The Project Gutenberg eBook, Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 103,
August 13, 1892, by Various, Edited by F. C. Burnand
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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 103, August 13, 1892
Author: Various
Release Date: February 22, 2005 [eBook #15142]
Language: English
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
VOL. 103
AUGUST 13, 1892
LADY GAY'S SELECTIONS.
_Yacht "Ibex," Weymouth._
DEAR MR. PUNCH,
Once again "my foot is on my native heath."--(I don't know where this
quotation comes from, but presume the author of it had lost a leg,
or he would have placed _his feet_ there--or else he must have had
one leg shorter than the other, and so _couldn't_ put both down at
once!)--and heartily glad I am to be there--we had a most alarming
passage from Jersey, and I thought every moment would be my
last--(_for a time_)--but I was cheered and stimulated to endurance
by the noble example of my friend and fellow-passenger The
MACDOUGAL--Chief of the Clan--who was obtrusively well up to
lunch-time!--but I had my revenge then, for he was unable to face
the dish of Haggis that I am given to understand every right-minded
Scotchman thinks it his duty to eat at least once a day.
However, "I pulled through all right," as Lord ARTHUR would say,
and was so delighted with my sailor-like indifference to the
"rolling-sea," that I adopted a rolling-walk on landing, which was
most impressive, to judge from the staring of the inhabitants of
Weymouth!--(I may confess to _you_ that I couldn't help myself;
everything was going up and down and sideways, for _hours_ after I
landed, and I really think the sea ought to be done away with, or
flattened out by some means!--there's a fortune for the man who
invents the machine which will do it!)--I should prefer it done away
with myself, as then there would be no mackerel-fishing!
I have no personal animosity against the humble but lovely-looking
mackerel; but I was weak enough to accept an invitation to go
fishing for them, and you may imagine my horror at being "roused
out,"--(yachting expression, _very_ significant)--at _three_ in the
morning to go and capture them!--or at least to _try_--for as a matter
of fact, we didn't get a single one--and my temper was "roused out"
before we'd finished, for no well-conducted woman cares to be balked
in her efforts to "hook a big fish,"--and all I could catch were a
few small "Pollock" and "Pout." By the way, who on earth christens
the fish, I wonder?--and why on earth--or rather in sea--are there so
many varieties which you must either remember or submit to nave your
ignorance jeered at by the practised fisherman, who has probably
acquired his information concerning them only the day before?
The English "Bay of Naples" is a wonderful place, and its resemblance
to its Italian prototype is admirably sustained through the liberality
of the Local Board in encouraging the importation of Italian penny-ice
men! I really think this wholesale importation of foreigners is being
carried to excess, and has already created a feeling that England
is no place for the English! And then the concerts you can hear for
nothing!--that is, if you harden your heart when the man comes round
with the tin pail!--everyone has a spade or a pail at the seaside--all
the latest London successes, from TOSTI to "_Ta-ra-ra_," accompanied
by a strong contingent of the Salvation Army Brass Band!--and there
is a lot of "brass" about the Army still unaccounted for! What
an enervating part of the world this is! One quite realises what
"lotus-eating" means, even though there are no lotuses about!--(I
wonder if that's the correct plural?--or is it "_Loti_"? which looks
like French, only wants "PIERRE" as Christian name. Or if additional
"_t_" introduced, it would be "Lotti," suggestive of COLLINS' Ode to
_Boom_, &c.; but I am wandering)--and it requires enormous energy
to do anything more than loll about and bathe; even on the Island of
Portland, where the air is rather more invigorating, I am told there
are numbers of people who express a strong disinclination to perform
any hard labour whatever, in spite of the fact of a short residence
there having been recommended as calculated to improve their general
"tone"! I only wish the aforesaid Salvation Army Band would go
there on a lengthy visit, as its "tone" leaves much to be desired at
present.
I hear that the Brighton Meeting was a great success both in weather
and racing; and the present "Horse of the Century," _Buccaneer_, fully
maintained his reputation, winning his race in what they call "gallant
style," and beating _Lady Rosebery_--not, perhaps, a gallant thing to
do, but Buccaneers have always been notoriously rough to the sex!
I am afraid thousands of my readers must be getting impatient for
more of my excellent prophecies, but I really cannot run the risk of
ruining my health by reading the papers when in the country; and,
as patience is an admirable virtue, I feel I am doing my duty in
encouraging it as much as possible. So, for yet another cycle of time
(poetic, and usefully vague),
I am, Yours, in idleness, LADY GAY.
ODE TO BUCCANEER.
Sing hey for the life of a Convict Bold!
Sing ho for his healthy life!
Sing hey for his peaceful days when old,
Secluded from care and strife!
* * * * *
[Illustration: A SYMPATHISER.
