, a Cure,
Oh isn't he a Cure!"
While the Canon could retaliate with a parody on "_Old Dog Tray_."
"The chapel's far too near,
But p'raps another year
May put a stop to old KER GRAY."
In the meantime, the affair being _sub (Punch-and-) judice_, we refrain
from further comment, and wish luck to both Reverend Gentlemen.
* * * * *
SENTENCE RE-VERSED.
'Gin a body meet a body
On the Queen's highway,
And a body kiss a body,
Won't a body pay?
Mony a lassie has a temper.
Mony a beak is stern;
At six weeks' quod, and fourteen bob,
The lesson's hard to learn.
* * * * *
TOO MUCH A MATTER OF COURSE.--Cruelty to Hares.
* * * * *
ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.
_House of Commons, Monday, March 24._--Prince ARTHUR explained in speech
nearly two hours long the bearings of Irish Land Purchase Bill. In
course of his exposition the happy accident by which civilised man is
furnished with two coat-tails was strikingly illustrated. On the
Treasury Bench, behind Prince ARTHUR, sat, on either hand, OLD MORALITY
and JOKIM. Supposing the Prince had had only one coat-tail, differences
might have arisen between his two right hon. friends; sure at some
period of the prolonged speech to come into personal contact if both
pulling at same rope. But the liberal sartorial arrangements which
ARTHUR shared in common with less distinguished Members provided a
coat-tail apiece; so when idea or suggestion occurred to him, OLD
MORALITY tugged at the right-hand one, and when JOKIM had a happy
thought he hauled away on the left.
As both their minds were seething with ideas, ARTHUR had a lively time
of it, and complications of Bill grew in entanglement. Just as he was
assuming, for the sake of argument, that an advance of 30 millions had
been made under the Act for the Purchase of Land in Ireland, and that
seventeen years was about the average value under Lord ASHBOURNE'S Act,
there was a sudden tug of the right coat-tail; Prince leaned over in
that direction; OLD MORALITY whispered in his ear.
"Exactly!" said the Prince; "I was just going to show that the
instalment of 4 per cent. on the advance of 30 millions is £1,200,000 a
year. Very well; suppose that in one year, though the hypothesis is
utterly impossible, that not one single sixpence of annuity is paid. How
would that be?" (Here the left coat-tail was observed to be violently
agitated, and ARTHUR leaning over, JOKIM half-rising, eagerly explained
something.)
"Precisely. My right hon. friend reminds me, what indeed I was just
about to show, that there would be first the £200,000 reserve fund;
secondly, there would be the £200,000 annual probate grant; thirdly,
£40,000 of the new Exchequer contribution, and £75,000 of the quarter
per cent, local per-centage, and there would be besides that £1,118,000
of tenants' reserve. So that without touching the £5,000,000, which was
the landlords' fifth, and without touching a sixpence of the contingent
portion of the guarantee fund, you would have £1,633,000 to meet the
call of £1,200,000."
This prospect of boundless wealth, more especially the familiar way of
putting it, making it quite a personal matter for each Member that _he_
would have £1,633,000 to meet a call of £1,200,000, was designed to have
soothing effect on audience; would, indeed, have succeeded in that
direction but for the coat-tail accompaniment.
"JOKIM," said HARCOURT, "is too susceptible in his paternal feelings. We
know now who is the father of the progeny. Arranged that BALFOUR shall
bring it in for christening ceremony; shall dandle it in his arms, and
dilate on its excellences; but everyone can tell from the excited
manner, the eager interruption, the restless hovering round the cradle,
that JOKIM is the father."
_Business done._--Land Purchase Bill brought in.
_Tuesday._--WILFRID LAWSON sprang a mine to-night. House, as everyone
knows, engaged for nearly fortnight in discussing question whether it
should thank Judges for their services in connection with Parnell
Commission. A desperate struggle finally resulted in decision to pass
Vote of Thanks. LAWSON wants to know whether OLD MORALITY has conveyed
the thanks to the Judges; and if so, what had they said in reply?
