The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 103,
August 20, 1892, by Various
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Title: Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 103, August 20, 1892
Author: Various
Release Date: February 14, 2005 [EBook #15049]
Language: English
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PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 103.
August 20, 1892.
AD PUELLAM.
["Detective cameras have become favourite playthings with
ladies of fashion."--_Ladies' Paper_.]
You used to prate of plates and prints
And "quick developers" before,
In spite of not unfrequent hints
That these in time become a bore;
But then this photographic craze
Seemed little but a foolish fad,
While now its very latest phase
Appears to me distinctly bad.
Since even your devoted friends
At sight of you were wont to fly,
You manage still to gain your ends,
And photograph them on the sly;
The muff, the cloak with ample folds,
The parcel, and the biscuit-tin,
I know that each discreetly holds
Detective lenses hid within.
Should CROESUS greet you with a smile,
A "bromide" will record the fact;
Should STREPHON help you o'er a stile,
The film will take him in the act.
Yet this renown, if truth be said,
Is fame they'd rather be without;
Nor, I assure you, will they wed
A lady photographic tout.
* * * * *
ANTIQUITY OF GOLF.
That Golf was a game probably known to and played by pre-Adamite Man
(whoever he may have been; name and address not given) is evidenced by
the learned Canon TRISTRAM's observation in the Biology Section of
the British Association Meeting last week, to the effect that "he (the
Canon) had never seen a better collection of these Links connecting
the present with the past world." This must be most interesting to all
Golf-players.
* * * * *
[Illustration: NOT MEMBERS OF "BRITISH ASSOCIATION."
_First Passenger_ (_reading Morning Paper_). "'PSYCHICAL CHARACTER OF
HYSTERICAL AMBLYOPIA'!! DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT 'PSYCHICAL' MEANS! WHAT
DOES IT MEAN, OLD MAN?"
_Fellow Passenger_. "DON'T KNOW, I'M SURE, DEAR BOY! SOMETHING TO DO
WITH _BRAINS_, I B'LIEVE. NOT AT ALL IN _MY LINE_!"]
* * * * *
'ARRIET.
A REALISTIC RHAPSODY.
(_WITH APOLOGIES TO MR. HENRY KENDATT, AUTHOR OF "ASTARTE," IN THE
"BOOKMAN."_)
[Illustration: ('Arriet.)]
Across the wind-blown bridges,
O look, lugubrious Night!
She comes, the red-haired beauty
Illumined by gaslight!
By London's dim gaslight!
So hush, ye cads, your roar!
Behind her plumes are waving
Her oil'd fringe flaps before.
O 'ARRIET, Cockney sister,
Your face is writhed with jeers;
How awful is the angle
Of those protuberant ears!
Those red, protuberant ears!
And your splay feet--O lor!!!
My loud, my Cockney sister,
Where oil'd fringe flops before!
Ah, 'ARRIET! gracious 'eavens,
How your greased locks do glow!
I swoon! The "hodoration"
(I heard you call it so)
Sickens my senses so;
'Tis "Citronel"--no more,
That scents, like a cheap barber's,
That oil'd fringe hung before.
'ARRIET, my knowing darling,
Your eyes a cross-watch keep,
You're togged in shop-girl's fashion,
Your cloak is bugled deep,
Black-bugled broad and deep,
With buttons dappled o'er,
Good gr-racious! how it's grown, too--
That oil'd fringe flopped before!
That "bang" is awfully trying,
That odour maddens me.
By Jingo! you've been dyeing
Those rufous locks, I see,
Those sandy locks, I see,
They're darker than of yore.
Avaunt! I'd be forgetting
That oil'd fringe flopped before.
* * * * *
RATHER APPROPRIATE.
Under the heading "Military Education," there appears in _The Tablet_,
an advertisement concerning preparation for examinations at Woolwich
and Sandhurst by "the Rev. E. VON ORSBACH, F.R.G.S., F.R.Hist.S.,
late Tutor to their Highnesses the Princes of THURN-AND-TAXIS." What a
suggestive name for a tutor preparing young men for a Cavalry Regiment
is "VON ORSBACH!" Not only would pupils surmount all difficulties
of EUCLID's propositions, but being brought up by VON ORSBACH, they
would dare all "riders!" Then as to the Princes, his pupils, cannot
we conceive of the first Prince THURN how he has been turned out
a perfect 'orseman by VON ORSBACH, and how it would tax all an
Examiner's ingenuity to pluck TAXIS. Pity that when one Prince was
called TAXIS the other wasn't named RATES. But evidently this was an
oversight. A neat couplet might head this advertisement, and add to
its attractiveness, as for instance:--
Every question, whatever they ax is,
Will in its THURN be answered by TAXIS.
TAXIS and THURN, for a win you'll of course back,
The pick of the stable, the trainer VON ORSBACH.
We wish him a continuance of the successes which from his list
this Equestrian Military Tutor--he can't he a "coach" as he is an
ORSBACH--has already obtained. It's a German name, but it sounds more
like 'Orsetrian (!)
* * * * *
CUI BONO?--"It is a mistake," quoth _The World_ last week, "to suppose
that Mr. GLADSTONE complacently regards Sir WILLIAM HARCOURT as his
'_Alter Ego_.'" Mr. G. being the "_Ego_" it is not very likely that
Sir WILLIAM V. HARCOURT is likely to "alter" any of his Leader's
plans. Still an "_Alter Ego_" is very useful whenever Mr. GLADSTONE
may want to "wink The Other I."
* * * * *
[Illustration: 1492 V. 1892.]
[_Christopher Columbus_. "WHAT! GO OVER IN FIVE DAYS! WHY, IF I'D HAD
A SHIP LIKE THAT, I'D HAVE DISCOVERED EVERYTHING BEFORE NOW!"]
* * * * *
ELECTION AGONIES.
(_BY A RE-ELECTED M.P._)
Yes, there I stood beside my wife,
And called it--whilst the mob cheered wildly--
"The proudest moment of my life,"
Which it was _not_, to put it mildly.
Heavens, how they cheered! Up went their caps,
To see their Member safely seated;
Who in his inmost soul, perhaps,
Had almost wished himself defeated.
The girls are pleased. And Mrs. T.,
Has fairy visions of a handle
To grace the name she shares with me;
But is the game quite worth the candle?