MASTER TOMMY NEVER MISSES THE AMERICAN NEWS NOW, AS HE IS MUCH
INTERESTED IN _THE CASE OF PRIVATE JAMS!!!_ (_Vide Daily Papers._)]
* * * * *
THE DIARY OF AN EXPLORER À LA RUSSE.
_Introduction._--Delighted to have the opportunity of exploring the
Ironice Mountains. Hearing they abound with frozen mud which would
be most useful if it could be removed to the plains below without
melting. The watercress plant too might be grown on the summit, if it
is practicable to take up orchid-forcing houses. Ought to get the Gold
Medal of the Geographical Society if I open out this region that will
be fraught with such blessings to commerce. So far as I can judge, it
will only be necessary to take twenty batteries of Artillery, a dozen
squadrons of Cavalry, and (say) sixteen battalions of Infantry. And I
think we might as well take a Naturalist.
_A little Later._--Made a good start. Appointed Professor POPOFF to
be our Naturalist. He is a little out of practice, but passed the
preliminary examination very satisfactorily. Only made one trifling
mistake. Said that tea-roses belonged to the cactus family. Fancy they
don't, but am not sure. The suggestion that cucumbers were dug out of
the ground like potatoes, was only an error of judgment. Anyone might
have made it. But although rusty in his science, he is well up in
machine-gun drill. He will suit the expedition to a nicety. Artillery,
Cavalry, and Infantry in first-rate condition.
_Later still._--Made our first important scientific discovery to-day.
Find that you can't grow broad beans on the soil at the base of the
Ironice Mountains. At least you may plant them, but they won't grow to
any size within the space of half-a-dozen hours. Tried the experiment.
To clear the necessary space of ground, had to remove the natives.
Did this in gallant style with the assistance of all branches of the
Service. The Professor rendered valuable support with his Gatling.
Hadn't time to bury the kilted, but said some kind things, when
bidding them adieu, to the wounded.
_Further on._--Most anxious to discover whether canaries sing half-way
up the Ironice Mountains. Had some little trouble in establishing a
footing on the plateau. After eight hours' hard fighting got to the
required spot. The natives seem to have no respect for scientific
research. Had to remove them in the usual fashion. The Cavalry had
to abandon their horses, but the dismounted men were most useful in
burning villages. The Professor continued to carry up his Gatling,
and used it with the customary result. When we got to the plateau,
disappointed to find no canaries. So we could not ascertain whether
they would sing at that altitude. However, when we have completed the
proposed railway, it will be quite easy to bring up a few of those
charming birds, and continue the interesting experiment.
_Later._--After six weeks' hard fighting, have at last got to the
summit. Cleared the place of the natives according to the recognised
scientific formula. The Infantry had to use their bayonets freely. The
Professor again well to the front with his Gatling. He is a wonderful
man, and seems to have been accustomed to it all his life. It is
almost a pity that he should be so devoted to science. He would have
made a first-rate soldier.
_Nearly the Latest._--Sorry that our expedition has not been entirely
successful. I am very much afraid that it will be impossible to
grow watercresses at this altitude, even with the genial aid of
orchid-forcing houses. I do not see how we could get up the necessary
materials to the summit, although assisted by proposed railway. Still,
when the line is constructed, we might make the attempt. But from a
commercial point of view, I do not believe that the experiment would
repay the cost.
_Sequel._--Delighted to find that our scientific expedition has
one result. I have consulted the Professor, and we are both of the
opinion, that from the summit of the Ironice Mountains it is possible
to get a splendid bird's-eye view of India.
* * * * *
[Illustration: GOING ON BOARD.]
* * * * *
FORTE SCUTUM SALUS DUCUM.
In St. SWITHIN's forty days
Comes the end of voting-frays;
Forty extra then arrays
Mr. G.
He had hoped for many more,
But he cannot even score
Forty-four, that fought he for--
Mr. G.
Fortified with fortitude.
Rule your motley multitude,
And so earn our gratitude
Mr. G.!
Oh majority, you know
"Gently does it;" therefore go
Quite _piano_, Forty--show
Mr. G.
Though his forty is not fat,
It is fair at least; so that
JOHN shall not be taxed for PAT,
Mr. G.
Spare him income tax that grieves,
Lest he think that he perceives
ALI BABA's Forty ----
Mr. G.!
* * * * *
WALKER!--Mr. TOOLE is going into the country, and Mr. GARDEN is to
take his place. This sounds like a seasonable change, as Londoners who
cannot get away to a Garden, will now have a GARDEN coming to them.
* * * * *
"NO FEES."
(_IN RE PAYNE_ V. _'ENRY HAUTHOR JONES._)
Alas, poor JONES, how sad your fate!
The Law's stern coldness comes to freeze
Your burning wish to captivate
With words you know will always please--
"No fees!"
When "bang goes saxpence" for a page
Of poorest paper, where one sees
More puffs than programme, then your rage
Seems right. One cries, "At least for these
No fees!"