Question put without notice. Rather startles OLD MORALITY. Fact is,
never occurred to him that anything had to be done in supplement of
passing Vote of Thanks. There it was; Judges might, in passing, call in
and take it home with them; or it might be forwarded, at owner's risk,
by Parcel-Post or Pickford's. Very awkward thing thus springing these
questions on a Minister. Couldn't even, right off, say where the Vote of
Thanks was. Gazed hopelessly at mass of papers on Clerk's table. Might
probably be there. Perhaps not. Vote passed some days ago; desk cleared
every morning. OLD MORALITY moved restlessly on bench; looked picture of
despair. Best thing to do, not to take notice of question; pretend not
to hear it; but House laughing and cheering; all eyes bent on him; no
escape. So, rising, holding on to table, putting on most diplomatic
manner, and speaking in solemn tones, OLD MORALITY said, "Mr. SPEAKER,
Sir, it is no part of my duty to the QUEEN and country to convey to
anybody a Resolution of this House."
[Illustration: "Where's the Vote of Thanks?"]
LAWSON up again. More cheering and laughter. Asked SPEAKER whether _he_
had conveyed Vote of Thanks to Judges? No; SPEAKER had had no
instructions on the matter.
Where is the Vote of Thanks? Who has it in his possession? Certainly not
the Judges; one of those things nobody had thought about; various
people's business to see to it; accordingly no one done it; no wonder
Brother DAY, sitting on Bench, has looked forth with stony stare, his
heart consumed with secret sorrow. Whilst everyone congratulating Judges
on rare honour done to them by both Houses of Parliament, the
distinction has proved illusory. World pictured each learned Judge with
copy of Vote of Thanks, framed and glazed, hung in best parlour; and
behold! they have never had it at all!
House laughed when truth dawned upon it. But it was a hollow laugh,
ill-concealing prevalent feeling of vexation and shame-facedness. Turned
with affectation of keen interest to question raised by MUNDELLA of
iniquities of Education Department in connection with School Supply of
York and Salisbury. But could not keep the thing up. Even rousing
eloquence of HART DYKE, on his defence, fell flat. Ever rose before
Members the vision of the three Judges, daily expecting receipt of
thanks which they read had been voted to them; too proud to complain of
neglect; HANNEN taking on a sterner aspect; SMITH affecting a perky
indifference; and over the solemn features of Brother DAY ever stealing
the deepening twilight of deferred hope. House gladly broke away from
scene and subject, getting itself Counted Out at a Quarter-past Nine.
_Thursday._--"Talk about DIZZY," said HARCOURT, perhaps not without some
tinge of envy, "if OLD MORALITY goes on in this style, DIZZY won't be in
it for persiflage."
House laughing so heartily, could hardly hear HARCOURT'S whisper. JOHN
MORLEY began it; Lunacy Laws Consolidation Bill with 342 Clauses and 5
Schedules gone through Committee like flash of lightning. Nothing been
seen like it since, the other night, I and seven other Members voted
Four Millions sterling in Committee on Navy Estimates. COURTNEY put
Clauses in batches of fifty. No one said him nay. Natural supposition
was, that House in agreeing to this critical stage of important Bill
knew all about it. Every line of its 342 Clauses must be familiar to
every man present; otherwise how could he lay his hand on his heart, and
say, "Aye," when COURTNEY asked him should he knock off another fifty
Clauses?
When it was over, JOHN MORLEY rose, and gravely expressed hope that OLD
MORALITY would inform his friends, accustomed to say that Opposition
persist in obstruction, how this piece of legislation had advanced by
leaps and bounds. This meant to be a nasty one for OLD MORALITY, prone
to go into the country in Autumn and protest how he is hampered in
performing duty to QUEEN and country by obstruction of Members opposite.
"Ha! ha!" chuckled the Liberals, "JOHN'S got him there. A hit, a
palpable hit!"
But no one yet fathomed the tranquil depths of OLD MORALITY. Rose from
other side of table and, with equal gravity, promised that he would tell
all his friends "how the Opposition had given greatest possible facility
for passing the Lunacy Bill." This joke one of kind whose exquisite
flavour evaporates on paper. But House enjoyed it immensely, none more
than OLD MORALITY. For an hour after, as he sat on Treasury Bench, his
face from time to time suddenly suffused with genial smile, and his
portly body gently shook with laughter.
