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LONDON:. 
PUBLISHED     AT     THE     OFFICE,     10,     BOUVERIE     STREET, 


AND   SOU)    BY    ALL    BOOKSELLERS. 
1901. 


PP 
101 

PS 


BRADBURY,    AGNEW,    &    CO.    LD.,    PRINTERS, 
LONDON   AND   TONBRIDGE. 


JUKE  26,  1901." 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


in 


3*^  -,_ 

-^~<~-  -  - 


RATEFUL  on  this  afternoon  of  midsummer  was  the  double  line  of  lofty  elms  that  led  up  to  the  Moated 
VJT  Manor-house,  with  its  guard  of  Norman  towers.  So  it  struck  the  fancy  of  the  person  of  exotic  aspect 
who  was  striding  easily  up  the  avenue  at  the  end  of  a  long  cheroot,  with  a  small  Stars-and-Sfcripes  flag  under  each  arm, 
and  whistling  a  bar  or  two  of  "  The  Stately  Homes  of  England"  "Say,"  said  the  perfect  Stranger,  as  he  overtook  a 
gentleman  of  homely  exterior,  and  clapped  him  pleasantly  on  the  back,  "  you  happen  to  know  if  the  pro-prietor  of 
these  ruins  is  anxious  to  do  a  deal1?"  The  Lord  of  the  Manor  answered  with  a  noble  dignity,  "If  you  are  good 
enough  to  refer  to  myself,"  he  said,  "  I  have  no  intention  of  disposing  of  my  ancestral  property.  My  name  is  Bull." 

"  Proud  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Mr.  Bull.  Shake.  You  are  at  present  conversing  with  Jonathan  M.  Yankes, 
of  New  York  City  (M.  for  Monroe,  Sir),  and  Agent  of  the  Great  Anmrican  Pioneer  and  British  Isles  Development 
Trust.  That  is  my  card,  Sir.  And  let  me  tell  you  there  is  a  future  before  your  country,  Sir,  soon  as  we  start  in 
under  the  Pond  with  our  Pan-Anglo-Saxon  Submarine  Toob.  We  are  dead-set  on  opening  up  these  Islands,  Sir  ;  but  we 
allow  that  there  are  some  institootions  in  the  Old  Place  which  give  us  a  six-holes  beating  in  the  matter  of  sentiment 
and  picturesqueness,  doo  to  age."  The  Lord  of  the  Manor  bowed  coldly. 

"  Where  we  can  persuade  the  holders  to  let  go  of  their  assets,"  continued  the  Stranger,  "  we  propose  to  take  these 
relics  over  as  going  concerns  and  preserve  them  for  pos-terity.  We  are  now  sizing  up  some  of  your  brightest  antiqui- 
ties, such  as  Stratford-cw-Avon,  and  the  like.  With  your  permission,  Sir,  I  will  pro-ceed  to  sample  the  heirlooms.  Ef 
you  hev  a  cat'logue  handy,  we  might  get  through  with  this  business  in  time  for  me  to  hitch  my  private  car  on  to  your 
Down-South  Night  Crawler.  A  seance  of  the  British  Museum  Roof-Garden  Cafe  Syndicate  is  fixed  for  to-morrow, 
10  a.m.;  and  .at  noon  I  reckon  to  take  a  short  run  west  to  peg  out  the  Old  Windsor  Boar  Park,  where  we  are  laying 
down  our  Whitney-Huggins  Stud  Farm  for  the  Improvement  of  the  British  Race-horse  ;  and  at  3.30  p.m.,  I  come  right 
back  to  the  Metropolis  for  the  Crystal  Palace  and  Piccadilly  Overhead  Track  Combine  Meeting,  when  a  notion  for  All- 
fired  Crow-Catchers  will  be  on  the  tepee.  Things  are  humming,  Sir,  both  in  and  around  your  Capital." 

A  fine  reserve  characterised  the  reply  of  the  Lord  of  the  Manor.  "  You  do  not  appear,"  he  said,  "  to  grasp  the 
fact  that  there  are  things  which  money  cannot  buy  from  an  honourable  Englishman.  But  I  shall  be  happy,  in  the 
capacity  of  host,  to  show  you  over  my  place.  By  the  way,  may  one  ask  how  you  reconcile  your  schemes  of  annexation 
with  what  is  known  by  you  as  the  Monroe  Doctrine  ? " 

"  The  late  Colonel  Monroe,"  replied  the  Pioneer,  "  was  a  whole-souled  man,  Sir.  But  he  lacked  imagination.  He 
failed  to  grasp  the  re-verse  of  the  medallion.  And  he  overlooked  the  twentieth  century.  The  twentieth  century,  Sir, 


IV 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JUNE  26,  1901. 


will  bulk  pretty  consid'blo  in  the  history  of  the  de-velopment  of  Europe.     I  guess  it  would  surprise  C'lumbus  some  if 
he  could  resurrect  and  see  Amurica  discovering  the  Old  World." 

******** 

"  That  there,  Sir,"  said  the  Pioneer  later  on,  "  is  a  cunning  soot  of  armour.     Med'eval,  I  guess?" 

"  One  of  my  people  wore  it  at  Agincourt,  I  believe,"  said  Mr.  Bull. 

"  Wa'al,  I  grant  it  looks  more  at  home  here  than  it  would  in  your  War  Office.  Its  rel'tive  up-to-dateness  would 
jar  on  the  official  sense  of  antiquity  in  that  Burreau.  We  opine,  Sir,  that  we  have  no  place  in  our  Pioneer  Scheme  for 
your  mil'tary  institootions.  We  reckon  to  keep  them  on  ice  for  the  future  stoodent  of  antiques.  And  now,  Sir,  I  will  ask 
you  to  name  a  price,  right  away,  for  this  baronial  mansion,  with  grounds,  relics,  and  general  fixings,  as  it  stands." 

"  I  repeat,"  said  the  Lord  of  the  Manor,  "  that  money  cannot  buy  my  family  possessions.  I  would  not  part  with 
them  even  for  ten  times  their  market  value  ;  no,  not  for  a  million  sterling.  English  gentlemen,  I  am  glad  to  think, 
retain  something  of  their  old  pride  and  patriotism." 

"  Ef  you  will  throw  your  eye  over  this  document,"   replied  the  Stranger,  imperturbably,  as  he  handed  him  an 

envelope,  "  I  will  walk  around  the  pai*-tares  for  a  matter  of  five  minutes  and  come  back  to  you  right  here." 

##****** 

The  interval  for  reflection,  brief  but  sufficient,  had  expired  The  eye  of  the  Lord  of  the  Manor  still  rested  lovingly 
on  a  cheque  to  bearer  for  fifteen  million  dollars.  "  You  see  me,  Sir,  on  time,"  remarked  the  Pioneer.  "  I  reckon  we  've 
fixed  that  trifle  up  straight  enough.  Say,  how  soon  can  you  quit  ?" 

"  Had  you  been  a  foreigner  in  the  full  sense,"  replied  Mr.  Bull,  "  I  must  undoubtedly  have  declined  your  highly 
generous  offer.  But  Blood,  as  I  now  feel,  is  thicker  than  water,  and  I  am  conscious  that  our  two  countries  are  daily 
drawing  closer  under  the  influence,  if  I  may  employ  a  pleasantry,  of  the  recent  Morganitic  Alliance.  But  I  must  put 
one  condition  upon  my  acceptance  of  your  handsome  proposal.  It  is  that  I  shall  be  allowed  to  retain  a  single  treasure 
from  my  library,  the  very  latest  of  a  long  series  of  which  the  previous  numbers  are  already  known  to  me  by  heart." 

"Sir,"  replied  the  Pioneer,  "as  representing  the  Trust,  I  claim  to  have  a  soul  above  low-down  greed.     The  work  in 

question  is  yours.     And  ef  it  is  to  be  had  on  the  book-stores  anyway,  T  grant  I  shall  annex  a  dooplicate." 

'*  *  *  *  *  *  *  * 

Not  wholly  suggestive  of  despair  was  the  figure  which,  before  the  afternoon  was  out,  might  have  been  seen  retiring 
down  the  long  avenue  of  lofty  elms.  It  belonged  to  the  ex-Lord  of  the  Manor,  who  thus  "through  Eden  took  his 
solitary  way  "  towards  the  lodge-gates,  an  exile  from  the  home  of  his  birth.  Secured  in  his  small  bundle  of  necessities 
lay  the  potent  draught  (at  sight),  a  princely  compensation  for  disturbance  ;  while  under  his  arm  he  held  that  priceless 
balm  of  adversity,  Mr.  PUNCH'S 


mtb  Cfotntieil)  Mmm. 


U'ln 


-*  tr*^ 
!~^-  "    1    f^~~~.-        A 


JANUARY  2,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


"JACKIDES." 

' '  His  last  appearance ! '  'Most  of  us  can  appraise  at  its  worth  the 
value  of  this  announcement  when  it  concerns  a  popular  comedian 
or  vocalist.  Thenceforth,  we  might  fairly  deduce  many  "  last 
appearances"  ere  the  well-graced  favourite  should  bow  his 
final  farewell.  But,  with  Mr.  Punch's  great  cartoonist,  this  is 
not  so.  It  is  his  wish  that  his  words  should  be  taken  literally. 
His  last  cartoon  for  Mr.  Punch  appears  this  week.  During  a 
period  of  something  over  fifty  years,  working  with  almost 
unbroken  regularity,  week  after  week,  and  year  by  year,  he 
has  given  the  British  public  his  very  best.  A  grand,  and,  in 
the  history  of  pictorial  journalism,  unique  record. 


Yet,  "His  last  appearance!"  Can  it  be  possible?  Is  it 
permissible?  "  Look  at  this  picture  and  on  that !"  Compare 
with  his  cartoon  for  this  week  any  one  of  his  most  memorable 
cartoons !  Perfect  in  its  classic  design,  as  fresh  in  its  fancy 
and  as  vigorous  as  ever  in  its  execution,  is  it  possible  that  this 
is  the  last  we  are  to  see  of  his  work?  Will  he  do  no  more 
"cartoons"?  No.  He  will  not.  The  artist  has  decided. 
"  Sic  volo,  sic  jubeo."  We  do  not  doubt  the  wisdom  of  his 
judgment,  and  we  t>ow  to  his  irrevocable  decision.  But  though  to 
the  public  is  lost  the  charm  of  his  graceful  pencil,  among  us, 
his  fellow- workers  on  "Mr.  Punch's"  staff,  he  remains, 
retaining  his  seat  at  our  council-board,  the  historic  table, 
ever  most  warmly  welcome  as  "Our  Jackides,"  that  is,  to 


VOL.  cxx. 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUART  2,  1901. 


paraphrase  Falstaff,  "  JACKIDES  with  his  familiars,  JOHN  -with 
his  relations,  and  Sir  JOHN  TENNIEL  to  the  whole  world." 

So  Sir  JACKIDES,  preux  chevalier  et  sans  reproche,  hangs  up  hi 
pencil-sword,  still  bright  with  the  polish  of  trua  wit,  which, 
ever  ready  to  be  drawn  on  the  side  of  right,  he  has  never  felt 
himself  called  upon  to  use  in  self-defence.  Would  that,  like 
Pi'ospero,  he  wera  simply  laying  aside  for  a  while  his  magic  art 
to  resume  it  at  will. 

JOHN  TENNIEL  summoned,  at  a  critical  moment,  to  join  "the 
Staff,"  by  the  first  Editor  MARK  LEMON,  was  on  it  with  DOUGLAS 
JERHOLD,  GILBERT  ABBOTT  ABECKETT,  JOHN  LEECH,  SHIRLEY 
BROOKS,  and  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY.  It  is  possible, 
that,  at  some  future  time,  Sir  JACKIDES,  as  a  courteous  Nestor, 
may  reason  with  a  youthful  Atrides  and  newly  elected  Pelides, 
each  intolerant  of  the  other's  opinion,  in  his  wise  prototype's 
words — 

"  You  are  not  both,  put  both  your  years  in  one, 
So  old  as  I.     I  liv'd  long  since,  and  was  companion 
"With  men  superior  to  you  both,  who  yet  would  hear 
My  counsels  with  respect." 

Whereupon  the  two  heroes  shall  reconsider  the  matter,  quietly 
and  calmly. 

Sir  JACKIDES  will,  I  trust,  pardon  me,  his  fellow-worker  during 
nearly  forty  years,  for  writing  this  a  son  insu,  but  my  excuse 
is  that  he  would  never  have  "consented  to  the  deed  "  had 
I  besought  his  leave  and  license.  In  the  character  of 
"Manager,"  I  plead  the  occasion  as  sufficient  apology  for  my 
appearance,  with  these  few  inadequate  words,  before  the 
curtain  which,  by  the  time  this  number  appears,  will  have 
already  risen  on  the  First  Scene  of  the  Great  World-wide 
Drama  of  The  New  Century.  F.  C.  B. 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

WERE  the  Baron  asked,  "  What  shall  I  give  a  youth  or  a  mere 
boy  as  a  New  Year's  present  ?  "  he  would  reply,  "  Kind  Sir,  or 
good  Madam,  as  the  case  may  be,  whether  the  youth,  or  mere  boy, 
has  been  good,  bad,  or  indifferent,  during  the  past  year,  I  should 
strongly  recommend  you  to  give  him  a  Wiggin."  And  when 
the  Baron  thus  expresses  himself  he  would  have  it  understood 
that  the  "Wiggin"  lie  means  is  Mrs.  KATE  DOUGLAS  WIGGIN, 
whose  two  works,  old  friends,  with  new  faces  by  Mr.  CHARLES 
BROCK,  Penelope's  English  Experiences  and  Penelope's  Experiences 
in  Scotland  (GAY  AND  BIRD, — the  very  description  for  publishers 
of  such  light  and  airy  books)  will  be  one  of  the  delights  of  his 
life.  The  Baron  emphasizes  them  as  "old  friends,"  as  they 
first  saw  the  light  in  1893,  but  "the  new  faces,"  the  pictures 
in  these  books,  endow  them  with  a  vitality  that  will  consider- 
ably extend  the  popularity  they  have  already  achieved.  The 
name  of  the  artist,  Mr.  CHARLES  BROCK,  recalls  one  associated 
with  artistic  brilliancy  In  fireworks  as  is  that  of  tins  present 
artist  with  artistic  brilliancy  in  apt  and  humorous  illustration. 

Dr.  ROBERTSON  NICOLL  does  well  to  bring  out  a  new  edition 
of  his  James  Macdonell,  Journalist  (HoDDER  &  STOUGHTON).  It 
is  what  it  professes  to  be,  the  life  of  a  journalist,  "  perhaps," 
he  claims,  "  the  only  life  of  a  journalist  pure  and  simple  ever 
written."  The  materials  are  arranged  with  great  skill,  and  the 
story  is  told  with  that  simplicity  of  style  which  seems  so  easy  till 
you  try  to  reproduce  it.  My  Baron ite  remembers  JAMES  MAC- 
DONELL  in  the  Press  Gallery  of  the  House  of  Commons  and  other 
fields  of  work,  a  quietly  mannered,  earnest  toiler  who,  starting 
from  the  lowest  rung  of  the  journalistic  ladder,  worthily 
reached  the  top. 

The  Baron  is  puzzled  by  the  proven  fact  that,  up  to  within  a 
very  few  weeks  ago,  he  had  not  heard  of  "  The  Rsv.  P.  A. 
SIIEEHAN,  P.P.,  Doneraile,  Diocese  of  Cloyne "  the  author  of 
My  Neiv  Curate,  a  book  published  (by  MARTIN  CALLAIIAN  &  Co.) 
in  1899,  and  which  reached  its  eighth  edition  in  October, 
1900.  Having  heard  of  it,  to  order  it  and  receive  it  was 


the  work  of  a  moment ;  to  read  it  and  enjoy  it,  at  leisure, 
was  the  work,  protracted  on  purpose,  of  several  days. 
No  "scenes  of  clerical  life,"  not  GEORGE  ELLIOT'S,  not 
TROLLOPE'S,  nor  even  the  story  of  Monsieur  L'ABBE 
CONSTANTIN,  have  ever  given  the  Baron  so  much  honest, 
healthy-minded,  and  purely  high-comedy  entertainment  as  is 
provided,  for  all  readers  capable  of  appreciating  such  a  work,  by 
this  "Parish  Priest  of  Doneraile  Diocese."  His  latinity  and  his 
delight  in  the  classics  reminds  the  Baron  of  THACKERAY'S  friend, 
Father  PROUT.  It  is  full  of  thai  quiet  humour  in  pathos,  of  those 
smiles  amid  tears,  which  are  the  touches  of  nature  that  make 
the  whole  world  kin,  irrespective  of  creed  and  country.  Not 
infrequently  was  the  stony-hearted  Baron  compelled  to  deposit 
this  bpok  on  his  knee,  search  swiftly  for  his  kerchief  .  .  and 
blow  his  nose  vigorously.  Ad  lectores  meos,  "  tolle  lege  !  " 

WHO  'S  who  who  says  he  can  get  along  through  daily  life 
without  possessing  a  copy  of  Who  's  Who  (A.  &  C.  BLACK)  ?  His 
range  of  interests  must  be  exceedingly  narrow.  When  Lord 
RANDOLPH  CHURCHILL  went  out  to  Central  Africa  he  took  with 
him  a  single  book,  Shakespeare.  My  Baronite,  starting  on 
shorter  journeys,  makes  a  point  of  packing  up  Who  's  Who,  the 
most  compendious  library  of  its  kind  known  to  him  in  single- 
volume  form.  In  the  new  edition  is  incorporated  Men  and 
Women  of  the  Time,  an  admirable  work  in  its  way,  long 
since  elbowed  out  of  the  field  by  its  strenuous,  up-to-date  and 
far  more  comprehensive  rival.  Messrs.  BLACK  also  issua  The 
English  Woman's  Year-Book.  It  tells  a  woman  everything  she 
wants  to  know,  save  how  to  get  married.  It  is  on  a  far  loftier 
plane  than  that. 

Miss  ELLEN  THORNEYCROFT  FOWLER  leaped  into  fame  by  her 
novel  Concerning  Isabel  Carnaby,  round  which  to-day  rests  the 
pleasing  halo  of  a  seventeenth  edition,  completing  the  sale  of 
fifty  thousand.  My  Baronite  knew  her  earlier,  and  hailed  her 
genius  as  a  writer  of  verse  in  some  of  the  weeklies.  They  are 
brought  together  and  published  in  a  dainty  volume,  the  text  set 
in  good  black  type  within  luxuriously  broad  margin.  "Love's 
Argument  and  Other  Poems  (HODDER  &  STOUGHTON).  The  poems, 
in  many  rhythms,  have  each  something  pointed  to  say,  and  the 
point  is  well  turned.  It  is  high  praise  for  a  young  writer  in 
verse  to  say  that  Miss  FOWLER'S  shows  no  trace  of  imitation  of 
established  models.  It 's  all  her  own,  and  very  good,  too. 

THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


A  FAREWELL. 

TIME,  who  devours  his  children,  now  claims  thee, 
Poor  dying  Century  !     With  eager  pace 
The  New  Age  hurries  on  to  take  thy  place, 

And  thou  goest  forth  into  the  Darkness.     We, 

Who  knew  and  loved  thee,  turn  reluctantly. 
To  the  new  comer's  unfamiliar  face, 
Look  in  his  eyes  and  strive  in  vain  to  trace 

Thy  likeness  in  the  features  that  we  see. 

In  vain !     What  there  is  shown  none  may  descry. 
But  we  can  smile  though  skies  be  overcast, 
Can  front  the  future  as  we  faced  the  past, 
And  bear  a  light  heart  with  us  till  we  die, 
Can  find  a  laugh  for  the  New  Century, 
And  just  one  tear  at  parting  with  the  Last ! 


CHANCE  FOR  AN  INTENDING  UNCLE. — If,  according  to  a  state- 
ment at  a  recent  trial,  Charley's  Aunt  has  made  over  £100,000, 
where  does  CHARLEY'S  Uncle  come  in?  Or  is  CHARLEY'S  Aunt 
a  widow  ?  In  this  latter  case,  it  won't  be  long  before  some 
'ascinating  bachelor,  or  widower,  may  induce  the  excellent  lady 
to  change  her  name  for  his,  but,  of  course,  without  ceasing 
to  be  the  same  Charley's  Aunt  that  she  has  ever  been.  She 
ertainly  has  proved  herself  to  be  a  most  attractive  person. 


JANTJAR    2,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


A  FUTURE  LORD  MAYOR. 

Fond  Mother.  "On,  GKANDMA,  ISN'T  HE  jrsr  HADE  FOR  IT  !" 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON  CHARIVAKI. 


[JANUARY  2,   1901. 


THE  HOME-COMING  OF  THE  CHIEF. 

To  FIELD-MARSHAL  LORD  ROBERTS,  V.C. 
January  2,  1C01. 

WELCOME,  welcome,  long  desired  ! 
Now  the  watching  eyes  astrain 
Over  the  misty-curtained  main 
Have  the  sight  that  sets  at  rest 
Hearts  the  sport  of  hope  and  fear. 
Now  the  signal-lights  are  fired  ; 
Now  with  shattering  thunder-shock 
Battleship  and  cannon'd  rock, 
Booming  out  their  iron  cheer 
Greet  you  where  your  vessel  rides 
Swinging  on  familiar  tides 
Off  the  land  you  love  the  best  I 

So  for  you  the  circled  year 
Rounds  the  term  of  labour  wrought, 
Victory  snatched  from  out  defeat, 
Pledge  redeemed  as  with  a  charm 
By  your  skill  of  scheming  thought 
And  the  strong  destroying  arm. 
Marshal  of  a  mightier  host 
Than  our  conquering  keels  of  oak 
Ever  bore  from  Britain's  coast, 
Yours  were  yet  the  nobler  arts, 
Where  with  Justice,  swift  of  stroke, 
Milder  claims  of  Mercy  meet. 
So  you  come,  long  waited  for, 
While  the  gathering  of  the  strands 
Streaming  from  your  web  of  war 
Lies  with  other  younger  hands, 
Younger  hands  and  sterner  hearts ! 

First  before  your  Empress-Queen 
You  shall  lay  your  laurels  low  ; 
Her  whose  hand  has  learned  to  lean 
On  your  undimmed  warrior-strength  ; 
Her  for  whose  dear  honour's  sake, 
When  the  nations  laughed  to  know 
England's  lordship  like  to  fall, 
You  obeyed  the  instant  call, 
Led  the  van  and  turned  the  day. 
So,  your  warfare  done,  at  length 
From  her  lips  you  go  to  take 
What  of  thanks  a  Queen  may  pay. 

Next,  saluted  by  the  port 
Whence  with  heartening  faith  you  fared 
Toward  your  task  beyond  the  foam, 
Now  your  haven,  nearing  home — 
Come  where  she,  through  street  and 

Court, 

Mother  of  Cities,  hails  her  choice ! 
Come  to  us  whose  myriad  voice 
For  the  year  of  dangers  dared 
Shall  in  one  bright  hour  atone ! 
Come  beneath  the  banners  blown, 
Down  the  roar  of  serried  ranks, 
Hearts  aglow  with  love  and  pride  ! 
Come  and  hear  your  country's  thanks  ! 
Come,  for  she  remembers  well 
How  in  that  last  winter-tide 
When  the  night  around  her  fell 
All  her  hopes  on  you  were  set 
As  upon  a  magic  spell ! 
Should  she,  then,  so  soon  forget  ? 

Ah !  but  while  a  nation's  cries 
Storm  against  our  sullen  skies, 
Midst  the  madness  and  the  mirth 


Flung  about  your  victor's  way, 
If  behind  the  brave  array 
All  the  hidden  heart  were  known, 
Save  for  love  of  England's  name 
Gladly  would  you  yield  the  prize, 
Glory,  triumph,  wealth  and  fame, 
Could  you  win  one  grace  alone, 
Could  you  have  your  boy  again 
Home  from  where  he  takes  his  rest 
Lying  under  alien  earth 
By  Colenso's  dreadful  plain 
With  the  Cross  above  his  breast ! 

O.  S. 


MOGGSON'S  CHRISTMAS  EVE. 

MOGGSON  was  alone  in  his  library.  He 
had  been  working  hard  till  quite  late  in 
the  evening,  and  felt  tired — too  tired  to 
read.  So  be  leant  back  in  his  chair,  and 
enjoyed  the  blaze  from  the  fire.  Now  and 
then  he  would  take  a  look  round  at  his 
well-filled  shelves.  It  was  good  to  be 
near  so  many  friends — even  though  too 
tired  to  converse  with  them ;  for  one  of 
the  rare  joys  of  intimate  friendship  con- 
sists in  companionable  silence. 

So  Moggson  smoked  and  thought — no, 
thought  is  too  severe  an  expression  ;  he  let 
the  mental  reins  go  slack,  so  that  his  fancy 
should  carry  him  wheresoever  she  willed. 

His  gaze  wandered  to  the  far  corner  of 
the  room  where  a  number  of  new  books, 
written  specially  for  Christmas  time,  had 
threatened  by  their  smart  appearance  and 
fashionable  ways  to  eclipse  altogether  a 
few,  well-worn,  shabby  old  friends,  who 
had  been  there  for  years.  Had  threatened ! 
Yes,  but  surely .  It  was  odd. 

MOGGSON  rubbed  his  eyes.  In  the  fire- 
light the  new-comers  seemed  to  have  lost 
their  brightness  and  alertness.  They 
looked  positively  insignificant.  And, 
curiously  enough,  there  was  a  strange 
brightness  about  an  odd,  old-fashioned 
little  chap  at  the  end  of  the  shelf.  A 
murmur  of  disgust  came  from  the  new- 
comers. MOGGSON  caught  the  words. 
"Hopelessly  out  of  date."  "Such  bad 
taste,  dressing  like  that."  "Never  mind" 
— (this  from  one  of  the  latest  arrivals — he 
had  looked  a  gorgeous  fellow,  now  he 
seemed  draggled  and  miserable) — "  that 
vulgar  little  chap  in  the  red  coat." 

MOGGSON  was  interested.  He  rose  and 
walked  towards  the  shelves.  The  odd 
little  chap  m  the  corner  was  chuckling: 
certainly  he  looked  old-fashioned  enough, 
yet  there  was  a  strange  glow  of  vitality 
about  him  which  his  spick  -  and  -  span 
companions  lacked. 

MOGGSON  was  delighted.  Here  was  the 
right  comrade  for  him.  He  felt  ashamed 
that  he  had  paid  so  little  attention  to  him 
lately.  "  Come  and  chat  with  me,  will 
you?"  he  said.  The  little  chap  sprang 
off  the  shelf.  His  movements  were 
grotesque,  and  his  dress  certainly  open  to 
criticism.  Yet  MOGGSON  felt  amazingly 
at  home  with  ;hirn,  and  at  some  observa- 


tion he  put  back  his  head  and  laughed  as 
he  hadn't  laughed  for  months.  How  the 
hours  sped  on.  The  fire  was  replenished 
and  he  listened  to  his  friend  talking. 

Sometimes  he  would  laugh,  till  some  of  the 
serious  friends  on  the  shelves  almost  died 
of  disgust ;  at  other  times  the  laugh  got 
mixed  up  with  an  odd  feeling  in  the  throat ; 
and  things  looked  a  little  dim  for  a  moment 
or  so ;  until  another  laugh  came,  and — 
***** 

He  opened  his  eyes.  The  grey  dawn 
gave  the  flickering  gas  lamps  outside  a 
slate  background.  MOGGSON  stretched 
himself  and  looked  at  the  book  on  his 
lap,  "A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL."  "Men, 
women  and  children  of  England,"  said 
MOGGSON,  addressing  an  imaginary  au- 
dience, "  let  me  give  you  a  Christmas 
toast.  Here 's  to  the  gentleman  who  has 
discovered  the  secret  of  perpetual  youth — 
CHARLES  DICKENS  !  "  A.  R. 


SPORTIVE  SONGS. 
(An  Old  Fogey  addresses  his  Great-Nephew 

on  the  New  Year.) 
I  MAY  not  sing  the  New  Year's  praise, 

E'en  though  a  century  begins. 
No !     I  look  back  on  other  days, 

On  bygone  virtues,  bygone  sins ; 
On  decades  that  went  all  too  fast, 

Though  now  they  are  so  very  slow. 
Give  me  the  ne'er  forgotten  Past, 

The  ups  and  downs  of  Long  Ago ! 

Then  men  were  brave  and  women  fair, 

I  don't  deny  they  're  so  to-day, 
But  is  Life  now  so  debonnair, 

And  are  its  serfs  so  blithe  and  gay  ? 
Why  did  the  World  seem  then  so  bright, 

Why  did  we  quaff  our  wine,  not  sip  ? 
Well,  some  folk  like  electric  light, 

Give  me  the  good  old  tallow  dip  ! 

You  much  prefer  a  touzled  head 

Above  a  figure  limp  and  lean ! 
Give  me  the  visage  plump  and  red 

That  beamed  above  a  crinoline ! 
Give  me  the  Dandy's  splendid  glare 

That  proudest  damsels  could  abash, 
For  such  a  being  can't  compare 

With    half-bred    screws,   who    live    on 
"mash." 

We  backed  our  fancy  with  a  will : 

Begad !  the  money  used  to  fly, 
And  though  our  judgment  might  be  nil, 

We  wagered  on  it,  "  do  or  die  "  ; 
But  you  young  fellows  don't  e'en  go 

To  see  how  racing  flyers  shape. 
At  home  you  all  are  "  in  the  know," 

And  lawyer-like,  employ  re(a)d  "  tape." 

And  then  we  fought — Yes !  we  could  fight, 

Face  odds  with  stern,  determined  brow, 
Stand  up  as  one  for  Britain's  right. 

Can  you  do  this  who  battle  now? 
What '  s  this  I  read  ?  ' '  Each  stubborn  rank ' ' 

'Gainst  three  to  one  the  Boer  can't  tire! 
Here,  put  this  cheque  into  your  bank, 

And  put  this  doggrel  in  the  fire. 


JANUARY  2,  1901.] 


THEY    KNEW    HIM!" 


<S'Ac. 


.  ^"MR.    WlLDSHOT  HAS   BEEN   MAKING   AN   EXCUSE,  AS  USUAL,  FOR   HIS   BAD  SHOOTING.      THIS   TIME    IT   IS   THAT  THE   BIRDS  ARE 

so  WILD."  He.  "On,  INDEED!    I  RATHER  THINK  I  COULD  SUGGEST  A  BETTER."  She.  "tYas?" 

He.  "We  SUPPLY  HIM  WITH  BLANK  CARTRIDGE  wow.     IT  MAKES  NO  DIFFERENCE  TO  THE  BIRDS,  AND  IT  PROTECTS  us  !" 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  2,  1901. 


CONTENTMENT. 

Giles.  "A  HAVPY  NEW  YEAR  TO  YOU,  MARM,  AND  I  HOPE  YOU  'LL  BE  AS  LUCKY  THIS 

YEAR  AS   I   WAS   LAST." 

Lady.  "On,  THANK  YOU  VERY  MUCH,  GILES;  BUT  YOU  SURELY  FORGET  THAT  YOU  LOST 

YOUR  WIFE  IN  THE  SPRING,  AND  BROKE  YOUR  LEG  IN  THE  SUMMER." 

Giles.  "Yas,  BUT  T'OTHER  LEG'S  ALL  RIGHT,  AND  AS  FOB  PAW  SOOSAN,  IT  MIGHT  HAVE 

BttEN    I   TO   BE  TOOK   INSTEAD." 


YULE-TIDE  PAST  AND  PRESENT. 

(A  Couple  of  Specimens.) 
SPECIMEN  No.  1.    OLD  STYLE. 

NEVER  was  there  such  a  merry  time. 
The  Avails  hung  with  holly  and  mistletoe 
glistened  in  the  soft  candle-light.  The 
party  included  everyone.  There  were 
grandpa  and  grandma,  and  the  Colonel  and 
the  Captain  R.N.,  and  numbers  of  grand- 
children, nephews,  nieces  and  cousins 
twice  removed.  It  was  Yule-tide  — 
glorious  Yule-tide  —  season  of  happy 
goodwill. 

How  they  danced  !  How  they  travelled 
down  the  centre  of  the  hall.  How  the 
musicians  in  the  gallery  played  Sir  Roger 
de  Coverley  until  they  nearly  dropped 
asleep  from  sheer  fatigue.  Indeed,  in- 
deed, it  was  a  right  merry  time. 


And  how  the  portraits  of  the  ancestors 
smiled  from  their  canvases !  Generation 
after  generation  of  statesmen,  warriors 
and  divines.  There  they  were,  beaming  on 
the'ir  descendants. 

And  the  dinner  !  Ah,  that  was  the  time 
for  mirth.  How  they  laughed  !  How  they 
pledged  one  another !  How  the  entire 
family — from  the  senior  of  seventy  to  the 
junior  of  five  —  met  together  to  frater- 
nise ! 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  all !  "  cried  the 
white-headed  host.  "Why,  my  dear  re- 
latives ?  W%y,  because  it  is  Christmas  !  " 

SPECIMEN  No.  2.  MODERN. 
They  were  seated  facing  one  another  in 
the  coffee-room  of  the  hotel.     They  had 
left  town  for  about   a  week  and    were 


]  quietly  enjoying  themselves. 


"Glad  to  escape  the  family  circle," 
said  he. 

"  Quite  so,"  was  her  laconic  response. 

The  waiter  had  served  them  with  the 
regulation  table-d'hote  dinner.  They  had 
come  to  the  sweets. 

"Which  will  you  have,  Madam,  mince- 
pie  or  plum-pudding." 

"What  an  odd  menu!"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Why  do  they  give  us  such  indigestible 
dishes?  " 

"Can't  say,  Sir,"  replied  the  waiter. 
Then  he  hazarded.  "It  may  be,  Sir, 
because  it  is  Christmas." 


A  SONG  OF  THE  TWENTIETH  CENTURY. 

["  Twelve  Clitheroe  publicans  applied  for  exten- 
sion of  time  on  New  Year's  Eve,  on  the  plea  that 
'  a  good  many  people  would  desire  to  see  the  end 
of  the  old  century  and  the  beginning  of  the  new.' 
The  magistrates  have  granted  an  extension  of  time 
until  one  o'clock." — Daily  Paper.'} 

DRINK  out  the  old,  drink  in  the  new, 
Drink  out  a  strait-laced  Clitheroe  ; 
The  beer  is  flowing ;  let  it  flow ; 

Drink  out  the  sober,  in  the  fou'. 

Drink  out  the  century  severe, 
Drink  in  an  age  more  free  and  gay  ; 
Drink  out  the  joyless  U.  K.  A. 

And  temperance  reform  austere. 

Drink  out  the  old  teetotal  cause, 
Drink  in  the  CECILS'  new  regime  ; 
Drink  in,  drink  in,  the  drunkard's 
dream 

Of  more  indulgent  liquor  laws. 

Drink  out  Sir  WILFRID'S  long  crusade, 
A  nation's  shame,  a  CECIL'S  sport ; 
Drink  out  the  foolish  PEEL  report 

Drink  in  the  golden  new  Free  Trade. 

Drink  out  all  beverages  thin, 
The  sign  of  these  degenerate  times  ; 
Drink  out  Sir  WILFRID'S  sober  rhymes, 

But  drink  the  "  fuller  "  minstrel  in. 

Drink  in  the  complaisant  J.P., 

The  larger  heart,  the  kindlier  hand  ; 
Drink  out  a  dull  and  sober  land, 

Drink  in  the  vice  that  is  to  be. 


"  WHAT  !  HARE  !  "  —  Widely,)  and  as  a 
rule  favourably  reviewed,  are  the  three 
concluding  "volumes,  iv.  to  vi."  (a  very 
good  time  in  the  day  for  reading)  of 
AUGUSTUS  J.  C.  HARE'S  Story  of  my  Life. 
It  seems,  judging  from  the  notices,  that 
Mr.  HARE  might  with  greater  accuracy 
have  styled  the  work  "Stories  of  other 
people's  lives,"  and  have  appended  to  it 
the  alternative  title  of  "  The  Hare  and 
many  friends."  Such  a  book,  while  im- 
parting to  its  readers  a  quantity  of  more 
or  less  useful  or  entertaining  knowledge, 
must  contain  a  considerable  amount  of 
padding,  which  need  not,  in  this  instance 
be  heavy,  but  might  consist  of  "Trifles, 
light  as  Hare." 


JANUARY  2,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 

"SiN«  a  song  of  Christmas," 

The  Editor  did  cry, 
•"  Of  turkey  and  plum-pudding 

And  endless  revelry." 
When  the  song  was  opened 

He  found  this  little  thing — 
Wasn't  it  a  funny  song 

For  a  Christmas  bard  to  sing  ? 

"When  the  postman  daily  fills 
My  letter-box  with  Christmas  bills, 
When  with  winning  smile  he  knocks 
For  his  wonted  Christmas  box, 
When  the  duns  are  at  my  door, 
Asking  more  and  more  and  more, 
When  from  their  wiles  T  vainly  fly, 
Then  doth  my  harassed  spirit  cry, 

Though  Christmas  comes  but  once  a 
year, 

Once  too  often  it  is  here. 

"  When  the  Christmas  snow  and  sleet 
Permeate  my  frozen  feet, 
When  the  Christmas  '  flu '  doth  rack 
Legs  and  arms  and  bones  and  back, 
When  with  feet  in  mustard  cruel 
I  am  sipping  Christmas  gruel, 
Then  as  I  groan  and  cough  and  sneeze, 
Through  my  red-hot  throat  I  wheeze, 

Though  Christmas  comes  but  once  a 
year, 

Once  too  often  it  is  here." 


A   STORY  OF    THE   LONG. 
(Told  in  the  Short  Vacation.) 

IT  was  in  Bristol  City.  A  Representa- 
tive of  the  Sage  of  Bouverie  Street  met 
the  Poor  Mnd  Disreputable  Member  of  the 
Family.  As  usual,  the  Disreputable  One 
was  committing  his  popular  atrocities 
be  ore  an  enthusiastic  audience.  The 
spectators  were  of  tender  years,  but,  in 
spite  of  their  School  Board  training, 
cheered  to  the  echo  the  slaughter  of  the 
wife,  the  murder  of  the  son  and  heir,  the 
crushing  of  the  policeman,  the  undoing  of 
the  clown,  and  the  final. triumphiovenOld 
Bogey. 

"But  where  is  the  dog?"  asked  a 
Representative. 

"  He 's  been  sacrificed,  Sir,  for  the  good 
of  the  Public,"  replied  the  Disreputable 
One's  Business  Manager. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  " 

"That  when  they  put  his  muzzle  on, 
Sir,  he  could  not  bite  the  nose  of  his 
employer." 

"  Oh,  that 's  the  short  of  it,  is  it  ?  " 

"Well,  no,  Sir;  I  should  say  it  was 
more  Long  than  Short." 

And  when  the  story  was  narrated  that 
evening  at  the  annual  dinner  of  the  local 
Press  Fund  in  the  presence  of  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  Board  of  Agriculture  (late 
President  of  the  Local  Government  Board) 
it  went  with  roars.  Three  cheers  for 
Bristol  City. 


THE    FESTIVE    SEASON. 

First  Burglar.  "  'ERE  's  A  GO,  MATE  !     THIS  'ERE  BIT  o'  TURKEY,  KNUCKILE  HEXD  OF 

AN    'AM,    ARF  A   SOSSIDGE,    AND    THE   'OLLY  OFF    THE    PLUM-PTTDDIN*  I      MlGHT  AS  WELL   *AVE 
LOOKED   IN   ON  A   BLOOMIN*   VEGETARIAN  !  " 


TO  THE  NEW  CENTURY. 
NEW  century,  whom  now  we  greet, 

Upon  your  threshold  gladly  standing, 
Come  with  your  blessings,  we  entreat, 

Over  the  world  your  reign  expanding  ; 
We,  with  old  pains  and  griefs  depressed, 
Hail  you  a  glad  and  welcome  guest. 

Rich,  glorious  times  we  hope  to  get 
Out  of  your  store  before  you  leave  us  ; 

We  possibly  shall  catch  DK  WET, 

Microbes  may  haply  cease  to  grieve  us, 

And,  maybe,  London  thoroughfares 

Shall  some  day  finish  their  repairs. 


And  those  whose  roving  fancies  turn 
To  the  North  Pole  perchance  may  reach 
it; 

Teetotalers  at  least  may  learn 

True  temperance  as  well  as  teach  it ; 

Thus  many  a  hope,  with  longing  eyes, 

We  look  to  you  to  realise. 

Yet  if  for  ills  that  we  endure 
The  remedy  in  vain  we  ask  you, 

New  century,  of  this  we  're  sure, 
That  when  our  sons  in  turn  shall  task  you 

With  all  the  ills  wherewith  they  're  vexed 

They  '11  hope  to  lose  them  in  the  next. 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


JANUARY  2,  1901. 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON 


TIME'S 


HARIVARL— JANUARY  2,  1901. 


PPEAL. 


JANUARY  2,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON  CHARIVAEL 


13 


14 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVAEI. 


[JANUARY  2,  1901. 


DEAMATJC  SEQUELS. 
I.—  THE  SCHOOL  FOR  SCANDAL. 
WHEN  Mr.  SYDNEY  GRUNDY'S  Comedy 
A  Debt  of  Honour  was  being  given  recently 
at  the  St.  James's  Theatre,  Mr.  ALEXANDER 
had  the  happy  idea  of  playing  after  it  a 
drama  in  one  act  by  the  same  author, 
showing  the  further  fortunes  of  the 
characters  in  the  piece.  This  idea  of 
dramatic  sequels  is  one  which  seems 
capable  of  further  extension.  For  ex- 
ample, we  have  ourselves  prevailed  upon 
the  Shade  of  Sheridan  to  provide  a  sequel 
to  The  School  for  Scandal.  It  is  called  : 

THE  RELAPSE   OF  LADY  TEAZLE. 

SCENE — Room  in  Sir  PETER  TEAZLE'S  house. 
Sir  PETER  and  Lady  TEAZLE  discovered 
wrangling  as  in  Act  II. 
Sir  P.  Lady  TEAZLE,  Lady  TEAZLE,  I  '11 
not  bear  it. 

Lady  T.  Sir  PETER,  Sir  PETER,  you've 
told  me  that  a  hundred  times.  This  habit 
of  repeating  yourself  is  most  distressing. 
'Tis  a  sure  sign  of  old  age. 

Sir  P.  (in  a  passion).  Oons,  madam,  will 
you  never  be  tired  of  flinging  my  age  in 
my  face  ? 

Lady  T.  Lud,  Sir  PETER,  'tis  you  that 
fling  it  in  mine.  How  often  have  you  said 
tome  (beating  time)  "when  an  old  bachelor 
marries  a  young  wife • 

Sir  P.  And  if  I  have,  Lady  TEAZLE,  you 
needn't  repeat  it  after  me.  But  you  live 
only  to  plague  me.  And  yet  'twas  but  six 
months  ago  you  vowed  never  to  cross  me 
again.  Yes,  madam,  six  months  ago,  when 
[  found  you  concealed  behind  a  screen  in 
Mr.  SURFACE'S  library,  you  promised  that 
if  I  would  forgive  you  your  future  con- 
duct should  prove  the  sincerity  of  your 
repentance.  I  forgave  you,  Madam,  and 
this  is  my  reward  ! 

Lady  T.  And  am  I  to  blame,  Sir  PETER, 
for  your  ill-humours  ?  Must  I  always  be 
making  concessions  ?  To  please  you,  I  have 

iven  up  all  routs  and  assemblies,  attend 
no  balls  nor  quadrilles,  talk  no  scandal, 
never  ogle  nor  flirt.  I  go  no  more  to  my 
Lady  SNEERWELL'S,  though  I  vow  her's 
was  a  most  delightful  house  to  visit.  Such 
'ashioii  and  elegance !  Such  wit !  Such 
delicate  malice  ! 

Sir  P.  (fretfully).  Just  so,  Madam ;  that 
s  what  I  complain  of.  All  the  while  you 
are  longing  to  return  to  these  follies. 
You  are  not  happy  when  you  are  alone 
with  me. 

Ladij  T.  Great  heavens,  Sir  PETER  ;  you 
must  not  ask  for  miracles.  What  woman 
of  fashion  is  ever  happy  alone  with  her 
lusband  ? 

Sir  P.  There  it  is,  Lady  TEAZLE.  You 
think  only  of  fashion.  And  yet,  when  I 
married  you 

Lady  T.  (yawning).  Lud,  Sir  PETER,  why 
will  you  be  always  returning  to  that  pain- 
ful subject  ? 

Sir  P.  Vastly  painful,  no  doubt,  Madam, 


since  it  prevents  you  from  marrying  Mr. 
SURFACE,  behind  whose  screen  I  found 
you. 

Ladij  T.  (yawning  more  heartily).  Mr. 
SURFACE  ?  But  'twas  CHARLES  you  used  to 
suspect. 

Sir  P.  (angrily.)  And  now  'tis  JOSEPH. 
Zounds,  Madam,  is  a  man  never  to  be 
allowed  to  change  his  mind  ?  (Raising  his 
voice  in  fury)  I  say  'tis  JOSEPH!  JOSEPH!! 
JOSEPH ! ! ! 

Enter  JOSEPH  SURFACE.  Sir  PETER  and 
Lady  TEAZLE  are  obviously  discon- 
certed a  this  inopportune  arrival,  and 
say  nothing.  JOSEPH  has  greatly  changed 
in  appearance  in  the  six  months  which 
have  elapsed  between  the  play  and  the 
sequel.  He  has  lost  his  sleekness  and 
his  air  of  conscious  virtue,  and  looks 
like  a  careless,  good-humoured  man- 
about-town. 

Joseph  (obviously  enjoying  their  discom- 
fort). Sir  PETER,  your  servant.  Lady 
TEAZLE,  your  most  obedient  (bows  mock- 
ingly). 

Sir  P.  (stiffly).  To  what,  Mr.  SURFACE, 
do  we  owe  the  honour  of  this  visit  ? 

Joseph  (blandly,  correcting  him).  Plea- 
sure, Sir  PETER. 

Sir  P.  (testily).  T  said  "  honour,"  Sir. 
Joseph  (easily).  I  came  at  the  invitation 
of  Sir  OLIVER,   who  is  staying  in  your 
house.     He  desired  to  see  me. 

Lady  T.  (viciously,  to  Sir  P.).  If  this 
gentleman's  business  is  with  Sir  OLIVER, 
perhaps  he  will  explain  why  he  has 
intruded  in  this  room. 

Joseph  (amused).  With  pleasure.  My 
attention  was  arrested  by  the  sound  of 
voices  raised  in  dispute.  I  heard  my 
name  mentioned  loudly  more  than  once, 
and,  recognizing  one  of  the  voices  as 
that  of  Lady  TEAZLE  (with  a  low  bow),  I 
thought  it  better  to  interpose  to  defend 
my  character  at  once. 

Lady  T.  (stamping  her  foot).  Insolent ! 
Sir  P.  (chuckling).  Ha,  ha  !  Very  good. 
I'  faith,  Mr.  SURFACE,  I  could  almost  find 
it  in  my  heart  to  forgive  you  for  your 
injuries  towards  me  when  you  talk  like 
that. 

Joseph.  Injuries,  Sir  PETER?  I  never 
did  you  an  injury.  That  affair  of  the 
screen  was  the  merest  misunderstanding. 
I  had  no  serious  desire  to  capture  the 
affections  of  Lady  TEAZLE.  On  the  con- 
trary, 'twould  have  been  highly  incon- 
venient for  me.  'Twas  your  ward  MARIA 
:hat  I  wished  to  win. 
Lady  T.  Monster  ! 

Joseph  (continuing.)    Unhappily,    Lady 

TEAZLE  mistook  the  nature  of  my  atten- 

•ionsand  I,  knowing  her  temper  (bowing  to 

Lady  T.),  feared  to  undeceive  her  lest  she 

should  use  her  influence  to  prejudice  me 

in  the  eyes  of  your  ward.  That,  Sir  PETER, 

s  the  true  explanation  of  the  situation  in 

ivhich  you  found    Lady    TEAZLE  on  that 

unlucky  morning. 

Lady   T.   (with  suppressed  fury).  Pray, 


Sir  PETER,  do  you  propose  to  continue  to 
permit  this  gentleman  to  speak  of  me  in 
this  way  ? 

Sir  P.  Certainly,  Madam.  Everything 
that  Mr.  SURFACE  has  said  seems  to  me 
to  bear  the  stamp  of  truth. 

Lady  T.  Ah  ! 

Joseph.  So,  you  see,  Sir  PETER,  you  never 
had  any  real  cause  of  jealousy  towards  me. 
My  conduct  was  foolish,  I  admit,  but  it 
was  never  criminal. 

Sir  P.  JOSEPH,  I  believe  you.  Give  me 
your  hand.  Six  months  ago  I  thought  you 
guilty  of  the  basest  treachery  towards  me. 
But  a  year  of  marriage  with  Lady  TEAZLE 
has  convinced  me  that,  in  her  relations 
with  you  as  in  her  relations  with  me,  it 
is  always  Lady  TEAZLE  who  is  in  the 
wrong  !  [They  shake  hands  warmly. 

Lady  T.  I  will  not  stay  here  to  be  in- 
sulted in  this  manner.  I  will  go  straight 
to  Lady  SNEERWELL'S,  and  tear  both  your 
characters  to  tatters. 

[Exit  in  a  violent  passion. 

Sir  P.  Oons,  what  a  fury  !  But  when  an 
old  bachelor  marries  a  young  wife 

Joseph.  Come,  come,  Sir  PETER,  no  senti- 
ments ! 

Sir  P.  What  you  say  that !  My  dear 
JOSEPH,  this  is  indeed  a  reformation. 
Had  it  been  CHARLES  now,  I  should  not 
have  been  surprised. 

Joseph.  Egad,  Sir  PETER,  in  the  matter 
of  sentiments  CHARLES,  for  a  long  time, 
had  a  most  unfair  advantage  of  me.  For, 
having  no  character  to  lose  he  had  no  need 
of  sentiments  to  support  it.  But  now  I 
have  as  little  character  as  he,  and  we 
start  fair.  Now  I  am  a  free  man ;  I  say 
what  I  think,  do  what  I  please.  Scandal 
has  done  its  worst  with  me,  and  I  no 
longer  fear  it.  Whereas,  when  I  had  a 
character  for  morality  to  maintain,  all 
my  time  was  wasted  in  trying  to  live  up 
to  it.  I  had  to  conceal  every  trifling 
flirtation,  and  had  finally  wrapped  myself 
in  such  a  web  of  falsehood  that  when 
your  hand  tore  away  the  veil,  I  give  you 
ray  word,  I  was  almost  grateful.  Depend 
upon  it,  Sir  PETER,  there  's  no  possession 
in  the  world  so  troublesome  to  the  owner 
as  a  good  reputation. 

Sir  P.  (digging  him  in  tlie  ribs).  Ah, 
JOSEPH,  you  're  a  sad  dog.  But  here  comes 
your  uncle,  Sir  OLIVER.  I'll  leave  you 
with  him.  [Exit. 

Enter  Sir  OLIVER,  reading  a  sheaf  of  legal 
documents. 

SirO.  (reading).  Eighty,  one  hundred  and 
twenty,  two  hundred  and  twenty,  three 
hundred  pounds !  Gad,  the  dog  will  ruin 

e. 

Joseph.  Sir  OLIVER,  your  servant. 

Sir  O.  (looking  up).  Eh?  Is  that  you, 
Nephew.  Yes,  I  remember.  I  sent  for 
you. 

Joseph.  You  are  busy  this  morning, 
Uncle.  I  '11  wait  upon  you  another  day. 

Sir  O.  No,  no,  JOSEPH.  Stay,  a.'d  hear 
what  I  have  to  tell  you.  I  sent  for  you 


JAXUAKT  2,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


Old  Stubbles  (having pounded  the  swells).  "Aw — HAW !  LAUGH  AWAY,  BUT  WHO  BE  THE  ROIOHT  SIDE  o' THE  FENCE,  MASTERS?" 


to  say  that  I  had  decided  to  pardon  your 
past  misconduct  and  restore  you  to  favour. 
Six  months  of  CHARLES'S  society  have 
convinced  me  of  the  folly  of  adopting  a 
reprobate. 

Joseph.  I  thought  they  would,  Uncle. 

Sir  O.  Your  brother's  extravagances 
pass  all  bounds.  Here  are  four  writs 
which  were  served  upon  him  but  yester- 
day. And  the  fellow  has  the  assurance 
to  send  them  on  to  me.  (Joseph  laughs 
heartily.)  Zounds,  Nephew,  don't  stand 
chuckling  there.  And  his  character  has 
not  reformed  one  whit,  in  spite  of  his  pro- 
mises. His  flirtations  with  my  Lady 
SNEERWELL  and.  others  are  so  excessive 
that  MARIA  has  quite  thrown  him  over, 
and  the  engagement  is  broken  off.  Add 
to  this  that  I  have  paid  his  debts  three 
times,  only  to  find  him  contracting  fresh 
liabilities,  and  you  may  judge  that  my 
patience  is  exhausted. 

Joseph.  But  these  are  old  stories, 
Uncle.  You  knew  that  CHARLES  was 
vicious  and  extravagant  when  you  made 
him  your  heir.  He  has  done  nothing  fresh 
to  offend  you. 

Sir  0.  On  the  contrary.  He  has  done 
something  which  has  hurt  me  deeply. 

Joseph.  How  absurd  of  him,  Uncle, 
when  he  knows  that  he  is  dependent 
wholly  on  your  bounty ! 

Sir  O.  Wait  till  you  have    heard  the 


whole  story.  A  week  ago  your  brother 
came  to  me  for  money  to  meet  some 
gambling  debt.  I  refused  him.  Where- 
upon, he  returned  to  his  house,  had  in 
an  auctioneer  and  sold  everything  that 
it  contained. 

Joseph  (much  amused).  And  did  you 
play  little  Premium  a  second  time, 
Uncle? 

Sir  0.  (testily).  Certainly  not,  Sir.  On 
this  occasion  I  left  the  rogue  to  settle 
matters  for  himself. 

Joseph.  But  I  see  no  great  harm  in  this. 
Why  should  not  CHARLES  sell  his  furni- 
ture? 

Sir  0.  (angrily).  Deuce  take  his  furni- 
ture. He  sold  my  picture  ! 

Joseph.  What,  "the  ill-looking  little 
fellow  over  the  settee  "  ? 

SirO.  Yes. 

Joseph.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  Delicious  !  Sold 
his  Uncle's  portrait !  Gad, .  I  like  his 
spirit. 

Sir  0.  You  seem  vastly  entertained, 
Nephew  ! 

Joseph.  I  confess  the  humour  of  the 
situation  appeals  to  me. 

Sir  0.  Happily  for  you  I  am  less  easily 
amused.  No,  no ;  CHARLES  is  a  heartless 
scoundrel,  and  I  '11  disown  him. 

Joseph.  No,  no,  Uncle.  He  's  no  worse 
than  other  young  men. 

Sir  0.  But  he  sold  my  picture  ! 


Joseph.  He  was  pressed  for  money. 

Sir  O.  (exasperated).  But  he  sold  my 
picture !  ! 

Joseph.  He  meant  no  harm,  I  '11  be 
bound. 

Sir  O.  (still  more  enraged).  But  he  sold 
my  picture  !  !  ! 

[Enter  Sir  PETER  hurriedly,  lodldng  pale 
and  disordered. 

Joseph.  My  dear  Sir  PETER,  you  are  ill ! 
You  have  had  bad  news  ? 

Sir  O.  Sir  PETER,  old  friend,  what  is  it  ? 

Sir  T.  (gasping).  Lady  TEAZLE 

[Stops,  choked  with  passion. 

Sir  O.  Not  dead  ? 

Sir  P.  Dead  !  Hell  and  furies !  if  it  were 
only  that !  No  ;  run  away  with  your  pro- 
fligate Nephew  CHARLES  ! 

Joseph.  Impossible ! 

Sir  0.  Is  this  certain  ? 

Sir  P.  Aye.  ROWLEY  saw  them  driving 
together  in  a  postchaise  towards  Richmond, 
not  ten  minutes  ago. 

Sir  0.  Then  I  disown  him.  JOSEPH,  you 
are  my  heir.  But  see  that  you  behave 
yourself  or  I  '11  disinherit  you,  too,  and 
leave  my  money  to  a  missionary  society. 

[Curtain. 

Q.  Why  does  the  pantomime  at  the 
Hippodrome  remind  one  of  a  cricket- 
ground  at  Cambridge  ? 

A.  Because  it  is  PARKER'S  piece. 


16 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVAEI. 


[JANUARY  2,  1901. 


A  BALLADE  OF  DREADFUL  DISEASES. 

THOUGH  the  season  of  Christmas  by  right  should  be  gay, 

Yet  the  outlook  is  certainly  black, 
For  most  dreadful  diseases  will  come  in  our  way, 

Though  the  crackers  may  merrily  crack. 
Though  we  claim  happy  days  by  consuming  a  stack 

Of  mince-pies — and  we  all  of  us  try — 'tis 
Quite  certain  that  few  will  avoid  the  attack 

Of  some  malady  ending  in  " — itis." 

Just  to  take  an  occurrence  of  every  day, 

Which  the  wet  weather  brings  in  its  track, 
A  sore  throat,  with  a  rather  bad  cough,  let  us  say, 

Of  the  kind  that  professes  to  "  hack  "- 
Well,  the  owner  is  cheerfully  placed  on  the  rack, 

For  his  doctor,  ignoring  his  fright,  is 
Afraid  he  '11  be  thought  an  incompetent  quack 

If  he  doesn't  say  "  Bad  laryngitis  !  " 

To  this  proposition,  then,  none  can  say  nay, 

Of  strange  maladies  there  i*  no  lack, 
And  alcoholitis,  the  prophets  all  say, 

Will  be  prevalent  during  the  "  vac." 
For  hundreds  of  people  possessing  the  knack — 

I  'm  not  quite  prepared  to  say  why  'tis — 
Love  to  talk  by  the  yard,  with  a  medical  smack, 

Of  their  own  or  their  friends  somethingitis  ! 

Envoi. 
Boys,  at  Christmas  take  only  a  moderate  "whack," 

For  the  horrible  truth  which  I  write  is 
That  you  can't  have  an  old-fashioned  bilious  attack— 

You  '11  be  laid  up  with  plumpuddingitis  ! 


NEW  CENTURY  GREETINGS. 

THERE  is  reason  to  believe  that  some  of  the  Ministers,  un- 
willing that  Lord  LANSDOWNE's  French,  so  frequently  men- 
tioned, should  seem  to  be  the  only  linguistic  achievement  of 
the  Cabinet,  have  written  the  following  letters. 

Hie  Lord  Privy  Heal  to  Count  Billow,  Berlin. 
GEEHRTESTER  FREUND,  —  Mein  junger  Freund  LANSDOWNF 
schnitt  uns  alle  hinaus  mit  seinem  Franzosisch.  Es  ist  wun- 
derbar !  Wenn  jemand  f ragt  warum  er  Foreign  Secretary  ist, 
antworte  ich  immer,  "Weil  er  Franzosisch  so  erstaunlich,  so 
meisterhaft,  so  prachtvoll  spricht  und  schreibt."  Viele  Leute 
denken  dass  es  nicht  genug  ist,  und  sie  sagen  es  sind  Kellner 
und  Friseure  welche  zwei  Sprachen  sprechen.  Sehr  dumin 
nicht  wabr  ? 

Sie  wissen  dass  die  meisten  Minister  meine  Sohne,  Neffen 
und  so  welter,  sind.  Die  Familie  CECIL  ungliicklicherweise 
spricht  nicht  Franzosisch  wie  LANSDOWNE.  So  muss  er  Foreigi 
Secretary  sein.  Er  ist  nicht  ein  CECIL,  aber  er  ist  viellcich 
ein  connection.  Wir  sind  alle  connections.  Und  er  sprich 
und  schreibt  Franzosisch  wie  ein  Engel. 

Ich  flnde  es  so  kolossal  wunderschon,  dass  ich  die  GramniatilN 
von  OLLENDORFF  gekauft,  gclesen,  und  gclernt  habe,  um  Deutscl 
eben  so  gut  zu  schreiben. 

Jetzt  war  ich  im  Begriff  Ihnen  meine  herzliche  Gliickwiinsch 
fiir  das  neues  Jahrhundert  zu  schicken,  aber  ich  erinnere  mid 
dass  der  KAISER  immer  so  previdus  ist,  dass  es  in  Deutschland 
ein  Jahr  zu  friih  begann.  Also  sage  ich  nur  Auf  Wiedersehen 
Geben  Sie  meine  Liebe  zu  dem  KAISER.  Ihr  crgebenste 
Freund.  SALISBURY. 

From  the  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury  to  Setior  Sagasta,  Madrid 
MUY  SENOR  MlO,— Mi  araigo  LANSDOWNE  puede  escribir  frances, 
Yo   want  to  escribir  espanol.     Muy  difficult.     Yo  don't  lik 
trouble.    But  must  do  something  to  check  LANSDOWNE'S  superio 
airs.      Mi  tio    SALISBURY    pensa  no   end    of    LANSDOWNE,  an 


is   precious  French.      Spanish    is    useful    now    to   translate 
guerrillas,"  which  even  the  Times,  in  a  leading  article,  seems 

0  think  means  men,  as  though  we  called  the  Boers  "campaigns," 
r  "  raids."     I  know  it  ought  to  be  "guerrilleros,"  porque  yo 
prendo  espaiiol.    Yo  amo  Espafia,  porque  el  rey  es  uno  child, 
omo  yo.     Yo  dije  en  el  House  of  Commons,  "I  am  a  child  in 
hese  matters."     ALFONZO  y  yo,  nosotros  both  of  us  are  children. 

Optimos  deseos  por  el  nuevo  siglo.  Can't  exactly  remember 
ow  they  finish  a  letter  in  Spanish,  but  they  put  a  lot. of  capital 
etters,  so  here  goes.  A.  B.  C.  D.  E.  F. 

ARTURO  DIEGO  BALFOUR. 

From  the  Colonial  Secretary  to  Signor  Saracco,  Rome. 

ILLUSTRISSIMO  SIGNOR, — Quando  SALISBURY  faceva  tale  un  fuss 
irca  il  francese  di  LANSDOWNE — ed  io  credo  che  non  e  cosi 
nirabile  dopo  tutto  ;  molte  persone  parlano  francese,  io  anche 

io  andava  a  Napoli  a  studiare  italiano.  E  insupportabile 
averc  LANSDOWNE  con  tale  arie,  e  sempre  mettendo  sopra  tale 
un  lotto  di  lato,  perche  parla  francese.  Adesso  io  parlo  italiano, 

LANSDOWNE  e  nowhere,  e  in  nessun  luogo,  semplicemente 
bowled  over,  suona  secondo  violino,  e  prende  una  sedia  di  dietro. 

Ebbene,  io  voglio  mandare  miei  migliori  augurii  per  il  nuovo 
secolo,  od  io  ho  1'onore  essere  vostro  ubbidiente  servente, 

GIUSEPPE  CHAMBERLAIN. 
H.  D.  B. 

SHAFTO  SECUNDUS. 

(From  Brown  Minor  to  Thompson  Minor.) 
DEAR  TOMMY, — I  say,  Ive  bin  out  hunting !  I  bet  you  ha  vent. 
Its  a  jolly  site  better  than  pantermines  and  partys  and  orl  that 
rot.  It  is  a  rag,  by  Gove !  My  Arnt  at  Oakley  that  I  was 
staying  with,  witch  my  Guvrier  sed  was  a  fine  hunting  senter 
— Oakley  I  mean,  not  my  Arnt — has  2  littel  gray  ponys  she 
drives  in  a  shase  so  I  sed  to  the  grume  look  here  the  old  gal 
isscnt  driving  to-day  and  the  ponys  must  be  eksersized  well  if 
youle  let  me  eksersize  wun  He  give  you  harf  a  crown  I  had 
wim  left  out  of  my  Maters  Christinas  tip  He  sed  Yes  and  spose 
the  Mrs  found  out — what  ho !  I  sed  wot  rot,  sheel  never  find 
out  and  ittle  be  an  orfle  rag,  well  he  saddelled  it  and  I  rode  to 
the  meat  4  miles  orf  and  saw  2  fellers  in  red  cotes  swaring  at 
the  hounds  and  making  shots  at  them  with  thare  wips  and 
saying  Arhar  there  !  leaf  it,  will  you  !  and  a  lot  of  rot  like  that 
so  I  undid  the  throng  of  my  wip  at  leest  it  used  to  be  the 
guvner's  till  I  bagged  it — and  made  a  hughe  wak  at  a  hound 
and  missd  it  and  hit  another  feller  in  the  eye  he  swore  and 
calld  me  a  littel  retch  I  almost  yeld  larfing.  Then  I  went 
farther  off  and  crakd  my  wip  again  but  caught  my  ear  a  reglar 
stinger  oh  its  beasely  wen  you  do  that.  Well  pressintly  hounds 
went  into  a  wood  and  soon  a  focks  came  out  at  leest  I  thought 
it  was  a  focks  and  hollerd  tally  ho.  I  dunno  what  it  means  but 
it 's  the  rite  thing  to  do.  But  it  wasent  a  focks  but  a  hair  and 
all  the  peeple  sniggered  witch  is  rarther  beasely  for  a  feller. 

Soon  they  found  and  away  we  went.  I  kept  up  orfly  well 
— you  shood  have  herd  the  pony  grunt !  I  got  first  into  a  narrow 
path  through  a  wood  and  they  tride  to  pass  me  and  coodent 

1  jest  turnd  round  and  cocked  a  snook  at  them  they  were 
wild  I  tell  you.     Then  we  got  to  a  feeld  and  they  orl  passd  me 
and  soon  after  the  pony  stopt — and  he .  coodent  go  on  again . 
He  pufed  and  garpsed  and  I  got  off  and  wundered  wot  was  the 
matter.     I  spose  he  wassent  used  to  hunting,  it  took  3  hours 
to  get  him  homo  My  arnt  sed  whered  I  bin?  and  I  sctl  Ide 
bin  bikesling — and  wen  she  drove  the  pony  next  day  the  litte 
beggar  wanted  to  lie  down  she  arsked  the  grume  why  he  was  so 
tyred  and  he  sed  he  thought  it  was  sickenin  for  measells  he  i; 
a  liar  that  chap.    No  more  news  from 

Your  own  petickuler  chum        WOBBLES. 

P.S.— The  grume  has  just  told  me  the  ponys  wurse  and  heel 
split— the  grume,  not  the  pony— if  I  dont  give  him  anuther  har' 
crown,  this  is  rarther  beasely  aint  it? 


JANUAEY  2,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


17 


THE    SPIRIT    OF    PUNCH    "  HIC    ET    UBlQUE  " 


18 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  2,  1901. 


CONVERSATIONAL  HINTS  TO  YOUNG  RIDERS. 
CHAPTER  III. 

(Of  Scent — Of  Adolphus  Winterside,  his  dress,  deportment,  and 
conversation — His  opinion  of  imagination  and  poets.) 

WE  will  now  put  aside  the  reminiscences  of  childhood,  and 
in  imagination  we  will  take  horse  on  a  fine  hunting  day  (and 
as  balmy  as  May),  and  make  our  way  to  the  meet  of  the  hounds. 
The  sun  is  shining,  a  clear  sun,  striking  jewels  of  light  from  the 
damp  earth  and  the  trees.  There  is  refreshment  in  the  air, 
though  the  month  is  December,  and  Nature  looks  as  if  she  had 


taken  a  hearty  shower-bath  and  forgotten  to  dry  herself, 
we  near  the  trysting  place  our 
party  increases,  and  cheery 
good -days  are  exchanged  by 
the  cavalcade.  "What  is  the 
chief  topic?  Why,  of  course, 
it  is  SCENT  — not  the  en- 
trancing essences  supplied  by 
the  most  eminent  of  our  per- 
fumers, but  the  elusive, 
baffling,  unaccountable,  subtle 
quality  that  makes  or  mars 
the  success  of  a  hunting  day. 
Who  is  there  that  really  knows 
anything  about  it  ?  Who  can 
say,  without  fear  of  finding 
himself  flatly  contradicted  by 
the  event,  that  in  certain  con- 
ditions of  weather  the  scent 
will  or  will  not  be  good  ?  For 
hundreds  of  years  men  have 
been  hunting  in  dry  weather, 
in  wet  weather,  in  warm 
weather,  in  cold  weather, 
when  the  fields  are  deep  with 
moisture,  and  even  when  snow 
is  on  the  ground  (one  of  the 
most  glorious  runs  I  remember 
was  over  snow),  and  yet  no  one 
has  been  able  to  settle  a  for- 
mula, or  even  a  series  of  for- 
mulae, which  shall  enable  a  man 
to  foretell  what  the  scent  will 
be  like  when  he  takes  the  field. 
Are  not  learned  articles  every 
year  in  the  Field,  in  Baily's  BUSINESS." 
Magazine,  and  in  the  Badmin-  Master.  ' 
ton,  devoted  to  this  subject, 


As 


Domestic.    "THERE'S    A    GENTLEMAN    WANTS    TO    SEE   YER 


WELL,  ASK  HIM  TO  TAKE  A  CHAIR." 
Domestic.  "HE'S   TAKING   'EM  ALL,   AND  THE  TABLE  TOO.      HE 

COMES  FROM  THE  FURNITURE  SHOP  !  " 


and    can   anyone,  with   all  re- 
spect   for    the    erudite    and  gallant  authors  say  that,   after  '  manners  far  too  well  even  'to  dream  of  doing  such  a  thing. 


country  gentlemen  devoted  to  the  chase  ?  Has  he  not  lived  for 
sport  from  his  earliest  years,  spending  a  great  part  of  his 
boyhood  in  the  mild  and  magnificent  eyes  of  masters,  of  hunts- 
men and  of  whips  ?  Hear  him,  then,  as  he  converses. 

Adolphus.  Good  morning,  Miss  MIRABEL.  Ripping  day, 
isn't  it  ? 

Miss  M.  Yes,  quite  lovely.  I  do  so  hope  we  shall  get  a 
run.  We  've  only  pottered  about  from  covert  to  covert 
the  last  three  times  I  've  been  out,  and  never  managed  to  get 
away. 

Adolphus.  Well,  we  're  bound  to  find  in  Hollytree  Wood. 
Never  drew  it  yet  without  finding  at  least  one  fox ;  and  as 
he  '11  probably  make  for  Whitethorns  we  shall  have  a  jolly 

grass  country  with  good  clean 
jumping.  Oh!  yes,  we  shall  get 
a  run  right  enough  —  if  the 
scent  lies. 

Miss  M.  Ah,  of  course ;  but 
isn't  there  sure  to  be'scent  on 
a  day  like  this  ? 

Adolphus.  Ton  my  honour, 
Miss  MIRABEL,  you'd  better 
ask  me  another,  for  I  can^t 
tell  you.  I  remember  days 
exactly  like  this,  when  a  ton 
of  aniseed  spread  out '  in  front 
of  their  noses  wouldn't  have 
made  the  hounds  give  a  sniff. 
You  can't  tell,  that 's  a  fact. 
Scent 's  one  of  those  jolly 
mysterious  things,  like  the 
what  -  you  -  may  -  call  - '  em  cal- 
culus, or  the  maps  with  that 
old  chap  Mercator's  projec- 
tion. Lots  of  fellows  talk 
about  it,  but  jolly  few  under 
stand  it.  I  don't  for  one. 

Miss  M.  Oh,  don't  say  that, 
Mr.  WINTERSIDE.  Why,  I  've 
been  brought  up  to  believe  you 
know  everything  about  hunt- 
ing. You  really  mustn't  dis- 
turb that  belief.  It 's  a  sort 
of  religion  with  me. 

Adolphns   (pleased   but   semi- 
suspicious).  Now  you  're    get- 
ON  ting  at  a  chap,  Miss  MIRABEL 
—  pulling  my  leg,    don't  you 

know 

Miss  M.  I  assure  you,  Mr. 
WINTERSIDE,  I've  learnt  my 

It 


reading  them,  his  ignorance  on  this  engrossing  matter  is  one   wouldn't  be  at  all  ladylike.     Besides,  you  know,    '  who  dares 

whit  less  extensive  and  peculiar?    There  is  the  fascination  of   ADOLPHUS'  boot  displace  must  meet '  You  know  the  rest. 

it.      Nobody  knows,  and,  therefore,  as  to  this  point,  at  any  ;      Adolphus.  'Pon  honour  I  don't,  Miss  MIRABEL.    I  never  was 


rate,  it  is  no  vain  boast  to  say  that  in  the  hunting  field  all  men 
are  equal. 

But  let  us  edge  up  to  the  young  ADOLPHUS  WINTERSIDE,  one  of 
the  prides  of  our  hunt,  and  note  what  he,  the  brilliant,  the  cock- 
sure, the  infallible  sportsman  has  to  say  about  it  to  the  fair 
and  lively  Miss  MIRABEL  who  is  trotting  by  his  side.  But  first 
observe  the  young  ADOLPHUS  well.  See  how  easily,  yet  without 
any  ramrod  stiffness,  he  carries  himself  in  his  saddle ;  remark  the 


one  of  your  reading  and  poetry  Johnnies.  But  I  'm  dead  certain 
not  one  of  your  poets  could  tell  you  a  thing  about  scent. 

Miss  M.  I  'm  not  so  sure  about  that.  Poets  have  imagination, 
you  see,  and  that  goes  a  long  way. 

Adolphus.  I  daresay  it  does,  but  (triumphantly)  hounds  haven't 
got  any  of  that  article  about  'em,  and  they  couldn't  follow  an 
imagination  scent  for  nuts  or  toffee.  So  there  we  are  again. 

Miss  M.  Oh,  Mr.  WINTERSIDE,  you  're  too  brutally  practical 


sheen  of  his  boots,  the  creamy  richness  of  his  tops,  the  gleam  of  i  for  anything.     But  then,  I  suppose  we  ought  to  remember,  as 
his  spurs,  the  fit  of  his  scarlet  coat,  and  the  crisp,  geometrical    Lord  OVERTHWAITE  said  at  the  Primrose  League  meeting,  that  it 
precision  of  his  hunting  tie  with  its  unostentatious  little  gold    is  practical  men  who  have  made  England  what  she  is. 
fox-head  pin.    Remark  his  crop,  and  how  he  holds  it,  tin?  thong  !      Adolphus.  Yes,  thank  Heaven;  we  aren't  all  of  us  long-haired 
circling  round  his  hand  not  far  from  the  loop.    This  man,  you    poets  or  talking  fellows,  or  Johnnies  of  that  sort, 
will'say,  should  know  the  lore  of  hunting,  the  wiles  of  the  fox,       And  there,  the  meet  having  been  reached,  the  conversation 
the  virtues  of  a  cast,  for  does  he  not  come  of  a  long  line  of    ended. 


JANUARY  9,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


19 


"PAY!    PAY!    PAY!" 

Mr.  Punch.  "  DON'T  FORGET,    JOHN,    THAT   THOSE   WHO    SHOUT    LOUD  MUST    PAY    IN 

PROPORTION.      YOU  HAVE  DONE   WELL — DON'T  STOP  TILL  YOU  DO   BETTER." 

[H.R.H.  the  Princess  of  WALES  appeals  for  further  subscriptions  to  the  Soldiers'  and  Sailors' 
Families  Association.  "I  earnestly  appeal  for  help  to  enable  us  to  keep  these  homes  (soldiers'  and 
sailors')  together  until  the  bread-winners  return."] 


CUM  GRANO  SALIS. 
(A  Cure  for  the  Neiv  Century.) 

[According  to  the  Daily  Mail  of  Dec.  27,  Pro- 
fessor LOEB  and  Dr.  LINOLE,  Physiologists  at  the 
University  of  Chicago,  have  discovered  that  com- 
mon salt  preserves  the  human  organisation  in  life 
as  it  does  pork  in  packing-houses.  They  assert 
that  salt  not  only  keeps  the  heart  in  action,  but 
may  cause  it  to  beat  again  after  pulsation  has 
ceased.  As  a  result  of  sensational  newspaper  re- 
ports, the  new  salt  treatment  threatens  to  become 
a  craze  all  over  the  country.] 

'CUTE  LOEB  and  LINGLE 
("What  odd  names  to  mingle  ! ) 
Have  made  our  ears  tingle 
"With  news  that  they've  found  the  Elixir 
of  Life ! 


Yes,  LINGLE  and  LOEB 
Say  there 's  to  be  no  ebb 
Of  bodily  force  where  their  treatment  is  rife. 

The  despair  of  the  sages, 

The  riddle  of  ages 

To-day  in  the  pages 
Of  half-penny  papers  is  solved  in  a  trice : 

"  With  chloride  of  sodium 

The  tedium  and  odium 
Of  Age  you'll  postpone,"  is  their  latest 
advice ! 

Like  sea-cooks  or  skippers, 
They  say,  turn  your  "  nippers  " 
And  small-fry  to  kippers, 
And  then  little  "pickles"  will  grow  up 
"old  salts"! 


Thus  well  marinaded 
And  briny,  they're  aided 
To  keep   the  right  side  of  their  family 
vaults. 

This  vision,  romantic 
Comes  o'er  the  Atlantic 
"Where  feats  are  gigantic, 
And  freaks  are  colossal  and  yarns  pretty 

tall; 

As  I  don't  wish  to  rival 
Old  Parr  in  survival, 

This  pork-cure  cum  grano  I  '11  take  after 
all.  A.  A.  S. 


TWELFTH  NIGHT. 
OH,  day  that  is  old  as  the  ages, 

Whose  standing  is  that  of  the  hills, 
Initial  of  so  many  pages, 

And  herald  of  so  many  ills  ! 
Your  garners  are  stored  with  profusion, 

Of  secrets  I  spoke  in  your  ear, 
Resolves  that  were  put  to  confusion, 

Before  we  had  quartered  the  year. 

No  longer  I  make  a  profession 

Of  what  my  intentions  may  be, 
No  more  penitential  confession 

Can  e'er  be  extracted  from  me. 
I  shall  probably  make  a  selection 

Of  follies,  in  which  wrill  appear 
Not  a  few  that  made  up  my  collection 

Which  noted  the  outgoing  year. 

No — nothing  shall  mark  with  distinction, 

The  day  which  the  almanack  claims, 
As  the  sign  of  the  total  extinction 

Of  a  century  given  to  flames. 
Resolve  and  reform !     I  am  weary 

Of  such — they  have  cost  me  so  dear, 
And  everything's  faded  and  dreary, 

And  nothing  is  new  but  the  year  ! 


THE  MAGIC  WORD. 

"  SPEAK  not  of  love,"  she  cried,  and  then 
As  if  too  coldly  she  had  spoken, 

She  smiled  bewitchingly  again — 
Which  I  took  for  a  lover's  token. 

Speak  not  of  love  !  I  sighed  ;  and  she 
My  gentle  suspiration  noting, 

Grew  sad  in  sympathy  to  see 
A  lover  so  forlorn  and  doting. 

Speak  not  of  love  I    Oh,  punishment 
Condign  !  I  pleaded  hard  for  mercy, 

But  firm  of  will,  of  fixed  intent, 
She  softly  murmured  :  "No,  no,  PERCY, 

"  Speak  not  qf  love — oh,  lay  not  bare 
Your  treasury  of  sighs  unduly ; 

Not  cold  am  I,  or  hard,  I  swear, 
But,  oh — I  cannot  listen,  truly. 

"Speak  not  of  love — no  magic  's  in 
The  word — no  charm ;  so  please  leave  off. 

If  my  affection  you  would  win, 
Why — speak  unceasingly  of — Golf!  " 


THE  RIGHT  SORT    OP    BEER    FOR 
TWENTIETH  CENTURY. — Double  X. 


THE 


20 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  9,  1901. 


'VARSITY  VEESES. 
OXFORD  ODES. 

I. 

WHEN  the  slug-a-beds  are  dozing — 
If  I  'm  not  myself  reposing 
I  've  an  infinite  contempt  for  those  that  are — 
Sweet  to  steal  by  Magdalen  tower 
At  the  unaccustomed  hour 
When  the  rosy-fingered  dawn  is  on  the  Cher.* 

When  my  tutor  fond  supposes 

I  am  writing  Latin  proses 
Or  intent  upon  my  studies  for  the  Bar, 

I  resist  the  bland  seductions 

Of  tutorial  instructions, 
And  I  paddle  my  Canader  up  the  Cher. 

Sweet  to  dream  of  the  existence — 

At  a  comfortable  distance — 
Of  his  lectures  ;  sweet  to  kindle  a  cigar, 

And  to  dally  with  Pendennis, 

Or  perhaps  the  Stones  oj  Venice, 
As  I  float  upon  the  bosom  of  the  Cher. 

Strange  to  wonder  what  temptations 

Men  can  find  in  Moderations. 
What 's  a  First  ?    Would  any  place  it  on  a  par 

With  this  dolce  far  niente 

When  one's  special  sweet-and-twenty 
Is  enshrined  in  one's  Canader  on  the  Cher  ? 

As  for  'Varsities,  cni  bono? 

For  the  dons'  and  tutors'  ?    Oh,  no ! 
For  the  scouts'  ?    Perhaps.     But  I  would  rather  far 

Think  the  object  of  a  college 

Was  to  cultivate  a  knowledge 
Of  the  subtle  fascinations  of  the  Cher. 

*  The  Cherwell  is  a  sluggish  tributary  of  the  Thames  much  frequented  by 
wasters,  who  prefer  its  "  cultivated  leisure  "  to  the  "gratuitous  exertion  "  of 
the  Isis. 


THE  STRANGE  CASE  OF  GENERAL  COL  VILE. 

F.-M.  PUNCH  having  at  heart  the  true  interests  of  the  Army, 
based  as  they  largely  are  upon  justice  to  officers  and  men,  has 
been  looking  into  the  case  of  General  Sir  HENR*  COLVILE. 
Avoiding  controversy,  sticking  closely  to  facts,  as  is  the 
F.-M.'s  manner,  it  may  be  briefly  stated  : 

On  the  20th  of  May,  General  COLVILE,  in  command  of 
division  of  the  Army  in  South  Africa,  was  ordered  by  Lord 
ROBERTS  to  march  to  Heilbron,  reaching  that  point  on  the  29th. 
Fighting  his  way  through  Lindley  he,  when  half-way  betAveen 
that  place  and  his  destination,  received  a  message  from  Colonel 
SPRAGGE,  in  command  of  500  Yeomanry,  asking  for  help.  General 
COLVILE  had  his  orders  to  be  in  Heilbron  on  a  particular  day. 
He  had  reason  to  believe  his  march  was  part  of  a  concerted 
movement,  which  would  be  baulked  if  he  did  not  turn  up  on 
the  appointed  date.  Rightly  or  wrongly,  he  continued  hi 
march,  and  the  Yeomanry,  overpowered  by  numbers,\  surren- 
dered to  the  Boers.  The  circumstances  of  the  casd  being 
considered  by  the  Army  Board  of  the  War  Office,  General 
COLVILE  was  permitted  to  resume  his  command  at  Gibraltar. 

Up  to  this  point  it  is  all  plain  marching.  Now  we  turn  into 
Queer  Street.  In  accordance  with  instructions  from  the  War 
Office,  General  COLVILE  on  the  1st  of  October  resumed  his  com- 
mand at  Gibraltar.  On  the  21st  of  December  there  reached 
him  a  sort  of  Christmas  card  from  Sir  EVELYN  WOOD,  informing 
him  that  Mr.  BRODRICK— who,  in  the  meantime,  had  succeeded 
Lord  LANSDOWNE  at  the  War  Office— held  him  responsible  for  the 
Lindley  affair,  and  dismissed  him  from  his  command. 


What  F.-M.  Punch  wants  to  know  is  what  happened  between 
1st  of  October  and  21st  of  December  to  compel  this  reversal  of 
decision  taken  by  Lord  LANSDOWNE,  acting  upon  the  finding  of  the 
Army  Board  ?  Had  fresh  evidence  been  brought  to  light  ?  If  so» 
was  it  communicated  to  the  accused,  and  opportunity  ^afforded 
him  of  rebutting  it  ?  General  COLVILE,  in  his  published  state- 
ment, says  no  such  opportunity  was  offered  to  him. 

A  telegram  from  Capetown  states  that,  subsequent  to  the  War 
Office  enquiry,  Colonel  SPRAGGE  submitted  to  the  authorities  a 
telegram  which  reached  him  on  the  23rd  of  May.  It  was  dated 
from  Lindley,  and  purported  to  be  from  General  COLVILE,  urging 
him  to  hurry  up  to  his  men  to  Lindley  as  fast  as  possible.  If 
this  telegram  were  genuine  and  General  COLVILE,  having  sum- 
moned the  Yeomanry  to  strengthen  his  command,  had  left 
them  in  the  lurch,  he  deserves  the  professional  ruin  with  which 
he  is  threatened.  But  there  is  a  little  fact  that  upsets  this 
argument.  Colonel  SPRAGGE  received  the  Lindley  telegram  on 
the  23rd  of  May,  and  General  COLVILE  did  not  reach  Lindley 
till  the  26th.  The  slim  Boer  may  be  able  to  explain  thite 
mystery.  Certainly  General  COLVILE  did  not  send  the  tele- 
gram ;  had  not,  indeed,  heard  of  Colonel  SPRAGGS  till,  on  the 
morning  of  the  28th,  he  received  his  appeal  for  help. 

These  are  the  uncontested  facts.  F.-M.  Punch  makes  no  re- 
mark upon  them  beyond  the  obvious  one,  that  for  the  honour 
of  the  Army  and  the  credit  of  the  War  Office  the  matter  cannot 
be  allowed  to  rest  where  the  Secretary  of  State's  dismissal 
of  General  COLVILE  leaves  it. 


A    PETTY    FOGGER. 

(By  a  Misanthropist.) 

SOME  of  us  like  the  sunshine,  some  of  us  like  the  rain, 

Some  of  us  love  the  moonlight,  some  of  us  love  the  main  ; 

These  are  fancies  that  our  brain-wheels  set  ever  and  aye  agog, 

But  consistently  and  perfectly  give  me  a  London  fog  ! 

'Twas  meant  for  a  fellow  morose,  with  a  visage  grim  and  dour 

And  a  voice  acidulated  as  an  unripe  lemon's  sour, 

With  a  rind  that  can  match  its  denseness  in  the  thickness  of 

Never-be, 

And  a  kind  of  a  lost  intenseness  in  the  Kingdom  of  Never-see. 
What  matters  to  me  the  howling  of  the  destitute  drunken  dog 
Who  has  lost  his  way  in  the  noisome  spray  that  distils  this 

London  fog ; 

His  yells  are  to  me  the  sweeter  because  I  am  left  alone, 
And  the  castaway  cannot  venture  to  dispute  with  me  my  bone ; 
I  rejoice  when  Londoners  flounder  in  a  sort  of  Serbonian  bog. 
I  'm  a  brute  and  beast  inhuman,  but  I  do  love  a  London  fog ! 


SIR  JOHN  AIRD,  BART. — The  New  Century  has  commenced  well 
with  the  bestowal  of  a  Baronetcy  upon  the  Member  for  Padding- 
ton.  There  are  few  busier  or  better  men  in  the  land  than  JOHN 
AlRD.  Amongst  the  important  public  works  he  has  carried  out 
at  home  and  abroad,  his  hustling  of  old  Father  NILE,  compelling 
him  to  evenly  distribute  his  favours  over  thirsty  Egypt,  will, 
when  completed,  rank  highest.  But  he  always  had  a  winning 
way  with  water,  as  is  shown  by  the  Staines  Reservoir,  and  the 
new  Docks  at  Southampton.  We  ought  to  have  Aird  of  this 
recognition  before.  But  it 's  never  too  late  to  be  a  Baronet. 


JANUARY  9,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


21 


W.    STANDS    FOR    WIRE." 


"HULLOAH,  JAROE  1    BEEN  PUTTIN'  UP  SOME  WIRE  TO  KEEP  THE  FOX-HUNTERS  AWAY?" 

"NoA,  I  B'AIN'T  PUT  UP  NO  WIRE;  BUT  THE  'UNT  THEY  SENDS  ME  A  LOT  o'  THEM  BOARDS  WITH  '  W.'  ON  UM,  so  I  JU«>T  STOCK 

'EM  UP  ALL  ROUND  THE  LAND,  AMD  THEY  NEVER  COMES  NIGH  O*  ME  NOW  !" 


THE  DOMESTIC  DODO. 
(A  dialogue  of  to-day.) 

"OH,  I  dare  not  listen.  I  must  not." 
The  young  girl  rose,  and  went  softly  to- 
wards the  window. 

"Then  you  have  no  —  hope  to  give 
me?"  he  said,  bending  over  the  chintz 
cover  of  the  sofa. 

CLARICE  CONFITURE  cast  a  look  full  of 
pity  on  the  young  man. 

"  You  must  not  think  I  have  not  seen 
your — love.  You  must  not  believe  me  in- 
different  " 

"Ah!  " 

"But  .  .  .  we  can  never  be  married." 

The  man  groaned.  "I  was  a  fool  to 
suppose  it  could  be  otherwise,"  he  said. 

The  girl  did  not  answer. 

"  Some  other  man — luckier  than  I " 

"No,  no.  Do  not  say  that,"  she  half 
pleaded.  "  I  love  no  other." 

"  And  yet  you  will1  not  marry  me  ?  " 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  "  Oh,  if  it 
were  possible !  " 

"Is  it  anything  I  have  said  or  done? 
Do  not  let  some  passing  whim,  some  aery 
fancy  keep  us  apart  when  a  moment's 
explanation " 


"  It  is  not  that." 

The  man  pondered.  "  I  have  often 
spoken  of  a  flat  near  the  Park,  of  a  light 
dog-cart  with  yellow  wheels — and — and 
of  a  French  bull-dog ' ' 

"  I  should  love  them  all— all  !  " 

"  Did  I  exaggerate  in  any  degree  the 
felicity  of  conjugal  life?  " 

"  No,  no.     But "  the  girl  shuddered. 

"  My  reputation  ?  "  urged  the  man. 

"Beyond  reproach.  I  know — I  know. 
Oh,  if  I  only  had  the  courage.  I  ought 
to  be  very  happy — to  feel  the  luckiest 
girl  on  earth.  The  love  of  a  good 
man,  the  life  of  ease  and  contentment 
— everything  a  girl  could  wish  for — ex- 
cept  ' ' 

"Except — -" 

"A  SERVANT.  Now  you  see  what  you 
are  asking  me.  Love,  wealth,  luxury ; 
what  are  all  these  to  the  awful  horrors 
of  beginning  life  together  in  a  town-flat 
without  a  servant?  " 

"But  surely "  began  he. 

"Like  the  Dodo,"  interrupted  Miss 
CONFITURE,"  the  domestic  servant  is  ex- 
tinct." 

The  man  bowed  his  head  in  token  of 
submission,  and  went  out. 


TO  THE  SUN. 
THK  day  I  looked  upon  your  face 

(Ah  me  !  the  years  have  passed  away  !) 
Will  hold  memorial  pride  of  place 

Until  my  bones  are  turned  to  clay. 
I  loved  you  then,  I  love  you  now, 

And,  hopeless  as  that  love  must  be, 
I  cannot  manage  anyhow 

To  break  the  spell  that 's  over  me. 

I  love  the  tales  men  put  about 

Of   how  you   shone   when   Spring  had 

come, 

And  though  I  've  learnt  their  words  to 
doubt, 

I  would  not  that  they  had  been  dumb. 
For  though  a  lover  lose  his  quest, 

He  loves  to  dwell  on  every  grace 
(And  hear  them  by  the  world  confessed) 

That  charmed  him  in  his  lady's  face. 

No  mad  proposal  dare  I  make, 

No  wild  request  that  you  should  shine 
Upon  my  life.    I  sadly  take 

The  hopeless  lover's  lot  as  mine. 
But  ah,  I  pray  on  bended  knee, 

One  instant  from  your  pride  desist, 
Unveil  your  face  for  me  to  see, 

That  I  may  know  you  still  exist. 


22 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  9,  1901. 


THE 


BY  MAJOR  W.  P.  DRURY. 

A  ZIG-ZAG  of  steel-blue  fire  licked  out  from  the  inky  cloud 
above  Yes  Tor,  and  Mr.  PAGETT  and  I  involuntarily  withdrew 
from  the  red-curtained  lattice  whence  we  had  been  watching 
the  storm's  approach. 

"  A  flash  o'  lightnin',"  he  began,  "  always  'minds  me  -  " 

It  was  the  formula  with  which  my  host,  the  ex-Private  of 
Marines,  invariably  began  the  narration  of  his  very  moving 
experiences  by  flood  and  field,  though  in  this  instance  its  con- 
clusion was  lost  in  the  thunderclap  which  shook  the  '  '  Coach 
and  Horses"  to  its  ancient  granite  foundations.  As  the 
muttering  echoes  died  among  the  Dartmoor  gorges  I  called  to 
mind  the  tattered  Pilgrim's  Progress  on  the  best  parlour  table, 
the  green  and  yellow  lizard  on  the  sunlit  garden  wall,  the 
village  doctor  at  his  surgery  door,  and  a  dozen  tinconsidered 
trifles  which  had  furnished  a  great  artist  with  material  for  his 
finest  masterpieces.  Thrusting  my  tobacco  pouch  into  the 
artist's  hands,  I  drew  a  couple  of  high-backed  chairs  before  the 
fire,  and  —  with  reference  to  certain  arrangements  upon  the 
table  —  requested  him  to  say  "  when." 

He  said  it  on  the  instant,  and  before  the  golden  fluid  in  the 
lower  half  of  the  tumbler  had  grown  appreciably  paler.  Then, 
having  assured  himself  that  the  blessed  miller,  as  he  expressed  it, 
had  not  been  drowned,  he  plunged  with  military  directness  into 
the  strange  narrative  which  it  is  my  privilege  to  make  public. 

"  It  so  'appened,"  he  began,  "  that  on  a  certain  red  'ot  night 
about  'alf  a  dozen  years  back  I  was  employed  by  Her  Majesty  on 
'ighly  responsible  and  very  'arassin'  dooty  at  a  spot  some  ten 
thousand  miles  south-east  o'  Plymouth  Sound.  The  spot  was 
the  'arbour  of  Batavia,  in  the  great  Dutch  island  o'  Java  :  and 
the  dooty  —  which  was  that  of  cabin-door  sentry  aboard  the 
second-class  cruiser  Doofc  o'  York  —  was  'arassin'  by  reason  o' 
the  heat,  and  more  than  usually  responsible  on  account  of  the 
Dutch  adm'ral  dinin'  that  evenin'  with  our  skipper.  Ever 
since  I  first  saw  Queen  WlLLYMlNOR's  pretty  face  on  a  ha'penny 
box  o'  matches  I  've  always  thought  that,  next  to  bein'  a  British 
Marine,  I  'd  like  to  be  a  Dutch  one  :  and  it  pleased  me  to  think 
that  one  of  her  aclm'rals  was,  in  a  manner  o'  speakin',  eatin' 
his  dinner  under  the  charge  of  Private  PAGETT." 

My  gallant  host  glanced  sentimentally  at  a  coloured  print  of 
the  young  Queen  of  Holland  which,  in  company  with  one  of  his 
lawful  sovereign,  adorned  the  overmantel  of  the  best  parlour. 
But  a  buxom  lady  in  the  bar  happening  at  that  moment  to  glance 
through  the  glass  partition  in  our  direction,  he  hastily  shifted 
his  gaze  to  the  fire  and  continued  the  story. 

'  '  Although  the  conversation  at  the  dinner  -  table  was  in 
English,  for  the  first  hour  or  so  I  could  pick  up  nothing  worth 
repeatin'  on  the  lower  deck.  In  spite  o'  the  champagne  wine 
they  were  strikin'  down  by  the  quart,  the  talk  was  as  'eavy  to 
listen  to  as  the  Times  noospaper  is  to  read.  But  no  sooner  'ad 
the  Dutch  adm'ral  got  a  cigar  between  his  teeth  than  he  began 
to  grow  confidential,  and  after  a  bit  he  told  our  skipper  a  piece 
o'  noos  that  I  '11  lay  to  it  he  'd  'ave  given  a  year's  sea  wages  in 
the  mornin'  to  recall.  As  for  me,  I  knocked  off  that  ridic'lous 
farce  of  walkin'  my  post  iu  a  soldierlike  manner,  and  stood 
stric'ly  at  ease  as  near  the  open  cabin  door  as  possible,  in  order- 
that  when  I  was  relieved  my  messmates  might  'ave  the  benefit 
o'  the  noos  as  well. 

"  '  Latitood  nine,  thirteen  south,'  the  adm'ral  was  sayin', 
'  and  longitood  one  'undred  an*  four  east.  It  was  reborted  to 
me  this  morgen  by  the  captain  of  a  —  how  say  you  ?  —  ja,  tramp. 
Four  'undred  miles  sou'-west  of  Sunda  Straits  he  was  when  he 
passed  the  islant.  Yet  no  islant  at  all,  my  frient,  is  shown  in 
that  bart  o'  the  ocean  on  your  Adm'ralty  jarts  !  ' 

"'I'll  back  our  Adm'ralty  charts,  all  the  same,'  says  the 
skipper,  'uffylike,  '  against  the  diseased  imagination  of  a  tipsy- 


maniac  master  of  a  tramp!      I  don't  believe   in  that  there 
island,'  he  says, '  no  more  than  I  believe  in  the  man  in  the  moon.' 

" 'Noverthemore,'  says  the  Dutchman,  risin'  with  onsteady 
dignity  from  the  table,  '  to-morrow  I  go  to  annegs  it  in  the 
name  o'  WILLYMINOR,  by  the  grace  of  God  Queen  o'  the  Nether- 
lands.' 

"'I  wish  Her  Majesty  joy  of  her  noo  possession,'  says  our 
skipper  sarcaustically,  bowin'  his  guest  up  the  after  ladder. 
'  By  the  way,  what  did  you  say  its  position  was  on  the  chart  ?  ' 

"  '  My  dear  frient,'  says  the  adm'ral,  steppin'  into  his 
barge,  '  what  can  it  madder,  since  it  only  exists  in  the  de- 
ceased imagination  of  a  dibsyinaniac  ?  '  At  which  the  skipper 
swore  A^ery  softly  to  hisself. 

"  A  few  minutes  after  returnin'  to  his  cabin,  'owever,  he 
rang  the  bell. 

"  '  Sir  ?  '  says  I,  answerin'  it. 

"  'Take  these  orders,'  says  he,  'to  the  first  lootenant  and 
chief  engineer  ; '  and  with  that  he  turns  in. 

"  Then  there  was  more  soft  swearin' — from  the  wardroom 
an'  lower-deck  messes  this  time.  For  the  orders  to  the  first 
lootenant  were  to  unmoor  and  be  ready  for  sea  by  day-light, 
while  the  chief  engineer  was  to  'ave  steam  for  ten  knots  by 
the  same  hour.  Which  meant  that  at  least  two-thirds  o'  the 
ship's  comp'ny  'ad  to  put  off  their  Toosday  night's  rest  till 
the  followin'  Sunday  afternoon. 

"Under  the  mistaken  impression  that  we  were  'omeward 
bound,  the  band  o'  the  Dutch  flagship  played  us  out  of  'arbour 
next  mornin'  to  the  toon  of  '  Beautiful  Isle  o'  the  Sea.'  But 
it  was  a  younger  isle  than  old  England  we  were  bound  for ; 
and,  as  soon  as  we  'ad  crawled  out  o'  sight,  instead  of  keepin' 
on  our  course  for  Signapore  the  'elm  was  jammed  'ard  a-star- 
board,  the  injin-room  telegraph  set  at  'full  speed  ahead,'  and 
in  a  few  hours  we  were  racin'  at  ten  an'  a  quarter  knots 
through  the  Straits  o'  Sunda  towards  the  Indian  Ocean.  "When 
we  reached  the  open,  the  skipper  put  the  ship  on  a  sou'- 
westerly  course,  and — sent  for  me." 

"For  you?" 

.  "Not  for  the  First  Lord  o'  the  Adm'ralty,"  explained  Mr. 
PAGETT  wearily,  "  but  for  me.  '  You  'ad  the  first  watch  on  the 
cabin  door  last  night?  '  says  the  skipper.  '  I  'ad,'  says  I.  '  I 
misremember,'  he  says,  lookin'  me  'ard  in  the  face,  '  the  exac' 
longitood  and  latitood  o'  that  there  island.'  'Nine,  thirteen 
south,'  says  I,  'by  one  'undred  and  four  east.'  '  'Ow  do  you 
know?  '  he  asks.  '  I  wrote  it  down  on  the  aft-deck  paintwork,' 
I  says,  'with  my  trigger  finger,'  I  says,  'dipped  in  some  corfy 
your  stooard  was  carryin'  into  the  cabin  at  the  time.'  '  Then 
you'll  probably  get  fourteen  days  from  the  first  lootenant,' 
he  says,  '  for  spoilin'  his  paint,  and  fourteen  more  from  me  for 
listenin'  to  international  conf'rences.  Now  you  can  go.' 

"But  when  in  the  dawn  two  days  afterwards  the  island  lay 
right  athwart  our  course,  the  skipper  sends  for  me  on  the  fore 
bridge  and  gives  me  the  lance  stripe  instead.  It  was  after- 
wards took  from  me,  you  may  recollec',  for  lettin'  the  jib  sheet 
jam  when  Lootenant  PRINGLE  was  sail  in'  that  there  train  across 
the  Isthmus  <>'  Paria  in  Venezuela. 

"Now,  if  the  Dutch  adm'ral  'ad  seen  that  forsaken  island, 
maybe  he  wouldn't  'ave  talked  so  big  about  annexin'  it  for 
Queen  "WILLYMINOR,  God  bless  her  !  It  was  no  sort  of  present 
for  a  lady — let  alone  a  Queen,  bein'  nothin'  but  a  flat,  irreg'lar 
patch  of  rock  an'  shingle  about  'alf  a  mile  long,  and  lookin' 
like  an  inkstain  in  the  middle  of  a  blue  silk  tablecloth." 

"  I  suppose  you  went  back  again,"  I  hazarded,  seeing  that  he 
paused. 

"  If  you  suppose  the  ship  and  everybody  in  her  but  the 
Marines,"  rejoined  Mr.  PAGETT  moodily,  "you  suppose  right. 
In  order  to  make  the  Dutch  adm'ral  swear  on  his  arrival,  the 
skipper  caused  the  entire  detachment,  from  me  an'  Lootenant 
JANNAWAY  down  to  the  drummer,  to  parade  in  our  best  scarlet 
toonics,  and  then  landed  us  as  n  '  garrison  of  occupation.'  "We 


JAXUABY  9,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


ww^ia^ 


THE    BENEVOLENT    CODFISH. 

Newfoundland  Talking  Cod  (addressing  the  two  fisher-girls  France  and  England}.  "LOOK  HERE,  MY  DEARS,  DO  DISCOS  ME  is  A 

FRIENDLY  WAY.      Il   WOULD   GIVE   ME  SUCH  PLEASURE   TO   BE  THE   MEANS   OF   BRINGING  YOU   BOTH   TOGETHER  !  ' 

"  An  understanding  is  necessary.     The  whole  question  is  to  find  a  quid  pro  quo  which  would  fully  compensate  France  both  for  the  material  value  of 
her  rights  and  for  the  moral  value  of  so  friendly  a  concession."— Extract  from  "le  Temps,"  quoted  by  "  The  Times     January  I,  19U1. 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUABY  9,  1901. 


took  -with  us  a  large  mining  marquee  for  the  men,  a  couple  o' 
bell  tents  for  Lootenant  JANNAWAY  an'  the  colour-sergeant, 
our  arms  an'  accoutrements,  a  week's  rations,  and  the  tallest 
spar  and  biggest  Union  Jack  we  'ad  in  the  ship.  After  hoistin' 
the  colours  with  his  own  'and  an'  proclaimin'  the  island  part  o' 
the  British  Empire,  the  Marines  presented  arms,  and  the  skipper 
returned  on  board  :  and  an  hour  later  the  Doofc  o'  York  was  'ull 
down  on  the  north-eastern  'orizon. 

"  "We  pitched  the  tents,  laid  out  our  beddin',  cleaned  our 
arms  an'  accoutrements,  cooked  and  'ad  our  dinners,  lit  our 
pipes,  and  lay  down  in  the  shade  till  evenin'.  Then  JANNAWAY, 
who  was  a  born  Marine  and  would  'ave  'arassed  pore  castaways 
upon  a  raft,  ordered  us  to  fall  in  for  drill. 

"  The  ground  mightn't  'ave  been  as  smooth  as  the  parade  in 
Plymouth  barricks,  but  it  was  certainly  roomier  thaiuth'e  Dock's 
quarter-deck.  Besides,  Marines  ain't  like  common  soldiers.  It 
makes  no  diff'rence  to  them  whether  they  drill  in  a  stonemason's 
yard  or  in  a  gale  o'  wind  at  sea.  Therefore  there  seemed  no 
sort  of  excuse  for  the  shufflin'  and  jostlin'  that  went  on  in  the  ranks 
as  soon  as  we  were  on  the  move.  Presently  JANNAWAY  'alts  us. 

"  '  What  the  blazes  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  '  he  says.  '  One 
would  think  you  were  a  pack  of  infants  out  of  a  kindergarten, 
instead  of  long-service  infantry  o'  the  line.  The  left  'alf 
comp'ny's  disgraceful,'  he  says,  'and  I  b'lieve  the  fourth 
section 's  drunk.  The  comp'ny  will  advance — by  the  left — quick 
march ! ' 

"Thenex'  minute  the  left-'and  man  but  two  trips,  and  the 
'ole  of  the  fourth  section  loses  the  step. 

"  '  Take  that  man's  name,  Colour-Sergeant,'  says  JANNAWAY. 

"  '  Beg  pardon,  Sir,'  says  the  indignant  soldier,  '  but  my  rear- 
rank  man 's  done  nothin'  but  tread  on  my  'eels  ever  since  the 
blessed  drill  began.' 

"  '  Don't  talk  to  me,  Sir  ! '  roars  JANNAWAY.  '  You  can  check 
him  as  well,  Colour-Sergeant,  for  tellin'  me  a  lie.  It 's  the  first 
time,'  he  says  sarcaustically,  '  that  I  've  'card  of  a  rear-rank 
man  in  a  blank  file  !  ' 

"  Now,  as  everyone  knows,  when  there  's  an  odd  number  o' 
men  in  a  comp'ny,  the  left-'and  file  but  two  is  called  the  blank 
file,  because  there  's  a  gap  at  that  point  in  the  rear  rank.  In 
other  words,  the  front-rank  man  has  got  no  one  be'ind  him. 
The  comp'ny  sniggered,  and  the  man  himself  looked  foolish  ;  so 
JANNAWAY,  to  give  him  a  chance,  shifted  him  to  the  right  o'  the 
rear  rank,  and  the  drill  continued. 

"  Three  minutes  later  the  noo  front-rank  man,  with  a  scared 
look  on  his  face,  steps  out  o'  the  ranks  and  requests  to  be  made 
a  pris'ner. 

"  '  What  the  devil  for  ?  '  asks  JANNAWAY. 

"  '  Because,'  says  the  man,  through  his  chatterin'  teeth,  '  it 
gives  me  the  'orrors  every  time  I  turn  about  to  run  agin  some- 
body I  can't  see! " 

"  'I  '11  'ave  a  double  sentry  posted  on  the  rum  cask,'  says 
JANNAWAY,  always  suspicious  of  us  pore  soldiers.  '  The  nex' 
man  as  says  the  blank  file  's  complete  will  'ave  a  crime  made 
out  against  him.' 

"He  broke  up  the  detachment,  reformed  and  nuinbered.it, 
and  went  on  with  the  drill.  But  it  wasn't  a  bit  o'  good.  In 
spite  of  Mr.  JANNAWAY  the  blank  file  was  complete.  There  \vas 
always  Someone  marchin'  in  that  vacant  place  in  the  left  'alf 
comp'ny,  and  the  left  'alf  comp'ny  didn't  like  it.  After  a  bit 
they  began  to  panic,  and  the  panic  spread  to  the  right  'alf,  so 
that  JANNAWAY,  with  many  crool  words,  was  presently  forced 
to  dismiss  us. 

"The  records  of  the  great  Sea  Regiment,"  continued  Mr. 
PAGETT,  with  apparent  irrelevance,  "  go  back,  as  you  well  know, 
more  than  two  'undred  and  thirty  years,  and  they  form  an 
unbroken  tale  of  the  most  splendid  valour  in  every  quarter  o' 
the  globe.  Not  even  a  loss  of  fifty  per  cent,  o'  their  numbers 
'ave  stopped  the  Marines  from  capturin'  a  position,  and  they 
'ave  gone  to  the  bottom  standin'  with  unbroken  ranks  upon  the 
quarterdeck.  But  even  Marines  are  sometimes  seized  with 


panic,  and  after  that  drill  we  raced  back  to  the  minin'  tent  as 
though  the  devil  himself  'ad  been  at  our  'eels.  We  would  'ave 
fought  a  dozen  Dutch  flagships  with  pleasure,  but  that  bloomin' 
blank  file  was  a  bit  too  much  for  our  nerves." 

So  shattered  were  Mr.  PAGETT'S  nerves,  even  after  the  lapse 
of  six  years,  that  for  several  minutes  he  was  entirely  uncon- 
scious that  the  tumbler  he  held  midway  to  his  mouth  was  empty  : 
nor,  on  my  hastening  to  atone  for  my  forgetfulness,  did  he 
remember  to  say  "when"  until  the  whiskey  had  reached  the 
top  of  the  pretty.  His  omission  to  add  any  water  was  pos- 
sibly but  another  proof  that  the  great  man's  thoughts  were 
ten  thousand  miles  away  from  his  beloved  "  Coach  and  Horses." 

"I  ask  you,"  he  resumed,  after  staring  at  the  fire  in  silence 
for  several  minutes,  "to  consider  the  sitooation.  Three  an' 
thirty  pore  marooned  soldiers— countin'  me,  an'  JANNAWAY,  an' 
the  colour-sergeant — jostlin'  each  other  on  a  pin's  'ead  of  rock 
in  the  most  deserted  part  o'  the  Indian  Ocean.  Night  comin' 
on,  and  in  our  ranks  a  blank  file  there  was  no  accountin'  for, 
and  which,  by  all  the  rules  o'  squad  drill,  didn't  ought  to  'ave 
been  there.  And  now,  in  the  wake  o'  the  blank  file,  'ad  come 
another  'orror  called  blue  funk :  and  all  this,  if  you  please,  in 
order  to  make  a  Dutch  adm'ral  swear !  It  made  us  swear,  and 
you  may  lay  to  it:  for  it  was  'ard,  crool  'ard,  on  the  most 
deservin'  body  o'  men  in  Her  Majesty's  reg'lar  forces." 

Mr.  PAGETT  passed  his  left  hand  over  his  eyes  while  his  right 
sought  the  newly  replenished  tumbler.  After  a  gallant  effort  to 
control  his  emotion,  he  set  the  glass  resolutely  upon  the  table, 
and  continued. 

"  At  two  bells  in  the  first  watch  Mr.  JANNAWAY,  who  would 
'ave  carried  out  routine  if  he  'd  been  ROBINSON  CRUSOE,  ordered 
the  bugler  to  sound  '  Out  lights  ! '  and  after  we  'd  all  turned  in, 
he  went  the  rounds  with  the  colour-sergeant.  Everything 
being  correct,  they  also  retired  to  their  respective  tents  :  and 
for  some  time  nothin'  broke  the  oppressive  silence  but  the  foot- 
steps o'  the  sentry  outside. 

"The  first  thing  that  'appened  was  the  rattle  of  his  rifle  an' 
baynit  as  he  come  down  to  the  charge,  and  his  challenge  '  'Alt ! 
Who  goes  there?  '  Now,  seein'  that  every  soul  on  the  island 
but  the  sentry  himself  was  in  bed,  we  all  sat  up  on  our  blankets 
to  'ear  the  reply.  But  none  came :  so  after  a  minute  or  more 
the  sentry  rcsoomed  his  walk,  and  we  in  the  minin'  tent  lay 
down  again. 

"  Before  long  the  thing  was  repeated,  after  which  it  went  on 
at  intervals  of  about  two  minutes,  but  with  never  a  reply  to  the 
challenges.  The  fifth  brought  Mr.  JANNAWAY  to  the  door  of  his 
tent,  and  he  Avas  in  a  doose  of  a  rage,  you  may  lay  to  it. 

"  '  When  that  militiaman's  finished  challengin'  his  own 
shadow,'  he  sings  out,  '  p'r'aps  he'll  recollec' that  all  the  in- 
'abitants  of  this  pop'lous  island  are  in  bed,  and  want  to  go  to 
sleep !  ' 

"  'Then  for  the  first  time  in  our  joint  existence,'  says  the 
sentry,  his  voice  shakin'  with  the  tropical  cold,  '  me  and  my 
shadow  'avo  parted  comp'ny.  It 's  just  gone  into  the  minin' 
tent ! '  he  says. 

"  In  less  than  a  brace  o'  shakes  the  'ole  thirty  of  us  were 
outside  the  tent  in  our  shirts,  which  so  upset  the  sentry  that 
he  drops  his  rifle  and  starts  shinnin'  up  the  jackstaff,  greatcoat 
an*  all. 

"  '  Come  down  out  o'  that,  you  grey  ape,'  roars  JANNAWAY, 
'  before  I  bring  you  down  with  my  revolver.  As  for  the  rest  o' 
you,'  he  says,  'if  you  ain't  back  in  your  beds  in  one  minute, 
I  '11  'ave  you  all  tried  for  mutiny  as  soon  as  we  get  back  to  the 
ship.  To  think,'  he  says,  '  that  a  detachment  o'  Royal  Marines 
should  be  turned  into  a  flock  o'  silly  sheep  by  a  sentry  with  a 
touch  o'  sunstroke  ! ' 

"Then  he  orders  the  sentry  to  be  relieved  and  kep'  under 
observation  in  the  colour-sergeant's  tent  as  a  criminal  loonatic : 
and  we  guessed  that  the  colour- sergeant  would  prefer  the  com- 
p'ny of  a  criminal  loonatic  to  bein'  left  by  hisself  in  the  dark." 
(To  be  continued.) 


JANUARY  9,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHAKIVAKI. 


A  LETTER  TO  A  YOUNG  PUBLISHER. 

SINCE,  my  dear  JONES,  you  are  good 
enough  to  ask  for  my  advice,  need  I  say 
that  your  success  in  business  will  depend 
chiefly  upon  judicious  advertisement? 
You  are  bringing  out,  I  understand,  a 
thrilling  story  of  domestic  life,  entitled 
Maria's  Marriage.  Already,  I  am  glad  to 
learn,  you  have  caused  a  paragraph  to 
appear  in  the  literary  journals  contra- 
dicting "  the  widespread  report  that  Mr. 
KIPLING  and  the  German  EMPEROR  have 
collaborated  in  the  production  of  this 
hovel,  the  appearance  of  which  is  awaited 
with  such  extraordinary  interest."  And 
you  have  induced  a  number  of  papers  to 
give  prominence  to  the  fact  that  Mr. 
PENWIPER  dines  daily  off  curry  and  clotted 
cream.  So  far,  so  good.  Your  next  step 
will  be  to  send  out  review-copies,  to- 
gether with  ready-made  laudatory  criti- 
.cisms ;  in  order,  as  you  will  explain,  to 
save  the  hardworked  reviewers  trouble. 
But,  you  will  say,  supposing  this  inge- 
nious device  to  fail  ?  Supposing  Maria's 
Marriage  to  be  universally  "slated"? 
"Well,  even  then  you  need  not  despair. 
With  a  little  practice,  you  will  learn  the 
art  of  manufacturing  an  attractive  ad- 
vertisement column  from  the  most  un- 
promising material.  Let  me  give  you  a 
brief  example  of  the  method  : 

I. — THE  RAW  MATERIAL. 

"MR.  PENWIPER'S  latest  production, 
Maria's  Marriage,  scarcely  calls  for 
serious  notice.  It  seems  hard  to  believe 
that  even  the  most  tolerant  reader  will 
contrive  to  study  with  attention  a  work 
of  which  every  page  contains  glaring 
errors  of  taste.  Humour,  smartness  and 
interest  are  all  conspicuously  wanting." 
— The  Thunderer. 

"This  book  is  undeniably  third-rate — 
dull,  badly-written,  incoherent ;  in  line, 
a  dismal  failure." — The  Wigwam. 

"If  Maria's  Marriage  has  any  real 
merit,  it  is  as  an  object-lesson  to  aspir- 
ing authors.  Here,  we  would  say  to 
them,  is  a  striking  example  of  the  way 
in  which  romance  should  not  be  written. 
Set  yourself  to  produce  a  work  exactly 
its  opposite  in  every  particular,  and  the 
chances  are  that  you  will  produce,  if  not 
a  masterpiece,  at  least,  a  tale  free  from 
the  most  glaring  faults.  For  the  terrible 
warning  thus  afforded  by  his  volume  to 
budding  writer,  Mr.  PENWIPER  deserves 
to  be  heartily  thanked."  —  Daily  Tele- 
phone. 

"Maria's  Marriage  is  another  book 
that  we  have  received  in  the  course  of 
the  month." — The  Parachute. 

II. — THE  RESULT. 

Maria's  Marriage!    Maria's  Marriage! 
Gigantic  Success — The  Talk  of  London. 
The  29th  Edition  will    be  issued  this 
week  if  the  sale  of  twenty-eight  previous 


A    NEW    YEAR'S    AMENDMENT    ACT. 

Aunt.    "  Now,  BOB,  THIS  is  THE  TIME  WHES  WE  ALL  OF  us  FIRMLY  BESOLVE  TO  TURN  OVER 

A   MEW  LEAF,    AND  THROW  ASIDE    OUR    OLD    BVD    HABITS   AND    CULTIVATE    GOOD    ONES.       So 
YOUR     UNCLE     AND     I     WANT     YOU    TO     MAKE    UP    YOUR    MIND    HOT    TO    SMOKS    AKY    MORE 

CIGARETTES." 

Young  Hopeful  (care/idly  keeping  his  latest  purchase  out  of  sight}.   "  Yes,  AUNT. 


ones  makes  this  necessary.  Each  edition 
is  strictly  limited ! 

Maria's  Marriage  I 

The  voice  of  the  Press  is  simply  un- 
animous. Read  the  following  extracts — 
taken  almost  at  random  from  the  reviews 
of  leading  papers. 

"Mr.  PENWIPER'S  latest  production  .  .  . 
calls  for  serious  notice  .  .  .  the  reader 
will  .  .  .  study  with  attention  a  work  of 
which  every  page  contains  taste,  humour, 
smartness  and  interest!  " — The  Thunderer. 

"  Undeniably  .  .  .  fine !  " — The  Wigwam. 

"  Has  .  .  .  real  merit  ...  an  object- 
lesson  ...  a  striking  example  of  the  way 
in  which  romance  .  .  .  should  be  written. 
A  masterpiece  .  .  .  free  from  faults. 


Mr.  PENWIPER  deserves  to  be  heartily 
thanked!  " — Daily  Telephone. 

"  The  book  ...  of  the  month !  "—The 
Parachute,  etc.,  etc. 

Maria's  Marriage  1  A  veritable  Triumph ! 
Order  it  from  your  Bookseller  to-day  I 


That,  my  dear  JONES,  is  how  the  trick 
is  done.  I  hope  to  give  you  some  farther 
hints  on  a  future  occasion. 

A.  C.  D. 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHAKIVAKI. 


[JANUARY  9,  1901. 


WATCHMAN,  WHAT  OF   THE  KNIGHT? 

A  plaint  of  Poets  Untitled. 

[The  studied  exclusion  of  the  name  of  Mr. 
ALFEED  AUSTIN  from  the  list  of  New  Yeai 
Knights  is  supposed  to  haA'e  aroused  much  indig- 
nation in  the  breast  of  Mr.  SW-NB-BXE,  at  Putney. 
The  following  lines  attempt  to  give  expression  to  a 
sentiment  that  reflects  great  credit  on  the  author 
of  Atalanta  in  Calydon.'] 
WHEN  the  cooling  of  cosmos  began 

With  a  sprinkling  of  spots  on  the  sun, 
At  the  primal  commencement  of  man, 

When  the  winds  and  the  waters  were  one ; 
From  the  dawn  of  the  dallying  years 

There  came  of  the  travail  of  Time, 
Harmony  niched  from  the  spheres, 

Rhyme  and  the  making  of  rhyme. 
And  the  nine-fold  heavenly  brood, 

Bred  in  Olympian  air, 
Gave  us  ambrosial  food 

And  to  browse  on  the  following  fare : — 

Mirth  that  is  misery's  pillow, 

And  grief,  the  bolster  of  mirth  ; 
Boom  of  the  earth-sick  billow, 

Ache  of  the  sea-sick  earth  ; 
Lips  that  are  drunk  with  laughter, 

Fulness  that  frets  for  more, 
Wisdom  that  follows  after 

The  wassail  that  went  before  ;      v 
Beauty  that  breaks  at  a  breath, 

Love  that  is  louder  than  strife  ; 
Life,  the  cousin  of  death, 

And  death,  the  ditto  of  life. 

In  the  subsequent  age  of  gold, 

Ere  the  savour  of  life  went  wrong, 
When  the  passions  of  men  took  mould 

From  the  hand  of  the  Maker  of  Song  ; 
On  the  Avings  of  the  North  and  the  South 

White-hot  on  the  quest  they  came, 
And  the  truths   that    dropped   from   his 

Fell  on  their  hearts  like  flame,      [mouth 
Ivy  was  lashed  to  his  locks, 

Of  pearls  was  his  robe  inwrought, 
Gaily  the  fatted  ox 

Yielded  him  food  for  thought. 
Sovereign  of  kings  he  sat 

And  sang  to  the  lords  of  the  isles, 
By  day  on  a  gem-strewn  mat, 

By  night  on  the  star-struck  tiles. 

He  sang  of  the  dregs  of  desire, 

Of  sin  and  the  issue  of  sin, 
Of  the  wealth  that  his  wandering  lyre 

Had  won,  and  was  worthy  to  win  ; 
Till  the  feasters  were  faint  in  the  chest, 

And  the  voice  of  the  waiters  was  dumb, 
And  you  heard  in  the  course  of  a  rest 

The  crash  of  a  decadent  crumb  I 

England !     What  of  the  goLl, 

Of  the  fine  gold  rotting  to  rust? 
What  of  your  heart  grown  cold 

And  the  eyes  of  you  dimmed  with  dust  ? 
Where  now  are  the  spoils  of  the  bard, 

Carbuncles  brave  on  his  breast, 
Myrrh  and  emulsion  of  nard 

For  the  frenzy  and  fringe  of  his  crest  ? 
What  of  the  deference  done 

To  the  builder  of  bounteous  rhymes 


In  the  young  year's  honours  that  run 

To  a  column  or  so  of  the  Times  ? 
Science  and  service  of  State, 

Trade  and  the  treatment  of  bile, 
"ower  for  the  parish-debate, 

Nerve  for  the  damming  of  Nile — 
Hence  are  the  sheer  heights  scaled 

By  virtue  that  keeps  to  the  path, 
But  never  a  poet  has  nailed 

Even  the  boon  of  a  Bath  ! 

To  the  feet  that  are  feathered  to  follow 

The  song-god's  fluttering  shift, 
Empty  is  fame  and  hollow 

Earth  that  comes  with  a  gift ; 
But  he  that  fashions  his  lays 

No  nearer  the  Muse's  lap 
Than  the  hall  where  he  hangs  his  bays 

When  he  washes  at  CARLTON'S  tap — 
AUSTIN,  what  of  the  Knight  ? 

Heavy  with  hope  deferred, 
When  will  he  solace  our  sight, 

Panoplied,  plumed,  and  spurred  ? 

Give  me  no  guerdon  of  mortals  1 

Zeus-gotten  and  cherished  of  Zeus, 
I  fling  their  pay  to  the  portals 

Hound-bound  of  the  nethermost  deuce  ; 
With  a  hitch  to  my  Bacchanal's  wreath, 

I  mock  at  the  titles  of  man, 
When  at  Putney  aloof  on  the  Heath 

I  can  prance  to  the  pipings  of  Pan  ! 

O.  S. 


THE  DREAM  OF  THE  STATISTICIAN. 

TOTTEUUP  had  not  been  feeling  well 
lately.  Perhaps  the  long  series  of 
magazine  articles,  written  at  somewhat 
high  pressure,  was  responsible  for  it. 
But  he  had  finished  with  them  for  the 
present,  and  as  he  got  into  bed  that 
evening  he  resolved  to  have  a  good  rest 
from  all  numerical  calculations. 

He  spent  an  uncomfortable  night,  how- 
ever. Visions  of  the  little  black-and- 
white  diagrams  with  which  he  used  to 
illustrate  his  articles  danced  before  his 
eyes.  The  dotted  lines  and  shaded  por- 
tions pursued  him  relentlessly,  until 
nature  at  last  succumbed  to  the  influence 
of  Morpheus. 

He  awoke  feeling  refreshed,  and  began 
to  dress  leisurely.  He  was  a  methodical 
man  and  always  arranged  his  personal 
belongings  on  the  dressing-table  overnight. 
This  made  it  all  the  more  strange  that  he 
could  not  find  his  tie-clip  that  morning. 
However,  he  finished  his  toilet  and  went 
downstairs.  Meeting  the  housemaid  on 
the  way,  he  asked  her  if  she  had  seen  the 
tie-clip  anywhere  about. 

"Oh,  please,  Sir,  a  gentleman  called  for 
it  last  night ;  but  you  were  so  fast  asleep, 


I  fetched  it  out  of  your  room  without 
waking  you.  He  said  he  must  have  it." 

"  A  gentleman  called  for  my  tie-clip  !  " 

"  Yes,  Sir.  He  was  from  the  Admiralty, 
I  think.  He  said  something  about  it  being 
required  for  the  defence  of  the  Nation." 

TOTTERUP  stared  at  the  girl  for  a 
moment.  Then  there  came  into  his  mind 
the  recollection  of  his  earlier  articles ; 
he  had  touched  on  the  amount  of  metal 
employed  each  year  in  the  construction  of 
tie-clips.  It  had  also  called  attention  to 
the  fact  that  this  same  amount  of  metal 
would  equip  a  fleet  of  war  vessels.  So 
the  Government  were  going  to  put  his 
calculations  to  the  test.  Well,  this  was 
fame ! 

He  entered  the  dining-room.  Breakfast 
was  his  favourite  meal.  His  landlady  was 
one  of  those  few  persons  who  can  cook 
bacon,  and  there  was  a  large  dish  of  it  on 
the  table.  But  TOTTERUP  was  unusually 
hungry  that  morning,  so  he  rang  the  bell. 
The  landlady  answered  it  in  person. 

"Mrs.  MUGGRIDGE,"  he  observed,  "I 
should  like  a  couple  of  boiled  eggs." 

"  I  'm  very  sorry,  Sir,  but  there  are  no 
eggs  to  be  had  for  love  or  money  just 
now." 

"Why,  this  is  just  the  season  for  them !  " 

"Well,  Sir  I  can  only  say  what  I'm 
told.  Every  egg,  new-laid  or  stale,  in  the 
United  Kingdom  is  wanted  for  the  Straits 
of  Dover." 

Once  again,  something  impelled  TOTTER- 
UP  to  recall  his  statistical  works.  Yes, 
he  remembered  it  clearly  now.  He 
certainly  had  made  the  statement  that  the 
number  of  eggs  laid  by  British  hens  ivould 
be  sufficient,  in  a  certain  time,  to  com- 
pletely fill  up  the  Straits  of  Dover.  So 
this,  too,  was  being  put  to  the  test. 
Supposing  he  had  not  been  quite  accurate 
in  his  calculations ! 

He  finished  his  breakfast  with  toast  and 
marmalade.  Then  putting  on  his  hat  and 
coat  he  wandered  out.  He  turned  into 
Oxford  Street,  and  crossed  the  road.  As 
he  did  so,  he  stumbled  over  something 
in  the  roadway.  Stooping  down,  he 
picked  up  a  novel.  He  was  glancing 
through  it  when  a  policeman  tapped  him 
on  the  shoulder. 

"  Now  then,  Sir,  please  put  that  back 
where  you  found  it." 

TOTTERUP  looked  at  the  constable,  and 
then  at  the  ground.  To  his  astonishment, 
he  noticed  that  the  whole  of  the  roadway 
was  covered  with  works  of  fiction,  packed 
closely  together.  The  volume  he  held  in 
his  hand  had  somehow  got  dislodged,  for 
there  was  a  gap  at  his  feet  that  it  fitted 
into. 

"It's  the  County  Council,"  remarked 
the  policeman,  in  answer  to  TOTTERUP'S 
appealing  glance.  "  Some  bloke  in  the 
papers  has  been  pointing  out  that  '  Lon- 
don could  be  paved  with  novels  from  Shep- 
herd's Bush  to  Mile  End ' ;  so  they  're 


JANUARY  9,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


27 


trying  it  instead  of  wood.  All  this  year's 
books." 

With  a  wild  light  in  his  eyes,  TOTTERUP 
started  walking  down  the  path  of  fiction 
Citywards.  He  stopped  at  his  news- 
agent's to  get  a  paper. 

"None  on  sale,  Sir,"  said  the  man. 
"All  being  bought  up  by  the  Hastro- 
nomer-Royal.  'E  says  as  'ow  the  daily 
papers  will  reach  to  the  moon  in  time, 
if  they  pile  'em  up  ;  at  least,  that 's  what 
some  writer  chap  tells  'im.  So  'e  's  try- 
ing to  make  'em  as  helevating  as  Dr. 
PARKER  even  could  'ave  wished." 

TOTTBRUP  paused  for  a  moment ;  then 
hailing  a  hansom,  lie  dashed  off  to  his 
fiancee's  address.  He  was  shown  up  into 
the  drawing-room  and  found  her  tying 
up  a  brown-paper  parcel,  which  she  pre- 
sented to  him  without  a  word. 

"  "What  is  it,  dear?  "  he  gasped. 

"  Only  my  engagement  ring  and  a  few 
of  your  presents  to  me.  You  know,  in 
that  last  article  of  yours  on  the  different 
ages  at  which  people  get  married,  you 
point  out  that  the  majority  of  unhappy 
marriages  take  place  between  females  of 
from  twenty-three  to  twenty-five  years  of 
age  and  'males  of  thirty  to  thirty-two. 
As  I  am  f on r-and- twenty  and  you  are 
just  thirty-one,  it  would  be  criminal  if 
we  continued  to  be  engaged." 

"  But,  my  clearest  EVANGELINE  !  " 

"  Not  a  word.  Your  calculations  are 
always  so  correct  and  clear." 

She  disappeared  through  a  door  at  the 
end  of  the  room.  TOTTERUP  dashed  after 
her,  came  in  violent  contact  with  the 
door  handle,  and — awoke  ! 


POEMS  FOR  THE: MILLION. 

[A  serial  has  been  issued  consisting  entirely  of 
verse.] 

O  MINOR  bards,  in  numbers  vast, 

Who  "want  of  space"  so  often  curse, 

Take  heart  of  grace,  here  is  at  last 
A  periodical  all  verse. 

With  "copy  "  editors  unkind 
(The  poet  scorners)  you  pursue ; 

The  whole  fair  field  you  here  will  find 
One  poet's  corner,  all  for  you. 

Ah  !  but  if  all  who  thus  aspire 
Must  in  its  pages  find  a  home, 

Each  monthly  issue  would  require 
Encyclopaedias,  tome  on  tome. 

Yet,  if  our  minor  poets  all 

Would  only  each  one  copy  buy, 

What  other  periodical 

Could  with  its  circulation  vie  ? 


IN  rapture  I  gazed, 

Neither  manners  nor  duty 
Could  save  me  from  being 

Absorbed  in  her  beauty. 


THOSE    BRUTAL    BROTHERS! 

Cissy  (joining  in  at  a.  check).  "  HALLO,  TOMMY  !     HERE  WE  ARE  AGAIN  ! " 

Tommy.  "  YES — THAT'S  THE  WORST  OF  HUNTING  WITH  HARRIERS.     ONE  CAN'T  SHAKE 

OFF   THE   WOMEN  1  " 


Oh,  if  I  could  tell  her  ! 

My  eye — gallant  rover, 
Her  beautiful  face 

Travelled  over  and  over. 

Should  I  tell  her — and  lose 

Her 'affection  for  ever  ? 
Could  I  utter  the  words 

That  us  two  might  dissever  ? 
She  is  raising  her  eyes  ! — 

Those  translucent  pools 
In  whose  depths  have  drowned 

Many  wise  men  and  fools. 

Oh,  pity  my  plight ! 

To  court  her  disdain, 
And  never  to  look 

On  her  beauty  again. 
For  if  she  should  frown — 

Ah,  pity  my  plight ! 


My  heaven  made  hell, 
My  day  turned  to  night ! 

Oh,  faintly  I  fought 

And  fainter.    Oh,  love, 
The  syllables  softly 

To  utter  I  strove. 
But  I  was  so  powerless, 

Tongue-tied  and  stupid  : 
If  only  MARCONI 

Had  studied  with  Cup'd  ! 

In  a  burst  of  despair, 

Knowing  well  all  was  lost, 
I  determined  to  speak  ; 

And  I  said — at  what  cost ! — 
At  the  risk  of  destroying 

Her  wonderful  pose, 
"  There  's  such  a  big  smut 

On  the  bridge  of  your  nose  ! 


28 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  9,  1901. 


CONVERSATIONAL  HINTS  FOE  YOUNG  EIDERS. 

CHAPTER  IV.  . 
(The  gay  and  busy  meet — Ladies  in  the  lead — the  Hunt  breakfast 

— The  flattering  of  Fred  Dickinson.) 

AND  now  yon  are  at  the  meet.  Is  there  a  more  cheerful  and 
inspiriting  sight  in  the  world  than  this  gay  confusion  of  high- 
mettled  horses  with  their  gallant  riders  bright  in  their  scarlet 
coats,  their  white  breeches,  their  polished  top-boots  and  their 
shining  hats,  or  more  sober  but  not  less  workmanlike  in 
the  darker  hues  of  mufti?  Hero,  too,  are  the  ladies,  noble 
figures  of  horseAvomen,  sure  but  easy  of  seat,  light-handed  and 
glowing  with  health.  You  are  a  youngster,  and,  like  other 


her  delicate  complexion,  Miss  MIRABEL  has  nothing  to  learn 
from  your  own  strong  sex  in  the  matter  of  riding  to  hounds. 

But  see  whither  the  ardour  of  the  chase  has  carried  me.  We 
have  hardly  arrived  at  the  meet,  and  already  have  I  carried 
you  at  breakneck  speed  from  a  find  to  a  check,  from  a  check  to 
a  view,  from  a  view  to  a  death  in  the  morning.  Let  us  hark 
back  a  bit,  and  take  things  more  easily. 

You  are  to  suppose,  then,  that  we  are"  at  an  invitation  meet, 
and  that  breakfast  has  been  laid  out  in  the  spacious  hall  of 
Elvaston  Manor,  the  home  of  Squire  WlLBRAHAM,  one  of  the 
mainstays  of  our  hunt.  A  few  of  the  older  fellows  have  gone  in 
and  made  a  pretence  of  toying  with  ham,  or  galantine,  or  cold 
pheasant  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  glass  of  champagne  or  a 


youngsters,  you  probably  think  women  a  feeble  folk  doomed  to  !  tankard  of  ale,  or  a  go  of  cherry  brandy.    Outside,  the  rest  of 


be  guided  and  controlled  and 
kept  in  subjection  by  such 
stalwart,  brave,  and  sagacious 
creatures  as  yourself.  But  wait 
a  bit  till  the  old  fox  has 
broken  covert,  and  the  hounds, 
responsive  to  the  huntsman's 
"  Yoick  !  "  are  settled  on  his 
track.  They  run  fast,  and  the 
country  is  not  of  the  easiest. 
There  are  banks  and  ditches 
that  call  for  all  a  rider's  skill 
and  courage ;  a  little  further 
on  is  a  brook,  not  too  narrow, 
and  with  a  hard  take-oft ;  then 
we  dash  through  a  covert,  ears 
open  for  the  faltering  music  of 
the  hounds,  now  checking  for 
a  moment,  now  pelting  along 
the  rides  with  right  arm  ready 
to  ward  off  the  low  hanging 
branches  ;  then  out  again  into 
the  open — a  grass  country  with 
a  stiff  line  of  posts  and  rails. 
Some  have  been  pounded  at  a 
bank,  some  have  come  to  ruin 
at  the  brook  ;  others  have  gone 
astray  in  the  wood,  or  have 
displayed  an  excessive  cunning 
in  skirting  it  in  the  wrong 
direction  ;  now  one  or  two  re- 
fuse at  the  first  post  and  rails. 
Crash  goes  ADOLPHUS  WINTER- 
SIDE  ;  his  horse  is  blown,  and 
has  misjudged  his  jump.  His 
horse  pecks  on  landing,  pulls 
himself  together  pecks  again 

and  rolls  over,  and,    lo,    the  once   immaculate  ADOLPHUS 
comes    a    muddy  chaos,   his  hat  battered   into    the    likeness 


of  an  ancient  concertina,  and  all  the  rprido  gone  out  of  him. 
But  far  ahead,  ever  in  the  first  flight  with  the  boldest  riders, 
behold  Miss  MIRABEL,  that  airy,  dainty  young  woman  over 
•whom  ADOLPHUS  was  prepared  to  extend  his  protection  and 
patronage.  She  is  well  mounted :  every  hunting  girl  must 
have  a  good  horse,  but  a  good  horse  is  not  enough.  Nerve  and 
skill  and  firmness  and  judgment  are  wanted,  and  all  these  she 
has.  Nothing  daunts  her;  she  takes  her  own  line,  and  asks  no 
man  to  lead  her.  She  never  stops  a  crowd  by  bungling  with  a 
gate,  or  attempts  absurd  feats  of  jumping  when  there  is  a 
quicker,  a  safer,  and  an  easier  way.  She  is  bold ;  but  she 
spares  her  horse  over  the  heavy  land,  and  lets  him  feel  his 
speed — but  not  too  much — over  the  springy  turf,  and  when, 
with  a  final  rush  and  a  fierce  concentration,  the  hounds  run 
into  their  quarry,  I  warrant  she  will  not  be  far  away.  When 
you  come  panting  and  pounding  up  a  few  minutes  later,  you 
will  have  learnt  that,  with  all  her  soft  and  pretty  ways  and 


the  riders  have  had  their  glass; 
the  hunt  servants  guarding  the 
wise  and  friendly  hounds  in  the 
adjoining  paddock  have  had 
their  drain  of  beer,  the  Squire 
and  the  farmers  on  their 
honest  serviceable  nags  have 
exchanged  hearty  greetings — 
everybody  is  in  the  highest 
spirits,  and  tongues  are  wag- 
ging freely.  I  advise  you  not 
to  say  too  much,  and  not  to 
be  critical.  Rather  admire 
Avhere  you  can  honestly  do  so  ; 
if  not,  keep  silent.  But  it  is 
so  easy  to  admire  and  to 
gratify.  Try  the  plan  on  FRED 
DICKINSON,  as  thus — 

"By  Jupiter,  FRED,  that 's  a 
good-looking  horse  you're  on; 
Where  did  you  get  him  ?  " 

"  Bought  him  from  a  chap  in 
Ireland.  Only  got  him  over 
last  week." 

"  I  bet  you  had  to  pay  a  stiff 
price." 

"Not  a  bit.  Eighty,  includ- 
ing all  expenses  of  getting  him 
here." 

"Well,  you  have  got  a  bar- 
gain. I  never  saw  a  better  cut 
of  horse  for  pace  and  jumping. 
His  quarters  are  magnificent." 

In  this  simple  interchange  of 
sentences  you  have  flattered 
FRED'S  judgment  of  a  horse  and 
his  skill  as  a  bargainer,  and 

be-  in  the  most  delicate  way  you  've  made  him  a  warm  friend. 
Later  on,  you'll  overhear  him  saying  to  the  Squire,  "  Doosid 


FOG     SIGNALS.' 

(A  Hint  to  the  Asthmatical.) 


pleasant  young  chap,  that  LlGHTFOOT  ;  rides  as  straight  as  a  line, 
and  knows  a  thing  or  two  about  a  horse."  So  easily  are  the 
great  conciliated. 


CHESS  A  LA  MILITAIRE. 

(As  played  in  the  game  of  War.) 

RED  advances  ten  miles  by  rail  in  the  direction  of  White's 
rear  guard. 

White  retires  twenty  guns  and  sixty  squadrons  by  a  night 
march  in  echelon. 

Red  forges  round  with  thirty  thousand  mounted  men,  cutting 
off  White's  retreat. 

White  seizes  a  mountain  pass  and  blows  up  twenty  bridges. 

Red  brings  up  guns,  cavalry  and  stores  and  gives 
check. 

White  surrenders. 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.— JANUARY  9,  1901. 


UEGENT. 

GENEBAL  LORD  K-TCH-N-R  (to  MR.  JOHN  Buu).   "  IF  YOU  WANT  THIS  BUSINESS  QUICKLY  FINISHED  YOU 
MUST  GIVE   ME   MORE   HORSES,   AND   MEN  TO   RIDE  THEM." 


JANUARY  9,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


31 


TARTARIN  A  BRIGHTON. 

L'ARRJVEE. 

LA  gare  do  Brighton  eiait  d^serte.  Sous  le  ciel  blafard,  et 
a  travers  la  brume  de  mer,  on  voyait  a  peine  tine  dizaine  de 
personnes  qui  attendaient  1'arrivee  de  1'express.  C'etait  le 
dimanche. 

Soudain  le  train  arrive.  Les  portieres  s'ouvrent,  les  facteurs 
accourent,  sur  tout  le  quai  on 
se  bouscule,  on  se  presse,  on 
cherche  ses  bagages,  ses  amis. 
Tout  d'un  coup  une  voix  ter- 
rible pousse  ce  cri,  "  Facteur !  " 

Sur  le  marchepied  du  wagon- 
salon  un  gros  homme  barbu 
s'arrete.  II  a  1'air  marin.  II 
porte  un  pantalon  bleu  fonce, 
tres  large  au  dessous  des 
genoux,  et  cachant  de  petits 
souliers  vernis ;  un  col  roarin 
gigantesque,  en  toile  bleu 
pale,  rabattu  sur  les  <5paules 
au  dessus  d'un  vaste  mackin- 
tosch  en  toile  ciree,qui  laisse 
voir  une  ceinture  en  soie  rouge  ; 
et  un  chapeau  de  paille  a  larges 
bords,  sur  le  ruban  duquel  on 
distingue  ces  mots  H.M.S.  Ter- 
rible. Un  sifflet  et  un  couteau 
pendus  au  cou  par  une  grosse 
corde,  une  longue-vue  a  la  main, 
deux  pistolets  et  un  coutelas 
fourr^s  dans  la  ceinture,  com- 
pletent  I'equipement  de  ce 
parfait  yacktman. 

Les  paisibles  voyageurs, 
citys-mans,  n^gociants,  avocats, 
artistes  de  theatre,  usuriers, 
books-makers,  s'arretenteffares. 
Les  facteurs  s'enfuient.  Mais 
derriere  le  gros  marin,  ce  pirate 
a  1'air  doux  et  bienveillant, 
on  entend  murmurerune  petite 
voix,  "  Maitre,  j'ai  cherche  le 
mot  dans  mon  dictionnaire,  et 
j'ai  trouv£  portaire."  "  Vai, 
PASCALON,"  repond  le  marin, 
"pas  du  tout.  Ca,  c'est  une 
biere,  le  portaire-palal."  Et, 
brandissant  la  longue-vue,  il 
crie  encore  plus  fort  "  Fac- 
teur !  ' ' 

Les  act  rices,  poussant  des 
cris  d'effroi,  se  jettent  dans  les 

bras  des  citys-mans.  Les  acteurs,  se  rappelant  les  gestes  des 
guerriers  de  l'antiquite\  se  cachent  derriere  leurs  parapluies, 
tenus  en  boucliers  a  la  main  gauche.  Us  attendent  le  combat, 
leurs  Cannes  a  la  main  droite,  une  phalange  inattaquable. 

Mais  un  gros  negociant,  pousse"  par  ses  camarades,  s'approche 
du  wagon-salon.  "  Bardon,"  dit-il  en  excellent  francais  de 
Berlin,  •«  bardon,  fous  foulez  oune  facteur,  bas  frai?  "  "  Pardi, 
monsieur,"  repond  le  marin,  "  voila  deux  fois  cjue  je  le  demaude. 
Et  autrement  il  nous  faut  une  voiture,  au  raoins." 

La-dessus  1'Allemand  fait  signe  a  un  facteur.  "Fly,  Sir?" 
dit  ce  dernier.  "  PASCALON,"  fit  le  brave  yacktman,  "  qu'est-ce 
qu'il  demande?"  "  Je  cherche,"  repond  la  petite  voix;  "ca 
veutdire,  '  volez,  monsieur,'  si  je  ne  me  trompe  pas."  "Volez," 
crie  le  terrible  loup  de  mer,  furibond,  "  suis-je  voleur,  moi, 
TARTARIN  de  Tarascon?"  Et  il  prononce  ces  derniers  mots 
d'un  accent  si  effroyablo,  que  les  comediennes  se  blottisent 


VERY    DIPLOMATIC. 

Customer  (trying  on  new  hat,   to  Assistant}.  "  DON'T  YOU  THINK 

THERE  *S  A   LITTLE   TOO   MUCH   OF   IT  ?  " 

Assistant  (in  tone  of  absolute  conviction  with  a  note  of  admiration  in 


encore  plus  e^roitement  contre  les  richissimes  citys-mans. 
"Non,  maitre,"  continue  la  petite  voix,  "  ce  n'est  pas  voler 
comme  les  voleurs,  mais  voler  comme  les  oiseaux."  "Pardi !  " 
crie  TARTARIN,  "  suis-je  oiseau,  moi  ?  C'est  un  fou,  au  moins." 
"Bardon,"  dit  1'AHemand,  "bas  foler.  Oune  fly  est  oune 
foiture,  oune  betit  foiture."  "  T£,  ve,"  repond  1'aimable 
pirate,  "  va  pour  la  petite  voiture!  Et  prenez-ca,"  dit-il  au 
facteur,  en  lui  remettant  ent^e  les  mains  une  assez  grande 

caisse,  "  mais  tres  soigneuse- 
ment.  C'est  ma  boussole."  Et 
la-dessus  il  descend. 

Suivi  de  PASCALON,  du  com- 
mandant BRAVIDA,  et  de 

GONZAGUE   BOMPARD,   TARTARIN 

traverse  le  quai,  et  monte  ea 
voiture. 

Les  autres  Tarasconnais  sout 
habilles  d'une  fa?on  plus 
simple.  BRAVIDA  porte  une 
redingote  et  un  feutre  mou  ; 
PASCALON  a  mis  un  complet  de 
flanelle  blanche  et  4111  chapeau 
haut  de  forme  ;  BOMPARD  s'est 
vetu  a  1'anglaise,  knickers- 
bockers,  bas  rayes  jaune  et  vert, 
mackfarlane  couleur  kliakhi,  et 
petite  casquette  de  voyage, 
tout  ce  qu'il  y  a  de  plus 
anglais,  un  veritable  Anglisch- 
mnn  comme  on  en  voit  a  Paris. 

Les  actrices,  lorsqu'ellee 
apercoivent  les  meridionaux 
de  si  pres,  ne  craignent  plus. 
Elles  pensent  menie  que  c'est 
peutetro  quelque  prince, 
accompagne  de  sa  suite,,  qui 
arrive  de  ce  pays  lointain  et 
mysterieux  qu'on  appelle  "  a 
1'etranger."  Ca  veut  dire  tant 
de  choses.  La  Russie,  le  Perou, 
la  Hongrie,  les  Indes,  tout  ca 
c'est  "a  1'etranger,"  oil  1'on 
parle  une  langue  qui  n'est  pas 
anglais,  oil  1'on  s'habille  d'une 
fayon  bizarre,  et  oil  1'on  est 
riche — ah,  si  richo  ! — diamants, 
rubis,  perles,  on  les  trouve  tons 
"al'etranger."  Par  consequent 
ces  petites  dames  ne  s'eff  rayent 
plus ;  elles  osent  mome  re- 
garder  TARTARIN,  et  sourire 
discretement.  Et  ce  diable 


it).  "OH,  NO,  MA'AM  !  WITH  SUCH  A  PROFILE  AS  YOURS,  YOU  CAN   d,homme  qui  voit  tout,  les  re- 

STAND  ANYTHING  !  ,    , 

garde  gaillardement,  en  heros 
maritime,  amiral  montenegrin  peut-etre,  prince  "  a  1'etranger" 


pour  sur. 


H.  D.  B. 


FLASHES  FROM  THE  PLANETS. 

(Latent  Electrical  Development.) 

Venus.— The  sun  still  flickering.    Expected  to  go  out  alto- 
gether within  the  next  few  centuries. 
Mars. — Very  pleased  with  Mr.  HAWTREY.    Can  see  him  at  the 


Cannot  Earth  kindly  oblige 


Avenue. 

Jupiter. —  Light  very  feeble, 
•with  the  use  of  an  extra  moon  ? 

Saturn. — Will  any  planet  offer  satellites  in  exchange  for  a 
worn-out  belt  ? 

Uranus.— A  happy  New  Century  to  everyone. 

Neptune. — Please  repeat  message.   Can't  quite  make  out  what 
you  are  saying. 


32 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  9,  1901. 


OUE  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

IT  is  a  high  tribute  to  the  anonymous  writer  of  An  English- 
imman's  Love-Letters  (JOHN  MURRAY)  that'  its  readers  are 
forthwith  resolved  into  rival  camps,  one  averring  that  the 
letters  are  genuine,  the  other  recognising  in  them  the  hand  of 
a  practised  writer.  My  Baronite  dwells  with  the  latter  com- 
munity. Not  the  least  clever  part  of  a  rarely  clever  book  is 
what  is  called  "Explanation."  Study  of  style  discloses  the 
fact  that  it  is  written  by  the  same  hand  that  penned  the  letters. 
The  only  argument  in  favour  of  the  theory  of  actuality,  is;that 
the  person  to  whom  the  correspondence  purports  to  be  addressed 
is  the  very  kind  of  fellow  #who  would  be  disposed  to  turn  an- 
honest  penny  by  selling  the  originals  to  an  enterprising 
publisher.  There  is  not,  through  the  nearly  ninety  letters,  a 
single  sentence  devoted  to  description  either  of  the  man  or  his 
mother.  But  with  subtle  art  the  writer  manages  to  convey  a 
clear  idea  of  these  shadowy  players  in  her  plot.  We  know  the 
mother,  narrow-minded,  hard-hearted,  wilful,  arbitrary,  selfish 
in  her  attachment  to  her  son.  And  him,  a  weak,  vacillating 
creature,  who,  rather  than  suffer  household  rows,  breaks  the 
heart  of  a  loving  woman.  It  is  a  new  way  of  accomplishing  the 
old  work  of  novel-writing,  not  to  be  recommended  to  the 
commonality  since  it  requires  rare  gifts  amounting  to  genius. 
Nothing  so  pitiful,  so  pathetic,  for  pure  literary  style  so 
attractive,  has  been  written  for  a  long  time. 


lis  backwater  of  the  Transvaal  "War,  to  read  how,  more  than 
hirty  years  ago,  CARYLE  said,  "  The  English  people  are  an 
ncredible'people.  They  seem  to  think  it  is  not  necessary  that 

General  should  have  the  least  knowledge  of  the  art  of  war." 
"What  does  General  N.  or  M.  (as  the  case  may  be),  of  South 

Mean  campaigning,  say  to  that  ? 


In  the  leisure  of  a  recess  and  the  labour  of  a  Winter  Session 
Mr.  IAN  MALCOLM  has  compiled  a  Calendar  of  Empire  (BLACK- 
WOOD).   His  idea  is  to  enter  under  proper  dates  certain  historica 
events  in  the  way  of  births  and  deaths,  great  legislative  acts 
and  decisive  battles  by  land  and  sea.    For  each  he  draws  from 
extensive  reading  a  more  or  less  appropriate  quotation.     It  is 
perhaps,  difficult   to  understand  how  one  who  can  appreciate 
BURKE,  CANNING,  CLARENDON,  TENNYSON,  MEREDITH,  and  othe 
masters,  displays  decided  weakness  for  the  noisy  vapouring  o 
W.  E.  HENLEY,  redolent  of  the  martial  ecstasy  of  the  music 
hall  before  the  bill  for  drinks  round  comes  in.     In  one  of  severa 
quotations  from  that  quarter  is  found  the  quaint  couplet : 

Through  his  diurnal  round  of  dawns, 

Our  drum-tap  squires  the  sun. 

My  Baronite  prefers  the  older  version  of  the  same  boas 

about  "the  Empire  on  which  the  sun  never  sets."     However 

certain   pages    can   be    skipped,    and  there   remain  many  o 

pleasant  reading. 


MARK  RUTHERFORD,  going  over  his  desk,  has  collected 
series  of  stray  papers,  which  FISHER  UNWIN  publishes  unde 
the  title  Pages  from  a  Journal.  They  widely  vary  in  topic 
from  CARLYLE  to  JUDAS  ISCARIOT,  from  SPINOZA  to  Sir  WALTE 
SCOTT,  with  some  notes  on  MILTON,'  and  reflections  on  th 
morality  of  BYRON'S  poetry.  Finally,  M.  B.  throws  in  half-a 
dozen  short  stories,  the  whole  making  an  attractive  book.  M 
Baronite  finds  the  introductory  article  describing  a  visit  t 
CARLYLE  in  1868,  not  the  least  interesting.  It  is  striking,  i 


Mr.  FITCHETT  had  a  happy  thought  when  it  occurred  to  him 
o  rescue  from  tindeserved  oblivion  a  cluster  of  soldierly 
utobiographies,  to  give  some  pictures  of  famous  battles,  not 
is  described  by  the  historian  or  analysed  by  the  philosopher, 
)ut  as  seen  by  the  eyes  of  men  who  fought  in  them.  The  plan 
)f  campaign  was,  my  Baronite  remembers,  in  operation  when 
KINGLAKE  wrote  his  history  of  the  Crimea.  Phases  of  all  the 

reat  battles  are  therein  described,  often  in,  the  very  words  of 
privates  and  officers  who  took  part  in  them.  In  Wellington's 
Men  (SMITH,  ELDER)  Mr.  FITCHETT  roams  through  famous 
battle-fields,  from  Torres  Vedras  to  Waterloo,  and,  culling  from 
a  multitude  of  books,  presents  moving  pictures  drawn  by  hands 
that  laid  down  gun  or  pike  to  take  up  the  pen. 

THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


TURKEY  IN  EUROPE. 

[Attention  has  been  called  to  the  fact  that  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  Ionian 
Jity  of  Magnesia  on  the  Mceander,  which  were  laid  open  by  the  German 
Professors  KAEL  HCMANN  and  Baron  HILLEE  about  a  decade  ago,  have  since 
been  partially  demolished  by  the  head  architect  of  the  Turkish  Province  of 
Smyrna,  a  Polish  engineer  named  BABONOVSKI.  In  1895  he  had  the  temple 
of  Zeus- pulled  down,  and  used  the  large  marble  stones  for  the  construction  of 
a  mosque  at  Smyrna  and  of  a  bridge  over  the  Mseander.— TA«  Standard.] 
WHERE  were  thy  thunders,  Zeus,  when  this  dull  fool, 

Not  reverencing  thine  old,  time-ruined  halls, 
Pillaged  the  city  thou  wast  wont  to  rule 

And  tore,  the  marble  from  thy  temple  walls  ? 
All  silent !  Not  one  peal  broke  from  the  cloud 

To  fright  this  impious  robber  from  thy  shrine 
Thy  glory  is  departed,  thy  head  bowed, 
And  the  Turk  rules  the  lands  that  once  were  thiue, 

Therefore  we  should  have  let  thy  temple  lie 

Buried  beneath  the  dust,  unknown,  unseen, 
Far  down,  where  no  Barbarian  Pasha's  eye 

Could  mark  the  spot  nor  know  where  thou  hadst  been. 
But  we  revealed  thy  secret  and  thy  stones 

Cry  out  against  us  from  Mseander's  flood, 
While  round  the  bridge  they  build  the  sad  stream  moans 

To  see  thee  fallen,  knowing  thee  a  god. 
Thy  stream  is  slow,  Mseander,  thy  heart  cold, 

Or  thou  wouldst  rise  in  mountainous  spate  and  sweep 
Bridge,  Pasha,  in  one  common  ruin  rolled, 

Before  thy  wrath  and  drown  them  in  the  deep ! 
Strange  that  great  Zeus  himself  could  not  prevail 

Nor  all  the  gods  of  this  Ionian  land, 
To  save  their  old  Hellenic  citadel, 

And  stay  this  Polish  dog's  destroying  hand ! 
Could  they  not  ?    Then,  indeed,  the  gods  are  dead  I 

But  Europe  lives.     Let  it  be  Europe's  work 
To  hold  above  their  shrines  her  segis  dread, 

And  save  the  gods  of  Hellas  from  the  Turk !  


JANUARY  9,  1901.]  PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON  CHARIVARI.  33 


Old  Lady  (giving  a  very  diminutiae  nip  of  Whisky  to  her  Gardener}.  "  THERE,  DENNIS,  THAT  WHHKY  is  TW.flNTt  YEARS  OLD  1 
Dennis.  "Is  ir  THAT,  MARM  ?    SURE  'TIS  MIGHTY  SMALL  FOR  ITS  Age!" 


34 


PUNCH,  OK  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  9,  1901. 


DRAMATIC  SEQUELS. 
II. 

EVERYBODY  who  has  seen  SHERIDAN'S 
play  The  Critic  must  have  been  filled 
with  curiosity  to  read  the  Press  notices 
on  Mr.  PUFF'S  tragedy  The  Spanish 
Armada.  The  following  sequel  to  SHKRI- 
DAN'S  comedy  embodies  some  of  these. 
As  the  play  is  called  The  Critic,  the 
sequel  may  fitly  be  called — 

THE  OTHER  CRITICS. 

SCENE. — BANGLE'S  house.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
DANGLE,  SNEER  and  Sir  FRETFUL 
PLAGIARY  discovered  discussing  the 
first  performance  of  PUFF'S  play,  which 
has  taken  place  a  week  previously.  A 
table  is  Uttered  with  Press  cuttings 
dealing  with  the  event,  supplied  bij  the 
indispensable  Romeike. 

Sir  Fretful  Plagiary.  I  give  you  my 
word,  the  duel  scene  was  taken  wholly 
from  my  comedy  The  Lovers  Abandoned 
— pilfered,  egad! 

Dangle.  Bless  my  soul !  You  don't  say 
so? 

Sir  F.  And  TlLBURlNA's  speech  about 
the  "finches  of  the  grove."  'Twas  I 
first  thought  of  finches,  in  my  tragedy  of 
Antoninus ! 

Dangle.  But  I  can't  believe  my  friend 
PUFF  can  have  borrowed  deliberately 
from  you,  Sir  FRETFUL. 

Sneer.  No  one  could  "possibly  believe 
that ! 

Sir  F.  Eh  ? 

Mrs.  Dangle.  It  must  have  been  a  coin- 
cidence. 

Sir  F.  Coincidence!  Egad,  Madam, 
'twas  sheer  theft.  And  that  use  of  the 
white  handkerchief !  Stolen  bodily,  on 
my  conscience.  Coincidence  ! 

Dangle  (judicially).  It  may  be  so — though 
he  is  my  friend. 

Sir  F.  May  be  so  !  It  is  so  !  Zounds, 
DANGLE,  I  take  it  very  unfriendly  of  you 
to  have  any  doubt  at  all  about  the  matter  ! 

Dangle  (hedging).  The  resemblances  are 
certainly  very  marked — though  he  is  my 
friend.  But  will  you  hear  what  the  critics 
say  about  it  ? 

[Turning!  nervously  to  pile  of    Press 
cuttings. 

Sir  F.  Do  they  say  anything  about  his 
indebtedness  to  me  ? 

Sneer.  Not  a  word,  I  dare  be  sworn. 

Sir  F.  Then  I  don't  want  to  hear  them. 
None  of  the  rogues  know  their  business. 

Dangle.  But  they  're  very  severe  on  the 
play. 

Sir  F.  Are  they  ?  There 's  something  in 
the  fellows,  after  all.  Pray  read  us  some 
of  the  notices. 

Dangle.  Shall  I  begin  with  The  Times  ? 
'Tis  very  satirical,  and  as  full  of  quota- 
tions as  a  pudding  is  of  plums. 

Sneer.  I  know  the  style — a  vocabulary 
recruited  from  all  the  dead  and  living 


languages.      'Tis     the     very     Babel     of 
dramatic  criticism.    Begin,  DANGLS. 

Dangle  (reading).  "  The  philosopher  who 
found  in  thought  the  proof  of  existence, 
crystallised  his  theory  in  the  phrase '  Cogito 
ergo  sum,'  '  I  think,  therefore,  I  exist.' 
In  this  he  found  the  explanation  of  what 
HUGO  called  the  neant  geant.  The  theory 
of  the  author  of  The  Spanish  Armada,  on 
the  contrary,  seems  to  be  '  Sum,  ergo  non 
cogitabo,'  'I  exist,  therefore  I  need  not 
think' " 

Sir  F.  Ha  !  Ha  !    Very  good,  i'  faith. 

Dangle  (continuing).  "  Lasciate  ogni 
speransa  —  the  audience  murmurs  with 
DANTE,  as  three  mortal  hours  pass  and  Mr. 
PUFF  is  still  prosing.  Nor  has  he  any 
dramatic  novelty  to  offer  us.  The  scene  a 
faire  is  on  conventional  lines.  The  boards 
are  hoar  with  the  neiges  d'  ant  an.  There 
is  the  anagnorisis  desiderated  by  ARIS- 
TOTLE, and  the  unhappy  ending  required 
by  the  Elizabethans.  The  inevitable 
peripeteia — 

Mrs.  D.  You  know,  Mr.  DANGLE,  I  don't 
understand  a  single  word  you  're  reading. 

Sneer.  Nor  I,  upon  my  soul. 

Sir  F.  It  is  certainly  somewhat  obscure. 

Dangle.  Shall  I  omit  a  few  sentences,  and 
go  on  again  where  the  allusions  are  less 
plentiful  ?  (Beads  half  aloud  to  himself, 
knitting  his  brows  in  the  effort  to  under- 
stand what  it  is  all  about.)  No  trace  of 
HEINE'S  Weltschmerz  ....  capo  e  espada 
.  .  NIETSCHZE'S  Uebermensch  .  .  .  .  ne 
coram  pueros  ....  PETRARCH'S  immortal 
lo  t'  amo  .  .  .  .  le  canif  dn  jardinier  et 
cclni  de  mon  pere " 

Mrs.  Dangle.  Really,  Mr.  DANGLE,  if  you 
can  find  nothing  more  intelligible  to  read 
than  that  farrago  of  jargon,  1  shall  go 
away.  Pray  read  us  something  in  English, 
for  a  change. 

Dangle  (much  relieved,  selecting  another 
cutting).  Here  's  the  Daily  Telegraph — a 
whole  column. 

Sneer.  Not  much  English  there,  J  '11 
warrant. 

Dangle  (reading.)  "Time  was  when  the 
London  playhouses  had  not  been  invaded 
by  the  coarse  suggestiveness  or  the  veiled 
indelicacy  of  the  Norwegian  stage,  when 
Pater-familias  could  still  take  his  daughters 
to  the  theatre  without  a  blush.  Those 
days  are  past.  The  Master — as  his  fol- 
lowers call  him — like  a  deadly  upas  tree, 
has  spread  his  blighting  influence  over 
our  stage.  Morality,  shocked  at  the  fare 
that  is  nightly  set  before  her,  shuns  the 
playhouse  and  vice  usurps  the  scene  once 
occupied  by  the  manly  and  the  true — 

Sneer  (who  has  been  beating  time).  Hear ! 
hear  ! 

Dangle.  "In  the  good  old  days,  when 
MACREADY " 

Sir  F.  Zounds,  Mr.  DANGLE,  don't  you 
think  we  might  leave  MACREADY  out  of 
the  question?  I  notice  that  when  the 
Daily  Telegraph  mentions  MACREADY  the 
reference  never  occupies  less  than  a 


quarter  of  a  column.   You  might  omit  that 
part,  and  take  up  the  thread  further  on. 

Dangle.  Very  well.  (Continuing)  "It 
is  impossible  not  to  be  astonished  that  a 
writer  of  Mr.  PUFF'S  talents  should  break 
away  from  the  noble  traditions  of  SIIAK- 
SPEARE  to  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  the 
Scandinavian ' ' 

M)-s.  Dangle.  Surely,  Mr.  DANGLE, 
we  've  had  that  before. 

Dangle  (testily).  No  ;  not  in  the  same 
words. 

Mrs.  Dangle.  But  the  sense 

Dangle.  Egad,  why  will  you  interrupt ! 
You  can't  expect  a  writer  for  the  penny 
press  to  have  something  new  to  say  in 
every  sentence !  How  the  plague  is  a 
dramatic  critic  who  has  nothing  to  say 
to  fill  a  column,  if  he  is  never  to  be 
allowed  to  repeat  himself  ? 

Sneer.  How,  indeed ! 

Sir  F.  Ah,  I  remember  when  my  play 
The  Indulgent  Hitsband  was  produced " 

Sneer  (yawning).  I  think,  DANGLE,  you 
might  leave  the  Telegraph  and  try  one  of 
the  weekly  papers.  What  does  The  World 
say? 

Dangle.  As  you  will  (selecting  a  new 
cutting).  "  In  his  new  play  The  Spanish 
Armada  Mr.  PUKF  has  set  himself  to  deal 
with  one  of  those  problems  of  feminine 
psychology  with  which  IBSEN,  HAUPTMANN, 
and  SUDERMANN,  and  all  the  newer  school 
of  continental  dramatists  have  made  us 
familiar.  The  problem  is  briefly  this. 
When  filial  duty  beckons  a  woman  one 
way  and  passion  another,  which  call  should 
she  obey  ?  Should  she  set  herself  to  ' '  live 
her  life  "  in  the  modern  phrase,  to  realise 
her  individuality  and  stand  forth  glad  and 
free  as  GREOERS  WERLE  says  ?  Or  should 
she  deny  her  ego,  bow  to  the  old  conven- 
tions, accept  the  old  Shibboleths  and  sur- 
render her  love  ?  Like  Nora,  like  Hedda, 
Tilhnrina  is  a  personality  at  war  with  its 
environment " 

Sir  F.  (interrupting).  Pray,  Mr.  DANGLE, 
did  you  not  tell  me  the  critics  were  all 
unfavourable  to  Mr.  PUFF'S  play  ? 

Dangle.  Nearly  all  of  them.  But  if  the 
other  critics  abuse  a  play,  you  will  always 
find  the  critic  of  The  World  will  praise  it. 
'Tis  the  nature  of  the  man. 

Sir  F.  But  how  does  he  know  what  the 
other  fellows  will  say  ? 

Dangle.  Easily.  You  see,  he  writes  only 
for  a  weekly  paper  and  always  reads  what 
the  others  have  said  first.  Then  he  takes 
the  opposite  view. 

Sneer.  No  wonder  he  's  so  often  right ! 

Dangle  (continuing).  "  In  WHISKERANDOS 
we  have  the  man  of  primary  emotions 
only  :  Like  SOLNES,  he  climbs  no  steeples, 
like  LOVBORG,  he  may  now  and  thea  be 
seen  with  the  vine  leaves  in  his  hair  .  .  .  ." 

Mrs.  Dangle.  Stop,  stop,  Mr.  DANGLE. 
Surely  there  must  be  some  mistake.  I 
don't  remember  that  WHISKERANDOS  had 
anything  in  his  hair.  He  wore  a  helmet 
all  the  time ! 


JANUARY  9,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


35 


Dangle  (irritably),,  Metaphor,  madam, 
metaphor!  (Continuing)  "In  Lord  BUR- 
LEIGH  we  hear  something  of  the  epic 
silence  which  is  so  tremendous  in  BORK- 

MAN " 

Sir  F.  Egad,  Mr.  DANGLE,  doesn't  the 
fellow  abuse  the  play  at  all  ?  • 

Dangle  (looking  through  the  article.)  I 
don't  think  he  does. 

Sir  F.  Then  I  '11  hear  no  more  of  him. 
What  possible  pleasure  can  there  be  in 
hearing  criticisms  of  other  people's  plays 
if  they  aren't  abusive. 

Sneer.    None  whatever  ! 

[Enter  Servant. 

Servant  (announcing).  Mr.  PUFF  ! 

Dangle  (advancing  to  meet  him  with  a 
smile  of  the  warmest  affability).  Ah,  my 
dear  friend,  we  were  reading  the  notice  of 
your  tragedy  in  The  World.  'Tis  ex- 
tremely friendly.  And  as  Sir  FRETFUL 
remarked  a  moment  since  ' '  What  pleasure 
can  there  be  in  reading  criticisms  of 
people's  plays  if  they  aren't  favourable." 

Puff.  Sir  FRETFUL  is  most  obliging. 

Sir  F.  The  Telegraph  was  somewhat 
severe,  though,  eh,  Mr.  PUFF  ? 

Puff.  'Tis  very  like. 

Dangle.  You  have  not  seen  it  ?  Let  me 
read  it  to  you  (searches  eagerly  in  file  o/ 
cuttings). 

Puff  (indifferently).  I  never  look  at  un- 
favourable criticisms. 

Sneer.  A  wise  precaution,  truly  ! 

Puff.  Very.  It  saves  valuable  time. 
For  if  a  notice  is  unfavourable,  I  am 
always  sure  to  have  it  read  aloud  to  me 
by  one  d — d  good-natured  friend  or 
another  I  [Cm-tarn. 


DIE-ARY  OF  A  JANUARY  FLY. 

EH  ?  Summer  ?  Can't  be  :  but  too  hot 
to  sleep — had  regular  nightspider.  Per- 
haps digestion  out  of  order  ;  must  take 
some  liver  dust — capital  remedy,  and 
fortunately  plenty  on  this  cornice.  Ah ! 
that 's  better,  but  still  strangely  stiff  in 
the  leg.  Wonder  if  I  could  skate  on  that 
rink — tut !  tut !  old  chap's  head  ;  narrow 
escape— eyesight  must  be  faulty.  Wonder 
if  that  dust  was  genuine  Carpet  Beatems. 
Is  this  jam  ?  It  is.  Not  as  nice  as  in  my 
young  days,  but  refreshing  to  get  it  on 
one's  feet  once  more.  Better  polish  them 
on  this  melon — dear  me  !  same  old  chap's 
head — very  awkward — and  he  almost  hit 
me ;  certain  I  'm  less  observant  than  I 
was.  Can't  be  mistaken  about  custard 
anyhow,  but  one  seems  to  slip  in  farther 
than  quite  natural ;  got  it  all  over  my 
back  ;  must  have  a  wipe  in  the  old  chap's 
whisker— well,  in  the  other  one  then- 
tut  !  tut !  at  any  rate  can  take  a  crawl  in 
his  ear-hole.  Confound  these  fidgety 
humans !  dreadful  absence  of  repose  of 
manner — seem  quicker  than  they  used  to 
be,  too,  or  am  I  slower.  Must  test  this, 
•.f  I  can  settle  on  his  nose  with  impunity 
ihree  times  in  half  a  minute,  I  shall  feel 


Chemist.  "  PILLS,  EH?"  (Emphasising  question) 
Child  (readily').  "No,  SIR;   UNCLE  is!" 


;  ANTI-BILIOUS  (" 


more  comfortable  about  myself.    Once : 

capital!  ....    Twice:  Ha!  ha! 

Thr  . 


OMNIA  VINCIT  AMOR. 

["Dr.  ANXA  HATFIELD,  of  New  York,  says 
that  kissing  is  a  barbarous,  insanitary  custom.     No 
person  should  kiss  another  without  first  using  an 
antiseptic  wash  on  the  mouth  to  destroy  bacteria."  | 
—  Westminster  Gazette.'] 

Edwin. 
I  long  to  sip  thy  honey'd  lip 

And  drink  the  nectar  there,  love — 
A  sweeter  draught  than  bee  e'er  quaffed 

From  flow'ry  goblet  fair,  love. 
But  though  the  fire  of  wild  desire 

Consumes  me,  all-expectant, 
Stern  Fate  has  crossed  my  will — I  've 
lost, 

I  've  lost  the  disinfectant  I 


Angelina. 

Oh,  EDWIN,  how  could  you  allow 

This  accident  ?  I  long,  love, 
My  head  to  rest  upon  your  breast, 

But  that  were  very  wrong,  love. 
No,  though  I  burn  and  melt  and  yearn, 

I  '11  still  resist,  nor  will  I 
My  love  expose  to  risk  of  those 

Most  murderous  bacilli. 
Ed.  You  thought  of,  me  ?  i 

An.  Yes,  who  but  thee  ? 

Ed.  Oh,  ANGELINA,  I,  too, 

Still   only    thought,    "  Suppose   she 

caught 

My  microbes  and  should  die  too  !  " 
An.  The  one  relief  to  cure  my  grief, 

According  to  my  notion. 
Ed.  Then    come,    sweet    fair !     Let 's 

greatly  dare. 
Together.  And  mischief  take  the  lotion  ! 


36 


PUNCH,  OK  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  9,  1901. 


HOW    HARRY'S    -SON    KEPT    TWELFTH    NIGHT. 


JANUARY  16,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


37 


TARTAKIN  A  BRIGHTON. 

RlEN. 

BE  1'Hotel  Splendide,  sur  la  grande  promenade,  il  y  a  une  vue 


des  boulevards,  do  belles  rues  larges  et  grand ioses ;  enfln  do 
jolies  maisons  particulieres,  des, villas  commo  a  Nice  ou  a 
Cannes,  des  cottage*  elegants  et  coquets.  Mais  le  garcon 
repondit  toujours,  "  II  n'y  en  a  pas,  monsieur." 


superbe  sur  la  mer.    De  toutes  les  fenetres,   sauf  celles  qui 

donnent  au  nord,  naturellement,  on  apercoit  la  vaste  e^endue 

d'eau  grisatre  de  la  Manche,  entre  les  nuages  le  ciel  bleu  pale   s'ecria    TARTARIN. 

de     1'Angleterre,     et 

parfois  memelo  soleil, 

blanc,   bleme,    bru- 

meux,  un  peu  commo 

la  lune  du  Midi.     On 

voit  tout  ca,  excepte 

les  jours  des  grandes 

brumes  de  mer.    Alors 

on  ne  voit  rien. 

Un  certain  diman- 
che  la  brume  ^tait 
^paisse  a  n'y  pas 
croire.  Des  fenetres 
de  la  salle  a  manger 
quatre  Strangers  re- 
gardaient  ce  voile  de 
vapeur  blanche  et 
triste.  C'etaient  TAR- 
TARIN et  ses  amis,  qui 
venaient  d'arriver,  et 
qui  mangeaient,  tout 
seuls  dans  le  vaste 
rdfectoire,  un 
de"jeuner  a  part. 

"  Outre,  q  u  e  1 
temps  !  "  dit  TAR- 
TARIN, "  rien  de  plus 
effrayant  pour  les 
marins  que  la  brume. 
II  ne  faut  pas  essayer 
une  excursion  en  mer 
aujourd'hui  au  moins. 
Allons  voir  les  anti- 
quit^s  de  la  ville. 
Garcon,  il  y  a  des 
interpretes,  des 
guides,  a  1' hotel, 
n'est-cepas?"  "Des 
guides,  monsieur,''  Customer  (after  seeing  there  is  no  one  about,  to  Barmaid  .  '•  HUM  !  I  DON'T  LIKE  THE 

LOOK    O*    THIS    BEER,     MlSS  !      I'LL    T«LL    YOU    WHAT    i    THINK    OF    IT   AFiER    TASTING 
IT,    FREE,    GRATIS,    AND    PERFESSION  ALLY.      YOU,    SEE    I  *M    ONE    OF    'ENRY    CHAPLIN'S 

'COMMITTEE  FOR  PROMOTING  THE  PURITY  OF  BEER.'  "  [Drinks  and  exit. 


re"pondit  le  garcon, 
qui  elait  Francais  lui 
aussi,  "pardon,  mon- 


" Qu'est-ce  qu'il  y  a  au  moins?  "  demanda  TARTARIN  encore. 

II  y  a  la  mer,  monsieur,"  repondit  le  garcon.  "Etpuis?" 
II  ne  dit  que  ca,"  ajouta  BRAVIDA. 
"C'est  une  toute 
petite  ville  alors  ? ' 
demanda  BOMPARD. 
"Non,"  fit  PASCALON, 
timidement,  "j'ai 
entendu  dire  qu'ellc 
a  cent  cinquante  mille 
habitants."  "Cent 
cinquante  mille  habi- 
tants." "  Cent  cin- 
quanto  mille  habi- 
tants," hurla  TARTA- 
RIN, "  et  aucun 
monument,  rien  a 
voir  ?  "  "  Si,  mon- 
sieur," dit  le  garcon, 

"il  y   a "     "No 

dites  pas  '  la  mer  ' 
encore  une  fois,'' 
interrompit  le  presi- 
dent, furibond,  "ou 

je  —  je "     Et  i  1 

posa  la  main  sur  son 
coutelas  d'un  air 
menacant. 

'  'Diff  eremraent , "  dit 
BOMPARD,  "  la  ville 
est  plus  grande  que 
Nice.  II  y  a  un  casino 
au  moins."  "  Non, 
monsieur,"  repeta  le 
garcon,  "il  n'y  en  a 
pas.  Mais,"  pour- 
suivit-il,  subitement 
inspire,  "  il  y  a  le 
Pavilion."  "Outre!" 
cria  TARTARIN. 
' '  Boufre  I ' '  dit  Bom- 
pard.  "  Allons-y,  " 
murmura  PASCALON. 
"En  avant !  "  ajouta 
BRAVIDA.  Et  tous 


sieur,  pour  quoi  faire?"  "Pour  visiter  les  antiquites  de  la  ville 
au  moins,"  fit  TARTARIN.  "  Pardon,  monsieur,"  dit  le  garcon, 
"iln'yen  a  pas."  "Pas  de  guides?"  demanda  le  Tarascon- 
nais.  "Non,  monsieur,"  repondit  le  garcon,  "pas  d'anti- 
quites." 

Dans  une  grande  ville  c'etait  extraordniaire.  "Eh  bien, 
differemment,"  continua  TARTARIN,  "  s'il  n'y  a  pasd'  antiquites, 
qu'est-ce  qu'il  y  a  au  moins?"  "  II  y  a  la  mer,  monsieur," 
expliqua  le  garcon.  "Mais  par  ces  jours  de  brume,  est-ce 
qu'on  peut  s'embarquer,  hein  ?  "  dit  le  marin  tarasconnais, 
"  c'est  terrible,  c'est  dangereux,  on  se  croirait  tout  pres  du 
bane  de  Terre  Neuve.  Les  brumes  de  ce  pays-la  sont  effroyables, 
je  vous  en  assure.  Pardi,  on  ne  voit  rien !  "  PASCALON  fremit. 
BOMPARD  et  le  commandant,  stupefaits,  regarderent  leur  pre- 
sident, qui  n'avait  jamais  quitte  1'Europe. 

TARTARIN  continuait  1'interrogatoire.  Si  la  ville  n'avait  pas 
d'antiquitds,  on  y  trouverait  differemment  des  monuments 
modernes ;  des  musees  de  peinture  on  d'arche'ologie ;  des 
statues;  des  edifices  remarquables,  hotel  de  ville,  theatre, 
inusee,  par  exemple ;  des  jardins  publics,  des  avenues,  des 
promenades  a  la  campagne,  "  mais  pas  par  ce  temps  au  moins  "  ; 


les  quatre  saisirent  leurs  chapeaux,  leurs  mackintosches,  leurs 
mackfarlanes,  leurs  pardessus,  et  leurs  parapluies,  et  sortirent 
precipitamment  de  1' hotel.  En  dehors,  la  brume  encore  plus 
epaisse,  1'immensite  invisible,  le  vide,  rien. 


H.  D.  B. 


EXPECTED  RECOMMENDATIONS. 
(From  the  Committee  appointed  to"  sit  wpjn"  the  War  Office.) 

THAT  gentlemen  engaged  in  official  work  between  the  hours  of 
four  and  five  should  remember  that  the  days  for  reading  the 
morning  paper  from  first  to  finish,  strolling  in  the  Park,  and 
devoting  an  hour  or  so  to  lunch,  are  over. 

That  the  Public  expects  every  man  paid  by  the  State  to  do 
his  duty  on  the  lines  laid  down  by  the  head  of  a  well-conducted 
City  establishment. 

That  red  tape  is  the  worst  possible  material  for  binding 
together  documents  of  urgent  importance,  and  pigeon-holes 
are  not  proper  receptacles  for  patents,  and  heads  of  valuable 
information. 

And,  finally,  that  two  and  two  make  four  in  spite  of  the 
contention  of  the  present  War  Office  staff  to  the  contrary. 


VOL.  CXX. 


38 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUABY  16,  1901. 


"LITTLE  BOBS." 
(An  up-to-date  refrain  to  an  old  time.) 

A  SOVEREIGN  a  soldier  had, 

She  sent  him  o'er  the  sea ; 
He  wasn't  what  you  call  a  lad, 

But  handy  as  could  be. 
He  knew  when  right  to  strike  a  light, 

And  when  to  square  the  jobs  ; 
He  's  done  his  best  with  zeal  and  zest, 

Hurrah  !  for  Little  BOBS  ! 

Chorus. 
He  's  an  Earl,  also  K.G., 

Little  BOBS  !     Little  BOBS  ! 
Coniinander-in-chief  of  all  is  he, 

Little  BOBS  !    Little  BOBS  ! 
May  he  a  centenarian  be, 

Little  BOBS  !    Little  BOBS  ! 
And  so  again  we  '11  shout  amain, 

Hurrah  for  Little  BOBS  ! 


THE  TYPEWRITER  AS  A  HUMOURIST. 

HITHERTO,  the  typewriter  has  not  been 
regarded  as  a  tiling  sentient  with  humour ; 
that  is  where  we  have  unwittingly  done  it 
an  injustice.  It  is  more  than  a  humourist ; 
it  is  a  wild  wag,  upon  occasions.  Whilst 
writing  these  words,  I  am  gazing  sadly 
upon  the  wreckage  of  a  story  which  has 
just  been  returned  after  undergoing  the 
process  of  typing.  Some  of  the  extracts 
given  below,  suggest  distinctly  original 
views  on  life. 

"The  English  reader,  generally  speak- 
ing, knows  little  of  Russian  geography," 
I  wrote  ;  and  then  the  merry  typewriter 
came  in,  with — 

"The  English  reader,  generally  speak- 
ing, knows  little  of  roomy  photography." 

This  was  a  trifle  disconcerting  to  the 
conscientious  author  to  start  with,  but 
worse  was  to  come. 

"I  sprang  forward  and  pulled  the 
nearest  Cossack  from  his  saddle  "  eventu- 
ated in — 

"I  sprang  forward  and  pulled  the 
dearest  Cosaque  from  his  muddle." 

If  this  sort  of  thing  had  not  been  cor- 
rected, I  felt  that  it  might  have  caused 
my  story  to  lose,  somewhat,  in  intensity. 
I  went  on,  however,  with  perseverance. 

"  Crimes  such  as  these  cannot  be  swept 
aside  without  a  blush." 

This  was  rendered — 

"  Crumbs  such  as  these  cannot  be  swept 
outside  without  a  brush." 

I  sighed,  cqrrected,  and  continued — 

"  The  gre/t  «oul  beaming  in  his  face," 
which  the  demon  instrument  made  into — 

"  The  g»eat  fool  bending  in  his  face." 

At  this  juncture,  I  began  to  be  really 
discouraged.  But  the  next  few  lines  ran 
on  without  any  mistake,  and  I  took  heart 
again.  After  nearly  a  whole  page  cor- 
rectly transcribed,  I  stopped  short  at — 

"  He  walked  with  giant  strides  through 
fern  and  bracken." 

Which  came  out — 


"He  walked  with  gummy  slides  through 
fern  and  bracken." 

My  lips  began  to  frame  a — a — a — hasty 
expression,  but  I  resolutely  choked  it 
down  again,  and  resumed  reading,  with 
nothing  stronger  than  another  sigh.  All 
went  well  until  the  finish  of  the  chapter. 

"The  Count  turned  sorrowfully  away: 
and  as  he  once  more  faced  the  grim  old 
house,  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  Duchesse 
D  '  ODDES — alone . ' ' 

But  the  typewriter,  that  all-conquering, 
know-better-than-you-do-yourself  instru- 
ment was  not  to  be  cheated  of  its  little 
joke :  and  my  lines  were  made  to  read 
thus — 

"The  Count  turned  sorrowfully  away; 
and  as  he  once  more  faced  the  grin  old 
horse,  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  Dutchie  of 
TOD  SLOAN." 

Then  I  took  off  my  boots  and  threw 
them  through  the  window ;  hurled  the 
coal-scuttle  downstairs,  and  broke  the 
mirror  with  the  fire-irons.  I  felt  better 
after  this ;  but  in  future,  I  think  I  shall 
find  it  less  wearing  to  refrain  from  re- 
quisitioning the  typewriter  ;  its  peculiar 
style  of  humour  is  too  boisterous  for  my 
appreciation. 


AN  ERROR  IN  EYES. 

I  SAT  me  down  to  write  a  song 

About  your  eyes, 
A  lyric  dainty,  not  too  long, 

Of  quaint  surprise, 
To  find  that  orbs  so  clear  and  true 
Should  realise  the  sapphire  blue 
And  thrill  my  heart-chords  through  and 
through 

With  tender  sighs. 

T  sit  me  down  to  read  your  note 

Of  pretty  purls  ; 
I  picture  you  just  as  you  wrote 

With  shaking  curls— — 
"  What 's  this  ?  "  you  curtly,  rudely  say. 
"  Your  jest  is  ill-timed.    By-the-way, 
My  eyes  are  of  a  greenish-grey — " 

She  got  the  other  girl's  / 


MARS  THROUGH  THE   GLASSES. 
(Communicated — unsteadily.) 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCH,— This  is  a  most  re- 
markable experience.  You  know  what  a 
tasting  order  is.  Well,  I  had  one,  and 
tasted  port,  sherry,  port  and  sherry.  Not 
much,  you  know — merely  tasting.  You 
know  what  I  mean. 

Well,  they  say  that,  although  you  don't 
take  anything  to  talk  of — say,  a  glass 
here  and  a  glass  there — you  get  intoxi- 
cated through  the  atmosphere  of  the 
place.  Absurd  notion,  because — I  write 
because — if  you  eat  a  biscuit  you  can't  be- 
come intoxicated.  Too  absurd  for  words. 

Look  at  me,  now.  You  know  what  ] 
mean. 


I  have  been  tasting  at  the  Docks.  Now 
[  am  trying  to  get  a  message  from  Mars. 
[  should  say  have  been.  Messages  from 
Mars  can't  be  sent.  Can't  be  sent,  you 
understand.  You  know  what  I  mean. 

Well,  I  was  looking  at  Mars.  Through 
a  big  telescope,  and  that  sort  of  thing. 
You  know  what  I  mean.  And  I  stopped 
just  for  a  moment  or  so  to  take  a  glass  of 
soda  and.  brandy.  You  know  what  I  mean. 

Well,  I  looked  at  Mars,  and  I  give  you 
my  word  of  honour — you  know  what  I 
mean — my  word  of  honour,  there  were  four 
planets  !  A  quartette  of  Mars  !  And  all 
wobbling !  All  of  them  !  You  know  what 
[  mean. 

Well,  I  thought  I  could  make  out  a 
signal.  I  saAV  plainly  up  in  the  sky,  first, 
"You  have  had  a  tasting  order  for  the 
Docks."  I  sang  out,  "That's  right,  I 
have,  and  I  am  as  sober  as  a  judge."  Then 
Mars  telegraphed,  "No;  you  are  as  in- 
toxicated as  a  fly." 

From  this  I  know  it 's  all  rot,  you  under- 
stand. Mars  wouldn't  have  sent  such  a 
message.  So  I  take  the  whole  thing  to  be 
a  myth. 

You  know  what  I  mean. 

Can't  write  any  more.   Going  to  bed. 
ONE  GLASS  MORE. 

P.S.— Can't  take  off  my  boots.  You 
know  what  I  mean. 


TO    MY    DOG. 

You  'RE  a  funny  looking  fellow 
With  your  coat  of  dingy  yellow, 

Just  the  colour  of  a  January  fog  ; 

And  I  think  you  've  got  a  feature 
Out  of  almost  every  creature 

That  could    fairly   claim   to  reckon  as  a 
clog. 

I  have  often  sat  and  pondered 
On  your  ancestors,  and  wondered 

What  a  curio  a  list  of  them  would  be : 
It  would  surely  tax  the  knowledge 
Of  the  Royal  Heralds'  College 

To  approximately  trace  your  pedigree. 

You  can  boast  a  collie's  muzzle, 
But  I  think  your  legs  would  puzzle 

All  the  Kennel  Club  ;    and  though  one 

might  suppose 

That  your  ears  suggest  a  spaniel, 
It  would  take  a  second  DANIEL 

To  decide  upon  the  merits  of  your  toes. 

There 's  a  dash  of  bull  and  setter — 

But  I  really  think  it  better 
That  we  specify  no  further,  my  dear  Sir, 

It  will  simplify  confusion 

If  we  come  to  the  conclusion 
You  're  a  cross  between  a  mongrel  and  a 
cur. 


CHANGE  OF  NAME.— From  the  Emperor 
of  CHINA  to  Yu-HANG,  greeting,  with  u 
silver  cord,  You  be  Hung. 


JANUARY  16,  1801.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


39 


Keeper.  " WOULD  YOU  GENTLEMEN  KINDLY  TELL  ME  WHICH  OF  YOU  TWO  is  A  LOUD,  AS  I'VE  BEEN  TOLD  TO  GIVE  nut  THE 

BEST  PLACE.'' 


A   HULLABALOO  AT   GALUPPF   . 

(With  apologies  to  II.  Browning.) 

["After  lying  in  abeyance  for  almost  a  century,  the  ancient  annual 
ceremony  of  "Marrying  the  Adriatic"  will  probably  be  revived  at  Venice 
in  full  splendour  next  year.  The  municipality  is  enthusiastic  in  supporting 
the  project." — Daily  Paper.] 

OH,  GALUPPI  BALDASARO,  am  I  to  believe  my  ears  ? 
Are  they  really  speaking  truly,  these  confounded  gondoliers  ? 
What 's  that  noise  from  the  Rialto  ?    Can  it  be  the  sound  of 
cheers  ? 

Will  the  good  Venetian  public  countenance  such  awful  things, 

Such  a  scandalous  perversion  of  historic  junketings, 

Shall  a  Mayor  and  Corporation  dare  to  wed  the  sea  with  rings  ? 

Venice  wed  the  Adriatic  in  the  Twentieth  Century  ! 

Venice  with  the  penny  steamboats  where  the  gondolas  should  be ! 

What  a  shocking  mesalliance  for  the  Adriatic  Sea  ! 

Will  not  all  her  vanished  Doges,  from  the  tombs  in  which  they  rest, 
From  their  alabaster  coffins,  from  the  Islands  of  the  Blest, 
Break  the  sleep  in  which  Death  laps  them  and  indignantly 
protest  ? 

What  a  sight  for  COOK,  his  tourists  !     All  Italia  will  be  there, 
Yankees  with  amazing  accents,  loud-voiced  Germans  drinking 

beer, 
And  the  unresponsive  Briton  with  his  stony  British  stare. 


There  '11  be  fireworks  in  the  evening.    Oh,  they  '11  praise  them, 

I  dare  say, 

As  they  dine  at  DANIELI'S  at  the  ending  of  the  day, 
Or  at  breakfast  when  they  're  looking  out  their  trains  to  go  away. 

As  for  Venice  and  her  people,  they  '11  no  doubt  enjoy  their  fill 
Of  the  folly  and  the  fireworks,'and  applaud  them  with  a  will, 
Feeling  tolerably  certain  that  the  tourist'pays  the  bill ! 

ST.  J.  H. 

"THE  PAULINES." 

SIR, — A  dinner  of  Old  Paulines  was  advertised  to  take  place 
on  January  9th.  I  regret  to  say  I  was  absent  at  the  time, 
and  have  not  been  able  to  meet  with  any  account  of  this  most 
interesting  re-union  of  Dramatic  Celebrities.  If  I  remember 
aright,  there  are  three  Paulines  or  Paulinas  in  Shakspeare,  and 
one  out  of  it,  viz.  BULWER  LYTTON'S  Pauline,  or  The  Lady  of 
Lyons.  I  am  curious  to  know  if  they  attended.  A  STUDENT. 


EXCELLENT  EXPLANATION. 

Country  Cousin  (to  member  of  Naval  and  Military  Club).  Why 
do  they  call  your  club  the  In  and  Out  ? 

M.  of  N.  &  M.  C.  Simple  enough,  my  dear  old  chap.  When 
a  member  wants  to  see  anyone,  he's  "in";  when  he  doesn't, 
he 's  "out."  But  as  you  're  in,  we  need  say  no  more  about  it. 


40 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  16,  1901. 


THE 


BY  MAJOR  W.  P.  DRURY. 

"DURIN1  the  next  hour  nothin'  seemed  to  be  stirrin'  under 
the  Southern  Cross.  The  noo  sentry  either  didn't  see  anything 
to  challenge,  or  didn't  want  to,  and  some  o'  the  men  had  even 
begun  to  snore.  I  was  just  droppin'  off  to  sleep  myself,  when 
a  snorer  at  the  other  end  o'  the  tent  suddenly  raps  out  an  oath, 
and  his  boot  comes  whizzin'  down  the  gangway. 

"  '  The  next  swab  as  plays  me  that  trick,'  he  grumbles,  '  will 
'ave  to  take  off  his  toonik  to  me  in  the  morninV 

"  '"What  trick,  chum?  '  I  asks,  chuckin'  him  back  his  boot. 

"  '  Puttin'  his  icy  cold  foot  on  my  face,'  he  says,  indignant. 

"  It  didn't  sound  nice,  some'ow,  and  my  'eart  commenced  to 
beat  a  devil's  tattoo  under  the  blankets.  But  nobody  said 
nothin',  and  if  it  'adn't  been  for  the  thumpin'  of  a  dozen  gallant 
'earts  besides  mine,  you  might  'ave  'card  a  pin  drop. 

"Presently,  'owever,  the  drummer,  who  slep'  next  to  the 
corpril,  calls  out  somethin'  beneath  his  bedclothes. 

"  '  What  is  '  STICKS  '  a-sayin'  ?  '  asks  one  o'  the  men  anxiously. 

"  'He  's  only  talkin'  in  his  sleep,'  says  the  corpril. 

"'No,  he  ain't,'  pipes  the  boy  in  his  'igh  treble,  '  but  some- 
body's a-walldn'  in  liis  I  ' 

"This  statement  was  received  with  a  most  oncomfortablc 
silence  of  several  minutes.  Then  the  man  next  to  mo  begins 
'urriedly  to  scramble  into  his  trousers. 

"  '  The  kid  's  quite  right,'  he  says,  '  and  I  know  bloomin'  well 
who  the  sleep-walker  is.' 

"  '  Who  ?  '  inquires  a  dozen  voices  at  once. 

"'The  Blank  File,'  says  the  man,  'and  he's  lookin'  for  a 
sleepin'  billet,  that's  what  he's  a-doin'  of.  But  he  ain't  goin' 
to  doss  next  to  me,'  he  says,  and  with  that  he  bolts  out  o'  the 
tent. 

"  In  another  minute  there  was  nobody  —  so  far  as  we  knew  — 
left  inside  it.  We  all  wanted  to  keep  the  sentry  comp'ny  till 
daylight." 

Mr.  PAGETT  paused  to  refill  his  pipe,  an  operation  he  effected 
with  characteristic  absent-mindedness  from  my  pouch.  I  feigned 
to  be  pondering  his  last  words. 

"After  such  a  night  of  horror,"  I  hazarded,  "the  daylight 
must  indeed  have  been  a  welcome  relief." 

He  slipped  the  pouch,  with  charming  naivete,  into  his  pocket. 
"You  mark  time  a  bit,"  he  said  :  "  I  'aven't  finished  with  that 
night  of  'orror  yet." 

I  murmured  an  apology. 

"  No,"  he  continued.  "  Before  the  sun  rose  we  were  destined 
to  'ave  another  scare,  compared  with  which  the  others  were 
child's-play.  It  was  this  way,  look. 

"  The  corpril  was  explainin'  to  Mr.  JANNAWAY,  who  'ad  come 
out  of  his  quarters  in  his  pyjammers,  thiat  the  men  couldn't 
sleep  in  the  minin'  tent  on  account  of  the  neat,  and  JANNAWAY 
was  just  beginnin'  to  talk  sarcaustic  about  a  girls'  school  afraid 
o'  the  dark,  when  the  sentry  drops  his  rifle  with  a  clatter  that 
brings  all  our  gallant  'earts  into  our  necks.  His  teeth  were 
rattlin'  in  his  'ead  like  a  boxful  o'  dice,  you  could  'ave  'ung  up 
your  coat  and  'at  on  his  eyes,  and  he  was  pointin'  to  his  front 
like  a  sign-post  shook  by  the  wind.  At  first  we  thought  it  was 
an  applepletic  fit,  but  after  a  bit  we  discovered  that  he  was 
wishful  for  us  to  look  at  the  jackstaff. 

"The  first  glimmer  o'  dawn  was  whitenin'  the  eastern  'orizon, 
and  there  was  just  light  enough  for  us  to  see  an  extr'ordin'ry 
phenomenon  that  made  even  a  detachment  o'  Marines  stare. 
There  wasn't  air  enough  to  chill  your  wetted  finger  :  it  was  a 
dead  tropical  calm  :  the  great  jack  and  its  'alliards  lay  along- 
side the  staff  as  if  they  were  glued  to  it.  Yet  all  of  a  sudden 
the  long  fold  of  bunting  stirred,  and  the  double  lines  twanged 
against  the  pole  like  a  plucked  'arpstring  ! 

"Five  seconds  later    the  thing  'appened   again,    and   then 


continued  at  perfectly  reg'lar  intervals.  Not  a  soul,  as  far  as 
we  could  see,  was  within  ten  yards  of  that  be%witched  spar. 
Yet  one  thing  was  quite  plain.  Someone  was  flngerin'  the 
'alliards  before  our  very  eyes  ! 

"  Presently  JANNAWAY  clears  his  throat. 

"'Am  I  goin'  stark  starin'  mad  like  the  rest  o'  you,'  ho 
asks  'uskily,  '  or  is  there  a  bell  ringin'  somewhere?  ' 

'You  might  'ave  stabbed  the  silence  which  followed  with  a 
baynit. 

"  '  There  is  a  bell,  Sir,'  says  one  o'  the  men  at  length,  '  a  big 
bell  a-tolling.  I  should  judge  it  to  be  as  far  away  as  Batavia, 
or  p'r'aps  Plymouth,'  he  says  ;  '  but  in  either  case  you  may  lay 
to  it  that  it 's  no  earthly  bell ' 

"'That's  enough,'  says  JANNAWAY,  stampin'  his  foot.  'I 
won't  'ave  no  more  of  it.  Colour-Sergeant,'  he  says,  'as  soon 
as  it 's  daylight  fall  the  men  in  for  bathin'  parade.  There  's 
nothin'  like  a  sea  dip  to  steady  the  nerves.'  And  with  that  ho 
walks  off  into  the  middle  o'  the  island. 

;'  The  detachment  strolled  down  to  the  water  's  edge,  while  I, 
disbelicvin'  in  ghosts  now  that  the  daylight  was  comin',  sat 
down  and  lit  my  pipe.  At  first  I  watched  the  sunrise,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  that  the  day  was  gettin'  up  with  a  most  disreput- 
able black  eye.  Across  the  red,  an'  green,  an'  orange  inflam- 
mation of  the  daAvn  was  stuck  a  dark  patch  that  in  the  case  of  a 
pore  soldier  would  'ave  got  him  confined  to  barricks  for  a 
fortnight.  But  after  a  bit  my  attention  was  attracted  to 
Lootenant  JANNAWAY,  who  was  peerin*  under  a  great  ledge  o' 
rock  a  couple  of  'undred  yards  away.  Presently  he  stood  up, 
and  beckoned  to  me. 

"  '  Tell  me  what  you  see  in  there,'  he  says,  when  I  reached 
him. 

"  '  You  ought  to  know,'  I  says,  moppin'  my  face,  after  I'd 
looked  into  the  'ole  ;  '  you  've  been  starin'  at  it  for  the  last  five 
minutes.' 

"  '  But  I  want  to  make  sure,  you  insolent  vagabone,'  he  says. 
'  Our  nerves  are  all  endways,  and  p'r'aps  I  've  been  mistook.' 

"  '  Very  well,  then,'  says  I,  '  it 's  a  rusted  round  shot  mixed 
up  with  a  'uinan  skeleton.' 

"  '  I  thought  so,'  he  returns,  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  '  But  since 
this  island  is  a  noo-born  baby,  in  a  manner  o'  speakin ' ,  it  licks 
me  'ow  them  things  come  there.' 

"'P'r'aps,'   says  I,   after  thinkin'    'ard  for  some  moments, 
they  were  born  with  the  bloomin'  baby.' 

"  '  You  're  a  fool,  PAGETT,'  says  he,  '  and  you  'd  better  go  an' 
fall  in  with  the  rest.' 

"Now,  as  I  was  carryin'  my  wounded  fe.elin's  back  to  my 
comrades,  it  suddenly  struck  me  that  the  dawn  wasn't  breakin' 
as  quickly  as  it  usually  does  in  those  latitoods.  The  black 
patch  over  the  day's  eye  had  covered  the  entire  face  of  the 
eastern  sky,  and  was  spreadin'  to  the  zenith  faster  than  the 
daylight  itself.  It  was  plain,  from  the  incessant  twinklin',  that 
a  tropical  thunderstorm  was  comin'  up  with  the  sun,  and  you 
may  take  my  word  for  it  that  a  bare  rock  in  mid-ocean  ain't  the 
safest  place  to  see  one  from. 

"The  detachment  'ad  already  undressed,  and  were  bein' 
mustered  by  the  colour-sergeant,  so  I  slipped  off  my  clothes  and 
joined  them. 

"Before  the  muster  was  over,  the  mornin'  'ad  grown  much 
darker  than  the  night  had  ever  been,  and  the  sky  above  us 
was  like  a  great  velvet  pall  with  its  borders  trailin'  in  the 
sea.  Long  zigzag  rents  were  torn  in  the  pall  about  once  every 
second,  nor  was  there  any  interval  in  the  'orrible  din  o'  the 
thunder.  Luckily  we  escaped  the  rainfall,  but  we  could  'ear 
it  hissin'  on  the  sea  a  mile  away,  like  forty  thousand  locomo- 
tives blowin'  off  steam. 

"As  ifc  was  too  dark  to  bathe,  and  too  dangerous  to  go  into 
the  tent  where  the  arms  were,  JANNAWAY  fell  us  in  two  deep 
in  rear  of  it.  Before  very  long,  'owever,  the  eastern  edge  o' 
the  pall  began  to  lift,  and  a  streak  of  crimson  sky  appeared 
beneath  it.  Then  the  streak  widened ;  orange  showed  above 


JAMJABY  16,  1901.]  PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVAEL  41 


MclJur.    "NOW,    DEAR,    WHY   DON'T   YOU   RUN   AWAY   AND   GIVE   GRANDPA'   A   KISS?'' 

Child  (somcu-hat  norvlussed  by  Grandpapa's  moustache  and  bcard\   "I  DOV'T  SEE  ANY  PLACE  FOR  IT,  MAMMA! 


42 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  16,  1901. 


he  red,  primrose  above  the  orange,  till  presently  we  could 
ee  the  bright  blue  o'  the  zenith.  The  velvet  pall  had  rolled 
iway  as  quickly  as  it  'ad  spread." 

Mr.  PAGETT  removed  the  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  laid  it 
upon  the  table. 

"You've  been  in  the  tropics  yourself,  Sir?"  he  observed, 
ooking  into  the  fire. 

I  nodded.  » 

"  Did  you  ever  see  one  o'  them  lightnin'  photographs  ?  " 

"I've  heard  of  them,"  I  admitted  cautiously.  "It  is  said 
hat  they  cannot  yet  be  accounted  for  by  science,  though  they 
ire  undoubtedly  electrical." 

"I  saw  one  that  mornin'  on  the  island,"  he  mused;  "the 
flash  over  the  Tor  .just  now  'minded  me  of  it. 

"The  first  thing  we  noticed  after  JANNAWAY  dismissed  us. 
and  we  'd  moved  away  from  the  tent,  was  the  double  line  of 
Kir  shadows  still  fixed  upon  the  curtain,  where  it  'ad  been 
hrown  by  the  lightnin'." 

"  Yes,"  I  admitted,  "  that  was  quite  possible." 

"Quite  possible.  But  'ow  about  this?  The  drummer,  who 
was  starin'  at  the  phenomenon  from  the  front  o'  the  group, 
suddenly  turns  round. 

I  thought,'  he  squeaked,  'that,  countin'  Mr.  JANNAWAY, 
we  were  thirty-three  all  told." 

"  '  Then,  for  once  in  your  sinful  young  life,'  says  the  corpril, 

you  thought  right,  my  son.' 

"  'Well,'  says  the  boy,  edgin'  into  the  middle  o'  the  crowd, 

'ow  do  you  account  for  there  bein'  thirty-/oitr  shadows  on  the 
jloomin.'  tent  ?  ' 

Nobody  attempted  to  account  for  it ;  nobody  even  wanted 
;o  account  for  it.  "What  everybody  did  want,  'owever,  was  to 
get  off  that  cursed  island  without  another  minute's  delay. 
Like  one  man  the  detachment  turned  and  bolted  for  the  pin- 
nace in  which  we  'ad  landed,  and  which  was  moored  a  few 
yards  from  the  beach.  It  was  the  stampede  of  the  previous 
afternoon  over  again,  with  the  diff'renco  that  this  time  me, 
an'  the  colour-sergeant,  an'  JANNAWAY  were  in  it  as  well. 

We  splashed  through  the  water,  shinned  over  the  gunnel  o' 
the  big  boat,  got  out  the  oars,  and  gave  way  like  a  crew 
possessed.  But  we  'd  barely  put  a  hundred  yards  between  us 
and  the  Blank  File's  shadow  on  the  tent,  before  the  sea  began 
the  pinnace  like  water  round  an  egg  in  a 


we -were  pore  castaways  from  a  wrecked  emigrant  ship,  and  the 
adm'ral,  with  one  eye  cocked  on  me,  said  he  'd  had  the  pleasure 
of  meetin'  one  at  least  of  the  pore  emigrants  before.  Then, 
with  a  chronic  twinkle  in  the  same  eye,  he  carried  us  back  to 
Batavia,  and  put  us  on  board  our  own  ship. 

"Before  reportin'  ourselves,  'owever,  Mr.  JANNAWAY  ad- 
dressed us  in  a  few  kind  words. 

"  '  If  you  mention  that  there  Blank  File,'  he  says,  '  you  will 
get  the  credit  of  bein'  bigger  liars  than  what  you  really  are. 
Therefore,'  he  says,  '  I  shouldn't.' 

"And  you  may  lay  to  it  that  we  didn't !  " 
From  a.  battered  Service  ditty-box  on  the  mantelpiece  Mr. 
PAGETT  produced  a  crumpled  half-sheet  of  notepaper. 

"That  inscription,"  said  he,  "was  sent  me  by  Lootenant 
JANNAWAY  a  year  after  we  paid  off.  He  copied  it  off  an  old  brass 
in  the  tower  of  a  church  at  Sandwich." 

I  refrained  from  commenting  on  the  remarkable  resemblance 
of  the  writing  to  Mr.  PAGETT'S  own  cramped  caligraphy,  and 
read  it  aloud. 

"Sacred  to  the  Memory,"  it  ran,  "of  BELTISHAZZAR  FARWIG, 
Private  in  the  Marines,  and  sometime  a  Bellringer  of  this 
Church.  Who  died  on  the  29th  Dec.  1770,  on  board  His  Majesty' s 
ship  Endeavour  (commanded  by  the  famous  Navigator,  Captain 
JAMES  COOK),  and  was  buried  at  sea  in  Lat.  9°  13'  S.  and  Long. 
104° E." 

"Wasn't  it  a  most  extr'ordin'ry  thing,"  asked  Mr.  PAGETT, 
regarding  me  out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye,  "that  the  pore  feller 
should  'ave  come  to  the  surface  again  on  the  middle  of  a 
volcanic  island  ?  ' ' 

"  Most  extraordinary  !  "  I  murmured. 

'  "  And  that,  after  all  them  years,  he  should  'ave  drilled  once 
more  with  his  old  regiment  and  been  photographed  with  them 
by  lightnin  '  ?  " 

"  I  never  heard  anything  like  it  before,"  said  I. 
"And  that  he  should  'ave  tolled  that  onearthly  bell  to  warn 
them  that  the  island  was  goin'  to  sink  ?  " 

"Wonderful  indeed!  Yet  to  me,  Mr.  PAGETT,  the  most 
wonderful  thing  of  all  is  your  own  marvellous  power  of 
inven — of  memory,  I  mean." 

"  I  was  afraid," 
to  use  another 


to  bubble  about 
saucepan. 

"'For  the  Lord's  sake,'  cries  one  o'  the  men,  layin'  on  his 
oar,  '  look  at  the  bloomin'  island  ! ' 

"Then  we  saw  a  most  curious  thing.  The  island  was 
gradually  growin'  smaller — in  other  words,  it  was  sinkin'  before 
our  eyes  !  Presently  only  the  tops  o'  the  tents  and  the  jackstaff 
were  visible  above  the  water,  and  then  only  the  Union  Jack 
itself.  When  that  'omely  bit  o'  buntin'  'ad  gone  too,  the 
drummer  burst  out  a-cryin'. 

"'Any'ow,'  says  the  Corpril  cheerily,  'that  exarsperatin' 
Blank  File  's  gone  with  it.' 

"  'Aye, 'chimes  in  the 'Dismal  JIMMY  '  of  the  detachment, '  but 
we  shall  be  under  stoppages  o'  pay  until  them  arms  and 
accoutrements  are  made  good.  I  said  at  the  time,'  he  continued, 
'  that  it  was  no  earthly  bell  a-tollin' ' 

'"Take  that  man's  name  for  disobedience  of  orders,' roars 
out  JANNAWAY.  '  'Ow  dare  you  make  my  flesh  creep,'  he  says, 
'  when  I  'aven't  got  a  stitch  o'  clothin'  on  ?  ' 

"  '  There's  the  Dutch  flagship  in  the  offing  just  off  the  port 
beam,  Sir,'  sings  out  another. 

"  '  Then  I  'ope  to  goodness,'  says  JANNAWAY,  casting  an 
anxious  eye  over  the  naked  forms  before  him,  '  that  the  adm'ral 
'asn't  brought  no  ladies  with  him  to  see  the  noo  island  ! ' 

' '  An  hour  later  we  clambered  one  by  one  up  the  steep  sides 
o'  the  Dutchman,  and  were  served  out  with  a  pair  o'  baggy 
trousers  apiece.  If  there  were  any  ladies  on  board  they  must 
'uve  been  sent  below  before  we  got  alongside,  and  the  orf'cers 
and  men  didn't  matter.  Mr.  JANNAWAY  told  the  adm'ral  that 


Mr.  PAGETT  stared  at  me  in  pained  surprise, 
he  said  reproachfully,  "that  you  were  goin' 
word.     In  which  case,  Mister,  me  an'  you  would  'ave  'ad  to 
part  brassrags  ! ' ' 


ILL-TREATING. 

To  Mr.  Punch. 

SIR, — It  makes  my  blood  boil  to  read  how  the  precious  time 
of  the  Commander-in-Chief  is  wasted  by  precious  fools.  Not 
long  ago  an  admirable  appeal  against  "  Treating  "  was  written 
by  Lord  ROBERTS.  Please  observe  that  I  call  him  by  his  correct 
name,  or,  without  the  title,  simply  ROBERTS,  for  the  everlasting 
use  of  "  BOBS  "  disgusts  me,  and  seems  to  me  wanting  alike  in 
sense  and  courtesy.  We  do  not  call  KITCHENER  "  Kitty,"  and 
a  hundred  years  ago  they  did  not  call  NELSON  "Nelly."  Lord 
ROBERTS,  as  I  have  said,  protested  against  "treating"  the 
private  in  the  "  public."  Allow  me  to  protest  against  the  public 
ill-treating  Lord  ROBERTS  in  private.  He  cannot  even  travel  by 
railway,  on  his  own  private  business,  without  being  button- 
holed and  talked  at  by  mayors  or  vestrymen  whenever  the  train 
stops.  Every  obscure  borough,  from  Mudby-in-the-Marsh  to 
Shrimpington-on-Sea,  pesters  him  to  receive  its  ridiculous  and 
useless  "freedom."  Freedom,  indeed!  I'd  give  'em  some 
freedom  of  speech  on  my  part  which  might  show  the  meddle- 
some mayors  and  the  addle-headed  aldermen  what  I  thought  of 
'em.  But  Lord  ROBERTS  is  too  good-natured  to  do  that.  Allow 
me,  therefore,  to  protest  against  his  being  ill-treated  in  this 
manner.  Yours  indignantly, 

HANG  DASH  BLOW  (Major,  retired). 


JANUARY  16,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


43 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  ABROAD 

[Not  content  with  Professional  Conferences,  i 
spirted  body  of  Public  School  Masters  has  char 
tered  the  steam  -  yacht  Argonaut  from  Messrs 
PEKOWNE  and  LUNX,  for  an  educative  visit  t< 
Sicily,  Greece,  and  the  Isles  thereof.  Information 
on  certain  sites  of  peculiar  interest  will  he  fur- 
nished by  specialists.  A  Magic  Lantern  wil" 
accompany  the  expedition.] 

0  "  ISLES  "  (as  BYRON  said)  "  of  Greece ! ' 
For  which  the  firm  of  Homer  sang, 

Especially  that  little  piece 
Interpreted  by  Mr.  LANG, 
Where  the  unblushing  Sappho  wrote 
The  hymns  we  hardly  like  to  quote  ; — 

1  cannot  share  his  grave  regret 

"Who  found  your  fame  had  been  and  gone 
There  seems  to  be  a  future  yet 

For  Tenedos  and  Marathon  ; 
Fresh  glory  gilds  their  deathless  sun, 
And  this  is  due  to  Dr.  LUNN  ! 

What  though  your  harpers  twang  no  more  ? 

What  though  your    various .  lyres  are 

dumb? 
See  where  by  Cirrha's  sacred  shore, 

Bold  Argonauts,  the  Ushers  come  ! 
All  bring  their  maps  and  some  their  wives 
And  at  the  vision  Greece  revives  ! 

The  Delphic  oracles  are  off, 
But  still  the  site  is  always  there  ; 

The  fumes  that  made  the  Pythian  cough 
Still  permeate  the  conscious  air  ; 

Parnassus,  of  the  arduous  "  grade," 

May  still  be  clomb,  with  local  aid. 

Lunching  upon  the  self-same  rock 
Whence    Xerxes  viewed   the  wine-red 

They  realise  with  vivid  shock  [frith, 

The  teachings  of  "  the  smaller  SMITH  "  ; 

With  bated  breath  they  murmur — "  This 

Is  actually  Salamis  ! ' ' 

They  visit  where  Penelope 
Nightly  unwove  the  work  of  day, 

Staving  her  suitors  off  till  he, 
Ulysses,  let  the  long-bow  play, 

And  on  his  brave  grass-widow's  breast 

Forgot  Calypso  and  the  rest. 

In  Crete,  where  Theseus  first  embraced 

His  Ariadne,  they  explore 
(Just  now  authentically  traced) 

The  footprints  of  the  Minotaur : 
And  follow,  to  the  maze's  source, 
The  thread  of  some  profound  discourse. 

That  isle  where  Leto,  sick  with  fright, 
So  scandalised  her  mortal  kin, 

Where  young  Apollo,  lord  of  light, 
Commenced  his  progress  as  a  twin — 

Fair  Delos  they  shall  get  to  know, 

And  Paros,  where  the  marbles  grow. 

Not  theirs  the  course  of  crude  delight 
On  which  the  common  tourist  wends, 

From  faith  they  move,  by  way  of  sight, 
To  knowledge  meant  for  noble  ends ; 

'Twill  be  among  their  purest  joys 

To  work  it  off  upon  the  boys. 

One  hears  the  travelled  teacher  call 
Upon  the  Upper  Fifth  to  note 


JUST    AS    WELL    TO    BE    PREPARED.1 

A   HINT  FOR  SPORTSMEN   IN   CASE   OF   HARD  WEATHER. 


(Touching  the  Spartan  counter-wall) 
How  great  the  lore  of  Mr.  GROTE  ; 
And  tell  them,  "  His  are  just  the  views 
I  formed  myself — at  Syracuse  !  " 

When  JONES  is  at  a  loss  to  show 
Where  certain  islands  ought  to  be, 

How  well  to  whack  him  hard  and  low 
And  say,  "  The  pain  is  worse  for  me, 

To  whom  the  Cyclades  are  quite 

Familiar,  like  the  Isle  of  Wight." 

And  then  the  lecture  after  prep. ! 

The  Magic  Lantern's  lurid  slide  ! 
The  speaker  pictured  on  the  step 

Of  some  old  shrine,  Avith  no  inside  ; 
Or  groping  on  his  reverent  knees 
For  Eleusinian  mysteries  ! 

Hellas  defunct?    O  say  not  so, 
While  Public  School-boys  faint  to  hear 

The  tales  of  antique  love  or  woe, 
Brought  home  and  rendered  strangely 
clear 

With  instantaneous  Kodak-shots 

Secured  by  Ushers  on  the  spots !     O.  S. 


GODS  IN  AND  OUT  OF  THE  CARS. 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCH, —  Is  it  possible  to 
convey  some  sense  of  decency  into  the 
mind  of  the  average  London  County 
Councillor  ?  It  may  be  that  I  wrong  this 
distinguished  personage,  and  that,  travel- 
ling to  and  fro  in  his  luxurious  brougham, 
capacious  barouche  or  untaxed  cart,  he  is 
not  aware  of  the  disgraceful  scenes  which 
occur  every  morning  and  evening  at  the 
terminal  stations  of  the  tram  lines  at 
Blackfriars  and  Westminster  Bridges.  The 
tram-cars  are  owned  by  the  London  County 
Council  and  they  are  run  at  a  profit,  the 
London  County  Council  also  supply  ticket 
inspectors  and  starters,  but  they  also 
provide  chaos  of  the  worst  order.  I 
would  ask  two  such  staid  members  of 
this  august  body  as  Mr.  H.  W.  L.  LAWSON 
and  Mr.  JOHN  BURNS  to  spend  a  couple  of 
hours  on  one  day  in  surveying  the  horrible 
scenes  which  occur  when  the  cars  are 
arriving  and  leaving,  after  "  business 
hours."  Yours,  PETER  PICOON. 


44 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  16,  1901. 


DBLENDA  EST  CARTHAGO. 

[Interviewed  by  an  Italian  journalist,  Madame  DUSE  is  reported  to  have 
said  :  "  To  save  the  theatre  the.  theatre  must  be  destroyed,  and  its  actors  and 
actresses  must  die  of  the  plague.  They  poison  Art.  .  .  .  We  should  return 
to  the  Greeks  and  play  in  the  open  air.  Boxes,  stalls,  .  .  .  kill  the  drama. 
...  I  want  .  .  .  the  Acropolis.  ...  I  am  condemned  to  play  SAEDOU  and 
PINEEO  !  .  .  .  If  I  had  my  will,  I  would  live  in  a  ship  in  the  middle  of  the 
ocean."] 

DEAR  lady,  the  cure  -which  you  kindly  propose  « 

For  an  evil  that  sounds  rather  vague 

Would  not  be  especially  welcome  to  those 

Who  are  destined  to  die  of  the  plague. 

You  -would  sweep  every  actor  and  actress  away — 

They  poison  the  air  and  their  art, 
And,  affecting  the  Greeks  in  your  methods,  would  play 

In  the  open  your  favourite  part. 

You  deplore  the  existence  of  box  and  of  stall, 

That  are  pounding  the  drama  to  grit, 
But  we  fear  the  receipts  would  be  likely  to  fall 

If  your  theatre  were  nothing  but  pit. 

And  although  the  Acropolis  sounds  very  nice, 
Stone  seats  and  the  draught  and  the  rain 

Would  in  all  probability  amply  suffice 
To  prevent  one  from  coming  again. 

The  veriest  Vandal  would  tremble  to  speak 
In  a  tongue  that  was  strange  on  its  stage, 

While  a  scholarly  knowledge  of  Attican  Greek 
Is  scarcely  a  mark  of  the  age. 

PINERO  and  SARDOU  are  all  you  may  play, 

By  Pate  you  are  manacled  thus, 
But,  with  all  due  respect,  may  we  venture  to  say 

That  they  're  not  disagreeable  to  us? 

In  fine,  we  implore  you  to  see  with  our  eyes, 

And  again  to  consider  the  case — 
Would  a  ship  in  mid-ocean  be  thoroughly  wise, 

When  there  's  no  one  to  reign  in  your  place  ? 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

Mr.  TOM  GALLON  will  doubtless  learn  from  many  reviewers  of 
A  Royue  in  Love  (HuxCHlNSON)  that  he  draws  his  inspiration 
from  CHAKLES  DICKENS.  "Who  deniges  of  it?"  to  quote 
inquiry  by  one  of  the  Master's  best  known  people.  Certainly 
not  my  Baronite.  He  recognises  in  most  of  the  characters, 
echoes  of  earlier  acquaintances.  But  that  does  not  detract 
from  the  charm  of  the  book,  its  flow  of  incident,  its  atmo- 
sphere of  humour  ever  ready  to  blend  with  pathos.  It  is  just 
the  book  a  tired  man  will  like  to  read  after  a  quiet  dinner. 
And  that  is  high  praise. 


Sons  of  the  Morning  (METIIUEN)  is  really  a  big  book,  wherein 
it  differs  from  the  ordinary  run  of  novels.  The  story,  homed  on 
Dartmoor,  shares  its  grandeur  and  its  mysticism.  Mr.  EDEN 
PHILLPOTTS  knows  au  fond  that  strange  distinctive  clan  the 
Devonians,  and  gives  us  some  delightful  records  of  their  sayings 
and  doings.  His  descriptions  of  Dartmoor  in  sunlight  and  storm 
are  finely  done.  It  would  be  hard  to  beat  the  picture  of  a 
storm  which  brings  the  drama  to  a  climax.  The  pure,  strong, 
literary  style  of  the  narrative  is  refreshing.  Like  THACKERAY, 


though  in  quite  a  different  way,  Mr.  PHILLPOTTS  is  a  preacher  as 
well  as  a  novelist.  He  does  not  shrink  from  the  oft-attempted 
task  of  defining  humour.  "  It  is,"  he  writes,  "  a  balm  of  life  ; 
it  is  the  root  of  tolerance,  the  prop  of  patience  ;  it  suffers  long, 
and  is  kind  ;  keeps  the  heart  of  man  sweet,  his  soul  modest.  And 
at  the  end,  when  the  light  thickens  and  the  mesh  grows  tight, 
humour  can  share  the  suffering  vigils  of  the  sleepless,  can 
soften  pain,  can  brighten  the  ashy  road  to  death."  My  Baronite, 
brought  up  in  the  House  of  Commons — where  a  high  flight  of 
humour  is  recognised  when  a  member  marks  the  conclusion  of 
his  speech  by  sitting  on  his  hat — begins  to  understand. 

My  Baronite  envies  A.  T.  QuiLLER-Coucn  the  labour  of  love 
he  has  perfected  in  the  production  of  The  Oxford  Book  of 
English  Verse  (HENRY  FROWDE).  What  daisied  pastures  he  has 
strolled  through,  what  fragrant  gardens  he  has  culled !  His 
task  carries  him  back  over  more  than  600  years  of  the  British 
Poets,  not  forgetting  those  who  touched  the  Irish  harp.  Some 
are  new  to  the  average  reader,  most  are  very  dear.  The  plea- 
sure of  reading  them  all  again  is  added  to  by  the  dainty  form  in 
which  they  issue  from  the  Oxford  Press.  The  casket  is  worthy 
of  the  treasure  it  contains. 


The  Baron  confesses  to  knowing  next  to  nothing  of  the  talk, 
habits,  and  manners  of  the  privates  in  the  British  Army.  Mr-, 
KIPLING'S  Mulvany  and  his  companions  may  be  true  to  facts, 
and  if  they  are,  so  much  the  worse  for  the  facts,  or  they  may 
have  been  highly-coloured  fancy-portraits,  intended  more  for  our 
amusement  than  for  our  instruction  or  edification.  Be  that  as 
it  may,  the  Baron  never  took  kindly  to  them,  became,  in  fact, 
rather  bored  by  them  (of  course,  the  more  's  the  pity),  and  finally 
felt  inclined  to  adopt  towards  the  British  Tommy  Kiplinised  a 
sentiment  similar  to  that  expressed  by  Betsy  Prig  towards  Mrs. 
Harris,  and  avow  "I  don't  believe  there  ain't  no  such  person," 
i.e.  as  represented  in  the  popular  KIPLING  romances.  And  the 
Baron  is  more  than  ever  convinced  of  the  probability  that  there 
is  good  ground  for  his  opinion  after  reading  the  dramatically- 
written  Military  Dialogues  on  Active  Service,  by  Lieut.-Colonel 
N.  NEWNHAM  DAVIS  (SANDS  &  Co.),  which  are  thoroughly  inte- 
resting, and  so  artistically  contrived  as  to  be  here  and  there 
enlivened  with  effects  that  are  genuinely  sensational.  The 
sketches,  too,  all  in  dialogue,  of  the  officers'  wives,  are  very 
interesting;  and  those  of  the  "girls  they  (the  soldiers)  leave 
behind  them"  seem  thoroughly  natural  to  the  Baron,  who  has 
small  experience  of  the  former,  and  none  whatever  of  the  latter 
in  this  category.  Taking  for  granted  that  the  author,  being  a 
Lieutenant-Colonel,  is  thoroughly  familiar  with  all  the  military 
subjects  he  has  here  taken  in  hand,  the  Baron  begs  to  recom- 
mend it,  especially  in  this  sad  time  of  war,  to  all  civilians,  as 
the  work  of  an  expert  who  knows  what  he  is  talking  about. 
But  what  has  become  of  the  rollicking  gaiety  of  the  young 
and  old  campaigners  as  pourtrayed  by  CHARLES  LEVER  in  his 
Harry  Lorrequer,  Jack  Hinton  the  Guardsman,  and  his  Charles 
O'Malleij'?  Where  's  yourMicfcey  Free  now  ?  These,  truly,  were 
to  the  Baron  "  ideals."  Is  it  possible  they  were  never  "reals  "  ? 

THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


JUST  OVER-SPICED. — Not  content  with  having  produced  a  quite 
too  delicious  mess,  entirely  according  to  his  own  recipe  of  the 
Vatican-address  dish,  the  noble  chef  of  Norfolk  House  made  the 
mistake  of  adding  to  it  a  strong  flavour  of  Currie.  Such  a  pity  I 
Quit?  spoiled  the  broth !  "Nemo  mortalium,"  &c.  Vide  Latin 
Grammar. 


JANUARY  16,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


45 


A  LETTER  TO  A  YOUNG  PUBLISHER. 
II. 

IN  thanking  me  for  the  hints  I  gave 
you  recently  on  the  art  of  advertising, 
you  observe  that  even  though  you  sell 
a  large  number  of  copies,  advertising  is 
an  expensive  business,  and  that  the  net 
pecuniary  gain  to  yourself  of  what  is 
called  a  "successful"  novel  is  by  no 
means  large.  Moreover,  you  add,  suc- 
cessful authors  are  few  in  number,  and 
have  a  nasty  trick  of  insisting  upon  un- 
commonly high  royalties. 

My  dear  JONES,  if  you  are  really  to 
succeed  in  your  busi- 
ness, you  must  un- 
derstand at  once  that 
the  bulk  of  your  in- 
come is  to  come  not 
from  the  successful 
books,  but  (paradox 
as  it  seems)  from  the 
unsuccessful.  The 
successful  man  knows 
too  much,  or  his  inte- 
rests are  looked  after 
by  an  agent,  which 
comes  to  pretty  well 
the  same  thing,  so  far 
as  you  are  concerned. 
But  the  beginner — 
the  aristocratic  young 
lady , the  young  gentle- 
man fresh  f  romOxf  ord, 
the  country  gentle- 
man who  suddenly 
gives  way  to  the 
cacoeth.es  scribendi — 
these,  dear  JONES,  are 
in  reality  your  most 
valuable  clients, 
whose  usefulness  is 
limited  only  at  one 
end  by  their  gulli- 
bility, and  at  the 
other  by  their  bank- 
ing-accounts. You 
sent  me  a  MS.  as  a 

•  ,»   ,1        , 

specimen  ot  the  hope- 
less  rubbish  daily  sub- 
mitted to  you,  and 


MS.  Of  course,  you  will  add,  there  is 
grave  risk  about  bringing  out  the  work  of 
an  unknown  man,  but,  in  consideration  of 
the  exceptional  merit  of  Heart-Throbs,  you 
are  willing  to  brave  it.  All  that  you  will 
ask  the  author  to  do  is  to  pay  £80  towards 
the  cost  of  production,  while  you  will 
undertake  to  supply  the  demand  up  to  a 
thousand  copies.  On  all  copies  sold  above 
that  number  you  wilt  p\iy  him  a  royalty  of 
twenty  or  thirty — you  can  promise  safely 
anything  you  like — per  cent. 

The  author  will  be  delighted  at  the 
reader's  "  favourable  report."  "Re  may 
boggle  a  bit  about  the  £80,  in  which  case 


And,  if  you  like,  you  can  send  in  by-and- 
bye  another  bill  of  £10  or  so  for  "  adver- 
tising," and  "  cost  of  extra  proof  correc- 
tions." If  ho  remonstrates,  you  can  talk 
gravely  of  your  risk,  your  heavy  office- 
expenses,  etc.,  and  you  will  be  surprised 
and  grieved  that  the  sale  of  the  book  has 
not  got  beyond  50  copies.  It  is  just 
possible  that  at  this  point  your  client 
may  go  to  the  Society  of  Authors,  but 
that  needn't  concern  you.  You  have 
made  your  £50  or  £60  out  of  Heart- 
Throbs,  and  the  supply  of  fools,  thank 
heaven !  is  unfailing.  Only,  you  will 
deplore  his  lack  of  confidence,  and  the 
passing  away  of  the 
good  old  days,  when 
no  Authors'  Societies 
existed. 


TRUSTWORTHY. 

MY  pipe  !  the  cher- 
ished idol  of  my 
ease. 

In  happy  recollec- 
tion I  review 

Your  several  virtues 
only  formed  to 
please, 

Accept  my  trust — a 
thing  enjoyed  by 
few. 

And  yet  no  aery  halo 

of  romance 
Hangs  o'er  you .    No 

entrancing,  beau- 
teous elf 
Presented  you  to  me 

with      melting 

glance. 
No ;    eighteenpence 

I    paid    for    you 

myself. 


["  There  are'many  ladies  who,  in  the  quiet  part  of  the  day,  would  use  the  'bus  instead  of  walking 
KO<-  ''""•s  might  accompany  them." — Letter  in  "  Daily  News."] 


Letter  in 
'Bus  Conductor.  "FULL  INSIIE,  SIR. 


OUTSIDE  ONLY!" 


your  intention,  I  gather,  was  to  return 
ib  promptly  to  its  author.  Nothing,  I 
assure  you,  could  be  more  gratuitously 
foolish.  I  have  read  Heart-Throbs  —  as 
the  MS.  is  called — sufficiently  to  confirm 
your  estimate  of  it.  More  undiluted 
drivel  it  would  be  hard  to  conceive.  It 
is  dull,  foolish,  badly-written ;  without 
one  redeeming  feature.  But  as  for  re- 
turning it,  that  would  be  nothing  less 
than  the  criminal  waste  of  an  opportu- 
nity. Follow  my  instructions,  and  you 
shall  make  a  pretty  penny  out  of  Heart- 
Throbs. 

First,  you  will  write  to  the  author  and 
assure  him  that  your  "  reader  " — you  can 
consider  me  your  reader  for  the  nonce — 
has  reported  most  favourably  upon  the 


— I  have  left  you  plenty  of  margin — you 
may  knock  off  £5  or  even  £10  as  a  special 
favour,  as  a  sign,  too,  of  your  belief  in  the 
book.  Then,  or  I  am  greatly  mistaken, 
you  will  have  him.  He  is  young,  he  is 
well-off,  he  has  unbounded  faith  in  his 
work,  which  faith  your  letter  has  judici- 
ously strengthened.  And  so,  having 
cashed  his  cheque,  you  proceed  to  play 
your  fish  at  your  leisure.  You  have  only 
bound  yourself,  you  see,  to  supply  the 
demand  up  to  a  thousand  copies — where- 
fore you  will,  at  a  cost  of  £25  or  there- 
abouts, print  and  bind  100  copies — and  you 
will  take  good  care  tluit  the  demand  sludl 
not  exceed  tliat  number.  Thereby  you  will 
pocket  £55 — not  a  bad  haul,  considering 
that  you  've  run  no  sort  of  risk  for  it. 


likely 


Upon  your  bowl  no 
artist's  hand  has 
wrought ; 

It  bears  no  carven 
picture    emble- 
matic, 
cut    by    some    un- 


'T    was    very 

taught 
Mechanic  in  a  dingy  shop  or  attic. 

Your  rounded   stem  with   yellow  amber 

tipped 
Suggests  no  GRINLING  GIBBONS  in  dis- 

guise ; 
Your  mouthpiece  now,  I  see,  is  slightly 

chipped, 

Why,   then,    do    I  my  pipe  so  dearly 
prize  ? 

Why    did     I     in     the    summer's    sheen 

neglect 

You  like  a  loathed  criminal  accurst, 
But    now    'tis    freezing    love    you  ?      I 

expect 
It  is  because  I  know  you  cannot  burnt  ! 


46 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  16,  1901. 


CONVERSATIONAL   HINTS  FOR  YOUNG  RIDERS. 
CHAPTER  V. 

Of  Chances  for  Talk — Shooting  and  Hunting — Of  Dropping  a  Shoe — 
An  Over-reach  and  other  matters. 

IT  is,  undoiibtedly,  I  fear,  the  case  that  in  hunting,  conver- 
sational ability  is  not  at  so  high  a  premium  as  in  shooting. 
There  is  less  opportunity  for  the  easy,  pleasant  talk  that  makes 
up  so  large  a  part  of  the  day's  sport  with  the  gun.  Men  have 
to  manage  their  horses,  to  watch  the  hounds,  to  study  the 
country,  to  make  sure  they  are  not  left  behind  when  the  fox 
breaks  away,  and,  generally,  to  look  closely  after  the  business 
on  which  they  have  come  out.  The  shooting  man,  on  the  other 
hand,  except  during  the  minutes  when  the  birds  are  actually 
coming  over  him,  can  make  his  day  into  one  long  opportunity 


for  conversation  of  various 
kinds.  "When  the  beat  on  the 
drive  is  over  and  the  birds  are 
collected  ;  while  the  guns  walk 
on  to  take  their  places  at  the 
next  stand  ;  at  lunch  and  after  ; 
on  the  walk  homo  when  the  day 
is  done — during  all  these  in- 
tervals and  cessations  there 
are  countless  chances  for  the 
skilled  conversationalist.  But 
in  the  hunting  field,  as  I  have 
said,  the  openings  are  fewer 
and  circumstances  too  often 
check  the  flow  of  soul.  Still, 
a  wary  man  will  get  his  chances 
even  in  hunting  and,  the  fewer 
they  are,  the  more  necessary 
is  it  to  take  proper  advantage 
of  them. 

In  the  first  place  you  will 
have  observed,  though  you  are 
a  novice  at  the  game,  that  you 
are  always  entitled  to  tell  any 
man  that  his  horse  has  lost  a 
shoe.  Even  if  he  moves  in 
gilded  circles,  irradiated  by 
Dukes  and  Earls,  and  you  are 
a  mere  son  of  the  soil,  the  rule 
holds  good.  If  you  doubt  what 
I  say,  just  select  a  man  whose 
horse  has  dropped  a  shoe,  men- 
tion the  fact  to  him,  and  then 
keep  close  to  him  for  a  few  minutes  while 


expect  to  have  the  matter  mentioned  to  you  even  by  men  you 
don't  know.  "  I  'm  afraid  you  've  got  rather  a  nasty  over- 
reach," is  a  fairly  good  formula  for  the  occasion — and  even 
when  you  are  tried  by  the  repetition  time  after  time  of  this 
observation,  you  ought  to  remember  that  it  is  prompted  by 
good-will,  by  a  desire  to  point  out  to  you  what  you  cannot  see 
for  yourself,  and  so  to  enable  you  to  save  from  more  serious 
damage  the  gallant  horse  whose  welfare  ought  to  be  as  close  to 
your  heart  as  your  own. 

If  a  man  loses  his  spur,  or  batters  his  hat,  or  gets  his  face 
torn  by  a  twig,  or  his  coat  covered  with  mud  from  a  fall,  you 
will  not,  unless  he  should  happen  to  be  your  friend,  call  his 
attention  to  facts  which  are  entirely  within  his  own  knowledge 
and  are  probably  causing  him  acute  discomfort.  But  how  shall 
a  rider  know  that  his  horse  has  dropped  a  shoe  or  over-reached? 
His  horse,  the  much-enduring,  indomitably  courageous  com- 


IMITATION 


panion  of  his  sport,  is  unable 
to  give  him  a  hint,  except  by 
going  lame — and  then  the  mis- 
chief is  done. 

So  it  has  come  to  be  recog- 
nised as  a  humane  duty  on  the 
part  of  riders  to  give  one  an- 
other information  on  such 
matters,  and  no  rule  drawn 
from  that  gorgeous  guide, 
"The  Manners  of  Good  Society ; 
By  One  Who  is  in  It,"  will  be 
broken  if  a  gentleman  hitherto 
unknown  to  you  should  address 
you  in  the  manner  I  have  de- 
scribed. Besides,  if  you  are 
going  to  be  stand-offish  in  the 
hunting  iield,  if  you  are  going 
to  inflate  yourself  with  dignity 
and  make  yourself  rigid  with 
arrogance,  and  scowl  and  talk 
of  "  devilish  impertinence  " 
just  because  little  cheery  DICK 
TADWORTH  makes  a  remark  to 
you  in  his  genial  Cockney  way, 
why  you'd  better  stay  at  home 
and  feed  on  BURKB'S  Peerages 
and  other  books  of  social  pre- 
cedence. The  hunting  field  is 
no  place  for, you.  There  DICK 
is  your  equal,  though  the 
blood  of  kings  should  happen 
(in  a  slightly  diluted  form)  to 
are  riding,  i  run  in  your  veins,  and  DICK  has  nothing  to  back  him  except 


THE    SINCEREST 

JANUARY  7. 
Mr.  Punch.  "WELL,  OF  ALL  THE 


you 


as  we  may  suppose,  from  one  covert  to  another,  no  fox  being  j  a  clever  head  for  figures,  perfect  good  nature,  and  a  desire 


at  the  moment  on  the  move.  The  next  man  who  comes  up 
in  the  track  of  the  horse  with  three  shoes,  will  go  through 
the  same  little  pantomime  as  you  did.  He'll  take  a  good 
look,  pull  back  his  horse  a  bit,  look  again,  ride  closer,  gaze 
intently  and  then,  evidently  making  up  his  mind  to  stake 
his  whole  reputation  for  eyesight  and. knowledge,  will  break 
out  with  "You've  lost  a  shoe,  Sir,  near  fore-foot."  If  the 
interval  of  easy  riding  last  long  enough,  you  will  observe  a  dozen 
men  go  through  this  identical  performance  one  after  another, 


to  be  on  good  terms  with  all  the  world.  Of  course,  DICK 
mustn't  push  too  much — in  any  case,  he's  not  the  man  to  do 
that,  for  there's  nothing  of  the  Snob  in  him,  and  if  he  errs  he 
errs  without  ill-will  or  mean  aspiration  of  any  kind. 


AN  ENGLISH  CHINOISERIE. 


Voice  (through  telephone).  Can  you  send  some  winter  comforts 

all  ending  with  precisely  the  same  remark, 'until  you  feel  that  if  !  for  troops  undergoing  the  terrors  of  a  rigorous  climate? 
the  master  of  the  three-shoe'd  animal  suddenly  lost  control  of  j      Clwrity    Distributor    (ditto).  We  have    got    any  amount  of 
his  temper,  laid  about  him  with  his  hunting  crop,  and  called  j  lemonade,  soda-water,  sunshades  and  white  neckties.    You  are 
Heaven  to  witness  that  this  was  a  just  punishment  on  a  lot '  in  Africa,  aren't  you  ? 

of  repetition-mongering,  well-meaning,  useless,  good-natured  i  Voice.  No ;  Asia.  I  am  speaking  for  the  Indian  troops  and 
retailers  of  stale  news — you  feel,  I  say,  that  if  this  were  to  j  Europeans  stationed  at  Wei-Hai-Wei,  who  need  immediate  help, 
happen,  there  would  be  every  excuse  fora  man  goaded  beyond  Charity  Distributor.  Oh,  we  can't  have  anything  to  do  with 
endurance.  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  usually  submits  to  the  '  you  ;  you  are  not  fashionable.  You  are  out  of  reach  of  the 
inevitable  with  a  good  grace  and  bears  no  malice  at  all.  Then,  |  newspaper  reporters,  so  we  can't  do  anything  for  you ! 
too,  if  your  horse  cuts  himself  by  an  over-reach  you,  must  Voice.  Oh,  indeed  !  Then  I  will  write  to  Punch.  [Does  so. 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.— JANUARY  16,    1901. 


CHILDLIKE   AND   BLAND. 


CHINESE  OFFICIAL.  "WELL,  THE  EMPRESS  IS  AWAY  AT  PRESENT;  BUT  YOUR  ACCOUNTS  SHALL  BE 
FORWARDED,  GENTLEMEN,  AND  NO  DOUBT  HER  IMPERIAL  MAJESTY  WILL  ATTEND  TO  THEM  AT  HER  — 
AHEM  I— EARLIEST  CONVENIENCE  !  " 


JANUARY  16,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OE  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


49 


MY  HOLIDAY. 

(A  Confession). 

IN  the  first  place,  I  blame  the  doctor. 
He  shouldn't  have  used  long  -words  and 
looked  at  mo  as  if  I  was  something  under 
the  microscope.  But  when  a  man  has  the 
word  "  neurasthenic  "  flung  at  him  he  is 
obliged,  in  self-defence,  to  do  something, 
and  so  I  accepted  his  Mephistophelian 
suggestion  about  country  air  and  a  few 
days'  quiet.  He  even  hypnotised  me  into 
the  belief  that  I  was  tired  of  town  (shade 
of  CHARLES  LAMB  forgive  me !),  and  I 
agreed  to  go  right  away  into  the  country 
for  a  week — down  to  a  friend's  country 
house  near  Lynton. 

It 's  my  firm  belief  that  if  I  had  taken 
a  day — choosing  my  weather — down  in 
Surrey :  or  a  week-end  at  Brighton,  or 
even  a  day  in  bed,  I  should  have  been  per- 
fectly right  again.  But  I  was  fool  enough 
to  be  beguiled  by  the  doctor,  and — 
Well,  it 's  no  use  repining  now. 

I  really  think  (to  be  perfectly  just  to 
myself)  that  I  was  for  a  few  hours  on  the 
first  evening — perhaps  even  for  an  hour 
or  so  next  morning — genuinely  contented. 
The  quiet  soothed  me.  With  Mr.  PECK- 
SNIFF I  contemplated  existence,  and  then, 
alas,  like  Mr.  PECKSNIFF,  I  assumed  a  role 
of  horrible  duplicity.  On  the  second  day 
the  quietness  of  the  Devonshire  hills 
grated  terribly  on  my  nerves,  and  I  longed 
for  the  soothing  roar  of  the  London  traffic. 

But  I  assumed  a  look  of  placid  pleasure, 
ard  even  feebly  thanked  goodness  when 
I  heard  that  London  papers  came  a  day 
late.  Humbug  !  hypocrite !  that  I  was. 
But  Nemesis  overtook  me.  Try  as  I  might, 
I  could  not  conceal  the  awful  depression 
that  was  stealing  over  me. 

On  the  fourth  day  there  was  a  prospect 
that  the  road  might  be  blocked.  Horror  ! 
I  made  up  my  mind. 

"  TOM,"  I  said,  "  don't  be  alarmed,  old 
man,  but  I  feel  that  I  ought  to  consult 

some  specialist :  the  fact  is,  I "  here 

I  tapped  my  chest  ambiguously. 

"  Rot !  "  said  TOM.  (There 's  a  refresh- 
ing frankness  about  TOM.)  "Take  a 
twenty-mile  walk,  and  you  '11  be  as  fit  as  a 
fiddle. ' '  With  some  experience  of  musical 
relations,  I  derived  no  consolation  from 
this  simile. 

"Possibly,"  I  said,  with  affected 
stoicism;  "  and  yet  I  can't  help  remem- 
bering that  Uncle  PETER ' '  I  shrugged 

my  shoulder,  and  left  Uncle  PETER'S  fate 
to  TOM'S  imagination. 

"Well,  come  down  when  you've  seen 
him.  You  can't  do  better  than  stop  here." 

"I  will,  I  will,"  I  interrupted  fever- 
ishly, then  rushed  off  to  pack.  The 
next  afternoon  I  was  gliding  through 
Westbourne  Park  in  a  G.W.  train  (blessings 
on  it !)  feeling  almost  delirious  with  joy. 

"Foggy,  as  usual,"  said  a  man  opposite. 

I  gave  an  imbecile    grin.      "Yes,"   i 


said,  "just  the  same  dear  old  yellow, 
throat-choking  friend." 

He  regarded  me  amazed.  "The  filthy 
condition  of  the  roads,"  he  said,  "is 
scandalous  ;  the  Local  Board " 

"  I  know,"  I  said.  "  Never  mind. 
Shouldn't  we  bo  disgusted  if  everything 
was  spick  and  span  ?  What  should  wo  talk 
about  on  the  morning  'bus,  or  in  the 
matutinal  tube !  Hurrah  for  the  London 
dirt!" 

We  drew  up  at  Paddington.  I  bought 
up  all  the  evening  papers,  and  gave  the 
hansom  driver  a  royal  fee. 

Specialists  be  blowed.  Country  be 
bio  wed.  I  sat  down  and  wrote  to  TOM. 
I  told  him  I  had  been  a  liar  and  a  humbug  ; 
and  that  although  I  loved  him  dearly, 
nothing  would  persuade  me  to  see  him 
in  the  winter-time.  When  I  am  calmer  I 
shall  write  to  the  doctor.  "  A.R. 


THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY— AND 
AFTER. 

"  This  Janiform  head,  adapted  from  an  ancient 
coin  (of  vantage)  at  Hatfield,  tells  in  a  figure  all 
that  need  be  said  about  the  new  Century  from  a 
Cecilian  Tory  point  of  view." 

[  With    apologies  to  Sir  Edward  Poynter, 
P.R  A.,  and  Mr,  James  Knowles. 


THE  DARKEY  TO  HIS  DINAH. 

[The  Postal  authorities,  at  Brussels,  have  dis- 
covered that  the  coloured  postmen  in  the  Congo 
Free  State  present  the  mail  bags  to  their  wives  or 
fiancees.  The  latter  convert  them  into  ready-made 
costumes.] 

OH,  DINAH  darlin',  DINAH  dear  ! 
Dis  darkey  lubs  you  mos'  sincere  ; 
He  tinks  you  are  at  any  rate, 
De  finest  gal  in  all  de  State. 
For  you  his  spirit  leaps  and  bounds 
While  he  goes  plodding  on  his  rounds, 
For  dis  'ere  darkey's  massa  is 
De  Post  Office  authorities. 

Oh,  DINAH  darlin',  DINAH  dear  ! 
I  do  not  want  to  interfere, 
But  you  must  find  it  hard,  I  guess, 
To  save  de  money  for  your  dress. 
I  like  de  gal  who  's  won  my  heart 
To  keep  on  looking  spry  and  smart, 
For  no  one  else  must  take  de  shine 
Out  ob  dis  lubly  gal  ob  mine. 


Oh,  DINAH  darlin',  DINAH  dear  ! 
We  've  got  no  Paris  fashions  here, 
But  still  I  know  it 's  always  best 
To  get  your  garments  from  de  West. 
A  bright  idea  's  occurred  to  me, 
And  so  I  take  de  liberty 
Ob  sending  something  that  may  do 
As  a  nex'  season's  dress  for  you. 

Oh,  DINAH  darlin',  DINAH  dear ! 
Don't  tink  my  conduct  very  queer  ; 
De  Post  Office  may  nebber  miss 
A  little  canvas  bag  like  dis.          [shape, 
And  though,  p'raps,  in  its  present 
It  may  seem  stiff  and  hard  to  drape, 
Still  you  can  very  soon  convert 
It  into  quite  a  slap-up  skirt. 

Oh,  DINAH  darlin',  DINAH  dear! 
I  hope  I  make  my  meaning  clear ; 
I  tink  you  've  only  got  to  slit 
De  bottom  neatly  out  ob  it, 
And  den,  with  jes'  a  bit  ob  string, 
You  make  it  such  a  stylish  ting  ; 
Oh,  I  '11  be  proud  to  hab  a  gal 
Who  is  so  economical. 

Oh,  DINAH  darlin',  DINAH  dear  !    • 

If  any  nigger  tries  to  sneer, 

Or  some  unkind  aspersion  throws 

Upon  de  cut  ob  your  new  clo's, 

Remember,  in  de  Congo  State 

Dey  seldom  see  a  fashion  plate  ; 

You  know  de  garment  dat  you  don 

Has  got  de  stamp  ob  Europe  on  !      P.  G. 


EXAMINATION  FOR  A  DIRECTORSHIP. 

(From  "  The  City  Man's  Fade  Mecum.") 

Promoter.  Are  you  a  gentleman  of 
blameless  reputation  ? 

Candidate.  Certainly,  and  I  share  that 
reputation  with  a  dozen  generations  of 
ancestors. 

Promoter.  And  no  doubt  you  are  the 
soul  of  honour  ? 

Candidate.  That  is  my  belief — a  belief 
shared  by  all  my  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances. 

Promoter.  And  I  think,  before  taking  up 
finance,  you  have  devoted  a  long  life  to 
the  service  of  your  country  ? 

Candidate.  That  is  so.  My  career  has 
been  rewarded  by  all  kinds  of  honours. 

Promoter.  And  there  is  no  particular 
reason  why  you  should  dabble  in  Stock 
Exchange  matters  ? 

Candidate.  None  that  I  know  of — save, 
perhaps,  to  serve  a  friend. 

Promoter.  Now,  be  very  careful.  Do 
you  know  anything  whatever  about  the 
business  it  is  proposed  you  should  super- 
intend ? 

Candidate.  Nothing  whatever.  I  know 
nothing  absolutely  about  business. 

Promoter.  Then  I  have  much  pleasure 
in  informing  you  that  you  have  been 
unanimously  elected  a  member  of  the 
Board  of  Management ! 

[Scene   closes  in  until  the  Public  de- 
mands further  information. 


50 


PUNCH,  OK  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  16,  1901. 


DKAMATIC   SEQUELS. 
III. — HAMLET. 

AMONG  the  plays  which  seem  specially 
to  require  a  sequel,  Hamlet  must  certainly 
be  reckoned.  The  end  of  Act  V.  left  the 
distracted  kingdom  of  Denmark  bereft 
alike  of  King,  Queen,  and  Heir-Pre- 
sumptive. There  were  thus  all  the 
materials  for  an  acute  political  crisis.  It 
might  have  been  imagined  that  the  crown 
would  fall  inevitably  to  the  Norwegian 
Prince  FORTINBRAS  who,  being  on  the  spot 
with  an  army  behind  him,  certainly  seems 
to  have  neglected  his  chances.  It  is  clear, 
however,  from  the  sequel  that  FORTIN- 
BRAS failed  to  rise  to  the  occasion,  and 
that  HORATIO,  being  more  an  antique 
Roman  than  a  Dane,  seized  his  oppor- 
tunity and  by  a  coup  d'etat  got  posses- 
sion of  the  vacant  throne.  Nor  would 
FORTINBRAS  appear  to  have  resented  this, 
as  we  find  him  subsequently  visiting 
HORATIO  at  Elsinore.  There  is,  however, 
a  Nemesis  which  waits  upon  Usurpers,  as 
the  sequel  shows.  The  sequel,  by  the 
way,  stiould  have  been  called  Ghosts, 
but  as  that  title  has  been  already  appro- 
priated by  a  lesser  dramatist,  the  name 
has  been  changed  to — 

THE  NEW  WING  AT  ELSINORE. 

SCENE  I. — The  Platform  before  the  old 
part  of  the  Castle  as  in  Act  I. 
HORATIO  and  FORTIXBRAS  come  out  of 
the  house  swathed,  in  overcoats,  the 
former  looking  nervously  over  his 
shoulder.  It  is  a  dark  winter's  even- 
ing after  dinner. 

Fortinbras  (shivering  slightly).  'Tis  bit- 
ter cold 

Horatio  (impatiently).  And  you  are  sick 

at  heart. 
I  know. 
Fortinbras  (apologetically).  The  fact  is, 

when  I  get  a  cold 

I  often  can't  get  rid  of  it  for  weeks. 
I  really  think  we  may  as  well  stay  in. 
Horatio   (doggedly).  I  'ra    sorry,    but    I 

can't  agree  with  you. 
I  shall  stay  here. 

[Sits  down  resolutely  with  his  back  to 

the  castle. 

Fortinbras  (turning  up  his  coat  collar 
resignedly).  It 's  perfect  rot,  you 
know, 

To  let  yourself  be  frightened  by  a  Ghost ! 
H.  (angrily).  A  Ghost!     You're  always 

so  inaccurate  ! 

Nobody  minds  a  spectre  at  the  feast 
Less  than  HORATIO,  but  a  dozen  spectres, 
All  sitting  round  your  hospitable  board 
And  clamouring  for  dinner,  are  &\sight 
No  one  can  bear  with  equanimity. 
Of  course,  I  know  it 's  different  for  ^pu. 
You  don't  believe  in  ghosts !  .  .  .    Ugh, 

what  was  that  ? 
F.  Nothing. 

H.  I'm  sure  I  saw  a  figure  moving 
there. 


F.  Absurd !     It 's  far  too   dark  to  see 

at  all. 
(Argitmentatively).  After    all,     what    are 

ghosts  ? 

In  the  most  high  and  palmy  state  of  Rome 
A  little  ere  the  mightiest  JULIUS  fell, 
People  saw  hoards   of  them  I      Just  ring 

for  lights, 

And  let  us  make  ourselves  as  comfortable 
As  this  inclement  atmosphere  permits. 
H.  (despondently).  I  'tl  ring  with  plea- 
sure, if  I  thought  the  bell 
Had  any  prospect  of  being  answered. 
But    as    there 's    not   a    servant    in    the 

house 

F.  (annoyed).  No  servants? 

H.  (bitterly).  As  my  genial  friend, 

MACBETH, 

Would  probably  have  put  it,  "  Not  a  maid 
Is  left  this  vault  to  brag  of."     In  other 

words, 
They  left  en  masse  this  morning. 

F.  Dash  it  all  1 

Something  is  rotten  in  the  state  of  Den- 
mark 
When  you,  its  reigning  monarch,  cannot 

keep 
Your  servants  for  a  week. 

H.  (sadly).  Ah,  FORTINBRAS, 

If  you  inhabited  a  haunted  castle 
You  'd   find    your   servants    would    give 

warning  too. 

It 's  not  as  if  we  only  had  one  ghost. 
They  simply  swarm  !     (Ticking  them  off  on 

his  fingers.)  There  's  HAMLET'S  father. 
He  walks  the  battlements  from  ten  to  five. 
You  '11  see  him  here  in  half  an  hour  or  so. 
CLAUDIUS,  the  late  King,  haunts  the  State 

apartments, 

The  QUEEN  the  keep,  OPHELIA  the  moat, 
And  ROSENCRANTZ  and  GUILDENSTERN  the 

hall. 

POLONIUS  you  will  usually  find 
Behind  the  arras  murmuring  platitudes, 
And  HAMLET  stalking  in  the  corridors. 
Alas,  poor  ghost !    his  fatal  indecision 
Pursues  him  still.    He  can't  make  up  his 

mind 
Which  rooms  to  take — you  're  never  safe 

from  him  I 
F.  But  why  object  to  meeting  HAMLET'S 

Ghost  ? 
I  've  heard  he  was  a  most  accomplished 

Prince, 

A  trifle  fat  and  scant  of  breath,  perhaps  ; 
But  then  a  disembodied  HAMLET 
Would  doubtless  show  a  gratifying  change 
In  that  respect. 

H.  (irritably).      I  tell  you,  FORTINBRAS, 
It 's  not  at  all  a  theme  for  joking. 
However,  when  the  New  Wing's  finished 
I  shall  move  in,  and  all  the  ghosts  in  limbo 
May  settle  here  as  far  as  I  'm  concerned. 
F.  When  will  that  be  ? 
H.  The  architect  declares 

He  '11  have  the  roof  on   by   the  end  of 

March. 
F.  (rising  briskly).  It   is  a  nipping  and 

an  eager  air, 
Suppose  we  stroll  and  see  it  ? 


H.  (rising  also).  With  all  my  heart. 

Indeed,  I  think  we  'd  better  go  at  once. 

[Looks  at  watch. 

The  Ghost  of  HAMLET'S  father 's  almost 

due. 

His  morbid  love  of  punctuality 
Makes  him  arrive  upon  the  stroke  of  ten, 
And  as  the  castle  clock  is  always  fast 
He 's  rather  apt  to  be  before  his  time. 

[The  clock  begins  to  strike  as  they 
exeunt  hastily.  On  the  last  stroke, 
Ghost  enters. 

Ghost.  I  am  HAMLET'S  father's  spirit, 
Doomed  for  a  certain  term  to  walk  the 

night, 
And  for  the  day  .... 

[Stops,  seeing  no  one  there. 
What !     Nobody  about  ? 
Why,  this  is  positively  disrespectful. 
I  '11  wait  until  HORATIO  returns 
And,  when  I  've  got  him  quietly  alone, 
I  will  a  tale  unfold  will  make  him  jump ! 

[Sits  down  resolutely  to  ivait  for 
HORATIO. 

Curtain. 

SCENE  II.— Before  the  New  Wing  of  the 
Castle.  The  two  Clowns,  formerly 
grave-diggers,  but  now  employed  ivith 
equal  appropriateness  as  builders,  are 
working  on  the  structure  in  the  ex- 
tremely leisurely  fashion  to  be  expected 
of  artisans  who  are  not  members  of 
a  Trades  Union. 

1st  Clown  (in  his  best  Elizabethan 
manner).  Nay,  but  hear  you,  goodman 
builder — 

2nd  Clown  (in  homely  vernacular).  Look 
here,  BILL,  you  can  drop  that  jargon. 
There 's  no  one  here  but  ourselves,  and  I 
ain't  amused  by  it.  It 's  all  very  well 
to  try  it  on  when  there 's  gentlefolk 
about,  but  when  we  're  alone  you  take  a 
rest. 

1st  Clown  (puzzled).  Ay,  marry! 
2nd  Clown  (throwing  down  tools).  Stow 
it,  I  say,  or  I  '11  have  to  make  you.  Marry, 
indeed!     If  you  mean  "  Yes,"  say  "Yes." 
If  you  mean  "  No,"  say  "  No." 
1st  Clown.  All  right,  mate. 
2nd  Clown  (grumbling).  It's  bad  enough 
staying  up  all  night  building  more  rooms 
on  to  this   confounded  castle  —  I  should 
have  thought  it  was  big  enough  and  ugly 
enough    without    our  additions  —  but  if 

I  'm  to  listen  to  your  gab,  s'help  me ! 

1st  Clown.  Hush!  here  comes  some 
one. 

[They  make  a  valiant  pretence  of  ivork 

as  HORATIO  and  FORTINBRAS  enter. 
Horatio  (ecstatically,  completely  deceived 
by  this  simple  ruse).   My  Master-Builders ! 
Fortinbras.  Idle  dogs ! 
1st    Clown    (Elizabethan    again).  Argal, 
goodman  builder,  will  he  nill  he,  he  that 
builds  not  ill  builds  well,  and  he  that 
builds    not    well  builds  ill.      Therefore, 
perpend ! 

H.  (appreciatively).  How  absolute  the 
knave  is ! 


JANUARY  16,  1901.1  PUNCH,    OK    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  51 


"Now,  GEOKGE  DEAR,  IT'S  YOUR  FIR&T  BIRTHDAY  IN  THE  NEW  CBNTURY.    WHAT  GOOD  RESOLUTIONS  ARE  YOU  GOING  TO  MAKE 
"WELL,  FOR  ONE  THING,  I  INTEND  TO  BE  MUCH  MORE  REGUIAB  IN  MY  HABITS." 
"WHY  NOT  QIVE  THXM  ALL  UP,  DEAR?" 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  16,  1901 


F.  He  seems  to  me  to  be  an  absolute 
fool. 

H.  Not  at  all.  A  most  intelligent  work- 
ing man.  I  '11  draw  him  out.  (To  1st 
Clown).  When  will  the  house  be  finished, 
sirrah  ? 

1st  Clown.  "When  it  is  done,  Sir. 

H.  Ay,  fool,  and  Avhen  will  that  be  ? 

1st  Clown.  "When  it  is  finished,  o' 
course. 

H.  (to  F.).  There!  What  do  you  call 
that  ?  Witty,  eh  ? 

F.  I  call  it  perfectly  idiotic,  if  you  ask 
me. 

H.  Well,  well;  we'll  try  again.  (To 
1st  Cloivn)  And  whose  is  the  house, 
fellow? 

1st  Clown  (fatuously).  Marry,  his  that 
owns  it.  Ask  another. 

H.  (to  F.).  Ha!  Ha!  Good  again.  By 
the  Lord,  FORTJNBRAS,  as  HAMLET  used  to 
say,  the  toe  of  the  peasant  comes  so  near 
the  heel  of  the  courtier,  it  galls  his  kibe. 

F.  (savagely).  The  toe  of  the  courtier  is 
getting  so  perilously  near  the  person  of 
the  peasant  that  you  'd  better  get  rid  of 
the  latter  as  soon  as  possible. 

H.  (doubtfully).  Perhaps  you're  right. 
And  yet  I  was  always  taught  to  consider 
that  kind  of  thing  awfully  entertaining. 
But,  there.  Fashions  change  in  humour  as 
in  other  things.  Send  them  away. 

F.  (giving  them  money).  Away  with  you, 
fellows.  Go  and  get  drunk. 

[Exeunt  clowns. 

H.  (relapses  into  blank  verse  on  their  de- 
parture). What  think  you  of  the  New 

Wing,  FORTINBRAS? 

The  whole  effect  is  cheerful,  is  it  not  ? 
Good  large  sash  windows,  lots  of  light 

and  air ; 

No  mediaeval  nonsense. 
F.  (who  does  not  admire  the  building). 

So  I  see  ! 
II .  No  ghosts  here,  eh,  to  stalk  about 

the  rooms 
And    fade    against    the   crowing    of    the 

cock  ? 
F.  Probably  not — and,  yet — look  there, 

HORATIO  ; 
There 's  something  in   the   shadow  over 

there, 
Moving  towards  the  house.      It 's  going 

in. 
Stop  it,  HORATIO. 

H.  (furious).  Here,  I  can't  stand  this. 
I '11*  cross  it  though    it  blast  me.     Stay, 
Illusion  !  [The  figure  stops. 

Arc   you  aware,    Sir,    that  you  're  tres- 
passing ? 
This  is  a  private  house. 

Ghost  (in  a  sepulchral  voice).  My  private 

house ! 
H.  Oh,  come,  you  know,  you  can't  mean 

that!     Tojir  house? 

Considering  that  I  'ra  building  it  myself— 
Of  course,  assisted  by  an  architect — 
I    think    you    must  admit  there 's   some 
mistake. 


Ghost    (turning  and   advancing   towards 
them).   Pooh !     What    do    I  care    for 
your  architect  ? 
It's  mine,  I  say,  my  house,  my  plot,  my 

play. 
I  made  them  all ! 

H.  Oh,  my  prophetic  soul ! 

SHAKSPEARE  ! 
Ghost.  The  same. 

H.  I  say,  confound  it  all, 

Do  you  propose  to  haunt  the  castle  too  ? 
Ghost.  Yes,  the  New  Wing. 
H.  It 's  really  much  too  bad. 

You  've  filled  the  old  part  of  the  house 

with  spectres ; 
I  think  you  might  have  left  the  new  to 

me. 

F.  That  seems   a    reasonable    compro- 
mise. 
Ghost.  I  shall  stay  here  ;  make  up  your 

mind  to  that, 
But  if  you  like  to  share  the  Wing  with 

me 
I  've  no  objection. 

H.  (stiffly).          Thanks,  I  'd  rather  not. 
I  shall  consult  with  my  solicitor, 
And  if  he  can't  eject  you  from  the  place 
I'll    sell    it,    ghosts     and     all!       Come, 
FORTINBRAS.  [Exit  with  dignity. 

Curtain. 


THE  MISSING   WORD. 

A.D.  1901. 
THANK  goodness,  no  more 

Will  this  wretched  exotic 
Annoy  us,  and  bore 
With  refrain  idiotic. 

No  more  can  it  bloom 

With  the  flowers  of  diction 

And  French  that  find  room 
In  feminine  fiction. 

No  more  Avill  it  stay 

Til  its  up-to-date  quarters, 
The  refined,  recherche 

Repertoire  of  reporters  ! ' 

Oftt-of-date  'tis  at  last, 
In  the  tick  of  a  second  ; 

When  the  Century  passed, 
Dead  also  'twas  reckoned. 

No  longer  'twill  fit 
Aberrations  of  fashion, 

The  vagaries  of  wit, 

Or  the  problems  of  passion. 

From  this  desperate  rhyme 
Its  nature  you  may  cull ; 

I  meant  all  the  time 

The  phrase  "fin-dc-s  *****/ 
A.  A.  S. 


TO  A.   A. 

(Vide  first  number  of  the  "  Thrush.") 
HUSH  !    Hush  !    the  Thrush  at  SlMPKIN'S 

sings, 

And  GARNETT  'gins  arise 
On  famous  literary  wings 

To  flood  with  song  the  skies  ; 

And  halting  HENLEY  doth  begin 

To  heave  unmeasured  sighs  : 

With  everything  that  minor  bin, 

My  England's  ALFRED,  rise  ! 

Arise !     Arise  ! 


THE  LADIES'    CABINET  COUNCIL. 

(Suggested    by    a    Compilation    in     "  The 

Gentlewoman.") 

SCENE — Downing  Street.  PRESENT — Most 
of  the  Members  of  the  Female  Govern- 
ment. 

Premiere.  Now  that  my  office  is  severed 
from  the  F.  O.,  I  should  be  glad  to  learn 
if  the  noble  lady  responsible  for  Foreign 
affairs  has  any  news  from  Paris. 

Foreign  Secretary.  Only  that  feather 
ruffles  are  going  out,  and  fur  will  not  be 
worn  this  year. 

First  Lady  of  the  Treasury.  Is  there  any 
chance  of  bonnets  being  less  expensive  ? 

Foreign  Secretary.  I  think  not.  You  see 
the  material  counts  for  very  little. 

Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer.  That  de- 
pends whether  it  is  sent  over  as  the 
manufactured  article  or  in  bulk. 

First  Secretary  of  the  Treasury.  I  think, 
in  spite  of  a  slight  decrease  in  expense  it, 
would  be  scarcely  dignified  to  get  your 
frocks  made  while  you  waited. 

Lady-Lieutenant  of  Ireland.  But  sure  you 
could  get  them  made  before  you  wont 
there.  That  is  if  you  had  two  gowns. 
Of  course,  if  you  had  only  one,  you  would 
wait  in  it  while  it  was  being  made. 

First  Lady  of  the  Admiralty.  As  I  have 
to  cross  the  sea  pretty  frequently,  may  I 
ask  if  it  is  likely  that  the  Channel  Tunnel 
will  be  shortly  opened  for  traffic? 

War  Secretary.  Certainly.  Of  course,  it 
could  be  closed  again  in  times  of  necessity. 
Then  people  might  start  prematurely  for 
Scotland. 

Home  Secretary.  But  surely  it  would  be 
a  sad  thing  to  be  forced  to  fly  to  the 
Highlands  before  August  ? 

Lady  High  Chancellor.  Perfectly  justifi- 
able in  case  of  need.  The  QUEEN'S  Writ 
runs  very  far,  but  not  so  far  as  I  should 
run  if  there  were  foreign  soldiers  follow- 
ing me.  [Amusement 

Messenger  (entering).  I  beg  pardon  and  to 
say,  ladies,  that  a  huge  despatch-box  has 
arrived  from  London. 

Chorus  of  Ministers  (excitedly).  What 
does  it  contain  ? 

Premiere.  I  think,  from  the  label,  that 
it  probably  contains  the  latest  fashions 
from  across  the  Channel. 

[The  ladies  rush  for  the  box,  and  the 
council  breaks  up  in  confiision. 


JANUARY  16,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


53 


UNREHEARSED  EFFECT  AT  OUR  'TABLEAUX  VIVANTS.' 

UNCLE  JOHN  (WHO  PRIDES  HIMSELF  UPON  HIS  RESEMBLANCE  TO  EARL  EGBERTS)  AND  COUSIN  TOM   PROMISED  TO  GIVE  us  THE 

MOST  INTERESTING  EVENT  OF  THE  EVENING — THEY    DID!      OUR    YOUNGEST  DARLING    WAS  SWEET    TILL   THE    LAST    MOMENT,   WHEN  THK 
CURTAIN   WENT  UP,    AND   THEX   SHE   HOWLED  !  ! 


AQUA    VITAE. 

["  At  a  meeting  of  the  Society  for  the  Study  of 
Inebriety,  Dr.  A.  E.  T.  LOXGHVEST  laid  it  down 
that  moderate  drinking  could  and  did  injure 
health."— Daily  Paper.] 

THE  doctor's  richt,  I  ken  it  weel. 
Nae  mod' rate  drinkin'  can  appeal 
Tae  ony  richtly-minded  chiel 

O'  sound  affections. 
I  hate  it  like  the  vara  deil, 

Or  kirk  collections. 

A  mod'rate  drunk  I  ne'er  wad  be. 
"What  is  ae  glass,  or  twa,  or  three  ? 
Na  !  let  me  hae  a  glorious  sea 

O'  whisky  toddy  ! 
There 's  naethin'  like  the  barley-bree 

For  mind  an'  body. 

The  wise  man's  word  we  maun  obey, 
An'  since  the  doctor  winna  hae 
Half-measures  that  wad  mak'  us  wae, 

Henceforth,  my  brither, 
We  '11  e'en  tak'  tent  tae  aye  be  gey 

An'  fou  thegither. 


HAIRDRESSERS'     FAVOURITE    MOTTO.  - 
"  Two  heads  are  better  than  one."     (This 
from  a  financial  point  of  view,  and  of  course 
applicable  to  postal  stamps.) 


'VARSITY    VERSES. 

OXFORD  ODES. 

II. 

I  STUDIED  my  THOMSON  in  vain, 

I  studied  my  RUTHERFORD  too, 
My  tutors  all  failed  to  explain 

The  puzzling  vagaries  of  you. 
In  all  my  collegiate  days, 

I  never  could  hit  on  a  plan 
To  account  for  your  wonderful  ways, 

Mysterious  particle  &v. 

But  where  men  of  learning,  who  know 

More  Greek  than  mere  Greeks  could 

possess, 
Have  failed  to  enlighten  me,  lo  ! 

A  maid  has  accomplished  success. 
And  no,w  to  my  clarified  view, 

It  is  perfectly  plain  why  a  man 
Should  join  the  Optative  with  you, 

Mysterious  particle,  ANNE. 


SUGGESTION. — The  service  of  National 
Thanksgiving  for  the  end  of  the  war 
having  been  wisely  postponed  until  we 
have  got  from  fight  to  finish,  might  it  not 
be  fitting  to  hold  a  special  one  which 
should  conclude  with  the  minister's  say- 
ing, "Here  endeth  the  first  lesson." 


HERBS   OF   DISGRACE. 

(Suggested  by  Prof.  Bottomley's  lecture  on  Car- 
nivorous Plants  at  the  London  Institution.) 

GENTLE  daisy  in  the  vale, 

Bossed  with  gold,  with  petals  pale, 

Who  shall  say  within  your  heart 

What  unholy  passions  smoulder, 
Veiled  by  you  with  artless  art 

From  the  eye  of  the  beholder  ; 
Since  now  Science  bids  us  see 
Vegetable  cruelty. 

Make  not,  herb,  of  innocence 

Hypocritical  pretence, 

While  that  unrelenting  thought 

Is  within  each  stamen  lurking 
Of  some  hapless  insect  caught, 

Whose  destruction  to  be  working 
You  with  fiendish  glee  devise 
With  a  hideous  enterprise. 

Let  not  then  the  lyrist's  rhymes 
Mince  henceforth  the  fig's  foul  crimes ; 
Of  the  perils  insects  run 

Let  him  warn  with  loud  alarums ; 
Bid  them  carefully  to  shun 

The  deceit  of  Avicked  arums ; 
Since  their  virtues  bards  declare, 
Why  should  they  plants'  vices  spare  ? 


54 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  16,  1901. 


AN    EVENING    PARTY   AT    MRS.    MICROBE'S. 


WINTER  PLEASURES. 
LANRSCAPK  gardening  in  Fleet  Street 
still  proceeding,  and  likely  to  last  well 
into  next  summer.  Municipal  Councils 
most  active  in  the  conduct  of  operations. 
Half  of  the  labourers  are  hard  at  work 
leaning  on  the  guard  rail,  and  smoking 
pipes  with  the  utmost  vigour,  whilst  other 
half  constantly  engaged  in  meal  of  some 
description.  Occasionally  a  small  drain- 
pipe is  lowered  into  grave-like  trench, 
but  this  is  of  infrequent  occurrence. 


Latest  reports  have  it  that  passengers 
will  soon  be  able  to  emulate  the  example 
of  the  great  Lexicographer,  and  "  take  a 
walk  down  Fleet  Street  without  the  least 
fear  of  being  drowned  in  tho  liquid 
slush.  Optimism  on  this  point,  however, 
is  hardly  advisable  just  at  present,  auJ. 
those  citizens  unable  to  swim  should  act 
with  caution  when  approaching  that  part 
of  the  black,  slow-flowing  stream  which 
turns  down  Bouverie  Street  on  its  way  to 
the  Thames,  and  thence  to  the  mighty, 
rushing  ocean. 


JANUARY  23,  1901.J 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


55 


A  MILITAEY  DIALOGUE. 
ARMY  REFORM. 

SCENE. — The  Canteen  of  the  Rutlandshire  Regiment,  at  Down, 
boro',  an  airy,  plastered  hall  with  high  windows,  A  bar  at 
one  end  is  backed  by  a  rampart  of  beer  barrels.  A  double 
line  of  barrack  tables  and  benches  runs  down  the  room. 
The  hour  is  5  p.m.  At  one  of  the  tables  sits  Mr.  "W.  WILSON, 
late  Private  in  the  regiment,  in  all  the  glory  of  a  new  check 
suit  of  an  aggressive  pattern,  a  crimson  tie,  a  horseshoe  pin, 
an  aluminium 
watch  chain,  a 
grey  "bowler" 
and  a  button- 
hole of  violets. 
Privates  W. 
and  G.  SMITH, 
P.  BRADY,  E. 
DUDD  and  other 
men  of  H  Com- 
pany are  at  the 
table,  or  stand- 
ing near  it. 
Mr.  Wilson  (pass- 
ing round  a  great 

tin  measure  c o n- 

taining  beer,  after 

taking    a    prelimi- 
nary pull  himself). 

Of  course  I  do  'ear 

more,  being  in  the 

smoke,   than  you 

'ear  down   in   this 

provincial    'ole  ; 

and  there  's  gene- 
rals  and   states- 

men  and  such-like 

comes  and  stays  at 

our    place,    and 

when  they  gets 

tied  up  in  a  knot 

over  any  military 

question,  as  often 

as  not  they  says, 

"Let's  ask    WIL- 
SON   the    under- 

gardener.     'E  's  a 

hex-military  man  ; 

'e  's  a  'ighly  intel- 

lergent  feller  ;  " 

and  I  generally 

gets  them  out   of 

their  difficulty. 
Pte.    W.    Smith. 

D'  ye    know     any- 
thing about    this 

army  reform  ? 
Mr.  Wilson  (with  lofty  scorn).    Do   I  know  anything  about 

it? 
Pte.  G.  Smith.  D  'yc  think  they  're  goin'  to  make  a  good  job 

of  it? 
Mr.  Wilson.    Naaw.    And    why  ?    Becos  they  're    goin'    the 

wrong  wai  to   work.       They  're  arskin'   the  opinion  of    per- 

feshernal  hexperts  and  other  sich  ignoramuses,  and  ain't  goin' 

to  the  fountain    'ead.      Go's    the    backbone    of   the    English 

service  ? 

Pte.  P.  Brady.  The  Oirish  Private. 
Mr.  Wilson.  Bight  you  are,  my  'Ibernian — always  subsitoot- 

ing  British  for  Hirish— and  the  British  Compiny  is  the  finest 

horganisation  in  tne  world.     Give  the  Private  a  free  'and  and  a 


Working  Man  sitting  on  the  steps  of  a  big  house  in,  say,  Russell  Square,  smoking  pipe.     A  mate 
passes  l>y  with  plumbing  tools,  &c. 

Man  with  tools.  "  HULLO,  JIM!    WOT  ARE  YER  DOIN'  "ERE?    CARET  AKIN' ?" 

Man  on  steps.  "No.     I  'M  THE  HOWNER,  "ERE." 

Man  with  tools.   '"Ow  's  THAT  ?" 

Man  on  steps.  "WHY,  I  DID  A  BIT  o'  PLUMBING  IN  THE  'OUSE,  AN'  I  TOOK  THE  PLACE 

IN   PART  PAYMENT   FOR   THE  JOB." 


rise  of  pay,  and  make  the  Compiny  the  model  of  the  army,  and 
then  yer  can  put  all  the  hexperts  and  all  the  Ryle  Commissions 
and  their  Reports  to  bed. 
Pte.  Dudd.  As  how  ? 

Mr.  Wilson.  As  'ow,  yer  old  thick  head  ?  It 's  as  plain  as  a 
pike-staff.  Taike  this  question  of  responsibility.  When  some 
one  comes  a  bloomer,  and  the  paipers  all  rise  'ell,  the  civilian 
toff,  'oos  a  sort  of  a  Commander-in-Chief  in  a  Sunday  coat  and 
a  chimney-pot  'at,  'e  says,  "It  ain't  me.  Arsk  the  real 
Commander-in-Chief,"  and  the  Feeld-Marshal,  'e  says,  "Arsk 

the  Hadjutant- 
General,"  and  the 
Hadjutant  -  Gene- 
ral, 'e  says,  "Arsk 
the  Hordnance 
bloke."  Now  in 
the  Compiny  there 
ain't  none  of  that. 
If  the  Colonel  goin' 
round  at  kit  in- 
spection finds  the 
beds  badly  made 
up,  or  jags  and 
sight  -  protectors 
deficient,  or  'oles 
in  the  men's  socks, 
'e  goes  fierce  for 
the  Captin'  and 
threatens  to  stop 
'is  leave  ;  and  the 
Captin'  don't  say, 
"Oh,  it's  the  Had- 
jutant,' or  the 
Quarter  -  master, 
or  the  Chaplain 
what  's  to  blame," 
no,  'e  gives  the 
subalterns  and  the 
coloured  -  sergeant 
beans,  and  they 
slip  it  in  to  the 
sergeants  and  cor- 
prils  in  charge  of 
squads,  and  the 
beds  is  set  up 
straight,  and  the 
men  put  down  for 
jags  and  sight  - 
protectors,  and  the 
'oles  in  the  socks 
is  mended. 

Private  W.  Smith. 
That 's  so,  old  pal. 
What  else  would 
you  recermend  ? 
Mr*.  Wilson  (reach- 
ing out  for  the  mea- 
sure). Thank  yer.  This  'ere  army-reforming's  a  dry  job.  Now 
as  to  the  metherd  of  attack.  Wben  the  regiment  goes  out 
field-firing  the  henemy's  a  line  of  hearthenware  pots,  touched 
up  on  the  sly  by  the  markers  with  a  dash  of  white ;  the 
captains  count  the  telergraph  posts  up  the  range  and  give  the 
exact  distance ;  and  the  men  goes  'opping  along  in  line  like 
crows  on  a  ploughed  field,  the  sergeantes  a-naggin*  'em  about 
the  'Ithe  position  and  the  corprils  calling  them  back  to  pick 
up  empty  cartridge  cases.  Is  that  the  wai  that  you,  GEORGE 
SMITH,  and  you,  BILL,  and  you,  PAT,  used  ter  creep  up  to  the 
rabbit  warrens  when  we  used  ter  go  out  in  the  herly  morning 
to  assist  the  farmers  to  keep  down  the  ground  gime— poaching, 
the  colonel  called  it  ?  No,  we  hexecuted  wide  turning  move- 


VOL.  cxx. 


56 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  23,  1901. 


merits  and  never  showed  no  more  than  the  tip  of  a  nose.  Let 
drill  of  attack  alone,  I  say,  and  develerp  the  sporting  hinstinct 
of  the  private. 

Omnes.  'Ear,  'ear ! 

Mr.  Wilson.  And  this  matter  of  mobility.  Why,  if  you  or  me 
or  any  of  us  was  on  furlough  at  'Ampstead  or  Margit,  we 
was  never  off  a  'orse's  or  a  moke's  back  as  long  as  the  dibs 
larsted.  Give  us  the  brass,  and  we  '11  find  the  mobility. 

Pte.  W.  Smith.  Why  don't  yer  write  to  Lord  SALISBERRY,  and 
give  him  your  ideas  ? 

Mr.  Wilson.  I  shall.  A  few  hintelligent  ex-privates  in  the 
cabinet,  a  rise  of  pay  for  privates  and  two  days'  rabitting,  and  a 
trip  to  Margit  every  week  would  sive  the  British  army. 

N.  N.-D. 

THE   BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 
A  GREAT  THOUGHT  FOR  EVERY  DAY  IN  THE  YEAR. 

SECOND  SERIES. 

I.— THE  MEDIAEVAL  SECTION. 
(With  the  Author's  compliments  to  Mr.  Maurice  Hewlett.) 

JANUARY  IST,  2ND.— But  at  the  high  board  sat  My  Lord  de 
DURDANS,  named  of  his  enemies  ARCHIBALD  YEA-AND-NAY,  for 
that  first  he  would  and  then  he  would  not,  for  over-asking. 
And  by  him  was  Sir  HENRY  COP-LA-POULE,  sire  of  ELAINE  LA 
HUMOROUS,  and  about  him  much  company  of  chapmen  of  the 
Shires.  And  "  Oyez !  good  Sirs,"  cried  he,  "  I  give  you  rumour 
of  war;  not  for  fair  lands,  since  none  such  be  left  to  raid, 
but  for. gold,  that  yellow  peril,  the  quest  of  great  hearts.  And 
herein  victory  shall  be  to  the  loudest  voice ;  and  that  land 
shall  go  under,  ours  or  another,  that  cannot  bruit  abroad  her 
wares  to  the  welkin.  A  murrain,  say  I,  on  false  shame  !  Shall 
any  reave  us  of  our  right  to  be  esteemed  a  nation  of  bagmen  ? 
Never^  pardie !  " 

3RD,  4TH. — Now  to  the  lieges  of  his  Suzerain  Lady  came 
challenge  of  tourney  from  OOM  of  the  Doppers,  Lord  of 
Outrevalles.  And  ROUGEGARDE  the  trobador  smote  on  his  tam- 
bour and  made  a  Chanson  des  Pauvres  Diables  Distraictz. 
And  the  lists  were  straightly  set  in  Val  de  Long-Tomps.  And 
the  hollow  plain  was  ribbed  with  naked  rocks,  grey  kopjes 
crowning  all.  And  from  the  borders  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Snows, 
and  from  Isles  of  the  Southern  Cross,  flew  winged  proffers  of 
vassal  service,  and  the  cry  of  knighthood  calling  to  saddle  and 
spur.  And  it  was  really  rather  curious.  For  My  Lord  RED- 
TAPE,  out  of  his  great  knowledge  of  warlike  matters,  made 
retort  courteous,  saying,  "Oy  deus!  what  should  we  with 
horse  ?  Send  us  foot ! ' ' 

STH,  CTH.— But  by  force  of  whelming  numbers  and  a  stub- 
born hardihood  begot  of  British  beef,  they  overbore  no  few  of 
the  chivalry  of  Oom  ;  and  some  they  made  captive  before  ever 
they  could  mount  and  invite  the  hills  to  cover  them.  There- 
upon a  remnant  of  England's  knighthood,  composite  of  the 
heavy  sort  and  such  as  go  in  housings  of  blue  (for  a  sprinkling 
of  actual  horsemen  had  joined  issue  with  the  foe  in  the  melee), 
made  their  ways  homeward.  And  Le  Sieur  BOBS  DE  KANDAHAR, 
holding  that  the  tourney  was  accomplished,  himself  took  ship 
whence  he  came.  At  this  the  heathen,  emerging  from  their 
parole  or  other  sanctuary,  rallied  for  the  onset ;  and  they 
swept  the  lists  like  an  Egypt's  plague  of  locusts.  And  about 
the  time  of  the  seventeenth  moon  (shaped  sickle-wise  for  sign 
of  a  bloody  aftermath)  the  new  Lord  RED-TAPE  (for  the  former 
had  been  lifted  nigher  the  throne  as  one  that  had  the  French 
speech  most  nimble  on  his  tongue)  woke  from  a  drugged  sleep 
on  a  cry  of  danger,  calling  "  To  horse  !  A  crown  a  day,  and 

d n.  the  expense !  "    So,  the  traverse  being  a  windy  matter 

at  this  season,  there  was  mounting  in  red  haste  against  the 
second  anniversary  of  the  tourney. 

7TH,  STH.— Meanwhile  to  the  tents  of  the  puissant  and  most 
Christian  DE  WET  came  heralds  for  parley.  Now  you  shall  know 
that  he  was  the  match  of  three  leopards  for  padded  cunning 


and  agility .  It  was  a  dog-cat  nature,  keen  nose  and  mobile  paw 
And  the  envoys  of  peace  he  bade  take  and  flog,  and  the  third  he 
foully  slew.  But  the  tidings  of  this  same  feat  of  arms  was 
brought  to  Lord  OOM,  lying  perdu  among  the  oversea  Dutch. 
And  him  the  messengers  found  helmed  in  the  beaver's  pelt,  deep 
in  Holy  Writ,  psalter  at  elbow.  And  on  the  hearing  of  their  tale 
he  lifted  strained  eyes  from  the  page  of  DAVID  and  said  :  "By 
the  rood,  Sirs,  'twas  well  done  !  " 

OTH. — Now  at  the  very  sable  of  fog-tide  you  must  understand 
that  they  play  Moralities  on  the  dun  banks  of  Thames.  And  of 
such  are  the  moving  histories  of  Sir  Riclutrd  de  Whittingtoune, 
La  Belle  Dormeuse,  Damosel  Rouge-Cape,  The  Forest  Infants, 
Mistress  Cendrillon  (called  Cinderella  of  the  Fur  Slipper,  though 
certain  lack-lores  would  have  her  shod  not  in  vair,  which  is  to 
say  fur,  but  verre,  namely  glass),  Jacques  Mort-au-Geant  and 
Aladdin  of  the  Lamp  Merveillous  (out  of  Araby).  Follows  a 
sample  or  so  in  this  kind. 

10TH  TO  12TH. — Whether  it  was  the  red  wine,  or  the  splitting 
of  crackers,  or  else  her  cinder-hot  beauty,  I  know  not,  that  set 
the  Prince's  heart  on  sudden  fire.  Certes,  he  caught  her  to  his 
knee  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  gaping" meinie. 

"  Vair-slipper,"  he  cried,  "your  little  foot  is  on  my  neck; 
your  slave  am  I  already.  Make  me  your  Prince  !  " 

"Lord,  say  not  that,"  said  Mistress  CENDRILLON.  Ashen 
were  her  cheeks  against  the  blue  flame  of  her  hair.  Twice 
round  her  brows  it  went,  and  the  pigtail's  ending  slept  between 
her  breasts.  "  Lord,"  says  she,  "  it  can  never  be.  The 
humming-bird  may  not  mate  with  the  titmouse. ' ' 

"By  my  halidom,"  he  cried,  "  but  it  shall  be  so,  ma  mye." 

"  Lord !  "  she  murmured,  "  the  hour  is  close  on  middle  night ; 
let  me  away!  " 

She  slipped  like  green  water  from  his  rocky  arms.  "  Nay, 
popinjay,"  he  cried,  "it  is  the  hour  of  Philomel.  Stay  with 
me  till  she  withdraw  before  the  early  throstle." 

For  all  answer,  light  as  a  beam  of  Dian  she  slid  down  the  ban- 
nisters and  so  past  the  drowsy  cloak-room  sentinels.  Midnight 
carillon,  peeling  from  a  hundred  belfries,  snapped  the  wand  of 
faerie.  Into  the  sheer  starlight  flitted  the  shadow  of  a  homing 
wench,  clad  in  most  pitiful  poor  gear.  My  Lord  Prince,  hot 
in  pursuit,  stood  rooted  to  earth,  chanting  a  forlorn  stave  of 
"  Le  Tresor  des  Humbles."  Against  the  nap  of  his  sapphire 
vest  he  held  a  Slipper  of  Vair  chance-dropped  in  the  princely 
purlieus. 

13TH  TO  15TH. — Young  Spring  was  waking  in  the  high  woods. 
Now  was  the  pairing-time  of  amorous  fowls  in  burgeoned  brakes. 
Earth  turned  in  her  sleep  with  a  throb  of  surging  sap.  Lush 
hyacinths  spread  a  gossamer  web  to  veil  her  bridals.  Hand  in 
hand,  as  became  orphans  of  one  ravaged  house,  the  Forest 
Infants  paced  under  boon  boughs. 

"Parbleu,"  said  FULK,  that  was  right  heir  of  this  goodly 
demesne,  "  but  I  have  an  aching  maw !  " 

"And  I,"  said  his  sister  ALYS,  "I  also  could  do  with  a 
devilled  ortolan." 

"  'Tis  a  dog  of  an  uncle !  "  said  FULK,  with  a  round  oath  that 
your  Gascon  trooper  might  repeat,  not  I. 

"And  the  aunt  a  vile  ferret,"  replied  ALYS,  and  wept  for 
mere  emptiness. 

"  Mort  demamere,"  cried  FULK,  "  'tis  ill  work  ambling  thus. 
Let  us  lie  close  in  the  quick  undergrowth,  and  woo  dreams  of 
potted  lobster,  first  having  shriven  our  dusty  souls." 

And  so  they  found  them  after  a  many  days,  stark,  each  in  the 

other's  gripe.    And  their  pall  was  wrought  of  the  dead  leaves 

of  yesteryear.    The  robins  had  done  it.    The  red  of  their  breasts 

was,  I  take  it,  the  passionate  heart's  blood  that  showed  through. 

(To  be  continued.)  O.  S. 


NEW  READING  OP  OLD  PROVERB  (with  a  beer-consumer's  compli- 
ments to  Mr.  H-nnj  Ch-pl-n).—"Ars  est  celare  ars-enic."— Yours, 
QUARTO  DE  BEERS. 


JANUARY  23,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


57 


"A-HUNTING    WE    WILL    GO!" 

Lady.  "  You  'BE  DROPPING  YOUR  FISH  ! " 

Irish  Fish  Hawker  (riding  hard).  "  OCH,  BAD  LUCK  TO  THIM  I    NIVER  MOIND.     SURE  WE  'RE  KAPIN'  UP  WID  THE  GENTRY  !  " 


SERVICE  AND  SOCIETY  NEWS. 

(According  to  Mr.  Sheldon.) 
["  The  Rev.  CHAELES  M.  SHELDON  has  just 
aroused  the  wrath  of  the  ladies  of  Topeka  by  his 
views  on  the  servant-girl  problem.  He  advocated 
from  the  pulpit '  the  hired  girl '  should  be  treated 
a*  one  of  the  family  and  cherished,  not  chided." 
— Pall  Mall  Gazette.'} 

Lord  DoUBLEsmRE  entertained  a  small 
party  of  friends  at  his  town  house  last 
evening.  After  dinner  the  servants 
mingled  freely  with  the  guests,  and  the 
Marchioness  of  STOKE  NEWINGTON  was 
presented  to  the  second  stair-maid,  Miss 
ELIZABETH  WILKINS,  whose  acquaintance 
she  made. 

Among  the  smart  "bridge"  parties 
last  week  must  be  numbered  Mrs.  ALGEY 
BOUNCEBY'S.  Her  butler,  THOMAS  SCRAGGS, 
who  paired  for  the  first  rubber  with  the 
Duke  of  DUNKIRK,  is  fast  proving  his 
claim  to  be  c  _-i  the  finest  exponents  of 
this  fashionable  card  game. 


We  understand  that  the  Countess   of 
CRUMBLETON  has  issued  cards  to  a  dis- 


tinguished but  select  few  to  meet  her 
coachman,  Mr.  JOHN  JENKINS. 


At  the  theatre  the  other  evening,  con- 
spicuous among  a  remarkably  well-dressed 
set  of  people,  we  noticed  Lord  LOUOHBORO, 
the  Hon.  Misses  LouGHBORO,  and  the  head 
gardener,  EZEKIEL  JlLKS.  The  latter  gen- 
tleman wore  the  famous  silver  Albert 
watch-chain,  a  Christmas  present,  it  is 
understood,  from  Miss  GWENDOLEN  LOUGH- 
BORO, the .  bestowal  of  which  gift  has 
aroused  so  much  comment  in  aristocratic 
and  horticultural  circles. 


Half-a-dozen  dissatisfied  members  of 
Brooks 's  club  are  talking  of  resigning  if 
Lord  LIVEWELL'S  groom  is  not  black-balled. 
He  was  of  course  put  up  by  Lord  LIVE- 
WELL  himself  and  seconded  by  his  uncle, 
Earl  GOTHEPACE.  One  or  two  rumours 
have  certainly  reached  us  reflecting  on 
the  temperance  of  BOB  WHIPPET,  the 
handsome  groom.  But  for  the  old-fashioned 
prejudices  which  evidently  animate  the 
action  of  the  discontented  six,  we  have 
nothing  but  the  severest  reproof. 


Owing  to  the  severe  illness  of  Miss 
MADELINE  MARROWBY,  the  stall  at  the 
forthcoming  Bazaar  will  be  taken  by  her 
maid  ELLEN  CRIPPS.  As  previously  ar- 
ranged, the  stall-holders  will  be  presented 
individually  to  the  Royal  Visitors. 


In  the  forthcoming  golf  competition,  at 
Hoylake,  Miss  SUSAN  BATES,  the  scullery- 
maid  to  Hon.  Miss  FITZWINTER,  is  looked 
on  as  a  likely  prize  winner.  Her  handi- 
cap playing  has  shown  a  wonderful  im- 
provement lately,  so  much  so  that  her 
considerate  mistress  has  given  her  per- 
mission to  forego  her  ordinary  duties  of 
washing  up  the  dishes  and  filling  the 
coal  scuttles,  in  order  that  she  may  get 
in  a  good  morning's  practise  on  the  links. 


Among  the  presentations  for  the  next 
Drawing-room  we  are  glad  to  notice  the 
name  of  KATE  BRIGGS,  the  pretty  second 
parlour-maid  of  Lord  and  Lady  WlGMORE. 
It  will  be  remembered  that  their  head 
butler  attended  the  last  levee.  A  full 
description  of  Miss  BRIGGS'S  presentation 
costume  appears  elsewhere. 


68 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  23,  1901. 


How  Granfer  Volunteered. 

BY  M.  E.  FRANCIS. 

FARMER  SAMPSON  rolled  slowly  homewards  after  church  one 
wintry  Sunday,  full  of  a  comfortable  sense  of  righteousness, 
and  looking  forward  to  a  reposeful  hour  before  the  mid-day 
meal.  He  exchanged  greetings  with  his  neighbours,  discussed 
with  them  the  probability  of  "snow-stuff"  coming,  or  the 
likelihood  of  "its  taking  up"  that  night.  Being  an  affable 
man,  his  opinion  invariably  coincided  with  that  of  the  last 
person  who  spoke  to  him. 

Arrived  at  his  own  substantial  dwelling,  and  pausing  a 
moment,  on  passing  through  the  kitchen,  to  inhale  the  fra- 
grance of  the  roasting  joint,  he  proceeded  first  to  the  best 
parlour,  an  awe-inspiring  room,  never  used  save  for  a  christen- 
ing or  a  funeral ;  a  shrine  for  stuffed  birds,  wax  fruits  and 
flowers,  unopened  books  and  the  family's  best  wearing  apparel. 
Mrs.  SAMPSON'S  Sunday  bonnet  reposed  in  the  bandbox  beneath 
the  sofa;  the  accompanying  gown  was  stowed  away  on  one  of 
the  shelves  of  the  bureau ;  other  garments,  belonging  respec- 
tively to  children  and  grand-children,  were  hidden  beneath 
silver  paper  in  other  receptacles  ;  and  the  master  of  the  house, 
now  divesting  himself  of  his  broadcloth  coat,  hung  it  carefully 
on  the  back  of  a  chair,  and  restored  his  hat  to  the  peg  allotted 
to  it  behind  the  door.  Then,  making  his  way  to  the  family 
living-room,  he  assumed  his  white  "pinner"  —  a  clean  one, 
which  had  been  laid  ready  for  him  on  the  table — took  tip  the 
newspaper,  sat  down  in  the  wide  armchair  by  the  hearth,  which 
his  substantial  figure  filled  to  a  nicety,  drew  his  spectacles 
from  his  pocket,  and  began  to  read.  But,  as  he  slowly  spelt 
out  line  after  line,  his  forefinger  moving  along  the  column  on 
which  his  eyes  rested,  the  air  of  contentment  with  which  he 
at  first  settled  to  his  task  gave  way,  first  to  an  expression  of 
puzzled  astonishment,  then  to  one  of  irresolution,  and,  finally, 
to  absolute  consternation.  After,  however,  reading  and  re- 
reading the  paragraph  which  had  attracted  his  attention  in 
the  Western  Weekly,  scratching  his  head,  rubbing  his  nose, 
drumming  with  his  fingers  on  the  table  ;  and,  in  fact,  availing 
himself  to  the  full  of  every  recognised  aid  to  thought,  his  brow 
cleared,  and  bringing  one  mighty  clenched  hand  down  on  the 
open  palm  of  the  other,  he  exclaimed  aloud : 

"I '11  do  it!  I'm  blest  if  I  don't  do  it;  my  dooty  do  stare 
me  in  the  face." 

Thereupon,  wheeling  round  slowly  in  his  chair  so  as  to  face 
the  door — a  matter  of  some  little  difficulty— he  proceeded  to 
call,  or  rather  to  bellow,  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  "Missus  ! 
Grandma!  Come  here,  will  'ee?  POLLY,  ANNIE — be  there  any- 
one about?  Here,  little  'uns,  go  an'  fetch  Grandma,  one  on 
you.  Mis-sus!" 

Presently  there  was  a  rush  of  feet,  and  Mrs.  SAMPSON  entered, 
followed  by  her -married  daughter  POLLY,  with  three  or  four 
children  clinging  to  her  skirts,  while  Maidy  ANNIE,  the  father's 
favourite,  hastened  in  from  the  rear. 

"Bless  me,  Granfer!  "Whatever  be  the  matter?"  inquired 
his  wife  anxiously. 

Good  old  SAMPSON  had  been  known  as  "Father,"  in  the 
family  circle  for  many  a  year,  until  POLLY  and  her  husband 
had  taken  up  their  abode  at  the  farm,  when  the  title  of 
"Granfer,"  naturally  used  by  the  children,  had  come  to  be 
universally  adopted. 

"  There  be  matter  enough  for  one  while,"  he  now  responded 
gloomily,  and  yet  with  a  certain  air  of  dignified  triumph. 

"  Dear  heart  alive,  they  Boers  b'ain't  a-coming  to  fight  us 
over  here,  be  they?"  cried  ANNIE,  who  was  an  imaginative 
young  person. 

"  There  's  no  knowin'  what  they  '11  be  a-thinkin'  on  if  we 
don't  look  out,"  responded  her  father,  importantly.  "It 
b'ain't  so  much  the  Boers,"  he  continued,  with  a  superior  air, 


;<  'tis  the  French  as  we  must  be  on  our  guard  again' — an'  the 
Germans — an'  the  Rooshans,"  he  cried,  emphatically,  his  eyes 
growing  wider  and  wider  as  he  named  each  nationality.  "  They 
do  say  as  they  do  all  hate  us  worse  nor  p'ison,  and  is  only  lookin* 
for  an  opportunity  for  attackin'  us." 

"Dear!  dear!  ye  don't  say  so!"  groaned  Mrs.  SAMPSON. 
"  'Tis  worse  nor  in  BONEY'S  time.  Lard  !  I  can  mind  my  father 
tellin'  me  as  when  he  was  a  boy  they  was  expectin'  for  sure  as 
BONEY  'ud  land,  and  the  country  very  near  went  mad  wi' 
fright.  An*  now  ye  say  there  be  more  nor  the  French  again 
us?" 

"  Whatever  is  to  be  done?"  put  in  POLLY.  "I  can't  think 
as  there  can  be  many  soldiers  a-left  i'  the  country  wi'  them 
great  ships-full  goin'  out  week  arter  week.  "Who  's  to  defend 
us  if  any  o'  them  folks  from  abroad  do  come  ?  " 

Granfer  looked  slowly  round  from  one  anxious  face  to  the 
other,  rolled  his  head  from  side  to  side,  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and 
finally  remarked  in  a  sepulchral  tone : 

"  There 's  summat  a-goin'  to  be  done,  ye  might  be  sure."  He 
paused,  nodded,  smoothed  out  the  paper  on  his  knee,  and  finally 
handed  it  with  a  tragic  air  to  ANNIE. 

"  See  here,  my  maid,"  he  said,  indicating  a  certain  paragraph 
with  his  broad  thumb  ;  "  read  this  here  to  your  mother  an'  all 
on  us.  Then  ye  '11  see  what 's  a-goin'  to  be  done  !  " 

He  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair,  while  ANNIE,  somewhat 
mystified  and  a  good  deal  alarmed,  read  the  following : 

"  Her  Majesty  the  QUEEN  has  been  graciously  pleased  to 
invite  her  old  soldiers  to  return  to  service  again  for  one  year, 
for  the  defence  of  the  country  during  the  absence  of  her  armies 
in  South  Africa. 

"  The  text  of  the  proclamation  posted  at  the  "War  Office  will 
be  found  in  another  column.  Such  an  appeal  will  be  warmly 
responded  to  by  many  a  loyal  British  heart ;  our  veterans  will 
rejoice  at  the  opportunity  thus  afforded  them  of  proving  their 
devotion  to  Queen  and  Country." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  SAMPSON,  in  a  relieved  tone.  "Think  o' 
that  now  !  I  'm  sure  there  be  a  good  few  old  soldiers  about,  an* 
it  '11  be  very  nice  for  'em  to  get  a  chance  of  doin'  summat." 

"Very  nice!"  shouted  her  lord,  with  xinaccountable  fierce" 
ness.  "  Very  nice,  do  ye  say  ?  That  be  your  notion,  be  it?  Well, 
I  did  look  for  a  bid  more  feelin'  from  you.  A  man  may  be  willin' 
to  do  his  dooty,  an*  yet  he  mid  find  it  oncommen  hard  work  !  " 

"Why,  Granfer,  what  be  talkin*  about?  I'm  sure  I 
never " 

"  Do  you  suppose,  Missus,  as  us  old  folks  won't  find  it  a  bit 
agin'  us  to  go  shootin'  an'  manoverin'  an  sich  like  at  our  time 
o'  life  ?  Wi'  the  best  heart  in  the  world,  I  reckon  we  be  like  to 
find  it  a  bit  stiff." 

"  Bless  me,  SAMPSON,  don't  tell  I  as  you  've  a-got  a  notion  o' 
j'inin'  the  army  at  your  time  o'  life.  Lard  save  us!  "  she 
continued,  with  gathering  irritation,  "I  do  believe  you've 
a-took  leave  of  your  senses  !  " 

"  My  dear  woman,"  returned  the  farmer,  "I  do  'low  it  will 
have  gived  ye  a  bit  of  a  turn  ;  but  there  'tis,  wrote  plain  for  all 
to  read  :  '  Her  Majesty  the  QUEEN  have  invited  her  old  soldiers 
to  serve ' — if  Her  Majesty  have  a-made  up  her  mind  as  'tis  old 
soldiers  she  wants,  it  b'ain't  for  the  likes  of  us  to  go  again'  it. 
I  've  alays  heerd  tell  as  the  QUEEN  were  an  oncommon  sensible 
woman,  an'  she  've  a-found  out  most  like  as  these  here 
youngsters  b'ain't  to  be  trusted — ye  can't  expect  old  heads  on 
young  shoulders.  I  never  did  hold  wi'  them  there  notions  o' 
shart  service,  an'  havin'  iiothin'  but  lads  i'  th'  army;  an'  Her 
Majesty — d'  ye  see,  Her  Majesty — do  very  like  agree  AVI*  I." 

"Well  but,  Granfer,"  said  POLLY,  doubtfully,  "  d'  ye  think 
the  QUEEN  did  mean  soldiers  as  had—as  had  left  off  practising 
so  long  as  you?" 

"An',  besides,"  put  in  ANNIE,  quickly,  "  'tisn't  same  as  if  you 
was  ever  a  regular  soldier  in  barracks  an'  that.  Ye  did  only  go 
out  wi'  the  Yeomanry,  didn't  ye?  " 

"  Well,"  returned  her  father,  indignantly,  "an'  will 'ce  go 


JANUARY  23,  1901.1 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


59 


"ROUSSEAU'S    DREAM." 

Neptune.  "  LOOK  OUT,  MY  DEAR,  YOU'RE  MISTRESS  ON  THE  SEA;  BUT  THERE'S  A  NEIGHBOUR  OF  YOURS  THAT'S  TRYING  TO  BE 

MI sTRESS    UNDER  IT." 

Britannia.  "ALL  EIGHT,  FATHER  NEP. — I'M  XOT  ASLEEP." 

["M.  ROUSSEAU,  the  inventor  of  the  submarine  warship,  says,  that  the  advantage  of  the  submersible  system  would  be  incontestable,  but  that 
certain  problems  have  arisen  of  which  the  solution  has  not  been  altogether  realised"  ..."  The  belief  of  M.  ROUSSEAU,  however,  is  that  the  type  of 
the  submersible  is  perfectible,  and  that  ths  difficulties  will.be  overcome.1' — "  Moniteur  de  la  Flotte,"  quoted  in  "  Times,"  January  16.] 


60 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  23,  1901. 


for  to  tell  I  as  a  man  as  was  twenty  year  a  trooper  in  the 
Darset  Yeomanry  b'ain't  a  soldier  !  "Why  what  else  be  he  then  ? 
Ye  be  a  voolish  maid,  my  dear,  very  voolish  !  " 

"  But,"  gasped  poor  Mrs.  SAMPSON,  recovering  breath  at  last, 
"  'tis  thirty  year  an'  more,  I  'm  sure,  since  ye  did  go  out  wi' 
'  em !  Ah  !  I  'm  sure  'tis  thirty  year — 'twas  when  poor  HARRY 
was  a  baby  as  ye  did  give  up,  an'  long  afore  POLLY  was  born." 

"Now,  I  tell  'ee  what,  Missus,  this  here  kind  o'  talk  isn't  the 
proper  talk  for  them  as  loves  Queen  and  Country.  What  do  the 
papers  say  ?  Read  yourself,  an'  see.  If  every  old  soldier  in  the 
country  was  to  go  makin'  excuses,  an'  thinkin'  this,  that  an' 
t'other,  who  's  to  defend  England  ?  Now  I  'm  a  old  man,  an'  a 
bit  stiff  i'  the  j'ints,  an'  a  bit  heavy  on  my  legs,  but  I  can  get 
on  a  harse,  and  pull  a  trigger  yet.  And  I  'm  not  the  man  to  go 
and  disapp'int  the  QUEEN.  There  !  My  mind  be  made  up,  an'  ye 
may  tark  till  midnight  wi'out  changin'  it." 

' '  Well,  to  be  sure,"  said  poor  Grandma,  dropping  into  a  chair, 
"  I  must  say  I  didn't  think  as  I  should  live  to  see  this  day. 
When  a  body  comes  to  your  time  o'  life  I  didn't  look  for  ye  to 
be  tarkin'  o'  goin'  off  to  the  war,  jist  at  our  busiest  time  o'  year 
too,  when  we  may  be  lookin'  out  for  new  calves  any  day,  and 
the  lambin'  season  not  half  over." 

"  'Tis  a  bit  ark'ard,  that  I  must  agree,"  returned  SAMPSON, 
his  face  falling  as  he  spoke.  "  Ah,  I  could  ha'  wished  as  Her 
Majesty  hadn't  a-called  upon  us  in  the  midst  o'  lambin'  time. 
We  must  do  the  best  we  can,  that 's  all.  TOM  must  see  to  things. 
I  'd  'low  other  folks  find  it  jist  so  hard  to  leave  their  businesses. 
But  when  you  comes  to  talkin'  o'  my  years,  Missus,  you  do 
make  a  mistake.  'Tis  my  years  as  makes  my  services  valuable. 
Now,  ANNIE,  read  what 's  wrote  here  about  the  men  comin'  up." 

ANNIE  dolorously  found  the  place,  and  read  how  already  the 
response  throughout  the  country  had  been  unanimous,  and  how 
men  were  turning  up  by  hundreds  at  various  military  depots  to 
offer  their  services. 

"Ah!"  commented  Granfer  reflectively,  "the  nearest 
military  deepotts.  Let  me  see ;  ours  'ud  be  Blanchester,  I  sup- 
pose. Well,  Missus,  make  up  your  mind  to  it ;  I  '11  be  off  to~ 
morrow.  When  a  thing  must  be  done,  it  must  be  done." 

Mrs.  SAMPSON  threw  her  apron  over  her  head,  and  began  to 
weep.  POLLY  sniffed  ominously,  the  children  wailed ,  and 
ANNIE,  flinging  her  arms  round  her  father's  neck,  besought  him 
to  think  better  of  it. 

"There,  to  be  sure!  What  a  fuss  ye  do  make,"  cried  he, 
struggling  in  her  embrace.  "What  be  all  in  such  a  stew  about, 
eh?  I  b'ain't  a-goin'  off  to  fight  the  Boers,  I  tell  'ee.  I  be 
a-goin'  for  to  bide  here  and  defend  the  country  if  the  French 
or  the  Boosians  comes  this  way.  As  like  as  not,  I  shall  be  able 
to  come  back'ards  and  for'ards  pretty  often  to  see  how  ye  be 
all  a-gettin'  on.  There,  I  tell  'ee  ye  should  take  more  thought 
for  I,  and  not  go  a-upsettin'  of  I  this  way.  'Tis  'ard  enough 
for  I  as  'tis !  "  And  here  the  large  face  which  was  looking  dis- 
consolately over  ANNIE'S  shoulder  assumed  a  purple  hue,  and 
big  tears  gathered  in  Granfer's  usually  merry  eyes. 

"There,"  he  added  weakly,  as,  freeing  one  hand  from  his 
daughter's  somewhat  strangulating  caresses,  he  produced  a 
large  red-and-yellow  handkerchief,  and  proceeded  to  mop  his 
eyes,  "  you  did  ought  to  help  I  instead  of  hinderin'  of  I !  You 
do  all  owe  a  dooty  to  Queen  and  Country  yourselves." 

After  this  appeal  to  the  better  feelings  of  the  family,  all 
opposition  was  withdrawn,  and  presently  they  fell  to  discuss- 
ing arrangements  for  the  carrying  out  of  his  Spartan  intent. 

"My  uniform  is  laid  by  safe  enough,  I  know,"  said  Granfer, 
"but  'tis  a  question  whether  'twill  fit  me  or  no.  I've  got  a 
bit  stoutish  since  I  left  off  wearing  of  'en." 

"Lard  man  !  the  jacket  '11  not  come  within  a  yard  o'  meetin' 
— ye  be  twice  so  big  round  as  ye  did  used  to  be ;  an'  as  for  the 
trousers — there,  there  's  no  use  thinkin'  of  'em  !  They  'd  no 
more  fit  'ee  nor  they  would  little  JACKIE  there." 

"  Them  trousers  as  ye  've  a-got  on  'ud  do  very  well,  though,' 
said  POLLY.  "  They  're  dark,  d  'ye  see." 


"I'll  have  to  ride,  though,"  said  her  father  thoughtfully. 
'E'es — bein'  in  the  Yeomanry,  d'ye  see,  I'm  bound  to  ride. 
Twouldn't  look  no-ways  respectful  like  if  I  didn't  offer  myself, 
aarse  an'  all." 

"Well,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  harse  ye '11  take,  wi'out 
t's  Chrissy,'1  returned  Mrs.  SAMPSON.  "Ye '11  never  get  a 
saddle  to  stay  on  Vi'let  or  Duke;  besides,  they're  wanted  for 
ploughin'.  An'  Bob  'ud  never  carry  ye." 

"Well,  Chrissy  'ud  do  right  enough.  He  was  a  fine  mare  in 
his  day.  I  never  see  a  better.  There  isn't  a  colt  as  I  've  a-had 
from  'en  as  haven't  turned  out  well.  E'es  TOM  mid  drive  'en 
up  from  the  lower  mead  to-morrow  morn,  an'  we  '11  rub  'en  down 
a  bit  and  make  'en  smart." 

"But  ye '11  never  go  for  to  ride  all  the  way,  Granfer?" 
pleaded  the  anxious  wife.  "Ye '11  be  joggled  to  pieces,  an' 
[  'm  sure  your  best  trousers  won't  be  fit  to  be  seen.  There 's 
reason  in  all  things.  Ye'd  best  go  in  JOYCE'S  cart,  and  tie 
Chrissy  at  back  till  ye  get  near  the  town." 

'Ah!  I  mid  do  that,"  he  agreed,  with  unexpected  docility. 
"  I  reckon  I  'd  find  it  a  stiffish  job  to  ride  so  far  without  I  had 
a  bit  more  practice." 

The  discussion  was  here  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  TOM, 
POLLY'S  husband,  but  was  resumed  with  even  greater  energy 
after  the  state  of  affairs  had  been  explained  to  him.  As  he  was 
short-sighted  enough  to  express  doubt  and  disapproval,  the 
entire  family  fell  upon  him  with  one  accord  and  reduced  him 
to  a  state  of  sulky  submission. 

(To  be  continued.) 


AVIS  AUX  VOYAGEURS. 

THRICE  blessed  the  day  when  a  message  to  Mars 
Can  go  for  a  penny  the  syllable  hence, 

And  postage  to  all  of  the  various  stars 
Is  reduced  to  a  decimal  fraction  of  pence  ? 

When  a  trip  to  a  planet,  a  moon,  or  a  sun 
Is  regarded  as  only  the  usual  thing, 

And  weekly  excursions  to  Jupiter  run 
Through  every  month  of  the  summer  and  spring. 

When  a  shoot,  to  be  had  in  the  Leonids,  yields 

A  heavyish  bag  of  aerial  grouse, 
When  Pallas  and  Saturn  are  recognised  fields 

For  finding  the  veriest  duck  of  a  house. 

When  we  dine  in  the  Pleiades — coffee  discussed 

Go  on  to  a  dance  in  Titania  (mem : 
That  catch  without  fail  we  assuredly  must 

A  train  to  the  earth  at  2 -30  A.M.) 

Thrice  blessed  the  day — but,  oh  !  let  us  endure, 
Nor  play  with  such  possibly  dangerous  tools, 

Lest  we  finish  by  making  excessively  sure 
That  we  are  a  unique  generation  of  fools  ! 


SHOCKING  CASK  OF  DOMESTIC  DESTITUTION.— In  an  advertise- 
ment for  "A  Cook,  General,"  the  allurements  are  held  out 
"  Comfortable  home.     Four  in  family.    No  windows  or  boots.' 
Views  of  comfort  vary.     But  the  picture  here  presented,  of  £ 
family  of  four  going  about  on  bootless  errands  in  a  windowless 
house,  hardly  meets  the  usual  standard.     Possibly  the  conditions 
are  recognised  as  suitable  to  the  peculiarities  of  the  semi 
military  person  addressed. 


JANUARY  23,  1901.] 


61 


'VAESITY  VEESES. 

OXFORD  ODES. 

III. 

NOT  for  a  term,  O  cloistered  High, 
Along  thy  classic  stones  shall'I, 
All  gownless  through  the  midnight  fly, 

Nor  put  an  extra  spurt  on 
As,  drawing  nearer  and  morelnear, 
The  bulldogs  at  my  heels  I  hear- 
No  longer  shall  I  disappear 

Among  thy  shades,  O  Merton  ! 

The  pious  founder,  -who'd  the  face 
To  leave  this  poor  unportioned  place 
To  charity's  haphazard  grace, 

Is  praised  and  adulated  ; 
"Whilst  I,  whose  benefactions  fat, 
Have  kept  alive  his  starveling  brat, 
Am  only  recompensed  for  that 

By  being  rusticated. 

For  -we  fell  out,  the  dons  and  I — 
Where  is  the  greedy  scout  can  vie 
For  unabashed  rapacity 

"With  college  dons  and  tutors  ? — 
My  fines  for  being  ploughed  in  Mods 
Have  renovated  both  the  quads 
And  made  them  temples  where  the  gods 

Might  quaff  their  foaming  pewters. 

Farewell,  O  academic  town  ! 
Thy  undergrad  is  going  down. 
A  brief  farewell  to  cap  and  gown, 

Farewell  to  Greek  and  Latin ! 
And  you,  ye  ancient  halls,  adieu  ! 
We  must  be  strangers,  I  and  you. 
Farewell,  my  stall  in  chapel,  too, 

Which  I  so  seldom  sat  in  ! 


A  THOUSANDTH  PITY. 

(Interview  with  a  man  up-to-date,  but 
long  past  his  time.) 

"How  is  your  Majesty  getting  on?" 
asked  the  Bouverie  Street  man. 

"Oh,  as  well  as  I  have  been  doing  for 
the  last  thousand  years." 

"  Can  you  tell  me  whether  the  story 
about  allowing  the  cakes  to  spoil  is 
true?  " 

"I  don't  remember  it,"  replied  the 
shadowy  monarch,  with  a  grave  smile. 
"  But  it  is  a  pity  to  spoil  a  belief  that  has 
furnished  a  subject  for  any  number  of 
pictures." 

"And  is  it  true  that  you  were  born  on 
the  birth-day  and  death-day  of  SHAK- 

SPEARE?" 

"  Well,  that  is  also  a  disputed  point,  as 
some  people  insist  that  the  Bard  of  Avon 
is  as  much  a  myth  as — as,  well,  as  myself." 

"But  didn't  you  win  a  great  battle  on 
St.  George's  Day?  " 

"  So  I  have  been  told,  but  I  have  no 
distinct  recollection  of  the  transaction." 

"But,  good  gracious!  "  exclaimed  the 
Bouverie  Street  man,  "  if  you  are  so 
vague  about  your  deeds,  why  are  we 
making  such  a  fuss  about  you?  " 

"I  don't  know.    Except  it  appears  to 


"DID  OUR  HAT-KACK  WALK  ABOUT  AND   HAVE   ONLY  TWO  PEGS,    ONCE,    AUNTIE  ? " 


please  the  people  at  Winchester,  which, 
by  the  way,  was  a  very  different  place  to 
what  it  is  now,  when  I  knew  it,  or  if  I 
ever  did  know  it." 

"But  surely  you  invented  the  candle- 
clock?" 

"  If  I  did  I  never  patented  it." 

"Well,  don't  you  want  to  be  f&ted;? 
Come,  your  Majesty,  you  surely  have  a 
little  pride!  "I 

"  My  good  friend,  I  am  very  much  of  the 
same  opinion  as  Earl  ROBERTS.  We  may 
as  well  leave  glorification  until  the  War 
is  over.  The  subscriptions  to  jete  me 
have  been  fewer  than  were  anticipated. 
Why  not  pay  for  my  statue,  as  it  is  ordered, 
and  give  the  balance  to  the  Princess  of 
WALES'  Fund?" 

And  thus  ALFRED  again  made  good  his 
title  of  "Great." 


A  SONG  CELESTIAL. 

(Martian  Version.) 
WINK  at  me  only  with  thine  eye 

And  that  shall  be  the  sign, 
Then  spurn  thy  Teslas  into  space 

And  I  '11  the  like  with  mine. 
The  science  of  thy  latter  days 

Is  doubtless  very  fine, 
But  I  have  lunatics  enough, 

I  will  not  talk  with  thine. 

I  glowed  of  late  with  tender  heat, 

Not  thinking  aught  of  thee, 
But  in  the  hope  dear  Venus'  self 

That  light  of  love  might  see. 
But  since  the  worms  that  round  thee 
crawl 

Have  glimmered  back  at  me, 
I  hope  and  yearn  for  naught,  I  swear, 

Save  my  next  apogee. 


62 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  23,   1901. 


CONVERSATIONAL  HINTS  FOR  YOUNG  RIDERS. 

CHAPTER  YI. 

PROM  letters  lately  received,  I  am  pleased  to  note  that  these 
hints  are  meeting  with  some  little  attention  in  the  world  of 
young  riders,  but  there  seems,  unfortunately,  to  be  a  slight 
misconception  as  to  their  scope  and  intention  on  the  part  of 
some  of  my  correspondents.  Here,  (for  instance,  is  one — he 
veils  a  good  sound  sporting  name  behind  the  modest  pseudonym, 
"An  Inquirer  " — who  asks  me  :  (1),  to  recommend  a  boot-maker 
and  a  breeches-maker  ;  (2),  to  inform  him  what,  in  my  opinion, 
is  the  best  drink  to  takeout  in  his  flask  ;  (3),  to  advise  him  as  to 
the  proper  treatment  of  sore  backs,  splints,  and  corns  ;  and 
(4),  to  say  what  I  consider  the  best  type  of  horse  for  a  certain 
kind  of  country  which  he  describes.  These  matters,  my  dear 
Sir,  are  not  for  me.  This  treatise  has  nothing  to  do — except 
quite  incidentally,  of  course — with  the  points  you  name.  I  am 
ready  to  tell  you  how  to  talk  and  generally  how  to  bear  yourself 
in  the  hunting  field,  but  there  I  stop.  I  flutter  about  the  out- 
side of  things  in  a  light  and  frivolous  manner  ;  I  do  not  seek  to 
penetrate  into  the  temple  or  to  tamper  with  the  sacred 
mysteries  revealed  by  Captain  HAYES  or  Mrs.  NANNY  POWER 
O'DONOGHUE.  Let  others  tell  you  how  to  judge  a  horse,  how  to 
ride,  how  to  dress,  and  what  shops  you  should  honour  with  your 
custom.  My  ambition  does  not  extend  to  these  matters,  and  all 
I  can  do  for  you  is  to  school  your  tongue. 

Another  letter  concerns  me  more  nearly:  "Sir,"  says  the 
writer,  "  in  your  interesting  hints  you  have  not,  so  far,  touched 
a  subject  which  you  will,  I  think,  admit  to  be  one  of  the  very 
highest  importance  to  men  who  hunt.  It  is  this  :  How,  and 
under  what  circumstances,  ought  one  to  speak  to  a  Master  of 
Hounds  ?  I  've  seen  a  great  many  fellows  do  it  in  different  ways 
but  none  of  them  seemed  to  me  to  be  quite  satisfactory,  for  in 
our  hunt  there  happens  to  be  a  sort  of  feeling  that  a  man  has 
got  to  be  kept  in  his  proper  place,  and  if  he  pushes  too  much  he 
gets  himself  snubbed — which  is  fun  for  the  cat  and  ought  to  be 
death  for  the  mouse,  if  the  mouse  would  only  agree  to  look  at  it 
in  that  way. '  Anyhow,  please  give  me  a  tip  or  two,  and  oblige 
yours,  as  ever,  The  Stall  at  the  Top." 

This  is  a  sensible  letter  and  shows  a  prudent  spirit.  To  answer 
it  fully,  however,  would  need  considerable  volume,  which  should 
investigate  the  origin  and  history  of  hunts  and  their  masters 
from  the  earliest  ages  down  to  the  present.  It  should  begin, 
let  us  suppose,  by  describing  how  the  ancient  Briton,  having 
discovered  that  his  flocks  were  menaced,  told  his  wife  not  to 
worry,  embraced  his  clamouring  brood  and  assured  them  that 
the  fur-coated  fox  should  be  disposed  of  in  a  twinkling.  Next  he 
would  send  a  polite  message  to  BOADICEA  to  inform  her,  owing  to 
urgent  private  affairs  he  would  be  unable  to  give  himself  the 
pleasure  of  taking  part  in  a  projected  foray  upon  a  friendly  and 
unsuspecting  tribe  of  neighbours,  or  of  helping  to  decimate 
a  Roman  legion.  Then  I  can  see  him  overlaying  with  a  fresh 
coat  of  scarlet  paint  his  customary  household  garment  of  woad, 
selecting  his  sharpest  javelins  and  his  deadliest  bow  and  sally- 
ing fortli  to  extirpate  the  hostile  wolf.  This  man,  in  course  of 
time,  would  acquire  the  spirit  of  the  chase.  He  would  cease  to 
look  upon  hunting  as  being  merely  intended  to  safeguard 
his  flocks  or  his  children.  He  would  refuse  to  allow  the 
marauding  wolf  to  be  slain  except  upon  certain  days  duly 
appointed  for  the  carrying  out  of  the  ceremony,  and  under 
certain  formal  conditions  agreed  upon  by  himself  and  his 
followers.  These  conditions  he  would  then  call  Sport — the 
ancient  British  word  escapes  me  at  the  moment— and  he  would 
attribute  to  it  that  sacred  character  of  tribal  importance  which 
it  has  ever  since  maintained.  His  neighbours,  recognising  in 
him  a  chief  of  sportsmen,  would  invest  him  with  the  ceremonial 
leadership,  granting  to  him  amongst  other  privileges  an  annual 
tribute  of  corn  and  cattle  to  recompense  him  for  the  time  and 
trouble  spent  in  their  service.  He  would  feed  his  hounds,  his 


servants  and  himself  at  their  expense  so  long  as  he  was  engaged 
in  ministering  to  their  pleasures,  and  would  eventually  be 
followed  to  his  grave  on  Salisbury  Plain  by  the  sorrow  and 
respect  of  the  whole  country-side.  Here  you  have,  sketched 
in  brief,  the  first  part  of  a  historical  work  which  has  yet  to  be 
written.  Some  day  a  Professor  FREEMAN  will  arise  amongst 
hunting  men  and  write  it,  but  in  the  meantime  we  are  reduced 
to  paltry  actualities,  and  must  refrain  from  want  of  knowledge 
from  more  extended  historical  investigations. 

I  come  back,  then,  to  the  question  of  addressing  masters  of 
hounds.  The  master  is,  if  I  may  so  describe  him,  the  President 
of  the  most  democratic  republic  in  the  world.  He  is  elected  to 
his  great  position  by  the  suffrages  of  his  equals,  who  have  not 
the  remotest  intention  of  making  him  a  ruler  without  power  or 
privilege.  They  intend  him  to  be,  during  his  term  of  office,  a  strong 
autocrat,  governing  without  fear  or  favour  the  sport  which  they 
consider  to  be  the  most  important  part  of  human  life  and 
activity.  Amongst  the  innumerable  things  which,  as  we 
boast,  have  made  Englishmen  what  they  are;  hunting  as- 
suredly stands  pre-eminent — and  not  without  reason.  Courage 
and  skill,  grace,  strength,  activity  and  endurance,  a  gallant 
spirit,  a  knowledge  of  the  country,  a  courteous  consideration 
for  others,  together  with  a  resolute  determination  to  excel 
by  all  honourable  means,  a  design  to  taste  the  exhilaration  of 
perfect  health  in  the  open  air  and  in  swift  movement,  a  complete 
control  of  and  sympathy  with  your  horse.  These  are  some  of 
the  qualities  that  the  sport  of  hunting  requires  and  en- 
courages in  its  votaries.  Obviously,  then,  the  man  who  is 
appointed  to  be  the  chief  and  the  master  of  such  a  sport  is, 
in  virtue  of  his  appointment,  if  in  virtue  of  nothing  else, 
entitled  to  a  high  respect  and  consideration. 
(To  be  continued.) 


DRUBIOLENO  AND  CO. 

SINCE  1897,  when  Messrs.  DAN  LENO  and  HERBERT  CAMPDELL 
disported  themselves  as  The  Babes  in  the  Wood,  Manager 
ARTHUR  COLLINS  has  not  given  so  excellent  a  pantomime  as 
this  present  one,  written  by  himself  and  Mr.  HICKORY  WOOD, 
viz.,  The  Sleeping  Beauty  and  the  Beast.  More  gorgeous  displays 
there  may,  perhaps,  have  been,  but  nothing,  since  aforesaid 
Babes  to  beat  this  in  opportunities  afforded  to  those  masters 
in  drollery,  DAN  and  HERBERT  (why  shouldn't  it  be  "  BERTIE," 
if  DANIEL  be  familiarised  as  "DAN  "  ?),  for  the  display  of  their 
apparently  utterly  irresponsible  and  quite  irresistible  fun, 
which  sends  a  crowded  house  into  convulsions  of  uncontrollable 
laughter.  As  for  the  children  among  the  audience,  they  shout 
and  shriek  with  delight,  leading  the  tumultuous  applause. 

DAN  and  BERTIE  in  a  motor  car,  on  a  ladder  "burgling," 
playing  golf,  are  immense.  Then  DAN  alone,  as  Queen  Ravia  in 
prison,  telling  the  audience  the  story  of  her  Aunt,  moves  his 
hearers  to  such  tears  of  laughter  that,  though  utterly  exhausted, 
they  would  hear  the  whole  narrative  over  again,  including  the 
criticism  on  "  the  Minstrel  Boy,"  signifying  the  same  to  DAN 
by  a  perfect  volley  of  applause  at  the  conclusion  of  his  soliloquy. 

If  the  pantomime  consisted  of  these  scenes  alone  it  would  be 
first-rate  value  for  money,  but  it  has  such  scenery,  such  artistic 
and  brilliant  costumes,  such  poetic  groupings,  graceful  dances 
and  such  catch  ingly  tuneful  and  cleverly  arranged  music  by 


JANUARY  23,   1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


63 


\ 


Owner  of  violently  palpitating  Motor  Car,  "THERE'S  NO  NEED  TO  BE  ALARMED.     Ir  WILL  BE  ALL  RIGHT  AS  SOON  AS  I'VE  DISCOVERED 

THK  WHAT-D'YE-OALL-IT  ! " 


that  experienced  light  and  leading  composer,  selector,  arranger, 
and  orchestra-conductor,  J.  M.  GLOVER,  that  -we  can  only 
wonder  at  the  dazzling  combinations  arid  permutations,  and, 
like  the  Admiral  in  Billy  Taylor,  "  werry  much  applaud  "  what 
all  the  united  efforts  of  various  talented  persons  have  con- 
tributed towards  the  now  assured  success  of  this  Drury  Lane 
Pantomime. 

Mr.  FRED  EATNEY  as  The  Nurse  is  the  third  "droll"  who, 
already  a  favourite,  keeps  his  hold  on  the  audience  throughout. 
Certain  allusions,  in  the  scenes  wherein  clever  Mr.  CAIRO 
appears  as  President  of  a  Republic,  might  be  advantageously 
omitted,  as  indeed  might  be  all  the  topical  "  hits,"  which  are 
rarely  of  such  a  kind  as  not  offend  some  who  are  present,  without 
causing  much  pleasure  to  others. 

The  Princess  Beauty,  Miss  MADGE  LESSING,  obtains  a  treble 
encore  when,  attired  as  a  boy,  she  sings  a  quaint  "  coon 
song  "  with  chorus.  Miss  ELAINE  RAVENSBERG  is  a  charming 
Prince  Caramel  and  Miss  MOLLY  LOWELL  must  be  in  everybody's 
opinion  a  perfect  exemplar  of  what  any  Lord  Jocelyn,  ought 
to  be.  Once  again  the  spring-heeled,  airy,  fairy  Lilian-lady, 
Madame  GRIGOLATI,  "wires  in"  most  successfully  as  The 
Spirit  of  the  Air  (Mr.  GLOVER  giving  us  the  spirit  of  all  the  airs 
in  the  orchestra),  and  "comes  off,"  and  on,  "with  flying 
colours." 

But,  after  all  said,  sung  and  done,  we  return  to  our  DAN  and 
BERTIE  ;  for  "  men  may  come  and  men  may  go,"  but  with  these 
two  leaders  of  the  Drurylanian  forces  (though  BERTIE  wouldn't  be 
quite  at  home  without  DAN,  and  they  mustn't  be  separated)  this 
pantomime,  like  the  stream,  could  "  run  on  for  ever  "  if  it  were 
not  for  the  "statutory  limitations"  in  between. 

As  to  "  the  houses  in  between"  this  and  Easter,  Manager 
COLLINS  can  regard  them  without  the  least  anxiety.  Mr. 
ARTHUR  COLLINS  gives  a  lot,  too  much  perhaps,  for  the  money, 
as  the  pantomime  is  too  long,  and  "  There  's  no  deniging  of  it, 
BETSY!  " 


LOVE'S  LABOUR  NOT  LOST. 

(Fragment  from  a  Mercantile  Romance.) 

THE  young  Englishman  sank  down  on  the  sofa  in  the  con- 
servatory, listening  to  the  dance  music  in  the  distance,  and, 
fixing  his  melancholy  gaze  upon  the  merry  eyes  of  his  partner, 
addressed  her. 

"  I  am  glad  to  get  away  from  the  ball-room,"  he  murmured. 
"  You  are  quite  sure  you  understand  me  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes;  I  speak  perfectly  the  English,"  was  the  smiling 
response. 

"  Parce  que  je  parle  parfaitement  le  Frangais,"  he  continued  ; 
"but,  of  course,  I  am  more  at  home  in  my  own  tongue." 

".Andwhatdo  you  want  know?"  queried  the  fair  girl,  playing 
with  her  fan. 

"  You  are  fond  of  dress  ?  " 

' '  Fond !    I  dote  upon  it !    Oh,  I  love  it !  " 

"Then  you  have  extravagant  tastes — vous  avez  un  gout  qui 
coute  chere  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  ;  not  at  all.  I  know  where  to  get  my  gowns  in  the 
market  of  the  cheapest.  I  go  to  places — shops — where  I  buy 
for  nothing,  scarcely  anything  at  all." 

"Can  you  give  me  the  address?"  he  asked,  taking  out  his 
note-book. 

"You  are  too  kind,  you  are  too  good.  But  the  trousseau  is 
provided  by  the  bride's  family, "and  she  cast  down  her  eyes  in 
some  confusion. 

"The  addresses,"  he  pleaded.  Then  the  pencil  went  gliding 
over  the  paper,  and  the  note-book  was  replaced  in  the  young 
man's  pocket.  "  I  must  go  now.  Adieu." 

They  parted.  Then  the  fair  young  Frenchwoman  sighed.  He 
had  not  proposed  !  What  a  strange  sort  of  Englishman ! 

But  she  was  wrong.  He  was  not  a  strange  sort  of  Eng- 
lishman, but  only  a  British  commercial  traveller  on  the  model 
suggested  by  Lord  ROSEBERY. 


64 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  23,  1901. 


Caddie  (in  stage  whisper  to  Biffin,  who  is  frightfully  nervous).  "DON'T  YOU  GET  NERVOUS,  SIR  1 

EVERY  ONE   OF   'EM  YOU   CAN'T   PLAY  !" 


IT  *S  ALL   RIGHT.      I  *VE   TOLD 


THE   HAWKER'S]  LAMENT ; 
Or,  the  Landed  Gentry. 

[Consternation  has  been  caused  among  the  street- 
hawkers  in  the  Strand  at  the  news  that  all  persons 
standing  in  the  road  or  on  the  pavement  offering 
articles  of  any  kind  for  sale  are  to  be  rigorously 
"moved  on"  by  the  police.  There  are  no  doubt 
some  cases  in  which  an  order  of  this  kind  would 
have  a  salutary  effect,  but  setting  these  aside,  the 
new  rule  will  inflict  great  hardship  on  many 
others." — Daily  Chronicle.] 

THE  'oliest  spot  in  awl  the  land, 

And  that  a  bloomin'  gutter  ! 
We  stood — us  'awkers — in  the  Strand, 

Fightin'  fer  bread  and  butter. 
We  stood  there  in  the  summer's  'eat, 

In  winters  mud  and  slush, 
With  achin'  'earts,  and  freezin'  feet — 

And  now  we  've  got  the  push  ! 

They  've  warned  us  orf  the  choral  strand, 

In  'opes  of  our  disbandin' 
Thinkin'  ter  squelch  us  'awkers  hand 

Our  bizness  of  long  standing. 
They  've  been  and  cut  the  very  ground 

From  under  our  pore  feet, 
But  necessary  it  was  found 

Fer  to  himprove  the  street. 

And  wot  of  us  ?  We  ain't  no  clarse  ! 
They  will  not  let  us  stay, 


Where  we  'ave  earnt  our  bit  o'  brass 

Thro'  many  a  weary  day. 
The  L.C.C.  'as  corned  along, 

The  Strand  ter  us  is  barred  ; 
It  may  be  right,  it  may  be  wrong, 

Ter  blokes  like  us  it 's  'ard. 

Wen  1  recall  the  'appy  band 

Of  gents  and  lydies  too, 
Who  'ad  a  pitch  upon  the  Strand 

1  feel  uncommon  blue. 
Fer  to  us  awl  the  Strand  was  dear, 

To  us  pore,  pally  lot — 
And  now,  unlike  yer  Homocea, 

We  ain't  ter  touch  the  spot. 

All  sudden-like  we  'ave  to  quit ; 

Although  we  pays  no  rent, 
It  hain't  the  proper  way  a  bit 

To  treat  a  bizness  gent. 
They  've  took  away  our  trade,  yer  see, 

And  made  bus  gentry  landed. 
They  've  turned  us  orf  the  Strand  and  we 

Are  habsolutely  stranded ! 


TO   LORD  KITCHENER. 
THERE  are  some  Boers  so  fair  to  see, 

Take  care !     Take  care ! 
They  can  both  false  and  friendly  be, 

Beware !     Beware ! 
Trust  them  not,  they  're  fooling  thee, 

They  're  fooling  thee  ! 


DIARY  ON  BOARD  A  SUBMARINER. 

(Prophetic  and  Probable.) 

Monday. — Think  we  are  going  fairly 
well.  Not  quite  sure  of  our  bearings. 
Still,  should  be  somewhere  near  Southend. 
Rise  to  the  surface.  Why,  here  we  are  at 
Plymouth ! 

Tuesday. — Bad  weather,  so  lie  low.  Still 
we  are  making  progress.  Can't  see  a  yard 
in  front  of  one.  Fish  seem  to  me  of  French 
appearance.  Hope  we  are  not  losing  our 
way. 

Wednesday. — Still  bad  weather.  Com- 
pressed air  still  holding  out.  Can't  rise 
to  the  surface.  Chinese  -  looking  fish. 
Well,  might  go  to  a  worse  place  than 
Hong  Kong. 

Thursday. — Must  be  not  very  far  from 
New  York — or  Sydney  Harbour.  Never 
quite  sure  in  these  vessels  where  one  gets 
to.  Still  disagreeable  weather.  Can't 
get  to  surface. 

Friday. — Very  cold  indeed.  Fancy  we 
must  be  nearing  the  North  Pole,  or  can  it 
be  Scarborough  ? 

Saturday. — The  Cape  at  last.  Now  for  a 
rush,  and  we  find  ourselves  landed  in  St. 
Paul's  Church  Yard!  Who  would  have 
thought  it !  Well,  we  are  all  right  for 
Sunday ! 


IS-? 

•5    °  S 
."   ?  § 

&    w    £ 

3     »   * 

H     t*i 

g>    02   E£ 


i     O 


o  o 


^  2  « 

r  <d  o 

Ki  H 

^  fe  5 

2  Hrl  O 


W 


JANUARY  23,  1901.] 


67 


LOVE'S  LITTLE  LIABILITIES. 

Short  Stories  with  very  Sad  Endings. 
I.— THE  MYSTERY  OF  MAURICE  PINION. 
"WITH  a  beautiful  unconventionality  that 
so  strongly  appealed  to  the  sensitive 
nature  of  MAURICE  PINION  he  had  been 
permitted  to  drift,  as  it  were,  into  the 
affections  of  SYBIL  HOYLAKE.  There  was  no 
more  tacit  engagement  ever  formed.  Each 
had  borrowed  a  phrase  from  scholastic 
Euclid,  and  said,  "Let  it  be  granted." 
But  the  moment  had  come  to  establish 
the  reciprocity  of  love  on  what  is  termed 
in  commercial  circles  a  sound  and  definite 
basis.  Mr.  PINION  had  suddenly  appeared 
on  the  horizon  of  SYBIL'S  life  and  walked 
straight  into  her  young  heart,  with  the 
solemn  inevitableness  of  a  wind  -  borne 
cloud.  Who  he  was,  what  he  was,  were 
alike  matters  of  conjecture. 

They  reclined  rather  than  sat  in  the 
two  corners  of  a  Chesterfield  sofa.  Each 
cherished  an  inward  conviction  that  the 
course  of  true  love  was  going  to  be 
dammed  by  unkind  circumstance. 

The  man  leant  a  little  forAvard  as  he 
spoke.  "SYBIL,"  he  said,  rather  hesi- 
tatingly at  first,  but  gathering  force  as 
he  went  on,  "for  nearly  six  months  we 
haved  lived  under  the  spell  of  love's 
young  dream.  The  awakening  must  come. 
I  need  not  repeat  what  I  have  said  a 
thousand  times  in  a  thousand  different 
ways — I  love  you." 

The  girl  shivered  nervously. 

"  Before  I  ask  you  the  great  momentous 

question,  you  must  learn  who  I  am — what 

I  am."     The  man  faltered. 

"I  can  trust  you,"  said  the  girl  softly. 
"It  helps  me  to  go  on,"  said  MAURICE 
PINION,  "as  the  knowledge  of  your  price- 
less love  and  sympathy  has  led  me  to  hope 
that  when  I  have  re-vealed  to  you  the 
secret  of  my  life — you — you  will  not  tun 
against  me  as  so  many  have  done." 

SYBIL  raised  her  eyes  tenderly  toward,' 
his. 

"  You — you  are  n-not  a  convict,  a " 

"Not  exactly,"  said  PINION.  "  But — 
"  Ah  !     You    have    perpetrated    some 
monstrous  crime  !  " 

"No,  no.  I'm  guiltless  of  any  crime 
within  the  meaning  of  the  act." 

"Thank  Heaven,  thank  Heaven  !  "  she 
gasped,  her  breath  coming  in  the  pre- 
scribed thick  condition  under  the  terrible 
stress.  "Do  not  tell  me  you  are  a  Company 
Promoter !  " 

"No,"  he  answered  sadly,  "no  such 
luck." 

"Or  a  long-firm  swindler." 
"  Indeed,  no." 

"  Or  a  faith  curate — I  mean  curist." 
"  Faith  !  "  MAURCCE  PINION  uttered  the 
word  significantly,  and  paused  in  an  atti 
tude  of  defiance. 

The  girl  groaned,  and  hid  her  face  in  the 
blue-veined  fingers  with  which  nature  had 
blessed  her — for  that  purpose. 


"Listen,  "cried  PINION,  rising  and  pacing 
he  room  rapidly.     "It  all  began  by  my 
ending    a    little    thing    to    one    of    the 
magazines.     I   meant  nothing  by  it ;    in- 
deed, I  meant  nothing." 

"  Horrible,  horrible  !  "  moaned  SIBYL. 
"  It  was  accepted." 

"  Naturally.  These  advertisements ' ' 

"  You  don't  understand.    It  was  not  an 
advertisement." 

'  Not  an  advertisement  I ' ' 
'  I    sent   another.      The    same    result. 
Accepted."     The  man  laughed  ironically. 
I  only  thought  then  of  the  encourage- 
ment with  courtesy,  and  a  cheque " 


SALISBURY  PLAIN  CONNING  TOWER. 

A  SUGGESTION  FOR  THE  RE-ARRANGEMENT 
OF  STONE BENGE  WHEN  THE  PROPOSED  RESTORA 
TION  TAKES  PLACF. 


"  Oh,  I  can't  bear  it !  " 

"  They  led  me  on.     I  sent  more,  and  thej 
took  it.      Little  did   I   think  of  the  trap 
these  callous  men  were  setting  for  me 
Insensibly  I  was  drifting — drifting  towards 
my  doom.     Soon  I  saw  there  was  no  escape 
I  was  caught — marked  and  branded  with 
the  sign  of  my  awful  calling.    And  all  the 
time  they  fed  me  with  praise  and  flattery 
and  dulled  my  senses  to  impending  fate 
Indue  course"  —  here  the  man  stopped 
before  the  weeping  girl,  and  faltered  in 
the  extremity   of  shame—"  I  published 
little  volume." 

The  girl  gave   vent  to   a  long-drawr 
wail  of  agony. 

"  Then,   like  a    Swiss    avalanche  on   a 


'OOK's  tourist,  all  the  world  bore  down 
upon  me  and  sought  to  crush  me  with 
heir  epithets  of  miserable  contumely, 
staggered  beneath  the  blow,  but  it  was 
oo  late — too  late.  I  was  recognised." 

"Recognised?"  echoed  SYBIL,  as  if  in  a 
Iream. 

"  Yes.    The  truth  can  no  longer  be  hid. 
am  a  minor  poet !  ' ' 

The  woman  rose  to  her  full  height  as 
JINION  half  drew  from  his  pocket  a  slim 
'  pot  "  volume. 

"No,  no,"  she  said,  a  look  of  terror 
overspreading  her  delicate  face.  Then  in 
;ones  of  anguish  she  cried,  "  I  am  very 

sorry  for  you.     I  pity  you — indeed " 

>he  stretched  forth  a  dainty  hand. 
MAURICE  PINION  touched  it  lightly.  The 
book  dropped  back  into  his  pocket.  The 
door  closed  softly  behind  him. 

THE    END. 


KNOWLEDGE  ON  CREDIT. 

(See  any  paper.) 
WALK  up  !  walk  up  !  ye  devotees 

Of  'cyclopaedic  lore! 
Pay  your  deposits,  if  you  please  ! 

There  's  only  one  day  more  ! 

Oh,  haste  and  fly 

To  grace  your  homes 
With  learning's  choicest  stock  O  ! 

And  buy,  buy,  buy 

These  tasty  tomes 
In  cloth  or  half-morocco  ! 

If  you  've  an  affinity, 

Say,  for  divinity, 
Here  you  will  find  what  you  need  ; 

Or  if  for  conchology, 

Palaeontology, 

Meteorology, 

Any  old  'ology, 
You  've  only  to  open  and  read. 
And  all  on  credit !     Buy,  buy,  buy  ! 

Your  duty  it  is  plain, 
For  such  an  opportunity 

May  not  occur  again. 

Time  was  men  went 

To  learned  don, 
Time  was  they  went  to  college, 

And  even  spent 

Long  years  upon 
A  single  branch  of  knowledge. 

But  now  you  know  what  to  do  ! 

All  you  have  got  to  do 
Is  your  deposit  to  pay, 

And  half-an-hour's  reading 

Is  all  you  '11  be  needing, 

Believe  me,  'twill  take  you 

No  longer  to  make  you 
On  any  great  subject  cm  fait : 
Although  before  you  never  knew 

Its  very  ABC, 
An  OWEN,  HUXLEY,  HERSCHELL  you 

In  half-an-hour  will  be. 

Walk  up  !   walk  up  !   ye  devotees 

Of  'cyclopaedic  lore  ! 
Pay  your  deposits,  if  you  please  ; 

There  's  only  one  day  more  ! 


fc8 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  23,  1901. 


DKAMATIC   SEQUELS. 
IV.— MORE  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 
SCENE.— The  garden  of  BENEDICK'S  house 
at  Padua.     BENEDICK  is  sitting  on  a 
garden    seat,    sunning    himself    indo- 
lently.   BEATRICE  is  beside  him,  keep- 
ing   up    her    reputation    for    conver- 
sational   brilliancy    by    a    series    of 
sprightly  witticisms. 

Beatrice.  Very  likely  I  do  talk  twice  as 
much  as  I  should.  But  then,  if  I  talk 
too  much  you  certainly  listen  far  too 
little,  so  we  are  quits.  Do  you  hear  ? 

Benedick  (opening  his  eyes  slowly).  Eh? 

Beatrice.  I  believe  you  were  asleep ! 
But  there  —  'tis  a  great  compliment  to 
my  wit.  Like  ORPHEUS,  I  can  put  even 
the  savage  beasts  to  sleep  with  it. 
(Benedick's  eyes  close  again,  and  he  ap- 
pears to  sink  into  a  profound  doze.)  But 
if  the  beasts  go  to  sleep  there  's  no  use 
in  being  witty.  I  suppose  ORPHEUS  never 
thought  of  that.  Come,  wake  up,  good 
Signior  Beast.  (Prods  him  coquettishly 
with  her  flnger.)  Have  you  forgotten  that 
the  Duke  is  coming  ? 

Benedick  (droiusily).  "When  will  he  be 
here? 

Beatrice.  Ere  you  have  done  gaping. 

Benedick  (terribly  bored  by  this  badi- 
nage). My  dear,  if  only  you  would  occa- 
sionally answer  a  plain  question.  When 
do  you  expect  him  ? 

Beatrice  (skittish  to  the  last).  Plain 
questions  should  only  be  answered  by 
plain  people. 

Benedick  (yawning  heartily).  A  pretty 
question  then. 

Beatrice.  Pretty  questions  should  only 
be  asked  by  pretty  people.  There  !  What 
Jo  you  think  of  tliat  for  wit ! 

Benedick.  Really,  my  dear,  I  can  hardly 
trust  myself  to  characterise  it  in — er — 
fitting  terms.  (Rings  bell.  Enter  Page.) 
When  is  the  Duke  expected  ? 

Page.  In  half-an-hour,  Sir. 

Benedick.  Thank  you.  [Exit  Page. 

Beatrice  (pouting).  You  needn't  have 
rung.  I  could  have  told  you  that. 

Benedick.  I  am  sure  you  could,  my 
dear.  But  as  you  wouldn't 

Beatrice.  I  was  going  to,  if  you  had 
given  me  time. 

Benedick.  Experience  has  taught  me, 
my  dear  BEATRICE,  that  it  is  usually  much 
quicker  to  ring !  (Closes  his  eyes  again.) 

Beatrice.  How  rude  you  are ! 

Benedick  (half  opening  them).  Eh? 

Beatrice.  I  said  it  was  very  rude  of  you 
to  go  to  sleep  when  I  am  talking. 

Benedick  (closing  his  eyes  afresh).  It 's 
perfectly  absurd  of  you  to  talk  ,when  I 
am  going  to  sleep. 

Beatrice  (girding  herself  for  fresh  witti- 
cisms). Why  absurd? 

Benedick.  Because  I  don't  hear  what 
you  say,  of  course,  my  love. 

Beatrice  (whose  repartees  liave  been  scat- 


tered for  the  moment  by  this  adroit  com- 
pliment). Well,  well,  sleep  your  fill,  Bear. 
[  '11  go  and  bandy  epigrams  with  Ursula. 
[Exit  BEATRICE.    BENEDICK  looks  cau- 
tiously round  to  see  if  she  is  really 
gone,   and  then   heaves  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

Benedick.  Poor  BEATRICE!  If  only  she 
were  not  so  incorrigibly  sprightly.  She 
positively  drives  one  to  subterfuge. 

[Produces  a  book  fromhis pocket ,  which 
he  reads  ivith  every  appearance  of 
being  entirely  awake. 
Enter  DON  PEDRO,  os  from  a  journey. 
BENEDICK  does  not  see  him. 

Don  Pedro.  Signior  BENEDICK  ! 

Benedick  (starting  up  on  hearing  his 
name).  Ah,  my  dear  Lord.  Welcome  to 
Padua. 

Don  Pedro  (looks  him  up  and  down). 
But  how  's  this  ?  You  look  but  poorly,  my 
good  BENEDICK. 

Benedick.  I  am  passing  well,  my  Lord. 

Don  Pedro.  And  your  wife,  the  fair 
BEATRICE  ?  As  witty  as  ever  ? 

Benedick  (grimly).  Quite  ! 

Don  P.  (rubbing  his  hands).  I  felt  sure  of 
it !  I  made  the  match,  remember  !  I  said 
to  old  LEONATO  "She  were  an  excellent 
match  for  BENEDICK  "  as  soon  as  I  saw 
her. 

Benedick  (sighing).  So  you  did,  so  you 
did. 

Don  P.  (puzzled).  I  'm  bound  to  say  you 
don't  seem  particularly  happy. 

Benedick  (evasively).  Oh,  we  get  on  well 
enough. 

Don  P.  Well  enough !  Why,  what 's  the 
matter,  man  ?  Come,  be  frank  with  me. 

Benedick  (impressively).  My  dear  Lord, 
never  marry  a  witty  wife !  If  you  do, 
you  '11  repent  it.  But  it 's  a  painful 
subject.  Let 's  talk  of  something  else. 
How's  CLAUDIO?  I  thought  we  should 
see  him — and  HERO — with  you. 

Don  P.  (looking  slightly  uncomfortable). 
CLAUDIO  is — er — fairly  well. 

Benedick.  Why,  what 's  the  matter  with 
him?  His  wife  isn't  developing  into  a 
wit,  is  she  ? 

Don  P.  No.  She 's  certainly  not  doing 
tliatl 

Benedick.  Happy  CLAUDIO  I  But  why 
aren't  they  here  then  ? 

Don  P.  (coughing  nervously).  Well,  the 
truth  is  CLAUDIO'S  marriage  hasn't  been 
exactly  one  of  my  successes.  You  remem- 
ber I  made  that  match  too  ? 

Benedick.  I  remember.  Don't  they  hit 
it  off? 

Don  P.  (querulously).  It  was  all  CLAU- 
DIO'S suspicious  temper.  He  never  would 
disabuse  his  mind  of  the  idea  that  HERO 
was  making  love  to  somebody  else.  You 
remember  he  began  that  even  before  he 
was  married.  First  it  was  me  he  sus- 
pected. Then  it  was  the  mysterious  man 
under  her  balcony. 

Benedick.  You  suspected  him  too. 

Don  P.  That's  true.    But  that  was  all 


my  brother  JOHN'S  fault.  Anyhow,  I 
thought  when  they  were  once  married 
things  would  settle  down  comfortably. 

Benedick.  You  were  curiously  sanguine. 
[  should  have  thought  anyone  would  have 
seen  that  after  that  scene  in  the  church 
they  would  never  be  happy  together. 

Den  P.  Perhaps  so.  Anyhow,  they 
weren't.  Of  course,  everything  was 
against  them.  What  with  my  brother 
JOHN'S  absolute  genius  for  hatching  plots, 
and  my  utter  inability  to  detect  them, 
not  to  speak  of  CLAUDIO'S  unfortunate 
propensity  for  overhearing  conversations 
and  misunderstanding  them,  the  intervals 
of  harmony  between  them  were  extremely 
few,  and,  at  last,  HERO  lost  patience  and 
divorced  him. 

Benedick.  So  bad  as  that  ?  How  did  it 
happen  ? 

Don  P.  Oh,  in  the  old  way.  My  brother 
pretended  that  HERO  was  unfaithful,  and 
as  he  could  produce  no  evidence  of  the 
fact  whatever,  of  course  CLAUDIO  believed 
him.  So,  with  his  old  passion  for  making 
scenes,  he  selected  the  moment  when  I 
and  half-a-dozen  others  were  staying  at 
the  house  and  denounced  her  before  us 
all  after  dinner. 

Benedick.  The  church  scene  over  again  ? 

Don  P.  No.  It  took  place  in  the 
drawing-room.  HERO  behaved  with  her 
usual  dignity,  declined  to  discuss  CLAU- 
DIO'S accusations  altogether,  put  the 
matter  in  the  hands  of  her  solicitor,  and 
the  decree  .was  made  absolute  last  week. 

Benedick.  She  was  perfectly  innocent, 
of  course  ? 

Don  P.  Completely.  It  was  merely 
another  ruse  on  the  part  of  my  amiable 
brother.  Really,  JOHN'S  behaviour  was 
inexcusable. 

Benedick.  Was  CLAUDIO  greatly  dis- 
tressed when  he  found  how  he  had  been 
deceived  ? 

Don  P.  He  was  distracted.  But  HERO 
declined  to  have  anything  more  to  do 
with  him.  She  said  she  could  forgive  a 
man  for  making  a  fool  of  himself  once,  but 
twice  was  too  much  of  a  good  thing. 

Benedick  (frowning).  That  sounds  rather 
more  epigrammatic  than  a  really  nice 
wife's  remarks  should  be. 

Don  P.  She  had  great  provocation. 

Benedick.  That 's  true.  And  one  can 
see  her  point  of  view.  It  was  the  pub- 
licity of  the  thing  that  galled  her,  no 
doubt.  But  poor  CLAUDIO  had  no  re- 
ticence whatever.  That  scene  in  the 
church  was  in  the  worst  possible  taste. 
But  I  forgot.  You  had  a  share  in  that. 

Don  P.  (stiffly).  I  don't  think  we  need 
go  into  that  question. 

Benedick.  And  now  to  select  the  hour, 
after  a  dinner  party,  for  taxing  his  wife 
with  infidelity  !  How  like  CLAUDIO  ! 
Really,  he  must  been  an  absolute  fool. 

Don  P.  Oh,  well,  your  marriage  doesn't 
seem  to  have  been  a  conspicuous  success, 
if  you  come  to  that. 


JANUARY  23,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI. 


69 


Talkative  Old  Lady  (drinking  a  glass  of  Milk,   to  enthusiastic  Teetotaler,  who  is  doing  ditto).  "  YEP,  SIB,  SINCE  THEY'RE  BEGUN 

POISONING   THE   BEER,   WE  MUST  DRINK.  SOMETHING,    MUSTN'T  WE  ?  " 


70 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  23,  1901. 


Benedick  (savagely).  That's  no  great 
credit  to  you,  is  it  ?  You  made  the  match. 
You  said  as  much  a  moment  ago. 

Don  P.  I  know,  I  know.  But  seriously, 
my  dear  BENEDICK,  what  is  wrong? 

Benedick  (snappishly).  BEATRICE,  of 
course.  You  don't  suppose  I  'm  wrong, 
do  you  ? 

Don  P.  Come,  that 's  better.  .  A  spark 
of  the  old  BENEDICK.  Let  me  call  your 
wife  to  you,  and  we  '11  have  one  of  your 
old  encounters  of  wit. 

Benedick  ( seriously  alarmed ).  For 
Heaven's  sake,  no.  Ah,  my  dear  Lord, 
if  you  only  knew  how  weary  I  am  of  wit, 
especially  BEATRICE'S  wit. 

Don  P.  You  surprise  me.  I  remember 
I  thought  her  a  most  amusing  young 
lady. 

Benedick  (tersely).  You  weren't  married 
to  her. 

Don  P.  But  what  is  it  you  complain  of  ? 

Benedick.  BEAT  RICK  bores  me.  It  is  all 
very  well  to  listen  to  sparkling  sallies  for 
ten  minutes  or  so,  but  BEATRICE  sparkles 
for  hours  together.  She  is  utterly  in- 
capable of  answering  the  simplest  question 
without  a  blaze  of  epigram.  When  I  ask 
her  what  time  it  is,  she  becomes  so  in- 
sufferably facetious  that  all  the  clocks 
stop  in  disgust.  And  once  when  I  was 
thoughtless  enough  to  enquire  what  there 
was  for  dinner,  she  made  so  many  jokes  on 
the  subject  that  I  had  to  go  down  without 
her.  And  even  then  the  soup  was  cold  ! 

Don  P.  (quoting).  "  Here  you  may  see 
BENEDICK,  the  married  man  !  " 

Benedick.  Don't  you  try  to  be  funny  too  ! 
One  joker  in  a  household  is  quite  enough, 
I  can  tell  you.  And  poor  BEATRICE'S  jokes 
aren't  always  in  the  best  of  taste  either. 
The  other  day,  when  the  Vicar  came  to 
lunch  he  was  so  shocked  at  her  that  he 
left  before  the  meal  was  half  over  and  his 
wife  has  never  called  since. 

Don  P.  My  poor  BENEDICK,  I  wish  I 
could  advise  you.  But  I  really  don't 
know  what  to  suggest.  My  brother  could 
have  helped  you,  I  'm  sure.  He  was 
always  so  good  at  intrigue.  But  un- 
fortunately I  had  him  executed  after  his 
last  exploit  with  CLAUDIO.  It 's  most  un- 
lucky. But  that 's  the  worst  of  making 
away  with  a  villain.  You  never  know 
when  you  may  need  him.  Poor  JOHN  could 
always  be  depended  upon  in  an  emergency 
of  this  kind. 

Benedick  (gloomily).  He  is  certainly  a 
great  loss. 

Dorei  P.  Don't  you  think  you  could 
arrange  so  that  BEATRICE  should  overhear 
you  making  love  to  someone  else  ?  We  '  ve 
tried  that  sort  of  thing  more  than  once  in 
this  play. 

Benedick  (acidly).  As  the  result  has 
invariably  been  disastrous,  I  think  we 
may  dismiss  that  expedient  from  our 
minds.  No,  there  's  nothing  for  it  but  to 
put  up  with  the  infliction,  and  by  practis- 


ing a  habit  of  mental  abstraction,  reduce 
the  evil  to  within  bearable  limits. 

Don  P.  _I  don't  think  I  quite  follow 
you. 

Benedick.  In  plain  English,  my  dear 
Lord,  I  find  the  only  way  to  go  on  living 
•with  BEATRICE  is  never  to  listen  to 
her.  As  soon  as  she  begins  to  be  witty 
I  fall  into  a  kind  of  swoon,  and  in  that 
comatose  condition  I  can  live  through 
perfect  coruscations  of  brilliancy  without 
inconvenience.  • 

Don  P.  Does  she  like  that  ? 

Benedick.  Candidly,  I  don't  think  she 
does. 

Do?i  P.  Hold !     I  have  an  idea. 

Benedick  (nervously).  I  hope  not.  Your 
ideas  have  been  singularly  unfortunate 
hitherto  in  my  affairs. 

Don.  P.  Ah,  but  you'll  approve  of  this. 

Benedick.  What  is  it  ? 

Don  P.  Leave  your  wife,  and  come  away 
with  me. 

Benedick  (doubtfully).  She  'd  come  after 
us. 

Don  P.  Yes,  but  we  should  have  the 
start. 

Benedick.  That  'B  true.  By  Jove,  I  '11 
do  it !  L3t  's  go  at  once.  [Rises  /tastily. 


Don  P.  I  think  you  ought  to  leave  some 
kind  of  message  for  her — just  to  say  good- 
bye; you  know.  It  seems  morejpolite. 

Benedick.  Perhaps  so.  (Tears  leaf  out  of 
pocket-book).  What  shall  it  be,  prose  or 
verse  ?  I  remember  CLAUDIO  burst  into 
poetry  when  he  was  taking  leave  of  HERO. 
Such  bad  poetry  too  ! 

Don  P.  I  think  you  might  make  it  verse 
— as  you  're  leaving  her  for  ever.  It 
seems  more  in  keeping  with  the  solemnity 
of  the  occasion. 

Benedick.  So  it  does.     (Writes.) 
Bored  to  death  by  BEATRICE'S  tongue 
Was  the  hero  that  lived  here 

Don  P.  Hush!  Isn't  that  your  wife  over 
there  in  the  arbour  ? 

Benedick  (losingihis  temper).  Dash  it  alll! 
there's  nothing  but  eaves-dropping  in  this 
play. 

Don  P.  Perhaps)  she  doesn't'  see  us. 
Let 's  steal  off,  anyhow,  on  the  chance. 

{They  creep  off  on  tip  toe  (R)  as 
BEATRICE  enters  with  similar 
caution  (L). 

Beatrice  (watching  them  go).  Bother  !  I 
thought  I  should  overhear  what  they  were 
saying.  I  believe  BENEDICK  is^really  run- 
ning away.  It 's  just  as  well.  If  he 
hadn't,  I  should.  He  had  really  grown  too 


dull  for  anything.  (Sees  note  which  BENE- 
DICK has  left)  Ah,  so  lie  's  left  a  message. 
"Farewell  forever,"  I  suppose.  (Reads  it. 
Stamps  her  foot)  Monster !  If  I  ever 
sea  him  again  I  '11  scratch  him  ! 
Curtain. 

ST.  J.  H. 


AN  APOLOGY. 

["  At  the  0.  P.  Club  dinner,  the  chairman,  Mr. 
CECIL  RALEIGH,  repeated  his  well-known  views  as 
to  SHAKSPEAEE  as  a  dramatic  'blackleg'  who  was 
a  grossly  unfair  competitor  in  the  market.  Speak- 
ing of  Mr.  TREE,  he  said  that  as  a  manager  he  had 
given  London  a  most  remarkable  series  of  plays, 
with  only  occasionally  regrettable  lapses  into 
SHAK.SPEAKE. "—Daily  Chronicle.] 

Sliade  of  Shakspeare  speaks  : 
WHAT  'S  this  I  hear  ?    New  charges  swell 

In  ever,  ever  blackening  lists. 
A  blackleg  I,  that  undersell 

Legitimate  trades-unionists, 
And  so  reduce  to  next  to  zero 
Profits  of  GRUNDY,  JONES,  PIXERO  ? 

Ye  modern  masters  of  an  art 
Wherein  a  humble  'prentice  I, 

I,  Sirs,  have  played  no  pushful  part 
Nor  sought  a  cheap  publicity  : 

If  I  am  acted,  blame  not  me, 

But  Messrs.  BENSON,  WALLER,  TREE. 

I  know  my  place.     Nor  would  I  claim 
A  rank  to  which  I  cannot  rise  ; 

My  work  I  would  not  think  to  name 
Beside  The  Wisdom  of  the  Wise  : 

What  is  the  coarse  and  clumsy  wit 

Of  my  poor  clowns  compared  with  it  ? 

My  simple  Muse  made  no  pretence 
Of  more  ambitious  problem  play  ; 

I  wrote  no  Mrs.  Dane's  Defence 
Nor  Second  Mrs.  Tanqueray  ; 

Such  masterpieces  find  no  rivals 

Among  my  out-of-date  survivals. 

My  lyrics  have  been  praised,  I  'm  told ; 

I  know  them  dross,  a  base  alloy 
Beside  the  pure  refined  gold 

Of  Geisha,  Circus  Girl,  San  Toy, 
And  humbly  bows  my  Muse  before  a 
Great  work  of  art  like  Florodora. 

True,  one  there  is  to  whom  some  say 
A  faint  resemblance  I  can  boast ; 

More  kind  than  critical  are  they 
That  would  so  honour  this  poor  ghost, 

And  fondly  claim  to  have  him  reckoned 

To  that  great  mind  a  distant  second. 

Great  mind — so  great  that  my  poor  claim 
To  sire  this  prodigy  of  TREE'S 

Has  fired  the  emulative  flame 
Of  easy-going  SOPHOCLES 

To  challenge  my  pretence  and  find 

The  prototype  in  his  own  mind. 

And  he  who  once  would  not  contest 
With  AESCHYLUS,  but  kissed  him — lo ! 

He  argues  with  a  fiery  zest 

Till  Hades  rings  again  as  though 

EURIPIDES,  the  metre  blunderer 

Did  wrangle  with  the  mighty  Thunderer. 


JANUARY  23,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


71 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

IT  is  curious  to  read  in  Captain  CAIRNE'S  history  of  Lord 
Roberts  as  a  Soldier  in  Peace  and  War  (HODDER  AND  STOUGHTON), 
that  the  veteran  soldier  who  has  returned  unscathed  from  an 
arduous  campaign  to  gallantly  face  the  subtler  perils  of  a 
succession  of  ban- 
quets was  a  deli- 
cate youth.  Up  to 
his  eighteenth 
year,  we  are  told, 
he  was  not  only 
small  (he  has 
scarcely  yet  got 
over  that),  but 
suffered  from  re- 
current attacks  of 
faintness,  behind 
which  heart  dis- 
eas]e  was  sus- 
pected. His  par- 
ents were  in  doubt 
as  to  whether  it 
was  safe  for  him 
to  sojourn  in  a 
tropical  climate. 
But  BOBS  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  be 
a  soldier  as  his 
father  was,  and  in 
February,  1852, 
set  out  for  India, 
modestly  bearing 
a  commission  a  s 
Lieutenant  in  the 
Bengal  Artillery, 
then  in  the  service 
of  the  East  India 
Company.  Captain 
CAIRNES  is  at  the 
disadvantage  of 
appearing  in  the 
field  after  Lord 
ROBERTS  filled  it 
with  his  own  fas- 
cinating account 
of  what  he  did  and 
saw  during  his 
forty-one  years'  re- 
sidence in  India. 

Per  contra,  he  has  the  opportunity  of  bringing  into  fuller 
light  some  episodes  Lord  BOBERTS'S  modesty  tended  to  ob- 
scure. On  the  whole,  my  Baronite  finds  in  the  volume  an 
excellent  record  of  a  stirring  career.  In  his  advance  on 
Cabul,  in  his  even  more  famous  march  to  Kandahar,  is  seen 
the  same  alert,  capable,  when  the  moment  comes,  audacious 
Captain  known  in  nearer  times  in  South  Africa.  In  the  earlier 
stages  of  his  service  Lord  ROBERTS  was,  as  he  has  shown 
himself  in  later  times,  tireless  in  his  care  for  the  well-being 
of  the  private  soldier  under  his  command.  In  India  as  in 
South  Africa,  foot  and  horseman,  they  all  love  BOBS. 

In  Number  One  and  Number  Two  (MACMILLAN  &  Co.)  "  F.  M. 
PEARD "  —  that  is,  not  Field-Marshal"  but  FRANCES  MARY, 
PEARD  (whether  "  Mrs.  or  Miss  "  this  Deponent,  i.e.,  the  Baron, 
knoweth  not) — has  given  us  a  simple,  but  thoroughly  interest- 
ing story,  always  brightly,  and,  in  many  instances,  brilliantly 
written.  Truly,  in  literature,  an  exquisite  art  is  simplicity  I 
The  scene  being  laid  in  Egypt,  the  authoress  had  given  herself 
every  chance  of  filling  her  pages  with  artistic  descriptions  of 
a  vivid  Eastern  character.  "  But  in  spite  of  all  temptations  " 


"SEE  THAT  BIRD?* 


FRANCES  MARY  has  never  strayed  away  from  the  straight  path 
of  narration,  and  whenever  it  leads  her  through  picturesque 
places  at  witching  times  she  has,  with  perfect  touch,  briefly 
and  graphically  described  these  scenes  after  the  manner  of 
one  to  whom  the  peculiarities  of  Eastern  travel  and  its  weird 
beauties  are  quite  familiar.  It  is  the  best  novel  of  dramatic 

dialogue  the  Baron 
has  read  for  some 
time.  The  only 
situation  of  any- 
thing like  a  sen- 
sational character 
seems  to  have  been 
decided  upon  by 
the  clever  a  u- 
thoress  in  a  hurry. 
She  wanted  to  jerk 
her  two  estranged 
lovers  together,  to 
throw  them  forci- 
bly into  one  an- 
other's arms,  and 
how  could  this  end 
be  better  attained 
than  by  the  sud- 
den appearance 
on  the  scene  of  a 
runaway  horse 
"urging  on  his 
wild  career,"  and, 
en  passant,  kicking 
the  hero,  who  has 
saved  the  heroine, 
into  the  latter 's  em- 
brace I  'Tis  ending 
a  comedy  of  real 
life  with  a  "turn" 
in  a  circus.  This 
blot  is  irritating 
only  because  all 
the  rest  is  so  par- 
ticularly good.  Up 
to  this  stage,  and 
immediately  after 
it,  when  the  mis- 
chief  is  done, 
"  'tis  all  FRANCES 
MARY,"  in  stalls, 
boxes,  and  dress 
circle,  but  this 

situation  is  decidedly  "Fanny  Polly,"  in  gallery,  "upper 
suckle,"  and  pit.  THE  BARON  DE  B.  "W. 


THE  LESS  THE  CASH,  THE  MORE  THE  COURAGE. 

(A  story  for  the  incredulous.) 

THE  hero  stood  ready  to  attempt  the  forlorn  hope.  Hitherto, 
he  had  not  been  particularly  distinguished  for  his  courage. 
He  had  been  sparing  in  his  stock  of  ammunition.  Over  and 
over  again,  when  he  might  have  used  his  revolver  to  advantage, 
he  had  been  supine. 

"And  you  have  decided  to  cover  yourself  with  glory?" 
asked  his  subaltern. 

"Yes  ;  glory  is  better  than  a  threadbare  coat  ?  " 

"  And  you  have  no  cartridges  ?  " 

« '  No, ' '  replied  the  hero,  bitterly.   ' '  I  cannot  afford  to  get  any. ' ' 

"My  friend,"  said  the  subaltern.  "This  is  the  supreme 
moment.  Why,  my  dear  friend,  are  you  courting  certain  death  ? ' ' 

"  Because,  to  tell  you  the  truth,"  calmly  replied  the  hero, 
"  on  my  wretched  pay  I  cannot  afford  to  live  I  " 


PUNCH,  OR  THE   LONDON    CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  23,  1901. 


THE  NOBLE  GAME. 

(A  vision  of  the  near 
future.) 

WITH  great  as- 
tonishment  the 
Veteran  Cricketer 
read  in  his  daily 
paper  that  his  old 
county,  Loamshire, 
was  engaged  in  a 
three  days'  match 
with  Little  Puddle- 
ton.  "What  in  the 
world  was  the 
meaning  of  the  fact 
that  one  of  the 
finest  elevens  in 
England  \vas  play- 
ing against  a  vil- 
lage team  ?  Deter- 
mined to  get  to  the 
bottom  of  the 
mystery,  he  rushed 
off  to  the  County 
ground,  sat  down 
in  the  enclosure, 
and  put  his  ques- 
tion to  the  spec- 
tator occupying 
the  next  chair. 

"Why,  "said  the 
spectator,  "  it  will 
take  us  all  our  time 
to  beat  Little 
Puddleton  nowa- 
days. Look  at  the 
telegra  p  h  — 
they've  got  300 
for  one  wicket 
already." 

The  Veteran 
Cricketer,  how- 
ever, was  watch- 
ing the  play  in- 
tently. "But,  good 
Heavens,  look  at 
the  bowling!  "  he 
exclaimed.  "  Who 
on  earth  is  that 
man  sending  down 
underhand  full- 
pitches  to  leg? 
What 's  become  of 
where  's  TWISTER  ? 
our  usual  bowlers  !  " 

The  stranger  smiled  compassionately. 
"You  seem  unaware,  Sir,"  he  said,  "that 
the  county  captains  have  held  a  meeting 
since  the  close  of  last  season,  and  the 
result  is  that  the  game  is  considerably 
altered.  Two  witnesses  deposed  that  they 
had  seen  SCATTERBAIL,  when  a  boy  of  ten, 
deliver  an  unfair  ball.  Once  a  thrower, 
always  a  thrower,  is  the  captains'  maxim. 
Consequently,  SCATTERBAIL  is  forbidden 
to  play." 

"But  how  about  TWISTER?"  enquired 
the  Veteran  Cricketer.  ' '  No  one  in  Eng- 
,  and  has  a  fairer  delivery  than  his  !  " 


UNKIND. 

TJte  Bollits  hired  a  turn-out  for  a  drive  into  the  country,  and  Mrs.  B.  drove. 

Mr.  B.    "  I   UNDERSTOOD  YOU  TO   SAT,    MARIA,    THAT  YOU   KNEW   HOW  TO   DRIVE  !  " 


SCATTERBAIL  ?    And 
I  don't  see  one  of 


"  Quite  so,"  assented  the  other. 
"TWISTER'S  delivery  has  been  perfectly 
fair — up  to  the  present.  But,  as  the  cap- 
tains argued,  what  guarantee  is  there 
that,  if  he  were  still  permitted  to  play,  he 
might  not  take  to  throwing  in  the  future  ? 
Practically  none.  So,  as  TWISTER  had  taken 
many  of  their  wickets  last  season,  and  it 


was  impossible  to 
say  that  he  might 
not  some  day  send 
down  a  ball  of 
doubtful  fairness, 
they  have  forbid- 
den him  to  take 
part  in  this  year's 
cricket.  On  the 
same  principle, 
they  have  warned 
off  all  our  other 
bowlers." 

' '  How  perfectly 
preposterous!" 
cried  the  Veteran 
Cricketer.  "  But 
— there  's  another 
bye!  That's  the 
sixth  this  over. 
Who  is  keeping 
wicket  ?  Anyhow, 
they  can't  have 
warned  off  poor  old 
SNAPPER  for  unfair 
bowling — he  never 
bowled  in  his 
life!" 

"No,"  the 
stranger  ex- 
plained, "but  one 
of  the  captains  de- 
clared he  had  once 
lost  his  wicket 
through  SNAPPER'S 
happening  to 
sneeze  when  he 
was  just  about  to 
play  a  difficult  ball. 
Determined  to 
stamp  out  the 
slightest  suspicion 
of  unfairness,  the 
captains  agreed 
that  SNAPPER  must 
not  keep  wicket 
for  the  future  in 
any  county 
match." 

"  So  the  whole 
team  is  changed, 
except  the  cap- 
tain !  "  the  Veteran 

Cricketer  remarked.  "  Stay,  though— I 
see  one  familiar  face— that 's  NIMBLE,  sure 
enough.  But  why  on  earth  is  the  smartest 
cover-point  in  the  world  put  to  field  at 
deep  long-on?  " 

"  He  was  too  smart,"  rejoined  the  other. 
"Such  exceptional  agility  was  thought 
likely  to  disconcert  the  batsman,  which 
would  be  obviously  unfair.  Therefore, 
the  county  captains — 

"Rubbish!  Nonsense!"  interrupted 
the  Veteran  Cricketer.  "Preposterous 
tomfoolery!  County  captains,  indeed! 
What  is  the  M.C.C.  doing?  " 

His  companion  smiled.  "That,"  he 
said,  "  is  what  a  good  many  people  are 
asking."  A-  C.  D- 


JANUARY  30,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHAEIVARI. 


73 


I 


THE    ROLL    OF    GREAT    MONARCHS. 

HISTORY  ADDS  ANOTHER  NAME. 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHAE1VABL 


[JANUARY  30,  1901, 


THE    QUEEN. 


"  TT  ERE,  in  an  early  number  of  his  life's  work,  Mr.  Punch, 
by  the  hand  of  one  of  his  Young  Men,  first  presents 
his  QUEEN  to  her  faithful  people.  Apart  from  this  incident 
the  occasion  is  historic.  At  the  date  HKK  MAJESTY  had  been 
married  just  eighteen  months.  A  political  crisis,  followed 
by  a  General  Election,  deprived  her  of  the  counsel  and  com- 
panionship of  her  friend  and  first  Minister  of  State,  Lord 
MELBOURNE.  Sir  ROBERT  PEEL  was  inevitable,  and  was  re- 
luctantly sent  for. 

"  The  position  of  affairs  and  the  attitude  of  parties  is  accu- 
rately shown  by  the  artist.  The  QUEEN  is  seated  at  her 
desk,  over  which  is  shown  a  bust  of  the  lamented  MELBOURNE. 
With  face  averted  from  the  intruder,  HER  MAJESTY  reluc- 
tantly opens  his  letter  of  introduction,  which  conies  in  the 
form  of  a  mandate  from  the  electorate,  giving  the  Tories 
(at  this  epoch  there  were  no  Conservatives)  an  overwhelming 
majority." 


JANUARY  30,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  75 


THE    LETTER    OF    INTRODUCTION.    1841. 