Six years of unremitting work,
Of flower-shows, bazaars, and speeches,
Of sturdy mendicants who lurk
In wait to act as sturdy leeches.
The faddists--Anti-This-and-That--
Blue-spectacled "One Vote, One Person"--
Extract a promise, prompt and pat,
The while their heads you hurl a curse on.
And in return? The dull debate,
The dreary unimportant question,
The pressure of affairs of State,
A muddled brain, a lost digestion.
Six years of it. I _cannot_ stand
At any cost another bout of it;
But, given away on every hand,
I don't quite see how to get out of it.
Ah, happy thought! My seat is safe,
And so 'mid general adulation,
I'll rescue some poor party waif
By Chiltern Hundreds resignation.
The world will quickly roar applause,
Of martyrs I shall be the latest;
But I'm the party and the cause
To whom the service will be greatest!
* * * * *
SONG OF GRATITUDE (_by a Nervous Equestrian on the exceptional absence
of 'Arry-cyclists or "Wheelmen" from the road to Wimbledon_).--
"Oh, Wheelie, have we missed you?
Oh no, no, No!"
* * * * *
[Illustration: A MATTER OF "COURSE."
_Eminent German Specialist_. "VAT VATERS 'AVE YOU BEEN IN ZE 'ABIT OF
TAKING?"
_English Gouty Patient_. "WATER! HAVEN'T TOUCHED A DROP, EXCEPT WITH
MY TEA, FOR THE LAST THIRTY YEARS!"
[_Upon which a mild course of Homburg, Kissengen, Marienbad, and
Karlsbad is at once prescribed._]
* * * * *
HOW INSULTAN'!
_British Envoy, Timbuctoo, to Foreign Minister, London._
No end of a row! Grand Vizier, Lord Chamberlain, Keeper of Privy
Purse, and other high Officials, assembled outside my house, and
smashed windows, aided by furious crowd. Certain that Sultan is at
bottom of it. Mayn't I say something vigorous to him?
_Foreign Minister, London, to British Envoy, Timbuctoo._
Awkward, as General Election going on. Temporise. Appear not to notice
stone-throwing. Very difficult to get to Timbuctoo with British Force.
If hit with stones, try arnica. Rather think Timbuctoo was discovered
by an Irishman, and called after him, TIM BUCKTOO. Eh?
_British Envoy to Foreign Minister._
Please don't jest; especially not in Irish. Glad to say aspect
of affairs completely changed. Sultan frightened about the
stone-throwing. Beheaded Grand Vizier, and sent Lord Chamberlain,
heavily ironed, to be imprisoned in cellar under my own apartment.
Gratifying. Treaty on point of being signed.
_Foreign Minister to British Envoy._
Your action quite approved of. Get Treaty signed quick! France, not
unnaturally, seems rather galled. See joke? Play on word "Gaul."
_British Envoy to Foreign Minister._
Quite see joke. Saw it years ago. Please don't send any more of 'em.
Treaty settled! Gives absurdly generous bounty to all British subjects
trading with Timbuctoo. Abolishes all Tariffs. Draft, with Sultan's
signature, returned to him to be properly copied out. Mere formality.
Packing up, and off to Coast to-night.
_Same to Same._
Arrived at coast. Treaty in carpet-bag. Regret to say, that on
examining it, find that Sultan has slipped in the little word "not" in
every clause. Makes hash of whole thing. What shall I do?
_Foreign Minister, London, to British Envoy._
Do nothing! Former Foreign Minister no longer in Office. General
Election _has_ taken place. Whole subject will be reconsidered,
with quite new lights, before long. Off for a holiday just now, and
can't attend to it. You'll hear from me again in about six months.
Meanwhile, your motto must be--"_Fez-tina lente_!" Last joke.
Brilliant. Just going to let it off at dinner-party. P.S.--Great
success.
* * * * *
REEF-LECTION.--Delivering judgment in the case of _Osborne_ v.
_Aaron's Reef, Limited_, Mr. Justice CHITTY, in the interests of the
public, was justly severe on both plaintiff and defendants, declining
"to give any costs in this action to such a Company." Everyone is
familiar with the nautical expression of "taking in a reef," which
seems to have been a slightly difficult operation for anyone to
perform with AARON's Reef, which, after the manner of AARON's Rod,
when it was transformed into a serpent, appears to possess the faculty
of swallowing to a very considerable extent. Knowing brokers, if
consulted, would not have sung to unwary clients the popular ditty
"_Keep your Aarons_," but would have recommended them, being in, to
be out again in double-quick time, if there were any chance of an
immediate though small ready-money profit to be made, before one could
have said "Scissors!"
* * * * *
MARGATE BY MOONLIGHT.
_It is about nine P.M.; in the West, a faint saffron flush
is lingering above the green and opal sea, while the upper
part of the church tower still keeps the warm glow of sunset.
The stars are beginning to appear, and a mellow half moon is
rising in a deep violet sky. Lamps are twinkling above the
dusky cliffs, and along the curve of the shore._
_The Reader will kindly imagine himself on a seat at the
end of the Pier, where the Sand is playing, and scraps of
conversation from his neighbours and passing promenaders,
reach his ear involuntarily._
_Fair Promenader_ (_roused to enthusiasm by the surroundings_). Oh,
don't it look lovely at night? (_Impulsively._) I can't _'elp_ sayin'
so.
_Her Companion_ (_whose emotions are less easily stirred_). Why?
_The Fair P._ (_apologetically_). Oh, I don't know exactly--these sort
o' scenes always _do_ take my fancy.
_Her Comp._ (_making a concession to her weakness_). Well, I must say
it's picturesque enough--what with the gas outside the 'All by the
Sea, and the lamps on the whilk stalls.
[Illustration: "Some people will tell yer, now, that Margit's
_vulgar_."]
_First Girl_ (_on seat--to Second_). Here comes that young SPIFFING. I
do hope he won't come bothering _us_! (_Mr. S. gratifies her desire
by promenading past in bland unconsciousness_.) Well, I do call that
_cool_! He must have seen us. Too grand to be seen talking to us
_here_, I suppose!
_Second Girl_. I'm sure I wouldn't be seen talking to _him_, that's
all! Why, he's on'y-- [_They pick him to pieces relentlessly._
_First Girl_. Take care--he's coming round again. Now we shall see.