If Dr. BRAMWELL,[1] who they say
Cures psychological disease,
Had known he would have willed away
Your PAYNE, like tooth-ache--he would seize
"No fees!"
You've _lost_ the case, and now, "that's flat,"[2]
Must pay those eminent Q.C.'s
Your Bill of Costs! No Play-bill that!
You will not find the Law decrees
"No fees."
[Footnote 1: Mentioned in _Times_ Leading Article, Aug. 3.]
[Footnote 2: "That's flat." HENRY (AUTHOR SHAKSPEARE) IV., Part I.,
Act I., Scene 3.]
* * * * *
A TRIO.--Congratulations to Sir WILLIAM CUSINS, who from his known
admiration for WAGNER, is generally known as "Cusins German." He was
a "King's Scholar," and KING, whoever he was, must have found him
a remarkably apt pupil. He has composed a Comic Opera called _Giddy
'Un_. The next Knight is JOSEPH BARNBY, a name suggestive of pure
rustic music. The last of the Knights, Sir WALTER PARRATT, has chosen
as his device the ancient legend always associated with the head
of the PARRATT family, i.e., "Scratch a Poll." This dates from very
ancient times, and was an inscription found in a temple of Apollo.
* * * * *
OMINOUS.--Unfortunate name for a piece is _Cigarette_. So suggestive
of "paper," and of "ending in smoke." _Absit omen!_
* * * * *
[Illustration: STUDIES IN IDIOCY.
_She._ "MRS. MOFFAT'S THE ODDEST WOMAN! SHE'S FOND OF MEETING CLEVER
PEOPLE, YOU KNOW, AND SHE NEVER OPENS HER LIPS, BUT LISTENS TO EVERY
WORD THEY SAY, AND PUTS IT ALL DOWN IN A DIARY AFTER!"
_He._ "HAW--BY JOVE! SHALL TAKE PRECIOUS GOOD CARE WHAT _I_ SAY BEFORE
HER!"]
* * * * *
AIDS TO LARCENY.--(_By an "Outside Croaker."_)--I find that since
I started off shopping this morning, I have lost my purse, my
handkerchief, the keys of all my boxes and drawers, a silver-mounted
scent-bottle, my season-ticket, and a pocket-book containing priceless
materials for the plot of a three-volumed novel. This comes of riding
on the outside of an omnibus with garden-seats.--Conductor, the
gentlemanly person who sat just behind me, and who is now proceeding
rather quickly up Chancery Lane, seems to have been unable to resist
the temptation afforded by my hanging coat-tails, and has walked off
with a few unpaid bills which were in the pockets, under a mistaken
impression that they were bank-notes. Would you mind explaining to him
his mistake?--Would it be possible for the excellent Directors of the
London General Omnibus Company and the London Road Car Company, so to
board up the open backs of their otherwise delightful garden-seats
as to prevent a ride on the top of an omnibus from being a constant
series of (generally unwarranted) suspicions of the people seated in
one's rear?
* * * * *
AN AFTERNOON SAIL.
SCENE--_A Landing Stage under Margate Pier. Excursionists
discovered embarking in two rival sailing-boats, the "Daisy"
and the "Buttercup," whose respective Mates are exchanging
repartees._
[Illustration: "Pirate,--that's what I _was_, Sir!"]
_Mate of the "Daisy"._ This gangway, Marm--(_to a Stout Lady_)--not
_that_ one, if you want to _enjoy_ yourself. That one'll take you
aboard the "_Buttercup_," Marm!
[_The Stout Lady patronises the "Daisy."_
_Mate of the "Buttercup."_ You may 'ave _that_ little lot! Don't you
go overloadin' that 'ere old tub o' yourn, that's all!
_M. of the D._ No fear o' _you_ bein' crowded, anyhow. Folks ha' got
more sense!
_M. of the B._ Why, we can outsail _you_ any day. Spoke you off the
Tongue light, we did, close in to ye, we were--and back ten minutes
_afore_ ye--come! The "Buttercup"'ll answer any way we put her--a'most
_speak_ to us, _she_ will!
_M. of the D._ Ah, it's lucky for you she can't _quite_ speak--you'd
'ear some plain langwidge if she did!
_M. of the B._ _Our_ boat ain't never mis-stayed with us, 't all
events; ye can't deny that!
_M. of the D._ We don't go out for sailing, _we_ don't--we go out
for _pleasure_! (_As the "Daisy," having received her complement of
passengers, puts off._) Tralla! we'll resoom this conversation later
on; you won't ha' got off afore we're back, _I_ dessay!
[_The_ Mate of the "Buttercup" _is reduced to profanity._
_ON BOARD THE "DAISY," DURING THE TRIP._
_The Stout Lady._ Very 'an'some they fit these yachts
up--garding-seats all across the deck, and all the cushings in red
plush. It do give you sech a sense of security!