76 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  30,  1901. 


OPENING    OF    PARLIAMENT. 

.  FEBRUARY  4,  1845. 

"  THE  opening  of  Parliament,  by  our  young  QUEEN  in  person ! 

A  theme  which  Punch's  loyal  Muse  failed  not  to  turn  a  verse  on  ! 

The  fair  young  QUEEN  of  February,  Eighteen-forty-five, 

In  Eighteen-ninety-seven,  Heaven  be  thanked  !  is  yet  alive ; 

Though  half  a  century  hath  fled,  and  forms  hath  passed  away 

Of  many  great  ones  who  beheld  that  Royal  Opening  Day, 

The  handsome,  glad  young  CONSORT  with  plumed  hat  and  princely  port, 

The  venerable  Iron  Duke,  pride  of  the  young  QUEEN'S  Court, 

LYNDHURST,  the  stately  Chancellor,  suave  GRANVILLE,  stern  BUCCLEUCH, 

Grave  ABERDEEN,  proud  STANLEY,  NAPIER,  'ELLENBOROUGH,  too, 


All  cluster  round  the  sweet  girl  QUEEN  who  holds  in  fingers  taper 
A  memorable  Royal  Speech,  that  wondrous  '  Scrap  of  Paper,'  , 
"Whilst  down  below,  in  a  wild  rush  the  '  loyal  Commons  '  troop, 
Headed  by  Mr.  SPEAKER.    PEEL  and  RUSSELL  lead  the  group. 
GRAHAM  and  GOULBURN  follow ;  there  is  BROUGHAM'S  colossal  beak ; 
O'CONNELL,  with  'Repeal,'  intent  Ould  Oireland's  wrath  to  wreak 
Upon  the  haughty  Saxon,  whilst  behind  him  swift '  BEN  DIZZY,' 
Intent  on  '  smashing  everyone,'  is  making  very  busy. 
Then  that '  Cheap  Bread  Petition ! '    Ah  !  what  changes  it  portends 
Of  PEEL'S  fast  coming  policy  doomed  to  sunder  closest  friends ! 
Alas  !    Or  friends  or  foes  these  hosts  are  now  all  passed  away, 
The  QUEEN  and  Punch  alone  survive  to  greet  this  Jubilee  Day  ; 
VICTORIA  to  see  a  sight  no  Sovereign  yet  hath  seen, 
And  Punch  to  ponder  memories,  and  to  shout  '  God  save  the  QUEEN  ! '  ' 

"Punch,"  Vol.  112, p.  298. 


JANUARY  30,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  77 


THE    QUEEN,    PRINCE    CONSORT,   LORD   JOHN    RUSSELL,   AND   SIR    ROBERT    PEEL.    1846. 

"  On  June  27,  1846,  Sir  ROBERT  PEEL  went  down  to  Windsor  to  place  his  resignation  in  the  hands  of  Her  Majesty.    Three  days  later  Lord  JOHN 
'  RUSSELL  had  an  audience,  and  received  commands  to  form  his  first  ministry.     LEECH  has  taken  the  artist's  liberty  of  making  the  occasions  simultaneous. 
"We  see  PEEL  leaving  by  the  door  in  sullen  anger,  whilst  little  JOHNNIE  RUSSELL  enters,  prim,  buttoned  and  confident. 


78 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  30,  1901. 


JANUARY  30,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OB  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


79 


80 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  30,  1901. 


THE    FIRST    OF    MAY,    1851. 

"  On  May  Day,  1851,  the  Queen,  accompanied  by  Prince  Albert,  the  Prince  of  "Wales,  and  the  Princess  Koyal,  opened  the  Great  Exhibition.  It  was  a 
public  holiday,  and,  according  to  current  estimation,  never  before  had  London  been  so  full.  At  least  half  a  million  were  congregated  within  the 
palings  of  the  Park." 


I    JANUARY  30,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI. 


81 


THROWING    THE    OLD    SHOE.    1854. 

Her  Majesty  and  tlie  Eoyal  children  cheering  itie  Guards  on  their  departure  for  tJie  Crimea.. 


82 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHABIVARI 


[JANUABY  30,  1901. 


JANUARY  30,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


83 


84 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  30,  1901. 


THE    ACCESSION    OF    THE    QUEEN    OF    INDIA.    1858. 

"  In  the  Session  of  1858  there  passed  through  both  Houses  of  Parliament  an  Act  for  the  Better  Government  of  India.    Its  simple  object  was  to  transfer 
the  rule  of  the  territories  of  India  from  John  Company  to  Queen  Victoria.    Addressing  Her  Majesty,  Punch  said — 


" '  To  thee  is  given  another  land, 

Another  title  of  renown, 
Another  sceptre  in  thy  hand, 
And  on  thy  head  another  erown. 


'  To  India  now  at  last  appears 

Hope  that  before  she  ne'er  had  seen. 
She  smiles  upon  thee  through  her  tears, 
And  looks  for  aid  to  England's  Queen.' 


"  How  splendidly  this  appeal  has  been  responded  to  is  shown  by  the  state  of  India  to-day  as  compared  with  her  condition  when  she  knelt  to  do  homage 
to  her  Sovereign  Lady." 


o 


JANUARY  30,  1901.] 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI. 


85 


KAISER-I-HIND.    1877. 


The  Queen  proclaimed  Empress  of  India  at  Delhi,  January  1,  1877. 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONPO] 


ARL— JANUARY  30,  1901. 


•UEEN!"    1887, 


92 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  30,  1901. 


(Slueen. 


BORN  MAY  24,  1819.       DIED  JANUARY  22,  1901. 

THE  tears  we  disallow  to  lesser  ill 

Here  is  no  shame  for  English  eyes  to  shed, 
Because  the  noblest  heart  of  all  is  still  — 
Because  the  QUEEN  lies  dead. 

Grief  asks  for  words,  yet  silent  grief  were  well  ; 
Vain  is  desire,  as  passionate  prayer  was  vain  ; 
Not  all  our  love  can  bring,  by  any  spell, 
Breath  to  those  lips  again. 

Ah  !    had  but  Death  foregone  his  royal  claim, 

Demanding  ransom,  life  for  life  the  price, 
How  loyalty  had  leaped  to  kiss  the  flame 
Of  such  a  sacrifice  ! 

God  knows,  in  many  a  need  this  thing  has  been  — 

Light  hearts  for  her  have  dared  the  desolate  grave  ; 
From  other  hurt  their  blood  has  saved  the  QUERN, 
From  Death  it  could  not  save. 

And  of  the  dregs  to  drink  from  sorrow's  cup 
This  is  most  bitter,  that  with  life's  release 
She  might  not  leave  her  children  folded  up 
Between  the  wings  of  Peace. 

Yet,  for  a  solace  in  that  darkest  hour, 

When  even  Kings  have  found  themselves  alone, 
Over  a  people's  love  she  kept  her  power 
Firm  as  her  fathers'  throne. 

So  by  the  gate  where  is  no  first  nor  last 

And  lords  of  earth  must  lay  their  splendour  down, 
Thither,  where  Love  is  Sovereign,  she  has  passed 
To  win  his  queenlier  crown. 

Thence,  by  her  guardian  spirit,  heavenly-wise, 
Still  shall  her  realm  of  old  be  girded  round, 
And  common  loss  yet  closer  knit  the  ties 
That  common  love  has  bound. 

Yea,  too,  since  Nature  owns  no  bar  of  race, 

She,  being  dead,  may  speak  through  alien  lands, 
Changing  suspicion,  by  remembered  grace, 
To  trust  that  understands. 

O  great  of  heart  !  in  whom  the  world  has  known 

"Wisdom  with  woman's  sweetness  reconciled  ; 
Who  held  her  Kingdom's  honour,  as  her  own, 
Still  fair  and  undefiled  ! 

Best  shall  they  A-oep  that  stainless  memory  bright 

Who  count  tneir  heritage  a  holy  debt, 
Who  walk  with  fearless  soul  the  way  of  light 
In  which  her  feet  were  set. 

And  in  that  faith,  ere  yet  our  tears  are  dry, 

Or  poignant  grief  has  spent  its  sudden  sting, 
To  Him  she  serves  we  lift  our  hearts  and  cry, 

"  God  save  her  son,  the  King  !  "  O.  S. 


JANUARY  30,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHABIVARI 


94 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHABIVABI. 


[JANUARY  30,  1901. 


'THE  QUEEN!    THE    QUEEN!" 

*'  T?OR  the  last  time  in  her  long  reign  the  QUEEN  opened  Parlia- 
ment in  person  in  the  Session  of  1886.  It  was  a  final  mark 
of  favour  to  the  heritors  of  Mr.  DISRAELI'S  power,  and  was  the 
more  marked  by  reason  of  the  absolute  hopelessness  of  the 
situation.  "The  Stop-Gap  Government,"  as  Mr.  CHAMBERLAIN 
•wittily  called  it  when,  in  June,  1885,  an  unexpected  concatena- 
tion of  circumstances  called  it  into  being,  was  heavily  routed 
at  the  General  Election  that  took  place  in  the  following 
December.  Mr.  GLADSTONE,  after  a  brief  exile,  came  back  to 
power  stronger  than  ever. 

"Unlike  Mr.  DISRAELI  in  1880, Lord  SALISBURY  resolved  to 
meet  Parliament,  facing  it  from  the^Ministerial  Bench.  To  this 
gallant  but  hopeless  effort  the  QUEEN  lent  the  encouragement  of 
her  rare  presence.  It  was  unavailing  against  the  inevitable. 
On  January  21  the  QUEEN  opened  Parliament  in  person,  her 
speech  being  drafted  in  Lord  SALISBURY'S  Cabinet." 


JANUARY  30,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  95 


(O 
GO 
00 


z 

Id 
LU 

=> 

a 

id 

X 


z 

LJ 
HI 

=> 

a 

UJ 


^     3 

K<3  K^ 

*** 

I  §?. 


II 

13     * 


96 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  30,  1901. 


THE    TWO    JUBILEES,    1888. 

Her  Majesty  and  Pope  Leo  XIII.  exchanged  courtesies.    The  Jubilee  of  the  Queen's  Beign  coincided  with  the  Episcopal  Jubilee  of  His  Holiness. 


JANUARY  30,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  97 


BLESSED    ARE    THE    PEACEMAKERS."    1896. 


"The  visit  of  the  Czar1  to  the  Queen  in  the  autumn  of  1896  was  persistently  declared  to  be  of  aprivate  character.  It  wai  felt  that  the  issues  of  peace 
or  war  rested  with' the  ^fourig  Czar.  'It  was  rumoured  that  he  was  personally  inclined  to  associate  himself  with  England  -in -delivering  the  Armenians  from 
the  thraldom  of  the  Tftrk,  «nd  averting  war  by  a  solid  settlement  of  that  difficulty.  If  only  in  quiet  council  taken.at  Balmoral  the- Czat  could  be  brought 
cordially  to  co-operate  Jvith  England  in  this  hour  of  difficulty,  all  would  be  well  for  Armenia  and  for  Europe." 


98 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI.  [JANUARY  so,  1901. 


GOOD-BYE,    GRANDMAMMA!"    1891. 


"  With  yonder  bark  I  '11  gladly  brave 

The  seas  about  your  isle. 
Thanjts,  Grand' nia,  for  that  kerchief  wave, 
. ..    ,  And  that  right  royal  smile  ! 


"  Welcome,  ye  billews,  tumbling  brisk 

Beneath  a  cloud-swept  sky ! 
Give  your  white  kerchief  one  more  whisk, 
Dear  Grandmamma — Good-bye<! " 

"  Punch,"  July  18,  1891. 


JANUARY  30,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  -99 


APPRECIATION.    1901. 

Our  King  (to  Kaiser  Wilhelni).   "Goo  BLESS  YOU,  SIR!     EN-GLAND  WILL  KEVIJI  FORGET  YOUR  GENITIVE  SYMFATHV  !" 
[On  hearing  of  the  Queen's  illness,  the  German  Emperor,  Her  Majesty's  eldest  grandson,  putting  aside  all  engagements  hastened  at  once  to  Osborne,] 


100' 


PUNCH,  OE  THE  LONDON  CHARIVAEL 


[JANUARY  30,  1901. 


ESSENCE    OF    PARLIAMENT. 

EXTRACTED  FROM  THE  DIARY  OF  TOBY,  M.P. 


House  of  Commons,  Wednesday,  January  22nd.  — THE  last 
time  the  QUEEN,  seated  on  the  Throne  in  the  House  of  Lords, 
opened  Parliament  in  person,  was  in  January,  1886.  The 
circumstances  of  the  political  hour  were  as  strange  as  the 
QUEEN'S  visits  to  Westminster  were  rare.  Lord  SALISBURY  was 
still  Prime  Minister,  .albeit  at  the  general  election  just  con- 
cluded he  had  been  hopelessly  routed.  Possibly  it  was  a 
feeling  of  loyalty  to  an  old  friend  in  time  of  trouble  that 
prompted  HER  MAJESTY  to  go  out  of  her  ordinary  way  to 
associate  herself  with  Ministers  whose  fall  was  inevitable. 
Within  a  week  of  the  ceremony,  Mr.  JESSE  COLLINGS  moved  the 
historic  amendment  to  the  Address  asserting  the  principle  of 
endowing  the  agricultural  labourer  with  three  acres  and  a 
cow.  On  a  division  the  Government  were  defeated  by  a 
majority  of  79,  and  forthwith  resigned. 

By  odd  coincidence,  the  precedent  appearance  of  the  QUEEN 
on  the  Parliamentary  scene  presaged  ministerial  defeat.  In 
1880  the  glamour  that  had  through  some  years  steadily  shone 
over  Lord  BEACONSPIELD'S  Government  was  fading.  The  sands 
of  the  life  of  the  Parliament  that  in  1874,  for  the  first  time  in  his 
career,  placed  him  in  power  as  well  as  office,  were  running 
out.  The  shadow  of  Dissolution  hung  over  all.  The  only 
question  was  at  what  hour  it  would  fall.  The  QUEEN  came  down 
to  give  her  favourite  Minister  a  good  send-off  on  the  perilous,  as 
it  turned  out  the  fatal,  leap  awaiting  him. 

In  1876,  the  third  Session  of  the  Disraelian  Parliament, 
HER  MAJESTY,  after  long  absence,  reappeared  at  West- 
minster. It  was  a  stately  scene,  from  which  the  sun  pettishly 
withdrew.  One  remembers,  over  the  wilderness  of  a  quarter  of 
a  century,  the  semi-darkness  that  filled  the  Chamber,  crowded 
with  Peers  and  Peeresses  awaiting  the  coming  of  the  QUEEN. 
At  a  signal  from  the  LORD  CHANCELLOR  a  flood  of  light  from  the 
gaseliers  in  the  roof  suddenly  burst  on  the  scene.  A  chatter 
of  conversation,  abruptly  filling  the  Chamber  testified  to  the 
revulsion  of  ^spirits  consequent  on  deliverance  from  the  de- 
pressing influence  of  the  fog. 

This  scene  DISRAELI  witnessed  from  the  Bar  of  the  House, 
where  he  stpod  breathless  after  the  mad  rush  of  the  Com- 
mons to  get  front  places  in  the  Hsuse  of  Lords.  The  ordered 
programme  was  that  the  SPEAKER  should  walk  in  solemn 
majesty,  led  by  Black  Rod,  escorted  by  the  Sergeant-at-Arms. 
Behind  him,  at  respectful  distance,  would  pace  the  Leader 
of  the  House  and  the  Leader  of  the  Opposition.  Then  come 
Ministers,  ex-Ministers,  and  Privy  Councillors,  whilst  sedately 
marched  in  the  rear  the  host  of  private  Members.  That 
was  all  very  well ;  looks  nice  when  written  down  on  paper. 
But,  alack !  before  Black  Rod  had  safely  conducted  the 


SPEAKER  within  the  corridor  leading  to  the  Lords'  Lobby,  the 
mass  of  Members,  spreading  out  in  the  Octagon  Hall,  finding 
their  progress  baffled  by  the  narrower  limits  of  the  corridor 
began  to  press  forward.  The  SPEAKER  was  hustled  into  the 
presence  of  'his  sovereign,  safe  in  possession  of  wig  and  gown 
But  the  feeble  body  of  the  PREMIER  was  sorely  tried.  It  was 
said  at  the  time  he  had  been  overthrown.  That  was  the  usua 
exaggeration.  He  was  certainly  a  good  deal  knocked  about. 

The  QUKEN  opening  Parliament  again  in  the  following  Ses- 
sion, DISRAELI  took  effective  means  of  preventing  recurrence 
of  accident.    When,  on  the  8th  of  February,   1877,  the  QUEEN 
took  her  seat  on  the  Throne,  the  PREMIER  entered  the  House 
by  the  less  tumultuous  approach  of  the  doorway  behind   the 
Throne.    Nay,  he  accompanied  his  SOVEREIGN  robed  in  crimson 
and  ermine,  bearing  aloft  a  sword  in  scabbard  richly  dight.'j 
Still  BENJAMIN,  he  was  DISRAELI  no  more,  but  Earl  of  BEACONS-  ! 
FIELD,  carrying  the  Sword  of  State  before  the  QUEEN,  whom  he'j 
had  of  late  made  EMPRESS  OF  INDIA. 

In  1886  the  QUEEN  came  to  Westminster  once  more  in  the 
circumstances  described.  Then  fell  silence,  and  now  night. 

Although  in  recent  times  the  QUEEN'S  direct  touch  with 
Parliament  was  limited  to  these  four  visits,  her  interest 
its  proceedings  was  exceedingly  keen.  It  is  an  old  story  how 
every  night  the  LEADER  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COMMONS  wrote  a 
letter  summarising  the  course  of  proceeding  at  a  currenti 
sitting.  In  view  of  the  variety  in  Pictures  in  Parliament  pre- 
sented by  the  morning  papers,  supplementing  the  lengthened! 
report  of  the  speeches,  that  seemed  a  superfluity.  The  custom 
was  in  vogue  when  the  QUEEN  came  to  the  Throne,  and  she 
clung  to  it  to  the  end.  It  dates  back  to  the  time  of  GEOROB 
III.,  when  newspapers  were  scarce  and  the  reporting  of  Parlia- 
mentary Debates  was  hampered  by  hopeless  restrictions. 

LORD  NORTH,  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury  from  1770  to  1782, 
wrote  "  Essence  of  Parliament "  long  before  it  was  distilled  ia 
the  pages  of  Punch. 

In  the  course  of  her  long  reign,  the  QUEEN  saw  Parliamentary 
procedure  revolutionised.  Through  more  than  sixty  years  she 
gave  her  royal  assent  to  a  series  of  Bills  which  raised  the 
condition  of  her  pepple  to  the  highest  plane  of  prosperity  and 
domestic  comfort  known  among  nations.  Her  counsel  has 
strengthened  the  heart,  to  a  certain  extent  guided  the  pur- 
pose, of  a  long  succession  of  Ministers.  Never  once,  except 
in  the  so-called  Bedchamber  Plot,  which  happened  while  she 
was  yet  a  girl,  did  she  assume  an  attitude  approaching  conflict 
with  political  feeling  in  Parliament.  In  the  House  of  Commons 
the  reverence  felt  for  her  was  testified  at  the  merest  mention 
of  her  name.  From  time  to  time  the  Lords  and  Commons  have| 


JANUARY  30,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


101 


'THE    WATER    BABIES    AND    THE    ROYAL    GODMOTHER."    (891. 

"On  February  26,  1891,  Portsmouth  Dockyard  was  in  festive  array.  Two  new  ships,  bolder  than  anything  yet  numbered  in  the  fleet,  had  been 
completed.  One  was  the  largest  battleship  up  to  date  built  in  Great  Britain.  The  Queen  consented  to  honour  the  occasion  by  launching  and  naming  the 
vessels.  Accompanied  by  the  Prince  of  Wales,  the  Duke  of  Edinburgh,  and  the  Duke  of  Connaught,  Her  Majesty  successfully  launched  the  mammoth 
ships,  naming  one  the  Royal  Arthur,  the  other  the  Royal  Sovereign." 


102 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JANUARY  30,  1901. 


joined  in  congratulation  on  some  happy  event  in  the  family 
circle,  or  in  tribute  of  sorrow  and  sympathy,  blows  for  too 
frequently  smote  one  of  the  gentlest,  most  faithful,  hearts  that 
ever  beat  in  the  breast  of  woman.  There  has  been  no  mistaking 
the  genuineness  of  the  emotion  then  evoked. 

Members  of  the  last  House  of  Commons,  many  of  whom  sit  in 
that  which  to-day  mourns  the  death  of  the  QUEEN,  do  not  forget 
the  characteristic  circumstances  which  last  brought  them  into 
her  presence.  They  had  gone  in  a  body  to  Buckingham  Palace, 
to  present  their  congratulations  on  the  sixtieth  anniversary  of 
her  accession  to  the  Throne.  There  was  blundering  on  the 
part  of  officious  personages,  with  result  that  only  a  dozen  or 
a  score  of  members  reached  the  room  where  the  QUEEN  awaited 
their  coming.  HER  MAJESTY,  hearing  "of  the  disappointment 
thus  occasioned,  regardless  of  the  burden  of  her  years,  of  the 
exceptional  work  pressed  upon  her  by  the  Jubilee  ceremonies, 
arranged  a  special  Garden  Party  at  Windsor,  where  she  was 
at  home  to  her  faithful  Commons. 

That  is  the  last  glimpse  of  her  that  dwells  -in  the  memory 
of  the  majority.  It  was  appropriately  homely  in  its  kindness — 
the  aged  QUEEN,  all  on  a  summer  afternoon,  greeting  her 
guests  in  her  own  home-garden,  endeared  to  her  by  the  varied 

memories  of  sixty  years. 

***** 

Last  night,  Tuesday,  January  22,  the  QUEEN  died. 
*  *  *  * 

To-day,  Wednesday,  January  23,  the  King  lives. 

Parliament  hastily  summoned  to  take  the  oath  of  allegiance 
to  the  new  Sovereign.  Considering  abruptness  of  summons  the 
muster  large,  especially  in  the  Commons.  Many  come  on  from 
St.  James's  Palace,  where  they  saw  the  King  subscribe  the 
oath  enacted  at  the  Union. 

Members  not  yet  Privy  Councillors  cluster  in  the  Lobby  and 
wonder  by  what  title  they  shall  hail  their  King.  At  Westminster 
no  ofte  as  yet  knows.  The  form  of  oath  is  written  out  ready,  all 
but  the  title  of  his  Majesty.  Under  which  King,  ALBERT  or 
EDWARD?  BENZONIA  GIBBONS,  Clerk  of  the  Public  Bill  Office, 
who  has  the  matter  in  charge,  could  not  speak  if  for  his  silence 
he  had  to  die. 

The  news  finally  flashes  forth  in  manner  the  more  impressive 
because  undesigned.  Four  o'clock  having  struck  and  the 
Speaker  taken  the  chair,  he  rises  and  says  :  "It  now  becomes 
our  duty  to  take  the  oath  of  allegiance  to  Hrs  MAJESTY  KING 
EDWARD  THE  SEVENTH. 


A  murmur  of  approval  ran  round  the  benches.     In  the  un- 
wonted style  thus  proclaimed  there  was  a  fine  old  Plantagenet 
flavour  that  pleased  the  palate  of  the  representatives  of   an] 
ancient  people. 

Boom  !  Boom !  The  sullen  roar  reverberates  through  West- 
minster Hall.  It  is  the  long  drawn-out  plaint  of  the  minute 
gun,  that  takes  an  hour  and  twenty-two  minutes  to  spell  out 
the  message  The  QUEEN  is  dead. 

Business  done. — Members  take  oath  of  allegiance  to  new 
KING. 

Thursday. — My  right  honourable  friend  the  Member  for  Sark 
who,  with  the  rest  of  the  Privy  Councillors,  was  at  St.  James's) 
Palace  yesterday,  tells  me  the  KING,  in  trying  circumstances, 
bore  himself  with  dignity,  grace,  and,  at  times,  a  tenderness 
that  touched  all  hearts.    His  reference  to  his  "  beloved  Mother, 
the  QUEEN  "  (he  did  not  speak  of  her  as  "the  late  QUEEN") 
was  uttered  in  a  broken  voice.    When  he  came  to  pledge  him- 
self to  follow  in  her  footsteps  as  a  Constitutional  Sovereign,  as 
long  as  there  is  breath  in  his  body  to  work  for  the  good  of  his! 
people,  he  braced  himself  up  and  spoke  in  clear  emphatic  notes.! 

Business  done. — More  swearing-in. 

Friday. — Find  ourselves  in  odd  plight.  By  Statute  incorpo- 
rated in  Parliamentary  Reform  scheme  of  1867,  old  state  of  thin| 
whereby  Parliament  was  straightway  dissolved  on  demise  o 
Crown  abolished.  Consequent  avoidance  of  deplorable  incon 
venience  of  General  Election,  following  close  on  that  which  i 
October  celebrated  "  the  close  of  the  war."  In  the  quain 
way  in  which  Bills  are  drafted,  this  30  and  31  Vic.  orders  b 
special  section  that  the  act  is  not  to  apply  to  Scotland  o 
Ireland.  Logical  consequence  is,  that  whilst  we  English  an< 
Welsh  members  go  on  as  if  nothing  happened  at  Osborne  o 
Tuesday  night,  there  must  needs  be  a  General  Election  fo 
Ireland  and  Scotland. 

"  We  muddle  through  a  war  somehow,"  as  Lord  ROSEBER 
hopefully  says.  How  we  are  going  to  muddle  through  thit 
business  not  yet  settled.  Irish  members,  at  present  couclian 
in  their  castled  homes,  may  be  counted  upon  to  have  somethin 
to  say  on  the  matter  when  they  turn  up  next  month.  The 
will,  at  least,  insist  that  Scotch  members  be  put  to  the  troubl 
and  expense  of  another  election. 

Business  done. — Addresses  to  the  KING  conveying  condo 
lence  and  congratulation  voted  in  both  Houses.  Adjourn  ti 
14th  of  February. 


JANUARY  30,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


104 


Sc 


THE    QUEEN'S    YEAR!    1897. 


"  Eighteen  hundred  and  ninety-seven  is  the  Queen's  year,  the  sixtieth  anniversary  of  a  memorable  reign.  On  this  the  eve  of  the  Queen's  birthday 
there  yet  remain  months  of  the  year  into  which,  great  events  may  be  crammed.  Up  to  mid- April  it  was  hoped  that  strenuous  efforts,  in  which  the  Queeu 
has  taken  an  anxious  part,  would  have  averted  war.  That  hope  suffered  sudden  extinction,  and  the  Jubilee  year  has  not  proved  a  year  of  peace  on  earth 
and  goodwill  among  men.  England,  having  done  her  best  for  peace'  sake,  stands  apart  from  the  fray.  The  nation  united  in  preparation  for  rendering  full 
honour  to  the  day  that  shall  see  the  sixtieth  anniversary  of  Victoria's  reign." 


104  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  [JANUARY  30,  1901- 


FEBRUARY  6,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


105 


A   WOMAN'S    REASON. 

She.    "I   BOUGHT  THIS   CHIPPENDALE   CHAIR  FOR  YOU,    DEAR." 

He.  "THAT  'a  VERY  KIND  OF  YOU.     BUT — ER — I  DON'T  THINK  IT'S  CHIPPENDALE." 
She.  "YES,  DEAR,  IT  MUST  BE.    THE  MAN  SAID  IT  WASN'T  OAK,  AND  I  KNOW  IT  ISN'T 

HOGANY.      So   IT  MUST  BE  CHIPPENDALE  !  " 


MILITAEY   DIALOGUES. 

ARMY  REFORM. 

RNE. — The  drawing-room  of  the  Colonel's 
quarters,  decorated  urith  trophies  from 
mar ij  lands  and  water-colour  sketches. 
Mrs.  BULKWISE,  the  Colonel's  ivife,  a 
tall,  broad  and  assertive  lady,  is  (jiving 

tea    to    Mrs.    LYTTLETON-CARTWRIGHT, 

with  the  stamp  of  fashion  upon  her, 
and  Mrs.  KARMADINE,  who  has  a  soul 
for  art — both  ladies  of  the  regiment. 
Colonel    BULKWISE,   a   small  and   de- 
spondent man  ivhose  hair  is   "part- 
worn,"  gazes  morosely  into  the  fire. 
Mrs.  Bullcwise  (waring  a  tea  cup).    As 
rely  as  WOMAN  is  asserting  her  right  to 


a  place  in  medicine,  in  law,  and  in  the 
council,  so  surely  will  she  take  her  proper 
place  in  the  control  of  the  army. 

Mrs.  Lyttleton  -  Cartwright.  What  a 
lovely  costume  one  could  compose  out  of 
the  uniform.  I  've  often  tried  JACK'S 
tunic  on. 

Mrs.  D.  (severely).  The  mere  brutal 
work  of  fighting,  the  butchery  of  the 
trade,  would  still  have  to  be  left  to  the 
men  ;  but  such  matters  as  require  higher 
intelligence,  keener  wit,  tact,  perse- 
verance, should  be,  and  some  day  shall 
be,  in  our  hands. 

Mrs.  Karmadine.  And  the  beauty  and 
grace  of  life,  Mrs.  BULKWISE.  Surely  we 
women,  if  allowed,  could  in  peace  bring 


culture  to  the  barrack-room,  and  garland 
the  sword  with  bay  wreaths  ? 

Mrs.  B.  Take  the  War  Office.  I  am  told 
that  the  ranks  of  the  regiments  are  de- 
pleted of  combatant  officers  in  order  that 
they  may  sit  in  offices,  in  Pall  Mall,  and 
do  clerical  work  indifferently.  Now,  I 
hold  that  our  sex  could  do  this  work 
better,  more  cheaply,  and  with  greater 
dispatch. 

Mrs.  L-C.  "Pall-Mall"  would  be  such 
an  excellent  address. 

Mrs.  B.  The  young  men,  both  officers 
and  civilians,  who  are  employed  waste, 
so  I  understand,  the  time  of  the  public  by 
going  out  to  lunch  at  clubs  and  frequently 
pause  in  their  work  to  smoke  cigars  and 
discuss  the  odds.  Now  a  glass  of  milk, 
or  some  claret  and  lemonade,  a  slice  of 
seed-cake,  or  some  tartlets,  brought  by  a 
maid  from  the  nearest  A.  B.  C.  shop  would 
satisfy  all  our  mid-day  wants. 

Mrs.  L-C.  And  I  never  knew  a  woman 
who  couldn't  work  and  talk  bonnets  at 
the  same  time. 

Mrs.  C.  Just  a  few  palms — don't  you 
think,  Mrs.  BULKWISE? — in  those  dreary, 
dreary  rooms,  and  some  oriental  rugs  on 
the  floors,  and  a  little  bunch  of  flowers  on 
each  desk  would  make  life  so  much  easier 
to  live. 

[Colonel  Bnlkivise  murmurs  something 
unintelligible. 

Mrs.  B.  What  do  you  say,  GEORGE? 

Colonel  B.  (with  sudden  fierceness).  I 
said,  that  there  are  too  many  old  women, 
as  it  is,  in  the  War  Office. 

Mrs.  B.  GEORGE  ! 

[The  Colonel  relapses  again  into  morose 
silence. 

Mrs.  B.  The  Intelligence  Department 
should,  of  course,  be  in  our  hands. 

Mrs.  L.-C.  I  should  just  love  to  run 
about  all  the  time,  finding  out  other 
people's  secrets. 

Mrs.  B.  And  the  Clothing  Department 
calls  for  a  woman's  knowledge.  The 
hideous  snuff-coloured  garments  must  be 
retained  for  warfare,  but  with  the  new 
costume  for  walking  out  and  ceremonial 
I  think  something  might  be  done. 

Mrs.  L-C.  The  woman  who  makes  my 
frocks  is  as  clever  as  she  can  be,  and 
always  has  her  head  full  of  ideas  for 
those  sort  of  things. 

Mrs.  C.  MICHEL  ANGELO  did  not  disdain 
to  design  the  uniform  of  the  Swiss  Guard. 
Perhaps  GILBERT,  or  FORD,  or  BROCK  might 
follow  in  the  giant's  footsteps. 

Col.  B.  You  ladies  always  design  such 
sensible  clothes  for  yourselves,  do  you 
not  ?  [He  is  frozen  into  silence  again. 

Mrs.  B.  And  the  education  of  young 
officers.  From  a  cursory  glance  through 
my  husband's  books  on  law,  topography 
and  administration,  I  should  say  that 
there  are  no  military  subjects  that  the 
average  woman  could  not  master  in  a 
fortnight.  Strategy,  of  course,  comes  to 
us  by  intuition.  The  companionship  and 


106 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[FEBRUARY  6,  1901. 


influence  of  really  good  women  on  youths  and  young  men 
cannot  be  over-rated,  and  the  professors  both  at  the  Staff  College 
and  at  the  Military  Academy  should  be  of  our  sex. 

Mrs.  L-C.  I  always  love  the  boys ;  but  I  think  some  of  the 
staff  college  men  are  awfully  stuck  up. 

Mrs.  B.  Now,  as  to  the  regiment.  The  Mess,  of  course, 
should  be  in  our  province. 

Mrs.  L-C.  How  ripping.  The  guest-nights  would  be  lovely 
dinner-parties,  the  ante-room  we  'd  use  for  tea,  and  the  band 
should  always  play  from  5  to  6.  We  'd  have  afternoon  dances 
every  Thursday,  and  turn  the  men  out  once  a  week  and  have  a 
dinner  all  to  ourselves  to  talk  scandal.  [The  Colonel  groans. 
N.  N— D. 

THE   BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 
A  GREAT  THOUGHT  FOR  EVERY  DAY  IN  THE  YEAR. 

SECOND  SERIES. 
I.— THE  MEDIAEVAL  SECTION. 

(Continued  from,  January.) 
(With  the  Author's  compliments  to  Mr.  Maurice  Heiulett.) 

16TH  TO  18TH. — But  of  the  crowning  Moralities  of  Monsieur 
BERNARD  LE  COQ-SHAW  and  how  he  belittled  Master  SHAKSPEARE 
CYONE  D'AVON  I  trust  not  myself  to  indite,  being  simple  of 
wit  and  holding  such  things  to  be  the  peculiar  of  learned 
doctors.  Hear  then  an  excerpt  of  GUILLEM  SAGITTARIUS,  whereof 
the  judgment  ranges  from  Le  Roi  (Edipe  to  Quex  le  Gai  and 
the  visions  of  HENRIK  DE  L' HOSTEL  POUPEE.  Over  duraniraous 
of  speech  he  is  for  a  full  report ;  yet  a  man  of  conscience  and 
his  matter  solid. 

"How,"  says  he,  "shall  I  justify  me  of  my  Art  in  the 
perpending  of  these  'Three  Plays  for  Puritans,'  short  of  ex- 
hausting a  furlong  of  parchment.  Let  me  consider  of  one  only, 
of  his  'Caesar  and  Cleopatra.'  And  be  it  known  that  this 
Morality  is  conceived  in  a  certain  naughty  spirit  of  badinage 
to  which  a  generous  indulgence  should  be  conceded.  Yet, 
in  pure  sooth,  he  overtops  the  legitimate  hedge  of  licensed 
fooling,  when  he  presents  in  Britannus  (amanuensis  to  Caesar) 
a  persona  informed  with  decadent  sentiment  and  tinged  with 
latter-day  paradox.  Vain  the  contention  of  Monsieur  LE  COQ- 
SHAW,  that  the  lapse  of  centuries  has  but  immaterially  modi- 
fied the  British  type,  as  charactered  by  influence  of  soil 
and  climate  and  other  physical  environing.  Still  would  I  urge 
my  suspicion  (I  hope  groundless)  of  divers  anachronisms,  still 
(with  deference)  allege  neglect  of  right  local  colour  and  histori- 
cal harmonies."  And  so  forth,  much  of  it. 

19TH  TO  23RD.— But  about  this  time  Sir  HOWARD,  Lord  Duke 
of  the  North-folk,  that  hitherto  had  been  disposed  to  cloistral 
habitudes,  sat  mightily  in  the  public  eye.  For  being  Chief 
Butler  of  England  (by  grace  of  birth)  and  also  Comptroller  of 
Letter-bags  (by  grace  of  sheer  desert)  he  was  minded  to  yield  up 
this  last  dignity,  the  better  to  expedite  him  for  battle  against 
the  heathen  ;  of  so  galliard  a  stock  of  chivalers  was  his  tree 
compact.  So  in  harness  of  the  wan  leopard's  hue  he  sailed 
south  by  east.  And  under  a  blistering  noon,  very  noxious  to 
parched  maws,  he  pricking  against  the  enemy  (that  had  no  heart 
to  wait  his  advent),  and  crying  "  Ha  !  MALTRAVERS  !  Sauve 
ARUNDEL  !  "  his  palfrey  avoided  from  under  him.  But  being 
recovered  of  this  hurt,  he  made  dedication  of  his  knightly  spurs 
to  Saint  MICHAEL  of  Table  Bay,  and  so  home  without  more  ado. 

And  now  you  shall  hear  how  he  must  needs  make  his  peace 
with  Monsignor  the  Pope,  that  had  looked  askance  on  this 
crusade  and  withheld  blessing  from  my  Lord  Duke's  emprise. 
So  in  palmer's  sable  he  made  haste  to  Rome  with  a  great 
following  of  pelegrins,  and  there  he  gat  himself  misliked  as 
one  that  was  loud  to  have  His  Holiness  restored  to  temporal 
thrones  ;  and  brought  the  Quirinal  about  his  ears  ;  and  so  home 
again,  protesting  fair  intent. 


And  as  soon  as  he  had  done  off  his  pilgrim's  weeds,  he  mustgc 
accoutred  cap-a-pie  in  his  panoply  of  Earl  Marshal  (likewise  bj 
grace  of  birth)  for  proclaiming  of  the  new  King.  And  not  i 
blazoned  herald  of  them  all  that  could  move  without  his  nod 
And  it  was  matter  for  mere  marvel  how  one  mortal  could  be  si 
innumerably  gifted.  But  thereafter  he  withdrew  to  his  privj 
pleasaunce  of  Arundel,  and  set  his  face  against  pride. 

24TH  TO  26TH. — Now,  as  the  city  waxed  monstrous  fruitful 
but  the  highways  abode  as  they  were,  save  for  yawning  breeche 
in  the  floor  thereof  very  unseasonable,  you  will  collect  tha 
the  press  of  passengers,  horse  and  foot,  grew  like  to  a  hustli 
of  pilchards  pell-mell  in  a  Brittany  drag-net.  And  the  town 
watch  gave  admonishment,  crying  "  Passavant !  passavant !  "  o 
"  Halte-la !  "  as  the  case  demanded.  And  the  driver  of  th 
all-folks- wain  would  turn  to  his  rearguard  and  "  Lord  Mayor  ha 
mercy,"  he  would  say,  "  'tis  a  mazy  faring !  "  And,  "Ay,  mate 
a  bit  thick !  "  his  fellow  ;  and  so  would  troll  a  snatch  of  Adh<s& 
pavimento. 

But  for  relief  of  the  pent  roads  there  was  devised  a  hollov 
mine-way,  such  as  coneys  affect ;  and  engines,  fitted  thereto 
to  draw  men  through  the  midriff  of  earth,  betwixt  its  crus 
and  fiery  omphalode.  And  it  was  named  Le  Tube  a  Deu: 
Deniers ;  for,  fared  they  never  so  far,  serf  or  margrave 
difference  of  price  or  person  was  there  none.  But  against  th< 
Company  of  Adventurers  that  wrought  the  same  was  plaint  mad 
of  flacking  walls,  and  a  volleying  of  roof-beams,  and  basement 
rent  as  with  a  mangonel.  And  "Tush!"  says  the  Company 
But  "Oy,  sires  !  "  cried  the  dwellers  overhead,  "  let  the  chos 
be  '  jugee ! '  "  And  so  haled  them  before  the  Shire-reeve' 
Court,  for  mulct  and  amercement. 

27TH,  28TH. — Now  so  it  was,  that  the  chivalry  of  England 
they  alone,  took  shame  of  being  seen  abroad  in  fighting-ge 
whether  as  being  too  proud  to  air  the  ensigns  of  th 
pride,  or  for  modesty,  lest  in  so  salient  a  flame  the  hearts 
ladies  errant  might  be  as  night-moths  scorched  against  th 
will — I  may  conjecture,  not  determine.  But  le  Sieur  BOBS 
KANDAHAR  sent  word  that  he  would  have  his  knighthood  esch 
mufti  (an  unchristian  word,  filched,  as  you  should  know,  fi 
unblooded  law-givers  of  Byzant)  and  come  before  him 
armour  point-devise.  And  this  was  but  as  a  tucket  to  prel 
the  shock  of  battle.  For  my  Lord  BOBS  had  laid  his  bcitoi 
rest  against  the  Empery  of  Red  Tape."  And  it  was  no  madri 
business ;  but  a  task  such  as  had  Duke  HERCLES  of  pleas 
renown  when  he  laid  his  besom  about  the  middens  of  the 
Man  of  the  Stables  (Fetus  de  Stabulis). 

29TH  TO  31ST. — But  scarce  it  wanted  a  se'nnight  to  the  eve 
Monsire  VALENTINE  when  the  arriere-ban  outflow  for  summ 
to  a  serry  of  knights  at  the  High  Court  of  Parliament.  And 
those  that  sent  it  forth  Sir  BELCHAMP  PORTE-DRAPEAU  was  or 
he  that  was  named  Fore-and-Aft  by  his  own  ;  for  that  he 
with  portions  of  him  overlapping  the  fence,  this  way  and  t 
way. 

"  Saint  LLOYD-GEORGE  for  Little  England ! "  came  ans> 
from  the  Welsh  Marches. 

And  "Dame!  "  cried  JEHAN  OP  MONTROSE,  that,  save  un 
great  provoking,  used  but  sparsely  the  language  of  pie 
"  and  must  I  quit  my  inkhorn  for  yon  chattering  parrot-house 

"  Stone  of  RUFUS  ! "  cried  Sir  VERNON  DE  CHASTEL-LA-FORB 
surnamed   Le   Pompous    for  a  touch  of  the    mammoth  in 
motion;  a  born  trampler  of  men  ;  "Stone  of  RUFUS!  "  says 
"  but  I  scent  budget-work  afoot !  "     And  so  snorted  joyfully. 

"Great  GLAMIS  !  "  said  the  Thane  of  Fife  (E.  Division),  "  I 
the  Empire's,  let  her  make  what  wars  she  will.  That  flri 
then  give  me  Holy  Church  to  harry ! ' ' 

"  King's  man !  "  cried  Sir  CoP-LA-PouLE  ;  "  and  sib  with  3 
there,  both  wa'ys  !  " 

But  "  By  the  Mace  !  "  said  LA  BOUCHERS  of  the  Cordonnie 
"there  should  be  noses  broke  among  the  faithful.  'Tis  like 
be  a  most  amazing  pretty  medley."  O.  £ 


F  BBRUARY  6,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


107 


THE   MARTYRDOM   OF   UNCLE  JACK. 

EVERYBODY  knew  that  Uncle  JACK  lived 
at  the  Temple,  and  nobody  knew  when  or 
why  he  came  to  live  there.  It  is  true 
that  the  Law  List  mentioned  1870  as  the 
date  of  his  call  to  the  Bar,  but  his  friends 
and  acquaintances  all  felt  that  this  must 
be  a  mistake,  for  not  even  his  bitterest 
enemy  ever  accused  Uncle  JACK  of  being 
in  the  least  like  a  barrister.  A  legend 
was  extant  that  in  the  good  old  days 
of  the  "-'eighties" — long  before  London 
suffered  from  the  twopenny  tubercular 
disease — he  once  received  a  County  Court 
brief  ;  but  the  best  of  men  are  not  proof 
against  calumny,  and  even  the  legend 
contained  no  suggestion  that  Uncle  JACK 
won  the  case  or,  indeed,  displayed  any 
acumen  whatever  in  conducting  it. 

It  was  only  after  his  martyrdom  that  he 
was  universally  canonised  as  Uncle.  Of 
course  he  had  been  an  uncle  long  before, 
and  in  a  pretty  extensive  way  ;  but  the 
experiences  of  a  few  weeks  ago  turned 
the  theory  into  a  fact  of  such  dreadful 
dimensions  that — But  I  anticipate. 

He  did  not  deserve  his  martyrdom. 
Even  youthful  barrister  acquaintances 
admitted  that,  despite  certain  grave  moral 
failings  laid  to  his  charge.  For  instance, 
it  must  be  reluctantly  admitted  that  he 
did  not  regard  KIPLING  as  the  greatest 
writer  of  the  age,  that  he  still  read 
DICKENS,  and  on  one  appalling  occasion 
when  taken  by  an  enthusiastic  Ibsenite  to 
one  of  the  master's  plays  he  went  to  sleep 
before  the  end  of  the  first  act. 

Yet  the  martyrdom  redeemed  all  else. 
It  happened  on  this  wise.  On  December 
24,  the  postman  brought  him  an  invitation 
to  spend  Christmas  with  a  nephew,  some- 
where in  the  wilds  of  Kensington.  Uncle 
JACK  consented,  little  knowing  what  was 
in  store  for  him.  All  went  well  till 
January  26,  when  destiny  decreed  that 
the  nephew  should  sprain  his  knee.  Now 
it  so  happened  that  the  nephew  had  in- 
vited numerous  olive  branches  (more  or 
less  related)  to  a  children's  party  on  that 
day.  The  nephew's  own  family  Avas 
tolerably  large  ;  and  one  may  say  with- 
out exaggeration  that  the  atmosphere  of 
the  house  was  decidedly  cheerful.  Uncle 
JACK  loved  cheerful,  healthy  children — at 
a  distance,  but  he  was  now  called  upon 
to  act,  pro  tern.,  as  host.  Not  only  was 
he  required  to  preside  at  the  party,  but 
to  personally  conduct  several  detach- 
ments of  nephews  and  neices  and  friends 
to  various  pantomimes.  Now,  for  a  middle- 
aged  man  who  is  sensitive  to  noise,  and 
who  is  prone  to  gout,  with  occasional 
intervals  1'or  asthma,  the  part  which 
Uncle  JACK  was  suddenly  called  upon  to 
assume  was  of  a  character  beside  which 
the  rack,  and  other  mediaeval  tortures, 
seem  merely  healthy  exercises.  In  an 
age  when  novelists  play  so  unsparingly 


"WHILE    YOU    WAIT." 

"HERE,  MY  GOOD  M IN,  JUST  PULL  THOSE  HAILS  DOWN.     BK  AS  QUICK  AS  YOU  CAN  1" 
"TAKE  'EM    DOWN,  Miss!     IT'LL   BE    A  GOOD  FOUR  HOURS'  JOB,  FOR  I'VE  BEEN  ALL 
THE  MORNIN'  A-PUTTJN'  OF  'EM  UP!" 


upon  our  emotions  I  Avill  be  as  reticent 
as  possible.  These  are  a  few  bald  facts. 

From  December  26  to  January  16,  Uncle 
JACK  took  part  in  ten  games  of  blind  post, 
five  games  of  musical  chairs,  and  sat  out 
three  pantomimes  (four  hours  each).  Need 
I  give  further  details  ? 

In  the  middle  of  January  a  decrepit  and 
weary  individual  tottered  down  Middle 
Temple  Lane.  He  crawled  up  the  stairs 
to  his  chambers,  and  flung  himself  into  an 
armchair,  surrounding  himself  immediately 
with  a  halo  of  Temple  dust.  It  symbolised 
his  martyrdom. 

The  winter  sun  (quite  good-tempered  at 
being  able  to  make  himself  seen)  sent  a 
flood  of  yellow  light  over  the  martyr.  In 


the  dishevelled  and  still  scantier  locks 
could  be  seen  the  traces  of  childish 
endearments.  On  the  careworn  face  and 
dazed  expression  could  be  read  (to  slightly 
alter  SYDNEY  SMITH)  the  legend  "  '  gagged  ' 
to  death  by  wild  comedians."  The  palsied 
limbs  bespoke  those  terrible  orgies — 
musical  chairs.  The  shrunken  figure 
pointed  plainly  to  the  terrible  struggles 
of  blind  post.  Even  the  watch  had  lost 
its  spring-case  (having  been  "  blown 
open"  by  so  many  infants).  Truly  a 
harrowing  sight.  And,  reader,  should  you 
happen  to  meet  Uncle  JACK  for  the  next 
few  months,  breathe  not  the  word  panto- 
mime !  Martyrs  arc  like  worms  in  one 
respect.  A.  R. 


108 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI. [FBBKUABY  6.  1901. 


How  Granfer  Volunteered. 

BY  M.  E.  FRANCIS. 

LONG  before  dawn  on  the  morrow  the  household  was  astir ; 
TOM  plodding  over  the  rimy  fields  in  the  wake  of  Chrissy, 
Grandma  hunting  up  the  uniform,  POLLY  turning  over  her 
belongings  in  search  of  a  red  felt  petticoat  which,  she  de- 
clared, matched  it  so  well  in  colour  and  texture  that  portions 
of  it  might  be  used  to  widen  the  jacket,  and  ANNIE  arming  her- 
self with  scissors,  needles  and  thread,  in  order  to  carry  out 
the  necessary  alterations.  Round  the  kitchen  fire  they  all 
presently  gathered,  eagerly  assisting  Granfer  to  "try  on"; 
everyone  talking  at  once,  and  everyone  sneezing,  for  Grandma 
was  too  good  a  manager  not  to  have  provided  against  the 
destructive  moth  by  embalming  the  uniform  in  quantities  of 
camphor  and  pepper. 

After  almost  superhuman  efforts,  Granfer  was  inducted  into 
the  jacket,  his  back  having  somewhat  the  appearance  of  a  large 
red  pincushion,  while  between  the  lower  edge  of  the  coat  and 
the  top  of  the  Sunday  trousers,  a  good  deal  of  grey  flannel  shirt 
was  plainly  visible.  As  for  meeting  in  front,  that,  as  Mrs. 
SAMPSON  had  foretold,  the  garment  could  by  no  means  be  in- 
duced to  do,  until  ANNIE  had  deftly  contrived  to  insert. large 
strips  of  POLLY'S  red  petticoat  at  the  sides  and  in  the  sleeves. 

"  I  expect  I  shall  have  to  get  a  new  'un,"  remarked  Granfer, 
endeavouring  to  obtain  a  back  view  of  himself,  and  squinting 
violently  in  the  attempt.  "This  here  coat  do  seem  too  shart 
behind.  I  reckon  I  'd  best  take  off  thiccy  shirt ;  it  didn't 
ought  to  stick  out  like  that.i  The  jacket  'ud  fit  better  over  my 
singlet." 

"  Take  off  your  shirt !"  screamed  his  wife.  "That  'ud  be  a 
pretty  thing  to  do.  Ye  'd  be  gettin'  laid  up  wi'  lumbaguey 
first  thing,  an'  much  good  ye'd  bo  at  your  soldiering  then. 
Here,  I  '11  pull  it  clown  a  bit,  and  when  your  sword  do  go  on  it 
won't  show  much." 

"Keep  your  arms  by  your  sides,  Granfer,  so  much  as  you 
can,"  advised  ANNIE,  "an"  then  the  patches  won't  be  seen." 

"  Lard !  The  red  do  suit  'ee  wonderful,  I  'm  sure,"  groaned 
POLLY,  admiringly.  "I  think  the  QUEEN  herself  would  be 
pleased  if  she  could  see  ye." 

Granfer  smiled,  much  gratified,  and  then  sat  down  to  break- 
fast. 

A  towel  had  been  hung  out  in  the  hedge,  which  was  the 
recognised  signal  to  JOYCE,  the  carrier,  that  he  was  expected 
to  draw  up  for  a  consignment  of  some  kind,  and  presently  one 
of  the  children  running  in  announced  that  the  van  was  at  the 
gate.  TOM  led  round  Ckrissy,  a  sagacious  animal,  mild  in  the 
eye,  long  in  the  tooth,  and  with  a  figure  more  matronly  than 
symmetrical. 

TOM  had,  as  he  explained,  managed  to  get  a  good  bit  o'  grease 
out  of  her  coat,  though  he  had  not  had  time  to  trim  her  fetlocks, 
which  were  indeed  marvellously  shaggy,  while  her  rusty  tail 
almost  swept  the  ground.  Granfer  appeared  in  the  doorway 
with  his  weeping  family  clinging  to  him,  his  sword  in  his  hand, 
his  cap  set  at  a  jaunty  angle  on  the  top  of  his  bald  head,  but 
with  the  rest  of  his  military  glory  hidden  beneath  a  comfortable 
frieze  coat. 

After  explaining  his  project  to  Mr.  JOYCE,  the  carrier,  who 
was  speechless  with  admiration  and  astonishment,  and  laying 
the  saddle  inside  the  van,  Granfer,  tearing  himself  from  his 
womankind,  climbed  up  beside  the  driver.  And  so  they  set  off, 
with  poor  Chrissy  meekly  following  at  the  rear  of  the  vehicle, 
and  the  distracted  family  standing  by  the  gate  until  the 
"  clipper-clopper  "  of  her  heavy  hoofs  sounded  faint  in  the 

distance. 

****** 

"What  was  the  joyful  surprise  of  the  SAMPSON  household  when 
late  on  that  same  day,  Mr.  JOYCE'S  van  was  observed  to  slacken 


is  it  appoached  their  house,  and,  moreover,  the  jaded  form  of 
;he  faithful  Chrissy  -was  seen  to  be  jogging  in  the  rear,  when, 
ndeed,  the  well-known  bellow  of  Granfer  himself  hailed  them 
from  a  distance  of  a  hundred  yards  or  so,  and,  presently,  his 
jurly  figure  alighted  from  the  vehicle. 

"Well,"  he  remarked,  with  an  odd  expression  in  which  per- 
plexity appeared  to  struggle  with  relief.  "I  be  oomo  back, 
>-e  see." 

"Dear  heart  alive,  Granfer!     I  be  main  glad!"  ejaculated 
Mrs.  SAMPSON,  breathlessly.     "  Lard,  I  can't  tell  'ee  how  glad 
be !     There,  I  've  been  a-frettin'  of  myself  to  death  very  near 
all  day  !     But  however  did  they  come  to  let  you  off  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  Granfer,  after  nodding  farewell  to  Mr.  JOYCE, 
and  waiting  till  the  van  had  proceeded  on  its  way,  "I  were  a 
bit  surprised  myself,  but  it  seems  I  've  missed  the  job  by  three 
months." 

"  Why,  how  's  that?  "  cried  POLLY  and  ANNIE  together,  while 
Grandma,  with  groans  of  gratitude,  remarked  she  didn't  care 
tow  many  months  it  was — she  was  only  too  thankful  he  had 
missed  it. 

'  If  I  'd  ha'  been  turned  seventy,"  went  on  the  farmer,  his  face 
vacillating  oddly  between  triumph  and  disappointment,  "I'd 
have  been  took  on  ;  but  come  in,  an'  I  '11  tell  ye  all  about  it." 

Having  been  installed  in  his  elbow-chair,  having  unbuttoned 
his  tunic,  and  pushed  his  cap  to  the  back  of  his  head,  Granfer 
jegan  his  recital. 

"When  we  did  get  near  Blanchester,  I  did  say  to  carrier, 
JOYCE,'  says  I, '  you  did  best  let  me  down  here.'  So  he  did  pull 
ip,  and  I  did  get  out  saddle  and  put  it  on  Chrissy,  and  rub  so 
nuchof  the  dust  off  her  as  I  could  wi'  a  handful  o'  straw,  but  the 
poor  beast  was  awful  hot,  what  wi'  her  long  coat,  and  what  wi' 
ioggin'  so  far.  However,  up  I  gets,  and  did  ride  alongside  o' 
Mr.  JOYCE  till  we  got  to  the  town,  and  I  turned  off  towards 
barracks.  Well,  I  reckon  I  must  ha'  been  the  first  o'  the  old 
soldiers  o'  Darset.  as  axed  to  take  service  again,  for  everyone 
i'  the  place  was  a-turnin'  to  look  at  me,  same  as  if  I  'd  been  a 
show.  Ye  see,  I  'd  took  off  my  coat,  and  laid  it  across  saddle  in 
front  of  I,  and  they  couldn't  help  but  see  what  'twas  I  were 
arter.  When  I  did  get  to  barracks,  they  did  all  come  gathcrin' 
round  mo,  laughin'  and  callin'  out,  an'  makin'  such  a  din  as  you 
never  did  hear." 

"  Lard,  now,  Granfer,  what  were  that  for?"  inquired  Mrs. 
SAMPSON  indignantly. 

"  I  couldn't  tell  'ee,  I  'm  sure,"  he  replied,  with  lofty  disdain. 
"  Ignorance,  I  suppose.  As  1  was  sayin',  I  don't  think  many 
old  soldiers  can  have  offered  theirselves  yet.  Well,  I  didn't 
take  no  notice,  but  jist  axed  for  an  officer,  and  by-an'-bye  one 
come  out,  an'  he  looks  first  at  I,  an'  then  at  Chrissy ,  an'  then,  if 
ye  '11  believe  me,  he  began  to  laugh. 

"  '  Why,  my  good  man,'  says  he,  '  what  may  you  want  ?  ' 
"  '  Sir,'  says  I,  '  I  did  see  in  the  paper  yesterday,  as  the 
QUEEN  was  axin'  of  her  old  soldiers  to  come  an'  j'ine  again,  so  I 
be  a-come  to  offer  my  services.' 

"The  impident  lads  round,  they  fair  roared;  but  the  officer 
stopped  laughing,  an'  he  says,  '  Well  done,'  says  he.  '  Will  you 
dismount  an'  come  with  me  for  a  minute  or  two,  an'  we  can  talk 
the  matter  over.  Your  mare  will  stand,  I  think,'  says  he,  very 
serious. 

"'E'es,'  says  I,  'he'll  stand  right  enough,  if  he  bain't 
meddled  wi'.' 

"' So  he  told  off  one  of  the  men  to  see  to  'en,  an'  I  did  off 
Chrissy,  an'  did  walk  alongside  o'  the  officer  indoor  to  a  room. 

"  '  To  begin  with,'  says  he  smilin'  very  kind,  'what  be  your 
name,  an'  what  be  your  employment  ?  ' 

"  '  JAMES  SAMPSON  be  my  name,  Sir,'  said  I ;  '  I  be  a  farmer, 
an'  lives  yonder  at  Riverton,  fourteen  mile  away.     'Tis  a  bit 
ill-convenient  for  I  to  leave  home  jist  now— 'tis  a  busy  time  o" 
year  wi'  us  farmers,  d'ye  see,  what  wi'  its  bein'  lambin'  time 
an'  what  wi'  ploughin'  an'  sowin'  an'  that ;  but  seein'  as  the 


FEBRUARY  6,  uoi.j  PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


109 


a  Brtrwl 


A    GOOD    START. 

John  Bull  (to  Wllhilmina  Queen  of  Holland  and  he   conzrrt  Duke  Heinrich].  "T«a  BEST  OF  LUCK  TO  YOU    MY  DEARS! 

YOU   MAKE   A    CHARMING   COUPLE  !  " 


110 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[FflBRUARY    6,    1901. 


QUEEN  herself  did  ax  us  to  j'ine  again,  I  wouldn't  like  for  to 
disapp'int  Her  Majesty.' 

"  '  Quite  right,  quite  right,'  says  he,  very  grave  an'  kind. 
'  An  how  long  is  it,  Mr.  SAMPSON,  since  you  were  a  soldier  ? 
Judging  by  your  uniform,'  says  he,  lookin'  at  it  rather  hard,  '  it 
must  ha'  been  some  time  ago.' 

"  '  Well,  Sir,'  says  I,  '  'tis  a  matter  o'  thirty  year  since  1  did 
leave  the  Darset  Yeomanry.  I  went  out  wi'  'em  for  fifteen  year, 
an'  I  didn't  miss  a  single  trainiu'  ;  but  when  my  father  died,  an' 
I  did  settle  down  upon  the  farm,  my  missus  were  a  bit  agin'  it 
so  I  did  give  up.'  " 

"  Oh,  SAMPSON,  whatever  made  ye  bring  my  name  into  it," 
said  Mrs.  SAMPSON,  bashfully.  '*  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  what- 
ever the  gentleman  can  ha'  thought." 

"It  didn't  seem  to  put  'en  out  a  bit.  '  Thirty  years  ago,'  says 
he,  '  an'  fifteen  years  before  that.  How  old  are  you  now  ?  ' 

"  I  told  'en  I  'd  be  seventy  in  a  few  months. 

"  'Ah,'  says  he,  an'  then  he  looks  at  me  solemn-like  for  a 
minute,  an '  then  he  says,  '  Well,  Mr.  SAMPSON,  I  admire  your 
sperrit,  an'  I  've  no  doubt,'  says  he,  '  the  QUEEN  'ud  be  extremely 
gratified  if  she  knew  of  the  offer  you  have  made.  But  there  are 
one  or  two  objections ' 

"  '  Why,  Sir,'  says  I,  '  what 's  ag'in'  it  ?  ' 

"  '  Why,'  says  he,  '  your  figure  is  ag'in'  it,  to  begin  with.' 

"  '  Well,  Sir,'  says  I,  '  I  know  very  well  I  haven't  exactly  the 
kind  o'  figure  to  go  climbin'  up  kopgees  an*  that.  I  'm  not 
a-volunteerin'  for  foreign  service,'  says  I ;  '  but  I  understood 
as  the  QUEEN  was  axin'  her  old  soldiers  to  undertake  the  de- 
fence o'  the  country,  an'  I  reckon  I  could  do  that  so  well  as 
another.  I  can  shoot  a  bit,'  says  I.  '  Ye  '11  not  find  many  crows 
about  my  fields,'  I  says;  '  they  be  too  much  at'eard  o'  me  an' 
my  gun.' 

"  'Well  said,'  ci-ies  he,  clapping  me  on  the  shoulder.  'But 
then  there  's  your  age  to  think  about,  Mr.  SAMPSON.  Sixty-nine, 
I  think  you  said  ?  ' 

"  '  Sixty-nine  years  and  nine  months,  Sir,'  says  I. 

"  '  Ah,'  he  says,  '  that 's  the  difficulty.' 

"'How  so,  Sir?'  says  I.  'I  be  a-comin'  up  to  my  three- 
score-and-ten,  Sir.' 

"'Ah,'  he  says  again,  and  looks  at  me  very  solemn,  'I'm 
afraid  it  won't  do.  Now  I  '11  tell  you  what  you  'II  do,  Mr. 
SAMPSON.  Just  you  go  quietly  home  again,  and  wait  till  ye  're 
called  upon.  I'm  much  obliged,'  says  he,  'for  your  handsome 
offer.  You're  a  plucky  fellow,'  he  says,  an'-  he  shakes  me  by 
the  hand,  '  an'  if  we  find  we  can't  get  on  without  you,  you  may 
be  sure  we  '11  send  for  you.' 

"  So  he  comes  with  me  to  the  door,  and  the  ill-mannered  folk 
as  was  standin'  there  did  begin  a-laughin'  again  so  soon  as 
they  ketched  sight  o'  me,  but  the  officer  threw  up  his  hand 
and  stopped  'em. 

"  '  Men,'  says  he,  '  I  'm  going  to  call  upon  you  to  give  three 
cheers  for  this  fine  old  Briton  !  ' — these  was  the  very  words  he 
said,  I  do  assure  you — '  this  fine  old  Briton,'  says  he." 

"Did  he  now ?  Well,  that  was  right  down  handsome,"  cried 
ANNIE  and  POLLY  together,  while  Grandma,  overcome  with 
emotion,  fairly  wept. 

"E'es.  I  do  'low  I  thought  it  kind  of  him.  'Three  cheers 
for  this  fine  old  Briton,'  says  he.  'He's  made  of  the  right 
stuff.  He  has  come  herfc  at  great  personal  inconvenience  to 
offer  his  services  to  Queen  and  Country,  and  I  say  we  may  be 
proud  to  think  there  are  such  men  among  us.  Come,  lads,  a 
hearty  cheer  !  Hip,  hip,  hip ' 

"Well,  I  'd  managed  to  get  up  on  Chrissij  by  this  time,  and 
they  all  run  round  me,  cheerin'  and  wavin'  their  caps,  and  I 
saluted  'em  back,  pleasant-like ;  and  Chrissy  and  me  walked  off 
wi'  ourselves  so  proud  as  Punch.  So,  though  they  didn't  take 
us  on,  ye  see  we  've  had  what  ye  mid  call  a  good  day." 


"  'E'es  indeed,  Grandfer,"  returned  his  Missus,  delighted, 
but  tearful  still.  "I  'm  sure  wo  may  all  feel  proud.  And  I  am 
but  too  thankful  as  they  didn't  take  ye  on.  Dear  heart  alive  ! 
'Twas  a  narrow  escape — ye  '11  be  seventy  in  next  to  no 
time." 

"  True,  true,"  agreed  Grant'er.  "  'Twas  a  thing  I  didn't  even 
think  on — but  'tis  plain  to  be  seen  the  reason  why  they  didn't 
take  I.  They  did  ax  for  old  soldiers,  and  I  iveren't  old  enough." 


CONVERSATIONAL  HINTS  FOE  YOUNG  RIDERS. 

CHAP.  VI.  (CONTINUED). 

On   conversing  tuith   the  Master  —  on  worrying  him  —  on  being 
obtrusive — the  advantage  of  opening  a  gate. 

ONE  rule  for  conversation  with  a  Master  of  Hounds  may 
safely  be  laid  down.  It  is  this : — Do  not  interrupt  him  with 
unseasonable  babble.  There  are  some  foolish,  if  well-meaning, 
persons  who  seem  to  imagine  that  a  Master's  only  duty  is  to 
make  himself  the  receptacle  of  every  stale  bit  of  information 
that  can  be  drawn  from  the  back  numbers  of  the  Field,  or  of 
any  silly  remark  about  the  weather,  the  scent,  the  chances  of 
finding  a  fox,  the  size  of  the  field,  the  looks  of  the  hounds,  or  any 
other  ordinary  topic  from  which  the  witlessness  of  man  can 
extract  a  stupid  commonplace.  The  Master  is,  in  a  sense,  a 
public  character,  but  he  is  in  no  sense  the  public  property  of 
every  gentleman  who  may  do  him  the  honour  of  riding  after, 
in  front  of,  or  even  over  his  hounds.  The  Master  has  big  things 
to  think  about.  If  he  hunts  his  own  hounds,  his  time  and  his 
tongue  are  fully  occupied ;  but  even  if  he  merely  performs  the 
usual  ceremonial  duties  of  his  station  he  has  no  leisure  for 
chattel-.  Do  you,  therefore,  respect  your  Master,  and  so 
order  your  own  conduct  that  lie  shall  respect  you.  Don't 
obtrude  yourself  on  his  notice  as  one  rashly  seeking  reputa- 
tion. It  is  unnecessary,  for  instance,  if  you  should  observe 
a  hound  or  two  lagging  or  straying  that  you  should  make  for 
them,  and  rate  them  with  a  great  to-do  and  much  cracking  of 
your  whip,  and  loud  "  Get-away-on-to-him's !  "  You  may  do  this 
once  and  escape,  but  if  you  try  it  a  second  time  it 's  a  thousand 
to  one  you  '11  find  some  such  words  as  these  hurtling  after  you  : 
"All  right,  Sir,  all  right;  I've  got  plenty  of  whips  for  the 
job.  We  '11  let  you  know  when  there  's  a  vacancy,"  or,  "  Now 
then,  you,  Sir,  on  the  chestnut,  let  my  hounds  alone,"  or  any 
other  of  those  crushing  remarks  which  come  from  a  Master 
with  all  the  force  and  deadly  effect  of  a  one-pound  shell  from  a 
pom-pom. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  a  Master, 
though  his  station  is  lofty,  is,  after  all,  human.  He  doesn't  want 
to  be  worried — who  does  ? — but  he  never  resents  a  crisp  and 
cheerful  saying  dropped,  as  it  were,  into  the  gaps  of  a  run  at 
the  proper  psychological  moment,  nor  will  he  fail  to  note  with 
approval  a  ready  obedience  or  an  unobtrusive  willingness  to 
oblige  on  the  part  of  a  young  rider.  For  instance,  if  you  see  a 
Master  in  trouble  with  a  gate,  you  can  never  lose  caste  by 
springing  off  and  opening  it  for  him.  "  Much  obliged,"  he'll 
say;  "I'll  remember  you  in  my  will."  "Too  long  to  wait, 
Sir,"  you  can  reply.  "  Won't  you  make  it  a  bit  earlier  ?  "  The 
Master  will  smile — even  these  great  ones  of  the  earth  un- 
bend and  smile — and  the  Master's  friends  will  be  pleased,  and 
Miss  MIRABEL,  as  you  let  her  through  directly  afterwards,  will 
give  you  one  of  of  those  bewitching  looks  that  set  your  novice 
heart  thumping  under  your  well-striped  and  brass-buttoned 
waistcoat.  And  in  the  evening,  as  you  are  riding  home,  you 
may  chance  to  find  yourself  alongside  the  Master,  and  he  will 
discuss  with  you  the  incidents  of  the  day's  sport,  and  will  even 
listen  with  respect  to  your  reasons  for  believing  that  at  a 
certain  point  the  hounds  changed  foxes.  After  that,  if  you 
have  common  intelligence,  you  should  have  no  more  anxiety. 


FEBRUARY  6,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


Ill 


Miss   Withers  (showing  photograph  of  herself).  "I'M  AFRAID  IT'S  RATHER  FADED." 
Binks  (inexperienced,  aged  nineteen).  "Yes,  BUT  IT'S  JUST  LIKE  YOU." 


'VARSITY  VERSES. 
OXFORD  ODES. 

IV. 

WHEN  time  is  short  and  HOMER  long, 
When  Mods,  are  imminent — though  wrong, 
I  seek  thy  aid  to  read  his  song, 
My  Kelly. 

Thy  cover  blue  I  turn  with  care  ; 
I  mark  the  key  depicted  there 
And  read  in  it  a  symbol  fair, 
My  Kelly. 

But  there  my  understanding  ends. 
Lives  there  the  don  that  comprehends 
Whither  thy  wandering  syntax  tends, 
My  Kelly  f 

Lives  there  a  scholar  can  explain 
Thy  grammar  and  thy  endless  train 
Of  participles,  and  still  be  sane, 
My  Kelly  f 

I,  having  vainly  tried  to  seek 
The  meaning  that  thou  canst  not  speak, 
Return  despairing  to  the  Greek, 
My  Kelly. 

And  HOMER  lending  me  a  clue 

To  thread  thy  tangled  mazes  through, 


Faint  gleams  of  sense  I  find  in  you, 
My  Kelly. 

But  now  thou  hast,  symbolic  key, 
A  new  significance  for  me : 
The  classic  store  is  locked  by  thee, 
My  Kelly. 


ARRANT   KNIGHTS. 

[A  modern  lecturer  has  discovered  that  Hooli- 
ganism "  arises  from  a  perverted  sense  of  chivalry." 
Mr.  Punch  might  have  hesitated  to  accept  this 
pronouncement  if  a  correspondent  had  not  call3d 
his  attention  to  the  following  passage  from  Malory, 
which  had  escaped  his  memory,  but  which  certainly 
seems  to  support  the  theory.] 

THEN  were  Sir  HOOLIGAN  and  Sir  PEAKY 
and  Sir  LARRIKIN  ware  of  an  unarmed 
Knight  passing  by,  and  with  him  LA  BELLE 
ARRIETTE.  And  they  rah  a  great  wallop 
and  rashed  him  to  the  ground,  and  then 
they  feutred  their  feet  and  gave  him  many 
and  great  kicks,  so  that  his  head  all  to- 
brast.  And  when  LA  BELLE  ARRIETTE  saw 
him  lie  as  one  dead,  she  shrieked  wonderly 
sore,  and  ran  to  Sir  PEELEREAU  and  be- 
sought him  that  he  would  do  battle  upon 
those  felon  knights.  And  Sir  PEELEREAU 


drew  his  staff,  that  hight  x-Calibre  (for 
that  no  man  knew  of  what  power  it  might 
be),  and  he  ran  upon  those  three,  and  they 
would  not  abide  his  onset  but  avoided  the 
place.  Howbeit,  Sir  HOOLIGAN  in  his  flight 
did  pass  by  LA  BELLE  ARRIETTE,  and  sm'ote 
her  woundily  upon  the  boko,  so  that  the 
blood  gushed  forth.  Then  did  Sir  LARRI- 
KIN let  cry  a  rescue,  and  a  great  press  of 
other  knights  gathered  together,  and  they 
beset  Sir  PFELKREAU  twenty  against  one. 
But  Sir  PEELEREAU  put  x-Calibre  before 
him,  and  dressed  himself  against  them,  so 
that  they  durst  not  come  anigh  him.  And 
when  Sir  HOOLIGAN  saw  that  Sir  PEELEREAU 
was  a  good  man  of  his  hands  and  might 
not  be  overcome,  he  drew  his  dagger,  that 
hight  couteau-de — cheese,  and  came  stilly 
stalking,  and  ran  upon  him  from  behind 
and  drave  it  into  his  back.  And  Sir 
PEELEREAU  gave  a  marvellously  grisly 
groan  and  fell  down  in  a  swoon,  and  the 
ground  was  all  to-bled.  So  Sir  HOOLIGAN 
had  great  honour  amongst  the  other 
knights,  and  right  willingly  went  LA 
BELLE  ARRIETTE  with  him  to  the  Palace 
of  Joyous  Ginne,  and  they  made  merry 
until  they  were  assotted.  E.  T.  H. 


112 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHABIVARI. 


[FEBRUABY  6,  1901. 


THE  STREET  IS  UP. 
(AIR— "  The  Hunt  is  up.") 

THE  street  is  up,  the  street  is  up 
In  its  usual  "  permanent  way," 

And  Navvy  the  King  has  a  right  good 

fling, 
And  the  traffic  brings  to  bay. 

The  streets  are   bright  with  electric 
light— 

The  reign  of  gas  is  fled — 
The  merry  pick  soon  does  the  trick, 

And  cleaves  their  concrete  bed. 

The    pavement    which    can    boast    no 

ditch 

Down  its  middle  is  seldom  seen, 
And  the  streets  have  spasms  which  lead  to  chasms 
For  the  traffic  to  crawl  between. 

Never  mind,  never  mind,  if  you  're  all  behind, 

If  you  miss  your  train,  be  gay, 
For  Navvy  the  King  must  have  his  fling, 

And  the  traffic  bring  to  bay. 


TARTAKIN  A  BRIGHTON. 
RENCONTRE  DANS  LA  BRUME. 

Ex  quittant  1 'hotel,  TARTARIN,  ton  jours  prudent,  avait  de- 
niande  la  route.  "A  gauche,"  dit-il,  "  et  encore  la  huitieme 
rue  a  gauche."  An  milieu  de  la  brume,  squs  le  jour  blafard, 
les  Tarasconnais  avancaient  lentement.  Us  voyaient  les  fene- 
tres  des  maisons  et  des  magasins,  tous  fermes,  et  a  1'autre 
cote  du  trottoir,  les  silhouettes  cles  reverberes.  Au  delk  rien. 
II  n'y  avait  personne.  Tous  les  braves  bourgeois  mangeaient 
le  rosbif  du  dimanche. 

Ennn,  vers  les  deux  heuves,  BRAVIDA  les  arreta.  "  C'est  par 
ici,"  dit-il,  "la  huitieme  rue."  "Pas  du  tout,"  repondit 
BOMPARD,  "  ce  n'est  quo  la  septieme,"  La-dessus  ils  com- 
mencerent  a  discuter,  mais  1'illustro  TARTARIN  les  interrompit, 
"  Zou,  pas  de  querelles,  suivons  cette  rue."  Et  ils  s'enga- 
gerent  dans  une  ruelle  sombre  et  deserte. 

C'etait  un  vrai  coupe-gorge.  TARTARIN,  toujours  eVeille, 
pensait  aux  guets-apens,  aux  attaques  nocturnes,  aux  pirates, 
aux  Sioux,  aux  Touaregs,  do  sas  lectures.  Ils  e"taient  Ik,  peut- 
etre.  Eniln  ils  1'attendaient.  Les  mains  sur  ses  pistolets, 
caches  par  son  mackintosch,  il  avanca  le  premier.  A  gauche 
et  a  droite  des  maisons  sombres  et  fermees,  devant  lui  la  ruelle 
lugubre,  la  brume,  1'obscurite.  Plus  loin  une  autre  ruelle,  un 
tas  de  petites  rues  monies  et  desertes.  Les  Tarasconnais 
s'etaientegares.  Brusquement,  a  un  detour,  TARTARIN  s'arreta. 
Ses  camaradcs,  se  refugiant  derriere  lui,  cherchaient  k  voir 
1'obstacle  qui  1'empechait  d'avancer.  Ils  n'apercevaient  rien. 
Mais  TARTARIN,  un  vrai  scout  qui  voit  tout,  les  indiqua  d'un 
geste  une  forme  immobile  an  travel's  de  la  brume.  C'etait  un 
homme  gigantesque. 

"  Pas  un  mot,"  chuchota  1'intrepide  president,  "  suivez-moi 
a  la  file,  en  avant !  "  Avec  mille  precaution  sils  avancerent. 
Par  malheur,  a  ce  moment  supreme,  PASCALON  tremblait  k  tel 
point  que  son  parapluie  heurta  son  chapeau  cle  soie  et  le  fit 
tomber  par  terre.  L'homme  se  retourna.  C'etait  un  policeman. 
De  pres  il  ne  paraissait  pas  si  enorme,  et  il  avait  une  bonne 
figure  rouge  et  souriante  de  mangeur  de  biftecks.  Les 
Tarasconnais  etaient  rassures,  sauf  peut-etre  TARTARIN,  a  qui 
ils  echappaient  encore. 

Mais  le  sergent  de  villo,  des  qu'il  les  apercut,  ne  sourit  plus. 
Un  cri  lui  echappa,  "  The  Boers,  the  bloomin'  Boers,  landed  at 
last!"  Ces  homines  Granges,  euiergeant  de  la  brume,  lui 
semblaient  des  envahisseurs  venus.du  Transvaal.  Un  instant  i 


Le 


he'sita,  un  instant,  peut-etre,  il  pensa  k  sa  femme,  a  sesenfatits, 
et  puis  il  tira  son  baton,  et  d'un  ton  d'autorite",  "  Stop!"  dit-il. 
Devant  lui  quatre  Boers  arrays,  probablement  une  vingtaine, 
une  centaine,  tous  les  hommes  de  1  'expedition,  derriere  lui 
la  loi,  la  patrie,  le  home.  II  ne  bougea  pas. 

"  Le  dictionnaire,  PASCALON,"  dit  TARTARIN,  "avancez  done, 
et  traduisez."  Le  pauvre  jeune  homme,  qui  pensa  mourir  de 
peur,  obeit  quand  ineme.  Mais  lorsqu'il  essaya  d'une  main 
tremblante  de  tirer  le  dictionnaire  de  sa  poche,  le  policeman 
lui  saisit  le  bras,  et  cria,  "  Drop  it,  leave  your  revolver  alone." 
Et  PASCALON,  le  baton  au-dessus  de  la  tete,  se  laissa  tomber 
aux  pieds  de  1'agent,  et  murmura,  agenouille",  "  Ayez  pitie\  de 
grace  !  '  ' 

Que  faire  ?  Les  Tarasconnais  restaient  interloques. 
policeman,  lorsqu'il  les  voyait  si  tranquils,  si  paisibles, 
etonne\  "  Well,"  fit-il,  "  of  all  the  bloomin'  Boers  !  " 

"  Qu'est-ce  qu'il  dit  ?  "  s'ecria  TARTARIN.  "  Les  Boers  ?  Te, 
\6,  est-ce  qu'il  pensent  que  nous  sommes  des  Boers  ?  " 

"  £viderument,"  repondit  BRAVIDA,  "mais  comment  lui  ex- 
pliquer  que  nous  ne  sommes  pas,  sans  le  dictionnaire,  sans 
PASCALON." 

Le  savoir-faire  de  TARTARIN  ne  manque  jamais.  "  Tout  sim- 
plcment,"  dit-il,  "  chantons  le  God  Have."  "Impossible!" 
repondirent  les  autres.  "Nous  ne  le  savons  pas."  Mais  ce 
diable  d  'homme,  qui  sait  tout,  chanta  de  sa  belle  voix,  sans 
hesiter  un  instant,  "God  Nave  tra  la  la  la,  tra  la  la  la  la  la." 
II  ne  savait  pas  les  mots.  Et  puis,  "  Aoli  yes  !  Hipip  hourra  I  " 

"  What  !  "  s'ecria  le  policeman,  tout  souriant.  "  Then  you'  re 
not  Boers?  But,"  poursuivit-il,  et  son  front  .s'assombrit  de 
nouveau,  "  are  you  pro-Boers?  " 

Et  TARTARIN  de  recommencer,  "  God  Have  tru  la  la  la."  "  AU 
ri(jht,"  dit  1'autre,  encore  plus  aimablc,  "  neither  Boers  nor 
pro-Boers."  "  Pas  Boers,"  repondit  TARTARIN,  qui  ne  comprit 
que  ce  seul  mot,  "pas  Boers.  Francais."  Et  commo  si 
1'agent  eta  it  sourd,  parce  qu'il  ne  comprenait  pas,  le  Taras- 
connais repeta  et  hurla  d'une  voix  formidable,  "Francais, 
Franeais." 

"  Frenchy?"  demanda  le  brave  policeman,  aussi  intelligent 
que  courageux,  et  imitant  le  lingage  musieal  do  TARTARIN,  il 
se  mit  a  siffler,  pas  trop  mal,  1'air  du  refrain  de  la  Marseillaise. 
Les  Meridionaux  ^taient  enchantes.  TARTARIN  saisit  la  grosse 
main  du  gardien  de  la  paix,  et  la  serra  vigoureusement.  BOM- 
PARD et  BRAVIDA  firent  de  memo.  PASCALON,  assis  par  terre, 
osa  lever  la  tete  et  les  regarder  plus  hardiment. 

Mais  comment  se  tirer  de  1'embarras?  Inutile  de  visiter  ce 
Pavilion,  car  il  etait  trois  heures  et  on  ne  voyait  rien.  Il 
fallait  rebrousser  chemin  et  regagner  1'hotel  avant  la  nuit. 
Comment  faire  couiprendre  au  policeman  qu'ils  ne  savaient 
pas  ou  aller,  qu'ils  s'etaient  egares,  qu'ils  cherchaient  1'  Hotel 
Splendide  ?  Meme  devant  tout  ca  1'intrepide  TARTARIN  ne  recula 
pas.  II  s'approcha  tout  pres  tie  1'agent,  il  cria  "Splendide" 
plusieurs  fois,  et  puis  il  entonna  1'air  du 
Home,  Siveet  Home,  qu'il  avait  entendu 
quelque  part.  Et  le  policeman  comprit  k 
merveille,  les  guida  jusqu'k  la  grande 
promenade,  et  indiqua  d'un  geste  qu'il 
fallait  suivre  k  droite.  En  signe  de 
reconnaissance  TARTARIN  tira  son  etui  de 

sa   poche,  donna   au  brave   homme   les  trois   cigares   qui  s'y 
trouvaient,  et  hurla  amicalement,  "  Aoh  yes.     Hipip  hourra  !  " 

"  Maitre,"  dit  PASCALON,  saisi  d'admiration,  "  vous  parlez 
anglais  mieux  que  moi."  "  Ah,"  repondit  1'illustre  philologue 
nonchalamment,  "  chasser  le  lion,  faire  I'ascension  du  Mont 
Blanc,  parler  les  langues  etrangeres,  tout  ca  est  facile  si  1'on 
se  met  carrement  k  1'ceuvre."  Et  chemin  faisant  il  ajouta, 
"  Demain,  s'il  fait  beau,  nous  irons  au  port,  ou  nous  trouverons 
un  bateau  quelconque  pour  faire  une  excursion  en  mer  au 
moins."  H.  D.  B. 


FBBRUARY  6,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


113 


HINC   ILL.E  LACHRYM.E? 

[A  woman  explained  to  a  London  magistrate 
that  she  was  holding  her  baby  head  downwards  "  to 
keep  it  quiet."] 
MOTHERS,  are  ye  broken  in  your  rest  ? 

Fathers,  do  ye  foot  it  on  the  floor  ? 
Thinking — that  ye  treat  him  for  the  best, 

Knowing — that  he  only  yells  the  more. 

Speculate  no  longer  on  the  ache  ; 

Search  not  for  the  pin  perchance  he 

feels ; 
Dally  not  with  candle ;  simply  take 

Up  the  little  beggar  by  the  heels. 

Let  the  warm,  invigorating  blood 
Rush  around  his  embryonic  brain  ; 

Such  a  tide,  when  taken  at  the  flood, 
Stops  the  flow  of  weeping  at  the  main. 

"When  your  babies  right  side  up  ye  nursed, 
"Was  not  all  the  household  upside  down  ? 

Let  the  whole  position  be  reversed, 
So  shall  steal  a  silence  o'er  the  town. 


SOLDIERS  OF  MISFORTUNE. 

["Colonel  CBOFTOX,  commanding  the  Eastern 
District,  has  decided  that  the  'quiff'  is  'im- 
soldierly,'  and  '  disfiguring,'  and  has  ukased  its 
abolition.  The  'quiff'  is  the  forelock  worn  by 
Mr.  THOMAS  ATKINS." — Pall  Mall  Gazette^ 

Letter  from  «  Private  in  the  British  Army 

to  a  Private  in  the  German  Army. 
DERE  OLE  SAUERKRAUT, — 'Ow  're  yer  go- 
ing along  ?  Jest  a  line  from  the  Eastern 
Distric'  to  tell  yer  that  we  've  all  got 
the  fair  'ump.  An'  I  'm  blest  if  our 
Colonel  ain't  an'  been  pitchin'  on  our 
'air.  When  we  is  in  the  flghtin'  line 
they  yells,  "Keep  yer  'air  on,  boys!" 
but  when  we  gets  'ome,  sweet  'ome,  they 
says  take  it  orf.  There  's  'air !  I  must 
tell  yer  we  wears  a  hartful  curl  on  our 
forrids  wot  is  knowred  as  a  "quiff,"  and 
I  give  yer  my  word  it  's  a  little  bit  ov 
orl  rite  !  SUSAN  (with  lots  o'  cash  as 
bein'  only  daughter  of  a  plumber),  wot  I 
walks  out  with,  simply  'angs  on  to  it 
with  both  'ands,  so  to  speak.  Well,  our 
Colonel  says  the  ' '  quiff  "  is  "  unsoldierly ' ' 
and  "  disfiguring,"  and  we  'ave  got  to 
bloomin'  well  lop  it  orf,  no  hank.  This 
busts  my  charnst  with  SUSAN. 

Yores  melancholy-like, 

THOMAS  ATKINS. 
*  *  *  * 

["The  German  uniform  is  to  be  changed  to  a 
grey-brown.  The  officers  are  particularly  annoyed 
at  the  change,  and  complain  that  they  might  at 
least  have  been  allowed  to  keep  the  bright  buttons 
on  their  tunics.  These  are  also  to  be  dulled  down 
to  the  new  drab  regime.  Everything  that  is  not 
strictly  utilitarian — tassels,  lace,  and  decorations — 
are  to  be  banished  from  the  parade-ground."  — 
Westminster  Gazette."} 

Letter  from  a  Private  in  the  German  Army 
to  a  Private  in  the  British  Army. 

MEIN  GUT  FRIEND,— We  haf  the  both 
trouble  much  got !  You  haf  the  beautiful 
SUSAN  verloren.  I  my  KATRINE  am  deprived 


Xmall  Cu&tomer  (to  general  store-dealer).   "  MOTHER   SA.YS  AS  WOULD  yotr  MIND  WRAPPING 

UP  THE   KIPPER   IN   A   HILLU8TRATED   PAPER,    AS   HER   WALLS  ARE   GETTING    VERY  BARE." 


of.  Because  why  ?  I  was  so  schmart 
lookin'  in  rnein  regimentalen  blue  dat 
KATRINE  fell  in  luff  with  me  on  first 
sighten  and  called  me  in  ways  of  fun  her 
leetle  "blue  teufel"!  But  now,  ach 
Himmel !  she  at  me  cochet  die  snooken ! 
"Cuts,"  as  you  say.  I  broken-ar-rted 
quite  am.  Because  why  ?  The  Office  die 
Warren  as  us  ordered  to  take  off  der 
blue  regimentalen.  We  haf  in  brown- 
grey  to  dress  ourselves.  Ah  !  dirdy,  bad, 
rotten  colour !  And  no  more  ze  schon 
buttons  to  haf  that  tihe  beating  heart  of 
KATRINE  conquered.  Farewell  to  KATRINE  ! 
She  broAvn  ates. — Zo  longen 

KARL  SCHNEIDER. 


"A  SAIL!    A  SAIL!  " 
"ASAIL!  asail!"  The  look-out's  eager  cry 
Is  borne  on  many  a   blustering  winter 

gale— 

At  least,  in  "  books  for  boys  "  that  parents 
buy —         "  A  sail !     A  sail !  " 

Yet  now  it  echoes,  like  a  stifled  wail, 
From    East     to    West,    from    Holborn, 

known  as  High, 

Even  to  Hammersmith  and  Maida  Vale. 
There  shops,  not  ships — strange  fact — 
their  business  ply,       [they  "  hail," 
Not  barques  but    bargains  are  the  craft 
And  shopping  ladies  gasp,  with  frenzied 
eye,  "A  sale  !    A  sale  !  " 


114 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[FEBRUARY  6,  1901. 


Granger.  "You  Mtrsr  FIND  IT  VERY  LONELY  ON  THESE  HILLS.' 

Shepherd.  " LONELY?    No,    I   DON'T.     WHY,   THERE   WAS   A    MAN    AN'    A  'oes  PASSED 

YESTERDAY,    AN*   THERE'S  YOU   TO-DAY." 


LOVE'S  LITTLE   LIABILITIES. 

Short  stories  with  sad  endings. 

II. — FAME  AND  THE  WOMAN. 
THE  woman's  suspicions  were  confirmed 
the  moment  she  saw  him.  KITTY  SYL- 
VESTER knew  only  too  well  that  EDWARD 
VANCITHAT,  the  distinguished  novelist, 
dramatist  and  poet,  expected  much  from 
the  woman  who  aspired  to  be  his  wife. 
How  often,  as  children  playing  together 
had  they  not  built  airy  castles,  planning 
for  each  other  a  wonderful  career  of  un- 
interrupted success  and  public  homage ! 
She  remembered  his  worlds  even  now, 
though  spoken  fifteen  years  ago,  as  they 
wandered  through  the  green  meadows 
bordering  their  homes.  "My  wife  must 
be  beautiful  and  famous,"  he  had  said. 


And  she  in  her  childish  fancy  had  imposed 
similar  conditions  with  regard  to  her 
husband. 

EDWARD  had  embraced  a  literary  career 
and  met  with  a  full  measure  of  success, 
while  she,  KITTY  SYLVESTER,  an  actress. 
What  had  she  accomplished?  She  saw  in- 
stinctively, with  a  woman's  intuition 
(which  saves  the  humble  romancist  such  a 
lot  of  description),  in  EDWARD'S  demeanour 
a  scarcely  veiled  look  of  reproach.  It 
tinged  his  whole  manner  with  a  chill  re- 
serve. And  when  she  remembered  how 
she  had  longed  all  through  the  tedious 
fifteen  years  for  this  moment  ;  this  meet- 
ing of  children-lovers  after  each  had 
taken  a  place  in  the  great  theatre  of  life, 
her  heart  failed  her  at  his  doubts.  A 
great  oppression  seized  her,  a  chill  finger 
seemed  to  clutch  at  her  throat  (this  must 


only    be    taken    metaphorically),    and    a 
despairing   voice  cried  in  her   ear,  "He 
doubts  your  fame,  he  doubts  it !  " 
*  *  *  * 

"Ah,  how  can  you  doubt  ?  "  cried  KITTY, 
her  eyes  flashing  in  petulant  defiance. 
"Surely  you  have  followed  my  stage 
career?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  admitted. 

"You  have  seen  how  I  have  played 
ingenues,  adventuresses,  leading  ladies — 

"  True,  true." 

"  And  Hhakspearc.  Not  a  heroine  of  the 
great  master,  but  I  have  played  her  for 
all  she  was  worth  — 

"  I  know,"  said  VANCITHAT,  with  a  note 
of  sad  reflection. 

"  I  have  been  compared  to  ELLEN  TERRY, 
Mrs.  SlDDONS  — 

The  man  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  am  interviewed  at  least  once  a 
week." 

"  Yes,  but  — 

"  My  portrait  is  in  all  the  shop  windows, 
in  all  the  illustrated  papers  — 

"Yes,"  said  VANCITHAT,  but  without 
conviction. 

"Oh,  how  can  I  allay  your  doubts," 
said  KITTY,  looking  round  her  in  genuine 
agony.  "  I — I  am  referred  to  as  the  great 
actress,  my  comings  and  goings  are  noted, 
my  gowns  described  in  detail  — 

"  To  advertise  the  dressmaker,"  retorted 
EDWARD,  coldly. 

"  See!  "  exclaimed  the  woman,  bringing 
forward  a  ponderous  volume.  "See!" 
and  she  let  the  pages  slip  from  beneath 
her  dainty  finger  points.  "The  twenty- 
eighth  volume  of  press  notices." 

The  man  knew  too  much  of  the  dark  side 
of  professional  life  to  attach  any  impor- 
tance to  this.  He  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"  Society  has  taken  me  up,"  exclaimed 
KITTY,  with  an  attempt  at  a  laugh. 
"  Surely— surely  that  says  something  for 
my  fame  ?  ' ' 

VANCITHAT  reproached  KITTY'S  reckless 
optimism  Avith  a  deep  sigh. 

She  saw  the  little  barrier  of  icy  reserve 
springing  up  between  them. 

"EDWARD,  El)  WARD,  "she  cried  piteously, 
"  do  not  look  at  me  like  that  !  Tell  me, 
how  I  can  prove  my  claim  to  be  worthy 
of  your  great  and  deep,  deep  love  !  I  tell 
you,  I  am  famous — 

The  man  caught  at  her  wrists,  and  gazed 
with  fearful  intensity  into  her  frightened 
(but  still  sin  passingly  lovely)  face. 

"Tell  me,"  he  half-shouted,  gripping 
her  wrists  till  she  cried  out  with  the 
pain.  "  Tell  me,  have  you  written  a 
testimonial  to  a  Hair  Wash,  or  a  Face 
Powder?  Tell  me " 

The  woman's  face  blanched.  "No,  no," 
she  wailed.  The  hands  released  from  the 
man's  passionate  grasp  fell  to  her  sides. 
VANCITHAT  gave  a  groan  of  anguish.  Ah  ! 
Heaven,  she  had  tried  to  deceive  him. 
She  was  not  famous.  The  great  criterion 
of  fame  had  condemned  her. 


PUNCH,    OK    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.— FEBRUARY  6,    1901. 


GOD   SAVE   THE   KING! 


MK.  PUNCH.  "YOUR   CORONATION  AWAITS  YOUR   MAJESTY'S  PLEASURE,    BUT   YOU   ARE   ALREADY 

CROWNED   IN   THE   HEARTS   OP   YOUR  PEOPLE." 


FEBRUARY  6,  1801.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


117 


A  FICTITIOUS  CAMPAIGN. 

["  Sir  REDVEES  BVLLEK,  at  Aldershot,  gravely 
recommended  the  assembled  officers  to  read  histori- 
cal novels  as  a  basis  for  acquiring  a  knowledge  of 
military  history,  and  he  assured  his  audience  that 
he  knew  '  no  better  way  of  beginning  the  study  of 
military  history.'  "— Saturday  Revieii-.] 

EXTRACT   FROM   THE    CONFIDENTIAL   DES- 
PATCHES OF  THE  GENERAL  COMMANDING. 

Headquarters,  Monday. 

WE  expect  to  attack  in 
force  to-morrow  —  indeed, 
the  movement  should  have 
been  made  to-day,  but  I 
had  not  quite  finished  my 
study  of  Ivanhoe,  and  de- 
termined to  risk  nothing  by 
insufficient  knowledge. 

Later. — The  engagement 
has  begun  somewhat  prema- 
turely. In  accordance  with 
best  precedents,  I  drew  up 
my  gallant  force  in  line, 
and  addressed  them  in  a 
speech  of  four  pages. 
The  unmannerly  enemy  had 
the  bad  taste  to  open  fire 
long  before  I  had  con- 
cluded my  remarks,  and  our 
casualties,  in  consequence, 
were  rather  numerous.  I 
am  despatching  a  protest 
to  the  officer  in  command 
of  the  foe,  pointing  out 
that  he  is  a  saucy  varlet, 
and  that  by  my  halidome  I 
will  exact  due  vengeance 
for  such  unknightly  be- 
haviour. I  can't  find  in 
SCOTT  any  rules  for  work- 
ing my  4'7  guns,  which  is 
rather  unfortunate.  Am 
telegraphing  to  the  base 
for  complete  edition  of 
HARRISON  AINSWORTH, 
CONAN  DOYLE  and  STANLEY 
WEYMAN.  Consignments  of 
STEVENSON  now  being  distri- 
buted  to  all  company 
officers. 

Tuesday.  —  Our  attack  of 
yesterday  was  not  quite 
successful,  owing  chiefly  to 
the  enemy's  not  following 
the  rules  of  fictitious  war- 
fare. Towards  the  close  of  the  day  I 
perceived  that  our  left  flank  was  some- 
what hardly  pressed.  Accordingly,  I 
rallied  it  in  person,  and  directed  a 
charge  against  our  enemies,  but  we  had 
to  retreat  in  some  disorder. 

Friday. — Yesterday  made  a  reconnais- 
sance in  the  style  recommended  in  The 
White  Company,  and  to-day  we  are  skir- 
mishing after  the  instructions  contained 
in  The  Last  of  the  Mohicans.  By  carefully 
following  best  authors,  I  hope  for  decisive 
victory  before  long. 


RULES  FOR  THE  ENGLISH  RIVIERA. 

(To  be  observed  by  Visitors  in  Winter 
Weather.) 

IT  is  requested  that  no  overcoats  should 
be  worn,  even  when  a  gale  is  blowing. 

Visitors  will  please  to  assume  that  it  is 
medically  wise  to  sit  on  the  top  of  a  hill 
exposed  to  the  blast  of  a  bitter  east  wind. 

No  fires  to  be  permitted,  except  with  a 


THEATRE    ROYAL,  S.  AFRICA,  FEB 

Stage-Manager  Ki'.c'iener.  "  LADIES  AND  GENTLEMEN,  ON  ACCOUNT 

OF  THE   ELABORATE   PREPA11ATIOKS  FOR  THE   FINAL  TABLEAU,  I  MOST 
REQCEHTYOUR  KIND  INDULGENCE  WHILE  THE  CURTAIN  REMAINS  DOWN." 


THE  TWENTIETH  CENTURY. 

(Prophetic  Peeps  of  Extracts.) 
1910.    THE  contin  ued  prosperity  of  Pu  nch 
was  the  leading  feature  of  the  first  ten 
years  of  the  century. — Public  Opinion. 

1920.     It   is   a   pity  that   the   Emperor 
NAPOLEON  THE  FIFTH  should  be  at  length 
dethroned,  as  his   reign  has    been  fairly 
peaceful  to  France. — L'Empire. 
1930.     The    Junior    Unionist    Club,    by 
adding  five  thousand  addi- 
tional   rooms    for  members 
requiring    apartments,    has 
been  able  to  clear  its  Candi- 
dates'   Book.  —  The    Upper 
Ten. 

1940.  Fresh  troubles  in 
Natal.  Income  tax  raised  to 
7s.  -6d.  Sum  realised  still 
inadequate  for  official  re- 
quirements.— Economist. 

1950.  The  South  Pole  at 
length  discovered  to  be  at 
the  antipodes  of  the  North 
Pole. — Annual  Register. 

1980.  The  L.  C.  C.  steam- 
boats cease  permanently  ply- 
ing on  the  Thames.  "The 
halfpenny  tube  "  beneath 
the  bed  of  the  river  takts 
their  place.  —  Summary  of 
the  Times. 

1970.  The  United  States 
invasion  of  Italy  destroys 
for  ever  the  principle  of  the 
Munro  doctrine. —  The  New 
York  Bird  of  Freedom. 

1980.  The  House  of 
Ladies  pass  the  Equality  of 
the  Sexes  Act,  and  a  mere 
man  is  admitted  to  the  Lower 
House.  —  Pa  rl  iamen  tary 
Register. 

1990.  King  LOUIS  XXIII. 
abdicated  the  throne  of 
France  and  the  eighth  Re- 
public is  established  in 
Paris. — Evening  Reporter. 

2000.  The  continued  pros- 
perity of  Punch  is  the  lead- 
ing feature  of  the  last  ten 
years  of  the  century.  — 
Public  Opinion. 


I,   1901. 


view  to  swelling  the  total  of  the  bills  at 
the  better  class  hotels. 

Shop-keepers  will  be  required  to  exhibit, 
as  "seasonable  Yuletide  gifts,"  muslin 
frocks,  tulle  mantles  and  lace  parasols. 

At  the  tables  d'hote  of  the  aforesaid 
hotels  the  menu  must  include  chaudfroids 
and  ices,  and  a  list  of  summer  cups. 

Visitors  are  permitted  on  leaving  the 
English  Riviera  and  returning  to  London 
(which  they  will  find  some  degrees  warmer 
than  the  "summer-like"  place  abandoned) 
to  resume  their  overcoats. 


FORBEER  AND  DRINK  NO  MORE  !  —  A 
gloomy  reveller  was  drinking  some  frothy 
material  said  to  be  "  beer." 

"Do  you  wish  to  commit  suicide?" 
asked  the  interested  observer. 

"  Certainly,  with  arsenic  about  there 
is  a  risk.  But  that  is  not  my  chief  reason. 
I  am  drinking  this  so-called  beer  because 
I  am  a  total  abstainer." 

But,  fortunately,  at  this  point  the  police 
interfered,  and  by  the  promptness  of  their 
action  save  the  ratepayers  the  expense 
of  an  inquest. 


118 


PUNCH,  OH  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[FEBRUARY  6,  1901. 


V. — ALCESTIS. 

How  ADMETUS  was  saved  from  the  dis- 
agreeable necessity  of  dying  by  his  wife 
ALCESTIS,  who  was  permitted  to  die  in  his 
stead,  and  how  HERACLES,  ingratitude  for 
ADMETUS'  hospitality,  wrestled  with  Death 
for  her  and  restored  her  to  her  husband, 
has  been  narrated  by  EURIPIDES.  What 
EURIPIDES  did  not  do  was  to  give  us  any 
hint  of  the  subsequent  history  of  the  re- 
united couple.  Did  they  live  happily  ever 

afterwards,  or ?     But  the  sequel  must 

show.  It  is  written  in  the  woman-hating 
vein  so  often  seen  in  EURIPIDES,  and  its 
Latinized  title  is  : — 

HERCULES  VICTUS. 

SCENE.  —  Before  ADMETU.S'  Palace.  That 
worthy  enters  hurriedly  through  the 
Royal  doors,  which  he  bangs  behind  him 
with  a  slight  want  of  dignity.  He 
soliloquises. 

Admetus.    Ye   gods,    how   long    must   I 

endure  all  this, 
The     ceaseless     clamour     of    a    woman's 

tongue  ? 

Was  it  for  this  ye  granted  me  the  boon 
TJiat  she  might  give  her  life  in  place  of 

mine, 

Only  that  HERACLES  might  bring  her  back, 
Torn  from  the  arms  of  Death,  to  plague 

me  thus  ? 

This  was  your  boon,  in  sooth  no  boon  to  me. 
How  blind  is  man,  not  knowing  when  he 

is  blest ! 

Fool  that  I  was,  I  mourned  ALCESTIS'  death 
Almost  as  much  as  I  should  mourn  my  own. 
Indeed  1  thought,  so  great  my  grief  ap- 
peared, 

I  would  almost  have  laid  my  own  life  down 
—Almost,  I  say— to  bring  her  back  to 

earth. 
Yet,  now  she  lives  once  more  she  makes 

me  weep 

More  bitter  tears  than  I  did  ever  shed 
When  I  believed  her  gone  beyond  recall. 
[Weeps  bitterly. 

Chorus. 

First  Semichorus.     Oh,   what   a  doubtful 

blessing  is  a  wife 
Who  saves  your  life 
And  then  doth  make  it  doubly   hard  to 

live ! 

Alas,  she  doth  but  give 
A  gift  we  cannot  prize 
But  count  it  in  our  eyes 
As  nothing  worth — a  thing  to  spurn,  to 

cast  away, 

To  form  the  theme  of  this  depreciatory 
lay! 

Second  Semichorus.  ALCESTIS,  what  a  shame 

it  is  to  find 
This  kingly  mind 
So  much  disturbed,  this  kingly  heart  so 


By  thy  too  active  tongue  ! 
Thou  gav'st  thy  life  for  his 
But  oh,  how  wrong  it  is 
To  make  that  life  which  thou   so  nobly 

didst  restore 

j  A  thing  he  values  not  at  all,  in.  fact   a 
bore ! 

First   Semichorus.    O    wretched    race    of 

men, 

When  shall  ye  see  again 
The  peace  that  once  ye  had 
Ere  woman  bad, 

Or  mad. 
Did  cross  your  happy  path 

In  wrath, 
And  doom  you  to  a  tedious  life  of  fear  and 

fret, 

Of    unavailing    tears     and    unconcealed 
regret ! 

Second   Semichorus.     O    HERACLES,    what 

shame 

Shall  cloud  thy  previous  fame 
Who  brought  this  lady  back 
Along  the  black 

Steep  track, 
Where  Death  and  she  did  fare, 

A  pair 

(At  least,  as  far  as  we  can  ascertain)  con- 
tent, 
To  those  Tartarean  halls  which  hear  no 

argument  ! 

[Enter  ALCESTIS.      She    is    in    a    bad 
temper,   and  i<t   weeping   as    o»/y 
Euripides'  characters  can. 
Alcestis.  Ah  !  woe  is  me  !      Why  was  I 

ever  born  ? 

And  why,  once  dead,  did  1  return  again 
To  this  distressful  earth  ?  Oh,  HERACLES, 
Why  did  you  bear  me  back  to  this  sad  place, 
This    palace    where    ADMETUS    sits    en- 
throned ? 

Oh,  what  a  disagreeable  fate  it  is 
To   live   with  such  a  husband — hear  his 

voice 
Raised   ever   in   complaint,   and  have  no 

word 

Of  gratitude  for  all  I  did  for  him  ! 
Was  there  another  creature  in  the  world 
Who  willingly  would  die  for  such  a  man  ? 
Not  one  !     His  father,  aged  though  he  was, 
Scouted  the  proposition  as  absurd. 
His  mother,  when  approached,  declined  in 

terms 

Which  I  should  hesitate  to  reproduce, 
So  frank  and  so  unflattering  they  Avere. 
But  I,  I  gave  my  life  instead  of  his, 
And  what   is  my    reward  ?     A   few  cold 

words 

Of  thanks,  a  complimentary  phrase  or  two, 
And  then  he  drops  the  subject,  thinks  no 

more 

About  the  matter  and  is  quite  annoyed 
When,  as  may  happen  once  or  twice  a  day, 
I  accidentally  allude  to  it ! 
Admetus  (bursting  into  indignant  sticho- 
muthia).  Not  once  or  twice  but  fifty 
times  a  day. 

Alcestis.  Nay,  you  can't  have  too  much 
of  a  good  thing. 


Admetus.  I  don't  agree.  Speech  is  a  good 

to  men.  .  .  . 
Alcestis.  Your   drift,   as   yet,  I  do  not 

well  perceive. 
Admetus.  .  .  .  Yet  too  much  speech  is 

an  undoubted  ill. 
Alcestis;  Ah,  you  rail  ever  at  a  woman's 

tongue. 
Admetus.  Where  the  cap  fits,  why,  let  it 

thei'e  be  worn. 

Alcestis.  You  spoke  not  thus  when  I  re- 
deemed your  life. 
Admetus.  No,   for   I   thought  you  gone 

ne'er  to  return. 
Alcestis.  'Twas   not   of  mine  own  will 

that  I  came  back. 
Admetua.  1  'm  very  certain  that  'twas 

not  of  mine  I 
Alcestis.  Tell    that    to    HERACLES    who 

rescued  mo. 
Admetus.  I  will,  next  time  he  comes  to 

stay  with  us. 
Alcestis.  You  say  that,  knowing  that  he 

cannot  come. 
Ad  met  us.  Why   should   he    not?     What 

keeps  him  then  away  ? 
Alcestis.  Cleansing  Augean    stables:   a 

good  work ! 
Adtnetus.  Idiot  !     He  never  will  let  well 

alone. 
Alcestis   (tired    of   only    getting    in    one 

line    at    a    time).     lou !     Ion!     What 

thankless  things  are  men  ! 
And,  most  of  all,  how  thankless  husbands 

are  ! 
We  cook  their  dinners,  sew  their  buttons 

on, 

And  even  on  occasion  darn  their  socks, 
And  they  repay  us  thus  !  But  see  where 

comes 

Gi'eat  HERACLES  himself.     'Tis  ever  thus 
With    heroes.     Mention   them,   and   they 

appear. 

[Enter    HERACLES    in    the    opportune 

manner  customary  in  Greek  tragedy. 

Heracles  (preparing  to  aalute   the  gods 

at  great  length).  Great  ZEUS,  and  thou, 

APOLLO,  and  thou  too  — 
Adnietus  (interrupting    hurriedly).    Oh, 

HERACLES,  you  come  in  fitting  time 
To     this     afflicted     and     much    suffering 

house. 
Heracles.  Wherefore  afflicted  ?  Anybody 

dead? 
Admetus.  Not  dead,  but   living.      That 

the  grievance  is. 
Heracles.  A  plague  on  riddles  !     Make 

your  meaning  clear. 
Admetus.  Six  months,  six  little  months, 

six  drops  of  time  ! 
Heracles.  You  still  remain  unwonteclly 

obscure. 
Admetus.  Six  months  ago  you  tore  my 

wife  from  Death. 
Heracles.  Well,  what  of  that  ?     What 's 

all  the  fuss  about  ? 
Admetus.  I  know  you  did  it,  meaning  to 

be  kind, 

But,  oh,  it  was  a  terrible  mistake. 
Indeed,  I  think  it  positively  wrong 


FEBRUARY  6,  1901.] 


PUNCH,    OK    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI. 


113 


Dooley.   "WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WID  YE  ANYHOW,  MICK — ALL  TATTERED  AN'  TORRUN  AN"  BITTEN  AN'  SCRATCHED  ALL  OVER?" 
Mick.  "AY,  AN'  ME  OWN  DOG  DONE  IT!    I  WANT  HOME  SOBER  LAST?  NOIOHT,  AN'  THE  BASTE  DIDX'T  KXOW  ME/" 


120 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[FEBRUARY  6,  1901. 


That  you  should  interfere  with  Nature 

laws 

In  this  extremely  inconsiderate  way. 
Depend  upon  it  when  a  lady  dies 
It 's  most  unwise  to  call  her  back  again. 
You  should  have  left  ALCESTIS  to  the  Shade 
And  me  to  live  a  happy  widower. 
Heracles.  Ungrateful  man,  what  word 

4     are  these  you  speak  ? 
rere  you  not  glad  when  I  did  bring  he 

back  ? 
Admetus.  I  ivas.    But  that  was  severs 

months  ago, 

And  in  the  interval  I  have  found  cause, 
A  dozen  times  a  day,  to  change  my  mind. 
Heracles.  What  cause  so  strong  that  yo 

should  wish  her  dead  ? 
Admetus.  Well,  if  you  must  be  told,  she  ' 

sadly  changed  ; 

Dying  has  not  at  all  agreed  with  her. 
Before  Death  took  her  she  was  kind  anc 

mild, 

As  good  a  wife  as  any  man  could  wish, 
How  altered  is  her  disposition  now! 
She  scolds  the  servants,  sends  away  th 

cook, 

— A  man  I  've  had  in  my  employ  for  years — 
And  actually  criticises  ME  ! 
Heracles.    I  'm   really    very   much   dis 

tressed  to  hear 
This  mournful  news.     But  what  am  I  to 

do? 
Admetus.  Mako  Doath  receive  her  back 

an  easy  task. 
Heracles.  But  will  ALCE.3TTS  sec  it,  do 

you  think  ? 
Alcestis.  Please,  don't  distress  yoursell 

on  her  amount  ; 
She  'd  leave  her  husband  upon  any  terms. 
Is  there  a  woman  in  the  whole  wide  world 
That  would  not  rather  die  a  dozen  times 
Rather  than  live  her  life  out  with  this 

man, 

This  puling,  miserable,  craven  thing, 
Who  lets  his  wife  lay  down  her  life  for  him 
And,  when  by  miracle  she  is  restored 
To  earth  again  and  claims  his  gratitude, 
Has  the  bad  taste  to  grumble  at  the  fact  ? 
Admetus.  I  told  you,  HEIlACLKS,  she  had 

a  tongue. 
Heracles.  Indeed,  she  's  well  equipped  in 

that  respect. 

Alcestis.  To  such  a  man  the  stones  them- 
selves would  speak. 
Heracles.     Well,    lady,    arc    you    then 

content  to  die  ? 
Alcestis.  1  'm  positively  anxious  to  be 

off. 
Heracles.  Then  will  I  go  and  make  Death 

take  yoii  hence. 
Alcestia.  I  'm  sure  I  shall  be  veisy  much 

obliged. 
Admetus.    But,  oh !    not 

obliged  as  1. 
Heracles.  So  be  it,  then. 

be  far  away. 
And    when    I 'vo    found    him 

punched  his  head, 

I  '11  make  him  come  and  take  you  off  at 

oncc-  [Exit  HERACLES. 


half 


Death  wo: 


and    have 


The  Chorus,  who  appear  to  have  boi 
rowed  their  metre  from  "  Atalanta  i 
Calydon,"  sing  as  follows : — 

Chorus. 

Is  this  really  to  put 

An  end  to  our  cares, 
To  the  toils  where  our  foot 

Was  caught  unawares  ? 
Will   HERACLES  really  put  straight  tin 
unfortunate  state  of  affairs  ? 

Will  he  overthrow  Death 

For  the  second  time  here  ? 
Will  he  do  as  he  saith 

And  in  due  time  appear 
With  the  news  which  will  lay  fair  ALOES 
TIS  a  second  time  out  on  her  bier  ? 

She  Avill  die,  she  proclaims, 

With  the  utmost  good-will, 
And  she  calls  us  all  names 

In  a  voice  that  is  shrill 
While  she   vows   that  the   sight  of  An 
METUS,  her  husband,  is  making  her  ill 

It  hardly  seems  wise 

To  spurn  and  reject 
Your  husband  with  cries — 
To  which  all  men  object, 
But  ADMETUS  is  scarcely  the  husband  k 
inspire  any  wife  with  respect. 

Lo,  HERACLES  comes, 
A  hero  confessed  ! 
But  he  twiddles  his  thumbs 

And  looks  somewhat^depressed. 
!an  it  be  that  at  last  he  's  been  conquered  ? 
Well,  all  I  can  say  is,  I  'm  blest ! 

[The  Chorus  sit  down  in  dejection. 

Enter  HERACLES. 
Heracles.  First  I  salute  the  gods,  great 

ZEUS  in  chief  .  .  . 
Admetus  (interrupting).  Oh,  skip  all  that. 

Tell  us  about  the  fight. 
Heracles.  lou  !     lou  I 
Admetus.   Don't  yap  like  that.     Speak 

up.     What  is  your  news  ? 
Heracles.  My  friends,  I  saw  Death  slink- 
ing down  the  drive, 
stopped  him,  told   him   that   this  lady 

here 

iVas  anxious  for  his  escort  to  the  Shades, 
Reminded  him  that  1  had  once  before 
Rescued  her  from  his  grasp,  and  pointed 
out 

generous  I  was  thus  to  restore 
t  then  I  took.     In  fact,  I  put  the  best 
omplexion  on  the  matter  that  I  could. 
Alcestis.    Well?      Did   he  say   that    he 

would  take  me  back  ? 
Heracles.  By  no   means.      He  declined 

emphatically. 

'e  will  not  take  you  upon  any  terms, 
eath  is   no   fool;   he  knows   what  he's 

about ! 
Admetus.  But  did  you  not  compel  him 

to  consent  ? 
Heracles.  I  did  my  best.    We  had  a  bout 

or  two 
f  wrestling,  but  he  threw  me  every  time. 


Finally,  out  of  breath,  and  sadly  mauled, 
I  ran  away — and  here  I  am,  in  fact. 
Alcestis.  You  stupid,    clumsy,   fat,   de 

generate  lout, 

I  positively  hate  the  sight  of  you  ! 
Out  of  my  way,  or  I  shall  scratch  your 

face! 

If  Dejanira  feels  at  all  like  me, 
She  '11  borrow  Nessus'  shirt  and  make  you 

smart !  [Exit  angrily 

Heracles.  Oh,  what  a  vixen  !     Can  yoi 

wonder  Death, 
When  I  approached  him,  would  not  take 

her  back  ? 
Admetus.  I  can't  pretend  I  'm  very  muel 

surprised, 

Although,  if  you  will  pardon  the  remark, 
I  think  you  might   have   made  a   bettei 

fight. 

Better  not  stay  to  dine.     It 's  hardly  safe 
ALCESTIS  isn't  to  be  trifled  with, 
And    if    she    murdered   you  7   should  bt 

blamed!  [Exit  sorrowfully 

Chorus  (rising  fussily). 

How  ill-natured  of  Death  ! 
What  a  horrible  thing ! 
It  quite  takes  my  breath 

And  I  pant  as  I  sing. 

If    ALCESTIS    is    really  immortal,  what  a 
terrible  blow  for  the  King ! 

ST.  J.  II. 


OLD    STYLE. 

["  There  has  been  a  return  to  the  sail  as  a  motor 
xnver  for  vessels." — 6V.  Jame^s  Gazete.~\ 

NEW  Century,  -whose  dawn  we  hailed, 
Already  has  the  progress  paled 

Wherewith  our  Science  wrestles, 
That,  future  marvels  while  we  dream, 
In  your  first  days  aggressive  steam 

Gives  place  to  sailing  vessels  ! 

Shall  old  devices,  long  outworn, 
Roll  back  the  centuries  of  scorn 

And  arrogant  detraction, 
And  you,  much  vaunted  century, 
But  turn  out,  after  all,  to  bo 

An  era  of  reaction. 

Must  battering-ram  and  catapult 
Over  the  "  four-point-seven  "  exult 

Henceforth  in  modern  sieges  ? 
Shall  witches,  palmists  supersede, 
And  Druids  reassert  their  creed — 

Mops  take  the  place  of  squeegees  ? 

When  men  have  Parliament  forgot, 
Once  more  shall  Witenagemot 

In  ways  of  wisdom  rule  them  ? 
And  maids,  in  costumes  mainly  woad, 
As  they  in  coracles  are  rowed, 

Sip  cups  of  mead  to  cool  them. 

So  as,  old  history  to  repeat, 
Each  custom,  long  since  obsolete, 

Henceforth  the  newest  vogue  is, 
The  coming  race  may  look  to  see 
The  world  in  this  new  century 

A  Paradise  of  fogeys. 


FEBRUARY  6,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


121 


THE  PIE  THAT  COOK   MADE. 

["  Bad  cooking ;  that  curse  of  modern  life  which 
causes  discord  in  the  home  circle,  and  drives  so 
many  men  to  their  clubs." — Daily  Paper. ,] 

THIS  is  the  pie  that  cook  made. 

This  is  the  crust 

That  covered  the  pie  that  cook  made. 

This  is  the  man 

That  eat  the  crust, 

That  covered  the  pie  that  cook  made. 


This  is  the  voice  that  did  loudly  bawl, 
That  hailed  the  cabby  upon  the  crawl, 
That  saw  the  door  that  was  banged  in 

the  hall, 
That  startled  the  wife,  &c. 

This  is  the  club  with  its  dinners  small, 
That  soothed  the  voice  that  did  loudiy 

bawl, 

That  hailed  the  cabby  upon  the  crawl, 
That  saw  the  door  that  was  banged  in 

the  hall,  &c. 


'ARRY'S   LAMENT. 

"  A  public  meeting  was  held  at  Hampstead  last 
night  to  protest  against  the  tampering  with  the 
Heath  by  Tube  Railway  Promoters." — Daily  Paper. 
WOT  !  Toobs  on  'Appy  'Amstid? 

A  stition  at  Jerk  Rtrors  ? 
I  'old  the  sime  a  bloomin'  shime, 
An'  clean  agin  the  lors, 
Least  wyes  it  oughter  be — 
If  lors  wos  inide  by  me 
No  toobs  yer  wouldn't  see 
On  'Appy  'Amstid. 


ELECTROCUTION. 

OR  WHAT  WILL  HAVPJ5N  NOW  THAT  THE  ELECTRIC  TRAMS  ARE  INVADING  OUR  COUNTRY  DISTRICTS. 


This  is  the  word 

That  was  used  by  the  man, 

That  eat  the  crust, 

That  covered  the  pie  that  cook  made. 

This  is  the  wife 

That  heard  the  word, 

That  was  used  by  the  man,  &c. 

This  is  the  door  that  was  banged  in  the 

hall, 

That  startled  the  wife, 
That  heard  the  word, 
That  was  used  by  the  man,  &c. 

This  is  the  cabby  upon' the  crawl, 
That  saw  the  door  that  was  banged  in 

the  hall, 
That  startled  the  wife,  &e. 


And  this  is  the  moral  after  all, 
When  cooking  is  bad  beyond  recall, 
The  charms  of  the  sweetest  home  will 

pall, 

And  husbands'  fancies  are  apt  to  fall 
Upon  the  club  with  its  dinners  small, 
That  soothed  the  voice  that^did  loudly 

bawl, 
That     hailed     the  ,  cabby     upon     the 

crawl, 
That  saw  the  door  that  was  banged  in 

the  hall, 

That  startled  the  wife, 
That  heard  the  word, 
That  was  used  by  the  man, 
That  eat  the  crust, 
That  covered  the  pie  that  cook  made. 

P.  G. 


Wy,  wheer  are  we  ter  go,  Liz, 

Ter  git  a  breath  of  air  ? 
Yer  '11  set  yer  teeth  agin  the  'Eath 
When  theer's  a  toob  up  there. 
A  pinky-yaller  stytion 
By  wye  o'  deckyrytion — 
I  calls  it  desecrytion, 
'Appy/ Amstid. 

Oh  !  sive  us  'Appy  'Amstid  ! 

It 's  Parrydise,  you  bet ! 
Theer    ain't    no    smoke    ter     'arm    a 

bloke, 

Nor  yet  no  smuts  as  yet. 
An'  so  I  opes  they  '11  tell 
This  bloomin'  Yanky  swell 
Ter  send  'is  toobs  ter  — well, 
Not  'Appy  'Amstid ! 


122 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[FEBRUARY  6,  1901. 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

"  IT  is  difficult)"  quoth  the  Baron,  "to  believe  that  so 
insipid  and  commonplace  a  story  as  Morals  and  Millions  (F.  V. 
WHITE  &  Co.)  is  by  FLORENCE  WARDEN,  authoress  of  that  strong 
melodramatic  romance  The  House  on  the  Marsh.  Yet  so  it  is, 
and  FLORENCE  WARDEN  must  hasten  to  give  us  something  worthy 
of  her  reputation." 

IN  his  Eccentricities  of  Genius  (CHATTO  AND  WlNDUS)  Major  POND 
introduces  ninety  well-known  personages,  most  of  whom  he 
induced  to  lecture  in  the  United  States  under  his  able  manage- 
ment. They  are  all  interesting.  To  my  Baronite,  the  most 
attractive  revelation  of  character  made  in  the  bulky  volume  is 
that  of  the  Major  himself.  With  rare  access  of  modesty, 
he  devotes  only  some  nine  pages  to  autobiography.  But  in 
sketching  others 
the  gallant  Major 
involuntarily 
looms  clear  en 
the  sheet.  He  is 
the  kind  of  man 
grown  only  on  the 
vast  expanse,  in 
the  electrical  air, 
of  the  United 
States.  To  supreme 
capacity  for  busi- 
ness he  adds  almost 
boyish  enthusiasm. 
War  m-h  e  a  r  t  e  d, 
generous,  expan- 
sively hospitable, 
all  he  asks  in  retui  11 
is  that  the  lecturer 
he  happens  to  be 
managing  shall  be 
able  for  a  given . 
number  of  days,  as 
per  contract,  to 
.address  an  audi- 
ence morning  and 
evening,  to  travel 
all  night  in  tl  e 
cars,  to  assist  in 
advertising  by 
raceiving  clusto  s 
of  reporters  at  any 
hour  they  may  pre- 
sent  themselves, 
and  (if  in  holy 


The  Book  of  Saints  and  Friendhj  Beasts  (L/ONGMAN,  GREEN  & 
Co.)  by  ABBIE  FARWELL  BRO\VN,  is  delightful  in  many  respects, 
and  would  have  been  still  more  delightful  had  the  writer 
not  colloquialised  his  stories  as  if  telling  them  to  twentieth- 
century  children  of  a  rather  up-to-date-ish  class.  The  fascinat- 
ing legends  of  Saint  Francis  of  Assisi  are  the  best  told  in  this 
volume.  The  Baron  has  much  pleasure  in  widely  recommending 
this  little  book.  The  illustrations  by  FANNY  Y.  CORY,  with  the 
exception  of  St.  Cuthbert's  vision,  are  scarcely  worthy  of  the 


subjects. 


THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


A  ROYAL  GROUP  AT  THE  ROYAL  ACADEMY. 

(Winter  Exhibitions,  February — March  1C.) 
WHEN  an  entire  collection  is  so  interesting  as  is  the  one  now 

being  exhibited  at 
the  Royal  Aca- 
demy, Burlington 
House,  consisting 
of  works  by  British 
artists  (in  oil,  in 
water,  and  in 
black  -  and  -  white) 
"deceased  since 
1850,"  it  is  indeed 
difficult  to  select 
even  a  few  for  spe- 
cial mention.  But 
there  is  one  pic- 
ture which,  just  at 
this  sad  time,  will 
bring  many  to 
these  g  a  1 1  e  ries 
who  otherwise 
might  have  care- 
lessly missed  the 
opportunity  of 
making  acquaint- 
ance, or  renewing 
it,  with  works  by 
the  most  c  e  1  e- 
brated  painters 
and  draughtsmen 
of  The  Victorian 


VIBRATION    OF   THE    TUBE. 

AWFUL  EFFECT  ON  LONDON  STATUES.    AN  ARTIST'S  NIGHTMABE. 

["  Lord  RAYLEIOH'S  Committee  is  considering  the  vibration  question." — Daily  Mail.] 
"  Several  new  Tube  llailways  are  projected." — Daily  Paper.] 


orders)  throw  in  a  sermon  on  a  Sunday  morning  or  evening. 
Judged   by   this   standard,    HENRY  STANLEY,   who,   of  course, 
omitted  the  sermon,  established  the  profoundest  claim  on  the 
Major's  respect.     After  him  comes  IAN  McLAREN,  who  doubtless 
owed  something  of  his  success  to  the  start  the  Major  gave 
him.     He  entertained    him    at   luncheon  immediately   on   his 
landing  at  New  York.     "  I  ordered,"  he  writes,   and 
you  can  almost  hear  him  smacking  his  lips,   "a  large 
double  sirloin  steak  and  hashed  brown   potatoes  with 
cream,  just  what  never  fails  to  catch  an  Englishman." 
It  failed  with  MATTHEW  ARNOLD,  with  results  the  Major 
summarises.     "  MATTHEW  ARNOLD  came  to  this  country 
and  gave  100  lectures.     Nobody!ever  heard  any  of  them, 
not  even  those  sitting  in  the  front  row."     That 's  what 
comes  of  shirking  a  large  double  sirloin   steak   and 
hashed  brown  potatoes  with  cream.     The  lectures  were 
entertaining    enough,    as  appears   from  the  enormous 
takings  at  the  doors.     Most  entertaining  of  all— that 
is,  if  he  's  writing  not  about  you  but  your  friends— is 
the  ingenuous  Major. 


Era.    This  picture, 
to    which    Mr. 
Punch   wishes    his 
Royal    Academy 
Visitor   to  draw 
the  special  and  par- 
ticular attention  of  the  public,  is  to  be  found  in  Gallery  No.  II., 
and  numbered,  in  the  catalogue,  "46."  It  represents  a  royal  group 
painted  by  Sir  FRANCIS  GRANT,  P.R.A.    The  youthful  QUEEN,  a 
sweet  young  mother,  is  seated  holding  a  bonny  baby,  the  Prince 
of  WALES,  on  her  lap  ;  beside  her  stands  the  Princess  Royal,  a 
tiny  tot,   holding  out  a  biscuit  to  two  dogs.    It  oomes  from 
the  Royal  Collection,  and  was  lent,  as  the  catalogue 
informs  us,   by   "  H.M.  the  QUEEN."     This   is   not  a 
masterpiece  of  Sir  FRANCIS  GRANT'S,  but  its  interest 
is  unique. 

The  exhibition  is  open  for  "another  six  weeks.     It  is 
an  exhibition  of  the  works  of  Ml'XAis,  ALFRED  STEVENS 
(only  one),  of  TURNER,  of  LANDS-JER,  of  CECIL  LAWSON 
(memorable    work),    of    the   brief  -  lived    genius    FRED 
WALKER,  of  HOLT,  of  STACEY  MARKS  (inimitably  humor- 
ous), and  of  many  other  illustrious  artists  and  great 
eolourists,    as    well    as    excellent    (specimens    of    our 
own   Messrs.   LEECH,   Du   MAURIER,  \  CHARLES  KEENE; 
"A  Constable"    but  no  DICKY  DOYLE,  whose  fairies  Mr.  Punch  misses 
(Hare  specimen.)    from  the  aquarellist  collection. 


F«BRUA»T  13,  1901.]  PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI.  123 


SEND    VALENTINE'S   DAY. 

"To-morrow  is  St.  Valentine's  Day."— Hamlet. 

Lieutenant  Dan  Cupid  gives  his  Annual  Entertainment !    Great  success  > ! 
"On,  MASTER  CUPID,  YOU  ARS  A  FUNKY  BOY!" 


VOL.  rxx. 


H 


124 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[FEBRUARY  13,  1901. 


SPOETIVE    SONGS. 

To  AMABEL,  ABOUT  TO  BE  WEDDED  ON  HER 

TWENTY-FIRST  BIRTHDAY. 

(By  a  Discarded  Lover.) 
You  'RE  more  than  seven,  you  're  three 

times  that, 

As  you  declare  with  pride, 
You  're  twenty-one  !    Of  age,  "  the  Brat  " 

About  to  become  a  bride. 
"What  shall  I  give  you,  O  Brat,  to-day 

To  prove  in  peace  we  part  ? 
No  ! — I  will  not  give  myself  away 
Since  you  have  lost  your  heart. 

Shall  I  give  you  a  tress  of  raven  hair 

That  is  now  of  ruddy  hue  ? 
A  miracle  changed  the  colour,  I  swear, 

Not  a  bottle  of  Carmine  Dew. 
Shall,  I  lay  at  your  feet,    O    Brat,   the 
notes 

That  flowed  from  your  facile  pen  ? 
No  !  they  '11  act  as  the  best  of  antidotes 

To  the  poison  of  "  Now  "  and  "  Then." 

Shall  I  send  you  a  ribbon  or  left  hand 
glove 

(You  know  that  I  have  them  yet), 
The  stupid  emblems  of  silly  love, 

That  I  cannot  quite  forget? 
No  !  on  your  birthday,  O  Brat,  have  this, 

A  volume  of  writings  true, 
I  've  turned  the  page — take  it  not  amiss — 

At  The  Taming  of  the  Shreiv ! 


MILITARY  DIALOGUES. 

HOW  IT  SHOULD  NOT  BE  DONE. 

Interior  of    a    dreary  room  in  the   War 

Office.    A  tired-looking  young  officer, 

in  mufti,  sits   at  a  table  with  great 

piles  of  papers,  each  bundle  tied  with 

red   tape  and  ticketed  with  labels  of 

different  colours,   on  one  side    of   it 

ready  to  his  hand.    Another  pile   of 

papers,  which  he  has  already  dealt  with, 

is  on  the  other  side  of  the  table.    He 

is  an  official  and  has  many  letters,  the 

first  two  being  D.A.  after  his  name. 

The  gas  has  just  been  lighted.    A  clerk 

brings  in  another  fat  bundle  of  papers. 

The  Officer  (patting  the  smaller  pile  on 

the  table).    These  can  go  on,   SMITHERS. 

That  question  of  sardine-openers  must  go 

back  to  the  commissariat,  and  the  General 

Commanding  the  Central  District  must  be 

authorised  to  deal  on  his  own  responsibility 

with  the  matter  of  the  fierce  bull  in  the 

field   where   the    recruits    bathe.    "What 

have  you  got  there  ? 

The  Clerk.  It  is  the  correspondence, 
Sir,  relative  to  that  false  too^h  requisi- 
tioned for  by  the  Officer  Commanding  the 
Rutlandshire  Regiment  for  the  first  cornet 
of  the  band.  The  Medical  Department 
sent  it  back  to  us  this  morning,  and  there 
is  another  letter  in  from  the  Colonel, 
protesting  against  his  regiment  being 
forced  to  go  route  marching  to  an  imper- 
fect musical  accompaniment. 


The  Officer  (groaning).  I  thought  we  had 
ot  rid  of  that  matter  at  last  by  sending 
it  to  the  doctors. 

The  Clerk.  No,  Sir.  The  Surgeon-General 
has  decided  that  "one  tooth,  false,  with 
gold  attachment,"  cannot  be  considered  a 
medical  comfort. 

The  Officer  (taking  a  precis  from  the  top 
of  the  papers).  I  suppose  we  must  go  into 
the  matter  again.  It  began  with  the  letter 
from  the  Colonel  to  the  General  ? 

The  Clerk.  Yes,  Sir;  here  it  is.  The 
O.  C.  the  Rutland  Regiment  has  the 
honour  to  report  that  the  first  cornet 
player  in  the  band  has  lost  a  tooth,  and 
as  the  band  has  become  inefficient  in 
the  playing  of  marching  music  in  con- 
sequence, he  requests  that  a  false  tooth 
may  be  supplied  at  government  expense. 

The  Officer.  And  the  General,  of  coarse, 
replied  in  the  usual  formula  that  he  had 
no  fund  available  for  such  purpose. 

The  Clerk.  Yes,  Sir ;  but  suggested  that 
the  regimental  band  fund  might  be  drawn 
on. 

The  Officer.  "Where  is  the  Colonel's 
letter  in  reply.  (ItisJuindedtohim.)  Ah, 
yes.  Band  fund  is  established,  he  writes, 
for  purchase  of  musical  instruments  and 
music,  and  not  for  repair  of  incomplete 
bandsmen,  and  refuses  to  authorise  ex- 
pense, except  under  order  from  the 
Commander-in-Chief. 

The  Clerk.  The  General  sends  this  on  to 
us,  with  a  remark  as  to  the  Colonel's 
temper. 

The  Officer.  And  we  pass  it  to  the 
Quarter-Master-General's  people,  suggest- 
ing that  under  certain  circumstances  a 
false  tooth  might  be  considered  a  ' '  neces- 
sary," and  a  free  issue  made. 

The  Clerk.  A  very  long  memo,  on  the 
subject,  in  reply,  from  the  Q.-M.-G.,  Sir. 
He  points  out  that  though,  under  excep- 
tional circumstances,  a  pair  of  spectacle 
might  be  held  to  be  a  sight-protector,  a 
false  tooth  could  not  be  held  to  be  either 
a  fork,  a  spoon,  a  shaving-brush,  a  razor, 
or  even  an  oil  bottle. 

The  Officer.  We  wrote  back,  suggesting 
that  it  might  pass  as  a  "  jag  " — our  little 
joke. 

The  Clerk.  Your  little  joke,  Sir.  The 
Q.-M.-G. 's  people  didn't  see  it. 

The  Officer.  No?  Then  the  correspon- 
dence goes  on  to  the  Ordnance  Department 
with  a  suggestion  that  a  false  tooth  might 
be  considered  an  arm  or  an  accoutrement 

The  Clerk.  The  Director-General  replies 
Sir,  that  in  the  early  days  of  the  British 
Army,  when  the  Army  Clothing  Depart- 
ment's sole  issue  was  a  supply  of  woad 
a  tooth,   or  indeed  a    nail,   might  have 
reasonably  been  indented  for  as  a  weapon 
but  that,  owing  to  the  introduction  and 
perfection  of  fire-arms,  such  weapons  are 
now  obsolete  and  cannot  be  issued. 

The  Officer.  And  now  the  Medical  Ser 
vice  refuse  to  help  us. 

The  Clerk.  Yes,  Sir.   They  cannot  bring 


toe  fixing  of  it  under  the  head  of  surgical 
operations,  and  the  Surgeon  -  General 
points  out  very  justly,  if  I  may  be  per- 
mitted to  say  so,  Sir,  that  a  seal-pattern 
'alse  tooth  could  hardly  be  considered  a 
'  medical  comfort." 

The  Officer.  What  are  we  to  do?  The 
Colonel  of  the  regiment  is  evidently 
'urious. 

The  Clerk.  We  might  send  the  cor- 
respondence to  the  Inspector  of  Iron 
Structures.  He  may  be  able  to  do  or 
suggest  something. 

The  Officer.  Very  well ;  and  will  you  send 
off  this  telegram  to  my  wife  saying  I  have 
a  long  evening's  work  before  me,  and  that 
[  shall  not  be  able  to  get  back  to  dinner 
to-night?  (Exit  the  Clerk.)  Whenever 
will  they  trust  a  General  Commanding 
a  District  to  spend  for  the  public  good  on 
lis  own  responsibility  a  sum  as  large  as  a 
schoolboy's  allowance,  and  so  take  some  of 
the  unnecessary  work  off  our  shoulders  ? 
[He  tackles  wearily  another  file  of 
papers.]  N.-D. 


FROM  THE  RIVIERA. 

From  Miss  PRIMROSE  HILL  to  Miss  ADA 
BRIXTONNE. 

Cannes. 

MY  DEAREST  TOOTSIE,— I  knoAV  that  you 
will  be  dying  to  hear  what  life  in  the 
sunny  South  is  like,  and  as  my  brother 
BOBBIE  has  accepted  an  invitation  from  a 
French  nobleman,  the  Count  de  FLYCARDE, 
to  a  friendly  game  of  picquet,  I  seize  upon 
my  first  spare  moment  to  write  this. 

You  know,  dear,  that  BOBBIE  and  I  being 
rather  luxurious,  we  thought  we  must 
have  a  courier — so  we  took  COOK'S  returns 
and  thereby  obtained  the  services  of  a 
man  (in  livery)  at  tows  les  gares — oh,  how 
silly  I  am ! — I  mean  at  all  the  stations. 
One  gets  so  into  the  way  of  speaking 
nothing  but  French  here,  that  one  really 
cannot  help  lapsing  into  it  occasionally. 
Well,  dear,  we  made  the  voyage — Dover  to 
Calais — safely,  and  I  must  say  that  one 
cannot  find  fault  with  the  supply  of  basins 
on  board.  They  are  given  quite  free  of 
charge.  Of  course,  we  had  to  pass  the 
Douane — Customs,  I  mean — at  Calais,  and 
BOBBIE  succeeded  in  getting  through  a 
packet  of  his  inimitable  twopennies — a 
special  brand  without  which  he  never 
travels.  The  Chef  de  Oare — There  I  go 
again !  Oh,  isn't  it  silly  of  me ! — the 
Station-master  was  too  charming,  and  got 
us  deux  places  in  the  train.  I  think  he  told 
a  sous-officier  that  I  was  tres  joli — rather 
nice  of  him,  wasn't  it  ? 

Our  Parisian  experiences  lasted  nearly 
three  hours,  whilst  we  waited  for  the 
train  South.  Naturally,  we  saw  a  good 
deal  of  the  place,  and  I  have  quite  de- 
cided that  the  life  wouldn't  suit  me  I 
Give  me  dear  old  Upper  Tooting,  say  I ! 

Then  away  we  raced  to  the  South.  Ah, 
my  dear  TOOTSIE,  you  can't  imagine  what 


FEBRUARY  13,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


125 


it  is.  We  went  to  sleep  in  the  frost  and 
darkness,  to  wake  up  in  balmy  air 
(BOBBIE  calls  it  Balmy-on- the -Crumpet 
air ! )  to  see  the  vineyards  full  ;of  oranges 
Hoiu  y  ou  'd  like  to  suck  them,  TOOTSIE  !), 
the  lemons,  the  olive-oil,  and  dates,  all 
growing  together.  And  the  dates ;  not 
like  those  nasty  things  we  get  at  JONE- 
SMITHS  Stores,  but  the  real  thing.  Oh, 
it's  all  too  lovely.  And  at  last  we 
reached  Cannes,  and  drove  with  the  rest 
of  the  personally  conducted  party  to  the 
hotel.  Here,  whilst  walking  down  the 
passages,  you  can  even  smell  the  onions 
growing. 

We  have  not  wasted  time.  The  next 
day,  we  went  on  and  did  Nice,  Beaulien, 
Mentoue,  and  Monte  Carlo,  where  I  lost 
rather  heavily — naughty  me,  to  gamble ! 
I  lost  five  francs  at  one  venture.  BOBBIE 
went  to  the  Tir  aux  Pigeons,  and  though 
he  missed  all  the  birds  he  nearly  got  one 
of  the  men  who  set  the  traps.  We  re- 
turned to  Cannes  that  night,  and  the  day 
after  to-morrow  leave  for  old  England 
again,  after  an  absence  of  nearly  a 
week. 

I  feel  that  I  shall  never  settle  down 
again  after  our  Continental  life.  It  takes 
one  out  of  one's  groove — not  that  I  mean 
that  you  are  one  bit  "  groovy,"  dear 
TOOTSIE — still,  of  course,  you  've  not  had 
the  chance  of  travelling  abroad  and  seeing 
other  places  and  other  people,  have  you  ? 

I  shall  be  back  almost  as  soon  as  this 
reaches  you. 

From  your  fond  friend, 

TRIX. 

P.S. — BOBBIE  has  been  unfortunate  with 
the  Count — and,  between  us,  we  shall  have 
to  make  up  forty-live  francs  to  pay  for  his 
losses  at  picquet  this  afternoon. 


THE  BUMBLE  SPIRIT  AND  THE 
CONSTABLE. 

[Notwithstanding  the  order  of  the  Chief  Com- 
missioner of  Police,  the  Hawkers  are  doing  an  un- 
diminished  trade  in  undiminished  numbers  in  the 
Strand.] 

THE  Bumble  and  the  Constable 
Were  walking  down  the  Strand, 

They  wept  to  see  along  the  kerb 
Such  crowds  of  Hawkers  stand  : 

"  If  these  could  but  be  cleared  away," 
They  said,  "  It  would  be  grand !  " 

"  If  you  should  try  to  move  them  on 

Each  minute  of  the  year, 
Do  you  suppose,"  the  Bumble  said, 

"  That  you  could  get  it  clear?  " 
"  I  doubt  it,"  said  the  Constable, 

And  did  a  stealthy  swear. 

"  O  Hawkers,  come  and  walk  with  us," 

The  Bumble  did  beseech  ; 
"  A  short  and  certain  way  to  find 

A  mine  of  wealth  we  teach : 
We  have  not  more  than  one  De  Beers 

To  give  away  to  each." 


THE    END    OF    THE    SEASON. 

Passing  Friend.  "  HULLOA,  JACK  I    WHY  ON  EARTH  ARE  YOU  HIDING  THERE?" 

Jack.  "ONLY  SAFE  PLACK,  DON'T  YOU  KNOW.  GOVERNOR'S  GIVING  THE  TENANTS  A  DAY 
TO  FINISH  THE  COVERS.  THEY  'VE  JUST  ABOUT  FINISHED  TWO  DOGS  AND  A  BEATER 
ALREADY !  " 


Then  all  the  Hawkers  followed  them, 

To  share  in  such  a  treat ; 
The  Bumble  and  the  Constable 

Turned  down  a  small  side-street— 
"This    pitch,    we    rather    think,"    they 
said, 

"You  '11  find  the  Strand  will  beat !  " 

"  The  Strand,"  observed  the  Constable, 
"  Henceforth  is  closed  to  you ; 

Don't  let  me  catch  you  there  again, 
You  '11  catch  it  if  I  do  "— 

"  The  Thames  is  fine,"  the  Hawkers  said  ; 
' '  Do  you  admire  the  view  ?  ' ' 


"  Such  clever  men,"  the  Bumble  said, 

"  As  you  I  've  rarely  met ; 
In  these  quiet  streets  a  fortune  large 

Each  one  of  you  will  net  " — 
The  Hawkers  answered  nothing  but 

"  You  ought  to  catch  DE  WET." 

The  Bumble  and  the  Constable 

Still  take  their  daily  run  ; 
They  find  the  Hawkers  in  the  Strand 

Selling  their  wares  like  fun — 
And  this  is  scarcely  odd,  because 

They  haven't  banished  one  ! 

["  So  mote  it  be." — Mr.  Punch, 


126 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[FEBRUARY  13,  1901. 


DEAMATIC   SEQUELS. 
VI. — SHE  STOOPS  TO  CONQUER. 

MANY  people  must  have  wondered 
whether  happiness  resulted  from  the 
marriage  between  CHARLES  MARLOW, 
whose  shyness  with  ladies,  it  will  be 
remembered,  prevented  his  ever  having  a 
word  to  say  to  any  woman  above  the  rank 
of  a  barmaid,  and  the  vivacious  KATE 
HARDCASTLE.  The  following  sequel  reveals 
the  painful  truth.  It  is  called  : — 

STILL  STOOPING. 

SCENE. — The  parlour  of  CHARLES  MARLOW'S 
house.  He  and  KATE  are  sitting  on 
opposite  sides  of  the  fire.  Silence 
reigns,  and  CHARLES  fidgets  nervously. 

Kate  (anticipating  a  remark  subsequently 
made  by  PAULA  TANQUERAY).  Six  minutes  ! 

CJuirles  (finding  his  tongue  ivith  an  effort). 
Er— eh  ? 

Kate.  Exactly  six  minutes,  dear,  since 
you  made  your  last  remark. 

CMrles  (laughing  uneasily  and  blushing). 
Urn — ah! — ha!  ha! 

Kate  Well  ?  "What  are  you  going  to  say 
next  ?  It 's  really  time  you  made  an  ob- 
servation of  some  kind,  you  know. 

Charles  (helplessly).  Um  —  er  —  I  've 
nothing  to  say. 

Kate  (rallying  him).  Come,  make  an 
effort. 

Charles  (in  desperation).  It 's — er — a  fine 
day. 

Kate  (genially).  Considering  that  it 's 
raining  steadily,  dear,  and  has  been  for 
the  past  half-hour,  I  hardly  think  that  can 
be  considered  a  fortunate  opening. 

Charles  (covered  with  confusion).  Con- 
found it!  so  it  is.  Forgive  me — er — my 
dear,  I  didn't  know  what  I  was  saying. 

.Kate.  You  very  seldom  do,  dear — to  me. 

Charles.  What  a  fool  you  must  think 
me! 

Kate  (touched  bij  his  evident  sincerity). 
Never  mind,  dear.  It 's  a  shame  to  laugh 
at  you.  But  you  are  rather  absurd,  you 
know.  (She  goes  over  and  kisses  him.  He 
accepts  the  caress  ivith  gratitude,  but 
blushes  painfully.) 

Charles.  I  know,  dear.  But  I  've  always 
been  shy  like  that.  It 's  an  idiosyncrasy. 

Kate.  Not  idiosyncrasy,  dear.  Idiocy. 
The  words  are  so  much  alike. 

Charles  (hurt).  Ah,  now  you  're  laugh- 
ing at  me ! 

Kate.  Of  course  I  am,  goose.  (Argu- 
mentatively)  You  see,  dear,  as  long  as 
you  were  a  bachelor  it  was  all  very  well 
to  be  bashful.  But  now  that  we  are 
married,  I  really  think  you  ought  to  fight 
against  it ! 

diaries.  Fight  against  it !  I  fight 
against  it  every  hour  of  the  day.  Every 
morning  I  say  to  myself,  "I  really  must 
get  over  this  ridiculous  shyness.  I  must 
try  and  show  KATE  how  much  I — er — love 
her." 


Kate.  You. are  curiously  unsuccessful, 
dear. 

Charles  (miserably).  I  feel  that.  But 
it 's  not  for  lack  of  trying.  (Desperately) 
Do  you  suppose,  KATE,  that  anything  but 
the  strongest  effort  of  will  keeps  me 
sitting  in  this  chair  at  this  moment?  Do 
I  ever,  save  under  compulsion,  remain 
in  the  same  room  with  any  lady  for  more 
than  five  minutes  ?  Why,  if  I  didn't  love 
you  to  distraction,  dear,  I  shouldn't  re- 
main here  an  instant ! 

Kate.  You  certainly  have  a  curious 
method  of  displaying  an  ardent  attachment. 

Charles.  Yes.  It 's  most  unfortunate. 
But  I  warned  you,  dear,  didn't  I  ?  I  told 
you  all  about  my  absurd  bashfulness  be- 
fore we  became  engaged.  You  knew  that 
the  presence  of  ladies  invariably  reduced 
me  to  speechlessness  before  you  accepted 
me. 

Kate  (sweetly).  Not  invariably,  my  love. 
What  about  your  prowess  with  Mrs. 
MANTRAP  and  Lady  BETTY  BLACKLEG  that 
you  told  me  about  ?  (CHARLES  blushes 
crimson.)  Didn't  they  call  you  "  their 
agreeable  Rattle"  at  the  Ladies'  Club 
in  Town  ? 

Charles.  I — er — get  on  well  enough 
with — um — er — disreputable^  ladies.  But 
you — er — aren't  disreputable. 

Kate.  You  are  too  modest,  dear.  Some 
of  your  conquests  are  quite  respectable. 
Didn't  I  come  upon  you  in  the  act  of 
kissing  ANNE,  the  housemaid,  yesterday  ? 
And  no  one  can  pretend  that  my  house- 
maids are  disreputable  ! 

Cliarles  (sighing).  Yes.  I  'm  not  shy 
with  housemaids. 

Kate.  So  I  noticed.  I  sent  ANNE  away 
this  morning. 

Charles  (ivith  real  concern).  Not  ANNE  ! 

Kate.  Yes.  And  SARAH  too.  I  thought 
I  detected  in  you  a. lurking  penclwtnt  for 
SARAH. 

Charles  (simply).  Yes,  I  liked  SARAH. 

Kate.  So  now  we  haven't  a  single 'maid 
in  the  house.  It 's  really  very  incon- 
venient. 

Charles.  You  must  get  others. 

Kate.  For  you  to  make  eyes  at?  Cer- 
tainly not.  By  the  way,  is  there  any  type 
of  female  domestic  servant  whom  you  do 
not  find  irresistibly  attractive  ?  Dark 
ones  ?  Fair  ones  ?  Young  ones  ?  Old 
ones?  Tall  ones?  Short  ones?  (He  shakes 
his  head  at  each  question.)  Not  one  ? 

Charles.  I  'm  afraid  not. 

Kate  (with  decision).  Then  I  must  do  the 
house- work  myself. 

Charles  (delighted).  Charming!  My  dear 
,  how  delightful.  Put  on  a  cap  and 
apron  and  take  a  broom  in  your  hand,  and 
my  bashfulness  will  vanish  at  once.  I 
know  it  will. 

Kate.  It  seems  the  only  course  open  to 
us,  especially  as  there  's  110  one  else  to 
sweep  the  rooms.  But  I  wish  you  were 
not  so  unfortunately  constituted. 


Charles  (heartily).  So  do  I.  But,  after 
all,  we  must  accept  facts  and  make  the 
best  of  them.  You  must  stoop  to 
conquer,  you  know.  Go  and  put  on  an 
apron  at  once. 

SCENE  II. — CHARLES'S  special  sitting-room, 
where  he  is  ivont  to  hide  his  shyness  from 
visitors.  Time,  a  week  later.  KATE,  in 
a  print  dress,  cap  and  apron,  is  on  her 
knees  before  the  fire-place  cleaning  up 
the  hearth. 

Charles  (entering  the  room  unperceived, 
stealing  up  behind  her  and  giving  her  a 
sounding  kiss).  Still  stooping,  KATE! 

Kate.  CHARLES  !     (Rising.) 

Charles  (kissing  her  again).  Ah,  KATE, 
KATE,  what  a  charming  little  creature 
you  are,  and  how  much  I  love  you  ! 

Kate.  But  how  long  will  you  go  on 
loving  me  ? 

Charles.  Always,  dearest — in  a  cap  and 
apron.  (Embraces  her.) 

Kate.  It 's  rather  hard  that  I  should 
have  to  remain  a  housemaid  permanently 
in  order  to  retain  my  husband's  affection. 

Charles  (seriously).  It  is,  dear.  I  see 
that. 

Kate.  However,  there  's  nothing  to  be 
done,  so  I  may  as  well  accustom  myself 
to  the  idea  as  soon  as  possible.  (Takes  a 
broom  and  begins  to  sweep  the  floor.)  You 
don't  think  your  absurd  shyness  is  likely 
to  diminish  with  time? 

Charles.  It  may,  dear.  But  I  think  it 
would  be  unwise  to  count  upon  it.  No, 
as  far  as  I  can  see,  the  only  thing  to  be 
done  is  for  you  to  continue  in  your  pre- 
sent occupation — you  sweep  charmingly — 
for  the  rest  of  your  natural  life. 

Kate  (sweeping  industriously).  What 
would  my  father  say  if  he  saw  me  ! 

Charles  (easily).  He  won't  see  you.     He 

hasn't  been  over  since  we  were  married. 

[A  ring  is  heard. 

Kate  (starting).  Who  's  that  ? 

Charles.  What  does  it  matter?  No  one 
will  be  shown  in  here.  JENKINS  has  orders 
never  to  bring  visitors  into  my  room. 

Kate.  That 's  true.  (Returns  to  her 
siveeping). 

[Suddenly  the  door  opens  and  Mr.  HARD- 
CASTLE  enters,  with  elaborate  hearti- 
ness, thrusting  aside  JENKINS  who 
vainly  tries  to  keep  him  out. 

Hardcastle.  Zounds,  man,  out  of  the 
way  !  Don't  talk  to  me  about  the  parlour. 
Can't  I  come  and  see  my  son-in-law  in  any 
room  I  choose  ? 

[CHARLES  mutters  an  oath ;  KATE  stands, 
clutching  her  broom  convulsively,  facing 
her  father. 

Hardcastle  (boisterously).  How  d  'ye  do, 
son-in-law?  KATE,  my  dear,  give  me  a 
kiss.  Heavens,  child,  don't  stand  there 
clinging  to  a  broomstick  as  though  you 
were  going  to  fly  away  with  it.  Come  and 
kiss  your  old  father. 

[KATE  drops  the  broom  nervously  and  kisses 
him  obediently. 


FKBKUABY  13,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI. 


"ONE    WHO    KNOWS." 

The  German  Emperor  (meditatively}.   "Now  THAT  I'M   A   BRITISH   FIELD-MARSHAL,  I    WONDER   IF    I    MIGHT  VENTURE    TO  GIVE 

THEM   A   HINT    OR    TWO    ON    'RE-ORGANISATION'?      AND    I    MIGHT    SUGGEST    THAT    THEIR    OFFICERS    SHOULD    ALWAYS     BE    IN    UNIFORM — 
AS   1IIKE   ARE." 


128 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[FEBRUARY  13,  1901. 


Charles  (endeavouring  by  the  warmth  of 
liis  ivelcome  to  divertlattcntion  from  his 
wife).  How  d'ye  do,  Sir — how  d'ye  do? 
(wringing  his  hand.) 

Hard,  (noticing  a  small  heap  of  dust  on 
the  carpet,  which  has  been  collected  by 
KATE'S  exertions).  Eh,  what's  this?  Why, 
I  believe  you  were  actually  sweeping  the 
room,  KATE  ! 

Kate  (shamefacedly).  I  am  sorry,  father, 
that  you  should  have  found  me  so  un- 
suitably employed. 

Hard.  Unsuitably?  On  the  contrary, 
nothing  could  be  more  suitable. 

Kate  (annoyed).  Come,  Papa,  don't  you 
begin  to  be  eccentric  too  ! 

Hard,  (stiffly).  I  am  not  aware  that  there 
is  anything  eccentric  about  me. 

Charles  (intervening  nervously).  No,  no, 
Sir.  Of  course  not. 

Hard.  But  when  I  find  my  daughter 
laying  aside  her  finery  and  looking  after 
her  house,  I  cannot  conceal  my  satis- 
faction. Ah,  CHARLES,  you  have  improved 
her  greatly.  When  she  lived  at  home, 
you  remember,  I  had  hard  enough  work  to 
persuade  her  to  lay  aside  fine  clothes  and 
wear  her  housewife's  dress  in  the  evenings. 
As  for  sweeping,  I  never  even  ventured 
to  suggest  it. 

Kate  (indignantly).  I  should  think  not ! 
Hard.  And  yet,  KATE,  if  you  knew  how 
charming  you  look   in   a   print  frock,  a 

cap  and  apron 

Kate  (laughing  in  spite  of  herself).  You, 
too  !  Really,  papa,  I  'm  ashamed  of  you. 
However,  you  seem  both  of  you  determined 
that  I  should  pass  the  remainder  of  my 
days  as  a  housemaid,  so  I  suppose  you 
must  have  your  way.  This  is  what  comes 
of  ' '  Stooping  to  conquer. ' '  Now  go  away, 
both  of  you,  and  leave  me  to  finish 
sweeping. 

[Takes  up  broom  again  resolutely. 
Hard.  We  will,  KATE.    Come,  CHARLES. 

[Exit. 

Charles.  Coining,  Sir  (darting  across  to 
iis  ivife  and  kissing  her).    Darling  ! 
Kate.  Goose ! 

[He  goes  out  hurriedly  after  Hardcastle. 
Curtain.  ST.  J.  H. 


OUR  CHILDREN'S  LETTER. 

(We  freely  acknowledge  tJiat  this  idea  is 
suggested  by  many  popular  lady's  papers.) 

MY  DEAR  LITTLE  READERS,— Here  is  a 
letter  written  especially  for  you.  I  want 
you  all  to  write  me  a  nice  letter  in  return, 
telling  me  what  you  think  of  this  charming 
paper.  You  see,  we  try  all  sorts  ofjirtful 
dodges  to  sell  it.  And  we  do  sell  so  many 
—millions  and  millions  every  week.  You 
must  call  me  Auntie  BERTHA.  What  a 
difficult  name  BERTHA  is.  Perhaps  Auntie 
BLUFFER  is  easier.  I  hope  all  my  little 
readers  have  a  money-box.  If  not,  you 
must  ask  mamma  to  buy  you  one  ;  and  all 


the  pennies  you  save  during  the  week  you 
will  put  in  your  money-box ;  and  when 
Saturday  comes,  you  will  have  quite  a  lot 
of  pennies  to  spend  on  copies  of  this  dear 
little  paper.  I  'm  sure  it  is  your  favourite 
one.  We  all  work  so  hard  in  this  great 
big  office  to  make  it  better  than  any  other 
paper  in  the  world.  Of  course  you  will 
not  keep  all  the  copies  yourself.  My 
little  chicks  must  not  be  selfish.  No  ; 
you  will  ask  nurse  to  take  you  round  in 
the  pram ;  and  you  will  leave  a  copy  at 
every  house  all  round  where  you  live. 
Then  we  shall  sell  more  copies  [of  this 
paper  and  grow  very  rich.  Won't  that  be 
fun — for  us  !  And  when  you  have  bought 
and  given  away  five  hundred  copies  of 
your  favourite  little  paper,  you  must  write 
and  tell  Auntie  BLUFFER.  And  I  shall  send 
each  of  my  kind  little  helpers  a  beautifully- 
dressed  doll,  costing  quite  two  whole 
bright  shillings.  Isn't  that  a  lot  of 
money?  I  hope  the  little  boys  and  girls 
mamma  lets  you  play  with  are  very  good 
— and  buy  our  paper  every  week.  Does 
your  kind  papa  know  we  publish  a  paper 
for  big  men — every  Wednesday  ?  It  costs 
six-and-six,  post  free,  and  is  so  clever. 
Of  course  my  chicks  will  tell  grandmamma 
all  about  our  Sunday  papers. 

Now  I  'm  going  to  tell  you  a  little  story  : 

There  was  once  an  egg  born  in  a  warm, 
soft  nest  in  the  country.  It  was  such  a 
nice  little  fresh  egg.  I  'm  quite  sure  my 
little  London  readers  have  no  idea  how 
fresh  a  little  egg  can  be.  Well,  it  grew 
discontented  at  being  in  the  pure  and 
beautiful  country,  and  longed  for  the 
great  town  ;  not  knowing  what  a  dread- 
ful place  it  is.  So  it  got  put  in  a  big 
wooden  box,  and  came  to  London.  And  it 
went  to  a  grocer's  shop,  and  lay  all  day  in 
the  box  watching  the  people  passing  to 
and  fro.  And,  Oh,  the  sights  it  saw ! 
Well,  after  a  few  weeks  of  town  life  it  felt 
it  was  losing  its  freshness,  and  the  grocer 
'elt  so  too,  and  put  a  big  card  over  it  on 
which  was  written  "SELECTED."  It  was 
iust  as  well  the  egg  could  not  read.  And 
when  months  and  months  went  by  and 
nobody  bought  it,  it  longed  for  the 
country,  for  the  dreadful  air  of  London 
made  it  so  unhappy.  Indeed,  it  knew  too 
well  how  London  life  had  made  it,  quite  a 
bad  little  egg.  But  one  day  a  maid  came 
and  bought  it,  and  the  bad  little  egg 
thought  it  was  going  into  a  nice  pudding. 
But  when  the  cook  broke  its  shell  she 
knew  at  once  what  a  thoroughly  bad  little 
egg  it  was,  and  she  said  "  Pugh  !  "  and 
threw  it  into  the  dust-bin.  And  that  was 
the  end'of  the  discontented  egg. 

And  the  MORAL  is  :  London  is  not  the 
place  for  a  fresh  egg. 

And  now,  my  chicks,  I  must  stop.  So 
buy-buy — I  mean  bye-bye. 

From  your  pence-loving, 

Auntie  BLUFFER. 

Isn't  this  a  nice,  artless  letter  ? 


'VARSITY  VERSES. 

OXFORD  ODES. 

V. 

WHEN  first  with  studious  guide-book  I 

To  learn  the  colleges  would  try, 

When  John's  I  thought  was  in  the  High, 

And  Queen's  was  mixed  with  Oriel, 
When  bull-dogs,  in  my  verdant  view, 
To  fierce  and  four-legged  monsters 

grew, 
Then  first  my  glances  fell  on  you, 

Mysterious  Memorial. 

I  wondered  whose  the  praise  you  sung, 
With  eloquent  yet  silent  tongue — 
Some  village  Hampden  that  had  wrung 

From  Stewart  tyrants  charters, 
Some  Cromwell  guiltless — vide  GRAY — 
Some  England's  Alf — I  turned  away, 
And  in  my  guide-book  read  that  they 

Were  called  the  Oxford  Martyrs. 

The  Oxford  Martyrs  ?    I  had  read 
Of  none ;  and  as  I  laid  my  head, 
Much  wondering,  upon  my  bed, 

Behold,  my  troubled  slumbers 
Were  filled  with  visions  :  first  advanced 
A  troop  of  dons,  who  round  me  danced, 
Greek  chorus-like,  the  while  entranced 

I  listened  to  their  numbers  : 

"The  martyrs  are  those  who  lecture  on 

prose 

To  pupils  whose  Latin  is  not  ClCERO'S ; 
Who  are  doomed  to  teach  Greek 
Six  days  in  the  week 
To  youths  to  whom  Plato  is  Greek,  Heaven 
knows. 

"  Who  are  fated — ah,  me  ! — to  make  the 

blind  see 
The  delicate  beauties  of  syntax — e.g., 

The  grammatical  plan 

Of  the  particle  &v, 
And  the  force  of  pt  ov  as  compared  with 

OV  (Lt. ' ' 

The  wailing  strophe  died  away, 
Another  band  took  up  the  lay ; 
All  undergraduates  were  they 

Who  moved  in  mournful  fashion. 
Sad  figures,  pitiful  to  see, 
And  as  they  danced  in  front  of  me, 
They  sang  their  sad  antistrophe 

With  scarce  concealed  passion  : 

"The  Martyrs  are  those  who  are  taught 

to  write  prose 

In  a  style  that  old  CICERO  out-Ciceroes, 
Who  are  doomed  to  submit 
To  the  insolent  wit 

Of  a  tutor  who  sneers  at  the  little  one 
knows. 

"  Who  are  fated — woe,  woe ! — never,  never 

to  know 

The  delicate  beauties  of  syntax,  which  show 
That  all  particles  must 
Their  vagaries  adjust 
To    dicta     of    RUTHERFORD,     GOODWIN, 
MONRO." 


FEBRUARY  13,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVAEI. 


129 


MR,  MIFFIN'S  ADVENTURE. 

MR.  MIFFIN  re-filled  his  glass  for  the 
fifth  time.  Not  to  have  done  so  would 
have  argued  criminal  mis-appreciation  o1 
'51  port.  And  next  to  the  study  of  Ori- 
ental metaphysics  came  old  bottled  port, 
in  Mr.  MIFFIN'S  estimation.  Indeed,  hi 
essay  on  ' '  Decantering  considered  as  one 
of  the  fine  arts  "  had  received  possibly 
more  favour  from  his  fellow  clubmen  than 
his  esoteric  discourse  on  "  Transmigra- 
tional  Transcendentalism." 

But  make  no  mistake  !  Mr.  MIFFIN  was 
not  dining  at  his  club. 

On  the  contrary,  he  was  lunching  at 
home  in  Bayswater,  and  the  point  is  of 
some  importance,  as  may  be  seen  from 
subsequent  events. 

Before  lunch,  Mr.  MIFFIN  had  suffered 
certain  conscientious  pangs  as  to  the 
desirability  of  taking  this  sacred  vintage 
in  the  middle  of  the  day.  But  you  must 
combat  a  north-east  wind  in  some  way, 
and  perhaps  it  is  better,  after  being 
buffeted  about  in  the  open,  to  run  to 
port. 

After  lunch,  Mr.  MIFFIN  felt  no  qualms 
whatever.  He  even  viewed  the  cold  slush 
outside  with  a  genial  smile.  Then  he 
ruminated  on  his  pet  theory,  "  The  Trans- 
migration of  Souls,"  illustrating  his  own 
views — to  himself — by  means  of  the  cork. 

A  sudden  twinge  put  an  end  to  a  very 
elaborate  argument,  and  the  conscience 
of  Mr.  MIFFIN  awoke  with  a  jerk.  "I  '11 
go  out,"  said  he  ;  and  out  he  went. 

A  man  was  standing  near  one  of  the 
gates  of  the'  Park.  He  was  shabbily 
dressed,  and  would  have  attracted  no 
notice  had  not  Mr.  MTFFIN  caught  these 
remarkable  words  as  he  passed:  "The 
very  ivalls  of  Rome  liave  ears.  Nero  liath 
spies  everywhere."  Was  the  man  mad? 
What  did  he  know  of  Rome  ?  What — cou  Id 

it  be ?    Oh,  joy  !     Mr.  MIFFIN  almost 

broke  ,  his  umbrella  in  his  excitement. 
There,  perhaps,  was  the  individual  whom 
he  had  sought  for  years — one  who  remem- 
bered his  previous  existence !  Doubtless 
this  poor  wretch  was  once  a  citizen  of  the 
Great  Empire.  He  must  speak  to  him. 
At  first  the  man  seemed  surprised,  then 
an  odd  expression  came  into  his  face,  and 
he  told  Mr.  MIFFIN  that  he  remembered, 
not  only  Ancient  Rome,  but  Egypt  and 
many  Eastern  countries.  Once,  indeed, 
he  could  swear  he  had  been  a  rich  mer- 
chant in  Bagdad.  Possibly,  if  Mr.  MIFFIN 
had  not  been  so  carried  away  by 
enthusiasm,  he  might  have  been  more 
sceptical.  But  he  was  naturally  a  trustful 
man,  and  '51  port  is  not  compatible  with 
scepticism. 

He  made  an  appointment  with  the  man 
for  the  following  day,  and  rushed  home  to 
write  a  paper  that  should  startle  the 
world. 

Alas  1  that  the  world  should  have  been 
deprived  of  this  pleasure  by  the  insig- 


Mabel.  "WELL,  IT  is  KIND  OF  YOU,  FREDDIE  DEAR,  TO  ALLOW  ME   TO   DRIVE;  AND 

WHEN  WE  ARE  MARRIED   I   HOPE  YOU  WILL  CONTINUE  ALLOWING  ME  TO  DO   SO." 

Freddie.  "  WELL — I  DON'T  KNOW,  DARLING.     I  THINK,  MABEL  DEAR,  WHEN  THAT  TIME 

COMES,    I   SHALL  HAVE  TO   TAKE  THE  REINS  OCCASIONALLY  MYSELF." 


nificant  fact  that  a  shabby- 
looking  man  never  turned  up 
at  the  house  of  Mr.  MIFFIN. 
So  Mr.  MIFFIN  could  not  write 
his  paper.  Nevertheless,  he 
talks  very  freely  at  the  Club 
about  his  adventure,  and  how 
the  man  had,  perhaps,  been 
too  frightened  to  come,  or 
been  killed,  etc. 

By  a  queer  coincidence,  on 
that  very  day  when  Mr.  MIF- 
FIN encountered  this  living 
illustration  of  his  pre-exis- 
tence  theory,  a  new  "super  " 
lad  been  engaged  to  take  part 


A  Little  Check. 


in  The  Sign  of  the  Cross  at  one 
of  the  suburban  theatres.  He 
had  been  wandering  about  the 
park  on  this  afternoon,  and 
met  (so  he  after  averred)  a 
strange  old  cove  with  whom 
he  had  a  joke.  Previously  he 
had  taken  part  in  the  panto- 
mime of  All  Baba. 

And  the  remarkable  thing 
is  that  his  fellow-actors  dis- 
believe his  story  just  as  the 
Club  -  men  disbelieve  Mr. 
MIFFIN. 

This  fact,  as  the  moralist 
says,  gives  food  for  reflection. 


THE   BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 
A  GREAT  THOUGHT  FOR  EVERY  DAY  IN  THE  YEAR. 

SECOND  SERIES. 
II.— THE  AMATORY  CORRESPONDENCE  SECTION. 

(With  acknowledgments  to  the  gentleman  who  is  reputed  to  have 

composed  "  An  Englishwoman's  Love-Letters.") 
Mr  DEAR  AUNT,— I  am  about  to  send  you  a  heavy  batch  of  love- 
etters.  Do  not  be  shocked.  I  recognise  that  we  are  within  the 
prohibited  degrees.  They  are  only  female  love-letters  made  out  of 
my  head.  You  will  understand  that  I  have  disguised  my  sex; 
reversing,  out  of  deference  to  modern  feeling,  the  process  of 
GEORGE  ELIOT  and  others.  I  was  naturally  tempted  to  call  my 
work  "The  Love-Letters  of  Elizabeth,"  that  name  being  now 
almost  de  rigueur  in  the  trade ;  but  I  have  been  content  to  say 
14  An  Englishwoman  has  done  this  thing."  You  might  be  good 
mough  to  get  them  published  for  me,  and  affix  a  preface  (in  a 
different  style  from  that  of  the  letters)  saying,  (1)  that  they 
were  originally  sacred  and  meant  for  the  eyes  of  One  Only;  (2) 
that  the  author  is  dead  ;  (3)  that  exceptional  circumstances  have 
arisen,  &c. ;  and  (4)  anything  else  that  may  occur  to  you  as  likely 
to  intrigue  the  public.  I  am  sending  them  to  you  because  you 
are  the  only  woman  that  I  knoiv  at  all  well  whose  handwriting  is 
at  once  feminine  and  legible.  This  is  necessary  for  imposing  on 
a  publisher's  innocence.  I  shall  trust  you  to  emend  anything  that 
strikes  you  as  too  unladylike;  and,  in  the  hope  that  you  will 
kindly  remit  profits  to  me  at  the  old  address,  I  sign  myself, 

Your  ever  anonymous  NEPHEW. 


FEBRUARY  IST.— BRIGHTEST  AND  BEST,— This  is  the  first  of  a 
long  and  steady  series  of  love-letters  that  are  to  come  from  my 
swelling  heart.  Need  I  say  that  they  are  not  for  publication  ? 
No  eye  but  yours,  not  even  your  butler's,  must  ever  see 
them.  I  have  a  trunk  full  of  letters  of  responsive  love,  written 
daily  during  the  weary  six  months  of  our  blossoming  friendship. 
Each  was  ready  stamped  at  the  time,  in  case  your  proposal 
arrived  before  the  bag  went  out.  And  now,  at  last,  at  last,  I 
have  hooked  you.  Dear  fish !  and  you  are  man  enough  to 
imagine  the  victory  yours  !  See,  I  give  my  sex  away,  and  am 
too  glad  to  blush  !  I  never  blush  now.  Till  to-morrow. 

Your  Compleat  Angler. 

*3RD.— MOST  THOROUGHLY  BELOVED,— Had  you  an  egg  for 
breakfast  ?  I  had.  I  take  a  new  and  absorbing  interest  in 
myself,  now  that  I  am  part  of  you !  As  a  child  I  have  been 
radiantly  happy  over  mud  pies.  I  must  believe  now  that  some- 
where your  dear  hands  were  contemporaneously  busy  with  the 
same  luscious  compound.  Otherwise  the  joy  I  then  had  is 
inexplicable.  I  was  to  tell  you  of  a  wasp  on  my  window-sill, 
and  a  new  dress,  also  with  a  sting  in  its  tail,  into  whose  making  I 
have  put  all  my  love  for  yon,  and  how  I  saw  a  rabbit,  during  the 
transit  of  Venus,  sucking  dandelions  on  the  lawn  ;  but  I  am  so 
fearful  that  you  will  look  for  mysteries  between  the  lines,  and 
despair  of  following  me.  My  brain  is  a  dazzle  of  diamond 
facets,  while  yours  is  a  pure  carbuncle,  and  like  the  Blenheim 
skull  that  woke  wonder  in  little  PETERKIN  as  being  "so  large 
and  smooth  and  round."  Your  ever  amorous. 

5TH. — OWN, — Shall  we  give  each  other  names  from  the  stars, 
that  we  may  wink  together  when  apart  ?  Yes  ?  Then  I  will  be 
Virgo,  and  you  shall  be  the  Great  Bear  that  hugs  me.  It  is  my 
birthday,  and  you  did  not  know  !  Somehow,  I  could  not  tell  you : 
so  strange  a  thing  is  a  really  nice  woman's  reserve. 

.6TH. — MOST  PATIENT, — The  post  has  this  moment  gone  with  my 
letter,  finished  just  in  time.  So  I  sit  down\to  begin  another. 
I  could  go  on  writing  without  a  break  except  for  meals ;  but 
pity  is  at  the  heart  of  my  love. 

TTH. — LOVELIEST, — You  have  won  the  right  to  know  my  past. 
I  will  not  withhold  from  you  that  an  intermittent  fever,  some- 
thing like  nettle-rash,  used  to  possess  me  when  I  dreamed 


of  one  day  being  a  maker  of  books.  Now  that  I  have 
you,  I  have  no  care  for  a  larger  public.  And,  indeed,  it  is  a 
man's  career.  For  woman  there  is  love  and  there  is  beauty. 
My  heart  is  my  warrant  for  tho  one ;  for  the  other,  it  ripens 
daily  in  my  mirror.  Happy  Mercury  !  though  perhaps  it  is  for 
you,  rather  than  me,  to  say  it.  Please  say  it. 

OTH.— MY  STAR,  MY  GREAT  BEAR,— I  have  your  very  own 
letter  acknowledging  my  six  last,  which  seem  to  have  arrived 
by  consecutive  posts.  You  ask  me  if  I  do  not  weary  myself, 
and  whether  I  could  not  contrive  to  say  a  little  less.  Dear 
Altruist!  I  do  not,  and  I  could  not,  if  I  tried.  Your 
importunate. 

IOTH. — ABSENT  YET  PRESENT, — "What,  what  is  this  of  your 
sickness,  and  mo  not  by  to  touch  the  spot  ?  To  think  that  you 
should  be  laid  up  with  "  servant's  knee!"  Why,  it  is  I,  who 
am  one  large  genuflexion  at  your  feet,  that  should  suffer  in 
that  sort.  Do  not  fear  that  I  should  love  you  less,  though  both 
your  knees  should  perish  iitterly.  You  are  you,  and  cannot 
essentially  change.  I  send  you  BROWNING'S  Jocoseria  for  a  love- 
potion.  Your  NANA  (not  ZOLA'S,  but  meaning  your  Nurse  that 
would  be). 

HlH. — POOR,  POOR, — So  the  medicine  was  worse  than  the 
disease,  and  the  "  servant's  knee  "  has  given  place  to  a  strain 
in  your  dear  mind  ?  It  was  thoughtless  to  send  you  BROWNING, 
when  you  were  too  weak  to  bear  him.  Be  appeased,  beloved  ! 
Where  your  mother  has  failed,  it  will  take  something  more  than 
BROWNING  to  sever  us.  Here  is  BAEDEKER  in  his  stead,  that  you 
may  picture  me  in  Italy,  for  which  I  start  next  week.  My  body, 
that  is,  for  my  spirit  will  bestride  your  pillow.  In  Paradise, 
I  think,  there  will  be  no  side-saddles.  Ever  your  astral. 

13TH. — Never  doubt  me,  dearest.  I  would  not  dream  of  setting 
up  my  opinion  against  yours.  I  have  seen  your  mother  but  once  ; 
you  must  have  met  her  far,  far,  oftener.  But  then,  I  think,  she 
could  never  have  accused  you,  even  tacitly,  of  suffering  from 
hereditary  madness.  Here,  quite  humbly,  I  have  the  advantage 
of  you  in  my  experience  of  her.  Forgive  ray  presumption ; 
you  know  how  easily  I  would  lay  down  my  life  for  you  at  the 
first  soupcon  of  your  wish  that  way.  When  will  you  put  me  to 
the  test  ?  To-morrow  ?  Then  it  must  be  by  the  morning  post, 
as  we  leave  in  the  afternoon  for  the  Continent,  where  my 
address  is  uncertain.  Moribunda  te  saluto. 

15TH. — DEAREST  INNOMINATO, — You  have  my  letters,  one  from 
Dover,  two  from  the  Calais  buffet,  and  a  post-card  from  each 
end  of  the  St.  Gothard  Tunnel?  Arno  is  under  me  as  I  write. 
The  architecture  of  Florence  is  aldermanic :  it  glorifies  the 
municipal  idea.  One  misses  the  reach-rne-up  of  the  soaring 
Gothic.  I  am  just  back  from  the  Academia  delle  Belle  Arti- 
(You  don't  mind  my  spelling  it  with  only  one  c?  It  is  a 
weakness  I  cannot  conquer.)  I  thought  I  knew  my  LIPPO 
of  the  prim  Madonnas,  that  so  belie  the  known  levity  of  their 
model.  But  one  has  first  to  see  his  "  Coronation,"  where  his 
own  portrait  shows  most  profane  among  "  the  flowery,  bowery 
angel-brood,"  beside  the  brazen  "  little  lily-thing  "  who  makes 
apology  for  his  intrusion  (and  hers,  too,  for  that  matter)  with 
her  unanswerable  "  Iste  perfecit  opus."  Lucky  "  St.  Lucy  "  ! 
If  I  were  Florentine,  and  not,  as  you  know,  an  Englishwoman 
abroad,  engaged  to  be  married,  and  could  choose  from  all  this 
city's  centuries  a  man  to  love,  certainly  this  same  LIPPO  should 
have  my  heart. 

"  Flower  o'  the  broom, 
Take  away  love  and  our  earth  is  a  tomb." 


Whoever it  should  not  be  Lucrezia's  half-souled  DEL  SARTO, 

though  he  does  get  more  atmosphere  into  his  work  than  most 
of  them.  How  BROWNING  has  made  these  dead  bones  live  for 
us  with  his  touch  of  Fancy,  re-creating  Fact !  But  I  forgot ; 
you  begged  me,  as  I  loved  you,  not  to  mention  him.  Yet  he, 

*  NOTE.— The  artificial  arrangement  of  the  dates  of 'these  letters  is 
governed  by  the  length  and  magnitude  of  the  thoughts  which  they  contain. 
It  does  no  sort  of  justice  to  the  admirable  frequency  of  their  despatch. 


FEBRUARY  13,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


131 


too,  wrote  love-letters ;  as  I  have  heard, 
for  I  would  never  suffer  myself  to  read 
them ;  such  a  desecration  it  seems  to  have 
given  them  to  the  gaping  public.  Dearest, 
you  would  never  allow  this  sacrilege,  I 
well  know.  Still,  now  that  I  glance 
through  my  remarks  on  LlPPO  it  seems 
too  pretty  a  piece  of  writing  [to  fade 
unseen  of  the  general  eye  of  man. 
Might  we  not,  after  all,  some  day  print 
extracts  from  such  of  my  letters  as  seem 
to  have  a  permanent  value  for  the  world  ? 
For  instance,  I  shall  have  some  fresh 
thoughts  on  the  Renaissance  to  send  you 
in  my  next. 

But  I  have  omitted  all  this  while  to  say 
that  your  face,  and  yours  only,  fills  every 
canvas  here.  Kiss  your  mother  for  me. 
This  is  not  a  joke.  Addio!  Buoni  soyni  I 
(To  be  continued.)  O.  S. 


PRELIMINARIES. 

["  A  Bill  is  to  be  presented  at  the  next  Session  of 
the  "Wisconsin  Legislature  which  provides  that  no 
licence  to  marry  shall  be  issued  to  persons  unless 
they  shall  have  received  a  certificate  setting  forth 
that  they  are  free  from  insanity,  consumption,  and 
tainted  blood." — British  Medical  Journal.'] 
TELL  me,  MARY,  ere  I  woo  thee, 

Ere  to  ask  your  hand  I  kneel, 
"What  ancestral  faults  pursue  thee — 

Every  hidden  taint  reveal. 
In  their  old  traditions  ferret 

For  the  crimes  to  which  they  're  prone, 
Lest  their  ills  which  you  inherit 

In  their  turn  your  children  own. 
Does  your  doctor's  diagnosis  .»9it 

Show  of  lunacy  a  trace  ? 
Or  has  dread  tuberculosis 

Been  inherent  in  your  race  ? 
Might  their  bygone  misbehavings 

Make  you  less  from  vice  to  shrink  ? 
Did  your  forefathers  have  cravings 

After  opium  or  drink  ? 
But  if  you  your  stock  can  warrant 

As  from  immemorial  time, 
Not  inclined  to  vice  abhorrent, 

Free  from  tendency  to  crime  ; 
Yes,  when  to  your  lover  wary 

All  this  you  can  guarantee, 
'Twill  be  time  enough,  sweet  MARY, 

Then  to  think  of  wrooing  thee. 


SOMETHING  LIKE  'A  FAMILY  PAPER. — In 
supplement  of  the1  early  announcement 
that  Mr.  CADBURY,  of  cocoa  renown,  had 
a  large  share  in  the  new  proprietary  and 
direction  of  the  Daily  Neius,  it  is  stated 
that  Mr.  RECKITT,  whose  blue  is  popular 
in  the  laundry,  has  joined  the  Board. 
There  was  a  famous  English  Government, 
known  in  history  as  The  Ministry  of  all 
the  Talents.  If  the  rumour  be  true  that 
the  representative  of  a  firm  which  takes 
a  leading  line  in  starch  has  also  put  his 
money  on  the  Bouverie  Street  horse,  our 
contemporary  and  neighbour  will  be  known 
as  The  Journal  of  All  The  Groceries. 


Club  Attendant  (to  stout  party,  ivJw  is  struggling  into  overcoat).   "  ALLOW  ME,  SIR." 
Stout  Party.  "No,  DON'T  TROUBLE  !    THIS  is  THE  ONLY  EXERCISE  I  EVER  TAKE!" 


THE  TOO  MUCH  ORANGE  FREE 
STATE. 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCH,—"  Some  folks  do  and 
some  folks  don't,"  as  the  song  says,  but  I 
really  think  that  some  folks  might  be  well 
advised  in  not  throwing  orange-peel  on 
the  pavement.  I  am  not  bigoted  but  I 
certainly  dislike  the  Orange  men  of 
London,  I  mean  the  supporters  of  the 
peel  party,  inasmuch  as  I  am  now  laid  up 
in  bed  with  a  contusion  of  the  head  and  a 
nearly  broken  back  owing  to  doing  the 
"  sudden  collapse  trick  "  over  the  skin  of 
a  defunct  product  of  Malta  or  Valencia. 
Yours  in  distress,  PETER  PIPKIN. 


VIVE  THACKERAY  ! — From  The  Times  of 
Friday  last,  communicated  by  "  our  cor- 
respondent." Piquet  berg  Road,  February 
7 — "  Major  DOBBIN,  an  energetic  Aus- 
tralian, with  a  thorough  knowledge  of 
horse-flesh,  is  in  charge  of  the  remount 
department,"  and  so  forth  all  in  his 
praise.  Dear  old  Dobbin  I  How  's  poor 
colourless  Mrs.  Dobbin,  formerly  Amelia, 
wife  of  George  Osborne  ?  "  Geo  up,  Dobbin  ! 
Gee  up,  and  Gee  O!"  as  the  ancient 
country  song  says.  Hope  that  Becky  SJiarp 
is  nowhere  about  in  that  neighbourhood,  or 
that  wicked  little  adventuress  might  do  a 
lot  of  mischief,  and  upset  all  Major 
DOBBIN'S  calculations. 


132 


PUNCH,  'OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[FEBRUARY  13,  1901. 


Pupil  (to  Riding  Master).   "WHAT  DO  I  DO  NOW 


INDIA  LOQUITUR. 

["In  their  prosperity  will  be  our  strength,  in 
their  contentment  our  security,  and  in  their  grati- 
tude our  best  reward." — QUEEX  YICTOHIA. 

"  LOED  CUEZON  telegraphs  that  there  is  still 
another  famine  in  India." — Daily  Paper.] 

AGAIN  that  cry  of  anguish 

Rends  the  pestilential  air  ; 
Again  my  children  languish 

In  despair ; 

Again  I  hear  them  crying, 
See  them  pitifully  lying 
In  their  thousands — dead  and  dying 
Everywhere. 

O  London,  golden  city 

Of  the  many-millioned  West, 
O  England,  if  there  's  pity 
In  your  breast, 
Hear  the  voice  of  tribulation, 
And  with  sweet  commiseration 
Help  your  stricken  sister-nation, 
So  distressed ! 

By  Her  who  now  lies  sleeping, 
Full  of  honour  as  of  years, 


For  whom  we  all  ai*e  weeping 

Salt,  salt  tears ; 

By  the  Mother  who  watched  o'er  you, 
By  the  great  pure  love  She  bore  you, 
O  my  sister,  I  implore  you, 

Lend  your  ears ! 

Us,  too,  She  loved  and  cherished 

With  a  tenderness  divine, 
And  Her  sorrow  when  we  perished 

Flowed  divine  ; 
Then  hear  our  supplication — 
'Tis  the  best,  the  one  oblation 
She  would  wish  in  consecration 
Of  Her  shrine. 


THE  FOOD  OF  GENIUS. 

Life  and  Beauty  quotes  the  answers  of  a  number 
of  eminent  literary  people  who  have  been  questioned 
as  to  what  they  eat  and  drink.  Mr.  WILLIAM 
SHAKSPEABE,  late  of  Stratford  -  on  -  Avon,  has 
favoured  Mr.  Punch  with  the  following  "  gift  from 
the  grave" : — 

WITH  thrilling  interest,  dear  Punch, 
I,  least  of  poetasters, 

Do  read  on  what  they  dine  and  lunch, 
These  mighty  modern  masters. 


I  wonder,  had  my  daily  food 

Been  what  their  careful  fares  are, 

Would  my  poor  works  have  been  as  good 
And  wonderful  as  theirs  are  ? 

If  onions  I  had  still  forsworn, 
And  SwiFT-like  had  not  swallowed, 

Perhaps,  ere  BENJAMIN  was  born, 
Some  Nancy  A'oon  had  followed. 

If  I  had  kept  with  careful  hand 
Boiled  cabbage  from  my  kitchens, 

Could  I  have  Green  Carnations  planned 
Like  Mr.  R-B-RT  H-CH-NS  ? 

Or  had  my  food  been  lentils,  maize 

And  vegetarian  messes, 
Could  I  have  written  classic  plays 

Like  Mr.  G.  B.  S.'s? 

In  my  dark  days  all  womankind 
Was  bent  on  household  duties, 

And  my  poor  ANN  was  sadly  blind 
To  literary  beauties ; 

But  had  she  supped  the  porridge  pot 
By  which  Miss  H-NT'S  attracted, 

What  Maiden's  Progress  might  she  not 
Have  written  or  enacted  ? 


hi 


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T-rl^ 

GO 


FEBRUARY  13,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


135 


The  Expert  in  Handwriting. 

BY  A.  L. 

I. 

OFTEN  I  have  -wondered  whether  there  is  any  truth  in  the 
remark  that  the  nonsense  knocked  out  of  people  at  school  is,  at 
Oxford,  carefully  and  painlessly  put  back.  It  was  at  Oxford 
that  HARVEY — my  husband — formed  his  friendship  for  "WVVERN 
MAUNDER.  WYVERN  is  a  "nice  boy,"  a  "dear  fellow,"  or  a 
"  good  chap,"  according  to  people's  age  and  point  of  view.  If 
he  is  a  trifle  better  looking  than  the  average,  he  has  neither 
any  sort  of  pose  nor  any  "  views,"  nor,  indeed,  anything  likely 
to  irritate  his  fellow  men.  He  is  consequently  popular,  parti- 
cularly with  women  ;  and  they  probably  know  how  enormously 
popular  they  are  with  him.  It  is  not  the  sort  of  thing  a  man 
like  WYVERN  would  conceal  from  them.  In  fact,  he  is  strangely 
susceptible,  and  I  have  never  met  him  yet  when  he  was  not, 
more  or  less,  desperately  in  love.  Theoretically,  he  is  what 
I  believe  used  to  be  called  a  Pessimist,  and  never  sees  the 
slightest  glimmer  of  a  silver  lining  without  promptly  calling 
attention  to  the  lowering  cloud.  But  this  does  not  in  the 
least  interfere  with  his  spirits,  which  are  quite  abnormally 
high.  Our  friendship  has  always  consisted  chiefly  in  our  con- 
fiding in  each  other  enthusiastically  on  matters  of  no  impor- 
tance whatsoever,  and  giving  to  each  other,  simultaneously, 
excellent  advice,  to  which  neither  even  pretended  to  listen. 
I  talked  to  him  about  everything  under  the  sun.  His  own 
subject  never  varied. 

However,  after  a  time,  I  listened  less  eagerly  to  the  com- 
fortable sorrows  of  the  sentimentalist.  But  he  still  continued 
to  write  to  me  with  some  frequency,  assuming  his  confidences 
to  be  no  less  interesting  than  before.  It  would,  however,  be 
most  unfair  to  accuse  him,  in  this  matter,  of  indiscretion. 
WYVERN  MAUNDER'S  epistolary  communications  were  liable  to 
remain  as  profound  a  secret  from  his  correspondent  as  from  the 
rest  of  the  world.  Clear  and  intelligible  in  conversation,  on 
paper  he  became  a  dark,  unfathomable  mystery.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  no  one  had  as  yet  been  discovered  who  could  read  a 
single  word  of  his  handwriting. 

One  day  I  received  a  letter  from  him,  written  apparently, 
as  usual,  in  bad  Arabic,  with  the  handle  rather  than  the 
point  of  the  pen.  From  the  shape- of  the  letter  I  thought 
it  did  not  seem  to  require  an  answer,  and  I  had  grown  acciu- 
tonied  to  judging  by  appearances  in  these  mattters.  I  therefore 
took  no  notice  of  it,  although  it  looked  a  little  blacker,  the 
words  were  larger  and  yet  closer  together,  and  altogether  it 
seemed  more  interesting  than  usual.  But  our  friendship  was 
growing  fainter.  Besides,  I  was  going  to  Tunbridge  Wells  for 
Easter  by  an  early  train  with  little  GLADYS  (HARVEY  was  to  join 
me  the  next  day),  and  also  I  had  something  on  my  mind  that 
made  me  rather  absent  at  the  time. 

HARVEY  had  risen  late,  and  I  went  to  say  goodbye  to  him,  not 
at  all  liking  to  leave  him  even  for  a  day.  Then,  as  I  went 
down  and  saw  his  breakfast  ready  in  the  dining-room,  I  found 
the  letter  in ,  my  pocket ;  so  I  put  it  on  his  plate,  think- 
ing it  might  amuse  him  to  try  to  decipher  "old  WYVERN'S 
scrawl,"  and  went  off  with  GLADYS  and  her  governess  to 
Tunbridge  Wells.  I  was  thoughtful. 

In  the  autumn  I  had  seen  a  palmist  known  as  the  Wonderful 
Mrs.  HOPKINSON,  who  assured  me,  with  the  absolute  certainty 
of  the  mistaken,  that  a  man  with  the  initials  A.  H.  would 
"  come  into  my  life  "  and  "  in  the  early  spring  "  would  "  save 
me  from  a  terrible  danger."  For  a  time  I  was  sceptical.  Yet, 
as  I  met,  in  steady  succession,  ANTHONY  HOPE,  ARTHUR  HUM- 
FREYS,  ANDRE  HELIOFFALOVICH,  Lord  ALFRED  HAVERLEY  and 
ALGY  HAZLER,  and  when  neither  of  them  appeared  to  shew  any 
desire  to  come  into  my  life  I  felt  disappointed.  The  only  one 


who  certainly  did  take  a  little  trouble  at  one  time  was  ALGY 

IAZLER,  and  I  am  bound  to  say  that  if  one  Imd  to  be  saved  from 
a  danger  ALGY  HA/LER  would  have  been  the  person  I  should 

lave  chosen  to  do  it. 

But,  after  meeting  him,  and  discovering  his  good  qualities — 
and  his  initials — at  a  dinner-party,  after  seeing  him  accidentally 
at  the  theatre  and  on  purpose  in  the  Park,  he  confided  in  me 

;hat  he  was   ' '  privately  engaged "   to  a  dear  girl  down  in 

Elertfordshire. 

Privately  engaged  indeed  !  People  with  the  appearance  of 
Mr.  ALGERNON  HAZLER  ought  to  have  the  decency  to  be  publicly 
engaged,  and  they  ought  to  wear  a  notice  to  that  effect.  Not 

;hat  it  mattered  ;  what,  in  Heaven's  name,  had  it  to  do  with  me  ! 

ffowever,  it  was  spring ;  there  appeared  to  be  no  dangers 
about,  and  that  absurd  ALGY  (I  never  liked  him  really)  had  gone 
to  spend  Easter  "  down  in  Hertfordshire." 

GLADYS,  Miss  MILLS  and  I  wandered  about  the  Common, 
bought  for  each  other  paper-knives  of  curious  Tunbridge  ware, 
and  GLADYS  presented  us  each  with  a  shell  pincushion,  demand- 
ing first  the  money  to  pay  for  these  useful  gifts. 

The  next  morning  I  received  a  telegram,  of  which  this  is 
an  accurate  copy : — 

To  Mrs.  Wentworth,  Tiles  Hotel,  Mount  Sebastian,  Tun- 
bridge Wells. — All  discovered  Never  return  to  my  roof  Am 
communicating  solely  through  solicitor  Harvey  Basset  Went- 
worth. 

Naturally  I  felt  horribly  upset  and  bewildered,  and,  of 
course,  I  simply  hadn't  a  notion  of  what  it  could  mean.  The 
more  I  read  it  aloud  to  Miss  MILLS,  and  the  more  she  read  it 
aloud  to  me,  the  less  we  both  understood  it.  In  the  shadow  of 
the  Toad  Rock  I  took  the  resolution  to  ask  HARVEY  what  was 
the  matter.  I  went  indoors,  when  another  telegram  was  given 
to  me  at  the  hotel.  It  ran  thus  : — 

Come  at  once  to  Chiltern  Court  Will  meet  you  station 
Briny  Gladys  and  Mills  Hope  arrange  all  right,  but  must  tell 
us  everything  Love  from  Violet — Charley. 

This  was,  if  possible,  a  greater  puzzle  than  the  last.  The 
only  obvious  thing  was  that  we  must  leave  the  Tiles  Hotel 
at  once. 

Onr  journey  from  Tunbridge  Wells  to  my  cousin's  country 
house  remains  a  ghastly  blank  in  my  memory.  I  believe  that 
even  Miss  MILLS — arid  certainly  GLADYS,  who  is  five — would, 
if  they  had  been  informed  of  it  all,  have  doubted  my  utter 
ignorance  of  the  trouble. 

CHARLEY  and  VIOLET,  my  greatest  friends,  are  a  delightful 
young  married  couple.  CHARLEY— well,  I  think  that  ought  to 
be  enough.  Everyone  knows  what  a  CHARLEY  is  like.  He  was 
exceptional  only  in  being  still  fonder  of  sport  of  all  kinds  than 
most  CHARLEYS  (particularly  for  shooting  with  an  air-gun  at 
cats). 

At  the  little  station  at  Chiltern  we  saw  CHARLEY. 

"BEATRICE,  get  up  here.  Miss  MILLS  and  GLADYS  can  go 
in  the  carriage;"  and  in  two  minutes  I  was  being  whirled 
along  on  a  high  dog-cart,  side  by  side  with  CHARLEY,  who  at 
once  began. 

"  Well,  you  've  been  making  a  nice  mess  of  it !  " 

"  CHARLEY,"  I  implored,  "  wliat  is  it  all  about?  " 

"Oh,  BEATRICE,  hang  it !  "  he  answered  in  a  tone  of  despair, 
"do  shut  up  that  sort  of  thing,  or  I  can't  be  the  least  use. 
VIOLET  and  I  '11  stick  to  you,  if  you  '11  tell  us  everything." 

"  But  I  don't  know  anything  !  " 

"  You're  enough  to  irritate  a  saint !  Listen.  HARVEY  came 
to  BLACK'S  to  see  me  in  an  appalling  state,  and  I  can  jolly 
well  tell  you  if  it  hadn't  been  for  me  he  'd  have  gone  straight 
to  Sir  JAMES  LAWRENCE.  I  got  him  to  promise  to  wait  two  days, 


136 


PUNCH,  OK  THE  LONDON  CHAPJVAEI. 


[FEBRUARY  13,  1901. 


and  then,  if  I  could  send  him  a  satisfactory  explanation  of  th 
letter,  to  come  down  and  give  you  a  chance  of  explaining." 

"Letter!     What  letter?" 

"  You  know  all  right !  " 

"I  don't." 

' '  HARVEY  found  on  his  breakfast-table,  after  you  left,  a  love- 
letter " 

I  started. 

"  A  love-letter.  The  servants  say  you  put  it  there  yourself — 
though  I  shouldn't  have  thought  even  you  would  be  quite 
capable  of  that ;  but  perhaps  you  did  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  dear  CHARLIE,"  I  cried  radiantly,  clapping  my  hand 
with  joy.     "  Of  course  I  did  !     Is  that  all?    Why,  I  can  explain 
it  easily  !      It  's  all   right.      It 's   a  mistake.      I  '11  convince 
HARVEY.    He  's  jealous,  then,  and  of " 

"  Of  MAUNDER,  confound  him!  I  always  thought  he  was  a 
decent  chap,  too.  I  can  tell  you,  though,  BEATRICE,  you  've 
got  to  stop  this  bosh — for,  of  course,  it  is  bosh." 

"No,  it  isn't,"  I  cried  eagerly,  "not  even  bosh!  It  isn't 
anything!  Don't  you  see?  WYVERN  is  madly  in  love  with 
somebody  else,  and  he  confides  in  me.  Oh,  CHARLIE,  I  'm  so 
relieved !  Of  course,  no  one  can  read  his  handwriting,  anc 
HARVEY  must  have  made  a  mistake." 

"  Thank  goodness  !  That 's  all  right,  then.  I  '11  wire  HARVEY 
something  that  will  bring  him  down  to-morrow  morning;  and 
now,  do  cheer  up  and  make  the  "best  of  it.". 

II. 

AFTER  anight  of  suspense,  I  was  waiting  in  the  little  Japa- 
nese room  to  see  HARVEY.  I  heard  his  voice.  He  had  arrived  ! 
[  was  horribly  nervous.  He  came  in,  shut  the  door  and  stood 
in  front  of  it. 

I  said,  "Dearest  HARVEY,  how  could  you  be  so  absurd — 
and  I  held  out  both  my  hands.    HARVEY  put  his  behind  his 
back  as  though  I  were  a  child,  and  he  had  a  present  for  me, 
ind  I  was  to  guess  what  it  was.     So  I  did  the  same,  though  it 
seemed  a  silly  game.     Then  he  said  : 

"Now,  BEATRICE,  it's  useless  trying  to  humbug  me.  I 
nsist  on  a  plain  answer  to  a  plain  question." 

He  then  produced  the  letter  from  WYVERN  I  had  left  on  the 
table,  and  asked  me  to  read  it. 

Anything  so  entirely  unintelligible,  I  never  saw. 

"What's  this,  HARVEY,  about  '  Don't  laugh  at  me  as  a 
lumorous  swine  "?  " 

"  Rubbish  !    It 's  '  Don't  laugh  at  me  as  an  amorous  swain.'  " 

I  was  sure  of  my  version,  but  stumbled  on — "'You  Tcnow 
ittle,  so  far,  of  these  liver  pills.'  " 

"  '  Lovers'  ills  ' !  "   shouted  HARVEY.     "  It 's  no  use  wasting 
time  on  this.    I  have  copied  out  the  essential  part — the  part 
hat  opened  my  eyes,"  and  he  gave  me  a  paper  in  his  own  clear 
handwriting.    This  is  what  I  read  : 

"  You  are  (the?)  soul  of  my  existence,  you  dear  woman,  and 
mr  love  is  our  life.  He  is  frivolous  and  luiteful,  and  we  may 
word  undecipherable)  tell  the  fool  to  go  luing." 

I  was  appalled  at  first.  Could  WYVERN  have  gone  off  his 
icad,  and  really  written  this  nonsense  ? 

"  Did  you  really  find  this  in  the  letter  ?  " 

"Yes.  I  tell  you  that,  taking  it  with  the  rest,  I  understood  it. 
thought  at  first  it  was  a  code,  or  something,  but  I  soon  saw  it 
vas  plain  English." 

"Plain  English!  But  it  doesn't  make  sense — and  WYVERN 
loesn't  make  love.  Oh,  believe  me  !  "  \. 

"  Silence  !  If  you  like,  we  '11  go  through  the  letter  together, 
wish  to  be  just." 

What    on    earth    could    "  H e    is    frivolous    and     hateful  " 

nean?    Why  should  HARVEY  suppose  it  to  refer  to  him?    We 

vent  through  it,   and  fought   the  letter  word  by  word,  till 

my  brain  whirled.     One  sentence  I  read,  "  I  bought  a  shutter 

n  the  Alps,"  which  HARVEY  perversely  declared  was  "  I  sought 


a  shelter  in  your  arms."  It  was  endless  and  maddening,  until 
I  had  a  bright  idea.  Ask  WYVERN  !  HARVEY  scorned  it,  saying 
the  idiotic  fool  would  be  sure  to  have  some  damned  clever 
rotten  explanation,  and  so  we  went  on,  he  reproaching  bitterly, 
I  denying  and  crying,  until  I  suddenly  said : 

"Listen,  HARVEY.  I  am  certain  WYVERN  would  not  write 
to  me  in  that  strain,  but  I  '11  make  this  suggestion.  Go  to 
an  expert  in  handwriting,  and  I  '11  abide  by  his  decision!  " 

And  HARVEY  agreed,  seeming  struck  with  the  idea.  After 
grumbling  a  little  more,  and  a  few  words  with  CHARLIE  and 
VIOLET,  he  consented  to  g^  back  to  town  and  see  an  expert. 
He  refused  to  stay  to  lunch,  and  went  by  the  12.45,  provi- 
sionally cold  and  civil  in  manner. 

In  the  afternoon  our  troubles  were  over.  The  following 
telegram  arrived : 

"  Everything  all  right.  Too  sorry  for  words.  Expert's  explana- 
tion follmus  by  post.  Will  come  and  fetch  you  to-morrow 
morning.  Love. — HARVEY." 

And  by  the  evening  post  I  received  the  expert's  version  of 
the  important  sentences.  It  ran  thus : 

"  I  am  quick  at  malcing  verses,  and  have  finished  the  play  in  an 
hour.  It  is  possible  and  probable  that  I  sliall  bring  it  out  as 
soon  as  I  can  get  a  man  to  go  shares." 

"I  suppose,"  HARVEY  wrote,  "that  dear  old  WYVERN  has 
written  a  play,  and  hasn't  enough  money  to  get  it  produced 
himself.  If  he  can't  find  a  capitalist,  /  'm  going  to  back  him 
up.  Forgive  me,  darling." 

****** 

The  next  day  we  went  back  happy,  though  I  still  had  an  un- 
easy belief  that  WYVERN  must  have  been  writing  to  me  about 
some  woman — and  I  was  quite  certain  he  would  as  soon  write  a 
play  in.  an  hour  as  a  year;  also  that  he  was  not  "quick  at 
making  verses."  We  were  talking  it  over  when  WYVERN  came 
in,  and  I  signed  to  him  to  say  nothing  when  HARVEY  discussed 
it  with  him. 

HARVEY  put  down  WYVERN'S  smiling  silence,  awkward  looks, 
and  apparent  entire  ignorance  of  the  subject,  title,  or  style 
of  his  play,  to  shyness,  and  went  out,  leaving  us  together,  to 
show  his  renewed  confidence. 

Then  WYVERN  read  me  his  own,  real,  original,  and  genuine 
version  of  the  letter.  Th.e  fatal  sentences  ran  as  follows  : 

"  I  am  sick  of  dancing  attendance  on  that  ivoman,  and  can  bear 
it  no  more.  She  is  frivolous  and  heartless,  and  I  shall  go  to 
Norway  to  fish  as  soon  as  I  can  get  a  pal  to  go  too." 

Since  this  happened,  the  only  result  of  any  importance  is 
that  WYVERN  has  learnt  type-writing.  Certainly,  the  expert 
did  get  one  or  two  of  the  unimportant  words  right — which 
was  rather  clever  of  him. 

Here  are  the  three  versions  side  by  side  : — 


Husband's  Version. 
"  You  are  (the) 
soul  of  my  exist- 
ence, you  dear 
woman,  and  our  love 
is  our  life.  He  is 
frivolous  and  hate- 
ful, and  we  may" 
'word  undecipher- 
able) "  tell  the  fool 
to  go  hang." 


Expert's  Version. 

"I'm  quick  at  ma- 
king verses,  and 
have  finished  the 
play  in  an  hour.  It 
is  possible  and  pro- 
bable that  I  shall 
bring  it  out  as  soon 
as  I  can  get  a  man 
to  go  shares." 


Genuine  Version. 

"  I  'm  sick  of  dan- 
cing attendance ':  on 
that  woman,  and  can 
bear  it  no  more. 
She  is  frivolous  and 
heartless,  and  I  shall 
go  to  Norway  to  fish 
as  soon  as  I  can  get 
a  pal  to  go  too." 


And,  wasn't  it  extraordinary  ?    I  asked  HARVEY  the  name  of 
he  expert,  and  it 's  AUGUSTUS  HENDERSON— A.  H.,  you  know  I 
So  Mrs.  HOPKINSON  was  right,  after  all ! 


FBBRUABT  13,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


137 


MAN'S  PLACE  IN  NATURE. 

(According  to  the  Emancipated  Lady 
Journalist.} 

THERE  was  a  rustle  of  silk  skirts,  a 
delicate  odour  of  the  latest  fashion  in 
perfume,  a  metallic  jangling  of  chatelaine 
appurtenances,  and  the  lady  journalist 
swept  into  the  sanctum  of 
her  chief  with  all  the  gush 
and  ardour  of  her  kind. 

The  Editor,  a  nervous, 
overworked  gentleman,  with 
a  habit  of  strained  polite- 
ness, saluted  his  fair  visitor, 
and  timidly  picking  up  a 
long  "pull,"  known  in  his 
profession  as  a  "  galley  slip, ' ' 
ran  his  eyes  its  length  adown 
and  addressed  the  lady : 

"  Your  report  of  the  DE 
JONES  wedding,"  he  said. 

The  Lady  Journalist  grew 
sympathetically  interested. 

"  It 's  very  good,"  he  re- 
marked, in  tones  that  hardly 
carried  conviction  with 
them.  "'This  afternoon,' 
you  write,  '  at  St.  George's, 
Hanover  Square,  the  mar- 
riage took  place  of  Miss 
CYNTHIA  GWENDOLEN  DE 
JONES.  The  church  was 
beautfully  decorated  with 
palms  and  white  azaleas. 
The  service,  Avhich  was  fully 
choral,  was  very  greatly  im- 
proved by  the  able  conduct- 
ing of  Mr.  TlIUMPLETON,  the 
organist  of  the  DE  JONES' 
parish  church.'  " 

"  Yes,"  acquiesced  she. 

"  '  The  bride,'  "  continued 
the  Editor,  ' ' '  was  given 
away  by  her  brother.  She 
looked  exceedingly  well  in 
her  wedding  gown.  It  was 
made  of  cream  satin,  and 
was  in  every  way  a  triumph 
of  art,  etc.,  etc.'  Here  you 
devote  four  lines  to  a  des- 
cription of  the  costume." 

"Yes;  I  had  to  condense 
it,  knowing  how  valuable 
your  space  is." 

"  Then  you  take  four  more 
lines  for  the  full  court  train, 
with  an  additional  two  for 
for  the  veil.  Three  more  for 
the  jewels,  another  for  ornaments,  another 
for  the  bouquet." 

"I  thought  it  well  to  have  these  im- 
portant facts  quite  accurate." 

"Certainly.  There  were  six  brides- 
maids, I  notice.  You  give  their  names  in 
full,  with  their  relationship  to  the  bride. 
Then  four,  six,  eight,  nine  lines — no  less 
— you  devote  to  their  costumes,  with  two 
supernumerary  lines  for  their  jewels  and  | 
bouquets." 


"  Yes,"  said  the  lady  journalist,  archly. 
"  It 's  the  usual  thing,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"Quite,"  said  the  Editor.  "Then  comes 
a  concise  account  of  the  bride's  travelling- 
dress,  and  the  usual  remarks  about  the 
presents,"  and  he  handed  the  proof  to  her. 
She  smiled  very  sweetly  as  she  thanked  him. 

"Now  I  want  you  to  glance  over  it," 


ful  imperturbability,  "  I  felt  that  one  or 
two  minor  details  had  escaped  my  obser- 
vation." 


RES    ANT-IQU/E. 

"  AUNTIE  DEAR,  WHERE  DO  THESE  FOSSIL  SHELLS  COME  FROM?" 
"  OH,  MY  DEAR  CHILD,  A  GREAT   MANY  YEARS   AGO  THEY  WERE 
WASHED  UP  HERE  BY  THE  SEA." 
"HOW  LONG  AGO,  AUNTIE  DEAR?" 
"EVER  so  LONG  AGO,  DEAR  CHILD." 
"  WHAT  !  EVEN  BEFORE  YOU  WERE  BORN,  AUNTIE  ?  " 


he  said,  "and  see  if  there  isn't  some- 
thing you  have  omitted." 

Her  brows  contracted  as  she  ran  her 
eyes  up  and  down  the  proof. 

"Really,"  she  said,  looking  up  with  one 
of  her  sweetest  expressions,  "I  cannot 
see  anything  of  importance  left  out." 

"You  do  not  state,"  said  the  man 
gravely,  "whether  there  was  a  bride- 
groom at  the  church." 

"  There  now,"  replied  she,  with  grace- 


MORE    THAN    ENOUGH-; 

Or,  Intelligence  Wire-drawn. 

.   Original  Telegram  (No.  I).  Storm.  African 
Coast.    Damage. 

Starlight  Phantom.  (From 
our  own  correspondent.)  A 
terrible  storm  passed  over 
the  South  -African  Coast, 
causing  considerable 
damage.  Houses  were 
blown  down  and  vessels 
carried  on  shore  for  miles. 

Sunlight  Beacon.  (From 
our  own  correspondent.) 
Never  was  there  such  a 
tempest  as  that  seen  to-day 
on  the  mountainous  coast  of 
South  Africa.  As  yet  it  is 
impossible  to  localise  the 
exact  spot  where  the  force 
of  furious  winds  was  most 
felt.  It  is  rumoured,  how- 
ever, that  West  London  was 
entirely  destroyed  and  the 
commerce  of  New  Liverpool 
completely  ruined.  The  in- 
habitants fled  in  every 
direction,  and  the  earth- 
quakes in  various  parts  of 
the  Continent  were  notable 
for  engulfing  many  cities. 
The  exact  number  of  those 
killed  and  wounded  cannot 
be  ascertained,  but  the  loss 
of  life  is  everywhere  ad- 
mitted to  be  tremendous. 

Noon.  Chronicle.  (From our 
own  correspondent.)  One  of 
the  greatest  hurricanes  ever 
known  in  the  tropics  occurred 
to-day,  all  along  the  South 
African  Coast.  The  storm 
commenced  with  an  ominous 
rumble.  Then  the  lightning 
set  fire  to  (so  it  is  said)  six- 
teen manufactories.  Many 
cathedrals  utterly  collapsed, 
to  the  terror  and  discomfi- 
ture of  their  congregations. 
All  the  doctors  in  the  district 
rushed  to  the  spot,  to  find 
their  services  too  late.  The 
entire  population  of  the 
locality  is  reduced  to  a  few 
old  men  and  a  like  number  of  children.  Most 
of  the  foreign  war-ships  went  aground,  and 
many  of  them  were  lost.  Consternation 
reigns  everywhere.  The  seats  of  Govern- 
ment have  been  removed  out  of  danger. 
The  land  itself  has  been  so  disturbed  by  the 
catastrophe  that  it  seems  certain  that  in- 
ternational complications  of  a  most  serious 
character  must  occur  in  the  near  future. 

Original     Telegram     (No.     2).      Cancel 
telegram  No.  1. 


138 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[FEBRUARY  13,  1901. 


THE  EGG-O-TEST! 

["  Immortality  awaits  the  man  who  will  solve  the  question  of  a  cheap  and 
plentiful  supply* of  new-laid  eggs  for  the  breakfast-table,  for  the  lack  of  these 
tkinties  is  a  subject  of  unpleasantness  between  married  couples."— Daily 
Telegraph.'] 

Verses  by  a  Modern  Egg-Shelley. 


TREMBLING  groom, 
Blushing  bride  ; 

Marriage  knot 
Firmly  tied. 

Honeymoon 

Being  o'er, 
Back  return 

To  England's  shore. 

Breakfast  table 

Seated  at, 
In  the  newly 

Furnished  flat. 

Fearing  both 

Love's  ordeal ! 
At  this  first 

Morning  meal. 

In  round  cups 

By  the  cosy 
Eggs,  new-laid  ones 

Does  suppose  he. 

Them  for  fresh  ones 
Purchased  she  had, 

If  by  chance  they 
Should  turn  oiit  bad  ! 


Trembling  bride ! 

Anxious  groom ! 
Doubtful  eggs  ! 

Breakfast  room  1 

Be  they  bad — 
It,  of  course, 

Means  no  less 
Than  divorce. 

Be  they  good- 
He  and  she, 

Evermore 

Will  happy  be. 

Tap-tap,  groom  ; 

Tap-tap,  bride, 
Plunging  spoons 

Eggs  inside  ! 

Is  he  happy  ? 

Is  she  sad  ? 
Is  he  gloomy  ? 

Is  she  glad  ? 

Chicken's  eggs  ! 

Married  folk ! 
All  depends 

On  the  yoke. 


TWELFTH-NIGHT    CHARACTERS. 

THE  success  achieved  by  Mr.  TREE'S  production  of  Twelfth 
Vic/Jit,  is  primarily  due  to  a  charmingly  naive  Viola,  as  rendered 
jy  Miss  LILY  BRAYTON,  to  the  love-sick  nobleman  Orslno, 
nade  as  manly  as  possible  by  Mr.  ROBERT  TABER  (looking 
occasionally  like  Mr.  GEORGE  ALEXANDER,  and  acting  and 
speaking  so  like  Mr.  HERMAN  VEJCIN  that  between  the  two 
resemblances  the  puzzle  is  to  find  TABER),  to  Mr.  LIONKL 
S  ROUGH'S  jolly  old  roystering  Uncle  Toby,  combining  forces 
with  the  irresistibly  absurd  Sir  Andrew  of  Mr.  NORMAN 
FORBES,  and  the  mischievous,  buxom  housekeeper,  Maria 
[afterwards  My  Lady  Toby,  and  therefore  aunt  by  marriage  to 
proud  Olivia — how  delighted  this  lady  will  be  ! — but  what 
did  this  matter-  to  rollicking  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE  !)  as  played 
by  Miss  ZEFFIE  TILBURY,  to  Festo,  the  musical  fool,  as  jauntily 
represented  by  Mr.  COURTICE  POUNDS,  whose  songs  were 
encored,  everyone  of  them,  and  who  never  acted  better  than 
in  this  difficult  part ;  and  to  Mr.  TREE'S  perfectly  self-satisfied, 
pompous,  unconsciously  idiotic  Malvolio,  an  immortal  illustration 
of  the  swollen-headed  official.  It  is  one  of  his  very  cleverest 
impersonations :  admirable.  His  only  fault  is  a  rather  too 
evident  consciousness  of  his  own  humour. 

This  is  the  first  list  of  the  Twelfth  Night  "  characters,"  who, 
placed  as  they  have  been  by  Mr.  HAWES  CRAVEN  in  a  perfect 
paradise  called  "Olivia's  Garden"  (loudly  and  most  justly 
acclaimed  by  the  crowded  audience),  gaily  carry  the  piece  to 
the  goal  of  success,  taking  the  audience  with  them.  On  the 
second  list  there  is  Mr.  COOKSON  as  an  excellent  melodramatic 
Sea  Captain,  Miss  MAUD  JEFFRIES  as  a  rather  too  Lady  Mac- 
bethian  Countess  Olivia,  and  Mr.  QUARTERMAIN  in  that  most 
difficult  of  all  the  parts  to  look  and  act,  namely,  Sebastian,  a 
gawky,  raw-boned  looking  lad,  who  is  constrained  to  appear  as 
much  as  possible  like  his  twin-sister  Viola  (and  she  is  bound  to 
make  herself  a  copy  of  him,  though  neither  be  "  the  original "), 
who  has  to  be  sentimental,  sensible,  careless,  valiant,  to  fall 


madly  in  love  at  first  sight  and  politely  to  consent  to  marry 
off-hand  a  lady  of  whom  he  knows  nothing  at  all,  and  has  never 
see'n  before,  and  all  this  in  a  space  of  a  few  dozen  lines,  of  which 
none  are  of  any  particular  importance !  Bravo,  Sebastian ! 

The  finish  is  charming  and  thoroughly  Shakspearian.    The 
romantic    extravaganza    is   finished,    the    prismatic  coloured 
bubble  has  vanished  into  thin  air,  and  only  the  Fool  remains 
on  the  stage  to   give  one  'little  demi-semiquaver   of  a  note 
on  his  pipe  and  cast  a  knowing  glance  at  the  audience,  as  who 
would  say,  "This  is  such  stuff  as  dreams  are  made  of  " — 
"  But  that 's  all  one 
Our  play  is  done, 
And  we  '11  strive  to  please  you  every  day." 

Yes,  the  Fool  sounds  the  true  note  at  the  finish,  and  all  pre- 
sent could  dream  this  dream  again  for  which  the  run  will  offer, 
it  is  most  probable,  many  opportunities  between  the  start  and 
finish  of  the  season.  Music,  including  Sir  ALEXANDER  MAC- 
KENZIE'S overture,  written  long  ago,  not  specially  for  this 
occasion,  charming.  

OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

IN  his  Sliylock  of  the  River  (DlGBY,  LONG  &  Co.)  Mr.  FERGUS 
HUME  gives  us  a  sensational  story  with  the  wrongfully  sus- 
pected but,  of  course,  utterly  innocent  hero,  the  wicked 
woman,  the  suffering  heroine,  and  the  villain,  all  in  their 
proper  places,  and  all  worked  in  the  same  old  accustomed 
fashion  up  to  a  certain  point,  when  suddenly  "  things  take  a 
turn,"  the  novel-reader's  curiosity  is  aroused,  he  pulls  himself 
together  and  finds  that  this  is,  "after  all  said  and  done,"  an 
uncommonly  ingenious  and  novel  plot.  Worth  reading,  mind 
you,  for  the  plot's  sake,  not  for  the  writing  which  runs  into 
wearisome  dialogue.  The  criminally-disposed  twins,  Tweedle- 
dum and  Tweedle-dee  gone  wrong,  are  a  decidedly  original 
invention.  "FERGUS  HUME,"  quoth  the  Baron,  "with  all  thy 
faults  I  am  partial  to  you  still,"  and  he  recommends  this  book 
to  those  who  follow  the  Baron. 

"  I  would  give  half-a-dozen  of  SHAKSPEARE'S  plays  for  one  of 
the  prefaces  he  ought  to  have  written."  Thus  Mr.  BERNARD 
SHAW  when  introducing,  as  he  frankly  says,  from  the  cart  with 
the  trumpet,  his  Three  Plays  for  Puritans  (GRANT  RICHARDS). 
The  three  plays  are  excellent.  But  my  Baronite  will  give  them 
all  for  the  preface.  Nothing  so  sublimely  egotistic  has  ap- 
peared in  print  since  Mr.  SHAW  last  wrote  on  a  subject  always 
to  him  alluring.  Part  of  the  attraction  of  reading  the  pages 
lies  in  the  dubiety  as  to  whether  he  has  his  tongue  in  his 
check  throughout  the  performance,  or  whether  he  is  really  as 
enamoured  of  himself  as  he  professes.  There  is  a  limit  to  his 
self-esteem.  "Better  than  SHAKSPEARE  ?  "  is  'the  enquiry 
prefixed  to  the  final  study  of  himself.  He  shrinks  from  the 
definite  affirmative,  but  boldly  asserts  his  right  to  profess  to 
have  "something  to  say  by  this  time  that  neither  HOMER  nor 
SHAKSPEARE  said."  He  certainly  has.  Whether  it  is  all  subtle 
fooling  or  hopeless  folly,  it  is  decidedly  entertaining.  But  Mr. 
SHAW  does  not  immediately  remind  my  Baronite  of  either 
HOMER  or  SHAKSPEARE. 

The  Oxford  University  Press  is  always  up  to  date.  Within 
ten  days  of  the  Accession  of  King  EDWARD,  Mr.  HENRY  FROWDE 
had  out  copies  of  the  amended  Book  of  Common  Prayer.  It 
contains  a  copy  of  the  Royal  Warrant  for  the  new  Accession 
Service,  issued  by  the  King's  command  two  days'  before  the 
book  was  offered  to  the  public.  As  is  the  custom  of  the  Uni- 
versity Press,  it  is  issued  in  various  forms  to  suit  divers  purses. 
All  are  excellently  printed ;  some  beautifully  bound.  My 
Baronite  notes  that  the  prayer  for  the  Royal  Family,  where,  of 
late,  the  Prince  and  Princess  of  WALES  prominently  figured, 
now  beseeches  for  blessing  upon  "  GEORGE,  Duke  of  CORNWALL 
and  YORK,  the  Duchess  of  CORNWALL  and  YORK."  By-and-bye 
there^will  have  to  be  still  further  emendation. 

THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


FEBRUARY  13,  1901.  J 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


139 


CONVERSATIONAL  HINTS  FOR  YOUNG  RIDERS. 
CHAP.  VII. 

Of  Mr.  Jor rocks  and  Ms  creator — Of  Verdant  Green  and  Cuthbert 
Bede — Of  Whyte  Melville — Of  the  "Edinburgh  Review." 

THERE  is  no  more  important  part  of  the  conversational 
equipment  of  a  young  sportsman  than  a  knowledge  of  sporting 
history  and  literature.  To  know  all  about  Mr.  Jorrocks  and 
his  exploits  is  something,  for  Mr.  Jorrocks  is  to  hunting  what 
Mr.  Verdant  Green  is  to  university  life,  a  tradition,  an  en- 
couragement, an  example  and  an  absurdity.  The  man  who  can 
quote  his  Jorrocks  in  the  field,  or  at  any  convivial  gathering  of 
sportsmen,  will  never  lack  the  tribute  of  appreciative  laughter. 
What  Mr.  Jorrocks  did,  or  said,  or  thought;  how  he  bore 
himself  in  all  the  vicissitudes  of  his  career,  how  he  was  now 


own  to  supplement  possible  deficiencies  in  his  biography.  But 
if  it  were  shown  that  he  had  never  been  on  a  horse,  the  fact 
would  not  be  more  surprising  than  the  undoubted  fact  that 
CUTHBERT  BEDE,  the  author  of  Verdant  Green,  was  an  under- 
graduate, not  of  Oxford,  but  of  Durham  University.  Whither 
have  vanished  all  the  pale  imitations  of  the  immortal  Verdant  ? 
Of  Mi*.  Golightly,  the  Cambridge  Freshman,  a  stray  copy  is, 
perhaps,  sold  here  and  there  to  an  unsuspecting  Cantab,  but 
Verdant,  whose  author  was  a  Durham  man,  still  holds  his  own 
in  edition  after  edition,  at  Cambridge  no  less  than  at  Oxford. 
Habent  sua  fata  libelli. 

In  the  meantime,  O  my  young  friend,  let  me  commend  to 
your  notice  a  delightful  article  on  "The  Early  History  of  Fox- 
Hunting,"  in  the  latest  issue  of  the  Edinburgh  Revieiv.  I  can 
see  your  start  of  surprise.  What,  you  ask,  has  this  great 


NOSE    IN    EG1TTO;    OR,    AUTOMOBILITY    IN    THE    LAND    OF    THE    SPHINX. 

"ONE  TOUCH  OF  PUNCH  MAKES  THE  WHOLB  WORLD  KIN." 


crafty  and  now  bold,  how  he  lectured  and  ate  and  drank  and 
slept  and  roistered  and  rode — these  are  the  topics  that  have 
brightened  the  lives  and  tickled  the  ribs  of  successive 
generations  of  hunting  men,  and  seem  likely  to  provide  their 
descendants,  in  the  future,  with  a  no  less  generous  fund  of 
anecdote  and  amusement.  Of  Mr.  Jorrocks,  then,  you  hear 
constantly,  and  more  will  be  said  of  him  in  this  series  ;  but  of 
the  author  of  his  being,  Mr.  SURTEES — the  creator,  too,  of  a 
whole  gallery  of  vivid  sporting  characters  whose  deeds  are 
alive  in  the  mouths  of  men  who  ride — little  or  nothing  is  known. 
He  wrote  his  books,  he  lived  his  life,  death  long  ago  claimed 
him,  and  there  his  history  ends.  And  it  is  perhaps  his 
greatest  glory  that  by  the  mere  force  of  his  animal  spirits 
and  his  gift  of  lively  description  he  should  have  stamped 
his  fat  cockney  shopkeeper,  Jorrocks,  upon  the  minds  of 
sportsmen  as  the  type  and  exemplar  of  a  sportsman.  Was 
SURTEES  himself  a  hunting  man  ?  It  is  a  horrid  doubt ;  I  do 
not  speak  by  the  book,  and  have  no  private  knowledge  of  my 


quarterly — the  jousting  place  of  MACAULAY,  and  innumerable 
other  protagonists  of  politics  and  literature — what  has  it  to 
do  with  sport,  and  how  shall  a  sporting  novice  profit  by  read- 
ing its  severe  and  solemn  pages  ?  Softly,  good  youth,  softly. 
Remember,  that  in  all  ages  literature  and  sportsmanship  have 
gone  hand  in  hand,  and  that  though  countless  rubbishy  books 
have  been  written  on  hunting,  as  on  every  other  mortal  sub- 
jects, yet  the  books  that  live  and  delight  their  readers  are  the 
good  books.  Think  of  our  own,  our  unapproachable,  WHYTE 
MELVILLE,  a  scholar,  a  novelist,  a  poet  and  one  of  the  gallantest 
gentlemen  that  ever  crossed  a  saddle.  He  has  the  grand  style 
in  literary  sportsmanship  ;  his  is  the  brave  and  breezy  nature 
appreciative  of  all  noble,  generous  deeds,  his  the  sense  of  tears 
in  mortal  things  and  the  deep  love  for  the  brave  dumb  creatures 
who  lay  at  our  feet  their  priceless  gifts  of  strength,  courage, 
affection  and  devotion.  WHYTE  MELVILLE  is  the  man  :  he  lives 
while  Thormanby  and  his  like  are  already,  to  all  intents  and 
purposes,  dead  and  forgotten.  Hear  our  Edinburgh  Reviewer  : 


140 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  [FEBRUARY  13,  1901. 


— "It  is  not  impossible,"  he  says,  "to 
find  a  sportsman  \vho  can  write  a  good 
book  without  being  (as  LOCKHART  said  to 
MURRAY,  when  he  discovered  Mr.  APPER- 
LEY,  the  now  classic  'NiMROD'),  a  man 
who  can  hunt  like  HUGO  MEYNELL  and 
write  like  Sir  WALTER  SCOTT.  But  perhaps 
the  readers  of  sporting  literature  are  less 
difficult  to  satisfy  than  others."  Why 
this  should  be  I  know  not,  for  there  are 
many  good  books  on  sport,  and  the  modern 
hunting  man  is  not,  as  a  rule,  a  Squire 
Western.  However,  as  I  say,  read  your 
Edinburgh  Review.  You  will  learn  many 
interesting  facts  in  this  bright  and  pleasant 
article.  And  in  case  you  should  miss  it,  I 
will  next  week  set  forth  one  or  two  for 
your  advantage. 


DIARY  OF    A    SKATER 
DURING  THE  PRESENT  WINTER. 

London,  Monday.  —  Thermometer  de- 
scending nicely.  Looks  hopeful.  Hunt 
up  skates  and  polish  blades.  A  bit  rusty 
— not  been  used  since  '97. 

Tuesday. — Nice  frost  overnight.  Quarter 
of  an  inch  of  ice  at  Hampstead.  No  ice 
on  the  Serpentine,  as  usual.  Thin  crust 
on  Round  Pond.  Warning  notices  against 
venturing  on  the  same  look  promising. 

Wednesday. —  More  frost.  Get  down 
manual  on  skating,  and  refresh  memory  as 
to  difference  between  "Rocker  C"  and 
"  Counter  A."  Experiment  in  hall. 
Wife  makes  unseemly  joke.  Asks  if  I  am 
going  to  be  a  counter-jumper ;  reassure 
her  that  "  bracket  turns  "  have  nothing 
to  do  with  the  damage  of  wall-decorations. 

Thursday. — Still  freezing,  though  less 
severely.  Ice  almost  bears  in  suburbs. 
Read  paragraphs  in  morning  papers  with 
avidity  re  skating  prospects.  As  usual, 
St.  James'  Park  water  has  to  be  frozen 
solid  before  they  will  let  you  on. 

Friday. — Snow.  Ice  not  strong  enough 
to  bear  sweepers.  Indications  of  thaw. 
V-shaped  depression  coming  from  the 
Continent.  Suffer  from  hump-shaped  ditto. 

Saturday. — Thaw. 

Monday. — Thaw.  Championship  Day  in 
the  Fens.  Postponed  as  usual.  Secretary 
incurably  optimist. 

Tuesday.— Thaw.  JONES  calls  to  say 
good-bye,  being  off  for  a  week  at  Davos. 

Wednesday.— Thaw.  Meet  SMITH  at  Vic- 
toria Station,  offensively  swinging  skates. 
Explains  he  is  on  the  way  to  Holland. 

Thursday.  —  Thermometer  50°.  Birds 
singing  and  trees  sprouting.  ROBINSON 
writes,  inviting  me  to  join  him  on  trip 
to  International  meeting  at  Stockholm. 
Just  my  luck— have  to  stick  in  London. 

^  -Friday.— Temperature  somewhere  in  the 
sixties.  Read  of  skating  and  snow-balling 
at  Nice  and  Rome.  Why  don't  they  turn 
off  the  Gulf  Stream  in  the  winter  ? 

Saturday.— Just,  on  the  freeze.  Rub 
hands.  Get  out  orange  and  practice  com- 
bined figures  by  myself  in  dining-room. 


"  Twice  back  and  forward,  and  forward 
inside,  change  at  centre  "  .  .  .  "forward, 
and  forward  three  out,  and  forward  inside 
Q."  Hear  suppressed  laughter  of  servant 
in  passage.  Knock  over  tray,  and  nearly 
sprain  ankle  over  coal-box.  Grand  sport, 
however. 

Monday.— 33°.  Cold  rain.  Hopes  dashed. 
Everything  dashed. 

Tuesday.— 45°.  Ironical  notices  still  up 
by  the  Round  Pond. 


M 


A  TRUE-LOVE    KNOT. 


CURIOUS  VALENTINE,  FOUND  ix  THE  DEAD- 
LETTER  OFFICE.  UNDELIVERF.D  THROUGH  IN- 
SUFFICIENT ADDRESS. 


Wednesday. — 31°.  Sleet.  Reports  of 
skating  at  Lingay  Fen. 

v  Thursday.— 32.5°.  Slush.  Curling  in 
Scotland.  Step  on  orange-peel  on  pave- 
ment. Good  practice  for  back-fall.  Had 
quit&  a  nice  little  (involuntary)  slide. 
Must  be  thankful  for  small  mercies. 

JFriday.^-200.  Blizzard.  Ten  inches  of 
snow.  Impossible  to  stir  out  until  the 
new  municipalities  have  brought  their 
intelligence  to  bear  on  the  situation  (which 
will  take  them  a  fortnight  at  least). 

Saturday. — Temperature — summer-heat. 
Temper — boiling-point.  Smash  skates,  and 
write  letter  of  complaint  to  the  Times. 


ALL    FOR    BEER  — WHAT    IT    MAY 
COME  TO. 

(With  the  kind  assistance  of  certain  well- 
meaning  people.) 

SCENE — Beer  Provision  Department  (late 
Circumlocution  Office).  Enter  man  in 
the  street  to  outer  hall. 

Man  (addressing  messenger).  Will  you 
please  tell  me  where  I  am  to  go  for 

Messenger.  First  turning  to  the  right, 
second  to  the  left,  and  ask  for  No.  16. 

Man  (entering  No.  16,  after  some  trouble 
in  discovering  its  whereabouts).  I  have 
been  told  to  come  here  to  ask  for  a — — 

Physician  (in  attendance).  Quite  so.  Now 
say  British  Constitution. 

Man.  British  Constitution. 

Doctor  (after  consideration).  Hum!  I 
think  you  utter  the  words  with  sufficient 
distinctness.  Please  now  go  to  Room 
No.  314. 

Mess,  (entering  Room  No.  314).  I  have 
been  told  in  Room  No.  16  that  I  must  ask 
for 

Physician  (in  attendance).  Quite  right. 
Now  tell  me,  does  your  medical  man  for- 
bid you  to  take  ale  ? 

Man.  No.    I  have  no  medical  man. 

Physician.  That  seems  a  satisfactory 
answer.  You  can  go  to  Room  No.  27. 

Man  (entering  Room  No.  27).  I  have 
been  sent  here  by— — 

Magistrate  (in  attendance).  Quite  so. 
Now  I  wish  to  know  if  you  have  any  con- 
scientious scruple  to  the  consumption  of 
alcohol  ? 

Man.  No.     On  the  contrary- — - 

Magistrate.  That  will  do.  Have  you  a 
wife  and  family  who  might  be  injured  by 
your  yielding  to  habits  of  intemperance  ? 

Man.  I  am  not  married. 

Magistrate.  I  am  satisfied.  You  can  go 
to  Room  No.  436. 

Man  (entering  Room  No.  436).  If  you 
please,  I  have  come  to 

Accountant  (in  attendance).  Quite  so. 
Well,  now,  are  you  prepared  to  pay  rather 
more  than  you  did  some  time  ago  ?  You 
see  we  have  to  make  a  certain  profit  for 
purposes  of  a  philanthropic  character. 

Man .  I  do  want  a  glass  of 

Accountant.  Certainly.  Take  this 
voucher  to  Room  No.  1. 

Man  (entering  Room  No.  1).  I  have 
brought  this  voucher. 

Official  Barman.  Certainly.  Here  you 
are. 

Man  (taking  a  half-pint  tumbler).  Thank 
you-.  How  much  ? 

Official  Barman.  Fourpence,  please. 

Man  (after  payment  and  suction).  Well, 
I  never  !  Best  thing  I  can  do  is  to  buy  a 
bottle  of  -whiskey,  and  finish  it.  Less 
trouble.  Mr.  RITCHIE  was  right  to  "  have 
some  doubt  whether  a  reduction,  in  the 
number  of  public  houses  would  be  attended 
with  such  beneficial  results  as  seemed  to 
be  anticipated."  [Curtain. 


FEBRUARY  20,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHAEIVARL 


141 


OPENING    OF    PARLIAMENT    BY    HIS    MAJESTY    KING    EDWARD    THE    SEVENTH. 

THE  OUTSIDE  SHOW. 


ESSENCE    OF    PARLIAMENT. 

EXTRACTED  FROM  THE  DIARY  OF  TOBY,  M.P. 

House  of  Lords,  Thursday,  February  14. 
— In  one  sense,  a  pity  KING  EDWARD  THE 
SEVENTH  is  not  an  ordinary  Peer  of  Parlia- 
ment. To-day  disclosed  possession  of  rare 
gift  of  making  himself  heard  throughout 
full  length  of  House  of  Lords.  For  most 
Peers  the  gorgeous  Chamber  is  the 
sepulchre  of  speech.  Of  600  Peers  there  are 
not  more  than  a  score  who  are  able,  suc- 
cessfully, to  fight  against  the  triumphant 
faultiness  of  acoustical  properties  of  the 
Chamber.  To-day  LORD  CHANCELLOR  had 
occasion  to  read  a  form  of  oath  for  the 
KING'S  subscription.  Over  the  strained 
ears  of  brilliant  assembly  there  floated 
stray  words  of  mysterious  import. 
Understood  to  be  some  antiquated  decla- 


ration administered  as  a  dose  of  sour 
Orangeade,  presumably  a  tonic,  to  newly 
mounted  British  monarchs  since  times  of 
STUARTS. 

When,  some  minutes  later,  LORD  CHAN- 
CELLOR, gracefully  kneeling,  presented  to 
his  SOVEREIGN  a  document  with  broad 
black  edge,  and  His  MAJESTY  began  to 
read  the  lengthy  speech  prepared  for  him 
by  his  faithful  Ministers,  his  voice,  dis- 
tinct, sonorous,  filled  the  Chamber 
apparently  without  effort. 

A  strange  unwonted  scene  MAJESTY 
looked  upon  seated  side  by  side  under 
the  canopy  of  the  Throne.  Every  bench  on 
floor  was  filled.  Masses  of  black  where 
the  Peeresses  sat,  lightened  by  the  glow 
of  fair  countenances  and  the  flash  of 
peerless  diamonds,  contrasted  with  the 
wedges  of  red  driven  into  the  parterre  by 
closely  packed  Peers  in  scarlet  robes. 


Long  lines  of  ladies  in  deepest  mourning 
filled  the  side  galleries  ;  they  crowded 
the  gallery  where,  in  ordinary  times, 
humbler  strangers  sit.  Judges  in  their 
robes  and  full-bottomed  wigs  ;  Bishops  in 
spotless  surplices;  Foreign  Ministers  in 
uniform,  displaying  on  their  breasts  many 
strange  orders.  At  the  Bar  stood  the 
SPEAKER,  with  Mace  in  attendance.  Im- 
mediately behind  PRINCE  ARTHUR, 
CAWMELL-BANNERMAN,  DON  JOSE,  ST. 
MECIIAEL;  behind  them  the  mangled  re- 
mains of  gentlemen  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons— all  that  was  left  after  the  fierco  rush 
to  get  front  places  at  the  Bar,  see  the 
QUEEN  (she  looked  younger  and  prettier 
than  ever),  and,  for  the  first  time  in  more 
than  a  generation,  hear  the  SOVEREIGN 
recite  his  own  Speech. 

House    of    Commons.  —  At    4     o'clock 
Palace  Yard   crowded   with  ambulances, 


142 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[FEBRUARY  20,  1901. 


stretchers,  bath  chairs  and  other  con- 
venient locomotive  contrivances  for  the 
•wounded.  BURDETT  COUTTS,  bustling  round 
on  tour  of  inspection,  felt  quite  at  home. 
It  was  not  the  after-math  of  a  fresh  en- 
gagement in  the  not  yet  ended  war.  It 
was  merely  borough  and  county  Members 
who  had  taken  part  in  the  dash  on  House 
of  Lords  coming  back  to  hear  Debate  on 
Address  in  Commons. 

Six  o'clock  before  actual  business  com- 
menced. SPEAKER  took  chair  at  3.30: 
but  on  these  occasions  House  likes  to 
waste  its  freshest  hours,  rushing  into 
dinner  hour  the  Leader  of  House  with 
speech  everyone  is  waiting  for.  First 
there  was  swearing  in  of  new  Members,  a 
performance  which,  if  necessity  be  in- 
sisted upon,  might  equally  effectually,  far 
more  conveniently,  be  accomplished  be- 
tween breakfast  and  luncheon  in  one  of 
the  Committee  Rooms.  Then  SPEAKER 
read  collection  of  musty  Standing  Orders 
which  nobody  but  JEMMY  LOWTHER  minds. 
One  supplies  him  with  opportunity  of 
dragging  out  what  is  now  mere  mummy 
of  a  joke.  It  prohibits,  tinder  fearsome 
penalties,  Peers  taking  part  in  Parlia- 
mentary elections. 

"All  my  eye,"  says  JEMMY,  readily 
dropping  into  the  vernacular.  "  At  be- 
ginning of  every  Session  we  solemnly 
affirm  this  Constitutional  principle,  and 
noble  Lords,  when  it  pleases  them,  ab- 
solutely ignore  it  and  us.  "What  does  Dr. 
WATTS  remark  ? 

'Tis  not  enough  to  say 

You  're  sorry  and  repent, 

If  you  go  on  in  the  same  way 

As  you  did  always  went. 

In  this  case,  Peers  don't  even  plead  sorrow 
or  affect  repentance.  They  just  go  on  in 
the  old  way  :  so  do  we.  No  use  barking 
if  you  can't  bite.  Let  us  abolish  this 
futile  injunction." 

Much  common-sense  in  this  ;  admirably 
put  in  a  speech  once  or  twice  heard.  But 
JEMMY  has  been  at  it  now  for  years,  and 
repetition,  even  of  a  joke,  palls  upon  frail 
humanity.  The  Member  for  Sark  knows 
an  old  Seigneur  in  the  adjacent  island  of 
Alderney,  who  has  a  story  which  turns 
upon  the  firing  of  a  gun.  On  his  own 
estate  the  thing  works  well  enough.  A 
well  trained  retainer,  at  a  certain  stage  of 
dinner,  fires  a  gun  on  the  lawn. 

' '  Hallo ! ' '  cries  the  gen  ial  host, ' '  there 's 
a  gunshot.  That  reminds  me." 

Then  comes  the  story.  "When  the  old 
gentleman  is  visiting  at  other  houses  the 
case  is  more  difficult.  But  he  is  equal 
to  it.  In  a  pause  in  conversation  he 
kicks  the  table  underneath.  "Hallo!" 
he  says,  "was  that  a  gun?  Now  that 
reminds  me."  Then  the  story. 

Thus  our  dear  JEMMY.  Whenever  the 
SPEAKER,  at  the  opening  of  a  Session, 
submits  Standing  Order  affecting  Peers 
and  Parliamentary  elections,  JEMMY 
pricks  up  his  ears.  "Hallo!"  he  says, 


"Peers  in  Parliament?  That  reminds 
me,"  and  straightway  he  moves  to  amend 
Standing  Order. 

To-night  he  considerately  spared  speech 
but  insisted  on  a  division,  the  whole 
performance  filching  more  than  a  quarter 
of  an  hour.  Then  came  those  armed  men, 
the  Mover  and  Seconder  of  the  Address, 
taking  precedence  of  Leaders  on  both 
sides  with  prolonged  utterance  of  pretty 
platitudes. 

CAWMELL  -  BANNERMAN,  at  last  finding 
his  opportunity,  was  so  demoralised  that 
he  displayed  the  (for  him)  rare  weakness 
of  taking  an  hour  and  a  quarter  wherein 
to  say  nothing  particular.  Thus  it  came 
to  pass  that  PRINCE  ARTHUR,  on  whose 
utterance  the  crowded  House  waited,  had 
only  half  an  hour  in  which  to  expound 
Ministerial  policy  and  then  was  driven 
perilously  close  into  the  dinner  hour. 

Suppose  at  opening  of  next  Session,  as 
soon  as  the  SPEAKER  takes  the  Chair,  we 
have  the  Leader  of  the  Opposition  deliver- 
ing himself  of  his  views  of  Government 
policy  past,  present,  and  future;  the 
Leader  of  the  House  replying.  Thereafter, 
business  thus  accomplished,  play  might 
commence,  including  JEMMY  LOWTHER'S 
tilt  against  the  Peers,  and  the  pained 
orations  of  the  Mover  and  the  Seconder  of 
the  Address. 

Business  done. — KING  and  QUEEN  open 
Parliament.  Address  in  reply  to  Speech 
moved  in  both  Houses. 

Friday  Night. — Sort  of  haggis  of  debate. 
Remember  what  the  appreciative  Scot 
said  about  the  national  dish?  "Some 
fine  confused  feeding  in  a  haggis,"  he 
remarked,  smacking  his  lips. 

Talk  to-night,  rather  confused  than  fine, 
began  around  pure  beer  ;  ran  into  the 
War ;  got  back  to  beer ;  led  to  Army 
Hospitals  ;  diverted  by  one  Irish  Member 
to  murderous  accusations  against  Generals, 
the  pick  of  whom,  the  pride  of  all,  are 
born  Irishmen  ;  trended  by  another  Irish 
Member  to  scholastic  mediaeval  defini- 
tions ;  finally  brought  back  by  Burdett 
Coutts  to  remarks  about  himself  with 
references  to  War  Hospital  adminis- 
tration. 

Drear  level  varied  by  brief  flash  of 
speech  from  Lord  STANLEY.  Extending 
experience  as  Chairman  of  Kitchen  Com- 
mittee ;  been  out  to  the  war.  Applied 
energy  in  cutting  down  kitchen  expense: 
by  truncating  war  correspondents  des- 
patches. Thing  struck  him  most  in  cam- 
paign was  exceeding  rudeness  of  Boers. 
When  they  went  out  to  fight  they  insisted 
upon  killing  somebody.  With  the  French 
poet  lamenting  the  proclivities  of  the 
walrus,  Lord  STANLEY,  otherwise  generous 
in  his  appreciation  of  the  Boer,  deprecates 
his  habit  in  the  proximity  of  kopjes. 

Cet  animal  est  tres  mechant 
Quand  on  1'attaque  il  se  defend. 

Business  done. — None. 


MAN   PROPOSES— SO    DOES   WOMAN! 

[  "  The  twentieth  century  will  have  the  greatest 
number  of  leap  years  that  a  century  can  have." 
— Echo.'] 
OH,  sigh  no  more,  neglected  maid, 

Who  never  had  a  single  offer, 
The  time  is  coming — so  'tis  said — 

When  you  your  love  can  freely  proffer. 
No  lingering  day  by  day  in  doubt, 
Trying  to  fathom  his  intentions ; 
long-drawn  sigh,  no  angry  pout, 
Because  he  never  marriage  mentions. 
Drowned  all  your  dread  and  deep  fears 
In  the  coming  stream  of  leap  years. 
Oh,  deem  not  your  entrancing  smile 

A  thing  of  nature  lost  for  ever 
[n  that  it  never  did  beguile 

A  single  man,  or  your  endeavour 
To  coax  from  man  a  word  of  praise 

On  your  profound  attainments  mental, 
Or  grieve  that  false  he  thought  your  ways, 
As  also  your  arrangements  dental. 
Perish  all  your  maidhood's  deep  fears 
In  the  coming  sea  of  leap  years. 
As  year  on  year  rolled  o'er  your  head 

And  took  from  youth  some  winning  grace, 
You  quite  despaired  of  being  wed, 

Time  stole  the  fortune  from  your  face. 
How  was  your  heart  beset  by  fears 

When  silver  hairs  you  first  did  spy 
When  man  came  not — but  only  years, 
You  positively  thought  you  'd  dye. 
Spinster,  calm  your  dread  and  deep 

fears 

In  the  many  coming  leap  years. 
The  secret  of  your  years  you  thought 

Too  hallow  for  a  human  breast. 
You  followed  every  manly  sport 

In  bifurcated  glory  drest. 
Unwed  ! — the  awful,  grisly  cupboard 

Skeleton  you  thought  yourself, 

A  species  of  unmarried  HUBBARD 

Reposing  quietly  on  the  shelf. 

Maidens,   up !    your  harvest  reap. 

Here  's 
Success  to  you  in  coming  leap  years. 


A  TIP  FOR  LOVERS. 
DEAR  MR.  PUNCH, — I  read  in  the  papers 
(how  do  these  things  get  there  ?)  that  the 
Hottentot  widow  who  re-marries  has  to 
cut  off  the  top-joint  of  a  finger,  and  present 
it  to  her  new  husband .  People  of  d  ifferent 
colour  understand  one  another's  ways 
with  difficulty,  and  this  account  of  a 
primitive  jointure  is — in  the  absence  of 
African  legal  commentaries — valuable  as 
an  index  to  the  Black 'stone  of  matrimonial 
ethics.  No  jointure,  no  marriage.  If  this 
custom  prevailed  in  Europe,  a  doubting 
swain  would  be  provided  with  a  handy 
test.  "  M'aimestu?  "  he  would  murmur  in 
the  language  of  passion. ' '  Je  maim, ' '  would 
reply  the  widow,  humorously  but  inaccu- 
rately, and  she  would  proceed  to  suit  the 
action  to  the  word  by  at  once  nailing  her 
man  with  the  necessary  handsel.  What 
husband  would  not  be  happy  thus  mon- 
strari  digito  ?  Yours,  AD  UNGUEM. 


FEBRUARY  20,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  143 


THE    FIRST    PARLIAMENT    OF    KING    EDWARD    THE    SEVENTH. 

(As  seen  "  in  the  Mind's  Eye,  Horatio,"  oj  our  ubiquitous  artist  who  is  invariably  "  all  there.") 


144 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[FEBRUARY  20,  1901. 


THE  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 
A  GREAT  THOUGHT  FOR  EVERY  DAY  IN  THE  YEAR. 

SECOND  SERIES. 
II.— THE  AMATORY  CORRESPONDENCE  SECTION. 

(Continued,  ivith  further  acknmvledgments  to  the  gentleman  ivho 
is  reputed  to  have  composed  "An  Englishwoman's  Love-Letters.") 

FEBRUARY  18TH.— Out  of  a  gondola  "I  send  my  heart  up  to  thee» 
all  my  heart."  I  want  you  here  in  Venice,  to  hold  you  by  the 
hand  and  teach  you  things  about  Art  not  to  be  found  even  in 
Baedeker.  I  should  be  the  man,  and  you  would  be  the  woman — 
in  this  Kingdom  by  the  Sea,  as  Mr.  SWINBURNE  said  of  GEORGE 
SAND  and  Drc  MUSSET.  You  have  heard  of  these  people,  beloved  ? 

My  Italian  betters  itself.  I  had  a  fancy,  when  I  saw  Dogana 
written  up  in  the  railway  station  on  my  arrival  here,  that  it 
was  the  feminine  of  Doge  and  so  should  mean  the  Sea,  because 
the  Doges  used  to  wed  it  with  a  ring.  Of  course,  it  was  really 
the  Custom  House  (Douane).  "We  call  our  pet  gondolier 
IPPOPOTAMO,  because,  for  lack  of  cabs,  he  is  our  river-horse. 
Who  was  the  old  lady  who  complained  that  she  did  not  see 
Venice  under  favourable  conditions,  as  it  ivas  flooded  ?  No 
thought  but  of  you. 

19TH. — By  all  means,  dearest,  make  an  armistice  with  your 
mother,  and  let  us  all  go  into  winter-quarters.  I  remember, 
the  first  (and  only)  time  I  saw  her,  she  had  such  an  air  of 
prophylactic  maternity  that  I  almost  asked  her  if  she  knew  you 
were  out.  Frankly,  beloved,  she  is  really  rather  an  old  hen ; 
or  shall  we  say  she  is  most  (or  should  it  be  more)  like  CALVER- 
LEY's  parroquet  that  declined  to  die.  It  was  imbecile,  too, 
you  know  ;  the  very  epithet  your  mother  applied,  by  implication, 
to  my  mother.  Still,  I  must  love  her  a  little,  since,  but  for  her, 
how  could  I  have  known  you  ?  In  any  case,  my  whole  love  to 
her  son. 

20TH. — MOST  NEAR, — This  must  be  a  very,  very  short  letter, 
as  I  can  hear  your  horse's  gallop  in  the  lane.  You  are  coming, 
beloved,  you  are  coming  ! 

I  am  just  returned  from  the  gate.  It  was  the  butcher's  boy. 
I  kissed  his  feet  from  mere  association  of  ideas.  You  are  not 
jealous  ?  He  is  nothing,  nothing  to  me,  except  that  just  now 
he  seemed  to  take  your  rightful  place.  See,  I  lay  my  cheek  on 
the  words  that  will  soon  glow  under  your  eyes.  There,  I  have 
a  black  smudge  on  my  nose,  and  am  in  mourning  for  myself. 
Lay  your  nose,  dearest,  where  mine  has  left  the  paper  still 
warm.  Your  impressionable. 

21ST. — GRACIOUS, — This  is  very  sudden.  Your  dear  letter 
says  that  I  must  understand  we  parted  for  ever  last  Tuesday  at 
3.30  P.M.  Ah  !  these  things  should  not  be  written.  Come  to 
me,  come,  and  with  your  own  lips  repeat  this  remark  ;  and 
then  by  that  very  act  you  will  belie  yourself  with  lovely 
perjury.  I  would  say  much  more,  but  my  pen,  for  the  first 
time  within  my  knowledge,  refuses.  This  must  show  you  how 
strangely  I  am  your  distraught. 

22ND. — Of  course,  my  Prince,  if  you  mean  it,  I  must  release 
you.  But  nothing  shall  ever  make  me  stop  writing.  Do  not 
imagine  me  capable  of  such  self-effacement.  There  is  a  big 
empty  play-box  upstairs,  which  I  am  having  made  into  a  dead- 
letter  office.  There  will  be  pigeon-holes  to  take  the  little 
essays  which,  out  of  my  great  love  for  you,  I  promise  not  to 
post.  You  are  right  in  saying  that  I  am  the  most  generous 
woman  you  have  ever  met. 

23RD.— GREAT  HEART, — I  wouid  have  you  know  that  there  are 
consolations.  If  you  had  let  me  marry  you,  as  I  have  so  con- 
sistently urged,  that  might  have  been  the  end  of  my  love- 
letters.  Now  there  is  no  limit  set  them  but  the  grave.  My 
pen  was  always  jealous  of  your  presence.  Now  it  knows  it  is 
the  dearest  thing  I  ever  grasp. 

24TH. — I  do  not  propose  to  outlive  my  happiness  very  long. 
And,  indeed,  my  own  mother  died  when  I  was  seven.  In  one  of 


my  letters  I  told  you  my  family  was  long-lived  on  both  sides. 
This,  of  course,  was  not  true ;  but  I  wrote  it  just  after  your 
mother  had  hinted  that  my  "stock"  was  not  very  good  stuff. 
Your  sorry. 

I  seek  in  vain  for  help  from  the  grief  of  poets.  Words ! 
words!  a  tagging  of  epitaphs  that  makes  me  sick.  " Vest 
aimer  peu  que  de  pouvoir  dire  combien  I' on  aime."  And  the 
same  with  sorrow,  only  more  so.  If  I  thought  that  any  eye 
but  yours  would  penetrate  the  secret  of  my  woe,  I  would 
destroy  these  letters  umuritten  ;  or  else  be  more  careful  about 
the  spelling  of  my  Italian. 

I  cannot  stain  this  paper  with  tears  as  I  could  have  wished. 
Why  will  they  not  come  at  call,  like  ink  ?  At  each  eyelid  hangs 
one,  but  only  semi-detached,  like  a  Brixton  villa.  You  see,  I 
am  not  so  sad  but  I  can  still  compass  some  happy  turn  of 
thought  like  this.  Your  ever  ingenious. 

25TH. — BELOVED  ORPHAN, — Light  lie  the  earth  on  your  mother's 
head.  So  short  a  while  ago,  and  I  would  not  have  believed  that 
I  could  one  day  hear  of  her  death  unmoved.  Yet  this  morning, 
when  the  news  came,  I  could  not  raise  so  much  as  a  feeble 
smile.  Well,  she  has  had  her  will ;  and  now  she  has  "  gone  to 
her  place" — not  mine,  let  me  trust.  Dearest,  you  will  never 
have  another  mother  like  her  ;  nor  I,  it  seems,  a  mother-in-law 
of  any  sort. 

2GTH.— DEAR  ONLY  READER  (if  any),— I  was  born  with  a 
penchant  for  descriptive  letters,  and  had  I  meant  these  for 
the  public  eye  I  should  have  made  your  personality  shine 
more  speakingly  through  them.  How  should  the  world  know 
just  what  you  are  to  me  from  a  passing  reference  to  your  check 
riding-breeches  and  side-whiskers  ?  And  that  is  so  long  past. 
By  now  you  must  have  replaced  the  one  ;  and  the  other  you 
may  have  shaved  away  in  a  paroxysm  of  regret. 

I  think  I  could  have  lost  you  almost  cheerfully  if  I  had 
only  been  told  why.  One  of  the  saddest  memories  of  my 
childhood  (I  was  two  at  the  time)  is  concerned  with  a  tale  my 
NANA  told  me,  of  a  poor  wronged  woman — was  she  a  Queen  of 
SPAIN,  or  somebody  in  TOM  HOOD? — whose  true  love  left  her 
on  a  rumour  that  she  had  a  wooden  leg.  She  was  condemned 
unheard,  and  the  sentence  was  practically  capital.  Like  me, 
she  never  even  knew  the  charge  against  her ;  partly  for  the 
stringency  of  etiquette,  and  in  part  through  the  proper  sensi- 
tiveness of  her  lover,  who  must,  I  think,  a  little  have  resembled 
you,  beloved. 

As  a  child — perhaps  already  nursing  my  woman's  seed  of 
uncomplaining  sorrow  —  the  story  touched  me  poignantly. 
ARTHUR,  on  the  other  hand,  who  also  was  present  at  its 
telling,  has  no  memory  of  it.  But  then  he  was  my  junior, 
being  barely  out  of  long-clothes. 

28TH. — MOST  STOLID,  —  This  is  my  last  letter,  positively. 
The  doctors  give  me  till  to-morrow  to  break  up.  Are  you 
interested  to  learn  the  cause?  No  ?  Then  I  must  still  tell  you. 
I  am  dying  of  Curiosity.  It  is  the  woman's  ruling  passion — that, 
and  love-letter-writing  in  my  case — strong  even  to  the  death. 

Many  unsolicited  answers  to  our  conundrum — yours  and  mine, 
beloved,  for  all  that  is  yours  is  mine — have  been  sent  in  to  me 
by  good-natured  people,  perfect  strangers  to  me,  most  of  them. 
One  writes,  quite  gently,  hazarding  the  theory  that  you  were 
bored  by  me.  Well  meant,  but  manifestly  absurd.  Another 
guesses  that,  suddenly,  you  had  recognised  your  own  mother's 
madness,  and  shrank  from  reproducing  it.  Some  of  these 
solutions  are  too  paltry  to  repeat ;  and  one  of  them  unmention- 
able on  other  grounds. 

In  my  secret  heart — it  may  have  been  through  unconscious 
association  with  the  story  of  the  wooden  leg — I  half  believe 
that  when  I  called  your  attention,  perhaps  with  too  careless  ;•„ 
pride,  to  the  Norman  tint  in  my  veins,  you  gathered,  from  tl\o 
eloquence  of  my  love,  that  their  blueness  was  really  due  to  the 
presence  of  ink  in  my  blood.  Well,  whatever — I  would  shed  its 
last  drop  for  you.  Your  always  most  effusive.  O.  £>. 

M 


FEBRUARY  20,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


145 


'VARSITY  VERSES. 

OXFORD  ODES. 
VT. 

I  OFTEN  wonder  how  it  falls, 
Despite  my  best  endeavour, 

That  I  am  doomed  to  fail  in  Smalls 
Forever  and  forever. 

At  first,  my  philosophic  rnirid 
Was  tempted  by  the  beauty 

Of  PLATO,  whom  I  then  combined 
With  ClC.  de  Senectute ; 

And  when  I  failed  my  tutor  said, 
"  If  you  're  advised  by  me,  Sir," 

For  these  you  '11  substitute  instead, 
Say,  XENOPHON  and  d-ESAR." 

And  so,  with  KELLY  close  at  call, 
I  read  these  war-reporters, 

And  tried  to  understand  how  Gaul 
Is  halved  into  three-quarters. 

These  failing,  next  I  took  in  hand 
Their  (so  to  speak)  antipodes, 

In  HORACE,  Smartly  rendered,  and 
(COLERIDGE  my  aid)  EURIPIDES. 

But  finding  I  could  not  extract 
From  such  a  dry  old  BOHN  a 

Mere  drop  of  nourishment,  I  racked 
My  brains  o'er  de  Corona; 

And  lest  in  prose  I  might  forget 
The  lighter  Muses'  frolics, 

In  leisure  hours  myself  I  set 
To  VIRGIL'S  gay  Bucolics. 

Next,  having  failed  again  in  those, 

To  my  no  small  affliction, 
For  facts  LEAF'S  Iliad  I  chose, 

While  LIVY  gave  me  fiction. 

In  short,  whatever  works  you  find 

Within  the  regulations, 
I  've  taken,  and  them  all  combined 

In  endless  permutations. 

And  still  I  wonder  how  it  falls, 
Despite  my  best  endeavour, 

That  I  am  doomed  to  fail  in  "  Smalls ' 
For  ever  and  for  ever. 


WITH  ROD  AND  AIR-GUN. 

Count fij  notes  by  our  own  correspondent 
on  the  spot. 

IT  is  with  amazement  that  I  have  read 
tin  one  or  two  esteemed  contemporaries 
the  remark  that  pied  cats  have  been  un- 
usually scarce  this  season.  To  me,  as  an 
ardent  devotee  of  the  air-gun  (the  catapult 
is  now  held  in  the  supremest  contempt 
by  all  Primrose  Hill  sportsmen),  this  in- 
formation comes  as  a  keen  disappointment. 
A  friend  of  mine  writing  from  the  wilds  of 
North  Bayswater  assures  me  that  no  less 
than  two  of  these  sprightly  little  animals 
have  fallen  to  his  gun  during  the  present 
century  ;  which  is  an  uncommonly  good 
bag,  I  should  imagine,  considering  the 
reports  of  this  particular  feline's  scarcity 


Voice  from  the  Ditch.  "  DON'T  JUMP  HERE  !  " 

Irish  Huntsman.  "AND  WHAT  WOULD  YE  BE  AFTER  DOWN  THERE?  WATHER-CRESSES  ? ' 


now  current.  For  my  own  part  I  have 
had  but  one  decent  shot  at  a  pied  cat,  and 
then  I  fortunately  missed  her.  It  was  my 
clear  and  very  wealthy  old  aunt's,  and  she 
would  never  have  forgotten  or  forgiven. 

Disciples  of  the  bent-pin  have  had  some 
disappointing  sport  in  the  round  pond  on 
Hampstead.  Evidently,  the  minnow  is 
partaking  of  the  wide  -  spreading  in- 
fluences of  popular  education,  and  is  not 
so  open  to  the  crooked  argument  seduc- 
tively dangled  before  its  eyes  as  is 
popularly  supposed.  A  friend  of  mine, 
who  persists  in  advocating  the  pleasures 
of  deep-sea  fishing  over  freshwater — or  as 
fresh  as  can  be  got— sends  me  a  long 
letter  from  Margate,  where  he  says  quite 
a  host  of  well-known  piscatorial  per- 
sonalities are  to  be  seen  daily  thronging 
the  jetty.  Catches  of  crab  and  harbour 
eels,  he  writes,  average  one  in  every  two 
minutes.  One  of  the  advantages  of  deep- 
sea  fishing,  says  my  friend  in  parenthesis, 
is  the  pleasurable  absence  of  sardine  tins 
and  old  shoes.  To  the  most  philosophic 
line-dangler,  the  sight  of  such  aquatic 
debris  on  the  end  of  his  slender  string 


brings  a  distrustful  doubt  as  to  whether 
some  forms  of  British  sport  and  recreation 
are  not  over-estimated. 

For  me,  exciting  as  salt-water  fishing 
is  held  to  be,  I  think  nothing  beats 
the  exhilarating,  thrilling,  arid  slightly 
perilous  sport  of  "  tiddler  fishing,"  as  it 
is  so  pleasantly  and  familiarly  called.  I 
spent  all  last  Sunday  morning  casting 
over  our  pond,  after  having  with  great 
difficulty  penned  all  the  ducks.  I  did  not 
actually  catch  anything,  although  I  noticed 
with  my  pocket-telescope  that  several 
tiddlers  nibbled  the  bread  and  swam  off. 
Next  Sunday  I  am  going  to  bait  with 
brown  bread,  which  is  considered  very 
digestible ;  and,  after  all,  why  not  make 
your  sports  as  humane  as  possible  ? 


"As  she  is  spoke." 
In  the  Train  from  Nice. 
Enthusiastic  Golfer  (to  friend,  as  train 
stops   at   Golf e- Juan).    Oh,  here  we  are  ! 
This  must  be  the  place.     "  Golfe,"   golf. 
"  Juan,"  jeu,  play,  you  know.    Yes,  this  is 
evidently  the  station  for  the  Links! 


146 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI.          [FEBRUARY  20,  1901. 


DBAMATIC   SEQUELS. 
VII. — IN  THE  LYONS  DEN. 

WHEN  Lord  LYTTON  provided  the  con- 
ventional "happy  ending"  for  The  Lad  ij 
of  Lyons  by  reuniting  Pauline,  nee  Des- 
chappelles,  to  the  devoted  Claude  Melnotte, 
promoting  the  latter  to  the  rank  of  Colonel 
in  the  French  army,  he  seems  not  to  have 
troubled   his  head  as  to  the   divergent 
social  ideas  of  the  happy  pair,  nor  as  to 
how  the  vulgar  and  purse-proud  family  of 
Deschappelles  and  the  humbler  Melnottes 
would  get  on  together.  The  sequel  throws 
a  lurid  light  on  these  points.     In  writing 
it,  great  pains  have  been  taken  to  make 
the  blank  verse,   wherever  possible,  as 
bad  as  Lord  LYTTON'S. 
SCENE.  —  The    drawing-room    of   CLAUDE 
MELNOTTE'S  house.    PAULINE  is  sitting 
by  the  fire,  CLAUDE  leaning  with  his 
back  against  the  mantelpiece.    JAMES, 
a  man-servant  in  livery,  enters  with  a 
card  on  a  salver. 

Pauline  (reading  card).  Mrs.  SMITH  ! 
Not  at  home,  JAMES. 

Claude  (ivho  can  never  quite  get  out  of 
his  habit  of  speaking  in  blank  verse). 
Why  are  you  not  at  home  to  Mrs. 
SMITH  ? 

Pauline.  My  dear  CLAUDE,  that  woman  ! 
Mr.  SMITH  kept  a  greengrocer's  shop. 
'Tis  true  he  made  a  great  deal  of  money 
by  his  contracts  to  supply  the  armies  of 
the  Republic  with  vegetables,  but  they 
are  not  gentlepeople ! 

Claude   (in   his  most   Byronic  manner). 
What  is  it  makes  a  gentleman,  PAULINE? 
Is  it  to  have  a  cousin  in  the  Peerage  ? 
Pauline.  Partly  that,  dear. 
Claude  (refusing  to  be  interrupted).  Or 

is  it  to  be  honest,  simple,  kind 

Pauline.    But    I    have    no    reason    for 

believing  Mr.  SMITH  to  have  been  more 

honest  than    the   general    run    of    army 

contractors. 

Claude   (continuing).    Gentle  in  speech 

and  action  as  in  name  ? 
Oh,  it  is  this  that  makes  a  gentleman  ! 
And  Mr.  SMITH,  although  he  kept  a  shop, 
May  very  properly  be  so  described. 

Pauline.  Yes,  I  know,  dear.  Everybody 
calls  himself  a  gentleman  nowadays,  even 
the  boy  who  cleans  the  boots.  But  I  am 
not  going  to  give  in  to  these  unhealthy 
modern  ideas,  and  I  am  not  going  to  visit 
Mrs.  SMITH.  She  is  not  in  Society. 

Claude  (off  again  on  his  high  horse).  What 

is  Society  ?  All  noble  men 

Pauline  (objecting).  But  Mr.  SMITH 
isn't  a  nobleman,  CLAUDE. 

Claude And  women,  in  whatever 

station  born. 
These,  only  these,  make  up  "  Society." 

Pauline  (patiently) .  But  that 's  such  a 
dreadful  misuse  of  words,  dear.  When  one 
talks  of ' '  Society, ' '  one  does  not  mean  good 
people,  or  unselfish  people,  or  high-minded 
people,  but  people  who  keep  a  carriage 


and  give  dinner  parties.     Those  are  the 
only  things  which  really  matter  socially. 

Claude.  PAULINE,  PAULINE,  ^what  dread- 
ful sentiments  ! 

They  show  a  wordly  and  perverted  mind. 
I  grieve  to  think  my  wife  should  utter 
them ! 

Pauline  (very  sweetly).  I  wish,  CLAUDE, 
you  'd  try  and  give  up  talking  in 
blank  verse.  It 's  very  bad  form.  And 
it  .'s  very  bad  verse,  too.  Try  and  break 

yourself  of  it. 
Claude  (off  again).  All  noble  thoughts, 

PAULINE 

Pauline.  No,  no,  no,  CLAUDE.    I  really 
an't  have  this    ranting.    Byroidcs    are 
quite  out  of  fashion. 

Claude  (relapsing  gloomily  into  prose). 
You  may  laugh  at  me,  PAULINE,  but  you 
know  I  'm  right. 

Pauline.  Of  course  you're  right,  dear. 
Much  too  right  for  this  wicked  world. 
That 's  why  I  never  can  take  your  advice 
on  any  subject.  You  're  so  unpractical. 

Claude  (breaking  out  again).  The  world, 
the  world,  oh,  how  I  hate  this  world  ! 

Pauline.  Now  that 's  silly  of  you,  dear. 
There  's  nothing  like  making  the  best  of  a 
bad  thing.  By  the  way,  CLAUDE,  didn't 
you  say  Mrs.  MELNOTTE  was  coming  to 
call  this  afternoon  ? 

Claude.  Yes.  Dear  mother,  how  nice  it 
will  be  to  see  her  again  ! 

Pauline.  It  will  be  charming,  of  course. 

.  .  I  do  hope  no  one  else  will  call  at  the 
same  time.  Perhaps  I  'd  better  tell  JAMES 
we  are  not  at  home  to  anyone  except  Mrs. 
MELNOTTE. 

Claude.  Oh,  no,  don 't  do  that.  My 
mother  will  enjoy  meeting  our  friends. 

Pauline.  No  doubt,  dear.  But  will  our 
friends  enjoy  meeting  your  mother  ? 
(Seeing  him  about  to  burst  forth  again)  Oh, 
yes,  CLAUDE,  I  know  what  you  are  going 
to  say.  But,  after  all,  Lyons  is  a  very 
purse-proud,  vulgar  place.  You  know, 
how  my  mother  can  behave  on  occasions  ! 
And  if  Mrs.  MELNOTTE  happens  to  be  here 
when  any  other  people  call  it  may  be  very 
unpleasant.  I  really  think  I  had  better 
say  we  are  not  at  home  to  anyone  else. 

[Rises  to  ring  the  bell 

Claude.    PAULINE,  I   forbid   you !     Si 
down  at  once.    If  my  family  are  not  gooc 
enough  for  your  friends,  let  them  drop  us 
and  be  hanged  to  them. 

Pauline.  CLAUDE,  don't  storm.  It's  so 
vulgar.  And  there  's  not  the  least  occa- 
sion for  it  either.  I  only  thought  it  woulc 
be  pleasanter  for  all  our  visitors — your 
dear  mother  among  the  number — if 
avoided  all  chance  of  disagreeable  scenes 
But  there,  dear,  you  've  no  savoir  faire 
and  I  'm  afraid  we  shall  never  get  int 
Society.  It 's  very  sad. 

Claude  (touched  by  her  patience).  I  am 
sorry,  my  dear.     I  ought  to  have  kept  mj 
temper.    But  I  wish  you  weren't  so  se 
upon  getting  into  Society.    Isn't  it  a  little 
snobbish  ? 


Pauline  (wilfully  misunderstanding  him). 
t 's  dreadfully  snobbish,  dear  ;  the  most 
nobbish  sort  of  Society  I  know.  All  I 
rovincial  towns  are  like  that.  But  it 's 
he  only  Society  there  is  here,  you  know, 
nd  we  must  make  the  best  of  it. 

Claude.  My  poor  PAULINE.    [Kissing  her. 

Pauline  (gently).  But  you  know,  CLAUDE, 
ocial  distinctions  do  exist.  Why  not  re- 
ognize  them  ?  And  the  late  Mr.  MEL- 
iOTTE  was  a  gardener  ! 

Claude.  He  was — an  excellent  gardener. 

Pauline.  One  of  the  Lower  Classes. 

Claude.  In  a  Republic  there  are  noj 
jower  Classes. 

Pauline  (correcting  him).  In  a  Republic1 
here  are  no  Higher  Classes.    And  class 
listinctions  are  more  sharply  drawn  than 
ever  in  consequence. 

Claude.  So  much  the  worse  for  the  Re- 
public. 

Pauline  (shocked).  CLAUDE,  I  begin  to' 
hink  you  are  an  anarchist. 

Claude.  I?  (Proudlij)  I  am  a  colonel  in 
he  French  army. 

Pauline.  But  not  a  real  colonel,  CLAUDE. 
Only  a  Republican  colonel. 

Claude  (sternly).  I  rose  from  the  ranks 
n  two  years  by  merit. 

Pauline.  I  know,  dear.  Real  colonels] 
only  rise  by  interest.  [CLAUDE  gasps. 

James  (opening  the  door  and  showing  in 
a  ivizened  old  lady  in  rusty  black  garments* 
and  a  bonnet  slightly  awry).  Mrs.  MEL-J 
NOTTE.  [PAULINE  goes  forward  to  greet  lier.\ 

Mrs.  M.  (not  seeing  her).  Ah,  my  dear 
son  (runs  across  the  room  to  CLAUDE  before 
eyes  of  the  deeply  scandalised  JAMES, 
and  kisses  him  repeatedly),  how  glad  I  am 
o  see  you  again !    And  your  grand  house  ! 
And  your  fine  servants  !   In  livery,  too  I 
[PAULINE  shudders,  and  so  does  -I AMKS. 
The  latter  goes  out. 

Claude.  My  dearest  mother !  [Kissesher. 

Mrs.  M.  (beaming  on  PAULINE).  How  dq 
you  do,  my  dear  ?  Let  me  give  my  CLAUDE' j 
wife  a  kiss.  [Does  so  in  resounding  fashion* 

Pauline  (as  soon  as  she  has  recovered 
from  the  warmth  of  this  embrace).  How  da 
you  do,  Mrs.  MELNOTTE?  Won't  you  sit 
down? 

Mrs.  M.  Thank  you  kindly,  my  dear.  I 
don't  mind  if  I  do. 

[A  ring  is  heard  outside,  followed  bj 
the  sound  of  someone  being  adt 
mitted.  PAULINE  looks  anxiously 
towards  the  door. 


Pauline  (to  herself).    A  visitor  I 
unlucky  !    I  wonder  who  it  is. 

James  (throwing   open  the  door).    MrSi 
DESCHAPPELLES  . 

Pauline.  Great  Heavens,  my  mother ! 

[Falls  bacfc,  overwhelmed,  into  her  chair. 

Mrs.  D.  (in  her  most  elaborate  manner) 
My    dear    child,    you    are    unwell.     My 
coming  has  been   a  shock  to  you.    Bu' 
there,   a  daughter's   affection,    CLAUDE— 
(shaking  hands  with  him) — how  wonderfu 
it  is  1 


FEBRUARY  20,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  H7 


"A    GENTLEMAN    OF    ALL    TEMPERANCE." 

Measure  for  Measure,  Act  III.,  Sc.  2. 

Sir  iy-lfr-d  L-ws-n  (with  his  favourite,  and, under  certain  conditions,  harmless  leverage,  alluding  to  the  leer-drinker).   "  'I  WOULD  HAVE 
HIM  POISONED  WITH  A  vox  OF  ALB  !  '—AHEM  !— SHAKSPEARE  1 "  (Vide  Henry  tlie  Fourth,  Part  1,  Act  1,  Sc.  3. ) 


148 


PUNCH,   OB  THE   LONDON   CHAE1VARL 


[FEBRUARY  20,  1901. 


Pauline.  Dear  mother,  we  are  delighted 
to  see  you. 

Mrs.  D.  Of  course.  I  ought  to  have 
called  before.  I  have  been,  meaning  to 
come  ever  since  you  returned  from  your 
honeymoon.  But  I  have  so  many  visits 
to  pay ;  and  you  have  only  been  back 
ten  weeks ! 

Pauline.  I  quite  understand,  mother 
dear. 

Mrs.  D.  And,  as  I  always  say  to  your 
poor  father,  "When  one  is  a  leader  of 
Society,  one  has  so  many  engagements." 
I  am  sure  you  find  that. 

Pauline.  I  have  hardly  begun  to  receive 
visits  yet. 

Mrs.  D.  No,  dear  ?  But  then  it 's 
different  with  you.  "When  you  married 
Colonel  MELNOTTE,  of  course  you  gave  up 
all  social  ambitions. 

Mrs.  M.  I  am  sure  no  one  could  wish 
for  a  better,  braver  husband  than  my 
CLAUDE. 

Mrs.  D.  (turning  sharply  round  and 
observing  Mrs.  MELNOTTE  for  the  first  time) 
I  beg  your  pardon  ?  [Icily. 

Mrs.  M.  (bravely).  I  said  no  one  could 
have  a  better  husband  than  CLAUDE. 

Mrs.  D.  (durmbfounded,  appealing  to 
Pauline).  Who — who  is  this  person  ? 

Pauline  (nervously).  I  think  you  have  met 
before,  mother.  This  is  Mrs.  MELNOTTE. 

Mrs.  D.  (insolently).  Oh !  the  gardener's 
wife? 

Claude  (melodramatic  at  once).  Yes. 
The  gardener's  wife  and  my  mother  ! 

Mrs.  D.  (impatiently).  Of  course,  I  know 
the  unfortunate  relationship  between  you, 
CLAUDE.  You  need  not'thrust  it  down  my 
throat.  You  know  how  unpleasant  it  is 
to  me. 

Pauline  (shocked  at  this  bad  taste). 
Mother  ! 

Mrs.  D.  Oh,  yes,  it  is.  As  I  was  saying 
to  your  poor  father  only  yesterday.  "  Of 
course,  CLAUDE  is  all  right.  He  is  an 
officer  now,  and  all  officers  are  supposed 
to  be  gentlemen.  But  his  relatives  are 
impossible,  quite  impossible  !  " 

Claude  (furiously).  This  insolence  is 
intolerable.  Madame  DESCHAPPELLES  .  .  . 

Mrs.  M.  (intervening).  CLAUDE,  CLAUDE, 
don't  be  angry  !  Remember  who  she  is. 

Claude  (savagely).  I  remember  well 
enough.  She  is  Madame  DESCHAPPELLES, 
and  her  husband  is  a  successful  tradesman. 
He  was  an  English  shop-boy,  and  his  proper 
name  was  CHAPEL.  He  came  over  to 
France,  grew  rich,  put  a  "de  "  before  his 
name,  and  now  gives  himself  airs  like  the 
other  parvenus. 

Mrs.  D.  Monster ! 

Pauline.  My  dear  CLAUDE,  how  wonder- 
fully interesting  I 

Mrs.  M.  (rising).  My  son,  you  must  not 
forget  your  manners.  Mrs.  DESCHAPPELLES 
is  PAULINE'S  mother.  I  will  go  away  now, 
and  leave  you  to  make  your  apologies  to 
her.  (CLAUDE  tries  to  prevent  her  going.) 


No,  no,  I  will  go,  really.     Good-bye,  my 
son  ;  good-bye,  dear  PAULINE. 

[Kisses  her  and  goes  out. 

Mrs.  D.  If  tkat  woman  imagines  that  I 
am  going  stay  here  after  being  insulted 
by  you  as  I  have  been,  she  is  much  mis- 
taken. Please,  ring  for  my  carriage. 
(Claude  rings.)  As  for  you,  PAULINE,  I 
always  told  you  what  would  happen  if 
you  insisted  on  marrying  beneath  you, 
and  now  you  see  I  'm  right. 

Pauline  (quietly).  You  seem  to  forget, 
mamma,  that  papa  was  practically  a  bank- 
rupt when  I  married,  and  that  CLAUDE 
paid  his  debts. 

Mrs.  D.  I  forget  nothing.  And  I  do 
not  see  that  it  makes  the  smallest  differ- 
ence. I  am  not  blaming  yoxir  poor  father 
for  having  his  debts  paid  by  Colonel 
MELNOTTE  ;  I  am  blaming  you  for  marry- 
ing him.  Good-bye. 

[She  sweeps  out  in  a  towering  passion. 

Pauline.  Sit  down,  CLAUDE,  and  don't 
glower  at  me  like  that.  It 's  not  my  fault 
if  mamma  does  not  know  how  to  behave. 

Claude  (struggling  ivith  his  rage).  That's 
true,  that 's  true. 

Pauline.  Poor  mamma,  her  want  of 
breeding  is  terrible !  I  have  always 
noticed  it.  But  that  story  about  Mr. 
CHAPEL  explains  it  all.  Why  didn't  you 
tell  it  to  me  before  ? 

Claude.  I  thought  it  would  pain  you. 

Pauline.  Pain  me  ?  I  am  delighted  with 
it !  Why,  it  explains  everything.  It  ex- 
plains me.  It  explains  you,  even.  A  Miss 
CHAPEL  might  marry  anyone.  Don't  frown, 
CLAUDE  ;  laugh.  We  shall  never  get  into 
Society  in  Lyons,  but,  at  least,  we  shall 
never  have  another  visit  from  mamma. 
The  worst  has  happened.  We  can  now 
live  happily  ever  afterwards.  ST.  J.  H. 

(Curtain.) 


ENTRANCED. 

[In  America  an  applicant  for  divorce  has  pleaded 
that  he  was  "  hypnotised  into  marriage."] 

AH,  me  !   How  true  ! 

I  too,  I  too, 
With  merely  a  difference,  wear  my  rue  ; 

For  my  years  were  few, 

And  her  eyes  were  blue, 
And  they  pierced  my  soft  heart  through 
and  through, 

Till  my  senses  flew 

As  a  youth's  will  do, 
And  behold  I  was  wedded  or  ever  I  knew  I 

Did  I  crave  a  boon 

Of  Sir  FRANCIS  JEUNE, 
Like  this  whining  cur  of  a  Yankee  loon  ? 

Ah,  no  !   for  soon 

In  my  honeymoon 
All  reason  was  lulled  by  love's  sweet  tune, 

That  I  fain  would  croon 

Through  life's  high-noon — 
Hail  to  thee,  Mesmer !  I  'm  still  in  a  swoon. 


MILITAEY  DIALOGUES. 

HOW  IT  SHOULD  NOT  BE  DONE. 

The  General's  office  at   the  headquarters 
of  a  district.     In  the  room  two  tables 
covered  with  green  baize,  a  row  of  red- 
covered  books  on  each  ;  an  almanack, 
list  of  returns,  etc.,  are  on  the  green- 
papered  roalfs,  strips  of  carpet  are  on 
the  boarded  floor.  A  fine  view  of  parade 
ground  and  barracks  is  obtained  through 
twoivindows.    A  smart  young  General, 
ivho  has  just  taken  over  command,  in 
undress  uniform,  a  row  of  medal  rib- 
bons on  his   coat,  a  "swagger  stick" 
under  his  arm,  is  standing  before  the 
fire-place,  an   elderly  Staff  Officer  is 
sitting  at  the  smaller  of  the  two  tables. 
The  General.  We  '11  make  our  garrison 
field  -  day  on  Thursday    the   real    thing, 
CHAPMAN,  eh  ?    We  '11  have  a  fight  under 
the  absolute  conditions  of  warfare  and  no 
make-believe,  except  that  the  cartridges 
shall  be  blank  instead  of  loaded  ones. 

The  Staff  Officer  (ivho  lias  been  through 
it  all  before).  Yes,  Sir. 

The  General.  Have  out  the  whole  bri- 
gade. How  many  can  we  muster  ? 

The  Staff  Officer.  Well,  Sir,  the  big  draft 
for  India,  volunteers  for  Africa,  and  the 
200  horses  they  've  been  called  upon  to 
provide,  allowed  for,  the  Dragoons  won't 
stand  more  than  a  hundred  strong  on 
parade.  The  battery  will  send  out  four 
guns.  The  Rutlands,  if  we  suspend  mus- 
ketry and  military  training,  and  put  all 
the  recruits  in  the  ranks,  may  stand  300. 
The  Southern  Fusiliers,  who  find  the  guards 
that  day,  about  200,  and  the  Ballinasloe 
Rifles,  250. 

The  General.  But,  good  gracious  me, 
what  becomes  of  the  men  ? 

The  Staff  Officer.  Orderly  men,  Sir, 
garrison  employ,  fatigue  duties,  men  in 
hospital,  men  on  light  duty,  men  on  guard, 
men  coming  off  guard,  men  on  picquet  and 
police  duties,  orderlies,  men  struck  off  all 
work  by  special  order,  men  at  Aldershot, 
cooking,  gymnasium  classes,  men  away  for 
mounted  infantry,  submarine-mining,  gun- 
nery, and  surveying  training. 

The  General.  Stop,  stop;  that's  enough. 
My  brigade  shrinks  to  a  regiment. 
.  The   Staff  Officer.  The  parade  will  be 
"as  strong  as  possible,"  Sir. 

The  General.  Well,  now,  as  to  place 
(Spreading  on  the  bigger  table  an  ordnance 
map.)  I  see  there  's  a  fine  stretch  of  down 
and  common  land  here,  twenty  miles  to 
the  north.  We  '11  send  our  red  force  out 
there  on  Wednesday  to  camp,  with  all 

military  precautions,  and 

The  Staff  Officer.  How  about  transport, 
Sir?  We  sent  the  draft  horses  of  the 
regimental  transport  to  Plymouth,  on  an 
urgent  order  last  week,  and  the  waggons 
have  been  returned  to  the  carriage  factory 
to  have  experimental  brakes  put  on  them. 
The  Commissariat  have  only  sufficient 
vehicles  for  the  barrack  work. 


FEBRUARY  20,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI. 


H9 


The  General.  Hire. 

The  Staff  Officer.  No  fund  available. 
Besides,  Sir,  the  last  time  there  were 
manoeuvres  on  those  downs,  the  com- 
moners put  in  a  claim  for  destruction  of 
turf  and  gorse,  and  got  it,  and  no 
manoeuvres  may  now  take  place  there 
without  special  orders  and  a  special 
grant. 

The  General  (running  Ms  finger  over  a 
tract  of  enclosed  country).  What  about 
this  bit  of  land  round  Strawfleld  ? 

The  Staff  Officer.  Compensation  for 
crops,  compensation  for  hedgerows,  com- 
pensation for  trees,  compensation  for 
ground  game — quite  impossible,  Sir. 

The  General.  Then  where  on  earth  are 
we  to  fight  ? 

The  Staff  Officer.  There  is  the  big  drill- 
field  just  outside  the  town,  Sir,  that  has 
always  been  used  for  the  purpose. 

The  General.  And  every  officer  and  every 
man  knows  every  inch  of  it. 

The  Staff  Officer.  We  try  to  give  a 
variety  to  the  "  general  idea,"  Sir.  On 
the  last  field-day  the  garrison  bakery  wa 
supposed  to  be  an  inaccessible  hill,  the 
garrison  chaplain's  garden,  which  juts 
into  the  field,  was  an  inundation,  and  the 
railway,  which  cuts  across  the  end  of  the 
field,  was  supposed  to  be  an  unfordable 
river.  The  time  before  we  practised 
desert  warfare,  and  the  bakery  was  con- 
sidered a  mosque,  not  to  be  occupied  by 
either  force,  the  chaplain's  lawn  tennis 
ground  was  an  oasis,  and  the  railway  a 
precipitous  gorge. 

The  General.  And  what  do  you  suggest 
this  time.? 

The  Staff  Officer.  To  make  the  field-day 
thoroughly  useful,  I  would  suggest  South 
Africa,  the  railway  a  donga,  the  bakery  a 
krantz,  the  tennis  ground  a  vlei. 

The  General.  Yes,  yes. 

The  Staff  Officer.  Will  it  be  necessary 
under  the  circumstances  to  close  the  re- 
gimental shops,  put  the  officers  servant 
in  the  ranks,  and  suspend  musketry? 

The  General.  Do  what  you  like.  I  sha'n't 
stay  here  to  see  such  tomfoolery.  Let 
the  senior  colonel  take  command.  I  '11  go 
up  to  town  that  day.  N.N.-D. 


QUESTIONS  OF  THE  HOUR. 

MUCH  diligence  having  been  evinced 
by  the  Daily  Press  in  hunting  up  prece- 
dents for  the  pageant  of  last  Thursday, 
Mr.  Punch's  own  Constitutional  Quidnunc 
has  selected  a  few  of  the  more  vital 
points  in  which  the  present  resembles, 
or  differs  from,  earlier  ceremonies  : — 

Famous  Creams. — The  horses  which  took 
part  in  Thursday's  procession  are  not  the 
same  as  those  which  drew  Queen  VICTORIA 
to  her  coronation. 

Gun  Salute. — We  have  searched  HOLIN- 
SHED  in  vain  for  any  mention  of  a  similar 
ceremonial  on  the  accession  of  King 
ALFRED. 


FORETHOUGHT. 

Anxious    Wife  (to  absent-minded  husband,  why  has  just  directed  the  Cabman  to  drive  to 
Scotland  Yard).  "CHARLIE  !  WHY  ON  EA.RTH  DO  YOU  WANT  TO  GO  TO  SCOTLAND  YARD?" 
Absent-minded  Husband.  "WHY,    YOU   KNOW,    DEAR.    I    AM    CONSTANTLY  LEAVING   MY 

UMBRELLA  IN  A  CAB,  AND  THEN  NEXT  DAY  GOING  TO  SCOTLAND  YARD  TO  GET  IT  BACK, 
80  THIS  TIME  I  *M  GOING  TO  TAKE  IT  STRAIGHT  THERE  MYSELF,  AND  THEN  THERE  CANNOT 
BE  ANY  MISTAKE." 


Royal  Robe. — The  number  of  tail-tips 
in  King  EDWARD'S  ermine  lining,  which 
is  computed  at  upwards  of  10,000,  is 
quite  the  largest  on  record. 

House  of  Commons. — We  are  assured, 
by  an  eye-witness  of  last  week's  cere- 
mony, that  in  the  rush  after  the  SPEAKER 
to  the  House  of  Lords  several  members 
sustained  severe  injuries.  This  is  strictly 
in  accordance  with  precedent. 


Royal  Address. — The  KING  did  not  follow 
the  example  of  his  illustrious  great-grand- 
father in  addressing  the  august  assembly 
as  "  My  Lords  and  Turkey-Cocks." 

State  Ornaments. — It  is  understood  that 
the  buckle  on  the  left  shoe  of  the  Lord 
bearing  the  Cap  of  Maintenance  pre- 
sented striking  dissimilarities  to  that 
worn  by  any  of  his  predecessors  on  for- 
mer occasions. 


150 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[FBBRUARY  20,  1901. 


A  YEAR  LATER. 

(Fragment  of  a  Romance  by  the  Shade  of 

Alexandre  Dumas  pere.) 
"Now,  I  command  you  to  go  to  Eng- 
land," said  JOSEPH  BALSAMO,  extending 
his    hand    in    the 
direction    of    the 
sleeping  girl. 

"  Master,  I  am 
there,  all  there! " 
she  murmured  in  a 
far-off  voice. 

"You  are  in 
London." 

"  Yes,   I    am  in 

Leicester  Square." 

' '  Why  are  you  in 

Leicester  Square  ? " 

"Because,     in 

your     day,      all 

Frenchmen  went  to 

Leicester     Square 

or    the     Vauxhall 

Bridge  Road." 

"  But  I  wish  you 
to  go  to  Sydenham 
to  see  the  Crystal 
Palace." 

"  I  am  at  Syden- 
ham, but  I  cannot 
see  the  Crystal 
Palace." 

"Why  not?" 
"Because  it  has 
been  swallowed  xip 
by   the    trembling 
of  the  earth." 

"  Now  you  are  at 
Hampton  Court; 
you  are  looking  for 
the  pictures." 

"  Yes,  but  I  can- 
not find  the  pic- 
tures." 

"  Why  cannot 
you  find  the  pic- 
tures ?  ' ' 

"Because  the 
Palace  which  con- 
tained them  has 
vanished,  shaken 
down  by  the 
trembling  of  the 
earth." 

'Well,  now  you 
are  at  Greenwich. 
Enter  the  Hospi- 
tal." 

"  Yes.  Am  I  to 
take  what  remains  of  the  Nelson  Relics  ? 

"No,  but  you  are  to  look  at  the  picture 
gallery." 

"But  I  cannot  find  the  picture  gallery, 
for  it  has  disappeared.  The  hospital  has 
disappeared  !  " 

"Has  it  also  been  shaken  down  by  the 
trembling  of  the  earth  ?  " 

"Yes.  It  has  shared  the  fate  of  the 
Crystal  Palace  and  Hampton  Court." 


"And  what  is  the  cause  of  the  destruc- 
tion of  property  ?  This  trembling  of  the 
earth?" 

The  girl  was  silent. 

Then,  after  a  long  pause,  came  the 
reply  in  the  same  far-off  voice — 


Fond  Parent.  "No— SHE  WON'T  WOEK  !    SHE  NEVER  WOULD  WORK!!    SHE  NEVER  WILL 
WORK  !  !  !    THERE  's  ONLY  ONE  THING — SHE  'LL  'AYS  TO  GO  OUT  TO  SERVICE!" 


"  The  cause  of  the  destruction  of  the 
Crystal  Palace,  Hampton  Court,  and 
Greenwich  Hospital,  and  other  public 
buildings " 

"  Yes — I  ivill  know  !  " 

"  Is  the  completion  of  the  tube  rail- 
way between  Hammersmith  and  Charing 
Cross." 

And  the  girl  relapsed  into  a  heavy 
sleep. 


FOLLOWING  FOOTSTEPS. 

(Page  from  the  Diary  of  an  extra  special 

Special.) 

Monday.  On  the  track.  Sure  to  catch 
him  to-day.  Hear  that  he  is  dining  at 
a  restaurant.  Get 
under  the  table  and 
wait.  But  useless 
— he  never  came. 
Foiled,  but  after 
him  to-morrow. 

Tuesday.  I  will 
drag  his  secret 
from  him.  He  shall 
tell  me  what  he 
knows  of  the  secret 
trust  which  has  at- 
tracted so  much 
attention  in  the 
contents  bills. 
Once  more  hound- 
ing him  down.  Fol- 
lowed him  to  Liver- 
pool and  back,  but 
he  eluded  me  at 
Euston.  But  to- 
morrow I  find  him. 
Yes,  to-morrow. 

Wednesday.  He 
knows  he  is  sha- 
dowed. I  have  been 
everywhere  after 
him,  but  always 
five  minutes  too 
late.  To  the  Abbey, 
to  Kensal  Green, 
to  Smithfield,  to 
Covent  Garden  and 
then  to  Richmond 
and  Kew.  But  never 
quite  in  time ;  but 
I  take  him  to- 
morrow. 

Thursday.  Missed 
him  at  the  wed- 
ding. Missed  him 
at  the  funeral.  Fol- 
lowed him  to  the 
picture  gallery, 
but  ho  escaped. 
Held  on  to  the  cab 
as  he  left  the 
theatre.  But  too 
late  !  Always  too 
late !  Better  luck 
to-morrow. 

Friday.  —  He  is 
in  full  flight,  and 
I  in  full  pursuit.  I 

corner  him.  Now  for  "copy."  He  is 
safe !  He  cannot  leave  the  house,  and 
as  the  door  is  opened  I  can  enter  it. 
Everything  ready  for  to-morrow. 

Saturday.  —  I  triumph !  I  enter !  I 
am  in  his  presence !  and  then  I  find — 
that  I  have  been  following  the  wrong 
man !  Well,  mistakes  will  occur  even  in 
the  best  regulated  investigation  of  sen- 
sational news ! 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.— FEBRUARY  20,  1901. 


DIFFICULT  STEEBING. 


LORD  S-L-SB-RY  (TO  ARTH-R  B-LF-R).  "HANG  THESE  'IMPROVEMENTS'  ARTHUR!    DO  YOU  THINK  WE 

SHALL  GET  THROUGH?" 


FEBRUARY  20,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


153 


The  Invoca- 
tion. 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  MUSICAL  COMEDY. 

[It  is  presumed,  gentle  reader,  that  you  have,  at  some  time  or  other,  been 
present  at  one  of  those  feasts  of  mirth  and  melody  which  are  so  popular  in  the 
Metropolis  nowadays.  Unless  you  happen  to  be  "  in  the  know,"  the  following 
account  of  how  such  a  feast  is  concocted  may  be  of  interest.] 

PROEM. 

SPIRIT  of  Entertainment,  fickle  fay  ! 
Where,  in  the  theatre-going  world  to-day, 
Dost  thou  hold  firm  and  undisputed  sway 

Second  to  none  ? 

Is  it  in  melodrama  fierce  and  hot  ? 
Is  it  in  problem  plays  with  little  plot  ? 
Here  thou  may'st  rest  awhile,  but  they  do  not 

Long  enough  run. 

The  Poet's          Boisterous  farce  will  sometimes  make  a  hit, 
Fancy.  Drawing  forth  laughter  till  our  sides  should  split ; 

Comedy,  crusted  o'er  with  verbal  wit, 

All  have  their  day. 

But,  for  a  venture  like  to  draw  the  town, 
Even  though  morbid  pessimists  may  frown, 
Give  me  the   much    extolled    and  much   run 
down 

Musical  play. 

Type  of  an  age  that 's  frivolous,  may  be, 
Owing  a  lot  to  Fashion's  stern  decree  ; 
Many  an  hour  of  harmless  pleasantry 

Still  it  affords. 

Sparkling  with  melody  that  comes  and  goes, 
Mirth   that   delights    and    mise-en-scene   that 

glows, 
Who  is  to  wonder  at  such  tempting  shows 

Holding  the  boards  ? 

Some,  through  these  pages,  may  be  glad,  perchance, 
Into  the  hidden  works  to  take  a  glance  , 
Noticing  how  such  blends  of  song  and  dance 

Beach  their  success. 
No  carping  curiosity  we  mean, 
But,  from  a  passing  glance  behind  the  scene, 
Probably  more  instruction  we  may  glean 

Than  one  might  guess. 

CANTO  THE  FIRST. 
The  Manager.         Come,  let  us  trace  the  fountain  to  its  source  ; 

Follow  with  me,  with  deferential  tread, 
Unto  the  Manager,  for  he,  of  course, 

Is  the  presiding  spirit  and  the  head 
Of  all  those  schemes  which,  emanating  hence, 
Startle  the  town  with  their  magnificence. 

Into  his  sanctum  pass  through  outer  doors 
Thronged  all  about,  from  morning  until  night, 

With  histrionic  applicants  in  scores, 
Seeking  employment,  howsoever  light. 

This  is  but  one  small  trial,  you  must  know, 

Of  the  successful  impresario. 

Commander  of  a  mighty  host  indeed, 
In  town  and  in  the  provinces  as  well, 

Many  a  staunch  lieutenant  does  he  need 
To  deal  with  business  more  than  one  can  tell ; 

Yet,  when  in  doubt,  on  him  they  have  to  call, 

The  Alpha  and  the  Omega  of  all. 

And  yet,  see  what  a  kindly  smile  is  this, 
As  ev'ry  nervous  applicant  he  greets  ; 

It  seems  to  say  there  's  nothing  much  amiss 
With  all  the  latest  box-office  receipts. 

Fair  the  reward  of  such  an  one  as  he, 

Who  studies  carefully  the  great  B.  P. 


The  Eeader  to 
follow  his 
Leader, 


The  Manager 
seeth  necessity 
for  a  novelty. 


And  sum- 
moneth  his 
adherents. 


Pegasus 
breaketh  into 
a  canter. 


Reaping  the  harvest  of  his  last  success, 

— Though  it,  no  doubt,  is  not  the  only  one — 

His  managerial  mind  is,  more  or  less, 
At  ease  throughout  the  fulness  of  its  run  ; 

Still,  for  the  greatest  of  dramatic  booms, 

Far,  far  away,  the  mournful  last  night  looms. 

While  time  upon  its  steadfast  course  may  fly, 
His  gay  productions  brave  the  flight  of  years  ; 

And  hundredth  nights  are  celebrated  by 
The  giving  of  recherche  souvenirs. 

But,  as  I  fancy  I  remarked  before, 

An  end  for  ev'rything  must  be  in  store. 

So,  when  he  sees,  as  some  sad  day  he  will, 
That  the  amount  of  weekly  booking  falls  ; 

While  pit  and  gallery  no  longer  fill, 

And  "  paper  "  finds  its  way  into  the  stalls  ; 

He  knows  that  piece  is  practically  dead, 

And  he  must  get  another  one  instead. 

Forth  goes  the  managerial  decree, 

"A  play,  a  play  ;  my  kingdom  for  a  play  ; 

Constructed  from  the  well-tried  recipe, 
But  flavoured  with  the  topics  of  to-day  : 

A  show  that  does  not  strain  the  intellect  ; 

In  fact,  just  what  my  patrons  will  expect. 

"  Gather  around  me,  proven  men  and  true, 
As  you  have  gathered  more  than  once  before, 
Authors  and  lyrists  and  composers  too 
(Success    is    what    the    latter    have    to 

' score  ' ) ; 
And,  authors,  please   be  good  enough   to 

show 
A  satisfactory  scenario  !  " 

Straightway  they  come,  responding  to  his 

call, 

Racking  their  brains  for  notions  up-to- 
date  ; 

Full  of  their  past  experience,  and  all 
Anxious  and  willing  to  collaborate. 
For,  in  an  entertainment  of  this  kind, 
4 '  The  more  the  merrier, ' '  please  bear  In 
mind. 

It 's  a  quite  indisputable  fact, 

That  in  musical  comedy  "  books  " 
(Chiefly  frivol  and  froth) 
You  do  not  spoil  the  broth 
By  employing  a  number  of  cooks. 
In  a  show  that  has  got  to  attract, 

All  philosophy  's  quite  out  of  place  ; 
You  have  got  to  be  "  smart," 
Though  the  patrons  of  Art 
Very  likely  will  pull  a  long  face. 
But  then  Art  with  a  capital  "  A  " 
Doesn't  thrive  in  a  musical  play  1 

If  the  dialogue  's  written  by  A, 

The  construction  is  managed  by  B ; 
Then  the  lyrics,  no  doubt, 
Will  be  duly  turned  out 
By  the  efforts  of  C,  D  and  E, 
For  the  music,  melodious  and  gay, 

That  will  linger  in  ev'ryone's  head, 
Some  examples  you  try 
Both  of  X  and  of  Y, 
With  additional  numbers  by  Z. 
Oh,  variety  's  certain  to  pay 
In  the  score  of  a  musical  play !  P.  G. 

(To  be  continued.) 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[FEBRUARY  20,  1901. 


CONTRA  VIM   MORTIS! 

["  Recent  edicts  indicate  a  desire  to  institute  immediate  reforms  on  the  part 
f  the  Emperor  of  China,  who  is  calling  for  the  return  of  those  reformers 
vho  vrere  active  two  years  ago.  Unfortunately,  most  of  these  have  been 
icheadcd  since." — Router.'} 

The  Mandarins  to  the  Powers  : — 

NEVER  believe  that  "We  oppose  reform. 

The  "  Boxers  "  put  us  in  a  false  position. 
We  merely  bowed  before  the  recent  storm, 

And  so  would  any  prudent  politician. 
The  Emperor  is  anxious  to  recall 

The  councillors  by  whom  reforms  were  mooted. 
Unfortunately  very  nearly  all 

Those  gentlemen  have  since  been  executed  ! 

Should  you  induce  the  Empress  to  retire — 

Between  ourselves,  she  is  a  perfect  ogress — 
His  Majesty  would  show  a  keen  desire 

To  tread  once  more  the  primrose  path  of  progress. 
'Tis  she  alone  prevents  the  carrying  out 

Of  those  reforms  to  which  his  heart  is  wedded, 
And  KWANG  and  FENG  would  help  him,  there  's  no  doubt — 

But  they,  unluckily,  have  been  beheaded  I 

We  will  maintain,  as  long  as  we  have  breath, 

He  'd  rally  the  Reformers  to  his  banner, 
Had  they  not,  most  of  them,  been  put  to  death 

In  some  uncomfortable  Chinese  manner. 
Aided  by  these  he  would  establish  peace, 

Redressing  all  the  grievances  you  mention. 
Unhappily  their  premature  decease 

Compels  him  to  abandon  his  intention  ! 


CONVERSATIONAL  HINTS  FOR  YOUNG  RIDERS. 
CHAP.  VIII. 

!")/  the   Edinburgh  Review — Of  Hares  and  Stags  and  Foxes — 
The  origins  of  Fox-Hunting. 

LET  us  imagine,  then,  that  you  have  primed  yourself  with  all 
the  lore  contained  in  that  excellent  Edinburgh  Review  article 
l,o  which  I  referred  you  last  week.  You  have  had  a  good  day's 
hunting :  the  scent  has  been  keen,  the  hounds  have  run  like 
smoke,  your  ardent  but  docile  bay  has  carried  you  to  perfection, 
the  fox  has  been  pulled  down  in  the  open,  and  you  have  spared 
a  pitying  thought  for  the  fate  of  this  gallant  marauder,  dying 
game  to  the  last  in  the  remorseless  scrimmage  of  his  pursuers. 
Now,  with  a  glow  of  healthy  fatigue  tingling  through  your 
whole  body,  you  are  walking  or  jogging  homewards  with  a  few 
companions.  The  incidents  of  the  day  have  been  exhaustively 
discussed  ;  you  turn  to  more  general  matters.  One  of  the 
sportsmen  may  remark  that  there  exist  on  the  face  of  the 
earth  races  of  men  so  hopelessly  abandoned  as  to  shoot  or  trap 
foxes.  A  groan  of  horror  comes  from  his  companions ;  their 
manly  British  breasts  heave  with  emotion  at  the  dreadful 
thought.  This  is  your  opening  :  — 

Young    Rider.    Well,  for  the  matter  of  that,   we  used    to 
massacre  foxes  in  England. 
First  Sportsman.  Rats  I 

Young  Rider.  No,  not  rats,  foxes.  Give  you  my  word  of 
honour  we  did.  (Sensation.) 

First  Sportsman.  Get  out  I  Do  you  mean  to  say  we  used  to 
kill  'em  without  hunting  'em — eh,  what  ? 

Young  Rider.  Certainly,  we  did.  People  began  with  hare- 
hunting.  They  used  to  place  nets  over  foxes.'  earths,  smoke 
'em  out  and  kill  'em  with  clubs.  There  was  a  Solicitor-General 
who  said  it  wasn't  foul  play  to  knock  foxes  and  wolves  on  the 
head.  [A  pause,  indicating  polite  incredulity. 


Second  Sportsman.  Oh,  you  mean  back  among  the  ancient 
Britons,  or  the  Druids — Boadicea,  and  all  that? 

Y.  R.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Fox-hunting  didn't  begin  properly 
till  close  on  the  seventeenth  century,  and  even  then  they 
didn't  think  much  of  it. 

Second  Sportsman  (putting  a  poser).  What  did  they  think 
much  of,  then  ? 

Y.  R.  Oh,  hare-hunting  or  stag-hunting.  But  the  only 
people  who  hunted  stags  were  the  big-wigs,  the  great  nobles 
with  large  estates  who  could  do  the  thing  in  style. 

First  Sportsman  (still  incredulous).  Stag-hunting? 

Y.  R.  Yes,  stag-hunting. 

Second  Sportsman.  But,  I  say — not  carted  stags  ! 

Y.  R.  No,  no.  Real  stag-hunting,  not  what  a  fellow  in  a 
review  calls  "  that  grotesque,  but  harmless  parody  of  sport, 
the  chase  of,the  carted  deer." 

First  Sportsman.  Ha,  ha !  that 's  good !  Grotesque  but  harmless 
thingummy — that 's  capital  !  These  writing  chaps  do  get  hold 
of  an  idea  sometimes — eh,  what? 

With  this  I  advise  you  to  pause  awhile.     At  this  point  you  've 
got  your  company  with  you.     You  have  filled  them  with  con- 
tempt for  the  past  and  a  hearty  satisfaction  with  the  present, 
and  have  left  them  with  the   idea  that  they  are  far  finer  and 
more  knowing  fellows  than   the  paltry   folk  who,  in  by-gone 
centuries,  were  ignorant  of  the  glories  and  delights  of  fox- 
hunting.   But  if  you  pursue  the  matter,  they  '11  begin  to  think 
you  know  too.  much,  or  that  they  themselves  might  conceivably 
come  under  the  suspicion  of  knowing  too  little.     So  you  may 
keep  for  a  future  occasion  such  tags  of  information  as  that  Sir 
ROBERT  WALPOLE,  who  opened  before  all  other  despatches  the 
letters  from  his  huntsman,  was  a  hare-hunter ;    or  that  the 
original  Vine  Hounds    did  not  give  up  the  hare  for   the  fox 
until  1791,  or  that  Lord  ARUNDELL  OF  WARDOUR  is  believed,  on 
good  authority,  to  have  kept  the    first    pack    of  fox-hounds 
between  the  years  1690  and  1700  ;     or  that  this  same  pack 
was   sold   to   the    "  famous    Mr.    HUGO    MEYNELL,    who   was 
the  real  father  of  modern  fox-hunting."     All  these  matters  you 
will  find  set  out  in  a  very  pleasant  way  in  the  article  I 
have    mentioned — these,    and  many  other    matters    such    as, 
for  instance,   the  tragic  end  of  "Prince"  BOOTHBY,  brother- 
in  -  law    to    Mr.    MEYNELL.      It    is    recorded    that    after    a 
breakfast  of  cold  tea  at  his  lodging  in    Clarges  Street,   and 
a  ride  in  Hyde  Park,  he  blew  out  his  brains  because  he  was 
"  tired  of  the  bore  of  dressing  and  undressing."     "Mon  /Us," 
so  the  father  of  M .   de  Cantors  wrote  to  his   son,    "  La  vie 
m'ennuie.     Je  la  quitte,"  and  quit  it  he  did,  surely  enough, 
and  possibly,  if  the  truth  were  known,  his  weariness  of  exis- 
tence came  not  from  the  larger  boredoms  of  life,  but  from  the 
interminable  tedious  repetition  of  unbuttoning  and  going  to 
bed  and  getting  out  of  bed  and  re-buttoning.     And  in  the  days 
of  the  Regency,  when  "  Prince  BOOTH  "  lived  and  died,  there 
were  many  buttons  to  be  attended  to. 


HEADS  OR  TAILS,   OR   BOTH? 

THE  British  Government  cries  "Heads!"  but  the  Chinese 
Government  declares  that  the  result  of  the  "  toss-up  "  is  "  tails," 
and  of  these,  without  the  heads,  the  Chinese  do  not  object  to 
making  a  present  to  the  Foreigners.  As  sang  FLEURETTE  in 
PLANCHE'S  extravaganza  of  Blue  Beard — 

"  How  can  you  think  my  head  I  'd  spare, 

As  if  I  'd  others  by  the  score  ? 
'Stead  of  my  head  cut  off  my  hair 
And  1  will  trouble  you  no  more." 

and  Blue  Beard  makes  much  the  same  reply  as  the  British 

Government  might  on  this  occasion — 

"  If  you  have  but  one  head  to  wear 
You  should  have  thought  of  that  before," 

And  forthwith  bids  her  prepare  for  her  fate. 


FEBRUARY  20,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


155 


Riding-master.    " DON'T  LET  HER  HAVE  HER  OWN  WAY,  SIR!    PUT  HER  OVER  THE 

HURDLE  ?      STICK  TO   HER  !  " 


A  SUSPENDED  PENALTY. 

[In  a  recent  address,  Lord  NOKTON  stated  that  it 
was  as  hard  to  get  hanged  nowadays  as  it  used  to  be 
easy.] 

AVERNUS,  take  it  not  amiss 

Modernity  encroaches, 
And  makes  no  longer  facilis 

This  one  of  thine  approaches. 

Have  we  not  other  pathways  made 

As  sure,  if  not  so  wheezy, 
By  which  descent  into  thy  shade  '. 

Is  reasonably  easy  ? 

The  bicycle,  the  oyster-bed, 
Thou  couldst  not  wish  iis  alter, 

Nor  yet  our  arsenic  and  lead — 
Then  why  regret  the  halter  ? 

With  pom-pom  shells,  and  patent  pills, 
Man's  shrift  is  still  a  short  'un  ; 

So  be  content  with  human  ills, 
Eh  ?    Hang  it  all,  Lord  NORTON  J 


SHAKSPEARE    ON    DRINK    ADUL- 
TERATION. 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCH, — Knowing  you  to  be 
an  earnest  student  of  the  Immortal  Bard 
and,  as  your  name  implies,  an  authority 
on  strong  drink,  I  venture  to  point  out  to 
you  that  SHAKSPEARE  proves  that  the 
adulteration  of  certain  alcoholic  bever- 


ages was  as  well  known  in  his  day  as  it 
is  in  ours.  For  instance,  Camilla  in  the 
Winter's  Tale  speaks  of  a — • 

"  Lingering  dram  that  should  not  work  maliciously 
like  poison." 

Again,  Falstaff  knew  as  much  about 
strong  drink  as  any  man  in  his  day,  and 
what  does  he  say  ? 

"  Let  a  cup  of  sack  be  my  poison !  " 

Then  he  denounces  the  liquor  at  the 
famous  Boar's  Head  Tavern,  in  East  Cheap, 
in  these  unmistakable  terms  : — 

"  You  rogue,  there's  lime  in  this  sack  too ;  there 
is  nothing  but  roguery  to  be  found  iu.  villainous 
man,  yet  a  coward  is  worse  than  a  cup  of  sack 
with  lime  in  it !  " 

That 's  pretty  straight  evidence,  Sir, 
isn't  it  ? 

But  probably  more  striking  than  any 
other  passage  in  the  works  of  the  Divine 
WILLIAM,  are  the  convincing  words  of  the 
Queen  in  the  last  act  of  Hamlet : — 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Samlet.  The  drink,  the  drink  ! 
I  am  poisoned !  " 

In  these  modern  days  of  stage  realism  I 
suppose  any  one  of  our  up-to-date  manager- 
actors  would  make  the  Queen  point  to  a 
handsome  tankard,  which  had  been  filled 
from  a  silver  jug  labelled  "  Beer,"  held 
by  one  of  the  attendants,  who,  having 
taken  a  sip  or  two  on  the  sly  would  now  be 
seized  with  qualms,  and  would  join  the 


Pupil.    "  I   NEVER   COULD  DO  TWO  THINGS 
AT   ONCE." 


other    sufferers  in    the    final  tableau  of 
Hamlet. 

Pretty  conclusive  proofs  of  adulteration 
are  those  given  above,  are  they  not  Sir  ? 
And  you  can  take  it  from  me,  that  what 
SHAKSPEARE  didn't  know  about  the  tricks 
of  the  trade  in  drink  in  his  own  time  was 
not  worth  knowing.  Another  quotation 
(not  included  in  the  foregoing)  from  the 
Anti-Beery  Bard  may,  perhaps,  receive  ad- 
ditional emphasis  fromt  the  point  of  a 
pencil.*  Yours  thirstily, 

BARDOLPH,  Junr. 
*  Vide  "Cartoon  Junior." 


156 


PUNCH,  OK  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[FEBRUARY  20,  1901. 


WAKING  THEM  UP  AT  THE  ST.  JAMES'S. 

The  Awakening,  by  Mr.  HADDON  CHAMBERS,  is  not  another 
specimen  of  the  modern  "Problem  Play,"  nor  is  it  a  play  of 
•which  the  success  is  problematic.  Its  success,  we  may  fairly 
take  it  for  granted,  is  already  achieved,  and  thereupon  are  to  be 
complimented  Mr.  HADDON  CHAMBERS,  Mr.  GEORGE  ALEXANDER, 
and  the  excellent  company  now  under  his  management  at  the 
St.  James's  Theatre.  But  if  The  Awakening  offers  no  problem, 
does  it  give  a  probable  basis  whereon  to  build  up  the  play  ? 
The  basis  is,  that  a  young  girl,  owing  all  her  education  in  art, 
literature,  religion  and  morals,  to  the  loving  and  tender  care  of 
her  widowed  father,  an  artist  of  some  repute,  with  whom  she  had 
lived  in  the  country  till  his  death,  after  which  she  continued  to 
reside  in  the  same  cottage  (if  that  can  be  called  a  cottage,  of 
which  in  one  room  alone  could  be  given  a  dance  for  some  sixty 
persons  or  more  ;  but  let  this  pass — some  parties,  especially 
heroines,  are  so  uncommonly  lucky),  attended  only  by  an  old 
and  attached  nurse  (as  Juliet 
might  have  been  had  she  been  - 
left  an  orphan),  and  a  maid 
(mentioned  but  invisible)  em- 
ploying her  leisure  in  painting 
and  perhaps  occasionally 
making  a  trifle  by  it  (but  this 
is  not  clear),  should  be,  after  a 
very  brief  and  slight  acquaint- 
ance, so  fascinated  by  the 
charms  of  a  youngish  (thirty  or 
thirty-five  ?)  gentleman,  visit- 
ing in  the  neighbourhood,  as 
to  have  taken  his  invitation  to 
call  upon  him  in  town  seri- 
ously ;  and  that  this  young 
English  Juliet  should  have 
suddenly,  proprio  motu,  packed 
up  her  portmanteau,  bade  au 
Devoir  to  her  nurse,  and  have 
trained  to  town,  put  up  at  an 
hotel  formerly  frequented  by 
her  father  (which  is  a  saving 
clause,  and  accounts  for  her 
being  served  with  a  perfect 
little  dinner),  and  then,  having 


measured  for  the  part  by  Mr.  CHAMBERS,  so  [perfectly  does  it 
become  her,  and  so  admirably  does  she  suit  it. 

Mr.  H.  B.  IRVING'S  Lord  Reginald  Dugdale  is  a  delightful 
creation  of  a  nondescript  sort  of  person  that  might  find  a  place 
among  the  eccentric  beings  in  one  of  Mr.  LEAR'S  Nonsense 
Books.  This  Lord  Reginald  (there  seldom  now-a-days  is  a 
comedy  without  a  "Regi"  in  it)  is  a  composite  character,  made 
up  apparently  out  of  materials  which  recall  Master  Modus  in 
The  Hunchback,  Basil  Georgione  in  The  Colonel,  Lord  Verisopht 
(in  the  presence  of  Kate  Nickleby),  Master  Slender  (sighing  and 
doting  on  sweet  Anne  Page),  and  Lord  Dundreary  :  indeed,  had 
Mr.  H.  B.  IRVING  met  with  the  exceptional  chance  that 
caused  Lord  Dundreary  to  supersede  the  hero  in  The  American 
Cousin,  it  would  be  quite  on  the  cards  that  this  part  could  be 
so  developed  and  magnified  as  to  put  all  the  others  into  the 
shade.  The  audience  accepts  the  character,  little  as  there  is 
of  it,  at  Mr.  IRVING'S  valuation,  and  delight  in  whatever  Lord 


Reginald  does  or  says. 


secured  a  first-rate  hansom, 
with  a  polite,  good  -  looking 
driver  and  a  first-rate  horse 
(O  exceptionally  lucky  in- 
genue I),  should  have  been  taken  straight  away  to  this 
fascinating  gentleman's  abode,  whence  hearing  he  had 
"  company  "  she  drives  away  to  nowhere  in  particular,  return- 
ing, however,  at  about  10.45  just  in  time  to  catch  her  Romeo, 
who  happening  to  be  an  early  bird,  is  on  the  point  of  retiring 
for  the  night.  She  is  admitted,  and  then,  after  awhile,  he,  act- 
ing always,  as  far  as  the  audience  can  tell,  with  a  certain 
amount  of  proper  caution,  sees  her  home.  That  is  the  start  of 
it  all.  Admit  all  this  as  a  probable  basis,  and  there  's  nothing 
to  be  said  except  that  the  author  has  constructed  upon  it  a 
very  well-written,  very  pretty,  and  highly  entertaining  play. 

Mr.  GEORGE  ALEXANDER,  who  seems  to  have  made  up  his  mind 
never  to  "make  up  "  his  face  in  modern  comedy,  gives  us  a  care- 
fully considered  study  of  character  in  the  person  of  Mr.  James 
St.  John  Trower,  a  gentleman  who,  posing  as  a  conventional  cynic, 
occasionally  fatuous,  with  a  dormant  sense  of  honour  and  a 
very  slight  appreciation  of  humour,  becomes  a  convertite  of  a 
very  high  grade  when  true  love,  which  includes  all  that  self- 
sacrifice  entails,  has  cast  out  of  him  the  demon  of  egoism,  by 
which  he  was  possessed. 

Miss  FAY  DAVIS,  as  that  most  ingenuous  of  simple-minded 
ingenues  Olive  Laivrence,  must  have  been  most  accurately 


THE  MATINEE  HAT  OF  A  SWAZI  WARRIOR. 


He  has  very  little  to  do  and  not  much 
to  say,  but  he  and  Miss  GRAN- 
VILLE,  as  Miss  Prescott  (quite 
the  most  original  and,  at  the 
same  time,  most  natural  part 
among  the  principals  in  the 
piece),  crown  themselves  with 
such  laurels  of  comedy  as  are 
accorded  only  to  a  very  first- 
rate  performance  of  the  anti- 
quated love  scenes,  between 
Helen  and  Modus,  in  SHERIDAN 
KNOWLES'S  The  Hunchback. 

Miss  GERTRUDE  KINGSTON,  as 
Lady  Margaret  Staines,  the 
representative  of  the  chief  of 
"Jim"  Trower' s  many  con- 
quests among  married  ladies  of 
title,  artistically  triumphs  in 
rendering  this  character  so 
odious — especially  in  her  scene 
where  she  plays  the  ELEANOR 
to  Olive's  FAIR  ROSAMUND — as 
to  banish  all  sympathy  with 
her  from  the  hearts  of  the 
spectators.  The  author  tries  to 
let  her  down  easily  in  the  last 
act,  but  we  only  pity  him  for  this 
weak  concession  to  common- 
place good-nature.  It  is  a  really 
remarkable  impersonation. 

Mr.  A.  E.  MATTHEWS,  as  the  boyish  Cecil  Bird,  typical  of  the 
latest  "form  "  in  fast  juvenility,  is,  as  Cecil  would  express  it, 
"  about  as  good  as  they  make  'em." 

Mr.  YINCENT,  as  Jarvis,  the  butler,  needs  no  character, 
except  his  own  most  conscientious  reading  of  this  one,  for  his 
next  place. 

By  Miss  TALBOT'S  artistic  rendering  of  Mrs.  Selby,  the  nurse  to 
this  new  Juliet,  is  to  be  obtained  all  the  insight  into  her  young 
charge's  character  and  history  that  may  make  for,  or  against, 
the  probabilities  of  the  plot  as  they  have  already  been  herein 
stated. 

Miss  JULIE  OPP,  as  Mrs.  Herbertson,  one  of  Jim  Trower's 
minor  victims  in  society,  does  to  perfection  all  that  the  author 
requires  of  her,  which  is  not  of  an  exhaustive  character. 

In  brief,  the  piece  is  thoroughly  well  acted  all  round.  One 
word  as  to  the  generally  well  written  and  evenly-balanced 
dialogue  of  the  piece.  Quotations  from  scripture,  placed  in  the 
mouths  of  any  characters  in  a  comedy  for  the  mere  purpose  of 
raising  a  laugh  by  the  smartness  of  their  application,  can  never 
be  considered  as  specimens  of  good  taste  on  the  part  of  the 
author,  nor  on  the  part  of  those  responsible  for  the  production 
of  the  piece,  from  the  Licenser  of  Plays  down  to  the  stage- 


FEBRUARY  20,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


157 


manager.  But  when  one  of  these  quota- 
tions, viz.  "  One  shall  be  taken  and  the 
other  left"  (it  is  surely  needless  to 
remind  either  Licenser,  author,  or  actor, 
Whose  these  -words  are),  is  only  intro- 
duced as  something  sharp  in  order  to 
provoke  a  laugh,  -which,  from  the  thought- 
less, it  obtains,  it  is  surely  time  to 
demand  of  author,  actor  and  Licenser 
that  any  such  quotations  from  scripture 
should  be  at  once  eliminated  from  the 
spoken  dialogue.  "We  all  know  who  it  is 
that  can  quote  scripture  to  his  purpose, 
and  naturally  Mr.  HADDON  CHAMBERS  would 
object  to  be  coupled  with  a  collaborateur 
who  during  all  these  years  has  never 
produced  one  single  good  work,  and  what 
is  more,  never  will. 

This  is  the  only  fault  to  be  found  with 
the  dialogue,  which  otherwise  is  good 
throughout  and  excellently  well  delivered. 
Mr.  ALEXANDER'S  house  is  now  well  fur- 
nished for  the  next  six  months. 


ANTHROPOLOGY  ILLUSTRATED. 

fit  ia  a  commonplace  of  philosophers  that  the 
rhildhood  of  the  individual  symbolises  the  childhood 
of  the  race."—  The  World.] 

LITTLE  lad  with  garments  tattered, 
Threadbare,  stained  and  mud  bespattered, 

Bleeding  nose  and  dirty  face, 
Though  askance  a  cold  world  eyes  you 
Science  still  can  recognise  you 

As  a  symbol  of  our  race. 

When  with  shriek  of  piercing  treble 
You  discharge  the  well-aimed  pebble, 

And  our  front-door  panel  dint, 
You,  conventions  thus  defying, 
Are  the  traits  exemplifying 

Of  a  distant  age  of  flint. 

When  the  pence  for  which  you  scramble 
Still  at  pitch-and-toss  you  gamble, 

As  your  sport  the  expert  cons, 
Your  disgraceful  occupation 
Is  to  him  a  revelation 

Of  the  period  of  bronze. 

So,  despite  your  garment-tearing, 
Rude  behaviour,  vulgar  bearing, 

Deafening  yell,  ear-splitting  screech, 
Pedagogues,  who  birch  and  spank  you, 
Rather  ought  by  right  to  thank  you 

For  the  lessons  that  you  teach. 


FULL  CRI ! 

SIR,— I  head  this  letter  to  you  "Full 
Cri,"  that  being  my  playful  way  of  giving 
you  to  understand,  sportingly  and  spor- 
tively, how  full  the  Criterion  Theatre  was 
on  the  night  of  my  visit.  This  Farcical 
Comedy — or,  rather,  I  should  describe  it 
as  this  Whimsical  Farce — in  three  acts,  an 
old  form  of  some  of  our  best  farces,  when 
the  nineteenth  century  was  yet  quite 
juvenile,  is  about  as  funny,  as  droll 
(c'est  le  mot)  a  piece  of  absurdity  as  I  've 
seen  for  many  a  long  day.  It  has  been 


Visitor  to  Country  Town  (who  has  been  shown  over  the  Church).  "  AND  HOW  LONG  HAS  YOUR 

PRESENT  VlGAR  BEEN  HERE  ?  " 

Sexton.  "  MR.  MOLE,  SIR,  HAS  BEEN  THE  INCUMBRA.NCS  HERE,  SIR,  FOR  NIGH  ON  FORTY 
YEAR,  SIR!" 


running  for  some  months,  and  seems  to 
be  going  strong  now  and  as  fresh  as  fresh. 
Why  did  I  not  see  it  weeks  and  weeks 
ago  ?  Why  ?  Because  it  was  unani- 
mously "damned  with  faint  praise,"  by 
the  principal  dramatic  critics  in  the 
papers  ;  at  least,  in  all  those  that  I  read 
at  the  time,  and  so,  credulous  creature 
that  I  am,  I  was  put  off  the  scent,  and 
said  to  myself,  "Nay,  this  is  not  good 
enough."  At  last,  by  accident,  1  visited 
the  theatre.  "Laugh!"  as  CHEVALIER 
DE  COSTER  says,  "  Laugh  !  Lor' !  I  thought 
I  should  ha'  died  !  "  Never  was  WEEDON 
GROSSMITH  more  inanely  funny,  rarely  has 
the  jovial  Mr.  GEORGE  GIDDENS  been  more 
surprisingly  humorous,  and  as  for  the 
Lord  Archibald  of  Mr.  ARTHUR  BOURCHIER, 
well — his  acting  is  worthy  of  one  of  the 
smartest  farcical  -  comedy  parts  ever 
written.  The  whole  piece  represents  the 
impossible  made  possible,  and  that 's  how, 
at  first,  as  I  fancy,  it  did  not  "  catch  on." 
There  isn't  a  poor  part,  nor  even  a  weak 


line  of  dialogue  in  it  from  beginning  to 
end. 

The  ladies  are  "  Al  " — all,  individually 
and  collectively.  Mrs.  CHARLES  CALVERT 
is  over-poweringly  funny,  Miss  ELLIS 
JEFFREYS  the  very  perfection  of  farcical- 
comedy  playing,  that  is,  in  real  earnest ; 
nor  is  Miss  ANNIE  HUGHES  a  whit  behind 
in  this  respect,  though  her  part  is  very 
difficult  and  is  the  one  which  goes  at  first 
against  the  grain  of  an  audience  until  its 
utter  -  farcicality  is  realised,  and  then 
it  is  relished  immensely.  All  the  other 
ladies  look  well  and  act  well  their  in- 
dividual parts,  for  every  one  of  them  is 
in  her  degree  a  "  character."  CAPTAIN 
MARSHALL  ought  to  be  our  best  comedy 
writer  in  the  not  very  dim  or  distant  future. 
"All  hail,  MACMARSHALL!  that  shalt  bo 
more  hereafter  !  "Yours,  Sir,  truly, 

ONE  OF  HIS  WELL  WISHERS. 

P.S. — But  oh,  Cap'en,  why  did  you  give 
this  piece  such  a  stupid  title  as  The  Noble 
Lord? 


158 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI, 


[]<'fiBRUARY    20,    1901. 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

MR.  HERBERT  VIVIAN  sets  forth  to  pay  a  morning  call  on 
King  MENELIK  with  as  light  a  heart  as  if  his  Majesty  lived  at 
Lancaster  Gate.  The  record  of  his  journey  is  presented  in 
Abyssinia,  a  handsome  volume  published  by  Mr.  PEARSON.  It 
is  chiefly  made  up  of  letters  contributed  to  that  enterprising 
little  journal,  the  Daily  Express.  Descending  on  a  country 
little  known  to  Europeans  (except  such  as  form  units  in  an 
army  of  invasion),  Mr.  VIVIAN  brings  to  his  task  the  gift  of 
keen  observation  and  the  power  of  lively  description.  His 
account  of  the  barbaric  dance  arranged  for  his  edification  on 
his  arrival  at  Gildessa  is  a  vivid  picture.  Although  on 
pleasure  bent  he  was  of  a  frugal  mind.  "Don't  bring  the 
whole  village,,"  he  said,  to  his  head  man.  But  they  all  came — 
at  least,  when  the  dance  was  over,  there  were  600  waiting  to 


STEEVENS,  whom  the  Gods  loved  and  took  early,  has  much  to 
answer  for.  His  style  of  journalistic  work,  vivid,  highly 
coloured,  bristling  with  point,  has  fatal  attraction  for 
writers  of  quite  other  capacity.  It  is  easy  to  reproduce,  in 
debased  style,  some  of  its  peculiarities.  Hence,  in  certain 
journalistic  circles,  grievous  falling  away  from  the  high  level 
it  was  once  the  pride  of  the  London  Press  to  maintain.  How- 
ever, in  this  volume  is  the  well  of  pungent  picturesque  writing 
undefiled.  Let  us  drink  at  it,  says  my  Baronite,  and  be  thankful. 

PRO-BARON  DE  B.  W. 


COURT  DRESS. 

SIR, — How  very  awkward  is  the  description  of  the  Court 
costume  as  ordered  to  be  worn  on  certain  occasions,  i.e.  "  Full 
dress  with  trousers."  Emphatically  "  with  trousers." 


["  The  Master  of  Aston  Workhouse  ascertained  that  some  of  the  Paupers  were  artistically  inclined,  and  set  them  the  task  of  decorating 

the  board-room." — Daily  Mail.~\ 

WHY  NOT  ESTABLISH   ART  SCHOOLS   IN   ALL  THE   WORKHOUSES?      SUGGESTION   GRATIS   TO   THE   LOCAL  GOVERNMEMT   BOARD. 


>e  paid.    Mr.  VIVIAN  found  MENELIK  at  home  when  he  called. 
The  conversation  long  flagged.    When  it  came  to  a  dead  stop, 
he  morning  caller  remarked   "  People   in  England    take   an 
xtreme   interest   in    Ethiopia."     Encouraged   by   the   King's 
reception  of  this  pleasing  remark,  Mr.  VIVIAN  asked  that  he 
might  be  graciously  favoured  by  being  made  transmitter  of  a 
nessage  to  the  English  people.     The  King  consented,  and  my 
Jaronite  remembers  reading  the  message  in  the  columns  of  the 
)ai/i/  Express,    It  struck  him  at  the  time  as  resembling  rather 
he  literary  style  of  Tudor  Street  than  of  Addis  Ababa.     How- 
ever, it  was  very  interesting  ;  and  so  is  the  book,  its  value 
argely    increased  by  eighty    illustrations    from  photographs 
taken  on  the  spot. 

On  the  belongings  of  the  late  Mr.  STEEVENS  reaching  this 
country,  his  widow  found  among  them  six  letters'  he  had  failed 
:o  get  through  for  newspaper  publication.  They  are  included 
n  an  enlarged  edition  of  his  book  From  Capetown  to  Ladysmith, 
mblished  by  BL.VCKWOOD.  The  volume,  fourth  of  the  Memorial 
Edition,  includes  his  equally  well-known  Egypt  in  1898. 


|  Supposing  it  was  "Full  dress  with  hats."  This  would  be  in 
centra-distinction  to  "  Full  dress  without  hats."  But  what  is 

i  included  in  "  Full  dress  "  ?  Well,  at  first  sight  the  uninitiated 
would  say  "  everything."  That  is,  shoes  and  buckles,  silk 
stockings,  knee-breeches,  vest,  coat,  tie,  gloves,  &c.,  &c.  Very 

!good:    then    any    courtier    in    "full   dress"    must,    it'  "with 

:  trousers  "  be  added,  wear  these  as  "overalls."  He  cannot 
come  to  Court  in  "full  dress"  carrying  his  trousers  over  his 
arm.  At  least,  it  doesn't  at  first  sight  seem  quite  the  correct 
thing.  Will  you,  Sir,  enlighten 

"ONE  WHO  DOESN'T  KNOW"? 


NURSERY  RHYME. 
PUSSY  cat,  pussy  cat,  what  news  d'  you  bring  ? 

"  I  've  been  to  London  to  see  the  King." 
Pussy  cat,  pussy  cat,  what  heard  you  there  ? 

"  King,  Lords  and  Commons  indulge  in  a  '  swear.'  " 


FBBRUARY  27,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


153 


ESSENCE    OF    PARLIAMENT. 

EXTRACTED  FROM  THE  DIARY  OF  TOBY,  M.P. 

House  of  Commons,  Monday,  February  18. 
— The  MARKISS,  hampered  by  insistence 
of  HARRY  CHAPLIN  upon  resolve  to  with- 
draw upon  a  position  of  fuller  personal 
freedom  in  politics,  paralysed  by  deter- 
mination of  GRAND  CROSS  to  rest  on  his 
laurels  and  his  pension,  bethought  him 
how  he  might  strengthen  his  Ministry. 
In  the  dilemma,(like  GOLDSMITH'S  Traveller, 
"  his  heart  untravelled  fondly  turned  to 
home. ' '  HATFIELD,  the  hub  of  the  Universe, 
the  De  Beers  of  intellectual  and  adminis- 
trative diamond  digging.  As  the  LORD 
CHANCELLOR  says,  "  Worldly  advance- 
ment, like  charity,  should  begin  at  home." 
Unfortunately  for  the  State,  home  circle 
limited.  Successive  drafts  already  nar- 
rowed it.  There  remained  the  Son  and 
Heir. 

"Come,"  said  the  MARKISS,  "let  us 
make  him  Under-Secretary  of  State  for 
Foreign  Affairs." 

Of  all  subaltern  posts  in  the  Administra- 
tion, this  far  away  the  most  difficult  and 
delicate.  "With  chief  in  House  of  Lords, 
Under-Secretary  is  medium  of  communi- 
cation between  the  Department  and  the 
public.  As  compared  with  his  position 
in  Commons,  Secretary  for  State  in  the 
Lords  has  easy  berth.  Under-Secretary 
alwayte  in  evidence,  assailed  night  after 
night  by  searching  questions. 

Difficulty  of  position  illustrated  by 
PRINCE  ARTHUR  when,  ST.  JOHN  BRODRICK 
succeeding  GEORGE  CURZON  at  the  critical 
outpost,  he  wrapped  him  round  with 
peremptory  injunction  not  to  be  inveigled 
into  attempt  to  swim  without  bladders. 
To  meet  Questions  appearing  on  paper, 
Under  -  Secretary  was  provided  with 
carefully  considered  reply  written  in  se- 
clusion of  Foreign  Office.  Mustn't,  in 
any  circumstances,  be  led  into  supple- 
menting its  absence  of  information. 

House  always  resented  this  innovation  ; 
put  up  with  it  perforce ;  no  use  arguing 
against  majority  of  six  score  and  ten. 
By  dint  of  carefully  eschewing  reference 
to  specially  obnoxious  circumstance 
establishing  rule,  soreness  somewhat 
healed.  Many  Members  forgotten  PRINCE 
ARTHUR'S  autocratic  agency;  had  come 
to  regard  the  matter  as  arising  upon 
initiative  of  Under  -  Secretary  himself, 
possibly  justified  by  exigencies  known  at 
the  Foreign  Office. 

To-night,  the  familiar  episode  recurred. 
Question  on  paper  with  relation  to  Minis- 
ters of  Allied  Powers  in  Pekin.  SON  AND 
HEIR  read  off  answer  from  manuscript ; 
pressed  for  further  information  after 
manner  of  twentieth  Century,  was  stricken 
with  diplomatic  dumbness. 

"Will  not  the  Noble  Lord  answer?" 
JOHN  DILLON  insisted. 

Up    gat  the  latest  tower  of  strength 


to  the  Ministry,  and  ingenuously  replied, 
"The  Leader  of  the  House  has  stated 
that  it  is  an  understanding  the  Under- 
secretary shall  not  answer  Supplementary 
Questions." 

Something  Bismarckian  in  the  crude 
simplicity  of  this  confession,  the  apparent 
gratuitous  giving  aAvay  a  position.  Only, 
when  BISMARCK  played  the  game  he 
always  won.  Now  House  flashed  forth  in 
blaze  of  righteous  wrath.  Was  its  pri- 
vilege of  full  inquiry  to  be  limited  at 


BANNERMAN.  Strong  suspicion  of  hypno- 
tism at  work  as,  when  ASQUITH  declared 
himself  a  convert  to  annexation  ;  when  he 
insisted  war  must  be  carried  out  to  the 
end ;  when  he  agreed  forthwith  to  at- 
tempt at  planting  in  conquered  States  fully 
equipped  machinery  of  constitutional 
Government,  he  always  turned  round  to 
C.-B.,  and  waving  his  hand  in  peculiar 
manner  said,  "  And  that 's  what  my  right 
hon.  friend  thinks." 
C.-B.'s  body  moved  ;  half  opened  his 


ASQ-TH    HYPXOTISES 


caprice  of  a  Minister  ?  For  two  hours 
and  a-half  debate  foamed ;  on  division  in 
crowded  House  Ministerial  majority  re- 
duced to  45. 

Business  done. — Quite  a  lively  night. 
The  Unexpected  happened  through  its 
long  length.  No  opportunity  for  prepar- 
ing long  speeches  ;  consequently,  House 
seen  at  its  best  in  the  give-and-take  of 
unpremeditated  debate. 

Tuesday. — Irish  Members  had  little  sur- 
prise in  store  to-night.  Still  harping 
on  Address.  ASQUITH  made  speech  on 
position  of  affairs  in  South  "Africa  that 
might  have  been  delivered  from  Treasury 
Bench.  Special  charm  was  it  purported 
to  express  views  and  opinions  of  CAWMELL- 


mouth  as  if  about  to  speak.  ASQUITH 
made  another  rapid  movement  with  out- 
stretched hand ;  C.-B.  fell  back  in  his 
seat,  what  time  the  Ministerialists  cheered, 
BOB  REID  glared,  Irish  Members  howled. 

After  this  surprised  at  nothing,  not 
even  when,  from  Irish  camp,  upiose  a 
rustic  figure  remarking  : 

"A  naehdaran,  mar  Eirearmaeh  6  ait  go  lab- 
harthar,  gaediliu  blath,  fear  o  nasum  go  bfuil 
teanga  aici,  agus  ata  fos  ag  bruin  saofrse  d-fagail 
caitfidn  me  labairt  ins  an  feis  sasauach  so  in  mo 
thanga  fein." 

This  may  have  been  to  the  point ;  ob- 
vious difficulty  in  assuming  certainty. 
SPEAKER,  stretching  hands  forth  on  elbow 
of  chair,  looked  aghast ;  quickly  seized 


VOL.   CXX. 


160 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI.  [FEBRUARY  27.  1901. 


situation  ;  the  exile  from  Erin,  forlorn  by 
the  banks  of  Thames,  had  dropped  into 
his  native  tongue. 

~  Mr.  MURPHY,  rising  later — "clothed 
just  as  I  am,"  he  said,  proudly  draw- 
ing attention  to  his  new  knock-me-down 
suit  of  light  tweed — explained,  that  the 
gentleman  from  East  Kerry  was  moved 
by  conviction  that  "  the  Irish  tongue  is 
the  best  thing  in  which  Irish  Members 
can  make  an  English  government  know 
what  they  want.  Pleeztr  eddn  theta  i 
16fm  y  k6te." 

"  Order  !  order  !  "  the  SPEAKER  sternly 
cried,  fearful  of  fresh  incursion  of  the  Irish. 

SPEAKER  inexorable,  and  like  the  harp 
that  once  through  Tara's  Halls  the  soul 
of  music  shed,  Mr.  O'DONNELL  sat  as  mute 
in  St.  STEPHEN'S  Halls  as  if  that  soul  were 
fled. 

Business  done.  —  Debate  on  Address. 
JOHN  AIRD,  just  back  from  damming  the 
Nile,  took  the  Oath  with  a  grace  and 
ease  that  charmed  the  onlooker.  "It's 
practice,  you  know,"  said  JOHN,  with  his 
usual  modesty. 

Thursday.  —  "When  PRINCE  ARTHUR  un- 
expectedly rose  to  follow  T.  W.  RUS- 
SELL in  his  tirade  on  Irish  Land  Question 
there  was  general  impression  that  T.  W. 
was  about  to  catch  it.  Members  recalled 
occasion  when  the  PRINCE  turned  and  rent 
HENRY  HOWQRTH,  who  had  not  made  him- 
self anything  like  so  offensive  as  T.  "W., 
fresh  from  Ulster,  succeeded  in  doing. 
Last  time  T.  W.  spoke  it  was  from 
Treasury  Bench,  where  he  sat  a  subaltern 
in  a  Government  in  which  landlords  pre- 
dominated. To-night,  he  rose  up  from 
below  gangway  and,  amid  rapturous 
cheers  from  Land  Leaguers  opposite, 
called  the  landlord  accursed. 

An  odd,  sharply-contrasted  change ;  but 
T.  W.  had  explanation  ready.  "I  have 
changed,"  he  said,  "  I  admit.  But  Ire- 
land also  has  changed." 

Concatenation  of  circumstance,  coin- 
cidence of  date,  happy  since  they  syn- 
chronised with  the  MARKISS'S  intimation 
that  there  was  no  place  for  T.  W.  in  the 
reconstructed  Ministry. 

PRINCE  ARTHUR,  tossing  about  on 
Treasury  Bench  whilst  T.  "W.  fulminated 
from  below  gangway,  was  a  changed  man 
when  he  stood  on  his  feet.  Almost  dove-like 
in  his  attitude  towards  ' '  my  hon.  friend ' ' ; 
would  not  question  his  motives ;  would 
not  quote  old  speeches  delivered  b^  him  ; 
only  regretted  that  he  should  adopt  a 
style  of  oratory  which,  harmless  in  the 
House,  might  prove  disastrous  in  the  in- 
flammable fields  of  Ulster. 

Members  felt  it  wasn't  for  this  PRINCE 
ARTHUR  had  at  the  particular  moment 
interposed.  Soon  the  secret  was  out. 
There  were  threats  of  revolt  in  Ulster 
Camp ;  PRINCE  ARTHUR'S  business  was  to 
nip  this  in  bud  by  declaring  pending  vote 
one  of  confidence  in  best  of  all  Govern- 


ments. That  made  clear,  Debate  might 
safely  be  left  to  shape  itself. 

Business  done.  —  REDMOND  atne  moved 
amendment  to  Address,  demanding  estab- 
lishment of  system  compulsory  land  pur- 
thase  in  Ireland.  Negatived  by  235  votes 
against  140. 

Friday.  —  Still  talk  of  WINSTON 
CHURCHILL'S  speech.  Much  interest  per- 
tained to  occasion;  high  expectation; 
both  justified.  Fortunate  in  circumstances 
attending  his  debut.  LLOYD  GEORGE 
obligingly  bridged  latter  portion  of 
dinner  hour  with  blatant  denunciation  of 
all  things  British,  exaltation  of  all  things 
Boer.  Frantic  cheers  of  Irish  sympathisers 
with  England's  enemies  drew  in  loungers 
from  the  lobby,  students  from  the  library, 
philosophers  from  the  smoking-room. 
Constant  stream  of  diners-out  flOAved  in. 


Reviving1  "  a  certain  splendid  memory." 
When  young  CHURCHILL  rose  from  corner 
seat  of  bench  behind  Ministers,  obligingly 
lent  by  CAP'EN  TOMMY  BOWLES,  he  faced, 
and  was  surrounded  by,  an  audience 
that  filled  the  Chamber.  No  friendly 
cheer  greeted  his  rising.  To  three- 
quarters  of  the  audience  he  was  personally 
unknown.  Before  he  concluded  his  third 
sentencehe  fixed  attention,  growingkeener 
and  kinder  when,  in  reply  to  whispered 
question,  answer  went  round  that  this  was 
RANDOLPH  CHURCHILL'S  son. 

Nothing  either  in  voice  or  manner 
recalls  what  WINSTON  in  delicate  touch 
alluded  to  as  "  a  certain  splendid  memory. ' 
He  has,  however,  the  same  command  o 
pointed  phrase  ;  the  same  self-possession 
verging,  perhaps,  on  self-assurance;  the 
same  gift  of  viewing  familiar  objects  from 
a  new  standpoint ;  the  same  shrewd,  con- 
fident judgment.  Instantly  commanding 
attention  of  the  House,  he  maintained  ii 
to  the  end  of  a  discourse  wisely  brief 
Pretty  to  see  SQUIRE  OF  MALWOOD  watching 
him  with  pleased,  fatherly  smile  ;  PRINCE 


A.RTHUR,  with  glowing  countenance, 
ieenly  listening  from  the  opposite  bench, 
doubtless  thinking  of  days  that  are  no 
more,  feeling  again  the  touch  of  a 
vanished  hand,  faintly  hearing  the  sound 
of  a  voice  that  is  still. 

The  Member  for  SARK  remembers  over 
;he  waste  of  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  cen- 
ury  GRANDOLPH'S  maiden  speech.  He 
rose  from  the  bench  behind  that  from 
which  WINSTON  spoke.  In  those  days  he 
did  not  assume  the  prominence  of  a  corner 
seat,  content  to  find  a  place  somewhere 
about  the  middle  of  the  Bench.  He  had 
plenty  of  room  to  choose,  for  the  House 
was  not  half  full.  The  occasion  was  one  of 
HARLES  DILKE'S  crusades  against  small 
boroughs.  In  course  of  his  speech  he  had 
alluded  disrespectfully  to  Woodstock,  the 
family  borough  for  which  GRANDOLPH,  not 
then  scorning  the  ways  of  ducal  cadets, 
was  content  to  sit.  The  speech  created 
little  attention,  save  among  two  or  three 
lose  observers  who  recognised  the  flash 
of  genius  in  the  unconventional  utterance. 
Not  the  most  friendly  and  sanguine 
listener  dreamt  of  the  future  career  of 
the  young  man  who,  having  made  an  end 
of  speaking  abruptly  left  the  House  and 
was  not  heard  again  till  after  long 
interval. 

Very  different  fortune  attends  his  son 
when,  twenty-six  years  later,  he  makes 
his  maiden  speech.  WINSTON  must, see  to 
it  that  the  reversion  of  circumstance  is 
not  followed  all  along  the  line.  The 
father  began  on  a  low  level,  and  stormed 
the  topmost  towers  of  Ilium.  The  son 
springs  into  notice  from  a  lofty  plane,  and 
will  be  expected  to  preserve  his  attitude. 

To  which  end  SARK,  nothing  if  not 
practical,  warns  him  to  be  chary  of  con- 
tribution to  debate,  at  least,  through  his 
first  session.  Better  to  have  the  House 
of  Commons  wondering  'why  you  don't 
speak,  than  marvelling  why  you  do. 

Business  done.  —  Still  talking  round 
Address.  Accent  chiefly  Irish. 


HERALDIC  TALK. 

Three  Lions  (first  quarter).  Can't  see 
what  the  dragon  wants.  But  perhaps 
has  as  much  right  to  be  over  yonder  in 
the  fourth  corner  as,  say,  the  Irish  harp. 

Irish  Harp  (third  quarter).  Ah,  be  aisy 
now  !  And  is  it  the  Welsh  dragon  that 's 
to  come  anent  me!  And  green,  too! 
Staling  the  green,  me  national  colour ! 
Another  injustice  to  pore  ould  Oireland  ! 

Large  Lion  (second  quarter).  Hoot  awa', 
lassie  !  Na  doot  your  national  colour  is 
jest  blue  !  But  we  dinna  want  a  bit  of  a 
green  dragon. 

Three  Lions  (fourth  quarter).  It  strikes 
us  that,  if  we  cannot  have  Wales  in  our 
quartering,  we  can  visit  our  absent 
colleague  in  a  neighbourly  fashion. 
[Exeunt  to  the  sign  of  the  "  Green  Dragon" 
for  refreshment. 


FEBRUARY  27,  1S01.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


161 


Swell.  "HERE,  BOY!    JCST  NIP  OFF,  AND  PULL  THE  GATE  OFF  THE  HIXGHS, 

WILL    YOU  ?  " 


TEMPERANCE  RESOLUTIONS. 

(Framed  with  the   best  intentions   by  cm 
experienced   toper.) 

NEVER  again  to  attempt  to  open  a  house 
door  with  a  corkscrew  instead  of  a  latch- 
key. 

To  give  up  assaulting  a  lamp-post  acci- 
dentally. 

To  draw  the  line  strictly  in  advance  of 
the  oblivion-creating  last  glass. 

To  remember  that  soda  -  and  -  brandy 
should  never  be  the  necessary  substitute 
for  a  cup  of  tea  at  breakfast  time. 

To  secure  accurate  pronunciation  of  the 
test  words  ' '  British  constitution  ' '  at  all 
times. 

To  maintain  a  mastery  of  my  perambu- 
lations and  to  refrain  from  assaulting  the 
pavement  with  the  back  of  my  head. 

And,  last  of  all,  to  determine  with  all  the 
strength  of  my  will  to  resist  the  attractive 
habit  of  going  to  bed  in  my  boots. 


LATEST  FROM  MARS. 
(A  flimsy  picked  up  in  Fleet  Street.) 
WE  can  see  all  that  is   happening  on 
earth  below  and  in  the  dearth  of  news 
are  delighted  to  be  able  to  give  a  little 
exclusive  information. 

Theatres  up  hero  doing  fairly  good 
business.  Pantomime  on  the  wane.  Under- 
studies taking  the  places  of  principals, 


and  general  reduction  in  extra 
ladies.  Dresses  a  little  off 
colour,  and  shortly  will  be  sold 
at  a  reduction  for  the  Provinces. 

No  alteration  in  the  Bank  r-ate. 
Few  new  companies  announced. 
But  several  good  issues  (taking 
back  pages)  expected  after 
Easter. 

"War  Office  up  here  in  an  awful 
state    of    confusion.      Accounts 
branch    requires  immediate  re- 
organisation.   A  few  young  business  men 
urgently  needed  to  replace  fossil  officials. 

No  steamboat  service  on  principal 
metropolitan  river  in  spite  of  the  efforts 
of  the  Local  County  Council. 

All  the  above — although  not  unlike  the 
actual  position  of  affairs  on  'earth — is 
absolutely  authentic.  This  information 
is  the  exclusive  property  of  Mr.  PENNYER 
LINER,  Butterfly  Gardens,  late  Grub  Street. 


Boy 
•  soy,' 


(on  jumping  pony).  "Nor  so  MUCH  OF  YOUR 

'   IF  YOU   PLEASE  !  '' 


AD  MISERICORDIAM. 

[It  was  a  common  practice  among  Athenian 
citizens,  in  answering  a  charge,  to  bring  into  Court 
their  wives  and  families  with  the  object  of  exciting 
the  judicial  compassion.  An  interesting  parallel 
comes  from  Northampton,  where  it  was  stated  in 
mitigation  of  a  charge  of  assult  that  accused  was 
the  father  of  thirty-two  children.] 

SEE  where  the  weeping  mother  stands ! 
My  two-and-thirty  kneel  to  you, 

And  twice  as  many  tiny  hands 
Make  passionate  appeal  to  you. 


Behold  their  four-and-sixty  eyes 
Suffused  with  tender  dew,  my  Lord, 

And  oh,  be  softened  by  the  sighs 
Of  these  my  thirty-two,  my  Lord  ! 

My  case  is  an  exception — No, 

The  very  oldest  residents 
Can  quote  no  parallel,  although 

The  Scriptures  give  some  precedents. 
And  if  I  sometimes  take  a  dram 

Like  other  fathers,  who,  my  Lord, 
Can  fairly  judge  my  case  who  am 

The  Sire  of  thirty-two,  my  Lord  ? 


LATEST  FROM  THE  CLERK  OF  THE 
WEATHER.  —  Snow,  thunder,  rain,  with 
intervals  of  sunshine,  moonlight  and  fog. 
Passages  between  Dover  and  Calais,  as 
well  as  can  be  expected.  Cones,  um- 
brellas, and  parasols  hoisted.  Furs, 
muslins,  and  waterproofs  worn  till  sudden 
change.  Then  severe  colds,  bronchitis, 
etc.,  etc. 


162 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[FEBRUARY  27,  1901. 


DRAMATIC  SEQUELS. 
VIII. — THE  VENGEANCE  OF  CASTE. 

MOST  people,  in  their  day,  have  wept 
tears  of  relief  at  the  ending  of  T.  W. 
ROBERTSON'S  comedy  Caste,  when  the  Hon. 
George  D'Alroy — not  dead,  poor  chap  ! — 
falls  into  the  arms  of  his  wife,  Esther, 
while  his  father-in-law,  Eccles,  bestows  a 
drunken  benediction  upon  him  before 
starting  for  Jersey,  and  his  sister-in-law, 
Polly,  and  her  adored  plumber,  Gerridge, 
embrace  sympathetically  in  the  back- 
ground. In  these  circumstances  it  seems 
hardly  kind  to  add  a  further  act  to  this 
harrowing  drama.  But  the  writer  of 
Sequels,  like  Nemesis,  is  inexorable.  If 
the  perusal  of  the  following  scene  prevents 
any  young  subaltern  from  emulating 
D'Alroy  and  marrying  a  ballet-dancer  with 
a  drunken  father,  it  will  not  have  been 
written  in  vain. 

SCENE — The  dining-room  of  the  D'ALROYS' 
house  in  the  suburbs.  Dinner  is  just 
over,  and  GEORGE  D'ALROY,  in  a  seedy 
coat  and  carpet  slippers,  is  sitting  by 
the  fire  smoking  a  pipe.  On  the  other 
side  of  the  fire  sits  ESTHER,  his  ivife; 
darning  a  sock. 

Esther.  Tired ,  GEORGE  ? 

George.  Yes. 

Esther.  Had  a  bad  day  in  the  City  ? 

George.  Beastly  !  I  believe  I  'm  the  un- 
luckiest  beggar  in  the  world.  Every  stock 
I  touch  goes  down. 

Esther.  Why  don't  you  give  up  specu- 
lating if  you  're  so  unlucky  ? 

George  (hurt).  I  don't  speculate,  dear.  1 
invest. 

Esther.  "Why  don't  you  give  up  invest- 
ing, then  ?  It  makes  a  dreadful  hole  in  our 
income. 

George.  One  must  db  something  for  one's 
living. 

Esther  (sighing).  "What  a  pity  it  is  you 
left  the  Army. 

George.  1  had  to.  The  regiment  wouldn't 
stand  your  father.  He  was  always  coming 
to  the  mess-room  when  he  was  drunk,  and 
asking  for  me.  So  the  Colonel  said  I'd 
better  send  in  my  papers. 

Esther  (gently).  Not  drunk,  GEORGE. 

George.  The  Colonel  said  so.  And  he 
was  rather  a  judge. 

Estlier  (unable  to  improve  upon  the 
phrase  in  which,  it  will  be  remembered,  she 
was  accustomed  to  excuse  her  father). 
Father  is  a  very  eccentric  man.  But  a 
very  good  man,  when  you  know  him. 

George  (grimly).  If  you  mean  by  "ec- 
centric ' '  a  man  who  is  always  drunk  and 
won't  die,  he  is.  Most  eccentric  ! 

Esther.  Hush,  dear.  After  all,  he  's  my 
father. 

George.  That 's  my  objection  to  him. 

Estlier.  1  'm  afraid  you  must  have  lost  a 
great  deal  of  money  to-day  ! 

George.  Pretty  well.    But  I  've  noticed 


that  retired  military  men  who  go  into  the 
City  invariably  do  lose  money. 

Esther.  "Why  do  they  go  into  the  City, 
then? 

George  (gloomily).  "Why,  indeed? 

[There    is    a    short    pause.      GEORGE 
stores  moodily  at  the  fire. 

Esther.  I  had  a  visit  from  your  mother 
to-day. 

George.  How  was  she  ? 

Esther.  Not  very  well.  She  has  aged 
sadly  in  the  last  few  years.  Her  hair  is 
quite  white  now. 

George  (half  to  himself).  Poor  mother, 
poor  mother ! 

Esther.  She  was  very  kind.  She  asked 
particularly  after  you,  and  she  saw  little 
GEORGE.  (Gently)  I  think  she  is  getting 
more  reconciled  to  our  marriage. 

George.  Do  you  really,  dear  ?  (Looks  at 
her  curiously). 

Esther.  Yes  ;  and  I  think  it 's  such  a 
good  thing.  How  strange  it  is  that  people 
should  attach  such  importance  to  class 
distinctions  ! 

George.  Forgive  me,  dear,  but  if  you 
think  it  strange  that  the  Marquise  de  j3t. 
MAUR  does  not  consider  Mr.  ECCLES  and 
the  GERRIDGES  wholly  desirable  connec- 
tions I  am  afraid  I  cannot  agree  with  you. 

Esther.  Of  course,  Papa  is  a  very  ec- 
centric man 

George.  My  dear  ESTHER,  Mr.  ECCLES 
made  his  hundred  and  fifty-sixth  appear- 
ance in  the  police-court  last  week.  The 
fact  was  made  the  subject  of  jocular  com- 
ment in  the  cheaper  evening  papers.  The 
sentence  was  five  shillings  or  seven  days. 

Esther.  Poor  Papa  felt  his  position 
acutely. 

George.  Not  half  so  acutely  as  I  did.  I 
paid  the  five  shillings.  If  only  he  had 
consented  to  remain  in  Jersey  ! 

Esther.  But  you  know  Jersey  didn't  suit 
him.  He  was  never  well  there. 

George.  He  was  never  sober  there.  That 
was  the  only  thing  that  was  the  matter 
with  him.  No,  my  love,  let  us  look  facts 
in  the  face.  You  are  a  dear  little  woman, 
but  your  father  is  detestable,  and  there  is 
not  the  smallest  ground  for  hope  that  my 
mother  will  ever  bo  "reconciled  "  to  our 
marriage  as  long  as  she  retains  her  reason. 

Esther.-  1  suppose  father  is  rather  a 
difficulty. 

George.  Yes.  He  and  the  GERRIDGES, 
Detween  them,  have  made  us  impossible 
socially. 

Esther.  What 's  the  matter  with  the 
GERRIDGES  ? 

George.  Nothing,  except  that  you  always 
ask  them  to  all  our  dinner  parties.  And 
as\gentlepeople  have  a  curious  prejudice 
against  sitting  down  to  dinner  with  a 
phimber  and  glazier,  it  somewhat  narrows 
our  circle  of  acquaintance. 

Esther.  But  SAM  isn't  a  working  plumber 
now.  He  has  a  shop  of  his  own.  Quite  a 
arge  shop.  And  their  house  is  just  as  good 
as  ours.  The  furniture  is  better.  SAM 


bought  POLLY  a  new  carpet  for  the 
drawing-room  only  last  week.  It  cost 
fourteen  pounds.  And  our  drawing-room 
carpet  is  dreadfully  shabby. 

George.  I  'm  glad  they  're  getting  on  so 
well.  (With  a  flicker  of  hope)  Do  you 
think  there 's  any  chance,  as  they  grow 
more  prosperous,  of  their  "dropping" 
us? 

Esther  (indignantly).  How  can  you  think 
of  such  a  thing  ! 

George  (sighing).  I  was  afraid  not. 

Esther  (enthusiastically).  Why,  SAM  is 
as  kind  as  can  be  and  so  is  POLLY.  And 
you  know  how  fond  they  are  of  little 
GEORGE. 

George.  Poor  child,  yes.  He  has  played 
with  their  children  ever  since  he  could 
toddle.  And  what  is  the  result?  A 
Cockne^  accent  that  is  indescribable. 

Esther.  What  does  it  matter  about  his 
accent  so  long  as  he  is  a  good  boy,  and 
grows  up  to  be  a  good  man  ? 

George.  Ethically,  my  dear,  not  at  all. 
But  practically,  it  matters  a  great  deal. 
It  causes  me  intense  physical  discomfort. 
And  I  think  it  is  killing  my  mother. 

Esther.  George ! 

George.  Moreover,  when  the  time  comes 
for  him  to  go  to  a  Public  school  he  will 
probably  be  very  unhappy  in  conse- 
quence. 

Esther.  Why  ? 

George.  Merely  irrational  prejudice. 
Public  school  boys  dislike  all  deviations 
from  the  normal.  And  to  them — happily 
— a  pronounced  Cockney  accent  repre- 
sents the  height  of  abnormality. 

Esther  (sadly).  In  spite  of  bur  marriage, 
I  'm  afraid  you  're  still  a  worshipper  of 
caste.  I  thought  you  turned  your  back 
on  all  that  when  you  married  me. 

George.  So  I  did,  dear,  so  I  did.  But 
I  don't  want  to  commit  my  son  to  the 
same  hazardous  experiment. 

Esther.  Ah,  GEORGE,  you  don't  really 
love  me,  or  you  wouldn't  talk  like  that. 

George.  My  dear,  I  love  you  to  distrac- 
tion. That 's  exactly  the  difficulty.  I  am 
torn  between  my  devotion  to  you  and  my 
abhorrence  of  your  relations.  When  your 
father  returned  from  Jersey,  and  took  a 
lodging  close  by  us,  nothing  but  the 
warmth  of  my  affection  prevented  me 
from  leaving  you  for  ever.  He  is  still 
here,  and  so  am  I.  What  greater  proof 
could  you  have  of  the  strength  of  my 
attachment  ? 

Esther.  Poor  father !  he  could  not  bear 
to  be  away  from  us.  And  he  has  grown 
so  fond  of  little  GEORGE  !  (GEORGE  shud- 
ders.) Father  has  a  good  heart. 

George.  I  wish  he  had  a  stronger  head. 
[This  remark  is  prompted  by  the  sound 
of  Mr.  ECCLES  entering  the  front 
door,  and  having  a  tipsy  alterca- 
tion with  the  maid. 

Maid  (announcing).  Mr.  ECCLES. 

Eccles  (joyously).  Evening  —  hie  —  me 
children.  Bless  you,  bless  you  1 


FEBRUARY  27,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  163 


"WHEN    DOCTORS    DISAGREE,"    &C. 

Expert.  "I'M  AFRAID  THERE'S  SOMETHING  VERY  WRONG  WITH  HIS  'TUBES.'" 
Second  Expert.  "  NOT  A  BIT  OF  IT  I    HE  's  AS  SOUND  AS  A  BELL  !  " 


164 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVAEI. 


[FEBRUARY  27,  1901. 


Estlier.  Good  evening,  father. 

Eccles.  'Won't  you — hie — speak  to  yer 
old  father-in-law,  GEORGIE?  (GEORGE 
says  nothing.)  Ah,  pride,  pride,  cruel 
pride !  You  come  before  a  fall,  you 
do  !  (Lurches  heavily  against  the  table, 
and  subsides  into  a  chair.)  Funny  that ! 
Almost — hie — seemed  as  if  the  proverb 
was  a-coming  true  that  time  ! 

George  (sternly).  How  often  have  I  told 
you,  Mr.  ECCLES,  not  to  come  to  this 
house  except  when  you  're  sober. 

Eccles  (raising  his  voice  in  indignant  pro- 
test). Shober  —  hie  —  perfectly  shober  ! 
shober  as  a — hie — judge  ! 

George.  I  'in  afraid  I  can't  argue  with 
you  as  to  the  precise  stage  of  intoxication 
in  which  you  find  yourself.  You  had 
bettei-  go  home  at  once. 

Eccles.  Do  you  hear  that  ESH — TER  ? 
Do  you  hear  that — hie — me  child? 

Esther.  Yes,  father.  I  think  you  had 
better  go  home.  You  're  not  very  well 
to-night. 

Eccles  (rising  unsteadily  from  his  chair). 
Allri —  ESH — TER.  I  'm  goin'.  Good  ni — 
GEORGIE. 

George  (unth  the  greatest  politeness). 
Good  night,  Mr.  ECCLES.  If  you  could 
possibly  manage  to  fall  down  and  break 
your  neck  on  the  way  home,  I  should  be 
infinitely  obliged. 

Eccles  (beginning  to  weep).  There  Ts 
words  to  address  to  a  loving — hie — farrer- 
in-law.  There  's  words — (lurches  out). 

Estlier.  I  think,  GEORGE,  you  had  better 
see  him  home.  It 's  not  safe  for  him  to 
be  alone  in  that  state. 

George  (savagely).  Safe !  I  don't  want 
him  to  be  safe.  Nothing  would  give  me 
greater  satisfaction  than  to  hear  he  had 
broken  his  neck. 

Estlier  (gently).  But  he  might  meet  a 
policeman,  GEORGE. 

George.  Ah,  that  's  another  matter. 
Perhaps  I  'd  better  see  the  beast  into  a 
cab. 

Esther  (sighing).  Ah,  you  never  under- 
stood poor  father  ! 

[A  crash  is  heard  from  the  hall  as 
ECCLES  lurches  heavily  and  upsets 
the  liat-stand.  GEORGE  throws  up 
his  liands  in  despair  at  the  wreck 
of  the  liaU  furniture — or,  perliaps, 
at  the  obtuseness  of  his  unfe's  last 
remark — and  goes  out  to  call  a  cab. 
(Curtain.) 

ST.  J.  H. 


A  DIFFICULT  FEAT. 
MR.  CARNEGIE  does  not  like  football. 
He  says,  "  I  do  not  approve  of  any  game 
in  which  men  stamp  upon  each  other 
when  they  are  down."  Nor  do  we  approve 
of  such  practices,  nor  do  we  know  how  it 
is  done— even  at  football.  ' '  For  men  who 
are  down  to  stomp  upon  each  other"  is 
clearly  a  feat  which  Mr.  CARNEGIE  alone 
can  explain. 


THE  EMPEROR'S  QUANDARY. 

[The  Emperor  of  CHINA  realises  that  his  future 
is  a  diplomatic  toss-up.  He  must  pay  the  indemnity, 
and  have  the  ringleaders  executed.  In  point  of 
fact,  it  is — taels  he  loses,  heads  we  win.] 

THE  Chinese  Emperor  knit  his  brows 
As  his  ministers  came  around  him 
With  servile  nods  and  extravagant  bows, 
His  Li  HUNG  CHANGS  and  his  great  Pow- 

wows, 
In  a  terrible  stew  they  found  him. 

He  speaks ; 
"  The  Powers  are  gathered  about  the  Gate 

And  around  the  sacred  wall. 
Their  anger  I  cannot  one  jot  abate, 
And  I  do  not  like,  I  am  bound  to  state, 

The  look  of  affairs  at  all. 

"  We  moved  our  Court  to  a  quieter  spot, 

To  think  things  carefully  over. 
But  how  to  get  out  of  our  artful  plot, 
And  how  to  unravel  the  Boxer  knot, 
Is  a  thing  I  can  not  discover. 

lam  sure  you  will  hear  with  great  sur- 

i        prise 

That  we  're  stumped  for  fresh  excuses. 
We  have  come  to  the  end  of  our  list  of 

lies, 
And  the  Chinese  Puzzle  our  wit  defies. 

In  short,  it  the  very  deuce  is. 

For  the  Powers  request  an.  enormous  lot 

Of  cash,  as  indemnity, 
And  the  heads  of  the  leaders  of  the  plot. 
But  these   gentlemen   wire  they  would 
rather  not 

"With  our  modest  request  comply. 

Of  these  two-fold  evils    we    both    must 
choose, 

As  I  shall  exactly  prove. 
To  accept  their  terms  we  cannot  refuse, 
But  do  you  not  see  how  we  stand  to  lose 

Whichever  the  way  we  move  ? 

"We  pay  the  Indemnity :    Taels  they  win. 

It  is  heads  we  lose  if  we  slay 
The  great  ringleaders.    Do  you  begin 
To  see  what  a  terrible  plight  we  're  in  ? 

And  to  think,  it 's  the  only  way  ! 


A  PRACTICAL  SUGGESTION. 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCH, — If  DE  WET  be  ever 
caught  I  venture  to  suggest  that,  instead 
of  sending  him  to  St.  Helena  or  Ceylon, 
he  should  be  brought  to  England  and 
handed  over  to  the  Master  of  the  Buck- 
hounds,  to  be  used  as  a  deer  in  place  of 
the  present  quadrupeds.  What  rattling 
runs  he  could  give  over  the  country  round 
Windsor,  and  what  a  saving  it  would  be 
to  country  in  venison !  Even  Mr.  LABBY, 
M.P.,  the  deadly  opponent  of  the  Buck- 
hounds,  could  scarcely  object  to  the 
King's  Boer-hounds. 

Yours  obediently, 

PRACTICAL  PETER. 

The  Kennels,  near  Slough. 


SHOW-SEEING  MADE  EASY. 

Now  that  London  has  tasted  blood,  so 
to  speak,  and  expects  her  weekly  feast  of 
pageantry  and  procession,  it  may  not  be 
amiss  to  throw  out  a  few  hints  and  sug- 
gestions for  the  greatest  happiness  of  the 
greatest  number  of  sightseers  : — 

1.  That  the  pavements  shall  be  scienti- 
fically and  permanently  "raked,"   in  the 
theatrical  sense,  i.e.  given  a  slant  of  not 
less  than  twenty  degrees  down  to   the 
roadway. 

2.  That,  where  the  foregoing  is  imprac- 
ticable, the  roadway  be  raised  at  least 
three  feet,  or,  better  still,  be  turned  into 
an  American  elevated  track. 

3.  That  all  police,  soldiers  and  volun- 
teers   lining   the    route,    do    so    behind, 
instead  of  in  front  of  the  crowd. 

4.  That  the  crowd  arrange  itself  in  sizes, 
that  is,  all  the  short  persons  should  stand 
in  the  front  rows,  it  being  made  a  mis- 
demeanour for  a  tall  individual  to  block 
the  view  of  one  of  lower  stature. 

5.  That  matinee  hats  be  ranked   as    a 
felony,    breach    of   the    peace,    or    lese- 
majeste,  according  to  circumstances.    The 
wearers    to    be    instantly     removed     in 
custody  and  head-cuffed. 

6.  That  better  and  safer  accommodation 
be  provided  in  trees  commanding  the  line 
of   procession — at    present,   ladies    have 
some  difficulty  in  mounting  even  to  the 
lowest    branches.      Spiral   staircases 
round    the    trunk    should    therefore    be 
constructed,    with     proper     hen  -  roosts 
where  available. 

7.  That  the  tops  of  lamp-posts  be  made 
more  accessible.    Occupiers  of  such  an 
excellent    vantage    ground    should      no 
longer  be  discouraged  by  insecurity  of 
tenure  and  foothold  and  the  attentions 
of  the  police. 

8.  That  ladies  shall  not  be  hoisted  on 
gentlemen's  shoulders  under  any  pretext 
whatever.    Anybody  shall  be  entitled  to 
run  a  pin  into  the  offenders. 

9.  That  babies  be  left  at  home,  as  the 
supply  of  coroners  is  limited. 

10.  That  the  invention  of  the  lady  who 
used  a  looking-glass  on  the  occasion  of 
the  Opening  of  Parliament  on  February 
14  be  developed,  and  the    view  be  re- 
flected into  all  the  suburbs.    This  would 
enable  people  to  stay  at  home. 

11.  That  all  processions  pass  twice  over 
the  course,  on  the  principle  of  an  over- 
flow   meeting.      Those    who   have    seen 
the  first  time  to  go  home  at  once. 

12.  That    London    be   entirely    rebuilt 
and  fitted  with  decent  vistas,  a  la  HAUSS- 

MANN. 

13.  That   their  Gracious  Majesties  be 
entreated  to  open  something,  Parliament 
for  choice,  once  a  week.      The  Houses 
needn't  sit  during  the  interval,  as  they 
really  appear  to  have  outlived  their  use- 
fulness, except  for  spectacular  purposes. 

A.  A.  S. 


FEBRUARY  27,  1901. J 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


165 


'VAESITY  YEKSES. 

OXFORD  ODES. 
VII, 

WHEN  I  delight  to  fling  aside 
Republic,  Froys  and  Annals, 

And  swiftly  down  to  Iffley  glide 
In  short  and  simple  flannels  ; 

With  sported  oak'your  heart  still  broods 
Behind  its  safe  defences, 

Intent  on  ROBY  or  Tlie  Moods 
And  Tenses. 

Oars  and  the  oarsman's  lusty  art, 
You  keep  them  at  a  distance, 

Eights  are  for  you  a  thing  apart,  .  ~ 
Although  my  whole  existence. 

How  GYAS  made  his  bump  you  know 
(V.  Fifth  Aeneid) ;  but,  Sir, 

Who  caught  us  yesterday  below 
The  Gut,*  Sir  ? 

No  boats  for  you  a  charm  possess 
Save  that  which  bore  ULYSSES, 

To  more  legitimate,  if  less 
Intoxicating  kisses — 

That  famous  ship  the  wily  one 
Contrived  with  axe  and  adze  too, 

To  plough  the  grey  sea  waves — and  un- 
dergrads  too. 

Who  cares  a  hang  for  firsts  in  Greats 

And  academic  glory  ? 
Dull  bookworm,  come  and  see  the  eights 

And  shut  de  Oratore. 
Learn  what  a  thing  a  man  may  be, 

And  think  to  win  a  pewter 
More  splendid  than  a  first,  like  me, 

Your  tutor. 

*  A  narrow  winding  channel  of  the  Isis  below 
the  Barges. 


REDLNTEGRATIO  AMORIS. 

["At  present  the  Tube  railway  was  like  a  new 
toy,  but  a  time  would  come  when  a  large  proportion 
of  the  former  omnibus  riders  would  renew  their  old 
habit  of  riding  along  the  streets  in  the  open  air  in 
vehicles  drawn  by  a  pair  of  the  noble  animals  pro- 
vided by  Providence  for  the  service  of  man,  rather 
than  in  an  earthy-smelling  tube  100  ft.  below  the 
surface  of  the  earth." — Chairman  of  the  London 
Road  Car  Company.] 

WHEN  other  trips  to  other  parts 

By  ways  new-fangled  fail, 
Whose  underground  nefarious  arts 

No  longer  shall  prevail ; 
And  when  that  route  to  Turnham  Green 

Shall  lose  its  novelty, 
And  you  on  Tubes  are  not  so  keen — 

Then  you  '11  remember  me. 

When  telephone,  electric  light, 

Gas  and  the  water  main, 
Break  roads  no  longer,  day  and  night, 

And  traffic  's  clear  again  ; 
If,  sick  of  subterranean  trains, 

You  'd  choose  your  way  to  be 
The  method  Providence  ordains — 

Then  you  '11  remember  me. 


AN  ADDRESS  TO  THE  BRITISH  HEN. 

[According  to  Mr.  MONTEFIOKE  BRICE  in  the 
Daily  Mail  of  Feb.  22,  2,025,820,500  foreign  eggs 
were  imported  last  year,  for  which  five  and  a  half 
millions  of  pounds  sterling  -were  paid.]  •  . 

Two  thousand  million  eggs  and  more 
In  1900  were  imported  ; 


On  British  chickendom  I  call, 
While     yet    -you     may    escape     such 

dangers! 

Why  should  all  Free-Trade  prizes  fall 
,     .  To  strangers? 

Be  Danes  and  Muscovites  declined 
And  such-like  gallinaceous  produce, 


Nervous  Visitor  (wlio  is  being  taken  out  for  a.  drive  by  his  host's  daughter).  "  ISN'T  IT  VERY 

UNSAFE  GOING   SO  FAST  DOWN-HILL,    MlSS   DAISY  ?      AND — AND — TO   HOLD  THE  REINS  SO— SO 
LOOSELY  ?  " 

Miss  Daisy  (light-heartedly  enjoying  herself).   "Is    IT?     1   DON'T    KNOW.     I'VE    NEVER 

DRIVEN  BEFORE.      PAPA    WON'T    LET    ME    WHEN    HS'3  AT    HOME.      SAYS    I 'it    SO    RECKLESS." 

(Flicks  whip.)  "COME  UP,  OLD  MAN!" 


They  range  from  "Fresh"   to   "New- 
laid,"  or 

"  Assorted." 

£5,000,000  of  English  gold 

Pays  for  this  alien-sent  albumen  ; 
JOHN  BULL  at  market's  lost  his  old 
Acumen. 

Wake  up,  ye  hens  of  England ;  wake, 

O  retrogressive  British  peasant ! 
A  suicidal  course  you  take 

At  present. 


Till  at  election-time  they  find 
An  odd  use ! 

Dorkings  and  Plymouths,  every  breed  ! 
Your    country's    wealth    is    going 

begging ; 

To  do  your  duty  now  you  need 
An  egging  I 

Back  to  the  land  let  HODGE  return, 
Each  to  his  own  depleted  county  ; 
Let  Britons,  not  invaders,  earn 
The  bounty  I 


166 


PUNCH,   OH  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI.  [FEBRUARY  27.  1901. 