Mind you don't begin laughing, or else you'll set _me_ off!
[_As a natural consequence, Mr. S.'s approach excites them
both to paroxysms of maidenly mirth._
_Mr. S._ (_halting in front of them_). You two seem 'ighly amused at
something. What's the joke?
_Second Girl_ (_as the first is compelled to bury her face behind her
friend's back_). Don't you be too curious. I'll tell you this much--at
_your_ expense!
_Mr. S._ Oh, is it? Then you might let Me 'ave a a'porth!
_First Girl_. BELLA, if you tell him, I'll never speak to you again.
[_As there is nothing particular to tell, Miss BELLA
preserves the secret._
_Mr. S._ (_reconnoitring his rear suspiciously_). There's nothing
pinned on to my coat-tails, is there? (_Renewed mirth from the
couple_.) Well, I see you're occupied--so, good evenin'.
[_Walks on, with offended dignity._
_Second Girl_. There! I _knew_ how it would be--he's gone off in a
huff now!
_First Girl_. Let him! He ought to know better than take offence at
nothing. And such a ridic'lous little object as he's looking, too!
What else can he _expect_, I'd like to know!... Don't you feel it
chilly, sitting still?
_Second Girl_ (_rising with alacrity_). I was just thinking. Suppose
we take a turn--the _other_ way round, or he might think--
_First Girl_. We'll show him others have their pride as well as him.
[_They disappear in the crowd._
_Mr. Spiffing_ (_repassing a few minutes later, with one of the young
Ladies on each arm_). Well, there, say no more about it--so long as it
wasn't at Me, I don't mind! [_They pass on._
_A Wheezy Matron_ (_in a shawl_). She was a prettier byby in the fice
than any o' the others--sech a lydylike byby she was--we never 'ad
no bother with her! and never, as long as I live, shall I forgit her
Grandpa's words when he saw her settin' up in her 'igh cheer at tea,
with her little cheeks a marsk o' marmalade. "LOUISER JYNE," he sez,
"you mark my words--she's the on'y reelly _nice_ byby you ever 'ad, or
_will_ ave!"
_Her Comp_. An' he wasn't given to compliments in a general way,
neither, _was_ he?
_Anxious Mother_. I can't make him out. Sometimes I think he means
something, and yet,--Every morning we've been here, he's come up to
her on the Pier, and brought her a carnation inside of his 'at.
_Her Confidante_. Then depend upon it, my dear, he has intentions. _I_
should say so, certingly!
_The Mother_. Ah, but CARRIE tells me she's dropped her glove,
accidental-like, over and over again, and he's always picked it
up,--and handed it back to her. I reelly don't know what _to_ think!
_The Confidante_. Well, I wouldn't lose heart--with the moon drawin'
on to the full, as it is!
_A Seaside Siren_ (_conscious of a dazzling complexion--to a
suburban Ulysses_). I wish I could get brown--I think it's so awfully
becoming--but I never can!
_Ulysses_. Some people _are_ like that. On'y turn _red_, you know,
specially the nose--catches 'em _there_, y'know!
_The Siren_. I'm obliged to you, I'm sure! Is that meant to be
personal?
_Ulysses_. Oh, I wasn't thinking of _you_ when I said that.
_The Siren_. You're very complimentary. But do tell me--am _I_ like
that? (_She presents her face for his inspection_.) Candidly, now.
_Ulysses_ (_conscientiously_). Well, I don't notice anything
particular--but, you see, colours don't show up by moonlight.
[_The Siren coldly intimates that her Mother will be
waiting supper for them._
_An Habitué_. Some people will tell yer, now, that Margit's _vulgar_.
They must be precious 'ard to please, that's all! I'm as partickler
as what most are, and I can assure yer if there was anythink o' _that_
sort about, I shouldn't come down 'ere reglar, season after season,
like I do!
_His Companion_. In course not--and no more shouldn't I, neither!
_ALONG THE ESPLANADE._
_Female Voice_ (_from the recesses of a glazed shelter_). But if
you're on the sands all day, how is it I never _see_ you?
_Male Voice_ (_mysteriously_). Would you like to know? Really? You
shall. (_With pride_.) I'm one of the Niggers!
_Fem. V._ (_deeply impressed_). Not "GUSSIE," or "Uncle ERNIE!"
_Male V._ (_with proud superiority_). Not exactly. I conduct, _I_
do--on the 'armonium.
_Fern. V._ (_rapturously_). Oh! I 'ad a sort o' feeling, from the very
first, that you must be _Somebody_!
_A Lodging-House Keeper_. Yes, nice people they was--I don't know when
I've _'ad_ such nice people. I'll tell you what they _did_ ... They
come on a Thursday--yes, Thursday it was--and took the rooms from the
Saturday followin' to the next Saturday--and then they stopped on to
the Saturday after that. I do call that nice--don't _you_?
_A Mystic Plaint_ (_from a Bench_). Many and many a time I've borrered
the kittles for them when the School Inspector was comin'--and now for
them to turn round on me like this! It's a shame, it is.
_A Lady of Economical Principles_ (_at a Bow-window, addressing her
Husband at the railings_). Why, my dear _feller_, why ever did you go
and do _that_--when there was a bed empty 'ere for him?
_The Husband_ (_sulkily_). No one ever said a word to _me_ about there
being a bed. And I've taken one for him now at the Paragon, anyway--so
_that's_ settled!
_The Economical Lady_. I call it downright foolishness to go paying
'alf-a-crown a night for a bed, when there's one all ready _'ere_ for
him! And you don't know _how_ long he may mean to stop, either!
_The Self-invited Visitor_ (_suddenly emerging from the
shadow_).--You'll be 'appy to know, Mum, that your 'ospitality will
not exceed the 'alf-crown. Good evenin'. [_Retires to the Paragon._
_The Econ. L._ (_regretfully_). And a lobster ordered in for supper
a-purpose for him, too!