_A Lugubrious Man._ Oh, we shall be all right, so long as this squall
that's coming up don't catch us before we're in again. Else we shall
take _our_ tea down at the bottom, along with the lobsters!
_A Chirpy Little Man with a red chin-tuft_ (_to a female
acquaintance_). Well, how are _you_ feelin', eh?
_The Acquaintance._ Oh, all right, thenks--so long as I keep still.
There's more waves than it looked from the Pier.
_The Chirpy Man._ Waves? These ain't on'y ripples. When we're off the
Foreland, now, you _may_ talk!
_The Acq._ If it's worse than it is now, I _shan't_.
_The Chirpy Man._ Why, you ain't afraid o' being queer already? I'm
reg'lar enjoyin' it, I am. You don't object to me samplin' a cigar?
You enjoy the flavour of a smoke more when you're on the water, yer
know.
_First Girl._ I can see our lodgings; and there's Ma out on the
balcony--see? Let's wave our handkerchiefs to her.
_Second Girl._ Ma, indeed! Did you _ever_ know Ma stir off the sofa
after her dinner? I wouldn't make myself ridiklous waving to somebody
else's Ma, if _I_ was you!
_First Girl_ (_unconvinced_). I'm sure it _is_ Ma--it's just her
figger.
_Second Girl._ You are such an _obstinate_ girl! If it's Ma, what's
become of the verander?
_First Girl_ (_conquered by this unanswerable argument_). I forgot we
had a _verander_--it's one of those old cats next door!
_The Stout Lady_ (_to the Captain who is steering_). Shall we be out
long, Captain?
_The Captain._ I hope not, Marm, because I'm dining at the tabbly dote
at the Cliftonville this evenin', and I've got to be home in time to
dress.
[_The passengers regard him with increased respect._
_The Mate_ (_familiarly to the Captain_). Yes, dear; you don't want
to die in here, _do_ you? (_explanatorily_) "die in"--_dine_--you'll
excuse _me_, but the ocean always makes me feel so facetious. Captain,
dear, if you'll pardon a common sailor like myself for making
the suggestion, I beg to call upon you for a song. (_The Captain
obligingly bellows "The Stormy Nore--The Jolly old Nore," to the
general satisfaction_). Ah, they didn't know what a canary-bird you
_were_, Captain! Here's a lady asking you to drink at her expense.
[_The Captain is prevailed upon to accept a tumbler of "the
usual;" the Stout Lady says "Captin, your 'elth!" and pledges
him in a whiskey-and-soda._
_First Female Friend_ (_to Second Do. Do._). That's Mrs. EDLING, all
over, puttin' herself so forward! Look at her now, 'anding him up two
cigars in a paper-bag. I call it sickenin'!
_Second Do. Do._ I'm not surprised. She's a woman that 'ud do anythink
for notoriety. I've always noticed _that_ in her.
_Captain_ (_to Mate_). Ease the brails!
_Mate_ (_frivolously, after obeying_). They're feeling better
_now_, darlin'! If no one else'll sing a song, I'll give you "_The
Midshipmite_."
_The Stout Lady._ I do like the way those two go on together; it's as
good as a play. I shall begin laughin' presently; it takes a deal to
set me _off_, but when I once _am_ off, I can't stop myself. (_The
Mate sings._) A sweet singer _he_ is, too. Lor! it's like goin' for a
sail in a Music-'All!
_The Chirpy Man._ Yes, I'm comin' to set down a bit. Not so much
motion _'ere_, yer know. No use trying to smoke in this breeze. No,
I was on'y yawning. Makes yer sleepy, this see-saw does. Don't _you_
find it so?
_Mate_ (_to Sailor_). Now, WILLIAM, it's your turn--you're goin' to
sing us something?
_William_ (_gruffly_). No, I ain't. But there's a gen'lman 'ere as
says he'll recite.
[_After some persuasion, a Mild Young Man is induced to step
forward on the foredeck, and recite as follows_:--
_The Mild Young Man_ (_balancing himself with some difficulty_).
"Pirate, that's what I _was_, Sir. Talk about Captain KIDD--
His cruellest acts were kindness, compared with the deeds _I_ did!
Never a pitying pang felt I for youth, sex, age, or rank--
All who fell into my clutches were doomed to pace a protruded plank!
Yet the desperate demon of those days is now a Churchwarden mild,
Holding the bag at Collections--and all through a golden-haired
child!"
[_Here the_ Mate _suppresses a groan, and is understood to
remark that he "knows that golden-haired child;" the_ Stout
Lady _sighs, and inwardly reflects that you can never go by
appearances; the_ Chirpy Man _becomes solemn and attentive._
_The Ex-Pirate_ (_who meanwhile has sighted an East-Indiaman, and
given chase_).