A  BALLAD  OF  EDWABD  GEEY. 

(After  Tennyson's  pathetic  poem,  "  Edward  Gray"  ;  and  with 
acknmuledgmentsto  the  author  of  the  famous  proposition,  liere 
distorted  from  its  original  sense:—"  Let  us  bury  the  hatchet 
— in  the  bowels  of  our  enemy .'  ") 

[Hi8TOEic  NOTE.— On  February  20,  Sir  ROBERT  REID  (sympathising  with 
the  Boers)  presided  at  a  dinner  of  the  Eighty  Club  given  in  honour  of  Sir 
EDWABD  OBEY  (Imperialist).  Pending  the  time  -when  the  clouds  should 
roll  by,  the  Chairman  thought  it  would  help  to  clear  the  air  if  he  confessed  to 
a  marked  difference  of  opinion,  on  a  point  of  temporary  interest,  as  between 
himself  and  the  guest  of  the  evening.  Sir  EDTVAED  GEEY  heartily  endorsed 
this  sentiment.  He  further  admitted  that  he  had  modified  his  admiration  for 
Mr.  CHAMBEBLAIN'S  attitude.  He  deplored  that  gentleman's  tendency  to 
allude  to  a  section  of  the  Liberal  Party  as  Pro-Boers. '  The  Liberal  Party  was 
actually  a  very  fine  combination,  with  a  remarkable  future  before  it.] 
CAUTIOUS  HARRIET  CAMPBELL-B. 

Sat  on  the  fence  in  her  well-known  way  ; 
"  And  where  is  your  warrior's  axe,"  she  said, 
"  And  have  you  buried  it,  EDWARD  GREY  ?  " 

Cautious  HARRIET  spoke  like  that ; 

Slightly  blushing  I  looked  away  ; 
"  Cautious  HARRIET,  coals  of  fire 

Lie  on  the  scalp  of  EDWARD  GREY. 

"  BERTHA  REID  was  ray  own  true  love, 

Liberal  both  our  hearts  at  core, 
But  I  was  British  by  taste,  and  she  .  , 

Pro-(as  I  used  to  call  her)-Boer. 

"  Wrong  I  thought  her,  as  she  thought  me  ; 

Between  our  loves  was  a  deadly  breach ; 
We  moved  apart  in  neighbouring  plots, 

While  you  sat  tight  with  a  leg  in  each. 

"  Winged  and  khakied  words  I  spake, 

Once  I  suffered  myself  to  say — 
'  You  are  too  little  an  englander 

To  suit  the  habits  of  EDWARD  GREY  ! ' 

"Several  sporting  things  I  did 

Calculated  to  cause  her  pain  ; 
Even  toyed  with  the  lustrous  locks 

Of  gentle  JOSEPHINE  CHAMBERLAIN. 

"  But  Wednesday  last  the  Liberal  Bond 
Fed  in  my  honour,  and  hearts  were  freed  ; 

And  there  to  welcome  me,  in  the  chair, 
Looking  her  best  was  BERTHA  REID  ! 

"  '  EDWARD  GREY,  we  differ  !  '  said  she  ; 

'  So  it  would  seem,'  was  my  reply  ; 
'  Let  us  agree  to  differ,'  she  said, 

And  '  Certainly,  BERTHA  REID  !  '  said  I. 

"  Steadily  fell  the  coals  of  fire  ; 

The  course  of  EDWARD  GREY  was  plain  ; 
I  must  contrive  to  depreciate 

The  charms  of  JOSEPHINE  CHAMBERLAIN. 

"  '  I  thought  her  promising  once,'  I  said, 
'  But  that  is  my  view  no  more,  no  more  ; 

She  called  my  beautiful  BERTHA  REID 
A  rude  unmannerly  name — pro-Boer  ! ' 

"  Frank  was  our  laughter  over  the  wine, 
Frankly  we  spoke  in  generous  vein  ; 

That  night  we  buried  our  hatchets  in 
The  heart  of  JOSEPHINE  CHAMBERLAIN. 

"  Right  through  her  bosom  of  triple  bronze 
They  cleft  her  heart  like  a  thing  of  clay  ; 

There  lies  the  hatchet  of  BERTHA  REID, 

And  the  similar  weapon  of  EDWARD  GREY." 

O.  S. 


TAETABIN  A  BRIGHTON. 

LE  NAUFRAGE. 

LE  lendemain  la  brume  avait  disparu,  et  le  soleil,  toujours 
pale  en  Angleterre,  brillait  entre  les  nuages.  Le  vent 
soufflait  rudement. 

TARTARIN  s'habilla  vite,  chercha  ses  amis,  les  entraina  dehors. 
"Allons,"  dit-il,  "plus  de  brume,  une  bonne  brise,  tout  ce 
qu'il  nous  fant,  hein  ?  Vite,  au  port !  "  Alors  les  Tarasconnais 
cherchaient  a  s'orienter.  Us  voyaient  toujours  la  grande 
promenade  et  les  cailloux  de  la  plage. 

"Differemment,"  deraanda  TARTARIN,  "ou  est  done  le 
port?"  "  Probablement,"  dit  BRAVIDA,  "il  n'y  en  a  pas, 
comme  les  antiquite"s,  les  monuments,  les  ciiriosite"s  de  la 
ville."  "Eh  bien,  alors,"  repondit  TARTARIN,  "nous  allons 
nous  embarquer  dans  un  de  ces  petits  bateaux  sur  la  plage 
Ih-bas."  "Impossible,"  crierent  les  autres,  "par  ce  vent." 

"  Moi,  j'irai,"  dit  TARTARIN  simplement.  "  Vous  n'osez 
pas,"  fit  BOMPARD.  "  Le  President  du  Yackt  Club  de  Taras- 
con,"  re"pondit  1'autre  d'un  ton  severe,  "ne  craint  rien  en 
mer." 

Et  la-dessus  le  h£ros  descendit  lentement  de  la  digue, 
aborda  un  batelier,  et  lui  fit  signe  de  lancer  a  la  nier  une 
barque  a  voiles.  Cette  partie  de  la  plage  etait  abrite"e  par  un 
brise-lame. '  L'houime  obeit  sans  he"siter,  croyant  avoir  affaire 
a  un  marin  distingue.  Et  pendant  que  TARTARIN  attendait 
tranquillement,  PASCALON,  les  larmes  aux  yeux,  le  priait 
instamment  de  ne  pas  risquer  sa  vie.  Mais  TARTARIN  ne  flechit 
pas.  TARTARIN  seul,  debout  a  cote  du  mat,  la  tete  haute  et 
le  regard  fier,  gardait  toujours  son  calme  hero'ique.  De  temps 
en  temps  il  regardait  sa  boussole,  qu'il  tenait  a  la  main. 

Poussee  par  le  batelier,  la  barque  glissa  dans  1'eau,  et  un 
instant  apres  TARTARIN  se  cramponna  au  mat.  Les  Taras- 
connais, moins  inquiets,  regardaient  le  petit  bateau  traversant 
1'eau  calme  a  1'abri  du  brise-lame,  et  puis  ils  poussaient  des 
cris  d'effroi,  car,  k  quelques  metres  de  la  plage,  la  barque  coula, 
renversee  par  les  vagues. 

Quel  moment  terrible !  Leur  illustre  president  naufrage,  ce 
heros  du  Midi  noye  dans  la  mer  triste  et  grise  du  Nord  ! 

Heureusement  1'eau  n'e"tait  pas  profonde,  le  batelier  s'y 
precipita  et  tira  le  grand  homme  hors  des  vagues.  Ruisselant, 
grelottant,  le  heros  tomba  entre  les  bras  de  ses  camarades.  11s 
le  porterent  a  une  voiture.  Arrive  k  1 'hotel  il  se  coucha 
immediatement,  et  demanda,  toujours  grelottant,  des  yrogs 
chauds.  II  en  avala  plusieurs  et  s'endormit. 

Le  soir  il  s'e*veilla  et  se  leva  en  sursaut.  "  Allons,"  dit-il, 
"  nous  pouvons  partir,  je  n'ai  plus  froid,  cette  fois  je  ne  meurs 
pas.  Mais  tout  de  meme  je  vous  donne  ma  demission.  Je  ne 
serai  plus  President  du  Yackt  Club  de  Tarascon.  Je  ne  serai 
plus  yacktman.  J'en  ai  soupe.  Les  montagnes  sont  dangereuses, 
les  lions  sont  terribles,  mais  la  mer — zou  ! — dans  un  yackt, 
rien  qu'une  planche  entre  vous  et  la  mort — te,  ve  ! — elle  me  fait 
peur !  J'y  renonce  a  tout  jamais.  PASCALON,  prenez  ma 
boussole,  et  donnez-la  au  brave  batelier  qui  m'a  sauve  du 
naufrage.  Allons!  La  note,  une  voiture  !  Ca  m'effraye  toujours, 
ce  bruit  de  la  mer.  Vite,  a  la  gare  !  Pardi,  on  n'est  pas  noye" 
dans  les  trains  au  moins  !  " 

Une  heure  plus  tard  ils  quittaient  Brighton.  H.  D.  B. 


His  WAY  OF  DOING  IT. — Admiral  Sir  E.  R.  FREEMANTLE  writes 
the  preface  to  Mr.  ARCHIBALD  S.  KURD'S  pamphlet  "  The  British 
Fleet ;  is  it  Efficient  and  Sufficient?  "  From  this  it  is  evident 
that  the  Admiral  is  not  satisfied  with  being  himself  and  merely 
writing,  but  he  wants  also  to  be  Hurd. 


"ROD  AND  LINES."  Definition. — Having  to  be  swished  first, 
and  then  having  to  write  out  a  pcena  of  a  hundred  lines  into 
the  bargain.  "But,"  quoth  our  Etonian,  protesting,  "  such  a 
combination  was  never  heard  of  !  " 


FEBRUARY  27,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


167 


TO  THE  KING'S  PARLIAMENT. 

SIRS,  you  are  met — the  nation's  fate, 
The  nation's  hopes  are  in  your  keeping, 

And  you  shall  sit  in  high  debate 
While  those  you  cater  for  are  sleeping. 

'Tis  yours  to  wrack  a  weary  head 
In  coming  to  a  grave  decision, 

But  not  to  lie  at  ease  in  bed 
And  be  subtracted  from  division. 

And  some  shall  wage  the  war  of  words 
"With  skill,  with  wit  and  eke  with*passion, 

Transforming  kindness'  milk  to  curds 
As  is  the  parliamentary  fashion. 

And  some,  compelling  oft  the  storm 
That  agitates  the  usual  teacup, 

Will  rant  of  grievance  and  reform, 
Being  all  too  swift  to  rise  and  speak  up. 

While  others,  TOMMIES  in  the  ranks, 
Seen  but  not  heard  shall  keep    their 
places, 

The  partisans  of  leaders'  pranks, 
The  saviours  of  their  leaders'  faces. 

The  whips  shall  hurry  to  and  fro, 
Much  talk  shall  be  and  many  a  Question  ; 

New  policies  shall  come  and  go, 
And  all  be  merged  in  one  congestion. 

Of  you  our  knowledge  is  but  short, 
But  Parliaments  have  gone  before  you 

And  steered  the  ship  of  State  to  port, 
Born  of  the  parentage  that  bore  you. 

So  let  us  trust,  as  sure  we  must, 
When  all  is  said  and  done  and  written, 

That,  as  a  fact,  your  every  act 

May  honour  Great  and  Greater  Britain. 


THE  PERFECT  LETTER- WRITER. 
THE  old-fashioned  manuals  gave  ex- 
amples of  very  simple  letters  to  relatives 
and  employers,  some  few  specimens  of 
business  communications,  and  no  more. 
The  growth  of  education  during  the  last 
thirty  years  and  the  multiplication  of 
means  of  travel  have  so  vastly  increased 
the  numbers  of  correspondents  that  it  is 
now  necessary  to  give  examples  of  letters 
to  personages  in  high  places,  to  editors  of 
newspapers,  to  managers  of  railways, 
to  directors  of  public  institutions,  to 
foreigners,  and  to  others.  Many  of  these 
letters  would  be  from  persons  in  humble 
positions,  who  have  been  instructed,  but 
not  quite  to  this  point,  by  the  Board 
Schools.  Simple  forms  of  letters  are  now 
unnecessary.  For  instance,  the  first  let- 
ter, judiciously  varied,  might  be 

From  a  Young  Man  to  his  Grandfather,  on 

hearing  of  the  latter's  Engagement. 
MY  DEAR  GRANDFATHER,  —  With  the 
greatest  pleasure  I  have  received  the 
news  that  you  are  about  to  be  married  for 
the  fifth  time.  When  I  consider  your 
activity  of  body,  in  a  bath-chair,  and  of 
mind,  when  expressing  your  opinion  of  my 
Uncle  ADOLPHUS,  your  son-in-law,  I  may 
confidently  express  the  hope  that  you  may 
be  as  happy  with,  and  may  confer  as  much 


Little  Griggs  (to  caricaturist).   "  BY  JOVE,  OLD  FELLER,  I  WISH  YOTJ  'D  BEEN  WITH  ME  THIS 

MORNING  ;   YOU*  D   HAVE  SEEN   SUCH   A  FUNNY  LOOKING    CHAP  !  " 


happiness  on,  my  future  step-grandmother, 
as  you  were  with,  and  did  confer  on,  my 
grandmother  SUSAN,  and  my  step-grand- 
mothers MARY,  DORA,  and  ELAINE.  I  under- 
stand that  the  lady's  name  is  GWENDOLEN, 
and  that  she  is  nineteen  years  of  age.  As 
I  have  only  seen  her  once,  when,  in  the 
absence  of  your  valet,  she  brought  you 
your  evening  arrowroot,  it  would  be  pre- 
sumptuous for  me  to  praise  her  personal 
I  appearance  ;  but  I  may  truthfully  say  that 
I  have  rarely  noticed  any  other  London 
housemaid  so  remarkable  as  she  for  a  rosy 
complexion  and  a  roundness  of  figure, 
which  together  would  have  fascinated 
RUBENS  himself. 

With  my  heartiest  congratulations  and 
every  good  wish,  I  remain  your  affectionate 
grandson,  THOMAS  WROTTUR. 


"NO  PLACE  LIKE  HOME." 

(See  Edwin  Pallander's  "Across  the 
Zodiac.1') 

WHERE  wouldst  thou  roam  ?    Where  Nep- 
tune's name 

Crowns  ADAM'S  and  LEVERRIER'S  fame  ? 
'Mid  ether  where  Uranus  swings  ? 
Or  poise  thyself  on  Saturn's  rings? 

'Neath  Jupiter's  pale  moonbeams  sloop  ? 

In  Ceres  golden  harvests  reap  ? 

In  Pallas'  glades,  by  Eros'  fire, 

Or  through  the  fields  of  "  Martian  ire  "  ? 

Wouldst  stroll  by  Venus'  berg  or  doll  ? 
With  Mercury's  burning  sunsets  dwell  ? 
Rather  I  'd  live  on  Earth  serene 
Whose  climes  haAre  hit  the  golden  mean. 


168 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[FEBRUABY  27,  1901. 


No,    THIS   IS  NOT  A   DREADBm  ACCIDENT. 


THE    JOYS    OF    MOTORING. 


HE   18   SIMPLY  TIGHTENING  A   NUT  OK  SOMETHING,    AND   SHE   IS   HOPING   HE  WON*! 
BE   MUCH   LONGIE. 


"  IN  RE-A WAKENING  !  " 

IN  our  last  week's  number,  while  giving  due  praise  both  to 
Mr.  HADDON  CHAMBERS  for  his  comedy,  and  to  Mr.  GEORGE 
ALEXANDER  and  his  company  for  their  excellent  interpretation 
of  it  at  the  St.  James's,  Mr.  Punch's  Representative  took 
;rave  exception  to  the  injudicious  and  quite  unnecessary 
ntroduction  into  the  dialogue  of  certain  scriptural  quotations 
calculated  to  make  the  thoughtless  smile,  but  the  judicious 
grieve.  Author  and  manager,  readily  admitting  the  justice  of 
the  criticism,  at  once  decided  on  expunging  these  lines  from 
the  spoken  dialogue.  This  is  indeed  "  The  Wisdom  of  the 
Wise  "  at  the  St.  James's.  We  only  refer  to  the  incident, 
"now  closed,"  in  justice  to  Mr.  Punch's  critic,  lest  those 
who  see  the  expurgated  edition  of  Awakening  should  rub  their 
eyes,  wondering  what  exception  that  hypercritical  person  could 
possibly  have  taken  to  the  witty,  dramatic  dialogue  of  Mr. 
HADDON  CHAMBERS'  thoroughly  well-acted  play.  One  question 
remains,  were  these  scriptural  quotations  in  the  original  MS. 
that  was  passed  by  that  Gustos  Morum,  the  Licenser  of  Plays  ? 
We  pause  for  a  reply — and  we  shall  continue  to  pause  for  some 
considerable  time. 


STANDARD   CLASSICAL  STUDY  FOR  AN   A 

benejiciis,"  i.e.  "  SENECA  on  '  Benefits.'  " 


.CTdR. — " 


Seneca    de 


DIFFERENT  WAYS  OF  PUTTING  IT. 


Cabman  (holding  up  coin  to 
fare).  Is  this,  Sir,  the  pecu- 
niary recompense  to  which  you 
think  I  am  justly  entitled  ? 

Fare.  In  truth,  honest  Cha- 
rioteer, you  have  gauged  my 
meaning. 

Cabman.  I  am  a  poor  man,  but 
proud.  Good  morning,  Sir. 

[Raises  his  hat  and  drives 
off. 


Cabman  (holding  up  coin  to 
fare).  'Ere,  wot 's  this  ? 

Fare.  A  shillin',  and  you  're 
dear  at  that. 

Cabman.  Blank!  blank! 
blank  !  if  I  don't  summons  yer 
hugly  carcase  before  a  beak, 
and  that  hinstanter.  Blank! 
blank !  blank ! 

[Driving  off,  swearing  au-- 
fully. 


ANOTHER  APPLICATION. — A  note  in  the  Daily  Telegraph  informs 
us  that  the  millinery  worn  in  the  new  piece  at  the  Apollo  \ 
Theatre,  came  from  the  "  Maison  de  Cram,  Court  Milliners." 
What  an  appropriate  name  for  the  house  of  a  tutor,  who 
"  coaches  "  pupils  for  the  various  "  exams."  !  Just  the  thing  ! 
The  Maison  de  Cram ! 

"Two  SINGLE  GENTLEMEN,"  &c. — The  Westminster  Gazette 
reported,  last  week,  that  a  large  gathering  of  Welshmen  in  the 
City  went  to  hear  a  sermon  preached  by  "  The  Rev.  GRIMALDI 
JONES."  Here  at  last  must  be  the  long  wished-for  combina- 
tion of  Church  and  Stage  !  "  The  Rev.  GRIMALDI  !  " 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.— FEBRUARY  27,   1901, 


WHICH   WILL   HE   DROP   ON? 


FEBRUARY  27,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


171 


LOVE'S  LITTLE   LIABILITIES. 

Short  stories  with  sad  endings. 

III.— THE  LOVE  STORY  OF  AN  AMBITIOUS 
WOMAN. 

REGINALD  MAINGAY  arose  out  of  an 
attitude  of  genuflection.  His  nervous 
clutch  was  about  the  brim  of  his  silk  hat, 
his  demeanour  the  excess  of  blushing 
awkwardness. 

"  Then,"  he  said,  in  quavering  notes. 
"  I  'in — I  'm  not  good  enough 
for  you  ?  A  regular  bad  penny. 
Won't  have  me  at  any  price. 
I — I  shall  come  into  ten  thou- 
sand a-year,  you  know." 

A  strange,  dancing  light  came 
into  the  young  girl's  eye  (the 
right  eye,  I  think). 

"It  is  not  that,"  she  said. 
"Oh,  we  all  have  faults,  1  know. 
I  do  not  want  to  be  harsh  or 
unkind — but ' ' 

"  I  see,"  said  REGINALD, 
dolefully.  "  I  'm  a  bit  of  a 
rip " 

"But  you  will  improve?" 
said  the  girl,  half-appeal  ingly. 

"  I  will  study  hard  to  be 
more  deserving  of  your  love — 
when  you  bestow  it  on  me.  I  'm 
not  worthy  of  you,  but  if  I  had 
a  little  encouragement — just  the 
faintest  glint  of  hope,"  and  he 
paused,  and  blinked  out  his 
pent-up  emotion. 

BRENDA  TEAUCIIAMP-MANNERS 
was  a  girl  of  great  ambition. 
She  saw  in  the  shy,  limp, 
gauche  young  man  standing 
with  bent  knees  before  her, 
the  making  of  one  of  England's 
heroes.  At  present  he  was  im- 
possible. But  under  a  woman's 
refining  influence,  what  won- 
ders might  not  be  wrought. 
Then  ten  thous  —  tush  !  how 
our  minds  run  on  these  sordid 
details. 

BRENDA  held  out  her  hand. 
"In  a  year  and  a  day,"  she 
said  dramatically,  "  I  will 
answer  you." 

The  lover  accepted  the  _ 
period  of  probation,  and  the 
young  girl  who  had  read  of  the  follies, 
the  undurability,  and  the  ever  cropping 
up  of  hitherto  unconsidered  shortcom  - 
ings  in  Man,  congratulated  herself  that 
she,  at  any  rate,  would  have  a  husband 
adaptable  to  the  lightest  whim  of  her 
feminine  fancy.  For  one  year  and  one 
day  REGINALD  would  be  under  her  close 
surveillance,  and  well  she  knew  that  her 
charms  were  all  sufficient  to  feed  the 
flame  of  love  in  REGINALD  MAINGAY'S  bosom 
until  such  time  as  her  good  influence  had 
transformed  the  awkward  boy,  with  his 


The  year  and  the  day  were  past,  and  the  a  great  flood  of  memory  the  recollection 
lover  again  crouched  in  an  attitude  of  j  of  bygone  bluffs  and  jack-pots.  Still,  for 
supplication  before  the  beautiful  and  the  j  her  sake,  he  had  eschewed  cards. 


ambitious  BRENDA  TEAUCHAMP-MANNERS. 
He  scarcely  realised,  so  mysterious  are 
the  workings  of  love — what  a  marked 
change  this  young  girl  had  effected  in 
him.  Even  she  doubted — the  result  was 
so  utterly  beyond  anything  her  most 
ambitious  hopes  had  formed. 

"  You  have  given  up  drinking?  "she  said. 


A    LITTLE    IN    ADVANCE. 

IN     THE     JTTTURE     THERE     WILL     BE   NO   HARD-AND-FAST   LINE   BE- 
TWEEN  THE  DEFENSIVE   FORCES  0V    THE   COUNTRY  —  MR.     PUNOU    18 

ENABLED  TO  G1VK  A  FORESHORE-TRUED  PORTRAIT  (FROM  THE  RoYAL 
ACADEMY  OF  1910)  OF  VIOE-U«NERAL  SIR  TAFFRAIL  SABRETACHE, 
COMMANDING  THE  ROVAL  HORSE  MARINES. 


selfishness    and    objectionable 
vices,  into  an  eligible  husband. 


bachelor 


"  For  your  sake,  yes,"  replied  REGINALD. 
"  I  am  a  confirmed  teetotaler." 

"  And  you  do  not  smoke  ?  " 

"  No.  Knowing  your  aversion  to  all 
forms  of  smoking,  I  broke  off  the  habit. 
It  was  a  wrench,  but  I  did  it." 

"And  you  never  gamble?"  enquired 
BRENDA,  hesitatingly. 

"Not  in  any  form,"  he  answered. 
"Much  as  I  am  tempted  by  alluring 
fluctuations." 

"And  what  about  cards,  the  devil's 
'prayer-book?  " 

REGINALD  had  been  a  great  poker-player, 
and  the  mention  of  cards  brought  back  in 


"And,  REGGY,"  cooed  BRENDA  plain- 
tively, "  you  have  given  up  your  horrid 
clubs,  where  men  sow  the  first  seeds  of 
selfish  indulgence?  " 
REGGY  sighed.    He  had. 
"And  you  don't  lose   all  your   loose 
change  betting,  REGGY  ?  " 
There  came  a  doleful  "  No." 

"  And  your  father  has  taken 
you  into  the  firm  as  a  partner  ? 
"Yes.     "A  full-blown  part- 
ner." 

"  And   you   are  working    so 
hard?" 
"  I  'm  an  absolute  busy  bee. 

I'm "     The    man    paused. 

Never  until  this  moment  had  he 
fully  realised  what  sacrifices 
he  had  made  on  the  altar  of 
love.  He  gazed  with  wonder 
and  admiration  into  the  radiant 
face  of  the  young  girl,  as  the 
full  significance  of  the  idea 
took  shape  in  his  mind.  He 
trembled  with  a  mixed  emotion 
when  he  thought  to  what  a 
state  of  perfection  he  had  at- 
tained. BRENDA  saw  the  idea 
battering  against  the  fortifica- 
tion of  REGINALD'sImind  (being 
a  General's  daughter)  and  fear- 
ing a  breach,  said  quickly  : 

"REGGY,  can  you  doubt  my 
answer  ?  It  is  '  Yes  ! '  You — 
you  are  mine  !  " 

But  REGINALD  wavered. 
"  BRENDA,"  he  said,  "  You 
really  think  I  am  a  model  of 
virtue  and  everything  a  modern 
husband  should  be  ?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  the  girl,  a 
little  joyous  lilt  in  her  tones. 
"  You  are  perfect !  " 

"  I  think  so,  too,"  said  MAIN- 
GAY,  with  horrible  emphasis. 
"Miss  TEAUCHAMP-MANNERS, 
you  have  shown  me  my  true 
value.  I  am  worth  a  Duchess — 
at  least!  " 
Then  the  ambitious  woman 

saw — alas,  too  late  ! — that  she 

had  stretched  the  elasticity  of 
a  man's  nature  to  snapping-point.  She 
cried  out.  But  REGINALD  had  gone. 


QUERIES  FOR  THE  CHANCELLOR  OF  THE 
EXCHEQUER.  —  Licences  permitting  bores 
to  talk  about  golf,  hunting  and  the 
weather.  Taxes  on  photos,  cycles,  and 
powder  puffs.  Insist  upon  stamps  for 
circulars,  visiting-cards  and  play  bills. 
Exact  the  heaviest  penalties  from  amateur 
scribes  who  send  idiotic  articles  to 
editors  without  enclosing  stamped  and 
addressed  envelopes  for  their  immediate 
return. 


172 


PUNCH,   OH  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[FEBRUARY  27,  1901. 


WHJTECHAPEL  TO  MAYFAIR. 

["At  an  inquest  hold  in  Bethnal  Green  ofl  the 
body  of  a  boot-finisher  who  had-  hanged  himself,  it 
was  elicited  that  the  man  had  to  work  twenty-two 
hours  out  of  the  twenty-four  in  order  to  make 
3s.  6d." — Westminster  Gazette.} 
SISTER,  I  look  on  your  halls  of  light, 

And  I  see  your  children  fair 
Arrayed  like  the  lilies,  and  flashing  bright 
From  a  thousand  gems  on  my  dazzled  sight ; 
I  see  them  dancing  the  live-long  night, 

Like  water-flies,  free  from  care. 
I  see  them  satiate  sit  at  meat 
And  dally  with  dainties  they  cannot  eat ; 
I  see  them  sow  what  after  years 
Will  reap  in  hunger  and  burning  tears  ; 
Of  every  pleasure  they  drink  their  fill, 
And  le  !  their  cry  is  pleasure  still. 

They  heed  not,  they, 

Who  else  must  pay, 
So  long  as  their  life  is  a  merry  and  gay  ; 

And  care  can  go 

To  Jericho 
While  t  he  song  is  sweet  and  the  music  low. 


Sister,  look'on  this  garret  bare, 
Look  on  this  rag-strewn  bed  : 
These  blue  lips,  haggard  with  want  and 

care, 

This  frame  so  meagre  and  gaunt  and  bare, 
This  poor  cold  image  of  starved  despair — 

Sister,  look  on  my  dead  ! 
Day  and  night,  night  and  day, 
My  children  are  toiling  their  lives  away, 
\ching  head  or  aching  heart 
Still  they  must  stick  to  their  pitiful  part, 
Still    they    must    hammer   and    cut   and 

carve— 

Stop    for   a   day,    and   the  world    says, 
"Starve!" 

Cease  to  slave, 
And  a  pauper's  grave 
Is  all  the  poor  boon  that  my  sons  need 
crave  ; 

Their  song  is  a  sigh 
And  their  music  a  cry — 
Sister,  tell  me  the  reason  why  ! 


HOW  TO  WRITE  FOR  PUNCH,  THE 
TIMES  (OR  ANY  OTHER  PAPER). 

(By  one  who  IMS  done  it.) 

A  NUMBER,  of  volumes  have  been  pub- 
lished of  late  with  such  titles  as  Tlie  Com- 
plete Guide  to  Successful  Journalism,  How 
to  write  for  tlie  Magazines,  etc.  But,  so 
far  as  we  know,  none  of  these  works 
contains  hints  to  the  innumerable  aspi- 
rants who  wish  to  write  for  Punch — a 
task  demanding,  of  course,  quite  excep- 
tional powers.  The  following  hints  on 


this    important    matter   arc   sure  to  bo 
widely  welcomed.  :        '    ' 

1.  The  first  thing  i$  to  find  an  appro- 
priate subject.    ^Therd  is  no  difficulty  at 
all  about  this.    Select  a  well-known  joke 
from  any  Jest-Book,  or  take  one  from  a 
back  number  of    Punch  itself.     Perhaps 
you  have  been  taught  that  originality  is 
prized  by  editors ;  in  that  case  you  should 
compose  a  ten-thousand-words  essay  on 
"Molecular  Attraction,"  or  "The  Burial 
Customs  of  the  Ancient  Hittitcs."     No- 
thing like  this,  as  you  will  justly  point 
out  to  the  Editor,  has  ever  appeared  in 
his  periodical,   so  that   he  is  bound   to 
welcome  it. 

2.  You  will  then  write  your  article  on 
foreign  note-paper,   taking  care   to   use 
both  sides.    And  remember,  that  an  ille- 
gible   handwriting    is    a    sure    sign    of 
genius. 

3.  With  the  manuscript  you  will  enclose 
a  lengthy   letter,   giving  a  few  reasons 
why  the  Editor  must  feel  bound  to  use 
your  contribution.  Any  one  of  the  follow- 
ing is  highly  recommended  : 

(a)  That  five   years  ago  a  letter  of 
yours   on  the   town    drainage  -  system 
was     published     by     the     Puddleton 
Gazette. 

(b)  That  you  recently  met  at  a  garden- 
party  a  man  who  knew  a  man  whose 
second-cousin's  husband  is  on  nodding- 
terms  with  the  Editor. 

^  (c)  That  you  have  an  elderly  relation 
to  support,  or  that  your  family  is  very 
numerous. 

(d)  That  extremely  feeble  as  you  be- 
lieve your  contribution  to  be,  it  is  at 
least  better  than  anything  printed  in 
Punch  within  the  last  ten  years. 

4.  If  you  do  not  get  a  handsome  cheque 
by  return  of  post,  you  will  write  an  angry 
letter  to  the  Editor,  demanding  the  reason 
of  this  disgraceful  delay.    Should  he  still 
remain  silent,  you  will  follow  it  up  by 
other  letters,  varied  by  abusive  postcards. 
Then  you  will  call  three  or  four  times  a 
day  for  a  month  at  the  office,  Mr.  Punch's, 
The  Times,  or  whatever ,  the  paper  may  be 
that  you  have  honoured,  and  demand  to 
see  the  Editor.     (N.B. — Towards  the  end 
of  the  month  it  may  be  well,  as  a  pre- 
cautionary measure,  to  carry  a  revolver 
in  your  pocket.) 

5.  If,  in  spite  of  all  these  expedients, 
your  contribution  fails  to    appear,    you 
can  still  tell  your  friends,  with  perfect 
truth,  that  you  "  have  written  for  Punch," 
or  that  you  have  written  for  The  Times, 
Post,  Telegraph,  &c.,  as  the  case  may  be. 
That  Punch  declined  to  print  your  contri- 
bution is,  after  all,  an  irrelevant  detail. 

"  A  Shorter  Way." — Address  a  letter  to 
the  Publishers  requesting  them  to  forward 
you  a  copy  of  Punch,  for  which  you  enclose 
stamped  and  addressed  wrapper.  This  is 
"  writing  for  Punch"  reduced  to  its  very 
simplest  form,  and  the  plan  is  adaptable 
to  any  and  every  form  of  journal. 


FROM   WEST  TO  EAST. 
(Page  from  a  Business-Man's  Diavy.) 

•Mondaij. — Attended  meeting-  of  Patent- 
Thunderbolt  Company.  Board  perfectly 
satisfied  with  manager's  report.  'Didn't 
understand  it.  Didn't  like  to  say  so. 
Others  understood  it-,  so  it  must  be  all  right.  • 

Tuesday. — Looked  in  at  the  gathering  of 
theAntipodean  Tube  Connecting  Syndicate. 
Man  in  chair  seemed  to  know  something 
about  it.  Intelligent  man,  and  clear-headed. 
Passed  him  customary  vote  of  confidence. 

Wednesday— -Appeared  at  the  Board  of 
the  Moribund  Life  Assurance.  Rather 
late  for  the  statement,  but  in  time  for  the 
fees.  Asked  what  had  been  done.  Com- 
pany Director  replied  "Oh,  the  usual 
business."  Appeared  disappointed  at  my 
arrival,  as,  had  I  not  put  in  an  appear- 
ance, Company  directors  would  have 
divided  my  fee.  Things  seem  to  be  going 
well.  Lunched  at  the  Club. 

Thursday.  —  Turned  up  at  the  Consoli- 
dated Spanish  Aerial  Castle  Combination. 
Report  in  every  way  satisfactory,  as  far 
I  can  make  out.  But  I  never  had  a  head 
for  figures.  However,  I  quite  under- 
stand that  our  "  prefs.,"  i.e.  "  preference 
shares,"  are  at  a  premium,  and  are  ex- 
pected to  go  higher. 

Friday. — Popped  into  the  Board  Meeting 
of  the  Undiscovered  Island  Development 
Company.  All  going  well  according  to 
the  experts ;  but  I  admit,  as  I  said  to  a 
companion  director,  that  geography  and 
minerals  were  never  among  my  strong 
points  at  school.  By  the  way,  at  Uni- 
versity never  did  any  geography.  Nobody 
ever  did.  Quite  forgotten  if  we  had  any 
maps. 

Saturday. — A  day  off.  Vote  myself  into 
my  arm-chair  before  fire,  and  shall  take  up, 
Encyclopaedia  to  get  out  of  it  some  infor- 
mation as  to  Thunderbolts,  Tubes,  Castles- 
in-Air,  geography  and  mineralogy  gener- 
ally  Can't  find  Encyclopaedia  — 

suppose  I  haven't  got  one.  Old  golfing 
friend  calls  for  me  to  run  down  with  him 
to  Sandwich  Links  from  Saturday  till 
Monday.  Good.  Bother  Directorates  and 
Directories.  All  comes  right  if  you  don't 
worry.  That 's  my  motto,  and  a  good  one. 
Off.  Back  in  time  to  get  fees  on  Monday 
at  the  meeting  of  Patent  Thunderbolt 
Company  (Limited). 


REGULAR  IMPOSITIONS.  —  Mr.  GAZE,  for 
America,  would  impose  duty  on  Russian 
imports.  Thereupon  M.  WlTTE  would 
impose  duty  on  American  imports  into 
Russia.  Isn't  this  a  striking  ^instance  of 
"Ready  Witte"? 


FEBRUARY  27,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


173 


THE  MODERN  COLOSSUS. 

O  FABLED  Apollo  of  maritime  RHODES, 

If  you  could  behold  this  Imperial  Isle, 
And  see  who  presides  o'er  our  latter-day 

nodes, 

You  could  not  forbear  with  amusement 
to  smile. 

Like  Atlas  of  old,  on  his  shoulders  he  bears 
The  burden  of  state ;    granting  chary 

assent 

To  kingly  decrees,  on  his  country's  affairs, 
Or  yielding  faint~praise  with  admonish- 
ment blent. 

Kings,  Emperors,  Csesars  some  title  abate 
To  their  greatness,  beshrouding  their 

emblems  of  power, 
And  on  his  sweet  pleasure  content  are  to 

wait, 

Or — haply,   beneath  his  fell    anger  to 
cower. 

Ambassadors,  diplomats,  plenipots.,  all 
This  Cerberus  strive  to  appease  with  a 

sop, 
Full  knowing  his  pow'r  to  procure  their 

recall, 

If  he,  by  design  or  chance,  on   them 
should  drop. 

He  shows  each  new  Member  the  path  to 

pursue, 

Inculcates  his  duties,  imposes  his  plan 
Of   political  action  the  whole  session 

through; 

And  trumpets  his  views  from  Beersheba 
to  Dan. 

He  lays  down  the   laws  for  our   Naval 

defence : 
His  voice  through  the  War-Office  echoes 

amain ; 

He  argues  his  rights  with  a  vigour  intense ; 
He  booes  in  the  theatre  with  cheerful 
disdain ; 

O'er  vestry,  o'er  council,  o'er  newly-made 

movement 
Still  does  he  the  _  wand   of   authority 

wield ; 
He  weaves 'aery  webs  for  some  Body's 

improvement ; 
The  soldier  instructs  in  his  duties  afield. 


And  the  ha'penny  papers  without  inter- 
mission 

For  his  favour  and   nod    of   approval 
compete. 

The  great  British  Empire  is  —  by  kind 
permission 

.  Of  him  I  refer  to  —  The  Man  in  the 
Street ! 


"On,  JANE  !  JANE!  WHAT  WILL  YOUR  MASTER  SAY  !" 

"  WELL,  IT  AIN'T  MY  FAULT,  MAM — I  'M  SURE.  I  DIDN'T  so  MUCH  AS  LOOK  AT  THE 
THINGS.  THEY  MUST  'A  BEEN  SHOOK  BY  THAT  THERE  'ORRID  TUBE  THAT  THEY  TALK 
ABOUT  I " 


SUPREMA    LEX   BATTERSEA 
VOLUNTAS. 

[The  Borough  Council  of  Battersea  demands  that 
the  Government  shall  stop  the  war.] 

SEE  mighty  Battersea  arise, 

An  awe-inspiring  suburb, 
Quite  peaceful,  save  for  coster's  cries 

Of  rabbits  or  of  rhubarb. 

(Excuse  that  rhyme.)  This  stately  place 

Displays  its  awful  power, 
And  dooms  to  dire  and  deep  disgrace 

The  Ministers  who  cower. 

Of  course  they  tremble.  Dare  they  stand , 
Like  lightning-scorning  AJAX, 

Defying  Battersea's  command, 
And  still  in  office  stay  Jacks  ? 

Ah,  no  !    The  Ministry  must  fall , 
And  not  because  it  blundered, 


Unless  it  can  obey  the  call 
S.  W.  has  thundered. 

It  can't  obey,  so  what  is  claimed 

By  Battersea  is  cruel ; 
The  Government,  abashed,  ashamed, 

Must  die  in  such  a  duel. 

O  Conscript  Fathers  round  that  Park 
Where  bicyclists  go  riding, 

To  pity's  gentle  pleading  hark 
And  cease  your  angry  chiding  I 

If  all  the  Ministers  went  out, 
How  could  you  take  their  places  ? 

Your  valuable  time,  no  doubt, 
Is  filled  in  many  cases. 

Could  you  neglect  South-Western  shops 

To  rule  the  British  nation  ? 
Then  leave  to  others,  till  it  stops, 

That  humbler  occupation. 


174 


PUNCH,  OE  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[FEBRUARY  27,  1901. 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  MUSICAL  COMEDY. 
CANTO  THE  SECOND. 


Pegasus 
resumeth  his 
steady  trot. 


WE  left  the  authors  and  composers  too, 
But,  for  a  while,  the  latter  have  to  rest ; 

At  present  there  is  nothing  they  can  do, 
Though  later  on  for  time  they  may  be  pressed ; 

So  your  attention  let  me  kindly  ask 

For  the  librettists,  in  their  thankless  task. 

Thankless,  I  say,  because,  as  well  they  know, 
There  is  so  much  hard  work  to  do  at  first, 

Which  into  nothingness  will  doubtless  go 
As  soon  as  it  begins  to  be  rehearsed. 

And,  "when  the  shadow  of  their  work  remains, 

They  get  condemned  by  critics  for  their  pains. 

The  Libretto.  And  here  a  word  in  season  let  me  speak  : 

Who  is  to  blame,  and  in  a  large  degree, 

That  these  librettos  are  so  often  weak  ? 
Surely  the  unintelligent  B.  P. 

What  use  in  writing  subtle  epigram  ? 

The  line  that  gets  most  laughter  is  a  "  D — n  !  " 

So  then  the  authors,  if  they  know  the  ropes, 
Must  not  rely  upon  their  verbal  wit ; 

A  first-night  audience  may  raise  false  hopes 
By  seeing  and  appreciating  it. 

But  afterwards,  though  some  good  lines  may 
"go," 

You  '11  find  this  is  not  generally  so. 

The  Scenic         Important  to  a  very  large  extent 
Artist.  is  the  locale  wherein  they  lay  their  plot ; 

It  may  be  one  they  've  chosen  to  invent, 

Or,  on  the  other  hand,  it  may  be  not. 
The  point  is,  that  the  scenic  artist  gets 
A  chance  of  painting  some  effective  "  sets." 

The  Acts.  The  piece  will  be  divided  into  acts, 

Two  is  the  number  most  in  vogue  to-day 
(Though  change  of  dress  and  scenery  distracts 

Attention  from  the  dulness  of  a  play). 
And  the  finale  to  the  first  will  be 
The  one  dramatic  opportunity. 

The  thread  of  story  in  this  sort  of  play, 
By  song  and  dance  is  often  being  stopped  ; 

So  in  the  second  act,  I  think  it  may 
To  all  intents  be  absolutely  dropped. 

And  the  denouement — if  there  's  one  at  all, 

Can  take  place  hurriedly  at  curtain-fall. 

The  Scenario      But  more  of  this  aaon ;  come,  reader,  now 
is  completed.  Revenons  a  nos  moutons  for  a  bit ; 

The  authors,  rather  cramped,  yet  knowing  how 
They  must  proceed  if  they  would  make  a  hit ; 

Working  upon  the  lines  I  've  tried  to  show, 

Concoct  an  up-to-date  scenario. 

When  the  scenario  is  complete,  the  authors  will  read  it  to  the 
Manager,  who  will  suggest  countless  alterations  which  may  or 
may  not  coincide  with  their  views.  For  instance,  one  of  the 
characters  in  the  piece  may  be  a  young  girl,Aessentially 
refined  and  charming.  \ 

"  Ah! "  says  the  Manager,  "  just  the  part  for  Miss  ASTERISK." 

Now,  Miss  ASTERISK  is  a  sprightly  serio-comic  from  the  halls, 
who  has  gained  popularity  by  singing  risque  songs  wH;h  a 
cockney  accent.  Therefore,  consternation  and  expostulation 
on  the  part  of  the  authors. 

"Nonsense,  my  boys;  she  must  have  the  part.  Look  at  the 
salary  I  pay  her !  " 

And  so  on,  till  the  authors  abardDn  msn/  of  their  fondest 


schemes  to  the  necessity  of  "writing  round  the  cast."  How- 
ever, let  us  presume  that,  subject  to  these  trifling  alterations, 
the  scenario  is  approved  and  the  authors  are  told  to  "go 
ahead." 

Now  are  they  fairly  started  on  their  task, 
The  framework  of  their  vessel  has  been  laid ; 

But,  before  very  long,  they  '11  have  to  ask 
The  lyric  writers  for  their  timely  aid. 

Giving  them,  while  the  dialogue  proceeds, 

Hints  as  to  what  each  situation  needs. 


The  Lyric 
Writers. 


These  lyrists  must  be  gentlemen  who  will 
Adapt    their    muse  to    suit   the  changeful 
times ; 

Their  lyres  with  sentiment  one  moment  thrill, 
The  next,  with  patter  or  ingenious  rhymes. 

No  metrical  experiments  they  shirk, 

So  they  too,  settle  down  and  get  to  work. 

The  choruses, — fair  sailing  have  they  here, 
Trios,  duets,  concerted  pieces  too  ; 

Some  may  be  "  cut  "  and  never  used,  I  fear, 
Others  may  last  the  many  changes  through. 

The  songs — well,    better    leave    them    for    a 
while, 

Each  artiste  must  be  suited  as  to  style. 

The  Composers.  Lastly,  but  not  by  any  means  the  least, 

Though  till  the  present,  idle  they  have  been  ; 
Helping  to  flavour  this  dramatic  feast, 

The  light  composers  come  upon  the  scene, 
And,  that  our  homage  may  appear  completer, 
Let 's  try  to  welcome  them  with  change  of  metre. 


Whom  the          Hail  to  each  very  harmonious  gent, 
Poet  greeteth         Prosperous,  happy  and  gay  ; 
with  a  hymn  of  Lords  of  the  baton,  by  public  consent 
Crowned  with  the  branches  of  bay. 
Weavers  of  many  a  catchy  refrain, 
Pets  of  the  man  in  the  street  they  remain  ; 
Favoured  by  "  royalties"  now  and  again, 
Who  so  contented  as  they  ? 

Loud  barrel  organs  all  over  the  land, 

Grind  forth  their  latest  success  ; 
When  their  chef  d'ceuvres  are  performed  on 

the  band 

Clapping  is  hard  to  suppress. 
"  Things  with  a  tune  "  that  are  easy  to  hum, 
Persons  superior  call  them  "  turn-turn," 
Still  they  appeal  to  and  satisfy  some  ; 
I  'm  one  of  those,  I  confess. 

L  mg  may  they  live  and  continue  to  "write  ; 

Sad  will  the  season  be,  when 
"  Scores  "  of  their  making  shall  cease  to  delight 

Scores  of  their  own  fellow-men. 
Let  them  enjoy  their  successes  to-day, 
As  they  give  airs  to  the  public  to  play, 
Surely  we  ought  to  excuse  them,  if  they 

Give  themselves  airs  now  and  then  1 

All  the  collaborators  being  thus  gathered  together,  [this 
masterpiece  of  musical  comedy  ought  to  make  rapid  progress. 
The  difficulties  of  "writing  round  the  cast  "  have  been  already 
mentioned.  In  the  next  Canto  it  is  proposed  to  introduce  the 
reader  to  some  types  of  the  dramatis  personce,  touching  on 
their  peculiarities,  which  it  is  the  author's  duty  to  study 
closely  and  endeavour  to  suit.  P.  G. 

(Tj  be  contihusd.) 


FEBRUARY  27,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI. 


175 


CUPID  AT  BANGOR. 

["  In  consequence  of  the  rustication  of  two  students  who  infringed  the 
stringent  rules  that  regulate  the  relationships  between  the  men  and  women 
students  of  Bangor,  it  is  reported  the  undergraduates  have  resolved  to  strike." 
— Daily  Paper.} 

Before  the  Senate-room. 

Chorus  of  Students. 
To  worship  at  the  shrine 

Of  ever-lovely  Venus 
Is  nothing,  we  opine, 

Particularly  heinous. 
If  Romeo  has  erred 

And  punishment  betide  him, 
We  pledge  our  solemn  word 

To  stand  or  fall  beside  him. 

(Enter  Professors  from  Senate-room.) 
First  Professor.   Friends,  "Welshmen,  students  of  this  famous 

school — 

First  Student.  Hold  hard  !  One  line  apiece  !  You  know  the  rule. 
First  Prof.  A  troublesome,  when  one  has  much  to  say. 
First  Student.  Of  Romeo  ?    Then  prithee,  fire  away  1. 

For  once  we  '11  waive  the  stichomuthia. 
First  Prof.  Sirs,  of  your  Romeo  and  his  offence 
We  have  considered  duly,  weighing  each 
Small  circumstance  that  haply  might  excuse 
His  so  black  crime.    You  murmur.    Crime  it  is, 
According  to  the  sacred  laws  of  Bangor, 
Where  none  may  court  a  maid,  nay,  not  so  much 
As  change  a  word  with  her,  unless  the  twain 
Be  formally  betrothed.     Yet  Romeo — 
Himself  denies  not — through  the  streets  at  eve 
Escorted  Juliet,  yea,  unblushing,  came 
E'en  to  the  portals  of  her  hostel  here. 
For  this  no  palliation  can  we  find, 
Nor  semblance  of  excuse  why  we  should  stay 
The  execution  of  our  sentence.     Sirs, 
Your  Romeo  is  banished.    (Uproar.)    Juliet 
Must  also  leave  the  college. 
(Renewed  uproar,  which  finally  resSlves  itself  into  a  chorus  of 

students.) 
You  hear?    You  hear?    It 's  perfectly  clear, 

Our  Romeo  they  banish  ; 
And  Juliet,  too,  that  adorable  Blue, 
Has  likewise  got  to  vanish. 
Oh,  shame  !    Oh,  shame  !    If  that  is  your  game, 

You  may  play  it,  of  course,  if  you  like,  Sirs  ; 
But,  first  of  all,  pray,  hear  what  we  have  to  say — 
If  you  rusticate  them,  we  shall  strike,  Sirs, 
Profs,  (in  horror).  You  will  strike  ?    You  will  strike  ? 
Students.  We  shall  strike,  Sirs  ! 
Chorus  of  Profs.  *€P,  <ptv !  What  shall  we  do 

If  nobody  will  come  near  us  ! 
Wo,  wo  !     Where  shall  we  go 
If  nobody  comes  to  hear  us  ? 

Choru*  of  Students.  Your  lecture  rooms  will  be  silent  as  tombs, 

Your  voice  unheard.    Beware  us  ! 
Your  oldest  joke  will  not  provoke 
The  shade  of  a  smile. 

Oh  !  spare  us  ! 


Profs. 
Student. 


Your  lecture  will  fall  on  a  dead  brick  wall : 
However  you  may  prepare  it, 

No  looked-for  applause  will  greet  each  clause — — 
Profs.  Enough  !  we  cannot  bear  it ! 

Student.  You  yield  ? 

Profs.  "We  do.    And  what  of  you  ? 

Student.  You  '11  wink  at  the  laws  ? 
Profs.          You  '11  give  us  applause  ? 


Student.  You  '11  forgive  the  young  folks  ? 
Profs.  You  '11  laugh  at  our  jokes  ? 


All. 


We  will !  we  will !  we  will ! 
Smile  the  lips  so  grimly  set, 

Laughter  takes  the  place  of  anger  : 
Borneo  and  Juliet 

Are  once  again  restored  to  Bangor  ! 
(Curtain.) 


VEGETARIAN  VERSES. 

O  MUSE  !  innate  me  with  celestial  fire, 

Let  all  my  baser  particles  expire, 

And  deign  to  smile  upon  me,  though  the  ire 

Of  those  who  drag  Old  England  through  the  mire 

By  slaying  beasts  to  glut  a  mad  desire 

Should  overwhelm  me  with  convulsion  dire. 

How  passing  mad  is  man !    And  who  can  doubt 
That  all  his  woes,  and  maladies,  from  gout 
To  mumps,  and  measles  of  the  German,  breed, 
Arise  from  his  carnivorousness  and  greed. 
What  can  create  a  thief 

But  beef  ? 
What  is  it  animates  the  glutton  ? 

Why,  mutton. 
The  murderer  sticks  his  fork 

In  pork, 

And  how  exceedingly  unpleasant 
Is  he  that  feasts  on  pheasant ! 
If  Englishmen  are  down  upon  their  luck, 

Attribute  it  to  duck. 
War-clouds  above,  the  atmosphere  is  murky 

Through  eating  turkey, 
And  many  a  suicide  selects  the  fatal  cartridge 

Through  partridge. 
What  thing  supremely  stamps  this  heartless  "  profit  and 

loss ' '  age  ? 
— The  awful  sausage  ! 

O  happy  Hindoo ! 

How  I  venerate  you, 
For  killing  of  cattle  you  wholly  eschew, 
"Which  is  so  much  the  better  I  think  for  the  "  coo," 
To  vary  what  STEPHENSON  said  to  pooh-pooh 
Certain  pessimist  views  which  were  sadly  untrue. 

Then  the  heathen  Chinee, 

How  blessed  is  lie  ! 

Can  you  picture  him  peacefully  swilling  his  tea, 
And  swallowing  rice  with  exuberant  glee? 

But  if  he  foolishly  forsake  that  diet 

No  "  power  "  (or  set  of  "  powers  ")  can  keep  him  quiet. 

Inspired  by  pig  and  puppy  he  will  bum 

And  massacre  and  slay  at  every  turn  ; 

So,  gentle  reader,  be  advised,  and  shun 

All  food  that 's  more  exciting  than  a  bun  ; 

Intoxicating  flesh,  you  may  have  gleaned, 

Will  speedily  transform  you  to  a  fiend. 

Be  warned  in  time,  and  try  the  better  plan 

Of  turning  to  a  vegetar-i-an. 

The  soul  upon  the  tender  cabbage  reared 

Is  certain  to  be  honoured,  loved,  revered ! 


176  PUNCH,    OH    THE    LONDON    CHAEIVARI.  [FEBRUARY  27,  1901. 


QUESTIONS  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

MR.  O'DONNELL  tried  to  set  a  new 
fashion  of  bi-lingual  debates.  A  greater 
diversity  would  be  obtained  if  each 
Membar  spoke,  to  the  best  of  his  ability, 
in  any  language  he  had  studied,  somewhat 
as  follows : — 

Mr.  Gibson  Bowles.  Seilor,  la  posicion 
de  los  docks  de  Gibraltar  no  es  buena,  pero 
mucho  estupida.  Porque  hacer  los  docks 
alii? 


liberal!  e  un  voto  dato  ai  Boeri ! 
dubbio  e  vero,  per  Bacco  1 
Mr.    Lecky.    Vir  prseclarissime, 


|  ponere.     Cur  non  facere  linguam  latinam 
obligatoriain  in  Africa  meridionale  ? 

Sir  Cuthbert   Quilter.    Herr  SPRECHEtt, 
j  wenn  echtes,  gesundes  Bier  in  England 
i  nicht  zu  kaufen  ist,  warum  bringt  man 
nicht  Bier  aus  Deutschland  ? 

Lord  Cranborne.  Mwango  bango  ngogo 
mballamballa  ntobo    nwanga  wa.      [This 
speech  is  in  accordance  with  the  edict  of 
Senza    the  Leader  of  the  House,  directing  that, 
in  order  to  avoid    diplomatic  complica- 
loquor  [  tions,  all  answers  by  the  Under-Secretary 


YE    IDES    OF    MARCH    ARE    COME";    OR,    ROME    DURING    YE    CENSUS. 

From  a  rare  old  frieze  out  of  Ye  British  Museum. 


Sir  E.  Ashmead  Bartlett.  Chin,  chin. 
Me  no  speakee  Inglis.  Me  wishee  ask 
Secletaly  for  Foleign  Devils — beg  pardon, 
Foleign  Affairs — when  Inglismen  getee  be 
number  one  topside  in  China  and  makee 
Lussia  kow-tow  chop,  chop  ? 

Mr.  Labouchere.  Mijnheer,  ik  will 
fragen,  heeft  raijn  vriend  DE  WET  bagged 
Lord  KITCHENER  yet  ? 

Mr.  Ciiamberlain.  Mi  scusi,  Signor 
Parlatore,  questo  onorevole  signor  e  un 
Pro-Boer.  Diavolo,  ogni  voto  dato  ai 


linguam  latinam,  semper  lectam  et  locutam   for  Foreign  Affairs  shall  be  in  the  Kaffir 

in  universitatibus.    Sum  membrum  unffl   language.] 

universitati.  Nunc  volo  interrogationem  Mr.  Balfour.  Monsieur  le  Parleur,  k 

1'instar  de  mon  illustre  ami,  le  Marquis  de 
LANSDOWNB,  tous  les  ministres  parlent 
francais.  Le  discours  de  mon  tres  honor6 
confrere  le  Sous-Secretaire  des  Affaires 
Etrangeres,  discours  a  la  fois  bref  et 
eloquent,  simple  et  lumineux,  explique 
a  merveille  les  intentions  du  gouverne- 
ment.  Apres  cet  expose  admirablement 
raisonne  je  n'ai  rien  a  dire.  H.  D.  B. 


MARCH  6,  1901.J 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVAPJ. 


177 


'VARSITY  VEESES. 

OXFORD  ODES. 

VIII. 

WHEN  time  was  refusing  to  fly, 
And  the  Dean  was  especially  stale 
(It  was  frequently  said 
That  our  excellent  Head 
Was  blind  to  the  point  of  his  tale), 
When  even  the  clouds  became  dry — 
Though  our  spirits  they  damped  for  all 

that — 

Our  glances  would  fall 
On  a  bench  in  the  Hall 
Where  two  damsels  from  Somervillesat. 

The  one  was  a  dream  of  delight, 
Instinct  with  a  delicate  grace, 

With  cheeks  soft  and  dimply — 

In  short,  it  was  simply  . 

A  rapture  to  look  on  her  face. 
The  other  a  regular  fright, 
Green-goggled,  and  forty  at  least, — 

So  we  thought  it  our  duty 

To  call  the  one  Beauty, 
While  t'other  was  known  as  the  Beast. 

Now,  the  Beast  had  a  studious  mind  : 
Her  thoughts  were  intent  on  the  Head, 

And  in  shorthand  she  wrote 

An  elaborate  note 

Of  the  least  little  word  that  he  said. 
Her  brow  was  well  wrinkled  and  lined, 
As  though  with  historical  dates, 

And  we  one  and  all  knew 

That  this  terrible  Blue 
Was  a  "  cert  "  for  a  first  in  her  Greats. 

But  Beauty,  sweet  innocent,  seemed 
To  set  on  the  lecture  small  store  : 

To  judge  from  her  look, 

She  apparently  took 
The  worthy  old  Dean  for  a  bore. 
We  thought  that  in  fancy  she  dreamed 
Of  love  or  the  joys  of  the  ball ; 

"  Why,  why,"  we  all  said, 

"  Vex  her  dear  little  head  ? 
She  will  only  be  '  gulfed* '  after  all." 


The  wisdom  of  mortals  is  nought, 
And  even  the  youngest  man  makes 

What  we  venture  to  view 

(With  all  respect  due 
To  omniscient  youth)  as  mistakes. 
Of  all  things,  as  Euripides  thought, 
To  comprehend  woman  's  the  worst ; 

The  Beast  was  found  fit 

For  the  bottomless  pit, 
While  Beauty  came  out  with  a  first. 

*0ne  who  goes  in  for  honours  and  receives  a  pass 
is  said  to  be  "gulfed." 


"IT'S   AN    ILL   WIND,"    &C. 

"HALF  A  PINT  EXTRA  THIS  MORNING,  MR.  BROWN,  IF  YOU  CAN  SPARK  IT." 

" SORRY  I  CAN'T,  MARY.     THE  FACT  is,  THIS  'ERE  BEER  SCARE  'AS  CAUSED  A  BUN  ON 

SODA   AND   MILK." 


"TO  UNCLE  CHARLIE." 

DEAR  UNCLE  CHARLIE, — I  say,  such  a 
rag  !  weeve  got  a  French  feller  jest  come 
to  this  school  and  lie  dussent  knoiv  his  own 
langwidge !  I  tride  him  at  it  yestiddy  I 
sed  why  carnt  you  speak  English  ?  &  he 
srugged  his  shoulders  &  sed  "  oh  slarner 
fairy  hang"  meaning  it  dident  matter  & 
then  he  sed  he  could  "  parlay  un  petit 
pew7'  I  arksd  him  2  or  3  things  &  he 
dident  know  them  so  I  sed  "  Voo  ner  poovy 
par  parly  pour  noisettes  !  "  and  he  almost 
danced  with  rage.  I  looked  at  him  skorn- 
fly,  &  sed  "  C'est  un  joli  gibier,  n'est- 
par"  &  would  you  bleeve  it,  he  dident 


know  what  I  ment  ?  Ass  you  praps  dont 
understand  French  like  I  do,  Uncle 
CHARLIE,  I  'd  better  trangslate  my  larst 
frase — "  Thats  a  pretty  game,  aint  it." 

And  this  afternoon  in  the  rakit  cort 
when  he  made  rarther  a  good  stroke,  I 
yelled  out,  jest  to  encurridge  him  ."  Oh, 
quel  coup  de  fromage  !  "  meaning  of  coarse 
"  Oh,  what  a  cheesy  stroke  !  "  hecoodent 
even  understand  that  I  These  French 
fellers  are  beasely  iggnerent,  I  tell  you. 
Then  he  began  to  jabber  and  jestickleate 
but  I  sed  "  Oh  fermez  voo,  voose  ates  un 
vrai  rotteur  "  and  that  did  shut  him  up. 
Your  affeckshunt  nephew 

MAX. 


VOL.   CXX. 


178 


PUNCH,   OK  THE  LONDON   CHAKIVARI. 


[MARCH  6,  1901. 


THE  NEW  GENIUS  OF  STRATFORD-ON-AYON. 

(Lines  suggested  by  tlie  remarks  of  a  local 
guide,  radiant  with  reflected  glory.) 

THE  more  I  live  and  look  about 
The  more  it  seems  surprising 
That  men  who  might  have  made  a  name 
Should  miss  the  full  reward  of  fame 
For  want  of  advertising. 

Authors,  especially,  I  see 

Addicted  to  the  habit 
Of  hiding  their  effulgent  light, 
And  keeping  somewhere  out  of  sight 

In  burrows  like  a  rabbit. 

Of  how  they  privately  behave 

The  journals  make  no  mention  ; 
Their  facial  cast  remains  in  doubt, 
They  feed  in  public  spots  without 
Attracting  wide  attention. 

Even  the  Bard  of  Avon  chose 

To  play  the  homely  brewer, 
To  nurse  a  quiet  love  of  pelf 
And  never  talk  about  himself 

To  any  interviewer. 

Our  faith  in  his  reputed  works 

Is  naturally  shaken, 
With  no  contemporary  puff 
To  tell  us  if  he  wrote  the  stuff 

Or  got  it  done  by  BACON. 

I  wonder  if  some  Philistine, 
Some  impious  child  of  DAGON, 

Will,  in  the  course  of  time,  discuss 

Who  was  the  actual  Genius 

That  penned  The  Master  Pagan  ! 

Will  curious  cryptogrammatists 

Join  the  insensate  melee, 
To  prove  that  Mr.  CAINE  (of  Man) 
Wrote  it  to  please  the  Great  God  Pan, 

And  called  himself  C-R-LLI  ? 

Not  if  our  M-RIE'S  clear  reclame 

Shall  still  survive  to  boom  her  ! 
And  I  believe  it  will  not  be 
False  shame  or  foolish  modesty 
That  lets  the  moth  consume  her  ! 

A  happy  thought,  to  take  a  house 
In  SHAKSPEARE'S  own  locality, 

Where  frequent  pilgrims  pass  the  door 

And  cannot  very  well  ignore 
Her  poignant  personality ! 

The  Yankee,  streaming  to  the  shrine 

Of  our  immortal  Mummer, 
Forgets  the  dead  and  doubtful  "Swan," 
And  concentrates  his  worship  on 

The  real  and  living  Hummer.      \ 

The  showman,  sick  of  shady  myths    \ 

And  dearth  of  life-recorders, 
Explains  that  this  is  not  the  way 
A  grateful  Stratford  treats  to-day 
The  prophet  in  her  borders. 

"Behold,"  he  cries,  " the  actual  house 

That  Miss  C-R-LLI  leases, 
In  yonder  study's  restful  shade, 
Accepting  none  but  Heaven's  aid, 

She  makes^her  masterpieces.       •• 


"  Such  the  retirement  suited  to 

A  theologic  scholar ! 
Screened  from  the  idle  curious  throng 
To  her  we  might  apply  the  song 

'  Go,  lovely  rose ! '  (by  WALLER). 

"  Hard  by  she  builds  a  worthier  home, 

And,  when  she  seeks  that  haven, 
Upon  the  walls  where  now  you  gaze 
The  Mayor  of  Stratford  means  to  raise 
A  tablet  chastely  graven  : — 

Within  this  temple,  which  luts  been 

Presented  to  the  nation 
(Here  follows  name  of  Mayor,  with  date), 
Occurred  a  portion  of  the  great 

C-R-LLI'S  inspiration.'1  O.  S. 


THE  NEW  STAR,  AND  WHAT  WILL 
COME  OF  IT. 

(A  report  received  from  the  Milky  Way.) 

"WHAT  shall  we  do?"  cried  Jupiter 
from  afar,  using  the  wireless  telegraphy. 

"  I  have  already  bestowed  a  magnificent 
army,  that  will  go  any  where  and  do  any- 
thing," replied  Mars. 

"And  I,"  put  in  Neptune,  not  to  be 
outdone  in  generosity,  "have  given  a 
first-class  navy  that  can  meet  that  army 
anywhere  and  conquer  it." 

"I  have  bestowed  a  perfect  bevy  of 
beauties,  who  will  cause  any  number  of 
cases  to  be  ready  for  trial  by  battle," 
said  Venus,  with  a  love  of  mischief 
suitable  to  her  sex. 

"  And  I  have  given  a  messenger  system 
equal  to  anything  at  St.  Martin 's-le- 
Grand,"  murmured  Mercury,  not  feeling 
sure  that  his  gift  would  be  valued. 

"That  is  not  very  mitch,"  sneered 
Saturn;  "and  I  can  do  a  little  better. 
My  ring  is  already  on  its  way  through 
space." 

' '  Ring  ! ' '  thundered  Jupiter.  ' '  A  pretty 
present,  indeed  I  Why,  the  poor  little 
star  will  be  hopelessly  ruined  if  it  has 
anything  to  do  with  a  ring !  I  've  half  a 
mind  to  crush  it  at  its  birth  with  a 
thunderbolt." 

"  It  will  reach  maturity  before  your 
messenger  arrives,"  returned  Mercury, 
who  had  a  taste  for  figures. 

Jupiter  considered  a  moment,  and  then 
gave  judgment. 

"Well,  let  us  see  how  matters  go. 
Wars,  beauties,  an  imperfect  postal  ser- 
vice, and  a  commercial  ring  from  Saturn 
to  swallow  up  everything. ' ' 

"  Oh,  dear  me  !  "  cried  the  new  star. 
"I  don't  believe,  with  such  extra- 
ordinary giftSj  I  shall  be  any  better  ,off 
than  that  poor  old  world  the  Earth  !  " 


THE  PERFECT  LETTER-WRITER. 
PART  II. 

From  an  Organ-grinder  to  the  Principal  of 
the  Guildhall  School  of  Music. 

SIR, — Reluctant  as  I  am  to  trespass  upon 
your  valuable  time,  I  cannot  refrain  from 
pointing  out  to  you  the  irreparable  injury 
which  your  institution,  together  with  the 
Royal  College  and  the  Royal  Academy  of 
Music,  may  ultimately  cause  to  the  pro- 
fession of  which  I  am  a  member.  I  do 
not  in  any  way  blame  you,  or  the  gentle- 
men controlling  the  other  establishments, 
but  I  think  you  cannot  deny  that  in 
time,  through  your  mis-directed  efforts  a 
majority — no  doubt  a  small  majority — of 
the  English  nation,  or,  at  least,  of  the 
inhabitants  of  London,  will  become  so 
prejudiced  in  favour  of  the  sort  of  instru- 
mental music  which  you,  and  others  like 
you,  advocate,  that  the  performances 
given  by  members  of  my  profession  will 
no  longer  be  universally  appreciated  and 
admired,  as  they  are  at  present,  and  as 
they  deserve  always  to  be.  In  fact — but 
of  that,  happily,  there  is  so  far  no  sign 
whatever — London  may  ultimately  sink 
to  the  level  of  Brussels,  or  any  other 
third-rate  capital,  where  the  instrument 
on  which  I  perform  is  absolutely  pro- 
hibited. 

Far  distant  be  the  day  when  so-called 
"education  "  may  teach  the  Londoner  to 
wish  for  some  trifle  by  CHOPIN  or  SCHUBERT 
played  on  the  digital  pianoforte,  rather 
than  an  air  from  the  music-halls  rendered 
on  the  mechanical  one  !  At  present  it  is 
evident  that  the  noble  English  nation 
prefers  the  street  organ  to  any  other 
instrument,  for  the  members  of  my  pro- 
fession are  welcomed  to  your  great  cities 
in  a  manner  unknown  in  other  countries. 

I  have  another  subject  of  complaint. 
As  those  who  play  the  piano  with  their 
fingers  increase  in  number,  the  noise 
caused  by  them  in  summer,  when  the 
windows  are  open,  becomes  every  year  a 
greater  interruption  to  the  enjoyment  of 
the  music  performed  on  the  piano  by 
members  of  my  profession,  with  the 
infallible  accuracy  and  perfectly  correct 
time  only  obtainable  by  the  use  of 
mechanism.  Your  own  institution,  being 
somewhat  retired,  causes  us  little  annoy- 
ance. .But  I  shall  never  forget  the  first 
time  that  I  passed  the  Royal  Academy  of 
Music  on  a  hot  day.  I  entered  Tenterden 
Street,  a  quiet  turning  such  as  I  prefer, 
and  no  sooner  had  I  done  this  than  so  great 
a  noise  of  digital  pianoforte  playing  burst 
upon  my  ears  that  I  turned  and  fled. 

It  is  difficult  for  me  to  suggest  any 
remedy  for  the  growing  evils  of  which  I 
complain,  unless  it  were  a  heavy  tax  upon 
all  non-vehicular  instruments  of  music, 
but  I  feel  it  my  duty,  on  behalf  of  my 
profession,  to  enter  a  protest,  and  I  am, 
Sir,  your  obedient  servant. 

ROSSINI  MASCAGNI  MECCANISMO. 


MARCH  6,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


179 


EMANCIPATION  DAY. 

A  Forecast. 

["  A  Chicago  alderman  has  discovered  that  babies 
can  be  put  to  sleep  by  the  phonograph.  With 
cradles  rocked  by  electricity  and  babies  soothed  to 
sleep  by  the  phonograph,  the  emancipation  of 
mothers  is  surely  progressing." — Evening  News.'] 

IT  was  Sunday  morning. 

Mrs.  HECTORINE  PHILLBERT  adjusted  her 
pince-nez,  and  placing  first  her  right  foot, 
and  then  her  left,  on  the  rail  of  the  chair, 
stooped  over  and  fastened  her  spatter- 
dashes. 

"  Are  you  going  to  Church  ?  "  enquired 
a  weary  voice  from  the  depths  of  an  arm- 
chair. 

"Of  course  not,"  replied  the  wife,  in 
hard,  decisive  tones.  "Surely,  GEORGE, 
you  are  aware  of  my  antisabbatarian 
tendencies." 

"  I  forgot,"  he  added  hastily. 

"  I  am  going  to  look  in  at  the  Liberated 
Ladies  Club.  A  paper  of  mine,  '  Shall 
Husbands  rank  as  Domestic  Pets,'  is  being 
read.  I  shall  lunch  at  the  Scribblers  Club. 
We  have  a  discussion  on  in  the  afternoon. 
Dr.  EDWARDALINE  JONES  reads  a  portion  of 
her  delightful  scientific  romance,  Yellow 
Decadence  ;  or,  the  Airship  Belle," 

"Then  you  will  be  home  to  tea?" 
enquired  the  armchair,  tentatively. 

"  No,  the  Sunday  Playlancl  Company 
are  giving  a  performance  of  Motor 
Mary ;  the  Society  Scientist.  But  it 
will  be  over  by  half-past  eleven.  How- 
ever, don't  wait  up.  I  know  how  tired 
you  will  be  amusing  the  children." 

An  audible  groan  issued  from  the 
cushioned  deep  of  the  saddle-bag. 

"By  the  way,  GEORGE,  you  might  see 
what  is  the  matter  with  the  cylinders  of 
HILDEBRAND'S  electric  cradle.  It  rocks 
so  jerkily,  and  I  fear  the  vibration  may 
have  a  bad  effect  on  the  child's  cerebral 
vertebra." 

"  Where  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  weary  voice. 

"  In  the  child-room.  The  phonograph 
is  there  also.  I  have  left  out  three 
antiquated  tunes,  l  Hie  Alabama  Coon,' 
'  Lazily,  Drowsily,'  and  '  Hush-a-Bye.' 
But  if  these  don't  send  the  child  to  sleep 
try  the  blue  tube,  a  special  soporific,  a 
blend  of  all  our  popular  continental 
composers." 

"  Very  well,  dear,"  in  tired  tones. 

"  And  see  that  HONORIA  does  not  spend 
the  whole  of  the  day  in  the  laboratory. 
Poor  child,  she  is  only  fourteen ;  but  so 
enthusiastic  over  her  profession." 

"  Yes,  she  has  burnt  three  fingers  and 
her  eyebrows  off  already." 

"  My  dear  GEORGE,  she  would  be  of  no 
use  were  she  unable  to  appreciate  the 
nobleness  of  sacrifice  on  behalf  of  her 
glorious  calling.  And  keep  little  JOYCE 
out  of  mischief." 

"  Oh  !  I  can't  do  anything  with  that 
child." 


GONE    AWAY. 

Yokel  (to  dismounted  gent,  whose  horse  has  got  away).  "SHALL  I  CATCH  HIM  FOR  YER, 
MASTER  ? " 

Tomhins  (who  has  been  mounted  by  a  friend).  "THANK  YOU,  NO.    NEVER  MIND.     I  WAS 

TOLD  THE   MARE  ONLY  WANTED  A  GOOD  GALLOP — SO   I'LL — ER — LET  HER  HAVE  IT." 

[Congratulates  himself  on  his  safety,  and  walks  quietly  home. 


"Of  course  not,  if  you  will  persist  in 
trying  to  keep  him  quiet  by  telling  him 
silly  ghost  stories.  He  naturally  looks 
down  on  you.  If  he  is  naughty,  explain 
the  germ  theory  to  him  through  a  mega- 
phone, and  get  the  microscope  and  make 
him  examine  those  specimens  of  bacteria 
in  my  study.  It  will  frighten  him  horribly, 
and  at  the  same  time  serve  the  laudable 
purpose  of  inculcating  some  scientific 
knowledge." 


The  arm-chair  became  violently  rest- 
less. 

"  By  the  way,  you  can  hear  my  paper 
being  read  at  the  Scribblers'  Club  through 
the  electrophone.  Now,  GEORGE,  I  'm  off." 


A  SUGGESTION. — Sir, — I  am  tired  of  read- 
ing about  DE  WET  being  "  Cornered." 
Can't  he  be  "  Squared  ' '  ?  Yours, 

'•«"  WAT  ROTT. 


180 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


(MARCH  6,  190L 


OMAR    AND    OH    MY! 
A  DRAMATIC  EXPERIMENT. 

[It  is  said  that  a  drama  founded  upon  the 
Rubaiyat  of  Omar  Khayyam,  as  rendered  into 
English  by  FITZGEEALD,  has  been  written  in  the 
United  States  and  will  shortly  be  given  on  the  stage. 
Mr.  Punch  hastens  to  present  a  rival  version.] 

SCENE — Courtyard  of  the  deserted  palace  of 
JAMSHYD,  canopied  bij  that  inverted 
bowel  commonly  called  the  sky.  To 
right,  a  tavern — not  deserted.  To  left, 
a  potter's  house.  At  back,  the  grave 
of  BAHRAM,  whence  a  sound  of  snoring 
proceeds.  A  ivild  ass  stamps  fitfully 
upon  it.  It  is  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  and  the  "false  dawn"  shoius 
in  the  sky.  In  the  centre  of  the  stage 
stand  a  lion  and  a  lizard,  eyeing  each 
other  mistrustfully. 

Lion.  Look  here,  do  you  keep  these 
courts,  or  do  I  ? 

Lizard  (resentfully).  I  don't  know.  I 
believe  we  both  keep  them. 

Lion  (sarcastically).  Do  you?  Then  I 
venture  to  differ  from  you. 

Lizard.  Perhaps  you'd  rather  we  took 
turns  ? 

Lion.  Oh,  no,  I  wouldn't.  I  mean  to 
have  this  job  to  myself. 

[He  and   the   lizard   close    in    mortal 

combat.    After  a  gallant  struggle 

the  latter  is  killed,  and   the   lion 

proceeds  to  eat  him.    Suddenly  a 

shadoivy    form    issues    from    the 

grave  at  back  of  stage. 

Lion.  BAHRAM,  by  Jove !    Confound  that 

jackass.      (Bolts  remains    of    lizard    and 

then    bolts   himself,  pursued   by   shadoivy 

form.) 

Wild  Ass.  They  said  I  couldn't  wake 
him.  But  I  knew  better !  Hee-haw  ! 
(Exit  in  triumph.) 

[A  sound  of  revelry  becomes  noticeable 
from  the  tavern.  A  crowd  gathers 
outside.  The  voice  of  OMAR,  rather 
tipsy,  is  heard. 

Omar.  When  all  the  temple — hie  ! — is 
prepared  within,  why  nods  the  lousy 
worshipper  outside  ? 

[A  cock  crows,  and  the  sun  rises. 
Crowd  (shouting  in  unison).  Open  then 
the  door.  You  know  how  little  while  we 
have  to  stay.  And,  once  departed,  good- 
ness only  knows  when  we  shall  get  back 
again ! 

Omar  (opening  the  door  and  appearing 
unsteadily  on  the  threshold).  You  can't 
come  in.  It 's— hie— full. 

[Closes  door  again. 
Crowd.  I  say,  what  rot ! 

[Exeunt,  depressed. 

Nightingale  (jubilantly  from  tree).  "Wine! 
wine  !  Red  wine  ! 

Rose  (from  neighbouring  bush,  much 
shocked).  My  dear,  you  know  I  have 
always  been  a  total  abstainer. 

Nightingale.  So  you  have.  But  every 
morning  brings  a  thousand  roses.  After 


all,   you're  cheap.    JAMSHYD  and  I  like 
our  liquor,  and  plenty  of  it. 

.Rose  (shaking  her  head  in  disapproval). 
I  've  heard  he  drank  deep. 

Nightingale.  Of  course  he  did.  You 
should  have  seen  him  when  HATIM  called 
to  supper  !  He  simply  went  for  it ! 

.Rose  (blushing  crimson).  How  dreadful ! 

Nightingale  (contemptuouslg) .  I  dare  say. 
But  you  wouldn't  be  so  red  yourself  if 
some  buried  Caesar  didn't  fertilize  your 
roots.  "Why,  even  the  hyacinth's  past 
isn't  altogether  creditable,  and  as  for 
grass — why,  I  could  tell  you  things  about 
the  grass  that  would  scare  the  soul  out 
of  a  vegetable. 

Bose  (annoyed).  I  'm  not  a  vegetable. 

Nightingale.  Well,  well,  I  can't  stay  to 

argue  with  you.    I  've  but  a  little  time 

to  flutter  myself.  [Exit  on  the  wing. 

Enter  OMAR  from  tavern.    He  is  by 

this  time  magnificently  intoxicated 

and  is   leaning  on   the  arm   of  a 

fascinating  SAKI.     He  has  a  jug  of 

•      wine  in  his  hand. 

Omar  (trying  to  kiss  her).  Ah,  my  be- 
loved, fill  the  cup  that  clears  to-day  of 
past  regrets  and  future  fears.  To- 
morrow !  Why  to-morrow !  I  may  be 

Sdki  (interrupting).  I  know  what  you  're 
going  to  say.  To-morrow  you'll  be  sober. 
But  you  won't.  I  know  you.  Go  home  ! 

Omar.  Home!  —  hie.  What  do  I  want 
with  home  ?  A  book  of  verses  under- 
neath the  bough,  a  jug  of  wine,  a  loaf 
of  bread — no,  no  bread,  two  jugs  of  wine 
— and  thou  (puts  arm  round  her  ivaist) 
beside  me  singing  like  a  bulbul. 

[Sings  uproariously. 

For  to-ni<flit  we  '11  mem  be  ! 
For  to-night 

Sdki.  Fie  !     An  old  man  like  you  ! 

Omar.  Old  !  Thank  goodness  I  am  old. 
When  I  was  young  I  went  to  school  and 
heard  the  sages.  Didn't  learn  much 
there !  They  said  I  came  like  water  and 
went  like  wind.  Horrid  chilly  Band-of- 
Hope  sort  of  doctrine.  I  know  better 
now.  [Drinks  from  the  jug  in  his  hand. 

Sdki  (watching  him  anxiously).  Take 
care.  You  '11  spill  it. 

Omar.  Never  mind.  It  won't  be  wasted. 
All  goes  to  quench  some  poor  beggar's 
thirst  down  there  (Points  beloiv.)  Dare 
say  he  needs  it — hie. 

Sdki  (shocked).  How  can  you  talk'so  ! 

Omar  (growing  argumentative  in  his 
cups).  I  must  abjure  the  balm  of  life,  I 
nmst !  I  must  give  up  wine  for  fear  of — 
hie —  What  is  it  I  'in  to  fear  ?  Gout, 
I  suppose.  Not  I !  [Takes  another  drink. 

Sdki  (trying  to  take  jug  from  him). 
There,  there,  that 's  enough. 

Omar  (fast  losing  coherence  in  his  ex- 
treme intoxication).  I  want  to  talk  t< 
you  about  THEE  and  ME.  That 's  what  I 
want  to  talk  about.  (Counting  on  his 
fingers.)  You  see  there 's  the  THEE  in 
ME  and  there  's  the  ME  in  THEE.  That 


myshticism,   that   is.      Difficult  word  to 
ay,   mysticisbm.    Must  light  lamp  and 
see  if  I  can't  find  it.    Must  be  somewhere 
about. 

Sdki.  You  're  drunk,  that 's  what  you 
are.  Disgracefully  drunk. 

Omar.    Of  course    I  'm   drunk.      I  •  am 
o-day     what     I     was     yesterday,     and 
to-morrow  I  shall  not  be  less.     Kiss  me. 

Sdki  (boxing  his  ears).  I  won't  have  it, 
[  tell  you.  I  'm  a  respectable  SAKI  ;  and 
you  're  not  to  take  liberties,  or  I  '11  leave 
you  to  find  your  way  home  alone. 

Omar  (becoming  maudlin).  Don't  leave 
me,  my  rose,  my  bullfinch — 1  mean  bulbul. 
You  know  how  my  road  is  beset  with 
pitfalls — hie  ! — and  with  gin. 

Sdki  (disgusted).  Plenty  of  gin,  I  know. 
You  never  can  pass  a  public-house. 

Omar  (struck  with  the  splendour  of  the 
idea).  I  say — hie  ! — let 's  fling  the  dust 
aside,  and  naked  on  the  air  of  Heaven  ride. 
It 's  shame  not  to  do  it ! 

[Flings  off  hat,  and  stamps  on  it  by  way 

of  preliminary. 

Sdki  (scandalised).  If  you  take  anything 
else  off  I  shall  call  the  police. 

[E.rit  hurriedly. 

Omar  (terrified).  Here,  SAKI,  comeback. 
How  am  I  to  find  my  way  without  you  ? 
(A  pause.)  What's  come  to  the  girl?  I 
only  spoke — hie — meta — phorically.  Diffi- 
cult word  to  say,  meta  —  phorically  ! 
(Longer  pause.)  How  am  I  to  get  home? 
Can't  go  'lone.  Must  wait  for  someone  to 
come  along.  (Peers  tipsily  about  him.) 
Strange,  isn't  it,  that  though  lots  of 
people  go  along  here  every  day,  not  one 
returns  to  tell  me  of  the  road.  Yery 
strange.  S'pose  must  sleep  here  .... 

S'pose [Rolls  into  ditch  and  falls  asleep. 

Tlie  curtain  falls  for  a  moment.  When  it 
rises  again,  day  is  departing  and  it  is 
growing  dark.  OMAR  is  still  in  his 
ditch.  The  door  of  the  potter's  house, 
to  the  left  of  the  stage,  is  open,  the 
potter  having  betaken  himself  to  the 
tavern  opposite,  and  the  pots  within 
are  arguing  fiercely. 

First  Pot.  Don't  tell  me  I  was  only  made 
to  be  broken.  I  know  better. 

Second  Pot.  Even  a  peevish  boy  wouldn't 
break  me !  The  Potter  would  whack  him 
if  he  did ! 

Third  Pot  (of  a  more  ungainly  make). 
Depends  on  what  he  drank  out  of  you. 

Second  Pot.  What 's  that  you  say,  you 
lopsided  object  ? 

Third  Pot.  That 's  right.  Sneer  at  me  ! 
'Tisn't  my  fault  if  the  potter's  hand  shook 
when  he  made  me.  He  was  not  sober. 

Fourth  Pot  (I  think  a  Sufi  pipkin).  It 's 
all  very  well  to  talk  about  pot  and  potter 
What  I  want  to  know  is,  what  did  the  pot 
call  the  kettle  ? 

Third  Pot  (grumbling).  I  believe  my 
clay  's  too  dry.  That 's  what 's  the  matter 
with  me  I 

[The    moon    rises.      A   step    is   heard 
without. 


MARCH  6,   1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  TPIE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


181 


FREE    QUARTERS. 

Welsh  Dragon  (insinuatingly).  "  LOOK  YOU  NOW,  CHENTLEMEN,  COULT  YOU  NOT  MAKE  ROOM  FOS  if  s  IN  YOUR  IITTLE  r  VRTY  ?    AM 

I  NOT  A  TRAGON  AND  A  PROTHER  WHATEFFER  ?  " 

["  Members  of  both  Houses  of  Parliament  who  wish  for  Wales  an  equality  of  heraldic  recognition  with  the  other  divisions  of  the  United  Kingdom 
met  yesterday,  and  elected  a  committee  to  prepare  a  memorial  on  the  subject  for  presentation  to  the  King.  The  Red  Dragon  was  the  symbol  most 
generally  advocated  for  inclusion  in  the  Royal  Arms.* — Daily  Telegraph.'] 


182 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[MARCH  6,  1901. 


Several  Pots.  Hark,  there  's  the  potter! 
Can't  you  hear  his  boots  creaking  ? 

Enter  potter  from  tavern. 
Potter  (crossly).  Shut  up  in  there,  or 
I  '11  break  somo  of  you. 

[The   pots    tremble    and    are    silent. 
There  is  nothing   pots   dislike  so 
much  as  being  broken. 
Potter  (seeing  Omar).  Hullo.      Come  out 
of  that.     You  're  in  my  ditch.     (Lifts  him 
into  sitting  posture  by  the  collar.) 
!•••  Omar  (rubbing  his  eyes).    Eh?    What's 
that  ?    Oh,  ray  head  !  my  head  !  (clasps  it 
between  his  hands.) 

Potter.  Get  up  !     You've  been  drinking. 
Omar    (dazed    at    his    penetration).    I 
wonder  how  you  guessed  that ! 

Potter.  It's  plain  enough.  You've  been 
providing  your  fading  life  with  liquor.  I 
can  see  that  with  half  an  eye. 

Omar.  I  have,  I  have.   I  've  drowned  my 
glory  in  a  cup,  and  my  head  's  very  bad. 
Potter.  You  should  take  the  pledge. 
Omar.  Oh  !  I  've  sworn  to  give  up  drink 
lots  of  times.     (Donbtfnlly)    But   was    I 
sober  \vhen  I  swore  ?    Tell  me  that. 
Potter  (scratching  his  head).  Dunnow. 
Omar  (staggering  to  his  feet).  "Would  but 
the    desert    of    the    fountain    yield    one 
glimpse  !    In  more  prosaic  language,  could 
you  get  something  to  drink  ?    I  'm  rather 
star-scattered  myself,  the  grass  is  wet. 
[Potter  goes   to  house   and    takes   tip 

third  pot  at  random. 
Third  Pot  (delighted).  Now  he  's  going 
to  fill  me  with  the  old  familiar  juice  ! 

[Potter  fills  him  with  water  and  returns 

to  Omar. 

Third  Pot  (disgusted).  Water!  Well,  I'm 
dashed  ! 

Omar  (to  potter).  Many  thanks.  O 
SAKI,  here's  to  you.  (Drains  beaker.) 
Ugh  !  don't  think  much  of  your  liquor.  I 
wish  the  moon  wouldn't  look  at  me  like 
that.  She 's  a  beastly  colour.  Why 
doesn't  she  look  the  other  way  ? 

Potter  (sarcastically).  Wants  to  see'yow, 
I  suppose. 

Omar  (darkly).  Well,  some  day  she 
won't.  That's  all.  Farewell.  O  SXKi, 
yours  is  a  joyous  errand.  But  I  wish  you 
had  put  something  stronger  in  the  glass 
(Handing  it  back  to  him).  Turn  it  down, 
there  's  a  good  fellow.  [Exit. 

ST.  J.  H. 


A  SUGGESTION  WITH  SEVERAL 
SHOCKS. 

["  Llanfyliin  (Montgomeryshire)  Totni  Council 
•were  yesterday  horrified  by  the  suggestion  that  a 
dramatic  license  should  be -granted,  to.  a  London 
agent  for  the  presentation  of  inusical  dramas  in  the 
Town  Hall.  Only  one  gentleman  had  the  temerity 
to  support  the  application.  The  Council  declined 
to  have  anything  to  do  with  the  unholy  thing,  and 
the  application  was  laid  on  the  table." — Daily 
Telegraph.} 

SCENE  FROM  A  PLAY  FOR  PURITANS. 

SCENE — A  Welsh  Town  Council.  Around  a 
plain  table  are.  seated  several  councillors 
in  diverse  pious  attitudes.  Tliey  are 
all  grave,  formal,  and  severe  in  mien 
and  aspect,  clad  in  sombre  broad- 
cloth and  whiskers.  One  with  sinful 
daring  revels  in  a  tufted  chin.  Before 
each  is  placed  a  glass  of  filtered  water 
indicating  the  purity  of  their  discourse. 
A  murmur  of  indignation  is  with  diffi- 
culty suppressed.  The  councillor  ivith 
the  tufted  chin  has  just  sat  down.  He 
is  purple  in  the  face  ivith  sliame  and 
vexation.  A  gentleman  near  him  is 
sobbing  bitterly.  Several  councillors 
are  bloiving  their  noses  with  Christian 
violence.  To  an  incidental  accompani- 
ment of  snuffles,  groans,  and  lamenta- 
tions, Alderman  JONES  rises. 


Alderman  Jones  (ivith  great  emotion  and 
a  fanatic  vigour  of  utterance).  Fellow 
townsmen  and  miserable  sinners.  Can  I 
believe  my  ears  ?  Is  it  indeed  true  that  a 
lost  soul  from  our  iniquitous  Capital  has 
had  the  temerity  to  enter  this  town  ? 

A  Muffled  Voice.  Impossible  ! 

Aid.  Jones.  Enter  this  town,  I  repeat, 
with  the  impudent,  tho  degrading,  the 
truly  horrible  suggestion,  that  a  dramatic 
license  should  be  granted  for  the  repre- 
sentation of  musical  dramas  in  the  Town 
Hall  ?  [Tremendous  sensation. 

Several  Councillors  (in  clwrus).  Alas ! 
Woe !  Woe ! 

Aid.  Jones  (stemming  a  rebellious  tear). 
And  that  this  diabolical  scheme  has  the 
support  of  an  inhabitant  of  this  town  and 
a  member — alas,  misguided  and  fallen  ! — 
of  this  council  ?  (Every  eyeball  is  turned 
with  a  synchronizing  click  on  the  unfortu- 
nate possessor  of  the  tufted  chin.  He, 
overcome  by  the  fear  of  some  vengeful 
Welsh  Nemesis,  slowly  slides  off  his  chair 
and  disappears  beneath  the  council  table.) 
Oh,  my  friends,  help  me  to  quench  this 
growing  spirit  of  levity.  Assist  me  to 
uphold  the  traditions  of  this  exception- 
ally moral  town,  wherein  such  a  thingtas 


a  short  skirt  or  an  indecorous  knicker- 
bocker  has  never  penetrated.  Think 
what  this  terrible,  this  soul-excoriating 
suggestion  means.  To  see  in  our  midst 
an  actor  —  (terrible  excitement)  —  who 
smokes  cigarettes  on  a  Sunday,  and  an 
actress — a  real  actress — with  rouge  and 
hare's-foot.  (Awful,  sepulchral  groans. 
One  councillor,  overcome  by  vertigo  at  the 
thought  of  such  an  innovation,  of  seeing  an 
actress  through  anything  but  smoked  glasses 
and  a  respirator,  splutters  in  his  glass  of 
wciter,  and  lias  to  be  assisted  out,  still 
coughing  and  gurgling.)  To  have  the  name 
of  SHAKSPEARE— (patriotic  hisses) — coupled 
with  our  immortal  Welsh  bards.  To  hear 
our  children  lisping  the  profane  names  of 
WAGNER  and  OFFENBACH  with  our  own 
dearly  -  loved  LLANWYLLGWYDFENELLYN. 
(Yells  of  anguish.)  My  fellow-townsmen, 
for  years  we  have  eschewed  the  naked 
truth.  Let  us  treat,  then,  with  Welsh  con- 
tumely and  municipal  scorn  this — this — 
my  tongue  can  scarcely  be  brought  to 
utter  it — this  bare  suggestion. 

[Several  councillors  are  prostrated,  and 
the  meeting  breaks  up  as  soon  as  the 
morally-afflicted  are  sufficiently  re- 
covered. 


PECULIAR  TO  MARS. 

Latest  Signals  from  the  Red  Planet. 

No  time  wasted  in  Parliament. 

Everyone  satisfied,  especially  the 
working-man — unable  to  comprehend  the 
meaning  of  strikes. 

Farmers  boast  of  continuous  peace  and 
plenty. 

Toleration  reigns  supreme  everywhere. 

No  difficulty  in  obtaining  respectable 
domestics. 

No  black  balls  ever  found  in  club  ballot 
boxes. 

Newspapers  absolutely  reliable — sen- 
sational paragraphs  carefully  barred. 

Rational  dress  is  the  order  of  the  day 
and  night  amongst  all  classes  of  the  com- 
munity. 

Latch-keyslabolished. 

Problem  plays  and  musical  monstrosi- 
ties things  of  the  distant  past. 

Hotels  conducted  on  principles  of 
honesty,  politeness,  and  efficiency. 

Policemen  absolutely  unnecessary  in 
consequence  of  the  excellent  behaviour 
of  everyone. 


MARCH  6,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


183 


THE  NEXT  SPLASH  WEDDING  ; 

Or,   Hymen  among  the  Billionaires. 

(By  Transatlantic  Cable.) 

As  all  the  ceremonial  arrangements  of 
forthcoming  nuptial  matinees  among  the 
Four  Hundred  are  now  being  stage-managed 
and  rehearsed  some  months  previous,  we 
are  able  to  present  our  readers  with  an 
advance  report  of  the  morning  performance 
of  a  wedding-de-luxe  which  will  be 
enacted  early  next  April  at  the  Vaudeville 
Memorial  Chapel  of  Nudeport  (R.I.)-  It 
will  be  a  very  quiet,  but  thoroughly  toney 
affair. 

The  high  contracting  parties  are  Misi 
MAMIE   GREENBACK,   only  daughter   and 
heiress   of  the  late  well-known  financier 
of  Wall  Street,  and  Mr.  OGDEN  G.  VANDE- 
POT,  America's  richest  young  man,  who  ha 
recently  amassed  over  1,000,000,000  dols. 
by  a  smart  corner  in  freight-cars. 

Miss  MAMTE  is  a  twentieth  -  century 
blond  of  ultra  chic  appearance,  who  has 
received  the  most  expensive  and  exotic 
education  that  Europe  can  provide,  and 
weighs  138  pounds.  She  is  an  expert 
balloonist  and  base-ball  player,  manages 
her  father's  banks  single-handed,  and  has 
taken  the  highest  degrees  possible  in  law, 
medicine,  pigkilling  and  laundry-work. 
She  has  a  complete  set  of  gold  teeth  with 
diamond  fixings,  and  curls  her  hair  every 
night  with  five-hundred-dollar  bills.  Her 
favourite  colours  are  green  (from  her  name} 
and  yellow  (from  the  newspapers)  ;  and 
she  adores  peanuts.  Everyone  consider: 
her  a  perfect  peach. 

Of  the  groom's  career,  we  need  only 
say  that  he  ivas  been  in  the  push  ever 
since  the  day  he  left  his  cradle  to  drive 
his  own  motor-pram  on  Fifth  Avenue. 
Everyone  knows  the  solid  gold  yacht 
with  which  he  intends  to  reach  the  North 
Pole  this  summer,  and  his  lapis-lazuli 
cottage  in  the  Adirondacks  in  which  the 
five  hundred  millionaires  were  lost  the 
other  day.  O.  G.  wrears  an  uphill  smile, 
and  will  go  further  still.  There  is  not 
much  ice  that  he  can't  cut. 

To  avoid  any  appearance  of  a  hippodrome 
wedding,  and  to  ensure  perfect  privacy 
for  the  twenty  thousand  guests,  the 
Vaudeville  Chapel  will  be  raised  from  its 
foundations  for  this  occasion,  and  trans- 
ported by  means  of  a  mammoth  trolly  on 
to  a  monster  raft,  which  will  be  moored  a 
mile  from  the  shore.  It  will  be  reached 
by  a  parqueted  pontoon  causeway,  but,  in 
case  any  of  the  congregation  elect  to  swim 
the  ^distance,  the  sea  will  be  artificially 
warmed  and  spread  with  oil  for  several 
days  beforehand .  This  will  cost  a  hundred 
million  dollars  at  least.  A  fleet  of  steam- 
tugs  will  whistle  throughout  the  service 
to  keep  order. 

The  sacred  edifice  will  be  draped  from 
steeple  to  basement  in  cloth  of  gold,  and 
the  drop  scene  at  the  chancel-steps  will 
be  formed  of  the  rarest  old  green  Gobelins 


Youth.    "Mis*  STANHOPE,    YOU 'KE  POSITIVELY   THE   ONLY  PERSOX   I'VE  MET   TO-DAY 

WORTH   STOPPING   TO   SPEAK   TO." 

Miss  Stanhope  (thoughtlessly).  "INDEED!    You  ARE  MORE  FORTUNATE  THAN  I  AM  !  " 


tapestry  obtainable.  The  musical  arrange- 
ments are  entrusted  to  Manager  GRAU, 
who  will  bring  a  trained  choir  of  prima 
donnas  and  choristers  over  from  KOSTER 
and  BIAL'S.  Bishop  POTTER  will  pronounce 
the  benediction  at  the  fall  of  the  curtain. 
All  this  will  run  into  another  hundred 
million  dollars. 

Mr.  VANDEPOT  is  to  have  a  dozen  best 
men,  supported  by  a  hundred  ushers  in 
gold-lined  diving  -  costume,  which  will 
come  in  handy,  after  the  ceremony,  when 
real  pearls  are  to  be  thrown  instead  of 


rice.  The  groom  himself  will  wear  rubbers 
of  fine-spun  platinum.  These  items  figure 
out  at  another  hundred  million. 

The  thirty-six  bridesmaids  will  be  taste- 
fully attired  in  pointlace  bathing-dresses 
heavily  jeweled  at  fabulous  expense.  The 
bride's  costume  ....  (here  follow  ten 
columns  of  description,  which  we  must 
regretfully  omit  as  also  the  account  of 
the  sky-scraper  cake  with  elevator  in  the 
inside,  and  the  unostentatious  departure 
of  the  happy  pair  in  an  airship,  chased  by 
yellow  reporters  in  balloons). 


184 


OK   THE   LOxNDON    CHARIVARI. 


[MARCH  6,   1901. 


THROUGH  THE  WIRES. 
(A  comic  scene  that  has  been  repeated  daily 

for  years.) 

SCENE — A  Receiving  Office.    Enter  One  of 
the  Public,  hurriedly. 

One  of  tlie  Pnblic.  "Will  you  please  put 
me  on  to  the  Grand  Hotel  at  Rotten- 
borough  ? 

Official.  You  will  have  to  pay  a  fee  first. 

One  of  the  Pnblic.  Certainly.  Only, 
please  be  sharp,  as  it  is  important  I  should 
communicate  with  my  friend  at  once. 

Official.  Where  did  you  say  ? 

One  of  the  Public.  Rotten  borough.  Most 
important  I  should  telephone  at  once. 
Rotten  bo  rough . 

Official  (leisurely  examining  volume).  Oh, 
here  we  are.  It  will  be  half-a-crown  for 
three  minutes. 

One  of  the  Pnblic  (producing  and  handing 
over  coin).  Certainly.  But  do  look  sharp. 

Official.  But  now  you  must  give  me  the 
proper  number. 

One  of  the  Pnblic.  The  Grand  Hotel,  you 
know,  at  Rottenborough.  How  am  1  to 
find  out  the  number? 

Official  (leisurely).  Oh,  by  looking  at  one 
of  those  books. 

One  of  the  Public  (after  a  diligent  search 
occupying  several  minutes).  Rottenborough 
1095. 

Official  (leisurely).  Rottenborough  1095. 
Very  well.  (Speaks  through  receiver.) 
Put  me  on  to  Rottenborough  1095.  Bay- 
sington  4. 

One  of  the  Public  (after  a  pause).  Would 
you  kindly  see  if  they  are  attending  at 
Rottenborough  ? 

Official  (leisurely).  Must  wait  a  little. 
Very  likely  the  line  is  occupied. 

One  of  the  Public  (after  five  minutes). 
Surely  you  must  be  on  to  Rottenborough 
now. 

Official  (leisurely).  No,  I  think  not. 
(Bell  suddenly  rings.)  I  think  that  may 
be  for  you.  (Enters  small  box.)  Yes. 
(Makes  room  for  One  of  the  Public  to 
enter.)  If  yon  want  an  extra  three 
minutes,  you  must  pay  another  half- 
crown. 

One  of  the  Public  (after  putting  down 
his  umbrella  and  arranging  his  hat).  Are 
you  there  ? 

Distant  voice.  Gabble,  gabble,  gabble. 

One  of  the  Public.  I  can't  hear  what 
you  are  saying. 

Distant  voice.  Gabble,  gabble,  gabble. 
Exhibition,  tram-car — gabble,  gabble, 
gabble. 

One  of  the  Public.  Are  you  Mr.  SMITH? 

Distant  Voice.  Yes  ;  1  am  trying  to — 
gabble,  gabble,  gabble. 

Official  (putting  in  his  head.)  Three 
minutes  are  up.  Having  another  half- 
crown's  worth  ? 

One  of  the  Public  (looking  round).  Thank 
you.  (Returning  to  the  receiver.)  Are  you 
Mr.  SMITH  ? 

Distant  Voice.  Yes;  aro  von  Mr.  BROWN  ? 


One  of  the  Public.  Yes,  I  am.  I  can 
iear  now,  quite  distinctly. 

Distant  Voice.  Well,  what  do  you  think 
of  the  idea  ?  You  see,  the  Exhibition  will 
?e  near  the  tram. 

One  of  the  Public.  Yes;  but  I  don't 
quite  understand.  You  had  better  repeat 
what  you  were  saying. 

Distant  Voice.  Well,  I  was  saying — 
gabble,  gabble,  gabble. 

One  of  the  Public.  I  can't  hear  you. 
Pray  repeat. 

Distant  Voice  (once  more  becoming  •un- 
intelligible). Gabble,  gabble,  gabble ! 


ILLUSTRATED  QUOTATIONS. 

(On"  so  rarely  finds  an  artist  win  realises  the 
poetic  conception.) 


"FOR   HE   ON   HONRVDEW   HATH    FED." 

Coleridge. 


Official    (putting    in    his     head).    Have 
another  half-crown's  worth  ? 

One  of  the  Pnblic  (angrily).  No.  (Shout- 
ing through  the  telephone)  I  can't  make 
out  what  you  are  saying,  but  if  you  cai 
hear  me  you  had  better  write. 

Distant    Voice.  Gabble,  gabble,    gab — 
(is  suddenly  switched  off). 

One    of    tlie    Public    (after    paying    five 

shillings).  Well,  of  all  the (Best  o 

the  sentiment  carried  into  the  street.) 
(Curtain.) 


A  SEVERE  CASE  OP  A  FEVER. 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCH, — As  a  family  man 
claim  your  sympathy.    You  are,  no  doubt 
aware  that  certain  Railway  Stocks  are,  01 
the  "Bourse,"  known  by  feminine  abbre 


iations.   Thus  : — Brighton  A's  are  called 
'  Bertha,"  Dover  A's  "  Dora,"  and  so  on. 
This  is  all  very  well  on  'Change,  but  my 
ool  of  a  broker,  JOE  JOBBINS,  got  me  into 
serious  trouble  last  Thursday.  I  entrusted 
lim  to  sell  some  Sheffield  A's  for  me  and 
,o  re-invest  in  Caledonian  A's,  telling  him 
o  wire   me    the    result.    Then    I    went 
down  with  SPARKINS  to  Richmond,  had  a 
pleasant  dinner  at  the  "Star  and  Garter," 
and  went  home  at  night  feeling  passing 
oyful.    Scarcely,  however,  had  I  manipn- 
ated  my  latch-key,  with  the  help  of  a 
policeman,  when  1  was  confronted  by  my 
ommanding    Officer,   who,    in    tones    of 
sepulchral  indignation  enquired,  "  What 's 
meaning  of  this,  Mr.   BUBBLETON?" 
at  the  same  time  handing  me  a  telegram 
which  read  as  follows:  "Got  rid  of  Sara 
;aken  on  Clara  for  you  as  desired,  JOE." 

I  confess  that  for  the  moment  I  was 
forgetful  of  the  jargon  of  Capel  Court, 
and  mumbled  something  about  stupid 
practical  joke.  My  hesitation  increased 
;he  suspicions  of  my  old  Argus-eyed 
pheasant,  and  even  now,  notwithstanding 
that  I  have  got  a  sworn  affidavit  from  JOE 
JOBBINS  as  to  the  meaning  of  his  despatch, 
and  have  loaded  her  with  fifty  pounds' 
worth  of  Spring  gowns,  she  keeps  me  as 
tight  as  a  greyhound  in  a  leash,  and  my 
warmest  protestations  of  undying  affection 
are  met  with  such  chilling  remarks  as : 

Is  that  the  way  you  addressed  SARA  ?  " 
and  "  What  a  pity  it  is  that  CLARA  can't 
tutve  you!"  However,  to-day  I  got  JOE 
to  write  and  say  he  had  bought  me  a  con- 
signment of  "  Transvaal  Devils,"  and  this 
lias  sobered  her  a  little. 

Nevertheless,  I  am  sure  you  will 
agree  with  me  that  the  sooner  these 
unmanly  nicknames  are  abolished  the 
better  for  the  peace  of  mind  of  such 
innocent  speculators  as,  yoiirs  dolefully, 
BARTHOLOMEW  BUBBLETON. 

The  Dovecote,  Larkhall  Rise. 


TO  LUCASTA. 

(New  Style.) 

["  M.    Pot'EQfERY    ])K    BoiSSERIN    proposes    to 

redure  military  service  to  one  year,  with  the 
proviso  that  men  who  reach  tlie  age  of  twenty- 
seven,  and  are  not  married,  shall  be  drafted  again 
into  the  army  for  one  year." — Paris  Correspondent 
of  Daily  News.] 

TELL  me  not,  sweet,  I  change  my  mind 
When,  now  of  fighting  shy, 

My  deadly  weapons  left  behind 
To  thy  soft  arms  I  fly. 

If  you  as  mistress  now  I  choose, 
And  bid  you  thus  to  yield, 

It  argues  neither  wavering  views, 
Nor  passion  long  concealed. 

For  though  my  ardour,  dear,  is  such, 

The  reason,  I  confess, 
Is  not  that  I  love  you  so  much — 

But  I  like  fighting  less. 


MARCH  6,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


185 


A  NEW  "POLLY"  DIALOGUE. 

(With  a-polly-gies  to  Mr.  Anth-ny  H-pe.) 
Copyright,  Punchland. 

"  I  ALWAYS  wonder,"  said  Mrs.  MICHELMAS,  looking  intently 
at  nothing,  "  how  we  manage  to  keep  up  a  conversation  for  so 
long." 

"  Genius,"  I  observed  apologetically. 

"For " 

"  Talking  airy  nothings,"  said  I  complacently,  taking  a  small 
bottle  of  Apollinaris  water  upon 
my  lap. 

"  I  knew  something  was 
wanting,"  remarked  Mrs- 
MICHELMAS,  picking  up  a 
kitten. 

"The  domestic  muse!"  I 
murmured,  as  my  fingers  un- 
ravelled the  wire. 

Mrs.  MICHELMAS  started,  and 
looked  at  me  uneasily. 

"  It  runs  in  the  family,"  I 
sighed. 

"  You  must  undergo  treat- 
ment for  it,"  she  observed, 
gravely  stroking  the  kitten's 
ear. 

There  was  a  pause. 

I  thought  out  my  next  speech 
carefully.  "In  the  conversa- 
tional craft,"  I  said,  rubbing 
the  cork  abstractedly,  "every- 
thing depends  on  the  stroke. 
The  art  of  dialogue  is  like  a 
'Varsity  race." 

A  pucker  crept  round  the 
delicately-marked  eyebrows  of 
Mrs.  MICHELMAS. 

"Ah,  I  see,  you  feel,"  said 
I  cheerfully,  "  that  it  's  a 
struggle  with  the  'blues.' 
Still,  you  should  avoid  the 
dark  side — deal  with  the  light 
aspects." 

"Wretch!  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
MICHELMAS,  stroking  the  kitten 
the  wrong  way. 

"  You  must  forgive  a  Cam- 
bridge man  favouring  the  light 
side." 

Mrs.  MICHELMAS  accidentally 
lost  her  hold  of  the  kitten. 

"You    must    go,"    she    ex- _ 
claimed  with  fervour. 

"You  are  dreadfully  irrelevant,"  I  complained,  loosening 
the  last  piece  of  wire  on  the  bottle. 

"  Conversation  without  a  kitten  is  impossible,"  she  flashed 
out. 

I  held  out  my  bottle.  "  Take  this,"  I  cried  magnanimously  ; 
"  so  long  as  you  stroke  something  it  '&  all  right." 

"  But  what  will  you  do  ?  " 

I  took  up  my  silk  hat.  "  My  heart  being  true  to  my  POLL," 
I  said,  "  there  is  nothing  left  for  me  save  silk,  silence  and 
sorrow.  Unless ' ' 

"  Yes?  "  she  cried  expectantly,  swinging  the  bottle  to  and  fro. 

"  Unless  you  care  for  conjuring  tricks." 

"I  do,  I  do!  "  she  cried. 

1  smiled  with  genuine  pleasure,  then  turned  up  my  sleeves. 


I  twirled  the  hat  round  delicately,  and  then  covered  it  over 
with  a  Westminster  Gazette.  There  was  another  pause. 

"  Permit  me,"  I  asked  politely,  as  I  shook  out  from  the  hat 
scores  of  dainty  epigrams  and  bon-mots,  and,  finally,  an  indis- 
pensable Persian  kitten. 

She  clapped  her  hands.  "  Admirable  !  "  Then,  for  fear  she 
should  discover  how  I  did  it,  I  gracefully  retreated. 


"TWENCENT." 

[With  acknowledgments  to  the  anonymous  inventor  of  this  abbreviation  in 

the  Dally  Mail  of  February  25.] 

AN  end  to  Nineteenth  Century 
•ways  by  this  contraction  's 
meant — 

Let 's  look  around  and  ask  our- 


VARIUM    ET    MUTABILE. 

Uncle  Sam.  "  EF  I   COULD  TRUST  YOU  NOT   TO  GET  TALKIN'  TO 

STRANGERS,    I  'D   PUT   MY  TRAPS   ON  BOARD   AND   GIT.       BUT  AS   IT   IS, 
I  'LL  JUST   HANG   ROUND   THE   RESERVATION   A  WHILE." 

["Nor  is  there  any  probability  that  the  American  forces  will  be  withdrawn 
from  the  island,  while,  &c.,  &o." — New  York  Correspondent  in  the  "  Times  " 
March  1.] 


selves    if    we 
"Twencent." 


are    quite 


The  streets  were  up  last  cen- 
tury, and  still  we  circum- 
vent 

The  same  old  blocks  and  yawn- 
ing gaps — would  that  be 
called  "Twencent"? 

"We  tolerate  the  poster-fiend, 
the  pill-advertisement 

That  blights  our  English  coun- 
tryside —  I  don't  think 
tliat  's  "  Twencent  "  ! 

"We  've  still  a  million  Londoners 
in  slum  and  rook'ry  pent, 

Who  pig  together  in  a  style  dis- 
tinctly not  "  Twencent." 

Last  hundred  years'  eternal  talk 
reduced  each  Parliament 

To  wasters  of  the  public  time 
• — nor  are  they  yet  "  Twen- 
cent "  ! 

And  still  are  found  someEnglish- 

men  (?)    who    calumnies 

•would  vent 
On   Britons   fighting  Britain's 

cause — that  doesn't  sound 

"Twencent"! 

Belauding  every  bandit  -  foe, 
their  energies  are  spent ; 

"King-like,  the  Boer  can  do 
no  wrong  ' ' — a  tale  that 's 
scarce  "  Twencent." 


Each  squalid  murder -case  is 

made  a  National  event — 
So,  after  all,  do  we  deserve  the  epithet  "  Twencent  "  ? 

A.  A.  S. 

No  NEW  THING. — Last  week,  the  Daily  News  drew  attention 
to  the  Sultan  of  MOROCCO  having  ordered  Scotch  pipes  and 
piper  to  match.  Of  course,  the  latter  will  be  a  salaried 
official,  and  the  Sultan  will  have,  not  for  the  first  time,  "to 
pay  the  piper."  The  combination  of  Scotch  and  Moor  will  not 
surprise  the  shooter  of  the  wily  grouse,  who  so  often  sings, 
"  O  Wily,  we  have  missed  you !  "  And  the  North-country 
sportsman  has  long  since  been  accustomed  to  the  union  of  the 
Man  of  the  Mosque  and  the  Man  of  the  Kirk,  when  they  meet 


"Ycs:  the  nat  's  <luite  empty, ' '  she  cried,  in  answer  to  my  look,   under  one  hat  in  the  person  of  a  McTuRK. 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[MARCH  6,   1901. 


LIE- 


AMALGAMATION. 


Parish  Councillor.  "  WULL,  I  DO  VOATE  THAT  THE  TWO  PAR'SHES  BE  MARMALADEU." 

Chairman.  "  OUR.  WORTHY   BROTHER   COUNCILLOR    MEANS,   I    UNDERSTAND,   THAT   THE   TWO    PARISHES    SHOULD    BE   JAMMED 
TOGETHER!" 


"  THE  MISSING  WOKD." 

ANYONE  who  appreciates  good  acting  in  a  pretty  and  touch- 
ing play  will  find  the  materials  for  enjoyment  on  visiting  the 
Court  Theatre,  where  a  dramatised  version  of  MARION  (not 
"MARIAN,"  as  the  play-bill  has  it,  which  is  adding  insult  to 
injury,  as  Mr.  Sam  Weller  observed  on  reading  "Moses" 
instead  of  "Samuel"  prefixed  to  Pickwick  on  the  way-bill  of 
the  coach)  CRAWFORD'S  story,  A  Cigarette  Maker's  Romance, 
adapted  by  Mr.  CHARLES  HANNAN,  is  now  being  given  by  Mr. 
MARTIN  HARVEY  and  his  Company,  with  Mr.  SYDNEY  VALENTINE 
added  to  the  number.  And  a  very  powerful  addition  he  is, 
with  a  melodramatic  situation  at  the  climax  of  the  piece  that 
forcibly  reminds  the  ' '  Old  Hand  ' '  of  that  unrivalled  scene, 
where  the  muffled  drunkard,  throAving  off  his  disguise  and 
standing  erect,  declares  himself  to  be  "  HAWKSHAW  the  Detec- 
tive !"  So  Mr.  SYDNEY  VALENTINE  (February  must  be  his 
lucky  month,  and  the  fourteenth  his  lucky  day),  by  arrange- 
ment with  Messrs.  HARRISON  and  MAUDE,  gets  a  chance  at  the 
"Court  which  was  not  open  to  him  at  the  Haymarket,  and  makes 
the  most  of  it. 

Mr.  MARTIN  HARVEY'S  rendering  of  a  most  difficult  character, 
that  of  Count  Skariatine,  who  is  a  bit  "off  his  head,"  is 
thoroughly  artistic.  It  is  so  perfect  as  to  excite  the  pity  and 
arouse  the  impatience  of  an  audience  that  has  begun  to 


sympathise  with  the  poor,  crazy  creature,  who,  in  the  midst  of 
his  supposed  delusions,  and  in  his  agony  of  a  broken  memory, 
is  always  a  Christian  gentleman,  un  chevalier,  sans  peur  et  sans 
reproche.  Mr.  HARVEY'S  is  a  very  remarkable  performance, 
and  he  is  ably  seconded  by  Miss  N.  de  SILVA,  as  the  loving, 
self-sacrificing,  gentle-toned  Viera.  A  clever  company  all 
round.  Mr.  WILLIAM  HAVILAND,  as  the  villainous  cousin — not 
too  villainous,  but  just  villainous  enough,  will  scarcely  be 
recognised  by  those  who  have  seen  him  as  the  loyal  Cavalier  in 
the  first  piece,  Sweet  Pme,  .written  by  CLAUDE  DICKENS,  which, 
as  being  a  capital  little  drama  of  forty-five  minutes'  duration, 
beginning  at  eight  o'clock,  is  a  strong  supplement  to  the  bill. 
In  this  piece  Mr.  LANDER,  who,  is  so  good  as  Schmidt  in  The 
Cigarette  Maker's  Romance,  makes  a  striking  figure  of  Major 
Overton,  as  does  Mr.  PRANK  VERNON  of  General  Gaul. 

Mrs.  B.  M.  DE  SOLLA  gives  us  a  vigorous  rendering  of  the 
harsh,  miserly,  rancorous  Akalina,  mistress  of  the  cigarette 
factory  ;  Miss  GRETE  HAHN  is  good  as  the  giggling  Anna ;  and 
Miss  BESSIE  ELDER  as  the  idiotic  Augusta,  with  nothing  to  say 
but  plenty  to  do  in  the  way  of  tumbling  about,  is  a  sort  of 
German  Tilly  Slowboy,  only  without  any  baby  to  take  care  of 
and  talk  to. 

Mr.  MARTIN  HARVEY'S  art  has  probably  considerable  limita- 
tions, but,  so  far  as  the  very  difficult  character  of  Count 
Skariatine  is  concerned,  it  is  a  masterpiece  in  miniature. 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.— MARCH  6,  1901. 


MARCH  6,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


189 


ESSENCE    OF    PARLIAMENT. 

EXTRACTED  FROM  THE  DIARY  OF  TOBY,  M.P. 

House  of  Commons,  Monday  Night,  Feb.  25. 
—Great  day  for  CAP'EN  TOMMY  BOWLES. 
In  spite  of  advancing  years,  a  body 
maimed  in  his  country's  service,  secret 
sorrow  over  the  falling  away  (on  to  the 
Treasury  Bench)  of  his  old  comrade 
CORPORAL  HANBUR  Y,  and  a  general  distrust 
of  the  Government,  the  CAP'EN,  ever  on 
the  alert,  for  some  time  has  had  his  weather 
eye  on  Gibraltar.  Doubts  wisdom  of  plan 
of  fortification.  In  Recess,  whilst  others 
made  holiday,  the  CAP'EN  put  up  the  helm 
and  steered  his  barque  for  Gibraltar. 
Arrived  there,  saw  at  a  glance  what  was 
the  matter.  Our  sapient  custodians  of 
the  Empire  been  spending  millions  on 
works  apparently  specially  designed  to 
meet  convenience  of  enemies'  fire.  To- 
night CAP'EN  brought  the  subject  forward 
on  Amendment  to  Address ;  demanded 
enquiry  and  meanwhile  stoppage  of  the 
expensive,  worse-than-useless  work. 

Expected  things  would  take  their  usual 
course.  War  Office  would  sneer  at  the 
CAP'EN  ;  Admiralty  would  tell  him  to  mind 
his  own  business.  "Instead  of  which" 
PRINCE  ARTHUR  promptly  rose,  and,  as  the 
CAP'EN  put  it,  surrendered  keys  of 
fortress  ;  promised  to  appoint  committee ; 
invited  the  CAP'EN  to  join  it. 

HANBURY  happened  to  be  away  ;  spared 
the  remorse  born  of  abandonment  of  such 
a  leader.  The  BLAMELESS  BARTLETT  almost 
breathless  with  admiration.  A  good  deal 
in  what  he  says.  Gibraltar  one  of  the 
chief  bastions  of  the  Empire.  House  of 
Commons  cheerfully  voted  millions  for  its 
better  defence.  Two  Governments  have 
carried  on  the  work.  Highest  officers  of 
Army  and  Navy  concerned  in  carrying  it 
out.  As  the  BLAMELESS  B.  remarks,  it  is  left 
for  a  civilian — if  he  had  remembered  Our 
Mutual  Friend  he  would  certainly  have 
quoted  Mr.  BOFFIN,  "  and  loith  a  wooden 
leg  " — to  discover  the  flaw. 

Business  done. — Still  debating  Address. 

Tuesday  night. — "List  of  amendments  to 
the  Address  reminds  me  of  the  widow's 
cruse,"  said  the  Member  for  Hark,  turn- 
ing over  the  almost  endless  folios.  "  Here 
we  are  on  the  ninth  day  of  Debate,  and 
paper  fuller  than  ever." 

Quite  true.  If  Ministers  pleased,  De- 
bate on  Address  might  serve  for  full 
business  of  Session.  You  may  raise  any 
topic  ;  it 's  all  fish  that  comes  into  the 
net  of  the  Address.  One  thing,  however, 
to  place  Amendment  on  paper ;  quite 
another  to  find  opportunity  of  moving  it. 
Of  the  more  than  forty  Members  who 
proposed  to  discourse  on  divers  subjects, 
only  four  have  been  able  to  get  on. 
Night  after  night,  SAM  SMITH  has  been 
seen  in  his  place,  lingering  like  the 
grey  mist  on  the  early  morning  moor- 
land. Wasn't  Piccadilly  at  midnight  this 


timei  occupied  his  mind  ;  nor  had  he  at 
heart  reminiscences  of  naughty  things 
seen  and  said  on  the  stage.  Was  con- 
cerned about  malpractices  in  the  Church. 
So  was  GREENE,  K.C.  GREENE,  not  a 
Bencher  of  the  Middle  Temple  for 
nothing,  proceeded  by  Bill.  SAMDEL, 
called  early  one  morning,  found  on 
opening  his  Orders  of  the  Day  that 
GREENE,  K.C.,  had  brought  in  a  Bill  deal- 
ing with  Church  Discipline.  According  to 
Standing  Orders,  notice  given  to  bring 
in  a  Bill  precludes  prior  discussion  of 
the  subject  matter  upon  a  Resolution. 
SAMUEL  was  dished.  His  discourse,  al- 
ready typewritten  for  convenience  of 


Alack  !  JOHN  DILLON,  that  Parliamentary 
Icankine  who,  being  on  his  legs,  swallows 
up  everyone  else's  chance,  was  io  the 
fore.  Caught  SPEAKER'S  eye  last  night  at 
j  a  quarter  to  eleven  ;  moved  Amendment, 
calling  upon  Government  to  make  peace 
with  the  gentle  Boer  on  his  own  terms, 
some  apprehension  that  he  would  talk  till 
half-past  eleven,  making  it  impossible  to 
dispose  of  Amendment  at  last  night's 
sitting.  Three-quarters  of  an  hour  a 
pretty  good  slice  for  private  Member  to 
take  out  of  a  sitting. 

"  But  we  know  our  JOHN,"  said  wearied 
Members.  "He  's  good  for  three-quarters 
of  an  hour  "  ;  and  they  yawned  in  advance. 


Brother  Ch-nn-ng.  "  AH  !  BRER  RABBITS—BROTHER  ROBERTS,  I  SHOULD  SAY,  HOW 
BROAD.  HOW  STATESMAN-LIKE  HE  IS  !  !  WHAT  CONVINCING  ELOQUENCE!  YET  WHAT  A  PITY 
THAT  HK  SHOULD  SPEAK  THAT  ENGLISH  LXXOUAGE  THAT  HAS  SUCH  SAD  AND  SHAMEFUL 
MFMORIE8  FOR  US  ALL  !  WOULD  THAT  HE  CJULD  ADDRESS  U8  IN  THE  VERNACULAR  OF  OUR 
DEAR  DE  WET  !  !  " 

Brer  R-l>-ts.  "YES,  VERILY,  INTEET,  WHATEFFER  !  !  " 


able  editors  desirous  of  giving  verbatim 
reports,  was  burked. 

"And  he  calls  himself  GREENE,"  said 
S.  S.,  with  usual  bitterness.  "  How  de- 
ceptive are  appearances  in  this  darkened 
vale !  ' ' 

Just  before  nine  o'clock  PRINCE  ARTHUR 
pounced.  Still  nearly  two  score  amend- 
ments on  the  paper.  At  least  four  score 
Members,  merely  British,  prepared  to 
take  part  in  Debate  on  one  or  other. 
House  particularly  anxious  to  hear  young 
CLAUDE  LOWTHER.  Has  been  out  to  the 
war  ;  started  at  hour's  notice,  abandoning 
cheerful  life  in  Paris  to  face  hardships  of 
campaign.  Distinguished  himself  in 
several  hard  fights  ;  mentioned  in  BOBS' 
despatches.  Apart  from  interesting  per- 
sonality, House  woiild  have  welcomed  his 
testimony  to  things  he  had  seen  with  his 
own  eves. 


Turned  out  they  didn't  nearly  know 
their  JOHN.  When  midnight  struck  he 
was  still  on  his  legs.  To-night  came  up 
quite  brisk.  WILLIAM  O'BRIEN  has  had  a 
night  to  himself  ;  REDMOND  aine  has 
delivered  several  speeches.  TIM  HEALY, 
in  his  unpatriotic  way,  has  more  than  once 
charmed  crowded  audiences  with  piquant 
speech.  Time  Ireland  should  know  JOHN 
DILLON  was  around.  So,  having  spoken 
for  an  hour  and  a-quarter  last  night,  con- 
tinued this  evening  through  another  hour, 
with  six  minutes  thrown  in. 

This  spoiled  all  chance  of  his  Amend- 
ment being  debated.  But  one  can't  have 
everything,  and  JOHN  had  enjoyed  himself 
for  two  hours  and  twenty-one  minutes  by 
Westminster  clock. 

"Must  give  up  JOHN  DILLON,"  said 
SARK,  regretfully.  "  When  I  first  knew 
him  he  was  an  influence  in  Debate  ; 


190 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHABIVABI. 


[MARCH  6,  1901. 


delivered  at  reasonable  length,  pointed, 
picturesque,  sometimes  eloquent, 
speeches.  But  verbosity  is  like  the 
passion  for  drink.  Unresisted  it  grows 
upon  a  man  till  he  becomes  its  hapless 
slave.  There  are  Homes  for  the  habitual 
drunkard.  Why  shouldn't  we  have  caves 
into  which  we  cotild  lower  the  irreclaim- 
able babbler  ?  ' ' 

Business  done. — Address  voted. 

Thursday  night. — Members  came  down 
to-day  a  little  low-spirited.  Fresh  Sup- 
plementary Estimate  circulated,  asking 
for  additional  three  millions  to  meet 
expenses  of  war  conveniently  concluded 
on  eve  of  dissolution  last  October  ;  brings 
total  amount  up  to  ninety-five  millions. 
Remember  how,  on  eve  of  war,  SAGE 
OF  QUEEN  ANNE'S  GATE  prophesied  it 
would  cost  £100,000,000.  Jeered  at  from 
Ministerial  side. 

"LABBY,"  they  said,  "is  more  than 
usually  farcical." 

Rather  a  costly  farce.  As  a  taxpayer, 
would  be  glad  to  contract  myself  out  of 
future  liabilities  by  payment  on  basis 
of  my  share  of  the  round  one  hundred 
million. 

However,  a  silver  lining  to  every  cloud. 
AKERS  DOUGLAS  sewed  it  on  to-night.  Sup- 
plementary Estimates  under  discussion. 
Total  amount  not  big  as  figures  go  in 
these  piping  times.  Only  there  is  per- 
sistent rise  in  the  coal  bill.  In  all  public 
offices  this  item  gone  up.  Irish  Members 
particularly  interested  in  case ;  whenever 
fresh  public  office  reached  in  course  of 
estimates,  be  sure  you  would  find  head  of 
Irish  Member  projecting  from  coal-hole 
wanting  to  know  why  coal  bill  so  large. 

Dealing  with  vote  for  Houses  of  Parlia- 
ment, AKERS  DOUGLAS  explained  mystery. 
True,  the  bill  increased  by  some  thou- 
sands ;  extra  cost  only  apparent.  "What 
has  really  happened  is  reduction  of  ex- 
penditure. Coal  bought  now  for  Parlia- 
ment and  public  offices  on  entirely  new 
principle  ;  middleman  abolished  ;  First 
Commissioner  of  Works,  with  basket  on 
arm,  goes  down  to  pit's  mouth,  purchases 
day's  stock  and  brings  it  home ;  pays 
down  on  the  nail ;  so  obtains  advantage 
of  ready  cash. 

AKERS  DOUGLAS'S  ,rcountenance  glowed 
as  he  announced  that  hereby  was  saving 
of  fifteen  per  cent,  on  the  coal  bill.  Even 
Irish  Members  touched.  For  a  while 
JEREMIAH  JORDAN  ceased  his  Lamentations 
over  the  cost  of  carpets  in  House  of 
Lords. 

"  What  a  Government  it  is !  "  said 
SARK,  in  a  broken  voice.  "  NASMYTH 
hammer  nothing  compared  to  it.  With 
one  hand  it  spends  ninety-five  millions  on 
a  little  war  ;  with  the  other  it  knocks  off 
fifteen  per  cent,  from  the  domestic  coal 
bill."  Business  done.  —  Got  into  Com- 
mittee of  Supply. 

Friday  night. — PRINCE  ARTHUR  made  a 
mistake  when,  at  beginning  of  Session,  he 


ran  away  from  his  proposal  to  make 
Standing  Order  of  the  Sessional  Order 
apportioning  Friday  nights  for  Committee 
of  Supply.  Immediate  consequence  has 
been  appropriation  of  considerable  por- 
tions of  last  Tuesday's  and  Wednesday's 
sittings,  wrangling  round  the  Sessional 
Order.  Will  all  have  to  be  gone  through 
again  next  Session,  and  every  Session  as 
long  as  arrangement  lasts.  Much  better 
have  taken  his  cherry  at  one  bite. 

Of  many  reforms  introduced  into  Parlia- 
mentary procedure  in  last  twenty  years, 
few  exceed  in  substantial  benefits  to 


"  Captain  "  Tommy  Bowles  goes  on  tour  to  Gib- 
raltar with  his  Marvellous  Yentriloquial  Quartette ! 

(Mr.  Balfour  granted  Mr.  Gibson  Bowles  a  com- 
mittee consisting  of  an  admiral,  a  general,  a  civilian, 
and  himself,  to  enquire  into  the  danger  of  the 
Gibraltar  Docks." 

public  service  the  setting  apart  from 
opening  of  Session ,  of J  one  night  a  week 
for  discussing  Supply.  Under  old  order 
of  things  Supply  was  allowed  to  drift  into 
closing  weeks  of  Session,  when  tired 
Members,  kept  up  for  all-night  sitting,  in 
the  end  voted  millions  with  both  hands. 
Now,  with  twenty-three  Fridays  set  apart 
exclusively  for  Supply,  discussion  is 
practically  untrammelled. 
Business  done. — In  Committee  of  Supply. 


A  LITTLE  OUT  OF  DRAWING. 

["  The  chief  drawback  to  street  locomotion,"  says 
a  writer  in  the  .Eastern  Counties  Magazine,  in  an 
article  on  "The  Electric  Tramway  and  its  Future," 
"is  the  horse."] 

To  street  locomotion  the  great  drawback, 
Says  a  logical  scribe,   is  the  harnessed 

hack. 
A   good   draw-forward    we    thought  the 

horse ; 
In    imagining   this  we  were    wrong,    of 

course. 

It  is  clear  to-morrow  is  yesterday, 
And  everything  travels  the  opposite  way. 


AN  AIRY  TRIFLE. 
(From  the  "  Times  "  of  April  1,  1910.) 

THE  public  enquiry  in  connection  with 
the  claim  of  the  Atmospheric  Company, 
for  an  increase  of  its  powers,  was  re- 
sumed yesterday,  when  Mr.  BINKS,  the 
Company's  Chairman,  was  further  cross- 
examined  by  Mr.  Punch,  K.C.,  who  ap- 
peared on  behalf  of  the  British  Public. 

In  reply  to  counsel's  questions,  witness 
said  that  the  present  charge  for  the  use 
of  air — a  shilling  in  the  pound  on  the 
actual  rental  of  a  house — did  not  appear 
too  high.  In  fact,  it  was  absolutely  ne- 
cessary to  raise  it,  if  his  Directors' 
salaries  of  £5,000  apiece  were  to  be 
maintained.  He  knew  that  some  people 
argued  that  the  Company  had  no  pro- 
prietary rights  over  the  atmosphere. 
This  was  a  mistake.  If  it  was  recognised 
that  water  was  a  valuable  commodity,  to 
be  doled  out  sparingly  by  companies,  and 
paid  for  at  fancy  prices,  the  same  prin- 
ciple applied  to  air.  The  work  of  the 
Company  consisted  in  a  variety  of  opera- 
tions, requiring  the  most  elaborate  care. 
Pressed  as  to  the  meaning  of  this,  wit- 
ness alluded  to  the  annual  banquet  of 
the  Board,  the  preparation  of  which 
caused  the  whole  staff  much  anxiety. 
No  doubt,  some  complaints  had  been 
made  as  to  the  limited  amount  of  air 
per  head  allowed  by  his  Company.  This 
was  really  the  fault  of  the  consumers, 
many  of  whom  were  extremely  waste- 
ful. Steps  were  being  taken  to  remedy 
this.  For  the  future,  anyone  guilty  of 
having  more  than  one  window  open, 
except  between  the  hours  of  two  and 
four  p.m.,  would  be  summonsed.  And 
an  extra  rate  would  be  levied  on  those 
who  had  any  ventilating  apparatus  in 
their  houses,  on  the  same  principle  as 
that  employed  by  the  water  companies  in 
regard  to  bath-rooms.  The  additional 
powers  asked  for  by  the  Company  were 
inconsiderable — merely  the  right  to  add 
a  few  more  shillings  in  the  pound  on  the 
air-rate,  together  with  an  increased 
period  of  imprisonment  for  those  convicted 
of  infringing  the  Company's  regulations. 
Asked  how  he  could  have  the  impudence 
to  make  such  claims,  the  witness  replied, 
amid  some  laughter,  that  surely  a  public 
which  consented  to  endure  the  tyranny 
of  the  water  companies  would  submit  to 
anything  a  body  of  self  -  constituted 
monopolists  chose  to  ask.  Indeed,  he 
considered  that  his  Company  was  a  greater 
public  benefactor  than  the  water-company. 
Some  persons  managed  to  get  along  with 
very  little  water,  but  everyone  needed 
air.  Therefore  it  was  only  right  that 
everyone  should  pay  for  it.  Questioned 
as  to  the  conduct  of  the  Company's  officials, 
witness  admitted  that  complaints  had  been 
made.  It  was  possible  that  an  inspector 
had  called  at  one  house  nine  times  in  a 
week,  to  test  the  consumption  of  air 


MARCH  6,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


191 


therein.  That,  -witness  considered,  showed 
praiseworthy  zeal.  And  the  inspectors 
were  paid  (out  of  the  rates)  at  so  much 
per  visit. 

At  this  point  the  atmosphere  in  the  hall 
became  unbearable.  The  witness  was 
understood  to  gasp  that  his  Company  must 
have  cut  off  the  air  by  mistake,  and  the 
enquiry  was  hurriedly  adjourned. 

A.  C.  D. 


COMPENSATION. 

LEARNED  in  natural  laws  the  Government, 
The  County  Councillor  no  less  a  student ; 
Each  to  one  clause  official  ear  has  lent, 
The  compensative  law,  so  just  and  prudent. 

Each  recks  that  for  a  heaven-climbing 

hill 
Some  scooped-out  valley  lies  below  the 

plain  ; 
That  every  town  grown  peopleless  and 

still 
Marks  distant  cities  growing  up  amain. 

Each  has  revolved  in  hydra-headed  mind 
How  Nature  when  upheaping  mound  on 

mound, 

Occasionally  aided  by  mankind, 
Is  elsewhere  mole-like  working  under- 
ground. 

Each  for  the  other  serving  as  a  prop, 
Of  Nature's  compensative  wish  aware, 

"When  County  Councillor  pulls  down  a  shop 
The  Government  digs  up  a  thoroughfare. 


HOW  TO  PAY  FOR  THE  WAR. 
DEAR  MR.  PUNCH,— I  see  hundreds  of 
suggestions  in  your  contemporaries  as  to 
the  finding  of  means  whereby  to  pay  the 
expenses  of  the  war.  Some  advocate 
special  postage  stamps,  others  taxes  on 
cats,  others  again  on  bicycles,  and  others 
on  perambulators  or  cigarettes.  Permit 
me,  Sir,  as  an  old  economist,  to  suggest  a 
practical  way  by  which  the  Revenue  is 
bound  to  be  largely  increased  and  that  is, 


to  fine  every  individual  over  twenty  who 
does  not  take  at  least  half-a-pint  of  spirits 
or  a  quart  of  ale  every  day.  If  your 
conscientious  teetotaller  won't  take  strong 
liquor,  then  he  pays  the  penalty ;  if  he 
does,  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer 
benefits.  This  is  a  double  -  barrelled 
method  well  worthy  of  the  attention  of 
Sir  MICHAEL  HICKS-BEACH,  because  there  's 
no  getting  away  from  the  results.  It 's 
heads  I  win,  tails  you  lose.— Your  obe- 
dient Servant,  THOMAS  TOPER. 
Glenlivat  Lodge,  Tooting. 


/i   •  •  % 

i^M^M^1?'/  r">r  i  &          5WW;i^ 


... 
' 


•"  ' 

-;.' 


3V 


WHO    PAYS    THE    PIPER    CALLS    THE    TUNE.' 


Johnnie  (to  waiter).  "Aw — YOU'RE  THE  BOSS— HEAD  WAITER,  EH?" 
Waiter.  "YESSIR." 

Johnnie.  "  AH,  WELL,  JUST— AH — SEND  UP  TO  TOUR  ORCBZSTRA  CHAPS,  AND  TELL  'EM 
I  REALLY  CAN'T  EAT  MY  DINNER  TO  THAT  TUNE." 


PAINFUL  POEMS.— NO.  I. 
"BURIED  IN  THOUGHT."— A  GRAVE  SUBJECT. 


BURIED  in  thought,  buried  in  thought  1 

How  can  we  sing  of  his  fate  as  we  ought? 
There  in  the  pride  of  his  manhood  he 

stood, 

Perfectly  healthy,  and  happy  and  good, 
Then  in  a  moment   (pray  ^ shudder— you 
should!), 

He  was  buried  in  thought  I 

Buried  in  thought,  buried  in  thought, 

Suddenly  turned  to  a  cipher  (or  nought) ! 
Something  or  other  caught  on  in  his  brain 
(Sensible,  witty,  or  wholly  inane), 
Starting  of  thought  a  calamitous  train — 
He  was  buried  in  thought ! 


Buried  in  thought,  buried  in  thought, 
Dead  to  the  deeds  which  around  him  are 

wrought  1 
Come  let  us  mournfully  stand  by  the  grave, 

Solemnly  chant  a  lugubrious  stave, 
Handkerchiefs,    hats    in    our    sympathy 
He  is  buried  in  thought  I    [wave — 

Buried  in  thought,  buried  in  thought ! 

Are  we  by  sorrowing  relatives  sought  ? 
Mother  or  sister,  asking  for  "  WILL," 
"  Where  is  our  loved  one  ?  "   "  Does  he 

feel  ill  ?  " 

Say,  "We  have  left  him  alone  on  the  hill 
Buried  in  thought  1  " 


192 


PUNCH,   OR  THE    LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[MARCH  6,    1901. 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  MUSICAL  COMEDY. 
CANTO  THE  THIRD. 


The  reader 
seeth  stars. 


The  Society 
Lady. 


The  Prirrm 
Donna. 


Fashion 
n  Songs. 


The  Poet 
parodieth. 


AD  aatra  lot  us  turn,  if  you  're  inclined, 
The  objects  of  so  many  fulsome  "  pars  "  ;  . 

For  now  and  then  a  manager  may  find 
That  he  indeed  has  got  to  thank  his  "  stars." 

A  piece  which  makes  the  critics  stand  aghast 

May  yet  attract  by  virtue  of  its  cast. 

While  competition  rages  fierce  and  hot 
Twixt  representatives  of  rival  Arms, 

These  footlight  favourites  have  only  got 
To  choose  their  theatre  and  to  name  their  terms, 

The  marvel  is,  how  any  pxirse  can  stand 

The  salaries  that  some  of  them  command. 

Exclusively  engaged  for  terms  of  years, 
While  with  the  public  they  are  all  the  rage  ; 

The  manager  takes  care  that  each  appears 
In  ev'ry  novelty  that  he  may  stage. 

If  there  should  be  no  parts  for  them  to  play, 

These  must  be  written  in  without  delay. 

Let  us  just  glance  at  some  of  them  awhile  ; 

Here  is  the  lady  who  '11  impersonate 
A  leader  of  Society.    Her  style 

Is  smart  and  cynical  and  up-to-date. 
She 's  rather  fond  of  speaking  lines  anent 
'•>  Marriage  and  love, — two  things  quite  different. 

A  gay  grass  widow  or  a  chaperone, 
To  handsome  youths  a  counsellor  and  friend  ; 

She  '11  sing  a  song  or  two  if  left  alone, 
With  a  few  steps  9f  dancing  at  the  end. 

But  she  can  act,  so  "  take  it  as  a  fact  " 

She  's  just  the  sort  of  party  to  attract. 

Then  there  's  the  high-class  primaidonna,  who 
The  part  of  heroine  will  doubtless  take  ; 

Dweller  among  the  top  notes,  firm  and  true, 
Queen  of  the  tender  trill,  the  subtle  shake. 

But  sad  to  say,  one  rarely,  now-a-days, 

Will  find  a  prima  donna  in  these  plays. 

And  the  soubrette  : — a  useful  person  she, 
Lively  and  gay,  her  spirit  never  flags  ; 

She  '11  sing  and  dance,  and  not  infrequently 
Will  help  the  low  comedian  with  his  "  gags." 

She  should  be  given  one,  or  maybe  more, 

Of  the  most  tuneful  numbers  in  the  score. 

Now,  Fashion  in  these  ditties  will  prevail : 
Time  was,  when  quite  the  proper  thing  to  do 

Was  to  relate  in  verse  a  touching  tale, 
Not  wholly  unconnected  with  the  Zoo. 

But  we  have  wearied  of  such  songs  as  these  ; 

This  sort  of  thing  perhaps  may  better  please  : — 

MARY  AND  HER  DAIRY. 

MARY  MILES  was  a  country  maid, 

Plumpish  and  plain  and  pleasant ; 
Though  some  folks  thought  she  was  just  a  shade 

Too  cute  for  a  simple  peasant. 
She  lived  at  a  dairy  all  serene, 
And  didn't  she  keep  that  dairy  clean  I 
For  day  after  day,  with  smiling  face, 
She  tucked  up  her  sleeves  and  mopped  the  place. 

MARY,  MARY,  mopped  up  a  dairy, 
Kept  it  clean  and  coolish  and  airy  ; 
Many  a  passing  stranger  stopped 
At  the'delicate  dairy  MARY  mopped  J 


Now  simple  MARY  had  got  a  most 

Remarkable  lot  of  swell  beaus  ; 
Though  not  good-looking,  yet  she  could  boast 

A  beautiful  pair  of  elbows. 
And  neighbouring  noblemen  saw  the  charms 
Of  MARY'S  plump  though  plebeian  arms  ; 
So  Dukes  and  Marquises  thronged  the  door 
While  MARY  mopped  up  the  dairy  floor. 

MARY,  MARY,  mopped  up  a  dairy, 
Kept  it  clean  and  coolish  and  airy  ; 
Many  a  high-born  head  was  popped 
In  the  delicate  dairy  MARY  mopped  ! 

At  length  a  widowed  but  wealthy  earl 

Could  really  resist  no  longer  ; 
For  ev'ry  day  that  he  saw  the  girl 

He  felt  that  his  love  grew  stronger. 
He  offered  his  heart  and  his  coronet, 
And  fell  on  his  knees,  though  the  floor  was  wet ; 
While  MARY  danced  on  the  pots  and  pans, 
And  soon  the  vicar  announced  the  banns. 

MARY,  MARY,  quitted  the  dairy, 
Work  for  her  is  unnecessary  ; 
Never  the  slightest  hint  is  dropped 
Of  the  delicate  dairy  MARY  mopped  ! 


The  above  number,  if  set  to  a  taking  melody  with  a  refrain 
accompanied  by  a  lilting  movement  on  the  part  of  singer  and 
girl-chorus,  and  immediately  followed  by  a  descriptive  "  dance 
and  exit,"  will  no  doubt  become  a  great  favourite  with 
the  public.  Its  moral  may  be  vague,  but  this  will  be  more 
than  atoned  for  by  the  pleasing  jingle  of  words  in  the  refrain. 
If  the  accompaniment  be  fairly  easy  to  play  on  the  piano,  the 
song  will  become  very  popular  with  young  men  of  the  under- 
graduate type,  while  suburban  drawing-rooms  will  resound 
with  it  before  the  piece  has  been  running  for  a  hundred  nights. 

There  may  be  other  lady  stars,  no  doubt, 
This  is  an  average  collection,  though  ; 

And  quite  enough,  as  you  would  soon  find  out 
If  you  should  ever  try  to  run  the  show. 

Three  leading  ladies — and  each  lady  wills 

That  her  name  shall  come  first  upon  the  bills. 


The  Show 
Girls. 


Turning  to  lesser  lights,  thatimeekly  shine 
Upon  the  outskirts  of  this  firmament, 

We  find  the  "  show  girls,"  goddesses  divine, 
Who  with  their  humble  lot  are  quite  content. 

A  line  or  two  to  speak,  will  raise  them  quite 

Into  the  seventh  heaven  of  delight. 

But  though  they  're  insignificant,  when  seen 
From  a  mere  histrionic  point  of  view, 

Pray  do  not  take  this  trilling  fact  to  mean 
That  there  is  no  real  work  for  them  to  do. 

They  have  to  set  olT  for  our  admiration 

Triumphs  of  tho  costumier's  creation. 

Then  tliero  are  ladies  of  the  chorus.    These, 
As  individuals,  are  hardly  known  ; 

Yet  their  united  efforts  always  please, 
They  're  indispensable,  as  you  must  own. 

In  numbers  they  are  formidable,  and 

They  need  controlling  by  a  skilful  hand. 

The  Premiere      Perhaps  we  ought,  en  passant,  to  include 


The  Chorus 
Ladies. 


Danseuse. 


An  energetic  dancer,  of  the  sort 
That  always  seems  so  anxious  to  obtrude 

Her  antics  on  some  Eastern  monarch's  Court. 
How  strange  that  people  always  seem  diverted 
By  ladies  who  are'aruply  underskirted  1       P.  G. 
(To  be  continued.) 


MARCH  6,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


193 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

A  New  English  Dictionary  (HENRY  FROWDE)  is  getting  on. 
Volume  IV.,  a  massive  tome,  dealing  with  the  letters  F  and  G, 
is  just  issued.  The  scale  upon  which  the  work  is  accomplished 
appears  from  the  fact  that,  whilst  Dr.  JOHNSON  dealt  with  only 
1312  words  beginning  with  G,  Mr.  HENRY  BRADLEY  and  his 
assistants  explain  and  lavishly  illustrate  15,542.  This  is  twice 
as  many  as  are  comprised  within  the  borders  of  more  massive 
modern  dictionaries.  Among  much  curious  information  conveyed 
is  the  fact  that  the  letter  F  contains  no  words  beginning  with 
a  Latin  prefix.  (This  will  probably  throw  a  new,  strange  light 
upon  the  fact  that  the  little  old  woman  in  Little  Dorrit  had  no 
name  but  "Mr.  F.'s  Aunt.")  "Words  directly  taken  from  the 
Greek  are  also  absent.  Apart  from  its  uses  as  the  supremest 

dictionary  of  the  English  Ian- 

guage,  the  book  is  positively 
fascinating.  My  Baronite,  a 
busy  man  who  could  do  very 
well  with  forty-eight  hours  in 
a  day,  shrinks  from  turning  to 
the  treasure-trove  in  search  of 
varied  meanings  of  a  .word, 
knowing  by  experience  that 
having  once  opened  the  pages 
he  goes  on  reading  when  he 
ought  to  be  writing. 

How  startling  in  colour,  at 
least,  if  not  in  design,  is  the 
cover  wherein  it  has  pleased 
Publisher  PEARSON  (Limited) 
that  Mr.  RICHARD  MARSH'S 
Strange  Wooing  of  Mary  Bow- 
ley  shall  appear  before  the 
world  of  romance  -  readers  ! 
Seeing  the  cover,  the  not  over 
fastidious  novel  devourer,  in 
search  of  a  sensation,  would 
shudder  and  avoid.  The 
orangey-yellow  would  so  im- 
press itself  on  the  retina  that 
for  some  seconds  everything 
must  appear  to  his  jaundiced 
eye  as  smeared  with  this  book- 
paint.  Was  it  "  ever  thus  since 
childhood's  hour"?  the  Baron 
asks  in  a  Swivellerian  mood, 
recalling  a  "snatch,"  and  re- 
membering how  once  upon  a 
time,  in  1894,  as  he  has  been 
informed,  this  same  Strange 
Wooing  appeared  as  a  PEARSON 
publication,  price  sixpence  ? 

Soit :  The  Baron  never  saw  it :  to  him  it  is  as  new  as 
though  it  had  only  just  made  its  first  appearance.  Well, 
it  is  a  rough  -  and  -  ready  sort  of  story,  the  satisfactory 
perusal  of  which  can  be  accomplished  only  by  the  most  artful 
skipper  who  knows  when  to  come  upon  the  tit-bits  and  when 
to  pounce.  When  the  situation,  to  which  minor  incidents  have 
not  inartistically  prepared  the  way,  arrives,  it  is  a  good  one, 
but  the  author  tries  to  get  more  out  of  it  than  it  will  stand. 
MR.  MARSH  does  not  take  himself  seriously,  and  treats  his 
melodramatic  story  in  a  light-hearted  fashion  that  robs  it  of 
all  genuine  realism.  Yet  it  has  its  merits,  and  on  those  merits 
it  may  be  recommended  to  the  hesitating. 

An  excellent  plot  underlies  Mr.  FRANKFORT  MOORE'S  last 
novel,  According  to  Plato  (HurcHlNSON).  A  man  falsely  accused 
of  forgery,  knowing  that  the  criminal  is  his  friend,  dumbly 
suffers  the  penalty.  On  the  termination  of  his  imprisonment, 
he  went  out  to  Australia,  and  made  enough  money  to  leave 


"GET  OUT  OF  THIS!    YOU'VE  NO  BUSINESS  IN  HBRE.     COULDN'T 
YOU  SEE  THE  BOARD  ?  " 
"AY,  wi;  SEED  BOOA'D." 
"  WELL!    WHAT  DID  IT  SAY  ?" 


his  son  wealthy.  The  son  returns  to  England  and,  not  know- 
ing the  name  of  the  man  who  victimised  his  father,  is  thrown 
within  the  circle  of  his  acquaintance,  and,  of  course,  falls  in 
love  with  his  daughter.  Mr.  MOORE  has,  perhaps,  not  made 
qiiite  as  much  of  this  complexity  as  some  would  have  done. 
Led  away  by  desire  to  give  friendly  digs  at  various  fashion- 
able follies,  he  invents  elaborate  and  far-fetched  machinery. 
This  makes  possible  some  amusing  sketches  of  a  Technical 
School  of  Literature  and  of  a  system  of  ingenious  advertising. 
The  best  character  in  a  sprightly  book  my  Baronite  recog- 
nises in  Sir  Creighton  Severn,  the  great  inventor,  who  success- 
fully applied  electricity  alike  to  big  ends  and  little  ones. 

Street  Dust,  by  "OuiDA,"  is  a  collection  of  stories  (F.  V. 
WHITE  &  Co.)  of  which  the  first  gives  its  title  to  the  book. 
Not  a  happy  title  ;  nor  is  there  much  happiness  in  the  stories 

which  might  have  been  called 

Four  Dismal  Nights  and  a  Bright 
Morning,  or  Dark  Cloud*  and  a 
Ray  of  Sunlight.  They  are  all 
artistically  told.  The  Little 
Thief  is  sweet  but  painful. 
The  Fig  Tree  is  terrible,  being 
the  short  history  of  a  word,  a 
blow,  a  cut,  and  a  run.  But 
the  last  story  is  cheerful, 
bright,  and  as  delightfully  im- 
probable as  a  fairy  tale  while 
as  pretty  as  the  legend  of 
DICK  WHITTINGTON.  There  's 
a  cat  in  it,  too  ;  but  she  is  "  a 
person  of  no  importance,"  at 
.least  of  very  secondary  impor- 
tance in  comparison  with  the 
chief  characters.  As  we  are 
told  to  be  thankful  for  small 
mercies,  so  we  may  be  grate- 
ful for  short  stories,  espe- 
cially when  they  are  written 
by  "  OUIDA  "  at  her  best. 

Mr.  JOHN  LANE,  who,  pub- 
lishing in  London  and  New 
York,  is  in  more  places  than 
one  at  the  same  time,  is  bring- 
ing out  (in  both  presumably)  a 
pocketable  and  certainly  port- 
able edition  of  GEORGE  ELIOT'S 
works,  and  has  led  off  with  the 
universally  popular  Adam  Bede. 
The  Baron  welcomes  the  old 
Adam  in  this  costume  ashertily 
as  ever.  More  so,  indeed,  as  he 

hasn't  seen  him  for  an  age,  and 

"  absence    makes     to    grow 
fonder  the  heart  "  of  the  thoroughly  appreciative 

BARON  DE  BOOKWORMS. 


"IT  NIVER  SPOKE  !" 


THE  PEER  AND  THE  PERL— In  the  Daily  Telegraph,  last  week, 
it  was  announced  that  the  Marquis  of  HEADFORT  is  "engaged 
to  be  married  to  Miss  BOOTE,"  who,  "is  now  playing  at 
the  Gaiety  Theatre."  Well,  why  not?  If  there  be  anyone 
aware  of  any  just  cause  or  impediment,  let  him  declare  it. 
For  ourselves,  if  there  be  anything  ia  names,  we  should  say 
that  "Head-fort"  indicated  a  strong-willed  person  who  would 
plunge  into  matrimony,  head  first,  determinedly.  As  for  the 
jocosely  verbal  chances  offered  by  the  name  of  "  BOOTE,"  are 
they  not  evidently  numerous  and  humorous,  "He,  mon  petit 
chou?"  And,  after  all,  what  boots  it  to  anybody,  except  the 
principals,  if  Miss  BOOTE  prefers  being  a  married  Marchioness 
to  remaining  a  "  femme  sole  "  ? 


194 


PUNCH,  OH  THE  LONDON  CHAEIVAEL 


[MARCH  6,  1901. 


LOVE'S  LITTLE   LIABILITIES. 

Short  Stories  ivith  sad  endings. 
IV. — THE   HOME   OF   THE   IDEAL. 
HE  stood   reclining    his    arms    on    the 
balustrade,   and    pondered    the    question 
deeply.      It  was  at  'one  of    Mrs.    ALGY 
PACER'S  "  affairs,"  as  she  playfully  called 
her  dances,  that  he  had  first  met  her,  and 
here  they  were  again  figuring  at  the  same 
function,  but  not  as  strangers  ;   far  from 
it.     Why  should  he  change  his  state  ?  He,  ( 
GEORGE   PEECHCROFT,    only    son    of   Sir| 

ROBERT   BEECHCROFT,    the  , 

wealthy  mill-owner.  He  was 
healthy,  wealthy  and — speak- 
ing from  the  standpoint  of  an 
unmarried  man  —  wise.  He 
sighed  portentously  as  he  gazed 
over  the  carved  rail,  which 
ran  the  length  of  the  gallery 
in  which  he  alone  lingered 
smoking,  and  looking  down  at 
the  brilliantly  lit  ball  -  room 
thronged  with  its  gay  devotees. 
He  was  desperately  in  love, 
past  all  forgiveness.  How  well 
she  danced,  how  she  laughed 
and  chattered,  the  embodiment 
of  a  healthful  and  refined  joy  ! 
And  her  features  ;  delicate, 
clear  cut ;  softly  merging 
beauty  with  beauty.  She  would 
make  an  ideal  wife.  Yes, 
GEORGE  was  in  love,  and  just 
the  least  bit  selfish.  But  is  it 
not  written  in  the  book  of  the 
lady  novelist  that  all  men  are 
selfish  ?  PEECHCROFT  paused 
as  he  half  uttered  the  word 
"ideal."  After  all,  was  she 
ideal  ?  Would  she  differ  from 
other  women  ?  Would  she  not 
curtail  his  little  pleasures, 
become  extravagant  with  his 
money,  develop  a  spirit  of 
social  competition  and  irk  his 
spirit — as  yet  unfettered — with 
a  thousand  marital  demands  ? 
He  had  plenty  of  money,  hosts 
of  friends,  wras  popular,  and 
the  world  practically  at  his 
disposal  and  none  to  say  him 


— if  he  married,  he  would  lose  it ;  she 
would  prove  like  other  women. 

A  mirthful  laugh  close  by  his  ear  cut 
short  his  speculation.  GEORGE  blushed 
furiously,  and  tried  to  appear  at  ease 
before  the  beautiful  young  girl,  who 
smiled  with  apparent  enjoyment  at  his 
discomfiture. 

"Come,  Mr.  PEECHCROFT,"  said  she, 
holding  up  a  slim  gloved  finger,  and  de- 
clining her  head  coquettishly  to  one  side. 
"  You  were  thinking  of  me." 

GEORGE  laughed  boisterously.     "  I  want 


wants.  I  should  study  his  nature,  make 
myself  acquainted  with  his  peculiarities, 
minister  to  his  complaints,  and  thoroughly 
familiarize  myself  with  his  temperament." 

"  My  dear  Miss  FEATHERWAYTE,"  began 
GEORGE,  in  a  paean  of  delight.  But  she 
went  on  : 

"I  should  not  grumble  at  being  left 
alone,  night  after  night,  while  he  was  en- 
joying himself  at  his  clubs.  Occasionally 
— perhaps,  once  a  year — I  should  expect 
to  be  taken  to  the  theatre  or  the  opera." 


"  Of  course- 


A  NOCTURNE  IN  THE  TREE-DWELLING  COUNTRY. 

Late-reiurning  Individual  in  Fore-ground.   "WELL,  I'M  HANGED  IF 

I   CAN   REMEMBER  WHICH   IS  HY  HOTEL  !  " 


nay.  Why  change  ?  He  might  go  far- 
ther than  bachelorhood,  and  fare  worse. 
Plenty  of  his  acquaintances  had  done  so. 
This  was  a  passing  fancy,  a  hot-house 
infatuation.  He  was  under  a  spell.  Her 
hair  was  excellently  coiffured,  her  gown 
fitted  and  became  her,  her  manners  were 
fascinating,  her  attention  so  sincere. 
Pough !  It  was  his  good  temper.  The 
dinner  had  been  excellent,  the  cigars  and 
wines  of  the  choicest.  This  was  exuber- 
ance, not  love.  And  yet,  ENID  FEATHER- 
WAYTE— ah  !  was  it  not  love  that  made  all 
these  things  appear  better  than  they 
j  really  were?  PACER'S  wines  were,  in  the 
words  of  his  own  man,  "distinctly  off, 
Sir  !  "  No,  it  was  love.  But  his  freedom 


your  advice,  Miss  FEATHERWAYTE.  Is  a 
man  in  my  position  justified  in  remaining 
single  ?  " 

"  It  depends,"  said  ENID,  cautiously. 

"Statistics,"  murmured  GEORGE,  "show 
the  average  married  woman  in  a  far  from 
satisfactory  light." 

"I  am  afraid,"  said  the  girl,  thought- 
fully, "she  gives  more  thought  to  her 
servants,  dresses,  furniture,  carriages, 
jewels — than  to  the  giver  of  all  these — 
her  husband." 

"  Of  course,  that  is  wrong," 

"  Unmistakbly.  Bafi,  of  course,  I  can 
only  say  what  I  should  do,"  continued 
ENID,  timidly.  "  My  first  thought  would 
be  of  my  husband,  p*  his  comforts  and 


"I  should  never  talk  about 
servants,  and  1  should  be  care- 
ful not  to  bother  my  husband 
with  distressing  particulars  of 
the  several  misfortunes  at- 
taching to  the  families  of  my 
indigent  relations.  I  should 
always  appear  dressed  in  the 
height  of  fashion,  and  be  care- 
ful that  not  a  speck  of  dust 
found  a  resting  place  in  our 
joint  home." 

"  Excellent " 

"  1  should  learn  to  suffer  in 
silence,  and  never  refer  to  my 
own  indispositions  or  com- 
plaints. But  rather  bend  my 
mind  towards  my  husband's 
trifling  inconveniences,  and 
generally  surround  him  with 
an  atmosphere  of  cheerful  con- 
tentment and  loving  peace." 

"  My  dear  ENID,  I  cannot 
refrain  from  expressing  ray 
delight  to  hear  you  utter  such 
sentiments.  You  would  make 
an  ideal  wife." 

"Oh,  nonsense!"  and  a 
beautiful  blush  rose  to  her 
cheeks. 

"But  you  would,  ENID;  will 
you  marry  me  ?  ' '  And  he  bent 
closer  to  catch  the  softly 
whispered  reply. 

"Yes." 

"  My  dearest!  "  cried  GEORGE 
PEECHCROFT,  in  a  lover's  de- 
lirious transport.  "  You  are 
mine,  mine !  " 

He  was    about  to   fold    her 

in  his  strong  embrace  when  he  gave  a 
sharp  cry  of  pain.  With  a  start  he 
struck  his  head  against  the  balustrade, 
and  woke  up.  A  lonely  and  disappointed 
feeling  pervaded  him.  It  was  all  a  dream. 


JUBILEE  OF  OWENS  COLLEGE. — When  the 
debt  of  £22,000  is  extinguished,  will  it 
still  be  called  "Owens  College?"  or 
will  another  word  be  inserted,  so  as 
to  make  it  "  Owens  and  Payins  Col- 
lege"? 

AN  ESSENTIALLY  QUIET  AND  MODEST 
NOBLEMAN.  —  Who  is  ?  Lord  MILTON. 
Why,  certainly,  as  he  is  always  a  DE 
MURE  person. 


MARCH  13,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


195 


PREPARING  FOR  THE  PRESS. 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCH,— A  "school  for 
journalists  "  was  tried,  I  believe,  a  few 
years  since.  But  would  it  not  be  better 
to  attempt  something  of  the  kind  with 
the  rising  generation  in  the  days  of  their 
boyhood?  I  subjoin  an  interview  as  it 
could  be  reproduced  in  any  latter-day 
school  newspaper. 

(From  our  own  Commissioner.) 

Having  carefully  disguised 
myself  in  a  bald  wig  and  a  false 
moustache  (reserved  for  the 
purpose  from  the  accessories 
supplied  for  our  latest  private 
theatricals),  I  presented  myself 
to  Mr.  BIRCH.  The  impression 
I  wished  to  convey  was  that  I 
was  a  parent  anxious  to  place 
several  sons  under  his  care, 
and  from  the  manner  in  which 
I  was  received  I  believe  my 
effort  was  successful. 

"You  keep  a  good  table?" 
I  asked. 

"An  excellent  one.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  we  frequently 
have  soup,  fish,  and  an  excel- 
lent joint  or  entree.  Sweets, 
of  course,  daily." 

"  Then,  if  NOBBY  Minor  de- 
clares that  '  resurrection  pie ' 
twice  a  week  is  the  only  dinner 
dish  he  is  guilty  of  a  false- 
hood?" 

Mr.  BIRCH  raised  his  eyes 
with  an  expression  of  astonish- 
ment. 

"  And  I  should  like  to  ask," 
I  continued,  pleased  with  the 
effect  I  had  created,  "if  you 
are  careful  that  your  charges 
shall  not  be  over-worked." 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  sir,  cer- 
tainly. Our  object  is  to  prepare 
our  pupils  for  the  Universities, 
and  we  have  a  distinguished 
list  of  successes." 

"I  presume,"  said  I,  with  a 
smile,  "that  you  refer  to  BRAINS 
Major  —  who,  I  fancy,  was 
known  to  his  schoolmates  as 


j  postage  stamps  (even  with  a  liberal  dis- 
count) in  lieu  of  cash.  So  it  is  impor- 
tant that  the  boys  should  receive  what 
is  sent  for  them." 

"Sir!"  replied  Mr.  BIRCH,  flushing 
with  anger.  "You  would  imply  that  I 
might  cheat  either  the  parents  or  their 
children!  " 

"No,  no,"  I  explained  hurriedly,  for 
when  Mr.  BIRCH  gets  into  a  wax  he  is 
distinctly  dangerous.  "  I  don't  mean  to 


G.    P.    O"-GRE! 


"OF  YE  OGEE  THAT  LIVED  HARD  BY  LOTH  BURY  THAT  HAD  ENVIE 
OF  A  CHRISTOM  CHILDE,  FOR  THAT  HEE  WAS  SWIFTE  OF  FOOTE  AND 
THAT  MEN  GAVE  HIM  MUCH  LARGESSE,  AND  HOW  HEE  WOLDE  HAVE 
DEVOURED  HIM.  AND  HOW  SlR  BOULNOIS  OF  ST.  MARY  LA  BONNE 
AND  SIR  DANVERS  LE  SMITH  OF  YE  STRAND  ESSAYED  TO  RESCUE  YE 
CHRISTOM  CHILDE." — Sir  Thomas  Mallory's  "  Courte  cTEdwarde." 

["The  Bill  which  is  backed  ....  by  Mr.  W.  F.  D.  SMITH  and  Mr. 
BOULNOIS  is  intended  to  afford  the  Company  liberty  of  action,  &c." — Times, 
March  4.] 


'Old  Sweater,'  and  is  frequently  trotted 
out  as  an  example  at  prize  distributions." 

"  Certainly,  Mr.  BRAINS  had  an  excep- 
tionally distinguished  career  at  Oxford, 
but  I  am  unaware  that  he  was  ever  known 
as  'Old  Sweater.'  Perhaps  you  received 
that  information  also  from  NOBBY  Minor." 

I  smiled  and  waved  my  hand  gracefully. 
I  owed  NOBBY  Minor  one-and-six pence, 
and  he  is  for  ever  reminding  me  of  that 
unpleasant  fact.  I  pursued  my  inquiries. 

"Now,  before  I  place  any  of  my  sons 
with  you,  I  should  like  to  know  that  you 
are  liberal  as  to  pocket-money.  I  am 
given  to  understand  that  food  at  the 
tuck-shop  is  very  expensive,  and  that 
there  is  a  growing  disinclination  to  accept 


say  anything  of  the  sort.  But  my  pater 
tells  me  that  he  pays  you  at  the  rate  of 
eighteenpence  a  week,  when  I  only  re- 
ceive  ' ' 

"Your  pater!"  exclaimed  Mr.  BIRCH, 
springing  to  his  feet;  "and  the  money 
you  received !  " 

To  add  to  the  embarrassment  of  the 
moment,  at  this  point  of  the  interview  my 
false  moustache  came  off  and  I  had  to  run 
for  my  life. 

As  I  hear  you  are  on  the  point  of  being 
expelled,  I  forward  this  contribution — 
from  a  safe  distance.  May  it  be  satis- 
factory to  Mr.  BIRCH  and  NOBBY  Minor. 
Give  my  love  to  the  latter,  and  tell  him  that 
some  day  I  will  send  him  his  eighteen  pence. 


TO    MY    SMALL    NIECE. 

QUESTION  AND  ANSWER. 
YOUR  question,  my  pet,  as  I  take  it 

Is  solely  and  easily  this — 
If  a  burglar  his  pleasure  should  make 

it 

To  trouble  my  somnolent  bliss, 
Should  I  use  a  revolver  (and  miss) 
Or  against  his  skull  hurl  boots  to  break 
it? 

I  bow  to  your  kind  superstition 
That  "  nunky  "  is  splendidly 

brave, 
And  would    in  this    awkward 

position 

Infallibly  go  to  his  grave 
In  a  noble  endeavour  to  save 
Much  personal  loss  and  con- 
trition. 

To  prevent  his  abstracting  my 

treasure, 
His  blood  I  might  take  on  my 

soul 

With  quite  undeniable  pleasure 
If   behind    him  in   secret  I 

stole, 
Myself    pretty  safe   on  the 

whole, 

And  could   shoot  him  or  club 
trim  at  leisure. 

But,  child,  as  the  truth  of  the 

matter 

I  feel  to  a  child  must  be  told, 
Your  fondest  illusions  I  shatter, 
Your  Uncle  is  gouty  and  old  ; 
He  never  was  any  too  bold — 
Of  late  he 's  more  timid,  and — 
fatter. 

The  truth  is  as  follows :    the 

bedding 
Would    cover    my    diffident 

face ; 
All    shreds   of    foolhardiness 

shedding, 
If  my  life  I  could  save  by  an 

ace, 
I  'd  be,  though  he  rifled  the 

place, 

As  blithe  as  I  am  at  a  wed- 
ding. 


"QUICK  RETURNS." 
(Omnibus  hoc  vitium  raconteiiribus !) 

MY  dear  old  Proser,  I  declare, 
I  like  to  hear  you  "  in  your  glory," 

With  many  a  halt  from  stair  to  stair, 

As  slowly  we  to  bed  repair, 

With  what  rich  gusto  do  you  air 
That  "  splendid  story  "  ! 

"  Splendid,"  I  quite  agree,  although 
I  merely  grunt  like  some  John  Dory  ; 
I  can't  enthusiastic  grow, 
Because,  in  fact,  some  hours  ago 
I  told  it  you  myself,  you  know- 
That  splendid  story  I 


VOL.  cxx. 


M 


196 


PUNCH,  OK  THE  LONDON  CHAEIVARI. 


[MARCH  13,  1901. 


THE   SILENCE   THAT  PAID; 
OB,  A  BETTER  WAY  OF  ADVERTISING. 

"  Est  et  fideli  tuta  silentio  Merces."— HOE.  :  Carm.  in.,  2,  25,  6. 

Now  March,  the  double  nature,  wild  and  tame, 
Betrays  the  wool  beneath  his  pelt  of  lion  ; 

And  by  the  bed  of  Winter,  dying  game, 
His  crocus  crown  young  Spring  begins  to  try  on. 

Biding  his  Easter  boom  the  bookman  sleeps, 
And  in  the  pause  our  literary  cubs  treat 

Of  serpents  sighted  on  the  inky  deeps 
Or  else  the  giant  gooseberries  of  Grub  Street. 

A  myriad  brains  (if  brains  they  truly  be) 

The  same  insoluble  enigma  vexes  : — 
"  Who  is  the  '  Englishwoman,'  who  is  she  ? 

Tell  us  at  least  (if  any)  what  its  sex  is." 

In  dazzling  salons  of  the  most  polite 
West  Kensington  debates  the  topic  daily  ; 

Here  they  have  heard  the  facts,  and  here  can  cite 
Internal  proofs  to  satisfy  a  Paley. 

And  ever  someone,  who  declines  to  say 
The  writer's  name,  though  he  has  always  known  it, 

Blushes  a  healthy  pink  as  who  should  pray — 

"  Press  not  the  soft  impeachment,  lest  I  own  it." 

The  list  of  claimants  (not  including  those 
Who  call  themselves  the  author's  aunt  or  cousin), 

So  far  as  present  calculation  goes 
Amounts,  as  I  have  read,  to  some  three  dozen.* 

Others,  on  whom  Suspicion  never  pounced 
As  likely  parties  to  the  work  in  question, 

Declare,  with  candour  almost  too  pronounced, 
That  they  repudiate  the  mere  suggestion. 

And  yet  there  is  that  painful  point  of  view  : — 
While  he  (or  she),  the  actual  author,  lay  low, 

What  if  some  innocent  like  me  or  you 
Has  worn  unwittingly  another's  halo  ? 

Pro-Boers  of  tender  conscience  still  recall 
How  night  by  night  they  tossed  on  beds  of  bristles 

Till  Mr.  JOSEPH  published,  names  and  all, 
Those  scarcely  less  notorious  epistles. 

But  we — against  Suspicion's  stealthy  ways 
What  shield  of  Truth  shall  similarly  fence  us, 

Unless,  perhaps,  the  Government  should  raise 
The  point  at  issue  in  the  coming  Census  ? 

It  asks  about  our  age  and  health,  of  mind, 
Let  it  invite  an  answer  worth  the  seeking, 

Thus  :    Is  the  Occupier  (undersigned) 
An  "Englishwoman,"  technically  speaking? 

But,  first,  I  make  appeal : — Dear  Sir  (or  Ma'am), 

Elusive  object  of  our  speculation, 
O  be  contented  with  your  "  little  slam," 

Nor  overdo  an  adequate  sensation  ! 

If  you  are  reasonably  drunk  with  fame, 
And  cloyed  enough  with  wallowing  in  clover, 

Why,  then,  for  Heaven's  sake,  let 's  know  your  name, 
And  get  this  tedious  dull  business  over. 

O.  S. 

*  Thirty-seven  is  given  in  one  paper  as  the  precise  number  of  known 
pretenders  to  the  authorship  of  An  Englishwoman's  Love-Letters. 


CONVERSATIONAL  HINTS  FOR   YOUNG  RIDERS. 
CHAPTER  IX. 

Of  Mr.  Surtees,  his  Life  and  Works — The  Dictionary  of  National 
Biography — The  Value  of  Observation. 

WRITING  a  few  weeks  back  on  the  subject  of  Mr.  SURTEBS, 
the  creator  of  Jorrocks,  I  committed  myself  to  the  statement 
that  but  little  was  known  of  him  except  that  he  had  lived  and 
written  and  was  now  departed. 

A  correspondent,  however,  has  written  to  me  from  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Darlington  as  follows  : — 

"  You  may  be  interested  to  know  that  the  author  of  Jorrocks  is  perfectly 
well  known.  H'e  lived  in  the  County  of  Durham.  The  hounds  he  hunted 
with  were  "  The  Braes  o'  Derwent,"  of  which  PIGG  was  huntsman.  Mr. 
SUKTEES  belonged  to  a  branch  of  the  fine  old  county  family  of  SURTEES  still 

with  us.     I  have  just  been  sitting  with  my  old  friend,  Mr.  A M , 

aged  eighty-six,  late  M.  F.  H.,  who  says  he  knew  him  personally  very  well. 
Many  of  the  scenes  of  Mr.  Jorrocks' s  adventures  were  in  this  neighbourhood, 
and  many  of  the  persons  described  by  Mr.  SURTEES  were,  or  are  still, 
easily  recognisable." 

Hereupon,  I  did  what  I  ought  to  have  done  before  I  wrote  of 
Mr.  SURTEES  at  all.  I  turned  to  the  Dictionary  of  National 
Biography  and  looked  up  the  name.  There,  sure  enough,  set  out 
in  nearly  three  columns  of  that  absolutely  invaluable  book,  I 
found  plenty  of  details  with  regard  to  the  novelist.  He  was 
born  in  1803,  educated  at  Durham  Grammar  School,  qualified  as 
solicitor,  and  began  writing  for  the  old  Sporting  Magazine. 
During  1830  he  compiled  a  manual  for  horse-buyers,  and  in  1831 
helped  to  start  the  New  Sporting  Magazine,  which  he  edited 
for  five  years.  In  the  pages  of  this  periodical  he  developed 
the  character  of  Mr.  Jorrocks,  "  a  sporting  grocer,  the  quint- 
essence of  Cockney  vulgarity,  good  humour,  absurdity  and 
cunning."  The  Dictionary  of  N.  B.  further  states  that 
it  was  the  success  of  these  sketches  that  led  to  the  conception 
of  a  similar  scheme  by  CHAPMAN  and  SEYMOUR,  which  resulted 
in  the  "  Pickwick  Papers."  Later  on  SuRTEES  became  a  J.P. 
for  Durham,  a  major  of  militia  and,  glory  of  glories,  high 
sheriff  of  the  County  in  1856.  He  died  in  1863.  He  was,  says 
the  Dictionary,  "a  keen  observer,  very  tall,  but  a  good 
horseman,  who,  '  without  ever  riding  for  effect,  saw  a  deal  of 
what  the  hounds  were  doing.'  "  For  all  further  details,  those 
who  are  interested  may  be  referred  to  the  Dictionary  itself, 
which  is  a  nice,  handy  little  work  in  sixty-three  volumes, 
admirably  suited  to  the  waistcoat  pocket.  Having  thus  made 
my  reparation  to  the  injured  shade  of  Mr.  SURTEES,  I  may 
proceed  with  a  clear  conscience. 

For  purposes  of  conversational  excellence,  I  know  nothing 
that  will  serve  a  youth  so  well  as  a  careful  observation  of  the 
types  he  meets  when  engaged  in  the  chase  of  the  fox.  I  put 
aside  for  the  moment  the  so-called  fashionable  packs.  We 
cannot  all  hunt  in  the  Midlands;  some  of  us  have  to  be  content 
with  the  hounds  that  hunt  the  country  in  which  we  were  born, 
or  where  we  have  our  residence,  in  the  south,  the  north,  the 
east  or  the  west.  These,  the  average,  steady-going  packs,  are, 
in  a  sense,  the  backbone  of  the  sport.  They  pursue  it,  year  in, 
year  out,  against  all  manner  of  adverse  circumstances,  and 
keep  the  sacred  lamp  of  the  chase  burning  with  an  enthusiasm 
that  nothing  can  daunt.  One  who  hunts  with  such  a  pack,  not 
for  show,  but  for  sheer  love  of  the  sport,  may  say  of  himself, 
varying  what  GOLDSMITH  said  of  Sir  JOSHUA  REYNOLDS  : — 
When  they  talked  of  their  Quorns  and  their  Pytchleys  and  stuff 
He  shifted  his  trumpet  and  only  took  snuff. 

And  devotees  of  the  Quorn  and  the  Pytchley  may  be  appeased 
when  they  reflect  that  in  this  perversion  they  are  privileged  in 
regard  to  hunting  with  the  position  that  RAPHAEL  and  CORREGGIO 
hold  in  regard  to  painting.  So  the  matter  is  fair  all  round. 
I  will  suppose,  then,  that  you  hunt  where  you  live,  and  that 
you  live  where  most  Englishmen,  after  all,  live — that  is,  in  a  part 
of  England  unadorned  by  a  fashionable  pack.  Keep  your  eyes 


MARCH  13,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


197 


EASILY    SATISFIED. 

(tt?7w  rtW  6it£  dissolved  partnership  at  the  last  Fence).  "THANK  GOODNESS  I'VE  GOT  HOLD  OF  THE  REINS  AGAIN  1 

COULD   BUT  GET  MY  FOOT  INTO   THAT  CONFOUNDED   STIRRUP,    I   SHOULD   BE  ALL   RIGHT  !  " 


IF  I 


open,  as  you  ride,  and  mark  well,  for  future 
use,  the  characters  you  meet.  You  will  be 
repaid  in  more  ways  than  one,  for  you  will 
find  that  the  more  you  know  of  the  men 
who  ride,  the  better  you  will  like  them,  and 
the  more  highly  you  will  honour  this  gal- 
lant and  representative  body  of  our  fellow 
countrymen.  In  my  next  I  will  give  you 
a  few  hints  that  may  help  you  in  your 
observation. 


POST  OFFICE  COMPETITION. 

["  The  Post  office  threatens  to    supersede  the 
District  Messenger  Boys."] 

BRISK  boys,  who  go  so  very  fast, 
So  quickly  yet  so  surely  too, 

Here  is  an  awful  threat  at  last, 
Which  might  dishearten  even  you  ; 

Henceforth  the  fatal  fact  you  know, 

You  struggle  with  the  G.  P.  O. 

However  quickly  you  may  run, 
However  promptly  do  your  task, 

Remember  there  is  always  one 
From  whom  no  mercy  you  can  ask  ; 

A  monster,  deaf  and  blind  and  slow, 

Will  dog  your  steps — the  G.  P.  O. 


Yet  be  not  frightened  or  ashamed, 
But  bravely  to  your  duties  keep, 

The  horrid  monster  I  have  named 
Is  usually  fast  asleep  ; 

And,  should  it  now  less  drowsy  grow, 

You  need  not  fear  the  G.  P.  O. 

You  've  heard  the  fable  of  the  Hare, 
Who,  while  the  Tortoise  won  the  race, 

Was  idly  dozing.    Now  the  pair 
Of  you,  in  such  a  tale,  change  place  ; 

The  Tortoise  certainly  would  go 

To  sleep,  since  he 's  the  G.  P.  O. 


TO    CHLOE. 

CHLOE,  when  (to  save  expense) 
Years  ago  I  lived  at  Brixton, 

While  for  your  proud  residence 
Kensington  your  father  fixed  on  ; 

Then,  though  living  far  apart 
(I  with  heart  with  rapture  beating, 

You  with  blush  and  well-feigned  start), 
Somehow  we  were  always  meeting. 

But  though  we  now,  CHLOE  dear 
(How  is  it  ?  Alas !  I  wonder), 

To  each  other  live  so  near, 
We  are  as  the  poles  asunder. 


Where  you  go  to  sup  or  dine 

I  am  not  allowed  to  follow  ; 
At  that  dismal  club  of  mine 

Doomed  my  lonely  meal  to  swallow. 

Strange  indeed,  that  I,  who  then 
Danced    attendance,    fetched    and 

I,  alone,  of  all  the  men,  [carried, 

Scarcely  see  you — now  we  're  married. 


GIVE  AND  TAKE. 

(A  Song  sung  after  James  Thomson.) 

GIVE  a  man  a  dish  he  can  eat, 
Give  a  man  a  wine  he  can  drink  ; 

If  they  're  bad  for  his  health  he  '11  get 

'em  by  stealth, 
And  never  will  sleep  a  wink. 

Tell  a  man  a  stupid  old  joke, 
Give  a  man  a  book  dull  to  read  ; 

You  '11  be  on  the  floor  and  out  of  the 

door 
With  a  nose  he  has  caused  to  bleed. 

Give  a  man  a  note  he  can  change 
While  you  wait  his  return  to  tea  ; 

Your  trust  is  in  vain, — but  I  needn't 

explain — 
'Tis  "  the  confidence  trick,"  you  see. 


198 


PUNCH,  OE  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[MARCH  13,  1901. 


BELLES  LETTEES. 

BY  BABOO  JABBERJEE. 
I. — An  Englishwoman's  Love-Letters. 

I  AM  to  commence  with  the  personal  explanation.  After  my 
star  was  in  the  brilliant  ascendant  of  a  crack  British  Novelist, 
owing  to  successful  serial  publication  of  "  The  Adventures  of 
Mr.  BINDABUN  BHOSH  "  (which  has,  somehow,  not  yet  made  its 
appearance  in  voluminous  form),  I  was  humbly  approached  with 
a  complimentary  request  from  Honble  Punch,  that  I  was  to  do 
him  some  criticisms  on  up-to-date  English  fictions  and  litera- 
tures. 

But,  finding  myself  destitute  of  the  quantum  suff  of  straw 
to  compose  even  the  moiety  of  a  brick,  I  nilled  the  invitation 
with  a  polite  nolo  episcopari.  Subsequently,  however,  I  made 
the  discovery  that  literary  circles,  both  in  Calcutta  and 
London,  were  in  the  pucker  of  a  stew  concerning  'a  certain 
volume  of  post-obit  correspondence,  entitled,  An  Englishivoman' s 
Love-Letters. 

Some  stoutly  upheld  them  as  the  unadulterated  output  of  a 
genuine  young  deceased  feminine ;  others  more  sceptically 
maintained  that  they  were  the  spurious  and  flim-flam  produc- 
tions of  some  anonymous  male. 

Not  having  perused  the  said  documents  at  the  time,  I  was 
obliged  to  confess  myself  totally  incompetent  to  undo  the 
Gordian  knot  of  their  authenticity ;  but,  hey-day !  presently 
Rumour,  protruding  her  thousand  tongues  painted  with  venom, 
indicated  my  inoffensive  self  as  either  the  stony-hearted  re- 
cipient or  the  fons  et  origo  of  these  elegant  billet-don xs  ! 

So,  impelled  by  sheer  curiosity,  I  procured  a  copy  of  the 
volume  from  a  Calcutta  library,  and  read  same  with  eyes 
jutting  out  in  amazement.  I  should  mention  that  I  had  pre- 
viously seen  copious  extracts  in  the  pages  of  Punch's  periodi- 
cal ;  but  these,  though  obviously  from  the  same  hand,  are  pro- 
bably taken  from  some  enlarged  edition,  as  I  cannot  find  them 
in  my  own  copy. 

First  and  foremost,  let  me  vehemently  deny  that  any  of  these 
epistles  were  written  either  to  or  by  myself,  though  I  will 
admit  that,  while  a  resident  in  England,  I  received  countless 
equally  impassioned  notes,  and  not  only  from  Miss  MANKLETOW, 
but  innumerable  other  members  of  the  softer  sex. 

Had  I  been  an  (Edipus  to  foresee  the  frantic  avidity  with 
which  cultivated  British  readers  would  devour  authentic  love- 
letters  which  were  not  even  addressed  to  themselves,  I  should 
have  preserved  those  chaste  and  erotical  effusions,  instead  of 
carelessly  destroying  matter  worth  many  hundreds  of  rupees. 

As  to  the  wanton  and  gratuitous'accusation  that  I  wrote  the 
contents  of  this  volume,  while  I  will  not  affect  such  false 
modesty  as  to  pretend  inability  to  do  so  (and  in  far  more  correct 
style  and  composition),  still  I  can  conscientiously  assure  all 
honble  readers  that  I  am,  like  Emperor  CESAR'S  better  half, 
above  suspicion. 

And  I  should  really  have  expected  that  their  own  nude 
commonsense  would  have  demonstrated  the  utter  folly  and 
preposterousness  of  .such  a  supposition  ! 

Is  it  reasonably  plausible  that  any  certificated  B.A.  could 
perpetrate  such  a  solecism  as  "Look,  see  !  O  blind  mouth  !  " 
[v.  Letter  I.]  when  it  is  within  the  knowledge  of  the  veriest 
schoolboy  that  the  mouth  is  not  the  organ  of  vision  ?  Or  am  I 
so  mediocre  an  astronomer  that  I.  should  talk  of  a  star  swim- 
ming up,  clasping  the  writer,  and  showing  her  the  portrait  of  a 
lover  ?  [v.  Letter  II.]  This  is  not  customary  with  any  stars 
that  I  am  acquainted  with,  and  if  it  is  contended  that  all  this 
is  intended  metaphorically,  no  Oriental  scholar  is  addicted  to 
mix  his  metaphors  in  such  topsy-turvy  fashions. 

On  the  other  side,  I  am  constrained  to  admit  that  there  are 
certain  passages  which,  to  a  superficial  student,  might  seem  to 
implicate  myself.  Letter  XII.  contains  an  allusion  to  "  a  well- 
dressed  sort  of  young  fellow,  in  grey  and  a  moustache,  and  know- 


ing how  to  ride,"  which,  except  in  the  matter  of  proficiency  in 
the  art  of  equitation,  is  on  all  fours  with  my  own  personal 
appearance. 

In  Letter  IV.  the  writer  inquires  if  her  beloved  goes  out 
rabbit-shooting  for  love  of  her,  and  misses  every  time,  and  in 
Letter  L.  she  requests  him  not  to  shoot  any  lark  birds,  it  being 
incontrovertible  that,  when  engaged  in  pleasures  of  the  Chase, 
I  did  miss  nearly  every  time,  and  did  not  hit  a  single  lark  bird. 

Also,  in  Letter  C,  she  addresses  him  as  "  Dear  Prince  Wonder- 
ful," and  I  was  notoriously  mistaken  by  most  London  feminines 
for  some  sort  of  Native  Prince.  Again,  in  Letter  Q,  she 
narrates  that  she  heard  someone  speak  of  him  as  "  charming," 
which  she  might  constantly  have  heard  remarked  of  this  un- 
worthy self  had  she  been  a  resident  at  the  same  select  board- 
ing establishment,  though  I  do  not  assert  she  was,  assuming 
her  to  be  of  feminine  gender  at  all. 

Moreover,  she  comments  [Letter  XXXI.]  on  the  resemblance 
between  a  portrait  by  Honble  TITIAN  of  a  certain  tip-top 
Norfolk  magnate  and  "somebody  she  likes,"  and,  though  un- 
acquainted with  either  of  the  parties,  I  have  frequently 
received  compliments  on  my  aristocratic  bearings,  and  have 
been  actually  accosted  in  the  streets  as  the  "blooming  Duke." 

And,  finally,  there  is  the  striking  reference  [Letter  LV.]  to  her 
pen  as  "  a  poor  dinky  "  [qu.  clerical  mistake  for  "  dingy,"  or 
"inky"]  "little  Othello,"  which  appears  to  contain  a  round- 
about reference  to  some  Native  gentleman  with  rather  jealous 
proclivities.  Still,  after  making  all  these  handsome  admissions, 
I  repeat  that  the  cap  is  a  palpable  misfit  for  such  an  unassuming 
head  as  the  present  writer's. 

I  will  next  examine  the  question  :  Are  these  documents  the 
work  of  a  genuine  female  woman  or  vice  versa  f 

If  not,  one  thing  is  a  cock-certainty.  They  are  by  a  male 
who  is  an  au  fait  in  the  knowledge  of  the  proper  attitude  of  a 
female  towards  her  lord  and  master.  The  writer  addresses  her 
most  Beloved  as  "  her  own  sweetheart  whom  she  so  worships  "  ; 
[Letter  VI.]  invites  him  [Letter  XIII.]  to  come  and  see  her,  but 
to  shut  "  those  dear  cupboards  of  vision,"  his  eyes  ;  (probably 
in  dread  of  being  dazzled)  asks  permission  [Letter  XXI.]  to  send 
his  poor  foot  a  kiss  per  post ;  tolls  him  [Letter  XXIV.]  that 
"  her  love  lies  grovelling  and  insufficient  at  his  feet,  and  will, 
till  they  become  amputated ;"  begs  him  [Letter  LVI.]  to  continue 
to  smudge  his  letters  with  a  "whirlpool  mark  of  his  thumb,"  for 
the  reason  that  it  is  "delicious  to  rest  her  face  (on  the  said 
smudge)  and  feel  him  there." 

All  this  is  marvellously  true  to  nature  and  characteristic  of 
the  feminine  temperaments,  as  I  can  testify  from  having  been 
frequently  compelled  to  correct  similar  tendencies  in  my  own 
wives. 

But  there  are  other  points  which  render  me  suspicious. 
Would  a  real  lady  request  that  she  might  not  be  given  presents 
of  jewellery?  [v.  Letter  III.]  I  can  only  say  this  is  utterly 
opposed  to  my  own  experience  of  the  sex.  Would  any  feminine 
muster  up  sufficient  physical  courageousness  to  tie  up  a  mouse 
in  a  paper  bag  and  throw  it  out  of  the  window  ?  I  should 
consider  this  a  dare-devil  proceeding,  even  for  myself.  Or 
would  not  a  genuine  English  lady  use  some  more  refined 
expression  than  to  write  about  "  waters  walloping  under  the 
bellies  of  gondolas  ?  "  [Letter  XXXVIII.] 

Without  presuming  to  decide  where  even  angels  will  rush  in 
and  disagree,  I  proceed  to  another  point,  videlicet :  Why  did 
these  lovers  part  ?  And  here  I  have  no  hesitation  in  solving  so 
facile  a  conundrum.  They  parted  because  the  lady  was  a 
victim  of  woolgathering  wits,  and  the  sweet  bells  of  brain  were 
irrevocably  jangled. 

This  I  can  prove  by  internal  evidence:  In  Letter  IV.  she 
says  she  is  making  her  dress-tail  purposely  long  so  that,  before 
vanishing  round  a  corner,  it  may  say  to  him  :  "I  love  you  so, 
see  how  slowly  I  am  going."  She  entreats  him  [Letter  XXXI.] 
to  walk  only  on  one  leg  when  thinking  of  her.  She  suffers  from 
delusions  (1)  that  the  constellation  of  Ursa  Major  looks  in  at 


MARCH  13,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


199 


THE    MAGIC    CARPET. 

[Wishing  "  Godspeed  "  to  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Cornwall  and  York,  who  are  starting  for  Australia,  Saturday,  March  16.] 


200 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[MARCH  13,  1901. 


her  -window  and  growls  at  her.  [Letter  V.]  (2)  that  a  man  came 
down  from  a  Blue-moon  and  partook  of  plum-porridge  in  her 
society  [Letter  P.] 

I  inquire  fearlessly,  are  these  the  concomitants  of  an  un- 
clouded intellect  ?  And  I  expect  with  utmost  confidence  that 
Echo  will  oblige  with  the  customary  answer  in  the  negative. 

My  theory  is,  then,  that  the  young  man  broke  it  off  on 
ground  that  his  fiancee  was  secreting  a  bee  in  her  bonnet,  and 
that  he  abstained,  with  the  delicacy  of  a  chivalrous,  from 
telling  her  this  reason,  and  also  from  endangering  his  person 
by  a  personal  interview. 

It  may  be  asked :  why  did  she  not  adopt  the  ordinary  Con- 
stitutional remedy  of  deserted  feminines,  and  institute  legal 
proceedings  for  breach  of  promise  to  marry,  as  Miss  M.  did 
against  my  unfortunate  self  ?  She  had,  prima  facie,  a  better 
case ;  he  had  a  superfluity  of  the  root  of  evil ;  she  had  pre- 
served all  his  letters ;  and  he  had  publicly  acknowledged  her 
at  a  ball  as  his  official  fiancee,  [v.  Letter  XI.] 

The  reason  is  plain  as  a  pike's  head.  No  solicitor,  however 
full  of  push,  would  undertake  the  cause  of  a  client  afflicted 
with  the  loose  tile,  and  giddy  as  a  goose  with  rats  in  her 
iipper  story ! 

But  in  making  these  shrewd  guesses,  I  must  again  disown 
all  personal  connection  with  this  painful  kettle  of  fish.  It 
would  do  me  severe  social  and  professional  damages  were  I 
supposed  to  be  the  hero,  or  even  the  author,  of  this  notorious 
production,  and  I  cannot  too  emphatically  contradict  such 
fallacious  and  cock-and-bull  assertions. 

Nevertheless,  as  I  do  not  wish  to  damp  a  juvenile  litterateur 
(if  not  deceased),  I  have  pleasure  in  testifying  that  I  have 
perused  the  little  volume  with  considerable  interest. 

Calcutta,  Feb.  llth,  1901.  H.  B.  J. 


A  MEETING  OF  THE  BENCH. 

["It  was  extremely  necessary  that  the  judges  themselves  should  know 
something  of  the  meaning  and  effect  of  the  sentences  they  passed,  and  it 
should  be  every  judge's  duty  to  acquaint  himself,  as  far  as  possible,  with  the 
effects  of  different  punishments." — The  Lord  Chief  Justice,  at  the  meeting  of 
the  Society  of  Comparative  Legislation.  February  27.] 

The  L — d  C — r.  In  criminal  matters,  my  learned  brethren,  I 
must  confess  I  have  always  been  a  mere  child.  My  interest  in 
crime  and  punishment  is,  of  course,  merely  an  academic  one. 
Therefore,  I  have  much  pleasure  in  calling  upon  my  friend  the 
Lord  Chief  Justice  to  open  this  discussion. 

The  L.  C.  J.  (genially).  Well,  dear  boys — er — that  is, 'my  noble, 
learned  and  distinguished  brethren,  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about 
my  recent  speech  on  the  subject  of  making  the  punishment  fit 
the  crime.  I  regret  the  absence,  to-day,  of  Mr.  Justice 
GILBERT,  whom  I  may  perhaps  describe  as — ahem — the  pioneer 
in  this  untrodden  by-way  of  criminal  jurisprudence  (Fine  phrase 
that,  H-LSB-Y.  Hope  the  reporters  will  get  it  all  right).  The 
whole  thing  lies  in  a  nutshell.  How  much  of  what  sort  of 
punishment  will  most  effectually  prevent  any  given  crime  ?  A 
mere  matter  of  proportion,  which  we  can  only  settle  by  a  course 
of  personal  investigation,  in  which  I  hope  a  number  of  judges 
will  be  ready  to  take  part.  In  the  first  place,  we  will  assume 
that  my  Brother  D-Y  has  been  guilty  of  a  series  of  acts  of 
violence,  felonies,  in  fact,  of  varying  flagrancy,  and  we  will 
therefore  sentence  him  in  the  straightforward,  if  unfeeling, 
language  of  Stephen's  Digest  to  be  "once,  twice,  or  thrice, 
privately  whipped  "  in  addition  to  the  usual  terms  of  imprison- 
ment. After  each  whipping  he  will  report  on  the  effects,  and 
we  shall  thereby  gradually  arrive  at  a  correct  sliding  scale  of 
strokes  and  crimes,  so  that  in  future  a  judge  will  merely  have 
to  refer  to  the  scale  in  order  to  give  a  criminal  the  correct 
number  of  strokes  sufficient  to  prevent  him  from  repeating  the 
particular  crime.  And  so  with  all  our  other  punishments. 
Various  judges  will  kindly  oblige  with  sliding  scales  compiled 
from  knowledge  acquired  at  first  hand. 


(Sings — Con  amore.) 

Our  object  all  sublime 

"We  shall  achieve  in  time 
To  make  the  punishment  fit  each  crime 

That  is  by  us  cognoscible  ! 

So  judges  shall  be  sent 

To  achieve  this  high  intent 
By  per-so-nal  ex-per-i-ment — 

At  least,  "  as  far  as  possible  "  ! 

Chorus — omnes. 

By  per-so-nal  ex-per-i-ment, — 
Or,  at  least,  as  far  as  possible  ! 

D — y,  J.  (chiming  in  rather  late). 

But  only  as  far  as  possible  ! 

The  L — d  C — r.  Very  good  idea.  What  about  capital  punish- 
ment, though  ? 

The  L.  C.  J.  Capital  punishment,  my  lord,  does  not  seem  to 
me  to  be  divisible  or  capable  of  being  adjusted  according  to  a 
sliding  scale,  unless  your  lordship  would  care  to  experiment 
personally  in  the  effects  of  partial  electrocution  ? 

D — g,  J.  (interrupting).  Never  mind  Capital ;  let  us  get  on  to 
Labour— hard  labour.  [Laughter. 

The  L.  C.  J.  Order,  order  !    This  place  is  not  a  theatre. 

R — r,  L.  J.  Nor  a  court  of  the  King's  Bench  Division. 

[Polishes  his  eye-glass. 

D—g,  J.  (urith  pity).  Ah,  wisdom  and  wit  go  through  the 
Divorce  Court  before  they  reach  the  Chancery  courts.  By  the 
way,  I  hear  that  Appeal  Court  I  is  a  very  dull  place.  Wait 
till  I  get  there  ! 

The  L — d  C — r.  Order,  order  ! 

D — g  J.  "  The  reputation  of  the  Bench  for  wit  must  be  kept 
up  "  ;  and  it  has  been,  thanks  to  BRAMWELL  and  BOWBN  and  me. 

R — y,  L.  J.  [glaring  through  his  spectacles.]  Thank  goodness, 
we  have,  and  are  likely  to  have,  no  unseemly  levity  in  Appeal 
Court  II. 

The  L.  C.  J.  No;  have  to  go  to  the  House  of  Commons  for 
that,  eh,  old  boy  ?  Do  you  remember  how 

The  L — d  C — r.  Really,  my  lord,  I  think  we  are  wandering 
somewhat  from  the  point. 

The  L.  C.  J.  As  your  lordship  pleases.  With  regard  to  hard 
labour 

D — y  J.  (in  a  solemn  voice).  I  have  a  suggestion  to  submit. 
There  is  one  form  of  hard  labour  which  can  best  be  performed 
by  one  who  possesses  the  trained  action  of  an  expert  pedestrian. 
I  suggest  that  the  learned  lord's  early  athletic  training,  with 
which  we  are  all  so  familiar,  makes  him  peculiarly  fitted  to 
prepare  a  sliding  scale  showing  the  daily  amount  of  treadmill 
proportionate  to  every  offence  known  to  the  law.  A  course, 
say,  of  two  or  three  years'  duration,  not  exceeding  four  hours  a 
day,  in  spells  of 

X — h,  J.  If  I  might  venture  for  one  moment  to  interpose, 
though  merely  an  Equity  Judge,  and  therefore  unversed  in 
crime,  still,  as  an  old  Fellow  of  a  well-known  Oxford  College, 
and  a  regular  Saturday  visitor  to  the  Links  at  Sandwich,  it 
occurs  to  me  that  all  this  experimenting  in  punishments  which 
my  Common  Law  brethren  so  nobly  propose  to  undertake,  might 
be  saved  by  the  simple  expedient  of  constituting  a  Criminal 
Court  of  Appeal.  In  Civil  matters,  and  especially,  if  I  may 
say  so,  in  Chancery  matters,  we  find  a  similar  institution  of 
much  value  in  correcting  any  slips,  or  inelegantice  juris  (if  I 
may  be  permitted  the  Latin  expression),  which  may  inadver- 
ten^y  occur  in  the  Courts  of  first  instance.  I  cannot  help 
thinking,  that  in  order  to  make  the  punishment  effectually  fit 
the  crime,  a  strong  court  of  criminal  appeal — 

.D — g>  J.  (interrupting).  The  learned  judge  finds  himself  in 
sympath!y  with  the  well-known  hymn,  commencing,  "Pleasant 
are  the  courts  above."  (Cries  of  "Order!")  All  I  want 


MABCH  13,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


201 


L — e,  J.  Speaking  as  a  judge  of  first 
instance,  I  would  say,  with  reference  to 
such  irreverent  flippancy,  that  "  we  want 
but  little  here  below." 

D— g,  J.  "  JSTor  want  that  little  long  "  ! 

The  L — d  C—r.  Seems  to  me,  my  learned 
brethren,  that  all  this  is  not  getting  us 
much  forwarder  as  to  the  true  proportions 
of  crime  and  punishment.  Therefore,  un- 
less my  brother  G — M  has  a  few  remarks 
to  offer  on  welshers  and  water-jumps,  or 
has  a  real  gilt-edged  tip  for  the  Bar  Point- 
to-Point  to  communicate,  I  move  that  the 
consideration  of  this  matter  be  adjourned 
sine  die. 

[Carried  nem.  con.    Exeunt  omnes. 


WHO  IS  IT? 

WHO  was    the    man    whose    features, 

through 

His  iron  vizor,  none  could  guess  ? 
Who  was  he,  say  ?    And  who  are  you 
P.  S.  ? 

Can  you  be  STEYN,  that  wicked  elf 

Who  helped  to  get  us  in  this  mess  ? 
President  STEYN  might  sign  himself 
P.  S. 

But  so  might  PHILIP  STANHOPE  do, 

And  mere  initials,  I  confess, 
I  hardly  trust  to  guide  me  to 
P.  S. 

I  own  I  find  it  hard  to  see 

What  likely  name  they  might  express. 
There  's  C.  P.  SCOTT  of  course.     He  's  C. 
P.  S. 

Again,  it  might,  of  course,  be  he, 

The  man  with  curious  views  on  dress, 
Whom  everybody  knows  as  G. 

B.  S. 

But  wherefore  stick,  I  hear  you  say, 

At  one  initial  more  or  less  ? 
Why  not  our  greatest  poet,  A. 

C.  S.? 

Or  why  not  he  whose  polished  style 

All  Mr.  Punch's  readers  bless, 
Our  humorous  and  versatile 
O.  S.  ? 

It  might  be  SAMUEL  SMITH,  M.P., 
Who   views  the  war  with  such 

distress  ; 

But  his  initials  ought  to  be 
S.  S. 

I  passed — quite  vainly — in  review 

A  dozen  writers  for  the  Press, 
Prom  CLEMENT  SCOTT  to  W. 
T.  S., 

Till,  in  despair,  I  even  asked 

The  former  Member  for  Caithness. 
But  even  CLARK  has  not  unmasked 

P.  S. 
*  *  *  * 

Postscript. 
I  ought  to  add  that  LABOUCHERE 

Might  be  the  man,  or  HENRY  HESS. 
— But,  after  all,  this  is  a  mere 

P.  S.        ST.  J.  H. 


Pompoits  Publisher  (to  aspiring  novice  in  literature).    "I    HAVE    BEEN    READING    YOUR 

MANUSCRIPT,  MY  DEAR  LADY,  AND  THERE  IS  MUCH  IN  IT  I  THINK — AHEM  ! — VERY  GOOD. 
BUT  THERE  ARE  PARTS  SOMEWHAT  VAGUE.  NOW  YOU  SHOULD  ALWAYS  WRITE  SO  THAT 
THE  MOST  IGNORANT  CAN  UNDERSTAND." 

Youthful  Authoress  (wishing  to  show  herself  most  ready  to  accept  advice.   "OH,   YES,  I'M 
SURE.      BUT,   TELL  ME,   WHICH  ARE  THE  PARTS  THAT  HAVE  GIVEN  YOU  TROUBLE?" 


A  SEASONABLE  LETTER. 

Huntingthorpe  Hall. 

MY  DEAR  JACK, — I  want  you  to  come 
down  on  Monday  and  stay  a  couple  of 
days  with  me.  My  wife  will  be  delighted, 
as  you  can  help  her  with  a  children's 
party,  and  also  play  Pantaloon  in  a  little 
thing  being  got  up  by  the  young  people. 
I  will  mount  you  on  the  Tuesday  with  our 
Staghounds,  as  I  know  you  are  fond  of  a 
day's  hunting.  No,  don't  thank  me,  my 
dear  chap — I  shall  be  only  too  glad  if  you 
will  go,  as  the  horse  I  am  intending  to 
put  you  on  is  a  rank  brute,  and  when  he 
doesn't  refuse  his  fences — which  is  a  rare 
occurrence — he  invariably  falls  into  them. 
However,  you  won't  mind  that,  will  you  ? 

You  will  have  to  put  up  with  real 
bachelor  accommodation  I  am  afraid,  as 


the  house  is  crammed.  The  best  I  can  do 
for  you  is  a  half  share  of  one  of  the  attics. 
Our  cook  has  left  us,  all  unexpectedly,  so 
this  places  her  room  at  our  disposal  for 
two  of  you.  The  kitchen-maid  is  doing 
her  best  to  keep  us  from  starving ;  but, 
though  she  means  well,  I  can  hardly  class 
her  as  a  cordon  bleu. 

LOUISE  DEARLOVE,  that  pretty  little 
girl  you  were  so  sweet  upon  last  season, 
is  unable  to  come ;  but  her  brother — the 
red-headed  youth  who  was  always  trying 
to  pick  a  quarrel  with  you — will  be  here. 

I  am  so  short  of  horses  that  I  fear  I 
must  ask  you  to  cab  the  ^four  miles  up 
from  the  station ;  but  I  am  sure  you  won't 
mind  taking  the  rough  with  the  smooth. 
Yours  ever,  JOHN  JOSTLER. 

As  the  recipient  of  the  above  invita- 
tion, I  ask  which  is  "  the  smooth  "  ? 


202 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHAR1VAEI. 


[MARCH  13,  1901. 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

"  THE  Right  Honble.  JOSEPH  CHAMBERLAIN,  M.P.,  who  made 
possible  the  Unionist  Parliament  of  1895  to  1900,"  should  be 
be  considerably  gratified  by  having  -so  useful,  so  amusing, 
and  so  historically  accurate  a  work  dedicated  to  him  as 
Mr.  H.  W.  LUCY'S  Diary  of  a  Unionist  Parliament  (J.  "W. 
ARROWSMITH).  It  is  excellent  in  style  and  sound  in  matter, 
while  as  a  work  of  reference,  as  to  details  that  would  have 
escaped  the  notice  of  the  ordinary  stolid  chronicler,  it  is 
invaluable.  But  Mr.  LUCY  is  ever  on  the  alert ;  nothing  worth 
recording  escapes  his  eagle  eye :  he  comes,  he  sees,  he  pounces. 
The  major  and  minor  notables  in  Parliament,  with  their  "tricks 
and  their  manners,"  are  all  placed  before  the  reader  in  a 
series  of  "living  pictures,"  v.aried  in  combination  and  dis- 
tinct in  character.  Occasionally,  the  REED  (E.  T.)  is  called 
in  to  assist  the  Pen,  and  his  quaintly  grotesque  sketches, 
speaking  likenesses  as  they  are  in  broadest  caricature,  add 
point  and  brilliancy  to  the  scenes  described.  Those  "  in  the 
know ' '  will  welcome  this  book  as  a  pleasant  reminder,  and 
the  majority  in  "  the-don't-know  "  will  be  delighted  to  find 
that  Parliamentary  Proceedings  can  be  so  dealt  with  as  to 
interest  them  as  much  as  an  entertaining  novel  by  their 
favourite  author,  whoever  he  may  be. 

Five  years  ago  Miss  BROMLEY  DAVENPORT  wrote  the  Story  of 
Aline,  a  first  novel  my  Baronite  hastened  to  applaud  as  a 
work  of  singular  originality  and  power.  Miss  DAVENPORT, 
now  Lady  RIDLEY,  has  not  been  in  a  hurry  to  make  a  second 
attempt.  The  result  justifies  her  prescience  and  her  prudence. 
Anne  Mainwaring  (LONGMAN'S)  is  a  considerable  advance  on  her 
successful  first  effort.  To  begin  with,  the  literary  style  is 
excellent — not  always  the  case  when  lovely  woman  stoops  to 
writing.  All  her  people  are  of  flesh  and  blood.  One  seems  to 
have  met  them  somewhere.  Lady  RIDLEY  certainly  has.  It  is 
a  long  time  since  my  Baronite  read  a  novel  which  had  about  it 
such  atmosphere  of  reality.  An  additional  charm  to  the  story 
is  its  partial  framework  in  the  old  manor-house,  Waynstede, 
with  its  ancient  ruins,  its  park,  its  skies,  its  moor,  and  its  ever- 
changing  greenery.  Anne  Maimoaring  confirms  the  impression 
conveyed  by  the  Story  of  Aline,  that  the  new  century  is 
dowered  with  a  new  novelist  ranged  close  by  the  limited 
circle  of  first-class  women  writers.  If  need  be,  we  will  wait 
another  five  years  for  a  novel  from  Lady  RIDLEY.  But  she 
must  go  on. 

"When  in  a  novel  the  experienced  Baron  lights  on  the  phrase, 
"A  strange,  hunted  look  came  into  her  eyes,"  he  pauses  to 
repeat  SNEER'S  question  in  The  Critic,  "Haven't  I  heard 
that  line  before?"  and  prolongs  the  interval  in  order  that 
he  may  commune  with  himself  as  to  it  being  worth  his 
while  to  devote  any  more  time  and  attention  to  the  story. 
So  it  chanced,  during  his  perusal  of  The  Sin  of  Jasper 
Standish  (CONSTABLE),  written  by  "RiTA,"  that  coming  across 
that  "  strange,  hunted  look,"  the  Baron  debated  as  to  whether 
he  was  sufficiently  interested  in  the  plot  to  see  it  out  to  the 
end.  And  he  decided  that  in  spite  of  a  considerable  amount  of 
superflous  Irish  padding,  and  despite  the  motives  for  the  crime 
being  inadequate,  and  in  spite  of  murderer  and  victim  being 
not  particularly  interesting  personalities,  yet  would  he  per- 
severe in  order  to  see  if  "  RITA  "  had  given  a  sudden  twist  to 
her  tale  which  would  lift  it  out  of  the  very  ordinary  class  of 
stories  to  which,  up  to  a  certain  point,  it  seemed  to  belong. 
There  is  a  good  love  scene,  out  hunting,  following,  of  course, 
upon  an  accident  that,  for  a  while,  brings  together  the  estranged 
lovers.  But  the  dialogues  are  somewhat  tedious,  and  the 
narrative  too  slow  for  the  reader  who  wants  to  "  come  to 
Hecuba."  Had  the  title  been  The  Sins,  instead  of  Tlie  Sin,  it 
would  have  been  more  exact  if  not  quite  so  striking,  and  had 
"  RITA  "  only  devised  that,  somehow  or  other,  an  exceptionally 
terrible  vengeance  should  have  fallen  upon  the  sordid  criminal, 


the  book  would  have  received  a  stronger  recommendation  to 
public  attention  than  the  Baron  can,  under  the  circumstances, 
give  it. 

Anyone  at  all  "  out  of  sorts  "  in  this  perverse  weather,  and 
forced  to  remain  indoors,  will  do  well  to  adopt  the  Baron's 
advice  which  is,  that  he  take  at  certain  times  a  dose  of  Dr. 
AsHBY  STERRY's  mixture  entitled  The  Bystander  (SANDS  &  Co.), 
and  read  "  Awaking,"  "A  Bad  Cold,"  and  several  others  as 
occasion  may  serve.  But  let  the  patient  defer  his  study  of 
Jonas  Chuszlewit,  in  same  work,  until  he  is  quite  well  again  and 
strong  enough  to  bear  it.  THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


A  REMARKABLE  REMEDY  ! 

[Dr.  G.  AEBOUB  STEPHENS,  of  Glasgow  (according  to  Science  Siftings 
of  Feb.  23rd),  recommends  a  simple  cure  for  sea-sickness,  viz.,  to  keep  one 
eye  closed.] 

HERE  'S  the  latest  panacea 

(Dr.  STEPHENS 's  idea) 
For  the  sufferer  from  nausea  now  to  try  ; 
"  When  the  motion  gets  offensive, 

And  you  're  feeling  apprehensive, 
All  you  have  to  do  is — cover  up  one  eye  1 

No,  it  isn't  hocus-pocus — 

Simply  stops  your  power  of  focus 
On  the  billows  as  they  're  bounding  low  and  high  ; 

Could  you  have  a  plainer  reason 

"Wherefore,  when  you  see  big  seas  on, 
You  can  say  that  mal-de-mer  is  "  All  my  eye  !  " 

Well,  I  've  roamed  o  'er  salt  abysses, 

Like  the  travel-tossed  Ulysses, 
And  as  yet  on  ne'er  a  nostrum  could  rely  ; 

Each  infallible  suggestion 

Failed  me,  so  the  one  in  question 
May  be  but  a  case  of  ' '  Wink  the  other  eye  !  ' ' 


POTAGE  A  LA  STKAND  THEATRE. 

THAT  such  a  piece  of  farcical  folly  as  In  the  Soup,  representing 
an  initially  good  idea  of  a  plot  utterly  frittered  away  in  the 
attempt  to  elaborate  its  dramatic  development,  should  have 
achieved  a  success  that  has  carried  it  merrily  over  one  hundred 
and  fifty  nights,  and  that  apparently  it  should  still  be  going 
strong,  speaks  volumes  for  the  company  of  clever  comedians 
headed  by  Mr.  JAMES  WELCH  and  Miss  CARRIE  CRONYN,  and 
ably  seconded  by  Miss  MARIA  SAKER,  Mrs.  RICHARD  EDGAR, 
Miss  AUDREY  FORD  (one  of  the  "spoons"  in  the  soup), 
Messrs.  JOHN  BEAUCHAMP,  HARRY  FARMER  (the  other  "  spoon  "), 
VICTOR  WIDDICOMBE,  and  WILLIAM  WYES  (looking  inimitably 
foolish),  who  play  all  together,  in  a  rapid  touch-and-go,  give- 
and-take  fashion  that  artfully  affords  no  pause  for  thought, 
and  evokes  continuous  merriment  from  the  audience,  who  are 
thoroughly  with  them —  ' '  in  the  soup  ' ' — from  first  to  last. 

What  is  In  the  Soup  is  not  the  strength  of  the  essence  of  wit, 
but  is  simply  the  flavouring  and  spice  thrown  into  every  possible 
line  by  the  actors,  who  also  supply  the  brightly  burning  lamp 
of  animal  spirits  that  keeps  the  rather  weak  material  bubbling 
hot,  and  thus  it  is  rendered  highly  palatable  to  a  mirthfully 
disposed  audience.  Not  since  in  November,  1899,  Mr.  THOMAS 
WISE  played  Singleton  Sites,  in  an  amusing  piece  The  Wrong 
Mr.  Wright,  has  there  been  such  peals  of  laughter  in  this 
theatre. 

During  the  evening  a  small  but  thoroughly  efficient  orchestra, 
under  M.  MAURICE  JACOBI  (evidently  the  genius  is  hereditary), 
elicits  well-deserved  applause  for  its  performance  of  a  capital 
selection,  in  which,  as  in  the  piece  there  is  never  a  dull 
moment. 


MAFCH  13,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


203 


OVERHEARD    IN    BOND    STREET. 


"WHICH  OF  'KM  WOULD  YER  'AVE  FOE  A  MUVVBR,  BILLY?" 


204 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHAEIVAEI. 


[MARCH  13,  1901. 


Cook  (to  young  Mistress,  who  has  received  a  present  of  some  game).  "  AND,  PLEASE  'M,  DO  TOU 

LIKE  THE  BIKDS   'lOH  ?  " 

Mistress  (puzzled).  "THE  BIRD'S  EYE?" 

Cook.  "WHAT  I  MEAN,  MTTM,  is,  SOME  PREFERS  THE  BIRDS  STALE." 

Mistress  (more  puzzled).  "THE   TAIL?"     (Decides  not  to  seem  ignorant.)  "SEND  0P  THE 

BIRD,    PLEASE,    COOK,   WITH   THE  EYES  AND  THE  TAIL!" 


'VARSITY  VEESES. 

OXFORD  ODES. 
IX. 

WHERE  is  the  youth  whose  giant  brain 

A  single  year  at  college 
Convinces  that  it  doth  contain 

The  sum  of  human  knowledge, 
Who  views  with  scornful  lip  upcurled 
This  simple  world  ? 
In  Balliol. 

Where  is  the  keen  laborious  Scot, 
Who  studies  Sanskrit,  Persian, 
Or  Japanese,  but  loveth  not 

"  Gratuitous  exertion," 
Yet  not  without  a  smile  doth  see 
The  barley-bree  ? 

In  Balliol. 

Where  is  the  crank  who  bade  us  shirk 

The  athlete's  wasted  labours, 
And  turn  our  hands  to  honest  work 

To  benefit  our  neighbours  ; 
Who  built  a  road  to  nowhere — now 
A  miry  slough  ? 

In  Balliol. 


Where  is  the  zealot  that  declares 

To-day  he  knows  no  master 
But  Buddha,  and  to-morrow  swears 

He  follows  Zoroaster, 
Next  week  will  find  his  crying  need 
The  Mormon  creed  ? 
In  Balliol. 

Where  is  the  infidel,  the  Jew, 

The  bearded  Turk,  the  Theist, 
The  Gnostic,  the  believer  true, 

The  Mussulman,  the  Deist  ? 

This  happy  family  you  '11  find 

In  love  combined 

In  Balliol. 

Where  are  the  men  who  think  and  read, 

Whose  sterling  reputations 
Wilbmake  them  leaders  fit  to  lead 

The  coming  generations  ? 
Where,  where  are  they  who  will  be  great 
In  church  and  state  ? 
In  Balliol. 


FUNEREAL   FANCY.  —  Almost  "  a   dead 
language  " — the  Erse. 


IN  RE  ARMY  REFORM. 

(Suggestions  tJiat  Jiave  readied  10,  Bouverie 
Street.) 

MOST  flattering,  certainly.  Apparently, 
when  the  Commander-in- Chief  and  the 
Secretary  of  State  for  War  cannot  agree 
upon  any  matter  the  affair  is  to  be  re- 
ferred to  me.  Well,  I  am  not  quite  sure 
I  have  the  requisite  expert  knowledge, 
but,  however,  I  shall  be  happy  to  do  my 
best.  But  am  not  quite  sure  that  best 
will  be  the  best  for  the  British  Empire. 
(Signed)  THE  MAN  IN  THE  STREET. 

It  must  be  obvious  that  the  first  thing 
necessary  is  to  put  the  Volunteers,  the 
Militia,  and  the  Regulars,  on  the  same 
footing — especially  the  Volunteers. 

(Signed)  A  CITIZEN  SOLDIER. 

Only  thing  possible  under  the  circum- 
stances is  to  remove  the  class 'distinction 
between  Militia  and  Regular.  The  Volun- 
teers are  absolutely  superfluous. 

(Signed)  OLD  CONSTITUTIONAL  FORCE. 

Return  to  the  old  idea,  of  course.  Let 
the  Regular  Army  be  the  Regular  Army, 
and  abolish  the  Auxiliary  Forces. 

(Signed)  GENERAL  AGED  SEVENTY. 

Why  not  turn  the  British  Army  into  a 
Company  of  Limited  Liability?  Jokers 
say  it  is  already.  But,  to  be  serious — for 
it  is  a  very  serious  matter — a  good  pros- 
pectus should  be  got  out  at  once.  Would 
be  pleased  to  join  the  Board  after  allot- 
ment. (Signed)  PROMOTER. 

What  is  wanted  is  centralisation.    Let 

one  man  be  responsible  for  everything.    I 

have  a  brother-in-law  who  would  accept 

the  appointment  on  very  reasonable  terms. 

(Signed)  A  PATRIOT. 

Avoid  centralisation,  a  system  which  has 
been  the  curse  of  the  Army.  Things  will 
come  right  somehow,  whatever  is  done. 
But  only  carry  out  my  idea  and  all  will 
be  well,  and  at  once. 

(Signed)  OPTIMIST. 

Why  have  an  Army  at  all?  It  is  an 
expensive  luxury,  and  is  absolutely 
needless  if  proper  diplomacy  is  used  to 
settle  international  disputes. 

(Signed)  A  PRACTICAL  MAN. 

If  we  are  to  have  an  Army,  let  us  have 
the  best  army.  If  we  are  to  have  a 
Commander-in-Chief ,  let  him  be  the  ablest 
commander-in-chief .  If  we  are  to  have  a 
War  Minister,  let  him  be  the  best  war 
minister.  Surely  this  is  the  best  policy. 
(Signed)  PROOF  POSITIVE. 

It  is  irritating  that  so  much  should  be 
written  about  Army  Reform,  when  the 
only  way  of  securing  it  is  at  hand.  Let 
Mr.  Punch  himself  take  the  entire  com- 
mand of  the  Imperial  Forces,  and  all  will 
be  right  as  threepence  ! 

(Signed)  COMMON  SENSE. 

[Quite  true,  but  the  gentlemen  men- 
tioned prefers  the  more  useful  office  of 
Critic-in-Chief .— ED  .] 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI— MABCH  13,  1901. 


ARMS   AND   THE   MAN. 


JOHN  BULL  (to  the  RIGHT  HON.  ST.  J-HN  BR-DR-CK,  MINISTER  FOR  WAR).  "  YOU  'RE  NOT  A  SOLDIER,  BUT 
ACCORDING  TO  MY  SYSTEM  YOU  'VE  GOT  TO  CARRY  THIS  ;  AND  DON'T  LET  ME  CATCH  YOU  TRYING  TO 
SHIFT  IT  ON  TO  ANYBODY  ELSE'S  SHOULDERS!" 


MARCH  13,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


207 


ESSENCE    OF    PARLIAMENT. 

EXTRACTED  FROM  THE  DIARY  OF  TOBY,  M.P. 

House  of  Lords,  Monday,  March  4. — 
When,  thirty-five  years  ago,  Mr.  GLADSTONE 
•was  rejected  by  his  Alma  Mater,  he 
hastened  down  to  Manchester  and,  as  he 
said,  stood  before  the  electors  unmuzzled . 
To-night  Field-Marshal  LORD  WOLSELEV, 
quitting  post  of  Commander-in-Chief ,  faced 
his  Peers  unmuzzled.  House  crowded  to 
listen  to  a  bark  that  might  prelude  a  bite. 
WOLSELEY  took  up  position,  on  second 
cross-bench  where  Field-Marshals  most 
do  congregate.  On  similar  occasions  in 
times  past  the  pleasant  presence  of  the 
PRINCE  OF  WALES  has  been  on  front  bench, 
DUKE  OP  CAMBRIDGE  seated  a  little  lower 
down.  To-night  the  bench  tenantless. 
H.R.H.  is  EDWARD  THE  SEVENTH.  When 
he  comes  down  to  House  he  sits  on  Throne. 
Possibly  subject  matter  of  debate  too 
painful  for  DUKE  OF  CAMBRIDGE  to  listen 
to.  Howbeit,  his  place  was  empty. 

On  third  cross-bench  with  accidental — 
or  was  it  studious  ? — avoidance  of  being  on 
same  line  as  his  predecessor  in  the  post  of 
Commander  -  in  -  Chief  sat  BOBS,  grimly 
attentive ;  saying  nothing ;  doubtless 
thinking  a  good  deal. 

WOLSELEY  set  off  at  a  gallop  ;  if  he  had 
an  appointment  with  ARABI  PASHA  at 
Tel-el-Kebir  at  half-past  one  to-morrow 
morning,  couldn't  have  started  at  higher 
speed.  Kept  it  up  throughout.  When, 
after  rattling  through  an  hour,  he  made 
end  of  speaking  noble  Lords  nearly 
breathless  from  effort  to  keep  pace.  Con- 
clusion, exceedingly  definite ;  system  in 
vogue  since  WOLSELEY  went  to  Pall  Mall 
is  "  pernicious,"  fraught  with  peril  to 
the  nation.  Commander-in-Chief  is  a 
nonentity ;  to-day  ANTONIUS  BRODERICK 
personally  commands  British  Army  vice 
C.ESAR,  LORD  LANSDOWNE,  gone  to  Foreign 
Office.  WOLSELEY  schooled  himself  in.  re- 
straint of  passion  or  strong  language. 
But  infinite  scorn  flashed  under  his  quiet 
manner  as  he  pictured  the  civilian 
Secretary  of  State  planning  fortifications 
and  directing  armies  whilst  a  veteran 
soldier,  used  to  arms  from  his  youth, 
fretted  his  soul  in  an  overlooked  ante- 
chamber in  Pall  Mall. 

For  a  civilian,  LANSDOWNE  uncom- 
monly warlike  ;  not  content  with  de- 
fending system  attacked,  carried  war 
into  enemy's  country ;  bluntly  accused 
WOLSELEY  of  sulking  in  his  tent,  jealous 
of  a  system  that  placed  Secretary  of 
State  in  direct  touch  with  military 
experts.  Shirked  duties  assigned  to  him ; 
neglected  auxiliary  forces  at  home  ;  made 
possible  the  occupation  of  Ladysmith ; 
failed  to  warn  the  Cabinet  that  it  would 
take  more  than  one  Army  Corps  to  sub- 
jugate the  Boer. 

Here  was  a  pretty  washing  in  public 
of  War  Office  dirty  linen.  Noble  Lords 
alarmed,  dismayed,  thought  they  had 


better  forthwith  adjourn ;  moreover,  the 
sacred  dinner  hour  was  striking.  So 
they  went  home  more  than  ever  at  ease 
in  contemplation  of  the  British  Army. 

Business  done.  —  Duel  between  late 
Secretary  of  State  for  War  and  his 
esteemed  colleague,  the  ex-Commander- 
in-Chief. 

Tuesday  night. — The   MAKKISS    in    fine 


he  asked,  "  which,  so  far  as  we  can  see,  is 

now  raging   between  the  regime  of  1888 

and  the  regime  of  1895." 
He  saw  it  all.     At  the  former  epoch  the 

Adjutant-General,  having  a  scheme  to 
!  submit,  brought  the  papers  in  the  first 
j  instance  to  the  Commander-in-Chief.  After 
I  issue  of  Order  in  Council  in  1895,  the 
1  papers  went  first  to  Secretary  of  State. 


A    DIVISION  " 

(for  ivhich  even  the  Ini-Moichael  Fl-v-n  and  Go.  will  quit  the  House). 
"  The  mhost  injhoyable  noight  oi  iver  spint !  " — Mr.  M-ch-l  J-s-ph  Fl-v-n. 


form  to-night.  Situation  decidedly  grave; 
disclosure  made  that  whilst  armies  in  the 
field  in  South  Africa,  sometimes  half- 
famished,  often  shelterless  through  the 
night,  were  fighting  for  life  and  Empire, 
Heads  of  Department  in  supreme  control 
of  military  affairs  were  squabbling  on 
details  of  personal  supremacy.  The  hero 
of  many  fights,  victor  of  most,  "  our  only 
General,"  as  he  was  wont  to  be  hailed, 
publicly  impeached  by  a  colleague  as 
personally  responsible  for  the  two  circum- 
stances chiefly  responsible  for  prolonga- 
tion of  the  war,  circumstances  that  at  one 
time  threatened  to  realise  Mr.  KRUGER'S 
cheerful  proposal  to  drive  the  English 
into  the  sea. 

"A  lamentable,  unseemly  attack," 
ROSEBERY  called  it,  in  tones  of  burning 
indignation. 

The  MARKISS,  waking  up,  shaking  off 
the  drowsiness  born  of  partly  audible 
remarks  from  NORTHBROOK,  CHELMSFOKD 
and  DUNRAVEN,  assumed  mental  attitude 
of  old  Caspar  seated  in  the  sun,  posed 
by  the  inquisitive  small  boy.  What 
WOLSELEY  and  LANSDOWNE  fought  each 
other  for  the  MARKISS  never  could  make 
out.  "  To  me,"  he  said,  looking  from  the 
ex-Secretary  of  State  to  the  retired  Com- 
mander-in-Chief, "  it  has  all  seemed  very 
strange."  "  Now  what  is  the  dispute  ?  " 


"  That 's  all,"  said  the  light-hearted 
Premier,  looking  round  at  amazed  Lords, 
who  thought  they  had  for  two  nights  been 
engaged  in  debate  on  a  subject  that  goes 
to  the  root  of  efficiency  of  Army,  with 
which  is  bound  up  the  safety  of  the 
Empire. 

Business  done. — In  House  of  Commons 
Irish  Members,  bored  to  death  by  debate 
on  Education  vote,  suddenly  broke  out. 
PRINCE  ARTHUR,  after  patiently  watching 
waste  of  a  week  in  discussion  of  ^Supple- 
mentary  Estimates  moved  closure.  House 
cleared  for  Division.  Irish  Members 
refused  to  retire ;  were  at  length  after 
desperate  struggles  severally  carried  out 
by  the  police.  "God  save  Ireland!" 
they  sang  as  they  were  borne  towards  the 
door  ;  but,  owing  to  circumstances,  the 
familiar  carol  was  sadly  out  of  tune.  As 
the  MEMBER  FOR  SARK,  summing  up  the 
situation,  says,  "  The  Irish  members  took 
the  floor  and  the  police  took  the  Irish 
members." 

House  of  Commons,  Thursday  night. — No 
one  looking  on  this  evening  would  con- 
ceive it  to  be  the  same  assembly  that 
burst  into  tumult  at  the  midnight  hour  of 
Tuesday,  what  time  Mr.  FLAVIN'S  flowered 
waistcoat  was  rent,  and  Mr.  JEREMIAH 
JORDAN  had  occasion  to  add  a  fresh  chapter 
to  his  Lamentations.  Every  seat  filled  ; 


208 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHAEIVARI. 


[MARCH  13,  1901. 


the  long  side  galleries  thronged  ;  Peers 
penned  like  sheep  in  gallery  facing 
SPEAKER'S  chair  ;  over  all  atmosphere  of 
intense  expectancy,  through  -which  from 
time  to  time  flash  electric  sparks  from 
Irish  quarter.  Gunpowder  thick  sprinkled 
over  floor ;  needed  but  the  dropping  of 
match  from  awkward  hands,  the  spark  of 
steel  on  flint  from  elephantine  boot,  to 
cause  explosion. 

Temporarily  relieved  from  presence 
of  the  Twelve  Apostles  of  disorder, 
ashamed  of  what  had  happened,  deeply 
concerned  to  re-establish  itself  in  public 
opinion,  House  assumed  an  attitude  of 
quiet  dignity  that  forbade  such  mishap. 
SPEAKER  sounded  key-note.  JEREMIAH 
JORDAN  wrote  protesting  it  was  all  a 
mistake  about  his  having  disobeyed 
instruction  of  Chairman,  of  Committee  to 
leave  House  when  division  was  called. 
To  logical  Saxon  mind  question  suggests 
itself,  How  could  JEREMIAH  have  been 
"conveyed,"  as  the  police  call  it,  from  his 
seat  below  the  gangway  if,  in  obedience  to 
the  injunctions  of  CHAIRMAN,  he  was  at 
the  moment  in  the  Division  Lobby  ?  J.  J. 
explains.  He  had  meekly  gone  forth  when 
division  was  called,  but  hearing  pre- 
monition of  a  row  in  House  had  instinc- 
tively returned  ;  found  a  convenient  post 
of  observation  below  gangway ;  was 
named,  by  CHAIRMAN,  and  before  you 
could  say  JEREMIAH  JORDAN  found  himself 
haled  forth  by  well-meaning  but  undis- 
criminating  police. 

SPEAKER  at  once  accepted  this  as  estab- 
lishing prinia  facie  case  for  enquiry; 
permitted  JOHN  DILLON  to  raise  question 
of  Privilege  upon  it,  resulting  in  full  ac- 
ceptance of  JEREMIAH'S  narrative  and 
removal  of  the  ban  of  suspension.  To 
this  happy  ending,  which  had  powerful 
influence  over  character  of  debate  on  New 
Standing  Order,  Chairman  of  Committees 
contributed  frank  admission  that,  amid 
turmoil  of  the  midnight  orgie,  he  made  a 
mistake  with  respect  to  the  part  JEREMIAH 
played  in  it. 

Business  done. — Debating  New  Standing 
Order  providing  expulsion  for  remainder 
of  Session  of  Members  guilty  of  ex- 
treme disorderly  conduct. 

Friday,  5.40  a.m. — House  just  up  after 
passing  Standing  Order.  HUGH  CECIL  con- 
tributed picturesque  episode  to  prolonged 
drama.  Nearly  two  hundred  years  ago, 
Ireland  even  then  a  distressful  country, 
Dean  SWIFT  contributed  to  settlement 
of  problem  A  Modest  Proposal  for  Pre- 
venting the  Children  of  Poor  People  in 
Ireland  from  being  a  Burden  to  tlteir 
Parents.  Title  of  Pamphlet  long ;  ifcs 
recommendation  short.  "  latten  and  eat 
them,"  wrote  the  genial  Dean. 

Lord  HUGH  has  an  equally  short  way 
with  recalcitrant  Irish  Members.  "  Clap 
'em  in  prison,"  says  he.  Moved  Amend- 
ment to  Cousin  ARTHUR'S  Resolution, 
leaving  out  clause  about  suspension  for 


rest  of  Session,  substituting  "and  shall 
be  committed  to  prison  until  the  further 
order  of  the  House."  Pretty  to  see  the 
willowy  figure  of  Lord  HUGH  swaying 
before  the  storm  that  burst  upon  him  from 
Irish  camp  when  he  rose  to  move  his 
Amendment.  The  mobility  sign  rather 
of  strength  than  of  weakness.  When 
Irishmen  howled  themselves  hoarse  he 
began  in  voice  of  womanly  softness  to 
urge  the  reasonableness  of  his  proposal. 
Absolutely  ignored  existence  of  turbulent 
crowd  immediately  facing  him  ;  only  sign 
of  consciousness  of  the  tumult  was  the 
almost  delirious  movement  of  the  long 
thin  fingers  of  nervous  hands.  Never 
since  public  speaking  began  were  seen 
such  gestures,  such  mad  movements  of  de- 
lirious digits.  Otherwise  calm,  courteous, 
sweetly-persuasive  in  effort  to  show  that 
the  discipline  he  recommended,  possibly 
drastic  at  first  glance,  would  really 
be  conducive  to  what  Mr.  KRUGER  would 
call  the  moral  and  intellectual  advance- 
ment of  the  Irish  Member. 

"What  an  Inquisitor  he  woiild  have 
madeM "  said  SARK,  looking  admiringly 
at  the  frail  figure,  the  passionless  face. 
' '  He  was  born  f  ou  r  hundred  years  too  late. ' ' 

Business  done. —  At  to-night's  sitting 
House  again  crowded.  St.  JOHN  BRODRICK, 
in  masterly  speech,  detailed  proposals  for 
Army  Reform. 


TO  A  JILT. 

MOST  cruelly  fair,  I  'm  returning 
The  presents  you  squandered  on  me, 


Ah  !  sadly  I  sing  it,  discerning 
That  you  would  prefer  to  be  free  ; 

My  ring  you  will  doubtless  surrender 
(Two  rubies  enclosing  a  pearl, 

Engraved  with  some  lettering  tender) 
To  serve  for  a  kindlier  girl. 

You  will  find  in  my  registered  packet 

The  pin  (of  Assyrian  gold), 
The  button  you  cut  from  your  jacket, 
The  gloves  (they  are  covered  with 

mould) ; 
In  fact,  there  is  each,  little  present 

Save  one,  that  I  beg  as  a  grace 
And  a  memory  bitterly  pleasant — 

Your  handkerchief,  dainty  with  lace. 

And  this — I  would  swear  that  my  broken 

Andjmoribund  heart  couldn't  spare, 
This  infinitesimal  token 
\    Of  our  idiotic  affair. 
But  truth,  which  is  all  that  is  left  me, 
Compels  me  the  notion  to  quash, 
Fate  of  the  trifle  bereft  me — 
It  n^ver  came  back  from  the  wash  ! 


PROVOCATION. 

["  If  the  purpose  of  Great  Britain  is  still  to  look 
for  delay  she  will  not  get  it.  If  it  be  her  deter- 
mination to  pick  a  quarrel  with  us  she  will  find 
.  .  .  when  the  war  terminates  tnat  the  steel  band 
which  binds  the  Throne  in  London  to  Australia  and 
India,  which  passes  through  Canada,  will  have  been 
rent  in  twain,  and  with  its  severance  down  will 
•o  the  British.  Empire." — Senator  Morgan.] 
OLD  lion,  feeble  and  effete, 

None  of  your  impudent  resisting  ; 
Tear  up  that  treaty  obsolete. 

I  guess  your  worn-out    stump  wants 
twisting. 

Do  you  imagine  UNCLE  SAM 
About  your  treaties,  few  or  many, 

Cares,  one  and  all,  a  single — cent  ? 
Not  much  !  he  isn't  having  any. 

So  when  our  Eagle  flaps  about 
If  you  but  touch  a  single  feather, 

I  reckon  he  '11  just  wipe  you  out, 
You  and  your  colonies  together. 

Yes,  just  you  let  the  noble  fowl 
With  beak  and  claw  but  once  get  to  you, 

The  rooster  soon  will — What !  you  growl  ? 
You  want  to  pick  a  quarrel— do  you  ? 


THE  SCIENTIST  ON  HIS  METAL. 

["It  was  sufficiently  startling  to  hear  of  arsenic 
as  a  constituent  of  beer,  but  now  Professor  W.  N. 
HARTLEY,  of  the  Royal  College  of  Science,  Dublin, 
avers  that  there  is  silver  in  soot." — Daily  Tele- 
graph.] 
THE  wonders  of  science  who  shall  tell  ? 

The  penetrating  glance  of  seer 
Draws  Truth  from  out  her  sunken  well, 
And  traces  arsenic  in  beer. 

Still  pressing  on  with  probing  eye, 
The  panting  scientist  puts  foot 

In  Truth's  domain,  and  learns  thereby 
That  silver  is  contained  in  soot. 

Not  far  the  time  when  we  shall  learn 
To  look  where  we  ne'er  looked  before  ; 

And  in  least  likely  place  discern 
The  secret  of  some  precious  ore. 

To  find  within  some  dark  recess 
Of  the  constrained  anatomy 

Of  any  messenger  express 
Slight  evidence  of  mercury. 

To  con  the  fact  with  marked  relief, 
Which  truth  no  longer  dare  conceal, 

That  in  the  nature  of  the  thief 
There  lies  a  tendency  to  steel. 

To  hear  some  scientist  serene 
Inform  you  with  expanding  grin, 

That  he  from  his  grand-parent  mean 
Extracted  had  a  heap  of  tin. 

To  hear  it  said  in  serious  tone, 
Accepted,  too,  in  spirit  proper, 

That  the  policeman  has  been  known 
By  many  to  be  merely — copper. 

The  wonders  of  science  who  shall  sing  ? 

The  radiant  light  it  still  must  shed. 
Not  ours  to  soar  on  fancy's  wing, 

For  by  its  knowledge  we  are  lead. 


\ 


MARCH  13,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


209 


MISUNDERSTOOD. 

Donald  (who  has  picked  up  fair  Cyclist's  handkerchief).  "  Hi !    WOMAN  1    WOMAN  ! ' 

Fair  Cyclist  (indignantly).  "  '  WOMAN  '  1    How  DABS  YOU  " 

Donald  (out  of  breath).  "I  BEG  YOUR  PAKDON,  SIR  1    I  THOUGHT  YOU  WAS  A  WOMAN.     I  DIDXA  SEE  YOUR  TRSWS. 


210 


PUNCH,   OK  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[MARCH  13,  1901. 


A  WIFE'S  PLEA. 

[If  Canada  -wishes  to  place  this  country  under  an 
eternal  debt  of  gratitude,  she  will  export  to  us 
some  of  the  servant  girls  whom  a  lecturer  at  the 
Imperial  Institute  on  "  The  Maritime  Provinces  of 
Canada,"  mentioned  as  among  the  resources  of 
Prince  Edward  Island.  "What  are  potatoes,  oats, 
lumher,  wood-pulp,  horses,  and  the  other  products 
compared  to  these?  —Daily  Telegraph. ,] 
(A  letter  found  at  the  Colonial  Office  ad- 
dressed to  its  highest  official. 
DEAR  SIR, — In  this  humble  petition, 

Which  I  trust  yoii  will  not  disavow, 
I  merely  point  out  a  condition 

That  you  may  not  happen  to  know. 
A  condition,  Sir,  fraught  with  disaster, 

An  evil  unpleasantly  rife. 
Oh,  help  me  the  danger  to  master, 

Assist,  Sir,  the  servantless  wife. 

Enough  of  the  Khaki  Campaign,  Sir, 

No  more  of  the  Boers  and  DE  WET, 
From  African  matters  refrain,  Sir, 

Australian  feting  forget. 
And  bend  all  your  talents  and  skill,  Sir, 

On  a  question  that  cries  for  redress, 
On  a  socially  serious  ill,  Sir — 

Great  Britain  is  quite  servantless. 

Yet,  the  remedy  lies  to  your  hand,  Sir, 

For  Canada  teems,  so  I  hear, 
With  servants  of  all  kinds.    How  grand, 
Sir, 

If  all  to  these  shores  we  could  bear  ! 
Oh,  promise  you  will  do  your  best,  Sir  ; 

We  would  pay  them  in  wages  just 

double 
To  what  they  receive  in  the  West,  Sir — 

Oh,  do  help  us  out  of  our  trouble  ! 

You  have  only  to  place  an  embargo 

On  ships  leaving  Canada's  ports 
That  do  not  contain  a  large  cargo 

Of  Canada's  servants  (all  sorts). 
What  are  pulp  and  potatoes  and  horses, 

And  lumber  and  oats — what  are  they, 
To   a  maid  who  can  wait  through  three 
courses 

And  not  be  fatigued  the  next  day  ? 

Then  send  us  a  shipload  of  cooks,  Sir, 

Who  can  cook — say  a  chop  or  a  steak — 
Without   searching  through  twenty   odd 
books,  Sir — 

And  a  simple  milk  pudding  can  make  ; 
Who    will    rise    before    twelve    in.   the 
morning, 

And  expect  not  the  use  of  the  carriage, 
Who  do  not  in  a  pet  give  you  warning 

If  some  trifle  you  dare  to  disparage. 

And  of  generals,  sev'ral  ship  loads,  Sir, 

Not  forgetting  the  "  all-work  "  adept, 
Who  is  needed  in  all  those  abodes,  Sir, 

Where  "  only  one  servant  is  kept." 
With  stair  maids  and  scullery  pack,  Sir, 

A  hundred  big  liners  or  more  ; 
Bring  them  hither  in  cruiser  or  smack,  Sir, 

At  once  to  this  servantless  shore. 

Let  them  come  with  the  flowers  in  spring, 

Sir, 
In  swarms  like  the  midsummer  fly, 


Let  every  fresh  cargo-boat  bring,  Sir, 
An  assortment  to  choose  from.     Oh,  try 

To  do  this.    Oh,  make  an  endeavour 
To  sweeten  the  matron's  home-life 

And  she  '11  bless  you  for  ever  and  ever, 
Yours  truly,      A  SERVANT-LESS  WIFE. 


LONDON    LOGIC. 

(A  conversation  overheard  after  the  recent 

L.C.C.  Election.) 

First  Ratepayer.  So,  here  we  are  again  ! 
The  Progressives  romped  in  ! 


"WHERE  IS  MANCHURIA?" 


Second  Ratepayer.  Disgraceful  I  And 
London  must  now  wait  another  three 
years  before  justice  can  be  secured  ! 

First  R.  Quite  so.  And  the  same  sort 
of  thing  occurred  three  years  ago  !  It  is 
scandalous  I 

Second  R.  What  are  all  right-thinking 
people  doing  ?  It  seems  to  me  so  easy  to 
gp  to  poll. 

First  R.  Exactly.  Can't  take  more  than 
five  minutes,  or  ten  minutes,  at  most.  And, 
then,  everyone  has  the'  path  made  so  easy. 
Just  before  the  Election  I  got  a  card 
giving  my  number  and  the  place  where  I 
was  to  record  my  vote. 

Second  R.  So  did  I.  And,  of  course, 
everyone  had  the  same  advantage. 

First  R.  No  doubt.  If  there  had  been 
any  neglect  in  this,  it  would  certainly 
have  been  recorded  in  the  newspapers. 


Second  R.  Assuredly  !  and  yet,  in  spite 
of  this,  the  Progressives  have  romped  in  ! 
It  is  shameful  that  this  was  allowed ! 
And  only  on  account  of  apathy  ! 

First  R.  Apathy — yes,  that 's  the  word, 
apathy.  If  everyone  had  done  his  duty, 
a  very  different  result  would  have  been 
obtained.  Of  course,  you  voted. 

First  R.  Well,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I 
didn't.  Yon  did.  Eh  ? 

Second  R.  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  I 
didn't. 

(Exit  severally.) 


NOT  TOO  PLAIN  MORALITY. 

[A  Chicago  judge  has  expressed  his  opinion  that, 
"  although  women  are  undoubtedly  upon  a  higher 
moral  plane  than  men  they  are  not  so  reliable  upon 
the  witness-stand."] 

"  I  HEAR  you  speak  of  a  moral  plane, 
Which  only  women  can  ever  attain  ; 
Tell  me,  Judge — for  I  fain  would  go 
To  find  this  plane  that  you  say  you  know — 
Is  it  after  a  woman  has  taken  an  oatli  __ 
That  she  makes" such  strides  in  her  moral 

growth?  " 
"  Not  then,  not  then,  my  child." 

"  Is  it  in  the  walls'  of  a  fusty  court, 
Where  suits  are  long  and  memories  short ; 
Where  lawyers  ask  of  a  spinster's  youth, 
And  miss  by  a  decade  or  so  the  truth  ; 
Where   peril   lurks    'neath  the    question 

bland — 

Shall  I  find  it,   Judge,   on  the  witness- 
stand  ?  ' ' 
"Not  there,  not  there,  my  child." 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  my  gentle  Sir, 
What  I  may  mean  you  must  only  infer  ; 
Somewhere  there  is  a  woman  .best 
Where  she  cannot  be  put  to  a  brutal  test. 
Morals  are  not  for  the  witness-box, 
And  should  you  seek  for  a  paradox, 
It  is  there,  it  is  there,  my  child." 


HOW   TO  SIGNAL  TO   MARS. 

(Impressions  after  reading  an  article  in 
the  current  number  of  the  "  Pall  Mall 
Magazine.") 

TAKE  a  flag  about  the  size  of  Europe, 
and  mount  it  upon  a  staff  the  length  of 
the  circumference  of  the  earth.  Then 
generate  sufficient  electric  fluid  to  illumi- 
nate the  material,  which  should  be  of  a 
conductive  character.  Having  done  this, 
apply  the  fluid  to  the  material  with  the 
assistance  of  all  the  electric  waves  of  the 
solar  system.  Next  change  the  laws  of 
Nature,  in  so  much  as  they  prevent  the 
operation  of  waving  so  gigantic  a  flag  as 
the  signal.  Select  a  day  when  the  condi- 
tions are  favourable,  and  put  the  apparatus 
in  operation.  Then,  if  the  Martians  are 
on  the  alert,  they  may  possibly  observe 
the  signal,  and  reply  to  it,  say,  in  a  couple 
of  centuries.  If  you  do  not  obtain  a 
manifestation,  conclude  that  the  inhabi- 
tants of  Mars  are  looking  another  way. 


MARCH  13,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OK  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


211 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  MUSICAL  COMEDY. 


The  Poet 
deserteth  the 
fair  sex. 


The  Baritone. 


Patter  for 
Patriots. 


The  Low 
Comedian. 


CANTO  THE  FOURTH. 

TiiOUGH  ladies  first  we  've  criticised — I  trust 
"With  all  respect  which  to  the  sex  is  due, — 

The  male  performers,  in  their  turn,  we  must 
Subject  to  an  impartial  interview. 

And  here,  as  in  the  ladies'  realm,  there  seem 

To  be  some  mighty  ones  who  reign  supreme. 

See  this  embodiment  of  manly  grace, 
Before  whose  glory  ev'rybody  pales  ; 

In  the  shop  windows  we  shall  find  his  face, 
His  voice  is  tuneful  as  the  nightingale's. 

He  's  worshipped,  with  a  fervour  that's  intense, 

By  female  members  of  the  audience. 

The  heroine  is  his  alone,  so  he 

Will  sing  her  tender  ballads  now  and  then  ; 
And  his  profession  probably  will  be 

Either  the  Army  or  the  bold  R.N. 
This  gives  an  opportunity,  in  fact, 
For  one  big  "  number  "  in  the  second  act. 

There,  very  likely  in  some  foreign  clime, 
And  with  a  chorus  of  the  fullest  size  ; 

To  swinging  melody  in  martial  time, 
His  own  profession  he  will  eulogise. 

And  people  will  applaud  with  emphasis 

A  composition  something,  say,  like  this  : — 

"  Oh,  we  take  him  from  the  factory  or  mill, 

(You  will  find  out  who  the  "him"  is  by  and 

bye); 
We  set  to  work  and  train  him  with  a  will, 

And  raise  a  martial  ardour  in  his  eye. 
It  does  not  matter  if  he 's  not  refined, 

Or  if  he  cannot  even  write  his  name  ; 
For  his  want  of  education  doesn't  influence  the 
nation, 

He  's  a  Gentleman  in  Khaki,  all  the  same. 

"O — oh,  Gentleman   in  Khaki,  you're  a  good 

'un,  there  's  no  donbt, 

And  particularly  useful  as  a  chap  to  sing  about ; 
May  your  pluck  be    never  failing,   may  your 

aim  be  ever  true, 
Oh,  Gentleman  in  Khaki,  there  's  my  best  top 

note  for  you  ! 

"  But  when  one  day  the  call  to  duty  comes, 

And  he  has  got  to  face  the  nasty  foe  ; 
While  all  the  air  with  patriotism  hums 

(Which  fills  the  house  and  makes  this  number 

go), 
The  gallant  lad  from  danger  does  not  flinch, 

Oh,  Englishmen,  you  really  should  rejoice ; 
Off  he  goes  across  the  ocean,  and  you  '11  notice 
my  emotion 

By  the  most  pathetic  tremor  in  my  voice." 

[Choriis  as  before,  only  much  sloiver  and  with 
impressive  pauses. 

Then  there  's  the  low  comedian,  on  whose 
Shoulders  a  mighty  burden  oft  is  hung  ; 

Nothing  can  check  his  efforts  to  amuse, 
Even  a  "  gag"  but  serves  to  loose  his  tongue. 

An  artist,  in  his  own  way  unsurpassed, 

Perhaps  the  hardest  worker  in  the  cast. 

In  awkward  situations  he  will  get 
When  he  's  the  chance.    Anon  he  '11  condescend 


The  Poet 
toucheth  on 
topics. 


To  join  in  some  light,  rollicking  duet, 

A  nimble-footed,  fair,  young  lady  friend  ; 
Also,  at  frequent  intervals,  he  tries 
A  change  of  costume  or  some  quaint  disguise. 

The  Ponderous, One  other  type  of  artiste  yet  awaits 
Potentate.  Our  close  inspection  for  a  while.     'Tis  he 

Who  in  a  lifelike  way  impersonates 

Some  potentate  or  lord  of  high  degree. 
Massive  of  frame  ;  of  voice  distinct  and  clear, 
Each  word  he  utters  you  can  plainly  hear. 

Who  then  is  better  suited  to  supply 
That  element  which  brightens  the  conclusions 

Of  many  shows  like  this  ; — for  low  and  high 
Welcome  a  song  with  topical  allusions. 

Following  up  my  previous  example, 

Once  more  let  me  submit  to  you  a  sample. 

I  WANT  TO  BE  TOPICAL. 

"A  person  who  holds  an  exalted  position 

In  musical  comedy  land, 
Will  very  soon  find  that  the  claim  of  tradition 

Is  something  he  cannot  withstand 
The  humorous  potentate  's  always  expected 

To  touch  on  events  of  the  day  ; 
And  therefore  a  topical  song  I've  selected, 

To  sing  in  the  usual  way. 

Chorus. 

"  Oh,  I  've  got  to  be  topical, 
Topical ! 
Topical ! 

Encored  by  women  and  men ; 
If  my  verses  should  pall 
I  get  fresh  ones,  that 's  all ; 
I  'm  sure  to  be  topical  then  ! 

"  Of  course  I  '11  allude  to  the  fact  that  my  nation, 

Though  probably  one  of  the  best, 
Is  lacking  in  products  of  civilization 

That  are  such  a  boon  to  the  west. 
The  halfpenny  papers,  Parisian  dresses, 

The  latest  Society  play  ; 
If  I  say  that  the  Twopenny  Tube  a  success  is, 

Is  that  being  topical,  eh  ? 

"  For  I  want  to  be  topical, 
Topical ! 
Topical ! 

Encored  by  women  and  men  ; 
When  the  houses  vibrate 
Up  at  Netting  Hill  Gate 
The  Tube  must  be  topical  then  ! 

"And  turning  to  matters  more  thrilling  than  ever, 

I  mean  the  South  African  War  ; — 
A  verse  about  KRUGER,  which  need  not  be  clever, 

Is  certain  to  win  an  encore. 
And  then  I  shall  mention, — it  may  make  a  stir  too, 

The  heroes  we  're  proud  of  to-day  ; 
BADEN-POWELL  and  KITCHENER  I  can  refer  to, 

I  fancy  they  're  topical,  eh  ? 

"For  I  want  to  be  topical, 
Topical ! 
Topical ! 

Encored  by  women  and  men  ; 
If,I  drag  in  Lord  BOBS 
(And  can  rhyme  him  with  "  jobs,") 
Oh,  shall  I  be  topical  then  ?  "  P.  G . 

(To  be  continued). 


212 


PUNCH,  OK  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[MARCH  13,  1901. 


THE  PERFECT  LETTER-WRITER. 
PART  III. 

From  a  House-Painter  at  Hackney  to  the 
Dean  of  St.  Paul's. 
VERY  REVEREND  SIR,  —  In  the  interest 
}f  Art  I  venture  to  address  to  you  this 
etter,  -which,  I  trust  —  written  as  it  is  in 
i  cause,  that  of  Art,  as  dear  to  you,  Mr. 
DEAN,  if  I  may  say  so,  as  to  myself  —  you 
vill  read  with  the  attention  due  not  to  its 
nanner,  since  I  am,  unhappily,  a  man  of 

No  one  can  deny  that  he  is  making  the 
interior  extremely  bright  and   cheerful. 
I  am  not  acquainted  with  any  building  in 
Hackney  so  gay  in  appearance,  and  this 
notwithstanding  the  fact  that  he  has  not 
yet  availed  himself  of  the  arts  of  graining 
and  marbling    to    increase    the    tasteful 
splendour  of  his  work.    Why,  then,  has 
he  left  the  exterior  in  such  a  black  and 
gloomy  condition  ?      It  cannot    be    from 
regard  for  the  mere  architectural  features, 
since  he  has  not  hesitated  to  alter  these 

BRITANNIA    TO    H.M.  GOVERNMENT. 

["A    Truant    School,   'a    trap   to   catch  little 
Hooligans,'  has  been  established  for  some  time  in 
Dniry  Lane.    It  is  proposed  to'  establish  two  more 
similiar  institutions  in  Battersea    and    the    East 
End."  —  Daily  Paper. 

A  MILLION  a  week  —  'tis  so  !  — 
A  million  a  week,  and  more, 
You  are  flinging  away  that  your  boys  may 
play 
This  murderous  game  of  war. 

scanty  education,  but 
to  its  matter,  a  letter, 
in  fact,  dealing  with 
that  mighty  edifice, 
the  masterpiece  of 
CHRISTOPHER  WREN, 
which  the  nation,  or 
the  Prime  Minister, 
or  the  London  County 
Council,  or  someone, 
has  committed  to  your 
keeping. 

Now  it  must  be 
evident  to  you,  Mr. 
DEAN,  that  the  ex- 
terior of  St.  Paul's, 
untouched  for  cen- 
turies, cannot  remain 
much  longer  in  such 
a  deplorable  condi- 
tion. There  is  not  a 
house  in  Hackney 
which  lias  not  re- 
ceived three  coats  of 
good  oil  paint,  or,  at 
least,  a  wash  of  colour, 
during  a  much  shorter 
period. 

I  have,  therefore, 
elaborated  a  scheme, 
of  which  I  am  sure 
yon  would  approve, 
for  the  entire  paint- 
ing. It  is  evident 
t  hat  a  cathedral  should 
not  be  treated  as  a 
mere  ordinary  build- 
ing, but  that  the  arts 
of  graining  and  mar- 
bling should  be  freely 
employed.  I  do  not, 
however,  propose  that  the  whole  surface 
should  be  marbled.  The  mouldings,  and  all 
the  other  lines  of  the  structure,  should  be 
emphasized  by  vermilion,  Naples  yellow, 
Prussian  blue,  Brunswick  green,  and  other 
colours  calculated  to  enliven  the  gloomy 
heaviness  of  the  structure  externally,  in 
the  same  manner  as  they  have  already 
been  employed  to  adorn  the  interior. 

The  mention  of  the  internal  decoration 
compels  me  to  say  that  it  has  never  been 
my  custom  to  depreciate  the  work  of 
other  tradesmen.  Still,  I  am  forced  to  say 
that  the  decorator  at  Hammersmith,  who 
has  hitherto  been  engaged  upon  this  job, 
has  shown  a  curious  remissness  in  alto- 
gether neglecting  the  external  painting. 


TERPSICHOREAN. 

Sportsman  (to  Dancing  Man,  who  has  accepted  a  Mount).  "  HOLD  ON  TIGHT,  SIR,  AND 
'LL  WALTZ  OVER  WITH  YOU  ! " 


\  1 
it\n 


internaliV  when   he   perceived   that    his 


judgment  \n  architecture  was  superior  to 
that  of  WfcViN. 

As  he  has  not  undertaken  the  external 
painting,  I  can  offer  my  services  without 
any  breach  of  professional  etiquette.  I 
may  add  that,  by  observing  the  colours 
you  have  permitted  him  to  use,  I  have 
learnt  that  you  and  he  think,  as  I  do, 
that  brilliance  should  be  our  first  aim, 
and  I  have  designed  the  external  de- 
coration accordingly. 

Trusting  that  our  mutual  interest  in 
Art  will  seem  to  you,  Mr.  DEAN,  a  suffi- 
cient reason  for  my  intrusion,  I  have  the 
honour  to  be,  Very  Reverend  Sir,  your 
obedient  servant,  P.  GREEN. 


Is  it  well  with  us  all 

at  home 
That  you  spend  with 

a  hand  so  free? 
Have  sorrow  and  care 
then  flown  else- 
where 

And  bidden  adieu  to 
me? 

Look  at  these  tatters 

and  rags ! 

These    faces     so 
wizened  and  old, 
These  urchins  whose 
shirt   is   Drury 
Lane  dirt, 
Whose  fare  is  but 
hunger    and 
cold! 

These     faces     preco- 
ciously lined 
With  poverty,   sin, 

and  despair — 
Mere  infants  of   ten 
with  the  vices 
of  men — 

Ah !  look  on  all  this, 
if  you  dare. 

Foul    are     the    dens 
where  they  bed, 
Fetid  and  foul  is  the 

breath 

Of    their    pestilent 
slums  where  the 
sun     never 
comes — 
Hotbeds  of  sickness 

and  death — 
Where      Ignorance, 
Folly  and  Crime 
Bid  Lust  and  and  Intemperance  hail, 
And  call  them  to   aid   in   their  devilish 

trade 
Of  getting  recruits  for  the  gaol. 

Ah  !  think,  ere  you  force  on  the  world 
The    blessings    they    fain    would    de- 
cline, 
Of  the  festering  sore  that  cankers  the 

core 

Of  this  over-grown  empire  of  mine. 
Ah  1  give  me  a  fraction ,  a  tithe 
Of  the  all  but  incredible  sums 
You  so  freely  afford  to  the  sons  of  the 

sword 

For   my   starved   little    sons    of    the 
slums. 


MAKCH  20,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


213 


JOVE'S  LITTLE   LIABILITIES. 

Short  Stories  with  Sad  Endings. 
No.  V.—' THE  YOUNG  MAN  WHO  DIDN'T. 

COLD  silence  reigned  in  the  room.  The 
lan-servant  with  noiseless  activity  had 
et  the  card-table  and  disappeared,  clos- 
ag  the  door  gently  after  him.  MURIEL 
tared  into  the  fire.  Ever  and  anon 
romatic  cloudlets  of  cigar  smoke  sailed 
ast  her.  Once  he  broke  the  burdensome 
ilence  by  setting  down  his  coffee  cup 
rith  a  clangour  that  almost  made  her 


d 


tart.      Then  there  was 
ad  thrown  the  moiety 
f  his  weed  into  the 
re  with  a  gesture  of 
nrestrained    i  m  p  a  - 
ence.  Now  she  knew 
i  was  coming.    The 
ords  she  had  antici- 
ated  for  four  months. 
our  sweet  months  of 
lalloyed    happiness, 
e  was  so  handsome, 
>  markedly  superior 
the  average    man 
o    found   an   en- 
,nce  to  her   smart 
exclusive    little 
;erie.    Quite  the 
st  priceless    orna- 
nt  of  her  sporting 
And  her  heart? 
d    it  not  been    in 
5  keeping  of  MONTY 
•STONE    any   time 
jse  three  months  ? 
he  man   rose,  and 
ne    nearer    to  the 
1.      His    face   was 
rking    strangely, 
ere   was   a    drawn 
k,  that  told  of  hid- 
agony.    His  fists 
re  clenched,  and 
je  he  raised  them 
•eateningly  as  if  he 
ukl  wring  his  very 


a   piff-biff.     He 


"Forgive  me,"  said  PIPSTONE  in  re- 
morseful tones,  seizing  her  slim  wrists 
and  peering  into  her  tear  -  wet  eyes. 
"  You  shall,  you  must,  when  you  hear 
what  I  have  to  say." 

MURIEL  gave  a  despairing  sob. 

"Don't  make  my  punishment  harder. 
It  is  now  almost  more  than  I  can  bear. 
To  see  you,  the  only  true  queen  of  my 
heart  suffering  through  my  words,  for 
ever  so  short  a  moment  tears  me  into  a 
thousand  pieces  of  living  agony.  I  know 
I  was  wrong.  Acoward,  I  suppose,  to  go 
on  treading  the  primrose  path  of  love, 
knowing  to  what  end.  I  know  I  should 


burning  in  my  breast.  I  was  wrong  to 
suppress  it,  I  know  ;  but  the  thought  that 
to  reveal  it  would  separate  us  kept  mo 
mute.  And  now " 

MURIEL  was  crying  softly. 

"At  the  Club  I  am  avoided.  Members 
pass  me  by  suspiciously ;  the  servants  eye 
me  curiously,  as  if  I  were  some  extinct 
monster  of  antiquity.  My  friends  are 
falling  from  me  like  leaves  from  autumn- 
stricken  trees.  Acquaintances  who  were 
wont  to  tip  the  cheery  nod  now  let  me  go 
unacknowledged,  or  frown  sullenly  on  me. 


I  am  ostracised. 
"  MONTY,    do 


ILLUSTRATED    QUOTATIONS. 

(One  so  seldom  finds  an  artist  ^uho  realises  the  poetic  conception.) 


I  am  a  social  outcast." 
not    torture    me !     This 
suspense " 

' '  I  shall  leave  you, ' ' 
said  the  man,  reso- 
lutely. "  For  when 
you  know  my  secret, 
you  will  cut  me  out  of 
your  visiting  list,  and 
curtail  the  occasional 
friendly  dinner,  as 
others  have  done. 
Maybe  we  shall  never 
meet  again.  It  is  im- 
possible for  me  to  re- 
main in  your  set." 

"  Oh,  surely  you  ex- 
aggerate the  nature 
of  your  crime  ?  ' ' 

"  Do  not  utterly  de- 
spise me." 

"  MONTY,  tell  me, 
tell  me  what  it  is. 
Perhaps " 

"Do  not  hope.  I — I 
— can't  play  bridge !  " 

The  woman  sat  star- 
ing into  the  fire.  An 
icy  hand  tore  at  her 
heart.  MONTAGUE  PIP- 
STONE  had  passed  out 
of  her  life. 


AND  I  WOULD  THAT  MY  TONGUE  COULD  UTTEE 

THE  THOUGHTS  THAT  ARISE  IN  ME." — Tennyson. 


e  out  in  sheer  distress.   MURIEL  gasped, 
d  raised  a  hand  in  silent  agony. 
'  MONTY  ! ' '    she   implored   with   wide 
iring  eyes. 
'Ah!    It  must  come,"  the  man  cried, 

whole    frame    shaken    with  the  ex- 
mity  of  his  passion.     ' '  For  four  months 

have  dwelt  in  Elysium.  Given  our- 
ves  up  to  the  delicious  reverie  of 
Interchanged  sighs,  stolen  glances, 
ngled  song  and  laughter,  joys  a 
msandfold,  our  hearts  beating  in 
ison." 

Yes." 
'  And  while  we  dreamed,  I  knew  that 

ire  must  come  an  awakening " 

'  Ah,  you  have  deceived  me  !  "  Her  eyes 
^flashed  the  serried  gems  that  rose  and 
I  on  her  quivering  neck,  like  the  relent- 
s  moving  of  storm-borne  waters. 


have  ohosen  the  only  alternative  of  with- 
drawing as  quietly  as  possible.  I  saw — 
none  clearer — in  what  a  false  position  I 
was  placed.  That  I  had  no  right  to  be 
included  in  your  set." 

4 '  Ah  !  some  social  misdemeanour  ! ' ' 

The  man  loosed  his  hold  of  her  wrists. 
41  It  was  absurd  to  imagine  that  I  could 
pursue  the  routine  of  pleasure  imposed 
by  another  season,  without  someone  of 
average  perspicuity  discovering  in  what 
manner  I  fell  short  of  the  social  equip- 
ment with  which  I  am  accredited.  I 
should  have  torn  down  with  a  morally 
courageous  hand  the  sign  of  4  elegible,' 
to  which  I  have  no  claim." 

44  Oh,  MONTY,  do  not  hastily  condemn 
yourself ! " 

44  All  hope  is  gone.  Think  the  best  of 
me.  For  weeks  the  awful  secret  has  been 


A   MILITARY   COM- 
MISSION. 

(Army  Tailor  Examined.) 
Q.  Is  the  present 
uniform  capable  of  improvement  ? 

A.  Certainly,  by  its  entire  change. 

Q.  How  would  you  alter  it  ? 

A.  By  having  cloth  of  a  new  colour. 

Q.  Would  quality  or  price  be  material? 

A.  No,  so  long  as  expense  was  a 
secondary  consideration. 

Q.  Would  you  discard  gold  lace  ? 

A.  I  would  increase  its  use  in  all 
directions.  It  would  be  good  for  trade. 

Q.  Would  you  make  the  habitual  wearing 
of  uniform  compulsory  ? 

A.  I  would  insist  upon  the  officers 
changing  at  least  half  a  dozen  times  a  day, 
never  wearing  the  same  uniform  twice. 

Q.  And  do  you  consider  War  disastrous 
to  the  military  tailor  ? 

A.  Absolutely,  as  the  British  officer  pre- 
fers to  fight,  so  to  speak,  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves. 


TOL.  cxx. 


214 


PUNCH,  OK  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[MAKCH  20,  1901 


DKAMATIC  SEQUELS. 
IX. — OUT  OP  PATIENCE  ;  OR,  BUNTHORNE 

AVENGED ! 

SCENE  —  Drawing-room  of  Colonel  CAL- 
VERLEY'S  house  at  Aldershot.  His  wife, 
SAPHIR,  is  entertaining  ANGELA,  ELLA, 
and  the  rest  of  the  love-sick  maidens 
— now  married  to  stalwart  officers  of 
Dragoons — at  afternoon  tea.  Each  lady 
dandles  a  baby,  ivhich  squalls  inter- 
mittently. 

Chorus. 
TWENTY  heart-sick  ladies  we 

Living  down  at  Aldershot, 
Every  morning  fervently 

Wishing,  wishing  we  were  not. 

Twenty  married  ladies  we, 

And  our  fate  we  may  not  alter  ; 
If  we  dare  to  mutiny 

They  will  send  us  to  Gibraltar  ! 
[The  babies,  appalled  at  this  prospect, 

howl  unanimously. 

Saphir  (as  soon  as  she  can  make  herself 
,          heard).  Our  mornings  go  in  stilling 

baby's  squalls. 

All.  Ah,  miserie ! 

Saphir.  Our  afternoons  in  paying  tire- 
some calls, 

All'  And  drinking  tea  ! 

Saphir.  And  then  those  long,  long,  regi- 
mental balls ! 

All'  Ennuie,  ennuie ! 

Saphir.  After  a  time  that  sort  of  pleasure 

palls, 
All.  As  you  may  see. 

[All  yawn,  including  the  babies. 

Chorus. 

Twenty  heart-sick  ladies  we,  etc. 
Angela  (sighs).  It 's  a  dreadful  thing  that 
we  should  all  have  married  officers  in  the 
Army. 

Saphir.  And  all  have  to  live  at  Aider- 
shot. 

E//a.  All  except  Lady  JANE. 
Saphir.  But  she  married  a  Duke. 
Ella.  I  don't  see  why  that  should  make 
any  difference. 

Angela.  You  wouldn't  expect  a  Duchess 
to  live  in  the  provinces.  She  couldn't  be 
spared. 

Ella.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Angela.  No  Duchess  is  allowed  to  be  out 

of  London  during  the  season.     There  are 

hardly  enough  of  them  to  go  round  as  it  is. 

Saphir.  I  never  imagined  that  when  we 

were  married  we  should  find  ourselves  so 

completely  "  out  of  it." 

All  (indignantly).  Out  of  it ! 

Saphir.  Yes,    out   of    it.     Out    of    the 

world,    the    fashion,    what    you    please. 

^Estheticism    is    out    of    vogue    now,   of 

course,    but    there    have     been    lots    of 

fascinating    "movements"    since     then. 

There  's  been  IBSEN  and  the  Revolt  of  the 

Daughters,  and  AUBREY  BEARDSLEY  and 

the   Decadence,   and  MAETERLINCK.    The 

world  has  been  through  all  these  wonder- 


fully   thrilling    phases    since    1880,    and 
where  are  WE  ? 

Angela  (remonstrating).  We  read  about 
them  in  the  ladies'  papers. 

Saphir.  Read  about  them  !  What 's  the 
good  of  reading  about  them  ?  I  want  to  be 
in  them.  I  want  to  live  my  life.  (Shakes 
her  baby  fiercely.  It  raises  a  howl.) 

Ella  (rushing  to  the  rescue).  Take  care, 
take  care  !  Poor  darling  !  it  '11  have  a  fit. 
Saphir.  Take  it,  then  (Throws  it  to 
ELLA).  I  'm  tired  of  it.  What 's  the  good 
of  buying  a  complete  set  of  back  numbers 
of  the  Yellmu  Book,  and  reading  them, 
too — (General  astonishment  at  this  feat ) — 
if  you  can't  even  shake  your  baby  without 
making  it  squall.  I  'd  never  have  married 
Colonol  CALVERLEY  if  I  had  thought  of 
that! 
Angela.  Nor  I  Major  MURGATROYD. 

(Sings.) 

When  first  I  consented  to  wed, 
I  said,  "  I  shall  never  come  down 
To  passing  my  life 
As  an  officer's  wife, 
In  a  second-rate  garrison  town." 
I  said,  "  I  shall  live  in  Mayfair, 
With  plenty  of  money  to  spare, 
Have  admirers  in  flocks, 
Wear  adorable  frocks, 
And  diamonds  everywhere."  , 

Yes,  that 's  wrhat  I  certainly  said 
When  first  I  consented  to  wed. 

I  thought — on  the  day     was  wed — 
I  could  reckon  with  perfect  propriety 

On  filling  a  place 

With  conspicuous  grace 
In  the  smartest  of  London  Society. 
I  said,  "  It  is  easy  to  see 
I  shall  be  at  the  top  of  the  tree, 

And  none  of  the  millions 

Of  vulgar  civilians 
Will  venture  to  patronize  me  !  " 
Yes,  that 's  what  I  foolishly  said 
When  first  I  consented  to  wed. 

As  the  song  ends,  enter  Colonel 
CALVERLEY,  Major  MURGATROYD, 
and  the  other  officers,  in  uniform 
as  from  parade.  The  ladies  groan. 
So  do  the  babies. 

Colonel.  Hullo  !  Groans  !  What 's  all 
this  about  ? 

Saphir.  If  you  only  knew  how  it  pains 
us  to  see  you  in  those  preposterous 
clothes. 

Officers.  Preposterous  ! 

Angela.  Perfectly  preposterous.  You 
know  they  are. 

Major.  If  by  preposterous  you  mean  not 
conspicuously  well  adapted  for  active 
service,  we  cannot  deny  it. 

Angela.  Of  course  you  can't.  Your  uni- 
forms are  useless  and  pretentious.  To 
the  educated  eye  they  are  not  even 
beautiful. 

Officer  (horrified).  Not  beautiful ! 

Saphir.  Certainly  not.  If  they  were, 
you  would  not  be  so  unwilling  to  be  seen 
about  in  them. 


Col.  (haughtily).  It  is  not  etiquette 
the  British  Army  for  an  officer  ever  to 
seen  in  his  uniform.  It  isn't  done  ! 

Saphir.  And  why  not?  Because  he 
ashamed  of  it.  He  wants  to  be  dress 
like  a  soldier,  not  like  a  mounteban 
How  can  anyone  respect  a  uniform  that 
only  meant  for  show  ? 

Major.  That 's  true.    But  the  ladies  ? 
it  wasn't  for  our  gorgeous  frippery  th 
wouldn't  fall  in  love  with  us. 

Angela  (crossly.)  Nonsense.  Women  li 
soldiers  because  they  are  brave,  i 
because  they  wear  red  coats.  Any  Tomi 
could  tell  you  that. 

Col.  (sarcastically).  Indeed  ? 
Angela.  Yes.    SAPHIR,  tell  Colonel  Cj 
VERLEY  the  story  of  WILLIAM  STOKES. 
Saphir   (sings).    Once   WILLIAM  STOB 

went  forth  to  woo, 

A  corporal  he  of  the  Horse  Guards  (Blue 
He  thought  all  housemaid  hearts  to  sto 
With  his  truly  magnificent  uniform. 
But  the  housemaids  all  cried  "  No,  no,  i 
Your  uniform  's  only  meant  for  show, 
Your     gorgeous     trappings    are    wicls 

waste, 
And  your  whole  get-up  's  in  the  worst 

taste." 

All.         The  worst  of  taste  ? 
Saphir.  The  worst  of  taste  I 

These  quite  unfeeling 
Very  plain  dealing 
Ladies  cried  in  haste — 

"  Your  uniform,  BiLLY, 
Is  simply  silly 

And  quite  in  the  worst  of  taste  !  " 
Poor  WILLIAM  took  these  cries  amiss, 
Being  quite  unaccustomed  to  snubs  li 

this. 

At  last  he  explained,  by  way  of  excuse, 
His  gorgeous    clothes  weren't    made  1 

use. 

His  elaborate  tunic  was  much  too  tight 
To  eat  his  dinner  in,  far  less  fight, 
It  was  only  meant  to  attract  the  eye 
Of  the  less  intelligent  passer-by. 
All.         The  passer-by  ? 
Snphir.  The  passer-by  ! 
And  so  poor  BILLY, 
Feeling  quite  silly, 
Threw  up  the  Horse  Guards  (Blue),    • 
And  now  in  the  Park  he 
Appears  in  Khaki, 
And  greatly  prefers  it  too  ! 
Colonel.  That 's  all    very    well,   and 
dare  say  you  're  right  in  what  you  sa 
but  you  '11  never  get  the  War  Office 
see  it. 

Major.  They  're  too  stupid. 
Saphir.  Was  it  the  War  Office  who  se 
US  to  Aldershot  ? 
Major.  Yes. 

Saphir.  You  're  quite  right.  They  a 
stupid  ! 

Colonel.  "What 's  the  matter  with  Ald< 
shot? 

Angela.  It's  dull,  it's  philistine,  it 
conventional.  And  to  think  that  we  we 
once  ./Esthetic  ! 


MARCH  20,  1901.]  PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON  CHARIVARI.  215 


GROWING    BOYS. 

Jack.  "PLEASE,  MA,  AREN'T  I  GOING  TO  HAVE  A  NICE  NEW  SUIT,  LIKE  TOMMY!" 
Mrs.  Britannia.  "No,  DEAR.    TOMMY'S  OLD  SUIT  WAS  so  WORN  OUT  THAT  HE  HAD  TO  HAVE  A  NEW  ONE;  BUT  IT  COST  ME  SUCH 

A  LOT  OF  MONEY  THAT   I  fM  AFRAID  WE  *LL  HAVE  TO  MAKE  YOURS  DO  AS  IT  IS  FOR  A  BIT." 

[The  Army  Estimates  are  three  times  the  amount  of  the  Navy  Estimates.] 


216 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[MABCH  20,  1901. 


Officers  (mockingly).  Oh,  South  Kensing- 
ton ! 

Angela  (angrily).  Not  South  Kensington ! 
Chelsea.  If  you  knew  anything  at  all, 
you  'd  know  that  South  Kensington  is 
quite  over  now.  People  of  culture  have 
all  moved  to  Chelsea. 

Saphir.  "Why  on  earth  don't  you  all  get 
snug  berths  at  the  Horse  Guards  ?  Then 
we  could  live  in  London. 

Colonel  (sadly).  Do  you  know  how  pro- 
motion is  got  in  the  British  Army  ? 

Saphir.  No. 

Colonel.  Listen,  and  I  will  tell  you — 

(Sings.) 
"When  you  once  have  your  commission,  if 

you  want  a  high  position  in  the  army 

of  the  King, 
You  must  tout  for  the  affections  of  the 

influential  sections  of  the  Inner  Social 

Ring. 
If  you  're  anxious  for  promotion,  you  must 

early  get  a  notion  of  the  qualities  com- 
manders prize ; 
You  must  learn  to  play  at  polo,  strum  a 

banjo,  sing  a  solo,  and  you  're  simply 

bound  to  rise  ! 

For  everyone  will  say 
In  the  usual  fatuous  way : — 
"  If  this  young  fellow  's  such  a  popular 

figure  in  High  Society 
"Why,  what  a  very  competent  commander 

of  a  troop  this  fine  young  man  must  be ! " 

You  must  buy  expensive  suits,  quite  the 

shiniest  of  boots,  and  a  glossy  hat  and 

tall, 
For  if    you  're    really  clever   you   need 

practically    never    wear  your  uniform 

at  all. 
You  probably  will  then  see  as  little  of 

your  men  as  you  decently  can  do, 
And  you  '11  launch  a  thousand  sneers  at 

those  foolish  Volunteers,  who  are  not  a 

bit  like  you ! 

And  those  Volunteers  will  say 
When  you  go  on  in  that  way  : — 
"  If  this  young  man 's  such  an  unconcealed 

contempt  for  the  likes  of  such  as  we 
"What  a  genius  at  strategy  and  tactics  too 

this  fine  young  man  must  be  !  " 

When,  your  blunders  never  noted,  you  are 

rapidly  promoted  to  the  snuggest  berth 

you  know, 
Till  we  see  you  at  Pall  Mall  with  the  Army 

gone  to — well,  whore  the  Army  should 

not  go. 
When  your  country  goes    to    war    your 

abilities  will  awe  all  the  foenien  that 

beset  her, 
And  if  you  make  a  mess  of  it,  of  course 

we  're  told  the  less  of  it  the  country 

hears  the  better ! 

And  you  '11  hear  civilians  say, 
In  their  usual  humble  way, 
If  this  old  buffer  is  a  General  of  Division, 

and  also  a  G.  C.  B., 
Why,  what  a  past  master  of  the  art  of  war 

this  fine  old  boy  must  be  ! 

Saphir.  Do  you  mean  that  you  '11  never 


get  a  berth  at  the  Horse  Guards,  any  of 
you? 

Colonel  (sadly).  It 's  most  unlikely. 

Saphir.  Then  my  patience  is  exhausted. 
I  shall  apply  for  a  judicial  separation. 

Angela.  So  shall  I. 

Ladies.  We  shall  all  apply  for  a  judicial 
separations. 

Officers.  Impossible ! 

Angela.  Oh,  yes,  we  shall;  we  eannot 
consent  to  remain  at  Aldershot  any  longer. 
At  any  moment  a  new 'movement  in  the 
world  of  Art  or  Letters  may  begin  in 
London,  and  WE  shall  not  be  in  it.  The 
thought  is  unendurable.  We  must  go  and 
pack  at  once.  [Exeunt. 

Curtain.  ST.  J.  H. 


PAINFUL  POEMS.— No.   II. 
A  FATAL  SUCCESS. 

AMINADAB  CARRUTHERS  JONES 

Was  steady  as  can  be, 
He  was,  as  everybody  owns, 

Of  strict  sobriety. 

This  man  invented  something  great 

(I  think  it  was  a  gun)  ; 
And  then  there  came  a  weary  wait 

Ere  victory  was  won. 

He  fought  a  monster  in  disguise, 

The  ruddiest  of  tape, 
Which  strangled  private  enterprise 

In  every  size  and  shape. 

At  last,  at  last,  success  was  his, 
Success  for  all  his  schemes  ! 

He  worked  a  miracle — that  is, 
He  realised  his  dreams. 

"  Adopted  "  was  the  gladsome  word 
Which  filled  his  heart  with  glee — 

That  night  poor  JONES  was  as  absurd 
A  sight  as  you  could  see. 

He  staggered  home  to  Mrs.  J., 
His  face  suffused  with  pink, 

And  this  is  what  he  had  to  say  : 
"  M'RIA,  wha'  you  think  ? 

"  I  shay,  goodole  redtapshafool, 

M'RIA,  wha'  you  shay  ? 
We  're  joll'  goodfellers,  tooroolool, 

Hi,  tooroolooroolay." 

INTOXICATED  WITH  SUCCESS, 

He  fairly  lost  his  wits  ; 
The  happy  home,  as  you  may  guess, 

He  pounded  all  to  bits. 

In  sorry  degradation  sunk, 
He  showed  himself  a  "  rip." 

With  pure  success  our  friend  was 

drunk, 
No  liquor  passed  his  lip. 

And  now,  good  friends,  a  warning 

take, 

Pray,  pay  especial  heed, 
Success  should  make  you  fear  and 

quake — 
Beware  how  you  succeed  ! 


THEOPHRASTUS  UP  TO  DATE. 

"  Literary  Characters." 
THE  NEW  PUBLISHER. 

NEW  Publishing  may  be  defined  as  the 
puffing  of  unknown  authors  for  the  sake 
of  gain. 

The  New  Publisher  is  one  who  will  do 
his  own  reviewing,  and  fill  many  columns 
of  the  papers  with  eulogies  of  his  own 
publications.  Warming  to  the  work,  ho 
will  hire  sandwich-men  to  parade  the 
streets  proclaiming  their  aspirations  or 
their  sin.  Great  is  his  belief  in  anony- 
mity, and  having  propounded  the  riddle 
he  is  well  pleased  to  keep  silent  and  reap 
the  harvest  from  a  puzzled  world.  He  is 
very  apt  to  bring  discredit  on  his  pro- 
fession. 

THE  NEW  JOURNALIST. 

New  Journalism  is  the  framing  of  fic- 
titious sayings  and  doings  at  the  pleasure 
of  him  who  makes  journals. 

The  New  Journalist  is  a  person  who  will 
condemn  a  prisoner  before  he  has  been 
tried,  or  ruin  a  man's  reputation  to  sell 
a  single  issue  of  his  paper.  When  a  sen- 
sational trial  is  in  the  courts  he  will  be 
quick  to  scent  out  any  savoury  gossip 
and  horrible  revelation.  It  is  quite  in  his 
manner,  too,  to  publish  the  evidence  of  a 
witness  who  has  not  yet  appeared  in  the 
box.  Hearing  that  a  degree' of  frost  has 
been  registered  during  the  night,  he 
hastens  to  write  a  par.  on  "Blizzards  at 
Brixton,"  adding,  that  Wandsworth  and 
Wimbledon  are  in  winter's  icy  grasp.  He 
is  also  called  Yellow. 

THE  NEW  WAR  CORRESPONDENT. 

New  War  Correspondence  is  a  distress- 
ing indifference  to  style  and  subject, 
where  popularity  is  concerned. 

The  New  War  Correspondent  Is  one 
who,  though  he  has  seen  nothing  of  war, 
and  knows  as  little  of  politics,  will  cheer- 
fully go  to  the  front,  and  write  home 
criticism  of  the  General's  tactics  and  of 
the  Government.  There  is  no  need  for 
him  to  leave  his  quarters  in  order  to 
give  a  graphic  description  of  the  latest 
battle.  He  is  apt  to  refer  to  a  scout- 
ing reconnaissance  as  an  advance  in 
force,  adding  that  on  this  day  he  messed 

with  the Regiment  who  had  looted  a 

barrel  of  whisky.  If  half-a-dozen  Boers 
are  dislodged  from  a  kopje,  he  will 
describe  it  as  a  great  victory,  though  he 
will  point  out  that,  but  for  the  blundering 
of  the  General  engaged,  the  loss  of  five 
British  officers  might  have  been  avoided. 
He  is  quite  likely  to  write  a  novel,  in 
which  he  will  discourse  much  of  "  Glass- 
eye,"  "  Pom-pom  "  and  "  'Ard-work." 
He  is  very  apt  to  use  this  kind  of  phrase, 
"The  lioness  of  Britain  whelps  heroes 
still."  He  is  a  "  quill-driving  lump  of 
sin." 


MARCH  20,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


217 


'VAKSITY  VEKSES. 

OXFORD  ODES. 
X. 

MY  heart  still  stops,  ray  brain  is  all 

Filled  with  a  strange  wild  humming 
I  tremble  still  when  I  recall 

The  manner  of  its  coming  ; 
It  flashed  across  the  Teubner  text, 

A  heaven-sent  inspiration — 
One  moment  darkness,  and  the  next 

My  brilliant  emendation. 

Fame  was  upon  me  ere  I  knew  : 

All  Oxford  talked  about  me, 
And  e'en  the  Classical  Renew 

Was  incomplete  without  me  ; 
The  Public  Orator  too  spent 

The  best  of  his  oration 
Describing  as  the  year's  event 

My  brilliant  emendation.  > 

Six  rival  colleges  began 

To  woo  me,  each  a  suitor 
Intent  on  getting  such  a  man 

As  me  to  be  its  tutor. 
I  therefore  came  to  be  a  Don 

And  spent  a  Long  Vacation 
Preparing  learned  lectures  on 

My  brilliant  emendation. 

Now  readings  come  and  pass  away, 

And  those  which  are  selected 
By  scholars  as  the  best  to-day 

To-morrow  are  rejected. 
Why  bother,    then,   what   truths  new 
found 

We  owe  the  German  nation  ? 
I  'm  still  contented  to  expound 

My  brilliant  emendation. 


AN   ENGLISH    PARODIST'S    LOVE- 
LETTERS. 
EXPLANATION. 

THESE  parodies  were  written  for  pur- 
poses of  publication.  Even  the  urgent 
request  of  the  writer's  best  friends  have 
not  prevented  him  from  printing  them. 
They  point  so  obvious  a  moral  to  brother- 
parodists  that  the  author  feels  it  as  all- 
commanding  upon  him  to  give  the  letters 
to  the  world. 

The  story  that  echoes  through  the  fol- 
lowing pages  shows  how  hopelessly  the 
aiithor  has  fallen  under  the  influence  of 
certain  eminent  writers.  When  at  length 
he  shakes  off  this  influence,  he  finds  to 
his  horror  that  he  is  inarticulate.  So 
long  has  he  imitated  the  method  and  style 
of  others  that  he  has  no  longer  any  style 
of  his  own  ;  he  has  become  a  mechanical 
mocking-bird.  Therein  lies  the  tragedy  ; 
for  a  man  who  cannot  write  a  natural 
love-letter  must  give  up  the  role  of  lover. 

LETTER  I. 
(Written  under  the  influence  of  G-rge 

M-r-d-th.) 

BELOVED,— With  this  letter  lies  overt 
the  first  page  of  the  scented  volume  of 


'JUST   IN   TIME   FOR   THE   CEN3CS,    SlR  !  " 


love.  Its  passionate  perfume  narcotises 
my  soul  with  verbal-tone  pictures,  and 
drives  me  with  its  harmonious  discords 
into  polysyllabic  conceits.  There  is  an 
obscurity,  dearest  (if,  mayhap,  obscure  I 
shall  seem)  which  arises  from  excess  of 
light.  On  the  sensitised  brain  of  the 
ordinary  soul  this  super-radiance  is  re- 
gistered as  shadow,  and,  indeed,  deve- 
lopes  as  such.  You,  beloved,  would  scorn 

uch  a  negative  test. 
And  now  to  psalm  the  praises  of  Cupid, 
who  liketh  not  the  naked,  unattractive 
highway  that  leadeth  direct  to  wedding 
bells,  but  glorieth,  Ariel-like,  in  the 
intricate  byeways  of  intellectual  magic- 
loving  ordeals,  while  shunning  marriages 
that  are  not  amazing.  And  now,  dearest, 
take  a  deep  breath,  for  I  am  about  to 

nter  upon  a  glittering  sea  of  metaphors, 
and  goodness  knows  when  a  full-stop  will 
arrest  my  declamatory  barque.  To-night  I 
opened  my  casement  (there  is  no  window 
.n  my  room)  while  mine  ears  drank  in — 
Nature  has  been  kind  in  gifts  aural — the 
jitter-sweet  passion  song  of  the  nightin- 
gale, which  entranceth  my  soul  with  the 
value  of  archaic  words  and  recondite 
ahrases,  albeit  somewhat  sense-betwisted 


from  the  natural  meaning  accorded  them 
by  the  upper-shelf  haunting  dictionary; 
maddeneth  my  heart  with  such  an  ecstasy 
as  the  gods  feel  who,  looking  down  upon 
the  stage  of  life,  rejoice  in  the  pantomimic 
vagaries  of  low  comedians  gallery-espied — 
somewhere  in  the  Lane  of  existence ; 
greeteth  my  body  (my  soul  and  heart  have 
already  been  disposed  of)  with  some 
chance  catarrh  (that  I  super-gladly  suffer) 
which,  clasping  my  throat  in  its  ardent 
embrace,  or  whispering  in  sibilous  periods 

to  the  penetralia  of  the  bronchi Dearest 

heart  of  my  heart,  I  have  lost  my  place, 
and  where  my  original  nominative  was,  alas, 
Iwotnot.  So  farewell.  The  fount  must  cease 
to  flow  :  inspiration  has  become  siccate. 


SUGGESTED   ADDITIONAL   TAXATION. 

£    s.  d. 

For  every  Motor  Car   .        .        .440 
If  with  smell     .        .        .        .550 
Extra  offensive  ditto         .        .660 
Motor  Car  proceeding  at   over 
ten  miles  an  hour,  for  each 
.     additional  mile      .        .        .110 
For    every    Bicycle    used     for 

"scorching"         .         .        .     0  10    0 


218 


PUNCH,  OB  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[MARCH  20,  1901. 


THE  EVOLUTION   OF  A  MUSICAL  COMEDY. 

CANTO  THE  FIFTH. 

The  Press  THE  masterpiece  towards  completion  tends, 

Paragraphs.  And  on  its  steady  journey  to  success 

It  may  be  pushed  along  by  kindly  friends 

Who  chance  to  be  connected  with  the  Press* 
In  many  a  chatty  paper,  far  and  near, 
Notes  on  the  new  production  will  appear 

Starting  with  just  a  line  or  so  at  first. 

These  paragraphs  are  few  and  far  between  ; 
But  ere  the  piece  for  long  has  been  rehearsed 

On  ev'ry  side  accounts  of  it  ?,re  seen  ; 
All  of  them  helping,  in  some  Flight  degree, 
To  rouse  the  public  curiositj . 

Soon,  with  an  ardour  uncontrolled  and  hot, 
The  journalists  crowd  thickly  on  the  scent ; 

Each  tries  to  find  out  details  of  the  plot 
(If  there  should  be  a  plot  by  accident). 

Failing  in  this,  he  very  often  gleans 

Descriptions  of  the  dresses  and  the  scenes. 

The  Illustrated       Or,  knowing  public  interest  runs  high, 
Interview.  The  authors  and  composers  he  '11  pursue, 

And,  at  their  private  residences,  try 
To  get  the  honour  of  an  interview. 
Sometimes  their  latest  photos  they  will  fetch, 
Arid  let  him  reproduce  them, — say  in  Sketch. 

Let  us  now  return  for  a  while  to  the  piece  itself.  It  is  far 
enough  advanced  to  go  into  rehearsal.  This  necessitates  our 
approaching  the  theatre, — and  by  the  stage  door.  But  before 
taking  what  may  be  to  the  reader  such  a  momentous  step, 
perhaps  it  would  be  as  well  to  propitiate  the  fates,  and  do 
homage  in  fitting  fashion  to  this  mystic  barrier  which  guards 
t'.ie  world  behind  the  footlights. 

INVOCATION  TO  THE  STAGE  DOOR. 
Hail !  O  thou  magic  and  mysterious  portal, 
Strangely  attractive  to  the  guileless  mortal, 
Who,  though  possessed  of  an  inquiring  mind, 
Has  never  had  the  chance  to  "go  behind." 
The  real  from  the  unreal  thou  dost  divide  ; 
And  those  to  whom  the  entree  is  denied, 
Heed  not  the  voice  of  elders,  who  declare 
That  they  are  building  castles  in  the  air. 
Dazzled  by  all  the  splendour  of  to-day 
They  see  in  thee  the  one  and  only  way 
To  Fairyland  ;  and  feel  a  hatred  for 
Thy  careful  and  suspicious  janitor  ; 
Who,  watching  from  the  corner  of  his  eye, 
Will  let  no  unfamiliar  face  pass  by. 

O  foolish  ones,  why  will  ye  not  t>e  wise  ? 

When  will  the  outside  public  realise 

That  through  this  mystic  door,  for  many  a  one, 

The  road  to  disillusionment  may  run. 

Alas  !  the  youthful  dream  of  beauty  stops 

When  one  has  been  confronted  by  the  "  props."  ; 

While  as  for  Fairyland,  the  only  things 

That  will  suggest  it  are  perhaps  the  "  wings." 

Preliminaries  will  be  started  by 
Rehearsals  of  the  chorus,  who  will  be 

Summoned  as  soon  as  possible  to  try 
The  music,  full  of  haunting  melody. 

Female  and  male,  henceforth  they  must  not  shirk 

The  drudgery  attendant  on  such  work. 

Pity  the  chorus  master,  who  will  sit 

Surrounded  by  the  many-voiced  throng ; 


Rehearsal  of 
the  Chorus. 


Taking  then  through  the  music  bit  by  bit, 

And  interrupting  when  they  sing  it  wrong. 
Marking  the  time  for  them,  "  One,  two ;  one,  two ! ' ' 
Shouting  out  "  Ladies,  that  will  never  do  1 " 

No  orchestra  his  efforts  will  assist, 

As  has  been,  and  will  be  in  future  days ; 

Only  the  tinkling  of  a  pianist, 
Who  on  his  instrument  serenely  plays. 

This  sort  of  thing  is  steadily  maintained. 

Until,  at  length,  proficiency  is  gained. 

The  idiosyncrasies  of  the  chorus  must  often  have  struck  the 
eader.    They  are  always  on  the  spot  when  wanted,  and  always 
willing  to  sing.    But  let  them  speak  for  themselves. 

SONG  OF  THE  CHORUS. 

'he  Chorus         The  principal  characters  wander  about 
ingeth  for  Wherever  the  action  may  take  them, 

tself.  And  though  it  may  strike  you  as  funny,  no  doubt, 

We  never,  no  never  forsake  them. 
To  regions  remote  they  may  possibly  fly, 

To  deserts  unpleasant  and  sandy  ; 
But  no  matter  where  these  localities  lie, 
They  're  sure  to  find  some  of  us  handy. 

Our  voices  are  clear  and  sonorous, 
And  no  situation  can  floor  us  ; 

Both  early  and  late  or 

From  Pole  to  Equator, 
There  's  no  getting  rid  of  the  Chorus  ! 

Supposing  a  musical  number  is  due, 

For  which  we  're  responsible  partly  ; 
The  stage  may  be  empty,  but  give  us  the  cue, 

And  see  how  we  take  it  up  smartly. 
To  come  on  in  clusters  of  two  or  of  three 

We  're  always  remarkably  willing  ! 
We  enter  from  Centre,  from  P,  and  O.  P. 

(Result  of  elaborate  drilling.) 

We  look  as  if  nothing  could  bore  us  ; 

Though  dreadful  disaster  hangs  o'er  us, 
Sopranos  and  basses 
Wear  smiles  on  their  faces, 

You  cannot  discourage  the  Chorus  ! 

Act  One  may  present  us  as  civilized  folk, 

But,  as  you  perhaps  may  have  reckoned, 
We  probably  shall  our  identities  cloak 

In  starting  upon  Act  the  Second. 
The  lady  who  was  a  Society  belle, 

Supposing  the  piece  should  demand  it, 
May  next  be  a  peasant ;— the  Regent  Street  swell 

May  turn  to  a  bloodthirsty  bandit. 

And  no  one  can  really  ignore  us  ; 
The  audience  sitting  before  us, 

Our  value  confesses  ; 

In  tights  or  in  dresses, 
They  liven  things  up,  do  the  Chorus  I 

Meanwhile,  in  other  quarters,  matters  are  being  rapidly 
pushed  forward.  The  scene-painters,  having  submitted  model" 
and  had  the  same  approved,  are  hard  at  work  on  the  two  or 
more  "sets."  The  costumiers  are  materialising  the  ideas  of 
the  designer,  and  turning  out  elaborate  creations  which  are  to 
make  the  piece  a  well-dressed  one.  It  is  high  time  to  call  a 
rehearsal  of  the  principals.  Accordingly,  one  day,  the  member 
of  the  company  assemble  on  the  stage.  Some  of  the  more 
favoured  ones  may  have  had  the  piece  explained  to  them 
previously  by  the  authors,  but  the  majority  will  have  to  obtain 
a  vague  idea  of  it,  by  reading  through  their  parts. 

(To  be  continued.)  P-  G 


MARCH  20,  1901.J 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


219 


c 


Milkman.  "  MILK  !  MILK  !  ME  oil" 

Little  Oirl  (to  Governess).  "WHAT  DOES  HE  SAY  'Ms  o  ! '  fOR  ?  " 

Governess  (readily).  "On,  THAT'S  FRENCH,  DEVH.     'Mis'  is  SHDRI  FOR  '  DSUIS.'      'Mis-SAU    MEANS  'HALF-WATER   ! 


220 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[MARCH  20,  1901. 


PHILANTHROPY  IN  THE   WEST-END. 

(Speech  designed  for  Lord  ROSEBERY  on  the  occasion  of  his  open- 
ing a  Loan  Collection  of  Pictures  in  the  Lobby  of  the  House 
of  Commons.) 

MY  LORDS  AND  GENTLEMEN, — I  cannot  think 
Why  I  should  give  this  opening  address,  • 

Except  that  I  have  leisure  more  than  most 
And  often  undertake  these  little  turns. 
Since  first,  some  three-and-thirty  years  ago, 
I  entered  what  is  known  as  public  life, 
I  have  remarked  a  desultory  change 
In  Members'  manners,  chiefly  for  the  worse. 
Time  was,  some  three-and-thirty  years  ago 
(Excuse  my  mentioning  the  date  again), 
Before  the  Irish  occupied  our  thoughts, 
"When  the  behaviour  of  the  Lower  House 
"Was  almost  worthy  of  the  Peers  themselves. 
Home  Rule  is  dead  (I  helped  to  dig  its  grave, 
And  made  an  after-dinner  speech  above  it), 
But  several  naughty  passions  roused  thereby 
Have  wrought  corruption  in  our  polished  style 
And  even  compromised  the  House  of  Lords, 
"Where  I  myself  only  the  other  day 
Observed  a  noble  Marquis  who  betrayed 
A  "  lamentable  and  unseemly  "  tone — 
To  cite  the  epithets  I  then  employed. 

It  is  in  hope  of  working  some  reform 
Which  may  effect  itself  by  moral  suasion, 
And  ease  the  burdens  of  our  brave  police, 
That  I  expose  these  pictures  which  include 
The  hundred  greatest  works  of  human  Art, 
Selected  by  my  friend,  Lord  AVEBURY. 
OVID  (in  ancient  days)  regarded  Art 
As  an  emollient  of  savage  natures  ; 
But  Art  is  very  long,  and  takes  its  time  ; 
And  he  were  optimist  who  should  expect 
That  for  a  Member  passing  through  this  Lobby 
(Possibly  under  force  and  upside  down) 
In  course  of  transit  simply  to  have  seen 
A  CONSTABLE  suspended  on  the  wall 
Should  be  the  sudden  means  of  his  conversion 
And  change  a  FLAVIN  to  a  CHESTERFIELD. 
Yet  if  he  only  gave  sufficient  time 
To  rapt  and  steady  contemplation  of 
Some  useful  masterpiece — a  RAPHAEL  or 
A  MICHAEL  ANGELO  (I  '11  ask  the  Press, 
Who  claim  the  copyright  of  these  remarks, 
Not  to  report  him  as  VON  ANGELI), 
Then  I  believe  that  in  this  stately  House 
There  is  no  Hooligan  so  coarse  of  hide 
But  what  the  brute  would  ultimately  own 
The  Brummelising  influence  of  Art. 

Nor  has  this  choice  collection  been  arranged 
Merely  to  mollify  the  rampant  kind 
And  cause  "  the  ape  and  tiger  "  to  expire. 
Apart  from  general  humanising  aims, 
An  intimate  regard  has  here  been  shown 
For  individual  Members'  private  needs. 
Thus  it  is  hoped  that  this  sublime  chef  d'ceuvre — 
Lord  Roberts  playing  with  the  little  Boer — 
(Illustrative  of  peaceful  Ignorance 
Imbibing  Wisdom  from  a  Warrior  Chief) 
May  chance  to  catch  my  LORD  OF  LANSDOWNE'S  eye. 
The  Soul's  Awakening  has  been  secured 
In  order  to  divert  my  noble  friend 
The  Duke  of  DEVONSHIRE.    Those  chaste  designs, 
HOGARTH'S  progressive  series  of  The  Rake, 
Should  give  an  added  breadth  to  SAMUEL  SMITH. 


The  picture  of  The  Princes  in  the  Tower 

Might  soften  Lord  HUGH'S  adamantine  breast ; 

And  all  the  house  of  CECIL  must  remark 

This  rather  pleasing  genre  interior, 

The  Happy  Family.     Our  Liberal  Leader 

Is  suitably  accommodated  with 

The  Choice  of  Hercules,  while  LANDSEER'S  gem, 

The  Time  of  Peace,  with  careless  lambs  and  goats 

Bleating  about  the  rusted  cannon's  throat, 

Should  meet  the  Anti-British-Army  views 

Of  HARCOURT.    Dignity  and  Impudence, 

By  the  same  master's  hand,  is  meant  to  warn 

Precocious  genii  like  Master  WINSTON, 

Not  to  usurp  the  seat  of  Mr.  BOWLES. 

That  rustic  scene,  The  Dam  beside  the  WEIR, 

Speaks  for  itself  ;  and,  finally, 

La  Source,  that  emblematic  nude,  is  loaned 

Exclusively  for  WILFRID  LAWSON'S  needs. 

I  need  not  stimulate  my  audience 
With  further  instances  how  Art  may  be 
"Applied  "  to  persons.     'Tis  my  honest  hope 
That  each  of  you  will  help  in  pointing  out 
To  other  Members  those  respective  works 
Which  strike  you  as  applicable  to  them  ; 
Always  remembering  our  primal  aim — 
To  civilise  the  mob.     I  ought  to  add 
That  catalogues  are  free,  a  gift  from  GORST, 
Another  of  his  many  services 
To  Education. 

Lot  me  now  declare 

This  Gallery  open.     May  its  various  oils 
Assuage  the  troubled  waters  round  our  bark  ; 
And  may  a  bounteous  blessing  wait  upon 
These  efforts  to  reclaim  the  West-End  rough.       O.  S. 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

MESSRS.  HUTCHINSON  have  issued  the  first  volume  of  a  work 
which  promises  to  take  a  favoured  place  in  the  library.  It 
deals  with  The  Living  Races  of  Mankind,  providing  a  popular 
illustrated  account  of  the  customs,  habits,  feasts  and  cere- 
monies of  the  human  race  throughout  the  world.  To  the 
proper  study  of  mankind  no  equally  original  and  comprehen- 
sive work  has  before  been  undertaken.  The  letterpress, 
edited  and  partly  written  by  Mr.  II.  N.  HUTCHINSON,  assisted 
by  eminent  specialists,  deals  with  masterful  brevity  with  the 
physical  features  of  the  races  of  mankind,  their  clothing, 
ornaments,  food,  dwellings,  weapons,  habits  and  customs, 
their  modes  of  thought  and  mental  characteristics.  Without 
minimising  the  value  of  the  text,  my  Baronite  believes  it  is  the 
illustrations  that  will  mark  the  supremacy  of  the  work.  They 
are  taken  on  the  spot,  in  the  Fiji  Islands,  New  Guinea, 
Australia,  Tasmania,  Siara,  China,  the  Andaman  Islands, 
Bokhara,  Siberia,  and  all  the  ends  of  the  earth.  Such  a 
varied  collection  of  living  figures  so  admirably  reproduced, 
has  not  before  been  seen  between  the  covers  of  a  single 
volume. 

There  has  been  such  a  run  on  the  "Masters"  in  fiction, 
that,  as  an  attraction,  it  would  have  been  better  had  Miss  BESSIE 
HATTON  chosen  some  other  title  for  her  novel  than  The  Master 
Passion  (C.  ARTHUR  PEARSON,  Limited).  However,  "  a  rose  by 
any  other  name"  will  have  the  roseate  effect,  so  we  may  accept 
this  latest  "  master-piece  "  with  satisfaction,  even  if  it  be  not 
quite  so  "  masterful  "  as  the  name  implies.  The  plot  is  of  the 
smallest  consequence.  Evidently  it  is  intended  for  a  study  in 
the  evolution  or  development  of  character.  A  kind  of  Taming 
of  the  Shrew.  The  heroine  starts  as  a  most  impossible  specimen 
of  modern  girlhood,  and  though  she  eventually  tones  down  into 


MARCH  20,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OE  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


221 


something  of  an  ordinary  human  being,  she  never  quite  loses 
that  unorthodox  temperament  -which  is  apparently  the  distinc- 
tion of  most  up-to-date  heroines.  The  very  best  parts  of  the 
book  are  decidedly  in  the  life  at  the  French  convent.  Here 
Miss  HATTON  is  thoroughly  at  home.  Her  descriptions  of  the 
happy  uneventful  routine  of  existence  in  a  convent  school  are 
done  with  a  charming  delicacy  of  touch.  Of  the  many  female 
characters,  the  most  distinctly  and  pleasantly  drawn  one  is 
that  of  the  nun,  Madame  Veronique  de  Salles.  But  why  Salles  ? 
Should  it  not  be  Sales  ?  "  Salles  "  is  so  suggestive  of  "  salles  " 
for  music,  de  lecture,  d'attente,  etc.  An  interesting  story,  but 
overweighted  with  this  idea  of  a  "  Master  Passion." 

A  Narrow  Way  (MBTHUEN)  will  add  to  the  growing  reputa- 
tion of  MARY  FINDLATBR.  It  is  the  story  of  a  bright,  clever, 
pure-minded,  unselfish  girl,  cooped  up  in  the  narrow  cage  of 
the  Edinburgh  home  of  a  dour  Calvinistic  aunt.  With  con- 
summate, perhaps  unconscious  art,  these  grim  surroundings 
serve  to  bring  out  the  charm  of  KITTY.  My  Baronite  strongly 
recommends  the  Baron's  readers  to  find  and  follow  A  Narroiv 
Way. 

What  Men  call  Love  (WniTR  &  Co.)  is  a  sad,  sad  story  of 
human  passion,  painful  as  such  stories,  to  be  true  to  life,  must 
always  be,  told  by  LUCAS  CLEVE  with  strong  grip  of  character, 
considerable  power  of  description,  both  of  the  picturesque 
scenery  in  which  the  action  takes  place,  and  of  the  naturally 
dramatic  situations  through  which  it  is  worked  out  to  the 
end.  "Their  Penance"  would  have  been  a  more  accurate 
title  for  the  story,  telling  as  it  does  of  the  agony  of  self- 
reproach,  of  savage  vengeance,  and  of  suffering  willingly 
undergone  in  expiation  of  a  crime,  for  which  forgiveness  has 
been  freely  and  fully  accorded,  but  too  late.  Decidedly  a 
powerful  work.  The  gleam  of  sunshine  at  the  finish  relieves 
the  human  tragedy  and  consoles  the  tender-hearted. 

BARON  BE  BOOK-WORMS. 


OHE  !    MON  MAIRE  ! 

"  NOT  to-day,  Baker  ;  "  no,  nor  on  any  other  day,  Worshipful 
DANIEL  BAKER,  Mayor  of  Folkestone,  in  spite  of  your  anxiety, 
as  displayed  in  that  letter  to  The  Times  last  week,  to  get  the  post 
through  from  Paris  to  Glasgow,  and  vice  versa,  taking  London 
en  route  and  advancing  business  by,  as  this  "DANIEL  come  to 
judgment"  hath  it,  some  twenty-four  hours.  As  if  letters 
couldn't  wait !  As  if  business  would  not  be  all  the  better  con- 
ducted in  consequence  of  business-like  men  having  time  to 
ponder  and  consider,  instead  of  replying  hurriedly,  and  com- 
mitting themselves  in  a  second  to  what  they  may  possibly 
regret  "  it  may  be  for  years,  it  may  be  for  ever  !  "  Answer  in 
haste,  repent  at  leisure. 

And  what  other  loss  will  there  be — not  to  the  business  men, 
but  to  the  travellers  ?  Why  the  loss  of  a  genuinely  good  lunch 
at  the  Calais  Buffet,  taken  by  those  who  know  what  to  eat, 
drink  and  avoid,"  in  the  space  of  at  least  twenty-five  minutes 
by  English  and  Continental  time  (would  it  were  an  hour !), 
and  digested  quietly  and  pleasantly,  and  probably  "  slept 
upon  "  during  the  journey  ;  so  that  the  traveller,  feeling  like 
Richard,  when  he  was  "  himself  again,"  arrives  in  Paris  with 
the  makings  of  another  excellent  appetite  which  will  be  in 
working  order  by  the  hour  of  dinner.  And  the  wise  and 
worshipful  DANIEL  (he  '11  find  himself  in  a  lions'  den  without 
celestial  aid  to  rescue  him)  points  out  that  for  those  who  must 
feed  there  is  luncheon  provided  in  the  restaurant  car,  so  that, 
en  route,  the  traveller  can  sample  a,  specimen  of  poulet  and 
vin  rouge.  Has  the  worthy  Mayor  of  Folkestone  personally 
tried  this  ?  Probably  ;  and  he  may  be  impervious  to  indiges- 
tion (O  lucky  official !),  or  His  Worship  may  have  had  an 
exceptionally  fortunate  experience.  I,  moi  qui  parle,  have  done 
it  once,  or  twice,  but,  as  the  song  says,  "  Never  again  with 
you,  ROBIN  I  "  We  were  jolted,  to  this  side  and  that,  we  were 


THE    WEAKER    SEX. 

She  (a  stalwart  damsel).  "You  HAVEN'T  JOINED  OUR  CLUB,  MR. 
SLEAFORD  ? " 

He  (7  st.  6  lb.).  "  No.  FACT  is,  I  THINK  MIXED  HOCKEY  FRIGHT- 
FULLY DANGEROUS." 

She.  "  INDEED  1 — DO  YOU  MEAN  FOR  THE  MEN  ? " 


clutching  and  shaken,  and  the  waiters  were  staggering ;  the 
knives  and  forks  became  a  danger,  glasses  jingled  and  col- 
lided, bottles  were  grasped,  and  the  whole  meal  was  a  most 
upsetting  and  "upset"  affair.  Perhaps  the  occasion  was  an 
exceptional  experience;  but  evidence  is  against  that  suppo- 
sition. 

Via  Folkestone  for  Boulogne  to  Paris,  with  twenty  minutes 
allowed  for  refreshment,  and  no  other  stoppage  of  any  sort 
save  five  minutes  at  Amiens,  is  certainly  the  quickest  and 
cheapest,  supposing  fares  unaltered,  for  those  in  a  deuce  of  a 
hurry,  and  who  "needs  must  "  because  a  certain  personage, 
name  unmentionable  to  ears  polite,  is  their  engine-driver  ;  but 
for  those  who  would  prolong  life,  see  good  days,  and  take 
everything  easily,  we  adhere  to  the  London  via  Calais  route  to 
Paris,  with  as  much  time  as  one  can  possibly  get  at  Calais, 
even  if  there  be  a  few  francs  more  to  pay  for  the  extra  forty 
minutes'  journey  which  saves  the  traveller  from  dyspepsia, 
and  gives  him  rest  after  refreshment. 

Business  is  business,  Mr.  Mayor,  and  we  don't  want  it  to  be 
less  business-like  :  but  where  there  's  more  haste  there  's  less 
speed  and,  on  the  whole,  where  there  is  one  letter  which  it  is 
of  vital  importance  (financially)  to  answer  at  once,  there  will  be 
some  ninety-nine  to  which  the  answers  will  be  all  the  better  for 
keeping.  Besides,  how  about  telegraphing,  telephoning,  private 
code  cabling,  and  Marconi  signalling  ?  "  Long  life  and  success 
to  the  Mayor"  of  Folkestone,  and  may  he  come  to  a  better 
mind  on  the  subject  of  De  Londres  a  Paris  et  retour. 

His  Worship's  truly,         THOMAS  TUCKER. 


222 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[MARCH  20,  1901. 


THE    PLEASURES    OF    HUNTING. 

HAVING  BEEN  CANNONED  AND  NEARLY  BROUGHT  DOWN,  TO  BE  ASKED  IF  you  ARE  TRYING  THE  AMERICAN  SEAT. 


MATINIT1S. 

["An  eminent  American  specialist  in  nervous 
diseases  has  declared  that  the  matinte  habit  is 
dangerous  to  most  young  girls.  "  The  nervous 
strain  that  a  girl  undergoes  while  witnessing  the 
average  dramatic  performance  is  exceedingly 
severe,"  says  this  authority,  "and  if  often  repeated 
is  likely  to  do  great  injury  and  lead  to  nervous 
prostration." — Daily  Mail.] 

So  fresh,  so  fair  was  she, 
With  rose-emblazoned  cheeks,  and  eyes 
Darting  amid  the  hearts  of  men 
Their  liquid  fire  ;  laughing  then 
An  Angel  tumbled  from  the  skies 
So  fancy-full,  so  free. 

So  buoyant  and  so  gay, 
"With  heart  untrammelled  by  a  care  ; 
Infused  with  Nature's  healthy  glow 
As  lightly  moved  she  to  and  fro 
As  thistledown  upon  the  air, 
A  frolic-loving  fay. 

So  dull,  so  drear  is  she. 
"With  cheek  down  drawn  and  lily-pale 


And  eyes  with  sable  circles.     Now 
The  hair  clings  to  the  pallid  brow 
And  ah,  her  wasted  form  as  frail 
As  any  you  shall  see  ! 

To  what  foul  thing  a  prey  ? 
To  life,  to  love  alike  averse 

She  lies  a  shrunken  bag  of  bones, 
And   plucks   her  nerveless    frame    and 
A  yictim  to  the  latest  curse  [moans, 

The  baneful  Matinee. 


THE  CHINEASY- GOING  EMPEROR. 

["  Last  sum»v?r  the  Chinese  Government  be- 
headed four  distinguished  Chinamen  who  were 
rash  enough  to  advocate  peace.  They  have  now, 
under  foreign  pressure,  issued  an  edict  restoring 
to  the  decapitated  quartet  all  the  honours  of  which 
they  had  been  deprived,  except,  presumably,  their 
heads." — Pall  Mall  Gazette.] 

FOUR  Chinamen  of  high  degree 

Seeing  the  folly 
Of  warring  'gainst  the  Powers  that  be  ; 

That  it  must  jolly 


Quickly  bring  human  miseree, 

For  peace  proclaiming 
Were  by  the  Emperor's  decree, 

After  much  blaming, 

Decapitated,  one  plus  three. 

Events  then  showing 
That  one  and  two  and  one  Chinee 

Were  much  more  knowing, 
The  Emperor  did  straight  agree 

To  grant  their  pardon. 
And  said,  'twas  easy  now  to  see, 

He  had  been  hard  on 
His  subjects  four  of  high  degree. 

In  recognition 
Of  which,  he  craved  apologee, 

Swore  their  position 
In  future  certainly  should  be 

(More  contrite  growing) 
From  such  annoying  errors  free. 

Moreover,  vowing 
They  still  should  be  of  high  degree, 

Titles  and  clothing, 
And  henceforth  he  himself  would  sec 

They  wanted  nothing. 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.— MARCH  20,  1901. 


QUITE  AT  HOME. 


BRITISH  AND  GERMAN  ALLIES.  "  HI  !    WHAT  ARE  YOU  DOING  THERE?" 

RUSSIAN  COSSACK.  "  I  'M   THE  MAN  IN  POSSESSION  !    ARE  YOU  GOING   TO  TURN   ME  OUT  ?  " 

BOTH  (hesitating).  "  N— N— NO.     NO.     WE  ONLY   ASKED." 

RUSSIAN  COSSACK.  "THEN  NOW  YOU  KNOW."  [Goes  on  smoking. 


MARCH  20,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


225 


ESSENCE    OF    PARLIAMENT. 

EXTRACTED  FROM  THE  DIARY  OF  TOBY,  M.P. 
House  of  Commons,  Monday,  March  11. — 
Strangers  in  Gallery  agreeably  surprised 
to-night.  On  entering  were  presented 
with  copy  of  Orders  of  the  Day. 


nothing  more  surely  calculated  to  under- 
mine British  Constitution  than,  to  unfold 
and  peruse  sheet  of  printed  paper  in 
Strangers'  Gallery.  This  evening  every 
other  man  had  his  copy  of  Orders  of  the 
Day,  rustling  its  leaves  as  if  he  lived  in  a 
free  country. 


PRINCE  ARTHUR  moved  Sessional  Order 
permitting  reportjof  Supply  being  taken 
after  twelve  o'clock  even  though  opposed. 
Mentioned  that  it  was  order  of  procedure 
in  practice  for  many  Sessions.  More  than 
ever  necessary  now ;  business  in  backward 
state  ;  close  of  financial*year^pproaching  ; 


A  VERITABLE   LABOUR   OF   HERCULES. 
THE  RT.  HON.  ST.  J-HN  BR-DR-CK  STEELS  HIMSELF  TO  RESIST  ALL  EFFORTS  AT  SOCIAL  PRESSURE  IN  WAR  OFFICE  MATTERS. 


"  Lor,  bless  me  !  "  said  a  stout  gentle- 
man from  Camberwell,  who  had  been  there 
before  ;  "next  they  '11  be  giving  us  a  long 
clay  and  a  pint  of  porter  a-piece." 

Had  occasion  to  remember  his  last  visit ; 
finding  proceedings  a  little  dull  produced 
from  side  pocket  copy  of  ha'penny  evening 
paper;  was  looking  out  latest  "official" 
news  from  South  Africa  when  the  Assyrian 
in  form  of  messenger  on  duty  came  down 
like  wolf  on  the  fold.  Gave  gentleman 
from  Camberwell  to  understand  that  next 
to  heaving  half  a  brick  at  the  SPEAKER 


"  Now  I  '11  know  what  they  're  at,"  said 
the  gentleman  from  Camberwell,  wetting 
his  thumb  in  preparation  for  sudden 
emergency  of  turning  over  pages. 

Two  hours  later  he  was  led  forth  a  limp 
mass  of  humanity  ;  mentally  in  such  dazed 
condition  that  having,  as  he  thought, 
taken  the  Camberwell  'bus  presently 
found  himself  approaching  Marble  Arch. 
His  recollection  of  what  had  taken  place 
in  House  between  half-past  five  and  nine 
o'clock,  more  than  a  full  third  of  the 
sitting,  a  little  hazy ;  in  the  main  accurate. 


many  votes  to  be  taken  ;  not  a  moment  to 
lose. 

"  Very  good,"  said  the  gentleman  from 
Camberwell,  himself  a  man  of  business  in 
the  drapery  line  ;  "  that  is  so,  or  it  ain't. 
If  it  be,  House,  above  all  things  business 
assembly,  will  agree  and  they  '11  get  to 
work.  If  not,  they  '11  say  so  ;  there  '11  be 
a  Division,  and  the  thing  '11  be  out  of  the 
way  in  half  an  hour." 

"  Ah,  mon  vieux,"  said  the  MEMBER  FOR 
SARK,  regarding  him  compassionately ; 
"  how  little  does  Camberwell  know  of  the 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[MARCH  20,  1901. 


most  perfect  business  assembly  in  the 
world  !  " 

What  the  stranger  saw  and  heard  was 
JOHN  ELLIS  making  long  speech  in  support 
of  amendment  limiting  .proposed  arrange- 
ment to  Easter;  JEMMY  LOWTHER,  looking 
wondrous  wise,  deploring  systematic  sus- 
pension of  twelve  o'clock  rule,  which 
kept  middle-aged  young  gentlemen  out 
of  their  beds  after  midnight  ;  CAP'FN 
TOMMY  BOWLES,  making  as  though  he 
were  going  to  comb  PRINCE  ARTHUR'S 
hair  with  his  hook  saying,  "I  told  you 
so  !  "  Then  a  Division.  Another 
Amendment  moved  by  SAGE  OF  QUEEN 
ANNE'S  GATE. ^  Second  Division.  (N.B.  A 
Division  occupies  a  quarter  of  an  hour.) 
Irish  Members,  breaking  vow  of  silence, 
came  to  the  front ;  demanded  that  Vote  on 
Account,  closuring  of  which  led  to 
"ebullition  of  feeling"  at  midnight  last 
Tuesday,  should  be  exempted  from 
operation  of  Sessional  Order  ;  said  they 
wanted  to  discuss  it.  PRINCE  ARTHUR  not 
allured  by  this  tempting  bait.  Eight 
o'clock  had  struck ;  through  two  hours 
and  a  half  the  dreary  drip  of  talk  had 
fallen  ;  silver  -  tongued  Mr.  FARRELL 
accounted  for  three-quarters  of  an  hour. 

Twenty  minutes  past  eight ;  Members 
famishing ;  closure  moved  ;  SPEAKER 
declined  to  put  it ;  thought  he  'd  like  a 
little  more  before  going  off  to  his  chop  ; 
KNIGHT  OF  SHEFFIELD  obliged ;  rebuked 
his  right  honourable  friend  on  Treasury 
Bench  for  mismanagement  of  public  busi- 
ness. SAGE  OF  QUEEN  ANNE'S  GATE'S 
amendment  negatived  on  Division ;  closure 
moved  and  carried.  Another  Division,  the 
fourth,  and  at  nine  o'clock,  the  ordinary 
familiar  Sessional  Order  moved  at  half- 
past  five  was  renewed. 

At  this  stage  the  gentleman  from  Cam- 
berwell  was  led  forth,  and  record  ends. 

Business  done.  —  Committee  appointed 
to  consider  King's  Civil  List. 

Tuesday  night. — When  in  difficulty  play 
DON  JOSE.  This,  the  motto  of  most 
powerful  Government  of  modern  times, 
exemplified  to-night  in  Strange  Case  of 
General  COLVILE.  On  verge  of  midnight ; 
House  [densely  crowded  ;  atmosphere  in 
that  electric  condition  that  portends  pos- 
sible disaster.  PRINCE  ARTHUR  speaking 
an  hour  ago  cleverly  attempted  to  put- 
gloss  on  the  case. 

"  The  House,"  he  said,  amidst  storm  of 
cheers  and  counter  -  cheering,  "is  re- 
solving itself  into  a  grand  jury  on  ques- 
tions of  strategy  in  order  to  say  whether 
there  is  a  case  to  go  to  the  common  jury 
in  the  shape  of  some  military  Court  of 
Inquiry,  which  is  to  reverse  or  indorse 
as  it  thinks  fit,  the  verdict  of  the  Com- 
mander-in-Chief." 

ASQUITH,  in  one  of  those  masterpieces 
of  lucid,  cogent  statement  with  which 
from  time  to  time  he  illuminates  debate, 
put  the  fact  more  accurately.  "  General 
COLVILE'S  case  was,"  he  said,  "considered 


by  the  Secretary  of  State.  All  the  in- 
formation available  being  brought  before 
the  authorities,  he  was  deliberately 
reinstated  in  his  command.  First  he  was 
acquitted,  then  reinstated,  and  after  all 
that  was  done  a  Court  of  Inquiry  was 
held  behind  his  back,  at  which  he  was 
not  represented,  of  the  evidence  produced 
at  which  we  have  no  knowledge,  and  of 
the  charges  neither  he  nor  we  at  this 
moment  have  any  idea.  When  a  General, 
having  performed  ill  or  well  in  the  field, 
is  reinstated  in  his  post  after  considera- 
tion of  his  conduct  by  the  most  compe- 
tent authorities  he  ought  not,  according 


"  Why  don't  ye  tax  the  Gulf  Stream  ? " 

(Mr.  T-m  H-ly.) 

to  the  rales  of  justice,  according  to  the 
traditions  of  fair  play,  and  the  practice 
that  prevails  in  every  branch  of  life — 
social,  political,  or  business,  to  have  that 
decision  reversed,  and  his  status  taken 
away  without  some  opportunity  of  answer- 
ing the  new  charges  preferred  against 
him." 

That  was  the  plain  and  simple  demand. 
House  of  Commons  shrank  instinctively 
from  complicity  with  anything  resembling 
a  DREYFUS  case.  Did  not  presume  to 
offer  opinion  whether  COLVILE  was  justi- 
fied in  his  action  at  Lindley.  DICKSON- 
POYNDER,  who  was  on  the  spot,  varied  this 
attitude.  He,  a  trained  soldier  with  per- 
sonal knowledge  of  the  whole  affair, 
emphatically  acquitted  COLVILE  of  blame. 
The  House  on  its  part  simply  demanded 
reference  of  the  case  to  a  Military  Court 
of  Enquiry  before  whom,  in  presence 
of  the  accused,  the  whole  evidence  should 
be  considered. 


Question  entirely  free  from  party 
politics;  speakers  equally  divided  between 
two  camps  supported  General  COLVILE'S 
demand.  In  the  two  nights'  debate  only 
one  voice  raised  in  support  of  position 
assumed  on  Treasury  Bench.  WINSTON 
CHURCHILL,  refraining  from  dealing  with 
the  particular  case,  urged  Secretary  of 
State  as  a  matter  of  principle  not  to  budge. 
To-night  Leader,  of  House,  with  keen  in- 
stinct of  danger,  made  question  one  of 
confidence  in  the  Ministry  ;  also  dragged 
in  BOBS,  who  must  be  getting  a  little  tired 
of  the  tactics. 

"Fire  away,  Gentlemen,  if  you  like," 
said  the  Master  of  Legions;  "if  you  do, 
you'll  hit  BOBS." 

Even  after  this,  things  looked  nasty ;  cer- 
tainly if  Ministerial  majority  were  left  with 
free  hand  the  appeal  for  a  court-martial 
would  have  been  carried  by  acclaim.  At 
this  crisis  DON  JOSE  put  up  to  repeat 
PRINCE  ARTHUR'S  solemn  warning  to  whom 
it  might  concern.  If  amendment  were 
carried,  BOBS  would  go,  Ministers  would 
resign  and  (this  arrow  DON  JOSE  sped  from 
his  own  quiver)  the  British  Army  would 
be  destroyed. 

After  this,  only  one  thing  for  good 
Ministerialists  to  do.  They  went  into  the 
Lobby  almost  to  a  man,  and  the  veteran 
soldier  seated  under  the  Gallery  listening 
to  the  long  debate  was  finally  broken. 

Business  do?ie.--Motion  for  Enquiry  into 
COLVILE  case  negatived  by  262  votes 
against  148. 

Thursday  night. — House  gathered  to 
discuss  vote  of  eighty  -  eight  millions 
sterling  proposed  in  Army  Estimates. 
Sum  beats  the  record ;  involves  question 
underlying  existence  of  the  Empire ; 
House  presumably  anxious  to  approach 
subject  forthwith,  bestowing  upon  it 
every  available  moment  of  Sitting. 

But  there  is  QUINLAN'S  Ass.  Irish 
Members  insist  that  it  shall  be  first  at- 
tended to.  Like  birth  of  JEAMES,  the 
early  years  of  QUINLAN'S  Ass  are  "wropt 
in  mist'ry."  Suddenly,  unexpectedly, 
probably  at  a  period  when  life's  shadows 
are  lengthening,  QUINLAN'S  Ass  has  a 
question  all  to  itself  on  paper  of  House 
of  Commons  ;  put  and  answered  amid  full 
panoply  of  ordered  Sitting ;  wigged  and 
gowned  Speaker  in  the  Chair ;  Sergeant-- 
at-Arms  watchful  at  his  post ;  Mace  on 
the  table ;  eager  circle  of  listeners.  A 
bye-wave  of  interest  ripples  round  the 
owner  of  the  quadruped.  QUINLAN  ?  What 
manner  of  man  is  he  who  owns  an  ass 
that  thrills  Ireland  with  passion,  and, 
standing  with  meek  "obstinacy  on  floor 
of  House  of  Commons,  bars  progress  of 
vote  of  eighty-eight  millions  of  sterling  ? 

It  was  Mr.  BEDDY  who,  lightly  throw- 
ing a  leg  over  the  back  of  QUINLAN'S  Ass, 
trotted  the  beast  down  the  floor  of  the 
House.  For  one  of  his  name,  an  Irish 
Member  to  boot,  he  was  singularly  un- 
ready of  speech.  This  doubtless  due  to 


MABCH  20,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


•  e  M 

LU  g    C 

g  ' «  fe 

LU  «r   o 

-I  £    c 

0-  ri  -co 


CO 


O      m 
H 


O 


H  W 

•<  w 

R  g 

O  W 


B     H" 
«   O 

s*  s" 


228 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[MARCH  20,  1901. 


seething  indignation  clogging  his  voice.  Mention  of  QoiNLAN'S 
Ass  set  every  fibre  in  his  body  vibrating.  Crowded  House, 
scarcely  less  excited,  with  difficulty  followed  the  narrative. 

As  far  as  could  be  made  "out,  there  has  been  larceny  in  the 
case  of  QUINLAN'S  Ass.  "  Who  stole  the  donkey?  "  is  a  question 
often  put  by  ribald  crowds  and  never  answered.  Darkness  of 
equal  depth  brooded  over  the  felonious  attempt  on  QUINLAN'S 
Ass.  What  Mr.  REDDY  succeeded  in  making  clear  was  that 
Quinlan's  Ass  was  "the  only  one  to  go  before  the  grand  jury 
of  Tullamore  Assizes."  Grand  jury  threw  out  the  bill,  and 
QUINLAN'S  Ass  left  the  court  without  a  stain  on  its  character. 
But  charges  had  been  incurred  ;  the  ratepayers  were  mulcted. 
The  Crown  Solicitor,  probably  in  peril  of  his  life,  meanly 
suggested  that  the  Attorney-General  would  pay  costs  out  of 
his  pocket. 

Now  Mr.  REDDY  was  coming  to  the  point.  With  skilful  appli- 
cation of  heel,  he  made  QUINLAN'S  Ass  give  out  threatening 
kick  behind. 

"Will  the  Attorney-General  for  Ireland  pay  the  costs?  "  he 
gurgled. 

Vainly  battling  with  emotion,  ATKINSON,  noting  that  breadth 
of  the  table  was  between  him  and  QUINLAN'S  Ass,  emphati- 
cally answered  "  No,  I  will  not !  " 

Movement  of  depression  plainly  visible  on  pendulous  ears  of 
QUINLAN'S  Ass  as  this  cruel  answer  fell  upon  them  ;  quietly  per- 
mitted itself  to  be  led  forth  by  Mr.  REDDY. 

Haven't  yet  heard  the  last  of  the  beast.  SARK  tells  me  Irish 
Members  intend  to  ask  leave  to  move  the  adjournment  in  order 
to  discuss  case  of  QUINLAN'S  Ass  as  a  matter  of  urgent  public 
importance. 

Business  done. — Question  of  QUINLAN'S  Ass  and  121  others  on 
the  Paper  (majority  of  equal  importance)  disposed  of,  what 
was  left  of  Sitting  devoted  to  Army  Estimates. 

Friday. — CHANCELLOR  ov  EXCHEQUER,  faced  by  deficit  un- 
equalled in  modern  times,  at  his  wits'  end  to  find  new  sources 
of  taxation.  Jumps  eagerly  at  suggestion  lightly  thrown  out 
by  TIM  HEALY  in  debate  on  Congested  Districts  (Ireland)  Bill. 
MACARTNEY  lamented  neglect  by  Board  of  Ulster,  "  although," 
he  said,  "the  tenants  there  are  worse  off  than  those  on  the 
West  coast,  who  have  the  benefit  of  the  Gulf  Stream." 

"  Why  don't  you  put  a  tax  upon  it  ?  "  said  TIM. 

Why  not,  indeed,  ponders  the  CHANCELLOR  OF  THE  EXCHEQUER. 
More  will  be  heard  of  this  on  Budget  night. 

Business  done. — Taxation  considered. 


CONVERSATIONAL  HINTS  FOR  YOUNG  RIDERS. 

CHAPTER  X. 
Hunting  Types — The  Man  ivho  rides  a  Bolter. 

You  can't  be  in  the  hunting  field  for  more  than  a  very  short 
time  without  meeting  the  man  who  rides  a  bolter.  "Have  no 
truck  with  a  puller,"  said  the  Colonel  to  me,  when  first  as  a 
youngster  I  followed  the  hounds.  "A  puller's  often  a  showy 
horse,  and  when  they  bring  him  out  to  you  from  his  stable  and 
make  him  do  his  paces  up  and  down,  or  clear  a  hurdle  in  the 
little  field  beyond,  why  you  're  apt  to  think  you.  've  never  in  all 
your  life  seen  a  nobler  animal.  There  he  goes,  a  great  sinewy, 
bony,  upstanding  chestnut,  full  of  fire  and  courage,  clean- 
limbed, a  proud  jumper,  and  with  an  action  that  makes  a  man 
feel  as  if  he  were  riding  on  C  springs.  Yes,  my  boy,  that 's  all 
very  well  when  there  are  no  hounds,  and  no  other  horses  tear- 
ing up  to  him  and  thundering  along  with  snortings  and  pantings 
that  make  him  feel  as  if  there  was  a  devil  let  loose  behind  him 
and  he  had  to  go  his  best  and  fastest  to  escape.  Look  at  his 
eye  carefully.  It 's  not  really  an  honest  eye — too  much  white 
about  it  for  that,  and  too  little  of  that  liquid  intelligence  that 
shines  in  the  eye  of  a  good  horse.  However,  you'll  buy  him 
probably,  and  then  you'll  take  him  out  with  the  hounds,  and 


then  your  mother  ought  to  hang  up  a  special  votivo  tablet  if 
you  come  home  with  sound  bones.  That  horse,  my  boy,  turns 
into  an  untamed  streak  of  lightning — if  you  can  imagine  a 
streak  of  lightning  with  a  mouth  as  hard  as  that  of  an  ARM- 
STRONG gun,  and  a  power  of  pulling  that  turns  your  arms  and 
shoulders  into  a  mass  of  aches.  No,  there 's  no  pleasure  to  be 
got  out  of  a  horse  like  that.  Get  rid  of  him  anyhow ;  sell  him, 
pawn  him  ;  give  him  away  ;  but  don't  keep  him,  or,  if  you  do 
keep  him,  don't  ride  him." 

So  spoke  the  Colonel,  riding  on  his  wiry  flea-bitten  grey— a 
man  bronzed  by  many  suns  and  scarred  in  many  fights,  a  keen 
horseman  and  a  joyous  rider  to  hounds.  I  laughed,  as  is  the 
habit  of  youth,  and  promised  to  remember  his  words,  and  that 
very  day  I  saw  JOHNNIE  BARROWMORE  lugging  and  tugging  on 
the  top  of  a  huge  bay,  a  mere  robin  on  a  round  of  beef. 
JOHNNIE  was  the  soul  of  good  humour,  but  the  amiability  even 
of  his  temper  must  have  been  exhausted  by  the  innumerable 
apologies  he  found  himself  compelled  to  dispense.  He  banged 
into  the  master ;  he  collided  with  the  huntsman  ;  he  all  but 
rode  over  old  Captain  BODLER,  who  was  fumbling  about  at  a 
small  fence.  He  upset  his  best  friend  and  lost  him  the  best 
run  of  the  season,  and  then,  getting  away  himself,  he  dis- 
appeared like  a  flash  in  the  dim  distance,  far  beyond  the 
hounds  and  their  music,  a  swiftly  vanishing  meteor,  viewed 
with  amazement  and  fear  by  the  rest  of  the  field.  His  account 
of  that  dreadful  gallop  is  Homeric.  I  cannot  recall  the  whole 
terrible  series  of  its  incidents,  the  roads  he  clattered  along, 
the  carts  he  avoided  by  a  hair's  breadth,  the  iron  railings  he 
cleared,  the  gardens  he  crashed  through,  the  •  villages  he 
terrified  with  his  reckless  speed,  the  dogs,  the  pigs,  the  hens 
that  he  trampled  on.  Late  at  night  a  woe-begone  wreck  of  the 
once  immaculate  JOHNNIE  arrived  at  his  home.  His  horse  had 
finally  hurled  himself  into  an  orchard,  had  fixed  JOHNNIE, 
bruised  but  happy  in  his  release,  between  the  branches  of  an 
apple  tree,  and  had  then  continued  his  flight  into  the  unknown. 
He  (the  horse,  I  mean)  was  found  on  the  following  day,  minus 
his  saddle,  in  a  neighbouring  sea-port  town,  and  was  sold  for 
six  pounds  to  go  in  a  butcher's  cart.  That  was  the  last  I  ever 
heard  of  him,  but  I  always  pitied  the  butcher. 


Yet  who  can  be  wise  at  all  times.  Only  a  month  later  I  was 
mounted  on  my  latest  acquisition,  the  finest  horse,  I  thought, 
I  had  ever  ridden.  We  were  with  a  private  pack  of  beagles, 
and  the  hare  kept  running  rings.  When  my  brute  saw  the 
hounds  and  heard  them  give  tongue  his  whole  nature  changed. 
He  bounded  this  way  and  that;  he  bored,  he  flung  his  head 
into  the  air  and  into  my  face,  he  took  the  bit  in  his  infamous 
teeth,  tested  my  hands  and  arms,  found  his  mouth  had  the 
greater  strength  and  endurance,  and  away  he  went.  We 
ended — the  interval  was  a  nightmare  —  down  a  twelve-foot 
drop  on  to  a  large  field-roller,  the  shafts  of  which  he  splintered 
into  match-sticks,  while  I  soared  through  the  air  and  landed 
twenty  feet  beyond  on  my  back.  That  was  my  first  and  last 
horse  of  that  kind,  and  since  then  I  have  never  been  the  man 
who  rides  a  bolter.  But  you'll  find  him  at  one  time  or  another 
in  every  hunt,  and  thj  best  advice  I  can  give  you  is  to  keep 
out  of  his  way. 


MARCH  20,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHAEIVARI. 


229 


BUSINESS  EXPERIENCES  OF  THE  HON.  THOMAS  CASH. 

BY  T.  H. 

MY  special  aptitude  for  business,  or,  since  I  have  had  several, 
perhaps  T  may  even  say  businesses,  was  not  entirely  a  gift ;  it 
was  also  largely  due  to  early  training.  I  had  spent  a  great 
number  of  years  at  school,  learning  to  express  myself  fluently 
in  languages  of  which  at  least  one  has  yielded  several  distinct 
words  to  the  vernacular  of  the  money  market ;  and  with  great 
prudence  I  had  early  obtained  a  [special  exemption  from  the 
study  of  mathematics  and  French  and  German,  that  I  might 
have  more  hours  to  devote  to  ^Eschylean  tragedy  and  Aris- 
totle's Poetics.  I  had  then  passed  four  years  at  Oxford, 
devoting  the  first  two  to  perfecting  my  knowledge  of  the  same 
subjects,  and  the  last  two  to 
forgetting  them  and.  speciali- 
sing in — if  my  memory  serves 
me — Moral  Philosophy.  Round- 
ing this  off  with  a  period  of 
Roman  Law,  punctuated  by 
dinners  at  an  unhealthy  hour 
in  the  Temple,  usually  in  the 
vicinity  of  a  Hindoo  and  two 
Japanese,  I  came  naturally  to 
the  summit  of  the  long  hill  of 
intellectual  preparation,  and 
with  a  conquering  shout  leaped 
down  the  sunny  slopes  of  com- 
merce. 

I  had  myself  no  doubt  as  to 
the  suitability  of  my  training  ; 
but  it  was  pleasant  to  find  that 
it  had  stamped  capacity  upon 
my  countenance  so  unmistak- 
ably. I  saw  many  agents  of 
many  businesses,  and  in  no 
single  instance  did  any  one  of 
them  fail  to  recognise  at  a 
glance  that  the  special  con- 
ditions which  had  admittedly 
handicapped  the  owner  would 
be  powerless  against  me.  In 
cases  where  meagreness  of 
profit  was  attributed  to  the 
proprietor  having  taken  to 
gambling,  or  to  drink,  or  to 
photography,  it  was,  of  course, 
natural  that  my  superiority  to 
such  vices  should  be  apparent 
to  the  most  unobservant. 
But  when  failure  was  openly 
attributed  to  mismanagement, 


AN    EXCUSE. 


A     WKDDTNG 


Mistress.     "ANOTHER    BREAKAGE,      JANE? 

PRESENT,    TOO  !      HOW   EVER   DID  YOU   DO   IT  ?  " 

Jane  (sobbing).  "  THEY  AL — WAYS  BREAK— WHEN  I— DROP  'EM  ! ' 


an  energetic  man.  I  was  simply  appalled  at  the  lethargy  which 
had  settled  down  on  the  commercial  classes.  Energy,  as  I 
often  used  to  remark  to  PEPLOW,  as  he  punted  me  up  the 
Cherwell,  is  at  the  root  of  all  success,  and  I  frequently  pointed 
out  to  him  that  it  was  only  when  he  relaxed  his  efforts  that  we 
ever  failed  to  reach  Parsons'  Pleasure.  And  here,  in  various 
forms,  were  Dr.  JOHNSON'S  potentialities  of  wealth  beyond  the 
dreams  of  avarice  simply  spoiling  through  the  indolence  of 
traders.  It  was  a  saddening  reflection,  and  I  mentally  resolved 
that  the  mercantile  world  should  be  raised  by  my  example  from 
this  slough  of  indolence,  that  it  should  learn  to  see  in  me  the 
Apostle  of  Effort,  and  that  I  would  never  fall  away  for  one 
moment  from  that  noble  ambition,  even  though  I  had  to  have 
two  managers  to  do  the  work  and  sank  under  the  strain  of 

paying  them, 

I  think  it  was  GUNTER'S  ad- 
vice that  ultimately  decided 
me  to  choose  brewing  for  my 
first  field  of  operations.  He 
said  that  Hereditary  Incom- 
petence had  so  long  used  this 
industry  as  a  training  ground 
for  recruits,  that  to  enter  it  had 
become  a  kind  of  baronial  goose- 
step,  and  any  intellect  which 
really  marched  could  not  fail 
to  achieve  distinction.  PEP- 
LOW'S  statement  that  he  had 
heard  beer  took  a  week  to 
ferment,  during  which  time 
one  could  only  look  at  it,  cer- 
tainly weighed  with  me,  for  1 
know  the  value  of  such  periods 
of  cerebral  incubation ;  but  I 
was  young  then,  and  too  pro- 
digal of  energy  to  attach  full 
importance  to  this  considera- 
tion. At  any  rate,  I  decided 
upon  brewing,  and  consulted 
Messrs.  PJNTE  and  PUETA  on 
the  subject. 

These  gentlemen  had  provi- 
dentially the  very  thing.  The 
profits  were  practically  non- 
existent, but  there  were  rea- 
sons. Their  account  was  a 
little  confused,  for  we  cannot 
all  have  University  lucidity  of 
expression ;  but,  so  far  as  I 
"nderstood,  it  was  that  the 


proprietor,  being  a  dipsomaniac 
with   the   morphia  habit,   had 

and  when  this  fact  was  treated  as  a    detail    which  I  could    made  no  attempt  to  prevent  the  American  competition,  which 

correct  with  a  touch,  and  which  rather  enhanced  the  value   had  ruined  the  local  industries  and  depopulated  the  district. 

of  a  property  for  me  than  otherwise,  I  began  to  understand   To  an  energetic  man,  however,  this  concern  was  a  sure  fortune. 

how  much  my  education  had  effected.  [  GUNTER  and  PEPLOW  agreed  that  it  offered  a  fair  field  for  the 


These  experiences  grew  increasingly  gratifying.  In  one 
concern,  for  instance,  even  general  bad  trade  was  similarly 
treated  as  a  detail  which,  although  fatal  in  the  past,  and 
possibly  in  itself  deplorable,  need  not  in  my  case  affect  the 
consideration  of  the  price  ;  but  this  seemed  to  me  little  removed 
from  flattery.  I  think— in  fact,  I  feel  sure— that  the  mere 
presence  in  a  neighbourhood  of  one  properly  trained  commercial 
intellect  would  not  affect  its  entire  economic  conditions ; 
unless,  indeed— but  no,  probably  even  Oxford  intelligences  have 
their  limitation. 

This  was  in  the  year— well,  I  need  not  perhaps  mention  the 
date.  Anyone  who  has  ever  at  any  time  looked  for  a  business 
will  be  able  to  identify  it  for  himself  when  I  say  that  it  was  in 


the  year  when  all  the  concerns  on  offer  were  a  sure  fortune  to  |  impressed  him  very  favourably. 


display  of  my  talents. 

Some  little  time  was  taken  up  by  valuations.  A  tall  gentle- 
man, nominated  by  Messrs.  PlNTE  and  PUETA,  and  a  short 
gentleman  nominated  by  myself,  spent  three  days  in  elaborately 
avoiding  one  another  in  the  neighbourhood,  dined  together  on 
the  evening  of  the  third  day,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  fourth 
informed  me  that  the  long  gentleman's  valuation  amounted  to 
£50,000  6s.  8cL,  and  the  short  gentleman's  to  £49,999  13s.  4d. ; 
they  therefore  proposed,  with  my  consent,  to  agree  to  the  figure 
at  £50,000.  This  was  very  fortunately  the  sum  which  I  had 
told  Messrs.  PINTB  and  PEUTA  I  desired  to  invest.  I  am  not  a 
mathematician  myself,  but  I  consulted  GUNTER,  who  was  a 
"Wrangler  in  his  time,  and  he  said  the  precision  of  these  figures 


230 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVAEI. 


[MARCH  20,  1901. 


The  legal  formalities  and  the  engagement  of  a  manager  caused  '  system  that  to  all  that  a  principal  must  necessarily  have  upon 

his  mind  there  should  be  added  the  strain  of  supervision.    I 


some  further  delay,  under  which  I  chafed  considerably,  but 
everything  was  at  last  completed.  I  celebrated  the  occasion  by 
giving  a  dinner  to  PEPLOW  and  GUNTER,  which  served  both  to 
inaugurate  the  buckling  on  of  my  commercial  harness,  and  also  as 
a  leave-taking  to  my  two  friends  on  my  setting  out  on  my  annual 
holiday.  I  think  we  all  felt  the  solemnity  of  the  occasion. 
PEPLOW  proposed  success  to  the  New  Era  in  a  speech  of  great 
power,  and  my  housemaid,  who  is  from  the  country,  and 
happened  at  the  moment  to  be  bringing  in  a  decanter,  was  so 
carried  away  by  his  dramatic  description  of  the  brightness  of 
the  day  which  he  said  had  dawned,  that  she  turned  off  the 
electric  light  and  plunged  us  in  temporary  darkness.  GUNTER, 
if  less  apostrophic,  was  equally  complimentary,  and  con- 
gratulated me  on  having  that  day  taken  a  step  which  would  do 
more  to  undermine  the  drunken  habits  of  the  neighbourhood 
than  the  most  fanatical  temperance  crusade. 

I  returned  thanks  with,  I  hope,  modesty,  deprecating  the 
idea  of  sacrifice,  for  I  had  made  none.  To  a  man  of  my  tempera- 
ment the  idle  lolling  on  a  woolsack,  dispensing  patronage  to 
greedy  relations,  would  have  been  as  repugant  as,  in  the 
alternative,  the  somnolent  atmosphere  of  a  Bishop's  palace. 
The  so-called  learned  professions  did  but  deal  with  the  corns 
and  bunions  of  the  body  politic  :  it  was  not  only  from  a  sense 
of  duty,  but  from  my  own  desire,  that  I  had  elected  to  sit  rather 
with  my  finger  for  ever  on  that  pulse  of  trade  which  throbbed 
with  the  true  life-blood  of  the  nation.  I  said  more,  but  it  is 
scarcely  worth  recalling,  for  I  am  conscious  my  eloquence  was 
heavy  ;  a  sense  of  coming  responsibility  robbed  it  of  its  usual 
light  touch.  Early  the  next  morning  I  started  for  Yokohama. 

If  I  had  known  then  as  much  as  I  do  now  I  should  have 
hesitated  to  go  so  far,  but  my  knowledge  of  managers  was  at 
that  time  singularly  incomplete.  Even  to  this  day  their  short- 
comings amaze  mo,  for  that  absence  of  strenuous  endeavour 
which  distinguishes  the  hireling  is  a  characteristic  to  which  I 
can  never  get  accustomed.  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  reports  on 
which  I  had  insisted,  and  which  followed  me  about  from  place 
to  place,  may  have  indicated  an  unsatisfactory  state  of  things, 
but  they  were  so  shrouded  in  technical  obscurities,  and  reached 
me  so  long  after  despatch,  that  they  did  not  seem  worth  the 
labour  of  perusal,  and  it  therefore  came  upon  me  as  a  shock  to 
receive  a  telegram  from  PEPLOW  advising  me  to  come  home  and 
look  into  matters.  I  was  relieved  to  find  on  my  return  that 
there  was  nothing,  so  to  speak,  organically  wrong.  I  think 
PEI  LOW,  if  he  had  been  willing  to  do  as  I  would  have  done  in  his 
place,  might  have  remedied  matters  instead  of  cabling  for  me, 
but  he  has  a  lethargic  nature  and  undoubtedly  there  had  been 
an  unaccountable  lack  of  supervision. 

I  took  the  matter  in  hand  with  my  usual  promptitude.  I  inter- 
viewed my  manager,  and  after  impressing  upon  him  the 
criminality  of  slackness  in  any  affair  where  a  hand  has  once 
been  put  to  the  plough  I  discharged  him  forthwith.  I  gave 
PEPLOW  a  chance  of  redeeming  the  fault  against  friendship 
which  ho  had  committed,  by  offering  him  the  occupation  of  my 
office  whilst  I  looked  for  a  fresh  manager,  and  I  made  it  my 
business  to  weigh  the  answers  to  the  advertisement  I  inserted 
in  the  trade  journal. 

In  this  manner  I  soon  had  matters  in  a  satisfactory  condition, 
and  MACDONALD,  the  first  applicant,  installed.  He  was  a 
lean  and  angular  Scotchman,  lurking  behind  cheek-bones  and  a 
colossal  self-satisfaction,  a  quality  I  particularly  detest.  But 
procrastination  was  never  one  of  my  faults,  and  as  MACDONALD 
applied  first,  and  there  were  twenty-seven  other  candidates 
whose  examination  would  have  taken  time,  I  acted  instead  of 
talking  and  engaged  him  there  and  then.  In  the  week  that 
PEPLOW  had  been  in  my  office  I  could  not  find  that  he  had  done 
anything,  except  order  other  people  about  and  send  the  office 
boy  for  bottled  beer,  so  I  excused  his  further  attendance  and 
took  possession  myself. 

It  has  always  seemed  to  me  a  blot  upon  our  commercial 


yield  to  none  in  energy,  but  every  scientist  distinguishes 
between  the  two  leading  types — energy  of  motion  and  energy  of 
position.  Of  these,  it  is  the  latter  which  I  have  developed  to 
such  an  extraordinary  degree  ;  I  have  always  recognised  it  as 
the  highest,  and  we  needs  must  love  the  highest  when  we  see 
it. 

The  necessity  for  this  supervision  is  unfortunate  enough  when 
a  principal  is  upon  the  spot,  but  when  he  is  at  a  distance  it  is 
simply  intolerable.  MACDONALD  had  a  repellent  habit  of 
chasing  me  about  the  country  with  lists  of  conundrums  requiring 
immediate  answer,  and  this  in  spite  of  my  protests  that  I  could 
not  possibly  return  braced  for  strenuous  daily  effort  if  I  had  to 
attend  to  correspondence  whilst  recruiting. 

Many  employers  would  have  refused  to  be  thus  worried,  and 
would  have  left  him  to  flounder  as  best  he  could  ;  but,  making 
allowance  for  a  weaker  vessel,  I  used  to  go  through  his  questions 
with  great  care,  and  write  marginal  instructions  against  each, 
such  as — 

"  Consult  a  solicitor." 

"Refer  to  Mr.  PEPLOW,  who  knows  my  views." 

"  Buy  the  hops  now,  unless  you  can  get  them  cheaper  later 
on." 

"  Follow  your  own  judgment,  and  report  to  me  further." 

In  spite  of  this  assistance,  business  did  not  seem  to  be 
properly  dealt  with  in  the  office,  and  at  last,  on  one  occasion, 
when  I  returned  from  a  shooting  engagement  to  find  my  desk 
crowded  with  matters  which  I  had  already  disposed  of  as  above, 
I  realised  that  the  time  had  come  for  me  to  administer  an  object- 
lesson. 

(To  be  continued.) 


A  JAM  PUFF. 

(With  apologies  for  conserving  the  somewhat  peculiar  rhymes  of 
the  original.) 

[Mr.  JAMES  BOYLE,  U.  S.  Consul  at  Liverpool,  in  a  report  says,  "  It  is 
probably  a  fact  that  jam,  and  not  beef,  is  now  the  national  diet  of  the 
Englishman."] 

WHEN  mighty  cheap  jam  is  the  Englishman's  food, 
It  reduces  our  bills  while  diluting  our  blood, 
And  makes  us  anaemic  and  gentle  and  good — 

Oh,  the  Cheap  Jam  of  old  England  ! 

And  oh,  for  old  England's  Shop  Jam  ! 

Our  beef-eating  fathers  were  once  stout  and  strong, 
And  kept  in  the  public-house  all  the  day  long  ; 
No  jimjams  for  us,  but  this  virtuous  song  : — 
Oh,  the  Glucose  of  old  England, 
And  oh,  for  old  England's  Sham  Jam  ! 

When  good  Queen  ELIZABETH  sat  on  the  throne 

The  blessed  word  "  jam  "  in  this  land  wasn't  known, 

And  I  guess  she  'd  have  heard  this  refrain  with  a  frown — 

Oh,  the  Prime  Jam  of  old  England  ! 

And_oh,  for  old  England's  Prize  Jam  ! 


ANIMALOSITY. 

THE  British  Lion  and  the  Eagles  twain 
Of  Germany  and  U.  8.  A.  (not  pairable), 

And  other  emblem  Birds  and  Beasts,  complain 
That  Russia's  China  action  is  un-Bearable. 


TOAST  AND  SONG.— Good  luck  to  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  YORK 
and  CORNWALL  !  Chorus  everybody,  if  you  please,  "  Ophir  the 
sea  and  far  away  I  " 


MARCH  27,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


231 


A  PAINFUL  POSITION. 
EVERYONE  must  feel  the  greatest 
sympathy  with  a  private  individual  on 
whom  for  the  nonce  publicity  is  thrust, 
sven  though  he  be  distinguished  from  his 
'ellows  by  merely  the  label  of  a  number, 
and  who  is  subjected  to  the  plainest  out- 
spoken criticism  in  the  newspapers,  which 
may  be  sure  is  read  with  the  keenest 
nterest  by  friends,  foes,  and  the  public 
generally.  Such  is  the  fate  of  any  college 
man  of  Oxford  or  Cambridge  who  becomes 
one  of  "the  Eight"  of  his  University. 
Study  the  minutely  conscientious  pro- 
fessional criticisms  on  the  unhappy 
temporarily)  Oxonians  and  Cantabs  en- 
gaged in  practising  for  the  great  annual 
jompetition.  The  Oxford  men  occasion- 
ally "pick  up  the  work  rather  well"  ; 
jut  in  their  stroke  there  is  "  a  lack  of 
rhythm."  Unfortunate  "Numbers  Three 
and  Five"  (they're  no  longer  men; 
;hey  're  only  numbers,  like  convicts) 
"swing  out  of  the  boat"  ;  and  "bow" 
[i.e.  "bow  oar,"  but  this  distinction, 
such  as  it  is,  is  better  than  being  merely  a 
number),  "  failing  to  keep  time,"  aids  his 
confederates  in  causing  "the  boat  to 
roll  about."  Subsequently  (poor  souls!) 
bheir  "form  began  to  deteriorate,"  and 
this  happened  not  far  from  the  "  Craven  " 
[absit  omen  I)  "  Steps."  Then,  when  they 
jome  to  an  end  of  their  practice,  their 
'  finish  ' '  having  been  ' '  far  from  good  ' ' 
(alas !),  "  the  majority  of  the  men  were 
much  distressed."  "Much  distressed," 
indeed  !  Nonsense,  they  must  have  been 
highly  delighted.  Of  course,  they  would 
not  so  express  themselves,  and,  no  doubt, 
implored  their  trainer,  with  tears  in  their 
eyes,  to  let  them  go  on  practising  for 
another  hour  or  two.  "Distressed!" 
Not  they.  Precious  glad  to  get  it  over  and 
to  retire  for  their  evening  meal,  limited. 

And  the  Cantabs ;  what  of  them  ? 
Why,  they  were,  so  to  speak,  in  the  same 
boat  with  the  Oxonians.  They  did  not 
"  make  a  particularly  good  commence- 
ment," and  "  the  finish  of  the  stroke  was 
clipped."  Quite  different  this  from  a 
clipping  good  stroke."  Then  the  men 
seemed  unable  to  continue  their  good 
form."  Wretched  galley  slaves!  And 
"  they  didn't  keep  proper  time."  One  of 
them,  "Number  Four,"  appeared  on  this 
occasion  to  be  the  ghost  of  himself,  as  he 
"  rowed  without  life  "  ;  and  not  only  so, 
but  he  "  failed  to  use  his  slide,  and 
generally  spoilt  the  appearance  of  the 
crew."  How  pleased  "Number  Four" 
must  have  been  when  he  read  this! 
What  wonder  if  he  had  chucked  the  whole 
thing  up,  and  disappeared,  only  to  be  re- 
membered as  a  "  Four  gone  conclusion  !  " 
By  the  time  this  "  appreciation  "  sees 
the  light  of  publication,  no  doubt  both 
crews  will  have  vastly  improved,  and 
even  "Number  Four,"  reconciled  to  his 
lot,  will  have  become  a  shining  ornament 

VOL.  cxx. 


THOUGHT   THEY   WERE    LIGHT    BLUE  ! 

Mrs.   Neivlywed  (who  his  heard  that  her  husbxni  ha,s  a  sneaking  regard  for  Cambridge 
Simsages,  and  means  to  ddight  him  with  some  for  breakfast).    ^  AFIEH  ALL,  THEY  APPEAR  VERY 

MUCH   OF  THE  COLOUR  OF  ORDINARY  ONES,    DO  THEY  NOT  ?  "  ^^ 


to  the  boat's  crew.  May  the  better  crew 
win !  Hard  lines,  to  work  and  toil,  be 
bullied  and  badgered,  be  severely  handled 
in  the  press,  and  then  to  lose  !  Would  not  a 
' '  dead  heat ' '  produce  a  lively  glow  of  satis- 
faction in  the  eighteen  university  hearts  ? 
"So,"  as  Mr.  Mantalini  observed, 
"  both,"  if  there  were  a  dead  heat,  would 
be  "  right  and  neither  wrong,  upon  my 
life  and  soul,  O  demmit !  " 


BEER    AND    FOR    BEER. 
(A  Sketch  of  the  future.) 

SCENE. — The  bar  of  the  "Cat  and  Cucum- 
ber." Enter  a  girl  of  uncertain  age. 

O.  0.  17.  A.  A  pot  of  four  'arf. 

Barman  (licensed  by  the  L.O.C.)  Where  's 
your  birth  certificate  ? 

G.  0.  U.  A.  I  am  seventeen  and  four 
months  old.  Let 's  'ave  the  beer. 

Barman.  Daren't  do  it  without  the 
birth  certificate. 

O.  0.  U.  A.  Birth  certificate  be  blowed  ! 


'Ere 's  my  marridge  lines  — I've  been 
married  more  than  a  year. 

Barman.  Married  !  Then  you  '11  have  to 
get  an  order  from  a  magistrate.  Very  sorry 

G.  0.  V.  A.  (going).  I  do  call  this  'ard ! 
When  I  gets  'ome  my  old  man  '11  most 
likely  whop  me. 

Barman.  Then  apply  [for  a  Separation 
Order,  as  is  your  undoubted  right.  Then  I  '11 
serve  you  with  pleasure  under  the  Married 
Woman's  Property  Act.  Good  night. 


A  NICE  COMPLIMENT.— A  grand  night  for 
"  a  Complimentary  Concert "  is  "  the  night 
before  Larry  was  stretched,"  or,  rather, 
on  the  Eve  of  the  University  Boat-Race, 
which  is  not  very  remotely  connected  with 
"stretchers."  There  is  a  strong  Com- 
mittee at  work,  and  "  if  music  hath 
charms,"  the  names  of  the  sweet  singers 
and  versatile  vocalists  put  down  for 
Mr.  BEAUCHAMP'S  concert  are  sufficient 
guarantee  that  the  entertainment  will 
produce  notes'  of  considerable  value  to 
the  complimented  one.  Soit. 


232 


PUNCH,  OB  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[MARCH  27,  1901. 


THE  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

A  GREAT  THOUGHT  FOR  EVERY  DAY  IN  THE  YEAR. 


III.- 


SECOND  SERIES. 
-THE  ELIZABETH  SECTION. 


[With  acknowledgments  to  the  respective  Authors  of  those  popu- 
lar works,  "Elizabeth  and  her  German  Garden  "  and  "  The 
Visits  of  Elizabeth.''  It  will  be  seen  that  extracts  from  the 
former's  Diary  and  from  the  latter's  Letters  are  given  alter- 
nately, the  younger  Elizabeth  being  supposed  to  arrive  on  a 
visit  to  the  elder  Elizabeth  about  the  7th  of  the  month.} 

MARCH  IST. — I  am  writing  this  in  my  dear  garden  with  the 
thermometer  at  fifteen  below  zero  Centigrade.  A  tumultuous 
North- wind,  with  a  kiss  of  East  in  it,  is  blowing  straight  off  the 
Baltic,  bringing  up  faint  delicious  odours  of  sea-icicles  and 
frozen  Finn.  I  like  these  better  than  the  smell  of  hyacinths, 
which  seems  to  me  too  assertive.  I  often  ask  myself  what 
order  of  mind  it  is  that  prefers  new  spring  dresses  and  a 
town-flat  to  precious  solitude  and  communion  with  a  botanical 
dictionary.  I  open  my  treasure  at  random  and  read  :  Galan- 
thus,  Gale,  Galeobdolon,  Galeopsis,  Galingale,  Gardenia,  Garlic, 
Gastridium.  I  shall  send  for  whole  trucks  of  these  and  have 
them  planted  in  masses  all  over  the  carriage-drive.  I  wish  I 
were  less  ignorant  about  their  symptoms,  but  I  cannot  trust  to 
the  gardener,  whose  imagination  does  not  rise  above  arti- 
chokes, which  he  talks  of  training  up  the  sun-dial. 

"What  a  lovely  solitary  February  it  has  been,  with  the  virgin 
snow  up  to  the  bedroom  windows  and  the  crocuses  waiting 
their  time,  all  snug  and  warm  under  their  eider-down  quilt. 
As  I  look  back  to  the  day  when  I  married  the  Man  of  War, 
with  a  cheerful  carelessness  of  consequences,  and  no  guarantee 
of  a  garden  at  all,  and  the  prospect  of  his  constant  company, 
I  wonder  at  my  temerity.  But  it  has  worked  out  admirably ; 
and  surely  there  are  few  women  who  can  enjoy  their  husband's 
absence  with  such  pure  delight,  and  yet  tolerate  his  presence 
with  such  equanimity. 

And  now  ELEANOR  FORBES  must  needs  ask  for  her  girl 
ELIZABETH  to  pay  me  a  visit  for  the  sake  of  her  German.  I 
do  hope  she  will  not  be  too  exacting  and  want  society  and  tea- 
parties.  The  only  rule  of  hospitality  which  I  really  understand 
is  the  one  about  speeding  the  parting  guest.  However,  I  hear 
she  is  very  innocent  and  ingenue,  and  so  she  ought  to  be  fond 
of  flowers.  She  may  even  have  a  soul,  and  be  able  to  talk 
about  the  easier  poets. 

5TH.— Chateau  Chasse-Bebe.  Dearest  Mamma, — I  leave  here 
to-morrow.  I  wish  I  hadn't  got  to  stay  with  Grafln  ELIZABETH. 
I  know  they  won't  any  of  them  have  waists,  except  the  men, 
and  they  eat  their  food  even  worse  than  the  French,  and  can't 
say  nice  things  to  make  up  for  it.  Still,  it 's  time  I  left  here 
anyway.  Some  of  the  men  are  so  absent-minded,  and  keep  on 
proposing  to  me  in  the  billiard-room  (not  the  English  kind,  you 
know),  and  whole  heaps  of  the  99th  Chasseurs  have  pinched  me 
in  corridors  and  places,  and  I  don't  think  this  is  quite  respect- 
ful, do  you,  Mamma  ?  And  it  is  so  awkward,  because  CELESTINE 
notices  the  marks  on  my  arms  when  she  is  drying  me  after  my 
tub,  and  this  makes  her  very  patronising  and  hinty,  and  the 
stuffing  I  put  into  my  bedroom  key-hole  because  of  the  draught 
keeps  falling  out,  I  can't  think  why.  Two  duels  ht.ve  been 
fought  for  some  reason  or  other,  I  don't  know  what,  in  the 
deer-park  and  one  in  the  middle  of  a  Ralli  rfe.  Papier.  Nobody 
was  hurt,  of  course,  but  it  makes  people  look  awfully  sheepish, 
and  I  'm  sure  it 's  time  I  left.  I  am  picking  up  some  new  gowns 
from  ROSALIE'S  to  astonish  the  Fatherland,  though  J^don't  know 
what  the  nearest  garrison  town  is  or  whether  they  "have  fleets 
and  things  on  the  sea  there,  and  goodnight,  dear  Mamma, 

Your  aflectionate  daughter,  ELIZABETH. 

STH. — I  have  hardly  had  time  to  discover  whether  ELIZABETH 
has  a  soul,  but  her  dinner-gown  and  general  attitude  do  not 
encourage  this  hope.  I  am  a  little  afraid  that  she  expected  a 


house-party,  or  at  least  an  officer  or  two  to  take  her  in.    I  may 
be  obliged  to  send  for  the  Man  of  War  to  amuse  her.    It  sounds 
improbable,  but  in  his  heavy  negative  way  he  likes  a  young 
;irl  without  ideas  or  yearning  intelligence. 

One  thing  that  struck  me  as  a  deplorable  revelation  of  her 
haracter  was  a  remark  that  she  made  about  some  women  who 
bored  her  ("  stuffy  people,"  she  called  them)  on  one  of  her 
visits  ;  "nothing,"  she  said,  "  rustled  nicely  when  they  walked, 
and  they  had  no  scent  on."  Unfortunately  she  allows  no  such 
defect  in  her  own  toilette,  and  the  scent  she  "  ha,s  on  "  quite 
overpowers  the  pure  fragrance  of  my  snowdrops,  besides  being 
a  detestable  thing  in  itself.  I  even  sigh  for  the  Man  of  War's 
tobacco,  and  look  forward  to  an  afternoon  with  ray  artificial 
manures  as  a  corrective.  . 

I  asked  her  the  usual  question  at  night — "  You  are  not  afraid 
of  sleeping  alone?"  "Oh,  no,"  she  said,  "I  'm  used  to  ghosts; 
there  were  whole  stacks  of  them  at  Norman  Tower  in  the 
passages,  and  a  funny  old  thing  asked  me  to  join  them  and  he 
would  take  care  of  me,  but  I  thought  it  would  be  such  shivery 
work  in  the  middle  of  the  night."  I  am  afraid  ELIZABETH'S 
mother  is  not  careful  enough  in  her  choice  of  houses  for  this 
young  person  to  stay  in.  Girls  with  such  beautifully  childlike 
minds  are  often  too  unsuspecting  of  evil. 

HTH. — Schloss  Blumendam.  Dearest  Mamma, — I  can't  imagine 
why  you  sent  me  here.  It 's  been  the  stuffiest  week  I  ever  had. 
I  'm  the  whole  house-party  in  myself,  and  not  a  man  of  any  kind 
in  the  place  except  the  coachman  who 's  married  and  the 
gardener  who  's  engaged  to  the  cook.  It 's  so  depressing,  and  I 
think  CELESTINE  means  to  go  out  of  her  mind.  The  Grafin  only 
has  two  dresses,  and  talks  all  day  of  nothing  but  flowers  and 
manures,  and  have  I  read  any  good  books  lately,  and  of  course 
I  haven't,  and  I  can't  even  think  of  any  names  to  pretend  with. 

Once  I  thought  something  was  really  going  to  happen,  when 
the  Grafin  said  that  she  was  looking  forward  excitedly  to  a 
whole  heap  of  teas.  I  should  have  chosen  dances  myself,  but 
teas  are  better  than  nothing,  and  sometimes  you  get  a  stray 
man  to  look  in  ;  and  then  it  turned  out  that  it  was  short  for  tea- 
roses.  Such  dull  things  to  look  forward  to  ! 

And  then,  again,  I  never  get  really  shocked  here.  Oh,  yes, 
once  I  was  when  the  Grafin  said  that  she  hoped  that  a  lot  of 
Rubenses  wouldn't  get  into  Madame  JOSEPH  SCHWARZ'S  bed  by 
mistake  again  as  they  did  last  year.  Of  course  I  guessed  that 

Rubenses  "  were  only  pictures,  but  it  did  seem  rather  muddly 
for  Madame  SCHWARZ  having  them  actually  in  her  bed,  and  so 
many  of  them  too,  besides  being  very  valuable,  I  should  think, 
and  easily  damaged,  especially  if  she  is  stout  like  most  German 
women  are.  And  I  Avondered  if  Madame  SCHWARZ  was  a 
visitor  or  just  the  housekeeper ;  and  when  I  asked  if  they 
weren't  taken  out  at  once,  the  Grafin  said  that  no,  it  was  too 
late  and  they  had  to  keep  them  there  all  the  summer  as  it 
wasn't  safe  to  move  them.  And  then  I  asked  wasn't  it  very 
uncomfortable  for  her  having  to  sleep  on  a  crowd  of  old  oils,  or 
were  they  only  very  little  ones,  and  was  there  room  for  her  in 
the  other  half  of  the  bed ;  and  it  turned  out  that  it  wasn't 
pictures,  or  a  visitor,  or  a  housekeeper  at  all,  but  just  the 
names  of  different  dwarf-roses  ! 

Always  roses  and  things  !  I  thought  I  liked  flowers  till  I 
came  here,  though  I  was  never  good  at  their  names  and  used  to 
mix  up  verbenas  with  scarlet-runners  ;  but  after  this  I  know  it 
will  take  away  my  appetite  just  seeing  them  on  a  dinner-table, 
and  when  I  die,  which  I  shall  do  pretty  soon  if  things  go  on 
like  this,  I  hope  they  '11  have  a  notice  put  in  the  paper,  saying, 
"  No  flowers,  please." 

I  don't  wonder  the  Graf  himself  keeps  away  from  his  wife.  I 
suppose  her  parents  made  him  marry  her  like  the  poor  Marquis 
at  Chasse-Bebe".  I  really  miss  him  and  the  Vicomte,  and  if 
Lord  VALKOP  was  here  now  I  don't  believe  I  should  smack  him 
so  hard  again,  however  he  behaved,  though  they  were  rather 
forward,  all  of  them,  weren't  they,  Mamma  ? 

Later. — Great  news  !    The  Grafin  says  vaguely  that  the  Man-  j 


MARCH  27,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


233 


TACTICS. 

Instructor.  "WELL,  GENTLEMEN,  I   HAVE   ENDEAVOURED  TO  EXPLAIN  TO  YOU  THE  THEORETICAL   PRINCIPLES   GOVERNING  THE 

MOVEMENTS  OF   THE   VARIOUS   PORTIONS   OF   A   COMBINED   FORCE  ;   BUT  I  MUST   WARN   YOU,    THAT,  IN   PRACTICE,    ON  AN   ORDINARY   FIELD- 
DAY  YOU  WILL   PROBABLY   FIND   IT   RESULT   IN   HOPELESS   CONFUSION  ;   WHILE   ON   ACTIVE   SERVICE   IT  WILL  BE  TEN   TIMES  WORSE  !  "        ^ 


of- War  is  coming  before  the  month  is  out.  So  perhaps  there 
will  be  a  dance  on  board,  and  anyway  we  ought  to  see  something 
of  the  officers.  C^LESTINE  is  quite  perking  up  at  the  thought  of 
bosuns  or  whatever  they  call  them  here.  The  Grafin  speaks  of 
the  Man-of-War,  so  I  suppose  there  isn't  more  than  one  in  the 
German  Navy.  I  do  hope  there  's  no  mistake  this  time,  and  that 
it  won't  turn  out  to  be  a  new  bulb,  or  something  of  that  sort. 
Your  affectionate  daughter,  ELIZABETH. 

O.  S. 
(To  be  continued.) 


THE  BUREAU  OF  COMMON-SENSE. 

["  Judge  EMDEN,  of  Lambeth  Couuty  Court,  is  convinced  that  nothing  is 
more  required  than  a  bureau  to  give  common-sense  advice  to  the  humbler 
classes.  His  Honour  had  before  him  a  labourer,  who  earned  from  25*.  to  30,«. 
a  week,  and  supported  a  wife  and  family.  He  was  induced  to  take  a  25- 
guinea  piano  on  the  hire-purchase  system,  but  could  not  keep  up  his  monthly 
payments." — Daily  Paper.] 

IT  is  suggested  that,  if  such  a  Bureau  were  established,  the 
daily  report  of  proceedings  might  read  something  after  this 
fashion: — WILLIAM  JENKINSON,  bricklayer,  applied  for  advice 
under  the  following  circumstances.  His  wife  had  been  kept 
awake  by  neuralgia  for  two  nights  in  succession.  Should  he 
call  in  Sir  DOUGLAS  POWELL,  or  would  a  change  of  air  be  likely 
to  relieve  her  sufferings?  In  the  latter  case,  he  was  uncertain 
whether  to  take  her  to  the  South  of  France  or  for  a  long  sea- 
voyage.  Perhaps  the  authorities  would  kindly  give  him  the 
names  of  some  first-class  hotels  in  the  Riviera.  He  was  earning 
regular  wages  of  18s.  a  week. 

ROBERT  JONES,  dustman,  was  anxious  to  know  whether  he 
would  be  considered  extravagant  if  he  indulged  his  taste  for 


Art  by  attending  at  CHRISTIE'S  in  his  spare  time  and  bidding 
for  Old  Masters.  He  already  possessed  at  his  private  residence, 
in  Clare  Market,  a  fine  specimen  of  VELASQUEZ  and  an  undis- 
puted TITIAN.  There  was  a  little  thing  by  TINTORETTO  that  he 
was  particularly  anxious  to  secure.  He  was  in  receipt  of  15s. 
a  week  from  the  Vestry,  but  a  good  many  of  the  householders 
were  in  the  habit  of  giving  him  twopence  for  himself  when  he 
cleared  their  dust-bins. 

JIM  HOPKINS,  railway  porter,  wanted  to  be  told  what  was  the 
largest  amount,  consistent  with  true  economy,  that  a  person  in 
his  position  might  spend  annually  on  opera  tickets.  He  made 
16s.  a  week  and  tips  extra.  Also,  which  was  the  best  place  to 
take  a  lady  to  for  supper.  He  had  heard  that  the  cooking  was 
good  both  at  the  Carlton  and  the  Savoy. 

THOMAS  SIMPSON  was  earning  14s.  weekly  as  a  'bus  conductor. 
His  working  hours  being  rather  long,  he  had  little  time  to 
himself,  but  his  great  hobby  was  book  collecting.  He  possessed 
the  first  four  folios  of  SHAKESPEARE  complete,  and  most  of  the 
quartos.  There  was,  however,  room  in  his  library  in  the  Mile 
End  Road  for  some  more  volumes.  Did  the  Bureau  authorities 
think  him  justified  in  buying  a  beautiful  edition  of  the  Encyclo- 
paedia Britannica,  bound  in  vellum,  or  would  he  be  acting  more 
wisely  in  subscribing  for  the  Times  issue  of  the  First  Fifty 
Years  of  Punch. 

JOSEPH  TIMMS,  office-boy,  was  quite  aware  that  you  cannot 
judge  cigars  by  the  picture  on  the  box.  He  was  unable  to 
make  up  his  mind  whether  "  La  Rosa  De  Santiago  "  Cclestiales, 
at  102s.  the  hundred,  were  preferable  to  "  H.  De  Cabanas  Y 
Carbajal  "  Imperiales  at  84s.  Of  course,  if  the  Bureau  advised 
him  to  go  in  for  a  cheaper  cigar,  "  HENRY  CLAYS  "  at  51s.  were 
not  bad.  His  salary  was  7s.  6d.  a  week,  but  he  expected  to 
have  a  rise  soon. 


234 


PUNCH,  OE  THE  LONDON  CHAEIVAKI. 


[MARCH  27,  1901. 


A  DEAMATIC  PEOLOGUE. 
THE  UNFORTUNATE  MR.  EBBSMITH. 