_A Street Musician_ (_with a portable piano_). I will next attempt
a love-song. I feel full of love to-night. Oh, Ladies and
Gentlemen--(_earnestly_)--take advantage of a salubrious night like
this! Anyone who has not yet contributed will kindly embrace this
opportunity of placing his offering upon the instrument; after which I
shall endeavour to sing you "_In Old Madrid_." Oh, _what_ a difficult
ditty it is, to be sure, dear Ladies and Gentlemen--especially as it
makes the twenty-seventh I've sung since tea-time--however, I will do
my best. (_He sings it_.) That will conclude my _al-fresco_ Concert
for this evening. And now, thanking you all for your generous
patronage of my humble efforts, and again reminding those who have not
yet expressed their appreciation in a pecuniary form, that I am now
about to circulate with the hat for the last time, I wish you all
farewell, and balmy slumbers!
[_He collects the final coins, and wheels away the piano. The
crowd disperses; the listeners in the lodging-house balconies
retire; and the Crescent is silent and deserted._
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
One of the Baron's "Merry Men All" has been reading and enjoying Mr.
BARRY PAIN's _Stories and Interludes_. The book has a wondrously weird
and heavily-lined picture in front, which is just a little too like
a "Prophetic Hieroglyphic" in _Zadkiel's Almanack_. An emaciated and
broken-winged devil is apparently carrying an engine-hose through a
churchyard, whilst a bat flits against a curious sky, which looks like
a young grainer's first attempt at imitating "birds'-eye maple." Upon
a second glance it seems possible that the "hose" is a snake, the tail
of which the devil is gnawing. The gruesome design illustrates a yet
more gruesome Interlude, entitled, "_The Bat and the Devil._" But it
gives no fair idea of the contents of the volume, some of which are
charming.
Read _White Nights_, stories within a story, told by a tragical
"Fool," of the breed of HUGO's _Rigoletto_, and POE's _Hopfrog_--with
a difference. They are told with force and grace, and with unstrained,
but moving pathos. Read "The Dog That Got Found," a brief sketch
indeed, but abundantly suggestive. Poor _Fido_--the "dog that got to
be utterly sick of conventionality," and came to such bitter grief in
his search for "life poignant and intense!" He might read a lesson
to many a two-legged prig, were the bipedal nincompoop capable of
learning it.
_The Glass of Supreme Moments_ is, perhaps, needlessly enigmatical,
and _Rural Simplicity_, _Concealed Art_, and _Two Poets_, strike one
as superfluously "unpleasant." Mr. PAIN seems slightly touched with
the current literary fad for making bricks with the smallest possible
quantity of straw. One halfpennyworth of the bread of incident to
an intolerable deal of the sack of strained style and pessimist
commentary, make poorish imaginative pabulum, though there seems an
increasing appetite for it amongst those who, unlike _Lucas Morne_ in
_The Glass of Supreme Moments_, plume themselves upon possession of
"the finer perceptions." _The Magic Morning_ is a "scrap" elaborately
sauced and garnished; the fleeting flavour may possess a certain
sub-acid piquancy, but such small dishes of broken meats are hardly
nourishing or wholesome.
Mr. PAIN has a delicate fancy and a graceful style, a bitter-sweet
humour, and a plentiful endowment of "the finer perceptions." He
has done some good work here, and will do better--when he finds his
subject, and loses his affectations. Read _White Nights_, again says
the Baron's "retainer."
BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & Co.
* * * * *
COMING BARONETCY TO BE MUSICALLY NOTED.--Song for a "Lullaby" or
a "Good Knight" from _Don Giovanni_, and dedicated by nobody's
permission to Sir ARTHUR SEYMOUR SULLIVAN, would be "_Barty! Barty!_"
Will Sir EDWARD SOLOMON be in it? Probably this is "another night."
* * * * *
LAYS OF MODERN HOME.
NO. V.--BUTLERLESS.
[Illustration: (Butler.)]
Oh! bring my Butler back to me;
I stray and lapse alone!
If this be freedom, to be free
Were something best unknown.
He used to look so grand and grave--
So sad when I was slack;
'Twas difficult to misbehave--
Oh, bring my Butler back!
In him was nothing flash nor green--
A Seneschal confessed;
Most people deemed his reverend mien
Some family bequest.
And yet but three short, happy years
Had seen him on our tack,
And made us verge on VERE DE VERES--
Oh, bring my Butler back!
A Pedigree in swallow-tails,
He gave our household "tone."
My soul plebeian trips and fails
(See stanza first) alone.
I fall on low Bohemian ways,
I doff my evening black;
I dine in blazer all ablaze--
Oh, bring my Butler back!
I breakfast now and smoke in bed;
I wrench the bell for coals;
No master-hand and master-head
The day's routine controls.
No stately form in homage curved,
Our commissariat's lack,
Veneers with, "_Dinner, Sir, is served_"--
Oh, bring my Butler back!
A few old friends drop in at times,
But ah! their zest is gone;
No organ voice with awe sublimes
BROWN, JONES, and ROBINSON.
They sound to me quite commonplace,
Who seemed a ducal pack:
'Twas he who lent them rank and race--
Oh, bring my Butler back!
And _they_ must think me very queer,
Each unennobled guest:
I munch my chop, I quaff my beer
At meal-times unrepressed,
I laugh a laughter rude and loud;
My little jokes I crack;
The parlour-maid with mirth is bowed--
Oh, bring my Butler back!
Yes! bring that paragon to me--
'Tis true he drank my wine;
But, as I found it disagree,
I don't so much repine:
'Tis true we missed a little plate
When _he_ gave _us_ the sack.
But "all things come to them that wait"--
Oh, bring my Butler back!
That gorgeous grace, that smile severe,
That look of Lords and Barts,
These are the charms that most endear
His image to our hearts.
The standard of my broken life
With him has gone to rack,
And, if it were not for my wife,
I'd bring my Butler back!
* * * * *
FINE, OR REFINE?
[An Educational Journal recently suggested the formation of
a "Guild of Courtesy," with especial view to refining the
manners and language of the youth of the working classes.]
Hail, noble Guild! By all means drive
Expletives from our highways;
They are the ruin of our roads,
The byword of our byways!
And rowdies too--to teach them grace
A philanthropic art is;
_These_ subjects for the Guild may well
Be called the "Guildy parties"!
The lumbering horse-play of the streets,
Can we its spirits soothe?
Will blarneying do? Or can "the Rough"
Be "taken with the smooth"?
And there's the working girl: can we
From yells and rompings wean her?
For the demeanour of a Miss
Is oft a mis-demeanour.