"Well, soon as we'd overhauled her, our 'Jolly Roger' we flew,
We opened our dummy deadlights, and the guns gleamed grinning
through.
And, panther-like, we were crouching--"
[_Here he attempts to suit the action to the word; the boat
heels over--and the Pirate's crouch becomes a sprawl._
I--I _beg_ your pardon.--(_Picking himself up._)
"Under the Indiaman's side;
When--a baby-face from her bulwarks, looked down on us open-eyed:
I can see him now--with his fluttering curls, and his cheeks so
chubby and round,
Which a cherub might have been proud of, in snowiest linen bound!
Then--he hailed us, in infant accents, so innocent, fresh, and
blithe--
That our nest of human snakes was stirred to a conscience-stricken
writhe!
(_In soft falsetto, as Child_). Dear Pirates, I _am_ so
sorry--I _did_ want to see you so.
I'm afraid you'll be disappointed--but you mustn't come _near_,
you know!
I wish I could ask you on board to tea, for I feel so down in the
dumps,
But I _can't_ invite you--for, if you came, you'd be certain to
catch my Mumps!
I've given it all of the passengers, and the Captain, and Mate,
and Crew,
And it would be a _dreadful_ pity if _you_ were to catch it too!"
[_Pause. The Chirpy Man hides his face._
We looked at each other; our utterance choked by irrepressible
lumps,
Though we feared neither man nor devil--we all had a _horror_ of
Mumps!
And, but for this Cherub's candour, ere many mere days had sped--
[_Here the_ Pirate _is stopped by uncontrollable emotion, and
his audience, from the Captain downwards, express sympathy._
_The Reciter_ (_huskily, after wiping his eyes_). I'm very sorry--it's
foolish, I know, but I always _do_ break down just here. I--I think I
can go on now.
[Illustration: "WITH THE HONOURS OF WAR!"]
"Had sped,
Each buccaneer would have kept his bunk, with a bandage about his
head!"
[_Here a fresh diversion is effected by_ The Chirpy Man, _who
suddenly achieves unpopularity by becoming aggressively ill,
and causing a general stampede from his neighbourhood._
_The Reciter_--
"We wouldn't have boarded her, after _that_, for all the treasure
on earth,
So we sailed away--to the sweet salute of a peal of childish mirth!"
_The Chirpy Man_ (_resuming his seat, much relieved, and almost as
chirpy as ever, to his neighbours, confidentially_). I'm all right
agen now. It was takin' a glass o' stout on top of black currant
pudden _done_ it, yer know!
[_This piece of information is coldly received, which
evidently both surprises and pains him; the Pirate brings his
experiences to an end by relating how he realised his effects,
and retired from business on a modest competence, and the
"Daisy" regains the Pier._
* * * * *
"WITH THE HONOURS OF WAR."
After long fight and strenuous defence,
Tenacity tremendous, toil immense,
The garrison surrenders!
'Tis the doom
Of desperate war; and though a sombre gloom
Sits on each brow, each brow is lifted high,
No petulant pusillanimity
Makes poor this last parade of stout defenders,
Or shames this most unwilling of surrenders.
Six lingering years, and more, of hot attack,
By confident cool valour beaten back!
Six baffling years of sortie, and of sally,
Sudden alarum, stubborn stand, stout rally!
How the besiegers in their bannered host
Banded at first around this bastion'd post,
In sanguine, fierce assault, and shook their spears,
Strong hopes derided, mocked at fancied fears.
The Citadel's defence was all in vain,
They vowed; a year should end the brief campaign;
Yet year to year succeeded slow, and still
The garrison held out. Strategic skill
And not impetuous onset nought availed;
The battering-ram and scaling-ladder failed.
Brief breaches scarcely made were swift repaired,
United still all deadly arms they dared,
Those linked defenders who, aforetime foes,
Their lately-banded ranks could firmly close
Against old friends, now common enemies.
Black CECIL was Commander, BALFOUR brave
The Union Standard in his wake would wave,
The _Reiter_ JOACHIM, of German breed,
And the Scot swordster RITCHIE, good at need,
With him, the fox-eyed Freelance, JOE DE BRUM,
Brave with the trumpet, valiant with the drum,
Proud to be capped and curled with Cavaliers,
The Gentlemen of England, now his peers,--
These, and a many more good men and true,
The ramparts manned, the warning clarion blew;
Stood in the breach, and to the bastion swarmed,
Whene'er loud blares that citadel alarmed.
But now slow sap and steady siege have wrought
The conquest long delayed. The Chiefs that fought
So long together, feel the touch of fate,
Bow to its bidding. Calm though not elate,
Swart CECIL yields him at discretion. So
The garrison marches forth! But e'en the foe
Gives chivalrous salute to beaten men
Unshamed by forced surrender. Hail them, then,
With sympathetic cheers! The white-haired Chief,
Lifts hat in greeting. He, all brawn and beef,
WILLIAM of Malwood, bears the banner high,
But scarce looks fired, with conquest's ecstasy.