"Ah!" said J. G. TALBOT, mournfully regarding him through his
spectacles; "he's thinking of the Old 'un," meaning the late joke.
Tithes Bill on for Second Reading. PICTON rallied scattered forces of
Opposition, and led them to attack. Slashing speech; soaring eloquence;
trenormous energy.
"Reminds me," said Admiral FIELD, "of his grandfather, General PICTON,
who fell at Waterloo. Remember him very well; was in charge of Brigade
of Marines there, you know; attached to PICTON'S Division. Never look on
Member for Leicester without thinking of my old comrade in arms;" and
the sturdy salt brushed away the reluctant tear.
PICTON reminded HICKS-BEACH of someone else--"his great predecessor in
spoliation, HENRY THE EIGHTH."
"Yes, but better looking," said PLUNKET, always ready to put in a kind
word.
_Business done._--Tithes Bill Debate.
[Illustration: Tearing up the Tithes.]
_Friday Night._--Tithes Debate, which has had general effect of
depressing the human mind, acted upon CRANBORNE like electric shock.
Astonished and interested House to-night by vigorous speech delivered in
favour of Bill. With clenched hands and set teeth declared that he
"meant to fight for Established Church till death." He put it to the
piratical PICTON and other marauders, whether, seeing that in such case
the conflict must necessarily be prolonged, they would not do well to
seize this opportunity of settling Tithe question?
_Business done._--Second Reading Tithes Bill agreed to by 289 Votes
against 164.
* * * * *
"A (NOT) AT HOME."--Last week a paragraph appeared in an illustrated
paper contradicting the report (published in an earlier issue) that a
certain titled Lady had been present at somebody's party. This novel
departure should be useful as a precedent to the _crême de la crême_ of
suburban society. In future, such announcements as the following may be
expected to be frequently found in the "Fashionable Intelligence"
columns of the more aspiring of our Penny Socials:--"On Thursday last
Mr. and Mrs. MADEIRA TOP-FLOOR SMITHIES entertained a small and select
party at their new residence, The Hollies, 24A, Zanzibar Terrace,
Peckham Rye, East. Amongst those present we did not notice H.S.H. the
Prince of TECK, the Duke of WESTMINSTER, Lady BURDETT-COUTTS, and the
LORD CHANCELLOR. In the general circle, Lord CROSS, the Countess of
CLARENDON, and the Bishop of LONDON, were also conspicuous by their
absence. It was rumoured that neither the Duke of CAMBRIDGE nor Mr.
GLADSTONE were expected to join the company before the close of the
entertainment."
* * * * *
DINNER SCARCELY À LA ROOSE.--Dear _Mr. Punch_,--I am a poor man, but I
like a nice dinner. Now I have discovered how to enjoy a good meal, and
yet keep the cost of living within reasonable limits. Here is my method.
I order and eat, a lobster, two pounds of pork chops, a large-sized pot
of _pâté de foies gras_, a dressed crab, and three plates of toasted
cheese. Having finished this dainty little dinner, I find that I can
eat nothing more for at least a week! That the pleasing fare does not
make me ill, is proved by my friends declaring that I look like a
picture of health. They do not say whether the picture is a good or bad
one--but that is a matter of detail.
Yours sincerely,
THE FOUNDER OF THE MORE-THAN-ENOUGH SOCIETY.
* * * * *
UTOPIAN.--Neither noise, vibration, nor dust! That's what the BRAMWELLS,
the WATKINS, and the GALTONS claim for that partly-developed but
promising--much promising--invention of M. GIRARD'S, the _Chemin de Fer
Glissant_, or Sliding Railway. _What_ a happy ideal! By all means, "Let
it slide!"
* * * * *
A CHANCE FOR A NEW MEMBER.--"Rookeries," said Mr. HENRY LAZARUS in his
evidence at Marylebone, "abound in St. Pancras, and it is a scandal to
civilisation that they should continue to exist." Now, Mr. BOLTON, M.P.,
can't you have your legal and parliamentary finger in this Rook pie?
* * * * *
[Illustration] NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether
MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in
no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and
Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no
exception.
***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, VOL.
98, APRIL 5, 1890***
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