O worthy Guildsmen! Take in hand
_All_ ages and _all_ classes!
Show how to hearts Good Manners' arts
Supply the freest passes.
Do not such terms as these of hope
Your undertaking rob--
The "common people"--"lower class,"
"The vulgar," and "the mob"?
And there's our worship of the purse;
'Gainst _it_ pray have a tilt
Oh, gild our manners! But take care
They are not silver-gilt!
* * * * *
ALL AT SEA.--The KAISER is reported to be so delighted with his visit
to the Isle of Wight, that he proposes to repeat the journey next
year. Fond of military display, if he goes to Hyde he will be
appropriately accompanied by an escort of German Mounted Marines.
* * * * *
[Illustration: INTERNATIONAL AMENITIES.
_Count Peter van Strubel_ (_just arrived in England, in time for
Her Grace's Concert_). "ACH! TOTCHESS! HOW IS IT ZAT IN ENKLAND YOUR
LATIES ARE ZÔH _PEAUDIFUL_, AND YOUR CHENDLEMEN ZÔH _OCKLY_?"
_Her Grace._ "TO-NIGHT NEARLY ALL THE LADIES ARE ENGLISH, COUNT, AND
THE GENTLEMEN ARE MOSTLY FOREIGN, AS IT HAPPENS!"]
* * * * *
READING THE STARS À LA MODE.
(_EXTRACT FROM THE NOTE-BOOK OF THE SECRETARY OF THE EARTH AND MARS
INTERCOMMUNICATION COMPANY, LIMITED._)
_August_ 10, 1899.--Open this book just to jot down briefly the
results of our efforts to hold a conversation with the people living
in the adjacent planet. Get a better notion by this means of what
we are doing than the minutes can afford. Shall leave this book as
an heirloom to my successors in office. In 1892, when we were last
nearest Mars (only at a distance of 35,000,000 miles or thereabouts),
we came to the conclusion that the Marsians were trying to speak to
us. They seemed to be making signals. With the assistance of our new
telescope (six times as powerful as that of seven years ago), we made
out what we took to be at first an old man waving a white hat. On more
careful inspection, found that the old man was a volcano in a state of
eruption. White hat evidently the smoke. Could distinctly locate the
ocean. Unable to discover more, as the planet went off for another
seven years' cruise.
_August_ 10, 1906.--Jot down, in compliance with the wishes of my
predecessor, the transactions of the Company. By the way, my new berth
is a very pleasant one. Have nothing to do except every seven years,
when we all have to watch Mars like anything. This time we have a
first-class telescope. Fifty times as powerful as the one of seven
years ago. Can count the hairs on a man's head at ten miles' distance.
Mars seems quite close to us. There is a first-class hotel on one
of the mountains, and apparently a very good paper, which by the way
(like everything else on the planet), is red. Distinctly made out a
man in a boat. Could not attract his attention. Stupid donkey! Have to
wait for another seven years.
_August_ 10, 1913.--Again ready. Better telescope than one in use
seven years ago. Find we can now read the Marsian newspapers. They are
written in same language as our own. Nothing in them worth quoting.
Evidently "silly season" over there as well as here. Account of
the Sea Serpent. Let off patent sky-shattering rockets, but the
inhabitants of the adjacent planet failed to observe them. They have
arranged bonfires in geometrical order, so far as we can understand
it, as a signal (if it is one); they seem to wish to observe something
like "_Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay_." Interesting. Popular song of fourteen
years ago just reached our nearest neighbour in the Solar System.
Cannot observe more, as the planet is off for another seven years.
_August_ 10, 1920.--We ought to do something this time. Improved
telescope; can see everything. So excellent that we can almost hear
the Marsians talking, Great advance, too, in through-space-hurling
machinery. We applied this new power to a pea-shooter, and, at the
first shot, was sufficiently fortunate to hit a Marsian policeman on
the nose. He first arrested an innocent person for the assault, but,
on our repeating the signal, he looked up, and shook his fist at the
Earth. Eventually he traced the source of the pea-shooting. They then
began to watch our signals. They were just about to reply when we
started off for another seven years.
_August_ 10, 1927.--I take up my predecessor's book to continue these
observations. Deeply interested to see if the inhabitants of the
neighbouring planet would remember the date, and be on the look out
for us. Yes, there they were. We have just signalled "How are you?"
But it has received, as yet, no reply. The Marsians seem to be
signalling, but not in our direction. We have just tried another
message, "Good morning; do you use soap?" Ah, this has woke them up!
They _do_ understand us. They have replied, "Don't be rude." We are
greatly encouraged by this, and have signalled "The planet Mars, we
believe?" This has elicited no response. Strange! We have begged for a
reply, and it has just come. Here it is:--"Don't bother; can't attend
to you just now. We are talking with the planet Jupiter." Time up! Off
for another seven years!
_August_ 10, 1934.--Just one line to add to the other communications
of my predecessors. The Earth and Mars Intercommunication Company,
Limited, has been merged into the London, Jupiter, Venus, Mars, and
North Saturn Aërial Railway Company. During the present near approach
of Mars to the Earth, an excursion electric air-torpedo train will
leave the Victoria Station for Pars the Capital of Mars. The excursion
will be personally conducted by Baron COOK of Ludgate Circus. Return
tickets, Second Class, £1,000; First Class (with hotel coupons), Half
an ounce of coal.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "WILL THEY WORK?"
LORD ROSEBERY (_aside to McHARCOURT, the Gillie_). "WONDER WHAT SORT
OF A BAG HE'LL MAKE--_OVER THOSE DOGS!!_"]
* * * * *
HOW IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN SETTLED.
(_SUPPLEMENTARY AND IMAGINARY DESPATCH NOT YET RECEIVED AT THE FOREIGN
OFFICE._)
It will be remembered that I had the honour to report that amongst
my _suite_ I had the pleasure to be accompanied by Herr VON POPOFF,
the celebrated Germano-Russian _prestidigitateur_. When I received a
despatch from the Foreign Office informing me that I was premature
in destroying the Draft Treaty, although that Draft Treaty contained
provisions that were entirely different to those which the Sultan had
already at the time accepted and promised to sign, I made up my mind
to return to His Sheriffian Majesty with a view to setting things
right. I considered it advisable to be accompanied by Herr VON POPOFF,
as I counted upon that eminent conjuror's valuable aid to assist me in
carrying out what I venture to submit, was my praiseworthy object.