JOHN of Newcastle, reins a restive horse;
_He's_ none too eager for another course.
The one-armed Irish Chief looks pale and grim;
E'en cheery LARRY, of the cynic whim,
Hath a less careless chuckle than his wont.
"Beshrew me! but they bear a gallant front!"
Mutter the pikemen ranged in order round.
Sore-battered RITCHIE,--may he soon be sound!--
Bates not a jot of courage; that stark fighter
And shifty swordsman, JOACHIM: the _Reiter_,
Snuffs the air proudly; with his nose a-cock
Steps JOE DE BRUM, and, steady as a rock,
Strides forth Chief CECIL!
Hail the beaten band,
You Grand, and grey-haired, Old Campaigning Hand;
For you have seen good fighting, and you know
Game foemen when you see them. Conquest's glow
Mantles that pallid cheek. After long strain,
Victory at last is yours, nor all in vain,
Perchance, although its fruits precarious be.
What you will do with it, we wait to see.
Meanwhile _you_'ll own the foes you've put to rout.
With all war's honours unashamed march out.
* * * * *
[Illustration: SO MATTER-OF-FACT.
_Jones_ (_who prides himself on his French_). "DÉSOLÉ, MON CHER, NOT
TO BE ABLE TO ACCEPT YOUR HOSPITALITY, BUT TO-NIGHT I AM DINING _EN
VILLE_."
_Brown_ (_who is so matter-of-fact, and never will understand
Jones's French_). "DINING 'ON VEAL,' ARE YOU? WELL, THERE'S NOT MUCH
DIFFERENCE; IF YOU COME TO ME, YOU'LL HAVE A LEG O' MUTTON!"]
* * * * *
MAKE IT HOT.--Dean KITCHIN says that one of his reasons for voting
for the Gladstonians is that he is "a warm Liberal." Quite so. A cold
KITCHIN would be a contradiction in terms.
* * * * *
[Illustration: MEMBERS WE SHALL MISS.
F.A. Hankey. Sir H. Tyler. M.W. Mattinson. J. Bazley White.
J. Stack. The Bruce. T.L. Bristowe. Hermon-Hodge. Alfred Giles.
J. Woodhead. Baron Dimsdale. T. Milvain.]
* * * * *
ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.
_House of Commons, Thursday, August 4._--New Parliament met to-day
in great force. Ambition stirs noble minds in different ways. Some
embark on Parliamentary life with determination to outshine BRIGHT or
GLADSTONE in field of oratory. Others will not be pacified till they
emulate PITT. Others again aim at the lofty pedestal on which stands
through the ages the man who is first in his place, on first day, of
first Session, of new Parliament. Exciting race to-day. At night,
both BIGWOOD and SPENCER (not BOBBY, who has affairs of graver State
to look to just now) sailed in together. At a quarter to ten SAVORY
turned up, sermon in hand, and found he was forestalled.
"What, MOORE of them!" cried SAVORY. "The bane of my life."
"Yes," said LOGAN, arriving a few minutes later; "wherever there's one
SAVORY you're sure to find MOORE, and in this case they precede you."
Six minutes later DIXON-HARTLAND arrived, mopping his forehead. When
he found others on spot, pretended he'd only looked in accidentally.
"Passing by, you know; thought I'd see how old place looked." But it
wouldn't do. Other men, especially BIGWOOD, saw through it all. Then
DIXON HARTLAND grew anecdotal. Told fabulous story about imaginary
Scotch Member, who, at opening of Parliament of 1880, brought down his
plaid, a stoup of whiskey, and a thimbleful of oatmeal. Camped out all
night in Palace Yard, and staggered into House as soon as doors were
opened.
"That beats you, BIGWOOD," the Evesham Banker said, with a tartness of
voice that betrayed his chagrin.
Rest of the 665 Members content to look in later. By one o'clock House
full, Lobby overflowing. Difficult to move through the close ranks,
and yet there were many gaps. Ranks of old House more than decimated.
"There they go," said my young but fiery friend FURNISS, whom I came
upon in corner of Lobby, rapidly sketching with blurred eyesight.
"Who go?" I asked, remembering with a start I had left my gold-nobbed
stick in the corner by the Post Office.
"The Members we shall miss," he sobbed, lingering fondly over the
truculent curl of HERMON-HODGE's moustache.