THOSE  persons  -who  have  seen  Mrs. 
PATRICK  CAMPBELL'S  magnificent  perform- 
ance at  the  Royalty  in  The  Notorious 
Mrs.  Ebbsmith  will  have  probably  gone 
away  with  a  quite  false  impression  of 
the  gentleman  with  whom  AGNES  EBB- 
SMITH  spent  her  eight  years  of  married 
life.  "For  the  first  twelve  months,"  she 
declares  bitterly  in  the  first  act,  "he 
treated  me  like  a  woman  in  a  harem,  for 
the  rest  of  the  time  like  a  beast  of 
burden."  This  is  not  quite  just  to  poor 
EBBSMITH,  who  was  a  good  sort  of  fellow 
in  his  commonplace  way,  and  it  is  mani- 
festly unfair  that  the  audience  should 
have  no  opportunity  of  hearing  his  side 
of  the  question.  An  attempt  is  made  to 
remedy  this  injustice  in  the  following 
Prologue,  which  all  fair-minded  persons 
are  entreated  to  read  before  seeing  Mr. 
PINERO'S  very  clever  play. 

SCENE — The  dining-room  of  the  EBBSMITHS' 
house  in  West  Kensington.  AGNES  and 
her  husband  are  at  breakfast.  They 
have  been  married  seven  years.  She 
looks  much  as  we  see  her  in  the  early 
acts  of  the  play,  gaunt,  pale,  badly 
dressed.  He  is  a  careivorn  man  with 
hair  slightly  grey  at  the  temples,  an 
anxious  forehead  and  sad  eyes.  He 
is  glancing  through  the  Standard  in 
the  intervals  of  eating  his  bacon.  She  is 
absorbed  in  the  Morning  Screamer, 
one  of  the  more  violent  Socialist  - 
Radical  organs  of  that  day.  Presently, 
EBBSMITH  looks  up. 

Ebbsmith.  You  won't  forget,  AGNES,  that 
we  are  expecting  people  to  dinner  to- 
night ? 

Agnes  (putting  down  her  paper  to ith  an 
air  of  patient  endurance).  Eh  ? 

Ebbsmith  (mildly).  I  was  saying,  dear, 
if  you  will  give  me  your  attention  for  a 
moment,  that  I  hoped  you  would  not  forget 
that  Sir  MYLES  JAWKINS  and  his  wife  and 
the  SPENCERS  and  the  THORNTONS  wefe 
dining  here  to-night. 

Agnes  (contemptuously).  You  seem  very 
anxious  that  I  should  remember  that 
Lady  JAWKINS  is  honouring  us  with  her 
company ! 

Ebbsmith.  I  only  meant  that  I  hoped 
you  had  told  JANE  about  dinner.  Last  time 
the  JAWKINSES  came  you  may  recollect 
that  you  had  omitted  to  order  anything 
for  them  to  eat,  and  when  they  arrived 
there  was  nothing  in  the  house  but  some 
soup,  a  little  cold  mutton  and  a  rice 
pudding. 

Agnes.  Very  well  (returns  to  her  paper). 

Ebbsmith.  Thank  you.  And,  AGNES,  if 
you  could  manage  to  be  dressed  in  time  to 
receive  them  I  should  be  very  much 
obliged. 

Agnes.  1  ? 


Ebbsmith.  Of  course.  I  suppose  you  will 
be  here  to  entertain  our  guests. 

Agnes.  Your  guests,  you  mean. 

Ebbsmith.  My  dear  AGNES,  surely  my 
guests  are  your  guests  -also  ! 

Agnes  (breaking  out).  As  long  as  the 
present  unjust  and  oppressive  marriage 
laws  remain  in  force 

Ebbsmith  (interrupting).  I  don't  think 
we  need  go  into  the  question  of  the 
alteration  of  the  marriage  laws. 

Agnes.  Ah,  yes.  You  always  refuse  to 
listen  to  my  arguments  on  that  subject. 
You  know  they  are  unanswerable. 

Ebbsmith.  (patiently).  I  only  meant  that 
there  would  hardly  be  time  to  argue  the 
matter  at  breakfast. 

Agnes  (vehemently).  A  paltry  evasion  ! 

Ebbsmith.  Still,  I  assume  that  you  will 
be  here  to  receive  our  guests — my  guests 
if  you  prefer  it — to-night. 

Agnes.  Do  you  make  a  point  of  always 
being  at  home  to  receive  my  guests  ? 

Ebbsmith.  Those  Anarchist  people  whom 
you  are  constantly  asking  to  tea?  Cer- 
tainly not. 

Agnes  (ivith  triumphant  logic).  Then, 
may  I  ask,  why  I  should  be  at  home  to 
receive  the  JAWKINSES  ? 

Ebbsmith.  My  dear,  you  surely  realise 
that  the  cases  are  hardly  parallel.  The 
only  time  I  was  present  at  one  of  your 
Revolutionary  tea  -  parties  the  guests 
consisted  of  a  Hyde  Park  orator  who 
dropped  his  h's,  a  cobbler  who  had 
turned  Socialist  by  way  of  increasing  his 
importance  in  the  eyes  of  the  community, 
three  ladies  who  were  either  living  apart 
from  their  husbands  or  living  with  the 
husbands  of  other  ladies,  and  a  Polish 
refugee  who  had  been  convicted,  quite 
justly,  of  murder.  You  cannot  pretend 
to  compare  the  JAWKINSES  with  such 
people. 

Agnes.  Indeed,  I  can.  (Rhetorically)  In 
a  properly  organized  Society 

Ebbsmith  (testily).  I  really  can't  stop  to 
re-organize  Society  now.  I  am  due  at 
my  chambers  in  half-an-hour. 

Agnes  (sullenly).  As  you  decline  to  listen 
to  what  I  have  to  say,  I  may  as  well  tell 
you  at  once  that  I  shall  not  be  at  home  to 
dinner  to-night. 

Ebbsmith  (controlling  his  temper  with  an 
effort).  May  I  ask  your  reason?  9 

Agnes.  Because  I  have  to  be  at  the 
meeting  of  the  Anti-marriage  Association. 

Ebbsmith.  Can't  you  send  an  excuse? 

Agnes.  Send  an  excuse !  Throw  up  a 
meeting  called  to  discuss  an  important 
Public  question  because  you  have  asked  a 
few  barristers  and  their  wives  to  dine ! 
You  must  be  mad. 

Ebbsmith.  "Well,  I  must  put  them  off,  I 
suppose.  What  night  next  week  will  suit 
you  to  meet  them  ?  Thursday  ? 

Agnes.  On  Thursday  I  am  addressing  a 
meeting  of  the  Society  for  the  Encourage- 
ment of  Divorce. 

Ebbsmith,.  Friday? 


Agnes  (coldly).  Friday,  as  you  know,  is 
the  weekly  meeting  of  the  Agamists' 
League. 

Ebbsmith.  Saturday? 

Agnes.  On  Saturday  I  am  speaking  on 
Free  Union  for  the  People  at  Battersea. 

Ebbsmith.  Can  you  suggest  an  evening  ? 

Agnes  (firmly).  No.  I  think  the  time  has 
come  to  make  a  stand  against  the  con- 
vention which  demands  that  a  wife  should 
preside  at  her  husband's  dinner-parties. 
It  is.  an  absurdity.  Away  with  it ! 

Ebbsmith  (alarmed).  But,  AGNES  !  Think 
what  you  are  doing.  You  don't  want  to 
offend  these  people.  SPENCER  and  THORNTON 
are  useful  men  to  know,  and  JAWKINS  puts 
a  lot  of  wr  k  in  my  way. 

Agnes  (•  th  magnificent  scorn).  How  like 
a  man  !  And  so  I  am  to  be  civil  to  this 
JAWKINS  person  because  he  "puts  a  lot 
of  work  in  your  way  !  ' ' 

Ebbsmith  (meekly).  "Well,  you  know,  my 
dear,  I  have  to  make  an  income  somehow. 

Agnes.  I  would  sooner  starve  than  resort 
to  such  truckling ! 

Ebbsmith  (gloomily).  We  are  likely  to  do 
that,  sooner  or  later,  in  any  case. 

Agnes.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Ebbsmith  (diffidently).  Your — ahem  ! — 
somewhat  subversive  tenets,  my  love,  are 
.not  precisely  calculated  to  improve  my 
professional  prospects. 

Agnes.  What  have  I  to  do  with  yonr 
prospects  ? 

Ebbsmith.  The  accounts  of  your  meet- 
ings which  appear  in  the  newspapers 
are  not  likely  to  encourage  respectable 
solicitors  to  send  me  briefs. 

Agnes  (indifferently).  Indeed  ! 

Ebbsmith.  Here  is  a  report  in  to-day's 
Standard  of  a  meeting  addressed  by  you 
last  night  which  would  certainly  not  have 
that  effect.  Shall  I  read  it  to  you? 

Agnes.  If  you  wish  it. 

Ebbsmith  (reads).  "The  meeting  which 
was  held  in  St.  Luke's  parish  last  night 
under  the  auspices  of  the  Polyandrous 
Club  proved  to  be  of  an  unusually  excit- 
ing description.  The  lecturer  was  Mrs. 
JOHN  EBBSMITH,  wife  of  the  well-known 
barrister  of  that  name."  Really,  AGNES, 
I  think  my  name  need  not  have  been 
dragged  into  the  business. 

Agnes.  Go  on. 

Ebbsmith.  "As  soon  as  the  doors  were 
opened  the  place  of  meeting — the  Iron 
Hall,  Carter  Street  —  was  filled  with  a 
compact  body  of  roughs  assembled  from 
the  neighbouring  streets,  and  there  seemed 
every  prospect  of  disorderly  scenes.  The 
appearance  of  Mrs.  EBBSMITH  on  the  plat- 
form was  greeted  with  cries  of  '  Mad 
AGNES!'"  Surely,  my  dear,  you  must 
recognise  that  my  professional  reputation 
is  endangered  when  my  wife  is  reported 
in  the  newspapers  to  be  addressing 
meetings  in  discreditable  parts  of  London, 
where  her  appearance  is  greeted  with 
shouts  of  '  Mad  AGNES  ! '  " 


MARCH  27,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


235 


"PAWS    OFF!" 


236 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[MARCH  27,  1901 


Agnes.  Nonsense !  Who  is  likely  to  read 
an  obscure  paragraph  like  that  ? 

Ebbsmith.  Obscure  paragraph !  My  dear 
AGNES,  the  Standard  has  a  leading  article 
on  it.  Listen  to  this  :— "  Mrs.  EBBSMITH'S 
crusade  against  the  institution  of  marriage 
is  again  attracting  unfavourable  attention . 
Last  night  in  St.  Luke's  she  once  more 
attempted  to  ventilate  her  preposterous 
schemes  .  .  .  cr-ack-brained  crusade  .  .  . 
bellowing  revolutionary  nonsense  on  ob- 
scure platforms  .  .  .  This  absurd  visionary, 
•whom  her  audiences  not  inappropriately 
nickname  '  Mad  AQNES  '  .  .  .  Ultimately 
the  meeting  had  to  be  broken  up  by  the 
police  .  .  .  We  cannot  understand  how  a 
man  in  Mr.  EBBSMITH'S  position  can  allow 
himself  to  be  made  ridiculous."  (Almost 
weeping)  I  do  think  they  might  leave  my 
name  out  of  it.  In  a  leading  article  too  ! 

Agnes.  Is  there  any  more  of  the  stuff  ? 

Ebbsmith.  Another  half  column.  Do,  my 
dear,  to  oblige  me,  find  some  less  osten- 
tatious method  of  making  known  your 
views  on  the  subject  of  marriage. 

Agnes  (anticipating  a  remark  subsequently 
made  by  the  Duke  of  ST.  OLPHERTS).  Un- 
ostentatious immodesty  is  not  part  of  my 
programme. 

Ebbsmith  (humbly).  Could  you  not,  for 
my  sake,  consent  to  take  a  less  prominent 
part  in  the  movement  ? 

Agnes  (enthusiastically).  But  I  want  to 
be  among  the  Leaders — the  Leaders  !  That 
will  be  my  hour 

Ebbsmith  (puzzled).  Your  hour?  I  don't 
think  I  quite  understand  you. 

Agnes.  There 's  only  one  hour  in  a 
woman's  life— when  she 's  defying  her 
husband,  wrecking  his  happiness  and 
blasting  his  prospects.  That  is  her  hour ! 
Let  her  make  the  most  of  every  second 
of  it! 

Ebbsmith  (wearily).  Well,  my  dear,  when 
it 's  over,  you  '11  have  the  satisfaction  of 
counting  the  departing  footsteps  of  a 
ruined  man. 

Agnes.  Departing? 

Ebbsmith.  Certainly.  You  and  your 
crusade  between  them  will  have  killed  me. 
But  I  must  go  now.  I  ought  to  be  at  my 
chambers  in  ten  minutes,  and  I  must  go 
round  and  make  my  excuses  to  JAWKINS 
some  time  this  morning.  Tell  JANE  not  to 
bother  about  dinner  to-night.  I  shall  dine 
at  the  Club. 

(Curtain.)          ST.  J.  H. 


VENEZIA  LA  BELLA. 

[According  to  a  correspondent  of  the  Times,  it  is 
proposed  to  erect  bridges  connecting  Venice  with 
the  mainland.] 

ONE  afternoon  in  the  autumn  of  1930, 
when  the  express  from  Milan  arrived  at 
^Tenice  an  Englishman  stepped  out,  handed 
his  luggage  ticket  to  a  porter,  and  said, 
"Hotel  Tiziano." 

Adesso     Hotel     Moderno,     signore," 
remarked  the  porter. 


"  They  've  changed  the  name,  I  suppose. 
All  right.  Hotel  Moderno,  gondola." 

"  Che  cosa,  signore  ?  "  asked  the  porter, 
apparently  confused,  "  gon — ,  gondo — ,  non 
capisco.  Hotel  Moderno,  non  e  vero?" 
And  he  led  the  way  to  the  outside,  where 
the  Englishman  perceived  a  wide, 
asphalted  street.  "  Ecco  la,  signore,  la 
stazione  sotterranea  del  Tubo  del  Quattro 
Soldi;  ecco  qui  la  tmmvia  elettrica,  e 
1'omnibus  dell'  hotel." 

"  Gondola,"  repeated  the  Englishman. 
The  porter  stared  at  him  again.  Then  he 
shookhishead  andanswered,  "  Non  capisco, 
signore,  non  parlo  inglese."  So  the 
Englishman  entered  the  motor  omnibus, 
started  at  once,  for  there  were  no  other 
travellers,  and  in  a  few  minutes  arrived 
at  the  hotel,  designed  by  an  American 
architect  and  fifteen  stories  in  height. 
The  gorgeous  marble  and  alabaster 
entrance-hall  was  entirely  deserted. 

Having  engaged  a  room,  the  Englishman 
asked  for  a  guide.  The  hall  porter,  who 
spoke  ten  languages  fluently  and  simul- 
taneously, murmured  some  words  into  a 
telephone,  and  almost  immediately  a 
dapper  little  man  presented  himself  with 
an  obsequious  bow. 

"  I  want  to  go  round  the  principal 
buildings,"  said  the  Englishman.  "You 
speak  English,  of  course." 

"  Secure,  Sir,"  answered  the  guide,  with 
another  bow;  "  alls  the  ciceronians  speaks 
her  fine  language,  but  her  speak  I  as  one 
English.  Lets  us  go  to  visit  the  Grand 
Central  Station  of  the  Tube." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  the  Englishman,  "not 
that  sort  of  thing  !  I  'm  not  an  engineer. 
I  should  like  to  see  the  Doge's  Palace." 

"Lo,  Sir!  The  Palace  is  now  the 
Stazione  Centrale  Elettrica." 

"Then  it 's  no  good  going  to  see  that. 
I  will  go  to  St.  Marks." 

"  San  Marco  is  shutted,  Sir.  The  vibra- 
zione  of  the  elettrical  mechanism  has  done 
fall  the  mosaics.  The  to  visit  is  become 
too  periculous." 

"Oh,  indeed  !  Well,  we  can  go  up  the 
Grand  Canal." 

"The  Canal  Grande,  Sir,  is  now  the 
Via  Marconi.  Is  all  changed,  and  covered, 
as  all  the  olds  canals  of  Venezia,  with 
arches  of  steel  and  a  street  of  asfalto. 
Is  fine,  fine,  e  bella,  bella,  una  via  mara- 
vigliosa  I  " 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  there  isn't  a 
canal  left  ?  Where  are  the  gondolas 
then?" 

"Ah,  una  gondola!  The  sir  is  archeo- 
logo.  Ebbene!  We  shalls  go  to  the  Museo. 
There  she  shall  see  one  gondola,  much 
curious,  and  old,  ah,  so  old  !  " 

"  Not  a  canal,  not  a  gondola — except  in 
the  museum  !  What  is  there  to  see  ?  ' ' 

"There  is  much,  Sir.  There  is  the 
Tube  of  the  Pour  Halfpennies,  tutto  all' 
inglese,  as  at  London.  He  is  on  the 
arches  of  steel  below  the  news  streets. 
There  is  the  bridge  from  the  city  to 


Murano,  one  span  of  steel  all  covered  of 
stone  much  thin,  as  the  Ponte  della  Torre, 
the  Bridge  of  the  Tower,  at  London.  Is 
marvellous,  the  our  bridge  !  Is  one 
bridge,  and  not  of  less  not  appear  to  be 
one  bridge,  but  one  castle  of  the  middle 
age  in  the  middle  air.  E  bellissimo,  e 
anche  tutto  alV  inglese.  And  then " 

"  Stop,"  cried  the  Englishman.  "  Does 
anybody  ever  come  to  your  city  now? 
Any  artists,  for  instance?  " 

"Ah,  no,  Sir!  Pittori,  scultori,  perche? 
But  there  are  voyagers  some  time.  The 
month  past  all  the  Society  of  the  Engineers 
of  Japan  are  corned,  and  the  hotels  were 
fulls,  and  all  those  sirs  were  much  con- 
tenteds  and  sayed  the  city  was  marvel- 
lous. She  shall  go  now,  Sir,  to  visit  the 
bridge?" 

"No,"  said  the  Englishman,  emphati- 
cally, "not  I !  Let  me  pay  my  bill  here 
and  your  fee,  whatever  it  is,  and  take  me 
back  to  the  railway  station  as  fast  as 
you  can.  There  are  plenty  of  bridges  in 
London.  I  am  going  back  there." 

H.  D.  B. 


IN  OTHER  DAYS  LET  OTHER  LIPS." 

NOT  mine  to  tell  in  splendid  verse 
My  Lady's  beauty,  nor  to  greet  her 

With  joyous  music,  nor  rehearse 
Her  virtue  in  melodious  metre. 

Not  mine  to  liken  her  dear  eyes 
To  something  shy  and  unexpected 

In  metaphor  that  would  surprise 
The  poets  who  are  most  respected. 

Not  mine  to  weave  her  fancy  prose 
With  all  a  laureate's  graceful  notion, 

Nor  glad  her  sight  with  rows  on  rows 
Of  printed,  edited  emotion. 

Not  mine — an  undiscovered  KEATS, 
My  genius  has  escaped  detection, 

And  everything  I  proffer  meets 
With  editorial  rejection. 


DARBY  JONES  ON  THE  GRAND 
NATIONAL. 

HONOURED  SIR,— Reading  in  the  Daily 
Telegraph  that  spring  had  arrived  (though, 
sooth  to  say,  I  would  humbly  suggest  that 
the  Discovery  need  not  seek  the  South 
Pole  if  the  Promoters  of  the  Expedition 
desire  Antarctic  sensations),  I  plucked 
up  courage  to  run  through  the  candidates 
about  to  compete  for  the  Timber  and 
Diteh  Derby.  My  prognostications  are 
brief  but,  I  trust,  to  the  point — point-to- 
point,  in  fact. 
There  are  many,  who  back  the  Go  to  meet  Had-, 

But  I  prefer  Glory  of  might-debt ; 
Sit  of  Gossip  may  win,  but  I  like  for  the  spin 

The  Lotion  of  Slough  if  well  set. 
Trusting,  honoured  Sir,  that  You  and 
Yours  will  be  well  to  the  fore  as  usual, 
I  am,  as  heretofore, 

Your  devoted  Henchman, 

DARBY  JONES. 


MARCH  27,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


237 


THE    LAST    MEET    OF    THE    SEASON. 

"PALMISTRY." 
•PALMAM  QUI  MERUIT  FERAT,"  I.E.,  "LET  THOSE  WHO  DESERVE  A  TIP  GET  IT." 


OUB  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

Princes  and  Poisoners  (DUCKWORTH)  is  the  attractive  title 
given  to  a  translation  of  Monsieur  FUNCK-BRENTANO'S  studies  of 
the  Court  of  Louis  XIV.  These  studies  are,  perhaps,  a  little 
monotonously  confined  to  the  occupation  of  secret  murder.  As 
the  industrious  author  is  able  to  give  chapter  and  verse  from 
official  documents  for  his  weird  stories  we  must  accept  them  as 
matters  of  fact.  They  reveal  a  state  of  things  in  the  daily  life 
of  Paris  during  the  reign  of  the  Grand  Monarque,  contemplation 
of  which  lends  a  new  reading  to  the  cherished  phrase  about  the 
good  old  times.  If  a  woman  in  any  rank  of  life,  from  a  washer- 
woman to  a  marchioness,  grew  a-weary  of  her  husband,  she  just 
poisoned  him  and  borrowed  another,  who,  in  all  probability, 
eventually  shared  the  same  fate.  It  is  noteworthy  that  the 
chief  movers  in  this  domestic  drama,  from  the  sorceress  LA 
VOISIN  to  the  great  practitioner  the  Countess  de  BRINVILLIERS, 
were  women.  The  story  of  the  latter  has  often  been  told, 
never  in  fuller  or  more  authentic  detail  than  in  this  narrative. 
For  perfectly  harmless  people  like  my  Baronite  it  has  a 
horrible  fascination.  Beer-drinkers  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Manchester  will  be  interested  to  learn  that  the  poison  habitually 
used  by  Madame  de  BRINVILLIERS  was  arsenic.  The  French 
work  is  skilfully  translated  by  Mr.  GEORGE  MAIDMENT. 

Messrs.  GAY  and  BIRD  have  added  Leaves  from  Pepys'  Diary 
to  their  charming  Bibelots.  The  selection  is  admirably  made 
by  the  Editor,  Mr.  POTTER  BRISCOE,  who  contributes  an  intro- 
duction which  in  brief  space  tells  a  good  deal  about  the  peer- 
less Diarist  and  his  times.  In  less  degree  than  SHAKSPEARE, 
PEPYS  was  not  for  an  age  but  for  all  time.  Turning  over  the 


Leaves,  my  Baronite  comes  upon  a  graphic  account  of  the 
Coronation,  in  Westminster  Abbey,  of  CHARLES  II.  In  antici- 
pation of  the  crowning  of  King  EDWARD  VII.  that  will  grace  next 
year,  this  narrative  has  peculiar  interest. 

Excellent  number  is  that  of  the  Pall  Mall  for  April,, contain- 
ing most  interesting  article  on  J.  F.  MILLET,  the  inspired  artist 
of  "T/ie  Angelus,"  and  a  charming  short  story  by  Mr.  PICKER- 
ING, entitled  Monsignor,  in  which  the  principal  character  is 
strongly  reminiscent  of  the  Abbe"  LlSZT.  The  illustrations, 
however,  in  no  way  recall  the  personal,  appearance  of  that 
eminent  musician  and  composer  who,  in  the  later  years  of  his 
life,  became  an  ecclesiastic  in  "minor"  orders,  for  he  never 
attained  to  the  "  major  "  in  his  adopted  profession. 

THE  BARON  DE  BOOK-WORMS. 


NEWS  FROM  THE  LEVANTINES. 

SIR, — Levantine  morals  and  manners  have  been  in  past  times 
a  bye-word  among  nations,  though,  latterly,  the  verb  "  to 
levant "  has  been  declined,  or,  rather,  has  not  been  much 
declined,  as  shady  lots  are  not  spoken  of  nowadays  as 
"levanting."  Yet  this  inclosed  extract  from  the  Journal  de 
Salonique  is  rather  startling  : — 

"  L'assemble'e  generale  annuelle  qui  devait  avoir  lieu  samedi  dernier  au 
Tennis  and  Crokett  Club,  a  etc  remise  a  jeudi  prochain,  le  nombre  d'assis- 
tants  u'ayaut  pas  atteint  le  decorum." 

Does  it  not  prove  that  even  now  these  gay  islanders  are  con- 
siderably ahead  of  even  what  we  Westerners  imagined  them  to 
be?  Nice  name  that,  "The  Crokett  Club."  Is  Madame  MAL- 
-  APROPOS  also  among  the  Levantines  ?  It  looks  like  it. — Yours, 

A.  REKLA  IOPENA. 


233 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[MARCH  27,  1901. 


'VARSITY  VERSES. 

OXFORD  ODES. 
XI. 

TIME  was  when  the  High  to  the  feminine  eye 

Was  a  shrine  of  mysterious  rites, 
Where  studious  youth  sat  worshipping  Truth 

Through  long  and  laborious  nights  ; 
And  woman  still  trod  each  garden  and  quad. 

With  a  fearful  delight  as  she  ran, 
While  a  halo  of  gold  she  was  apt  to  behold 

Round  the  cap  of  the  'Varsity  man. 

At  the  letters  B.A.  she  was  filled  with  dismay, 

Such  learning  they  seemed  to  imply — 
Which  fact  followed  from  the  principle  om- 

ne  ignotum  pro  terribili. 
A  Master  of  Arts  was  a  master  of  hearts, 

Who  worshipping  crowds  never  lacked, 
For  the  graduate  dunce  was  a  magnate  at  once 

And  as  such  he  -was  bound  to  attract. 

But  the  lustre  that  fell,  like  a  magical  spell, 

O'er  our  halls  we  can  only  deplore, 
And  the  glory  once  shed  round  the  graduate's  head 

Now  shines  on  our  faces  no  more. 
For  the  girls  swarming  by,  down  the  Corn  and  the  High, 

Have  invaded  each  college  and  shrine, 
With  the  tragic  result  they  've  abandoned  our  cult, 

And  think  us  no  longer  divine. 

To  boast  a  B.A.  is  now  a  poor  way 

To  give  weight  to  our  masculine  words, 
For  these  maidens  of  course  know  precisely  the  force 

Of  our  Firsts  and  our  Seconds  and- Thirds. 
A  don  in  their  eyes  is  not  bound  to  be  wise, 

Nor  a  graduate  always  a  god  : 
'Neath  the  pelt  leonine  a  poor  ass  they  divine — 

Our  glory  is  gone.     Ichabod  ! 


THE  CARTOONS  OF  SIR  JACKIDES  THE  INIMITABLE. 

(Selected  from  Mr.   Punch's   Pages  and   published  at   the 
"Punch"  Offiee.) 

OLD  friends,  indeed,  and  to  not  a  few  of  us  somewhere  in  the 
sere  and  yellow,  old  familiar  faces  too !  What  memories  does 
not  this  carefully  compiled  collection  of  Sir  JOHN'S  famous 
cartoons,  from  1851  to  1901,  awaken !  The  Russian  Bear  and 
the  Bees!  the  British  Lion's  Vengeance  on  the  Bengal  Tiger! 
What  pages  of  history  are  here  summed  up  in  such  a 
manner  that  the  busiest  or  the  most  careless  among  the 
younger  ones  may  learn  them  in  a  few  moments,  and  the 
least  impressionable  will  carry  away  with  them  the  lasting 
remembrance  of  the  powerful  pictures  that  at  the  time 
recorded  these  events  and  emphasized  their  moral.  What  real 
lions !  what  fierce  tigers !  what  wonderful  bears,  dancing, 
piping,  or  hugging. 

There  is  one  very  striking  scene  representing  Lord  RANDOLPH 
CHURCHILL  when,  in  1886,  as  the  Grand  Young  Man  he  took  the 
House  by  storm.  Behind  him  stands  the  watchful  shade  of 
DISRAELI,  saying,  "  Dear  me  !  Quite  reminds  me  of  old  times !  " 
And  now,  in  this  year  of  grace,  1901,  has  not  Mr.  Punch's 
Parliamentary  artist  quite  recently  reminded  the  public  of  this 
very  cartoon  by  showing,  in  a  small  sketch,  WINSTON  CHURCHILL 
in  his  father's  attitude,  repeating  his  father's  tour  de  force, 
while  behind  him  is  the  shade  of  Lord  RANDOLPH,  in  the  attitude 
of  DISRAELI'S  ghost,  repeating  these  identical  words  ?  Of  course> 
the  allusion  to  Sir  JOHN'S  "DISRAELI  picture  "  was  taken  at  once 
and  thoroughly  appreciated. 

What  humour  in  "  The  Panic  among  the  Pigs,"  wheh  a  Papal 


Rescript  condemned  "The  Plan  of  Campaign"  and  scattered 
the  Irish  Nationalists!  What  pathos  in  that  wonderful 
"Dropping  the  Pilot,"  of  which  the  original  is  in  Lord 
ROSEBERY'S  possession.  What  genuine  fun  and  humour  in  the 
two  old  maids,  H-RC-RT  and  M--RL-Y,  under  tho  mistletoe, 
December,  1898  ! 

One  of  Sir  JOHN'S  most  remarkable  triumphs — he  is  always 
immense  when  humanizing  animals — is  in  his  conception  of  the 
Chinese  Dragon  (1900)  about  to  receive  its  death-blow  from  the 
spear  of  civilisation.  It  is  only  when  calling  to  mind  the  comic 
pantomimic  effects  of  the  droll  fairy  legends,  with  which  the 
figure  of  the  Dragon  has  always  been  pictorially  assoicated,  that 
the  thoughtful  critic  will  realise  the  great  difficulty  that  had  to 
be  encountered  by  any  artist  determined  to  deal  seriously 
with  a  dragon,  and  to  give  us  such  a  monster  as  would  cause 
rather  a  thrill  of  terror  than  raise  even  the  slightest  smile. 
WAGNER  and  his  property  men  signally  failed  with  their  dragon 
on  the  operatic  stage:  c'etait pourrire.  But  TENNIEL'S  Dragon 
is  fearfully  and  wonderfully  made.  Sir  JOHN  has  compelled  the 
grotesque  to  become  very  real  and  living.  Yes,  it  is  Sir  JOHN 
himself  who  is  the  knight  that  has  conquered  the  Dragon. 

In  his  cartoon  of  "  Gladiators  preparing  for  the  Arena  " — a 
veritable  triumph  of  wit  and  humour  displayed  in  perfect  artis- 
tic design  and  consummate  draughtsmanship,  unsurpassed,  I  may 
venture  to  affirm,  by  any  cartoon  of  a  similar  character  that 
Sir  JOHN  has  ever  done — the  names  of  tho  political  celebrities 
therein  pourtrayed  are  clearly  set  forth  below,  so  that  future 
generations,  to  whom  the  living  presentments  of  "  Lord  JOHN," 
ROEBUCK,  HORSMAN,  T.  HUGHES,  MILL,  LOWE,  GLADSTONE,  Lord 
DERBY,  B.  DISRAELI  and  JOHN  BRIGHT  would  be  unfamiliar  or 
absolutely  xmknown,  are  thus  enabled  to  identif y  each  celebrity. 
It  would  have  added  considerably  to  the  historic  value  of  this 
admirable  collection  had  this  plan  been  adopted  throughout. 
A  mere  detail.  Vivat  Sir  Jackides  I 


FIXED  FOR  THE  FIRST. 

RUSSIA  and  Japan  will  inaugurate  a  joint  international  exhi- 
bition, to  which  England,  Germany,  America  and  China  will 
forward  contributions. 

An  actor-manager  will  produce  a  play  full  of  good  parts,  but 
with  his  own  name  excluded  from  the  programme. 

The  London  County  Council  will  elect  Aldermen  exclusively 
Moderate  in  their  politics. 

None  of  the  London  streets  will  be  "up"  for  a  fortnight, 
and  the  traffic  in  the  busiest  thoroughfares  will  proceed  with- 
out interruption. 

The  most  magnificent  service  of  river  steamboats  will  com- 
mence running  on  the  Thames  at  fares  within  reach  of  the 
poorest  pockets,  and  with  luxurious  appointments  satisfying 
the  most  exacting. 

All  the  principal  Paris  papers  will  devote  leaders  to  a  de- 
claration of  their  love,  admiration,  and  sincere  well-wishes  for 
Great  Britain  and  her  dependencies. 

The  dates  of  the  coming  Court  functions  will  be  foretold 
accurately  in  several  journals  on  the  highest  authority. 

The  War  Office  will  be  accepted  as  a  model  of  organization 
by  the  Military  Intelligence  departments  in  every  civilized 
state  throughout  the  universe. 

Every  would-be  contributor  to  the  periodical  press  will 
receive  back  with  every  appearance  of  genuine  satisfaction 
the  article  that  has  been  rejected. 

Lastly,  all  the  above  events  will  occur  on  Monday  next,  the 
first — of  April !  and  before  mid-day  ! 


"HORATIO,  I  KNEW  HIM  WELL."— By  the  death  of  M.  GOT  the 
Drama  has  lost  a  great  actor.  Latterly,  he  was  nearly  as  popu- 
lar in  London  among  actors  and  theatre-goers  as  he  had  long 
been  in  Paris.  He  was  a  "  fellow  of  infinite  jest."  Got  Gone  1 


M/ECH  17,  U01.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


239 


240 


PUNCH,   OK  THE  LONDON  CHARIVAKI. 


[MARCH  27,  1901. 


Lady  (to  invalid).  "I  HOPE  WE  SHALL  SEE  A  LITTLE  MORE  OF  ONE  ANOTHER  AS  THE  WEATHER  GROWS  WARMER.' 


A  PESSIMIST'S  SPRING  SONG. 


THOUGH  with  gentleness 
All  the  bards  invest  you, 

Frankly  I  confess, 
Spring,  that  I  detest  you. 

Your  dim  sunshine  lures 
From  snug  bed  some  flower, 

At  that  nip  of  yours 

Soon  to  shrink  and  cower. 

"  Spoofed  "  by  you,  dank  birds 
In  their  chill  nests  cuddle  ; 

Under  trees  in  herds 
Shivering  cattle  huddle. 

Homeward  when  I  fare, 
Your  sharp  tooth  escaping. 

Lo  !  I  find  you  there, 
Sweeping,  scrubbing,  scraping. 

Me  with  pails  of  slush 
Sloppy  workmen  frighten , 


Who  with  swishing  brush 
Wash,  and  stop,  and  whiten. 

On  my  shelves  maids  lay 
Doctor  WATTS  by  SHELLEY, 

And  in  disarray 
SHAKSPEARE  next  C 1. 

Ah  !  your  claims  at  last, 
Spring  you  must  abate  now, 

For  your  day  is  past 
You  are  out  of  date  now. 

Lambs  (New  Zealand  ones) 

Long  we  've  had  without  you, 
Primroses  by  tons 
x    Christmas  yields,  to  flout  you. 

Yes  !  though  poets  sing 
Your  mere  praise  unmeaning, 

I  dislike  you,  Spring, 

But  I  loathe  your  "  cleaning." 


THE  CENSUS. 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCH,— It  is  announced  that 
the  Registrar-General  has  issued  orders  in- 
cluding "  elaborate  precautions  to  ensure 
that,  as  far  as  possible,  not  a  single  house 
or  a  single  individual  shall  be  overlooked." 
I  protest,  Sir,  against  the  overlooking. 
I  am  already  overlooked  by  countless  tax- 
gatherers,  why,  then,  should  the  Regis- 
trar-General put  his  detectives  on  my 
fcrack  ?  Of  what  interest  can  it  be  to  him 
to  know  my  age,  or  my  social  position,  or 
the  number  of  the  house  in  which  I  reside  ? 
If  the  Registrar-General  would  put  on  a 
staff  of  officials  to  note  the  late  arrivals  of 
the  trains  at  Metropolitan  stations,  he 
would  confer  a  possible  blessing  on 
travelling  humanity.  As  it  is,  he  is  driving 
sensible  beings  to  foreign  dog-kennels  and 
Continental  rabbit-hutches. 

Yours,  about  to  cross  the  Channel, 
(Address  withheld.)       MATILDA  MEAGRIM. 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.— MARCH  27,  1901. 


A  VAIN   APPEAL. 


\ 


MARCH  27,  1901.J 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


243 


ESSENCE    OF    PARLIAMENT. 

EXTRACTED  FROM  THE  DIARY  OF  TOBY,  M.P. 
House  of  Commons,  Monday,  March  18.— 
Somebody,  I  forget  \vho,  once  "poured 
contumely  and  scorn  "  on  somebody  else 
•whose  name  at  the  moment  I  forget.  DON 
JOSE  nicely  discriminates.  To-night  he 
poured  scorn  on  Mr.  LOUGH  ;  heaped  con- 
tumely on  SYDNEY  BUXTON.  All  about 
Ashanti.  A  new  quarter  of  the  African 
continent  for  M.P.'s  to  take  their  pleasure 
in.  Identical  in  one  respect  with  South 
Africa.  In  "West  Africa  as  in  the  South,  a 
baleful  influence  predominates.  The 
Ashantis,  as  DON  Jos£  pictured  them, 
sarcastically  drawing  on  the  fancy  of 
Mr.  LOUGH,  were  enjoying  condition  of 
Elysian  happiness ;  the  day  too  short  for 
natives  engaged  in  peaceful  pursuits. 


fellow  countrymen  are  cruel,  treacherous, 
thieves  and  murderers  ;  all  at  expense  of 
blameless  natives. 

DON  JOSE  almost  sorry  for  Mr.  LOUGH. 
With  SYDNEY  BUXTON  the  case  different. 
He  had  been  at  the  Colonial  Office ; 
must  know  something  of  the  reaj  state 
of  things  in  Ashanti,  of  the  difficulties 
and  dangers  with  which  the  Colonial 
Office  had  to  wrestle.  These,  in  aug- 
mented measure,  were  inherited  by  the 
present  Colonial  Minister  from  his  pre- 
decessors. Here  followed  withering  de- 
nunciation of  a  Government  which,  whilst 
the  scramble  for  Africa  went  on,  did 
nothing,  the  result  being  that  British 
Colonies  were  encroached  upon,  their  value 
destroyed  by  the  advance  of  other  nations. 

Drawing  towards  midnight  when  DON 
JOSE  rose.  A  weary  sitting ;  wrangling 


Tuesday  night. — "Tuppence  more  and 
up  goes  the  donkey  ! ' '  Thus  REDMOND 
aine,  in  correspondence  with  convenient 
persons  in  the  United  States  and  in 
speeches  at  St.  Patrick  Day's  banquets. 
Of  course  doesn't  use  the  classic  phrase. 
What  he  says,  ore  rotondo,  is  that  he  and 
his  mere  or  less  merry  men,  facing  tyran- 
nical Government  with  majority  of  150, 
have  in  course  of  four  short  weeks  reduced 
j  House  of  Commons  to  absurdity,  over- 
whelmed Government  with  difficulty  and 
embarrassment.  Tuppence  more  in  the 
hat,  and  patriotic  Irishmen  shall  see  what 
they  shall  see. 

Speech  and  letters  characteristically 
bombastic ;  substratum  of  truth  under- 
lies assertion.  House  to-night,  as  it  was 
last  night,  in  pitiable  condition  regarded 
from  business  point  of  view ;  progress 


SOME  "FETISHES"  NOT  WORSHIPPED  BY  KING  Jo-Jo  OF  ASHANTI 


On  this  pleasing  picture  falls  the  baneful 
shadow  of  the  COLONIAL  SECRETARY.  All 
is  changed  ;  war  succeeds  peace  ;  discord 
follows  harmony  ;  the  sword  of  the 
executioner  is  looted,  and  eke  the  Golden 
Stool  is  withdrawn  from  beneath  the 
sacred  person  of  the  KING. 

"  These  things  follow,"  said  DON  JOSE, 
looking  round  with  penitential  glance, 
"  on  the  advent  of  the  Bogey  Man  from  the 
Colonial  Office." 

This  pretty  overture  prelude  to  some- 
thing resembling  an  Ashanti  foray.  Dis- 
tinction between  his  two  assailants 
cleverly,  effectively  marked.  For  the 
ignorance  of  Mr.  LOUGH  he  had  no  feeling 
but  one  of  infinite  pity.  Member  for 
Islington  knew  nothing  about  Ashanti,  or 
of  the  relations  of  the  Colonial  Office  with 
it.  Suffering  from  flux  of  talk,  he  must 
needs  pour  it  forth  whenever  opportunity 
presented  itself ;  the  vote  for  Ashanti 
coming  up  for  discussion,  it  served  him  as 
well  as  any  other  topic  offering  means 
of  relief ;  also  he  had  cherished  oppor- 
tunity of  showing  that  on  the  West  Coast 
of  Africa,  as  in  its  Southern  parts,  his 


about  procedure  up  to  eight  o'clock,  when 
business  was  commenced  with  a  statement 
extending  through  the  dinner  hour  ex- 
planatory of  Naval  Estimates  ;  then  Mr. 
LOUGH  ;  next  SYDNEY  BUXTON,  trying  to 
walk  on  both  sides  of  the  road  at  the 
same  time ;  then  DON  JOSE,  in  ominously 
smiling  mood  to  begin  with.  Hasn't  en- 
joyed himself  so  much  for  a  long  time ; 
delight  of  defence  of  policy  in  South 
Africa  palled  by  repetition  ;  Ashanti  new 
ground  ;  Opposition  been  nibbling  at  it 
for  some  time  ;  questions  suggesting  exis- 
tence of  state  of  things  Mr.  LOUGH'S 
fancy  feigned  have  appeared  on  Paper. 
This  the  first  full  opportunity  presented. 

DON  Jos^  seized  it  by  the  hair,  as  they 
say  in  France.  Metaphorically,  as  far  as 
circumstances  permit,  he  also  took  by 
the  hair  the  Member  for  Islington  and 
the  Member  for  Tower  Hamlets,  banging 
their  heads  together  by  way  of  cadence 
to  his  fiery  speech,  much  as  in  other 
climes  the  dancer  beats  time  with  cym- 
bals held  in  either  hand. 

Business  done. — Naval  Estimates  intro- 
duced. 


(AND  ELSEWHERE). 

with  Votes  slow  and  spasmodic.  When 
one  is  submitted,  reduction  moved  ;  long 
speech  made;  Minister  in  charge  replies. 
If,  as  chances  just  now,  the  Minister  be 
DON  JOSE,  Members  on  other  side  rise  up 
and  call  him  wicked.  PRINCE  ARTHUR 
after  given  interval  glides  in ,  moves  the 
closure ;  two  divisions,  between  them 
occupying  half  an-hour ,  are  taken.  Another 
Vote  submitted  ;  performance  repeated. 

To-night  new  Member  varied  procedure 
by  denouncing  eminent  City  firm  as  a 
common  gang  of  thieves  and  swindlers. 

"Let  me  at  them,"  he  exclaimed.  "Don't 
hold  me  back!  Nothing  I  desire  more 
than  that  they  should  bring  against  me 
charge  of  libel.  But  they  won't.  Police  ! 
Thieves  !  Swindlers  !  " 

DON  JOSE  obligingly  pointed  out  that 
new  Member  could  readily  obtain  his 
heart's  desire.  Let  him  place  in  writing 
what  he  has  just  said,  publish  it  out  of 
doors,  and  he  would  swiftly  find  himself 
defendant  in  action  for  criminal  libel. 
New  Member  glared  at  Colonial  Secretary. 
"The  right  hon.  gentleman,"  he  said, 
"  makes  black  white  and  white  black. 


244 


[MARCH  27,  1901. 


Why,"  he  cried,  going  off  on  a  fresh  tack, 
"ho  once  slandered  the  soldiers  of  the 
Empire,  the  attack  being  based  on  anony- 
mous correspondence." 

"What  is  to  be  done  with  new  Member 
of  this  kind  ?  J.  "W.  LOWTHER  regarded 
him  curiously  from  the"  chair  ;  called  him 
to  order  several  times  ;  with  difficulty 
induced  to  resume  his  seat  whilst  Chair- 
man on  his  feet.  Got  up  again  ;  broke 
out  in  fresh  place. 

"  I  have,"  he  said,  slowly  waving  a 
pamphlet,  "  a  document  in  my  hand  that 
•would  send  these  directors,  if  they  were 
in  this  country,  into  penal  servitude  for 
many  years." 

That,  as  Mr.  KIPLING  occasionally  ob- 
serves, was  another  story.  If  allowed 
to  go  on  unchecked,  the  new  Member 
evidently  the  kind  of  man  who  would 
speak  disrespectfully  of  the  Equator. 
With  difficulty  closured  and  another 
attempt  made  to  get  to  business. 

Business  done. — Very  little. 

Thursday  night. — Great  day  for  WILLIAM 
ALLAN,  marine  engine  builder,  poet,  and 
ex-blockade  runner.  Ever  since  he  came 
to  Westminster  has  taken  up  his  parable 
against  the  Belleville  boiler.  Boiler  now 
bust;  millions  having  been  spent  on  it 
by  successive  administrations,  committee 
of  experts  declare  money  wasted.  Boiler 
not  to  be  used  any  more  in  British  Navy. 
But  it  has  been  used  ;  all  big  battleships 
built  in  recent  years  have  the  Belleville 
boiler.  What's  to  be  done  about  them? 
is  anxiously  asked. 

"Why,  then,"  answers  DOGBERRY  (who 
sat  on  the  Commission),  "  take  [no  note 
of  him,  but  let  him  go,  and  presently  call 
the  rest  of  the  watch  together  and  thank 
God  you  are  rid  of  great  peril." 

WILLIAM  ALLAN,  not  satisfied  with  this 
shiftless  proceeding,  ruffles  his  hair, 
tangles  his  beard,  draws  himself  up  an 
inch  or  two  above  his  superfluous  six 
feet,  and  hails  the  Treasury  Bench  as  if 
it  were  moored  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Thames.  They  must  root  out  these  boilers 
from  every  ship,  beginning  with  the 
Royal  Yacht. 

"  Come  down  like  a  man,"  he  thundered 
at  ARNOLD  FORSTER,  pale  and  trembling 
on  the  deserted  Bench.  "Frankly  ad- 
mit that  the  Department  have  made  a 
colossal  and  costly  mistake.  Don't  allow 
your  amour  propre  to  stand  in  the  way." 

"Armour  prope,"  he  called  it,  suggest- 
ing a  new  type  of  water-tube  boiler. 

Business  done.— Talked  away  on  divers 
subjects  till  midnight,  when,  settling 
down  to  work,  took  a  few  Votes  and 
several  divisions  in  report  of  Supply. 

Friday  night.  —  In  Lords  the  other 
night  F.-M.  WOLSELEY  lifted  veil  from 
inner  sanctum  of  War  Office,  and  dis- 
closed SECRETARY  OP  STATE  and  Comman- 
der-in-Chief  fighting 'each  other  instead 
of  the  Boer.  RAGLAN  interposed  with 
testimony  that  so  far  from  the  two  noble 


Lords  avoiding  each  other's  society,  they 
were  in  the  habit  of  seeking  it  with  a 
persistence  embarrassing  to  the  Under 
Secretary.  His  room  lying  between  those 
of  the  two  chiefs,  -he  was  constantly 
interrupted  by  them  flying  through  in 
search  of  each  other's  counsel. 

SARK  tells  me  that  whilst  this  story  is 
true  it  is  not  complete.  When  the  SECRE- 
TARY OP  STATE  rushed  across  to  call  upon 
his  esteemed  friend  and  colleague,  he  found 
the  Commander-in-Chief  had  just  rushed 
out  to  call  on  him  ;  and  Vir.e  Versa,  as  Mr. 
ANSTEY  says.  Thus,  like  parallel  lines, 
they  never  met. 

LANSDOWNE,  since  gone  to  Foreign  Office, 
seems  to  be  pursued  by  similar  malign 
fate  when  he  desires  to  observe  ordinary 
condition  of  co-operation  with  his 


"  GRIEVANCES." 
Misther  O'Dowd.     (A  sketch  in  the  House.) 

colleague.  Much  angry  talk  about  yester- 
day's performance  in  the  Lords.  FOREIGN 
SECRETARY,  in  pursuance  of  friendly 
arrangement  with  EARL  SPENCER,  made 
full  communication  about  crisis  at 
Tientsin.  An  hour  later  FIRST  LORD  OP 
TREASURY  invited  to  make  statement  on 
subject  to  anxious  Commons. 

"Story  !  God  bless  you,"  cried  PRINCE 
ARTHUR,  in  his  astonishment  looking 
curiously  like  a  needy  knife-grinder,  "I 
have  none  to  tell." 

Members  persisted.  FOREIGN  SECRE- 
TARY had  been  unreservedly  communica- 
tive h>  other  House,  why  should  the 
Commons  be  kept  in  the  dark  on  question 
of  momentous  importance  ? 

"What  communication?"  PRINCE 
ARTHUR  asked,  in  evident  bewilderment. 
"  I  have  heard  nothing  about  it." 

"Nor  T,"  said  Under-Secretary  for 
Foreign  Affairs. 

There  matter  left.  House  had  time  to 
ponder  on  strange  ways  of  a  Government 
that  conducts  its  business  in  this  fashion. 


To-night  C.-B.   moves    adjournment  and 
Ministers  get  a  brisk  wigging. 

Business  done. — At  last  in  Committee 
on  Navy  Estimates. 


A  FLEET  IN  SEEMING. 

(Showing  the  folly  of  toasting  money  on 

projectiles.) 
THE  gentlemen  were  elderly, 

The  gentlemen  were  wise, 
And  yet  they  stared  in  wonder  at 

The  sights  that  met  their  eyes. 
The  Board  of  Admiralty  they 

Had  planned  a  little  trip 
To  ascertain  the  value  of 

A  modern  battle  ship. 

The  ship  lay  snugly  in  the  dock, 

And  so  with  one  accord 
The  elderly  wise  gentlemen 

Came  presently  on  board. 
They  gazed  in  rapture  at  her  bulk, 

Her  armour-plated  sides, 
Admitting  that  shipbuilding  had 

Made  certainly  great  strides. 

They  peered  into  her  turrets  grim, 

Her  horrid  guns  they  eyed, 
And  each  the  foremost  Naval  Power 

In  playful  jest  defied. 
They    clambered    up,    they    tumbled 
down, 

They  trapsed  from  bow  to  stern, 
The  finest  new  equipment  they 

Beheld  at  every  turn. 

They  worked  a  gun,  the  search-light 
proved, 

The  signalling  inspected, 
And  joyed  to  think  what  credit  it 

Upon  themselves  reflected. 
But  as  they  were  about  to  leave 

The  warship  for  the  shore, 
They  recollected  they  had  missed 

The  ammunition  store. 

They  called  the  officer  in  charge, 

Their  wish  to  him  expressed, 
And  asked,  in  bygone  phrase,  to  see 

The  ammunition  chest. 
The  officer  by  shoulder-shrug 

Its  absence  indicated, 
And  said,  "  Our  ammunition,  Sirs, 

Is  not  yet  fabricated." 

The  elderly  wise  gentlemen 

Looked  each  the  other  at 
In  ill-concealed  astonishment, 

And  murmured,  "  Fancy  that !  " 
"  But  if,"  said  one,  "  in  action  you 

Were  sent  against  the  foe, 
It  surely  would  be  safer  to — 

Load  up  a  gun  or  so  ?  " 

The  officer  replied  :  "  If  we 

Were  into  actionjjsent,  Sirs, 
All  moneys  on  projectiles  would 

Be  very  idly  spent,  Sirs, 
For  Naval  experts  all  agree 

We  should  not  need  a  shot  there, 
For  all  our  boilers  would  explode 

Long,  long  before  we  got  there. 


MARCH  27,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


245 


SHEREDITY. 

Zacfy.  "You  DON'T  MEAN  TO  TELL  MB  THAT  THIS  LITTLE  GIRL  is  FIT  TO  WAIT  AT  TABLE  !" 

Mother  (proudly).    "WELL  'it,  SHE  OUGHT  TO  BE,  SEEIN'  AS  'ow  'ER  FATHER  'AS  BEEN  A  PLATELAYER  FOE  FIVE  AND  TWENT? 

YEAR  1  " 


216 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[MARCH  27,  1901. 


THE  EVOLUTION   OF  A  MUSICAL   COMEDY. 

CANTO  THE  SIXTH. 

HENCEFORTH,  until  the  time  of  production,  rehearsals  will  bo 
the  order  of  the  day — and  night.  It  is,  perhaps,  difficiilt  to 
make  the  reader  realize  the  quantity  of  hard  work  that  will  be 
gone  through  in  these  final  weeks.  The  burden  of  this  falls 
most  heavily  on  that  important  individual,  the  stage-manager, 
unless  one  of  the  authors  is  a  person  of  sufficient  experience  to 
take  the  production  of  the  piece  into  his  own  hands. 

Nor  must  we  forget  the  assistant  stage-manager,  who  in  no 
small  degree  shares  the  responsibility  of  his  superior  officer. 

Let  us  then  just  take  a  glance  at  the  general  surroundings 
amid  which  these  operations  are  conducted. 

The  stage  is  wrapt  in  mystic  gloom,  save  where  a  "  T  "  of  gas 
or  electric  light  sheds  its  rays.  Down  by  the  footlights,  which 
are  not  lit,  is  a  diminutive  table  and  a  few  chairs.  Bound 
these  are  grouped  the  stage-manager,  authors,  composers,  etc. 
"When  the  final  rehearsals  are  on,  however,  as  a  rule,  a 
temporary  platform  is  erected  over  the  centre  of  the 
orchestra  for  these  individuals,  so  as  to  give  more  space  on 
the  stage. 

The  members  of  the  chorus,  when  their  services  are  not 
wanted,  may  be  discerned  sitting  or  wandering  round  the 
outskirts  of  the  stage,  while  the  principals  go  through  their 
scenes  in  the  centre. 

So  line  by  line  the  piece  is  plodded  through, 
With  many  a  halt  for   "  business  "   here  and 
there  ; 

And,  oh  !    the  feelings  of  the  authors,  who 
Must  frequently  be  driven  to  despair, 

At  seeing  that  on  which  they  set  great  store 

Ruthlessly  "cut,"  to  vanish  evermore. 

The  arranger       Anon  the  services  will  be  required 
of  dances.  Of  him  who  guides  the  light  fantastic  toes  ; 

With  knowledge  by  Terpsichore  inspired, 

He  will  arrange  full  many  a  graceful  pose. 
And  every  kind  of  dance  is  in  his  line, 
The  double  shuffle  or  the  serpentine. 

Thus  hour  by  hour  they  work,  and  day  by  day, 
No  trifling  point  attention  will  escape  ; 

Till  gradually  chaos  will  give  way 
To  something  that  approaches  form  and  shape. 

And  the  stage-manager,  deserving  chap, 

Has  got  another  feather  in  his  cap. 

This  is  the  sort  of  thing  that  goes  on.  We  Avill  presume  that 
the  Light  Comedian  and  the  Principal  Girl  are  going  through  a 
scene  in  the  centre  of  the  stage. 

Light  Comedian  (addressing  Principal  Girl).  But  do  you  mean 
to  say,  my  dear  VIOLET,  that  your  father  is  very  strict  ? 

Principal  Girl.  Oh,  he  's  simply  dreadful ! 

Stage  Manager  (suddenly  shouting  to  some  of  the  chorus,  who 
are  conversing  in  audible  whispers).  Silence,  if  you  please, 
ladies ! 

Light  Comedian.  Dear  rn^,  I  shouldn't  have  thought  it  from 
his  photos !  .  " 

Principal  GirL  I  know,  he  does  look  benevolent ;  but  it's  all 
his  whiskers. 

Stage  Manager  (making  notes  on  the  "  script  ").  Don't  forget  to 
cross  at  "whiskers,"  Miss  BLANK*. 

Light  Comedian.  So  he's  a  bit  of  a  bear,  eh?  Well,  perhaps 
that  comes  of  being  connected  with  the  Stock  Exchange. 

One  of  the  Authors  (nervously  interrupting).  I  don't  think  you 
put  quite  enough  emphasis  on  the  word  "bear."  There's 
meant  to  be  a  little  point  in  that.  Sort  of  play  on  words  ! 

Light  Corned mn.;Ijsee !  [Repeats  the  line  as  required. 


Principal  Girl.  Oh,  JACK,  I  don't  understand  anything  about 
the  Stock  Exchange. 

[The  Light  Comedian  delivers  a  rather  lengthy  but  epigram- 
matic speech,  comparing  the  Stock  Exclmnge  to  a 
barometer. 

Stage  Manager.  Yes,  I  think  we  '11  cut  that  speech,  if  you  don't 
mind.  (Murmur  of  mild  expostulation  from  one  of  the  authors.) 
Really,  my  dear  chap,  it 's  much  too  clever  for  the  audience 
here.  We  must  have  it  out  ? 

[The.  Author  retires  crushed.  The  'Light  Comedian  and 
Principal  Girl  continue  their  scene,  wliich  is  at  last 
brought  to  a  satisfactory  conclusion. 

Stage  Manager.  Shan't  want  you  any  more  to-day,  Miss  BLANK. 
(Shouting)  Now  then,  ladies,  please  take  your  places  for  the 
Concerted  Number ! 

Fair  Damsel  (approaching  him).  Please,  Mr.  JONES,  may  I  have 
that  line  to  speak  after  the  opening  chorus  ? 

Stage  Manager.  Oh,  don't  worry,  my  dear  girl ;  I  can't  settle 
that  just  now. 

Some  more  Fair  Damsels.  Where  are  we  to  go  for  our  second- 
act  dresses,  Mr.  JONES  ? 

Stage  Manager.  RUSSELL  &  TEWSON'S,  any  time  to-morrow. 
Now  then,  ladies,  if  you  please  1 

Low  Comedian  (suddenly  making  his  appearance  from  the  sur- 
rounding gloom,  where  he  lias  been  pacing  up  and  down,  wrapt  in 
thought).  One  moment,  Mr.  JONES.  I  've  just  been  thinking  out 
a  bit  of  business  in  my  scene  with  Miss  ASTERISK.  You  know 
where  I  say  "No,  it  is  in  vain;  you  cannot  move  me.  I  am 
Irish  !  "  Well,  I  want  half-a-dozen  of  the  chorus  men,  dressed 
as  policemen,  to  come  on  and  carry  me  off. 

Stage  Manager  (dubiously).  Seems  a  lot  of  trouble  just  for 
that  one  exit. 

Low  Comedian.  Well,  it  will  get  me  a  big  laugh. 

Stage  Manager.  I  '11  see  about  it.  Now  then,  ladies,  if  you 
please.  [The  rehearsal  is  continued. 

Final  Touches.    And  when  at  last  the  premiere  draws  nigh, 

There 's  still  more  work,  as  you  may  understand  ; 
The  musical  director,  by-the-bye, 

Will  have  to  take  the  orchestra  in  hand. 
Costumiers  are  ' '  fitting  on ' '  with  care, 
And  carpenters  are  busy  ev'rywhere. 

Then  come  the  dress  rehearsals,  two  or  more, 
Which  friendly  critics  watch  with  interest ; 

Turning  the  merits  of  each  artiste  o'er, 
Discussing,  too,  which  numbers  are  the  best, 

And  will  the  piece  give  pleasure  or  offence 

To  the  exacting  first-night  audience. 

But  if,  at  the  eleventh  hour,  the  play 
Seems  to  be  in  an  uncompleted  state, 

The  new  production  very  likely  may 
Be  yet  postponed  until  another  date  ; 

So  as  to  run  no  risks  of  condemnation 

Merely  through  insufficient  preparation. 

Still,  even  if  the  first-night  verdict  be 
A  most  decidedly  unpleasant  one, 

It  does  not  follow,  as  a  certainty, 

The  piece  is  not  to  have  a  longish  run. 

For  it  may  be  improved,  and,  more  or  less, 

Worked  up  into  a  regular  success. 

We  are  now,  gentle  reader,  approaching  the  Jast  scene  of  all 
in  this  strange,  eventful  history.  All  true  lovers  of  the  drama 
are  aware  of  the  atmosphere  of  excitement  and  expectation 
which  prevails  at  siich  a  time.  There  is  nothing  else  quite  like 
it.  Indeed,  a  visit  to  the  theatre  on  a  first-night  is  as  different 
from  a  visit  on  any  ordinary  occasion  as  champagne  is  from 

barley-water. 

(To  be  concluded.)  P.  G. 


The  Dress 
Rehearsals. 


MARCH  27,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


247 


BUSINESS  EXPERIENCES  OF  THE  HON.  THOMAS  GASH. 

BY  E.  T.  H. 

I  DETERMINED  that  MACDONALD  should  be  conscious  of  a 
master  eye  upon  him,  and  for  the  ensuing  month  I  can  truthfully 
say  that  there  were  f«w  days  of  which  1  did  not  pass  some  part 
in  the  brewery  or  its  immediate  vicinity  ;  but  it  was  a  mis- 
take. 

I  have  never  pretended  that  I  had  any  special  acquaint- 
ance with  the  merely  technical  side  of  brewing.  It  is  not 
yet  included  in  the  curriculum  of  the  older  Universities, 
whatever  Birmingham  may  do,  and  as  I  have  already  indicated 
that  I  had  dropped  mathematics  at  about  the  point  where  we 
learn  .%•  to  be  an  unknown  quantity,  xxx  appeared  trebly 
mysterious.  But  it  was  no  part  of  my  plan  to  admit  this  to 


to  me  at  once.  I  think  he  must  have  suspected  some  evasion, 
for  on  Thursday  he  sent  up  a  note  by  the  office-boy  to  ask  me  to 
send  him  word  "what  percentage  of  protenoids  I  considered 
normal."  This  was  an  awkward  fix,  and  I  did  not  quite  see  my 
way.  I  had  not  the  least  notion  what  protenoids  might  be.  My 
dictionary,  which  I  hastily  consulted  under  cover  of  my  blotter, 
did  not  mention  the  ridiculous  things,  but  judging  from  the 
uncouthness  of  the  name  they  must  be  something  undesirable, 
and  everything  undesirable  is  always  present  in  large  quantities. 
However,  even  with  this  to  guide  me  I  dare  not  risk  a  number, 
so  I  ultimately  wrote,  "It  is  a  matter  much  disputed,  but  I 
think  PASTEUR'S  estimate  was  correct" — as  indeed  I  have  no 
doubt  it  was,  if  he  ever  made  one  on  the  subject.  The  office-boy 
took  the  note,  and  as  he  opened  the  door  into  the  brewery,  I 
opened  the  one  into^the  street. 


-  Ill 


THE    UNIVERSITY    (SUB-RIVER)    BOAT-RACE.     A.D.    1950. 


MACDONALD,  and  I  was  unfortunately  able  on  one  occasion  to 
set  him  right  on  a  point  of  chemistry.  His  detestable  self-love 
was  instantly  up  in  arms,  and  that  was  my  last  day  of  peace. 

Very  eariy  in  the  following  morning  (Tuesday)  I  found 
him  waiting  for  me,  to  ask  "whether  all  ordinary  soluble 
albumenoids  were  capable  of  peptonic  modification."  Fortu- 
nately this  question  was  couched  in  a  form  to  which  a  single 
affirmative  seemed  a  sufficient  answer,  and  I  gave  it  unhesi- 
tatingly. I  could  not  gather  much  from  his  face,  and  I  did  not 
wait  to  see  as  I  had  a  train  to  catch,  but  I  hoped  the  success  of 
the  day's  brew  would  not  turn  on  its  correctness. 

On  Wednesday  morning  he  wanted  to  know  "  if  I  believed  in 
NAGELI'S  molecular-physical  theory  of  fermentation!"  I  felt 
safer  here  :  nothing  could  turn  upon  a  mere  matter  of  opinion, 
and  with  a  firmness  born  of  conscious  veracity — for  I  certainly 
never  believed  in  anything  so  preposterously  named— I  replied 
in  the  negative,  asking  him  to  kindly  tell  the  cashier  to  come 


It  was  with  considerable  misgivings  that  I  entered  the  brewery 
on  Monday,  but  my  mind  was  already  made  up,  and  when 
MACDONALD  button-holed  me  in  the  course  of  the  morning, 
and  peering  at  me  over  his  boulders  of  cheek-bones  desired  me 
to  explain  to  him  the  old  theory  that  "  fermentation  was  due  to 
oxidising  azotised  matter  acting  by  catalytic  influence  on  the 
tertiary  sugar,"  I  put  him  firmly  on  one  side,  went  home,  caught 
the  three  o'clock  train  to  Harwich,  and  was  in  Rotterdam  next 
morning.  It  is  well  to  keep  a  finger  on  the  throbbing  pulse  of 
trade,  but  a  clinical  thermometer  under  MACDONALD'S  tongue, 
thrust  well  home,  would  at  the  moment  have  seemed  to  me  even 
better. 

But  when  one's  heart  is  in  any  occupation  even  distance  and 
change  of  scene  build  up  feeble  barriers,  and  as  it  happened  I 
was  able  to  go  on  with  my  work  through  making  the  acquaintance 
of  a  Rotterdam  brewer.  He  was  no  sort  of  business  man,  for 
he  would  sometimes  spend  from  te.i  o'clock  in  the  morning  to 


248 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[MARCH  27,  1901. 


five  at  night  in  his  office,  and  even  then  have  to  go  again  next 
day,  but  during  such  leisure  as  I  had  in  a  month's  residence, 
he  instructed  me  in  the  Continental  decoction  or  cooking 
method  of  brewing,  and  I  took  occasion  to  write  to  MACDONALD 
and  ask  if  he  did  not  think  this  system  would  lead  to  larger 
extracts. 

I  had  no  reply  and  was  congratulating  myself  that  this 
display  of  technical  knowledge  had  impressed  him,  when 
suddenly  received  a  wire  from  PEPLOW,  "Come  at  once,  some- 
thing wrong."  Anyone  less  able  than  PEPLOW  to  cope  with  an 
emergency  I  never  knew.  He  met  me  at  the  station  with  the 
news  that  MACDONALD  had  not  been  seen  for  several  days,  and 
that  a  letter  for  me  from  him  had  just  arrived.  It  briefly 
thanked  me  for  my  hint  about  the  cooking  methods,  and  said  it 
did  enable  one  to  increase  the  extract.  I  was  a  little  puzzled 
about  this  until  GUNTER,  at  my  request,  came  down  to  look  into 
the  accounts  and  cash,  and  then  I  understood  :  the  cooking  was 
admirably  thorough,  and  the  extracts  had  been  enormous. 

If  I  had  known  GUNTER  did  not  want  to  come,  I  would  not 
have  invited  him  ;  but  he  should  either  have  refused  altogether 
or  come  in  a  better  temper.  He  seemed  to  think  I  was  in  some 
way  to  blame,  and  although  this  was  obviously  unreasonable,  his 
jaundiced  view  of  the  matter  had  perhaps  some  influence  in 
determining  a  step  which  I  had  been  meditating  for  some  time, 
nothing  else,  in  fact,  than  to  do  without  a  manager  entirely  and 
do  all  the  work  myself. 

PEPLOW  endeavoured  to  dissuade  me,  saying  he  did  not  think 
I  could  do  it ;  but  I  was  not  to  be  shaken,  and  to  his  further 
remonstrances  replied  that  at  least  nobody  would  suffer  but 
myself.  He  did  not  assent  to  this  self-evident  proposition, 
merely  making  some  irrelevant  remark  to  the  effect  that  "he 
supposed  then  he  could  go  to  the  sea-side,"  but  I  checked  this 
talk  by  asking  if  he  meant  to  leave  me  in  the  lurch  just  when 
I  was  undertaking  a  task  which  he  had  himself  hinted  might 
prove  beyond  my  strength.  I  have  never  denied  that  PEPLOW 
is  good-natured,  although  he  lacks  enthusiasm  and  initiative, 
and  I  think  this  touched  him.  He  and  GUNTER  dined  with  me 
that  evening,  and  after  dinner  I  laid  before  them  my  plaus 

It  was  this.  I  would  convert  my  business  into  a  private 
limited  company.  GUNTER  and  PEPLOW  should  be  the  two  other 
Directors,  with  a  merely  nominal  holding,  and  receiving  the 
sum  of  one  guinea  per  board  meeting  for  their  services.  This 
was  more  than  GUNTER  was  worth,  but  I  did  not  wish  to  make 
any  invidious  distinctions.  I  would  be  Chairman,  and  would 
give  my  services  gratuitously  until  the  shareholders  had 
received  ten  per  cent.  I  would  myself  hold  all  the  shares. 
Seeing  that  he  was  salaried  and  I  was  not,  PEFLOW  would  act  as 
Secretary.  Board  meetings  would  be  held  once  a  week,  the 
Secretary  and  one  other  Director  to  form  a  quorum. 

I  still  think  that  this  scheme  ought  to  have  worked,  for  it 
seemed  to  me  well  thought  out,  but  I  admit  that  in  practice  it 
did  not.  In  the  first  place  GUNTER'S  attendance  was  most 
irregular.  He  was  only  present  at  ten  meetings  in  the  first 
year,  with  the  result  t'aat  at  only  that  number  was  a  quorum 
obtainable.  Then  PEPLOW  took  an  exceedingly  narrow  view  of 
the  duties  of  a  Secretary,  and  was  often  absent  from  the  brewery 
for  whole  days,  so  that  I  never  really  had  any  trustworthy  accounts 
of  what  was  taking  place  there.  In  the  next  place,  I  began  to 
receive  complaints  of  the  quality  of  the  ale.  Several  customers 
complained  that  it  was  "hard,"  and  although  1  gave  in- 
structions that  softer  water  should  be  used  this  did  not  seem  to 
produce  the  desired  effect.  Another  wrote  asking  with  super- 
ficial politeness  that  his  next  delivery  might  be  first  hung  on  a 
clothes-line  to  let  the  surplus  water  drip  out.  The  beer  began 
to  be  returned  on  our  hands  to  such  an  alarming  extent  that  I 
looked  into  the  matter  myself,  and  called  in  a  brewery  specialist. 

After  exhaustive  examination,  this  gentleman  gave  it  as  his 
opinion  that  if  I  would  give  over  using  my  present  hops,  buy 
some  different  malt,  change  the  yeast,  and  sink  a  new  well  for 
purer  water,  I  should  at  once  feel  the  benefit,  and  that  then  it 


would  only  be  necessary  to  adopt  a  different  principle  of 
brewing  and  alter  my  system  of  fermentation.  I  paid  a  heavy 
fee  for  this  encouragement,  and  neither  PEPLOW  nor  GUNTER — 
although  as  salaried  officials  they  were  more  responsible  than  I 
was — would  contribute  a  single  sixpence  towards  it. 

GUNTER,  however,  did  undertake  to  make  up  the  year's 
accounts,  and  the  result  was  most  disheartening,  disclosing  as 
it  did  that  the  profits  were  not  sufficient  to  enable  the  directors' 
fees  to  be  paid.  It  is  a  selfish  world,  and  I  could  not  under  the 
circumstances  blame  my  co-directors  for  wishing  to  withdraw ; 
but  I  might  surely  have  expected  that  they  would  do  so  without 
levity.  A  fishing  engagement  prevented  my  attending  the  next 
Board  meeting,  but  PEPLOW  supplied  me  with  a  copy  of  the 
resolutions  passed  at  it,  which  were  as  follows : — 

1.  That  it  has  been  proved  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  directors 

that  this  company,  by  reason  of  its  liability  to  the  errors 
of  the  Chairman,  cannot  continue  its  business. 

2.  That  an  Extraordinary  General  Meeting — that  is  to  say  a 

meeting  at  which  the  Chairman  shall  be  present — be  called 
to  consider  the  question  of  liquidation. 

3.  That  the  liquid  assets,  if  no  better  than  the  sample  supplied 

this  day  in  the  Board-room,  be  drunk  by  the  Chairman. 
There  was  only  one  way  of  treating  the  matter  with  dignity, 
and  I  did  that  at  once.  I  purchased  the  one  or  two  shares 
possessed  by  the  other  nominal  shareholders,  and  the  business 
once  more  became  my  sole  property.  A  little  more,  and  PEPLOW 
would  have  ruined  it. 

I  had  now  pretty  well  exhausted  the  resources  of  civilisation 
in  dealing  with  this  matter.  It  is  true  I  had  not  tried  the  co- 
operative principle,  but  a  brief  consideration  convinced  me 
that  inasmuch  as  all  previous  schemes  had  split  upon  the  rock 
of  my  failure  to  find  loyal  coadjutors,  there  would  be  little 
hope  in  that  direction.  I  should  doubtless  have  conquered  the 
difficulty,  as  I  have  always  done  all  others,  but  it  happened 
that  just  at  this  time  I  met  MENZIES.  MENZIES  had  been  at 
school  with  me,  but  had  left  comparatively  early  to  take  up  a 
position  in  his  father's  distillery,  and  he  had  spent  seven  years 
in  that  occupation  before  a  crisis  in  the  whiskey  trade  involved 
him  in  ruin.  He  was  now  a  temperance  lecturer. 

I  came  across  him  through  the  accident  of  his  delivering  in 
my  neighbourhood  an  address,  at  which  curiosity  and  the  attrac- 
tion of  his  name  led  me  to  be  present.  It  was  a  very  powerful 
lecture  entitled  "Alcohol  and  Commonsense,"  and  the  reason- 
ing by  which  he  demonstrated  that  if  all  the  money  at  present 
spent  in  drink  was  expended  in  the  purchase  of  motor  cars  (the 
chief  industry  of  the  district)  there  would  be  such  a  demand 
for  those  articles  as  would  ruin  the  trade  in  horses,  was  very 
well  received  by  everyone  except  the  local  veterinary  surgeon, 
who  left  the  room.  I  recalled  myself  to  MENZIES'  memory  at  the 
conclusion  of  the  proceedings,  and  ho  stayed  with  me  for  two 
days :  during  this  time  the  temperance  question  was  frequently 
discussed  in  all  its  bearings,  with  the  singular  result  that 
whilst  he  convinced  me  that  I  ought  not  to  go  on  profiting  by 
the  sale  of  beer,  I  convinced  him  that  it  was  a  trade  which  in 
the  hands  of  an  advocate  of  teetotalism  would  be  powerful  for 
good. 

Under  these  circumstances  a  business  arrangement  seemed 
possible,  and  with  the  help  of  Messrs.  PINTE  &  PUETA,  who 
negotiated  a  considerable  loan,  one  was  ultimately  carried  out. 
MENZIES  took  over  my  business,  paying  me  (by  means  of  the 
loan)  half  the  purchase-money  in  cash,  and  the  balance  I  left  in 
his  hands  at  7  per  cent.,  a  satisfactory  rate  of  interest.  I  was 
very  restless  while  the  negotiations  and  formalities  were  being 
carried  through,  but  at  length  everything  was  completed,  I 
attached  my  signature  to  a  number  of  formidable  documents, 
and  walked  away  from  my  solicitor's  office  with  the  proud 
consciousness  that,  if  I  had  sacrificed  my  prospects,  I  was  no 
longer  profiting  by  any  man's  weaknesses. 

I  think  MENZIES  must  be  doing  well.  He  has  never  objected 
to  the  rate  of  interest,  and  pays  it  regularly. 


APRIL  3,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


219 


STEAMBOAT  AHOY! 

WHETHER  the  L.  C.  C.,  the 
preamble  of  whose  Bill  was 
last  Thursday  declared  not 
proven  by  the  Committee,  will 
ultimately  gain  command  over 
a  fleet  of  River  Steamers  or 
not,  the  one  question  that  con- 
cerns Londoners  is — cannot 
some  Company,  no  matter  what, 
as  long  as  it  is  a  thoroughly 
business-like  and  sensible  one, 
give  us  Londoners  a  real  good 
all-the- year -round  service  of 
well  -  appointed,  cleanly  -  kept 
steamboats,  built  on  lines  simi- 
lar to  those  on  the  Seine,  with 
dapper  and  civil  officials  on 
board,  with  covered  in  piers 
and  landing  stages  along  the 
river  route  from  Putney  to 
Gravesend,  and  another  ser- 
vice from  Putney  to  Richmond, 
up  to  Oxford?  And  why  not  first 
and  second  class  as  on  the  sea- 
steamers  between  Folkestone 
and  Boulogne, Calais  and  Dover  ? 

Such  as  the  steamers  have 
been  "  they  were  better  than 
nothing  at  all,"  as  the  refrain 
of  the  old  comic  song  had  it ; 
but  they  were  absolutely  im- 
possible, that  is,  as  a  rule,  and 
at  certain  hours,  for  ladies. 
The  rough-and-tumble  element 
(not  by  any  means  the  river 
itself,  seldom  restless  and 
tossing)  predominated,  and  the 
rowdiness  of  the  'ARRY  when 
his  work  was  over  and  his  life 
was  worth  living  for  Mm,  made, 
temporarily,  life  for  quiet,  re- 
spectable citizens  on  board 
these  crowded  steamboats  not 
worth  living  by  any  manner  of 
means. 

Father  Thames,  muddy- 
brained  as  he  is,  must  see  to 
it,  and  good  energetic  citizens 
must  wake  up  Father  Thames 
&  Co.  to  a  sense  of  their  respon- 
sibility as  by -water- carriers, 
for  the  benefit  of  all  classes. 


ON  DIT.— If  it  be  true  that 
Mr.  ABBEY  has  received  a 
Royal  command  to  paint  the 
Coronation,  it  is  quite  in  the 
fitness  of  things  that,  dropping 
all  other  jtre-noms,  he  should 
be  henceforth  distinguished 
"  Westminster  Abbey,  Junior." 

A  PAGE  OF  SCHOLASTIC  RE- 
COIIDS. — A  Footman  has  been 
recently  appointed  Headmaster 
of  S.  David's  College  School. 
May  he  be  as  successful  as 
was  a  Butler  at  Harrow. 


END    OF    THE    HUNTING    SEASON. 


"SO-LONG!    Sri  YOU  ALL  IN  AUTUMN  !" 


"  THIS   CONFOUNDED  T  BANS  FORMATION    IS  GOING   TO   BE   MORE 
DIFFICULT  THAN  IT  LOOKS." 

[It  is  proposed  to  change  the  quarry  of  the  Royal  Hunt 
from  Stag  to  Fox.] 


A  TRIBUTE   TO    AN   OLD 
FRIEND. 

DEAR  old  HAROLD  POWER  ! 
"Old!"  Never  a  day  older 
than  when — it  seems  but  a  few 
years  ago — he  played  Cox  to  the 
Box  of  GEORGE  Du  MAURIER 
and  to  the  Sergeant  Bouncer  of 

"JOHNNIE"     FORSTER      in      the 

triumviretta  of  Cox  and  Box, 
for  which  ARTHUR  SULLIVAN 
Avrote  such  humorous,  melodi- 
ous, and  dramatic  music,  as  in 
his  best  days  he  himself  rarely, 
if  ever,  surpassed.  HAROLD 
POWER,  the  kindest  of  men, 
and,  in  his  best  health,  one  of 
the  very  brightest  as  he  was 
one  of  the  most  amusing,  was 
the  last  of  those  who  belonged 
to  what  may  be  called  "  the 
ALBERT  SMITH  group,"  repre- 
senting a  kind  of  practical  fun 
a)id  boisterous  humour  that 
died  out  entirely  with  the 
author  of  Mr.  Ledbury,  The 
Pottleton  Legacy,  and  with  the 
extinction  of  the  Cider  Cellars, 
Evans's,  and  the  Fast-After- 
Midnight  Life  in  London. 

HAROLD  POWER,  though  good 
as  an  actor  and  entertainer, 
was  best  as  an  amateur,  acting 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  say- 
ing and  doing  the  absurdest 
things  with  the  greatest  possi- 
ble gravity.  He  was  associated 
with  "Mr.  Punch's  young  men ' ' 
when  they  played  for  the 
BENNETT  benefit  in  Manchester, 
where,  with  his  acting  and 
singing  in  Les  Deux  Aveugles, 
with  his  after-supper  speeches, 
and  with  his  imperturbable 
good  humour,  he  was  the  life 
and  soul  of  the  party  generally, 
and  of  the  house -party  at 

JOHN  HENRY'S  "  in  parti- 
cular. The  greatest  sympathy 
will  be  felt  for  his  family  in 
their  bereavement,  and  we 
hasten  to  pay  this  tribute 
of  affectionate  esteem  to  the 
memory  of  one  who  was 
reckoned  as  within  the  private 
circle  of  Mr.  Punch's  intimate 
friends. 


PLEASANT  COMPANIONS.  — 
Socialistic  and  Revolutionary 

Demonstrators."  Suggestive 
descriptive  title  is  the  fore- 
going, as  being  a  composite 
word  made  up  of  "  Demons  " 
and  "  Traitors."  Cheerful  as- 
sociation ! 

CITY  NOTE.— As  a  rule,  going 
in  for  "specs"  is  a  very 
short-sighted  policy. 


VOL.  cxx. 


250 


PUNCH,   OR   THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[APRIL  3,  1901. 


ART  IN   THE   DOLLS'   HOUSE. 

BY  LITTLE  QUEENIE. 
§  1. — About  the  Need  for  Impruvemenl. 

DEAR  readers,  when  I  laid  down  my  pen  after  telling  you 
all  about  the  two  highly  irnportent  subjects  of  Nursery  Cookery 
and  Ettiket,  I  fondly  immajined  that  it  was  for  ever— but  it 
has  terned  out  otherwise  ! 

I  have  been  so  suxessful  in  doing  up  my  doll'shouse  in  a 
thurally  artistic  fashion,  and  I  recieve  such  lots  of  apeals  from 
cusins  and  similiar  quarters  to  advise  them  about  fernishing 
theirs  that  I  have  reluctently  consented  to  do  so  in  these 
pages. 

Now,  perhaps  some  children  (like  MARIA  STODGELEY)  will 
say  what  does  it  matter  how  hijeous  doll's  fernicher  etcettera 
is  so  long  as  the  dolls  are  comfortible  ;  but  this  is  what  grown- 
ups would  call  a  falasy  that  begs  to  be  questioned.  It  does 
matter,  tremenjously. 

Is  it  not  a  shame  that  Dolls  should  be  so  behind  the  time, 
and  that,  while  us  children  have  the  advantiges  of  easthetic 
wallpapers  and  freezes  and  overmantles  and  Art  roking-horses 
and  chintses  and  things,  and  our  Mamas  sit  in  rooms  abounding 
with  Maurice  curtins  and  Chipindale  sofas  and  LIBATY  cosy 
corners  and  potery  on  brakets  and  commie  china  pussies  and 
every  other  luxry,  our  dolls  should  still  be  compelled  to 
reside  in  houses  which  are  too  Erly  Victorian  for  words  ? 

All  grown-up  and  thoughtfull  persons  will  tell  you  how 
esenshil  it  is  if  we  are  to  mold  the  charicters  of  the  young  and 
instill  them  with  noble  and  lofty  asperations  that  they  should 
be  surounded  from  infansy  with  butiful  objicts.  Then  they 
grow  up  to  be  faltless  judges  and  have  such  exqisite  taste 
that  they  never  aprove  of  anything,  like  my  Uncle  FILIBERT 
who  writes  the  sweetest  sonets  and  colects  china  and  says  all 
effort  is  useless  because  Art  and  Literature  are  both  quite 
dead. 

But  if  we  go  on  alowing  our  dolls  to  dwell  in  Filistine 
suroundings,  how  can  we  be  surprized  if  they  do  not  look  more 
inteligent  or  if  they  are  defficient  in  jeneril  culcher  ? 

§  2.— The  Tippiclc  Dolls'  House. 

Let  us  exsamine  for  a  moment  the  apearance,  both  outside 
and  in,  of  the  convenshunil  Dolls'  House. 

The  front  is  painted  the  inevittible  stairing  red,  with  white 
round,  the  windows,  the  door  and  balkny  being  a  krude  pea- 
grene  ;  the  knoker  gilt  and  of  some  cheap  and  inartistic  patern 
which  will  not  knok.  The  droin-room  windows  ai*e  curtinet 
with  mashine-rnade  lace  or  else  croc/u/. 

"We  enter,  having  first  previously  unhooked  the  front  (for  the 
door  is  a  paultry  shamb  ! )  and  what  do  we  find  ?  An  interior 
devided  into  four  compartments,  like  a  rabit  hutch.  [FLORRIP 
BUCKMASTER  did  keep  rabits  in  her  dolls'  house  for  a  time — 
but  it  was  not  a  suxess.]  There  is  no  trace  of  any  hall,  or  even 
passidge.  There  are  no  doors,  so  if  a  droin-room  doll  shoulc 
find  herself  in  the  kitchen  or  nursery  by  any  chance,  there  she 
has  got  to  remane  till  some  cumpationat  hand  releses  her  to  hei 
propper  sfere  ! 

And  the  wall-papers  !  Gordy  yiige  paterns  which  most  house 
maids  would  shuder  at  on  their  bedrooms  walls.  As  for  th 
carpits,  they  will  either  be  painted  seppilkers  or  else  peices  o 
oilclothes.  Are  there  any  windows  at  the  sides  or  back  ?  No 
there  are  not.  Well,  at  least  there  are  stares  ?  No,  the  cleve 
grownups  who  bild  these  atrosities  have  left  out  the  stares 
They  do  not  seem  aware  that  dolls  (mostly)  posess  legs  ! 

Then  the  fernicher.  Think  of  the  droin-room,  with  it: 
meue  little  mantlepeice  which  never  will  go  close  up  to  thi 
wall  and  has  red  tinsle  fire  in  it !  The  ro-ind  table— in  tb( 
center,  if  you  please  !— and  a  sofa  of  a  similiar  patern  to  the  om 
at  our  last  seaside  lodjins,  which  made  mummy  so  ill  she  had  t< 
buy  an  Itallian  rug  to  cover  it  up  with  and  it  was  all  Father 


ault  for  taking  the  first  rooms  he  saw  to  save  himself  trubble 
nd  because  they  were  cheap  ! 

Regard  the  six  chares,  all  exacly  alike,  red  or  green  sattin 
nd  white  wood ;  the  pianno  that  won't  even  open  (though  I 
wouldn't  mind  if  we  had  one  of  that  sort  in  our  scoolroom!) 
nd  the  pictuers  on  the  walls,  hung  crookid  and  jenerilly 
Hografts  by  artists  of  no  repputation  ! 

Let  my  readers  who  think  this  discripshun  oxajorated  give  an 
mpavshil  glance  at  their  own  dolls'  houses,  and  then  see  if  it 
s  not  corect — and  this  is  the  best  room  out  of  four  ! 

Yet  it  is  in  such  squoller  as  this  that  the  majorrity  of  our 

oils  pass  their  lives  in  !     Sometimes  I  hear  Father  talking 

ibout  the  necessity  of  rehousing  the  Poorer  Classes,  but  I  think 

)olls  require  it  much  more  because  they  are  less  able  to  make 

heir  voices  heard. 

§  3. — About  Eforts  at  Better  Things. 

don't  mene  of  course  that  all  dollshouses  are  as  badly  bilt  as 

,his.    Within  my  own  reccolection  there  have  sprung  up  in  our 

nidst  edifishes  with  more  claim  to  be  called  arkitecshur.     FILMS 

ILOVER  has  one  she  is  awfuly  proud  of  and  it  really  is  rather 

nice.    It  has   a    blue    sloping    roof    with   real    windows    and 

himnies  in  it,  a  portico  with  steps  up  to  it  and  a  dear  little 

illectric  bell  which  really  rings,  and  there  is  a  passidge  and 

tares  and  doors  to  open  and  shut  in  every  room. 

But  as  I  told  FILLIS  (and  it  did  make  her  so  cross)  the 
jassidge  is  too  dredfuly  pokey  and  there  are  no  bannisters  to 
stares  and  a  visitor  would  have  to  rech  the  droinroom 
through  a  hole  in  the  floor — which  peple  do  not  do  in  Society. 

Now  my  own  Papa  is  an  Arkitect  and  very  clever.     He  is 
always  doing  plans  for  Goverment  bildings  only  there  is  so 
mnch  favoritism  that  only  the  Old  Gang  and  Rank  Outsiders  get 
hosen. 

So  I  said  to  him  one  day,  "  Dear  Papa,  if  nobody  eZse  will  give 
you  a  job,  I  will.  Supose  you  sit  down  and  do  me  a  design  for 
a  really  convenient  dollshouse  ?  " 

Papa  laufed,  but  did  it  and  it  really  was  too  sweet,  with  a 
Queen  Ann  portch  and  the  most  facinating  bo-windows  and 
little  curved  balknies  and  a  lovely  wide  starecase  and  curly 
bannisters  and  a  conservitry  and  well — everything. 

I  was  perfidy  delited  with  it,  only  when  I  took  the  desine 
to  a  toyshop  man  and  asked  what  it  would  cost  to  make  up  he 
said  it  would  work  out  at  about  fifty  pound. 

So  I  was  obbliged  to  tell  Papa  that  as  I  had  only  seven  and 
sixpence  (counting  the  half-crown  Aunt  Mary  gives  me  on  my 
next  birthday)  I  was  afrade  his  desine  was  beyond  my  menes  at 
present,  and  Papa  laufed  and  said  I  reminded  him  of  his  other 
cliants. 

I  shall  have  to  save  up  for  severil  years  before  I  shall  have 
enough  to  bild  Papa's  desine  for  a  dollshouse,  but  in  the  mene- 
time  I  resolved  to  make  the  best  of  my  old  one.  So  I  called  in 
a  particler  friend  of  mine,  REGGY  SAWYER,  who  is  very  clever 
with  his  fingers  and  has  just  had  a  new  toolbox,  and  I  told 
REGGY  what  impruvments  I  wanted  done  and  he  did  it. 

First  he  threw  out  two  wings  with  wood  made  out  of  Father's 
sigar  boxes  (after  carefnly  putting  all  the  sigars  back  in  thi 
cubbard  again)  and  REGGY  got  the  glass  for  the  windows  out 
of  fotoframes  in  the  droinroom.  After  ctiting  through  the 
partishun  on  the  ground  floor,  he  constructed  a  splendid  hall 
and  starecase.  The  bannisters  were  rather  a  bother  at  first, 
till  I  reccolected  that  there  were  gilded  ralings  round  some 
Louey  Cans  tables  and  things  in  the  droin-room,  and  these, 
with  a  little  twisting,  made  a  highly  efective  ballastrade.  We 
found  a  cabbinet  of  soft  white  wood  contaning  trays  of 
meddles  and  things  which  were  no  use,  and  the  wood  was  just 
enough  to  make  a  top  story. 

When  Papa  found  out,  he  said  it  would  have  been  almost 
cheaper  to  have  carrid  out  his  orijinil  plans  but  I  fansy  he 
was  secretly  plesed  with  our  injinuity— though  not  Mother. 
So  now  I  was  the  posessor  of  a  really  roomy  and  convenient 


APRIL  3,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


251 


HAUNTED. 


252 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[APRIL  3,  1901. 


dollshouse,  and  the  next  stage  was  the  dekoration  of  -which  I 
shall  trete  in  a  subsiquent  paper.  I  -will  only  add  that  if  any 
of  my  readers  arc  disattisfied  with  their  dolls'  present  suround- 
ings  and  would  like  to  give  them  the  oportunity  to  lede  higher 
lives  and  things,  will  they  plese  write,  inclosing  a  stamp 
(unused  and  not  a  forrin  one)  which  will  not  be  returned  under 
any  sircumstanses  to  Little  QUEBNIE,  care  of  Mr.  Punch,  Esq., 
10,  Bouverie  Street,  Whitefriars,  and  I  will  endevor  to  anser 
them  in  these  collums. 

(To  be  continued.) 


THE   BOOK  OF   BEAUTY. 

A  GREAT  THOUGHT  FOR  EVERY  DAY  IN  THE  YEAR. 

SECOND  SERIES. 

111.— THE  ELIZABETH  SECTION. 

[Cow till ued  from  March — with  further  acknowledgments  to  the 
respective  Authors  of  "  Elizabeth  and  her  German  Garden,"  and 
"  The  Visits  of  Elizabeth."  Extracts  from  the  former's  Diary 
and  the  latter's  Letters  are  given  alternately,  the  younger 
Elizabeth  being  on  a  visit  to  the  elder  Elizabeth.] 

MARCH  I?TH. — I  remember  reading  in  a  wise  book  that  a  fresh 
acquaintance  coming  among  close  friends  is  always  a  bore. 
Well,  ELIZABETH  is  the  fresh  acquaintance,  and  the  close  friends 
are  myself  and  I,  Avhich  includes  my  garden  and  my  books. 
I  really  believe  the  babies  dimly  understand,  and  are  doing 
their  best  to  act  as  buffers.  The  Michaelmas  Goose  baby, 
whose  equilibrium  is  still  unstable,  drags  ELIZABETH  about  by 
her  skirts,  singing  lustily  her  favourite  Sunday  hymn— "  Some 
day  my  earthly  home  will  fall!"  Yesterday,  the  March  Hare 
baby  tried  to  distract  our  visitor  by  an  invitation  to  a  game  of 
Adam  and  Eve  in  the  garden.  "And  you  shall  pwetend  to 
be  EVA,  if  you  like,  Fraulein  ELSE,"  she  said,  encouragingly. 

"  But  wouldn't  it  be  rather  cold  ?  "  protested  ELIZABETH. 

The  March  Hare  baby,  who  is  much  less  ingenuous  than 
ELIZABETH,  grew  red  in  the  checks  and  said,  "  You  keeps  your 
fings  on,  natiirlich.  It  looks  properlier." 

"And  how  will  you  do  for  a  serpent?"  asked  ELIZABETH, 
whose  nature  is  sadly  reliant  on  the  concrete,  and  cannot 
realise  the  unseen  world. 

"  We  'se  got  a  weal  live  snake,"  said  the  May  Meeting  baby, 
"  but  it 's  gestuft,  so  you  won't  be  bited." 

"And  I  will  be  the  Apfel,"  added  the  March  Hare  baby,  "and 
when  you  eats  me  I  will  unagree  wiv  you  insides." 

"But  there  isn't  anybody  to  be  ADAM,"  said  ELIZABETH, 
thinking  to  raise  an  insurmountable  difficulty. 

The  March  Hare  baby  dealt  with  it  promptly  and  conclusively, 
not  without  some  show  of  pity  for  ELIZABETH'S  limited  intelli- 
gence. "  The  Gartner,  he  will  be  ADAM,'/  she  said:  "ADAM, 
in  Mummy's  story  was  a  Gartner,  aucJi." 

The  principal  roles  being  thus  distributed,  with  the  other 
babies  as  mute  supers  representing  the  Lion  pensive  beside  the 
Lamb,  symbols  of  the  peace  of  Eden  about  to  be  so  rudely  dis- 
turbed, I  was  able  to  retire  to  what  the  play-bill  would  call 
"Another  glade  in  Paradise,"  and  talk  in  solitude  with  my 
larches.  But  that  remark  of  ELIZABETH'S  kept  preying  on  my 
mind — "There  isn't  anybody  to  be  Adam!"  Such  a  want  of 
imagination ;  and  such  a  confession  of  a  woman's  standard  of 
desire  as  popularly  accepted !  I  shall  certainly  have  to  telegraph 
for  the  Man  of  War.  For  either  he  would  consent  to  be 
amused  by  a  kind  of  humour  that  diflers  essentially  from  mine, 
or  else,  if  she  failed  to  win  him  from  his  iron  mood,  he  would 
direct  her  attention,  with  paralysing  frankness,  to  the  limited 
purpose  served  by  all  women  in  any  decently  ordered  scheme 
of  society. 

22ND. — Dearest  Mamma, — You  can't  think  what  a  dismal  time  I 
am  having.  Some  stodgy  Fraus  have  called,  but  nothing  in  the 
shape  of  a  man.  And  even  then  I  didn't  count  because  I 


wasn't  married ;  as  if  one  could  possibly  marry  a  German, 
anyhow.  What  an  awful  price  to  pay  for  being  allowed  into 
their  cackling  old  hen  yards !  One  of  the  frumps  was  talkj^i  ^ 
of  a  French  girl,  in  Berlin,  whose  engagement  with  a  German 
officer  was  broken  off  because  he  saw  her  trying  to  climb  on  to 
the  top  of  a  train-car.  "  Wasn't  it  real  lace,"  I  asked,  "  or 
was  her  ankle  too  bulgy  ?  ' '  All  the  three  Fraus  turned  round 
with  a  jerk  and  put  up  their  glasses  at  me,  and  then  looked  at 
the  GrMn,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  What  is  this  thing?  "  So  the 
Grafin  explained  to  me  that  the  French  girl,  being  a  foreigner 
like  me,  didn't  know  that  the  law  wouldn't  let  women  ride  on 
the  top  of  trams,  because  it  was  bad  for  morals.  Aren't  they 
funny,  Mamma  ?  I  know  I  should  always  be  in  prison  or  somc- 
Avhere  if  I  lived  here  ;  not  that  it  would  make  much  difference, 
after  being  in  this  house. 

1  don't  so  much  mind  the  plain  living,  and  1  could  easily  do 
without  stupid  damsons  and  things  with  my  beef ;  but  it 's  what 
she  calls  the  "  high  thinking  "  that  is  so  difficult.  Of  ctmrse,  I 
don't  often  say  aloud  what  I'm  thinking  about,  but  I  know, 
by  the  Grafln's  eye,  that  she  can  always  tell  that  it  isn't  high 
enough.  Don't  be  surprised,  will  you,  Mamma,  if  I  telegraph 
some  day  for  you  to  write  and  tell  me  to  come  home?  The  only 
thing  that  consoles  me  here  is  looking  forward  to  the  Man- 
of-War  coming.  Meantime  I'm  wearing  to  a  thread,  and  CELES- 
TINE  talks  of  taking  in  my  waists,  and  I  really  ought  to  be  as  fat 
as  possible  to  please  the  Man-of-War,  because  they  must  be 
used  to  the  natives  being  podgy.  So  I  shall  go  in  for  what 
they  call  Swine-cutlets  and  Munich  Beer,  Avhich  are  very 

developing. 

Your  affectionate  daughter, 

ELIZABETH. 

26TH. — I  cannot  pretend  to  be  very  sorry  that  ELIZABETH  has 
suddenly  announced  that  she  has  to  leave  the  day  after  to- 
morrow ;  besides,  1  can  now  wire  to  the  Man  of  War  to  say 
that  he  need  not  come  ;  and  so  I  shall  have  the  pink  silence 
of  the  pines  all  to  myself.  I  really  had  tried  to  improve  her 
by  simple  processes  like  the  sight  of  a  sunset  through  woods  ; 
and  when  I  saw  a  far-away  look  in  her  eyes  I  thought  I  was 
having  a  certain  success,  till  she  said,  "I  do  like  that;  I 
simply  must  have  a  gown  of  that  shade."  Failing  here  I  was 
not  likely  to  succeed  on  subtler  points,  such  as  the  alertness 
of  tulips  or  the  stooping  divinity  of  nasturtiums. 

I  think  myself  fortunate  to  have  got  rid  of  ELIZABETH  so 
easily.  For  a  big  girl,  she  is  much  too  aggressively  innocent. 
I  always  suspect  people  of  that  kind;  they  seem  like  Persian 
Yellows,  very  plausible  to  the  careless  eye,  but  with  strange 
crawling  things  inside  them  when  you  look  closer. 

And  now  to  go  and  dance  with  my  daffodils  ! 

28TH. — Dearest  Mamma,  thank  you  for  answering  my  telegram 
so  quickly,  and  telling  me  I  may  come  home  at  once,  I  will 
explain  why.  Such  a  funny  thing  happened  four  days  ago.  It 
came  out  as  quite  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  that  the 
Grafin  is  married  to  the  Man-of-War  !  You  can  guess  how 
staggered  I  was  and  nearly  choked  over  my  Swine-cutlet, 
because  it  sounded  just  like  a  harem,  or  something  of  that 
sort,  only  the  other  way  about.  I  had  hardly  breath  enough 
to  ask  if  this  was  the  same  Man-of-War  that  she  was  expecting 
to-morrow,  and  the  Grafln  looked  quite  surprised  and  said  how 
could  there  be  more  than  one  Man-of-War,  and  I  didn't  know 
whether  she  meant  that  the  German  fleet  was  so  small,  but 
anyhow  I  agreed  with  her  that  one  Man-of-War  was  quite 
enough  to  be  married  to  at  once,  though  I  didn't  say  so.  And 
then  it  struck  me  that  if  they  were  all  married  to  her,  all  the 
officers,  I  mean,  tnere  would  be  nobody  left  over  for  me,  be- 
sides it  not  bein  *  quite  nice  for  me  to  stay  in  a  house  with 
a  hostess  marri-xl  to  so  many  people,  though  CELESTINE  says 
it  wouldn't  inotude  the  warrant-officers ;  but  then  she  is  so 
selfish  and  on) ;  thinks  about  herself.  And  that 's  why  I  sent 
you  the  telegram,  and  please  expect  me  soon  after  this  arrives. 
Of  course,  I  always  said  the  Grafln  was  a  stuffy  old  bore,  but 


APRIL  3,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


253 


I  never  should  have  thought  she  was  quite 
so  wicked.  I  almost  wonder  you  let  me 
e  here  at  all,  don't  you,  Mamma?  And 
fancy  me  being  afraid  that  the  Man-of- 
War  might  turn  out  to  be  an  innocent 
bulb,  and  I  remain, 

Your  affectionate  daughter, 
O.  S.  ELIZABETH. 


JEERS,   IDLE  JEERS! 

MINE  is,  alas  !  a  flippant  muse, 

If  she 's  a  heart  she  does  not  show  it, 
So  she  and  I  have  different  views  ; 

I  want  to  be  a  real  poet ! 
I  want  my  verses  to  be  read 

With  tears  by  men  of  lofty  station, 
I  want  a  statue,  when  I  'm  dead, 

Erected  by  a  grateful  nation  ! 

I  'm  sick  of  writing  ribald  rhymes, 

I  'rn  tired  of  cutting  humorous  capers, 
I  want  my  poems  in  The  Times 

And  all  the  other  daily  papers. 
Like  LEWIS  "MORRIS  I  will  sing 

— At  quite  unusual  length — of  Hades. 
The  critics  say  that  sort  of  thing 

Is  very  much  admired  by  ladies. 

With  WILLIAM  WATSON  I  '11  declaim 

Armenia's  woes  and  make  you  shudder, 
Or  rival  EDWIN  ARNOLD'S  fame, 

By  writing  further  reams  on  Buddha. 
I  feel  a  playwright's  fire  in  me, 

I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  it ; 
I  '11  write  a  blank  verse  tragedy 

And  Mr.  BEERBOHM  TREE  shall  play  it. 

I  '11  turn  out  patriotic  lays, 

And  make  the  music-halls  recite  them; 
They  '11  win  me  universal  praise — 

And  almost  any  fool  can  write  them. 
My  lyrics  shall  surpass  belief, 

I  '11  shine  alike  in  song  and  sonnet ; 
And  when  my  country  comes  to  grief 

I  '11  write  a  threnody  upon  it. 

Till  AUSTIN,  weary  of  the  way 

Those  wicked  critics'  daily  twit  him, 
Will  lay  aside  his  wreath  of  bay 

— Which  really  never  seems  to  fit  him. 
Then  all  the  other  bards  who  try 

To  seize  the  crown  will  be  rejected, 
For  nobody  can  doubt  that  I 

Shall  be  the  gentleman  selected. 

The  papers  will  be  charmed  to  hear 

That    one     fine     morning     I've     been 

knighted, 
And  later,  when  I  'm  made  a  peer, 

They  will  be  equally  delighted. 
And  when  my  day  of  death  is  come 

1  shall,  I  hope,  like  Master  HORNER, 
Pluck  from  life's  pie  one  final  plum 

Serenely  in  the  Poet's  Corner. 

ST.  J.  H. 


MAXIM  BY  GERMAN  EMPEROR.—"  Bring 
tip  a  boy  in  the  way  he  should  go,  and 
he  won't  throw  things  at  a  reigning 
monarch."  [N.B.  Other  Royalties  please 
copy.] 


A    QUESTION    OF    TASTE. 


Liz  (to  Emily).   "MrND  YER,  IT'S  ALL  ROIGHT   so   FUR  AS   IT  GOES.    ALL   I  SEZ  is,   IT 

WANTS  A    FEWER  OR  TWO,    OR  A    BIT    0*   PLUSH    SOMEW  HARES,    TO    GIVE     IT    WHAT    I    CALL 
STOTLB  !  " 


THE  LATEST  SENSATION. 

["  With  a  view  to  assisting  the  police,  a  society 
of  amateur  detectives  has  been  formed  to  arrest 
persons  of  suspicious  appearance." — Daily  Paper.] 

I  HAVE  got  him  at  last !  I  have  been 
following  him  for  the  past  ten  days,  hour 
by  hour  and  step  by  step.  It  was  a  near 
thing  when  I  tracked  him  to  refreshment 
department  of  the  Victoria  and  Albert 
Museum  ;  it  was  nearer  still  when  I  ran 
him  to  earth  at  Clapham  Junction.  But 
lie  slipped  through  my  fingers  on  both 
occasions.  Curse  him,  he  is  as  slippery 
as  DE  WET.  But  my  moment  of  triumph 
has  arrived.  In  a  few  minutes  I  shall 
have  taken  him  and  shown  that  an 
amateur  is  quite  as  good  as  one  of  the 
brightest  lights  of  the  Criminal  Investi- 
gation Department.  Ah,  my  good  Scotland 
Yard,  look  to  your  laurels  ! 

I  am  watching  for  him.  For  the  moment 
he  has  entered  a  public-house.  This  is 
not  his  first  visit.  But  I  hope  it  will  be 
his  last ! 

He  comes  out.     I  dodge  him,  ready  at 


a  moment's  notice  to  pounce.  We  look 
round  cautiously,  as  if  we  were  expecting 
someone. 

We  walk  carefully  one  before  the  other 
both  keenly  on  the  alert.  Suddenly  he 
turns  round,  and  now  we  are  face  to  face. 
I  rush  at  him.  He  rushes  at  me.  There 
is  a  terrible  struggle,  but  I  have  the 
better  of  it. 

"I  arrest  you!"  I  exclaim,  with  as 
much  dignity  as  I  can  muster  after  a 
quarter  of  an  hour's  fight. 

" Nonsense !  "  cries  my  capture.  "Non- 
sense !  Who  are  you  ?  ' ' 

"  I  am  a  member  of  the  Amateur  Detec- 
tive Force,  and  I  regard  you  as  a  sus- 
picious character." 

"  I  deny  your  authority.  Moreover,  I 
arrest  you." 

"  Arrest  me  ?  " 

"Yes;  because  I  am  a  real  detective, 
and  consider  yon  a  suspicious  character." 

I  submit  quietly. 

P.S. — Waiting  at  a  police  station  for 
someone  to  bail  me  out !  Take  my  name  off 
the  Amateur  Detective  League  to-morrow ! 


254 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHAKIVAKI. 


[APRIL  3,  1901. 


THE  SPLENDID  BANKRUPT. 

(Being  a  flint  to  our  Legislators  and  a 
Reminder  to  the  Official  Receiver.) 

UNDER  its  spreading  bankruptcy 
The  village  mansion  stands  ;    , 

Its  lord,  a  mighty  man  is  he, 
With  large,  broad-acred  lands  ; 

And  the  laws  that  baulk  his  creditors 
Are  strong  as  iron  bands. 

His  laugh  is  free  and  loud  and  long, 

His  dress  is  spick-and-span  ; 
He  pays  no  debt  with  honest  sweat, 

He  keeps  whate'er  he  can, 
And  stares  the  whole  world  in  the  face, 

For  he  fears  not  any  man. 

Week  in,  week  out,  from  morn  till  night, 
Prince-like  he  runs  the  show  ; 

And  a  round  of  social  gaieties 
Keeps  things  from  getting  slow— 

As  the  agent  of  his  wife,  of  course, 
His  credit 's  never  low. 

His  children,  coming  back  from  school, 

Bless  their  progenitor, 
Who  's  ruffling  at  the  yearly  rate 

Of  fifteen  thou.  or  more, 
Nor  care  they  how  his  victims  fly 

To  the  workhouse  open  door. 

He  goes  on  Sunday  to  the  church 

With  all  whom  he  employs, 
To  hear  the  parson  pray  and  preach, 

Condemning  stolen  joys  ; 
It  falls  like  water  off  his  back — 

His  conscience  ne'er  annoys. 

Scheming,  promoting,  squandering, 
Onward  through  life  he  goes  ; 

Each  morning  sees  some  "  deal  "  begun, 
Each  evening  sees  it  close  ; 

Some  coup  attempted,  someone  "  done," 
Has  earned  a  night's  repose. 

Thanks,  thanks,  to  thee,  my  worthy  friend, 
For  the  lesson  thou  hast  taught ! 

Thus  in  the  busy  City  life 
Our  fortunes  must  be  wrought ; 

Thus  does  the  Splendid  Bankrupt  thrive 
While  honest  fools  get  nought  !j 

A.  A.  S. 


CONCERNING   THE  CENSUS. 
SCENE.  —  The  sanctum    of  Paterfamilias 
TIME. — The  morning  for  national  statistics 

Head  of  the  Family  (after  filling  in  form) 
Now,  Cook,  I  think  I  have  all  the  details. 

Coofc.  Yes,  Sir,  same  as  last  time  you 
took  it. 

Head.  And  your  age? 

Coofc.  Same  too,  Sir,  if  you  please,  Sir. 

[Exit  cook. 

Head  (turning  to  guest).  And  now,  my 
dear  Miss  LUCY,  I  am  afraid  I  must  be 
very  inquisitive.  You  have  most  kindly 
filled  in  the  blanks— all  but  the  age. 

Miss  Lucy.  There  's  my  difficulty,  I  am 
not  quite  sure  of  the  year.  My  birthday 
was  on  the  27th. 

Head.  Yes,  but  that  is  scarcely  a  guide 


!an  you  remember  any  event  to  fix  it  in 
your  mind  ?  For  instance,  there  was  the 
?aris  Exhibition  of  last  year. 

Miss  Lucy.  Oh,  I  didn't  see  it;  but  I 
remember  the  one  before  it. 

Head.  That  will  help  us— eleven  years 
ago. 

Miss  Lucy.  And  I  thought  it  so  different 
from  our  own  one.  I  remember,  as  quite 
a  wee  wee  child,  the  Crystal  Palace. 

Head.  No  doubt  at  Sydenhain  ? 

Miss  Lucy.  Wasn't  it  in  Hyde  Park  ? 

Head.  Yes,  that  was  in  1851.  Oh,  if 
you  remember  that,  you  must  be 

Miss  Lucy  (interrupting).  Oh,  pray  don't 
worry   about    dates.      (Smiling)    I  see  I 
mu-st  tell  you  the  truth,  so  please  put  me 
down  at  five  and  twenty. 
(Curtain.) 


A  LIFE  TAX. 

["  At  a  meeting  of  the  Colchester  Town  Council 
it  was  announced  that  owing  to  the  remarkably 
healthy  state  of  the  borough  the  cemetery  was  no 
longer  self-supporting  and  had  to  be  maintained 
out  of  the  rates." — Daily  Telegraph.] 

O  FAVOURED  town,  such  health  to  know 
As  crowns  Hygeia's  rose-white  brow, 
Thy  secret  to  the  world  avow. 

Thou  hast  no  traffic's  crowd  to  cross, 
Which  means  so  often  certain  loss 
Of  life  beneath  the  hoof  of  hoss. 

Nor  flats  built  half-way  to  the  skies, 
To  toil  up  which  the  strongest  tries  ; 
Such  flats  are  death-traps  in  disguise. 

Perchance  no  motors  chase  the  wind 
And  leave  (besides  the  smell)  behind 
A  track  of  over-run  mankind. 

And  is  thy  beer  from  arsenic  free  ? 
Thy  water  germless  ?    And  is  the 
Milk  pure  and  wholesome  as  can  be? 

Or  is  it  that  thy  people  must 
Not  in  thy  town  return  to  dust 
To  baulk  An  Undertaker's  Trust  ? 


NATURE'S  ALLY. 

["It  is  proposed  to  illuminate  the  Yosemite 
Falls,  California,  by  twenty  arc  electric  lights 
arranged  for  colour  effects.  The  falls  are  2600  feei 
high."—  The  Globe.] 

OH,  who  shall  dare  in  after  days 
To  pipe  a  song  in  Nature's  praise  ? 
Nature,  who  really  seems  afraid 
To  push  her  little  stock-in-trade. 
Old  are  her  hills,  her  valleys,  too, 
In  all  her  works  there  's  nothing  new. 
But  what  is  sadder  to  relate 
She  will  not  bring  them  up  to  date. 
She  forms  a  mountain  and  then  fails 
To  furnish  it  with  train  and  rails. 
She  takes  decades  to  mould  a  crater 
And  then  forgets  the  elevator. 
Such     carelessness,   pray,     who   coulc 

pardon  ? 

She  wonderfully  plans  a  garden, 
A  natural  haven  of  delight 
And  overshadows  it  by  night, 


Leaving  the  Yankee,  most  Twen-centy, 
To  fit  it  up  with  arc  lights  twenty.. 
So  now  the  works  you  can  compare 
Of  Nature  with,  the  millionaire. 
How  faint  the  glories  of  the  skies 
Compared  with  Yankee  enterprise  ! 
We  wait  to  see  Niagara's  Falls, 
Supplied  with  countless  music  halls. 
For  where  exhausted  Nature  ends 
America  assistance  lends. 


WHAT  IT  MUST  NEVER  COME  TO. 
A  purely  imaginary  Sketch. 

LECTURER. — Now,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen, 
as  you  have  seen  a  crater  in  action  and 
other  interesting  matters  of  a  purely 
public  character,  I  will  show  you  what  I 
nay  call  the  private  side  of  life.  Here  we 
have  Mr.  BROWN  proposing  to  Miss  SMITH. 
Illustration.)  You  will  notice  that  the 
bridegroom-elect — for  so  he  will  be  by- 
and-bye — is  a  little  nervous.  He  has 
mocked  over  a  chair — (laughte1^) — and  has 
some  difficulty  in  falling  upon  his  knees. 
[Laughter.)  He  takes  her  hand,  presses  it 
to  his  heart  and — well,  we  can  imagine 
the  rest.  (Applause.)  And  now,  while  we 
are  preparing  our  next  illustration,  I  can 
let  you  into  the  secret  of  how  these 
things  are  done.  Like  all  great  dis- 
coveries, the  matter  is  simplicity  itself. 
All  we  have  had  to  do  has  been  to  arrange 
an  automatic  apparatus,  which  records 
what  is  going  on  in  the  apartment  in 
which  it  is  fixed.  Quite  simple,  and  yet 
wonderful.  Now  we  shall  be  able  to  pro- 
ceed. Our  next  illustration  is  the  execu- 
tion of  the  Rottenborough  Murderer. 
(Loud  applause.) 

[The  Entertainment  proceeds. 


AN   OPTIMIST'S   SPRING  SONG. 

SPRING,  while  at  you  the  cynics  rail, 

Your  fickleness  arraigning, 
Not  ours  your  coldness  to  assail, 

With  querulous  complaining. 
To  you  glad  greetings  still  we  bring, 

With  vernal  transports  glowing, 
For,  though  you  might  be  milder,  spring, 

It  is  not  always  snowing. 

Though  frequent  blizzards  swirl  and  shriek 

Our  very  marrows  freezing, 
And  though  the  climate  hard  and  bleak 

Sets  feeble  wind-pipes  wheezing  ; 
We  at  our  snug  firesides  can  stay, 

In  cosy  armchairs,  knowing 
The  clouds  will  pass  away  some  day — 

It  is  not  always  snowing. 

Nay  then,  sweet  spring,  we  still  can  smile 

Though  by  your  scourgings  smitten, 
And  though  we  sneeze  and  shiver,  while 

By  your  keen  tooth  we're  bitten  ; 
This  thought  can  mitigate  our  pains, 

A  soothing  balm  bestowing — 
Sometimes  it  only  hails  and  rains, 

It  is  not  always  snowing. 


APBIL  3,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


255 


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256 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[APBIL  3,  1901 


OPEBATIC    PEOSPECTS. 

SOME  say  the  season 's'going  to  be  a  French  'un. 

The  ground  for  which  assertion,  I  may  mention, 

Is,  that  a  name  whereon  I  place  my  finger, 

In  the  subscribers'  list  is  "  Paris  Singer." 

"Which,"  as  says  EUCLID,  "is  absurd."     Dismiss  it. 

All  ask  if  Madame  MELBA  will  revisit 

The  stage  she  brightens  \vith  her  charming  trill  ? 

Her  answer 's  yet  to  come  ;  perhaps  she  will. 

Well,  "  if  she  will,  she  will,  you  may  depend  on  't," 

"And  if  she  won't,  she  won't,  and  there  's  an  end  on  't." 

Yet  with  good  names  the  opera  programme  teems — 

ADAMS,  TERNINA,  BAUERMEISTER,  EAMES, 

MAUBOURG  and  GADSKY,  BREMA  and  SOBRINO, 

And  of  the  others  many  have  we  seen  ?    No. 

But  there  is  one  whom  all  will  hail  with  "  Salve  !  " 

That  great  dramatic  singer,  Madame  CALVE. 

Now  for  "  the  spear  side  "  :  Would  you  hear  "  Otello  "  ? 

Then  here  's  TAMAGNO  ;  he  's  the  very  fellow  ! 

PLAN^ON,  SALEZA,  BISPHAM,  COATES,  and  BLASS 

As  Dogberry,  singing,  "Write  me  down  an  ass," 

Tn  opera,  by  VILLIERS  STANFORD,  who 

Has  set  to  music  SHAKSPEARE'S  "  Much  Ado." 

Names  of  VAN  DYCK,  VAN  ROOY,  the  list  has  got : 

Two  Vans  for  all  this  Covent  Garden  lot ! 

They  '11  sing  their  songs  as  well  as  e'er  they  've  sung  'em, 

Although  you  '11  note  they  've  but  one  Jvnote  among  them  ! 

The  orchestra  as  large  and  good  as  ever. 

FLON,  MANCINELLI,  both  Conductors  clever. 

With  FORSYTH  Manager  success  is  certain ; 

But,  hush  !     The  overture !  .  .  .  .  Ring  up  the  curtain  ! 


OUK  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

A  DAINTY  little  book  for  the  pocket  is  the  collection  of  TENNY- 
SON'S Love  Poems  (JOHN  LANE).  The  Easter  holiday-maker, 
travelling  for  recreation,  will  do  well  to  carry  this  with  him, 
and  learn  half  a  poem  a  day. 

"Hullo,  here's  a  church!"  said  Mr.  Wemmiclc,  walking 
through  Walworth,  Miss  ftkiffins  on  his  arm.  "  Let 's  go  in  and 
get  married."  "Hullo!"  says  Mr.  BARING-GOULD,  "there's 
much  talk  just  now  in  Blue  Books  and  Parliament  about  lead 
poisoning  in  the  earthenware  works.  Let 's  go  down  to  the 
Potteries  and  write  a  novel."  This  he  does,  calls  it  The 
Frobishers,  and  Mr.  METHUEN  publishes  it.  It  is  a  sadly 
inartistic  piece  of  work.  In  hardly  any  scene  are  the  flats 
joined.  The  materials  are  older  than  the  first  number  of  the 
London  Journal.  There  is  the  rightful  heir  (Beaudessart)  re- 
instated, the  superseded  family,  including  a  lovely  girl,  left 
destitute.  This  makes  an  opening  for  the  Potteries,  and  for 
Mr.  BARING-GOULD  to  work  up  information  about  work  there 
learned  in  a  flying  visit.  There  is  the  leering,  lustful  manager 
of  the  works  ;  the  virtuous  girl,  who  is  finally  married  to  the 
re-instated  heir,  and  lives  happy  evermore  in  her  old  home. 
"  A  poor  thing,"  my  Baronite  says.  "But  mine  own,"  retorts 
Mr.  BARING-GOULD,  capping  the  quotation. 

In  The  Wizard's  Knot  (FISHER  UN  WIN)  WILLIAM  BARRY  [tout 
court,  for  is  he  not  the  Reverend  and  "D.D."  to  boot?]  has 
written  a  romance  of  Irish  life  which,  in  many  respects,  other 
writers  in  the  same  field  of  literature  would  find  hard  to  beat. 
His  gift  of  poetic  description,  his  thorough  knowledge  and 
genuine  appreciation  of  certain  phases  of  the  Celtic  character, 
coupled  with  his  power  of  life-like  portraiture  (for  they  are 
more  than  sketches  of  those  who  have  unconsciously  served 
him  as  models)  give  to  his  work  a  charm  which,  as  a  mere  tale, 
it  does  not  possess.  The  story  is  thin,  and  it  is  not  long 
before  whatever  interest  has  been  awakened  at  the  com- 
mencement is  obscured  by  clouds  of  far-fetched  epithets  or 


lost  in  a  labyrinth  of  puzzling  paragraphs.  Sometimes  the  Baron 
has  paused  in  his  pleasurable  toil  to  wonder  if  BARRY  could 
possibly  be  the  Irish  spelling  of  MEREDITH.  Nevertheless,  the 
character  of  O'Dtoyer,  scholar,  peasant,  poet,  hedge-school- 
master, medicine-man  and  wizard,  is  a  masterpiece. 

In  Two  Sides  of  a  Question  MAY  SINCLAIR  (ARCHIBALD  CON- 
STABLE &  Co.)  gives  us  two  stories,  of  which,  my  Baronitess 
says,  the  second,  "Superseded,"  is  the  better.  Both  stories 
are  somewhat  pessimistic,  and  should  therefore  be  read  when 
you  are  in  the  best  of  health  on  a  sunshiny  day.  The  second 
story  is  notable  for  its  quaint  touches  of  character  in  the 
narrow  life  of  a  middle-aged  teacher  of  arithmetic. 

"Finding  on  my  table,"  quoth  the  studious  and  indefatigable 
Baron,  "a  book  entitled  Veronica  Vernon,  the  first  chapter  of 
which  was  headed  'I  vegetate,'  it  occurred  to  me  that  MINA 
SANDEMAN'S  Veronica  Vernon  Vegetarian  (JOHN  LONG)  offered  a 
prospect  no  less  of  entertainment  than,  judging  from  its  dedi- 
cation '  to  the  Blessed  Angels  on  spheres  of  light,'  and  to  '  all 
champions  of  the  helpless,'  of  instruction."  So  the  Baron 
bravely  went  to  work  ;  and  in  the  course  of  perusal  took  a 
considerable  amount  of  exercise  ;in  the  way  of  skipping,  by 
which  means  he  sped  along  with  agility  to  Chapter  XV.,  headed 
"  I  receive  a  shock,"  and  the  story  being  sufficiently  interest- 
ing (somewhat  after  the  manner  of  that  very  original  "  My 
dear  Diary,"  of  years  ago)  to  warrant  the  Baron's  seeing  it 
through  to  the  bitter  (or  sweet)  end,  the  undaunted  Baron 
bent  to  his  work  with  stern  determination.  He  passed  to 
Chapter  XVI.  Story  going  -well,  interest  improving;  nearing 

the  denoftment.     Now    for    Chapter    XVII Hallo !     ATo 

Chapter  XVII. !  !  !  But  instead,  Chapter  XV.  over  again,  with 
same  heading  "I  receive  a  shock."  The  Baron  did,  indeed, 
"  receive  a  shock  !  "  Rarely  has  he  ever  been  so  "  shock'd." 
The  numbers,  too,  of  the  pages  had  got  mixed.  Here  is  296 
next  to  265,  and  at  280  the  book  finishes  with  this  broken  line, 

"  '  You  look  very  pensive,  Miss  VEBDAXT,'  remarked  " 
That's  all.  "Here  break  we  off" — with  a  vengeance.  Who 
"remarked"?  What  did  he  remark?  There's  no  intimation 
that  the  story  is  to  be  "  continued  in  our  next."  No  ;  nothing. 
As,  on  a  memorable  occasion,  Miss  SQUEERS  exclaimed,  "  Is  this 
the  hend  ?  ' '  so,  aspirate  included,  hasks  the  disappointed  and 

PUZZLED  BARON  DE  BOOK-WORMS. 


THE  DRINK  OF  PEERS. 

["  Ginger  ale"  is  advertised  "  as  druuk  in  the  House  of  Lords."] 
COME,  fill  the  cup  !     The  peers  look  wan  and  pale, 
And  'neath  their  legislative  labours  fail ; 

Half  round  the  hours  the  minute  hand  hath  stole  ; 
Enough  !  come  fill  the  cup  with  ginger  ale ! 
Fill  high  the  foaming  nectar  !     Do  not  fear 
To  quaff  the  sparkling  cup,  for  every  peer, 

Though  drinking,  shall  be  sober  :  it  alone 
Is  drunk  within  the  gilded  chamber  here. 
Far  other  drinks  our  fathers  used  to  swill 
From  sunny  A'ineyard  or  from  Highland  still ; 

But  since  a  gouty  habit  they  bequeathed 
To  us,  we  needs  must  be  teetotal  still. 
Although  for  smallest  mercies  we  would  fain 
Express  due  gratitude,  mere  doles  are  vain 

To  make  our  shrunken  rent-rolls  what  they  were, 
And  ginger  ale  is  cheaper  than  champagne. 
If  by  some  strange  mischance  (and  here  's  the  rub  !) 
The  Children's  Bill,  despite  the  CECIL'S  snub, 

Should  pass  this  session,  whom  have  we  to  send 
To  fetch  our  modest  pewter  from  the  pub.  ? 
Then  let  the  baffled  brewers  wrathful  rail, 
And  curse  the  Lords  for  their  decreasing  sale  ; 

Health,  purse,  necessity  together  cry, 
"  Con  3,  fill  the  cup,  ye  Peers,  with  ginger  ale  !  " 


APRIL  3,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


CONVERSATIONAL  HINTS  FOR  YOUNG  RIDERS.  . 

CHAPTER  XI. 

Hunting-types — The  Veteran,  "  Old  Ribs." 
THERE  is  in  every  hunt  at  least  one  veteran  who  has  followed 
those  particular  hounds  since  he  was  a  boy,  who  swears  by 
them  as  the  very  best  pack  in  the  world,  who  comes  out 
with  them  still  on  every  hunting  day,  and  whose  words 
are  regarded  with  an  almost  superstitious  reverence  by 
all  the  rest.  His  dress  conveys  an  idea  of  immemorial 
antiquity,  suggesting  the  sporting  pictures  of  a  day  long 
since  gone  by.  His  hat  is  low-crowned  and  broad-brimmed, 
his  chin  is  sunk  into  the  folds  of  an  ample  hunting-stock 
Avith  a  plain  gold  pin  to  keep  it  together.  His  coat  is  of  a 
sub-fuse  hue,  his  breeches  are  of  serviceable  brown  cord,  and 
hhs  legs  are  cased  in  an  old  pair  of  butcher  boots  made  of  limp 
leather  and  heavily  crinkled  and  wrinkled  from  top  to  bottom. 
His  spurs  make  no  pretence  to  ape  the  fashion  ;  they  are  short 
and  curved,  rather  than  long  and  straight.  His  queer  old  crop 
with  its  brown  thong  adds  a  final  touch  of  character  to  his 
make-up.  His  nag,  like  his  breeches,  is  meant  for  service 
rather  than  for  show — a  bony,  angular  grey,  short-coupled  and 
as  hard  as  nails,  emphatically  not  a  horse, 

Swift  as  the  Arab  steed  that  leads  the  rush 

Of.turbaned  warriors. 

nor  one  on  which  you  would  choose  to  make  an  effort 
To  pluck  bright  honour  from  the  pale-faced  moon, 

but,  nevertheless,  a  horse  that  invariably  manages,  with  the 
cheer}',  grey-whiskered  veteran  on  his  back,  to  be  well  up  with 
the  hounds  when  the  run  ends,  no  matter  what  the  country 
may  be  over  which  the  fox  has  led  them  in  his  race  for  life* 
Wonderful  stories  are  told  of  this  horse,  his*  patriarchal  age, 
his  capacity  for  endurance,  his  marvellous  wisdom.  "  Old 
Ribs  "  he  is  called  by  the  younger  and  light-minded  members 
of  the  hunt,  who  yet,  one  and  all,  profess  and  feel  an  un- 
bounded admiration  for  his  prowess  and  that  of  his  rider.  It 
was  "Old  Ribs"  who,  when  his  master  once  fell  off  into  a 
thick  and  muddy  ditch  (we  are  all  human,  even  the  oldest  of 
us;  and  we  all  fall  now  and  then),  sat  by  him — "Yes,  Sir,  I 
give  you  my  word  of  honour,  sat  by  him  like  "a  dog" — the 
old  gentleman  having  wrenched  his  leg  and  being  unable  to 
struggle  out,  and  eventually  summoned  assistance  by  plucking 
a  farm-labourer  by  his  smock  until  he  induced  the  astounded 
rustic  to  follow  him  to  the  scene  of  the  disaster.  And  it  was 
"Old  Ribs"  who,  on  the  following  hunting  day,  his  master 
being  still  laid  up,  managed  to  escape  from  his  loose-box  and 
appeared  at  the  front  door  at  the  usual  time  bearing  his 
master's  hunting  crop  in  his  mouth.  There  are  a  hundred 
other  stories,  all  equally  veracious,  and  all  bearing  testimony 
to  the  virtues  of  this  unparalleled  animal,  who  has  never  within 
tho  memory  of  other  veterans  been  young,  and  will  never  grow 
old.  Some  day,  years  and  years  hence,  a  flight  of  shining  winged 
horselB  will  descend  upon  the  stable  where  "Old  Ribs"  has 
his  home  and  will  bear  him  away  to  another  happy  ground 
where  there  is  no  wire  fencing,  and  where  ghostly  hounds  chase 
shadowy  foxes  for  ever  through  the  asphodel  country  without 
a  check.  But  in  the  meantime  this  type  of  perennial  equine 
middle-age  remains  to  delight  our  hunt  and  to  carry  his  gallant 
old  master.  He  is  a  horse  of  character  and  has  opinions  of  his 
own.  Certain  fences  there  are  that  he  simply  won't  jump,  and 
Avhen  he  comes  to  one  of  them  he  just  stops  and  turns  his  Avise 
old  head  round.  His  rider  knows  him  too  well  to  try  to  flog 
him  or  spur  him  over.  He  dismounts  in  the  most  amiable  and 
accommodating  Avay,  and  while  the  youngsters  arc  charging  and 
blundering  and  scrambling  to  right  and  to  left  of  him  he  takes 
the  reins  in  his  hand,  gets  over  the  ditch,  climbs  the  bank, 
brings ' '  Old  Ribs ' '  cheerfully  after  him,  and  so  down  on  the  other 
side  Avithout  any  silly  fuss  or  ceremony.  It  is  a  convention 
betAveen  horse  and  rider,  and  each  does  his  part  perfectly. 


UNANSWERABLE. 

Young  Impecunious  Swell  (rather  proud  of  his  figure,  ami  anxious  to 
produce  a  great  effect  at  a  forthcoming  County  Ball — to  Tailor).  "  I  SAT, 

MY  FRIEND,  DO  ME  A  GREAT  FAVOUR  ;  LET  ME  HAVE  THIS  NEW  SUIT 
BY  THE  END  OP  THE  WEEK,  AND  I  SHALL  BE  FOR  EVER  AND  EVER 
INDEBTED  TO  YOU." 

Tailor.  "THANK  YOU  MUCH,  SIR;  BUT  I  THINK,  ox  CONSIDERA- 
TION, I  SHOULD  PREFER  A  CHEQUE  DOWN,  EVEN  UNDER  A  SLIGHT 
DISCOUNT." 


"Why  don't  you  put  the  saddle  on  and  let  the  horse  mount 
you  ?  "  said  an  irreverent  novice  Avhen  he  saw  this  performance 
being  gone  through.  The  old  man  made  no  reply,  but  he  had 
his  quiet  revenge.  At  the  next  fence  the  scoffer  parted 
company  with  his  fiery  Bucephalus,  and  the  veteran  as  he 
passed  tossed  him  a  ginger  biscuit,  saying,  "It's  all  I  can 
spare,"  and  left  him  gazing  disconsolately  at  the  vanishing 
flight  of  hounds  and  horsemen. 


RATHER  "OUT  OF  IT  " 

OH,  my  dear  Sir,  my  very  dear  Sir,  I  've  had  such  a  shock  r 
Having  mislaid  my  glasses — meaning  spectacles  ;  no  other 
glasses,  being  an  almost  total  abstainer  —  my  nephew  was 
reading  aloud  to  me  from  The  Times  of  Tuesday,  March  26. 
We  only  get  it  fifth  hand,  being  rather  out  of  the  Avay  and 
economical,  and  so  it  was  not  until  yesterday  that  I  heard  the 
news.  It  Avas  : — 

"King  CHRISTIAN  toasted  King  EDWARD." 

I  was  horrified. 

And  ate  him  ?  " 

Ah  !  Then  came  my  nephew's  explanation.  But  can  I  trust 
him?  He  's  a  bit  of  a  wag,  and  when  he  says  that  to  "  toast  a 
person  "  only  means  to  drink  his  health,  1  have  my  doubts.  I 
certainly  have  heard  someone  "propose  a  toast,"  but  that's 
quite  another  affair.  However,  if  I  don't  hear  from  you  to  the 
contrary,  I  shall  with  pleasure  accept  my  iiepheAV  JIM'S  explana- 
tion.—Yours,  DORCAS  DULLASLED. 

Ditchwater  Dyke  Dell,  Dumpshire. 


I  could  not  help  gasping  out  the  question, 


258 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[APRIL  3,  1901. 


THE    LABOUR    MARKET. 

Employer.    "  I  SHAN'T  SPEAK  TO  YOU  AGAIN  ABOUT  GETTING  ON  WITH  YOUK  WORK,  YOUNG  MAN.     THE  NEXT  TIME  I  CATCH  YOU 

IDLING   ABOUT,    YOU  'lL   HAVE    TO   GO." 

Boy  (confidentially}.   "  CHAPS  is  SCARCE  !  " 


A   SHAKSPEARIAN   SOUVENIR. 

FIRST-RATE  idea  of  Mr.  TREE'S  (whose  impersonation  of 
Malvolio  is  a  masterpiece  of  comicality),  especially  when 
carried  out  to  something  nearly  approaching  perfection,  is 
that  of  presenting  your  audience  with  a  "souvenir"  of 
the  fiftieth  or  hundredth  night  of  the  run  of  a  Shakspearian 
or,  for  the  matter  of  that,  of  any  other  play.  Now  this 
artistic  "souvenir,"  very  cleverly  drawn  by  CHAS.  BUCHEL 
and  reproduced  in  colour  by  HENTSCHEL  LTD.,  is  of  itself 
an  attraction  to  re-visit  Her  Majesty's,  The  likenesses  are 
excellent,  invaluable  to  a  theatrical  collector  ;  but,  as  they 
are  likenesses  only  of  the  "characters,"  would  it  not  add 
considerably  to  the  value  of  Another  "souvenir"  were  the 
portraits  of  actresses  or  actors  In  everyday  attire  placed  in 
juxta-position  to  that  of  themselves  "  in  character  "?  Would 
it  not  be  an  invaluable  lesson  in  the  art  of  "making-up"? 
"Would  it  not  be  an  additional  tribute  to  the  artistic  talent 
of  the  actor,  for  every  actor  must  have  in  him,  more  or  less, 
the  germs  of  the  historical  artist's  peculiar  power  ?  Sometimes 
the  actor  has  to  reproduce  historical  portraiture  :  at  other 
times  he  has  to  consult  the  author,  and  draw  the  portrait  of  the 
character  he  is  assuming  from  the  latter's  conception  of  it. 


But  in  a  play  of  Shakspearian  fancy  he  has  to  determine  for 
himself,  or  to  blend  his  own  idea  with  that  of  whoever  is 
charged  with  the  production  of  the  piece.  However,  this  is 
not  an  essay  on  "the  art  of  making-up,"  and  Mr.  Punch's 
Representative  has  only  to  record  the  vast  improvement  of 
Miss  MAUD  JEFFRIES'  Olivia  (since  the  first  night)  and  the  con- 
tinued success  of  Ttuelfth  Night,  which,  filling  Her  Majesty's 
nightly,  bids  fair,  judging  from  the  present  undoubted  popu- 
larity, to  achieve  an  exceptionally  long  run. 


USEFUL  PRESENTS  FOR  EASTER. 

Russia. — A  scheme  for  suppressing  anarchy  and  establishing 
liberty  without  license.  France. — A  plan  to  wipe  out  the  de- 
ficit of  the  Paris  Exhibition  and  to  give  rest  to  the  unrestful. 
Spain. — A  project  for  reconciling  the  irreconcilables.  Italy. — 
An  idea  for  retrenchment  without  effacement.  Turkey. — A  com- 
position without  bankruptcy.  China. — A  government  without 
examination.  Japan. — A  mode  of  securing  amiable  neighbours 
without  recourse  to  the  sword  or  Oriental  diplomacy.  United 
States. — Protection  without  defiance.  Knowledge  that  the 
money  of  the  millionaire  would  sometimes  be  more  useful  in 
the  pockets  of  the  millions.  Great  Britain. — A  contented  mind 
under  the  coming  burden  of  increased  taxation. 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.— APRIL  3,  1901. 


THE  HOUSE  AND  THE  CENSUS. 

MR.  PUNCH  (the  ENUMERATOR).  "  WHO  IS  MASTER  HERE  ?  " 

IRISH  PARTY.  "SURE  IT'S  MYSELF?    I'M  THE  MASTER  HERE." 

THE  ENUMERATOR.  "WHO  SLEPT  HERE  LAST  NIGHT?" 

IRISH  PARTY.  "  DIVIL  A  ONE!    I  KEPT  THE  WHOLE  HOUSE  AWAKE  WITH  MY   SHINDY!" 


APBIL  3,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


261 


ESSENCE    OF    PARLIAMENT. 

EXTRACTED  FROM  THE  DIARY  OF  TOBY,  M.P. 

House  of  Commons,  Monday,  March  25. — 
"When  C.-B.  is  away  the  SQUIRE  doth 
play,"  said  SARR,  dropping  into  poetry, 
and,  unlike  Mr.  Silas  Wegg,  scorning  to 
make  extra  charge. 

Leader  of  Opposition  at  home  nursing  a 
cold,  SQUIRE  OP  MALWOOD,  returning  to 
old  work,  took  his  place  and,  to  a  certain 
extent,  made  things  hum.  That  very  hard 
task  after  an  hour's  experience  with  dull- 
Avitted  Irishmen  of  the  type  of  O'DOHERTY 
trying  their  hand  at  the  game  of  baiting 
Ministers  with  questions.  Nevertheless, 
SQUIRE  in  good  form.  Recalled  old  times 
when  gentlemen  on  Front  Bench  lived  up 
to  axiom  that  the  duty  of  an  Opposition  is 
to  oppose.  Harking  back  to  controversy 
last  week  when  PRINCE  ARTHUR,  designing 
to  dish  obstructionists,  submitted  Civil 
Service  Estimates  in  lump  sum,  the  SQUIRE 
extracted  from  SPEAKER  a  ruling  that  will 
prevent  its  repetition.  Also  he  made 
clear  inconvenient  fact  that  when  BROD- 
RICK,  disclosing  new  Army  plan,  announced 
that  the  Navy  would  hereafter  look  after 
the  coaling  stations  he  counted  without 
the  Admiralty. 

PRINCE  ARTHUR  a  great  admirer  of  the 
SQUIRE'S. 

"HARCOURT,"  he  once  said  to  the 
MEMBER  FOR  SARK,  "  is  the  last  survivor 
of  the  old  type  of  the  highest  form  of  the 
House  of  Commons  man." 

That  an  abstract  opinion,  dropped  in 
flush  of  generous  talk  about  an  ancient 
foeman.  In  the  concrete,  aggravating  to 
the  swreetest  temper  to  have  the  SQUIRE 
unexpectedly  waking  up  and  showing  how 
an  Opposition  ought  to  be  led.  He  sub- 
mitted his  point  of  order  to  the  SPEAKER 


The  Concrete  (Sir  Wm.  H-rc-rt)  pitches  into  the 
Abstract  (Mr.  B-lf-r). 


OFF   FOR  A    (NORTH-)   EASTER  HOLIDAY! 

(A3   IT  PROMISES  TO   BE— UGH  !  !  ) 


at  prodigious  length.    Question  reached 
proportions  of  ordinary  speech. 

"  I  understand,"  said  PRINCE  ARTHUR, 
with  wicked  emphasis  on  the  numeral, 
"  the  right  hon.  gentleman  submitted  one 
question  on  one  point  of  order." 

Then  in  snappish  tone  he  proceeded,  as 
briefly  as  possible,  to  defend  the  action 
taken. 

Bad  enough  to  have  Irish  Members 
yelping  at  his  heels  night  after  night 
through  the  week,  coarsely  belittling  his 
gifts  as  Leader.  To  have  the  SQUIRE  OP 
MALWOOD  suddenly  resuming  reins  of 
leadership  a  visitation  equivalent  to  the 
last  straw.  The  Leader  of  the  House  of 
Commons  is,  after  all,  almost  human. 

Business  done.  —  Appropriation  Bill 
brought  in. 

Tuesday  night.  —  House  adjourned  at 
quarter  to  live  this  morning ;  SPEAKER 
took  chair  again  at  three  this  afternoon. 
Shifts  in  a  coal  mine  easy  going  compared 
with  this.  The  sturdy  miner  shares  the 
labour  of  a  day  with  another,  a/nd  would 
raise  the  roof  off  the  mine  if  he  were 
called  upon  to  extend  one-  of  his  working 
shifts  for  an  uninterrupted  space  of  four- 
teen hours. 

In  point  of  time,  matters  growing  criti- 
cal with  Appropriation  Bill.  In  order  to 
conform  to  statutory  regulations  govern- 
ing close  of  financial  year  must  get  it- 
through  all  stages  before  Saturday. 
Natural  to  suppose  House  meeting 
again  this  afternoon  would  straightway 
proceed  to  Second  Reading  of  the  Bill. 
That  would  be  all  very  well  f  >r  gather- 
ing of  private  commercial  coiupany,  of 


Board  of  Guardians,  or  of  a  Vestry.  The 
Mother  of  Parliaments  knows  better.  The 
first  and  freshest  four  hours  of  the  sitting 
were  given  up  to  a  Private  Bill.  Then 
came  cloud  of  Questions  darkening  the 
dinner  hour.  At  length,  in  almost  empty 
House,  a  few  tired -out  Members  pro- 
ceeded to  Debate  Second  Reading  of 
Appropriation  Bill. 

Proceedings  deadly  dull.  House  in 
comatose  state.  Shortly  after  midnight 
Members  on  Ministerial  side,  waking  out 
of  troubled  doze,  found  SPEAKER  on  his 
legs  putting  question ;  groped  their  way 
into  Division  Lobby,  and  so  home  to  bed. 

Business  done. — Appropriation  Bill  read 
a  second  time. 

Thursday  night. — Like  the  burglar's,  the 
life  of  the  Under  Secretary  for  Foreign 
Affairs  is  not  wholly  a  happy  one.  Since 
he  came  into  the  family  heritage,  SON  AND 
HEIR  has  been  singularly  unfortunate. 
To  begin  with,  there  was  his  delightfully 
frank,  but  disastrous,  remark  about 
COUSIN  ARTHUR  forbidding  him  when 
replying  to  Questions  to  say  anything  in 
supplement  of  what  is  written  out  for  him. 
Then  there  was  the  row  about  his  Chief's 
confidences  to  the  Lords  on  the  Tientsin 
business,  his  light  and  airy  ignoring  of 
the  House  that  includes  amongst  its  mem- 
bers his  colleague  at  the  Foreign  Office. 
SON  AND  HEIR  not  responsible  for  either 
of  these  misfortunes.  PRINCE  ARTHUR 
imposed  on  him  the  first ;  LANSDOWNE 
everything  to  do  with  second. 

To-night  promised  reparation.  Task 
committed  to  him  of  explaining  to  Com- 
mons position  of  affairs  in  China.  Had 


262 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDuN   CHARIVARI. 


[APRIL  3,  1901. 


ordinary  course  been  followed,  and  this 
question. of  Imperial  interest  come  on 
immediately  after  Questions,  all  would 
have  been  well.  Sox  AND  HEIR  would 
have  had  population  of  the  Vineyard  in 
attitude  of  strained  attention  ;  fresh  him- 
self, would  have  talked  to  unwearied 
ears.  What  happened  was  that,  South 
Africa  winning  the  toss,  went  to  the 
wickets.  Some  sharp  play,  with  DON 
JOSE  in  best  slogging  form.  Debate 
trailed  on  through  dinner  hour ;  that  in 
itself  bit  of  good  luck ;  seemed  to  pro- 
mise SON  AND  HEIR'S  opportunity  about 
ten  o'clock,  the  best  hour  for  speaking 
after  7.30.  Members  come  in  from  dinner 
with  minds  and  bodies  refreshed,  in 
genial  mood  to  welcome  promising  effort. 
Alack  !  BASHMEAD-ARTLETT  was  to  the 
fore.  Since  Question  time  he  had  per- 
vaded premises.  What  with  LANSDOWNE 
up  in  the  Lords  discoursing  on  China, 
with  SON  AND  HEIR  in  Commons  liable  to 
be  turned  on  same  topic  any  moment, 
BASHMEAD  had  rather  exciting  evening. 
Lines  of  strangers  waiting  in  outer  Lobby 
from  time  to  time  startled  by  meteoric 
flight ;  were  conscious  of  the  swift  pass- 
ing of  tall  figure  with  flushed  face,  lank 
locks,  a  glass  gleaming  in  one  eye  like  a 
perturbed  beacon,  a  mass  of  drab-coloured 
pocket  -  handkerchief  protruding  from 
coat-tail  pocket.  Some  said  it  was  the 
new  star,  Nova  Persei,  astray  from  its  un- 
accustomed orbit.  Police  explained  it 
was  "only  ASHMEAD-BARTLETT." 

Needn't  have  been  in  such  hurry. 
Foreign  Secretary  finished  his  statement, 
and  had  comfortably  dined,  before  China 
Question  reached  in  Commons,  and  the 
Sheffield  Knight,  rising,  poured  out  by  the 
hour  what  SARK  describes  as  "  a  washy 
flood  of  turbulent  trash."  Half-past  eleven 
before  SON  AND  HEIR  got  a  look  in  ;  did 
very  well,  considering  how  sorely  he  was 
handic&pped. 

Business  done. — Appropriation  Bill  read 
a  third  time. 

Friday  niylit. — Reading  GUILDERS'  Life 
and  Correspondence,  just  issued  by  JOHN 
MURRAY.  An  interesting  record  of  long 
labour  in  public  service.  Throws  flood 
of  light  on  inner  chambers  of  English 
politics  during  last  quarter  of  a  century. 
Lips  of  CHILDERS.  not  touched  with  that 
celestial  fire  which  flamed  about  his  con- 
temporaries DISRAELI,  GLADSTONE,  BRIGHT 
and  LOWE.  Like  STAFFORD  NORTHCOTE, 
who  in  some  points  ho  much  resembled, 
ho  was  in  the  first  flight  of  statesmen  of 
the  second  rank.  Like  his  great  chief, 
his  industry  was  colossal.  But  he  had  not 
behind  it  the  iron  constitution  of  Mr.  G. 
More  than  once  laid  aside  by  break  down 
of  health.  Wherever  he  went  he  suc- 
ceeded in  working  his  way  to  the  front. 
Going  out  to  Australia  in  1850,  his  ambition 
was  bounded  by  "some  little  hope"  of 
getting  an  appointment  of  £250  a  year  as 
Inspector  of  Schools.  He  obtained  that, 


and  within  four  years  had  worked  his  way 
;o  high  ministerial  office  with  a  salary  of 
£2,000  a  year  and  a -retiring -pension  of 
£866,  enjoyed  till  the  close  of  his  life. 

Letters  addressed  to  him  by  Mr.  G.  are 
embargoed   pending  conclusion  of    JOHN 
MORLEY'S  Life  of  the  Master  Statesman. 
JHILDERS  in  his  own  correspondence  suc- 
eeds    in  throwing    side-lights    on    that 
multiplex  character.     We  who  lived  with 
him  in  the  House  of  Commons  remember 
ais  gift  of  convincing  people  that  what- 
ver  was  (at  the  moment  expedient)  was 
right.     I  can  see  him  now  as,  nineteen 
years  ago,  the  British  Fleet  having  bom- 
barded Alexandria  and   a   British  Army 
having  landed    in   Egypt   under  GARNET 


leven  millions.    CHILDERS  notes  that  in 

iis  speech  announcing  the  demand,  Mr. 

GLADSTONE  succeeded  in  establishing  this 

necessity  without  once  mentioning  Russia  ! 

Colonel   SPENCER    CHILDERS    has    per- 

ormed  a  difficult  task  with  modesty  and 
ability,  making  valuable  contribution  to 
jolitical  history  of  the  last  quarter  of  the 

lighteenth  Century. 

Business  done. — Appropriation  Bill  re- 
ceives Royal  Assent. 


A  Valuable  "  lire  "  discovered  at  Linlithgow. 
(Mr.  Ure,  K.C. — a  sketch  in  the  House.) 

WOLSELEY,  he  stood  at  the  table  beating 
the  open  palm  of  his  left  hand  with  his 
right,  and  insisting  we  were  not  at  war. 
On-  the  15th  July,  1882,  he  wrote  to 
CHILDERS,  then  Minister  for  War,  sug- 
gesting that  the  troops  should  be  placed 
under  command  of  the  Naval  authorities 
avowedly  for  police  purposes,  "so  as  to 
avoid  even  the  semblance  of  invasion,  and 
the  consequent  suspicion  and  serious  diffi- 
culties that  would  arise  if  we  landed  a 
regular  army  under  military  com- 
manders." 

Isn't  that  delicious?  Does  more  to 
reveal  the  inner  man  than  a  tome  of 
biography.  Much  of  equal  value  in  the 
two  volumes.  The  veil  is  withdrawn 
from  the  perplexities  of  the  divided 
Cabinet  struggling  through  the  historic 
epoch,  1882 — 85.  In  the  latter  year  came 
the  Penjdeh  Incident,  happening  at  a 
moment  wfyen  England  was  at  grips  with 
the  MAHD!  in  the  sad  Soudan.  For  the 
first  time/ we  learn  how  serious  was  the 
crisis  which  led  to  the  vote  of  credit  fo 


PAINFUL  POEMS.— No.  III. 
THE  LOST  TEMPER. 

COME  with  me  and  I  will  show  you 
.  Such  a  pitiable  case, 
Of  a  man  of  whom  I  know  you 
Would  detest  to  fill  the  place. 

Years  ago  he  lost  his  temper, 

AND  HE  NEVER  GOT  IT  BACK  ! 

He  is  truly  idem  semper 
With  this  lamentable  lack. 

Most  unalterably  placid, 
He  is  never  known  to  frown, 

And  it  doesn't  make  him  acid 

If  you  kick  him  when  he  's  down. 

Does  he  wish  to  be  insipid  ? 

No,  it  grieves  him  to  the  soul. 
He  would  rather  be  equipped 

With  a  temper  on  the  whole. 

All  the  children  love  to  pelt  him 
With  potatoes  in  the  street ; 

And  to  take  a  belt  and  belt  him 
Is  the  loafer's  special  treat. 

Yet,  you  '11  ever  find  him  lenient 
To  the  hooligan  and  rough  ; 

Though  it 's  highly  inconvenient 
To  be  never  in  a  huff. 

For  his  hat  is  badly  battered, 
And  the  head,  that 's  underneath 

Often  has  its  senses  scattered 
With  the  loss  of  sundry  teeth. 

In  this  most  unhealthy  fashion 
He  is  treated,  for  they  know 

That  he  hasn't  any  passion 
Or  vindictiveness  to  show. 

And  he  longs  with  such  a  longing 
For  the  temper  he  has  lost ! 

For  the  righting  of  the  wronging 
Which  his  carelessness  has  cost. 

But  his  temper  's  gone  for  ever, 
All  his  longing  is  in  vain 

(He  who  found  it  thought  it  clever 
Not  to  part  with  it  again). 

Ne'er  again  this  hapless  victim 
Will  be  angry  with  a  bore, 

Nor  with  anyone  who  kicked  him 
Yet  impatient  any  more  ! 

Do  you  see  the  striking  moral 
I  'm  reserving  for  the  end  ? 

If  you  really  wish  to  quarrel, 
NEVER  LOSE  YOUR  TEMPER,  friend. 

F.  E. 


APRIL  3,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


263 


'  WILFUL   WASTE    MAKES   WOEFUL    WANT." 

"IT  IS  VERY  DELIGHTFUL  TO  SEE  YOUNG  LADIES  SO  FOND  OP  EACH  OTHER,"  THINKS  YOUNG  JONES  ;     "BUT  I  DO  DISLIKE 

HAVING  TO  WATCH  SUCH  PITIFUL  WASTE  1  " 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[APRIL  3,  1C 01. 


of  the 
Audience. 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  MUSICAL  COMEDY. 
CANTO  THE  SEVENTH. 

The  First-  TlS  come  at  last !  the  most  eventful  night 

Night.  Which  press  and  public  have  awaited  long  ; 

The  Thespian  temple,  all  ablaze  with  light, 
"Welcomes  a  large  and  fashionable  throng, 
Which  through  the  vestibule  serenely  flocks 
To  stalls,  dre.ss-circle,  or  a  private  box. 

Characteristics    The  cheaper  portions  of  the  house  will  be 

Filled  with  those  persons  who  are  none  the  IOST 
Critics  of  recognized  ability 

Although  they  may  not  put  on  evening'dress, 
And  pit  and  gallery  have  borne  the  brunt 
Of  waiting  hours  to  get  a  seat  in  front. 

Notice  the  hum  and  chatter  that  pervade 

The  auditorium  in  ev'ry  part ; 
While  by  the  "gods  "  sweet  melody  is  made 

Until  the. tuneful  overture  shall  start. 
And  now  and  then  will  rise  a  storm  of  cheers, 
As  Home  distinguished  personage  appears. 

Now  from  the  orchestra  there  comes  the  sound 
Of  tuning  up,  with  many  a  scrape  and  squeak  ; 

And  restless  eyes,  that  have  been  roving  round, 
A  certain  spot  beneath  the  footlights  seek, 

Whence  will  emerge,  with  baton  in  his  hand, 

The  chief  composer,  to  conduct  the  band. 

The  Onduclor   Soe,  there  he  is  !  and  volleys  of  applause 
takes  his ,  eat.        prom  ev'ry  quarter  his  appearance  greet ; 

Repeatedly  he  bows — then  conies  a  pause, 
As  in  the  orchestra  he  takes  his  seat. 

A  glance  at  his  musicians,  ev'ry  one  ; 

He  waves  his  hand — the  overture  's  begun. 

What  follows  need  not  be  described  at  great  length.  The 
reader  has  probably  been  present  at  many  such  first-nights. 
Ho'  knows  the  applause  which  greets  every  popular  artiste, 
as  he  or  she  appears  during  the  progress  of  the  First  Act. 
The  musical  numbers  will  be  listened  to  attentively,  and  those 
which  particularly  take  the  fancy  of  the  audience  will  call 
forth  a  demand  for  encores,  which  the  conductor,  if  he  is  wise, 
will  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  as  much  as  possible.  To  take  every 
encore  means  prolonging  the  performance  to  a  late  hour,  and 
when  the  fate  of  a  piece  is  doubtful,  a  conclusioa  in  good  time 
may  often  turn  the  balance  of  public  opinion  in  a  favourable 
direction. 


The  Interval 
between  the 

Arts. 


After  the  First  Act  there  will  be  a  wait 
Longer  than  usual,  because,  you  know, 

Changes  of  scenery  necessitate 
A  lot  of  practice  for  a  week  or  so 

(Upon  the  programme,  as  a  rule,  you  '11  find 

Indulgence  asked  in  matters  of  this  kind). 

But,  after  all,  it  is  the  Second  Act 
On  which  the  fortune  of  the  play  depends  ; 

Unless  with  tuneful  numbers  it  is  packed, 
The  siiidience  will  weary  ere  it  ends. 

And  though  the  low  comedian  may  gag, 

There  comes  a  time  when  things  begin  to  draj 

The  Culls  before    31111,  let  us  hope  that  matters  will  progress 


the  Curtain. 


Smoothly  until  the  final  curtain  fall ; 
Then  ev'ryone  concerned  in  the  success 

Will  have  to  come  in  front  and  take  a  call. 
The  audience  applauds,  though  one  or  two 
May  have  recourse  to  th^  discordant  "  Boo  ! 


The  Man  iser 
occasionally 
maketh  a 
Speech. 


Exit  the 
Audience. 


And  when  the  members  of  the  lengthy  cast 
Have  come  on,  one  by  one,  or  two  by  two  ; 

And  -when  before  the  curtain  there  have  passed 
The  authors,  lyrists,  and  composers  too, 

Then,  once  again,  the  house  is  set  astir 

By  the  appearance  of  the  Manager. 

There,  with  a  cheerful  smile  upon  his  face, 
See  in  his  glory  how  he  stands  alone, 

His  countenance  revealing  not  a  trace 
Of  all  the  past  anxiety  he  's  known. 

Sometimes  the  noisy  audience  beseech 

That  he  will  just  vouchsafe  to  them  a  speech. 

But  by-and-bye  they  turn  the  footlights  out, 

And  rapidly  the  crowd  of  people  throngs 
Into  the  street,  with  lots  to  talk  about, 
0  Some  even  humming  snatches  of  the  songs. 

The  critics  hurry  off  at  once  to  write 
Any  impressions  they  have  formed  that  night. 

So,  all  is  over,  saving  the  critiques 
Which  in  to-morrow's  papers  will  appear  ; 

If  they  are  fairly  good,  for  many  weeks 
The  box-office  one  hardly  can  get  near, 

And  ev'ry  other  person  that  one  meets 

Explains  that  ho  's  been  trying  to  book  seats. 

The  Provincial    Then  soon  the  touring  companies  go  forth 

Upon  their  travels  all  throughout  the  land  ; 
And  people,  east  and  west,  and  south  and  north, 
Will  pay  their  money  down  with  willing  hand. 
While  striking  posters,  flaunted  near  and  far, 
All  help  to  make  the  piece  more  popular. 


Perchance  it  happens  that  you  do  not  pay 
Another  visit  to  this  merry  show, 

Till  it  has  been  before  the  public,  say 
For  just  about  three  hundred  nights  or  so. 

Then  we  '11  excuse  you  if  you  rub  your  eyes, 

And  gaze  around  you  in  a  blank  surprise. 

The  title  of  the  piece  remains,  no  doubt, 
The  characters  are  pretty  much  the  same  ; 

But  if  there  's  little  else  you  know  about 
I  do  not  think  that  you  are  much  to  blame. 

No  wonder  that  it  all  should  seem  so  strange, 

For  ev'ry  thing  has  undergone  a  change. 

New  numbers  have  been  added  here  and  there, 
New  business,  very  probably  new  scenes  ; 

New  dresses,  gorgeous  beyond  compare  ; 
But,  really,  it  is  only  by  these  means 

That  such  a  piece  draws  crowded  houses  for 

Five  hundred  nights  or,  maybe,  even  more. 


The  Second 
Edition. 


The  Poet 
prepareth  to 
dismount 
Pegasus. 


The  Moral 

(if  am). 


Enough,  O  gentle  reader  !  you  and  I 

Have    probed    beneath    the    surface    more    or 

less, 
Seeking  to  find  the  wherefore  and  the  why 

Of  things  that  are  conducive  to  success. 
Now  let  us  bid  adieu  to  all  concerned, 
Trusting  that  no  ill-feeling  we  have  earned. 

And  if  there  is  a  moral  to  be  traced 
From  any  of  the  incidents  I  've  shown, 

'Tis  surely  this  ;  "  Study  the  public  taste, 
Even  although  it  may  not  be  your  own." 

Thus  fortune  you  may  speedily  amass, 

And,  "  Vincit  omnia  Varietas  !  " 


THE  END. 


T.  G. 


APRIL  3,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


265 


MOTORIST  (A  NOVICE)  HAS  BEEN  GIVING  CHAIRMAN  OF  LOCAL  URBAN  COUNCIL  A  PRACTICAL  DEMONSTRATION  OF  THE  EASE  WITH 
WHICH  A  MOTOR-CAR  CAN  BE  CONTROLLED  WHEN  TRAVELLING  AT  A  HIGH  SPEED. 


A  SPORTSMAN'S  NIGHTMARE. 

["  This  is  one  of  the  most  crowded  weeks  in  the 
Sportsman's  Year."— Daily  Paper.] 

WITH  his  usual  determination  to  keep 
abreast  of  every  movement,  and  guide 
the  opinions  of  the  public,  Mr.  Punch 
directed  his  Sporting  Representative  to 
keep  an  eye  on  everything  of  interest  to 
the  sportsman  during  the  week  that  has 
elapsed  since  our  last  issue.  The  effort 
to  be  in  so  many  places  at  once  has 
perhaps  befogged  the  usually  clear  in- 
tellect of  his  S.  R.;  or,  possibly,  the 
occurrence  of  the  First  of  April  has  had 
an  especially  lamentable  effect  this  year ; 
it  is,  at  any  rate,  very  difficult  to  make 
out  whether  the  Report  which  has 
reached  this  office  refers  to  the  Boatrace 
or  the  'Varsity  Sports,  or  the  Liverpool 
Grand  National,  or  the  International 
Football  Match  or  the  Amateur  Boxing 
Championship.  A  determination  to  at- 
tend them  all,  without  forgetting  golf  or 
billiards,  is  no  doubt  responsible  for  a 
catholicity  of  descriptive  verbiage  which 
does  more  credit  to  our  representative's 
all  -  round  sportsmanship  than  to  his 
lucidity. 

"Old  Sol,"  writes  our  impassioned 
friend,  "  was  beaming  in  the  zenith  after 
a  fashion  which  at  once  proved  the  truth 


of  the  old  adage  that  March  comes  in 
like  a  goose  and -goes  out  like  a  gander. 
The  Liverpudlians  and  the  Metropolitan 
contingent  were  in  great  force.  Few  ticks 
of  the  chronometer  were  cut  to  waste 
as  the  row  of  equine  candidates  faced  the 
starter,  and  it  was  noted  that  the  crack 
was  carrying  even  more  bloom  than  when 
last  he  was  seen  out,  and  despite  a  some- 
what plain  frontispiece  looked  all  over  a 
gentleman  of  blood-like  quality.  But  all 
comments  were  hushed  as  the  flag  fell, 
and  Cushendun  was  seen  to  be  the  first  to 
break  the  line.  The  welkin  rang  with 
the  shouts  of  "  They  're  off  !  "  as  the  first 
division  topped  the  earlier  obstacles,  and 
the  second-raters  began  to  show  their 
pretensions  to  belonging  to  the  semi-dark 
fraternity. 

A  smart  piece  of  pedipulation  soon 
resulted  in  the  clever  Scotch  forward 
eluding  the  Southern  custodian,  and  deftly 
depositing  the  pilule  between  the  uprights. 
But  hardly  had  the  sphere  begun  to  roll 
once  more,  than  a  magnificent  dribble  on 
the  left  wing  took  it  right  across  the 
carpet,  and  the  champions  of  the  Thistle 
were  soon  embarrassed  by  the  numerous 
efforts  made  to  enter  their  reticulated 
stronghold.  Not  to  be  denied,  however, 
the  hardy  sons  of  the  North  soon  gave  the 
beholders  a  taste  of  their  quality,  and 


after  tapping  the  Aston  Yilla  representa- 
tive smartly  on  the  knowledge-box, 'the 
' '  Heart  of  Midlothian ' '  lad  followed  up  his 
advantage  with  a  rasper  in  the  commis- 
sariat department  that  fairly  doubled  up 
the  Saxon,  and  the  bout  finished  with  a 
considerable  quantity  of  Badminton  in 
full  evidence  from  the  damaged  pro- 
boscis. 

All  this  time  the  boys  in  the  Dark  Blue 
had  been  far  from  idle.  Urging  their 
canvas  craft  forward  with  alacrity,  they 
proved  themselves  as  slippery  as  their 
best  backers  could  desire.  But  Mr. 
MUTTLEBURY'S  darlings  were  far  from 
done  with.  In  the  dingdong  exchanges 
which  ensued  each  in  turn  paid  a  hurried 
but  involuntary  visit  to  the  boards,  and 
there  was  very  little  fiddling  about  for 
an  opening  as  the  champions  of  the  Isis 
faced  their  opponents  in  the  rough  water 
of  Corney  Reach.  The  dexter  optic  of 
the  Cambridge  representative  was  by 
this  time  assuming  a  decidedly  swarthy 
hue,  but  encouraged  by  the  parboiled 
aspect  of  his  enemy's  sinistral  peeper, 
he  soon  gave  evidence  of  making  the 
effort  of  his  life,  and  appeared  to  be  so 
full  of  running  that  he  must  be  classed 
among  the  dangerous  contingent  for  the 
rest  of  his  career. 

Jus  tat  tliis  in,  ment  Number  Five  began 


PUNCH,   OK  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


3,  1901. 


to  show  signs  of  serious  trouble  in  a 
junker  on  the  Surrey  side,  but  extri- 
cating himself  by  the  ingenious  use  of  a 
liblick,  he  began  tearing  through  the 
Liquid  element  in  a  truly  astonishing 
manner.  But  all  hope  had  not  been  aban- 
doned as  they  passed  the  Soapworks,  for 
it  was  known  that  the  leader  had  a  tube 
in  his  throat,  and  in  the  certainty  of  its 
soon  becoming  a  question  of  "  bellows  to 
mend"  in  all  directions,  the  Light  Blues 
made  a  terrific  bid  for  victory  before 
Barnes  Bridge  had  been  attained.  Pass- 
ing beneath  that  structure  the  timepieces 
showed  32  immersions  to  the  minute,  and 
many  thought  a  double  baulk  must  be  the 
only  issue.  Caution  then  marked  the 
further  progress  of  the  game,  and  after 
carefully  nursing  the  ivories  at  the  busi- 
ness end  of  the  Green  Board  of  Cloth, 
the  Oxonian  gently  dropped  the  straw- 
berry globe  into  the  right-hand  pouch, 
disappeared  himself  into  a  similar  recep- 
tacle, and  left  the  pallid  one  in  capital 
position  for  continuing  his  break.  When 
they  neared  the  Pavilion  for  the  second 
circuit  of  the  cinders  a  hot  exchange 
ensued,  and  several  organs  in  each  com- 
petitor were  severely  rattled  up,  but  as 
they  swung  into  the  straight  with  only 
two  more  timbers  to  negotiate  before 
severing  the  judicial  worsted,  it  was 
seen  that  Bar  sac  and  Levanter  had  both 
shot  their  bolt,  and  as  soon  as  Mr. 
<iKNT  asked  the  question  Drumcree 
responded  gamely,  and  hugging  the  rails 
all  the  way,  managed  to  get  hold  of  a 
very  accelerated  pass  from  the  outside, 
which  was  soon  converted  into  a  smasher 
on  the  'tater  trap  that  did  the  business, 
for  his  game  opponent  was  evidently  dead 
to  the  world  soon  afterwards,  and  all  was 
over  bar  the  shouting.  We  hear  the 
pcncillors  did  badly  ;  but  the  Oxonian 
Mentor  was  far  from  dissatisfied  with  the 
showing  of  his  meritorious  and  well- 
trained  octette.  T.  A.  C. 


O.V  DIT   AT  THE   BAR   STEEPLE- 
CHASES. 

THA.T  one  of  the  Lords  Justices,  wearing 
a  plaid  coat  and  broad  sombrero,  was 
standing  by  the  winning-post,  laying  C  to 
4  on  the  field,  to  the  manifest  annoyance 
of  a  deeply  respected  Puisne  Judge,  who 
wanted  the  pitch  for  himself. 

That  a  certain  Chancery  Judge,  seeing 
that  his  horse  must  be  beaten  by  that  ol 
an  eminent  K.C.  practising  in  his  owi 
court,  threatened  to  deprive  the  latter  o 
his  costs  in  a  big  action  pending  unless 
he  allowed  him,  the  learned  Judge,  to 
win. 

That  it  is  not  the  fact  that  any  of  tht 
Puisne  Judges  were  reported  by  M;c 
Starter  for  disobedience  at  the  post. 

That  the  "disgraceful  episode"  given 
publicity  below  is  Utterly  devoid  o 
foundation,  i.e.  that  two  of  the  Lord; 


Justices,  jumping  the  last  fence  side  by 
side,  "  arranged  "  who  should  win,  in  the 
bllowing  terms  : — 

F/rst  L.  J.  Will  you  stand  in  a  tenner 
with  me,  Lord  Justice  ? 

Second  L.  J.  Can't  do  it,  Cockie,  under 
hree  times  that  amount. 

First  L.  J.  Is  a  pony  any  good  to  you  ? 

Second  L.  J.  Right,  sonny.  Go  on  and 
win,  or  I  shall  have  to  pull  this  beggar's 
lead  off  in  order  to  stop  him  ! 

That  the  Lord  Chief  Justice  was  very 
anxious  to  run  a  motor  car  in  the  first 
race,  but  had  to  scratch  it  as  he  could 
not  find  a  jockey. 

That  two  of  the  riders — who  were  also 
stewards — called  each  other  before  them- 
selves to  explain  their  riding,  and  that 
;ach  was  severely  reprimanded  by  the 
other. 

And,  finally,  that  the  arrangements 
reflected  the  greatest  credit  upon  the 
committee  of  the  Pegasus  Club. 


'VARSITY  VERSES. 

OXFORD  ODES. 
XII. 

ACROSS  the  quad  so  grey  and  hoar, 

Among  the  summer  flowers, 
I  see  us  sauntering  once  more 
With  linked  arms  ;  1  hear  you  pour 
Your  brimming  floods  of  classic  lore 

Amid  the  scented  bowers. 

The  realm  of  truth  was  our  demesne  ; 

Impatiently  we  waited 
To  criticise  the  worthy  Dean 
On  ARISTOTLE'S  golden  mean, 
While  PLATO,  HEGEL,  T.  H.  GREEN 

We  eagerly  debated. 

Of  all  things  human  and  divine, 
Life,  death  and  the  hereafter, 
Art,  poetry,  or  how  to  dine, 
The  pleasures  of  the  rod  and  line, 
Old  friends,   old   books,    old   prints,    old 

wine, 
We  talked  with  tears  and  laughter. 

Ah,  wasted  hours  !    What 's  truth  ?    "Who 
cares 

What  Plato  thought  about  her  ? 
You,  bent  upon  your  stocks  and  shares, 
Who  dream  by  night  of  bulls  and  bears, 
Contrive  to  manage  your  affairs, 

Old  !r lend,  quite  well  without  her  ; 

Whilst  I — what  briefs  would  come  to  met 

My  poverty  to  season, 
With  much  desiderated  fee 
Did  I  not  hold  myself  quite  free 
To  make  the  worse  appear  to  be 

By  far  the  better  reason  ? 

What  use  to  us,  .since  we  came  down. 
The  lore  we  learnt  at  college  ? — 

Yet,  ah  !  once  more  to  see  the  crown: 

Of  spires  above  the  cloistered  town  ! 

Once  more  to  be  in  cap  and  gown, 
Acquiring  useless  knowledge ! 


TOUJOURS   LA  POLITESSE! 

[M.  HOCHEFOBT  asserts  that  the  British  troops 
n  S.  Africa  are  ready  to  mutiny,  in  consequence  of 

the  overbearing  and  insolent  tone  of  the  officers 
n  giving  their  orders."] 

SCENE — A  battlefield  of  the  future.  British 
Staff  discovered,  attempting  at  once  to 
repulse  an  attack  and  to  act  up  to 
M.  Rochefort's  ideals. 

General  in  Command  (addressing  Aide- 
'e-camp).  Sir,  it  is  with  the  most  profound 
nimility  that  I  venture  —  aware  of  my 
jresumption  in  so  doing — to  direct  your 
Mention  to  the  fact — if,  without  undue 
rrogance,  a  fact  I  may  term  it — that  no 
nconsiderable  force  of  the  enemy  appears 

0  be  menacing  our  left  flank.    Would  it 
)e  trespassing  quite  too  much  upon  your 
rindness  were  I  to  ask  you  to  request  the 
Major  of  the  250th  Battery  to  discharge 
irojectiles  in  the  direction  which,  accord- 
ng  to  the  best  of  my  poor  ability,  I  have 
mdeavoured  to  indicate  ? 

A.-de-C.  Sir,  the  highest  happiness 
attainable  in  this  world  is  to  translate 
your  slightest  wish  into  action.  How 
nuch  more  willingly  then,  in  such  an 
mergency  as  the  present — for  I  perceive 
that  even  within  the  moments  occupied  by 
this  delightful  conversation  a  few  hundreds 
of  our  men  have  fallen — how  much  more. 
***** 

Company  Officer  (to  Firing-Hn^).  You 
will  pardon  me,  my  heroes,  if  I  occupy 
your  time  with  a  few  remarks  which  the 
xigencies  of  the  moment  seem  to  make 
inevitable.  Already  you  have  deigned  to 
notice,  and  even  to  carry  out,  those  poor 
suggestions  which  I  have  presumed  to 
submit  for  your  thoughtful  consideration. 
Dare  I  then  venture  to  ask  you  to  lower 
the  extremities  of  your  rifles  in  such  a 
degree  as  will  render  the  chance  of  your 
bullets  striking  the  foe  a  shade  less 
remote  than  it  is  at  present  ?  (A  pause — 
tlien,  the  old-fashioned  "insolent  tone" 
(letting  the  better  of  the  French  polish — 
"  Firo  low,  you  dash-blank  dashes,  can't 

you?") 

*  *  *  *  * 

Officer  (ivorking  Heliograph  to  distant 
Outpost.  To  himself).  Seems  to  me  those 
beggars  mean  to  rush  our  men.  I  'd 
better  warn  them  to  retreat.  (Signals.) 
"Loth  as  I  necessarily  am  to  criticise 
any  operation  which  your  unquestionable 
sagacity  approves,  the  purely  geographi- 
cal superiority  of  my  position  enables  me 
to  realise  more  clearly  than  yourselve 
the  possible  proximity  of  danger."  (Fine 
sentence  that!)  "Indeed,  I  may  almost 
advise  you  to  execute  such  a  strategic 

movement    as    will   ensure "      Why, 

hullo !     Bless,   me  if  the   enemy   hasn't 
captured  the  whole    detachment   before 

1  had    time    to    finish     my    message 
Against  all  the  usages  of  civilised  war- 
fare, I  call  it ! 


APRIL  10,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


267 


~ 


A  SPORTING  DEPUTY. 

MY  friend  THIIUSTER,  who  acts  as  hunt- 
ing correspondent  to  a  leading  sporting 
journal,  wrote,  imploring  me  to  run  down 
and  "  do  "  a  lawn  meet  of  the  Haughty- 
shire  Foxhounds,  on  his  behalf,  as  he  had 
been  called  away  on  urgent  business. 
"  Make  my  house  and  stables  your  own, 
dear  boy%  I  know  you  have  no  literary 
experience,  but  reporting  a  hunting  run 
is  so  simple  that 
you  can't  go 
wrong,"  he  wrote. 
Of  course  I  ac- 
cepted, and  Mon- 
day saw  me  arrived 
dies  THRUSTER, 
ready  and  eager 
for  the  morrow's 
gallop. 

Did  not  feel  so 
confident,  on  Tues- 
day.  Rather 
doubted  my 
capacity  for  writ- 
ing account  o  f 
day's  proceedings 
— was  not  rendered 
any  happier  when, 
glancing  up  from 
my  coffee  and  roll, 
I  saw  spiteful  look- 
ing chestnut  horse 
led  round  to  front 
door — evidently 
my  mount  for  the 
day.  Bolted  coffee 
and  hurried  out, 
tripping  over  spur 
and  tearing  right 
boot  badly  with 
rowel. 

Groom  touches 
hat  and  looks  dubi- 
ously at  my  heels. 
"Beg pardon,  Sir, 
this  'ere  'oss  won't 
'ave  none  o'  them 
spurs  about  'im. 
'E  's  a  bit  nappy 
always,  but  when 

you  touches  'im  with  spurs ! ' '   Hastily 

divest  myself  of  them,  climb  up  into 
saddle  and  start.  Reach  meet  with- 
out further  mishap  than  chestnut  seizing 
my  toe  with  his  teeth,  and  twice  trying 
to  buck  me  off.  Friendly  second-horseman 
regards  my  mount  with  critical  eye. 
"  You  know  this  horse?  "  I  enquired  in 
indifferent  tone.  "  Know  'im  ?  Yes,  I 
know  'im.  'E  downed  'is  owner  twice 
larst  week,  and  nearly  kicked  'is  brains 
out  as  he  lay  on  the  ground.  You'll 
'ave  a  lively  rider  Gov'nor,  anyway,  if 
'ounds  run  to-day  !  "  Thanked  him  and 
moved  off.  Felt  strongly  disposed  not  to 
hunt  after  this — was  trifle  dashed,  as  it 
were. 

After     the     usual     "  coffee  -  housing  " 


inseparable  from  "  lawn  meets,"  we  moved 
off  to  draw  some  small  woods.  Chestnut 
kicked  at,  but  mercifully  missed,  a  hound. 
M.F.H.  swore  at  me,  and  huntsman  looked 
murderous.  Entered  wood,  where  my 
horse  immediately  "  took  charge,"  grazing 
my  leg  up  against  sundry  tree  trunks, 
crushing  hat  over  my  eyes  under  the 
branches,  and  generally  enjoying  himself 
in  his  own  weird  way.  Away  went  a  fox 
at  far  side  of  covert.  Hounds  came 


ILLUSTRATED    QUOTATIONS. 

(One  so  seldom  finds  cm  artist  who  realises  the  poetic  conception.) 


"SPRING'S  VOLUPTUOUS  PANTINGS  WHEN  SHE  BREATHES 
HER  FIRST  SWEET  KISSES." — Shelley. 


streaming  out  with  a  dash  and  a  "  drive  " 
which  sent  my  brute  half  frantic.  Away 
we  tore  over  a  big  grass  field,  bounded  by 
"useful"  stake-and-bound  fence.  Horse 
promptly  refused.  Tried  again,  and  found 
myself  in  collision  with  hard  riding 
subaltern  from  cavalry  barracks.  Sub- 
altern swore.  I  swore.  Then,  after 
another  refusal,  galloped  round  to  gate. 
Gate  locked.  More  language  recklessly 
thrown  about.  Got  half  over,  half  through, 
weak-looking  place  in  hedge,  and  on  again 
after  hounds.  Next  obstacle  brush-fence 
with  ditch  beyond.  Chestnut  cleared  fence 
and  fell  into  ditch,  then  out  on  to  road, 
along  which  we  kept  for  a  mile,  across 
grass  fields  without  end,  and  (mercifully) 
no  necessity  for  jumping,  as  line  of  open 


gates  served  us  well.  Checked.  Then 
hunted  slowly  on  for  an  hour,  and  lost. 
Started  for  home  again  immediately, 
thanking  my  stars  I  had  not  been  killed 
by  brute  I  was  on.  Horse  interesting, 
but  too  nearly  allied  to  sudden  death  to 
afford  one  any  real  satisfaction.  Arrived 
back  at  THRUSTER'S,  groom  seemed 
rather  disappointed — certainly  much  sur- 
prised— that  I  had  returned  without 
accident.  Enter  house ;  now  for  the 

, , account. 

Bite  quill  pen ; 
wonder  where  I 
ought  to  begin  ? 
Ha !  an  idea. 

"  MAGNIFICENT 
RUN  WITH  THE 
HAUGHTYSHIRE 
HOUNDS.  —  This 
famous  pack  met 
at  Barker  Hall  on 
Tuesday, and  found 
a  fox  in  the  spin- 
ney hard  by  ' ' — 
(Hang  it,  that 
won't  do  ;  it  's 
a  quotation  from 
John  Peel.  Never 
mind,  it  's  quite 
true  ;  so  let  it 
go.)  —  "  and  ran 
to  " — (By  Jove,  I 
never  thought  of 
asking  the  name 
of  the  beastly 
place.)  —  "ran  on 
until  they  checked. 
Then  they  ran  on 
again,  and  then 
they  checked 
again,  and  ran  to  " 
— (Dash  it !  I  can 
not  give  the  name 
of  a  single  place. 
Very  awkward 
this.)  —  "  ran  on, 
until  they  stopped. 
Several'  people  — 
I  regret  that  I  am 
unable .  to  give 
their  names — went 
very  well  throughout  the  run." 

In  due  course,  I  sent  in  the  above  lucid 
account  of  our  gallop.  I  regret  to  say 
that  it  did  not  appear  in  print,  and  that 
THRUSTER  has  never  asked  me  to  act  as 
his  deputy  again. 


SHOW  SUNDAY. 

Fair  Non-Purchasing  Patroness  (examin- 
ing portrait  of  a  friend  exhibited  in  his 
studio  by  rising  young  artist).  How  lovely ! 
Quite  too  charming  !  (As  if  much  aston- 
ished) And  so  like  her  too ! !  (With  con- 
viction) Honestly  (to  rising  young  artist) 
I  've  never  seen  anything  so  marvellous, 
even  in  a  GOOD  picture  ! 


VOL.  CXX. 


268 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[APBIL  10,  1901. 


ART  IN  THE   DOLLS'   HOUSE. 

BY  LITTLE  QUEENIE. 
§  4. — About  Defcoration, 

DEKORATION,  I  should  explane  for  the  bennefit  of  my  younger 
readers,  menes  painting  and  papering.  The  first  may  entale 
some  expence  unless,  like  me,  you  are  so  forchunate  as  to  have 
a  Papa  who  is  an  Artist  or  Arkitect,  Then  it  needn't  cost  you  so 
much,  as  you  have  only  to  wate  till  he  is  out  of  his  studeyo.  I 
got  a  pan  of  Crimson  Lake  and  another  of  Ultrymorene  that  way 
which  was  sufishent  to  dekorate  the  front  door  of  my  dolls' 
house  and  all  the  bannisters. 

Papa  said  I  had  picked  out  the  two  most  expencive  paints  in 
his  box,  which  shows  I  have  an  eye  for  cullour. 

For  the  Nursery  or  Bedroom  I  can  reccomend  either  a  nice 
cool  gambooge,  or  else  a  pale  srimp  pink.  (You  make  srimp 
pink  by  squedging  a  tube  of  Chinease  white  on  to  a  pan  of 
carmine)  Srimp  pink  always  looks  reffined,  besides  being 
restful  to  the  eye  of  a  tired  doll. 

Some  dekorators  invaryably  do  all  the  woodwork  of  the 
droin-room  sky-blue,  but  this  is  comonplace  and  even  hedge- 
sparowegg  blue  is  not  such  a  culcherd  cullour  as  it  used  to  be 
and  is  very  trying  to  most  dolls'  complecshuns. 

I  did  mine  Nile  Grene,  but  I  forget  how  I  made  it,  except 
that  there  was  Emerild  Green  in  it  and  when  Father  asked 
what  had  become  of  his  emerild  grene  it  was  unforchunately 
found  to  be  mislade. 

For  the  Dining-room  you  must  have  some  warm  ritch  cullour 
like  Vandike  Brown  or  Injian  Red,  which  is  exacly  the  shade 
of  Anchovey  Paste  but  tastes  quite  diferent. 

For  the  Atticks  you  should  imploy  Vermillion  or  Royal  Male 
Red  which  are  quiet  and  yet  chearful  to  live  with. 

Should  none  of  your  dear  parents  or  relatives  posess  a  paint- 
box (which  is  scaresly  creddible)  you  will  have  to  use  your  own 
paints  or  else  buy  some.  I  have  seen  dolls'  houses  dekorated 
with  those  enamil  paints  they  sell  in  tins  (my  Cousin  JOSEFINE 
did  hers  with  them  and  made  a  most  awfull  mess  of  it)  On  the 
hole  I  do  not  advise  ennamils  unless  you  are  waring  a  pinnifore 
that  dosen't  matter. 

It  is  nedeless  to  say  that  Dekoration  is  an  Art  that  cannot  be 
performed  without  the  ade  of  brushes.  These  should  be  of  the 
very  best  quolity,  and  it  is  false  ekonomy  to  use  any  but  the 
finest  Camil's  hair.  If  as  I  before  remarked  you  have  an 
artistic  parent  it  ought  to  be  esy  to  provide  yourself  with 
sutable  brushes.  If  not  you  must  do  the  best  you  can  with 
penny  ones. 

§  5. — About  Papering. 

This  is  a  far  more  diflcult  problira  than  painting.  It  will 
hardly  be  beleved,  but  there  is  not  a  single  toyshop  in  London 
where  you  can  procure  a  cheap  and  really  artistic  wallpaper, 
or  any  of  any  kind  !  Where  they  get  the  papers  they  put  up 
in  dolls'  houses  I  don't  know,  but  the  yare  abbominations,  and 
no  doll  can  hope  to  have  a  truly  butif ul ,  home  with  them  on 
her  walls. 

Now  when  I  was  redecorating  my  dollshouse,  I  ditermined 
I  wouldn't  have  any  paper  on  my  walls  that  hadn't  got  some 
pritensions  to  artistic  merrit. 

Acordingly  one  day  I  went  with  SARA  (my  made)  into  an 
upolsterer's  shop  in  Oxford  Street,  where  Mummy  always 
goes  to,  and  I  said,  "Will  you  please  show  me  some  of  your 
latest  desines  for  papers  ?  " 

So  a  gentleman  who  seemed  rather  tired  and  conteiriptious 
invited  me  to  sit  upon  an  Art  sofa  and  weeled  out  a  large 
frame  full  of  spesimens  of  wall-papers,  the  size  of  scoolroom 
maps,  and  turned  them  over  for  me  to  see,  thinking  all  the 
time  of  something  else. 

I  think  he  didn't  like  them  himself  or  expect  mo  to,  and  I 


didn't.    I  said  they  were  all  a  little  too  large  for  my  perposes, 
which  they  were — a  lot. 

He  said  lankwidly.  "  Of  course,  that  would  depend  very 
much  on  what  your  perposes  were." 

And  I  said  my  perposes  were  doing  up  my  dolls'  house  in  an 
easthetic  stile.  So  he  advised  me  to  try  some  other  establish- 
mint,  arid  I  did  try  severil,  but  all.  their  paterns  were  much 
too  big  and  I  allmost  comenced  to  despare. 

However,  one  day — and  this  will  show, you,  my  dear  young 
friends,  that  we  should  allways  persivere  in  whatever1  We  have 
made  our  minds  up  to  acomplish  —  one  day,  by  a  peice  of 
extrordnry  good  luck  I  came  upon  the  very  thing  I  wanted. 

You  will  lauf  when  you  hear  how  ecstremly  simple  it  was, 
and  how  esily  I  might  have  thought  of  it  at  first. 

When  my  dear  Mamma  was  married  (which  was  before  I  was 
born  or  even  cristened)  she  received  a  quantity  of  weding 
presents,  some  of  which  are  still  lingring  on  the  upstares 
mantlepeices.  But  amongst  them  was  a  set  of  most  butifully 
bound  books  with  her  monnigram  outside. 

Now  I  happened  to  pepe  inside  one  day,  not  in  the  least 
ecspecting  to  find  anything  usefull,  when — what  do  you  think  ? — 
I  found  to  my  intense  delite  that  the  inside  was  lined  with  a 
dellicat  pale  pink  and  blue  marbel  patern  which  was  just  ideel 
for  a  doll's  best  bedroom,  and  there  were  flyleves  at  both  ends 
just  the  same  with  no  printing  on  them  so  they  couldn't  be 
wanted  realy.  The  vollumes  were  ten  in  number,  which 
furnished  just  enough  (and  a  little  over)  for  my  requirements 
and  nothing  could  have  looked  pretier  or  in  more  perfect  taste 
when  pasted  up. 

I  was  so  pleased  I  ran  down  to  ask  Mummy  to  come  up  and 
look,  but  she  hapened  to  be  too  busy  that  afternoon. 

Encuraged  by  this  suxess  I  thurally  serched  all  the  books  on 
the  shelves  and  found  an  abundence  of  papers  to  sellect  from. 
One  which  I  can  strongly  reccomend  had  a  charming  design  of 
little  ships  and  swans  in  pale  sammon,  and  another,  nearly  as 
good,  was  all  over  little  Injian  ladies  neeling  down  and  shooting 
with  bows  and  arows. 

I  think  it  is  very  nice  and  thoughtfull  of  the  gentlemen  who 
write  these  luvly  books  to  have  them  lined  so  prettily,  and  they 
will  come  off  quite  esily  by  inserting  a  pennife  and  slitting 
jently.  I  feel  most  gratefull. 

Still  I  was  not  content,  as  I  had  set  my  heart  on  having  a 
Jappinese  boodivor  for  my  best  doll,  and  mere  wall  paper  was 
too  convenshonil  for  my  perposes.  So  I  hunted  about,  and 
fancy  what  I  found  ?  Why,  a  great  big  bloting-book  covered 
with  the  most  exqisite  Chinease  embroidered  silk !  Another  of 
dear  Mummy's  weding  presents,  and  such  a  nice  use/till  one! 
The  silk  striped  off  esier  than  paper,  and  there  was  just  enough 
of  it,  after  cutting  it  to  shape,  to  go  all  round  the  droin-room. 

So  now,  my  dear  children,  you  see  what  may  be  done  with  a 

little 

****** 

P.S. — Since  writing  the  above  teriblc  events  have  ocured  I 
Mummy  hapened,  for  the  first  time  since  her  maridge,  to  open 
one  of  her  weding  present  books  in  order  to  show  a  vissitor  how 
butifully  they  were  bound. 

After  the  vissitor  had  diparted  Mother  sent  for  me  and  we 
had  rather  a  paneful  interview  together,  and  even  dear  Father 
said  severil  very  disagribble  and  unkind  things,  to  me.  Next 
they  came  upon  the  bloting-book — but  I  preffer  to  draw  a  vail 
over  this  unplesant  topic  and  will  only  say  that  I  have  allmost 
lived  on  bread  and  water  over  since  ! 

So,  my  beluved  young  readers,  unless  you.  are  happilly  en- 
dowed with  parints  who  posess  more  understanding  and  sim- 
pathy  with  their  children's  nedes.  than  I  alas  can  bost  of,  I  'm 
afrade  I  must  advise  you  to  be  sattisfide  with  the  hi jeous  wall- 
papers your,  dolls'  house  is  sure  to  be  provided  with, 

Your  heartbroken  and  misunderstood  little  Friend, 

QUEENIE. 

P.  P.  S.—Tliey  didn't  make  me  take  the  papers  doivn,  though  ! 


APRIL  10,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


269 


A    GREAT    OPPORTUNITY. 

Art  (to  London).  "  EXCUSE  THE  INTERFERENCE  OF  A  COMPARATIVE  STRANGER,  BUT  I  DO  HOPE  YOU  MAY  SUCCEED  IN  GETTING 

SOMETHING  WORTHY  OF  A  GREAT  CITY  AND  A  GREAT  QtJEEN." 


270 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[APRIL  10,  1901. 


THE   TOILER'S  HOLIDAY. 

[The  strain  of  nearly  seven  weeks'  continuous  work  in  Parliament  has 
necessitated  an  Easter  vacation  just  one-third  of  that  period  in  length.] 

THERE  is  a  point  at  which  the  nervous  tissue    '; 

Even  of  Statesmen  -will  incline  to  rot ; 
Work  it  too  hard  and,  in  the  awful  issue, 

The  man  becomes  a  drivelling  idiot. 

Nature,  that  cannot  overlook  abuses 

Of  her  divinely  regulated  laws, 
From  time  to  time  arrests  our  mental  juices, 

And  utters  her  inexorable  "  Pause  .'  " 

This  is  the  reason  why  our  Legislature, 

After  an  almost  unexampled  strain, 
Bowing  to  these  unwritten  rules  of  Nature, 

Goes  forth  reluctantly  to  ease  its  brain. 

And  who  will  doubt  that  Britain's  Great  Elected, 

Outworn  by  sacred  Duty's  daily  stress, 
By  midnight  travail  visibly  affected, 

Have  more  than  earned  their  Eastertide  recess  ? 

Oh,  let  no  niggling  criticism  grudge  them 

This  sole  reward  for  services  received  ; 
Let  not  a  crude  examination  judge  them 

Upon  the  actual  results  achieved  ! 

Theirs  is  the  maintenance  of  high  tradition, 

Of  manners  and  of  Parliamentary  tact, 
Labours  that  lack  the  joy  of  full  fruition. 

Attendant  on  a  mere  accomplished  fact. 

They  know  the  need  of  pertinent  enigmas, 
Not  to  be  gauged  by  what  replies  they  yield  ; 

They  have  the  care  of  casting  quiet  stigmas 
On  soldiers,  out  of  hearing,  in  the  field. 

Work  such  as  this  has  left  them  scanty  leisure 

For  executing  more  constructive  feats ; 
Yet  have  they  nearly  passed  one  useful  measure 

Permitting  Ministers  to  keep  their  seats. 

The  Housing  of  the  Poor  had  been  suggested 

As  virgent  business  calling  for  debate  ; 
Perhaps  when  Parliament  is  nicely  rested — 

Meanwhile  the  Poor  are  with  us ;  they  can  wait. 

Some  people  hold  a  view  of  legislation 
Which  calmer  thought  refuses  to  admit; 

They  think  the  House  exists  to  please  the  Nation  ! 
The  Nation,  as  a  fact,  exists  for  IT. 

Happy  the  land  that  has  the  chance  to  cherish 
Such  stalwart  champions  of  the  common  weal ; 

1  trow  she  would  not  gladly  see  them  perish 
A  sacrifice  to  pure  excess  of  zeal. 

Two  little  weeks'  repose  !  How  paltry  after 
Some  six  of  steady  pressure  on  the  brain  I 

A  snatch  of  sleep,  a  trill  of  boyish  laughter, 
And  then  the  stern  relentless  task  again  !  O.  S. 


THE  TRAMGIRT  ISLAND. 

THE  Isle  of  Thanet  has  been  given  over  to  the  Electric  Road 
Car  Company.  The  excursion  vans  will,  in  course  of  time, 
probably  vanish,  as  'Arries  and  'Arriets  will  in  fine  weather 
patronise  the  "  trams,"  preferring  life  in  the  open  air,  on  the 
upper  deck  of  the  "tram,"  to  being  temporarily,  but  swiftly, 
carried  in  a  covered-in  carriage  to  their  destination  at  Margate 
or  Birchington.  The  head-quarters  of  the  new  tram  are,  we 
believe,  at  Ramsgate,  which  may  henceforth  be  known  as 
"Trams-gate."  The  line  to  be  called  "The  Tramsgate,  Car- 


gate,  and  Switchington  Line."  Why  not  carry  it  on  to  Herne 
Bay  on  the  one  side  (and  so,  as  'Arry  says,  "Herne  a  hextry 
sixpence"),  and  to  Sandwich  (for  refreshment)  on  the  other, 
and  complete  the  circle  by  running  through  the  meadows  to 
Canterbury,  and  so  "  joining  the  flats  "  ! 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

First  on  the  Antarctic  Continent  (NEWNES)  ,  is  Captain  BORCHGRE- 
VINK'S  narrative  of  the  Antarctic  expedition  which,  at  the 
charges  of  Sir  GEORGE  NEWNES,  set  forth  in  1898.  The  enter- 
prise of  visiting  the  Antarctic  seas  and  continent  is  not  new. 
Captain  COOK  sailed  so  far  southward  as  to  sight  the  great  ice 
barrier  that  forms  the  seaward  boundary  of  the  weird  continent. 
Other  expeditions  have  steered  due  south  with  varying  degree 
of  fresh  discovery.  It  was  left  to  Captain  BORCHGREVINK  and 
his  gallant  crew  of  the  Southern  Cross  to  hoist  the  first  flag  that 
ever  waved  over  the  ice-fields  of  the  Antarctic  continent.  It 
was,  of  course,  the  Union  Jack.  The  object  of  the  expedition 
was  to  locate  the  magnetic  Pole.  This  was  achieved  after 
nearly  two  years  of  arduous,  sometimes  perilous,  adventure, 
lived  through  with  sublime  patience  and  dauntless  courage. 
The  explorers,  travelling  the  final  stage  by  sledge,  reached  the 
furthest  point  south  yet  trodden  by  foot  of  man.  After  reading 
the  Captain's  vivid  account  of  daily  life  and  its  surroundings 
in  and  about  latitude  78°,  my  Baronite  cannot  honestly  recom- 
mend the  newly  discovered  land  to  the  average  emigrant.  But 
Science  has  greatly  profited  by  the  munificence  of  Sir  GEORGE 
NEWNES,  the  skill  and  courage  of  officers  and  crew  of  the 
Southern  Cross. 

The  Tragedy  of  a  Pedigree,  by  HUGO  AMES  (GREENING  &  Co., 
LTD.),  though  a  very  readable  novel,  is  a  little  disappointing. 
Both  title  and  the  gruesome  picture  on  the  cover  suggest  a 
story  of  weird  surroundings ;  "  instead  of  which,"  one  is 
plunged  into  Society's  vortex.  Trouble  to  find  plot.  There  is 
a  mesalliance  of  -the  heir  of  an  ancient  family  with  a  young 
woman  of  vague  lineage.  Naturally,  his  indiscretion  becomes 
an  uncomfortable  fact  when  he  falls  in  love  with  a  lady  of 
high  degree.  The  characters,  however,  are  well  sketched. 
That  of  the  hero's  sister  Elizabeth  (yet  another  ELIZABETH  !) 
stands  out  with  clear  distinction.  Ames  at  a  success,  of 
course  :  but  Ames  without  hitting  "  the  gold." 

The  discontinuance  of  Annals  of  our  Time  was  a  serious  loss 
to  those  concerned  with  the  study  and  chronicling  of  current 
events.  One  or  two  inadequate  attempts  have  been  made  to 
fill  up  the  gap.  The  most  successful  that  has  come  my 
Baronite's  way  is  MORISON'S  Chronicle  of  the  Year's  News 
compiled  by  Mr.  GEORGE  EYRE-TODD.  It  is  not  so  minute  in 
detail  as  the  original  work ;  by  way  of  compensation  it  is 
very  much  cheaper.  It  will  serve  for  all  ordinary  purposes, 
and  those  who  require  fuller  information  on  particular  subjects 
will  find  in  it  the  preliminary  information  of  dates  and  places. 

The  Politician's  Handbook  {VACHER)  is  described  by  its  com- 
piler, Mr.  WHATES,  as  designed  to  furnish  the  governing, 
literary,  and  commercial  classes  with  the  essential  information 
given  in  diplomatic  correspondence,  Parliamentary  papers,  new 
treaties,  reports  of  Royal  Commissions  and  other  documents 
issued  by  the  Government.  It  is  an  undertaking  which  involves 
grinding  hard  work  guided  by  skill  and  experience.  These 
conditions  are  fulfilled  in  the  handy  well-printed  volume.  It 
preserves  in  convenient,  accessible  form  the  gist  of  the 
political  and  commercial  history  of  the  year.  Lest  we  forget, 
here  will  be  found  the  very  text  of  documents  marking  the 
progress  of  events  in  the  Far  East,  in  South  Africa  and  else- 
where, during  the  first  year  of  the  new  century.  A  full  index 
makes  easy  the  hunt  for  items.  THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


1  THE  GREAT  DRINK  QUESTION."— What  '11  you  take  ? 


ATRIL  10,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  CONDON  CHARIVARI. 


271 


"_         •(^^Tr^T'^ii    i  7i r^teT  ll/iUIUPl 


THEIR    FIRST   VISIT   TO   THE    ZOO. 

Tommy.  "  THEM  AIN'T  BONKEYS,  BILLT?" 

Billy.  "  Yus,  THEY  is !  THEY  'RE  DONKEYS  WITH  THEIB  FOOTBALL  JERSEYS  ON  ! ' 


PERSUASIVE    (S)PEKIN. 

["A  telegram  from  Pekin  contains  what  are  said 
to  be  the  terms  of  the  Chinese  Emperor's  reply  to 
the  Russian  demand  for  the  signature  of  the 
Manchuria  Convention.  KWANG-HSU  argues  that 
if  Chinese  supremacy  over  the  province  is  lost,  the 
other  Powers  will  be  encouraged  to  follow  the 
Muscovite  example,  and  he  therefore  beseeches  the 
TBAE  to  '  restore '  the  territory,  and  to  '  act  with 
benevolence  and  righteousness.' " — Daily  Press.'} 

MOST  MAJESTIC  EARTHQUAKE  RUSSIAN 
CZAR  MAN, — Not  liking  demand  for  signa- 
ture of  Manchuria  Convention,  no  can  do 
— Beseeching  His  Most  Imperial  Equal-to- 
new-ness  to  expand  his  benevolence  and 
righteousness  and  restore  that  which  he 
has  not  yet  taken,  but  about  to  be.  If 
otherwise  and  Topside  Earthquake  Russian 
Czar  man  takee  plovince,  pletty  plenty 
row  in  Europe.  Chinese  Emperor,  who 
even  more  Topside  man  than  Majestic 
Earthquake,  beseech  to  takee  tloops  away 
most  immediately  at  once,  or  sooner. 
Loving  to  please  Majestic  Earthquake  but 
to  givee  up  Manchuria — no  bet.  If  must 
fight,  can  do — plentee  men — you  killee 
20,000,  plentee  more  aftilwards.  English 
pidgin  fightee  too.  Chop  chop.  If  Russian 


men  fightee  against  China  men  and  English 
men,  then  Russian  men  plentee  dam  foolee, 
so  Chin  Chin. 


JUST  BEFORE  THE  BUDGET,  MOTHER. 

(The  latest  of  many  equally  valuable  sug- 
gestions.) 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCH, — When  I  was  reading 
my  paper  this  morning  in  my  customary 
attitude,  standing  on  my  head,  it  oc- 
curred to  me  that  even  at  the  last 
moment  I  might  be  of  some  slight  service 
to  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer.  I 
have  not  had  an  opportunity — from  cir- 
cumstances not  entirely  under  my  con- 
trol— of  consulting  my  good  friends,  the 
Emperor  of  China,  the  Man  in,  the  Moon, 
the  Director-in-Chief  .of  the  Aerial  Tran- 
sit Company  from  Mars  to  the  Sun, 
Limited,  and  other  persons  of  undoubted 
antiquity  ;  so  I  am  not  armed  with  their 
opinions. 

But  this  is  a  matter  of  detail,  and  un- 
worthy the  attention  of  one  who  would 
not  strike  to  the  ground  with  a  marling 
spike  a  British  sailor  without  serious 
provocation. 


From  what  I  have  gathered  from  a 
hurried  perusal  of  the  leading  articles 
of  the  daily  papers,  read  backwards,  in 
such  a  manner  that  extremes  meet,  I 
fear  there  is  a  good  deal  of  objection  to 
the  payment  of  taxes  by  so-called  sane 
people.  Then  why  tax  the  so-called  sane? 
Surely  this  is  injudicious  treatment,  and 
not  to  be  spoken  of  in  the  same  day  with 
a  shower  bath  or  what  is  technically 
known  as  a  strait  waistcoat. 

I  do  not  know  that  I  make  myself  clearly 
understood,  as  I  am  not  accustomed  to 
public  speaking,  especially  when  the 
Great  Panjandrum,  with  the  little  button 
on  top,  is  jogging  my  elbow  with  a  com- 
plete edition  of  Dr.  JOHNSON'S  Dictionary. 

But,  there,  let  that  pass,  for  you  cannot 
always  settle  your  opponent  with  the 
stroke  of  a  patent  umbrella  stand — even 
when  no  one  is  looking.  All  I  would 
suggest  is  that,  if  the  sane  object,  why 
not  tax  the  insane  ?  They  at  least  would 
pay  up  with  every  appearance  of  cheer- 
fulness and  unpremeditated  satisfaction. 

Yours,  as  king-in-chief  of  the  universe, 
AN  APRIL  RABBIT  ne  A  MARCH  HARE. 
Wisdom's  Retreat,  near  Hamvell. 


272 


PUNCH,   OR  THE:"  LONDON.  CHARIVARI. 


[APBH,  10,  1901. 


THE  LADY  WITHOUT  MERCY. 

O  WOMAN  without  mercy  !    Thou 
Employest  still  each  subtle  art. 

Nor  wilt  accept  my  proffered  vow, 
Nor  wilt  permit  me  to  depart.  " 

Around  me  thou  hast  cast  thy  spell. 

Before  curst  Fate  our  footsteps  drew 
Together,  oh,  I  knew  thee  well, 

A  woman  whom  to  meet  was  rue. 

Long  since  the  love  that  fired  my  breast 
Is  dead.     To  shun  thee  I  have  tried, 

But  oh,  my  weakness  stands  confest, 
For  still  I  linger  at  thy  side. 

Thou  art  not  beautiful,  but,  oh, 
Thou  hast  a  thousand  ways  mysterious 

And  when  from  thee  I  fain  would  go, 

Thou  wav'st  me  back  with  beck  imperious. 

Thou  by  another  art  possest ; 

Not  for  each  other  we,  I  know. 
Then  calm  the  anguish  in  my  breast 

And  let  me  go,  oh,  let  me  go  ! 

Oh,  say  what  power  my  will  defies 
Against  which  I  so  oft  have  striven  ? 

'Tis  not  the  witchery  of  sighs, 
Or  dulcet  glances,  softly  given. 

No  dowered  beauty  of  the  land, 

"With  blush  roses  on  damask  cheeks 

Art  thou.     But  my  landlady,  and 
I  owe  thee  rent — for  several  weeks. 


ON    BANK    HOLIDAYS. 

THK  following  paper  will  be  read  by  Professor  SNOOKS  before 
the  Society  of  Antiquaries  towards  the  end  of  the  twenty-first 
century  : — 

The  institution  of  "  Bank  "  holidays,  which  seem  to  have 
become  increasingly  frequent  during  the  last  years  of  the 
nineteenth  century  of  our  era,  has  long  been  a  puzzle  to  the 
historian.  Considerable  doubt  prevails  among  antiquaries  as 
to  the  origin  of  the  name  by  which  they  were  known.  The 
general  view  is  that,  they  were  called  "Bank"  holidays 
because  on  those  days,  to  add  to  the  general  inconvenience  of 
holiday  makers,  no  one  could  go  to  the  bank.  My  friend 
Professor  BuGGiNS,  however,  derives  the  name  somewhat 
differently.  He  is  of  opinion  that  they  were  styled  "Bank" 
holidays  because  the  less  reputable  members  of  the  community 
spent  them  lying  on  banks  at  Hampstcad  and  elsewhere  in 
various  stages  of  intoxication.  That  this  was  a  prominent 
feature  in  the  keeping  of  these  holidays  is  unhappily  beyond 
question,  and  Professor  BUGGINS'S  view,  therefore,  deserves 
serious  consideration. 

The  learned  Dr.  JINKS,  on  the  other  hand,  believes  that  the 
word  "Bank  "  is  a  corruption  of  "  Blank,"  and  that  these  days 
were  called  "  Blank  "  holidays  because,  owing  to  over-crowding 
and  other  difficulties,  it  was  not  possible  for  any  sane  human 
being  to  find  anything  to  do  on  them.  Contemporary  descrip- 
tions which  have  come  down  to  us  seem  to  bear  out  this  view, 
and  it  is  easy  to  perceive  that,  if  a  whole  community  endeavours 
to  keep  holiday  on  the  same  day,  every  train,  place  of  amuse- 
ment and  seaside  resort  will  be  crowded  with  a  perspiring  mob 
of  hapless  citizens,  and  the  effort  to  obtain  enjoyment  and 
relaxation  will  be  necessarily  futile.  Professor  BUGGINS,  on  the 
other  hand,  has  laboured  to  show  that  this  difficulty  is  more 
apparent  than  real.  He  imagines  a  smiling  and  contented 
population  wandering  in  leisurely  fashion  through  the  streets 


of  great  cities  looking  into  shop  windows,  admiring  the  beauti- 
ful objects  displayed  in  them,  and  returning  home  in  the 
evening  laden  with  ribbons  and  cheap  jewellry.  Dr.  JINKS, 
however,  has  proved  that  this  view  is  not  tenable.  He  has 
shown  that  on  these  days  no  shops  containing  anything  which 
any  rational  person  could  wish  to  buy  were  allowed  to  remain 
open,  and  that  the  streets  presented  the  depressing  spectacle 
of  long  lines  of  shuttered  windows,  flanking  pavements  strewn 
with  orange  peel  and  torn  paper.  If  this  picture  be  a  correct 
one  it  only  makes  the  institution  of  these  holidays  more 
inexplicable. 

Dr.  SMITHSON  has  ingeniously  argued  that  the  true  name  of 
these  days  was  "Dank"  holidays,  and  that  they  were  so 
called  because  it  always  rained  on  them.  This  he  declares  to 
be  the  true  explanation  of  the  fact,  if  fact  it  be,  that  a  con- 
siderable section  of  the  community  usually  spent  them  in  an 
uncomfortably  crowded  public  house. 

Professor  DOBBS  maintains  that  the  whole  idea  of  "Bank" 
or  "Blank"  or  "Dank"  holidays,  as  commonly  accepted, 
is  a  myth.  He  points  out,  with  a  considerable  show  of  reason, 
that  no  country  with  a  large  population  could  ever  have 
dreamed  of  compelling  all  its  citizens  to  keep  holiday  on  the 
same  day.  On  the  contrary,  its  great  aim  would  have  been  to 
induce  people  to  take  their  holidays  on  different  days.  He 
refuses  to  believe  that  any  nation  with  a  reputation  for  sanity 
to  keep  up  would  select  four  or  five  Mondays  in  each  year  on 
which  to  travel  in  over-crowded  trains,  visit  over-crowded 
museums  and  theatres,  trample  on  one  another's  heels  on 
Hampstead  Heath,  and  jostle  one  another  in  a  frantic  effort  to 
get  inside  the  Crystal  Palace.  He  declares  that  the  whole 
conception  of  general  holidays  of  this  kind  had  become 
impossible  at  the  end  of  the  nineteeth  century,  and  belongs 
rather  to  the  scantier  populations  of  the  seventeenth  and 
eighteenth.  He  further  points  out,  with  a  fair  show  of  reason, 
that  holidays  which  are  universal  lack  the  real  charm  of  holi- 
days. There  is  no  luxury  in  leaving  off  work  if  everybody  else 
leaves  off  at  the  same  time.  The  essence  of  a  holiday  is  that 
other  people  should  be  working  while  you  are  idling. 

Nor  is  it  credible,  according  to  Professor  DOBBS,  that  the 
English  nation  should  ever  have  been  content  to  put  up  with 
the  gross  discomfort  which  is  said  to  have  marked  the  celebra- 
tion of  these  days.  The  pictures  which  have  come  down  to  us 
of  the  loafer  and  the  respectable  tradesman,  the  clerk  and  the 
chimney  sweep,  pigging  together  in  third-class  carriages, 
elbowing  one  another  on  Margate  beach,  and  singing  convivial 
choruses  at  Epping,  are  clearly  inaccurate  and  even  absurd. 
Among  the  humbler  sections  of  the  community,  even  more  than 
among  the  higher,  class  distinctions  are  strictly  maintained, 
and  the  respectable  clerk  or  artizan  who  was  only  allowed  to 
keep  holiday  among  a  crowd  of  'Arries  would  certainly  prefer 
to  stop  at  home  and  read  the  newspaper.  It  has  been  objected 
to  this  view  that  nations  are  not  rational  and  that  legislators 
are  stupid.  That  short-sighted  philanthropists  may  easily 
have  imagined  that  they  were  conferring  a  boon  on  the  com- 
munity by  giving  everyone  certain  holidays  during  the  year, 
without  troubling  to  ascertain  how  on  earth  they  were  going  to 
enjoy  them.  But  Professor'  DOBBS  refuses  to  accept  this  view, 
and  he  points  out  that  as  we  in  this  twenty-first  century  have 
found  no  difficulty  in  ordaining  that  every  employer  shall  allow 
his  employes  a  certain  number  of  holidays  a  year,  leaving  it  to 
the  parties  themselves  to  settle  on  the  dates  most  convenient 
for  taking  them,  our  forefathers  of  the  twentieth  century  must 
have  had  the  sense  to  demand  and  obtain  similar  freedom. 


QUESTION  TIME.  —  "One  unaccustomed  to  Parliamentary 
Practice  "  wants  to  know  if  the  kitchen  and  restaurant  business 
of  the  House  of  Commons  is  always  referred  to  as  a  "  '  Joint ' 
Committee,"  and,  if  so,  is  it  a  "'Hot  or  Cold  Joint*  Com- 
mittee," or  a  "  '  Soup-Fish-and-Joint '  Committee  "  ? 


APRIL  10,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  TUE   LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


273 


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274 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[APRIL  10,  1901, 


EASY  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

HAPPY  the  poor  man's  lot  to-day  ! 

For  he  with  riches'  cares  unhampered 
May  now,  without  a  cent  to  pay, 

"With  every  luxury  be  pampered. 

"While  rival  dealers  struggle  still, 
And  each  upon  the  other  tramples, 

"With  patent  foods  his  mouth  they  fill, 
And  deluge  him  with  cocoa  samples. 

A  halfpenny  paper  if  he  buys 
A  free  insurance  it  provides  him, 

And  on  a  sick-bed  if  he  lies 
With  generous  advice  it  guides  him. 

If  he  through  stress  of  poverty 
No  picture  shows  can  be  affording, 

The  choicest  art  in  posters  he 

Can  gaze  upon  on  every  hoarding. 

Yes,  these  are  happy  days  indeed  ! 

When  traders,  keen  and  enterprising 
The  public  cure,  amuse,  and  feed 

Gratis  by  way  of  advertising. 


LOVE'S    LITTLE   LIABILITIES. 

Short  Stories  ivith  Sad  Endings. 
No.  VI. — THE  OTHER  WOMAN. 

IF  it  had  been  the  subject  of  a  modern 
play  it  would  have  been  called  a  triangular 
affair.  At  the  base  were  EUSTACE  CHARD 
and  the  woman  he  had  wooed  and  almost 
won,  the  woman  who  would  have  been  Mrs. 
CHARD  but  for  the  presence  of  the  other 
woman  who  frowned  at  the  apex.  Poor 
CHARD,  and  he  thought  everything  was 
going  so  satisfactorily  and  smoothly  for 
him ;  and  to  be  thus  confronted,  nay, 
defied  by  this  creature  who  threatened  to 
overturn  all  his  plans  for  future  happiness 
with  the  one  woman  he  really  did  cherish 
a  sincere  affection  for  was  a  poignant 
grief  that  threatened  to  shatter  his  very 
reason.  The  outlook  was  about  as  gloomy 
a  one  as  EUSTACE  had  ever  faced.  He  was 
not  naturally  a  coward,  but  scenes  with 
women  unnerved  him  and  to  see  his 
MARJORIE  in  a  state  of  semi-collapse, 
brought  on  by  this  woman's  insolence  and 
unwarranted  behaviour,  was  a  spectacle 
that  entirely  robbed  him  of  his  self-con- 
trol. 

He  had  been  lolling  limply  against  the 
piano.  His  mind  was  confused,  his  limbs 
inadequately  fitted  to  support  him  ituder 
distress,  threatened  momentarily  to  give 
way.  He  lurched  into  the  centre  of  the 
room,  and  asked  blankly:  "Where  is 
she?  " 

"In  the  next  room,"  answered  the 
woman. 

The  man  played  nervously  with  his 
watch  chain.  Already  her  faith  in  his 
strength  and  manhood  had  evaporated. 
She  avoided  his  glance.  Yet  he  knew  he 
dare  not  trust  himself  to  go  into  the  next 
room.  She  saw  his  irresolution,  and 
offered  to  go  herself. 


The  man  wavered.  It  was  his  only 
chance.  Yet  he  had  some  compunction 
against  allowing  MARJORIE  to  go  to  this 
woman,  and  he  made  a  feeble  show  of 
resistance.  But  this  was  quickly  beaten 
down,  and  the  man  weakly  acquiesced  to 
an  interview  between  the  two  women. 
Poor  little  MARJORIE,  she  had  not  antici- 
pated episodes  of  this  sort  being  intro- 
duced into  her  married  life.  Perhaps  her 
view  of  matrimony  was  taken  too  much 
from  modern  works  of  fiction,  where  ex- 
perience seldom  inspires  the  description. 
Such  a  contingency  would  have  been  met 
by  less  impressionable  women  in  quite 
an  airy,  matter-of-fact  manner,  but  with 
MARJORIE  this  was  not  the  case.  She 
was  disappointed,  her  illusions,  when  re- 
vealing themselves  as  such,  seemed  to 
be  lurking  in  the  near  future,  and  only 
bearing  their  ghosts  into  the  present  as 
samples  of  what  was  to  come.  Very 
naturally  the  man  was  not  torn  by  any 
conflicting  emotions  as  to  future  develop- 
ments. He  hated  to  think,  that  the 
woman  in  the  adjoining  room  should  have 
the  slightest  power  to  alter  the  course 
he  and  MARJORIE  had  marked  out  for 
themselves.  But  he  knew  too  well  she 
had.  He  knew  that  by  a  few  words  she 
could  dispel  his  dream  and  separate  him 
and  MARJORIE — perhaps  for  ever.  And 
it  was  this  fact  that  galled  him  ;  that  an 
ill  -  educated,  unprepossessing  woman, 
could  ever  be  in  a  position  to  play  fast 
and  loose  with  practically  half  of  his 
life.  If  ever  there  was  an  outward  and 
visible  sign  of  the  degeneracy  of  modern 
times  this  was  one.  Moreover,  he  knew 
that  this  case  was  a  replica  of  thousands 
of  others,  happening  daily,  and  that  such 
women,  as  the  one  who  engrossed  his 
thoughts  had  the  power,  and  used  it  to 
devastate  the  realms  of  a  home  life,  such 
as  he  and  MARJORIE  had  proposed  to 
enter  on. 

The  man  groaned.  "  After  all,"  he  said 
in  a  broken  voice,  "  yours  is  the  best 
way."  MARJORIE'S  face  was  touched  with 
a  deep  pity.  She  saw  how  genuinely 
ashamed  he  was  of  his  weakness. 

"Go  to  her,"  he  continued.  "Tell  her 
of  our  plans  for  the  future — as  'much  of 
our  life  as  you  think  fit  and  necessary. 
Tell  her  how  much  of  our  happiness,  our 
hopes  of  peace  and  comfort  depend  on  her 
— good  sense,  her  reasonable  attitude,  her 
kind  forbearance.  Make  her  understand." 

The  door  opened  and  closed.  The  man 
waited  anxiously.  He  could  hear  the 
buzz  of  their  voices.  How  harsh,  almost 
raucous,  the  woman's  voice  sounded  to 
MARJORIE'S  richly  modulated  tones.  The 
sounds  ceased.  MARJORIE  was  returning. 
The  door  was  flung  open  and  the  woman 
who  was  to  have  been  EUSTACE  CHARD'S 
wife,  sank  dejectedly  into  a  chair. 

"  Speak,  speak  !"  cried  CHARD.  "All 
my  hopes  of  future  happiness  depend  on 
your  word .  What  did  she  say  ?  ' ' 


;<  She  said,"  sobbed  out  the  distressed 
MARJORIE,  "  She  's-bl-blowed  if  she  '11  be 
anybody's  cook  in  a  fifty-pound-a-year  flat 
— oh,  EUSTACE,  don't  hope.  It 's  impos- 
sible. There  can  be  no  love  where  there 
is  no  cook  !  " 


THE  CURE  FOR  INSOMNIA. 

OF  course  everyone  knows  it.  The 
simplest  thing  in  the  world.  All  you  have 
to  do  is  to  fancy  that  you  are  counting  a 
flock  of  sheep  crossing  a  stile. 

You  try  it.  There  's  the  stile,  close  to 
a  tree,  and  near  a  cottage.  Girl  looking 
out  of  window.  Boy  comes  over  stile  and 
makes  an  ugly  face  at  girl.  Girl  takes  an 
umbrella  and  chivies  boy.  Stop  !  stop  ! — 
this  is  getting  interesting.  Besides,  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  flock  of  sheep. 
Going  back.  Leave  cottage,  boy,  and 
girl,  and  scrimmage,  and  return  to  stile. 

Stile  in  foreground.  Sheep  approaching. 
One  sheep  with  a  bell  gets  half  over  and 
sticks.  Dog  barks,  but  does  not  do  any 
good.  Wedding-party  come  up.  Rustic 
bride  much  distressed  at  not  being  able 
to  pass  the  stile.  Bad  omen.  Rustic 
bridegroom  indignant  with  shepherd. 
Row.  Wedding  guests  take  different 
sides.  Some*  of  them  personal  friends 
of  the  shepherd.  Rural  constable  ap- 
proaches. Row  subsides.  But  heated 
argument.  Most  interesting.  But  this 
is  not  helping  me  to  go  to  sleep.  Never 
more  wide  awake  in  my  life  ! 

Try  back  to  the  stile.  Fresh  flock  of 
sheep.  Here  they  come.  One  gets  over, 
then  another,  then  a  third.  But,  hallo ! 
What 's  this  ?  Here  comes  a  bull.  How 
the  sheep  scamper !  And  now  the  dog  is 
fighting  the  bull !  And  here  comes  a  lot 
of  Volunteers.  Why,  they  are  lining  the 
hedges!  It's  a  sham  fight.  Lord  ROBERTS, 
as  I  live,  and  Sir  EVELYN  WOOD.  But  I 
didn't  want  to  think  of  these  eminent 
warriors.  I  am  more  awake  than  ever. 
Must  get  back  to  my  stile,  pur  et 
simple. 

Same  old  stile.  New  flock  of  sheep. 
They  are  in  single  file.  Four  of  them  get 
over  and  I  am  expecting  a  fifth,  when, 
what  is  this?  Why,  the  cottage  is  on 
fire  !  Here  come  the  engines  !  They  pass 
rapidly,  getting  up  steam  en  route.  And 
here  are  the  fire-escapes  !  What  a  mob  ! 
The  water  is  beginning  to  take  effect ! 
The  sheep  are  scrambling  away  in  the 
distance !  The  boy  is  trying  to  save  the 
girl !  He  clambers  up  the  ladder  of  the 
fire-escape  !  Saved  !  Saved  I  Here  come 
more  fire-engines !  The  stile  is  broken 
down  to  allow  them  to  pass  !  Dear  me  ! 
I  am  more  awake  than  ever !  And  my 
sheep  and  stile  both  gone  ! 

Try  another  remedy.  Open  presenta- 
tion copy  of  a  book  by  a  valued  friend. 
Read  a  couple  of  pages.  Rather  dull. 
Not  quite  sure — gork !  gawk  !  gork — awk  ! 
(Left  snoring.) 


APRIL  10,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


275 


CITY    AND    SUBURBAN." 

M-iiis  Tooting  Beck  (Suburban).  "  OH,  MB.  DASH,  WHAT  HORSE  is  THAT  THEY  ARE  ALL  LOOKING  AT?" 

Mr.  Dash  (City).  "  THAT 's  THE  FAVOURITE,  Miss  BECK." 

Miss  Tooting  Beck.  "REALLY!    WHAT  A  WONDERFUL  CREATURE  !    IT  SEEMS  TO  HAVE  RUN  IN  EVERY  RACE  I'VE  HEARD  OF  !  " 


276 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[APRIL  10,  1901. 


Instructor  (to  newly-enlisted  Imperial  Yeoman). 
Imperial  Yeoman.  "  'AMPSTEAD  "EATH  !  " 


"I   THINK  YOU  TOLD   ME  YOU  WIRE  ACCUSTOMED  TO  RIDE.     WHERE  DID  YOU   RIDE  ?  " 


TO  ALL  THE  OTHER  GIRLS. 

You  know,  I  like  you  awfully,  JESS, 

PHYLLIS,  the  same  applies  to  you, 
To  EDITH  and  to  MARY  no  less, 

Also  to  others,  not  a  few. 
Yet  some  of  you  are  rather  "  mad," 

You  choose  to  feel,  I  understand,  a 
Slight  sense  of  injury,  since  I  've  had 

The  glorious  luck  to  win  AMANDA. 

I  wish,  sincerely,  it  were  not 

Impossible  for  m*e  to  fall 
In  love  with  some  of  you — a  lot — 

In  fact  I  'd  gladly  love  you  all! 
But,  when  you  come  to  think  it  out, 

I  'm  sure  my  reasoning  will  strike  you, 
You  '11  find  it,  I  can  have  no  doubt, 

More   flattering    that   I  should    like 
you. 

Fate  sends  their  wives  to  poor  and  rich, 

Fate  does  not  send  them  thus  their 

friends  ; 
Then  let  my  final  couplet  (which 

I  rather  fancy)  make  amends. 
This  fundamental  truth,  I  trust, 

My  seeming  fickleness  excuses-^ 
One  simply  loves  because  one  must, 

Whereas  one  likes  because  one  chooses  I 


JOURNALISM  NOWADAYS. 
(The  Office  of  "  The  Crocophant.") 

Proprietor  (to  Managing  Editor).  Is  there 
nothing  you  can  suggest,  Mr.  T(PCAT,  to 
increase  our  advertisements  and  reduce 
our  circulation  ? 

Mr.  Tipcat.  I  am  really  at  my  wits'  end. 
I  have  cut  down  all  the  contributors  to 
half-a-crown  a  column,  given  away  one 
hundred  pounds'  worth  of  jewellery  every 
week,  and  also,  as  you  know,  two  motor 
cars,  fifty  bicycles,  and  five-and-twenty 
thousand  copies  of  Pinnock's  History  of 
Greece.  We  might  make  a  splash  with 
some  free  luncheon  tickets  and  a  few 
cases  of  champagne  and  whiskey,  or  buy 
the  favourite  for  the  Derby  and  give  him 
to  the  person  who  spots  the  most  con- 
sonants in  a  certain  number  of  the  paper. 

Proprietor  (drily).  I  know  who  that 
person  will  be.  But  can't  you  think  of  a 
more  novel  idea  ? 

Mr.  Tipcat  (suddenly  struck  by  a  brilliant 
"idea).  Novel  idea!  "Novel  "idea!  That's 
it !  You  've  just  hit  it !  We  *11  offer  £500 
to  the  man  or  woman  who  will  name  the 
worst  hundred  novels  in  the  world. 

Proprietor       (overjoyed).        Excellent  ! 


(After   a   pause)       But    mightn't    it     be 
libellous  ? 

Mr.  Tipcat.  Libellous  !  Nonsense,  we  'It 
only  admit  the  works  of  dead  authors. 
[And  the  circulation  goes  up  by  "  leaps 
and  bounds." 


AN  INVITATION. 

FAIR  butterflies,  that  in  the  Park 
Hither  and  thither  flit  and  flutter, 

The  while  your  gorgeous  hues  I  mark 
In  ecstasy  the  wish  I  utter  : 

"  Would  you  would  come  in  myriads  here, 

Our  eyes  to  gladden  and  to  cheer. ' ' 

Come,  hover  round  each  lovely  flower, 
Its  pollen  browse,  sip  from  its  petals, 

And  we  will  make  for  you  a  bower 
All  overgrown  with  toothsome  nettles, 

Where  you  may  spend  your  glad  spring 
days, 

While  we  in  admiration  gaze. 

Oh,  foolish  wish  of  ours  !  for  now 
Your  children  come,  a  loathly  lot, 

And  swarni  and  c:reep  on  every  bough, 
For,  butterfly,  I  quite  forgot, 

That,  ere  to  beauty  forth  you  burst, 

You  were  a  caterpillar  first. 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.— APRIL  10,  1901. 


SOMETHING  TO  GO  ON  WITH! 

SIR  M-CH-L  H-CKS-B-CH  (jubilant,  after  foraging).  "AHA  !    LOOK  WHAT  I  'VE  GOT  FOR  YOU  ! " 


APRIL  10,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


279 


AFTER  BANK   HOLIDAY. 

(A  Few  Confessions.) 

Lightning  Tourist.  Got  over  5,000  miles 
or  was  it  50,000?  I  am  quite  sure  we 
visited  Paris.  Forget  whether  we  saw 
the  Rhine  or  Switzerland,  or  both.  Any- 
way, we  carried  out  the  programme  and 
didn't  waste  a  penny.  It  was  certainly 
cheap,  and  if  my  impressions  are  slightly 
mixed  —  well,  I  can  find  out 
where  we  did  go  and  read  the 
guide-book. 

Enthusiastic  Volunteer.  Splen- 
did time  !  Up  at  five,  on  parade 
at  six.  Hard  at  work  until  six 
in  the  evening.  Then  mess. 
Slept  most  of  the  time.  Turned 
in  at  seven  ;  out  again  at  five, 
and  repeated  the  movement. 
Not  a  moment  to  myself.  De- 
lightful holiday,  and  after  my 
work  in  the  office  a  splendid 
rest! 

Typical  'Arry.  Oh,  dear  ! 
Never  see  such  fun.  Fifty  of 
us  in  a  compartment  built  for 
ten.  Such  songs,  such  games, 
and  came  back  without  being 
copped  by  the  police.  First 
rate,  and  no  error  ! 

Leisurely  Lounger.  Never 
think  of  going  away  when 
other  fellows  go.  Prefer  the 
club  empty.  Get  my  own  cor- 
ner in  the  coffee-room  without 
opposition.  If  I  go  to  an  hotel 
on  Bank  Holiday,  always  full. 
Like  to  be  looked  after.  Hate 
to  be  a  number.  Bank  Holiday 
first-rate  institution  —  when 
you  stay  at  home. 

Amusement  Caterer.  Splen- 
did houses  ;  cram  full  on  Mon- 
day. Up  all  night  looking  after 
things.  Rushed  up  the  balance 
at  the  Bank.  Not  much  rest 
for  me ;  but,  then,  I  always 
have  the  hardest  work  on  a 
holiday. 

Cabinet  Minister.  Left  in 
town  to  look  after  everything ! 
Half  a  mind  to  serve  my  col- 
leagues out  by  causing  foreign 
and  colonial  complications. 
Whole  mind  not  to  do  it.  What  's  the 
good  of  being  a  Right  Honourable  if  you 
don't  behave  as  such  ? 

The  Public  in  General.  Very  good  thing 
a  Bank  Holiday.  Fortunate  there  are  not 
more  of  them ! 

The  Police  in  London.  Glad  the 
provincials  have  to  look  after  some 
of  our  friends  from  the  little  vil- 
lage. 

The  Police  in  the  Country.  Glad  to 
send  the  rough  lot  back  to  the  force  at 
the  Yard. 

Mr.  Punch.  All 's  well  that  ends  well, 
and  Bank  Holiday  is  over. 


PAINFUL  POEMS.— No.  IV. 

THE  SACRIFICE. 
THE  orator  had  swayed  the  throng 

With  winged  words  and  true. 
Who  would  not  right  a  grievous  wrong 
By  giving  what  was  due  ? 

And  men  were  giving,  giving  fast, 
Their  gifts  were  good  and  great — 


Lady 


A    GIRLISH    IGNORANCE. 

Hildegarde,  who  is  studying  the  habits  of  the  democracy, 
determines  to  travel  by  Omnibus. 


Lady  H. 
BERKELEY 


"CONDUCTOR,  TELL  THE  DRIVER 
SQUARE,  AND  THEN  HOME  !  " 


But  ANDREW  MOTTLEBURY  cast 
His  eyes  upon  the  plate  ! 

Alas  !  poor  man,  'twas  all  he  had, 
His  purse  was  lean  and  bare 

(To  say  that  he  was  pale  and  sad 
Is  neither  here  nor  there). 

And,  yet,  perchance  the  man  was  wise — 
While  others  gave  their  gold, 

He  gave  a  glance,  and  cast  his  eyes, 
As  I  've  already  told. 

Oh,  yes,  the  sacrifice  was  grand ! 

And  my  advice  to  all 
Is  give  your  eyes,  or,  give  a  hand 

In  helping  those  who  fall. 


FOR  LOVE  OF  SCIATICA. 
(An  Hydropathic  Romance.) 
SCIATICA  was  not  beautiful,  nor    was 
she  young,  and  yet,  no  sooner  had  Mr. 
ROOMER  TISM  exchanged  a  dozen  words 
with  her  than  he  fell  desperately  in  love. 
They  met  in  the  Pump  Room,  whither 
a   gouty    destiny    had     impelled     them. 
ROOMER  waxed    eloquent  on   sulphates ; 
SCIATICA  flashed  out  with  apo- 
thegms  on   carbonates.     A 
secret   affinity  of   the  problem 
on    diuretics  drew  these  two 
middle-aged  souls  together,  and 
they  walked  back  to  the  hydro 
thrilling  with  the  thought  that 
Nature  had  given  each  a  similar 
diathesis.     Later  on,   as  they 
stirred    weak    tea    sweetened 
by  saxin,  they  compared  with 
feverish    interest    their    diet 
charts,  and  tears  of  exquisite 
sympathy  fell  from  SCIATICA'S 
eyes  when  she  found  that  Mr. 
ROOMER  TISM  also  was  told  to 
avoid  pork  chops  and   bottled 
beer. 

We  were  designed  for  each 
other,  murmured  ROOMER,  bend- 
ing as  much  as  tendency  to 
lumbago  would  permit. 

SCIATICA  blushed  and  bash- 
fully turned  the  subject  on  to 
the  clinical  significance  of 
gastric  toxins. 

That  evening  she  confided 
to  her  cousin  ARTHRITIS  the 
news  of  the  mutual  attachment, 
while  ROOMER,  as  he  drank  his 
glass  of  hot  water  before 
retiring  to  rest,  silently 
pledged  his  love. 

Of  course,  a  few  shadows 
chequered  from  time  to  time 
the  sunshine  of  the  romance. 
The  course  of  true  love  never, 
etc.,  as  the  poet  says,  and 
when  the  course  is  a  "water" 
course,  the  sentiment  has 
additional  application.  But 
then  the  tiffs  were  no  ordinary 
lovers'  tiffs.  O  dear  no! 
nothing  so  foolish  and  trivial. 
SCIATICA  had  a  weakness  for 
carbo-hydrates  which  ROOMER  TISM  did 
not  share,  and  she  resented  his  mild 
reproaches  on  this  score.  But  he  made  a 
peace  offering  of  takadiastase  (in  5-grain 
doses)  tied  up  with  blue  ribbon,  and  all 
was  right  again.  The  wedding  will  shortly 
take  place :  a  peptonised  wedding-cake  is 
being  prepared  by  a  first-class  chemical 
firm,  and  the  health  of  bride  and  bride- 
groom will  be  drunk  in  fine  old  Vichy 
water.  It  is  understood  that  the  bride- 
groom has  presented  the  bride  with  a  neck- 
lace and  pendants  composed  of  varalettes. 
The  honeymoon  will  be  divided  between 
the  various  English  spas. 


TO    GO    TO    NO.    104, 


280 


PUNCH,  -OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[APRIL  10,  1901. 


THE  USES.  OP  ADVERTISEMENT. 
:  .  Shade-of  Milton  speaks  :     ,A:r:«c- 

N0  sandwich-men  along  the  Strand" ' 

.  To  all  the  World  explained 
The  beauties  of  my  Ccm^is  and 

My  Paradise  Regained  ; 
Else  haply  had  my  verses  raised 

Almost  as  great  a  noise 
As  this  imread  but  much  self-praised 

Ad  Astra  now  enjoys.' 

Pai-adisw  Lost  no  better  fared  : 

No  advertising  page 
This  masterpiece  of  miire  declared 

The  marvel  of  the  age. 
SAM  SIMMONS  was  not  of  the  stuff 

Of  these  who  now  possess 
The  courage  and  the  face  to  puff 

Peccavi  in  the  press. 

I  wrote  of  Satan,  but  no  "  ad." 

My  genius  proclaimed — 
If  BEELZEBUB  I  only  had 

The  Master  Sinner  named  ! — 
No  bold  announcement  bade  men  look 

For  Ltjcidus,  but  then 
No  royal  life  was  my  poor  book 

Writ  by  a  ducal  pen.. 

My  foolish  thoughts,  all  out  of  joint, 

On  art  alone  were  bent, 
And  quite  ignored  the  vital  point 

Of  self-advertisement. 
I  wrote  an  Epic,  and  it  stocked 

My  purse  with  guineas  five — 
These  wiser  moderns  just  concoct 

Advertisements,  and  thrive. 


FOR  FOREIGNERS  IN  LONDON  AT 
EASTER, 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCH, — I  see  that  several 
excellent  schemes  have  been  arranged  for 
English  strangers  visiting  the  Continent 
at  Easter,  to  enable  them  to  see  the  chief 
objects  of  interest  in  foreign  parts.  For 
instance,  in  Paris  an  itinerary  allows 
tourists  to  inspect  the  Place  de  la  Con- 
corde, the  Boulevards,  the  Arc  de  Trioinphe, 
and  the  Morgue.  Now,  could  not  some- 
thing be  clone  of  the  same  kind  for  French- 
men visiting  London  at  this  season  of  the 
year  for  the  first  time  ?  I  think  so.  I  jot 
down  a  programme  for  three  days. 

First  Day.  Visit  to  Charing  Cross. 
Inspection  of  the  statue  of  CHARLES.  I. 
Visit  to  Charing  Cross  railway  station. 
Inspection  of  the  exterior  of  the  Royal 
United  Service  Institution.  Walk  in  St. 
James's  Park.  Lunch.  A  substantial  one 
can  be  obtained  at  the  A.B.C.  shops. 
Promenade  down  the  Victoria  Embank- 
ment, with  visits  to  the  bridges  of 
Westminster,  Charing  Cross  (foot-path), 
Waterloo,  and  Blackfriars.  Home. 

Second  Day.  Visit  to  the  Tottenham 
Court  Road.  Inspection  of  huge  shops. 
Journeys  by  the  Twopenny  Tube  to  the 
extent  of  8d.  Lunch  at  the  A.B.C.  Visit 


to  Battersea  Park.  Inspection  of  the 
British  Museum- .  Walks  to  and  fro  of  the 
most  interesting  character.  Journey  to 
King's  Cross*  Inspection  of  railway 
platform.  Home. 

Third  Day.— Visit  to  the  Docks.  After 
they  have  been  inspected,  journey  to  Kew 
Gardens.  Charming  walk  by  Knights- 
bridge,  Kensington,  and  Hammersmith. 
Lunch  at  the  A.B.C.  The  rest  of  the  time 
might  be  usefully  employed  in  resting  on 
the  benches  on  the  Thames  Embankment, 
and  packing  up.  Train  leaves  for  the 
Continent  at  a  time  that  carefully  avoids 
clashing  with  the  dinner  hour.. 

There,  my  dear  Mr.  Punch,  if  that  is  not 
an  excellent  programme  I  am  a  Dutchman. 
I  have  found  no  exact  balance  to  the 
Morgue.  Some  suggest,  however,  that 
the  School  of  Mines,  in  Jermyn  Street,  is 
sufficiently  gloomy  to  be  accepted  by  the 
more  cheerful  of  our  visitors  as  a  satis- 
factory substitute. 

Yours  very  truly, 

ORGANISER. 


A   DANCE  DIALOGUE. 

"A  SMARTISH  affair  this,"  1  said  to  the 
little  man  with  the  pale-blue  eyes,  who 
leant  disconsolately  against  the  wall. 

He  laughed  nervously.  I  felt  drawn 
to  him,  somehow.  He  appeared  to  know 
no  one,  and  I  knew  very  few  intimately, 
and  hadn't  succeeded  yet  in  discovering 
the  host  and  hostess. 

"But  I  should  say,"  I  went  on, drawing 
inspiration  from  my  new  acquaintance's 
sympathetic  attention,  "I  should  say  it 
cost  our  host  Sir  TOIXAI.  TINTZ  a  pretty 
penny.  The  champagne  is  actually  up  to 
par,  and  no  stint." 

"  Really,  I  'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so." 

"Reassuring,  isn't  it?  " 

From  our  point  of  vantage  we  couid 
command  a  full  view  of  the  ball-room. 
The  melody  of  the  waltz,  the  perfume, 
and  the  frou-frou  of  Parisian  and  Viennese 
confections  had  lulled  the  little  man  into 
a  delicious  reverie. 

"  There,"  I  said,  "you  see  that  old  chap 
who  looks  as  if  he  had  stolen  the  Eastern 
Hemisphere  and  put  it  under  his  waistcoat 
— that  explains  the  fizz !  ' ' 

My  friend  looked  exceedingly  puzzled. 

"That's  GOOTZBGOG  —  the  chap  who 
supplied  the  wine.  Oh,  everybody  knows 
Sir  TUMNAL  runs  things  a  bit  above  his 
income.  Lady  TINTZ  has  social  ambitions. 
What 's  the  consequence  ?  Bills  are  paid 
by  invitations  to  meet  all  the  exclusive 


and  celebrated,  Instead  of  by  coin  of  the 
realm.  GOOTZEGOG  accepted,  with  pleasure 
— on  the  back  of  a  receipted  bill  f.or  six 
dozen  '  bottles  of  the  boy.'  " 

"Really,  this  is  exceedingly  unpl — 

"Social  sins,"  I  said.  "You'll  know 
them  all  by  heart  by  and  bye.  It 's  only 
a  question  of  time.  Now,  you  see  that 
woman  hop-waltzing.  There,  just  passed 
us,  high-pitched  voice,  pearls " 

"  Yes,  yes,  but ' 

"That  is  Mrs.  GRINBURGER,  known  in 
Chatham  Street  as  JULIETTE  &  CIE.,  swag- 
ger dressmakers,  where  Lady  TINTZ  can 
make  up  her  betting-book,  and  hedge — 
by  patronising  the  GRINBURGER." 

"  Upon  my  word  !  "  in  astonishment. 

"  Scandalous  having  to  meet  these 
people.  And  that  thin  woman  bare-ly 
clothed — ha  !  ha  !  excuse  my  little  quip." 

' '  I  know ' ' 

"Mdlle.  SEMBRACH — bonnets;  supplies 
the  TINTZ  girls  with  headgear,  and  is 
allowed  to  pass  as  a  friond  of  the  family 
because  she  forgets  to  send  in  the  bill. 
Convenient,  isn't  it  ?  She  looks  like  mak- 
ing a  match — or  a  breach  of  promise ' ' 

"It  is  incredible,"  almost  vociferated 
my  little  friend,  whose  eyes  I  was  evi- 
dently opening  as  to  the  ways  and  means 
of  a  certain,  or  rather  uncertain,  class 
of  society.  "It  is  incredible,"  he  said, 
' '  that  you  should  tell  me  all  these 
scandalous  tales  in  the  house  where  you 
are  privileged — 

"  Quite  so,  quite  so,"  I  said,  fearing  I 
may  have  wounded  his  sensibilities.  ' '  One 
only  does  this  sort  of  thing  when  the 
function  is  a  fizzle.  But  you  appeared  to 
know  no  one." 

"  You  appear  to  know  everyone " 

"A  good  many.  Come,  let  us  have  a 
stroll  round  and  try  and  find  the  host." 

The  little  man  blinked  nervously. 

"Have  you  any  idea  what  the  Johnny's 
like  ?  "  I  enquired. 

"Exactly  like  me,"  said  the  little  man. 
"  I  am  Sir  TUMNAL  TINTZ  !  " 


CHART  OF  THE  COMING  WEATHER. 

(Accuracy  Guaranteed — More  or  Less.) 

SUNSHINE  mingled  with  snow  and  sleet. 
Wind  veering  round  from  north  to  east, 
and  then  by  south  to  west.  Thunder  in 
places,  with  showers  and  light  breezes. 
Change  at  Paris,  Folkestone,  Reading,  and 
the  North  of  Scotland.  Blizzard  moving 
from  America  across  the  Atlantic.  Smooth 
to  half  a  gale  on  the  Channel.  Squalls 
on  the  North  Sea,  and  a  hurricane  at 
Putney.  Fog  at  Blackheath.  Unreliable 
weather  in  the  Bay  of  Biscay. 

Suitable  costume  for  the  month,  flannel: 
suit  lined  with  fur,  and  pith  helmet 
swathed  in  flannel.  Sunshine  two  hours  to 
the  forty-eight,  and  seven  inches  of  rain 
to  the  square  foot  in  places. 


APBIL  10,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


281 


THE    TABLETS    OF    AZIT-TIGLETH-IYJIPHANSI,    THE    SCRIBE. 


1.  Now  Kitj-en-Ur  the  sunburnt, 

2.  the  Lord  of  Khartum,  the  master  of 
legions, 

3.  the  giant  in  stature,  the  job  did  take 
over. 

4.  Whose  eye  was  of  agate 

5.  (the  blue  of  the  ocean)  which  froze 
all  the  marrow  ( — a  modern  Mh&lusa — ) 

6.  of  Jonniz  on  pMrloli,  who  felt 

7.  a  bit-chippi  and  ran  down  to  Kehp-taun 

8.  (to  see  the  dMr  krichaz 

9.  who  sat  on  the  wounded,  in 

10.  pahriz-yantili-yhaiins  and  chattered 

11.  like  maghpahist   and  chippered  like 
kt-ikhets) 

12.  Of   these   lovers    of    mupliti,   these 
lofuz  in  ptidaklw 

13.  at  Askhat  and  Sjlnh-dhaun  ; 

14v  the  GeliitS-liavmtas  who   made  it  a 

practice 

15.  to  miss  the  beginning  looking  in  a 
"  bit-lehtar" 

16.  (when  the  show    was  half  ovar ! ) 
.  ...  in  a  box  near  the  band  (I  didn't 
say  band-box ! ) 

17.  Just    in    time    ddnchernoh  to    hear 
Lottih 

18.  and  Tottih  and  possibly  Mhordi 

19.  recite  a  short  sentence,  in  their  best 

20.  bhord-skhul  manner, 

21.  with    their    hands    clasped   behind 
them  .... 

22.  .  .  .  then  relapse  into  silence — re- 
lieved by  a  simpah — 

23.  for  the  rest  of  the  evening 

24.  Their  hash  did  he  settle,   did   the 
Lord  of  Omdurman,  in 

25.  nekhst-durtu-ndtahim saw 

them  off  at  the  station 

26.  to unpronounceable  places 


27.. where  they  all  fought  like  tigers, 
and  suffered  like  heroes. 

28.  In  every  direction  the  enemy's  forces 

29.  the  Tommis  did  harry  .... 

30.  ...  Like  the  flowing  of  Idvah  from  out 

31.  a  vliol-kenoh,  the  khaki-clad  squad- 
rons spread 

32.  over  the  landscape. 

33.  All  they  that  had  horses 

34.  and  such  of  the  Omanri   as   could 
safely  be  set 

35.  without  fear  of  disaster  on  the  backs 
of  the  horses, 

36.  even  the  Bit-Jiggi,  the  Bit-Rokkhi, 
the  Bit-Sheki, 

37.  the  gropers  for  stirrups,  holders  on 
by  the 

38.  mane,    or    other   ekhs-kr&sens   (how 
they  wished  it  would  canter  ! ) 

39.  Yet  did  Nippidewet,  the  champion 
of  sprintahf, 

40.  the  wielder  of  sjamboks,  the  lootar 
of  liighidj, 

41.  keep  setting  to  partners  and  defied 

42.  all  their  efforts dispersing 

his  forces. 

43.  Many  times  into  their  hands  was  he 
about  to  be  delivered  bound 

44 but  only  in  cables  !  .  .  . 

45 Then  reluctantly  leaving  his 

tail  in  their  klatchiz 

46.  like  a  bird  did  he  fly,  into'space  did 
he  vanish. 

47 .  and  even^the 

48.  troopers,  as  a  rule  so  proficient 

49.  in   tersely  condensing   a  prevalent 
feeling,  could  [sion, 

50.  think  of  no  adequate  form  of  expres- 

51.  so  they  said  "Well  !  of  all  the  .  . 


52—53.  .  .  .  , ,...., 

—  remarkable    cases  of  iuapu- 

r 6 slum  !  " 

(This  is  slightly  amended — for  obvious 
reasons.) 

54.  .  .  .  After    much    warfare   did   the 
chief  Luliibotah 

55.  unto  Kitj-en-Ur,  the  Lord  of  Omdur- 
man, by  the  hand 

56.  of  his  wife,  who  from  the  land  of 
Pa-di  did  come — 57.  Greeting  did  send 

58.  and  they  did  meet  together  to  make 
an  end  of  the  fighting 

59.  but  in  the  mind  of  Luliibotah  was  a 
m  ishapr-ehensha  n 

60.  for  even  as  the  victorious  rabhit,  on 
the  point  of  digestion,  seckcth 

61.  to  impose  terms  of  humiliation 

62.  on  the  trembling  pa'ithon  : 

63.  and  like  as  the  toothsome  and  suc- 
culent missionary 

64.  .    .    .   when  being  prepared  by  the 
chef  of  the  district  for  the  banquet 

65.  of  natives  [basting 

66.  interrupteth  the  tedious  process  of 

67.  to    express    his    unconquered    re- 
luctance harshly  to  deal 

68.  with  the  company  present 

69.  but  will  accept  even  now 

70.  in  a  dignified  manner 

71.  their  wholesale  submission 

72.  so  did   this    beaten    and    fugitive 
chieftain  .  .  .  , 

73 — 74 and  Alphr-dd-Mil- 

nah,  the  Governor, 

75.  Shuv-menebar  the    Secretary,    and 
Bhrddrikh  the  War-Lord, 

76.  did   harden  their   hearts   and  said 
they  'd  jolly  well 

77.  .  .  .  first.  E.  T.  R. 


282 


PUNCH,   QR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[APRIL  10,  1901. 


A  CURIOUS  COURTSHIP. 


PERSONS. 


Enid  Forsijth  (30). 
Cecil  Carington  (28). 


Blanche  Alder  (21). 
Freddy  Alder  (16). 

SCENE— A  bright  little  Drawing-room  in  May/air.  BLANCHE 
ALDER,  who  is  the  only  daughter  of  a  fascinating  widower, 
is  surrounded  by  floral  tributes  and  other  presents  in  honour 
of  her  twenty-first  birthday.  She  is  slim  and  fair,  with  an 
appearance  of  wilful  airiness.  On  a  table  near  her  is  a  large 
framed  photograph  of  a  young  man,  looking  pale  but  deter- 
mined, on  a  background  of  vague  landscape.  She  is  reading 
to  herself  a  telegram  that  runs  as  follows  : — 

"  IT  is  better  I  should  never  see  you  again.  Better  so  perfect 
an  ideal  should  remain  a  vision.  Only,  should  we  see  more  of 
each  other,  it  might  lead  to  anguish  and  despair  for  me.  Do 
not  even  answer  this  ;  it  is  better  so.  Good-bye.  Reply  paid. 
CECIL  CARINGTON,  Victoria  Street." 

Footman  (announcing).  Mrs.  FORSYTH. 

Enter  BLANCHE'S  greatest  friend.  She  is  tall,  dark  and 
handsome,  and  tries,  unsuccessfully,  to  conceal  under 
the  grace  of  a  perfect  hostess  and  the  cordiality  of 
a  charming  guest  the  well-known  fact  that  she  is 
still  in  love  with  her  own  husband. 

Blanche  (hiding  the  telegram).  Oh,  how  are  you,  darling  ? 

Enid  (taking  off  her  furs,  with  a  quick  glance  round).  What  is 
the  matter,  BLANCHE  ?  Is  anything  wrong  ? 

Blanche.  I  a?n  rather  worried,  dear.    Can  I  trust  you  ? 

E«id  (reproachfully).  .Oh,  BLANCHE  ! 

Blanche  (apologetically).  It 's  such  a  great  secret,  dear ! — 
About  my  brother  —  poor  little  FREDDY  —  you  know.  He  's 
spending  the  holidays  with  Uncle  SAVILE.  He  wants  to  marry. 
He  wants  to  marry  CARRIE  FLOYD — and  has  asked  me  to  lend 
him  fifteen  shillings. 

Enid.  Is  that  enough  to  marry  on  ? 

Blanche.  Oh,  of  course  not !  But  he  says  that  doesn't  matter. 
She  has  such  a  splendid  salary  at  the  Tiv — where  she  sings, 
you  know — Classical  concerts.  Besides,  dear,  think  1  She  is 
married  already,  and  has  six  children.  And,  then,  the  disparity 
of  age !  She  is  forty-six,  and  he  is  sixteen.  He  says  he 
knows  all  that — he  isn't  blind  to  the  facts — but  it 's  real  love, 
the  sort  of  thing  you  read  of  in  books 

Enid.  Or  newspapers. 

Blanche.  Yes — and  he  can't  live  without  her.  Oh,  think  how 
Papa  will !  And  such  a  difference  in  age  !  " 

Enid.  I  think  nothing  of  that.  It  is  often  done  nowadays. 
But  if  she  is  married  already  there  seems  no  danger  of  its 
coming  off,  so  I  can't  sympathise  very  much. 

Blanche.  Darling  ENID  !  How  sensible  and  soothing  you 
always  are  !  ;'  I 

Enid.  And  is  that  all  ? 

Blanche.  Very  nearly.  It  was  Papa  who  gave  me  this 
bracelet  for  my  birthday.  .  .  . 

Enid.  And,  of  course,  you  didn't  appreciate  it.  How  little 
you  care  for  diamonds  ! 

Blanche.  They  last  so  long  ! 

Enid.  You  would  give  all  your  jewels  for  a  mass  of  gardenias. 
And  who  sent  the  gardenias  and  orchids  ? 

Blanche.  Young  REEVES.  He  thinks  I  am  a  heartless,  sophis- 
ticated woman  of  the  world,  and  disapproves  of  me ;  but  says 
I  have  a  morbid  attraction  for  him.  The  rosebuds  are  from 
old  Mr.  COULSTON.  He  says  I  'm  so  refreshingly  simple  and 
innocent,  it 's  quite  a  treat  to  meet  that  sort  of  girl  nowadays. 
And  he  begins  a  long  letter — a  sort  of  patronising  proposal — 
with  "  My  dear  Young  Lady, — May  an  old  friend  of  the  family 
venture,"  and  so  on — you  know  the  kind  of  thing.  Isn't  it 
funny,  to  be  so  different  with  different  people  ?  And  how  can 
one  help  it  ?  I  suppose  it 's  the  point  of  view. 


Enid.  And  the  attitude.  Is  that  a  new  photograph  of 
ARTHUR  ?  It 's  rather  flattered. 

Blanche.  Ah,  you  see,  he  took  it  himself.  And  he  photo- 
graphs so  well — too  well !  He  does  everything  so  well.  I 
think  that 's  what  I  don't  like  about  him. 

Enid.  I  can't  imagine,  BLANCHE,  why  you  don't  marry  him 
and  —  and  get  it  over  !  He  has  everything  in  the  world. 
You  '11  never  meet  anyone  nicer.  You  've  been  followed  about 
for  the  most  absurd  length  of  time  by  these  three  admirers — 
old  Mr.  COULSTON,  BOBBY  REEVES  and  ARTHUR — and  it 's  time 
you  decided.  It  would  be  such  a  relief  to  my  mind !  I'm 
always  afraid  you  '11  do  something  idiotic — I  meant  original, 
but  it 's  the  same  thing.  Do  marry  ARTHUR — please  ! 

Blanche.  Oh,  I  can't !     He  's  too  suitable  ! 

Enid.  Rubbish  !  Besides,  if  that 's  an  objection,  he  probably 
won't  remain  suitable.  No,  I  won't  argue  on  those  grounds, 
and  I  won't  listen  to  such  nonsense.  He  's  handsome,  enor- 
mously rich,  will  have  a  pretty  name  someday — he  '11  be  Lord 
LYNNESEDE,  won't  he  ? — and  is  the  best  fellow  in  the  world.  Also, 
so  well-balanced  and  the  right  age.  Just  what  you  need  ! 
The  very  person  ! 

Blanche.  Please  don't  be  irritating,  ENID  ;  and  it 's  no  use 
saying  more,  because  I  can't — I  mean,  I  couldn't — if  T  wanted 
to.  First,  I  said  7  wouldn't  marry  him,  and  now  he  's  turned 
round,  rather  rudely,  and  said,  "All  right  then,  I  won't  marry 
you .  So  there  1 ' ' 

Enid.  Really,  BLANCHE  ? 

Blanche.  Yes,  dear.  Here's  his  letter.  (Reads.)  "After 
what  passed'  last  evening,  I  beg  to  relinquish  for  ever  the 
honour  to  which  I  have  been  aspiring  so  long.  You  know  that 
I  went  to  that  dinner  on  purpose  for  a  word  with  you,  and 
you  ignored  me  and  spent  the  entire  evening  with  a  perfect 
stranger.  I  most  sincerely  hope  you  may  be  happy,  though  I 
own  that,  with  your  surroundings  and  disposition,  I  have 
grave  fears  to  the  contrary.  And  as  I  leave  England  to- 
morrow, you  will  be  no  longer  troubled  by  my  importunities." 
And  so  on— you  know  the  sort  of  thing.  Horribly  rude  and 
cross  ! 

Enid.  What  have  you  been  doing — and  where  's  the  poor  boy 
going  to  hide  his  bruised  heart  ? 

Blanche.  At  Monte  Carlo.    He  was  going,  anyhow. 

Enid.  And  when  did  this  happen  ? 

Blanche  (beaming  wistfully).  I  met  him  for  the  first  time  last 
night.  He  was  a  perfect  stranger !  A  curious,  interesting 

man,  very  different  from .  Oh,  don't  look  so  regretful, 

ENID  !  ARTHUR'S  high  principles,  violent  temper  and  fondness 
for  playing  halma  would  have  led  to  trouble  between  us — I 
know  it.  Now  CECIL  CARINGTON — I  'm  not  sure  I  like  him, 
though. 

Enid.  I  am  quite  sure  you  do — to-day.  What  did  he  say  to 
you? 

Blanche.  Oh,  let  me  see.  He  said  he  would  like  to  burn  me, 
like  spice,  on  the  altar  of  a  devoted  friendship  ! 

Enid.  A  strong  statement.     What  did  he  mean  ? 

Blanche.  I  've  no  idea.  He  thinks  we  met  in  a  previous 
existence — he  remembers  it.  He  has  a  wonderful  memory. 
Well,  it 's  only  about  two  or  three  thousand  years  ago,  I 
suppose.  It 's  a  pity  I  shan't  see  him  again. 

Enid.  Shan't  you  ?    (She  seems  gratified,  but  sceptical.) 

Blanche.  Well !  —  not  after  this  afternoon.  Now,  ENID, 
don't  look  like  that.  I  did  not  ask  him  to  call.  I  thought, 
perhaps,  he  might  ask  to,  but  he  didn't.  He  said  he  .preferred 
our  meeting  should  be  like  a  dream  to  look  back  on,  an  isolated, 
golden  spot  in  his  memory,  or  something,  and  of  course  I  agreed 
with  him.  Oh,  here  's.his  telegram.  (Reads  telegram.)  "  It  is 
better  I  should  never  see  you  again  ;  better — so  perfect,"  and 
so  on — you  know  the  kind  of  thing.  "Do  not  even  answer  this; 
it  is  better  so.  Reply  paid. — CECIL  CARINGTON,  Victoria 
Street." 

Enid.  And  what  did  you  answer  ? 


APRIL  10,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


283 


THE    "EMPLOYMENT    OF    CHILDREN"    QUESTION. 

District  Visitor.  "  JUST  THINK  OP  THE  LANGUAGE  CHILDREN  HEAR  IN  PUBLIC-HOUSES  ! " 

Navvy.  "JusT  THINK  OF  THE  LANGUAGE  THEY'LL  'EAR  AT  'OME  WHEN  I  'AVE  TO  TURN  OUT  AND  FETCH  IT 


Blanche.  Four  o'clock. 

[Exm  looks  ot  her  watch.    A  ring  is  heard. 

Blanche.  Ah,  it 's  three  ;  very  likely  there  he  is.     He  would, 
perhaps,  be  a  little  early.     Don't  go,  ENID,  for  ten  minutes  ! 

Enid.  And  so  tluit  is  why  you  're  wearing  your  new  mauve 
dress. 

Blanche.  I  always  wear  mauve  when  I  am  going  to  refuse 
people* 

Enid.  You  wear  it  very  seldom,  darling. 

Blanche.  Do  you  mean  I  am  always  accepting  people,  ENID 
dear? 

Enid  (hastily).  No,  dear  ;  no.     I  know  you  very  seldom  accept 
anybody. 

Footman  (announcing).  Master  FREDERICK, 

Enter  FREDDY,  a  dear  boy  o/  about  sixteen, 

Blanche  (disappointed).  Oh,  it 's  only  you,  FREDDY, 

Freddy  (rather  gruffly,  until  a  nod  to  ENID).  I  just  came  in, 
you  know  ;  I  wanted  to  tell  you — you  know  my  letters-— — ? 


Blanche.  Yes. 

Freddy.  Well,  it 's  off.    See?    It 's  all  off. 

Enid  (with  humorously  exaggerated  delicacy).  Shall  I  leave, 
you? 

Freddy.  Oh,  no  ;  I  suppose  she  knows  ?    (To  BLANCHE.) 

Blanche.  Well,  I  did  just  mention — — 

Freddy.  You  .would.  Well,  I  don't  mind  ENID.  She's  all 

right.  Yes,  it 's  off.  She  treated  me  in  the  most  beastly . 

Please  never  mention  her  name  again. 

Blanche.  Of  course  I  •  won't,'  dear.'  Besides,  I  never  have,. 
I 'm  so  sorry  for  you ;  arid,  yet,  perhaps  it's  all  for  the  best. 
Isn't  it,  FREDDY? 

Freddy.  YQS-|  rather!  Oli,  I  don't -case  I  .Of  course.,  it  \s 
tlie  sort  of  thing  that  rather  ruins  a  chap's  life.  Of  course, 

I  'm  awfully  cut  up,  and  all  that.  But  she  behaved .  Never 

mind,  GERALDINE.  sdnt  me  her  'photo  from  school;  like  to-  see 
it  ?  She  's  done  her  hair  up.  It  looks  awfully  rum. 

Enid.  And  are  you  thinking  of  marrying  again— I  mean— 


284 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


f  APRIL  10,  1901. 


again  thinking  of  marrying  ?     Your  cousin,   GERALDINE,   for 
instance  ? 

Freddy.  Me  !  Marry  !  No  ;  thanks  very  much.  I  've  had 
enough  of  that.  No  more  marrying  for  me  t  I  say,  you  don't 
expect  anybody  particularly  this  afternoon,  do  you? 

Blanche.  Well,  it 's  my  birthday ;  and  one  or  two  people 
might 

Freddy.  Oh,  all  right ;  I  'm  off.  And,  1  say,  many  happy 
returns.  And,  I  say,  are  you  coming  to  the  beano — Uncle 
SAYILE'S  dinner-party  ? 

Blanche.  Oh,  yes  ;  we  're  coming. 

Freddy.  It  '11  be  appalling,  my  dear.  Just  don't  come.  I 
give  you  the  straight  tip.  It 's  going  to  be  one  of  those 
literary  beanos — celebrities,  and  all  that.  You  're  going  to 
be  taken  to  dinner  by  that  singing  Johnnie — the  penny-ice- 
man, or  else,  perhaps,  the  clever  writing  chap,  F.  J.  RIVERS, 
you  know  who  I  mean.  He  wrote  a  book  about  someone 
falling  in  love  with  the  Albert  Memorial.  A  ripping  book,  I 
think.  Though  of  course  it 's  rather  rot,  too  .  .  .  He  wouldn't 
be  so  bad.  But,  still,  I  don't  advise  you  to  come. 

Blanche.  Thanks,  darling. 
But  I  love  Uncle  SAVILE'S  din- 
ners— They  're  so  exciting. 
You  never  know  whom  you 
may  meet  —  the  most  unex- 
pected people.  Anyone,  be- 
tween the  King  and  Little 
Tich,  might  take  me  in.  (To 
ENID)  Everybody  goes  there, 
and  clever  people  on  Sundays. 

Enid.  Then  I  should  prefer 
the  other  days.  I  hate  being 
the  only  stupid  person  in  a 
crowd  of  clever  people.  They 
make  such  a  fuss  about  one. 

Teddy.  I  don't  know.  I  never 
tried  it.  1  didn't  have  a  bad 
time  there.  I  keep  out  of  the 
drawing  -  room.  I  go  to  the 
Alhambra  a  good  deal.  Uncle 
SAVILE  isn't  bad. 

Footman  (announcing).  Mr. 
CARINGTON. 

Enter  good-looking,  sprightly 
young  man. 

Cecil     Carington     (fluently). 
How  are   you,  and  what   have 
you  been  doing  with  yourself  all  this  time  ?    I  can't  think  how 
long  it  is  since  I  've  seen  you.    It  must  be  years  and  years. 
ENID,  aware  they  met  last  night  for  the  first  time,  is  somewJiat 
impressed.     BLANCHE  introduces  them.    FREDDY  glares  shyly 
with  disapproval. 

Blanche  (equal  to  the  occasion).  Yes,  isn't  it  ages  ?  And  where 
have  you  been  burying  yourself  all  these  centuries  ? 

C.  C.  (putting  down  his  hat  and  gloves).  I  've  been  in  the 
country. 

Enid.  "What  have  you  been  doing  there  ? 

Cecil.  I  've  been  looking  for  three-leaved  clovers. 

Blanche  (ivithsoft  earnestness.)  And  did  you  find  any? 

C.  C.  Far  too  many.  I  think  three-lea  vtd  clovers  are  getting 
most  horribly  common  now.  I  hardly  think  they're  worth 
bothering  about.  Do  you,  Mrs.  FoRSYTH? 

Freddy  (getting  up,  icith  a  look  combined  of  intense  envy  of 
CECIL'S  clothes  with  a  deep  disgust  of  his  conversation).  I  'm  off. 
Can  I  see  you  home,  ENID  ?  [They  take  leave. 

*  *  *  *  *  \    * 

Cecil  Carington  (on  the  sofa  by  BLANCHE.)  Yes.  .  .  .  I  think 
life  is  too  short  to  waste  such  a  frightful  lot  of  time.  .  v.s  .  Some 
people  can  live  more  in  an  hour  than  others  in  a  year.  Yes,  of 

-  , :r 


course  I  'm  in  love  with  you.    I  have  only  one  question  to  ask. 
Will  you  answer  it  frankly  ?    Will  you  marry  me  ? 
Blanche  (carried  away).  Yes. 

[And  she  did,  and  lived  happily  ever  after. 

A.  L. 


\ 


APRIL    SHOWERS! 

OR,  A  SPURT  HOME. 


THE  CENSUS  AND  AFTER. 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCH, — I  am  reluctant  to  trouble  you  with  the 
story  of  my  grievance,  but  with  a  view  to  making  the  period 
between  census  to  census  longer  than  at  present  fixed  I  ven- 
ture to  address  you.  I  must  confess  that  my  experience  of 
taking  the  necessary  particulars  of  my  household  is  anything 
rather  than  a  pleasant  one.  I  jot  down  a  few  facts  in  support 
of  my  proposal  that  in  future  the  census  should  be  taken  every 
fifty  years  instead  of  the  customary  shorter  interval.  I  do  not 
wish  to  attack  that  much-abused  relative,  the  mother-in-law — 
who,  by-the-way,  is  a  far  more  formidable  personage  on  the 
Continent  than  in  England — but  what  can  we  do  when  the  lady 
in  question,  who  has  been  staying  with  us  for  years,  insists  that 

she  is  six  months  younger  than 
her  own  daughter  ? 

Then,  it  is  really  highly  in- 
convenient when  one's  cook 
grows  frightened  at  the  sight 
of  the  official  paper  and  takes  to 
excessive  drinking  to  nerve 
herself  to  answer  your  ques- 
tions. This  excessive  drinking 
renders  her  replies  of  no  value 
as  evidence,  and,  moreover, 
sadly  interferes  with  the  com- 
fort of  one's  dinner.  Pickles 
should  not  be  put  in  bisque 
d'homard,  and  turbot  should  not 
be  covered  with  apple  sauce. 
Then  the  boys  should  not  call 
the  census  "  rot,"  and  insist 
upon  with  drawing  to  Paris  to 
avoid  the  nuisance  of  answering 
your  queries.  Of  course  it  is 
only  an  excuse  to  get  what  they 
term  "a  tenner  a-piece  out  of 
the  pater,"  but  still  in  these 
hard  times  the  demand  is  incon- 
venient. 

Then  there  is  another  matter 
that  may  cause  annoyance.  Say  that  a  room  supposed  to  be 
reserved  for  "lumber"  has  been  occupied  by  the  dressmaker,  to 
whom  you  object,  and  her  presence  is  discovered  on  the  day  fixed 
for  the  taking  of  the  census.  How  is  she  to  be  entered  on  your 
list  when  she  asserts  she  has  never  slept  a  wink,  and  has  been 
working  all  night? 

Lastly,  when  you  have  taken  infinite  pains  to  do  your  duty  as 
a  patriotic  citizen,  it  is  not  only  annoying  but  embarrassing  to 
find — when  the  official  calls  for  your  paper — that  your  census 
statement  has  been  torn  up  by  your  wife  and  the  pieces  used 
as  fuel  for  the  fire  in  the  dining-room. 

All  these  accidents  have  happened  to  me  recently,  and  such 
being  the  case,  I  consider  that  I  may  lay  myself  open  to  a 
charge  of  sarcasm,  when  I  sign  myself  (using  the  official 
designation),  Yours  truly,  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


HAMLET  THE  CORRECT  CARD  ! — The  now  favourite  game  at  cards 
yclept "  Bridge  "  has  obtruded  itself  on  SHAKSPEARE.  Mr.  BENSON 
advertises  his  Hamlet  as  "  a-bridge'd  version."  Is  Hamlet 
the  Knave  of  Clubs  ?  Shall  the  fascinating  King  of  Hearts,  or 
the  frowning  Sovereign  of  Spades  be  the  false  Uncle  Claudius  ? 
"  Under  which  King,  Bensonian?  Speak,  or  die  !  " 


APRIL  17,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


^85 


LAW    COSTS. 

["  Earl  PERCY  in  his  book,  The  Highlands  of 
Asiatic  Turkey,  describes  how  Judges  of  the 
Turkish  Empire  have  their  impartiality  and  in- 
corruptibility assured  by  a  salary  of  £2  10*.  a 
month."  —  St.  James's  Gazette.] 

THRICE  happy  Turk  !  the  gentle  sway 
Of  kindly  Caliphs  you  obey, 

"Who  golden  tribute  reap  ; 
While  righteous  laws  their  realm  adorn 
That  trickle  from  the  Golden  Horn, 

And  justice  is  so  cheap. 

We  Englishmen,  albeit  free, 
Brief  barristers  with  heavy  fee, 

And  lordly  stipends  pay 
To  judge  and  magistrate,  while  still 
Your  benches  you  contrive  to  fill 

At  half-a-crown  a  day. 

Yet  what  if  rumours  may  be  true 
That  whisper  how  there  falls  to  you 

Stray  perquisites  beside ; 
That  when  the  suitors'  bones  are  bare 
Judge  WOLF  contents  him  as  his  share 

With  carcass,  wool,  and  hide  ? 

Ah  !  then,  if  even  at  the  rate 
Of  half-a-crown  a  day,  your  State 

Of  Judges  finds  no  dearth, 
'Tis  possible  that,  after  all, 
The  stipend,  though  extremely  small, 

Is  fully  what  they  're  worth. 


"PATRIE!  " 

IP  you  are  fond  of  a  good  old  tragic 
melodrama,  and  if  you  are  in  Paris,  go  and 
see  SARDOU'S  Patrie!  revived  at  the 
Theatre  Fran^ais.  It  is  a  cheerful  drama. 
M.  MOUNET-SULLY,  as  the  Comte  de  Rysoor, 
a  dignified  gentleman  a  little  past  middle 
age,  with  a  neatly-trimmed  grey  beard 
and  large  eyes — somewhat  resembling  the 
KING  OP  ENGLAND — is  chiefly  occupied  in 
ejaculating  "Patrie!"  This  becomes, 
naturally  enough,  so  monotonous  to  the 
southern  temperament  of  his  Spanish  wife 
that  she  fixes  her  affections  on  another 
Flemish  gentleman,  who  says  less  and  does 
more.  For  he  not  only  conspires  against 
the  lives  of  his  Spanish  enemies,  but  also 
against  the  happiness  of  his  Flemish 
friend,  and  by  degrees  he  gets  in  such  a 
muddle  with  his  varied  schemes  that,  as 
the  only  way  out  of  the  difficulty,  he  begs 
the  Comte  de  Rysoor  to  kill  him.  But  the 
Comte — remarking,  as  usual,  "  Patrie  I  " 
— refuses. 

Then  the  conspirators  are  caught  by  the 
Duke  of  Alva  in  the  Town  Hall  of  Brussels, 
and  the  fun  begins.  The  Spaniards  shoot 
a  patriotic  and  self-sacrificing  bell-ringer. 
They  burn  some  patriotic  conspirators. 
They  are  about  to  torture  the  Comte  de 
Rysoor,  but  he  escapes  by  committing 
suicide,  his  last  word  being,  of  course, 
"  Patrie  ! ' '  The  Duke  o/  Aim's  daughter, 
who,  one  would  suppose,  must  have  been 
accustomed  to  massacres,  is  scared  to 
death  by  the  anticipation  of  one,  and  the 

VOL.  cxx. 


Comtesse  de  Rysoor  is  stabbed  by  her  lover, 
who  throws  himself  from  the  window  on 
to  the  paving  below.  The  paving  of  the 
Grand'  Place  at  Brussels  is  to  this  day 
hard  and  unyielding. 

So  the  play  has  to  come  to  an  end,  for 
there  is  no  one  left  alive  but  the  Duke  of 
Alva  and  the  supers,  and  one  concludes 
that  the  former  has  been  busy  slaughter- 
ing as  many  of  the  latter  as  possible 
behind  the  scenes  during  the  last  act.  It 
is  an  exhilarating  drama. 

It  is  put  upon  the  stage  in  the  most 
sumptuous  manner.  The  scenery,  the 
furniture,  the  dresses  and  the  processions 


A    PAGE    DRAWING." 


are  superb.  And  you  can  see  them  all 
from  any  part  of  the  stalls,  for  the 
Com&lie  Francaise  has  made  a  rule — an 
admirable  innovation  in  a  French  theatre 
— that  ladies  are  not  admitted  in  hats  or 
bonnets.  As  almost  all  the  men  are  now 
in  evening  dress,  the  audience  in  the 
stalls  is  quite  elegant. 

The  theatre  has  been  well  restored 
since  the  fire,  but,  curiously  enough,  the 
precautions  against  this  very  calamity 
seem  incomplete.  The  gangways  are  still 
lined  with  strapontins,  fitted  with  springs 
so  strong  that  in  closing  they  would  in- 
fallibly catch  the  dresses  of  ladies  in  a 
panic-stricken  audience,  %and  hold  them 
immovable.  But  even  if  the  women  es- 
caped the  strapontins,  they  could  never 
pass  the  two  pairs  of  very  narrow  doors 
at  each  exit.  The  springs  closing  these 
are  so  strong  that  it  is  almost  impossible 
to  hold  the  doors  open. 


However,  whatever  might  happen,  there 
would  be  one  consolation.  The  statue  of 
VOLTAIRE  in  the  foyer,  being  now  provided 
with  wheels  concealed  in  the  pedestal, 
would  in  any  case  be  saved.  H.  D.  B. 


ONE-SIDED  CONVERSATIONS. 

[This  is  a  new  game.  It  may  be  played  at  Five 
o'clock  Tea,  and,  in  more  advanced  houses,  it  may 
take  the  place  of  Bridge  after  dinner.  The  hostess 
is  instructed  to  give  a  valuable  prize,  such  as  an 
impossible  tie-pin  (male)  or  a  copy  of  "  The  Visits 
of  Elizabeth  "  (female)  to  the  guest  who  most  suc- 
cessfully fills  in  the  blanks.  N.B. — Several  copies 
of  this  paper  are  necessary. — ED.] 

"WHY,  it 's  three  months  since  we  met. 
You  were  staying  with  the  CHESNEYS',  and 
I  was  at  the  MARCHINGTONS'." 


"Yes,  and  I  remember  the  dress  you 
were  .wearing.  White  lace,  with  some 
black  stuff  creeping  through  it." 


"  I  don't  remember  that.  It  must  have 
been  someone  else.  You  and  I  didn't  get 
so  far." 


"  Shine  upon  me  and  forgive.  Your 
frown  chills  the  ichor  in  my  veins.  Let 
me  get  you  some  tea  ?  ' ' 


"  And  we  can  be  quiet  here.  Now,  tell 
me.  Have  you  found  peace  of  mind ,  or  is  life 
still  the  tangle  it  was  three  months  ago  ?  " 


"No.  I  don't  think  it  matters  if  you 
keep  within  the  limits.  That  sort  of  thing 
is  only  perilous  when  the  players  lose  their 
heads.  You  are  not  so — what,  shall  we 
say  ? — inexperienced." 


"  Oh,  but  nobody  ever  loses  his  heart 
now-a-days.  It  is  all  a  matter  of  the  head. 
Keep  that,  and  you  are  safe." 


"  My   dear   Lady   BEATRICE,    you    are 
wrong,  really  you  are." 


"  But  only  as  a  friend." 


"  She  is  sympathetic,  and  clever.  She 
is  fond  of  music,  and  she  never — loses  her 
head." 


"  Please  talk  of  something  else.  Let  us 
forget  Mrs.  WORTH,  and  talk  philosophic- 
ally of  your  own  delectable  sou!." 


"Ah  !   but  you  must.    Let  me  get  you 
some  tea." 


"  No,  I  promise  you.  I  didn't  see  she 
was  there.  For  Heaven's  sake  don't  think 
that.  Dash  it,  she  's  coming  here  1  " 


Quick,  quick  I  " 


"For  ever,  I  swear.  Ah!  howdedo? 
May  I  introduce  Mrs.  WORTH  ?  Lady 
BEATRICE  ORTHUNDERTON." 


286 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[APRIL  17,  1901. 


ART  IN  THE   DOLLS'  HOUSE. 

BY  LITTLE  QUEENIE. 
§  6.  —  About  Fernishing. 

IN  fernishing  the  most  important  thing  to  mind  is  that  it 
must  be  thurally  artistic.  It  dosen't  mater  nerely  so  much  if  it 
is  not  quite  comfitable  to  sit  on.  Grownups  who  have  got 
culcher  would  far  rather  sit  on  a  chare  or  sofa  which  is  all 
right  and  a  jenuine  Sherriton  than  lunge  on  a  couch  which  is 
only  immitation  sadlebags.  And  dolls  are  less  'particular 
about  comfit  than  grownups  are,  because  they  hardly  ever  sit 
down  realy. 

So  do  be  carefull  to  chuse  only  things  that  are  butiful  in 
themselves,  rejecting  enny  peice  of  fernicher  that  is  not  a  good 
desine  —  for  bad  and  ugly  objects  are  more  demorillising  than 
you  would  supose.  FILLIS  ANDERSON'S  dolls'  house  is  full  of 
such,  and  her  gentleman  doll  wares  a  check  suit  with  gilt  butons 
and  an  emerild  grene  tie,  and  you  can't  tell  which  are  the 
ladies  from  the  servants  ! 

I  am  afrade  it  is  allmost  impossible  to  proccure  any  jenuine 
old  Chipindale  or  Sherriton  the  exact  size  for  a  dolls'  house, 
because  I  cannot  assertain  that  any  were  ever  made.  In  those 
benited  days  it  was  considered  that  anything  was  good  enough 
for  dolls. 

But  Mr.  BRANSAWDER  (at  the  Spotid  Roking  Horse,  Number 
999,  Oxford  Street)  has  the  most  luvly  fernicher,  all  coppied  by 
his  own  desiners  from  the  Arts  and  Crafts  Exhibition. 

Mr.  BRANSAWDER  is  a  very  nice  and  clever  gentleman,  who 
took  to  selling  toys  because  he  could  not  get  on  as  a  barister, 
and  I  can  asure  my  young  readers  that,  if  they  go  to  him  and 
menshun  that  they  were  reccomended  by  LITTLE  QUEENIE,  they  will 
recieve  his  best  atenshun.  He  told  me  to  say  that  his  own  self. 

We  will  comence  with  the  droin-rooin:  Let  no  one  pursuade 
you  to  buy  one  of  those  horid  "sets"  with  detestable  fringes 
round  the  chares  and  sofa,  like  the  ends  of  crakers.  You  are 
sure  not  to  like  them,  and  they  are  the  sine  of  a  medioker  mind. 

Far  better  buy  each  artikle  sepparate,  and  with  some 
indijuality  in  it.  This  may  cost  more,  but,  as  Mr.  BRANSAWDER 
says,  it  is  far  cheaper  in  the  long  run. 

He  has  some  realy  luvly  Umpire  sofas  upolstered  in  Utreck 
velvet  for  only  seven  and  sixpence.  With  one  of  these  and  two 
esy  chares  at  five  shillings  cuvered  in  Art  Chints  and  an 
ocasional  table  or  two,  you  will  have  the  newclius  of  a 
charmingly  fernished  room. 

A  Queen  Ann  fireplace  and  overmantle  (which  you  will  also 
find  at  Mr.  BRANSAWDER'S)  are  de  rigure.  For  the  curtins  I 
always  advise  real  lace  and  it  ca?mot  be  too  good.  Mine  came 
off  one  of  Auntie  WINNIE'S  poket-hankerchifs  which  she  droped 
and  is  old  Valansians,  but  those  of  my  readers  who  have  not 
got  an  Auntie  WINNIE  or  whose  Auntie  WINNIE  has  not  got  a 
lace  pocket-hanky  must  look  elsewhere.  I  have  often  thought 
that  some  of  the  triming  round  Mummy's  dressing-table  would 
not  come  in  badly  for  the  droin-room  curtins  of  my  doll's  house 
—  but  I  have  not  sujested  it  to  her. 

Perhaps  some  day  a  dear  old  lady  may  come  to  dinner  with 
your  Papa  and  Mama  with  lappits  of  real  Brusels  or  Hunnyton 
over  her  head,  and  then  if  you  should  hapen  to  be  provided  with 
scisors  and  choose  a  time  when  nobody  is  nottising  ...  but  I 
have  said  enough  to  show  you  that  it  is  your  own  fault  if  you 
are  content  to  put  up  with  immitashans. 

§  7.  —  About  Orniments  and  Niknaks. 

Without  these  no  droin-room  is  complete.  Mr.  BRANSAWDER 
has  a  very  fine  sellection.  I  quite  fell  in  love  with  two  little 
gilt-bronse  stattuets  of  cavileers  which  were  abserdly  cheap  at 
>nly  five  shillings  the  pare.  Mr.  BRANSAWDER  very  kindly 
begged  me  to  axcept  them.  He  is  a  particlerly  plesant  person. 
ion  ought  to  have  plenty  of  flowers  about  the  room.  They 
a  t  smell  but  give  an  air  of  refinement,  and  Mr.  BRANSAWDER 
elligant  little  tables  with  a  pot  of  jeraniums  on  them 


s 


which  were  made  in  Germany,  which  acounts  for  their  being 
only  half-a-crown. 

The  week  point  of  the  ordinery  doll's  house  is  the  pictuers 
which  are  mostly  cromos,  but  I  found  some  quite  wee  water- 
cullours  in  one  of  dear  Papa's  allbums  which  REGGIE  framed  for 
me  and  they  are  a  constant  joy.  Papa  has  a  very  old  book,  too, 
with  funny  writing  and  gorjious  ilustrashuns  on  gold.  One  of 
them  would  do  splendidly  over  the  droin-room  sofa  of  my  doll's- 
house  for  an  Old  Master,  or  else  a  Burnjones,  but  they  are  all 
so  pretty  I  can't  make  up  my  mind  which  to  cut  out  though  I 
know  my  dear  Papa  wouldn't  mind  my  taking  just  one  for  so 
good  an  object. 

I  will  now  precede  to  anser  my  young  corispondents  : — 

DORA  B.— I  am  truly  sorry  for  you  with  a  coalskutle  in  your 
dining-room  which,  from  what  you  say  of  it,  must  be  a  purfect 
eyesoar.  You  might  go  and  look  at  Mr.  BRANSAWDER'S  Art 
coalskutles,  999,  Oxford  Street.  They  are  too  sweet.  I  forget 
the  exact  price — but  Mr.  BRANSAWDER  could  tell  you. 

PROBORA.— (1)  If  your  Brother  TOMMY  will  insist  on  billyting 
Lord  ROBBERTS  and  ten  Black  Watch  Highlanders  in  your  dolls' 
house  nursery  and  comandearing  the  shourbath  for  a  look-out, 
I  should  put  all  the  highlanders  carefully  back  in  their  box  when 
he  wasn't  looking — but  not  Lord  ROBBERTS,  because  he  is  a 
great  hero  and  should  be  regarded  (even  on  horseback)  in  the 
light  of  an  honored  gest. 

(2)  Yes,  it  is  tyrany  of  TOMMY  to  declare  that  the  nursery  is 
under  marshal  law. 

PURPLEXT.— You  ask  me  how  you  can  best  butify  the  interior 
of  your  dollhouse  with  the  five  shillings  given  you  by  your 
Uncle  GEORGE.  Why  not  pay  a  visit  to  The  Spoted  Roking- 
horse,  999,  Oxford  Street,  and  inspect  some  of  the  novelties 
Mr.  BRANSAWDER  has  just  recieved  from  Nurimburg  ? 

PUT  UPON.— No,  your  Brother  BOBBY  is  quite  wrong.  His 
long  torn  gun  may  be  the  most  purfect  moddle— but  it  is  out 
of  a  place  in  a  dolls  droin-room,  and  I  should  tell  Nurse. 

JOSEFINE. — Yes,  I  should  certainly  have  a  mirror  over  the 
mantlepeice.  I  wonder  if  you  have  seen  the  old  Vinetian  ones 
Mr.  BRANSAWDER  sells  at  4s.  6d.  ?  Or  he  has  a  convecks  one 
with  a  dear  little  gilt  egle  on  top  that  would  go  nicely  with 
your  Umpire  fernicher. 

SELF  HELP.— No  trouble  at  all,  dear.  I  like  all  the  sampils 
you  send  me.  Perhaps  the  brokade  with  the  teeny  rosebuds 
that  you  took  out  of  your  Mama's  Court  trane  is  the  prettiest 
and  would  make  charming  curtins  for  the  bedroom.  But  the 
pale  grene  silk  from  the  inside  of  the  worktable  is  allmost  as 
good,  and  as  you  took  out  the  whole  of  the  lining  you  could 
have  your  chares,  etc.,  recuvered  to  match.  Mr.  BRANSAWDER 
(for  adress  see  ansers  to  other  corispondence)  would  do  this 
for  you  at  a  merely  nominle  charge.  I  hope  you  got  your  dear 
Mama's  leve  before  taking  the  stuff.  Mamas  are  so  funny  about 
things  sometimes. 

CONNIE  CULCHERD.— No,  Mr.  BRANSAWDER  has  some  exquiset 
nik-naks,  but  they  are  all  moddern.  If  you  have  realy  set 
your  heart  on  having  anteeks,  couldn't  you  find  some  in  your 
Mama's  droin-room?  I  got  two  luvly  little  old  Dressden 
immiges  out  of  a  cabbinet  for  my  doll's  droin-room  mantlepiece 
and  a  carved  ivory  chestman  which  looks  most  handsome  on  a 
sidetable.  Perhaps  your  dear  Papa  colects  Japinese  nitchkies 
or  tiny  brons  stattuets  like  mine  does.  If  you  borow  one  or 
two  of  these  and  paint  them  with  gold  or  silver  paint  they  look 
quite  magnifisent.  But  ask  first — unless  you  're  quite  sure  they 
wouldn't  mind. 

A  VICTIM.— (1)  When  I  discribed  how  I  papered  my  doll's- 
house  I  told  you  how  sevearly  I  was  made  to  sufer  for  it,  and  it 
serves  you  right  for  doing  the  same.  Perhaps  your  deer  Mama 
is  a  little  narow-minded,  but  as  you  seem  to  have  damiged  some 
valluble  bindings  without  getting  any  papers  that  looked 
sattisfactry  when  up,  I  'm  afrade  I  must  agree  with  her  that  it 
was  wantunly  mischevious.  Anyhow,  you  can't  put  the  blame 
on  me.  (2)  Yes.  999  Oxford  Street.  QUEENIE. 


.,   APRIL  17,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


287 


DISCARDED. 

Fashion  (to  "Mr.  Bridge''}.  "COMB  ALONG,  PARTNER  !    THAT  DEAR  OLD  MISTER  WHIST  is  srcn  A  BORE! 

HE  is  so  visvx  JEU!" 


APRIL  17,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


289 


THE    ACTOR-MANAGER    DISCOURSES. 

[The  following  homily  is  addressed  to  an  autlwr  of  established 
reputation  who  has  applied  his  gifts  to  the  production  of  an 
original  literary  drama  not  unworthy  of  SHAKESPEARE,  but 
betraying  ignorance  of  the  modern  requirements  of  the  British 
stage.] 

WE  have  perused  your  meritorious  play 

With  that  impartial  condescension  which 

Our  sense  of  justice  leads  us  to  bestow 

On  budding  talent :  but  it  will  not  do. 

Yet  if  your  ignorance  be  well  advised 

To  draw  instruction  out  of  present  failure 

Our  words  will  not  be  wasted  on  the  wind. 

And,  first,  to  rectify  a  false  conceit 

Frequent  enough  in  literary  men 

Who  look  on  drama  as  a  branch  of  letters, 

Whereas,  in  point  of  fact,  their  lower  art 

Is  but  the  menial  handmaid  of  the  stage — 

Were  SHAKESPEARE  (who  is  fortunately  dead) 

Among  the  living  candidates  for  fame 

His  plays  would  not  command  a  button's  purchase. 

We  patronise  him  with  the  deference  due 

To  the  immortal  Dead  who  take  no  fees  ; 

While  on  the  credulous  audience  he  lays 

The  spell  of  antique  unction  like  a  church 

Whereof  the  priestly  management  supplies 

A  splendid  ritual,  careless  of  the  cost. 

Hence  the  success  he  still  achieves  despite 

His  damned  gift  of  literary  style  ; 

Also  despite  his  pestilential  habit 

Of  holding  mirrors  up  to  human  life, 

A  daring  enterprise,  as  you  have  proved 

Whose  work  betrays  this  woful  want  of  tact. 

For,  please  to  mark  the  plays  whose  facile  run 
Is  as  the  going  of  a  god  on  wheels. 
Do  their  inventors  draw  from  actual  life  ? 
Sir,  they  are  men  of  business  ;   they  adopt 
The  safe  conventions  of  the  story-books, 
The  only  certain  shaft  to  perforate 
A  British  bosom. 

Take  our  soldier-author, 
Our  Second  in  Demand,  if  we  allow 
The  leading  place  to  SHAKSPEARE — does  he  let 
His  military  knowledge  mar  his  play, 
And  give  us  soldiers  such  as  they  are  found 
Extant  in  visible  barracks  ?    No,  not  he  ; 
He  knows  his  theatre  too  well  for  that. 
He  has  his  finger  on  the  pulsing  heart 
Of  myriad  clients  clamorous  for  the  type 
Long-hallowed  by  the  shilling  novelette, 
Crystallized  in  the  monthly  magazines 
By  woman's  fancy  soaring  past  the  facts  ! 

If  we  detect  in  your  submitted  work 
A  fault  more  obviously  patent  than 
Your  fatal  gift  of  reproducing  Nature, 
'Tis  the  incorrigible  craving  for 
Originality.     Let  us  inform  you 
That  there  are  movements  in  the  tastes  of  men 
Which,  caught  upon  the  hop,  conduct  to  fortune. 
Only  an  innate  sense  of  unseen  things 
May  sniff  the  presage  of  them  on  the  breeze, 
Tracing  a  tendency  toward  Musketeers, 
A  hankering  for  good  old  Drury  Nells, 
An  urgent  boom  in  left-off  mistresses 
Rudely  resurgent  on  the  wedding-eve. 
These  things  are  in  the  universal  air 


Subtle  as  patchouli,  appealing  to 

A  lot  of  sentient  playwrights  all  at  once. 

So,  too,  the  law  that  regulates  the  plot, 

Confining  it  to  well-established  themes, 

Applies  with  equal  force  to  dialogue ; 

The  public  likes  to  recognise  a  friend, 

Not  to  be  made  to  think.    That  was  the  rock 

On  which  the  argosy  of  BERNARD  SHAW, 

Packed  with  unminted  specie,  went  and  split. 

Once  more,  beware  of  letting  poetry, 
Especially  the  blanker  sort  of  verse, 
Disturb  the  claims  of  those  interpreters 
On  whom  your  hopes  depend.    Their  primal  task 
Is  to  arrest  attention  on  themselves, 
And  not  divert  it  to  the  author's  work. 
Though  exquisitely  conscious  how  a  line 
Should  be  enounced,  a  noble  jealousy 
Might  paralyse  them  with  the  fear  that  you, 
Rather  than  they,  should  earn  the  pit's  applause. 
We  here  allude,  of  course,  to  poetry 
Designed  to  penetrate  the  average  brain, 
Not  to  the  loftier  kind  which  tends  to  leave 
The  public  nervous,  like  a  little  child 
Vaguely  aware  of  tricks  imposed  upon  it. 

Further — a  common  error  with  the  scribe— 

Your  play  reveals  a  crude  intelligence 

Stultified  by  a  total  disregard 

Of  the  peculiar  faculties  of  those 

On  whom  the  duty  of  "  creation  "  falls. 

Thus,  we  have  failed  to  find  a  leading  part 

Composed  to  illustrate  our  special  gifts. 

Your  only  character  that  strikes  the  eye 

Is,  we  observe,  a  withered  patriarch  ! 

Must  we  assume  this  dotard's  senile  years, 

And  waste  our  youth  beneath  a  hoary  beard, 

And  have  no  scope  for  that  high  power  of  passion 

By  which  it  is  our  undisputed  pride 

To  hold  the  women's  throbbing  hearts  in  thrall  ? 

To  merit  our  regard  a  man  must  write 

A  drama  round  ourself,  as  Greekish  art 

Upreared  a  suitably  receptive  shrine 

About  the  sacred  Image  dropped  from  heaven. 

In  fine,  you  lean  too  much  to  Nature's  ways, 
Who  lets  no  mortal  dominate  her  stage 
But  loves  to  deal  her  entrances  and  exits, 
And  much  between,  without  respect  of  persons. 
Art,  on  the  contrary,  discriminates, 
Lifting  the  Actor-Manager  aloof 
From  those  inferior  persons  in  his  pay 
Who  have  no  just  occasion  to  exist 
Save  as  the  negligeable  satellite!* 
On  whom  his  scintillating  talents  play 
(Since  even  genius  demands  a  foil)  ; 
Who  herald  his  approach,  and  in  his  presence 
Veil  their  identities,  and  stand  aside 
For  culminating  curtains  all  his  own. 
Thus  are  the  facts  of  life  improved  upon, 
Art's  noblest  function  being  to  correct 
An  oversight  of  Nature.    Try  again.  O.  S. 


SUGGESTION  FOR  AN  ARTIST  (in  plenty  of  time  for  next  year's 
Academy). — We  've  had  several  varieties  on  the  subject  of 
Finding  the  body  of  Harold,  and  not  a  few  on  The  Finding  of  the 
Infant  Moses  in  the  Bulrushes.  Henceforward  let  these  subjects 
be  tabooed,  and  let  another  be  started  which  offers  fine  scope 
for  imaginative  composition,  grand  colour,  and  strong  dramatic 
effect.  It  is — The  Finding  of  The  Jury  in  a  Cause  Celebre. 


290 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[APRIL  17,  1901 


OUB  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

BETA  FRANCIS  and  ELIZA  KEARY  have  between  them  spoiled 
•what  might  have  been  an  attractive  work.  Had  they  com- 
pressed The  Francis  Letters  (HuTCHiNSON)  into  a  single  volume, 
it  would  have  been  well.  They  have  filled  two,  and  the  result 
is  deplorable.  There  is  no  excuse  for  the  fatuity.  The 
character  of  the  mass  of  the  materials  at  their  disposal  is 
described  with  charming  frankness  and  perfect  accuracy  by 
BETA  FRANCIS,  great  granddaughter  of  Sir  PHILIP,  who  began 
making  the  collection.  "It  is  impossible,"  she  writes,  "to 
imagine  why  some  of  these  letters  were  kept.  Many  of  them 
are  very  dull  and  bald.  Some  contain  nothing  but  minute 
accounts  of  illness,  with  distressing  particulars  of  the  rough 
medical  treatment  of  a  century  ago.  Scarcely  any  would  have 
been  worth  preserving."  Miss  FRANCIS  nevertheless  preserved 
them,  and,  the  task  ending  fatally,  Miss  KEARY  has  dumped 
them  down  on  a  long-suffering  public.  My  Baronite,  a  con- 
scientious reviewer,  nearly  shared  the  fate  of  Miss  FRANCIS 
before  he  reached  the  end  of  the  first  volume.  But  it 's  a  poor 
heart  that  never  rejoices.  Stubbornly  plodding  on  into  the 
second  volume  he  came,  near  the  end  withal,  upon  a  batch  of 
eight  letters  written  by  ELIZA  JOHNSON,  who  later  became  Sir 
PHILIP'S  daughter-in-law.  These  are  simply  delightful,  giving 
sprightly  accounts  of  life  in  an  English  country  house  at  the 
beginning  of  the  century.  Inspired  by  this  touch  of  native 
genius,  the  letters  of  Sir  PHILIP  FRANCIS,  hitherto  dull  like  the 
rest,  begin  to  sparkle.  Up  to  this  period  they  have  supplied 
the  weightiest  evidence  yet  put  in  the  scales  against  his  being 
the  writer  of  the  Junius  Letters.  About  this  time,  notably  in 
his  correspondence  with  Lady  THANET,  there  flash  occasional 
sparkles  of  the  pointed  pen  of  the  famous  Letter-Writer.  The 
Diary  of  Sir  PHILIP'S  spendthrift-daughter  MARY,  with  its 
prophetic  touches  of  Mr.  Micawber,  and  the  story  of  little 
EM'LY,  sister  to  MARY  JOHNSON,  told  by  that  incomparable 
writer  herself,  are  full  reward  for  wicked  waste  of  time  on  the 
first  volume.  But  these  gems  of  purest  ray  serene  lie  hidden 
fathoms  deep  in  pointless  verbiage. 

The  English  Turf(METHUEN)  is  a  record  of  horses  and  courses, 
made  by  Mr.  CHARLES  RICHARDSON  and  edited  by  Mr.  E.  T. 
SACHS.  My  Baronite  is  not  an  authority  on  racing,  except,  to 
some  extent,  in  the  matter  of  the  Parliamentary  Stakes.  It 
seems  to  him,  however,  that  in  this  handsome  volume,  with 
its  plans  and  illustrations  of  all  the  great  racecourses  snapped 
at  the  rigjat  moment,  the  last  word  is  said  in  respect  of  English 
racing.  After  a  preliminary  chapter  on  the  position  of  the 
Turf,  others  are  devoted  to  Newmarket,  Ascot  and  Goodwood, 
Epsom,  and  the  Yorkshire  Meetings.  Breeding,  Lines  of  Blood, 
Trainers  and  Jockeys  are  each  carefully  dealt  with.  Mr. 
RICHARDSON  traces  TOD  SLOAN'S  startling  seat  on  the  horse  to 
study  of  the  Indian  on  horseback.  Its  practical  advantage  i 
found  in  the  fact  that  by  lying  along  the  neck  of  the  horse  with 
his  hands  close  to  the  animal's  ears,  the  jockey  lightens  the 
horse's  burden  by  5  Ibs.,  a  serious  consideration.  This  calcula- 
tion is  based  on  the  supposition  that  the  horse  is  travelling  at 
thirty-five  miles  an  hour,  a  pace  which  fixes  atmospheric 
resistance  at  the  rate  of  5  Ibs.  per  square  foot. 

THE  Baron  recommends  GEORGE  PASTON'S  Little  Memoirs  of 
the  Eighteenth  Century  (GRANT  RICHARDS).  One  "  little 
memoir"  can  be  taken  at  intervals  by  way  of  refreshment 
during  any  reading  of  quite  another  sort,  and  the  dose  will 
have  a  refreshing  effect.  Let  the  Baron  warn  his  followers 
against  the  deception  of  so  sensational  a  title  to  one  of  the 
memoirs  as  The  Romance  of  John  Tweddell,  which  looks  attrac- 
tive, but  the  "  memoir  "  is  not  by  any  means  up  to  its  title 
The  story  of  Lady  CRAVEN,  fascinating  and  flighty,  shows  her  to 
have  been,  in  her  superior  line  of  life,  a  specimen  of  the  genus 
whereof  Becky  Sharpe  was  so  memorable  a  type.  ^The  "  littl 
memoir  "  of  GEORGE  CUMBERLAND,  playwright  and  dramatist 


novelist,  poet,  essayist,  editor,  civil  servant,  amateur  diploma- 
1st,  and  controversial  theologian  is  an  entertaining  study. 
}itifully  jealous  was  CUMBERLAND  of  SHERIDAN  who  satirised 
him  in  the  character  of  Sir  Fretful  Plagiary.  By  the  way,  Mr. 
}ASTON  misquotes  the  well-known  line  |in  the  picture-dealing 
cene  in  the  School  for  Scandal,  and  speaks  of  Uncle  Oliver's 
portrait  as  a  "villainous  disinheriting  countenance."  How 
weak  is  this  instead  of  the  "  damned  disinheriting  "  with  which 
we  are  all  familiar.  How  came  Mr.  PASTON  to  "bowdlerise" 
this  line  ?  However,  for  the  sake  of  the  merits  of  his  book,  for 
;his  mis-quotation  shall  Mr.  PASTON  be  pardoned  by  the 
generous,  forgiving  BARON  DE  BOOK- WORMS. 


THE    RETUENED    GAINSBOROUGH; 

OR,  OUR  DEAR  OLD  DUTCH. 

Neiv  version  of  Mr.  Chevalier's  popular  song,  "  My  Old  Dtttefc," 
as  adapted  to  the  occasion  and  sung  at  the  Agn-w  Q-ll-ry, 
N-w  B-nd  Str-t.) 

WE  bought  a  gem,  a  reg'lar  out  and  outer, 
A  splendid  old  gal, — we  '11  tell  you  all  about  her, — 
It 's  many  years  since  first  we  met 
At  Christie's  ;  high  the  price  then  set 
Upon  her  head,  when  we  did  get 

This  dear  old  gal ! 
She  's  been  missing  five  and  twenty  year 

(Which  it  do  seem  a  bit  too  much  I) 
But   (meditatively  and    pathetically)    there    ain't    a 

pictur,  by  the  same  old  hand 
As  we'd  swop  for  our  dear  old  Dutch  ! 
(Empliatically)    No !     (triumphantly)    there    ain't   a 

pictur'  painted  in  the  land 
As  we  'd  swop  for  our  dear  "  old  Dutch  "  ! ! 

We    calls    her    "Dutch,"     which     her    title's    rightly 

"  Dutchi  ss," 
Lor!    she  fetch'd   "ten  thou.,"  which  for  her  we  don't 

think  much  is. 

She  is  an  angel !   that 's  her  worth  I 
Too  good  a'most  for  any  berth 
That  could  be  found  on  this  dull  earth, 

Style,  so  du-cal  / 
She  's  been  missing,  &c.  (refrain  as  before). 

Long  lost  but  found  !  scent  faint  and  then  much  fainter, 
A  Gainsbro'  you  are  I    How  marvellous  a  painter  ! 
How  could  you  steal  away,  depart 
At  night,  and  give  us  such  a  start  I 
But  what  a  Gainsbro' — bless  his  art  I 

Is  this  old  gal  1 
She  's  been  missing,  &c.,  &c. 

Sweet  fine  old  gal  I  for  worlds  we  wouldn't  lose  her  ! 
Dear  she  was,   dear  old  gal  1    but  that 's  what  made  us 

choose  her. 

Here  's  Mister  Punch  among  the  fust. 
To  call  upon  Her  Grace,  and  just 
Congratulate  us,  as  all  must, 
Who  see  our  salle  I 

Whence — She 's  been  missin'  fire  an'  twenty  year, 

(Which  it  do  seem  a  bit  too  much !) 
But  there  ain't  a  picture  by  the  same  old  hand 

As  we  'd  swop  for  our  dear  Old  "  Dutch  "  1 

(Chorus,  "  All  together,  gentlemen ! ") 
No !    (triumphantly)    There  ain't  a  pictur'   painted  in  the 
land, 

Je  '?,  Iswop  for/their  Idear  old  Dutch  ! 
they 'd/  \  our  J 


APRIL  17,  1901,] 


PUNCH,  OE  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


291 


CONVERSATIONAL  HINTS  FOR  YOUNG  RIDERS. 

CHAPTER  XII. 

Soldiers  from  the  Garrison  Town. 

MEN  may  say  what  they  like  ;  Army  reformers  of  the  various 
sorts  may  write  indignant  letters  to  the  daily  papers  ;  leader- 
writers  may  comment  till  they 
are  black  in  the  face  on  the 
total  lack  of  training  and  mili- 
tary instinct  shown  by  our 
officers,  and  may  ascribe  these 
serious  defects  entirely  to  the 
enormous  amount  of  time  spent 
by  those  officers  upon  field- 
sports  and  other  frivolous 
amusements.  All  this  may,  as 
I  say,  continue  to  be  written 
until  the  crack  of  doom,  but, 
if  appearances  may  be  taken 
as  a  guide,  our  officers  [seem 
likely  to  continue  field-sporting 
in  spite  of  everything  and 
everybody.  It  is  not  my  part 
here  to  say  whether  they  are 
right  or  wrong,  but  I  may  be 
permitted  to  point  out  that  the 
officers  themselves  are  but  little 
to  blame.  Tradition  is  the 
wrong-doer,  tradition  (other- 
wise known  as  the  tone,  or 
esprit  de  corps)  which  lays  it 
down  that  the  man  who  doesn't 
ride  to  hounds  when  he  can, 
play  polo  or  cricket,  or  help  in 
the  regimental  race  meeting, 
is  a  muff.  Soldiers  are  cer- 
tainly not  the  men  who  are 
likely  to  set  themselves  against 
tradition,  and  behold,  there- 
fore, every  soldier  who  can 
buy,  or  hire,  or  borrow  a  hunter 
patronises  all  the  meets  of 
hounds  that  he  can  con- 
veniently attend.  Very  wel- 
come they  are,  too,  as  a  rule. 
Not  every  soldier,  to  be  sure, 
is  a  good  rider.  Indeed,  you 
may  see  some  quaint  sights  on 
horseback  issuing  from  the 
precincts  of  garrison  towns, 


THE    HANDY    MAN. 

WHAT  HE  WILL  HAVE  TO  BECOME,  IF  RECRUITING  FOR  THE  NAVY 
CONTINUES  TO  FALL  OFF,  AND  MANY  MORE  NEW  BATTLESHIPS  ARE 
CONSTRUCTED. 


"  But  they  've  managed  to  kill  a  good  many  so  far." 

"  Any  fool  of  a  pack  can  kill  foxes  by  chopping  'em  in  covert. 

That 's  all  they  do.    They  never  get  away.    I  tell  you  what, 

my  boy,  you  come  out  with  the  East  Blankleys  next  Friday ; 

they  're  the  pack  for  showing    sport.     No    pottering    about 

them,  but  good  tearing  runs,  eh,  what !  " 

So  the  Captain,  justly  offended 
in  his  tenderest  feelings,  will 
fulminate.  But  the  next  mo- 
ment there  's  a  scattering  of 
horses  and  a  "  Yoick  !  "  from 
the  huntsman  and  a  "Gone 
away !  "  from  someone  else, 
and  off  sets  the  Captain,  venire 
a  terre,  as  straight  as  a  line, 
over  a  stiff  country.  "  By  the 
Lord  Harry,"  he  says  at  the 
end  of  the  run,  when  the  hounds 
have  killed  their  fox,  "that 
was  a  pretty  hot  thing,  and  no 
mistake.  There  isn't  another 
lot  of  hounds  could  show  you 
sport  as  good.  Anyhow,  I  don't 
want  better,"  and  he  '11  offer 
you  a  pull  from  his  flask  and  a 
sandwich  from  his  case,  and  at 
the  end  of  the  day  he  '11  jog 
his  fifteen  miles  home  happy  in 
the  knowledge  that  he  jumped 
the  most  amazing  fences  in  the 
worst  places,  pounded  half  the 
field,  left  the  Master,  the  hunts- 
man and  the  whips  far  behind, 
took  the  hounds  along  for  the 
last  three  miles  by  himself,  and 
altogether  enjoyed  himself  as 
only  a  hard-riding  soldier,  un- 
troubled by  heavy  intellectual 
cares  or  thoughts  of  the  why 
and  wherefore  in  human  affairs, 
can  enjoy  himself.  And  at  the 
next  meet  he  '11  be  there  again, 
and,  if  he  is  checked  by  the 
Master,  as  he  is  sure  to  be,  he 
will  again  fulminate,  and  in  the 
end  he  will  enjoy  himself  again. 
For,  after  all,  you  may  say 
what  you  will  about  an  officer's 
military  capacity,  but  you 
can't  deny  that  he  's  generally 


and  may^ learn  on  inquiry  that,  they  bear  military  titles.  But 
whether  they  ride  well  or  ill  (and  most  of  them  ride  -well), 
they  all  ride  with  immense  dash  and  pluck. 

"Hold  hard  there,  Sir,  hold  hard,"  you  may  hear  the  Master 
saying  well  above  his  breath;  "give  the  hounds  a  chance," 
and  you  will  observe  Captain  THRUSTER,  of  the  90th  Lancers 
(Queen  ADELAIDE'S  Own),  obviously  endeavouring  to  pick  out 
the  line  for  himself  and  acting  the  part  of  the  leading  hound,  the 
pride  of  the  pack.  Then,  if  you  know  the  gallant  Captain — and 
who  doesn't  know  that  light-hearted,  terse  and  healthy  soldier? 
— you  can  make  an  opportunity  of  riding  up  alongside  of  him 
and  saying  to  him  in  your  most  conciliatory  style,  "  They  're 
going  pretty  slow  to-day,"  to  which  he  will  reply,  "  Slow?  I 
should  think  they  were  slow.  I  'd  back  myself  to  kick  my  hat 
faster  than  these  hounds  can  go.  And,  by  Jove,  even  if  they 
do  want  to  go  these  fellows  never  give  'em  a  chance  ;  they  're 
always  taking  'em  off  the  line  and  casting  back,  and  trying 
to  show  how  doosid  clever  they  are.  Ton  my  word,  if  this  kind 
of  thing  goes  on  I  shall  take  to  drag-hunting  and  chuck  the 
fox-hounds." 


an  Al  sportsman,  wherever  you  meet  him. 


IN  WAITING. 

(Animation  amongst  the  inanimates.) 

THE  bicycle  sighed  deeply  and  scoffed  at  auto-cars.  They 
were  both  in  the  lowest  of  low  spirits. 

"  Cheer  up.  We  have  escaped  so  far,  and  it  is  not  likely  that 
we  shall  be  seized  this  year,"  said  a  placard  hoarding. 

"Don't  you  be  so  sure,"  replied  a  loaf  of  sugar.  "  I  am  in  a 
terror  of  apprehension." 

"  You  may  escape,  as  the  tradition  exists  of  a  free  breakfast 
table,"  murmured  a  poor  umbrella. 

"Dogs  are  licensed,  and  so  I  suppose  they  will  attempt  some- 
thing of  the  same  sort  with  their  natural  enemies,"  put  in  Tabby. 

"And,  of  course,  we  are  threatened  as  usual !  "  indignantly 
declared  a  photograph. 

"  Why  are  you  so  agitated?  "  asked  Mr.  Punch. 

"Because  we  are  waiting  for  the  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer,"  was  the  unanimous  answer. 


292 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[ArjfiL  17,  1901. 


HERE'S  TO  THE  POLICY  DRIFTY. 

["  To  attack  the" School  Boards  is  both  futile  and 
unreasonable.  The  blame  really  rests  upon  the 
shoulders  of  the  successive  Administrations  which 
have  put  off  from  year  to  year  their  plain  duty  of 
facing  the  problems  of  Secondary  Education  and 
reorganising  it  upon  a  proper  basis.  They  have 
admitted  the  need  for  thirty  years,  but  they  have 
folded  their  hands  and  drifted." — Telegraph.] 

HOW  charming  the  indefinite  ! 

To  vaguely  contemplate 
With  folded  hands  and  half-closed  eyes, 

Oh  !  what  a  happy  state  ! 

To  graze  with  an  untethcred  mind 
In  fields  of  mild  endeavour, 

To  slake  the  thirst  at  Fancy's  rills 
And  cogitate  for  ever. 

To  wander  with  untutored  step 

And  only  Fate  the  guide, 
To  drift  out  with  the  flowing  stream, 

Returning  with  the  tide. 

How  misapplied  the  energy 
"Which  London's  desert  scours 

To  teach — perhaps — a  shoeblack  to 
Improve  his  shininy  hours. 

Do  not  forget  when  to  his  mind 
Small  wisdom  you  would  bring 

That  even  a  little  knowledge  is 
A  very  dangerous  thing. 

But  why  upon  the  School  Boards  do 
The  folks  make  such  a  clatter  ? 

The  subject,  after  all,  is  but 
A  secondary  matter. 


RUS  IN  SUBURBB. 

["  Kilburn  '  Grange,'  .  which  once  adjoined  a 
hunting  seat  of  CHAELES  II.,  is  threatened  with 
destruction." — Daily  Paper.] 

Extract  from  Mr.  Pepys's  Diary. 

October  29,  1670. — Up  betimes.  Hearing 
that  the  King  will  hunt  to-day,  mighty 
earnest  to  go,  I  to  Kilburn  by  the  Crickle- 
wood  coach  ;  a  great,  roomy  vehicle,  and 
painted  red  and  white,  with  cushions  of 
crimson  velvet,  mighty  fine,  but  very  slow 
and  cumbrous  and  sore  upon  the  bones. 
Cost  me  3d.,  and  so  up  Maida  "Vale  and  into 
the  High  Road.  Called  by  a  glover's  and 
there  bought  my  first  winter  pair.  Cost 
me  Is.  3|d.,  the  cheapest  I  ever  saw,  I 
think,  in  all  my  life.  Out  again,  and  into 
the  High  Road,  where  many  barrows. 
Being  wearied,  bought  a  banana  which  did 
give  me  the  colic  ;  and  so,  to  comfort  my- 
self, to'.the  "  Queen's  Arms  "  and  did  drink 
a  dram  of  brandy.  Seeing  a  great  many 
very  fine  women,  I  did  labour  to  pull  on 
my  new  gloves  which  did  split ;  and  so 
into  my  pocket,  vexed,  and  resolve  to  buy 
in  Pall  Mall  and  make  my  wife  do  the  like. 
To  the  hunt,  where,  all  being  ready,  the 
buck  was  turned  out  from  the  cart  and 
ran  up  to  the  huntsman,  expecting  bread, 
till  a  whip  did  make  the  Royal  Hounds  to 
bark,  when  he  away.  Then  the  pack  was 


laid  upon  his  scent  and  did  run  well  to 
the  High  Road  where  many  smells,  and  in 
particular  the  odour  from  the  fried-fish 
shop  did  overpower  them,  and  could  by 
no  means  discover  the  scent. 

Home  by  coach,  where  a  pretty,  modest 
maid  whom  I  did  eye  mightily.  To  my 
wife,  and  so  betimes  to  bed. 


NIHIL  NIMIS. 

I  CAN'T  conceive  why  fools  and  wise 

Are  eager  to  discover 
The  hidden  name  that  signifies 

This  literary  lover. 
For  be  she  brilliant  as  the  sun — 

A  genius — I  own  it, 
That  very  fondly  I  for  one 

Could  wish  I  hadn't  known  it. 

I  'rn  sick  of  hearing  people  ask 

Why  was  it  that  we  parted  ; 
Of  critics  taking  me  to  task 

For  my  amour  half-hearted  ; 
Of  hearing  everyone  discuss 

Our  tragic  separation  ; 
And  so,  to  end  this  foolish  fuss, 

Accept  my  explanation. 

No  need  for  all  the  guesses  wide 

That  cause  so  much  exertion  : 
No  need  to  think  my  promised  bride 

Was  mother's  pet  aversion  ; 
Nor  would  we — such  the  thought  within 

Some  asses  "addle-headed — 
Have  been  a  little  more  than  kin 

Suppose  we  had  been  wedded. 

Conceive  a  common  mortal  bored 

To  death  by  her  propensity 
To  introspection,  and  adored 

With  terrible  intensity — 
Conceive  the  fate  of  one  that  has 

Been  doomed  to  close  proximity, 
With  such  a  gifted  creature  as 

This  cultured  anonymity  ! 


PROPHETIC. 
(Scrap  from  a  History  yet  to  be  written.) 

THE  year  was  1921,  and  the  venerable 
grandfather  was  seated  amongst  his 
kindred.  He  had  not  been  placed  in  the 
lethal  chamber  (usually  reserved  for  gen- 
tlemen who  had  turned  eighty)  on  account 
of  his  fund  of  anecdote. 

"I  can  remember  twenty  years  ago," 
he  began  in  his  feeble,  quavering  voice, 
"  there  were  absolutely  no  steamboats  on 
the  Upper  Thames." 

"  You  don't  say !"  cried  his  youngest 
grandson.  ' '  Why,  what  should  we  do  with- 
out our  two-minutes'  service  of  Chelsea 
steam  launches  ?  And  yet  you  declare 
that  twenty  years  ago  the  great  silent  high- 
way was  absolutely  valueless.  Anything 
further  to  say  about  poor  unfortunate 
London  ?  ' ' 

"Only  that  she  \vas  years  behind  the 
provinces.  Liverpool  had  its  electric 


trams  ages  before  London  had  trams  at 
all,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 

"  Well,  matters  are  very  different  now." 

"Quite  so,  and  wo  owe  all  our  good 
fortune  to  one  individual." 

"One  individual !  How  coldly  you  speak 
of  him.  Why,  he  is  a  hero,  a  reformer,  a 
benefactor,  the  greatest  man  London  has 
iver  known." 

"  You  are  right.  If  we  had  not  followed 
tiis  advice,  where  should  we  have  been. 
But  we  did  keep  our  eyes  upon  Mr.  Punch, 
and  he  has  pulled  us  through  into  pros- 
perity!  " 


ONE   TOO   MANY. 

A  MISTAKE  has  arisen, 
An  awful  misprision. 

Who  is  to  blame  ? 
I  was  not  engaged  then 
To  HARRY— not  when 

The  census  man  came. 

So  our  names  were  inscribed 
(And  when  I  was  bribed), 

Our  ages  so  true. 
And  so,  you  see,  my 
Dear  HARRY  and  1 

Were  counted  as  two  ! 

But  now  dearest  HARRY 
I  've  promised  to  marry, 

What 's  to  be  done  ? 
What  are  we  to  do  ? 
They  've  got  us  as  two 

When  we  are  one  I 


STATISTICS  GONE  CRAZY. 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCH,  —  You  may  have 
noticed  that  recently  a  mimber  of  papers 
have  been  publishing  what  may  be  called 

pictorial  statistics."  For  example,  one 
of  your  contemporaries  showed  the  com- 
parative size  of  the  police  force  in  the 
various  countries  of  Europe.  England's 
constable  was  larger  than  France's  guar- 
dian of  the  peace,  and  so  on. 

The  popularity  of  the  series  to  which 
I  have  referred  encourages  me  to  send 
you  a  few  sketches,  but  without  the 
pictures. 

Who  would  believe  that  it  would  take 
twenty  -  seven  million  billion  postage 
stamps  to  extend  from  the  centre  of 
Piccadilly  to  the  frontiers  of  the  moon  ? 

Who  would  fancy  for  a  moment  that  a 
ray  of  light  travels  through  space  at 
twenty-four  million  times  the  velocity  of 
a  nine-inch  shell  ? 

Is  it  not  wonderful  to  consider  that  if 
every  boy,  girl,  man  and  woman  joined 
hands  they  would  make  a  circle  wide  enough 
to  include  Saturn,  taking  the  Earth  as  a 
centre. 

And  here  I  pause  for  a  moment,  that 
those  of  your  readers  who  have  followed 
me  so  far  may  work  the  problem  out  for 
themselves. 


APRIL  17,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


293 


I  humbly  confess  that  what  I  have  sug- 
gested above  is  merely  an  unconsidered 
estimate.  I  leave  it  to  your  readers  to 
verify  my  facts  (?). 

Yours  cordially, 

THERE  OR  THEREABOUTS. 


LAMENTS  OF  LONDON. 

[The  Committee  of  the  House  of  Commons  has 
thrown  out  the  preamble  of  the  Bill  promoted  by 
the  L.  C.  C.  for  promoting  a  service  of  steam-boats 
on  the  Thames.] 

Father  Tliames  speaks  : — 

TIME  was  when  my  silvery  waters 

Were  gay  with  the  barges  1  bore, 
And  the  laughter  of  London's  fair  daughters 

Was  heard  on  my  echoing  shore  ; 
And  gallant  young  -watermen  courted 

Sweet  maids  at  that  magical  hour 
When  Love  in  his  cockle-shell  sported 

From  Westminster  Bridge  to  the  Tower. 

Queen  BESS  loved  the  plash  of  my  billows 

That  lapped  on  the  bow  of  her  bark, 
As,  sunk  in  the  down  of  her  pillows, 

She  glided  to  fair  Greenwich  Park  ; 
The  merry  young  monarch  found  leisure 

On  my  glittering  waves  to  disport, 
And  fair  were  the  daughters  of  pleasure 

I  wafted  to  sweet  Hampton  Court. 

Mr.  PEPYS,  in  sartorial  glory 

The  envy  and  wonder  of  all, 
Delighted  to  crack  a  good  story 

As  he  blithely  took  ship  to  Whitehall. 
Gay  ladies  and  courtiers  tender 
*  On  my  bosom  delighted  to  row, 
And  all  was  life,  beauty  and  splendour 

On  my  sunshiny  waves  long  ago. 

But  now  scarce  a  lingering  wherry 

Is  seen  on  my  desolate  shore, 
And  the  laughter  that  once  rang  so  merry 

O'er  my  waters  is  heard  there  no  more. 
Of  all  the  gay  craft  that  were  dotting 

My  roystering  tide,  what  are  here 
But  the  crazy  old  hulks  that  lie  rotting, 

Neglected,  off  Battersea  Pier  ? 

The  Seine  has  her  nimble  flotillas 

Whereon  her  tired  toilers  may  fly 
At  eve  to  their  rose-covered  villas 

And  gardens.    Then  why  have  not  I  ? 
Why  are  my  pale  citizens  driven 

To  the  bowels  of  earth,  and  denied 
The  air  and  the  freshness  of  heaven 

That  ripple  my  fast-flowing  tide  ? 


"OUT  OF  NOTHING,    SOMETHING 

COMES." 

(A  purely  imaginary  conversation.) 
SCENE— Editorial  Sanctum.    PRESENT— 

Chief  and  Sub. 

Chief.  Anything  for  the  Contents  Bill. 
Sub.  (referring  to  list).  Well,  Sir,  we  are 
not  too  well   off  in  fires  just  now.    But 
there  was  a  decent  blaze  in  a  blind  alley 
at  Brompton,  when  a  cat  lost  its  life. 
Chief.  Might  put   that  down.     "  Fatal 


SCENE — A  Registry  Office. 
Young  Housekeeper  (interviewing cook).  "I  MUST  TELL  YOU  I  AM  VERY  PARTICULAR  AS  TO 

THE  QUALITY  OF  COOKERY.      I   HAVE  ONLY  JUST  EECENTLY  PARTED  WITH  A  FRENCH  CHSF— 
QUITE  A  CORDON  BLEU." 

Cook.  "  A  WHAT,  MA'AM?" 

Young  Housekeeper.    " CORDON  BLEU!     IT'S  FRENCH,   AND  MEANS  BLUE  RIBBON,  YOU 
KNOW." 

Cook.    "On,  THAT'S  ALL  RIGHT.     I'VE  BELONGED  TO  THE   BLUE  RIBBON  ARMY  MYSELF 

FOR  YEARS  !  " 


Fire  at  the  West  End."  Anything  new 
about  the  struggle  ? 

Sub.  A  few  pars  that  can  be  worked  up 
into  something  to  give  the  lines  "  In 
Hot  Pursuit,"  "  Within  Sight  of  the  End," 
and  "  Another  Capture." 

Chief.  I  see,  "common  form."  But 
haven't  we  got  a  "  detective  "  item  any- 
where ? 

Sub.  Well,  that  discovery  of  an  old 
bonnet  in  the  waiting-room  at  Mudborough 
Junction  looks  promising.  It  appears 
it  had  "  Edgware  Road,"  stamped  on  the 
crown  of  the  shape,  so  I  have  ventured 
to  set  up  "  The  Mudborough  Mystery, 
Latest  Particulars." 


Chief.  In  the  present  dearth  that  will 
do  excellently  well.  Anything  in  the 
shape  of  accidents  ? 

Sub.  Only  one.  A  train  just  outside 
London  came  in  to  time — to  the  minute. 
So  I  have  labelled  :  "  Curious  Accident 
on  a  Suburban  Line." 

Chief.  Well,  I  think  that  will  do  for  our 
earlier  edition.  It  exhausts  our  news. 

Sub.  Yes,  Sir,  and  our  news  is  not 
likely  to  exhaust  our  readers. 

Chief.  No  levity,  if  you  please.  Re- 
member our  responsibility  is  heavy  to  the 
public. 

Sub.  Yes,  Sir,  and  heavier  still  to  the 
proprietors.  [Exeunt  smiling. 


294 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[APRIL  17,   1901. 


Servant.  "HER  LEDDYSHIP'S  ENGAGED  JUST  NOW,  MR.  CHAWLES.     'OLDING  OF  A  MEETING  "—(prolonged 

sniff)—'' '  MOTHERS  ! " 


L'HOMME  INCOMPRIS. 

[ME.  PINEEO  recently  confessed  that  he  could  not  write  a  play  about  the 
middle-classes.  In  his  search  for  dramatic  complications  suitable  for  repre- 
sentation on  the  stage  he  found  himself  compelled  to  place  his  characters 
higher  in  the  social  scale.] 

I  AM  a  hard-worker!  city  clerk,  my  salary  is  small, 
My  social  status  hardly  worth  considering  at  all.  [bleed 

I  've  a  wife  and  several  children  and  the  hardest  heart  might 
If  it  saw  my  weekly  income  and  the  mouths  it  has  to  feed. 

For  years  I  've  borne  my  poverty  in  uncomplaining  fashion 
Peeling  confident  my  woes  excited  general  compassion. 
I  knew  my  life  was  bitter,  I  imagined  it  was  tragic, 
And  the  thought  sufficed  to  lighten  grief  and  charmed  my  cares 
like  magic ! 

When  calamity  oppressed  me  I  endured  it  like  a  stoic, 

And  took  comfort  in  the-  thought  that  my  behaviour  was  heroic  ; 

But  now  I  find  that  dramatists  won't  have  me  for  a  hero 

And  the  dismal  news  has  come  from  Mr.  ARTHUR  WING  PiNERO. 

It  seems  he  cannot  weave  a  plot  round  men  in  humble  stations, 
He  looks  in  vain  among  them  for  dramatic  complications, 
He  can  people  comedies  with  dukes  and  other  titled  asses 
But  he  cannot  write  a  play  about  the  lower  middle  classes. 

I  own  I  'm  disappointed,  for  I  always  hoped  one  day 
I  should  see  myself  presented  as  the  hero  of  a  play ; 


I  pictured  crowded  audiences  echoing  my  groans 

Through  several  moving  scenes  by  Mr.  HENRY  ARTHUR  JONES. 

In  vain  !  My  hopes  of  figuring  in  drama  were  a  dream, 

No  self-respecting  dramatist  will  take  me  as  his  theme, 

He  cannot  write  a  play  about  a  pauper  in  an  attic 

For  though  it 's  sad  that  people  starve  it 's  very  undramatic  ! 

His  subjects  are  the  common  ones,  of  love  and  death  and 
marriage, 

But  his  heroine's  [mamma  will  keep  two  footmen  and  a  car- 
riage, 

For,  if  a  playwright  knows  his  work,  he 's  very  well  aware 

That  heroines  of  ^comedies  must  live  in  Grosvenor  Square. 

He  stimulates  your  sympathies  for  this  attractive  girl 
By  making  her  the  daughter  of  a  very  wealthy  earl, 
While  her  lover  's  an  attache,  winning  diplomatic  laurels, 
A  youth  of  most  exalted  birth  but  rather  dubious  morals. 

Both  pit  and  stalls  are  tortured  by  the  fear  he  '11  be  rejected, 
For  though  he  is  a  shocking  scamp  he  's  very  well  connected, 
So  no  one  's  really  happy  till  these  doubts  are  set  at  rest 
And  the  too  forgiving  heroine  has  clasped  him  to  her  breast ! 

My  readers  will  have  gathered  from  this  harrowing  recital 
That  you  cannot  figure  in  a  play  unless  you  have  a  title, 
There  's  therefore  very  little  chance,  as  far  as  I  can  see, 
That  anyone  will  ever  write  a  drama  about  ME. 

ST.  J.  H. 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.— APRIL  17,  1901. 


A  LITTLE   BIT   OF   SUGAR  FOR  THE   BIRD'HP) 


APRIL  17,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


297, 


THE    VOICE    OF    SPRING. 

Bibulous  Binks.  "GAD,  IT'S  FREEZING  AGAIN!'' 


A   MARVELLOUS  RECOVERY!    THE  LOSS-AND- 
GAIN-SBOROUGH  PICTURE !  I 

WONDERS  will  never  cease !  But  wanders,  that  is  the 
Duchess's  wanderings,  have  ceased  at  last !  And  once  more, 
bless  Her  Grace's  handsome  countenance,  the  Duchess  is  with 
her  old  friends  The  Messrs.  AGNEW,  in  her  former  temporary 
lodgings  in  Bond  Street,  where,  no  doubt,  Her  Grace  will  hold 
levies  during  the  season,  and  receive  the  heartiest  congratu- 
lations from  all  her  old  and  young  friends,  who  will  enthu- 
siastically seize  such  an  opportunity  of  once  a  gain-sborough 
(and  once  a  Gainsborough  always  a  Gainsborough)  regarding 
those  exquisite  features,  and  professing  themselves  her  very 
humblest  servants  "pour  ses  beaux  yeux"l  Delectable 
Duchess!  "What  a  romantic  history!  "Stolen  by  Gipsies" 
and  "  The  Return  of  the  Lost  Heir  "  is  nothing  to  this  !  You  were 
not  dead  but  suffering,  suffering  severely,  too,  from  the  painful 
operation  of  having  your  limbs  amputated,  and  your  dress 
cut  off  with  them,  somewhere  about  the  knees,  and  this  your 
recovery  is  little  short  of  miraculous!  "  Painted  ladies  "  by 
the  score  have  ere  now  been  stabbed  with  a  pin,  peppered, 
powdered  and  caged  in  boxes,  gradually  to  fade!  But  you, 
you  beautifully  painted  lady,  was  there  ever  one  of  your  age  so 
wonderfully  preserved  1 !  Never  !  And,  talk  of  pictures  "  being 
restored,"  was  there  ever  any  old  picture  so  marvellously 
restored  as  has  been  this  GAINSBOROUGH'S  portrait  of  a  Duchess 


or  some  other  Belle  ?  Why  there  never  has  been  a  Restoration 
equal  to  it !  No,  not  even  that  of  His  Majesty  CHARLES  THE 
SECOND.  Vive  la  Grande  Duchesse  I 


A  CRAMBULATOR. 

["  An  order  is  being  given  by  the  West  Ham  Board  of  Guardians  for  a  per- 
ambulator that  will  hold  twelve  children,  for  the  use  of  the  inmates  in  the 
nursery.  It  is  hoped  by  this  means  that  all  the  babies  will  be  out  in  the 
grounds  every  day,  instead  of  being  imprisoned  because  sufficient  people 
cannot  be  found  to  wheel  the  small  perambulators  which  are  at  present  in 
use.'' — Daily  Paper. ,] 

THERE  was  an  old  woman  who  lived  in  West  Ham, 
Who  'd  so  many  children,  she  ordered  a  "  prim  " 
Of  a  novel  construction  a  dozen  to  hold — 
And  a  cram  it  would  be,  if  no  "  cram  "  we  are  told  I 


SPRING   CLEANING. 
SCENE — Spring  Gardens.    Enter  ALGY,  L.H.,  meeting  FRANKTE 

as  he  strolls  in,  R.H. 

Algij.  Hallo!    Old  boy!     (Greeting)  I've  just  had  my  house 
papered  and  painted  inside  and  out. 

Frankie.  Indeed  !     And — er — (struck  by  the  novelty)  what  sort 
of  paper  did  you  have  put  outside  ? 

[Exit  ALGY,  R.H.,  and  FRANKIE,  L.H.    -Scene  closes. 


398 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[APRIL  17,  1901. 


BRUMMAGEM    AT    OXFORD. 

["  Compared  with  the  new  University  of  Birmingham,  with  its  Chaira  of 
Dyeing,  Brewing,  etc.,  an  institution  like  Oxford  must  seem  hopelessly  out-of- 
date." — Daily  Paper.'] 

SCENE — Oxford.    A  College  Barge. 

Chorus  of  Oxonians. 

TWENTY  Oxford  men  are  we, 

Skilled  to  use  both  oar  and  pen, 
And  we  thank  the  gods  we  be 

Twenty  Oxford  men. 

Where  so  sweet  the  hours  of  man  ? 
Where  does  Time  so  swiftly  fly  ? 
Life  flows  on  more  smoothly  than ' 
Isis  gliding  by. 

Mirth,  good-fellowship  and  sport, 
Banishing  black  care  and  grief, 
Make  the  fleeting  days  too  short, 
The  nightsjtoo  brief. 

Where  doth  friendship  bloom  so  free, 

Hearts  so  loving  ?    Let  us  then 
Thank  the  blessed  gods  we  be 

Twenty  Oxford  men. 

First  Oxonian.  Friends,  as  is  usual  when  the  chorus  ceases, 
Here  comes  a  messenger,  so  hold  your  peaces. 

Messenger.  O  men  of  Balliol  and  B.  N.  C., 

I — in  the  graceful  style  of  Kelly's  Key — 
Indeed,  do  panting  hurry  on  my  way — 

First  Oar.  You  come  announcing  what  (as  BOHN  would  say)  ? 

Mess.  Most  strange  and  startling  tidings.     In  the  High 
A  crew  of  motley  creatures  met  my  eye, 
Strange  things  in  billycocks,  with  checks  as  loud 
As  was  their  noisy  laughter — such  a  crowd 
As  make  excursions  on  Bank  Holiday 
To  this  our  sacred  town,  and  force  their  way 
Into  the  piles  built  by  our  pious  founders, 
In  short— no  other  word  suffices — bounders  I 

First  Ox.  Bounders  ? 

Mesa.  None~other. 

First  Ox.  Woe  is  me^l  olpot  I 

Chorus.  To  which  the  chorus  adds  OTOT<*TO<. 

First  Ox.  But  say,  whence  come  they  ?    Wherefore  ? 

Mess.  As  to  that, 

From  their  own  lips  the  answer  cometh  pat ; 
Close  at  my  heels  they  followed.    Hark  !  mine  ear 
Hath  caught  the  sound  of  voices.    Hush  !  you  hear,? 

Choms.  O'er  the  Meadows,  in  the  distance, 

We  can  certainly  remark 
Voices  somewhere  in  existence — 
Let  us  listen  !    Hark  1 

Enter  chorus  of  Brummagem  students. 
We  come,   we  ^come  from  the  city  of  Brum  on  an  altruistic 

mission, 
To  wake  up  the  soul  of  this  sleepy  old  hole  to  a  sense  of  its  lost 

condition  ; 
To  demonstrate  that  it  's  out  of  date,  and  calling  aloud  for 

subversion, 
And  that 's  why  we  've  come  from  the  city  of  Brum  on  a  cheap 

week-end  excursion. 

We  think  it  is  perfectly  plain 

That  the  object  and  aim  of  a  college 
Is  to  see  that  its  students  may  gain 

Some  useful  and  practical  knowledge  ; 


And  as  science  springs  on  with  a  leap 
And  a  bound  through  its  ever  new  stages, 

It  is  time  you  awake  from  the  sleep 
And  the  dreams  of  the  dark  Middle  Ages. 

The  empire  of  Commerce  is  come — 

Then  where  is  your  Greek  and  your  Latin  ? 
We  study  in  up-to-date  Brum 

Manufacture  of  silk  and  of  satin  ; 
The  churning  of  butter  and  cheese 

Are  the  objects  that  we  are  pursuing, 
And  we  take  our  commercial  degrees 

In  dyeing  and  malting  and  brewing. 

Such  studies  as  these — are  they  not  ? — 

Are  useful  and  not  uninviting  ; 
Then  shut  up  your  LIDDLE  and  SCOTT 

And  take  to  short-hand  and  type-writing. 
Leave  PLATO  and  Co.  to  their  fates 

With  all  of  such  out-of-date  gentry, 
And  make  the  chief  subject  of  Greats 

That  key-stone  of  trade — Double  Entry  I 

Ox.  Chorus.  Double  Entry  ! 

First  Brum.  Yes ! 

First  Ox.  Pray  pardon  our  emotion  ; 

It 's  such  a  revolutionary  notion. 
First  Brum.  Exactly.     We  in  Brum  are  all  agreed 

A  revolution's  just  the  thing  you  need. 

Too  long  in  Sleepy  Hollow  have  you  slumbered  ; 

Unless  you  wake  at  once,' your  days  are  numbered. 

What  do  you  know  ?    What  calling  do  you  learn 

Whereby  an  honest  living  you  may  earn  ? 
First  O.r.  What  do  we  learn  ?    Why,  some  of  us  write  prose 

Which  might  resemble  vaguely  CiCERO'S  ; 

Some  know  their  Aristotle,  whilst  a  few 

Can  conjugate  the  verbs  in — /«. 
First  Brum.  Pooh,  pooh  I 

Scholastic  pedantry  !    No  one  employs 

Such  ignoramuses  as  errand  boys. 

Ox.  Chorus.  We  're  lost,  I  fear.    What  can  we  do  ? 
There  's  no  one  here  can  dye  or  brew. 
We  can't  make  tarts  or  build  or  plumb — 
In  all  these  arts  we  bow  to  Brum. 

Still,   I    seem   to   have    heard — haven't    you? — of    a   few 

individuals  who 
Although  they  had  come  to  Oxford,  not  Brum,  contrived  to 

be  somebody  too. 

Brum.  Chorus.  There  possibly  may  have  been  some, 

But  think  what  they  might  have  become 
If,  instead  of  their  stewing  for  Greats  they  'd  been  brewing 
Pure  beer  in  the  college  of  Brum. 

Ox.  Chorus.         Twenty  Oxford  men  are  we, 

Wasting  money,  time  and  brain 
Reading  for  a  vain  degree 
Studies  that  are_vain. 

From  the  lips  of  babes  we  hear 
Words  of  wisdom,  do  we  not  ? 

PLATO  is  but  rubbish  queer, 
ARISTOTLE  rot. 

HOMER,'  HORACE — what  are  they  ? 

Dead  as  a  forgotten  dream. 
Science  rules  the  roost  to-day, 

Trade  is^all  supreme. 

Out-of-date  and  useless  we, 

Commerce  is  beyond  our  ken- 
Let  us  thank  the  gods  we  be 
Twenty  Oxford  men ! 


APRIL  17,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


299 


#Hs  sSfcfflfifrek*^; 


300 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[APRIL  17,  1901. 


THE    NEW    RENAISSANCE. 

BY  ARTHUR  CONDER. 
I. 

THE  whole  concern  sprang  from  MOBERLEY'S  fit  of  the  blues. 
We  were  sitting  in  the  smoking-room — MOBERLEY,  myself,  and 
some  hy  If -dozen  other  members  of  the  Disappointed  Authors' 
Club — a  silent  and  very  gloomy  company.  Now  and  then  a 
gleam  of  light  came  into  some  eye  as  its  owner  culled  an 
inspiration  from  the  newspaper,  or  the  ceiling,  or  the  bowl 
of  his  pipe ;  but  it  flickered  out  again  quickly  enough  as  he 
remembered  the  permanent  and  unalterable  regret  of  all  editors 
that  they  were  unable,  etc.  "We  were,  every  man  of  us, 
sufferers  from  cacoethes  scribendi,  engendered,  no  doubt,  by 
the  deadly  bite  of  what  SMALLEY  used  to  call  the  "fang  de 
siecle."  MOBERLEY  was,  perhaps,  the  greatest  sufferer  of  us 
all.  Dear,  painstaking  fellow  !  How  regularly  every  day  he 
xised  to  send  forth  at  least  one  MS.,  like  the  dove  from  the 
Ark,  to  see  whether  the  waters  had  abated !  And  how  un- 
failingly the  dove  used  to  return,  having  found  no  rest  for  the 
sole  of  her  foot ;  bearing,  none  the  less,  in  her  beak  that  polite 
little  olive-branch  from  the  regretful  editor !  Younger  than 
the  rest  of  us  was  MOBERLEY,  and  had  not  yet  reached  the 
silent  stage  of  despair.  He  burst  out  now,  with,  "I'm  sick 
of  it!  " 

"  Of  what  in  particular  ?  "  asked  MEDLICOTT  wearily. 

"Of  this  senile,  doddering,  semi-defunct  old  century;  so 
semi-defunct  that  no  one  seems  quite  to  know  whether  it 's 
actually  dead  or  not." 

"  Stop  !  stop  !  "  cried  BRODTE  encouragingly.  "  Material  for 
a  set  of  light  verses  there." 

"  Do  you  think  I  don't  know  that?  "  said  MOBERLEY  with  a 
savage  laugh.  "I've  made  light  verses  on  it — seven  light 
verses — and  they  've  been  rejected  fourteen  times.  Don't  talk 
to  me  about  light  verses.  Why  the  deuce  can't  the  century 
die,  and  have  done  with  it?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  SMALLEY,  in  his  piping  voice;  "  it  will  be 
delightful  to  kneel  by  its  grave  with  the  cool,  morning  breezes 
of  a  new  age  fanning  one's  fevered  brow." 

"And  to  feel  the  full,  fresh  life  of  a  young  and  unsophis- 
ticated century  throbbing  around  one,"  said  MORIARTY,  who 
had  just  entered  with  McCASKlLL.  "Yes,  it  will  be  very 
refreshing.  There  will  be  new  ideas,  new  sensations,  the  first 
nascent  tremblings  of  great  new  movements.  I  myself  shall 
buy  a  new  fountain  pen." 

"  Psh  !  Absurd!  Ridiculous  nonsense!"  growled  STARK, 
from  his  armchair.  "There  won't  be  any  change  at  all — at 
least,  not  in  us.  Decadents  we  are,  and  decadents  we  shall 
remain." 

"But,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  MORIARTY,  "you  can't  be 
decadent  at  the  beginning  of  a  century.  Just  you  try." 

Then  spoke  that  great  man,  McCASKlLL.  "  MORIARTY  is 
perfectly  right.  The  decadence  cannot  continue.  What  then  ? 
Don't  you  see  the  alternative  ?  There  must  be  a  Great  Twen- 
tieth Century  Renaissance  !  And  we  must  conduct  it !  " 

We  hailed  McCASKlLL's  stupendous  idea  with  enthusiasm, 
and  it  was  decided  to  call  a  meeting  of  the  Club  at  once. 
MOBERLEY  alone  looked  doubtful.  "What,"  he  said,  "if  the 
world  refuses  to  take  any  notice  of  us  ?  " 

"My  good  boy,"  said  MORIARTY,  "they're  bound  to  take 
notice  of  you  if  you  're  a  renaissance.  Sooner  or  later,  I  mean. 
At  first  we  may  be  scoffed  at,  even  ignored.  But  we  shall  be 
a  quiet,  working  force,  gradually  permeating  the  whole  of 
society.  Do  you  see  ?  ' ' 

"  Thank  you,  yes  ;  it 's  beautiful !  "  said  MOBERLEY. 

So  a  meeting  was  called,  a  Committee  chosen,  and  McCASKlLL 
appointed  Chairman.  We  were  considering  the  further  ap- 
pointment of  sub-Committees  for  the  special  management  of 
the  various  branches  of  our  work— the  literary  branch,  the 


musical  branch,  the  sculpture  and  painting  branch,  the  dining 
branch,  &c.,  when  BRODIE  interrupted  the  proceedings  to  say 
that  it  was  impossible  to  go  on  without  considering  the 
question  of  funds.  We  all  had  a  great  respect  for  BRODIE  ; 
he  was  that  wonderful  thing  known  as  "a  good  man-  of 
business,"  the  only  one  in  the  Club.  He  hailed  from  Glasgow. 
So  we  listened  attentively  to  his  suggestions.  He  pointed  out 
that  the  great  work  on  which  we  were  embarking  must  neces- 
sarily involve  large  expenditure  (particularly  in  the  dining 
branch) ;  and  he  ventured  to  recommend  a  subscription  of  £30 
per  annum,  payable  in  advance  to  an  Honorary  Secretary  and 
Treasurer. 

We  all  approved  the  sound  sense  of  this  ;  but  could  not  help 
laughing  a  little  at  BRODIE  for  having  run  his  head  into  a  noose. 
Of  course,  he  was  the  only  possible  man  for  Treasurer.  BRODIB 
joined  in  the  laugh,  and  accepted  the  post  with  great  good 
humour.  We  had  always  known  BRODIE  as  a  nice,  unselfish 
fellow. 

II. 

SMALLEY  was  for  putting  off  the  renaissance  till  1901,  but,  as 
the  Chairman  ably  pointed  out,  in  an  age  when  Christmas 
numbers  appeared  in  October,  and  besieged  towns  were  relieved 
in  anticipation  by  the  telegraph,  it  was  only  fitting  that  the 
Great  Renaissance  of  the  Twentieth  Century  should  have  its 
beginning  in  the  last  year  of  the  Nineteenth.  The  observation  was 
greeted  with  applause,  and  we  were  about  to  set  to  work  in 
good  earnest  when  STARK,  who  really  ought  never  to  have  got 
on  the  Committee  at  all,  blurted  out  that  we  knew  perfectly 
well  we  were  a  pack  of  blooming  decadents,  and,  as  such,  quite 
incapable  of  starting  a  decently-conducted  renaissance*  This 
vulgar  and  wholly  unexpected  outburst  created  a  considerable 
sensation,  and  some  unpleasantness  might  have  ensued  had  not 
our  Chairman  called  the  house  to  order,  and  then  with  his 
unerring  tact  demonstrated  the  Tightness  and  pregnancy  of  the 
phrase  "  blooming  decadents."  It  was  out  of  decay  alone,  he 
said,  that  new  life  could  be  expected  to  spring  :  and  if  only  we 
were  sufficiently  far  advanced  in  our  deem)  we  might  hope, 
indeed,  to  bloom.  Very  happy,  this,  and  quite  silenced  the 
opposition.  BRODIE,  the  Secretary,  and  our  boldest  spirit,  then 
rose  to  make  a  few  introductory  remarks.  Ever  since  the  Dis- 
appointed Authors  had  been  turned  into  the  New  Renaissance 
Club,  he  said,  it  had  been  felt  that  the  most  pressing  question 
for  consideration  was  :  How  shall  we  regulate  and  improve  the 
output  of  fiction  ?  At  present  the  public  was  inundated  by  a 
sea  of  literature  in  which  the  few,  the  very  few,  works  of  real 
merit  were  hopelessly  swamped.  Our  first  care,  therefore, 
should  be  to  formulate  some  restrictive  measure  which  should 
give  a  fair  chance  to  quality  by  reducing  quantity.  Much  more 
from  BRODIE  to  the  same  effect ;  all  very  excellent.  Then 
occurred  the  really  painful  scene  of  the  evening.  It  was  pretty 
clear  from  the  first  that  STARK  had  no  real  sympathy  with  the 
movement,  still,  we  none  of  us  expected  him  to  break  out  as  he 
did.  Perhaps  it  was  the  persistent  rejection  of  "  Seared  Souls  " 
by  the  publishers  which  had  embittered  him.  He  said  that  if  the 
new  renaissance  was  to  be  any  good  at  all  it  must  abolish  fiction 
altogether  ;  fiction  was  unnecessary,  demoralising.  The  reading 
world,  and,  still  more,  the  writing  world,  would  be  far  happier 
without  it.  It  was  responsible  for  all  the  evils  of  the  time — 
pauperism,  for  example.  The  amount  of  pauperism  in  a  country 
was  in  direct  proportion  to  the  amount  of  rags  ;  the  supply  of 
rags  was  regulated  by  the  demands  of  the  paper-mills  ;  and  the 
paper-mills  owed  half  their  work  to  the  publishers  of  fiction ; 
hence,  no  novels,  fewer  paper-mills ;  fewer  paper-mills,  fewer 
rags ;  fewer  rags,  less  pauperism.  And  as  for  the  leisured 
classes,  we  knew  how  fiction  demoralised  them ;  how  they 
worked  off  all  their  human  feelings  of  sympathy,  love  and  pity 
upon  imaginary  characters,  until  they  had  none  left  for  the 
living  world  around  them.  It  was  in  a  terrible  silence  that 
STARK  sat  down.  There  was  a  short,  tense  pause  before  the 
Chairman  rose  and  intimated  that  if  those  were  really  the 


APRIL  17,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


301 


honourable  member's  sentiments,  he  had 
better  go  and  have  a  little  renaissance  by 
himself  outside.  STARK  refusing  to  take 
the  hint,  MORIARTY,  the  strong  man  of  the 
Club,  was  appointed  official  chucker-out, 
and  forcibly  removed  him.  Very  painful 
indeed.  But  necessary.  The  meeting 
was  adjourned  till  that  day  week. 

III. 

PUNCTUALLY  at  nine  o'clock  the  Chairman 
rose  to  his  feet.  He  said  that  we  had 
before  us  a  most  interesting  problem. 
Though  we  might  not,  and  did  not,  agree 
with  a  late  member  of  the  Club  in  con- 
sidering that  total  abstinence  from  fiction 
was  necessary  or  desirable,  yet  we  might 
(and  did)  hold  that  some  regulative  mea- 
sure was  advisable  alike  for  the  sake  of 
public  and  of  authors.  He  invited  sugges- 
tions. SMALLEY,  rising,  said  that,  of 
course,  State  intervention  would  be  neces- 
sary. (Cries  of  "No,  no!")  Yes,  yes. 
We  must  use  the  best  means  that  come  to 
our  hand,  and  the  invocation  of  State 
authority  need  not  hinder  the  true  inward- 
ness of  the  movement.  He  was  for  begin- 
ning with  the  brewers — he  meant  the 
authors.  (A  little  coarse  of  SMALLEY,  this.) 
He  would  have  a  thorough  system  of  Gov- 
ernment inspection  to  prevent  the  issue  of 
harmful  or  adulterated  stuff.  (Cries  of 
"Who's  to  be  the  inspector?")  Why, 
who  but  one  of  the  promoters  of  the 
renaissance  ?  (General  grunt  of  satis- 
faction.) This  alone  would  reduce  the 
fictional  output,  he  calculated,  by  at  least 
seven-eighths.  Thus  SMALLEY.  WIMPLETT 
followed  with  a  suggestion  that  the  female 
sex  should  be  placed  under  a  legal  dis- 
ability. This,  he  said,  would  reduce  the 
remaining  eighth  by  one-half.  MOBERLEY 
objected  to  the  clause  as  unnecessary, 
since  this  class  of  authors  was  already 
provided  for  by  SMALLEY'S  system  of 
Government  inspection.  CRIPPS,  ever  full 
of  statistics,  at  this  point  jumped  up  with 
the  amazing  statement  that  the  annual 
output  of  works  of  fiction  would  still 
amount  to  seven  thousand  five  hundred 
and  sixty-three,  or,  including  the  bound 
volumes  of  the  daily  papers,  to  seven 
thousand  five  hundred  and  seventy-two. 
Hence,  he  thought,  it  would  be  necessary 
to  supplement  the  measure  for  Government 
inspection  by  a  system  of  local  option. 
He  himself  had  come  across  the  case  of  a 
provincial  town  in  which  there  were  as 
many  as  six  booksellers'  shops  in  one 
street.  Was  not  this  state  of  things 
scandalous?  (Cries  of  "How  long  was 
the  street  ?  ")  He  preferred  not  to  answer 
frivolous  questions.  It  was  obvious  that 
six  bookshops  was  an  inordinate  allowance 
for  any  street  whatsoever.  Why,  a  con- 
firmed reader  of  bad  fiction  might  succeed 
with  heroic  fortitude  in  passing  five  of 
those  temptations  and  yet  succumb  to  the 
sixth.  (A  young  member :  "On  the  other 
hand,  he  might  succumb  to  the  first,  and 


AN    ALTERNATIVE. 

Squire's  Wife.  "I  HEAR  YOU  ARE  GETTING  UP  A  LADIES'  BAND  FOR  THE  BAZAAR  NEXT 
MONTH.    EXCELLENT  IDEA  !    BY  THE  BYE,  WHAT  is  YOUR  INSTRUMENT  ? " 

Vicar's  Daughter.    "  WELL,  I  THOUGHT  OF  PLAYING  THE  VIOLIN  ;  BUT  IF  I  FIND  IT  is 

TOO  MUCH  FOR  ME,    I  SHALL  TRY  THE  TRIANGLE  !" 


then  where  are  you  ?  "  )  Really,  he  was 
not  accustomed  to  having  his  ideas  treated 
in  this  flippant  way.  If  anyone  had  a 
better  proposal  to  make  he  should  like  to 
hear  it.  CRIPPS  sat  down  in  a  huff.  There 
was  really  no  need  to  take  much  notice 
of  CRIPPS.  It  was  at  this  point  that  I 
made  my  own  modest  contribution  to  the 
discussion.  I  remarked  that  there  was 
another  scheme  which  had  met  with  con- 
siderable favour  in  a  different  field.  To 
state  it  baldly,  it  came  to  this ;  that  no 
bookseller  should  be  allowed  to  serve  a 
customer  with  fiction  without  at  the  same 
time  selling  him  some  solid  food,  in  the 
shape,  for  example,  of  a  history  book  or  a 
science  primer.  The  idea  caught  on  at 
once,  and  the  formulation  of  a  measure  to 


this  effect  was  set  down  as  one  of  the 
propaganda  of  the  Club. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  BRODIE  to  me 
in  an  undertone,  "it  is  magnificent!  It 
shall  be  done,  by  Jove,  it  shall !  And 
you  and  I  will  write  history  books — and 
science  primers  I  Lots  and  lots  and  lots 
of  science  primers  !  " 

The  meeting  came  to  a  close  at  12.30a.m., 
after  a  sub-committee  had  been  appointed 
to  consider  the  kindred  questions  of 
circulating  libraries  and  revolving  book- 
cases. 

I  must  mention,  however,  a  little 
difference  which  arose  after  the  meeting 
between  BRODIE,  our  Treasurer,  and 
McCASKiLL.  McCASKlLL  (who  is  a  splendid 
fellow,  but  no  man  of  business)  thought 


302 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[APRIL  17,  1901. 


that  BRODtE  ought  to  submit  the  accounts 
quarterly  to  the  Club.  Of  course,  this 
was  a  terrible  insult,  and  I  could  see  that 
BRODIE  felt  it  keenly,  though  quite  aware 
that  it  resulted  from  sheer  ignorance  of 
business  principles.  He  behaved  admi- 
rably, not  losing  his  temper  in  the 
slightest,  but  quietly  pointing  out  that  a 
Treasurer's  business  was  to  keep  the 
accounts  ;  and  that  if  he  let  them  go  out 
of  his  keeping,  he  would  be  false  to  his 
trust.  Of  course,  when  he  put  the  matter 
in  that  light,  McCASKlLL  saw  it  at  once 
and  apologised  handsomely. 

(To  be  continued.) 


THE  FLAT-EARTHEB'S  LAMENT. 

["  A  book  has  just  been  published,  lamenting 
'  the  perversion  of  the  splendid  talents  of  Sir 
ISAAC  NEWTOX,  who  spent  a  long  life  in  teaching 
a  false  system  of  astronomy,  unsupported  by  any 
fact  in  Nature,  and  in  direct  contradiction  to  the 
plain  statements  of  the  Bible.'  The  author's  ami 
is  to  prove  that  the  earth  is  not  a  planet,  and  its 
surface  is  not  curved.  .  .  Books  like  this  relieve 
the  flatness  of  the  earth." — Daily  Telegraph.] 

I  DO  not  know  a  sadder  case 
(It  is  a  theme  I  can't  be  mute  on  !) 

Of  hoodwinking  the  human  race 
Than  by  the  late  Sir  ISAAC  NEWTON. 

Alas  !  he  spent  a  long  career 
In  teaching  errors  astronomic, 

For  instance,  that  the  Earth's  a  sphere — 
A  blunder  that  is  really  comic  1 

He  tried,  of  course,  to  nullify 

The  truth  that  has  been  known  for  ages, 

The  science  plain  to  half  an  eye 
In  HOMER  and  the  Hebrew  sages. 

There  we  are  told  the  Earth  is  flat, 
And  has  Jerusalem  for  centre, 

Or  Delphi — into  more  than  that, 

'Twere  almost  blasphemous  to  enter  ! 

I  personally  give  my  vote 
For  THALES'  simple  ipse  dixit, 

Who  makes  the  world  on  water  float. 
As  terra  flrma  thus  I  fix  it. 

In  this  the  Hindoos  and  Chinese 
And  other  learned  folk  support  us, 

In  resting  this  abyss  of  seas 
Eventually  upon  a  tortoise. 

Still,  moderns  want  some  kind  of  proof— 
I  '11  therefore  give  them  one  that  new  is  ; 

To  shew  the  earth 's  no  dome-like  roof, 
I  bid  them  take  a  trip  to  Suez. 

Were  the  world-surface  spherical, 
I'd  like  to  hear  them  solve  this  riddle — 

Why  through  each  end  of  that  canal 
No  water  runs  down  from  its  middle  ? 

No  answer  comes  !  and  so  we  know 
The  antipodes  have  no  existence, 

And  round  the  world  COOK  couldn't  go — 
The  Ophir'8  wasting  its  persistence  ! 

The  moon  is  made  of  cheese  that 's  green, 
The  sun's  a  disc,  its  brother  planet ; 


No  blatant  contradictor's  been 
Nearer  than  I,  I  'm  sure,  to  scan  it! 

I  grieve  for  CHRISTIE,  LOCKYER,  BALL, 
And  so  I  '11  end,  as  I  began,  well ; 

Yainly  and  flat  on  deaf  ears  fall 
These  counterblasts  I  send  from  Han- 
well  I  A.  A.  S. 


UNIFORMITY. 

SCENE— Pail  Mall.  Enter  Officer  in  full 
uniform  hurriedly.  He  is  stopped  by 
messenger. 

Messenger.  Yes,  Sir  ? 

Officer.  I  want  to  see  the  Commander- 
in-Chief  at  once. 

Messenger.  Very  sorry,  Sir,  but  that 
gentleman  who  has  just  entered  the  room 
is  likely  to  be  there  for  the  next  three 
hours.  He  came  here  two  minutes  before 
your  arrival. 

Officer.  But  is  a  civilian  allowed  to  take 
precedence  of  an  officer  in  full  uniform. 

Messenger.  Beg  your  pardon,  Sir,  but 
he  is  not  a  civilian  ;  but  an  officer  like 
yourself. 

Officer.  And  yet  he  is  admitted  in  mufti ! 
Why,  here  have  I  had  to  come  up  from  the 
country  in  full  rig,  being  chaffed  at  the 
railway  station,  grinned  at  by  the  cabman, 
and  cheered  by  the  crowd  ! 

Messenger.  Yes,  Sir.  Very  sorry  you 
should  have  been  inconvenienced,  Sir. 
Especially  as  it  was  unnecessary,  Sir. 

Officer.  Unnecessary!  Why,  doesn't  the 
order  come  into  force  to-day  that  all 
officers  who  appear  in  the  War  Office  for 
any  purpose  whatsoever  must  be  attired 
in  the  proper  uniform  of  their  rank  and 
regiment  ? 

Messenger.  No,  Sir.  To-morrow,  Sir,  the 
second  of  April,  is  the  proper  date.  To- 
day, Sir,  is  the  first  of  April. 

Officer.  And  the  first  of  April  is  surely 
the  most  appropriate  date  1  Quite  the 
most  appropriate  date  ! 

Messenger.  Yes,  Sir  ! 

(Curtain.) 


THE  RUIN  OF  A  CRICKET  INVEN- 
TION (1904). 
(From  a  contemporary  journal.) 

IT  was  the  evening  of  the  eighth  day 
of  the  Great  Cricket  Match,  "All  Eng- 
land v.  the  Boers,"  when  a  man  of  sinister 
aspect  might  have  been  seen  examining 
one  of  the  new  Patent  Machine  Bowlers, 
authorised  by  the  Committee  of  the  Make- 
all-you-can  Cricket  Club.  The  man,  in 
the  most  noiseless  fashion  possible,  in- 
serted a  key  into  the  forearm  of  the 
Mechanical  Bowler.  It  was  well-known 
to  the  public  under  the  name  of  "TRUN- 
DLER."  The  match  recommenced  on  the 
next  day,  and  the  Boers  having  14000.5 
runs  to  win  (by  the  Decimal  Fraction 
Teleboard),  TRUNDLER  was  put  on  to 
bowl.  Directly  the  figure  commenced 
operations  a  yell  of  horror — for  British 


subjects  are  always  fair-minded  if  foul- 
mouthed  come  from  the  spectators.  In  a 
word,  "  TRUNDLER  "  was  throwing ! ! ! 

The  officers  of  the  M.C.C.  met  together 
and  pronounced  against  the  peccant  figure. 
The  Boers  were,  by  common  consent  and 
the  engrossed  authority  of  the  M.  C.  C.  on 
vellum,  awarded  the  contest  amid  the 
illuminations  of  the  Zoological  Gardens 
and  St.  John's  Wood,  and  the  regatta  on 
the  Regent's  Park  Canal  was  merely  a 
fitting  sequel  to  the  great  event. 

Subsequently  the  Patent  American 
Jockey,  manufactured  entirely  in  British 
steel,  was  severely  censured  by  the 
Stewards  of  Sandown  Park,  but  as  he 
was  not  provided  with  the  Triplex 
Electric  Speaking  Apparatus,  he  was  un- 
able to  pronounce  the  baptismal  name  of 
Mr.  HWFA  WILLIAMS,  and  was  warned  off 
the  course. 

But  the  Patent  Bowler  died  and  was 
replaced  by  a  Registered  Underhand 
Universal  Lob-chucker,  of  British  Manu- 
facture which  was  guaranteed  never  to 
"shy."  

SMALL  BY  DEGREES  AND   BEAUTI- 
FULLY LESS. 

(Study  of  an  article  interrupted  by  the 
veering  round  of  public  opinion.) 

NOTHING  could  be  better  than  the  scheme 
that  was  presented  to  a  deeply  interested 
House  last  night.  It  was  listened  to  with 
wrapt  attention,  and  the  impression  of 
any  reasonable  person  who  heard  the 
statement  was  of  unmixed  satisfaction. 
(Pause  of  forty-eight  hours.) 

The  scheme  that  was  unfolded  to  a  full 
House  a  day  or  so  ago  scarcely  bears 
successfully  the  test  of  inaturer  considera- 
tion. There  are,  no  doubt,  flaws  that  may 
be  found  possible  of  removal,  but  at  the 
first  blush  they  seem  almost  fatal  to  what, 
after  all,  can  only  be  considered  in  the 
light  of  an  experiment. 

(Pause  for  another  couple  of  days.) 

It  will  cause  no  astonishment  that  the 
scheme,  ushered  in  with  so  brave  a  flourish 
of  trumpets,  when  examined  by  experts 
is  found  to  be  wanting  in  all  that  at  first 
seemed  to  recommend  it  to  general 
appreciation.  In  this  age  of  keen  criticism 
nothing  escapes  review,  and  if  ever  there 
was  need  for  deliberation,  this  so-called 
plan  is  one  emphasising  that  requirement. 
It  is  a  matter  of  conjecture  whether  the 
proposals,  that  seemed  at  first  so  plausible, 
can  be  accepted  with  the  necessary  safe- 
guards protecting  the  interests  of  a  mighty 
empire. 

(At  the  end  of  the  week.) 

Nothing  could  be  worse  than  the  scheme 
that  was  presented  to  a  deeply  interested 
House  seven  days  ago.  After  careful 
deliberation,  the  impression  that  must  be 
left  on  the  mind  of  any  reasonable  person 
who  has  given  it  anxious  consideration  is 
one  of  unmixed  dissatisfaction. 


APRIL  24.  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


303 


LAMENTS  OF  LONDON. 

[The  L.  C.  C.  Bill  for  acquiring  the  under- 
takings of  the  Metropolitan  Water  Companies  has 
been  defeated  by  H.  M.  Government.] 

Whitechapel  speaks : 
WHEN  August  with  his  blazing  skies 

Beats  on  the  burnt-up  town, 
"When  Mayfair  packs  her  trunks  and  flies 

To  moor  and  breezy  down  ; 
When,  dense  as  cattle  in  a  pen, 

My  children  in  their  slums 
Lie  sick  and  panting — then,  ah  !  then 

The  water-famine  comes  ! 

Fetid  and  foul  the  vapours  there 

That  in  my  alleys  seethe, 
And  poisonous  the  evil  air 

My  hapless  children  breathe  ; 
While  down  the  kennel,  through  the  reek 

Of  rotting  refuse,  lo  ! 
Disease,  his  easy  prey  to  seek, 

Stalks  grimly  to  and  fro. 

Water  !  they  cry  ;  the  stifling  air 

For  water,  water  sighs  ; 
The  fainting  earth  in  her  despair 

For  water,  water  cries  ; 
All  nature,  sick  wellnigh  to  death 

Beneath  the  savage  sun, 
For  water  calls  with  her  last  breath — 

But  water  there  is  none. 

Thrice  blest  my  sister  of  the  north 

For  whom  Loch  Katrine  pours 
Her  cool,  life-giving  treasures  forth 

In  never-ending  stores, 
Fresh  from  the  snow  and  mountain  tops  ! 

While  what  is  granted  me  ? 
The  niggard  intermittent  drops 

From  tainted  Thames  and  Lea. 

How  long,  O  Parliament,  how  long 

Shall  water-lords  endure  ? 
How  long  shall  I  behold  the  strong 

Oppress  my  weak  and  poor  ? 
How  long  till  I  enjoy  the  right 

My  youngest  sisters  share, 
To  save  my  children  from  the  blight 

Of  poisoned  earth  and  air  ? 


THE  CURSE  OF  SPRING. 

(A  story  for  Parents  and  Guardians.) 

"WHERE  is  JANE?"  asked  the  father 
for  the  second  time.  This  time  his  manner 
suggested  that  the  east  wind  had  got 
into  the  room. 

The  mother  saw  no  help  for  it ;  she  had 
tried  to  protect  her  daughter's  secret. 

"JANE  is  writing  in  her  room,"  said 
the  mother. 

The  father  wheeled  round  his  chair  and 
looked  sternly  at  his  wife. 

"  Symptoms  the  same  as  ALFRED  ?  "  he 
queried. 

"Yes,"  said  his  wife  hurriedly;  "but 
I  think  it 's  only  a  mild  attack,  dear,  this 
time.  She  didn't  buy  so  much  foolscap 
and  envelopes  as  he  did." 

"  Don't  let  us  deceive  ourselves,"  said 

VOL.  cxx. 


AN    ART    PATRON. 

"I'LL  HAVE  IT  IF  YOU  SHORTEN  THE  'ORIZON,   AND  MAKE   IT  QUIDS  INSTEAD 

OF  GUINEAS ! " 


the  father  resolutely.  "Remember,  a 
week  ago  ALFRED  began  to  sicken.  Up 
to  that  time  he  was  like  an  ordinary, 
healthy  young  man.  Then  he  got  restless  ; 
pored  over  penny  magazines,  furtively 
purchased  stationery,  and  finally  " — the 
father's  voice  broke  Avith  emotion — "he 
asked  me  if  I  had  a  rhyming  dictionary. 
This  barely  a  week  ago.  And  now  you 
tell  me  that  JANE.  .  .  .  Don't  talk  of  In- 
fluenza— this  dreadful  scribblemania  that 
comes  in  April  is  far  worse." 

"JANE  is  not  so  reckless,  and  she  doesn't 
write  poems — only  stories." 

"  Only  stories  !  "  shrieked  the  unhappy 
father.  "Only  stories.  Wife,  do  you 
know  I  had  a  sister  once  who  wrote  only 
stories  ?  The  horror  of  those  days  I  shall 
never  forget.  Not  till  the  rest  of  the 
family  compelled  her  for  some  weeks  to 


read  nothing  but  her  own  fiction  did  the 
complaint  abate.  JANE  must  be  placed  by 
herself  at  once.  .  .  .  She  is  not  safe.  .  .  . 
And  if  the  servants  catch  it — ah  !  " 

The  suggestion  told.  The  housewife 
wailed  in  horror,  "Oh,  I  cannot,  cannot 
lose  the  fifteenth  cook  I  have  had  in  three 
Aveeks  !  ' ' 

"Mother,"  exclaimed  fifteen-year-old 
SYLVIA,  bouncing  into  the  room,  "I've 
got  some  verses  in  this  Aveek's  Scrapings." 

But  the  mother  had  fainted  away, 

"To-morrow,"  said  the  father  Avith  grim 
resolution,  "  I  '11  have  you  all  A^accinated 
by  an  experienced  journalist,  and  as  you 
girls  are  so  crazed  on  print,  you  shall 
have  nice  strongly-marked  print  dresses 
for  your  summer  gowns." 

In  the  eArening  the  girls  were  rapidly 
approaching  convalescence. 


304 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[APRIL  24,  1901. 


AET  IN   THE   DOLLS'   HOUSE. 

BY  LITTLE  QUEENIE. 
§  8. — About  Mr.  Bransaiuder' s  Kindness. 

I  HAVE  been  so  overwelmed  with  letters  of  grattitude  anc 
congratulashuns  about  this  series  that  it  is  simpley  imposible 
to  reply  to  them  indyvijuly,  so  I  must  thank  my  beluved  reader; 
here  insted  and  tell  them  how  delited  I  feel  that  these  artikle 
have  been  such  a  help  to  them. 

They  are  a  great  pleshure  to  me  to  do,  besides  being  a  sauce 
of  much  promt  too.  Mind,  dear  readers,  that  when  you  are 
ordering  things  at  Mr.  BRANSAWDER'S,  999,  Oxford  St.,  with  the 
spoted  Rokinghorse  over  the  shop  (and  realy  and  truly  it  is  the 
only  liighclass  toyshop  in  London)  mind  you  mention  my  name 
because,  besides  being  sure  of  getting  something  in  ireprochible 
taste,  you  will  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  you  are 
bennyfttting  me. 

It  is  like  this :  Mr.  BRANSAWDER  is  so  plesed  with  these 
artikles  that  he  wants  to  encurage  me  to  persivere  with  them, 
and  he  is  going  to  send  me  a  spessimen  of  every  novlety  he 
gets  for  nottice  in  these  collums — and  I  am  not  to  dreme  of 
returning  them  afterwards  ! 

That  is  not  all ;  he  says  that  in  futuer  he  is  going  to  alow  me 
what  he  calls  a  ' '  comishum  ' '  on  every  perchase  by  a  Custimer 
who  menshuns  these  artikles. 

A  comishun  is  that,  if  you  perchase  a  shilling  thing  on  my 
reccomendashun,  I  get  a  halfpenny  out  of  it ;  if  a  two  shilling, 
a  penny,  and  so  on — which  is  why  I  allways  advise  my  readers 
to  buy  only  the  very  best. 

Then  MR.  PUNCH  pays  me  for  what  I  write,  and  altogether  a 

child  who  desires  to  be  independent  and  earn  her  own  poket- 

money  without  the  humilliashun  of  aplying  to  her  parents  every 

time  she  wants  some  cannot  do  better  than  do  as  I  am. 

§  9. — A  Word  of  Wanting. 

But  do  not  imajine  for  a  moment  that  1  am  advising  any  of 
my  readers  to  folow  my  cxampil.  It  is  not  everybody  that 
could — perhaps  nobody  but  me,  though  it  sounds  conseted  to 
say  it.  Still,  it  is  more  diflcult  than  you  think.  You  see,  you 
have  got  to  be  thurally  well  ejucated  and  acustomed  to  writing 
and  speling  with  purfect  ese  and  acurasy.  Then  you  must 
posess  ecsquisit  taste  and  judgemint  and  simpathy,  and  not 
mind  what  trouble  you  take. 

I  am  rt/rode,  if  you,  tried,  you  would  only  meet  with  dissi- 
pointment  and  falure,  and  on  the  hole  I  cannot  reccomend  any 
of  you,  dear  children,  to  take  to  Litteratuer  as  a  carere. 
****** 

Alas !  my  beluved  readers,  events  have  once  more  turned 
out  in  a  manner  which  I  little  antisipated  ! 

My  dear  Papa  is  one  of  those  superior  pursons  that  doesn't 
read  "Punch"  but  only  glanses  at  the  pictuers  and  says 
there  is  nothing  in  it  this  week. 

However,  the  fame  of  his  little  Queenie's  artikles  penny- 
trated  his  ears  at  last,  and  sending  for  the  back  numbers,  he 
egerly  perused  the  eftisions  of  his  beluved  daughter. 

At  first  he  rawed  with  disrespecf  nl  meriment — but  bye  and 
bye  he  arived  at  my  honorible  menshuns  of  Mr.  BRANSAWDER'S 
hop  and  he  nitted  his  browse  and  his  laufter  dyed  away  in  ex- 
presions  which  I  cannot  sulley  my  pen  by  repeting. 

Then  he  sturnly  declared  that  no  child  of  his  should  receve 
comishuns  from  tradesmen,  though  I  pointed  out  to  him  that 
Mr.  BRANSAWDER  was  not  a  common  shopman,  but  a  purfict 
•entleman  who  hcd  gone  into  bisness. 

Poor  Papa  was  uterly  unable  £o  see  that  that  made  any 
diference,  and  it  was  in  vane  that  I  erged  that  if  Mr.  BRAN- 
SAWDER'S  toys  were  the  best  (which  they  truly  are),  I  was  only 
doing  my  readers  and  myself  good  by  reccomending  them. 

But  Papa  remaned  as  obstinit  as  any  pig  and  said  it  was  a 
roten  sistem  and  the  next  thing  to  bribery  and  he  wouldn't 
have  it,  and  I  wasn't  to  acept  anything  out  of  the  shop  without 


paying  cash  down  for  it  and  he  had  a  good  mind  to  punch  poor 
Mr.  BRANSAWDER'S  head  for  his  impidence  —  and  things  like 
that! 

Well,  to  avoid  unplesantness,  I  was  obliged  to  give  way — but 
I  can't  see  why  I  mayn't  take  any  little  presents  when  Mr. 
BRANSAWDER  so  kindly  presses  them  on  my  acceptence,  only  it 
apears  the  grownups  are  not  in  the  habbit  of  doing  so,  and  I 
think  it  just  shows  how  silly  they  are  ! 

I  sometimes  think  my  poor  dear  Papa  is  just  a  little  Erly 
Victorian  in  his  way  of  looking  at  things,  and  doesn't  reconise 
that  we  have  entered  the  thresliole  of  a  New  Sentury. 

But,  for  the  present,  1  have  no  opshun  but  to  obay,  and  since 
I  cannot  conshientsusly  reccomend  any  goods  which  do  not 
come  out  of  Mr.  BRANSAWDER'S  shop,  and  I  am  not  to  be  alowed 
to  do  it  my  own  way,  I  haven't  the  heart  to  continnue  this 
series  any  longer — except,  perhaps,  to  anser  a  few  cori- 
spondense  who  may  care  to  adress  a  line  of  comfit  and 
simpathy  to 

Their  well-mening  but  constently  bafled  little  friend, 

QUEENIE. 

FOOD  FOB  INFANTS. 

["  At  an  inquest  held  at  Newington  on  a  baby  two  months  old,  it  transpired 
that  the  mother  had  been  feeding  him  on  oats  ....  The  coroner  remarked 
that  he  had  had  cases  where  children  had  been  fed  on  whelks,  fried  fish  and 
pork  chops,  and  had  drunk  ale  and  stout." — Daily  Chronicle."] 

A  BABE  was  born  in  a  Newington  slum, 

As  healthy  a  babe  as  may  be, 
With  a  round  little  head  and  a  round  little  turn, 
And  a  white  little  tooth  in  a  red  little  gum, 
And  a  voice  that  would  seldom  or  never  be  dumb — 

In  short,  a  model  baby. 
The  child  was  remarkably  sturdy  and  stout, 

And,  for  all  one  could  tell  of  it,  clever. 
Of  that  there  is  no  manner  of  doubt — 
No  probable,  possible  shadow  of  doubt — 
No  possible  doubt  whatever. 

Now,  babes  I  am  given  to  understand, 
Should  live  on  a  simple  diet ; 
But  this  one  was  fed  on  the  fat  of  the  land, 
Pork  chops  and  pickles  and  lobster — canned — 
AVith  rum,  of  an  inexpensive  brand, 

And  gin  to  keep  it  quiet. 
Pork  chops  and  whelks,  washed  down  with  stout, 

Small  babies  thrive  on  never. 
Of  that  there  is  no  manner  of  doubt — 
No  probable,  possible  shadow  of  doubt — 
No  possible  doubt  whatever. 

Weeks  sped,  and  wan  and  wasted  and  worn 

Became  that  infant  cherished  ; 
His  ounces  were  fewer  than  when  he  was  born, 
His  little  inside  with  pain  was  torn, 
And  when  they  came  to  his  cot  one  morn, 
They  found  that  he  had  perished. 
A  taste  for  gin,  combined  with  stout, 

Had  doubled  him  up  forever. 
Of  that  there  is  no  manner  of  doubt — 
No  probable,  possible  shadow  of  doubt — 
No  possible  doubt  whatever. 


"THE  CORPORATION  AND  THE  PORT  OF  LONDON." — A  Corres- 
pondent signing  himself  "  VERB  TOPER,"  writes—"  What 's  the 
difficulty  ?    There  oughtn't  to  be  any,  as  the  Corporation  of  the 
/ity  ought  by  this  time  to  have  all  the  best  port  that  the  City 
an  obtain.    They  've  got  the  money,  they've  got  the  correct 
taste,  they've  got  the  men  to  drink,  and  if  they  haven't  the 
Port  by  now,  why,  they  never  will  have." 


APRIL  24,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


305 


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z  s 

Q.    I 

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a 

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APBIL  24,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


307 


JFi/e.    "I   SHALL  NEVER  GET  THROUGH   HERE,   JAMES.      IF  YOU  WERE  HALF  A  MAX,   YOU  WOULD  LIFT   ME  OVER!  " 

Husband.  "  IF  YOU  WERE  HALF  A  WOMAN,  MY  DEAR,  IT  WOULD  BE  EASIER  ! " 


THE  RAIN  OF   TERROR; 

Or,  one  more  Ingredient. 

[According  to  recent  reports,  rain  of  n  ruby-red 
colour  has  fallen  in  southern  Europe.  The  reports 
may  have  been  somewhat  highly  coloured.] 

UPON  my  walks  I  met  a  man, 

A  happy  man,  who  laughed  with  glee, 
High,  high  indeed,  his  spirits  ran  ; 

A  thing  I  rather  like  to  see. 

I  touched  him  quietly  on  the  sleeve, 
"  My  dear  good  friend,"  I  gently  said, 

"  My  curiosity  relieve, 
And  tell  me  who  you  are."    Instead 

Of  answering  my  small  behest 

He  looked  me  curiously  o'er, 
Then  thumped  me  soundly  on  the  chest — 

A  kind  of  greeting  I  abhor  ; 

And  then  he  bawled  into  my  ear 

(I  swear  his  lungs  were  made  of  leather), 

"  I  am  the  clerk,  the  overseer, 
Of    that    most    talked   of    thing  —  the 
weather. 

"  I  send  the  rain,  I  sprinkle  snow, 
I  portion  out  with  sparing  hand 

The  azure  sky  with  sunset  glow, 
And  when  I  'm  glum  befog  the  land. 


' '  The  raAv  material  of  weather 
I  deal  with  as  it  comes  to  hand. 

I  do  not  send  it  all  together, 
But  vary  it,  you  understand. 

"  I  give  you,  say,  a  pinch  of  snow, 

A  touch  of  fog,  a  heavy  dew, 
And  over  all  a  gale  I  blow  ; 

A  kind  of  atmospheric  stew. 

' '  I  sometimes  add  a  little  frost 
In  penetrating  mists  dissolved, 

Or  hail — I  never  count  the  cost. 
Variety,  I  am  resolved, 

"  The  spice  of  life  is.     Now,  old  boy, 

To  you  I  will  at  once  explain 
The  reason  of  my  boundless  joy  ; 

I  'm  going  to  get  some  ruby  rain  ! 

"  One  more  ingredient !   Hooray! 

I  '11  send  you  April  showers  of  fire. 
Throughout  the  City  every  day 

The  streets  shall  flow  with  crimson  mire. 