When we reached the room the Sultan was occupying, we found His
Sheriffian Majesty regarding with some indignation, the remains of the
Draft Treaty that had been brought back to him by the messengers the
Sultan had sent to me.
His Majesty was very angry, and had given orders for the immediate
execution of Herr VON POPOFF and myself, when my talented assistant
gently placed his hand upon the head of the swarthy and irate
Sovereign, and by a clever pass produced an egg. This amused and
amazed the Sultan immensely, and his Sheriffian Majesty desired that
the feat should be repeated. This request received immediate practical
acquiescence as the wonderworker deliberately extracted eggs from the
Sultan's arms, legs, and whiskers. Having obtained some dozen eggs by
this means, Herr VON POPOFF borrowed a turban from the Prime Minister,
and breaking the eggs into his improvised saucepan, mixed the mess
into a compact mass with the assistance of a scimitar kindly lent for
the occasion by the Commander-in-Chief.
"High cock-alorum jig, jig, jig!" exclaimed the Wizard, and in
a trice, the eggs had disappeared, and in their place appeared a
pound-cake. I have the honour to report that the cake was then cut
into small portions and passed round for consumption. His Sheriffian
Majesty was good enough to partake of the rather stale comestible. The
remainder of the cake was devoured by the _suite_.
By this time the Sultan was in great good humour, when unfortunately
his eyes fell upon the remains of the destroyed Draft Treaty which
were still lying unheeded on the palace floor. Seeing them his
Sheriffian Majesty rolled his eyes savagely, and sent for the Lord
High Executioner.
It was at this crisis that Herr VON POPOFF showed great presence of
mind and absolute coolness. Without a moment's hesitation he requested
that the fragments of paper might be given to him. Taking them in
his right hand, he placed them in the turban he had previously used
for manufacturing his pound-cake, and once more repeated his magic
formula.
To the general surprise (and I must not omit my own individuality from
the universal astonishment) he produced a new Treaty, which I then had
the honour of handing to the Sultan for signature.
The Treaty (which was subsequently discovered to contain several
important concessions to the country I have the honour to represent)
was then signed, and the _prestidigitateur_ and I retired loaded with
honours.
I have, in conclusion, to beg permission to wear the Sheriffian Order
of the Diamond-eyed Pig of the Second Class. The Sun-Star of the
Emerald Life-sized White Elephant of the Double First-Class has
already been accepted by Herr VON POPOFF, as that gentleman, being a
foreign subject, has no need to desire official authorisation to use
his recently-acquired and extremely bulky decoration.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "GROUSE DRIVING."
THIS IS WHAT SHE IMAGINED IT TO BE IN HER DREAM OF THE 12TH OF
AUGUST.]
* * * * *
MEMORABLE.
SIR,--So many punning Epitaphs have recently appeared in the _Times à
propos_ of "BOB LOWE," that I am sure you will now allow me to produce
and publish what was rejected by your Editor, long before the decease
of the above-mentioned eminent Statesman. I thought it, and still
think it, uncommonly good; but the then Editor said, "No--it is
unseemly to joke about the decease of a living celebrity." Now on the
good old maxim of "_Nil nisi bonum_," I beg you will produce this,
as I'm sure it is, and always was, uncommonly _bonum_, and like good
wine, all the better for keeping. Here it is:--
ON THE LATE B.L.
Bob! has he gone above the sky?
We hope that it is so.
Yet when above, however high,
He'll always be B.-LOWE.
I've seen nothing to equal this; at least, being a judge of such
things, I may safely say so, adding humbly, "A poor thing, but mine
own."
Yours, L.S. PRIT D'ESCALIER.
* * * * *
ACCIDENTAL JOKE.--When does an explosion do no harm? When a husband
blows his wife up--and she deserves it.
* * * * *
INFRA DIG.
Sweet, in a sordid age, it is to find
_One_ Abdiel to enticement bravely blind,
_One_ class not thrall to Plutus. But, hurroo!
England rejoice aloud, for thou hast _two_.
Sweet are the uses of--Advertisement,
To huckster souls, whose god is Cent-per-cent.
The Mart, the Forum, and--alas!--the Fane.
Self-trumpeting, in type, cannot restrain;
The leaded column and the poster smart
Seduce the Histrio; e'en the thrall of Art
Bows to the modern Baal of Pot and Paste,
That deadly foe of Modesty and Taste.
The Poet poses publicly, the Scribe
Knows how to vaunt, to logroll, and to bribe.
But there be those share not the general taint;
The pestle-wielding Sage, the silk-gowned Saint.
Redeem our fallen race from the dark shade
That would confuse Professions with mere Trade.
No, briefs and bills of costs _may_ loom too big,
_Harpagon_ hide beneath a horsehair wig,
_Sangrado_ thrive on flattery and shrewd knack.
And _Dulcamara_, safe in silence, quack;
But--chortle, oh ye good, rejoice, ye wise!--
Physic and Law will never--_Advertise_!
* * * * *
"THE PARIAH."--In the latest copy to hand of that wonderful penn'orth
of gossip and information, _Sala's Journal_, Vol. I. No. 16, and in
the very first line of the light and leading article, our "G.A.S."
asks "Is Woman a Pariah?" Of course she is not, we reply, not even if
she be the very masculinest of females. Some, if they are "Riahs" at
all, are "Ma-riahs." "Riah," it may be remembered, is the abbreviated
form of the name as in the once popular Coster's song of "_What cheer
Riah?_" Whether spelt with or without an "h" is of no consequence, the
Coster not being particular.
* * * * *
TO DR. LOUIS ROBINSON.
(_Who said at the British Association that a Baby was an
animal as interesting as any which had been brought from the
uttermost parts of the Earth_.)
Quite right, Dr. ROBINSON, perfectly right,
No longer the need to repair to the Zoo;
No longer we'll see with increasing delight
The quarrelsome Monkey, the blithe Kangaroo.
But the "animal's interest" shall charm us instead,
Though it's scarcely a charm _you've_ discovered,--at least
There's many a father who's pointedly said,
That his int'resting Babe was a "mere little beast!"
* * * * *
SEASONABLE BUT UNFAIR.--When you have to pay heavily for light
refreshments.