But if gone are some familiar faces, others come back. Glad to see
MACFARLANE in his old place below Gangway, and to find him later in
old seat in smoking-room. MACFARLANE didn't often speak in debate,
but usually had something to say. Was a Home-Ruler long before the
majority found salvation. Remember across the years how he put
whole case in crisp sentence when he adjured the deaf Government of
the day "not to attempt to enforce Greenwich-time at Dublin." If
BRIGHT had said that, or DIZZY, or Mr. G., the happy phrase would
have echoed down the corridors of time. But it was only an Irish
Member; MACFARLANE, then Member for Carlow. So it passed
unnoticed--unremembered rather than forgotten.
_Business done._--Speaker elected. ARTHUR WELLESLEY PEEL for the
fourth time. House evidently under impression it can't have too much
of good thing.
_Friday._--Pretty to watch growth of full-blown SPEAKER in New
Parliament. First stage--enters in ordinary morning dress, and
seats himself with other Members, diligently trying to look as if he
expected nothing to happen. Sore temptation for Members sitting near
him. Would like to slap him on the back, and ask how he got on through
his Election. Short of that, feel they must ask if he wants a pair?
Is he dining here? Is he going to have a smoke, or a stroll on the
Terrace? Next day, having meanwhile been proposed, seconded, and
inducted to Chair, SPEAKER-ELECT turns up in Court-dress, with
Bob-wig. This is Development-stage. Having reached it, proceeds to the
House of Lords, where he is patronisingly received by LORD CHANCELLOR.
("HALSBURY," SAGE OF QUEEN ANNE'S GATE says, "peculiarly well up in
patronage.") This done, returns to Commons; disappears behind Chair;
SERGEANT-AT-ARMS counts twenty-three; presto! door re-opens; SPEAKER
re-appears in butterfly-trim, with full-bottomed wig, silk gown, and
shoon on which shimmer the sheen of silver buckles.
No trifling with SPEAKER when this final stage reached. KEIR-HARDIE
took early opportunity of trying a fall with him--and got it. HARDIE
fresh from the coal-pit, represents West Ham; evidently determined
to pose as Stage Workman. "DON'T KEIR-HARDIE is my name," he said,
swaggering into House just now. "Don't keer a ---- for SPEAKER, or any
black-coated bloke. I'm the true British Workman, and will soon make
all you blooming gentry sit up."
"Are you going to take the Oath?" said COBB. COBB always asking
questions.
"Oath!" cried DON'T KEIR-HARDIE, "I'll take 'em in a moog."
Put on his cap, and swaggered towards the table. "Order! order!" cried
SPEAKER, in tones of thunder. "DON'T KEIR-HARDIE is my name," said
Hon. Member for West Ham; "and blow me if--". Turned, and saw flashing
eye of SPEAKER bent upon him. Slowly his hand went up to his head; the
cap came off, was crumpled up, and put in his pocket.
"Will you take the oath, or make affirmation?" asked MILMAN, stuck
between two tables, but always ready to oblige.
"Don't keer which," said DON'T KEIR-HARDIE; but, possibly from force
of habit, took the oath.
"If OLD MORALITY was still with us, my friend," said BURT, gravely,
"he would be able to cite for your edification a copy-head showing how
Don't Care came to a bad end."
_Business done._--Swearing going on in both Houses. Our Army in
Flanders quite respectable by comparison.
* * * * *
[Illustration: BLASÉ.
_Enthusiastic Lady Amateur._ "OH, WHAT A PITY! WE'VE JUST MISSED THE
FIRST ACT!"
_Languid Friend._ "HAVE WE? AH--RATHER GLAD. I ALWAYS THINK THE CHIEF
PLEASURE OF GOING TO A THEATRE IS TRYING TO MAKE OUT WHAT THE FIRST
ACT WAS ABOUT!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: A SKETCH FROM NATURE.
LITTLE MISS FACING-BOTH-WAYS AND HER DOG DOUBLE-OR-QUITS!]
* * * * *
ASPIRATION.
_BY A WEARY SECULAR SCRIBE._
Oh, to be a Pulpiteer!
Purists may fie-fie, or sneer.
But, when wit and fancy fail,
To produce your twice-cooked kail
(As "a traveller") must be nice.
Nor are you confined to _twice_;
Hashed, rehashed, and hashed again,
Garnished--from another brain,
Seasoned--from another cruet,
You may roast, or boil, or stew it
O'er and o'er, year in year out,
As you perorate about,
Seek, when weary,--o'ertasked elves!
"Inspiration" from your shelves.
Salt it here, and sauce it there,
Saying nothing, since none care
To make question, taking pay,
Yes, and praise upon your way,
For--well, ere the thing is through,
What is what and who is who,
It might puzzle you to tell;
Still you "think it right"! Ah, well!
This philosophy peripatetic
Strikes a chord that's sympathetic
In the breast of secular scribe;
Nothing, it is true, would bribe
Him to play the pious prig,
But--he heaves a sigh that's big
Murmuring, enviously I fear,--
Oh, to be a Pulpiteer!