"  A  carmine  snow-storm,  think  of  that  ! 

A  poppy-mist  before  a  blizzard, 
And  all  the  ladies,  crying,  '  Drat 

That  ready-witted  weather  wizard  ! '  ' 

He  laughed  aloud  and  sped  away, 
That  clerkly  demon  of  the  weather. 

I  stood  there  to  surprise  a  prey  ; 
You  might  have  felled  me  with  a  feather. 


A  MORBID  REFLECTION. 

[A  scientific  Journal  explains  that  the  peculiar 
aroma  of  choice  Havana  cigars  arises  fi'om  the 
presence  of  certain  bacteria  in  the  leaf.] 

RICH,  redolent  cigar, 

The  peacefulness  to  mar 
That  lulls  me    to  enjoyment,   calm   and 

Come  analysts  unkind,  [sleepy, 

That  in  you  bid  me  find 
A  horrid  swarm  of  creatures  small   and 
creepy. 

Uneasily  I  smoke, 

"While  sadly  (or  in  joke) 
The     crop     of    dismal    horrors    they  're 
describing ; 

Though  at  their  proofs  I  winced, 

I  'm  only  half  convinced, 
As  your  delicious  perfumes  I  'm  imbibing. 

But  when  your  stump  goes  out, 

I  overcome  my  doubt, 
And  from  my  troubled  fancy  I  despatch  it 

With  this  profound  reflection — 

That,  if  it  is  infection, 
I  only  wish  my  Cavendish  would  catch  it. 


NEW  SETTING  OF  AN  OLD  OPERATIC  AIR 
(as  sung  by  the  Officers  mentioned  in  the 
despatches  of  the  Commander-in-Chief). — 
"  ROBERTS,  Toi  que  j'aime  !  " 


308 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  '  CHARIVARI. 


[APRIL  24,  1901. 


THE  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

A  GREAT  THOUGHT  FOR  EVERY  DAY  IN  THE  YEAR. 

SECOND  SERIES. 
IV.— THE   "BRIDGE"  .SECTION. 

APRIL  1ST. — Bridge  is  a  well-known  parlour-game  that  may  be 
played  after  dinner  by  ladies  and  gentlemen  indifferently  (this 
is  especially  true  of  ladies).  It  is  also  played  in  clubs  ;  thus 
distinguishing  itself  from  "  Ping-pong." 

2ND. — Bridge  is  understood  to  have  originated  in  Thibet, 
where  it  has  long  been  a  sacred  perquisite  of  the  Grand  Slama. 

3RD. — The  derivation  of  the  word  Bridge  is  explained  as 
follows : — When  the  game  was  introduced  into  Europe  by 
Oriental  scholars,  the  Latin  equivalent  for  Grand  Slama  was 
found  to  be  Pontifex  Maximus.  Now,  a  pontifex  is  etymologi- 
cal ly  one  who  performs  rites  (facio)  on  a  bridge  (perns). 
Bridge,  therefore,  may  be  said  to  be  associated  with  the  idea 
of  sacrificial  victims,  a  view  which  is  daily  growing  in  favour 
among  the  less  fortunate  exponents  of  the  game.  It  is  only 
fair,  however,  to  say  that  another  theory,  connecting  it  with 
pons  asinorum,  has  received  the  approval  of  many  experts. 

4TH. — The  cause  of  the  supplanting  of  "Whist  by  Bridge  is  at 
least  twofold.  (1)  Under  a  thin  resemblance  to  a  game  hallowed 
by  traditions  of  sobriety  and  respectability,  it  has  insidiously 
introduced  a  chartered  form  of  gambling  (with  its  attendant 
debauchery)  into  the  most  rigid  haunts  of  virtue.  (2)  Unlike 
Whist  (an  onomatopoeic  word  implying  the  necessity  for  silence  ; 
cf.  hush !)  the  game  of  Bridge  encourages  polite  conversation 
among  the  players,  in  this  way  affording  a  much-needed  relief 
to  the  tension  of  the  mind. 

5iH. — It  might  be  imagined  that  the  device  of  a  compulsory 
dummy  would  tend  to  modify  the  above-mentioned  licence  ;  but 
experience  has  proved  that  the  dummy  talks  as  loud  as  any 
active  player  during  the  progress  of  a  hand,  and  very  much 
louder-  immediately  after. 

GTH. — Abuse  of  the  privilege  of  cursive  comment  has  led  in 
some  clubs  to  the  overt  classification  of  Bridge  under  the  head 
of  Games  of  Hazard  (such  as  Euchre,  Pharaoh,  and  Loo)  ;  in 
some  to  the  revival  of  the  duello  ;  in  some  (but  these  cases  are 
as  rare  as  they  are  deplorable)  to  the  introduction  of  the 
police. 

TTH. — During  a  dispute  between  your  adversaries  on  the 
subject  of  the  preceding  (or  even  the  current)  hand,  circum- 
stances and  knowledge  of  character  must  decide  for  you 
whether  you  should  take  sides  in  the  discussion.  If  language 
of  actual  contumely  is  hurtling  in  the  air,  then  it  is  as  well  to 
let  confusion  do  its  dreadful  work  without  interruption. 

STH. — If,  however,  the  debate  is  friendly  and  on  abstract 
lines,  each  of*  your  opponents  giving  expression  to  a  modest 
belief  in  the  impregnability  of  his  position,  then  it  is  a  good 
rule  for  you  and  your  partner  to  throw  your  united  weight  on 
one  or  other  side ;  thus  establishing  diffidence  in  the  one,  and 
an  overweening  confidence  in  the  other. 

OTH. — It  is  further  an  excellent  practice  to  argue  stoutly  in 
support  of  a  gross  mistake  committed  by  the  weaker  of  your 
adversaries,  that  so  he  may  be  encouraged  to  repeat  it. 

10TH. — You  should  always  give  a  courteous  welcome  to  an 
elementary  player  who  proposes  to  join  your  table  :  for  it  must 
never  be  forgotten  that  your  chances  of  making  something  out 
of  him  are  precisely  as  two  to  one. 

HTH. — Dummy  is  not  supposed  to  call  attention  to  his 
partner's  revoke  (if  it  escapes  remark)  till  after  the  cards  have 
been  cut  for  the  ensuing  deal.  Then  he  is  free  to  offer  con- 
gratulations and  suitable  pleasantries.  But  if  attention  is 
called  to  the  revoke  at  the  time  by  the  adversaries,  then 
dummy  is  at  liberty  to  say  at  once  whatever  occurs  to  him. 

12TH. — Choice  of  seats  (apart  from  superstition)  may  be  of 
more  importance  than  is  commonly  supposed.  The  idea  of 
taking  into  account  the  position  of  mirrors  in  a  room  may  be 


discarded  as  ungentlemanlike ;  but  the  effect  of  a  legitimate 
draught  on  the  back  of  an  opponent  already  afflicted  with  a 
sorry  rheum  has  been  worked  out  by  statisticians  as  equiva- 
lent to  fourteen  points  in  every  third  rubber. 

13TH. — Honours  in  Bridge,  as  in  Whist,  have  [no  connection 
with  merit ;  a  fact  to  which  we  may  partially  attribute  the 
celerity  with  which  politicians  have  familiarised  themselves 
with  this  game. 

14TH. — The  absence  of  pockets  in  ladies'  evening-gowns  is  a 
fruitful  source  of  Bad  Debts. 

15TH. — It  has  been  nicely  computed  that  the  relative  values 
of  skill  in  Bridge  and  in  Whist  are  as  fifteen  to  four.  Conse- 
quently, a  Government  official,  devoting  to  Bridge  the  same 
proportion  of  his  limited  leisure  as  he  used  to  devote  to  Whist, 
is  now  enabled  to  lose  £98  10s.  Od.  per  annum  of  his  hardly- 
earned  income,  where  he  was  accustomed  to  lose  only 
£26  5s.  4d.  This  will  not,  however,  prevent  him  from  de- 
scribing Bridge  as  a  game  in  which  pure  chance  predominates. 
(To  be  continued.)  O.  S. 


THAT  DREADFUL  GAME  ;  OR,  THE  TORTURE  OF  TOMK1NS. 

ABOUT  a  fortnight  ago  I  went  to  dine  with  the  ROBINSONS. 
It  was  an  excellent  dinner,  as  all  their  dinners  are,  and  not 
too  long,  which  leaves  time  for  music  or  cards  afterwards. 
Like  many  easy-going  men  who  have  passed  the  first  bloom 
of  youth,  I  find  that  suits  me  perfectly.  To  listen  to  music 
involves  no  exertion  whatever  ;  to  play  cards  one  is  at  all 
events  seated  ;  even  for  pool  or  billiards  one  has  only  to  stand 
and  stroll  about.  Some  dreadfully  energetic  men  I  know 
always  say,  "  What  a  lazy  beggar  TOMKINS  is  !  "  But  I  don't 
care. 

When  we  had  finished  dinner  at  the  ROBINSONS'  that  evening, 
the  men  were  invited  to  go  and  smoke  in  another  room.  I 
thought  nothing  of  that.  I  imagined  that  the  dining-room  had 
to  be  cleared,  so  that  early  the  next  morning  it  might  be 
painted,  or  whitewashed,  or  undergo  some  such  decoration  not 
unusual  in  spring.  So  I  smoked  peacefully  in  the  other  room 
with  the  other  fellows,  and  then  we  went  into  the  drawing- 
room.  No  sooner  had  we  entered  the  door  than  the  young 
ladies  of  the  family  jumped  up  and  cried  joyfully,  "  Ping 
Pong ! ' ' 

"  What 's  that  ?"  said  I. 

"Not  know  Ping  Pong,  Mr.TOMKiNS?  "  they  asked,  derisively. 

"  I  'm  not  much  good  at  games,"  I  confessed  humbly.  "  Of 
course  I  've  heard  it  spoken  of,  but  how  do  you  play  it?  " 

"Come  and  see,  "they  replied;  "it's  as  easy  as  possible.  You'll 
learn  directly.  It 's  such  a  jolly  game.  We  play  every  evening." 

I  abandoned  all  hope  of  peaceful  music.  One  of  the  girls 
sings  very  nicely,  and  another  plays  the  piano,  but,  of  course, 
no  girl  would  do  anything  so  effeminate  if  there  were  a 
chance  of  jumping  about  with  a  racquet  and  a  ball.  I  felt 
sure  it  must  be  something  of  the  sort,  and  I  was  right. 

The  whole  of  that  deplorable  evening  was  devoted  to  that 
"  jolly  game."  They  stood  me  at  one  end  of  the  dining-table, 
put  a  battledore,  a  beastly  baby's  battledore  into  my  hand, 
and  made  me  aim  at  a  beastly  little  ball  that  bounded  up  from 
what  some  writers  call  "the  festive  board."  At  first  I  couldn't 
hit  the  thing  at  all.  Then  I  gave  it  tremendous  whacks,  and  it 
flew  up  to  the  ceiling,  or  hit  the  pictures,  or  got  mixed 
up  with  the  electric  light.  But  wherever  it  went  it  always 
finished  on  the  floor,  and  I  spent  half  the  time  crawling  under 
the  table,  or  hitting  my  head  against  the  sideboard,  or 
grovelling  under  the  chairs,  or  lifting  up  the  coal  scuttle. 
However,  several  times  I  hit  the  silly  ball  in  the  right 
direction,  and  the  girls  said  I  was  "getting  on  splendidly," 
when  all  I  was  anxious  for  was  getting  off. 

At  last  they  let  me  go,  and  I  sat  at  the  side  of  the  room  with 
various  admirers  of  the  ghastly  game,  and,  like  them — though 
in  my  case  from  politeness  rather  than  interest — followed  the 


APRIL  24,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


309 


movements  of  the  ball,  our  heads  wag 
ging  solemnly  from  side  to  side  exactly 
like  the  head  of  the  old  gentleman  a 
Madame  TCSSAUD'S.  This  gave  me  such  a 
crick  in  my  neck  that  I  was  glad,  as  an 
excuse  for  no  longer  looking  on,  to  star 
fielding  for  the  girls.  Even  after  dinner 
it  is  less  uncomfortable  to  crawl  about 
the  floor  on  one's  hands  and  knees  thai 
to  "sit  a  while,"  and  wag  one's  head 
and  roll  one's  eyes,  and  twist  one's 
neck,  till  they  all  ache  together,  listen 
ing  meanwhile  to  the  horrid,  monotonouf 
thuds  on  the  beastly  battledores,  a  sount 
which  the  enthusiasts  seem  positively  to 
enjoy. 

Then  they  made  me  have  another  turn 
.with  the  battledore,  and  complimented 
me  still  more  on  my  vast  progress.  Bui 
I  bore  it  meekly,  for  after  that  the 
party  broke  up.  I  have  since  under- 
stood that  this  was  unusual,  as  manj 
intelligent  persons  go  on  till  breakfasi 
time. 

A  few  days  ago  I  heard  from  some 
mutual  friends  that  the  ROBINSON  girl? 
had  been  making  fun  of  me  everywhere 
and  saying,  "  Why,  Mr.  TOMKINS  couldn't 
even  hit  the  ball !  ' '  Well,  I  never  wantec 
to  hit  it.  But  it  was  a  very  unkine 
criticism,  after  I  had  spent  a  whole  evening 
crawling  among  the  furniture  to  please 
them. 

Now  I  think  of  patenting  a  new  game  to 
be  called  "Progressive  Ping  Pong.' 
Instead  of  playing  in  one  room  only,  which 
seems  feeble,  you  put  a  long  table  in 
every  possible  part  of  the  house,  anc 
put  all  the  rest  of  your  furniture  in 
the  garden,  or  the  kitchen,  or  pile  it  up 
in  the  cellars.  I  may  mention,  incidentally, 
that  if  you  live  in  a  flat  you  can't  play 
my  game  at  all.  Besides,  if  you  tried  to, 
you  would  be  murdered  by  the  other 
tenants,  and  it  would  serve  you  jolly  well 
right.  Well,  when  you  've  cleared  your 
house,  people  play  my  game  in  every 
room,  and  move  on,  as  in  Progressive 
Whist.  Those  who  have  reached  the 
ground  floor  begin  again  in  the  attics.  So 
they  need  never  stop.  You  needn't  give 
them  any  supper  ;  their  enthusiasm  is  too 
great  for  such  interruptions ;  a  lemon- 
squash  on  the  staircase  is  the  most  they 
could  want.  Of  course,  the  prize  for  the 
winner  would  be  a  gold-mounted  battle- 
dore with  little  gold  screws,  as  on  a 
kettle-drum,  to  tune  the  parchment  to 
the  exact  note  of  "ping"  or  "pong" 
which  he  or  she  might  prefer.  I 
hope  the  game  will  not  go  out  of 
fashion  before  1  can  introduce  my  im- 
provement. 

CURIOUS  CRICKET  QUERY. — Has  "throw- 
ing "  been  "  chucked  ?  " 


THE  FIRST  AUTHOR  OF  A  PROBLEM  PLAY. 
—EUCLID. 


He.  "I  CAN'T  UNDERSTAND  PHYLLIS  REJECTING  ME  LAST  NIGHT." 

She.  "NEVER  MIND.    YOU'LL  SOON  GET  OVER  IT." 

He.  "On,  /'va  GOT  OVER  IT  RIGHT  ENOUGH;   BUT  I  CAN'T  HELP  FEELING  so  DOOSID 

SOBRY  FOR   HER,      I   SHAN'T   ASK   HER   AGAIN  !  "" 


A   CHANCE  FOR  SIR  MICHAEL. 


["A  friend  of  mine  once,  at  an  'At  Home,' 
got  into  conversation  with  one  of  the  most  success- 
ful of  West  End  professors  of  palmistry.  He  had 
lately  retired  from  the  business,  after  making 
for  several  years,  it  was  said,  something  like 
£o,000  each  year." — Free  Lance,  April  20.] 

HERE  's  a  subject  for  Taxation 
Straight,  out  of  hand  indeed  ! 
Here  's  the  revenue  you  need 

That  waits  for  exploitation. 

Many  littles  make  a  mickle 
(Or  MICHAEL)  says  the  saw  ; 
These  breakers  of  the  law 

Your  fancy  well  might  tickle. 

Your  close  attention  focus 
On  thriving  West-End  seers 
Who  've  made,  these  latter  years, 

A  boom  in  hocus-pocus. 


Just  think — here  's  one  confesses 
He  's  earned  (?)  this  easy  way 
More  than  a  Bishop's  pay, 

By  chiromantic  guesses  ! 

They  flout  with  gay  bravado 
The  gullible  police, 
And  in  the  fools  they  fleece 

Is  found  an  Eldorado. 

They  bear  the  palm  for  palming 
Sham  "  science  "  off  for  true  ; 
Hysteric  "clients,"  too, 

Require  a  little  calming  ! 

So  tax  without  compassion 
To  the  tune  of  cent,  per  cent. 
For  every  guinea  spent 

Upon  the  Quacks  of  Fashion  I 


310 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON    CHARIVARI. 


[APRIL  24,  1901. 


UNEXPECTED  INTERVIEWS. 
THE  BITER  BIT. 

GOOD  morning,  Mr.  WHITE.  Congratulate  you;  wonderful 
success — er— your  book,  of  course.  Everyone's  talking  of  it. 
Mistake?  Oh,  no;  I 'm  from  the  Epoch,  you  know.  Anyone 
else  been  ?  No  one  from  the  Argus  ?  Capital !  But  they  're 
a  slow  lot.  Well,  we  flatter  ourselves — don't  do  to  waste  time, 
does  it  ?  The  public  likes  its  news  served  hot — and  strong— 
the  stronger  the  better.  Stupid  ass,  the  public,  but  it  likes  to 
know,  you  know. 

Ah,  let  me  see.  Your  first  interview  ?  Better  and  better. 
Not  the  last  though,  or  I  '11— I  '11  eat  the  Argus.  But  after 
your  success — pretty  clock,  that.  Any  story?  No?  Oh,  don't 
apologise — not  your  fault.  Alarum,  I  see :  Orthro-phoito — 
pardon  the  Greek  tag — besides,  the  rest  doesn't  apply,  we'll 
hope — but  you  do  rise  early,  I  presume  ?  Eight,  seven,  six  ? 
That 's  all  right.  The  earlier  the  better  for  the  public,  as  long 
as  they  don't  have  to  do  it  themselves.  Er — might  I  see  your 
bedroom?  Oh,  I  see,  yes — camp-bedstead.  Cold  tub,  I  sup- 
pose. Yes,  and  then — work  before  breakfast?  Oh,  no  work 
before  breakfast?  That 's  bad.  Ah,  BLAKELEY'S  Exerciser,  I 
see  ;  that 's  better.  May  I  feel  your  arm  ?  Use  it  myself 
generally  at  the  beginning  of  the  year.  Time  for  good  resolu- 
tions, isn't  it?  Difficult  to  keep  up  though.  Five  days  is  my 
record.  We  '11  call  it  STRONG'S,  if  you  don't  mind ;  it  '11  fit 
in  better.  Something  of  this  sort : — "  a  biceps  which  would  do 
credit  to  SANDOW  himself,  whose  Exerciser  occupies  a  prominent 
position  in  " — yes,  that  runs  pretty  well. 

Thanks,  no ;  no  time  for  smoking.  Now  then,  after  the 
Exerciser, — you  don't  run  round  the  Park  now,  for  instance? 
You  see,  I  want  to  work  the  Spartan  note  for  all  it 's  worth. 
No  ?  Or  break  the  ice  on  the  Serpentine  ?  Ah,  you  row  on  it,  do 
you?  Yes,  that's  good.  Anyone  else  there  at  that  time  of 
day  ?  I  see — wild  fowl  and  peacocks.  Yes,  I  could  bring  in 
the  peacocks, — and  the  hum  of  distant  London,  yes,  and  the 
Liver  Brigade  in  the  Row  byway  of  contrast.  Jiua  in  urbe : 
that  sort  of  thing  :  that  will  be  quite  effective. 

Well,  then  we  come  to  breakfast.  Pity  you  have  it  so  early, 
by-the-way.  You  see  my  notion  was  to  catch  you  at  it, — get 
the  local  colour.  My  dear  fellow,  I  'm  sure  you  would,  if  you  'd 
known.  Obliging  isn't  the  word — yes,  it  is  though,  by  Jove ! 
How  would  this  do? — "Nothing  could  be  more  obliging  than 
the  courtesy  with  which  Mr.  WHITE  "—Yes,  I  like  that.  Well, 
we  must  just  do  the  best  we  can  from  stock.  Let 's  see — "The 
rising  Author  had  just  finished  breakfast  when  I  arrived  at  the 
unholy  hour  of  8.15.  I  had  been  warned  "  (wish  I  had)  "  that  I 
must  be  a  very  early  bird  to  catch  this  particular" — 'm,  yes. 
There,  of  course,  I  shall  bring  in  the  Spartan  simplicity, 
SANDOW,  Serpentine,  and  so  on — "  the  secret  of  your  success," 
you  know.  Yes,  I  begin  to  see  my  way.  "The  debris  of  his 
frugal  meal" — you  eat  porridge?  Capital:  it  ought  to  be 
porridge.  Couldn't  do  without  porridge — and  perhaps  an  egg. 
Yes,  you  might  have  a  couple  of  eggs,  I  think — "  as  he  sat  there, 
watching  the  blue  smoke  curl  upwards  from  his  briar-pipe  "- 
yes,  I  see  it's  a  meerschaum, — "  from  his  battered  old  briar, 
looking  every  inch  an  Englishman,  broad-shouldered,  curly- 
haired,  blue-eyed  " — Not  blue  ?  Ah,  that 's  a  pity.  Oh,  well — 
not  at  all,  my  dear  fellow  ;  nature's  fault,  not- yours.  We  must 
do  the  best  we  can  with  grey.  Let 's  see — Oh,  yes — "  with  the 
deep  grey  eyes  of  the  habitual  thinker,  betraying  a  steady, 
earnest  purpose,  it  was  hard  to  imagine  that  this  was  the  man 
at  whose  humour  the  whole  world  is" — it  wouldn't  be  a  bad 
thing,  by  the  way,  if  you  could  manage  to  say  something  funny 
— "  one  of  Mr.  WHITE'S  happy  remarks  "  you  know,  "  which  we 
cannot  refrain  from  placing  before  the  readers  of  the  Epoch." 
Won't  it  come  ?  Oh,  well,  never  mind.  I  '11  see  what  I  can  do 
when  I  get  home. 

Now  about  your  work.    Done  anything  before  ?    I  don't  seem 


to  remember — oh,  anonymous.  Well,  if  you  '11  take  my  advice, 
you  won't  do  any  more  unsigned  work ;  it  don't  pay.  Must 
have  your  name  on  the  bookstalls.  Still,  I  can  shove  in  some- 
thing about  only  equalled  by  your  modesty.  Yes,  that  wouldn't 
be  bad.  Got  anything  else  on  the  stocks?  Not  yet?— H'm 
— "  Mr.  WHITE  doesn't  believe  in  the  modern  mercenary  method 
of  beginning  a  new  story  before  the  ink  "— 'm  !—"  while  his  last 
book  is  still  smoking  hot  from  the  press.  He  considers  that 
the  inevitable  result  of  making  haste  to  get  rich  is  unfinished 
and  unworthy  work."  You  don't  mind  my  saying  that,  do  you? 
It  's  true  enough,  you  know.  Why,  look  at — well,  look  at  the 
railway  bookstalls. 

Enough  !  My  dear  sir,  we've  hardly  begun.  Father  alive? 
That 's  his  photograph,  I  suppose.  'M — ah,—"  remarkable  face, 
vividly  recalling  the  rugged  features  of  the  Sage  of  Cheyne 
Walk."  Then  about  your  mother.  Rather  not?  By  all  means. 
We  always  respect  these  little  prejudices,  though — well,  about 
yourself,  then.  No  children,  I  suppose?  Or  dog — haven't  you 
a  fox-terrier  ?  Pity,  that.  Both  useful  properties.  Nuisance- 
in  real  life,  but  excellent  copy.  However — how  would  this  do? 
"  Mr.  White  is  at  present  prevented  by  the  incessant  nature  of 
his  work  from  indulging  his  strong  passion  for  children  and 
animals.  No  fairy  footsteps  on  the  stairs,  no  cheerful  barking 
to  enliven  his  solitary  hours.  His  motto  is" — that'll  do. 
Trifle  poetical,  perhaps.  Still  it 's— no,  it 's  not  bad. 

Now  then  for  some  youthful  reminiscences.  Oh,  but,  my  dear 
fellow,  you  must  have.  Weren't  you  at  school?  Well,  then — 
top  of  your  class?  No?  Excellent.  "Far  from  being  an 
infant  prodigy,  our  author  was  looked  upon  as  an  incorrigible 
dunce.  Nothing  but  sheer  dogged  perseverance  "—we  mustn't 
make  you  too  grim,  though.  Didn't  you  ever  play  tricks  on  the 
master?  Caricatures,  now,  or  verses  ?  No?  Well,  let's  see, 
I  'm  not  much  of  a  poet,  still  I  think  I  could — what  was  bis 
name  ?  Briggs  ? — 'm  ! — figs,  wigs,  pigs.  It  '11  have  to  be  per- 
sonal, of  course.  I  have  it ;  capital  B.  Small  man?  Ah,  can't 
be  helped.  Listen  to  this:  "How  doth  the  little  busy  B. 
delight  to"— he  smoked,  I  suppose?  "Delight  to  smoke  and 
smite  !  He  smites  our  somethings  " — no,  can't  say  that :  "  He 
caneth  gaily  all  the  day,  and  smoketh  half  the  night."  That  '11 
do — see  ?  You  wrote  'em,  and  then — yes,  after  he  'd — no,  before 
he  licked  you,  he  said,  "Mark  my  words,  boys,  Tommy" 
your  name  is  Thomas,  I  think?  "Tommy  White  will  be  a 
famous  writer  some  day.  But—"  Not  at  all,  make  you  a 
handsome  present  of  it.  It  '11  go  down  to  posterity  like  the 
versatile-young-dog  tale  about  MILLAIS,  and  all  the  rest  of  'em. 
Such  is  fame — what  ? 

Then  we  ought  to  have  your  views  on  something.  Doesn't 
much  matter  what.  Got  any  to  speak  of  ?  Women's  wrongs, 
now,  or— No  ?  Well,  it  is  a  bit  played  out.  Still  we  might 
suggest — how  about  this? — "  Asked  whether  he  held  decided 
views  on  the  Woman  Question,  Mr.  WHITE  said  with  a  sigh 
that  he  didn't  know  the  answer.  Pressed  for  a  more  definite 
reply,  his  eyes  lit  up  with  a  fire  which  I  had  not  before  observed, 
and  his  pipe  went  out  in  its — no — his  excitement.  Tall,  strong, 
blue — no,  grey-eyed,  he  stood  with  his  back  " — and  so  on.  Then 
you  might  say  something.  "  'You  remember,'  said  Mr.  WHITE, 
'the  familiar  quotation,  "common  are  to  either  sex  artifex 
and  opifex?"'  'Yes,'  I  murmured,  'and  likewise  "  caro, 
carnis  is  the  same."  '  'Well,'  continued  the  brilliant  young 
author" — haven't  called  you  that  before,  have  I? — "brilliant 
young  author,  taking  no  notice  of  my  irrelevant  interruption — 
'  there  you  have  the  Woman  Question  in  a  nutshell.  The  poet, 
of  course,  meant  that  all  the  arts  and  all  the  professions  were 
open — must  be  open — to  those  of  both  sexes.'  'Let  'em  all 
come,'  I  suggested  with  a  nervous  chuckle.  '  Let  'em  all 
come,'  he  replied,  with  a  humorous  twinkle  in  his  eye,  as  he 
relit  his  trusty  pipe."  Well,  what  d'  you  think  of  that  for  an 
impromptu  ?  I  'm  getting  into  my  stride  at  last. 

Hallo,  look  at  the  time.  I  must  be  off.  Well,  many  thanks 
for  the  able  way  in  which  you  've  seconded  my  poor  efforts  to 


APRIL  24,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


311 


provide  the  British  Lion  with  his  daily 
garbage — Not  at  all,  my  dear  fellow. 
You  've  done  your  best.  Anyway,  you  've 
helped  me  to  score  off  the  Argus.  Er, 
what  ?  Oh,  yes,  as  you  say,  distinctly 
funny,  isn't  it?  They  're  a  precious  slow 
lot.  Er, — you  haven't  got  a  photograph 
of  yourself  handy  ?  Would  you  mind  sign- 
ing it  ?  The  public — pardon  me,  but  isn't 
there  something  wrong  ?  THOMAS  WRIGHT, 
I  see  you  've  put.  We  'd  better  stick  to 
WHITE.  Nom  de  plume,  no  doubt,  but 
people  wouldn't — what  ?  Do  you  mean  to 
say  you  're  not  WHITE  ? — not  the  man  I — ? 
Well,  really,  Mr. — er — WRIGHT,  why  the 
— why  the  dickens  couldn't  you — why  did 
you  say  you  were  ?  Why  did  you — well, 
no,  come  to  think  of  it,  I  suppose  you 
didn't.  I  did  the  talking.  But,  still,  what 
the — may  I  ask  what  your  object  was  ? 
I  don't  suppose  you — Copy?  Oh,  my  be- 
loved Aunt.  Copy  !  He  's  a  journalist ! 
What  paper  ?  Not — not — don't  say  you  're 
an  Argus  man.  Oh,  Lord,  the  Argus  I  He 
interviews  for  the  Argus.  Well,  of  all  the 
blamed — Oh,  I  say,  look  here,  I  'm  off. 
You  've  scooped  the  pool  this  time. 
Would  you  mind  touching  the  bell  ? 
Thanks.  I  'm  going  to  interview  that — 
that  slavey  of  yours  on  my  way  down. 

G.  P.  C. 


THE  NEW  ROAD. 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCH,— It  is  very  beautiful 
to  witness  the  making  of  a  brand-new 
road — I  mean  in  the  suburbs,  where  the 
red-brick  builder  is  putting  up  his  houses 
and  tenements.  When  those  concerned 
commence  operations  they  chop  down  all 
the  old  trees,  which  are  older  than  Mr. 
JOSEPH  CHAMBERLAIN  or  Mr.  JOHN  BURNS, 
or  for  that  matter  Sir  WILLIAM  THISELTON- 
DYER,  Autocrat  of  Kew  Gardens,  who  is 
also  a  feller  of  great  intent.  When  the 
road-makers  have  assassinated  all  the 
trees  they  throw  vast  quantities  of 
Aberdeen  granite  gravel  and  water  over 
the  thoroughfare,  which  is,  indeed,  no 
thoroughfare,  because  it  leads  into  a 
combined  brickfield  and  stone-yard.  For 
many,  many  days,  the  dwellers  in  the 
fresh  and  watery  dwellings  crunch  their 
corns  over  the  rubble  and  bark  their  shins 
on  casual  timber.  On  dark  nights  there 
are  no  gas-lamps  in  order,  they  fall  into 
moist  and  perilous  cavities  arranged  on 
the  sidewalks  like  the  ambuscades  of  the 
Boer  generals.  What  are  those  cavities? 
They  are  the  holes  which  the  excellent 
authorities  have  dug  for  planting  new 
trees,  having  cut  down,  as  before  men- 
tioned, all  the  ancient  growth.  In  a 
century  we  shall  have  a  miniature 
boulevard. 

The  Aberdeen  granite,  &c.,  having  been 
converted  into  a  state  of  slush  is  then 
severely  sat  upon,  torn  about,  and  gene- 
rally ill-used  by  an  instrument  known  as 


-JAI.LMNO  .o 


"  OtTR  GREAT  HOCKBY  MATCH  WAS  IN  FULL  SWING,  WHEN  A  HORRID  COW,  FROM  THE 
ADJOINING  MEADOW,  STROLLED  ON  THE  GROUND.  PLAY  WAS  B7  GENERAL  CONSENT 
POSTPONED." 


the  Steam  Roller,  bearing,  as  a  rule,  the 
White  Horse  of  Kent  on  its  portly  bosom. 
There  is  no  reason  to  believe  but  that, 
conducted  on  certain  principles,  the 
Steam  Roller  would  be  a  great  advantage 
to  the  civilisation  of  the  metropolis  and 
its  immediate  surroundings.  It  might, 
for  instance,  effectually  curb  the  impetus 
of  the  misguided  railway  vans  and  carry- 
ing trollies,  which  roam  our  streets  with- 
out let  or  hindrance.  It  might  also  wake 
up  some  of  our  police  -  constables  atj 
crossings,  and  clear  the  way  for  the 
traffic  disturbed  by  telephonic  wire 
layers,  but  as  the  main  factor  in  a  new 
street  it  is  disappointing  and  a  demoniac 
nuisance. 

It  may  be  the  fault  of  the  Aberdeen 
granite  (N.B.,  Aberdeen  granite  must 
always  be  distinguished,  like  Doncaster 
butter  scotch,  Everton  toffee,  Bath  chaps, 


or  Stilton  cheeses),  or  the  gravel  or  the 
water,  but  the  cruel  sound  of  this  modern 
Car  of  Juggernauth  suggests]  the  anni- 
hilation of  the  broaciway  over  which  it 
lumbers  from  early  morning  till  dewy  eve, 
like  a  County  Council  Elephant  of  the 
Pleiocene  age.  There  is  only  one  pleasing 
personage  connected  with  this  Colossus 
of  roads,  and  he  is  the  veteran  armed 
with  a  Communist  flag  of  deep  red,  who 
walks  a  few  yards  in  front  of  a  monster 
whose  snorting  can  be  heard  for  miles. 
He  is  such  a  delightful  creature  of  fiction, 
that  in  this  age  of  realism  we  look  upon 
him  with  joy.  Even  the  horses  give  their 
customary  laugh  when  they  see  his  banner 
of  freedom  to  the  new  road.  He  is  so 
simply  lovely  because  he  is  so  perfectly 
useless.  Yours  faithfully, 

PHILIDORA  PHLATMAN. 
Novelty  Avenue,  8.W. 


312 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[APRIL  24,  1901. 


Old  Hoy  (revisiting  school).  "  WELL,  JOCK,  THERE  HAVE  BEEN  A  LOT  OF  CHANGES  IN  THE 

OLD   PLACE   SINCE  MY  TIME." 

School  Porter.    "YESsiK,  THE  HEAD   MASTER  is  CHANGED,  THE  ASSISTANT  MASTEBS   is 

CHANGED,  THE   CHAPEL   IS  CHANGED    AN*   THE  TUCK    SHOP   IS   CHANGED  ;   BCTT,   BLESS  YOU,   THE 
BOYS   IS   JUST   THE   SAME   AS   EVER  !  " 


IN  VINO  VERITAS. 

PLACE — Coffee-room  of  a  fashionable  hotel. 
TIME — The  nea  r  future.  Customer  and 
Waiter  discovered. 

Customer.  Let  me  see  your  wine  list 
(Receives  it)  Ah,  you  have  several  brands 
of  champagne  —  but  can  you  swear  to 
them? 

Waiter  (hesitating).  You  have  full  infor- 
mation in  the  book,  Sir. 

Customer.  Yes,  but  that  is  insufficient. 
According  to  the  newspapers,  the  brand 
may  be  deceptive.  (Regarding  him  sternly) 
Although  I  don't  know  you,  if  you  like  to 
get  a  Commissioner  and  make  a  sworn 
information  I  might  believe  you.  (With 
increased  severity)  Of  course,  if  you  made 


a    false   statement     you  would   run    the 
chance  of  prosecution  for  perjury. 

Waiter  (trembling).  Very  sorry,  Sir,  but 
the  charge  is  not  considered  either  in  my 
wages  or  in  my  tips. 

Customer.  Well,  how  about  the  red  wine  ? 

Waiter.  We  have  got  Beaune  and  St. 
Julien,  and  if  you  like  a  change  of  colour 
Niersteiner  and  Zeltringer. 
,  Customer  (kindly,  but  firmly).  My  good 
friend,  if  you  had  studied  the  correspon- 
dence in  the  public  press  as  I  have,  you 
would  know  that  the  names  you  have 
mentioned  suggest  "liquid  generally 
bad."  How  about  your  mineral  waters  ? 

Waiter.  The  names  are  on  the  list,  Sir. 

Customer.  So  I  see.  (After  considera- 
tion) And  now  have  you  a  good  filter — a 
really  good  filter  ? 


Waiter.  Certainly,  Sir, 
Customer  (decisively).  Then  I  will  take 
a  glass — of  water  ! 

(Curtain.) 


"PING    PONG." 

(A  Ditty  for  the  Dining-room.) 
[Most  manly  sports  have,  at  one  time  or  other, 
had  their  praises  sung  by  poetic  devotees.    Why 
should  not  the  prevailing  pastime  of  "  Ping  Pong  " 
be  also  immortalised  in  verse,   especially  as  the 
papers  have  suggested  that  the  Universities  should 
compete  in  the  game  ?] 
I  WILL  not  laud  the  football  or 
The  gentlemen  who  kick  it ; 
Nor  ask  your  kind  attention  for 

Some  eulogy  on  cricket. 
Though  golf  and  hockey  long  ago 

Created  a  sensation, 
Old  England's  sons  and  daughters  know 
A  finer  recreation. 

It 's  oh,  for  the  bounding  celluloid  ! 
Oh,  for  the  six-inch  net ! 
No  one  denies 
There  is  exercise 
In  a  fiercely  fought  out  "  set." 
Oh,  for  the  rally  that 's  much  enjoyed, 
Oh,  for  the  tuneful  song, 

When  the  racquets  sing, 
With  a  pong  and  a  ping, 
And  a  ping,  ping,  pong  ! 

And  who  would  bike  or  ride  or  row, 

Since  anyone  is  able 
To  keep  on  rushing  to  and  fro 

About  the  dining-table. 
The  sweat  from  off  your  forehead  falls 

When  mighty  is  the  tussle  ; 
And  merely  picking  up  the  balls 

Develops  ev'ry  muscle. 

It 's  oh,  for  the  serve  that 's  hard  and 
Oh,  for  the  wily  twist !          [fast ! 
Oh,  for  the  scores 
From  the  battledores, 
When    the    strokes    are    seldom 

missed. 

Oh,  for  the  balls  that  crack  at  last, 
Though  they  are  fairly  strong  ; 
You  '11  send  them  wide 
If  you  never  have  tried 
I'o  play  ping,  ping,  pong ! 

For  those  of  us  whose  blood  is  blue 

The  time  it  quickly  passes  ; 
It  also  gives  enjoyment  to 

The  humbler  middle  classes. 
We  bolt  our  meals,  it  must  be  feared, 

So  eager  is  our  longing 
To  get  the  table  quickly  cleared 
And  start  once  more  "ping-ponging." 
It 's  oh,  for  the  polished  table-tops, 
Losing  their  pristine  bloom  ; 
Players  don't  care 
For  the  wear  and  tear 
In  the  average  dining-room. 
Oil,  for  a  game  that  seldom  stops, 
Probably  we,  ere  long 

Shall  hie  with  despatch 
To  the  'Varsity  match 
Of  this  ping,  ping,  pong !       P.  G. 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.— APRIL  24,  1901. 


PAY!   PAY!    PAY! 


MASTER  JOHN  BULL.  "I  'YE  PUT  A  LOT  OF  PENNIES  INTO  THIS  MACHINE,  AND  I  HAVEN'T  GOT  ANYTHING 
OUT.    BUT  "— (witJi  determination)— "  I  'M   GOING   ON  TILL  I  DO!" 

[In  consequence  of  the  South  African  War  expenditure,  Master  JOHN  BULL  has  to  meet  a  deficit  of  fifty-five  millions.] 


APRIL  24,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


315 


ESSENCE    OF    PARLIAMENT. 

EXTRACTED  FROM  THE  DIARY  OF  TOBY,  M.P. 

House  of  Commons,  Thursday,  April  18. 

— Back  to  work  after  Easter  Holidays. 


Wily  SQUIRE  got  J.  M.  to  publicly  announce 
engagement  by  letter  circulated  in  gaping 
press.  For  a  while  all  -went  well.  The 
two  hermits  sat  side  by  side  in  the 
selected  cell,  thanking  Heaven  that  they 


House  thronged  in  anticipation    of   big  \  were  not  even  as  CAWMELL-BANXERMAN. 


Sir  Malvolio  Hicks  Beach.  "  I  SAY  THIS  HOUSE  is  AS  DARK  AS  IGNOBAKOE ;  . 

I   SAY  TBEBE  NEVER  WAS  A   MAN   THUS  ABUSED  !" 

" BUDGET  NIGHT;  OR,  WHETHER  YOU  LIKE  IT  OR  NOT  !" — Sh-ksp-re. 
(  With  apologies  to  C.  Buchel.) 


Budget.  JOHN  MORLEY,  in  prim  seclusion 
at  Gangway  end  of  Front  Opposition 
Bench,  from  time  to  time  glances  with 
shy  nervousness  at  SQUIRE  OF  M  ALWOOD, 
sitting  far  down  the  bench,  shoulder  to 
shoulder  with  CAWMELL  -  BANXERMAN, 
facing  brass-bound  box  as  if  he  were  again 
Leader  of  the  Opposition. 

How  long  is  it  since  the  SQUIRE 
approached  J.  M.,  warbling  "  Come,  live 
with  me  and  be  my  love?"  Trustful, 
thinking  no  evil,  consent  was  shyly  given. 


'Tis  the  old  sad  story.  Soon  the  lusty 
SQUIRE  found  retirement  palling  upon  him  ; 
the  austere  serenity  of  the  joint  establish- 
ment chilled  his  marrow  ;  he  began  to 
come  home  late  to  tea  ;  presently  stayed 
out  all  night ;  now  has  openly  abandoned 
the  domestic  hearth,  returning  to  earlier 
courses  and  old  companions. 

Customary  after  Budget  Speech  for 
Leader  of  Opposition  to  say  a  few  words 
of  general  character,  his  colleague,  pre- 
decessor of  the  CHANCELLOR  OF  THE 


EXCHEQUER  of  the  day,  reserving  to  later 
date  critical  examination  of  Budget 
proposals.  To-night  the  elder  partner  of 
the  domestic  manage  at  Gangway  end  of 
the  bench,  brushing  Leader  of  Opposition 
aside,  rose  and  in  trenchant  speech 
denounced  a  Ministerial  policy  "  that 
finds  its  natural  expression  in  the  most 
disastrous  financial  statement  that  has 
ever  been  made  by  a  CHANCELLOR  OF  THE 
EXCHEQUER." 

Business  done. — Budget  brought  in  by 
Sir  MICHAEL  MALVOLIO  HICKS  -  BEACH, 
Steward  to  the  State.  Shows  expendi- 
ture on  war  exceeding  £150,000,000  ster- 
ling ;  deficit  to  be  faced  this  year, 
£53,207,000. 

Friday  Night.— Dull  night  at  T.  R.  West- 
minster. Went  over  with  SON  AND  HEIR. 
to  Her  Majesty's  to  see  Twelfth  Night.  A 
peerless  comedy,  delightfully  played. 
LIONEL  BROUGH'S  Sir  Toby  Belch,  NORMAN 
FORBES'S  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek  never 
better  done.  A  boozing  couple,  the 
triumph  of  their  art  is,  they  in  their  cups 
inspire  no  feeling  of  disgust.  COURTICE 
POUNDS  a  revelation  as  a  clown.  SAUK 
remembers  him  slim  and  blushing  tenor 
making  debut  at  Savoy.  Behold  him  to- 
night a  plump  comedian,  full  of  rollicking 
humour,  singing  charmingly  withal. 

Quite  at  home  with  Antonio.  Know 
him  well  at  our  own  little  theatre  by 
Westminster  Bridge.  He  's  JOHN  BURNS 
to  a  B(attersea).  True,  never  saw  JOHN 
wearing  earrings  ;  but,  then,  I  never  met 
him  011  a  Sunday.  Otherwise,  the  very 
man  in  height,  build,  face,  gestures,  voice 
and  intonation.  In  Scene  III.,  Act  4, 
the  police  are  called  in  to  remove  Antonio 
for  earlier  offence  of  obstruction  (just 
like  our  House,  you  see).  When  he 
squared  his  shoulders  and  roared  "Let 
me  speak  a  little,"  I  quite  expected 
to  hear  some  reference  to  the  London 
Water  Bill,  or  a  few  remarks  about  the 
Select  Committee  that  threw  out  the  Bill 
transferring  River  Steamers  to  London 
County  Council. 

BEERBOHM  TREE  crowns  the  success  of 
his  staging,  the  triumph  of  his  getting  to- 
gether such  a  company,  by  his  rendering 
of  Malvolio.  With  many  subtle  touches 
he  presents  the  living  man.  One  little 
thing :  when  the  clown  is  prominently  to 
the  front  in  conversation  with  Olivia,  the 
way  the  fussy,  vain,  pompous  steward, 
touches  him  with  his  wand  of  office,  in 
indescribable  manner  indicating  posses- 
sion and  authority  over  some  meaner 
thing,  is  a  rarely  devised  bit  of  bye-play. 

SON  AND  HEIR  mostly  struck  by  passage 
in  Scene  V.,  Act  1,  where  Viola  comes  to 
Olivia  as  emissary  of  the  Duke  Orsiiio. 

Olivia.  Whence  came  you,  Sir  ? 
Viola.  I  can  say  little  more  than  I  have  studied, 
and  that  question 's  out  of  my  part. 

"Gad,"  said  SON  AND  HEIR,  "what  a 
fellow  this  SHAKSPEARE  is !  Foresaw 


316 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[APRIL  24,  1901. 


everything  ;  has  a  word  for  every  part.  You  know,  TOBY  mine, 
what  I  nightly  suffer  at  the  House,  when,  having  read  out  from 
MS.  the  answer  supplied  at  the  F.  O.  to  particular  Question 
on  the  paper,  BASHMEAD-ARTLETT  or  TOMMY  BOWLES  puts  Sup- 
plementary Question  and  I  decline  to  answer.  As  I  told  one  of 
them  in  my  first  week  as  Under-Secretary  for  Foreign  Affairs, 
COUSIN  ARTHUR  forbad  me  to  reply  to  Supplementary  Questions. 
Regular  row ;  adjournment  of  House  moved ;  a  whole  sitting 
taken  up  with  jawing  about  the  business.  And  here  's  SHAK- 
SPEARE  writing  in  the  spacious  times  when  our  family  was  well 
to  the  front — though,  I  admit,  not  so  numerously  represented 
as  to-day  in  the  Government — writing  the  very  thing.  '  I  can 
say  very  little  more  than  I  have  studied,  and  that  question  's  out 
of  my  part.'  "Wish  I  'd  thought  of  that  when  they  first  tackled 
me.  Shall  learn  it  off ;  have  it  ready  next  time  BASHMEAD  or 
the  CAP'EN  assail  me  with  Supplementary  Questions." 

Business  done. — The  MARKISS,  basking  in  the  sun  at  Beaulieu, 
little  knows  how  narrowly  the  KING  has  escaped  necessity  of 
sending  for  BRYN  ROBERTS.  Crisis  arose  in  Committee  of  Ways 
and  Means.  BRYN  making  few  observations  on  Coal  Tax  ob- 
served no  one  to  listen  to  him  on  Treasury  Bench.  Not  a  single 
Minister  present.  BRYN'S  Welsh  blood  up.  Moved  to  report 
progress.  Consternation  in  Ministerial  camp.  Whips  taken  by 
surprise.  Could  they  bring  up  sufficient  men  to  avoid  igno- 
minious defeat  of  Government?  A  quarter  of  an  hour's  anxiety. 
Result,  pulled  through  with  majority  of  44.  Evidently  the 
worst  do  for  Ministry  whose  nominal  majority  is  nearly  a 
hundred  more. 

CONVERSATIONAL  HINTS  FOR  YOUNG  RIDERS. 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
The  End  of  Hie  Season. 

ANOTHER  season  has  come  to  an  end.  It  has,  so  to  speak,  run 
to  earth,  and  these  notes,  like  pursuing  hounds  who  reach  the 
quarry's  hiding-place  after  an  interval,  must  be  regretfully 
gathered  together  and  taken  home.  The  hounds  will  reappear 
in  all  their  bravery  next  autumn — but  the  notes  have  done 
their  work,  and  are  to  be  kennelled  for  good. 

It  has  been  a  good  season,  -well  protracted  owing  to  the 
backwardness  of  spring,  and  horses  and  hounds  have  had  their 
full  share  of  honest  work.  Frost,  the  enemy  of  all  good  hunting 
men,  has  troubled  us  but  little.  Do  you  remember,  years  and 
years  ago,  when  the  first  flush  of  a  hardy  youth  was  still  yours, 
when  your  limbs  were  springy,  and  your  spirits  keen,  and  your 
eyes  clear,  and  your  hair  still  grew  close  and  thick  about 
your  temples,  in  those  far-off  delightful  days  when  nothing 
seemed  to  tire  you,  and  when  the  harder  you  rode  the  more 
warmly  you  glowed  with  the  ardour  of  the  run-— do  you  remem- 
ber, I  say,  how  waking  in  the  early  morning  you  blundered 
across  your  bedroom  to  the  window,  drew  the  blind,  opened 
the  window,  felt  the  frost  in  your  face,  and  realised  with  a 
bitter  disappointment  that  this  day,  to  which  you  had  been 
looking  forward,  was  doomed  to  be  a  wasted  day  ?  However, 
you  were  not  going  to  be  defeated  without  a  struggle :  you 
shaved — ugh  !  how  the  razor  scrapes  when  the  mercury  has 
fallen  below  32 — you  indued  your  leather  breeches,  fought 
apoplectically  with  the  button-hook,  lugged  on,  even  more 
apoplectically,  your  top-boots,  felt  the  buttons  of  your  breeches 
pressed  deep  into  your  tender  leg,  but  bore  the  pain  unmurmur- 
ing ;  tied  your  beautiful  tie  neatly  and  with  despatch ;  and 
then,  shining  with  health  and  the  exertion  of  dressing,  pro- 
ceeded to  breakfast.  Was  there  any  hope  of  the  sun  breaking 
through  in  strength  sufficient  to  make  hunting  possible  ?  Was 
the  wind  about  to  veer  and  bring  a  spurt  of  rain  ?  Was  it 
possible  that  six  miles  off,  at  the  "  Three  Tuns,"  where  hounds 
were  to  meet,  there  might  have  been  no  frost  at  all  ?  These 
mitigations  of  despair  chased  one  another  through  your  mind  as 
you  ate  your  appointed  way  through  the  fried'sole,  the  kidney.' 
and  bacon,  the  poached  eggs,  and  the  concluding  marmalade. 


' '  Any  good,  TOM  ?  ' '  you  said  to  the  faithful  stableman  not  long 
afterwards  in  the  stable. 

"  Well,  Sir,  it  don't  look  very  cheerful,  that 's  certain ;  but, 

Lor',  you  never  knows  your  luck.    Of  course  they  mayn't  bring 

hounds  out,  but  then  again  they  may — and  if  it 's  anyhow  possible 

hey  '11  have  a  go.     Yes,  Sir,  I  '11  have  him  ready  in  a  minute." 

And  then,  varying  between  hopes  and  fears,  you  rode  to  the 
meet — only  to  find  half-a-dozen  enthusiasts  like  yourself,  but 
no  hounds,  and  no  prospect  of  them.  It  was  a  cruel  blow,  but 
the  justice  of  the  decision  was  undeniable,  for  no  man  of  sense 
would  have  imperilled  his  horse's  legs  and  his  own  valuable 
bones  over  those  iron-bound  fields.  Yes,  frost  is  the  worst 
foe  of  the  good  hunting  man,  and  we  may  thank  our  stars  that 
we  have  so  little  of  it  to  spoil  sport  and  keep  horses  in  their 
stalls.  Years  ago,  I  remember,  I  passed  some  days  with  a  fine 
old  veteran,  the  keenest  man  to  hounds  I  ever  'saw.  We  had 

od  sport  over  a  good  country.  On  the  morning  of  my  depar- 
ture I  was  surprised  by  my  host  with  the  request  that  as  soon 
as  I  got  back  to  London  I  should  buy  for  him  and  send  to  him 
a  pair  of  skates.  "  What  kind  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Oh,  any  kind;  I  don't  care  what  they're  like,  so  long 
as  they  're  skates." 

"  But  I  didn't  know  you  skated." 

"  I  don't — but  the  weather  looks  like  turning  to  frost.  1  'vc 
tried  every  sort  of  dodge,  and  I  've  found  that  the  only  way 
to  keep  off  frost  is  to  buy  a  pair  of  skates.  I  've  got  thirty  or 
forty  pairs  of  'em  in  the  lumber-room  at  the  top  of  the  house." 

If  my  memory  serves  me,  on  this  occasion  the  fates  were 
perverse.'  The  old  gentleman  got  his  skates  in  due  course, 
but  he  also  got  a  very  severe  frost,  which  didn't  in  the  least 
diminish  his  faith  in  the  efficacy  of  his  dodge  when  another 
vear  came  round. 


-    DARBY  JONES   ON  THE  CITY  AND  SUBURBAN. 

HONOURED  SIR, — WThen  this  afternoon  I  saw  a  Chestnut  Tree 
in.  all  the  Glory  of  Verdant  Leaf  I  warbled  to  Myself,  "The 
Spring  has  come,  the  City  and  Suburban  is  at  hand."  Now 
what  Affinity  there  was  between  the  Epsom  contest  and  that 
Harbinger  of  bud  and  blossom,  I  cannot  pretend  to  determine. 
Perhaps  the  foliage  pointed  in  some  inscrutable  Way  to  the 
Victory  of  a  Chestnut  Quadruped  over  those  Downs  which 
are  now  as  ever  free. 

I  have,  honoured  Sir,,  been  a  constant  Patron  of  this 
Meeting,  but  no  one  Assembly  is  more  impressed  on  the 
tablets  of  my  memory  than  that  of  1882,  when  Lord  ROSSMORE'S 
Po«saic  annexed  the  Stake  at  the  remunerative  price  of  40 
to  1.  This  Event  was  remarkable  to  me  because,  on  that 
occasion,  I  noted  his  lordship's  brother,  the  Honble.  PETER 
WESTENRA,  returning  to  the  Metropolis  in  a  four-wheeled  cab, 
whereof  the  windows  were  plastered  with  Five-pound  Notes, 
in  order,  as  the  Hon.  P.  explained,  "Just  to  show  what  an 
Irish  gentleman  could  do."  I  regret  to  say  that  I  had  no 
reason  for  joining  in  the  Hon.  Nobleman's  enthusiasm. 

This  year  we  of  the  Prophetic  Vein  have  a  difficult  task  be- 
fore us.  You,  Sir,  sitting  in  your  Damask  Arm  Chair  little 
know  the  Tortures  which  a  Vates  has  to  endure.  Dig  and  delve 
as  we  may  in  the  Field  of  Divination,  we  very  likely  in  the  end 
break  our  Augurial  Spade  on  the  Flints  of  Disappointment. 
However,  as  the  'Bus  Driver  hath  it,  "Here  goes." 

The  'Alfbcd  looks  splendid  in  print, 

But  /like  the  Southern  Sid.  better, 
Mantalini  is  good  for  a  sprint, 

And  Charles  Wyndham  may  be  an  upsetter, 
But  the  Gay  Nonconformist  should  win, 

And  the  Soundmaid  has  got  a  good  chance, 
While  Upper  Thames  gets  a  look  in, 

If  only  The  Spec  leads  the  dance. 

Such,  Honoured  Sir,  is  my  Prognostication.  Trusting  to  see  you 
and  your  Aristocratic  Friends  as  usual  on  your  Well-appointed 
Coach  supplied  with  the  Esse  and  Posse  of  Conviviality,  I  am 

Your  Devoted  Henchman  and  Heeler,        DARBY  JONES. 


• 


APRIL  24,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OE  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


317 


A  STEEPLE-CHASE  RIDER'S  DIARY. 

Tuesday. — Due  at  Mudbury  Steeple- 
chases. Am  riding  in  two  races  there. 

Wednesday. — In  first  race  of  yesterday 
horse  ran  against  post ;  hurt  knee-cap, 
lost  whip,  broke  stirrup  -  leather,  but 


fence  on  the  course.  Four  other  horses 
jumped  on,  or  over,  me.  Nett  result,  two 
ribs  fractured,  silk  jacket  cut  off  my 
back,  and  little  finger  smashed.  Annoy- 
ing, this,  as  am  unable  to  ride  in  last 
race  of  afternoon. 
Friday. — Hurrah!  found  very  smart 


Muriel.  "On,  MAJOR  HAWDY,  WILL  you  ALLOW  ME  TO  INTRODUCE  YOU  TO  MY  GRAND- 
MOTHER ? " 

The  Major.  "  OH,  CERTAINLY,  BY  ALL  MEANS.  BUT— AHEM  !— I  TRUST  THE  OLD  LADY 
DOESN'T  EXPECT  ME  TO  SPEAK  TO  HER  THROUGH  THE  TELEPHONE — EH,  WHAT?" 


finally  won  by  a  length.  Not  so  lucky  in 
next  race.  Was  leading,  when  horse 
blundered,  smashed  guard-rail  and  turned 
tail  over  head  into  next  field.  Sprained 
wrist,  broke  bridge  of  nose,  and  was 
rather  badly  shaken.  However,  nothing 
to  really  hurt.  Have  to  get  down  into 
Thrustershire  to-night,  as  I  am  to  ride  in 
three  races  there  to-morrow. 

Thursday. — Got  second  in  opening  race, 
after  being  "  cannoned  "  over  last  fence, 
and  my  mount  knocked  on  to  his  knees 
and  nose.  Bad  luck  in  next  race,  as 
riderless  horse  galloped  right  across  my 
mount  just  as  he  "took  off"  at  biggest 


doctor,  who  has  patched  me  up  splen- 
didly and  bandaged  ribs  so  well  that  I 
can  hardly  breathe.  Shall  ride  in  Grand 
Annual  to-day,  and  think,  with  a  bit  of 
luck,  that  I  shall  win. 
A  week  later. — "Where  am  I  ?  Ah,  I  see 

— in  bed.    How  long  is  it  since ?     Oh, 

a  week  ;  is  it  really  ?  And  what 's  hap- 
pened, what  have  I ?  Oh,  concussion 

of  brain,  collar-bone,  and  right  arm  broken 
and  some  ribs  dislocated — is  that  all? 
Very  vexing  that,  whilst  I  have  been 
insensible,  the  Grand  National  has  been 
run.  "Where  did  my  horse  finish  in  it? 
Oh,  broke  his  neck,  eh  ?  H  'm,  that 's  bad 


luck.  And  his  jockey  ?  Oh,  still  uncon- 
scious, eh?  Wonder  how  long  it'll  be 
before  I  can  get  out,  as  1  must  be  doctored 
up  in  time  to  ride  The  Smasher  in  the 
Great  Kilham  and  Krushem  Stakes,  next 
month. 


PAINFUL  POEMS.— No.  V. 

PETER  BROWN  AND  HIS  TRAIN  OF  THOUGHT. 

His  brain  was  slightly  overwrought' 

One  warm  and  sunny  day, 

He  fell  into  a  train  of  thought 

Which  carried  him  away. 

It  was  a  fairly  heavy  fall, 
And  PETER  BROWN  was  dazed ; 

He  could  not  recollect  at  all 
The  scenes  on  which  he  gazed. 

For  swift  as  thought  the  train  had  sped, 

Far  over  sea  and  land  ; 
The  sun  was  blazing  overhead, 

The  scenery  was  grand. 

But  PETER  BROWN  received  a  shock  ! 

Before  he  could  divine 
What  made  his  Pullman  carriage  rock, 

The  train  was  off  the  line. 

It  crumpled  up  iipon  its  tracks, 

He  almost  broke  his  neck, 
And  then  a  crowd  of  ugly  blacks 

Came  clamb'ring  o'er  the  wreck. 

They  tied  poor  PETER  hand  and  foot, 

And  bore  him  to  a  spot 
Where  they,  alas,  were  wont  to  put 

Their  captives  in  a  pot. 

Yes,  put  them  in  a  pot  to  boil 

For  necessary  food 
With  vinegar  and  salt  and  oil 

(Their  cookery  was  crude). 

Oh,  who  shall  tell  his  horror  when 

He  faced  the  nigger  chief, 
All  feathers,  like  a  frightened  hen, 

And  black  beyond  belief  ? 

The  blubber  lips  revealed  a  flash 

Of  teeth  as  white  as  snow, 
And  when  the  teeth  began  to  gnash 

Poor  PETER  wished  to  go. 

But  all  in  vain !   A  mighty  club 
The  monster  heaved  on  high, 

While  PETER  looked  his  last  on  shrub 
And  tree  and  earth  and  sky. 

' '  Farewell, ' '  he  cried, ' '  each  earthly  toy, 

To  earth  itself  farewell ' ' — 
Then  paused,  and  shouted  with  a  joy 

That  tongue  would  fail  to  tell. 

Another  train  of  thought  appeared  ! 

Resistless  in  its  course, 
The  brutal  black  that  PETER  feared 

It  crushed  without  remorse. 

And  PETER  next  it  bore  away, 
Through  realms  of  pure  delight, 

To  where  Trafalgar's  fountains  play 
Each  morning,  noon  and  night. 

So  PETER  BROWN  was  saved,  although 
His  brain  was  overwrought  ; 

And  cherished  with  a  grateful  glow 
That  second  train  of  thought.       F.  E. 


318 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[APRIL  24,  1901. 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

Babs  the  Impossible  (HtJTOHTNSON)  is  our  old  friend  the  girl  of 
The  Heavenly  Twins,  with  new  surroundings  and  another 
history.  There  is  not  lacking  even  the  faithful,  loving  brother. 
But  Montncnte  Kingconstancc — voila  un  nom ! — does  not  play  so 
important  a  part  in  the  story  as  did  Babs'  earlier  brother.  As 
for  Babs,  she  is  just  the  same,  frank,  boisterous,  beautiful, 
sentimental — in  a  word,  impossible.  Men  fall  suddenly  in  love 
with  her,  and  when  two  propose,  at  five  minutes'  notice,  she 
expresses  desire  to  marry  them  both,  one  for  Sundays,  the  other 
for  week-days.  Marriage,  or,  to  be  precise,  proposal  of 
marriage,  is,  indeed,  a  constant  sequence  of  daily  life  in 
the  community  that  people  Danehurst.  If  the  men  dally,  the 
women  hasten  to  meet  them  more  than  half  way.  Mr. 
Jellybond  Tinney,  a  barman  retired  with  a  fortune,  literally  has 
all  the  women  at  his  feet,  from  the  aristocratic  Mrs.  King- 
conatunce  of  Dane  Court  to  poor  poverty-stricken  Miss  Spice, 
who  falls  in  love  with  him  at  sight.  My  Baronite  found 
enclosed  in  his  copy  of  the  novel  a  booklet  containing  an 
"interview"  with  Mrs.  SARAH  GRAND,  explaining  her 
purpose  in  writing.  He  did  not  do  the  gifted  lady  the 
injustice  of  reading  ^the  conversation,  fearing  lest  it  should 
close  the  novel  to  him.  A  story  that  needs  explaining  is  not, 
as  a  rule,  worth  following.  Glancing  over  the  "  interview," 
he  gathered  that  Mrs.  GRAND  is  of  opinion  that  women  are  left 
too  much  to  their  own  resources,  whilst  their  husbands  go 
gadding  about  in  a  gay  but  wicked  world.  That  is  a  matter  of 
personal,  consequently  varied,  experience.  Certainly  the 
influence  of  the  scarcity  of  the  society  of  men  at  Dane- 
hurst  was  not  wholesome.  Mrs.  Kinyconstance  comes  as  near 
the  mere  animal  state  as  is  possible  to  a  well  -  educated 
well-bred  woman.  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  is  as  impossible  as 
Babs,  and  more  amusing.  When  the  book  reaches — er — a  second 
edition,  Mrs. — er — GRAND  will  do  well — er — to  cut  out  this  sort 
of — er — thing  from  the  conversation.  It  is  bad  enough  to  have 
one  of  the  characters  stuttering  in  meaningless  manner.  Mrs. 
GRAND  is  so  enamoured  of  the  humour  of  it  that  she  sets 
two  or  three  of  her  puppets  at  it. 

Mr.  H.  B.  IRVING  has  chosen  a  nice  lively  subject  for  publi- 
cation (by  Mr.  HEINEMANN)  in  this  sweet  spring  time,  and  has 
given  to  a  merry  world  his  carefully  and  somewhat  cynically 
written  Studies  of  French  Criminals.  The  Baron  dipped  into  some 
of  the  stories  of  these  notorious  scoundrels,  male  and  female, 
and  sincerely  wished  that  Mr.  H.  B.  IRVING  had  been  satisfied 
with  using  these  materials  for  a  Harrison-Ainsworth-y  Romance 
such  as  Rookivood,  of  which  that  ruffianly  highwayman  DICK 
TURPIN  was  the  hero,  though  on  calm  consideration  it  is 
better  to  represent  crime  and  criminals  just  as  they  are  than 
to  paint  them  in  the  bright  colouring  of  an  utterly  false  senti- 
ment. The  only  question  is,  why  not  leave  ill  alone  ?  Why 
not  leave  them  at  rest  in  the  French  Newgate  Calendar  ?  For 
one  thing,  Mr.  H.  B.  IRVING,  who  essayed  the  white-washing 
of  Judge  JEFFREYS,  deserves  our  gratitude,  and  that  is,  he  has 
not  attempted  to  represent  black  as  white,  and  all  his  villains 
are  of  the  very  deepest  dye.  THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


SAID   TO  HAVE  BEEN  FOUND  NEAR   PEKIN. 

THE  Chancellor  of  the  Chinese  Exchequer  presents  his  compli- 
ments to  the  representatives  of  the  European  Powers,  and 
begs  to  acknowledge  the  claims  that  they  submitted  to  him  on 
behalf  of  their  respective  Governments. 

The  Chancellor  of  the  Chinese  Exchequer  is  glad  to  be  able  to 
say  that  his  Government  will  find  no  greater  difficulty  in  paying 
sixty  millions  than  a  tenth  of  that  amount. 

The  Chancellor  of  the  Chinese  Exchequer  sends  his  hearty 
greeting,  and  begs  to  apologise  for  the  absence  of  a  postage 
stamp  on  the  envelope  to  this  communication.  The  omission  was 
inevitable  o\ying  to  the  force  majeure  of  financial  consideration. 


THE    NEW    RENAISSANCE. 

BY  A.  C. 
IV. 

IT  is  time  that  I  came  to  the  Central  Idea  of  the  renaissance. 
Personally,  I  was  opposed  to  the  policy  of  having  a  Central 
Idea  ;  it  seemed  to  me  a  trifle  bourgeois,  but  MORIARTY  said  that 
all  the  best  renaissances  did  have  them,  and  the  general  feeling 
in  the  Club  seemed  to  be  that  we  couldn't  get  on  without  one. 
So  we  drew  lots,  out  of  a  hat,  for  the  honour  of  making  first 
suggestion.  Number  one  was  drawn  by  Professor  SKILLIBEG 
(author  of  Fungus  Growths)  and  we  knew  that  an  interesting 
half-hour  lay  before  us.  The  Professor  is  so  original. 

He  said  that  he  believed  we  were  all  palpitating  with  the 
same  spirit ;  the  only  difficulty  was  to  give  it  verbal  expression. 
We  few,  we  happy  few,  were  destined  to  bring  in  a  new  era  in 
art,  in  literature,  and  in  morals.  We  didn't  mind  (he  believed  he 
expressed  the  feeling  of  the  majority)  what  sort  of  an  era  it 
was,  provided  that  it  was  really  and  truly  new.  ("Hear,  hear  !  ") 
Now,  most  of  the  epochs  in  art  were  marked  by  a  change  in  the 
conception  of  the  Beautiful.  We  should  go  deeper  than  that. 
We  should  abolish  the  Beautiful  as  an  artistic  ideal  altogether. 
(Slight  sensation.)  This  might  seem  startling,  but  he  was  sure 
that  it  expressed  our  true  feeling.  Beauty  had  had  its  day,  was 
played  out ;  we  were  gradually  awakening  to  the  discovery  of  the 
pre-eminent  sesthetical  value  of  ugliness.  (Murmurs  of  appro- 
bation.) Hitherto  even  our  most  advanced  spirits  had  only 
ventured  to  name  the  Ugly  as  a  sub-species  of  the  Beautiful, 
but  surely  the  view  of  his  German  friend  Herr  von  KRAUTZMANN, 
was  the  truer — that  Beauty  was  merely  a  particular  and  inferior 
kind  of  Ugliness.  If  only  we  were  true  to  this  ideal  a  vast 
field  lay  open  to  us,  almost  untouched  as  yet.  In  the  drama 
there  had  been  little  accomplished.  Scandinavia  was  diffidently, 
and  perhaps  unconsciously,  pointing  the  way  ;  but  in  our  own 
country  we  had  got  no  farther  than  the  production  of  plays 
that  were  repulsive,  and  he  hoped  that  none  of  us  were  in  such 
blindness  as  to  confound  the  repulsive  with  the  truly  Ugly.  In 
music,  again,  despite  the  open-air  efforts  of  certain  countrymen 
of  his  friend  Herr  von  KRAUTZMANN,  little  or  nothing  had  been 
accomplished.  For  those  of  us  who  worked  with  brush  or 
pencil  there  might  perhaps  be  a  smoother  path.  There  were  not 
lacking  indications  that  the  illustrated  papers  would  give  us  a 
hand,  and  any  really  sound  work  was  sure  to  find  a  place  in  the 
Royal  Academy.  But  from  all  quarters  we  must  be  prepared  to 
meet  with  opposition  and  even  derision.  We  should  have  the 
name  of  paradox-mongers  thrown  in  our  teeth  ;  we  should  even 
be  called  decadents  by  those  who  failed  to  distinguish  between 
the  prismatic  hues  of  putridity  and  the  brilliant  colours  ofi 
unfolding  life.  But  we  must  persevere.  And,  finally,  if  we] 
would  preach  Ugliness,  let  us  be  ugly.  In  our  characters,  he 
meant.  So  far  as  personal  appearance  went,  it  was  too  late  for 
some  of  us  to  succeed.  He  was  aware — painfully  aware — that 
he,  himself,  was  not  a  really  ugly  man.  (Cries  of  "Question  !  ")j 
No,  no,  that  was  sheer  flattery.  He  disliked  flattery — particu- 
larly on  this  point — and  he  begged  us,  if  we  wished  to  remain 
his  friends,  not  to  employ  it.  Some  people  had  told  him  that 
with  a  little  making-up  he  would  do  ;  but  it  had  always  seemed 
to  him  the  worst  of  affectations  for  a  man  to  use  artificial  means 
to  enhance  his  own  ugliness.  But  inward  ugliness  of  the  soul 
was  within  the  reach  of  all,  and  he  trusted  that  no  member  of 
this  Club,  at  all  events,  would  find  any  difficulty  in  attaining  it. 
The  Professor  sat  down  amid  a  tempest  of  applause. 

His  idea  had  quite  carried  us  away.  After  the  meeting  was 
over  and  I  was  about  to  depart,  I  heard  agonized  groans  from  the 
cloak-room.  Going  in,  I  discovered,  that  they  proceeded  from 
WIMPLETT,  the  best-looking  man  in  the  Club.  He  was  standing 
before  a  looking-glass,  with  the  marks  of  despair  printed  clearly 
enough  on  his  handsome  face.  Over  and  over  again,  he  mur- 
mured the  words,  "Too  late,  too  late!  "  It  was  apathetic 


APRIL  24,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


319 


scene — WIMPLETT'S  life  tragedy.    I  slipped  out  noiselessly  and 
went  home. 

V. 

THE  Chairman  had  impressed  upon  us  very  carefully,  that 
although  we  were  to  be  a  subtle,  insidious,  permeating 
influence,  entirely  devoid  of  vulgar  ostentation,  yet  we  were 
never  to  shrink,  if  the  occasion  demanded  it,  from  openly 
asserting  our  gospel  of  Ugliness.  Silent  action  was  a  noble 
thing,  but  much  might  also  be  done  by  the  spoken  word.  We 
were  somewhat  surprised,  when,  at  the  next  meeting  of  the 
Committee,  the  Chairman  turned  up  with  a  bandage  over  his 
right  eye.  "Gentlemen,"  he  began,  almost  as  soon  as  he 
entered  the  room,  "  I  am  now  in  a  position  to  confirm  what  I 
said  last  time  about  the  spoken  word.  Much  may  be  done  by 
it — much."  We  pressed  sympathetically  for  details,  and  after 
some  attempts  at  evasion,  the  Chairman  gave  them.  "  Gentle- 
men," he  said,  "there  is  a 
certain  bishop  of  my  acquaint- 
ance, whose  name  I  refrain 
from  mentioning  although  you 
can  probably  guess  it.  I  have 
known  him  for  years,  but  never 
until  lately  have  I  appreciated 
sufficiently  his  sesthetical  value. 
Gentlemen,  he  is  the  ugliest 
man  in  England,  perhaps  in 
Europe."  (We  knew  now  of 
whom  he  was  speaking,  and 
cast  meaning  glances  at  one 
another.)  "He  is  blessed  with 
a  wife  and  six  children,  all  of 
equal  personal  attractions,  and 
yet  he  has  never  appeared  a 
really  happy  man.  Now, 
thought  I,  if  only  he  were  to 
embrace  our  renaissance  doc- 
trines, what  a  difference  it 
would  make  to  him  !  Gentle- 
men, I  went  to  that  bishop :  I 
got  into  pleasant  conversation 
with  him :  I  led  the  talk  to- 
wards Art.  Gradually  I  began 
to  unfold  to  him  the  elements 


of  the  truth.  He  seemed  hardly 
to  comprehend,  so  I  stated  at 
some  length  and  with  much  lucidity  the  doctrine  of  Ugliness 
for  Ugliness'  sake.  Finally,  gentlemen,  carried  away  by  my 
theme,  I  burst  into  a  fervent  personal  appeal.  '  Embrace  our 
faith,'  I  said,  '  and  life  will  become  a  different  thing  to  you. 
Only  realise  the  sesthetical  supremacy  of  Ugliness,  and  every 
time  you  glance  at  these  noble  portraits  of  your  ancestors  you 
will  feel  a  thrill  of  the  purest  joy :  every  time  you  gaze  upon 
the  faces  of  your  little  ones  you  will  experience  an  artistic 
treat :  every  time  you  look  in  the  mirror  you  will  have  a  feast 
of  aesthetic  delight !  '  Could  I  have  put  it  more  clearly,  gentle- 
men ?  "  Certainly  he  could  not.  "  And  yet  the  bishop  did  not 
understand.  '  Young  man,'  he  said,  '  there  are  two  ways  out  of 
this  room  :  the  door  and  the  window.  I  recommend  the  door.' 
I  had  feared  already  that  the  sudden  access  of  light  was  merely 
dazzling  his  mental  vision.  Now  he  appeared  to  be  growing 
unintelligible,  so  I  felt  it  both  kinder  and  wiser  to  withdraw." 
Here  the  Chairman  abruptly  sat  down.  There  were  various 
cries  of  "What  about  that  bandage?"  "Did  the  bishop  do 
it  ?  "  "  Gentlemen,"  said  the  Chairman  without  rising,  "  I  had 
wished  to  draw  a  veil  over  the  bandage.  The  incidents  which 
gave  rise  to  it  were  not  to  the  credit  of  my  friend  the  bishop. 
If  you  must  know,  however,  there  was  a  slight  interlude 
between  my  determination  to  leave  the  bishop  and  my  actual 
accomplishment  of  that  purpose.  As  I  said  before,  much  may 
be  done  by  the  spoken  word.  But  let  me  advise  you,  gentle- 


THE    RECOVERED    GAINSBOROUGH. 


men,  to  find  out,  before  you  speak  it,  whether  the  other  man  is 
a  boxer." 

Before  the  meeting  closed,  MORIARTY  caused  some  sensation 
by  getting  up  to  propose  a  vote  of  thanks  to  the  bishop.  On 
his  reasons  being  demanded, 'he  said  that,  at  all  events,  the 
gentleman  in  question  had,  according  to  renaissance  principles, 
infinitely  improved  the  personal  appearance  of  our  Chairman. 
Considering  the  graceful  nature  of  the  compliment,  and  the  fact 
that  it  came  from  MORIARTY,  who  is  in  some  sense  a  rival  of  his, 
I  thought  the  Chairman  might  have  seemed  more  pleased. 

VI. 

"ALL  really  good  renaissances,"  said  MORIARTY — MORIARTY 
had  a  way  of  talking  about  renaissances  as  if  he  had  spent  his 
life  amongst  them :  sometimes  one  could  hardly  help  suspecting 
that  he  kept  half-a-dozen  or  so  in  his  back-yard — "all  really 

good  renaissances  have  a  lead- 
ing spirit.  How  about  ours  ?  " 
The  question  was  a  momentous 
one,  and  the  Club  went  into 
committee  about  it  at  once. 
After  some  preliminary  discus- 
sion it  was  decided  to  ballot 
for  the  leadership.  This,  in 
spite  of  violent  protest  from 
SMALLEY,  who  thought  that 
nothing  but  time  and  the  public 
verdict  could  possibly  decide 
such  a  question.  SMALLEY  knew 
that  he  wouldn't  have  a  chance 
in  the  ballot.  We  none  of  us 
liked  SMALLEY.  He  proved  so 
obstreperous  now  that  at  last 
the  Chairman  was  obliged  to 
ask  MORIARTY  to  sit  on  him, 
which  MORIARTY  did  effectu- 
ally. As  soon  as  the  muffled 
cries  had  ceased,  we  pro- 
ceeded to  ballot.  The  result 
was  unfortunately  indecisive. 
"Gentlemen,"  said  the  Chair- 
man, "  I  find  in  the  hat, 
twenty-three  slips  of  paper, 
bearing  twenty-three  different 
names — invaluable  as  a  collec- 
tion of  autographs,  but  as  a  poll— unsatisfactory.  Perhaps, 
before  balloting  again,  we  had  better  clear  the  ground  by  a 
little  discussion  on  general  lines."  So  we  discussed.  Professor 
SKILLIBEG,  M.A.Oxon.,  gave  it  as  his  view  that  the  ideal 
leader  should  be  an  experienced,  middle-aged  man,  who  com- 
bined philosophical  with  artistic  attainments,  and  could  further 
the  movement  in  one  of  our  great  educational  centres. 
WIMPLETT,  the  playwright,  held  that  for  bringing  ideas  before 
the  public  there  was  nothing  like  the  stage :  the  Twentieth 
Century  Renaissance  would  most  naturally  crystallise  round  a 
second  SHAKSPEARE.  And  so  on.  I,  myself,  thought  that,  con- 
sidering the  enormous  influence  of  the  daily  and  weekly  press, 
a  writer  of  short  articles  would  have  most  chance  of  reaching 
the  minds  of  the  people.  The  discussion  appeared  likely  to 
end  as  the  ballot  had  done,  when  MORIARTY,  without  removing 
his  fourteen-stone  avoirdupois  from  its  resting-place  above  the 
refractory  member,  spoke  winged  words.  "  It  strikes  me,"  he 
said,  "  that  we  are  altogether  on  the  wrong  tack.  We  should 
not  choose  one  of  ourselves,  or,  at  all  events,  not  one  now 
living.  It  would  give  much  more  freedom  to  the  public  imagi- 
nation if  we  were  to  set  up  as  our  idol  and  leader  some  rare 
genius  who  had  departed  this  world  with  his  life-work  unfinished, 
and  had  bequeathed  to  us  the  carrying  out  of  his  great  ideas." 
"Good  !  "  cried  several  members. 
"  Whom  do  you  propose  ?  "  cried  others. 


320 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[APRIL  24,  1901. 


There  was  silence  for  a  few  moments.     Then  said  WIMPLETT 
"  How  about  SMALLEY  ?  " 

MORIARTY  rose  to  his  feet  and  disclosed  SMALLEY  lying  very 
flat  and  still  in  the  bottom  of  the  arm-chair. 

"  He  died  young,"  said  MORIARTY,  regarding  the  body  with  a 
pensive  shake  of  the  head.  We  rose  involuntarily  from  our 
seats,  as  he  went  on  with  a  gentle  eloquence  inspired  by  the 
deep  emotion  of  the  moment.  "He  died  young;  in  his  prime, 
or  even  before  it ;  with  the  larger  part  of  his  unique  geniu 
still  undeveloped.  He  left  few  works,  and  those  few  are  ol 
value  rather  as  a  magnificent  promise  than  as  actual  achieve- 
ments. It  is  in  the  lives  and  works  of  his  small  but  admiring 
circle  of  friends  that  we  must  look  for  his  life  and  work.  IJ 
ever  he  was  ambitious  to  become  the  leader  of  the  New  Move- 
ment, that  ambition  is  richly  and  abundantly  realised.  Hi? 
bodily  presence  is  no  longer  with  us,  but  his  spirit  is  the  spirit 
of  the  Twentieth  Century." 

It  was  a  fine  tableau,  suggestive  of  ANTONY  and  JULIUS  C/ESAR. 
A  murmur  of  intense  emotion  ran  round  the  room.  And  then — 
nobody  can  quite  tell  how  it  happened — we  found  STARK,  the 
ejected  member  of  the  Club,  standing  in  our  midst.  He  had  a 
dangerous,  unpleasant  look.  We  were  so  much  disgusted  by 
his  intrusion,  that  nobody  stirred  or  spoke  ;  and  a  minute  later 
he  was  driving  off  with  the  body  of  our  Leader  in  a  hansom  cab. 

VII. 

AT  first  it  seemed  as  if,  for  once,  SMALLEY  had  done  a  really 
smart  thing.  His  decease  provided  our  movement  with  an 
ideal  Leading  Spirit.  It  is  always  an  advantage  to  have  your 
leading  spirit  (a)  young,  and  (b)  dead.  Then  he  will  never 
embarrass  you  by  doing  anything ;  he  will  never  lose  romance 
by  growing  fat ;  and  he  can  be  venerated  at  a  smaller  sacrifice 
of  self-respect,  the  halo  seeming  more  natural  when  the  top- 
hat  has  been  finally  discarded. 

In  SM  ALLEY'S  case  there  were  exceptional  advantages;  for 
tie  had  left  no  finished  works  to  speak  of,  so  that  we  could 
safely  attribute  to  him  any  ideas  that  came  into  our  heads, 
iust  as  PLATO  did  with  poor  old  SOCRATES  after  the  hemlock 
pisode.  (And  one  would  like  to  be  assured,  by  the  bye,  that 
?LATO  himself  didn't  have  a  hand  in  the  brewing  of  that 
lemlock !) 

But,  alas!  that  we  should   ever  have  trusted  such  a'man. 

le  and  STARK  between  them  broke  up  the  Club.     McCASKlLL's 

nemoir  of  SMALLEY  had  just  been  published  and  had  created 

an  enormous  sensation,  and  we  were  holding  a  most  successful 

banquet,  at  which  all  the  men  of  light  and  leading  in  art  and 

itcrature  were  present,  when  the  dastardly  blow  was  dealt. 

MORIARTY   was   on  his  feet,  holding  the  well-dined  company 

ntranced  with  an  exposition  of  our  Leader's  ideas  on  art. 

"  We  feebly  endeavour,"  he  said,  "  to  follow  in  his  footsteps. 
Would  that  he  himself  were  here  to  guide  us  !  "  And  then 
he  door  opened,  and  in  walked  STARK  and  SMALLEY,  arm-in- 
arm !  I  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  the  sensation.  It  was 
lorrible.  SMALLEY  took  a  horrid  big  pipe  out  of  his  mouth, 
aodded  and  grinned  diabolically. 

"  Glad  to  see  you  fellers  again,"  he  said.  "I  see  by  your 
jright  faces  how  you  've  been  sorrowing  for  me.  Daresay  you 
didn't  know  that  I  suffer  from  trances ;  have  done  ever  since  I 
was  a  boy.  But  I  'm  all  right  again,  now.  Come  !  this  is  jolly." 
We  had  always  known  that  SMALLEY  was  not  a  gentleman ; 
bat  no  one  had  ever  suspected  him  of  possessing  such  a  shifty, 
uncertain  character.  We  sat  and  stared  in  silence  whilst  he 
helped  himself  to  port.  Our  guests  showe'd  their  delicacy  by 
dropping  quietly  out  of  the  room  one  by  one.  .When  they  were 
all  gone,  STARK,  who  had  been  grinning  from  behind 
MCCASKILL'S  chair,  turned  to  SMALLEY. 

"  Come,  old  man.  We  must  be  going."  As  they  rt&ched  the 
door,  he  looked  over  his  shoulder.  "  I  knew  you  'd  all  be 
pleasantly  surprised.  Such  a  relief  to  MORIARTY  in  particular  ! 
But  I  'm  sorry  the  Club  's  closing." 


The  next  morning  I  received  an  urgent  call  to  the  United 
States.  On  my  way  to  the  station,  I  passed  the  Club.  The 
shutters  were  up,  and  there  was  a  piece  of  paper  fastened  by 
four  drawing-pins  on  the  door  just  below  the  knocker.  ] 
mounted  the  steps  to  examine  it.  Upon  it  was  printed,  in  bold 
characters,  the  announcement : — 

"THERE  WILL  BE  NO  RENAISSANCE   NEXT  CENTURY. 

By  order,  J.  SMALLEY." 

But  BRODIE  still  keeps  the  accounts.  He  keeps  them  so  well 
that  nobody  knows  where  they  are  ;  nor  where  he  is. 


RAMSGATE  AND   TRAMGATE. 

SIR, — Your  own  Holiday  Tour  Commissioner  has  returned 
from  his  Kent  Coast  mission,  and  in  a  general  way  reports  "  All 's 
well."  He  wishes  to  remark  on  a  paragraph  that  recently 
appeared  in  your  paper,  under  date  April  10,  as  to  a  certain 
"  Tramgirt  Island."  Sir,  that  island— if  that  island  be,  as 
your  Commissioner  takes  it  to  be,  the  Isle  of  Thanet,  then 
permit  him  to  inform  you  that  at  present  it  is  not  tram-girt, 
and  very  far  from  being  so.  But  that  they  are  on  the  Trampage 
between  Margate  or  Cargate,  Ramsgate  or  Tramgate,  and 
SAvitchington  or  Birchington,  "there  ain't,"  as  our  dear  old 
Mrs.  GAMP  would  have  said,  "  no  deniging  of  it,  BETSY  !  " 

But  in  spite  of  bad  tobacco  and  all  the  savoury  scents  and 
smells  that  accompany  the  partially  washed  to  their  favourite 
holiday  resorts  at  certain  brief  seasons  of  the  year,  the  splendid 
air  of  Thanet,  north  and  south,  remains  the  same  salubrious 
health-giving,  refreshing,  invigorating  tonic  that  has  always 
been  its  peculiar  characteristic.  'Arries  and  'Arriets,  et  hoc 
genus  omne,  may  patronise  these  trams,  if  they  find  it  is 
advantageous  to  them  so  to  do,  in  passing  from  Cargate  to 
Tramgate,  and  vice  versa,  and  so  it  may  eventuate  that  the 
cars,  the  four-in-hands,  the  vans,  waggonettes,  and  other 
vehicles  that  "kick  up  a  dust"  and  ply  for  hire,  "  wet  or 
hine,"  may  suffer,  but  not  the  line,  neither  the.L.  C.  &  D.  nor 
the  S.  E.  R.,  doing  the  same  distance  in  about  a  fourth  of  the 
time,  and,  as  your  Commissioner  believes,  charging  rather  less, 
or,  at  all  events,  not  more  than  the  rushing,  crawling,  curving, 
slowing,  speeding,  stopping,  ascending,  descending  tram. 
"  There  's  air !  "  is  the  cry  at  Ramsgate,  ev.en  though  the  place 
be  temporarily  converted  into  "  Tramgate,"  and  it  is  not  to  be 
dispelled  by  this  Yellow  Monster  (for  such  is  the  nice  restful 
colour  of  these  tramcars,  whose  shape  is  certainly  ungainly)  that 
s  not  yet  under  perfect  control,  and  not  inclined  to  invariably 
obey  the  guidance  of  the  conductor,  conduct  he  never  so  wisely. 
There  are  more  St.  Georges  than  one  in  Thanet,  land  possessors, 
who  oppose  the  advance  of  the  Tram  Dragon  (quite  a  Snap- 
dragon in  the  way  of  collaring  and  swallowing  up  the  land  left 
and  right),  and  who,  champions  of  right  against  might,  are 
egarded  by  some  of  the  very  advanced  school  much  as  the 
civilised  westerns  were  wont  to  look  upon  the  Celestials  who 
opposed  the  incursion  of  the  Locomotive  into  the  Lotus-Land 
of  the  Yellow  Peril  and  China-Blue  Puzzle. 

The  railways  at  all  events  may  safely  sing  "  We  fear  no  foe," 
and  those  who  love  the  Island  of  Rest  (with  exceptions  of  Bank 
Holiday  unrest),  may  safely  seek  their  old  sea-side  resorts 
jw-tram-melled,  and  sing,  not  only  "Begone,  dull  care,"  but 
also,  to  the  same  old  tune, 

"  Begone,  bright  car ; 

I  prithee  begone  without  me  .' 
From  Ramsgate  to  Mar — 

gate  travel  by  L.C.  &  D  !  " 
and  so  forth,  ad  lib.,  each  to  his  own  particular  fancy,  and  the 
same  grand  Kent  Coast  Air  for  all  singers,  says 

YOUR  OWN  HOLIDAY  COMMISSIONER. 


EVIDENTLY  BY  AN  OLD  WHIST-PLAYER  WHO  "HATES  YOUR  NEW 
PANGLE'D  GAMES." — The  modern  "  Pons  Asinorum  " — Bridge. 


MAY  1,   1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


321 


REGULATIONS   FOR  A  PUBLIC 
GALLERY. 

(Suggested  by  those  of  a  certain  admirable 
Collection  in  London.) 

Monday. — Open  free  from  2  p.m.  to 
5.6  p.m.  in  March,  April,  September,  and 
October,  from  1.59 
p.m.  to  6.7  p.m.  in 
May,  June,  July 
and  August,  and 
from  2.1  p.m.  to 
4.5  p.m.  in  the 
remaining  months, 
except  on  the  fifth 
Monday  in  Febru- 
ary, and  on  April  1, 
if  that  day  is  a 
Monday,  when  it 
is  open  from  5,  6, 
7,  or  8  a.m.  to 
9  a.m.,  according 
to  the  phase  of  the 
moon  at  the  time. 

Tuesday.  —  Open 
all  the  year  round 
at  11.2  a.m.,  ex- 
cept the  first, 
second,  third  and 
fourth  Tuesdays  of 
the  month,  and 
closed  at  1,  2,  8, 
4,  5  or  6  p.m.  ac- 
cording to  the 
season,  except 
when  the  August 
Bank  Holiday  falls 
on  a  Tuesday. 

Wednesday  and 
Thursday.  —  Open 
free  from  10.2  a.m. 
to  dusk,  except 
when  closed,  or  in 
t°£gy  weather 
from  dusk  to  10.1 
a.m.  For  Ash 
Wednesday  and 
Maundy  Thursday, 
see  special  notices 
published  on  the 
previous  day  in 
the  Orkneys  and 
Shetlands  Gazette 
and  in  the  Scilly 
News. 

Friday.  —  Open 
as  on  Tuesday,  ex- 
cept when  as  on 
Wednesday.  But 


during  that  month,  except    those    leap-  |  be  allowed  to  pay  more  than  the  official 


years  when  there  is  a  Transit  of  Venus, 
provided  that  the  gallery  is  not  closed  for 
repairs.  At  other  times,  the  gallery  is 


charge  on  the  ground  of  not  having  the 
exact  sum.  No  person  shall  be  allowed  to 
pay  for  any  other  person  or  persons 


open    from  10.1    to    11.2    in    June.      On  I  besides  himself  so  as  to  obtain  admission 


April   1,  if  a  Saturday,  it  is  open  from 
1.0    a.m.    to    7.0    a.m.      If   Easter    Day 


without  obtaining  change.  Any  person 
beside  himself,  on  account  of  this  regula- 
tion, will  be  ex- 


Nervous  Party.  "THE  TRAIN  SEEMS  TO  BE  TRAVELLING  AT  A  FEARFUL  PACE,  MA'AM." 
Elderly  Female.  "Yus,   AIN'T   IT?    MY  BILL'S  A-DRIVIN'   OF  THE   INRIN,  AN'  'E  CAN 

MAKE  'BE  GO  WHEN   'E'S  GOT  A  DROP  O*  DRINK  IN   'iM  !  " 


if  the  1st  of  April  is  a  Friday  then  as  on 
the  fifth  Monday  in  February.  In  other 
cases,  closed  at  noon.  For  Good  Friday,  see 
special  notices  published  during  the  fol- 
lowing month  in  the  Wagga-wagga  Herald. 
Saturday. — Open  free  from  9.59  a.m.  to 
1,  2,  3,  4,  5  or  6  p.m.  Except  in  January, 
February,  March,  April,  May,  July, 
August,  September,  October,  November 
and  December,  and  also  in  June  in  leap 
year,  unless  there  is  an  Eclipse  of  the  Sun 


falls  on  a  Saturday  the  gallery  is 
closed. 

Sunday. — Open  free  from  2  p.m.  to  3.30, 
4.40,  5.50  or  6  p.m.  according  to  the  season 
of  the  year,  except  during  the  spring, 
summer  and  autumn  months.  Closed  in 
winter,  except  on  the  twenty-sixth  Sunday 
after  Trinity. 

Charges  for  Admission. — On  Tuesdays 
and  Fridays,  sixpence.  No  change  given 
for  any  reason  whatever.  No  person  shall 


ONE  OF  THE 
NEW  SCHOOL. 
DEAR  MR.  PUNCH, 
— I  see  from  some 
of  the  papers  that 
all  the  London 
Schools  are  falling 
off,  and  one  of  the 
head  -  masters  de- 
clares it 's  because 
there  is  too  much 
Greek  and  too  little 
country  air.  I 
think  that 's  rather 
rot,  myself.  Sure 
enough  about  the 
Greek,  but  then  a 
chap  needn't  learn 
it  unless  he  likes. 
In  fact,  a  chap 
needn't  learn  any- 
thing unless  it 
pleases  him.  I 
never  do. 

And  as  to  the 
country  air! 
That  's  precious 
rot,  too.  Surely 
you  get  plenty  of 
sunshine  at  Ham- 
mersmith and  Cat- 
ford,  and  even  at 
Westminster.  Vin- 
cent Square,  now 
that  the  slums 
have  been  cleared 
away  to  make  room 
for  the  coming 
Cathedral  is  open 
enough  for  any- 
body. It  's  first- 
rate  for  footer, 
and  splendid  for 
cricket.  Then  why 
write  rot  about 
London  Schools 
falling  off  on  ac- 
count of  compul- 
sory Greek  and  prohibited  country  air  ? 

Strikes  me,  if  they  are  falling  off,  it 's  on 
account  of  the  parents  not  being  able  to 
stump  up.  I  know  my  father  has  been 
hit  by  the  extra  income  tax.  So,  coming 
to  this  conclusion,  it  strikes  me  it 's  the 
duty  of  every  fellow  who  thinks  he  knows 
enough — and  who  doesn't? — to  take  the 
matter  in  his  own  hands  and  bolt. 

Yours  filially  and  patriotically, 
JONES  MINOR. 


pelled 
police. 


by     the 
H.  D.  B. 


VOL.   CXX. 


322 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[MAY  1,  1901. 


DRAMATIC   SEQUELS. 

X.— THE  THIRD  MRS.  TANQUERAY. 

SCENE  —  The  Dining  -  room  of  AUBREY 
TANQUERAY'S  country  house,  Higher- 
combe,  in  Surrey.  A  lean  butler  is 
standing  at  the  sideboard.  AUBREY 
and  CAYLEY  DRUMMLE  enter  and  go  up 
to  warm  themselves  at  the  fire,  which 
burns  feebly.  The  time  is  an  evening 
in  March,  five  years  after  the  events  of 
Mr.  PINERO'S  play,  and  CAYLEY  looks 
quite  five  years  stouter.  AUBREY  does 
not. 

Cayley.  IT  's   quite  shocking,   AUBREY, 
that  you  should  have  been  married  nearly 
a  year,  and  that  I  should  not  yet  have  had 
the  pleasure  of  making  Mrs.  TANQUERAY'S 
acquaintance.     T  am  dying  to  know  her. 
Aubrey.  My  fault,  my  dear  CAYLEY. 
Cayley.  Entirely.     Your  weddings  are 
always  so  furtive. 

[Pokes  the  fire  resolutely,  in  the  hope  of 
producing  something  approaching 
a  cheerful  blaze. 

Aubrey.  "Well,  you  '11  see  her  to-night. 
I  hoped  she  would  be  able  to  dine  at  home, 
but  she  had  promised  to  address  a  Tem- 
perance meeting  in  the  village.  (CAYLEY 
looks  dubious.)  However,  she  '11  be  back 
at  ten.  Meanwhile,  you  '11  have  to  be 
contented  with  a  bachelor  dinner. 

[They  go  to  the  table  and  sit  down. 
Cayley  (unfolding  serviette).  Experience 
has  taught  me,  my  dear  AUBREY,  that 
bachelor  dinners  are  apt  to  be  particularly 
well  worth  eating.  No  doubt  it  is  to 
make  up  for  the  absence  of  more  charming 
society. 

Aubrey  (doubtfully).  I  hope  it  will  prove 
so  in  this  case. 

Cayley.  I  feel  sure  of  it.  I  remember 
your  cook  of  old. 

Aubrey.  I  'm  afraid  it  won't  be  that  cook. 
Cayley  (in  horror).  You  haven't  parted 
with  him  ? 

Aubrey.  Yes.  He  left  soon  after  my 
marriage.  There  was  some  small  error  in 
his  accounts,  which  Mrs.  TANQUERAY 
discovered.  So,  of  course,  we  had  to 
dismiss  him. 

Cayley  (eagerly).  Do  you  happen  to  have 
his  address  ? 

Aubrey.  I  dare  say  Mrs.  TANQUERAY  has, 
if  you  wish  to  know  it. 

[Footman  liands  soup. 
Cayley.  I  shall  be  eternally  indebted  to 
her. 

Aubrey.  Why? 

Caijley.  I  shall  engage  him  &fc  once. 
(Begins  to  eat  his  soup,  frowns,  antj  then 
puts  down  his  spoon)  But  I  'm  afraid  you  '11 
want  him  back  yourself. 

Aubrey.  No.  My  wife  is  most  particular 
about  the  character  of  her  servants. 

Cayley.  Ah  !  I  'm  more  particular  about 
the  character  of  my  soup. 

[His  hand  goes  out  instinctively  towards 
his  sherry-glass.  As  he  is  about  to 


raise  it  he  sees  that  it  is  empty,  and 
refrains. 

Aubrey.  CAYLEY,  you  ought  to  marry. 
Then  you  'd  realise  that  there  are  more 
important  things  in  the  world  than  soup. 

Cayley.  Of  course  there  are,  my  dear 
fellow.    There  's  the  fish  and  the  joint. 
[Fish  of  an  unattractive  kind  is  handed 
to  him.    He  takes  some. 

Aubrey.  Sybarite ! 

[CAYLEY  looks  at  his   fish  dubiously. 
Then  leaves  it  untasted. 

Cayley.  You  are  quite  wrong.  A  simple 
cut  of  beef  or  mutton,  well-cooked,  is 
quite  enough  for  me. 

Butler  (to  CAYLEY).  Lemonade,  Sir  ? 

Cayley.  Eh,  what?    No  thank  you. 

Aubrey.  Ah,  CAYLEY.  What  will  you 
drink?  (CAYLEY'S  face  brightens  visibly.) 
I  'm  afraid  I  can't  offer  you  any  wine. 
(It  falls  again.)  My  wife  never  allows  al- 
cohol at  her  table.  But  there  are  various 
sorts  of  mineral  waters.  You  don't  mind? 

Cayley  (grimly.)  Not  at  all,  my  dear 
fellow,  not  at  all.  Which  brand  of 
mineral  water  do  you  consider  most — 
ah — stimulating  ? 

Aubrey  (laughing mirthlessly).  I  'm  afraid, 
CAYLEY,  you  're  not  a  convert  to  Tem- 
perance principles  yet.  That  shows  you 
have  never  heard  my  wife  speak. 

Cayley  (emphatically).  Never  !  Tem- 
perance meetings  are  not  in  my  line. 

[Footman  removes  his  plate. 

Aubrey.  Perhaps  some  of  the  other 
movements  in  which  she  is  interested 
would  appeal  to  you  more.  (With  a  touch 
of  nappy  pride)  As  you  may  know,  my 
wife  is  a  vice-president  of  the  Anti- 
Vaccination  Society,  and  of  the  Woman's 
Home  Rule  Union.  Indeed,  she  is  in 
great  request  on  all  public  platforms. 

Cayley  (with  simulated  enthusiasm).  I 
feel  sure  of  that,  my  dear  AUBREY.  (Foot- 
man liands  CAYLEY  so?ne  rice -pudding. 
CAYLEY  puts  up  his  eye-glass,  and  eyes  it 
curiously.)  What  is  this  ? 

Footman.  Rice-pudding,  Sir. 

[CAYLEY  drops  spoon  hastily. 

Aubrey  (politely).  You  're  eating  no- 
thing, CAYLEY. 

Cayley  (ivith  some  '  concern).  AUBREY, 
have  I  slept  through  the  joint?  I  have 
no  recollection  of  eating  it.  If,  in  a 
moment  of  abstraction,  I  refused  it,  may 
I  change  my  mind  ? 

Aubrey  (sternly).  My  wife  never  has 
meat  at  her  table  on  Fridays. 

Cayley  (peevishly).  My  dear  fellow,  I 
wish  you  'd  thought  of  mentioning  it 
before  I  came  down.  Then  I  might  have 
had  a  more  substantial  luncheon.  Where 's 
that  rice-pudding? 

[Helps  himself.     There  is  a  rather  con- 
strained silence. 

Aubrey.  It 's  really  very  good  of  you 
to  have  come  down  to  see  us,  CAYLEY. 

Cayley  (pulling  himself  together).  Very 

good  of  you  to  say  so,   my  dear  chap. 

[Tocfcles  his  rice-pudding  manfully. 


Aubrey.  My  wife  and  I  can  so  seldom 
get  any  man  to  drop  in  to  dinner  nowa- 
days. 

Cayley  (giving  up  his  struggle  with  rice- 
pudding  in  despair).  I  suppose  so. 

Aubrey.  In  fact,  we  see  very  little 
society  now. 

Cayley  (sententiously).  Society  only 
likes  people  who  feed  it,  my  dear  Au- 
BREY.  You  ought  to  have  kept  that 
cook. 

Aubrey  (meditatively).  So  my  daughter 
said. 

Cayley.  ELLEAN  ?    Is  she  with  you  now  ? 

Aubrey.  No.  She  is  in  Ireland.  After 
making  that  remark  she  went  back  to 
her  convent. 

Cayley  (heartily).  Sensible  girl !  I  like 
ELLEAN. 

Aubrey.  She  and  my  wife  did  not  get 
on,  somehow.  It  was  very  unfortunate, 
as  it  was  mainly  on  ELLEAN'S  account 
that  I  thought  it  right  to  marry  again. 

Cayley  (with  polite  incredulity).  Indeed? 

Aubrey.  Yes.  You  see,  it  is  so  difficult 
for  a  girl  of  ELLEAN'S  retiring  disposition 
to  meet  people  and  make  friends  when 
she  has  no  mother  to  chaperon  her.  And 
if  she  meets  no  one,  how  is  she  to  get 
married  ?  Dessert,  CAYLEY  ? 

Cayley  (after  surveying  a  rather  unattrac- 
tive assortment  of  apples  and  tvalnuts). 
No,  thanks.  As  you  were  saying ? 

Aubrey.  So  I  thought  if  I  could  meet 
with  a  really  suitable  person,  someone 
with  whom  she  would  be  in  sympathy, 
someone  she  would,  look  upon  as  a  sort 
of  second  mother 

Cayley  (correcting  him).  Third,  AUBREY. 

Aubrey   (ignoring   the  interruption) 

it  would  make  home  more  comfortable  for 
her. 

Cayley  (laughing).  I  like  your  idea  of 
comfort,  AUBREY  !  But  I  should  have 
thought  you  could  have'adopted  some  less 
extreme  measure  for  providing  ELLEAN 
with  a  chaperon  ?  You  have  neighbours. 
Mrs.  CORTELYON,  for  instance  ? 

Aubrey  (stiffly).  Mrs.  CORTELYON'S 
chaperonage  was  not  very  successful  on 
the  last  occasion. 

Cayley.  No,  no ;  to  be  sure.  Young 
ARDALE.  I  was  forgetting. 

Aubrey.  Unhappily  the  whole  scheme 
was  a  failure.  ELLEAN  conceived  a  violent 
aversion  for  Mrs.  TANQUERAY  almost 
directly  we  came  home,  and  a  week  later 
— I  remember  it  was  directly  after  dinner 
— she  announced  her  intention  of  leaving 
the  house  for  ever. 

Cayley   (the  thought  of  his  dinner  still 
rankling).    Poor    girl !     No    doubt    she 's 
happier  in  her  convent. 
Butler  enters  unth  coffee.    CAYLEY  takes 
some. 

Aubrey.  I  am  sorry  I  can't  ask  you  to 
smoke,  CAYLEY,  but  my  wife  has  a  par- 
ticular objection  to  tobacco.  She  is  a 
member  of  the  Anti-tobacco  League,  and 
often  speaks  at  its  meetings. 


MAY  1,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


323 


"WELCOME,    LITTLE    STRANGERS!" 

(Delight  of  Father  Thames  on  seeing  how  :'the  Samlets  arrived,  having  sustained  the  trying  journey  from  Uxbridge  without 

showing  any  signs  of  fatigue," — "  Times, "  April  24.) 


MAY  1,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


325 


Cayley  (annoyed).  Really,  my  dear  fel- 
low, if  I  may  neither  eat,  drink  nor 
smoke,  I  don't  quite  see  -why  you  asked 
me  down. 

Aubrey  (penitently).  I  suppose  I  ought 
to  have  thought  of  that.  The  fact  is,  I 
have  got  so  used  to  these  little  depriva- 
tions that  now  I  hardly  notice  them.  Of 
course,  it 's  different  with  you. 

Cayley  (crossly).  I  should  think  it  was. 

Aubrey  (relenting).  If  you  very  much 
want  to  smoke,  I  dare  say  it  might  be 
managed.  If  we  have  this  window  wide 
open,  and  you  sit  by  it,  a  cigarette  might 
not  be  noticed. 

Cayley    (shortly).  Thanks. 
[Takes  out  cigarette,  and  lights  it,  as 
soon   as   AUBREY   lias    made    the 
elaborate  arrangemen ts  indicated 
above. 

Aubrey  (politely).  I  hope  you  won't  find 
it  cold. 

Cayley  (grimly).  England  in  March  is 
always  cold  (Sneezes  violently.)  But,  per- 
haps, if  you  ring  for  my  overcoat  I  may 
manage  to  survive  the  evening. 

Aubrey.  Certainly.    "What  is  it  like  ? 

Cayley.  I  've  no  idea.  It 's  an  ordinary 
sort  of  coat.  Your  man  will  know  it  if 
you  ring  for  him. 

Aubrey  (hesitating).  I  'd  rather  fetch  it 
for  you  myself,  if  you  don't  mind.  I 
should  not  like  PARKES  to  see  that  you 
were  smoking.  It  would  set  such  a  bad 
example. 

Cayley  (throwing  his  cigarette  on  to  the 
lawn  in  a  rage,  and  closing  the  window 
with  a  shiver).  Don't  trouble.  I  '11  smoke 
in  the  train.  By-the-way,  what  time  is 
my  train  ? 

Aubrey.  Your  train  ? 

Cayley.  Yes.  I  must  get  back  to  town, 
my  dear  fellow. 

Aubrey.  Nonsense  !  You  said  you  'd  stay 
a  week. 

Cayley.  Did  I  ?  Then  I  didn't  know  what 
I  was  saying.  I  must  get  back  to-night. 

Aubrey.  But  you  brought  a  bag. 

Cayley.  Only  to  dress,  AUBREY.  By  the 
way,  will  you  tell  your  man  to  pack  it  ? 

Aubrey.  You  can't  go  to-night.  The 
last  train  leaves  at  9.30.  It 's  9.15  now. 

Cayley  (jumping  up).  Then  I  must  start 
at  once.  Send  my  bag  after  me. 

Aubrey.  You  've  not  a  chance  of  catch- 
ing it. 

Cayley  (solemnly).  My  dear  old  friend,  I 
shall  return  to  town  to-night  if  I  have  to 
walk ! 

Aubrey  (detaining  him).  But  my  wife? 
You  haven't  even  made  her  acquaintance 
yet.  She  '11  think  it  so  strange. 

Cayley.  Not  half  so  strange  as  I  have 
thought  her  dinner.  (Sliaking  himself  free) 
No,  AUBREY,  this  is  really  good-bye.  I 
like  you  very  much,  and  it  cuts  me  to  the 
heart  to  have  to  drop  your  acquaintance  ; 
but  nothing  in  the  world  would  induce  me 
to  face  another  dinner  such  as  I  have  had 
to-night ! 


Lady  (referring  to  Programme,  to  Friend).  "'SCHUMANN,  OP.  2.'  WHAT  's  THE  MEANING 
OF  'Op.  2  '  ?  " 

'Arry  (who  thinks  he  is  being  addressed,  and  always  ready  to  oblige  with  information).  "  OH, 
OP.  2.  SECOND  DANCE  ;  SECOND  'OP,  YER  KNOW.  MAY  I  'AVE  THE  PLEASURE  ? " 


Aubrey.  CAYLEY  ! 

Cayley  (making  for  the  door).  And  nothing 
in  the  world  would  induce  me  to  be  intro- 
duced   to   the    third    Mrs.    TANQUERAY. 
[Exit  hurriedly. 
(Curtain.) 


SUGGESTIONS  TO  SHORTEN  CRICKET 
MATCHES. 

(By  one  who  admires  sport  but  loves 
luncheon.) 

1.  LET  the  batsmen  go  in  fetters,  and 
extend  the  distance  between  the  wickets 
to  a  quarter  of  a  mile. 

2.  Have  two  bowlers  at  each  end,  and 
allow  them  to  bowl  simultaneously. 

3.  Increase  the    field  of    the    outs    to 


twenty-two,  and  allow  only  six  of  the  ins 
to  go  in,  chosen  by  lot — not  by  ballot. 

4.  Have  six  stumps  at  each  end,  double 
the  height  of  those   in   present   use  and 
four  inches  from  each  other,  so  as  to  ex- 
tend the  area  of  the  wicket. 

5.  Let  the  bat  be  abolished  in  favour  of 
the  broom-stick. 

6.  Instruct    umpires    to     treat    every 
application  in  the  most  favourable  sense 
to  the  outs. 

7.  Let  overs  become  less  numerous  by 
permitting  their  length  to  be  limited  by 
the  bowlers. 

8.  On   reaching  twenty   runs,   let   the 
innings  of  a  batsman,  be  closed. 

9.  Abolish  "  no  balls  "  and  let  the  match 
come  to  an  end  when  declared  by  a  tenth 
of  the  spectators  as  "tedious." 


326 


PjQNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[MAY  1,  1901. 


THE  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

A  GREAT  THOUGHT  FOR  EVERY  DAY  IN  THE  YEAR. 

SECOND  SERIES. 
IV.— THE   "BRIDGE"   SECTION. 

(Continued  from  April.) 

16TH. — In  my  treatise  on  Whist  I  have  devoted  a  chapter  to 
"The  Conversation  of  the  Game,"  showing  that  information 
may  be  conveyed  to  your  partner  (if  he  happens  to  be  paying 
attention)  and  at  the  same  time  to  your  opponents  (invariably 
on  the  alert),  without  employment  of  the  living  voice,  or  pressure 
of  feet  beneath  the  table  (the  latter  a  device  never  resorted  to 
except  in  the  family  circle  or  where  the  game  is  played  for 
Love  and  Love  only).  But  it  will  be  obvious  that  in  Bridge, 
where  open  conversation  is  encouraged  within  certain  limits, 
the  opportunities  for  conveying  information  will  be  less 
restricted.  To  a  recognition  of  this  fact  we  may  trace  what 
are  known  as  the  Conventions  of  Bridge. 

17TH. — Success  in  Bridge,  as  in  morality,  depends  upon  a 
right  appreciation  of  the  Conventions. 

18TH. — The  Conventions  of  Bridge  (not  to  be  confused  with  the 
Council  of  Trent,  and  still  less  with  that  of  Trente-et-un)  are 
in  the  fluid  stage  which  precedes  crystallisation.  Pending 
the  establishment  of  a  Great  Bridge  Trust  (one  of  the  humane 
objects  of  the  recent  PAUNCEFOTE-HAY  negotiations,  which  aim 
at  a  better  understanding  between  the  two  great  branches  of 
the  Anglo-Saxon  family),  it  is  found  convenient,  when  strangers 
are  present,  to  make  a  preliminary  comparison  of  Principles 
with  a  view  to  mutual  adjustment.  In  Bridge,  as  in  morality 
once  more,  it  is  the  universal  view  that  a  person  who  differs 
from  you  in  Principles  might  as  well  be  without  them  altogether. 

19TH. — It  is  my  desire  in  this  monograph  to  extend  the  scope 
and  utility  of  Conventions.  Thus,  there  is  a  Convention  by 
which,  when  your  adversaries  have  declared  No  Trumps  (the 
lead  being  with  'your  partner),  and  you  announce  your  inten- 
tion of  doubling  the  stakes,  your  partner  is  to  understand 
that  you  desire  Hearts  to  be  led  to  you.  Now  it  may  very 
well  happen  that  you  wish  to  double  on  the  strength  of  a 
hand  to  which  Hearts  contribute  no  portion  of  its  vitality. 
You  hold,  let  us  say,  a  top  sequence  of  ten  Clubs,  with  the 
four  of  Spades,  the  three  of  Diamonds,  and  the  deuce  of  Hearts, 
all  single.  Let  us  suppose  for  the  sake  of  argument  that  eleven 
of  the  remaining  Hearts,  including  all  the  court  cards  of  that 
suit,  lie  between  your  adversaries.  It  is  natural  and  right  for 
you  to  wish  to  double  with  ten  Club  tricks  in  your  hand ;  it 
is  equally  natural  and  right  that  you  should  shrink  from  having 
Hearts  led  to  you.  Plainly,  the  accepted  Convention  would 
here  be  misleading,  and  might  in  the  result  go  far  to  impair 
the  harmonious  relations,  if  any,  existing  between  yourself  and 
your  partner. 

Yet,  if  Conventions  are  good,  the  more  you  have  of  them  the 
better  ;  for  by  a  wise  enlargement  of  the  field  of  information 
you  come  within  measurable  distance  of  the  highest  ideal, 
namely,  the  treble  dummy  game,  where  there  is  no  human  possi- 
bility of  concealment  or  evasion. 

21ST. — The  following  No-Trump  Conventions,  approved  by 
the  Majority  report  of  the  Royal  Commission  on'  Bridge  (not 
least  among  the  splendid  achievements  of  the  present  Parlia- 
ment), are  already  gaining  acceptance  in  Turf  circles  •  — 

"  I  double  "  ;  lead  Hearts. 

"  I  propose  to  double  "  ;  lead  Diamonds. 

"  I  duplicate  "  ;  lead  Clubs. 

"  I  propose  to  duplicate  "  ;  lead  Spades. 

22ND. — Much,  again,  may  be  done  by  modulation  of  the  voice, 
if  you  possess  an  elastic  organ.  Thus,  when  your  dexter  adver- 
sary has  dealt,  and  it  is  incumbent  on  you  either  to  double  or 
to  ask,  "  May  I  play  ?  " — if  your  hand  is  not  quite  good  enough 
to  justify  your  doubling,  but  you  would  be  gratified  to  see  that 
course  adopted  by  your  partner,  a  tone  of  enterprise  should  be 


nfused  into  the  phrase,  implying  that  you  would  welcome  a 
divergence  from  ordinary  routine.  On  the  other  hand,  a 
merely  formal  recital  of  the  question,  made  as  if  only  one  answer 
were  possible,  implies  that  the  extreme  weakness  of  your  own 
land  compels  you  to  discourage  unnec  afsary  speculation. 

23RD. — The  obvious  device  of  hesi'^tlon  suggests  that  you 
have  strength,  though  not  excessive,  in  your  adversary's  trumps, 
and  are  practically  calling  for  them  to  be  led  through  to  you  ; 
while  the  simple  addition  of  the  word  partner — "  May  I  play, 
partner  ?"  might  convey,  in  the  case  of  a  red  trump  being  de- 
lared,  that  you  are  strong  in  the  other  red  suit. 

24TH. — Again,  the  bald  statement,  "  I  leave  it  to  you," 
admits  of  picturesque  colouring.  If  you  make  this  announce- 
ment with  a  rapidity  too  great  to  admit  of  your  having  sorted 
your  hand,  your  partner  should  understand  that  you  hold  a 
carte  blanche  without  aces.  Unless,  therefore,  he  has  six 
certain  tricks  and  a  possible  seventh  in  his  own  hand  he  will 
be  well  advised  to  declare  Spades,  and  minimise  your  losses. 
If,  however,  you  leave  it  to  him  reluctantly  after  a  protracted 
pause,  he  should  gather  that  you  were  within  an  ace  (probably  a 
red  ace)  of  going  No  Trumps. 

25TH. — Variations  in  the  title  by  which  you  address  your 
partner  may  throw  further  light  on  the  features  of  your  hand. 
A  few  rules  are  here  thrown  out  tentatively,  but  they  may 
easily  be  revised  and  supplemented.  Thus: — "I  leave  it  to 
you,  Sir  (or  Madam),"  might  imply  that  you  hold  four  Hearts, 
with  two  honours. 

"  I  leave  it  to  you,  JONES  (or  Miss  SMITH),"  might  imply  that 
you  hold  four  Diamonds  with  two  honours. 

"  I  leave  it  to  you"  (here  adding  your  partner's  Christian 
name  when  you  are  on  terms  of  familiarity)  might  imply  that 
you  hold  five  small  Hearts. 

"  I  leave  it  to  you"  (here  adding  your  partner's  Christian 
name  without  the  justification  of  previous  intimacy)  might 
imply  that  you  hold  five  small  Diamonds.  And  so  on. 

26TH. — Winking  and  other  facial  contortions  are  rightly 
viewed  with  disapprobation  among  the  elite  ;  and  a  man  cf 
sensitive  honour  will  even  avoid  looking  directly  in  his 
partner's  face  lest  he  should  unwittingly  cause  offence.  But 
by  an  appropriate  physical  movement  you  may  convey  informa- 
tion to  your  partner,  even  while  his  eyes  are  riveted  upon  his 
own  cards.  Thus,  when  you  hold  an  overwhelming  No-Trump 
hand,  an  uncontrollable  restlessness  and  wriggling  of  the  body 
will  suggest  to  him  that  you  are  anxious  to  have  it  left  to  you. 
On  the  contrary,  when  you  hold  a  hand  that  is  mediocre  and 
lacking  in  character,  by  the  adoption  of  an  attitude  of  coyness 
(so  becoming  in  a  woman  when  she  wishes  to  encourage  a  pro- 
posal of  marriage)  you  will  imply  that  it  is  for  your  partner 
and  not  for  you  to  make  a  declaration. 

27TH. — So  far  I  have  spoken  of  various  methods  of  conventional 
collusion,  as  between  your  partner  and  yourself.  I  have  now 
to  speak  of  the  use  of  finesse  for  the  purpose  of  throwing  dust 
in  your  adversaries'  eyes.  Finesse,  which  is  commonly  shown 
by  the  playing  of  a  false  card  (the  word  false  is  not  here  used 
in  the  same  sense  as  in  the  phrase  "  a  false  nose,"  and  does  not 
suggest  the  introduction  of  a  card  from  another  pack,  which  is 
always  a  reprehensible,  and  often  a  dangerous,  feat),  may  also 
be  employed,  as  in  Poker,  through  the  medium  of  intonation  or 
physical  attitude.  Thus,  when  the  selection  of  trumps  is  left  to 
you,  and  you  are  forced  to  declare  Spades,  having  three  inferioi 
cards  of  that  suit  and  practically  nil  outside  it,  do  not  make 
your  declaration  till  after  a  show  of  mature  reflection,  and  the 
apparent  sacrifice  of  valour  to  discretion.  Your  adversaries 
will  then  hesitate  to  double,  in  the  belief  that  your  decision 
was  dictated  by  prudence  or  cowardice. 

29TH. — Similarly,  when  the  declaration  is  left  in  your  hands, 
and  you  are  0  up  to  your  opponents'  20,  and  you  hold  the  ace, 
queen,  10,  8,  6,  4,  of  Hearts,  with  a  nice  strength  in  the  plaii 
suits,  you  should  glance  at  the  score,  shrug  your  shoulders 
and  declare  Hearts  in  the  manner  of  one  who  addresses  himsel 


MAY  1,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


327 


RULING   THE    ROAD. 

"  NOW,    MY   GOOD   WOMAN,    IF   YOU   CAN'T   PULL  THEM   OUT   OF   THE   WAY,    YOU   MUST   LET  THEM   GO.      WE   HAVE   TO   CATCH   A  TRAIN  !" 

"  Yus.     AND  WHO  D'YOU  'SPOSE  'UD  KETCH  MY  PIGS?" 


to  a  forlorn  hope  with  tho  courage  born  of  despair.  Then 
the  adversary  on  your  right  may  be  tempted  to  double  with  the 
king,  knave,  9,  7,  5  of  trumps,  and  you  will  be  comfortably 
over  him  all  the  time,  and  have  a  trump  to  spare  at  the 
end. 

30TH. — Finally,  not  very  much  can  be  made  of  the  words  "  I 
am  content, ' '  when  your  opponents  have  doubled.  But  it  is  still 
possible  to  impart  to  the  expression  atone  of  gratuitously  noble 
resignation.  Thus,  when  your  opponents'  score  is  2  to  your  24, 
and  your  declaration  of  Spades  from  a  deplorably  feeble  hand 
is  doubled,  and  in  the  issue  they  run  out  with  a  Grand  Slam,  the 
moving  recitation  of  that  pathetic  phrase  (like  BEATRICE  CENCI'S 
"  We  are  quite  ready.  Well,  'tis  very  -well,"  uttered  just  prior 
to  her  execution)  should  linger  in  the  memory  and  haply  purify 
your  adversaries'  hearts  with  pity.  O.  S. 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

IN  The  Eternal  Quest  (HUTCHiNSON)  there  is  embarrassment  of 
riches  in  the  way  of  heroes.  Doubtless  Mr.  STEUART  designs 
IVOR  MALCOLM  for  that  position,  since  he,  an  officer  in  the 
Black  Watch,  performs  deeds  of  valour  in  the  Soudan,  eclipses 
his  own, fame  in  South  Africa,  and  marries  a  charming  girl. 
Failing  him  ARCHIE  BUCHANAN  would  serve.  Brought  up  as  a 
Divinity  student,  with  reversion  of  the  pulpit  in  his  own  parish 
at  his  disposal,  ARCHIE  chums  with  recruiting  sergeants  in 
Edinburgh,  takes  the  Queen's  shilling,  is  drafted  to  South  Africa, 
and  saves  the  life  of  IVOR  MALCOLM,  who  is,  of  course,  his  success- 
ful rival  for  the  hand  of  the  pretty  girl  aforesaid.  My  Baronite, 
however,  finds  the  honours  of  heroship  divided  between  old 
General  MALCOLM  and  his  sometime  comrade  the  Chaplain  who, 
settling  down  after  many  campaigns,  administers  spiritual 
comfort  to  the  congregation  at  Aberfourie.  These  ancient 
comrades,  the  overbearing  General  accustomed  to  command, 


the  Chaplain  never  losing  sight  of  his  former  state  of  sub- 
ordination, are  excellently  drawn.  The  story,  it  -will  be  per- 
ceived, is  up  to  date.  One  of  the  episodes  providing 
opportunity  for  a  vivid  sketch  is  the  engagement  with  the 
Boers  in  which  General  WAUCHOPE  fell,  and  the  Highland 
Brigade  was  nearly  wiped  out. 

Under  thinly  veiled  disguises  Mr.  MORICE  GERARD  deals  in 
The  Queen's  Mate  (HODDER  AND  STOUGHTON)  with  a  recent 
royal  marriage  that  attracted  friendly  interest  throughout 
Europe,  and  gave  deep  delight  to  the  Dutch.  With  practised  art 
he  has  invested  the  matter-of-fact  with  the  glamour  of 
romance.  His  HELENA  is  the  most  charming  of  girl-queens. 
The  man  of  her  heart's  choice  has  a  pretty  trick  of  obtaining 
honourable  and  useful  scars  in  heroic  enterprises.  My  Baronite 
does  not  particularly  care  for  the  princely  pretender  to  the 
Queen's  hand,  the  handsome  nominee  of  the  imperious  Emperor 
of  GRAMOND.  He  is  a  rather  melodramatic  prince  of  the  price- 
coloured-twopence  type.  But  he  is  made  a  principal  actor  in 
an  exceedingly  dramatic  episode,  boldly  conceived  and  ad- 
mirably told.  The  gentle  reader  will  find  it  worth  looking  for 
in  chapter  seven. 

In  The  Mystery  of  the  Clasped  Hands  (F.  V.  WHITE  &  Co.), 
a  decidedly  attractive  title,  Mr.  GUY  BOOTHBY  gives  us  a  fairly 
interesting  "detective"  story,  which  the  author  might  have 
made  far  more  sensational  had  he  followed  the  elaborate 
method  of  Gaboriau  in  the  elucidation  of  the  mystery,  instead 
of  wasting  time  over  very  ordinary  love-making,  in  which  occurs 
an  episode,  neither  absolutely  novel  nor  remarkably  original, 
representing  the  lovely  heroine  being  thrown  off  her  horse 
and  into  the  "  saving  clause "  of  her  lover's  arms.  The 
sketches  of  the  sharp  criminal  lawyer  and  genial  detective 
are  good,  and  the  whole  story  will  serve  to  pass  away  an  hour 
or  two  pleasantly.  THK  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


328 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[MAY  1,   1900. 


THE    "LIONESS  COMIQUE." 

THERE  's  a  lady  to  be  met  with  in  every 

class  and  set, 
Whom  Nature  has  endowed  with  tongue 

and  cheek  ; 
All  day  long  and  every  day  she  performs 

a  sort  of  play — 

Let    us     christen     her     the    Lioness 
Comique. 

She  will  take — and  keep — the  stage,  sole 

attention  will  engage, 
Leaving  no  one  else  a  line  of  "  fat "  to 

speak  ; 
She  will  mimic,  pose,  and  chaff,  while 

the  rest  have  but  to  laugh 
And  to  listen  to  the  Lioness  Comiqne. 

There  is  here  and  there  a  caitiff,  dull 

and  unapprcciative, 
Who  will  greet  her  jests  with  laughter 

thin  and  bleak, 
And  will  say  that  though  she  's  harmless  she  's  an  altogether 

charmless 
And  unnecessary  Lioness  Comique. 

A  mere  man,  you  take  your  oath  !    He  's  a  .fool,  or  knave,  or 
both! 

Disregard  him — his  remarks  are  due  to  pique ; 
For  all  men  of  taste  or  sense  must  of  course  derive  immense 

Satisfaction  from  the  Lioness  Comique. 

You  shall  seek,  when  sad  or  ill,  no  old-fashioned  draught  or  pill, 

Nor  vainly,  O  my  brothers,  shall  you  seek 
A  panacea,  if  you  care  to,  for  all  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to, 

In  the  sallies  of  the  Lioness  Comique. 

Any  miserable  "  bloke,"  with  his  heart  or  pocket  "  broke," 
Should  forget  his  woes  by  spending,  say,  a  week 

'Mid  the  stimulating  quips  that  are  ever  on  the  lips 
Of  the  effervescing  Lioness  Comique  ! 


HENEICUS  IRVINGIUS  CORIOLANUS. 

HAD  Doctors  LEMPRIKRE  and  SMITH  been  classical  authorities 
in  SHAKSPEARE'S  time,  that  eminent  dramatic  poet  might  have 
had  to  defend  his  "quantities"  in  pronouncing  Coriolanus. 
Genius  is  above  rules,  and  therefore  SHAKSPEARE  pronounced 
Coriolanus,  "  C6ri61anus  "  (for  all  the  world  as  if  the  Roman 
hero  were  a  gentleman  of  Hibernian  extraction,  descending  from 
one  Mr.  CORRY  O'LANUS)  or  "  CorI61anus  "  or  "  CoriSlanus,"  just 
as  the  fit  of  inspiration  took  him.  No  doubt  about  it,  that  for 
dignity  "  Coriolanus  of  C6rI61i  "  sounds  a  grander  title  than 
"  Marcus  Curtius  C6ri61anus  "  or  "  Coriolanus."  However,  be 
that  as  it  may,  Mr.  BARNES,  Mr.  LUGG,  and  other  talented 
members  of  the  Lyceum  Company  to  whose  lot  it  may  fall  to 
pronounce  the  name  of  this  hero,  give  it  with  true  Shakspearian 
independence.  The  play  is  magnificently  placed  on  the  stage 
by  the  eminent  designer  Sir  ALMA  TADEMA,  Pictor  Classicus, 
R.A.,  and  the  action  throughout  is  descriptively  and  sympa- 
thetically accompanied  by  that  great  classical  commander 
ALEXANDER,  yclept  the  melodious  eques  Sir  A.  C.  MACKENZIE, 
Compositor  Dulcisonus. 

As  a  play  Coriolanus  is  wearisome  to  read,  the  hero  being 
what  ROBBIE  BURNS  would  have  styled  a  "  rantin',  roarin'  boy," 
only,  of  course,  not  under  the  influence  of  any  spirits  save  his 
own,  many  degrees  above  proof.  What  a  splendid  football 
player  would  Corry  (to  deal  with  his  name  briefly  and  fami- 
liarly) have  been  in  this  "  so-called  "  twentieth  century  !  Most 
decidedly,  "  rantin'  and  roarin  '  "  has  been  the  method  adopted 
by  those  great  actors  that  up  to  now  have  grappled  with  the 


part.  But  not  so  is  it  with  Sir  HENRY,  who  recognises  in  him 
the  lucky  general  whose  prestige  is  a  terror  to  his  foes,  while 
as  a  man  he  is  rough,  breezy,  short-tempered,  warm-hearted, 
and  impulsive;  a  hot-headed  youth,  in  fact,  who  has  not  been 
so  long  away  from  school  as  to  have  in  the  slightest  degree 
acquired  the  worldly  polish  of  diplomacy.  It  is  for  this  reason 
that  he  is  so  violently  angry  with  Tullus  Aufiditis  for  con- 
temptuously styling  him  "Boy  !  "  It  is  evidently  from  rolling- 
eye'd,  sulkily  muttering,  honied-tongue'd  Tullus  Aufidius,  as  a 
type  of  the  ancient  melodramatic  villains,  that  Mr.  Lenville, 
when  alluding  to  the  ladies  of  the  Company,  who  were  to  a 
petticoat  on  the  side  of  Nicholas  NicMeby  on  the  latter  being 
challenged  by  the  tragedian,  addressed  him  with  "  But  they 
shall  not  protect  ye — boy  !  ' ' 

Coriolanus,  however,  does  not  treat  Tullus  as  Nicholas  treated 
the  leading  tragedian  of  the  Crummies'  company,  on  whom  he 
smiled  pleasantly,  and  when  Mr.  Lenville  approached  Nicholas 
with  the  avowed  intention  of  pulling  his  nose,  Nicholas,  "  with- 
out the  smallest  discomposure,  knocked  him  down." 

But  this  wouldn't  have  suited  Mr.  WILLIAM  SHAKSPF.ARE,  who 
makes  the  term  "boy"  so  opprobrious  to  our  excitable  Corry 
that  lie  utterly  loses  his  temper,  just  proving  that  he  is  a  boy; 
and  that  Tullus  knew  Carry's  weak  point,  and  so  it  follows 
that  Corry,  by  advancing  threateningly,  offers  the  crafty 
Yolscian  the  very  opportunity  he  has  been  seeking,  and  of 
which  the  assassins  at  once  avail  themselves.  Marvellously 
effective  is  this  final  scene  as  played  by  Sir  HENRY  and  the 
determined  murderers  led  by  Mr.  MARSDEN  as  Lieutenant  to  the 
scowling  Tullus  Aufidius  Lenville,  as  represented  by  Mr.  ASH- 
CROFT  of  the  Carker-like  gleaming  teeth.  It  is  a  most  effective 
finish  to  a  severely  classic  play. 

The  lights  and  shades  of  the  character  of  the  impulsive 
Roman  are  admirably  brought  out  by  Sir  HENRY,  so  that,  when 
the  violent  tempest  of  his  wrath  has  suddenly  ceased,  and  he 
takes  to  his  heart  the  tenderly  clinging  Virgilia  (Miss  MABEL 
HACKNEY),  his  most  sweet  and  gentle  wife,  he  seems  to  intro- 
duce into  the  drama  that  love  interest  of  which,  otherwise,  it 
would  be  so  entirely  devoid. 

Never  could  the  clever,  beautiful,  and  still  youthful  matron, 
mother  of  Coriolanus  (we  can  gauge  Carry's  age  by  this),  have 
been  more  perfectly  represented  than  she  is  now  by  Miss  ELLEN 
TERRY  as  Volumnia.  Whether  sewing  at  home,  going  out 
shopping  with  her  charming  companion  Valeria  (Miss  MAUD 
MILTON),  rousing  her  son  up  to  the  sticking  point,  on  her  knees 
beseeching  him,  Miss  TERRY  is  admirable. 

When  care  has  been  taken  to  render  the  representation  of 
every  part  as  perfect  as  possible,  as  is  the  case  at  the  Lyceum, 
then,  after  the  two  principals,  and  after  the  stage-manager, 
who  is  mainly  represented  by  the  crowds  vigorously  and  artis- 
tically led  by  four  thoroiighly  Roman  citizens,  of  the  Leices- 
terus  Squarus  type  (viz.,  DODSWORTHUS,  BOWNUS,  KENNEIUS  and 
REYNOLDSUS),  Mr.  J.  H.  BARNES,  perfectly  made  up  for  the  part 
and  as  perfectly  playing  Menenius  Agrippa,  with  the  two  CBdiles 
of  the  people,  Sicinius  Velutus  (Mr.  JAMES  HEARN),  and  Junius 
Brutus  (Mr.  LAURENCE  IRVING,  most  artistic  as  in  his  make-up 
so  in  his  and  touch  of  character),  are  the  most  notable  for  the 
flashes  of  true  comedy  with  which  they  from  time  to  time  en- 
lighten this  drama,  with  which  the  public  is  unfamiliar,  there 
being  so  few  "quotations"  in  it.  Certainly,  rarely  has  Mr. 
BARNES  played  more  artistically  than  in  his  rendering  of 
Menenius. 

After  reading  the  report  of  the  rather  stormy  meeting  of  the 
Lyceum  Company  Limited,  it  is  not  difficult  to  imagine  Junius 
Brutus  and  Sicinius  Velutus  as  the  leaders  of  the  turbulent  and 
dissatisfied  shareholders ;  while,  as  Cominius,  the  devoted 
friend  of  Coriolantts  and  the  sensible  pacificator  of  the  grum- 
blers, Mr.  COMINIUS  CARR  would  appear  to  perfection.  The 
return  of  Sir  HENRY  "to  his  own  again  "  is  certain  to  mean 
"many  happy 'returns.' "  So  let  the  shareholders  cheer  up. 
Plaudite  et  valete  I 


MAY   1,   1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


329 


"NOW  IS  THE  SEASON ." 

Shakspeare. 

THAT  those  amongst  us  who  are  not,  as 
yet,  millionaires,  may  very  qxdckly  become 
"  rich  beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice  "  is 
perfectly  patent  on  a  casual  perusal  of  the 
advertisement  columns  of  the  daily  sport- 
ing papers.  Fortune,  if  not  fame,  is  assured 
— indeed,  there  is  an  amount  of  assurance 
about  the  "whole  business  which  commends 
itself  at  once  to  the — imagination.  All 
that  is  necessary  is  to  back  the 
selections  of  tipsters  such  as 
Messrs.  GDLLBM,  FLATCATCH, 
SHARP,  FLYFAKER,  and  others, 
whose  advertisements  we  call 
attention  to  below,  and  the  thing 
— (and  the  backer) — is  done. 

SEND  TWENTY-FOUR  STAMPS 

for    my    GOLDEN   FINALS   for 

Newmarket,  to  old  JACK  GUL- 

LEM,  Flying-Fox  Villa,  Cam- 

borwell.      Terms    to  end    of 

season,  two  guineas. 
TRY  OUR  ONE-HORSE  WIRES 

and  PADDOCK    SNIPS.     Who 

gave    you    Bootlace    for 

Lincoln  at  33  to  1  ?     Thirty 

shillings  for  the   season,  or 

two  shillings  a  single  wire. 

— Adress,    Mr.    SHARP,   Per- 
simmon Cottage,  Epsom. 

RELIABLE  TURF  CORRES- 
PONDENT is  willing  to  com- 
municate with  a  few  gentle- 
men as  will  act  handsome  by 
him.  A  CERTAINTY  for  Asskit 
Steaks,  will  start  at  a  long 
price.  No  gas  or  bounce,  but 
only  business  meant.  fAs 
advertiser  is  in  the  know, 
this  is  a  dead  pinch.  Send 
harf  a  dollar  in  stamps  to 
JEM  PORTER  (brother  to  the 
sellerbrated  trainer*),  145, 
New  Cut. 

JUBILEE  STAKES. —FLAT- 
CATCH,  the  Old  Reliable, 


(vide FLATCATCH)  would  "win  easy."  So 
far,  good.  But  then  came  the  torturing 
fear  of  Mr.  FLYFAKER,  who,  as  "  pals 
with  the  owner,"  certainly  ought  to  be 
"  in  the  know,"  and  who  roundly  de- 
clares that  a  certain  four -year -old 
"cannot  lose."  Query,  if  one  horse  is 
absolutely  certain  to  win,  and  his  rival 
"cannot  lose"  why,  what  the — where 

the — how ? 

Sighing  heavily,  we  gave  up  the  ex- 
hausting   feat    of    trying    to    solve    the 


CROESUS  A  LA  MODE. 
(Page  from  the  Diary  of  a  Next-to-nobody.) 
Monday. — Really  don't  know  what  to  do 
with  my  cash.  Offer  to  pay  off  the  National 
Debt.  Private  Secretary  of  the  Chancellor 
of  the  Exchequer  tells  me  that  I  couldn't 
do  that,  as  it  would  upset  the  finances  of 


that  Consols    are 
and  shouldn't  be 


ILLUSTRATED    QUOTATIONS. 

(One  so  seldom  finds  an  Artist  who  realises  the  poetic  conception.) 


THE  RUDE  FOREFATHERS  OF  THE  HAMLET  SLEEP." — Gray. 


knows  of  one  that  has  been  specially 
kept  for  this  important  race,  a  three- 
year-old,  will  win  easy,  a  real  snip, 
with  two  stone  in  hand.  Send  5s. 
stamps  to  JAKE  FLATCATCH,  New- 
market. 

JUBILEE  STAKES.  —  FLYFAKER,  being 
pals  with  the  owner.,  can  oblige  a  few 
gentlemen  with  the  "abso"  winner  of 
this  race,  a  four-year-old,  with  14  Ibs. 
in  hand.  He  cannot  lose.  Greatest 
moral  ever  known.  10s.  stamps  to 
Honesty  House,  Wobbleford. 

The  two  last -quoted  advertisements 
were  a  trifle  perplexing.  For  the  same 
race,  the  Jubilee  Stakes,  a  three-year-old 

*  "We  may  here  parenthetically  remark  that 
Mr.  JOHN  POBTEB,  the  "sellerbrated"  trainer, 
has  no  brother — but  this  is  detail.— ED. 


problem.  We  resolved  to  make  sure 
of  being  "on"  the  winner,  in  any  case, 
so  sent  five  shillings  to  FLATCATCH  for  the 
"snip"  (whatever  that  may  mean),  and 
a  further  ten  shillings  to  Mr.  FLYFAKER 
for  the  "  moral." 

In  clue  course,  both  gentlemen  forwarded 
their  "special  private  information,"  and 
we  gleefully  put  a  sovereign  on  each  of 
the  horses  named.  We  awaited  the  result 
with  cheerful  anxiety. 


Neither  finished  in  the  first  six. 


the  Kingdom.  Seems 
precious  to  trustees, 
abolished.  Foiled ! 

Tuesday. — Bring  out  ten  promising 
schemes,  and  ought  to  get  rid 
of  a  couple  of  millions  at  the 
very  least.  Get  Charity  List, 
and  find  that  I  have  been  anti- 
cipated in  all  directions.  Told 
by  strong-minded  lady  secre- 
tary of  one  organisation  that  I 
am  "Pushing."  "Why  can't  I 
leave  Charities  alone  ?  I  can't 
buy  up  everything  !  " 

Wednesday.  —  Always  heard 
that  newspapers  and  theatres 
can  be  made  to  absorb  the 
largest  fortunes.  Look  up 
statistics,  and  find  that  now-a- 
days  things  are  altered  and  both 
playhouses  and  journals  are 
considered  good  speculations. 
Foiled  again ! 

Thursday. — Wade"  through  my 
accounts,  and  find  that  my 
castles,  houses  in  town,  pieds 
a  terre  abroad,  yachts,  houses 
and  shooting  boxes,  cost  a  ridi- 
culously small  portion  of  my 
income.  Very  disappointing. 
What  shall  I  do  with  my 
money  ? 

Friday.  —  Try  Monte  Carlo 
by  agent,  and  win.  Have  a 
shot  at  the  Stock  Exchange — 
make  money.  Invest  hugely  in 
sweet  suburban  u  ntenanted 
cottages.  Said  to  be  the  worst 
investment  on  the  market. 
They  immediately  let !  Hope- 
less. 

Saturday. —  Tired  of  every- 
thing, inclusive  of  my  cash.  One  melan- 
choly pleasure  left — write  to  the  papers 
recording  "the  Miseries  of  a  Millionaire." 


MAY  DAY,  1901. 

PRESIDENT  L-B-T  may  find  it  perfectly 
easy  to  continue  in  his  position  for 
another  seven  years,  or  he 

Lord  K-TCH-N-R  may  bring  the  troubles 
in  Africa  to  a  speedy  conclusion,  or  he 

Sir  H-CKS  B-CH  may  get  over  his  Budget 
difficulties  with  the  greatest  possible  suc- 
cess, or  he 

Mr.  J-S-PH  CH-MB-RL-N  may  move  up 
higher  in  the  Cabinet,  or  he 

The  Earl  of  H-LSB-RY  may  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  it  is  time  to  relinquish 
the  Woolsack  to  younger  men,  or  he 

Finally,  May  Day  may  be  the  most  per- 
fect day  imaginable,  or  it — mayn't ! 


330 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[MAY  1,  1901. 


RECKLESS! 

Nurse.  "You  SHLY  CHILD!     Now  YOU'VE  SPILT  HALF  YCUR   TEA   ON   YOUR   NEW 
PINAFORE!"  . 

Little  Innocent.  "  IT  DOESN'T  MATTER  !    I'VE  HAD  ENOUGH/" 


DOING  THINGS  BY  THREE-QUARTERS. 

THE  German  Reichstag  discussed  last 
Wednesday  a  bill  providing  for  the  con- 
struction of  a  railway  from  Dar-es-Salaam, 
the  capital  of  German  East  Africa,  to 
Mrogoro,  a  distance  of  230 1 kilometres,  at 
a  cost  of  £1,200,000.  In  opposition  to  the 
bill  it  was  stated  that  there  were  only 
twelve  Europeans  in  the  region  through 
which  the  line  would  pass,  the  native  in- 
habitants numbering  about  2|  per  square 
mile,  according  to  the  translation  by  the 
correspondent  of  the  Times. 

So  the  railway  will  cost  about  £100,000 
for  every  one  of  the  future  first-class  pas- 
sengers. The  expense  has  been  carefully 
arranged  to  fit  in  with  the  number  of 
them.  It  seems  as  costly  as  our  Uganda 
Railway. 

The   gauge  of  the  new  line  is  to  be 


about  3  feet  6  inches.  This  seems  also 
arranged  to  suit  the  population.  When 
one  of  the  twelve  Europeans,  doubtless  all 
Germans,  residing  on  an  average  nineteen 
kilometres  from  his  neighbour,  desires  a 
friendly  chat  and  a  Glas  Bier,  he  will 
travel  over  those  eleven  or  twelve  miles 
in  a  first-class  compartment  about  a  yard 
and  a-half  wide.  If  he  is  an  average 
German  he  will  fill  that  comfortably.  The 
same  space  in  the  third-class  will  exactly 
accommodate  the  2|  natives  who  inhabit 
each  square  mile.  Could  anything  have 
been  calculated  with  greater  mathe- 
matical and  military  precision,  even  by  a 
German  ? 

But,  alas,  even  a  German  may  overlook 
something  !  If  this  colony,  unlike  other 
German  colonies,  should  become  pros- 
perous, the  natives  themselves  might 
grow  fat.  Then  the  population  of  a 


square  mile  could  no  longer  be  squeezed 
into  one  seat  of  a  third-class  car- 
riage, and  all  the  careful  calculations 
would  be  upset.  The  carriage  itself 
might  be  upset  if  the  2|  natives  were 
only  fat  enough. 

Then,  of  course,  the  three  -  quarter 
natives  would  have  to  go  separately. 
Would  there  be  compartments  labelled 
"  Filr  Rancher,"  and  also  "Fiir  f."  The 
enterprising  Herr  BAEDEKER  is  doubtless 
already  hard  at  work  on  his  guide  to 
Mrogoro.  When  it  is  published  we  shall 
be  fully  informed  on  all  these  matters, 
and  we  shall  learn  what  Trinkgeld  should 
be  bestowred  on  three-quarters  of  a  porter 
— the  native  population  seems  at  present 
to  consist  of  porters,  so  there  ought  to 
be  plenty  at  Mrogoro  Station  —  and 
whether  three-quarters  of  a  waiter  would 
be  satisfied  with  three-quarters  of  a  tip. 
Also,  if  such  persons  will  travel  with 
three-quarters  of  a  ticket  in  the  carriages 
of  the  Mrogoroische  Eisenbahngesellschaft. 
But  perhaps  these  three-quarter  natives 
are  only  the  better  halves  of  the  men. 

H.  D.  B. 


BEAUTIFUL  FOR  EVER; 

or,  the  Chronic  Blush. 

[The  Daily  Mail,  of  April  25,  says  that  1he 
secret  of  perennial  loveliness  has  been  discovered 
at  last,  and  now  upon  payment  of  a  fee  the  rich, 
ripe  bloom  of  healthy  youth  can  be  indelibly  fixed 
upon  the  cheeks  of  all  who  desire  it — in  other 
words,  an  American  lady  has  induced  a  West-End 
tattooist  to  insert  the  necessary  pigment  (properly 
graduated)  into  her  countenance.] 
THE  flush  no  longer  comes  and  goes 

In  fitful,  irresponsive  fashion, 
The  tint  that  emulates  the  rose 
On  maiden  cheeks,  the  tinge  that  glows 
With  modesty,  or  joy,  or  passion. 

It  makes  no  difference  nowadays 
However  you  address  a  lady — 

A  "  How-d'-ye-do  ?  "  or  word  of  praise, 

A  Hooligan's  familiar  gaze, 

Or  clubman's  anecdote  that 's  shady. 

The  same  invariable  result 

Attends  your  bold  or  shy  advances 
To  greet  the  feminine  adult 
Who  follows  Fashion's  beauty-cult 

And  thus  her  fading  charm  enhances. 

How  is  it  done  ?    Ought  one  to  tell  ? 

It  does  seem  just  a  shade  ungallant 
A  pleasing  mystery  to  dispel ! 
Still,  should  we  let  each  florid  belle 

Wrap  up  her  one  cosmetic  talent  ? 

'Tis  thus  (at  risk  of  being  rude), 

The  reason  of  this  lasting  beauty  : 
Your  pink-and-white  complexioned  prude 
Has  gone  and  had  her  face  tattooed 
Sub  rosd — cutely,  too,  sub  cute  ! 

And  so  anaemic  skins  suffuse 

With  permanently  hectic  flushes  ! 
Stay,  mortal  fair  ones,  would  you  choose 
These  tell-tale  and  persistent  hues 
To  linger  in  post-mortem  blushes  ? 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.— MAY  1,  1901. 


THE   BLACK  MAN'S  BURDEN. 

KING  COAL.    "WHAT!   ASK  ME  TO  SUBSCRIBE  A  SHILLING  I    WHY,   THEY'LL  RUIN  ME!!" 


MAY  1,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  r  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


333 


Scrooge,  surviving 
of  Scrooge  and 
enjoyed  similar 
Mr.  Scrooge,  it 

awakened  out  of 


ESSENCE    OF    PARLIAMENT. 

EXTRACTED  FROM  THE  DIARY  OF  TOBY,  M.P. 

House  of  Commons,  Monday,  April  22nd. 
— At  first  sight  nothing  in  common  be- 
tween Lord  MORRIS,  First  Baron  KIL- 
LANIN,  and  Ebenezer 
partner  of  the  firm 
Marley.  Yet  both 
strange  experience, 
will  be  remembered, 
his  first  sleep  on  Christmas  Eve,  beheld 
his  former  self,  dead  these  thirty  years. 
Lord  MORRIS,  sitting  to-night  in  Peers' 
Gallery,  looked  down  on  young  MORRIS, 
elected  for  Galway  thirty-six  years  ago, 
making  his  maiden  speech.  The  Peer  in 
the  Gallery,  with  the  wisp  of  white  hair 
encircling  his  cheerful  countenance,  has, 
according  to  the  almanacs,  passed  his 
three  score  years  and  ten.  Nevertheless, 
he  saw  himself  upstanding  by  the  Bench 
below  the  Gangway,  in  age  not  far 
across  the  thirties,  with  all  his  life 
before  him. 

Not  many  in  present  House  who  heard 
the  Boy  from  Galway  make  his  maiden 
speech  in  the  Session  of  1865.  Here  he 
is  again,  black-haired,  youthful  in  coun- 
tenance, with  flexible  voice  oiled  with 
touch  of  the  brogue,  unfailing  fluency, 
unabashed  confidence,  taking  to  life  and 
work  in  House  of  Commons  as  a  duck 
takes  to  water.  MICHAEL  MORRIS,  Mem- 
ber for  Galway,  1865  ;  MARTIN  MORRIS, 
Member  for  Galway,  1901.  And  think  of 
all  that  lies  between  the  dates  ! 

A  rare,  perhaps  unique,  experience  for 
the  fond  father  in  the  Gallery,  hearing 
his  own  mellifluous  voice  raised  again  in 
the  House  of  Commons  across  the  borders 
of  the  century. 

"  Nunc  Dimittis,  TOBY,  dear  boy.  Which 
being  translated  means  '  I  go  off  to  me 
dinner.'  Glad  you  like  the  boy's  speech. 
He  is,  as  you  say,  hampered  with  diffi- 
dence. I  suffered  from  the  complaint 
meself  when  I  was  his  age.  Haven't 
quite  got  over  it  yet ;  but  I  'm  always 
willing  to  learn,  ever  striving  to  im- 
prove." 

Business  done. — Debate  on  Irish  Uni- 
versity Education. 

Tuesday. — Curious  how  trouble  tells 
upon  some  men.  Just  now  it  is  quite  easy  to 
distinguish  a  coal-owner  from  a  fishmonger 
or  other  honest  tradesman.  If  going  about 
the  Lobby,  seated  in  the  Library,  or  pass- 
ing through  the  dining-room,  you  see  a 
man  whose  clothes  hang  on  his  shrunken 
limbs,  whose  eyes  are  dulled  with  weeping 
in  the  dead,  unhappy  night,  whose  conver- 
sation is  a  wail,  whose  every  breath  a  sigh, 
you  know  he  is  a  colliery  proprietor.  For 
months  he  has  been  accumulating  riches 
beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice.  Not  a 
grade  of  society,  not  a  class  of  the  trading 
community  that  has  not  cast  tribute  into  his 
coffers.  The  common,  or  tenement,  house- 


SURVI\7ORS  OF  THE  (GLAD-)STONE  AGE! 

"I  belong  to  the  ancient,  prehistorie,  pre- Adamite  school  of  my  friend  Lord  Edmond  Fitzmaurice. 
.  I  am  not  the  least  ashamed  of  sitting  on  a  fence,  nor  is  he.     We  adhere  to  the  old  original  Liberal 
doctrine." — (See  H.  Campbell- Bannermari*  a  Speech  at  the  Hotel  Cecil.) 


holder  has  paid  famine  prices  for  one  of 
the  necessities  of  life  through  the  winter 
months.  The  working  man,  the  struggling 
shopkeeper  who  buys  his  coal  by  the  hun- 
dredweight, has  been  fain  to  deal  with 
nubbly  bits  as  if  they  were  nuggets  of  gold . 
Then  comes  the  CHANCELLOR  OP  THE 
EXCHEQUER  with  the  abhorred  shears,  and 
proposes  to  nip  off  a  shilling  per  ton 
profit. 

Not  quite  that;  exact  proposal  of 
Budget  is  that  the  foreigner  who  takes 
our  priceless  and  irreplaceable  coal  shall 
contribute  a  shilling  a  ton  to  the  cost 
of  the  war  mainly  responsible  for  sending 
up  prices  to  the  range  reached  in  the 
winter,  the  colliery  proprietor  being  so 

ood  as  to  collect  it  on  account  of  the 
State.  Hence  these  tears.  It  is  not  so 
much  for  self  and*  partners  that  the  col- 
liery proprietor  weeps.  "  My  country, 
still  of  thee,"  he  is  thinking.  The 
foundations  of  the  prosperity  of  the 
Empire  are  deeply  dug  in  coal.  Put  up 
the  export  price  by  a  shilling  a  ton  and, 
by  some  magical  process,  the  foundation 
is  shattered  and  with  it  slips  away  the 

rumbling  fabric  of  the  Empire. 
"Dear  boy,"  said  the  MEMBER  FOR 
SARK,  lending  his  arm  to  one  of  the 
afflicted,  on  his  way  to  his  carriage 
waiting  in  Palace  Yard,  "my  heart  bleeds 
for  you.  It  is  said  that,  being  in  rather 
a  large  way  of  business  in  the  coal  line, 


you,  personally,  last  year  cleared  an 
exceptional  profit  of  a  million  and  a  half 
sterling.  Why,  you  know,  if  you  liked, 
you  might,  all  by  yourself,  go  to  war 
with  the  Boers  for  a  whole  week,  paying 
cash  down  out  of  your  profits.  And  now  a 
heartless,  unsympathetic  Chancellor  of 
the  Exchequer  wants  you  to  collect  a 
shilling  a  ton  for  him  on  your  exports ! 
Yes,  yes,  I  know  ;  but  it 's  no  use  blubber- 
ing. Taking  things  all  round,  I  wish  I 
had  half  your  Complaint." 

Business  done. — Income  Tax  resolution 
carried  in  Committee  of  Ways  and  Means. 

Thursday. — Mr.  WEIR  begins  to  think 
life  would  be  endurable  only  for  other 
people  who  share  it.  In  the  new  Parlia- 
ment he  finds  its  conditions  woefully 
altered.  In  the  last  century  he  had  un- 
disputed preeminence  at  the  Question  hour. 
None  but  he  thought  of  puttipg  down 
from  six  to  ten  Questions  at  a  sitting. 
Now  not  only  is  the  thing  common ;  the 
number  is  far  exceeded.  All  can  grow  the 
flower  now,  for  all  have  got  the  seed. 

Came  along  to-night  with  his  six  Ques- 
tions, including  one  about  Mark  IV.  bullets 
he  has  put  a  score  of  times.  Thought  that 
pretty  well ;  and,  behold,  D.  A.  THOMAS 
turned  up  with  twenty  Questions  ! 

"  Taffy  was  a  Welshman,"  Mr.  WEIR 
hummed  with  unwonted  asperity,  "  Taffy 
was  —  an  abstractor  of  other  people's 
ideas." 


334 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[MAY  1,  1901 


Observed  with  growing  indignation  that 
the  Member  for  Merthyr  Tydvil  had 
improved  upon  another  of  his  copyrights. 
The  original  Note  of  Interrogation,  as  is 
well  known,  prefaces  each  of  his  Ques- 
tions with  a  bye-play  which  not  even 
monotony  can  rob  of  terror.  It  is  most 
effectively  played  off  on  the  LORD  AD- 
VOCATE. That  personage,  affecting  in- 
difference to  Mr.  WEIR'S  criticisms  ion 
divers  matters,  endeavours  to  make 
jaunty  replies  ;  sometimes  declines  to 
make  any.  Mr.  WEIR  not  to  be  trifled 
with.  When  to-night  he  had  occasion 
to  ask  LORD  ADVOCATE  Question  about  a 
bridge — why  the  water  ran  down  beneath 
its  arches  instead  of  running  up  —  he 
solemnly  rose,  regarded  the  guilty  Minis- 
ter with  chilling  glance,  slowly  fixed  his 
pince-nez,  looked  at  him  again,  and  said 
in  profound  bass  notes,  "  Ques-ti-on  117. 
The  LORD  ADVOCATE." 

That  is  another  of  Mr.  WEIR'S  patents. 
The  ordinary  Member,  having  the  Ques- 
tion to  put,  would  say,  "  I  beg  to  ask  the 
LORD  ADVOCATE  Question  Number  117." 
Mr.  WEIR'S  mood  is  too  tragic  for  pre- 
positions or  personal  pronouns.  He  in- 
vests an  ordinary  Question  with  the 
solemnity  of  sentence  of  death.  If  after 
his  ordinary  formula  he  added,  "  And 
may  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  your  soul," 
no  one,  least  of  all  the  LORD  ADVOCATE, 
would  be  surprised. 

Added  anguish  to-night  to  observe  the 
intruder's  adaptation  of  his  own  dramatic 
pauses.  Having  received  answer  to  one 
of  his  Questions,  Mr.  THOMAS  sank  into 
condition  of  profound  reverie.  Wakened 
by  SPEAKER  calling  on  him  to  put  his  next, 
he  started,  deliberately  studied  the  paper, 
and  having  by  leisurely  process  dis- 
covered it,  slowly  recited  the  number. 
When  you  have  twenty  Questions  all  in 
a  row,  and  the  Budget  waiting  to  come 
on  in  Committee  of  Ways  and  Means, 
this  takes  time.  Mr.  WEIR  thought  it 
was  decidedly  low. 

Business  done. — Of  a  sitting  of  nine 
hours,  the  fag  end  of  four  and  a  half 
allotted  to  business. 

Friday.  —  There  is  lamentation  in 
Speaker's  Court,  wailing  by  Westminster 
Bridge.  Billy  is  dead !  Dead  in  his 
prime,  and  hath  not  left  his  peer. 

Yet  once  more,  0  ye  laurels,  and  once  more, 

Ye  myrtles  brown,  with  ivy  never  sere, 

I  come  to  pick  your  berries  harsh  and  crude, 

And  with  forced  fingers  rude 

Shatter  your  leaves  before  the  mellowing  year. 

When,  nearly  six  years  ago,  Billy  first 
came  to  Westminster  in  the  suite  of  the 
newly-elected  SPEAKER,  he  was  a  shapely 
dog,  light-hearted,  enterprising,  always 
ready  to  sample  a  fresh  calf.  Close  ac- 
quaintance with  Parliamentary  life  had 
effect  of  blunting  his  spirits,  souring  his 
mind,  and  giving  to  his  nose  an  upward, 
scornful,  turn  unusual  even  in  a  bull-dog. 
Muzzling  order  began  process  of  deterio- 


ration. Compelled  to  take  his  walks 
abroad  with  his  huge  head  enveloped  in 
something  of  the  size  of  a  herring-net,  he 
grew  visibly  depressed  in  manner.  Never 
forgave  himself  for  missing  opportunity 
that  presented  itself  one  afternoon  in 
June,  1898.  Crossing  Palace  Yard  on  his 
way  to  take  an  airing  in  the  park,  Billy 
observed  President  of  Board  of  Agricul- 
ture entering  by  top  gate.  Their  paths 
crossed ;  Billy's  massive  jaws,  suddenly 
expanded,  would  have  broken  his  muzzle 
as  if  it  were  silken  network.  He  hesi- 
tated ;  WALTER  LONG  was  saved,  and  the 
indignities  cast  on  British  dogs  went  un- 
avenged. 

Bill])  never  quite  the  same  dog  s-ince. 
In  addition  there  was  the  wasting  effect 
upon  a  highly-strung  temperament  of 
daily  contemplation  of  proceedings  in 
Parliament.  Give  Billy  the  run  of  the 
place,  and  he  would  have  amended  man- 
ners as  well  as  the  Standing  Orders. 


THE    DEPARTED   "  BILLY." 

(The  Speaker's  Bull-Dog.) 
Design  for  Statue  in  Speaker's  Yard. 

Prejudice  stood  in  the  way,  and  it  is  too 
late  now  to  consider  the  subject.  But  if 
on  the  night  the  Irish  Members  declined 
to  clear  the  House"  for  the  division  the 
SPEAKER,  instead  of  seeding  for  the  police, 
had  called  in  BiUij,  t\e  benches  below 
the  Gangway  to  the  le?£  of  the  Chair 
would  speedily  have  emptied. 

Soured  by  experience  of  Parliamentary 
life,  disheartened  by  contemplation  of 
Avaste  of  time,  growing  fat  and  scant  o' 
breath}  Billy  has  answered  to  the  old 
Lobby  cry,  ' '  Who  goes  home  1 ' ' 

Business  done.  —  ATTORNEY-GENERAL'S 
salary  considered  in  Committee  of  Supply. 
General  impression  that  it  might  fairly  be 
cut  down  by  a  thousand  or  two. 


THERE  'S  ROOM  FOR  ALL. 

["  What  is  described  as  a  '  drunk  or  sober '  meet- 
ing is  announced  to  be  held  at  a  northern  town  on 
Saturday  night  after  11  P.M.,  under  the  auspices  of 
the  Salvation  Army." — Westminster  Gazette.'} 

COME,  lads  and  lasses,  come  awa', 

And  listen  tae  oor  band  sae  braw  ! 

Ye  're  kindly  welcome  tae  our  ha'  ; 
There  's  room,  ye  ken, 

For  ilka  sinner  o'  ye  a'— 

Come  ben  !  come  ben  ! 

Na !  dinna  fear  !  what  though  there  be 
A  wee  bit  drappie  in  your  ee  ? 
In  ilka  dram  o'  barley-bree 

A  specrit  dwells 
Wi'  muckle  power  tae  comfort  ye — 

We  ken 't  oorsels. 

Or  gin  the  whisky  's  freely  flowed, 
Ye  're  aiblins  ga'en  a  further  road, 
An'  theoloagical  ye  've  growed, 

An'  want  tae  ken 
Aboot  the  deil  an'  his  abode 

Why,  still  come  ben  ; 

An',  laddie,  ye  shall  hae  your  fill 
O'  arguin',  an'  show  your  skill 
In  metaphysics — what  ye  will ; — 

Whate'er  's  asserted, 
We  '11  aye  dispute  the  point  until 

Ye  're  fair  converted, 

Or  gin  a  drappie  mair  ye  've  ta'en, 

An'  ultra-pessimistic  ga'en, 

An'  doubt  that  ilka  thing  is  vain, 

The  warl'  a'  vanity, 
Come  ben,  we  '11  bring  ye  roun'  again 

Tae  cheerfu'  sanity. 

Aye,  come  ye  ben  ! — nae  matter  hoo  ; 
Just  sprinkled  wi'  the  mountain  dew, 
Blind  drunk  or  gloriously  fou, 

Wi'  usquebagh, 
Come  ane,  come  a',  guid  frien's  an'  true, 

Ye  're  welcome  a'. 


A    BLACK    LOOK-OUT. 

(A  paper  picked  up  near  the  office  of  the 
Cliancellor  of  the  Exchequer.) 

PITY  the  sorrows  of  a  poor  collier,  who, 
if  a  shilling  export  duty  is  imposed  upon 
coal,  will  have  (possibly)  to  see — 

1.  His    wife  giving  up   her  music  and 
riding  lessons. 

2.  His  children  not  able  to  go  to  the 
seaside  for  a  month  or  two. 

3.  His  favourite  licensed  victualler  un- 
able to  supply  him  with  that  extra  quart 
he  enjoys  so  much  after  he  has  drunk  the 
others. 

4.  His  dogs  unable  to  compete  for  prizes 
because  their  upkeep  will  be  too  expen- 
sive. 

5.  His  tailor  sending  in  his  account  and 
respectfully  requesting  immediate    pay- 
ment. 

C.  His  wine  merchant  writing  to  ask  him 
why  he  has  given  up  ordering  champagne. 

7.  Worst  (and,  fortunately,  most  impro- 
bable) of  all,  himself  having  to  work  four 
days  a  week  instead  of  three. 


MAY  1,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


335 


C.  U. 


VARNISHING    DAY. 


Lady  Amateur  (who  paints  flowers,  to  Madder  Brown,  ivlw  painted  the  picture  last  year).  "Gooo  GRACIOUS,  MB.  BROWN,  FANCY 

MEETING    YOU  HERE  1" 


336 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[MAY  1,   1901. 


UNEXPECTED  INTERVIEWS. 
CONNECTED  WITH  THE  PRESS. 

THANKS,  yes.  Better,  much  better.  Where  am  I  ?  Who  are 
— of  course,  yes,  you  are  Mrs.  ALLEYNE.  I  know  now.  I 
suppose  I  fainted.  Please  forgive  me.  I — I  '11  go  now.  I  'm 
quite  strong  again.  I — Ah  !  perhaps  I  had  better  sit  still  for 
a  little.  But  I  shall  be  quite — quite  well  directly.  Only  a 
minute. 

Your  maid?  Oh,  no,  she  didn't— really.  She  was  quite  nice 
to  me.  She  was  only  doing  what  you — her  duty.  When  I  said 
I  was  connected  with  the  Press,  she  said  you  made  it  a  rule 
never  to  be  interviewed,  and  just  at  first  it  was — it  was  a  little 
disappointing.  It 's  a  long  way  from — from  where  I  live.  But 
I  was  just  going,  and  then — and  then  when  I  saw  you  I  couldn't 
help  calling  to  you,  and  you  were  so  kind,  and  I  was  tired,  and 
— and  people  aren't  generally  kind.  And  though  I  knew  you 
were — oh,  from  your  photographs,  and  I  've  seen  you  act,  of 
course.  That  was  what  made  me  think  of  coming.  I  liked  your 
face.  Besides, 'you  would  have  made  such  splendid  copy.  And 
I  hadn't  thought  you  woiild  mind — really  I  hadn't.  Most  of 
them  don't,  you  know:  they — they  rather  like  it.  But  I  ought 
to  have  known  you  were  different.  I  'd  no  right  to  want  to  pry 
into  your  life — oh,  but  I  did. 

Now,  I  really  am  better.  No ;  no  more,  thanks.  I  'm  not  used 
to  it.  Besides  I  must  be — wlutt  ?  Tell  you  about  my  life  ?  Oh, 
no — no,  I  couldn't.  It  wouldn't  interest  you  :  it 's  not — not  so 
amusing  as  yours.  No,  I  'm  sorry :  I  oughtn't  to  have  said  that, 
I  know,  only — only  it 's  so  different,  and  sometimes  it's  terribly 
hard  not  to  be  jealous  of  other  people's  happiness,  when  one 
struggles  and  struggles — Do  you  really  want  me  to?  Well,  I  '11 
— where  shall  I  begin  ?  Connected  with  the  Press — that 's  me. 
I  don't  know  if  it 's  a  regular  phrase,  but  it 's  what  I  call 
myself.  I  wonder — I  do  wonder  why  I  'm  talking  to  you  like 
this.  I  haven't  talked — not  really  talked — to  a  human  being  for 
ages.  But  you — you — oh,  I  can't  help  it.  I  must  talk  to  you,  if 
I  bore  you  to  death.  Ah,  no,  Mrs.  ALLEYNE,  I  know.  If  you 
were  I  shouldn't — I  couldn't.  But  you  are  so  different  to  the 
rest, — so  different. 

Yes,  I  '11  go  on.  I  was  thinking.  When  I — I  told  your  maid 
I  came  from  a  paper,  that  wasn't  true.  No,  I  'm  not  on  any 
paper.  There  's  no  room  for  me.  Yes,  I  've  tried — oh,  how  I  've 
tried — sketches  and  little  bits  of  verse, — oh,  about  everything 
— anything  that  came  into  my  head,  only  so  few  things  would 
come.  And  then  the  editor  I  knew  resigned,  and  the  new  man 
had  his  own  people,  of  course,  and  my  things  came  back.  I  'm 
not  good  enough  ;  never  was,  I  suppose,  or  else  I  've  lost  the 
knack. 

May  you?  Of  course,  anything  you  like.  Oh,  that!  Is 
that  all?  Well,  I'll  tell  you.  To-day  is  the  third— no 
fourth.  Three  weeks  ago  to-day — Do  you  ever  read  Truth? — 
Well,  three  weeks  ago  I  won  half  a  Truth  puzzle — that  was  a 
guinea.  My  rent— oh,  a  room  in  Soho — is  two  shillings  a  week, 
and  I  wash  my  own  things.  No,  it  doesn't  leave  much,  does 
it?  But  you  mustn't  think  things  are  always  as  bad.  I  haven't 
had  to  buy  clothes.  I  had  plenty  when  I — before  I  came  to 
Soho.  And  I  get  little  scraps  into  some  of  the  papers,  and 
there  's  a  German  waiter,  who  lives  under  me :  I  'm  teaching 
him  English,  and  he  just  pays  the  rent.  Once  I  taught  a  strong 
man  from  one  of  the  music  halls.  He  paid  me  well  for  a  fort- 
night— he  was  making  twenty  pounds  a  week,  and  then  he — he 
wanted  me  to  go — go  and  live  with  him,  and  so  that  came  to  an 
end. 

What  a  dear  face  you  hav(e.  I  ?  Ah,  but  not  like  you.  And 
yet  even  I — it  doesn't  make  life  any  easier,  does  it  ?  Have  you 
found  that  too  ?  No,  life  isn't  easy.  The  contrasts  are  too  big. 
Do  you  ever  go  into  the  Park  ?  It 's  a  dreary,  dreary  place. 
I  go  and  watch  them,  carriage  after  carriage,  face  after  face — 
relations  of  mine,  some  of  them.  Oh,  no.  They  know  I  'm 
connected  with  the  Press,  but  they  're  too  busy  to  know  me, 


now.  Squirrels  in  a  gilded  cage,  somebody  called  them ;  and 
it 's  true,  you  know.  They  can't  get  out.  Sometimes  the  men 
do :  they  get  away,  to  climb  or  to  fight.  But  the  others,  never. 
And  wherever  they  go  they  take  their  cage  with  them,-  and  just 
go  round  and  round  in  it.  And  yet — how  I  envy  her — I  mean 
them.  No,  I  don't,  I  mean  her. 

Yes,  you  're  right.  I  may  as  well  tell  you.  Oh,  my  dear,  I 
can't  help  telling  you.  There  was  a  man — yes,  I  see  him  there 
sometimes,  and  once — to-day  he  saw  me.  He  asked  me  to  marry 
him — that  was  in  the  old  days,  before  I  was  connected  with  the 
Press.  And  I  said  Yes.  Do  you  think  I  was  very  wrong  ?  Ah, 
but  you  don't  know.  I  've  been  punished.  He  was — he  was 
King  Cophetua,  and  I — my  mistress — yes,  I  was  a  governess. 
It 's  an  old-fashioned  sort  of  story,  isn't  it  ?  When  we  told  her — 
she  was  his  mother,  you  know,  and  a  very  great  lady — she 
packed  me  off  at  once  without  a  character,  as  if  I  had  stolen 
the  spoons.  And  after  that — Soho. 

Going  on?  But  there 's  [nothing  to  go  on  about;  that  was 
the  end.  You  can't  go  beyond  a  German  cook-shop  in  Soho, 
where  the  stairs  reek  of  dirty  cooking,  and  the  bannisters  are 
all  greasy  with  it,  and  yet  you  must  catch  hold  of  them  to 
drag  yourself  upstairs  when  you  come  back  tired  out.  I  can 
keep  my  own  room  clean,  but — oh,  King  Cophetua!  No,  of 
course  it  wasn't  quite  the  end,  only  the  rest — must  I  tell  you? 
— it  isn't  quite  so  old-fashioned.  He  ought  to  have  defied  his 
people,  and  stuck  to  me — they  do  in  the  story-books — only,  he 
didn't.  And  now  they — they  '11 — no,  he  's  not  married  yet. 
But  to-day — I  saw  him  on  my  way  here,  and  he  stopped  and 
asked  me  what  I  was  doing,  and  he — he  said  he  was  going  to 
be  married.  He  didn't  tell  me  her  name.  Perhaps  you — I 
wonder  if  you  know  her.  He  looked  so — so  strong. 

Why  do  you  sit  looking  into  the  fire?  Thinking?  Oh,  no, 
don't  think.  Life  's  so  full  of  thinking.  When  one  wakes  in 
the  night — oh,  I  daren't  think  of  it.  Talk  to  me.  Tell  me  about 
yourself.  Are  you  happy  ?  Are  you — is  there — shall  you  ever 
marry  again  ?  1  'd  like  to  think  of  you — oh,  how  glad  I  am  1 
And  is  he — is  he — but,  of  course,  he  isn't  good  enough  for  you. 
Well— shall  I  ever  see  him  ?  To-day  ?  Is  ho  coming  to-day  ? 
No,  don't  ask  me.  Not  to-day.  Not  even  for  you.  And  yet — 
can  you  understand  what  seeing  you  act  meant  for  me  ?  I  just 
felt  that  I  could — well,  no,  not  die  for  you ;  that  would  be 
nothing — but  live  for  you,  light  your  fires,  scrub  for  you — 
what  ?  Do  you  really  mean  it  ?  To  come  and  live  with  you  ! 
Your  secretary  !  Rest  me  !  Would  it  rest  me  ?  Would  it ! 
Let  me  hold  your  dear  hand.  Now,  now  I  can  tell  you.  I  would 
do  anything — anything  to  serve  you.  Only,  don't  you  see,  I 
can't  come  here?  Yes,  can't.  It  would  be  running  away. 
I  must  go  on  trying  to — oh,  I  can't  explain.  If  you  had  asked 
me  only  a  little  ago — but  now — now  I  'm  stronger.  Don't  you 
see  I  must  fight  it  out!  Look  at  me,  dear.  Tell  me— oh,  no, 
I  'm  not  brave — tell  me  it 's  stronger  to  say  No.  No,  don't  tell 
me  that.  Tell  me  it  would  be  weak  and  cowardly  to  say  Yes. 
Be  strong  for  me.  You  don't  know  how  you  've  tempted  me. 
But  if  you  will  fight  it  with  me — yes,  yes.  Better  to  fight  it 
out.  No,  not  perhaps.  Dear,  how  you  understand.  Yes,  oh, 
yes,  I  '11  come  and  see  you,  but  now — now  I  can  go  back  to  it 
all.  Oh,  how  I — Listen!  there's  someone  coming.  Will  it  be 
him  ?  Are  you — What !  Is  this — Why,  it 's — I — I — forgive  me  for 
staring  at  you.  I'm  not  very — very  well.  I  took  you  for — for 
someone  else,  someone  who  is  dead.  Mrs.  ALLEYNE  has  just 
been  telling  me  about  you.  I  'd  like  to — Will  you  shake  hands 
with  me,  just  to  show  there 's  no — no  ill-will,  after  my  rude- 
ness ?  I  congratulate  you  with  all  my — heart.  Ah !  No,  no, 
it 's  only  my"  hand.  It 's  not  so — it 's  weaker  than  it  used  to 
be,  and  you — you  're  so  strong.  No,  please,  please  don't  think 
about  it.  It  doesn't  hurt  so  much — now.  Good-bye,  dear 
friend  ;  I  won't  try  to  thank  you.  Tell  him  he  's  not  to  think 
about  it,  Avon't  you  ?  Oh,  thank  you ;  don't  bother  to  open  the 
door  ;  I  can — Listen  ;  you  're  not  to  tell  her.  I — I  wish  you  both 
every — Good-bye.  G.  P.  C. 


MAY  1,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


337 


TAXES  TO  PAY  AND  AXES  TO  GRIND. 

To  the  Editor  of  the  "Sentinel." 

SIR, — I  wish  to  enter  an  emphatic  protest  against  the  pro- 
posals of  Sir  MICHAEL  HICKS-BEACH.  At  a  time  when  the 
middle  classes  of  this  country  are  rolling,  if  I  may  say  so,  in 
penury  and  when  we  have  more  than  enough  to  do  to  make  even 
one  end  meet,  to  say  nothing  of  both  or  more,  the  cold  and 
heartless  suggestion  that  twopence  should  be  added  to  the 
Income-Tax  is  enough  to  make  every  honest  Englishman's  blood 
boil.  The  Chancellor  seems  to  think  we  are  growing  so  bloated 
with  wealth  that  all  we  have  to  do  is  to  live  in  the  lap  of  luxury 
with  millions  of  pounds  in  our  pockets  and  to  smile,  positively 
to  smile,  when  he  asks  us  for  an  overwhelming  share  of  the 
burdens  that  he  and  his  Government  have  put  on  our  shoulders. 
We  Income-Tax  payers  are  a  patient  race,  but  patient  people 
often  have  short  tempers  and  long  memories,  as  he  will  find  to 
his  cost  if  this  kind  of  thing  goes  on.  I  may  be  told  that  we 


children  to  school.  My  margin  of  profit  is  so  small  that  if  any 
further  cost  is  imposed  upon  me  I  shall  have  to  give  up  all  my 
subscriptions,  put  down  my  horses  and  live  in  a  cottage,  while 
my  workmen  will  receive  no  wages.  Can  this  be  what  Sir 
MICHAEL  intended  ?  If  so,  it  is  time  that  we  should  combine 
our  voices  and  make  oiirselves  heard  amidst  the  deaf  adders  of 
Downing  Street.  It  is  useless  to  sit  still.  We  must  be  up  and 
doing.  Let  nobody  tell  me  that  I  object  to  all  taxation.  That 
is,  to  put  it  plainly,  a  lie.  I  have  not  a'^word  to  say  against 
the  tax  on  Sugar.  Indeed,  twice  the  proposed  duty  might  be 
levied  on  that  article.  Some  foolish  people  have  talked  about 
the  cost  of  the  war.  as  an  excuse  for  the  Coal  duty.  Can  any- 
thing be  more  absurd  ?  Every  penny  we  have  spent  could  be 
at  once  recovered  from  the  gold-mines — but  the  Government 
are  afraid  of  offending  the  gold  people,  though  they  don't  mind 
treading  on  the  corns  of  the  collieries.  At  the  next  elect! on 
my  vote  shall  go  to  the  Radical  Candidate.  Yours  truly, 

A  UNIONIST,  BUT  A  PATRIOT. 


THE    PRIVATE    VIEW.    ROYAL    ACADEMY,    1901. 

Privately  viewed  (without  permission)  frrtn  the  Academy  Skylight. 


are  at  war,  and  that  war  costs  money.  Suppose  I  admit  it— 
what  then  ?  Nobody  is  more  willing  to  do  what  is  fair  than  we 
are.  What  we  protest  against  is  the  scandalous  injustice  of 
the  new  impost  on  incomes.  Of  course  we  must  fight  the 
Boers  to  a  finish,  and  it  is  no  doubt  right  that  Coal  and 
Sugar  should  be  taxed,  but  it  is  not  right  to  perpetrate  the 
wickedness  of  putting  a  premium  on  idleness— for  that  is  what 
it  comes  to.  The  more  money  a  man  makes,  the  more  he  will 
have  to  pay  in  income-tax.  Every  owner  of  an  income  will 
therefore  keep  it  clown  to  its  lowest  point,  in  order  to  pay  as 
small  a  tax  as  possible,  and  the  consequence  will  be  not  only 
that  the  Chancellor's  proposal  will  defeat  itself  but  that 
England's  sun  will  set,  and  her  commercial  supremacy  will  go  to 
America  or  Germany.  When  a  Conservative  Candidate  next 
asks  for  my  vote  I  shall  say,  "  Never  again." 

Yours  faithfully, 

A  LIFELONG  CONSERVATIVE. 
To  the  Editor  of  the  "  British  Bugle." 

SIR,— Qui  deos  vult  perdere  nunc  dimittis.  The  quotation 
may  be  applied  in  all  its  force  to  those  who,  when  a  period  of 
bad  trade  was  beginning,  suggested  an  export  duty  on  coal. 
Take  my  own  case.  I  am  a  coal-owner,  and  in  ordinary  times  I 
just  manage  to  support  my  home,  keep  a  brougham,  and  send  my 


To  the  Editor  of  the  "  Daily  Shouter." 

SIR, — Ichabod  !  Mene  mene  telcel  itpharsin!  »S'ic  vos  non 
vobis  I  Is  the  Government  collectively  insane  ?  The  idea  that 
Sugar  should  be  taxed  is  enough  to  fill  the  mildest  man  with 
gall.  Are  we  living  in  a  free  country,  or  under  the  despotic 
sway  of  a  Russian  autocrat  ?  I  ask  these  questions  not  for 
myself  alone,  but  for  millions  of  others.  To  tax  Coal  is  the 
merest  justice — but  to  put  a  tax  on  an  article  used  by  every 
British  breakfaster,  an  article  that  sweetens  the  cup  of  the 
toiler  and  adds  a  charm  to  the  champagne  glass  of  the  duchess 
— that,  Sir,  is  an  outrage  not  to  be  borne.  For  what  did  we 
win  our  liberties  if,  on  the  specious  plea  of  a  war  in  South 
Africa,  we  are  to  be  thrust  back  at  once  into  a  sugarless 
servitude.  If  Britons  are  what  they  once  were,  there  will  be  a 
wave  of  indignation  that  will  strike  like  a  flaming  sword  to  the 
heart  of  our  craven  and  incompetent  ministers.  Let  Sir 
MICHAEL  beware  before  it  is  too  late.  If  the  basis  of  taxation 
must  be  broadened,  why  not  tax  cats,  bicycles,  orchids,  eye- 
glasses, frock-coats,  and  Gainsborough  hats  ? 

Yours,  Sir,  indignantly,  SACCHAROMETER. 

ON  Sir  MICHAEL'S  successfully  squaring  Budget  matters  with 
his  ministerial  confreres,  the  Government  will  probably  be 
remembered  as  "  The  Coal-ition  Cabinet." 


338 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[MAY  1,  1901. 


A  PLEA  FOR  THE  GUILTY. 

I  WAS  formerly  a  great  reader  of 
Romance.  To  this  day  I  can  remember 
the  kind  of  story  that  delighted  my 
youth.  The  beautiful  heroine,  a  tender 
blonde  with  luxuriant  tresses  that  swept 
the  ground  when  the  author  was  good 
enough  to  allow  the  French  maid  to  loose 
the  restraining  bands  ;  the  hero,  so  brave, 
so  handsome,  and  misguided  withal ;  the 
cold,  crafty  villain  (with  eyes  that  glit- 
tered), who  had  a  knack  of 
turning  up  in  unexpected 
places  and  upsetting  every- 
body's calculations.  What 
wonderful  embodiments  those 
scoundrels  were !  It  is  for 
such  a  guilty  soul  that  this 
plea  is  preferred.  For  one ; 
for  whom  ?  I  remember  the 
type  excellently  well.  How 
the  stealthy,  silent-footed 
rogue  triumphed  over  his 
virtuous  companions.  How  he 
plotted  and  threatened,  bullied 
and  tortured,  mocked  and 
insulted  all  who  had  the 
audacity  to  be  in  the  same 
story  with  him.  How  he  laid 
traps  for  the  heroine's  father, 
practising  cruelly  on  that  un- 
suspecting gentleman's  cre- 
dulity. With  what  adroitness 
he  bribed  the  French  maid, 
with  what  a  contempt  he 
viewed  the  hero,  with  what 
admirable  charm  he  ingratiated 
himself  with  all  who  were  to 
become  his  miserable  dupes. 
But  his  cunning  and  suavity 
availed  him  nothing  in  the 
end.  He  would  meet  a  scoun- 
drel's doom.  He  could  not 
survive  the  story.  How  joy- 
fully I  witnessed  his  end.  How 
I  screamed  with  delight  when 
this  vile  little  cheat  and  mur- 
derer swigged  off  the  poison  

intended  for  his  victim  ;  when  he  swal- 
lowed it  at  a  gulp  with  that  orthodox 
stupidity  of  which,  I  am  pained  to  say, 
I  believe  this  class  of  villain  has  the 
monopoly  ! 

Of  such  tales  I  have  devoured  thousands. 
With  each  one  I  enjoyed  again  the  same 
delicious  sensations  at  the  death  of  the 
crafty,  beetle-browed  wretch  who  wrought 
such  havoc  among  bis  fellow  characters. 


it  impossible  to  live  through.  I  should 
like  to  see  him  alive  at  the  end  of 
"  Nemesis,"  "  The  Sleuth  Hounds  of 
Justice,"  "Retribution,"  "  The  Sword  of 


Damocles,"     or 
portions  of  the 


any    such    annihilating 
romance.     Desperate  as 


he  is,  quick,  clever,  artful,  full  of  all 
kinds  of  trick,  subterfuge  and  resource 
as  he  is  shown  to  be,  he  cannot  survive 
the  story.  Justice  and  the  reader  will 
be  satisfied. 
In  course  of  time  this  tremendous  fact 


"LATE  AGAIN,  JANE!     You  'HE  ALWAYS  BEHIND  TIME.     IT'S  NO 

USE  TALKING  TO  YOU.      I  SHALL  HAVE  TO  GET  ANOTHER  GIRL." 

"  I   WISH  YER    WOULD,   MUM.      THEKE  *D   BE   PLENTY   OF   WORK   FOR 


scoundrel  successful.  Barriers  are  sur- 
mounted, detectives  eluded,  suspicions 
lulled.  One — two — three  hundred  pages 
cannot  narrate  the  diabolical  plots  he 
hatches.  For  three  parts  of  the  book  he 
is  drinking  raw  spirits,  incriminating  his 


became  impressed  on  my  brain.  Hitherto 
I  had  displayed  an  unmistakable  relish  for 
satisfied  justice.  Insensibly  a  change 
came  over  me.  I  found  myself  reading  of 
the  villain's  death  with  calm,  unruffled 
spirit.  Then  clouds  of  regret  gathered  in 
my  mind.  Till  at  last  I  had  to  confess  to 
a  sneaking  sense  of  sorrow.  I  began  to 
sympathise  with  that  villain,  actually  to 
condone  his  faults.  Why?  Was  it  the 
certain  fate  towards  which  this  despicable 
ruffian  was  travelling  that  compelled  my 
pity?  Was  it  the  utter  hopelessness  of 
his  most  carefully  planned  trickery  that 


smother  the  heroine,  as  the  occasion  and 
plot  demanded  ?  I  know  not.  I  only 
know  I  felt  a  tender  sorrow  at  his  sub- 
jugation, a  true  compassion  at  his  over- 
throw. A  heartfelt  regret  that  he  should 
be  so  inevitably  brought  to  book.  Many 
a  time  my  expectation  played  the  hypo- 
crite, and  made  a  semblance  of  believing 
that  it  would  find  a  villain  who  outlived  a 
story.  But  such  deception  got  no  more 
than  it  deserved.  I  have  searched  the 
book -sellers  in  vain.  Once  I  truly 
~  believed  I  had  found  my  im- 
mortal knave.  He  was  carry- 
ing all  before  him.  A 
hundred  pages  saw  him  well 
and  hearty  and  full  of  devilry. 
Page  two  hundred  exhibited 
him  a  Napoleon  of  crime.  On 
page  three  hundred  and  two 
he  was  grinning  sardonically 
in  the  blanched  faces  of  his 
enemies.  Page  three  hundred 
and  twenty  began  a  chronicle 
of  his  triumphant  misdeeds. 
At  page  three  hundred  and 
forty-one  he  had  perpetrated 
the  most  successful  murder  of 
modern  times,  and  was  in 
possession  of  a  comfortable 
sum  from  an  Insurance  Com- 
pany ;  all  without  the  faintest 
spark  of  suspicion  being  at- 
tached to  him.  Another 
twenty  pages  and  his  life 
was  as  assured  as  before. 
Good  Heavens !  How  I  was 
trembling.  There  were  only 
ten  more  pages.  In  a  fever 
of  excitement  I  read  them 
through.  Five,  six,  seven, 
eight,  nine,  TEN  !  The  villain 
was  still  alive  ! 

My  brain  whirled.  What 
had  I  discovered  ?  I  threw 
down  the  book  and  rushed 
from  the  room.  The  fresh 
air  would  revive  me.  I  was 
faint  with  an  ecstasy.  On 
the  passage  I  encountered  my  servant 
RAYDLE. 

"Excuse  me,  Sir,"  said  he,  detaining 
me.  "  Here  is  the  other  volume  !  " 

I  nearly  wept  on  the  good  fellow's 
shoulder.  What  need  to  add  the  scoundrel 
died  by  his  own  hand  five  pages  from  the 
end  of  volume  two  ? 

This  took  all  the  heart  out  of  me  for 
further  research.  And  I  can  only  prefer 
this  earnest  plea  for  the  guilty.  Budding 
novelists,  please  note. 


APROPOS  DE  "B.P."— DEAR  Mr.  Pimcn, 


friends,  blackmailing  his  enemies  ;  grin-  |  fruitless  endeavours  to  frustrate  the  ends 
ning,  gibing,  sneering  and  triumphing,  j  of  justice?  Or  to  compromise  with  the 
But  I  foresee  the  end.  He  cannot  survive  winged  Nemesis  ?  Or  his  ineffectual 
the  tale.  There  are  chapters  he  will  find  stratagems  to  traduce,  or  abduct,  or 


elicited  my  sorrow  at  his  downfall  ?  Or  \  —May  I  suggest  that  the  most  appropriate 
the  futility  of  his  base  and  murderous  j  appointment  in  the  List  of  War  Honours  is 
attacks  on  the  hero's  person  ?  Or  his  j  that  of  my  old  schoolfellow  R.  S.  S.  B.  P. — 

known  to  us  so  long  as  "  Bathing  Towel " 
— to  be  ' '  Companion  of  the  Bath  ' '  ? 
Yours  Hand-and-Gloverly, 

CHARLES  CHUCKABUTTON. 


MAY  8,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI 


339 


DBAMATIC   SEQUELS. 
XI.  —  THE  LADY  ON  THE  SKA. 

WHEN  IBSEN  ended  The  Lady  from  the 
Sea  by  making  Mrs.  WANGEL  give  up  her 
idea  of  eloping  with  "The  Stranger" 
and  decide  to  remain  with  her  husband 
and  her  step-children,  many  people  must 
have  felt  that  there  was  a  want  of  finality 
about  the  arrangement.  Having  discussed 
so  exhaustively  with  Dr.  WANGEL  the 
advisability  of  leaving  him,  she  could 
hardly  be  expected  to  give  up  the  project 
permanently.  The  play  is  therefore  one 
which  emphatically  calls  for  a  sequel. 

SCENE  I. — Beside  the  pond  in  the  W  ANGELS' 
garden.  It  is  a  malarious  evening  in 
September.  HILDA  and  BOLETTA,  Mrs. 
WANGEL'S  step-daughters,  are,  as  usual, 
failing  to  catch  the  carp  which  are  said 
to  haunt  the  pond. 

Boletta.  Do  you  think  she  (nodding 
toivards  Mrs.  WANGEL,  who  proiols  to  and 
fro  on  the  damp  lawn  with  a  shawl  over  her 
head)  is  any  better  ? 

Hilda.  No,  worse. 

Boletta  (cheerfully).  Oh,  she  can't  be 
worse. 

Hilda.  That's  all  very  well  for  you. 
You  're  going  to  be  married.  It  doesn't 
matter  to  you  how  mad  she  is  !  You  '11  be 
out  of  it  before  long. 

Boletta  (jubilantly).  Yes,  I  shall  be  out 
of  it. 

Hilda.  But  I  shan't.  (Darkly)  However, 
perhaps  she  '11  go  away  soon. 

Boletta.  Papa  still  thinks  of  moving  to 
the  sea-side  then-? 

Hilda  (crossly).  Oh,  Papa — Papa  never 
thinks  ! 

Boletta.  Hush,  HILDA.  What  dreadful 
things  you  say ! 

Hilda  (grimly).  Not  half  so  dreadful  as 
the  things  I  should  like  to  do. 

Boletta.  HILDA  ! 

Hilda.  Oh,  yes,  I  should.  And  I  will 
when  I  grow  up.  1  '11  make  Master-builder 
SOLNESS  tumble  off  one  of  his  own  steeples. 
Think  of  that  now  ! 

Boletta.  What  a  horrid  child  you  are. 
And  just  when  I  thought  you  were  begin- 
ning to  get  on  better  with  her  too ! 
(nodding  toivards  Mrs.  WANGEL).  It 's 
most  provoking. 

Hilda.  I  call  it  perfectly  thrilling,  my- 
self. But  here  she  comes.  (Mrs.  WANGEL 
approaches.)  Go  away.  I  want  to  talk  to 
her.  (Exit  BOLETTA  doubtfully).  How  are 
you  to-day,  Mother  ? 

Mrs.  W angel  (absently).  Eh  ? 

Hilda  (controlling  her  impatience).  I 
asked  how  you  were. 

Mrs.  Wangel.  But  you  called  me  mother. 
I  'm  not  your  mother.  I  'in  only  your  step- 
mother. 

Hilda.  But  I  can't  address  you  as  step- 
mother. "  People  don't  do  those  things," 
as  dear  HEDDA  G ABLER  always  says. 

VOL.  cxx. 


Stout  Party.  "Now  THEN,  WAITER,  WHAT  HAVE  YOU  GOT?" 

Waiter.  "CALVES'  BRAINS,  DEVILLED  KIDNEYS,  FRIED  LIVER " 

Stout  Party.  "HERE!    BOTHER  YOUR  COMPLAINTS!    GIVE  ME  THE  MENOO.' 


Mrs.  Wangel  (whose  attention  is  clearly 
wandering).  I  suppose  they  don't. 

Hilda.  Mother,  have  you  seen  him  ? 

Mrs.  Wangel.  I  believe  WANGEL  is  in  the 
surgery. 

Hilda.  I  don't  mean  Papa.  What  does 
it  matter  where  Papa  is  I  I  mean  The' 
Stranger.  The  English  steamer  is  at  the 
pier.  It  arrived  last  night.  (Looks  at 
Mrs.  WANGEL  meaningly.) 

Mrs.  Wangel  (vaguely).  Is  it,  dear?  You 
astonish  me. 

Hilda.  You  will  go  and  see  him,  of 
course  ? 

Mrs.  Wangel.  Oh,  of  course,  of  course. 

Hilda.  I  think  it  must  be  so  perfectly 
thrilling  to  go  down  all  by  one 's  self  to 
a  steamer  to  see  a  strange  man  who  is 
not  one's  husband. 

Mrs,.  Wangel  (recalling  with  difficulty 
her  old  phrase).  Oh,  yes — yes.  It  allures 
me  wonderfully. 

Hilda.  I  should  go  at  once,  if  I  were 
you,  before  Papa  comes  out. 

Mrs.   Wangel.  Don't  you  think  I  ought 


to  tell  WANGEL?  I  have  always  been 
accustomed  to  consult  him  before  eloping 
with  anyone  fclse. 

Hilda.  1  think  not.  You  must  go  of 
your  own  free  will.  You  see,  Papa  might 
urge  you  to  go.  And  then  it  would  not 
be  altogether  your  own  will  that  sent 
you,  would  it?  It  would  be  partly  his. 

Mrs.  Wangel.  So  it  would. 

Hilda.  Isn't  it  splendid  to  think  of 
your  going  away  with  him  to-night, 
quite,  quite  away,  across  the  sea  ? 

Mrs.  Wangel  (doubtfully).  Yes. 

Hilda.  You  know  you  always  like  the 
sea.  You  talk  so  much  about  it.  It 
allures  you,  you  know. 

Mrs.  Wangel.  Yes,  the  idea  of  it  is 
wonderfully  alluring.  (With  misgiving) 
But  I  've  never  been  on  the  sea. 

Hilda  (enthusiastically).  That's  what 
makes  the  idea  so  thrilling.  It  will  be 
quite  a  new  sensation !  The  sea  is  so 
fresh  and  buoyant,  you  know  !  So  rough  / 
Not  like  these  vapid  fiords  where  it's 
always  calm.  Quite  different  altogether. 


340 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHAKIVARL 


[MAY  8,  1901. 


Mrs.  Wangel.  Ah,  there  's  WANGEL. 
Enter  Dr.  WANGEL. 

Hilda.  Bother  ! 

[She  returns  to  her  fishing  for  the  carp, 
which  are  never  caught. 

Dr.  Wangel.  Ah,  ELLIDA,  is  that  you? 

Mrs.  Wangel.  Yes,  WANGEL. 

Dr.  Wangel.  Not  brooding,  I  trust, 
dear  ?  Not  letting  your  mind  dwell  on 
The  Stranger,  eh  ? 

Mrs.  Wangel  (always  ready  to  adopt  an 
idea  from  any  quarter).  Of  course,  WAN- 
GEL,  I  never  can  quite  get  the  idea  of 
The  Stranger  out  of  my  mind. 

Dr.  Wangel  (shaking  his  head).  Silly 
girl,  silly  girl.  And  the  sea,  too  ?  Still 
full  of  the  sea  ? 

.  Mrs.  Wangel  (taking  up  the  cue  at  once). 
Ah,  the  sea,  the  wonderful,  changeful  sea ! 
So  fresh  and  buoyant,  you  know !  So 
rough !  Not  like  these  vapid  fiords.  I 
had  a  child  whose  eyes  were  like  the  sea. 

Dr.  Wangel  (testily).  I  assure  you, 
ELLIDA,  you  are  wrong.  The  child's  eyes 
were  just  like  other  children's  eyes.  All 
children's  eyes  are.  (HILDA  suppresses  a 
sliglit  giggle.  WANGEL  notices  her  for  the 
first  time.)  Fishing,  HILDA? 

Hilda  (darkly).  Yes,  Papa.  Trying  to 
hook  a  silly  old  carp.  I  think  I  shall 
catch  her  in  the  end. 

Dr.  Wangel  (with  interest).  What  bait 
do  you  use  ? 

Hilda.  Oh,  I  have  been  very  careful 
about  the  bait.  My  fish  rose  to  it  at  once. 

Dr.  Wangel.  Well,  well,  I  must  go  back 
to  the  surgery.  Goodbye,  ELLIDA  ;  and, 
mind,  no  brooding  about  the  sea  !  [Exit. 

Mrs.  Wangel  (ecstatically).  Oh,  the  sea, 
the  sea ! 

Hilda.  Yes,  you  '11  be  on  it  soon. 
Won't  it  be  thrilling?  I  really  think  you 
ought  to  start  at  once. 

Mrs.  Wangel  (helplessly).  I  suppose  I 
ought  to  pack  a  few  things  first? 

Hilda.  I  wouldn't  mind  about  that  if  I 
were  you.  I  'd  go  down  to  the  ship  just 
as  I  was,  slip  on  board  without  being 
noticed,  and  hide  until  I  was  well  outside 
the  fiord  and  began  to  feel  the  real  sea 
heaving  under  me  ! 

Mrs.  Wangel  (nervously).  Shall  I  like 
that? 

Hilda.  Of  course  you  will.  It's  your 
native  element,  you  know.  You  always 
said  so.  Before  you  've  been  on  it  half 
an  hour  you  '11  wish  you  were  overboard, 
you  '11  like  the  sea  so  ! 

Mrs.  Wangel  (fired  by  this  vicarious  en- 
thusiasm). I  shall,  I  know  I  shall.  He  will 
be  there  too  !  And  he  's  so  frightfully 
alluring.  I  must  go  at  once. 

[Exit  hurriedly  by  the  garden  gate, 

Hilda  (giggling  joyously).  Caught,  by 
Jove!  My  fish  caught!  She'll  go  off 
with  her  second  mate  on  the  English 
steamer,  and  never  come  back  any  more. 
What  a  triumph  for  my  bait ! 

[Picfcs  up  fishing  tackle,  and  exit  into 
the  house  in  high  good  humour. 


SCENE  II. — The  deck  of  the  English  steamer. 
The  vessel  lias  got  outside  the  shelter 
of  the  fiord,  and  is  beginning  to  pitch 
a  little  in  the  long  sea  rollers.  Mrs. 
WANGEL  is  discovered  groping  her  ivay 
cautiously  up  the  companion  in  the 
darkness. 

Mrs.  Wangel.  This  motion  is  very  dis- 
agreeable— (The  vessel  gives  a  very  heavy 
lurch) — most  disagreeable  !  I  wonder  if  I 
could  speak  to  The  Stranger  now  ?  HILDA 
said  I  ought  to  wait  till  we  were  out 
at  sea.  •  Oh !  (The  vessel  gives  another 
lurch.) 

A  Steward  (passing).  Did  you  call  ? 

Mrs.  Wangel.  No — er — that  is,  yes. 
Will  you  send  Mr.  JOHNSTON  to  me. 

Steward.  There's  no  one  of  that  name 
among  the  passengers,  Madam. 

Mrs.  Wangel  (fretfully).  Mr.  JOHNSTON 
isn't  a  passenger.  Mr.  JOHNSTON  is  the 
second  mate.  (The  vessel  lurches  again.) 
Oh,  oh  ! 

Steward  (looking  suspiciously  at  her). 
But  the  second  mate's  name  is  BROWN. 

Mrs.  Wangel  (under  her  breath).  Another 
alias .'  (Aloud)  It 's  the  same  person. 
Will  you  ask  him  to  come  to  me  ? 

Steward.  Yery  well,  Madam.  (To  him- 
self) Queer,  that !  Wants  to  see  the 
second  mate,  and  don't  remember  his 
name.  But,  there,  what  can  you  expect 
on  these  excursion  steamers  !  [Exit. 

Mrs.  Wangel  (as  the  boat  gets  further 
out  to  sea  and  begins  to  roll  heavily).  This 
is  horrible.  I  begin  to  think  I  don't  like 
the  sea  at  all.  I  feel  positively  ill.  And 
I  always  thought  the  motion  would  be  so 
exhilarating.  It  doesn't  exhilarate  me  in 
the  least.  I  Avish  JOHNSTON  would  come 
— or  BROWN,  I  mean  BROWN.  Perhaps 
he  could  find  somewhere  for  me  to  lie 
down. 

BROWN — or  JOHNSTON — accompanied  by 
the  Steward,  comes  up  the  liatchuxty. 
He  is  the  same  disreputable  looking 
seaman  whose  acquaintance  the 
reader  of  "  The  Lady  from  the 
Sea  "  lias  already  made. 

Steward.  This  is  the  lady  (indicating 
Mrs.  WANGEL). 

Brotvn  (in  his  most  nautical  manner).  I 
know  that,  you  swob.  Haven't  I  eyes? 
Get  out.  (Exit  Steiuard.)  Well,  woman, 
what  do  you  want  ? 

Mrs.  Wangel  (faintly,  too  much  overcome 
by  the  rolling  of  the  vessel  to  resent  his 
roughness).  I — I  have  come  to  you. 

Brown.  So  I  see. 

Mrs.  Wangel.  Don't  you  want  me, 
ALFRED  ? 

.Brown.  My  name  isn't  ALFRED.  It 's 
JOHN. 

Mrs.  Wangel  (plaintively).  It  used  to  be 
ALFRED. 

Brown.  Well,  now  it 's  JOHN. 

Mrs.  Wangel.  Are  you  — glad  to  see 
me? 

Brown  (briskly).  Not  a  bit.  Never  was 
so  sorry  to  see  a  Avoman  in  my  life. 


Mrs.  Wangel  (in  horror).  But  you  care 
for  me.  You  said  you  wanted  me. 

Brott>n.  I  know  I  did.  Thought  old 
QUANGLE- WANGLE  would  buy  me  off  if  I 
put  the  screw  on.  He  didn't  see  it. 
Stingy  old  cuss  ! 

Mrs.  Wangel  (appalled  at  this  way  of 
speaking  of  her  husband).  But  'you  never 
asked  Dr.  WANGEL  for  anything? 

Brown.  No  fear.  Too  old  a  hand  for 
that.  He  'd  have  put  me  in  prison  for 
trying  to  extort  money. 

Mrs.  Wangel.  How  could  you  expect 
him  to  give  you  money  if  you  didn't  ask 
for  it? 

Brown.  I  didn't  suppose  he  was  an 
absolute  fool.  When  a  man  has  a  crazy 
wife  he  can't  be  such  a  born  natural 
as  to  suppose  that  another  man  really 
wants  her  to  go  away  with  him.  He 
wants  the  price  of  a  drink.  That  's 
what  he  wants.  But  old  QUANGLE- 
WANGLE  was  too  clever  for  me.  He 
wouldn't  part. 

Mrs.  Wangel.  Wouldn't  part  husband 
and  wife,  you  mean  ? 

Brown.  No,  I  don't,  and  you  know  I 
don't.  Wouldn't  part  with  the  dibs ; 
that 's  what  I  mean. 

Mrs.  Wangel  (as  the  vessel  gives  a  big 
roll).  Oh,  I  'm  going  to  be  very  ill  in- 
deed. Why  did  I  think  I  should  like  the 
sea? 

Brown.  Why,  indeed  ?  I  don't  know. 
Dash  me  if  I  do.  Mad,  I  suppose. 

M?-s.  Wangel.  What  am  I  to  do  now  ? 

Broivn.  Go  back  to  old  QUANGLE,  if 
he  '11  take  you.  He 's  fool  enough,  I 
dare  say. 

Mrs.  Wangel.  But  I  can't.  We  're  out 
at  sea.  I  can't  get  back  now.  I  think 
I  'm  going  to  die.  [She  sinks  upon  a  seat. 

Brown.  Die  ?  You  won't  die.  No  such 
luck.  You  're  going  to  be  sea-sick,  you 
are.  Where  's  your  cabin  ? 

Mrs.  Wangel  (feebly).  I  don't  know. 

Brottw.  Where's  your  luggage?  Hand 
me  over  your  keys. 

Mrs.  Wangel.  I  haven't  any  luggage. 

Broivn.  Bilked  again,  s'help  me!  And 
not  as  much  as  a  half  a  sovereign  on 
you,  I  suppose  ? 

Mrs.  Wangel  (feeling  limply  in  her 
pocket).  No.  I  must  have  left  my  purse 
at  home. 

Brown.  Well,  I  'm 1 

[He  looks  sourly  at  her. 

Mrs.  Wangel  (growing  frightened).  What 
are  you  going  to  do  with  me  ? 

Brown.  Do  with  you?  Send  you  back 
to  QUANGLE  by  the  first  steamer,  of 
course.  You'll  have  to  work  your  pas- 
sage back  as  stewardess.  Heaven  help 
the  passengers ! 

[He  stalks  to  the  hatchway  and  dis- 
appears. Mrs.  WANGEL,  with  a 
groan,  resigns  herself  to  seasick- 
ness. 


(Curtain.) 


ST.  J.  H. 


MAT  8,  1901,] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


341 


JONATHAN    SHOPPING. 

John  Bull.    "  NOW,    MY   LITTLE   MAN,    WHAT   CAN   I   DO  FOR  YOU  ?  " 

Master  Jonathan.   "  WAL,  GUESS  I  'LL  BUY  THE  WHOLE  STORE!" 

["American  millionaires  agree  to  purchase  the  Ley  land  Line  (Mediterranean,  Portugal,  Montreal  and  Antwerp)  Fleets.     A  meeting  of  share- 
holders has  been  called  in  order  to  confirm  the  arrangements." — Vide  "  JJaily  Netvs,"  May  1.] 


MAY  8,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


343 


THE  MAN  FEOM  BLANKLEY'S ; 
OR,  THE  MERRY  WIVES  OP  WESTBOURNE. 

To  faithful  patrons  of  Mr.  Punch  there 
is  no  need  to  recall  the  plot  of  The  Man 
from  Blankley's.  Apart  from  the  develop- 
ment of  a  single  scheme  of  mutual  con- 
fusion, cleverly  contrived  to  extend  over 
the  greater  part  of  the  play,  it  is  a  pure 
comedy  of  dialogue.  The  wisdom  of  the 
wise  critics,  with  whom  I  would  ask  leave 
to  break  a  Free  Lance  edged  with  plati- 
tude, has  of  late  been  instructing  us  in  the 
view  that  drama  is  primarily  concerned 
with  action  and  not  with  speech.  This 
is,  of  course,  to  forget  the  fairly  notice- 
able fact  that  speech  is  one  form  of  action  ; 
and,  indeed,  of  all  forms,  the  most 
common,  the  most  continuous,  the  most 
readily  illustrative  of  character ;  and,  for 
all  these  reasons,  the  most  conveniently 
dramatic.  Indeed,  in  the  ordinary 
relations  of  actual  life  (which  the  stage 
hypocritically  professes  to  reproduce) 
people  seldom  do  things ;  they  talk. 
Tragedy,  perhaps,  is  more  a  matter  of 
action,  though  I  have  held  speech  with 
people  whose  dulness  made  the  terrors  of 
death  seem  a  light  thing.  But  in  the 
Comedy  of  Life,  for  one  humorous  thing 
that  I  have  seen  done,  I  have  heard  a 
thousand  said. 

This  is  not  to  imply  that  all  comedies  of 
dialogue  are  suited  to  the  stage.  The 
detached  scintillation,  the  epigram  of 
which  just  any  irresponsible  person  is 
made  the  arbitrary  mouthpiece — these 
rather  lose  than  gain  by  recital  on  a  stage. 
But  dialogue  that  defines  the  characters 
of  which  it  is  the  inevitable  expression 
may  gain  much  by  realization,  through 
eye  and  ear,  of  individuality  and  environ- 
ment. And  this  is  just  the  kind  of 
dialogue  which  runs  through  Mr.  ANSTEY'S 
play.  From  the  first  speech  that  intro- 
duces us  to  each  new  arrival  there  is  no 
least  word  spoken  that  is  not  subtly 
germane  to  the  character  that  utters  it. 
And  in  these  "  Voices  "  of  middle  Middle- 
classdom,  the  author  shows  himself  too 
good  an  artist  to  spoil  the  actuality  of 
his  dialogue  by  straining  on  the  one  hand 
after  epigram,  or  falling  on  the  other  into 
farce.  If  pure  fatuity  is  natural  to  any 
of  his  characters,  they  are  allowed  to 
talk  it.  But  in  every  remark,  even  the 
most  apparently  pointless,  he  has,  if  you 
consider  it,  discriminated  nicely  between 
the  fatuities  of  which  his  fatuous  people 
are  severally  capable.  And  all  the  details 
of  dress,  of  make-up,  of  pose,  of  entourage, 
combine  to  justify  the  dramatic  present- 
ment of  these  characters  by  affording  a 
clearer  realisation  of  their  idiosyncrasies. 

But  plays  that  depend  upon  the  finest 
dialogue  are  liable,  as  plays,  to  the 
defects  of  their  quality.  It  was  scarcely 
to  be  hoped  that  the  enthusiastic  appre- 
ciation which  the  First  Act  received  would 


NATURAL    HISTORY    NOTES 

"THE    MISSING    WORD." 

"THE  ENDURANCE  OB1  THE  CAMEL  18  EXTRAORDINARY.  IT  WILL  SOMETIMES  COVER 
SEVENTY  MILES  AT  A  STRETCH— AND  EVEN  MORE,  IF  YOU  HAVE  DROPPED  THE  HOPE  AND 
FORGOTTEN  THE  ARABIC  WORD  FOR  '  WOA  !  '  " 


be  kept  up  through  the  Second  without  the 
sustainment  of  a  fresh  incident.  Add  to 
this  the  greatly  daring  experiment  of  a 
set  dinner-party  lasting  from  rise  to  fall 
of  the  curtain.  Though  the  difficulties  of 
the  mise-en-scene  were  admirably  over- 
come, and  hosts  and  guests  (nobly  as- 
sisted by  Mr.  ARTHUR  PLAYPAIR  as  the 
butler)  played  their  parts  almost  as  well 
as  they  could  be  played,  the  attempt  on 
the  first  night  seemed  to  fail  of  a  per- 
fect justification.  In  part,  this  was  due 
to  comparison  with  the  First  Act,  with 
its  novel  introduction  of  characters  who 
were  bound  to  lose  something  of  their 
pristine  bloom ;  in  part  to  the  almost  total 
absence  of  the  relief  of  movement  among 
the  principal  characters,  and  in  part  to 
the  necessary  straining  of  stage  conven- 
tion by  loud  conversation  a  deux,  not 
always  meant  for  the  general  ear.  It  is 


characteristic  of  Mr.  ANSTEY  that  he 
refused  to  evade  this  last  difficulty 
by  making  his  conversation  general,  and 
so  defying  the  sacred  laws  of  over-peopled 
dinner-tables. 

Since  the  first  night  the  dialogue  has 
been  curtailed,  and  the  scene  is  played 
more  closely ;  and  if  Mr.  FORD  would  only 
keep  still  in  his  seat,  and  not  wriggle  his 
body  round  to  face  his  neighbour,  it  would 
be  difficult  to  find  a  flaw  either  in  the 
acting  or  the  stage-management. 

In  a  strict  dramatic  sense  the  Third 
Act  is  the  best.  It  contains  the  only 
deliberately  planned  "situation,"  where 
Mr.  Gabriel  Gilwattle  proudly  enters  the 
drawing-room  on  the  arm  of  Lord  S'trat/i- 
peffer  with  the  pronounced  intention  of 
introducing  him  to  his  wife,  and  this  at 
the  moment  when  that  buxom  dame  is 
still  rigid  with  the  staggering  discovery 


344 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[MAY  8,  1901. 


that  he  is  a  man  from  Blarikleijs  shop. 
This  is  irony  of  the  most  Greek.  Here, 
too,  in  the  study  of  vulgarity,  is  a 
happily  conceived  contrast  between  the 
changing  attitudes  of  the  company, 
shocked  in  turn  by  the  loss  of  their 
illusion  and  then  of  their  disillusion. 

In  the  construction  of  his  play,  the 
author  has  gone  one  better  than  the 
Unities.  By  the  device  of  letting  the 
ladies'  conversation  in  the  drawing-room 
overlap  that  of  the  men  downstairs,  he 
gains  a  fair  number  of  minutes  over  the 
common  enemy,  almost  enough  to  make 
good  the  intervals  and  allow  the  play  to 
coincide  exactly  with  the  period  which  it 
designs  to  cover. 

Before  the  final  curtain  I  think,  with 
deference,  that  Mr.  ANSTEY  might  have 
set  a  sterner  limit  on  his  love-scene  :  but 
he  was  excusably  tempted  to  draw  out 
the  linked  sweetness  of  his  one  passage 
of  sentiment ;  and  the  gallery  in  these 
cases  always  demands  clear  proof  that  the 
lady's  future  is  assured.  And  then  Mr. 
ANSTEY  has  a  secret  passion,  too  little 
gratified,  for  being  taken  seriously. 

Mr.  HAWTREY,  though  at  heart  probably 
suffering  fron  the  same  yearning,  may 
have  been  embarrassed  on  the  first  night  by 
the  comparative  respectability  of  his  part. 
Yet  he  acted  with  well-bred  assurance  in 
a  situation  that  might  have  shattered  the 
self-confidence  of  an  ordinary  lord.  But, 
except  when  he  bursts  into  uncontrollable 
and  most  infectious  laughter  over  his  mis- 
taken identity,  he  is  perhaps  a  shade  too 
statuesque.  In  the  absence  of  Mr. 
ARTHUR  WILLIAMS,  through  sudden  indis- 
position, Mr.  FORD  (not  Ford  of  the  other 
"  Merry  Wives  "),  taking  the  part  of  Mon- 
tague Tidmarsh  at  short  notice,  earned  the 
gratitude  of  the  house  by  his  rendering  of 
the  apologetic  husband  moving  uneasily  in 
the  too  fine  air  of  the  luiut  monde  of  West- 
bourne  Park.  On  a  second  view,  I  found 
him  not  quite  within  the  picture.  While 
the  others  without  effort  are  all  living 
characters,  he  tries  to  be  too  life-like,  and 
only  succeeds  in  giving  himself  the  elastic 
airs  of  a  marionette. 

Miss  FANNY  BROUGH,  as  his  far,  far 
better  half,  more  than  justified  the  warmth 
of  her  welcome.  In  her  extremely  varied 
relations  with  the  other  characters  she 
showed  an  extraordinary  intelligence  and 
versatility,  and  kept  up  her  end  of  the 
table,  under  the  most  trying  circum- 
stances, with  a  resourcefulness  that  was 
quite  masterly.  Mr.  AUBREY  FITZGERALD, 
as  Mr.  Poffley  of  the  jeunesse  doree  of 
Bayswater,  raconteur  and  Tit-Bit  statis- 
tician, was  irresistibly  absurd  ;  and  the 
complacent  turkey-gobble  with  which  he 
disguised  any  hiatus  in  his  gifted  conver- 
sation, was  a  continual  joy.  Miss  JESSIE 
BATEMAN  as  the  Governess  —  her  fresh 
beauty  and  Paris  gown  both  charming 
contrasts  to  her  incongruous  surroundings 
— played  with  nice  feeling  and  restraint 


in  a  kind  of  part  that  is  seldom  played  so 
well ;  reserving  for  the  happy  termination 
of  her  love-scene  a  convincing  ardour 
of  the  sort  that  leaves  a  nice  large 
smudge  of  pearl-powder  on  the  lapel  of 
the  gentleman's  coat.  All  the  minor 
characters,  without  exception,  are  admir- 
ably played ;  but  the  palm  must  still 
be  given  —  ungrudgingly,  I  am  sure, 
by  her  elders — to  the  altogether  fascinat- 
ing performance  of  little  Miss  BEATRICE 
TERRY. 

As  a  rule,  the  introduction  of  children 
on  the  stage,  employed  generally  ad 
misericordiam,  has  the  effect  of  freezing 
at  their  source  the  welling  founts  of  pity 
in  my  breast.  But  this  child  was  only 
asked  to  be  human  and  adorable.  Always 
a  refreshing  picture,  with  the  lovely 
auburn  hair  against  the  pretty  white 
frock,  she  played  the  part  of  a  natural, 
outspoken  child  with  no  more  hesitation 
than  was  proper  to  her  character,  and 
without  the  lightest  shadow  of  preco- 
city. Whether  in  her  piquant  criticism 
of  the  pompous  Uncle  Gabriel  (Mr.  HENRY 
KEMBLE  at  his  happiest),  or  in  the  easy 
confidence  which  she  shows  in  the 
stranger  gentleman  from  Blankley's  (see 
how  she  takes  him  her  picture-book  at 
once,  with  that  instinct  for  the  right 
man  which  is  the  gift  of  children  and 
the  wiser  quadrupeds),  she  had  the  hearts 
of  all  the  house  at  her  feet. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  charm  of  the  play 
and  its  performance,  I  hope  without 
seeming  to  hold  a  brief  for  Mr.  ANSTEY. 
I  am  glad  to  think  that  its  success  does 
not  lie  wholly  on  the  knees  of  the  gods, 
for  I  doubt  if  the  true  delicacy  of  its 
flavour  always  penetrates  so  near  the 
ceiling.  But  there  should  be  enough  of 
the  finer  sense  of  humour  among  London 
playgoers  to  fulfil  the  present  healthy 
promise  of  a  pretty  run. 

Finally,  I  shall  ask  Mr.  ANSTEY'S  forgive- 
ness for  writing  so  ponderously  on  so 
light  a  theme.  Whatever  poor  badinage 
one  may  contrive  to  command  must  be 
reserved  for  the  more  serious  creations  of 
the  modern  stage.  O.  S. 


SUGGESTED    NEW    REGULATIONS    OF 
CRICKET. 

(Short  and  sweet.) 

1.  It  is  distinctly  to  be  observed  that 
the  Marylebone  Cricket  Club,  not  being 
constituted  by  Act  of  Parliament,  no  other 
clubs  are  bound  by  the  decisions  of  the 
said  M.C.C.,  not  even  the  L.C.C. 

2.  Captains    of  County    Cricket    Clubs 
must  mind    their   own    business,    which 
is  to  win  matches,  struck  on  the  scoring- 
box. 

\  3.  Every  umpire  must  draw  up  his  own 
rules  as  well  as  the  stumps.  The  less  he 
says  about ' '  leg  before  wicket "  or  "  throw- 
ing," the  more  employment  he  will  get 
Let  him  send  the  "  legs  "  to  limbo  and  the 
"  throws  "  to  a  going  point. 


THE  SONG   OF    THE  SUB-MARINED. 

A  LIFE  'neath  the  ocean  wave 

A  home  in  the  rolling  deep, 
That  the  billows  never  lave 

Though  the  currents  never  sleep. 
Where  the  whiting  come  and  tap 

On  the  porthole's  misty  pane 
And  the  congers  bark  and  snap 

In  a  dog-fishlike  refrain. 

A  life  'mid  the  flowing  tide, 
A  home  in  the  sunless  sea 

In  a  ship  with  a  porpoise  hide 
That  ever  concealed  must  be. 

A  perpetual  game  of  nap 
'On  the  ocean's  ill-made  bed  ; 

There  one's  feet  get  soft  as  pap 
Where  the  sole  alone  may  tread . 

Oh,  well  for  the  collier  lad 

As  he  curses  his  garb  of  grime  ! 
Oh,  well  for  the  man  nigh  mad 

With  the  heat  in  a  torrid  clime  ! 
O  !  well  for  the  dark  Lascar 

In  the  sea  of  ice  or  snow  ! 
But  alas  !  without  sun  or  moon  or  star, 

For  the  mariner  down  below  1 


"Q.'s  AND  A.'s"  OF  THE  SEASON. 
QUESTIONS. 

From  Pater.  What  has  become  of  my 
notes  for  my  next  novel,  my  receipts  for 
fire  insurance  and  life  insurance,  rates 
and  taxes,  and  the  revised  draft  of  my 
will  ? 

From  Mater familias.  What  has  become 
of  my  plumes  from  the  last  drawing-room, 
silver  tops  to  three  toilette  bottles, 
Astracan  collar,  and  three  bangles  ? 

From  the  Girls.  What  has  become  of  a 
seal-skin  jacket,  a  velvet  dolman,  a  silk 
en  tout  cas  with  fancy  stick,  and  five 
pairs  of  boots  and  shoes  ? 

From  the  Boys.  What  has  become  of  a 
silver-mounted  hook  walking-stick,  three 
golden  studs,  an  opera-glass,  and  eight 
silk  handkerchiefs  ? 

From  the  Servants'  Hall.  What  has 
become  of  half  the  best  dinner  service, 
two-thirds  of  the  cut  wine-glasses,  a  silver 
candlestick  and — the  cook  ? 

Answer,  by  general  consent.  Lest  in  the 
spring  cleaning. 


THE   WALL    STREET    BOOM. 

Chorus  (jubilant). 
Here  we  go  up,  up,  up  ! 

Chorus  (despondent). 
Here  we  go  down,  down,  down ! 

All. 

The  Boom  is  terrific  ! 
Union  Pacific, 
Atchison 
Catches  on, 
Selling  and  buying, 
Laughing  and  crying, 
Madness  all  over  the  town ! 


MAT  8,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


345 


I  depressing  circumstances.    Why    should 

COALS  AND  COMPATRIOTS.  |  Londonderry  wait?     Because  the  Post- 

["  I  regret  that  I  cannot  be  present  to  join  in  the  t  master-General  was  stamped — beg  pardon, 
protest  against  the  imposition  of  a  tax  on  exported  no  joke  intended — stamped  as  a  man  who, 
coal,  which  will  so  seriously  affect  the  prosperity  of  wnilst  a  prominent  member  of  the  Jockey 
all  classes  in  Northumberland  and  Durham.  The  Club  for  ^  had  neyer  initiated  any 

Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  could  not  have  devised  ,  pefopmg    or  eyen  made  a  startling  speoch 
any  form  of  taxation  more  calculated  to  miunously  I  .     ._-.. 

-«.-.,.   -,i    ^~   :_i..t.j*__t.    „<•  „„_  *_.  'L^i-^i    at  the  Gimcrack   Club  Dinner.     Finally, 

the  noble  Earl  solemnly  entered  his  pro- 
test against  anything  belonging  to  himself 


affect  all  the  inhabitants  of  our  two  northern 
counties,  though  spoliation  is  the  word  which  more 
accurately  defines  his  action The  Govern- 
ment had  received  from  Northumberland  and 
Durham  men,  money  and  votes." — Extract  from 
Sptech  upon  proposed 
Duty  on  Export  Coal.~\ 

TH«E  Earl  of 
WALLSEND,  in  ad- 
dressing a  meeting 
of  colliery  proprie- 
tors, said : 

"Why  should 
this  tax  be  put 
upon  my  —  I  mean 
our — particular 
property  ?  W  h  y 
not  tax  cats  or 
bachelors,  or  bal- 
loons, or,  in  fact, 
anything  which  I 
don't  affect  —  beg 
pardon — which  we 
don't  affect,  our- 
selves ?  The  Chan- 
cellor of  the  Ex- 
chequer could  not 
have  devised  any 
form  of  taxation 
more  calculated  to 
seriously  annoy  me 
— us — than  a  tax  on 
coal.  Spoliation  is 
the  word  to  apply. 
(N.B.  Always  use 
violent  language 
when  your  own 
pocket  is  at- 
tacked.) What 
base  ingratitude  ! 
The  Government 
has  received  men, 
money,  and  votes 
from  Northumber- 


being  taxed,  now,  or  at  any  other  time, 
and    reiterated   his  opinion  that   North- 


land and  Durham. 
By  implication,  I 
wish  it  to  be_ 
distinctly  conveyed  to  you  that  they  have 
received  neither  men,  money,  nor  votes 
from  any  other  part  of  the  country.  Of 
what  further  use  is  the  North  of  Eng- 
land with  its  Fighting  Fifth  and  faithful 
Durhams,  dying  for  their  country  in  South 
Africa,  to  a  Government  which  has  secured 
a  large  majority  in  the  House  of  Commons  ? 
He,  Lord  WALLSEND,  though  he  must  admit 
that  the  connection  between  coals  and 
compatriots  was  a  trifle  nebulous,  was 
prepared,  at  his  own  expense,  to  send  a 
post-card  to  the  Fighting  Fifth  telling 
them  to  fight  no  more,  and  another  to  the 
faithful  Durhams  instructing  them  to  be 
no  longer  faithful,  under  these— to  him— 


VANESSA    HYDEPARKENSIS. 


[It  is  proposed  to  stock  the  London  Parks  with  butterflies.     "  The  London  sparrow,  if  able  to  express 
a  view,  would  strongly  favour  the  idea."—  Westminster  Gazette,  April  27.] 


umberlandand  Durham  were  being  thrown 
aside  like  a  pair  of  worn-out  gloves, 
because  they  were  asked  to  bear  their  fair 
proportion  of  the  taxation  of  the  country. 
The  Speaker  added  ingenuously,  that  he 
didn't  quite  know  what  he  meant  himself, 
but  as  he  was  just  about  to  hold  a  court- 
martial  on  two  stable-boys  at  Newmarket, 
for  the  crime  of  sucking  toffee  whilst  on 
diity,  he  was  a  trifle  preoccupied  and  his 
metaphors  might  have  got  a  trifle  mixed." 


"  OPEN  !  IN  THE  KING'S  NAME  !  OPEN  !  " 
—  The  Glasgow  Exhibition,  Thursday, 
May  2nd,  by  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of 
FIFE. 


THE   TRAVELLER'S   PROTECTION 
LEAGUE. 

THE  T.  P.  L.  commenced  operations  last 
week  with  regard  to  the  unpunctuality 
of  certain  railway  companies,  and  should 
be  encouraged  to  go  a  little  farther.  We 
want  protection  against : — 

I.  Passengers  who  try  to  keep  us  out 
of  carriages  by  fictitiously  placing  hats 
and  wraps  on  more  seats  or  corners  than 
they  will  themselves  occupy. 

|  2.  Passengers 
who  endeavour  to 
enter  carriages 
when  we  have 
fictitiously  placed 
hats  and  wraps  on 
more  seats  or 
corners  than  we 
shall  ourselves 
occupy. 

3.  People  who 
smoke  bad  tobacco 
in      compartments 
where    there     are 
ladies. 

4.  Ladies    who 
ride    in     compart- 
ments   where     we 
smoke    bad     to- 
bacco. 

5.  Parties  who 
insist  upon  having 
the  window    open 
when  we    wish   it 
shut. 

6.  Parties     who 
insist  upon  having 
the    window    shut 
when  we   wish   it 
open. 

7.  Persons    who 
try  to  squeeze   in 
when  our  carriage 
is  full. 

8.  Persons     who 
try  to  keep  us  out 
when  their   carri- 
age is  full. 

9.  Objectionable 
babies. 

10.  Objectors  to 
babies. 

And  a  job  lot  of  grievances,  viz.  : — 

II.  The  British  landscape,  now  consist- 
ing of  pill  advertisements. 

12.  Clapham  Junction. 

13.  Bank    Holiday    traffic    and    excur- 
sionists, racing  and  football  crowds. 

14.  The  weather. 

15.  Nasty  smelling  smoke. 

16.  Irritatingly  uncertain  lamps. 

17.  The  increase  in  the  income-tax. 

18.  The  duration  of  the  war. 

19.  The  cussedness  of  things  in  general. 

20.  And,  lastly,  the  Billion  Dollar  Trust. 
If  the  T.  P.  L.  will  abate  or  abolish  any 

or  all  of  these  nuisances  we  shall  be  very 
greatly  obliged. 


346 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[MAY  8,  1901. 


THE  VERY  LATEST. 
WHEN  did  the  lobster  blush  ? 
When  he  saw  the  salad  dressing. 

OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

FOR  basis  of  his  story  By  Command  of  the  Prince  (FiSHKR 
UNWIN)  Mr.  LAWRENCE  LAMBE  has  taken  a  tragedy  which,  some 
four  years  ago,  held  the  attention  of  Europe.  It  was  the 
cowardly  murder  of  a  hapless  Austrian  singing  girl  who  pes- 
tered her  betrayer,  aide-de-camp  and  favourite  of  the  Prince 
of  Bulgaria.  What  made  the  affair  more  dramatic  was  that  he 
found  an  accomplice  in  the  Prefect  of  Philippopolis,  acting,  as  he 
was  informed  by  the  principal  scoundrel,  under  secret  instruc- 
tions from  the  Sovereign.  That  in  such  circumstances  this 
estimable  functionary  should  have  helped  to  waylay  a  hapless 
girl,  see  her  strangled  and  flung  into  a  deep  pool,  throws  a 
lurid  light  on  life  in  Bulgaria.  Mr.  LAMBE  is  not  endowed  with 
the  gifts  of  lucidity  and  compression  out  of  which  lights  illum- 
ing a  story  flash.  He  is,  indeed,  content  doggedly  to  follow  the 
story  as  it  was  told  in  the  newspapers  of  the  day,  literally  trans- 
lating the  proceedings  in  the  Criminal  Courts.  But  he  has  visited 
the  scene  of  the  tragedy,  talked  with  some  of  the  people  who 
had  knowledge  of  tho  murderers  and  their  victim,  and  supplies 
many  realistic  touches  from  life.  It  is  the  classic  story  of  AMY 
ROBSART  over  again.  Only,  my  Baronite  finds  truth  is,  verily, 
stranger  than  fiction. 

Mr.  WM.  LE  QUEUX  with  his  story  of  The  Gamblers  (HuTCHiN- 
SON  &  Co.),  rivets  his  readers'  attention  on  a  certain  sensational 
incident  that  occurs  at  the  very  outset  of  the  story,  and  then 
leading  them  on  "per  varios  casus  per  tot  discrimina  (et 
crimlna)  rentm,"  compels  them  to  inquire  when  on  earth  is 
the  explanation  to  be  forthcoming,  or  rather,  as  the  will-o'-the- 
wisp-like  author  is  perpetually  taking  us  away  from  the  straight 
path  and  leading  us  through  tortuous  bye-ways  of  quite  un- 
expected and  unsatisfactory  surprises,  the  question  to  be  asked 
is,  "When  are  ail  the  requisite  explanations  to  take  place  ?" 
Or,  after  the  fashion  of  that  Master  of  Detection-of-Crime 
Romances,  GABORIAU,  the  probable  inspirer  of  Sherlock  Holmes, 
will  the  explanations  have  a  separate  volume  all  to  themselves  ? 
The  story  of  The  Gamblers  is  thoroughly  interesting  until  the 
last  scene  of  all,  in  which  the  mysteries  are  intended  to  be 
solved,  but  at  this  point  the  betting  is  that  the  reader  who  has 
been  most  closely  studying  the  intricacies  of  the  story  will  find 
himself  more  mystified  than  ever.  To  many  with  leisure  and  a 
flair  for  such  occupation,  the  elucidation  of  an  apparently  hope- 
lessly muddled  mystery  is  of  itself  an  attraction,  and  these 
literary  detectives  will  retrace  their  steps,  pick  up  at  different 
points  the  various  threads,  will  gradually  disentangle  them, 
and  find  that  all  the  clues  lead  up  to  one  and  the  same  denoue- 
ment. The  Baron  not  having  at  his  disposal  leisure  for  such 
engrossing  work,  must  content  himself  with  having  passed  a 
fairly  agreeable  time  in  company  with  The  Gamblers,  whom  he 
quitted  without  reluctance,  not  very  much  caring  who  won  or 
lost,  yet  decidedly  in  a  mood  to  recommend  the  otherwise 
unemployed  among  his  friends  to  try  their  heads  on  this 
"  wonderful  puzzle  fifteen." 

My  Baronite  is  not  familiar  with  the  name  of  HESTER  WHITE, 
nor  is  there  in  her  book,  just  published  by  BLACKWOOD,  record 
of  earlier  efforts.  If,  as  therefore  seems  probable,  Mountains 
of  Necessity  is  a  first  novel,  it  is  a  remarkable 'achievement. 
To  begin  with,  HESTER  has  hit  upon  a  new  situation,  rare  recom- 
mendation in  these  days  when  of  the  making  of  novels  there  is 
no  end.  It  will  be  seen  at  a  glance,  when  you  are  once  shown 
which  way  to  look,  what  possibilities  for  skilful  hands  lie  in 


the  entanglement  of  an  avowed  woman-hater  who,  anticipating; 
instant  death,  marries  a  high-spirited  girl,  who  consents  be- 
cause she  wants  his  money  for  the  salvation  of  her  only 
brother.  The  man  recovers.  The  strangely-wed  couple,  un 
suspecting  the  growing  love  that  finally  masters  each,  long 
live  apart.  How  they  are  brought  together  is  a  story  cleverly 
planned  and  brightly  told,  its  episodes  affording  opportunity 
for  display  of  intimate  knowledge  of  life  in  India. 

To  the  kind  thoughtfulness  of  a  friend  who  knows  a  queer 
book  or  "an  odd  volume"  when  he  sees  one,  the  Baron  is 
indebted  for  a  copy  of  LAURENCE  OLIPHANT'S  Piccadilly 
published  by  BLACKWOOD  thirty  years  ago.  In  its  literary 
style  there  is  a  curious  smack  of  two  such  very  opposite 
thinkers  and  writers  as  were  BuiAVER  and  THACKERAY.  Though 
the  novel  is  almost  plotless,  it  is  impossible  not  to  feel  that 
its  characters  were  drawn  from  types  easily  recognised  at  the 
time,  and  it  seems  probable  that  the  eccentric  hero  was  in- 
tended as  a  portrait-sketch  of  the  author  himself.  This  js 
merely  conjecture  on  the  part  of  the  Baron,  to  whom  LAURENCE 
OLIPHANT  was  no  more  than  a  name  frequently  mentioned  in 
the  presence  of  this  deponent,  then  only  a  merry  Swish'u 
schoolboy,  now  a  "  noble  and  approved  good  master." 

The  Baron  has  just  come  across  an  unpretending  volume,  a 
kind  of  off-hand  publication  in  a  paper  cover,  as  though  indi- 
cating that  modesty  could  not  possibly  aspire  to  stout  leather 
durable  binding,  entitled  Vagrom  Verse  and  Ragged  Rhyme,  by 
ROBERT  GEORGE  LEGGE  (MILES  &  Co.,  LTD.).  Its  motto,  wittily 
applied,  is  "You  shall  comprehend  all  vagrom  men,"  and, 
therefore,  whoever  looks  into  it  need  not  be  afraid  of  getting  a 
headache  from  any  recondite  Browningisms.  The  dedication  i-i 
"  To  any  man."  Here  the  light-hearted  poet  has  lost  a  chance. 
Surely  it  should  have  been  "  To  any  other  man,"  and  thus  tho 
dedication  would  have  been  passed  on  from  any  one  to  any 
other,  and  nobody  would  be  so  vain  as  to  accept  it  as  of  personal 
and  private  application.  However,  this  is  "dropping  into" 
metaphysics,  and  "  that  way  madness  lies."  His  "  Gypsy  Song  '' 
should  inspire  a  composer,  and  his  "  Baby  "  should  be  a  delight 
to  mothers.  You  may  pick  out  here  and  there  one,  for  thiw 
book  is  to  the  reader  as  is  the  flower  to  the  butterfly,  that  is, 
if  the  reader  be  of  that  touch-and-go,  flitting  temperament. 
"  Anyhow,  delighted  to  give  this  notice  by  way  of  a  '  Leggc 
up,'  "  says  the  gay  BARON  DE  BOOK- WORMS. 


CUPIDONS  AND  CUISINE. 

QUITE  an  artistically  correct  picture-card  of  invitation  to 
visit  Chef  ODDENINO'S  new  place  was  sent  out  by  that  eminent 
restaurateur,  drawn  by  DUDLEY  HARDY,  and  representing,  with 
Dudley-hardihood,  several  Cupidons,  guiltless  of  any  tailor- 
made  clothes,  flying  about  anyhow,  while  one  of  them  is  blowing 
them  up  with  a  trumpet.  Perhaps  this  is  symbolical  of 
M.  ODDENINO'S  own  trumpet,  which  the  innate  modesty  of  the 
true  artist  prevents  him  from  performing  on  himself.  Or,  stay, 
is  it  to  signify  that  this  trumpeting  Cupidon  in  particular  is 
having  a  good  "  blow-out,"  and  informing  his  other  little  one- 
winged  brethren  of  the  fact  ?  Anyway,  this  is  a  trump  card  for 
the  artist  of  the  free  pencil  and  the  artist  of  the  frying-pan.  But 
why  has  each  Cupidon  got  only  one  wing  ?  Is  it  the  moulting 
season  with  them?  Or  is  it  again  symbolical,  to  show  that 
another  wing  has  yet  to  be  added  to  the  establishment  ? 
ODDENINO  is  not  an  easy  name  to  pronounce,  some  calling  it 
"  Out-an-in-o  "  ;  but  if  the  entertainment  provided  be  only  "  out- 
an-out-o,"  what  does  this  mispronunciation  matter?  Others 
say  "  Odd-an-even-o,"  as  though  it  were  going  to  be  quite  a 
"toss-up"  how  dinners  and  diners  would  be  served  by  the 
cuisinier,  who  has  taken  a  step  upwards  and  promoted  himself 
from  the  Royal  to  the  Imperial.  Would  not  an  "Imperial 
Crown  Dinner  "  draw?"  Anyway,  if  such  an  announcement 
would  draw  as  well  as  DUDLEY  HARDY,  the  success  of  the  enter- 
prise is  assured  d'avance. 


MAY  8,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


347 


THE  FORCE  OF  HABIT. 

["  I  am  informed  by  those  who  have  been  lawyers 
in  large  practice,  that  there  is  so  close  an  associa- 
tion between  work  in  Court  and  the  reception  of  a 
fee  for  that  work,  that  it  produces  quite  an  un- 
natural and  unpleasant  sensation  to  have  to  do  the 
work  and  not  get  the  fee.  So  great  is  the  force  of 
habit,  that  I  can  well  imagine  this  might  be  the 
case." — Mr.  A.  J.  Balfour.] 
PRAY,  do  not  think  we  men  of  law 

Desire  our  fees  too  dearly ; 
'Tis  not  for  that  we  like  to  draw 
Our  twenty  thousand  yearly  ; 
'Tis  not  that  we  arc  fond  of  gold, 

Or  greedily  would  grab  it 
To  hoard  it  tip  in  sums  untold — 
'Tis  simply  force  of  habit. 

When  we  appear  in  Court,  we  know 

A  fee  is  bound  to  follow 
As  surely  as  the  April  snow 

Succeeds  the  April  swallow. 
So  often  is  the  same  thing  done, 

One  gradually  places 
The  fees  as  feature  number  one 

In  all  ones's  legal  cases. 

One  gets  to  love  them  in  one's  heart, 

To  feel  with  satisfaction 
That  they  are  an  essential  part 

And  parcel  of  an  action  ; 
And  if,  by  any  strange  mishap, 

One  chances  to  have  missed  'em, 
The  sense  of  void  upsets  a  chap 

And  tries  his  nervous  system. 

As  money  merely,  they,  of  course, 

Possess  no  fascination, 
But  who  is  proof  against  the  force 

Of  such  association  ? 
'Tis  not  that  we  are  fond  of  gold, 

Or  greedily  would  grab  it 
To  hoard  it  up  in  sums  untold — 

'Tis  simply  force  of  habit. 


THE  NATIONAL  FOOTBALL  CO.; 

or,  Sport  (?)  on  a  Business  Footing. 

REPORT  OP  THE  DIRECTORS. 
Presented    at    the   Fifth  Annual  General 
Meeting,  held  at  the  Company's  Head 
Office,  May  1st,  1906. 

IN  reporting  upon  the  affairs  of  the 
Company  for  the  year  ending  April  20, 
1906,  the  first  duty  of  the  Directors  is  to 
refer  to  the  great  loss  it  has  sustained 
by  the  lamented  death  of  its  Chairman, 
Sir  BILL  BLOGGS,  Bart.,  M.P.,  for  Leather- 
head,  and  Minister  for  the  Department 
of  Imperial  Footerculture.  His  all-round 
qualifications  as  ex-pugilist  and  chucker- 
out,  as  trainer  and  entrepreneur  of  the 
Zulu  Football  Impi,  as  Promoter  of 
the  Boxer  Importation  Syndicate,  and 
Manager  of  the  Umpires  Burial  Society, 
have  contributed  very  largely  to  the 
financial  success  of  the  Company. 

The  Board  have  elected  the  Honble. 
POTT  HUNTER,  the  well-known  President 
of  the  Oldham  Win  Tie  or  Wrangle  Club, 
to  be  Chairman  in  place  of  the  late  Sir 
BILL  BLOGGS. 


SISTERLY   SYMPATHY. 

Gwendolen.  "How  LATE  YOTJ  ARE,    DEAR.    WHAT  HAVE  YOU  BEEN  DOING  ALL  THE 

AFTERNOON  ?  " 

Maude.  "HELPING  THE  GRIGSBYS  AT  THEIR  'AT  HOME,'  AND  MAKING  MYSELF  GENERALLY 

FASCINATING  AND  AGREEABLE  !  " 

Gwendolen.  "POOR  THING  1 "    WHAT  A  HARD  DAY'S  WORK  FOR  YOU  !  " 


The  operations  of  the  Company  have  been 
greatly  extended  during  the  past  twelve 
months.  This  gratifying  result  has  been 
chiefly  brought  about  by  the  sweeping 
success  of  Association  and  Rugby  candi- 
dates at  the  recent  General  Election,  none 
but  professionals  standing  a  chance  at  the 
polls.  The  inspectors  of  the  Company 
have  thus  been  authorised  by  Government 
to  enforce  the  New  House-to-House  collec- 
tion of  fines  for  non-attendance  at  League 
Matches ;  and  anti-football  voters  have 
now  been  disfranchised. 

Owing  to  salutary  police-regulations  the 
gate-money  at  the  company's  fixtures  has 
touched  a  record,  and  we  have  again 
to  express  our  thanks  to  the  various  Rail- 
way Companies  for  stopping  all  traffic  on 
Wednesdays  and  Saturdays  throughout 
the  season,  to  permit  the  passage  of  the 
thousands  of  football  trains.  The  assist- 
ance repeatedly  rendered  by  the  Household 
Troops  has  also  been  most  valuable  in 
guarding  the  referees,  under  a  hundred 
of  whom  this  year,  it  has  been  ascertained, 


have  laid  down  their  lives  in  the  service 
of  the  public. 

The  Crystal  Palace  arena  being  found 
inadequate,  it  is  proposed  to  convert  the 
whole  of  Hyde  Park  into  a  huge  open-air 
amphitheatre,  which,  it  is  estimated, 
will  hold  between  two  and  three  million 
spectators.  The  financial  recommenda- 
tions of  this  scheme  are  obvious.  A 
large  percentage  of  the  turnover  will  be 
devoted  to  the  development,  sustenta- 
tion  and  pensioning  of  the  class  of  picked 
professional  performers,  the  British  as 
a  nation  having  ceased  to  play  the  game. 
It  may  be  mentioned  incidentally  that  the 
last  amateur  has  just  died  in  the  work- 
house. 

In  conclusion,  it  is  considered  unneces- 
sary that  any  detailed  balance  -  sheet 
should  be  issued,  but  it  may  be  stated 
in  general  terms  that  the  Company's 
revenue  has  this  year  run  into  eight 
figures,  and  that  the  holders  of  Preference 
Stock  will  receive  a  dividend  of  eighty 
per  cent. 


348 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[MAY  8,  1901. 


Doctor.  "WELL,  YOU  GOT  THOSE  LEECHES  I  SENT  FOR  YODR  HUSBAND,  MRS.  GILES?" 

Mrs.  Giles.  "  YES,  ZUR  ;  BUT  WHAT  ON  EARTH  BE  THE  GOOD  o'  SENDING  THEY  LITTLE  THINGS  VOR  A  GIRT  JUG   CHAP  LIKE  HE? 

I   JES*  TOOK  AN'   CLAI'PED   A  FERRET   ON   'UN  !" 


BACK  TO  "THE   BACKS." 

THE  Avenue  of  Trinity  !  How  sweet  it  were  to  pace 
Beneath  a  May  day  sky  once  more  that  dear  familiar  place  ; 
Or  hang  upon  the  Bridge  again,  and  watch  with  friendly  eye 
The  gay  canoes  and  pleasure-boats  that  merrily  go  by. 

Or,  stretched  upon  the  river's  bank,  that  sunny  slope  of  grass, 
To  let  the  flying  minutes  go,  nor  heed  them  as  they  pass  ; 
An  easy  book  for  company,  and,  though  the  dons  may  fret, 
To  puff,  while  porters  prowl  afar,  the  lawless  cigarette. 

To  hear  the  voice  of  friends  who  pass,  and  hail  you  as  they  go — 
"Get  up,  get  up,  you  lazy  loon  !     It 's  time  to  come  and  row." 
Oh,  early,  unforgotten  friends,  I  cannot  praise — can  you  ? — 
The  fate  that  plucked  our  hands  apart  and  tore  our  lives  in  two. 

And  then  the  fleet  of  racing  ships  to  Grassy  and  the  locks, 
The  eight  men  toiling  heartily,  the  eager  little  cox  ; 
The  bodies  moved  in  unison,  the  murmur  of  the  slides, 
The  "Five,  you  're  late,"  or  "  Four,  you  're  short,"from  some- 
body who  rides. 

The  silent,  dogged  earnestness  of  all  the  panting  crew, 
The  strong  beginning  swiftly  gripped,  the  finish  driven  through, 
The  rattle  of  the  oars  and,  ah,  sometimes  the  sound  sublime 
Of  one  who  cheered,  "  Swing  out,  my  lads,  you  're  doing  record 
time !  " 


How  fresh  and  cool  the  evenings  were — like  those  who  spent 

them  then 

In  frank  and  boyish  cheerfulness,  our  self-created  men. 
Ah,  would  that  I  were  back  with  those  who  keep  in  Cambridge 

town 
The  old  tradition  ever  young  of  life  in  cap  and  gown  ! 

But  we  must  walk  in  Fleet  Street  now,  or  perch  upon  a  'bus  ; 
No  avenue  of  rustling  trees  makes  melody  for  us — 
Yet  memories  of  grassy  slopes  and  sunny  hours  relax 
The  minds  of  men  in  London  pent  who  never  see  the  Backs. 

R.  C.  L. 


WHY  STRIKE? 


OLD  King  Coal 
Is  a  grimy  old  soul, 
And  a  grimy  old  soul  is  he; 


But  he  's  cutting  off  his  nose, 
If  on  strike  just  now  he  goes, 
For  the  sake  of  a  shilling  feel 


STILL  GOING  !  Vive  Years  of  my  Life,  by  ALFRED  DREYFUS. 
The  advertisement  says  that  "the  first  edition"  is  "nearly 
exhausted  before  publication."  We  should  have  thought  the 
subject  was  quite  exhausted  long  ago.  However,  so  it  isn't, 
and  popular  feeling  does  not  send  Dreyfus  on  the  Devil's  Island 
to  the  deuce.  Strange  ! 


H-i 


W 


SI 


MAY  8,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


351 


ESSENCE    OF    PARLIAMENT. 

EXTRACTED  FROM  THE  DIARY  OF  TOBY,  M.P. 

House  of  Commons,  Monday,  April  29. — 
"  Mr.  LOWTHER,  Sir,  I  would  like  to  know 
whether  this  Assembly  is  the  most  orderly 
in  the  world  ?  ' ' 

'Twas  the  voice  of  Mr.  FLAVIN.  I  knew 
he  'd  complain.  A  man  of  large  mind, 
kind  nature,  far-reaching  sympathies, 
there  is  one  thing  he  can't  stand ;  it  is, 
the  mere  approach  to  disorder.  Observe 
the  punctilious  style  of  his  address.  None 
of  your  jumping  .  up  and  chucking  a 
Question  at  the  CHAIRMAN,  as  if  it  were 
half  a  brick  and  he  a  stranger.  "Mr. 
LOWTHER,  Sir." 

The  Question,  it  must  be  said,  answered 
itself.  Mr.  CHANNING  was  on  his  legs, 
and,  unfortimately,  the  House  doesn't  like 
Mr.  CHANNING.  An  honest,  well-meaning 
man,  ever  impelled  by  sense  of  duty,  he 
has  the  gift,  quite  unconsciously  exercised, 
of  instantly  arousing  the  antipathy  of  his 
audience.  This  due  largely  to  monotony 
of  their  mutual  relations.  Mr.  CHANNING 
is  always  in  a  minority,  and  the  majority 
are  ever  in  the  wrong.  In  ordinary  cir- 
cumstances, even  when  he  simply  rises  to 
put  a  Question,  the  House  howls  at  him. 
To-night  he  delivered  his  views  on  the 
war  in  South  Africa,  insisting  that  his 
own  countrymen,  whether  in  civil  or 
military  capacity,  are  criminally  in  the 
wrong,  whilst  the  gentle  Boer,  harmless 
as  an  infant,  is  a  martyr  to  brutal  force 
and  murderous  cupidity .  Small  wonder  if 
men,  some  of  whom  had  lost  dear  ones 


Micalius  I'lavinius  Valerius,  Senator. 

"  1  would  like  to  know  whether  this  Assembly  is 
the  most  orderly  in  the  world." 


killed  in  ambush  or  shot  from  under  the 
protection  of  the  white  flag,  indicated 
dissent. 

In  brief,  what  was  happening  was  a 
shouting  match.  Gentlemen  opposite 
maintained  perpetual  roar.  Mr.  CHANNING 
waited  till  something  approaching  lull 
was  reached,  when  he,  yelling  at  top  of 
his  voice,  tried  to  work  in  the  fragment 
of  a  sentence. 

Mr.  FLAVIN,  not  wholly  unused  to  scenes 
of  disorder,  cherishes  memories  of  a 
night  not  long  past  when  on  the  floor  of 
the  House  of  Commons  he  played  the 
part  of  VALERIUS  at  the  Battle  of  Lake 

Regillus. 

But  fiercer  grew  the  fighting 

Around  VALERIUS  dead ; 
For  TITUS  dragged  him  by  the  foot, 
And  AULUS  by  the  head. 

The  difference  between  the  Roman 
soldier  and  the  Member  for  North  Kerry 
happily  is  that  Mr.  FLAVIN  was  alive, 
was,  indeed,  kicking.  But  there  were 
TITUS  and  AULDS,  disguised  in  uniform 
of  the  Metropolitan  police.  MACAULAY, 
in  the  spirit  of  prophecy  that  belongs 
to  the  poet,  accurately  described  their 
method  of  handling  the  hon.  Member 
when  conducting  him  towards  the  door. 

Some  people  of  fastidious  taste  might 
describe  this  as  a  disorderly  scene.  Put- 
ting it  that  way  only  establishes  Mr. 
FLAVIN'S  position  as  an  authority  on  the 
subject.  The  Chairman  of  Ways  and 
Means  shrank  from  reply.  But  Members 
hung  their  heads  and  felt  that,  as  usual, 
Mr.  FLAVIN  had  touched  the  spot.  It 
would  have  been  idle  at  that  particular 
moment  to  affirm  that  "this  Assembly  is 
the  most  orderly  in  the  world." 

Business  done. — Tackling  the  Budget  in 
Committee. 

Tuesday.— Little  did  MARK  LOCKWOOD, 
Colonel,  rising  early  and  pinning  his 
carnation  in  his  buttonhole,  guess  what 
to-day  had  in  store  for  him.  As  for  his 
colleague  on  the  North  Western  Board, 
things  have,  with  the  new  century,  taken 
a  ttirn  that  prepares  a  heroic  spirit  for 
any  fresh  disaster.  Exiled  from  the 
Treasury  Bench,  accused  of  confederation 
with  POWELL  WILLIAMS  in  engineering  a 
corner  in  cordite,  abashed  by  Cap'en- 
TOMMY  BOWLES'S  pre-eminence  in  the  mat- 
ter of  ducks,  the  Right  Hon.  ELLISON 
MACARTNEY  is  a  Blighted  Being.  To  be 
accused  of  wrongfully  voting,  to  be 
compelled  to  withdraw  whilst  House 
discussed  whether  his  vote  should  be 
disallowed,  were  mere  incidents  in  the 
colour  of  the  day. 

For  MARK  LOCKWOOD  the  case  was  dif- 
ferent. On  him  the  sun  always  shines, 
pleased  to  meet  his  friendly  regard.  He 
is  (in  some  respects)  like  the  sunflower, 
which  "  turns  on  her  god  when  he 
sets,  the  same  look  which  she  turned 
when  he  rose."  Came  down  to-day 
resolved  to  back  up  the  best  of  all 


"  Like  the  Sunflower." 
(Colonel  M-rk  L-ckw-d.) 

Governments  in  matter  of  the  Coal  Tax. 
By  way  of  preface  to  business  there  was 
a  little  Bill  promoted  by  the  London  and 
North  -  Western  Railway,  whose  direc- 
torate he  adorns.  Rejection  of  Bill 
moved.  The  Colonel  naturally  went  into 
Lobby  in  support  of  it.  When  he  came 
out  was  suddenly  seized  by  Irish  Mem- 
bers with  intent  to  make  awful  example 
of  him  in  conjunction  with  MACARTNEY. 
Motion  formally  made  to  disallow  his 
vote. 

On  many  a  crimsoned  battle-field  the 
Colonel,  at  the  head  of  his  faithful 
Coldstreams,  has  faced  death.  At 
Chillianwallah,  Albuera,  Aliwal,  and 
Aldershot  the  light  of  battle  has  played 
around  the  inseparable  carnation.  As 
HOOD  wrote  of  him  in  contemporary 
history,  he  almost  ' '  left  his  legs  in 
Badajos's  breaches."  Those  moments 
of  peril  fade  in  comparison  with  what 
he  endured  this  afternoon,  when,  in 
faltering  voice,,  he  repelled  the  accusa- 
tion brought  against  him  by  the  Irish 
Members.  Having  made  an  end  of  speak- 
ing, he  saluted  the  SPEAKER  and,  pulling 
himself  together,  strode  forth  with  mar- 
tial step,  whilst  in  his  absence  his  sad 
case  was  considered. 

Honourably  acquitted,  but  the  scars 
remain.  Shows  afresh  how  uncertain  is 
life,  how  a  day  ushered  in  by  a  fair  morn 
may  fizzle  out  under  sulphureous  cloud. 

Business  done. — None.  House  met  for 
morning  sitting  to  discuss  Coal  Resolution 


352 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[MAT  8,  1901. 


of  Budget.     "No,  you  don't,"  said  pro- 
moters of  private  Railway  Bill.     Took  the 
floor,  and  kept   it  for  whole   of  sittin 
Budget  and    colossal   interests   involved 
set    aside.      This     in     accordance    with 


A  SAD  AND  DESERVING  CASE!! 
(Sir  J-m-s  J-c-y  and  Mr.  D.  A.  Th-m-s.) 

Business  done.— The  bitter  cry  of  the 
coal-owner  mocked  by  relentless  CHAN- 
CELLOR OF  THE  EXCHEQUER. 

Friday. — BURT'S  speech  on  Coal  Tax 
much  talked  of.  First  time  he  has  been 


Standing  Orders  of  biggest  business  esta- 
blishment in  the  world.  "  Vous  I'avee 
voulit,  George  Dandin  !  " 

Thursday. — JOICEY,  who  has  his  OVID 
at  his  finger  ends,  meant  to-night  to 
garnish  his  speech  on  the  Coal  Tax  with 
a  quotation  from  one  of  the  Fables.  It 
is  the  lines  beginning  "  Plenty  has  made  me 

poor "    which,  by   the  way,  SPENSER 

and  DRYDEN,  consciously  or  unconsciously 
later  "conveyed."  But  St.  MICHAEL'S 
speech  in  reply  to  SQUIRE  OP  MALWOOD 
knocked  OVID,  and  much  else,  out  of  his 
head.  Long  time  since  there  has  been  such 
clattering  clown  of  card-built  structure. 
The  SQUIRE  not  himself  in  the  Coal  Trade, 
any  more  than  BOBBY  SPENCER  is  an  agri- 
cultural labourer.  He  is  not  a  colliery,  but 
he  lives  near  several  when  he  visits  his 
constituency  in  Monmouthshire.  To-night 
put  in  best  possible  way  the  case  of  the 
impoverished  coalowner.  JOICEY  and 
DAVID  THOMAS  wept  silent  tears  as,  in 
eloquent  passage,  he  described  their  fallen 
fortunes  ;  literally  cut  off  with  a  shilling. 

Then  came  St.  MICHAEL,  accompanied 
by  All  Angels  in  the  way  of  facts  and 
statistics,  showing  that  the  British  Coal 
Trade,  in  spite  of  increased  prices  that 
last  year  put  an  extra  thirty-four  millions 
sterling  in  the  coalowner's  sack,  main- 
tains the  predominant  position  to  which 
during  the  last  seven  years  it  has  ad- 
vanced by  leaps  and  bounds.  Whilst 
these  figures  were  worked  out,  the 
emaciated  coal-owners  bounded  on  the 
Benches  like  parched  peas  over  a  fire  of 
Welsh  coal.  They  pleaded  for  pity  and 
commiseration.  And  here  -was  the 
CHANCELLOR  OF  THE  EXCHEQUER  pelting 
them  with  their  own  hand-picked  coal, 
for  which  of  late  they  were  getting  31s.  a 
ton,  short-weight,  delivered  in  your  cellar. 


heard,  even  by  some  Members  who  sat  in 
last  Parliament.  All  delighted  with  his 
shrewd  observation,  strong  common-sense, 
logical  force  and  under-current  of  quiet 
humour,  the  amalgam  made  musical  by 
strange  Northumbrian  speech.  SARK 
regards  the  Member  for  Morpeth  as  one 
of  the  finest  episodes  in  Parliamentary 
life.  Himself  an  honour  to  the  House  of 
Commons,  the  House  is  at  its  very  best  in 
its  attitude  towards  him.  The  Ex-Secretary 
of  the  Board  of  Trade,  as  with  modest 
pride  he  testifies,  "commenced  working 
in  coal-pits  at  an  early  age."  As  was 
seen  last  night,  when  a  crowded  audience 
followed  with  eager  attention  his  un- 
adorned eloquence,  there  is  none  it  more 
delights  to  honour. 

"  Inevitable  talk  in  these  sad  times  of 
deterioration  of  Parliament,"  says  the 
MEMBER  FOR  SARK.  "But  when,  as  in 
this  case,  the  House  of  Commons  comes  in 
contact  with  absolute  simplicity  of  man- 
ner, genuine  honesty  of  character,  it 
strikes  true  as  steel.  Now,  as  of  old, 
Trojan  or  Tyrian,  duke's  son  or  ex-collier, 
are  the  same  to  it  if  only  they  be  true 
men." 

Business  done. — After  brief  interval, 
Irish  Members  again  in  possession. 


POPULAR    REGULATIONS    FOR    THE 
INFANTRY. 

["  Over  9,000  men  of  the  army  were  unfit  for  ser- 
vice at  the  front  on  account  of  their  youth." — 
Daily  Paper.] 

1.  Recreation  rooms  to  be  provided,  ap- 
propriately, with  rocking  horses,  tin  sol- 
diers, toy  drums,  and  sixpenny  flags.  Hoops 
and  tops  to  be  kept  in  store  for  the  use  of 
recruits  when  the  weather  is  sufficiently 
fine  to  allow  of  outside  games. 

2.  Every  company  to  be  supplied  with  a 


stock  of  ."sugar  sticks,  hard  bake,  pepper- 
mint drops  and  toffee. 

3.  Lights  to  be  put  out  at  8  p.m.,  and 
every  private  to  be  up  and  have  his  face 
washed  (by  the  sergeant)  at  7.30  a.m. 

4.  The  sergeant  will  see  that  pinafores 
are    served   out   to  the   company  before 
meals,  and  no  private  to  be  allowed  to  eat 
jam  without  the  consent  in  Writing  of  the 
matron. 

5.  No  corporal   punishment  to  be  per- 
mitted, but  disobedient  privates  to  be  con- 
fined to  barracks  with  the  injunction  that 
they  shall  keep  their  faces  turned  to  the 
wall.     In  extreme  cases,  privates  will  be 
put  under  stoppages  as  regards  pudding. 

6.  Finally,  privates  will  be  transferred 
from  "  the  infantry,"  to  the  army  on  reach- 
ing the  age  of  one-and-twenty. 


ODE  TO  THE  "FLUE." 

(Written  in  Bed  thereivith,  with  an  apology 
to  the  shade  of  Lord  Byron.) 

THE  flues  increase  !    the  flues  increase  ! 

Their  endless  fevers  chill  and  burn — 
Of  sneezing  born  they  seldom  cease, 

And  leave  us  only  to  return. 
Eternal  change  all  hope  denies, 
Suns  could  not  set  which  would  not  rise. 

The  Doctor  looked  upon  my  bed, 
My  weary  bed  held  on  to  me,  / 

That  Doctor  gravely  watching  said, 

"Thou  canst  not  stand  !  get  up  and  sec." 

When  tottering  legs  beneath  me  fell, 

I  knew  I  was  indeed  unwell ! 

Oh,  how  it  rose  and  whence  it  came, 
The  dread  bacillus  of  the  flue, 

And  that  mean  germ  which  puts  to  shame 
All  that  the  wisest  ever  knew, 

Why  all  invincible  are  they, 

It 's  not  in  Human  Wit  to  say. 

I  stagger  like  a  sea-sick  man, 
.And  reel  across  the  swaying  floor  ; 

Or  after  doing  all  I  can, 
Find  that  I  can  do  nothing  more, 

Then  feebly  murmur  that  it  "s  clear 

It  must  be  arsenic  in  my  beer. 

I  sicken  at  the  sight  of  meat ; 

I  turn  from  generous  wines  away  ; 
What  can  a  fellow  drink  or  eat 

When  once  the  flue  has  come  to  stay  ? 
Hardest  in  this  the  sufferer's  lot, 
Digestion  is  a  thing  forgot. 

Oh,  how  am  I  ?   And  what  art  thou, 

My  country  ?  Still  through  chills  and  rain 

Thine  elements  keep  up  their  row, 
Thy  peerless  climate  doth  remain, 

Till  exercise  my  soul  abhors, 

And  only  wants  to  stop  indoors. 

Place  me  on  any  sort  of  steep, 
Where  nothing  save  some  kind  of  air 

May  calm  my  flue- racked  nerves  to  sleep, 
And  let  me  settle  anywhere  ; 

In  British  damp  perforce  I  stew — 

Drat  the  Bacillus  of  the  Flue  !       H.  C.  M. 


MAT  8,  1901.]     ' 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


353 


a 


354 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[MAY  8,  1901, 


CULTURED    CONVERSATIONS. 
-I. — LITERARY. 

SCENE — A  serious-looking  boudoir  in  South  Kensington.  Dis- 
covered, Mrs.  ONSLOW  and  Captain  DORMER.  She  is  a  pretty' 
young  ividow  whose  knowledge,  frequently  referred  to  in  con- 
versation, of  the  fact  that  Mrs.  BROWNING  was  the  ivife  of  Mr. 
BROWNING,  and  that  Lord  BYRON  was  not  all  that  he  should 
have  been,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  Juts  won  for  her  a  reputation 
for  Intellect  and  Literary  Culture  to  which  her  visitor  is 
endeavouring  to  live  up  by  craftily  adjusting  his  mental 
equipment  to  her  supposed  requirements.  On  a  table  near  her 
are  "  allthe  latest  publications,"  while  her  unconscious  desire 
to  prove  that  her  vast  knowledge  has  not  injured  the  Femi- 
nine side  of  her  character  is  shown  by  her  being  engaged  on 
some  ratJier  feeble  embroidery. 

Captain  Dormer  (looking  at  her  admiringly).  You  seein  to  me 
to  read  everything,  Mrs.  ONSLOW  !  It 's  really  wonderful !  I'm 
keen  enough  on  reading,  myself,  but  I  don't  seem  to  get  the 
time.  Of  course,  I  don't  say  I  'm  clever,  and  all  that.  But  1 
know  what  I  like,  and  I  never  let  myself  get  rusty,  even  out 
in  India.  Always  kept  up  with  the  times,  don't  you  know. 
Now,  there's  this  (He  takes  up  a  dainty  white  volume,  tied 
with  green  ribbons).  I  suppose  you  know  who  wrote  it?  I  bet 
you  're  behind  the  scenes  ! 

Mrs.  Onslow  (flattered).  Well,  I  have  heard — but  you  won't 
repeat  it,  will  you,  Captain  DORMER? — that  it's  by  LAURENCE 
HOUSMAN,  or  by  Mrs.  MEYNELL  ! 

Captain  Dormer  (supposing  he  ought  to  be  surprised).  By 
Jove !  Fancy !  LAURENCE  HOUSMAN,  you  know !  Or  Mrs. 
Whatshername  ! !  "Well ! 

Mrs.  Onsloiv.  But,  please,  don't  tell  anyone,  ivill  you ?    It' 
rather   a  secret,  you  see.     Promise  !     I  might   get   into   such 
trouble  over  it ! 

Captain  Dormer.  I  promise.  But  who  'd  have  thought  it  ? 
Do  you  like  the  book,  Mrs.  ONSLOW  ?  I  thought  it  rather  jolly, 
in  parts. 

Mrs.  Onsloiv.  Oh  !  ...  I  hardly  think  I  should  call  it  that, 
Captain  DORMER. 

Captain  Dormer.  "Well,  perhaps  it  is  rather  rot,  as  you  say 
Mrs.  ONSLOW. 

Mrs.  Onslow.  I  don't  think  I  said  that,  did  I  ? 
Captain  Dormer  (changing  the  subject).   Now,  look  here,  Mrs 
ONSLOW,  you  're  an  intellectual  woman.     Who  should  you  say 
was  the  best  modern  writer — the  best  of  all ,  you  know  ? 

Mrs.  Onsloiv.  Do  you  mean  of  the  last  decade,  of  the  las 
season,  or  of  the  entire  Victorian  era,  Captain  DORMER  ? 

Captain  Dormer  (depressed  and  bewildered).  Oh !  I  don' 
know.  The  last  fifty  years  or  so. 

Mrs.  Onslow  (thoughtfully).  Well,  1  suppose,  of  the  grea 
thinkers,  SPENCER  would  be  among  the  first. 

Captain  Dormer  (cheerfully,  recognising  the  name).  Oh 
Capital !  Do  you  know,  I  thought  you  'd  say  that,  Mrs.  ONSLOW 
SPENSER— the  chap  who  wrote  the  Faery  Queen — and  a  verj 
pretty  thing  I've  heard,  though  I  've  not  had  time  to  read  i 
myself.  SPENSER  !  Yes,  by  Jove.  And  where  do  you  plac 
CARLYLE  and  RIDER-  HAGGARD  and  those  Johnnies,  eh  ?  A  gooi 
way  after  SPENSER,  I  'II  bet ! 

Mrs.  Onslow  (rather  reproachfully).  Oh,  they're  all  s 
different,  Captain  DORMER. 

Captain  Dormer.  Yes,  I  suppose  they  are  ....  Poetrj 
now.  You  might  not  think  so,  but  I  'm  awfully  keen  o 
poetry.  I  used  to  recite  "  The  boy  stood  on  the  burning  deck, 
when  I  was  a  little  chap,  but  I  think  that 's  rather  rot.  I  'i 
keen  on  SWINBURNE  and  LOCKSLEY  HALL,  and  those  chaps, 
think  LOCKSLEY  HALL  's  my  favourite  poet.  (Gathering  froi 
Mrs.  ONSLOW'S  expression  that  he  is  getting  out  of  his  depth,  an 
getting  back  to  safer  ground)  Now  tell  me  your  favourite  poe 
Mrs.  ONSLGW. 


Mrs.  Onslow  (seriously).  I  'm  devoted  to  ROSSETTI — (dreamily) 
delight  in  SHELLEY — (sincerely)  and  I  simply  love  ELLA  WHEELER 

'ILCOX  ! 

Captain  Dormer.  How  odd  !  How  our  tastes  do  agree,  Mrs. 
>NSLOW.  One  Avould  almost  think • 

Mrs.  Onslow  (rising  to  ring  the  bell).  Some  tea,  Captain 
)ORMER  ?  (Smiles  sweetly.) 

Captain  Dormer  (aware  of  a  check).  Oh,  thanks.  I  say,  you  don't 
now  what  it  is  to  me  being  able  to  come  round  like  this,  and 
ave  a  nice  intellectual  chat  with  you,  Mrs.  ONSLOW.  It  lifts 

ne  so  above  the  ordinary,  frivolous^ Oh,  you  know  what  I 

mean.  May  I  come  in  again  soon,  Mrs.  ONSLOW  and  have 
nother  talk  ?  I  'm  devoted  to  music,  and  I  know  you  are. 
layn't  I  take  you  to  one  of  those  jolly  classical  concerts  some 
fternoon  ?  At  Queens  Road,  or  somewhere  ? 

Mrs.  Onslow.  I  don't  know  quite  which  ones  you  mean, 

-aptain  DORMER,  but  I  'in  sure  I  should  be  only  too (Enter 

en)  Milk  and  sugar  ?  A.L. 


OUR    OWN    PRIVATE    VIEW.    R.A. 

THIS  year's  art,  as  evidenced  at  the  Academy,  seems  to  be 
pecially  prolific  in  sucklings,  babes  and  small  childen.  No 

vonder,  then,  that  Master  HARRY,  HARRY'S  son,  who  is  a  very 
arly  master,  should  find  in  this  show  special  opportunities  for 

lis  own  peculiar  style  of  recording  draughtsmanship. 

14.     "  The  King's  Yeoman."    By  Mr.  ARTHUR  GARRATT.    For  a 

Yeoman,  a  real  good  old  Beefeater,  associated  always  with 

Palaces  and  Drawing  Rooms,  to  come  to  a  Garratt  is  probably 

he  reason  why  this  Beefeater,  aged  and  thin,  with  very  little 

)eef  in  him,  only  the  costume  being  "full,"  should  appear  so 

melancholy.     Some  of  us  have  not  quite  forgotten  that  ancient 

'  Yeoman  of  the  Guard,"  eh? 

17.  Portrait  of  a  lady.  By  SOLOMON  J.  SOLOMON,  A.  The  lady 
s  in  very  pretty  evening  dress.  There  is  a  puzzled  expression 
on  her  face  as  she  lifts  her  left  arm  and  places  her  finger  on 
ier,lei't  shoulder.  What's  the  matter?  A  hidden  pin?  A 
mosquito  bite?  What  is  it?  Motto,  "Noli  me  tangere,"  as  the 
ady  said  to  the  insect. 

24.  The  Rev.  Canon  Wood,  D.D.  By  DOROTHEA  M.  WOOD. 
He  is  an  ecclesiastical  puzzle  to  the  simple  laic.  Being  attired 
in  Genevan  bands,  cardinal's  scarlet,  black  University  (?)  scarf, 
ring  (episcopal?)  on  his  finger,  likewise  wearing  an  embroidered 
surplice,  what  is  he  ?  Apparently  several  ecclesiastical  digni- 
taries rolled  into  one.  "  A  big  gun,"  not  a  mere  "  canon." 

32.  W.  H.  F.  Lyon,  Esq.  By  GEORGE  WATSON.  In  full  hunt- 
ing costume.  A  Lyon-hunter.  But,  cheer  up,  Sir,  in  spite  of 
your  having  on  your  right  (31)  ADAMS'  "Morning  Mists,"  from 
which  you  are  despondingly  turning  away,  you  have  below  you, 
may  be  in  the  kitchen,  (33)  "  The  Nimble  Oalliard,"  a  merry 
gentleman,  shown  by  Mr.  SEYMOUR  LUCAS,  R.A.,  singing  merrily 
to  his  own  accompaniment. 

80.  By  DENIS  EDEN.  After  Eden,  Adam  has  a  new  suit  and 
curious  black-beetle-crushing  boots. 

85.  "  The  Home  Wind."  By  C.  NAPIER  HEMY,  A.  Might  be 
two  Hemy-grants  from  another  -Hemy-sphere,  who  had  taken  a 
boat  and  put  to  sea  in  order  to  get  home  quickly.  "  Sale  and 
Return."  Delightfully  breezy. 

92.  Pretty  lady,  shown  by  ROSE  D.  BONNOR,  attired  for  going 
out,  and  waiting  for  her  friend,  or  friends,  to  fetch  her.     If 
her  friends  are  not  "  fetching,"  she  is. 

93.  GEORGE  W.  JOY.     A  Joyous  picture  of  "Britannia"  as 
"  an  armour-clad."     Let  us  hope  that  this  is  "  a  lasting  Joy," 
likewise  "  a  thing  of  beauty,"  which  is  "  a  Joy  for  ever  !  " 

98.  A  Dunn  !  Don't  be  frightened,  not  the  ordinary  sort  of 
"  Dun,"  but  a  portrait,  very  well  Dunn,  by  SOLOMON  J.  SOLOMON 
(that'sttoo  of  'em,  ergo,  why  not  call  himself  "SOLOMONS"?) 
of  a  good  old  sportsman  in  hunting  toggery,  grasping  his  whip  and 
severely  eyeing,  under  his  lashes,  the  figureiat  94,  Mr.  ARTHUR 


MAY  8,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


355 


(V. 


\ 


" 


i® 


B.  A.  PAINTINS. 

342.  Mrs.  "Workman.  "  Got  the  "Workman  in  the  house.  Horful 
noosance.  No  wonder  I  look  miserable  ! "  By  Harrington  Mann. 

811.  The  Sitwell  Family.  "This  is  rummy.  "Why  they 're  orl 
standing  up  !  Wot  price  the  Salid  bole  ?  "  J.  S.  Sargent,  K.A. 

254.  "  Oh,  .wot  awfully  rude  people  they  are  next  door  !  Don't 
look  at  'em,  darlings ! "  Charles  Sims. 

477.     "  Oh,  bother  !  Here  's  another  Cook's  lot  coming  !'' 

F.  Goodall,  E.A. 

212.  For  a  cup  of  corfee  'ot 

Drop  a  penny  in  the  slot.     G.  D.  Leslie,  E.A. 

64.     Alarming  reduction  at  a  Summer  Sale.     F.  Howard  Michael. 

178.  The  Misses  "Wertheimer,  and  the  tall  one  don't  see  a  nasty 
black-beedle  on  her  dress.  The  two  Morejarianas,  or  how  we  have 
our  "  Pickles"  in  from  the  Stores.  J.  S.  Sargent,  E.A. 

138.  A  Mermaid.  "It's  the  worst  of  these  %\d.  combs,  they 
tear  the  hair  so."  J.  W.  Water-house,  E.A.,  his  JJip-loma.  work, 
quite  a  watery  subject.  Get  your  umbrellas." 

41.  Miss  Kitty  Shannon.  Horfully  nice  girl !  Kind  of  subject 
that  glows  on  one.  J.  J.  Shannon,  A. 

377.  James  Bunten,  Esq.  Finding  the  shooting  flagging.  "W.  Q. 
Orchardson,  E.A. 

SOI.  Henry  Arthur  Jones,  Esq.  Beading  the  third  aud  last 
application  for  the  water-rate.  H.  G.  Eiviere. 

40.  "  Blossoms  fair."  Trying  to  arrange  them  after  lunch.  And 
quite  a  young  woman  too  !  W.  Q.  Orchardson,  E.A. 

788.  Edward  Cornish,  Master  of  the  Barbers'  Company,  1887—88. 
'  "Why  doesn't  he  have  a  shave,  then  ?  "  T.  E.  S.  Benham. 


\\ 


T6\ 


\\ 


THE  PRINSIPLE  PICKTURES  IN  THE  ROYLE  AKADEMY  RE-DRORN  BY  HARRY'S  SON. 


356 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[MAY  8,  1901. 


HOCKER,  A.'s,  young  lady,  who  has    "  nod  ings  on  "  and  very 
much  enjoying  a  vapoury  kind  of  bath. 

103.    Mr.  JOHN  SARGENT,  R.A.,  shows  us  a  lady  and  children 
What  does  she  see?      She  is    beckoning  with  her  right   to 
No.  108,  Mr.  ARTHUR  HACKER,  A.'s,  Thomas  C.  Dewey,  Esq.,  who 
looks  "  downy  "  as  well  as  Dewey.    Does  the  lady  want  him  to 
come  and  join  in  a  Dewey-ett  ? 

122.  FRANK  DICKSEE  R.A.'s,  Duchess  of  Buckingham  anc 
Chandos,  is  magnificent,  as  it  ought  to  be  seeing  that  the  lad\ 
is  a  Double  Duchess. 

146.    St.  Helena  or  "  Sant  Helena,"  as  it  is  by  J.  SANT,  R.A 
The  last  phase  of  "going  Nap."     For  further  information,  con- 
sult Lord  ROSEBERY. 

162.     "  The  Nearest  Way  Home,"  which  H.  W.  B.  DAVIS,  R.A. 
shows  you  is  to  go  by  Cowes.     To  a  nervous  person  it  migh 
seem  a  mere  "toss  up  "  whether  he  would  ever  arrive  at  home 
Certainly  he  would  not  find  himself  (as  the  artist  is)  at  home 
amongst  the  cows. 

164.  By  PETER  GRAHAM,  R.A.  "  Collecting  the  Flock."  The 
sheep  have  wandered  away  and  left  their  wool  behind  them 
where  a  waterfall  ought  to  be.  Delightful  scene  ! 

169.  Helena  and  Rermia.  By  Sir.  ED.  POYNTER,  Bart.,  P.R.A 
If  the  President  does  not  point  a  moral,  at  least  he  adorns  a 
tale.  'Ow  'Arry  will  like  'Elena  and  'Ermia ! 

174.  Here's  a  splendid  show  of  velvet,  steel,  and  gold,  a 
worn  by  the  Duke  of  Somerset  when   painted  by  Professoi 
HUBERT  VON  HERKOMER,  R.A. 

175.  "A  Gleam  before  the  Storm."    How  delightful  to  take 
shelter  from  the  magnificent  warrior   at  174,  and  follow  our 
leader,  our  B.  "W.  LEADER,  R.A.,  to  this  quiet  nook. 

198.  Sweet  Qegetta!  Fortunate  LUKE  FILDES,  R.A.  She  i: 
a  sly  Southern  puss,  who,  if  you  dare  to  make  any  advances 
will  giggle,  nudge  you,  and  say,  "  Ge-getta-long  with  you!' 
(Hence  the  name.) 

204.    All  hail  to  the  veteran,  dear  old  T.  SIDNEY  COOPER,  R.A. , 
with  all  his  a-cows-tic  properties  about  him.     In  this  and  hi 
three  other  [pictures  he  shows  himself  "still  going  strong!  " 
He  sends  four  pictures  this  year;  so  the  veteran  is  "well  to 
the  fore." 

219.  A  case  of  real  distress. 

"  She  only  said,  '  I  am  a-weary ' ; 
'  He  cometh  not,'  she  said  !  " 

"  I  know  this  lamp  will  sputter  and  smell,  and  I  can't  reach  it 
to  turn  it  out.  Oh,  why  isn't  CHA.RLES  here?"  Life-like,  by 
JOHN  S.  SARGENT,  R.A. 

220.  Sir  ALMA  TADEMA,  R.A.,  still  at  his  own  old  game  of 
Marbles,  and  always  a  winner. 

226.    James  E.  Vanner,  by  WALTER  W.  OULESS,  R.A.    Artist 
lost  a  chance  of  effect ;   he  ought  to  have  given  his  sitter  a 
real  good  cigar,   then  friends,  recognising  him,  would  have 
xclaimed,  "Ha!  Vanner! 

232.         "  I  'm  Sir  BENJAMIN  HINGLEY,  Bart. 
ARTHUR  S.  COPE,  A.,  with  his  art 
Has  painted  of  me  a  likeness  true  ! 
What  do  you  say,  Sir  ?    Who  are  you  ?  " 

236.  "The  Mystery  of  the  Stiffened  Fingers."  By  F.  S.  HURD 
WOOD. 

252.  ALFRED  PARSONS,  A.,  shows  us  "Last  Day  fur  Salmon  : 
Junction  of  the  Tees  and  Greta."  It  is  a  "  Grand  Junction  !  " 
Only  wants  a  line  (and  rod),  which  it  gets  in  this  Guide.  There 
ought  to  have  been  a  ferry  shown,  but  perhaps  the  artist  has 
lever  "  crossed  his  Tees." 

261.  T.  Gibson  Bowles,  Esq.,  M.P.,  by  GEORGE  WATSON.  By 
George,  indeed  !  T.  G.  B.  is  sky'd  1  Poor  Tom  has  gone  aloft  - 
But  just  like  him  !  He  was  ever  in  "the  upper  sukkles." 

361.  "  The  City  of  London  on  the  Yellow  Thames."  The  tale 
of  our  river  cleverly  and  truthfully  told  in  colour,  by  W.  L. 
WYLLIE,  A.  If  it 's  mud  you  want,  there  's  the  Yellow  Peril 
with  a  vengeance. 

377.    James   Bunten,  Esq.,   is   humorously  depicted   by  the 


eminent  W.  Q.  (quite  in  the  cue  here)  ORCHARDSON,  R.A.,  with 
a  gun  in  rest  waiting  for  the  game  to  begin. 
Baby,  Baby  Bunten, 
Daddy 's  out  a  hunten, 
To  get  a  little  rabbit's  skin, 
To  wrap  dear  Baby  Bunten  in. 

"Hunting"  here  evidently  means  "in  quest  of,"  as  no  one 
ever  went  out  "hunting"  rabbits.  What  a  bag  he  will  have 
before  the  Academy  closes  !  I  '11  rabbit-warren't  him  he  will  ! 
[This  picture  is  noticed  by  HARRY'S  son,  from  his  own  private 
view.] 

445.  B.  W.  LEADER,  R.A.,  gives  us  a  taste  of  "An  Old 
Southern  Port."  There  's  no  glass  to  it :  you  can  look,  but  you 
mustn't  touch.  No  matter,  it  will  improve  by  keeping.  Lucky 
the  seller  whence  this  port  comes,  and  still  luckier  the  buyer. 
B.  W.  LEADER'S  health  !  "  Port  it  is  !  " 
477.  "  A  Mystery  of  the  Past."  Behold  the  Sphinx  I  I%t 

Is  good  all  round,  for  GOODALL,  R.A.,  pinxit 

[Master  HARRY  takes  this  picture  from  another  point  of  view.} 

520.     "  Memories,"  so  C.  M.  Q.  ORCHARDSON  styles  his  picture 

of  a  lady  at  a  piano.    No  music  before  her,  playing  from  memory, 

having  apparently,  from  her  puzzled  expression,  got  the  tunes 

a  trifle  mixed. 

530.  Here  's  Henry  McGrady, 

All  lace-y.and  braidy, 
And  silvery  stripes  on  his  trews  ; 
He  hails  from  Dundee,  Sir, 
And  is,  as  you  '11  see,  Sir, 
Lord  Provost,  if  that 's  any  news. 
Here  's  to  the  painter  so  clever  and  gay, 
HUBERT  VON  HERKOMER,  R.A.    Hooray  ! 
Which  is  the  song  and  chorus  for  H.  V.  H.'s  students  when  they 
assemble  for  a  zither  evening,  as  you  may  see  them  repre- 
sented in  No.  305  by  same  Master.     Both  clever  pictures. 

Such  are  spine  among  the  many  exhibited  at  this  year's 
Academy,  the  success  whereof  will  be,  Mr.  Punch  trusts,  not 
one  whit  behind  that  of  former  years.  Ladies  and  Gentlemen, 
the  show  is  declared  open  !  Walk  up  !  Walk  up  I 


LAMENTS   OF    LONDON. 

["  The  housing  problem  is  daily  becoming  more  acute.  The  other  day  a 
woman  appeared  at  an  East  End  Police  Court  to  ask  the  magistrate's  advice. 
She  had  been  evicted  from  her  tenement,  and  had  since  tramped  London  in 
search  of  a  home  ;  but  although  she  was  prepared  to  give  7«.  6rf.  out  of  her 
weekly  wage  of  12s.  6rf.  she  could  find  none." — Daily  Paper,} 
TRUDGE,  trudge,  trudge — 

Tramping  the  East  for  a  home, 
Seeking  in  vain  through  sunshine  and  rain, 

We  wearily,  drearily  roam  ; 
While  our  little  ones  whimper  at  heel 

Through  dismal  dark  alleys  and  slums, 

And  weary  and  wet  and  hungry,  they  fret 

For  home — but  the  home  never  comes. 

The  birds  of  the  air  have  their  nests, 

The  beast  of  the  field  has  his  den 
Where  his  limbs  may  repose  in  the  spot  that  he  knows — 

But  what  of  us  children  of  men  ? 
No  rest  for  the  soles  of  our  feet, 

But  still  to  new  scenes  we  must  change, 
Still,  still  be  unknown,  without  homes  of  our  own, 

And  strangers  'mid  all  that  is  strange. 

Trudge,  trudge,  trudge, 

We  struggle,  with  labouring  breath 
And  tottering  knees,  through  dens  of  disease 

And  hovels  of  sickness  and  death. 
Trudge, trudge, trudge, 

Dog-weary  in  body  and  mind 
We  ply  our  sad  quest  without  hope,  without  rest, 

But  never  a  home  can  we  find. 


MAY  15,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


357 


DRAMATIC  SEQUELS. 

OCT AVIAN   AND  CLEOPATRA. 

THIS    is    not,    as    might    at    first    be 
imagined,   a  sequel  to  the    Antony   and 
Cleopatra  of   SHAKSPEARE,    but   to   the 
Ccesar   and    Cleopatra    of    Mr.     GEORGE 
BERNARD   SHAW.      Unlike   SHAKSPEARE'S 
famous   tragedy,    it    is   written   with    a 
scrupulous  regard  for  the  facts  of  history, 
and,   Mr.  SHAW,   if  we    would  let  him, 
would  be  happy  to  prove  in  a  prefatory 
essay  that  its  dialogue  is  not  only  true 
to  life,  but  is  substantially  a  reproduc- 
tion of  what  was  actually  spoken  in  the 
year  B.C.  31,  by  the  characters. 
SCENE — An  extravagantly  furnished  apart- 
tnent    in    the    Palace  at  Alexandria. 
CLEOPATRA  is  discovered  seated  upon 
her    throne.      She    is    dressed    with 
mournful  splendour,  as  befits  a  queen 
who    has    been    defeated    at    Actium 
and  has    suffered    a    recent  bereave- 
ment.    Her  face  is  as  attractive  as  a 
liberal  use  of  cosmetics  can  make  it, 
and  her  whole  appearance  is  tliat  of 
a  middle-aged  and  rather  dissipated 
member  of  the  corps  de  ballet,  who  lias 
gone  into  half-mourning  because    the 
manager     has    reduced     her    salary. 
CHARMIAN,  a  pretty,  shrewish-looking 
damsel,  is  in  attendance  on  her. 
Cleopatra  (nervously).  Am  I  looking  my 
best,  CHARMIAN  ? 

Charmian  (sulkily).  Your  majesty  is 
looking  as  well  as  I  can  make  you.  If 
you  are  not  satisfied  you  had  better  get 
another  maid. 

Cleo.  (looking  at  herself  in  hand  mirror). 
Silly  child.  Of  course  I  am  satisfied.  I 
think  you  are  wonderful. 

Char,  (mollified).  Yes.  I  think  I've  not 
done  so  badly. 

Cleo.  Of  course,  with  ANTONY  not  even 
buried  yet  it  would  hardly  have  done  for 
me  to  be  too  magnificent. 

Char,  (decidedly).  Most  unsuitable. 
Cleo.  As  it  is,  I  think  we  've  arrived  at 
a  rather  successful  blend  of  splendour  and 
sorrow,  suggesting  at  once  the  afflicted 
widow  and  the  queen  who  is  open  to  con- 
solation. 

Char.  That  is  certainly  the  impression 
we  intended  to  convey.    By  the  way,  when 
does  CJBSAR  arrive  ? 
Cleo.  OCTAVIAN  ?  Almost  at  once. 
Char.  His  first  visit,  isn't  it  ? 
Cleo.  Yes.    So  much  depends  on  a  first 
impression.     (Looks  at  mirror  again.)    I 
tkink  we  shall  captivate  him. 

Char,  (dubiously).  He 's  not  very  im- 
pressionable, I  hear. 

Cleo.  No.  But  I  shall  manage  it.  Think 
how  completely  I  fascinated  JULIUS. 

Char.  His    uncle  ?     I  'm   afraid    that 's 
hardly  a  reason   why   you  should  prove 
equally  attractive  to  the  nephew. 
Cleo.  My  dear  child,  why  not  ? 
Char.  Well  —  the    lapse    of   time,   you 
know.    That  was  seventeen  years  ago. 


ILLUSTRATED    QUOTATIONS. 

(One  so  seldom  finds  an  Artist  who  realises  the  poetic  conception.) 


I   HAVE  BEEN  DREAMING  OF  A  THING  LIKE  THEE. "—  Wade. 


Cleo.  How  horrid  you  are.  I  wish  you 
hadn't  such  an  accurate  memory  for  dates. 

Char.  Yes,  dates  are  stubborn  things. 

Cleo.  (pettishly).  That 's  no  excuse  for 
perpetually  reminding  me  of  them.  I 
declare  I  've  a  good  mind  to  have  you 
executed. 

Char,  (tranquilly).  Your  majesty  will 
hardly  do  that.  I  am  the  only  person  in 
Egypt  who  really  understands  the  secret 
of  your  majesty's  complexion. 

Cleo.  That 's  true.  But  you  ought  to  be 
more  tactful. 

Char,  (tossing  her  head).  You  can't  ex- 
pect me  to  display  tact  when  my  wages 
haven't  been  paid  since  the  battle  of 
Actium. 

Cleo.  Poor  child !  Never  mind,  when 
OCTAVIAN  is  at  my  feet  you  shall  be  paid 
in  full.  Will  that  satisfy  you  ? 

Char.  I  'd  much  rather  have  something 
on  account. 

Cteo.  I  wish  you  wouldn't  vex  me  in  this 
way  just  when  it 's  so  important  that  I 
should  look  my  best.  You  know  how  un- 


becoming temper  is  to  a  woman  when  she 
is  ...  well,  over  thirty  (beginning  to  cry). 
Char.  There,  there !  I  'm  sorry  I  said 
anything  to  hurt  you.  Don't  cry,  for 
Heaven's  sake,  or  that  rouge  will  run. 
Then  I  shall  have  to  go  all  over  you  again. 
Dry  your  eyes,  there  's  a  good  creature. 
(CLEOPATRA  does  so  obediently.)  I  declare 
you  're  all  in  streaks.  Come  here,  and  let 
me  put  you  straight. 

[CLEOPATRA  goes  to  CHARMIAN  ivho  pro- 
duces powder-puff,  etc.,  and  repairs 
the  ravages  of  emotion. 
Cleo.  Quick,  quick  !   They  're  coming.     I 
hear  them.    I  'm  glad  he  's  so  early.    Only 
a    quarter    of    an    hour    after  his    time. 
(Proudly)  That  shows  how  eager  he  is  to 
see  me !     I  feel  that  this  is  going  to  be 
another  of  my  triumphs. 

[CHARMIAN  puts  the  finishing  touch  to 
the  Queen  just  as  C.ESAR  enters. 
She  then  hastily  conceals  powder- 
puff,  etc.,  behind  her.  CLEOPATRA 
has  no  time  to  return  to  the  throne, 
and  stands  rather  awkwardly  with 


YOL.  CXX, 


358 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[MAY  15,  1901. 


CHABMIAN  to  receive  Tier  visitors. 
These  prove  to  be  OCTAVIAN,  a 
pale,  dyspeptic-looking  young  man 
of  about  thirty;  AGRIPPA,  a  bluff, 
thick-set,  red-faced  warrior  past 
middle-age,  and  a  guard  of  Roman 
soldiers. 

Octavian  (looking  round  the  gorgeous 
apartment  with  much  disgust,  and  speak- 
ing in  a  soft,  iveary  voice).  Ugh !  Bad 
taste,  very  bad  taste  all  this. 

Agrippa.  You  know  what  these  bar- 
barians are.  (To  the  two  women)  Kindly 
inform  the  Queen  C^SAR  is  here. 

Cleo.  (advancing).  I  am  the  Queen.  How 
do  you  do  ? 

Agr.  You  !    Nonsense  ! 
Cleo.  (archly).  Oh,  yes,  I  am. 
Oct.    (with    gentle   melancholy).    Dear, 
dear,  another  illusion  gone  ! 
Cleo.  Illusion  ? 

Oct.  Your  beauty,  you  know;  your 
grace,  your  charm.  I  had  heard  so  much 
of  them.  So  had  AGRIPPA.  Let  me  intro- 
duce you,  by  the  way.  AGRIPPA — CLEO- 
PATRA. (Wearily)  As  I  was  saying,  it  is 
most  disappointing. 

Agr.  (gruffly).  Not  what  I  expected  at 

all !  [CHARMIAN  giggles  furtively. 

Cleo.  (puzzled).  You — don't  admire  me  ? 

Oct.  (gently).  Admire    you  ?    My   dear 

lady! 

Cleo.    ( bridling ).    ANTONY    was    of   a 
different  opinion. 
Agr.  (bluntly).  ANTONY  was  a  fool. 
Oct.  Hush,  my  dear  AGRIPPA  !  You  hurt 
her  feelings. 

[AGRIPPA    shrugs    his    shoulders    and 

crosses  to  CHARMIAN,  with  whom 

he  commences  a  vigorous  flirtation. 

Cleo.  (angrily).  Never  mind  my  feelings. 

Oct.   Frankly  then,  dear  lady,  we  are 

not  impressed.     We  came  here  prepared 

for  a  beautiful  temptress,  a  dazzling  siren 

whom  I  must  resist  or  perish,  something 

seductive,  enticing.   And  what  do  we  find  ? 

Cleo.  (furious).  "Well,  what  do  you  find  ? 

Oct.  (in  his  gentlest  voice).    Dear  lady, 

don't  let  us  pursue  this  painful  subject. 

Probably  we  had  not  allowed  for  the  flight 

of  time.     Suffice  it  that  our  poor  hopes  are 

unrealised.     (Looking  round)  But  I  don't 

see  C^ESARION. 

Cleo.  (sullenly).  My  son  is  not  here. 
Oct.  Another  disappointment. 
Cleo.  You  wished  to  speak  to  him  ? 
Oct.  Yes.    They  talk  of  him  as  a  son  of 
JULIUS,  don't  they  ? 
Cleo.  He  is  a  son  of  JULIUS. 
Oct.  A  sort  of  relation  of  mine,  then? 
I  must  really  make  his  acquaintance.     Can 
you  give  me  his  address  ? 

Cleo.  (sulkily).  No.  If  you  want  him, 
you  will  have  to  find  him  for  yourself. 

Oct.  (blandly).  I  shall  find  him,  dearest 
Queen.    You  need  be  under  no  apprehen- 
sions about  that.  \ 
Cleo.  Brute ! 
Oct.  Eh? 
Cleo.    Nothing.    I  was  only  thinking. 


Oct.  Never  think  aloud,  dear  lady.  It 's 
a  dangerous  habit. 

Cleo.  (impatiently).  Is  there  anything 
further  you  want  with  me  ? 

Oct.  (affably).  Nothing,  thank  you, 
nothing.  At  least,  nothing  just  now. 

Cleo.  You  would  like  to  see  me  later  ? 

Oct.  (gentler  than  a  sucking  dove).  In  a 
few  weeks,  perhaps.  The  Triumph,  you 
know.  The  sovereign  people  throwing  up 
their  caps  and  hallooing.  The  Procession 
up  the  Sacred  Way,  with  the  headsman  at 
the  end  of  it  all.  (Yawning  slightly)  The 
usual  thing. 

Cleo.  (losing  her  temper).  Oh,  you  're 
not  a  man  at  all !  You  're  a  block,  a 
stone  !  You  have  no  blood  in  your  veins. 
You  're  not  like  ANTONY. 

Oct.  No,  dear  lady,  Ii'm  not  like  ANTONY. 
If  I  were,  I  shouldn't  have  beaten  him  at 
Actium. 

Cleo.  I  won't  stay  to  be  baited  in  this 
way.  I  won't !  I  won't ! 

[Goes  towards  door. 

Oct.  (gallantly).  Farewell,  then.  We  shall 
meet  again.  AGRIPPA,  the  Queen  is  going. 

Agr.  (breaking  off  in  the  midst  of  his 
flirtation).  Eh?  Oh,  goodbye. 

Cleo.   (stamping  her  foot).    CHARMIAN  ! 

[Exit. 

[CHARMIAN  jumps  up,  kisses  her  hand 
to  AGRIPPA  and  follows  her  mistress 
out. 

Agr.  (looking  after  her).  That 's  a  pretty 
little  minx. 

Oct.  (who  has  seated  himself  wearily  on 
the  throne).  Is  she?    I  didn't  notice  .  . 
C^SARION'S  fled. 

Agr.  So  I  supposed. 

Oct.  It 's  a  great  nuisance.  We  must 
find  him.  Will  you  see  about  it  ? 

Agr.  If  you  wish  it.  What  shall  I  do 
with  him  ? 

Oct.  (in  his  tired  voice).  Better  put  him 
to  death.  It  will  save  a  lot  of  trouble  in 
the  end. 

Agr.  But  the  boy  's  your  own  cousin. 

Oct.  Yes.  I  have  always  disliked  my 
relations. 

Agr.  (admiringly).  I  begin  to  think  you 
are  a  genius,  C.ESAR,  after  all. 

Oct.  I  am.  Much  good  it  does  me  !  I  'd 
give  my  genius  for  your  digestion  any  day. 

[Leans  bacfc  on  throne  and  closes  his  eyes. 

Enter  CHARMIAN  hurriedly,  looking  pale 

and  dishevelled. 

Char.  Help  !  Help  !  The  Queen  is  dying. 

Oct.  (irritably,  opening  his  eyes).  Stop 
that  noise,  girl !  You  make  my  head 
ache. 

Char.  She  is  dying,  I  tell  you.  She  has 
taken  poison.  [Exit,  squealing. 

Agr.  Poison,  by  Jove !  Confound  it, 
she  mustn't  do  that,  must  she  ? 

[Is  about  to  follow  CHARMIAN. 

Oct.  Why  not?  It  seems  to  me  an 
excellent  arrangement.  Very  thoughtful 
of  her.  Very  thoughtful  and  considerate. 

Agr.  But  we  want  her  for  that  Triumph 
of  yours. 


Oct.  Never  mind.  After  all,  what  is  a 
Triumph  ?  Disagreeable  for  her.  A  bore 
for  us.  Let  her  die  now,  by  all  means,  if 
she  prefers  it. 

Agr.  (impatiently).  Don't  you  try  and 
be  magnanimous  too.  Leave  that  to  your 
uncle.  He  did  it  better. 

Oct.  (wearily).  My  dear  AGRIPPA,  how 
stupid  you  are.  What  possible  use  can  a 
quite  plain  and  middle-aged  lady  be  in  a 
triumphal  procession  ?  If  CLEOPATRA  were 
still  attractive  I  should  say,  "Save  her, 
by  all  means."  As  she  isn't,  (yawning)  I 
think  we  may  let  her  die  her  own  way 
without  being  charged  with  excessive 
magnanimity. 

Agr.  (regretfully).  Still  I  should  have 
liked  to  have  seen  her  brought  to  Rome. 

Oct.  Ah.  I  shall  be  quite  contented  to 
see  her  comfortably  in  her  coffin  in  Egypt. 
We  '11  let  her  be  buried  beside  ANTONY. 
It  will  gratify  the  Egyptians,  and  it  won't 
hurt  us.  See  to  it,  there  's  a  good  fellow. 
[Exit  AGRIPPA.  OCTAVIAN  leans  back, 
and  falls  asleep  on  the  throne. 
ST.  J.  H. 


TO  PHYLLIS. 

FAIREST  PHYLLIS,  May  is  come, 
Leaves  are  bursting,  blossoms  budding, 

On  the  lawn  the  insects  hum, 
Overhead  white  clouds  are  scudding— 

So  Spring's  joys  pass  swiftly  by ; 

Let  us  taste  them  while  they  fly. 

Ah  !  youth's  happiness  we  prize, 
Idle  though  the  world  may  judge  it ; 

Let  them  then  our  joys  despise, 
Wrangle  over  Bill  and  Budget, 

Toil  and  pinch,  and  suffer  pain, 

Fame  and  worthless  wealth  to  gain. 

While  discordant  parties  shout, 
You  are  wise  and  do  not  heed  them  ; 

Books  that  wrap  men's  minds  in  doubt 
Harm  you  not,  you  do  not  read  them, 

Well  content  with  me  to  stand 

In  this  garden  hand  in  hand. 

Sing  Spring's  carols  while  you  may 
Ere  they  turn  to  Winter's  dirges  ; 

As  for  me  I  'm  growing  grey, 
And  for  you  youth's  pleasure  urges — 

In  another  year  or  so 

You  must  go  to  school,  you  know. 


NOTE  AND  QUERY  FROM  WILLIAM 
WHELK. — Dear  Mr.  Punch,  I  see  that  Mr. 
REGINALD  SMITH,  of  the  British  Museum, 
has  been  excavating  the  Ancient  British 
Estate  of  Win/clebury,  near  Basingstoke. 
He  has  found  a  boar's  tusk  and  some  bones, 
according  to  the  report  in  the  Pall  Mall 
Gazette.  Surely,  if  the  place  is  so  called 
in  consequence  of  their  having  buried 
'winkles — which  is  short  for  periwinkles, 
you  know — in  that  spot,  he  must  also  have 
discovered  any  amount  of  pins.  Will  you 
kindly  enquire,  and  oblige  ? 


MAY  15,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


359 


THE    LAST    WICKET. 

Kitchener  (Captain  and  Wicket-keeper).  "HE  HAS  KBPT  us  IN  THE  FIELD  A  DTCUCE  OF  A  TIME;  BUT  WE'LL  GET  HIM  NOW  WE'VE 

CLOSED  IN  FOR  CATCHES!" 


MAT  15,  1801-1 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


THE  NATIONAL  MEMORIAL. 
GET  all  the  money  that  you  can, 

And  when  the  sum  's  respectable, 
Draw  up  yourself  your  little  plan 

Of  what  you  think  delectable  ; 
Ignore  all  notions  but  your  own 

In  manner  dictatorial : 
Thus  will  you  get,  and  thus  alone, 

Your  National  Memorial. 

Next  you  must  have  a  sculptor — nay, 

I  wouldn't  let  them  flurry  you 
"With  open  competitions — they 

Would  only  bore  and  worry  you. 
What  though  they  rate  you  in  the  Press 

In  wrathful  editorial  ? 
The  sculptor  that  you  choose  will  bless 

Your  National  Memorial. 

Then  take  an  architect  or  two — 

The  great  unknowns  by  preference, 
Though  really  anyone  will  do 

Who  shows  sufficient  deference 
For  your  high  mightiness.     This  do 

And  everlasting  glory  '11 
Shine  radiant  upon  your  tru- 

Ly  National  Memorial. 


SUMMER  RESORTS. 
DREARDON-CUM-SLOOZE. 

SPRING  weather,  in  pleasing  variety  of 
sun  and  snow-shower,  now  prevails  in  this 
highly  fla — favoured  locality.  Mr.  JOSIAH 
JORKER,  Chairman  of  the  Rural  District 
Council  here,  has  bought  four  black  Berk- 
shire pigs,  and  to  lean  over  the  yard  gate 
and  inspect  them,  is  now  a  regular  after- 
noon occupation.  Discussion  as  to  their 
merits  runs  high  amongst  our  local  mag- 
nates. Situate  as  this  health  -  giving 
village  is,  it  offers  to  the  tired  brain- 
worker  complete  rest,  as  there  is  no 
railway  station  within  six  miles,  and  only 
the  day-bef ore-yesterday's  newspaper  is 
obtainable. 

CH  AWBOODLECUM . 

A  fine  bracing  N.E.  wind  has  dried 
the  roads,  and,  amongst  the  aged  and 
the  sick,  made  a  clearance,  thoroughly 
in  accord  with  the  "  survival  of  the 
fittest  "  doctrine.  Trade  has  never  been 
more  brisk  with  the  local  undertaker, 
and  the  much -respected  sexton.  The 
cricket  club  opens  its  season  to-day,  with 
a  match  against  the  neighbouring  village 
of  Sludgely.  A  "Sing-Song,"  or  "Free 
and  Easy,"  is  held  every  Saturday  night 
at  the  "Pig  and  Puppy-Dog,"  at  which 
well  -  known  hostelry  visitors  can  find 
every  accommodation. 

SLACKINGTON. 

In  this  genial  and  mild  air,  where  a 
steady,  gentle  rain  falls  on  very  nearly 
every  day  in  the  year,  the  Londoner, 
fleeing  from  the  trying  East  winds  of 
Spring,  may  find  a  welcome  refuge.  It  is 
quite  a  pretty  sight  on  Sundays  to  watch 
the  people  with  their  i  different  coloured 


Mary  (the  neiv  housemaid,  who  visits  the  study  for  the  first  time,  and  is  unnvare  that  poor 
Snooks  is  suffering  from  a  violent  headache,  and  has  been  ordered  to  keep  a  damp  cloth  round  his 
head  and  wear  goggles).  "  LAWK-A-MUSST  !  " 

Mrs.  Snooks  (appearing  at  door}.   "  WHAT  's  THE  MATTBB,  MAKY  ?    IT  's  ONLY  MASTER  ! " 


waterproofs,  stream  out  of  church.  There 
is  a  rumour  that  the  present  supply  of 
cabs  will  shortly  be  augmented  by  one,  if 
not  two,  fresh  vehicles.  On  Monday  last 
a  German  band  played  a  charming  selec- 
tion of  music  in  the  market  place,  and 
there  was  a  dog-fight  in  the  High  Street. 

PORKBURY. 

This  charming  spot  only  requires  to  be 
known,  to  ensure  plenty  of  patronage 
from  visitors.  The  new  pump  is  being 
pushed  forward  rapidly,  and  the  Vicar 
intends  to  hold  jumble  sales  once  a  week 
throughout  the  summer.  This,  in  itself, 
will,  it  is  expected,  prove  a  great 
attraction. 

Police  -  Constable     SLUMMERS,    whose 


urbanity  and  great  consideration  for 
the  inhabitants  (especially  on  Saturday 
nights)  have  always  been  so  conspicuous, 
is  about  to  leave,  and  some  of  the  more 
prominent  townsmen  have  taken  the 
opportunity  of  marking  their  sense  of 
his  valuable  services  by  presenting  him 
with  a  handsome  pewter  pot,  engraved 
with  his  name  and  the  date. 

A  piano-organist  noAV  regularly  attends 
the  weekly  market,  and  his  music  is 
greatly  appreciated  by  those  engaged  in 
buying  and  selling, 

At  the  Farmer's  Eighteenpenny  Ordi- 
nary, last  week,  Mr.  CHUMPJAW  stated 
that  his  mangolds  were  "  the  whackin'est 
big'uns  "  grown  in  the  county. 


362 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[MA*  15,  1901. 


ONE  MORE  ! 

WHY  did  the  strawberries  cry  ? 
Because  the  cream  was  whipped. 


THE    ACTOK-MANAGER   DISCOURSES, 
ii. 

MY  Lord,  I  have  your  gratifying  lines 
"Which  do  us  equal  honour,  me  and  you. 
You  have,  I  notice,  thoughtfully  perused 
The  critics'  judgment  on  my  latest  work, 
Wherein  they  dwell  with  proper  English  pride 
Upon  the  service  I  have  done  to  Art. 
That  soft  impeachment  I  will  not  deny. 
Nor  do  I  simply  claim  that  in  my  person 
I  touch  the  highest  single  peak  of  Art, 
As  the  Divine  Interpreter  of  Life, 
Nature's  Protagonist ;  I  also  am 
The  magnet  which  attracts  the  lesser  arts, 
The  link  that  binds  them  by  a  common  lure. 

Patron  of  letters,  silent  but  for  me, 
I  give  to  poetry  (or  else  to  prose) 
The  thing  they  lack— sublime  articulation  ; 
And  from  my  bounteous  hand  the  chosen  scribe 
Whom  I  delight  to  honour  bears  away 
The  most  enormous  guerdons  ever  known. 
Patron  of  plastic  art,  the  living  kind, 
I  have  an  exquisite  regard  for  form  ; 
And,  by  the  rhythmic  postures  I  assume, 
Teaching  my  company  likewise  to  pose 
As  breathing  statues,  ambulant  at  will, 
I  give  the  astonied  sculptor  food  for  thought. 
Patron  of  harmony,  I  set  my  seal 
On  incidental  music.    I  permit 
Triumphant  blasts  to  advertise  my  coming, 
Appropriate  strains  to  punctuate  my  words, 
And  melting  passages  to  mark  the  close  ; 
Yet  ever  keep  the  lower  art  in  check 
So  that  it  serves,  but  not  obscures,  the  higher. 

Patron  of  painting  also,  I  command 
Expert  professors  of  the  larger  brush 
(For  whose  colossal  schemes  a  fitting  scope 
May  not  be  found  on  ordinary  walls) 
To  bid  the  Titan  canvas  speak  aloud  ; 
Yet  not  so  loud  that,  when  I  walk  the  stage, 
Their  art  should  show  as  other  than  an  adjunct 
To  emphasise  and  throw  in  fair  relief 
My  dominating  personality ; 

While  for  the  drop-scene,  which  concerns  me  less, 
Being  my  background  merely  when  I  bow, 
And  rather  meant  to  soothe  the  general  brain 
Narcotically  to  beguile  the  time 
Vacant  between  the  visions  of  myself— 
Here  I  allow  a  wider  latitude, 
Letting  my  workmen's  fancy  play  at  large ; 
And,  if  I  judge  them  rightly  by  results, 
It  is  a  liberty  they  much  enjoy. 

Such,  then,  the  arts  to  which  I  give  a  home  ; 
And  yet  I  have  not  mentioned  nearly  all. 
Take  architecture  ;  I  encourage  that ; 
Eclectic,  I  extend  a  helping  hand 
To  representatives  of  various  styles, 
Gothic,  Flamboyant,  Perpendicular, 
Rococo,  and  of  Italy  new-born. 


Under  my  wing  the  decorative  arts 
Flourish  like  bay-trees  all  about  the  building. 
A  careless  luxury  pervades  the  place 
Rich  in  seraglio-spoils  and.  Tyrian  dyes, 
Druggets  of  Ind,  and  enervating  plush ; 
The  walls  are  eloquent  with  fresco-work 
Vaguely  suggestive  of  the  Sistine  vault ; 
Pillar  and  portal,  bar  and  balustrade 
Aspire  in  marble  (real,  not  imitation) 
Expressly  hewn  for  me  in  fabulous  climes, 
And  tinted  naturally  like  a  rainbow. 

Nor  do  I  overlook  the  humblest  arts. 
The  dull  mechanic  toils  at  my  behest 
Shifting  the  scenery  ;  the  lime-light  person 
Plays  round  me  with  his  concentrated  moons  ; 
To  me  the  wig-man  dedicates  his  wares, 
And  the  costumier  takes  his  breath  from  me. 
I  give  her  cue  to  Fashion  ;  when  I  move 
In  evening  dress,  conducting  social  plays, 
As  from  a  leading  tailor's  patterned  block 
The  youth  of  London  learns  the  latest  mode  ; 
And  to  my  ladies'  gowns  (inspired  by  me) 
Critics  devote  their  best  appreciations, 
Often  extending  to  a  semi-column. 

Some  other  minor  services  to  Art, 
May  have  escaped  my  notice  ;  and,  indeed, 
I  hardly  care  to  labour  instances 
Which  might  convey  a  hint  of  self-esteem. 
Enough  has  been  advanced  to  prove  that  I 
Am  something  more  than  mere  consummate  Master 
In  what  the  world  accounts  as  the  profession  ; 
That  I  attach  or  focus  to  myself 
All  sister  arts,  confederate  to  form 
A  kind  of  Universal  Exhibition  ; 
Like  certain  splendid  patrons,  known  to  fame, 
Tyrants  and  others,  who  encouraged  Art, 
Yet  cannot  properly  be  called  my  peers 
Since  they  were  only  amateurs  themselves ; 
As  DIONYSIUS  of  Syracuse, 
FRANCIS  the  First,  Pope  JULIUS  the  Second, 
AUGUSTUS,  PERICLES,  and  Monsieur  LOUBET. 

Once  more,  my  Lord,  I  willingly  accept 
Your  compliments.    It  is  my  pleasure  to 
Reciprocate  them  ;  I  enclose  a  Box. 


O.  S. 


"ALL    THAT   GLITTERS    IS   NOT   GOLD." 


(From  Diary  of  Sam  Peeps,  Junior.) 

May  1. — Up  betimes.  To  Westminster,  where  a  review  of  the 
Thames  fleet.  A  great  crowd  both  by  land  and  water,  and  well 
worth  seeing.  The  boats  all  newly  painted  and  mighty  brave 
with  flags  and  bunting,  so  that  it  was  the  finest  sight  that  ever 
I  did  see  in  all  my  life,  and  makes  me  resolve  in  future  ever  to 
go  by  water,  being  both  for  cheapness,  speed  and  comfort, 
better  than  the  crowded  streets  where  so  many  coaches. 

May  2.— To  Westminster.  Bought  a  ticket  for  Chelsea ;  cost 
me  2d .  Having  waited  half-an-hour,  was  told  the  boats  ran  every 
ten  minutes.  By-and-by,  a  boat,  and  all  well  till  VauxhaU 
Bridge,  where  the  tide  somewhat  strong  and  the  boat  weak ; 
we  could  by  no  means  pass,  but  swept  back  so  often  as  we 
reached  the  piers.  A  mighty  crowd  on  bridge,  and  cheered 
lustily,  to  our  no  small  indignation,  but  being  held  by  the  tide 
could  in  no  wise  escape,  and  at  their  mercy  more  than  half-an- 
hour.  And  so  anon  back  to  Lambeth,  where  all  ashore.  I  was 
for  keeping  my  ticket,  to  use  upon  another  occasion,  but  the 
man  would  not  suffer  me  to  pass.  Cost  me  2d.  and  upwards  of  an 
hour  to  travel  three  furlongs,  and  makes  me  doubtful  as  to  ever 
again  going  by  water. 


MAY  15,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


363 


The  Oldest  Inhabitant  (female)  to  Paterfamilias,  who  has  taken  to  snap-shotting,  and  has  teen  "  fiddling  about "  with  his  finder,  and 
focusing,  Ac.,  for  the  last  ten  minutes).  "I  CAN'T  HEAR  WHAT  YOU  BE  A.-PLAYIN\  SIR,  BEING  HARD  o'  HBARIN'  ;  BUT  THANKEE  KINDLY, 

SIR,   ALL  THE  SAME  !  " 


DIARY  OF  AN  ADVANCE  AGENT. 
(What  we  may  come  to.) 

Monday,  10  A.M.  —  Reached  England. 
Country  half  asleep. 

4.0  P.M.  —  Reached  London.  Village 
awake,  but  not  really  spry. 

4.80.— Reached  "Hotel  Magnificent." 

4'45. — Went  all  over  it.  Nice  house. 
Do  as  a  pied  a  terre  for  our  directors  when 
over  here. 

5.O.— Bought  it. 

8.0. — Dinner.  Arranged  to  turn  dining- 
room  into  ante-room  for  callers.  Tired. 
Counted  cheques.  Bed. 

Tuesday,  9.0  A.M. — Read  Times  at  break- 
fast. Leader  disparaging  our  company. 
Must  see  to  this. 

10.0. — Saw  proprietors  of  Times. 

11.0.— Bought  Times. 

12.0.— Heard  of  difficulty  with  staff. 
Editor  resigned. 

1.0  P.M. — Bought  some  editors. 

1.5. — Lunch. 

3.0  to  6.0.  —  Interviewed  company's 
competitors :  three  minutes  each . 


6.0  to  7.O.— "Wrote  cheques. 

8.80.— Theatre.  Play,  The  Ironmaster. 
Don't  like  the  sound  :  suggests  rivalry : 
must  see  if  rights  are  to  be  had. 

Wednesday. — Curiously  unlucky  morn- 
ing. Admiralty  wouldn't  sell  Fleet.  War 
Office  refused  to  scrap  guns.  Colonial 
Secretary  declined  to  let  me  have  Jamaica 
as  a  tip  for  our  ashes.  At  this  rate  no 
use  staying  out.  Picked  up  Thames 
Steamboat  fleet  for  an  old  song  on  way 
back.  Will  do  to  run  on  the  canals  inside 
our  fitting  shop. 

Thursday,  5.0  P.M. — Things  been  hum- 
ming to-day.  Steamboat  deal  evidently 
leaked  out.  Bought  the  P.  and  O., 
Cunard,  White  Star,  Orient,  Union  Castle, 
and  North  German  Lloyd.  Bought  the 
Liverpool  Docks.  Bought  the  London 
and  North  Western.  Cabled  to  my  com- 
pany that  they  might  begin  making. 

Friday,  10wO  A.M. — Cable  from  company 
asking  me  to  buy  less  and  sell  more. 
Nonsense.  Plenty  of  time  for  selling. 
Much  best  policy  to  buy  up  all  our 
customers  first ;  sell  to  ourselves  then, 
and  make  sure  of  orders. 


4.0  P.M.  —  Bought  Holyhead  Harbour. 
Made  an  offer  for  St.  George's  Channel. 

Saturday,  9.0  A.M. — Cable  from  home, 
"  Rival  Trust  formed.  Underselling.  Re- 
turn at  once." 

10.0  A.M.— Returning. 


PENS  IN  REST. 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCH, — That  usually  excel- 
lent Association  of  Warriors  the  Royal 
United  Service  Institution  recently  offered 
a  prize  for  the  best  essay  on  "  Lessons  to 
be  drawn  from  the  Expedition  to  South 
Africa  in  regard  to  the  best  organisation 
of  the  Land  Forces  of  the  Empire." 
Well,  Sir,  so  far  so  good. 

Now  what  do  you  say  to  these  headings 
to  such  a  paper  ?  "  Why  not  break  up  the 
Horse  Guards  ?"  "What  do  they  fail  to 
learn  at  the  Intelligence  Department?" 
"Who  is  responsible  for  everything?" 

There,  Sir,  those  headings  suggest  the 
contents  of  the  Essay  to  which  I  refer. 
And  yet,  Sir — no  prize  was  awarded  ! 
Yours  indignantly, 

A  HATER  OP  RED  TAPE. 


364 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


(MA?    15,    1901. 


WHAT  THE  ZOO  REALLY  WANTS! 

(Report  of  a  Midnight  Mass-Meeting  of  Representative  Denizens.) 

THE  ELEPHANT  (who,  on  the  motion  of  the  JACKAL,  was 
unanimously  voted  into  the  chair)  said  they  were  met  together 
that  evening  to  consider  the  present  highly  unsatisfactory 
state  of  their  accommodation  in  those  Gardens.  ("  Hear,  hear !  " 
and  groans.)  He  thought  the  general  trend  (great  applause)  was 
towards  a  thorough  overhauling  of  all  our  old-established 
institutions.  Any  weight  he  might  have  should  be  thrown  into 
the  scale  of  Reform.  There  was  much  that  needed  setting 
right.  (Clieers.)  For  instance,  he  could  not  think  it  was  quite 
fair  that  he  and  his  hon.  friend  the  CAMEL  should  be  the  only 
animals  compelled  to  ply  for  hire  as  public  conveyances.  He 
considered  the  LiON  and  the  TIGER  ought  to  take  their  turn  at 
this  work.  (The  KANGAROO.  "  Hear,  hear!  ") 

The  LION  had  no  objection  in  the  world  to  the  proposal — 
provided  he  were  licensed  to  carry  passengers  inside  as  well  as 
out. 

The  TIGER  was  quite  ready  to  consider  the  suggestion,  as 
amended.  What  he  chiefly  complained  of  was  the  scandalous  in- 
sufficiency of  the  catering.  He  would  like  to  see  every  animal 
provided  at  least  with  a  live  baby  on  his  birthday,  and  possibly 
on  Bank  Holidays.  (Cheers  from  all  the  CARNIVORE.)  From  the 
lowest  point  of  view,  he  thought  it  would  draw  the  Public.  He 
felt  sure  he  could  rely  on  the  support  of  his  hon.  friend,  if  he 
would  allow  him  to  term  him  so,  the  GIRAFFE. 

The  GIRAFFE  said  that,  as  a  confirmed  vegetarian,  he  was  of 
opinion  that  dates  contained  more  sustenance  to  the  square 
inch  than  their  equivalent  in  babies.  (Uproar.)  Well,  it  was 
purely  a  matter  of  taste.  Where  he  ventured  to  think  the 
authorities  wanting  was  in  their  neglect  to  provide  more 
facilities  for  exercise.  (Loud  applause.)  Why  not  transform  the 
whole  of  the  Regent's  Park  into  a  desert  ?  A  few  cart-loads  of 
sand,  a  palm  or  two,  and  the  thing  would  be  done.  Then 
individuals  like  his  friend  the  SLOTH,  for  instance,  would  be 
encouraged  to  lead  healthier  lives. 

The  SLOTH  was  understood  to  remark  that  exercise  was  all 
skittles.  Let  every  animal  be  given  a  good  old-fashioned  four- 
post  bedstead,  and  never  be  called  except  for  meals,  and  they 
would  hear  no  more  grumbling.  He  appealed  to  his  friend  the 
LYNX. 

The  LYNX  said  his  friend  the  SLOTH  had,  in  appealing  to  him, 
come — if  they  would  pass  the  expression — to  the  wrong  shop. 
He  generally  sat  up  all  night,  and  never  slept  except  with  one 
eye  open.  The  Gardens  always  closed  just  when  he  was  begin- 
ning to  feel  lively  and  ready  to  make  an  evening  of  it. 

The  POLAR  BEAR  was  prepared  to  support  the  GIRAFFE'S 
scheme  with  a  slight  modification.  None  of  your  sandy  deserts. 
Make  the  entire  Park  into  a  Skating  Rink,  with  real  ice  and 
real  icebergs  (even  artificial  would  be  better  than  nothing). 
At  present,  the  place  was  disgracefully  overheated.  ("JVo, 
no!"  from  the  SALAMANDER.)  Perhaps  his  friend  would  allow 
him  to  know  what  he  was  talking  about.  All  he  could  say  was 
that,  since  his  arrival  in  those  Gardens,  he  had  never  once 
known  what  it  was  to  feel  comfortably  cool. 

The  HIPPOPOTAMUS  thought  there  should  be  some  opportunity 
afforded  for  innocent  social  recreation.  They  might  rail  in  a 
space,  engage  the  Pink  Pomeranians,  and  allow  the  animals  to 
meet,  say,  every  Saturday  evening,  for  a  friendly  dance.  Hislfriend 
the  HYENA  appeared  to  be  amused — but,  if  his  laughter  implied 
any  allusion  to  the  speaker's  figure,  he  might  inform  him  that 
stout  persons  were  notoriously  the  most  graceful  performers  in 
the  Terpsichorean  Art.  Not  that  he  went  in  for  round  dances — 
only  square — still,  he  nattered  himself— (Roars  of  laughter,  led 
by  the  HYENA,  amidst  which  the  speaker  sat  down). 

The  OSTRICH  said  he  enjoyed  a  waltz  occasionally,  but  he 
liked  lots  of  room  for  it.  Personally,  he  would  rather  see  a 
Cinder  track  laid  down  all  round  the  Park  and  sprinting  races 
instituted.  He  would  back  himself  for  a  pound  of  brass-headed 


nails  and  a  pocket  corkscrew  to  give  the  PELICAN  and  TOUCAN 
a  thousand  yards  start,  and  beat  their  old  beaks  off. 

The  PELICAN  regretted  that  he  was  no  longer  an  Athlete. 
But  he  was  still  a  keen  sportsman,  and  would  like  to  see  every 
animal  there  allotted  his  private  lake,  with  the  fishing  strictly 
preserved.  Think  what  it  would  mean  to  an  overworked  person 
like  his  friend  the  CAMEL  to  get  away  occasionally  for  a  quiet 
day's  fishing. 

A  BLUE-NOSED  BABOON  considered  they  all  required  some  form 
of  rational  amusement.  He  was  sick  and  tired  of  pulling  a 
smaller  monkey's  tail,  and  then  bolting.  Why  shouldn't  they 
be  given  a  Switchback  Railway,  or  a  Steam  Merry-go-Rxnind? 
But  even  a  Rocking-Horse  in  every  cage  would  afford  them  some 
intellectual  diversion.  They  had  a  rocking-horse,  he  knew,  at 
the  Manchester  Zoo,  also  a  pump  with  a  movable  handle. 

The  RHINOCEROS  said  if  anyone  dared  to  put  a  Rocking-Horso 
in  his  stable,  he  would  rip  it  open.  Ah,  he  would,  though  ! 
Bolder  measures  were  wanted  if  the  Zoo  was  to  be  rendered 
decently  habitable.  His  idea  was  :  Keep  out  the  Public,  turn 
the  Gardens  into  a  jungle,  with  plenty  of  swamp,  and  then  let 
all  the  animals  loose  to  enjoy  themselves  in  their  own  fashion. 
They  wouldn't  be  bothered  with  Keepers  very  long  after  that. 

The  RUSSIAN  WOLF  doubted  whether  the  Swamp  would  hold 
water.  He  had  a  better  plan.  Lay  down  five  feet  of  snow  over 
the  whole  Park,  throw  it  open  to  the  public,  and  get  them  to 
take  up  sleighing.  There  was  worse  fun,  he  could  assure  them, 
then  chiveying  a  sleigh  with  a  couple  of  crocks  and  a  confirmed 
roarer  in  the  traces. 

The  TORTOISE  said  that  was  not  a  form  of  amusement  that 
particularly  appealed  to  him.  He  preferred  burrowing,  and  he 
attributed  his  perfect  health  at  his  advanced  age  entirely  to  a 
lifelong  abstinence  from  violent  physical  exercise  and  excite- 
ment. 

The  SEAL  advocated  the  erection  of  a  Waterchute,  like  the 
one  at  Earl's  Court.  Boats  would  not  be  required,  as  they  could 
easily  slide  down  on  their  stomachs.  He  merely  threw  out  the 
suggestion.  (Interruption.) 

The  Chairman.  We  all  throw  it  out.  Preposterous  !  It  is  a 
pity  some  people  haven't  more  imagination !  (The  SEAL  resumed 
his  seat.) 

The  BROWN  BEAR  said  it  appeared  to  him  that  the  grand 
mistake  all  previous  speakers  had  made  was  to  regard  this 
important  question  too  much  from  a  personal  point  of  view 
He  had  a  proposition  which  he  ventured  to  think  avoided  that 
error,  and  consulted  the  general  convenience.  Let  the  Committee 
give  each  animal  a  good  large  pit  all  to  himself — (Applause.) — 
he  had  not  finished  yet.  Let  that  pit  be  provided — not  with  a 
clumsy  old-fashioned  climbing  pole — but  an  up-to-date  hydraulic 
lift.  Surely  they  saw  the  advantage  of  that  ?  Why,  when  they 
noticed  a  particularly  attractive  infant  above,  with  a  bun  or 
what-not,  all  they  would  have  to  do  would  be  to  step  into  the 
lift,  be  carried  comfortably  up,  and,  well — help  themselves. 
If  their  comforts  were  only  studied  a  little  more  in  little  things 
like  that,  he  was  sure  they  would  all  be  better  and  happier  beasts. 

The  BEAVER  considered  that  their  chief  grievance  was  the 
housing  accommodation,  which  was  totally  inadequate.  He 
attributed  this  to  the  employment  of  Human  Architects  instead 
of  animals  like  themselves,  who  are  naturally  the  best  judges  of 
of  their  own  requirements.  Give  him  plenty  of  time  and  build- 
ing materials,  and  he  would  undertake  to  re-house  the  whole 
population  on  a  scientific  and  sanitary  system  of  his  own. 
(Interruption.)  He  had  been  building  ever  since  he  was  born, 
and  was  he  to  be  told  that  he  did  not  know  his  business  by  that 
time  ?  He  knew  from  whence  those  ignoble  attempts  to  howl 
him  down  proceeded — from  envious  and  incompetent  amateurs 

like (The  remainder  of  the  BEAVER'S  remarks  was  inaudible 

from  the  gallery.) 

Other  speakers  followed,  but  the  meeting  broke  up  about 
4.30  A.M.  in  some  confusion,  without  having  adopted  any  definite 
scheme  of  improvement,  and  was  adjourned  sine  die.  F.  A. 


MAY  15,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


365 


OUT  OF  DANGER. 

[A  book  has  just  been  published,  entitled,  "  Hew 
to  avoid  Payment  of  Debt<""| 

HAIL,  most  kindly  foe  to  duns, 
"Who,  a  worthy  purpose  aiding, 

Come  to  counsel  needy  ones 
In  their  task  of  law-evading. , 

Prime  them  well  with  precepts,  how 
Best  with  creditors  to  wrangle ; 

Show  what  shifts  the  laws  allow, 
How  their  mazes  more  to  tangle. 

Let  us  purchase  choicest  wine, 
Precious  jewels,  costly  raiment, 

Frolic  freely,  gratis  dine, 
Revel — and  avoid  the  payment. 

Fools  and  money  bid  us  part, 

And  provide  us  "mugs  "  for  milking  ; 
Give  us  lesson  in  the  art 

Of  an  advantageous  bilking. 

Yet  of  debt  though  thus  we  shun 
Payment — or  at  least  defer  it, 

Here 's  a  plan — a  simpler  one 
And  a  safer — don't  incur  it. 


PEOPLE  WHO  PALL  ON  ME. 
I. — THE  MAN  WHO  is  ALWAYS  SEEDY. 

IT  isn't  FLABSTER'S  fault — I  know  all 
about  that ;  but  he  's  one  of  the  most  de- 
pressing men  I  ever  met.  He  carries 
about  him  the  atmosphere  of  a  chemist's 
shop,  and  always  looks  as  if  he  had 
swallowed  the  wrong  medicine.  He 's 
the  kind  of  man  who  never  has  a  sensible 
straightforward  illness,  but  has  per- 
petually some  flnnicking  little  ailment 
that  afflicts  his  friends  far  more  than  it 
afflicts  him.  He  makes  it  a  rule  to  tell 
his  family  history  after  he  's  known  you 
about  two  minutes.  His  grandfather  was 
a  martyr  to  asthma,  and  his  grandmother 
suffered  from  nerves.  So,  probably,  on 
consideration  did  the  grandfather,  but 
FLABSTEB  never  enlarged  on  that  point. 

Then  his  father But  FLABSTER  will 

tell  you  all  about  it  when  you  see  him. 

"Heredity,  my  friend,"  says  he  (I 'm 
not  his  friend,  but  that 's  one  of  ,FLAB- 
STER'S  hasty  assumptions) ;"  diathesis — 
gouty  diathesis  !  ' ' 

"Dire  nuisance,"  I  murmur  under  my 
breath,  then  try  to  look  sympathetic. 

"I  tell  you  what,"  said  FLABSTER 
solemnly  to  me  one;  day.  "If  people 
always  took  a  small  quantity  of  liquid 
at  kthe  end  of  meals  they  would  be  far 
better." 

"A  liqueur  does  make  a  difference,"  I 
assented  heartily,  —  if  somewhat  mali- 
ciously. 

He  regarded  me  with  a  look  of  bilious 
reproach,  and  I  fled. 

One  could  forgive  FLABSTER  for  not 
being  enthusiastic  about  the  English 
climate.  But  no  climate  was  ever  known 
to  suit  him.  If  you  meet  him  in  the 


Carpenter.    "  WELL,  BOY,  HAVB  YOU  GROUND  ALL  THE  TOOLS,  AS  I  TOLD  YOU,   WHILE 

I'VK  BBBN  OUT?" 

Boy  (newly  apprenticed).  "YES,   MASTER,  ALL  BUT  THIS   'ERE   'ANDBAW.     AN'  I   CAN'T 

QUITB  QBT  THB  GAPS  OUT  OP  IT  1" 


Engadine  in  radiant  weather  he  complains 
dismally  about  vertigo  and  over-stimula- 
tion from  the  air,  and  not  even  the  most 
obvious  witticisms  will  shame  him. 

One  superb  June  I  met  him  in  Venice. 
I  thought  him  looking  very  well,  and 
ventured  on  the  observation.  Of  course 
he  denied  it,  with  the  air  of  a  man  whose 
moral  character  has  been  besmirched  and 
who  despairs  of  ever  being  understood. 

"I  thought  you  would  say  so,"  he 
remarked  with  a  gloomy  smile.  "  It 's  the 
peculiarity  of  malarial  complaints " 

Then  I  recollected  an  appointment  and 
made  for  the  nearest  gondola. 

FLABSTER  is  well-to-do :  a  man  should 


take  his  gout  where  he  gets  his  gold,  and 
be  thankful.  He  has  no  particular  work 
to  do  (if  he  had,  perhaps  his  health 
would  improve) ;  yet  he  is  always  taking 
a  holiday  because  he  is  "run  down."  I 
wish — but  no,  that 's  brutal ! 

No  doubt  his  ancestors  have  bequeathed 
various  unpleasant  little  legacies ;  but 
that's  no  reason  why  other  folk  should 
pay  duty  on  them.  FLABSTER  should  re- 
member that  there  are  other  forms  of 
light  literature  besides  QUAIN'S  Dictionary 
of  Medicine.  A.  R. 

MOTTO  FOR  A  VOLUME  OP  QUOTATIONS 
FROM  DICKENS. — "  '  Boz'  locutus  est." 


366 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[MAY  15,  1901. 


"  HOME,   SWEET 
HOME !  " 

SCENE — Author's 

Sanctum.  TIME — 

The  best  hour  for 

work.    Author 

discovered,    pen 

in  hand,  reading 

his  opening  sen- 
tence. 

Author.  "The 
cruelty  of  small 
things  is  summed 
up  in " 

Mrs.  Author 
(entering).  Don't 
let  me  disturb  you, 
clear;  but  didn't 
you  say  the  top 
landing  was  to  be 
whitewashed  ? 

Author  (irri- 
tably). Of  course. 
Now,  pray  do  leave 
me  alone.  I  must 
get  on  with  my 
work. 

Mrs.  Author. 
Well,  you  needn't 
be  so  irritable. 
You  know  you 
would  be  very 
angry  if  we  made 
a  mistake.  You 
quite  understand 
— the  top  landing 
is  to  be  white- 
washed. Eh  ?  No- 
thing more  ? 

Author.  White- 
wash everything, 
so  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned ;  but  I'm 
very  busy  just 
now.  (He  is  left 
alone.)  Now,  let 
me  see.  (Reads) 
"The  cruelty  of 
small  things  is 
summed  up  in ' ' 

Mrs.  Author  (re- . 

appearing).      Did   you    say   the   children 
were  not  to  go  out  in  the  square  ? 

Author  (irritably).  Oh,  for  goodness  sake 
my  dear !  Certainly.  Let  them  go — any- 
where ! 

Mrs.  Author.  You  see,  all  the  windows   of  his  joys,  &c.,  then,  with  a  remembrance 
are  open  on  account  of  the  workmen,  so   o) 'W-ls-n  J8-rr-tt, "  How  long!  how  long!" 


Little  JSoreham.  "AND  THESE  STOOD  THE  LION  RIGHT  IN  MY  PATH  1" 

Fascinating  Widow.   "AuD  1  SUPPOSE  IT  WAS  TOO  LATB  TO  TAKE  ANOTHER  PATH  !' 


Mrs.  Author. 
Now,  you  are 
losing  your 
temper.  You  know 
we  must  have  it 
done.  But,  there, 
I  won't  disturb 
you.  I  'm  off. 

[Exit. 

Author  (return- 
ing to  his  worlc). 
"The  cruelty  of 
small  things  is 
summed  up  "  —  is 
summed  up  —  oh, 
I  know,  "in  a 
spring  clean- 
ing!" 

[Groans  audibly. 

Curtain. 


THE   OLD   STYLE 
AND  THE  NEW. 

OLD  STYLE. 

0J0iciaZ.,You  will 
be  glad  to  learn 
that  by  not  re- 
cruiting up  to  the 
full  strength  of  the 
Array  we  have 
saved  thousands  of 
pounds. 

Tax -Payer.  Ex- 
cellent !  Grand 
economy  ! 

Official.  And  by 
giving  out  impos- 
sible contracts 
have  decreased  the 
proper  number  of 
our  Navy. 

Tax-Payer. 
Good !  Marvellous 
finance ! 

Official.  And  by 
these  means  are 
scarcely  taxing 
anybody. 

Tax-Payer.  Any- 
body too  many. 


a  little  interest 
fare. 


in   your  children's  wel- 


Author  (bitterly).  I  take  so  much  in- 
terest that  I  am  writing  myself  dry  to 
gain  a  livelihood  for  them.  (Exit  partner 


the  children  might  catch  cold. 

Author  (with  great  self-restraint).  Quite 
so.  Let  them  go,  by  all  means.  But 
just  at  this  minute 

Mrs.  Author.  Though,  of  course,  Dr. 
AURICALL  said  they  were  very  delicate 
and  that  the  wind  was  in  the  East. 

Author  (sweetly).    Then  keep  them  in. 

But  (plaintively),  please 

[Resumes  work. 

Mrs.   Author.   Surely   you  might   take 


setti«s  down  to  ivork  again.)  Now  let  me 
take  up  the  thread  of  my  article.  "The 
cruelty  of  small  things  is  summed  up 
in "  What,  again  ! 

Mrs.  Author  (who  has  re-entered).  You 
must  be  reasonable.  Is  the  paint  in  the 
dining  -  room  to  have  one  coat  or 
two? 

Author  (wearily).  Oh,  three,  or  four, 
or  five  !  (Ironically)  And  waistcoats 
too! 


Ought  to  be  taxing  nobody  ! 
NEW  STYLE. 

Official.  I  am  sure  you  will  be  pleased 
to  hear  that  by  paying  everyone  five 
shillings  a  day  we  have  overdrawn 
millions. 

Tax-Payer.  Why,  certainly !  Justifiable 
expenditure ! 

Official.  And  by  placing  our  contracts 
properly  have  doubled  the  fleet  by  a 
limitless  expenditure ! 

Tax  -  Payer.'  Magnificent !  Splendid 
grasp  of  figures ! 

Official.  And  by  these  means  are  taxing 
nearly  anybody. 

Tax-Payer.  Anybody,  good  friend,  not 
enough.  Ought  to  be  taxing  everybody  ! 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.— MAY  15,  1901. 


THE   RAW  MATERIAL. 


THE  RIGHT  HON.  SIR  JOHN  E.  GORST,  Q.C.,  M.P.  "  YOU  'VE  A  GREAT  CAREER  BEFORE  YOU,  MY  LITTLE  MAN! 
UNDER  MY  NEW  SCHEME  THERE  IS  NOTHING  TO  PREVENT  YOU  FROM  BEING  SENIOR  WRANGLER,  OR 
PRESIDENT  OF  THE  ROYAL  SOCIETY,  OR  EVEN— AHEM  !— VICE-PRESIDENT  OF  COMMITTEE  OF  EDUCATION  !  "  f 

UNEDUCATED  URCHIN.  "  GARN  !    WHO  ARE  YOU  GETTIN'  AT?" 


MAT  15,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


369 


ESSENCE    OF    PARLIAMENT. 

FKOM  THE  DIARY  OF  TOBY,  M.P. 
of  Commons,  Monday,  May  6. — 
"  Cut  the  cackle  and  come  to  the  'osses." 
Thus  PRINCE  ARTHUR,  in  his  anguish 
dropping  into  slang  translation  of  ancient 
Greek.  Invocation  murmured  through 
open  fingers  of  hands,  on  which  his  head 
was  bent  in  attitude  of  despair  seen  only 
once  or  twice  in  a  Session.  Second  night  of 
debate  on  Coal  Tax  Resolution ;  had  hoped 
to  finish  it  at  one  sitting ;  for  all  useful 
purposes  hope  might  have  been  realised  ; 
but  the  beggared  coal-owners  die  hard. 
If  they  have  to  pay  a  shilling  a  ton  export 
duty  on  some  of  their  coal,  they  will  take 
it  out  in  talk.  Coal  constituencies  through- 
out Kingdom  incited  to  put  pressure  on 
their  representatives.  These  last  came 
down  in  scores  with  speech  ready  ;  when- 
ever Member  on  legs  made  an  end  of 
speaking,  a  dozen  others  swooped  in  effort 
to  catch  the  SPEAKER'S  eye. 

Adjournment  last  Thursday  inevitable; 
conceded  at  last  moment.  Anyhow,  will 
get  division  at  this  sitting ;  more  Members 
than  ever  want  to  talk ;  give  them  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  or,  at  most,  twenty 
minutes  apiece,  and  might  have  useful, 
interesting  debate.  And  here  's  BROTHER 
GERALD,  of  all  men  in  the  world,  rising 
after  EDWARD  GREY  and  talking  for  an 
hour  and  twenty  minutes.  If  some  enemy 
had  done  this  thing,  if  it  were  an  Irish 
Member,  it  would  be  the  expected  and 
must  be  endured.  But  the  President  of 
the  Board  of  Trade  ! 

0  GEBALD,  0  mon  frere, 
Le  bon  sens  t'abandonne. 

This  start  enough  to  cripple  any  debate  ; 
did  not  recover  for  hours.  Towards  mid- 
night LAMBTON  lifted  the  cloud  with 
breezy  speech  in  which,  to  delight  of 
SQUIRE  OF  MALWOOD,  he  "went  for"  ST. 
MICHAEL.  In  other  passages  mentioned 
some  interesting  autobiographical  inci- 
dents. Appears  that  this  scion  of  the 
Durham  family,  beginning  his  oratorical 
career  lisped,  not  in  numbers  but,  in 
measures.  To  be  precise,  in  coal  measures. 
Years  ago,  when  a  boy  at  Eton,  distur- 
bance in  the  coal  trade  was  made  topic 
of  debate  at  Pop.  Naturally,  young 
LAMBTON  an  authority  on  the  subject ; 
delivered  a  speech  which  settled  contro- 
versy. To-night  read  to  attentive  House 
summary  report  of  proceedings.  Debate 
in  House  of  Commons  from  time  of 
BURKE  and  Fox,  frequently  quoted  at 
Pop.  Never  before  was  House  of  Commons 
treated  to  intellectual  educational  advan- 
tage of  learning  what  had  been  said  by 
short-jacketed  statesmen  settling  affairs 
of  universe  in  that  Cradle  of  Cabinet 
Ministers. 

Business  done. — Coal  Tax  Resolution 
carried  by  333  votes  against  227. 

Tuesday.— The  MEMBER  FOR  SARK  has  a 


curious  theory  about  the  Member  for 
Carmarthen  District.  According  to  com- 
mon report,  Mr.  Pickwick  has  been  dead 
these  many  years.  SARK  insists  that  he  is 
back  with  us  in  the  flesh,  and  has  assumed 
the  name  of  ALFRED  DAVIES.  Of  course, 
there  can  be  nothing  in  it.  But,  really, 
when  you  watch  Mr.  DAVIES  advancing  a 
pace  on  to  the  floor  of  the  House  with 
intent  to  unmask  DON  JOSE,  one  recalls 
Sam  Welter's  immortal  master.  Put  Mr. 
DAVIES  in  tights  and  gaiters,  with  one 
hand  behintl  his  coat-tails,  the  other 
waving  in  the  air  to  assist  his  denuncia- 
tion of  the  Author  of  all  Modern  Evil,  and 


"ME.  PICKWICK"  EEDIVIVUS! 

"  Will  the  right  hon.  Gentleman  the  Colonial 
Secretary  do  me  the  honour  of  replying  to  my 
Question,  and  will  he  also  have  the  kindness  to 
make  himself  audible  ?  May  I  also  so  far  presume 
as  to  ask  for  strict  silenc  j  while  the  answer  to  this 
Question  is  given  ?  " 

(Mr.  Alfr-d  D-v-s.) 

you  have  Mr.  Pickwick  to  a  gaiter  button. 
Owing  to  nature  of  Mr.  DAVIES'S  self- 
appointed  mission  in  the  House,  it  is 
Mr.  Pickwick  in  his  severest  moments — 
Mr.  Pickwick  meditating  over  the  iniqui- 
ties of  Job  Trotter,  made  known  in  the 
confidences  of  Sam  Weller. 

When  he  has  a  Question  to  put  indica- 
ting discovery  of  some  fresh  enormities 
at  Colonial  Office,  Mr.  DAVIES  strategi- 
cally secures  a  seat  on  front  bench  below 
the  Gangway,  whence  he  can  watch  the 
conscience-stricken  COLONIAL  SECRETARY 
awaiting  the  moment  of  peril.  Before 
the  Bench,  drawn  on  the  matting,  runs 
a  thin  red  line,  reminiscent  of  duelling 
days.  When  GEORGE  THE  THIRD  was 


King  Members  were  prone  in  the  heat  of 
argument  to  advance  a  pace  across  the 
floor  with  intent  to  pink  each  other ;  this 
line  was  drawn,  and  order  issued  that  no 
gentleman  addressing  the  House  should 
cross  it.  Mr.  DA. VIES,  intent  on  "  getting 
at "  DON  Josri,  disregards  the  injunction 
which,  the  ancient  cause  non-existent, 
abides  to  this  day.  Stepping  well  out 
beyond  the  line,  so  that  the  House  may 
contemplate  the  Pickwickian  outline  of 
face  and  figure,  he  fixes  a  piercing  eye 
on  DON  JOSE,  puts  his  Question,  resumes 
his  seat,  magisterially  crosses  one  short 
leg  over  the  other,  and  waits  to  hear 
what  prisoner  in  the  dock  has  to  say. 
Usually,  by  way  of  preface,  he  wags  a 
forefinger  at  the  culprit,  instructing  him 
how  he  should  answer,  and  informing  him 
it  is  no  use  his  endeavouring  to  wriggle 
out  of  the  tight  place  into  which  Mr. 
Piclnvick's  acumen  and  knowledge  of 
affairs  have  thrust  him. 

His  buoyancy,  his  bubbling-over  con- 
viction that  the  terrible  Minister  has  at 
length  found  'his  match,  combined  with 
DON  Josh's  stern  repressal  of  instinct  and 
desire  to  tear  the  little  man  into  shreds, 
supplies  a  bit  of  comedy  precious  in  dull 
times. 

Business  done. —  JOHN  O'GORST,  time- 
honoured  Educationalist,  brings  in  a  new 
Bill.  Laboriously  explains  that  it  is  not 
intended  to  touch  the  School  Board  or 
interfere  with  their  work ;  will  merely 
control  the  latter,  and  in  course  of  time 
will  swallow  the  former.  "But  they  will 
be  very  comfortable  inside,"  says  JOHN 
O'GORST,  nodding  assuringly  at  gentlemen 
opposite,  champions  of  the  School  Boards. 

Thursday. — SAGE  OF  QUEEN  ANNE'S  GATE 
dipping  into  history  came  out  a  little 
mixed  in  colour.  Been  looking  up  epoch 
of  Wars  of  the  Roses,  in  search  of  support 
for  his  argument  that  what  are  known  as 
hereditary  revenues  don't  descend  from 
father  to  son  in  the  long  list  of  British 
sovereigns.  f 

"When,"  he  said,  "HENRY  IV.,  who 
represented  the  White  Rose " 

"EDWARD!  EDWARD!"  cried  Members 
later  from  school . 

"Very  well,  EDWARD,"  said  the  SAGE, 
to  whom  a  trifle  here  or  there  is  nothing. 
"  When  EDWARD  IV.  represented  the  Red 
Rose ' 

"HENRY' !  HENRY'  !  "  cried  Members. 

The  SAGE  stood  aghast.  What  did  they 
mean  ?  He  said  HENRY'  to  begin  with  ; 
they  contradicted  him  ;  he  accepted  their 
correction  ;  now  they  contradicted  again. 
Hit  high  or  hit  low,  he  could  not  please 
them. 

"  HENRY,  exactly  ;  I  was  right  at  first. 
I  said  HENRY',  you  said  EDWARD.  Very 
well ;  when  he,  HENRY',  after  the  triumph 
of  the  White  Rose,  came  to  the 
throne ' ' 

"EDWARD!  EDWARD!"  shouted  Mem- 
bers. 


370 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[MAY  15,  1901. 


(GRA.VESEND)   "  PIEE-RE  AND  HIS  PEOPLE"! 
Mr.  G-lb-rt  P-rk-r  pilots  a  few  friends  from  his  constituency  round  the  precincts ! 


Hadn't  had  such  a  bit  of  fun  for  a 
long  time.  Earlier  in  the  evening  Mr. 
WEIR  led  round  the  bull  the  people  of 
Borroston,  jealous  of  the  privileges  of 
their  neighbours  of  Carloway,  desired  to 
borrow.  The  gravity  he  imported  into 
the  procedure,  contrasted  with  the  levity 
of  the  Lord  Advocate,  was  good  in  these 
doleful  days.  But  nothing  compared  with 
the  SAGE'S  distraction  between  the  rival 
Roses  of  York  and  Lancaster.  Evidently 
no  use  pursuing  line  of  argument.  The 
SAGE,  rarely  flustered,  was  hopelessly 
bewildered.  Didn't  know  a  rose  from  a 
cabbage,  a  king  from  a  cotton-spinner  ; 
turned  aside  to  other  branch  of  subject, 
leaving  in  doubt  his  impression  whether 
"he,  HENRY  "  (his  final  but  unsuccessful 
effort  at  hedging),  wore  the  Red  Rose  or 
the  White. 

Business  done. — The  KING'S  Civil  List 
voted  by  nearly  six  to  one. 

Friday.  —  AUTOLYCUS  MOUNTSTTJART  ,E. 
GRANT  DUFE,  throwing  his  wallet  over 
his  shoulder,  has  been  out  again,  picking 
up  more  or  less  unconsidered  trifles. 
Forget  how  many  previous  volumes  there 
were.  JOHN  MURRAY  just  issued  two  new 
ones,  covering  the  ep^och  1889-91.  At 
this  rate,  a  pleased  generation  may 
expect  nine  or  ten  more  before  AUTO- 
LYCUS  reaches  the  marge  of  the  new 
century.  Never  since  BOSWELL  laid  down 
the  pen  was  there  such  an  industrious 


chronicler  of  small  talk.  In  justice  to 
him,  it  must  be  said  he  has  not  the  per- 
sonal charm  that  endears  BOZZY  to  his 
fellowmen.  Dr.  JOHNSON'S  satellite  was 
undoubtedly  vain,  and  looked  down  upon 
OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  GRANT  DUFF'S  self- 
conceit  is  colossal,  and  from  his  artificial 
altitude  he  looks  down  on  everybody 
especially  on  Mr.  GLADSTONE,  who  twice 
gave  him  office,  made  him  Governor  of 
Madras,  and  Grand  Cross  of  the  Star 
of  India. 

His  industry  in  this  occupation  of  de- 
clining years  is  merciless.  He  even  goes 
out  to  breakfast  if  there  is*  a  chance 
of  picking  up  any  crumbs  falling  from  the 
table.  Envious  neighbours  charged 
AUTOLYCUS  with  the  gentle  habit  of  steal- 
ing from  adjacent  flocks,  altering  the 
marks  of  ownership  on  his  plunder,  and 
mingling  them  with  his  own  sheep.  In 
two  closely-printed  volumes,  crammed 
with  stories,  it  is  natural  that  here 
and  there  our  modern  Argonaut  display 
hereditary  tendency.  But  a  large  num- 
ber of  the  stories  are  new,  some 
them  excellent.  Sir  MOUNTSTUART'S 
many  hosts  and  hostesses  still  living 
will  be  pleased  to  be  reminded  of  what 
was  said  in  the  privacy  of  their  break- 
fast, luncheon,  or  dinner-table  in  bygone 
years. 

Business  done. — Scotch  Estimates  after 
Irish  row. 


A  POPULAR  FALLACY. 

["According  to  a  popular  bat  pessimistic  author, 
lothes  are  V..a  fatal  invention.,'  >  . ... .   As  they  -do 
not -add- to  the  real. heat  of  the  body,- i.e.  as -they 
only  prevent  heat  from  escaping,  we  should  be  more, 
warmly  clothed  and  much  less  encumbered  if  we. 
increased  the  natural  heat  of  the  body  :  in  'other 
words,  we  ought  to  find  some  means  of  substituting 
food  for  clothes."—  The  Globe.] 
COD-liver  oil !     The  wind  is  chill, 
But  let  it  whistle  as  it  will, 
We  '11  keep  our  temperature  up  still ! 
Phew  !    How  the  May  North-easters  blow 
With  rain  and  thunder,  sleet  and  snow  ! 
Phew  !  how  the  so-called  zephyr  moans 
Amid  its  victims'  tortured  bones  ! 
Fling  off  your  coat  and  waistcoat — nay, 
Not  draw  them  closer  ! — Off,  I  say  ! 
Clothes  are  an  empty,  senseless  form, 
Tis  mere  delusion  that  they  're  warm, 
iVn  out-of-date  exploded  notion. 
They  do  but  check  the  body's  motion, 
Stop  circulation,  make  the  blood 
A  stagnant,  cold  and  frozen  flood. 
It  follows,  the  more  cold  it  grows, 
The  more  you  should  dispense  with  clothes. 
Off  with  them,  then,  and  sing  this  gay 
And  spirit-rousing  roundelay : 

Oh,  some  sing  the  wines  of  Oporto, 

And  some  sing  of  sparkling  Tokay, 
While  others  appear  to  appreciate  beer 

In  a  simply  astonishing  way. 
But  when  I  am  offered  such  liquors, 

With  a  shudder  of  fear  I  recoil, 
Saying,  thank  you,  good  Sir ;  but  the  brand 
I  prefer 

Is  cod-liver  oil. 

Allow  me  to  mention  its  virtues. 
Are  you  cold  ?    Take  a  spoonful  of 

that, 
And  the  generous  cup  quickly  covers  you 

up 

With  a  coat  of  the  cosiest  fat. 
Are    you    hungry,    exhausted   and 

empty, 

Worn  out  with  long  labour  and  toil  ? 

There  is  no  need  to  stuff ;  you  will  soon 

have  enough 

Of  cod-liver  oil. 

Are  you  thirsty  ?    Without  hesitation 

The  spoon  to  your  lip  you  may  press 

And  drink  to  your  fill,  for  the  danger  is 

nil 

You  will  suffer  from  any  excess. 
The  fear  of  ill  consequence  never 

Your  sense  of  enjoyment  need  spoil ; 
So  take  a  good  pull — a  tablespoon  full 
Of  cod-liver  oil  I 


SUGGESTED  REVIVAL.  —  Seldom,  now-a- 
days,  does  one  hear  anyone  asserting  the 
correctness  of  a  sum  in  arithmetic  as  being 
"according  to  Cocker."  It  might  be 
temporarily  revived  whenever  an  allusion 
to  the  recent  decision  of  the  judges  in 
the  school  question  is  on  the  tapis,  when 
it  might  be  alluded  to  as  being  a  sum-ming 
up  "  according  to  Cocker  "-ton. 


MAY  15,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


371 


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o  I 

^^   .y» 


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LJ 


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372 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[MAY  15,   1901 


THE  UNPROTECTED  FEMALE  ; 
OR,  THE  SUGAR  TAX. 

First  Unprotected  Female.  Ah,  woe  is  me!      "What  horrors  I 
foresee ! 

Second  U.  F.  "Why  weeps  my  sister,  crying  "  Woe  is  me  !  " 

First  U.  F.  Disaster  for  the  female  race  I  view. 

Second  U.  F.  Thy  meaning  ?    Give  at  least  a  little  clue. 

First  U.  F.  Unloved,  unwooed,  unwed  and  all  neglected, 
I  see  a  world  of  females  unprotected, 
And  seeing  it,  my  very  bosom  cracks 
"With  grief  and  anguish — Ah  !  the  sugar  tax  ! 

Second  17.  F.  Lo !  she  has  swounded.    Most  annoying  that ! 
I  can't  conceive  what  she  was  driving  at. 
But  while  she  lies  upon  the  ground  before  us, 
Let 's  try  to  read  the  riddle.    Strike  up,  chorus  ! 

Chorus  of  Unprotected  Females. 
Sugar  is  sweet,  and  sweeter  than  a  dream 

Of  Paradise,  I  deem 

The  dainty  chocolate  cream ; 
And  in  my  eyes  more  interesting  than 

An  eligible  man 

Is  matchless  marzipan. 
Yes,  sweets  are  sweet,  and  bitter  to  the  heart, 

Thrice  bitter  'tis  to  part 

With  sweet  jam-puff  and  tart ; 
Yet  self-restraint  our  sister  surely  lacks 

If  thus  her  bosom  cracks 

At  thought  of  sugar  tax : 
Bad  as  it  is,  I  have  not  yet  detected 

Why  it  should  be  suspected 

Of  leaving  us  neglected. 

» 

First  U.  F.  (recovering.)  Blind  !  Blind  !  Is  it  not  plain.? 
Second  U.  F.  All,  all  is  dark. 

Switch  on  the  light. 
First  U.  F.  I  press  the  button.    Hark  ! 

Professor  SCHEME — the  name  's  not  new — 

Of  course  you  remember  it  ? 

Chorus. 

Of  course  we  do. 

First  17.  F.  He  studied  a  problem  that  used  to  perplex 
The  world — I  refer  to  the  question  of  sex — 
And  he  proved,  to  his  own  entire  satisfaction, 
That  it 's  all  a  matter  of  sugar's  action  : 
If  you  want  to  have  boys,  you  must  only  eat 
Sugar,  jam,  treacle — anything  sweet ; 
If  you  want  little  daughters  with  long  fair  curls, 
And  pretty  white  pinafores — 

Chorus. 

Who  wants  girls  ? 

First  U.  F.  Well,  if  sugar  is  taxed  and  we  have  to  banish 
Sweets  from  the  table,  the  boys  will  vanish  ; 
And  if  no  boys  are  born,  why,  then, 
In  course  of  time  there  will  be  no  men  ! 

Chorus. 
O  horror  !  great  Heaven, 

What  a  prospect's  unfurled  ! 
What  a  shock  she  has  given  ! 

What  a  bomb  she  has  hurled 
In  the  midst  of  us  !     Think  of  it,  sisters — 
Not  a  man  in  the  whole  blessed  world  ! 

Imagine  a  Season  ! 
A  dance  or  a  ball 
Would  lose  any  rtnson 

For  being  at  all,  \ 

And  no  longer  we  'd  throhg  in  our  hundreds 
To  the  dawn-greeting  "  early  and  small." 


And  think  of  the  river  ! 
Ah  I  think,  if  you  can, 
Without  a  cold  shiver, 
However  you  'd  plan 
Your  picnics  at  Henley  or  Goring, 
Without  a  concomitant  man. 

No,  no  !  at  the  notion 

My  limbs  become  lax, 
And  a  frightful  emotion 
My  whole  being  racks. 
We  cannot  endure  it,  Sir  MICHAEL  ! 
Off,  off  with  your  vile  sugar  tax  ! 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

IF  it  is  a  happiness  for  the  erudite  to  communicate  with  the 
profane  in  a  form  which  hides  the  painful  process  of  achieve- 
ment and  only  gives  the  picturesque  results,  then  (says  my 
Nautical  Retainer)  Mr.  REGINALD  BLOMFIELD  is  thrice  blessed. 
His  S/iort  History  of  Renaissance  Architecture  in  England,  1500— 
1800  (GEORGE  BELL),  an  abridgment  of  his  larger  work,  is  a 
remarkable  example  of  the  way  in  which  history  may  be  made 
delightful  by  the  charming  manner  of  its  presentment.  The 
reader  is  possessed  by  the  confidence  that  comes  of  a  sense  of 
the  author's  personal  experience  and  observation ;  he  knows 
that  he  has  to  do  neither  with  an  amateur  nor  with  a  maker  of 
books  out  of  books.  Add  to  this  that  the  volume  is  a  very 
gallery  of  illustrations,  largely  the  work  of  the  author's  own 
lavish  and  facile  pen.  In  the  unavoidable  absence  of  a  royal 
road  to  the  knowledge  of  architecture,  here  is  a. way, — with 
Mr.  BLOMFIELD  for  your  charioteer — that  makes  a  most  deceptive 
substitute. 

In  Plato's  Handmaiden  (JOHN  LONG)  LUCAS  CLEEVE  has  given  us 
a  vivid  picture  of  one  of  the  latest  crazes,  or  phases,  of  modern 
fashionable  life.  It  is  a  carefully  worked-out  story,  slight  in 
plot,  and  not  riclyn  incident,  evincing,  however,  a  carefully  made 
study  of  the  men  and  women  she  is  depicting.  The  peculiar 
style  of  narration  that  LUCAS  CLEEVE  affects  is  occasionally 
somewhat  irritating,  as,  for  instance,  when,  at  some  interesting 
point,  the  author  interposes  paragraphically  a  short  dialogue 
that  may  probably  take  place  some  months  or  years  afterwards, 
or  stops  to  consider  what  may  be  the  effect  in  the  distant  future 
of  the  action  then  passing  under  the  reader's  eyes.  If  LUCAS 
CLEEVE  would  only  avoid  all  attempts  at  dropping  into  epigram 
and  enigmatical  moralising,  the  interest  of  the  story,  which  is 
a  novel  of  character-development,  would  absorb  the  reader 
from  first  to  last.  As  it  is,  the  interposed  moralisings  are  dis- 
tracting. The  villain,  a  married  woman  with  a  past  most  care- 
fully concealed, -and  a  Becky-Sharpian  talent  for  intrigue,  is  a 
character  drawn  by  a  masterly  hand,  as,  indeed,  are  all  the 
women  in  the  story,  though,  perhaps,  the  simplicity  of  the 
heroine  is  rather  overdone.  The  warm-hearted,  impressionable, 
generous  man  of  the  world,  who  is  as  utterly  unable  to  realise 
the  caddishness  of  his  generosity  towards  "  lovely  woman  in 
distress  "as  he  is  to  recognise  the  selfishness  of  what  he  con- 
siders his  true  regard  and  great  love  for  the  object  of  his 
disloyal  passion,  is  another  admirably  drawn  character.  With- 
out any  reserve,  save  the  trifling  defect  above-mentioned,  the 
Baron  can  strongly  recommend  this  book  to  those  who  honour 
him  by  following  his  advice.  The  book  leaves  the  Baron  still 
puzzled  over  its  title,  Plato's  Handmaiden  !  Why  drag  in 
PLATO  ?  Likewise,  why  fix  that  highly  moral  and  respectable 
sage  with  a  "handmaiden  "  ?  By  any  other  name  the  book  would 
have  been  just  as  good,  and  there  are  ever  so  many  titles  at 
hand  far  better  than  that  chosen  for  it  by  LUCAS  CLEEVE,  at 
least,  such  is  the  opinion  of  the  criticising 

BARON  DE  B.-W. 


MAY  15,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


373 


PICTURES  MOUNTED. 

MR.  G.  H.  JALLAND,  earnest  sportsman 
and  jocose  draughtsman,  is  now  exhibit- 
ing at  the  Pine  Art  Society's  rooms  in 
New  Bond  Street  a  considerable  number 
of  original  pictures,  reproductions  of 
which  have  from  time  to  time  appeared  in 
Mr.  Punch's  pages,  where  they  were 
"plain,"  but  now,  the  sporting  artist 
having  obtained  "the  brush,"  they  are 
coloured.  A  very  bright  show,  scarlet 
of  course  predominating,  many  of  the 
brilliant  hunting  scenes  striking  the  eye 
as  quite  "  '  the  pink '  of  perfection."  In 
some  instances,  however,  the  idea  is 
suggested  that  the  horses  owe  their  bur- 
nished coats  to  having  been  groomed  at 
the  Coloured  Lithographic  Stables. 

Many  are  already  sold,  as  in  another 
sense  will  be  the  sportsmanlike  collectors 
who  may  be  too  late  for  the  show.  Re- 
gard No.  5  one  of  the  best.  No.  68  is  so 
full  of  "  go  "  (rare  to  be  this  at  68  !)  that 
it  may  be  gone  altogether  long  ere  this 
appears  to  call  public  attention  to  it. 
No.  22,  "A  capital  Dodge,"  tells  its  own 
tale  and  the  horse's.  No.  24.  The  Scare- 
crow is  delightfully  absurd.  No.  29  is 
Leechian  in  idea,  and  better  as  a  paint- 
ing, for  LEECH  was  not  very  strong  as  a 
colourist.  No.  44.  A  clever  effect  of  bad 
weather.  No  one  would  wish  Mr.  JAULAND 
to  check  himself  in  his  artistic  career, 
but  he  certainly  knows  how  "to  draw 
rain."  Cum  multis  aliis.  On  the  whole, 
a  bright  and  amusing  exhibition. 


THE   LATEST  CRAZE. 

SCENE — A  salon  anywhere.  TIME — After- 
noon tea.  Hostess  addressing  her 
guests. 

Hostess.  Yes,  I  think  this  is  so  much 
more  amusing  than  "  Books , ' '  and  4 '  Songs . ' ' 
One  gets  so  tired  of  a  lady  with  toy 
banners  in  her  hair  calling  herself 
"  Under  Two  Flags,"  and  a  man  insisting 
that  he  is  perfectly  made  up  for  "The 
Absent-Minded  Beggar  ' '  when  he  wears 
a  label  of — "  Quite  blind.  Give  me  a 
penny,"  and  keeps  his  eyes  open. 

First  Lady  Friend.  Certainly.  Well, 
do  you  think  my  "  Curiosity  "  was  good  ? 
An  old  boot  belonging  to  my  great  grand- 
father. 

Hostess.  Perfectly  delightful.  So  nice 
to  have  a  great  grandfather,  and  one 
who  wore  boots. 

Second  Lady  Friend.  "Well,  my  "  Curi- 
osity "  is  not  quite  so  personal.  This  is 
an  old  work-box  that  has  been  in  our 
family  for  the  last  hundred  years. 

Chorus.  How  interesting ! 

Second  Lady  Friend.  And  it  was  bought, 
so  I  have  been  told,  at  the  Exhibition  of 
1851. 

Professor  Grumbles   (interposing).  Dear 


APPRECIATION. 

She.    "  I   LIKE  SOME  OF  YOUR  ARTICLES  VERY  MUCH." 

He.  "On,  I'M  so  GLAD!    WHICH  WAS  THE  PART  YOU  LIKED  SPECIALLY? 
She.  "WELL— I  LIKED  THE  QUOTATION  FROM  BALZAC." 


lady,  I  fancy  you  have  made  a  mistake 
in  your  dates.  Now,  if  the  box  was  in 
your  family  a  century,  and  it  came  from 
the  Exhibition  of  1851,  it  must 

Hostess  (interposing).  Oh,  my  dear  Pro- 
fessor, pray  don't  worry  us  with  statis- 
tics. Now,  what  have  you  got  ? 

Professor  Grumbles  (producing  a  bag). 
Well,  dear  lady,  my  little  contribution 
to  the  general  hilarity  of  the  occasion 
will  be  caused  by  my  friend  in  the  bag. 
It  is  a  specimen — a  very  rare  specimen — 
of  the  South  African  puff-adder.  Most 
doctors  will  tell  you  that  the  sting  of 
this  reptile  is  dangerous.  (He  produces 
from  the  bag  a  black,  vicious-looking  snake.) 
In  fact,  most  people  will  say  that  the 


sting,  or  rather  a  bite,  is  certain  death. 
But  be  reassured,  my  good  friends.  In 
spite  of  this  universal  belief,  I  may  say 
that,  without  expressing  an  absolutely 
definite  opinion,  I  don't  think  so  I 

[" Curiosity"    tea   disperses    rapidly 
and  in  some  confusion. 


"  MOON  COINS." — A  propos  of  this  head- 
ing of  recent  occurrence  in  the  Times,  a 
correspondent  signing  himself  "  Count  DE 
LUNA  "  writes,  "  Can  you  inform  me  if  the 
authorities  of  the  Mint  have  found  some 
scientific  method  of  extracting  the  metal 
from  the  pure  silver  rays  of  the  Moon  ? 
If  so,  these  Lunar  Mines  will  be  invaluable. 
How  protect  the  property  ?  " 


374 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


15,  1901. 


GOOD  OLD  TIMES  REVIVED  AT  THE  VAUDEVILLE. 

FOR  a  while,  at  least,  the  theatre-going  public 
having  lost  its  taste  for  the  "  problem  play,"  and 
beginning  to  repent  itself  of  its  questionable 
caprice  for  "the  woman  with  a  past,"  turns  to 
the  innocent  themes  that  aforetime  delighted  its 
dining-early  fathers,  as  well  as  its  homely  mothers 
its  generous  bachelor  uncles,  and  its  kindly  spin- 
ster aunts.  Captain  BASIL  HOOD,  author  of  the 
very  pretty  and  interesting  comedy  Sweet  and  Twenty  which 
has  achieved  a  well-deserved  success  at  the  Vaudeville 
Theatre,  eschewing  the  dangerous  ground  of  modern  divorce- 
court  drama,  has  sought  his  model  for  an  ideal  domestic  play 
— a  play,  that  is,  that  the  rather  artificial  and  simpering 
young  person  can  be  taken  to  see  without  calling  up  the  blush 
to  her  powdered  cheek, — in  the  style  of  piece  with  which  the 
early  P.,  that  is  the  early  PINERO,  in  his  salad-dressing  days, 
made  us  familiar  in  Sweet  Lavender;  and,  going  back  still 
earlier,  Captain  BASIL  HOOD  evinces  his  sympathy  with  the 
simple  dramatic  form  which  sufficiently  served  the  purpose  of 
the  social  TOM  ROBERTSON,  and  which  was  brought  to  perfection 
by  the  tender-hearted,  mildly  punning  THOMAS  CRAVEN  in  The 
Postboy  and  Meg's  Diversions. 

So  our  good  old  friend  Domestic  Drama  is  once  again  welcomed 
back  to  its  own  home  at  the  Vaudeville,  whose  reputation  in 
this  kind  of  play  was  made  by  Messrs.  JAMES  and  THORNE  with 
BYRON'S  Our  Boys,  and,  under  the  same  management,  with 
ALBERT'S  Two  Roses.  Yes,  the  Vaudeville  is  now  the  Domestic 
Drama's  "Home,  sweet  home,"  as  in  ROBSON'S  time  was  the 
Olympic,  where  it  shared  the  house,  as  it  did  at  the  Strand  and 
Royalty  Theatres,  with  burlesque. 

And,  as  a  connecting  link  with  the  past,  in  this  present  play 
of  BASIL  HOOD'S  is  "  an  odd  man,"  one  Prynne,  capitally  played 
by  Mr.  FRED  EMNEY,  in  whose  part  there  is  scarcely  a  line 
without  a  pun  in  it,  reminding  the  old  playgoer  with  a  clear 
memory  of  the  manner  of  Jasper  Pidgeon  in  Meg's  Diversions, 
and  other  similar  characters.  So  the  early  Victorian  low- 
comedian,  with  puns  as  plentiful  as  plums  in  his  speeches,  is 
not  only  revived  but  is  going  as  strong  as  ever  with  a  public 
that  thoroughly  enjoys  every  .line  spoken  by  this  eccentric  old 
Prynne. 

The  new  order  changeth  giving  place  to  old,  and,  to  judge 
from  the  unequivocal  success  of  this  experiment  at  the  Vaude- 
ville, the  harking-back  movement  is  already  undeniably  popular. 
Yet,  for  all  that,  Captain  BASIL  HOOD  is  an  uncommonly  lucky 
man  ;  his  lines  have  indeed  fallen  in  pleasant  places  when  they 
have  to  be  spoken  by  Miss  ELLALINE  TERRISS.  As  Joan  Trevelyan , 
the  "  sweet-and-twenty  "  heroine  of  the  play,  she  is  simply 
perfect;  and,  having  seen  her  in  this,  it  is  impossible  to 
imagine  anyone  on  the  London  stage  to  whom  the  part  would 
t>e  so  exactly  fitted.  More  touchingly,  more  tenderly,  more 
"  sweetly  "  rendered,  it  could  not  be.  Those  who  have  not  seen 
Miss  ELLALIXE  TERRISS  as  Joan  have  a  genuine  treat  in  store  for 
;hem.  It  is  no  detraction  from  the  general  and  individual 
excellence  of  the  performance  to  express  an  opinion  that,  with- 
out ELLALINE  TERRISS  as  the  heroine  this  simple  play,  in 
some  respects  inartistic,  especially  in  its  lame  finish,  could 
never  have  gained  upon  the  public  as  it  undoubtedly  has  done. 

Mr.  J.  D.  BEVERIDGE,  one  of  the  best  actors  on  the  stage,  to 
whom  any  part  might  be  safely  confided,  plays  admirably  the 
Rev.  James  Floyd,  an  elderly  clergyman,  a  manly  character 
who  is  neither  preacher  nor  prig,  and  who  is  therefore  from 
the  very  first  a  favourite  with  the  audience. 

Miss  MARY  RORKE  is  invaluable  as  Ellen,   the    handsome 

parlour-maid  (whose  age  may  be  about  thirty-five,  and  whose 

make-up"  is  most  artistic),  deeply  attached  to  the  family 

whom  she  has  served  since  the  brothers  Eustace  and  Douglas 

Floyd  were  babies.    For  a  parlour-maid  on  the  stage  the  name 


Ellen  is  rare :  somehow,  the  nomenclature  is  happy  and  seems 
of  itself  to  lift  the  character  out  of  and  above  the  status 
of  the  ordinary  stage  domestic  maid-servant. 

Miss  VANE  FEATHERSTONE  flashes  across  the  scene  a  brilliant 
meteor,  holds  the  stage  for  a  while,  has,  indeed,  a  good  five- 
minutes'  solo  with  scarcely  a  second's  breathing  interval  for  any- 
one to  cut  in  with  the  briefest  remark,  and  then — exit — and  she 
"is  heard  no  more."  "Why  this  Mrs.  Trevelyan  ever  came  at  all 
is  a  query  very  difficult  to  answer  satisfactorily ;  certainly  Joan 
could  have  got  on  without  her  by  merely  alluding  to  the  ex- 
istence of  such  a  person  (whether  aunt  or  mother,  I  could  not 
gather  from  anything  said  or  done),  just  as  the  Floyd  quartette, 
Rev.  James,  Masters  Eustace  and  Douglas  and  Chris  (first-rate 
little  boy  Mr.  GEORGE  HERSEE),  get  on  without  Mrs.  Floyd  (not 
Aurora  of  that  ilk!  Poor  Auroral),  who  is  perpetually  being 
spoken  of,  but  who,  like  the  late  Madame  Benoiton  in  that 
once  popular  comedy,  is  never  seen  nor  even  "  heard  without  " 
during  the  entire  piece. 

Mr.  HOLBROOK  BLINN  plays  the  very  difficult  part  of  the  bad 
brother  with  considerable  artistic  self-restraint.  He  makes 
himself  up,  and  makes  himself  out,  worse  than  he  is.  He  is 
morbidly,  biliously  jealous.  That  Joan  could  ever  have  liked 
him  at  all,  or  trusted  him  in  the  least,  he  being  such  a  vampire- 
looking  sort  of  person,  is  just  one  of  the  two  patent  impro- 
babilities of  the  play. 

Mr.  SEYMOUR  HICKS,  as  Douglas  Floyd,  is  the  very  man  for 
this  breezy,  youthful,  rather  feather-headed  but  very  warm- 
hearted sailor,  and  he  makes  the  character  go  with  the 
audience  for  all  it  is  worth.  Nor  is  it  necessary  that  the  Cain 
of  this  play  (Mr.  BLINN)  should  be  so  evidently  a  contrast  to 
the  Abel  as  author  and  actors  have  apparently  thought.  The 
lights  and  shades  of  the  character  of  Douglas  Floyd,  the  frank, 
easy-going,  open-hearted,  yet  for  all  that  diffident  and  bashful 
sailor,  and  then  the  deeply  repentant  prodigal  son  returned 
home,  are  well  brought  out  by  Mr.  SEYMOUR  HICKS,  who  in 
this  part  is  suited  down  to  the  ground,  or  to  the  sea,  and 
shows  in  it  a  vein  of  pathos  hitherto  unexpected  in  so  very 
light  a  comedian.  The  episode  of  the  toy  pistol  (this  is  the 
second  glaring  improbability)  is  so  preposterous  that  how  it 
escaped  excision  during  rehearsal,  that  is,  after  the  piece  had 
been  accepted  on  the  strength  of  the  parts  to  be 
played  by  Mr.  HICKS  and  Miss  ELLALINE  TERRISS, 
is  a  marvel  even  to  one  so  practically  versed  in 
the  mysteries  of  stage-craft  as  is  this  present 
critic.  But  "there's  always  a  somethin'," 
and  in  spite  of  these  "  somethin's  "  this  piece 
is  in  for  a  good  run  of  public  favour. 


AN  OLD  FRIEND  IN  NEED. 

AT  a  time  when  the  question  of  coal  is  occupying  so  much 
attention  it  may  occur  to  some  generous  owners  and  tax-payers 
that  there  is  another  way  of  spelling  it,  namely,  the  one  adopted 
by  His  Majesty  the  ancient  King  Cole,  and  not  only  by  that 
monarch,  but  also  by  one  of  our  "queens  of  song,"  Madame 
SUSANNAH  COLE,  who,  as  the  public  has  recently  been  informed, 
through  no  fault  of  her  own  but  simply  through  misfortune,  has 
fallen  on  evil  days  and  is  now  in  need  of  charitable  assistance. 
Mr.  BALFOUR  granted  Madame  COLE  a  sum  from  the  Royal 
Bounty  Fund,  and  Queen  ALEXANDRA  has  not  only  expressed 
her  kindly  sympathy  but  has  also  given  to  it  practical  effect 
n  a  handsome  donation.  Mr.  Punch  is  informed  that  the  well- 
known  music-hall  publishers,  Messrs.  CHAPPELL,  of  Bond  Street, 
are  kindly  acting  as  treasurers  to  the  fund,  and  to  Messrs. 
3HAPPELL,  50,  New  Bond  Street,  all  subscriptions  for  the 
'Madame  COLE  Fund"  should  be  sent  direct.  The  "live 
30LE  "  is  still  bright  and  brilliant !  Let  us  do  our  best  to  keep 
icr  so.  She  is  now  seventy-one,  and — so  the  Daily  Graphic 
tells  us— "  her  voice  is  still  wonderful."  So,  musical  public, 
notes  as  a  present  for  notes  in  the  past. 


MAY  22,   1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


375 


A  THAMES  FLEET. 