* * * * *
[Illustration: ATAVISM.
_Proud Mother_. "BUT _REALLY_ NOW, DR. BIRCH, DON'T YOU THINK IT
RATHER EXTRAORDINARY THAT WE SHOULD HAVE _THREE_ SUCH CLEVER SONS?"
_Dr. B._ "WHY, NO, MY DEAR MADAM; NOW YOU HAVE TOLD ME WHAT A
REMARKABLY CLEVER _GRANDMOTHER_ THEY HAD!"]
* * * * *
THE NEXT VIVA VOCE.
["Due consideration will be given in the selection
of Candidates for Scholarships to proficiency in
athletics."--_Daily Paper_.]
_Examiner_ (_courteously_). Have you studied any Latin author?
_Candidate_ (_with hesitation_). I once looked into CORNELIUS NEPOS,
but never could construe half a dozen lines.
_Exam._ What have you studied in Greek?
_Can._ Tried the first page of VALPY, and got through the present of
[Greek: tuptô]--then gave it up.
_Exam._ Do you know anything about Mathematics?
_Can._ Fancy I have heard of the Rule of Three, but hanged if I know
much about Fractions.
_Exam._ (_a little despairingly_). Can you give the dates of the four
WILLIAMS in English History?
_Can._ No. Suppose followed one another, as shillings of the time of
WILLIAM THE FOURTH still in use. Suppose WILLIAM THE FIRST must have
been about the end of the Eighteenth Century.
_Exam._ (_with new hope_). Do you know anything about Geography?
_Can._ Not without a _Continental Bradshaw_.
_Exam._ (_nothing daunted_). Can you tell me the name of the spot
which is supposed to be the centre of the universe?
_Can._ I haven't the faintest idea, but suppose you mean Monte Carlo.
_Exam._ (_as a last resource_). Do you know anything about Law?
_Can._ Nothing at all, except that one of my friends had to pay five
pounds, the other day, for assaulting a Policeman.
_Exam._ (_losing his temper_). Then what on earth _do_ you know?
_Can._ Only how to break the record of the quarter mile.
_Exam._ (_brightening up_). And can you play Cricket?
_Can._ (_contemptuously_). _Can_ I play Cricket! Why I carried my bat
out for 184 against Loamshire, with GRACE bowling his swiftest.
_Exam._ (_cordially grasping his hand_). My dear Sir, after the
satisfactory examination you have just undergone, I shall have much
pleasure in recommending you for a Scholarship.
* * * * *
ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.
_House of Commons, Monday, Aug_. 8.--Think I mentioned, just before
Prorogation, how DUNBAR BARTON, offended at disregard paid to his
warnings by Ministers, protested that he would never speak again, and
should thenceforth be known as DUM BARTON. Finding him to-night figged
out, prepared to move Address, reminded him of the incident.
[Illustration: Asquith, Q.C.]
"Quite so, TOBY," he said; "you're perfectly right. I never did speak
again in that House. This is a different thing. Besides, I'm not going
to make a speech, but to read a paper."
Rather quibbling this; but temptation to accept invitation to move
Address at opening of new Session understood to be irresistible.
Believe I'm the only Member who ever begged to be excused. W.H. CROSS
seconded Address; speech much mystified House; remains to this day
disputed point whether he meant to be funny, or was merely maladroit.
Fancy he really meant it. GRAND CROSS in Peers' Gallery, looking on
with fond affection. Life been for him, of late, a troubled sheet
of water. His counsel about not dissolving Parliament till very last
moment, over-ruled; consequence is, Government are going out; how
India is to get on without him, GRAND CROSS really doesn't know.
Situation not soothed by reprehensible frivolity of Prince ARTHUR.
Meeting GRAND CROSS just now, moodily crossing Corridor, Prince
said,--"Well, we're not the only parties changing places. I see,
from the newspapers, that the planet Mars has already gone into
Opposition."
GRAND CROSS severely shook his head. There are some things too sacred
for a joke; his leaving the India Office is one. Moreover, not free
from certain jealousy in the matter. Fact is, been, so to speak,
"on the joke" himself. Modest merit, like murder, will out. No use
attempting to burke what is open secret. All those funereal jokes
in young Cross's speech--his "course of obituary notices" as ASQUITH
happily put it--were really GRAND CROSS's. CROSS _père_ composed them
in the seclusion of Eccle Riggs, and made them over to his son.
"Would never do, WILLIAM HENRY, for a man in my position to publicly
make a joke. I am not sure how it befits the Junior Counsel for
England in the Behring Sea Arbitration. But we must risk that.
There they are," he said, handing him a packet of manuscript in a
black-edged envelope, "and may a father's blessing accompany them."
There was, as I have said, some hesitation on part of House as to how
they were to be received. On the whole, went off well. The reference
to "the Government, at whose last hours we have now arrived," and the
proposal to write their epitaph, brought down the House. GRAND CROSS
sitting in Gallery nervously watching result, decidedly encouraged.
In larger leisure of Opposition we shall probably have more of these
vicarious flashes of latent humour.
[Illustration: OFF TO THE COUNTRY AGAIN.]
_Business done_.--Address moved, met with Vote of No Confidence,
submitted by ASQUITH in brilliant speech.
_Tuesday_.--Imminence of change in Ministry brings into prominence and
close proximity what is likely to happen in Ireland when Home Rule is
established. Irish Members of all sections on the alert. SAUNDERSON in
his war-paint, which assumes shape of luminous white waistcoat. Always
know, when the Colonel puts that on, he means business. Made to-night
good Derrydown speech punctuated by howls of execration from Irish
brethren opposite. That is just what Colonel enjoys; moved him to
higher nights of oratory. His lurid picture of ASQUITH, Q.C., "sitting
on the lips of Irish volcano," extremely effective. Irish Members
cruelly and effectually retorted by putting up REDMOND JUNIOR to
reply. Colonel gallantly smiled, but it was a gashly effort. Device
evidently effective. REDMOND did admirably; nothing could have been
better than his grave remark, to presumably alarmed House, that,
having for seven years sat opposite Colonel, he was able to assure
them that he was "perfectly harmless--perfectly harmless."
[Illustration: Honest John Burns.]