* * * * *
A CAUDAL LECTURE;
_OR, DARWINISM IN THE CRICKET FIELD._
When Man first arose from the primitive Ape,
He first dropped his tail, and took on a new shape.
But Cricketing Man, born to trundle and swipe,
Reversion displays to the earlier type;
For a cricketing team, when beginning to fail,
Always loses its "form," and "developes a tail"!
* * * * *
ROBERT ON THINGS IN GINERAL.
I was only jest a thinkin the other day, what werry distinguisht
honner Her Most Grashus Madgesty the QUEEN would bestow on the Rite
Honerabel the LORD MARE, when the rite time cum. But I was ardly
prepaird for the acshal fack!
I reelly coudn't have bleeved it if I hadn't a had it red out to me
from a most respecfool Mornin Paper; so in course it must be trew.
Yes, the Rite Honorabel the LORD MARE is not only to be a Nite, like
other Lord Mares, but the QUEEN has acshally made him a Nite Commander
of the most xtinguisht Order of Saint Mikel, and, not sattisfide with
ewen that, Her MADGESTY has also made him a Nite Commander of the
other most xtinguisht Order of Saint George!
It is fortnit that Sir DAVID's year of offis will soon end, or he mite
have fownd it diffikult to carry out his ushal LORD MARE's numerus
dootys, while Commanding two sitch xtinguisht Orders as them as is
named above.
My Amerricane Friend has turnd up agane at our bewtifool Grand Otel.
He says as they has had orful whether wear he has cum from, but
all the hole week he has had in grand old Lundon has bin most luvly
Sun-Shine, as it amost allers is in Spring, he says he's told. As he
luckly didn't appen for to arsk for no arnser, of course I didn't give
him not none; but I coudn't help a thinkin as how as if he had bin
here in our late hurly Spring, he might ha bin inclined jest a leetel
to halter his good opinyon.
We had qwite a plezzent chat while I atended upon him at Lunch. He
wants to kno more about our LORD MARE. Fust of all, how much munney
he gits; and, when I told him jest ten thowsand pounds for his year
of offics, he xclaimd, "Why, that's the werry same sum as we gives
our President, who, you know, is reelly our King!" So I said, "Does he
find it enuff for him, Sir?" "Oh yes," he says, "quite." "Well," says
I, "it don't seem a werry big salery for the King of such a big plaice
as Amerrikey, when I appens to know that the LORD MARE of our little
Lundon, which is ony about one mile big, has to spend more than
another ten thousand pounds out of his own pocket afore he's finished
his year!" "Well," he says, "you do estonish me; but everythink's
estonishing in your grand old Citty! How do they send him his money?"
I told him as the Chamberlane, who was allers cram full of munney,
took it him every quarter-day. "Ah," says he, "we send our President,
on the 26th of evry month, exakly eight hundred and thirty-three
pounds, six-and-eight pence." "Ah," I said, "I am rayther serprized
as he shoud condersend to take the odd six-and-eight. I'm quite shure
our LORD MARE woudn't do so. I bleeve as he never has not nothink less
than Bank-notes and suvreigns, but allers plenty of 'em." "How many
dinners does he give during the year?" says he. "Ah, Sir," says I,
"that's rayther a staggering qweshun to arnser. Me and BROWN has often
tried our hands at it, but ginerally breaks down about Witsuntide;
but I shoud say sumwares about three thowsand, and about twice as
many lunchons." "Good grayshus!" says the Amerricane, "what a number!"
"Yes," says I, "and so much is they thort on, that p'raps the werry
greatest trubbel that has worrited the manly bussoms of Lord SORLSBUBY
and all his brother Ministers is the mellancolly fack, that they has
bin compelld to decline the LORD MARE's customery Ministerial Bankwet
this year, coz they coudn't tell for serten whether they would be the
Ministers to go to it! And the LORD MARE to drown his sorrer has gone
and berried hisself in the 'art of Scotland!" "What a sad story to be
shure!" said my Amerricane, with a sigh! "Yes, Sir," I replied, "these
are sum of the many trubbels as our werry greatest men has to endewr,
and happy is he who does not quiver when he has his arrow full of
'em!" And so we parted.
ROBERT.
* * * * *
TO MISS AIDA JENOURE.
(_ON THE WITHDRAWAL OF "THE MOUNTEBANKS."_)
Dear AIDA, good-bye; since it must be, it must;
Yet your slaves view your absence from Town with disgust.
For myself, I'd as soon live at Shipston-on-Stour
As endure life in London without our JENOURE.
Sprightly Mountebank AIDA, sweet Mistress of Arts,
You smiled as you danced yourself into our hearts.
And now from the Strand to the Vale of far Maida
There's only one chorus--"Come back to us, AIDA!"
_Les absents_, you know the old maxim, _ont tort_,
Wherefore dance yourself back, and be present once more.
* * * * *
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