EARLY  in  May  Father  Thames  deter- 
mined to  review  his  fleet,  and,  not  without 
a  feeling  of  pride  did  he  survey  the  vessels, 
gorgeous  in  unlimited  paint,  and  plenti- 
fully bedecked  with  bunting.  How 
deliciously  the  paint  smelt,  how  bril- 
liant were  the  buttons  of  the  skippers, 
how  truly  Venetian  the  awnings !  ' '  Yes, ' ' 
said  Father  Thames,  as  he  swallowed 
some  gallons  of  smoke,  "  I  have  much 
to  be  thankful  for.  Life  has  its  joys  and 
its  HILLS  combined."  Then  he  wondered 
if  the  Maria  Wood  could  not  be  tinkered 
up,  for  she  would  certainly  be  in  the  best 
of  company. 


THE   DIVERTING    HISTORY    OF    THE 
SOUTHEND  LION  HUNT. 

[A  lion  is  said  to  be  at  large  in  the  vicinity  of 
Southend.  Parties  of  gentlemen,  armed  with 
rifles  obtained  from  the  Southend  Rifle  Club, 
have  been  busy  "  hunting "  in  the  neighbouring 
coverts.  It  was  reported  that  persons  had  heard 
the  animal  roar,  and  the  children  were  afraid  to 
go  to  school.  The  "hunters,"  although  encouraged 
to  persevere  by  curious  "footprints"  observed  here 
and  there,  have  so  far  been  unsuccessful  in  their 
search.  A  gentleman  living  close  by  is  of  opinion 
that  the  mysterious  visitor  is  a  stag.  Whatever 
the  animal  may  be,  it  is  still  at  large,  and  the 
mystery  is  unsolved. — Daily  Paper.] 

BROWN  was  a  sporting  citizen 

Of  credit  and  renown 
(And  so  were  JONES  and  ROBINSON) 

In  famous  Southend  town. 

Said  BROWN  to  JONES  and  ROBINSON, 
"Though  gunning  oft  we  've  been, 

And  slain  confiding  gulls,  yet  we 
No  big  game  e'er  have  seen  : 

"  But  now  a  lion  fierce  and  grim 

Has  made  its  horrid  lair 
In  yonder  thicket  wild,  to  which 

To-morrow  we  '11  repair." 

JONES  soon  replied,  "  Amongst  the  best 

Of  sportsmen  you  're  the  one 
I  most  admire  " — and  so,  to  all 

Intent,  said  ROBINSON. 

"  Therefore  this  deed,"  continued  JONES, 

"  Of  daring  shall  be  done  " — 
The  hardy  compact  thus  he  made, 

And  so  did  ROBINSON. 

The  morning  came,  the  sportsmen  dressed 

All  in  their  loudest  checks, 
With  cartridge-bags  and  hunting-knives 

Suspended  round  their  necks. 

They  shouldered  with  an  air  expert 
The  deadly  tubes,  which  BROWN 

Had  borrowed  from  the  Rifle  Club 
In  famous  Southend  town. 

And  soon  the  woods  and  brakes  resound, 
For  BROWN  had  thought  it  meet 

To  hire  a  hundred  loafers  bold 
The  coverts  for  to  beat. 


Mrs.  Vanoof  (shopping  in  Paris).  "  Now  LET  ME  SEE  WHAT  YOU  'VE  GOT  EXTRA  SPECIAL. 
Salesman.  "MADAM,  WE  'AVE  SOME  VER'  FINE  Louis  TREIZE." 
Mr.  Vanoof.  "TRAYS,  MAN  !    WHAT  DO  WE  WANT  WITH  TRAYS!  " 
Mrs.  Vanoof.  "BETTER  TRY  ONE  OR  TWO;  THEY'RE  ONLY  A  LOUIS." 


Each  sportsman  flourished  right  and  left 

The  unaccustomed  arm, 
The  while  he  eyed  his  neighbour's  with 

But  ill-concealed  alarm. 

From  dawn  to  eve  they  beat  the  woods. 

Throughout  the  country  side, 
And  all  the  squires  and  gamekeepers 

Were  highly  gratified. 

They  found  no  lion,  but  at  last 

They  found  a  curious  slot— 
"  A  lion's  or  a  stag's,"  said  BROWN, 

As  he  surveyed  the  spot. 

"  Their  feet  are  very  much  alike," 
Said  BROWN,  and  JONES  agreed, 


Whilst  ROBINSON,  as  in  duty  bound, 
Said,  "Very  much  indeed." 

Just  then  a  fearful  roar  was  heard. 

Each  sportsman  turned  to  run, 
BROWN  fired  at  JONES  by  accident, 

And  JONES  at  ROBINSON. 

Again  the  fearful  roar  rang  out, 

More  near  and  yet  more  near- 
Alas  I  Alas  !  "A  braying  ass 
Did  sing  most  loud'and  clear  "  1 

The  beaters  noised  the  tale  abroad, 
And  sadly  now  goes  BROWN 

(As  also  JONES  and  ROBINSON) 
In  famous  Southend  town. 


VOL.  CXX. 


376 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


|]VUY  22,   1901. 


WANDEEING    IN    "THE    WILDERNESS." 

FOR  such  success  as  The  Wilderness  may  have  achieved,  its 
author  Mr.  H.  V.  ESMOND  must  gratefully  thank  the  excellence 
of  his  better  half's  (Mrs.  ESMOND  alias  Miss  EVA  MOORE)  per- 
perfonnance  as  Mabel  Vaughan,  and  must  also  acknowledge 
the  artistic  quality  of  Mr.  GEORGE  ALEXANDER'S  Sir  Harry 
Milanor.  Three-sixths  of  the  praise,  fractionally  divided,  must 
be  allotted  to  the  actress,  two-sixths  to  the  leading  actor, 
while  the  remaining  one-sixth  must  be  divided  among  the 
company  generally,  on  whose  talents  no  considerable  call 
is  made.  Outside  these,  so  to  speak,  and  appearing  only 
in  the  first  act,  are  two  small  character-parts  so  well  rendered 
by  Mr.  LENNOX  PAWLE  and  Mrs.  EDWARD  SAKER  as  to  cause 
regret  at  their  total  eclipse  subsequent  to  their  short  half- 
hour  on  the  stage,  after  which,  they,  condemned  to  a  fate 
similar  to  that  of  the  "  poor  player  who  struts  and  frets," 
are  ' '  heard  no  more. ' '  Out — out !  ye  two  brief  dramatic  candles, 
Lady  Pawson  and  her  son  Mr.  Gilbert ;  the  latter,  by  the  way, 
could,  without  the  stuffln'  of  tea  and  muffin,  make  up  perfectly  for 
the  Pat  Boy  in  Pickwick.  [Happy  thought  I  To  write  a  play  for 
him  as  the  hero  and  call  it  "  Joe."  Not  "Poor  Joe  "  nor  "  Jo  "  ; 
these  have  been  done.  But  "Joe"  tout  simple.  Perhaps, 
though,  the  answer  may  be  "  Not  for  Joe."  So,  to  proceed.] 

Mr.  ALEXANDER  certainly  creates  a  part  out  of  scanty 
materials.  It  is  clever,  not  very  pleasant,  for  there  is  a 
touch  of  cynicism  in  his  manner  that  makes  anything  he  says 
and  does,  that  has  any  heart  in  it,  unreal.  A  man  of  thirty-five, 
a  millionaire,  a  responsible  person,  and  a  magnate  in  his 
own  county,  who  presumably  received  a  public-school  and 
University  training,  who  has  seen  the  world  at  home  and 
abroad — a  man  of  this  stamp,  a  gentleman  by  birth  and  edu- 
cation, talking  as  foolishly  and  inconsequently  as  a  scatter- 
brained youth  of  nineteen,  and  behaving  as  an  irresponsible 
being,  a  kind  of  youthful  Harold  Skimpole,  is,  as  a  character 
in  play  or  novel,  an  unsolvable  problem.  Have  we  renounced 
the  "  problem  play  "  to  find  the  problem  character  ?  Yet  jusl 
when  the  part  is  beginning  to  be  wearisome  it  suddenly  becomes 
interesting.  This  happens  in  the  last  act,  from  which,  by  the 
way,  a  good  ten  minutes'  worth  of  dialogue  could  be  excisec 
much  to  the  advantage  of  the  play. 

But  if  Sir  Problem  Bart,  troubles  the  intelligent  "  friends  ir 
front,"  in  Mabel  Vaughan,  the  flirt,  the  larky,  the  dangerously 
high-spirited,  impulsive  yet  calculating,  unprincipled  and 
impudent,  the  budding  adventuress  who,  converted  by  marriage 
into  a  true  and  devotedly  loving  wife,  will  be  recognised  j 
living  picture  of  a  type  far  from  rare,  which  has  been  seen  or 
the  stage  ere  now,  but  never  in  so  perfect  a  presentment  as  is 
now  given  us  in  Mabel  Vaughan,  that  is,  as  played  by  Miss  EVA 
MOORE.  So  real,  so  natural,  is  she  that  one  feels  sympatheti- 
cally inclined  to  persuade  her  from  being  so  headstrongly 
honest,  and,  after  seven  months  of  happiest  possible  wedlock 
so  most  unnecessarily  communicative.  Nothing  threatens 
her  :  she  is  afraid  of  nobody :  it  is  only  a  case  of  a  conscience 
inexplicably  and  suddenly,  after  seven  months'  rest,  aroused 
And  what  about?  Nothing:  absolutely  nothing  at  all.  She 
had  married  for  money,  married  out  of  pique*  and  then  had 
arrived  at  loving  and  honouring  her  husband.  There  is  some 
thing  in  the  part  akin  to  that  of  Mrs.  Mildmay  in  Stil 
Waters  run  Deep,  but  Sir  Harry  is  no  counterpart  of  th< 
sensible  bourgeois  husband  in  that  play,  while  JacfcNKennerlejj 
is  a  colourless  and  insipid  kind  of  intending  seducer  of  a  ver j 
ordinary  type.  This  dull,  gay  young  dog,  with  a  criminal  pas 
sion  for  Mabel,  is  a  difficult  part  thoroughly  well  played  by  Mr 
GRAHAM  BROWNE,  with  the  one  exception  of  his  final  scene  wi^l 
Mabel .  Even  in  the  best-built  house,  where  the  ears  of  the  wall 
may  be  stuffed  with  tapestry,  the  loud  tones  of  an  impetuous 
lover  would  penetrate  into  the  study,  dining-room,  and  kitchen 
When  he  was  uttering  his  sentiments  to  Mabel,  stentorianly  pas 
sionate  with  loving  or  with  bitter  reproaches,  everyone  intereste 


a  the  scene  must  have  trembled  lest  a  servant  should  suddenly 
nter  to  artfully  inquire  "  Did  you  ring,  my  lady  ?  "  or  lest  Sir 
Tarry  should  unexpectedly  dash  in  to  see  what  on  earth  could 
ie  the  matter. 

Miss  LE  THIERE  as  Lady  Milanor,  Sir  Harry's  mother,  gives  us 

broadly-drawn  highly-coloured  picture  of  a  made-up  old 
vornan  of  the  world,  not  intended  for  a  grande  dame. 

Mr.  ESMOND'S  people,  with  the  exception  of  three  principals, 
re  all  stage  puppets,  including  Mrs.  Buckley  Weston's  two 
hildren,  Master  VYVIAN  THOMAS,  and  Miss  PHYLLIS  DARE, 
vho  do  most  conscientiously  what  they  have  been  mistakenly 
aught,  but  as  their  presence  in  no  way  strengthens  the  piece, 
t  would  have  been  more  satisfactory  to  the  audience,  and 
ess  risky  to  success,  had  this  little  couple  been  as  'invisible  as 
re  the  fairies  about  whom  Mr.  ESMOND  has  made  them  chatter 
with  such  irritating  affectation. 

A  beautiful  scene  this  woodland  one,  painted  by  W.  HANN,  as 
jerfect  a  sylvan  picture  as  could  be  seen  on  any  stage.  This 
jan't  be  "  the  Wilderness."  It  is  not  so  named  in  the  playbill, 
s  "  the  Wilderness  "  the  tea-shop,  or  is  it  London  ?  "  Out  of 
,he  Wilderness,"  says  Sir  Harry,  "  into  the  sunshine."  Mabel 
asks  him,  as  an  afterthought,  what  he  means  by  this  expression, 
lis  answer  did  not  clear  up  the  mystery. 

What  had  the  author,  who  has  done  far  better  work  than 
his,  in  his  head  when  he  called  this  play  "  the  Wilderness  ?  " 
On  the  other  hand,  "  Why  not?"  Quite  so.  We  '11  let  it  rest 
at  that,  and  as  Sam  Weller  replied  to  Mr.  Tuckle,  "  We  shall 
get  on  by  degrees,  I  des-say.  We  '11  try  a  better  one,  by- 
and-bye." 

MUSICAL  GLASSES. 

["  People  anxious  to  know  Who's  Who  at  the  Opera  should  cut  out  and 
ceep  our  plan  of  the  private  boxes  at  Covent  Garden." — Daily  Express.] 

ALL  ye  who  worship  WAGNER  and  find  VERDI  to  your  taste, 
With  our  fashionable  guide-book  forth  to  Covent  Garden  haste, 
And  while  MANCINELLI'S  baton  saws  the  aromatic  air 
With  your  nicely-focussed  glasses  at  the  crowded  boxes  stare  ; 
Mrs.  COCKALORUM  's  sitting  in  the  box  upon  your  right, 
That  is  Lady  WIGGLE-WAGGLE  in  the  next  one,  dressed  in  white, 
And  the  man  above — ah,  that  one,  what  a  nose  he  has  to  scratch  ! 
Is  old  MOSES  AFRICANUS,  with  Miss  MABEL  BANDERSNATCH. 

Oh,  haste  to  Covent  Garden  with  the  longest-ranging  glasses, 
And  our  plan  will  introduce  you  to  the  brilliant  upper  classes  ! 

Oh,  the  secret  spells  of  MOZART! — (Lady  TATCHO'S  dyed  her 

hair — ) 
EAMES  is  singing  like  an  angel  ! — (And  I  can't  think  how  she 

dare — ) 
MAUBOURG'S  voice  is  ringing  truly !— (Every  shade  of  red  she 

tries — ) 
MANCINELLI  's  quite  a  genius  ! — (Oh,  of  course  she  blacks  her 

eyes ! ) 

Swims  the  music  thro'  the  theatre,  ah  !  the  witchery  of  sound, 
While  the  glasses  ranging,  ranging,  do  the  fashionable  round, — 
Search  the  boxes,  note  the  titles,  count  tiaras,  and  assess, 
To  the  strains  of  "  Don  Giovanni,"  Lady  PUMPERNICKEL'S  dress ! 

Oh,  haste  to  Covent  Garden  with  the  longest-ranging  glasses, 

And  we  '11  bring  you  into  contact  with  our  most  distingue 

classes ! 

MR.  VERB  HARDUP  (dating  from  Subrosa  Cottage,  Lowater) 
writes  : — "  I  see  the  University  of  California  has  bestowed  the 
degree  of  LL.D.  on  the  American  President.  Hope  he  '11  like 
it.  Could  you,  Sir,  induce  anybody — some  wealthy  ibody  like 
the  University  of  California  for  example — to  bestow  a  degree 
of  i  L.  S.  D.  on  yours  truly  ?  If  so,  will  make  it  worth  your 
while,  or,  if  you'are  sufficientlyicrafty,  wortluyour  wile." 


MAY  22,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


377 


SCENE    FROM    KING    HENRY   THE    FOURTH. 

(PART  I.,  Acr  2,  SCENE  IV.) 

Dramatis  Personce. 
Falstnff    .        .     LORD  S-L-SB-Y.  Prince  Henry    .        .    W-NST-N  CH-RCH-LL.'  Poins    .  CONSERVATIVE  PRESS. 

Falsta/.  "CALL  YOU  THAT  BACKING  OF  YOUR  FRIENDS?    A  PLAGUE  UPON  SUCH  BACKING  !" 
[The  resolution  on  which  the  Army  Scheme  will  be  based  was  more  powerfully  criticised  from  the  Conservative  side  than  from  the  Opposition  Benches.] 


MAY  22,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


379 


"  OH,  MR.  JONES  I  I  PIDN'T  KNOW  YOU  WERB  A  VOLUNTEER,  AND  ON  HORSEBACK,  TOO  !    You  U«ED  NOT  TO  RIDE.     How  LON<J  HAVE 

YOU   BREN  A  CAVALRYMAN?"  JoilCS.    "Off,    1  *VE   BEEN  EXERCISING   FOR  THE   LAsT  TWO   MONTHS   ON — "  (sadly)  "  AND   OFK  !  " 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

THE  Army  Act  provides  that  an  officer  thinking  himself 
wronged  by  his  Commanding  Officer,  may  carry  his  grievance 
direct  to  the  foot  of  the  Throne.  General  Sir  HENRY  COLVILE, 
precluded  by  technical  difficulties  from  taking  that  course,  ap- 
peals to  the  British  public.  His  statement  takes  the  shape  of  a 
record  of  The  Work  of  the  Ninth  Division  (EDWARD  ARNOLD). 
The  plain,  straight-forward  narrative,  illustrated  by  maps  and 
plans,  makes  clear  the  intricate  story  of  Sannah's  Post  and  Lind- 
ley.  He  states  his  case  with  a  manly  reserve  not  less  valorous 
than  his  bearing  on  the  battle-field.  He  indulges  in  no  violent 
diatribes,  makes  no  accusations,  arrays  his  facts  with  soldierly 
brevity  and  precision,  and  leaves  the  jury  of  the  world  to  decide 
between  him  and  the  Prosecutor-judge  at  the  War  Office.  There 
may  be  differences  of  opinion  among  military  critics  (enjoying 
the  advantage  of  coming  to  judgment  after  the  event),  whether 
General  COLVILE  did  or  omitted  to  do  the  right  thing  at  the 
critical  moment  at  Lindley  and  Sannah's  Post.  My  Baronite 
believes  there  will  be  no  difference  of  opinion  on  the  assertion 
that  if  in  their  dealings  with  the  Commander  of  the  Ninth  Division 
the  authorities  at  the  War  Office  were  right,  they  were  un- 
commonly unfortunate  in  the  direction  taken  to  reach  the 
right. 

The  Baron  hopes  that  The  Private  Life  of  the  King,  by  One  of 
His  Majesty's  Servants  (PEARSON),  will  not  be  brought  under  His 
MAJESTY'S  notice  as,  the  KING'S  sense  of  humour  being  peculiarly 
keen,  the  effect  on  His  MAJESTY  might  be  serious.  Would  that 
Mr.  Punch  had  a  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY  to  review 
this  work,  which  he  would  probably  pronounce  to  be  "beyond 
criticism  "  and  though,  perhaps,  "  beyond  "  may  not  be  pre- 
cisely the  word,  yet  it  expresses  the  idea.  To  say  that  it  is 


" above  criticism"  would  not  be  in  accordance  with  fact.  It 
would  be  an  illustration  of  "  Le  Roi  s' amuse  "  were  His  MAJESTY 
to  give  a  few  minutes  to  this  work  by  "  One  of  His  Majesty's 
Servants."  As  to  the  photographic  portraits,  probably  Mr. 
DOWNEY  would  be  the  best  judge  of  the  justice  done  to  his 
handiwork;  and  if  he  be  pleased,  then  "  Box  and  Cox  are 
satisfied,"  and  so,  of  course,  is  the  Baron. 

My  Son  Richard  (HUTCHINSON)  is  truly  described  as  a  romance 
of  the  river.  The  river  is  the  Thames,  and  for  the  scene  of  his 
story,  Mr.  DOUGLAS  SLADEN  has  chosen  the  lovely  reach  lying 
between  Maidenhead  and  Marlow.  He  knows  and  loves  every 
furlong  of  it,  and  is  happily  gifted  with  the  power  of  communi- 
cating to  others  his  pleasure  in  contemplating  it.  He  peoples 
its  banks  and  its  boats  with  pleasant  folk,  who  live  ordinary 
holiday  life,  fishing,  flirting,  punting  and  rowing.  It  makes  a 
pretty  pastoral  picture,  pleasant  for  the  study  of  those  who 
have  time  and  opportunity  to  get  on  the  river,  perhaps  even 
more  so  to  those,  like  my  Baronite,  whose  chief  boating 
experience  is  pulling  the  galley  oar  in  town.  The  story 
is  brought  up  to  date  by  news  of  the  outbreak  of  the  war  in 
South  Africa,  and  the  patriotic  but  inconvenient  desire  of 
My  Son  Ricliard,  and  others  of  the  company,  to  imitate  MAL- 
BROOK,  Qu'il  s'en  va't  en  guerre. 

Buy  and  "Sell."  Useful  and  entertaining  for  all  those  who 
are  blessed,  or  otherwise,  with  the  journalistic  faculty  is  the 
large  volume  entitled  Sell's  World's  Press,  with  its  artistically 
got  up  supplement,  containing  portraits  of  such  a  number  of 
what  a  fortune-telling  gipsy  might  term  "pretty  gentlemen." 
In  connection  with  the  name  of  "Sell,"  it  is  a  good  thing 
to  be  taken  in.  But  in  spite  of  the  narno  the  information,  to 
judge  of  it  at  a  glance,  is  ample  and  accurate  in  the  opinion 
of  the  careful  BARC/N  DE  B.-W. 


380 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[MAT  22,  1901. 


TO   A  PIGEON   OF  "LA  PIAZZA." 

BIRD  of  the  beady  eye  and  tireless  crop, 

Capacious  past  the  common  pigeon's  use, 

Brave,  neck  and  breast,  with  bloom  of  green  and  purple, 

A  rounded  Iris  answering  the  sun, 

But  suited  for  the  rest  in  sober  grey, 

Mating  the  dusky  gleam  of  Moorish  domes, 

And  sombre-hued  against  the  gilt  and  glare 

Of  bastard  Byzantine,  restored  "to  taste" — 

I  like  you,  bird  ;  the  gondolas  and  you 

Would  seem  the  only  ancient  things  in  Venice, 

"Which  we  may  hope  to  understand  without 

The  help  of  Mr.  RUSKIN.    Let  me  buy 

One  little  paper  bag  of  yellow  maize, 

Dear  at  a  soldo,  and  I  '11  undertake, 

Waiving  the  Master's  aid,  to  win  your  love 

As  perfectly  as  though  I  had  by  heart 

The  inwardness  of  all  the  Middle  Ages. 

I  say,  I  like  you,  bird  ;  you  have  a  soul 
Unseared  by  culture  ;  you  will  roost  o'  nights 
Indifferently  on  a  marble  niche 
Flanking  the  dim  mosaic's  awful  marge, 
Or  up  a  rain-spout ;  on  the  Doges'  Palace, 
Or  QUADRI'S  restaurant ;  you  throw  your  eye 
With  equal  and  dispassionate  regard 
Upon  the  untutored  Briton  who  aspires 
Not  far  beyond  the  sudden  Kodak's  film, 
And  on  the  fair  Bostonian  rapt  with  awe, 
Her  Stones  of  Venice  tucked  beneath  her  arm, 
Her  visage  wan  with  having  drunk  too  well 
The  borrowed  sweets  of  that  laborious  bee, 
AUGUSTUS  J.  C.  HARE.    It  moves  you  not, 
Although  LA  DUSE  passes,  deadly  bored 
With  playing  in  her  hero's  Cittd  Morta ; 
Nay,  should  the  hero's  self,  Italia's  pride, 
D'ANNUNZIO,  superb  and  rather  bald, 
Consent^  io  prance  across  the  dazzled  square, 
Recalling  memories  of  the  Golden  Time, 
You  would  not  turn  to  stare  as  others  turn, 
Quite  rudely ;  what 's  D'ANNUNZIO  to  you, 
Unless  his  largesse  leaves  you  plump  with  grain  ? 
And  even  so  the  studied  attitude 
Will  certainly  escape  you.    I  respect 
Your  disregard  of  persons.    I  admire 
With  what  aloofness  you  ignore  the  crowd, 
Going  about  your  private  loves  and  hates 
As  though  the  public  counted  not  at  all, 
Save  as  a  menace  to  your  fragile  toes 
And  as  a  source  of  food.    It  is  an  art, 
This  unselfconsciousness,  which  we  have  lost, 
Like  that  of  wearing  wings.    You  keep  them  both. 

What  brought  you  here,  I  wonder,  at  the  first, 
Before  the  hucksters  spread  their  toothsome  wares 
Within  the  very  temple's  outer  courts? 
Doubtless  the  prose  accounts  are  always  best ; 
Yet,  were  I  poet,  I  would  dare  to  say 
Here,  too,  was  instinct,  Nature's  work  by  which 
Beauty  is  drawn  to  beauty,  like  to  like, 
Not  knowing  wherefore.     So,  by  such  a  spell, 
I  will  believe  that  in  the  Time-old  tale, 
The  Cytherean  doves,  they  knew  not  why, 
Hovered  about  the  gracious  ways  of  her, 
That  other  Aphrodite  of  the  Sea. 
Venice,  May  15.  O.  S. 


THE   NEW   "FKONDE.' 

ACCORDING  to  the  Westminster  Gazette  an  effort  is  being  made 
to  establish  a  daily  paper  in  London  which  shall  be  the  pro- 
duction of  women  for  women  in  every  particular.  Sporting 
news  will  be  done  by  women  as  well  as  politics,  Parliament, 
&c."  Nothing  if  not  up-to-date,  Mr.  Punch  offers  an 
"  intelligent  anticipation  "  of  the  first  number : — 

POLITICS. 
(By  our  Special  Parliamentary  Representative.) 

A  very  dull  sitting,  which  would  have  been  quite  uneventful 
but  for  the  appearance  of  the  beautiful  Mrs.  HADDON  HALL,  who 
lightened  the  gloom  of  the  ladies'  gallery  by  a  charming  con- 
fection of  fawn  glace.  She  wore  a  coat  of  Directoire  shape, 
the  smart  little  basque  being  cut  away  at  the  sides.  The  revers 
and  cuffs  were  faced  with  silk  and  trimmed  with  gold  braid, 
while  the  waistcoat  was  of  Pompadour  silk  box-pleated,  and  the 
lace  frills  that  fell  over  her  hands  matched  the  lace  of  the 
jabot.  And  here  let  me  protest  once  more  against  the  wicked 
iniquity  of  allowing  ladies  to  be  "  cabined,  cribbed,  confined  " 
in  that  abominable  black  hole  behind  the  grille,  where  the 
choicest  toilette  of  Paris  sheds  its  lustre  in  vain.  In  spite  of 
good  eye-sight  and  the  best  opera  glasses,  I  was  quite  unable 
to  detect  the  material  of  Mrs.  HADDON  HALL'S  underskirt. 

Miss ,  of  the  Woman's  Suffrage  League,  was  busy  lobby- 
ing, as  usual,  gowned  in  her  customary  severe  simplicity.  I 
noticed  that  several  Members  have  taken  to  summer  wear. 
Mr.  W-NST-N  CH-RCH-LL,  in  particular,  looked  well  in  a  new 
frock-coat,  while  Mr.  B-RNS  was  democratic  in  a  bowler. 

SPORT. 

The  cricket  tournament  at  Lord's  yesterday  proved  very 
interesting.  JONES,  the  fast  bowler,  opened  with  a  tremendous 
service  to  BROWN,  who,  however,  returned  the  leather,  slogging 
it  right  out  of  court. 

Nothing  daunted,  JONES  returned  to  the  attack,  but  BROWN 
defended  his  uprights,  half-volleying  the  service.  At  the  third 
ball  he  was  narrowly  missed  by  the  stump-keeper,  who,  how- 
ever, failed  to  hold  the  pilule  and  passed  to  longstop,  who 
neatly  returned  it  to  JONES.  After  the  fifth  ball  the  umpire  called 
"Over!,"  but  the  match  was  not  ended  yet.  JONES  was  exhausted 
by  his  tremendous  efforts,  and  the  service  was  taken  up  by 
SMITH  from  the  other  end  of  the  court.  SMITH'S  service  seemed 
to  be  very  deadly,  pitching  just  on  the  service-line  with  a 
nasty  twist  in  towards  the  goal-posts,  and  it  evidently 
puzzled  the  batsman,  whose  score  remained  steadily  at  love. 
At  length,  growing  desperate,  he  ran  in  to  the  globe  and 
volleyed  it  right  into  SMITH'S  hands,  who  held  the  sphere  amid 
loud  applause.  By  this  time  SMITH  was  out  of  breath,  but  JONES 
having  recovered  resumed  the  service,  and  another  batsman 
coming  in,  play  continued  until  lunch  time,  when  who  should 
I  see  crossing  the  court  but  CHARLIE,  who  is  playing  for  the 
M.C.C.  and  looked  delicious  in  flannels.  He  was  as  surprised  to 
see  me  as  I  to  set  eyes  on  him,  and  would  hardly  believe  it 
when  I  said  I  was  there  to  report  the  match  for  the  new  paper. 
He  asked  me  to  lunch  with  him,  and  being  very  hungry  and 
tired,  I  was  delighted  ;  and  after  lunch  he  offered  to  overhaul 
my  copy  ;  and  that,  perhaps,  is  why  I  have  been  able  to  give 
such  a  minute  and  technical  account  of  the  match. 

THE  MONEY  MARKET. 

Rain  falling  heavily  in  the  morning,  the  market  was  dull, 
though  umbrellas  went  up  and  there  was  a  run  on  waterproofs. 
At  this  season  of  the  year,  a  safe  investment  is  a  bolero. 
During  the  recent  cold  weather  there  was  a  perceptible  rise  in 
furs,  the  bears  having  it  all  their  own  way.  Muslins  were 
sensitive,  but  have  now  recovered  and  will  probably  remain 
steady  for  some  time,  but  owing  to  the  continuous  east  winds, 
transparent  collars  are  still  at  a  discount. 


MAY  22,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


381 


JUDGE    NOT    BY    APPEARANCES. 


A'l    ONE  END  OF  THE  STRING.— "  You  MUST  BE  A  FOOLISH  BOY  TO  FISH  DOWN  A  DRAIN-PIPE." 


SPOILT   PAEENTS. 

["  In  America  the  question  is  being  discussed  as  to  whether  children  are 
not  too  kind  to  their  parents.  One  writer  in  the  Forum  objects  to  the 
'  simpering  and  plastic  smile,'  and  urges  that  a  child  must  say  '  No '  with 
firmness  to  those  parental  orders  of  which  it  disapproves."—  The  Globe.] 

O  CHILDREN,  how  long  will  you  pamper  and  pet 

Your  parents  by  meekly  obeying 
Whatever  injunctions  theyihappen  to  set, 

No  matter  what  folly  displaying  ? 
You  over-indulge  them,  you  make  them  expect, 

As  a  matter  of  course,  your  compliance 
"With  all  their  decrees.    Show  a  little  neglect 

And  bid  them  a  hearty  defiance. 

Away  with  your  simpering  smile,  and  away 

"With  your  flattery,  servile  and  florid  ! 
Reply  to  whatever  your  parents  may  say 

With  a  frown  on  your  infantile  forehead. 
Be  firm  with  them  always  ;  and  if  they  should  dare 
I      To  give  you  an  order,  why,  say  it 
Don't  meet  your  approval  and  so  you  don't  care 

To  trouble  yourself  to  obey  it. 

Yes,  parents  exaggerate  what  is  their  due, 

And  you  are  to  blame  for  it  greatly 
By  the  lamb-like  obedience  yielded  by  you, 

O  children — especially  lately. 
It 's  tempting  to  spoil  them,  no  doubt ;  but  be  firm, 

And  let  this  be  your  constant  endeavour — 
No  matter  how  much  they  may  froth,  fret  and  squirm, 

To  do  what  they  order  you  never. 


STRK.TU  PROHIBITED 

TRESPASSERS    WILL 
BE     PFU)$!CliTE_D. 


AT  THE  OTHER  END  OF  THE  STRING. 


382 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[MAY  22,  1901. 


THE    HAPPY   HILLS    OF    LEE. 

OH,  there 's  sunshine  on  the  happy  hills,  the  happy  hills  of  Lee, 
And  there  's  freshness  in  the  valleys  where  they  part  to  meet 

the  sea ; 
And  there  's  laughter  in  the  waving  trees  and  laughter  in  the 

air, 
And  there 's  rest  for  .men  and  women  who  may  chance  to 

.  wander  there, 
And  I  hear  a  voice  that  whispers,  "Oh,  it's  there  that  you 

would  be  ; 
Turn  your  steps,  you  weary  toiler,  to  the  happy  hills  of  Lee." 

Many  friends  I  loved  have  gone  there  ;  I  shall  see  them  once 

again, 
"When  the  hills  rise  bright  before  me  as  I  trudge  across  the 

plain,  [leap, 

And  my  feet  will  spring  to  meet  them  and  my  weary  heart  will 
As  I  hear,  awake,  their  voices  that  have  cheered  me  in  my 

sleep. 
They  will  come  to  bid  me  welcome  and  they '11  stretch  their 

hands  to  me, 
"When  I  touch  the  shining  borders  of  the  happy  hills  of  Lee. 

Oh,  I  often  thought  of  starting  when  the  clouds  were  hanging 

low, 
When  my  hands  were  worn  with  working  and  my  feet  were 

dragging  slow, 
When  the  light  of  life  was  sinking  that  had  flashed  so  bright 

and  gay.  [day ; 

Then,  I  thought,  I  '11  stay  no  longer,  but  I  '11  start  at  break  of 
I  will  drop  my  load  and  leave  it,  and  I  '11  wander  fair  and  free 
To  a  peaceful,  sunny  haven  in  the  happy  hills  of  Lee. 

But  there 's  something  always  holds  me,  something  presses  on 

my  heart, 

When  the  distant  voices  call  me,  and  I  never  can  depart; 
Something  toilsome,  something  weary,  but  I  know  it  must  be  done 
Ere  I  start,  my  labour  ended,  for  the  haven  in  the  sun. 
Yet  some  day,  without  my  thinking,  1  shall  leave  it  all  and  see 
Far  away,  but  growing  nearer,  all  the  happy  hills  of  Lee. 

R.  C.  L. 


USEFUL  AND   ORNAMENTAL. 

WHAT  startling  post-cards  for  Home  and  Abroad  .distribution 
have  been  recently  brought  out  by  Messrs.  R.  TUCK  &  SONS 
under  the  style  and  title  of  "The  Heraldic  Series,"  displaying 
the  arms,  hands,  legs,  feet  and  mot-toes  of  most  of  the  principal 
towns  in  United  Kingdom !  They  might  have  been  invented 
by  a  modern  Mr.  Peter  Magnus,  who,  following  in  the  steps 
of  his  Pickwickian  prototype,  finds  that  some  trifling  pictorial 
novelty  on  a  post-card  has  the  same  effect  on  the  recipients 
as  had  those  "hasty  notes  to  intimate  acquaintance,"  with 
"afternoon"  signed  on  them  instead  of  "P.M.,"  which 
was,  in  Mr.  PICKWICK'S  opinion,  a  performance  "calculated  to 
afford  them  (Mr.  Magnus's  friends)  the  highest  gratification." 

Exeter  is  represented  by  "Three  Castles"  and  "a  Cow." 
Why?  "Three  Castles"  is  the  celebrated  Virginian  tobacco 
praised  by  THACKERAY  ;  while  a  "  Cow"  is  associated  with  the 
"three  acres"  once  so  familiar  to  the  ears  of  political 
supporters.  But  what  has  Exeter  specially  to  do  with  these 
things  ?  Cheltenham  is  represented  by  a  rook,  two  books,  a 
couple  of  gulls,  and  (apparently)  a' cauliflower  rampant.  Again, 
why  ?  The  meaning  of  the  Harrogate  motto  is  more  evident, 
" Arx  Celebris  Jontibus,"  clearly  "Arx  (f,e.  'ask')  for  the 
celebrated  waters. ' '  The  armorial  bearings  oiVBirmiugham  have 
nothing  of  Brummagem  about  them.  On  the  left  of  a  shield  (one 
of  the  South  Shields,  perhaps)  is  a  languishing  lady,  with 
palette  and  brushes;  clearly  "Art,"  and  as  she  is  tall  she 
represents  "High  Art."  On  the  right  is  a  Smith  ("  heard  that 
name  before"),  with  a  hammer  resting  on  an  anvil,  while  in 


the  centre  above  the  shield  is  a  castellated  crown,  out  of  which 
has  arisen  a  muscular  arm  with  hand  grasping  a  battle-axe  that 
is  about  to  descend  sharply  on  the  idle  blacksmith's  head,  just 
by  way  of  reminder  that  he  must  get  on  with  his  work.  The 
motto  is  an  excellent  one,  "  Forward,"  which,  of  course,  is  not 
intended  to  be  applicable  to  the  very  modest  and  retiring 
female  artist  already  mentioned,  while  the  arm  with  battle-axe 
is  evidently  to  suggest  how  unpleasant  for  the  workmen  would 
be  the  effects  of  a  strike. 

We  regret  not  having  at  our  disposal  more  leisure  for  the 
deciphering  of  these  arms  and  mottoes,  "the  bearings"  of 
which  lie  "in  the  application  on  'em."  Anyway,  the  idea  is 
novel,  and  will  induce  many,  who  have  nothing  particular  to 
say,  to  send  some  of  these  cards  as  puzzles  to  friends  in  any 
part  of  the  United  Kingdom. 


ONE  REASON  FOR  TAXING   SUGAR. 
THE  bitter-sweet  in  Life  how  intertwined, 
Comingled  and  compounded  !     Where  the  mind 
That  could  the  dual  properties  dissever  ? 
Ah  !  no,  they  will  be  separated  never. 

The  Government  so  deep  read  in  the  laws 
Nature  imposes  for  the  common  cause, 
Has  long  taxed  bitter.    What  could  be  more  meet 
Than  that  it  now  should  wish  to  tax  the  sweet  ? 


PEOPLE  WHO  PALL  ON  ME. 
II. — THE  MAN  WHO  is  ALWAYS  "  TIP-TOP." 

GOOD  health  is  a  bright  jewel,  someone  with  a  penchant  for 
copybook  maxims  has  said.  Doubtless  ;  at  the  same  time  it 's 
bad  form  to  be  over-dressed  with  any  kind  of  ornament,  and 
there  are  some  people  whose  ostentatious  good  health  is  very 
exasperating.  ROUSER,  for  instance,  falls  into  this  category. 
He  's  not  content  to  be  healthy  in  a  gentlemanly,  un-  assuming 
way  ;  it  makes  him  positively  aggressive. 

"  What,"  shouts  ROUSER  (he  never  talks,  and  no  tradition 
exists  of  his  ever  having  whispered),  "  not  feeling  quite  up  to 
the  mark,  aren't  you?  Eh?  These  east  winds  !  Pooh,  man. 
Why,  I'm  tip-top — absolutely.  What  you  want  is  a  five-mile 
walk  before  breakfast.  Then  you  'd  be  as  fit  as  a  fiddle." 

I  think  of  mentioning  that  there  are  fiddles  and  fiddles,  but 
it 's  of  little  use  replying  to  ROUSER.  So  I  smile  sceptically 
and  change  the  subject,  though  the  latter  is  a  difficult  thing  to 
accomplish.  Odd  thing  that  such  men  imagine  rude  health 
necessarily  connotes  rude  manners.  Men  like  ROUSER  always 
mistake  good  health  for  a  moral  quality. 

"I  thank  my  stars  1  never  get  influenza,"  he  is  always 
exclaiming  during  the  winter  and  spring  months,  suggesting 
by  his  tone  that  there  has  been  some  special  dispensation  of 
Providence  on  his  behalf. 

I  dislike  a  man  who  is  always  telling  me  what  he  thinks 
I  want.  RouSBR's  a  distinct  failure  as  a  thought-reader. 
Then,  again,  just  because  an  early  breakfast  doesn't  disagree 
with  him,  he  chucks  (that  's  the  only  word  which  describes  it) 
this  early  breakfast  at  all  his  less  obviously  robust  friends.  I 
say  "less  obviously  robust  "  advisedly,  for  I  believe  majiy  of 
us  are  quite  as  healthy,  though  not  so  ostentatiously  healthy, 
as  ROUSE  u. 

"Look  here,  ROUSER!"  I've  said  to  him.  "If  an  early 
breakfast  suits  you,  then  take  it — but  for  goodness  sake  take 
it  secretly,  and  make  no  public  mention  of  such  an  unholy 
performance :  else  may  the  ghost  of  ELIA  haunt  you." 

But  perhaps  this  is  scarcely  kind  to  the  ghost  of  ELIA. 

No  doubt  the  day  will  come  when  the  chastening  influence 
of  a  chill  will  descend  on  ROUSER.  To  every  man  there  comes, 
at  some  time,  the  opportunity  to  reform.  And  when  that  much 
to  be  desired  event  arrives,  ROUSER,  I  am  sure,  will  rise  from 
his  bed  a  quieter  and  more  tolerable  companion. 


MAY  22,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


383 


"SHIPS  THAT  PASS  IN  THE  NIGHT"  ; 

Or,  the  Coming  Eclipse — of  the  Honeymoon. 

["  That  the  modern  bride  cannot  endure  the  sole 
companionship  of  her  husband  for  even  the  first 
few  days  of  married  life,  and  that  Benedick  must 
have  golfing  or  playhouses,  or  the  society  of  friends, 
lest  he  should  be  bored  by  the  woman  he  has  just 
taken  as  a  life-companion,  is  truly  a  pitiful  exposure 
of  the  spirit  in  which  the  holy  estate  is  entered 
upon  by  the  present  generation. " — Lady's  Pictorial.  ] 

Being  o  "  Love-letter  "  from  a  Bride  to  an 
Intimate  Friend. 

MY  DEAREST  INA, — When  GEORGE  and  I 
left  good  old  Hill  Street  for  Charing  Cross 
In  his  motor-car,  I  experienced  the  most 
awful  feelings  of  loneliness.  So  did 
GEORGE.  So  silly,  when  we  had  arranged 
to  be  sensible  and  make  the  honeymoon  a 
matter  of  mere  traditional  interest. 
GEORGE'S  own  words.  I  never  realized 
what  strangers  we  are  until  we  were  tuff- 
tuffing  across  Berkeley  Square  in  a  kind 
of  misty  matrimonial  gloom.  I  wished, 
dear,  I  knew  him  better.  You  see,  I  saw 
so  little  of  him  when  we  were  engaged, 
and  now  that  we  are  married  I  expect  my 
chances  of  knowing  him  are  altogether 
gone.  We  shall  be  like  "  ships  that  pass 
in  the  night,"  you  know.  I  actually  felt 
nonplussed  as  to  what  to  talk  about.  I 
knew  his  five  golf  stories  (including  the 
swear  words),  and  he  has  made  himself 
thoroughly  familiar  with  my  remarks  on 
the  weather.  So,  you  see,  we  were  at  a 
complete  standstill.  Fortunately,  we 
were  not  long  left  in  this  awful  predica- 
ment, for  the  motor  went  wrong  (good  old 
GEORGE  !),  and  we  arranged  that  I  should 
get  out  and  take  a  cab,  while  GEORGE  and 
his  man  should  push  the  car  to  the  station 
or  die  in  the  attempt.  Quite  a  will  of  his 
own,  hasn't  he  ?  By-the-bye,  dearest,  his 
moustache  is  broivn.  You  were  right, 
after  all.  I  always  thought  it  was  black  ; 
but,  of  course,  you  know  him  so  much 
better  than  I  do. 

Thank  goodness,  there  was  a  crowd  to 
meet  us  at  Charing  Cross.  All  the  PETER- 
SHAWLS  and  that  set.  CHARLEY  was  so 
amusing,  and  travelled  down  with  us  to 
Dover.  Wasn't  it  a  relief,  dear  ?  GEORGE 
studied  Ruff's  Guide  until  he  fell  asleep, 
and  CHARLEY  and  I  played  piquet.  We 
went  to  the  "Warden,"  and  GEORGE  per- 
suaded CHARLEY  to  come  too.  The  FOWLER- 
GRANTS  met  us  at  the  hotel,  for,  as  I  think 
I  told  you,  they  had  arranged  a  little 
dance  in  our  honour.  Though  rather 
fagged  with  the  ceremony  and  the  hurry 
and  bustle,  I  managed  to  get  the  best  out 
of  an  average  evening.  Do  you  know, 
darling,  GEORGE  doesn't  dance,  and  posi- 
tively refused  to  be  bored  to  death  at  the 
FOWLER-GRANTS  (rather  small  house),  so 
he  and  CHARLEY  made  the  night  hideous 
in  the  billiard-room.  Mrs.  F.  G.  was  rather 
surprised  at  my  going  alone.  Such  an  old- 
t'ashioned  thing.  I  told  her  now-a-days  a 
husband  was  an  institution  like  the  Tower 


Amateur  Gardener  (to  goat-fancying  neighbour).  "  Hi,  MADAM  !     ONE  OF  YOUR  CONFOUNDED 

PETS  HAS  GOT   INTO   MY  GARI'EN,   AND   18   EATING   MY   BEDDI1«G-PLANT8  !  " 

Neighbour.  " GOOD  GRACIOUS  I    /  TRUST  THSY  ARE  NOT  POISONOUS!''    • 


or  the  National  Gallery.  So  accessible, 
dear,  that  you  never  go  near  them.  She 
was — or  pretended  to  be — a  little  shocked. 
I  thought  it  was  not  bad  for  me. 

We  went  on  board  one  of  those  awful 
boats  the  next  day  in  a  drizzle.  Not  a  soul 
on  board  we  knew.  I  never  realized  what 
a  really  nice  boy  CHARLEY  P.  was  until  I 
saw  him  fading  away  in  a  Dover  fly  on  his 
way  to  the  station.  Could  anything  be 
more  awful,  dear,  more  hopelessly  depres- 
sing than  to  be  alone  on  a  tossing  little 
tub  with  one's  own  husband  ?  We  were  a 
most  deplorable  looking  couple  when  we 
reached  Calais.  Here,  I  am  thankful  to 
say,  the  LEPIZONS  met  us  as  arranged. 
GEORGE  was  awfully  bad-tempered.  I  can't 
think  what  annoyed  him.  Perhaps  I  bored 
him  ;  perhaps  he  saw  how  successfully  he 
bored  me.  At  any  rate,  we  decided  (of 
course,  quite  nicely)  that  as  he  was  sick 


of  Paris,  he  might  as  well  return  at  once 
to  England,  when  he  thought  he  would  be 
in  time  for  the  golf  competition.  He  is  so 
delightfully  mad  on  golf,  dear.  Of  course, 
it  would  be  awfully  dull  for  him  here.  Wo 
are  going  to  do  all  the  theatres  next  week 
and  perhaps  some  of  the  music-halls,  dar- 
ling !  Then  we  shall  go  on  to  Nice.  I 
shall  try  and  persuade  GEORGE  to  come  on 
there.  He  can  golf  all  day,  and  play  bridge 
with  Col.  WEYBRIDGE  and  the  EEPIZONS  in 
the  evening. 

If  GEORGE  decides  to  go  straight  borne 
after  Hoylake,  we  shall  prolong  our  stay 
here.  It  will  be  an  immense  relief,  dear, 
to  know  that  he  is  perfectly  happy  in  his 
dear,  silly  old  way.  And  when  we  meet 
again  the  atmosphere  of  sickly  sentiment 
will  have  cleared.  One  hopes  so  !  t 
Ever  yours  devotedly, 

SELINA  TRUMAN. 


384 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[MAY  22,  1901. 


'ERE  Y'ARE,  LIDY  !    STAND  ON  MY  B/VCK  FOR  A  SHILLIN' !  " 


THE    HANDICAP    OP    INTELLECT. 

["  In  physical  competitions  (argues  Mr.  HERBERT 
SPENCEB)  the  younger  and  weaker  competitors  are 
given  an  artificial  advantage  but  in  mental  com- 
petitions the  reverse  is  the  case." — St.  James's 

Gazette.] 

STRANGE  !  that,  while  sense  the  body 

rules, 
The  outworn  discipline  of  schools 

Should  fetter  still  the  mind, 
That,  while  an  equal  race  they  ran, 
Mere  thew  and  muscle  lead  the  van , 

And  genius  lags  behind. 

Her  honest  best  athletics  tries 
Nature's  defects  to  equalise, 
Her  wrongs  to  right  by  art, 


And 


it    grants,     or 


"half-fifteen 
"  bisque," 

To  obviate  the  greater  risk, 
That  fairer  all  may  start. 

So  should  proud  intellect  with  sense 
Its  honours  and  rewards  dispense, 

Creating  fools  M.A.'s, 
And  dubbing  dunces  LL.D.'s, 
..And  thereby  striving  by  degrees 
x    The  weaker  still  to  raise. 

So  be  it  our  design  to  clap 
On  intellect  a  handicap, 

And  honest  fools  advance ; 
That  in  the  glorious  by-and-bye, 
By  merit,  or  by  favour,  I 

At  last  may  get  a  chance. 


TO  MY  OWN  TRUMPET. 

I  HAVE  a  trumpet  rich  in  sound, 
I  blew  it  long  before  I  sang  it 
My  tomb  on,  when.  I  'm  underground  ; 
Oh,  hang  it  I 

It  hangs  conveniently  to  hand, 

And  in  Opinion's  face  I  sound  it 

When  his  voice  cries  against  me  and 

Confound  it ! 

I  sundry  chords  upon  it  play, 

But  at  the  fear  o'er-use  might  smash  it 
The  tear  starts  in  my  eye  ;  away — 
Oh,  dash  it ! 

Strange  when  (in  hunting  phrase)  I  wind 

This  brassy  instrument  audacious 
It  should  reveal  me  wise,  refined, 
Good,  gracious ! 

I  am,  you  surely  understand, 

A  rather  more  than  minor  poet  ; 

Then  take  my  trumpet,  reader,  and, 

Oh,  blow  it ! 


"SAUCE  FOR  THE  GOOSE." 
DEAR  MR.  PUNCH,— No  doubt  you  have 
seen  in  the  papers  a  long  correspondence 
about  "  The  Poor  Lady."  Several  philan- 
thropists have  shown  how  an  impoverished 
gentlewoman  can  live  upon  next  to  no- 
thing a  year  with  the  assistance  of  various 
residential  homes.  But  if  there  are  poor 
ladies,  are  there  not  "  mere  men  "  equally 
requi  ring  the  aid  of  the  chari  tably  inclined  ? 
Take  myself,  for  example.  I  dress  fairly 
(thanks  to  the  indulgence  of  my  trades- 
people), and  occasionally  am  able  to  take 
the  house  dinner  at  my  club.  But  I  am 
terribly  pressed,  and  even  regard  an 
omnibus  as  an  impossible  luxury.  I  re- 
member, years  ago,  one  of  the  most  cele- 
brated of  the  contributors  to  your  im- 
mortal pages  suggested  that  there  was  an 
opening  for  poor  gentlemen  in  "salad  dres- 
sing." The  scheme  was  proposed  in  a  work 
entitled,  as  I  think,  Happy  Thought  Hall, 
and  "the  Confraternity"  was  to  be 
styled  "  The  Little  Brothers  of  the  Rich." 
Presentable  young  men  were  to  dine  at  a 
moment's  notice,  like  "the  Man  from 
Blankley's." 

Surely  the  admirable  notion  should  have 
been  followed  up.  I  shall  be  only  too 
pleased  to  start  it,  going  myself  to  the 
first  entertainment  demanding  my  ser- 
vices. I  can  listen  to  bores  with  so  much 
attention  that  I  can  put  in  at  the  appro- 
priate moments  either  smiles  or  tears.  I 
can  cheer  heartily  an  amateur's  comic 
song,  and,  what  is  even  more  important, 
can  keep  perfectly  grave  while  a  non- 
professional  prima  donna  is  singing  in  a 
whisper  out  of  tune.  Surelyisuch  talents 
as  mine  should  be  turned  to  good  account. 
Yours  truly,  "A  POOR  MAN." 


PLAY  FOR  BICYCLISTS.  —  Wheels  ivithin 
H'/iecLs,  now  running  at  the  Criterion. 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.—  MAY  22,  1901. 


/-...  *,.  y 


THE   GOVERNMENT   CLOCK. 

MR.  JOHN  BULL.  "HUM  !   SEEMS  TO  HAVE  BEEN  LOSING   A  BIT  IN  THE  LAST  FEW  WEEKS!" 


MAY  22,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON    CHARIVARI. 


587 


ESSENCE    OF    PARLIAMENT. 

EXTKAOTED  FROM  THB  DlAET  OP  TOBY,  M.P. 

House  of  Commons,  Monday,  May  18. — 
GEORGE  WYNDHAM,  banging  door  of  Irish 
Office  behind  him,  gaily  returned  to  War 
Office  affairs.  For  the  moment  quite  a 
different  man.  Been  Irish  Secretary  only 
a  few  months  ;  already  work  beginning  to 
tell  upon  him.  It  broke  FORSTER'S  stout 
heart;  it  turned  GEORGE  TREVEL VAN'S 
hair  prematurely  grey.  Compared  with 
their  times  of  turmoil,  CHIEF  SECRETARY 
of  to-day  has  quite  a  pleasant  place  ;  but 
already  streaks  of  white  are  showing  in 
his  abundant  hair.  Something*  of  the 
native  joyousness  of  his  manner  has  faded  ; 
he  is  acquiring  an  artificial  sing-song 
intonation  of  sentences  that  tends  to  spoil 
his  speech.  For  one  night  only  he  returns 
to  the  War  Office,  to  help  BRODRICK  in 
defending  his  scheme.  This  he  triumph- 
antly does  on  quite  new  and  conclusive 
ground. 

"If,"  he  asked,  "  we  reject  this  scheme, 
what  are  we  going  to  do  with  the  Generals 
and  Staff  Officers  now  at  the  front?" 
There's  the  thing  in  a  nut-shell.  Thirty- 
two  millions  to  be  voted  for  the  Army. 
"  Why?  "  asks  the  over- burdened  taxpayer. 
"Why?"  repeats  WYNDHAM,  sharply. 
"Because  we  've  got  to  find  something  to 
do  for  our  Generals  and  Staff  Officers  who 
will  be  out  of  work  when  the  war  is  over 
in  South  Africa." 

Next  to  this  disclosure,  C.-B.'s  shrewd 
discovery  of  weak  point  of  the  whole 
scheme  was  a  secondary  sensation.  "  You 
ask  for  six  Army  Corps,  three  to  be  ready 
for  active  service  abroad.  Very  well.  If 
three  out  of  the  six  go,  there- won't  be 
six  left." 

For  a  moment  the  House  stood  at  gaze 
like  JOSHUA'S  sun  at  Ajalon.  BRODRICK 
moved  uneasily  on  the  Treasury  Bench. 
PRINCE  'ARTHUR  pretended  to  be  deeply 
engaged  with  his  despatch  box.  WALDRON 
standing  at  the  Bar,  looking  round  to  see 
that  his  men  were  well  in  hand,  felt  that 
if  a  division  were  forthwith  taken  it  would 
go  hard  with  the  Government.  The  pause 
broken  by  ripple  of  laughter.  Deepened 
into  a  roar.  C.-B.,  resuming  his  seat, 
looked  round  and  smiled  in  genial  response. 

All  very  well  to  take  it  that  way.  An 
old  device  to  laugh  at  unpleasant  incon- 
trovertible fact;  but  can  C.-B.'s  proposi- 
tion be  denied  ?  Can  anyone  put  his 
hand  upon  his  heart  and  say  that  if  three 
of  the  six  Army  Corps  go  abroad,  there 
will  be  six  left  at  home?  I  trow  not. 
Then  where  are  we  ?  Admitting  this  flaw 
in  the  scheme,  is  it  worth  while  to  spend 
thirty  millions  in  order  to  find  occupa- 
tion and  income  for  discharged  Generals 
and  disendowed  Staff  Officers  ? 

Tried  to  catch  SPEAKER'S  eye  ;  would 
like  to  have  put  these  points,  which  flash 
upon  one's  mind  as  result  of  exhilarating 


intellectual  activity  born  of  listening  to 
Debate.  As  usual,  SPEAKER  didn't  sec 
me. 

Business  done.  —  Debating  new  War 
Office  scheme. 

House  of  Lords,  Tuesday  night. —  The 
MARKISS  back  again  after  brief  holiday. 
Everyone  glad  to  find  him  in  bounding 
health  and  (consequently)  in  most  para- 
doxical mood.  Inclined  to  hit  out  all 
round,  contradicting  everyone.  The  first 
body  on  which  his  heavy  hand  fell  was  the 
blameless  one  that  homes  the  meek  spirit 
of  HENEAGE.  Never  so  surprised  in  his 


GROWN  OUT  OF  HIS  ARMOUR! 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  do  not  think  it  something 
of  a  benefit  that  we  have  been  forced  to  look  up  our 

armour There  is  a  general  impression 

that  our  preparations  have  not  been  sufficiently 
thought  out  to  make  our  position  as  secure  as  we 
could  wish  to  be!" — LtrdBolitlmry't  /Speech  at 
the  Hotel  Metropole. 

life.  For  startled  moment  thought  he 
was  back  again  in  educational  establish- 
ment in  Yorkshire  where,  whilst  he  was 
still  with  us  in  the  Commons,  fantastic 
fancy  feigned  knowledge  of  his  early  and 
unhappy  sojourn. 

Question  before  House  was  Second 
Reading  of  Licensing  Boards  Bill,  moved 
by  CAMPERDOWN.  All  HENEAGE  did  was  to 
invite  the  Government  to  fulfil  their 
promise  set  forth  in  KING'S  Speech  to 
bring  in  Bill  dealing  with  Licensing 
Question. 

"  Don't,"  he  said,  "  try  to  get  out  of 
the  position  by  inviting  individual  Mem- 
bers of  the  House  to  introduce  Bills." 


The  MARKISS  up  like  a  -young  thing  of 
twenty.  "I  wish,"  he  said,  severely 
regarding  HENEAGE  as  if  he  were  a  house- 
maid discovered  taking  a  chair  in  the 
drawing-room  at  Hatfleld,  "to  correct 
what  the  noble  Lord  has  said,  that  I  asked 
private  Members  to  bring  in  Bills.  I  do 
not  remember  ever  having  made  so  indis- 
creet a  request." 

HENEAGE,  trembling  in  every  limb,  his 
pallid  brow  beaded  with  perspiration, 
meekly  reminded  the  MARKISS  that  when 
BISHOP  OP  WINCHESTER  brought  before  the 
House  Resolution  on  the  subject  he,  the 
MARKISS,  peremptorily  ordered  him  to 
take  it  away  and  bring  in  a  Bill. 

"  That 's  a  very  different  matter,"  said 
the  MARKISS  ;  "  but  to  exhort  private 
Members  generally  to  bring  in  Bills  is  an 
amount  of  indiscretion  of  which  I  have 
not  been  guilty." 

And  of  which  no  one  had  accused  him. 

Later,  ROSEBERY  in  masterly  process  of 
cross-examination  pitilessly  plied  the 
MARKISS  with  questions  on  the  subject  of 
Ministerial  intention.  If  the  subject  of 
the  ordeal  had  been  any  other — say  Mrs. 
DANE  on  her  Defence — he  would  have  been 
brought  to  his  knees.  The  MARKISS  only 
contradicted  ROSEBERY  and  himself,  and 
in  the  end  there  remained  unravelled 
the  mystery  that  broods  about  Govern- 
ment Licensing  Bill  promised  in  KING'S 
Speech. 

Business  done. — Commons  still  discus- 
sing Army  scheme  put  forward  by  War 
Office.  Hostile  criticism  renewed  from 
both  sides.  SARK  says  it  reminds  him  of 
CHARLES  I.  riding  through  the  streets  of 
the  town  after  the  Battle  of  Naseby 
"  There  was  none  to  cry  God  bless 
him ! ' ' 

House  of  Commons,  Thursday  Night. — 
Nineteen  years  has  Mr.  SAM.  SMITH 
dwelt  in  the  wilderness  of  the  House 
of  Commons,  and  its  ways  are  still 
dark  to  him.  Just  now,  called  on  by 
the  SPEAKER,  he  rose  to  put  a  question 
concerning  the  welfare  of  the  London 
barmaid.  Why  should  Members  burst 
into  roar  of  cheers,  turning  to  a  shout  of 
laughter  as  he  meekly  surveyed  the 
scene?  Difficult  for  him  to  understand 
why  in  any  circumstances  grown-up  men 
should  laugh.  The  present  lapse  into 
temporary  insanity  quite  inexplicable. 
'Twas  ever  thus.  Whatever  be  the  subject 
he  takes  in  hand — the  purlieus  of  the 
theatres,  the  back  of  the  stage  at  the 
music-halls,  the  iniquity  of  certain  plays, 
Piccadilly  Circus  after  midnight  —  no 
sooner  is  his  plaintive  voice  heard  asking 
a  question  or  driving  home  a  moral  than 
ribald  Members  opposite,  others  below 
the  Gangway  on  his  own  side,  break  forth 
into  a  cheer  of  suspicious  vigour. 

Of  course,  there  is  not  a  scintilla  of 
truth  in  the  story  told  in  the  smoking- 
room,  that  SAMUEL  crossed  Palace  Yard 
this  afternoon  with  a  highly  -  dressed 


388 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[MAY  22,  1901. 


S-M  SM-TH'S  PROGRESS! 
(A  puiely  fancy  picture  conjured  up  by  certain  irreverent  laughter  in  the  House  ! ) 

The  Sporting  Samuel.  "  No  !    By  Jove !    Hundred  hours  a  week  ?    Not  really  ?    "What  an  awfully 
Wake  up  those  Johnnies  in  the  House  'bout  it?    You  see  if  I  don't, — 


beastly  shame,  don't  ye  know  ! 
Righto ! " 

buxom  barmaid  on  either  arm.  If  it  were 
true,  why  not  ?  A  common  thing  for 
Members  about  to  address  the  house  to 
escort  lady  friends  to  the  Gallery.  Why 
should  S.  S.,  intent  upon  pleading  the 
cause  of  the  over-worked  barmaid  be 
deprived  of  the  society  of  acquaintances 
especially  interested  in  the  subject  of 
his  remarks. 

It  wasn't  true  ;  the  House  knew  it  was 
a  weak  invention  ;  but  it  laughed,  all  the 
same,  what  time  SAMUEL  in  mild  amaze 
awaited  an  interval  of  silence  in  which  he 
might  put  his  Question. 

Business  done. — BRODRICK'S  resolution 
on  Army  Reform  carried  by  majority  of 
142  in  the  House  of  468.  Members 
wouldn't  speak  in  favour  of  it ;  but  they 
voted ;  which,  on  the  whole,  PRINCE 
ARTHUR,  a  little  anxious  about  the  re- 
sult, thinks  is  the  better  way. 

Friday. — WINSTON  CHURCHILL  came  very 
well  out  of  critical  ordeal  of  second 
important  speech.  With  the  modesty  of 
youth  he  undertook  to  challenge  the 
scheme  of  Army  Re-organization  put  for- 
ward from  War  Office.  Handed  in  amend- 
ment to  BRODRICK'S  resolution,  which, 
if  carried,  would  not  only  have  involved 
withdrawal  of  elaborate  scheme  but  re- 


signation of  the  Ministry.  C.-B.  moving 
more  leisurely,  as  is  the  way  with 
heavier  bodies,  some  time  later  placed 
on  Paper  amendment  designed  to  have 
identical  effect.  WINSTON  must  needs 
give  way  to  Leader  of  Opposition ;  but 
no  reason  why  he  shouldn't  have  his 
say. 

With  characteristic  good  luck,  found 
an  opening  at  eleven  o'clock.  No 
better  time  for  making  a  hit.  Members 
back  again  in  their  places  in  cheerful 
frame  of  mind  engendered  by  dinner. 
WINSTON'S  speech  evidently  carefully 
prepared,  but  wasn't  embarrassed  by  his 
notes ;  turned  aside  from  them  now  and 
then  to  make  capital  debating  point  out 
of  speeches  delivered  earlier  in  the 
evening.  Much  in  matter  and  manner  of 
speech  that  recalled  his  father.  To  be- 
gin with,  had  thoroughly  studied  the 
subject,  and  had  something  practical  to 
say  about  it ;  his  darts  winged  with 
admirably -phrased,  sometimes  epigram- 
matic sentences.  SARK  complains  that 
his  utterance  is  too  rapid,  and  hopes  he 
won't  make  fatal  mistake  of  speaking  too 
often.  But  he  '11  learn,  and  he  'II  do. 

Business  done.  —  In  Committee  of 
Supply. 


O  FORTUNATI  NIMIUM. 

[Signor  DAVID  PETEIUCCI  is  travelling  about 
Italy,  announcing  the  approaching  end  of  all 
human  suffering.  He  can  neither  read  nor  write, 
and  is  of  opinion  that  this  ignorance  is  an  essential 
of  mundane  happiness.] 
Too  happy  followers  of  this 

Our  very  latter-day  apostle, 
To  sing  away  your  lives  in  bliss 

As  gaily  as  the  lark  onthrostle  I 

No  early  papers  meet  your  eye"; 

Or  if  they  do,  you  cannot  read  them, 
While  as  for  ink  and  paper,  why, 

'Tis  very  plain  you  do  not  need  them. 

When  all  the  world  has  come  to  share 
Thevrews  by  which  you  are  enlightened, 

An  end  will  be  of  pain  and  care ; 
We  shall  no  more  be  fussed  or  frightened. 

No  leading  article  will  then 
With  esoteric  phrase  alarm  us, 

No  writer's  cramp,  no  broken  pen, 
No  lack  of  blotting-pad  will  harm  us. 

Books  shall  be  burnt,  and  authors  too, 
All  publishers  be  drowned  like  kittens  ! 

And,  having  nothing  else  to  do, 
Society  shall  crochet  mittens. 

No  dinner  parties  can  take  place, 
Since  none  can  write  an  invitation  ; 

Twiddling  their  thumbs,  the  human  race 
Shall  wait  complete  annihilation. 


"  JOHNSON  FOR  LICHFIELD  I  " 
ON  Whit-Monday  the  house  in  which 
Dr.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON,  the  eminent  lexico- 
grapher, was  born  will  be  thrown  open 
to  the  public  by  the  Corporation  of 
Lichfleld.  These  enthusiastic  gentlemen 
(through  their  mayor)  have  expressed 
their  anxiety  to  present  in  the  Lichfleld 
Worthies  Room  as  many  references  in 
the  way  of  MS.,  books,  pictures,  &c., 
relating  to  JOHNSON  and  Lichfleld  as 
possible. 

Ever  ready  to  oblige,  the  Sage  of 
Bouverie  Street  gives  a  list  of  exhibits 
that  would  have  pleased  his  brother  Sage 
almost  as  much  as  that  pleasant  "walk 
down  Fleet  Street,"  so  frequently  re- 
ferred to  by  writers  of  a  later  date. 
Whether  they  will  be  seen  in  "theLich- 
field  Worthies  Room  "  time  will  show. 

1.  Pun  on  the  name  of  BOSWELL. 

2.  Refusal  of  the  proprietors  of  "the 
little  theatre  in  the  Haymarket"  to  pro- 
duce another  of  the  Doctor's    dramatic 
trifles  in  five  acts. 

3.  Receipt  for  making  a  haggis  from  a 
friend  at  the  Hebrides. 

4.  Small  portion  of  the  original  Cheshire 
cheese. 

5.  Acknowledgment  of  the  purchase  of 
three  dozen  chairs  to  be  placed  in  various 
taverns  in  the   neighbourhood  of  Fleet 
Street. 

6.  Notes     for    the     Dictionary,     with 
queries  as  to  the  right  spelling  of  "  Parlia- 
ment," "  yacht,"  and  "knowledge." 


MAY  22,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


389 


Young  Lady  (who  politely  prefers  asking  a  question  to  expressing  an  opinion)*    "WHAT   REASON  COULD  THE  AcADfMY  HAVE  FOB 

REJECTING   IT,    1   WONDBR  ?  " 

Artist.  "On,  I  EXPECT  THEY  DIDN'T  LIKE  THE  TITLE.    I  CAN'T  THINK  OF  ANY  OTHER  POSSIBLE  REASON." 


390 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[MAY  22,   1901. 


EH? 


UNEXPECTED    INTERVIEWS. 

(Not  for  Publication.') 
Wha — what?      What's  matter? — Who's  there? 


Oh, 


it 's  you,  SYMMONDS.  What  d'  you  want  to  come  wakin'  me  up 
for?  Stuffy  the  room  feels.  Pah!  Tastes  like  a  bad  egg. 
Yes,  get  me  a  peg,  SYMMONDS,  four  fingers,  d'ye  see?  Well, 
why  don't  you  go ?  Didn't  you  hear  what  I  said?  You  deaf  ? 
What  ?  Oh,  ah,  yes.  That  confounded  interview.  Yes,  I  'd 
forgotten.  Come,  have  they?  Oh,  all  right,  send  'em  up. 
'Spose  I  must,  if  I  said  so.  Did  I  say  so,  SYMMONDS  ?  You 
always  know  these  sort  of  things.  I  've  no  head  for  'em  myself. 


Now,  what  the  doose  am  I  to  say  ? 
view  me  for?    I've  never  done 


What  d'  they  want  to  inter- 
'em  any  harm.  I  'in  not  a 
bishop,  by  gad,  or— or  a  ballet-girl.  Jove,  though,  when  it 
comes  to  dancin' — Remember  that  break-down  I  did  at  the 
regimental  theatricals  at  Umballah?  Eh,  SYMMONDS?  Let's 
see.  Wonder  if  I  could— somethin'  like  this  it  went — tumtiddy, 
tumtiddy,  turn,  turn — dash  !  My  knees  are  getting  a  bit — Bless 
my  soul !  Who  the — I  beg  your  pardon,  h'm — madam.  I — I 
didn't  know  you  were  there.  Now  where  the — what  the — 
where  's  that  man  of  mine  got  to,  confound  him  !  Told  you  to 
come  up,  did  he?  Like  his  dashed — ah'm.  But  I  don't — you 
see,  the  fact  is,  I  was  expectin'  a — er — ah,  exac'ly,  a  mere  man, 
as  you  say.  One  of  those  inf — in  point  of  fact,  a  newspaper 
fellow.  Yon  ?  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  come  from  the — ah, 
the— ah,— yes,  the  Argus  ?  Well,  I  'in— 'pon  my  soul,  I  'm  doosid 
glad i  to  see  you.  You're  so  uncommonly — oh,  no  offence. 
There,  now :  that 's  the  only  comfortable  chair  in  the  house. 
No  one  but  me  ever — I  say,  you  're  not  going  to  make  a  note  of 
that,  are  you  ?  Seems  hardly  worth  while,  does  it  ?  That 's  all 
right. 

Oh,  that  !  My  first  tiger.  Gad,  he  nearly  did  for  me  too, 
the  brute.  Just  after  I  'd  joined.  You  ever  been  in  India, 
Miss  —  ?  Ah'm.  Well,  he 'd  got  my  shikari  down — stoopid  fool ! 
hadn't  loaded  properly.  Forgot  to  put  in  the  bullet,  by  gad. 
Oh,  I  was  dead  on,  couldn't  possibly  have  missed.  BULL'S-BYE 
JOE  they  used  to  call  me  in  the  regiment.  So  of  course  I  had 
to — oh,  just  clubbed  my  rifle,  and  smashed  the  brute's  skull  in. 
Dead?  Why — oh,  the  shikari?  Oh,  yes,  he  was  dead  right 
enough,  the  stoopid  idiot.  Ah,  I  could  tell  you  dozens  of  stories 
like  that.  Well,  fact  is,  I  am  thinkin'  of  publishin'  'em,  one  of 
these  days.  I  'd  be  dashed  sorry  if  I  couldn't  write  'em  better 
than  that  KIPLIN'  fellow.  I  knew  all  those  yarns  of  his  before 
he  was  born.  Knew  the  people  too,  by  gad,  intimately.  Mrs. 
HAWKSBEE  now.  She  was  a  particular  friend  of  mine.  Oh, 
everyone  knew  who  she  was.  But  he  spoilt  'em  all,  ruined  'em, 
Sir, — I  mean  Miss —  ?  Ah'm.  But  what  could  you  expect  of  a 
telegraph  clerk  ! 

Well  now,  what  can  I — 'm, — I'm  afraid  that  won't  interest 
you  :  it 's  a  golf  club  :  my  pet  driver.  Oh,  yes.  I  do  a  good 
deal  of  golfin'.  Exactly  :  mus'  do  somethin',  mustn't  one?  Of 
course,  you  don't — ?  Gad,  Miss — ?  Ah'm,t  my  dear,  you 
astonish  me.  Now  ain't  it  a  good  game?  I?  Oh,  I 'm— ah — 
pooty  good.  No,  not  puttin'.  Can't  be  bothered  with  it.  But 
drivin'  now.  Oh,  yes,  as  far  as  drivin'  goes,  I  don't  care  who 
it  is.  You  ask  TOM  DUNN  'bout  my  play.  Wonderful  judge  of 
the  game,  TOM  DUNN.  But  he  can't — now*  tell  me,  you  ever  seen 
him  drive  ?  Well  then,  did  anything  strike  you  'bout  his  swing  ? 
Quick?  Ah,  exac'ly;  too  quick,  ain't  it?  Yes/you  're  quite 
right.  '  Slow  back  '  does  it,— slow  back  and  sloe  gin,  and  plenty 
of  both,  and  the  knee-swing,  of  course — that's  the  great  secret. 
I  say,  Miss — ?  Ah'm.  Couldn't  we  have  a  game  together  some 
day  ?  I  'd  like  to  show  you — what  now?  Of  course  I  could,  my 
dear — delighted.  It 's  this  sort  of  thing.  You  stand  like  this, 
and  you  work  your  knees  backwards  like  this, — and  forwards — 
see  ? — like  this,  and  then  you  take  aim  slowly,  and — rmph  !  away 
goes  the  ball,  huuderd  and  eighty,  hunderd  and  ninety,  two  hun 
derd  yards.  Yes,  that 's  'bout  my  distance.  Here,  give  me  the 
club :  I  can  show  you  better  with  that.  Now  watch  ! — You  see — 


backwards,  then  forwards,  and  then — Oh,  confound  that  lamp. 
I  beg  your  pardon,  but — fact  is,  it 's  MARIA'S — my  wife's,  and 
she  '11  kick  up  the  very — well,  what  d'you  want  now,  SYMMONDS  ? 
Oh,  ah,  the  whiskey.  Just  put  it  down,  and  then — the  carriage  ? 
Oh,  bother — tell  her  ladyship  I  can't  come.  Say  I  'm  busy  and — 
here,  wait  a  minute.  P'raps  Miss — will  you  have  anything  ? 
Glass  of  sherry,  now,  or — quite  sure  ?  All  right,  SYMMONDS,  you 
needn't  wait,  and — ah — you  needn't  come  back,  SYMMONDS. 

I  suppose  you  're  not  one  of  those  modern  water-drinkers, 
my  dear  young  lady.  Won't  mind  my  takin'  my  peg  ?  Me 
believe  in  it  ?  Now  do  I  look  like  it,  my  dear  ?  Ah  !  that 's 
better.  You  take  my  word  for  it,  this  water-drinkin'  and — • 
er — higher  morality,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  will  play  the — will 
be  the  ruin  of  the  British  Army.  Short  service?  Fiddle- 
sticks !  Mind,  I  don't  say  short  service  is  a  good  thing,  in 
fact,  I  believe  it 's  an  invention  of  the — of  Mr.  GLADSTONE'S* 
but  all  the  same — Fight  ?  Gad,  I  should  jus'  think  so,  as  well 
as  ever.  Oh,  Tommy  Atkins  is  all  right,  if  they  'd  only  let 
lim  alone,  and  not  try  to  make  him  moral  by  Act  of  Parliament. 
You  don't  want  him  moral,  Sir — my  dear— you  want  a  flghtin' 
machine.  Gad,  I  wish  I  'd  had  the  leadin'  of  him  in  this  war. 
We  haven't  got  a  single  general  officer  who  's  worth  a  two- 
jenny — h'm. 

New?  What,  this  morality  business ?  Not  a  bit  of  it,  only 
ihere  's  more  of  it  than  there  used  to  be.  Why,  there  was  a 
nan  called  RICKETTS  in  my  regiment,  joined  the  same  time  as 
did— no,  not  RECKETTS,  RICKETTS,  TOM  RICKETTS,  and  he— 
aeg  pardon?  Oh,  I  thought  you  did.  No,  I  never  liked  him. 
ouldn't  stand  him.  Always  fussin'  about,  gettin'  up  sing- 
songs and  things  for  the  men,  wanted  to  keep  'em  away  from 
the  canteen,  and — ah'm — all  that  sort  of  thing — you  know. 
Said  we  ought  to  set  'em  an  example,  by  gad,  the  silly  old  fool. 
Dead  now  though,  and  a  doosid  good  riddance  too. 

Now,  is  there  anything  more  I  can — I  say,  you  're  lookin' 
uncommon  queer.  Anything  the  matter,  my  dear?  Sure  you 
won't  you  let  me  get  a  glass  of — Oh,  all  right.  I  'm  not  goin' 
to  touch  you.  You  needn't  be — Gad,  MARIA,  where  have  you 
sprung  from  ?  Gave  me  quite  a  start.  Thought  you  'd  gone 
drivin'.  I  was  uncommon  sorry  not  to  come,  but  'pon  my  word 
— this  ?  Oh,  this  is  only  Miss — Miss — by  the  way,  what  is  your 
name?  I  didn't  quite — RICKXTTS !  What,  not  any  relation 


of His  daughter  ?    Well,  I  'm — ah'm.     Oh,  confound  it  all, 

why  the  doose — Oh,  all  right,  MARIA,  I  '11  introduce  her  fast 
enough,  if  you  'd  only  not  be  so — so  aggravatin'.  Allow  me  to 
— I  say,  you're  not  goin',  Miss — er — RICKETTS?  'Pon  my  soul, 
you  can't  leave  me  in  this — can't  you  see  how  uncommon 
awkward  it  is  for  me  ?  Of  course,  if  I  'd  known  he  was  your 
father  I  'd  have — Oh,  well,  go  then  !  Go  to  the — hah  !  by  Jove, 
there  's  a  nice  tame  cat  of  a  young  woman  for  you  !  Look  here, 
MARIA,  for  goodness'  sake  ask  your  questions,  and  have  done 
with  'em.  Well,  I  '11  tell  you.  She  's  the  daughter  of  an  old 
brother-officer  of  mine,  old  TOM  RICKETTS,  and  I  said  one  or  two 
things  about  him  she  didn't  like — Oh,  all  right.  I  'm  comin'  to 
that.  She  came  here  from  an  inf — ah,  an  important  newspaper, 
to  interview  me.  Yes,  to  interview  me.  Anything  surprisin' 
in  that,  I  'd  like  to  know?  I  s'pose  I  'HI  as  good  as  a  ballet- 
girl?  And  now  I  '11  be — yes,  I  will,  I  '11  be — well,  hanged  then, 
if  I  answer  another  question.  I  've  had  enough  interviewin'  to 
last  me  for  some  time.  Gad,  it 's  a  pity,  too !  She  was  an  un- 
commonly   Gfooti-bye,  MARIA — pretty  little  girl.  I  'd  like 


to  have  taught  her  that  knee-swing. 


G.  F.  C. 


A  SLUMP  DIALOGUE. 

Sympathising  Friend  (to  sporting  but  impecunious  Baronet). 
Hope  you  got  out  of  all  your  Americans  before  this  slump  took 
place,  and  that  you  liquidated  your  position  and  were  not 
uneasy  ? 

Sporting  but  Impecunious  Baronet.  "  Uneasy  "  ?  Well,  I  was 
somewhat,  but  nothing  like  what  my  brokers  were. 


MAY  22,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


391 


THE   SOLDIER'S   PROGRESS. 

(Modern  Version.) 

["  Means  must  be  found  either  to  put  a  stop  to 
the  social  and  other  expenses  connected  with  com- 
mands in  the  Army,  which  demand  private  expen- 
diture, or  to  raise  the  pay  to  the  level  of  the 
expenses." — Times,  May  15.J 

WELLINGTON  MARLBOROUGH  SMITH  made 
up  his  mind  at  the  early  age  of  five  that 
he  would  be  worthy  of  his  Christian  names. 
By  saving  up  his  pocket-money,  and 
"turning  it  over"  by  the  purchase  and 
sale  of  various  articles  greatly  prized  by 
his  school-fellows,  he  realised  a  sum  that 
assisted  his  parents  to  obtain  for  him  the 
supplementary  education  qualifying  him 
for  the  Service. 

He  was  gazetted  a  second  lieutenant. 
Then  it  came  to  pass  that  he  found  he  had 
an  insufficient  income  to  live  up  to  his  rank. 

So  he  invented  and  patented  a  new  sort 
of  corkscrew,  and  realised  a  considerable 
sum.  This  kept  him  going  until  he  secured 
his  "star." 

And  now  he  had  to  qualify  for  his 
company.  He  took  to  betting,  and  with 
the  aid  of  good  luck,  again  was  in  sufficient 
funds.  He  became  a  captain,  and  was 
ready  to  receive  field  rank. 

He  faced  the  financial  difficulty,  and, 
with  the  assistance  of  the  Stock  Ex- 
change, obtained  sufficient  cash  to  keep 
up  his  position.  Captain,  and  subse- 
quently Major,  W.  M.  SMITH  prospered. 
A  small  war  in  a  distant  part  of  His 
Majesty's  possessions  secured  for  him 
valuable  service  and  no  less  valuable 
exemption  from  entertaining. 

He  was  worthy  of  his  name,  and  returned 
home  Major-General  Sir  WELLINGTON  M. 
SMITH,  K.C.B. 

He  was  called  to  Pall  Mall  and  offered 
the  command  of  a  district. 

He  hesitated.  He  was  urged  to  accept 
the  appointment. 

"You  deserve  it,  Sir  WELLINGTON," 
said  the  official.  "Your  services  have 
been  meritorious,  and  the  Army  will 
receive  our  choice  with  acclamation." 

"You  are  most  kind,"  returned  Sir 
WELLINGTON,  "  but  there  is  an  insuperable 
difficulty.  I  am  not  a  rich  man." 

The  official  received  the  announcement 
with  grave  regret. 

"  Well,"  said  he  at  last,  "  we  will  keep 
it  open  for  six  weeks.  By  the  end  of  that 
time  you  will  be  able  to  see  if  you  can  do 
anything." 

The  period  passed  rapidly.  At  its  end 
Sir  WELLINGTON  presented  himself  once 
more  at  Pall  Mall. 

"  I  am  delighted,  Sir,  to  'accept  the 
command  you  have  so  kindly  suggested.' 

The  official  shook  the  distinguished 
officer  by  the  hand.  They  had  been 
school-fellows  in  the  days  when  they  were 
boys  together. 

"I  say,  old  man,"  said  the  civilian, 
dropping  the  official  tone  as  the  matter 


ANYHOW,    SINCERE. 

Reggie  (who  prides  himself  on  his  wit}.  "I  SAY,  CHARLIE,  YOU  SEE  MY  JOKE,  DON'T  YOU, 
OLD  CHAP  ?    VERY  GOOD,  ISN'T  IT  ? " 

Charlie  (who  considers  himself  a  wag).  "NoT  AT  ALL,  OLD  FELLOW.    DON'T  SEE  IT,  ADD 

DON'T  WANT  TO   SEE   IT.      HAVB   HEARD   IT,    AND  THAT 's   QUITE   ENOUGH   FOR  MS  !  " 

'   [Conversation  ends  abruptly. 


was  settled,  "  how  did  you  get  over  the 
financial  difficulty  ?  Peg  tops  and  knives 
played  out  ?  " 

"  Quite — fifty  years  ago." 

"And  I  suppose  not  much  left  of  the 
patent  corkscrew  ?  ' ' 

"  Self-opening  bottles  disposed  of  that." 

"Anything  on  race  meetings  or  the 
Stock  Exchange  ?  ' ' 

"  Haven't  time  for  either." 

"Then  how  on  earth  did  you  obtain  a 
sufficient  private  income  to  keep  up  the 
command?  " 

"  I  am  married,"  returned  the  warrior, 
"  and  the  maiden  name  of  my  wife  was 
EUPHINA  X.  Y.  Z.  O'DOLLARS,  of  Chicago, 
U.S.A.  My  father-in-law — who  is  known 
as  the  Pork  King — behaved  like  a  million- 
aire and  a  gentleman."  And  shaking 
hands  with  his  old  school-fellow,  the  Gene- 
ral Commanding  the District  hastened 

to  Head-quarters  to  show  himself  at  a 
garden  fete,  plus  a  dinner-party  and  a 
five-hundred-guests-invited  dance . 


AT  EARL'S  COURT    AN  APPRECIATION. 

SOMETHING  like  a  Military  Exhibition ! 
Big  guns  defending  the  band-stand,  big 
guns  protecting  the  refreshment  depart- 
ment, big  guns  dominating  the  principal 
stalls  and  threatening  the  gigantic 
wheel.  And  a  very  splendid  spectacle, 
"  China,"  takes  one  to  Pekin.  According 
to  the  book,  historically  correct. 

Then  the  military  relics  are  deeply 
interesting.  WELLINGTON'S  cloak  at  Water- 
loo quite  worth  of  itself  the  charge 
of  one  shilling  which  admits  the  visitor 
to  the  whole  show — the  whole  show  (well 
understood),  with  two  or  three  exceptions. 
The  military  pictures,  too,  first  rate.  A 
portrait  of  the  late  ARCHIBALD  FORBES  (to 
whose  memory  knights  of  the  pen  and 
sword  are  erecting  a  monument  in  St. 
Paul's),  capital.  Quite  one  of  the  best  of 
Professor  VON  HERKOMER.  Altogether, 
well  worth  seeing.  It  was  said  years  ago 
that  all  roads  led  to  Earl's  Court.  Those 
roads  this  year  should  be  well  travelled. 


392 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[MA*  22,   1901. 


OCCASIONAL  NOTES  AT  THE  OPERA. 

Monday,  May  13.— To  the  Opera,  with  a  Covent- 
Gardenia  as  a  button-hole  in  honour  of  first  night 
of  season.  Merry  month  of  May,  musical  May, 
season  for  pipe  and  tabor.  Couldn't  get  very  far 
now-a-days  with  orchestra  limited  to  pipe  and 
tabor.  New  arrangements  outside,  inside,  on  the 
stage,  under  the  stage,  above  the  stage — whether 
for  better  or  worse  time  will  show.  At  entrance 
in  Bow  Street,  carriages  drive  up  where  cabs  fear  to  come ; 
and  outside  the  portico  under  an  awning  (which  wasn't  there 
on  the  first  night,  but  has  since  been  fixed  up)  the  cabs  drive 
up.  This  promises,  by  the  aid  of  well-managed  "call-boys," 
to  be  a  considerable  improvement  on  the  old  rough-and-tumble 
fashion  of  egressing.  The  awning  is  not  big  enough  by  at  least 
a  third.  And  is  it  rain-proof  ? 

By  the  new  arrangement  of  entrance  to  stalls  right  and  left 
of  orchestra,  whence  the  stall-occupants  come  up  de  profundis, 
the  lounge  entr'acte,  whereof  the  lorgnetters  were  wont  to  block 
the  passage,  is  now  a  thing  of  the  past.  By  this  move  the 
syndicate  gains  two  private  boxes.  There  is  nothing  very 
novel  in  the  scenic  arrangements.  The  hideous  old-fashioned 
prompt-box,  like  the  top  part  of  a  small  hansom  cab,  is  at  a 
greater  distance  from  the  "flote," — no  longer  to  be  called 
"flote"  as  the  lights  are  "sunk," — and  the  conductor  of  the 
orchestra  seems  to  be  raised  on  a  higher  rock  than  ever  above 
the  submerged  musicians. 

As  to  performance.  Well,  chorus  good ;  "  cloister  "  and  "  ball- 
room ' '  scene  ditto  in  GOUNOD'S  Romeo  et  Juliette,  given  in  French. 
Grand  ovation  to  Madame  EAMES  as  the  melodious  heroine,  who 
would  not  take  an  encore  for  the  waltz  which  she  sang 
deliciously.  With  her,  one  good  turn  does  not  deserve  another. 
As  Romeo,  Mons.  SALEZA  in  excellent  voice :  nice  little  man 
for  so  fine  a  Juliette.  The  evergreen  BAUERMEISTER- singer, 
quite  a  coquettish  Gertrude,  alias  Shakspearian  "nurse  to 
Juliette."  Mons.  JOURNET  not  quite  the  worthy  Frere  Laurent. 
Signer  MANCINELLI  in  great  force,  conducting  himself  and 
orchestra  admirably. 

Of  course,  punctually  at  eight  the  National  Anthem  was 
given  as  a  sort  of  perfunctory  tribute  to  the  Opera  House  as 
bearing  the  affix  of  "Royal."  It  rather  recalls  the  Non  Nobis 
at  a  City  dinner,  so  delightfully  described  by  THACKERAY  as 
"  sung  by  those  professional  devotees,  Mr.  SHADRACK,  Mr. 
MESHECH,  and  little  JACK  OLDBOY."  This  devotional  dedication 
of  the  season  was  lost  on  the  fashionable  majority  in  boxes  and 
stalls,  their  occupants  not  arriving  in  time  to  demonstrate  their 
undoubted  loyalty. 

Among  the  celebrities  present  we  observed  Prince  and 
Princess  PING-PONG,  the  Marquis  of  LAWN-TENNIS,  Count  CRO- 
QUET, and  Baron  BRIDGE.  Wiscount  WHIST,  of  Whisteria,  we 
regret  to  say,  was  unable  to  put  in  an  appearance.  UNLIMITED 
Loo,  sparkling  in  diamonds,  was  very  much  en  evidence,  as  were 
Baroness  BACCARAT,  Captain  CRIBBAGE,  and  GREGORY  GOLF. 
Not "  all  the '  talents  '  "  present  but  a  fair  average  of  "  shekels." 
Tuesday,  May  14,  at  7.45,  HUMPERDINCK'S  opera  of  Hansel  und 
Gretel  in  German.  This  being  a  "juvenile  night," — that  is,  as 
far  as  the  first  part  is  concerned,  the  second  division,  Cavalleria 
Rusticana  (in  Italian),  being  for  those  who  have  passed  from  the 
years  of  discretion  into  those  of  indiscretion, — a  juvenile  critic 
was  evidently  the  one  to  give  an  unsophisticated  opinion,  and 
this  very  "young  person"  was  simply  delighted,  with  the 
Gretel  of  Fraulein  DAVID  and  the  Hansel  of  Fraulein  FELSER, 
who  really  seemed  to  make  themselves  quite  little  children. 
Oh!  how  they  did  act  and  sing!  Full  of  spirit  and  "go." 
"  Go  "  is  the  word. 

"The  prayer,"  observed  our  youthful  critic,  attempting  the 
professionally  descriptive  style,  "  before  the  children  prepare 
for  sleep,  was  most  beautifully  rendered  by  these  very  clever 


(with  an  accent  on  the  'very')  young  ladies."  "They 
received,"  continues  our  ecstatic  reporter,  "many  'calls'  at 
the  end  of  the  delightful  opera."  And  did  "  they  come  when 
they  were  called"?  "Rather!  And,"  adds  my  enthusiastic 
deponent,  "  they  thoroughly  deserved  it,  for  they  had  worked 
ADMIRABLY!!!"  Italics  and  notes  of  admiration  can  no 
'urther  go. 

Miss  ALDRIDGE  with  the  powerful  voice  was  a  splendid 
witch,  and  Mile.  OLITZKA  as  Gertrude  very  good.  As  the 
drunken  old  Eccles-like  but  good-hearted  father  Peter,  Herr 
MUHLMANN,  though  a  name  that  sounds  like  a  man  who  makes 
a  mull  of  it,  was  excellent.  Specially  to  be  noted  as  being 
particularly  effective  were  the  two  solos  of  the  Sandman  and 
the  Deuman,  sung  by  Madame  KIRKBY  LUNN  (pity  her 
Christian  name  isn't  "  SARAH  " — as  for  this  children's  opera  a 
"Sally  Lunn  "  would  have  been  so  suggestive  of  nuisery  tea 
time !)  and  by  Miss  NlCHOLLS.  Mistake  to  give  Cavalleria 
after  this ;  and  so  late  too  !  Was  it  in  order  to  balance  the 
comedy  of  Hansel  und  Gretel  against  the  tragedy  of  Cavalleria 
that  the  big  "  waits  "  were  thrown  into  the  scale  ? 

Wednesday.  —  Tannhiiuser  in  German.  Composer  WAGNER, 
Conductor  LOHSE.  Frau  GADSKI  at  her  very  best  as  Elisabeth. 
Was  it  Frau  GADSKI  who  wrote  The  Letters  of  Elizabeth?  The 
notes  of  this  Elisabeth  are  even  more  charming  than  those  of 
the  other  Elizabeth,  just  now  so  popular.  Mile.  STRAKOSCH  not 
an  ideal  Venus.  Mynheer  VAN  DYCK,  as  the  Good  Knight  gone 
wrong,  is  knight  errant  at  first,  but  sans  reproche  at  finish  ; 
quite  the  character.  Herr  MOHWINKEL'S  Wolfram  "  of  the  very 
best."  Good  performance.  But  O  those  weary  waits  between 
the  acts !  Whose  fault  ?  A  good  ten  minutes,  or  what  the 
French  call  un  petit  quart  d'heure,  would  be  quite  sufficient  for 
the  most  exhausted  singers  to  rest  their  bodies,  clear  their 
pipes,  and,  in  the  ancient  language  of  "the  ring,"  not  the 
Wagnerian  but  pugilistic,  to  "  take  a  suck  at  the  lemon  and  at 
him  again."  Time  !  tuneful  ladies  and  gentlemen.  Time  ! 

Thursday. — Re-appearance  of  our  old  friend  Rigoletto.  Viva 
VERDI  !  Show  me  a  better  Gilda  than  Black-eyed  SUSAN  ADAMS, 
and  if  that  be  possible,  then  do  I  defy  you  to  produce  a  better 
Duke,  a  Duke  younger  and  more  tender,  a  lighter  Lovelace  and 
gayer  Lothario  combined,  a  Duke  not  yet  old  enough  or  politic 
enough  to  assume  the  virtue  of  a  Ducal  bearing  in  public 
though  he  hath  it  not  in  private, — in  fact,  show  me  a  more 
captivating  young  dog  of  a  Duke,  a  more  charming  singer  and 
more  careless  sinner  than  is  ANSELMI  as  II  Duca,  and — well — 
the  reward  will  be  given  in  "  untold  gold  "  ! 

That  excellent  artist,  M.  GILLIBERT  was  a  dignified  representa- 
tive of  the  unfortunate  Monterone,  whose  terrific  "cuss"  is 
the  cause  of  all  the  woe.  M.  SEVEILHAC  was  about  as  good  a 
Rigolleto  as  is  within  the  memory  of  opdra-goers  more  youthful 
than  those  who  can  remember  RONCONI:  but  RONCONI  was 
nowhere  vocally.  M.  SEVEILHAC,  Black-eyed  SUSAN,  and  the 
Dook,  were  called  and  recalled,  and  recalled  after  that.  So 
Rigoletto  is  not  played  out,  but  like  "  le  petit  bonhomme"  the 
work  of  VERDI  "tut  encore."  Marked  curtail- 
ment of  entr'actes.  The  removal  of  these  heavy 
"  waits  "  makes  Rigoletto  quite  a  light  opera. 

Friday. — "A  nicht  with  GOUNOD  ;  or,  Faust 
a  la  fran$aise,"  and  a  Saturday  WAGNER  Night, 
Tristan  und  Isolde,  bring  the  first  week's  opera 
season  to  a  satisfactory  conclusion. 


In  the  City. 

Innocent  Dabbler.  What  do  they  mean  by  Northern  Pacific 
Commons  ? 

Mr.  Spec,  (ivho  has  not  been  particularly  fortunate).  I  should 
call  them  the  North  Pacific  Uncommons,  as  they  jump  about 
like  kangaroos. 


MAY  29,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


393 


WHEN  AFRICA  is  CIVILISED.     WHIT-MONDAY  SCENE  ON  THE  TANGANYIKA  ROAD. 


REGULATIONS  FOB  MOTOR  CARS. 

To  encourage  a  rising  British  industry, 
che  following  rules  are  suggested  for  the 
consideration  of  those  County  Councils 
most  opposed  to  any  new  vehicles. 

The  maximum  rate  of  speed  for  any 
motor-car  anywhere  at  any  time  is  to  be 
two  miles  an  hour,  with  the  following 
exceptions : — 

When  passing  through  any  town,  village, 
or  hamlet,  or  within  a  hundred  yards  of 
any  house,  cottage  or  other  inhabited 
building,  the  speed  is  to  be  diminished  to 
one-half  of  the  maximum  rate. 

When  there  is  any  cart,  carriage,  van, 
bath-chair,  perambulator  or  other  vehicle 
within  sight,  the  speed  is  to  be  diminished 
to  one  quarter. 

When  turning  any  corner,  the  speed  is 
to  be  one  twenty-fourth  part  of  the  maxi- 
mum speed.  Between  the  hours  of  sunset 

and  sunrise  thle 

speed,  in  every 
case,  is  to  be  half 
the  above. 

No  motor-car  is 
to  pass  any  cart, 
carriage,  van, 
bath-chair,  peram- 
bulator, or  other 
vehicle,  unless  the 
same  is  motionless. 
In  the  latter  case, 
the  motor-car  shall 
be  allowed  to  pass 
the  standing  vehi- 
cle at  the  pace  of 
one  furlong  per 
hour,  provided 
that  all  the  pas- 
sengers alight 
from  the  motor  - 
car,  and  walk  past 
ringing  hand-bells, 
and,  if  it  be  after 
sunset,  carrying 
lanterns  or  torches 
in  addition. 


Between  the  hours  of  sunset  and  sun- 
rise every  motor-car  shall  carry  four 
powerful  lamps,  one  at  each  corner. 

If  the  driver  of  any  cart,  carriage, 
van,  bath-chair,  perambulator,  or  other 
vehicle,  shall  indicate  by  any  signs  or 
words  that  the  motor-car  is  likely  to 
alarm  the  horses,  asses,  passengers,  or 
other  animals  or  persons  in  the  vehicle, 
the  driver  and  passengers  of  the  motor- 
car shall  at  once  alight,  and  lift,  push, 
pull,  drag,  or  by  other  means  remove  the 
motor-car  behind  a  house,  cottage,  shed, 
church,  barn,  haystack,  or  other  screen, 
until  the  vehicle  in  which  are  the  animals 
or  persons  alarmed  has  past  and  is  at  a 
distance  of  not  less  than  440  yards  away. 

Every  motor-car  is  to  be  provided  with 
a  bell  or  horn  to  be  sounded  when  approach- 
ing or  passing  any  house,  cottage,  church, 
cart,  carriage,  van,  bath-chair,  perambu- 
lator, foot-passenger,  rider,  horse,  ass, 


She  (after  they  have  walked  three  miles  without  a  word  being  spoken).  ' '  Aw  SAY,  JOHN, 
THA'ART  VERY  QUOIET.     HAS  NOWT  FUR  TO  SAY?" 

He.  "WHAT  MUN  AW  SAY?  Aw  DUNNO  KNOW."       She.  "SAY  THAT  THA  LOVES  ME." 
He.  "It's  A'  REET  SAYIN'  AW  LOVE  THI,  BUT  AW  DUNNO  LOIKE  TELLIN'  LOIES  1 " 


cow,  dog,  or  any  other  building,  erection, 
vehicle,  person,  or  animal  whatsoever, 
but  the  bell  or  horn  is  not  to  be  sounded 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  cause  annoyance  or 
alarm  to  or  in  any  animal,  person,  vehicle, 
or  building. 

Every  motor-car  is  to  carry  at  the  back 
a  board  or  other  erection  bearing  in 
letters  not  less  than  one  foot  high  the 
name  and  address  of  the  owner,  the  letters 
to  be  black  on  a  white  ground  by  day, 
and  luminous  by  night. 

Every  driver,  owner,  passenger,  hirer 
or  lessor  of  any  motor-car  infringing  any 
of  the  above  regulations  shall  be  liable  to 
a  fine  of  not  less  than  £100,  and  to  be  im- 
prisoned for  not  less  than  one  calendar 
month  with  hard  labour,  these  penalties 
being  increased  to  £500  and  six  months' 
imprisonment  if  the  motor-car  causes 
any  damage  whatsoever  to  any  house, 
cottage,  church,  shed,  haystack,  cart, 

van,     carriage, 

bath-chair,  peram- 
bulator, foot-pas- 
seng'er,  rider, 
horse,  ass,  cow, 
dog,  cat,  pig,  fowl, 
lamp-post,  paving- 
stone,  railing, 
hedge,  or  any 
other  person,  ani- 
mal, vehicle,  build- 
ing or  erection 
whatsoever,  a  fur- 
ther sum  of  £500 
to  be  paid  to  any 
persons  thereon 
or  therein  as 
compensation  for 
disturbance  or 
alarm,  with,  in 
addition,  ten  times 
the  value  of  any 
damage  done  to 
the  animal,  ve- 
hicle, building  or 
erection. 

H.  D.  B. 


VOL.   OXX. 


394 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[MAY  29,  1901. 


THE  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

A  GREAT  THOUGHT  FOR  EVERY  DAY  IN  THE  YEAR. 

SECOND  SERIES. 

V.— THE  BERNARD  SHAW  SECTION. 
MAY  1ST. — It  was  never  my  intention  that  the  disabilities 
which  hampered  the  many  strong  men  who  preceded  AGAMEMNON 
should  hamper  me.    They  were,  I  take  it,  a  brainless  crew, 
busy  with  doing  things  instead  of  getting  themselves  talked 
about.    There   is    always    a   solution   (which  seems  to  have 
iscaped  them)  for  the  difficulty  of  finding  a  sacred  bard  to 
record  you.    Be  your  own  sacred  bard.        . 

2ND,  3RD. — In  most  periods  the  lonely  genius,  who  is  after- 
wards described  as  the  outcome  of  his  age,  though  he  invariably 
has  to  create  the  taste  by  which  he  is  ultimately  appreciated, 
has  been  regarded,  if  regarded  at  all  by  his  jejune  contempo- 
raries, as  a  poseur.  It  happens  that  I  have  been  so  regarded, 
and  rightly.  Now,  to  correct  the  unhappy  results  of  such  an 
impression,  in  itself  accurate,  there  is  one  salutary  antidote, 
tt  is  to  pose  about  your  pose.  That  is  what  I  am  doing  now. 

4TH,  5TH. — The  middle  classes,  fed  to  suffocation  on  the 
Romanticism  of  drawing-room  drama  and  the  Family  Herald, 
take  unkindly  to  the  social  iconoclast.  It  is,  therefore,  the 
business  of  this,  the  highest  type  of  philanthropic  reformer,  to 
include  his  own  image,  or  eikon,  among  those  that  he  sets  out 
to  pulverise  beyond  hope  of  recognition.  Let  him  engage  him- 
self as  his  own  Aunt  Sally,  and  so  establish  the  impartiality  of 
his  critical  attitude. 

CTH,  7TH. — I  have  a  right  horror  of  the  egoism  which  find 
amusement  in  making  an  enigma  of  itself  at  the  expense  of  a 
public  that  has  an  itch  for  personal  revelation.  My  moral 
position  is  of  an  almost  pellucid  transparency.  I  am  an  in- 
tellectual Puritan  to  the  finger-tips,  with  an  affectionate 
tolerance  for  the  candour  of  a  Mercutio.  That  is  a  conjunc- 
tion, surely,  that  asks  no  apologic  explication.  And  I  will  be 
yet  more  open  with  the  world,  and  declare  myself  the  charlatan 
I  am.  If  I  have  given  my  friends  to  understand  that  I  am 
immeasurably  superior  to  SHAKESPEAR,  I  was  trading  upon  their 
credulity.  In  point  of  fact,  he  is  very  nearly  my  equal ;  as  s 
dramatic  technician,  that  is  ;  not,  of  course,  as  an  exponent  o: 
latter-day  philosophy. 

STH — 10TH. — Perhaps  the  most  pathetic  feature  in  the  moderr 
drama — and  SHAKESPEAR  himself  is  not  altogether  blameless  ir 
this  connection — is  its  fatuous  pencliant  for  associating  action 
with  motive.  Yet,  in  real  life,  if  there  is  one  thing  more  obvious 
than  another  (which  I  doubt)  it  is  that  the  commonest  motive 
for  action  is  to  have  none  at  all.  Take  arson.  You  will  sa 
that  arson  is  a  relatively  untypical  expression  of  energy.  Oi 
the  contrary,  I  see  it  mentioned  in  the  papers  at  least  once  a 
quarter.  Take  arson,  then.  Do  we  ever  find  that  jealousy 
hatred,  revenge — those  darling  bugbears  of  the  Romantic  stag* 
— have  been  the  motive  for  this  form  of  action  ?  Seldom,  o 
never.  People  commit  arson  as  a  medicine  for  ennui,  to  mak< 
pass  the  time  ;  or  else  out  of  a  morbid  curiosity  for  noting  th< 
play  of  firelight  on  neighbouring  scenery ;  motives  so  ligh 
that  they  may  be  practically  disregarded,  as  they  would  mos 
certainly  be  flouted  in  those  hotbeds  of  Romanticism,  th< 
theatre  and  the  law-courts. 

HTH,  12TH. — Or,  again,  take  Love,  which  is  popularly  sup- 
posed to  be  more  common  than  arson.  When  has  Love  eve 
constituted  a  motive  for  action  ?  Only  in  the  last  decade  o 
so,  under  the  influence  of  sentimental  drama.  So  vacant 
indeed,  are  my  countrymen  of  all  original  imagination  that  th 
decadent  stage,  masquerading  as  the  mirror  of  humanity,  ha 
actually  imposed  its  own  conventions  of  Love  upon  the  ver; 
lives  from  which  it  professed  to  draw  them. 

13TH — 15TH. — I  have  elsewhere  said  that  "ten  years  of  chea 
reading  have  changed  the  English  from  the  most  stolid  natio 
in  Europe  to  the  most  theatrical  and  hysterical."  I  would  g 


urther  and  point  to  the  terrible  corruption  in  foreign  manners 
red  of  contact  with  British  decadence.  Travel,  as  I  have 
one,  among  the  Latin  races,  and  mark  the  recent  changes  in 
heir  demeanour.  In  rural  byways  they  still  retain  that 
ecorum  of  carriage  and  behaviour  which  comes  of  unspoiled 
ntercourse  with  earth.  But  in  the  cities,  and  even  in  those 
illages  that  lie  upon  the  tourist's  beaten  track,  you  will 
ecognise  the  growth  of  demonstrativeness  in  their  gestures, 
nd  pseudo-dramatic  methods  in  their  deportment.  What  is 
he  cause-  of  this  degeneracy  ?  They  have  become  infected  by 
he  deadly  germs  of  that  Anglomania  which  is  also  responsible 
or  their  recent  adoption  of  manly  sports,  so-called,  and  [other 
ntolerable  brutalities. 

16TH. — To  recur  to  the  subject  of  accepted  conventions — 
what  hope  is  there  for  the  salvation  of  audiences  saturated 
with  artificiality?  None,  though  it  were  my  own  lips  that 
essayed  to  recall  them  to  the  real.  Go  back  to  Italy's  Yenice, 
after  witnessing  its  counterfeit  in  Olympia,  and  you  will  never 
1  recapture  the  first  fine  careless  rapture."  I  am,  so  to  speak, 
..he  original  Yenice. 

18TH,  19TH. — There  is  a  tale  told  of  certain  visitors  at  the 
ourt  of  a  semi-barbaric  king,  who  offered  to  supply  him  with 
,  nightingale,  a  bird  of  which  hitherto  he  had  no  cognisance. 
During  a  temporary  delay  in  its  arrival  they  sought  to  appease 
monarch  by  producing  an  instrument  guaranteed  to  emit 
music  of  the  same  order.    So  beglamored  was  the  king  by  its 
ravishing  melodies  that  on  the  ultimate   appearance  of  the 
actual  warbler  he  dismissed  the  latter  with  contumely  as  a 
poor  imitation  of  the  original.    I  am,  as  it  were,  the  real 
nightingale.  O.  S. 

(To  be  continued.) 


MORE  MUNIFICENCE  FOR  MILLIONAIRES. 

MR.  CARNEGIE'S  magnificent  generosity — "princely"  is  no 
word  for  it,  since  no  royal  personage  anywhere  could  afford  to 
do  anything  like  it — may  encourage  others  to  imitate  him.  As 
Mr.  CARNEGIE  pays  the  fees  of  the  college  students  in  Scotland, 
some  other  wealthy  person  may  be  disposed  to  give  a  much 
smaller  sum  for  one  of  the  following  purposes,  that  is  the 
income  to  pay  in  perpetuity : — 

The  milliners'  bills  of  all  the  ladies  performing  in  any  one 
London  theatre. 

The  hatters'  bills. of  all  the  literary  men  in  Great  Britain.  A 
very  small  capital  sum  would  suffice  for  this. 

Week-end  trips  to  the  country  or  seaside,  including  subscrip- 
tions to  golf  clubs,  for  all  the  journalists  in  London. 

The  tailors'  bills  of,  say,  one  hundred  millionaires,  dukes, 
cabinet  ministers,  and  other  eminent  persons  least  particular 
about  the  cut  and  newness  of  their  clothes.  A  cheap  gift. 

The  whole  of  the  tax  on  the  staple  product  or  manufacture  of 
the  constituency  represented  by  the  Chancellor  of  the  Excheque 
for  the  time  being. 

One-eighth  per  cent,  of  the  taxes  on  the  staple  products 
or  manufactures  of  the  constituencies  represented  by  the 
Opposition  for  the  time  being. 

The  wages,  calculated  according  to  their  skill  in  whatever 
trades  they  profess  to  follow,  of  all  the  strike  'agitators  in  the 
British  Empire,  on  condition  of  their  doing,  writing,  and  saying 
nothing. 

The  whole  cost  of  "  decorating"  St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  now 
or  at  any  time,  including  the  gilt  iron  railings  on  the  cornice 
and  other  music-hall  adornments,  on  condition  that  the  building 
is  left  entirely  untouched. 

The  cost  of  repairing  ten  London  streets,  on  the  presen 
system. 

The  cost  of  repairing  all  the  London  streets,  on  some  better 
system. 

The  haircutters'  bills  of  all  the  pianists  and  other  musica 
performers  in  Europe.  A  mere  trifle. 


MAY  29,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI 


395 


THE    MACMILLION. 

[Mr.  CABNEGIE,  the  Scottish- American  millionaire,  has  provided  £2,000,000  for  the  establishment  of  free  education  at  four  of  the  Scottish  Universities 

— Edinburgh,  Glasgow,  St.  Andrew's,  Aberdeen.] 


\ 


MAY  29,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


397 


VISITORS  IN  OUR  VILLAGE. 
I.— MR.  SILAS  P.  JENKS. 

HE  had  come,  so  he  told  us  in  the  bar 
of  the  "Green  Dragon"  (where  he  had 
petrified  the  landlord  by  demanding  in 
turn  "a  Moral  Elevator"  and  "a  Dewy 
Sunrise,"  by  way  of  liquid  refreshment), 
in  order  to  study  British  rural  life.  "  No, 
Sir,"  he  said,  "I  concede  that  there's 
nothing  like  it  on  our  side.  There  's  a 
sort  o'  as-it-was-in-the-beginning  feel  in 
your  air  that 's  vurry  reposeful,  and  I 
intend  to  let  it  soak  in.  You  've  got  the 
old  farm-houses,  and  the  green  lanes,  and 
the  chirrupy  dickey-birds,  just  as  I  've 
met  'em  in  the  story-books.  I  was  bound 
to  see  one  of  your  sleepy  old  villages, 
anyhow,  and  as  for  this  place — why,  I 
reckon  you  can  hear  it  snoring  !  " 

Farmer  GILES,  who  has  just  bought  a 
brand-new  patent  reaper,  was  about  to 
utter  an  indignant  protest,  but  Mr.  JENKS 
cut  it  short. 

"No,  stranger,"  said  he,  "don't  you 
trouble  to  chip  in.  Why,  if  there  was  as 
much  progress  hereabouts  as  would  cover 
a  cent  it  would  spoil  the  lot.  The  vurry 
cows  have  a  kind  o'  just-stepped-out-o'- 
the-Ark  look  about  'em.  Say,  likely  there 's 
a  cottage  in  the  neighbourhood  where  the 
Poet  SHAKSPEARB  panned  out  a  poem  or 
two?" 

We  had  to  admit  that  there  wasn't. 

"Or  a  wood,  maybe,  where  MILTON  put 
in  a  spell  o'  versifying  ?  " 

We  shook  our  heads. 

"Wall,"  said  Mr.  JENKS,  obviously 
disappointed,  "  there  's  bound  to  be  some 
improving  an'  historic  scenes  in  the 
neighbourhood  which  I  must  inspect. 
Let 's  see  your  newspaper." 

We  explained  that  the  Slowborough 
Gazette  wasn't  published  before  Friday, 
and  that  it  did  not  reach  Puddleton  till 
the  carrier  brought  it  next  day. 

"Snakes!  "  exclaimedMr.  JENKS, "d' you 
mean  to  say  that  you  're  a  community  of 
five  or  six  hundred  able-bodied  citizens 
and  haven't  a  journal  of  your  own  ?  Why, 
I  '11  start  one  for  you  myself  !  " 

And  he  did.  The  next  day  he  went  over 
to  Slowborough,  our  market  town,  to 
interview  the  local  printers,  whom  he 
described  subsequently  as  "the  derndest 
old  fossils  that  ever  handled  a  stereo." 
A  week  later  appeared  No.  1  of  the  Puddle- 
ton  Pelican.  To  say  that  it  made  a  sensa- 
tion would  be  gravely  to  understate  the 
truth.  It  was  indeed,  as  its  editor 
claimed,  "a  real,  live,  snappy  journal; 
calculated  to  make  things  ham."  Things 
did  more  than  hum,  they  fairly  boiled 
after  its  appearance.  Its  first  column 
was  taken  up  with  an  article,  chiefly  about 
stars,  stripes,  and  a  soaring  eagle,  of  which 
no  one  in  Puddleton  could  understand  a 
word.  But  this  was  followed  by  a  page 
headed  "^Social  j  (Sparklets."  A  few 


Nurse.  "  LISTEN.  BABY,   TO  THE  DONKEY  BRAYING.    WHAT  A   NOISE   HE  is  MAKING! 
NAUGHTY  DONKEY." 

Little  Girl.  "On,  WHAT  A  SHAME,  NURSE!    HE  ISN'T  A  NAUGHTY  DONKEY.    HE'S  ONLY 

GOT  THE   HICCUPS  I  " 


extracts  from  it  will  help  you  to  realise 
its  effect  upon  our  peaceful  village. 

"Mr.  GILES  has  succeeded  at  last  in 
selling  his  red  cow.  Mr.  BLOGGINS  is  the 
unfortunate  purchaser,  and  his  remarks 
on  the  transaction  are  exceedingly  pictur- 
esque. He  will  shortly  be  seen  wearing 
new  foot-gear." 

*  *  *  * 

"Is  it  true — in  the  interests  of  public 
morality  we  ask  the  question — is  it  true 
that  Miss  JEMIMA  TIMSON  "  (our  village 
schoolmistress,  a  most  respectable  lady  of 
about  fifty)  "again  walked  home  from 
church  on  Sunday  night  with  Dr.  SNOOKS ' ' 
(our  local  medical  man)?  "Alas!  there 
seems  no  doubt  about  it.  Oh,  naughty, 
naughty  JEMIMA  ! ' ' 

*  *  #  * 

"  Mr.  STUBBS,  we  hear,  is  about  to  retire 
from  the  police-force,  and  it  is  proposed  to 
present  him  with  a  testimonial.  The  land- 
lord of  the  "Green  Dragon,"  doubtless, 


will  head  the  subscription  list.  He  has 
good  reason  to  know — and  so  has  Mrs.  S. 
— that  P.O.  STUBBS  is  a  public  benefactor." 

*  *  *  * 

Next  day  a  deputation  called  on  Mr. 
SILAS  P.  JENKINS.  While  disapproving 
generally,  they  said,  of  American  institu- 
tions, there  was  one  which  Puddleton  was 
inclined  to  adopt.  Tar  and  feathers,  they 
believe,  formed  prominent  features  in  it. 

The  second  number  of  the  Puddleton 
Pelican  has  not  yet  appeared.  A.  C.  D. 


LIGHTER  THAN  EVER. — According  to  re- 
port there  is  quite  a  new  kind  of  illumina- 
tor coming  into  the  market  that  will 
compete  successfully  with  gas  and  elec- 
tricity. It  is  apparently  a  process  of 
incandescence  applied  to  petroleum.  It  is 
known  as  the  Kitson  system.  In  future 
the  two  great  illuminators  will  be  called 
one  "the  sun,"  and  the  other,  to  ear-mark 
it  from  its  competitor,  "the  Kitson." 


398 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[MAT  29,  1901, 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

The  Gamblers  (HuTCHiNSON  &  Co.),  by  WILLIAM  LE  QUEUX,  -will 
give  occasion  to  The  Grumblers  •  who,  having  taken  up  this 
book  and  become  deeply  interested  in  it  at  the  outset,  began 
to  -weary  of  it  about  midway,  and  were  finally  inclined  to  drop 
it  altogether  before  the  finish.  It  promised  well,  but  it  breaks 
down  in  performance.  Mr.  LE  QUEUX  can  do  something  vastly 
better  than  this. 

Mr.  TOM  GALLON  does  not  trouble  himself  about  probabilities. 
When  he  has  conceived  a  story  he  goes  right  on  and  right 
through  with  it,  making  things  fit  generally  in  manner  con- 
vincing by  its  coolness.  The  Second  Dandy  Chater  (HuiCHiNSON) 
gets  his  name,  and  has  laid  for  him  the  foundation  of  a  strange 
history,  owing  to  the  eccentricities  of  his  father.  That  gentle- 
man's wife  having  presented  him  with  twins,  he  thinks  the 
bounty  is  a  little  too  much.  Accordingly  he  ships  one  off  to 
Australia,  and,  a  man  entirely  above  small  prejudices,  he  selects 
for  expatriation  the  elder,  the  rightful  heir  of  his  name  and 
broad  acres.  The  younger,  coming  into  the  estates,  turns  out  to 
be  rather  a  bad  egg.  In  brief,  he  associates  with  the  most 
melodramatic  London  criminals,  commits  burglary,  forgery,  and, 
finally,  murder.  The  rightful  heir  returns  home  just  in  time  to 
learn  that  his  brother  has  in  turn  been  murdered.  His  resem- 
blance to  the  late  twin  is  so  marvellous  that,  the  fact  of  the 
murder  being  the  secret  of  an  extremely  limited  circle,  he  is 
accepted  as  the  owner  of  Chater  Hall,  and  all  that  pertains 
thereto.  Amongst  his  responsibilities  are  the  consequences  of 
the  forgery,  burglary,  and  murder  aforesaid.  It  will  be  seen 
that  here  is  material  for  many  complications,  which  my  Baronite 
recommends  the  gentle  reader  to  unravel  in  the  volume. 

In  Rosa  Amorosa  by  GEORGE  EGERTON  (GRANT  RICHARDS),  says 
my  Baronitess,  we  have  yet  another  collection  of  a  woman's 
love-letters.  But  the  exact  nationality  of  this  writer  is  not 
definitely  mentioned.  No  doubt  she  is  a  British  maiden  of  a 
very  progressive  type,  to  judge  from  the  freedom  of  her  out- 
pourings and  her  decidedly  Ibsenitish  morals  on  matrimony. 
Her  one  idea  in  allowing  her  friend  the  author  to  publish  these 
effusions  was  apparently  her  overwhelming  desire  to  show  the 
world  "  her  pretty  talent  for  loving."  The  letters  are  frankly 
realistic,  not  idealistic. 

An  assistant  reader  writes :  —  In  Men  and  Letters  (JOHN 
LANE)  Mr.  HERBERT  PAUL  has  given  us  a  delightful  book  of 
essays.  Mr.  PAUL  is  a  scholar,  but  he  wears  his  learning 
lightly,  like  a  flower,  and  shakes  the  petals  out  on  the  path 
of  his  reader.  Moreover,  Mr.  PAUL'S  touch  is  as  light  and 
his  style  as  brilliant  as  his  reading  is  wide,  and  his  memory 
accurate.  He  deals  with  SWIFT,  with  GIBBON,  with  SELDEN, 
with  the  Victorian  novelists,  with  HALIFAX,  with  the  letters  of 
BYRON,  with  the  decay  of  quotation,  with  the  classical  poems 
of  TENNYSON — I  cite  these  to  show  the  breadth  of  the  author's 
sympathy,  and  his  range  of  subjects — and  on  all  he  has  many 
brilliant,  suggestive  and  witty  things  to  say.  His  fund  of  good 
stories  is  inexhaustible,  and  his  urbanity  never  fails.  On  the 
whole,  this  book  is  one  of  the  very  best  examples  of  literature 
on  literature  and  life. 

From  such  a  sinister  sobriquet  as  "  Black  Mary,"  by  ALAN 
McAuLAY  (T.  FISHER  UNWIN),  any  skilled  reader  would  probably 
expect  a  tragedy  of  dungeons  and  daggers,  and  will  be  agree- 
ably surprised  by  a  simple  romance  of  Scottish  life  a  hundred 
years  ago.  The  heroine,  a  very  charming  girl,  is  only  thus 
unpleasantly  styled  from  the  certainly  queer  circumstances  of 
her  West  Indian  parentage,  which  shock  the  severe  morals  of 
her  northern  relations  to  whom  she  is  sent.  The  characters  of 
the  hard  Aunty  BARBARA  and  her  brother  JAMES  stand  out 
clearly.  It  is  pleasantly  written,  and  the  quiet  humdrumness 
of  life  in  those  far-off  days  makes  itself  felt  throughout.  The 
only  drawback  is  the  too  frequent  use  of  "  dialect."  A  neces- 
sary fault,  perhaps,  in  such  a  story. 


Anni  Fugaces,  by  R.  C.  LEHMANN  (JOHN  LANE),  is  a  delightful 
collection  of  lightly  tripping  verses,  written  with  all  the  spirit 
and  freedom  of  youth,  here  and  there  chastened  by  an  occa- 
iional  tap  on  the  shoulder  .from  Time  the  Remembrancer. 

To  the  truth  of  the  sentiment  in  Cambridge  Revisited  not  a  few 
University  men,  who  have  managed  to  keep  abreast  (in  their 
own  estimation)  with  Academic  times,  and  to  be  part  and  parcel 
of  the  up-to-datest  spirit  of  the  University,  will  bear  witness. 
Sufficient  to  its  day  is  the  Cambridge  thereof.  "  And  after  ?  " 
You  are  a  ghost  revisiting  the  shades  ;  if  not  a  Bogey,  certainly 
a  Fogey.  THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


"DECORATIONS." 
I. 

WHEN  the  whirligig  of  fashion  with  its  customs  full  of  change 
Comes  invading  British  dwellings  with  a  craze  that 's  wild  and 

strange, 

If  the  style  be  Japanesy,  for  the  dado  and  the  walls, 
Just  select  an  awful  paper,  over  which  a  dragon  sprawls. 
Then  with  fans  of  varied  patterns — some  little  jars  of  blue, 
Grinning  masks,  grotesque  and  ugly  plus  a  screen  of   bent 

bamboo,  0 

And  a  bunch  of  reeds  and  grasses  like  a  dissipated  broom, 
You  complete  the  modern  notion  of  a  Japanesy  room. 

'Tis  an  easy  room,  a  friezy  room,  a  jarry,  Japanesy  room, 
With  many  creepy  spiders  and  a  green  and  yellow  stool : 

'Tis  a  creaky  room,  a  freaky  room,  a  rather  make-you-shrieky 

room 
Not  really  Japanesy,  but  the  Japanesy  school. 

II. 

If  you  feel  the  world  is  flippant  and  you  sigh  for  ghosts  and 

gloom, 

Have  a  longing  for  apartments  damp  and  chilly  as  a  tomb, 
In  a  cold,  cobwebby  chamber  tatter'd  banners  you  display, 
With  a  knight  or  two  in  armour,  and  some  relics  of  the  fray. 
Then  you  buy  some  modern  portraits  of  ancestors  old  and  grim, 
While  a  "glacier"  decoration  makes  the  light  subdued  and 

dim. 
And  the  guests  will  start  and  shudder  and  ask  themselves  to 

whom 
They  really  are  indebted  for  this  fearful  feudal  room. 

'Tis  a  musty  room,  a  fusty  room,  a  dusty  room,  a  gusty  room, 

The  men  in  armour  rattle  as  you  walk  across  the  floor  ; 
'Tis  a  shaky  room,  a  quaky  room,  a  keep-you-wide-awakey  room, 
And  you  're  always  thinking  something  will  be  coming  through 
the  door. 

III. 

Presume  you  're  unincumbered  and  more  go-ahead  than  neat, 
Then  your  room  's  a  bit  eccentric,  and  your  pictures  indiscreet ; 
You  've  a  cabinet  collection — where  a  pose  is  nicely  caught, 
Some  are  signed  and  have  been  given,  some  are  chic  and  have 

been  bought. 
There  are  odds  and  ends  you  value  and  have  fastened  up  with 

tacks, 
There's  the  "  Ref  "  and  there's  the    "Pink  'Un  "  and  some 

Frenchy  yellow-backs. 

'Tis  a  den  of  sweet  contentment  that  is  innocent  of  broom, 
But  tho'  littered  and  disordered,  'tis  a  ripping  little  room. 

'Tis  a  cozy  room,  a  dozy  room,  a  forty-wink-reposy  room, 
With  foils  and  gloves  and  golfing  clubs  and  fishing-rod  and 

gun. 

A  crazy  room,  a  lazy  room,  an  often  smoky-hazy  room, 
A  favourite  room  with  pictures  of  the  favourites  that  have 
won.  HUAN  MKE. 


MAY  29,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


399 


A   WHIT-MONDAY    CATASTROPHE. 


"CAN  'B  PULL  us,  JIM?" 

"  PULL   YER  :    WHY,  BLESS   YER    'ART,  'E  's   AS   STRONG  AS  A 

HELKPHANT  !     JUMP  IN,   ALL  OF  YER  !  " 


THEY  JUMP  IN  ! 


OCCASIONAL    OPERATIC    NOTES. 

Monday,  May  20. — Hansel  und  Gretel  (in  German)  so  popular 
as  to  be  given  again  with  a  new  witch  in  it,  Miss  EDITH  MILLER. 
The  fact  is,  they  keep  so  many  bewitching  ladies  in  stock  at 
Covent  Garden,  that  it  is  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world,  should 
one  be  absent,  to  immediately  find  an  excellent  substitute. 
"  Second  time  I  've  seen  Hansel  und  Gretel,"  says  our  youthful 
and  enthusiastic  critic,  specially  turned  on  for  this  juvenile 
Humpty-dumpty-dinclish  Opera,  "and  I  am  quite  in  love  with 
Frauleins  DAVID  and  FELSER  ;  they  make  one  feel  quite  young 
again  !  "  "Which  is  praise  indeed,  coming  from  a  critic  of  such 
ripe  experience  as  is  invariably  associated  with  "sweet 
seventeen." 

The  attraction  to-night  was  the  appearance  of  Signer 
ANSELMI  as  Turiddu  in  MASCAGNI'S  Cavalleria  Rusticana. 
As  we  observed  of  his  rendering  of  the  Duke  in  Rigoletto,  he 
can  sing  most  tunefully  and  feelingly,  and  he  can  act.  The 
drinking  song  received  a  hearty  encore,  to  which  the  new  tenor 
smilingly  responded.  When  a  tenor  is  new  to  a  Covent  Garden 
audience  he  is  so  obliging,  so  courteous  I  Sing  ?  Oh,  anything ! 
Encore  ?  Oh,  not  the  slightest  trouble  in  the  world.  Certainly, 
as  many  encores  as  you  like,  and  we  '11  see  who  tires  first. 
But  when  his  popularity  is  established  and  he  is  master  of  the 
situation,  then  the  tenor  will  bow  politely,  will  shake  his 
head  at  the  conductor  as  who  would  say,  "  No,  decidedly  not ; 
get  on  with  the  opera,"  and  will  be  deaf  to  the  plaudits  of  the 
"upper  sukkles  "  and  of  the  gallery,  applaud  they  never  so 
loudly  or  unwisely.  "  Plaudit e,"  says  the  great  tenor  to  them 
in  effect,  "Plaudite — et  valete! 

The  remainder  of  the  cast  the  same  as  when  the  opera  was 
given  the  previous  week,  M.  DECLERY  being  a  dramatic  Alflo, 
Mile.  MAUBOURG  effective  as  the  seductive  Carmen-i-cal  Lola. 


Mile.  BAUERMEISTER  a  sweet  dame  Lucia,  who  pities  the 
sorrows  of  everybody  generally,  while  in  Mile.  STRAKOSCH  the 
unfortunate  Santuzza  finds  a  more  than  adequate  representative. 
So  far  highly  satisfactory.  Specially  ANSELMI.  Hope  new 
tenor  won't  knock  up,  so  that,  when  one  of  his  enthusiastic 
admirers  should  go  specially  to  hear  him,  the  announcement 
should  be  made  that  he  is  hoarse  de  combat.  Whereupon 
enthusiastic  admirers  will  piteously  exclaim,  "  O  ANSELMI  !  how 
cruel  of  a  cold  to  thus  attack  you  an'  sell  me  so !  "  [Exit. 


AFTER  THE  WHITSUN  HOLIDAY. 
(Voices  from  the  Throng.) 

GOT  to  Paris  and  back,  and  saw  something  new  at  the 
theatres.  But  rather  glowing. 

Bonnets  quite  vieux  jeu,  my  dear. 

Really  the  Stores  anticipate  the  Boulevards. 

Of  course  one  can  see  "lovely  Lucerne"  in  a  week,  but  one 
has  a  good  deal  more  of  a  not  very  lovely  railway  carriage. 

English  watering-place  for  a  week,  and  rather  trying  to  the 
waiters'  and  the  guests'  tempers. 

When  a  fashionable  hotel's  population  rises  suddenly  from 
six  to  six  hundred  it  causes  confusion. 

A  day's  trip  across  the  Channel  simply  a  dream  when  it 's 
fine,  but  rather  a  nightmare  when  the  weather  's  uncertain. 

Yes,  you  must  be  fairly  expeditious  if  you  want  to  get 
through  your  lunch  between  the  arrival  of  one  boat  at  Boulogne 
and  the  departure  of  the  other  for  Folkestone. 

Rather  fun  meeting  acquaintances  on  the  deck,  as  they 
become  ever  after  your  friends  for  life. 

Precious  hard  work  travelling  all  day  and  all  night,  with 
half-hour  pauses  for  sight-seeing. 

Yes,  yes,  yes,  all  very  well — but  there 's  no  place  like  home. 


400 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[MAY  29,  1901. 


ENCORE ! 

"  The  cry  is  still  they  come  !  " 

WHAT  made  Charing  Cross  ? 
Teaching  London  Bridge. 


THE    NEW    GALLEEY. 

THE  Hon.  JOHN  COLLIER  has  hit  upon  the  happy  idea  of 
representing  at  36,  Mr.  Rudyard  Kipling  as  martyring  him- 
self, a  la  mode  de  St.  Laurentius,  in  front  of  a  stove.  He  is  ap- 
parently ruminating  as  to  whether  it  is  time  to  turn  and  be  done 
on  the  other  side,  the  only  evident  reason  for  his  not  turning  is 
that  the  artist  has  done  him  so  thoroughly  well  on  the  side 
ixposed  to  the  spectator.  However,  the  name  of  RUDYARD 
KIPLING  is  associated  with  a  hot  climate  and  various  warm 
orners.  A  very  serious  KIPLING  is  he  in  this  picture  ;  not  at 
all  one  of  the  "  Kiplings  blithe  and  merry"  as  he  was  wont 
to  be  called  by  early  scribes. 

Compliments  to  C.  E.  PERUGINI,  on  his  charming  portrait  of 
Mrs.  PERUGINI,  40,  which  is  the  number  of  the  picture,  of 
course.  Mrs.  PERUGINI  is  also  a  distinguished  sister  of  the 
brush,  and  Mr.  C.  E.  PERUGINI  is  one  of  the  few  husbands  who, 
with  honest  pride,  can  admit  that  "  his  wife  paints." 

There  is  a  speaking  likeness,  by  EDWIN  A.  WARD,  of  "  8.  L. 
Clemens,"  popularly  known  as  "  MARK  TWAIN,"  and  certainly  the 

alias"  is  well  chosen,  this  being  a  "speaking  "  likeness  of  a 
man,  who,  as  a  gifted  humorous  orator,  is  equal  to  any  twain  of 
them,  pick  'em  where  you  will — even  among  his  own  generally 
first-rate  post-prandial  orating  fellow-countrymen. 

86.  Don't  be  misled  by  the  title  of  this  picture,  "  The  Bridge," 
to  imagine  you  are  going  to  see  a  tableau  representing  ladies  and 
gentlemen  engaged  in  the  game  of  cards  now  so  much  in  vogue. 
No ;  Mr.  WELLESLEY  COTTRELL  hasn't  done  this,  but  has  painted 
a  pretty  country  picture  and  also  "  The  Brook,"  91.  And 
these  two  may  be  taken  as  three  subjects,  closely  akin,  since  in 
representing  Bridge  and  Brook  he  has  painted  Well. 

131.  S.  MELTON  FISHER'S  portrait  of  Sir  Henry  Drummond 
Wolff  is  life-like.  Such  a  picture  could  not  be  rejected  even  by 
those  most  eager  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door. 

145.  A  Dorsetshire  Pastoral.  By  SIDNEY  MOORE.  Delight- 
ful !  Absolutely  still  life.  Nothing  of  the  moor  about  it, 
except  in  the  name  of  the  clever  artist.  Any  picture  purchaser 
who  has  finished  his  collection  would  do  well  to  reconsider  the 
matter  and  add  just  this  one  Moore. 

105.  In  designing  "  The  Naiads'  Pool,"  and  showing  us  these 
nice  nudities  with  curiously  entwined  legs,  Mr.  HERBERT 
DRAPER  might  have  given  them  just  a  few  garments  out  of  his 
drapery. 

125.    Clever  picture  of  Mrs.   HUMPHRY'S.     "  Hard  to  hold.' 
A  girl  holding  a  kitten.     But  surely  the  little  thing  with  silken 
far  must  be  soft  to  hold,  not  hard.      Odd  ! 

150.    C.  E.  HALLE'S  Hero  is  a  Heroine. 

157.  C.  NAPIER  HEMY,  A.R.A.,  shows  two  fishermen  in  a  boat 
"  Counting  the  Catch."  Delightfully  briny.  Boat  curiously 
unaffected  by  the  decidedly  rough  sea.  If  this  were  always  the 
case,  viz.,  the  worse  the  sea  the  steadier  the  boat,  when 
painted  by  Mr.  C.  N.  HEMY,  then  we  would  invariably  go  to  him 
when  we  wanted  our  little  yacht  painted.  Perhaps  this  mar 
vellously  un-rocking  boat  is  being  held  steady  by  ' '  the  painter. ' 
May  be.  If  this  artist  would  turn  his  attention  to  a  scene  on 
shore  in  social  life  abroad,  he  has  only  got  to  give  his 
title  a  twist,  and  instead  of  two  men  "  counting  a  catch  "  he 
could  substitute  two  lady-adventuresses  "  Catching  a  Count. 
N.B. — No  extra  charge  for  suggestion. 


225.  The  Earl  of  Stair,  K.T.,  by  Sir  GEORGE  REID,  P.R.S.A. 
A  nobleman  who,  judging  from  his  title,  must  always  have  his 
yes  wide  open. 

Those  who  come  to  see  pictures,  the  pictures  of  the  sea 
will  delight,  such  as  232,  "Estuary  of  the  Nith."  A  lady 
ooking  at  this  observed,  "How  odd!  one  lives  and  learns! 

always  thought  an  Estuary  was  a  sort  of  Notary,  or  an  Under- 
writer at  LLOYDS  !" 

259.  The  Duke  of  Portland,  ably  represented  by  JOHN  S. 
SARGENT,  R.A.,  with  two  most  unique  and  remarkable  speci- 
mens of  feathered  collies  or  bird-dogs,  calculated  to  furnish 
delightfully  picturesque  "  boas  "  for  ladies.  Dogs  of  a  feather 
icre  together. 

Now  we  must  come  away.  Can't  go  upstairs  to  see  the 
mounted  pictures. 

A  BAUER    IN   MAY. 

ON  the  programme  of  Mr.  HAROLD  BAUER'S  pianoforte  recitals, 
'  under  the  management  of  Mr.  SHARPS  " — a  name  of  which  the 
musical  punster  will  inevitably  avail  himself  unless  he  is  warned 
off  in  time— there  is  an  announcement  of  "The  new  baby  Grand," 
who  is  "pleasing to  look  upon,"  and  so  forth  and  so  forth,  all 
n  praise  of  the  infant,  bless  its  little  heart — we  very  nearly  wrote 
'tiny"  for  "little,"  but  tiny  might  be  mispronounced  "tinny," 
and  that  would  never  do  unless  with  a  "  coote  "  before  it,  but 
ven  then,  though  there  's  a  "  COOTE  and  TiNNEY  "  band,  there 
isn't  a  ditto  and  ditto  piano :  at  least,  not  as  far  as  we  know. 
But  this  does  not  explain  "  baby  Grand."  It  might  be  a  new 
novel  by  clever  "SARAH  GRAND,"  whose  Twins  were  so  de- 
lightful. It  is  not.  "  Pinafore  "  melodies  should  be  played  on 
a  "  baby  Grand."  The  visitors  on  Friday  next  will,  we  hope, 
be  as  pleased  with  "  Papillons,  Op.  2,"  as  they  were  on  Wednes- 
day last  with  Op.  22  ("Like  'Ops,  'cos  I  'm  a  bit  of  a  dancer  my- 
self," as  'Arry  observed)  and  with  "  Variations  by  BRAHMS  on 
a  theme  by  PAGANINI,"  which,  with  such  names,  and  such  an 
executant,  ought  to  be  something  to  remember.  Such  a  pro- 
gramme should  attract  to  the  "Bauer  Saloon"  all  who  have 
any  interest  in  the  great  beer  question,  seeing  it  is  so  full  of 
excellent  "  'ops." 

By  the  way,  how  readily  musical  expressions  arise  to  the  lips 
of  concert-goers  on  these  occasions.  Only  recently  an  energetic 
lady  was  hurrying  to  her  seat — the  wrong  one,  as  she  had  passed 
her  own — when  her  daughter,  slowly  following,  exclaimed, 
"Allegro,  ma,  non  troppo!"  Whereupon  her  mother  retraced 
her  steps  and  took  her  right  seat. 

BEN  TROVATO'MINOR. 

No.  5,  B  Flat,  Brahms  Buildings. 


NEW  READING. — Only  just  discovered  it.  In  Macbeth.  The 
Thane,  with  Banquo,  meets  the  Weird  Sisters.  Macbeth  and 
Banquo,  being  victorious,  are,  of  course,  walking  home  after  a 
grand  banquet  given  in  their  honour  by  the  Best  United  Scotch 
Club  of  the  period.  National  drinks  and  dishes.  What  more 
natural  then  that,  "seeing  things,"  and  being — like  the 
whiskey  he  has  been  taking — "  a  little  mixed,"  General  Macbett 
should  exclaim — 

"  How  now,  ye  secret  black  and  midnight  Haggis, 
What  is  't  ye  do  ?  " 

I  find  on  examination  that  this  wasn't  said  on  the  occasion  o 
his  first  introduction  to  these  elderly  ladies,  but  on  his  visi 
to  the  witches  when  they  gave  an  "  At  Home  "  in  their  own 
spacious  cave.    But  this  is  a  detail.     Macbeth  had  just  been 
dining,  of  course,  and  he  must  have  screwed  his  courage  to 
the  sticking  point  in  order  to  have  paid  this  visit.    Anyway,  i 
is  evidently  what  our  WULLLE  MCSHAKSPEARE  meant,  or  why 
should  he  have  chosen  a  Scotch  subject  at  all  ? 

Yours,          THE  McPHOGGiE. 


MAY  29,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHAKIVARI. 


401 


THE  VALUE  OF  GYMNASTICS. 

[At  a  recent  meeting  of  the  Gymnastic  Teachers 
Institute,  the  Lord  Chief  Justice,  who  presided, 
observed  that  if  systematic  physical  training  for 
girls  was  more  widely  adopted,  we  should  see  far 
fewer  young  ladies  with  bent-over  ankles  and 
turned-over  feet  walking  along  the  street.] 
IF  sisters  you  possess,  dear  boy, 

Whose  bones  are  still  elastic, 
See  that  a  training  they  enjoy 

Both  mental  and  gymnastic. 

The  vaulting-horse  improvement  brings 

In  leaping  and  in  running, 
Girls  take  quite  cheerfully  to  "rings " 

(Excuse  my  trick  of  punning). 

The  rings  expand  their  brains  and  chests — 

Mens  sana  in  corpore  sano — 
Say  no  to  that  you  can't — (my  jests 

Sparkle  like  Pommery-Greno). 

By  parallels  they  may  be  taught 

To  hold  a  perfect  balance — 
They  will  not  Jose  it  when  they  're  sought 

By  half-a-dozen  gallants  ! 

The  horizontal  bar,  dear  boy, 
Promotes  grand-circulation — * 

A  healthy  girl 's  a  wholesome  joy, 
Whate  'er  her  rank  or  station. 

The  rope  they  '11  climb,  grow  straight  and 
strong, 

'Tis  woman's  highest  mission,  [long 
And,  last  not  least,  they'll  bring  ere 

My  dreams  to  full  fruition. 

Then  shall  my  eye  ne'er  meet,  with  pain 

Which  in  my  bosom  rankles, 
One  eye-sore  in  the  street  again, 

Young  ladies'  crooked  ankles — 
"With  satisfaction  I  shall  deign 

To  note  their  nice  straight  ankles  ! 

*  Otherwise,  the  performance  of  the  "graad 
circle." 


WHAT  'S  THE  BOTHA  ABOUT  ? 

HAS  she  gone  to  arrange  preliminaries 
of  peace  ? 

Has  she  decided  to  give  the  ex-Presi- 
dent a  piece  of  her  mind  ? 

Has  she  arranged  to  make  a  fortune  by 
manipulations  on  the  Stock  Exchange  ? 

Is  she  the  simplest  lady  on  the  earth, 
or  a  female  edition  of  BISMARCK  ? 

Should  she  be  praised  by  the  Imperial 
Press,  or  hailed  with  delight  by  those 
who  respect  the  Little  Englander  ? 

Is  she  anxious  to  guide  the  policy  of 
her  native  State,  or  merely  to  pick  up  a 
few  hints  about  summer  bonnets  ? 

Is  she  an  angel  of  light,  or  one  of  a 
darker  hue  ? 

Is  she  a  peg  upon  which  to  hang  anec- 
dotes, or  too  exalted  to  be  mentioned  with- 
out absolute  respect  ? 

In  fact,  isn't  she  in  reality  merely  a 
theme  for  a  leading  article,  when  there 
is  nothing  more  interesting  to  write 
about. 


Sentimental  and— ahem — Thirty  (.?).   "DiD  HE  SAY  HE  KNEW  ME  WHEN  I  WAS  A  GIRL?" 
"Sweet  and  Twenty."  "  OH,  NO  I    HE  SAID  HE  REMEMBERS  YOU  WHEN  HE  WAS  A  BOY  (" 


TO  CHRISTOBEL. 
OH,  tell  me,  CHRISTOBEL,  my  queen, 

Didst  deem  my  manner  strangely  cold, 
When  in  the  twilight,  yester-e'en, 

We  side  by  side  together  strolled? 

For  it  had  been  a  day  of  days, 
As  far  as  weather  was  concerned  ; 

At  noon,  the  sun  with  scorching  rays 
Our  delicate  complexions  burned. 

Released  at  length  from  Winter's  thrall, 
We  both  inhaled  the  breath  of  Spring ; 

At  first  I  revelled  in  it  all, 
And  felt  as  happy  as  a  king. 

But  as  we  tramped  o'er  hill  and  dale 
The  long  day  through,   with   cheeks 

Did  you  observe  my  spirits  fail,  [aglow ; 
My  conversation  cease  to  flow  ? 

We  plucked  the'golden  daffodil — 

Of  Nature  I  am  very  fond  ; 
You  were  enthusiastic,  till 

You  found  that  I  did  not  respond. 

We  watched  the  sunset  to  the  last, 
And  as  a  solemn  stillness  fell, 

A  spasm  o'er  my  features  passed, 
Which  made  you  think  I  was  not  well. 


You  grew  romantic  by  and  bye, 
The  happy  future  you  could  see  ; 

Doubtless  you  heard  me  heave  a  sigh, 
And  grind  my  teeth  in  misery. 

Homeward  I  did  escort  you  soon, 
And  hurriedly  I  said  farewell. 

Beneath  the  newly  risen  moon 
I  kissed  you  coldly,  CHRISTOBEL. 

And  were  you  filled  with  haimting  fears 
When  I  had  vanished  from  your  eyes  ? 

Perchance  you  wept  some  bitter  tears, 
So  now  let  me  apologise. 

It  was  not  that  I  loved  you  less 
Than  I  had  ever  done  before. 

This  fact  allow  me  to  impress, 
You  are  the  one  whom  I  adore. 

I  did  not  find  your  presence  pall 

Upon  me — not  one  little  bit. 
When  something  's  pleasant,  after  all, 

One  cannot  have  too  much  of  it. 

No,  CHRISTOBEL,  my  dearest  dear, 
If  strangely  I  behaved  that  night, 

It  was — I  '11  whisper  in  your  ear — 
Simply  because  my  boots  were  tight  1 

P.  G. 


402 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHAEIVARL 


[MAY  29,  1901. 


TEACHING    THE    YOUNG    IDEA. 

Customer.  "THAT'S  A  NASTY  CUT  YOU'VE  GOT  !    How  DID  YOU  MANAGE  IT  ?  " 

Barber  (sadly).  "  OUR  APPRENTICE,  SIR,  PRACTISING.    WE'RE  OBLIGED  TO  EXPECT  THIS 

SORT   OF   THING   NOW  AND  THEN  !  " 


"WHAT  MIGHT  HAYE  BEEN  !  " 
IN  A  CRICKET  PAVILION. 

DEUCED  hard  luck  getting  out  like  that. 
Bowling  good  ?  Oh  dear,  no,  not  a  bit  of 
it !  I  could  have  played  that  sort  of 
thing,  all  day.  The  bowling's  nothing — 
absolutely  nothing.  I  was  just  playing 
forward  at  it,  and  the  beastly  thing  broke 
in  from  the  leg,  and  somehow  or  xother  I 
didn't  get  fair  hold  of  it,  and  the  ball 
ran  up  my  bat,  and  the  wicket-keeper 
held  it— that 's  all.  Good  catch  ?  Not  at 
all!  Why,  the  ball  literally  dropped 


into  the  fellow's  hands ;  he  couldn't  help 
making  the  catch. 

If  only  I  had,  &c.,  &c.,  &c. 

AT  A  GOLF  CLUB-HOUSE. 

Oh,  yes,  of  course  I  ought  to  have  won — 
won  easily — not  a  doubt  of  it.  But  some- 
how, he  seemed  to  outdrive  me,  and  then 
his  approach  shots  all  "came  off"  and 
mine  didn't,  and  when  it  came  to  the 
putting — well,  you  know  how  beastly  the 
greens  are  just  now ;  but  it  didn't  seem 
to  affect  his  play,  though  it  did  mine.  My 
put  was  always  short,  or  else  too  strong, 
and  he  had  all  the  luck  and  just  got  down, 


time  after  time.  Yes,  awfully  annoying, 
of  course.  However,  beyond  breaking  my 
driver  across  my  knee,  and  shying  the 
ends  at  my  caddie,  I  kept  my  temper 
pretty  well.  But  my  luck  was  simply 
awful. 

If  only  I  had,  &c.,  &c. 

IN  A  WEIGHING  ROOM. 

Rather  rough  on  me,  getting  beaten  a 
neck,  like  that.  Thought  I  had  him  safe, 
all  the  way  up  the  straight,  too.  Made 
my  effort  a  little  too  late,  you  think  ?  My 
dear  Sir,  I  think  I  ought  to  know  some- 
thing more  about  whether  it  was  too  late 
or  not,  than  a  mere  spectator !  Why 
didn't  I  "  come  away  "  at  the  Enclosure 
rails  ?  How  could  I  "  come  away  "  with- 
out the  horse?  I  don't  wish  to  say 
anything  unpleasant,  but  really,  I  wish 
you  wouldn't  talk  such  rot !  When  I 
picked  up  my  whip  my  horse  was 
"stony,"  positively  stony!  No  man 
could  have  got  more  out  of  him  than  I — 
though  I  say  it  myself.  If  the  race  were 
to  be  run  over  again,  I  should  win. 

If  only  I  had,  &c.,  &c. 

IN  A  LAWN-TENNIS  PAVILION. 

Fancy  a  "rotter"  like  that  beating 
me  !  Well,  by  Jove,  it 's  enough  to  make 
a  fellow  swear  he  '11  never  play  in  a  public 
Tournament  again !  Sickening,  I  call  it. 
I  got  in  some  splendid  services,  too,  in  the 
second  sett,  but  he  got  'em  all  back  again, 
somehow.  Don't  know  how  he  did  it. 

If  only  I  had,  &c.,  &c.,  &c. 
AT  A  BOAT-HOUSE. 

Won  ?  We  should  have  simply  come  in 
alone,  my  dear  fellow,  if  our  Stroke  had 
only  set  a  decent  pace  from  the  beginning. 
But  to  commence  as  if  we  were  going  to  a 

funeral,    and   then Well,  it  doesn't 

bear  talking  of !  And  just  fancy  his 
quickening  up  to  forty  at  such  a  time  as 
that?  If  such  suicidal  policy  is  not 
enough  to  lose  any  race  that  was  ever 
rowed,  I  don't  know  what  is.  And  look 
at  the  course  our  cox.  took  us !  Why, 
the  other  fellows  simply  couldn't  help 
winning.  A  good  crew  ?  They  ?  What 
skittles  !  We  ought  to  have  won  easily. 

If  only  I  had  been  stroke,  &c.,  &c.,  &c. 

RETURNING  FROM  A  HUNTING  RUN. 

Capital  gallop,  wasn't  it?  Why  didn't 
I  jump  the  first  brook  we  came  to  ?  Oh, 
I  should  have  had  it,  if  I  'd  been  riding 
the  chestnut  instead  of  the  grey.  That 
chestnut  of  mine  would  have  thought 
nothing  of  it — he  'd  have  hopped  over  like 
a  bird.  The  gate  out  of  the  farm-yard, 
do  you  say  ?  Well,  rather  a  funny  thing 
happened  there,  you  know.  My  horse 
seemed  to  go  rather  "  short  "  just  as  we 
came  at  that  gate.  So  I  pulled  him  up, 
and  had  a  look  to  see  if  he  'd  lost  a -shoe. 
Had  he  ?  No,  curiously  enough,  he  hadn't. 
Going  quite  sound  now?  Oh,  yes,  he's 
all  right  again  now,  thanks.  Must  have 
been  merely  temporary  lameness — hit  his 
leg,  perhaps.  If  only  I  had,  &c.,  &c. 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.— MAT  29,  1901. 


CLAIMING  ACQUAINTANCE. 


Miss  ECONOMY.   «« I  SEE  YOU  'VE  FORGOTTEN  ME,  SIR  MICHAEL." 

SIR  M-CH-L  H-CKS-B-CH.    "UM  !  I  SEEM  TO  REMEMBER  YOUR  FACE.    BUT  IT  IS  SO  LONG  SINCE  WE  MET! 


MAT  29,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


405 


ESSENCE    OF    PARLIAMENT. 

EXTRACTED  FROM  THE  DIARY  OF  TOBY,  M.P. 

House   of  Lords,   Monday,   May  20.  — 

"Life  would  be  endurable  only  for  the 


For  a  moment,  when  he  rose  to  reply  and 
turned  to  address  them,  it  seemed  as  if 
temptation  would  override  all  restraint. 
CANTUAR,  a  fighting  man  all  his  life,  set 
his  teeth,  squared  his  shoulders,  and 


BIRDS   OF  A  FEATHER  I! 

Lobby  the  Jester.  "I  may  say  I  share  his  Nonconformist  conscience ! " 

(Vide  Mr.  Laboueheris  Speech  on  Sir  Henry  Fowler's  Amendment.} 


Bishops,"  murmured  the  MARKISS,  re- 
garding with  hunted  look  right  reverend 
prelates  ominously  clustered  below  Gang- 
way to  his  left. 

Certainly  they  've  been  a  little  hard  on 
him  since  he  returned  from  the  Riviera  ; 
have  practically  annulled  benefit  derived 
from  his  sojourn  in  the  sunlit  South. 
Last  week  it  was  the  Bishop  of  WINCHES- 
TER and  the  Habitual  Drunkard ;  to-day 
it  is  the  Bishop  of  HEREFORD  and  the 
Tipster.  He  wants  Select  Committee 
appointed  to  enquire  into  increase  of 
public  betting  ;  Bishop  of  LONDON  seconds 
motion ;  the  Primate  seals  the  document 
with  mark  of  high  approval.  "What  the 
MARKISS  would  like  above  all  things 
would  be  to  run  amok  among  the  Bishops. 


awaited  the  onslaught.  WINCHESTER,  of 
milder  mood,  conscious  of  exceptional 
provocation  given  by  him  Last  week, 
strategically,  though  to  all  appearances 
quite  casually,  got  his  brother  of  LONDON 
between  himself  and  the  PREMIER. 

Happily  for  peace  and  propriety  of 
House,  the  vision  of  the  nurserymaid 
crossed  the  PREMIER'S  eye ;  as  effective 
in  its  way  as  earlier  historic  vision  of 
the  housemaid.  Bishop  of  HEREFORD, 
presumably  drawing  on  domestic  ex- 
periences, instanced  in  proof  of  spread 
of  the  plague  of  betting  that  the  nursery- 
maid habitually  "had  her  shilling  on  " 
the  coming  race.  Fervid  fancy  pictured 
daily  scenes  in  the  nursery  under 
this  malignant  influence.  Master  CLAUD, 


cetat  7,  in  a  white  hat  (much  too  large  for 
him),  standing  on  his  mother's  bandbox 
shouting  "Ten  to  one  bar  one!  "  Sister 
GLADYS,  four  last  birthday,  responding 
in  shrill  voice,  "  Five  to  on-e  on  the 
field!" 

"  Is  that  the  kind  of  public  betting  you 
hope  to  put  a  stop  to?"  the  MARKISS 
asked  in  withering  tones.  "What 
machinery  have  you  to  enable  you  to  put 
aistop  to  nurserymaids  putting  a  shilling 
on  each  succeeding  race  ?  ' ' 

Admirable  point  this.  Well  if  MARKISS 
had  stopped  when  he  had  made  it.  Always 
a  mistake  when  an  expert  in  a  particular 
field,  whether  it  be  the  nursery  or  the 
housemaid's  department,  steps  outside  it. 
Encouraged  by  applause  lavishly  bestowed, 
the  MARKISS  next  alluded  to  "large 
crowds  that  on  Sunday  morning  assemble 
round  one  man  in  order  to  give  him  tips." 
TWEEDMOUTH,  more  familiar  with  the  sub- 
ject, explained  that  the  crowd  is  gathered 
not  to  give  tips  to  the  one  man  but  to 
receive  and  pay  for  tips  distributed  by 
him. 

"Very  well  then,"  said  the  MARKISS, 
with  manner*  curiously  reminiscent  of 
PRINCE  ARTHUR  when  in  the  other  House 
he  gets  hold  of  the  wrong  end  of  the 
stick;  "  the  crowd  assembl  s  to  pay  for 
tips." 

House  accepted  the  frank  Hand  ready 
correction.  But  it  broke  the  spell  of 
omniscience  with  which  the  earlier  pas- 
sage about  the  nurserymaid  had  been 
delivered.  In  the  end,  protesting  he 
would  ne'er  consent  to  this  new  step  in 
paternal  government  promoted  by  the 
reverend  fathers,  he  consented.  Motion 
for  Committee  agreed  to. 

Business  done.  —  Commons  discussing 
Amendment  to  Budget  moved  by  HENRY 
FOWLER  as  spokesman  of  re-united  and 
renovated  Opposition.  Immediate  conse- 
quence is  that  Opposition  break  up  into 
fresh  splinters. 

House  of  Commons,  Tuesday. — Dnlness 
of  Debate  on  Budget  varied  by  fresh 


A  STUDY  IN  LIBERAL  UNITY! 

Being  a  hasty  sketch  of  the  loyal  and  uncon- 
trollable indignation  of  Mr.  J-hn  M-rl-y  and  Sir 
R-b-rt  R-d  during  the  onslaught  on  their  colleague, 
Sir  H-nry  F-wl-r,  by  the  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer ! ! 


406 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[MAY  29,  1901. 


explosions  of  cordite.  Six  years  ago  next 
month — when  Mr.  GLADSTONE,  the  MEMBER 
FOR  SARK,  DON  CURRIE,  and  other  eminent 
statesmen  were  away  at  Kiel,  in  the  now- 
wrecked  Tantallon  Castle,  helping  GERMAN 
EMPEROR  to  open  new  canal — cordite  ex- 
plosion under  Treasury  Bench  blew  into 
Opposition  CAWMELL-BANNERMAN  and  his 
colleagues  in  the  Rosebery  Government. 
It  was  BRODRICK  who  fired  the  charge, 
and  the  whirligig  of  time  has  brought  him 
to  fill  the  position  whence  he  was  instru- 
mental in  discharging  C.-B. 

Cordite  having  done  its  work  nothing 
more  heard  of  it  till,  the  other  night, 
PRINCE  ARTHUR  incidentally  mentioned 
that  at  particular  crisis  of  campaign  in 
South  Africa  there  were  only  3,000  rounds 
in  store.  This  afternoon  C.-B.  commented 
on  this  concatenation  of  circumstances. 
The  very  men  who  had  turned  him  and  his 
friends  out  on  alleged  insufficiency  of 
ammunition,  who  had  been  in  office  for  six 
years,  who  had  asked  for  and  obtained 
millions  for  war  purposes,  were  thus 
caught  dangerously  napping. 

Nasty  blow  that ;  would  have  discon- 
certed some  men.  PRINCE  ARTHUR  splen- 
did in  his  audacity.  It  was,  he  vowed, 
all  C.-B.'s  fault.  In  1895,  he,  being  at  the 
head  of  the  "War  Office,  was  found  guilty 
of  insufficient  stores  of  cordite  ;  very  pro- 
perly kicked  out  of  office.  Five  years  later, 
his  critics  of  1895  having  meanwhile  been 
in  power,  and  having  raised  Army  expen- 
diture from  eighteen  and  a  half  millions 
to  thirty  millions,  it  was  suddenly  dis- 
covered that  the  country  being  at  war, 
the  stock  of  ammunition  was  almost  ex- 
hausted. Who  was  responsible?  The 
Minister  in  charge  of  the  "War  Office 
since  1895  ?  Certainly  not.  It  was  the 
guilty  Minister  whose  sin  had  found  him 
out  six  years  ago. 

This  PRINCE  ARTHUR  said  without 
shadow  of  a  smile,  without  movement 
of  an  eyelid  distantly  suggesting  a  wink. 
The  unexpected  assault  took  C.-B.'s  breath 
away.  For  a  moment  a  pause  of  amazement 
fell  on  the  crowded  benches.  Then  some- 
one behind  Treasury  Bench  cheered ;  cry 
taken  up  till  it  swelled  to  a  roar,  through 
whose  prolonged  length  PRINCE  ARTHUR 
glared  with  honest  indignation  on  the 
limp  C.-B.,  who  began  to  think  that  he  was 
really  much  more  sinful  than  he  thought. 

Business  done. — HENRY  FOWLER'S  Amend- 
ment to  Second  Reading  of  Budget  Bill 
negatived  by  majority  of  177  in  House  of 
423  Members. 

Friday. — Adjournment  for  Whitsun  holi- 
days. Back  again  June  6. 


LIGHT  AND  DARK  BLUES. 

IF  DAY,  the  Cambridge  captain,  stands 

As  typical  of  Light, 
Then  KNOX,  who  Oxford  men  commands, 

Is  Dark  as  Latin  night. 


OCR    BOYS. 

[Sir  T.  LIPTON  said  the  American  boy  was  ahead 
of  the  English  boy.  Managers  of  great  American 
concerns  were  often  surprisingly  youthful.  He 
thought  it  would  be  a  good  thing  if  every  English 
boy  was  sent  to  America  at  seventeen  for  two  years.] 

THE  English  boy  to  the  States  has  gone,  f 

In  a  Western  store  you  '11  find  him ; 
A  Yankee  twang  he  has  taken  on, 

And  his  modesty  left  behind  him. 
"  Land  of  Babes,"  said  the  callow  youth, 

"  Tho'  at  home  my  elders  flout  me, 
In  a  couple  of  years  they  shall  own  the 
truth 

That  they  can't  get  on  without  me." 

The  boy  returned.    But  his  father's  trade 

Seemed  tame  to  his  vast  ambition  : 
There  were  limits  set  to  the  profit  made, 

And  it  suffered  from  competition. 
"Father,"  he  said,  "let  this  care  be  mine, 

It 's  a  matter  of  education, 
And  I  'm  pretty  spry  at  a  big  Combine." 

So  he  worked  an  amalgamation  ! 


CASH  BEFORE  COURAGE. 
(For  further  particulars  apply  to  Pall  Mall.) 

"AND  does  that  excellently  appointed 
brougham  and  pair  belong  to  your 
master  ?  ' '  asked  the  Stranger. 

"  Certainly,  Sir.  You  see,  my  master 
has  to  go  out  to  dinner  a  good  deal  and 
could  not  think  of  hiring  a  fly." 

"And  yet,"    continued    the  Stranger, 

that  kind  of  conveyance  is  very  well 
turned  out  by  the  livery  stables.  And 
why  not  sometimes  take  a  cab  ?  Dukes 
often  take  cabs." 

"My  master  is  not  a  duke,"  returned 
the  servitor  with  hauteur. 

"  Indeed,  and  yet  you  say  he  has  a  share 
in  a  yacht,  five  or  six  horses,  the  like 
number  of  polo  ponies,  and  is  always  en- 
tertaining ? ' ' 

'  Yes,  Sir,  you  have  fairly  described  my 
master's  position.  He  is  no  parson  with  a 
poor  parish,  no  barrister  with  an  empty 
brief-bag,  or  doctor  with  a  brass  plate  in 
leu  of  a  practice." 

"Then  what  is  he?  From  his  style  of 
living  I  should  put  him  down  for  a 
popular  actor  -  manager,  or  a  Cabinet 
Minister  with  private  means,  or  even  a 
Foreign  Ambassador." 

"  No,  Sir  ;  you  are  entirely  wrong.  My 
master  is  a  young  gentleman  of  twenty." 

'  Then  he  is  a  millionaire,  or  the  son  of 
one." 

"Neither,"  returned  the  serving-man, 
'  On  the  contrary,  my  master's  father  is 
nearly  as  poor  as  himself." 

"  Then  who  is  this  spendthrift?  " 

"  Don't  call  him  a  spendthrift,  Sir. 
what  he  does  is  by  regulation." 

"  By     regulation  !  "      exclaimed 
Stranger.     "  Then  he  must  be " 

"  Yes,"  put  in  the  servant,  filling  up 
lie  gap  and  explaining  the  mystery,  "he 
is  a  cavalry  subaltern." 


For 


the 


LOVE-LETTERS  OF  A  DANISH  WOMAN. 

(Published  for  the  first  time  after  a  pause 
of  centuries.) 

MY  LORD, — You  will  never  receive  this 
letter.  It  was  not  my  fault.  My  father 
told  me  to  do  it.  But  why  should  he  have 
been  killed  for  listening  behind  the  cur- 
tains ?  He  was  acting  for  the  best.  He 
is  always  so  kind.  The  best  of  men.  And 
why  tell  me  to  go  to  a  convent  ?  And  why 
say  that  I  paint  ?  My  hair  is  all  my  own. 
And  so  are  you.  If  you  would  only  let  it 
be  so.  But  surely  you  can  be  reasonable. 
And  yet  you  will  never  know.  And  you 
are  always  in  my  thoughts.  Oh !  my 
Lord,  my  dear  Lord,  my  dearest  Lord.  I 
don't  believe  my  brother.  I  know  he  is 
spiteful  to  everyone.  And  I  am  glad  he 
is  going  for  a  trip — far,  far  away. 

Your  Onest,  O. 

MY  DEAREST  LORD, — I  feel  it  is  un- 
maidenly  to  write  to  you.  But  this  letter 
will  never  reach  you,  so  I  am  comforted. 
Surely  it  was  cruel  to  make  a  scene  when 
we  had  come  to  see  your  little  play.  Of 
course,  we  like  amateur  theatricals.  But 
then  you  did  not  do  us  the  honour  to  ask 
us  to  take  part  in  them.  You  preferred 
professionals.  And  Court  life  in  Elsinore 
is  not  too  cheerful.  I  never  thought  that 
you  would  take  back  the  presents  that 
you  gave  me,  but  you  did.  And  I  thought 
it  was  so  kind  of  you  to  sit  near  me.  But 
then  you  should  not  have  caused  all  that 
disturbance.  You  sadly  grieved  your 
mother.  And  she  is  such  a  sweet  thing. 
Means  so  well.  And  really,  your  uncle — 
step-father — is  so  anxious  to  be  civil. 
What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  But  I  shall 
never  know,  for  you  will  never  receive 
this  poor  letter.  I  have  heard  from  my 
brother.  LAERTES  seems  to  be  enjoying 
himself ;  but,  naturally,  poor  papa's 
untimely  end  came  as  a  shock.  Of  course, 
I  sent  no  details.  They  were  too  painful. 
Oh  !  my  own  one.  Oh  !  my  darling.  I  do 
so  wish  you  were  more  reasonable. 

Your  unknown  lover,        O. 

SWEETEST, — My  last  letter.  You  will 
never  receive  it.  Perhaps  it  may  be  found 
on  the  stream,  floating  along  amongst  the 
water-lilies.  I  have  taken  to  singing, — 
although  my  music  master  never  thought 
me  a  very  promising  pupil.  But  it  distracts 
my  thoughts — which  are  sad  ones.  LAERTES 
seems  to  be  tired  with  his  travels,  and  sends 
a  scrap  to  say  that  he  is  on  his  way  home. 
[  feel  at  times  rather  wrong  in  my  head.  I 
won't  let  my  maid  touch  my  hair,  and  have 
taken  to  decorating  it  with  wild  flowers. 
They  look  rather  pretty  but  untidy.  And 
now  I  am  going  for  a  little  walk,  and  then 
I  shall  have  a  nice  long  rest  by  the  stream 
amongst  the  willows.  My  own,  my  dear- 
st,  my  all-in-black  one.  But  you  will 
never  know — until  it  is  too  late. 
Your  poor  distracted 

OPHELIA. 


MAT  29,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


407 


W 


H 

S  g 


408 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON   CHAEIVARI. 


[MAY  29,  1901. 


MR.    PICKLETHORN'S    CONTRIBUTION. 

MR.  PICKLETHORN  adjusted  his  spectacles,  took  up  the 
letter  and  read  it  through  twice  very  carefully  and  deliberately. 
Then,  with  an  air  of  bewilderment,  he  gazed  at  a  slip  of  pink 
paper  enclosed  within  it.  Next  he  studied  the  envelope,  duly 
addressed  to  "  JOSIAH  PICKLETHORN,  Esq.,  The  Hollies,  "Wimble- 
don," carefully  scrutinising  the  postmarks  as  if  in  the  hope 
that  these  could  solve  the  riddle  for  him.  Finally,  with  a 
despairing  sigh,  he  handed  the  letter  across  the  breakfast-table 
to  his  wife. 

"  What  the  dickens  does  this  mean?"  he  enquired.  "Read 
it,  MARIA,  and  let 's  hear  what  you  make  of  it.  It  must  be  some 
idiotic  mistake — and  yet  it  seems  meant  for  me  right  enough  !  " 

Mrs.  PICKLETHORN  read  the  letter  in  her  turn,  her  face 
betraying  increasing  astonishment  as  she  did  so.  It  ran : — 

"  Office  o/  '  The  Trumpet  Magazine,' 

"  Fleet  Street,  E.G. 

"DEAR  SIR,  —  We  afe  now  making  arrangements  for  the 
Christmas  Number  of  the  Magazine,  and  should  like  to  include 
in  it  one  of  your  humorous  sketches.  Four  thousand  words 
would  be  a  suitable  length,  and  the  payment  we  could  offer 
would  be  £15.  In  the  hope  that  our  proposal  will  be  agreeable 
to  you,  we  enclose  cheque  for  half  that  sum,  the  balance  to  be 
paid  on  publication.  We  should  be  glad  to  have  your  MS.  at 
the  earliest  possible  date.  Yours  faithfully, 

"T.  HENDERSON,  Editor." 

"Good  gracious!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  PICKLETHORN,  dropping 
the  letter  and  staring  at  her  husband.  "  One  of  your  humorous 
sketches !  " 

"  One  of  my  humorous  sketches,"  repeated  Mr.  PICKLETHORN, 
"The  editor  of  this  paper,  or  magazine,  or  whatever  it  is, 
writes  to  me  for  one  of  my  humorous  sketches  to  put  in  his 
Christmas  Number.  And  here  's  his  cheque,  too,  payable  to 
JOSIAH  PICKLETHORN.  One  of  my  humorous  sketches  !  Forty 
years  have  I  been  in  the  sugar  trade,  MARIA,  and,  except  in  the 
way  of  business  or  a  friendly  letter,  I  haven't  set  pen  to  paper 
since  I  left  school.  Why  this  HENDERSON  whites  to  me,  and 
what  he  means — or  if  somebody  's  trying  to  play  a  silly  joke — 
well,  it  just  beats  me !  " 

"  It  can't  be  a  joke,"  observed  his  wife  thoughtfully.  "  No 
one  would  send  you  a  cheque  as  a  joke.  And  it  can't  well  be  a 
mistake,  seeing  that  it 's  addressed  right,  with  your  Christian 
name  and  all.  No,  he  must  have  heard  of  you,  somehow." 

"  Seems  like  it,  doesn't  it  ?  "  agreed  the  other. 

"  Perhaps  he  knows  one  of  our  friends  ?  " 

"  Quite  possible,"  admitted  the  sugar-broker.  "  But  even  if 
he  does,  why " 

"  Yes,"  resumed  Mrs.  PICKLETHORN,  with  growing  conviction, 
"  one  of  your  friends  must  have  spoken  to  this  editor  about 
those  clever  stories  you  sometimes  tell — no,  don't  deny  it, 
JOSIAH,  they  are  clever.  Why,  only  last  Tuesday,  when  the 
JOHNSONS  were  dining  here,  and  you  gave  us  that  description  of 
how  your  Aunt  lost  her  way  in  the  Edgware  Road,  Mrs. 
JOHNSON  said  to  me  that  you  ought  to  send  that  to  Punch.'1 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  PICKLETHORN,  with  a  gratified  smile, 
"  I  don't  deny  that  I  love  a  bit  of  a  joke  now  and  then.  'Tis  a 
poor  heart  that  never  rejoices,  as  SHAKSPEARE,  I  believe,  puts 
it." 

"  Why,  it 's  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff  !  This  editor,  you  see,  was 
talking  about  his  paper  to  a  friend.  '  The  Magazine 's  all  right,' 
says  he,  '  but  what  I  want  to  make  it  complete  is  a  right-down 
good  piece  of  fun,  and  where  it 's  to  come  from  I  can't  tell.' 
'  D'  you  know  Mr.  JOSIAH  PICKLETHORN  ?  '  asks  the  friend. 
'  Can't  say  I  do,'  replies  the  Editor.  '  Well,'  says  the  friend, 
'  you  just  get  him  to  give  you  one  of  his  stories,  and  your 
readers  will  laugh  as  they  've  never  laughed  before.'  '  Thank 
you,'  says  the  Editor,  '  I  '11  ask  him '  ;  and  so  he  sits  down  and 


writes  you  this  letter.  That's  the  explanation,  depend  upon 
it." 

"It  may  be,"  allowed  Mr.  PICKLETHORN  dubiously ;  "  I  can't 
think  of  any  other.  Well,  then,  in  that  case,  I  '11  just  drop  him 
a  note,  thanking  him  for  the  offer,  but  returning  his  cheque,  as 
I  don't  happen  to  be  in  the  writing  line." 

"What?"  cried  his  wife  indignantly.  "Return  his  cheque, 
indeed  !  To  think  of  throwing  away  money  like  that !  You  '11 
do  nothing  of  the  kind  ;  you  '11  just  sit  down  this  evening,  and 
write  off  that  story — it  won't  take  you  long." 

"But  I  can't,"  protested  Mr.  PICKLETHORN.  "Why,  what 
story  could  I  write  ?  " 

"  Nonsense,  JOSIAH  ;  of  course  you  can.  All  you  've  got  to  do 
is  to  copy  out  one  of  those  anecdotes  you  tell  so  splendidly — 
there 's  that  one,  for  instance,  about  your  missing  the  last  train 
at  Clapham." 

Mr.  PICKLETHORN  pondered  in  silence  for  some  moments. 
"  Seems  a  pity  not  to  take  that  £15  certainly,"  he  said ;  "  and 
I  've  often  thought  that,  if  I  gave  my  mind  to  it,  I  could  write 
better  stuff  than  lots  of  these  literary  fellows.  .  .  Well,  MARIA, 
I  '11  have  a  shot  at  it,  if  you  like." 

"  Of  course  you  will !  You  could  write  three  stories  a  week 
easily.  That 's  £45  a  week,  which  is " 

"Hold  hard,  MARIA — the  first  one  isn't  written  yet,  and  a 
precious  tough  job  I  expect  it  '11  be.  This  letter  says  it 's 
got  to  be  four  thousand  words  long — that  sounds  a  terrible 
lot — and  if  it  should  be  a  mistake,  after  all !  Look  here,  I  '11 
take  that  cheque  to  town  with  me  and  present  it  at  once,  and 
if  it 's  all  right,  why,  I  '11  tackle  the  story  this  evening.  And 
it 's  time  for  me  to  be  starting  for  the  City  now.  You  might 
get  in  a  packet  of  foolscap  paper  from  the  stationer's  while 
I  'm  gone." 

And  in  the  course  of  the  morning,  Mrs.  PICKLETHORN  received 
the  following  satisfactory  telegram — "  Cheque  all  right." 

That  evening,  after  dinner,  Mr.  PICKLETHORN  sat  down  to 
compose  his  story,  his  wife  having  provided  him  with  a  new 
nib,  fresh  blotting-paper,  and  an  immense  pile  of  foolscap 
paper.  The  servants  were  enjoined  that  not  a  sound  must  be 
heard  from  the  kitchen;  "Perfect  quiet,  my  love,"  said  Mr. 
PICKLETHORN,  "is  absolutely  essential."  At  the  beginning, 
his  wife  was  allowed  to  witness  his  labours,  but  before  long 
the  author  found  that  her  enquiries  as  to  his  progress,  re- 
peated every  ten  minutes,  were  exceedingly  distracting,  and, 
accordingly,  she  was  banished  to  the  drawing-room,  while  Mr. 
PICKLETHORN  plied  his  pen  in  the  dining-room.  After  much 
consideration,  the  anecdote  about  his  missing  the  last  train 
at  Clapham — a  story  often  recounted  with  gratifying  success 
amongst  his  friends — had  been  selected  as  most  likely  to  charm 
the  readers  of  The  Trumpet,  but  Mr.  PICKLETHORN  found  him- 
self considerably  hampered  by  the  Editor's  request,  that  the 
story  should  be  four  thousand  words  long,  which  he  inter- 
preted to  mean  that  there  must  be  not  one  word  more  or  less 
than  this  number. 

Presently,  the  author  appeared  at  the  drawing-room  door  in 
his  shirtsleeves,  mopping  a  heated  brow. 

"Look  here,  MARIA,"  he  said,  "I've  written  it  all  down, 
and  I  've  only  done  two  thousand  one  hundred  and  forty-seven. 
I  can  spin  it  out  a  little  longer,  but  I  '11  never  get  to  four 
thousand !  ' ' 

"You  must  work  in  another  story  as  well,  then,"  said  his 
wife  promptly.  "  Couldn't  you  introduce  that  one  about  Miss 
HAVILAND'S  cockatoo  ?  " 

"  Ah,"  said  the  author,  visibly  relieved.  "  I  might  do  that;  " 
and  he  retreated  downstairs  again. 

At  midnight,  Mrs.  PICKLETHORN  prepared  to  retire,  at  which 
time  her  husband's  total,  as  he  announced,  was  two  short  of 
three  thousand.  And  he  added  his  firm  intention  of  finishing 
the  blessed  thing  before  he  went  to  bed. 

When  Mrs.  PICKLETHORN  had  been  asleep  fora  couple  of  hours 


MAY  29,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


409 


or  so,  she  was  awakened  by  tremendous 
shouts  from  the  ground-floor. 

"MARIA!  "  cried  her  husband's  voice, 
"here — come  here,  quickly  !  " 

In  some  alarm,  Mrs.  PICKLETHORN  slipped 
on  her  dressing-gown,  and  peered  over 
the  banisters.  Two  flights  below  her 
stood  her  husband  on  the  stairs,  a  bundle 
of  manuscript  in  his  hand. 

"  Oh !  there  you  are.  Tell  me,  is  '  wait- 
ing-room '  one  word  or  two  ?  " 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  said  Mrs.  PIOKLETHORN, 
in  distinctly  annoyed  tones.  "  I  thought 
the  house  must  be  on  fire !  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  is  '  waiting  -  room  '  one 
word?" 

"Oh,  bother!  Two,  I  suppose." 

"  Then  I  've  finished ! "  said  Mr.  PICKLE- 
THORN. 

(To  be  continued.) 


LAWN  TENNIS  LUNCHEON. 
Menu. 

"SERVED,"  15  TO  30. 

Bisque. 

Flukes  a  merveille. 
Volley-vent  a  la  racquette. 

'Vantage  Toyu. 

Currie  a  la  Deuce. 

Timballes  celluloides  k  la  Ping  Pong. 

Salade  Letitia. 

Gibier  a  la  mode. 

Parfait  Amour  k  Rion. 

Creme  de  Jeu  Perdu  k  deux  Fautes. 


THE  REVIEWERS'  RETREAT. 

IT  was  a  noble  -  looking  Institution. 
Just  the  place  where  jaded  reviewers  and 
ink-sodden  critics  would  care  to  drone 
away  the  last  few  years  of  their  life.  The 
high  wall  that  skirted  the  garden  was 
delicately  tipped  with  sea-green  bottle- 
glass,  thus  ensuring  peace  and  quiet  from 
prowling  authors  whose  works  the  aged 
reviewers  may  at  some  time  or  other  have 
considered. 

The  novelists'  arbour  was  particularly 
well  protected  (no  doubt  advisably  so)  for 
'twas  here  that  reviewers  of  current 
fiction  took  their  afternoon  tea,  and 
smoked  their  friendly  "  screws  "  of  baccy 
sent  by  well-disposed  acquaintances. 

Yet,  despite  the  high  wall,  wire  barbing, 
&c.,  many  a  tragedy  had  been  enacted 
within  this  shady  retreat.  It  was  a 
pathetic  sight  to  see  the  palsied  critics 
doddering  around  with  Mudie  -  hunted 
expressions  for  their  afternoon  airing. 
These  all  slept,  by  the  way,  on  the  ground 
floor,  as  they  dreaded  anything  in  the 
nature  of  a  story.  A  sad  tradition  exists 
of  one  weary  reviewer  who  roused  his 
comrades  in  the  night  by  cries  of  agony. 
As  they  gathered  fearfully  around  him, 
he  pointed  in  horror  through  the  window 
at  the  stars.  "  A  comet !  "  he  cried.  Then 


'ARRIET    ON    HER    HOLIDAY. 


Guide  (awaking  the  echoes  of  the  lake). 

— BEFORE  THE  END  OF  THE  TEAK  !  " 

Echo.  "YEAR!    YEAR!" 


AND  MAY  ALL — THE  LADIES   HERE — BE  MARRIED 

'Arriet.  "I  LIKE  ECHOES." 


adding,  with  a  moan  of  anguish,  "  it  has  a 
tail,"  he  expired  with  a  look  of  mortal 
terror  that  almost  drove  his  companions 
frantic. 

On  another  occasion  a  reviewer  was 
gossipping  with  a  friend  in  the  arbour 
when  a  bomb  from  an  unseen  author 
hurtled  through  the  air,  crushed  the  un- 
fortunate victim  and  injured  many  others. 
It  was  a  religious  novel ;  one  of  the  most 
dangerous  missiles  ever  invented,  combin- 
ing a  deadly  heaviness  with  deadly 
explosive  qualities. 

Turning  from  the  novelists'  arbour  the 
visitor  may  note  the  poets'  yard,  where 
reviewers  of  minor  poetry,  essays,  etc., 
undergo  SANDOW'S  exercises,  and  open-air 
treatment  generally  after  the  debilitating 
occupation  they  have  followed  for  many 
years.  There  is  a  new  drill-sergeant 
(Cn-RT-N  C-LL-NS  by  name),  whose  severi- 
ties have  inspired  dismay  throughout  the 


institution.  Some  of  the  more  stalwart, 
however,  recently  combined  to  withstand 
his  austere  treatment,  and  he  is  at  pre- 
sent in  the  sick  ward. 

Visitors  are  urgently  requested  not  to 
tempt  the  inmates  with  gifts  of  high- 
coloured  adjectives  and  new  adverbial 
expressions.  It  is  scarcely  fair,  since  all 
the  inmates  have  to  take  a  grammatical 
pledge — and  the  simplest  Saxon  English 
alone  is  served  out  with  the  rations. 


"BOGEY  COMPETITION." — A  correspon- 
dent wishes  to  be  informed  if  the  above 
heading,  which  he  often  sees  in  various 
papers,  means  that  someone  is  giving  a 
prize  for  the  best  ghost  story  ? 


THE  END  OP  THE  GAME. — "  I  can't  stand 
the  racquet,"  as  the  tired  tennis-ball 
said. 


410 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[MAT  29,  1901. 


A  LONGFELLOWISH  LAY. 
MY  DEAR  SIB, — I  am  not  a'great  student 
of  poetry,  and  so  it  came  upon  me  quite 
as  a  surprise  to  learn  that  LONGFELLOW 
was  not  only  as  great  a  cardplayer  as  he 
was  a  poet,  and  that,  years  ago,  this  cele- 
brated bard  had  immortalised  the  present 
fashionable  and  absorbing  game  of 
' '  Bridge. ' '  I  was  not  aware  that ' '  Bridge ' ' 
was  known  in  his  time  ;  but  then  he  was 
an  American,  therefore  go-a-head ;  also  a 
poet,  and  a  poet  like  a  prophet  is  always 
just  a  bit  previous.  However,  Sir,  to  you 
I  confide  this  precious  manuscript  which 
has  recently  come  into  my  possession.  I 


He  declared  the  flaming  diamond ; — 
I  had  but  one  to  play. 

Between  our  two  opponents 

The  wavering  luck  held  fast, 
And  the  current  that  came  in  their  favour 

Bore  my  tin  away  at  last. 

As,  sweeping  the  tricks  towards  them, 
"  Grand  slam,"  they  scored, — ah  me  I 

And  walking  home  in  the  moonlight, 
You  might  have  heard  a  "  D !  " 

And  the  loss  of  all  my  money 

Like  a  horrid  dream  appears  ; 
And  a  flood  of  thought  comes  o'e*  me, 

Which  fills  my  eyes  with  tears. 


Yet  whenever  I  cross  the  club  room, 
And  see  Bridge ;  its  charm  appears 

Like  the  grip  of  a  vice  which  led  me  on 
To  the  ruin  of  other  years  ! 


FOR  A  CHANGE. 

BBOWN  and  ROBINSON  and  SMITH 
Whom  in  town  I  tarry  with, 
Wearied  out  by  life's  routine, 
Pining  for  a  change  of  scene, 
From  the  crowds  at  home  I  flee 
To  the  margin  of  the  sea  ; 
Where  I  hope  for  prospects  new, 
Far  from  toil  and  care — and  you. 


THE    FIRST    "  BRADSHAW." 

A  Reminiscence  of  WTiitsun  Holidays  in  Ancient  Egypt.     From,  an  Old-Time  Tabl(e]ature. 


have  not  a  Longfellow  on  my  bookshelf,  and  j 
am  therefore  unable  to  ascertain  whether  it  I 
has  ever  appeared  in  his  collected  poems  i 
or  fugitive  pieces.  Anyway,  it  will  interest  j 
i/o?i,  my  dear  and  learned  Sir.  Its  title  is  j 

"BRIDGE." 

I  played  on  at  Bridge  at  midnight 
As  the  clocks  were  striking  the  hour, 

And  still  to  rise  from  the  table, 
Was  quite  beyond  my  power. 

I  saw  my  partner  reflecting 
On  cards  I  was  longing  to  see  ; 

And  wondered  if  he  'd  make  the  trumps 
Or  if  he  would  leave  it  to  me  ! 

But  far  from  having  such  wisdom 
On  that  lovely  night  in  May, 


How  often,  oh,  how  often, 
In  the  days  that  had  gone  by, 

I  had  played  on  at  Bridge  past  midnight 
When  the  betting  had  been  high  ! 

How  often,  oh,  how  often, 

I  had  wished  that  luck's  ebbing  tide 
Would  bear  away  my  wretched  cards 

To  my  adversaries'  side  ! 

Till  my  head  grew  hot  and  aching, 
And  my  cards  a  real  nightmare, 

And  the  burden  of  playing  a  rubber, 
Seemed  greater  than  I  could  bear. 

But  now  it  has  fallen  from  me, 

And  only  in  dreams  I  see 
The  gold  which  I  trusted  that  others 

Would  one  day  lose  to  me. 


Foolish  hope  !  the  scene  I  find 
Equals  what  I  left  behind, — 
Crowded  roads,  whose  human  tide 
Almost  emulates  Cheapside, 
Whose  hotels,  superb  and  grand, 
Seem  transplanted  from  the  Strand, 
Where  at  once  I  happen  on 
SMITH  and  BROWN  and  ROBINSON. 

Ah  !  then,  since  the  questMs  vain, 
Homeward  I  return  again, 
Fain  once  more  relief  to  seek 
From  my  comrades  of  the  week, 
By  an  ignominious  flight ; 
But  to  meet  as  I  alight, 
By  the  same  train  back  in  town— 
ROBINSON  and  SMITH  and  BROWN. 


JUNK  5,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


411 


THE    TABLETS    OF    AZIT-TIGLETH-MIPHANSI,    THE    SCRIBE. 


1.  Now  in  the  fourth  month  of  the  reign 
of  Ed-wad  the  King,  who  was  saved  from 
the  Shamrokh, 

2.  did  the  house  of  Babl-on,  by  the  side 
of  the  river, 

3.  the  dwellers  on  the  green  benches — 

4.  who  desist  not  from  speaking,  but  go 
on  till  sunrise 

5.  discussing  a  motion  for  stopping 

6.  at  midnight or  something 

7.  or  other 

8.  that 's  equally  brilliant ! 

9.  who  ask  endless  questions  (without 
any  notice) 

10.  that  never  get  answers  —  that  suit 
the  enquirer 

11 there  's  no  time  left  for 

business ; 

12.  — feel  need  of  a  respite   ....  for 
rest  and  refreshment. 

13.  Then  Arthab-al-Phur 

14.  (or,      otherwise,       Ndvukudn^vvar 
Rmemba)  who  looked  at  the  ceiling 

15.  and  longed  for  a  Cromwell  to  take 
away  baubles 

16.  &c. 

17.  the  lord  of  the  Niblikh,  the  wearer 
of  glietaz, 

18.  the  pincher  of  sand-cones  (in  fact, 
the  tee-planter  by  the  shores  of  the  ocean) 

19.  who  tarried  in  bhunkaz  .  .  . 

20.  the  splicer  of  cliques, 

21.  did  fish  out  his  mashlz,  and  brasiz, 
and  puttaz 

22.  from    behind    his    Birnj-onsiz,    and 
calling  a  liansamm  ........  put  them 

up  with  the  driver  ; 

23.  then  from  his  official  residence  did 
he  sally  forth  and  made  for  the 

24.  course  that  best  suited  his  fancy, 

VOL.  CXi. 


TENTH    FRAGMENT. 

25.  —  like  his  great  predecessor,  who 
always  saw  three  courses  open 

26.  to  choose  from  ! 

27.  Forth  went  Maik-el-Thapepri,   the 
chief  of  Thatakhsaz, 

28.  the    fisher   for    whales    (who    had 
swallowed  the  profit)  but  who 

29.  landed  a  shoal  of  uel-tudda  pauperses, 

30.  — the  Duin-naisli,  the  Addabittaluk- 
thalas-tye"rortu. 

31.  When  they  lay  on  the  deck  in  a 
gasping  condition  he  explained 

32.  to  them  all, in  the  neatest  of  speeches, 
it  was  not  them 

33.  at  all,   but  some  fish  just  behind 
them he  aimed  at ! 

34 all  ...  ced    fine, 

....  poor  consolation ! 

35.  And  Brodrikh  the  War-Lord,  the 
maker  of  armies  out  of 

36.  sketchy  materials, 

37.  — hypothetical  men  on  conjectural 
jirjix ; 

38.  to  his  six  little  statues  in  the  like- 
ness of  Amikhor 

39.  — made  chiefly  of  brass,  hammered 
freely  on  all  sides, 

40.  with  much  tin  applique  (both  now 
and  hereafter)  .... 

41.  his  spare  time  he  devoted 

42.  Shuvmen^bar  the  Urgent,    arm  in 
arm  with 

43.  the  Nubdr-an-Milnah,  whose  ermine 
was  sprouting 

44.  so  nicely  all  over  his  person, 

fine  growing  weather 

45.  the  Lord  of  the  Transvaal,  and  the 
other  place  also 

46.  — we  are  squashing  them  flat  before 
using 

AA 


47.  a  ruler,  though  the  main  lines  are 
settled. 

48.  Away,  too,  went  Mhorli  and  Karnm- 
el-Banraman, 

49.  Enri-foula  the  sturdy,  the  latest  of 
kuksha'iz 

50.  of  the  peace-breathing  brethren,  an 
honour  he  shares  with 

51.  the  home-coming  satrap, 

52.  a  kind  of    a  gentle  philanthropist 
boikhot, 

53.  amounting  to  lynch-law. 

54.  And  Uiniistan,  the  son  of  Isdad,  the 
son  of  Randi  all  over,  who  travels 

55.  in  wultruks without  any 

ticket,  x 

56.  the  chatty  companion  of  Ispal  the 
Vultcha ; 

57.  the  brightest  of  all  the  young  sparks 

that    fly  upward from   behind 

Arthab-al-Phur, 

58.  Just  a  bit  liarum-skar&m 

59 even  sparks  are  a  danger, — 

60.  when  they  find  their  way  into 

61.  magazines  and  newspapers 

62.  or  they  might  even  light  in  some 
valuable  office 

63.  some  day there  's  no  telling. 

64.  All    these    took    their    rest    after 
arduous  labours 

65.  with  numerous  others  and  came  back 
refreshed — 

66.  to  hear  Kdlduel,  and  Channin, 

67.  Mistawir,  and  Jondiliin, 

68.  Tomilokh,  Phlin  and  Bukhstan,  Odo- 
kherti, 

69.  Phlavin, — all  the  latta-deh-siseroz 

70.  who  charm  and  delight  us 

71.  till  we  go  home, 

72.  —  on~atretchaz!  E.  T.  R. 


412 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHAEIVARI. 


[JUNE  5,  1901. 


TO 


GENTLE  lady,  since  I  saw  you  last — 

(Ah,  those  glorious  weeks  of  summer  weather !) 
Dreary  months  on  dreary  months  have  passed 
Since  they  sped  away — alas,  too  fast ! — 

Those  enchanted  hours  we  spent  together. 

You  of  my  poor  heart  again  are  queen, 

Scorning  other  claims  and  dominations, 
Other  fainter  loves  that  came  between 
(Ah,  how  futile  now  they  seem,  how  mean  ! ) 
Now  must  yield  their  rival  usurpations. 

Yes,  my  all  too  fickle  heart  you  bind, 

Lady,  with  the  chain  of  old  that  bound  me, 

All  the  glowing  past  I  call  to  mind, 

All  that  intervenes  I  leave  behind, 
Yielding  to  your  spells  that  now  surround  me. 

"What  should  stay  me  ? — 'tis  no  idle  shame, 

(If  the  world  derides  me,  lady,  let  it !) 
I  would  fain  once  more  your  greeting  claim, 
Grasp  your  hand,  and  call  upon  your  name — 
But — upon  my  soul,  I  quite  forget  it. 


THE  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

A  GREAT  THOUGHT  FOB  EVERY  DAY  IN  THE  YEAR. 

SECOND  SERIES. 

V.— THE  BERNARD  SHAW  SECTION. 
(Continued  from  May.) 

20TH — 22ND. — A  constant  and  fatal  error  with  play-mongers  is 
to  imagine  that  there  are  themes,  within  the  scope  of  their 
intelligence,  which  can  appeal  at  once  to  the  gilded  Semite  of  the 
Stalls  and  the  School  Board  alumni  of  the  gallery.  I  say  they 
have  no  single  sentiment  of  ipleasure  in  common.  At  times 
they  are  bored  by  the  same  things,  but  interested  in  the  samfe 
things  never.  It  may  satisfy  Mr.  KIPLING'S  sense  of  the  realities 
to  assert  that  "  the  Colonel's  lady  and  Mrs.  O'GRADY  "  (on  the 
strength)  "  are  sisters  under  the  skin."  But,  to  take  him  on 
his  own  restricted  lines,  I  happen  myself  to  have  made  a 
study  of  armies  (see  my  Arms  and  the  Man),  and  I  differ  from 
him  fearlessly  and  without  pity. 

23RD— 25TH.— I  have  little  sympathy  for  the  writer  who  is 
lured  from  the  strait  road  of  Art  by  a  passion  for  pedantic 
consistency  in  the  general  purposes,  if  any,  of  his  drama.  I 
hesitate  to  quote  myself  as  a  brilliant  example  of  the  contrary 
method ;  but  I  still  think  it  was  a  happy  thought  to  put  my 
most  modern  criticisms  into  the  mouth  of  a  contemporary  of 
OCTAVIAN  ;  and  another,  though  not  quite  so  happy,  to  assign 
the  exposition  of  my  best  twentyfirst-century  philosophy  (for 
it  will  take  till  then  for  the  public  to  apprehend  me)  to  a 
"  Devil's  Disciple  "  of  the  eighteenth.  I  may  have  faults,  but 
a  taste  for  academic  purity  is  not  one  of  them. 

26TH.— Nor  do  I  pretend  to  say  beforehand  whether  any  given 
play  of  mine  is  intended  for  a  tragedy  or  a  farce.  I  choose  to 
leave  this  matter  to  the  audience  to  decide,  having  a  rooted 
belief  in  the  subjective  plasticity  of  all  great  work.  I  have 
known  my  sentiments  elicit  laughter  when  I  had  privately  antici- 
pated tears  ;  and  I  have  seen  the  house  divided,  pit  from  stalls, 
as  to  which  of  these  two  receptions  should  be  accorded  to  a 
speech  of  which  the  intention  was  equally  ambiguous  to  myself. 
In  the  game  of  poker,  as  I  am  given  to  believe,  the  most 
brilliant  artists  are  those  who  play  without  any  settled 
principles  of  their  own,  thus  permitting  their  motives  to  escape 
observation.  Misunderstand  yourself,  if  you  would  make 
doubly  sure  of  a  position  as  one  of  the  Great  Misunderstood. 

27TH.— I  merit,  of  course,  the  abuse  of  the  critics,  who  find 

emselves  at  a  loss  to  arrange  their  labels  on  accepted  lines  ; 


and  the  public  is  inclined  to  grow  captious  through  inability  to 
confirm  their  suspicions  of  an  underlying  sense  in  my  plays  ; 
but  without  some  guarantee  of  popular  disfavour.  One 
trembles  to  imagine  what  will  become  of  one's  hesitating 
self-esteem. 

28TH. — To  the  great  Artist  there  is  always  something  ine- 
briative  in  urisuccess ;  and  though  there  may  be  danger  of 
over-exultation  induced  by  a  run  of  splendid  failures,  it  is 
better  to  perish  this  way  than  to  die,  as  some  successful 
authors  have  died,  of  a  fatty  degeneration  of  the  brain. 

29rn  TO  SlST. — In  conclusion  I  would  join  issue  with  those 
rash  intellects  that  have  assigned  to  me,  thus  early,  a  per- 
manent seat  among  the  Immortals.  Admitted  that  I  have  the 
advantage  of  SOPHOCLES  and  GOETHE  in  enjoying  a  wider  range 
of  vision,  I  am  very  little,  if  at  all,  their  superior  in  point  of 
actual  genius.  But  in  my  own  case,  as  in  theirs,  I  protest 
against  the  indefinite  survival  of  reputations.  The  ages  should 
always  advance  from  great  to  greater,  as  their  purview  of 
humanity  largens.  And  if  this  little  collection  of  homilies 
should  avail  to  check  that  tendency  to  Cock-Shawolatry  which 
threatens,  among  the  chosen  few,  to  perpetuate  my  claims  as 
an  Authority,  neither  I  nor  my  readers  will  rightly  grudge  the 
pains  we  shall  severally  have  expended  upon  it.  O.  8. 


AN    ODE. 

TO  AN  OLD  FAVOURITE. 

[It  is  maintained  that  the  "  shooting  "  of  corns  on  the  approach  of  damp 
weather  is  due  to  the  rapid  formation  of  protective  tissue,  a  provision  of 
Nature  dating  back  to  a  period  several  thousand  centuries  before  boots  were 
invented.] 

COME,  shall  I  now  address,  or  rather,  dress  thee, 

Companion  of  my  waking,  dreaming  hours  ? 
How  may  I  best  in  fitting  terms  express  thee, 

Life-long  curtailer  of  my  walking  powers, 
One  that,  though  trodden  on,  art  yet  my  master, 
Reverse  of  friend  that  sticketh  closer  than  a — plaster  I 

I  '11  sing  an  ode,  for  though  I  'm  far  from  doting 

Upon  an  ancient  nuisance  such  as  you, 
,         I  see  you  're  white-washed — here  I  'm  freely  quoting 

The  April  North  American  Review, 
Where  Dr.  LouiS1  ROBINSON  discourses 
About  the  common  human  callus  and  its  sources. 

Our  ancestors  in  every  sort  of  weather 

Were  forced  to  hunt,  he  says,  for  food  each  day. 
All  innocent  of  manufactured  leather, 

Their  pushful  feet  were  shod  in  Nature's  way  ; 
Which  cuticle,  whene'er  the  glass  said  "  Rainy," 
Would  grow  and  thicken  with  an  instinct  really  brainy  I 

Thus  were  they  soled  and  heeled,  and  willy-willy, 

With  automatic  and  impromptu  boots, 
Whose  "  vascular  and  sensitive  papillae  " 

Still  linger  with  one  when  a  pet  corn  shoots, 
And,  active  through  millenniums,  are  transmitted 
To  punish  those  who  with  degenerate  shoes  are  fitted. 

Let  us  be  soothed — this  extra  sole-material 

That  on  one's  nerves  will  now  and  then  impinge 
And  make  one  hobble  at  a  pace  funereal 

Is,  after  all,  a  Pre-historic  Twinge  ; 
'Tis  but  a  miracle  of  atavism 
When  clouds  impending  give  your  toe  a  paroxysm  I 

So  then,  my  pet,  my  venerable  relic 

Descended  from  a  spacious  unshod  age, 
I  '11  bear  you  still  with  temper  that 's  angelic, 
Nor  vex  you,  as  of  old,  with  bootless  rage  ; 
My  aneroid  's  "  Set  Fair,"  and  hence  the  reason 
For  close-time  to  your  shooting  and  my  game-leg  season  I 

A.  A.  S. 


JUNE  5,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


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JUNE  5,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


415 


BANK    HOLIDAY— AND    AFTER. 
(Page  from  a  Holiday-maker's  Diary.) 

Monday.— The  usual  thing;  up  to  twelve 
noon  know  it.  After  then,  suppose  it. 

Tuesday.— Resting  a  bit  after  yesterday. 

High  old  time.     But  rather  a  head  this 

morning.    But  what's  the  odds  so  long 

as  you  're  happy  ?    And  happy  I  was— no 

irror. 

Wednesday.— Still  a  bit  off  colour.  Can't 
be  expected  at  the  works.  Leastways,  if 
1  am,  why,  they  can  "continue  the  move- 
ment "—as  they  say  in  the  Volunteers 
— and  go  on  expecting. 

Thursday.— Why,  it  seems  ages  since 
Vfonday.  Just  beginning  to  feel  the  rest. 
Wonderful  fixture,  bank  holiday.  Quite 
.eaves  a  fixed  impression. 

Friday.— Wonder  how  things  are  going 
at  the  works.  Expect  nothing  much.  Know 
all  my  pals  won't  have  turned  up  yet.  It 
san't  be  all  work  and  no  play.  Bank  holi- 
day doesn't  come  often. 

Saturday. — The  six  days  gone!  Well, 
done  so  before.  And  as  to  work.  Well, 
[  must  think  seriously  about  it  next  week. 


PEOPLE  WHO  PALL  ON  ME. 
III.— THE  GIRL  WHO  DOTES 'ON  LITERATURE. 

I  MEET  her  constantly  during  that 
period  of  storm  and  stress  known  as  the 
London  Season.  At  other  times  she 
haunts  the  various  Spas  (in  filial  atten- 
dance on  various  Pa's)  so  persistently, 
that  in  a  moment  of  verbal  aberration,  I 
once  termed  her  the  hydro-headed  mon- 
ster. It  was  rude  of  me ;  but  I  find  that 
taking  the  waters  dilutes  my  naturally 
excellent  temper. 

I  feel  sure  that  she  hasn't  the  least 
regard  for — or  the  faintest  inkling  as  to 
what  constitutes — literature  in  reality. 
That  is  the  annoying  part.  But  you  can't 
tell  her  so  (unless  you  're  a  brute),  and 
this  makes  it  more  annoying  still. 

As  a  rule,  it  is  only  the  very  latest  book 
that  interests  her.  And  she  gets  it  up — 
to  use  an  uncouth  expression — just  like 
other  girls  "get  up"  Bridge  or  Ping 
Pong.  It  promises  to  be  fashionable  for  a 
while,  and  serves  to  enrich  one's  small 
talk.  It's — well,  Mudie-ficent,  but  it  isn't 
literature. 

Sometimes,  however,  this  girl  has  been 
known  to  patronise  the  Classics.  She  may 
have  had  a  ticket  for  a  literary  dinner 
and  thinks  she  will  be  called  upon  to 
discuss,,  say,  SHELLEY  during  the  fish 
course,  and  SCHOPENHAUER  while  toying 
with  the  savouries.  Then,  with  a  recollec- 
tion of  the  way  in  which  she  "did  "  the 
Art^treasures  of  Italy  in  ten  days,  she 
will  rush  through  the  literary  galleries  o 
the  Immortals  with  an  anxious  eye  fixec 
upon  some  popular  literary  guide  so  as  to 
find  what  she  ought  to  think  about  these 


SO    SWEET    OF    HER ! 

Mrs.  Chatterleigh.  "FANCY,  DEAR,  AT  THE  BROWNS'  LAST  NIGHT  THEY  WERE  ALL  SAYING 

HOW  GLAD  THEY  WERE  TO  HEAR  YOU  WERE  AT  LAST  ENGAGED  !  OF  COURSE  I  DIDN'T 
BELIEVE  THE  REPORT,  DEAR,  AND  SAID  [  WONDERED  ANY  ONE  COULD  BK  SO  STUPID  AS  TO 
IMAGINE  ANYTHING  SO  ABSURD.'" 


"dear  poets"  and  "dreadfully  clever" 
philosophers. 

Perhaps  this  lady  is  the  most  trying 
when  she  knows  a  real  live  poet.  I 
wonder  he  's  alive — but  then,  perhaps,  the 
acquaintance  is  not  very  close.  Unless 
you  wish  to  be  put  down  as  an  intellectual 
pariah,  you  mustn't  say  you  never  heard 
of  him  before.  A  few  pertinent  questions 
will  doubtless  enlighten  you  as  to  who 
this  genius  is.  Probably  your  old  friend 
Occ.  VERSEMAN,  who  once  published  a 
volume  at  the  earnest  request  of  himself. 
But  don't  disturb  her  simple  faith.  Let 
her  think  the  itinerant  musician  is  a  dis- 
guised nobleman. 

The  language  which  this  lady  speaks  is 
common  to  all  with  a  bent  for  gush.  Her 
conversation  may  be  described  as  a  sac- 
charine sea  strewn  with  adjectival  and 
adverbial  wreckage.  Useless  to  im- 
press upon  her  that  wise  proverb  "All 
that's  published  is  not  sold."  To  this 


doting  damsel  print  is  but  a  synonym  for 
fame.  It  may  be  puerile :  yet,  what  is 
dotage  but  second  childhood. 


HONOUR  MEASURE. 

TWENTY  years  of  public  service  equal 
a  paragraph  in  the  papers. 

Two  paragraphs  in  the  papers  equal  a 
leading  article  in  a  journal  of  standing. 

Four  leading  articles  equal  the  freedom 
of  a  provincial  city. 

Three  freedoms  of  provincial  cities 
equal  a  banquet  of  honour  in  London. 

Two  banquets  of  honour  in  London 
equal  a  dozen  speeches  at  the  openings  of 
bazaars. 

Four  dozen  openings  of  bazaars  equal 
an  occasional  paragraph  in  an  outer  sheet. 

One  paragraph  once  a  month  in  an  outer 
sheet  equals  public  neglect. 

Six  months  of  public  neglect  equal 
oblivion. 


416 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JUKE  5,  1901. 


CULTUEED    CONVEESATIONS. 

II. — ARTISTIC. 

SCENE. — The  Academy,  on  flne  day  the  end  of  May.  Captain 
DORMER,  who  "knows  what  he  likes,"  'but  doesn't  under- 
stand pictures,  is  being  told  what  he  ought  to  admire  by 
Mrs.  ONSLOW,  who,  though  demure,  is  very  decided,  and 
shows  a  feeling  of  responsibility  as  to  the  weight  of  her 
judgment.  Captain  DORMER  is  cheery  and  docile,  and 
anxiously  agrees  with,  Mrs.  ONSLOW  before  she  has  given  her 
opinion. 

Mrs.  Onslow  (in  front  of  portrait  of  the  Misses  Wertheimer). 
Oh  I  I'm  sure  this  must  be  a  SARGENT.  Do  look,  Captain 
DORMER. 

Captain  Dormer  (bewildered).  A  sergeant — this  isn't  a  mili- 
tary picture — it 's  two  girls.  Ah !  (Catching  sight  of  name.) 
Yes,  I  see  what  you  mean,  of  course.  Anyone  can  tell  that — 
SARGENT  !  good  Heavens, — yes  !  At  a  glance.  Now,  don't  you 

think  that 's  rather [Undecided  pause. 

Mrs.  0.  (quickly  and  decidedly).  I  do,  indeed  ! 
Captain  D.  (relieved).  So  do  I !     Do  you  suppose,  now,  that 
vase  is  meant  as  an  advertisement  for  the  curios,  and  so  on — 

old  China  ?    I  must  say,  these  two  ladies  are  really 

Mrs.  O.  You  're  perfectly  right.  (They  pass  on,  Captain 
DORMER  wondering  wliat  on  earth  their  opinion  of  the  picture 
is,  exactly.  In  front  of  "  Intercepted  Letter,"  by  FRITZ.) 

Captain  D.  (really  interested).  I  say,  do  you  know,  I  call  this 
rather  capital.  But  what  on  earth  is  the  Johnnie  in  such  a 
rage  about  ?  Awful  shame,  poor  little  woman !  "Why,  anyhow, 
you  can  see  she 's  been  doing  a  bit  of  knitting.  There  can't 
be  much  harm  in  her.  I  'm  afraid  you  don't  like  it. 

Mrs.  0,  I  regard  it  as  mere  reporting.  Scarcely  a  picture 
at  all. 

Captain  D.  Indeed  !  By  Jove — and  I  thought  the  great  point 
in  a  picture  was  to  tell  a  story.  Of  course  it  ought  to  stand  out, 
too  ;  I  love  a  picture  that  stands  out  well.  [Doubtful  pause. 
Mrs.  O.  Yet,  many  critics  think  one  should  look  at  the  subject 
of  a  picture  as  though  a  window.  You  often  hear  the  expres- 
sion "  wqll  in  the  picture,"  don't  you  ? 

Captain.   So  you  do — I  suppose.    Now,  what  price  this  ?    I 
mean,  what  is  your  feeling  about  this  portrait  of  Mrs.  RUSSELL  ? 
SARGENT  again,  I  see. 
Mrs.  0.  Most  interesting  ! 

Captain  D.  "What 's  that  sort  of  silvery  thing,  an  egg-boiler, 
or  a  Greek  lamp — or  what  ?  .  Rum  thing  to  put  in  a  picture. 

Mrs.  O.  Don't  you  see,  it 's  just  to  give  a  note  of  brightness — 
to  "  egayer"  (as  the  French  say)  the  picture  ? 

Captain  D.  (illuminated).  By  Jove !  I  say,  how  deep  these 
chaps  are,  aren  't  they  ?  Well,  I  think  this  is  a  jolly  good  exhi- 
bition, although  the  pictures  off  the  walls,  Mrs.  ONSLOW 

Mrs.  O.  Let  us  look  at  the  statuary.  Oh,  how  beautiful  this 
frieze  is  !  I  simply  worship  metal  work.  Don't  you  ? 

Captain  D.  Metal  work,  eh  ?  Yes,  it 's  rather  jolly.  A  bit 
cold,  though.  (After  thought)  Perhaps  that 's  why  they  call 
it  a  freeze.  Do  you  think  so  ? 

Mrs.  0.  (laughing).  How  you  cling  to  the  old  humour. 
Captain  D.  Humour  ?  I  didn't  know  I  'd  made  a  joke ;  but  it 's 

all  right,  if  you  like  it -Let 's  sit  down  a  bit ;  I  'm  sure  yo\i  're 

tired. 

(They  rest  in  front  of  a  landscape.) 

Captain  D.  (nervously.)  Er— how  jolly.it  would  be  if  we  were 
sitting  under  that  tree,  wouldn't  it  ?    xlt  looks  awfully  jolly, 
don't  you  think  so?  (Slight  pause)  And  so  well  drawn  too  / 
Mrs.  0.    The    colouring  of    Yseult    by   FRANK   DICKSEE— is 

beautiful — so  warm  and  glowing 

Captain  D.  Yes,  I  daresay,  but  (frankly)  she  's  not  my  style. 
Mrs.  0.  Isn't  she,  indeed?  (rising).     Well,  thank  you  so  much 
for  taking  me  round.    I  feel  I  've  not  seen  half— but  that 's 
really  the  best  way,  you  know — 


Captain  D.  (quickly).  You  mean,  to  do  it  in  time.  Yes ;  I 
shall  be  delighted  to  come  again,  if  you  will.  Fond  of  the — a — 
Old  Masters  ? 

Mrs.  O.  I  adore  them.    Which  are  your  favourites  ? 

Captain  D.  (thoughtfully).  Isn't  there  a  chap  called  JONES — 
something  JONES  ?  Oh,  no ;  he  writes  plays,  doesn't  he  ?  Well 
— (suddenly)  oh ,  yes ;  RAPHAEL,  and  all  those  fellows.  Splendid  1 
Nothing  like  it  here,  is  there  ? 

Mrs.  0.  What  a  charming  thing  this  is  of  Venice. 

Captain  D.  Yes — and  the  Viennese,  I  believe,  are  so  very 
nice.  [A  pause. 

Mrs.  O.  Fond  of  pastels  ? 

Captain  D.  Can't  say  I  am.  I  hate  those  perfumed  burning 
things.  Must  you  go  now?  Well,  we'll  go  to  the  Classical 
Concert  on  Saturday,  won't  we,  Mrs.  ONSLOW  ?  Au  revoir! 

[He  puts  her  in  a  hansom  and"  walks  down  Piccadilly,  feeling 
his  tone  has  been  raised  but  his  spirits  a  little  depressed. 


THE    SEASON. 

Lo,  it 's  the  season  1    The  talk  is  of  marriages, 

Maidens  and  bachelors  made  into  one  ; 
Dowagers  driving  in  all  sorts  of  carriages, 

Resolute  Benedicks  watching  the  fun. 
Band-boxy,  up-to-date,  deuced ly  pretty  girls, 

Breezy  old  bucks  who  date  back  to  the  Ark ; 
Guardsmen  who  chaff  and  are  chaffed  by  the  witty  girls — 

Guardsmen  are  always  in  place  in  the  Park. 

Dinners  and  dances — we  take  them  all  dashingly — 

Staircases  happily  crowded  with  girls. 
Snowy  white  shoulders,  and  gojden  hair  flashingly 

Gleaming  and  glancing  with  diamonds  and  pearls. 
Music  that  swings  you  and  makes  you  feel  supple,  too, 

Bliss  for  your  partner  and  rapture  for  you  ; 
Fans  made  for  one  that  can  cover  a  couple,  too ; 

Nooks  for  the  lucky  ones  sitting  it  through. 

Now  we  can  eye  with  an  air  supercilious 
.  Countrified  cousins  at  function  and  show  ; 
Smile  while  their  vigorous  bands  Piccadilly  us 

In  to  the  pictures  or  out  to  the  Row. 
Catalogued,  ardent,  they  throng  the  Academy, 

Prattle  with  pleasure  or  shudder  with  shocks, 
Startled  by  nudities  Evy  or  Adamy, 

Thrilled  by  the  portraits  of  children  in  frocks. 

Ladies  with  curls  (and  a  patent  for  curling  'em), 

Men  with  moustaches  and  looking  their  best, 
See  how  they  vanish  in  hansoms  to  Hurlingham, 

All  irreproachably  booted  and  dressed. 
Sweet  tetes-a-tetes  that  mean  much  without  saying  it, 

Lawns  of  cool  grass  that  invite  you  to  stroll ; 
Ponies  and  polo  and  prodigies  playing  it, 

Turning  and  charging  and  striking  for  goal. 

Then  we  go  whirling — that 's  always  the  way  we  go — 

Off  after  dinner  to  HAWTREY  or  MAUDE  ; 
Starched,  patent-leathered  and  black  to  the  play  we  go  ; 

Some  of  us  laugh  while  the  others  applaud. 
Some  of  us  think  that  our  plays  are  too  clever  now, 

Some  of  us  hold  that  the  drama  is  dead. 
Some  swear  by  ROBERTS,  who  's  better  than  ever  now  ; 

So  to  our  supper,  and  then  to  our  bed. 

Yes,  it 's  the  season  !  our  time  for  frivolity  I 

Off  with  our  troubles  for  once  in  a  while  I 
See  with  a  ripple  of  jesting  and  jollity 

Smoky  old  London  breaks  out  in  a  smile  ! 
Racketings,  jaun tings  and  innocent  devilry. 

Hearts  beating  madly,  but  always  in  tune, 
Playtime  and  pleasure  and  rushes  of  revelry — 

That  is  the  way  of  the  season  in  June  1  R.  C.  L. 


JUNB  5,  1901  ] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


417 


A    GOOD    BEGINNING. 

Gipsy  Fortune-teller.  "PRETTY  GENTLEMAN,  YOU  WILL  HAVE  LUCK  TO-DAY  I' 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

IT  seems  almost  a  pity  to  have  given  forth  The  Further  Memoirs 
of  Marie  Bashkirtseff  (GRANT  RICHARDS).  There  is  so  little  in  this 
collection  except  her  letters  to  GUY  DB  MAUPASSANT  which  could 
add  anything  to  the  extraordinary  -wonder  of  daring  self-revela- 
tion produced  by  her  "  dear  diary  "  of  a  few  years  back.  On 
reading  these  scrappy  memoirs  one  is  inclined  to  question  whether 
this  strange  girl  genius  would  have  ever  attained  the  heights 
to  which  she  aspired.  Her  one  ardent  prayer  was  to  be  a  star. 
But  it  was  with  short  meteoric  brilliancy  that  she  just  flashed 
across  the  Parisian  firmament  and  then  sadly  vanished,  leaving 
a  memory  of  complex  fascinations.  Her  short  correspondence 
with  GUY  DB  MAUPASSANT  is  bright  with  girlish  conceits  and 
admiration,  a  strong  contrast  to  that  decadent  author's  affecta- 
tion of  boredom.  MARIE  BASHKIRTSEFF  reveals  herself  as  a 
conflicting  mixture  of  small  vanities  that  is  surprising  in  such 
an  ambitious  nature,  till  one  remembers  her  youth,  and  then 
these  little  oddities  of  character  make  her  individuality  deci- 
dedly more  convincing,  and  one  takes  her  as  a  girl  utterly  out 
of  the  common,  a  problem  to  be  studied. 

RICHARD  MARSH  wastes  very  little  time  on  unnecessary 
description,  no  matter  how  strong  the  temptation  to  wander 
from  the  straight  path  of  story-telling  may  be.  In  his  novel  of 
Mrs.  Musgrave  and  her  Husband  (JOHN  LONG)  he  has  given  a 
strange  tale,  and,  as  it  appears  to  the  Baron,  a  decidedly 
original  one.  So  death-dealing  is  he  in  this  tragedy  that  he 
seems  to  have  said  to  himself,  "Reason  thus  with  Life  y  If  I 
do  lose  thee  I  do  lose  a  thing  Which  none  but  fools  would  keep, 


A  breath  thou  art,"  and  so  five  of  his  characters,  including  ah 
innocent  babe,  are  deprived  of  their  power  to  "carp  vital 
airs."  The  story  is  of  the  De  Lunatico  Inquirendo  order,  and 
more  than  this,  as  in  a  wink  darkly,  the  Baron  may  not  hint. 
Coincidence  that  the  author  of  this  so-to-speak  Broadmoorish 
tragedy  should  be  a  "  Marsh."  The  proverb  as  to  the  insanity 
of  certain  hares  refers  to  those  of  the  Marsh,  not,  as  so  often 
and  always  erroneously  quoted,  "a  March  hare."  The  Baron 
begs  to  introduce  Mrs.  Musgrave  and  her  Husband  to  his  friends. 

A  Woman  Derelict  (JOHN  LONG),  by  MAY  .CROMMELIN,  is  the 
story  of  a  woman  who,  after  a  great  shock,  has  lost  her 
memory,  much  as  did  the  Count  in  The  Cigarette  Maker's 
Romance,  and  who  recovers  it  in  a  somewhat  similar  fashion. 
The  novel  lacks  the  tender  charm  of  MARION  CRAWFORD'S  story, 
and  the  reader's  interest  in  the  heroine,  which  is  aroused  to  a 
certain  pitch  of  puzzlement  by  the  style  of  narration  involving 
the  striking  use  of  italics  almost  as  freely  employed  as  they 
were  in  very  early  nineteenth-century  novels,  soon  flags  and 
would  gradually  die  out  were  it  not  revived  by  the  introduction 
of  a  dramatic  situation  of  which,  however,  nothing  particular 
comes,  as,  after  a  considerable  waste  of  existence,  the  un- 
fortunate heroine,  who,  when  "  a  little  wanting,"  might  either 
have  become  the  wife  of  her  affectionate  doctor  (if  he  hadn't 
happened  to  have  a  crazy  Jane  of  a  wife  still  living),  or  who 
might,  on  recovering  her  memory,  have  rejoined  her  loving 
husband  (had  he  not  quietly  married  again  and  been  blessed 
with  a  child),  comes  to  an  untimely  but  most  opportune  end. 

Sa  Majeste  L' Amour,  by  MAX  O'RELL  (CALMANN  LEVY,  Paris), 
is  a  delightfully  amusing  companion  for  the  leisure  hour  of  an 


418 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JUNK  5,  1901. 


Englishman,  for  a  Londoner  especially.  MAX  O'RELL  is  as  fair 
as  it  is  possible  for  a  foreigner  to  be  when  criticising  the 
"tricks  and  the  manners  "  of  any  other  country  but  his  own. 
MAX  O'RELL  knows  his  England  and  his  London  better  than  do 
most  Frenchmen  ;  he  is  a  keen  observer,  has  genuine  humour, 
and  jis  a  writer  he  is  very  amusing,  because  he  refuses  to  take 
anything  seriously.  "Well  does  he  say,  "Pour  la  matrone  bri- 
tannique  les  mots  francais  et  immoral  sont  synonymes  ;  mais  je 
voits  assure  que  les  Anglais  intelligents  se  moquent  de  cette  dame 
tout  autant  que  nous."  MAX  O'RELL  knows  his  bourgeois  bri- 
tannique  so  perfectly,  and  his  bourgeoise  too,  that  it  is  sur- 
prising, to  the  Baron  at  least,  how  so  sharp-sighted  and  so 
keen-witted  a  writer  is  unable  to  avoid  the  ordinary  pitfalls 
into  which  a  foreigner  writing  about  England  and  the  English 
[and  in  a  general  way  represented  by  Count  Smorltork  in 
Pickurick,  who  stays  here  "  Long — ver'  long — time,  fortnight 
more  "]  invariably  tumbles  headforemost.  Occasionally  one  is 
puzzled  to  know  whether  he  is  being  uncommonly  satirical  at 
the  expense  of  intelligibility,  as,  for  example,  when  he  writes, 
"En  Angleterre,  la  belle-mere  n'est  pas  le  sujet  de  plaisanteries 
aussi  ameres  qu'en  France.  La  raison  est  toute  simple.  La 
mere  anglaise  n'a  point  d'autorite  sur  son  ftls.  Comment  pour- 
rait-elle  esperer  en  avoir  sur  son  gendref"  Yet,  at  whose 
expense  do  our  English  dramatists,  our  satirical  artists,  our 
song  and  novel  writers,  invariably  obtain  a  laugh,  if  not 
at  fflat  of  the  Mother-in-law  ?  If  it  were  not  so,  how  comes  it 
that  the  English  so  thoroughly  appreciate  the  belle-mere  in 
French  farces  ?  However,  this  is  only  a  chance  sample,  but  of 
such  mistakes  as  an  Englishman  of  similar  calibre  to  MAX  O'RELL 
would  make,  were  he,  after  long  residence  in  France,  to  give 
his  impression  of  French  men  and  women,  especially  Parisians. 
There  is,  the  Baron  is  informed,  a  good  translation  ;  but  surely, 
in  these  days,  even  those  who  "cannot  speak"  nor  write 
"  your  so  beautiful  language,"  can  at  least  read  and  thoroughly 
enjoy  Sa  Majest6  L' Amour  (a  rather  misleading  title,  by  the 
way)  in  the  original  "  as  he  is  wrote."  THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


THE    DISEASE    OF    GENIUS. 

[All  genius,  according  to  medical  materialism,  may  be  accounted  for  by 
abnormal  physical  conditions.] 

Chorus  of  Aspirants. 
FILLED  with  all-expectant  yearning 
To  the  door  of  light  and  learning 
"Where  the  lamp  of  truth  is  burning 

Eagerly  we  flock ; 
And  with  breathless  expectation 
Here  we  humbly  take  our  station 
"While  upon  his  habitation 

Venture  we  to  knock. 

i 

Enter  Medico-Materialist. 
Incarnate  "Wisdom,  hail ! 

Before  thy  learned  brow 
Thy  servants  do  not  fail 

To  bow ; 

"Without  thy  aid  we  can't 
Accomplish  our  affair — 
Incarnate  "Wisdom,  grant 
Our  prayer  1 

M.  M.  Rise,  gentlemen,  and  tell  me  who  ye  be, 

And  what  it  is  that  ye  would  ask  of  me. 
Chorus.  Aspirants  to  fame  are  we, 

Anxious  all  to  leave  a  name 
That  shall  ever  honoured  be 
Ou  the  roll  of  fame. 

Some  to  letters,  some  to  art, 
Some  to  politics  aspire ; 


Some  would  play  a  SHAKSPEAEE'S  part, 
Others  SAPPHO'S  lyre. 

Teach  us  how  we  each  may  rise 

To  such  enviable  state — 
Thou,  in  whom  all  knowledge  lies, 

Teach  us  to  be  great  I 

M.  M.  Friends,  I  will  teach  you.    First  remembar,  please, 
That  genius  is  simply  a  disease. 

Chorus.  Disease  ! 

M .  M.  •        Undoubtedly.    It  indicates 

Abnormal,  extraordinary  states. 
You  doubt  me  ?    Could  an  ordinary  fellow 
Have  written  plays  like  Hamlet  and  Othello  ? 

Chorus.  No  indeed  !    No  indeed  ! 

"We  are  healthy  and  sane, 
But  we  all  are  agreed 

'Twouldn't  enter  our  brain 

To  write  such  a  play  as  Othello,  King  Lear,  or  Hamlet  the 
Dane. 

M.  M.  Well,  if  ordinary  mortals  write  their  ordinary  plays 
In  their  ordinary  language  and  their  ordinary  ways, 
There  must  be  some  abnormal  cause,  it 's  very  clear  to  us, 
Accounting  for  the  symptoms  of  abnormal  genius. 

For  the  secret  of  CARLYLE'S  success  we  needn't  travel  far ; 
The  symptoms  clearly  indicate  duodenal  catarrh  ; 
Redundant  cerebellum  caused  the  wisdom  of  old  Solon, 
"While  Fox's  Martyrs  indicate  a  much  disordered  colon. 

The  busts  of  WILLIAM  SHAKSPEARE  that  Italians  make  for  us 
Without  a  doubt  suggest  a  case  of  hydrocephalus  ; 
The  diseases  of  the  moderns  I  'd  swear  to  on  the  Bible, 
If  it  weren't  for  the  terribly  expensive  law  of  libel. 

Chorus.  Then,  learned  Sir,  we  gather  that  without 
Disease  we  never  can  be  great  ? 

M.  M.  No  doubt. 

Tell  me  the  bent  of  each  one's  aspirations, 
And  I  '11  at  once  prepare  inoculations. 
They  may,  of  course,  prove  fatal,  but  we  '11  chance  it. 
Just  wait  a  moment  while  I  fetch  my  lancet. 

[Exit  M.  M. 
Chorus.  Wo  !  wo  !    Where  shall  we  go  ? 

What  are  we  in  for  ?    I'm  sure  I  don't  know — 
All  the  diseases 
This  gentleman  pleases 
To  put  in  our  bodies  to  prosper  and  grow. 

Of  course  it  is  splendid  to  write  problem  plays, 
And  to  reap  a  fair  harvest  of  shekels  and  praise  ; 

While,  if  we  keep  healthy, 

We'll  never  grow  wealthy, 
But  still  be  mere  nobodies  all  of  our  days. 

And  yet  if  disease  is  the  sine  qua  non 
That  glory  and  fame  are  dependent  upon — 

Hark  !  hark  !  We  can  hear  him 

Concocting  his  serum ! 
Perhaps,  on  the  whole,  we  had  better  be  gone. 


"BY  THE  SILVER  SEA." 

Sea-side.  Tripper — none  too  clean  in  appearance  —  charters 
mthing  machine.  Smart-looking  schoolboy  (about  to  enter  next 
machine),  loq.  I  say,  Ma,  I  wish  that  dirty  fellow  wouldn't 
jatlie  here. 

Mama.  Why,  TOMMY  ?  If  people  of  that  sort  were  to  bathe, 
.hey  'd  bo  as  clean  as  you,  you  know. 

Tommy  (eyeing  Tripper  closely).  Not  in  once,  Mama  I 


JUNK  5,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


419 


NOTES  OF  A  DOG  O'   WAR. 

["  It  is  said  that  complaint  is  made  in  Germany 
that  the  military  hounds  employed  in  the  Army  for 
outpost  work  do  not  sufficiently  appreciate  the 
importance  of  their  duties." — Evening  Paper.] 

GUARD  has  left  me  here  on  this  hill  near 
a  cluster  of  trees  and  pointed  to  a  white 
object  yonder.  Inspect  it  after  a  run  of  a 
thousand  yards  and  find  it  only  a  helmet. 
Much  more  interesting  if  it  had  been  a 
hare.  Man  wearing  the  helmet  suppose  one 
of  the  enemy.  Gives  me  a  biscuit.  "Wag 
my  tail.  Suppose  my  guard  would  like 
me  to  bark.  Not  me ;  why  should  I  ? 
Chap  in  the  helmet  quite  friendly.  Have 
no  end  of  a  game  with  him.  He  throws  a 
drum  stick  for  me  to  recover.  Recover 
it.  Found  it  difficult  to  recognise  my 
friend  on  my  return,  as  he  is  lost  in  a 
whole  battalion  that  have  assembled 
during  my  run.  As  I  can't  find  my  man, 
scud  away  to  my  original  position  near 
the  cluster  of  trees  on  the  hill.  Listen  ! 
Tramp  of  feet  coming  another  way.  Lie 
down  for  a  quiet  snooze.  After  my 
run  tired.  Prick  up  my  ears.  More 
tramping  of  feet  in  yet  another  direction. 
Shall  I  bark  ?  Don't  think  so.  Far  better 
to  have  a  doze.  Hallo  !  What 's  that  ? 
Why,  if  it  isn't  a  rabbit !  Off  I  go !  Can't 
bother  any  more  about  the  enemy.  My 
object  in  life  is  to  chase  bunny. 


THE  MORE  THAN  USUALLY  GAY 
SOLDIER  AT  ISLINGTON. 

EVERYONE  is  delighted  when  the  Agri- 
cultural Hall  at  Islington  is  occupied  by 
the  gallant  performers  who  have  made 
the  Royal  Military  Tournament  one  of  the 
most  popular  features  of  the  entertain- 
ments of  the  year.  Directors  may  come 
and  directors  may  go,  but  "  the  combined 
display"  goes  on  for  ever.  The  musical 
drive,  too,  is  a  source  of  intense  pleasure 
to  thousands.  When  the  Life  Guards  and 
the  Lancers  dance  about  on  their  horses 
to  the  tunes  of  the  band,  even  the  oldest 
spectator  forgets  to  regret  the  faded 
glories  of  ASTLEY'S  Amphitheatre.  Then 
there  are  the  real  contests — sword  against 
bayonet,  lance  against  lance — all  useful 
and,  to  put  it  technically,  to  the  point. 
Everything  so  far  excellent — very  good. 

But — alas  that  there  should  be  a  but — 
there  is  an  innovation  this  year  that  is 
scarcely  an  improvement.  Quite  the  best 
thing  of  the  shows  of  other  days  was  the 
dignity  of  Captain  DANN,  Master  of  the 
Ceremonies.  Had  the  gallant  officer  been 
in  a  civilian  circus  he  would  have  possibly 
had  to  unbend  to  the  clown,  and  act  as 
a  ring-master.  And  this  is  what  the 
Captain  was  seemingly  invited  to  do  on 
a  recent  occasion.  Surely  this  was  a 
mistake.  If  comic  relief  must  be  intro- 
duced, it  would  be  well  to  let  the  drill 
take  its  proper  place  in  the  exercise 
book.  For  instance,  something  of  this 
might  be  permitted. 


THE    BETTING    QUESTION. 

WHAT  IT  MIGHT  COME  TO. 

["  His  Lordship  said  that  '  The  evil  was  creeping  into  the  nurseries  ...  on  inquiry  their  lordships 
would  find  that  .  .  .  the  children  were  indoctrinated  with  the  same  betting  ideas  as  the  nurse.'"  — 
Times,  Tuesday,  May  21.]  


Comic  squad  drill.    To  produce  a  mirth- 
provoking  grimace. 

At  the  caution  of  the  Instructor,  "  Pre- 
pare to  grin,"  the  recruit  will  bring  his 
right  eyebrow  sharply  up  to  the  level  of 
the  lobe  of  his  left  ear.  At  the  word 
"Two,"  he  will  raise  the  corners  of  his 
mouth  and  drop  the  eyelid  over  his  left 
eye,  sharply  bringing  it  back  again, 
judging  his  own  time.  At  the  word 
"  Three,"  he  will  exclaim,  "  Ha,  ha,  ha!  " 
and  stand  steady. 


If  the  comicalities  of  the  ring  were 
regulated  in  the  manner  suggested,  all 
would  be,  if  not  quite  well,  at  least 
much  better.  As  it  is,  the  comic  relief 
is  a  little  out  of  hand  and  requires 
discipline. 

For  the  rest,  Islington  is  as  merrie  if 
not  merrier  than  of  yore.  The  audiences 
come  in  their  tens  of  thousands  to  secure 
enjoyment  and  to  assist  in  a  work  of 
charity.  So,  take  it  all  round  the  circle, 
there  is  nothing  demanding  complaint. 


420 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JUNE    5,    1901. 


Caiman.  "  FRAID  I  CAN'T  TAKE  YOU  AS  FAR  AS  'IGHGATE,  LADY. 
Master  Tom.  "  DID  HE  WIN  I " 


I  TOOK  HIM   DOWN  TO  THE  DERBY  YESTERDAY,   AN* . 


SLAVERY  FOR  EVER! 

(Extract  from  a  Zanzibar  Romance.) 
["  Nothing  appears  in  the  official  correspondence 
;o  show  that  the  extinction  of  slavery  has  been 
rindered  by  anything  else  than  the  reluctance  of 
the  people  themselves  to  break  as  a  body  with  the 
only  form  of  social  existence  they  have  known." — 
Times,  May  31.] 

"ESCAPED  once  again!"  panted  the 
sondsman,  as  with  a  faithful  band  of 
followers  he  disappeared  into  the  bush. 

'  Save  us  from  this  new  despotism  !  " 
cried  his  lieutenant,  who,  having  had  the 
advantage  of  a  British  education,  was 
more  intelligent  than  the  rest.  "  We  are 
not  fit,  O  Master,  to  be  turned  away 
from  our  homes  and  a  condition  of  irre- 
sponsibility to  earn  by  cruel  hard  work 
our  living." 

A  deep  roar  of  applause  was  the  con- 
firmation of  the  statement. 

'  Silence !  "  shouted  the  bondsman  in  a 
whisper.  "Silence,  or  we  shall  be\ dis- 
covered. Not  five  minutes  since,  we  we,re 
in  danger  of  being  taken  and  forcibly 
deprived  of  that  protection  which  those 
idiots  from  London  call  '  slavery'  because 


they  don't  in  the  least  understand  the 
situation." 

"  We  will  never  give  up  our  shackles," 
said  a  maiden.  "  They  are  quite  the  fashion 
as  bangles." 

"And  to  think  that,  at  the  bidding  of 
shouters  in  an  obscure  hole  known  as 
Exeter  Hall,  we  should  give  up  the 
absolute  comfort  of  protection  to  the 
brutal  uncertainty  of  bosh  called  '  free- 
dom '  is  too  absurd  !  " 

Again  it  was  the  lieutenant  who  had 
had  the  advantage  of  an  English  educa- 
tion who  was  the  speaker. 

At  this  moment  the  sound  of  martial 
music  was  wafted  into  the  bush. 

"  Ah,  I  know  that  hateful  tune,"  cried 
the  bondsman.  "Yes,  there  goes  the 
idiotic  refrain,  '  Britons,  never,  never, 
never  will  be  slaves !  '  I  consider  it 
rubbish !  " 

"And  so  say  all  of  us,"  replied  the 
lieutenant.  "Britons  never  will  be 
slaves.  But  we  will !  " 

And  with  this  determination  the  ex- 
cited band  continued  their  escape  from 
freedom  by  hurrying  through  the  bush. 


DEFYING   TIME. 
BENEATH   the   naming    sky   of   southern 

clime, 
Mid  verdant  groves  with    golden    fruit 

embossed 

A  mortal  stood  in  meditation  lost, 
And  pondered  deep  inexorable  time. 
His  bowdd  head  was  silvered  o'er  with 

rime 
JFor,    ah !    he    had    on   life's    rough    sea 

been  tossed, 
And    Time's     remorseless     fingers     had 

almost 
Closed    on    his   throat,   amid  the   City's 

grime. 

But  here  where  gentle  zephyrs  fanned  the 
air, 

And  Nature  overspread  with  bounteous 
hand 

Her  tranquil  splendours,  hither  had  he 
flown, 

Where  boldly  he  the  stretch  of  Time  could 
dare  : 

*The  missing  bank  clerk  rested  in  a  land 

Where  extradition  treaties  were  un- 
known. 


PUNCH,   OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.— JUNE  5,  1901. 


^ c..  „ 


" 


THE   OLD   FIRM. 


" 


DOWAGER  EMPRESS  OF  CHINA  (to  OLD  Li  HUNG  CHANG).   "THEY   SAID   WE   WERE   WRONG    'UN3,    DID   THEY? 
TRIED  TO   SHIFT  US  !    BUT  WE  'RE  BACK  IN  THE  OLD  PLACE  IN  SPITE  OP   'EM." 


I  f 


JCNB  5,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


423 


A    HOEEIBLE    IMBROGLIO. 

AM  I  engaged  to  EVELINA  TREMAYNE,  or 
am  I  not  ? 

That  is  the  question  which  I  have  been 
asking  myself  for  the  past  six  weeks,  and 
I  seem  to  be  as  far  from  learning  the 
answer  to  it  as  ever. 

Six  weeks  ago  I  proposed  to  EVELINA  on 
a  sudden  impulse. 
I  am  an  impulsive 
man.  But  whether 
she  accepted  my 
suit  or  rejected  it 
I  do  not  know,  and 
I  find  this  condi- 
tion of  uncertainty 
peculiarly  galling. 

It  came  about  in 
this  way.  A  month 
previously  I  had 
met  EVELINA  down 
in  Surrey.  It_was 
at  the  FARRING- 
DONS'  dance.  She 
waltzed  divinely 
and  wore  pink. 
Soon  afterwards 
she  came  up  to 
stay  with  her 
grandmother  in 
Regent's  Park. 
Before  I  had  seen 
her  a  dozen  times 
I  had  discovered 
that  life  without 
her  would  be 
worthless,  and  one 
morning  I  wrote  to 
her  from  my  cham- 
bers in  the  Temple 
asking  her  to  be 
my  wife. 

Now  mark  the  ma- 
lignity of  things. 
I  had  hardly  sent 
off  that  letter  when 
I  was  summoned 
to  Brighton  on 
business  which 
might  take  three 
or  four  days.  As 
Mrs.  TRIPPETT  is 
rather  careless 
about  sending  on 


find  her  completely  recovered.  She  was 
much  offended  when  she  learned  the 
reason  of  my  visit,  and  in  order  to  pro- 
pitiate her  I  agreed  to  run  over  to  Llan- 
dudno  to  sec  a  tenant  of  her's  who 
wanted  some  repairs  done  to  the  roof  of 
his  house.  Both  at  Brighton  and  at  Tor- 
quay I  filled  up  forms  instructing  the 
postal  authorities  to  forward  letters. 


'THE    TWOPENNY   TUBE." 

"Hi,   Gutr'NOR,   THERE  AIN'T  NO  STATION  NAMED   ON  THIS   TICKET!" 

"No;  ALL  oua  TICKETS  ARE  ALIKE." 
"THEN,  'ow  DO  1  KNOW  WHERE  I'M  GOING?" 


my  letters,  I  went  to  the  Post  Office 
in  Fleet  Street  before  leaving  town, 
and  filled  up  a  form,  ordering  all  letters 
to  be  forwarded  to  my  address  at  Brighton. 
In  this  way  I  felt  that  I  should  receive 
EVELINA'S  letter  with  the  least  possible 
delay. 

My  Brighton  business  took  less  time 
than  I  had  anticipated,  and  I  was  on  the 
point  of  returning  to  London  next  morn- 
ing when  I  ran  across  Uncle  BOWKER  at 
the  station.  He  informed  me,  with  tears 
in  his  eyes,  that  Aunt  EMILY  was  at  the 
point  of  death  at  Torquay.  I  need  not 
say  that  I  hurried  to  her  side,  only  to 


Having  transacted  Aunt  EMILY'S  busi- 
ness at  Llandudno,  I  returned  next  day 
to  Town,  after  filling  up  a  final  form 
ordering  all  letters  to  be  sent  after  me 
to  London. 

By  that  seemingly  harmless  act,  I  cut 
myself  off  entirely  from  the  blessings  of 
the  penny  post !  No  letters,  either  from 
EVELINA  or  from  anyone  else,  ever  reach 
me  now.  They  are  addressed  to  me  in 
London.  London  forwards  them  to 
Brighton,  Brighton  to  Torquay,  Torquay 
to  Llandudno,  Llandudno  to  London, 
London  to  Brighton  again.  At  no  point 
do  they  ever  reach  me.  By  some  hideous 


accident  I  seem  to  have  hit  upon  the 
secret  of  Perpetual  Motion,  and  my 
letters — EVELINA'S  among  the  number — are 
doomed  to  revolve,  planet-fashion,  round 
the  watering-places  of  England  and  Wales 
to  all  eternity.  As  things  stand  at  pre- 
sent, I  am  as  completely  isolated  from 
correspondence  as  ALEXANDER  SELKIRK. 
I  have  inquired  in  vain  at  the  Fleet 
Street  Post  Office, 
and  even  at  St. 
Martin's-le-Grand, 
for  a  form,  by  the 
filling  up  of  which 
I  may  break  the 
spell  which  i  m- 
prisons  my  letters, 
but  no  such  form 
exists.  Meantime, 
the  number  of  che- 
ques,  invitations, 
and  bills  revolving 
on  their  orbits  in- 
stead of  being  de- 
livered  to  me 
grows  daily 
greater,  and  none 
of  them,  save  the 
cheques,  can  I 
"stop."  This,  for 
obvious  reasons,  I 
do  not  wish  to  do. 
When  I  first  re- 
turned to  Town, 
and  no  letters 
reached  me,  I  did 
not  dream  that 
any t h  ing  was 
wrong.  After  wait- 
ing a  day  or  two, 
therefore,  for  a 
line  from  EVELINA, 
I  decided  that  her 
reply  mugt  have 
miscarried  and 
wrote  again,  say- 
ing, that  I  feared 
her  answer  must 
have  been  "  lost 
in  the  Post."  I 
little  knew  how 
completely  "lost 
in  the  Post  "  it 
was !  When,  how- 
ever, no  reply 
came  to  this  second  letter  I  became  uneasy, 
and  when  no  letters  reached  me  at  all  from 
any  quarter,  I  began  to  realise  the  ter- 
rible predicament  in  which  I  was  placed. 
My  letters  were  hurtling  round  the  sea- 
side resorts  of  Great  Britain  instead  of 
being  quietly  delivered  at  my  Chambers 
in  the  Temple,  and  even  the  Postmaster- 
General  was  incapable  of  arresting  their 
flight ! 

My  first  idea,  when  I  perceived  what 
was  happening,  was  to  write  EVELINA  a 
note  asking  whether  we  were  engaged 
or  not,  and  begging  her  to  reply  by  bearer. 
But  the  question  looked  so  preposterous 


424 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JUNE   5,    1901. 


on  paper,  that  I  had  not  the  courage  to 
send  it. 

Then  I  thought  of  driving  round  to 
Regent's  Park  and  making  the  enquiry  in 
person.  But  the  practical  difficulties 
seemed  insuperable.  The  demeanours  of 
a  rejected  suitor  and  an  accepted  lover  are 
widely  different,  and  try  as  I  would,  I 
failed  to  hit  on  a  compromise  which  should 
combine  the  characteristics  of  both. 

Lastly,  I  had  a  scheme  of  putting  the 
question  frankly  to  some  friend  of  both  of 
us  ;  but  my  vanity  shrank  from  the  task, 
and  I  reluctantly  abandoned  it. 

And  now,  to  intensify  the  difficulties  of 
my  position,  EVELINA  and  her  grandmother 
have  gone  abroad  for  some  weeks,  and  as 
I  have  not  their  address  —  if  we  are 
engaged,  it  is  doubtless  in  one  of  those 
letters  which  have  been  sucked  into  the 
vortex  of  my  correspondence — all  possi- 
bility of  interrogating  either  of  them  is 
for  the  moment,  at  an  end. 

The  worst  of  it  is,  I  have  no  longer  the 
slightest  desire  to  be  engaged  to  EVELINA. 
On  the  contrary,  the  sufferings  of  the 
past  few  weeks  have  made  the  idea 
positively  distasteful  to  me.  Moreover, 
less  than  a  fortnight  ago  I  met  DOROTHY 
SINCLAIR  at  a  garden  party,  and  now  I 
feel  that  only  with  DOROTHY  can  I  ever  be 
happy.  She  has  blue  eyes,  and  plays 
croquet  adorably.  I  have  seen  her  several 
times  since,  and  nothing  would  give  me 
greater  pleasure  than  to  ask  her  to  be 
mine.  But  so  long  as  I  do  not  know 
whether  I  am  engaged  to  EVELINA  or  not, 
I  cannot  possibly  propose  to  DOROTHY. 
And  so  long  as  I  cannot  get  hold  of 
EVELINA'S  letters  I  cannot  discover 
whether  we  are  engaged. 

From  this  horrible  imbroglio  there 
seems  to  be  no  way  of  escape.  Moreover, 
EVELINA  does  not  return  from  abroad  for 
five  weeks,  and  as  DOROTHY  starts  with 
her  father  for  India  in  three,  it  is 
tolerably  clear  that  unless  the  Post  Office 
consents  to  disgorge  my  correspondence 
— which  it  shows  no  symptoms  of  doing — 
DOROTHY  will  be  half  way  across  the 
Indian  Ocean  before  I  can  personally  in- 
terview EVELINA  and  discover  whether 
I  am  free  to  propose  to  anyone  else. 

ST.  J.  H. 


SOCIAL  ASTRONOMY. 

Celestial  Notes  from  a  very  Future  Number 

of  a  Society  Journal. 

["  OF  late  years  total  eclipses  have  tended  more 
and  more  to  be  social  functions.  In  fact,  celestial 
phenomena,  which  were  formerly  ignored  as  vulgar 
proceedings,  conducted  by  astronomers  and  other 
mechanics,  have  now  the  honour  of  being  witnessed 
by  really  smart  people."—^.  James's  Gazttte.] 

IT  is  feared  that  the  partial  eclipse  of 
the  sun  -will  attract  few,  if  any,  of  the 
really  smart  people  this  year  owing  to  its 
falling  on  Ascot  week.  This  clashing  of 
dates  appears,  from  all  accounts,  to  have 
been  unavoidable.  However,  it  is  ex- 


pected that  those  mainly  responsible  for 
the  organizing  of  this  astronomical  enter- 
tainment will  include  in  their  bill  of  fare, 
comestibles  of  a  lighter  order  than  usual 
in  deference  to  the  taste  of  the  multitude 
who  will  be  desirous  of  supporting  the 
enterprise  with  their  presence. 


Parties  are  already  being  made  up  to 
witness  the  shadow  which  crosses  the  sun 
on  the  14th  prox.  It  is  particularly 
fortunate  coming  immediately  before  the 
Dumpletown  Races,  as  the  hosts  of  pretty 
frocks  which  are  always  a  feature  of  this 
exclusive  little  meeting,  or  will  have  a 
preliminary  airing,  so  to  speak,  on  the 
14th.  Lady  SAGITTARIUS  and  the  Hon. 
STELLA  POLARIS  are  included  in  the  house 
party  of  the  Marquis  of  SIRIUS,  the  genial 
President  of  the  Society  of  Astronomical 
Entertainers. 


Owing  to  Sir  PYLADES  ORION  being  out 
of  town  the  shower  of  shooting  stars 
fixed  for  next  Wednesday  will  have  to  be 
held  over  indefinitely.  It  is  greatly  to 
be  hoped  Sir  PYLADES  will  be  able  to  fit 
in  this  beautiful  phenomenon  with  his 
social  arrangements,  as  it  only  takes  place 
once  in  thirty-three  and  a  quarter  years. 


It  is  a  thousand  pities  that  the  eclipses 
of  the  moon,  formerly  among  the  most 
prominent  of  popular  functions  of  the 
season,  are  to  be  discontinued  owing  to 
lack  of  patronage.  Sic  transit  gloria 
lunae,  one  might  exclaim.  It  is  now  over 
fifty  years  since  an  eclipse  of  the  moon 
has  been  arranged  in  anything  like  a 
satisfactory  manner.  It  is  an  open  secret 
that  the  financial  gain  attached  to  these 
lunar  spectacles  was  anything  but  en- 
couraging. Still,  we  cannot  but  deplore 
the  lapse  of  an  ancient  and  time-honoured 
custom,  and  can  only  hope  that  some 
generous  patron  may  be  forthcoming  from 
our  "  old  nobility,"  who  will  place  future 
eclipses  on  a  firm  financial  basis. 


"Wo  understand  that  the  enterprising 
paper,  The  Daily  Diddler,  has  made  ar- 
rangements for  introducing  to  its  readers, 
and  a  specially  invited  body  of  scientic 
gentlemen,  a  new  and  original  comet. 
Such  of  the  millions  of  readers  of  the 
Diddler,  as  are  desirous  of  participating  in 
this  unique  stellar  offer,  should  send  up 
five  coupons  cut  from  current  numbers  of 
the  journal  when  they  will  be  furnished 
with  a  ticket  entitling  them  to  a  seat  in 
the  line  of  route.  It  is  anticipated  that 
the  comet  will  come  into  sight  at  the 
Marble  Arch  about  10  a.m.,  and  wend 
its  fiery  way  down  Oxford  Street,  reach- 
ing the  Bank  about  noon.  The  proprietors 
of  the  Daily  Diddler  wish  it  to  be  dis- 
tinctly understood  that  they  do  not  hold 
themselves  responsible  for  the  non  - 
appearance  of  the  comet  at  the  hour 
advertised,  or  at  all. 


A  LULLABY. 

(For  the  Use  of  Sporting  Nursemaids.) 
See  "  The  Betting  Question,"  page  419. 

*BABY  darling,  baby  darling, 

Hushaby,  no  more  be  fretting. 
Softly  slumber  while  your  nursie 

Gently  reads  to  you  the  betting. 
Baby  darling,  baby  darling, 

Why  so  restless,  why  so  cross  ? 
Nurse  will  read  you  the  "  arrivals," 

And  the  latest  from  the  course. 

(Refrain  very  softly.) 
There,  baby,  there  1 
Darling  mustn't  cry. 
If  nurse's  horse 
Can  stay  the  course 
He  '11  pass  the  others  by 
And  nurse  will  win,  then  baby  shall 
Receive  her  little  share 
Of  nurse's  bets, 
If  gee-gee  gets. 
There,  baby,  there  I 

Baby  darling,  baby  darling, 

Cease  your  weeping,  there 's  a  pet ; 
Do  not  sob  because  your  nursie 

Has  a  little  sporting  bet. 
Baby  darling,  baby  darling, 

Do  not  purse  your  rose-bud  lip 
'Cos  I  'm  going  to  have  a  shilling 

On  a  "  special  stable  tip." 

(Refrain,  very  softly.) 
Hush,  baby,  hush  ! 
Darling  mustn't  cry. 

Nurse  will  show 

Baby  how 

To  nutter  by-and-by. 
And  she  shall  have  a  bookie  man 

Who  lives  in  Shepherd's  Bush, 

And  have  a  dash 

With  dada's  cash, 
Hush,  baby,  hush  ! 

Baby  darling,  baby  darling, 

Nursie  is  not  always  wrong. 
Tho'  she  fancies  dark  outsiders 

At  a  pi  136  absurdly  long. 
Baby  darling,  baby  darling, 

Do  not  always  fear  the  worst ; 
One  day  nurse  will  back  a  gee-gee 

That  will  somehow  get  in  first  I 

(Refrain  very  softly.) 
There,  baby,  there  ! 
Darling  mustn't  cry. 
Never  mind, 
Nurse  will  find 
A  winner  by-and-by. 
And  we  will  risk  a  tiny  sum 
Upon  a  likely  mare 
And  see  her  come 
A-romping  home, 
There !     Baby, there ! 


AN  EPSOM  ANTIQUITY. 

Mr.  Flugs.  Have  you  ever  been — er — to 
the  Derby  before  ? 

Miss  Splatterdasn  +cetat  22).  Rather  I 
Three  times  in  the  last  century  ! 


JUNE  5,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


425 


YE    FIRST    MEET    OF    YE    COACHING    CLUB    IN    YE    TIME    OF    YE    ROMANS. 

From  a  rare  old  frieze  (not}  in  ye  British  Museum. 


OCCASIONAL   OPERATIC   NOTES. 

Saturday,  May  25. — A  memorable  night.  The  duel  between 
Herr  KNOTB  as  Lohengrin  and  Herr  MOHWINKEL  as  Telramund 
was  about  as  near  the  real  thing  as  it  could  be,  with  an  entirely* 
novel  and  unrehearsed  effect  as  poor  Telramund  got  such  "a 
nasty  one"  across  the  nose — ("Bridge"  in  it  again!) — that 
instead  of  falling,  as  is  the  jeu  de  scene  familiar  to  all,  he 
suddenly  staggered  off,  concealing  the  wound  so  effectually, 
that,  but  for  the  apology  made  for  him  after  the  fall  of  the 
curtain,  few  would  have  been  aware  of  the  accident.  His 
place  was  immediately  and  capably  filled  by  Herr  MUHLMANN, 
who  repeated  his  performance  on  the  following  Tuesday. 

Wednesday,  May  29. —  Tannhiiuser  in  its  native  German. 
Most  satisfactory.  All  kept  well  in  hand,  orchestra  included 
but  chorus  excluded,  by  Herr  LOHSE,  whose  motto  is  "  if  it  were 
done,  t'were  well  it  were  done  quickly." 

Mile.  STRAKOSCH,  as  Venus,  attractive  as  the  Venus  of 
Venusberg  ought  to  be.  Madame  SOBRINO  bright  as  the 
Shepherdess,  and  Sir  Tannhiiuser  a  masterpiece  by  Van  DYCK. 
Herr  Van  ROOY  is  the  Broth  of  a  Boy,  Sings  marvellous 
well  in  German,  And  we  raise  our  glass,  In  praise  of  Herr 
BLASS,  "Who  was  very  good  as  Hermann.  But  we  turn  off  the 


poetical  tap  and  return  to  prose.  After  rather  a  surfeit  of  "the 
Letters  of  ELIZABETH,"  we  all  welcome  the  charming  notes  of 
EMMA  EAMES  as  Elisabeth,  of  which  we  cannot  have  too  much. 

Thursday,  May  30.— Memorable.  Much  ado  about  something. 
First  night  of  the  STANFORD-SHAKESPEARE-STURGIS,  or  the  S.S.S. 
Combination  Opera  Co.  in  four  acts.  Music  composed  by  CHARLES 
VILLIERS  STANFORD  ("  Op.  76  " — whatever  this  may  mean  to  the 
cognoscenti,  or  "  knowing  ones  "),  to  libretto  by  JULIAN  SHAKE- 
SPEARE and  WILLIAM  STURGIS.  Let  it  be  said  at  once,  so  as  to 
put  the  opera-going  world  in  general,  and  the  "  S.S.S.  Comb. 
Op.  Co."  in  particular,  at  their  ease,  that  its  success,  on  its 
premiere,  was  undisputed,  and  that  everyone  interested  in 
British  musical  industry  may  sincerely  congratulate  composer, 
librettists  (including  the  "  Divine  WILLIAMS  "),  artistes,  con- 
ductor, manager,  Syndicate,  and  in  fact  everyone  concerned  in 
the  production. 


STANFORD  and  STURGIS 
Were  two  clever  men 

Writing _an  Op'ra 
For  Covent  Garden. 


STANFORD'S  the  music 
STURGIS'  the  rhyme ; 

Says  STANFORD  to  STURGIS 
"  We  've  done  it  this  time  ! 


Which  Dr.  STANFORD  can  set  to  music  and  sing  as  a  duet  with 
his  librettist.  And  now,  without  further  compliment,  for  thq 
performance.  That  Dr.  STANFORD  can  write  music  for  high! 


426 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JUNE  5,  1901. 


comedy  is  evident  from  all  that  he  has  done  in  this  direction 
throughout  Much  Ado  ;  but  when  he  attempts  low  comedy,  as  in 
his  orchestral  jesting  for  the  part  of  Dogberry,  then  what 
might  possibly  be  considered  intensely  humorous  when  "  made 
in  Germany,"  must  appear  to  an  English  audience  as  the  merest 
commonplace  of  farce  and  pantomime  which  would  be  appro- 
priate when  accompanying  the  comicalities  of  DAN  LENO, 
HERBERT  CAMPBELL  and  an  acrobatic  donkey  on  the  stage  of 
Drury  Lane  at  Christmas,  with  energetic  Mr.  Hand-and-Glover 
beating  the  air  in  the  orchestra. 

Had  Professor  STANFORD,  "  Op.  76,"  slyly  introduced  the  tune 
of  The  Vicar  of  Bray,  the  cryptic  jest  might  have  been  appre- 
ciated by  not  a  few  of  those  on  whom  such  exhibitions'of  humour 
are  never  lost.  Neither  is  this  scene  enlivened  by  Herr  BLASS, 
an  operatic  comedian  evidently  chosen  for  Dogberry  on  ac- 
count of  three-fifths  of  his  name  suggesting  (in  English)  the 
Shakspearian  clown  whom  he  has  to  impersonate.  It  is  in  this 
part  of  the  Opera  that  librettist  (possibly)  and  composer  (cer- 
tainly) have  thrown  away  their  chances.  The  idea  of  making 
Verges  a  pantomimist,  without  a  word  to  speak,  may  have  seemed 
exquisitely  humorous  until  it  came  into  action  on  the  stage, 
and  then  Verges  is  simply  in  the  way,  whereas,  how  suggestive 
of  a  genuinely  comic  trio  are  Dogberry,  Verges,  and  Seacoal  I 
Dismissing  this  Shakspearian  farcical  portion  as  the  only  mis- 
take in  the  whole  Opera  and,  remembering  that  he  "  who  never 
makes  a  mistake  never  makes  anything,"  let  us  "  cut  the  cackle 
and  come  to  the  'osses." 

There  is  no  overture  ;  prelude ;  chorus  commencing  on  stage 
before  rising  of  curtain.  From  this  minute  forward,  all  the 
music  is  charming ;  but  it  flows  on  and  on  so  melodiously,  yet 
always  so  rapidly,  that,  it  being  impossible  to  stem  it  (and 
not  for  worlds  would  we  dam  it,  cela  va  sans  dire),  we  cannot 
even  stay  it  for  a  moment  in  order  to  obtain  an  encore. 
Consequently,  sweet  melodies  and  momentarily  catching  phrases 
are  swirled  along  one  after  the  other,  and  there  is  nothing  to 
be  caught. 

On  comes  that  villain  of  deepest  dye,  Don  John,  dressed  in 
black,  with  white  face,  reminding  me  of  the  most  melodramatic 
villains  with  whom  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  being  acquainted. 
The  general  appearance  of  Mr.  DUTTON  in  this  part  suggests 
the  idea  of  a  vampire  who  has  had  rather  a  bad  passage  between 
Dover  and  Calais.  Mr.  HYDE  as  Borachio  ("  ch  "  hard,  so  that  an 
inspired  rhymester  may  not  say,  "Here  comes  Borachio  "With  a 
black moustachio,"  unless  he  spells  it  "  moustarkio  "),  and  Mr. 
DUTTON  manage  to  pronounce  their  English  so  cleverly  that  not 
a  few  intelligent  persons  in  the  stalls  exclaim,  "Hallo!  why, 
it 's  in  Italian  after  all !  " 

Mr.  DAVID*  BISPHAM,  a  Welshman  presumably,  also  managed 
to  give  this  Italian  effect  to  the  plain  English  of  JULIAN 
SHAKESPEARE,  otherwise  his  Benedick  was  in  singing  excellent, 
and  in  acting  a  very  clever  reading  of  that  eccentric  Shak- 
spearian character  who,  though  "officer  and  gentleman, ''< 
yet  has  the  rough-and-ready  bearing  of  one  who  has  risen  from 
the  ranks  and  been  taken  up  by  H.R.H.  Don  Pedro  of  Arragon 
(played  unobtrusively  by  Mr.  IVOR  FOSTER),  to  whom  he 
acts  as  a  kind  of  Court  Jester.  For  singing  and  acting,  com- 
mend me  to  JOHN  COATES,  who,  as  Don  Claudio,  appeared  to  be  a 
a  very  gallant  and  most  amiable  "  young  lord  of  Florence." 

Leonato,  Governor  of  Messina,  was  efficiently  represented  by 
Mr.  PUTNAM  GRISWOLD,  who,  though  he  had  given  the  character 
white  hair,  yet  had  evidently  considered  him  as  a  very  young 
man  for  his  years,  and  in  this  style  so  played  him.  It  was 
almost  touching  to  see  with  what  modest  dignity  he  welcomed 
his  guests,  carrying  his  timidity  to  such  a  pitch  that,  in 
addressing  them  from  a  raised  dais,  he  appeared  so  bashful  as 
to  be  really  unable  to  open  his  eyes.  This  was  a  genuine 
artistic  touch :  Leonato  had  got  his  speech  by  heart,  and  any 
distraction  might  have  put  it  out  of  his  head. 

SUZANNE  ADAMS  simply  charming,  in  singing  and  acting,  as  the 
heroine  Hero,  and  Miss  MARIE  BREMA  will  soon  improve  on  her 


first-night  performance  of  Beatrice,  which  even  then  left  very 
little,  while  her  perfect  singing  left  nothing,  to  be  desired. 

M.  PLANQON  always  great  as  Jupiter,  or  good  as  a  medifeval 
ecclesiastic,  came  out  dramatically  and  vocally  strong  as  Friar 
Francis.  He,  too,  kindly  sang  in  English  (but  then  Frenchmen 
are  so  polite),  though  he  shied  at  the  word  "impediment," 
substituting  "cause,"  and  it  was  rather  hard  on  him  that 
Mr.  STURQIS  should  have  given  to  the  French  frere  the  only 
line  in  the  libretto  that  isn't  of  the  "  well  of  English  pure  and 
undefiled,"  as,  in  answer  to  Claudia's  prayer  for  pardon,  his 
Reverence  is  made  by  Mr.  STURGIS,  not  by  SHAKSPEARE,  to 
say,  "God  pardon  thee,  and  she  thy  hapless  bride  !  "  However, 
it's  all  "much  ado  about  nothing,"  and,  also,  "all's  well  that 
ends  well."  Good  novel  effect  produced  musically  by  combina- 
tion of  church  bells,  church  organ  behind  scenes,  orchestra, 
while  Beatrice  and  Benedick  are  duetting.  The  conduct  of  the 
boy  acolytes,  who  during  this  "  extraordinary  scene  in  a  church, 
at  a  wedding  "  remain  impassable,  is  beyond  all  praise.  Good 
boys  these. 

Time  permits  no  more  ado  at  present  by  yours  truly.  The 
Opera  should  be  given  several  times  this  season,  and  then  take 
its  place  in  the  regular  repertoire.  Yet,  after  a  first  hear- 
ing, when  encores  were  not  permitted,  I  can  only  record  a 

enerally  pleasant  impression  of  one  "harmonious  whole," 
and,  therefore, 

Surely  this  Opera  has  come  to  stay, 
Since  nothing  from  it  can  one  take  away. 

Any  number  of  "calls"  after  every  act.  Did  they  "come 
when  they  were  called?"  Aye,  marry,  did  they  I  Professor 
STANFORD  holding  on  to  Master  STURGIS,  and  both  kept  in  their 
proper  places  by  being  in  the  grip  of  the  artists  who,  at  another 
time,  brought  on  MANCiNELLi  the  Merry,  when  they  all 
advanced  in  a  line  as  if  they  were  going  to  do  a  real  good  dance 
by  way  of  a  finish.  But  they  didn't ;  perhaps  they  did  after 
the  curtain  was  down,  for  they  must  have  been  thoroughly 
satisfied  with  the  success. 


OVERLOOKED,   NOT    FORGOTTEN. 
(An  Extract  from  Military  History.) 

THE  General  was  very  pleased .  There  was  an  excellent  parade 
of  troops.  All  arms  of  the  service  were  admirably  repre- 
sented. Cavalry,  infantry,  and  artillery  were  all  well  to  the 
fore.  Many  of  the  men  were  young  —  growing  lads.  There 
were  others  bronzed  from  service  in  the  field.  Medals 
abounded,  and  good-conduct  stripes  were  widely  distributed. 

"Excellent!  "  cried  the  General,  as  he  examined  the  state. 
' '  Nothing  wanting.  Plenty  of  Regulars  ?  ' ' 

"  Plenty,  Sir,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 

' '  The  Yeomanry  in  full  force  ?  ' ' 

"  A  very  large  number  indeed,  Sir." 

"And  the  Volunteers  —  our  gallant  Volunteers — they  have 
responded  to  the  call  of  duty  ?  " 

"Indeed  they  have,  Sir."  Then  there  was  a  pause.  The 
General  seemed  to  be  lost  in  thought. 

"To  make  the  army  absolutely  representative,  I  fancy  we 
should  have  a  few  of  our  old  constitutional  force.  Are  any 
present  ?  Of  course,  I  mean  our  friends  the  Militia." 

Again  there  was  a  slight  pause.  It  was  passed  from  rank  to 
rank  that  the  Militia  were  absent.  What  had  become  of  them  ? 

"Well,  really,"  exclaimed  the  General,  "we  must  account 
for  the  Militia."  Then  came  a  consultation,  and  after  a  brief 
interval  an  answer  to  the  question  was  forthcoming. 

"If  you  please,  Sir,  the  Militia  are  not  on  parade,  Sir, 
because ' ' 

"  Yes — because?  " 

"  They  are  in  South  Africa,  Sir,  fighting  for  their  King  and 
country."  And  the  explanation  was  considered  satisfactory 
by  the  General,  and  even  more  than  satisfactory  by  the 
remainder  of  the  British  Empire. 


JUNE  5,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


427 


MR.    PICKLETHORN'S    CONTRIBUTION. 

CHAPTER   II. 

In  the  editor 's  room  of  The  Trumpet  Magazine  sat  Mr. 
HENDERSON,  regarding  an  MS.  which  lay  before  him  in  a 
manner  which  can  only  be  described  as  savage.  Against  the 
mantelpiece  leaned  Mr.  BRADGATE,  the  sub-editor,  looking 
extremely  uncomfortable — "which  was  not  to  be  wondered  at, 
for  his  chief  had  just  been  giving  him  a  piece  of  his  mind,  and 
on  such  occasions  Mr.  HENDERSON  was  not  in  the  habit  of 
considering  other  persons'  feelings. 

"  In  the  course  of  my  experience,"  he  remarked,  "I  have  had 
to  read  a  great  quantity  of  rubbish — but  never,  I  assure  you, 
BRADGATE,  never  such  quite  unmitigated  drivel  as  this  !  " 

"I'm  very  sorry,"  said  Mr.  BRADGATE  humbly.  "Really,  I 
can't  understand  it  at  all.  It  is  the  most  awful  nonsense,  as 
you  say.  But  are  you  bound  to  take  it  ?  " 

"Thanks  to 
you, ' '  rejoined  the 
editor,  "  I  suppose 
I  am.  You  came 
to  me  full  of  a 
humorous  sketch 
which  this  fellow 
had  written,  and 
which  you  assured 
me  was  positively 
brilliant. 

"  Yes,"  put  in 
Mr.  BRADGATE; 
"  it  was  in  the 
Charing  Cross  Re- 
view, and  it  was 
called  '  A  Novel 
Revenge. ' " 

"  And  on  the 
strength  of  it,  you 
persuaded  me  to 
ask  him  to  contri- 
bute to  our  Christ- 
mas  Number. 
Worst  of  all,  you 
were  so  despe- 
rately keen  on 
getting  him,  that 
you  induced  me — 
quite  contrary  to 
custom  —  to  offer 
him  a  rather  fancy 

price,  and  to  send  him  half  the  amount  in  advance  I  And  the 
result  is  that  he  gives  us  drivel  that  would  disgrace  a  school- 
boys' paper.  Really,  BRADGATE,  I  thought  you  had  more  sense. 
Of  course,  if  he  is  really  a  friend  of  yours " 

"  He  's  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  the  sub-editor,  with  some 
indignation.  "  I  told  you  that  I  'd  never  even  heard  his  name 
before,  and  I  hunted  out  his  address  in  the  directory." 

"  Sure  you  didn't  make  some  mistake  about  it  ?  " 

"  Quite  sure — it  isn't  a  common  name,  and  there  was  only 
one  JOSIAH  PICKLETHORN  in  the  Directory,  so  that " 

At  this  moment  the  office-boy  entered  with  a  card,  which  he 
handed  to  Mr.  HENDERSON.  "Gentleman  wishes  to  see  you," 
he  said. 

"  By  Jove  !  "  cried  the  Editor,  "  it 's  the  chap  himself  !  Show 
him  in,  Thomas.  Now  we'll  have  it  out  with  him,"  he  added  to 
the  sub-editor.  "  Don't  you  go,  BRADGATE — he's  your  protege, 
you  know." 

And  in  another  minute,  THOMAS  reappeared,  ushering  in  Mr. 
JOSIAH  PICKLETHORN,  who  shook  hands  warmly  with  Mr.  HENDER- 
SON as  the* Editor  rose  to  greet  him. 

"  Happened  to  be  passing  this  way,"  he  said,  "  so  I  thought 


TO  HEPSOM,  BILL?" 
HEPSOM  !    THIS  YEAB  I    Nor  ME 


I  'd  joist  drop  in  and  see  whether   you  'd  got  my  story  all 
right." 

"  Yes,  "  replied  the  Editor  frigidly,  "  we  have  your  story,  Mr. 
PICKLETHORN." 

"Ah,  that 's  right.  Then,  if  you  don't  mind,  I  '11  take  along 
that  other  seven-pound-ten  with  me.  And,  if  you  happen  to 
want  a  few  more  stories  of  the  same  sort,  why,  as  I  was  telling 

my  wife  this  morning ' ' 

"  One  moment,  Mr.  PICKLETHORN,"  interposed  Mr.  HENDERSON. 
"I  assure  you  we  want  no  more  stories  of  the  same  sort.  In 
fact,  I  am  greatly — very  greatly — disappointed  with  the  tale 
you  sent  me." 

"  Eh  ?  "  exclaimed  the  author,  with  obvious  surprise.  "Dis- 
appointed, are  you  ?  How's  that?" 

"  Surely,  you  must  feel  that  it  is  such  infinitely  inferior  work 

to— to " 

"  A  Novel  Revenge, '  "  supplied  Mr.  BRADGATE. 

"  Yes,  '  A  Novel 
Revenge.'  Inferior 
to  it  in  every 
way !  ' ' 

"That  's  a  mat- 
ter of  taste,  Sir," 
rejoined  Mr.  PIC- 
KLETHORN. "  For 
my  part,  I  think 
that  story  of  mine 
couldn't  easily  be 
beaten.  Why,  I 

assure  you " 

At  this  juncture, 
the  offi  c  e-boy 
again  entered  with 
a  card. 

"  '  Mr.  RICHARD 
SMITH,'  "  said  the 
Editor,  reading  it. 
"Never  heard  of 
him.  You  'd  better 
see  what  he  wants, 
BRADGATE.  Now, 
Mr.  PICKLETHORN, 
I  must  bo  frank 
with  you.  This 
piece  of  work  of 
yours  is  wholly 
unsuited  to  our 

magazine,      so     I 

must  suggest  that 
we  cancel  our  contract.    Comparing  it  with  '  A  Novel  Revenge,' 

I  think " 

"I  don't  care  what  yon  think,"  cried  Mr.  PICKLETHORN  in 
high  wrath  ;  "  but  if  you  think  I  'm  a  fool,youare  mistaken,  and 
that 's  all  about  it.  Cancel  the  contract.  Not  likely  !  As  to 
that  other  story  you  keep  on  dragging  in,  not  having  read  it — 

"Not  having  read  it!  Why — Mr.  PICKLETHORN — you  wrote 
it!  " 

"Look  here,  Sir,"  Mr.  PICKLETHORN  retorted;  "not  being  a 
literary  man  myself,  I  don't  understand  these  games.  Is  it  a 
joke,  or  what  ?  ' ' 

"  A  joke  !  "  cried  the  astonished  Editor.  "  D'  you  mean  to  say 
you  didn't  write  '  A  Novel  Revenge '  in  the  Charing  Cross 
Review  ? ' ' 

"Most  certainly  not,"  replied  Mr.  PICKLETHORN.  "Never 
wrote  a  line  in  my  life  till — — " 

The  door  burst  open,  and  in  rushed  Mr.  BRADGATE,  followed 
by  a  young  man  in  a  state  of  obvious  surprise. 

"  Most  extraordinary  thing !  "  gasped  the  sub-editor.  "  Look 
here,  HENDERSON,  this  is  Mr.  RICHARD  SMITH— and  it 's  he  who 
wrote  '  A  Novel  Revenge  !  '  " 


LOOK  AT  THE  HINOOME  TAX  ! 


428 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JUNE  5,   1901. 


"I  don't  understand,"  said  the  Editor,  feebly,  with  his  head 
between  his  hands.  "  I  understood  you  to  say  that  Mr.  JOSIAH 

PlCKLETHOBN ' ' 

"  Yes  ;  but  this  gentleman  wrote  that  story — his  first,  it  seems 
— over  a  pseudonym,  and  signed  it  JOSIAH  PIOKLETHORN." 

The  rightful  owner  of  that  name  gasped,  and  turned  fiercely 
upon  the  stranger. 

"Do  I  understand,  Sir,  that  you  deliberately  stole  a  name — 
stole  my  name — and  attached  it  to  your  own  miserable  story  ?  " 

"I  must  apologise,"  said  Mr.  SMITH.  "I  am  most 
grieved " 

"  Apologise !  D'  you  think  an  apology  is  enough  for  wilful 
forgery?  " 

"Not  wilful,"  Mr.  SMITH  protested.  "May  I  explain? 
When  I  'd  written  my  first  story,  '  A  Novel  Revenge '  and  it 
was  accepted,  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  must  take  a  nom-de- 
phime.  Too  many  'RICHARD  SMITHS'  about,  you  see.  I  tried 
to  think  of  an  uncommon  one,  and,  somehow — I  suppose  I  must 
have  seen  it  in  a  newspaper — the  name  '  JOSIAH  PICKLETHORN  ' 
came  into  my  head.  It  seemed  such  an  odd  one  that  it  was 
just  what  I  wanted." 

"  Such  an  odd  one  !  "  cried  Mr.  PICKLETHORN. 

"  So— er,  out  of  the  way — and  distinguished;  in  fact,  it  never 
occurred  to  me  that  there  could  be  a  real  owner  to  the  name. 
I  needn't  add  that  I  '11  use  another  pseudonym  in  future." 

"You  had  better!"  said  Mr.  PICKLETHORN,  "Otherwise, 
young  man,  you  '11  find  yourself  in  prison  before  you  're  much 
older." 


"  But  you  see  now,  Mr.  PICKLETHORN,"  said  Mr.  HENDERSON, 
who  had  been  conferring  in  an  undertone  with  his  colleague, 
"  that  there  has  been  an  absurd  blunder,  and  that  I  wrote  to 
you  under  a  misapprehension.  Under  the  circumstances,  I  am 
sure  you  will  release  me  from  the  contract,  and  allow  me  to 
return  your  manuscript  to  you." 

"As  you  please,"  said  the  author.  "If  you're  fool  enough 
not  to  use  a  really  clever  story— well,  that 's  your  look  out." 

"Very  well  then,"  resumed  Mr.  HENDERSON.  "And  that 
cheque  I  sent  you ?  " 

The  wrath  on  Mr.  PICKLETHORN'S  face  gave  way  to  a  com- 
placent chuckle.  "It's  cashed,"  he  said.  "I'll  let  you  off 
the  other  half  ;  but  if  you  think  seven-pounds-ten  is  too  much 
for  sitting  up  half  the  night  writing — well,  I  differ  from  you, 
that 's  all.  And  if  you  want  it  back,  you  'd  better  sue  this  young 
gentleman,  who  forged  my  name  !  "Well,  I  '11  be  going.  I  don't 
bear  no  malice,  and  if  you  should  want  one  of  my  stories  by- 
and-bye,  you  can  write  ;  you  know  my  address,  anyhow  !  " 

Mr.  PICKLETHORN  has  not  yet  been  asked,  however,  for 
further  contributions.  But  among  his  friends  he  now  adopts 
a  tone  of  lofty  patronage  when  speaking  on  literary  topics. 
"Very  poor  stuff  it  is,"  he  said,  criticising  contemporary 
fiction.  "Of  course,  I've  no  time  to  write  myself.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  though,  one  of  the  best  magazines  once  asked  me 
to  write  a  story  for  them,  and  sent  me  a  cheque  in  advance." 

At  which  remark  his  friends  regard  the  sugar-broker  rather 
incredulously.  But  Mr.  PICKLETHORN  is  telling  the  truth,  all 
the  same  !  A.  C.  D. 


THE  DERBY,  ACCORDING  TO  DARBY 

JONES. 

HONOURED  SIR,— "Oh  1  who  will  o'er 
the  Downs  so  free  ?  ' '  sings  the  Bard  once 
beloved  by  the  mellow-toned  Boys  who 
warbled  at  Evans's  in  the  GREEN  old  days 
long  ago.  The  Poet  must  assuredly  have 
been  referring  to  the  chalky  Uplands  of 
Epsom  for,  as  you  are  well  aware,  they  are 
unlike  many  parks  and  pleasaunces  known 
as  Kempton,  Sandown,  Hurst  and  Lingfield, 
as  free  to  all  Humanity  as  is  the  Atlantic 
Ocean  or  the  National  Gallery.  I  confess, 
Sir,  that  I  have  a  great  Regard  for  Epsom 
on  the  Derby  Day.  It  is  a  Cosmopolitan 
Holiday,  and  if  Mr.  CARNEGIE,  the  cast- 
iron  King -Democrat  were  to  entrust 
Messrs.  WEATHERBY  with  £5,000,000, 
wherewithal  to  endow  a  Great  Inter- 
national Race  without  Entrance-fees, 
Forfeits  or  payment  of  Riding-Money  to 
Jockeys  it  would  not  knock  out  the.  Top 
Weight  in  the  Turf  Ring. 

As  my  friend  the  Count  says,  "  The 
Derby  is  so  easy  to  go  to,  and  it  is  so  easy 
to  get  away  from."  The  Count  is  a  noble- 
man of  Singular  Resourcefulness.  For 
Instance,  whenever  he  is  going  to  decimate 
ihe  Grice  in  Caledonia,  he  invariably  has 
liis  Portmanteau  labelled  for  Clapham 
Junction.  "  You  can  get  anywhere,  my 
friend,"  he  says,  "from  Clapham  June- 
ion."  So  you  can  from  Epsom,  if  the 
Monetary  Scales  are  tipped  up  against  you. 
This  year  I  shall  appear  on  the  Hill  on  the 
well-appointed  Coach  of  my  friend  Mr. 
DIGBY  SLAPP,  whose  late  lamented  sire 
made  a  fortune  out  of  Patent  India-rubber 
Mourning  Hatbands.  DIGBY  himself  is  far 
'rom  funereal,  unless  he  be  regarded  from 


the  standpoint  of  an  Hibernian  Wake.  His 
motto  is  "  Cash  or  Crash,"  and  his  favour- 
ite colour  Vermilion. 

But  a  truce  to  these  Meanderings  ;  let 
us  to  the  Poesy  of  Business.  Lord  SALIS- 
BURY and  the  Right  Honourable  JOSEPH, 
to  say  nothing  of  Lord  MILNER  of  St. 
James's  Street  and  Capetown  House,  have 
their  difficulties,  but  what  are  they  to 
those  of  a  Scrutator  into  an  Inscrutable 
Mystery  ?  Nevertheless,  as  the  Gaul  says, 
"  On  Avong !  "  Here,  therefore,  goes  :— 

The  Hamleter  seems  to  be  fancied  at  home 

But  surely  the  Flowershape  'a  better. 
Regal  Med  to  the  fore  is  not  likely  to  come 

Nor  Disdainful  be  held  an  up-setter. 
The  Orange  King  may  make  a  bid  for  the  lead 

When  Greek  Entrance  is  doing  his  best, 
Sander's  blossom  will  need  a  rare  turn  of  speed 

When  Hotchpotch  is  put  to  the  test. 
The  Town  of  Natal  may  run  into  a  place, 

But  Calf-comfort  is  not  one  for  me, 
And  the  Curious  Lord  will  not  stride  at  a  pace 

That  will  do  for  the  Lord  with  a  Bee. 
The  Ready  Hats  off  should  be  one  of  the  three 

Who  will  fight  with  the  Jaw-breaking  Pole, 
But  beware  oh !  beware  of  the  Treasury  Gee 

When  the  foremost  are  nearing  the  goal ! 

So  the  Spirit  of  Divination  has  moved 
me.  I  cannot  do  more  than  divine.  I 
have  several  Spirit-rapping  friends  ;  they 
cannot  do  more.  •  I  have  tried  them.  All 
spirits  seem  woefully  ignorant  about 
Horse  Racing.  If  they  were  not,  they 
would  be  as  popular  as  Scottish  whiskey 
in  the  opinion  of 

Your  devoted  henchman  and  heeler, 
DARBY  JONES. 

P.S. — I  presume,  honoured  Sir,  the 
same  old  spot  under  the  Luncheon 
Baskets — opposite  the  Grand  Stand  ? 


AN  EXHORTATION. 
(A  suitable  Preface  for  a  Volume  of  Minor 

Poetry.) 
OH,  do  not  ask  that  my  attempt  in  rhyme 

Shall  in  the  highest  spirit  of  poesy 
Conceived  be.    Or  that  my  muse  with  Time 

Shall  pace  it  out  unto  eternity. 
But  to  each  page  thy  gentle  favour  lend 
And  read  my  volume  to  the  bitter  end. 

Oh,  ask  not  how  to  publish  this  I  dare ! 

Nor  be  thou  over  curious  to  know 
If  I  who  trill  and  twitter  am  aware 

How  hard  the   immortal   trumpet  is  to 

blow. 
Thy  kindly  glances  on  my  rhyming  spend 

And  try  to  read  the  volume  to  the  end. 

My  passion  all  too  precious  is  to  find 

A  place  in  aught  so  cold  as  inky  ode  ; 
Nor  any  thoughts  that  may  appoint  my 

mind 
Shall  you  expect  released  from  their 

abode. 
Sons  passion,  feeling,  thought  thy  way 

shalt  wend 
These  pages  through  unto  the  bitter  end. 

When  SHAKSPEARE,  MILTON,  WORDSWORTH, 

each  hath  proved 
A  dainty  morsel  for  the  tooth  of  Time 

And  mighty  music  leaves  thy  heart  un- 
moved, 

Thou  shalt  bethink  thee  of  my  votive 
rhyme. 

And  half  in  wonder,  half  in  pity  bend 

Thine  eyes  upon  these  pieces — to  what 
end? 


AN  IMPRESSIONIST.  —  The  burglar  who 
takes  the  wax  model  of  a  key. 


JUNE  12,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


429 


ADDITIONAL  ANTICIPATIONS. 
(By  R.  Tesian  Wells.) 

AN  eminent  authority  on  the  future  is 
writing  in  the  Fortnightly  Review  a  series 
of  "Anticipations" 
of  progress  in 
general  during  the 
twentieth  century. 
He  goes  deeply 
into  the  subject, 
but  he  appears  to 
overlook  the  social 
and  unscientific 
aspect  of  it.  The 
present  writer,  at 
the  risk  of  being 
bored,  has  gone 
even  deeper. 
Although  he  has 
the  same  name,  he 
has  no  connection 
with  the  other 
WELLS.  That  gen- 
tleman is  content- 
ed with  digging 
near  the  surface. 
The  present  wri- 
ter, enlisting  the 
aid  of  science, 
pierces  far  lower, 
and  causes  the 
springs  of  know- 
ledge to  gush  forth 
from  the  hidden 
rocks.  Enough, 
however,  of  these 
personal  matters. 

Anyone  can  see 
that  everyone, 
even  at  the  pre- 
sent day,  is  too 
busy  with  work  or 
amusement  to  de- 
vote much  time  to 
reading  the  news- 
papers. The  most 
modern  journals, 
therefore,  use  the 
shortest  sentences. 
Prom  this  one  may 
safely  conclude 
that  all  the  news- 
papers of  the  latter 
half  of  this  cen- 
tury will  be  writ- 
ten in  the  style 
introduced  by  the 
telegraph,  which 
is  far  indeed  from 
the  one  introduced 
by  the  Telegraph.  It  is  intended  to 
give,  in  these ' '  Additional  Anticipations, ' ' 
some  extracts  from  a  journal  of  that 
period,  called  probably  the  Morning  Motor 
or  the  Afternoon  Aerostat.  "We  begin 
with  the  Parliamentary  Intelligence,  as 
it  is  called  now. 

Lords. — Since  abolition  Royal   Speech, 
session  opened   unceremoniously   yester- 


day 4.  Postmaster-General  only  Minister 
in  Lords  moved  adjournment  till  next 
year.  One  other  peer  present.  Agreed 
without  division.  House  rose  4.5. 

Commons.  —  Commencement     business. 


TWO'S    COMPANY,"    &C. 


Jack  Tar  (to  Fritz).  "I  SA.Y,  MA.TE,  LOOKS  AS  IF  THAT  THERE  Miss  MOROCCO  HAD  TAKEN 

TIP  AGAIN  WITH  THB   FRENCHMAN,    DON'T  IT?" 

Fritz  (German  Soldier).  "I  THIHK,  MY  FRIEND,  WE  AISO  HERE  NOT  WANTED  ARE." 

f"  It  is  announced  that  the  incident  •which  had  arisen  between  France  and  Morocco  has  been  already 
settled  in  principle." — Daily  Paper.] 


ally  left  behind  asleep  front  bench.  Said 
Questions  perhaps  reasonable,  bat  should 
be  addressed  Ministers  Navy  and  War, 
both  absent  taking  much-needed  holiday 
Lake  Tanganyika.  Entire  Opposition  rose, 
demanding  fuller 
answer.  Motor 
Minister  lamented 
Party  spirit  caus- 
i  in  g  needless 
annoyance  over- 
worked Ministers. 
House  apparently 
ex  pec  ted  energy 
resembling  that  of 
untiring  Ministers 
about  1901.  Said 
Plrime  Minister 
might  be  able  an- 
swer Questions  but 
absent  toboggan- 
ing Andes.  Must 
really  request 
postponement 
Questions  moving 
adjournment. 
Leader  Opposition 
asked  date  re-as- 
sembling. Motor 
Minister  roused  up 
said  no  time  for 
sittings  House. 
Not  worth  meeting 
before  Boatrace 
Bank  Holiday. 
After  that  Grand 
National,  Easter, 
two  Football 
Bank  Holidays, 
W h  itsuntide, 
Derby  Day,  Ascot, 
Cricket  Matches, 
Henley,  Goodwood. 
Proposed  adjourn- 
ment till  August 
10  and  proroga- 
tion August  11. 
Entire  Opposition 
protested.  Clo- 
sured. Member 
shouted  "When 
will  the  telephones 
be  finished?" 
Ejected.  Motor 
Minister  said 
Question  should 
be  addressed  Post- 
master -  General 


Leader  House  proposed  adjournment  Easter 
recess :  637  Members  rose  asking  Ques- 
tions— all  ruled  out  of  order.  Member 
Melbourne  demanded  urgency  ask  inten- 
tions Government  Australian  submarine 
fleet.  Member  Ottowa  supported  re- 
quiring information  Canadian  army  especi- 
ally aerostatic  artillery.  All  Ministers 
gone  except  Minister  of  Motors,  accident- 


another  place  next 
year.  Fell  asleep 
again.  Leader  Op- 
position demanded  know  policy  Govern- 
ment. Impossible  work  so  hard.  Boatrace 
in  about  ten  days.  House  must  really 
adjourn.  Then  took  up  mace  and  walked  out . 
House  adjourned  accordingly.  H.  D.  B. 

Q.  WHAT  is  the  most  eccentric  sight  in 
the  cricket-field  ? 
A.  Square  leg. 


VOL.    CXX. 


B  B 


430 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JUNE  12,  1901. 


THE   ACTOR-MANAGER  DISCOURSES, 
in. 

MADAM,  you  must  not  count  me  cold  of  heart 
Nor  deaf  to  beauty's  homage  frankly  paid, 
If  with  an  equal  frankness  I  decline 
That  proffer  of  the  soul's  surrendered  pride 
Which  is  a  credit  to  your  natural  taste 
And  shows  you  gifted  with  a  fine  contempt 
For  maicleu  modesty.     It  cannot  be. 
Yet  I  am  mortal  (in  a  way)  and  \vear 
No  certain  armour,  any  more  than  you, 
Against  the  stab  of  beauty,  save  alone 
My  solemn  sense  of  service  owed  to  Art. 
But  were  I  once  to  give  my  pity  play, 
Once  to  allow  my  ruthless  front  to  melt, 
I  dare  not  think  what  issues  might  evolve 
From  such  a  precedent. 

Believe  me,  Madam, 
Your  case  is  not  by  any  means  unique. 
Unnumbered  missives,  much  the  same  as  yours, 
Breathing  insidious  scents  of  Araby, 
Perfume  my  dressing-room.     The  nightly  door, 
Whence  I  debouch  on  my  attendant  brougham, 
Reveals  a  wistful  ambush  on  the  watch. 
To  see  the  Artist,  so  to  speak,  unveiled, 
Human  and  palpable  as  other  men, 
Yet  more  disquietingly  beautiful ; 
To  stand  a  moment  in  the  mystic  flame 
That  is  my  envelope,  and  there  imbibe 
The  benison  of  air  that  I  have  breathed. 

Nay,  if  I  told  you  of  the  provinces 
What  I  have  suffered  where  my  advent  is 
Like  angels'  visits,  relatively  rare, 
And  time  admits  no  devious  processes 
But  by  his  fringe  must  needs  be  rudely  gripped— 
It  would  surprise  you.     I  have>  been  pursued 
By  swift  admirers,  not  to  be  denied, 
Right  into  my  hotel,  and  stood  at  bay, 
A  hunted  thing,  until  the  telephone 
Summoned  the  brave  police  and  they  arrived, 
And  drew  a  compass  round  my  chaste  retreat. 

I  mention  this  to  salve  your  stricken  pride 
By  solace  drawn  from  numbers  ;  you  will  see 
That,  as  I  said,  your  case  is  not  unique. 
For  me,  though  not  precisely  celibate, 
I  still  must  hold  myself  in  high  reserve. 
I  live  for  Art :  myisoul  is  not  my  own 
To  give  at  pleasure  ;  it  is  consecrated 
To  nobler  uses.     That,  again,  is  why 
I  never  boast  about  those  private  charms 
Of  person  and  deportment  which  provoke 
Feminine  flattery,  butjseem  to  me 
To  win  their  only  worth  from  being  placed 
At  Art's  disposal  unreservedly, 
With  all  emoluments  attached  thereto. 
Sworn  servitor  of  One,  and  One  alone, 
At  Her  tremendous  feet  I  lay  my  gms, 
Content  to  be  the  minister  who  takeA 
Vicariously  the  homage  meant  for  Her\ 
To  be  the  happy  medium  by  which 
As  through  a  filter,  drained  of  vulgar  dross, 
The  general  worship  percolates  Her  way. 

An  illustration.     There  was  once  a  temple 
Sacred  to  Phoebus.     It  contained  a  priest, 
Himself  a  fair  Apollo,  lusty-limbed, 
And,  like  the  god's  own  laurels,  evergreen  ; 


A  constant  source  of  desperate  concern 
To  fluttered  ladies  in  the  holy  haunts. 
Think  you  he  took  the  lightest  cognisance 
Of  carnal  adoration  ?    Not  at  all. 
His  eyes  were  on  the  altar,  unaware  ; 
Or,  if  he  guessed  what  passions  he  inspired, 
He  feigned  a  child-like  innocence,  and  said 
"  Apollo's  be  the  praise  !  "  and  passed  it  on. 
So  I,  who  humbly  tend  the  shrine  of  Art, 
Not  curious  how  my  earthly  charms  may  work 
Havoc  in  heads  susceptible  as  yours — 
I  give  the  glory  where  the  thing  is  due, 
And  serve  my  ministry,  and  have  my  soul 
Single  in  Her  employ  Whose  priest  I  am. 

O.  S. 

OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

Penelope  (Mrs.  KATE  DOUGLAS  WIGGINS),  sighing  for  fresh 
kingdoms  to  conquer,  having  flitted  over  England,  and  sped 
through  Scotland,  has  alighted  on  Ireland.  Penelope's  Irish 
Experiences  (GAY  AND  BIRD),  is  not  the  least  delightful  of  the 
trio  of  books.  In  some  respects  it  is  the  best,  since  the 
characteristics  of  the  Irish  people  appeal  more  strongly  to  her 
sympathies,  her  poetic  temperament,  and  her  keen  sense  of 
humour.  She  does  not  shirk  the  gay  shiftlessness  of  the  people, 
their  indifference  to  cleanliness,  tidiness,  punctuality,  and  other 
commonplaces,  observance  of  which  adds  to  the  comfort  of  the 
more  stolid  Saxon.  But,  as  she  writes,  "  The  Irish  peasants 
would  puzzle  you,  perplex  you,  disappoint  you,  with  their  incon- 
sistencies ;  keep  from  liking  them  if  you  can."  Penelope, 
susceptible  to  the  influence  of  her  surroundings,  scorns  anything 
like  system.  Wandering  about  the  Island  in  occasionally 
bewildering  fashion,  she  comes  on  charming  bits  of  nature  and 
meets  delightful  natives,  male  and  female.  More  Hibernico,  the 
most  original  character  in  the  book  is  the  strange  girl  from 
Salem,  U.S.A.,  who  comes  accidentally  on  the  scene  and  figures 
in  many  of  its  brightest  episodes.  Through  the  pages  runs  a 
pretty  love-story,  ending  happily  as  it  should.  Penelope  herself 
is  in  love  with  her  husband,  Himself,  as  she  terms  him,  filling 
the  provoking  part  which  the  Man  of  Wrath  does  with  Elizabeth 
in  her  German  Garden.  To  crusty  bachelors  like  my  Baronite 
it  is  quite  boring  to  have  charming  women  perpetually  flinging 
themselves  at  the  feet  of  their  absent  husbands — a  Avay  of 
putting  it  which  shows  how  infectious  is  the  more  Hibernico 
alluded  to. 

The  Good  Red  Earth,  EDEN  PHILLPOTTS'  latest  contribution  to 
ARROWSMITH'S  three-and-sixpenny  series  of  novels,  is  an  excel- 
lent piece  of  workmanship.  My  Baronite  has  seen  many  a  worse 
plot  attenuated  through  a  volume  twice  its  bulk.  The  story  is 
set  in  the  background  of  Devonshire.  It  is  fragrant  with  the 
perfume  of  appleblossoin  ;  later,  as  the  months  roll  by,  deepen- 
ing into  the  rich,  sweet  smell  of  newly-made  cider.  The  people 
who  till  and  own  the  good  red  earth  are  all  alive,  of  true  Devon 
type,  from  the  peasant  at  the  plough  to  the  landlord  in  his 
ancient  hall.  Mr.  Newte,  the  travelling  pedlar — "  Johnny  Fort- 
night "  on  week-days,  a  vessel  of  the  Lord  on  Sundays— pouring 
forth  oil  and  balm  into  the  spiritual  wounds  of  sinners  gathered 
in  the  Gospel  Nest,  is  an  exceedingly  interesting  person. 
Round  him  with  his  unctuous  ways  is  ravelled  a  tale  that  will  be 
found  well  worth  reading.  THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


SITUATIONS  WANTED. — By  a  Dramatist  of  acknowledged  reputa- 
tion, some  new  and  original  situations  for  a  play  on  which  he  is 
at  present  engaged.  N.B. — Cupboards,  screens,  curtains,  and 
several  doors  barred.  Anyone  providing  him  with  one  first-rate 
and  absolutely  novel  situation,  whether  tragic  or  comic  is 
immaterial,  will  be  dealt  with  by  the  Advertiser  on  the  most 
liberal  terms.— Address,  DIUDUP,  care  of  PLAYDOUT,  Rackbrayn. 


JUKE  12,   1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


431 


SO    SAY    ALL    OF    US!" 

John  Bull  ( Toist  -mnAter}.  "  MY  LORDS  AND  GBNTLEMKN,  PRAT  CHARGE  YOUR  GLASSES.    BUMPERS!    THE  TOAST  is 

'  SIR  JOHN  TBNNIBL  ' ! " 


JUNE  12,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


433 


VISITORS  IN  OUR  VILLAGE. 
II.— LADY  BATHWICK. 

WE  are  not  very  familiar  with  persons 
of  title  in  Puddleton,  so  that  we  were 
impressed  more  than  we  cared  to  sho\v 
when  a  real  live  Countess  came  for  a  few 
days'  visit  to  the  Rectory.  On  the  morning- 
after  her  arrival  I  looked  in  at  the  Post- 
Office— which  is  also  the  linen-draper's, 
grocery,  and  bootshop— and  found  some  of 
our  leading  inhabitants  discussing  the 
ways  of  the  aristocracy.  Mr.  DUGGAN, 
the  proprietor,  was  in  his  shirt  sleeves, 
sorting  out  his  stock  and  re-arranging  his 
window,  in  the  vague  hope  of  attracting 
a  titled  customer,  while  the  blacksmith, 
who  holds  extreme  Radical  views,  plied 
him  with  withering  sarcasm. 

"  'Tis  a  great  day  for  Puddleton  !  "  he 
said.  "Look  at  Mr.  DUGGAN  now,  a- 
soortin'  out  his  sand  from  the  sugar  !  Oh, 
a  Lunnon  lady  must  have  her  vitttes 
quite  different  from  the  likes  of  us.  And 
a  Countess,  too!  Why,  we  must  kneel 
down  when  we  see  her  comin',  surelie  !  " 

"Fust  time  as  you've  been  on  your 
knees  then  this  many  a  day,"  said  the 
parish  clerk.  "An'  some  of  us  do  be 
pleased  to  bo  respect  ful-like  to  them  as 
is  set  over  us,  same  as  passon  said  o' 
Sunday." 

"  '  Set  over  us  '  !  "  echoed  the  black- 
smith Avith  huge  scorn.  "  An'  who  's  set 
this  Lady  BATHWICK  over  me?  Tell  her 
to  her  facei  I  would,  so  soon  as  look  at 
her." 

"Hush,  hush!"  cried  Mr.  DUGGAN, 
hastily  plunging  into  his  coat,  "here's 
her  ladyship  comin'  down  the  road  with 
the  Rector's  wife  !  " 

And  as  he  spoke  we  saw  them  ;  the 
stranger  in  a  dress  that  filled  us  with 
amazement,  and  set  Mr.  DUGGAN  calcu- 
lating its  price  per  yard.  She  wore 
pince-nez,  and  looked  about  the  village 
street  as  she  walked  with  an  expression 
much  like  that  of  a  visitor  at  the  Zoo. 
Presently,  she  and  her  guide  reached 
the  Post-Office — and,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  they  entered!  Lady  BATHWICK 
carefully  held  up  her  skirt,  and  glanced 
round  her.  Mr.  DUGGAN  bustled  up  with 
his  best  professional  manner,  a  note-book 
in  one  hand,  a  newly-sharpened  pencil  in 
the  other.  There  was  a  moment  of  tense 
silence.  Then  Lady  BATHWICK  spoke  in 
a  deep  bass  voice.  "  You  keep  cheese  ?  " 
she  demanded  solemnly. 

It  was,  the  rest  of  us  felt,  not  at  all 
the  kind  of  thing  you  would  expect  a 
Countess  to  ask  for.  Mr.  DUGGAN,  how- 
ever, was  equal  to  the  occasion. 

"Cheese,  my  lady?  Certainly;  ex- 
cellent cheese,  Gloucester,  Dutch ' ' 

' '  You  keep  bacon  and  boots  ?  ' '  pur- 
sued Lady  BATHWICK. 

"First  quality  bacon,"  replied  Mr. 
DUGGAN  (looking,  despite  his  efforts,  a 
it-tie  surprised),  "  and  boots  also  — 


"OH,    YOTJ    CKUEL    BOY,    TO   TAKE   THOSE    EGGS   OUT   OF  THE   NEST  !      THINK  OF   THE   POOR 

MOTHER  JURD  WHEN  SHE   COMES "  "  TflE   MOTHER  BIRD'S  DE&.D,    MlBS." 

"HOW  DO  YOU  KNOW  THAT?"  "I   SEE   IT   IN  YOUR   HAT!" 


though  not  exactly  the  style  which — but, 
perhaps  your  ladyship  requires  them  for 
a  servant  ?  ' ' 

"You  sell  calico,  and  raisins,  and 
butter,  and  paraffin?  "  her  ladyship  went 
on,  pointing  as  she  spoke  to  each  of  these 
articles  with  her  parasol. 

"Certainly,  my  lady,"  said  Mr.  DUGGAN, 
joyfully  realising  at  length  that  these 
aristocrats  do  their  shopping  on  an 
extensive  scale,  "  butter,  and  raisins, 
and — paraffin,  I  think  your  ladyship  said  ? 
If  you  will  permit  me  to  write  down  these 
orders  first  — 

"  LOUISA,"  interrupted  Lady  BATHWICK, 
turning  to  the  Rector's  wife,  "  just  think 


of  it  !  All  these  things  are  kept  jumbled 
up  together  in  this  poky  little  shop  !  I  do 
trust  that  you  get  down  all  your  groceries 
from  the  Stores.  You  can  give  me,  please, 
a  shilling's-worth  of  penny  stamps." 
***** 

At  the  last  election  our  Tory  member 
had  a  much-reduced  majority.  The  local 
newspaper  attributed  this  to  "the  growing 
reaction  against  Jingoism."  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  it  was  due  solely  to  the  energetic 
support  given  by  Mr.  DUGGAN  (hitherto  a 
member  of  the  Primrose  League)  to  the 
Radical  candidate,  who  included  the 
Abolition  of  the  House  of  Lords  in  his 
programme.  A.  C.  D. 


434 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JONB    12,    1901. 


YET   ANOTHER  ! 

WHAT  makes  the  window-curtain 
sad? 

Because  it  cannot  help  the  fallen 
blind. 


OCCASIONAL  OPEEATIC  NOTES. 

Monday,  June  3.  —  More  of  Much  Ado  About  Nothing. 
Naturally,  everything  going  better.  Decidedly  Herr  Professor 
STANFORD  has  made  a  hit.  Reverse  of  a  cricketer,  the  Pro- 
fessor "  scored  "  first  and  made  a  hit  afterwards. 

Tuesday. — "Not  there,  not  there,  my  child." 

Wednesday.  —  Die  Meistersinger.  Acting  -  Depiity  Deponent 
maketh  oath  and  sayeth  that  this  was  about  as  good  as  any 
warbling  Wagnerite  could  wislx  Frau  GADSKI  as  EMI,  and 
M.  VAN  ROOY  perfect  as  Hans  Sachs.  Being  both  perfect,  the 
praise  must  be  apportioned  in  the  well-known  formula,  "  Sachs 
to  one  and  half-a-dozen  to  the  other."  Herr  KNOTK  kept  up 
the  good  old  sporting  tradition  of  a  Derby  Night  at  the  Opera 
by  becoming  a  little  hoarse  (petit  cheval)  in  the  third  act. 
Perhaps  not  up  to  so  much  weight.  However,  as  he  was  not 
placed  hoarse  de  combat  he  contrived  to  be  well  up  at  the 
finish.  Mr.  BlSPHAM  brought  out  all  the  Wagnerian  waggishness 
of  Beckmesser.  Altogether,  a  brighter  and  quicker  perform- 
ance than  heretofore,  due  probably  to  Herr  LOUSE  having 
judiciously  withdrawn  a  considerable  number  of  Wagnerian 
notes  from  circulation. 

Thursday,  June  C. — PUCCINI'S  La  Bolieme  in  Italian,  which 
doesn't  seem  to  suit  it  so  well  as  the  light  and  nmsical-airy 
French.  Charming  opera !  So  delightful  to  see  the  four 
poverty-stricken  Brothers  of  the  Brush  living  all  together  in 
an  attic  capable  of  accommodating  a  party  of  two  or  three 
hundred  persons  !  So  snug.  No  wonder  Benoit  (well  played 
by  M.  DUFRICHE,  who,  absolutely  transformed,  is  "  afterwards 
Alcindoro,"  a  gay  but  stingy  old  fop)  cannot  get  his  rent  for 
such  a  spacious  apartment  from  this  merry  quartette,  who 
seem  to  have  been  the  Balzacian  prototypes  of  the  lively 
French  students,  who  took  such  an  interest  in  poor  Trilby. 

As  Rodolfo,  Signor  ANSELMI  sings  and  acts  at  his  very  best, 
in  spite  of    the    absurdity    of    the    early  nineteenth-century 
Quartier-Latin  costume,  in  which  they  all  look  so  supremely 
ridiculous,    and     yet,    when     all     are     struck     mute     in     the 
presence  of  the  dying  heroine,  so  grotesquely  affecting.      Telle 
est  lavie  de  Boheme !    Excellent  comedian,  Scorn,  as  Marcello; 
droll  Mons.  GlLIBERT,  looking  a  perfect  mons  among  the  mole- 
hills, as  Schaunard,  and  M.  ISUARDON,  tres  bien  grime  as  Co/ line, 
all  playing  and  singing  in  such  style  as  leaves  nothing  to  be 
desired,  except  that  there  were  more  of  it  with  shorter  waits 
between  the  acts,  which  are  evidently  being  spun  out  to  k 
up  the  very  latest  traditions  of  the  opera  ;  for  which  reason  also 
Madame  MELBA.  has  to  go  mad  as  Lucia  after  she  has  come  to  a 
sad,    untimely,    but   tuneful   end   as    Mi?7ii.     Another    illusioi 
destroyed  !     Better  to  commence  at  half-past  eight,  and  to  let 
us  depart  at  eleven  with  sad  echo  of  poor  Mimi's  sweetest  note* 
lingering  in  our  ears.     MELBA' s  is  a  clever  performance  of  Mini 
the  grisette,  a  type  now-a-days  perhaps  rarely  met  with,  evei 
in  the  Quartier  Latin,  and  the  coyness,  gentleness,  and  innate 
modesty — for  this    is    possible — of    the    uneducated  girl,   for 
whose  station  in  life  there  is  no  precise  English  equivalent,  ar 
emphasised  by  Mme.  MELBA  with  such  tact  as  to  bring  thes 
qualities  into  strong  contrast  with  the  dashing  gaiety  of  th 
high-spirited,   quick-tempered,    inconstant    constant   Musetta 
represented  to  the  life,  and  sung  to   perfection   by  Frauleir 
FRITZI  SCHEFF.     Her  realistic  picture  of  Musetta  is  a  Franco 
German  work  of  great  worth,  in  fact,  a  Scheff  d'ceuvre. 
For  the  first  time  in  their  musical  and  dramatic  eharacte 


Mr.  STEDMAN'S  choir  of  boys,  when  at  the  Fair,  where  all  was 
gaiety  and  merriment,  took  their  pleasures  most  sadly  and 

olemnly.  There  was  no  life  nor  spirit  in  them.  What  was  the 
natter  ?  Had  they  been  told,  that  they  were  to  suggest  to  the 
iiidience  that  it  was  the  last  hour  of  the  holidays  ?  Cheer  up, 
uy  lads ;  or,  as  HENRY  RUSSELL  would  have  sung,  "  Cheer, 
boys,  cheer,  no  more  of  idle  sorrow  !  " 

And  with  whom  lies  the  responsibility  for  the  operatic  snow? 
In  the  third  act,  "  Oh,  what  a  fall  was  there  !  "  Perhaps,  were 
)ne  -to  inquire  "  OH  sont  les  neiges  d'antan?"  the  answer 
would  be  that  the  supply  had  not  given  out,  and  that  in  order 

o  show  there  was  plenty  more  where  that  came  from,  the 
Snow-man  over  the  Borders  let  small  flakes  dribble  away  and 
fall  through  the  roof — sadly  needing  repair — of  the  Artists'  attic, 
where,  in  fourth  act,  poor  Mimi  passes  gently  away.  Well, 

f  it  were  true  that  one  can't  have  too  much  of  a  good  thing, 

hen  this  surplusage  of  snow  would  never  be  dc  trop  in  any 
opera,  say  in  the  garden  scene  of  Borneo  and  Juliet,  or  during 
Don  Giovanni 's  banquet.  Advice  to  the  Snow  Producer — 

'Drop   it";  but  not  in  the   manner  it  was  dropped  on   this 

'  lovely  night  in  June." 

The  calls  before  the  curtain  were  hearty  and  numerous  ;  not 
one  singer  among  them  whom  the  audience  did  not  delight  to 
honour,  especially  Queen  MELBA,  "  more  power  to  her  elba  !  " 
But  to  "drop  into  verse"  is  not  permitted,  so  Au  revoir  to 
fiddles  and  'celli,  Congratulations  to  MANCINELLI.  I  hope  the 
omens  secin  to  indicate  Great  success  to  the  Opera  Syndicate. 


WALK   UP!     CLIMB  UP!! 

CLIMB  up  to  the  top  to  sec  and  hear  Mr.  ALBERT  CHEVALIER, 
who  is,  as  usual,  "sons  peur  et  sans  reproclie" — unless  we 
reproach  him  with  not  having  very  many  novelties  to  give  us. 
He  has  introduced  The  Magic  Doll  into  his  programme,  which  is 
much  the  same  sort  of  tricky  show  as  was  given  in  last  year's 
Drury  Lane  pantomime.  It  is  clever  and  amusing  :  but  we  prefer 
more  of  CHEVALIER.  "Our  Bazaar,"  "The  Old  Actor,"  and 
other  favourites  going  strong,  especially  where  the  CHEVALIER 
appears  as  the  Coster  and  sings  "  Mafekin'  Night  "  ;  Mr.  HARRY 
CARSDALE'S  imitations  of  farm-iliar  sounds  in  a  farm-yard  are 
inimitable,  and,  as  a  specimen  of  "turn  and  turnabout,"  when 
the  Lion  Comique  makes  an  ass  of  himself,  the  audience  roar  ! 
It  is  altogether  a  capital  entertainment,  including  "Phantas- 
magoria "  excellently  performed  on  an  Erard  Grand  by  the  clever 
piano-forte  executant  Mr.  A.  H.  WEST.  But  to  what  a  height 
Mr.  CHEVALIER'S  patrons  have  to  go  in  order  to  reach  the  hall 
whei*e  he  performs !  If  his  friends  in  and  out  of  the  Press  "give 
him  a  lift"  now  and  then,  why  does  not  he  return  the  com- 
pliment and  give  the  public  "a  lift"  to  take  'em  up  and  down 
in  the  twopenny-tube  elevator  style  ?  As  it  is,  the  entertain- 
ment invariably  commences  with  the  old  air,  and  very  little 
wind  to  play  it,  "Such  a-gettin'  up  stairs." 


THANKS  TO  THE  L.  H.  C. 
THF,  Lord  High  Chancellor,  at  the  banquet  of  the  Newspaper 
Press  Fund,  took  occasion  to  refer  in  terms  of  grave  disappro- 
bation to  "  The  Fringe  of  the  Press."  His  Lordship  declared 
it  was  a  pity  that  this  fringe  should  always  be  trailing  in 
the  mud.  Fringe  is  generally  used  for  ornament;  but,  ap- 
parently, the  fringe  to  which  Lord  HALSBURY  referred  is  the 
reverse  of  ornamental  and  equally  the  reverse  of  anything 
useful.  Surely,  the  remedy  is  to  cut  off  the  fringe.  A  lady 
adopts  that  action  when  an  otherwise  smart  gown  is  so 
disfigured.  The  fabric  of  the  Press  should  be  treated  on  the 
lines  accepted  by  the  lady  with  the  Smart  dress.  Let  the 
muddy  fringe  be  cut  off,  or,  if  that  cannot  be  done,  let  the 
fringe  be  prevented  in  the  future  from  trailing  in  th<5  gutter 
Surely  that  is  a  duty  fitting  the  responsibilities  of  gentlemei 
of  the  Press. 


JUNE  12,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


435 


Robson.  "  Do  YOU  THINK  FISHES  CAN  HEAR  ? " 

Dobson.    "I  SHOULD  HOPE  NOT.      LISTEN  TO  OLD  SMITH— HE  ?S  SMASHED  HIS   ROD  !" 


TEETH  ! 

(To  Mr.  Punch.) 

FORGIVE  me,  sir,  if,  under  strong  compulsion, 
I  lay  rny  load  of  grief  before  your  throne. 
You  are  the  source  of  ease  to  them  that  toil ; 
Your  words  give  comfort,  and  your  smiles  can  smooth 
The  brows  of  those  who  dwell  with  black  despair. 
"Wherefore,  you  ask,  this  pitiful  appeal, 
These  sighs,  these  lamentations,  and  this  woe? 
Wherefore  these  downcast  looks  that  rob  the  day 
Of  brightness  and  make  night  more  desolate  ; 
This  gloomy  gait,  as  of  a  mute  who  treads 
The  dismal  ways  that  lead  to  Kensal  Green  ? 
I'll  tell  you,  sir,  for  you  are  one  who  knows 
The  sadness  and  the  mystery  of  life  ; 
You  can  explain  in  words  what  others  feel, 
Others  who  stumble  when  they  strive  to  speak, 
And,  speaking,  make  confusion  more  confused. 
Well,  sir,  I  have  a  babe  like  other  babes, 
A  babe  its  mother  deems  a  paragon, 
The  glass  of  beauty  and  the  mould  of  wit. 
To  me,  though  much  I  love  to  watch  its  sports, 
Its  aimless,  staggering  rushes,  and  its  falls, 
Flat  as  the  flattest  pancake  on  the  floor  ; 
To  hear  its  shouts,  its  purple-visaged  screams 
Of  shameless  anger,  passionate  attempts 
To  be  the  tyrant  of  its  nursery  realm  ; 
To  note  its  inarticulate  endeavours 
At  dissyllabic  oft-repeated  words, 
"  Papa,"  "  Mama,"  or  "  Nana,"  or  "  Tata  " — 


To  me  who  own  I  am  a  Ruffian  man 

It  is  a  babe,  a  plain  thing,  but  mine  own'. 

This  infant,  Sir,  has  TEETH  (or  is  to  have), 

Teeth  growing,  as  I  judge,  from  head  to  foot, 

Teeth  scattered  over  all  its  dumpling  frame, 

Teeth  heedless  whence  they  come  or  where  they  sprout, 

Teeth  that  can  be  the  secret  cause  of  all 

The  ills  that  ADAM  brought  on  mortal  men. 

The  babe  falls  down  and  howls,  its  nurse  says  "  Teeth  "  ; 

Its  forehead  shows  a  bruise,  its  hand  a  scar — 

"  Teeth,"  says  its  nurse,  its  mother  echoes  "  Teeth." 

Teeth  are  the  reason  for  its  silent  moods, 

Teeth  make  it  babble,  teeth  produce  the  whim. 

That  makes  it  pinch  its  sister,  or  refuse 

To  "  say  good-bye  to  Gran'ma  "  or  to  hail 

With  smiles  of  joy  each  self-created  aunt. 

Teeth  cause  it  to  denude  its  doll  of  hair, 

To  stamp  upon  the  kitten  and  to  be 

Sleepless  of  nights  or  sleepy  in  the  day. 

Teeth,  teeth  and  teeth  !  the  world  is  one  huge  tooth 

That 's  always  on  the  point  of  coming  through, 

Invisible,  but  sharp,  and  never  comes.  R.  C.  L. 


THE  MOORISH  MISSION. — "Civis  BRITANNCCUS  "  wishes  to  be 
informed  whether  the  Moorish  Mission — which  seems  to  be  a 
very  dark  affair,  by  the  way — is  to  be  presented  with  the  free- 
dom of  the  City  by  the  LORD  MAYOR.  "If  so,"  observes  our 
gifted  correspondent,  "  each  one  of  the  brown  suite  will  in 
himself  represent  the  original  Christy  Minstrel  Troupe  of 
'  BURGESS  AND  MOOR.'"  He  adds,  "  No  Moor  at  present  from 
yours— Civ.  BRIT." 


436 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JUNE  12,  1901. 


IN    ANDALUSIA. 

EXTBACTS  FROM  THE  TRAVEL   DlARY   OF 

TOBY,  M.P. 

R.M.S.  Egypt,  Bay  of  Biscay,  Saturday. 
— "TOBY,  dear  boy,"  said  PRINCE  ARTHUR 
on  the  eve  of  adjournment  for  Whitsun 
Recess,  "wish  you  'd  do  something  for  us. 
Here  's  "Whitsun  holiday  ;  made  it  as  long 
as  I  could.  Use  it  by  running  over  to 
Gibraltar,  and  look  into  this  affair  of 
the  defences.  Yes,  I  know  ;  but,  between 
us,  CAP'EN  TOMMY  BOWLES  wasn't  quite 
the  man  to  deal  with  the  affair.  He  's  a 
genius ;  what  we  want  is  the  opinion  of 
a  sound,  practical,  I  won't  say  stolid, 
person,  free  from  flights  of  imagination. 
You  '11  really  do  the  State  a  service  if 
you  '11  undertake  the  job." 

Accordingly,  here  I  am,  steaming  over 
placid  pond  defamed  by  usual  associations 
connected  with  Bay  of  Biscay.  Quite  a 
number  of  acquaintances  on  board.  As 
many  Members  of  House  of  Commons  as 
1  've  sometimes  sat  with  in  Committee 
of  Supply  voting  millions.  Item,  two  of 
the  busiest  men  at  the  Bar.  Seems  to 
have  occurred  to  a  score  of  busy  men  that 
here  is  the  model  holiday  when  time  is 
limited.  Leave  London  on  Thursday ; 
arrive  at  Gibraltar  on  Monday  ;  returning, 
leave  for  Plymouth  on  Tuesday  ;  eight 
days  at  sea  ;  or  go  on  to  Marseilles  and 
back  overland,  staying  a  night  in  Paris. 

Better  still,  if  you  can  spare  the  time, 
see  Honda,  Malaga,  Granada,  and  Seville. 
This  an  alluring  prospect  for  men  of 
leisure  and  freedom  from  public  cares. 
As  for  me,  all  my  time  will  be  taken  up 
grubbing  round  Gibraltar,  getting  to  the 
bottom  of  this  difficulty  about  the  de- 
fences. 

Hotel  Reina  Christina,  Algec'iras,  Mon- 
day.— "Algeciras  is  an  ancient  Moorish 
town,"  writes  GEORGE  BORROW,  visiting  it 
sixty  years  ago.  Town  unaltered  since 
his  eye  looked  upon  it.  The  same  white 
houses,  with  flower-garlanded,  iron-barred 
balconies,  through  which  Juliet  may  look 
at  Romeo  and  talk  to  him,  which,  indeed, 
she  does  every  evening.  Here  is  the 
river  and  its  beautiful  bridge  ;  in  front, 
the  bay  of  Gibraltar  wearing  on  its  bosom 
the  jewel  of  the  Rock.  At  a  stride 
(taken  in  a  comfortable  steamer)  the 
visitor  passes  from  British  dominion  and 
modern  civilisation  to  old  Spain  that  has 
learned  nothing  through  the  centuries, 
and  doesn't  feel  the  need  of  learning. 

Algeciras  is  in  Spain,  but  the  bold 
Briton  has  fastened  his  grip  upon  the 
place ;  has  made  a  railway  through 
apparently  impossible  passages  in  the 
mountains  going  northward  to  Grenada. 
Of  late  has  built  a  hotel,  the  prettiest, 
most  perfectly  designed  the  travelled 
MEMBER  FOR  SARK  has  come  across  in  his 
wanderings.  In  style,  a  happy  combination 
of  Moorish  palace  and  English  mansion. 
Long  been  a  reproach  cast  at  Gibraltar 


that  its  hotel  accommodation  does  not  tempt 
the  wayfarer  to  sojourn  long.  Here,  twenty 
minutes'  journey  by  steamer,  is  a  gem  of 
a  residence,  set  in  a  climate  amid  scenery 
that  rivals  the  choicest  bits  of  the  Riviera. 
Immediately  opposite  is  the  Rock,  its 
aspect  changing  every  moment  under  the 
varying  shadows  of  the  clouds  ;  in  the 
morning  and  evening  bathed  in  the  glory 
of  the  rising  and  the  setting  sun.  Behind 
is  a  circle  of  the  everlasting  hills,  the 
blue  Mediterranean  lapping  the  shore  at 
its  feet. 

Ronda,  Tuesday.—"  Call  me  at  half-past 
five,"  I  said  to  the  polyglot  factotum  on 
going  to  bed  last  night  at  the  Hotel  Reine 
Christina.  "Si,  Signer,  very  weel,"  he 
replied.  And  he  called  me  at  five. 

Train  starts  northward  at  6.35.  At  the 
station  the  inevitable  couple  of  Carabin- 
eers, who  carry  their  ancient  fowling-piece 
as  if  it  were  a  babe  in  arms,  insist  upon 
opening  every  article  of  our  baggage ; 
understood  to  be  in  search  of  dutiable 
goods  ;  exercise  seems  superfluous.  Here 
we  are  in  a  Spanish  town,  bent  on  railway 
journey  through  a  Spanish  country,  the 
area  being  subjected  to  equal  customs 
duties.  How,  in  these  circumstances,  we 
could  evade  or  outrage  them  does  not 
appear.  Put  the  case  before  the  Cara- 
bineer. He  listens  with'flattering  atten- 
tion. When  I  conclude,  fancying  I  have 
made  favourable  impression,  he  calls  up 
the  other  Carabineer,  who  dangles  his 
musket  in  the  hollow  of  his  arms,  with 
the  muzzle  directed  upon  me.  This 
arranged,  his  comrade  goes  through  my 
portmanteau  and  other  things. 

Three  hours  and  a-half  run  to  Ronda  ; 
on  the  up-grade  all  the  way  ;  magnificent 
country,  by  mountain  and  river,  through 
vineyards  and  olive  groves.  Nearing 
Ronda  look  back  and  see  the  Sierra 
Nevada  flashing  white  teeth  above  the 
ranges  of  lower  hills.  Englishmen  found 
the  money  for  the  marvellous  engineer- 
ing feat  of  making  a  railway  through 
these  pathless  mountain  tracks.  English 
engineers  built  the  line,  and  a  Scotch- 
man manages  it.  An  unknown  ; country 
for  the  great  army  of  the  British  tourist. 
In  freshness  and  beauty  that  sometimes 
rise  to  the  height  of  grandeur,  he  would 
find  it  worth  looking  up.  For  miles  be- 
side the  railway  track  runs  the  Gucidia 
Sometimes  a  deep  stream  of  blue  water ; 
sometimes  spreading  out  over  a  stony 
bed  ;  further  on  gathering  up  its  strength 
to  dash  in  foam  over  the  rocks. 

Ronda,  3,000  feet  above  the  sea  level,  is 
not  too  hot  even  on  this  midsummer  day. 
The  Roman*,  who  knew  a  fine  site  when 
they  saw  it,  settled  here.  Over  their 
amphitheatre  the  Spaniards  built  a  bull- 
ring, now  the  oldest  in  the  Kingdom.  In 
a  later  century  the  Moors  and  the 
Spaniards,  conqueror  and  conquered, 
dwelt  together  separated  by  a  riven 
mountain.  The  cleft  is  200  feet  wide, 


350  deep.  At  the  bottom  the  river  runs, 
working  flour  mills  and  the  dynamos  which 
flood  the  meanest  quarter  with  electric 
light.  At  one  side  of  the  Taja  the  Moors 
dwelt,  their  houses  standing  to  this  day. 
On  the  other  the  Spaniards  waited  their 
opportunity. 

"Odd,"  says  SARK,  "how  closely  the 
Moor  is  connected  with  the  history  of 
Spain.  Odder  still  that  we  had  not  the 
least  great."  "What  was  his  name?" 
"  Sir  JOHN  MOORE.  Corunna,  you  remem- 
ber." 

Granada,  Wednesday. — Wakened  at  sun- 
rise by  the  nightingales  singing  in  the 
garden  of  the  Alhambra,  as  they  sang 
whenBoABDiL  ruled  in  its  spacious  courts. 
A  short  night  owing  to  cheerful  habits  of 
landlord's  family.  Consists  of  two  Demon- 
boys,  their  customs  peculiar.  A  haggard- 
looking  fellow-guest,  who  left  by  the 
earliest  train  this  morning,  tells  me  the 
night  before  last  he  was  awakened  at 
half-past  eleven  by  trundling  of  cart  down 
hill  of  narrow  thoroughfare  that  faces 
sleeping  rooms  of  hotel.  It  was  in  charge 
of  the  Demon-boys.  Game  was  to  drag 
cart  to  top  of  hill ;  one  Demon  got  in ; 
the  other  ran  by  its  side ;  both  shouting 
at  top  of  voice  of  supernatural  shrillness. 

A  gleam  momentarily  lightened  the 
leaden  life  of  the  sleepless  guest  as  he 
mentions  a  strange  coincidence.  The 
contents  of  a  jug  of  water  fell  on  the 
pathway  just  as  the  Demons  halted  under 
his  window  with  intent  to  make  another 
journey  up  the  hill.  After  that  there  was 
silence. 

To-night  the  Demons,  having  dried  their 
clothes,  broke  out  in  fresh  place.  As 
omnibus  starts  to  catch  train  at  6.30  a.m., 
guests  go  to  bed  early.  Turned  in  at  10.0  last 
night  tired  with  slowest  railway  journey, 
from  Bobadilla  to  Granada,  ever  suffered 
by  man.  Fell  asleep  at  once.  Suddenly 
awakened  by  uproar  outside  ;  listened  for 
the  great  bell  in  the  Tower  of  the  Alhambra 
that  signals  re  volution.  Granada,  answer- 
ing the  signal  from  Seville,  responding  to 
mad  cry  of  the  men  of  Madrid,  evidently 
on  foot  to  turn  out  the  King  and  slay 
somebody.  Heard  above  the  din,  a  shrill 
voice  answered  by  another  ;  dull  sound  of 
kicking  and  thumping ;  massacre  evidently 
commenced ;  got  out  of  bed ;  peered 
cautiously  through  windows  opened  wide 
to  the  summer  night ;  beheld  a  strange 
sight. 

The  Demon-boys  had  organised  a  mid- 
night football  match ;  team  composed  of 
the  domestic  establishment.  There  was 
the  cook,  with  white  apron  gleaming  in 
the  moonlight  over  portly  paunch,  kick- 
ing like  anything.  The  head  waiter, 
wildly  waving  a  serviette,  brushed  imagi- 
nary flies  off  the  football.  Boots,  with 
somebody's  shoe  on  his  left  hand,  yelled 
at  the  top  of  his  voice.  The  stable-men, 
the  'bus-driver,  our  chamber-maid,  an 
elderly  female  of  morose  countenance, 


JUNE  12,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


437 


who  sullenly  made  our  beds  five  minutes 
before  we  got  into  them — they  were  all 
there.  All  shouting,  all  kicking,  whether 
the  football  was  in  sight  or  not.  As  for 
the  Demon-boys,  they  answered  to  each 
other  as  deep  calls  unto  deep.  Also  they 
had  a  quite  undue  share  of  the  football, 
which  they  kicked  to  each  other  over 
the  heads  of  the  crowd. 

Happily  that  didn't  matter,  the  cook 
just  as  pleased  kicking  at  nothing  as  if 
his  foot  felt  the  exhilarating  impact  of 
the  ball.  Boots  bellowed  every  time  the 
ball  was  kicked.  As  for  chambermaid, 
she  thumped  away  at  space  as  if  smitten 
with  remorse  at  the  recollection  that 
earlier  in  the  evening  she  had  forgotten 
to  shake  up  beds  made  up  of  some  myste- 
rious compound  of  flock  and  remnants  of 
old  carpets. 

It  was  an  ineresting  sight,  not  lacking 
in  excitement,  but  it  was  also  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  past  midnight,  and  majority 
of  the  guests  were  to  be  called  at  5.30. 
Through  the  still  night  rose  the  voice  of 
the  cook,  chanting : 

Un  manco  escribo  una  carta— (kick) ; 
Un  siego  la  esta mirando— (thump)'; 
.  Un  mudo  la  esta.  leyendo— (thump) ; 
Y  un  sordo  la  esta  escuchando— (kick). 

R.M.S.  Peninsula,  Tuesday. — Homeward 
bound  ;  Gibraltar  fading  in  distance  ; 
beautiful  Algeciras  out  of  sight.  Suddenly 
horrible  thought  possesses  me.  Forgot 
all  about  my  mission !  Meant  to  go 
thoroughly  into  question  of  Gibraltar 
defences.  Entirely  slipped  my  memory. 
All  due  to  the  horrors  of  my  night  at 
Granada.  Spent  the  following  day  amid 
the  marvels  of  the  Alhambra  ;  drove  about 
the  Town  ;  visited  the  Cathedral ;  stood  in 
the  vault,  lighted  by  tallow  dips,  in  which 
sleep  FERDINAND  and  ISABELLA. 

Pretty  tired  after  a  hot  day,  but  could 
not  face  prospect  of  another  night  in 
company  of  the  Demon-boys  of  Granada. 
Sure  to  have  fresh  entertainment  on  hand 
for  the  night.  Rather  journey  southward 
through  the  silent  stretches  of  corn  and 
the  green  pastures,  the  olive  groves,  the 
vineyards,  the  orchards  where  grow  the 
lemon,  orange,  pomegranate,  fig  and  peach. 
They  stretch  inimitably  under  the  moon- 
light, and  the  peace  of  midnight  is  infinite 
when  I  think  of  what  is  going  on  in  the 
steep,  narrow  street  before  the  hotel  in 
the  precincts  of  the  Alhambra. 

Shall  come  back  again  ;  understand  why 
the  Spaniards  always  talk  of  Mariana. 
To-day  is  so  beautiful  in  this  sunlit  land 
that  we  leave  all  burdens  for  To-morrow. 

By  the  way,  the  MEMBER  FOR  SARK  has 
got  for  me  translation  of  the  song  the 
cook  sang  at  the  midnight  football  match. 
It  runs  like  this  : 

A  Landless  man  a  letter  did  write  ; 
A  dumb  dictated  it  word  for  word ; 
The  person  who  read  it  had  lost  his  sight ; 
And  deaf  was  he  who  listened  and  heard. 


THIS   IS   HOW   IT  CAME  ABOUT,    THAT    GOSSIPS    SPREAD  "THE    BEPORT    THAT    YOUNG    EDGAR 

(THE  WITTIEST  AND  BEST-NATURED  FELLOW  IN  THE  WORLD)  WAS  REJECTED  BY  Miss  BERTRAM 

IN  THE  PARK  LAST  WEEK.  As  A  MATTER  OF  FACT,  HE  WAS  THINKING  OUT  A  FUNNY  SONG 
IN  A  COMIC  OPERA  HE  18  WRITING,  AND  DOESN'T  EVEN  KNOW  THE  YOUNG  LADY  BY  SIGHT. 
AND  SHE  WAS  RATHER  ANNOYED  AT  BEING  KEPT  WAITING  6O  LONG  BY  A  FRIEND. 


DUCAL  REFLECTIONS. 

(Vide  the  Duke  of  Devonshire  at  Chester- 
field.) 

WHAT  is  the  point  of  School  Boards  ?   Who 
Created  them  ?  and  with  what  view  ? 
And  what  are  they  supposed  to  do  ? 
I  wonder. 

What  good  can  they  expect  to  bring 
By  making  little  children  sing  ? 
In  short,  why  teach  them  anything  ? 
I  wonder. 

What  useful  cause  can  we  advance 
By  teaching  them  the  tongue  of  France, 
To  read,  to  write  and  even  dance  ? 
I  wonder. 

Why  build  a  swimming  bath  ?  What  whim 
Could  agitate  the  mind  of  him 
Who  'd  teach  a  boy  or  girl  to  swim  ? 
I  wonder. 


In  Derbyshire !     Would  any  clown 
Suppose  that  folk  would  ever  drown 
In  Chesterfield,  an  inland  town  ? 
I  wonder. 

Why  train  the  body  ?     Wherefore  store 
The  infant  mind  with  useless  lore  ? 
And  what  is  education  for  ? 

I  wonder. 

And  why,  oh,  why  have  I  been  sent 

To  make   these  speeches  ?      What  was 

meant 

By  making  me  Lord  President  ? 
I  wonder. 


MAITRE  LABORI. — In  the  absence  of  this 
distinguished  advocate,  on  a  visit  to  Eng- 
land, the  French  Bar  must  be  reduced  to 
almost  "Mi  sine  Labori." 


438 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JUNE  12,  1901. 


~-<aa*9«fedj 


BROTHERS    IN    ADVERSITY. 


Farmer.  "  PULL  UP,  YOU  FOOL!    THE  MA.BK  's  BOLTING!" 
Motorist.   "  So  's  THK  CAR  !  " 


THE  BOOKIE  AND  THE  NURSERYMAID. 

["  What  machinery  have  you  to  stop  nurserymaids  from  putting  a  shilling 
a  a  race." — Lord  Salinhnry  in.  the  House  of  Lords.'] 
THERE  was  a  naughty  bookie,  who  the  odds  at  racing  laid, 

Sing  bravo  !  the  merry,  merry  Marquis  ! 

The  victim  whom  he  spoiled  the  most  she  was  a  nurserymaid, 
Sing  bravo  !  the  merry,  merry  Marquis  ! 
And  every  hour  day  by  day, 
The  wicked  pair  indulged  in  play, 
To  stop  their  game  there  was  no  way, 
Sing  bravo  !  the  merry,  merry  Marquis  ! 

JEMIMA,  she  the  nursemaid  was,  who  had  a  certain  tip, 

Sing  bravo  !  the  merry,  merry  Marquis  ! 

A  rank  outsider  that  was  termed  a  "  round-the-corner  snip," 
Sing  bravo  !  the  merry,  merry  Marquis  ! 
Split  ox  the  Tenth,  that  was  the  gee 
That  would  pull  in  the  £  s.  d., 
And  make  JEMIMA  rich  and  free, 
Sing  bravo  !  the  merry,  merry  Marquis  ! 

UDOLPHO  BINKS  the  bookie  was,  who  did  the  gambling  job, 

Sing  bravo !  the  merry,  merry  Marquis ! 
And  every  hour  in  the  day  annexed  JEMIMA'S  bob, 
Sing  bravo  !  the  merry,  merry  Marquis  ! 
Ten  thousand  bobs  to  one  he  laid, 
Unto  that  trusting  nurserymaid, 
And  thought  the  lambkin  he  had  flayed, 
Sing  bravo  !  the  merry,  merry  Marquis  ! 


Now  when  Splitox  upon  the  course  the  race  to  win  did  try, 

Sing  bravo  !  the  merry,  merry  Marquis, 
He  lost  the  race  by  just  a  head — JEMIMA,  she  would  die  ! 
Sing  bravo  !  the  merry,  merry  Marquis  ! 
She  all  her  evil  ways  denied, 
But  'ere  the  poison  she  had  tried, 
The  winner  ivus  disqualified 
Sing  bravo  !  the  merry,  merry  Marquis  ! 

UDOLPHO  BINKS,  the  bookie,  now  sells  matches  in  the  Strand, 

Sing  bravo  !  the  merry,  merry  Marquis  ! 
While  JEMIMA'S  wedded  to  the  proudest  noble  in  the  land, 
Sing  bravo !  the  merry,  merry  Marquis  ! 
So  she  that  bore  a  nursemaid's  shame 
Is  owner  of  a  Norman  name 
And,  what  is  more,  a  Primrose  Dame  ! 
Sing  bravo  !  the  merry,  merry  Marquis ! 


"WHEN  THE  MOUNTAIN  WOULDN'T  GO  TO  MAHOMET,  &c." — The 
Moorish  Embassy  is  to  visit  the  Houses  of  Parliament.  This 
is  as  it  should  be,  in  June.  The  grouse-shooting  Members 
of  the  House  being  unable  to  go  to  the  Moors  until  August, 
this  visit  to  the  Commons  is  a  delicate  attention  on  the  part 
of  the  Moors. 

"  TALKING  about  this  Educational  Question,"  observed  the 
Elder  Miss  JUMBLE,  "  will  anyone  kindly  explain  to  me  pre- 
cisely the  meaning  of  what  I  hear  of  as  being  so  often  quoted, 
I  mean  '  The  Cockatoo  Decision  ?  '  " 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.— JUNK  12,  1901. 


WAR  OFFICE   HISTORY  REPEATS  ITSELF. 

RIGHT  HON.  MK.  BR-DR-CK  (to  CANADA).  "  IN  VIEW  OF  THE  PRESENT— ER— PROMISING— UM— OUTLOOK  IN 
SOUTH  AFRICA,  I  CAN  NOW  AFFORD  TO  REFER  YOU  TO  OUR  MINUTE  OF  OCTOBER,  '99,  TO  THE  EFFECT 
'  NO  MOUNTED  MEN  NEED  APPLY.'  " 

[The  Government  has  declined  Canada's  oft'er  of  two  thousand  cavalry^] 


JUNK  12,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


441 


THE    TABLETS    OF    AZIT-TIGLETH-IVNPHANSI,    THE    SCRIBE. 


1.  Now  on   the    walls   of  the  Ghalariz 
which  are  in 

2.  the  Akhad-Imeh   (supposed  by  some 
authorities  to  be  the  temple  of  At) 

3.  — on    the  lefutan-saiy'id,    as   you  go 
towards 

4.  the  Serkhuz, 

5.  Just     beyond     the    Arkhed    where 
sauntah  and  phlaneh 

6.  the  el-duleh-ruez  who  study  the  nekh- 
taiz  in  dhir- 

7.  luibba-dasliaz  .... 

8.  et-setrah,  et-setrah — 

9.  did  they  gather  the  paintings  turned 
out  in  a  twelvemonth  .  . 

10.  good,  bad,  and  indifferent  .... 

11.  stuck  them  up  holwz-blidluz 

12.  — keeping  all  the   good   places   for 
the  akhad-emishanz, 

13.  —   .    .   and    they    all    killed    each 
other, their  gilt  was  appalling 

14.  Then    the    pablikh    all    herded    in 
droves 

15.  through  the  terun-stails,  poured  in 
till  the 

16.  kortyad  was  chokh-phfil  of  brudms 

17.  not  because  they  -liked  pictures, — 
for  they  wouldn't  know 

18.  paintings  by  Vandhaik 

19.  from  tih-trez,  they  probably  secretly 

20.  dote  upon  khromos  ; 

21.  while   as    for    Velas-kuez,    Phredu- 
6rkah  or  Mhileh 

22.  they  might  be  described  as 

23.  phra-gonar  to  the  general 

24.  —  but   because    all    their    friends 
went. 


ELEVENTH    FRAGMENT. 

25.  They  only  liked  those  that  they  knew 

26.  in  a  moment,    ....  the  men  who 
did  something  exactly  like 

27.  last  year. 

28.  Now  they  liked  this  /   .  .  .  . 

29.  Oh !    no !    they   had  (jot   the   wrong 
number 

80 misled  by  the  marble !  .  .  .  . 

31 it  looked  at  first  sight 

32.  so  like  dhir-alumat-  ddemah,  —  it 
seemed  so  well  painted ! 

83.  They  wouldn't ' '  mark ' '  that ;  they  'd 
go  on  to 

34.  the  next  one 

35 gave  themselves  up 

38.  to  a  frenzy  of  laughter  over  Sdr- 
jentareh  .  .  . 

37.  rolled  about  and  went  chuckling  off 
into 

38.  the  suburbs  at  a  portrait  that 's 

39.  destined  to  live  through  the  ages 

40.  and  be  fetching  big  prices  at  kristiz 
or  somewhere 

41.  long  after  their  very  desirable  man- 
sions 

42.  have  become  mere  detritus  ; 

43.  when  their  banking-accounts,  their 
investments 

44.  in  consols 

45.  could  not  well  be  told  from 

46.  aluv-yaldep-ositz, 

47.  and   they    themselves   pigeon-holed 
neatly 

48.  in  cases,  on  shelves  of  museums 

49.  Marked  "  Fragments  discoversd  at 


50 possibly  human." 


51.  And,  oh  !  wasn't  this  sweet,  it  must 
be 

52.  Makh&st-dn  !     Yes,  look  at  the  gar- 
den ! 

53.  So  tender  and  lonely  ;   with  a  nice 
touch 

54.  of     orange,  —  they      ahvays      like 
orange  ; 

55.  and  the  tear,  don't  you  see  it 
50.  just  below  the  left  utlidh  ? 

57.  In  a  second  or  two  it  will 

58.  splash  on  the  sundial 

59.  Phrankh-di'khsi !     How  regal  !    HOAV 
stately  ! 

60.  And  just  look  at  the  trimmings 

61.  and  all  that  pasmdn-tarih ; 

62.  it  would  really  take  hours  to  do  half 

63.  of  it  justice How  nicely 

64.  he  'd  do  our  Maraiyah  ! 

65.  — a  roundabout  person,  plebiyan  and 
somewhat  primeval  in  feature  ; 

66.  of  generous   habit  —  rather   like  a 
tomdhtoh 

67.  perched  on  the  week's  washing  .  — 

68.  so  pleasant  for  dikhsi ! 

69.  We  must  run  in  again,  dear,  to  see 
Ed-uinabeh 

70.  and  his  ledih-khrusedaz  enjoying 

71.  the  sunset,— and    don't    they    look 
startled, 

72.  and  it 's  really  no  wonder,  quite  a 
novelty  for  them. 

73.  We  all  know  the  sun  never  does  set 

74.  on  the  empire  they  came  from.  .  .  . 
Yes,  there  's  a  nice  hansamm. 

75.  Now  we  can  say  we  've  been  there  ! 

E.  T.  R. 


442 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JUNE  12,  1901. 


IN    GOOD    COMPANY. 

FOR  his  very  light  comedy  at  the  Court  Theatre,  Mr. 
BRANDON  THOMAS  has  not  hit  upon  an  attractive  title  in  calling 
it  Women  are  so  Serious.  Such  a  title  may,  perhaps,  arouse 
curiosity,  but  the  "  perhaps  "  is  a  very  big  one.  Not  that  M. 
PIERRE  WOLFF  was  happily  inspired  in  naming  the  original 
French  piece  (whence  this  is  light-heartedly  adapted)  "  Celles 
qu'on  Respecte."  But,  thank  goodness,  there  is  scarcely  a 
serious  moment  in  this  piece,  which  is  acted  for  all  it  is  worth, 
professing  to  be  only  a  comedy  of  character.  Were  not  the 
light  and  airy  play  kept  going  by  the  perfect  acting  of  every- 
one concerned  it  would  fall  to  the  ground  in  the  very  first  act ; 
but,  played  as  it  is,  with  natural  dialogue  naturally  given,  it 
rattles  on  with  such  a  pace  that  the  audience,  if  never 
intensely  interested,  is  from  first  to  last  kept  thoroughly 
amused. 

Miss  ELLIS  JEFFERIES  as  the  vivacious  Mrs.  Gunthorpe, 
varinm  et  mutabile,  never  lets  action  or  dialogue  flag.  She  pre- 
eminently is  "one  of  the  lifes  and  souls"  of  the  piece,  and 
artistically  contrasted  with  her  is  her  husband,  the  stolid, 
chuckling  Algy  Gunthorpe  of  Mr.  GEORGE  GlDDENS,  the  bicy- 
clist-maniac who  gives  up  to  the  wheel  the  time  he  ought  to 
pass  with  his  wife,  and  whose  habit  of  "  pedalling,"  even  when 
he  his  quietly  seated  in  the  drawing-room,  would  "  get  on  the 
nerves"  of  anyone  even  less  highly-strung  than  is  the  flighty 
Mrs.  Gunthorpe.  Of  course,  all  this  is  exaggeration,  but  it  is 
very  funny,  and,  except  the  highly  improbable  "pedalling," 
the  action  is  rarely  overdone ;  wherein  lies  the  cleverness  of 
the  performance. 

As  Lad;/  Waveley,  a  quiet,  worldly-wise,  sly-pusslike 
character,  rather  difficult  to  place,  Miss  MABEL  TERRY-LEWIS 
plays  with  considerable  skill,  but  to  the  last  leaves  the 
audience,  which  pays  its  money  and  takes  its  choice,  to  decide 
whether  she  is  rather  partial  to  the  male-flirt,  Harold  Tivyford, 
and  .jealous  of  her  married  friend,  Mrs.  Gunthorpe,  or  whether 
she  is  only  a  coquette  interfering  in  what  doesn't  concern  her 
out  of  mere  vanity  and  love  of  intrigue.  It  is  not  a  colourless 
part,  but  it  is  a  blend. 

As  Cora,  the  sharp,  businesslike  Red  Cross  nurse  (not  that 
she  is  either  "Red"  or  "Cross,"  but  this  only  applies  to  the 
costume  with  the  badge),  who,  having  been  once  temporarily 
taken  in  by  the  gallant  and  grateful  Harold  (whom  she  has 
nursed  in  hospital),  finds  out  what  his  professions  of  love  are 
worth,  returns  his  presents,  and  throws  him  over,  after  having 
secured  as  her  husband  Harold's  superior  officer,  Miss  COX- 
STANCE  COLLIER  is  excellent. 

Mr.  HERBERT  STANDING,  as  Major  Daubeny,  "whose  part,  indeed, 
mainly  consists  of  "Standing  on,"  gets  a  laugh  for  every 
utterance  ;  he  rarely  has  to  say  more  than  two  or  three  words 
at  a  time,  but  every  word  tells.  He  speaks  forcibly,  abruptly, 
clearly,  and  to  the  point ;  which  point  he  immediately  makes, 
startling  the  audience  into  a  short,  sharp  laugh  that  is  the 
very  echo  of  the  character.  He  is  so  in  earnest :  it  is  delightful. 
A  very  clever  bit  of  character  acting. 

The  part  of  Ripton,  the  portly  butler,  is  well  rendered  by 
Mr.  W.  H.  QUINTON,  as  also  is  the  small  part  of  Sopley,  the 
soldier-servant,  by  Mr.  R.  C.  HERZ. 

The  fatuous,  selfish,  irresponsible,  male-flirt,  Harold  •  Tivyford, 
is  made-up  and  played  .to  perfection  by  Mr.  FREDERICK  KERR. 
Harold  Tivyford  makes  love  to  anyone  at  a  moment's  notice,  for, 
like  the  "dogs"  that  "delight  to  bark  and  bite,"  and  the 
"bears  and  lions"  that  "growl  and  fight,"  in  the  ancient 
nursery  verse  of  Dr.  WATTS,  "it  is  his  nature  to."  Matri- 
mony he  never  contemplates  ;  he  is  heartless,  but  the  author 
lets  him  off  scot  free.  It  is  true  that,  in  an  aside,  he  says  he 
will  have  to  leave  the  regiment  because  the  Major  has 
married  Cora,  who  will  now  be  "  his  commanding  officer  "  ;  but 
does  anyone  believe  for  a  moment  that  this  prospect  is  in  the 
least  likely  to  trouble  him  after  the  first  few  hours  ?  Truly, 


'tis  a  play  without  a  moral  of  any  sort ;  it  simply  forewarns 
male-flirts,  that  if  they  cannot  refrain  from  making  love  to 
every  pretty  woman  they  meet,  it  is  as  well  not  to  observe 
precisely  the  same  form  of  address  to  each  lady  who  may 
encourage  their  attentions.  Harold  is  still  flirting  as  the 
curtain  descends,  nor  does  one  feel  that  the  sudden  recon- 
ciliation of  Algij  Gunthorpe  and  his  wife  is  likely  to  be  lasting. 

Though,  on  the  whole,  the  play  does  little  more  than  suggest 
material  for  dramatic  development,  yet,  so  far  as  it  goes, 
every  act  is  highly  amusing,  and  of  the  three  the  second  is 
the  best,  going  admirably  without  a  single  pause  for  reflection, 
and  eliciting  from  the  audience  a  genuinely  hearty  call  at  the 
fall  of  the  curtain.  Prosit ! 

By  the  way,  the  .  comedy,  which  doesn't  commence  till  nine, 
is  preceded  at  8.15  by  a  performance  of  The  Musketeer  Concert 
Party,  which  we  advise  those  inclined  to  patronise  "  masked 
minstrels  "  and  part  -  singing  with  comic  interludes  on  no 
account  to  miss.  Their  only  mistake  is  in  having  a  piano  on 
the  stage  ;  it  is  quite  out  of  the  picture  and  damages  the  effect. 
There  is  a  piano  in  the  orchestra,  why  not  use  that  ?  Musketeers 
would  have  done  better  with  mandolines  or  guitars ;  but,  as 
they  sing  quite  up-to-date  songs,  why  not  insert  "  Modern  " 
before  "  Musketeers  "  in  the  descriptive  title? 


FEMININE  FASHION  ;  OR,  GIRLS  ARE   NOW   IN  SEASON. 

["  It  is  cheering  to  learn  from  a  society  correspondent  that  'girls  are  to  be 
fashionable  this  year.'    Last  year  was  distinctly  a  matrons'  season." 

St.  James's  Gazette.'] 
OH,  MABEL,  dear  MABEL,  for  years  I  have  waited 

My  passionate  love  to  declare. 
At  times  I  believed  that  to  part  we  were  fated 

By  fashion — forgive  my  despair  ! 
Oh,  the  dread  apprehension  that  you  might  succumb, 

Out  of  spite,  to  some  fashionless  peer, 
WThile  I  by  this  social  decree  was  held  dumb — 
Girls  are  not  the  fashion  this  year  ! 

If  you  knew  half  the  torture  I  had  to  go  through 

In  attempting  my  passion  to  smother, 
When,  instead  of  my  paying  attention  to  you, 

I  had  to  make  love  to  your  mother. 
But  you  in  my  heart,  dear,  none  else  could  supplant. 

I  poured  out  the  wealth  of  my  passion 
In  a  violent  outburst  of  love  to  your  aunt — 

Because  girls  were  not  then  in  fashion. 

Can't  you  guess  how  I  sighed  for  a  glance  from  your  eyes 

As  I  punted  your  aunt  up  the  stream? 
And  enlarged  on  the  beauty  of  water  and  skies ; 

She  is  deaf — which  obliged  me  to  scream. 
I  'in  .afraid  the  excursion  was  painfully  slow, 

It  presently  came  on  to  rain. 
How  I  longed  for  the  time  when  the  matron  would  go, 

And  girls  come  in  fashion  again  ! 

And  I  felt  that  perhaps  you  might  not  understand 

How  disinterested  were  my  intentions, 
When  I,  roguishly  pressing  your  grandmamma's  hand, 

Complimented  her  on  her  dimensions. 
I  hope  you  '11  allow  'twas  an  excellent  cause 

When  you  're  fully  aware  of  the  reason  ; 
I  flirted  with  grandmamma,  MABEL,  because 

Last  year  chaperons  were  in  season. 

But  now,  dearest  MABEL,  by  Fashion's  decree 

The  matron  's  a  thing  of  the  past. 
I  need  not  run  after  your  mother,  so  we 

Can  love  one  another  at  last. 
For  girls  are  the  fashion  this  year,  so  I  'in  able 

To  open  my  floodgates  of  passion. 
How  delightful  to  make  violent  love  to  you,  MABEL, 

And  know  I  am  strictly  in  fashion  ! 


JONE  12,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


443 


414 


[JUNE  12,  1901. 


"FROM  FRYING-PAN  TO  FIRE." 

(Suggestion  /or  a  Civil  and  Military  Farce.) 

SCENE  —  The  Reconstructed   War  Depart- 
ment.     TIME — A  year  or  two  hence 
Civilian  Official  discovered  poring  over 
a  mass  of  miscellaneous  Reports.     To 
him  enter  Military  Official. 

Military  Official  (lightly).  Ah,  you  have 
a  jolly  lot  of  our  menis.  there,  eh  ? 

Civilian  Official.  Yes.  It's  a  little 
difficult  to  enter  them  up— they  seem  to 
have  so  many  ramifications.  (Resignedly) 
But  it  is  one  part  of  our  duty  to  keep 
records.  Work  allotted  to  us  by  the 
Report. 

Mil,  Off.  Quite  so.  New  regulation.  We 
soldiers  get  into  muddles,  and  you  civilians 
put  them  down.  Splendid  division  of 
labour  ! 

Cii\  Ojf.  (taking  iip  hi*  pen).  Yes  ;  and 
as  I  have  a  lot  to  do,  unless 

Mil.  Off.  Wouldn't  disturb  you  for 
worlds,  my  dear  fellow  ;  but  I  'm  afraid  I 
must  just  ask  you  officially  to  be  so  kind 
as  to  lend  a  helping  hand. 

Cii'.  Off.  (coming  to  attention).  Oh,  cer- 
tainly. 

Mil.  Off.  Well,  you^see  things  are  not 
working  quite  smoothly.  Most  of  our 
chiefs,  frankly,  are  not  up  to  much. 

t'ii>.  Off.  It  is  not  the  business  of  a 
civilian  to  make  remarks,  but  it  was 
thought  possible  when  the  Report  was 
issued,  that  when  Pall  Mall  became  a  bar 
to  service  on  the  field,  the  best  men 
might  tight  shy  of  accepting  appoint- 
ments at  the  War  Office. 

Mil.  Off.  Of  course  !  Why,  do  you  think 
I  would  have  come  here  if  1  hadn't  lost 
both  my  arms  and  one  of  my  logs  '{  Well, 
I  fancy  that  most  of  us  are  a  bit  off 
colour. 

Civ.  Off.  (with  intention.)  You  said  you 
wan  tod  to  speak  to  me  officially. 

Mil.  Off.  To  be  sure.  Well,  to  tell  the 
truth  we  have  made  rather  a  mess  of  a 
whole  heap  of  commissariat  contracts,  and 
I  don't  think  we  have  done  quite  the  right 
thing  about  arranging  the  transports,  and 
there  's  a  good  deal  of  complaint  about  the 
barrack  buildings,  and — 

Civ.  Off.  (ivlio  haj  been  taking  hurried 
notes).  Stop,  stop !  I  must  really  have 
fj.ll  particulars. 

Mil.  Off.  (airilij).  Shall  in  good.time,  my 
dear  fellow ;  all  in  good  time.  But  now 
we  have  got  rid  of  all  the  civilian  clerks 
we  aoldier  fellows  find  it  a  bit  hard  to 
keep  ahead  of  our  work. 

Ci-i'.  Off.  (with  a  glance  at  his  arrears). 
But  when  I  have  full  particulars,  what  do 
you  want  me  to  do  ? 

Mil.  Off.  Why,  to  perform  the  function 
allotted  to  you  by  the  Report — to  explain 
matters  to  Parliament. 

Ci'j'.  Off.  (grimly).  I  will  undertake  that 
duty  with  the  greatest  pleasure. 
(Curtain.) 


TO  TRIPTOLEMUS. 

["Triptolemus  was  inspired  by  the  goddess 
Demeter  with  the  idea  of  extending  the  growth  of 
corn  all  over  Greece.  In  order  to  enable  him  to 
travel  rapidly  from  place  to  place,  she  provided 
him  -with  a  single  wheel,  across  which  he  used  to 
stride.  Hence  Hyginus  declares  him  to  have  been 
the  one  qui primus  homimim  una,  rota  dieitur  nsus 
ne  cufsu  morared/r." — Westminster  Gazette.} 
HAIL  !  foremost  pioneer 

Of  the  myriad  cyclist  race  ! 
At  length,  at  length  appear 

In  thy  duly  honoured  place 
As    our    blessed    patron   saint,    as    thou 

shouldst  be, 

Who  taught  us  first  to  feel 
The  joy  of  whirling  wheel, 
'Mid  the  glint  of  flashing  steel — 
Hail  to  thce  ! 

Blest  was  the  day  that  saw  thy  birth 

And  blest  the  land  that  gave  thee  us, 
O  son  of  Ocean  and  of  Earth, 
Triptolemus  ! 

By  thec  the  golden  wheat  was  sown, 

By  thce  was  garnered  first  the  corn  ; 
No  harvests  made  the  waggons  groan 
Ere  thou  wast  born. 

The  famished  nations  cried  to  thee 
To  stave  their  hunger:    "Give,   oh, 

give 

Thy  blessings  unto  us  that  we 
May  learn  to  live  !  " 

Thus  cried  the  people  hour  by  hour, 

And  thou  didst  hear  their  dying  call, 
Yet  hadst  not  thou  the  magic  power 
To  visit  all. 

Then  from  Olympus  bright 

A  radiant  vision  fled 
Swift  through  the  stilly  night, 

And  stood  beside  thy  bed  ; 
A  goddess  fair  with  a  garland  rare 
Of  yellow  corn  in  her  golden  hair, 
And  whispered  in  mine  car — 
Divinest  Demeter. 

Up  with  a  nimble  leap 

Or  ever  it  was  day 
Thou  sprangest  from  thy  sleep, 

Her  bidding  to  obey  ; 
And  anvil  rang  and  the  spark  upsprang 
As  the  hammer  fell  with  its  ceaseless  clang, 
And  ere  the  set  of  sun 
The  Goddess'  will  was  done  ! 

Behold  thee  flying  swift 

As  zephyr  through  the  air, 
And  lavishing  thy  gift 

Of  plenty  everywhere  ! 
Thou  wast  the  first  that  ever  burst 
A  tyre  upon  a  flint  accurst ; 
Then  hear  the  hymns  that  rise  from  us, 
O  patron-saint,  Triptolemus  ! 


YOLTINO  AMBITION. — A  horticulturist 
has  been  accused  of  stealing  electricity 
wherewithal  to  grow  radishes.  We  shall 
next  hear  of  poets  purloining  WATTS  in 
order  to  perpetrate  hymns. 


IN  WESTERN  GARB. 

["In  placing  the  control ....  again  in  Chinese 
hands,  Count  von  WALDEBSEE  advised  Li  Hi; NO 
CHANG  that  China  should  be  brought  more  into 
line  with  Western  customs  and  Western  ideas."  — 
Daily  Press.~\ 

H.I.M.  THE  EMPEROR  sailed  his  own 
junk  at  the  festival  of  Yot-Ting.  Honours 
seemed  likely  to  rest  with  the  Mandarin 
LiP-TUN'S  junk,  but  a  hint,  conveyed  to 
him  through  the  speaking-trumpet,  that 
unless  he  gave  way  and  allowed  the 
Imperial  vessel  to  win,  he,  the  Mandarin, 
might  get  himself  disliked,  materially 
contributed  to  the  Son  of  Heaven's  easy 
victory. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  junk  races, 
the  EMPEROR  came  ashore  and  indulged 
in  turns  on  the  Steam  Roundabout  until 
he  fell  off.  The  proprietor,  overcome  by 
His  Majesty's  condescension,  asked  him 
for  payment — two  taels — and  immediately 
lost  his  own  head  in  consequence. 

The  Derby  was,  of  course,  won  by 
H.I.  Majesty's  twenty-year-old  but  peer- 
less steed  Wot-ah-Krock  which  took  the 
stakes,  though  some  misguided  spectators 
affirmed — but  in  very  low  tones,  however 
— that  the  noble  beast  finished  tenth. 
There  was  a  good  race  for  second  prize, 
though  it  was  afterwards  found  that  this 
would  not  be  given,  as,  in  order  to  save 
all  squabbling  in  the  matter,  the  Clerk  of 
the  Course,  Ho-Kus,  had  already  annexed 
the  prize-money  himself. 

The  likin  on  the  rivers  has  been  raised 
five  per  cent.,  and  though  the  waterside 
populations  are  greatly  dis-likin  this 
small  change,  the  collectors  are  taking 
as  much  of  it— i.e.  the  small  change — as 
they  can  raise. 

A  marriage  has  been  arranged  and  will 
shortly  take  place  between  the  TAOTAI 
Woo-lNG,  of  115,  Peiho  Place,  Pekin,  and 
NI-SBK  IKUL  SING,  of  24,  Dragon  Street, 
Chusan.  This  is  no  mariage  de  convenance, 
but  a  true  union  of  Pekin  and  Chusan. 

Agreeably  to  the  latest  Western  notions, 
the  new  drama  at  the  Imperial  Theatre 
has  now  been  "cut"  so  as  to  play  in 
something  under  a  fortnight  instead  of 
five  weeks,  as  originally  intended. 

Professor  SINGAN-MAI-KEE-NOYS  has  been 
appointed  President  of  the  Academy  of 
Music  at  Lung  Tung — a  most  popular 
selection.  Chinese  music  can  justly  boast 
that  a  little  of  it  goes  farther  than  any 
other  music  in  the  whole  of  the  civilised 
world.  Most  of  those  who  hear  it  will  also 
go  farther,  as  far  as  ever  they  can  get,  as 
a  rule,  when  the  first  sounds  are  emitted. 

The  Stock  markets  are  all  dull,  with  the 
exception  of  a  rumoured  "corner"  in 
Puppy-dog  Prefs.,  which  have  risen  atael. 
Foreign  Devils  Stocks  are  steady,  with  a 
firm  undertone.  Birds'-nest  Soup  Deben- 
tures fell  -J-.  Pekin  Main  Drainage  is  off 
colour  and  stagnant.  All  the  leading  opera- 
tors refuse  to  touch  it.  Palanquin  Ordin- 
aries were  carried  over  at  the  usual  rates. 


JUNE  12,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


TO    BRIDGE. 

["If,  as  there  is  reason  to  believe,  bridge  makes 
for  the  abolition  of  the  drawing- room  ballad  and  the 
drawing-room  ballad-monger,  let  us  return  thanks 
for  a  crowning  mercy."— Morning  Post,  May  29.] 

SWEET  pastime  of  the  upper  ten  ! 

And  of  the  under  now  and  then, 
For  I  myself  politely 
Pay  tribute  to  thee  nightly, 

And  sacrifice  my  two  or  three 

Pounds  sterling  in  pursuing  thee. 

Like  tricksy  miss  or  wayward  Fame     • 
Thou  treat'st  me,  fashionable  game  ; 

But  still  I  don't  complain, 

I  merely  deal  again, 
Select  a  suit,  or  110  trump  choose, 
And  cheerfully  prepare  to  lose. 

Yet,  in  despite  of  fate  adverse 

Thee,  Bridge,  I  rather  bless  than  curse, 
And  on  thy  alter  fling 
My  hard-earned  cash,  and  sing 

Thy  virtues  in  Horatian  verse  ; 

Sweet  emptier  of  my  slender  purse  ! 

For  that  thou  hast  to  limbo  sent 
That  awful  social  ornament 

The  drawing-room  ballad-monger, 

We  hear  his  cry  no  longer  ; 
His  throaty  phrase  and  lavish  trill 
No  more  our  ears  with  pain  shall  fill. 

No  more  the  after-dinner  song 
Shall  torture  a  forbearing  throng, 

Or  zealous  parlour  trickster 

Administer  his  mixture 
Of  vocal  discord  without  end 
To  bore,  to  torment  and  offend. 

That 's  why,  regenerating  game, 
To  a  long  list  I  place  my  name 

Of  those  who  hold  thee  dear, 

And  that  thou  art  I  swear. 
Yet  all  to  thee  I  'd  gladly  pay 
To  keep  the  drawing-room  song  at  bay. 


"U.S. US." 

Now  that  Great  Britain  in  general,  and 
London  in  particular,  is  becoming  rapidly 
Yankeefied,  we  hasten  to  apprise  our 
readers  of  the  following  political  and 
social  developments  : — 

On  Jiine  12,  a  Tammany  meeting  for  the 
appointment  of  ward  bosses  and  captains 
will  be  held  in  the  Guildhall  to  fill  the 
vacancies  caused  by  the  retirement  of 
the  Lord  Mayor  and  Corporation. 

During  the  sitting  of  Congress  at  West- 
minster, the  Stars  and  Stripes  will  be 
displayed  at  the  Victoria  Tower. 

In  the  event  of  Mr.  PIEBPONT  MORGAN 
securing  the  plurality  of  votes  of  the 
British  Electoral  College  on  the  Repub- 
lican ticket,  it  is  expected  that  Senators 
Salisbury,  Balfour,  and  Chamberlain  will 
retain  their  portfolios  ;  but  if  the  Demo- 
cratic and  Free  Silver  platform  wins,  we 
shall  have  a  Cabinet  of  Holloway  Hoboes 
and  Battersea  toughs. 

The  National  Hymn,  "  My  Country,  'tis 


1301. 


THE    ADVANTAGES    OF    EDUCATION. 


Small  Boy.    "  LOOK   'EKE,    MAWRD  ! 

BIN  TO   SCHOOL   LATELY  ;  'E   SPELLS    '  'ALL 


I     RECKON    THE    CHAP 
WITH   A   H AIICB  !  " 


AS   KEttPd  THIS   SHOP  AIN  T 


of  thee,"  is  now  sung  at  the  close  of  work 
in  every  school  throughout  the  ex-king- 
dom. 

The  FROHMAN-LEDERER  Dramatic  Trust 
has  lately  acquired  the  whole  of  the 
West-End  theaters  and  roof  -  gardens, 
where  in  future  only  American  talent 
will  be  employed,  with  the  exception  of 
Histrions  IRVING  and  TREE,  who  are 
engaged  to  do  a  cake-walk  in  a  rag-time 
vaudeville  at  KOSTER  and  BIAL'S  on 
Piccadilly. 

The  L-railroad  running  from  East  23rd 
Street  to  Westminster  Abbey  has  caught 
on  terrifically,  the  fare  being  only  two 
cents  all  the  way,  while  for  a  quarter  one 
can  be  yerked  round  London  in  the 
vestibule-cars  of  the  regenerated  Under- 
ground. Folk  who  formerly  traveled  any 
to  the  City  will  rejoice  at  the  extinction 
of  hansoms  and  'buses.  If  you  want  to 
go  a  block  or  two,  there  is  the  moving 
sidewalk,  with  the  motor  track  down  the 
center  of  the  Strand. 

The  new  County  abbreviations  ai*e  quite 
popular.  It  is  so  much  smarter  to  write 
Ke.,  Sy.,  Che.,  Shro.,  Wi.,  Dn.,  and  so 
on,  that  we  wonder  how  the  old-time 
addresses  were  tolerated. 

Nothing  could  well  be  chicker  than  the 
shirt-waists  now  worn  by  the  Summer 
Girls  at  Church  Parade.  We  hear  that 


the  Park  Lane  Four  Hundred  have  taken 
to  bathing  in  the  Serpentine  to  the 
exclusion  of  the  disgusted  dead-beat. 

All  Suburbia  has  gone  mad  over  the 
Flip-flap  Railway  at  Earl's  Court,  where 
the  Coney  Island  dude  nightly  turns  a 
cart-wheel  in  company  with  his  best 
Bowery  girl. 

On  and  after  Thursday  next  the  Times 
will  appear  as  a  One-Cent  Yellow  Journal, 
with  an  illustrated  Sunday  Edition. 

We  like  the  new  double-decked  stern- 
wheel  ferry-boats  that  have  just  debuted  on 
the  Thames,  which  is  now  a  business-like 
river  at  last,  with  its  fringe  of  30-story 
sky-scrapers,  grain-elevators  and  aerial 
gangways  in  place  of  the  obsolete  bridges. 

The  baggage-check  system  is  working 
well  on  all  the  lines,  though  there  are 
complaints  of  the  Customs  regulations  at 
the  ports  of  entry. 

Free-lunches  are  to  be  obtained  at  all 
the  stores  and  notion  counters  on  Regent 
Street,  and  "  English  breakfast  tea"  can 
be  had  at  any  Bond  St.  temperance  joint. 
The  Embankment  will  shortly  be  converted 
into  a  row  of  dives  and  dime-museums. 

We  give,  with  no  reserve,  the  menu  at 
the  TENNIEL  Banquet : — rockaways,  clams, 
blue-fish,  terrapin,  canvas-back  duck, 
cantelupe  on  ice,  pop-corn,  ice-cream 
soda  and  Huggins  punch. 


446 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JUNE  12,  1901. 


A  TALE  OF  A  CAT. 


success  of  the  trick  as  her  husband,  could 
yet  see  no  other  course  open.     She  simply 


IT  is  quite  certain  that  LAVINIA  Avould  j  dared  not,  she  declared,  inform  her  aunt 

of  the  true  state  of  affairs.  It  would  be 
best,  no  doubt,  to  obtain  a  cat  as  like 
Tibby  as  possible  and  keep  it  in  reserve, 
to  produce  should  the  real  animal  not 
turn  up  by  the  time  of  the  old  lady's 
return. 

This  was  fixed  for  two  days  later. 

Before  that  time  Mr.  STUBBS  had  con- 


never  have  offered  to  take  charge  of 
Tibby,  the  black  cat,  if  she  had  not  had 
"expectations"  from  her  Aunt  JANE, 
whose  property  the  animal  was.  And 
even  had  LAVINIA.  been  willing,  her 
husband,  Mr.  STUBBS,  would  decidedly 
have  objected. 
He  hated  all  animals,  cats  more  particu- 


larly, but  LAVINIA'S  aunt  was  comfortably  trived  to  obtain  a  pussy  that,  in  appear- 
off,  and  it  was  as  well  to  keep  in  with  !  ance  at  least,  was  the  very  double  of  the 
her,  in  view  of  contingencies.  !  missing  Tibby.  Unfortunately  it  was  of  a 

So  Avhen  she  went  over  to  Paris  for  a  !  different  sex  and  not  so  amiable,  but  these 
few  days— she  did  this  once  every  year—  were  details  which,  it  was  hoped,  Aunt 
to   provide  a  kind 


LAVINIA  had  offered 
home  for  Tibby  during  her 
absence  ;  for  the  old  lady  did 
not  like  to  leave  her  pet  to  the 
tender  mercies  of  a  rather 
flighty  domestic  servant. 

But  Tibby  did  not  take  at  all 
kindly  to  his  new  quarters. 
Perhaps  the  brand  of  catsmeat 
was  not  one  that  he  cared 
about ;  perhaps  he  did  not 
relish  being  first  trodden  on 
and  then  kicked  by  Mr.  STUBBS. 
Anyway,  on  the  morning  fol- 
lowing his  arrival,  he  was 
nowhere  to  be  found. 

Here  was  a  pretty  state  of 
affairs  !  LAVINIA  was  frantic  ; 
Mr.  STUBBS  greatly  upset,  and 
full  of  strange  oaths.  Both  re- 
cognised that  it  was  a  serious 
matter  for  them,  and  might  en- 
tiil  the  estrangement  of  Aunt 
JANE  and  the  final  disappoint- 
ment of  their  hopes. 

What  was  to  be  done  ? 

Enquiries  were  made  at  all 
the  neighbouring  houses — after 
their  .own  had  been  searched 
from  cellar  to  garret  —  and 
notices  of  the  loss,  with  offers 
of  pecuniary  reward  for  the  re- 
covery of  the  animal,  were 
posted  on  the  front  gate.  All 
in  vain.  Not  a  sign  was  there 
of  the  missing  Tibby. 

They  thought  it  best  not  to  write  and 
tell  Aunt  JANE  of  the  misfortune  that  had 
befallen.  It  could  only  upset  her,  declared 
Mr.  STUBBS,  sympathetically;  besides, 
the  animal  might  turn  up  before  she 
returned — or — 

Mr.  STUBBS  had  an  idea  ! 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  said  to  his  wife.  "All 
cats  arc  much  alike — it 's  only  a  matter  of 
colour.  Tibby  was  all  black " 


JANE  would  not  notice. 


THE  SHORTEST  STUMP  SPEECH   ON   RECORD. 


"  With  a  white  spot  on  the  chest,"  put 
in  LAVINIA. 

"Quite  so — but  there  are  heaps  of  cats 
answering  to  that  description.  I  '11  go  to 
the  Dials  to-day,  and  see  if  I  can't  get 
one  like  it .  The  old  woman  '11  never  know 
the  difference." 

LAVINIA,  though  not  so  confident  of  the 


"  We  '11  say  it  has  got  peevish  through 
separation  from  her,"  said  Mr.  STUBBS, 
jocularly.  He,  at  any  rate,  felt  convinced 
that  the  old  lady  would  be  deceived. 
Needless  to  say  the  greatest  care  was 
taken  of  the  new  cat,  which  was  ensconced 
in  a  comfortable  basket  on  a  soft  mat, 
with  a  piece  of  cerise  ribbon  round  its 
furry  neck. 

Aunt  JANE'S  plan  was  to  return  to  her 
home  on  leaving  Paris,  and  call  on  her 
niece  for  the  cat  on  the  following  day. 

Some  little  disappointment,  therefore, 
or  perhaps  some  little  astonishment  merely, 
was  felt  when  that  day  passed  without  a 
sign  of  her  or  a  word  from  her. 

"I  wonder  what  she's  playing  at!" 
said  Mr.  STUBBS  to  his  spouse.  "You'd 


better  write  to  her,  and  don't  forget  to 
say  the  cat  is  nice  and  comfortable." 

LAVINIA  did  so.  And  as  regards  the 
cat,  she  spoke  in  glowing  terms,  both  of 
its  own  charms,  and  of  the  tender  care  it 
had  met  with  at  the  hands  of  her  husband 
and  herself.  She  concluded  by  expressing 
a  hope  that  her  dear  aunt  would  come  and 
fetch  it  soon — not  that  she  wanted  to  be 
rid  of  it,  of  course,  or  let  her  save 
trouble  by  bringing  it  to  the  old  lady's 
residence. 

.In  reply,  Aunt  JANE  wrote  a  letter 
which  caused  LAVINIA  to  shed  tears  for  a 
week,  and  Mr.  STUBBS  to  use  the  most 
dreadful  language,  besides  kicking  the 
new  cat  out  of  its  comfortable  basket 
into  the  street,  to  its  great 
astonishment  and  indignation. 
Aunt  JANE  had  been  sur- 
prised, she  said,  after  her 
niece's  promises  to  take  care 
of  her  pet,  to  find  poor  Tibby 
at  her  house,  when  she  arrived 
home,  with  not  a  drop  of  milk 
in  his  basin — for  which  she  had 
given  her  maid  notice  —  and 
otherwise  vilely  tended.  But 
she  had  been  even  more  sur- 
prised at  her  niece's  attempt 
to  deceive  her  by  palming  off 
another  cat  as  her  one  and 
only  Tibby.  That  was  quite 
unpardonable,  and  Aunt  JANE 
could  only  surmise  where  LAVI- 
NIA would  go  to  ultimately  for 
being  guilty  of  such  appalling 
cmendaity. 

The  "expectations,"  as 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  STUBBS  dejectedly 
realised,  were  "off." 

That  wretched  Tibby,  follow- 
ing   an     instinct     which    Mr. 
STUBBS    now     recollected — too 
late — is   common  in  cats,   had 
quietly  returned  home  without 
the  formality  of  bidding  good- 
bye to  its   host  and   hostess, 
and,  after  travelling  the  thirty 
miles  or   so  between  the  two 
residences,  had  arrived  looking 
very  muddy  and  disreputable. 
And  it  is  now  generally  thought  that 
Aunt  JANE'S  money  will  go,  either  to  her 
other  niece,  LAVINIA'S  cousin,  or  to  the 
Cats'  Home,  or  to  both  in  equal  shares. 

W.  S.,  JUN. 

NOT    SO    BAD   AS   YOLODYOVSKI. 

Lady  (to  applicant  for  Nursemaid's  place). 
What  is  your  name  ? 

Applicant.  HERMYXTRUDE,  mum. 

Lady.  Good  Heavens  !  That  would  never 
do.  Can't  you  think  of  something  shorter  ? 

Applicant  (after  a  p(tiixe).  Well,  mum, 
my  young  man  allus  calls  me  CARROTS. 


SUGGESTED  NAME  FOR  A  RECKLESS  JOCKEY 
IN  THE  OAKS. — A  filly-buster. 


JUXB  19,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


447 


DUELLING  A  LA   MODE. 

["  At  the  RKGIS  -  LAHEBDESQVB  duel  not  the 
least  amazing  part  of  Ihe    proceedings  was   the 

presence  of   policemen    in    uniform They 

acted  as  ushers,  opening  the  gates  for  carriages, 
checking  tickets  of  admission  and  generally  making 

themselves  useful M.  MAX  RKGIS  entered 

the  Velodrome  amid  a  double  row  of  photographers. 
.  .  .  .  He  wore  a  light  pyjania  shirt,  blue  trousers 

and    red    dogskin    gloves After    he    was 

wounded  he  called  out  to  his  opponent,  '  I  fought 
with  you  to  show  I  am  not  afraid  of  your  sword. 
I  still  hold  you  to  be  an  assassin.'  M.  LABEE- 
DESQUE  smiled." — Daily  News.~\ 

M.  Reyis  writes  to  M.  Drumont  : — 
WE  fought,  mon  cher,  at  half-past  eight, 

The  day  was  fine  but  not  too  warm, 
The  ground  was  thronged,  at  every  gate 

Policemen  stood  in  uniform. 
They  ushered  ticket-holders  in 

But  kept  the  vulgar  herd  outside, 
And  while  we  waited  to  begin, 

I  looked  at  them  with  conscious  pride. 

Some  fifty  of  them,  so  'tis  said, 

Leaving  their  customary  beats, 
Were  busily  employed  instead 

In  putting  people  in  their  seats  ; 
They  opened  gates  for  carriages," 

They  checked  the  tickets  of  admission, 
And  showed  in  many  different  ways 

A  most  obliging  disposition. 

Fair  ladies  sat  on  every  side, 

Each  in  her  most  becoming  dress  ; 
Care  had  been  taken  to  provide 

Accommodation  for  the  Press  ; 
Reporters  stuck  to  us  like  burrs, 

They  never  let  us  out  of  sight, 
While  dozens  of  photographers 

Were  taking  snapshots  of  the  fight. 

My  face,  impassive  yet  alert, 

Maintained  its  customary  hue, 
I  wore  a  ligb*  pyjama  shirt, 

My  gloves  were  red,  my  trousers  blue, 
And  though  it 's  true  that  victory 

Remained  with  Monsieur  LABERDESQUE 
The  ladies  one  and  all  agree 

My  clothes  were  far  more  picturesque ! 

After  the  duel  ceased  perforce 

My  fiery  heart,  which  nothing  tames, 
Drove  me  to  the  usual  course 

Of  calling  my  opponent  names  ; 
He  manifested  no  surprise 

(Although  my  seconds  stood  aghast), 
But  seemed  amused  to  recognise 

That  I  was  canaille  to  the  last ! 

ST.  J.  H. 


PARTY    PLEASANTRIES. 

["  The  House  of  Commons  is  conscious  of  no 
inundate  and  110  positive  duty  in  regard  to  legisla- 
tion. It  is  old  before  it  is  young,  and  its  Ministers 
show  signs  of  exhaustion  after  a  too  continuous 
spell  of  office."—  Westminster  Gazette.} 

WHAT  we  want  is  a  "  Special  Star," 
By  which  to  guide  the  nation. 

Energy,  youth,  a  touch  of  "  Truth," 
And  a  Liberal  education. 


THINGS    ARE    NOT    ALWAYS    WHAT    THEY    SEEM. 

Squire's  Daughter.  "I  WAS  so  VERY  SORRY  TO  HEAR  YOU  HAD  LOST  YOUR  POOR  HORSB. 
WHAT  BAD  LUCK  FOR  YOU  ! " 

Small  Farmer.    "WELL,    NOT   EXACTLY,   Miss.     Y.>u  SEE,  IT'S   LIKE    THIS.     HE   WAS 

INSURED     FOR     FIVE     POUNDS    IN    THE    CLUB,     THEY    GAVE     ME    THIRTY    SHILLINGS    FOR    Hr8 
CARCASE  AT  THE   KENNELS,    AND   HE   NOBBAT   COST   ME   A   GUINEA  THREE  YEAR   AGO !  " 


ASCOT  ANTICIPATIONS. 

PESSIMISTIC. 

SURE  to  rain  and  spoil  my  latest  Paris 
frock. 

ALGERNON  will  excuse  himself  from 
coming  on  the  score  of  regimental  duties 
elsewhere. 

Certain  to  have  the  SLOCUM  cousins 
palmed  off  upon  us  by  Aunt  SARAH  at  the 
last  moment. 

As  likely  as  not  to  lose  a  bit  to  that 
odious  Mr.  CADSNOB  and  find  a  difficulty 
in  settling  it. 

Probably  have  to  rush  off  without  my 
ordered  toque  on  account  of  its  delayed 
arrival. 

Total,  to  have  a  generally  bad  time 
of  it. 


OPTIMISTIC. 

Lovely  day  absolutely  certain,  with 
just  the  weather  for  showing  off  my 
latest  Parisian  "dream"  to  the  best 
advantage. 

ALGERNON  in  attendance  all  day,  cele- 
brating promised  promotion  by  gift  of 
the  engagement  ring. 

The  dreaded  visit  of  the  SLOCUM  cousins 
indefinitely  postponed  on  account  of  the 
lamentable  illness  of  poor  Aunt  SARAH. 

That  odious  Mr.  CADSNOB  summoned  by 
wire  back  to  town  to  attend  to  some  City 
business  of  importance. 