"Now that," said ASHBOURNE, in London just now winding up his
ministerial affairs, "is the cruellest thing I ever heard said of
SAUNDERSON."
Later, more serious evidence of seething condition of feeling in
Ulster brought under notice of House. Ross, Q.C., was returned at
General Election, in place of CHARLES LEWIS--a character useful as a
study for young Members, showing how a man of considerable ability,
and distinct Parliamentary aptitude, may prove a hopeless failure.
Ross born and brought up in Derry; accustomed to controversial
practices. Familiar from boyhood with the concrete form dialectics are
apt to take when indulged in beyond space of half an hour. "If
they mean business," Ross said confidentially to Honest JOHN BURNS,
"they'll find the Derry Boy in it."
So, before coming down to House, he carefully filled his
trouser-pocket with convenient-sized paving-stones. When he got up
just now, House stared with amazement at curious appearance presented
by the Orator. Ross, pleased with attention created, threw back his
coat, placed hands on hips, stiffened his legs, and made the most of
the paving-stones. Members opposite whispered, and tittered.
"Let them laugh that win," said Ross. "In case of a row, a
paving-stone in trouser-pocket is worth a Krupp's Battery in the
bush."
So it proved. Prevention better than cure. Nobody threw anything at
New Member for Derry, and, when he had concluded successful Maiden
Speech, went out and emptied his amazing pockets into his locker.
"I'll save 'em up for a rainy day, as the man said when he pawned his
landlord's umbrella," was Mr. Ross's remark as he hurried off home, at
least a quarter of a hundredweight lighter.
_Business done_.--More debate on Address.
_Thursday_.--Splendid House; full from floor to topmost tier of seats
in Strangers' Galleries. The last scene in history of Government. All
the Actors on. Boxes full; Stalls full; Pit full. Contrary to LORD
CHAMBERLAIN's regulations, chairs placed in gangways. Great rush for
these, as affording novel position. MATHERS, who got front seat, says
it was very nice, but not without compensating disadvantage. "Expected
every minute, you know, the man coming round for your penny, as they
do in the Parks."
CHAMBERLAIN had first call; greatly cheered by Conservatives when he
stood before footlights. Little bit of farce to begin with. ALPHEUS
CLEOPHAS rose with JOSEPH. Submitted as point of order that, in Moving
Adjournment on Tuesday night, JOSEPH had exhausted his right to speak.
House howled. Just as if, Lyceum crowded to see IRVING play _Charles
the First_, JOHNNIE TOOLE came before Curtain and explained that, as
CHARLES THE FIRST was indubitably beheaded some hundreds of years ago,
IRVING would be out of order in appearing to-night. Very well done,
and added something to interest of moment. But unnecessary. JOSEPH
equal to occasion without adventitious aid.
[Illustration: Don't Keir-Hardie, M.P. for 'Am.]
A fine speech, equal to the magnificent audience. Even DON'T
KEIR-HARDIE took off his cap to listen. JOSEPH never better with his
quick sharp thrust, his lunging blow, and his apt tripping up. As
usual, best where speech broken in upon with rude interruption. Note
the incident when launched upon his peroration, carefully prepared
and perilously adventured upon. House not passionately fond of
perorations. Will suffer them only from Mr. G. and one or two others.
CHAMBERLAIN rarely rises to peroration point. To-night a great
occasion. Solemn enough even for peroration. Rising with its swelling
tide, he came to ask "the wisest and the most sensible among you to
consider the situation." Standing at the moment with face turned to
Liberals above Gangway; from Irish camp behind his back rose shouts
of ironical cheers and noisy laughter, "Boo-oo!" CHAMBERLAIN stopped
perforce, and with scornful gesture of thumb over his shoulder at mob
behind, said, "Yes, to the others I do not speak;" then went on and
finished his sentence.
"A great day this, for JOSEPH," I said after, to SQUIRE OF MALWOOD.
"Ah," said. THE PERSONAGE, meditatively stroking a chin made for
Cabinets. "Yes, he's very important; he reminds me of a story I heard
when I was in Scotland. There was a funeral going on in a quiet street
in Glasgow. Among the company present was observed a man whom nobody
seemed to know, but who was bustling about as if he were in charge
of most things. At last the undertaker, jealous of his own position,
suggested he had better take a back seat. 'Losh man!' cried the
Unknown, his eyes blazing with indignation, 'I'm brither to the
corpp.' Dissentient Liberalism is dead; but JOE is brither to the
corpp, and we must bear with him a little."
That's all very well; but they haven't done with JOSEPH yet. There may
come times of distress and famine when he will be heard of from Egypt.
_Business done_.--The Government's. Wound up by a majority of 40 in
turbulent House of 660 Members.
* * * * *
OVIDIUS REMARK.
[Illustration: ALL THE DIFFERENCE.
Ovid quite at Tomi. Tomi not quite at Tomi at Ovid.]
(_From a confirmed Tea-Drinker, who, suffering from Gout, has
been forbidden his favourite beverage_.)
DEAR TOPER,--Alas, no more of "The generous" for some time to come,
and, what afflicts me most is, I am cut off from my Tea! "What, no
soap! So he died." Substitute "Tea" for "Soap," and there I am. My boy
TOMMY, who is at home for the holidays, reminds me of what OVID said
at Tomi, not _to_ TOMMY, as they were not contemporaries, "_Nec tecum
vivere possum, nec sine te_." For "_te_" read "tea," and that's my
case to a T.
[Greek: Thatts Houtis.]
_Goughty Street, Old Portman Square._
* * * * *
LADY GAY'S SELECTIONS.--Dear _Mr. Punch_,--And now for another glance
at Racing. Next week we have meetings at Stockton and Wolverhampton,
and the most important race is the Stockton Handicap, for which I will
append my usual poetic selection:--
_STOCKTON HANDICAP SELECTION._
A difficult river to cross, I am told,
Is the one that is known as the Styx;
But, if rider and horseman be equally bold,
You can _do it by aid of "The Pyx"_!
This will rejoice the hearts of my followers, who have been
"selectionless" for some weeks, and have therefore been unable to bet,
unless they have accepted the absolutely unreliable information given
by _all_ the other sporting writers, but never by, yours truly,
LADY GAY. _Nash Hotel, Bournemouth._
* * * * *
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 of Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol.
103, August 20, 1892, by Various
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