Toque  the  big  success  of  the  day,  with 
beaming  countenance  to  match. 

Total,  to  have  about  the  best  day  in  my 
life. 


VOL.    CXX. 


C  C 


448 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JUNE  19,  1901. 


REVERIE  OF  A  "SPECIAL." 

UPON  the  lonely  veld  he  lay 

Beneath  the  morning  sun  ; 
It  \vas  a  treat  to  have  the  heat 

Undo  what  night  had  done  ; 
To  watch  his  frozen  limbs  relax 

Sensibly,  one  by  one. 

No  horrid  sound  of  war's  alarms' 

Imperilled  his  repose ; 
Just  here  and  there  through  halcyon  air 

A  little  fume  uprose, 
And  a  pleasant  smell  of  burning  farm 

Tickled  his  nimble  nose. 

An  intellectual  content 

Across  his  features  shone  ; 
His  active  brain  ignored  the  pain 

Of  occupation  gone ; 
And  thought  about  the  monthly  pay 

That  went  serenely  on, 

"  Of  such  a  life,"  said  he,  "I  fain 
Would  have  a  longish  lease  ; 

But  I  foresee  that  we  shall  be 
Some  day  reduced  to  peace  ; 

Even  the  nicest  kind  of  war 
Must  ultimately  cease. 

"  There  was  a  time  when  I  aspired 

To  rank  among  the  men 
Who  make  you  feel  the  flash  of  steel 

By  force  of  the  mightier  pen, 
For  those  were  days  when   things   oc- 
curred, 

And  battles  happened  then. 

"  But  soon  the  Censor's  dreadful  shears 

Curtailed  my  teeming  lines, 
And  coarsely  hacked  the  phrases  that 
smacked 

Of  the  juice  of  purple  vines  ; 
Till  nobody  recognised  my  art 

By  any  inward  signs. 

"  My  figurative  speech  was  made 

To  doff  its  broidered  dress  ; 
My  wit  was  shorn  and  left  forlorn 

Of  all  its  brave  finesse  ; 
My  wires  have  even  been  confused 

With  those  of  the  Tory  Press. 

"  But  still  in  letters  I  could  find 

An  ample  scope  and  space  ; 
My  pregnant  plume  could  here  resume 

Its  ancient  verve  and  grace  ; 
But  now — events  have  given  up 

The  habit  of  taking  place. 

"  And  if  I  turn  to  pure  romance, 
That  welling  fount  is  dried  ; 

Suppose  I  paint  some  brilliant  feint 
Conceived  in  my  own  inside, 

The  Chief  is  sure  to  send  a  wire 
Saying  that  I  have  lied. 

"  I  cannot  raise  a  fresh  effect 

Out  of  the  local  Dutch  ; 
I  dare  not  '  do '  the  trite  caroo 

With  the  old  artistic  touch ; 
It  has  been  done  for  all  it 's  worth, 

And  that  was  never  much. 


"And  yet  a  more  disturbing  thought 

Has  left  my  soul  resigned ; 
I  know  my  trade  has  long  mislaid 

Its  grip  of  the  public  mind  ; 
I  know  that  what  was  once  a  Power 

Is  nothing  of  the  kind. 

"  They  say  that  Mr.  BALFOUR  gets 

Elsewhere  his  open  views  ; 
To  the  Chief,  again,  we  had  to  explain 

That  the  Times  and  the  Daily  Neivs 
Do  not,  as  a  matter  of  custom,  have 

The  same  political  hues. 

' '  Nay,  other  arts  have  also  known 

Rude  changes  come  about ; 
Though  sword  and  quill  are  rivals  still 

There  seems  no  sort  of  doubt 
That  both,  regarded  as  useful  tools, 

Are  gently  dropping  out. 

"  And  so  I  lie  along  the  veld, 

Assuming  a  careless  pose, 
And  watch  the  sun  in  playful  fun 

Unfurl  my  frosted  toes  ; 
And  idly  wonder,  half-awake, 

How  the  guerrilla  goes."  O.  S. 


ACCORDING  TO  REGULATION. 

(A  Story  o/  Twenty  Years  afterwards.) 

"WELL,  really,"  said  the  High  Official, 
as  he  leant  back  in  his  chair  in  Pall  Mall, 
"  there  is  so  much  to  do  that  I  don't 
know  how  we  can  make  a  beginning." 

"Yes,  it  is  rather  difficult,"  conceded 
his  Private  Secretary.  "A  couple  of 
decades  ago  your  predecessor  got  more 
than  three  thousand  letters  a  day,  and 
now  you  have  about  four  times  the 
quantity." 

"Yes,"  was  the  response,  "and  we 
muddle  along  in  the  good  old  fashion. 
Dear  me,  youth  and  man,  I  have  been  in 
this  ramshackle  place  for  half  a  century, 
and  1  have  never  seen  any  change  in  it." 

"  Then  what  would  you  like  to  do,  Sir  ?  " 
asked  the  Private  Secretary. 

"Well,  suppose  we  put  this  room  in 
order.  Those  pigeon-holes  are  full  of 
valuable  documents  ;  let's  turn  them  out, 
and,  if  obsolete,  cast  them  into  the  waste 
paper-basket." 

"  Scarcely  my  duty,  Sir  ;  more  the 
business  of  the  messengers,"  put  in  the 
Private  Secretary. 

"  Nonsense  !  "  replied  his  Chief.  "  Some 
of  the  papers  may  be  of  a  confidential 
character,  and  it  would  never  do  to  run 
the  risk  of  allowing  them  to  get  into 
unworthy  hands.  So  take  off  your  coat, 
and  get  to  work." 

The  Private  Secretary  obeyed  the  order 
of  his  Chief,  and  was  soon  covered  with 
dust  and  documents.  At  last  he  came 
upon  a  faded  Blue  book  in  a  cobwebby 
pigeon-hole,  that  had  evidently  been 
allowed  to  lie  undisturbed  for  many  years. 

"  What 's  that  ?  "  asked  the  Chief. 

' '  It  seems  to  me  something  about  re- 
organisation. Centralisation  is  to  be 


discouraged,  and  the  Department  is  to  be 
run  on  business  lines." 

"Dear  me!  what  an  odd  idea!  And 
what  is  it  called?  " 

"  '  A  Report  for  the  Reconstruction  of 
the  War  Office,'  and  it  bears  the  date  of 
1901." 

Then  the  two  officials  looked  round  the 
room  in  which  they  were  sitting,  with  its 
piles  and  piles  of  paper  awaiting  their 
attention,  and,  meeting  one  another's  eyes, 
burst  into  laughter. 


A   VAIN   QUEST. 

["Mrs.  NANCY  IBVING,  a  wealthy  Chicago 
woman,  is  in  search  of  an  honest  man.  She  offers 
a  prixe  of  £200  for  the  rarity." — Westminster 
Gazette.'] 

Shade  of  Diogenes  speaks : 
THROUGH  every  street  of  Athens  I 

With  lighted  lantern  ran, 
But  nowhere  could  my  glance  descry 

My  quest,  an  honest  man  ; 
And  now  a  lady,  I  am  told, 
Is  seeking  what  I  sought, 
And  offers  many  pounds  of  gold 
For  what  I  never  caught. 

What !  does  she  fondly  hope  to  see 

Where  I  was  only  blind  ? 
In  what  strange  corner  hopeth  she 

Fair  Honesty  to  find  ? 
Her  sister  Truth  is  said  to  dwell 

Where  mortal  cannot  see, 
Deep  in  a  dark  iinfathomed  well — 

But  where  is  Honesty  ? 

Among  the  lawyers  ?     Is  she  here  ? 

Are  they  no  longer  bent 
On  making  much  the  worse  appear 

The  better  argument  ? 
Are  they  to-day  so  changed  from  these 

Who  practised  in  my  youth  ? 
And  do  they  now  ignore  tjieir  fees 

And  only  seek  the  Truth  ? 

Among  the  doctors  ?     Do  they  then 

No  more  concoct  bread  pills 
And  colour  water,  curing  men 

Of  all  their  mortal  ills  ? 
Are  quacks  extinct  ?    And  do  they  not 

Invent  new  "  treatments,"  and 
Prescribe  writh  cheerfulness  for  what 

They  cannot  understand  ? 

Among  the  merchants?  What!  Are  they 

Grown  into  honest  men, 
Preferring  Truth  to  profit?     Nay, 

Quantum  mutati  then  ! 
Do  they  no  longer  lie  and  cheat, 

And  puff  each  worthless  ware  ? • 

Strike  me  alive  if  you  will  meet 

An  honest  person  there  ! 

Among  the  wise  ?    Among  the  fools  ? 

The  saints  who  virtue  preach  ? 
The  learned  teachers  of  the  schools  ? 

The  idle  brats  they  teach  ? 
Who,  who  is  honest  ?     Millionaire 

Or  starving  little  waif  ? — 
Madam,  be  calm  !     Your  gold,  I  swear, 

Is  absolutely  safe. 


JUNE  19,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


449 


1)frn4ftl  mill  i w 


RECIPROCITY. 

J/r.  Choate.  "SiT,  JOXATHAN,  TOU'VE  BEEW  GOING  AROUND  LATELY  SHOWING  THE  BRITISHERS   HOW  TO  RUN  THEIR  BUSINESS  : 

SEEMS  TO   ME  HIKE'S  SOMETHING   WHERE  YOU   MIGHT  TAKE  A  KOTION   OR  TWO  FROM    THEM." 

["  There  is  one  excellent  feature  in  the  English  institutions  which  similar  ones  in  America  lack,  and  that  is  the  system  of  placing  children  in 
cottages.  Not  only  is  the  system  hetter  organised  in  this  country,  but  it  is  more  economical.  But  for  the  efforts  of  this  fund  many  children  would  have  no 
holiday  at  all."— Speech  of  the  U.S.  Ambassador  at  the  Annual" Meeting  in  aid  of"  The  Children' i  Country  Holiday  Fund."  Vide  "  Times"  June  11.] 


JUNE  19,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


451 


OCCASIONAL    OPERATIC    NOTES. 

Monday,  June  10.— Lohengrin.  Opera 
far  better  than  the  House.  Fraulein 
TERNINA  superb  as  Elsa.  Herr  KNOTE 
knoteably  good.  But  with  Herr  BLASS  as 
Heinrich,  why,  Blass  us  all,  what  was  the 
matter?  Not  up  to  his  favourite  form, 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  Ortrtid  of 
MARIE  BREMA  and  the  Telranwnd  of  VAN 
ROOY  were  as  near  perfection  as  these 
two  melo-draraatically  wicked  Wagnerian 
characters  are  ever  likely  to  attain.  The 
long  scene — which,  to  a  mixed  audience, 
where  Wagnerianism  is  not  predominant,' 
is  riskily  tedious — ' '  went ' '  so  perfectly 
that  faddists  and  anti  -  faddists  joined 
hands  in  vehement  applause.  Herr  LOHSE 
conducted  finely,  and  "  they  do  say  "  that 
never,  in  a  general  way,  has  there  been 
a  better  performance. 

Tuesday. — Conspicuous  by  our  absence. 

Wednesday. — Impossible  to  be  in  more 
than  two  places  at  one  and  the  same  time, 
and  this  evening  was  entirely  devoted  to 
the  Diner  TennieL 


ADDITIONAL  ANTICIPATIONS.— II. 
(By  R.  Tesian  Wells.) 

IN  his  articles  appearing  in  the  Fort- 
nightly Review,  the  other  prophet  named 
WELLS  seems  to  anticipate  alterations  in 
every  part  of  the  world.  But  if  we  look 
back  ii  f  ty  or  sixty  years  we  find  that ,  though 
some  countries  have  become  quite  dif- 
ferent, others  have  not  changed  at  all. 
It  is  probable  that  this  condition  of  things 
will  continue,  as  shown  by  the  following 
further  extracts  from  the  journals  of  the 
latter  half  of  this  century,  the  Morning 
Motor  or  the  Afternoon  Aerostat. 

China. —  Meeting  Ministers  discussed 
position  affairs  practically  unaltered. 
Aged  Emperor  continues  issuing  edicts. 
Last  one  appointed  WUN  WOP  PINO  Li, 
great-nephew  notorious  Li  HUNG  CHANG, 
conduct  negotiations.  Return  Court  Pekin 
postponed  consequence  weather.  State 
weather  not  mentioned.  Probably  hot 
unless  cold.  Possibly  dry  unless  wet. 
Emperor's  age  also  given  reason  delay, 
but  many  remark  this  unlikely  diminish 
by  waiting.  Sanguine  Europeans  believe 
indemnities  paid  and  final  settlement 
arranged  this  century.  Sanguine  Euro- 
peans fifty  years  ago  believed  same. 
Ministers  discuss  next  year  form  of 
loan.  Yesterday's  casualties,  interna- 
tional troops :  Pekin,  one  Englishman, 
five  Frenchmen,  two  Germans,  three  Hun- 
garians wounded.  No  deaths.  Conflicts 
unusually  mild,  Japanese  police  arriving 
time  prevent  bloodshed.  Hot  weather 
also  promotes  peace  among  allies,  causing 
indolence.  American  Minister  left  Pekin 
attend  opening  direct  St.  Petersburg — 
Nankin  railway  by  Russian  Governor  of 
Yang-tsze  Provinces. 

America. — Emperor  of  All  the  Americas 


HINTS    TO    BEGINNERS-SEA    FISHING. 

IN   FISHINO   FOR  CONOOR   EELS,    IT   IS  SOMETIMES  CONVENIENT  TO   HAVE   A  SPARE   150AT. 


left  San  Francisco  yesterday  in  Imperial 
75-knot,  30, 000-ton  electric  yacht,  tour 
colonial  possessions  Asia,  Europe,  Afiica, 
and  visit  President  Japanese  Republic. 
Magnificent  spectacle  escorting  fleet 
amphibious  platinumclads  forming  motor 
forts  on  land.  Emperor  attended  by  suite 
ex-Presidents  conquered  Republics  South 
America  and  elsewhere,  also  Duke  of 
PITTSBURG,  Imperial  Chancellor,  Marquis 
of  MICHIGAN,  Hereditary  Great  Tin  Stick 
in  Waiting,  Lord  KANSAS  CITY,  Chief 
Usher  of  the  Back  Staircase,  and  Lord 
POKER  FLATS,  Grand  Secretary  Imperial 
Order  of  the  Striped  Star. 

Turkey.  —  Sultan  received  yesterday 
Lord  LEXINGTON,  American  Ambassador. 
Stormy  interview.  Sultan  endeavoured 
borrow  fifty  piastres  for  immediate  per- 
sonal needs  purchase  second-hand  frock- 
coat  in  London.  Existing  one  worn  out. 
Treasury  empty.  Government  loans  im- 
possible. Ambassador  required  order 


fifty  men-of-war  American  shipbuilders. 
Also  purchase  frock-coat  Bowery  New 
York.  Sultan  refused.  No  money  buy 
ships.  Also  he  and  predecessors  always 
accustomed  London  fashion.  Lord  LEX- 
INGTON threatened  demand  passports  and 
bombard  Yildiz  Kiosk.  Finally  required 
Sultan  order  nominally  five  hundred 
10,000-ton  amphibious  platinumclads, 
actually  receiving  one  25-ton  aluminium 
submarine,  paying  monthly  instalments 
seven  piastres.  American  Imperial  Govern- 
ment then  supply  frock-coat  latest  Chicago 
cut,  now  preferred  obsolete  London  stylo, 
holding  Smyrna  and  other  ports  Asia 
Minor  not  Russian  as  security.  Sultan 
said  indifferent  fate  of  Asia  Minor  or 
condition  Turkish  fleet  but  must  have 
twenty  piastres  pocket-money.  Finally 
accepted  nineteen  piastres,  signing  irade 
commanding  Minister  Marine  order  five 
hundred  platinum  2lads  immediately. 

H.  D.  B. 


452 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JUNE  19,  1901. 


ON  STAGE  "FOOD  AND  FEEDING." 

WE  were  discussing  theatrical  banquets  as  given  on  the 
stage,  whether  m  farce,  opera,  or  drama,  and  one  and  all 
agreed  that,  commencing  with  the  very  grand  affair  at  Glamis 
Castle,  which  was  of  the  nature  of  a  public  dinner  given  by 
that '  superbly  entertaining  couple  King  MACBETH  and  his 
amiable  queen  on  their  accession  to  the  Scottish  throne, 
and  continuing  with  the  feasts  of  foolishness  and  flow  of 
melody  in  Les  Huguenots,  Don  Giovanni,  Traviata,  and  many 
others,  down  to  the  wedding  breakfast  in  Trelawny  of  the 
Wells,  all  such  stage  festivities  were  like  the  "  super  "  guests 
and  the  "  property  "  goblets,  mere  empty  forms,  mere  outward 
show,  ridiculous  even  to  an  audience  most  charitably  disposed 
towards  an  accepted  "  stage  illusion,"  and  eminently  unsatisfac- 
tory to  the  inner  consciousness  of  a  healthy  appetite  possessed 
by  the  most  eminent  actors,  whatever  their  line  might  be. 

Then  we,  well  acquainted  with  the  usual  stock-in-trade  anec- 
dotes of  the  Drama,  recalled  how  a  real  meal  had  invariably  to 
be  provided  on  the  stage  at  any  theatre  whenever  the  old  musical 
farce  of  No  Song  no  Supper  was  performed.  "There  is  also," 
quoth  somebody  present,  "the  story  of  a  superb  banquet  given 
by  Madame  VESTRIS  at  the  Olympic  in  some  play, ' ' — but  here  the 
narrator  hesitated,  and  was  lost.  The  verdict  finally  arrived  at 
was,  and  so  will  remain  for  some  considerable  time,  that  in  the 
second  act  of  Mr.  F.  ANSTEY'S  Man  from  Blanlcley's,  now  going 
stronger  than  ever  at  the  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre,  the 
dinner-party  scene  is  unique  and  is  a  triumph  of  stage- 
management. 

In  days  gone  by,  Realism  on  the  stage  was  a  constant  theme 
for  argument.  Like  the  briar  that  flourished  over  the  graves  of 
Lord  Lovel  and  Lady  Nancy  Bell,  this  Realism  "grew,  and  it  grew, 
and  it  gre-e-ew,  until  it  couldn't  gre-ew  any  higher,"  and  we 
had  everything  real,  boats,  ships,  cabs,  carriages,  locomotives, 
fire-engines,  and  galloping  horses,  until  all  that  was  wanted  to 
complete  the  triumph  of  realism  was  real  acting,  and  this  was 
comparatively  rare.  Realism  is  in  the  first  stage  of  its  decadence : 
against  the  introduction  on  the  stage  of  such  material  objects 
as  engines,  cabs,  and  billiard-tables  there  is  a  reaction  ;  "  we 
don't  want  'em  any  more,"  as  the  song,  Once  so  popular,  had  it. 
But,  instead,  we  are  going  to  have  on  the  stage  "living 
pictures"  of  real  life;  and,  to  begin  with,  here  at  the 
Prince  of  Wales'  Theatre  is  the  real  presentment  of  a 
genuine  dinner  party  given  by  eminently  respectable  people 
living  in  a  semi-suburban  quarter  of  London.  It  is  a  cleverly- 
contrived  scene  ;  the  dinner  is  steadily  gone  through.  The  hired 
waiter,  a  butler  out  of  an  engagement,  one  Dawes,  is  delightfully 
played  by  Mr.  ARTHUR  PLAYPAIR,  who  directs  the  two  parlour- 
maids, and  superintends  the  entire  arrangements.  Soup,  fish, 
entrees,  joints,  sweets,  vegetables  are  all  duly  handed,  the 
conversation  is  fitful,  there  are  bursts  of  sound,  there  is  a  hum, 
there  is  a  silence,  and  so  perfect  is  the  stage-craft  that  the 
audience,  having  granted  the  premises,  follow  all  the  dialogue 
that  skilfully  assists  the  plot  and  develops  the  characters, 
just  as  if  it  were  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  for  any 
uest  at  a  dinner-table  to  say  what  he  didn't  wish  anyone  else 
to  hear  in  a  tone  so  skilfully  pitched  as  to  reach  the  furthest 
limits  of  the  gallery  and  pit. 

Miss  FANNY  BROUOH  is  immense  in  this  scene,  as  she  is 
throughout  the  piece,  sharing  the  success  with  Miss  JESSIE 
BATEMAN,  Miss  PATEMAN,  Miss  VICTOR,  and  all  the  representa- 
tives of  the  guests  with  their  most  artistically  marked 
individualities,  who,  as  a  rule,  have  caught  so  exactly  the  tone 
of  the  situation  as  to  make  the  perfectly  self-contained  Lord 
Strathpeffer,  played  by  CHARLES  HAWTREY  at  his  very  best, 
stand  out  in  admirable  contrast  with  Mr.  HENRY  KEMBLE'S 
capital  presentment  of  the  pompous  old  humbug  of  a  Radical, 
Gabriel  Gihcattle,  and  with  the  tricks  and  manners  of  the 
curious  collection  of  antiquities  that  figure  at  the  oval  table 
chez  TIDMARSH,  of  Ledbury  Square,  Bayswater. 


TO  GAD'S  HILL  AND  BACK. 

(From  a  Piclnvickian  Note-Book.) 

Saturday,  June  8. — Received  at  Rochester  (dear,  quaint  old 
town,  so  reminiscent  of  Jingle,  Job's  tragedian  brother,  and  Pick- 
wickians) by  the  kind  and  courteous  Dean  HOLE,  who, -{n -the 
Guildhall,  made  us  welcome  to  "  Dickens  Town  "  and  "Dickens 
Land,"  in  a  neat  speech,  which  was  a  perfect  model  of  plain, 
unadorned  oratory,  although  the  Dean,  so  justly  celebrated  for 
his  love  of  horticulture  and  for  his  rose-growing,  might  have 
filled  it  with  the  choicest  flowers  of  speech.  The  Dean,  who 
has  seen  some  eighty  summers,  is  as  bright  as  ever  he  was 
when  first  this  present  deponent  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  him 
— "  vidi  tantum  "  on  -that  occasion — some— well,  no  matter  how 
many — years  ago.  His  Reverence  was  JOHN  LEECH'S  companion 
during  that  Lit  tie  Tour  in  Ireland,  of  which  I  regret  to  say  I 
have  not  a  copy  on  my  shelves.  This  must  be  remedied. 

How  perfect  a  day  we  had  !  Thanks,  first  and  foremost,  to 
one  bearing  the  world-honoured  name  of  DICKENS,  yclept  HENRY, 
Q.C.,  and  then  to  the  energy  of  that  devoted  Pickwickian,  PERCY 
FITZGERALD,  who  had  ingeniously  mapped  out  our  route  from 
Rochester,  where,  at  the  "Bull,"  were  evoked  such  pleasant 
memories  of  Winkle  and  Dr.  Slammer,  of  Jingle  and  Dismal  Jemmy, 
and  of  the  genial  Mr.  Pickwick  himself,  that  had  we  stayed  the 
night  at  the  ancient  hostelrie,  most  certainly  should  we  have  seen 
the  shades  of  these  old  friends  celebrating  with  us  the  CHARLES 
DICKENS  Anniversary.  Thence  to  the  "  Leather  Bottel,"  at  Cob- 
ham,  where  Mr.  Tupman  consoled  himself  for  the  loss  of  Rachel 
Wardle,  and  then,  to  the  orchestral  accompaniment  of  thousands 
of  humming  insects,  for  a  stroll  amidst  a  perfect  forest  of  rhodo- 
dendrons in  all  their  luxuriance  of  harmoniously  varied  colour. 

Gad's  Hill.  To  the  House,  to  the  room,  to  the  study.  The 
true  spirit  of  pilgrimage  all  of  us  realise  in  the  quiet,  in 
the  English  homeliness,  in  the  very  Dickensian  atmosphere  of 
the  House  and  grounds,  over  which  the  Boz  Club  is  courteously 
shown  by  our  courteous  hosts,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  LATHAM,  now 
owners  of  the  property.  Here  he  had  constructed,  here  he  had 
laid  out  his  plots,  here  was  his  fancy,  there  his  delight,  and 
everywhere  his  work.  Dear  was  it  to  him  to  recall  the  Shaks- 
pearean  tradition  of  the.  place  ;  dearer  to  us  to  recall  him,  the 
great  master  of  truth  in  fiction.  Our  conversation  is  entirely 
of  him,  inseparable  from  his  work.  And  when  the  moment 
comes  that  this  delightful  day  must  end,  then  there  is  one  toast, 
one  only,  silently  responded  to  with  all  our  hearts,  the  name  of 
"  Box."  And  so  ends  an  informally  kept  anniversary. 

A  few  days  after  the  above  recorded  visit  to  Gad's  Hill,  I 
was  the  favoured  recipient  of  a  photogravure  portrait  by  the 
Gresham  Publishing  Company,  Glasgow,  of  CHARLES  DICKENS, 
which  is  an  admirable  likeness  of  the  great  novelist,  exactly 
as  he  was  on  the  last  occasion  I  ever  had  the  great  satisfaction 
of  seeing  him.  As  far  as  my  memory  serves,  this  likeness  is 
perfect.  Who  having  once  seen  DICKENS  could  ever  forget  him  ? 

Odd,  too,  that  this  should  come  from  Glasgow.  On  the  spur 
of  the  moment,  I  can  only  recall  two  sketches  of  Scotch  or 
Irish  character  in  all  DICKENS.  'Tis  a  pity  that  the 
Pickwickians  never  crossed  the  border.  How  Tracy  Tupman 
would  have  lost  his  heart  over  and  over  again  to  the  Scotch 
lassies  and  the  Irish  colleens  !  Had  DICKENS  taken  them  to 
Ireland,  howKillarney  would  have  inspired  Poet  Snodgrass !  Mr. 
Winkle  at  the  Curragh,  and  Sam  Weller  in  a  faction  fight,  would 
have  been  delightful !  And  how  Mr.  Pickiuick  would  have  filled 
his  note-book  with  reminiscences  of  Watergrass  !  Perhaps  best 
as  it  is,  and  with  the  best  all  true  Pickwickians  are  content. 


THE  INTERNATIONAL  PUBLISHERS'  CONGRESS  AT  BERLIN. — The 
Times  of  Saturday,  June  15,  reports  that  the  members  of  this 
Congress  \vere  to  be  "  entertained  "  (last  Friday  evening)  "  in 
the  Zoological  Gardens."  Evidently  the  Berliners  consider 
their  guests  as  genuine  "  Lions." 


JUNE  19,  190L] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


453 


THE   PALE   POEM. 

SOUL  of  the  seasons  song ! 
A  panting  poem  pale 

I  cast   ' .  '       _   .  ' 

Among 
A  ghast- 

Ly  throng 

Of  singers  who  assail! 
My  mellow  melody, 

Tho'    framed    in    fancy  frail    and    pallid 
phantasy. 

'Mid  modern  Muse's  murk 
In  loveliness  I  lilt ; 
I  fling 

To  Time 
A  thing 

Sublime 

In  bud-like  beauty  built. 
In  silver  sadness  I 

Repine  when  I  perpend  pale  poems  some- 
times die. 

In  mystic  maze  I  muse, 
In  odour  eke  occult ; 
You  mind 

That  I  'in 
A  kind 

Of  rhyme 
Divinely  difficult : 
A  pale-pink  pleasaunce  ground 
With  pensive  poppies  pranckt  and  purple 
palings  round. 

'Pon  pinions  pale  I  poise 
Like  bliss-born  butterfly 
O'er  rose. 

I  wreathe 
In  throes, 

And  breathe 
Each  echo's  ecstasy. 
In  phantom  fields  I  dwell, 
Like  love-lorn  lily  limp  or  azure  asphodel. 

Nor  to  my  passion  pale 

One  thought  I  bring,  because 
I  try 

To  see 
If  I 

Can  be 

As  faint  and  fearful  as 
The  poems  of  to-day. 

I  think  I  am,  and  shall  endure  as  long  as 
they. 


PEOPLE  WHO   PALL   ON   ME. 
IV. — THE  "WORTHY  PERSON." 

POSSIBLY  this  term  was  invented  as  a 
polite  equivalent  for  mental  decay,  as  the 
worthy  person  is,  as  a  rule,  quite  elderly. 
Who  ever  heard  of  a  young  man  or  woman 
that  was  a  worthy  person  ?  If  a  youth 
evinces  a  leaning  toward  intellectual 
obtuseness,  we  call  him  a  young  ass,  or 
words  to  that  effect.  But  after  a  certain 
age  the  young  ass  is  transformed  into  a 
worthy  person.  He  may  be  a  preacher, 
for  instance,  with  a  faculty  for  verbosity 


Auntie.  "  I   WONDER   WHAT   MAMMA   WILL   SAY   WHEN   YOU  TELL   HER  HOW  NAUGHTY 

YOU  'VE    BEEN. " 

Little  Girl.  "I  SHAN'T,  THOUGH.     I'LL  SAY  I'VE  BEEN  VERY  GOOD.' 
Auntie.  "You  CAN'T  DO  THAT,  MY  DEAR.     IT  WILL  BE  A  LIZ." 
Little  Girl.  "  Oo,  BOTHER!    I  FORGOT  ABOUT  LIES  !" 


such  as  Lady  SUSAN  HARABIN  and  Mr. 
LUCIEN  EDENSOR  agreed  to  condemn ;  but 
you  will  be  informed  by  a  host  of  old  lady 
apologists  that  he  is  really  a  very  worthy 
man.  Or,  if  among  your  acquaintances 
there  be  one  man  or  Avoman  woefully 
deficient  in  tact,  and  dull  beyond  the 
dreams  of  idiocy,  you  are  sure  to  be  told 
that  this  individual  is  a  very  worthy 
person.  "I  know  that  worthy  person," 
you  cry,  with  a  foresight  born  of  bitter 
experience  ;  "he  comes  from  Bore-land." 
But,  says  the  Apologist,  he  is  kind- 
hearted,  and  surely Nay,  I  protest 

most  strenuously  this  only  aggravates  the 
case.  Were  the  worthy  person  a  Peck- 
sniff you  could  unmask  him  with  a  glow 
of  satisfaction,  but  his  amiable  intentions 
disarm  your  attack  while  they  render  him 
the  more  intolerable.  An  amiable  bore 
is  the  very  worst  kind  of  bore.  Your 
hafts  of  ridicule  fall  hopelessly  tangled 


in  the  rank  weedy  growth  of  his  bene- 
volent intentions.  The  iciness  of  your 
manner  never  affects  him  because  it 
never  reaches  its  destination.  The 
warm,  enervating  atmosphere  of  tropical 
geniality  that  surrounds  him  protects 
him  from  the  Arctic  moods  of  acquaint- 
ances. No,  the  poet  who  wrote  thought- 
lessly about  kind  hearts  forgot  the 
worthy  person.  After  all,  a  coronet  is 
an  asset  while  a  kind-hearted  worthy 
person  is  too  often  merely  an  ass. 

There  is  only  one  course  to  take  with 
worthy  persons — avoid  them.  When  you 
hear  the  epithet,  think  of  the  red  flag  that 
precedes  the  steam-roller  and  beware. 
Otherwise,  the  steed  of  your  temper,  which 
you  usually  can  keep  so  well  under  control, 
will  jib  and  rear  when  the  puffing  truisms 
and  snorting  commonplaces  of  the  ponder- 
ous, slow-moving  "  worthy  person  "  come 
within  the  range  of  sight  and  hearing. 


454 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JUNE  19,   1901 


"POSTERS." 

•i. 

WHEN  in  the  stalls  you  're  yawning  at  a  play  you  read  that 

morning 

'Was  a  lurid  melodrama  and  -would  "  thrill  you  to  the  core," 

When  you  find  it  dull  and  dreary  and  you  're  absolutely  weary 

Of  fair  damsels  in  dilemmas  that  so  oft  you  've  seen  before  ; 

Then  you  think  about  a  poster  with  a  new  and  novel  scene 

on  it, 

A  moonlight  night — the  Scotch  express — a  rock  about  to  fall ! 
When  the  hero,  who 's  to  warn  her,  does  the  rescue  round  the 

corner, 

Then  you  say,  "  Well,  what  a  swindle  was  the  poster  on  the 
wall!  " 

n. 
When  the  arid  veldt  is  parching  and  when  TOMMY  is  a-marching 

WTith  his  rags  a-hanging  round  him  on  a  chase  of  no  avail, 
When  for  home  he  's  sick  and  dying  and  when  critics  are  a-crying 
"  We  must  send  another  army  for  the  one  we  've  got  is  stale  ;  " 
Then  he  thinks  about  a  poster — dashing  military  men  on  it, 

With  scarlet  coats  and  polished  boots — alert  at  bugle  call. 
When  fighting  proves  a  lengthy  bout  and  khaki  blots  the  glamour 

out, 

Then  he  says,  "  Well,  what  a  swindle  was  the  poster  on  the 
wall  !  " 

III. 
When  there  's  been  a  snap   election   and   you  find  that  your 

selection 

Is  disposed  to  sweetly  slumber  through  the  thunder  of  debate, 
When  his  time  he  's  been  a-sparing  and  he  's  also  been  a-pairing 

With  an  extra-ultra-anti  law  and  order  reprobate  ; 
Then  you  think  about  a  poster  and  the  breezy  British  style 

on  it, 
How  doggedly  he  'd  guard  your  rights  within  St.  Stephen's 

hall. 

When  in  no  wise  self-asserting  he  is  on  the  Terrace  flirting, 
Then  you  say,  "  Well,  what  a  swindle  was  the  poster  on  the 
wall  !  " 

IV. 

When  pictorial  advertising  and  attractions  appetising 
Have  inveigled  you  to  wander  to  a  Continental  Spa, 
But  instead  of  being  feted  you  perceive  it  's  just  created 

And  you  sit  in  silent  solitude  and  wonder  where* you  are  ; 
Then  you  think  about  a  poster  and  the  gay  and  giddy  throng 

on  it, 

A  Kursaal  looking  rakish  and  suggestions  of  a  ball ; 
When  the  "Great  Confetti  Battle"  is  the  hailstones'   rattle, 

rattle ! 

Then  you  say,  "  Well,  what  a  swindle  was  the  poster  on  the 
wall!"  HI:AX  MEK. 

FROM  SHADE  TO  SHADE. 

To  Charles  Dickens,  Esq. 

MY  DEAR  CHARLES,— Why  do  we  meet  so  rarely?  No  count- 
less leagues  of  Shadow-land  divide  us.  The  journey  is  not  a 
long  one.  The  steam-boats  on  the  Acheron  are  lately  much 
improved,  and  there  is  an  excellent  service  of  the  best  motor- 
cars from  the  place  of  landing.  All  these  advantages  are  fully 
set  out  in  our  time-tables — yet  for  some  reason,  as  I  say,  we 
rarely  meet.  This  must  be  altered.  Will  you  make  up  your 
mind  and  pack  up  your  traps  and  come  to  me  on  Tuesday,  next  ? 
I  have  some  fine  Chambertin,  and  TERRE,  dear  old  TERRE — you 
remember  his  queer  little  place  in  the  Rue  Neuve  des  Petits 
Champs— has  promised  to  provide  a  dish  of  bouillabaisse.  I 
have  asked  FIELDING,  CHARLES  LAMB,  and  one  or  two  other 
bright  particular  souls  to  be  of  the  company.  GOLDSMITH  and 
GARRICK  and  DICK  STEELE  may  come.  ADDISON  is  uncertain, 
but,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  if  he  fails  us  I  shall  not  grieve  un- 


duly. He  's  a  good  creature,  but  has  a  mighty  capacity  for 
being  ponderous,  and  after  two  glasses  he  quotes  from  himself. 
As  I  'm  a  dead  sinner,  I  cannot  stand  anything  more  from 
Cato  or  The  Campaign.  They  're  well  enough  in  their  way, 
but  it 's  not  your  way  or  mine,  and  even  on  earth  that  bit 
about  pale  Britannia  was  done  to  death. 

Well,  CHARLES,  they  have  been  celebrating  you,  I  see,  in 
your  well-loved  haunts,  visiting  Gad's  Hill  in  cheerful  state, 
and  recalling  to  one  another  the  places  consecrated  by  your 
genius.  It  was  well  done,  a  pious  pilgrimage  to  a  happy 
shrine.  It  is  right  that  they  should  sometimes  think  of  us  who 
pass  our  days  far  removed  from  the  cheerful  laughter  and  the 
friendly  voices  of  living  men.  What  would  they  say  if  we  told 
them  the  truth  ?  Would  they  pity  us  or  envy  if  they  knew  that 
we  existed  among  the  creatures  of  our  own  creating,  each  of  us 
in  his  own  little  kingdom  with  his  own  retainers  and  his  own 
population  made  for  him  by  his  brain  ?  Had  I  but  known  in 
time,  I  think  I  might  have  spared  myself  a  snob  or  two.  Barry 
Lyndon  amused  me  at  first,  but  he  's  a  drunken  unprincipled 
rascal.  Something  of  a  coward  too,  as  you  may  judge  when  I 
tell  you  that  old  Cost/gnu  cuffed  him  soundly  last  week  for 
having  threatened  to  kick  Jos  Sedley,  and  Barry,  though  he 
made  much  noise,  never  gave  a  cuff  in  return.  I  always  sus- 
pected the  rogue's  bluster,  and  now  I  know.  You,  too,  could 
be  happy,  I  believe,  without  Jonas  or  Carker,  and  even  Mrs. 
Gamp  may  prove  a  trial.  But  que  faire  ?  They  are  but  as  we 
made  them,  and,  such  as  they  are,  we  must  endure  them. 

No  matter,  come  on  Tuesday  and  let  us  renew  our  life  and  our 
youth  and  the  happy  days  that  are  no  more.  Be  sure  of  this, 
whatever  else  you  may  be  doubtful  of:  no  man  ever  had  for 
you  a  more  loyal  regard  and  admiration  than  he  who  now  writes 
to  you  and  asks  you  to  bear  him  company.  And  in  your  genial 
soul,  what  room  can  there  be  for  anything  but  noble  loyalty 
and  generous  good  fellowship  ?  Farewell. 

Yours,  as  ever,  in  friendship  and  esteem, 

W. M.  THACKERAY. 

McCORIOLANUS  PERSONALLY  CONDUCTED. 

DURING  the  playing  of  Coriolanns  at  the  Lyceum  the  playing 
of  the  orchestra,  to  the  ears  of  the  uninitiated,  seemed  to  be 
but  the  pleasant  Mackenzieish  flavouring  to  the  somewhat 
heavy  Shakspearean  dish.  Severed  from  its  close  connection 
with  Volumnia's  big  boy,  and  produced  by  itself  at  an  after- 
noon concert  at  Queen's  Hall,  even  Sir  ALEXANDER  MACKENZIE, 
conducting  his  own  work  in  person,  must  have  been  satisfied 
not  only  with  the  orchestra's  admirable  performance,  but  also 
with  its  enthusiastic  reception  by  an  audience  in  whose 
ears,  when  it  was  given  at  the  theatre  as  part  and  parcel  of 
the  play,  its  beauties  would  probably  have  passed  unnoticed. 

In  a  drama,  music  that  would  stand  by  its  own  intrinsic 
merit,  or  fall  by  the  absence  of  it,  has  but  a  poor  chance 
of  being  taken  seriously  and  at  its  real  value  when  blended 
into  the  action  and  overpowered  by  such  dialogue  as  falls  to 
the  lot  of  the  Hectorlike  youthful  Roman  warrior.  Sir  ALEC'S 
is  a  musical  dish  «  port,  and  the  more  frequently  it  is  heard, 
as  given  on  this  occasion,  the  more  popular  will  it  become. 

And  while  on  the  subject  of  this  same  afternoon  concert,  it 
must  be  recorded  how  admirably  VERDI'S  Requiem  was  rendered 
by  Mesdames  MARIE  BREMA  and  SOBRINO,  Messieurs  PLANCON 
and  ANSELMI,  and  a  chorus  which  differed  from  our  gay  young 
opera  choristers  and  light-of-other-days  singers  at  Covent  Gar- 
den in  being  as  nearly  perfect  in  every  respect  as  possible. 
Those  who  were  not  present  on  this  occasion  missed  a  great 
treat,  though  maybe  they  were  consoled  by  some  other  equally 
great  treat  in  another  quarter  of  the  musical  world. 


WHY  did  the  Oval  "  look  round  "  ? 

Because  there  were  so  many  "  maidens  "  bold  there. 


JUNE  19,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  .HARIVARI. 


455 


BACILLUS  AMORIS. 

A  German  pathologist  is  reported  to  have 
discovered  a  serum  which  kills  the  liaclllus 
amoris."— Daily  Paper.'] 

LET  pathology  work  as  it  will, 

And  puzzle  its  brains  as  it  pleases 
To  find  out  a  serum  to  kill 

The  oldest  of  mortal  diseases  ; 
But  bootless  and  vain  is  its  aim, 

And  most  ineffective  its  lore  is, 
For  hark  !  IIOAV  its  victims  exclaim, 

'"'  Thrice  welcome,  Bacillus  amoris  !  " 

"  I  can't  write  my  leader,"  cried  JONES, 

"  My  thoughts  will  not  centre  upon  it," 
"While  SMITH  in  the  counting-house  owns 

He  is  trying  his  hand  at  a  sonnet. 
Yet  they  are  not  incensed  when  they  see 

How  their  wits  have  been  wandering, 

nor  is 
Their  anger  directed  at  thee, 

Seductive  Bacillus  amoris. 

What  follows  is  perfectly  plain  : 

It  means  a  most  shocking  dispersal 
Of  energy,  money  and  brain, 

And  the  havoc  is  quite  universal ; 
All  suffer  alike,  rich  and  poor, 

Red  Radicals,  crusted  old  Tories — 
And  is  there  no  possible  cure 

For  this  fatal  Bacillus  amoris  ? 

Some  doctors  by  poverty  swear, 
And  all  other  serums  disparage, 

While  others  will  solemnly  sweat- 
There  's  nothing  so  certain  as  marriage ; 

Some  tell  you  that  honeymoons  kill 
With  absolute  sureness.     What  stories  ! 

I  've  tried  all  the  three,  and  I  still 
Am  a  prey  to  Bacillus  amoris. 


HAPPY   THOUGHT!" 

Harry.  "On,  NELLIE  DARLING,  I'M  so  UNHAPPY!    I  FEEL  WE  SHALL  NEVER  GET  YOUR 
FATHER'S  CONSENT  TO  OUR  MARRIAGE." 

Nellir.  "On,  HARRY  DEAR,  1   FEEL  WE  SHALL  ....  I  HAVE  AN  IDEA! WE 

MUST  GET  MAMMA  TO  OBJECT,  AND  IT'S  SURE  TO  COME  RIGHT!" 

[  We  understand  the.  banns  were  published  within  a  week. — ED.  P.] 


AN   INVOCATION. 

["  Commerce  states  that  the  habit  of  tea-di  inking  is  becoming  prevalent  in 
Persia."] 

WAKE  from  the  dust,  old  OMAR,  with  surprise 
And  rub  the  earth  from  your  bewildered  eyes. 

Wipe  from  your  raiment  wine's  besotting  stain, 
In  modern  Persia  other  cults  arise. 

Not  in  the  tavern  where  the  ribald  throng 
Of  vetoed  juices  come  to  raise  your  song, 

The  cups  that  cheer  but  not  inebriate 
Should  be  your  theme — rich  syrupy  Souchong. 

A  cosy  table  in  an  A.  B.  C., 

A  buttered  scone,  is  good  enough  for  me, 

A  willing  maid  to  answer  to  my  call, 
And  for  a  Jug  of  Wine — a  Cup  of  Tea. 

1  sent  my  soul  the  nation's  drink  to  scan, 
Westward  to  Frisco,  eastward  to  Japan, 

And  everywhere  the  fragrant  cup  I  find, 
And  everywhere  the  heathen  Chinaman. 

Some  quaff  their  Bass,  or  Special  Scotch,  and  some 
Cocktails,  some  Veuve  Cliquot  ov  costly  Munim, — 

Ah,  give  me  but  one  meal,  at  five  o'clock, 
And  for  the  music  but  a  kettle-drum. 

So,  OMAR  (since  all  booms  must  terminate), 
While  Bridge  and  Ping-pong  now  usurp  your  state, 

You  yet  may  win  another  lease  of  life, 
By  posing  as  a  Temperance  Advocate. 


A  SEASIDE  ROUNDEL. 

Ox  the  sands  as  loitering  I  stand 

Where  my  point  of  view  the  scene  commands, 
I  survey  the  prospect  fair  and  grand 
On  the  sands. 

Niggers,  half  a  dozen  German  bands, 

Photographic  touts,  persistent,  bland, 
Chiromancers  reading  dirty  hands, 

Nursemaids,  children,  preachers,  skiffs  that  land 

Trippers  with  cigars  of  fearful  brands, 
Donkeys — everything,  in  short,  but  sand — 
On  the  sands. 


''SPRING,  SPRING!  BEAUTIFUL  SPRING!" 

IN?  a  daily  paper,  under  the  heading  of  "  Fashionable 
Furniture,"  there  appeared  an  explanatory  sub-title  suggesting 
"What  Spring  Brides  should  buy  for  the  Home."  "Spring 
Brides  !  "  What  elastic  young  women  they  ought  to  be  !  Female 
"  Bounders,"  it  is  to  be  feared.  And,  of  course,  everything  to 
match,  as,  naturally,  in  the  very  fitness  of  things,  the  Bouncing 
Bridegroom  would  buy  his  Bounding  Bride  (lovely  title  for  a 
Romance,  The  Bounder's  Bride!)  a  mansion  in  Spring  Gardens, 
where  there  would  be  fountains  ;of  spring  water,  and  where 
every  room  would  be  furnished  with  spring  cushions,  spring 
chairs,  the  house  itself  having  been,  of  course,  quite  recently 
"  spring-cleaned." 


456 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHAKIVAKI. 


[JUNE  19,  1901. 


Farmer.  "THERE'S  NO  NEED  TO  ASK  WHEHE  YOU'VE  A-BIN  'ANUIXG  ABOUT  ALL  THIS  TIME, — YOU'VE  A-BIN  AT  THE  'BLACK  DOG.' 

I    WISH    TO   GOODNESS   THAT  'ERE    POBLIC   WERE   SOMEWHEHK    ELSE  !  " 

Giles.  "So  D'  I.     I  WISH  'TWKKK  IN  THIS  'EBE  VIBLD,  I  DO!" 


A  KECOED  BANQUET. 

THE  banquet  given  to  "  Our  Sir  JOHN  TEXNIEL  "  was  a  splen- 
did public  tribute,  as  the  Chairman,  Mr.  ARTHUR  BALFOUH, 
in  a  speech  replete  with  most  refined  and  delicate  humour, 
felicitously  expressed  it,  "to  a  great  artist  and  a  great  gen- 
tleman." "And,"  as  the  words  of  the  old  chorus— suddenly 
started  as  if  by  inspiration,  and  on  this  occasion  sung  "with 
one  heart  and  voice"  in  unison,  by  all  present  upstanding- 
have  it,  "  So  say  all  of  us."  So  sang  "  all  of  us  "  present,  and 
so  feel  and  say  all  to  whom  the  work  of  Mr.  Punch's  great 
cartoonist  is  familiar  during  the  last  half-century. 

For  some  seconds  the  guest  of  the  evening,  rising  to  reply, 
could  scarcely  restrain  his  emotion,  nor  summon  up  from  "  the 
vasty  depths  "  of  his  large  heart  the  words  that  would  not 
"come  when  they  were  called."  If,  like  the  blessed  and 
aristocratic  Ben  de  Vere  (so  often  quoted),  "  'twas  his  to  speak," 
then  'twas  ours  to  cheer.  The  eloquent  speeches  were  silvern 
indeed,  but  this  most  eloquent  silence  was  golden.  More  than 
a  mere  few  in  that  great  company  experienced  a  certain  choky 
sensation  in  the  throat,  and  a  stronger  throb  of  the  pulse  that 
proved  how  their  hearts  were  in  warmest  sympathy  with  the 
silent  orator,  whose  pathetic  pause  was  just  that  "one  touch  of 
nature  which  makes  the  whole  world  kin." 

At  that  supreme  moment  there  was  not  a  man  amongst  us 
who  would  not  have  forgotten  injuries  and  shaken  hands  with 


his  bitterest  foe.  The  pathos  of  those  blanks  in  Sir  JOHN'S 
speech  was  sublime  ;  those  blanks,  indeed,  were  prizes  dis- 
tributed to  all  present  as  lasting  memorials  of  a  gathering 
absolutely  unique  in  its  character. 

As  was  the  occasion,  so  was  the  recherche  dinner :  artistic- 
ally ordered,  excellently  served,  wines  of  the  very  best,  as 
perfect  a  model  to  all  public-dinner  caterers  as  were  the  few 
speeches  delivered  perfect  models  of  post-prandial  oratory. 
And  yet,  brilliant  as  was  the  entire  evening,  all  present,  as  Mr. 
AUGUSTIN  BIRRBLL  finely  said,  "  had  had  from  Sir  JOHN  TENNIEL 
a  speech  which  made  one  in  love  with  silence." 

All  sympathised  with  the  Chairman  in  regretting  the  enforced 
absence  of  Lord  ROSEBERY,  to  whom  the  initiative  of  this 
banquet  was  due,  and,  in  mentioning  this,  it  will  not  be  con- 
sidered a  breach  of  etiquette  to  add  that  Lord  JAMES  OF 
HEREFORD  and  Mr.  ALFRED  DE  ROTHSCHILD  are  to  be  specially 
thanked  for  their  invaluable  assistance  and  hearty  co-operation 
which  had  helped  to  somewhat  lighten  the  labours  of  the 
indefatigable  Secretary,  Mr.  CHARLES  WILLIE  MATHEWS,  who, 
on  Lord  RosEBERY's  suggestion,  had  most  willingly  undertaken 
a  task  of  no  little  difficulty  as  a  labour  of  love,  purely  out  of  a 
sense  of  the  highest  personal  esteem  for  Sir  JOHN  TENNIEL,  as 
"  great  gentleman  and  great  artist,"  whose  admirable  work  in 
the  service  of  the  British  Public,  and  for  the  matter  of  that  of 
the  civilised  world,  for  over  half  a  century,  ought  to  receive, 
as  it  now  has  done,  the  heartiest  public  recognition. 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI— JUNE  19,  1901. 


A  SOUL  ABOVE  BUSINESS. 


GENERAL  MUDDLE.   "  GOOD  GAD,   SIR  !     WHAT  !     RUN  THE  WAR  OFFICE  ON  BUSINESS  PRINCIPLES  !  !    HOPE 

WE   HAVEN'T  COME  TO   THAT   YET." 


JUNE  19,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


459 


ESSENCE    OF    PARLIAMENT. 

EXTRACTED  FROM  THE  DIARY  OP  TOBY,  M.P. 

House  of  Commons,   Monday  night. — If 

anything  could  abash  the  SAG?  pF  QUEEN 

ANNE'S  GATE,  or  bring  the  crimson  blush 


"DOT  ONE  PENNY." 
(Sir  Fr-d-r-ck  D-x-n  dot  H-rtl-nd.) 

to  the  cheek  of  DON'T  KEIR  HARDIE,  it  was 
DIXON-HARTLAND'S  demonstration  of  the 
dirt-cheapness  of  British  Royalty.  Select 
Committee  to  -which  King's  Civil  List 
originally  referred  unanimously  agreed  to 
certain  resolutions.  SAGE  OP  QUEEN  ANNE'S 
GATE  alone  in  his  opposition ;  drew  up 
report  of  his  own,  which  stood  in  severe 
minority  of  one  ;  had  satisfaction  of  see- 
ing it  printed  for  benefit  of  posterity  side 
by  side  with  Majority  Report.  Restated 
his  objections  on  earlier  stage  of  Bill. 
Reasonable  to  suppose  that  would  serve. 
To-night  House  in  Committee  on  the 
Bill.  Coming  back  refreshed  with  Whit- 
sun  holidays  the  SAGE  begins  ab  ovo,  as  a 
Member  long  gone  over  to  the  majority 
once  said  on  the  third  reading  of  a 
drainage  Bill.  Puts  down  amendments  to 
every  clause  of  Bill ;  some  hours  of  sultry 
night  passed  by  overwhelming  majority  in 
walking  through  the  No  Lobby. 

It  was  on  amendment  to  reduce  total 
amount  of  Civil  List  from  £470,000  to 
£415,000,  that  DIXON  -  HARTLAND  inter- 
posed. A  busy  man,  a  banker,  author  of 
the  Genealogical  History  of  the  Royal 
Houses  of  Europe,  FREDERICK  DIXON  DIXON- 
HARTLAND,  Bart.,  felt  the  time  had  come 
to  bring  the  loyal  foot  down  on  the  head  of 
the  incipient  dragon  of  Democracy.  The 
SAGE  insisted  £470,000  a  year  too  much  to 
pay  for  Royalty  ;  DON'T  KEIR  HARDIE, 
frowning  above  voluminous  blood  -  red 
necktie  that  must  have  cost  at  least  one- 
and-nine  in  the  Borough,  backed  him  up. 

"Very  well,"  said  the  many-syllabled 
HARTLAND;  "we '11  see." 

Devoted  the  reasonably  long  "Whitsun 
recess  to  preparation  of  table  designed  to 
show  comparative  cheapness  of  home-bred 


Royalty  ;  worked  the  sum  out  in  decimal 
fractions  ;  nothing  like  being  precise  in 
these  matters. 

"The  cost  of  Royalty  in  Germany  per 
head  of  the  population,"  he  said,  glancing 
sternly  over  his  spectacles  at  the  shrink- 
ing figure  of  the  SAGE  OF  QUEEN  ANXE'S 
GATE,  "  is  dot  3*|d. ;  in  Italy  it  is  dot  4}d. ; 
in  Spain,"  here  he  turned  his  regard  upon 
DON'T  KEIR  HARDIE,  who  ostentatiously 
affected  complete  indifference,  "it  is  dot 
4d.,  plus  the  sixteenth  part  of  a  penny  ; 
in  Russia  it  is  dot  5d." 

Committee  beginning  to  simmer  with 
laughter  F.  D.  D-H.,  sternly  regarding  the 
two  prisoners  in  the  dock  opposite, 
emphatically  repeated  the  dot ;  Committee 
broke  into  irreverent  laughter. 

"  DTXON  -  HARTLAND 's  getting  quite 
dotty,"  someone  whispered,  and  the 
laughter  rose  again. 

The  Baronet,  temporarily  withdrawin 
his  gaze  from  benches  below  the  Gangway 
opposite,  turned  with  amazement  to  regard 
the  laughing  faces  that  circled  him. 

"  In  this  country,"  he  added,  in  tones 
of  tragic  solemnity,.  "  the  cost  of  Royalty 
is  dot  one  penny." 

After  this  nothing  more  was  heard  or 
said  amid  the  whirlwind  of  laughter. 
F.  D.  D-H.  sat  down ;  but  he  had  made 
his  point — I  mean  his  dot,  and  aggressive 
Democracy  was  groimd  to  powder. 

.Business  clone. — Civil  List  passed  after 
much  exercise  in  Division  Lobby. 

Tuesday  night.  —  "Man  and  boy,  I've 
been  in  the  House  of  Commons  twenty- 
eight  years,"  said  the  MEMBER  FOR  SARK, 
"and  I  never  saw  the  game  played  quite 
so  low  down  as  to-night." 

Appointed  business,  statement  by  PRINCE 
ARTHUR  affecting  affairs  through  remain- 
der of  Session.  There  being  only  thirty- 
nine  Questions  on  Paper,  reasonable  to 
suppose  that  motion  appropriating  remain- 
ing time  of  Session  would  come  on  about 
four  o'clock.  An  hour's  talk  would  serve, 
and  at  five  o'clock  the  House  would  settle 
down  to  debate  on  Factories  and  "Work- 
shops' Bill,  which  affects  the  health  and 
comfort  of  hundreds  of  thousands  of  men 
and  women.  This  forecast  founded  on  as- 
sumption that  House  of  Commons  is  a 
business  assembly,  its  affairs  controlled 
by  dictates  of  common-sense.  That 's 
just  where  the  bottom  falls  out  of  the 
bucket.  What  happened  was  that  two 
Private  Bills,  one  affecting  a  Gas  Com- 
pany, the  other  a  Railway  Company,  took 
precedence,  waiving  aside  the  Leader  of 
the  House,  Members  with  Questions, 
Ministers  .with  Answers. 

The  two  first  and  freshest  hours  of  sit- 
ting appropriated  for  these  Bills,  it  looked 
as  if  business  really  at  hand.  "  Oh,  no,  ycu 
don't,"  said  JOHN  DILLON. 

Among  list  of  private  business  was  a 
Provisional  Order  affecting  the  Arizona 
Copper  Company.  What  's  the  Arizona 
Copper  Company  to  the  Irish  Member,  or 


tho  Irish  Member  to  it,  that  he  should 
weep  for  it?  Nothing  more  than  HECUBA 
was  to  the  player  who  rehearsed  before 
Hamlet.  But  it  would  serve  as  well  as 
anything  to  obstruct  business  and  pre- 
vent the  case  of  the  factory  workers  being 
fairly  considered.  Accordingly,  another 
half-hour  wasted,  whilst  DILLON  and  RED- 
MOND aine  talked  about  Arizona  Copper 
Company,  on  which  they  frankly  confessed 
they  knew  absolutely  nothing.  Mean- 
while the  SPEAKER  sat  in  Chair  impotent 
to  prevent  this  prank,  and  the  mightiest 
Legislative  Assembly  in  the  world,  whose 
word  can  launch  a  thousand  ships  or  place 
in  the  field  an  army  that  could  storm  the 
topmost  towers  of  Ilium,  quietly  suffered. 

The  Factories'  Bill  was  not  taken  in 
hand  till  half-past  nine,  with  the  know- 
ledge that  Debate  might  not  extend  be- 
yond midnight.  Thus  two  hours  and  a- 
half  were  allotted  to  business  and  six 
and  a-half  to  approaching  it.  PRINCE 
ARTHUR  remarked  that  it  is  impossible 
for  outside  public  to  understand  certain 
nuances  of  procedure.  That  is  true ;  but 
the  public  will  understand  the  bald  state- 
ment of  fact  here  set  forth,  and,  in  imita- 
tion of  WILSON  BARRETT  in  a  shelved  play, 
will  throw  up  gaunt  arms  and  cry  aloud, 
"  How  long  ?  How  long  ?  " 

.Business  done. — Remainder  of  Session 
commandeered  for  public  business.  The 
Divine  SARA  reviewed  Parliamentary 
forces  from  the  Ladies'  Gallery.  Much 
puzzled  by  its  construction.  "  Your  Poet 


"  I  do  not  propose,  Mr  Speaker,  to  enlarge  r 

this  topic." 
(Sir  M-rk  Slvw-rt.) 


4GO 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JUNE  19,  1901. 


"CORSAIRS"  IN 
Law  and  Order  keeps  an  ey 
(Cap'eu  T-ramy  B-wl-s,  and 

was  wrong,  cher  TOBIE,"  she  said, 
Iron  bars  do  make  a  cage." 
Thursday  night, — House  laughed  when, 
the  other  day,  C.-B.  announced  discovery 
that  if  of  six  battalions  you  send  three 
out  of  the  country  six  don't  remain. 
Laughed  again  to-night  when  CAP'EN 
TOMMY  BOWLES  delicately  alluded  to  frag- 
ment of  the  Gibraltar  Defences  Com- 
mission still  serving.  Originally  there 
were  four  Members.  Having  mentioned 
that  in  certain  circumstances  he  had 
resigned,  the  CAP'EN  added,  "I  do  not 
know  what  has  since  occurred  with  what 
remained  of  the  Commission." 

Numerically,  the  fragment  was  three- 
quarters  of  the  whole.  But  in  estimating 
value  something  more  than  numerals  must 
be  taken  into  account.  For  example, 
there 's  Great  Britain,  Jersey,  Alderney 
and  Sark  —  four  islands.  If  by  some 
convulsion  of  Nature  Great  Britain  were 
whelmed  in  the  sea,  Jersey,  Alderney  and 
Sark  remaining  intact,  we,  regardless  of 
their  aggregate  number,  would  naturally 
allude  to  them  as  "  what  remained  of  the 
Islands."  Thus  the  CAP'EN  was,  as  usual, 
right,  the  frivolous  House  only  too  ready 
to  ripple  the  stagnant  water  of  its  pro- 
cedure with  gust  of  laughter. 

Business  done. — Two  hours  appropriated 
for  private  Bill ;  one  hour  and  a  half  for 
Questions,  mostly  frivolous  ;  another  hour 
and  a  half  for  motion  for  adjournment  in 


THE  OFFING, 
e  on  two  piratical  craft. 
Mr.  ll-g-n-ld  M-ck-nna.) 

order  that  CAP'EN  TOMMY  might  reel  off 
his  speech  about  Gibraltar.  This  brought 
Sitting  up  to  eight  o'clock,  leaving  four 
hours  for  work  out  of  a  possible  nine. 

Friday  night. — PLUTARCH  having  given 
up  writing,  HENRY  BROADHURST  takes 
pen  in  hand  and  gives  us  the  history 
of  his  life  (HiTCHiNSON).  A  very  good 
book  it  is ;  interesting  story  of  honest, 
arduous  daily  life,  simply,  modestly 
told.  His  acquaintance  with  the  Home 
Office  is  intimate  and  unique.  In  his 
early  capacity  as  a  stonemason  he  helped 
to  build  it ;  many  years  later  he  sat 
in  one  of  its  carpeted  rooms  Under- 
secretary for  State  for  the  Depart- 
ment. Every  soldier  knows  he  carries  in 
his  knapsack  the  baton  of  a  Field  Mar- 
shal. BROADHURST  has  proved  that  the 
working  mason  may  carry  in  his  basket 
the  quill  pen  of  a  Minister  of  the  Crown. 

The  story  is  creditable  alike  to  English 
public  life  and  HENRY  BROADHURST'S 
share  in  it.  The  only  dark  spot,  lightly 
touched,  is  that  wherein  the  petty 
jealousies  of  the  class  he  had  served 
since  boyhood  found  issue  in  per- 
sistent calumny  and  organized  effort  to 
withdraw  from  him  the  support  of  the 
working  man.  BROADHURST  met  the 
unequal  contest  pluckily  and  straight- 
forwardly, and  in  the  end  overcame. 

With  pardonable  pride,  the  ex-stone 
mason  habitually  declined  invitations  to 


dinner  with  the  great.  Occasionally  he 
varied  from  his  practice,  notably  in 
attending  a  little  dinner  given  by  Lord 
then  Sir  HENRY)  JAMES  at  Greenwich. 
Amongst  the  company  were  the  SQUIRE 
OP  MALWOOD,  DON  JOSE,  and  Mr.  ASQUITH. 
It  was 'towards  the  end  of  the  Session  of 
1886,  when  there  was  talk  of  re-union  of 
the  Liberal  Party.  BROADHURST  surmises 
that  this  dinner  was  specially  designed 
to  that  end.  All  of  which  makes  more 
pointed  his  contribution  to  the  conver- 
sation. 

The  host  asked  him  across  the  table 
whether  he  had  lately  brought  his  bull- 
terrier  down  to  the*House  of  Commons. 

"  I  replied,"  he  writes,  "  I  thought  the 
time  was  coming  when  it  would  be  neces- 
sary to  bring  it  in  order  to  clear  out  the 
rats.  The  meeting,"  he  adds,  "  at  once 
became  more  genial,  and  a  very  pleasant 
evening  was  the  immediate  outcome." 
The  book  was  worth  writing,  if  only  for 
inclusion  of  this  delicious  passage. 

Business  done. — Committee  of  Supply. 


MORE  DUCAL  REFLECTIONS. 

["  The  Government  were  justified  in  assuming 
that  they  still  had  the  confidence  of  the  country, 
but  they  should  have  had  no  right  to  be  surprised 
if  a  different  conclusion  had  been  formed." — The 
Duke  of  Devonshire.] 

You  gentlemen  of  common-sense 

Require  no  demonstration 
That  we  possess  the  confidence 

Of  all  the  British  nation  ; 
Though  were  we  in  the  painful  plight 

Of  being  left  without  it, 
I  do  not  think  we  've  any  right 

To  be  surprised  about  it. 

The  war,  of  course,  we've  carried 

through 
In  triumph,  every  action 

Therewith  connected  giving  u- 
niversal  satisfaction ; 

Though  had  the  public  changed  their 

views 
As  blunder  followed  blunder, 

It  had,  I  think,  been  inexcus- 
able in  us  to  wonder. 

Tax-payers  are  delighted  at 
The  new  financial  cycle 

For  which  they  daily  breathe  their  grat- 
itude to  good  Sir  MICHAEL  ; 

Though  had  their  sage  opinions  veered, 
With  taxes  always  rising, 

To  me  it  would  not  have  appeared 
Remarkably  surprising. 

Our  social  programme — Bills  to  house, 

Our  liquor  legisation, 
And  old-age  pension  schemes  arouse 

The  country's  admiration. 
Though  had  they  looked  on  what  we  've 
done 

With  odium  unbounded, 
1  must  confess  that  I,  for  one, 

Had  hardly  been  astounded. 


JUNE  19,  19C1.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARL 


461 


A 


nLfebji  S    ^ '  *5K 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JUNE  19,  1901. 


ANOTHER    "REAL    CONVERSATION." 

A  SERIES  of  "Real  Conversations" 
wjtweenthat  distinguished  dramatic  critic 
Air.  WILLIAM  ARCHER  and  various  promi- 
lent  dramatists  is  now  appearing  in  the 
Pall  Mall  Magazine  amid  thunders  of 
pplause.  Mr.  Punch,  green  with  jealousy, 
has  decided  that  he  cannot  allow  a  mere 
magazine  to  have  the  monopoly  of  these 
iarth-shakiiig  interviews.  He  has,  there- 
ore,  intercepted  the  manuscript  of  a 
'  Real  Conversation  "  between  Mr. 
ARCHER  and  Seiior  ECHEGARAY,  whose 
play  Mariana,  now  being  performed  at  the 
Royalty,  was  so  enthusiastically  praised 
on  its  production  by  the  critic  of  the 
World. 

SCENE— The  Arboretum  of   the  Playgoers' 
Club.       DATE  —  The    future.      Sefior 
ECHEGARAY  discovered  in  an  armchair 
reading  the   "Daily   Telegraph."     To 
him  Mr.  WILLIAM  ARCHER  :— 
W.  A.  (magisterially).  Sefior  ECHEGARAY, 
see  you  are  reading  the  Telegraph.     1 
should  have  thought  that  was  hardly  the 
sort  of  paper  a  dramatist  should  read  ! 

Senor  Echegaray  (unsuspiciously).  There 
s  some  other  paper  you  would  recommend, 
>erhaps ? 

\V.  A.  (severely).  There  is  only  one 
journal,  my  dear  Sir,  that  need  engross 
the  attention  of  a  person  connected  with 
)lay  writing.  I  refer  to  the  World.  My 
own  weekly  articles  on  the  drama  appear 
in  its  columns.  They,  and  they  only, 
represent  a  true  and  correct  judgment  on 
such  poor  plays  as  are  now  produced. 
8.  E.  Indeed  ? 

W.  A.  Most  certainly.     You    saw    my 
article  on  Mariana,  of  course? 
S.  E.  (putting  down  paper).  Yes. 
W.A.  Powerful,  wasn't  it?     Weighty! 
I  compared  your  play  toltomeo  and  Juliet, 
you  remember. 

8.  E.  (yawning).  It  was  really  very  hand- 
some of  you. 

W.  A.  (simpering).  Not  at  all.  You  saw 
the  connection,  of  course? 

S.  E.  (nervously).  Well,  the  fact  is,  I  am 
not  sure  that  I  did. 

W.   A.   (ue\ed).  I    think   that 's   rather 
dull  of  you.     Mariana  dies   in  the   last 
act.      So    does    Juliet.      Both     are    pas 
sionately  beloved.     What  more  would  you 
have  ? 

S.  E.  (puszled).  That 's  true,  of  course. 
(Doubtfully)  But  the  differences  are  even 
more  considerable.  Juliet  loves  her  hus- 
band, and  kills  herself  for  love  of  him 
Mariana  hates  her  husband,  and  is  killet 
by  him  for  loving  someone  else.  The 
parallel  is  not  very  close,  after  all. 

W.  A.  (huffed).  You  think  not  ?     Well 
of    course,    you"  must     have    your    own 
opinion.     But  you  will  find  I  am  right 
Besides,   you  can't  deny   that  they  are 
both  love  tragedies ! 

S.  JB.  No  doubt.     But 

W.  A.  (triumphantly).  Well  then  ! 


>S.  E.  (giving  up  the  struggle  and  accept- 
ng  this  fatuity  with  a  good  grace).  The 
omparison  is  more  profound  than  I  had 
inagined. 

TV.  A.  (pleased).  I  felt  certain  I  should 
;onvince  you.  And  now  let  us  talk  of 
omething  else.  I  am  sure,  Sefior,  that 
rou  cannot  have  been  in  London  for  even 
,  week  without  realising  that  the  Eng- 
ish  drama  is  in  a  sad  condition. 

S.  E.  You  don't  say  so  ? 

TV.  A.  Positively  moribund,  I  assure 
Tou.  Not  a  star  in  its  firmament,  if  I  may 
o  express  myself.  Except,  of  course, 
Mr.  PHILLIPS. 

8.  E.  PHILLIPS?  I  don't  think  I  know 
he  name. 

TV.  A.  You  shock  me  !  Our  only  genius. 

discovered  him.  I  always  do  discover 
3eople.  It  is  my  specialty.  I  discovered 
7011,  for  instance. 

8.  E.  I  am  vastly  obliged  to  you. 

TV.  A.  But  I  shall  come  to  that  pre- 
sently. Just  now  I  am  speaking  of  the 
state,  of  the  British  Drama.  In  "  Real 
Conversations  "  it  is  important  to  keep 
o  the  point. 

8.  E.  (bored).  No  doubt. 

TV.  A.  The  fact  is,  all  our  plays  are 
egrettably  cheerful  just  now.  Quite 
lealthy,  in  fact.  There  's  nothing  morbific 
about  them.  That 's  a  bad  sign  ! 

8.  E.  Of  course. 

TV.  A.  (opening  his  ponderous  and  mar- 
ne  jaw  for  a  set  speecli).  Dean  SWIFT,  you 
nay  remember,  said  that  a  nice  man  was 


a  man  full  of  nasty  ideas.  This  applies 
jspecially  to  playwrights.  It  follows, 
therefore,  that  you  cannot  have  really 
lice  plays  without  nasty  plots.  And  as 
nasty  plots  seem  particularly  scarce  just 
now  the  British  Drama  is  naturally  in  a 
bad  way. 

8.  E.  Inevitably. 

W.  A.  What  we  want  is  a  few  gloomy 
dramatists  like  yourself  to  put  things 
right.  What  with  our  happy  endings  and 
our  unimpeachable  morality  our  home- 
grown plays  just  now  are  unspeakably 
depressing.  Sweet  and  Twenty,  for 
instance.  What  a  drama  !  The  scene,  a 
country  parsonage.  The  end,  virtue 
rewarded.  How  morbid  !  If  only  dear 
IBSEN — I  discovered  him,  you  know — 
would  write  another  Gliosts,  how  un- 
speakably refreshing  it  would  be  ! 

•S.  E.  (glancing  furtively  at  his  "  Daily 
Telegraph  ").  Most  refreshing. 

TV.  A.  (sadly).  But  he  never  will.  When 
we  Dead  awaken  showed  a  sad  falling  away. 
Not  half  full-blooded  enough.  Too  allu- 
sive altogether. 

8.  E.  Quite  so. 

TV.  A.  (majestically,  noticing  that  his 
hearer's  mind  is  straying  to  abandoned 
newspaper).  I  was  going  to  announce, 
therefore,  if  you  are  giving  me  your 
attention,  that  with  my  assistance  a  great 
future  might  await  your  dramas  in 
England. 


S.  E.  (hurriedly  concealing  abandoned 
newspaper  aforesaid).  You  are  very  good. 

TV.  A.  Now  that  dear  IBSEN'S  genius  is 
so  universally  recognised  he  hardly  re- 
quires all  my  time,  and  I  propose  to 
devote  some  of  it  to  pressing  your  claims 
-in  a  translation  of  course — on  the  atten- 
tion of  the  British  public. 

S.  E.  This  is  really  most  kind  of  you. 

TV.  A.  There  is  only  one  serious  obstacle 
that  I  foresee. 

.8.  E.  (smiling).  You  will  surmount  It. 

TV.  A.  (sternly).  I  must  beg  you  to  be 
serious.  (Sefior  ECHEGARAY  looks  glum.) 
The  obstacle  is  in  your  name. 

8.  E.  My  name? 

TV.  A.  Yes.  It  will  be  years  before 
even  the  elect  will  feel  certain  how  to 
pronounce  it.  I  have  had  the  same  diffi- 
culty in  popularising  dear  MAETERLINCK. 
IBSEN,  of  course,  anyone  can  say  after  a 
fashion.  It  is  true  they  make  it  rhyme 
with  GIBSON — a  most  regrettable  error — 
but,  at  least,  it  does  not  frighten  them. 
Your  name  is  quite  another  matter.  I 
suppose  you  couldn't  change  it  ? 

•S.  E.  Afraid  I  could  hardly  manage  that. 

TV.  A.  (gloomily).  It's  very  unfortunate. 
However,  I  shall  explain  to  my  readers 
that  they  must  sneeze  before  attempting 
o  pronounce  it.  That  will  get  the  vocal 
:hords  into  the  proper  position.  Thus  : — 
Hu-tsschg-ray. 

8.  E.  (encouragingly).  Excellent.  Bravo! 

TV.  A.  (proudly).  1  knew  I  should  manage 
it.  And  now  1  must  say  good-bye.  On 
looking  through  my  notes  I  see  1  have 
done  most  of  the  talking.  But  that  is  as 
it  should  be.  In  an  interview  the  person 
interviewed  gives  his  views.  In  a  "Real 
Conversation  ' '  the  interviewer  does  so. 
That 's  the  whole  difference.  Good-bye 
again.  [Exit  busily,  pocketing  note-book. 

ST.  J.  H. 


NEWS  FROM   THE  FRONT. 

(By  the  Special  Correspondent.) 

Old  Style — Half  a  Century  Ago.  I  give 
more  details  of  the  latest  fight.  The 
general  at  sunrise  ordered  an  attack. 
(Then  follow  ten  thousand  words  of  de- 
scriptive matter.)  I  need  scarcely  say 
that  the  mistakes  were  patent,  and  can 
easily  be  recounted.  (Then  follow  ten 
thousand  words  of  criticism.)  To  sum  up, 
although  the  battle  was  not  a  Waterloo, 
still  British  valour  was  once  more  to  the 
front.  (Then  follow  ten  thousand  wordt 
of  eulogy.) 

Neiu  Style — Present  Day.  Battle  over. 
Details  anticipated  by  Official  Despatch. 
No  good  sending  any  more  news,  as  all 
the  other  fellows  (thanks  to  the  Press 
censor)  have  got  the  same  intelligence. 
Question  -whether  it  was  worth  while 
going  to  the  expense  of  sending  us  here. 
So  wire  to  say  am  coming  home.  The 
General  can  do  his  own  reporting.  Don't 
want  us. 


JOXE  19,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


463 


THE   MISSIONARY   OP   MANNERS. 

[•'  A  number  of  New  York  women  have  started 
a  league  whose  mission  is  to  enforce  politeness  from 
the  guards  of  trains  and  conductors  of  electric 
tramcars." — Morning  Leader. ~\ 

LADIES,  transatlantic  ladies, 
When  your  mission  is  fulfilled 
Will  you  take  a  trip  to  England  and  the 

speech  refine  and  gild 
Of  the  cabby  whose  response  is 
To  his  more  than  proper  fare 
An  impertinent  rejoinder  and  a  4.7  swear  ? 

Ladies,  transatlantic  ladies, 
Here  your  presence  is  required  ; 
In   the  manners  of  our  waiters  there  is 

much  to  be  desired. 
Do  you  think  from  scornful  gesture 
You  could  force  them  to  desist 
When  we  choose  the  brand  of  claret  that 

is  the  lowest  on  the  list  ?          « 

Ladies,  transatlantic  ladies, 
When  you  've  finished  with  the  masses 
Will  you  turn  attention  to  a  section  of  the 

upper  classes  ? 
Froui  experience  I  know  you 
Could  the  manners  much  improve 
Of   the    play   and    party-goers   with   the 

policy  of  SHOVE  ! ! 


PUBLIC  PASSION ; 
OR,    'TWIXT  LOVE  AND  FASHION. 

["During  the  last  few  years  London  has  been 
getting  more  and  more  gregarious,  and  this  season 
it  is  becoming  almost  Continental.  "We  English 
are  being  infected  with  a  passion  for  living  in 
public." — The  Queen.~\ 

Being  a  Letter  from  Ina  Sujisbie  to  Mrs. 
Selina  Truman. 

MY  DEAREST  SELINA,—  I  am  in  the 
greatest  difficulty,  and  want  your  advice. 
In  the  first  place,  the  War  Office  is  being 
thoroughly  reorganized,  and  EVAN  has 
been  made  a  major.  Isn't  it  glorious ! 
It  is  in  the  Gazette  this  week,  and  looks  so 
smart  in  print.  I  believe  he  is  really  very, 
very  fond  of  me,  and  if  ever  we  are  alone 
he  will  pop  the  momentous  question.  If 
ever  we  are  alone !  Oh,  the  awful 
thought.  It  seems  utterly  impossible. 
We  are  never  at  home.  We  even  break- 
fast out  now  on  the  Thames  Embankment, 
and  sip  our  coffee  and  batter  in  the  tops 
of  our  eggs  to  the  tune  of  a  Parisian 
mazurka.  That 's  papa's  idea. 

Once  EVAN  came  with  the  REDWRYSTS 
and  their  little  Anglo-Indian  set,  and  if 
ever  a  man's  eyes  spoke  a  tumultuous, 
pent-up  passion  EVAN'S  did  that  morning. 
In  future,  all  love-making  will  be  done 
by  signs,  because  we  can't  make  love  in 
public,  and  privacy  is  one  of  the  privi- 
leges of  the  poor.  I  tried  to  show  EVAN 
my  true  feelings  by  raising  and  lowering 
my  eyebrows,  until  mama  asked  me  to  try 
the  corner  of  my  handkerchief  if  I  had 
anything  in  my  eye,  and  not  make  such 
distressing  grimaces.  I  have  persuaded 


She.  "AND  ARE  ALL  THESE  IOVELY  THINGS  AHOUT  WHICH  YOU  WHITE  IMAGINARY?" 
The  Poet.  "OH,  NO,  Miss   ETHKL.     I  HAVE  ONLY  10  OPEN  MY  EYES  AND  I  SEE  SOME- 
THING BHAUTIFUL  BEFORE  ME." 

She.    "00,    BOW   I  WISH   1   COULD   SAY  THE  SAME  I  " 


him  to  be  manicured  (my  nails  simply 
gleam,  darling)  so  that  we  could  meet, 
but  Lord  WRINKLE  seems  to  live  there. 
We  have  run  into  him  every  time. 

If  only  we  could  have  a  meal  at  home, 
of  course  the  thing  could  be  managed. 
Even  with  servants  coming  in  and  out,  I 
believe  he  would  risk  some  sort  of  pre- 
liminary canter  over  the  course  of  true 
love.  But  our  meals  have  been  arranged 
at  all  the  fashionable  hotels  and  restau- 
rants right  through  the  season,  including 
dinner-parties  given  and  accepted.  We 
lunch  invariably  at  Prince's,  we  have 
tea  invariably  at  CLARIDGE'S,  we  have 
dinner  invariably  at  the  Carlton,  we  have 
supper  at  the  New  Club  or  the  Savoy. 
Always  surrounded  by  a  host  of  chatter- 
ing people,  with  an  occasional  fringe  of 
relatives.  Mama,  whose  energy  is  simply 
astounding,  goes  through  it  all  without 
turning  a  hair.  And  EVAN  and  the  moon 
are  equally  remote.  What  shall  I  do  ? 

That  spiteful  Aunt  EMMELINE  has  an  eye 
on  EVAN  for  MAUD  (who,  my  dear,  is  as 
th,in  and  hop-poley  as  ever),  and  continually 
throws  them  together.  You  see,  not 
being  so  frightfully  fashionable  as  us, 
they  have  some  of  their  meals  at  home — 
doesn't  it  sound  funny? — and  ask  him 
alone.  Can't  you  see  what  a  terrible 
strait  I  'm  in  ?  I  'in  sure  he  loves  me  as 
much  as  I  adore  him,  and  yet  the  dictates 
of  fashion  won't  let  us  alone,  or  rather, 
won't  let  us  be  alone. 

At  the  TUMNAL  TiNTZ's  the  other  night 
we  had  Bridge  tables  instead  of  petits 
chevaux,  and  I  got  EVAN  for  a  partner  for 


two  rubbers.  Wasn't  it  luck  !  Of  course 
whenever  I  had  to  declare  trumps,  I  said 
"Hearts!"  and  gave  him  such  a  siveet 
look.  And  when  he  left  the  declaration  to 
me,  I  said  "Hearts!"  with  such  a  deep 
sigh,  often  sacrificing  hundreds  of  points  in 
another  suit.  We  lost  over  eight  pounds 
each,  and  I  don't  believe  he  saw  what  I 
meant.  Love-making  like  this  is  too  expen- 
sive. But  what  is  a  girl  to  do?  I  can  think 
of  nothing.  Shall  I  send  him  a  telegram, 
"Someone  loves  you  tremendously  be- 
ginning with  I"?  or  put  a  line  in  the 
agony  column  of  one  of  the  papers,  "If 
Major  Es  AN  STILLWAYS  will  communicate, 
etc.,  he  will  hear  of  something  to  his  ad- 
vantage "?  This  might  seem  conceited. 
I  would  be  ill  if  I  thought  I  should  be 
taken  home.  Then  I  could  get  con- 
valescent and  receive  an  "  occasional 
visitor."  But  I  believe  it's  fashionable 
to  go  to  hospitals  now  and  be  ill  among 
all  sorts  and  conditions  of  people.  Dear- 
est and  sweetest  SELINA,  do  advise  me  by 
return. 

Your  unhappy 

INA  SIGISBIE, 


THE    GROWL    OF  A  GARDENER. 

THE  balmy  breath  of  Spring  should  bring 

The  buds  that  should  so  soon  be  flowers; 
Yet  I  in  June  can  scarcely  sing 

Of  kindly  May  or  April  showers. 
For  buds,  alack  !  are  buds,  not  bloom ; 

We  cannot  bind  them  into  posies. 
That  beastly  East  wind  was  their  doom  ; 

In  June  I  want  not  buds  but  roses  I 


464 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JUNE  19,  1901. 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

The  WhMigifj  (WARD,  LOCK  &  Co.),  by  MAYNE  LINDSAY,  is  a 
kaleidoscopic  -  cinematographic  romance.  Such  the  Baron, 
with  his  head  aching  after  desperate  struggles  through  its 
mazes  and  tangles,  considers  is  a  perfectly  fair  description  of 
this  wonderful  work.  "Wonderful,  indeed;  would  it  were 
impossible!  "  as  the  Unwieldy  Lexicographer  observed  of  a 
fantasia  on  the  violoncello.  The  Whirligig  is  a  most  appropriate 
title  for  the  story,  which  would,  perhaps,  not  have  come  into 
in  existence  but  for  the  popularity  of  a  certain  kind  of  romance 
whereof  The  Prisoner  of  Zenda  is  the  model.  Once,  in  the  very 
thickest  of  the  tangle,  the  Baron  endeavoured  to  retrace  his 
steps  to  find  a  fresh  starting  point,  but  aH  in  vain.  And  this  is 
a  pity,  for  the  melodramatic  situations  are  good  in  themselves  ; 
the  duels,  the  hairbreadth  escapes,  the  fights,  the  scrimmages 
are  described  with  great  spirit,  and  the  illustrations  are 
clever.  But  what  the  plot  may 
be  the  Baron  leaves  to  some 
SHERLOCK  HoLMES-like  critic 
to  unravel. 

Just  to  return  for  a  moment 
to  a  book  the  Baron  had  the 
pleasure  of  remarking  upon  the 
other  day,  namely,  Sa  Majeste 
I' Amour,  for  the  sake  of  quoting 
MAX  O'RELL's  frank  apprecia- 
tion "  de  cephilosophe  manssade 
THOMAS  CARLYLE,"  of  whom  he 
writes : — 

"  CABLYLE  a  traite  le  monde  comme 
il  tfaitait  sa  femme.  II  lui  ecrivait 
di-s  lettres  dans  lesquelles  11  lui 
exprimait  tout  son  amour ;  mais 
quand  il  1'avait  aupres  de  lui,  il  ne 
pouTait  jamais  reussir  a  trouver  un 
mot  aitnable  a  lui  dire,  ce  qui  cut 
aide  a  la  rendre  plus  heureuse." 

Absolutely  true.  The  Baron 
can  recall  more  than  one  Carlyl- 
esque  philosopher,  who  might 
be  fitly  described  as  "  sage  and 
onions,"  with  the  onions  for 
the  predominant  partner  in 
this  summarised  character. 
Certainly  MAX  O'RELL  is  an 
amusing  and  a  genial  cynic. 

Yeoman  Service  (SMITH  ELDER) 
is  the  title  given  by  Lady 
MAUD  ROLLESTON  to  gleanings 
from  the  diary  she  kept  in  South 
Africa,  visiting  it  as  the  wife  of  an  Imperial  Yeomanry  officer 
at  the  front.  It  has  the  charm  of  the  lark's  song,  inasmuch  as 
publication  was  unpremeditated.  We  have  conveyed  in  simple 
language,  suitable  to  the  literature  of  private  correspondence, 
a  lady's  impressions  of  what  she  saw  and  heard  amid  the  stirring 
scenes  of  war.  There  have  been  some  hard  things  said  about 
the  crusade  of  the  West  End  to  South  Africa.  Slumming  being 
out  of  fashion,  fine  ladies  took  to  hospifeal-mirsing.  Lady  MAUD 
really  did  some  practical  work,  setting  up,  principally  out  of 
her  private  funds,  a  Convalescent  Home  at  Kiinberley.  All  the 
same,  when,  in  her  journeying,  she  accidentally  came  within 
range  of  Lord  KITCHENER'S  glance  at  a  railway  station  she 
found  it  judicious  to  secrete  herself  about  the  premises.  Lady 
MAUD  ingenuously  puts  the  case  against  herself  and  far  less 
worthy  searchers  after  a  new  form  of  excitement.  Permis- 
sion to  go  up  to  Lindley  wheedled  out  of  the  General,  and 
afterwards  retracted,  she  writes  :  "  I  was  horribly  disappointed, 
but  it  was  a  great  mercy  I  did  not  go.  I  should  certainly  have 
been  very  much  in  the  way,  and  I  might,  indeed,  have  cost 


TflB  ONLY  WAY  TO  ENJOY  A  MOTOR-CAR  RIDE  THROUGH  A  DUSTY 
COUNTRY.  ADOPT  C08TUME8  Off  THE  ABOVE  TYPE,  HERMETICALLY 
SEALED  AND  WARRANTBD  DUST-PROOF. 


valuable  men's  lives,  and  enough  had  been  lost  out  there  with- 
out that."     My  Baronite  quite  agrees  with  Lady  MAUD. 

Letters  of  an  Eton  Boy  (CASSELL  &  Co.).  "  HCKC  olim  meminisse 
juvabit."  "Ancient  Etonians,"  says  the  Baron  to  himself, 
"will  enjoy  looking  back  on  happy  days  at  'my  Tutor's,'  un- 
happy winter  mornings  at  6.30  school,  haphazard  saying  lessons 
at  a  later  hour  in  the  dingy  class-room  of  s.ome  strict,  sharp- 
eyed  and  sharp-eared  master,  who  was  quite  'up  to  '  those  who 
were  '  up  to '  him ;  glorious  Fourths  of  June,  the  first  champagne, 
the  last  swishing,  the  leave  and  licence,  the  delights,  the 
dangers,  and  the  anything-but-laborious  days  in  the  playing 
fields,  in  the  Five  Courts,  on  the  Ascot  Road,  and,  "  after 
four,"  up  to  Surley  and  back  again  for  the  roll-call,  when 
some  of  us  were  conspicuous  by  our  "absence,"  and  others 
were  punished  for  taking  on  themselves  to  answer  for  iis, 
quite  by  mistake,  of  course.  Yes,"  repeated  the  Baron,  pull- 
ing up  short,  "  I  've  no  doubt  of  it;  there  isn't  an  old,  or  let  us 

say  an  elderly,  Etonian  to 
whom  this  book  will  not  come 
as  a  tickle  in  the  ribs,  waking 
him  up  to  any  number  of 
pleasant  memories  !  "  In  the 
seventeenth  letter  Mr.  NUGENT 
BANKES  makes  his  juvenile 
hero  relate  how  he  and  the 
youthful  Thespians  at  his 
tutor's  performed  a  burlesque 
called  Villikins  and  his  Dinah, 
written  aforetime  by  one  who, 
when  at  Eton,  wrote  his  first 
farce,  and,  with  a  distinguished 
cast,  performed  it  in  his  tutor's 
pupil-room,  the  author  being 
then  about  two  years  younger 
than  the  heroine  of  the  old 
ballad  on  which  the  burlesque 
was  founded,  namely,  Miss 
Dinah,  who  was  "seventeen 
years  old,  with  a  very  large 
fortune  in  sil-i-ver  and  gold." 
The  dates  of  days  and  months 
head  these  letters,  but  what 
was  the  year  ?  Whenever  it 
was,  the  "slang  "  of  the  place 
seems  to  have  remained  un- 
changed since  "the  days  when 
we  went  gipsying,  a  long  time 
ago,"  i.e.  in  1851  ;  but  there 
was,  apparently,  more  work 
to  be  got  through  in  Mr.  NUGENT 
_  BANKES'  time  than  there  was 
at  the  period  of  the  Baron's  "  pupil-room  "  days,  though,  judging 
from  these  letters,  it  doesn't  follow  at  all  that  more  work  was  done 
then  or  is  done  now  any  better  than  of  yore.  Seemingly,  these 
later  Etonians  are  inclined  to  resent  having  masters  placed  over 
them  who  had  not  been  educated  at  Eton,  as  in  the  instance  of 
"the  new  master  named  HALL,"  who  teaches  "  Minerallogy." 
This  young  letter-writer  stays  at  Eton  for  seven  years,  so  was 
a  pretty  old  boy  by  the  time  he  took  leave  of  the  Head  Master, 
who,  of  course,  bade  him  farewell  with  best  swishes  for  his 
happiness. 


THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


WATERLOO   UP-TO-DATE. 

(A  Fact.) 

Belgian  Guide.  Ze  brave  PICTON  'e  fall  in  ze  arms  of  vic- 
toire 

Facetious  Britisher.  Where  was  Lord  R:)BERT.i  ? 

Guide  (not  to  be  done).  Lord  ROBERT  'e  stand  on  zis  montayne, 
and  'e  cry,  "  Hoop,  Garde,  and  at  zem  !  " 


JUNE  26,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI 


465 


SOCIETY'S     LATEST    CRAZE. 

(A  nice  quiet  game  for  the  home.) 
THIS  IS  ONLY  A  LITTLE  GAME  OF    "  PlNG-PONG "   IN  PftOQRESS,    AND  SOME  OF   THE  BALLS  ABE   MISSING  I 


"THIS  HOUSE  TO  LET." 

SfR,  you  're  not  a  bird  of  passage,  but  you  sometimes,  I  suppose, 
When  you  're  tired  of  pricking  folly  with  your  verses  or  your 

prose, 

You  must  sometimes,  as  I  fancy,  take  a  whim  to  go  and  range 
To  some  other  part  of  London  or  the  country  for  a  change. 

That  means  hunting  for  a  house,  Sir ;  it 's  a  weary  job  at  best, 
Full  of  carking  disappointments,  void  of  happiness  or  rest. 
There  are  houses  by  the  hundred,  but  they  never  seem  to  be 
Just  the  thing — at  least,  I  find  them  quite  unsuitable  for  me. 

There  are  houses  in  Belgravia,  very  frowning,  very  tall, 
Storeyed  palaces  of  stucco,  with  a  most  extensive  hall ; 
With  electric  light  and  nurseries,  and  a  set  of  gloomy  rooms, 
Like  a  range  of  mausoleums  in  an  avenue  of  tombs. 

There  a  man  might  live  and  flourish,  if  he  cared  to  take  his  place 
As  an  undistinguished  atom  in  illimitable  space. 
He  would  find  it  hard  at  starting,  but  discomforts  he  might  baull: 
With  a  telescope  to  see  with  and  a  megaphone  to  talk. 

There  are  tidy  little  houses  where  a  doll  could  live  at  ease, 
With  her  tiny  cups  and  saucers  giving  everlasting  teas. 
With  my  shoulders  on  the  ceiling  and  my  feet  upon  the  floor, 
I  should  stay  inside  for  ever  if  I  once  got  through  the  door. 


They  have   billiard-rooms,   these   houses,   which  they  always 

advertise 

As  containing  billiard-tables  of  a  full  and  proper  size. 
They  attract  me,  I  admit  it,  but  I  doubt  if  they  would  do 
With  their  margins  of  six  inches  for  your  body  and  your  cue. 

Then  the  fixtures,  oh,  the  fixtures  :  there  arc  some  that  seem  to 

stay, 

There  are  some  the  former  tenant  seems  to  pack  and  take  away. 
There  are  some  he  kindly  leaves  you,  which  are  generally  thoso 
That  you  take  (although  you  hate  them)  and  you  pay  for  through 

the  nose. 

So  I  fancy  on  the  whole,  Sir,  though  I  really  want  to  go 
To  some  other  part  of  London  which  is  closer  to  the  Row, 
I  '11  avoid  the  storeyed  palace,  and  refuse  the  stuffy  cram 
Of  the  tidy  little  doll's  house,  and  be  happy  where  1  am. 

II.  C.  L. 

PAX   VOBISCUM. 

Foreigner  (in  Langliam  Place  on  Wednesday  evening,  June  19). 
Vy  for  dey  fight  ?     Is  it  an  entente — a  revolution  ? 

Police-man  XXX  (wiping  the  gore  off  his  face).  No,  Sir;    it's 
what  they  call  a  Peace  Meeting. 

[Foreigner  flies,  marvelling  at  the  ways  oj  ces  drClcs 
de  Rosbifs. 


VCK-.    CXX. 


466 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JUNE  26,  1901. 


THE  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

A  GREAT  THOUGHT  FOE  EVERY  DAY  IN  THE  YEAR. 
SECOND  SERIES. 

VI.— THE  HENLEY  SECTION. 
Dedicated,  with  sincere  admiration,  to  the  Poet  (not  tlie 

Regatta), 
JUNE  1ST,  2ND. — Out  of  the  large-limbed  night, 

Dewy  and  lush  by  tasselled  glade  and  lawn, 
The  rumble  and  roar  of  roistering  carts, 
Insistent  as  the  unconsolable  sea, 
Rolls  in  to  Covent's  ducal  marts, 
Groaning  with  vegetable  greenery. 
And,  look,  the  upward  lark 
Urges  his  spiral  indeterminate  flight, 
Thus  early  drunk  with  joy.     Nay,  do  but  hark 
How  the  lithe  milkman  at  his  watery  trade 
Maddens  the  slumber-sodden  kitchen-maid 
With  virile  voluntaries  to  the  dawn  ! 
3RD. — Now,  while  the  City  wakes 

To  the  old  implacable  game  once  more, 
To  the  lucre-lust  too  hoary  for  life  to  slake. 
Let  us  afield,  Dear  Boy,  and  briefly  skirt 
The  pungent  fumes  of  Piccadilly's  floor, 
And  press  to  where  the  boon  and  buxom  Park 
Trembles  through  all  her  shimmering  trees,  alert 
To  breathe  the  inviolate  incense  borne 
On  virgin  airs  of  morn. 

4TH— 6TH.— But  lo  !  what  artless  cavalcade  is  here, 
That  spurns  the  Rotten  Way 
With  strenuous  four-foot  thud  and  glimpses  seen 
Of  middle  distance,  saddle  and  thigh  between, 
Worshipping,  Orient-wise,  the  risen  day  ? 
Be  still,  poor  fluttering  heart,  and  vail  thy  fear  ! 
This  is  no  heathen  orgie  ;  in  their  eyes 
I  trace  no  hint  of  hierophantic  mirth  ; 
No  passionate  impulse  fires  the  sombre  cheek, 
Sallow  with  crude 
And  unassiinilated  food  ; 
Insane  of  appetite,  but  otherwise 
Comparatively  sane, 
In  these  consenting  solitudes, 
Ere  Fashion's  tardier  foot  invade 
A  peace  designed  for  penitential  moods, 
Un vexed  of  the  vulgar  gaze,  they  seek 
To  blood  the  anseniic  vein 
And  stem  the  stomach's  irrepressible  girth. 
Behold,  it  is  the  Fatty-Liver  Brigade  ! 
TTH.     .     .     .     The  Turf 

Ringing — 

The  state  of  the  odds  by  the  layers  of  odds 

Bruited  preposterous 

Over  the  railings 

Into  the  plunger's  infatuate  car, 
STH— 10TH.       In  days  that  succeeded 

The  purely  chaotic 

Condition  of  Nature, 

Rhynieless,  amorphous, 

Much  like  the  metre 

These  verses  are  made  in — 

In  the  commencement, 

As  I  was  remarking, 

Turf  was  a  feature 

In  Eden,  the  \vell-knowm 

Site  of  Creation. 

There  lay  the  prime  horse, 

Absolute,  thoroughbred, 

Showing  no  blot 


llTU. 


12TH. 


In  his  family  'scutcheon. 
Unbridled,  unpaddocked, 
Unnoted  of  tipsters, 
He  took  through  the  Garden 
His  usual  canter, 

Or  sat  on  me,  downy,  absorbing  his  meal. 
.    Then  spake  our  Parent : 
"  Ho  !  what  a  noble  beast ! 
He,  on  his  backbone, 
Unless  I.'m  mistaken, 
Will  carry  posterity 
Over  green  places 
On  wings  of  the  morning;; 
The  joy  of  my  offspring  and  pride  of  the  Race ! 
.    Such  was  our  Forefather's 
Dim  adumbration ; 
There  have  been  other 
More  recent  allusions 
To  sport  on  the  flat  ; 
This  was  the  first  of  them  ; 
Then  and  thenceforward 
I  am  the  Turf. 
13TH— 16TH.      Circling  and  sweeping 

Round  Tattenham  corner, 
Prone  down  the  hillside, 
The  hell-trap  of  Holocaust, 
Flashes  the  field. 
Out  on  the  home-straight 
(Lo  !  where  the  Derby  dog, 
Openly  imbecile, 
Seizes  this  crucial 
Occasion  for  crossing) 
Forth  fares  the  favourite 
(CANNON  to  rear  of  him) 
Rightly  ignoring 
The  weight  on  his  withers, 
The  subtly  prehensile 
Midget  from  over  there  ; 
And  to  the  manifest 
Mirth  of  his  backers, 
Lifts  his  homunculus 
First  past  the  post. 
That  is  my  moment, 
Crowded,  delirious  ! 
What  did  I  tell  you  ? 
I  am  the  Turf. 

The  Turf 
Turfy- 

The  state  of  the  odds  by  tlie  layers  of  odds 
Bruited  preposterous 
Over  the  railings 

Into  the  plunger's  infatuate  tympanum— 
I  am  the  Turf.  O.  S. 

(To  be  continued.) 


"  TO  INTRODUCE  IT  INTO  CHINA."— San  Toi. 

["An  amazing  story  comes  from  China.  The  Heir- Apparent  has,  it  is 
said,  been  greatly  misbehaving  himself  and  indulging  in  riotous  pleasures. 
The  Empress  took  him  to  task,  and  to  her  intense  surprise  the  young  man 
treated  her  to  some  saucy  and  flippant  replies.  It  is  difficult  to  imagine 
anj'one  being  saucy  and  flippant  with  the  Dowager-Empress."  —  The 
Globe.'] 

Dowager-Empress  (severely).  Not  liking  your  nicee  new  fiends. 
Shall  spankee  spankee  if  you  no  givee  them  up.  Last  weeki 
I  see  you  with  Ho-Wor-FUN  at  Lun-Shon.  Ho-Wor-FuN  plentee 
bad  man  ;  too  mu tehee  Boun-Dah. 

Emperor  (sticking  cheap  cigarette-  in  mouth  and  puffing  smoke 
in  "Aunty's"  face.)  Wot-Ho,  olegal !  You  makee  me  laughee. 
Last  night  I  go  to  Sing-Song  ;  plenty  larks.  To-night,  1  go  to 


JUNE  26    1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


467 


Empire — ploper  place  for  EMPEROR.  Last 
week  I  go  racing  and  lose  plenty  taels. 
Me  hackee  everly  beastlee  second,  and  no 
can  do  a  winner.  Ho-Wor-FUN  plentee 
pidgin  man,  makec  lots  of  oof. 

Douxtger  -  Empress  (angrily).  Ho-WuT- 
FUN  losee  his  head  if  he  winnee  his 
taels !  You  no  be  flends  with  him,  or  I 
givee  him  chop  chop!  (Beckoning  up 
the  Lord  High  Executioner.)  Whatee  you 
do  yesterday  ? 

Emperor  (reflectively).  Lettee  me  see :  I 
comee  home  with  the  milk,  at  five  in 
mornih'.  Had  flee  blandy  sodas — eatee 
red  herrin*  for  bleakfast — go  to  Pleecee 
Court  and  pay  ten  taels  fine  for  blackee 
poleecyman's  eye.  If  no  payee  fine,  must 
do  in  plison  seven  days.  Had  Lun-Shon 
with  two  Pitti  La-Dis  and  dlive  over  to 
see  Po-Lo  at  Hur-Ling-Hum,  aftilwards — 
Dinee  at  Clubbee  with  ploglessive 
mandarin  Go-lNG-lT :  go  to  Boxee  matchee, 
and  then  on  to  Mu-sik-all  and  blought 
home  aftilwards  by  another  poleecyman  ! 
Tomoller  day,  olegal,  I  takee  takec 
you ! 


"ON  APPRO." 

Or,  How  to  Dress  on  Nothing  a  Year. 

[Ladies  have  been  known,  it  is  Avhispered,  to 
order  articles  of  fashionable  costume  "on  trial" 
the  day  before  an  important  social  event-,  and 
to  return  them  as  "unsatisfactory"  the  day 
after.] 

OH,  Ascot-loving  maids  and  dames, 

Divinities  of  high  degree, 
Can  this  be  true  (1  name  no  names  !) 
That  in  the  current  Sketch  I  see, 
How  you  display  fine  feathers  free  ? 

Fair  Unknown  whom  1  shyly  viewed, 
How  were  you  singled  from  the  rest, 

The  many-headed  multitude 

Of  women,  each  superbly  drest  ? 
Alas  !  the  reason's  manifest  ! 

It  was  the  hat,  supremely  smart, 
That  graced  your  exquisite  coiffure, 

And  captivated  every  heart, 
The  Lawn  and  Paddock's  cynosure 
Beyond  all  rivalry  secure  ! 

And  now  I  deeply  grieve  to  learn 
Your  triumph  was  by  means  unfair  ; 

Your  milliner  explains  in  turn 
The  tale  of  this  confection  rare 
Your  ladyship  had  deigned  to  wear. 

She  says — how  could  you  be  so  mean  ? 
You  ordered  it  "  upon  appro." 

You  flaunted  in  its  borrowed  sheen 
(Madame  was  there  to  see  the  show — 
You  never  dreamt  that  she  would  go !) 

Next  day  she  got  a  little  note 

To  say  you  sent  the  headgear  back — 
'  'Twas  not  quite  suitable,"  you  wrote  ; 
That  milliner  is  looking  black, 
A  process-server's  on  your  track  ! 

A.  A.  S. 


EASY    PROBLEM    PICTURE.    "NAME    THE    WINNER!" 


JUDGING  FROM  THEIR  COUNTENANCES,  WHICH  OF  THESE  TWO,  WHO  HAVE  JUST  RETURNED 
FROM  A  RACE  MEETING,  HAS  "MADE  A  BIT"? 


SELF-EVIDENT. 

(A  Dialogue  of  the  Day.) 

Official.  You  think  it  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  have  a  large  force  of  police  in 
readiness  ? 

Organiser.  Certainly,  supported  by  a 
strong  reserve  in  case  of  need. 

Off.  Do  you  think  the  constables  will  be 
sufficient  ? 

Org.  Scarcely.  I  speak  under  correction, 
but  1  think  the  military  might  be  also 
valuable. 

Off.  Would  infantry  be  enough  ? 

Org.  They  would  be  better  if  they  could 
be  backed  up  by  cavalry  and  artillery. 

Off.  "Would  the  Fire  Brigade  be  of  any 
assistance  ? 


Org.  Undoubtedly,  for  not  only  could 
the  hose  be  turned  on  to  objectionable 
persons,  but  water  would  be  in  abundance 
in  case  of  incendiary  conflagrations. 

Off.  The  navy,  of  course,  would  not  be 
required  ? 

Org.  Well,  perhaps  their  services  might 
be  dispensed  with,  but  it  Avould  be  well 
to  rely  to  some  extent  upon  the  marines. 

0$.  Is  there  anything  else  you  can 
suggest  ? 

Org.  No,  for  of  course  we  shall  have 
our  own  band  of  well-armed  supporters. 

Off.  1  beg  your  pardon,  but  Avould  you, 
please,  again  state  the  object  of  your 
meeting  ? 

Org.  The  object  of  our  meeting  is  the 
cause  of  Peace. 


468 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JUNB  26,  1901. 


OCCASIONAL  OPERATIC   NOTES. 

Saturday,  June  lo.— Otello  in  Italian.  Signer  TAMAGXO, 
appearing  as  the  Moor,  could  not  have  had  a  more  enthusiastic 
reception  than  that  given  him  after  his  long  absence  from 
Covent  Garden.  There  is  "No  Moor  at  present"  except  Tarn 
Agno,  and  there  won't  be  until  August,  when  Otello  has  departed 
and  sportsmen  gone  to  the  Moors.  Odd,  that  the  revival  of 
Otello  should  have  synchronised  with  the  visit  of  the  Moorish 
Embassy  to  London. 

Madame  EAMES  superb  as  Dear  Desdemona,  but  not  equally 
great  in  her  dramatic  rendering  of  the  Shakspearean  character. 
Can't  expect  everything  in  perfection,  especially  in  opera,  where 
the  motto  is  "  singing  first  and  acting  afterwards."  Plenty  of 
enthusiasm  in  the  audience :  loud  calls,  then  smiling  recipients 
of  "musical  honours."  All  good,  and  MANCINKLLI  evidently 
delighted. 

Again  at  the  Opera  must  be  asked  the  question,  "  OH  sont  les 
neiges  d'antan?"  And  the  answer  must  be,  "Up  above  the 
'  flies  '  so  high."  Given  La  Boheme,  and  the  supply  of  snow  is 
so  plentiful  for  that  charming  opera  as  to  continue  for  several 
nights  sparsely  falling,  quite  unexpectedly,  in  the  most  unlikely 
places.  For  the  sake  of  the  Syndicate's  reputation  this  fall 
should  be  stopped,  or  else  the  rcpor.t  will  get  about  that  "  the 
House  is  full  of  '  paper.'  "  Absit  omen. 

Wednesday,  June  19. — MELBA  to  hear  as  Marguerite  Is  ever  a 
genuine  musical  treat.  To  MELBA'S  Marguerite  with  lovely 
notes,  The  Syndicate  for  Faust  selected  COATES.  Whate'er  the 
tenors  whom  they  choose  to  oust,  They  can't  make  COATES  to 
fit  exactly  Faust.  "No  time  for  measurement!  take  what 
we've  got!  COATES  ready-made  is  here  upon  the  spot," 
Decides  Sartorial  Syndicate  by  votes.  After  his  Faust  they 
asked,  "  Who '11  cut  out  COATES?"  As  Mephistopheles,  good 
Monsieur  PLANCON  Made  every  note  of  his  most  fiendish  chanson 
Tell  with  a  force  that  charmed  us  one  and  all,  Winning  applause 
and  heartiest  recall.  Summon'd  by  sounds  not  in  the  least 
uncertain,  He  and  the  others  came  before  the  curtain.  Faust 
in  best  French  the  "  principals  "  all  sing;  Not  so  the  chorus, 
that 's  a  different  thing.  These,  without  principals,  or  with, 
insist  On  singing  in  Italian  as  they  list.  Although  all  sang  as 
if  they  were  inspired,  The  mise-en-scene  left  things  to  be  desired. 
With  MANCINELLI  as  conductor  clever,  The  orchestra  was  just 
as  good  as  ever.  A  great  success  achieved,  the  opera  ended. 
Alas,  outside  the  pelting  rain  descended  !  Commissionaires, 
though  usually  dabs  At  swiftly  running  and  procuring  cabs, 
Did  not,  as  on  the  other  nights,  abound,  And  sadly  owned  that 
cabs  could  not  be  found !  The  why  or  wherefore  nobody 
explained ;  But  one  thing  very  certain  was,  it  rained.  The 
carriage  folk  of  course  were  well  provided,  While  for  the  rest 
they  had  to  do  as  I  did,  And  walk,  much  dreading  lest  we  should 
be  soused,  Until  we  cabbed  it.  Oh,  how  we  blessed  Faust .' 

Thursday. — Carmen.  Never  mind  whether  'tis  French  or 
Italian,  and  on  this  occasion  it  was  in  BIZET'S  native  tongue. 
Carmen,  as  rendered  to-night,  is  delightful.  CALVE,  as  Carmen, 
simply  perfect.  All  the  artfulness,  all  the  heartlessness,  all 
the  fascination  of  the  character,  all  the  character  itself — well, 
who  has  not  seen  CALVE  as  Carmen  has  never  Carmen  seen. 
And  such  a  caste  !  As  Don  Jose,  the  weak,  the  tortured  lover, 
M.  SALEZA  is  one  of  the  best.  The  entire  caste  excellent, 
dramatically  and  musically.  ANCONA,  as  the  gay  Escamillo, 
charming  us  with  "  Toreador  contento,"  as  if  we  had  never 
heard  it  before.  Then  the  humour  of  the  two  scoundrels, 
played,  sung,  and  stepped  by  Messieurs  GILIBERT  and  FORGEUR, 
comes,  as  fresh  as  if  the  pie  had  only  just  been  opened  and  the 
birds  had  begun  to  sing.  The  incomparable  BAUERMEISTER  as 
Frasquita  and  charming  Mile.  MAUBOURG  as  Mercedes  both 
delightful  as  the  fascinating  gipsies,  Miss  SUZANNE  ADAMS, 
as  the  loving  and  trusting  Micaela,  singing  angelically  and  in 
sweet  simplicity,  contrasting  with  all  the  devil-may-care-iness 


around  her.  STEDMAN'S  boys  up  to  the  mark  and  doing  their 
best,  as  if  the  holidays  had  already  commenced,  and  Conductor 
M.  PH.  FLON  conducting  the  orchestra  with  such  spirit  as  to 
leave  nothing  to  be  desired  except  that  we  may  see  and  hear 
many  such  readings  of  Carmen. 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

Doom  Castle  (BLACKWOOD)  is  a  romance  happily  named.  By  the 
title,  Mr.  NEIL  MUNRO,  possibly  unconsciously,  sounds  the  key- 
note of  a  story  with  dark  and  gloomy  background.  Whilst  the 
reader  is  affected  by  this  pervading  influence,  he  is  none  the 
less,  perhaps  all  the  more,  moved  by  the  stirring  story. 
Mr.  MUNRO  has  really  written  a  romance,  a  rare  achievement 
in  these  prosaic  days.  He  is  the  more  venturous  since  he  has 
not  shrunk  from  meeting  WALTER  SCOTT  on  his  native  heath,  or 
footing  it  with  STEVENSON  in  company  with  the  kind  of  Scot  he 
ipost  affected.  My  Baronite  doesn't  particularly  care  for  the 
Duke  of  Argyll  and  his  Duchess,  who  are  rather  Dresden-china 
figures.  But  Count  Victor  is  a  life-and-blood  Frenchman, 
serving  admirably  as  a  foil  to  the  sombre  Scot  and  the  terrible 
weather  he  comes  in  contact  with  during  his  sojourn  in  the 
country  of  Argyll.  Sim  MacTaggart,  the  roue  Chamberlain, 
equally  successful  in  the  boudoirs  of  Paris  and  the  drear  land 
round  Doom  Castle,  is  admirably  drawn,  as  is  the  ruined  lord  of 
Doom.  Best  of  all  is  Mungo,  the  factotum  put  to  infinite  shifts 
to  make  the  lean  larder  maintain  the  ancient  hospitality  of  the 
the  Castle. 

Paul  le  Maistre,  by  FREDERIC  CARREL  (JOHN  LONG),  is  not 
within  measurable  distance  of  The  Progress  of  Pauline  Kessler 
by  the  same  author.  The  canvas  is  too  crowded,  and  there  is 
so  very  "  much  ado  about  nothing,"  that  the  reader  finds  himself 
searching  for  the  chief  persons,  who  are  lost  to  sight  in  a 
crowd  of  nobodies  and  anybodies.  It  is  a  restless  Zolaesque 
and  Goorgc-Mooresque  sort  of  novel.  Of  all  the  characters  that 
begin  well  and  end  badly  there  is  none  that  doeth  good,  no  not 
one,  and  they  all  go  out  of  their  way  to  become  abominable. 
There  is  an  exception  to  the  rule,  but  he  is  a  half-hearted 
nonentity,  a  person  of  no  importance.  The  chief  characters 
are  of  animal  type,  and  their  squalid  story,  such  as  it  is,  could 
have  been  told  in  a  very  few  chapters,  sufficient,  that  is,  to 
interest  the  trained  skipping  reader  of  the  masculine  gender, 
for  with  the  gentler  sex  the  Baron  feels  sure  this  book  would 
find  scant  favour. 

The  Baron  was  under  the  impression  that  the  old  original 
"Cheshire  Cheese"  had  disappeared  with  the  old  original 
"Cock  Tavern,"  but  '.'from  information  received"  through 
the  latest  re-edited  re-publication  on  this  subject,  entitled  Tlie 
Book  of  the  Cheese  compiled  by  the  late  T.  W.  REID  and  edited 
by  R.  D.  ADAMS,  M.A.  (FISHER  UNWIN),  it  appears  that  the  ancient 
tavern  still  exists.  The  traditions  associated  with  the  old 
place  are  very  interesting,  as  also  are  the  illustrations  by 
SEYMOUR  LUCAS,  R.A.,  HERBERT  RATLTON,  PENNEL,  ALLEN,  and 
CRUIKSHANK.  The  form,  however,  of  the  book  might,  the  Baron 
suggests,  be  recast  with  considerable  advantage  to  the 
extension  of  its  future  popularity. 

"  The  Manager  of  Bradshaw's  Guide  presents  his  compliments, 
and  begs  the  Baron's  acceptance  of  a  facsimile  of  the  first 
edition  of  Bradshaw's  Guide."  It  is  a  gem  !  Perfect!  A  pocket 
guide  dated  October  10,  1839.  Quite  a  curiosity.  It  seems 
that  people  in  those  days  didn't  want  to  come  up  to  London, 
but  ranged  only  about  Liverpool,  Manchester,  Bolton,  there 
and  thereabouts.  Considering  the  novelty  and  the  luxury,  the 
fares  were  reasonable  too  !  Worth  while  examining  it  for  the 
sake  of  the  Jeiv  lines  contained  in  the  brochure,  which  at  dinner- 
parties and  in  club  smoking-rooms  are  all  worth  quoting. 

And  here  is  a  "surprise-packet"  prepared  by  some  of  Mr. 
Punch's  young  men,  just  to  show  him  what  they  can  do  when  they 
like,  after  the  manner  of  Todgers  ("  Oh,  Todgers's  could  do  it  when 


JUNE:  26,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


469 


it  chose  "),  entitled  Punch's  Holiday  Book, 
edited  by  E.  T.  REED,  of  Prehistoric  Fame, 
and  calculated  to  rejoice  the  hearts  of  all 
those  who  can  take  a  holiday  and  with  it 
this  book,  or,  if  unable  to  obtain  a  long 
or  short  "  vac,"  may  enjoy  the  sketches, 
poems  and  articles,  all  good  and  well 
chosen,  during  such  time  as  they  can 
spare  from  work.  Mr.  Punch,  who  has 
only  just  dipped  into  it  and  come  up 
again  refreshed,  has  one  whisper  for  the 
ear  of  the  clever  collector  of  these  well- 
considered  trifles  and  well-executed  cuts, 
which  is,  that  to  speak  of  "  Mr.  Punch"  as 
"Punch,"  without  the  prefix  of  "  Mister," 
is  — ahem — well  just  a  trifle  too  familiar. 
Does  the  Reedy-witted  Editor  of  this 
Holiday  Boole  call  to  mind  the  just  indigna- 
tion of  the  devoted  Sam  Weller  against 
"  some  person  or  per  sons  xinknown  "  who, 
as  he  supposed,  had  taken  liberties  with 
the  honoured  name  of  "  Pickwick"  ?  Apart 
from  his  own  hebdomadal  publication, 
which  is  uniquely  "  Punch,"  he  appears 
everywhere,  and  is  addressed  by  every- 
body as  "Mr.  Punch,"  not  a  "  veteran" 
by  any  manner  of  means,  but  ever  young, 
ever  wise,  genial  to  all,  satirical  but 
kindly,  and  everybody's  best  friend.  The 
contributors  to  the  Holiday  Book  have 
done  their  best  to  "deserve  success,"  at 
least,  so  says  the  benevolent 

BARON  DE  B.-W. 


LEST  MEN  FORGET; 
Or,  A  Girl's  best  Friend  is  the  River. 
[This  is  to  be  a  river  season.    Father  Thames  is 
an  excellent  matchmaker.-»-iarf/'*  Pictorial.] 
OH,  what  is  a  maid  to  do 
When  never  a  swain  will  woo  ; 
When  Viennese  dresses 
And  eddying  tresses 
And  eyes  of  a  heavenly  blue, 

Are  treated  with  high  disdain 

By  the  cold  and  the  careless  swain, 

When  soft  showered  glances 

At  dinners  and  dances 
Are  sadly  but  truly  vain? 
Ah,  then,  must  a  maid  despair  ? 
Ah,  no,  but  betimes  repair 

With  her  magical  tresses 

And  summery  dresses 
To  upper  Thames  reaches,  where 

She  turns  her  wan  cheek  to  the  sun 
(Of  lesser  swains  she  will  none) ; 

Her  glorious  flame, 

Well  skilled  in  the  game, 
Flings  kisses  that  burn  like  fun. 

And  cheeks  that  had  lost  their  charm 
Grow  rosy  and  soft  and  warm  ; 

Eyes  lately  so  dull 

Of  sun-light  are  full 
As  masculine  hearts  with  alarm. 

For  jealousy  by  degrees 
Steals  over  the  swain  who  sees 

The  cheek  he  was  slighting 

Another  delighting, 
And  so  he  is  brought  to  his  knees. 


A   LONG    SHOT. 

(Brfore  the  commencement  of  the  Polo  Match.} 

Young  Lady  (making  her  first  acquaintance  with  the  game).   "On,  I  WISH  YOU  WOULD 
BEGIN.      I'M  SO  ANXIOUS  TO  SEE  THE  SWEET  PONIES  KICK  THE  BALL  ABOUT  !" 

[Her  only  excuse  is  that  she  hails  from  a  great  football  county. 


PABULUM. 

["  Mutton  at  every  meal  was  not  calculated  to 
promote  digestion,  or  to  encourage  the  love  of 
mutton,  and  the  same  was  true  of  the  classics." — 
Lord  Avebury  to  the  Students  of  the  City  and 
Guilds  of  London  Institute.] 

O  COME  and  feast  on  reason's  cates 
And  luscious  fruits,  on  golden  plates, 

Outspread  by  education, 
Come,  quaff  the  goblet,  clear  and  cool, 
By  Science  at  the  Muses'  pool 

Filled  for  your  delectation. 

No  longer  now  old  classic  food — 
Gross  gobbets,  joints  ill-cooked  and  crude 
Raised  by  the  pedant's  breeding — 


The  gorged  and  jaded  appetite 
Shall  bolt  unchewed,  instead  of  bite, 
And  dining  be  mere  feeding. 

For  now  the  dainty  taste  may  play 
With  lighter  food,  in  many  a  way 

That  our  skilled  teachers  dish  us, 
Who  offer  from  their  bill  of  fare 
A  morsel  here,  a  tit-bit  there, 

All  toothsome  and  delicious. 

So,  while  the  sated  soul,  set  free 
To  sip  of  science  like  a  bee 

And  shame  the  grosser  glutton, 
Culls  culture  (like  JACK  HORNER'S  pluui), 
The  classics,  in  the  time  to  come, 

Shall  be  as  dead  as — mutton. 


470 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JUNE  26,  1901. 


BABS  THE  INSUFFERABLE. 

An  Vnflramatic  Heqnel. 
THE     Hysteria,     on     which     BABS     the 
Insufferable  and  her  brother  MONTACUTE 
were  returning  from  their  Eastern  tour 
steamed  slowly  into  Plymouth  Sound. 

The  news  of  her  arrival  struck  a  chil 
into  the  heart  of  Mrs.  KINGCONSTANCE 
which  even  the  presence  of  salmon 
mayonnaise  onthemenn  at  luncheon  failed 
to  dispel. 

"  We  must  really  get  married  at  once,' 
she  said  to  Mr.  JELLIBOND  TINNEY,  as  she 
helped  herself  for  the  fourth  time.  ' '  Then 
we  can  go  away  and  settle  somewhere  else, 
and  BABS  can  live  at  Dane  Court  with  her 
brother.  He  will  be  of  age  in  a  few 
weeks." 

"Do  you  think  MONTACUTE  will  stand 
that?  "  enquired  JELLIBOND,  dubiously. 

"  Of  course  he  will,"  replied  Mrs.  KING- 
CONSTANCE,  helping  herself  to  a  cutlet. 
"MONTACUTE  is  curiously  stupid.  He 
quite  likes  BABS.  If  he  didn't  he  would 
not  have  taken  her  abroad  with  him." 

"Let  us  hope  that  travelling  will  not 
have    sharpened   his   intelligence,"   said 
JELLIBOND.     "  When  will  they  be  here  ?  " 
"  I  expect  them  to  dinner. " 
JELLIBOND  groaned.     "You  had  better 
ask  the  CADENHOUSES  to  dine  too,"    he 
suggested.     "  It  will  give  BABS  someone 
to  be  rude  to  besides  ourselves." 

"  How  thoughtful  you  are,  JELLIBOND," 
said  Mrs.  KINGCONSTANCE.  "  I  will  write 
to  them  directly  after  luncheon.  Shall 
I  tell  them  BABS  will  be  here  ?  " 

"Not  if  you  want  them  to  come," 
answered  JKLLIBOND,  grimly. 

BABS'S  greeting  to  her  family,  on  her 
arrival,  was  characteristic.  Tea  was  in 
the  drawing-room  when  she  entered,  and 
Mrs.  KINGCONSTANCI-:  was  preparing  to 
attack  her  fourth. muffin. 

"Hallo,  mother!"  she  said.  "Still 
eating!  If  you  don't  take  care  you  '11 
die  of  apoplexy." 

"Really,  BABS,  how  can  you  say  such 
things  !  "  replied  her  mother,  nervously. 

"  You  here  too,  TINNEY  ?  "  she  went  on, 
turning  to  JELLIBOND.  ' '  Hanging  on  to  the 
mater's  skirts  as  usual." 

"  My  dear  BABS,  is  that  a  way  to  address 
your  future  father-in-law?"  JELLIBOND 
asked  with  heavy  geniality. 

"  Oh,  hang  fathers-in-law  !  "  said  BABS. 
"  I  wish  the  relationship  didn't  exist." 
"So do  I,"  JELLIBOND  answered  sweetly. 
When    the    CADENHOUSES    arrived    she 
greeted    them    in     her  v  usual     sprightly 
manner. 

"  You  're  looking  more  than  usually 
plain  this  evening,  Aunt  LORRAINE,"  she 
said,  as  they  sat  down  to  dinner.  "  I 
wonder  why  CADENHOUSR  married  you 
instead  of  me." 

"That's  easily  answered,"  replied  her 
aunt,  acidly.  "He  thought  he  would 
rather  be  your  uncle  than  your  husband." 


"  Had  you  there,  BABS  !  "  MONTACUTE 
observed  from  his  end  of  the  table. 

"  Shut  up,  'Cute,"  his  sister  answered. 
"  One  rude  person  is  quite  enough  in  any 
family." 

"  I  do  hope  you  're  not  going  to  quarrel, 
children,"  said  Mrs.  KINGCONSTANCE,  anxi- 
ously. "  It  will  quite  spoil  my  dinner." 

"I  don't  think  that  will,  matter,"  an- 
swered BABS;  "you're  too  fat  as  it  is, 
mater." 

CADENHOUSE  gasped. 
"  Is  she  always  like  this  at  home  ?  "  he 
murmured  to  his  wife. 

"Always,"  replied  Lady  CADENHOUSE. 
''.It  is  her  idea  of  humour." 

"What  an  escape  I  had!"  thought 
CADENHOUSE. 

"When  are  you  going  to  be  married, 
mater?"  asked  MONTACUTE,  presently. 
Abruptness  was  a  peculiarity  of  the  KING- 
CONSTANCE  family. 

"As  soon  as  we  can  find  a  house, 
dear,"  said  his  mother. 

"JELLIBOND  heard  of  one  in  Gloucester- 
shire the  other  day." 

"  If  you  imagine  I  'in  going  to  bury  my- 
self in  Gloucestershire,  you  're  much  mis- 
taken," said  BABS. 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Mrs.  KINGCON- 
STANCE, greatly  relieved  ;  "  you  will  stay 
here  with  'CUTE." 

"  Thank  you,"  put  in  MONTACUTE,  drily  ; 
"  I  would  rather  you  left  me  out  of  your 
arrangements. ' ' 

"But  you  know  you  will  like  to  have 
your  sister  with  you,"  said  Mrs.  KING- 
CONSTANCE,  persuasively. 

"My  dear  mother,  do  be  serious," 
answered  MONTACUTE.  "  Is  it  likely  that 
I  should  like  BABS  to  live  with  me? 
Would  anybody  like  it?  Do  you  like  it 
yourself?  " 

"No,"  said  his  mother,  "  I'm  afraid  I 
don't." 

"No  more  should  I,"  said  MONTACUTE 
decisively. 

Mrs.  KINGCONSTANCE  wrung  her  hands. 
'JELLIBOND  said  this  would  happen,"  she 
moaned,  "and  I  didn't  believe  him.     Was 
ever  anything  so  unfortunate!  " 

"  Cheer  up,  mater,"  said  BABS,  coming 
to  the  rescue,  "  I  shall  be  all  right.  I  '11 
go  and  stay  with  CADENHOUSE." 

"Tardon  me,"  returned  Lady  CADEN- 
HOUSE, "  you  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind. 
Nothing  would  induce  me  to  consent  to 
such  an  arrangement." 

"  You  are  always  so  selfish,  LORRAINE," 
said    Mrs.    KINGCONSTANCE,     plaintively. 
'  It 's  in  the  family,  I  suppose." 

"  When  I  have  the  misfortune  to  have 
a   niece  whose    manners   are  .  absolutely 
nsufferable,"  snapped  Lady  CADENHOUSE, 
'  I  can  scarcely  be  blamed  for  not  wishing 
o  have  her  permanently  in  my  house." 
"  Cat !  "  interjected  BABS. 
"I  think,  perhaps,  I  have  a  suggestion 
which   might  meet   the  difficulty,"    said 
JELLIBOND  gently. 


"  You  are  always  so  clever,  JELLIBOND," 
said  Mrs.  KiNOCONSTANCE. 

"  A  life  spent  in  compounding  American 
drinks,  and  in  the  practise  of  hypnotism 
to  induce  people  to  swallow  them,  tends  to 
sharpen  the  faculties, ' '  JELLIBOND  observed 
modestly. 

"Go  ahead,  TINNEY,"  said  BABS. 

"  My  suggestion  is,"  JELLIBOND  said 
sweetly,  "  that  this  young  lady  should 
be  given  an  allowance — a  small  allowance 
— by  her  mother,  and  go  and  '  live  her 
life.'  I  think  that  is  the  phrase.  She 
might  then  indulge  in  any  eccentricities 
of  deportment,  which  she  fancies  without 
annoying  her  relatives." 

"But  she  can't  possibly  live  by  her- 
self," put  in  Mrs.  KINGCONSTANCE.  "She 
will  want  a  chaperon." 

"BABS  is  so  very  modern  that  that 
perhaps  might  be  dispensed  with,"  re- 
plied JELLIBOND.  "Besides,  I  doubt 
whether  you  could  get  any  chaperon  to 
stay.  Chaperons  are  very  independent 
nowadays.  They  are  almost  as  bad  as 
housemaids."  :  »•  . 

"That  is  true,"  said  Lady  CADENHOUSE. 

"  If,  however,  you  dislike  the  idea  of 
her  living  alone,"  JELLIBOND  went  on, 
"she  might,  perhaps,  board  with  Mrs. 
GRAND,  or  share  rooms  with  the  Heavenly 
Twins.  Or  she  might  live  at  one  of  those 
advanced  clubs,  where  the  food  is  cheap 
and  the  committee  are  not  too  particular. 
Ultimately,  of  course,  she  would  start  a 
crusade.  Disagreeable  women  always  end 
by  starting  crusades.  But  I  daresay  you 
would  not  object  to  that." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  KINGCONSTANCE. 
"It  all  sounds  very  suitable.  When  do 
you  think  she  could  start,  LORRAINE? 
Would  to-morrow  be  too  soon  ?  " 

"Nothing  could  possibly  be  too  soon," 
replied  Lady  CADENHOUSE. 

And  that  was  the  end  of  BABS  the  In- 
sufferable. ST.  J.  H. 

A  WANDERING  IN  WIERTZLAND. 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCH,  —  It  was  WILSON 
WAGGLETHORPE  who  conceived  the  idea  of 
wandering  to  Wiertzland.  He  had  never 
set  eyes  on  the  paintings  of  the  weird 
impressionist,  but  somewhere  or  another 
he  had  come  across  a  reputed  portrait  of 
the  eccentric  Belgian,  and  thenceforth 
his  mind  became,  if  I  may  so  put  it, 
be-Wiertzed.  He  was  certain  that  WIERTZ 
was  the  grandest  limner  who  had  ever 
existed  in  the  land  of  D.  TENIERS  and 
P.  P.  RUBENS.  And  I  was  so  persuaded 
by  WAGGLETHORPE  that,  lo,  and  behold! 
one  fine  evening  found  us  crossing  the 
North  Sea  on  board  of  the  G.  E.  R.'s 
comfortable  ship  the  Colchester. 

1  cannot  say,  before  we  retired  to  rest, 
that  WAGGLETHORPE 's  conduct  was  in  any 
way  extraordinary ;  but  the  next  morning, 
when  I  ascended  on  to  the  deck  to  survey 
:he  very  red,  green  and  yellow  hues 
representing  houses,  meadows  and  water) 


JUNE  25,  1901. 


PUNCH,   OK  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


471 


of'  the  Scheldt  and  country,  I  was  sur- 
prised, when  my  friend  drew  uie  on  one 
side,  and  whispered,  "Look,  there  is 
WIERTZ  in  the  flesh."  He  pointed  to  a 
gentleman  who  had  no  peculiarity  about 
him,  in  so  far  as  I  could  see,  but  the  fact 
that  he  wore  a  Peagreen  Waistcoat.  He 
might  have  been  WIERTZ,  but  his  flesh  was 
not  superabundant,  and  he  was  drinking 
rum  and  milk,  and  not,  as  might  have 
been  supposed,  Wiertz-key  and  water. 
His  appearance,  however,  greatly  im- 
pressed WILSON  WAGCLETHORPE,  who, 
relying  upon  the  authenticity  of  the 
WIERTZ  likeness  (cut  out  of  an  American 
paper),  still  asserted  that  it  was  the 
painter  redivivus.  The  portrait,  I  after- 
wards discovered,  was  that  of  a  Texan 
filibuster ;  but  let  that  pass— as  he  did— 
away. 

On  arrival  at  Antwerp,  WELSON  WAGGLE- 
THORPE  immediately  proceeded  to  provide 
himself  with  the  coins  of  Belgium  and 
several  other  Continental  states.  I  may 
here  state  that  this  monetary  collection 
comprised  (1)  a.  two-franc  piece  bearing 
the  image  and  superscription  of  pear- 
headed  Louis  PHILIPPE,  (2)  a  coin  with 
a  female  figure  supposed  to  be  Helvetia, 
(3)  a  solid  piece  of  silver  revealing  very 
indistinctly  the  features  of  the  Re  Galan- 
tuomo  VICTOR  EMMANUEL,  (4)  a  Greek 
token  of  dubious  minting,  (5)  aWallachian 
para  ;  and  (6)  what  looked  like  a  Nijni- 
Novgorod  goods  label,  together  with  other 
currency,  all  of  which  was  refused  by  the 
subjects  of  King  LEOPOLD. 

Now,  it  so  happened  that  when  WAGGLE- 
THORPE  was  collecting  his  cash,  there 
appeared  at  the  self-same  house  of  call 
the  Man  in  the  Pea-green  Waistcoat, 
otherwise  WIERTZ  restored  like  an  Old 
Master.  WAGGLETHORPE  immediately  put 
down  his  income  of  dubious  doubloons  to 
the  malevolent  influence  of  the  stranger. 
A  curious  theory,  considering  his  infatua- 
tion for  WIERTZ'S  work,  which  he  had 
never  seen.  And  also,  curiously  enough, 
on  six  separate  occasions,  when  WAGGLE- 
THORPE  was  endeavouring  to  pass  away 
the  coins,  WIERTZ'S  double  appeared — 
once  at  the  Zoo,  when  WILSON  was  paying 
for  some  nuts  for  the  monkeys  ;  again,  at 
the  Music  Hall  just  after  a  spirited  artist 
had  done  seven  "  turns "  in  unbroken 
succession ;  again,  in  the  ivagon-lit  car- 
riage, bound  for  '  Brussels,  when  my 
friend  was  attempting  to  compel  the 
controleur  to  give  him  whiskey,  which  he 
did  not  sell ;  also,  when  he  was  stealing 
away  from  a  cab ;  and,  lastly,  when  he 
was  trying  to  defraud  a  bookstall  clerk 
In  respect  of  a  Tauchnitz  novel.  On 
each  and  every  occasion  there  was  the 
Man  in  the  Pea-green  Waistcoat,  survey- 
ing WAGGLETHORPE  with  an  unearthly  and 
undeniable  smile. 

On  arrival  at  Brussels  we  chartered 
a  driver  to  take  us  to  the  Musee 
Wiertz.  The  charioteer  swore  that  he 


THE    SALE    OF    INTOXICANTS   TO    CHILDREN    BILL. 

"IT'S  ANOTHER  HIN JUSTICE  TO  HUS  PORE  WIMMEN,  IT  18  !  TflEY  WON'T  LET  US  SEND 
THE  KIDS  FOp,  IT  NOW,  AN'  IF  MY  HELDEST  BOY  GOES  FOR  IT  *E  'AS  'ARF  OF  I  T  'ISSELF, 
'AN'  IF  MY  OLD  MAN  GOES  'E  NEVBR  COMES  BACK;  SO  THE  HEND  OF  IT  IS,  I  'AVE  TO  GO  FOR 
IT  MYSELF  !  " 


had  never  heard  of  the  establishment,  but 
by  dint  of  promises  of  pourboires  he  finally, 
after  taking  us  to  a  horticultural  show, 
a  home  for  sick  animals,  and  the  Hotel 
de  Ville,  brought  us  to  the  desired  edi- 
fice. WAGGLETHORPE  immediately  glued 
his  eyes  to  the  little  holes  through  which 
the  visitor  gazes  at  the  Wiertzian  spec- 
tres. He  chuckled  with  delight,  and  was 
also  much  taken  with  a  delineation  of 
NAPOLEON  I.,  in  a  warmer  place  than  the 
Tuileries  was  supposed  to  be  before  it 
was  burned  by  the  Communists.  Then 
he  turned  round  and  selected  several 
catalogues  and  photographs,  and  I  saw 
him  hand  the  Louis  PHILIPPE  coin  to  the 


attendant.  The  latter  raised  his  head  and 
said,  in  unmistakable  and  coarse  English, 
"  Look  'ere,  governor,  'adn't  you  better 
drop  it  ?  "  It  was  the  Man  in  the  Pea- 
green  Waistcoat ! 

WAGGLETHORPE  gave  a  fearful  yell,  and 
flinging  down  the  whole  of  his  base  metals, 
fled  from  the  Museum. 

I  met  him  subsequently  at  the  Gare  du 
Nord,  wrestling  with  much  absinthe.    ' '  By 
Jove!"    he    exclaimed,     "I    was    right. 
That  man  was  WIERTZ,  after  all." 
I  am,  dear  Mr.  Punch, 

Your  obedient  Servant, 

NICHOLAS  NIBBS. 

Doggerbank  House,  Fulwell. 


472 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


fJuNK  26,   1901. 


NIL    DESPERANDUM. 

Tomkins  (v;Uo  has  hooked  his  ,first   Thames  trout,  fallen  out  of  his  punt,  mid  come  over  tin  weir).   "  EXCUSE  MB,  MADAM,  BUT  WOULD 

YOU    KINDLY   BRING    ME    MY   ROD,    AND    1"LEA»E    KEEP    THE   POINT   WELL    UP,    AND    GIVE    HIM    PLKNTY   OF    LINE  !  " 


"  STRANDED." 

["  ME.    RITCHIE  is  to  be   asked   whether  he  has  observed  the  loss  and 
inconvenience    arising   from   the-  consecutive   manner    in   which   numerous 
authorities  'take  up'  the  most  frequented  streets." — Daily  Telegraph.] 
(From  our  Special  Correspondent.) 

LONDONERS  will  rejoice  to  hear  that  the  passage  of  the  Strand 
and  Fleet  Street  has  at  length  been  forced.  For  many  weary 
months  this  strongly  entrenched  position  has  held  out  against 
the  traffic,  not  one-tenth  part  of  which  has  been  able  to  pass. 
The  enemy's  earthworks,  fosses  and  artificially-made  barricades 
of  scaffold  poles  have  been  so  well  held  by  strong  bodies 
(especially  strong  when  the  weather  has  been  at  all  warm)  that 
the  citizens  have  almost  despaired  of  ever  "  getting  through." 
But  under  cover  of  the  darkness  last  night,  General  Omnibus's 
contingent,  in  the  absence  of  most  part  of  the  enemy  on  public 
(house)  duty  succeeded  in  forcing  the  passage. 

This  morning,  terms  of  peace  have  been  arranged.  On  con- 
dition that  the  citizens  do  not  press  their  advantage,  the  Trades 
Unions  controlling  the  working  army  have  agreed  that  at  the 
end  of  ftve  years,  when  the  indentures  of  the  apprentices 
(whom  they  are  now  instructing  in  landscape  gardening  in  the 
London  streets)  shall  have  run  out,  they  will  once  more  allow 
the  general  body  of  Londoners  to  use  their  own  roads.  These 
terms  were  accepted  without  demur,  as  being  much  more 
favourable  than  any  which  the  hapless  citizens  had  ever 
expected. 

SECOND-DAIRY  EDUCATION. — Instruction  in  turning  cream  into 
butter. 


PETERED   OUT. 

MY  love,  I  cannot  make  you  any  verses, 

1  've  used  up  every  single  rhyme  I  know. 
My  still-born  stanzas  merely  end  in  curses, 
Prosaic  Avrath  your  former  poet  nurses, 
And  more,  my  dear,  what  infinitely  worse  is, 
BROWN  makes  his  go. 

BROWN,  who  could  never  shine  among  the  shiners, 

BROWN,  who  was  envious  of  the  praise  I  got, 
Least  useful  of  the  wretched  penny-a-liners, 
One  of  the  legion  of  perpetual  whiners, 
Sits  high  amongst  the  most  luxurious  diners, 
And  I  do  not. 

My  love,  the  songs  1  made  to  give  you  pleasure 

Brought  me  my  name  and  ruined  me  completely, 
For  I  have  spent  the  last  of  all  my  treasure, 
Squandered  for  you  Love's  last  mellifluous  measure, 
Sung  all  my  voice  away  through  work  and  leisure — 

Sung  far  too  sweetly  ; 

But  though  1  starve,  now  1  can  sing  no  more, 
1  keep  the  love  that  made  me  sing  before. 


WHY  was  the  stable  door  locked  when  the  horse  had  bolted  ? 
To  keep  the  "  chaff "  from  getting  about ! 


SUGGESTED  MOTTO  FOR  A  WELSHES.. — Cut  and  (don't)  come 
again. 


PUNCH,  OR  THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.— JOKE  26,  1901. 


PIPING  TIMES  OF  PEACE. 


DAMK  UARCOTJRT.  "  AHA  !  AT  LAST  HE  IS  PLAYING  SOMETHING   DISTINCTLY  RESEMBLING  AN  AIR. 


JUNE  26,   1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


475 


ESSENCE    OF    PARLIAMENT. 

EXTRACTED  FROM  THE  DIAIIY  OF  TOBY,  M.P. 

House  of  Commons,  Monday,  June  17. — 
No  use  shirking  fact  that  REDMOND 
Cadet's  comrades  look  iipen  him  with 
newly -born  suspicion.  Constitutionally 
quick-witted,  familiar  by  pained  experi- 
ence, from  the  days  of  SADLIER  downwards, 
with  the  tendency  of  patriots  to  make 
personally  advantageous  terms  with  the 
Saxon,  they  don't  like  the  Cadet's  goings- 
on  to-night.  They  may  do  him  injustice  ; 
certainly  the  circumstance  is  peculiar. 
Except  that  his  legs  are  more  substantial, 
his  voice  more  resonant,  he  in  relation  to 
public  life  recalls  Mr.  Sim  Tappertit, 
captain  of  the  'Prentice  Knights,  later, 
when  times  grew  stirring,  known  as  The 
United  Bulldogs.  He  has  the  ponderous 
gravity,  the  occasional  aloofness,  the  fatal 
fluency,  and,  above  all,  the  boundless 
ambition  of  the  politician  who  disturbed 
the  reign  of  GEORGE  THE  SECOND. 

It  must  also  be  said  that  to  one  of  his 
temperament  and  ability  the  situation  is 
tempting.  It  is  trite  C.-B.  is  nominally 
leader  of  the  Liberal  Party,  and  the  other 
night  the  SQUIRE  OP  MALAVOOD  amicably 
dined  in  his  company.  But  the  Liberal 
Party  is  at  least  a  Trinity  of  organism. 
To-night  one  section  of  it  has  come  to  the 
fore.  Taking  no  counsel  with  Front 
Bench,  LLOYD-GEORGE  moved  adjournment 
in  order  to  hold  up  to  contempt  and 
detestation  of  delighted  foreigners  his 
countrymen,  who  at  the  close  of  more 
than  eighteen  months'  hard  fighting  and 
incessant  toil  are  doing  their  best  for  the 
women  and  children  abandoned  by  the 
Boers.  Amid  rapturous  cheers  from  "  the 
foreign  element  "  in  the  House,  boasted 
of  by  REDMOND  Aine,  LLOYD  -  GEORGE 
denounced  Englishmen  in  charge  of  the 
refugee  camps  as  guilty  of  deliberate 
ill-treatment  of  women  and  children,  a 
parallel  for  which  he  found  only  in  the 
dealing  of  Spain  with  Cuba. 

JOHN  ELLIS,  not  to  be  outdone,  likened 
state  of  things  under  British  flag  to  the 
Black  Hole  of  Calcutta.  BRYN  ROBERTS, 
happily  inarticulate,  bobbed  up  and  down 
on  the  Bench  and  shook  his  gory  hat  at  the 
Secretary  of  State  for  War.  That  man  of 
Peace,  Captain  PIUIR,  gnashed  his  teeth 
over  Mr.  HALDANE,  whose  judicial  habit 
led  him  to  invite  production  of  proof  of 
the  infamies  charged  against  absent  men. 

REDMOND  Cadet  saw  his  opportunity,  and 
seized  it  by  the  hair.  Here  were  sheep — or, 
in  recognition  of  their  belligerent  attitude, 
rams — without  a  shepherd.  Now  was  the 
time  to  strike  in,  and  show  them  where  one 
was  to  be  found.  He  could  rant  with  the 
loudest  of  them.  To  denounce  anything 
British,  to  bring  gross  charges  against 
anyone  bearing  the  commission  of  the 
Sovereign,  or  endowed  with  the  authority 
of  the  Executive,  had  been  his  pastime 
from  boyhood.  If  Englishmen  and  Welsh- 


men were  fouling  the  national  nest,  should 
an  Irish  Member,  refrain  from  applauding 
them  ?  REDMOND  Cadet  thought  not. 

Moreover,  there  was  the  ulterior  motive 
suspected  by  PATRICK  O'BRIEN,  sniffed  at  by 
Mr.  FLAVIN.  Last  Session  REDMOND  Cadet 
was  one  night  discovered  on  the  Front 
Opposition  Bench.  The  incident  was  re- 
garded at  the  time  as  a  mere  ebullition  of 
the  high  spirits  which  sometimes  tempt 
the  street  gamin  to  walk  behind  an  uncon- 
scious swell  mimicking  his  manner.  To- 
night there  is  uneasy  suspicion  in  the 
Irish  camp  that  it  had  deeper  meaning. 


and  gazing  reflectively  round  the  House, 
lie  asked  another.  "What  is  small  coal?  " 
JOICEY,  sitting  opposite,  thrust  his 
hand  in  his  trousers'  pocket  and  drew  it 
forth  with  look  of  keen  disappointment 
on  a  face  prematurely  seamed  with  the 
Shilling  Coal  Tax.  "  The  Right  Hon. 
Gentleman,"  he  said,  "should  give  notice 
of  that  Question."  If  he  had  only  known, 
he  would  have  brought  down  a  handful 
of  small  coal,  which,  chucked  at  the  head 
of  the  CHANCELLOR  OF  THE  EXCHEQUER, 
might  have  carried  conviction.  As  it  was, 
ST.  MICHAEL  AND  ALL  ANGELS,  ignoring  in- 


A    STUDY    IN    LATTBRDAY    "LIBERALISM." 

Warm  aud  tolerant  reception  of  a  good  Liberal  who  ventured  to  hazard  the  assertion  that  in  all 
probability  our  fellow-countrymen  in  South  Africa  were  not  engaged  in  carrying  through  a  wanton  and 
criminal  war  with  the  grossest  barbarity  to  women  aud  children.  These  outrageously  "Jingo" 
sentiments  were  naturally  received  with  every  symptom  of  horror  and  detestation  on  the  Radical  benches. 

(Mr.  H-ld-ue,  K.C.) 

Why  should  REDMOND  Cadet  play  second  terruption,  repeated  the  enquiry,  "  What 
fiddle  among  Irishmen  below  the  Gangway  is  small  coal  ?  " 

when  he  might  lead  at  least  a  section  of  |  Echo  answered,  "What?"  And  there 
the  historic  Liberal  Party  ?  Listening  to  j  was  no  other  response.  Even  the  SQUIRE 
tirades  delivered  below  and  above  the  j  op  MALWOOD  who,  since  he  migrated  to 
Gangway  on  Opposition  side,  there  seems  j  Monmouthshire,  has  become  personally 
distinct  appropriateness  in  the  bold  acquainted  with  the  Coal  Industry,  had 
scheme  born  to-night  in  a  busy  brain.  no  readier  or  fuller  reply.  Difficulty 


Business  done. — Factories'  Bill  read  a 
second  time,  at  the  fag  end  of  a  sitting 
whose  freshest  hours  were  snatched  for 
surprise  attack  on  the  caretakers  of  the 
Boer  refugees. 

Tuesday  night. — "What  is  a  pound?" 
asked  a  great  financial  authority  long  since 
gathered  to  his  fathers.  The  ingathering 
took  place  before  the  problem  was  solved. 
SARK  says,  in  the  Bankruptcy  Court  of 
to-day,  a  pound  varies.  Sometimes  it's 
one  and  threepence ;  occasionally  it  runs 
up  to  fifteen  shillings.  The  remark 


arose  on  rumour  that,  his  heart  softening 
towards  the  ruined  millionaires  of  the  coal 
mines,  the  CHANCELLOR  OP  THE  EXCHEQUER 
had  been  tempted  to  reduce  by  one-half 
the  export  duty  on  small  coal.  ST. 
MICHAEL  now  explained  he  was  quite 
ready  to  take  that  step.  But  whilst 
meditating  on  it  he  found  himself  faced 
by  the  problem  he  had  stated. 

Others  of  analogous  form  have  proved 
not  impregnable.' 

"What  is  Truth?"  asked  the  Sunday 
School  teacher  of  attentive  class. 


seems  inconsequential.  It  was  Sir  ROBERT   "  Please,  Sir,  it's   sixpence,"   answered 


PEEL'S  classic  question  the  CHANCELLOR 
OP    THE    EXCHEQUER    had    in     his     mind 


a  small   boy  whose  father    was    in    the 
bookstall  business. 


when,    leaning    his    elbow    on    the    box       "  What  is  small  coal  ?"  the  CHANCELLOR 


476 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JUNE  26,  1901. 


or  THE  EXCHEQUER  asked  for  tho  third 
time,  and  over  the  silent  House  there 
broke  no  murmur  of  response. 

Business  done. — Civil  List  Bill  read  a 
third  time. 

House,  of  Lords,  Thursday  night. — The 
MARKISS  has  infinite  scorn  for  his  fellow 
men.  It  is  intensified  in  contemplation  of 
the  assembly  in  which,  nearly  sixty  years 
ago,  Lord  ROBERT  CECIL  won  his  spurs. 
Would  rather  not  allude  to  its  existence, 
tf  it  be  forced  on  his  unwilling  attention 
waives  it  off  with  contemptuous  gesture. 
"When,  as  to-night,  House  of  Commons  is 
bracketed  with  what  the  MARKISS  calls 
"the  Drunkards'  Bill"  (it  is  really  the 
BISHOP  OF  WINCHESTER'S)  his  contempt 
becomes  vitriolic.  Bill  coming  up  for 
third  reading,  SPENCER  wanted  to  know 
what  course  Government  would  take  in  the 
Commons.  Would  it  be  carried  through 
this  session  ? 

"That  depends,"  snapped  the  MARKISS, 
' '  upon  the  action  of  persons  with  Avhom 
the  noble  EARL  has  closer  political  con- 
nection than  I  can  claim." 

All  he  could  say  was  that  the  Measure 
would  appear  with  a  Ministerialist 
asterisk  affixed.  A  sign,  he  believed, 
which  "meant  so  much  in  another  place." 

Poor,  pallid  print  can  convey  no  idea  of 
tho  scorn  conveyed  in  this  reference  to 
1  lie  House  of  Commons'  custom  whereby 
Ministerial  Bills  are  distinguished  on  the 
Orders  of  the  Day  by  an  asterisk.  "  Star- 
ring a  Bill,"  it  is  called  in  that  poor, 
maudlin  assembly.  Contemplation  of 
the  process  increased  the  MARKISS'S 
amusement  at  the  childishness  of  the 
House  of  Commons.  Pressed  to  say 
whether  the  Licensing  Bill  would  be 
.similarly  distinguished  on  its  Agenda,  he 
became  almost  funny. 

"lam  not,"  he  said,  "invested  with 
the  power  of  distributing  these  much 
envied  stars.  If  the  noble  lord  will  give 
me  a  day's  notice,  I  will  tell  him  some- 
thing about  that  form  of  astronomy." 

Noble  Lords  loyally,  not  too  loudly, 
laughed.  They  knew  by  hearsay  of  the 
existence  of  the  House  of  Commons.  They 
even  have  heard  some  talk  of  a  pretension 
or  desire  on  its  part  to  abolish  the  House 
of  Lords !  It  was  scarcely  worth  noticing  ; 
but  well  enough  to  have  it  occasionally 
snubbed  in  this  exquisitely  humorous 
fashion. 

"When  I  hear  the  MARKISS  referring  to 
the  House  of  Commons,"  said  the  LORD 
HIGH  CHANCELLOR,  "  it  subtly  conveys  to 
my  mind  the  impression  that  he  is  holding 
it  out  with  a  pair  of  tongs  whilst  he  talks 
over  its  head." 

Business  done. — Budget  Bill  further  dis- 
cussed in  the  Commons. 

Friday  niyht.— Committee  of  House  of 
Lords  have  taken  in  hand  subject  of  the 
Declaration  made  by  Sovereign  on  his 
Accession  that  justly  and  deeply  affronts 
our  Catholic  f  jllow  citizens.  ATTORNEY- 


GENERAL  FOR  IRELAND  tells  me  he  has 
received  from  an  Orange  Lodge  in  Bel- 
fast copy  of  a  resolution  just  passed.  It 
approves  and  applauds  the  barbaric 
phrase  on  the  ground  that  it  is  "  o  great 
bulwark  of  civil  and  religious  liberty." 
Whenwe  come  to  think  of  it,  recalling 
the  objectionable  phrase  and  all  it  implies 
to  the  detriment  of  some  millions  of 
fellow-citizens,  this  is  the  grimmest  piece 
of  unconscious  humour  I  recall. 

Mr.  GLADSTONE  once  told  the  MEMBER 
FOR  SARK  he  well  remembered  in  his 
early  days,  on  taking  his  seat  in  the  House 
of  Commons  reciting  and  subscribing  an 
Oath  of  Allegiance  equally  offensive  to 
Catholic  citizens. 

"On  one  occasion,"  Mr.  G.  said, 
"  following  on  a  general  election,  I  sang 
the  words  very  small  so  as  not  to 
offend  the  just  susceptibilities  of  DANIEL 
O'CONNELL,  who  stood  close  by  me  taking 
the  Oath  in  the  form  then  specially  pre- 
scribed for  Catholics." 

Business  done. — Scotch  Votes  in  Com- 
mittee. 


TO  SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  WORKS. 

MARRED,  murdered,  misquoted, 

Adapted,  mistaken  ; 
And  volubly  voted 

The  product  of  Bacon, 
And  prefaced  with  comment, 

Abridged,  annotated, 
By  men  of  no  moment 

Curtailed  and  collated. 

Sold,  sold,  sold  and  re-sold, 

Bound,  bound,  bound  again, 
With  edges  and  tops  gold, 

Or  sprinkled  or  plain. 
The  Poems  in  vellum, 

The  Dramas  in  cloth  : 
And  together  they  sell  'em, 

Or  separate,  or  both. 

Recited  and  acted, 

And  bellowed^and  spouted, 
Extracted,  redacted, 

By  amateurs  shouted, 
And  edited,  edited 

By  old  or  new  men, 
And  frequently  credited 

With  some  acumen. 

Rhymed,  sonnett-ed,  ode-d 

In  immature  verse 
With  eulogy  loaded, 

Or  just  the  reverse. 
Imitated,  dissected 

And  parodied,  too, 
Essayed  and  Selected 

For  someone's  Review. 

Trimmed,  twisted,  translated, 

To  suit  every  tongue, 
Pruned,  cut,  expurgated 

(A  gift  for  the  young), 
Explained,  illustrated, 

And  turned  into  prose, 
Criticized,  emendated  ! 

And  read  ?    Goodness  knows  ! 


A    SONG    OF    SCIENCE. 

[The  United  States  Fisheries  Commission  are 
making  efforts  to  evolve  some  hybrid  fish  of  an 
entirely  new  type  by  mixing  the  eggs  at  spawning 
time.  .  .  .  Another  marvel  which  will  possibly 
be  produced  is  the  turtle  with  an  edible  shell,  by 
crossing  the  soft-shell  crab  with  a  terrapin." — 
Daily  Paper.] 

O  LIST  while  I  sing 

You  the  following  song, 
Quite  a  short  little  thing 

That  will  not  keep  you  long, 
In  praise  of  American  science, 

Which  appears  to  be  going  it  strong. 

We  know  that  our  kin 

Work  wonders  not  small ; 
A  yarn  they  can  spin 

Out  of  nothing  at  all, 
And  on  the  most  slender  foundation 
Build  stories  amazingly  tall. 

For  turtle,  as  such, 

No  longer  they  wish, 
They  are  seeking  a  much 

More  luxurious  dish, 

So,  instead  of  just  crossing  the  fish-pond, 
They  've  taken  to  crossing  the  ftsh. 

To  soften  the  shell 

Is  their  object  and  care, 
And  they  've  managed  quite  well, 

As  you  're  doubtless  aware, 
In  doing  the  trick  with  their  nut  trees — 
At  least,  they  're  all  colonels  out  there ; 

And  before  this  same  year 

Has  worn  itself  out, 
We  shall  all  of  us  hear 

Of  fresh  wonders,  no  doubt, 
That  they  've  crossed  a  cucumber  with 

salmon, 
And  Whitstable  oysters  with  stout. 


ERIN  GO   BRAGH. 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCH, — I  perceive  that  there 
is  a  movement  on  foot,  initiated  by  the 
Patriot  DOOGAN,  M.P.,  for  teaching  the 
Irish  language  to  the  youthful  REDMONDS 
and  HEALEYS  of  the  Emerald  Isle.  I  am 
sorry  that  the  Government  has  not 
acquiesced  in  the  motion.  I,  myself, 
would  bring  in  a  measure  compelling  all 
Hibernian  Members  of  Parliament  to  de- 
nounce (they  never  speak)  in  their  native 
tongue.  Just  fancy  the  rapture  with  which 
they  would  inveigh  in  a  language  incap- 
able of  comprehension  by  a  single  Sassen- 
ach !  And  what  a  mighty  relief  to  the 
other  legislators !  If  necessary,  the 
Speaker  might  be  provided  with  an  Anglo- 
Irish  Dictionary,  or  possibly  a  new  post 
(open  to  Nationalists  only)  might  bo 
created,  viz.,  Interpreter  for  Ireland. 

Trusting  that  my  suggestion  may  be 
supported  by  you. 

I  am,  yours  obediently, 

LINDLEY  MURRAY  WALKER. 

The  College,  Torkinyton-on-the-Marxh. 


JONE  26,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


477 


Acconnixti  to  Regulation,  4-18 
Actor-Managor    discourses     (The),    289, 

362,  430 

Additional  Anticipations,  429,  451 
Address  to  the  British  Men  (An),  165 
Ad  Hisericordiam,  161 
After  Bank  Holiday,  279 
After  the  Whitsun  Holiday,  399 
Airy  Trifle  (An),  190 
All  for  Beer,  140 

"  All  that  glitters  is  not  Gold,"  362 
Another  "Real  Conversation,"  4(52 
Anthropology  Illustrated,  \ol 
Apology  (An),  70 
Arrant  Knights,  111 
'Arry's  Lament,  121 

Art  in  the  Dolls'  House,  250,  208,  286,  304 
Ascot  Anticipations,  447 
Avis  aux  Voyageurs,  60 
BABS  the  Insufferable,  470 
Bacillus  Amoris,  455 
Back  to  the  "  Backs,"  348 
Ballade  of  Dreadful  Diseases  (A),  16       • 
Ballad  of  Edward  Grey  (A),  166 ' 
Bank  Holiday— and  After,  415 
Bauer  in  May  (A),  400 
Beautiful  for  Ever,  330 
Belles  Lettres,  198 
Blank  File  (The),  22,  40 
Bookie  and  the  Nurserymaid  (The),  438 
Book  of  Beauty  (The),  56,  106,  180,  144, 

232,  252,  308,  826,  394,  412,  460 
Britannia  to  H.M.  Government,  212 
Brummagem  at  Oxford,  298 
Bumble  Spirit  and  the  Constable,  125 
Bureau  of  Common -Sense  (The),  233 
Business    Experiences    of    the    Hon.  T. 

Cash,  229,  247 
CARTOONS  of  Sir  Jackides  the  Inimitable, 

238 

Cash  before  Courage,  406 
Census  and  After  (The),  284 
Chance  for  Sir  Michael  (A),  309 
Chineasy-going  Ernpero  •  (The),  222 
Christmas  Carol  (A),  7 
Coals  and  Compatriots,  345 
Compensation,  191 
Concerning  the  Census,  254 
Contra  Vim  Mortis,  154 
Conversational  Hints  for  Young  Riders, 

18,  28,  46,  62,  110,  139,  154,  1'JG,  228,  257, 

291 

Croesus  a  la  Mode,  329 
Cultured  Conversations,  354,  416 
Cum  grano  Salis,  19 
Cupid  at  Bangor,  175 
Cupidons  and  Cuisine,  346 
Cure  for  Insomnia  (The),  274 
Curious  Courtship  (A),  282 
Curse  of  Spring  (The),  303 
DAINTY  Dilemma  (A),  i7 
Dance  Dialogue  (A),  280 
Darby  Jones  on  the  City  and  Suburban, 

316 

Darkey  to  his  Dinah  (The),  49 
"Decorations,"  398 
Delenda  est  Carthago,  44 
Derby,  according  to  Darby  Jones  (The), 

428 

Die-ary  of  a  January  Fly,  35 
Diary  of  an  Advance  Agent,  363 
Diary  of  a  Skater,  140 
Diary  on  Board  a  Submariner,  64 
Disease  of  Genius  (The),  418 
Diverting  History  of  the  Southend  Lion 

Hunt,  375 

Doing  Things  by  Three-quarters,  330 
Domestic  Dodo  (The),  21 
Dramatic  Prologue  (A),  234 
Dramatic  Sequels,  14,  34,  50,  68,  118,  126, 

146,162,214,322,339,357 


Dream  of  the  Statistician  (The).  20 

Drink  of  Peers  (The),  250 

Druriolanus  &  Co.,  62 

Ducal  Reflections,  437 

Duelling  a  la  Mode,  447 

EASY  Circumstances,  374 

Egg-o-test  (The),  138 

Emancipation  Day,  179 

Emperor's  Quandary  (The),  104 

English  Parodist's  Love-Letters  (An),  217 

Essence  of  Parliament,  100,  141,  159,  189, 
207,  225,  243,  261,  315,  333,  351,  369,  387, 
405,  459,  475 

Evolution  of  a  Musical  Comedy,  153,  174, 
192,  211,  218,  240,  264 

Examination  for  a  Directorship,  49 

Exhortation  (An),  428 

Expected  Recommendations,  37 

Expert  in  Handwriting  (The),  135 

FEMININE  Fashion,  &c.,  442 

Fictitious  Campaign  (A),  117 

Fixed  for  the  First,  238 

Flat-earther's  Lament  (The),  302 

Fleet  in  seeming  (A),  244 

Following  Footsteps,  150 

Food  for  Infants,  304 

Food  of  Genius  (The),  132 

For  a  Change,  410 

Force  of  Habit  (The),  347 

For  Foreigners  in  London  at  Easter,  280 

For  Love  of  Sciatica,  279 

"  From  Frying-pan  to  Fire,1'  444 

From  Shade  to  Shade,  454 

From  the  Riviera,  124 

From  West  to  East,  172 

FullCri!  157 

GIVE  and  Take,  197 

Good  Old  Times  revived  at  the  Vaude- 
ville, 374 

Growl  of  a  Gardener  (The),  463 

HANDICAP  of  Intellect,  384 

Happy  Hills  of  Lee  (The),  382 

Hawker's  Lament  (The),  64 

Henricus  Irvingius  Coriolanus,  328 

Herbs  of  Disgrace,  53 

Here  's  to  the  Policy  Drifty,  292 

Home-coming  of  the  Chief  (The),  4 

"  Home,  sweet  Home !  "  360 

Horrible  Imbroglio  (A),  423 

How  Granfer  Volunteered,  58,  108 

How  to  Write  for  Punch,  &c.,  172 

Hullabaloo  at  Galuppi's  (A),  39 

IN  Andalusia,  430 

IndH  loquitur,  132 

In  Good  Company,  442 

Jn  re  Army  Reform,  204 

In  Vino  Veritas,  312 

Invitation  (An),  276 

Invocation  (An),  455 

In  Western  Garb,  444 

''  JACKIDES,"  1 

Jam  Puff  (A),  230 

Jeers,  idle  Jeers  !  253 

"  Johnson  for  Lichfield."  388 

Journalism  Nowadays,  276 

Just  before  the  Budget,  Mother,  271 

KNOWLEDGE  on  Credit,  67 

LADIES'  Cabinet  Council  (The),  52 

Lady  without  Mercy  (The),  272 

Laments  of  London,  293,  303,  356 

Latest  Craze  (The),  373 

Latest  from  Mars,  161 

Latest  Sensation  (The),  253 

Ijaw  Costs,  285 

Lest  Men  forget,  469 

Letter  to  a  Young  Publisher  (A),  25,  45 

L'Homme  incompris,  294 

Life  Tax  (A),  254 

"  Lioness  Comique  "  (The),  328 

London  Logic,  210 

Longfellowish  Lay  (A),  410 


Love-letters  of  a  Danish  Woman,  406 

Love's  Labour  not  Lost,  03 

Love's  Little  Liabilities,  07,  1.14,  171,  194, 
213,  274 

Lullaby  (A),  424  , 

MAGIC  Word  (The),  19 

Man  from  Blankley's  (The),  343 

Man  proposes — so  does  Woman,  142 

Man's  Place  in  Nature,  137 

Mars  through  the  Glasses,  38 

Martyrdom  of  Uncle  Jack,  107 

Marvellous  Recovery,  &c.  (A),  297 

Matinitis,  222 

McCoriolanus  personally  conducted,  454 

Meeting  of  the  Bench  (A),  200 

Military  Dialogues,  55,  105,  124,  148 

"  Missing  Word  "  (The),  52,  180 

Missionary  of  Manners  (The) ,  403 

Modern  Colossus  (The),  173 

Moggson's  Christmas  Eve,  4 

Morbid  Reflection  (A),  307 

More  Ducal  Reflections,  460 

More  Munificence  for  Millionaires,  394 

More  than  Enough,  137 

More  than  usually  Gay  Soldier  at  Isling- 
ton (The),  419 

Mr.  Miffin's  Adventure,  129 

Mr.  Picklethorn's  Contribution,  408,  427 

Musical  Glasses,  376 

My  Holiday,  49 

NATIONAL  Football  Co.  (The),  347 

National  Memorial  (The),  361 

Nature's  Ally,  254 

New  Century  Greetings,  10 

New  "Froude  "  (The),  380 

New  Gallery  (The),  400 

New  Genius  of  Stratford-on-Avon  (The), 
178 

New  "Polly"  Dialogue  (A),  185 

New  Renaissance  (The),  300,  318 

New  Road  (The),  311 

News  from  the  Front,  402 

New  Star  and  what  will  come  of  It  (The), 
178 

Next  Splash  Wedding  (The),  183 

Nihil  Nimis,  292 

Noble  Game  (The),  72 

Notes  of  a  Dog  o'  War,  419 

Not  so  bad  as  Volodyovski,  446 

Not  too  Plain  Morality,  210 

"  Now  is  the  Season "  329 

OCCASIONAL  Notes  at  the  Opera,  392,  399, 
425,  434,  451,  468 

Ode  (An),  412 

Ode  to  the  "  Flue,"  352 

O  Fortunati  Nimium,  388 

Oh6 !  mon  Maire !  221 

Ohmar  and  Oh  My  !  180 

Old  Friend  in  Need  (An),  374 

Old  Style,  120 

Old  Style  and  the  New  (The),  366 

Omnia  vincit  Amor,  35 

"  On  Appro.,"  467 

On  Bank  Holidays,  272 

On  Dit  at  the  Bar  Steeple-chases,  266 

One  of  the  New  School,  321 

One-sided  Conversations,  285 

On  Stage  "Food  and  Feeding,"  452 

Operatic  Prospects,  256 

Optimist's  Spring  Song  (An),  254 

Our  Booking-Ofllce,  2,  32,  44.  71,  122, 138, 
158,  193,  202,  220,  237,  250,  270,  290,  318, 
327,  340,  372,  379,  398,  417,  430,  404,  408 

Our  Boys,  400 

Our  Children's  Letter,  128 

Our  Own  Private  View,  R.  A.,  354 

Out  of  Danger,  365 

"  Out  of  Nothing,  Something  comes,"  239 

Overlooked,  not  foi'gotten,  426 

PABULUM,  469 

Painful  Poems,  191,  216,  262,  279,  317 


Painful  Position  (A),  231 

Pale  Poem  (The),  458 

Party  Pleasantries,  447 

"Patrie!"  285 

People  who  Pall  on  Me,  365,  382,  415,  453 

Perfect  Letter-writer  (The),  167, 178,  212 

Persuasive  (8)Pekin,  271 

Pessimist's  Spring  Song  (A),  240 

Petered  out,  472 

Philanthropy  in  the  West  End,  220 

Pictures  Mounted,  373 

Pie  that  Cook  made  (The),  121 

"Ping  Pong,"  312 

Plea  for  the  Guilty  (A),  338 

Poems  for  the  Million,  27 

Popular  Fallacy  (A),  370 

"Posters,"  454 

Post-Office  Competition,  197 

Potage  a  la  Strand  Theatre,  202 

Preliminaries,  131 

Preparing  for  the  Press,  195 

Prophetic,  292 

Provocation,  208 

Public  Passion,  463 

QUEE.V  (The),  92 

Questions  in  the  House,  176 

Questions  of  the  Hour,  149 

RAIN  of  Terror  (The),  307 

Ramsgate  and  Tramgate,  320 

Rather  "  Out  of  it,"  257 

Record  Banquet  (A),  456 

Regulations  for  a  Public  Gallery,  321 

Regulations  for  Motor  Cars,  393 

Remarkable  Remedy  (A),  202 

Returned  Gainsborough  (The),  £90 

Reverie  of  a  "Special,"  448 

Reviewers'  Retreat  (The),  409 

Royal  Group  at  the  Royal  Academy  'A), 

122 

Rus  in  Suburbe,  292 
"  SAUCE  for  the  Goose,"  384 
Seasonable  Letter  (A),  201 
Season  (The),  416 
Scientist  on  his  Metal,  208 
Schoolmaster  Abroad  (The),  43 
Seaside  Roundel  (A),  455 
"  Self-Evident,"  467 
Service  and  Society  News,  57 
Severe  Case  of  a  Fever  (A),  184 
Shafto  Secundus,  16 
Shakspeare  on  Drink  Adulteration,  153 
Shakspearean  Souvenir  (A),  258 
"  Ships  that  pass  in  the  Night,"  383 
Show-Seeing  made  easy,  164 
Silence  that  Paid  (The),  196 
Slavery  for  Ever,  420 
Small  by  Degrees,  &c.,  302 
Social  Astronomy,  424 
Soldiers  of  Misfortune,  113 
Soldiers'  Progress  (The),  391 
Song  Celestiai  (A),  61 
Song  of  Science  (A),  476 
Song  of  the  Sub-manned,  344 
Song  of  the  Twentieth  Century  (A),  6 
Splendid  Bankrupt  (The),  254 
Spoilt  Parents,  381 
Sporting  Deputy  (A),  267 
Sportive  Songs,  4,  124 
Sportsman's  Nightmare  (A),  265 
"  Spring,  Spring !  beautiful  Spring !  "  455 
Statistics  gone  Crazy,  292 
Steamboat  Ahoy !  249 
Steeple-chase  Rider's  Diary  (A\  317 
Story  of  the  Long  (A),  7 
"Stranded,"  472 
Sti'ange  Case  of  Gen.  Colvile,  20 
Suggestions  to  shorten  Cricket  Matches, 

325 

Suggestion  with  several  Shocks  (A),  182 
Summer  Resorts,  361 
Suprema  Lex  Batterseee  Voluntas,  173 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CIIARIVARL 


[JUNE  26,  1901. 


TALE  of  a  Cat  (A),  446 

Tartarin  a  Brighton,  31,  37,  112,  Ifi8 

Taxes  to  pay  and  Axes  to  grind,  337 

Teeth !  435 

Thanks  to  the  L.  H.  C..  434 

That  dreadful  Game,  308 

There 's  Room  for  All,  384 

Theophrastus  up  to  Date,  216 

"  This  House  to  Let,"  465 

Thousandth  Pity  (A),  61 

Tlu-ough  the  Wires,  184 

To  a  Jilt,  208 

To  All  the  other  Girls,  276 

To  a  Pigeon  of  "  La  Piazza,"  330 

To  Bridge,  445 

To  Chloe,  197 

To  Christobel,  401 

To  Gad's  Hill  and  Back,  45-2 

Toiler's  Holiday  (The).  270 

"To  introduce  it  into  China,"  463 

To  my  Dog,  38 

To  my  Small  Niece,  195 

To  Phyllis,  358 

To  Shakspeare  ami  his  Works,  47.3 

To  the  King's  Parliament,  167 

To  the  New  Century,  7 

To  the  Sun,  21 

To  Triptolemus,  444 

Toujours  la  Politesse,  266 

Tramgirt  Island  (The),  270 

Traveller's  Protection  League  (The),  315 

Tribute  to  an  Old  Friend  (A),  249 

Trustworthy,  45 

Turkey  in  Europe,  32 

Twelfth  Night,  19 

Twelfth-Night  Characters,  138 

"Twencent,"  185 

Twentieth  Century  (The),  117 

Typewriter  as  a  Humourist  (The),  38 

UNEXPECTED  Interviews,  310,  336,  390 

Uniformity,  302 

Unprotected  Female  (The),  372 

Useful  and  Ornamental,  882 

Use.s  of  Advertisement  (The),  280 

"U.  S.- US,"  445 

VAIS  Quest  (A),  448 

Value  of  Gymnastics  (The),  401 

Varsity  Verses,  20,  53,  61,  111,  123,  145 

165,  177,  204,  217,  23S,  266 
Venezia  la  Bella.  236 
Visitors  in  our  Village,  397,  433 
WAKINO  them  up  at  the  St.  James's,  156 
Walk  up  !     Climb  up  !  434 
tVandering  in  "  The  Wilderness,"  376 
iVundering  in  Wiertzland  (A),  470 
tVatchman,  what  of  the  Knight .'  2ti 
What  it  must  never  come  to,  254 
'  Wliat  might  have  been,"  402 
iVhat  the  Koo  really  wants,  864 
Whitechapcl  to  Mayfair,  172 
iVho  is  It .'  201 
Wife's  Plea  (A),  210 
With  Rod  and  Air-Gun,  145 
fEAn  Later  (A),  150 
fule-tide  Past  and  Present,  6 

LARGE  ENGRAVINGS. 

"ARMS  and  the  Man,"  205 
Black  Man's  Burden  (The),  331 
Cheaper  in  the  End,  349 
Childlike  and  Bland,  47 
Claiming  Acquaintance,  403 
Difficult  Steering,  151 
God  Save  the  King !  115 
Government  Clock  (The),  385 
House  and  the  Census  (The),  259 
Jack  Bull  and  the  Beanstalk,  187 
"Little  Bit  of  Sugar  for  the  Bird" 

(A),  295 

"Old  Firm"  (The),  421 
"Pay!  Pay!  Pay  !"  313 
Piping  Times  of  Peace,  473 
Pleasure  to  Come  (A),  65 
Quite  at  Home,  223 
Raw  Material  (The),  367 
"  Requiescat !  "  88 
Something  to  go  on  with,  277 
Soul  above  Business  (A),  457 
Their  Majesties,  133 
Time's  Appeal,  10,  11 
Urgent,  29 

Vain  Appeal  (A),  241 
War  Office  History  repeats  Itsei:,  433 
Which  will  He  drop  on  ?  169 

SMALL  ENGRAVINGS. 
LBSENT-MINDED  Man's  Umbrella,  149 
Amateur  Steeple-chase  Meeting,  255 
Lmericans  Shopping  in  Paris,  375 
Lncient  Roman  Census,  176 
Lncient  Roman  Coaching  Club,  425 
ppreciating  a  Writer's  Articles,  373 
-rt  Addressing  London,  269 
Lrtful  Gamekeeper  and  Sportsmen,  39 
.rtist  and  his  Housemaid,  361 
.rt  Patron  and  Artist,  803 
Arry's  Explanation  of  Op.  2, 325 
At  the  "  City  and  Suburban,"  275 
Baby  in  Time  for  the  Census,  217 


Baby  Spilling  her  Tea,  830 
Barber's  Cut  on  Face  (A),  402 
Biue  Ribbon  Cook  (A),  293 
Boating  Party  Hearing  Echoes,  409 
Bobby  and  the  Lambs,  299 
Boy  and  the  Bird's  Eggs,  433 
Boy's  Back  as  a  Stand,  384 
Broderick  Valentine  (The),  140 
Butler's  Contempt  for  a  Mother's  Meet 

ing,  294 

Cabby's  Horse  after  the  Derby,  420 
Caddie's  Whisper  to  Nervous  Golfer.  64 
Carpenter's  Apprentice  and  Saw,  365 
Children  and  Intoxicants,  471 
Children's  Country  Holiday  (The),  44!) 
Chinese  Diplomatic  "  Ping  Pong,"  3C5 
Chippendale  Chair  (A),  105 
Cissy  and  Tommy  out  Hunting,  27 
Codfish  nnd  Fisherwomen,  23 
Colour  of  Cambridge  Sausages,  281 
Commander  of  the  Horse  Marines,  171 
Coster  not  going  to  Epsom,  427 
Coster's  Cart  on  Whit-Monday,  399 
Country  Couple's  Silent  Walk  (A),  393 
Country  Dame  and  the  Leeches,  348 
Jrying  Child  in  a  Tableau,  53 
-'yclist  in  an  April  Shower,  284 
Czar  Saluting  Queen  Victoria,  97 
De  Smythe  in  Ladies'  Company,  443 
Diner  and  Waiter's  Complaints,  339 
Dining  Swell  and  Orchestra,  191 
Disappointed  Burglars,  7 
Doctors  and  Belleville  Tubes,  163 
Dogs  in  an  Omnibus,  45 
Donald    and    Fair    Cyclist's    Handker- 
chief, 209 

Donkey  got  the  Hiccups,  397 
Duke  and  Duchess  on  Magic  Carpet,  199 
Dust-proof  Costumes  for  Motorists,  464 
Early  Egyptian  "Bradshaw"  (The),  410 
Employer  und  Lazy  Garden  Lad,  258 
Empress  of  India  (The),  84,  85 
End  of  the  Hunting  Season.  249 
Equestrian  Pupil  Falling  off  Horse,  132 
Evening  Party  at  Mrs.  Microbe's,  54 
Fair  American  and  Tedious  Pianist,  8 
Falstaff,  Prince  Henry,  and  Poins,  377 
Farmer  and  Giles  in  Hayfteld,  456 
Fanner  and  the  "  Wire  "  Boaid,  21 
Father  Thames  and  the  Samlets,  323 
Feather  Girls  and  Lady's  Costume,  253 
First  Parliament  of  Edward  the  Seventh, 
143 

ishing  down  a  Drain-pipe,  381 
Fishing  for  Conger  Eels.  451 
Fishing  Man  over  the  Weir,  472 
Fog  Signals  for  Asthmaticals,  28 
Fossil  Shells  and  Auntie's  Age,  137 
Fox  on  Electric  Wires,  121 
Freddie  allowing  Mabel  to  Drive,  12!> 
French  Soldier  and  Miss  Morocco,  429 
Gardener  and  Old  Lady's  Whisky,  33 


Gentleman  taking  the  Chairs  (A),  18 
German  Emperor  and  our  King,  99 
Gipsy  Woman  and  Lucky  Gent,  417 
Girl  Wanted  to  Wait  at  Table,  2*5 
Goat  in  Amateur's  Gaiden,  383 
"Good-bye,  Grandmamma  !  "  98 
Hampstead  Heath  Yeoman  (A),  276 
Harry's  Son  on  Twelfth  Night,  36 
Harry's  Son's  Academy  Pictures,  355 
Hearing  and  Seeing  a  Joke,  391 
Hiding  from  Random  Shots,  l-2~> 
Hoping  Fishes  cannot  Hear,  485 
Housemaid  and  Milkman,  177 
How  to  deal  with  a  Bad  Shot,  5 
How  to  get  Papa's  Consent,  455 
Hunting   Farmer    falls   Right    Side    of 

Fence,  15 

Hunting  Lady  and  New  Rails,  107 
Hunting  Man's  "American  Seat,"  222 
Hunting  Man's  Dancing  Mare,  212 
Hunting  Man's  Runaway  Home,  179 
Hunting  on  Snow-Skates,  43 
Hunting  Swell  and  Boy  on  Pony,  161 
Husband's  New  Year's  Resolutions  (A), 

81 
Illustrated    Quotations,    184,    213,    267, 

329,  357 

Impecunious  Swell  and  Tailor,  257 
Iiish  Fish-dealer  and  the  Hunt,  57 
Irish  Huntsman  and  Man  in  Ditch,  145 
Irishman  and  his  Dog,  119 
.fane's  Reason  why  Things  Break,  229 
Japan  and  the  Russian  Bear,  235 
John  Bull  and  Royal  Hollanders,  109 
Jonathan  buying  John  Bull's  Store,  341 
Jones  envies  Ladies  saluting,  263 
Kaiser  a  British  Field-Marshal,  127 
Knew  Her  when  He  was  a  Boy,  401 
Larty  and  Invalid  at  Seaside,  240 
Lady  Cyclist  to  follow  Her  Nose,  407 
Lady  Driver  upsets  Trap.  72 
Lady  Hockey  Players  and  Cow,  311 
Lady  with  Profile  at  Milliner's,  31 
Last  Boer  Wicket  (The),  359 
Lazy  Girl  to  be  sent  to  Service,  150 
Lessons  in  Coaching,  371 
Little  Boreham  and  young  Widow,  366 
Little  Future  Lord  Mayor  (A),  3 
Little  Game  of  "  Ping-pong  "  (A),  465 
Little  Girl  and  the  Milkman's  Cry,  219 
Little  Girl  buying  a  Kipper,  113 
Little  Girl  buying  Antibilious  Pills,  35 
Little  Girl  forgets  about  Lies,  453 
Little  Girl,  Goat,  and  Hat-rack,  61 
Little  Griggs  and  Caricaturist,  167 
Lord  John  to  form  a  Ministry,  77 
Macmillion  Distributing  We-.lth   (The), 

395 

Madame  Fashion  and  "  Bridge,"  287 
Major  and  Old  Lady's  Ear- Trumpet,  317 
Marp  and  Motor  Car  bolting,  438 
Matinpe  Hat  of  a  Swazi  Warrior,  156 


Meeting  on  Varnishing  Day  (A),  335 
Alilitary  Instructor  and  Pupils,  233 
Miss  Ethel  and  Plain-faced  Poet,  463 
Miss  Withers'  Photograph,  111 
Mistress  and  Hardworked  Servant,  338 
Motorists  upset  into  a  Pond,  265 
Mr.  Punch  as  Umpire  at  Cricket,  446 
Mra.  Britannia's  Boys'  New  Suits,  215 
Mrs.  Chatterleigh  on  Friend's  Engage- 
ment, 415 

Navvy  and  the  District  Visitor,  283 
Neptune,    Britannia,     and     Submarine 

Boat,  59 

Nervous  Railway  Passenger  (A).  321 
Nervous  Tenor  and  Accompanist,  358 
Noble  Lady  Travels  by  Omnibus,  X7» 
Nocturne  in  Tree-dwelling  Country,  11,4 
Nurse  and  Infant  Betting  Firm,  419 
Old  Gent  and  a  Dropped  Parcel,  461 
Old  Lady  Drinking  Glass  of  Milk,  69 
Old  Rustic's  New  Year  Greeting,  6 
Old  Scholar  and  School  Porter,  .112 
Opening  of  Parliament— Outside  Show, 

141 

"  Page  Drawing"  (A),  285 
Parish  Council  Meeting  (A),  186 
Paterfamilias' s  Photography,  363 
Peel's  Letter  of  Introduction,  75 
Pheasants'  Eyes  and  Tail  (A),  204 
Plumber  taking  Possession  of  House.  55 
Pompous  Publisher  and  Authoress,  201 
P.  O.  Ogre  and  Messenger,  195 
Princess  of  Wales  and  Soldiers'  Families, 

191 
Private  View  from  Academy  Skylight, 

337 

Punch  and  His  Snow  Effigy,  46 
Punch  Motoring  in  Egypt,  139 
Punch's  New  Century  Greeting,  17 
Punch's  Welcome  to  Lord  Roberts,  13 
Queen  again  Opens  Parliament,  95 
Queen  Knighting  the  New  Year,  103 
Queen  Launching  Battleships,  101 
Queen  Opens  the  Great  Exhibition,  80 
Queen  Reviewing  Ashantee  Troops,  93 
Queen's  Prayer  for  her  Soldiers,  82 
Queen's  Visits  to  Ireland,  78,  79 
Queen  Victoria  at  London  Hospital,  83 
Queen  Victoria's  Jubilee,  86 
Uecovered  Gainsborough  (The),  319 
Rejected  Lover's  Sympathy  (A),  309 
Repairing  a  Motor-Car,  108 
Riding  a  Bolting  Camel,  343 
Riding-Master  Instructing  Pupil,  155 
Roll  of  Great  Monarchs  (The),  73 
Runaway  Hunter  and  Loose  Reins,  197 
Russia  Haunted  by  Anarchy,  251 
Russian  Bear  and  Manchuria,  210 
Salisbury's  Janiform  Head,  49 
Schoolboy  and  Hall- Marked  Medals,  445 
Sister's  Sympathy  (A),  347 
Six-Handed  Sailor  (A),  291 
Smoking  Youth's  New  Year's  Promise,  25 
Spain,  America,  and  Filipino,  413 
Sparrows  and  Butterflies,  345 
Squire's  Daughter  and  Small  Fanner,  447 
Stage-Manager  Kitchener's  Speech,  117 
Stalwart  Hockey  Girl  and  Small  Man,  221 
Stonehenge  as  a  Conning  Tower,  67 
Stout  Lady  and  the  Posts,  307 
Stout  Party  putting  on  Overcoat,  131 
Stranger  and  a  Lonely  Shepherd,  114 
Stranger  Couple  on  Park  Seat.  437 
Street  Boys  at  Hairdresser's  Window,  208 
Sub-river  Boat-race  (A).  247 
Tablets   of   Azit  -  tigleth  -  mlphansi    the 

Scribe,  281,  411,  441 
Tasting  Beer  Professionally,  37 
Throwing  the  Old  Shoe,  81 
"Tipping "  the  Huntsman,  237 
Tipsy  Rider  and  Glass  Frames,  297 
Toasting  Sir  John  Tenniel,  481 
Tube  Vibration  and  Broken  Vase,  173 
Two  Jubilees— Queen  and  Pope,  96 
"Twopenny  Tube  "  Tickets,  423 
Uncle  Sam  and  Miss  Cuba,  185 
University  Boat-race  (The),  289 
Unmanageable  Motor-Car  (An),  63 
Valentine's  Day,  123 
Vibration  of  the  Tube,  122 
Villager  directing  Stranger  to  Chippen- 

ham,  273" 

Visitor  to  Church  and  Sexton,  157 
Volunteer  Cavalry  Man  (A),  379 
Welsh  Dragon  and  Royal  Arms,  181 
What  to  Play  in  a  Ladies'  Band,  BOl 
Whit^Monday  in  Future  Africa,  393 
Vv'hy  Bobby  wouldn't  Dance,  5W7 
Why  his  Picture  was  Rejected,  689 
Why  She  didn't  Kiss  Grandpapa,  41 
Wilfrid  Lawson  and  Beer-Drinker,  147 
Winning  and  Losing  "  Backers,"  46i' 
Woman  and  Her  Pigs  (A),  827 
Workhouse  School  of  Art,  158 
Yankee  and  American  Eagle,  71 
Yokels  and  the  Notice- Board,  193 
Young  Lady  at  Polo  Match,  469 
Young  Lady  Driver  and  Visitor,  165 
Youth  Meeting  Young  Lady,  183 
Zebras  at  the  £00,  271 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901. 


CvL-fBSi    Hi  Ir    f  %r/-<r3MFJw  a 


r  Make  your  game  !  " 


CHRISTMAS. 
I.— OLD  STYLE. 

DEAR  OLD  BOY,— As  you're 
still  a  confirmed  bachelor  like 
me,  please  come  and  spend  the 
so-called  festive  season  here, 
if  you  've  nothing  better  to  do. 
Our  respective  nephews  will  be 
with  us,  and  a  few  other  young 
folk  who  will  want  to  be  amused 
inithe  good  old  fashion. 

You  must  put  up  with  the  re- 
gulation dinner  on  Christmas 
Day— Roast  Beef  of  Old  Eng- 
land, turkey,  plum  pudding,  and 
the  rest.  One  must  keep  up  these 
traditions  to  please  the  rising 
generation:  and,  indeed,  I  be- 
lieve that  England's  proud  posi- 
tion among  the  nations  has  been 
attained  on  this  diet ;  but  you 
shall  have  a  bottle  of  '48  port 
•when  the  youngsters  have  got 
down  to  go  and  play,  and  one  of 
the  few  real  Havana  brands  that 
one  can  still  be  certain  about. 

We  shall  have  to  romp  about  a 
bit  to  please  the  children ;  snap- 
dragon, mistletoe,  charades  and 
all  that :  still,  they  will  serve  to 
correct  the  liver ;  and,  after  all, 
it  might  be  worse,  as  Reggie  has 
a  very  pretty  sister  just  turned 
eighteen,  who  will  appeal  to 
your  matured  tastes. 

I  'm  afraid  it  must  be  a  panto- 
mime on  Boxing  Night,  for  the 
sake  of  the  young  people  (times 
change,  but  not  the  Aladdin  that 
we  loved  as  boys !) ;  however,  en 
revanche,  I  have  promised  my- 
self a  free  evening  on  the  Thurs- 
day, and  am  asking  two  young 
friends  to  an  early  supper  at  a 
Little  Italian    restaurant    that 
is  new  since  our  time.  They  are 
dancers    at    the    Giddity,   but 
just  now  enjoying  a  temporary 
relache.     I   daresay  they   will 
want  to  bring  some  of    their 
"  boys  "  with  them,  but  we  can 
count    on  our  superior  know- 
ledge of  the  world  to  carry  off 
the  honours.     I  have  arranged 
this  off-night  very  astutely.    I 
have  given  out  that  I  am  going 
to  a  late  political  meeting.   My 
nephews    will  be  bribed  with 
stalls  for  Moore  and    Burgess 
(you  remember  the  old  Christy 
Minstrels  ?  )     a      performance 
which  is  suited  to  their  juvenile 
instincts :   and  the  female  sec- 
tion of  my  guests  will  be  looked 
after  at  home    by  my    sister. 
By  the  way,  they  include  Mrs. 
Clarges,  the  still   presentable 
widow,   who  used,  I  think,  to 
have  a  certain  fascination  for 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901. 

=========~~ 

OUR    COLONIAL    CALENDAR. 


CHRISTMAS. 
II.— NEW  STYLE. 
DEAR  BOBBIE,— As  your  people 
are  away,  you  've  got  to  come 
and  spend  Christmas  with  me 
at  my  Uncle  Jack's.    It 's  awful 
rot,  I  know,   this  keeping  up 
what  he  calls  the  old-fashioned 
festivities,  but  you  have  to  do 
I  it  to  please  the  old  boys. 

There  '11  be  the  usual  bally  old 
I  spread,  Roast  Beef  of  Old  Eng- 
land, turkey,  plum  -  pudding, 
and  all  that  rot.  Still,  it 's  a 
fairish  blow-out,  and  I  know 
where  they  keep  the  cherry 
brandy,  and  can  lay  my  hands 
on  a  decent  lot  of  cigarettes, 
which  we  can  sample  upstairs. 
You  mustn't  mind  playing 
some  rotten  games  afterwards, 
to  please  the  girls.  Oora  Jack 
is  ripping  at  musical  chairs. 
The  girls,  of  course,  will  be 
nothing ;  but  there  's  rather  a 
smart  widow,  the  Clarges 
woman,  a  fancy  of  mine.  You  '11 
be  wanting  to  cut  me  out  there, 
I  you  old  rotter ! 

Same  old  dull  pantomime,  1 
|  suppose,  on  Boxing-Day.  Uncle 
I  insists  on  it,  to  please  us  I    I 
know  better.     He  really  goes 
so  as  to  make  us  believe  that 
he 's  been  the  devil  of  a  flier 
in  his    time.      But    the   next 

=. !-«£.•=  =jSV^±l2^"-'  - '" 


January* 

MR.   PUNCH  IN  CANADA. 


the   reward   which   is   due   to    ever, 


JACK. 


••»•••.•• 

NOT    TO    BE    BEATEN. 

Cissy.     "WHY    SHOULD   THEY   CALL   THE     HARE'S   TAIL    THE   SCUTj  " 


(with  a  reputation  as  an  authority  to  keep  up).  "  OH— EK 

WHY— YOU   SEE— OH,    OF   COURSE    BECAUSE    THE   HARE     SCUTTLES,    Y 
KNOW,    WHEN    SHE   IS   HUNTED  " 


to  some  political  rot,  and  I  've 
been  given  stalls  for  Moore 
and  Burgess.  Great  Scott! 
what  does  he  take  me  for? 
Well;  I've  sold  them  back 
cheap  at  the  box-office,  and 
I've  asked  two  little  dancers 
from  the  Gid  to  supper— early, 
as  we  have  to  be  home  by 
twelve,  and  I  've  lost  my  skele- 
ton latch-key. 

The  supper  is  really  given  by 
some  old  geyser,  who  says  they 
may  bring  any  friends  they 
like:  he  stands  the  racket,  of 
course.  He  must  be  a  bally  old 
fool,  if  he  fancies  he 's  got  much 
chance  against  fellows  like  me 
and  you.  It's  at  a  foreign 
restaurant,  very  recherchy. 
Wonder  if  old  Frogs  will  be 
there.  These  French  masters 
are  always  dark  'uns.  I  say, 
couldn't  we  rot  him  in  form 
about  it  next  term  ? 

Well,  so -long,  you  rotter. 
Mind  you  turn  up.  We  '11  have 
to  do  the  civil  thing,  and  all 
that :  but  we  '11  make  up  for  it 
with  a  high  old  time  when 
we  're  on  our  own. 

Ta-ta,        RBGOIK. 


FERDINAND    AND    DIANA. 


Dl  CAME  OVER  TO-DAY  WITH  THAT  CONFOUNDED  FOX-HUNTCNG  COUSIN  OF  HERS,  TO  SEE  MY  LATEST  ORCHIDS.  THE  BEAST 
WANTED  TO  KNOW  IF  I  KEPT  SILKWORMS  FANCY  HE  *S  TRYING  TO  CUT  ME  OUT  WITH  DlANA.  I  *M  HALF  A  MIND  TO  SHOW  HIM  WHAT 
I  CAN  DO  IN  THE  SPORTS  LINE.  BY  JoVE  !  I  W I LL  !  " 


•it,  <<  ,. 


. 

TOLD  Di.    SHE  APPROVED  GREATLY.    SAID  I  THOUGHT  I  'D  MAKE  A 

START    ON    CROQUET.       WlSH    THAT    COUSIN    HADN'T  BEEN    THERE  :    PUT 
MI  OFF  MY  GAME.      Dl    SAYS  MY  STYLE  WILL  BEAR  IMPROVING. 


FEEL  MY  SHOOTING  is  RATHER  SHAKY  so  WENT  our  FOR  A 
LTTTLE  PRACTICE  ON  THE  RABBITS.  FLATTER  MYSELF  THE  LESSONS 
OF  THE  BOER  WAR  IN  REGARD  TO  COVER  HAVE  NOT  BEEN  THROWN 
AWAY  IN  MY  CASE. 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901. 


OUR     COLONIAL     CALENDAR. 


— Iflewfounblanb, 


THE  NEW  HOUSE  OF  COMMONS. 
MEMS.  BY  A  NEW  MEMBER. 

UNDERSTAND  most  desirable  thing  for 
Member  who  means  business  is  to  get  a 
good  seat. 

"  If  you  want  to  catch  the  Speaker's 
eye,"  the  Member  for  Sark  said  to  me, 
when  I  went  to  him  for  a  little  advice, 
"  get  in  the  line  of  it.  Stand  at  '  point,'  so 
to  speak ;  don't  get  away  to  '  square-leg.'  " 

Remembered  this  when  I  had  scrambled 
through  the  oath  and  began  to  think  of 
taking  my  seat.  Regarding  the  Chair  as 
the  batting  end  of  the  wickets,  corner  seat 
below  gangway  to  right  would,  near 
enough,  represent  position  of  "  point." 
Took  it  accordingly.  Most  agreeable,  com- 
manding position.  In  centre  of  assembly ; 


in  front  row  ;  convenient  for  cheering  my 
esteemed  leaders  when  they  rise  from 
Treasury  Bench,  and  of  overawing  Front 
Bench  men  opposite. 

Pleased  reverie  interrupted  by  discovery 
of  gentleman  standing  before  me  earnestly 
regarding  me.  Must  be  a  Member  or 
wouldn't  be  on  floor  of  House ;  fancy  he 
knows  me ;  or,  having  heard  of  my  great 
victory,  wants  to ;  evidently  doesn't  like 
to  speak  without  introduction. 

"  How  d'ye  do?  "  I  said,  nodding  affably. 
"  Quite  a  crowd,  isn't  there  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  said  grimly,  "and  there's 
one  too  many.  You  've  got  my  seat.  Of 
course,  being  new  Member,  you  didn't 
know.  Lowther's  my  name,  plain  James. 

Don't  d ,  I  mean,  confound  me  with 

James  William,  Chairman  of  Committees." 

So  this  was  the  Right  Hon.  Jemmy: 
often  read  about  him ;  begged  his  pardon 
for  taking  his  corner  seat ;  looked  about 
for  another. 

One  vacant  immediately  behind  Treasury 
Bench.  Scores  of  Members  sitting  about ; 
didn't  seem  to  care  for  this  place. 

Took  it ;  found  it  equally  convenient 
for  dominating  House.  Settled  down  com- 
fortably, when  smartly-dressed,  middle- 
aged  young  man,  walking  with  long 
strides  approached.  Stood  at  foot  of 
gangway  and  stared  at  me. 

"  Are  you  any  relation  of  Mr.  Gedge  ?  " 
he  asked.  Protested  I  hadn't  that  honour. 

"  Ah  !  thought  you  might  be,"  he  said, 


adjusting  his  necktie.  "  Gedge  was  a 
well-meaning  man,  but  someone  put  him 
up  to  take  my  seat,  and  when  he  pre- 
sented himself  for  re-election,  at  Walsall, 
he  found  himself  at  the  bottom  of  the  poll. 

"Indeed,"  I  said.  "Very  interesting 
scene  this,  such  colour,  such  movement." 

"  Yes  :  perhaps  you  '11  join  it  by  moving 
out  of  my  seat.  I  'm  Gibson  Bowles." 

"  Cap'  en  Tommy  Bowles!"  I  cried. 
"  Oh,  no  you  don't.  I  've  often  read  ol 
him,  and  seen  his  portrait.  He  hobbles 
about  on  a  wooden  leg,  and  turns  over 
blue  books  with  a  hook  attached  to  ar 
armless  stump." 

"  Garni  "  said  the  new-comer  fiercely. 

Wasn't  very  tall,  but  strongly-built, 
Evidently  in  good  condition,  and  there  was 
that  in  his  eye  made  me  tremble  as  if  ] 
were  an  error  in  computation  of  the  Death 
Duties.  Besides,  no  use  beginning  youi 
career  in  a  new  field  by  making  a  row, 
So  gave  up  the  seat.  Rewarded  by  com- 
ing upon  comfortable  pew,  big  enough  tc 
hold  two,  near  the  Bar.  Find  it  just  as 
well  to  speak  from  as  the  others.  No  on€ 
attempts  to  turn  me  out.  Shall  rise  from 
it  next  week  and  thrill  House  and  country 
with  my  maiden  speech. 

P.S. — Mentioned  this  to  Member  foi 
Sark.  Tells  me  this  particular  seat, 
known  as  the  Cross  Bench,  is  technically 
out  of  the  House.  Speaker  would  never 
call  on  Member  seated  there.  Rum  place 
House  of  Commons. 


SKATING. 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901. 


FERDINAND    AND    DIANA. 


WENT  OUT  FOK  QUIET  TURN  ON  THE  LINKS.     GOT  RID  OF   THE  CADDIE  :   HATE  THEM,  so  SUPERCILIOUS.     GOT  RATHER  IN  A 

HOLE  TRYING   TO   RECOVER  THE   BALL,    BUT    Dl   GAME   ALONG   AND   RESCUED  ME.      SAID   SHE   HOPED   I  WOULDN'T  MAKE  A  FOOL  OF   MYSELF 
IN  PUBLIC.      I   THOUGHT  HER   REMARKS   RATHER   UNCALLED   FOR. 


VIVE    LA    CHASSE! 

Foreign  Visitor  (an  enthusiastic  "sportsman,"  viewing  Fox  attempting  to  break).   "A-H-H-n!     HALTE-LA  !     HALTE  !     You  SHALL 

NOT  XSCAPS  i " 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901 


SENTIMENTS  FOB  THE 
SEASONS. 

MAY  the  glad  receipt  of  the 
Happy  New  Year  end  all  Christ- 
mas bills. 

May  Yule-Tide  fare  never 
lead  to  the  visit  of  the  doctor. 

May  the  shadow  of  the  smoke 
from  the  kitchen  chimney  never 
be  less  nor  the  gas  bill  higher. 

May  those  who  make  the 
rates  have  to  pay  them. 

May  the  black  Monday  of  the 
children  usher  in  the  peaceful 
Tuesday  of  their  parents. 

May  the  automatic  payment 
of  the  Club  subscription  never 
unduly  disturb  the  balance  at 
the  bankers. 

May  the  bursting  of  the 
water-pipes  never  disturb  the 
harmony  of  the  servants'  hall. 

May  the  claims  of  friendship 
never  detain  the  dinner  guest 
of  the  evening,  to  increase  the 
expense  of  the  brougham  from 
the  stores. 


OUR    COLONIAL    CALENDAR. 


VICTOBIA. 


SENTIMENTS  FOB  THE 
SEASONS. 

MAY  those  who  banquet  away 
from  home  never  taste  "the 
nameless  brand." 

May  the  cheque  to  the  charity 
fund  find  its  record  in  the  daily 
papers. 

May  the  rather  lazy  scul- 
lery-maid of  to-day,  on  the  sud- 
den departure  of  her  superior 
in  the  kitchen,  be  the  per- 
fectly efficient  cook  of  to- 
morrow. 

May  the  bliss  of  spring  com- 
pensate for  the  miseries  of  the 
annual  cleaning. 

May  the  dressmaker  never  be 
the  guide  to  the  Court  of  Bank- 
ruptcy. 

May  the  drawing-room  cos- 
tume contribute  three  extra 
frocks  to  the  chagrin  of  the 
modiste. 

May  the  book  on  Epsom  never 
put  the  balance  on  the  wrong 
side  at  the  bankers. 


FERDINAND    AND    DIANA. 


Dl  INSISTED  ON  MY  PLAYING  IN  LOCAL  MATCH.  HAVEN'T  PLAYED  SINCE  I  WAS  AT  SCHOOL,  WHEN  MY  AVERAGE  WAS  2. 
HOWEVER,  DETERMINED  TO  DO  MY  BEST,  BUT  SWIPED  TOO  VIGOROUSLY  AT  MY  FIRST  BALL.  WICKET-KEEPER  BATHER  DAMAGED. 
WISH  THAT  COUSIN  WOULDN'T  CALL  ME  JESSOP.  Dl  RATHER  COOL  TO  ME  FOR  SOME  REASON. 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901, 


MR.     PUNCH'S     OWN     CINEMATOGRAPH. 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901. 


WHAT  SHALL   I   DO   WITH   CHARLES? 
CHRISTMAS  REFLECTIONS  BY  A 

PERTURBED  PATER. 
CHARLES  HENRY  will  be  sixteen  next 


Charles  would  for  the  first  two  years 
receive  Is.  a  day  when  afloat ;  promoted  to 
be  be  midshipmite,  he  gets  £38  a  year. 
When,  after  five  years'  service,  he  passes 


examination  for  sub  -  lieutenant  he  is 
gorged  with  pay  amounting  to  £91  a 
year. 

Don't  think  Charles  will  suit  the  Sea. 

His  mother  mentions  the  Church ; 
sounds  well.  The  Rev.  Charles  might 
throw  air  of  added  respectability  over  the 
family.  Go  into  this  new  quest  with 
vigour.  Rev.  C.  must,  of  course,  hold 
March.  His  mother  justly  remarks  it  is  University  degree.  That  means  going  to 


time  we  decided  what  to  make  of  him.     I, '  Oxford  or  Cambridge.     Expense  may  be 
being  jocose  by  nature,  say   "a  mutton  anything ;  put  it  down  at  the  round  £100 
pie,  or  a  suit  of  dittoes."     She  retorts  it  a  year,   with  extras  accumulating.     Be- 
is    no    joking  matter;    which, 
indeed,  it  isn't. 

Through  the  so-called  Christ- 
mas holidays  have  been  going 
into  the  matter.  What  we  want 
is  to  select  the  profession  which 
shall  offer  fullest  promise  of 
lucrative  and  honourable  em- 
ployment with  the  smallest  pre- 
liminary expense.  Began  with 
the  Army,  not  because  it  begins 
with  an  A ,  but  because  Charles's 
mother's  uncle  knows  a  General 
who  has  pay  amounting  to  £1,700 
a  year,  not  to  mention  table 
allowance.  That  is  encourag- 
ing. 

Spend  a  morning  in  working 
it  out.  Find  Charles  must  be 
entered  at  Royal  Military 
Academy,  Woolwich,  or  at 
Sandhurst.  Cost  of  passing 
through  either  institution, 
minimum  of  £200.  If  he  gets 
appointment  to  ordinary  Infan- 
try, bang  goes  £70  for  his 
uniform.  In  a  Highland  Regi- 
ment (I  suppose  because  they 
wear  shorter  clothes)  uniform 
tots  up  to  £120.  On  the  other 
side,  Charles  would,  to  begin 
with,  draw  5s.  3d.  a  day,  run- 
ning as  high  as  18s.  a  day  when 
he  came  to  be  Colonel  if,  in- 
deed, in  the  meantime  he  hadn't 
been  shot.  Am  told  no  officer  can  live  on  !  lieve  the  average  is  £150 


SENTIMENTS  FOR  THE  SEASONS. 

MAY  Henley  have  no  rain,  Ascot  no 
dust,  and  Lords  no  bar  to  a  properly- 
situated  luncheon. 


Short-sighted  Old  Lady  (to  little  Sinks,  who  is  going  to  the  Golf-Links). 

"HOW  MUCH    WILL  YOU   CHARGE   ME   TO  MEND  THIS  UMBRELLA?" 


May  the  trip  to  the  sea  never  be  the 
forerunner  of  symptoms  pointing  to  illness 
of  a  contagious  character. 

May  the  caretaker's  "at  homes  "  never 
end  in  the  destruction  of  the  drawing-room 
furniture. 

May  the  servants'  visit  to  the 
seaside  villa  never  end  in  whole- 
sale warnings. 

May  the  neglected  gas 
account  never  end  in  the  seve- 
rance of  the  connection  be- 
tween the  supply-pipe  and  the 
meter. 

May  the  forgotten  bread  bill 
never  be  the  herald  of  the 
summons  to  the  County  Court. 

May  the  charwoman  of  the 
present  make  good  the  de- 
ficiencies of  the  _caretaker  of 
the  past. 

May  there  be  no  place  like 
home  without '  the  suggestion  of 
other  reflections. 

May  the  benefit  of  the 
summer's  outing  compensate 
for  the  cost  of  the  under- 
taking. 

May  the  tips  at  a  country 
house  never  detract  from  the 
pleasure  of  a  country  visit. 

May  a  little  shooting  never 
end  in  the  death  of  a  valuable 
dog  and  the  peppering  of  your 
host's  jacket. 

May  the  accidental  slaughter 
of  a  fox  never  provoke  the 
vengeance  of  an  entire  county. 

May    the    poulterer    never 
intervene  between  the  sports- 
must  admit  the   man  and  his  quarry. 


his  pay.  If  Charles  joins  the  Army  I  shall '  prospects!  of  remuneration  are  attractive,  j  May  the  trip  to  the  Continent  never 
have  to  fork  out  something  like  £200  a  year  J  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  for  example,  have  a  bad  send-off  between  Dover  and 
Don't  think  the  Army  will  suit  Charles,  j  draws  £15,000  a  year,  not  including  apart-  Calais. 


Try  the  Navy.  Begin  with  the  Britannia,   ments.       Charles's   mother    thinks    that 


Britannia  on  her  part  begins,  I  find,  with 


demanding  a  term  in  advance  at  the  rate 


worth  any  present  sacrifice.  But  there  is 
nothing  in  the  appearance  of  Charles  to 
suggest  an  Archbishop.  Beginning  as 
Curate,  would  more  probably  draw  his 
£90  a  year,  and  make  up  the  average  by 
having  a  large  family. 

Charles's  mother  suggests  the  Law, 
Medicine,  a  post  under  the  Government, 
or  something  in  the  City.  I  say  we  will 


talk  of  it  another  time.  Fact  is,  have 
of  £75  per  annum.  There  are  outfit  and  j  had  an  idea  which  I  think  well  not  to 
extras  which  total,  for  first  year,  up  to  j  communicate  to  Charles's  mother.  What 
£150.  On  joining  the  fleet,  £70  goes  for  shall  I  do  with  Charles  ? 
uniform.  £60,  at  least,  contributed  per  Why,  I  'II  brick  him  up  in  the  back 
annum  to  mess  expenses.  Per  contra,  kitchen  wall. 


May  the  hotel  bills  at  Paris  never  be 
outrivalled  by  those  to  follow. 


May  the  beauties  of  Switzerland  never 
be  marred  by  the  vagaries  of  the  clerk  of 
the  weather. 

May  town  on  the  return  home  compare 
favourably  with  the  distractions  of  the 
Continent. 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901. 


SHOW     SUNDAY. 


Brown  (trying  to  find  something  to  admire  in  Smudges  painting).  "  BY  JOVE,  OLD  CHAP,  THOSE  FLOWERS  ARE 
Smudge.  "YES;  MY  OLD  FRIEND— THINGUMMY— '  R.  A.'  YOU  KNOW,  PAINTED  THEM  IN  FOR  ME." 


BEAUTIFULLY   PUT   IK 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901. 


AT     THE    UNIVERSITY     BOAT-RACE. 

Extract  from  Miss  X 's  letter  to  a  friend  in  the  country : — "MR.  ROBIN  BLOBBS  OFFERED  TO  TAKE  us  IN  HIS  BOAT.  AUNT  ACCEPTED 
FOK  JENNY,  FANNY,  ETHEL,  LITTLE  MARY,  AND  MYSELF.  OH,  SUCH  A  TIME  !  MR.  BLOBBS  LOST  HIS  HEAD  AND  HIS  SCULL,  AND  WE 
WERE  JUST  RESCUED  FROM  UPSET  BY  THE  POLICE.  '  NEVER  AGAIN  WITH  YOU,  ROBIN  !  '  " 

A    TRANSFORMATION    SCENE. 


'  AH  !     CHARMING  DAY  !    DELIGHTFUL  OCCUPATION  !    SOME  GOOD 

FISH   ON   THE   RISE.      SHALL  TRY  A   CAST  FROM   HERE."  [Does. 


"CONFOUND  ! !!    WISH  TO  GOODNESS  THEY'D  PUT  HAND-RAILS  TO 
THEIR  BEASTLY  BRIDGES  !  " 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901. 


'VAciW  ,JSf«^ff^~i  .-«», — »-* 


EASTER     VOLUNTEER     REVIEW. 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901. 


SPARKLETS. 
By  a  Cramped  Contributor. 
ALL  very  well  for  the  Editor  to  ask  me 
to  do  a  few  "sparkling  paragraphs"  for 
the  Almanack,  but  I  like  a  lot  of  space  to 
sparkle  in,  myself.  I  want  elbow-room. 
You  can't  call  two  inches  elbow-room,  can 
you  ?  But  it 's  all  I  'm  allowed  !  Unless 
they're  very  small  jokes,  they  won't  fit 
in.  Never  mind ;  knocked  off  one  para- 
graph, anyhow.  Let's  try  another. 

*  *  *  * 

Must  try  to  work  in  a  joke  here  some- 
how. But  viluit  joke  ?  That 's  my  difficulty. 
There  was  that  one  I  made  yesterday. 
One  of  the  best  things  I  ever  said  in  my 
life !  But  it  wouldn't  do  Here.  Too  lively. 
It  would  be  across  the  line  in  no  time,  and 
running  all  over  Mr.  Cleaver's  drawing. 
No,  I  'm  sorry,  but,  daren't  risk  it. 

*  *  *  * 

Let  me  see :  that  was  rather  a  smart 
thing  that  struck  me  last  week  about — it 
was  more  than  rather  smart — it  was  posi- 
tively brilliant.  Many  a  man's  reputation 
has  been  founded  on  worse.  Yes,  but  it 
wouldn't  make  my  reputation  here — for 
the  simple  reason  that  nobody  would  ever 
read  it.  I  don't  mean  you,  of  course  ;  but, 
then,  you  're  an  exception  — and  even 
you  would  grumble  afterwards.  You 
Icnoio  you  would !  You  always  do  I  I 
really  can't  throw  it  away  on  you.  Little 
do  you  know  what  you  've  missed,  though, — 
it  would  have  made  you  laugh  like  any- 
thing. That  is,  if  you  didn't  skip  it. 

*  *  *  * 

But  after  all,  as  you  probably  know. 


OUR    COLONIAL    CALENDAR. 


Hpril.    IRew  Zealanb. 


MR.  PUNCH  "DROPS  IN"  ON  ORIGINAL  MAORI  CHIEFTAIN,  WHO  is  ALWAYS  "AT  HOME" 
IN  HIS  BBST  HOT  SPRING,  AT  WHAKAREWAREWA,  HAVING  PASSED  THE  MORNING  AT 
TAPUACHARAVEN  AND  MAUNGAKAKARAMEA  MOUNTAINS. 


you  're  not  supposed  to  read  any  of  this. 
The  idea  is  to  arrange  the  print  so  as  to 
form  a  sort  of  decorative  border  or  back- 
ground for  the  illustrations,  and  rest  the 
public's  eye.  If  I  didn't  happen  to  be  a 
highly  conscientious  person,  I  shouldn't 
attempt  to  provide  any  genuine  sparklers 
here:  I  should  just  write  out  the  multipli- 


cation table,  the  fifth  proposition  of  the 
First  Book  of  Euclid,  or  the  testimonials 
to  Somebody's  Pale  Pills  for  Pink  Pigs,  or 
else  scribble  off  the  first  rubbish  that 
came  into  my  head — and  nobody  would 
ever  notice.  But  I  'in  not  that  kind  of 
person.  I  think  a  paragraph  should  have 
a  point.  A  point,  as  mathematicians  know, 


APRIL     FOOLS. 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901. 


A  GOOD  MATCH. 

Extract  from  Letter ;  from  Kitty  to  Ethel. — "!T  WAS  A  LOVELY   MATCH — BUT  THE  SUN  WAS  TERRIFIC— so  LANCE  TOOK  ME  TO  A 

DELIGHTFULLY  SHADY  SPOT.     HE  TOLD  ME  THEY  ONLY  WANTED  SEVEN   RUNS  TO  WIN.     THE  HIT  AFTER  THE  SIXTH  RUN  WAS  ONE  FOR 

THREE.    LANCE  WENT  QUITE  MAD,  AND  SEIZED  HOLD  OF  ME  TO  KISS  ME.    I  CLOSED  MY  EYES,  BUT  THE  KISS  NEVER  CAME  !    WHEN 

I  LOOKED,    HE  WAS  GAZING  WITH   STARTLED   EYES,    OPPOSITE.      BOB  HAD   FOLLOWED    US  WITH   HIS  CAMERA — THE  LITTLE  WRETCH!" 


has   no    parts    and    no   magnitude.      My 
paragraphs  are  ail  point. 

*  *  *  * 

Hooray  !  only  one  paragraph  more  ! 
"What  shall  it  be  ?  I  should  like  to  tell  an 
anecdote.  I  know  several  very  amusing 
ones — but  I  've  only  three-quarters  of  an 
inch  left — and  not  a  single  anecdote  under 


seven  and  a-half  !  No  ;  you  must  do  with- 
out an  anecdote.  There  's  that  humorous 
stanza  I  composed  last  July  on  holly  and 
plumpudding.  But  that 's  rather  heavy — 
might  drop  down  on  Mr.  Harrison's  draw- 
ing and  spoil  it.  Look  here,  how  would 
you  like  a  conundrum  ?  Some  people  do. 
And  they  're  Christmassy,  too.  Yes ;  we  '11 


make  it  a  conundrum  ..."  Why  is  the 
bow  on  the  end  of  the  Emperor  of  China's 
pigtail  like  a  Cook's  hotel  coupon  which 
doesn't  include  meat  at  breakfast  ?  "  .  .  . 
"Because" — now,  isn't  this  annoying? 
Answer  crowded  out  for  want  of  space ! 
Perhaps  there  '11  be  room  for  it  in  next 
year's  Almanack. 


APRIL  FOOLS 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1001. 


MEMS  FOR,  MOTHERS. 

IF  your  little  one  frets 
There  is  much  to  be  done : 

Take  it  out  of  its  cot 
And  expose  in  the  sun. 

"With  no  clothes  on  its  body 
No  cap  on  its  head,  oh, 

It 's  fun  to  take  baby 
To  play  in  a  meadow. 


You  should  leave  it  alone ; 

And  the  humour  of  course  is 
Far  best  when  the  field  's 

Full  of  cattle  and  horses. 

Then  collect  the  remains, 
Fit  them  all  in  their  places, 

And  tie  up  the  parcel 
With  ribbons  and  braces. 


OUR  COLONIAL  CALENDAR. 


BURMA  H. 


Get  the  pram,  put  it  in, 

And,  absurd  though  it  may  be, 
You  Ml  find  with  surprise 

That  you  've  got  a  new  baby. 

The  next  question  is, 
Having  got  the  new  kid, 

How  to  do  something  fresh, 
And  not  do  as  you  did : 


You  must  buy  a  toy  cat 

That  can  purr  and  can  mew,  too  ; 
It  will  keep  the  child  happy, 

And  may  amuse  you,  too. 

Buy  a  poodle  on  wheels 
With  a  chest  that  you  press. 

What  to  do  after  this, 
Well — I  leave  you  to  guess. 


"  DOWN    IN    THE    DEEP." 

FUN  AT  HENLEY  REGATTA.     BERTIE  ATTEMPTS  TO  EXTRICATE  HIS  PTTNT  FROM  THE  CROWD. 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901. 


NO, 

I     CAN      R.EACU 


DON'TS  FOB  SHOOTERS. 

DON'T  miss  ;  but  if  you  do  miss,  don't 
invent  excuses. 

Don't  say  the  light  was  bad  :  it  was  as 
bad  for  everybody  else. 

Don't  say  you  are  sure  it 's  a  dead  bird, 
and  it  must  have  dropped  in  the  hedge 
two  fields  away. 

Don't  stop  the  whole  shoot  by  insisting 
on  looking  for  it.  You  know  it  isn't  there. 

Don't  fire  at  a  pigeon  far  overhead  :  you 
won't  hurt  it,  and  the  partridges  will 
choose  that  moment  for  flying  over  you. 


FERDINAND    AND    DIANA. 


Don't  say  you  killed  four  brace  when 
everybody,  yourself  included,  knows  that 
you  killed  only  two. 

Don't  bring  with  you  a  wild,  unbroken 
dog,  if  you  do, 

Don't  be  surprised  if  (1)  he  pulls  you 
over  just  as  the  best  covey  of  the  day  is 
coming  to  you,  or  (2)  escapes  from  you 
after  a  hare  and  puts  up  all  the  birds  on 
the  next  drive. 

Don't  flog  your  wild,  unbroken  dog 
perpetually.  The  effect  is  inconsiderable, 
and  his  yells  irritate  everybody. 

Don't  kick  him  in  the  ribs. 

Don't  abstain  from  sending  him  home. 

Don't  complain  constantly  of  your  bad 


Dl   GOT  ME  TO   PLAY   HOCKEY. 
AGAIN  ! 


NEVER 


luck,  the  quality  of  your  cartridges,  the 
tightness  of  your  boots,  or  the  slowness 
of  your  loader. 

Don't,  when  smoking,  carry  pipe  in  right 
side  of  mouth,  or,  if  you  do, 

Don't  be  annoyed  when  you  find  you 
have  missed  your  bird,  filled  your  eyes 
with  hot  ashes,  and  crammed  your  pipe 
half-way  down  your  throat. 

Don't  whistle  to  warn  your  neighbouring 
guns  when  there  are  no  birds  in  sight. 
They  '11  spring  to  attention,  of  course,  but 
they  'Won't  be  half  as  much  amused  as 
you,  and  may  make  nasty  remarks  when 
you  miss  your  next  bird. 


Don't  favour  your  host  or  his  keeper 
with  your  private  opinion  as  to  how  their 
partridges  should  be  driven  or  their 
coverts  beaten. 

Don't  yell  out  ' '  Ten  to  one  on  the  bird ! ' ' 
just  as  your  neighbour  is  firing  at  a  tall 
pheasant.  If  he  kills,  you  '11  look  a  fool ; 
if  he  doesn't,  he  '11  call  you  one — probably 
with  an  adjective  thrown  in. 

Don't,  when  your  host  asks  you  to  walk 
with  the  beaters,  say  "Just  my  luck." 

IN  FACT— 

Don't  be  an   idiot,   or,   if  that  be  im- 
possible, 
Don't  behave  like  one. 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901, 


OUR    COLONIAL    CALENDAR. 

if 


SENTIMENTS  FOR  THE  SEASONS. 


3une. 

MR.   PUNCH  IN  SOUTH  AFRICA. 


MAY  the  Rhine  improve  on  acquaint- 
ance and  Rome  and  Venice  bear  re- 
visiting. 

May  the  annual  cure  this  time  not  be 
followed  by  the  annual  reaction. 

May  the  rate-collector  never 
exchange  his  courteous  visits  for 
a  recognition  of  a  more  serious 
character. 

May  the  coal-merchant  never 
be  a  hateful  name  to  the  coal 
consumer. 


May  the  pleasure  given  to  the  club 
secretary  by  the  closure  of  the  club 
compensate  for  the  inconvenience 
caused  to  the  club  members. 

May  the  autumn  balance  prove 
equal  to  the  expensesof  the  winter. 
May  the  stirring  of  the  plum 
pudding  never  lead  to  a  misunder- 
standing in  the  family  circle. 

May  the  sending  of  Christ- 
mas cards  never  end  in  mis- 
apprehension. 


FERDINAND    AND    DIANA. 


-'/' 


^.. 


OUT  AFTER  PARTRIDGES.      UNLUCKILY,    TRIPPED  UP  JUST  AS  Dl's   COUSIN  GOT  IN   THE  WAY.      THOUGHT  Dl   RATHER  UNNECESSARILY 

SYMPATHETIC,   AS  HE  WAS   BY  NO   MEANS   DANGEROUSLY  HIT. 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901. 


OUR    COLONIAL    CALENDAR. 


SENTIMENTS  FOB  THE  SEASONS. 


MAY  a  wealthy  uncle  never  take 
offence  on  the  receipt  of  a  card  recall- 
ing the  happy  (?)  memories  of  Auld 
Lang  Syne. 

May  the  good  wishes  of  the 
annual  paste-board  always  re- 
ceive the  most  favourable  inter- 
pretation. 

May  Christmas-boxes  never 
increase  in  number,  and  the 
disestablished  dustman  never 
regain  his  lost  largesse. 


May  the  children's  return  be  plea- 
santer  than  the  total  of  their  school 
bills. 

May  the  annual  gathering  of  rela- 
tives at  Yule-tide  never  end  in 
a  first-class  family  row. 

May  the  Arisit  to  the  pantomime 
not  be  productive  of  a  cabless 
walk  home  in  the  falling  snow. 

May  new  friends  ^outnumber 
our  enemies  at  the  end  of  the 
twelvemonths. 


MR.  PUNCH  IN  EAST  AFRICA. 


"JUST    A-GOING    TO    BEGIN." 

THEY  HAVE  OPENED  ALL  THEIR  THINGS,  AND  ARE  EVIDENTLY  JUST  A-GOING  TO  BEGIN,  WHEN  A  PLACARD  CATCHES  THEIR 

ATTENTION   FOR  THE  FIRST  TIME — "BEWARE   OF  THE  BULL." 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901, 


c  f 


-(--?< 


THE    PLEASURES    OF     OTTEB,    HUNTING. 

HAVING  DROPPED  YOUR  WATCH,  FLASK,  AND  MONEY  INTO  TEN  FEET  OF  WATER,  TO  BE 
LOUDLY  ASSURED  BY  EVERYONE  THAT  IF  YOU  DON'T  "  COME  OUT  OF  THAT  "  YOU  WILL  SPOIL 

THK   HUNT. 


A    SATISFACTORY    SOLUTION. 

,  DUNCAN,  THAT  FRIEND  OF  MINE  DOES  NOT  SEEM  OVERLY  SAFE  WITH  HIS  GUN." 
"No,  SIR.     HUT  I'M  TBINKIN'  IT'LL  BE  ALL  RIGHT  IF  YOU  WASS  TO  GO  WAN  SIDE  o' 
HIM  AND  MR.  JOHN  THE  ITHEK.     Ha  CANNA  SHOOT  BAITH  o'  YE  ! " 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901. 


FERDINAND    AND     DIANA. 


\ 


Dl  WOULD  GO   SEA-FISHING   TO-DAY.      I   WENT  TOO.      SHE    SAYS    WE    HAD    A    GRAND    DAY,    SO   I     SUPPOSE    WE    HAD.      AT    THE    SAME 
TIME,  I    DON'T   THINK   IT  WAS   QUITE   RIGHT  TO   GIVE   MY  LUNCH   TO  THE   BOATMAK  WITHOUT  ASKING   ME  WHETHER   I   WANTED   IT   OR  NO. 

Di  SAYS  SHE  'LL  ASK  HER  COUSIN — HANG  HIM  ! — TO  GO  WITH  HER  NEXT  TIME. 


NAVAL     REVIEW. 

(From  an  Antique.) 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901. 


OUR   COLONIAL   CALENDAR. 


THE  GLORIOUS  PRESENT. 

SIR,  is  not  ours  a  happy  life, 

Lived  on  a  lofty  level  ? 
In  comforts,  joys,  and  luxuries 

Of  every  kind  we  revel ; 
I  do  not  mean  the  common  kinds — 

They  rouse  no  exultation — 
I  mean  the  higher  kinds  that  come 

Of  our  civilisation. 

For  instance,  we  have  telephones  ; 

Our  humble  fathers  had  not. 
So  daily  we  can  tangle  up 

Our  tempers  in  a  mad  knot. 
We  talk  unseen,  a  trick  till  now 

Confined  to  wraith  or  ghost,  Sir, 
And  realise  that  all  our  friends 

Are  deafer  than  a  post,  Sir. 


September.— <Slueen0lanb. 


OFF    HIS    GUARD. 

(  Blind  Man,  "  I  "M  UNCOMMON  PLEASED  TO  HAVE  MADE  YOUR  ACQUAINTANCE  AT  LAST. 

1    VE  KNOWN   YOU  8  " 


KNOWN   YOU  80   LONG   BY   SIGHT  ! 


We  ring  a  bell,  the  message  speeds, 

A  voice  replies,  "  What  is  it?  " 
We  then  communicate  our  plans 

For  sport  or  friendly  visit ; 
But  shout  as  loudly  as  we  may, 

It 's  ten  to  one  a  grumble 
Comes  from  the  other  end  and  says, 

"  Speak  up,  and  do  not  mumble." 

Steam-launches  give  us  heaps  of  fun 

Unknown  to  our  ancestors : 
We  wash  the  river's  banks  away, 

And  aggravate  the  best  oars. 
Our  lady-love  has  lunch  on  board, 

And,  while  we  gaze  on  her  face, 
We  raise  Atlantic  billows  on 

The  Thames's  tranquil  surface. 

In  ancient  days  they  ran  a  race, 

And  handed  on  their  torches  ; 
But  now  on  every  rural  road 

The  hump-backed  scorcher  scorches. 
The  Greeks  lit  up  their  torches,  though 

No  watch  told  them  the  right  time ; 
The  scorcher  scorns  the  lighted  lamp, 

Especially  at  night  time. 

In  fours-in-hand  or  curricles 

Our  fathers  took  their  shy  way  : 
Ten  miles  or  so  an  hour  they  did 

When  trundling  on  the  highway. 
A  plague  upon  their  tardy  wheels ! 

They  would  not  now  be  in  it, 
When  every  throbbing  autocar 

Does  half  a  mile  a  minute. 


Then  think  of  all  our  high-bred  brood 

Of  literary  chickens — 
Where 's  Fielding  now,  or  Thackeray, 

Or  Tennyson,  or  Dickens  ? 
Poets  and  novelists  and  all, 

By  thousands  we  can  grow  'em, 
And  boom  the  Hall  Caine  novel  and 

The  Rudyard  Kipling  poem. 

And  Alfred  Austin  ?    Doff  your  caps, 

Ye  verse-admiring  mortals  ! 
Was  ever  bard  so  brilliant  sped 

Through  glory's  flaming  portals  ? 
Immutable  poetic  rocks 

Our  Laureate's  fame  is  built  on, 
Out-swanning  Avon's  swan  and  far 

Out-Miltoning  John  Milton. 

To  Gladstone  or  to  Beaconsfield 

No  thought  we  need  be  giving  ; 
They  're  dead  and  gone — but  Chamber- 
lain, 

J.  Chamberlain  is  living  ! 
Although  to  see  this  noon-day  sun 

I  very  much  am  minded, 
I  should  not  dare  to  gaze  too  long 

For  fear  I  might  be  blinded. 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901. 


FERDINAND    AND    DIANA. 


™  U   * 


THAT  CONFOUNDED  COUSIN  BE&GED   ME  TO  RIDE  ONE  OF  HIS  JUMPERS   IN  THE  LOCAL  HORSE   SHOW.    GOT  THE  BRUTE   INTO 
AN  INFERNAL  PLACE  THEY  CALL  THE  "DOUBLE."    No  RECOLLECTION  OF  HOW  WB  GOT  OUT.     Dl  SAYS  SHE'LL  NEVER  SPEAK  TO  ME 

AGAIN. 


"  LIGHT     WAITS.' 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901. 


THE     PARLIAMENTARY     AQUARIUM. 

CONSERVATIVE,  LIBEBAL,  RADICAL,  ETC. 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901. 


MR.     PUNCH'S     AVIARY     OF     CELEBRITIES. 

LITEKARY,  ECCLESIASTICAL,  ARTISTIC,  DRAMATIC,  ETC. 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901. 


TO  ABSENT  FRIENDS. 

Christmas  Eve. 

To  absent  friends  where'er  they  roam, 
Summoned  by  fancy  ranging  wide 

To  fill  their  places  in  the  home 
With  holly  hung  for  Christmas-tide — 

To  absent  friends !  We  give  the  toast, 
Which  none  may  drink  with  careless 
heart ; 

Ever,  as  now,  remembered  most, 
When  danger  holds  our  loves  apart. 

To  those  that,  counting  Christmas  dear 
Because  of  other  unseen  eyes, 

Contrive,  this  hour,  to  keep  its  cheer 
Under  unseasonable  skies. 

To  absent  friends,!  and,  named  with  these, 
By  equal  perils  proved  and  known, 

That  kindred  of  the  circling  seas 
Whom  England's  need  has  made  our  own. 

Ah  I  sor  n  to  longing  lips  that  call, 
To  hands  outstretched,   to  hearts  that 
burn, 

Long  ere  another  Christmas  fall, 

God  give  them  swift  and  safe  return ! 

But,  when  the  evening's  spell  is  past, 
And  mirth  declines,  and  hidden  grief , 

Tearless  and  proud,  is  free  at  last 
In  common  pride  to  find  relief — 

At  last,  in  silence,  which  is  best, 
We  pledge  the  memory  of  the  slain ; 

Our  dead,  that  from  their  warrior-rest 
No  Christmas-tide  shall  bring  again  ! 

O.  S. 


OUR      COLONIAL 
CALENDAR. 


Planter  Mr.  Punch.  "  You  two  are  at  the 
bottom  of  all  the  mischief  here." 


©ctober. 


TO  THE  TWENTIETH  CENTURY. 

(See  Almanack  Cartoon.) 

0  YOU  whose  name  at  least  excites 
No  horrid  heat  of  rival  schools, 

Seeing  the  twentieth  comes  by  rights 

Next  to  the  nineteenth  in  the  rules — 
Most  common  people  who  can  cope 

With  plain  addition  pretty  well 
Cherish  the  sound  and  certain  hope 

That  you  will  shortly  burst  the  shell. 
Others  (an  esoteric  cult) 

Remark  in  you  a  yearling  babe ; 

1  think  they  get  at  this  result 
By  something  like  an  astrolabe. 

As  for  our  Mr.  Sambourne's  views — 

Putting  them,  with  respect,  apart, 
Well  satisfied  to  see  him  use 

The  liberty  allowed  to  art — 
We  venture  at  this  early  stage 

To  wish  you  what  success  you  will, 
Whether,  dear  child,  your  actual  age 

Is  nearly  one,  or  less  than  nil. 
You  have,  if  not  a  hundred  i  years, 

A  lease  of  ninety-nine  to  run ; 
How  few  enjoy  such  fine  careers  ! 

O  may  the  thing  be  nicely  done  I 
Thorns  will  beset  your  arduous  way, 

But  there  shall  be  sweet-briar  too ; 
And  Punch,  your  friend  of  every  day, 

Will  always  show  you  what  to  do. 
He  sends  you  forth  with  rolling  drums, 

He  rives  the  air  with  eager  shouts, 
And  at  the  finish  when  it  comes 

Means  to  be  there,  or  thereabouts ! 

0.8. 


"OH,    WOULD    I    WERE    A    BIRD!" 

Major  Greatun.  "Yss,  I'M  AWFULLY  FOND  OF  CUB-H;UNXING,  Miss  CONNIE.    FEEL  so  LIKE  A  DICKY-BIHD  BEING  trp  so  EARLY, 
DON'T  rot!  KNOW  !  "  [And  he  rides  at  least  twenty  stone. 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901. 


FERDINAND     AND     DIANA. 


*t 

.....   :,,,_^l  I  I 


;r  XJflls! 

m-s    " 


Tiifll'ffiff" 

>:>'',.,'^vi  ii  WN  ^ii/i^i^r 


Dl     STILL    REFUSES     TO    SPEAK    '1O     ME.      WENT     DOWN    TO    NEWMARKET    FEELING  VERY    DESPERATE.        PLANKED    EVERY    CENT    I 
HAVE  ON  AN  OUTSIDER.      IT    WON  !      Dl   SAYS  THERE 's  NO   HOLDING  OUT  AGAINST   LUCK,    BUT  THAT   1   MUST  GO   BACK  TO   MY   ORCHIDS. 

So  WE  'RE  GOING  TO  BE  MARRIED  IN  THE  SPRING. 


END     OF     VACATION. 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901. 


OUR    COLONIAL    CALENDAR.— NOVEMBER. 


WHERE  SHALL  I  ROAM  O'ER  THE  WORLD  so 
WIDE? 

THINK  I  WILL  STAY  BY  "MY  'AIN  FIRESIDE." 


WHERE     TO    SPEND    THE    WINTER. 

"To  BE  (IN  TOWN)  OR  NOT,  THAT  is  THE  QUESTION!" 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901. 


OUR  COLONIAL  CALENDAR.— DECEMBER. 


"THE  ALDERMAN'S  DREAM.' 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901. 


THE  NINETEENTH    CENTURY 
EXAMINATION. 

(Extracts  from  a  Model  Paper  on  the 
Leading  Names  and  Features  of  this 
Period.) 

Q.  Name  the  greatest  military  au- 
thorities of  the  century. 


undoubtedly  —  and  the  Poet  Lau- 
reate. 

Q.  Mention  the  most  distinguished 
families  of  the  century. 

A.  The  Smiths  and  the  Joneses. 

Q.  The  greatest  master  of  lan- 
guage ? 


A.  Wellington,  Na- 
poleon the  Great,  and 
Mr.  Punch. 

Q.  Give  the  chief 
sources  of  England's 
present  greatness. 


A.  William  Kaiser. 

Q.  The  grandest 
poems  ? 

A.  All  those  that 
have  appeared  in  Mr. 
Punch's  pages. 


A.    Free      Trade  — 


Q.  The  most  pathetic  figures  ? 

A.  Napoleon  III.  in  exile,  and  Sir  Ellis  Ash- 
mead-Bartlett  on  the  battle-fields  of  Thessaly. 

Q.  The  finest  musical  compositions? 

A.  Wagner's  Ring,  and  the  tune  of  The 
Absent-minded  Beggar. 

Q.  The  greatest  all-round  men  ? 

A.  Goethe, — and  Mr.  Punch. 

Q.  The  most  perfect  gentlemen  ? 

A.  George  IV.  and — Mr.  Punch. 

Q.  The  most  splendid  journalistic  achieve- 
ment ?  A.  PUNCH. 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901, 


PUNCH'S    ALMANACK    FOR    1901. 


LONDON : 
PUBLISHED     AT    THE     OFFICE,     10,     BOUVERIE     STREET, 


AND   SOLD   BY  ALL   BOOKSELLERS. 

1901. 


BEADBURY,   AQNEW    &   CO.    LD.,   PRINTERS, 
LONDON  AlfD  TONBRIDO*. 


DECEMBER  25,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


/CERTAINLY  it  was  a  passing  poor  object  that  met  the  eye  of  the  Arch-Practitioner  as  he  entered  the  apartment 
\J  of  JOHN  BULL,  patient.  A  Specialist  in  complications,  he  was  accustomed  to  prescribe  for  the  most  distressing 
symptoms  with  a  smiling  face.  To-day,  however,  he  wore  an  air  of  unusual  seriousness.  A  faint  savour  of  quackery, 
which  pervaded  the  room,  had  not  escaped  the  professional  nostril,  emunct  as  ever ;  but  had  confirmed  his  suspicion  that 
he  should  have  been  called  in  at  an  earlier  stage.  In  consequence,  he  was  inclined  to  adopt  a  tone  of  moral  exhortation 
rare  in  so  genial  a  Physician  as  Dr.  PUNCH. 

"  Let  us  plunge  at  once,"  he  said,  "  in  infimas  res  :  that  is  to  say,  begin  at  the  lower  end.  Our  foot,  now. 
A  touch,  shall  we  confess,  of  podagra  vulgaris,  induced  by  feeding  and  drinking  with  a  somewhat  expensive 
abandonment?  Physically,  I  find  this  development  to  be  without  interest  ;t but  psychologically  a  thing  to  note.  Has 
it  not  struck  you  as  strange  that  people  who  are  forever  whining  of  bad  times,  the  strain  of  the  war,  the  pressure  of 
taxation,  the  decline  of  trade,  the  influx  of  competitive  aliens,  the  necessity  of  cutting  down  luxuries,  such,  notably, 
as  the  purchase  of  books  and  pictures,  or  the  assistance  of  charities  (matters,  these,  that  concern  the  head  and  heart), 
should  have  attempted  no  sort  of  economy  in  the  affairs  of  the  stomach,  but  rather  have  developed  a  taste  for  animal 
luxury  unprecedented  within  the  memory  of  man  1  Frankly,  I  cannot  commiserate  with  you  who  now  pay  the  penalty 
of  this  offence ;  nor  will  I  prescribe  for  you  any  sedative  drug.  Until  you  can  appreciate  the  value  of  '  Plain  living 
and  high  thinking  '  for  its  own  sake,  I  wish  you  a  very  excruciating  gout  and  many  of  them. 

"  Our  arm,  to  move  upwards,  is  a  different  thing ;  another  pair  of  sleeves,  as  the  saying  is.  Yet  here  you  have 
yourself  to  blame  for  postponing  precautions  to  the  last  moment.  Morally,  it  is  the  way  of  you ;  you  wander  casually 
on  when  there  is  no  danger,  and  only  employ  these  necessary  measures  under  stress  of  immediate  peril,  and  under 
conditions  most  inconvenient  to  everybody  except  the  enemy.  Your  single  merit,  in  this  connection,  is  that  you  are 
not  of  those  pitiful  creatures,  the  conscientious  objectors. 

"  But  what  shall  we  say  of  this  affection  of  our  head  ?  Swollen,  originally,  by  over-confidence,  it  is  now  suffering,  by 
reaction,  from  the  other  extreme  of  depression.  Time  was,  when  you  had  blood  enough  and  brains  enough  to  leave  your 
rivals  standing.  Then,  like  the  hare  in  the  story,  you  seized  the  occasion  to  fall  asleep,  out  of  mere  assurance ;  and  now 


IV 


PUNCH,   OB   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[DECEMBER  25,  1901. 


you  turn  lazily,  half -awake,  to  find  yourself  a  lap  or  so  behind  in  the  race.  You  roll  over,  muttering  curses  on  fortune, 
on  fate,  on  anything  but  your  own  sole  stupidity.  You  must  wake  up  altogether,  my  good  friend,  as  your  new  Prince 
said  the  other  day ;  and  not  lie  on  your  laurels  till  they  lose  their  shape  past  all  recognition. 

"  And  this  reminds  me  that  a  certain  Canon  has  been  writing  an  article  about  you,  Mr.  BULL,  alleging  that  you  are 
a  played-out  type,  which  always  stood  for  a  hatred  of  ideas  ;  and  hinting  that  limbo  was  the  only  place  for  your  like. 
He  was  wrong,  this  reverend  gentleman  ;  you  never  hated  ideas  ;  but  lately  you  have  grown  too  easily  contented  with 
the  wrong  kind ;  and  you  have  left  it  to  others  to  invent  them  for  you.  And  what  inventors  !  Look  at  all  this  stuff 
I  see  strewn  about  you.  Heaven,  of  course,  forbid  that  I  should  abuse  the  Press  at  its  best,  but  you  may  have  too  much 
of  even  a  good  thing ;  you  may  easily  get  such  a  surfeit  of  other  people's  ideas  as  to  cease,  through  sheer  distension, 
from  thinking  for  yourself. 

"  As  for  this  gutter-press  of  the  Continent,  I  don't  doubt  but  you  still  find  yourself  very  superior  to  your  neighbours 
who  feed  on  this  sort  of  garbage.  Yet  they  only  take  what 's  given  them ;  and  how  'much  more  do  you  do  yourself  in 
the  way  of  discrimination  1  Indeed,  I  think  they  have  the  laugh  of  you  when  they  can  point  to  something  not  so  very 
different  being  hawked  about  beneath  your  very  nose.  No  other  country  but  yours  would  tolerate  it.  But  you,  with 
your  damnable  indifference,  suffer  yourself  to  be  imposed  upon  by  the  old  plea  for  liberty  of  opinion.  Liberty  of 
fiddlesticks,  Sir  !  I  'd  have  the  whole  bag  of  treasonable  tricks  burned  by  the  common  hangman. 

"  But  sufficient  for  one  homily.  And,  after  all,  you  're  sound  enough  at  heart ;  it 's  only  your  brain  that  wants 
stimulating  from  its  atrophy.  That 's  a  work  that  asks  no  drugs  if  you  will  but  remember  my  moral  prescription  of 
plainer  living  and  higher  thinking. 

"  So,  to  our  next  more  jovial  meeting  in  the  New  Year  !  Meanwhile  I  present  you  with  the  most  perfect  cure  for 
a  disordered  system.  It  will,  at  least,  help  you  to  set  your  face  on  the  right  road  of  '  efficiency '  tempered  by 
genial  mirth.  Forgive  my  air  'of  schoolmaster,  and  permit  me  to  make  my  peace  by  begging  your  acceptance  of  my 


tmbrttr 


Wwm. 


JULY  3,  1901.] 


-C^-,  v 


THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  WAR  OFFICE  RED  (TAPE)  BRIAR  ROSE. 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  3,  1901. 


THE  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

A  GREAT  THOUGHT  FOE  EVERY  DAY  IN  THE  YEAR. 

SECOND  SERIES. 
VI.— THE    HENLEY    SECTION. 

(Continued  from  June.) 

These  City  Imperial  Voluntaries,  rhymeless  and  rhymed,  are 
dedicated,  as  before,  with  the  author's  sincere  admiration,  to  the 
Poet  (not  the  Regatta). 

JUNE  17TH,  18TH.— Night  and  the  starless  Void, 

And  cloud-rack  canopies  that  veil 

The  undiscoverable  vault  of  heaven  ; 

And,  over  the  City's  coruscating  gloom, 

High  in  his  beetling  four-square  tower, 

Big  Ben,  the  bull's-eyed  Constable, 

Flashing  his  sentinel  beam  for  sign 

How,  underneath,  the  nation's  tireless  brain 

Seethes  at  its  sacerdotal  task  of  framing  laws. 
19TH.— "With  swirl  of  oozy  ebb  the  River  goes 

Bedridd  en ,  bargee-blasphemous, 

Lipping  the  terraced  stones 

Outworn  with  commerce  of  tea  and  cakes 

And  jaunty  legislators'  junketings. 
20TH. — Within,  the  uncommunicative  mace 

(Symbol  of  that  portentous  sovereignty 

"Which  stamps  the  people's  choice, 

Arch-progeny  of  the  proletariate  Will) 

Watches  the  tragic  comedy 

Play  out  its  tardy  length  to  stertorous  stalls. 
21ST. — Hark  where  in  windy  platitudes, 

Compound  of  the  froth  of  undigested  fact 

And  ponderous  tub-thump  wit  of  the  hustings-wag, 

Each  for  his  own  advertisement, 

They  rant— they  bellow— they  abuse. 
22ND.— Here  sits  the  Chief,  disturbed 

From  healthy  spasms  of  philosophic  doubt, 

Politely  querulous  of  his  truant  ranks 

Once  counted  adequate 

To  play  the  not-too-exigent  part 

Of  gentlemanly  walkers-on — 

Now  damned  for  irredeemable  diners-out. 
23RD,  24TH.— There  lies  the  Opposition's  fold 

Incurably  divided  from  itself — 

These,  ralliant  to  their  country,  right  or  wrong, 

Those,  cheek  by  jowl  against  her,  wrong  or  right ; 

And,  in  the  desperate  interval,  behold 

The  dubious  Campbell-wether  of  the  flock 

Protagonising  in  his  own  despite, 

And  butted  fore  and  aft 

Whither  not  he  nor  they  precisely  know. 
25 IH. — This  is  our  Ancient  Mother  of  Parliaments, 

Fallen  on  dotage-days   - 

Varied  by  episodic  savagery, 

But,  for  the  rest, 

Abysmal,  desolate,  irreclaimably  dull. 

What  have  we  done  to  you, 

Mother,  O  Mother, 

That  you  requite  us  with  so  quaint  a  farce, 

Such  disillusioning  parody  o^  your  Prime  ? 

26TH,  27TH.— Inveterate  airs  that  blow 

As  from  a  dim  orchestral  Age  of  Brass  ; — 
A  rout  of  coryphees  that  toil  and  spin 
With  lustre  of  whirling  lace  and  giddy  gyre 
Of  hose  rough-hued  to  ape 
The  arduous  leg  within  ; — 
Sallies  of  immemorial  patriot  wit, 
Potent  to  kill,  but  impotent  to  pass  ;— 


And  lo ! 

London's  immeasurable  mouth  agape 
From  gallery  to  trance"d  pit 
With  worship  ;  her  Imperial  eyes  aglow 
With  the  divine  ecstatic  fire  ! 

28TH  TO  30TH. — There  is  no  male  here,  this  ambrosial  night, 
But  feels  the  manhood  vocal  in  his  veins. 
There  is  no  woman,  if  I  read  them  right, 
But  in  her  hidden  heart 
Envies  yon  breezy  sylph  the  art 
By  which  she  turns  these  virile  brains 
To  irreducible  pulp,  and  sets  the  breast 
Apant  behind  its  hedge  of  shining  shirt. 
What  unconjecturable  spell 
Inspires  this  exquisite  torture  of  unrest, 
Or  where  the  point  of  what  the  humorous  mime 
Says,  and  the  sudden  midriff  splits — 
Not  I,  who  rarely  enter  here,  can  tell. 
They,  rather,  who  from  unremenibered  time 
Follow  the  same  old  Grace's  flying  skirt, 
The  same  old  amorous  play  of  pencilled  eyes, 
And  the  unwearied  acrobacy  of  wits 
Reiterate  past  fear  of  rude  surprise — 
These,  lifting  voluntaries  clear  and  strong, 
May  quire  aloud  what  happy  quest  is  theirs 
Who  tread  the  nightly  stairs 
Of  London's  luminous  Halls  of  Mirth  and  Song. 

O.  S. 

LAMENTS  OF  LONDON. 

["  The  Government  have  abandoned  their  Education  Bill.    The  fate  of  thi 
Cockerton  schools  is  still  undecided." — Daily  Paper.] 

Mother  City  speaks : 
DARK  are  the  dens  in  my  teeming  life-centres 

Where  Poverty  makes  her  unspeakable  lair, 
Where  breeze  never  blows  and  no  sun  ever  enters — 

But  darker  than  all  is  the  ignorance  there. 
Lust,  greed — all  the  crimes  that  are  damned  by  the  preachers 

Mid  filth  of  the  body  and  filth  of  the  mind — 
These,  these  are  my  little  ones'  eloquent  teachers, 

And  this  is  the  school  where  my  sons  are  confined. 

Ah,  think  of  the  foulness  that  strangles  and  smothers 

Any  seed  of  the  good  that  may  struggle  to  bloom  ! 
Think,  Parliament,  think  of  your  poor  stricken  brothers 

Sunk  deep  in  these  caverns  of  squalor  and  gloom  ! 
From  these  perilous  haunts  let  my  sons  be  protected, 

From  these  nests  of  black  gaol-birds,  oh,  save  them  in 

time ! 
How  can  they  know  virtue  when  left  so  neglected? 

How  can  they  be  honest,  untaught  save"  in  crime? 

Come,  open  your  purse  !     Let  the  least  in  the  nation 

Be  trained  in  the  use  of  his  hand  and  his  eye  ! 
Fling  open  your  schools,  for  in  them  lies  salvation, 

By  them  is  the  country  to  live  or  to  die ! 
Then  still  shall  I  see  my  poor  children  enjoying 

The  rights  that  brave  hearts  and  true  citizens  rear — 
You  spend  in  one  brief  little  week  of  destroying 

As  much  as  I  ask  for  my  schools  in  a  year. 


KRUGER  AND  KONCERTO  ! — The  new  opera  by  Mynheer  PAUI 
KRUGER  is  to  be  entitled  Der  Ring  des  Rotterdammerunyen.  The 
principal  part  of  Der  Rotter  will  be  played  by  Oom  sweet  Oom 
PAUL,  who  will  accompany  the  other  artists. 


WHAT  was  shot  by  the  "  Tuppenny  Tube"  ? 
Why,  the  Inner  Circle. 


Jn.Y  3,  1901,] 


PUNCH,  OK  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


JULY  3,   1901  ] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHAEIVAEI. 


UEBS  IN  EUEE. 

' '  WHAT  the  doctor  says  TOMMY  wants 
is  nourishment,"  Mrs.  BOFFIN  declared 
emphatically.  "He  wants  good  whole- 
some country  food." 

"  Very  well,  my  dear,"  her  husband 
had  replied  listlessly.  "Bat  I  don't  be- 
lieve you  will  be  able  to  get  him  any  better 
food  in  the  country  than  you  can  in  Bays- 
water.  In  the  Grove " 

"Nonsense,  JOHN,"  said  Mrs.  Boffin. 
"  You  know  what  Dr.  HARVEY  said. 
London  food  is  all  adulterated.  It  is 
kept  in  refrigerators  and  treated  with 
chemical  preservatives  till  it  has  lost  all 
nutritive  qualities.  "What  TOMMY  needs 
is  fresh  .country  milk  and  butter,  fresh 
eggs,  fresh  meat  and  poultry." 

"Very  well,  dear,"  her  husband  replied 
again.  "  Have  it  your  own  way." 

So  Mrs.  BOFFIN  went  forth  and  took 
lodgings  in  a  Surrey  village,  three  miles 
from  a  railway  station,  where  the  scenery 
was  delightfully  rural,  and  where  TOMMY'S 
health  might  be  quickly  re-established  by 
wholesome  English  food.  The  morning 
after  their  arrival  Mrs.  BOFFIN'S  troubles 
over  poor  TOMMY'S  diet  began.  "iHasn't 
the  milkman  brought  any  cream  ;'i this 
morning,  Mrs.  SMITH?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  won't  get  any  cream 
hereabouts,  mem,"  said  that  lady  much 
as  if  her  visitor  had  asked  for  the 
moon. 

"  No  cream,  Mrs.  SMITH  ?  " 

"  No,  mem  ;  not  unless  you  was  to  get 
it  in  the  village.  Mrs.  KNAPP  down  at 
the  shop  has  some  sometimes.  _She  gets 
it  in  jars  from  London."  •  •  «•• 

"  But  I  want  fresh  cream,"  Mrs.  BOFFIN 
urged ;  "  that  will  not  be  fresh." 

"It  won't  be  fresh,  mem,  certainly," 
Mrs.  SMITH  agreed,  evidently  thinking 
that  an  irrelevant  consideration. 

Mrs.  BOFFIN  knitted  her  brows.  The 
problem  of  TOMMY'S  morning  cream  seemed 
likely  to  be  more  difficult  than  she  antici- 
pated. 

"Very  well,  Mrs.  SMITH,"  she  said, 
after  a  moment's  thought ;  "  you  must 
take  plenty  of  fresh  milk  every  night,  and 
we  will  get  the  cream  from  that." 

"It  is  very  difficult  to  get  fresh  milk 
here,  mem,"  replied  Mrs.  SMITH.  "  It  all 
goes  to  London.  There  's  Swiss  milk,  of 
course,"  she  added,  cheerfully. 

"Oh,  but  that  won't  do  at  all,"  said 
poor  Mrs.  BOFFIN.  "  I  must  enquire  about 
another  milkman  at  once.  By  the  way, 
Mrs.  SMITH,  don't  forget  to  have  plenty 
of  fresh  eggs  in  the  house.  They  must  be 
new-laid." 

"You  can't  get  noo-laid  eggs  here, 
mem,"  Mrs.  SMITH  replied,  rather  tartly, 
stung,  perhaps,  by  the  unreasonable  char- 
acter of  the  request.  "There's  French 
eggs,  of  course,"  she  added,  meditatively. 
"  You  could  get  them  at  the  shop." 

"But  have  you  no  fowls  here ?     Can't  I 


Bulkley.    "Yss;  HER  PARENTS  PERSUADED  HBR,  AND  IT'S  ALL  OVER  BETWEEN  ITS." 
Sympathetic  Friend.  "SHE  CAN'T  HAVE  REALISED  WHAT  A  LOT  SHE  WAS  GIVING  UP.' 


get  any  eggs  at  all?"  Mrs.  BOFFIN  en- 
quired, anxiously. 

"There's  Russian  fowls,  mem,"  said 
Mrs.  SMITH.  "  Mrs.  KNAPP  has  them 
twice  a  week  from  Leadenhall  Market ; 
you  can  get  them  at  the  shop  same  as  the 
eggs." 

"But  I  don't  want  Russian  fowls," 
Mrs.  BOFFIN  answered  querulously.  "I 
want  Surrey  fowls.  I  thought  Surrey  was 
famous  for  poultry." 

"Oh,  yes,  mem,"  said  Mrs.  SMITH.  "  We 
havelibeautiful  fowls.  But  they  all  goes 
up  to  London,  same  as  the  eggs  and  the 
milk  and  the  cream  and  the  butter." 

"  The  butter,  Mrs.  SMITH  !  "  cried  Mrs. 
BOFFIN  in  horror.  "Have  you  no  fresh 
butter  either?  " 

"  It 's  quite  fresh,  mem,"   Mrs.  SMITH 


replied   in  an  injured  tone.     "  Very  good 
butter  it  is — Danish." 

"But  I  don't  understand  this,"  Mrs. 
BOFFIN  moaned.  "Your  eggs,  you  say, 
come  from  France,  your  butter  from 
Denmark,  your  cream  from  London,  your 
fowls  from  Russia,  your  milk  from  Switzer- 
land. Is  there  no  fresh  food  of  any  kind 
that  I  can  procure  here  ?  Where  do  you 
get  your  meat  from  ?  ' ' 

"Oh,  that  comes  from  New  Zealand, 
mem,"  Mrs.  SMITH  answered,  simpering. 

' '  But  you  have  sheep  and  cows  in 
Surrey,  haven't  you?"  Mrs.  BOFFIN  said 
crossly.  "  Why  have  you  neither  milk 
nor  mutton  ?  ' ' 

"They're  all  wanted  for  the  London 
market,  mem,"  replied  Mrs.  SMITH. 

ST.  J.  H. 


PUNCH,  OE  THE  LONDON  CHARIVAEL 


[JULY  3,  1901. 


OUE  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

The  Handbook  of  the  Administrations  of  Great  Britain  (SMITH, 
ELDER)  is  an  epitome  of  the  History  of  Great  Britain  during 
the  nineteenth  century.  Compressed  within  the  space  of  350 
pages,  it  is  none  the  less  complete.  Mr.  CULLING  CARR-GOMM'S 
method  is  simple,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it ;  its  working- 
out  easy,  if  you  are  prepared  to  devote  far-reaching  research  to 
the  production  of  what  in  measurement  and  avoirdupois  weight 
comes  to  very  little.  Each  brief  chapter  contains  a  list  of  the 
Cabinets  of  successive  Administrations,  from  Mr.  ADDINGTON'S 
in  the  spring  of  1801  to  Lord  SALISBURY'S  Third  iu  the  summer 
of  1895.  A  summary  of  the  principal  events  happening  under 
successive  Administrations  is  given.  My  Baronite  recognises 
in  the  handy  volume  a  masterpiece  of  lucid  summary.  Its 
value  is  increased  by  a  full  index. 

Mr.  ARTHUR  RICKETT'S  Mimes  and  Rhymes  (BRIMLEY  JOHNSON) 
is  a  bright  and  pleasant  little  book  of  jeux  d'esprit  and  parodies 
in  prose  and  verse.  Mr.  RICKETT  has  a  happy  knack  of  ridicule. 
The  flavour  is  pungent  but  never  acid. 

The  reader  of  Deborah  of  Tod's  expects  much  when  he  comes 
across  a  new  novel  by  Mrs.  HENRY  DE  LA  PASTURE.  He  will  not 
be  disappointed  on  taking  up  Catherine  of  Calais  (SMITH,  ELDER). 
The  title  is  not  particularly  attractive  or  in  adequate  degree 
descriptive.  My  Baronite  confesses  that,  guided  by  it  solely, 
apprehending  another  of  the  increasingly  tiresome  pseudo- 
historical  works  now  happily  in  waning  fashion,  he  would  have 
passed  it  over.  CATHERINE  chanced  to  pass  her  childhood  in 
Calais,  the  thrall  of  a  cruel  aunt,  and  as  Deborah,  being  "  of 
Tod's,"  was  a  great  success,  so  Catherine  is  "  of  Calais."  The 
longer  and  fuller  portion  of  her  life  is  lived  in  London  and  in 
the  Devonshire  Mrs.  DE  LA  PASTURE  knows  so  well.  The  story 
is  strikingly  original  because  of  avoidance  of  what  seemed  an 
obvious  turn.  When  pretty  Catherine  gives  her  passionate 
heart,  her  sparkling  life  into  the  keeping  of  a  handsome,  impas- 
sive man,  old  enough  to  be  her  father,  the  inured  novel-reader 
naturally  expects  that  by-and-bye  a  younger  knight  will  come 
along,  will  love  and  will  ride  away  with  the  fair  and  guilty 
wife.  There  is  a  passage  in  an  early  chapter  which 
indicates  this  ordinary  conclusion  of  the  matter.  Possibly  it 
was  contemplated,  or  perhaps  the  hint  was  only  artful,  designed 
to  lead  astray.  However  it  be,  Mrs.  DE  LA  PASTURE  has 
chosen  the  better  way,  keeping  Catherine  pure  and  faithful  to 
the  last.  The  characters,  many  and  various,  are  drawn  with 
unerring  skill.  Lady  Sarah  Adelstane  is  etched  with  a  light, 
firm,  glowing  touch  that  recalls  the  master-hand  of  THACKERAY. 

The  ninth  volume  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  Review,  published  by 
Mrs.  GEORGE  CORNWALLIS-WEST,  of  49,  Rupert  Street,  and 
edited  by  Lady  RANDOLPH  SPENCER  CHURCHILL,  is,  as  was  said 
of  the  song  in  Twelfth  Night,  "more  excellent"  than  the  others, 
that  is,  than  the  preceding  volumes — not  as  to  the  contents,  but 
as  to  the  binding,  on  which  subject  there  is  an  interesting  and 
learned  article  by  an  expert.  The  frontispiece  is  an  admirable 
likeness  of  our  Gracious  Queen  ALEXANDRA,  and  the  reproduction 
of  the  three  portraits  of  Cardinal  RICHELIEU  is  excellent. 
Mr.  ANDREW  LANG  has  an  interesting  article  on  SMOLLETT, 
who,  he  thinks — and  rightly — has  long  ceased  to  be  a  popular 
author,  which  information  is  on  a  par  with  the  news  suddenly 
brought  us  of  the  decease  of  Her  Majesty  Que^n  ANNE.  Mr. 
LANG  misquotes  a  classic  when  he  writes  the  line-V 
Artaxom.  Alas,  my  Bom-  (diet)  \ 

Bombastes. — 'Bastes  he  would  have  said.  \ 

But  this  he  can  put  right  by  a  more  careful  study  of  that 
immortal  work.  "Where  the  Baron  once  detects  a  misquote  he 
begins  to  be  cautious.  The  similarity  between  Barry  Lyndon 
and  "  Ferdinand  Count  Fathom  "  is,  to  the  Baron's  thinking,  not 
sufficiently  brought  out  and  insisted  on,  and  of  the  parallelism 
between  DICKENS  and  SMOLLETT  he  would  willingly  have  heard 
more.  EDWIN  SHARPE  GREW'S  article  on  the  Physiognomy  of 
newspapers  would  be  imperfect  did  it  not  deal  with  Mr. 


Punch's  own  remarkable  and  unique  physiognomy.  He  should 
have  given  Mr.  MILLIKEN'S  reply,  as  narrated  in  Mr.  SPIEL- 
MANN'S  invaluable  history  of  Punch,  to  the  lady  who  complained 
that  "  Punch  is  not  so  good  as  it  used  to  be."  "No,"  replied 
MILLIKEN,  "  it  never  was."  Mr.  GREW  alludes  by  implication 
to  this  most  happy  mot.  The  Baron  congratulates  Mrs.  CORN- 
WALLis-WEST  and  Lady  RANDOLPH  (a  dual  personality)  on  this 
pleasant  volume,  of  which  it  can  be  honestly  said,  judging  alone 
from  the  outside,  that  "  it  is  bound  to  please."  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


OCCASIONAL    OPERATIC    NOTES. 

La  Tosca.  Better  have  left  La  Tosco,  with  SARA  BERNHARDT 
for  the  heroine,  as  a  melodrama,  than  have  chosen  it  for  a 
musical  setting,  even  when  the  music  is  PUCCINI'S.  But  that 
throughout  it  is  most  dramatic  is  what  "nobody  can  deny." 
How  fortunate  to  find  as  interpreters  a  Fraulein  TERNINA  for 
Floria  Tosca,  and  a  De  MARCHI  for  Mario  Cavaradossi — (what 
memories  does  not  the  name  of  Mario  recall  in  Opera  !), — with 
Signor  SCOTTI  for  Baron  Scarpia,  all  so  vocally,  musically  and 
dramatically  excellent.  "Without  such  artistes  as  these,  what 
would  become  of  the  Opera,  qua  Opera  ?  'Tis  good,  but  not 
great.  Where  are  such  rare  merits  in  it  as  will  make  it  live  ? 
PUCCINI'S  La  Tosca  is  for  all  sorts  of  "time,"  but  not  for  an 
age.  By  the  way,  how  true  a  motto  for  any  Opera  is  "  Tempora 
mntantur"  I 

The  comic  Sacristan  is  capitally  played  by  M.  GILLIBERT,  the 
character  recalling  some  trait  of  Calchas  in  La  Belle  Helene. 
The  entire  Opera  excellently  rendered  with  Policeman  MAN- 
CINELLI  on  his  beat  in  the  orchestra. 

Tuesday. — In  three  acts,  all  "made  in  Germany,"  Tristan 
und  Isolde.  A  fine  performance.  TERNINA  magnificent  in  acting 
and  singing.  Everybody  enthusiastic.  MARIE  BREMA  admir- 
able as  usual,  and  Baritone  BISPHAM — (Quite  a  title  this  !  Almost 
as  good  as  "  Baronet  BISPHAM,"  or  "  BISPHAM,  Bart."  !)— not  a 
whit  behind  the  best  of  'em,  pick  'em  where  you  like.  The  tenor, 
with  the  regular  knock-me-down  name  of  FORCHHAMMER, 
if  not  startling,  was  at  all  events  pleasing,  as  being  never 
untuneful.  The  chorus,  an  "  unconsidered  trifle"  where 
WAGNER  has  his  sing  and  say,  satisfactory.  Orchestra,  under 
LOHSE,  quite  up  to  the  mark — "the  Konig  Marke " — and 
scenery  as  good  as  they  can  make  it,  though  what  the  great 
improvements  in  stage  machinery  may  have  been,  of  which  so 
much  was  heard  and  now  so  little  has  been  seen,  it  is  difficult 
to  arrive  at.  House  full  and  "  smart." 

Thursday. — Great  disappointment  for  some  of  us,  who  had 
been  eagerly  looking  forward  to  the  Huguenots  with  SUZANNE 
ADAMS,  LUCIENNE   BREVAL,  Signor  do  MARCHI,  and  Fraulein 
FRISKY  SCHEFF — (No,  beg  pardon  ! — how  the  mis-scheff  could  the 
mistake  have  arisen? — onveut  dire  "FRITZI  SCHEFF") — as  Urbain, 
the  Page  of  Huguenot  musical  history.     But  who  shall  foresee 
the  events   of  a  rehearsal?      Who  shall   protect  the  delicate 
throat?    Notices  are  wired  far  and  near,   "Opera  changed  to< 
Faust.     BREVAL  indisposed."    Alas!    poor  BREVAL!    May  she- 
speedily  recover  her  voice,  and  may  this  deponent  be  there  to ' 
hear  her  sing  the  "Tit  m'ami,"  with  the  best  tenor  able  to> 
thrill  the  house,  tear  himself  from  his  Valentine,  and  jump  like 
a  springheel'd  lover  into  the  street  below. 

Faust,  always  old,  always  to  be  revived,  and  ever  available 
for  rejuvenising.    M.  SALIGNAC  as  the  "  Old  Master  Restored  " 
(a  good  and  artistic  sub-title  for  the  opera  herewith  presented  i 
gratis  to  the  Syndicate  C.  G.)  is  not  all  one  could  wish ;  still, 
for  his  performance  "tol  lol"  is  an  adequate  musical  and  vocal 
formula.    JOURNET  as  Mephisto,  pro  hue  vice  "for  this  journey,".' 
sufficeth ;    but    "  caparisons    are    odorous,"    so    no    more    at 
present,  except  to  exclaim  with  the  nautical  William,  "  What ! 
SUSAN,  ahoy !  "  and  to  add  that  those  who  have  not  seen  Miss 
SUZANNE  ADAMS  when  she  sings  and  plays  Marguerite  have  yet  > 
something  to  live  for.     "  Qid  vivra,  verra."    And  so  into  July, 
and  theGrand  Finale  within  measurable  distance. 


JULY  3,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


"VOILA    CE    QUE    L'ON    DIT    DE    MOI!" 

Gazette  de  ffollande/"—Son(/  of  (Prince)  Paul  in  Offenbach's  "La  Grande  BuchesSe. 


WHEN  the  war  first  began,  the  Boers  quite 

believed 

That  KRUGER  might  capture  the  QUEEN  ; 
For  the  fibs  that  he  told 
To  the  people  he  "sold," 
Were  odd  and  uncommonly  mean  ! 

But  later,   when  matters  began  to  look 

black, 

The  President  thought  he  would  hide ; 
So  he  mounted  his  "gee  " 
(Like  Gil  pin  was  he), 
And  straightway  went  off  for  a  ride. 

When  they  found  from  that  ride  that  he 

did  not  return, 
They  searched,  but  the  search  was   in 

vain, 

For  PAUL  in  this  plight 
Had  now  taken  flight, 
And  was  lodged,  for  a  while,  in  a  train. 

But  the  foe  drew  too  close  to  our  Oom 

PAUL'S  abode, 

So  lest  he  a  captive  should  be, 
He  said,  "  Inform  STEYN 
That  I  now  fully  mean 
To  take  a  long  voyage  by  sea." 

Mrs.  KRUGER,  who  wrote  when  lie  reached 

the  sea-port, 
Begged  PAUL  that  he  'dtake  her  with  him. 


But  he  wired,  "  My  dear, 
I  can't  have  ypii  here  ; 
No  time  to  indulge  this  new  whim." 

From  the  ship  Gelderland,  which  the  Queen 

of  the  Dutch 

Lent  our  valiant,  fugitive  hero, 
He  landed  in  France 
Where  he  hoped  to  advance 
His  cause,  which  just  then  stood  at  zero. 

Though  banquets  they  gave  to  Oom  PAUL 

and  his  suite 

(Such  stuffing  was  fit  quite  to  kill  'em), 
He  saw  with  some  pain 
He  must  "  move  on  "  again 
And  said,  "  I  '11  seek  Emperor  ViLLEM." 

But  VILLEM  had  bus'ness  that  took  him 

away, 

So  couldn't  dear  Oom  PAUL  receive, 
Who  then  in  dismay 
Set  sail  the  next  day 
For  Holland  his  cause  to  retrieve. 

There,  too,  he  did  not  get  "  material  aid," 
But  met  with  a  "  hearty  ovation  "  ; 

With  music  and  showers 

Of  beautiful  flowers 
Evincing  the  joy  of  the  nation. 

They    paraded   with   banners    before  his 
hotel, — 


PAUL  KRUGER  no  rest  could  obtain ; 

For  they  sang  till  past  one, 

And  then  hadn't  done, 
But  chorus'd  again  and  again. 

At  length  some  transparencies,  brightly 

lit  up, 

His  men  to  the  crowd  did  display  : 
The  words  made  'em  weep, 
"Hush  !  KRUGER  must  sleep  !  " 
So,  tearfully,  all  crept  away. 

And  now  all  his  friends  who  are  making  a 

fuss, 

A  vigilant  eye  oii'him  keep, 
And  they  ask,  speaking  low 
As  they  walk  on  tip- toe, 
"  Is  our  wide-awake  Oom  still  asleep  ?  " 


BRITISH    BRUTALITY. 

WITH  regard  to  the  outcry  recently 
raised  by  Miss  HOBHOUSE  and  others 
anent  the  conditions  of  the  Boer  Refuge 
Camps  forwomen  and  children,  Mr.  Punch's 
Lady  Commissioner,  having  made  exhaust- 
ive enquiries,  now  reports  as  follows  : — 

I  can  fully  believe  in  any  enormities 
alleged,  or  to  be  alleged,  against  the 
British,  as  I  found  a  most  shocking  state 
of  things  existing. 

1.  The  supply  of  Hairpins  is  wholly  in- 
adequate. 

2.  The  whole  camp  of  573  women   had 
but  one  back  number  of  a  Ladies'  paper 
amongst  them,  with  a  fashion-plate  depict- 
ing a  positively  odious   costume  of  last 
season. 

3.  Only   five    bottles  of   Yiolettes    de 
Parme  scent  were  to  be  found  throughout. 

4.  No  spirit-lamps  for  the  proper  heat- 
ing of  curling-tongs — this  is  a  fact. 

5.  Owing  to  their  military  duties,  none 
of  the  British   officers  ever  come  in  to 
afternoon  tea  with,  or  do    anything    to 
socially  entertain,  the  Boer  ladies.     This 
is  looked  upon  as  particularly  brutal  con- 
duct,   and  makes  one  quite   inclined    to 
believe  in  almost  any  charge  of  neglect. 

C.  It  will  hardly  be  credited  when  I 
say  that  not  a  single  set  of  Ping-Pong  is 
to  be  found  throughout  the  whole  of  the 
Refuge  Camp ! 

7.  Ladies'  maids  are  almost  impossible 
to  obtain.  All  the  Boer  women  have  to 
do  their  own  hair. 

I.  A  salmon  mayonnaise  is  simply  an 
unknown  luxury.  The  Boer  ladies  ask  for 
ices  to  be  supplied  regularly  to  the 
Refuge,  but  the  authorities  refuge — beg 
pardon — refuse,  I  should  say,  their  re- 
quest. 

9.  There  is  no  Ladies'  Golf  Club. 

In  conclusion,  I  venture  to  make  a  small 
suggestion.  It  is  that  those  Boer  ladies 
peopling  the  Refuge  Camps  should  be 
jrought  over  to  England  and  given  a 
eason  in  town  at  the  expense  of  the 
ountry.  This  would  silence  every  com- 
plaint, and  make  things  pleasant  all 
ound. 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  3,  1901. 


A    "GO"    AT   THE    GAIETY. 

LESSEE  and  Manager  GEORGE  EDWARDES  is  a  lucky 
man :  his  horse  wins,  his  theatre  wins.  It  takes 
a  trainer  and  a  jockey  to  do  the  victorious  horse 
trick,  but  it  takes  two  authors,  two  lyricists,  and 
two  composers,  with  designers  and  makers  of 
costumes,  of  dresses,  of  uniforms,  of  hats,  of 
wigs,  "properties,"  floral  decorations,  and  gloves,  all  men- 
tioned in  the  playbill  (and  what  a  serious  matter  the  pay-bill 
must  be  !)  to  achieve  success  for  "  Mr.  GEORGE  EDWARDES'  New 
Production,"  The  Toreador,  at  the  Gaiety  Theatre. 

Certainly,  the  horse's  gallop  at  racing  pace  is  over  in  a 
few  minutes  ;  a  mere  breathing  space,  and  we  knew  the  worst 
or  best,  but  it  may  take  weeks  to  decide  the  fate  of  a  piece, 
whether  it  shall  run  for  months  or  "  come  off  "  after  a  spirited 
struggle  for  life. 

Gaiety  pieces,  or  rather  musical  plays — (they  are  scarcely 
"plays,"  and  "extravaganzas"  may  be  the  more  fitting  des- 
cription),— brought  out  wherever  they  may  be,  at  Daly's,  or  the 
Lyric,  or  anywhere  else,  as  long  as  they  are  produced  by  Mr. 
GEORGE  EDWARDES,  on  the  EDWARDES'  method  and  plan,  may  or 
may  not  at  first  make  a  "  palpable  hit,"  but  after  a  while,  by 
the  strictest  attention  to  business  on  the  part  of  all  concerned 
in  the  production,  whatever  doesn't  "go"  goes  out,  and  in 
its  place  something  that  makes  a  hit  is  substituted,  until  the 
patchwork  of  necessarily  eccentric  design,  perhaps  without  any 
design  at  all,  becomes  a  far  more  brilliant  and  attractive  piece  (or 
piecing)  of  work  than  was  the  original.  I  have  seen  a  thorough 
artist  in  his  studio  discard  an  almost  finished  picture,  which 
seemed  to  my  somewhat  particular  eye  uncommonly  good,  and 
recommence  the  work  on  a  fresh  canvas,  simply  because  in  the 
first  he  had  not  come  up  to  his  own  ideal ;  and,  after  a  time,  I 
have  testified  to  the  vast  improvement  on  the  first  picture  when 
he  has  completed  the  same  subject  on  his  second  canvas. 

So  it  is  with  Mr.  GEORGE  EDWARDES  and  his  musical  plays  ; 
so  it  is  with  this  present  musical  play,  written  by  Messrs. 
TANNER  and  NICHOLLS,  lyricised  by  Ross  and  GREENBANK  ;  music 
composed  for  it  by  CARYL  and  MONCKTON  ;  which  music,  light 
and  full  of  tune  and  go,  presents  110  striking  novelty,  no  very 
original  and  catching  melody  ;  and,  as  the  music,  so  the  piece, 
which  being  bright,  light,  uninteresting  but  amusing,  easy,  not 
brilliant  dialogue,  and  with  nothing  to  arrest  the  attention 
in  business  or  situation,  carries  one  along  for  three  hours 
through  a  pleasant  song-and-dance  country,  presenting,  how- 
ever, few  features  that  can  compare  with  the  charming  San 
Toy,  the  delightful  Geisha,  or  the  eccentric  Messenger  Boy. 
But,  on  the  EDWARDES'  method,  it  may  yet  rival  and  beat  all  its 
predecessors,  outrunning  them  all  with  two  or  three  hundred 
nights  in  hand. 

As  far  as  "character"  may  be  looked  for  in  such  a  piece, 
Mr.  GEORGE  GROSSMITH,  Junior,  with  his  song  "Everybody's 
awfully  good  to  me,"  by  PAUL  RUBENS,  has  the  best  of  it ;  while 
for  eccentricity  Mr.  EDMUND  PAYNE'S  Sammy  Oigg  the  tiger  is 

"ncomparable.    Ah !  what  couldn't  Mr.  EDMUND  PAYNE  do  if 

but  no  matter,  let's  take  him  as  he  is  and  for  what  he  is,  and 
rejoice  in  him  as  "a  thing  of  beauty  and  a  joy  for  "  the  entire 
run  of  any  piece  in  which  he  plays  a  leading  part.  Mr.  LIONEL 
MACKINDER  represents  one  of  those  modern  musical-piece  young 
men  whose  special  metier  came  into  existence  with  HAYDON 
IOFFIN'S  success,  and  who  are  gradually  settling  down  into  a 
recognised  classification  as  "  Gaiety-good-young-man,  A  Go- 
with-the-girls  young  man,"  who  can  dance  a  bit,  fcjng  a  bit, 
speak  a  bit,  "  here  a  bit  and  there  a  bit,  and  everywhere  a  bit," 
and  all  good  of  its  kind.  With  EDMUND  PAYNE  is  associated 
Bright  Miss  VIOLET  LLOYD,  and  their  duets  and  eccentric  charac- 
ter dances  are  capital ;  but  in  their  predecessors  they  have 
''  ower  dangerous  "  rivals. 

Miss  CLAIRE  ROMAINE  has  the  best  song  in  the  piece,  "Maud  " 
not  the  elderly  spinster  invited  into  the  garden),  which  meets 


with  hearty  encores ;  while  Miss  MARIE  STUDHOLME  and  Miss 
FLORENCE  COLLINGBOURNE  have,  with  Messrs.  GROSSMITH  and 
MACKINDER,  the  pick  of  the  quartette  singing  and  dancing. 
Miss  MAIDIE  HOPE  comes  out  well  with  Mr.  RUBENS'  song  of 
"  The  Toreador" — (very  rash  of  Mr.  RUBENS  to  choose  such  a 
subject,  and  clever  of  him  to  get  away  entirely  from  the  only 
"Toreador  contento"  so  familiar  to  all  of  us) — and  Miss 
QUEENIE  LEIGHTON  gives  so  much  of  intensity  to  the  jealousy  of 
Dona  Teresa  as  brings  out,  in  sharp  contrast  with  it,  the  comic 
terror  and  the  absurd  amativeness  of  Mr.  PAYNE. 

Mr.  WILLIE  WARDE  is  funny  as  the  Bandmaster,  his  make-up 
defying  identification ;  but,  for  once,  having  taught  everyone 
else  how  to  dance,  he  takes  no  steps  to  show  what  he  could  do 
on  his  own  account.  Mr.  IVAN  CARYLL  working  harder  as  con- 
ductor than  he  seems  to  have  done  as  composer,  gives  an 
impulse  to  the  plaudits  of  a  crowded  and  appreciative  house. 
Summary  of  evening's  entertainment:  "great  pleasure  and 
little  Payne." 

FROM    FATHER    THAMES  TO    THE    OARSMEN. 

WELL,  boys,  you  're  here  again  at  Henley,  the  home  of  youth 
and  strength  and  endeavour ;  at  Henley,  where  for  more  than 
sixty  years  my  Naiads,  the  fair,  fresh  daughters  of  a  hoary 
parent,  have  watched  your  swift  boats  cleaving  the  pellucid 
surface  of  the  river,  and  from  the  depths  below  have  acclaimed 
your  skill,  your  endurance  and  your  triumphs.  How  is  it  to  be 
with  you  this  year?  Is  the  ancient  Cup,  engraved  with  so 
many  noble  names,  to  be  won  by  you,  my  sons,  or  is  it  to  be- 
come the  proud  ornament  of  some  foreign,  if  fraternal,  Club  ? 
Shall  Leander  have  it  again,  shall  New  College  for  a  year  glow 
with  its  possession,  or  shall  I  hide  my  mournful  head  while  the 
doughty  Pennsylvanians  or  the  brave  Belgians  carry  it  in  glory 
to  a  distant  shore  ?  Many  are  the  chances.  I  control  the 
river.  It  is  fair  and  equal  for  all.  But  the  winds  are  tricky, 
treacherous  customers,  fellows  of  whims  and  caprices,  of  sudden 
dislikes  and  an  uncontrollable  temper.  The  winds  are  not 
within  my  rule.  Notus,  Boreas,  and  the  rest  owe  fealty  to 
jEolus,  and  JEolus,  the  lasher  of  waves,  was  ever  an  enemy  to 
me  and  mine.  Let  us  flatter  him  while  there  is  yet  time,  and 
entreat  him  to  send  at  most  a  Zephyr,  a  gentle  breeze  that  may 
make  the  water  smile,  and  blow  with  equal  favour  behind  the 
racing  crews. 

You,  O  dauntless  Belgians,  have  visited  me  before.  I 
welcome  you  again,  and  wish  you  well.  But  for  you,  friends 
from  far  Philadelphia,  I  have  a  special  greeting.  I  like  your 
pluck,  your  eager  spirit  of  adventure,  your  emulous  desire 
to  wrest  the  trophies  of  our  old  world  from  our  hands.  A 
fair  course  you  shall  have,  and,  for  the  rest,  such  fortune 
as  your  skill  and  vigour  deserve.  You  have  come  to  tug 
the  old  Lion  good-humouredly  by  the  beard — not  to  twist 
his  much  enduring  tail.  He  's  a  sleepy  beast ;  see  how  he 
yawns  and  stretches  his  big  limbs,  and  looks  for  all  the  world 
as  though  effort  and  agile  swiftness  were  beyond  him.  But 
there  's  a  fire  in  his  eye  still,  and  his  muscles  are  well  strung 
and — well,  I  think  he  's  got  it  in  him,  and  he  '11  try  his  best 
now  that  you  've  put  him  to  it.  Of  one  thing  you  may  be  sure. 
You  have  come  three  thousand  miles  over  weary  wastes  of 
ocean,  and  now  you  are  our  friends.  We  clasp  your  hands,  and 
ive  you  place  in  our  brotherhood  of  oarsmen.  Henceforth  you 
are  with  us  and  of  us  in  honour  and  in  all  loyal  manly  strife. 
Loss  or  gain,  victory  or  defeat,  what,  after  all,  do  they  matter? 
We  play  the  game — you  and  we — for  the  sake  of  the  glorious 
game  itself.  Success  is  a  thing  of  a  moment,  defeat  nobly 
endured  can  leave  no  sting.  But  loyalty  and  chivalry  and 
friendship — these  remain  with  us  all,  a  possession  for  ever. 
May  your  memories  of  the  Old  Country,  and  of  the  men  you 
strive  against  be  sweet  and  pleasant.  We  shall  do  all  we  can 
to  make  them  so. — Yours  in  friendship  and  good-will, 

FATHER  THAMES. 


JULY  3,   1901.] 


PUNCH,   OK  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


THE    LATEST   SCANDAL. 

WHICH,  OF  COURSE,  MUST  xor  GO  ANT  FARTHER."    Now  THEY  WONDER  HOW  THE  STORY  GOT  ABOUT  ! 


"A  BERLIN!" 

"  Modernstyle." 
SCENE  —  Charlottenburg.      Enter    rapidly 
various   motor   cars.     From   them  de- 
scend French  cliauffeurs. 

First  Citizen  (with  enthusiasm).  Hoch  ! 

Second,  Third  and  Fourth  Citizens,  and 
everyone  else  (also  with  enthusiasm).  Hoch ! 
Hoch  !  Hoch  ! 

The  Chauffeurs  (removing  masks,  goggles, 
leather  coats,  gauntlets,  &c.).  A  la  bonne 
heure !  Enfin !  Quelle  chaleur !  Quelle 
poussiere  !  Quelle  route  !  Mais  sont-ils 
charmants,  ces  Allemands,  hein !  Mon 
Dieu,  j'ai  une  soif !  Garcon,  un  bock. 
Deux  bocks.  Cinq  bocks.  Une  dizaine 
de  bocks. 

Waiter.  Ja,  ja,  ja  !     Komme  gleich. 

Ludwig  Mutter  (clasping  the  hand  of  a 
chauffeur).  Ach,  Himmel !  Herr  BASSOM- 
PIBRRB.  Es  freut  mich  sehr.  Kolossal ! 
Wunderbar ! 

Aligns te  de  Bassompierre.  Pardon  !  Je 
ne  comprends  pas.  Tiens !  Si  je  ne  me 
trompe  pas,  c'est  Monsieur  LUDWIG.  En- 
chante ! 

Lud.  Ja,  ja,  ja  !  Herr  AUGUST.  Gros- 
sartig ! 

Aug.  You  speaks  English,  not  is  it,  dear 
Mister  ?  You  not  have  forgetted  him  ? 
Me,  you  know,  I  not  know  the  German. 

Lud.  I  am  the  German. 

Aug.  I  not  him  speak. 

Lud.  Ach  so  !     Yes,  yes,  yes.     So  speak 


we  English.  Now  come  you  in  Berlin  to 
the  first  time  ? 

Aug.  But  yes.  Hold !  I  have  one 
thirst. 

Lud.  Eitte  ?    If  you  please  ? 

Aug.  Je  veux  bien.  I  wish  well.  One 
bitter,  one  bock. 

Lud.  Ach  so  !  Kellner,  zwei  Glas  Bier. 
Bitte.  If  you  please.  Prosit ! 

Aug.  To  the  amiable  eaters  of  the  Ger- 
many. Live  the  eaters ! 

Lud.  Bitte?  I  understand  not.  Where- 
fore the  eaters.  It  is  true  man  eat  much 
in  Germany,  but  man  drink  yet  more  and 
yet  willinglier.  Kellner,  noch  zwei  Bier. 

Aug.  Pardon  !  Not  the  eaters,  qui 
mangent,  but  the  eaters,  qui  chauffent, 
les  chauffeurs.  Ah,  there  is  one  H.  I  not 
know  ever  to  aspirate  the  English  H. 
Live  the  H — H — Heaters  ! 

Lud.  Ach  so !  With  H.  But  take  you 
yourself  in  care,  or  shall  you  one  blood- 
vessel in  the  head  burst.  Drink  we  yet 
one  glass  beer.  Our  French  guests ! 
High,  high,  high  ! 

Aug.  Thousand  thanks  !  You  also,  dear 
Mister,  you  are  chauffeur  ? 

Lud.  Natiirlich,  naturely.  I  find  that 
the  motor  waggondriving  colossal  amusing 
is. 

Aug.  Eh  bien,  alors  !  As  all  the  sport- 
mans,  we  are  camarades,  we  are  brothers. 

Lud.  Yes  well,  dear  friend.  (They  clasp 
hands,  and  raise  their  glasses  again).  Only 
the  Englander  loves  not  the  motorwaggon. 


Astounding,  not  true,  because  he  always 
the  sport  love  ? 

Aug.  Ah,  the  English.  It  is,  perhaps  at 
cause  of  this  war.  They  not  can  to  think 
to  other  thing.  We  others  Germans  and 
Frenches,  peoples  so  peaceables,  we  have 
the  time  of  us  to  amuse.  But  that  not 
shall  to  endure.  The  King  of  ENGLAND  is 
chauffeur.  As  soon  the  war  finished,  or 
even  more  soon,  the  English  shall  become 
enraged  of  the  automobilism.  Are  they 
voyagers,  these  English  !  One  rencounters 
Mister  JOHN  BULL  and  Missis  and  the 
young  Miss  partout.  Eh  well,  before 
little  they  shall  voyage  in  automobile. 
They  commence  already  to  construct  some 
automobiles.  As  carriagers  they  are  very 
strongs.  Perhaps,  more  late,  we  others 
Frenches  we  shall  go  to  buy  the  auto- 
mobiles at  London.  That  may  himself. 

Lud.  Perhaps.  Now  dine  you  with  me, 
dear  friend. 

Aug.  Ah,  my 'dear,  you  are  one  not  can 
more  amiable.  Enchanted  !  Regard  then 
my  automobile. 

[They  go  off,  arm  in  arm,  discussing 
wheels,  tyres,  breaks,  levers,  petro- 
leum, electricity,  and  such  things. 

The  Citizens  (with  undiminished  ardour). 
Hoch,  hoch,  hoch ! 

The  Chauffeurs.  Vive  1'Allemagne  ! 

TheWinner.  Vivel'Empereur !  (Suddenly 
remembers  he  is  a  Frenchman  and  a 
Republican.)  Vive  le  Sport ! 

H.  D.  B. 


10 


PUNCH,   OK  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  3,   1901. 


Daughter  of  the  House.   "ARE  WE  REALLY  HELPING  YOU,  THOMAS? 

Thomas.  '•  LAWK-A-MUSSY  1  YEP,  Miss;  A'MOST  THE  SAME  AS  IF  YOU  WAS  CROWED  up." 

Daughter  of  the  HOUM.  "THEN  WHY  DON'T  YOU  AHK  us  IF  WE'D  LIKE  A  DROP  o'  ZUMMAT?" 


A    VERY    MEMORABLE    DATE. 

(The  Fourth  of  July,  1901.) 
'  WHAT  !  what !  what !  "  cried  the  first 
shade  confronting  the  other.     The  Elysian 
grove  was  all  but  deserted,  and  only  these 
wo  celebrities  were  present.     "  What ! 
what !  what !  ' ' 

"  Surely,  Sire,"  remonstrated  the  other, 
you  can   drop  earthly  peculiarities  in 
this  pleasant  place." 

'  1  am  indebted  to  you ,  Mr.  WASHING- 
TON," responded  King  GEORGE  THE  THIRD, 
''  for  the  suggestion,  but,  as  you  are  no 
loubt  aware,  there  is  nothing  more  diffi- 
3ult  to  eradicate  than  a  favourite  habit. 
Moreover,    my    '  What-what-whats '    and 
Why-why-whys '    serve  to  earmark  me 
and  preserve  my  identity." 
GEORGE  WASHINGTON  smiled  and  bowed. 
You  wished  to  speak  to  me  I  think,  when 
you  made  your  favourite  ejaculation  ?  " 

' '  It  was  only  to  suggest  that  there 
seems  to  be  a  great  demonstration  going 
on  in  that  large  hotel  in  the  Strand, 
where  so  many^huge  banquets>re  Lheld. 


If  I  am  not  mistaken,  numbers  of  my  own 
loyal  subjects  and  successors  to  those 
misguided  emigrants  who  followed  your 
pernicious  example  are  to  be  present.  I 
was  about  to  say — 

"Forgive  roe  for  interrupting  you, 
Sire,"  put  in  GEORGE  WASHINGTON,  "  but 
you  know  politics  are  forbidden  in  this 
peaceful  spot." 

"  Well,  loyalists  and  rebels  are  frater- 
nising. They  have  crossed  the  Union  Jack 
with  that  flag  upon  which  your  armorial 
bearings  appear  without  the  consent  of 
the  Earl  Marshal." 

"Pray  leave  my  armorial  bearings 
alone!"  said  GEORGE  WASHINGTON,  a 
trifle  t&stily.  "  They  are  to  be  found  in 
your  Heralds'  College  properly  displayed, 
jrepresenting  a  good  old  English  family, 

d  surely  that  should  be  sufficient  to 
Satisfy  his  Grace  of  NORFOLK." 

"It  gives  me  infinite  pleasure  to  get 
an  innocent  rise  out  of  you,"  replied 
King  GEORGE  THE  THIRD,  in  great  good 
Jmrnour ;  "  but  tell  me,  Mr.  (or  shall  I  call 
you  General?)  WASHINGTON,  what  is  the 


cause  of  all  that  enthusiasm  doAvn  below  ? 
Why  are  Britons  and  Americans  frater- 
nising, and  toasting  one  another's  insti- 
tutions? " 

"They  are  keeping  the  Fourth  of 
July." 

"  Dear  me — my  memory  fails  me — the 
Fourth  of  July  ?" 

"  Surely  you  remember,  Sire,  that  on 
the  Fourth  of  July  the  Independence  of 
the  United  States  was  declared." 

"Oh,  yes  ;  I  ask  your  pardon.  Ah,  to  be 
sure,  and  that  was  the  birthday  of — 

"  The  love  between  England  and 
America.  I  congratulate  your  Majesty 
upon  the  fact  that  both  you  and  yoitr 
subjects  and  I  and  my  followers  can 
celebrate  the  anniversary  with  equal 
satisfaction."  And  the  two  shades  ex- 
changed snuff-boxes. 


FLOR  -  ADORES.  —  When  ex  -  President 
KRUGER  was  in  Amsterdam  the  other  day, 
,' '  young  ladies  strewed  blossoms  before 
him  to  tread  upon."  Of  course  they  were 
corn-flowers. 


PUNCH,    OR  THE   LONDON  CHARIVARI.— JULY  3,  1901. 


THE   LAZY  DOG. 


PROFESSOR  A.  J.  BALFOUR  (loit/i  Four-lined  Whip).   "  I  DON'T  ASK  ANYTHING  ORIGINAL.      BUT,   HANG  IT, 
YOU   MIGHT   GO  THROUGH  THE   SIMPLE   OLD  TRICK  !  " 


JULY  3,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVABI. 


13 


ESSENCE    OF    PARLIAMENT. 

EXTB ACTED   FROM  THE   DlART  OF   TOBY,  M.P. 

House  of  Commons,  Monday,  June  24. — 
There  is  nothing  small  or  mean  about  Mr. 
ALFRED  PICKWICK  DAVIES,  Member  of 
Parliament  for  the  Carmarthen  District. 
He  has  all  the  high-mindedness  and  simple 
dignity  of  the  genial  gentleman  whose 
personality  he  realises  for  the  present 
generation.  As  a  statesman  he  distrusts 
the  COLONIAL  SECRETARY.  Carmarthen 
District  has  committed  to  his  hands  a 
solemn  charge  he  is  proud  to  cherish. 

"  Keep  your  eye  on  JOE,"  was  the  last 
injunction  he  received  when  Carmarthen 
District  sent  him  to  Parliament. 

No    one    can    accuse    him    of    laggard 


In  the  Distinguished  Strangers'  Gallery. 
(A  pencil  snap-shot.) 

service  in  the  cause  of  his  country  and 
of  Carmarthen.  Ominously  early  in 
career  of  new  Parliament  DON  JOSE 
became  conscious  of  a  strange  magnetic 
influence.  Unconsciously  obedient,  he 
found  his  gaze  attracted  to  the  lower  end 
of  Front  Bench  below  Gangway  opposite, 
dan  beheld,  as  he  thought,  the  cherished 
hero  of  his  earlier  excursion  into  litera- 
ture— Mr.  Pickwick.  Illusion  strengthened 
when,  a  few  days  after  Parliament  had 
settled  down,  Member  for  Carmarthen 
rose,  and,  stepping  out  half  a  pace  from 
the  bench  so  that  there  might  be  more 
room  for  his  cocked  coat-tail  when  with 
familiar  gesture  he  thrust  his  hand 
beneath  it,  begged  to  address  to  the 
COLONIAL  SECRETARY  "  a  Question  of  which 
I  have  given  him  private  notice." 

There  was  the  same  noble  brow  under 
which,     astride     an     unobtrusive    nose, 


An  Impression  of  Dr.  F-rq-li-  rs-n. 

glistened  the  interrogative  spectacles  ; 
the  same  kindly  but  firm  manner.  Almost, 
under  the  trousers  with  which  later 
fashion  clothed  the  legs  of  authority,  DON 
JOSE  fancied  he  could  trace  the  gaiters. 

"  I  will  ask  the  House,"  added  Mr. 
DAVIES,  waving  his  right  hand,  "to  give 
the  right  hon.  gentleman  their  attention 
while  he  kindly  replies." 

That  only  the  beginning.  Since  that 
day  DON  JOSE  has  constantly  been  strained 
on  the  rack  by  the  Member  for  Carmar- 
then. A  visit  to  the  United  States,  oc- 
casioned by  international  complications 
not  unconnected  with  the  business  of 
carriers,  gave  him  an  interval  of  respite. 
It  was  a  coincidence,  purely  a  coinci- 


The  Chief  Secretary  to  the 
(Mr.  G-rge  W- 


"LhaidLiff-ten'nt." 
ndh-m ) 


dence,  that  when  the  newspapers  an- 
nounced thel  return  of  the  Member  for 
Carmarthen  to  Westminster,  the  COLONIAL 
SECRETARY  had  an  attack  of  gout  that 
confined  him  to  his  room.  Last  week 
Mr.  DAVIES,  stepping  out  to  address  a 
Question  to  the  right  hon.  Gentleman, 
observed  his  absence  and  extended  grace- 
ful assurance  of  sympathy.  Encouraged 
by  this  friendly  token,  DON  JOSE  to-day 
returned  to  his  post.  His  re-appearance 
led  to  one  of  those  incidents  that  ennoble 
Parliamentary  strife  and  irrigate  the  arid 
course  of  party  politics. 

"Question  57,  Mr.  SPEAKER,  to  the 
COLONIAL  SECRETARY.  And,"  Mr.  PICK- 
WICK continued  with  comprehensive  wave 
of  his  hand,  "I  am  sure  the  House  will 
join  me  in  welcoming  the  right  hon. 
Gentleman  on  his  recovery." 


Cn  Beyalf  of  fie  AggericaHural  Labourer. 
(Mr.  Br-dh-rst.) 

DON  JOSE  visibly  affected ;  master  of 
himself  though  Liberal  Ministries  fall, 
his  voice  now  trembled  as  he  made 
acknowledgment  of  this  friendly  overture. 
PRINCE  ARTHUR  suspiciously  sniffed  as 
he  unfolded  his  pocket  handkerchief  and 
gazed  reflectively  into  its  depths.  In 
Strangers'  Gallery  there  was  not  a  dry 
eye. 

Business  done. — Mr.  JEMMY  LOWTHER, 
looking  in  from  Ascot  on  his  way  to 
Exeter  Hall,  delivers  a  speech  prepared 
for  last  Thursday's  Debate  on  the  Sugar 
Duty.  ST.  MICHAEL  AND  ALL  ANGELS,  resent- 
ing the  delay,  offers,  sotfo  voce,  a  few 
remarks  that  sound  like  extracts  from  the 
Athanasian  Creed. 

Tuesday  night. — ST.  MICHAEL  comes  up 
quite  fresh  again  with  his  conundrum, 
"What  is  Small  Coal?"  For  him  age 
cannot  wither  nor  custom  stale  its  infinite 


14 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVAKI. 


[JULY  3,   1901 


variety.  Whenever  hard  pressed  by  the 
struggling  millionaire  coalowner  he  rises 
leans  his  elbow  on  desk  and  remarks,  "1 
confess  there  is  a  good  deal  in  what  the 
honourable  gentleman  says  ;  but  can  he 
define  Small  Coal?" 

Of  course  he  can't ;  necessarily  shuts 
up,  and  CHANCELLOR  OP  EXCHEQUER  goe; 
on  his  way  resistless. 

In  the  end  the  thing  works  out  admi- 
rably. D.  A.  THOMAS  having  moved  an 
Amendment  in  one  of  his  powerful  speeche 
rich  in  eloquent  pauses,  ST.  MICHAEL 
followed.  "  Can  the  honourable  Gentle- 
men," he  commenced  ;  whereat  there  was 
howl  of  despair  from  the  impoverished 
millionaires. 

"No,  no,"  they  cried;  "we  give  it 
up." 

ST.  MICHAEL,  justly  pleased,  not  disposed 
to  be  outdone  in  generosity,  met  sur- 
render by  liberal  compromise. 

During  his  first  Session  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  the  MEMBER  FOR  SARK  dined 
with  a  company  that  included  that  most 
delightful  of  men  the  late  Lord  GRAN- 
VILLE.  A  lady  announced  the  interest- 
ing fact  that  a  son  had  been  born  to 
ROBERT  BROWNING  and  his  wife,  then  re- 
sident in  Florence. 

"The  funniest,  oddest  thing  you  ever 
saw,"  she  said. 

'Ah,"  smiled  Lord  GRANVILLE,  "then 
;here  will  now  be,  not  two  Incom- 
prehensibles,  but  three  Incomprehensi- 
bles." 

ST.  MICHAEL  has  added  a  fourth.  It  is 
Small  Coal.  Having  established  it  in  the 
:ategory,  having  exacted  admission  of  its 
mprcgnability,  he  could  afford  to  be 
avish. 

"  We  know,"  he  said,  "  the  limit  of 
luman  power,  even  in  this  potent 
issembly.  We  can't  square  the  circle  ; 
ve  can't  gag  Ca'pen  TOMMY  BOWLES,  and 
ve  can't  define  Small  Coal.  But  I  '11  tell 
ou  what  I  '11  do.  I  '11  relieve  from  the 
hilling  export  duty  all  coal  delivered 
ree  on  board  at  six  shillings  a  ton,  and 
rou  may  call  it  small  coal  or  great,  as  you 
ike." 

DAVID  THOMAS  fell  on  JOICEY'S  breast, 
nd  dropped  a  coal-black  tear  on  his 
'ambric  front. 

"It  is  not  everything,  JAMES,"  he  said, 

'  but  it  will  save  us  from  starvation.     It 

vill  yield  a  crumb  for  our  little  ones,  and 

i  jug  of  water  for  the  stranger  at  our 

gate.     Let  us  re-Joicey." 

To  this  pitiful   depth  was   reduced  an 
>rdinarily  staid  colliery  owner. 
Business  done. — Mutual  concession  ;  the 


oalowners  give  up  CHANCELLOR  OP 
EXCHEQUER'S  riddle,  CHANCELLOR  OP 
EXCHEQUER  gives  up  portion  of  Coal 
'ax. 

Thursday  night.— The  vital  truth  that 
inderlies  the  observation  "One  man  may 
teal  a  horse  whilst  another  may  not  look 
ver  the  hedge"  was  illustrated  just  now 


in  case  of  Mr.  WEIR.  On  Consolidatet 
Fund  Bill  JOHN  DILLON  nagged  at  length  a 
Mr.  BRODRICK,  accusing  him  of  having 
four  months  ago,  misled  the  House  as  t 
position  of  the  forsaken  Boer  women  ii 
the  refugee  camps.  Performance  laste 
fully  an  hour.  BRODRICK  made  detailet 
reply  ;  JOHN  DILLON  worked  off  repeated 
rejoinder  ;  LLOYD  -  GEORGE  said  a  fev 
words. 

Mr.  WEIR,  a  patient  listener,  felt  hi 
hour  had  come  ;  quite  a  long  time  sine 
he  had  an  innings.  What  with  verbosity 
of  Irish  members,  activity  of  the  Welsh 
no  opening  for  modest  Scotch  gentleman 
Now  it  presented  itself.  Mr.  WEIR  rose 
solemnly  adjusted  his  pince-nez  ;  througl 
the  House  rumbled  the  noise  of  the 
hydraulic  machinery  whereby  his  voice  if 
drawn  up  from  the  reservoir  of  his  boots 
Click  !  It  was  all  right  ;  ready  for  a  goot 
forty  minutes'  spin. 

Is     the     right     lion,    gentleman    a 
Weir  -  ?" 

As  in  the  analogous  case  of  Marmion 
these  were  the  last  words  of  the  Member 
for  Boss  and  Croinartie.  Up  sprang 
PRINCE  ARTHUR.  "  I  move  that  the  Ques- 
tion be  now  put,"  he  said. 

Mr.  WEIR  slowly  sank  in  his  seat,  as  at 
eventide,  in  far-off  Ross,  the  sun  drop; 
behind  Ben  Wyvis.  There  was  no  appeal 
ft  was  the  Closure  ;  brute  force  broughl 
o  choke  off  Highland  eloquence.  One 
thing  Mr.  WEIR  might  do  ;  he  could  demand 
Division.  So  when  the  SPEAKER  put 
Question  of  Closure  and  declared  "  the 
Ayes  have  it,"  a  deep-throated  "No," 
sustained  by  a  disproportionate  quantity 
of  unused  hydraulic  power,  rolled  through 
the  House. 

Thus  was  Mr.  WEIR  avenged.  PRINCE 
ARTHUR  refused  him  even  five  minutes  in 
which  to  speak.  The  Division  on  the 
Closure  occupied  fifteen. 
Business  done.  —  Miscellaneous. 
House  of  Lords,  Friday.  —  Mr.  CHOATK, 
hearing  that  the  Moorish  Ambassador  had 
been  down  to  House  in  a  white  shirt, 
thought  it  time  United  States  had  a  look 
in.  Settled  himself  comfortably  in  side 
gallery  this  afternoon,  and  had  refreshing 
sleep  whilst  LANSDOWNE  discoursed  on 
British  Army.  Woke  up  hearing  WOLSE- 
LEY  referring  to  America. 

"•For  its  size,  mind  you,  I  say  for 
its  size,"  F.  M.  repeated,  holding  up 
his\  little  finger,  "  I  call  the  Army 
of  Tihe  United  States  the  finest  in  the 


"  Shake  !  "  said  the  American  Ambassa- 
dor, feeding  in  the  neighbourhood  of  his 
moustactie  with  intent  to  give  it  a  mili- 
tary curl.  Not  finding  it,  he  squared  his 
shoulders  and  softly  whistled  a  bar  from 

The  Star-Spanyled  Banner." 

Business  done.  —  In  the  Commons  PRINCE 
ARTHUR,  by  this  time  quite  used  to  the 
domestic  manoeuvre,  abandoned  the  Infant 
Education  Bill. 


JULY. 

THE  sun  is  a-blazing 

Mid  Heaven's  deep  blue, 
The  Idler  is  lazing 

In  punt  or  canoe. 
The  musliny  maiden 

Drifts  down  with  the  stream, 
With  strawberries  laden 

And  sugar  and  cream. 

The  batsman  so  merry 

The  willow  is  wielding, 
The  fielder  is  very 

Reluctantly  fielding. 
The  Varsity  chappie 

Is  lunching  with  zest ; 
He 's  perfectly  happy 

And  perfectly  dressed. 

The  fly's  mobilizing 

In  every  domain 
His  most  tantalizing 

Hot  weather  campaign. 
The  mother's  repairing 

To  seasidy  spot, 
The  father  is  swearing 

Because  he  is  not. 

The  yachtsman  in  flannel 

Triumphant  is  found  ; 
The  Solent  or  Channel 

He  's  sailing  around. 
The  farmer  in  making 

His  hay  is  immersed, 
The  City  man's  slaking 

A  business-like  thirst. 

And  everyone  's  planning 

Their  annual  trip  ; 
On  beach  they  '11  be  tanning, 

In  ocean  they  '11  dip. 
We  're  feeling,  to  be  sure, 

A  trifle  run  down, 
Then,  hey  for  the  sea-shore — 

Away  from  the  town  ! 

FURTHER    REGULATIONS    FOR 
HENLEY. 

(Under  the  Consideration  of  the  Thames 
Conservancy.) 

No  piano  playing  shall  be  permitted  on 
louse-boats  during  the  racing,  so  that  the 
attention  of  coxswains  shall  not  be  thereby 
distracted. 

To  avoid  a  crowd  collecting  on  the 
;ourse,  no  craft  shall  be  permitted  to 
eave  the  shores  between  the  hours  of 

A.M.  and  9  P.M. 

To  preserve  decorum,  only  lemonade  and 
inger-beer  shall  be  drunk  during  the 
Ruminations,  and  fireworks  shall  hence- 
orth  be  restricted  to  one  squib  and 

couple  of  crackers  to  each  house-boat. 

Finally,  recreation  of  every  kind  shall 
be  discontinued,  so  that  in  future  the 
inpopularity  of  the  County  Council  on 
and  shall  find  its  reflection  in  the  universal 
etestation  in  which  the  Thames  Con- 
ervancy  shall  be  held  by  those  living  on 
he  river. 


.JULY  3,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


15 


THE   MAN   BEHIND  THE   PEN. 
A  "  Literary  "  Play. 

f"  The  immf nse  competition  among  young 
publishers,  and  the  hawking  round  of  books  to  the 
highest  bidder  by  the  literary  agent,  has  made 
publishing  a  less  remunerative  pursuit  than 
formerly ;  and  I  have  in  my  mind's  eye  a  number 
of  publishers  whose  houses  are  less  magnificent 
than  those  of  at  least  a  dozen  authors  whom  I 
could  name." — Sphere,  June21.~\ 
The  scene  represents  a  magnificent  apart- 
ment in  the  palatial  abode  of 
a  fashionable  Author.  The 
beautifully  carved  walls  of 
sandal-wood,  where  they  are 
not  concealed  by  priceless 
tapestries,  are  hung  with 
countless  "old  masters." 
Gorgeous  portieres  of  Eastern 
design  and  colouring  -usurp 
the  function  of  doors,  and 
conceal  rows  of  books  bound 
"in  the  best  possible  taste 
and  style.''  The  Author  lan- 
guishes on  a  Tuscan  divan, 
chatting  airily  to  a  peer  or 
two.  All  are  toying  with  most 
expensive  cigarettes.  Imme- 
diately behind  the  Author  is 
a  Japanese  Idol  composed  of 
several  precious  metals,  which 
serves  as  a  pedestal  for  a  twin 
pair  of  jeivelled  typewriters, 
while  a  miniature  Indian 
Temple  (the  gift  of  twenty 
Rajahs)  contains  the  gold- 
edged  paper.  Near  by  stands 
a  console  table,  with  platinum 
and  ivory  legs,  bearing  wines 
and  spirits  of  the  choicest 
vintages  and  brands,  an  in- 
visible electric  fan  supple- 
ments a  rose-water  foun- 
tainette  in  tempering  the  me- 
tropolitan air,  while  a  thou- 
sand ingeniously  con  cealed 
electric  globes  diffuse  a  soft 
radiance  over  the  elegant 
apartment.  Nuggets  of  Trans- 
vaal gold  lie  scattered  here 
and  there  in  cliarming  dis- 
array. A  secretary  in  vermi- 
lion and  gold  uniform  an- 
nounces a  Visitor,  who  crawls 
in  slowly  on  all  fours,  and  continues 
bowing  his  head  until  the  Author  motions 
him  by  a  swift  movement  of  his  jewelled 
hand  to  arise.  He  does  so  and  sits  timidly 
on  the  edge  of  a  Louis  Quatorze  chair. 
Author  (with  surprising  affability). 
Evenin'.  How  goes  it  ? 

Visitor  (properly  overawed  by  the  sphere 
of  splendour — with  trepidation).  Excel- 
lently. 

Author.  Good.  How  are  my  novels  and 
Essays  and  Poems  and  travel  books  doing? 
What  does  the  world  think  of  my  latest 
outbreak  of  genius,  The  Mystery  of  the 
Crimson  Pillow  Slip  ? 


Visitor.  It    is 
eighth  edition. 


already   in    its    twenty- 
"We  omitted  to  print  the 


— er — first  twenty  editions 

Author  (nonchalantly).  A  mere  printer's 
error. 

Visitor  (only  half  convinced).  Doubt- 
less. 

Author.  Shall  I  scoop  £20,000  out  of  it? 
A  paltry  sum  for  a  twenty-five  thousand 
word  story.  (Making  a  lightning  mental 
calculation,  the  process  strangely  visible 
in  the  working  of  his  mobile  features.) 


COOL  PARLIAMENTARY    LARDER 


Visitor  (pleading  tremulously).  Only — 
only  a  quarter  per  cent. 

Author.  Good  heavens  !  How  on  earth 
do  you  expect  me  to  live ! 

Visitor  (with  callous  reiteration).  Only 
a  quarter  per  cent. 

Author  (a  shade  of  annoyance  on  his 
strong,  intellectual  face).  I  'm  not  a  busi- 
ness man. 

Visitor  (glancing  round  sumptuous  apart- 
ment, dubiously).  No 

Author.  But  the  Anglo  -  American 
Literary  Trust  are  willing 
to  pay  me  £50,000  a  year.  If 
I  accept — : 

Visitor  (imploringly).  But  you 

won't (By  the   firm     lines 

about  the  mouth  of  the  Author, 
the  Visitor  judges  it  best  not  to 
press  his  claim.)  Then  I  sup- 
pose I  must  be  content  with 
my  usual  eighth  per  cent. 

Author  (the  hard  lines  relax- 
ing). I  'm  awfully  sorry.  But 
you  see  how  I  am  situated. 
One  must  live.  The  competi- 
tion is  so  keen  novv-a-days. 
The  Agents  cut  things  so  fine. 
One  must  go  with  the  stream 
or  sink 

[Offers  the  Visitor  a  costly 
cigarette,   but   he  is    too 
overcome  to  accept  it  and 
craivls  out  of  the  room 
sobbing  bitterly. 
A  Peer.  Who  was  that  little* 
weedy,  undersized  object  ? 

Author    (with   a   cruel   and 
heartless  laugh).   My  poor  devil 
of  a  publisher ! 
(Scene  closes  slowly  and  softly.) 


THE    DEVONSHIRE    CREAM. 

Martha  Balfour  (house-keeper).    "  THERE,  DON'T  'EE  CRY,  DUKEY 

DEAR  !      I  'VE     PUT     IT    AWAY,    AND     IT  *LL     KEEP    BEAUTIFULLY    TILL 
NEXT  YEAR.      AND    I  'VE   GIVEN   YOU  SOMETHING  TO   GO   OX   WITH  !  " 


Why,    dash    it    all,    it's  under   £1000   a 
word  ! 

Visitor  (nervously  slipping  off  his  chair, 
and  quickly  readjusting  himself).  Ye — yes, 
I  am  afraid  it  is. 

Author     (sensibly    moved 
thematical     discovery). 
prices ! 

Visitor.  I  'm  sorry,  because  (hesitates), 
I  was  going  to  ask — (passes  his  finger 
nervously  round  the  brim  of  faded  silk  hat) 
if— I  could  possibly  look  to  making  fifty 
pounds  out  of  the  venture. 


by    the    ma- 
Starvation 


At(t/ior 
pounds ! 


[in  open-eyed  astonishment).  Fifty 


HAUGHTY-CULTURE. 
A  GARDENER   at    Methering- 
ham,  in  Lincolnshire,    has   set 
up  the  following  announcement 
in  his  garden  : 

"  NOTICE.— Anybody  found  pinch- 
ing vegetables  from  this  garden  will 
be  shot.  By  Order." 

This  seems  a  strong  an- 
nouncement, especially  when 
we  fail  to  recollect  a  single 
instance  of  anyone  pinching 
vegetables.  We  have  heard  of  tickling 
trout,  and  have  ourselves  pinched  peaches, 
apricots  and  pears,  to  ascertain  if  they 
were  ripe,  but  to  apply  our  fingers,  with 
the  same  object  to  potatoes,  carrots,  tur- 
nips, kidney  beans  or  even  tomatoes,  has 
never  been  our  custom.  In  Lincolnshire 
the  practice  may  obtain,  but  surely  the 
penalty  is  in  excess  of  the  crime  ?  Why 
not  try  a  gin  on  the  June-nipper  instead 
of  executing  him  with  fire-arms  ?  The 
gardener  of  Metheringham  seems  to  be 
rather  too  much  of  a  marksman.  Of 
course,  he  will  shoot  the  pinchers  with 
grape-shot. 


16 


PUNCH,   OK   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  3,  1901. 


PUEIS  OMNIA  PURA. 

["At  the  Jubilee  Convention  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  in  Boston,  U.  S.,  the 
Methodist  Bishop  and  other  zealous  gentlemen  issued  a  solemn  manifesto 
against  the  public  reception  of  the  delegates  at  the  Museum  of  Fine  Arts,  on 
the  ground  that  classic  nude  statuary  is  exhibited  there.  The  protest  was 
ignored  by  the  Executive  Committee."—  Westminster  Gazette.] 

Chorus  of  Statues. 
WHAT  is  Beauty  ?    Whence  is  she  ? 

Prom  the  halls  of  heaven 
Beauty  came  at  Zeus'  decree, 

Human  kind  to  leaven. 
"  Go  !  "  he  said,  "  rejoice  my  sight 
With  a  vision  fair  and  bright — 
Women  phantoms  of  delight, 

Men  with  strength  of  seven. 

"  I  have  given  man  a  mind 

Priceless  past  all  measure, 
And  I  would  a  casket  find 

Worthy  such  a  treasure  ; 
Let  the  fairest  form  and  face 
Deck  with  Aphrodite's  grace, 
This  my  jewel's  resting  place  ! 

Such  my  royal  pleasure." 

Enter  Hermes  by  Praxiteles. 

Her.  Hush  !     Hush  !     This  is  no  time  for  beauty's  praise  ! 
Cho.  The  matter  ?    Why  your  warning  finger  raise  ? 
Her.  They  come  ! 
Cho.  Who  ?    Who  ? 

Her.  Close  on  my  winged  sandals, 

Behold,  a  horrid  horde  of  hateful  Vandals  ! 

Top-hats ! 

Cho.  No,  no  ! 

Her.  Frock-coats ! 

Cho.  Wo,  wo ! 

Her.  And  terrible  trousers  I 

Cho.  Never ! 

Her.  Funereal  black ! 

Cho.  Alas  !     Alack  ! 

Has  beauty  fled  forever  ? 

Her.  Hush  !  they  are  here  !     Look  where  they  crowd  and  crush  ! 
Cho.  What  are  they  saying? 
Her.  Listen. 

C/w.  Hush!    Hush!     Hush! 

Chorus  of  Y.  M.  C.  A.  Members  ivithout. 
Spiritual  souls  are  we, 

Holy,  chaste  and  pure, 
From  temptations  wholly  free, 

From  the  world  secure. 
Cream  of  creation,  we  come  here  to-day, 
Salt  of  the  earth  and  the  Y.  M.  C.  A. 

(entering.) 

Oh,  oh  !  did  you  ever — 
How  shocking !     I  never 
Expected  such  horrors  to  sup  ! 
What  classical  crudities ! 
Barbarous  nudities ! 
Cover  them,  cover  them  up  ! 
First  Y.  M.  C.  A.  Member.  Sheets  !  blankets  !     If  they  have  no 

decent  garments, 
Rather  than  they  contaminate  the  world, 

My  own  frock-coat  upon  this  hussy 

Venus  of  Milo.  Goth  ! 

Withhold  thy  impious  hands,  or,  by  the  gods, 
The  heavens  shall  blight  thee.     I  contaminate  ? 
I,  on  whose  grace  the  wondering  world  has  gazed 
Enraptured — I,  the  acme  of  all  art — 


Oh,  for  a  word  to  tell  thee  what  thou  art, 

Thou  doting  ass  ! 
First  Y.  M.  C.  A.  Mem.  O  wicked,  wicked  woman  ! 

Hast  thou  no  shame  ?    No  shred  of  virtue  left, 

That  thou  dar'st  flaunt  it  thus  with  front  of  brass, 

Stirring  the  evil  passions  ? 
V.  of  M.  Self-condemned  ! 

Know'st  not  thy  country's  motto,  Honi  soit 

Qui  mal  y  pense  ?    Upon  that  text  I  '11  preach. 
Some  prigs  delight  to  hold  that  the  world  is  bad  and  bold, 

And  that  everything  is  only  meant  to  hurt  you, 
And   were  the  truth    confessed,    they    believe    themselves 
possessed 

Of  an  absolute  monopoly  of  virtue. 
It  delights  them  to  impute  all  the  passions  of  the  brute 

And  the  very,  very  vilest  of  intentions, 
And  the  reason  of  the  same  is  that  any  higher  aim 

Is  quite  beyond  their  little  comprehensions. 

Because  you  have  no  heart  to  appreciate  high  Art, 

It  doesn't,  as  you  seem  to  fancy,  follow 
That  another  one  who  can  is  a  bad  and  wicked  man, 

And  his  higher  aspirations  merely  hollow. 
Go,  go,  thou  pious  prig,  with  thy  own  importance  big  ! 

It  is  surely,  surely  time  that  thy  attention 
To  this  simple  fact  be  given  :  There  are  things  in  earth  and 
heaven 

That  are  quite  beyond  thy  little  comprehension. 

Chorus  of  Y.  M.  C.  A.  Members. 
There  is  certainly  something  in  that, 

And  although  it  may  savour  of  treason 
To  our  worthy  friend  here,  it  is  perfectly  clear 

That  the  lady  is  not  without  reason. 
Yes,  we  rather  opine  she  is  right, 

Though  at  first  her  costume  is  alarming 
To  the  unprepared  eye,  one  can  scarcely  deny 
That  the  Venus  of  Milo  is  charming. 

M.  C.  A.  Mem.  My  friends,  I  would  warn  you  !    Beware  ' 
She  will  ruin  your  morals  ! 

What  stuff ! 
M.  C.  A.  Mem.  She  's  a  hussy — 

Absurd  ! 
M.  C.  A.  Mem.  And  a  bad — 

Not  a  word  ! 
M.  C.  A.  Mem.  Wicked  woman — 

Shut  up,  Sir  !     Enough  ! 
You  're  only  a  prating  old  prig, 

And  we  strongly  advise  you  to  lie  low  ; 
Belong  though  we  may  to  the  Y.  M.  C.  A., 
We  can  worship  the  Venus  of  Milo. 


Cho. 
First  Y, 
Cho. 
First  Y 
Cho. 
First  Y 
Cho. 


"THE  PARTY"  AT  THE  AVENUE. 

MR.  WEEDON  GROSSMITH  has  found  an  outlet  for  his  dual 
talent  as  dramatist  and  actor  at  the  Avenue  Theatre.  His  new 
and  interesting  play,  The  Night  of  tlie  Party,  is  going 
strong.  That  it  should  be  going  strong  speaks  well  both  for 
company  and  audience.  The  piece,  although  possibly  suggested 
by  such  productions  as  High  Life  Below  Stairs  and  the  Lackey's 
Carnival,  has  a  novelty  of  its  own.  Mr.  WEKDON  GROSSMITH 
— must  earmark  him  from  Brother  Gee-Gee — has  made  his  hero, 
"  the  gentleman's  gentleman,"  very  human.  In  some  respects  the 
life  from  below  stairs  might  give  a  lesson  to  the  existence  on 
a  platform  a  couple  of  stories  higher.  The  servants  pictured 
by  the  author  show  a  chivalry  not  usually  associated  with  the 
atmosphere  of  the  pantry  and  the  house-keeper's  room.  For 
the  rest,  Mr.  WEEDON  GROSSMITH  is  a  host  in  himself,  literally 
and  figuratively,  supported  by  a  capital  company  of  comedians. 
Miss  MAY  PALFREY  is  charming. 


JULY  3,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


17 


ADDITIONAL  ANTICIPATIONS.— III. 
(By  R.  Tesian  Wells.) 

Wfi  have  already  seen  by  our  extracts 
rora  the  daily  papers  of  the  latter  half  of 
ibis  century,  that  the  readers'  time  will 
not  be  wasted  by  any  attempts  at  re- 
dundant   elegance  or  stately  verbosity. 
When  every  needless  word  is  omitted  it 
would  be  impossible  to  imitate  JOHNSON 
or  MACAULAY,  or,  above  all,  BLOWITZ,  the 
hree  great  masters  of  literary  English. 
The  journals   of  the  future  —  consisting 
wholly  of  paragraphs,   every  paragraph 
illustrated  in  colours — will  attract  chiefly 
3y  their  price,  never  more  than  one  "fif," 
[.hat  is,  the  fiftieth  part  of  a  "twen," 
one-twentieth  of  a  sovereign  in  the  deci- 
mal   coinage    of    that    period. 
Even  the  leading    articles   of 
the  Times,  long  published  in  a 
separate  form  every  Saturday 
at  the  price  of  two  fifs,  will 
eventually  disappear. 

One  newspaper,  however,  the 
Tailor  and  Cutter,  will  remain 
faithful  to  the  finest  traditions 
of  the  older  journalism.  No 
one  ever  saw  a  tailor  or  even  a 
cutter— except  a  racing  cutter 

in  a  hurry,  and  no  one  ever 
will.  The  journal  devoted  to 
the  interests  of  those  serene 
and  stately  persons  will  con- 
tinue to  use  language  worthy 
of  them,  and  in  its  dignified 
leisure  it  will  have  time  not 
only  to  chronicle  the  present 
but  also  to  review  the  past. 
We  have  the  pleasure  of  re- 
producing, or  ante-producing, 
from  its  pages  the  following 
article,  entitled  "  Costume  for 
Gentlemen  in  Days  of  Yore  "  : — 

Amidst  the  manifold  occupa- 
tions of  this  agitated  age  but 
few  have  leisure  or  inclination 
to  study  the  attire  of  Auld 
Lang  Syne,  or  to  investigate 
the  origin  of  each  species  of 
garment  worn  by  men,  to  use  the  curi 
language  of  the  present  day,  or  by 
gentlemen,  in  the  more  elegant  phrase- 
ology of  a  bygone  period.  Our  grand- 
parents considered  the  "topper"  hat 
a  permanent  institution  of  our  native 
land.  They  would  never  have  dreamed 
that  it  would  eventually  be  worn  by  only 
one  gentleman,  the  Speaker  of  the  House 
of  Commons  when  in  the  Chair.  There 
was  also  the  "  bowler  "  hat,  still  worn  by 
the  umpires  at  the  professional  cricket 
matches,  but  why  it  was  named  after  the 
bowler,  or  whether  it  was  ever  worn  by 
him,  the  most  careful  research  is  unable 
to  discover.  "When  the  ordinary  hat  of 
to-day,  which  it  would  be  superfluous  to 
describe,  was  first  introduced,  every  one 
asserted  that  it  would  never  supersede 
the  "topper"  hat,  at  least  in  "  Capel 


Court,"  the  old  name  of  the  Stock 
Exchange,  still  applied  to  the  gigantic 
edifice  at  Highgate,  N.C.  Yet  the  last 
wearer  of  this  head  covering,  a  venerable 
broker,  died  at  an  advanced  age  many 
years  ago. 

It  was  the  same  with  the  "  frock-coat," 
not  to  be  confused  with  a  lady's  "  frock," 
or  "petticoat."  This  ancient  garment, 
now  only  to  be  seen  in  the  Historical 
Costume  Museum  at  Chichester,  S.  S.  W., 
a  suburb  so  easily  reached  for  thirty  fifs 
by  the  Isle  of  Wight  Motoroad,  was  once 
universally  worn  by  gentlemen  in  London, 
and  was  considered  the  fine  fleur  du 
smart.  With  the  "topper"  hat  it  van- 
ished in  the  early  days  of  the  primitive 
motor,  that  strange,  vibrating,  smelling 


THE  MOTOR  CAR  IS  AT  PRESENT  ONLY  IN  ITS  INFANCY. 

Daily  Paytr. 


vehicle  which  our  grandfathers  thought 
so  wonderful,  and  its  place  was  taken  by 
the  present  distingue  garment,  which, 
like  the  modern  hat,  it  would  be  super- 
fluous to  describe.  Nor  need  we  refer  to 
the  difference  between  the  modern  morn- 
ing or  afternoon  leg-coverings  and  the 
old  trousers. 

The  alterations  in  evening  attire  appear 
trifling  to  the  unprofessional  eye.  To 
the  keener  vision  of  the  artistic  designer 
and  connoisseur  the  subtle  variations  in 
the  cut  of  the  trousers — now  "  peg-top," 
and  anon  wide-spreading  at  the  ankle — 
the  delicate  nuances  in  the  height  of  the 
coat-collar,  and  the  soup^ons  of  change  in 
the  opening  of  the  waistcoat,  alike  breathe 
a  whisper  of  that  eternal  evolution,  that 
persistent,  though  gradual,  adaptation  to 
the  environment,  which  is  the  natural  law 


of  the  entire  universe.  Unaltered  amidst 
these  variations,  the  exquisite  white  ex- 
panse of  the  snowy  shirt  front  remains  as 
it  was  at  the  beginning  of  the  century. 
Fashions  in  day  garments — literally  the 
epliemeridce  of  our  art — have  altered  in 
accordance  with  the  changes  in  locomo- 
tion, in  occupation  and  in  life  generally, 
but  the  evening  attire  of  the  English 
gentleman  seems  eternally  fixed. 

In  one  respect  it  has  advanced.  Sixty 
or  seventy  years  ago  the  crease  in  the 
trousers  became  the  fashion.  Now  that 
all  gentlemen,  and  even  some  authors, 
artists  and  other  persons  usually  in- 
different to  their  appearance,  have  their 
complete  evening  attire  pressed  every 
day,  the  effect  is  much  finer.  The  ancient 

-Greeks  themselves  would  have 

gazed  in  astonishment  at  the 
legant  habitues  of  the  New 
Opera  House  at  Cambridge,  N., 
or  the  Riverside  Music  Garden 
at  Oxford,W., those  two  suburbs 
(so  conveniently  situated  with- 
in the  half-twen  zone  on  the 
Western  and  and  Northern 
Motoroads)  which  are  especi- 
ally devoted  to  the  encourage- 
ment of  music,  literature  and 
the  arts  in  general. 

It  was  our  good  fortune  to 
attend  the  Japanese  Opera 
Cycle  at  Cambridge,  and  to 
observe  with  admiration  the 
appearance  of  those  gentlemen 
who  had  just  come  on  by  motor 
from  dinner  at  the  newest 
Restaurant  d'Ete  of  the  Cercle 
Gastronomique  de  Londres  on 
the  Norfolk  Broads.  Nothing 
could  be  handsomer  than  the 
appearance  of  an  English  gen- 
tleman in  the  evening,  during 
this,  the  second,  half  of  the 
twentieth  century,  with  an 
unbroken  crease  down  each  leg, 
down  each  arm,  down  the  middle 
of  his  back,  and  at  each  side  of 
~^his  rigid  shirt-front,  looking* 
to  quote  the  words  of  a  distinguished 
critic  of  sartorial  art,  "  as  though  he  were 
clotlied  in  cardboard."  H.  D.  B. 


YITA  BREVIS. 

["•SHORT'S  "  in  the  Strand  is  being  demolished.] 
A  SPOT  not  altogether  smart 

But  haunted  by  a  race  of  topers 
Who  came  from  each  dramatic  mart, 

And  scowled  distrust  at  interlopers. 
Fa,t  plummy  buns  wrere  close  beset 

By  choicest  brands  of  brimming  port, 
And  here  the  fellow  hail-well-met 

Made  art  and  life  together  Short. 
The  L.  C.  C.  with  vandal  grin 
May  wonder  what  SHORT'S  "  might  have 

bin," 

And  in  their  own  complacent  way 
Rejoice  that '.SHORT'S  will  longer  »tay. 


18 


PUNCH,   OK   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  3,  1901. 


THINGS  ARE  NOT  WHAT  THEY  SEEM. 

["The  Kingston  magistrates  recently  granted  a 
vaccination  exemption  certificate  to  a  married 
woman.  A  few  days  later  the  local  vaccination 
officer  informed  the  Bench  that  the  Local  Govern- 
ment Board  had  instructed  him  that  the  mother  of 
a  child  was  not  the  parent  within  the  meaning  of 
the  Act." — Daily  Paper.'] 
Is  nothing  anything,  and  all 

But  nothing?    Is  it  true 
That  words  most  commonly  let  fall 

Don't  mean  just  what  they  do  ? 
Oh  !  who  is  who  ?  and  what  is  what  ? 

And  wherefore  is  it  so  ? 
And  if  it  ain't,  why  is  it  not  ? 
That 's  what  I  want  to  know. 


has  therefore  suggested  that  the  turn  of 
simplicity  is  now  about  due,  and  we  have, 
therefore,  all  gone  in  for  Gardening.  We 
have  determined  to  read  you  blase  coun- 
try-folks a  lesson  in  rusticity,  with  a  new 
version  of  the  Rake's  Progress,  though 
some  of  us  don't  know  a  (garden  or 
common)  rake  from  a  hoe. 

Lady  KENSINGTON-GOWER  has  set  the 
fashion,  after  reading  about  Elisabeth's 
German  Garden,  and  so  we  are  all  bound 
to  follow.  We  now  call  a  spade  a  spade 
with  refreshing  directness.  The  dear  old 
Marchioness  of  ROUGBLY  has  become  quite 
an  adept  at  top-dressing.  Her  grandson, 
young  ARTY  CHOQUE  (my  foster-cousin-in- 


in  West  Kensington  have  formed  a  Window- 
Garden  Club,  nor  has  Bloomsbury  been 
behindhand.  My  Monte  Carlo  friend, 
Madame  DE  BROCCOLI,  has  coaxed  a  teeny 
little  row  of  bijou  cabbages  into  existence 
on  her  bed-sitting-room  window-sill ;  they 
are  the  envy  of  all  the  other  boarders. 

Have  you  heard  the  story  about  ALGY 
VAVASOUR  and  his  prize  turnip  ?  I  am 
dying  to  tell  you,  but  must  rush  off  to  the 
area  to  water  my  favourite  pumpkin. 

Your  loving        EVA. 

P.S. — I  have  just  wired  to  you  that 
horticulture  is  "  off,"  so  you  need  not  read 
this  letter.  We  are  all  now  going  in  for 
laundry-work. 


A  8UGGESIION    10    TUB    REFRESHMENT    DEPARTMENTS    OF    OUR  THEATRES,    MUCH    SIMPLER  THAN    THE   OLD   METHOD  OF   STRUGGLING  BY 

AND  WOULD   PREVENT  THE  MEN  GOING  OUT   BETWEEN  THB  ACTS. 


It  seems  to  ordinary  wits 

A  mother  to  her  son 
Is  bound  to  be  a  parent.     It 's 

Apparent  she  is  none. 
The  L.  G.  B.  declare  the  fact ; 

They  say,  no  parent  she 
Within  the  meaning  of  the  Act — 

If  meaning  there  can  be. 

Of  course,  'tis  so  since  so  they  say 

Who  say  that  it  is  so  ; 
But  if  these  are  not  parents,  pray, 

Who  are,  I  'd  like  to  know  ? 
O  Bumble,  long  ago  we  heard 

The  Law  denned  by  thee — 
But  where  wouldst  thou  have  found  a 
word 

To  suit  our  L.  G.  B.  ? 


EVE  AND  HER  LONDON  EDEN. 
DEAREST  MABEL,— You  ask  me  to  keep 
you  au  courant  with  the  latest  fashions. 
I  do  so  with  pleasure,  only  premising 
that  a  fresh  craze  may  be  sprung  upon  us 
before  I  have  finished  this  letter,  in  which 
case  I  will  wire.  I  daresay  you  know 
that  Bridge,  Ping-pong,  and  Vint  have  be- 
come successively  demodes.  "Gryllo,"  a 
combination  of  cricket  and  tennis,  was 
started  a  day  or  two  ago  at  the  Queen's 
Club  and  is  now  out  of  date.  Some  genius 


law-twice-removed,  you  know),  who  is 
considered  the  best-dressed  man  in  town, 
now  wears  a  smock-frock  down  Picca- 
dilly, and  is  taking  lessons  in  weeding 
and  gravel-scratching  from  a  professor 
every  morning  in  the  Row.  His  whim 
has  caught  on  quite  wonderfully,  and  a 
new  type  of  liver-brigade  has  been 
evolved.  Sir  MANGELL  WORSELL,  who  is 
nothing  if  not  original,  has  obtained  per- 
mission from  the  various  local  authorities 
to  plant  potatoes  and  other  esculent  roots 
in  the  different  entrenchments  now  to  be 
found  in  the  Strand,  Regent  Street,  and 
elsewhere.  He  says,  quite  rightly,  that 
the  ditches  are  there  for  months,  and  may 
as  well  be  utilised. 

Smart  Mrs.  GYLES-HODGSON  has  started 
a  real  roof-garden  (not  one  of  the  Ameri- 
can sort)  amoiig  the  chimney-pots  of  her 
charming  ParlcLane  house.  She  has  some 
special  pets  in  ^the  shape  of  three  dwarf 
scarlet-runners/  which  find  the  soot  of 
those  elevated  regions  most  congenial. 
The  youngest  she  has  had  potted,  and 
takes  daily  for  a  drive  in  the  Park  instead 
of  her  lap-dog.  All  Mayfair  now  clambers 
through  the  skylight  to  attend  her  very 
French  bean-parties. 

The  fever  has  even  attacked  the  dwellers 
in  Platland,  and  some  of  the  best  people 


A  DESERTER'S  MEDITATION. 
SULTRY  is  the  summer  day, 

And  the  lawns  are  cool  and  shady, 
On  them  throngs,  in  raiment  gay, 
Round  me  many  a  lovely  lady  ; 
While  afar  the  dull  debate 
Plods  with  dilatory  dripping. 
On  things  of  state 
I  meditate, 
From  cooling  cups  at  leisure  sipping. 

Far  from  tongues'  discordant  strife, 

'Mid  fair  scenes  I  fain  would  hide  me, 
Snatching  hours  of  happy  life 

While  sweet  Daphne  sits  beside  me  ; 
What  though  cares  of  statesman- 
ship— 

Clearest,  plainest  duty — blinking, 
The  watchful  whip 
I  had  to  slip, 
Out  of  the  House  in  secret  slinking  ? 

What  though  irate  leaders  come 
.With  their  "black  lists"  to  impeach 

me? 
In  these  shades  the  distant  hum 

Of  their  threats  can  hardly  reach  me. 
Heedless  what  the  vulgar  deem, 
Who  with  politics  are  fussing, 
To  me  this  cream 
And  strawberries  seem 
Matters  much  better  worth  discussing. 


JULY  10,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE;  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


19 


"THE  PACE   THAT   KILLS." 

[The  time  has  come  when  more  vigorous  action 
ought  to  be  taken  against  the  snorter-scorcher, 
who  is  a  much  more  dangerous  wild  beast  than  his 
cyclist  prototype." — Pall  Mall  Gazette.} 
IN  hideous  leathern  garb, 

With  goggles  and  misplaced  zeal, 
The  scorcher  sits  in  his  motor-car 
And  grips  at  the  steering  wheel. 
Scorch  !     Scorch !     Scorch ! 

In  petrol  and  people  and  dirt, 
He  runs    down    a    mortal,    he    utters    a 

chortle, 
And  puts  on  an  extra  spurt. 

Snort — snort — snort — 

"While  frightened  pedestrians  cower ; 
And  snort — snort — snort 

At  twenty  odd  miles  an  hour. 
It 's  oh,  to  be  on  foot 

For  setting  the  nerves  a-jar  ; 
And  always  be  ready  to  up  and  scoot 

From  the  rush  of  the  swirling  car. 

Scorch — scorch — scorch — 
With  a  pelt  and  a  plunge   through 

space. 
Scorch — scorch — scorch 

At  a  double  death-dealing  pace. 
Stream  or  mansion  or  shop, 

Shop  or  mansion  or  stream, 
All  is  merged  in  a  mixed  design 
In  an  oily,  odorous  dream. 

Scorch — scorch — scorch — 

And  a  cow  or  a  sheep  is  lamed. 
Scorch — scorch — scorch — 

And  a  boy  or  a  hen  is  maimed. 
And  the  villager  gasps  at  the  scorching 

car, 

And  his  bosom  with  terror  fills. 
For  he  knows  the  pace  of  the  scorching 

car 
Is  the  terrible  pace  that  kills. 

Scorchers  with  sisters  dear, 

Scorchers  with  mothers  and  wives, 
Think  of  the  people  your  snorting  car 

Is  frightening  out  of  their  lives. 
Pity  the  shattered  nerves 

Caused  by  your  shriek  and  snort. 
.t  isn't  exactly  an  Englishman's  game, 

And  it  isn't  a  British  sport. 


PEOPLE    WHO    PALL    ON    ME. 
V. — THE  CRITICAL  MAN. 

CRITICISM,  like  the  cold-water  douche, 
is  refreshing — at  intervals.  But  some  folk 
overdo  the  cold-water  business  altogether. 
Of  such  a  kind  is  the  critical  man.  He 
is  only  bearable  in  the  hot  summertime  of 
violent  emotion.  Then  a  little  of  him, 
ja.st  like  an  occasional  ice,  may  have  a 
cooling  effect.  But,  on  the  whole,  the 
critical  man  is  not  suited  to  our  English 
climate,  and  if  you  have  any  enthusiasms, 
better  cover  them  up  with  the  waterproof 
of  a  cheerful  dogmatism  before  you  meet 
him :  otherwise,  depend  upon  it,  he  will 
chill  the  poor  things  through  and  through 


1  WHERE    THERE'S    A   WILL." 

Aunt.  "  WHY,  TEDDY,  YOU  HAVE  FORGOTTEN  TO  BRING  YOUR  SPADE  ! " 
Tiddy  (reprovingly).  "On,  AUNTY,  IT'S  SUNDAY!    NURSE  PUTS  IT  AWAY." 

Aunt.    "POOR   LITTLE  MAN,    HOW  WILL  YOU   MANAGE  TO  AMUSE  YOURSELF?" 

Teddy.   "  Dio  WITH  u Y  HANDS  ! " 


by  swamping  them  with  frigid  question- 
ings. 

The  critical  man,  who  prides  himself 
upon  his  level-headedness,  flatters  him- 
self that  he  is  never  swept  away  by  the 
current  of  strong  emotion,  and  has  con- 
structed for  himself  logical  tunnels  which 
run  beneath  the  tidal  passions  and  convey 
his  opinions  smoothly  along  to  their  des- 
tination, while  the  electric  light  of  com- 
mon-sense sheds  a  hard  radiance  upon  the 
course. 

Considered  as  a  companion,  the  critical 
man  is  the  reverse  of  exhilarating :  it  is 
disagreeable  to  walk  beside  a  man  who 


uses  stilts.  You  can  put  up  with  a  taller 
man  than  yourself,  but  a  man  who  raises 
himself  artifically  and  then  takes  credit 
for  looking  down  on  you — that  is  not  to  be 
borne  with. 

The  critical  man  is  usual  good-tempered , 
but  there  must  be  something  wrong  about 
a  man  who  persistently  keeps  his  tem- 
per. It  isn't  healthy  to  keep  aloof  from 
emotional  athletics. 

The  critical  man  boasts  that  he  has 
scarcely  any  prejudices.  Unhappy  wight ! 
One  would  as  soon  admire  an  old  house 
the  better  because  all  the  lichen  and  ivy 
has  been  removed. 


VOL.   CXXI. 


20 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  10,  1901. 


A  FORTUNE-HUNTING  SONG. 

["MATRIMONY. — Gentleman,  thirty,  holding  important  appointment  and 
desiring  to  enter  Parliament,  wishes  to  meet  affectionate  lady  of  means  and 
social  standing."— Advt.  in  t/ie  "  People."] 

SING  Yoicks  !     Tally-ho  !    Fortune  hunting  I  go 

Through  the  gayest  society  scenes, 
All  eager  to  catch  that  desirable  match, 
An  affectionate  lady  of  means. 

Coy  maiden  just  out  of  her  teens, 
Old  matron  surrounded  with  weans, 
It 's  all  one  to  me  if  the  party  but  be 
An  affectionate  lady  of  means. 

One  swears  by  the  grace  of  his  lady-love's  face, 

To  her  eyebrows  another  one  leans, 
While  a  third  lover  sighs  for  his  mistress's  eyes — 
I  sigh  r&r  affection  plus  means. 

It 's  a  rare  combination,  one  gleans, 
But  hope  still  at  times  intervenes 
That  in  spite  of  the  dearth  I  may  yet  run  to  earth 
An  affectionate  lady  of  means. 


"  LAST  NIGHTS  !     WALK  UP !     WALK  UP !  " 

"Charles  the  First,"  revived  for  only  a  few  performances, 
to  be  repeated  again,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  if  pre-arrangements 
permit,  "  walked  and  talked  "  last  week;  but  Sir  HENRY  IRVING 
has  not  as  yet  given  us  enough  of  "  Wills's  Mixture,"  whereof 
the  flavour  is  delightful.  As  the  lovable  but  weak  King,  IRVING 
is  at  his  very  best.  His  manner,  his  figure,  his  smile,  all  so 
pathetic,  that  no  one,  save  a  being  of  Scrooge-like  type, 
with  a  strong  spice  of  Fifth-Monarchy  man  in  him,  seeing  the 
representation  could  have  the  heart  to  adapt  the  Cibberian 
version  of  Richard  the  Third  to  the  occasion  and  exclaim,  "  Off 
with  his  head!  So  much  for  CHARLES  STUART!  "  In  fact,  had 
Sir  HENRY  been  CHARLES  THE  FIRST  he  would  never  have  been 
beheaded  ;  but  had  CHARLES  been  HENRY  he  would  have  lost 
his  head  over  the  management  of  the  Lyceum  long  ago,  and 
been  sent  to  the  block  by  some  stony-hearted  Cromwellian 
Syndicate.  The  only  "  block"  at  present  is  that  of  carriages 
and  cabs  in  the  Strand,  Covent  Garden,  and  Wellington  Street, 
on  the  occasions  when  the  unfortunate  monarch  is  fortunately 
revived.  Vivat  Rex  I 

Then  the  opportunity  afforded  to  our  own  ELLEN  TERRY  ! 
Are  we  not  all  ready  to  join  with  her  with  one  heart  and  voice, 
and  with  tears  in  our  eyes,  m  that  touching  and  eloquent 
appeal  to  the  stubborn  man  of  destiny,  Cromwell,  as  admirably 
represented  by  Mr.  TYARS,  as  is  the  honest  and  faithful 
servitor  by  Mr.  BARNES.  ' 

The  Lyceum  should  be  to  Londoners  what  the  Francais  is  to 
the  Parisians.  Here  is  a  varied  collection  !  Place  side  by  side 
as  companion  portraits  HENRY  IRVING'S  First  Charles  and  his 
Eleventh  Louis.  They  are  historical  studies  worthy  of  any  stage : 
the  one  play  original,  by  an  Englishman  ;  the  other  a  clever 
English  adaptation  of  the  play  by  M.  CASIMIR  DELAYIONK,  but 
quite  an  English  classic  associated  with  the  names  of  CHARLES 
KEAN  (whom  the  present,  deponent  just  remembers  in  it,  and, 
remembering,  shall  never  forget),  and  PHELPS,  whom  the  same 
deponent  never  saw  in  this  particular  part,  and  it  is  difficult  to 
imagine  him  as  having  been  equal  to  either  KEAN  or  IRVING. 
The  part  with  its  cynicism,  its  sardonic  smile,  its  good  humour 
under  flattery,  its  abject  superstition,  tiger-like  ferocity,  and  its 
display  of  grovelling  fear  of  death,  is  one  which  gives  the  actor 
opportunities  afforded  him  probably  by  no  other  part  in  his 
repertoire,  and  from  which  he  extracts  the  very  utmost  effect 
possible. 

No  one  who  cares  for  English  drama  at  its  best  should  miss 
such  a  rare  display  of  histrionic  genius  as  can  now  be  seen 
"for  a  few  nights  only  "—alas !— at  the  Lyceum.  Pity  that 


;his  entire  season  has  not  been  devoted  to  these  most  popula 
revivals  !  Sir  HENRY  might  have  kept  Corry  O'Lanus  for  ; 
little  tour  in  Ireland  and  then  on  to  America,  and  Cornj  woul< 
have  [done  well  for  a  few  nights,  alternating  with  The  Lijon 
Mail  and  The  Bells,  on  which  he  could  have  rung  the  changes 
but  returning  again  a  nos  premiers  amours,  diaries,  Louis 
Shyloclc,  and  two  or  three  others,  not  on  any  account  omittinj 
Jingle,  and  that  Meissonier-like  finished  figure  of  the  old  soldie 
as  given  to  the  life  by  Sir  HENRY  in  that  charming  one-ac 
piece  called  Waterloo. 


THE   LOST  FOLLOWEB. 

[NOTE. — The  Leader  of  the  Liberal  Party,  being  himself  somewha  i 
doubt  as  to  the  issue  of  Tuesday's  impending  conference,  has  felt  unable  1 
render  the  author  any  useful  assistance  in  his  composition.] 

JUST  for  a  mouthful  of  dinner  he  leaves  us, 
Just  for  a  bumper  to  mellow  his  heart ; 

False  is  the  sigh  that  the  hypocrite  heaves  us, 
Wishing  we  too  could  be  taking  a  part. 

Had  he  withdrawn  at  the  summons  of  duty, 
Pressure  of  work,  let  us  say,  at  the  Bar, 

How  had  our  sympathy,  tearful  and  fluty, 
Mourned  the  eclipse  of  a  promising  star  ! 

How  we  had  felt  for  him,  visibly  thinner, 
Worn  to  a  shadow  by  zeal  for  the  law, 

Running  no  risk  of  incurring  at  dinner 

Pangs  for  his  conscience  and  pains  for  his  maw 

We  that  remarked  his  forensic  proclivities 

Under  that  other  redoubtable  chief, 
Fostered  and  flattered  his  latent  abilities, 

Letting  him  have  an  occasional  brief — 

We  that  beneath  an  identical  banner 

Fought  at  his  side  to  dismember  the  Church, 

Dimly  adopting  his  Balliol  manner — 
We  are  the  ones  that  he  leaves  in  the  lurch  ! 

MORLEY  was  for  me,  Sir  WILLIAM  was  one  with  me, 
Battersea  BURNS  with  my  cause  had  combined  ; — 

He  (the  unmentioned)  has  openly  done  with  me, 
He  has  announced  that  he  means  to  be  dined  ! 

Picture  what  pattern  of  barbarous  victuals 
Such  an  occasion  will  place  in  his  hands  ;  • 

Boer's-head  and  bully-beef,  lager  (with  skittles) 
And  the  dum-dumpling  that  goes  and  expands  ! 

We,  too,  have  dined  ;  he  will  plead  our  example, 
Hint  how  we  feasted  for  personal  ends, 

How,  being  full,  we  proceeded  to  trample 
Right  on  the  toes  of  our  dearest  of  friends. 

Well,  if  my  section  waxed  fat,  when  they  fed  it, 
Even  discharging  the  opening  brick, 

Still  I  can  always  recover  my  credit 

Keeping  a  trump  for  the  "  confidence  "  trick. 

As  for  this  duplicate  banquet's  verbosity, 

While  I  am  all  for  opinions  at  play, 
Candid  respect  and  polite  reciprocity, 

I  should  suggest  he  were  better  away. 

Yet,  if  I  reckon  the  ultimate  cost  to  me 
(Here  I  allude  to  the  moral  expense), 

'Tis  but  a  paltry  Imperial  lost  to  me 
When  I  return  to  my  roost  on  the  fence  ; 

Back  to  the  perch  that  I  ought  to  have  stopped  or 
Back  from  the  nervous  exhaustion  and  strain, 

Back  from  the  definite  sphere  that  I  dropped  on, 
Back  to  ambiguous  postures  again !  O.  S. 


JULY  10,   1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


21 


'LAZILY,    LAZILY,    DROWSILY,    DROWSILY!" 

Boat  Song. 
Adndral'D  Op'.imist  (murmuring  to' himself — nomcntarily  awaking).      THREE  NEW  BATTLE-SHIPS — PRETTY  NAME? — six  CRUISERS — 

TEN  DESTROYERS — SOON  R5ADY — PLENTY  OP  TIMS — ALL  RIGHT.     MEDITERRANEAN "  (Drops  off  again  for  another  "forty  winks  "). 

Vide  statements  in  both  Houses  on  Shipbuilding  Vote,  Friday,  July  5. 


JULY  10,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


23 


A    STORY   WITHOUT   WORDS. 

FREDDY'S  FIRST  DAY  AT  HENLEY. 


ROUNDABOUT    LONDON. 

(Concerning  the  Four-mile  Radius.) 

THE  would-be  driver  was  applying  for  a 
licence. 

"  How  would  you  get  from  Charing 
Cross  to  Victoria  Station?"  asked  the 
Examiner. 

"  I  would  go  up  Bond  Street  by  Suffolk 
Street,  the  Haymarket,  Regent  Street, 
and  Burlington  Gardens,  then  get  into 
South  Audley  Street  and  come  round 
by  Sloane  Street,  Pont  Street,  Eaton 
Square  and  Hobart  Place." 

"  Wouldn't  that  be  rather  a  circuitous 
route?  " 

."  Well,  it  could  not  strictly  be  charged 
the  whole  distance  by  the  mile,  because 
it  would  come  to  more  than  the  measured 
allowance  issued  by  Scotland  Yard." 

"  Why  not  go  by  Parliament  Street 
and  Victoria  Street  ?  " 

"Because  Parliament  Street  would  be 
probably  up  for  alterations,  and  Victoria 
Street  closed  for  repairs." 

"  You  wouldn't  go  by  Pall  Mall  and  the 
Park,  and  then  through  Buckingham  Palace 
Road?  " 


' '  Certainly  not ;  for  one  of  those 
thoroughfares  would  be  sure  to  be  blocked 
by  something  or  other." 

"Then  you  think  the  route  you  have 
indicated  the  wisest  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  in  the  long  run  it  would  be 
found  to  be  the  shortest." 

' '  If  you  had  to  drive  from  Charing  Cross 
to  the  Mansion  House,  how  would  you  go  ?  " 

"  Chiefly  by  Hoi  born  .and  north  of 
Newgate  Street." 

"And  from  Charing  Cross  to  London 
Bridge?" 

"  Round  the  Bank  and  over  the  New 
Tower  Bridge  via  Finsbury  Circus." 

"  And  why  would  you  take  these  seem- 
ingly roundabout  courses  ?  ' ' 

"Because  I  would  have  to  consider  the 
ups  and  downs  of  the  Metropolitan  roads." 

"  And  you  believe  that  the  Metropolitan 
roads  would  be  chiefly ?  " 

"Would  be  chiefly  ups.  So,  you  see, 
Sir,  I  know  my  London  fairly  well." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Examiner,  "you 
do ;  and,  what  is  more  useful,  you  know 
your  London  County  Council  even  better." 

And  the  would-be  driver  received  his 
certificate. 


DRESS  DIARY  FOR  THE  DOG  DAYS. 

(Sanctioned  by  Precedent,  but  emphati- 
cally not  guaranteed.) 

Monday. — Furs  and  overcoats.  Thick 
materials  and  umbrellas. 

Tuesday. — Muslin  and  cambric.  Sun- 
shades and  brown  boots. 

Wednesday.  —  Autumn  wear.  Tweeds, 
goloshes  and  mackintoshes. 

Thursday.  —  Chiffons  and  lace.  White 
suits  and  slippers. 

Friday.  —  Dust-coats  and  veils,  frieze 
dittoes  and  shooting-boots. 

Saturday. — Furs,  linens,  overcoats,  chif- 
fons. Sunshades,  umbrellas,  lined  gloves 
and  white  boots. 

Everything  by  turns  and  nothing  long, 
except  skirts  and  waterproofs. 

Prepare  for  heat  wave,  thunderstorms, 
Scotch  mist  and  fall  of  snow. 


SIR  HENRY  IRVING  AS  A  MOTORIST. — Sir 
HENRY  is  in  excellent  health.  He  daily 
goes  out  for  a  spin  with  the  Lyceum 
Motor-Carr.  A  crowd  watches  with  admi- 
ration Sir  HENRY'S  Comyns-and-Gpings. 


24 


PUNCH,   OK  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  10,  1901 


OUE  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

Rights  and  Wrongs  of  the  Transvaal  War  (ARNOLD)  is  essentiallj 
a  sane  book.     Its  author,  Mr.  E.  T.  COOK,  equipped  in  man} 
ways  for  his  task,  is,  above  all,  gifted,  with  a  judicial  mind 
Had  he  been  called  to  the  Bar,  and  enjoyed  even  remote  blood 
relationship  with  the  Lord  Chancellor,  he  would,  ere  this,  hav< 
been  a  priceless  addition  to  the  judicial  bench.     As  thing: 
went,  he  was  content  to  sit  for  a  while  in  the  editorial  chair  o 
a  daily  newspaper,  to  which  he  brought  access  of  the  dignitj 
born  of  absolute  independence  of  judgment,  keen  insight  int 
public    affairs,    and    inflexible    courage.     His    book  fcharac 
teristically  partakes  rather  of   the  summing-up   of    a   judg 
than  of  the  views  of  an  advocate.     The  task  he  set  himself  was 
to  trace  the  war  back  to  its  ultimate  causes,  to  recall  the  secre 
events  immediately  preceding  it,  and  to  set  forth  the  actua 
course  of  negotiations.     For  the  student  of  history  coming  to 
his  task  to-day  or  to-morrow  the  book  is  invaluable.     Mr.  Cook 
has  a'  pale  passion  for  Blue  Books.     He  has  unrestrainedly  in 
duJged  in  it,  boiling  down  into  a  not  too  portly  volume  all  thai 
relates  to  the  War  in  South  Africa.     He  frankly  admits  belief 
that,  substantially,  Great  Britain  has  been  in  the  right  and  the 
Dutch  Republics  have  been  in  the  wrong.     If  the  reader,  or 
laying  clown  the  book,  arrives  at  the  same  conclusion  he  wil 
admit  that  it  is  due,  not  to  special  pleading  on  the  part  of  the 
author,  but  to  the  irrefragable  logic  of  facts.     In  an  appendb 
re-appear  the  two    valedictory   articles    which    startled    the 
readers  of  a  historic  morning  newspaper  on  the  eve  of  a  great 
collapse.      Their  dignified   tone,    maintained   through   painful 
circumstances,  will  find  all  journalists  in  agreement  with  my 
Baronite   in    hoping  that  the  time   is  not  far  distant  when 
British  journalism  will  again  see  Mr.  COOK  in  one  of  its  princi- 
pal chairs. 

No  one  can  commence  reading  The  Serious  Wooing  (METHUEN), 
by  "  JOHN  OLIVER  HOBBES  "  (Mrs.  CRAIGIE  still  retains  her  nom 
de  plume),  without  in  a  very  short  time  becoming  deeply 
interested  in  every  one  of  her  characters,  according  to  their 
measure  of  importance.  It  is  the  simple  story,  worked  out  with 
singular  cleverness,  and  with  masterly  insight  into  character, 
of  a  strongly  loving  man,  as  zealous  to  indiscretion  in  the 
political  cause  to  which  he  has  given  all  his  energy  as  he 
is  when  surrendering  himself  to  the  overpowering  passion  of 
his  love,  and  of  a  woman  devoted  to  him  heart  and  soul,  as  is 
he  to  her ;  a  woman  who  learns  to  think  as  he  thinks,  to  talk  as 
he  talks  ;  to  yield  to  him  unquestioning  obedience  save  in  one 
thing,  and  that  is,  she  will  not  part  with  him,  she  will  not  allow 
him  to  leave  her,  she  cannot  bear  separation  for  the  very  shortest 
space,  but  whether  because  she  mistrusts  him  or  because  she 
is  not  sure  of  herself  is  not  made  clear.  If  they  have  not 
perfect  confidence  in  one  another,  apart  or  together,  then  is 
their  love  not  love  at  all.  When  Luttrel,  ordered  away  on  a 
foreign  socialistic  and  revolutionary  mission,  must  go  alone, 
all  that  Rosabel,  in  effect,  has  to  say  is,  "  That  she  never  will 
desert  Mr.  MICAWBER."  But  both  have  to  yield  to  fate,  and 
both  are  the  victims  of  the  machinations  of  a  set  of  well-dis- 
posed, ordinary  worldly  persons  (every  one  of  them  artistically 
individualized)  who  being  self-interested  in  preserving  the 
respectability  of  their  friend  Rosabel  as  one  of  their  own  rank, 
condescend  to  a  series  of  lies  and  to  acts  of  meanness  and 
dishonesty  which,  to  ^  certain  extent,  achieve  their  purpose, 
m  so  far  as  they  temporarily  wreck  the  happiness  of  Luttrel 
and  Rosabel.  The  whole\story  is  admirably  written ;  and  yet 
original  as  is  Mrs.  CRAiGiE\\style  the  Baron  is  not  infrequently 
struck  by  something  in  it  thk  reminds  him  of  the  earlier  and 
less  word-entangled  MEREDITH:  As,  for  example,  this  descrip- 
ion  of  how  "Luttrel,  much  in  earnest  in  matters  of  justice, 
and  also  fairly  reeling  with  love  for  the  martyr  to  a  monstrous 
etiquette,"  might  easily  have  been  an  "extract  of  Early 
MEREDITH."  Tittering  Arthur  Wardle,  with  the  fat  hands  and 
tastes>  ^  delightful  as  playing  the  part  of  Chorus 


before  the  audience,  and  taking  his  share  in  the  action  as  i 
is  carried  on  by  the  aristocratic  coterie.  The  two  scenes  ii 
Chapters  vii.  and  viii.  are  of  the  very  best  high  comedy 
The  Baron  trusts  that  no  lurking  feeling  of  jealousy  will  pre 
vent  Mrs.  CRAIGIE  from  joining  him  in  offering  his  most  sincer< 
congratulations  to  "  JOHN  OLIVER  HOBBES  "  on  this  new  work 
which,  he  fancies,  will  achieve  even  a  greater  popularity  thai 
any  of  its  predecessors  writ  by  the  same  hand. 

Great  Men  (GRANT  RICHARDS),  verse  by  HAROLD  BEGBIE  am 
pictures  by  F.  CARRUTHERS  GOULD,  is  capital  fun.  The  Baroi 
congratulates  both  poet  and  painter  (for  the  illustrations  an 
in  colour, — not  of  the  old  "twopence  coloured"  kind,  bu 
excellent  in  every  way)  on  their  work,  which,  though  jocosel; 
intended  for  the  nursery,  somiwhere  in  the  top  storey,  wil 
be,  the  Baron  ventures  to  think,  far  more  popiilar  among  th< 
"grown-ups"  in  the  drawing-room  and  smoking-room, - 
"  but  that 's  another  '  storey.'  "  Under  the  picture  of  "  Mr 
CHAMBERLAIN  as  the  Earl  of  BEACONSFIELD  "  Mr.  CARRUTHERI 
GOULD  should  have  added  "with  thanks  for  the  suggestion 
conveyed  to  him  by  Sir  John  Tenniel's  cartoon,  Aitg.  3,  1878 
entitled,  'The  Pas  de  Deux.'"  With  this  exception,  all  ar< 
thoroughly  original  and  of  most  happy  application. 

THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


A  CURIOUS  CREED. 

["  The  idiot  who  praises  every  country  but  his  own." —  W.  S.  Gilbert.] 
OH,  is  it  not  a  moral  joy,  an  altruistic  pleasure 
To  vilify  one's  Native  Land  with  JEREMIAH'S  measure  ! 

My  Country,  right  or  wrong,"  to  say  the  Jingo  may  continue 
But  as,  of  course,  you  can't  be  right,  my  Country,  I'm  agin  you 

I  never  fail  to  circulate  the  tale  opponents  make  up, 
And  any  continental  lie  is  good  enough  to  rake  up. 

[  misreport  and  minimise  with  gusto  our  successes  ; 

To  think  they  forward  wicked  ends  my  righteous  soul  distresses 

When  things  go  wrong  upon  our  side,  I  'in  positively  skittish  ; 
I  burst  to  hail  our  Nemesis — "  Disaster  to  the  British  !  " 

Say,  where  I  really  am  at  home  is  at  a  foreign  meeting, 
Where  cries  of  "  Mort  a  Chamberlain  !  "  my  gladdened  ears  are 
greeting. 

To  show  my  country  up  's  my  cue,  and  enemies  of  Britain 
annot  outdo  in  emphasis  what  I  have  said  and  written ! 

To  show  my  country  up — I  gloat  upon  my  holy  function  ; 
There  isn't  much  to  show,  but  what  there  is  I  ban  with  unction. 

ive  me  a  Cause  that  militates  against  the  Empire's  glory — 
I  'm  ipso  facto  pro-that-Cause,  a  "  'gin-Joe  "  con  amore! 

do  not  blame  our  soldiers— no,  I  only  say  they  're  brutal, 
Nor  do  I  care  how  many  times  I  meet  with  a  refutal. 

do  not  praise  the  foe,  because  the  foe  is  not  the  farmer 
Who  's  fighting  hard  for  KRUGER'S  rights,  but  our  battalions' 
'armer. 

would  conciliate  all  those  who  British  soil  invaded 
And  lurked  in  white-flag-flying  farms  with  Mausers  ambuscaded. 

iy  general  climbing  down  once  more  I  would  our  sins  diminish, 
But  not,  as  Air.  Punch  once  said,*  by  "  fighting  to  a  finish  !  " 

A.  A.  S. 

*  See  cartoon  of  Oct.  11,  1899. 


RATHER  A  PUZZLE.— The  Author  announces  in  its  "  Book  and 
'lay  Talk  "  that  LUCAS  MALET'S  new  book,  which  is  "  to  appear 
hortly,"  is  "the  longest  novel"  the  publishers  have  ever  sent 
o  press.  Has,  then,  "the  longest  novel"  been  considerably 
dited  by  Messrs.  Pruning  Knife  and  Scissors  between  its  having 
ieen  sent  to  press  and  its  reappearance  "  shortly  "  in  public  ? 


JULY  10,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


25 


FOR    CHARITY'S    SAKE. 

SCENE—  The  Park.  Time.  The  Fashionable 
Morning  Hour.  Lui  and  ELLE  dis- 
covered enjoying  a  causcric. 

Ellc.  Oh,  it  will  bo  quite  gay  !  Admis- 
sion five  guineas  and  ten  pounds  a  seat 
at  the  tea-tables.  The  Organising  Com- 
mittee have  rented  the  Anthropological 
Gardens. 

Ltd.  Any  kind  of  entertainment  ? 

Elle.  Oh,  yes.  We  have  got  Mr.  BARN- 
STORMER for  a  recitation  and  Ui  FLOP  for 
one  of  her  great  songs  with  a  chorus  for 
nothing,  and  SCRAPINI,  the  violinist,  is  to 
bring  his  violin. 

Liu'.  Also  for  nothing  ? 

Elle.  Of  course.  Such  an  excellent  ad- 
vertisement for  them.  And  then  there 
are  to  be  lamps  on  the  artificial  lake  and 
fireworks— small  ones  that  won't  frighten 
the  horses  outside— on  the  terrace.  Two 
guineas  a  seat  for  places  in  front  of  the 
fireworks,  and  five  shillings  entrance-fee 
to  the  avenue  of  Japanese  lanterns. 

Liu.  Well,  you  ought  to  rake  in  the 
shekels.  And  what  is  it  for?  What's 
the  name  of  the  Charity  ? 

Elle.  I  quite  forget.  But  you  will  find 
it  on  the  tickets. 

[The  talk  drifts  to'pther  topics. 

THE  VERB  TO  DINE. 

(A  companion  to  the  Verb  "  Tn  Be,"  con- 
jugated bij  Mr.  Punch,  Nov.  '28,  1900.) 

PRESENT  TESSE. 
I  dine. 

Thou  joinest  me. 

He  tries  to  whip  us  up  for  a  division. 
We  smoke  our  cigars. 
Ye  drink  your  port. 
They  are  defeated  in  the  Lobby. 

IMPERFECT  TENSE. 
I  was  dining. 

Thou  wast  holding  a  reception. 
He  was  attending  it. 
We  were  feeling  puzzled. 
Ye  were  reading  the  Globe  and  Pall  Mall. 
They  were  not  knowing  what  to   make 
of  it. 

FUTURE  TENSE. 
I  shall  dine. 

Thou  wilt  join  my  party. 
He  will  squirm. 

We  shall  promote  the  unity  of  the  party. 
Ye  will  applaud. 
They  will  call  a  meeting  at  the  "  Reform." 

PERFECT  TENSE. 
I  have  dined. 

Thou  hast  made  ambiguous  remarks. 
He  has  explained  them  away. 
We  have  tried  to  make  it  all  sweet  again. 
Ye  have  split  a  soda. 
They  have  split  the  party. 

SUBJUNCTIVE  PRESENT. 
I  may  dine. 
Thou  mayest  object. 
He  may  want  to  state  his  views. 


The  Widows  Intended.    "War.!/,   TOMMY,   HAS  YOUR  MOTHER  TOLD  YOU  OF  MY  GOOD 
FORTUNE  r' 

Tommy.  "No.     SHE  ONLY  SAID  SHE  WAS  GOING  TO  MABRY  YOU  !" 


We  may  insist  on  our  dinners. 
Ye  may  agree  with  them. 
They  may  disagree  with  you. 

SUBJUNCTIVE  IMPERFECT. 
I  might  dine. 
Thou    mightest    emerge    from    B3rkeley 

Square. 

He  might  resign. 
We  might  lead. 
Ye  might  follow. 
They  might  not. 

IMPERATIVE. 
Dine  though  ! 
Let  him  speak  out  I 
Let  us  know  Avho  is  our  leader ! 
Read  ye  the  Times  and  Globe  ! 
Let  them  settle  the  question  for  us  ! 

INFINITIVE. 
Present :  To  split. 
Past :  To'have  been  a  party. 


"ENGLISH  OPERA  IN  THE  COUNTRY." — 
Under  this  heading  there  appeared  a 
paragraph  in  the  Times  stating  that  "The 
Moody-Manners  Opera  Company  have 
sacured  the  rights  of  Dr.  V.  STANFORD'S 
Much  Ado."  The  part  of  the  villainous  Don 
John  should  suit  down  to  the  bass-ment 
and  up  to  the  top  note  any  leading  member 
of  the  "  Moody-Manners  "  Company.  But 
surely  the  light-hearted  Benedick,  the 
dashing  Claudia,  the  merry  Prince,  and  the 
gay  Beatrice  cannot  find  representatives 
among  a  company  of  "  Moody  Manners  !  " 
No,  no  ;  this  talented  set  should  stick  to 
deepest  dye'd  tragedy,  from  which  should 
be  eliminated  the  least  sign  of  light  comedy 
or  of  anything  farcical. 


THE  LATEST  SOUTH  AFRICAN   DRINK.— 
The  Liberal  split. 


26 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  10,  1901. 


OCCASIONAL    OPEKATIC    NOTES. 

Tuesday,  July  2.— Messaline ;  or,  the  Tra-lara-Boom-de-ay ! 
When  Mr.  ISIDORE  BE  LARA'S  Messaline  was  first  produced  at 
Covent  Garden  two  years  ago,  Mr.  P.'s  Operatic  Repre- 
sentative was  "  otherwise  engaged."  But  on  this  present 
occasion  of  its  re-production  he  went  early,  before  house  and 
orchestra  were  half  filled,  and  came  away  early,  that  is,  as 
opera-hours  go,  seeing  it  was  past  eleven  when  the  curtain 
descended  on  the  second  tableau  of  Act  iii.,  and  there  was  yet 
a  fourth  act,  of  which  he  made  free  gift  to  all  those  who  cared 
to  stop  and  listen  to  it,  and  who  were,  he  is  bound  to  state, 
the  majority.  Well,  if  the  show  of  hands  be  in  favour  of  this 
opera,  your  musical-and-dramatic  Representative  bows  to  this 
expression  of  their  opinion,  but  cannot  compliment  them  on 
their  sound  judgment.  Before  giving  a  final  verdict  on  the 
music,  it  would  be  only  fair  to  composer  and  to  critic  to 
hear  it  again,  and,  should  a  doubt  remain,  then  again  after 
that,  stipulating,  however,  as  Mr.  P.'s  Op.  Rep.  emphatically 
does  that,  whether  it  be  sung  by  the  present  artistes  engaged, 
or  by  others,  it  should  be  given  as  at  a  concert,  with  vocalists 
and  orchestra  only,  and  without  any  dramatic  action  whatever. 

To  see  it  in  action — well ! — if  Mrs.  GRUNDY  had  been  present 
with  the  Misses  GRUNDY,  it  is  not  absolutely  impossible 
to  imagine  that  excellent  lady  as  gathering  up  her  skirts  and 
her  opera-cloak,  and  with  tip-tilted  nose  and  distended  nostrils 
stalking  up  the  gangway  of  the  stalls,  followed  by  her  two 
marriageable  darlings,  long  before,  at  all  events,  the  first 
scene  of  the  third  act  was  over.  She  might,  perhaps,  if  a  very 
decided  and  ultra-Puritanic  Mrs.  GRUNDY,  have  taken  flight  at 
the  close  of  Act  I,  but  to  have  remained  with  her  dear  innocent 
girls  all  through  the  "great"  scene  between  Messaline,  so 
marvellously  played  by  Mile.  CALVE,  and  Helion  the  muscular 
heathen  (a  part  which,  considering  how  the  male  heavy- 
weight has  to  be  artistically  contrasted  with  the  voluptu- 
ously sensual  sorceress,  was  adequately  represented  by 
Signer  TAMAGNO)  would  have  weighed  on  the  Grundian  con- 
science for  some  considerable  time  :  but,  while  the  action 
of  decorous  Madame  GRUNDY  might  make  the  Opera  liabitue 
smile,  and  cause  uncovered  shoulders  to  shrug,  yet  I  suspect 
that  most  good  men  and  true  women  who  have  sympathised 
with  and  respected  Colonel  Newcome  when  they  read  of  him  as 
stalking  out  of  the  Cave  of  Harmony,  cane  on  shoulder,  re- 
moving his  boy  Clive  from  the  chance  of  hearing  the  highly 
flavoured  ditty  sung  by  fuddled  old  Costigan,  would  have 
applauded  Mrs.  GRUNDY.  The  more  powerful,  the  more  perfect 
the  acting  of  Mile.  CALVE,  the  stronger  would  become  my 
argument  against  the  representation  on  the  stage  of  such  a 
situation  as  occurs  in  the  third  act  of  this  Opera. 

I  think  Messieurs  ARMAND  SYLVESTRE  and  EUGENE  MORAND, 
if  bound  to  choose  MESSALINA  for  their  heroine,  might  have 
found  some  more  delicate  but  equally  dramatic  way  of  telling 
the  story.  Mr.  DE  LARA  had  but  to  set  it  to  music,  and,  of 
course,  is  not  primarily  responsible  for  the  libretto.  The 
Opera  which,  whatever  its  future  may  be,  would  be  vastly 
improved  by  judicious  lopping  and  pruning,  is  most  effectively 
"  stage'd."  There  are  some  striking  choruses  in  it  which,  as  the 
"keening"  one  $o  "very  like  a  wail,"  become  monotonous 
either  by  actual  repetition  or  by  a  family  resemblance  ;  there 
is  a  telling  refrain 'to  the  song  of  Hares  in  the  first  act,  but  it 
is  dangerously  near  the  lilt  of  a  catching  modern  music-hall 
chorus ;  then  clever  M.  GILIBERT  as  Myrrhon,  has  a  taking 
morc;e.au —  'tis  nothing  more  than  that — in  which  one  of  the 
charming  young  ladies  Tsilla  and  Lenconce,  represented  by 
Miss  BLISS  and  Miss  RUBY  (pretty  names  both.  "How  happy 
could  he  be  with  Ruby,  Were  Miss  Perfect  Bliss  but  away !  "), 
joins  him  occasionally. 

This  scene  in  the  second  act  seems  to  have  been  suggested, 
not  musically,  but  dramatically,  by  a  reminiscence  of  the  tavern 
scene  in  Carmen  and  of  the  scene  in  the  Huguenots  where  the 


entrance  of  the  watch  stops  the  street  riot.  To  compare  small 
things  with  great,  as  here,  all  the  rioters  and  revellers,  male 
and  female,  flop  down  on  their  faces  directly  someone  rushing 
in  shouts,  in  effect,  "Here's  a  policeman  coming!"  and  so 
remain  (much  as  the  gamblers  did  in  Artful  Cards,  when  Mr. 
TOOLE  hid  under  the  table  with  a  trombone),  until  the  guileless 
^Edile,  having  complimented  the  tavern-keeper  on  his  respect 
for  law  and  order  and  promised  to  give  him  a  favourable  report 
on  next  licensing  day,  departs ;  and  scarcely  is  his  back 
turned  than  up  they  are  at  it  again,  their  singing,  dancing, 
drinking,  fighting  being  only  interrupted  by  the  appearance  «of 
Helion,  the  champion  of  the  ring,  who  is  acclaimed  much  in  the 
same  way  as  is  the  Toreador  in  the  second  act  of  Carmen.  And, 
by  the  way,  Messaline  is  but  Carmen  writ  large,  an  Imperial 
Carmen.  If  only  the  story  had  been  similarly  treated  by  the 
librettists. 

There  's  a  duet  between  Hares  and  Helion,  describing  how 
the  latter  killed  a  lion  and  saved  his  brother's  life  ;  then  the 
scene  between  the  muscular  heathen  and  Messaline ;  after 
this,  Brother  Hares  is  tied  up  in  a  handy  parcel,  and  is 
chucked  out  of  the  window  into  the  muddy  Tiber.  This  little 
job  being  satisfactorily  finished,  merry  Messaline  expands 
joyously,  and  goes  off  to  finish  the  evening  more  suo  with  the 
muscular  brother,  who  is  "  innocent  of  the  knowledge,  dearest 
chuck,"  but  would  not,  if  he  knew  it,  "  applaud  the  deed." 

Next  scene :  banks  of  Tiber :  illuminated  window,  FANTOCCINI 
show  size,  on  opposite  bank  where  muscular  brother  and 
Messaline  don't  appear  like  "ombres  Chinoises,"  which  is  a 
great  opportunity  lost  by  librettist  -and  stage  manager.  Hares 
is  rescued  from  drowning  by  the  Roman  Ha  mane  Society,  is 
dried  in  less  than  a  second,  seizes  a  knife  from  somebody 
who  has  no  immediate  use  for  such  an  article,  and  hurries 
off,  eager  for  vengeance,  while  invisible  chorus  and  the  light 
soprano,  Tyndaris  (Miss  NiCHOLLS),  sing  these  delightful  words: 
"Ho  eho  O  ....  he  ah  Leiya  .  .  .  Leiya  .  .  .  Eiya !  Leiya  ! 
.  .  .  Ah  !  Ah  !  "  which  for  real  poetry  and  grace  of  expression 
can  alone  be  equalled,  though  hardly  surpassed,  by  those 
immortal  words  so  often  recurring  in  British  minstrelsy, 
namely,  "  Tol  de  rol  lol !  Fal  de  ral  lal !  Tooral  li  da  !  and 
Tral  de  ral  lara  !  " 

Wednesday. — To-night  Les  Huguenots.  Always  welcome  !  It 
should  draw  all  Exeter  Hallites  to  hear  what  ALBERT  SMITH 
used  to  call  The  Hug-me-nots ;  or,  Pop  go  the  Protestants.  DE 
MARCHI  as  Itaoul  and  Mile.  BRKVAL  as  his  Valentine  admirable 
in  the  great  "Tit  m'omi"  duet,  and,  for  the  matter  of  that, 
excellent  throughout.  SUZANNE  ADAMS  a  brilliantly  vocalising 
queen,  causing  notes  of  the  highest  value  to  be  issued  "and 
taken  for  all  their  worth  by  thoroughly  appreciative  audience. 
PLANCON  impressively  noble  as  St.  jBris  ;  M.  JOURNET  a  Marcel 
not  quite  so  rough  and  ready  as  that  stern  Puritan  soldier 
would  have  been,  but  singing  as  never  a  nasal-toned  Puritan 
private  ever  could  have  sung.  Delightful  exercise  for  linguists 
to-night,  French  "  as  she  is  sung,"  and  likewise  Italian.  There 
may  have  been  German,  English,  and  Norwegian  in  the  chorus, 
but  what  does  that  matter  ?  Music  is  not  for  one  language, 
but  for  all  tune  and  for  all  time ;  and  the  music,  like  the  play, 
"is  the  thing."  And  "What's  the  odds,  as  long  as  it's  a 
success?" — which  it  was. 


UNDER  THE  WAVES. — The  Paris  Figaro  states  that,  the  sub- 
marine boat  Gustave  Zede  passed  unobserved  through  the 
entire  line  of  the  French  Mediterranean  Fleet  and  torpedoed 
the  iron-clad  Jaureguiberry.  This  fact  appears  to  surprise 
the  French  critics.  May  we  therefore  suggest  that  the 
present  submarine's  name  should  be  altered  to  Gustave,  ou  le 
Mauvais  Sujet.  Quite  a  Paul  de  Kockboat.  But,  all  the  same, 
though  the  submarine  boat  does  play  uncommonly  low  down, 
yet,  if  "out  of  sight,"  its  proceedings  should  not  be  "out  of 
the  mind  "  of  our  own  Admiralty. 


.In.v  10,   1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


27 


REFLECTIONS  OP  A  MOTOR-RACER. 

Two  A.M.  !  Time  to  get  up,  if  I  'm  to 
bo  ready  for  the  great  Paris-Berlin  race 
at  3.30.  Feel  very  cold  and  sleepy.  Pitch 
dark  morning,  of  course.  Moon  been 
down  hours.  Must  get  into  clothes,  I 
suppose.  Oilskins  feel  very  clammy  and 
heavy  at  this  hour  in  the  morning.  But- 
ton up  tunic  and  tuck  trousers  into  top- 
boots.  Put  on  peaked  cap  and.  fasten 
veil  tightly  over  face,  after  covering  eyes 
-with  iron  goggles  and.  protecting  mouth 
with  respirator.  "Wind,  woollen  muffler 
round,  neck  and  .case  hands  in  thick  dog- 
skin gloves  with  gauntlets.  Look  like 
NANSEN  going  to  discover  North  Pole. 
Or  Tweedledum  about  to  join  battle  with 
Tweedledee.  Effect  on  the  whole  un- 
pleasing. 

Great  crowds  to  see  us  off.  Nearly  ran 
over  several  in  effort  to  reach  starting 
post.  Very  careless.  People  ought  not 
to  get  in  the  way  on  these  occasions. 
Noise  appalling.  Cheers,  snatches  of 
Marseillaise,  snorts  of  motors,  curses  of 
competitors,  cries  of  bystanders  knocked 
down  by  enthusiastic  chauffeurs,  shouts  of 
gendarmes  clearing  the  course.  Spec- 
tators seem  to  find  glare  of  acetylene 
lamps  very  confusing.  Several  more  or 
less  injured  through  not  getting  out  of 
the  way  sufficiently  quickly.  At  last  the 
flag  drops.  We  are  off. 

Pull  lever,  and  car  leaps  forward.  Won- 
der if  wiser  to  start  full  speed  or  begin 
gently  ?  Decide  on  latter.  Result,  nearly 
blinded  by  dust  of  competitors  in  front, 
and  suffocated  by  stench  of  petroleum. 
Fellow  just  ahead  particularly  objection- 
able in  both  respects.  Decide  to  quicken 
up  and  pass  him.  Can't  see  a  foot  before 
me  on  account  of  his  dust.  Suddenly  run 
into  the  stem  of  his  car.  Apologise. 
Can't  I  look  where  I  'm  going?  Of 
course  I  can.  Not  my  fault  at  all.  Surly 
fellow  !  Proceed  to  go  slower.  Fellow 
behind  runs  into  me.  Confound  him,  can't 
he  be  more  careful  ?  Says  he  couldn't  see 
me.  Idiot ! 

Put  on  speed  again.  Car  in  front  just 
visible  through  haze  of  dust.  Hear  distant 
crash.  Confound  the  man,  he  's  run  into 
a  dray  !  Just  time  to  swerve  to  the  right, 
and  miss  wreck  of  his  car  by  an  inch. 
Clumsy  fellow,  blocking  my  road  in  that 
way.  At  last  clear  space  before  me.  Go 
up  with  a  rush.  Wind  whistles  past  my 
cars.  Glorious!  What's  that?  Run  over 
an  old  woman  ?  Very  annoying.  Almost 
upset  my  car.  Awkward  for  next  chap. 
Body  right  across  the  road.  Spill  him  to 
a  certainty. 

Morning  growing  light,  but  dust  thicker 
than  ever.  Scarcely  see  a  yard  in  front  of 
me.  Must  trust  to  luck.  Fortunately 
road  pretty  straight  here.  Just  missed  big 
tree.  Collided  with  small  one.  Knocked 
it  over  like  a  ninepin.  Lucky  I  was  going 
so  fast.  Car  uninjured,  but  tree  done  for. 


She.    "I   LOVE  THIS  EXCESSIVELY  HOT  WEATHER!      DON'T  YOU,    MR.    BORKHAM  ?  " 

He.  "No!    I  CAN'T  STAND  IT.    I  SHALL  GO  AWAY  IF  IT  CONTINUES  1" 
She.  "I  DO  HOPE  IT  WILL!" 


Man  in  car  just  ahead  very  much  in  my 
way.  Shout  to  him  to  get  out  of  the  light. 
Turns  round  and  grins  malevolently. 
Movement  fatal.  He  forgets  to  steer  and 
goes  crash  into  ditch.  What 's  that  he 
says  ?  Help  ?  Silly  fellow,  does  he  think 
I  can  stop  at  this  pace  ?  Curious  how 
ignorant  people  seem  to  be  of  simplest 
mechanical  laws. 

Magnificent  piece  of  road  here. 
Nothing  in  sight  but  a  dog.  Run  over  it. 
Put  on  full  speed.  Seventy  miles  an  hour 
at  least.  Can  no  longer  see  or  hear  any- 
thing. Trees,  villages,  fields  rush  by  in 
lightning  succession.  Fancy  a  child  is 
knocked  down.  Am  vaguely  conscious  of 
upsetting  old  gentleman  in  gig.  Seem  to 
notice  a  blimp  on  part  of  car,  indicating 
that  it  has  passed  over  prostrate  fellow 
citizen,  but  not  sure.  Sensation  most 
exhilarating.  Immolate  another  child. 
Really  most  careless  of  parents  leaving 


children  loose  like  this  in  the  country. 
Some  clay  there  will  be  an  accident. 
Might  have  punctured  my  tyre. 

Chap  in  front  of  me  comes  in  sight. 
Catching  him  up  fast.  He  puts  on  full 
speed.  Still  gaining  on  him.  Pace  terrific. 
Sudden  flash  just  ahead,  followed  by  loud 
explosion.  Fellow's  benzine  reservoir 
blown  up  apparently.  Pass  over  smoking 
ruins  of  car.  Driver  nowhere  to  be  seen. 
Probably  lying  in  neighbouring  field.  That 
puts  Mm  out  of  the  race. 

Eh?  What's  that?  Aix  in  sight? 
Gallop,  says  BROWNING.  Better  not,  per- 
haps. Road  ahead  crowded  with  spec- 
tators. Great  temptation  to  charge 
through  them  in  style.  Mightn't  be 
popular,  though.  Slow  down  to  fifteen 
miles  an  hour,  and  enter  town  amid  frantic 
cheering.  Most  interesting.  Wonder- 
fully few  casualties.  Dismount  at  door  of 
hotel  dusty  but  triumphant.  ST.  J.  H. 


28 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  10,   1901.' 


^ 


X   X 


Register-keeper.  "MAJOR  JONES  FIRST  TO  COUNT.     A  MISS — NOTHINO." 
Major  Jones.   "I  PAT,  SERGEANT,  THAT'S  ALMOST  AN  IRISH  BULL,  I 
Register -keeper.   "No,  SORR,  JUST  A  SIMPLE  ENGLISH  MISS!" 


AN    AMERICAN    OFFER. 

["  America  is  anxious  to  supply  all  poor  Eng- 
land's deficiencies.  The  last  deh'ciency  to  be  reported 
is  in  curates.  The  time  is  anxiously  awaited  when 
America  will  produce  a  gigantic  curate  trust  to 
absorb  the  business." — The  Globe.] 

THE  following  is  believed  to  have  been 
found  among  the  "waste-paper"  in  the 
basket  of  an  ecclesiastical  dignitary. 

"  The  Great  American  Curate  Tnist  " 
has  much  pleasure  in  enclosing  a  few 
advance  sheets  from  their  catalogue. 

A  particularly  rich  crop  of  curates  has 
been  harvested  this  year,  enabling  the 
directors  of  the  G.  A.  C.  T.  to  supply  all 
the  deficiencies  of  the  British  markets. 
"We  have  over  10,000  curates  now  ready 
for  exportation,  and  guarantee  all  parcels 
to  be  sound  in  wind  and  limb  (except 
where  otherwise  stated  to  the  contrary), 
and  will  deliver  free  on  board  at  prices  to 
be  obtained  of  our  London  Agent. 

The  following  attractive  "lots"  taken 
at  haphazard  from  our  mammoth  catalogue 
will  give  some  idea  of  the  w«alth  of  our 
resources. 

No.  3.  Our  Special  "Social"  Curate. 
For  bazaars,  garden  parties,  flower  shows 
and  other  local  functions.  Exemplary 


manners,  amiable  smile,  soft,  dreamy 
expression,  pink  complexion  (or  in  cream), 
low-pitched  musical  intonation.  Could 
wear  button-hole.  A  particularly  fasci- 
nating line. 

No.  10.  The  Advanced  !  Non-smoking, 
teetotal,  vegetarian,  flannel  -  shirted 
Curate.  Fine  classical  scholar.  Socialistic 
tendencies  and  advanced  views  generally. 
Indispensable  to  the  elder  members  of  a 
congregation.  Weak  chest  only  blemish. 

No.  19.  The  Glow-of-Health  Curate  has 
enjoyed  a  steady  demand  for  the  last  five 
years.  Special  Athletic  Series.  A  perfect 
player  of  one  of  the  following  games  : — 
(«)  cricket,  (b)  lawn-tennis,  (c)  croquet, 
(a)  ping-pong  or  any  other  game  not  herein 
specified.  Kept  in  sizes  from  5  to  6  feet. 
A  perfect  boon  where  gymnasiums  or 
athletic  clubs  are  attached.  Fitted  with 
or  without  first-grade  free-wheel  cycle  or 
foils  and  boxing  -  gloves.  Very  neat 
parcel. 

No.  25.  The  Sentimental  —  with  fair 
hair,  attractive  lisp  and  mellow  tones. 
Fitted  with  over  1,000  appropriate  quota- 
tions from  dead  and  living  poets.  No 
fixed  views.  Impressionable,  and  would 
marry  easily.  A  very  handy  and  attractive 


ornament  for  a  semi-detached  provincial 
residence.  Fragile. 

No.  31 .  The  Domestic.  "Willowy  frame, 
pince-nez,  nice  short  trousers,  shoes  or 
elastic-side  boots  (please  state  which). 
Exhaustive  knowlege  of  food,  "simple 
remedies,"  seaweed,  and  old  furniture. 
Can  sing  and  vamp.  Tea  -  meetings  a 
speciality. 

No.  40—50.  Married  curates.  Nice 
cheap  lot.  Some  slightly  damaged. 

No.  72 — 6.  Special  parcel  of  assorted 
curates.  With  clever  parlour  tricks. 
Banjoists,  jugglers  (two  double-jointed), 
clean-shaven  and  natty.  (With  or  with- 
out fox  terrier.) 

No.  104.  Temporary  chaplains.  (Speci- 
mens of  sermons  on  application.)  Proud, 
dignified,  long  or  short  hair  (please  state 
which),  deep,  sonorous  voice,  dramatic 
delivery  (gestures  if  ordered). 

Voices  are  supplied  in  three  qualities, 
unless  otherwise  specified : 

(1)  Stentorian.  (2)  Mellow,  for  appeals. 
(3)  Sentimental,  die-away. 

Special  ornamental  monocle  supplied, 
with  purchase  for  cathedral  towns. 

Customers  should  state  whether  white 
or  red  socks  are  desired. 


PUNCH,    OR   THE   LONDON    CHARIVARI.— JULY  10,  1901. 


DIRTY  WEATHEE! 


Miw.  LIBERAL  TARTY  (evidently  so  comfortable).  "  I   DO— ASSURE  YOU— CAPTAIN  BANNER  MAN— WE  HAVE 

EVERY— CONFIDENCE— IN   YOU!" 


JULY  10,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OE  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


31 


ESSENCE    OF    PARLIAMENT. 

EXTRACTED  FEOM  THB  DIARY  OF  TOBY,  M.P. 

House  of  Commons,  Monday,  July  1. — 
"I  suppose  you  've  heard?"  the  SQUIRE 
OF  MALWOOD  said  to  JOHN  MOELEY  when 
latter  took  his  seat  at  end  of  Front  Bench 
in  time  for  Questions. 

"Heard  what?"  said  JOHN  gloomily, 
for  now  that  MILNER  man  is  authorised, 
Parliament  not  sitting  at  the  Cape,  to 
issue  warrants  to  meet  the  expenditure 
for  the  public  service. 

"  ASQUITH  'S  going  to  the  dinner  at  the 
Hotel  Cecil." 

"No,"  cried  Honest  JOHN,  a  fresh 
wrinkle  stealing  over  his  pensive  brow, 
"  Wouldn't  have  thought  it  of  him,  I 
confess  that,  OLIVER  CROMWELL  and  BURKE 


you  see  what  I  'm  leading  up  to  ?  ASQUITH 
at  another  meeting,  where  I  suppose  there 
was  some  sort  of  a  dinner,  emphatically 
denies  my  assertion.  That  was  unneces- 
sary ;  it  was  rude  to  an  old  colleague ;  but  j 
there  matters  might  have  rested.  Instead 
of  which,  they  propose  to  dine  ASQUITH, 
in  order  that  he  may  trounce  us  !  Now 
that 's  what  I  call  going  too  far.  It 's 
traitorous  to  the  Liberal  Party,  playing 
into  the  hands  of  the  enemy." 

"Exactly,"  said  the  SQUIRE,  stroking 
one  of  his  chins,  "but  didn't  we — ahem  ! 
— rather  begin  it?  " 

"  Certainly  we  had  a  dinner,  but  that 
was  the  dinner  of  the  Liberal  Party.  C.-B., 
our — I  mean  their — esteemed  leader,  was 
present,  and  he  wouldn't  have  been  if  the 
gathering  had  been  that  of  a  section 


must  limit  his  remarks  within  briefest 
space  of  time ;  only  one  Member  may 
speak  in  criticism,  he  equally  tied  and 
bound  in  matter  of  minutes.  Think  of 
that,  when  a  whole  summer  night  might 
be  wasted  in  making  speeches  that  would 
have  no  possible  effect  on  Bill,  which  will 
be  fully  discussed  on  Second  Reading  and 
moulded  in  Committee. 

This  bad  enough ;  worse  still,  JOHN 
O'GORST,  who  might  have  spoken  for*  ten 
minutes,  occupied  only  four.  True,  in  that 
time  he  said  everything  that  was  possible 
or  useful.  But  insult  was  added  to  injury. 
Opposition  angrily  protested  the  thing 
couldn't  be  done  in  ten 'minutes.  Lo  !  it  is 
accomplished  in  four.  BRYCE,  ordinarily 
the  mildest-mannered  man  that  ever  sat 
in  Opposition,  quite  in  tantrums. 


"WAR  TO  THE  KNIFE  AND  FORK,"    OR  THE  DREAD  ARBITRAMENT  OF   DINNER. 


being  no  more,  my  faith  in  man  was 
weakened.  Now  it  is  shattered.  Con- 
sider the  situation.  You  and  C.-B.  are 
the  honoured  guests  at  a  dinner  given  at 
the  Holboru  Restaurant  with  intent  to 
extol  the  Boer  and  decry  our  fellow- 
countrymen  at  the  front  in  South  Africa. 
I  drop  in,  accidentally  as  it  were,  hoping 
I  don't  intrude.  You,  in  your  clever  way, 
drag  me  to  the  front,  and  I  make  a  speech 
in  which  I  avow  belief  that  ASQUITH, 
GREY,  HENRY  FOWLER,  and  other  mis- 
guided persons,  seeing  error  of  their 
ways,  are  chiefly  anxious  to  find  oppor- 
tunity of  recanting  their  so-called  patrio- 
tism. 

"Very  well,  you  follow  me?  I  don't 
mean,  of  course,  as  a  political  leader.  I 
know  my  place.  On  the  Front  Bench  we 
are  two  ;  I  'm  the  Party  and  you  're  the 
Leader.  That  in  parenthesis.  I  mean 


numerically  insignificant.  No  one  can 
call  me  an  extreme  man.  I  am  all  for 
compromise.  You  've  read  me  OH,  Com- 
promise"? What  I  call  compromise  is,  that 
since  we  began  the  business  of  disintegra- 
tion at  the  Holborn  Restaurant,  let  us 
leave  it  there.  For  the  majority  of  the 
party  to  go  and  dine  at  the  Hotel  Cecil 
and  denounce  us  is  flat  burglary.  Could 
anything  be  fairer  or  more  logical  ?  ' ' 

"  N— n— no,"  said  the  SQUIRE,  stroking 
the  other  chin,  "  I  think  not." 

Business  done. — Still  in  Committee  on 
the  Budget. 

Tuesday  night.— Opposition  fallen  on  evil 
times ;  like  Mrs.  Gummidge  of  blessed 
memory,  it  is  "a  lone,  lorn  crittur  and 
every  think  goes  contrairy."  Final  blow 
fell  to-night  when  JOHN  O'GORST  brought  in 
Education  Bill  under  Ten  Minutes'  Rule. 
That  means  Minister  introducing  Bill 


"  The  extreme  brevity  of  the  right  hon. 
Gentleman's  speech,"  he  said,  severely 
regarding  the  inoffensive  JOHN  O'GORST, 
"does  not  minimise  the  objection  we  take 
to  bringing  in  this  important  measure 
under  the  Ten  Minutes'  Rule." 

Thereupon,  BRYCE  proceeded  to  deliver 
one  of  the  most  effective  speeches  he 
ever  contributed  to  debate.  Time  strictly 
limited ;  no  room  for  verbiage.  Spoke  for 
seven  minutes,  crystallizing  objections 
to  the  Bill.  Every  sentence  rap  of  a 
hammer.  A  valuable  object-lesson  for 
House ;  hope  it  will  be  studied  and  bear 
fruit.  What  we  want  is  not  restriction 
but  extension  of  Ten  Minutes'  Rule. 
With  rare  exception,  all  Ministerial  Bills 
should  be  brought  in  under  its  beneficent 
ordering. 

Business  done. — Quiet  niglit  in  Com- 
mittee on  Budget. 


32 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI 


[JULY  10,  1901. 


Tlntrsdaij  m'qltt. — C.-B.  coming  back  at 
eleven  o'clock,  slipping  quietly  into  his 
place,  amazed  to  find  things  in  state  of 
uproar.  ST.  JOHN  BROPRICK  on  his  legs, 
stirring  up  with  long  pole  Irish  Members, 
Welsh  Members  and  Mr.  LABOUCHERE. 
That  all  very  well.  A  hot  night,  but 
battle  is  the  business  of  War  Minister, 
and  if  BRODRICK  likes  to  engage  in  it 
with  the  thermometer  at  90°  in  the  shade 
it  is  a  free  country.  Quite  another  thing 
when,  catching  sight  of  C.-B.,  he  suddenly 
turned  upon  him.  Members  of  his  party, 
he  said,  habitually  championing  case  of 
Boers ;  attended  public  meetings  where 
resolutions  were  carried  affirming  right- 
eousness of  independence  of  the  Boer 
States. 

"It  is  a  novelty  in  the  history  of  the 
House,"  BROURICK  added,  "  that  on  a 
question  of  this  importance  the  Leader  of 
the  Opposition  should  absent  himself  and 
refrain  from  expressing  an  opinion." 

"I  was  under  the  impression,"  said 
C.-B.,  with  air  of  injured  innocence  that 
well  becomes  him,  "  that  this  was  an 
ordinary  financial  debate.  Up  to  approach 
of  eight  o'clock  things  were  as  dull  as 
ditchwater.  I  assumed  it  was  an  occasion 
on  which  I  might  follow  the  example  of 
hon.  Members  opposite,  who  are  in  the 
habit  of  spending  their  Parliamentary 
evenings  in  more  pleasant  localities." 

The  MEMBER  FOR  SARK,  who  never  tells 
tales  out  of  the  dining-room,  whispers  to 
me  that  the  pleasant  locality  C.-B.  has 
just  returned  from  is  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Bruton  Street.  An  older  gene- 
ration of  Members  of  both  Houses 
remember  it  as  the  hospitable  home  of 
the  late  Lord  GRANVILLE.  To-night  a 
later  host  worthily  kept  up  traditions  of 
the  historic  dining-room  where,  before 
GRANVILLE  bought  his  costly  mansion 
on  Carlton  House  Terrace,  men  who 
made  English  history  often  sat  at  meat. 

Dinner  given  in  honour  of  JOHN  ROBINSON, 
Knight,  who  made  the  Daily  News,  and 
revolutionised  British  journalism  by 
establishing  the  practice  of  using  the 
telegraph  instead  of  the  pen  for  word- 
pictures  from  the  battle-field.  C.-B.  heard 
much  of  late  designed  to  make  dinners 
distasteful ;  found  this  an  exception.  A 
notable  gathering  to  do  honour  to  the 
Master  Journalist.  In  addition  to  col- 
leagues, some  of  whom  worked  with 
him  on  the  old  paper  for  a  quarter  of  a 
century,  there  were  the  SQUIRE  OF  MAL- 
WOOD,  who  has  intimate  acquaintance 
with  the  contributor  to  the  morning  news- 
paper wont  to  sign  himself  "  Historicus  "  ; 
the  RED  EARL,  now,  alack,  growing  grey  ; 
Lord  ABERDEEN,  Lord  BRASSEY,  the  ever- 
buoyant  Lord  CORK,  the  mute  but  not 
inglorious  Lord  WELBY  ;  Earl  CARRINGTON, 
faithful  among  the  faithless  found ;  a 
former  private  secretary  of  Mr.  G.'s;  an 
old  Liberal  "Whip,  and  others  known  only 
to  fame. 


To  leave  this  cheerful  circle  and  sud- 
denly fall  into  cauldron  of  Parliamentary 
wrangle  painful  experience.  C.-B.,  as 
usual,  made  the  best  of  it. 

"  The  fact  is,  dear  boy,"  he  said, 
mopping  his  massive  brow,  "the  new 
century  has  invested  dinners  with  a  novel 
danger.  If  there  isn't  a  row  at  the  table, 
you  are  sure  to  come  in  for  one  im- 
mediately after." 

Business  done. — War  Loan  Bill  read  a 
second  time.  Sudden  flare-up  at  con- 
clusion of  placid  debate. 

Friday.— Strolled  into  the  Gallery  in 
Bond  Street,  where  F.  C.  G.'s  political 
cartoons  are  on  view.  Like  being  in  Lords 
or  Commons,  only  more  so.  Here  are  the 
men  we  know  so  well,  all  alive,  some  of 
them  kicking.  Most  have  appeared  in 
the  Sea  Green  Incorruptible,  that  excellent 


SHAW  THE  "  SAFEGUAEDS"-MAN. 

"  If  the  Commission  could  possibly  devise  means 
of  restoring  the  independence,  under  safeguards  to 
the  Empire,  of  those  Kepublics,  he  would  offer  it." 
— Mr.  Brodrick  quoting  Mr.  Shaw's  Election 
Address. 

evening  paper  \vitli  which  GEORGE  NEWNES, 
Bart,  (being  so  fond  of  chess,  he  would 
more  appropriately  have  been  made  Bishop 
or  Knight),  endowed  the  world.  Every- 
one reads  the  Sea  Green  ;  argal,  everyone 
is  familiar  with  reproduction  of  these 
drawings.  They  should  be^seen  and,  what 
naturally  follows,  bought  in  their  original 
state.  Only  therein  conies  out  in  full 
measure  their  exquisite  humour.  In  the 
main  good-tempered  ;  occasionally  mor- 
dant with  one  subject  only.  The  differ- 
ence between  F.  C.  G.'s  MARKISS  and  his 
DON  JOSE  are  as  wide  apart  as  are  the  two 
men.  Both  are  supremely  excellent, 
priceless  legacies  for  posterity,  marvel- 
ling what  manner  of  men  they  were 
who  saw  the  birth  of  the  Twentieth 
Century. 

Business  done.  —  In  Committee  oi 
Supply. 


FARTHEST    SOUTH. 

["A  SOUTH  AFEICAN  PROBLEM. — "What  shall 
we  do  with  our  daughters  ?  The  modern  answer 
to  the  conundrum,  as  furnished  by  an  important 
conference,  is  that  we  should  send  them  to  South 
Africa,  there  to  join  hands  in  the  work  of  colonisa- 
tion with  those  active  and  energetic  countrymen  of 
ours  who,  at  the  close  of  the  war,  will  find  a 
permanent  home  in  the  Colonies."  —  Daily 
Telegraph,  July  3.] 

THE  Hon.  Mrs.  GETEMOFF,  in  an  eloquent 
address  on  the  subject  of  emigration, 
remarked  that,  so  thoroughly  was  her 
heart  in  this  work,  that  if  she  could  find 
a  suitable  chaperon,  she  would  not  object 
to  sending  her  own  dear  girls  out — she 
had  heard  that  there  were  plenty — oh, 
heaps  ! — of  eligible  men — she  meant  ele- 
gant occupations — in  South  Africa  for 
ladies.  Her  DOROTHEA,  for  instance, 
could  teach  the  natives  figure-skating,  a 
most  useful  accomplishment,  and  one 
which,  up  to  the  present,  was  quite  un- 
known upon  the  Veldt.  (Applause.) 

The  Duchess  of  HAUGHTYSHIRE  said  that 
BERTIE  FITZASS,  who  had  just  been 
(promptly)  returned  from  the  front,  had 
assured  her  that  there  were  plenty  of 
high-class  openings  for  women  in  South 
Africa.  A  nurse's  dress  was  very  becom- 
ing, and  of  course,  one  need  not  do  more 
than  sit  with  the  patients  an  hour  or  two 
a  day.  She,  the  Duchess,  would  suggest 
starting  Pagodas  for  afternoon  tea  all 
over  the  Veldt,  from  Cape  Town  to  the 
Zambesi.  She  did  not  quite  know  who 
the  Zambesis  were,  but  they  had  certainly 
been  settled  in  Africa  ever  since  she 
could  remember.  (Applause.) 

Mrs.  CUTADASH,  who  spoke  rather 
rapidly,  making  reporting  somewhat  diffi- 
cult, said  that  there  were  lots  of  ways  to 
make  money  in  South  Africa,  if  only  the 
right  sort  of  women  went  out.  (Applause.) 
She  suggested  that  dressmakers,  those 
who  really  had  a  knowledge  of  WORTH'S 
latest  things,  would  be  immensely  appre- 
ciated by  both  Boer  and  Kaffir  ladies.  Of 
course,  at  present,  the  latter  didn't  dress 
well — if  at  all ;  but  their  tastes  must  be 
educated  up  to  the  latest  things  from 
Paris.  There  would  be  no  difficulty  in 
this.  (Ajjpian.se.)  She  herself  had  never 
found  any  women  reluctant  to  dress  in 
things  that  were  really  chic,  no  matter  of 
what  nationality  they — the  women — were, 
and  she  saw  no  reason  why  the  Kaffir 
women  should  not  take  to  Paris  fashions  as 
a  duck  takes  to  green  peas — she  meant  to 
the  water.  (Great  applause.) 

The  Hon.  Mrs.  DRESSWELL  thoroughly 
endorsed  the  sensible  observations  and 
practical  suggestions  of  the  last  speaker. 
Good  dressmaking  would  mean  the  making 
of  the  Cape.  ("  Oh,  oh  !  ") 

A  proposition  that  some  women  should 
go  out  as  domestic  servants  and  house- 
keepers was  at  once  negatived  nem.  con., 
and  the  proceedings  terminated  with  a 
srote  of  thanks  to  the  Chair-woman. 


JULY  10,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OH   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


AT    HURLINGHAM. 

Captain  Smith  (who  is  showing  his  cousins  Polo  for  the  first  time).   "WELL,  WHAT  DO  YOU  THINK  OF  IT?' 
Millicent.  "On,  WB  THINK  IT  is  A  KIPPING  GAME.     IT  MUST  BE  SUCH  AWFULLY  GOOD  PR  .u  TICK  FOR  CROQUET!' 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  10,  1901. 


A    GOUTY    COURTSHIP. 

His  DIARY. 

Royat,  July  4tli. — Arrived  here  to-day  from  London,  con- 
demned by  doctor  to  twenty-one  days  without  the  option  of  a 
tine  !  In  other  words,  I  have  to  swill  tepid  water  at  a  bubbling 
fountain,  soak  myself  daily  in  a  running  bath  and  undergo  a 
•gentle  massage  treatment  at  the  hands  of  an  expert  Swede  for 
three  consecutive  weeks,  and  all  because  my  forefathers  drank 
too  much  port,  and  left  me  as  a  heritage  the  most  unmistakable 
signs  of  gout.  Yes,  in  the  flower  of  my  youth  (I  am  only  thirty- 
three)  I  find  myself  extremely  "dicky"  on  one  leg,  and  my 
hitherto  angelic  temper  is  rapidly  changing  to  chronic  irasci- 
bility. Gout  at  thirty-three !  It  is  sickening,  disgusting, 
absolutely  ridiculous.  I  was  told  that  I  should  find  Royat 
delightful.  Two  casinos,  two  theatres,  bands  playing  all  day, 
baccarat  and  petits  chevaux,  health  restored — in  fact,  a  perfect 
little  Paradise  on  earth.  I  have  already  seen  all  the  former 
attractions.  I  have  lost  a  few  louis  at  the  "  little  horses,"  I 
have  been  politely  invited  to  become  a  member  of  the  Baccarat 
Club,  but  I  experienced  a  shock  on  hearing  a  lady,  who  was 
dining  at  the  next  table  to  mine,  say,  "  It  is  my  seventh  season 
here — the  waters  are  so  good  for  gout !  ' '  But  why  seven  years 
if  the  waters  are  any  good  ?  Shall  I  have  to  come  here  seven 
years  ?  I  who  already  grumble  at  the  prospect  of  twenty-one 
days  ?  I  must  make  this  lady's  acquaintance,  and  find  out  what 
she  means.  Surely  she  must  have  been  talking  nonsense,  or 
perhaps  she  has  gout  on  the  brain.  It  seems  to  me  that  you 
ought  either  to  be  cured,  or  not,  in  your  first  year.  Why 
persevere  seven  years  ? 

Royat  is  empty  ;  the  bands  play  to  rows  of  unoccupied  chairs, 
a  few  sepulchral  looking  cocottes  walk  listlessly  round  the 
pctits  chevaux,  and  you  can  inscribe  yourself  for  any  hour  you 
like  at  the  baths.  The  hotel  proprietors  say,  "  Lex  Anylais  nous 
manquant  cette  annee  ! "  I  should  think  so  !  France  has  been  so 
inviting  to  English  people  lately. 

I  have  noticed  one  pretty  girl  here,  and  she  is  staying  at  this 
hotel.  But  what  is  the  good  of  thinking  of  pretty  girls  when 
you  have  gout,  and  a  prospect  of  spending  seven  seasons  at 
Royat  ?  I  close  my  Diary  with  renewed  feelings  of  despair. 

HER  DIARY. 

Royat,  July  4t/i. — This  is  papa's  tenth  day  here,  and  lie  is  no 
better.  Our  excellent  doctor,  the  type  of  the  courtly  English 
physician,  tells  him  that  the  waters  show  no  beneficial  signs  at 
first.  Papa  asks  him,  with  a  sarcasm  even  more  suppressed 
than  his  gout,  at  what  period  they  do  begin  to  show  beneficial 
signs,  and  our  dear  old  doctor  smiles  goodnaturedly  and 
tells  him  not  to  be  impatient.  All  the  same,  Mamma  says 
Papa's  temper  has  certainly  improved  within  the  last  few  days. 
His  grumbling,  which  he  feared  was  becoming  chronic,  is 
certainly  less  violent  and  the  intervals  between  the  outbursts 
of  fury  are  becoming  longer.  I  hope  he  will  really  be  cured 
soon.  Royat  is  so  dull,  and  every  second  person  one  meets  is 
an  invalid.  By  the  way,  we  have  got  a  new  man  at  the  hotel.  He 
is  rather  nice-looking ;  but  he,  too,  looks  delicate.  He  is  too 
young  to  have  gout,  although  he  certainly  walks  a  little  lame. 
Perhaps  he  has  been  wounded  in  the  Transvaal.  That  would 
make  him  rather  interesting.  We  want  interesting  people  in 
the  hotel — there  are  only  about  six  men  all  told,  and  they  are 
all  what  the  shops  call  "damaged  goods."  I  wonder  what  a 
dance  would  be  like  here.  There  is  a  lawn-tennis  club,  but  I 
never  hear  of  anyone  playing.  Perhaps  it  is  kept  up  by 
charitable  contributions,  like  the  hospital.  I  went  to  one  little 
soiree  dansante  at  the  Casino,  but  there  were  only  the  shop- 
keepers from  Clermont  who  danced,  and  Mamma  was  so  afraid 
that  one  of  them  would  ask  me  to  danc.e  that  she  hurried  me 
away  after  the  first  valse.  Ah,  well,  we  have  fifteen  days  more 
to  spend  here.  Ordinarily  the  "cure"  is  twenty-one  days, 
l>ut  it  appears  that  Papa's  case  being  an  obstinate  one  requires 


four  days  more.  "  Your  father  always  was  obstinate  in  every- 
thing," Mamma  said  when  she  heard  this  prescription.  And  to 
think  that  gout  is  hereditary  ! 

His  DIARY. 

July  5th. — Took  my  waters,  my  bath  and  my  massage  ;  feeling 
worse — furious. 

July  6th. — The  same  as  yesterday.  Decidedly  that  English 
girl  is  pretty.  Her  name  is  SOMERVILLE — MAUD  SOMERVILLE. 
She  has  red  hair,  her  father  has  gout.  She  looks  sad  and 
devoted.  Poor  girl !  What  an  existence  ! 

July  1th. — She  dresses  well  and  has  a  pretty  figure.  There  is 
a  mother,  a  faded,  nearly  obliterated  portrait  of  the  girl.  I 
should  like  to  make  their  acquaintance ;  but  they  seem  to  know 
no  one,  and  not  to  care  to.  After  dinner  they  take  their  coffee 
on  the  terrace  of  the  hotel  and  then  go  to  their  rooms.  I  am 
not  allowed  coffee.  Took  my  treatment  as  usual. 

July  8th. — Am  I  overwhelmed  with  vanity,  or  do  I  fancy  that 
she  looks  at  me  sometimes  ?  Perhaps  she  pities  my  lonely 
condition.  I  wonder  if  she  knows  what  I  have  the  matter  with 
me.  I  sat  very  near  them  at  the  band  this  afternoon,  but  with 
no  result.  Treatment  as  usual. 

July  Qth. — My  masseur  masses  her  father's  stomach,  to  aid  his 
digestion.  Scarcely  a  sufficient  introduction.  I  could  not  very 
well  say  :  "I  think  we  have  a  mutual  friend,  who  masses  your 
father's  stomach."  I  must  find  some  other  means.  Of  course, 
the  usual  treatment — which  is  doing  me  no  good. 

July  10th. — Did  not  see  her  all  day.  Masseur  said  she  had 
gone  for  an  excursion  with  her  mother.  What  silly  things 
excursions  are,  and  how  I  hate  Royat ! 

July  llth. — It  appears  they  have  gone  to  Vichy  for  two  days. 
Royat  is  perfectly  loathsome. 

July  12tJi. — She  has  come  back,  looking  more  charming  than 
ever.  She  almost  seemed  to  recognise  me,  and  appear  pleased 
when  she  saw  me  at  luncheon.  It  is  fine  and  the  place  is  look- 
ing brighter,  people  arriving  every  day.  Fancy  my  knee  is  a 
little  better. 

HER  DIARY. 

July  5th. — Papa  is  certainly  better.  Mamma  says  he  swears 
with  less  volubility,  and  experiences  a  difficulty  in  finding  fresh 
oaths  which  she  has  never  known  before.  It  really  looks  as  if 
the  waters  were  doing  him  good.  The  new  invalid  looks  very 
dull,  and  as  if  he  was  boring  himself  to  death.  Perhaps  he  is 
longing  to  be  back  again  at  the  war. 

July  6th. — I  rather  fancy  the  new  invalid  would  like  to  make 
my — I  mean,  our  acquaintance.  Naturally  it  is  very  dull  for 
him,  but  Papa  won't  know  anyone.  He  says  it  is  quite  enough 
to  be  bored  with  people  at  home,  without  coming  abroad  to  have 
fresh  inflictions  thrust  upon  one. 

July  7th. — His  name  is  GORING — PERCY  GORING.  He  is  not  in 
the  army.  He  has  gout !  What  a  disillusion.  Still,  I  can't  help 
pitying  him.  He  is  so  young  to  suffer.  I  hope  the  waters  will 
do  him  good. 

July  8th. — We  have  had  an  invitation  from  the  DENTONS  to 
spend  a  couple  of  days  at  Vichy.  Neither  Mamma  nor  I  wanted 
to  go,  but  Papa  insisted  on  our  going.  He  said  it  might  do  him 
good  not  to  see  us  for  two  days.  A  new  kind  of  cure !  He  has 
tried  almost  every  other  one.  Mr.  GORING  looks  very  ill  and 
sad.  I  hope  he  will  be  looking  better  when  I  come  back. 

July  9t/i. — He  looked  so  piteously  at  me  to-day.  I  wish  he 
was  going  to  Vichy.  Mamma  says  perhaps  he  drinks — it  is 
very  unusual  for  a  man  of  his  age  to  have  gout.  Papa  went 
further,  and  said  of  course  he  was  a  confirmed  drunkard.  He 
could  see  dissipation  written  in  every  line  of  his  face.  I  can't 
— I  can  only  see  resigned  suffering. 

July  10th,  Vichy. — Arrived  here  this  morning.  .  It  is  very  like 
Royat,  only  ten  times  bigger  and  more  crowded.  1  don't  think 
I  should  like  to  stay  here. 

July  llth.— Decidedly,  I  hate  Vichy  !  Thank  goodness,  we  go 
back  to  Rovat  to-morrow. 


JULY  10,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


Royat,  July  12th. — It  seemed  almost  like  seeing  an  old  friend 
when  I  saw  him  coming  in  to  luncheon.  He  limps  a  little  less, 
but  not  much.  I  fancied  he  looked  reproachfully  at  me,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  Why  did  you  go  away?  "  I  tried  to  look  as  if  it 
wasn't  my  fault,  as  if  I  would  have  given  anything  to  stay  here. 
But  all  that  was  rather  difficult  to  get  into  one  look,  and  I  am 
not  at  all  sure  that  I  succeeded.  Papa  is  still  making  improve- 
ment. I  think  he  ought  certainly  to  prolong  his  stay,  as  it  is 
doing  him  so  much  good.  I  have  told  Mamma  to  tell  the  doctor 
so.  She  seemed  sur- 
prised, and  said  she 
tlunight  I  disliked  Royat. 
I  said  I  thought  it  bettev 
to  make  the  sacrifice  a 
complete  and  unique  one, 
instead  of  having  to  re- 
turn here  year  after  year. 
She  agreed  with  me. 

His  DIARY. 

July  13th.  — What  rot- 
ten things  introductions 
are,  and  to  what  a  cor- 
rupt state  Society  must 
have  arrived  to  require 
them  !  Why  can't  I  speak 
to  her  without  being  in- 
troduced ?  I  think  she 
would  like  to  know  me 
and  sympathise  with  my 
miserable  condition.  She 
has  a  very  sweet  voice. 
I  am  sure  she  would 
soothe  me,  and  I  want 
soothing  very  badly.  If 
I  don't  make  her  acquain- 
tance in  two  days,  I  shall 
finish  my  treatment  at 
one  gulp  and  go  away.  I 
shall  sit  in  a  bath  for 
twelve  hours  at  a  stretch, 
and  drink  thirty  glasses 
of  water. 

July  14th.  —  She  ha,s 
gone  to  Clermont  to  see 
the  National  fete.  I  shall 
go  to  Clermont  to  see  the 
National  fete.  Hang  the 
treatment ! 

July  15th. — No  good! 
They  got  lost  in  the 
crowd,  and  I  never  saw 
them.  At  dinner  the 
waiter  brought  her  father 
the  wrong  water  —  St. 
Victor  instead  of  Cesar. 
Old  man  furious ;  let  loose  choice  Billingsgate.  I  jumped  up 
and  promptly  offered  my  bottle  of  Cesar,  which  waiter  had  just 
brought  me.  Old  man  still  more  furious.  "  I  was  not  speaking 
to  you,  Sir;  I  was  addressing  the  waiter."  Tears  of  mortified 
^humiliation  in  her  eyes,  apologies  from  mother  ;  but  I  had  to 
retire  defeated.  I  shall  certainly  finish  my  treatment  to- 
morrow. I  shall  order  a  bath  for  the  day ! 

HER  DIARY. 

July  13th. — It  seems  very  hard  that  we  can't  talk  to  each 
other  without  being  properly  introduced.  I  am  sure  he  is 
dying  to  know  me,  and  that  we  should  have  a  lot  to  say  to 
each  other.  He  has  lovely  eyes,'  and  they  look  at  me  so 
reproachfully  sometimes.  But  what  can  I  do? 

July  14th. — We  went  to  Clermont  to  see  the  sports,  and  the 


"CHAOS    IS    COME    AGAIN!" 

Or,   Things  very  much  Up  in  the  City. 


["The  following  streets  were  'up'  on  July  3  :— Old  Broad  Street,  Threadneedle  Street, 
Lothbury,  Princes  Street,  Bishoppgate  Street,  Gracechurch  Street,  Leadenhall  Street, 
Coinhill,  Lombard  Street,  Fenchurch  Street,  Cannon  Street,  Cheapside,  St.  Swithin's  Lane, 
and  Queen  Victoria  Street." — Times,  July  4.] 


review,  and  all  the  stupid  things  of  a  National  fete.  In  the 
morning,  I  said  in  a  very  loud  voice  as  he  passed  us :  "I  think 
it  will  be  very  hot  at  Clermont,"  with  a  strong  accent  en 
Clermont ;  but  he  never  came,  or  if  he  did  he  must  have  been 
lost  in  the  crowd. 

July  15th. — When  I  have  written  my  day's  diary  I  am  going 
to  bed  and  have  a  good  cry.  We  had  such  a  terrible  scene  at 
dinner.  Papa  was  very  thirsty,  and  ordered  a  bottle  of  Cesar 
water.  The  waiter  brought  it  and  poured  some  out,  and  Papa 

took  a  gulp,  and  suddenly 
sent  it  flying  in  every 
direction,  accompanied 
by  the  most  horrible 
language,  partly  French 
and  partly  English. 
Papa's  French  is  very 
elementary  ;  he  can't  get 
much  beyond  Sucre!  and 
Imbecile!  "  Vous  voulez 
poisoner  moi?"  he  yelled 
at  the  waiter.  "  FOKS 
saves  que  I'eau  St.  Victor 
il  est  plein  d'arsenic  et 
moi  je  dois  pas  prendre 
fa/"  And  then  English 
came  to  his  relief,  and 
he  sank  back  in  his  chair 
purple  in  the  face,  and 
emitting  verbal  fireworks 
of  a  very  fiery  nature. 
Then  my  angelic  martyr 
came  to  the  rescue  with 
a  bottle  of  Cesar,  which 
he  promptly  and  gra- 
ciously placed  at  Papa's 
disposal.  But  this  only 
made  him  worse  —  he 
curtly  refused  it,  and 
glared  at  Mr.  GORING  as 
if  the  bottle  he  had 
offered  him  was  really  a 
deadly  poison.  So  poor 
Mr.  GORING  retired,  fol- 
lowed by  pleasant  little 
mutterings  such  as 
"D  — d  cheek!"  "In- 
fernal snob !  "  "Mind 
his  own  blank  busi- 
ness," etc.,  etc.,  and 
so  now  I  am  going  to 
bed  to  cry.  The  DEN- 
TONS  are  coming  over 
to  spend  the  day  to- 
morrow. Such  a  nui- 


His  DIARY. 

July  16th. — Hooray!  I  have  made  her  acquaintance!  She 
is  adorable,  perfectly  bewitching,  and  she  gains  tremendously 
on  acquaintance — even  the  acquaintance  of  a  feAV  hours.  It 
appears  that  the  DENTONS — excellent  angels  of  mercy!— are 
staying  at  Yichy.  I  have  known  them  all  my  life,  and  they 
actually  came  here  to  spend  the  day  with  the  SOMERVILLES. 
It  was  not  an  opportunity  to  let  slip  ;  so  the  moment  they  came 
and  spoke  to  me,  I  whispered,  in  hurried,  tragic  accents,  "You 
must  introduce  me  to  the  girl  with  the  red  hair — I  mean  the 
SOMERVILLES."  "  Is  it  as  bad  as  that  ?  "  laughed  Mrs.  DENTON. 
"  Of  course  we  will,  in  good  time.  But  you  might  ask  us  how 
we  are,  and  what  we  are  doing  here.  JACK  has  had  awful 
dyspepsia.  He  can't  digest  a  simple  biscuit,  so  we  are  at 


36 


PUNCH,  OE  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JUTA-  10,  1901. 


Vichy."    "  How  sad !  "  I  answered.    "  But 
don't  let 's  talk  about  symptoms.     I  am 
much  worse  than  Jack.     Tell  me  about 
the   SOMERVILLKS."     So   then    I    quickly 
learnt  that  she  was  an  only  child,  adored 
by  her  parents,  rich,  attractive,  gifted, 
and  very  hard  to  please.     "  I  don't  know 
how  many  men  she  has  already  refused," 
concluded    Mrs.   DKNTON.     "  It  is  either 
morbid,   or  a  mania  with  her."    This,  of 
course,  is  discouraging,  but  after  the  in- 
troduction had  been  made  I  felt  less  dis- 
heartened.    I  sat  at  the  band  with  them 
in  the  afternoon,  and  I  was  quite  charmed 
with  her  easy,   unaffected  conversation. 
We    carefully    avoided  the    waters,   the 
baths,  and  other  usual  topics  of  conver- 
sation here.      She  asked   me    once   if   I 
drank     the    waters,    and  1    replied   with 
evasive  lightness  that  I  had  had  a  slight 
accident  to  my  knee  and  took  them  oc- 
casionally.    Then  I  adroitly  got  her  back 
to  safer  topics.     The  DENTONS  went  back 
in  the  evening.     I  was  rather  glad — they 
had  served  a   very  useful   purpose,  and 
1  would  rather  have  her  to  myself.     Mrs. 
DENTON  is  loud  and  cheery,  and  horribly 
energetic.    Even  her  husband's  incurable 
indigestion  doesn't  seem  to  have  damped 
her  spirits.     I  am  looking  forward  to  to- 
morrow and  every  day   until   she  goes, 
which,  alas !  is  to  be  very  soon.     I  coun- 
ter-ordered the  all-day  bath,  and  resumed 
rational  treatment.  F.  C.  PH. 

(To  be  continued.) 


RECLAME  A  LA  REJANE. 


FANCY. 

The  kind  of  figure  you  see  on  Posters  inviting 
you  to  the  French  seaside  resorts. 


DURING  Madame  RE^JANE'S  stay  in  London 
everyone  must  have  seen  her  pair  of  very 
handsome  mules  drawing  a  carriage  of  a 
form  sometimes  seen  in  Paris,  and 
resembling,  according  to  one  London 
newspaper,  a  hansom  cab.  Seeing  that  it 
has  four  wheels,  the  box  in  front,  and  a 
pole  for  a  pair  of  animals  there  semblance 
is  not  very  apparent.  It  is,  in  fact,  a 
victoria  with  a  fixed  wooden  hood  instead 
of  a  movable  leather  one.  It  is  extremely 
unlikely  that  this  eccentricity  of  genius 
on  the  part  of  Madame  REJANE  will  pass 
unnoticed  or  unimitated  by  the  other 
leaders  of  the  theatrical  world.  Next 
summer  we  may  expect  to  read  the  follow- 
ing amongst  the  "  Society  "  paragraphs. 

Madame  SARAH  BERNHARDT  was  in  the 
Park  yesterday,  in  a  yellow  barouche 
drawn  by  four  superb  zebras,  with  postil- 
lions in  amber  silk  liveries  and  gilt  hats. 
Mrs.  LANGTRY  was  at  Hurlingham  in 
the  afternoon.  She  had  come  down  in 
her  miniature  green  cabriolet  drawn  by 
two  large  antelopes  of  matchless  beauty 
driven  tandem.  A  negro  page,  wearing  a 
green  satin  turban  and  green  dress  studded 
with  emeralds,  stood  as  "  tiger  "  behind. 
Mons.  COQUELIN  (the  Society  para- 
graphist  would  certainly  write  "Mons." 
instead  of  "  M.")  was  noticed  in  Picca- 
dilly in  his  scarlet  cliarrette  anglaise, 
drawn  by  a  remarkably  fine  ostrich. 

Mr.  TREE  drove  £hrough  the  Park.  The 
dashing  dromedary  in  his  elegant  pink 
Irish  car  excited  general  admiration. 

Mile.  LIANE  »E  POUGY  was  shopping  in 
Bond  Street.  Her  palanquin,  painted 
pure  white,  and  lined  with  white  velvet 
and  pearls,  was  suspended  on  the  backs  oi 
two  white  sacred  bulls  from  India,  led  by 
Hindoos  entirely  clothed  in  white  gar- 
ments with  pearl  ornaments. 

Mr.  DAN  LEXO  was  riding  in  the  Row  on 
his  hippopotamus.  An  unexpected  inci- 
dent occurred.  The  animal  suddenly 
dashed  over  the  footpath  and  rushed  into 
the  Serpentine.  Mr.  LENO  scrambled  off, 
and  struggled  out  of  the  water  with  some 
difficulty.  He  was  at  once  charged  by 
the  police  with  having  a  horse  not  under 
proper  control,  with  riding  on  the  foot- 
path, with  sending  an  animal  into  the  water, 
with  bathing  in  the  Serpentine  during 
prohibited  hours,  and  with  other  breaches 
of  the  Park  regulations.  As  he  explained, 
however,  that  the  animal  was  a  river  horse, 
and  therefore  ought  to  be  in  the  river, 
and  that  he  had  not  bathed  in  the 
Serpentine  but  had  only  stepped  in  with 
his  clothes  on  by  mistake,  his  name  and 
address  were  taken  and  he  was  allowed  to 
go  home.  The  Royal  Humane  Society's 
men,  after  two  hours  of  fruitless  efforts, 
desisted  from  their  attempts  to  rescue 
the  hippopotamus,  which  left  the  water 
later  on  and  trotted  quietly  home  to 
Mr.  JAMRACH'S  stable.  H.  D.  B. 


THE   POINT   OF   VIEW. 

["  It  is  just  in  the  south  that  the  mists  of  the 
north  get  their  full  effect  on  the  northern  imagina- 
tion."— St.  James's  Gazette.] 

OH,  folk  on  distant  journeys  bent 

In  search  of  Nature's  rich  delights, 
Who  seek  earth's  rarest  spots,  intent 

To  view  her  fairest  sights, 
Come,  since  your  aim  is  beauty's  quest, 

And   spare   your   pains,   and  save  the 

cost, 
Which,  experts  say  who  know  the  best, 

Are  useless  waste  and  labour  lost. 

He  to  the  highest  who  aspires 

Humbly  his  object  best  attains, 
He  who  the  mountain's  charm  admires 

Should  view  it  from  the  plains  ; 
The  ocean's  spell  he  best  can  prize 

Who  inland  gives  his  fancy  scope  ; 
The  sun  is  brightest  in  his  eyes 

Who  in  a  dismal  fog  must  grope. 

Ah  !  then,  why  squander  wealth  and  time 

In  costly  visits  to  the  sea  ? 
Why  perilously  mountains  climb 

In  quest  of  scenery  ? 
Nay,  beauty's  lover,  rather  go 

Among  surroundings  poor  and  mean, 
And  learn  fair  Italy  to  know 

In  Bermondsey  or  Bethnal  Green. 


"JIB." 

HAPPY  the  child  "  who  takes  after  his 
father,"  IP  the  child  isn't  thirsty,  and  if 
his  father  is  a  teetotaller. 


FACT. 

The  kind  of  figure  which  comes  nearest  to  the 
ideal  you  have  formed. 


JULY  17,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


37 


''COULDN'T    MAKE    'UN    SPEAK." 

Infuriated  C.  0.  10th  V.  B.  Mudfordshire  Fusiliers  (who  Jias  ordered  Bugler  to  sound  the  "Cease  fire'    several  times  without  effect). 

"  Dow  T  YOU   HEAR  ME,   FELtOW  ?      WHY  THE  DEUCK  DON'T  YOU  SOUND   7HE  'CEASE  FIRE  '   AVHEN   I   TELL  YOU?" 

H>s  Bugler.  "  IF  YE  PLAZE,  ZUR,  A'VE  SLOWED  A  QUID  o'  BACOA  DOWN  SPOUT  T'OULD  TRUMPUIT,  AWN  I  CAN'T  MAKE  UN  SPEAK!" 


"  WHAT  'S  THE  ODDS  AS  LONG  AS  YOU  'RE  '  JAPPY '  !  " 
IN  \vhat  light  do  the  educated  Japanese,  the  Jap  gentlemen 
and  ladies,  regard  such  a  performance  as  the  one  we  have 
recently  been  witnessing  at  the  Criterion  Theatre  ?  It  seemed 
to  bear  a  striking  resemblance  to  the  inspired  attempts  of  very 
small  and  early  masters,  joining  with  their  sisters  and  with 
young  friends  of  about  the  same  age,  in  treating  their  nurses 
and,  perhaps,  even  papa  and  mamma  (admission  to  principal 
places  at  the  price  of  "  what  you  like  to  give,  thank  ye,  Sir  !  ") 
to  a  dramatic  entertainment  in  the  Theatre  Royal  Day  Nursery. 
Of  course,  these  modern  Jap  actors  gave  us  dramas  which  might 
be  termed  "scenes  from  old  Japan"  in  no  way  representing 
modern  Japanese  life.  The  story  was  made  quite  intelligible 
by  their  action,  and  their  speaking  was  as  the  twittering  of 
early  birds  on  a  spring  morning,  only  given  pianissimo. 

In  The  Shogun  (not  unlike  the  title  of  Irish  drama  The 
Shaughraun)  the  love-making  of  Madame  SADA  YACCO  and  Mr. 
FUHSAWA  was,  especially  on  the  lady's  part,  sweetly  natural ; 
while  the  death  per  "Happy  Despatch"  and  subsequent,  or 
was  it  simultaneous,  beheading  of  Ujitomo  (Mr.  HATTORI),  and 
of  the  little  Jappy  child  Haruo,  delightfully  played  by  Master 
RAIKICHI,  quite  a  mere  "  toddle,"  brought  tears  to  the  eyes  of 
those  most  inclined  to  laugh  at  the  whole  show.  As  that 
wicked  old  Sybarite  of  a  Shogun  (which  is  apparently  Japanese 
f  or  "  a  Great  Gun"),  with  his  leering  eyes  and  amorous  grin, 
Mr.  O.  KAWAKAMI  was  really  admirable.  You  didn't  want  to 
hear  what  he  said  ;  his  manner  and  action  showed  to  the  most 


limited  imaginative  capacity  of  what  that  naughty  old  man  was 
thinking.  Ought  to  have  been  ashamed  of  himself  ! 

It  must  have  occurred  to  some  among  the  tittering  and  giggling 
audience  to  ask  themselves  how  Sir  HENRY  IRVING,  were  he 
playing  (say)  Coriolanus  or  Macbeth  at  the  Theatre  Royal, 
Li  Seyum,  in  Yokohama,  to  a  fashionable  Japanese  audience, 
would  Like  it  were  his  finest  efforts  and  most  desperately  tragic 
fighting  and  dying  greeted  with  uncontrollable  merriment  ? 

Yet  this  is  how  the  audience  received  all  the  combats,  the 
stranglings,  the  knivings,  and,  indeed,  all  the  terribly  tragic 
situations  on  the  night  when  I  saw  it,  and,  I  admit,  thought  it, 
with  an  exception  here  and  there,  elementary  and  childish. 
There  was  very  little  art  used  to  conceal  art.  It  was,  as  it 
were,  a  Japanese  Bottom  and  his  friends  playing  Pyranius  and 
Thisbe  before  the  Court  of  THESEUS,  with  a  charming  young 
lady,  as  Chorus,  to  step  in  front  of  curtain,  before  each  act, 
to  smilingly  explain  the  plot. 

As  an  intermezzo  LA  LOIE  FULLER  gave  us  a  marvellous 
exhibition  of  Drapery  Dancing,  viewed  in  all  sorts  of  lights. 
Some  of  the  designs — one  of  the  Rose  and  another  of  the  Sun- 
flower— are  exquisite.  It  is  wonderful,  but  not  fairylike  ;  it  is 
not  a  Peri  at  the  Gates  of  Paradise,  no,  it  is  a  LOIE  FULLER'S 
earthly  form  of  entertainment,  as  difficult  to  classify  as  is  "  LA 
LOIE"  herself,  the  moving,  materialised  spirit  of  a  show  which 
may  be  described  as  fascinating  and  irritating. 

The  Japs  have  departed  on  tour.  May  their  Shogun  achieve 
its  aim  and  make  a  hit. 


38 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  17,  1901. 


IDYLLS    OF    THE    CHIEF. 

IV. 

[NOTE.— The  reader  is  requested  to  regard  the  word  Chief  in  this  connec- 
tion as  a  general  term  applicable  to  the  leader  of  the  Liberal  Party  for  the 
time  being;  and  the  following  Idyll  as  continuing  a  series  originally 
mtitled  "  Morte  d'Harcourt."] 

So  on  an  afternoon  the  knighthood  drew 
Mist-like  to  that  great  Meeting  in  the  Mall. 
. '  .   For  he,  Sir  BELCHAMP  PORTE-DRAPEAU,  the  Chief, — 
Chief?    Ay,  for  if  to  have  the  style  of  Chief 
Is  to  be  Chief  indeed  then  he  was  Chief, 
Which  thing  he  thought  to  settle  once  for  all — 
Being  vexed  of  soul  because  his  flower  of  men 
Had  fed,  or  meant  to  feed,  beyond  their  strength, 
And,  feeding,  spoken,  or  proposed  to  speak 
Most  parlously  above  the  wassail-bowl, 
Oblivious  of  their  fealty  to  the  Cause, 
Oblivious  of  their  own  elected  lord, 
Oblivious  of  all  else  beside  the  facts, 
And  sown  divisions,  yea,  and  deadly  taint 
Among  the  weaker  vessels — he,  the  Chief, 
Summoned  a  solemn  conclave,  to  be  held 
Without  refreshments.     So  the  knighthood  came 
All  through  the  solstice-sultry  afternoon 
Panting  ;  and  filled  the  Order's  ancient  haunts 
(Half-alien  now,  and  borrowed  free  of  charge) 
And  tasted  vain  desire  of  cooling  drinks  ; 
Factions,  a  few,  but  loyal-seeming  all, 
And  smiling  widely,  as  the  Cheshire  cat 
Smiles  in  the  picture.    Then  Sir  PORTE-DRAPEAU 
Clomb  to  the  chair,  and  heavily  sighing  spake. 

"Not  for  myself,  O  knighthood,  would  I  plead, 
Seeing  I  care  not  greatly,  no,  not  I, 
For  that  white  light  that  beats  upon  a  crown 
Sadly  debased  and  shorn  of  privilege, 
Being  hawked  about  and  ever  changing  heads  ; 
But — for  the  heathen  wanton  overmuch, 
Accounting  us  a  beast  of  many  moiiths, 
Each  feeding  at  its  several  banquet-board — 
I  would  remind  this  Table  Round,  so-called, 
How  they  reposed  their  hands  in  mine  and  swore, 
Not  lightly,  but  with  strange  and  fearful  oaths, 
To  love  one  Chief  alone,  and  freeze  to  him 
Through  years  of  Opposition  till  he  came 
Out  on  the  top  and  triumphed.     So  ye  swore, 
Saying  "  We  will,"  and  straightly  did  it  not. 
What  cause  of  privy  malice  wrought  this  wrong, 
Being  so  innocent  I  may  not  guess, 
Or,  shrewdly  guessing,  will  not  seem  to  guess, 
So  ye  be  minded  now  to  make  amends. 

For,  O  my  knights,  some  faith  there  needs  must  be, 
Wide-armed  and  tolerant,  which  being  embraced, 
We  might  contrive  to  pass  our  days  in  peace ; 
And  such  an  one  I  will  proceed  to  sketch. 
And,  first,  ignoring  how  the  thing  began, 
I  would  pursue  this  war  and  make  an  end ; 
Yet  not  by  military  means,  O  no, 
But  civil ;  and  for  those  misguided  men, 
British,  that  lifted  reckless  hands  and  struck 
At  Britain's  throne,  I  would  o'erlook  their  fault, 
And  yield,  for  blows,  the  kiss  of  courtesy, 
Leaving  to  loyalty  its  own  reward, 
That  all  may  so  be  equal  at  the  last. 
This,  not  to  bandy  words,  should  be  a  creed 
Wide-armed  and  tolerant,  with  easy  range 
For  honest  difference  on  paltry  points, 
Which  for  the  time  escape  me  ;  yet  I  hold 


That  we  should  draw  the  line  at  lawless  cliques, 
Dining  or  other.    Having  said  this  much, 
I  call  upon  a  brace  of  gallant  men 
To  move  a  vote  of  confidence  in  me." 

He  ended  ;  then  those  others,  worthy  knights, 
Spake  ;  and  Sir  HARCOURT,  he  that  ruled  the  lists, 
But  sold  his  charger,  having  had  enough, 
And  made  as  if  to  pass,  but,  being  bored 
In  Avalon  the  Forest,  made  return 
In  that  balloon  of  which  the  tale  was  told  * ; 
And  gladly  would  have  led  the  jousts  again 
But  dared  not  say  so, — he,  Sir  HARCOURT,  spake 
Softly,  with  delicate  motion  of  his  chins, 
Veiling  his  heart ;  and  all  the  Order  cried, 
(For  so  the  theme  of  dinners  held  their  thoughts) 
"  Clash    crockery !    and    clang    glass !      Let    the    Chief 

reign  !  ' ' 

Thereat  Sir  FIFE,  the  same  that  knew  his  mind 
And  had  a  way  of  putting  it  in  words 
Most  awkward,  and  was  deemed  the  primal  root 
Of  this  disturbance,  rose  and  roundly  swore 
Loyalty  to  the  death,  with  leave  reserved 
To  hold  what  damned  heresy  he  chose. 
Whereon  the  cheerful  Order  cried  again, 
"Clash    crockery!    and    clang    glass  !      Let    the    Chief 

reign ! ' ' 

But  he,  Sir  REID  DE  CARDIFF,  who  alone 
Of  all  the  greater  knighthood  had  his  tongue 
Elsewhere  than  in  his  cheek,  stood  forth  and  said, 
"  A  boon,  my  liege  lord  !     Let  me  hear  again 
What  are  those  comfortable  words  of  grace 
Proffered  to  rebels  taken  in  the  toils 
With  blood  of  loyal  British  on  their  hands  !  " 
So  he,  and  sat  at  pause,  waiting  reply. 
And  in  the  pause  Sir  GRIS  DU  JEU  I>E  PAUME 
Chipped  hastily  in,  and  said,  "  Let  details  be ! 
This  is  no  place  for  aught  but  platitude 
Clothed  in  loose  verbiage,  cryptic,  vaporous, 
Committing  nobody,  me  least  of  all. 
Who  in  this  frequence  am  resolved  to  swear 
Loyalty  to  the  death,  but,  once  outside, 
Reserve  with  bold  Sir  FIFE  my  manhood's  claim 
To  hold  what  damned  heresy  I  choose !  " 
Then  on  Sir  REID  the  knighthood  looked  askance 
As  on  a  dreadful  child  that  fain  would  know 
More    than    he  should ;    and    crossed    themselves,   and 

cried, 

"  Clash    crockery  !    and    clang   glass  !     Let    the    Chief 
reign  !  " 

But  when  Sir  BELCHAMP  PORTE-DRAPEAU,  that  shone 
Like  to  a  sepulchre  new-washed  without, 
Had  made  acknowledgment  of  favours  done, 
Dropping  no  hint  of  banquets  yet  to  be, 
But  loudly  praising  liberty  of  speech, 
So  it  be  always  barren  of  results, — 
Thereafter,  overworn  with  ecstasy, 
The  knighthood  parted,  each  to  his  own  place, 
Save  such  as  went  and  told  it  to  the  Press. 

And,  last,  Sir  LABOUCHERE  DE  BOOM-LE-VRAI 

Low-muttering  in  his  beard  remarked,  "  What  rot !  " 

And  I  that  called  myself  their  King  of  Fools  ! 

And  now,  behold  !  I  am  a  beaten  man  !  "  O.  S. 

* Punch,  Dec.  24th,  1898. 


LOGICAL  PUZZLE  FOR  VEGETARIANS.— If  "all  flesh  is  grass," 
then  "  all  grass  is  flesh  " ;  and  this  being  so  what  food  is  there 
for  pure  and  simple  vegetarians  vowed  to  vegetate  ? 


JULY  17,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


39 


(0    « 

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JULY  17  1901  J 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


41 


A    MEDICINAL    MARRIAGE; 

OR,   PREVENTION   is    SOMETIMES    BETTER 

TH<VN  MATRIMONY. 

["  One  remedy  against  indigestion  is  matrimony. 
At  least,  the  Lancet  tells  us  that  it  is  the  celibate 
young  barrister,  the  lonely  curate  in  lodgings,  the 
struggling  bachelor  journalist,  or  business  man 
or  clerk  who  suffers  most  from  premature  dyspepsia 
because  he  eats  alone.  He  generally  reads  during 
his  meals,  which  is  bad ;  or  he  reads  directly  he  has 
bolted  his  food,  which  is  likewise  bad.  Obviously, 
therefore,  matrimony  is  a  bar  to  indigestion."— 
Lady's  Pictorial.'] 

THERE  was  an  air  of  triumph  about  Mrs. 
CHAT  AWAY  that  was  not  usual .  She  floated 
across  the  room  buoyed  up  by  some  moral 
superiority.  Her  husband  eyed  her  sus- 
piciously. Her  smile  of  welcome,  he 
remembered  thinking,  was  a  little^  over- 
done this  evening.  Her  conversation  at 
the  dinner-table  had  been  sustained  in  a 
manner  that  denoted  a  deep  purpose. 
CHATAWAY  lit  his  cigar  and  settled  him- 
self in  an  arm-chair.  Mrs.  CHATAWAY 
gave  a  little  laugh. 

"I  often  wonder,"  she  said,  evidently 
in  imitation  of  a  man's  brusque  tones, 
"  why  you  married  a  girl  like  me." 

"Why  I  married  you?"  he  repeated, 
vaguely. 

"  Yes,"  she  assented. 

"  Oh — er — love  at  first  sight,  darling. 
I  couldn't  help  myself." 

The  young  wife  gave  a  second  little 
laugh  full  of  delightful  incredulity,  and 
looked  her  husband  full  in  the  face  to 
accentuate  her  entire  disbelief  of  the 
statement. 

This  completely  upset  CHATAWAY. 

"  Of  course,  it 's  awfully  difficult  to 
explain ' ' 

"  I  was  afraid  you  would  find  it  so." 

"  Why,  NINA,  what  do  you  mean " 

"  I  mean,"  and  she  stood  up,  and  flashed 
a  pair  of  pretty  searching  eyes  on  her 
recalcitrant  spouse,  "that  for  two  years 
I  have  lived  in  a  fool's  paradise.  That  for 
two  years  I  have  been  fettered  to  a  man 
in  whom  I  trusted  and  believed,  only  to 
find  at  the  end  of  it  that  I  have  been 
tricked,  swindled  into  an  ignominious  and 
loveless  marriage." 

CHATAWAY  gazed  in  mate  wonder. 

"Praise  my  good  looks  now.  My  hair, 
my  taste  in  gowns,  my  housekeeping,  my 
thousand  and  one  womanly  charms  in  your 
simpering  phrases  of  adulation,  which  a 
cruel  deception  has  taught  you  to  handle 
with  such  deftness.  And  see  the  poor 
weak  fish  nibble  at  the  baits.  Tell  me  all 
over  again  how  you  fell  in  love  with  the 
swing  of  my  shoulders,  the  poise  of  my 
head,  my  half-parted  lips  when  I  drank  in 
your  decently-veiled  protestations  of  love 
and  sympathy.  Paugh !  Thank  heaven 
my  eyes  are  opened.  The  fish  has  seen 
the  hook  treacherously  concealed  in  the 
red  worsted." 

The  man  lot  his  hands  fall  into  his  lap. 
Somehow  or  other  she  had  discovered  the 


He.  "WHAT  I  FIEL  FOR  YOU,  MTJRIBL,  I   CAN  NEVER  TELL  YOTJ  IN  WORDS.    TRUB 

LOVE   IS  SILENT  !  " 

Muriel.  "On,  NO,  I  ASSURE  YOTT.     IT  SPEAKS  TO  PAPA." 


motive  that  had  urged  him  to  make  her  his 
wife.  And  yet,  hoAV  ? 

"  My  dear  NINA,"  he  began  again. 

"  Tell  me  again,"  she  said,  with  a  sneer 
that  dried  up  all  the  blood  in  the  man's 
heart,  "  how  you  despise  the  man  who 
marries  for  any  but  the  purest  emotions 
of  ideal  love ;  generous,  manly  sentiments, 
true  nobility  of  thought !  ' ' 

The  man  was  coAved.  He  could  not 
stand  up  against  this  whirlwind  of  denun- 
ciation. He  was  ashamed,  crushed, 
humiliated.  Still,  he  was  a  man ;  so  he 
attempted  to  brazen  it  out. 

"NINA,"  he  attempted,  "this  is  the 
sheerest  nonsense " 

The  woman  gurgled  inarticulately. 

' '  What  right  have  you  to ?  ' '  The 

man's  jaw  dropped.  For,  with  a  quick 
movement  his  wife  took  from  her  bodice  a 
small  crumpled  note  and  flung  it  towards 
him.  He  turned  ashy  pale.  He  recognised 


in  the  tell-tale  shred  of  paper  a  congratu- 
lation from  an  old  friend  on  his  marriage. 
With  a  sickly  feeling  he  took  it ;  his 
tremulous  fingers  smoothed  out  the  letter, 
and  he  re.ad  : — "I  could  not  think  ivhy 
the  deuce  you  married  the  girl,  until  I  re- 
membered you  are  a  martyr  to  indigestion. 
I  hope  sincerely  the  cure  will  be  effectual." 
The  paper  fluttered  to  the  ground. 

"And  this  is  the  end  of  a  high 
romance,"  said  she,  brokenly;  "to  find 
oneself  the  victim  of  a  medicinal  marriage, 
a  cure  for  dyspepsia,  a  dose,  a  mere  dose. 
All  that  is  best,  and  tenderest  and  most 
beautiful  in  womanhood  compounded  by  a 
pharmaceutical  brute  of  a  man  into  a 
matrimonial  tabloid.  It 's  too  humiliating 
— too  degrading !  " 

It  was  hard,  after  having  taken  the 
medicine  steadily  for  two  years,»to  find  at 
the  end  of  it  that  it  violently  disagreed 
with  him.  W.  H.  M. 


42 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  17,   1901. 


CCELUM,    NON    ANIMUM,    MUTANT,    QUI    TRANS    MARE 
CURRUNT. 

[A  Mr.  O'DoNOGHUE,  of  San  Francisco,  is  seeking,  it  is  said,  to  induce 
wealthy  Irishmen  to  support  a  scheme  for  transplanting  the  population 
of  Ireland  to  four  islands  in  the  Pacific  Ocean.] 

COME,  live  in  the  greenness  of  constant  prosperity 

On  an  emerald  isle  that  is  over  the  sea, 
"Where  there  's  never  a  symptom  of  -wrath  or  asperity, 

And  nothing  but  happiness  ever  can  be. 

We  shall  govern  ourselves  with  the  lightest  frivolity, 

Ne'er  an  eviction  shall  trouble  the  land, 
Landlord  and  tenant  beneath  a  new  polity 

Each  being  equally  childlike  and  bland. 

No  one  shall  wield  any  galling  authority, 
Pigs  and  potatoes  shall  flourish  and  grow; 

Bulls  shall  exist  by  the  right  of  priority, 
Everyone  bossing  his  own  little  show. 

There  may  we  grumble,  if  grumbling  amuses  us, 
Far  from  the  world  where  no  ill  was  redressed, 

Ignorant  whether  the  tyrant  abuses  us — 
Come  to  the  South,  be  pacific,  and  rest. 


OCCASIONAL  OPERATIC  NOTES. 

Thursday,  July  11. — On  no  account,  even  at  a  banker's — (well, 
that 's  as  may  be), — would  Mr.  Punch's  Royal[Opera  Commissioner 
miss  hearing  and  seeing  his  very  dear  old  friend  Les  Huguenots. 
To-night  his  old  friend  shows  him  a  new  face,  namely,  that  of 
M.  JEROME  appearing  as  Raoul  de  Nangis,  or  as  near  Raoul  de 
Nangis  as  possible.  And  M.  JEROME  was  distinctly  good  ;  not 
great,  not  entrancing,  no  ;  not  making  us  wonder  that  the  sweet 
singing,  merry,  yet  stately  equestrian,  Queen  Susan  Adams  of 
Navarre,  did  not  fall  in  love  with  him  on  the  spot  and  cut  out  her 
first  lady-in-waiting  Valentine,  powerfully  played  by  Miss 
LUCIENNE  BREVAL,  but  a  very  capable  and  agile  Raoul  for  all  that. 
M.  PLANCON  realises  the  grand  seigneur,  as  the  Comte  de  St. 
Bris,  singing  perfectly  and  acting  as  he  always  does,  artisti- 
cally. Whatever  character  M.  PLANCON  for  the  moment  repre- 
sents, that  for  the  moment  he  is.  M.  DECLERY  tres  distingue  as 
the  high-minded  Comte  de  Nevers.  M.  JOURNET  is  not  the 
rough-and-ready  Huguenot  soldier  Marcel,  his  "  Pi^  Pa^  "  song 
having  in  it  less  of  the  musket  than  the  pop-gun,  rather  missed 
fire.  After  the  great  duet,  between  Marcel  and  Valentine  in 
the  third  act,  c'est  Mademoiselle  LUCIENNE  BREVAL  qu'il  nous 
faut  when  we  applaud  with  all  hands,  but  an  encore  could  not 
be  taken.  Mile.  MAUBOURG  as  Urbain,  the  page,  delightful, 
both  in  singing  and  acting,  though  her  "No,  No,  No!"  was 
not  so  effective  as  to  make  it  at  once  apparent  that  she  is 
"thoroughly  in  the  'No.'" 

'Tis  a  wonderful  Opera !  What  chances  for  singer  and 
actor !  What  triumphs  for  stage-manager  and  for  scenic 
artists  !  Yet  the  chorus  that  should  be  throughout  so  spirited 
is  but  half-hearted,  and  its  shyness  was  apparent  when  as 
Huguenot  soldiers  they  tried  to  back  up  their  officer  in  his 
solos,  they  themselves  having,  contrary  to  all  military  discipline, 
taken  the  initiative  by  commencing  the  Rataplan  chorus.  What 
tact  is  demanded  of  any  stage-manager  to  render  such  a  situation 
anything  like  possible!  Les  Huguenot  requires  new  stage 
management,  fearlessly  ignoring  conventionality. 

Dare  a  conductor,  who  should  be  equally  musician  and 
dramatist,  with  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  most  advanced 
requirements,  re- write  some  of  the  old  "  tum-ti-tum ' '  accompani- 
ments ?  Would  not  MEYERBEER  himself  have  done  so  in  1901  ? 
Not  a  doubt  of  it.  If,  for  modern  audiences,  to  edit  and  adapt 
SHAKSPEARE  is  permissible,  why  not  do  the  same  -with  MEYER- 
BEER ?  And  so  with  the  old  stage  operatic  traditions.  Look  at 
that  absurd  "banquet"  in  the  first  scene,  when  some 
hundred  splendidly  attired  guests  drink  aerated  nothing  out  of 


shining  goblets,  apparently  quite  charmed  at  having  been 
invited,  the  whole  lot  of  them,  to  a  tasty  "  spread,"  consisting 
of  one  centre-dish  containing  a  couple  of  apples,  a  pair  of 
oranges,  grapes,  I  think,  and,  possibly,  nuts,  lavishly  provided 
for  them  by  the  generous  giver  of  the  feast,  the  gay  and  festive 
Comte  de  Nevers.  The  polite  guests  did  not  touch  that  single 
dish  of  fruit.  They  knew  those  apples  and  oranges.  A  little 
child  sitting  behind  me  in  the  stalls  watched  this  scene  with 
the  greatest  possible  interest.  "  Why,"  she  asked  her  mamma, 
"does  no  one  take  any  of  the  apples?"  Her  mamma  could 
only  say  ' '  Hush  ! ' '  And  how  delighted  was  the  little  girl  when , 
at  the  close  of  the  act,  Raoul  de  Nangis  had  a  handkerchief 
bound  over  his  eyes.  "  Oh,  mamma  !  "  she  exclaimed  joyously, 
"wow  they 're  going  to  play  Blind  Man's  Buff!"  Poor  little 
girl !  how  disappointed  she  was  when  the  curtain  descended, 
and  all  chance  of  seeing  a  really  good  parlour  game  of  "Blind 
Man's  Buff "  was  lost  for  ever. 

The  season  terminates  on  Monday,  July  29,  and  for  Wednes- 
day, July  17,  a  new  opera,  Le  Roi  d'Ys,  by  EDOUARD  LALO,  is 
announced.  What  will  be  the  next  novelty  ?  La  Reine  de 
Wherefores,  as  a  companion  Opera  ? 


OUE  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

The  Millionaire  Mystery  (CHATTO  &  WiNDUS)  belongs  to  the 
class  of  story-telling  that  in  theatrical  illustration  was  known 
as  "penny  plain,  tuppence  coloured."  To  do  Mr.  FERGUS 
HUME  justice,  his  book  should,  in  recognition  of  the  wealth  and 
elaboration  of  its  detail,  rank  on  the  higher  pecuniary  scale 
Never  before  was  there  such  concatenation  of  circumstance, 
the  unexpected  ever  leading  to  the  improbable.  If  there  is  in 
any  locality  a  desire  to  make  the  flesh  creep,  probably  not  an 
unpleasant  process  in  sultry  weather,  The  Millionaire  Mystery 
is  the  very  thing. 

Sister  Theresa,  by  GEORGE  MOORE  (T.  FISHER  UNWIN),  is  a 
sequel  to  the  same  author's  Evelyn  Innes.  To  understand  Sister 
Theresa  it  is  essential  to  re-read  certain  portions  of  the  earlier 
work,  published  in  1898.  It  is  safe  to  affirm  that  neither  story  was 
intended  by  the  author  to  be  read  virginibus  puerisque.  More- 
over, virgines  et  pueri  of  healthy  literary  tastes  would,  it  is  the 
Baron's  deliberate  opinion,  be  weary  of  the  first  book  after 
a  few  chapters,  and  therefore  would  never  think  of  attempt- 
ing the  second  novel ;  while,  if  they  began  with  this  recently 
published  sequel,  it  would  be  unintelligible  to  them.  Primarily, 
WAGNER  and  his  'music  seem  to  be  responsible  for  much  that 
was  wrong  in  the  life  of  Evelyn  Innes  who  became  Sister  Theresa. 
The  story,  powerfully  told,  in  clear  and  graceful  style,  is 
saddening  in  its  realism,  dealing  as  it  does  with  the  wanderings  of 
a  restlessly  yearning  soul  in  perpetual  conflict  with  its  material 
body.  Not  a  very  novel  theme ;  and  whether  the  ultimate  victory 
is  with  grace  or  with  nature  the  author  leaves  undecided ; 
and  the  heroine's  career  seems  so  uncertain,  that  the  reader 
almost  expects  to  see  the  notice,  "to  be  continued  in  my 
next  "  on  the  last  page  of  Sister  Theresa.  At  all  events  Sister 
Theresa  is  not  dead  yet,  and  perhaps  there  is  Moore  hereafter 
on  the  same  subject.  Mr.  GEORGE  MOORE,  after  the  manner  of 
the  Zolaesque  school,  has  no  scruples  as  to  "dotting  his  ' i's ' "  ; 
indeed ,  the  Baron  is  of  opinion  that,  with  hardly  an  exeeption,these 
dots  are  simply  blots.  Could  not  the  story  have  been  rendered 
attractive  to  all,  and  profitable  to  many,  without  these  blots  of 
dots  ?  As  it  is,  the  undoubtedly  clever  work  of  a  clever  man 
can  only  be  recommended  to  the  elect  few  who  will  thoroughly 
appreciate  the  artistic  merit  of  this  author's  latest  work. 

Mr.  RAPHAEL  TUCK  has  sent  for  the  Baron's  inspection  and, 
he  hopes,  approval,  an  assortment  of  post-cards  with  photographs 
of  various  places  of  holiday  resort  and  of  picturesque  types  pecu- 
liar to  some  of  them.  Good,  so  far.  But  picture  occupies  so 
much  of  the  card  that  little  space  is  left  for  sending  a 
friendly  message  and  signing  each.  Now,  when  Mr.  RAPHAEL 
tuck  it  into  his  head  to  produce  these  cards  he  evidently  forgot 


JULY  17,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


43 


that  the  sender  would  probably  wish,  like  the  inveterate  after 
dinner  speech-maker,  "just  to  say^a  few  words."  What 's  th 
use  of  anyone  sending  a  portrait  of  a  "  Deep  Sea  Fisherman  "  t 
his,  or  her,  intended,  unless  some  explanatory  lines  can  be  added 
And  without  "lines  "  the  fisherman  at  any  time  is  useless  ?  0 
course,  if  the  portrait  of  the  Fisherman  conveys  some  very  dee 
meaning,  then  we  mustn't  judge  by  the  surface,  but  must  sup 
pose  the  photo  to  mysteriously  convey  some  "fishing  interro 
gatory  "  or  "a  message  from  the  sea."  As  picture  cards  an< 
as  advertisements  of  attractions,  excellent ;  but  as  a  means  o 
communication,  for  which  the  ordinary  unillustrated  post-car 
sufficeth,  these  cards  leave  a  want  unsupplied. 

THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 

FOB  A  CONSIDERATION. 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCH, — No  doubt,  until  June  next,  the  columns  o 
your  contemporaries  will  be  deluged  with  suggestions  as  to  the 
route  of  the  Coronaion  Procession.    Permit  me  to  make  a  pro 
posal  in  the  same  direction  ? 

Why  should  not  the  route  be  as  follows  ?  Start  from  Bucking 
ham  Palace  and  do  the  suburbs  thoroughly.  Up  to  Chiswick  bj 
Kensington,  Hammersmith,  and  Upham  Park  Road.  Then  hav 
detachments  sent  to  Streatham,  Tooting,  Peckham  Rye,  Lewis 
ham,  and  Barnes.  I  say  detachments,  because  the  main  portion 
would  be  required  for  parading  Lesser  London  and  the  City 
With  a  little  organisation  all  the  principal  streets  could  b 
visited.  Even  the  provinces  might  share,  to  a  certain  extent 
in  the  demonstration.  The  heralds,  acting  on  precedent,  migh 
make  a  visitation  to  a  few  of  our  watering-places. 

If  my  plan  is  adopted — as  it  should  be — thousands  and  thou 
sands  will  be  able  to  take  part  in  an  event  of  unique  historica 
importance,  after,  of  course,  showing  their  solvency  by  paying 
for  their  places  in  advance.  Yours  sincerely, 

AN  ANTI-BANGER  OP  SAXPENCES. 


LAST  NIGHTS  AT  THE  LYCEUM. 

PERSONALLY,  I  should  be  content  were  Sir  HENRY  IRVING  to 
limit  himself  to  a  single  piece  at  any  one  performance.    O 
course,   when  SHAKSPEARE  provides  the  entertainment  there 
can  seldom  be  two  pieces  in  the  bill ;  but  when  CONAN  DOYLE' 
Waterloo  is  given,  the  impersonation  of  Corporal  Gregory  Breiv- 
ster  takes  as  much  out  of  the  audience  as  it  does  out  of  the 
actor,  and  most  willingly  would  we  quit  the  theatre  immediately 
after  the  fall  of  the  curtain  on  the  Corporal's  death,  grateful 
for  having  seen  it  and  absolutely  certain  that  no  other  piece 
3ould  give  us  so  much  of  the  very  essence  of  the  great  actor's 
listrionic  genius,  rather  than  witness  him  exhausting  himself 
on  the  character  of  Mathias  in  The  Bells,  a  play  that  could  well 
lave  the  programme  to  itself.    By  the  way,  the  "  melodrame  " 
music  for  this,  except  when  it  is  purely  Alsatian  in  character, 
might  with  advantage  be  rewritten. 

But  what  Sir  HENRY  might  give  as  a  foil  to  The  Bells,  or  to 

Vaterloo,  would  be  the  slight  piece  entitled  Jingle,  of  which  I 

emember  nothing  whatever  except  the  principal  character 

iguring  in  a  dramatised  episode  from  Pickwick.    Possibly  it 

would  have  to  be  re-written :   a  new  version  might,  perhaps, 

ive  us  Jingle  at  Dingly  Dell ;  Jingle  eloping  with  Miss  Wardle; 

a  cinematographic  view  of  the  postchaise  chase  bringing  down 

he  curtain ;    and,   for  the  second  act,  we  should  have  the 

ouching  meeting  of  Mr.   Pickwick  with  Jingle   in   the   Poor 

Debtors'   side  of  the  Fleet,  ending  with  his  embarcation  for 

a  new  life  in  a  new  world.    There  would  be  much  to  raise  a 

smile :  but  the  finish  would  leave  us  smiling  through  tears. 

lowever,  this  is  but  a  suggestion,  that,  adopted  practically, 

might  relieve  the  actor  who  is  inclined  to  over-tax  his  powers, 

nd,  which  might  prove  a  very  considerable  attraction. 

Now  "The  Dook  has  something  to  say  "  as  to  Waterloo  and 
ts  present  cast,  which,  though  efficient,  is  net  quite  up  to  the 
riginal.  However  wonderful  be  the  "  make-up  "  of  any  actor, 
et  "mannerism,"  like  murder,  "will  out,"  and  within  a  few 


"WHY  WAS  BILL  JONES  MADE  CAPTAIN?  'E's  DONE  NOTHIN',  'E 
AIN'T." 

'  NOTHIN'  1  OH,  AIN'T  'E!!  WY,  AT  THE  HOVAL  'E  THREW  UP 
THE  BALL  FROM  FOUR  BOUND'KY  WOT  GRACI  *IT  !  " 


minutes  of  the  best  disguised  actor's  appearance  on  the  scene, 
his  individuality  is  sure  to  reveal  his  identity.    I  am  beginning 

0  reconsider  this  dictum  :  for  it  occurs  to  me,  after  seeing  this 
>iece  at  the  Lyceum,  that  there  are  two  young  actors  on  the 
ktndon  stage  who  can  perfectly  conceal  their  identity ;  and  of 
hese  two  Mr.  LAURENCE  IRVING  is  one  ;  while  as  to  the  other 
oung  actor,  I  leave  experienced  playgoers  to  guess,  merely 
aying  that  he  is  not,  and  never  has  been,  connected  in  any 
ray  with  the  Lyceum. 

All  who  have  seen  Mr.  LAURENCE  IRVING  in  the  play  of  Robes- 
ierre,  for  example,  will  testify  to  the  perfection  of  his  make-up 
s  Colonel  James  Midwinter,  which  was  so  excellent  (though  to 
is  reading  of  the  part  I  take  exception)  that,  unlike  the  amateur 

1  The  Pantomime  Rehearsal,  I  did  not  "  know  it  was  LAURENCE 
RVING,"  nor  did  I  make  the  discovery  until  consulting  the  bill 
fter  leaving  the  theatre.    Had  his  rendering  of  this  small 
art  struck  me  as  something  exceptional,  naturally  I  should 
t  the  time  have  referred  to  the  bill  to  see  if  the  name  of  the 

:tor  were  familiar  to  me. 

For  Friday,  July  19,  The  Merchant  is  announced,  and  on 
aturday,  July  20,  Coriolanus  is  given  on  the  last  night  of  the 

ason,  after  which,  and  before  starting  for  work  again,  let  us 
ope  Sir  HENRY  will  give  himself  a  thoroughly  lazy,  lounging, 
ivigorating,  recuperating  vacation;  and  if  he  doesn't,  "a  word 

ill  have  to  be  said  on  that  subject  by  THE  DOOK." 


44 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  17,   1901. 


THE   MACHINE,  SOME    MORTALS, 
AND    A    BAT    AND    BALL. 

THERE  is  no  need  to  say  much  about  the 
Bowler.  Like  all  latter-day  trundlers  he 
was  a  person  of  next-to-no-importance, 
with  a  strong  fellow-feeling  for  Skating 
Competitions  and  the  Hay  Crop  and  all 
other  unfortunates  whose  success  or 
failure  depends  on  the  whim  of  the 
weather.  Also,  he  was  a  cricket  reformer 
of  the  deepest  dye.  He  was  fond  of 
arguing  that  the  pame  ought  to  be  played 
in  winter  instead  of  in  summer  :  we  might 
get  decent  wickets  then,  he  said.  Or  else 
why  not  use  a  smaller  ball?  But  his 
ideas,  like  his  deliveries,  were  treated 
with  scanty  respect  by  a  sceptical  public. 
The  Batsman  deserves  more  notice.  He 
belonged  to  a  well-known  cricketing 
family,  easily  distinguished  by  the  fact 
that  its  members  never  figure  in  the  list 
of  averages.  His  own  initials  were  B.  R., 
and  he  was  a  sou  of  M.'s  and  a  brother  of 
S.  M.  and  B.  and  T.,  as  well  as  of  A.  N., 
who  is,  of  course,  the  most  famous  of  all 
the  OTHERS.  His  cousin,  ANON,  the  most 
prolific  of  the  minor  poets,  was  stretched 
behind  the  net  on  what  he  called  the 
grassy  sward,  armed  with  a  pencil  and 
note-book.  There  were  also  present  the 
Bat  and  the  Ball. 

The  wicket  was  a  good  old-fashioned 
one.  In  other  words,  as  B.  R.  remarked 
with  some  heat,  it  reduced  first-class 
cricket  to  an  utter  farce.  But  the  Bowler, 
for  once  in  his  life,  was  enjoying  himself. 
As  hot  and  happy  and  sticky  as  a  child  at 
a  Sunday-school  treat,  he  was  giving  B.R. 
a  very  bad  quarter  of  an  hour.  In  the 
language  of  the  sporting  newspapers  he 
was  making  the  ball  talk,  and  ANON,  who 
had  never  yet  seen  this  feat  accomplished, 
except  in  print,  composed  himself  to 
listen  with  both  ears,  ventre-a-terre . 

"What's  this  new  game  called?" 
asked  the  Bat,  who  was  also  in  a  conver- 
sational mood. 

"Called!"  repeated  the  Ball,  scorn- 
fully. "  I  forget.  Sort  of  name  that 
recalls  the  delicious  hair-oils  of  thirty 
years  ago,  combined  with  the  patent 
compressed  soups  of  to-day.  But  it 's  the 
new  society  game;  I  know  that  much. 
Begins  with  Vi — that 's  the  soup,  and  ends 
with  oro, — that 's  the  olives,  hair-oil, 
I  mean.  But  it 's, — no,  it  isn't  Vioro. 
There  's  somethin' — can't  remember  what 
it  is — joinin'  the  two  (got  you  that  time, 
old  chap)  halves." 

"Yes,"  murmured  the  Bat,  as  he 
knocked  in  the  middle  stump,  "there 
would  be  a  joint,  wouldn't  there,  after 
the  soup?  Ah'm.  Perhaps  there's  a  G 
missing.  You  're  always  droppin'  them 
about.  I  know.  It  must  be  Vigoro — is  that 
it?  Well,  it  certainly  does  make  one's 
hair  curl.  But  how's  it  played?"  he 
continued,  settling  himself  in  the  block. 
"  It 's  a  sort  of  cricket,  ain't  it  ?  " 


"Cricket!  It's  about  as  much  like 
cricket  as — as  that  is,"  exclaimed  the 
Ball,  as  B.  R.  put  his  pad  in  front  of  a 
cunning  off-break.  "  Why,  they  use  lawn- 
tennis  balls  instead  of  ME." 

"  That  won't  make  much  difference  here 
I  wish  you  wouldn't  kick,"  said  the  Bat, 
all  in  one  breath.  "That  ain't  cricket 
anyhow.  You  needn't  get  savage.  You've 
hurt  my  man."  Then  there  was  an 
interval,  while  the  Bowler  tried  to  look  as 
if  he  were  sorry,  and  B.  R.  made  forcible 
remarks  (which  he  ought  to  have  sup- 
pressed), about  his  thumb  and  the  wicket. 
And  it  certainly  was  bleeding — the  thumb, 
Men  entendu,  not  the  wicket. 

"  Well,  go  on,  old  stick-in-the-mud,"  the 
Bat  resumed,  when  the  Man  had  at  length 
exhausted  his  vocabulary.  "  Tell  us  how 
they  bowl." 

"  With  lawn-tennis  rackets  !  " 
"  Bosh  !  How  do  they  field,  then  ?  " 
"  With  rackets." 
"And  catch?" 

"  With  rackets — rotten  badly." 
"Ah,"  said  the  Bat,  in  a  relieved  tone 
of  voice,  "then  they're  not  out-and-out 
Radicals.  Not  going  to  change  every- 
thing nil  at  once.  That  means  there  's  a 
chance  for  me.  At  least — they  're  not 
going  to  cut  me  down,  or  stick  up  another 
wicket,  are  they?  " 

"Worse  than   that," — said   the    Ball. 
By  Jove,  I   shot  then,  didn't  I  ?     I  'd 
quite  forgotten  what  it  felt  like.     They  're 

goin'  to  bat  with ' ' 

"Not  with  rackets ?  " 
The  Ball  nodded  :  his  heart  was  too  full 
for  words. 

"Oh,  what  rot !  "  screamed  the  Bat. 
At  least  that  was  what  he  meant  to  say. 
What  he  did  say — well,  this  is  ANON'S 
account  of  the  matter.  The  Bat,  ho  says, 
Avas  obviously  a  highly  respectable  Bat, 
rated  Al  at  Lord's,  and  carefully  trained 
not  to  interfere  with  balls  which  the  pads 
ould  play  as  well  or  better  than  himself, 
tn  fact,  he  had  got  beyond  the  mere  A,  B,  C, 
of  cricket,  and  was  learning  to  mind  his 
P's  and  Q's  in  first-class  company.  But 
when  he  got  excited  he  could  not  pro- 
nounce his  R's.  As  ANON  remarked  in  his 
lumorous  way,  they  always  stumped  him. 
So  that  what  he  actually  did  say  in  his 
frenzy  was  not,  "  What  rot,"  but  "  What 
wot." 

Now  it  happened  that  the  young  female 
who  goes  by  the  name  of  ECHO,  was,  after 
ler  usual  custom,  slumbering  lazily  in 
Tont  of  the  Pavilion.  You  know  her 
trick  of  catching  up  your  last  word  in  a 
scornful  sort  of  way,  giving  it  a  perverse 
.wist,  and  rushing  off  at  a  tangent,  with- 
out paying  any  attention  to  the  main 
argument.  This  trait  of  hers  would,  of 
itself,  be  enough  to  prove  her  sex,  even  if 
the  most  famous  of  ANON'S  predecessors 
lad  not  settled  the  question  for  all  time 
by  the  immortal  line,  "Echo  femininum 
name. "  It  is  true  that  the  writer  adduces 


no  evidence  in  support  of  his  proposition. 
But,  argues  ANON,  that  only  proves,  not 
that  his  gender-rule  is  at  fault,  but  that 
he  was  either  a  married  man,  or  else  had 
sisters.  And  as  ANON  is  the  one  himself, 
and  possesses  several  of  the  others,  he  is 
probably  correct. 

But  to  resume.     When  the  Bat  cried, 
' '  What  rot !  "  he  called  so  loudly  that  he 
woke  the  nymph  of  the  Pavilion.      And 
'after    that    the    conversation    took    the 
following  turn. 
Echo.  "  What  what  ?  " 
Bait.  "Don't  take  any  notice  of  her. 
She  can't  catch  on  to  what  I  say.    I  'm 
too  fast  for  her." 

Bat.  "All  right.  Did  you  hear  what 
my  man  said  when  you  hit  him  on  the 
wrist?" 

EeJio.  "Whist!" 

Ball.  "  Got  your  middle  stump   again, 
old  cock.     You  were  frightfully  crooked." 
Bat.  "Well,   it's  B.  R.'s    fault.      He 
ought  to  hold  me  straighter." 
Echo.  "  Waiter!  " 

Ball.  "  Jove,  I  bumped  a  bit  then. 
Beastly  wicket." 

Bat.  "  Yes,  I  don't  half  like  it :  it 's  too 
risky." 

Echo.  "  Whiskey." 

Ball.    "She's     pullin'     your     leg,   old 
chap." 
Bat.     "If    I    could    only    pull    hers! 

Wouldn't  it  be  rare " 

Echo.  "Beware!  " 
Bat.  "  Simply  ripping !  " 
Echo.  "  Whipping  !  " 
Ball.  "You  couldn't." 
Bat.  "  Could  if  I  tried." 
Echo.  "  Wide." 

Ball.  "I'm  blowed  if  it — oh,  I  forgot." 
Bat.    "  I  say,  that  was  a  good  smack. 
How  many  could  I  have  run  ?  " 
Echo.  "One." 

Ball.   "Oh,   confound   the  girl!     Here, 
let  me  have  a  shot  at  her.    He  's  tossing 
me  up  slower  now.    Are  you]there,  ECHO?  " 
Echo.  "  Ecco." 

Ball.  "You  are " 

Echo.  "  You  are " 

Ball.  "A  fool." 
Echo.  "A  fool." 

Ball.  "No,  hang  it,  I  must  put  it  the 
other  way  round.  I  mean  I  am  a  fool,  you 
fool." 

Echo.  "  Fool,  you  fool." 
Whether  the  Ball  would  have  succeeded 
in  finding  out  ECHO'S  weak  spot,  is,  in 
ANON'S  opinion,  rather  doubtful.  But  at 
this  moment  the  Mortals  took  up  the  run- 
ning. "By  George,  B.  R."  said  the 
Bowler,  as  he  put  the  Ball  into  his  bag, 
"  didn't  I  make  him  talk  ?  " 

'You.'"  answered  the  Batsman.  "It 
was  the  wicket.  Besides,  balls  don't 
talk." 

"  This  one  does,  my  dear  cousin,"  said 
ANON.  "I  heard  it." 

;'  Heard  it!  Bosh  !  You  beastly  poets 
are  always  thinking  you  hear  things. 


JULY  17,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


45 


'Spose  you  '11  say  next  that  my  bat  talks, 
or  my  pads,  or — or " 

"  Or  the  mowing-machine  ?  "  suggested 
ANON,  who  had  some  unpublished  verses 
on  the  subject  in  his  pocket.  "  But  it  does. 
Can't  you  hear  what  it 's  saying  ?  Well, 
I  can.  I  '11  just  scribble  it  down  while 
you  fellows  are  changing.  Oh,  it 's  no 
bother."  And  when  the  two  cricketers 
returned,  bored  but  submissive,  the  poet 
and  his  verselets  were  ready  for  them,  as 
fresh  (apparently)  as  a  basket  of  new-laid 
eggs,  and  without  a  hint  of  the  Rhyming 
Dictionary  or  a  trace  of  the  midnight  oil 
about  them. 

"Sure  you  fellows  don't  mind?"  he 
began.  "Well,  then,  I've  called  it  Ex 
Machina,  and  it  begins  like  this :  '  Back- 
wards and  forwards.'  B*  the  bye,  I 
ought  to  tell  you  the  first  and  last  verses 
are  in  italics.  It 's  more  usual,  you  know. 
Ahem ! 

EX    MACHINA. 

BACKWARDS  and  forwards,  and  foruxirds 

and  back, 
Marking    the  length  of  its   double  green 

track, 

Making  the  cricket-ground  level  and  green, 
Thin  is  the  song  of  the  Mowing-Machine. 

Hark  to  me,  cricketers,  hark  to  my  whirr, 
Hark  to  my  mellow  machinery's  purr, 
Hark  to  my  murmuring  all  the  long  day  ; 
I  have  my  work  to  do,  you  have  your 
play. 

Work    at    your     playing,   then,— like    a 

machine, 

Regular,  little  by  little,  and  keen  ; 
Nerves  made  of  iron  and  sinews  of  steel, 
Shoulder  to  shoulder,  and  wheel  within 

wheel. 

Shoulder  to  shoulder,  you  '11  get  at  the 

heart  of  it, 
Wheel  within  wheel  is  the  whole  and  the 

part  of  it. 
Play  with  one  mind  and  one  end  and  one 

aim, 
Playing  together  and  playing  the  game. 

Play  it  with  judgment  and  play  it  with 

skill, 
Play  with  good  temper  but  play  with  a 

will, 

Play  it  with  courtesy,  play  it  with  pluck, 
Play  it  with  something  that  's  better  than 

luck. 

If   you  'd  be  honest,   steal  nothing  but 

runs, 
If  you  want  wins,  then  take  care  of  the 

"  ones," 
Don't  count  your  centuries  ere  they  are 

hatched, 
Don't  drop  your  catches  until  they  are 

catched. 

Play  the  game,  aiming  to  make  a  good 

fight  of  it, 
Play — never  mind  if  you  're  beaten  in  spite 

of  it ; 


'  SUA    QUIQUE    VOLUPTAS." 

A  STUDY  IN  EXPRESSION. 


Keen  in  the  contest  and  straight  in  the 

strife, — 
That  is  the  motto  for  cricket  and  life. 

Nearer  and  clearer  the  stir  and  the  ivhirr 

of  it, 
Further  and  fainter  the  thrum  and  the  hum 

of  it, 
Backwards  and  forwards,  now  white  and 

noiv  green, 
Tliat  is  the  song  of  tlie  Mowing-Machine. 

"Not  half-bad,"  said  the  Batsman,  as 
the  Poet  paused  for  breath  and  applause. 
"Oh,  ripping,"  added  the  Bowler ;"  but 
T  'm  afraid  I  must  be  off.  You  coming  my 
way,  B.  R.?" 

"  Clever  little  devil,  that  cousin  of 
yours,"  he  went  on,  as  soon  as  they  were 
out  of  earshot.  "  I  couldn't  have  done 
it,  at  least  not  in  record  time  like  that." 

"Oh,  well,  I  don't  know.  Yes,  I  dare- 
say," returned  the  Batsman,  with  cousinly 
disparagement.  "  Pity  he  's  such  an  ass 
though.  He 's  an  absolute  crock  at  games, 


you  know.  And  yet,  somehow — I  wonder 
if  he  did  hear  all  that  rot.  What  d'you 
think?"  G.  F.  C. 


"OUR  DEAR  OLD  HOLMES." 

"Is  it  really  true  that  you  rescued  the 
greats.  H.  ?  " 

"Certainly  I  did.  As  the  celebrated 
detective  descended  with  the  utmost  ex- 
pedition from  the  mountain,  I  caught  him 
before  he  was  smashed  in  the  valley." 

' '  Really !    Most  astounding ! ' ' 

"  I  caught  him  in  a  balloon." 

' '  Wonderful !     What  was  it  made  of  ?  " 

"  It  was  made  of  paper." 

"  Was  it  inflated  with  gas  ?  " 

"No.    It  was  fed  by  a  magazine." 

"Of  powder?" 

"  Ah,  now  you  are  asking  too  much." 

"Then  is  even  the  name  of  the  maga- 
zine a  secret  ? ' ' 

"  Certainly — a  journalistic  secret." 

And  the  Interviewer  disappeared  sing- 
ing the  old-time  song  "  In  the  '  Strand.'  " 


46 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  17,  1901. 


First  Street  Ve'iidor.   " '!LLO,  BILL,  VTOT'S  THE  MATTER  NOW?" 

Sew/id  Street  Vendor.  "Now,  I  HARSK  YBR,  1  HARSK  T?BR,  HAIN'T  IT  H  ENOUGH  TO  HAGGREVATE  HENNY  MAN  TO  BE  HARSKED  FOR 
A  'CRICKET  SPECIAL'  AT  'ABF-PAST  FOUR  HO'CLOCK  HIN  THE  HAFTERNOON  !" 


"FOR  THEIE  HEARTHS  AND    HOMES!" 
AN  APPEAL. 

IN  the  number  dated  November  8,  1899,  Mr.  Punch  aroused 
the  sympathy  of  all  with  a  cartoon  by  Sir  JOHN  TENNTEL 
entitled  "  Britannia  Consolatrix."  A  crowd  in  the  background 
cheered  the  troops  departing  for  the  war  (1899 !!),  and  "the 
girls  they  left  behind  them  "  were  their  wives  and  children,  to 
whom  BRITANNIA  said,  "  I  will  take  care  of  you !  Your  man  has 
gone  to  his  duty — and  I  will  do  mine."  Once  again  Mr.  Punch 
conies  forward  and  craves  your  support,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen, 
Fathers  and  Mothers,  for  the  Soldiers'  and  Sailors'  Families 
Association,  the  Holborn  and  Finsbury  Fund,  under  the 
presidency  of  Her  Majesty  Queen  ALEXANDRA.  In  this  cause, 
the  great  cause  of  charity,  we,  whatever  may  be  our  political 
opinions  regarding  the  war,  all  must  be,  and,  for  the  matter  of 
that,  are,  united.  From  prospectus  recently  issued,  it  appears — 

"  The  wife  of  a  Private  receives  a  total  of  9s.  lid.  a  week — of 
this  7s.  7d.  is  separation  allowance  from  Government,  2s.  4d. 
allotment  from  her  husband.  She  also  receives  Is.  2d.  a  week 
for  each  child  from  Government. 

' '  The  Association  supplements  this  aid  by  small  weekly  grants. 
In  the  Division  of  Holborn  and  Finsbury  these  vary  from  2s.  6d. 
to  5s.  for  each  woman. 

"In  cases  where  employers  make  "weekly  grants,  the  Associa- 
tion gives  no  help. 

"  The  question  of  the  moment  is  —  whether  these  soldiers' 
families  are  now  to  be  left  without  this  supplementary  aid,  or 
whether  the  generosity  of  those  in  the  Holborn  and  Finsbury 
Boroughs  will  enable  the  Association  to  continue  their  aid  to 
the  wives  [of  those  men  who,  month  after  month,  are  so  nobly 
doing  their  duty. 


"  There  have  been  altogether  566  families  in  the  district.  Of 
these  some,  owing  to  the  death  of  the  husband,  have  become 
entitled  to  pensions  ;  some  men  have  returned  and  resumed 
their  previous  employment,  while  others,  pending  their'  dis- 
charge, have  been  provided  for  from  other  sources.  There  are 
still,  however,  250  families  to  be  aided,  at  a  cost  of  about  £50 
per  week.  The  number  gradually  diminishes  as  the  events  just 
mentioned  occur,  but  it  is  estimated  that  funds  will  be  required 
to  carry  on  the  work  for  many,  many  months  to  come  ;  further, 
the  recent  despatch  of  fresh  Militia  battalions  to  the  front  has 
added  to  the  number  of  families. 

"  It  is  proposed  to  make  arrangements  whereby  the  smallest 
weekly  sums  can  be  collected,  enabling  all  to  give  to  this  Fund. 

"  All  money  received  will  be  spent  entirely  on  the  families  in 
Holborn  and  Finsbury.1' 

To  this  Mr.  Punch  need  add  nothing,  except  what  he  trusts 
his  many  friends  will  join  him  in,  namely,  a  substantial  contribu- 
tion, which  can  be  addressed  to  The  Punch  Office,  care  of  Messrs. 
BRADBURY,  AGNEW  &  Co.,  10,  Bouverie  Street,  E.G.,  for  the 
"  Soldiers'  and  Sailors'  Families  (Holborn  and  Finsbury)  Fund." 

Mr.  Punch  receives  many  uninvited  "  contributions  "  which 
from  time  to  time  he  is  compelled  to  reject,  but  such  contribu- 
tions as  he  now  invites,  being  intended  for  the  above-men- 
tioned Fund,  no  matter  what  their  value,  will  be  immediately 
and  gratefully  accepted,  with  heartiest  thanks  in  behalf  of 
this  truly  "Home  Charity."  Friendly  amateurs,  too,  send 
him  drawings  which  he  is  unable  to  use,  but  in  this  case, 
every  cheque  duly  drawn  and  signed,  by  amateur  or  pro- 
fessional, no  matter  how  many  figures  there  may  be  in  it,  will 
be  sure  of  acceptance,  and  will  be  handed  over  for  artistic 
"  reproduction "  in  the  shape  of  substantial  benefit  to  the 
families  of  our  Soldiers  and  Sailors.  PUNCH. 


PUNCH,    OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI.— JULY  17,  1901. 


A  UNITED   FBONT. 


RIGHT  HON.  SIR  H-NRY  C-MPE-LL  E-XX-RM-N  (after  a  successful  effort).  "  WELL,  THANK   GOODNESS,  I  'VE  GOT  THE 

TWO  SIDES  TO  MEET  !  " 


JULY  17,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


49 


ESSENCE    OF    PARLIAMENT. 

EXTRACTED  FROM  THE  DIARY  OF  TOBY   M.P. 

House  of  Lords,  Monday,  July  8. — 
Extremely  painful  scene  in  the  House 
to-night.  At  half-past  seven  LORD  CHAN- 
CELLOR, rising  from  "Woolsack,  regarding 


Canny  Kilmarnock. 
(Colonel  D-nny.) 

with  awful  countenance  the  bench  of 
Bishops,  remarked,  "  I  have  a  strong  con- 
viction that  we  have  been  out  of  order 
since  half-past  five." 

Now  it  was  aboiit  that  hour,  be  the  same 
more  or  less,  that  the  ARCHBISHOP  OF 
CANTERBURY  interposed  on  Motion  relating 
to  KING'S  Declaration  on  Accession. 
Subject  came  before  House  on  stage  of 
consideration  of  Report  of  Select  Com- 
mittee. Calling  on  the  Order,  LORD 
CHANCELLOR  observed  that  all  that  might 
be  done  at  present  juncture  was  to  lay 
Report  on  the  Table,  whereupon  notice  of 
action  might  be  given.  Hopped  back  to 
Woolsack  ;  resumed  his  seat ;  folded  his 
gown  across  his  stately  body  with  assur- 
ance that  the  thing  was  settled. 

Up  gat  the  PRIMATE,  and  positively 
moved  that  Report  be  referred  back  to 
Committee  !  A  hush  of  fearsome  expecta- 
tion fell  over  Assembly.  "What  would 
happen  ?  Would  the  floor  open,  creating 
a  vacancy  in  the  See  of  Canterbury  ? 
Instinctively  felt  that  the  MARKISS  was 
the  only  man  who  might  ride  on  the 
brooding  whirlwind.  MARKISS  not  one  to 
shirk  his  duty,  especially  when  it  involves 
privilege  of  having  a  go  at  a  Bishop. 

The  PRIMATE  complained  that  the  Com- 
mittee appointed  to  consider  the  delicate 
matter  did  not  contain  a  single  Bishop. 
Let  a  certain  number  be  added  to  the 
Committee,  and  the  Report  referred  back. 


In  tones  of  mingled  scorn  and  indigna- 
tion the  MARKISS  protested  he  had  never 
heard  of  such  a  thing  as  referring  back  a 
Report  to  a  Committee  without  indicating 
particulars  on  which  it  was  desired  to 
amend  it.  The  only  suggestion  offered  by 
the  most  reverend  prelate  was  that  to  the 
Committeo  should  bc>  added  ' '  a  large 
infusion  of  Bishops." 

Most  eloquent  word  "  infusion  "  in  the 
MARKISS' s  mouth.  Analogy  between 
Bishops  and  tea-  leaves  unmistakable. 
Speaking  again  later,  when  revolt  seemed 
coming  to  a  head,  he  changed  the  metaphor, 
alluding  with  increased  scorn  to  a  pro- 
posal to  "  dilute  the  Committee  with  two 
Bishops."  This  tamed  even  the  truculent 
TEMPLE  ;  broke  down  the  white  walls  of 
resistance,  four-deep,  set  up  above  gang- 
way to  right  of  Woolsack.  No  one  could 
say  whither  the  fancy  of  the  MARKISS 
would  lead  him  next.  There  were  possible 
similitudes  even  worse  than  tea-leaves 
and  tepid  water.  Primate  made  haste  to 
capitulate,  humbly  asking  leave  to  with- 
draw his  motion. 

It  was  then  the  LORD  CHANCELLOR  rose 
in  his  might  and  rounded  oft  a  pleasant 
evening  by  asserting  that,  led  astray  from 
the  Episcopal  Bench,  the  House  had  for 
two  hours  been  in  a  disorderly  state. 

Business  done. — Second  Reading  of  Edu- 
cation Bill  moved  in  the  Commons. 

House  of  Commons,  Tuesday  night. — 
"Sir,"  said  the  SQUIRE  OP  MALWOOD, 
looking  more  than  ever  like  Jove,  "  this 
insolent  injustice  must  be  repelled." 

As  he  thundered  forth  the  words  he, 
swinging  round  on  heel  to  faoe  the 
cheering  Opposition,  flung  forth  his  right 
arm  as  if  discharging  a  thunderbolt. 
What  was  the  matter  ?  Looking  on  and 
listening,  the  stranger  in  the  Gallery,  un- 
familiar with  the  SQUIRE'S  occasional 
manner,  would  be  inclined  to  answer 
with  Mrs.  Malaprop  in  The  Rivals,  "  Why, 


"Danger!    Weir!" 


murder's  the   matter.      Slaughter's    the 
matter.    Killing  's  the  matter." 

It  wasn't  any  one  of  the  three. 
JOHN  O'GORST  was  the  matter.  On  mov- 
ing Second  Reading  of  Education  Bill 
last  night,  he  spoke  disrespectfully  of 
School  Boards.  Having  gone  so  far,  he 
natupally  felt  he  might  fling  to  the  winds 
last  vestige  of  respectability ;  accordingly 
assumed  a  sprightly  air  ;  told  the  House 
some  interesting  stories. 


North  Birmingham. 
(Mr.  M-ddl-n-re.) 

It  seems  that,  like  HAROUN-AL-RASCHID, 
the  Vice-Presidcnt  of  the  Council,  dis- 
guising himself  and  painting  his  well- 
known  bicycle  a  less  obtrusive  colour, 
made  the  round  of  the  night  schools  with 
intent  to  see  for  himself  how  things  were 
working.  In  one  he  found  the  youthful 
aspirants  after  knowledge  tripping  it  on 
the  light  fantastic  toe.  "  Physical  exer- 
cise,' '  it  was  discreetly  called  in  the  School 
Report.  The  Vice-President  was  able  to 
testify  that  it  was  nothing  other  than  the 
giddy  waltz,  the  shameless  schottische. 

Whether,  in  order  the  better  to  main- 
tain his  anonymity,  the  Viee-President  of 
the  Council  took  a  turn  himself  was  not 
stated.  BRYCE,  alluding  to  the  adven- 
ture, hinted  belief  that  the  right  hon. 
Gentleman  was  quite  equal  to  the  indis- 
cretion. It  is  only  fair  to  suppose  he 
drew  the  line  at  the  waltz.  But  it  is  a 
pretty  conceit  that  flashes  on  the  mind — 
JOHN  O'GORST,  mated  with  a  maiden  from 
Bethnal  Green,  going  hands  across  and 
up  the  middle,  after  the  manner  of 
Mr.  Fezziwig  in  JOHN  LEECH'S  immortal 
picture  of  the  ball,  in  "A  Christmas 
Carol." 

To-night,  whilst  SQUIRE  OF  MALWOOD 
thundered  at  him  across  the  Table  and 
PRINCE  ARTHUR  gallantly  defended  him, 
JOHN  O'GORST,  with  elbow  supported  in 
palm  of  left  hand,  toyed  with  his  beard, 


50 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  17,  1901. 


and,  -with  far-away  look  appropriate  to 
subject,  reflected  on  the  po\ver  and 
majesty  of  the  Committee  of  Council,  on 
the  grip,  gentle,  firm,  and  comprehensive, 
held  on  the  Education  Question  by  "  my 
noble  friend  the  President." 

Business  done, — Education  Bill  read  a 
second  time  by  333  votes  against  215. 

Thursday  night.  —  There  is  something 
really  distressing  about  Mr.  COQHILL'S 
conscience.  Its  occasionally  sudden 
prompting  enriches  the  Commons  with 
painfully  close  realisation  of  the  hovering 
habit  of  Banquo's  ghost.  To-day,  as  in 
Macbeth's  castle  at  Inverness,  things  are 
going  on  quietly ;  no  one  thinking  either 
of  Banquo  or  Mr.  COGHILL  ;  suddenly, 
according  to  stage  direction,  "enter  the 
ghost  of  Banquo  and  sits  in  Macbeth's 
place." 

Came  about  this  way.  LAMBERT  asked 
when  Agricultural  Rating  Bill  will  be 
brought  on.  "  Next  week,"  PRINCE 
ARTHUR  answered,  and  resumed  his  seat, 
thinking  the  incident  closed.  From  be- 
low gangway  on  Ministerial  side  was 
heard  a  voice  curiously  like  Banquo's  be- 
fore he  became  a  ghost. 

"  Will  the  right  honourable  gentleman," 
it  said,  "wait  until  the  war  in  South 
Africa  comes  to  an  end  before  he  proposes 
to  renew  the  Act?  " 

Storm  of  cheering  rose  from  Opposition 
benches  ;  here  was  a  man  on  Ministerial 
side  saying  what  they  long  had  thought ! 
PRINCE  ARTHUR  looking  round  beheld,  not 
Banquo,  but  Mr.  COGHILL  regarding  him 
with  sternly-set  face.  For  moment  the 
illusion  was  complete.  The  PRINCE'S 
white  lips,  slowly  moving,  murmured, 

"  Thou  canst  not  say  I  did  it ;  never  shake 
Thy  gory  locks  at  me." 

Perceiving  his  mistake  (the  Member  for 
Stoke's  hair  is  not  red),  recognising  that 
it  was  "only  COGHILL,"  PRINCE  ARTHUR 
recovered  his  self-possession.  But  these 
things  are  disconcerting,  especially  in 
hot  weather.  Worst  of  it  is,  never  know 
when  similar  thing  may  not  happen.  It 's 
always  in  quiet  moments,  on  unexpected 
topics,  when  no  one  is  thinking  of  him, 
that  COGHILL  jumps  up  and  puts  incon- 
venient questions  of  this  kind. 

Business  done. — Report  stage  of  Budget 
Bill. 

House  of  Lords,  Friday. — Listening  to 
LLANDAFF  discoursing  on  the  King's 
Declaration,  observing  JAMES  OF  HERE- 
FORD seated  on  the  Ministerial  bench  jusx 
below  him,  memory  carries  the  MEMBER 
FOR  SARK  back  over  a  period,  of  thirty-five 
years  when  he  first  knew  HENRY  MATTHEWS 
and  HENRY  JAMES.  It  was  in  an  ancient 
assize  town  on  the  Oxford  Circuit  known 
to  SHAKSPEARE.  They  were  then  in  the 
very  prime  of  life  and  power,  hardy 
stuff-gownsmen.  Their  style  with  judge 
and  jury  varied.  Both  were  brilliant, 
though  possibly  neither,  constitutionally 


modest,  dreamt  of  this  evening  when  they 
would  be  sitting  in  the  House  of  Lords, 
one  having  having  been  Home  Secretary 
and  Cabinet  Minister,  the  other  enjoying 
the  perhaps  unique  distinction  of  having 
refused  alike  the  Speakership  of  the 
House  of  Commons  and  the  Lord  High 
Chancellorship. 

As  a  debater  HENRY  MATTHEWS  was, 
strange  to  say,  by  no  means  a  success 
in  the  Commons.  His  speech  on  the 
King's  Declaration  was  one  of  the  finest 
pieces  of  oratory  SARK  has  lately  heard 
in  the  Lords.  In  style  and  manner  of 
delivery  it  recalled  RATHMORE,  and  praise 
can  no  higher  go.  Like  the  ever-lamented 
DAVID  PLUNKET  of  the  House  of  Commons, 
Lord  LLANDAFF  very  rarely  speaks  since 
his  translation.  Which,  seeing  what  is 
suffered  in  the  ordinary  way  in  the  House 
of  Lords,  approaches  inhumanity. 

Business  done. — Fifteenth  allotted  day 
for  Committee  of  Supply  in  the  House  of 
Commons.  Only  eight  more  possible,  and 
still  over  a  hundred  votes  out  of  144  to 
be  dealt  with. 


DIOGENES. 

IN  1901. 

I  DREAMED  ;  and  in  my  trance  beheld 
A  gentleman  infirm  and  eld, 

Yet  with  a  step  heroic. 
And  by  the  glimmering  lanthorn  he 
Upheld,  I  made  him  out  to  be 
Diogenes,  the  stoic. 

"Ah,  sage,"    I  cried,    "still,  still  you 

seek 
An  honest  mortal !  "    Down  his  cheek 

An  idle  tear-drop  ran, 
As  he  replied,  "  Fool,  naught  I  care 
A  finger-snap  whether,  or  where 

There  dwells  an  honest  man. 

"  New  centuries  new  wonders  bring, 
Which  set  new  sages  wondering 

And  new  pursuits  impose. 
No  more  the  phantom-man  whose  brow 
Is  stamped  with  honour  I  allow 

To  lead  me  by  the  nose ! ' ' 

"But   still    you  seek   with   lanthorn, 

why?" 
I  asked.    And  as  he  made  reply 

His  voice  with  anguish  shook. 
"My  search  as  hopeless  as  of  yore 
Now  seems  since  I  am  searching  for 

A  perfect  English  cook !  " 


STARVATION  POLICY  AND  LIBERAL  FARE.— 
At  the  Eighty  Club's  "At  Home"  Lord 
TWEEDMOUTH  suggested  the  abandonment 
of  the  "  ASQUITH  Dinner,"  and  added,  ac- 
cording to  a  Daily  News  note,  that  the 
party  "  should  postpone  dining  until  they 
could  all  dine  together."  Poor  Party! 
How  ravenous  they  will  all  be  when  that 
tout  ensemble  banquet  comes  off !  Then, 
indeed,  will  the  Dinner  Party  cry  be, 
"  Let  'em  all  come  !  " 


CORRUPTIO  OPTIMI ? 

["  The  trial  took  place  on  July  8,  of  KAPUSCHA, 
one  of  the  leading  members  of  the  Boer  Committee 
in  Vienna,  who  got  up  a  violent  agitation  in 
favour  of  the  Boers  there  and  collected  large  sums 
in  order  to  present  Mr.  KBTJGEB  with  a  costly 
casket  and  other  gifts.  He  engaged  a  large  num- 
ber of  persons  to  accompany  him  in  a  tour  of 
Europe,  demanding  from  each  security  in  sums 
amounting  altogether  to  40,000  crowns.  The 
address  to  Mr.  KBUGER  was  signed  by  16,000 
persons KAPTISCHA  was  arrested  on  sus- 
picion of  having  appropriated  the  deposit  money. 
....  He  has  been  sentenced  to  five  years'  hard 
labour." — Daily  Chronicle.] 

KAPUSCHA  speaks  :— 

I  WAS  among  the  leading  men 
Who  formed  Vienna's  Boer   Commit- 
tee, 
And  strove  to    rouse  with  voice  and 

pen 
The  slumbering  conscience   of    that 

city. 
Our  efforts  won  complete  success, 

We  made  a  splendid  agitation, 
We  drew  up  a  superb  Address. 
To  Mr.  KRUGER  from  the  nation. 

The  document  was  widely  read, 

In  every  household  you   could    find 

it  ; 
I  don't  remember  what  it  said, 

But  sixteen  thousand  people  signed  it. 
These  signatures  we  hoped  to  send 

To  KRUGER,  in  a  costly  casket, 
And  piles  of  money  to  that  end 

Came  in  when  we  began  to  ask  it. 

A    tour    through    Europe's    chiefest 

towns 

To  help   The   Cause  was   next   pro- 
jected, 
And  more  than  forty  thousand  crowns 

Were  very  rapidly  collected. 
The  scheme  delighted  high  and  low, 

We  put  it  into  execution, 
And  every  one  who  wished  to  go 
Forked    out    a    handsome    contribu- 
tion. 

And    thus    a    good,    round    sum    was 
raised, 

The  total,  really,  was  surprising, 
I  was,  myself,  immensely  praised 

For  my  success  in  organising. 
But  when,  at  length,  the  moment  came 

To  buy  the  casket  and  present  it, 
And  cash  was  wanted  for  the  same, 

I  had  to  own  that  I  had  spent  it ! 

So  the  projected  tour  fell  through 

As  1  had  collared  all  the  money. 
It  seemed  the  only  thing  to  do, 

Though  KRUGER  must  have  thought  it 

funny. 
And  now  Vienna 's  ceased  to  take 

An  interest  in  the  Boer  faction, 
So  no  one  but  myself  will  make 

A  penny  out  of  the  transaction  ! 

ST.  J. H. 


JULY  17,  1901.] 


— 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


51 


5  § 


H-I  H 


52 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  17,  1901. 


A    GOUTY    COURTSHIP. 

HER  DIARY. 

July  16th.— Oh  Joy  !  Joy !  !  Joy  !  ! !  Dear,  darling  diary,  we 
have  been  introduced  !  Sweet  Mrs.  DENTON,  whose  visit  hung 
over  me  like  a  nightmare,  was  the  officiating  angel.  She  knows 
him  very  well ;  she  says  he  is  of  very  good  family,  tolerably 
well  off,  rather  a  malade  imaginaire  she  fancied,  and  he  has  110 
parents.  "What  could  be  nicer  ?  He  certainly  improves  even  in 
appearance  when  you  talk  to  him.  His  features  light  up,  and  his 
sad  eyes  almost  sparkled  once  or  twice.  I  am  afraid  he  is  not 
very  truthful.  He  told  me  that  he  had  had  an  accident  to  his 
knee,  and  the  caissiere  of  the  hotel  distinctly  told  Mamma  that 
he  was  following  the  treatment  for  goTit.  But  he  does  not  like 
to  talk  about  himself.  He  asked  me  so  many  questions  about 
the  things  I  liked  and  the  sort  of  life  I  led,  and  it  is  extra- 
ordinary that  we  agreed  on  every  subject.  We  have  exactly 
the  same  tastes.  He  does  not  care  much  about  society,  and  not 
at  all  for  dancing — no  more  do  I.  He  likes  golf  and  all  out-door 
sports.  So  do  T.  Oh  !  I  wish  it  was  to-morrow  ! 

His  DIARY. 

July  17th. — A  terrible  thing  has  happened.  They  are  going 
away  very  shortly.  Some  idiotic  doctor  has  decided  that  Mr. 
SOMERVILLE  has  had  sufficient  baths,  and  they  have  decided  to 
leave  on  the  22nd.  I  shall  decide  for  myself  when  I  have  had 
sufficient  baths.  It  will  probably  be  not  later  than  the  23rd. 
I  am  certainly  better.  Royat  is  a  wonderful  place.  The  air 
is  perfectly  delicious,  and  the  Park  so  green  and  smiling  with 
its  perennial  orchestra.  How  could  one  be  dull  here  ?  I  sat 
with  her  twice  yesterday — she  can  tell  fortunes  by  palmistry. 
I  begged  her  to  tell  mine.  At  first  she  objected,  and  asked  me 
if  my  fortune  was  not  already  told  ;  but  as  I  persisted  she  took 
the  tips  of  my  fingers  in  hers  and  read  some  really  wonderful 
truths.  It  was  an  an  ecstatic  moment.  First  of  all,  she  said  I 
had  "  a  very  good  heart  " — (Quite  true) ;  that  I  had  more  heart 
than  "head" — (I  am  not  quite  sure  of  this);  I  had  natural 
gifts  for  the  Arts — (I  suppose  this  is  true  also)  ;  I  had  a  good 
temper — (This  I  know  to  be  an  absolute  fact) ;  I  was  perhaps 
not  always  quite  truthful — (Who  can  be  in  a  world  full  of  shams 
and  deceit?).  Finally,  I  should  live  to  a  good  old  age,  and  she 
added,  rather  maliciously,  I  thought,  "notwithstanding  the 
accident  to  your  knee."  I  couldn't  help  asking  her,  in  rather  a 
shaky  voice,  "  Shall  I  ever  marry  ?"  She  looked  very  steadily 
at  the  lines  of  my  hand,  and  then  said,  "  I  hope  so.  People  are 
happier  married,  are  they  not?  "  I  felt  almost  like  making  her 
a  declaration  on  the  spot,  but  the  band  was  playing  a  particu- 
larly loud  selection  from  Lohengrin,  and  the  moment  was  not 
propitious.  I  should  like  to  have  asked  some  more  questions  ; 
but  her  father  came  back  from  the  fountain,  where  the  waters 
had  evidently  not  improved  his  temper.  "Do  leave  off  that 
tomfoolery,  MAUD,"  he  said.  "A  hundred  years  ago  you  would 
have  been  burnt  as  a  witch."  "It  is  a  very  harmless  kind  of 
witchcraft,"  I  said  apologetically.  "  I  don't  choose  my  daughter 
to  do  it,  Sir,"  he  said  with  a  gouty  glare. 

Naturally,  we  both  collapsed. 

In  the  evening  I  managted  to  say:  "Will  you  complete  my 
fortune  to-morrow ?"  "I  dpn't  think  I  have  anything  to  do 
with  your  fortune,"  she  answered  simply.  "You  might  have, 
if  you  liked — if  you  would  condescend,"  I  said  very  humbly, 
and  then  of  course  there  came  the  usual  interruption  in  the 
shape  of  her  mother.  I  am  thinking  of  nice  things  to  say 
to-morrow.  Usually,  I  don't  find  it  difficult  to  talk,  but  when 
I  am  with  her  I  find  myself  tongue-tied  or  making  inexpressibly 
idiotic  remarks. 

HER  DIARY. 

July  nth. — I  have  only  four  more  days  to  spend  here.  A 
week  ago  I  should  be  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  leaving,  but 
now  I  am  almost  miserable.  I  suppose  we  shall  meet  again,  but 
everything  is  so  \ircertain  in  this  life.  I  told  his  fortune  by 


palmistry  yesterday.  He  has  nothing  but  good  lines  in  his  hand. 
I  was  sure  of  it  before  I  looked.  His  "  heart  "  is  immense,  and 
he  is  affectionate  and  true  in  love  ;  but  I  couldn't  tell  him  all 
that.  I  went  very  far  as  it  was  !  He  talks  brilliantly,  and  at 
the  same  time  very  sensibly.  I  could  listen  to  him  all  day. 
There  is  just  a  little  sadness  in  some  of  the  things  he  said,  but 
I  don't  know  if  that  is  caused  by  the  past  or  the  present.  I 
rather  fancy  it  is  the  latter.  Mamma  likes  him,  but  Papa  says 
there  must  be  something  radically  wrong  with  a  man  who  has 
gout  at  his  age.  "God  knows  what  he  has  been  up  to  !  "  he 
said.  I  turned  crimson,  and  said :  "  Were  you  very  wicked, 
Papa,  that  you  are  being  punished  by  gout  ?  "  I  was  very  near 
the  door  when  I  made  the  remark,  and  I  didn't  wait  for  the 
reply. 

His  DIARY. 

July  18th. — Things  are  reaching  a  crisis.  I  can't  sleep  now. 
All  night  long  I  tossed  about  thinking  of  brilliant  things  to  say 
to  her,  and  the  more  I  strived  after  epigrams  which  should 
have  a  slight  tinge  of  sadness  in  them,  the  more  my  mind 
became  a  blank,  and  I  could  only  repeat,  "  She  goes  in  three 
days!  What  will  become  of  me?  "  Of  course,  I  am  in  love — 
more  so  than  I  have  ever  been — and,  mingled  with  gout,  it  is  a 
terrible  disease.  And  she  is  in  love  too.  Why  does  her  hand 
tremble  when  it  touches  mine  ?  Why  does  the  colour  mount  to 
her  face  whenever  we  meet  ?  Why  do  we  both  prefer  to  be 
silent  when  we  are  together  ?  Because  we  cannot  talk  of  the 
things  which  are  in  our  minds,  and  so  we  prefer  to  think.  The 
idea  of  ever  gaining  her  father's  consent  seems  to  me  pre- 
posterous at  the  present  moment.  If  I  could  only  save  her  life, 
or  her  mother's — not  his — something  that  would  entitle  me  to 
his  gratitude.  But  people  never  are  grateful.  It  would 
probably  make  him  hate  me  more  than  he  already  does  if  I 
rendered  him  a  service.  I  must  think  of  something  else.  But 
what  ?  In  vain  I  beat  my  brain  to  think  of  something  that  will 
show  me  in  a  favourable  light  to  him.  It  is  no  use  sitting  here 
writing — I  must  go  to  bed — back  to  the  hot  pillows  which  I 
turn  again  and  again,  till,  in  desperation,  I  throw  them  on  to 
the  floor  and  lie  flat  on  my  back,  staring  up  at  the  ceiling  in 
blank  despair. 

HER  DIARY. 

July  18th. — Papa  dislikes  him  more  and  more,  and  I  am  sure 
his  affection  for  me  increases  in  proportion.  What  is  to  be 
done  ?  I  have  started  a  cough — a  little  hacking  cough  ;  and  if 
they  are  very  unkind  to  me  I  mean  to  develop  consumption. 
Papa  is  already  irritated  by  my  cough.  He  said,  "You  have 
caught  cold,  MAUD.  How  the  devil  did  you  manage  to  do 
that?"  I  said,  "I  don't  know.  I  daresay  it's  nothing — only— 
I  always  feel  tired  now."  Mamma  was  really  uneasy,  and  sau 
I  must  see  a  doctor.  If  the  doctor  would  only  recommend  me 
the  waters  to  gargle  and  inhale,  I  shouldn't  mind.  It  would 
keep  us  here  till  the  end  of  his  "  cure."  What  will  he  do  with- 
out me !  He  told  me  yesterday  that  his  movements  were 
uncertain,  that  he  should  probably  not  stay  after  the  23rd, 
and  he  threw  such  meaning  and  sadness  into  the  date.  It 
would  be  terrible  if  I  were  the  cause  of  shortening  his  treat- 
ment and  preventing  his  restoration  to  health.  I  should  never 
forgive  myself.  How  I  wish  I  had  gout,  then  Papa  couldn't 
say  anything.  I  might  imitate  the  faces  Papa  makes  when  he 
gets  a  twinge,  but  nothing  would  induce  me  to  imitate  his 
language.  Only  three  days  more,  unless  a  miracle  takes  place. 

His  DIARY. 

July  19th. — Only  two  days  more,  and  she  is  ill.  How  inhuman 
of  them  to  take  her  away.  She  coughs,  and  has  a  drooping 
appearance.  Can  it  be  grief?  We  never  have  a  moment  alone! 
She  told  me  yesterday  that  she  had  never  been  so  sorry  to 
leave  any  place.  I  managed  to  whisper  that  I  liked  it  at 
present,  but  after  she  had  gone  it  would  scorn  like — I  stopped 
for  want  of  a  proper  simile.  "I  know  the  place  you  mean," 
she  said  ;  "Papa  often  mentions  it." 


JULY  17,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OK  THE  LONDON  CHARIVAKI. 


53 


I  think  I  will  write  to  her  to-morrow.  It  may  be  dishonour- 
able to  do  so  without  her  parents'  knowledge,  but  with  such 
inhospitable  parents  one  must  deal  differently.  They  are  going 
to  Paris  for  a  few  days,  and  from  there  home  to  their  place  in 
Sussex.  It  is  all  hopeless  ;  I  shall  never  see  her  again.  I  am 
decidedly  better,  but  what  does  it  matter  how  I  am  if  I  lose 
her? 

HER  DIARY. 

July  19th.  —  There  is  not  the  slightest  sign  of  a  miracle,  and  I 
shall  never  see  him  after  the  22nd  of  this  month.  I  coughed 
till  I  really  made  myself  hoarse,  and  then  Papa  and  Mamma  both 
decided  that  I  wanted  change  of  air.  I  have  never  coughed 
since,  still  they  say  that  it  is 
a  warning  that  I  have  ex- 
hausted this  air.  "What  rub- 
bish people  talk  about  health  ! 
I  almost  feel  as  if  I  must  con- 
fide in  Mamma  ;  I  should  like 
to  throw  myself  at  her  feet  and 
tell  her  that  I  love  him,  and 
that  as  she  was  young  herself 
once,  and,  I  supposed,  loved 
Papa  at  that  period,  she  must 
have  pity  on  me.  She  is  very 
good  and  sweet,  I  think  she 
would  understand  me  ;  but  Papa 
would  be  driven  clean  out  of 
his  mind,  and  probably  have 
a  very  bad  relapse.  Besides, 
I  don't  know  that  he  loves  me. 
I  think  he  thinks  I  am  rather 
nice,  and  he  certainly  prefers 
to  talk  to  me  to  anyone.  He 
knows  people  here,  and  he  has 
refused  all  their  invitations  ; 
but  is  that  sufficient  to  implore 
Mamma  to  stay  another  week  ? 
I  can  write  no  more  —  my  brain 
is  wandering. 

His  DIARY. 

July  20t/i.  —  It  is  done.  I  have 
written  to  her  !  Without  vanity, 
I  think  I  may  say  I  composed  a 
beautiful  letter.  It  was  simple, 
manly  and  straightforward.  I 
told  her  frankly  that  I  loved 
her,  that  I  had  never  loved 
anyone  until  I  met  her,  and 
then  I  gave  some  necessary 
details  of  my  position  and 
for  a  few  words  of  hope. 


THE    HAND    OF    THE    CENSOR. 

John  Bull.  "YES,  I  CAN  SEE  SOUTH  AFRICA  RIGHT  ENOUGH;  BUT, 

HA1-.G   ME   IF   I   CAN   MAKE  OUT  EXACTLY  WHAT  THEY  ARE  DOING  !" 


decided  to  seek  Mamma's  assistance,  so  I  tapped  gently  at  her 
door,  and  begged  her  to  come  and  talk  to  me  in  ray  room.  It 
was  very  difficult,  and  poor  Mamma  was  quite  unprepared  for 
my  news.  She  said  she  was  just  saying  her  prayers,  and  thought 
she  had  finished  with  one  day's  miseries  at  any  rate.  But  I 
explained  to  her  that  this  was  not  sorrow ;  it  was  joy — 
unspeakable  joy,  for  me.  She  seemed  to  think  it  very  extra- 
ordinary that  I  should  care  for  a  man  of  whom  I  knew  so  little, 
but  I  told  her  that  there  was  no  reason  in  love ;  if  people 
reasoned  it  wouldn't  be  love,  it  would  be  calculation.  This 
argument  seemed  to  strike  her,  and  then,  with  many  blushes,  I 
showed  her  his  letter.  Of  jcourse,  she  couldn't  help  admiring 

his  beautiful  phrases — although 
she  didn't  acknowledge  it ;  but 
she  shook  her  head,  and  said 
Papa  would  never  consent  to 
my  marryling  a  gouty  man. 
"Then  I  shall  die!"  I  ex- 
claimed. "  And  the  sooner  the 
better.  You  know  I  am  ill,  and 
I  believe  you  want  to  kill  me 
on  purpose."  Then  Mamma 
cried,  and  I  cried  too,  and 
finally  I  got  her  to  consent  to 
my  going  over  to  the  DENTONS 
to-morrow ;  and  he  may  come 
too,  if  he  likes  (by  another 
train)  ;  and  if  we  really  seem 
to  care  for  each  other  when 
we  are  without  the  restraint 
of  third  people  I  am  to  write, 
and  then  she  will  see  what  can 
be  done  with  Papa.  "It  is 
better  that  you  should  not  be 
there  when  the  news  is  broken 
to  him,"  she  said,  in  her  dear 
old  complaining  voice.  "He 
might  throw  something  at 
you."  So  then  I  hugged  her 
for  ever  so  long,  and  let  her 
go  to  bed,  and  I  sat  down  and 
wrote  a  very  guarded,  modest 
letter  to  PERCY — I  shall  cer- 
tainly call  him  PERCY  in  my 
diary.  I  have  looked  out  the 
trains ;  I  leave  at  10.0  and 
there  is  a  train  for  him  about 
12.3.  I  shan't  sleep  to-night. 


His  DIARY. 


past   life,   and,   finally,   begged 
I  have  just  given   the   letter, 


together  with  a  louis,  to  the  chambermaid  of  her  floor,  and 
to-morrow  morning  I  shall  know  the  worst.  Of  course,  sleep  is 
out  of  the  question  ;  I  don't  even  feel  like  going  to  bed.  I  have 
only  been  here  sixteen  days,  and  what  a  change  has  been 
effected  in  my  life  !  How  blindly  one  looks  at  the  future.  I 
came  here  thinking  only  of  my  gout  and  the  wretched  three 
weeks  I  should  have  to  spend  here,  and  now  all  is  changed.  J 
think  only  of  her,  night  and  day. 

HER  DIARY. 

July  20t/i.  —  He  has  written  to  me!    How  imprudent  of  him, 

but  how  delightful  to  read   his  fervent,  truthful  words,  and 

know  that  he  really  cares  for  no  one  in  the  world  but  me  !     He 

sks  me  to  marry  him,  to  be  only  his,  to  drag  his  soul  from  the 

ough  of  despair  in  which  it  is  at  present  plunged.     Nothing 

iould  be  more  beautiful  or  clever  than  his  choice  of  words,  and 

s  handwriting  is  exquisite—  firm  and  legible.     What  was  I  to 

I  read  his  eight  pages  over  and  over  again,  and  then  I 


Vichy,  July  21st.  —  We  are  both  here  —  she  staying  with  the 
DENTONS,  I  at  another  hotel.  She  has  consented,  conditionally 
on  her  father's  approval.  Too  excited  and  bewildered  to  write. 

HER  DIARY. 

Vichy,  July  22?id.  —  We  are  so  happy  ;  but  all  depends  on 
Mamma's  letter  to-morrow.  Vichy  is  such  a  pretty  place,  and 
the  air  perfectly  delightful.  As  for  the  DENTONS,  no  words  can 
express  their  kindness.  I  can't  write,  I  have  so  much  to  think 
of. 

July  23rd.  —  A  very  sweet  letter  from  Mamma.  She  says  the 
worst  is  over.  She  let  Papa  work  off  the  superfluous  language 
for  at  least  half-an-hour  before  she  interrupted  him,  and  then 
she  gradually  explained  to  him  that  I  was  really  in  love  with 
PERCY,  and  making  myself  quite  ill  at  the  thoughts  of  a  separa- 
tion —  also  that  I  must  marry  some  day,  and  that  Mr.  GORING 
my  own  darling  PERCY  —  was  certainly  a  desirable  parti,  and  a 
lot  of  other  very  clever  arguments,  and  finally,  towards  the 
evening,  Papa  consented  to  interviewing  PERCY,  land  if  he  can 
give  satisfactory  reasons  for  his  gout  he  will  perlmps  consider 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVAE1. 


[JULY  17,  1901. 


an  engagement.  I  can't  expect  more — I 
scarcely  expected  so  much.  PERCY  is  in 
the  seventh  heaven.  I  told  him  I  kept  a 
diary,  and  one  day  when  we  are  properly 
engaged  I  would  show  it  to  |him  and  he 
would  see  my  first  impressions  of  him; 
and,  oddly  enough,  he  keeps  one  too,  and 
he  said  he  would  show  it  to  me — and  then 
he  pulled  himself  up,  and  said  he  couldn't. 
I  told  him  I  should  insist,  and  asked  him 
why  he  could  not  ?  The  reason  was  very 
simple.  He  took  my  face  in 
his  hands,  and  kissed  it  laugh- 
ingly, and  said,  "Because  I 
began  by  calling  you  the  girl 
with  red  hair !  "  F.  C.  PH. 


with  little  bits  cribbed  from  the  Journal 
of  Horticulture.  In  another  hundred  pages 
or  so  the  book  will  be  finished,  and  I  shall 
bid  my  darling  readers  good-bye.) 

Close  by  the  greenhouse,  four  feet  from 
the  gooseberries,  and  two-feet-six  from  the 


second-best  honeysuckle,  I 
in  a  clump   of  dandelions. 


have  dotted 
Such  brave 
flowers,  so  sturdy  and  self-reliant !  Oddly 
enough,  they  have  all  turned  out  yellow 
with  me.  Why  are  none  of  them  purple  ? 


THE  CULT  OF  CULTURE. 

(An  Advance  Chapter  from  my 
next  "Garden-book.") 

ON  the  grass  yonder,  between 
the  appletree  and  the  pansies  I 
see — but,  by  the  way,  dearest 
reader,  have  I  told  you  about 
the  sweet  old  apple-tree  ?  Ah, 
I  thought  not !  Well,  it  shall 
have  a  nice,  pretty  chapter  all 
to  itself  later  on.  Between  it 
and  the  pansies,  which  1  sowed 
myself  in  a  light  loam  early  in 
April  and  they  haven't  come 
up  yet,  though  there  are  others 
among  the  potatoes  which  are 
tall  and  straggling,  like  this 
sentence,  but  it 's  only  eleven 
o'clock  on  Monday  morning, 
and  I  must  spin  out  this  morn- 
ing's observations  into  a  whole 
chapter,  I  see,  as  I  said  before 
— what  do  you  think  ?  A  fallen 
leaf.  A  fallen  leaf.  Say  that 
slowly  and  distinctly  twenty- 
seven  times,  and  if  the  poetry 
of  it  all  doesn't  sink  into  your 
very  soul,  I  'm  sorry  for  you. 
Alas,  poor  leaf  !  If  it  were  still 
upon  the  tree,  it  would  not 
lie  upon  the  dark  damp  earth  ; 
stirred  by  the  gentle  wind 
'twould  murmur  a  thousand 
caressing  messages  to  its  little 
brothers !  Fate  willed  it  otherwise.  Ah, 
complete,  ah,  mournful  parable  of  life  ! 
The  leaf  is  not  on  the  tree.  It  lies 
upon  the  ground — lies  between  the  tree 
and  the  dear  pansies  ;  forsaken,  deso- 
late, alone.  The  apple-tree  is  on  its 
right  —  dread  symbolism!  —  the  pansy- 
border  on  its  left.  The  leaf  is  on  the 
ground. 

(There,  that 's  one  good  solid  paragraph 
finished.  This  new  fashion  in  literature 
certainly  saves  one  a  lot  of  trouble.  Be- 
fore it  became  popular,  I  used  to  write 
novels ;  now  I  don't  trouble  about  a  plot, 
or  characters,  or  anything.  I  simply  sit 
in  the  garden  from  ten  o'clock  to  four — 
Saturdays,  ten  to  one — and  put  down  my 
thoughts  just  as  they  come,  mixed  up 


ILLUSTRATED    QUOTATIONS. 

(One  so  seldom  finds  an  Artist  who  realties  the  poetic  conception,.) 


eyes,  two  feet,  and  one  beak.  But  the 
early  worm  has  left  some  hours  ago  on 
pressing  business.  Ah,  dearest  reader, 
the  saddest  words  in  the  language.  Too 
late !  Too  late  !  Too  late  !  Oh,  the  bitter- 
ness of  it  all ! 

But  I  must  be  brave.  I  must  water  the 
geraniums.  (Plant  out  early  in  May,  in  a 
south  aspect,  and  mulch  freely.)  Yes,  I 
must  water  the  geraniums.  So  do  the 
petty,  insistent  duties  of  life  break  in 
upon  our  most  spiritual  moods  ! 
Yet  even  here  fresh  disappoint- 
ment lurks,  envious,  malignant. 
The  pump  is  out  of  order.  Be- 
sides, there  are  no  geraniums 
to  water.  The  cat  scratched 
them  all  up  last  week. 

Now  it  is  nearly  lunch-time, 
so  I  must  finish  off  this  chap- 
ter. Down  the  pleasant  path 
I  stray,  among  the  mignonette 
and  musk  and  marigolds.  Look 
at  that  swift  swallow,  his 
wings  sheening  in  the  shine  of 
the  sun ! — but  lunch  is  ready.  Sit 
still,  dear,  darling  reader,  sit 
very  still ;  after  lunch  I  '11 
come  and  talk  to  you  again. 
A.  C.  D. 


"AND   FOUND  THE   PRIVATE   IN  THE   POBLIG   GOOD.' — Pope. 


A  MISLAID  BILL  OF  FARE. 
FOR  some  unexplained  reason, 
the  following  suggestions  for 
the  menu  of  a  banquet  to  bo 
given  to  a  distinguished  states- 
man was  left  at  Mr.  Punch's 
official  residence.  The  owner 
may  have  it  on  application. 

Hors  d'ceuvres. 
Caviare  au  general. 
Olives  en  branche. 
Bouchees  varie'es. 

Potages. 

Hotch-potch. 

Puree  de  poireaux. 

Poissons. 
Soles  Parentes. 


Perhaps  it  is  the  soil.  But  they  are  not 
difficult  to  grow.  Put  them  singly  in 
small  pots  proportionately  to  the  size  of 
the  tubers,  in  a  compost  consisting  of 
equal  parts  of  fibrous  loam,  leaf-soil  and 
sand.  Press  the  soil  rather  firmly  if  a 
short  growth  and  a  long  season  are 
desired,  stand  the  pots  on  a  bed  of  cocoa- 
nut  fibre,  or  plunge  them  in  it,  and  keep 
the  temperature  of  the  house  at  65°  to 
70°.  At  least,  this  is  how  they  tell  one 
to  grow  tuberous  begonias,  and  the  same 
plan  ought  to  answer  for  dandelions  and 
cauliflowers,  and  things  of  that  sort. 

It  is  nearly  twelve  o'clock;  "noon," 
in  the  quaint  old  Anglo-Saxon  phrase. 
A  sparrow  has  just  hopped  across  the 
lettuces — a  sweet  little  bird,  with  two 


Entremets. 

Los  canards  au  Tory. 

Les  oies  a  la  Reforme. 

Epigramme  a  la  Morley. 

Petite  Paix.    Sauce  lionne. 

Les  colorabes  en  branche  de  Noe. 

Ruts. 
Rosbif  a  1'Oncle  Paul.     Sauce  Hollandaise. 

Frolds. 

Pieds  de  cochon  au  Chambellan. 
Chaudfroid  a  la  bouchere. 

Les  Vins  mousseux,  crus  sp^cieux  : 

Chateau  Porte-banuiere. 

Chateau  Demandavec. 


JULY  24,  1901  ] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


55 


"  EUPHONISMS." 
I. 

THE  KB  thrived  some  years  ago,  Cremorno 
(A  haunt  deserving  of  our  scorn), 

At  least,  so  tells  tradition. 
It  also  spins  a  shocking  yarn 
That  Surrey  Gardens— Highbury  Barn, 

Both  needed  prohibition. 
Still,  even  then,  that  was  not  all, 
'Tis  rumoured,  farther  back,  Vauxhall 

Was  in  a  worse  condition. 
But  nowadays  we  've  changed  all  that ; 
We  dare  not  fling  a  toque  or  hat 

With  former  expedition. 
Yet  to  the  rescue  comes  a  phrase 
(You  kill  a  cat  in  many  ways) : 
So  wise  discretion  finds  the  name — 
"An  Exhibition  " — Just  the  same  ! 

II. 

In  days  gone  by,  whose  loss  we  feel, 
They  dallied  much  with  Fortune's  wheel, 

At  least,  so  tells  tradition. 
Assisted  by  a  friendly  State 
They  gambled  early,  gambled  late, 

Oft-times  to  their  contrition. 
The  lottery- wheels  would  gaily  spin, 
Sometimes  you  'd  lose,  sometimes  you  'd 
win 

(Subtraction  or  addition). 
In  modern  days  the  thing  's  a  sin  ; 
They  run  the  Fortune-teller  in, 

And  Chance  leads  to  perdition. 
Bat  to  the  rescue  comes  a  phrase 
(You  kill  a  cat  in  many  ways) : 
So  wise  discretion  finds  the  name — 
It 's  "  Church-bazaaring ' ' — Just  the  same ! 

III. 

They  found,  in  bygone  days,  'tis  true, 
That  ZOLA  was  a  bit  too  "  blue." 

At  least,  so  tells  tradition. 
To  publish  him  was  then  a  crime — 
It  meant  for  those  who  did  so  "  time  "  ; 

Suppressing  the  edition. 
And  yet  one  suffered  not  at  all — 
If  one  could  read  the  tongue  of  Gaul 

Instead  of  transposition. 
The  modern  taste — alas  !  the  shame, 
Is  open  equally  to  blame 

(Pray  don't  call  this  sedition), 
For  to  the  rescue  comes  a  phrase 
(You  kill  a  cat  in  many  ways)  : 
So  wise  discretion  finds  the  name — 
"A  Problem  Novel " — Just  the  same  ! 

HUAN  MEE. 


THE 


HOUSEHOLDER'S    VADE- 
MECUM. 


Question.  I  think  you  are  the  master  of  a 
house,  and  find  your  position  the  reverse 
i of  dignified  and  comfortable  ? 

Answer.  That  is  so ;  in  consequence  of 
the  change  of  manners  in  my  household. 

Q.  Of  what  do  you  particularly  com- 
plain ? 

A.  Of  the  reversed  positions  of  master 
md  servant. 


Mr.  Gusher  volunteers  to  help  in  the  subjugation  of  a  vicious  colt  owned  by  his  inamorata, 

Miss  Sims. 

Miss  S.  "OB,  MR.  GUSHER,  DO  PLEASE  KEEP  COOL.    THE  BOOK  SAYS  IT  WILL  RUIN  THE 

COLT   IF  YOU  ALLOW  HIM   TO   THINK  HE  CAN   BS   MASTER!" 


Q.  Can  you  give  an  instance  to  prove 
your  meaning? 

A.  Yes,  many  ;  but  perhaps  one  may 
suffice.  In  the  past,  the  remains  of  the 
dinner  of  the  parlour  went  down  to  feed 
the  occupants  of  the  kitchen.  Nowadays, 
the  dining-room  may  consider  itself  lucky 
if  it  receives  a  cut  off  the  joint  from  the 
servants'  hall. 

Q.  Do  you  find  that  there  is  less 
inclination  to  work  amongst  servants 
than  there  used  to  be  ? 

A.  Assuredly.  In  the  days  of  old,  a 
Sunday  out  was  a  concession  made  once  a 
month.  Now,  two  half-holidays  a  week 
and  a  whole  holiday  every  seventh  day  is 
quite  the  regulation. 

Q.  Do  you  dread  to  ring  the  bell  ? 

A.  Certainly,  because  the  housemaid 
will  not  bring  up  the  coals,  and  the  foot- 


man has  a  soul  above  the  ascent  of  a  jug 
of  hot  water. 

Q.  You  mean  that  your  servants  think 
more  of  their  dignity  than  your  comfort  ? 

A.  Quite  so  ;  and  this  idea,  carried  to 
excess,  renders  life  in  a  furnished  house 
a  perfect  misery. 

Q.  Do  you  know  any  remedy  by  which 
things  may  be  set  straight? 

A.  Yes,  by  letting  your  house  and  living 
at  a  hotel. 

Q.  But  what  will  become  of  the  servants 
if  you  do  this  ? 

A.  If  they  have  a  spell  of  responsibility 
as  their  own  employers,  they  may  learn  to 
resume  their  old-fashioned  fidelity. 

Q.  And  when  that  happy  time  arrives, 
what  will  you  do  ? 

A.  Give  up  hotel  life,  and  go  home 
again. 


VOL.  CSX  I. 


56 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  24,  1901. 


EOSEBERY;   THE   LATEST   PHASE. 

(After  Tennyson's  "  Ulysses.") 

IT  little  profits  that  an  idle  Peer 

I  sit  beneath  the  sun  with  empty  hands, 

Sniffing  the  lotus  of  an  afternoon  ; 

Or  at  the  psychologic  moment  rise 

Incontinent  and  take  a  sudden  chair 

And  tell  the  untutored  crowd  what  might  be  done 

If  there  were  men  to  do  it,  and  return 

And  write  the  records  of  the  Man  Who  Did. 

I  cannot  rest  for  very  long  on  end. 

For  I  have  been  a  portion  of  the  Turf, 

And  drunk  delight  of  running  three-year-olds 

Far  on  the  ringing  slope  of  Epsom  .Downs  ; 

I  have  conversed  with  greatness  ;  I  have  known 

Cities  and  men,  including  Edinbro* 

And  Mr.  GLADSTONE  ;  I  have  filled  a  place 

On  Urban  Councils  and  in  Cabinets, 

And  marked  their  modes  of  intermittent  thought, 

Strange  customs,  ay,  and  manners  stranger  still ; 

And  had  a  party  of  my  own,  and  led 

Until  the  turn  of  fortune  left  me  tired. 

And  notwithstanding  all  that  I  assert 
In  praise  of  privacy,  most  dull  it  were 
To  be  regarded  merely  as  a  name, 
A  mythic  memory  of  the  man  I  was. 
For,  though  'tis  sweet  to  view  the  staggering  bark 
From  some  removed  and  settled  vantage-ground, 
Where  falls  not  any  fleck  of  flying  foam, 
Or  chunk  of  mainmast  going  by  the  board, 
And  nurse  that  sense  of  humour  which  is  fed 
On  quiet  contemplation  of  the  mess 
Of  others,  unembarrassed  by  the  risk 
Myself  of  making  food  for  people's  mirth 
(A  thing  most  inconvenient),  yet  I  hold 
That  if  this  world-wide  realm,  than  which  I  know 
Of  none  more  free  or  more  beneficent, 
Means  to  fulfil  her  high  Imperial  charge, 
I  should  account  it  matter  for  regret 
Were  I  to  have  no  thumb  within  that  pie. 
***** 

Deep  calls  to  deep  ;  there  lies,  a  splendid  hulk, 
Our  grand  old  wherry,  wheezing  off  the  shore  ; 
Seaworthy  once,  but  now  severely  strained 
And  pirouetting  in  a  fatuous  round 
With  rival  rowers  working  different  ways. 
Groggy,  I  grant,  she  is,  and  lists  to  port, 
But  has  a  lot  of  service  in  her  yet. 
Come  then,  my  noble  tars,  who  oft  have  fared 
Through  sunshine  with  me  (and  through  storm,  without), 
Come  let  us  give  the  seas  another  chance. 
Bring  on  your  well-fed  b's'n  ;  step  aboard  ; 
Shove  off  and  plough  the  furrows,  sitting  tight 
In  any  order  which  occurs  to  you 
So  that  you  somehow  get  the  thing  to  go. 
It  may  be  we  shall  spring  a  loathsome  leak 
And  ultimately  rot  upon  the  sands, 
Not  those  we  ploughed  of  old,  but  somewhere  else ; 
It  may  be  we  shall  touch  Elysian  fields 
And  sit  with  blessed  HABCOUKT  hand  in  hand, 
And  wallow  in  official  asphodel. 

For  though  we  have  to  mourn  some  splintered  planks 
(Old  platform-wood)  we  will  replace  the  same 
With  heart  of  oak  ;  and  though  we  may  not  be 
That  happy  family  which  once  we  were, 
Still,  at  the  worst,  why,  what  we  are,  we  are  ; 
A  desperate  crew  adventuring  the  deep 
Toward  no  particular  port  this  side  the  polls, 


Nor,  for  that  matter,  down  the  dim  beyond, 
But  sworn  to  float  or  founder  with  the  flag. 

***** 

P.S.  On  second  thoughts,  my  gallant  crew 
Shall  go  without  me  :  I  will  stay  at  home 
And  check  their  movements  on  a  private  chart. 


O.S. 


AN  "X"-HIBITION;  OR,  ALGEBRA  AT  THE  ALHAMBRA. 

THE  algebraic  problem  is  to  find  the  value  of  "X"  to  the 
Alhambra  Co.,  as  represented  by  the  General  Manager,  Mr. 
DUNDAS  SLATER,  under  whose  auspices  the  "  Entirely  New  and 
Wondrous  Illusion  "  is  now  being  nightly  presented  to  the 
puzzled  public.  A  Masked  Lady  in  theatrical  "boy's"  costume 
runs  on  to  the  stage,  bows  to  the  audience,  then  runs  away  dis- 
appearing behind  some  curtains,  whence  in  a  few  seconds 
merges  a  kind  of  balloon  flower-basket  carrying  the  upper 
half  of,  apparently,  this  same  Masked  Lady,  while  for  the  nonce 
the  lower  half  has  entirely  disappeared.  There  was  once,  in 
bygone  ages,  a  certain  "Miss  BIFFIN"  exhibited,  who  was  a 
legless  lady.  Is  this  the  solution  of  the  new  "Illusion"? 
Does  the  legless  one  appear  as  "the  double"  of  the  leggy 
lady  ?  However  it  is  done,  the  effect  is  elegtrifying.  Up  she 
goes,  carried  in  a  basket,  as  was  the  elderly  lady  who  went 
to  sweep  the  cobwebs  off  the  sky,  so  that  people  on  earth 
should  get  a  clear  view  of  the  moon,  until  she  is  very  near  the 
gallery,  and  then,  always  gracefully  bowing,  and  scattering 
flowers  right  and  left  of  her,  turning  right  round  as  if  moving 
on  a  pivot  like  one  of  those  half-length  dummies  in  a  hairdresser's 
shop,  she  is  slowly  lowered,  and  in  her  floral  and  aerial  car  she 
is  carried  back  to  the  stage,  disappears  behind  the  curtains, 
and  suddenly  re-appears,  running  down  to  the  flote,  kissing  her 
hands  to  the  audience,  and,  taking  good  care  that  there  shall 
not  be  the  slightest  doubt  as  to  the  existence  of  her  legs,  she 
runs  off  merrily,  leaving  everyone  staggered  and  wondering. 
We  have  had  the  "Problem  Play,"  now  we  have  got  "The 
Problem  Entertainment."  The  latter  is  distinctly  the  move 
amusing. 

After  this,  the  comic  billiardists,  Messrs.  KELLY  and 
GILLETTE,  contrive  to  restore  us  to  the  realities  of  life  in  their 
most  eccentric  and  amusing  knockabout  scene.  The  Alhambra 
Ballet,  which  is  called  Inspiration,  is  as  effective  as  ever ;  but  the 
problem  is  the  thing.  Here  "X,"  on  which  no  "  X-rays  "  throw 
any  light,  is  an  unknown  quantity — yet  not  Xactly  that — as  two 
legs  can't  be  precisely  an  unknown  quantity.  But  where  do  these 
two  legs  walk  off  to  by  themselves  ?  What  becomes  of  these 
detached  legs  ?  The  lady  should,  when  up  above,  have  a  song 
to  sing  to  the  old  tune  of  The  Girl  I  left  behind  Me,  to  be 
entitled  "  The  Legs  I  left  behind  Me  !"  It  is  quite  the  knee 
plus  ultra  of  puzzles,  and  we  're  content  to  leave  it  that, 
congratulating  the  Alhambra  on  the  engagement  of  a  lady  who 
without  legs  can  put  the  entertainment  on  a  sound  footing. 


WRITE  AND  WRONG. 

[Ds.  T.  A.  STEWABT,  the  Chief  Inspector  of  Schools  in  Scotland,  calls  bad 
writing  "  immoral."] 

OH,  Doctor,  though  you  're  rightfully  annoyed 

At  vile  caligraphy,  your  rage  exciting  ; 
Indeed,  I  'm  not  of  virtue  all  devoid, 

Though  I  must  own  to  wretchedly  bad  writing. 

'Tis  true  when  once  I  wrote  "  immortal  verse  " 
(Or  verse  I  thought  deserved  a  deathless  laurel), 

Banned  by  the  angry  printer's  devil's  curse, 
With  shame  I  found  my  verse  became  "  immoral." 

Yet  spare  your  strictures  to  a  suppliant  sad, 
To  one  who  owns  his  failings  be  propitious, 

Nor  say  because  my  characters  are  bad, 
My  character  is  consequently  vicious. 


JULY  24,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


57 


CO 

O 


Q 

< 


JULY  24,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


THE  END  OF  EUSTACE  JENKINS. 

NOT  without  reluctance  do  I  take  up  my 
pen  to  relate  the  circumstances  -which  led 
to  the  untimely  end  of  EUSTACE  JENKINS. 
But  I  find  it  necessary  to  justify  my  own 
share  in  the  matter,  and  feel  convinced 
that  when  the  truth  is  known  it  will  be 
found  that  I  was  actuated— not  by  any 
petty  feelings  of  pique  or  spite,  but— by 
a  desire  to  benefit  the  community  at  large 
—pro  bono  publico,  as  my  young  Eton 
brother  would  say. 

EUSTACE  JENKINS  was  by  nature  a  very 
serious-minded  young  man.  Some  of  his 
lady  friends  thought  him  clever,  but  I 
think  that  aspersion  was  due  to  the  fact 
that  he  wore  spectacles  and  looked  bilious. 
At  the  same  time,  it  is  only  fair  to  add  that 
he  once  created  quite  a  stir  among  some 
elderly  relatives  by  a  letter  to  the 
Spectator  on  "the  moral  qualities  of  the 
beetle." 

Some  serious-minded  young  men  have 
been  known  to  make  themselves  objec- 
tionable. Not  so  EUSTACE  JENKINS.  Ex- 
hilarating as  a  companion  he  certainly 
was  not,  but  a  certain  diffidence  (possibly 
justified)  in  his  own  powers  of  conversa- 
tion made  him  a  silent  and  by  no  means 
unpleasant  companion.  For  he  possessed 
this  most  rare  and  admirable  quality  :  he 
was  an  excellent  listener. 

To  this  quality  I  attribute  the  fact  that 
he  was  a  man  with  many  friends.  What 
such  a  man  might  not  have  done  with  his 
negative  merits  must  be  left  to  idle 
speculation.  Speaking  for  myself,  I  am 
bound  to  say  that  often  when  I  have  felt 
the  spirit  of  loquacity  rise  within  me,  and 
when  I  have  felt  that  I  must  have  an 
audience,  JENKINS  has  done  what  no  other 
friend  would  do  for  me.  He  has  listened 
attentively  while  I  discoursed  for  hours. 
This  much  I  wish  to  record,  in  justice  to 
the  memory  of  my  friend. 

But,  alas,  about  three  months  ago  he 
underwent  a  terrible  change.  Some  mis- 
guided person  told  him  of  a  riddle  then 
coming  into  fashion:  ""Why  did  the 
blankety  blank,"  or  "What  made  the 
what-you-may-call-it  thingum-a-bob  ? ' '  Up 
to  then,  JENKINS  had  never  been  guilty  of  an 
attachment  for  humour  of  any  kind  ;  even 
while  awaiting  his  turn  at  the  barber's  he 
would  bring  out  a  pocket-edition  of 
EMERSON'S  Essays  for  perusal,  and  shun 
the  harmless  comic  cut.  But  the  riddle 
craze  made  of  him  another  man.  A  curse 
on  these  verbal  atrocities  !  Alas  !  My  poor 
friend  bought  up  every  paper  that  con- 
tained the  least  reference  to  these  lingual 
barbarities. 

Nor  was  this  the  worst.  The  riddle- 
fever  made  him  restless  and  talkative. 
He  would  rush  up  to  chance  acquaintances 
with  all  kinds  of  imbecile  Why  did's,  and 
Why  was's,  till  the  sight  of  his  spectacled 
'eatures  became  a  terror  to  all  who  knew 
liin. 


He.  "VERY  FUNNY,  ISN'T  IT?"  She.  "VERV." 

He.  "OF  COUKSE  YOU  UNDERSTAND  FRENCH  WELL?"  She.  "  NOT  A  WORD.  ' 

He.  "BUT  YOU  LAUGH."  She.  "So  DO  THE  OTHERS." 

[  The  title  of  the  song  is  ' '  Personne  ne  comprend. " 


I  watched  the  progress  of  this  insidious 
disease  with  horror  and  dismay,  and  was 
the  more  pained  as  the  unfortunate 
JENKINS  never  was  able  to  invent  a 
riddle  of  his  own,  or  to  recall  any 
that  had  not  already  become  a  club 
chestnut. 

The  craze  is  bad  enough,  the  pun-riddle 
is  trying,  even  at  the  best.  But  when 
the  riddle  has  a  musty,  mildewy  appear- 
ance  !  !  At  last  I  made  up  my  mind. 

Matters  had  reached  a  climax.  Several 
of  my  friends  were  already  prostrate 
with  nervous  headaches  entirely  due  to 
the  questionings  of  EUSTACE  JENKINS. 

Last  week  JENKINS  came  to  see  me  after 
dinner.  I  had  staying  with  me  an  uncle 
rich  in  everything  but  a  good  temper. 
If  there  was  one  thing  he  disliked  more 
than  another  it  was  a  pun.  For  myself, 
I  was  far  from  wall,  and  when  I  saw 


JENKINS  I  knew  by  the  feverish  glitter 
in  his  eye  that  he  was  in  a  dangerous 
condition. 

So,  after  considering  matters  all  round, 
i  I  made  up  my  mind. 

Before  greeting  JENKINS,  I  loaded  my 
revolver. 

"  Hullo,  old  chap,"saidhe,  "why ," 

I  pointed  the  weapon  and  fired. 

JENKINS  fell  back.  "What  made  the 
i  bullet  dum?"  he  murmured,  then  expired. 

I  explained  to  my  uncle,  who  then 
j  entered  the  room,  that  my  friend  had 
suffered  from  a  painful  and  incurable 
disease.  He  was  so  pleased  with  my 
humanity  that  he  has  added  a  codicil  of 
a  gratifying  description  to  his  will. 

At  the  inquest  the  jury  exonerated  me 
completely.  They,  too,  had  suffered  from 
the  riddle  craze.  A.  R. 


CO 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  24,  1901. 


THE  LIBERAL  SOCIAL-ISM. 

["  Nine-tenths  of  the  existence  of  society,  and  the  whole  of  its  point  of 
view,  are  false  and  unhealthy,  and  a  Liberal  can  no  more  partake  of  that 
existence  without  being  weakened  in  some  way  or  other  than  he  can  take 
poison  and  receive  no  injury.  We  cannot  imagine  any  community  of  idea 
or  faith  between  a  great  reforming  party  inspired  by  the  spirit  of  humble 
humanity  and  that  organisation  of  flitting  and  dining  and  gossiping  known  as 
society. " — Echo.~\ 

AWAKE,  Opposition,  your  parlous  position 

Is  due  to  your  own  impropriety, 
In  mixing  and  thronging  with  people  belonging 
To  what 's  understood  as  Society. 

The  flitting  and  flirting  undoubtedly's  hurting 

Your  liberal  stomach  for  fight,  Sirs. 
You  come  to  the  lobby  from  some  social  hobby  ; 

Do  you  think  such  behaviour  is  right,  Sirs  ? 

In  circles  unhealthy  you  move,  where  the  wealthy 

And  idle  and  useless  hold  sway,  Sirs, 
And  their  vileness  and  taint  will  stick  like  wet  paint ; 

Oh,  try  to  keep  out  of  their  way,  Sirs  ! 

You  are  far  too  much  seen  in  that  peopled  demesne 
The  Park,  where  on  Sunday  you  bask,  Sirs. 

What  with  dances  and  dinners  and  talking  with  sinners, 
You're  surely  unfit  for  your  task,  Sirs. 

At  the  theatre  and  opera,  dressed  like  a  fop  or  a 

Twentieth-century  beau, 
You  are  frequently  noted  ;  or  smartly  frock-coated 

You  have  actually  lounged  in  the  Row. 

At  a  swagger  hotel  you  've  been  noticed  as  well, 

Shaking  hands  with  an  aristocrat, 
And  been  once  or  twice  met  with  a  fast,  racing  set — 

Oh,  the  stigma  attaching  to  that ! 

You  have  dined  a  la  carte  at  a  restaurant  smart 

With  effrontery  simply  astonishing ; 
But  your  manner  so  hearty  is  wrecking  your  party, 

And  calls  for  the  strongest  admonishing. 

So,  Liberals,  pray  to  the  country  away, 

Society  animadverting, 
And  exclusively  ponder  in  silence  and  wonder 

Your  side-splitting  action  diverting. 


OCCASIONAL  OPEEATIC  NOTES. 

Finishing  up.  Tuesday. — Old  Friend  Faust,  with  Mine.  CALVE 
as  Marguerite.  Certainly  not  seen,  in  such  a  wig,  at  her  best 
nor  heard  at  her  best  either.  Miss  KTRKBY  LUNN  excellent  as 
Siebel.  Mr.  WAGSTAFF  whispered  to  Sir  ALEXANDER  MACKENZIE 
his  regret  that  "Miss  LUNN'S  name  was  not  SARAH,  as,  had  it 

been, "  "  Had  it  been,"  interrupted  Sir  ALEC,  "  you  would 

have  said  that  the  successful  SALLY  LUNN  took  the  cake !  Good 
evening,"  and  the  eminent  composer  departed,  triumphantly 
chuckling,  leaving  Mr.  WAGSTAFF  "  plants  la." 

Wednesday,  July  17. — Your  Musical  Representative  being 
unavoidably  prevented  from  attending  in  his  place  at  the 
production  of  Le  Roi  d'Ys — libretto  by  EDOUARD  BLAU  and 
music  by  EDOUARD  LALO  ("two  'Eds  are  better  than  one ") — for 
the  first  time  at  Covent  Garden,  although  it  has  been  known 
in  Paris  for  some  years,  was  represented  by  a  distinguished  Lady 
Musical  Critic  in  whose  opinion  he  has  the  most  perfect  confi- 
dence, although  knowingly  allowing  himself  to  be  Miss-repre- 
sented. Your  M.  R.'s  miss-representative  pronounced  favourably 
on  the  Opera,  and  says,  that  though  to  some  extent  Wagner ish, 
yet  on  the  whole  the  airs  were,  to  put  it  meteorologically  in  this 
excessively  hot  temperature,  "  light  and  various."  With  such  a 
Margared  as  Mile.  PAQUOT,  the  success  of  this  part  was  assured, 
while  "  Pretty  Seeusan,"  operatically  known  as  Madame  SUZANNE 


ADAMS,  was,  as  in  singing  so  in  acting,  an  ideal  Rozenn.  The 
majestic  PLANCON  was  excellent  as  Le  Roi  qui  ne  n' amuse  pas. 
M.  JEROME,  as  Mylio  the  victorious,  will  be  a  good  boy  and  do 
better  next  time ;  while  as  Karnac  the  Konkered,  M.  SEVEILHAC 
was  good  but  not  great.  The  stony-hearted  statue  of  the  Com- 
mendatore  who  personally  conducts  the  wicked  Don  Juan  to 
"  down  there,"  has  now  an  animated  operatic  rival  in  the 
operatic  living  statue  of  Saint  Corewtin,  whose  music  was  well 
given  by  M.  JoURNET,  organ  and  choir  being  "heard  without." 
The  audience,  being  in  melting  mood,  on  this  lovely  [night  in 
July,  quite  envied  Margared's  final  plunge  into  the  canvas  sea. 
What  was  left  unmeltted  of  your  representative's  miss- 
representative  expressed  great  contentment,  and  Y.  R.  trusts 
to  personally  pay  his  respects  to  His  Majesty  Le  Roi  d'Y.s  at 
his  next  gracious  reception.  So  Vive  Le  Roi ! 


OUK  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

OF  its  kind,  says  my  Nautical  Retainer,  I  have  read  nothing 
so  remarkable  as  ZACK'S  story  of  The  Wliite  Cottage  (ARCHIBALD 
CONSTABLE).  It  is  of  the  rare  books  that  leave  you  with  a  sense 
that  the  author  has  had  faith  in  your  intelligence  and  imagina- 
tion. It  is  a  close  and  delicate  study  of  character,  treated 
dramatically  rather  than  analytically ;  in  the  sense  that  you 
arrive  at  results,  in  action  or  speech,  without  superfluous  dis- 
cussion of  mental  processes.  The  reserve  of  language  natural 
to  these  Wessex  folk  adds  its  own  force  to  the  economy  of  the 
tale.  The  effect  of  such  methods,  in  the  hands  of  an  author  who 
adds  a  fine  imagination  to  a  sincere  knowledge  of  the  kind  of 
character  with  which  she  deals,  is  constantly  to  delight  the 
reader  by  the  piquancy  of  unforeseen  conclusions,  which  still 
in  the  retrospect  compel  him  to  acknowledge  their  inevitability. 
Both  the  theme  and  the  locale  of  the  story  recall  THOMAS 
HARDY  ;  and  if  one  looks  in  vain  for  the  personal  charm  of  his 
manner  there  is  abundant  compensation  in  the  undissipated  in- 
tensity of  the  matter.  Indeed,  the  author  seems  nowhere  to 
have  sought  to  embroider  her  work  with  literary  graces  ;  at 
times  it  is  almost  carelessly  defective  in  the  first  elements  of 
style ;  but  she  is  an  artist  without  knowing  it,  or  without 
letting  you  see  that  she  knows  it ;  and  the  gain  in  sheer  vitality 
is  not  to  be  questioned.  The  book  possesses,  along  with  a 
subtler  imagination,  that  essentiality  which  characterises  the 
short  stories  of  MAUPASSANT;  but  ZACK  succeeds,  where 
MAUPASSANT  generally  failed,  in  preserving  this  quality  over  a 
sustained  narrative.  That  the  book  is  tragic  even  in  its  joys 
will  not  give  it  less  favour  in  the  eyes  of  the  only  kind  of  public 
whose  heart  is  worth  winning.  THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


SOMETHING  LIKE  WAR  IN  THE   CHANNEL. 

(Forecast  of  the  Naval  Manoeuvres.) 

(Log  of  H.M.  Citizen  Waterman's  Steamboat  when  she  is  put  in 

Commission.) 

Off  Shoeburyness. —  School  of  Gunnery  well  on  the  alert. 
Detachment  on  guard  outside  the  theatre  at  Southend.  Could 
not  be  better. 

Nearing  Herne  Bay. — Coastguard  protecting  the  Reculvers. 
A.-B.  Seaman  watching  our  progress  with  a  telescope. 

Passing  Westgate.  —  Cliar-a-banc  manned  with  Volunteers. 
Band  playing  martial  tunes.  No  chance  of  making  a  successful 
landing. 

Abreast  of  Ramsgate.  —  Sands  crowded  with  defenders. 
Bathing  machines  in  echelon  prepared  for  all  emergencies. 

Abreast  of  Dover. —  Promenade  Pier  flying  signals.  Large 
advertisement  hoardings  pointing  out  vulnerable  points. 
Lawn-tennis  party  armed  to  the  teeth  in  front  of  the  Castle. 

Within  Sight  of  Folkestone.— Lifts  to  the  Lees  drawn  up  like 
a  draw-bridge.  Boatmen  on  the  look-out  for  the  enemy,  and 
excursionists  requiring  "  a  nice  boat  for  a  row." 

Sandgate. — Justices  of  the  Peace  ready  to  read  the  Riot  Act 
on  the  approach  of  invaders. 


JULY  24,   1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


Gl 


.— Signal  that,  "  Further  than  this 
spot  is  out  of  bounds."  Additional  mes- 
sage, ""Would  captains  commanding  ves- 
sels get  into  their  mess  uniforms  and 
come  ashore  to  dinner  ?  ' ' 


VAINGLORY ! 

OH,  why  is  MARY  JANE  so  proud  ? 

And  why  does  she  appear 
To  pity  so  the  little  crowd 

Of  children  standing  near  ? 

Her  pride  has  soared  to  such  a  pitch 

It  animates  her  nose  ! 
Observe  the  angle,  pray,  at  which 

That  useful  feature  grows. 

And  see  how  envy  (monstrous  birth]!) 

Has  spread  its  sickly  hue 
On  each  young  face.    To  what  on  earth 

Is  all  this  envy  due  ? 

Ah,  listen  to  that  wail,  you  should — 

"She  thinks  'erself  a  toff ; 
But  BILLY'S  pretty  nigh  as  good, 

'E  's  'ad  the  'ooping-cough. 

"  JEMIMARANN  'as  'ad  the  mumps, 
An'  toofache,  too,  quite  bad  ; 

An'  me— I  tell  you  straight,  it 's  lumps 
Of  hawful  things  I  've  'ad.'  ' 

What  means  this  highly  cryptic  speech 

Respecting  MARY  JANE  ? 
And  why  these  whispers,  each  to  each, 

And  wherefore  her  disdain  ? 

'Tis  simply  this.     The  children  please 

In  rivalry  to  boast 
Which  one  has  had  the  worst  disease, 

And  who  has  suffered  most  ; 

And  not  a  soul,  they  have  to  own, 

Has  had  an  equal  slice 
Of  luck,  for  MARY  JANE  alone 

Has  lutd  the  measles  twice. 


CAMP-FOLLOWERS. 

(Betiveen  Rifle  and  Big  Gun.) 

Long  Ago.  Well  met.     How  are  you  ? 

To-day.  Far  too  busy  for  words. 

Long  Ago.  Seems  but  a  few  months 
since  I  was  at  the  ranges. 

To-day.  You  at  the  ranges !  Why,  the 
ranges  with  you  was  a  secondary  con- 
sideration. 

Long  Ago.  And  yet  it  was  very  pleasant. 
We  had  quite  a  pic-nic  forty  years  since. 

To-day.  You  should  be  ashamed  to 
admit  it !  A  pic-nic,  indeed  ! 

Long  Ago.  Well,  the  Volunteers  were 
I  different  to  what  they  are  nowadays.  In 
my  time,  ALFRED  TENNYSON  was  a  gunner 
in  the  4th  Middlesex  Artillery,  and  a 
company  of  the  Civil  Service  was  com- 
manded by  Captain  TOM  TAYLOR. 

To-day.  No  doubt  both  did  their  duty, 
but  we  want  men  who  have  come  for  work 
at  the  front  in  the  twentieth  century. 

Long  Ago.  The  uniforms  were  very  smart, 


He.  "  ARE  YOU  STILL  LIVING  AT  THE  SAME  ADDRESS  IN  TOWN,  Mm?.  JONES  ? " 
She.  "YES.    BUT  SINCE  I'VE  BECOME  A  WIDOW,  I'VE  BEEN  LOOKING   FOR  ANOTHER 
FLAT  ! " 


all  silver  lace  and  cock's  feathers.  At  first 
privates  wore  silk  scarfs  like  officers  in 
the  line. 

To-day.  All  that  kind  of  thing  has 
vanished.  We  prefer  khaki  to  swagger. 

Long  Ago.  And  our  shooting  was  pot 
hunting.  Never  thought  of  attacks  in 
combination. 

To-day.  Yes ;  we  have  made  strides 
since  LLOYD-LINDSAY  lent  his  name  to  a 
prize  for  ride  and  fire.  EVELYN  WOOD 
has  followed  up  the  idea,  giving  it  valu- 


able development.  But  there — our  meet- 
ing is  for  work  not  for  pleasure. 

Long  Ago.  And  yet  you  must  regret 
Welcome  Wimbledon. 

To-day.  Not  at  all.  Welcome  Wimble- 
don can't  hold  a  rifle  to  Busy  Bisley. 
But  there — good-bye,  I  must  be  off  to  the 
shooting  at  Shoeburyness. 

Long  Ago.  Farewell !  and  don't  forget 
that  the  N.  R.  A.  and  the  N.  A.  A.,  after 
forty  years,  still  owe  everything  to  their 
founders. 


62 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  24,  1901. 


THE  POLICEMAN'S  VADE-MECUM. 

["  At  Clerkenwell  County  Court  a  firm  of  book- 
sellers sued  a  constable  to  recover  6*.,  an  instalment 
if  the  purchase  price  of  an  encyclopaedia  in  eight 
•olumes.  The  defence  was  that  the  encyclopaedia 
did  not  assist  the  policeman  in  the  Carrying  out  of 
lis  duties,  as  it  was  said  to  do  by  the  agent." — Daily 
Paper. ~\ 

TELL  me,  what  must  ROBERT  know 

As  he  paces  to  and  fro  ? 

Endless  problems  rise  to  greet 

ROBERT  tramping  on  his  beat. 

He  mast  be  a  mathematician, 
For  he  lives  in  a  division, 
And  is  able  to  descry 
Functions  both  of  X  and  Y. 

He  must  also  have  a  mind 
To  astronomy  inclined, 
Regulating,  as  they  run, 
Cycles  both  of  Star  and  Sun. 

He  is  learned  to  dispute  on 
Principles  laid  down  by  NEWTON, 
And  he  likewise  knows,  of  course, 
All  the  laws  about  the  force. 

Medicine,  too,  he  must  not  shirk  ; 
Crossings  are  such  risky  work  ; 
He  must  see  folk  are  not  dead, 
Even  though  they  lose  their  head. 

Who  would,  then,  a  policeman  be 
Must  know  the  omne  scibile, 
And  to  this  the  only  way 
Is  my  Encyclopaedia. 


THE  BLACK  FOREST  VADE-MECUM. 

IT  may  not  be  generally  known  that  in 
the  picturesque  region  of  Germany  called 
the  Schwarz-Wald  there  exists  a  society 
called  the  Association  of  Black  Forest 
Proprietors,  with  headquarters  at  Horn- 
berg.  For  the  benefit  of  British  travellers 
this  society  publishes  a  little  handbook  of 
"Hints,"  which  is  a  distinctly  precious 
volume.  In  the  first  paragraph,  after 
some  useful  advice  about  beds,  children, 
&c.,  the  writer  says  : 

"On  the  visitor  receiving  a  special  offer,  with 
prices  and  details,  we  would  recommend  him,  if  the 
offer  be  suitable,  to  write  at  once,  or  even  shouli 
the  place  be  much  frequented  or  the  season  ad- 
vanced, to  telegraph  his  acceptance,  otherwise  he 
may  easily  be  too  late.  For,  as  a  matter  of  course 
the  hotel  proprietor  cannot  hold  himself  bound  by 
the  many  offers  he  is  obliged  to  make  daily.  Lik 
any  other  business  man,  he  offers  so  long  as  dis- 
engaged, i.e.  providing  that  on  receipt  of  an 
answer  accepting  his  ofler  its  execution  is  stil 
possible." 

This     is    magnificent.      Note — (1)     the 
landlord  makes  the  traveller  an  offer,  (2 
the  traveller  accepts   the   offer,   (3)    bu 
when  the  traveller  arrives  at  the  inn  th< 
landlord  may  declare  the  deal  off.     This  is 
very  like  the  old  game  of  "Heads  I  win 
tails  you  lose,"  and   it  may  be  a  Blacl 
Forest  game  known  as  Spoufchen.    As  t<: 
pension,  the  guide  remarks  after  pointing 
out  the  social  advantages  of  boarding — 


"  Of  course  in  this  case  a  punctual  attendance  at 
able  is  necessary,  a  point  in  which  many  visitors 

ave  much  to  be  desired.  It  is  really  surprising 
low  many  otherwise  nice,  highly  educated  and 
"ashionable  people  cause  annoyance  to  the  manage- 
nent,  the  servants  and  their  fellow  boarders  by 
aily  coming  to  table  too  late." 

Ye  gods  !  this  is,  indeed,  a  lesson  in 
manners  which  should  be  taken  to  heart 
jy  such  "  otherwise  nice  people  "  as  the 
Earl  and  Countess  of  COCKALORUM,  Sir 
DIONYSIUS  PERIWIG,  Captain  CORKINGTON, 
of  the  Manx  Guards,  and  others  of  the 
>eau  moncle,  who  imagine  that  most 
London  dinners  begin  when  dessert  time 
arrives.  We  readily  allow  that  in  the 
Black  Forest  such  culpable  tardiness  may 
annoy  the  management  and  the  menials ; 
3ut  we  cannot  believe  that  the  early 
birds  are  dissatisfied,  since  they  will,  if 
wise,  have  devoured  all  the  best  table- 
d'hote  worms  before  the  arrival  of  the 
"highly-educated,  fashionable,"  but  dila- 
tory— "otherwise  nice" — ones.  Passing 
by  the  question  of  children,  in  big  or  little 
beds,  let  us  turn  to  the  Canine  Question. 
Quoth  the  guide — 

"As  the  taking  of  dogs  and  other  pet  animals 
•auses  the  landlord,  the  servants,  and  also  the  visi- 
ors,  greatest  annoyance,  and  as,  moreover,  these 
animals,  apart  from  inevitable  nuisances,  cause 
great  damage  to  the  arrangement  of  rooms,  carpets, 
upholstery,  curtains,  and  also  to  beds,  visitors 
;annot  be  sufficiently  recommended  to  leave  their 
dogs  and  other  pet  animals  at  home." 

Another  way  of  saying,  "No  dogs  ad- 
mitted." But  what  are  the  other  pet 
animals  ?  Monkeys,  cats,  mongooses, 
lions,  tigers,  foxes  ?  Let  them  be  sche- 
duled by  the  hotel  proprietors,  or,  one  of 
these  days,  we  shall  hear  of  a  Briton 
arriving  with  a  polar  bear  and  defying 
ejection  from  the  premises.  Next  the 
guide  urges  that  articles  of  value  should 
be  given  over  to  the  landlord,  as  in  case 
of  loss  the  visitor  "  would  save  much 
annoyance  and  difficulty,  as  he  would 
have  to  prove  that  the  objects  in  question 
had  really  been  brought  into  the  hotel  and 
lost  there."  This  casts  a  distinct  slur  of 
dishonesty  on  the  visitor,  and  seems  to 
imply  that  he  travels  about  pretending  to 
lose  his  treasure  in  unsuspicious  hostel- 
ries.  It  is  then  pointed  out  that  the  Post 
Office  will  not  deliver  registered  letters 
and  money  orders  without  the  traveller 
proving  his  identity.  The  voyager  na 
turally  appeals  to  the  landlord. 

"This,  however,  the  hotel  proprietor  cannot  bi 
expected  to  do  for  people  quite  unknown  to  him 
"We  therefore  earnestly  advise  visitors  of  the 
Black  Forest  to  take  some  proof  of  their  identity,  o 
in  case  they  have  neglected  to  do  this  to  have  thei 
registered  letters  or  money  orders  sent  to  them 
under  cover  addressed  to  the  care  of  the  hote 
proprietor." 

If  this  means  anything  at  all,  it  is  tha 
the    landlord,    being     a    thought-reader 
although  he  cannot  identify  a  visitor  fo 
the  benefit  of  the  Post  Office,  knows  him 
at  once  when  he  (the  hotel-keeper)  ha 


he  valuables  in  his  keeping.  The  clause 
bout  cheques  is  worth  a  king's  ransom, 
t  says — 

"  Foreigners  (especially  Englishmen)  often  want 

o  pay  their  hotel  bills  by  cheques  payable  abroad. 

hey  do  not  consider  that  a  cheque  is  not  ready 

money,  but  only  an  order  on  a  bank,  and  that  a 

onscientious  and    prudent  business  man  is  not 

ound  to  take  for  granted  that  it  will  be  duly 

lonoured,  unless  the  drawer  is  personally  known  to 

lim  as  a  thoroughly  good  and  solvent  man.    But 

his  is  seldom  the  case." 

The  last  sentence  is  appalling.  Has  the 
Black  Forest  been  visited  by  swarms  of 
lepredators,  who  spread  their  worthless 
drafts  among  the  confiding  inhabitants  ? 
!t  would  unhappily  seem  so,  and  that 
hey  were  "especially  Englishmen."  The 
vade  mecum  goes  on  to  say,  "An  hotel- 
deeper  is  less  averse  to  taking  in  payment 
so-called  circular  notes — cash  payments 
are,  however,  the  best."  Of  course  they 
are.  Hoch  !  hoch  !  hoch  !  for  the  merry 
nnkeepers  of  the  Schwarz-Wald ! 


THE    STRAYED    THOUGHT. 

IN  Life  what  joy,  what  hope  ? 

Ah  me  !  a  veil  is  drawn 
Athwart  the  sun.    I  grope 
In  darkness  and  lift   up  the  cry  of  one 
forlorn. 

I  rose,  to  find  thee  fled, 

Whom  I  had  made  mine  own. 
Thee,  whom  I  cherished, 
And   reared  in  my  mind  upon   a  daedal 
throne. 

When  first  thou  earnest  to  me 

In  exultation  wild 
I  sank  upon  one  knee. 
Nor  half  my  love  for  thee  e'er  parent  had 
for  child. 

Yet  ever  wert  thou  coy 

And  wayward  as  the  wind, 
My  pale,  elusive  joy, 
But  thou  art  gone   and   I   am  left  with 
voided  mind. 

For  thee  I  sighed  for  fame. 

Ink,  inspiration,  thou  ! 
The  lustre  of  a  name 
To  have,  thou,  one  of  three,  shouldst  have 
informed  me  how. 

On  Thamis'  watery  coil 

I  hoped,  thou  to  inspire, 
To  fling  my  midnight  oil 
And  see  his  bosom  blaze  with  dropping 
globes  of  fire. 

For  thou  wert  all  I  had, 

My  ewe-thought,  ah  !  unkind 
To  fly  me,  too,  too  bad. 
To  coldly  stray  beyond  the  margin  of  my 
mind. 

A  sense  of  lonliness 

Came  o'er  thee,  straying  thought ! 
But  what  of  my  distress  ?  | 

For  now  that  thou  art  fled  :    I  have  no 
mind — for  aught ! 


JULY  24,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


63 


TO   MY   MUSE. 

DEAR  MUSE,  I  've  called  upon  you  oft, 

Though  as,  a  fact,  I  've  never  seen  you, 
Parnassus'  misty  clouds  aloft 

Habitually  seem  to  screen  you  ; 
I  don't  know  even  how  you  're  dressed, 

Have  you  a  girdle  or  a  sash  on  ? 
And  do  your  classic  robes  suggest 

The  niceties  of  former  fashion  ? 

And  are  you  really  wholly  mine, 

And  do  my  verses  only  please  you, 
And  do  you  read  my  every  line, 

While  other  people's  merely  tease  you  ? 
And  do  you  breathe  the  tender  stuff 

Which  I  am  used  to  sell  for  money  ? 
And  are  you  sure  you  have  enough 

To  give  me,  of  Hymettian  honey? 

I  would  I  were  completely  sure 

That  I  was  your  elect's  elected, 
That  you  and  verse  would  aye  endure, 

Nor  be  by  editors  rejected. 
A  vile  suspicion  haunts  me  yet, 

Both  that  you  are,  and  that  you  know  it, 
The  mythical  and  common  pet 

Of  every  single  minor  poet ! 


UN  HOTEL  DE  PROVINCE. 

STIFLING  in  Paris.  Worse  in  the  trains. 
Night  journey  to  Zurich  long  and  gritty. 
Black  smoke,  whistles,  screams,  jolts, 
gritty  floor,  gritty  seat  in  the  wagon-lits, 
with  a  bed  that  jumps  up  and  down,  and 
sheets  and  pillow  which  soon  become 
gritty  also.  It  might  be  better  to  stop 
somewhere  on  the  way,  and  sleep  com- 
fortably. Search  Baedeker  and  discover, 
half-way  to  Zurich,  Langres,  an  old 
French  town  on  a  high  hill.  That  sounds 
more  airy.  Will  go  there. 

Five  hours  in  the  express  quite  long 
enough.  Arrive  at  Langres  in  the  after- 
noon. Get  out,  to  the  evident  surprise 
of  the  railway  officials,  and  go  up  by 
little  hill  railway  to  the  town.  It  is  an 
old-fashioned  provincial  town,  with  an 
old-fashioned  provincial  inn.  The  land- 
lord ushers  me  up  to  vast  state  apart- 
ment. Sofa,  arm-chair,  and  numerous 
other  chairs,  all  covered  with  crimson 
velvet,  two  gigantic  mirrors  in  gilt  frames, 
immense  gilt  clock,  actually  going  cor- 
rectly, family  portraits  on  walls,  table 
•with  crimson  velvet  cover.  A  voyage  of 
discovery  reveals  the  bedstead,  hidden 
beneath  a  mountainous  edredon,  in  a  re- 
mote corner,  but  the  Avashstand  is  not  to 
be  found.  Search  everywhere.  At  last 
fall  exhausted  into  vast  velvet  fauteuil, 
and  wonder  if  there  is  any  ink  in  the 
room.  Search  again,  and  find,  in  another 
dim  corner,  a  well-designed  old  escritoire. 
Open  the  top  and  perceive  a  small  white 
object,  round  and  rising  up  in  the  middle, 
rather  larger  than  a  coffee-cup.  It  is 
doubtless  a  big  old-fashioned  crockery 


She.  "How  BEAUTIFULLY  Miss  HEAVYWEIGHT  DANCES  !    SHB  DOESN'T  SEEM  TO  TOUCH 

THE  FLOOR  SOMETIMES  !  " 

He  (whose  feet  are  still  suffering  from  the  last  polka  with  her).   "  SHE  DOESN'T  1 " 


inkstand.  Look  closer.  It  is  not !  It  is 
the  jug  and  the  hand-basin.  I  have  dis- 
covered the  washstand. 

However,  if  but  little  water  is  provided, 
the  room  is  perfectly  clean.  Not  a  speck 
of  dust  anywhere.  When  I  go  to  bed  I 
summon  the  garcon,  and  ask,  knowing  that 
it  is  an  absurd  question,  if  there  is  a  bath 
in  the  house.  Of  course  not.  "  Mats  vous 
avez  des  bains  de  siege,  naturellement  ?  " 
The  waiter  hesitates.  "  Je  crois  que  out, 
monsieur,  je  vais  demander."  Then  he 
goes  away,  and  after  some  time  returns 
with  a  dejected  air.  "  Ah,  monsieur!" 
says  he,  in  an  agitated  manner,  "  le  patron 
dit  que  nous  avons  un  bain  de  siege,  mais 
il  a  ete  brise,  et  le  patron  ne  I' a  pas  fait 
raccommoder,  comme  ca,  c'est  impossible." 
His  hands  spread  out,  his  shoulders  rise, 
he  is  the  image  of  despair.  There  is  a 
painful  pause.  Suddenly  a  bright  idea 
strikes  him.  "  Mais  nous  avons  un  bain 


de  pieds,  monsieur !  "  And  in  the  morning 
a  tiny  footbath  makes  its  appearance.  I 
do  not  venture  to  step  into  it,  for  long 
ago  in  a  French  provincial  inn  I  once  tried 
to  stand  in  a  footbath,  whereupon  the 
bottom  at  once  gave  way,  and  the  precious 
water,  obtained  after  infinite  negotia- 
tions, was  lost  over  the  whole  surface  of 
the  floor. 

Afterwards  my  cafe-au-lait  is  served  up, 
with  a  bowl  to  drink  it  from  which  is 
larger  than  the  hand-basin,  and  a  noble 
napkin  at  least  four  times  the  size  of  one 
of  the  tiny  essuie-mains  which,  together, 
took. the  place  of  a  bath  towel.  It  is 
quite  an  old-fashioned  hotel  de  province, 
but  it  is  clean,  absurdly  cheap,  and  the 
proprietor  and  his  servants  are  as  polite 
as  possible.  I  take  a  stroll  round  the 
town,  I  see  the  distant  view  towards 
Switzerland,  and  then  I  go  on  to  Basle 
and  Zurich.  H.  D.  B. 


64 


PUNCH,   OR   THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  24,  1901. 


.THE    JOYS    OF    TOURING. 

Traveller.  "I  SAY,  YOUR  RAZOR'S  PULLING  MOST  CONFOUNDEDLY!" 

Local  Torturer.  "  BE  IT  ZUR?    WULL,  'OLD  ON  TIGHT  TO  THB  CHAIB,  AN'  WE'LL  GET  IT  OFF  ZUMMOW!" 


VIEWS  ABOUT  A   VIEW. 

(Some  Topical  Thought-reading.) 

The  Jerry-Builder's.  What  a  fuss  about 
a  few  trees  and  a  bit  of  riverside  !  What 
finer  view  can  there  be  than  a  neat  little 
row  of  our  red-and-white  brick  villas, 
rent  £30  per  annum  ;  two  reception,  three 
bed,  and  two  dressing-rooms,  bath-room 
(h.  and  c.)>  kitchen  and  usual  offices ; 
easily  reached  from  Bank  of  England  and 
West-End  stations  by  Twopenny  Tube  and 
Id.  electric  tram  every  three  or  four 
minutes ;  near  public  library  and  large 
recreation  ground?  Besides,  as  our 
houses  are  guaranteed  to  collapse  in  two 
and  a  half  years,  the  landscape  will  soon 
be  agreeably  diversified  with  picturesque 
ruins,  which  should  appeal  to  every  artistic 
eye. 

The  Old  Inhabitant's.  Well,  of  all  the 
robbery !  Here,  this  view  has  been  our 
chief  commercial  asset  since  the  days  of 
POPE  and  WALPOLE.  It  has  been  dis- 
covered over  a  hundred  and  fifty  years, 
and  has  brought  any  amount  of  custom 
into  the  town.  Why,  the  hotels  and 
boarding-houses  are  run  on  the  strength 


of  it,  and  if  this  act  of  spoliation  is 
allowed,  I  shall  never  let  my  house  again  ! 
The  view  is  part  and  parcel  of  the  place, 
and  it  is  perfectly  scandalous,  Sir,  that 
upstart  vandals  should  be  allowed  to 
tamper  with  it!  What!  Ask  me  to  sub- 
scribe to  save  it  ?  Why,  it 's  of  world- 
wide importance — you  had  better  write  to 
Mr.  CARNEGIE  or  Mr.  PIERPONT  MORGAN. 
Only  Americans  properly  appreciate  our 
scenery. 

The  American  Visitor's.  You  don't  say  ! 
Wai,  I  guess  I  '11  buy  your  toy  county 
right  here,  and  take  the  view  back  home. 
Calculate  we  'd  fix  it  up  in  a  roof-garden 
corner,  alongside  of  Stratford-on-Avon, 
transhipped  to-day.  Shake  ! 

The  Shade  of  Turner's.  'Gad,  they  '11 
be  stealing  my  sunsets  next !  What  is 
the  Academy  about  ?  Didn't  I  invent  the 
place,  and  make  'em  a  present  of  it  ?  My 
stars  and  garters  !  I  '11  tell  CONSTABLE  to 
keep  an  eye  on  Dedham.  Nice  century 
this !  The  Thames  will  be  another  Styx 
before  they  've  done  with  it,  and  the 
steamers  the  only  beautiful  things  left  to 
remind  them  of  my  days. 

TheMan-in-the-Street's.  Here,, where  do 


I  come  in  ?  Don't  want  any  more  streets, 
at  least,  not  -where  the  missus  and  I 
want  to  go  of  a  Sunday.  No  more  bricks- 
and-mortar  within  char-a-banc  range, 
I  say.  Let  'em  take  their  blooming 
new  suburb  off  to  the  middle  of  Essex, 
or  somewhere  where  it  '11  be  lost  and 
forgotten. 

The  Solicitors'  and  Auctioneers'.  This 
outbreak  of  sentiment  is  really  too  absurd  ! 
How  are  we  to  make  a  living  if  the  country 
is  not  to  be  properly  developed  ?  This  par- 
ticular estate  is  admirably  "ripe,"  and  it 
would  be  a  sin  to  neglect  such  an  oppor- 
tunity. These  ridiculous  landscape-lovers 
would  take  us  back  to  the  times  of  WILLIAM 
RTJFUS,  and  turn  Middlesex  into  a  second 
New  Forest.  No,  gentlemen  ;  make  your 
bids  !  Going,  going 

Mr.  Punch's.  Not  gone  yet,  I  hope. 

A.  A.  S. 


'  LENO. — A  correspondent  has  discovered 
that  "leno"  is  a  kind  of  muslin  adapted 
for  curtains.  The  only  LENO  we  know 
(and  which  his  Christian  name  is  " DAN") 
needs  no  muzzlin',  but  is  certainly  adapted 
for  taking  plenty  of  "  curtains." 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI.— JULY  24,  1901. 


THE      DEUS   IN   MACHINA. 


LORD  R-S-B-RY.  "  H'M,  I  SEE  YOU  ARE  IN  DIFFICULTIES,  MADAM.  FOR  MYSELF,  I  SHALL  NOT 
"VOLUNTARILY  RE-ENTER  THE  WATER;  BUT  I  WILL  GIVE  YOU  A  FEW  ELEMENTARY  HINTS  ON  THE 
NATATORY  ART." 


JULY  24,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


67 


ESSENCE    OF    PARLIAMENT. 

EXTRACTED  FROM  THB  DIARY  OF  TOBY,  M.P. 

House  of  Commons,  Monday,  July  15. — 
Voting  Members  had  a  taste  to-day  of 
pre  -  historic  times  ;  opportunity  of 
observing  how  things  worked  (or  didn't 
work)  before  the  era  of  the  closure. 
Chairman  of  Ways  and  Means  laid  up  with 
gout.  STUART  -  WORTLEY,  one  of  the 
appointed  deputies,  takes  the  Chair  in  his 
absence.  So  far  good.  LoWTHER,  J.  W., 
is  one  of  the  two  best  Chairmen  of  the 
last  quarter  of  a  century.  But  STUART- 
WORTLEY,  for  what  must  be  regarded  as  an 
amateur,  served  admirably.  Only  he  is  not 
invested  with  power  to  put  the  closure  in 
force.  When  that  beneficent  rule  was 
slowly  driven  through  House  of  Commons, 
a  last  stand  was  made  round  the  bodies  of 
deputies. 

"Let  the  SPEAKER    and  CHAIRMAN  of 


Merry  Horsham. 
An  Impression  of  Mr.  H-yw-d  J-hnst-ne's  smile. 

Ways  and  Means  wield  this  debasing, 
demoralizing  power  if  they  must ;  but 
spare,  oh,  spare  our  feelings  by  not  deput- 
ing it  to  the  deputy."  Thus  good  Conser- 
vatives of  the  day. 

Concession  was  made  on  this  point, 
though  why  a  man  capable  of  performing 
duties  of  CHAIRMAN  should  not  be  trusted 
to  say  whether  closure  may  or  may  not 
be  moved  is  one  of  those  things  that  beat 
Banagher.  To-night  absurdity  of  situa- 
tion forced  on  notice.  Hour  after  hour 
STUART  -  WORTLEY  sits  in  Chair  whilst 
CHANNING  chatters,  and  MACNAMARA  at 
prodigious  length  makes  his  moan.  Not 
even  decent  pretence  made  of  saying 
anything  new ;  speeches  delivered  at 
Second  Reading  re-hashed ;  benches 
empty,  but  Members  kept  at  hand  in  case 
of  a  division  ;  CHAIRMAN  impotent  to  deal 
with  dreary  farce. 

Once  when  Mr.  PLUMMER  turned  aside 


A  Pencil  Kodak  of  the  Prime  Minister. 

to  discourse  on  the  Battle  of  Waterloo, 
CHAIRMAN  ventured  to  observe  that  that 
event,  though  interesting  and  historical, 
had  nothing  to  do  with  the  question 
immediately  before  the  Committee.  In 
vain  PRINCE  ARTHUR  pleaded  for  the 
division.  SQUIRE  OF  MALWOOD,  happening 
to  look  in  before  going  to  dinner,  fell 
upon  him  and  sorely  buffeted  him.  Not 
often  Opposition  has  a  chance  like  this  ; 
ridiculous  to  suppose  they  would  not  make 
the  most  of  it. 


{East  End  Philanthropy. 
Mr.  Ein-st  Fl-w-r. 


So  through  the  dead,  unhappy  night  the 
talk  went  on  till  stroke  of  midnight 
sounded  the  adjournment.  For  all 
practical  purposes,  adjournment  might 
just  as  well  have  taken  place  at  a  quarter- 
past  five  when  House  got  into  Committee. 
Recognising  hopelessness  of  situation, 
further  dealing  with  measure  deferred  till 
Monday  next,  by  which  time  it  is  hoped 
LOWTHER,  J.  W.,  will  have  come  again, 
bringing  his  sheaves  with  him  in  shape  of 
the  closure. 

Business  done. — None. 

House  of  Lords,  Tuesday. — In  an  ancient 
document  few  have  been  privileged  to  see 
it  is  written  that  when,  a  little  more  than 
seven  centuries  ago,  Sir  DAVID  OP  WEMYSS 
escorted  the  Maid  of  Norway  on  her  jour- 
ney to  Scotland  he  made  only  one  remark. 
"But,"  as  the  chronicle  here  translated 
quaintly  puts  it,  "it  lasted  all  the  way 
from  Norway  till  the  shores  of  Scotland 
were  sighted." 


There  must  necessarily  have  been 
intervals  for  refreshment  and  repose. 
Nevertheless,  as  is  well  known,  the  Maid 
MARGARET  did  not  survive  the  ordeal, 
dying  ere  she  reached  the  shore,  whore 
her  betrothed,  son  of  EDWARD  FIRST  of 
England,  impatiently  awaited  her. 

Curious  how  hereditary  tendencies  af- 
sert  themselves.  Sir  DAVID  OF  WEMYSS 
was  an  ancestor  of  the  lusty  young 
bridegroom  who  is  to-day  ninth  Earl  of 
WEMYSS.  Times  and  manners  have  changed; 
but  Lord  WEMYSS  possesses  in  degree 
that  gift  of  voluble  speech  which,  seven 
hundred  and  twenty-one  years  ago,  proved 
fatal  to  the  Maid  of  Norway.  Some  Mem- 
bers still  in  the  Commons  remember  when 
Lord  ELCHO,  standing  well  out  from  a 
seat  below  the  Gangway,  nightly  lectured 
alike  the  Government  of  the  day  and  Her 
Majesty's  Opposition.  To-night,  a  belted 
Earl,  he  is  on  his  legs  in  the  Lords,  look- 


68 


PUNCH,   OK   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JULY.  24,  1901 


ng  hardly  a  year  older,  apparently  not 
laving  abated"  a  jot  of  the  energy  that 
marked,  his  manner,  when,  just  sixty 
years  ago,  he  took  his  seat  for  East 
loucestershire.  Forty-two  years  he  sat 
in  the  Commons,  for  the  last  thirty-six 
representing  Haddingtonshire  and  the 
Universe. 

To-night  he  is  concerned  about  the 
plans  of  the  Government  Offices '.  in 
Whitehall  and  Parliament  Street ;  wants 
models  to  be  made  and  publicly  exhibited. 
PEMBROKE  pooh-poohs  suggestion.  LANS- 
DOWNE  tries  to  laugh  it  out  of  the  House. 
WEMYSS  just  holds  on ;  insists  on  taking 
a  division,  and  defeats  the  strongest 
Government  of  modern  times  by  more 
than  two  to  one. 

"  Such,  TOBY,  dear  boy,"  he  said,  when 
I  congratulated  him  on  his  success,  "is 
the  result  of  natural  eloquence  when  in- 
formed by  taste,  sustained  by  knowledge, 
and  not  hampered  by  considerations  of 
brevity." 

Business  done. — Commons  talk  all  night 
round  Local  Government  Board  Estimates, 
and  pass  one  vote. 

House  of  Commons,  Thursday. — Pretty 
scene  across  Table  between  C.-B.  and 
DON  JOSE.  WALTER  LONG  had  moved  for 
leave  to  introduce  Bill  continuing  the 
Landlord  and  Clergy  Relief  Acts  passed 
in  last  Parliament ;  pleaded,  as  JOHN 
O'GORST  did  on  introducing  Education 
Bill,  that  the  measure  was  a  very  little 
one. 

"  Some  people's  geese  are  all  swans," 
said  the  SQUIRE  OF  MALWOOD,  suiting  his 
simile  to  agricultural  surroundings. 
"  This  Government's  are  all  goslings." 

C.-B.,  arguing  against  the  dole. to  land- 
lords out  of  rates,  quoted  dictum  on  sub- 
ject delivered,  he  said,  by  a  distinguished 
Member  of  present  Government.  "Lord 
SALISBURY,"  so  the  extract  ran,  "coolly 
proposes  to  hand  over  certain  new  cus- 
toms duties  to  the  landlords  of  the 
country  in  the  shape  of  a  contribution 
in  aid  of  local  taxes.  I  must  say  that  I 
never  recollect  any  man  propose  in  a 
franker,  I  might  even  say  in  a  more 
audacioits  manner,  to  rob  PETER  in  order 
to  pay  PAUL.  And.  what  makes  it  worse 
is  that  in  this  case  PETER  is  represented 
by  the  landless  millions  who  have  no 
other  wealth  than  their  labour,  while 
PAUL  is  a  great  landlord,  seeking  to  re- 
lieve himself  of  his  share  of  taxation  by 
shifting  it  on  to  the  shoulders  of  his  less 
fortunate  fellow-countrymen." 

That  is  what  Opposition  said,  abou 
Agricultural  Rating  Bill  when  introduced 
live  years  ago.  That  is  what  they  saj 
now  of  attempt,  when  the  country  is 
groaning  under  war  taxation,  to  rene\\ 
the  Act.  Only  no  one  of  them  said  it  sc 
well,  put  the  case  in  such  pitiless,  sting 
ing,  memorable  phrase. 

C.-B.  smacks  his  lips  over  the  passagi 
as  he  quotes  it,  looking  over  top  of  manu 


script  at  DON  JOSE  seated  with  impassive 
ountenance  on  the  Treasury  Bench, 
buttressed  on  either  side  by  those  blue- 
blooded  Tories  PRINCE -ARTHUR  and  ST. 
MICHAEL.  A  jubilant  cheer  rises  from 
rowded  Opposition  Benches.  Eight  score 
mocking  faces  turn  upon  the  pale  coun- 
tenance apparently  slumbering  on  the 
Treasury  Bench.  Suddenly  DON  Josri, 
dropping  the  mask,  sprang  to  his  feet, 
waving  C.-B.  down  with  imperious  move- 
ment of  the  arm. 

"Who  said  I  ever  said  that?"  be 
ingrily  asked.  "The  right  hon.  Gentle- 
man, as  I  understand,  said  that  whilst  I 
was  a  member  of  the  Government ' ' 

"  Oh,  no,"  C.-B.  rose  to  explain,  "  it  was 
not  in  the  present  Government.  These 
were  his  old  doctrines  before  he  got  into 
lis  present  company." 

DON  Josri  still  standing  at  Table  whilst 

.-B.  explained.  Case  made  clear,  he  for 
all  response  said,  "Oh!"  and  waved 
permission  to  C.-B.  to  go  on,  if  he  thought 
it  worth  while.  It  was  only  one  of  his 
old  speeches  of  far-off  '83  come  home  to 
roost.  He  had  gone  through  this  ordeal 
before.  It  amused  his  former  colleagues, 
and  it  didn't  hurt  him.  Only  none  who 
did  not  hear  DON  Jos6  utter  that  "  Oh  !  " 
dream  what  depths  of  scorn  and  contempt 
lurk  in  the  interjection. 

Business  done. — Landlords  Relief  Act  to 
be  made  permanent.  Also  the  Clergy 
ditto. 

Friday. —  The  MARKISS,  as  everyone 
knows,  has  a  pretty  wit.  One  of  its 
flashes  of  late  illumined  the  family  circle. 
Too  good  to  be  exclusively  enjoyed  at 
Hatfleld.  Someone,  discoursing  on  the 
activity  of  Lord  HUGH  CECIL  and  Earl 
PERCY  when  any  question  affecting  the 
Church  comes  on  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, observed  that  though  only  half  the 
strength  of  the  Fourth  Party  they  are 
a  considerable  power  in  Parliament  ant 
only  want  a  distinctive  name. 

"Call  them  the  Hughligans,"  said  the 
MARKISS,  his  eye  dwelling  with  fatherly 
affection  on  the  slim  figure  and  seraphic 
countenance  of  son  HUGH. 

Business  done. — In  Committee  of  Supply 


"UP,    UP,    WITH   THE    STREETS!" 
The  way  they  have  in  the  City. 

"  NOW    then,     gentlemen,"     said    the 
organiser,    "  I  am  at  your    service.      I 
certainly  is  a  much-frequented  thorough 
fare,  but,  of  course,  you  must  have  it  up 
when  necessary." 

"Well,  Sir,"  put  in  one  of  the  repre 
sentatives,  "I  think  we  shall  wan 
January  for  the  sewers." 

"Certainly.  Sanitation  before-  any 
thing.  I  have  put  you  down  for  January. ' 

"And,  Sir,  we  shall  want  February  fo 
the  water- works,"  suggested  a  secon 
representative. 


"No  sort  of  objection.  February  for 
ou." 

"Please,  Sir,"  and  the  boy  put  out  his 
iand,  but  he  was  ignored. 

"May  I  have  March  for  .the  Electric 
.lighting?  "  asked  a  third  representative. 

The  reply  was  in  the  affirmative.  Then 
-nother  half  a  dozen  or  so  .obtained  a 
month  apiece  for. various  undertakings. 

"We  have  got  to  December,"  observed 
he  organiser.  "Well,  the.  public  can 
;njoy  the  thoroughfares  without  inter- 
ruption during  the  Christmas  holidays." 

"  I  am  afraid  not,"  said  the  last  of  the 
representatives.  "  Because  they  must  be 
losed  then  for  repairs." 

"  Please,  Sir,"  asked  the  boy,  who  had 
been  trying  to  put  the  question  all 
•hrough,  "  couldn't  all  these  things  be 
done  at  one  and  the  same  time  ?  Then, 
you  know,  the  thoroughfares  would  be 
open  eleven  months  out  of " 

"Silence  !  "  interrupted  the  organiser. 

Don't  talk  nonsense." 

The  boy  was  silenced.  But  how  about 
the  public  ? 

HERE    AND    THERE. 
IP  you  were  only  here,  GEORGE, 

I  think — in  fact,  I  know, 
We  'd  get  a  girl  to  steer,  GEORGE, 

And  take  a  boat  and  row ; 
And,  striking  mighty  bubbles 

From  each  propulsive  blade, 
Forget  that  life  had  troubles 

At  ninety  in  the  shade. 

We  'd  swing  along  together, 

And  cheerily  defy 
This  toasting,  roasting  weather, 

This  sunshine  of  July. 
Our  feather  might  be  dirty, 

Our  style  might  not  be  great ; 
But  style  for  men  of  thirty 

(And  more)  is  out  of  date. 

You  'd  note  with  high  elation — 

I  think  I  see  you  now — 
The  beaded  perspiration 

That  gathered  on  your  brow. 
Oh,  by  that  brow  impearled,  GEORGE, 

And  by  that  zephyr  wet, 
I  vow  in  all  the  world,  GEORGE, 

There 's  nothing  like  a  "  sweat." 

To  row  as  if  it  mattered, 

Just  think  of  what  it  means  : 
All  cares'and  worries  shattered 

To  silly  smithereens. 
To  row  on  such  a  day,  GEORGE, 

And  feel  the  sluggish  brain, 
Its  cobwebs  brushed  away,  GEORGE, 

Clear  for  its  work  again  ! 

But  you  at  Henley  linger, 

While  I  am  at  Bourne-End. 
You  will  not  stir  a  finger 

To  come  and  join  your  friend. 
This  much  at  least  is  clear,  GEORGE  : 

We  cannot  row  a  pair 
So  long  as  I  am  here,  GEORGE, 

And  you  remain  up  there.     R.  C.  L. 


JULY  24,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


G9 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  24,   1901. 


A  SIDE-SHOW. 

SCENE — An  Open- Air  Charity  Bazaar.    Mr. 

ALGERNON  DE  LE  TANTE,  that  promising 

young  poet,  soliloquises : 
HAD  no  idea  when  I  came  to  stay  with 
Lady  TAPPERTON  that  I  should  be  expected 
to  attend  this  kind  of  thing  .  .  .  pleases 
the  poor  rustics,  of  course — but  are  they 
worth  pleasing  ?  They  don't  even  know 
that  a  celebrity  is  among  them  ;  they  make 
coarse  remarks  about  pigs  and  things, 
even  when  I  try  to  direct  their  thoughts 
to  loftier  altitudes  .  .  .  asked  one  of 
them — the  Vicar's  daughter,  I  think — 
whether  she  had  read  Foul  and  Fair,  my 
last  volume  of  exquisite  sonnets  .  .  .  she 
said  she  hadn't,  but  would  like  to,  if  it 
would  enable  her  to  get  a  better  price  for 
her  chickens  at  Puddleton  market  !  .  .  . 
Here 's  another  woman,  in  a  horrid  frock, 
coming  to  pester  me  to  buy  things  .  .  . 
shake  my  head  with  a  sweet,  sad  smile 
.  .  .  she  refuses  to  go,  saying  that  the 
Bazaar 's  for  the  soldiers'  widows  and 
orphans — "  such  an  excellent  cause  "  .  .  . 
I  argue  the  point  .  .  .  she  is  annoyed  ;  her 
husband  is  a  Colonel  .  .  .  tell  her  "I'm 
sorry  for  her  "...  she  goes,  but  others 
of  her  tribe  succeed  her  .  .  .  No,  I  don't 
want  a  buttonhole — s  it  ch  a  buttonhole!  .  .  . 
and  I  can't  take  shares  in  a  raffle  for  a 
sewing-machine,  and  tea  I  never  touch  out- 
side my  own  rooms  .  .  .  this  is  dreadful ! 
Isn't  there  any  way  of  escape?  .  .  .  Here  's 
the  tent  of  "ABRACADABRA,  the  cele- 
brated Syrian  fortune-teller";  suppose 
I  have  my  fortune  told  ?  .  .  .  Perhaps  the 
fortune-teller  isn't  a  dreadful  rustic,  and 
anyhow  I  shall  be  out  of  the  rabble  for  a 
while  .  .  .  the  tent  is  empty  apparently 
—  no,  here  's  the  Prophetess  .  .  .  Good 
gracious,  it 's  Mrs.  SMITHSON,  a  woman 
I  know  (and  abominate)  in  town  !  .  .  . 
Too  late  to  escape  .  .  .  very  surprising  ; 
she  seems  delighted  to  see  me — doesn't 
even  suggest  fortune-telling,  but  asks  me 
to  make  myself  comfortable.  .  .  I  repose 
elegantly  in  a  deck-chair,  and,  at  Mrs. 
SMITHSON'S  suggestion,  light  a  cigarette 
.  .  .  very  comfortable  here.  Mrs.  SMITH- 
SON  's  gone  away  ;  wonder  if  I  might  take 
a  short  nap.  .  .  .  Awakened  by  sound  of 
coarse  laughter.  .  .  Two  rustics  hastily 
disappear  through  the  tent  door  .  .  .  un- 
mannerly plebeians !  .  .  .  pose  myself 
again  in  graceful  attitude,  and  light 
another  cigarette  .  .  .  more  rustics  enter, 
stare  at  me  in  silence  for  a  moment,  then 
guffaw  loudly  .  .  .  with  a  languid  wave 
of  my  hand,  I  explain  that  the  Prophetess 
is  temporarily  absent,  so  they  had  better 
go  ...  they  do  so,  roaring  with  laughter 
.  .  .  they  are  followed  by  others,  all  con- 
vulsed with  merriment  when  they  see  mo. 
"Why  ?  Wonder  if  my  tie  is  disarranged, 
or  can  there  be  a  smut  on  my  nose  ?  .  .  . 
Yet  more  rustics  enter,  guffaw  loudly,  and 
disappear  .  .  .  this  is  becoming  unbear- 
able, I  shall  go  .  .  .ah,  here 's  Mrs. 


SMITHSON.  I  thank  her  for  allowing  me 
my  cigarette,  but  she  declares  that  the 
obligation  is  on  her  side  .  .  .  what  the 
dickens  does  she  mean  ?  And  she 's 
giggling  all  the  while,  too.  .  .  Asks  me, 
in  a  choked  voice,  to  remove  a  placard 
from  the  outside  of  the  tent  when  I  go 
.  .  .  I  proceed  to  do  so  ...  oh  /  ... 
on  it  is  scrawled  in  huge  letters,  "The 
Common  Prig.  Very  Fine  Specimen,  just 
arrived  from  London.  On  view  within  ! ' ' 


"PROMOTION." 
I. 

ONCE  a  Company  was  started  by  a  few 

Of  the  sharpest  City  folk  you  ever  knew, 
And  a  big  success  was  scored, 
With  a  Peer  upon  the  Board 

(Who  had  nothing  in  particular  to  do). 
By  abundant  advertising 
Applications  were  surprising, 

And  the  letters  of  allotment  and  regret 
Were  sent  out  in  several  batches, 
Which  were  followed  by  despatches 

Of  the  most  astounding  profits  they  would 
net. 

The  promoters  filled  their  pockets, 

And  the  shares  went  up  like  rockets, 
For  the  public  didn't  understand  the  trick, 

That  the  thing  was  over-loaded, 

And  in  time  must  be  exploded  ; 
After  soaring  like  a  rocket  it  would  come 
down  like  a  stick  ! 

II. 
All  announcements  looked  so  absolutely 

true, 
That  it  rapidly  in  public  favour  grew  ; 

Directly  it  was  floated 

By  jobbers  it  was  quoted 
At  a  premium — (seventeen  to  twenty-two). 

At  this  boom  unprecedented 

Speculators  were  demented, 
But  that  premium  still  continued  to  expand ; 

It  got  more  and  more  inflated, 

The  directorate,  elated, 
Said,  "Our  riches  even  beat  the  Rand." 

Still  promoters  filled  their  pockets, 
Still  the  shares  went  up  like  rockets, 
Still  people  were  bamboozled  by  the  trick ; 
And  messages  were  coded  : — 
"  We  're  auriferously  loded, 
It 's   a  great  financial   rocket   to   which 
everyone  should  stick." 

III. 

Their  Statutory  Meeting  then  fell  due 
(In  accordance  with  the  Act — that  is  the 

new). 

They  conducted  business  formal, 
They  made  promises  abnormal, 
And  said  they  'd  put  the  "  bears  "  into  a 

stew. 

Next  the  Chairman  was  rewarded 
(And  the  office  boy  applauded), 
For  there  really  seemed  a  plethora  of  cash. 
But  at  this  important  juncture 
To  the  bubble  came  a  puncture, 
And  the  whole  thing  went  to  everlasting 
smash. 


The  promoters  filled  their  pockets 

(On  the  Stock  Exchange  were  dockets), 
For  now  the  public  realised  the  trick  ; 

To  selling  they  were  goaded, 

So  they  rapidly  unloaded ; 
Of  the  splendour  of  the  rocket  there  was 
nothing  save  the  stick. 


IN  THE  CAUSE  OF  HEART. 

(An  imaginary  Interview  with  a  Soupgon  of 

Truth  in  it.) 

SCENE — Author's  Sanctum.  TIME — The  Day 
before  the  Great  Aristocratic  Garden 
Fete  in  aid  of  the  Nothings  in  Parti- 
cular. PRESENT — The  Author.  To  him 
enter  Fair  Petitioner. 

Fair  Petitioner  (coquettishly).  You  are 
quite  sure  you  are  engaged  for  to-morrow  ? 

Author.  Quite  sure.  Must  deliver  my 
lecture. 

Fair  Pet.  But  can't  you  put  them  off? 
It  would  cost  you  nothing. 

Aut.  It  would  be  as  much  as  my  life  was 
worth  to  disappoint  an  audience  of  work- 
ing men.  And  as  to  costing  me  anything. 
Well,  I  get  twenty  guineas  for  the 
lecture. 

Fair  Pet.  Not  really  !    You  are  chaffing  ? 

Ant.  No,  I  am  always  serious  in  busi- 
ness matters.  And  that  reminds  me, 
dear  lady,  that  I  have  got  to  write  five 
thousand  words  before  I  leave  this  desk. 

Fair  Pet.  Oh  !  you  are  at  work  on  one 
of  your  delightful  short  stories  !  Do  give 
it  to  us. 

Aut.  Very  sorry.    I  really  can't  afford  it. 

Fair  Pet.  Oh!  don't  say  that.  The 
poor  Nothings  in  Particulars  do  want  our 
help  so  much.  But  you  will  help  us. 
Mr.  HARRY  MARIO  JONES,  the  rising  tenor, 
Mr.  PANINT  BROWN,  the  violinist  of  the 
immediate  future,  are  coming  to  play. 

A«t.  Gratuitously? 

Fair  Pet.  Of  course.  They  are  so  kind. 
An  excellent  advertisement  for  them. 

Aut.  Yes  ;  and  cost  them — as  a  corres- 
pondent to  the  Times  pointed  out  the 
other  day — two  or  three  pounds  apiece 
for  costumes  and  travelling  expenses, 
which  they  can  ill  afford.  Why  don't 
you  pay  people  ?  You  don't  ask  the 
refreshment  contractor  for  free  food. 

Fair  Pet.  Why,  you  are  horrid  !  Fancy 
putting  refreshment  contractors  on  the 
same  platform  with  writers,  actors,  lawyers 
and  other  interesting  people !  I  am  not 
going  to  let  you  off.  If  you  won't  give  mo 
your  short  story — give  me  something  else. 

Ant.  (Writing  ont  cheque  and  giving  it.) 
Will  this  do  as  well  ? 

Fair  Pet.  (Overpowered.)  You  are  gene- 
rous !  Much  better  than  your  short 
story. 

Ant.  You  are  quite  right — for  me.  You 
see,  my  cheque  will  only  cost  me  five 
pounds,  whereas  my  short  story  is  worth, 
to  me,  at  least,  a  hundred  guineas  ! 

(The  scene  closes  in  upon  the  Fair 
Petitioner's  unbounded  astonishment.) 


JULY  24,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


71 


AN  OLD  SONG. 

(Set  to  New  Facts.) 

WHEN  swallows  dart  to  catch  the  gnats,  ]  | 
And  midges  swarm  around  our  hats, 
When  moths  are  captured  by  the  bats, 

And  flowers  perfume  the  way, 
We  love  to  fly  from  daily  care 
To  breathe  the  sneezious  country  air  ; 
Our  cambric  handkerchiefs  we  bring. 
And  sniff  and  sneeze  like  anything 

Amid  the  new-mown'hay. 

There  's  room  for  all,  whoe'er  they  be, 

Who  have  a  turn  for  heartless  glee, 

And  snigger,  "  Bless  you,"  when  they  see 

Us  turn  our  heads  away. 
Then  join  the  sport,  good  men  and  true, 
And  maidens  sweet  with  eyes  so  blue  ; 
Come  youth,  come  age,  come  children  fair, 
And  blow  your  noses  in  despair, 

Amid  the  new-mown  hay. 


SENTI-MENTAL. 

["The  reign  of  physical  beauty  in  woman  is, 
according  to  M.  MABCEL  PBEVOST,  the  French 
novelist,  now  over.  The  mind,  it  seems,  is  what 
is  revered  nowadays,  and  that  is  the  reason  that 
such  women  as  Mrs.  GLADSTONE,  Mrs.  KEUGEE, 
Mrs.  BOTHA,  Mrs.  DE  WET,  and  the  Countess 
TOLSTOI  are  most  revered." — St.  James's  Gazette. 

SING  no  more  of  winsome  faces, 
Roguish  laughter,  courtly  graces, 
Flashing  arms 
And  roseate  charms, 
Sure  your  taste  in  song  disgraces. 

Sing  no  more  of  eyes  entrancing, 
Nor  the  love-light  in  them  dancing, 
t  Silken  lashes, 

Radiant  flashes, 
Be  no  more  their  spells  advancing. 

Foolish  he  who  fondly  lingers 
O'er  a  maiden's  shapely  fingers  ; 

Shoulders  dimply 

Sung  are  simply 
By  the  most  degenerate  singers. 

Cease  henceforward,  foolish  lover, 
Aught  in  beauty  to  discover ; 

You  must  spurn  all 

Charms  external, 
Carnal  beauty's  reign  is  over. 

If  you  must  sing,  sing  discreetly, 
Taking  care  to  waive  completely 

Skin-deep  beauty 

That  refute  ye, 
Tho'  it  strike  your  senses  sweetly. 

Sing  the  female  disposition 
With  a  mental  acquisition ; 

Charm  cerebral, 

So  integral 
Till  the  chop-and-change  transition. 

Sing  the  maid  revered  for  reason. 
For  ourselves,  we  're  out  of  season 

We  must  go  hence,' 

Keeping  silence, 
'Less  we  be  accused  of  treason. 


Doctor  (tolUtle  girl  who  is  rather  unwM).   "No,v,  MY  DEAR,  PUT  OUf  YOUII  TONGUE." 
Little  Patient  (decidedly).   "CERTAINLY  NOT  1    MUMMY  SAYS  IT  is  VERY  VULGAR  10  PUT 

OUT  ONE'S  TONGUE  TO  ANYBODY." 


HOPS  ABROAD. 
(A  Peep  into  the  Future.) 
SCENE — Fleet    Street.      TIME — A   year   or 
two  hence.     Enter  BROWN  and  SMITH 
severally. 

Brown,  Why,  where  have  you  been  to  ? 
You  look  the  picture  of  health. 

Smith.  More  than  the  picture,  my  boy — 
health  itself.  I  have  been  pretty  well 
everywhere. 

Brown.  And  yet  you  are  tied  to  the 
wheel  here,  ain't  you  ? 

Smith.  Quite  correct.  Not  been  away 
from  Fleet  Street  for  a  whole  fortnight 
for  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century. 

Broivn.  And  you  say  you  have  been 
everywhere  ? 


Smith.  Yes,  in  reason.  Popped  over  to 
St.  Petersburg  the  other  day,  via  the 
Crimea.  Very  interesting. 

Brown.  I  noticed  they  had  started  a  trip 
in  that  direction. 

Smith.  Then  I  spent  the  Sunday  before 
last  in  Vienna. 

Brown.  Ah !  pleasanter  than  in  Town. 

Smith.  Well,  not  so  triste.  Then  I  did 
the  Italian  lakes  one  journey,  and  the 
Swiss  mountains  the  next.  The  Aerial 
Travel  Bureau  managed  the  coupons  for 
those  affairs. 

Brown.  Bat  how  do  you  contrive  to 
cover  so  much  ground  ? 

Smith.  Simplest  thing  in  the  world. 
Week-end  trips. 

(Cur  ain  on  the  discovery.) 


PUNCH,   OK  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  24,  1901. 


PRESS  AND  DEPRESS. 

"  Now,  you  don't  like  papers,"  said  my 
uncle,  trilling  a  little  melody  from  a  light 
opera.  "A  great  mistake,  my  boy. 
Everybody  ought  to  spend  an  hour  a 
day  with  the  newspapers.  They  depress 
you  ?  Contain  nothing  but  vague  reports  ? 
Nonsense,  boy.  You're  not  well.  Slug- 
gish life,  sluggish  liver." 

He  repeated  the  last  two  words,  and 
opened  one  of  the  morning  papers.  I 
never  remembered  seeing  him 
look  so  well  and  jolly.  In  the 
pink  of  condition. 

"Besides,"  he  continued,, 
looking  over  the  top  of  the 
paper,  "it  stimulates  one's 
thoughts,  sets  in  motion  a 
train  of  ideas  that  carry  one 
through  the  day.  A  mental 
tonic,  my  boy,  that  's  what 
oar  daily  paper  is,  a  mental 
tonic,  to  be  easily  taken  with 
our  coffee  and  bacon  and  eggs. 
Ha!  ha!"  he  looked  at  me 
again  with  an  expression  of 
triumph.  "  My  boy,  listen  to 
this.  Lord  AVEBURY,  on  the 
British  Press,  'said  he  be- 
lieved there  was  no  country  in 
the  world  which  had  a  better 
or  a  brighter  literature  than 
England.  You  see,  it  would 
brighten  you  up,  my  boy. 
Nothing  but  other  people's 
misfortunes?  Fiddle- sticks  ! 
You  're  hipped.  Now,  I  '11  just 
prove  to  you  how  entertaining 
and  refreshing  a  morning 
paper  is.  "What  tone,  what 
verve,  what  vigour,"  here  my 
uncle  mildly  saluted  his  chest 
with  his  right  hand,  "a  perusal 
imparts  to  the  system." 

He  glanced  at  the  leading 
article,  and  began  reading: 
"  '  From  the  melancholy  array 
of  blue  books  and  volumes  of 
statistics  issued  at  the  close 
of  the  nineteenth  century  we 
are  unhappily  brought  face  to 
face  with  the  very  mournful 
truth  that,  as  a  nation,  we  arc  on  the 
down  grade.'  Ah!  well,  that's  uninter- 
esting. One  never  reads  that  sort  of 
thing.  Some  croaking  dyspeptic."  His 
eye  reverted  from  the  leading  article 
to  another  column.  "Ah  !  now,  my  boy, 
I  read  haphazard.  '  In  a  current  num- 
ber of  one  of  our  foremost  scientific 
magazines,  we  are  confronted  with  the 
alarming  statement  that  our  coal  supply 
cannot  last  for  ever.  A  time  must  come 
when'" — my  uncle's  voice  faltered — 
"  '  nothing  but  the  tax  on  it  will  remain  !  ' 
Pooh !  pooh !  a  scare.  These  things  will 
creep  into  the  best  regulated  paper."  A 
shade  of  annoyance  crossed  his  face. 

"  Now,  look  here.   Shipping  Notes.  'The 


news  that  the  American  Syndicate  has 
actually  bought  out  one  of  our  largest 
shipping  lines  is  quite  sufficient  to  fill 
every  British  breast  with  apprehension  as 
to  the  future  of  our  marine  commerce. 
In  every  department  the  Americans  are 


out  buy  ing  us. 
anticipate    the 


At   no  distant 
flotation     of     ' 


date  we 
'  Britain, 


Limited,"  by  a  syndicate  of  enterprising 
Yankees.'    Dear,  dear!"  said  my  uncle, 
slowly. 
The  cheery  tone  had  disappeared.    His 


are — are  furnished  with  muzzle-loaders — 
of  the  time  of  NELSON.'  And  to  think  of 
the  sum  expended  yearly,  the  taxes,  the 
constant  calls —  My  uncle's  words 

failed  him.  His  face  was  almost  haggard. 
I  would  have  begged  him  to  desist.  But 
he  grasped  the  paper,  more  determined 
than  ever  to  convince  me  what  a  cheerful 
companion  a  daily  newspaper  was. 

"Turn  to  the  Army,"  he  said.  Then 
he  decided  he  would  not,  as  he  caught 
sight  of  the  headline  :"  Is  Our  Army 
worth  the  Khaki  it  is  clothed 
in?"  He  turned  the  paper 
again:  "  England's  Trade,  a 
Study  in  Retrogression."  He 
moaned  audibly,  and  folded 
the  article  down  out  of  sight. 
His  eye  lighted  on  an  adver- 
tisement. "' To  -  morrow  You 
May  Have  a  Fit ! '  "  he  read, 
and  shivered.  He  folded  the 
paper  again,  and  in  thick  black 
letters  was  informed  that  "Few 
People  Have  Sound  Lungs." 
The  "mental  tonic"  slipped 
from  my  uncle's  knees  on  to 
the  floor.  He  looked  worn 
out,  and  coughed  in  a  tenta- 
tive manner.  "  My  chest  has 
been  rather  troublesome 
lately,"  he  affirmed  mildly.  "  I 

wonder  if  my  lungs "  and 

stretched  down  for  the  paper. 
But  I  had  kicked  it  away.  I 
trilled  lightly  the  melody  my 
uncle  had  begun  his  remarks 
with,  and  raising  my  coffee 
cup,  said,  in  a  spirit  of  mock 
gravity,  "  To  the  British  Press 
the  brightest  in  fche  world 
What  tone,  what  verve,  whai 
vigour  a  perusal — imparts  to 
the  system." 

My  uncle  laughed  in  his  olc 
delightful  manner.  He  saw  the 
humour  of  it. 


SNUBBING. 

He.  "  SORRY  I  FORGOT  YOUR  PARTY  THE  OTKSR  EVENING  I' 
She.  "On,  WEREN'T  YOTT  THERE?" 


brow  puckered.  He  turned  over  a  page. 
"  Now,  then,  page  three.  British  Navy. 
Now,  my  boy,  our  glorious  Navy.  Surely 
that  has  some  interest  for  you."  He 
read,  not,  I  believe,  without  an  uncom- 
fortable foreboding.  "'During  the  last 
few  months  we  have  made  it  perfectly 
clear  to  our  readers,  by  our  Special 
Investigator's  articles,  how  very  far  from 
satisfactory  is  the  state  of  our  Navy. 
Half  the  number  of  vessels  which  go  to 
make-up  our  powerful  Fleet  are  either 
not  built  or  only  in  the  first  stages  of 
building,  ancl  of  the  rest  all  those  with 
modern  armaments  have  leaky  boilers, 
while," — my  uncle's  voice  grew  unsteady 
again — "  'all  the  ships  with  reliable  boilers 


"  BEAUTIFUL  IN  REPOSE, 

BUT  ." 

ONE  was  a  beautiful  bird. 
The  plumage  was  a  mass  of  the 
most  glorious  colours.  He 
walked  with  a  dignity  and  a  grace  beyond 
compare.  There  never  was  so  gorgeous 
a  sight. 

The  other  was  a  beautiful  girl.  Her 
hair  was  golden,  her  eyes  heavenly  blue, 
her  teeth  rows  of  pearls.  She  glided 
along  with  a  dignity  and  a  grace  recalling 
the  Grecian  queens  of  old.  There  never  was 
so  charming  a  vision.  Perfectly  Lovely  ! 
Then  the  bird  opened  his  beak  and 
uttered  a  sound.  Oh,  horror  ! 

Then  the  girl  smiled  and  spoke.     Again, 
oh,  horror  ! 

The  bird  was  a  peacock,  and  the  girl 
came  from  the  "American"  side  of  the 
Atlantic ! 
A  third  time,  oh,  horror  ! 


JULY  31,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


73 


VOX  INDITE  CLAMANTIS. 

["  'la  their  prosperity  will  be  our  strength,  in 
their  contentment  our  security,  and  in  their  grati- 
tude our  best  reward.'  The  forthcoming  debate 
on  the  Indian  Budget  reminds  us  that  we  have 
still  to  profit  by  the  wise  words  of  Queen 
VICTOEIA." — Daily  Paper.] 

PROSPERITY  ! — when  year  by  year 
Grim  poverty  I  see 

Draw  ever  nearer  and  more  near, 

Devouring  all  my  children's  gear — 

Why,  what  a  mockery  is  here 
Of  Her  benign  decree ! 

What  strength,  O  England,  shall  be  thine 

When  such  prosperity  is  mine  ? 

Contentment ! — what  contentment  lies 

In  that  poor  slavish  heart, 
That  dumb  despair,  with  sunken  eyes, 
That  bears  its  ills,  and  rather  dies 
A  thousand  deaths  than  dare  to  rise 

And  play  a  freeman's  part? 
Ah,  what  security  can  be 
On  such  contentment  based  by  thee? 

.  My  gratitude  ? — ah,  empty  name  ! 

Thy  charitable  mites 
But  feed  to-day  the  feeble  frame 
That  starves  to-morrow  ;  for  the  same 
Old  wrong  grows  on  untouched.    I  claim 

Not  charity,  but  rights — 
England,  what  gratitude  have  I  ? 
Canst  find  reward  in  apathy  ? 


A  DIALOGUE  AT  THE  NAVAL 
MANCEUVRES. 


will  be  impossible  unless  the  Army 
precedent  is  followed.) 

Special  (deferentially).  Beg  pardon,  Sir, 
at  will  you  please  pass  my  despatch  ? 

Censor  (graciously).   Fire   away,  and   I 
Jill  tell  you  when  to  stop. 
1  Special  (reading).    "The  torpedo  boats 

Censor  (interrupting).  Oh,  you  had  better 
i  say  anything  about  them. 
(Special  (after  using  blue  pencil).  "The 
»rpedo-catchers  then ' ' 

Censor  (as  before).    Oh,  we  can't  have 
jiything      about      them.       Cut      again, 

(Special  (annoyed).  Very  well,  Sir.    "The 

otecting  fleet  turn ' ' 

|Censor   (interrupting).    Oh,  I   say,  you 
stn't  say  anything  about  the  protect- 
:  fleet. 
Special  (vexed).  Very  well,  Sir.     "The 

eking  fleet  at  this  juncture " 

tensor  (remonstrating).  Oh,  I  say,  you 
jally  mustn't  refer  to  the  attacking  fleet. 
•l»ok  here.  I  daresay  you  have  summed 
I1  the  situation  in  your  last  sentence, 
that  is  it  ? 

Special.  "  Everyone  concerned  is  all  at 
H." 

pensor.  Capital !     We  are  all  at  sea  ! 
Special  (to  himself).  Yes,  and  likely  to 
•atinue  so — until  criticised  ! 

[Scene  closes  in  upon  an  ocean  fog. 

VpL,   CXXI. 


"A   LITTLE    KNOWLEDGE    IS    A    DANGEROUS   THING." 

Village  Doctor.  "How  is  YOUK  HUSBAND  TO-PAY,  MBS.  BROWN?" 

Mrs.  Brown.  "OH,  B.VER  so  MUCH  BETTER,  roc  TOR,  THANK  YOU  KINDLY.    THESE  LAST 

FEW   DAYS  Hit's   BBEN   UNCOMMON   OR03P,    BUT   THIS   MORNING   HIS  TEMPER  IS  QUITE  NORMAL." 


HOW  TO  BE  HAPPY  AS  A  HOUSE- 
HOLDER. 

MY  DEAR  BLANCHE, — You  will  be  glad  to 
hear  that  we  are  ever  so  much  more  com- 
fortable than  we  used  to  be.  You  will 
remember  that  when  you  stayed  with  us 
a  week  or  so  ago  dinner  was  delayed  a 
couple  of  hours  one  evening  because 
something  had  gone  wrong  either  with 
the  kitchen  chimney  or,  what  is  more 
probable,  with  the  cook.  Now  we  have 
our  meals  regular  as  clockwork — beauti- 
fully served  and  excellent  in  quality. 


Then  mamma  is  thrice  as  happy,  as  all 
the  bothering  household  duties  are  done 
for  her  by  someone  else.  She  hasn't  to 
worry  day  after  day  about  store  order 
forms  and  the  rest  of  it.  Finally,  the  pater 
(as  the  boys  call  him)  is  radiant,  because 
he  says  he  "now  knows  where  he  is  from  a 
financial  point  of  view. ' '  He  never  did  be- 
fore when  he  was  for  ever  drawing  cheques 
for  "  house."  So  we  are  all  pleased. 

Yours  affectionately,  POLLIE. 

P.S. — I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  we  have 
let  our  house,  and  are  living  at  a  hotel. 


74 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  31,  1901. 


THE  RIVER  REVELLERS. 

WHO  's  for  the  River  ?  just  see  what  a  rioting, 

Fluttering  fairies  in  airiest  frocks, 
Creamy  creations  the  male  heart  disquieting, 

Naiads  of  back-waters,  willows  and  locks. 
Dainty  town  daughters  in  open-worked  bodices, 

Convoyed  by  cousins  in  piqu^  so  spick, 
Rosy-cheeked,  brown-fingered,  jimp  water-goddesses 

Fleeing  the  district  of  mortar  and  brick. 

Ladies  excitable  scuttling  and  scampering, 

Laughing  with  glee  as  they  rush  to  and  fro, 
Groups  of  old  stagers,  their  quick  footsteps  hampering, 

"Wondering  why  they  are  hurrying  so. 
Fathers  in  flannel  fig  breathless  and  bustling — 

(Rich  ruby  face  neath  the  gay  Panama), 
In  the  long  queue  at  the  ticket-box  hustling, 

Waiting  for  tickets  to  bear  them  afar. 

Mad,  merry  misses,  intent  on  a  summer-y 

Slaughter  of  hearts  in  an  innocent  way, 
Actors  and  actresses,  shorn  of  their  mummery, 

Off  for  a  quite  unprofessional  play. 
Bachelors,  bearing  big  baskets  in  duty  bound — 

Precious  pro-visions  for  luncheons  and  teas  ; 
Happy  festivities  with  radiant  beauty  crown'd, 

Lobster  and  love  and  youth  under  the  trees. 

Gauzy  girls  tripping  with  fellows  in  duck  and  drill, 

Going  by  through  train  to  Henley,  you  see, 
Languishing  ladies  with  marvellous  tuck  and  frill — 

Launching  and  lunching  their  programme  's  to  be. 
Porters  with  pillows — soft  lining  for  punt  arc  they, 

Cushiony  couches  one  does  not  disdain  ; 
Bronzed  army  officers — back  from  the  front  are  they — 

Just  stepping  into  the  Maidenhead  train. 

Oh,  the  mad  whirl  at  the  Paddington  terminus, 

Meeting  acquaintances,  nodding  to  friends, 
If  of  good  fellowship  we  have  a  germ  in  us 

Tone  to  our  spirits  such  frolicking  lends. 
Bright,  happy  faces  a-peeping  'mid  billowy 

Wavelets  of  muslin  and  eddying  lawn  ; 
Thrice  happy  revellers,  supple  and  willowy, 

By  the  delights  of  the  dear  river  drawn  ! 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

The  Grip  of  the  Book  Maker  (HurcHlNSON)  will  be  extended  t< 
the  ordinary  reader,  who  will  find  himself  held  in  it  till  the  em 
of  the  last  chapter.  There  is,  of  course,  nothing  new  in  th 
leading  idea  of  the  book — a  young  man  with  educational  an 
social  advantages  purchased  with  the  money  of  a  well-meaniuj 
but  illiterate  and,  on  the  whole,  undesirable  parent.  With 
variation  it  is  the  foundation  of  what  my  Baronite  regards  a 
one  of  the  two  best,  the  one  least  widely  known,  of  DICKENS' 
novels.  That  is  the  only  point  of  resemblance  with  Orea 
Expectations.  Mr.  PERCY  WHITE  goes  his  own  way,  and 
pleasant  one  it  proves,  with  his  sketches  of  high  life  in  London 
designed  on  the  whole  to  make  persons  of  lower  estate  conten 
with  their  lot. 

Souvenir  of  Sir  Arthur  Sullivan  (GEORGE  NEWNES)  is  perhap 
not  the  best  title  Mr.  WALTER  WELLS  (no  relation  to  JOH 
WELLINGTON  of  that  clan)  might  have  chosen.  More  especiall 
in  this  connection  is  it  suggestive  of  those  not  too-costly  gift 
managers  of  theatres  present  to  the  audience  on  the  fiftieth,  or 
happier  still,  the  hundredth  night  of  the  performance  of  th 
piece.  Apart  from  this  minor  criticism  the  work  is  well  done 
and  beautifully  printed.  The  sketch  of  the  life  and  works  o 
dear  ARTHUR,  a  man  whom  to  know  was  to  love,  is  considerabl 
added  to  by  a  series  of  illustrations,  including  photographs  o 


le  great  musician,  from  the  days  when  he  stood  in  the  quainl 
ostume  of  the  Children  of  the  Chapels  Royal  till  he  sat  at 
ilt  and  carven  and  highly  uncomfortable  table,  a  worn-out 
lan,  smartly  dressed,  posing  for  his  photograph.  Of  special 
nterest  are  facsimiles  of  pages  of  his  music  done  by  his  owr 
and.  On  loftier  range  in  art  and  history  is  the  photograph  o: 
W.  S.  GILBERT  at  Work."  "  GILBERT,"  writes  Mr.  WALTER  J 
JVELLS,  unconsciously  dropping  into  the  style  of  JOHN  WELLING 
•ON,  "never  writes  at  a  desk.  He  has  a  favourite  easy  chaii 
f  red  leather  which  he  takes  with  him  wherever  he  goes 
Vhen  working,  he  sits  with  his  legs  stretched  out  on  a  stool 
xactly  the  same  height,  and  writes  upon  a  pad  on  his  lap.' 
>truggling  authors  will  here  find  disclosed  the  secret  o 
upreme  success.  The  italics  are  my  Baronite's. 

THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 

MY  SPORTING   LIFE:    A  RETROSPECT; 
Or,  Gambling  Par  sonified. 

["  Those  who  imagined  that  the  last  '  sporting  parson '  had  disappeare 

rom  the  Church  of  England  are  quite  mistaken,  for  in  this  week's  Chare, 

Times  a  clergyman  who  boldly  adopts  the  time-honoured  pseudonym  write 

long  letter  asking  whether  gambling  is  really  a  sin,  and  he  comes  to  th 

onclusion  that  it  is  not.  ...  As  an  undergraduate  he  used  to  attend  New 

market  out  of  sheer  love  of  horseflesh,  and  at  the  University  Steeplechase 

IB  and  his  friends  frequently  made  bets,  and  the  reckoning  up  of  their  gain 

nd  losses  added  much  to  the  fun  of  the  day.     Same  with  cards— always  fo 

mall  sums." — Daily  Telegraph,  July  23.] 

THOUGH  Time  has  taught  me  something  of  discretion, 

And  on  my  blooming  cheek  has  pressed  a  finger, 
I  do  not  blush  to  make  the  small  confession 

That  still  I  love  to  let  fond  mem'ry  linger 
O'er  former  days  when  I,  a  verdant  scholar — 

A  Church  of  England  minister  prospective — 
Was  wont  to  back  my  fancy  for  a  dollar. 

Ah  !  happy  is  the  habit  retrospective. 
What  were  the  Muses  nine  ?     What  were  the  Graces, 

Ecclesiastic  tutoring  and  knowledge, 
To  one  fair  day  spent  at  the  Steeplechases, 

So  warmly  patronised  by  our  college  ? 
My  love  of  horseflesh  so  predominated 

My  taste  for  Christian  creeds  or  heathen  gods, 
That  to  accept  I  never  hesitated 

A  smallish  bet  at  rather  longish  odds. 

Ah  !  happy  day,  when  from  the  race  returning, 

Our  several  gains  and  losses  then  we  reckoned, 
Ah,  joy  !  to  such  as  with  an  eye  discerning 

Ne'er  backed  a  horse  to  win  that  came  in  second. 
Ah  !  who  will  say  that  I  had  ta'en  a  ramble 

Within  the  precincts  of  a  Avicked  sinner? 
I  think  myself  I  did  not  wrong  to  gamble — 

I  always  toddled  home  a  tidy  winner. 

And  oh  !  the  days  before  a  parson's  choker 

Proscribed  in  some  degree  my  love  of  gaming, 
Those  cosy  little  parties  of  draw  poker  ! 

Myself  I  really  cannot  think  of  blaming. 
Except  on  one  occasion  when  a  bluffer 

By  standing  pat  on  nothing  proved  a  winner, 
The  limit  best — I  went  out  like  a  duffer — 

I  should  have  seen  him.     Then  I  was  a  sinner  ! 

Those  days  are  gone  ;  .but  still  I  am  not  lacking 

In  those  proclivities  which  folk  call  sporting, 
My  fancy  still  occasionally  backing, 

Altho'  to  methods  different  resorting. 
Instead  of  taking  odds  at  Goodwood  races, 

Or  making  little  books  on  the  regattas, 
I  speculate  upon  the  pairs  of  braces 

I  'm  likely  to  receive,  and  such  like  matters. 

W.  H.  M. 


JULY  31,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


75 


RE-ENGAGED. 

Alfred  the  Parnassian  Circus-rider  (to  Pegasus}.  "  I  'VE  GOT  THE  JOB  AGAIN  !     COME  UP,  PEGGY  !    HOUP-LA  !"  (sings.) 

"  TlS   I   WOULD   BE  THE   LAUREATE   BOLD, 
WITH   A  BUTT  OF   SHERRY 
TO   KEEP   ME   MERRY 

AND  NOTHING  TO  DO  BUT  TO  POCKET  THE  GOLD  !  " — Bon  Gaultiers  Ballads. 
[Mr.  ALFRED  AUSTIN  has  been  duly  re-appointed  to  the  post  of  Poet  Laureate.] 


JULY  31,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


77 


PROHIBITIVE    TERMS. 

Tramp.  "  ELLO,  MISTER,  WOULD  YER  MIND  GIVIN'  ME  A  LIFT  AS  FAR  AS  BRENTFORD?    I'LL  WORK  MY  PASSAGE." 
Boathauler.  "GEL  RIGHT,  MATE.    TAKE  'OLD  o'  THE  'ORSE'S  'BAD  AN'  LEAD!" 


"DELUSIONS." 
I. 

A  LADY  somewhat  passee  wants  to  play  the  juvenile, 

(And  as  Juliet  or  Rosalind  to  lead). 
So  will  practise  by  the  hour  winsome  way  and  sunny  smile, 

And  she  finds  a  deal  of  practising  they  need. 
She  's  matronly  ingenuous  and  flits  across  the  stage 

In  delightful  seventeen's  seductive  way  ; 
But  through  your  opera-glasses  you  can  estimate  her  age — 

And  you  swear  that  "  she  is  forty,  if  a  day." 

Rouge,  hare's-foot,  powder-puff  and  dye, 

A  wig,  of  ruddy  gold,  she  '11  buy, 
(With  other  kinds  of  panoply  essential  to  her  art). 

She  will  fancy  both  her  acting 

And  appearance  are  attracting, 

And  think  she  looks  perfection  when  she  's  made  up  "for  the 
part. 

II. 

You  may  have  met  a  City  man  who  boasts  about  his  yacht ; 

At  Cowes  he  points  it  out — and  you  admire. 
He  says  his  "  soul 's  in  racing,"  but  you  're  confident  'tis  not, 

Though  he  struts  in  Comic  Opera  sea  attire. 
He  always  is  romancing  of  the  perils  of  the  deep, 

Of  a  cyclone  he  encountered  in  the  Bay ; 
As  you  '  ve  seen  him  on  a  Calais  boat  it  sounds  a  trifle  steep, 

For  before  you  'd  reached  Mid-Channel  he  looked  grey. 


He  's  quite  aware  the  restless  sea 

Does  not  agree  with  such  as  he, 
So  from  the  Esplanade  or  pier  will  rarely  make  a  start, 

But  dressed  in  serge  (with  buttons  brass), 

He  '11  keenly  eye  the  weather  glass, 

And  think  he  looks  perfection  when  he  's  made  up  for  the 
part. 

III. 

If  a  fussy  little  tradesman,  in  a  neighbourhood  effete, 

As  Mayor  of  Borough  Council  gets  elected, 
He  soon  begins  to  fancy  that  his  brains  are  hard  to  beat, 

Though  hitherto  they  've  never  been  detected. 
As  patron  of  Suburbia  he  '11  proudly  stroll  about, 

(He  is  something  now  beyond  the  common  clay) ; 
But  for  acme  of  amusement  you  ought  to  hear  him  ' '  spout ' ' — 

A  performance  quite  as  good  as  any  play. 

He  wants  a  chain  and  badge  to  wear, 
Some  footmen  tall,  with  powdered  hair, 

A  gilded  coach,  with  coat  of  arms,  to  supersede  the  cart, 
A  robe — he  '11  simply  grab  it 
(It  is  red  and  trimmed  with  rabbit), 

And  think  he  looks  perfection  when  he  's  made  up  for  the 
part.  HUAN  MEE. 

ADVICE  TO  PROPRIETOR  OF  A  THEATRE.— "Let  it." 
ADVICE  TO  THEATRICAL  SPECULATOR.—"  Let  it  alone." 


78 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  31,  1901. 


THE   BOOK   OF   BEAUTY. 
A  GRKAT  THOUGHT  FOR  EVERY  DAY  IN  THE  YEAR. 

SECOND  SERIES. 
VII.— THE  HOLIDAY  PROGRAMME  SECTION. 

(With  the  Author's  apologies  and  compliments  to  the  writers 
imitated  below.) 

JULY  IST  TO  5TH. — "And  where  shall  we  go  for  our  summer 
elopement  this  year,  dearest?"  said  JOCELYN,  as  they  stood 
locked  in  each  other's  arms.  "  Would  Nuremberg  suit  you  ?  " 

"What  route  do  you  propose?"  asked  ROSABEL,  suddenly 
practical,  and  extricating  herself  from  his  grasp. 

"  I  suggest  the  Hook  of  Holland  and  the  Rhine  to  Mayence. 
Have  you  any  prejudices  in  the  matter  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  get  to  the  Hook  of  Holland  ?  " 

"By  the  Great  Eastern,  from  Liverpool  Street  to  Harwich. 
But  why  this  unwomanly  regard  for  detail  ?  I  hardly  know 
you,  ROSABEL,  in  this  new  attitude." 

"  Is  Liverpool  Street  the  only  starting-point  for  Harwich  ?  " 
She  insisted  with  a  strange  perseverance. 

"ROSABEL,  ROSABEL,  you  have  changed  surprisingly  since 
our  last  elopement.  Is  it  the  influence  of  your  second 
marriage?  You  never  talked  like  this  before.  You  were 
never  importunate  about  termini.  Can  you  have  lost  your  old 
confidence  in  me  ?  ' ' 

"Never,  never!  But  we  must  be  frank  with  one  another, 
and  face  the  truth.  We  shall  have  many  embarrassments  to 
contend  with  in  our  coming  irregular  career  ;  let  us  not 
anticipate  them ;  let  us  at  least  hold  together,  you  and  I.  Is 
Liverpool  Street  the  only  starting-point  for  Harwich  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  thousand  times  yes.     And  now  kindly  explain." 

A  sigh  of  satisfaction  escaped  from  ROSABEL.  "Dearest," 
she  said,  "between  those  who  love  no  explanation  should  be 
needed.  But  I  too  will  be  frank  with  you.  I  have  not  lived 
this  long,  weary  time  apart  from  you  without  growing  older 
and  knowing  more  of  the  world.  Never  again,  with  my  eyes 
open,  will  I  elope  with  anyone  on  a  system  with  alternative 
routes,  such  as  the  Chatham  and  South-Eastern.  Have  you 
already  forgotten  the  fiasco  of  our  first  elopement?  How  it  fell 
through,  as  it  were,  between  two  stools — namely,  Victoria  and 
Charing  Cross  ?  And  my  first  husband  lying  dead  at  the  time, 
and  I  ignorant  of  that  fait  accompli?  It  is  by  these  little 
accidents — an  unforeseen  change  of  terminus  at  the  last 
moment,  for  instance — that  the  entire  destinies  of  two  lives 
may  be  permanently  bifurcated.  But  for  those  alternative 
routes  we  might  have  reached  Marseilles  together,  read  of  my 
first  husband's  death  in  the  papers,  got  married  at  the  con- 
sulate, and  been  an  honest  man  and  woman  ever  afterwards." 

"'Honest,'  ROSABEL?  What  is  this  new  talk  of  technical 
virtue,  based  on  signatures  before  witnesses?  Do  you,  after 
all,  regret  the  step  we  are  once  more  taking  in  defiance  of 
social  tradition  ?  Ce  n'est  que  le  premier  pas  qui  coute.  This  is 
the  second  of  the  kind." 

"No,  my  love,  I  am  not  drawing  back.  But  a  second  elope- 
ment, even  with  the  same  man,  can  never  be  quite  the  same 
thing.  The  first  prompt,  instinctive  glow  is  irrevocably  gone. 
One  becomes  rational,  almost  worldly  in  one's  unworldliness. 
But  my  mind  is  fixed ;  I  shall  not  fail  you.  To-night,  then,  at 
Liverpool  Street,  for  the  Hook."  (She  smiled  a  little  patheti- 
cally at  this  unpremeditated  pleasantry).  "You  will  get  the 
tickets — single  tickets,  of  course.  I  must  go  home  for  my 
Church  Service  and  hand-mirror,  and  to  leave  a  p.p.c.  on  my 
second  husband.  Remember!  Liverpool  Street." 

JOHN  OLIVER  HOBBES  (in  The  Serious  Wooing). 

6iH  TO  10TH. — It  did  not  fall,  gentlemen,  within  the  scope  of 
my  original  scheme  to  confide  to  you  my  arrangements  for 
spending  the  summer  vacation.  Never  voluntarily  will  I  with- 
draw the  veil  of  privacy  from  my  retirement.  But  having 


already  admitted  iny  intention  of  ploughing  my  farrow  alone  to 
the  utter  end,  I  am  compelled  to  throw  further  light  upon  my 
plans.  For,  if  I  am  to  anticipate,  as  a  contingency,  the 
prospect  of  being  joined  by  others  in  my  enterprise,  it  becomes 
necessary  for  me  to  define  the  precise  locality  of  my  intended 
tilth.  Being  fully  cognisant  of  the  fact  that  the  ordinary 
furrow  is  naturally  limited  in  the  opportunities  it  offers,  and 
that,  while  I  reserve  the  freedom  of  desisting  at  any  moment  if 
the  furrow  prove  too  tedious,  I  do  not  wish  to  consummate  my 
task  prematurely,  I  have  felt  bound  to  select  a  field  of  practi- 
cally boundless  range.  The  Sahara  occurred  to  me  as  answering 
to  this  description. 

I  propose,  therefore,  in  the  full  heat  of  July,  to  issue  from 
the  site  of  Carthage,  whose  ruins  were  once  sat  upon  by 
MARIUS  (an  historical  figure  that  has  always  had  a  poignant 
interest  for  me),  and  plough,  with  the  permission  of  the  French 
and  other  Governments,  in  a  southerly  direction,  with  Cape 
Town  for  my  objective ;  thus  covering  in  a  bee-line  the  entire 
length  of  the  Dark  Continent.  Of  the  adaptability  of  much 
of  the  soil  to  the  uses  of  the  plough  I  am  uncertain  :  but  I 
have  confidence  that  at  least  the  Sahara  will  provide  the  kind 
of  material  with  which  our  Liberal  implements  are  familiar. 

If  I  fail  to  get  to  the  Cape  Colony  alive,  my  friends  will  be  good 
enough  to  attribute  that  misfortune  rather  to  my  own  hardihood 
than  to  any  neglect  on  the  part  of  the  Foreign  and  Colonial 
Offices.  Beyond  that  point,  if  I.  meet  with  the  enemy,  I  shall 
plead  non-combatancy,  and,  if  detained  a  prisoner,  shall  send 
for  my  books.  Assuming  that  I  reach  my  ultimate  destination 
in  solitude,  I  shall  return  to  my  library  by  the  next  steamer. 
And,  finally,  if  I  attain  my  end  in  company  of  others,  I  really 
cannot  tell  you  what  will  ensue,  as  I  am  myself  at  present  in 
ignorance  of  the  proper  sequel  to  such  a  juncture.  Understand 
that  I  crave  the  company  of  none  ;  but  in  case  my  movements 
should  be  matter  for  curiosity  to  any  prospective  supporter,  the 
Sahara  will  find  me  until  further  intimation.  ROSEBERY. 

llTH,  12TH. — To  the  glazed  eye,  dull  with  yearlong  routine, 
and  avid  of  colour  and  incident,  Yarmouth  brings  relief  with  the 
bronze  of  her  bloaters.     On  your  seaward  breakfast-table  they 
lie,  a  point  of  diurnal  pungency ;  eloquent,  too,  of  suggestion 
Salt,  that  was  the  breath  of  their  life,  is  the  stuff  of  thei 
embalming.  Not  here,  in  the  trite  phrase,  was  death  the  eureo 
ill,  save  for  a  brief  interspace.  Then  that  which  gave  its  savou 
to  existence  was  itself  made  the  cure  of  death,  last  ill  of  all. 

That  is  why  Yarmouth,  for  all  its  pier  and  sable  minstrelsy,  i 
still  the  inviolable  hermitage  of  tired  hearts.  Its  salt  is  some- 
thing better  than  Attic.  It  breathes,  as  Athens  never  whollj 
breathed  in  her  prime,  the  continuity  of  existence.  It  is  voca 
with  the  rhythm  of  death  cured  and  corrected. 

ALICE  MEYNELL. 

13TH  TO  17TH. — "  I  want  a  new  place  to  be  a  hero  in  !  "  Th( 
speaker  ended,  as  he  began,  abruptly.  Silence  is  golden,  bu 
the  next  best  thing  is  that  your  words  should  be  fit  and  few 
He  was  a  strong  man,  but  his  eye  had  the  quiet  reserve 
that  may  sometimes  be  found  with  strength,  a  combinatior 
always  attractive.  There  were  lines,  too,  about  his  mouth  thai 
revealed  a  capacity  for  pathos  as  well  as  humour. 

None  of  these  characteristics,  except  perhaps  his  strength  (; 
dangerous  thing  if  allied  to  madness),  imposed  itself  upon  tin 
observation  of  the  young  man  whom  he  addressed — a  clerk  ii 
the  office  of  Messrs.  GAZE,  CATCHEM  AND  COOK. 

"  Is  it  a  holiday  tour  you  want  ?  "  he  asked,  tentatively. 

"Mention  a  few  novelties,"  replied  the  strong,  quiet  man. 

"  We  are  booking  a  good  deal  for  the  interior  of  Turkey,' 
said  the  clerk. 

"  Fought  at  Plevna,"  replied  the  strong,  quiet  man. 

"  Then  we  have  the  Steppes  of  Russia  on  our  new  list." 

"  Sboyom — Lord  love  you  !   Sowed  wild  oats  there  years  ago.' 

"  Or  a  little  round  in  Spain  or  Holland,  personally  conducted? 

"  Quien  sabe  ?    Hoc  laat  is  het  ?    Speak  the  languages." 


JULY  31,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON '  CHARIVARI. 


79 


"Or  say  "West  Africa,  perhaps?  We 
arc  fitting  out  a  small  punitive  expedi- 
tion." 

'  '  Played  with  Edged  Tools  there  in  my 
youth." 

"  Or  Patagonia?  The  very  latest  thing 
in  explorations  !  " 

"  Ah  !  I  have  never  been  a  hero 
there.  Any  other  heroes  pioneering  in 
those  parts?  " 

"  Only  one  that  I  know  of,  and  he  's 
just  back  from  tracking  the  Big  Sloth." 

"Sloth  is  a  great  impediment  to  enter- 
prise." 

"I  said  the  Big  Sloth." 

"That  makes  it  no  better.  Quantity 
is  no  excuse  for  bad  quality.  But,  tell 
ine,  are  the  natives  of  Patagonia  good 
and  beautiful?" 

"We  have  no  reports  to  the  contrary," 
said  the  clerk. 

"A  noble  wife  is  a  gift  of  the  gods," 
said  the  strong  man,  absent-mindedly. 
Then,  recovering  himself,  he  added,  "  I 
will  trouble  you  for  a  Tierra  del  Fuego 
Conversation  Guide.  Mills  remerciments! 
Leb'ivohl.  Hasta  mancina.  Che  sara  sara. 
HENRY  SETON  MERRIMAN. 


(To  be  continued.) 


S' 


AS  USUAL. 

DAPHNE,  now  the  time  of  year 

Us  to  holidays  invites, 
While  the  vulgar,  far  and  near, 

Revel  in  their  crude  delights, 
We,  endowed  with  proper  pride, 
From  their  revels  stand  aside. 

Let  us,  dearest,  not  affect 
Vapid  pleasures  such  as  theirs  ; 

With  a  sense  of  self-respect 

Let  us  take  our  change  of  "  airs," 

While  our  pleasures  (yours  and  mine) 

With  improvement  we  combine. 

Say  then  :  strata  shall  we  trace, 
While  the  rocks  our  hammer  breaks  ? 

Or,  with  Keswick  as  a  base, 
Do  religiously  the  lakes  ? 

Or  a  sally  Lunn  afford, 

Where  we  may  be  lodged — and  bored  ? 

Or,"  at  Oxford  shall  we  spend 

An  improving  week  or  so, 
While  its  influences  extend 

Over  us  a  lofty  glow, 
While  from  Culture's  well,  with  awe, 
Samples  gratis  we  shall  draw? 

Of  the  channels  these  provide 

Education  to  impart, 
If  on  one  you  won't  decide, 

DAPHNE,  since  to-day  we  start, 
We  shall  be  compelled  to  fall 
Back  on  Margate,  after  all. 


A  MYSTERY  FROM  SHOEBURY. — When 
docs  the  cannon  ball  ?  When  the  Vickers- 
Maxim. 


"I'VE  JUST  LEFT  MR.  BRA.YNK,  AND  IT'S  QUITS  A  BELIEF  TO  MEET  YOU. 

INTELLECTUAL,    YOU   KNOW.'" 


HE  is  so 


A  LAST  APPEAL. 

[The  Lancet  is  of  opinion  that  man  should  not 
have  his  meals  alone.     His  food  is  far  more  likely 
to  agree  with  him  when  partaken  of  in  company.] 
SWEET  !    though  a  word  from  you  would 
bind 

My  future  and  your  own  much  closer, 
You  have  not  yet  made  up  your  mind 

Whether  to  answer ' '  Yes  "  or  "  No,  Sir  !  " 
Let  it  be  "  Yes,"  for  here  indeed 

Is  reason  good  for  you  to  chance  it ; 
Be  influenced  by  what  you  read 

Among  the  columns  of  the  Lancet. 

"  Man  should  not  take  his  meals  alone  !  " 

This  stated  as  a  simple  fact^is. 
If  you  '11  consent  to  be  my  own, 

We  '11  put  this  precept  into  practice. 
Though  little  love  you  have  to  spare, 

Why  not  let  pity  solve  the  question  ? 
For,  only  think,  my  lady  fair, 

How  you  can  help  my  poor  digestion  ! 

At  breakfast-time — supposing  that 
This  charitable  job  you  take  on — 


]\To  longer  shall  I  dread  the  fat 
That  usually  surrounds  my  bacon. 

Though  eggs  be  stale,  yet  who  shall  note 
Of  discontent  the  slightest  whisper  ? 

You  '11  help  the  coffee  down  my  throat, 
And  make  my  toast  seem  all  the  crispcr. 

At  dinner,  too,  your  charming  face 

Will  make  a  difference  surprising ; 
In  the  Inors  d'ceuvres  I  'm  sure  to  trace 

A  flavour  far  more  appetising. 
Soup,  fish  and  joint  will  all  entice, 

Though  feeble  be  the  cook's  resources ; 
And  I  shall  dream  of  Paradise 

Before  I  've  finished  half  the  courses. 

Then,  later  on,  your  presence  still 

Shall  haunt  me  like  some  gay  enchanter, 
And  hover  round  each  glass  I  fill 

From  out  the  trustworthy  decanter. 
For  nothing  then  will  disagree, 

Dyspepsia  won't  make  me  shiver. 
Oh,  be  my  bride,  and  you  will  see 

How  Love  shall  triumph  o'er  the  Liver  ! 

P.  G. 


80 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  31,  1901. 


THE  AGE  OF   CULTURE. 

["  If  a  SHAKSPEARE  or  a  THACKEEAY  were  writing  now,  it  is  doubtful 
if  he  would  find  a  publisher."— Daily  Paper.'} 

SCENE— A  Publisher's  Sanctum. 

Chorus  of  Authors. 
IN  these  enlightened  clays 

Of  taste  and  culture  rare, 
When  souly  School  Boards  raise 

Their  standards  everywhere, 
When  ignorance  is  dead, 
And  vulgar  folly  dumb, 
And  pupil  teachers  shed 
Refinement  on  the  slum  ; 

When  babes  that  scarce  can  walk 

Are  taught  to  sing  and  dance, 
And  even  learn  to  talk 

The  dainty  tongue  of  France  ; 
Our  work  is  sure  to  find 

Appreciative  praise 
From  every  cultured  mind 

In  these  enlightened  days. 

First  Author.  A  humble  poet  I 

That  spent  my  eager  youth 
In  seeking  after  Truth — 
I  sought  her  low  and  high. 

Through  fortune  good  and  ill 

One  passion  filled  my  heart — 

To  mingle  Truth  with  Art, 
And  show  her  truthful  still. 

My'days  among  the  dead, 
The  deathless  dead,  were  past ; 
With  them  my  lot  was  cast, 

Their  mighty  minds  I  read. 

Athenian  SOPHOCLES 
And  SHAKSPEARE,  fancy's  child, 
Warbling  his  woodnotes  wild — 

My  boon  companions  these. 

And  now  a  humble  play, 

The  fruit  of  toilful  years, 

I  bring  with  hopes  and  fears, 
And  at  thy  feet  I  lay. 

Publisher.  A  Shakspearian  play  ?     Oh,  take  it  away  ! 
It 's  the  very  last  thing  that  one  needs. 
Demand  there  is  none,  for  Shak.ipeare  is  one 

That  nobody  now-a-days  reads. 
It 's  dull,  stodgy  stuff — not  sensation  enough — 

Too  poetical — calls  for  some  brains. 
A  man  who  wTill  write  in  blank  verse  gives  you  quite 

Unsuitable  reading  for  trains. 
First  AH.  Then  you  decline  my  drama  ? 
Pub.  Yes,  I  do  ; 

It 's  quite  unsaleable.     Now,  what  have  you  ? 
Second  An.        No  SHAKSPEARE  I.     With  humbler  pen 

I  only  seek  to  tell 
The  follies  and  the  faults  of  men 

That  round  about  me  dwell  ; 
To  paint  them  as  in  truth  they  are, 

Wise,  foolish,  grave  and  gay — 
Content  to  follow  from  afar 
My  master  THACKERAY. 

Pub.     My  thanks  to  you  !     Pray,  don't  imdo 

Your  parcel ;  there 's  no"  reason  ! 
Remember,  please,  such  works  as  these 
Are  wholly  out  of  season. 


Such  stuff  as  that  to-day  falls  flat ; 

The  public  want  more  savour. 
Take  my  advice,  and  give  them  spice 

With  lots  and  lots  of  flavour. 


Chorus  of 


Third  Au. 


Pub. 

Third  Au. 
Pub. 

Third  Au. 
Pub. 

Third  Au. 
Pub. 

Third  Au. 
Pub. 

Third  Au. 
Pub. 

Together. 


Authors  Oh !  oh  !  oh ! 
*  Ah,  what  a  situation  ! 

Alas,  unhappy  nation, 
With  all  its  education  ! 

Wo  I  Wo  !  Wo  1 
I  'm  sorry  for  the  nation  ; 
But  what 's  my  situation 
Without  a  publication  ? 
I  do  not  doubt,  good  Sir, 

That  heavy  your  distress  is — 
Alas,  poor  publisher, 

Sans  up-to-date  MSS. 
But  dry  the  starting  tear 

And  list  to  me  a  minute — 
I  think  I  've  something  here 

That  may  have  money  in  it. 
Her  name  is  ELIZABETH. 

Good  ! 
She  lives  in  a  garden. 

She  should. 

She  writes  a  love-letter. 
Still  better  and  better  ! 
And  pours  out  her  sorrows. 

She  would. 

If  I  purpose  withholding  my  name, 
I  hope  you  '11  agree  to  the  same? 

Anonymous  ?    Splendid ! 

Our  sorrows  are  ended. 
You  '11  publish  my  novel  ? 

I  'm  game. 

Dame  Fortune  no  longer  looks  glum  ; 

The  voice  of  our  sorrow  is  dumb.     [They  dance. 

But  there 's  no  time  for  capers, 

Let 's  off  to  the  papers 
To  write  the  advertisements  !     Come  ! 

G.  K.  M. 


THE  NEW  PROFESSION. 

["  Signor  ROSABIO  BUFFALINO,  who  has-been  in  prison  for  a  number  of 
crimes,  but  has  succeeded  in  escaping,  has  written  to  the  Giornale  di  Swili'i 
that  he  has  just  formed  a  band  of  brigands  ;  he  proposes  to  begin  business  in 
the  New  Year,  and  to  administer  justice  according  to  the  teaching  of  Holy 
Writ."— Daily  Mail.} 

FOR  judges  and  juries  and  prisons  of  stone 

I  don't  care  the  least  little  fig,  and 
I  'm  anxious  to  let  it  be  publicly  known 
That  I  shortly  propose  to  set  up  on  my  own 
As  a  highly  respectable  brigand. 

If  you  writhe  'neath  a  wrong  you  can  write  me  a  note ; 

On  receipt  of  your  valued  advices 
Your  foe  will  be  pistolled,  or  slit  in  the  throat, 
Or  stabbed,  or  found  drowned  in  his  own  castle  moat, 

At  exceedingly  moderate  prices. 

Your  commands,  like  the  tyrants  of  whom  you  complain, 

I  will  execute  promptly,  and  ever 
By  strictest  attention  I  hope  I  may  gain 
Your  favour  and  patronage,  which  to  retain 

Shall  be  my  continued  endeavour. 


MEM.  FOR  YACHT-OWNERS. — If  you  are  inviting  a  party  to  go 
sailing  with  you  for  three  or  four  weeks,  take  good  care  that 
it  is  a  thorough  good  company,  able  to  enjoy  the  roughest 
weather  ;  in  fact,  a  specially  sea-leg'd  lot. 


JULY  31,  1901.1 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


81 


TO   MY  QUEEN— OF   THE  ROSES. 

(At  a  Rose  Show.) 
ROSES  in  dazzling  dresses 
Shook  out  their  perfumed  tresses, 

Such  glory  ne'er  was  seen. 
In  trembling  odour  swaying, 
Their  blooming  charms  displaying, 
Each  claimed  to  be  the  queen, 

Their  sweets  about  did  fling 
In  inter-whispering 

Their  title  to  be  queen. 
And  ne'er  among  the  flowers 
Born  of  the  golden  hours 

Was  such  sweet  turmoil  seen. 

In  midst  whereof  my  queen 
Was  by  the  roses  seen  ; 

Their  titles  all  they  hushed. 
And  at  the  lovely  sight 
Grew  many  roses  white, 

And  other  roses  blushed. 


THE  ANTI-GREEN  PARK. 

MisTERPuNCH,  MY  DISTINGUISHED  FRIEND 
AND  COLLEAGUE, — I  ask  your  pardon  to 
address  you.  I  have  now  been  in  your 
great  city  for  many  years,  and  although  I 
know  the  Vauxhall  Bridge  Road  and 
Leicester  Square  better  than  the  other 
parts,  still  I  feel  able  to  advise  you. 

You  are  about  to  spend  some  millions 
of  francs  in  altering  your  Green  Park. 
Good  !  But  let  it  be  done  wisely.  I  hear 
your  present  intention  is  to  take  a  slice 
of  Piccadilly  and  make  it  road,  leaving  a 
narrow  neck  at  Hyde  Park  Corner,  and 
another  narrow  neck  at  your  street  of 
St.  James.  Is  this  wise?  I  say  No,  a 
thousand  times  No !  Why  do  you  not 
imitate  the  Continent — as  you  call  all 
Europe  save  your  own  little  island — in 
this  direction  ?  Why  should  there  not  be 
a  road  (like  that  in  the  Champs  Elysees) 
for  the  children?  Why  should  not  Mr. 
Punch  himself  appear  in  his  own  show? 
He  might  be  accompanied  by  Madame  and 
the  dog,  and — for  a  while — by  the  baby. 
It  would  be  delightful,  and  how  pleased 
the  children  Avould  be !  And  why  not 
cafes?  And  even  a  Kursaal  might  be 
established  like  the  excellent  one  just 
started  at  Southend.  Roads  might  be 
made  here,  there,  and  everywhere.  It 
would  not  cost  much  if  the  land  had  not 
to  be  purchased.  And  there  might  be  a 
garden  for  strange  animals — like  the  one 
in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  I  have  been 
told — and  I  do  not  think  he  that  gave  the 
story  was  what  you  call  pulling  my  leg — 
that  there  is  already  a  Jardin  d'acclima- 
tation  in  the  Park  of  St.  James.  Why 
not  bring  it  to  your  Green  Park  ? 

Above  all,  there  is  a  blot  which  should 
be  removed.  Away  with  your  "Vilainton  ! 
He  is  too  much  ! 

Receive  my  consideration  the  most 
distinguished. 

(Signed)  AN  INTELLIGENT  FOREIGNER 

(French. 


Diminutive  Nursemaid  (to  Angler,  who  has  not  had  a  bite  for  hours).  "  OH,  PI.EA&E,  SIR,  DO 

LEt   BABY  SEE  YOtT   CATCH   A   FISH  !" 


SERENADE    OF    THE    ELECTRIC 
FUTURE. 

["Dr.  HEEDMAN,  of  the  University  of  Michigan, 
declares  that  after  experimenting  on  guinea-pigs, 
he  can  fatten  swine  by  means  of  electricity.  If 
pigs,  why  not  human  beings  ?  " — Philadelphia 
Post,  abridged.] 

MY  gentle  JANE,  I  see  with  pain 

That  you  with  love  are  thinner. 
Though  quaffing  stout  you  don't  fill  out, 

Yet  never  spurn  your  dinner. 
Your  once  round  arm  has  lost  its  charm, 

Your  cheeks  are  drawn  and  wan-like, 
Your  shoulders  bare  are  very  spare, 

Your  neck  's,  alas  !  too  swan-like. 

(Refrain.) 

O  !  lady  mine  do  not  repine 
At  your  emaciation, 


But  try  the  cure  alert  and  sure 
That 's  called  electrization, 

Tra-lal-la-la !  Tra-lal-la-la ! 
O  !  blest  electrization  ! 

Like  to  a  ghost  or  whipping-post 

I,  too,  defied  all  stuffing, 
A  course  of  "  watts  "  has  given  lots 

Of  rich  organic  puffing. 
I  proudly  own  to  eighteen  stone. 

And  still  increase  in  matter  ; 
So,  love,  with  me  electric  be, 

Together  we  '11  be  fatter  ! 

(Refrain.) 
So,  lovely  JANE,  your  weight  regain 

With  gentle  jubilation, 
No  longer  lank,  great  HERDMAN  thank 

For  this  electrization. 
Tra-lal-la-la !    Tra-lal-la-la ! 

This  plump  electrization  ! 


82 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  31,   1901. 


War-Office  Geniits.  "Now  THIS  is  ANOTHER  OF  MY  BRILLIANT  IDEAS,  THK  SHELTER  TRENCH  EXERCISE.     OF  COURSE,  I  KNOW  TBE 

TRENCH  IS  THE  WRONG  WAT  ABOUT,  AND  THAT,  WHEN  THtCY  H4.VE  FINISHED  IT,  THEY  HAVE  TO  FIRE  INTO  THE  WOOD  THEY  ARK 
DEFENDING,  AND  THEN  TURN  ABOUT  AND  CHARGE  AWAY  FROM  THE  WOOD,  EOT,  THEN  !  WS  GET  A  CAPITAL  BANK  AND  DITCH  MADE 
ROCND  OUR  PLANTATION?,  WITH  PRACTICALLY  NO  EXPENSE  !  " 

Mr.  Punch.  "AND  THIS  is  WHAT  YOU  CALL  INSTRUCTING  THE  VOLUNTEERS?" 


A  HOME-COMING. 

[The  Saxon,  with  Lieutenant- General  BADEN-POWELL  on  board,  arrived 
at  Southampton  on  July  25.] 

BETTER  late,  B.-P.,  than  never— England  greets  you  once  again, 
Many-sided  Boer-baffler,  home  at  last  from  toil  and  strain. 

Fourteen  months  and  more  we  've  waited,  one  and  all  your  hand 

to  clasp, 
Since  the  day  your  band  of  heroes  were  released  from'SNYMAN's 

grasp. 
WHITE  we  've  welcomed  back  and  BULLER,  ROBERTS  with  an 

extra  cheer, 
MILNER,  C.I.V.'s  and  Yeomen,  marking  this  historic  year. 

Homeward  too  from  o'er  tho  oceans  other  Empire-champions 

came, 
CROMER,  CLAUDE  MACDONALD,  WILLCOCKS,  each  to  win  his  meed 

of  fame. 

Some  there  are,  alas !    who  never  may   re-seek  their  native 

shore ; 
STEEVENS,  WAUCHOPE,  many  another  in  the  veldt  sleep  evermore. 

Time  has  flown  ;  but  not  forgotten  is  the  tale  of  Mafeking ! 
Who  that  lived  that  Day  in  London  could  forget  its  echoing 
ring? 

How  the  Town  broke  into  bunting,  Piccadilly  to  Mile-End ! 
How  each  man  for  joy  saluted  every  other  man  as  friend  ! 

How  we  crowded  to  the  City  in  an  orgy  of  delight, 

Tumbled  out  of  bed  for  gladness,  waving  Union  Jacks  all  night ! 

Even  if  we  overdid  it  after  deadening  suspense, 

Better  this  than  anti-British  Queen's  Hall  windbags'  insolence  ! 


Though  we  later  coined 'a  playful  word,  our  soberer  sense  to  show, 
I  would  rather  "  maffick  "  daily  than  abet  a  treacherous  foe  ! 

Well,  may  be  'twere  best  your  hoped-for  coming-home  has  been 

delayed, 
Else  had  last  year's  throngs  their  idol  lionised  past  doctors' 

aid!  A.  A.  S. 

"WHERE  WERE  THE  POLICE?" 

Miss  TABITHA  PRYM,  who  is  the  very  pink  of  propriety,  while 
reading  aloud  to  her  old  friend  and  employer,  Mrs.  Q.  PROPPUR, 
the  Naval  and  Military  Intelligence  in  the  Times,  one  day  last 
week,  came  across  this  passage  : 

"There  is  every  reason  to  hope  that  Messrs.  WARING,  the 
Royal  Upholsterers,  whose  men  are  working  in  day  and  night 
shifts  ' ' — here  the  two  elderly  ladies  paused  and  regarded  each 
other  in  considerable  astonishment,  then  Miss  PRYM,  after 
both  had  coughed  dubiously,  continued — "  will  be  able  to  leave 
the  yacht  before  the  end  of  the  week." 

"Good  gracious!  my  dear,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Q.  P.  "Leave 
the  yacht  in  their  day  and  night  .  .  .  . !  I  can't  believe  it ! 
Read  something  else." 

COME! 

COME  to  me  now,  when  freezing  frost  has  frozen 
The  sunlit  radiance  of  life's  waterway  ; 

Come  to  me  now,  the  moment 's  not  ill-chosen, 
Come  to  me  now,  or  ever  stay  away. 

Come,  though  a  torrent's  force,  outpouring  madly, 

Fills  all  the  air  with  adjectival  flood  ; 
For  I  shall  soon  be  taken  very  badly, 

Unless  you  help  to  find  my  collar  stud. 


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JULY  31,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


85 


ESSENCE    OF    PARLIAMENT 

EXTRACTED  FROM  THE  DIARY  or  TOBY,  M.P 

House  of  Lords,  Monday,  July  22. — Smal 
minds  disposed  to  scoff  when,  the  vision 
of  the  housemaid  crossing  the  MARKISS'I 
eye,  he  thinks  it  worthy  of  mention  in  thi 
High  Court  of  Parliament.  Profounde 
students  of  human  nature  will  find  in  it  a 
charming  note  of  domesticity  flecking  th< 
purple  of  the  Premiership.  However  i 
be,  the  topic  and  cognate  matters  an 
irresistible.  Nothing  seemed  more  un 
likely  in  Lords  to-night  than  that  the 
PREMIER  would  make  a  speech  that  shoulc 
overcome  his  predecessor's  indispositioi 
to  interpose  in  public  affairs. 

A  sultry  afternoon  ;  less  than  two  score 
Peers  present.  First  business,  motion  bj 
STANMORE  to  re-establish  the  Pine  Arts 
Commission  'of  1842.  PREMIER  dozed  or 
till  STANMORE,  after  some  talk  about 
pictures,  began,  as  the  MARKISS  put  it 
to  tell  us  of  stains  on  various  carpets,  to 
criticise  certain  wall-paper.  Promptly 
rising  when  STANMORE  made  an  end  of 
speaking,  the  MARKISS  eagerly  said 
"  I 'quite  sympathise  with  the  wish  of  the 
noble  lord  that  all  wall-paper  should  be 
pretty  and  all  carpets  should  be  clean. 
But  the  point  is,  what  is  the  remedy,  what 
is  the  mode  of  achieving  this  end  ?  " 

Then  STANMORE  insisted  there  wa 
delicate  ironwork  to  be  made,  dainty 
wood-carving  to  be  achieved.  "These 
things,"  continued  the  MARKCSS,  shaking 
his  head,  "are,  I  think,  calculated  to 
send  a  cold  shudder  down  the  back  of  the 
CHANCELLOR  OFTHE  EXCHEQUER.  They,"  he 
added  in  hollow  voice,  "  can  be  attained 
only  by  expenditure  of  money.  Why  want 
such  a  Commission  ?  Why  part  with  the 
supervision  of  Parliament,  or  the  executive 
power  of  the  Government  in  matters  of 
art?" 

On  this   a  vision  in  turn  crossed  the 
active  mind  of  Lord  ROSEBERY.     ' '  I  should 


Lord  B-lc-rr-s  reflec 


"  The  Marking's  eje  slowly  roved  over  the 
benches  opposite." 

be  very  sorry,"  he  said,  "  to  see  the  noble 
MARKISS  followed  by  a  staff,  passing 
through  the  Private  View  of  the  Roya 
Academy  with  a  marked  catalogue  in  his 
hand,  noting  the  purchases  he  intends  to 
make  on  behalf  of  the  public." 

Another  vivid  picture  flashed  by  ROSE- 
EERY  through  the  half  empty  House  was 
hung  on  a  peg  supplied  by  STANMORE'S 
suggestion  that  portraits  of  leading 
statesmen  should  adorn  the  walls  oi 
Parliament.  "I  think,"  he  said,  "there 
would  be  an  invidiousness  about  hanging 
statesmen  in  this  House." 

The  MARKISS,  preparing  to  go  to  sleep 
again,   woke  up ;    his   eye    slowly    roved 
over  the  Benches  opposite.    He  did  not 
ay  anything,  but  there  was  that  in  his 
ixpressive  countenance  which   indicated 
le  did  not  go  the  full  length  of  the  noble 
Earl's  statement.     As  a  rule  the  proposi- 
ion  was  sound  ;    but  there  are  possible 
exceptions  to  every  rule. 

Business  done. — In  Commons,  after  brisk 
debate,    PRINCE    ARTHUR  carries   motion 
^spending  Twelve   o'clock  Rule  for  rest 
if  Session.      Says  there  is  no  need  for 
Prorogation  to  be  deferred  beyond  17th. 

"Begorra,  we'll  see  about  that,"  say 
he  Irish  Members,  whose  well-earned 
ncrement  is  calculated  at  rate  per  diem, 
nd  does  not  run  through  the  recess. 

Tuesday  night. — It  is  a  tradition  at  the 

'reasury  that    during    REGINALD    EARLE 

WELBY,   K.C.B.'s    term   of  office  as   Per- 

nanent    Secretary,    whenever    estimates 

vere  submitted  from  any  of  the  spending 

Departments,  he  responded,  "Can't  you 

ut   'em  down?"      Conspicuous   ability, 

high  service   to  the  State,  leading  to  a 

ieerage,  question  arose  as  to  what  title 

e    would    select.      Colleagues    at    tho 

'reasury  were  prompt  and  unanimous  in 


suggestion.  Lord  CUT-'EM-DOWN  was 
obvious.  The  new  Peer,  avoiding  the 
picturesque,  was  satisfied  with  ennobling 
his  family  name,  and  as  Lord  WELBY  has 
through  seven  years  suffered  the  pangs  o: 
silence  in  House  of  Lords.  What  the 
discipline  must  have  been  to  him  his 
many  friends  will  know. 

To-night  broke  the  spell.  Delivered 
luminous  speech  on  condition  of  national 
expenses.  Through  it  all  ran  the  old 
refrain,  "  Cut  'em  down." 

The  MARKISS  evidently  impressed.  "I 
am  not  an  agricultural  labourer,"  BOBBY 
SPENCER  once  remarked,  standing  at  Table 
of  House  of  Commons  in  immaculate  morn- 
ing costume.  Said  the  MARKISS,  ' 
have  only  a  very  lay  and  uninstructed 
intelligence  to  bring  to  bear  on  the 
accumulated  learning  which  many  year; 
of  distinguished  public  service  have 
enabled  the  noble  lord  to  gather." 

Thus  the  MARKISS,  rising,  as  it  were, 
to  propose  a  vote  of  thanks  to  the  learned 
lecturer.  What  "  a  very  lay  intelligence  " 
may  be  is  not  immediately  clear.  It  finds 
its  parallel  in  CAP'EN  TOMMY  BOWLES'S 
remark  the  other  night  in  another  place. 
"I  rose  very  largely,"  he  said,  "  to  give 
the  UNDER  -  SECRETARY  FOR  FOREIGN 
AFFAIRS  an  opportunity  to  explain." 

PRINCE  ARTHUR,  beginning  to  think  that 
we  can  have  too  much  even  of  the  CAP'EN, 
privately  expressed  a  hope  that  the  old 
salt  would  be  content  to  present  himself 
at  question  time  in  his  usual  size.  That 
the  MARKISS,  master  of  phrases,  should 
have  blundered  on  a  faulty  one  is  striking 
testimony  to  impression  wrought  by  Lord 
WELBY'S  discourse. 

Business  done. — In  Commons,  LOWTHER, 
J.  W.,  back  after  week's  absence  in 


The  Henley  Division. 


86 


PUNCH,  OK  THE  LONDON  CHAKIVARL 


[JULY  31,  190-1. 


company  of  gout.  A  hearty  cheer  from  both 
sides  paid  tribute  to  his  successful  admi- 
nistration of  a  difficult  and  delicate  post. 
Closure  once  more  possible,  Committee  on 
Education  Bill  brisked  up  wonderfully. 
Last  week  HART-DYKE  rather  let  fly  at 
the  blameless  JOHN  o'  GORST  ;  accused 
him  in  so  many  words  of  playing  the  banjo 
whilst  national  school-houses  were  burn- 
ing. To-night,  influenced  by  example  at 
Reform  Club,  withdrew  everything  he  had 
said  ;  apologised  ;  held  out  right  hand  of 
reconciliation  ;  couldn't  have  behaved 
handsomer  had  JOHN  o'  GORST  been  a 
Liberal  Leader,  and  he  one  of  the  "  con- 
spirators ' '  among  the  party  darkly  alluded 
to  by  C.-B.  and  SQUIRE  OF  MALWOOD. 

This  led  up  to  proposal  that  PRINCE 
ARTHUR  should  accept  amendment  moved 
by  MATHER  from  Opposition  Benches  limit- 
ing operation  of  Bill  to  prolonging  statu 
quo  for  twelve  months.  Never  in  his  life 
was  PRINCE  ARTHUR  so  amazed,  so  pained. 
"What !  Should  a  Ministry  of  which  he 
was  a  member,  of  whose  views  he  was 
authorised  exponent,  display  this  weak- 
ness in  face  of  enemy?  His  Majesty's 
Government  had  brought  in  Education 
Bill  embodying  a  distinct  principle,  framed 
on  definite  lines.  To  withdraw  it,  to 
abandon  it,  to  substitute  an  alternative, 
would  be  to  display  a  weakness  that 
would  stamp  them  as  incapable  of  dealing 
with  so  grave  a  question  as  national 
education. 

SQUIRE  OF  MALWOOD,  who  remembers 
history  of  Education  question  under  the 
MARKISS'S  Government,  softly  laughed. 
Crowded  Committee  looked  on  in  ad- 
miration at  PRINCE  ARTHUR'S  indignant 
gestures,  his  flashing  eyes,  his  anger- 
crimsoned  cheeks. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  JAMES  BRYCE,  a 
plain  Aberdeen  body,  "I  do  think  he 
believes  he  has  not  within  the  last  few 
years  twice  stood  at  that  very  box  and 
abandoned  two  Education  Bills  a  few 
months  earlier  introduced  from  the 
Treasury  Bench,  with  trumpets  also  and 
shawms." 

Thursday  night.— What  was  the  LORD 
GREAT  CHAMBERLAIN  going  to  do  with  the 
benches,  the  scarlet  cloth  coverings,  the 
canopy  over  the  chair  of  the  LORD  HIGH 
STEWARD,  and  eke  the  door  mats  that 
furnished  forth  the  Royal  Gallery  for  the 
trial  of  Earl  RUSSELL  by  his  peers? 
Something  sad  in  meditation  on  the 
matter.  Here  was  the  heir  of  a  historic 
name  on  trial  for  felony.  The  Peers  of 
the  United  Kingdom,  arrayed  in  scarlet 
cloaks,  sat  in  pained  silence.  The  LORD 
HIGH  CHANCELLOR,  a  square  cap  stuck  on 
top  of  his  wig  lending  a  crowning  grace 
to  his  presence,  was  throned  in  state. 
The  formula,  closely  studied,  was  strictly 
followed.  "  It  was  a  page  reverently 
removed  from  early  English  history,  and 
set  among  the  magazines,  the  newspapers, 
the  extra-specials  of  the  twentieth 


century.  A  solemn,  stately  pageant, 
carrying  the  mind  back  to  Plantagenet 
times. 

And  here  was  the  LORD  GREAT  CHAMBER- 
LAIN, narrowly  examining  the  texture  of 
the  crimson  cloth,  in  his  mind's  eye 
measuring  the  matting,  smacking  his  lips 
over  the  canopy  above  the  chair  of  the 
LORD  HIGH  STEWARD,  reckoning  up  how 
much  they  would  fetch  in  the  market. 
They  were  all  his  ;  perquisites  belonging 
to  his  high  office.  As  soon  as  the  trial 
was  over,  when  JOHN  STANLEY,  Earl 
RUSSELL,  was  led  forth,  to  the  stake  at 
Smithfield  or  to  the  chop  in  Holloway 
Gaol  as  the  sentence  might  direct,  the 
LORD  GREAT  CHAMBERLAIN'S  varlets  could 
swoop  down  on  the  rich  carpets,  the 
rare  red  cloth,  and  bear  it  away. 

But  as  on  a  historical  occasion  RAN- 
DOLPH CHURCHILL  "  forgot  GOSCHEN,"  so  the 
LORD  GREAT  CHAMBERLAIN  forgot  AKERS- 
DOUGLAS.  Story  out  to-night  at  Question 
time.  "Where,"  SWIFT  MACNEIL,  envious, 
asked,  "  are  the  benches,  the  scarlet 
cloth  covering,  and  the  canopy  of  the 
LORD  HIGH  STEWARD  ? ' ' 

"  The  fittings,  &c.,"  said  the  FIRST  COM- 
MISSIONER OF  WORKS  (note  the  bloodless 
"&c."  in  this  connection)  "are  still  in 
my  possession.  They  have  been  claimed 
by  the  LORD  GREAT  CHAMBERLAIN,  but  I 
have  disallowed  the  claim." 

And  there  was  an  end  of  the  matter. 

"  What  pale,  puling  creatures  we  have 
become  in  this  so-called  twentieth  cen- 
tury," says  SARK.  "Had  ANCASTER'S 
forbear,  the  Lord  WILLOUGHBY  who  fought 
under  EDWARD  THE  FIRST,  yearned  after 
this  red  cloth  and  these  wooden  benches, 
he  would  have  just  looked  in  and  taken 
them,  running  AKERS  -  DOUGLAS  through 
the  body  if  he  said  him  nay.  Under 
EDWARD  THE  SEVENTH  the  FIRST  COMMIS- 
SIONER OF  WORKS  holds  up  his  hand,  and 
the  LORD  GREAT  CHAMBERLAIN  slinks  away 
to  write  a  postcard  to  Whiteley's  to  say 
they  needn't  send  for  the  things. 

Business  done.  —  The  LORD  GREAT 
CHAMBERLAIN'S  little  game  stopped  by 
the  FIRST  COMMISSIONER  OF  WORKS. 


WHAT  THE  SAD  SEA  WAVES  ARE 
SAYLNG. 

At  Aguehoe. — Avoid  this  "  abode  for  the 
convalescent ' '  if  you  wish  to  escape  the 
doctor  on  your  return  to  town. 

At  Swindleborough-on-Sea. — Beware  of 
the  hotel  "extras"  and  the  bath  in  your 
own  room  at  two  shillings  a  day. 

At  Coffin-stiper-Mare. — Make  your  will 
and  send  it  to  your  lawyer,  and  then 
choose  a  spot  in  the  local  cemetery. 

At  "t/ie  favourite  watering-places"  gene- 
rally.— That  you  won't  have  much  comfort 
unless  you  have  a  long  purse.  And  even 
if  you  are  a  millionaire,  you  will  find 
furnished  apartments  nothing  like  home, 
sweet  home.1 


"CHINA   MENDED." 

APROPOS  of  the  report  that  Chinese 
"  progressives  "  intend  to  so  far  conform 
to  Western  customs  as  to  start  a  popular 
newspaper  in  Hu-Nan  embodying  the 
"latest  ideas  in  journalism,"  a  few  ex- 
tracts from  the  Editor's  diary  might 
prove  of  interest : — 

Interfliew  big  pidgin  'Melican  man. 
Callee  himself  a  Calipaliste.  Plentee  dol- 
lar. Wanchee  buyee  everlyting.  Buyee 
Emplor — buyee  Empless — buyee  ME  !  But 
not  givee  mutchee  for  ME.  Buyee  allee 
China  at  a  plice.  He  tellee  me  he  just 
boughtee  Sir  THOMAS  LIPTON  and  his 
yachtee  in  one  job  lot !  Wanchee  Gleat 
Wall  of  Pekin  to  take  away  to  'Melica. 
Me  tellee  him  no  can  do.  He  say,  "  Odam, 
Chinaman  no  enterplise  good-day." 

Sillee  season  comee  on.  ,Must  startee 
Log-roller  like  uller  beautiful  number- 
one  sized  newspapers.  Gleat  Sea  Ser- 
pentee  played  out.  Gleat  Gooseberry 
played  out.  "Is  Malliage  a  failure?" 
— (Not  muchee  !  winkee  uller  eye  !) — him 
played  out  too.  Ha!  "Why  no  cookee 
foleign  devilee  in  boilee  oil?"  Geod. 
Me  will  lite  first  letter,  and  signee  him, 
"A  Poor  Clerk,"  or  "  Mother  of  Five," 
or  "Constant  Subskliber,"  then  allee 
uller  foolee  follow  pletty  devilish  quick. 

Earlee  LUSSELL  keepee  English  Parlia- 
mentee  Lords  men  longee  time  floin  holi- 
day. Parliamentee  Lords  men  cussee 
swear,  but  no  can  help.  Will  litce  big 
leader  on  him.  Makee  plentee  copy. 

Must  litee  article  on  wickedness  of 
play  Fan  Tan.  Me  losee  plentee  'dollar 
lately  at  Fan  Tan,  and  me  tinkee  he  most 
disgustin  gamee. 

Will  publish  splicy  palaglaph  about 
Mrs.  MA-KEE-FUN,  and  if  she  blingee 
action  for  libel  say  I  mean  someone 
elsee. 

Must  say  Chinesee  clew  won  everly  lace 
at  Hen-Lee. 

South  Aflican  news.  Mr.  KLUGER  leadee 
on  his  tloops  and  die  in  last  ditch,  and 
then  he  go  to  Holland  and  live  happy 
ever  aftelwards.  He  beatee  allee  tloops, 
except  Chineesy  tloops — they  beatee 
him. 

Makee  big  scandal  about  Blitish  soldier 
man,  and  if  he  callee  at  office  with  big 
stick,  my  makee  him  interfliew  the  subbee 
editor,  while  my  takee  long  walkee. 

Will  say  something  bad  about  Mandalin 
HAN-TEE.  Say  I  see  him  winkee  eye  at 
little  Japanese  girlie.  Plaps  Mandalin 
comee  here  and  kickee — not  me  but 
subbee-editor — while  me  takee  anuller 
long  walkee. 

Must  lite  ploglessive  leaders,  evcrly 
day.  This  our  ploglamme : — 

1. — Dlive  out  Foleign  devilees. 

2. — Kill  all  we  can't  dlive  out. 

3. — Boil  all  Missionalies. 

4. — Makee  plogless  back  to  what  we 
were  a  bundled  years  ago. 


JULY  31,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


inqub        ATRAID  OF  MY  CAR     is  HE.  '   III  SOON  CURE 


Cioom  '  WHY, YOU  DON'T  SEEM  TO  HAVE  cu 

foT.*f  "No 'But  HE  HAS  CURED  Mt !  ' 


CURtDHIMOUVNOR. 


THE    AFFABLE    MOTORIST    AND    THE    SKITTISH    COLT. 


88 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  31,  1901 


MATCH-LESS  BEAUTIES. 

MARRIAGEABLE  maidens, 
Proud  beyond  compare, 

Treating  Master  Cupid 
To  a  lofty  stare ; 

He  -would  beg  a  favour, 
You  have  none  to  spare. 

Slim  and  slender  maidens, 
Beauties  pert  and  prim, 

Attitude  unbending 

Towards  each  handsome  him  ! 

Slender  be  ye,  maidens, 
But,  ah,  not  too  "  slim  "  ! 

In  the  marriage  market 
Bold  men  e'en  are  shying : 

Shy  men  never  will  the 
Marriage  knot  be  tying. 

Will  ye  let  Old  Time  be 
All  your  beauty  buying  ? 

Will  you  see  the  roses 

You  so  proudly  wear 
Wasting  all  their  sweetness 

In  your  haughty.air — 
Drooping,  spite  of  water 

From  a  truant  tear  ? 

Roses  then  to  Cupid 

Give  without  delay, 
He  will  keep  them  fresh  for 

Ever  and  a  day. 
Quick  !  or  jealous  Time  will 

Snatch  them  all  away. 

Pearls  and  corals  hoarding, 
Pretty  maids,  beware  ! 

Love-entangling  tresses, 
Beauties  rich  and  rare, 

Soon,  too  soon,  you  '11  rue  thorn 
That  so  matchless  were. 


MINISTERING   ANGELS. 

[A  recent  advertisement  in  the  Morninr/  Post 
announces  : — "  Advice  and  sympathy  'to  be  '  given 
by  a  woman  of  the  world  who  has  had  great 
experience :  five  shillings  for  half  an  hour's  inter- 
view."] 

IP  you  're  in  a  grave  dilemma, 
Or  should  lind  it  hard  to  stem  a 

Tide  of  difficulty  sweeping  you  away, 
It  is  good  to  know  of  "  wimmin  " 
Who  such  tides  have  learnt  to  swim  in, 

And  will  give  you   their  experience  for 
pay. 

Are  you  wedded  'neath  your  station  ? 

It  will  ease  the  situation 
To  have  half  an  hour's  feminine  advice  ; 

For  tho',  taken  to  the  letter, 

It  may  make  the  case  no  better, 
To  the  spirit  it  is  soothing,  and  it  's  nice. 

And  how  sweet  to  sit  confessing 

That  your  duns  are  rather  pressing, 
And  to  note  the  sympathetic  little  shock 

Running  down  tho  spinal  marrow 

Of  a  lady  you  may  harrow 
For  the^ space  of_ thirty; minutes   by  the 
clock. 


Are  you  jilted  by  a  maiden  ? 

Is  your  breast  with  trouble  laden  ? 
Here   is    one    the    world   has  never   yet 
perplext, 

Who  will  share  with  you  your  burdens 

For  the  paltriest  of  guerdons, 
And  be  ready  in  a  moment  for  the  next. 

Then,  O  man,  be  not  dejected  ! 
'    Let  your  heart  be  re-directed 
To  the  memory  of  far  more  happy  things  ; 
And  'mid  long-forgotten  thrillings 
You  will  find  that  five  poor  shillings 
Make  the  sorrow's   crown  of  which   the 
poet  sings. 


'THE    TALKING    HORSES." 

First  Boer  Horse.   "  I  WONDER  HOW  MANY 

TIMES    WB'VE   BEKN    CAPTURED?" 

Second  Boer  Horse.     "  OH,    CHUCK    IT  !     I 

NEVER  WAS  ANY  GOOD  AT  ARITHMETIC  !  " 

["The  interesting  communication  from  Our 
Special  Correspondent  confirms  the  suspicion  that 
many  of  the  heavy  captures  of  stock  made  by  our 
troops  have  been  allowed,  through  negligence,  to 
tall  again  into  the  hands  of  the  vigilant  raiders." — 
Evemng  Standard,  July  24.] 


LATEST    FROM    PALL    MALL 
AND    NEIGHBOURHOOD. 

(Diary  of  a  Secretary.) 

Monday.  —  Member  objected  to  the 
joint.  Not  enough  gravy.  Quite  right. 
By  the  way,  rather  too  hot  for  Paris. 

Tuesday, — Another  member  said  there 
was  an  imperfect  supply  of  stationery  in 
the  Morning  Room.  Agree  with  him. 
Scotland  is  overrun  with  tourists. 

Wednesday. — Member  complains  that 
the  newspaper  files  are  not  kept  up  in  the 
Library.  Ireland  just  like  Scotland. 

Thursday. — Influential  member  of  the 
Committee  thinks  that  a  new  carpet 
would  be  just  the  thing  for  the  Card  Room. 
Agree  with  him.  Must  look  up  my 
Continental  Bradshaw. 

Friday. — At  the  meeting  closure  settled. 
Can  get  away  at  once. 

Saturday. — Arrangements  made  with 
kindred  establishments. 

Sunday. — Off  for  my  holiday!  "Club 
closed  for  alterations  and  repairs." 


SOME  BANK  HOLIDAY  PLANS. 

By  VARIOUS  DEVOTEES  OF  ST.  LUBBOCK, 
AND  OTHERS. 

(History  does  not   say  whether  in   every 
case  they  were  rigidly  fiilfilled.) 

L-rd  S-l-sb-ry.  Will  study  up  the  tech- 
nical terms  of  the  science  of  betting, 
especially  the  difference  between  giving 
and  receiving  "  tips  "  ;  practise  on  HUGH 
or  the  head  coachman  at  Hatfield,  so  as 
to  be  ready  to  "take"  Tw-DM-TH  "on" 
next  time. 

B-sh-p  of  L-nd-n.  Shall  drive  round  the 
Park  with  a  carriage-load  of  Hooligans, 
afterwards  having  tea  together  in  Ken- 
sington Gardens,  and  a  dip  in  the  Ser- 
pentine. 

Sir  M.  H-cJes-B-ch.  Will  work  out  some 
' '  sums ' '  with  vulgar  fractions  of  the 
Opposition,  and  the  Integral  Calculus  as 
applied  to  the  British  Empire. 

Lord  Milner.  Will  take  a  long  day's 
sightseeing  in  London  after  protracted 
absence,  disguised  so  as  to  avoid  well- 
meant  but  overpowering  ovations ;  visit 
Hotel  Cecil,  Twopenny  Tube,  Kew  Tram, 
Punch  Office  (as  rebuilt),  the  Gaps  in  the 
Strand,  Her  Majesty's  Theatre,  and  other 
new  institutions  and  points  of  interest ; 
also  refresh  memory  of  the  Zoo,  Athe- 
nseum,  Tower  of  London,  Crystal  Palace, 
and  Westminster  Abbey  ;  and  forget  there 
are  such  things  as  Boers,  .Pro-Boers,  or 
return  tickets. 

E-rl  R-b-rts.  Hooray  !  Shall  have  a  day 
off  from  opening  bazaars  and  giving  away 
prizes. 

Mr.  Andr-io  C-rn-yie.  Won't  bang  a  sax- 
pence,  not  even  a  million  for  a  whole 
twenty-four  hours.  This  donating  habit  is 
beginning  to  grow  upon  me,  and  I  shall 
find  myself  paying  the  War  Bill  next,  if  I 
don't  look  out. 

A  Little  Enylander.  A  grand  opportu- 
nity for  a  nice  quiet  time  wherein  to 
produce  an  article  denouncing  "  JOR  "  as 
the  author  of  the  Plague,  the  Boxer 
Massacres,  the  Belleville  Boilers,  the 
London  Fog,  Hydrophobia,  Pauperism, 
German  Bands,  Italian  Organ-grinders, 
Unpaid  Bills,  the  "Englishwoman's 
L ,"  and  all  the  other  Ills  of  Life. 

An  Editor  of  an  Afternoon  Paper.  Shall 
spend  the  day  in  bed. 

A  Sensible  Citizen.  Will  avoid  railway 
stations,  'buses,  theatres,  Hampstead 
Heath,  and  popular  resorts  in  general ; 
stay  at  home,  take  tea  with  the  missus, 
make  the  kids'  acquaintance,  clean  the 
bicycles,  fool  around  with  a  hammer  and 
nails,  and  tidy  up  the  garden. 

His  Better  Half.  Everybody  being 
out  of  town,  shall  pay  off  all  my  duty 
calls. 

Lord  Avebury.  Travel  to  Southend, 
Brighton,  Margate,  and  Herne  Bay  in 
excursion  trains,  third  class. 

A.  A.  S. 


JULY  31,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


89 


OUR    CLUB. 

IT  is  well  known  that  the  king  can  do  no 
wrong.  It  is  almost  equally  well  known 
— at  least,  in  clubs — that  no  House  Commit- 
tee can  do  anything  right.  Our  House 
Committee  is  no  exception  to  the  rule. 

For  a  long  time  there  had  been  com- 
plaints of  draughts  upon  our  staircase. 
After  considering  these  for  months  our 
House  Committee 
at  last  decided  to 
put  up  a  new  swing 
door.  They  waited 
till  the  winter  was 
over  and  till  t[he 
chilly  spring  was 
well  advanced,  and 
then  they  began. 
For  days  and  days 
we,  the  members, 
fell  over  recum- 
bent workmen, 
bags  of  tools,  and 
such  things,  in 
dark  corners  of  the 
hall;  the  early 
morning  brought 
sounds  of  hammer- 
ing,  and  unex- 
pected bangs  dis- 
turbed the  calm 
silence  of  the 
afternoon.  At  last 
the  door  was  there, 
a  seemingly  in- 
offensive, glazed, 
swing  door.  Then 
it  was  at  once  dis- 
covered that  the 
hinges  had  been 
put  at  the  wrong 
side,  with  the  re- 
sult that  members 
going  in  one  direc- 
tion walked  into 
the  fireplace,  and 
in  the  other  stum- 
bled  down  the 
back  stairs. 

So  the  House 
Committee  con- 
sidered the  whole 
thing  once  more, 
the  recumbent 
workmen,  the  bags  of  tools,  the  hammer- 
ings and  the  bangs  came  back  again,  and 
the  door  mado  its  re-appearance  with  the 
hinges  altered.  Meanwhile  the  weather 
was  gradually  getting  warmer,  and  the 
members  forgot  the  draughts.  We  all 
said,  of  course,  that  the  House  Committee 
was  wrong,  and  that  the  door  should  have 
been  put  up  in  August,  when  the  Club  is 
always  closed  and  cleaned.  But  the 
House  Committee,  having  started  that 
door,  devoted  all  their  energy  to  the 
completion  of  it.  By  degrees  it  was 

minted ;  it  was   provided  with    handles 
and  finger-plates,  and,  finally,  a  spring  of 


superhuman  force  having  been  affixed,  it 
was  completed.  The  great  work  of  our 
House  Committee,  the  masterpiece  of 
those  sublime  intellects,  was  achieved. 

Still  we  were  not  satisfied.  By  this 
time  the  weather  had  become  so  hot  at 
intervals  that  we  pined  for  draughts. 
We  remembered  the  refreshing  currents  of 
air  which  had  prevailed  all  the  winter, 
and  were  now  shut  out  by  the  pig- 


FATHER    NEPTUNE'S    BANK    HOLIDAY 

A   CHANCB   FOR   THR   CHILDREN.       AUGUST  5. 


headed     obstinacy    of    our    House    Com- 
mittee. 

But  our  sufferings  did  not  end  there, 
and  our  grumblings  only  began.  The 
force  of  the  spring  on  that  door  was  so 
great  that  it  needed  three  of  the  largest 
of  us,  or  half-a-dozen  small  members,  to 
hold  the  door  open.  One  day  TOMKINS 
rushed  hastily  out  to  welcome  a  lady 
visitor  in  the  hall,  and  as  he  passed  the 
demon  door  caught  his  coat  and  held  him 
immovable.  Members  and  waiters  rushed 
to  his  assistance.  They  could  not  move 
his  coat  without  opening  the  door,  and 
they  could  not  open  the  door  without 


tearing  the  tails  off  his  coat.  They  had  to 
pull  him  out  of  his  garment,  and  he  went 
to  the  lady  in  a  friend's  overcoat  that 
didn't  fit  him. 

After  this  we  thought  that  door  would 
be  altered  again,  but  it  wasn't,  and 
shortly  after  one  of  us  let  it  go  un- 
expectedly, for  he  had  not  the  strength 
to  hold  it  open,  and  it  hit  another  member 
on  the  head,  raising  such  a  bump  that 
he  could  not  wear 
a  stiff  hat  for  a 
fortnight. 

Then  timid  jnem- 
bers,  especially 
after  dark,  got  in 
the  habit  of  going 
up  the  front  stair- 
case and  coming 
down  the  back 
one,  merely  to 
avoid  that  door. 
One  powerful  mem- 
ber, fighting  with 
it,  had  a  new  hat 
knocked  off  and 
utterly  ruined. 
Another,  a  small, 
new  member,  was 
so  battered  about 
in  his  first  attempt 
to  get  through 
that  he  has  never 
come  to  our  Club 
again. 

At  lastours  uffer- 
ings  ended.  The 
other  day  a  [mem- 
ber of  the  House 
Committee  was 
caught  by  that 
door  and  his  little 
finger  was  scrat- 
ched. An  extra- 
ordinary meeting 
of  the  House  Com- 
mittee was  imme- 
diately summoned ; 
they  deliberated 
for  nine  hours  and 
three  -  quarters, 
and  then  ordered 
up  a  bundle  of 
firewood.  One  of 
them,  incredibly 
reckless,  tried  to  tackle  the  demon  door 
single-handed.  In  the  twinkling  of  -an 
eye  he  was  swept  round  a  corner,  flung 
down  the  back  staircase,  and  picked -up 
more  dead  than  alive  in  the  basement. 
Then  the  remainder  of  House  Committee, 
flung  themselves  on  the  demon  door  and 
held  it  back,  while  a  page-boy  slipped -a 
wedge  of  firewood  underneath  it. 

Thus  at  last  we  were  freed  from- that 
wooden  tyrant,  and  it  now  stands,  always 
open,  helpless  and  forgotten.  But  the 
Club  will  have  to  pay  for  it  all  the  same. 
So,  you  see,  our  House  Committee  is  no. 
better  than  any  other.  H.  D.  B. :.=. 


90 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[JULY  31,  1901. 


\ 


No,  THIS  ISN'T  A  COLLECTION  OF  TUBERCULAR  MICROBES  E-CAPIXO  FRO.M  THE  CONGRESS  ; 

BUT   MERELY  THK  MONTQOMBBT-SMITHS    IN    THEIR    MOTOR-CAB,    ENJOYING  THE   BEAUTIES   OF 
THE  COUNTRY. 


DER  SCHNELL-ZUG. 
IP  you  want  to  find  a  really  slow  train 
try  the  express  of  the  K.k.  priv.  Siidbahn 
Gesellschaft  from  Innsbruck  to  Toblach 
in  the  Tyrol.  The  distance,  according  to 
the  infallible  Baedeker,  is  90|  miles,  and 
the  journey  takes  five  hours.  A  Spanish 
express  could  hardly  beat  this.  Even 
the  Imperial  Royal  Private  Southrailway 
Company  may  not  be  able  to  run  a  train 
very  fast  uphill,  though  they  have  an 
engine  to  pull  and  another  to  push  it  up 
the  Brenner  Pass,  but  they  might  try  a 
slightly  greater  speed  on  the  level  ground, 
and  even  if  the  express  stopped  at  every 
station  like  a  Spanish  express,  as  it  does, 
it  need  not  stop  long  enough  for  the 
engine-driver  to-smoke  several  cigarettes, 
or  the  guard  to  drink  a  Kaffee  mit  Obers 
with  the  stationmaster.  And  this  mar- 
vellous express,  travelling  at  the  astound- 
ing average  speed  of  eighteen  miles  an 
hour,  is  so  ingeniously  arranged  by  the  K.k. 
priv.  Siidbahn  Gesellschaft  that  it  lands 
one  at  eight  in  the  evening — that  is,  if  it 
is  only  a  quarter  of  an  hour. late — at  the 
desolate  station  of  .Toblach,  immediately 


opposite  a  vast  barrack,  which  is  the 
hotel  owned  by  the  K.k.  priv.  Siidbahn 
Gesellschaft,  one  of  the  most  uncomfort- 
able and,  considering  its  discomfort,  one 
of  the  most  expensive  hotels  one  could 
possibly  discover.  To  the  north  it  com- 
mands a  magnificent  view  of  the  railway 
station,  with  a  grass  slope  beyond,  to  the 
south  there  is  a  hill  immediately  outside 
the  windows. 

In  this  dismal  spot  the  unhappy  tra- 
veller, caught  in  the  clutches  of  the  K.k. 
priv.  Siidbahn  Gesellschaft,  must  spend 
his  time  and  his  money,  especially  the 
latter,  till  the  next  morning,  and  patiently 
consume  such  tepid  soup  and  other  frag- 
ments as  may  remain  from  the  Abendessen 
of  the  very  numerous  middle-class  Aus- 
trians  who  are  content  to  stay  en  pension 
in  this  huge  shed.  They  are  stated,  and 
they  appear,  to  be  mostly  Viennese  finan- 
ciers. Perhaps  they  prefer  to  be  opposite 
a  railway  station  in  order  to  rush  off  at 
once  to  Vienna  if  there  should  be  a  rise 
or  fall  on  the  Bourse.  Only,  as  the  ex- 
presses of  the  Company  would  take  about 
two  days,  at  eighteen  miles  an  hour,  to 


convey  them  there,  they  would  probably 
arrive  too  late. 

My  fellow-traveller  in  this  train  was  a 
courteous  and  amiable  priest,  who  became 
very  restless  after  about  five  hours,  and 
paced  up  and  down  the  little  corridor. 
In  the  next  compartment  there  was  an 
officer,  buttoned  up  in  the  extremely 
tight  blue  tunic  of  the  Austrians,  a  tunic 
so  tight  that  it  suggests  stays  beneath 
it.  Whenever  the  train  stopped  for  an 
unusually  long  time,  the  priest  sought 
out  the  officer  and  conversed  with  him. 
I  imagine  that  he  found  some  consolation 
in  such  forcible  expressions  as  the  soldier 
might  apply  to  the  K.k.  priv.  Sudbahn 
Gesellschaft,  but  which  a  priest,  could  not 
properly  use.  However,  the  officer  got 
out  before  we  reached  Toblach,  and  the 
priest  was  going  on  to  Trieste,  with  no 
one  to  speak  out  for  him.  He  told  me  he 
expected  to  arrive  at  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  As  that  was  a  good  many  days 
ago,  I  hope  his  journey  is  ended  by  this 
time. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  travellers  can 
avoid  this .  express  by  taking  an  equally 
slow  one  at  seven  in  the  morning.  Then 
they  can  also  avoid  the  hotel.  Here  the 
crafty  K.k.  priv.  Sudbahn  Gesellschaft 
again  shows  its  ingenuity,  for  it  knows 
that  most  people  do  not  care  to  start  at 
that  unearthly  hour.  As  for  the  slow 
trains  of  this  Company,  one  never  hears  of 
them,  and  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that 
none  of  them  have  ever  reached  their 
destination,  so  that  no  traveller  has 
returned  to  tell  what  happened — ce  qui 
arriva — but  it  certainly  could  not  have 
been  the  train  qui  arriva. 


GUESSES   AT    GOODWOOD. 

THAT  the  gaiety  of  the  past  will  be 
reserved  for  the  future. 

That  many  a  house-party  will  be  con- 
spicuous by  its  absence. 

That  the  frocks  at  Goodwood  will  have 
more  colour  than  the  gowns  of  Ascot. 

That  Petworth  and  Arundel  will  lack 
representatives . 

That  Cowdray  Park,  Castle  Goring,  and 
Burton  Park  will  be  pleasantly  in  evidence. 

That  cold  consomme  will  figure  iu  the 
menu  of  the  luncheon  parties. 

That  the  A  rmy  will  be  remembered  in  con- 
nection with  certain  regimental  coaches. 

That  there  will  be  a  few  "  good  things  " 
that  will  come  off,  and  a  "  cert."  or  two 
that  will  cause  disappointment  and 
indignation. 

That  a  Glass  Jug  may  prove  on  tha 
Thursday  to  be  worth  £2800. 

That  much  gold  may  come  to  Brassey. 

That  if  the  Clerk  of  the  Weather 
attends  to  his  duty  with  proper  courtesy, 
this  meeting  will  be  a  delightful  one. 

That  the  remainder  of  the  "guesses" 
will  be  supplied  by  the  Brigade  that  hails 
from  the  Occidental  side  of  the  Atlantic. 


AUGUST  7,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


91 


PONS    ASINORUM. 

STRANGE  game  of  esoteric  charm, 

Bridge  of  a  myriad  sighs  and  curses, 
And  harbinger  of  much  alarm 

To  all  the  world,  from  peers  to  nurses. 
Tennis  and  poker,  golf  and  pool 

Are  quite  incompetent  to  meet  you, 
Acknowledging  your  despot's  rule — 

Unfathomable  fad,  I  greet  you ! 

Companion  of  the  gambler's  soul, 

Delight  of  various  simple  misses, 
From  Audley  Street  you  levy  toll 

Unto  Suburbia's  dark  abysses  ; 
To  prey  upon  the  upper  ten 

You  have  not  proved  yourself  contented, 
To  "Rob  Roy  House  "  and  "  Fairy  Glen" 

You '  ve  come  and  driven  them  demented  ! 

But  short,  if  sweet,  shall  be  your  day, 

Some  newer  game  will  be  your  ruin  ; 
Your  season  past,  the  world  will  play 

At  "  Plushteplank,"  or  "  Mutual  Bruin." 
And  I  shall  smile  to  watch  you,  while 

You  fall  from  Lady  CLAUDIA'S  graces, 
And  slither  down  to  lose  the  crown 

You  wore  in  less  exalted  places. 


ROUND  THE  BOOK  SHOPS. 
A  suggested  "Literary"  Column  fora 

Ladies'  Paper. 

["Lovers  and  buyers  of  books  will  be  glad  to 
know  that  at  least  one  London  publisher  is  ready 
and  willing  to  offer  facilities  to  the  public  for  the 
inspection  of  new  books.    On  receipt  of  a  postcard 
he  offers  to  furnish  the  address  of  any  local  bookseller 
il  where  the  books  detailed  in  his  catalogue  may  be 
|  inspected." — Daily  Paper. "\ 
I    AT  last  the  publishers  are  awake  to  the 
advisability  of  offering  every  facility  to 
the  public   for  a  personal  inspection  of 
I  their  new  books.    We  claim  a  small  share 
in  this  welcom^j  innovation,  for  our  readers 
llknow  how  vigorously  we  have  advocated 
I  lin  these  columns  a  careful  examination  of 
BJall  books  previous  to  purchase.    I  know  of 
inothing  more  distressing  to  one's  peace 
fi  of  mind  than,  after  ordering  a  novel  or  a 
volume  of    verses   from   a  catalogue,   to 
ireceive  a   clumsy  leatherette  affair  with 
I  km  atrocious  design  executed  in  the  most 
hideous   colour  imaginable.     But,  thanks 
k  KO  one   or  two   leading  publishers'  fore- 
sight, such  contingencies  can  be  guarded 
igainst. 

I  spent  yesterday  morning  in  turning 

pver  Messrs.   PRINT  AND   BIND'S  summer 

|stock.      A    little    booklet    of   Essays    (I 

forget  the  nature  exactly)  in  a  soft  shade 

pf   crimson  levant,   especially    too'k    my 

I'ancy.    The  paper,  of  a  delightful  Indian 

transparency,  yielded  deliciously  to  the 

ouch  and  made  it  quite   a   pleasure  to 

'Urn   over    the  leaves.      The  type    was 

singularly  clear  and  graceful,  and  that 

mown  to  printers  as  "  pica."     Altogether 

pleasing    little   book.      The  novels,  I 

•oticed,    still    cling    to    the    elaborate 

lesigns,   and  I    cannot    confidently    re- 

ommend  any  except  a  couple  in  a  light 


He.    "  I   CAN   ALMOST  FANCY   MFSELF   AMONGST  THE  AFRICAN   MOUNTAINS." 
She.    "AH!   AND  THERE   IS    THE    ENEMY    COM1NO    IN    THOSE    BOATS  J     WHATEVER    SHOPLD 
WE   DO   IF   IT  WEKE   60  ?  " 

He  (dyspeptically.)    "OH!   SEND  'EM  TO  OUR  HOTEL,  JHAT  WOULD  PUT  THEM    OUT  OF 

ACTION." 


terra-cotta  buckram,  which  had  a  cheer- 
ful and  generally  pleasing  get-up.  i 
forget  what  they  were  called  and  whom 
they  were  written  by.  The  Love-letters 
of  a  German  Gardener,  that  everyone  is 
raving  about,  is  bound  in  an  unfortunate 
shade  of  sage-green,  and  should  not  be 
read  by  anyone  with  a  pale  complexion 
— at  least,  not  in  public.  The  cover  is 
grotesquely  ornamented  with  Japanese 
cabbages,  which  adds  in  no  small  degree 
to  the  great  vogue  which  this  horto-senti- 
raertal  work  has  attained.  Although,  I 
must  say,  I  cannot  myself  see  how  a  great 
sale  can  be  looked  for  while  the  paper 
continues  to  be  of  so  inferior  a  quality. 
The  time  has  gone  by — and  the  astutest 
of  publishers  recognise  the  fact — when 
readers  are  satisfied  with  any  kind  of 
binding  and  get-up  so  long  as  the  contents 
are  genuinely  good.  But  in  these  en- 
lightened days  what  we  look  for  and 
justly  expect  is  as  high  a  finish  to  our 
literary  ornaments  as  to  our  tables  and 
chairs. 

Messrs.  PAPERMASHEY'S  stock  includes 
an  excellent  series  of  summer  novels, 
daintily  habited  in  a  thoughtful  blue. 
There  is  an  open-air  freshness  about  them 
that  cannot  but  make  them  exhilarating 


companions.  For  such  of  our  readers 
as  affect  a  taste  for  pale  pink,  we  can 
recommend  Queen  of  the  Quorn,  and 
Altruist  or  Idiot  ?  A  word  of  praise 
must  be  accorded  the  latest  novel  by  Mr. 
HUGO  HUGHES.  It  is  in  automobile  red 
and  is  printed  with  a  nice,  generous 
margin  in  a  distinctly  fetching  American 
type.  The  "honey-pale"  bookmarker 
inserted  in  The  Cabman  and  Corinna  is 
bound  to  secure  for  it  a  high  place  in 
the  summer  sales.  When  you  look  at  PUFF 
AND  BOOM'S  holiday  goods,  don't  fail  to 
notice  the  little  imitation  shagreen 
bibelot.  I  must  say  the  so-called  Poems 
which  these  little  masterpieces  in  the  art 
of  modern  book-binding  hold  together  are 
the  feeblest  nonsense  I  have  come  across 
for  many  a  long  day.  But  Avho  reads 
Poetry  nowadays  ?  Anyhow,  the  ornamen- 
tation on  the  cover  has  been  especially 
copied  from  a  design  of  one  of  Queen 
ANNE'S  pocket-handkerchiefs,  and  at  least 
five  duchesses  have  intimated  their  inten- 
tion of  having  a  copy  about  the  house. 
I  should  not  be  surprised  if  this  little 
sheaf  of  songs  (what  a  pity  they  're  so 
very  twaddly)  finds  a  prominent  place  in 
every  boudoir  in  Britain.  The  binding  is 
in  every  way  excellent. 


VOL.   CXXI. 


92 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[AUGUST  7,  1901. 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

Messrs.  HUTCHINSON  have  issued  the  second  volume  of  The 
Living  Races  of  Mankind,  edited  by  Mr.  H.  N.  HUTCHINSON,  Mr. 
GREGORY,  and  Mr.  LYDEKKBR.  It  presents  a  popular  account 
of  the  customs,  habits,  pursuits,  feasts  and  ceremonies  of  the 
races  of  mankind  throughout  the  world.  It  is  marked  by  all 
the  excellencies  noted  by  my  Baronite  in  review  of  the  first 
volume.  Whilst  the  letterpress  is  bright  and  informing,  the 
illustrations,  reproduced  from  photographs,  are  unique  in  range 
and  striking  in  individuality.  Sharper  than  a  library  of  books 
do  they  bring  home  to  us  insulars  the  personality  of  our  strange 
brothers  and  sisters  throughout  the  wide  world.  By  the  way, 
on  page  431  there  is  a  photograph  of  a  Tellemarken  (Sweden) 
peasant  for  which  Mr.  GLADSTONE  might  have  sat.  In  every 
detail  of  feature  and  contour  we  have  revealed  the  familiar 
face. 

Secret  Chambers  and  Hiding  Places,  by  ALLAN  FEA  (BOUSFIELD). 
This  is  a  most  interesting  book ;  one,  however,  rather  useful  to 
the  historian  or  historic  novelist  as  one  of  reference  than  for 
the  general  reader,  who,  if  on  tiptoe  of  expectation  for  strange, 
wild,  weird  and  exciting  stories,  would  be  proportionately  dis- 
appointed. The  author  rarely  goes  into  anything  like  details 
of  the  romantic  and  fearful  facts,  though  with  them  he  could 
have  filled  several  volumes.  The  illustrations,  too,  are  most 
interesting.  The  ingenuity  that  invented  these  hiding  places 
was  something  marvellous,  the  chief  inventor  dying  a  martyr; 
and  as  he  had  passed  his  life  in  carefully  secreting  those 
persecuted  for  conscience'  sake,  so,  during  the  supremacy  of 
the  unprincipled  CECIL,  he,  true  to  his  latest  breath,  died 
under  barbarous  torture,  a  "  blessed  martyr  " — whether  canon- 
ised or  not  this  deponent  cannot  say — never  breathing  one 
syllable  of  all  he  knew.  By  "holes"  of  his  devising  a  con- 
siderable number  escaped,  and,  though  not  actual  martyrs,  they 
were  henceforth  reckoned  as  "  hole-y  men."  Also,  the  author 
gives  all  too  brief  accounts  of  smugglers'  caves  and  hiding 
places.  There  is  a  delightful  chapter  about  Boscobel  and 
CHARLES  ;  and  there  is  just  such  a  taste  given  of  the  mystery 
of  Glamis  Castle  as  will  make  the  least  curious  in  such  matters 
eager  for  more. 

John  Topp,  Pirate  (METHUEN),  is  a  right  down  good  story  of 
the  old-fashioned  tuppenny-coloured  type.  That  Mr.  WEATHERBY 
CHESNEY  has  studied  CHARLES  KINGSLEY,  and  is  familiar  with 
the  works  of  R.  L.  STEVENSON,  is  evident.  But  his  work  is 
none  the  worse,  rather  the  better,  for  that.  The  scene  is  laid 
in  the  time  and  in  the  country  of  Westivard  Ho !  The  story  is 
full  of  blood,  thunder,  fighting  on  deck  and  shore,  with  inter- 
stices filled  in  by  graphic  descriptions  of  the  work  of  the 
Spanish  Inquisition.  It  will  prove  a  delight  to  boys  big  and 
little,  and  my  Baronite,  no  longer  in  his  teens,  has  read  it  with 
breathless  interest. 

"Biographies — No.  VII." — His  Most  Gracious  Majesty  King 
Edward  VII.,  by  H.  WHATES,  author  of  The  Third  Salisbury 
Administration  (H.  J.  DEANE,  Salisbury  House,  Publishers). 
Ahem  !  Everything  comes  to  him  who  Whates,  and  the  chance 
has  arrived  of  which  Mr.  WHATES  has  availed  himself,  and,  on 
the  whole,  well  and  wisely.  But — there  are  lots  of  "  buts  "  in 
it — might  it  not  have  been  done  better  and  with  more  wisdom  ? 
The  Baron  is  unaware  what  six  biographies  have  preceded  this  ol 
the  Seventh  EDWARD,  His  Most  Gracious  Majesty,  nor  within 
the  range  of  his  extensive  knowledge  does  he  remember  having 
previously  met  with  any  specimens  of  these  "Bijou  Biogra- 
phies." Reading  the  preface,  after  having  perused  the  little 
volume,  the  Baron  is  informed  thereby  that  "this  little  sketch 
will  excite  the  disdain  of  the  courtier  and  the  surprise  of  the 
sycophant";  so  leaving  the  courtier  and  the  sycophant  to 
discuss  the  matter  between  them,  the  Baron,  with  his  hand 
upon  his  heart,  is  able  to  say  that,  having  read  the  "Bijou 
Biography,"  he  feels  neither  surprise  nor  disdain,  and  is,  on 
the  whole,  about  as  well  as  could  be  expected.  It  is  a  handy 


book  of  reference,  and,  of  course,  very  interesting  in  the 
details  of  our  King's  early  educational  career,  especially  as 
Mr.  Punch,  ever  thoughtful,  ever  kindly,  and  truly  loyal, 
actually  interfered  for  the  young  Prince's  benefit,  being 
fearful  lest  all  work  and  very  little  play  should  have  a  bad 

ffect  on  our  future  King.  It  is  pleasant  to  think  that  Mr. 
Punch's  well-timed  advice  was  acted  upon.  Altogether,  it  is 

10  interesting  a  little  work  that  the  author  of  it  will  not 
be  remembered  as  "Heavy  Whates,"  nor  is  any  portion  of  it 
so  frivolous  as  to  suggest  the  idea  of  "Light  Whates."  No, 
the  Baron  fancies  the  well-balanced  writing  suggests  "  Exact 
Whates,"  while  its  occasional  genial  and  harmonious  tone  sug- 
gests "Christmas  Whates."  THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


THE    LOVESICK    LOCOMOTIVE. 

'TWAS  a  dashing  locomotive,  and  it  thundered  down  the  line 
Ev'ry  morning  with  a  corridor  express, — 

Round  a  curve  or  through  a  tunnel, 

Puffing  smoke  from  out  the  funnel, 
On  and  on, — a  mile  a  minute  more  or  less. 
If  the  signals  didn't  stop  it,  it  would  cut  the  records  fine, 
And  one  day  the  pace  was  wonderful  to  see, 

When  another  engine  passed  it, 

And  it  realised  at  last  it 
Was  in  love, — about  as  badly  as  could  be. 

You  would  think  a.  locomotive  big  and  bluff,  puff  1  puff ! 
Would  be  proof  against  all  sentimental  stuff,  puff  1  puff  ! 

I  've  a  theory — though  slender — 

That,  as  part  of  it  was  "  tender," 
It  explains  the  funny  conduct  of  the  puff,  puff,  puff ! 

Now  the  other  engine  drew  a  humble  goods  train  to  and  fro, 
While  the  big  express  went  past  her  ev'ry  day, 

With  its  driving  wheels  a-humming 

When  it  saw  that  she  was  coming — 
But  between  them  was  the  horrid  six-foot  way. 
Ev'ry  now  and  then  its  whistle  very  loudly  it  would  blow, 
But  the  other  took  no  notice, — not  a  bit ; 

So  the  poor  express  was  troubled, 

And  it  snorted  and  it  bubbled, 
For,  as  I  remai'ked,  it  was  so  hardly  hit.     9 

And  at  last  it  really  got  into  a  huff,  puff !  puff  ! 

For  the  treatment  it  received  was  rather  rough,  puff !  puff ! 

And  it  thought,  "  I  '11  have  revenge  in 

Some  way  suited  to  an  engine, 
I  will  not  be  made  the  plaything  of  a  puff,  puff,  puff ! 

"  I  will  get  on  closer  terms  with  her  !  "  that  locomotive  cried, 
But  it  found  that  ev'ry  effort  seemed  to  fail ; 

So  one  day  as  it  went  gliding 

Past  the  goods  train  in  a  siding, 
It  arranged  affairs  by  running  off  the  rail. 
When  two  very  heavy  bodies  rather  suddenly  collide, 
Something  happens,  as  you  're  probably  aware  ; 

And  a  locomotive  suffers 

From  a  bang  upon  the  buffers, 
And  a  subsequent  explosion  in  the  air. 

Now  to  ev'ry  man  the  moral 's  plain  enough,  puff  !  puff ! 
Keep  your  distance,  or  you  '11  meet  with  a  rebuff,  puff  !  puff! 

And,  of  course,  you  never  know,  Sir, 

When  you  get  a  little  closer, 

Why,  you  maytbe  disillusioned  like  that  puff,  puff,  puff ! 

P.  G. 


CIVIL  SERVICE.—"  G.  P.  O.  Examination  for  M  ale  Sorters.' 
Tht  Exam,  to  consist  of  questions  of  "all  sorts."  The  result 
will  show  what  sorter  person  the  candidate  is. 


AUGUST  7,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI 


93 


DOUBLE  ENTENTE  CORDIALE. 

French  Mathurin.   "  TIENS,  MON  AMI  !     So  YOU  HAVE  NOW  A  NAVAL  WAR  Also  ?" 

British,  Tar.  "On,  BUT  THAT'S  ONLY  AGAINST  OURSELVES! 

F.  M.  (politely).  "  AH  !    How  FORTUNATE  !  " 

£.  T.  (aside).  "  'ULLO  !    'As  'E  BEEN  RKADIN'  ABOUT  THK  BOILERS  ?  " 


AUGUST  7,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


95 


PALMISTRY  TRIUMPHANT. 

(Fragment  from  a  Town  Romance.) 

THE  enquirer  was  a  little  anxious  as  he 
)lacetl  his  open  hand  before  the  earnest 
jaze  of  the  soothsayer. 

"  You  are  a  man  of  the  utmost  ability." 

The  enquirer  seemed  satisfied. 

"  You  have  the  organising  power  of  a 
KITCHENER  and  the  dash  of  a  BADEN- 
POWELL." 

Again  the  enquirer  smiled. 

«'  You  have  the  tact  of  a  TALLEYRAND, 
the  courage  of  a  BUONAPARTE,  the  poetry 
of  a  SHAKSPEARE,  and  the  sense  of  colour 
bf  a  RUBENS,  a  VANDYKE  and  a  GAINS- 
BOROUGH." 

"  Quite  true,"  murmured  the  enquirer. 

"  You  could,  had  you  wished  it,  have 
taken  a  Double  First  at  Oxford  or  become 
,  Senior  Wrangler  at  Cambridge." 

The  enquirer  bowed  acquiescence. 

"  I  can  see  from  your  garb  you  are  not 
the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  from 
my  knowledge  of  the  lineaments  of  the 
listinguished  personages  I  am  about  to 
mention  I  am  sure  you  are  neither  the 
Vernier,  the  Lord  Chancellor,  nor  the 
Commander-in-Chief . " 

"You  are  right,"  replied  the  enquirer. 

"  You  occupy  a  position  of  greater 
importance,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  than 
sither  of  the  situations  I  have  specified." 

"Again  you  are  correct,"  returned  the 
inquirer,  "  I  have  the  honour  to  fill  the 
aost  of  Senior  Superintendent  of  the 
mperial  Universal  General  Dry  Goods 
md  Provision  Stores,  Limited." 

And  with  mutual  expressions  of  respect 
md  admiration,  the  soothsayer  and  en- 
juirer  separated. 

AS  OTHERS  SEE  US. 

fin  the  opinion  of  a  Frenchman  who  has  spent 
i  year  at  Oxford,  the  undergraduate  i8  rude  and 
(gnorant,  and  the  professors  hardly  to  be  regarded 
is  distinguished  men.] 

Chorus  of  Professors  and  Students. 
'Tis  beneficial,  say  the  wise, 

"When,  by  a  neighbour's  charity, 
We  see  through  other  people's  eyes 

Our  own  peculiarity. 
But  though  a  tonic,  you  '11  agree 

The  shock  is  an  unpleasant  one, 
Should  these  same  people's  verdict  be 
So  nasty  as  the  present  one. 

Strophe  of  Professors. 
Of  course,  the  Frenchman's  right  enough 

About  the  undergrads., 
Their  manners  often  are  the  rough, 

Uncultured  ways  of  cads  ; 
They  racket  round  about  the  quad., 

They  whistle,  shout  and  sing, 
They  even  have  been  seen  to  nod 

When  we  are  lecturing. 
Their  ignorance  is  dark  as  night, 

Their  prose  is  barbarous  ; 
So  far,  indeed,  the  Frenchman's  right — 

It 's  when  he  speaks  of  us  / 


Lady  (solemnly).  "WHEN  YOU  SEE  A  BOY  ALWAYS  LOAFING  ROTTND  STREET  CORNERS, 

WHAT  PLACE   IN   LIFE   DO  YOU   SUPPOSE   HE   18   FITTING   HIMSELF   FOR?" 
Boy.    "TO   BE   A   POLICEMAN,    MlJM  !" 


Aosurd  !    As  if  the  fellow  knew — 

He  writes  himself  a  sham 
When  criticising  us — ne  su- 

tor  supra  crepidam  ! 

Antistrophe  of  Students. 
What!     Not  distinguished,  Froggy? 
Those 

Whose  everlasting  doom 
Is  hearing  one  another  prose 

Each  night  in  Common  Room  ? 
Distinguished  !    Not  these  dull  old  dons 

Who  give  us  lectures  dry 
On  Euclid,  Asinorum  pons, 

And  functions  .T  and  y  f 
Who  drone  by  morning,  noon,  and  night 

Of  HOMER,  ^SCHYLUS  ?— 


By  Jove  !  old  Froggy,  you  are  right — 

It 's  when  you  talk  of  us  .' 
Why,  then  you  show  us  how  a  brain 

Not  altogether  bad 
May  be  on  some  points  fairly  sane, 

On  others,  raving  mad. 

Chorus  of  Professors  and  Students. 
But,  after  all,  what  matter  how 

A  Frenchman,  cross  and  moody,  sees? 
Another  question  rises  now, 

Quis  judicabit  jndices  ? 
The  Frenchman  's   clearly  blind,  and 
more — 

We  will  not  care  a  bit  for  him  ; 
His  vulgar  lies  we  will  ignore — 

The  only  treatment  fit  for  him. 


96 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[AUGUST  7,  1901. 


P.  P.  S. 

["You  have  permitted  Cape  Colony  to  be  ravage* 
and  my  property  destroyed  by  a  set  of  murderers 
thieves  and  incendiaries,  when  you  might  easily 
have  prevented  it  by  hanging  a  few  of  these 
criminal  lunatics  who  rebelled  when  all  chance  o: 
success  was  hopeless."  —  Extract  from  the  last 
letter  signed  "  P.  £."  in  the  Morning  Post.] 

SOME  weeks  ago  I  gave  nay  mind 

(In  Punch)  to  trying  hard  to  guess 
Who  writes  the  letters  that  are  signed 
"P.  S." 

I  searched  directories  day  and  night, 

And  every  Blue-book  I  possess, 
For  men  whom  these  initials  might 
Express. 

But  though  I  followed  every  trail, 

I  had  to  own  that  no  success 
Had  crowned  my  efforts  to  unveil 
"P.  S." 

So  when  the  other  day  I  hit 
Upon  a  letter  to  the  Press 
Full  of  the  old  familiar  bit- 
terness, 
And  recognised  the  trenchant  style, 

The  fierce  invective,  I  confess 
I  murmured,  with  a  happy  smile, 

"P.  S.!" 
""Will  this,"  I  cried,  "  reveal  to  me 

The  secret  of  our  friend's  address?  " 
I  read  it  through,  and  joyfully 

Said,  "Yes!" 
The  Cape  invaders  have  destroyed 

His  house,  and  made  a  beastly  mess, 
And  this  has  very  much  annoyed 
"P.  S." 
In  this  a  shadowy  hint  he  gives 

Of  where  to  find  him,  more  or  less, 
The  colony  where  lived  (or  lives  ?) 
,  "P.  S." 

But  hints  like  this  don't  take  one  far, 

And  so  I  cry  in  my  distress, 
"  Do  tell  me  who  you  really  are, 

'  P.  S.  ! '  " 


GLADSHAW'S  HOLIDAY. 

(A  Suggestion  to  Husbands.) 

"I've  made  all  arrangements  for  you 
and  the  children  to  start  to-morrow," 
said  GLADSHAW.  "The  'bus  will  be  here, 
early  ;  and  you  will  reach  Blowgate-on- 
Sea  in  time  for  a  good  midday  meal." 

"  How  thoughtful  of  you,  dear. — TOMMY, 

f  you  do  that  again  you  shall  go  to  bed. 

.  .  I  don't  care  whether  it 's  your  fault  or 

ADA'S.  .  .  .  You  shall   both  go  to  bed.— 

And,  GEOFFREY,  you  '11  come  down  at  the 

week  end ?  " 

'  No,  dear,  certainly  not,  quite  impos- 
sible," said  GLADSHAW,  firmly.  "  This 

holiday  is  for  you  and  the  children " 

"  But  what  of  you ?  ' ' 

GLADSHAW  rose  quietly  and  put  a  bun- 
dle of  journals    into    his    wife's  hands. 
'These  are  comic   papers,   JANE.    Look 
;hrough    them    carefully,    and  then  ask 


yourself  whether  you  wish  to  see  your 
husband  filling  the  part  of  one  of  these 
wretched  idiots.  Ah. !  I  see  you  smiling. 
"Well,  so  far  I  have  your  respect.  But  if 
I  come  down  to  Blowgate  with  you  and 
the  children,  then  you  will  turn  from  me 
as  the  imbecile  seaside-lodging  beach- 
crazed  husband  of  the  confounded  comic 
cut.  No,  I '11  stay  at  home." 

*  *  *  * 
GLADSHAW  kept  his  word,  and  stayed  in 

London  all  through  August.  He  might 
have  gone  out  on  his  own  account  with  a 
bachelor  friend  to  Ostend  or  Boulogne, 
or  even  Paris,  for  a  day  or  so.  Indeed, 
more  than  once  he  was  on  the  point  of 
doing  so,  and  then  remembered  in  time 
that  this  would  only  pander  to  the  comic 
paper.  He  recollected  with  disgust 
various  ' '  cuts ' '  rejoicing  in  some  such 
title  as  "Hubby  enjoys  himself."  And 
so  GLADSHAW  remained  at  home. 

But  there  was  one  thing  which  he 
dreaded.  He  did  not  care  to  be  out  of  it 
when  "  holiday  experiences  "  cropped  up 
at  the  club.  And  so  every  evening  for  a 
week  he  locked  himself  in  his  study  and 
worried  Baedeker. 

*  *  *  * 

"What  sort  of  holiday?  "  asked  BROWN. 

I  suppose  you  were  with  the  wife  and 
kids,  eh?" 

"  Oh,    no  !  "    said    GLADSHAW,    airily. 

Fact  is,  I  had  a  fancy  for  the  Norwegian 
fjords.  There  's  scenery  for  you,  BROWN. 
"Why,  from,"  etc.,  etc. 

"  What  a  memory  for  places  you  have," 
interjected  BROWN,  admiringly.  "Gad! 
wish  I  'd  had  such  a  holiday  !  "  A.  R. 


POLITICIANS     AT     PLAY. 

By  an  Enlightened  Member. 

["  Gentlemen  in  the  House  of  Commons  seem  to 
fancy  that  the  public  take  them  seriously.  It  is 
more  true  than  they  think  that  the  House  of 
'omrnons  is  losing  the  respect  of  the  country." — 
The  Times,  July  23.] 
THERE  's  nothing  so  nice  that  I  know  of 

Asa  day  in  the  House  free  from  worrying, 
Amid  a  perpetual  flow  of 

Grave  gentlemen  in  and  out  hurrying 
Where  pale  politicians  are  prattling, 

'Tis  very  amusing  to  hear  'em, 
[n  voluble  verbiage  battling, 

And  don't  they  flush  up  when  you  jeer  'em. 

(Chorus — briskly  after  the  first  word.) 

But what  does  it  matter — 

The  chatting  and  chatter — 
So  long  as  the  thing  doesn't  weary  us  ? 
It  adds  to  our  pleasure 
To  throw  out  a  measure 
For  no  one  imagines  we  're  serious. 

'Tis  mildly  amusing,  I  will  say — 
Though  carried  too  far  it  is  irksome — 

To  toy  with  a  Factory  Bill,  say, 
Though  many  a  gentleman  shirks  'em  ; 

To  languidly  listen  to  speeches, 
And  vent  an  occasional  "  hear !  hear !  " 


When  somebody  calmly  beseeches 
Support  on  a  motion  for  Pure  Beer. 

(Chorus.) 
But rwhat  does  it  matter  ? 

We  chaff  and  we  chatter 
On  Factory  Bills  and  the  Beer-y  fuss ; 

We  cut  'em  all  short 

By  a  clever  retort, 
For  no  one  imagines  we  're  serious. 

We  juggle  with  figures  statistic, 

But  always  with  good-humoured  jollity ; 
It  makes  life  far  less  realistic 

Does  an  innocent  touch  of  frivolity, 
While  it  adds  to  the  charm  of  debating ; 

And  we  deluge  with  questionings 

numerous 
The  Member  who  starts  legislating, 

For  this  in  itself  is  so  humorous. 


And- 


(Chorus.) 

-what  does  it  matter  ? 
'Tis  innocent  chatter 
And,  taken  all  round,  doesn't  weary  us. 
For  life  in  the  lobby 
Is  merely  a  hobby, 
And  no  one  imagines  it 's  serious. 
W.  H.  M. 


TO  MEMORY  DEAR. 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCH, — Now  that  people  are 
thinking  of  leaving  London  for  the  Coast, 
it  may  be  as  well  to  get  out  a  hotel  tariff 
not  to  be  exceeded  by  any  manager  en- 
trusted with  the  care  of  a  cara.vanserai 
in  any  district,  however  fashionable  it 
may  be.  If  the  following  items  are  made 
maximum  charges  everywhere,  a  great 
deal  of  unnecessary  and  unpleasant  cor- 
respondence to  the  papers  concerning  ex- 
tortion will  be  avoided.  £  ».  d. 
Bedroom  overlooking  a  dead  wall  0  15  0 
Attendance  per  person  -  -050 
Electric  lights  and  candles  per 

day    -        -        -        -        -        -040 

Cup  of  tea 016 

Cup  of  tea  with  three  slices  of 

bread  and  butter  -  -  -  0  2  6 
Use  of  the  reading  arid  smoking 

rooms  -  -  -  -  -026 
Table  d'hote  breakfast  (tea  and 

eggs)-        -        -        -        -        -050 

Table  d'hote  lunch  (sardines,  soup 

and  chop)  -  -  -  -  -076 
Table  d'hote  dinner  (soup  and 

three  courses)  -        -        -        -    0  15    0 
Soda  and  brandy  -        -        -        -    0    ! 
Speaking  to  the  hall  porter-        -    0    5    0 
Other  tips     -     (not  less  than)  -    1    0    0 

There,  nothing  could  be  fairer.  I  have  | 
left  any  calculation  concerning  laundry 
prices  out  of  my  estimate,  because  such 
charges  vary  with  the  locality.  Still,  I 
think  it  safe  to  say  that  except  in  ultra 
expensive  hotels  you  will  never  be  asked 
to  pay  more  than  half-a-crown  for  the 
washing  of  a  pair  of  socks. 

Yours  faithfully, 

A  CONTENTED  TOURIST. 


AUGUST  7,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


97 


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j_    w 


98 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[AUGUST  7,  1901. 


THE   BOOK   OF   BEAUTY. 
A  GREAT  THOUGHT  FOR  EVERY  DAY  IN  THE  YEAR. 

SECOND  SERIES. 
VII.— THE  HOLIDAY  PROGRAMME  SECTION. 

(Continued  from  July.) 

(With  the  Author's  compliments  to  Mr.  Henry  Harland,  begging 
him,  as  soon  as  may  be,  to  publish  another  novel  as  charm- 
ing as  "  The  Cardinal's  Snuff-box.") 

JULY  18TH  TO  21ST. — For  the  garden  of  a  chalet,  picked  up  on 
the  \vord  of  a  bailiff's  advertisement,  with  never  an  asterisk  in 
BAEDEKER  to  guarantee  the  Aussicht,  it  was  not  so  bad  a  spot  to 
drink  beer  in  under  a  July  sun,  very  aperitive  to  the  pores. 

At  PETER'S  feet  swept  the  Rhine  in  a  swirling  rush  of  molten 
lead,  gathering  speed,  compressing  its  flanks,  for  the  rapids 
below  Lauffenburg.  Across  the  river,  beyond  the  feathery 
slopes  of  the  castle-grounds,  the  forest  uplands  of  Baden 
stretched,  ridge  above  ridge  of  pine,  oak,  larch,  northwards  to 
the  bastioned  heights  of  Menzenschwand,  vague,  symbolic, 
impalpable  on  the  horizon's  verge. 

A  schoolboy  memory  of  the  Muse  beat  importunate  on  his 
brain.  "Positively,"  he  thought,  "what  with  the  river,  the 
lawns,  the  pines,  and  a  fair  substitute  for  topmost  Gargarus, 
the  scene  might  be  sitting  for  a  photogravure  illustration  of 
(Enone.  Not,  of  course,  a  perfect  analogy.  Thus,  the  Rhine  at 
this  stage  is  somewhat  bulky  for  the  exercise  of  '  falling 
through  the  clov'n  ravine  in  cataract  after  cataract '  " 

But  he  had  only  got  as  far  as  the  second  cataract,  when — 
"You  find  the  view  a  touch  too  chromographic  ?  "  The  voice 
was  female,  but  of  a  fine  distinction,  but  of  a  full,  rich,  con- 
tralto resonance,  to  rival  the  roar  of  the  intervening  flood. 

Involuntarily  PETER  rose  and  bowed  to  the  opposite  bank. 
A  lovely  phantom  met  his  glance,  clear-cut,  crisp-edged, 
dazzling  white  against  the  peacock-green  of  her  environment. 
For  a  brief  minute,  crowded  with  dim  recognition,  incredulity, 
triumphant  assurance,  PETER  was  beside  himself,  and  neither 
of  him  could  find  an  answer  to  the  lady's  preamble.  Oh,  but 
with  good  excuse,  for  was  not  this  her  first  word  with  PETER? 
Thus  far,  he  had  only  seen  her  in  public  at  varying  distances, 
had  had  no  speech  of  her,  had  just  surmised  her  enough  to 
make  her  the  heroine  of  his  novel. 

"You  find  it  somewhat  arranged,  crude,  obvious?"  she 
asked  in  English;  oh,  yes,  in  quite  good  English. 

"On  the  contrary,  I  had  pronounced  it  a  Tennysonian  har- 
mony." PETER  spoke  with  an  outward  aplomb;  but  his  heart 
was  beating  just  anywhere  between  his  boots  and  his  Homburg 
hat. 

"  Ah,  yes,"  she  said,  "  you  allude  to  (Enone.  An  admirable 
classic."  Her  manner,  as  if  inured  to  dialectic,  might  have 
confessed  her  a  Girtonian,  but  for  a  something,  an  I-know- 
not-what  of  banter  in  her  left  eyelid,  scarce  perceptible  across 
the  estranging  river. 

"  I  admit  the  analogy  to  be  imperfect,"  replied  PETER. 

"By  the  way,"  she  said,  "I  hope  that  the  chalet  answers 
fairly  to  the  terms  of  my  advertisement ;  that  you  don't  think 
the  photographs  were  cooked."  Again,  the  slight  depression 
of  the  azure-veined  left  lid.  Then,  with  a  valedictory  bow  and 
in  the  easiest  possible  manner — "  Please  let  me  know  if  the 
drains  go  wrong.  Good  evening." 

"An  adorable  creature,"  he  reflected,  as  the  crisp-edged 
vision  of  whiteness  vanished  up  the  lawns.  "  What  a  nerve, 
what  intuition,  what  femininity!  " 

****** 

22ND,  23RD. — "  Will  the  High-born  Have  yet  another  beer  ?  " 
It  was  the  Swiss  maid,  waisted  like  a  young  cedar,  stolidly 
flamboyant  in  her  local  finery. 

"GRETCHEN,"  answered  PETER,  abstractedly  in  English, 
"  to  cite  the  Voids  of  our  late  immortal  laureate,  on  whom  we 


have  already  touched  allusively,  'the  truth,  that  flies  the 
flowing  can,  will  haunt  the  vacant  cup.'  At  present  I  shrink 
from  truth  ;  I  would  soar  on  the  pinions  of  Phaethonian  pre- 
sumption. You  do  not  chance  to  keep  any  hashish  on  the 
premises?  " 

"Bitte,  mein  Herr?  " 

"Ja  wohl,  noch  ein  Qlas  Bier.  And,  GRETCHEN,"  he  con- 
tinued in  the  vernacular,  "  tell  me  who  lives  opposite." 

"  The  noblest  Sir  does  not  know  ?  It  is  Her  Serene  Widow- 
hood, the  HERZOQIN  VON  BASEL-BASEL." 

"  Her  Widowhood  !  "  murmured  PETER,  greatly  relieved. 

"  Her  Serene  Widowhood,"  GRETCHEN  corrected. 

"Implying  a  superiority  to  the  need  of  consolation?  "  asked 
PETER. 

"Bitte?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  more  beer,  GRETCHEN  ;  do  not  hesitate  to  bring  me 
more  beer." 

****** 

24TH,  25TH. — Ten  days  later  PETER  sat  in  the  garden  trying 
vainly  to  make  copy  out  of  his  despair.  Bekind  him  swept  the 
Rhine  in  a  swirling  rush  of  molten  lead,  gathering  speed, 
compressing  its  flanks,  for  the  narrows  below  the  village.  An 
agitated  dachshund  was  tracking  water-vermin  with  plaintive 
whines. 

"  Is  the  dog  attached  to  you  ?  "  The  voice  was  female,  but  of 
a  fine  distinction,  of  a  rich,  ripe,  contralto  resonance,  transilient 
across  the  roar  of  the  river. 

PETER  started  to  his  feet.  His  heart  was  still  volatile  ;  but 
this  time  he  was  more  prepared,  composed,  alert.  "In  the 
absence  of  other  diversions,  he  consents  to  be  aware  of  my 
propinquity,"  he  replied.  "  But  for  the  moment  he  is  preying 
upon  his  fellow-brute." 

"An  illustration  of  the  universal  law  of  Nature?  "  she  asked, 
with  an  air  of  serious  detachment.  But  there  was  a  something, 
an  I-really-hardly-kuow-what  of  badinage  in  her  smile. 

"  So  careful  of  the  type,  so  careless  of  the  single  life,"  replied 
PETER.  Loverlike,  he  was  eager  to  improve  the  occasion,  to 
expand  himself  in  the  profundities  of  dogma. 

"  Have  you  observed,"  he  continued,  "  that  in  this  incessant 
war  of  pursuer  and  pursued,  the  nobler  the  nature  of  the 
animal  the  greater  the  modification  he  undergoes  by  his 
ignoble  employ.  The  rat  himself  pursues  a  yet  inferior  class  of 
vermin,  and  in  the  process  becomes  but  negligibly  deformed. 
The  dachshund,  on  the  other  hand,  degenerates  into  a  mere 
abortion,  a  caricature  of  a  dog.  Is  not  here  a  premonitory 
warning  for  the  highest  form  of  Nature — I  refer  to  Humanity?" 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  you  are  much,  much  too  clever  for  me. 
But  I  am  nothing  if  not  a  child  of  Nature  ;  so  I  shall  harden  my 
heart  and  go  on  '  still  achieving,  still  pursuing.'  Some  people 
like  being  pursued,  is  it  not  so?  "  And  on  the  word  she  had 
withdrawn  before  PETER'S  density  could  compose  a  pertinent 
retort. 

"What     a     nerve,"     he    mused,     "what    intuition,     what 

Weiblichkeit  I  " 

****** 

28TH  TO  31ST.— The  first  touch  of  autumn  was  on  the  valley, 
as  PETER  crossed  the  castle-lawns  to  take  his  last  leave  of  the 
Herzogin.  Her  creed  he  might  have  contrived  to  adopt,  but 
there  was  no  getting  over  this  eternal  offence  of  her  title  and 
her  wealth.  The  lady  was  above  him  and  away.  It  was  the 
old  tale  of  Queen  KATE  of  Cornaro  and  the  page-boy,  that 
"  pined  for  the  grace  of  her  so  far  above  his  power  of  doing 
good  to." 

As  for  the  view,  its  general  features  were  practically 
unchanged.  Beyond  the  feathery  slopes  of  the  castle-grounds 
the  great  forest  uplands  of  Baden  stretched,  ridge  above  ridge 
of  pine,  larch,  oak,  northwards  to  the  bastioned  heights,  &c.  A 
schoolboy  memory  of  the  Muse  beat  importunate  upon  his 
brain.  "Positively,"  he  thought,  "what  with  the  river,  the 


AUGUST  7,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


99 


lawns,  the  pines,  and  the  best  of  substi- 
tutes for  topmost  Gargarus "  (repeat,  as 
above,  down  to  the  words,  "  cataract  after 
cut  (tract  ") 

But  he  had  only  got  as  far  as  the  second 
"cataract,"  when 

"  You  find  the  view  a  touch  too  chromo- 
graphic?  " 

PETER  started  and  bowed  to  a  gracious 
phantom  of  whiteness,  crisp-cut,  clean- 
edged,  on  a  rustic  seat.  His  heart  was 
beating  just  anywhere  between  his  boots 
and  his  Homburg  hat.  Oh,  but  with  good 
excuse,  for  PETER  was  in  love,  but  very 
very  much  in  love. 

"You  find  it  somewhat  arranged,  crude, 
obvious?  "  she  asked. 

"  On  the  contrary  I  had  pronounced  it 
a  Tennysonian  harmony." 

"Ah,  yes,"  she  said,  "you  allude  to 
(Enone.  An  admirable  classic."  Her 
manner,  as  if  inured  to  dialectic,  might 
have  confessed  her  a  Girtonian.  But 
there  was  a  something,  &c. 

"  I  admit  the  analogy  to  be  imperfect," 
replied  PETER. 

"Your  dog  is  still  attached  to  you?  " 
She  pointed  with  quick  spontaneity  to  the 
agitated  dachshund  pursuing  imaginary 
game  in  the  shrubbery. 

"  In  the  absence  of  other  diversions, 
yes.  But  for  the  moment  he  preys  upon 
his  fellow-brute." 

"  An  illustration  of  the  universal  law 
of  Nature?  No,  please,"  she  added,  as 
PETER  was  in  act  to  take  up  his  cue  ;  "  I 
cannot  bear  any  more  of  it.  Let  us  try  a 
new  conversation.  "What  are  you  carrying 
there?" 

"  I  am  restoring  to  the  Bishop  his  latch- 
key. He  dropped,  it,"  said  PETER,  sheep- 
ishly. 

"Not  again.'"  she  said;  "how  un- 
original of  him  !  By-the-by,  is  your  new 
novel  finished  ?  ' ' 

"  My  new  novel !  "  he  cried,  aghast. 
"  Who  told  you  that  I  write  novels  ?  " 

"  But  you  must  have  known  that  I 
knew.  No  author  ever  hid  his  profession 
under  a  bushel  for  a  week  together.  And, 
being  an  author  on  a  holiday,  you  would 
never  think  of  missing  such  a  chance  of 
copy.  What  are  you  going  to  call  this 
account  of  your  latest  experiences?  " 

"  1  am  calling  it  The  Bishop's  Latch- 
key," said  PETER,  sheepishly.  "  It  sounds 
so  alluring.  That 's  why  1  keep  carrying 
the  thing  about.  1  have  to  drag  it  into  the 
picture  somehow." 

"1  think,  out  of  courtesy,  you  might 
give  up  that  title,  and  call  the  book  after 
jme.  I  must  be  more  important  than  the 
latch-key.  But  I  'm  afraid  the  Indiscre- 
vtion  of  the  Duchess  has  been  used  al- 
ready." There  was  a  something  in  her 
.manner — could  it  have  been  the  very  least 
little  depression  of  the  azure-veined  left 
iid?— that  suddenly  emboldened  PETER. 
For  the  time  being  she  lent  him  her  eyes, 
to  see  things  by  as  she  saw  them. 


Lady  (who  has  just  collided  with  cyclist),   "  GET  DOWN,  JOHN,  QUICKLY,  AND  TAKE  HIS 

NAME  AND  ADDRESS.      I  'M  SURE   HE  HAS  KNOCKED  SOME  PAINT  OFF  MY  NB.W  CART  !  " 


"  Certainly,"  he  replied  ;  "  I  will  drop 
my  title  and  take  your  name  instead, 
on  the  understanding  that  you,  for  your 
part ' ' 

"  That  I,  for  my  part,  drop  my  title 
and  take  your  name  instead?  "  she  asked, 
with  a  very  pleasant  frankness. 

"  Precisely,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  very  well,"  said  she.  O.  S. 


THEN    AND    NOW. 
TIME  was  to  Scotland  I  would  go, 
When  hot  July  to  August  drew ; 
I  loved  to  stalk  the  timid  roe 

Upon  the  heights  of  Ben  Venue. 
To  crawl  from  rock  to  rock,  to  plough 
Through  bog  and  swamp  was  once  my 

wont, 

I  loved  it  then  intensely.    Now 
I  don't. 

Time  was  I  loved  my  fly  to  cast 
Upon  the  waters  of  the  Tay, 


And,  heedless  of  the  rainy  blast, 
To  wade  waist  deep  the  livelong  day. 

That  now  would  make  me  chill  and  numb — 
'Tis  not  that  I  am  growing  old, 

'Tis  that  the  water  has  become 
So  cold. 

When  o'er  the  land  the  breeze  blew  hot, 
I  loved  to  skim  the  dancing  seas, 

And  in  my  little  white-winged  yacht 
To  coast  the  stormy  Hebrides. 

To  watch  the  penny  steamboats  now 
Upon  the  Thames  is  quite  enough ; 

The  sea  has  lately  grown,  somehow, 
So  rough. 

Time  was  I  tramped,  with  rod  and  gun, 
Mile  after  mile  for  fish  and  fowl, 

Rising  before  the  sluggard  sun, 
And  bedding  with  the  midnight  owl. 

This  year,  methinks,  another  way 
Of  change  and  rest  I  '11  try  instead  ; 

I  '11  take  a  holiday  and  stay 

In  bed. 


100 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[AUGUST  7,  1901. 


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slffi'-, 
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<& 


VOLUNTEER    MANOEUVRES. 

Subaltern.   "RE-TIRE!    RE-TIRE!     CONFOUND  THOSE  FELLOWS  !" 

Corporal.  " 'TAIN'T  ANY  USE  SIGNALLING  TO  THEM,  SIR.     THEY'RE  COIN'  TO  STAY  WHERE  THEY  ARE,  AN'  GET  TOOK  PRISONERS 

COMFORTABLE.       AN*   THEY    HAIN'T    NO    BAD   JUDGE   NEITHER!" 


THE   COMPLETE  AUTHOR. 

IF  you  want  to  be  an  author  and  to  take  the  world  by  storm, 
Pay  attention  whilst  I  mention  rules  to  which  you  must  conform  ; 
First,  of  course,  you  want  a  heroine — it  doesn't  matter  who — 
Plain  or  pretty,  dull  or  witty,  ignoramus  or  a  blue, 
Young  or  middle-aged  or  ancient,  it  is  really  all  the  same, 
Provided  you  've  decided  that  Elizabeth  's  her  name. 

You  must  have  a  little  garden,  you  must  babble  by  the  hour, 

Of  the  lilies,  daffodillies,  hollyhock  and  gilly-flower ; 

Or  when  vegetables  bore  you,  and  you  're  anxious  to  relieve 

The  monotony  of  botany,  you  may  perhaps  achieve 

A  digression  on  the  slugs  and  snails  that  eat  your  pet  rose-trees, 

Or  the  habits  of  the  rabbits,  or  the  squirrels  or  the  bees. 

Next,  whatever  the  temptation  to  behold  your  name  in  print, 
It  is  vital  that  the  title-page  should  have  no  author  in  't ; 
What  were  JUNIUS  himself  if  his  identity  were  known? 
"Who  would  trouble  with  a  bubble  that  is  burst  before  it 's 

blown  ? 

How  can  books  without  a  mystery  expect  to  make  a  fuss  ? 
People  grovel  to  a  novel  if  it  is  anonymous.   \ 

As  for  form,  you  must  consider  what  the  reading-world  expects, 
And  epistles  are  the  thistles  that  the  public  ass'affects  ; 
So  abolish  old-world  chapters,  and  at  each  new  section's  head 
You  had  better  write  your  "  Letter  Number  So-and-So  "  instead  ; 
And  you  '11  quite  eclipse  the  fame  of  many  literary  men, 
For  you're  fated  to  be  rated  as  a  man  of  letters  then. 

Nor  forget  to  tell  creation  what  a  genius  you  are  ; 
Set  each  daily  singing  gaily  of  the  newly-risen  star, 


Every  page  of  every  paper  where  a  mortal  eye  may  look 

Thus  adorning  with,  "Good-morning!     Have  you  read  Beth's 

Garden  Book?  " 
And  assure  them  it 's  essential  they  should  have  it  on  their 

shelves — 
They  might  never  be  so  clever  as  to  learn  the  fact  themselves. 


OPERA  AND  AFTER. 
THE  Opera  Season  for  1901  is  over.  Notable  for  JEAN  DE 
RESZKE'S  conspicuous  absence.  On  the  whole,  the  Opera  Line 
has  been  run  on  the  "high  level."  Wagnerites  have  not  by 
any  means  had  it  all  to  themselves.  Madame  EAMES  is  to  be 
congratulated  on  improvement  as  an  actress  and  on  there 
being  no  improvement  wanted  in  her  singing.  MELBA  is  as 
charming  as  ever :  perhaps  the  riverside  in  this  hot  weather 
has  had  a  refreshing  effect,  and  so  she  must  consider  Father 
Thames  as  her  contributary.  CALVE  always  admirable,  and  far 
too  powerful  in  Messaline,  has  been  excellent  throughout, 
except  when  appearing  as  the  willing  victim  of  the  unhappy 
Faust,  and  then — well,  personally,  I  could  have  wished  that  no 
Mephistophelian  manager  had  ever  tempted  her  to  play  and 
sing  the  part.  Grand  Otello-Tamagno  first-rate,  so  Herr  VAN 
ROOY :  Jupiter  Plan^on  incomparable  in  everything,  be  he 
ascetic  monk,  unprincipled  roue,  or  devotedly  pious  king.  All 
is  artistic  that  comes  to  Ms  net.  The  three  conductors,  Signor 
MANCINELLI,  Herr  LOHSE,  and  Monsieur  FLON,  one  down,  t'other 
come  up,  have,  baton  in  hand,  led  their  men  to  victory.  Opera 
finished,  Messrs.  FRANK  RENDLE  and  Manager  NEIL  FORSYTH 
take  possession  of  the  Opera  House,  and  commence  preparations 
for  the  annual  Goose  step,  with  plenty  of  caper  sauce,  charac- 
teristic of  the  Fancy  Dress  Ball  Season.  Sic  transit :  si  dance-it. 


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AUGUST  7,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  1HE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


103 


ESSENCE    OF    PARLIAMENT. 

EXTRACTED  FROM  THE  DIARY  OF  TOBY,  M.P. 

House  of  Lords,  Monday,  Jnfy  29. — 
MARKISS  moves  second  reading  of  Royal 
Titles  Bill.  ROSEBERY  suggests  that  in- 
stead of  the  cumbrous  clause,  "Of  the 
British  Dominions  beyond  the  Seas,  King," 
EDWARD  THE  SEVENTH  should  be  hailed, 
King  of  the  Britains  beyond  the  Seas. 
The  MARKISS  thought  not.  Phrase  he 
held  to  be  strange,  even  uncouth. 

Why  uncouth  the  MARKISS  only  knows. 
If  hypercriticism  wanted  to  quarrel  with 
it  it  might  be  urged  that  it  is  an  echo  of 
one  of  the  musical  lines  in  TENNYSON'S 
welcome  to  our  present  Queen  when  she 
first  came  over  the  sea. 

There  was,  the  MARKISS  further  urged, 
no  precedent  for  the  phrase.  "  If  the 
noble  Marquis,"  said  ROSEBERY,  "will 
'consult  the  small  change  in  his  pocket 
he  will  find  on  its  face  the  words  '  Bri- 
tanniarum  Regina.'  ' 

Pretty  to  see  the  shrewd  look  that  came 
over  the  MARKISS'S  expressive  counte- 
nance ;  the  slightly  screwed  lip,  the 
curled  nostril,  almost  a  wink.  Had  read 
somewhere  about  the  Confidence  Trick ; 
only  vaguest  idea  of  what  it  is  ;  certain 
that  someone  you  meet  in  the  street  asks 
you  to  produce  a  coin,  or  a  larger  sum  of 
money.  You  comply,  and  by  some  hocus 
pocus  the  coin  is  transferred  to  the  other 
man's  pocket,  and  you  go  your  way 
lamenting. 

ROSEBERY  has  just  that  innocent,  boyish 
face  that  would  be  invaluable  in  such  an 
enterprise.  Of  late,  owing  doubtless  to 
the  succession  of  dinners  eaten  at  distinct 
points  of  the  compass  by  the  Party  he 
once  led,  he  is  developing  the  embon- 
point that  marks  the  genial  man  accus- 
tomed to  do  good  deeds.  Anyone  he 
chanced  to  meet  in  the  street  to  whom  he 
made  proposition  to  produce  a  fiver  and 
lay  it  in  his  outstretched  hand,  promising 
a  tenner  for  the  mark  of  personal  con- 
fidence, would  instantly  produce  the 
money — that  is,  of  course,  if  he  had  it 
about  him. 

The  MARKISS  too  old  a  bird  to  be  caught 
by  appearances.  He  stared  straight  ahead 
of  him,  and,  heedless  of  ROSEBERY'S 
insinuating  invitation,  kept  his  coin  safe 
in  his  pocket. 

Business  done. — Royal  Titles  Bill  read 
a  second  time. 

House  of  Commons,  Tuesday  2  A.M. — 
"  Begorra,  the  young  'un  's  done  us !  " 

'Twas  the  voice  of  Mr.  FLAVIN  ;  he  had 
good  cause  to  complain.  When,  early  in 
Session,  a  tyrannical  Minister,  backed  by 
an  unscrupulous  majority,  passed  Standing 
Order  authorising  expulsion  for  remainder 
of  Session  of  Members  guilty  of  disorderly 
conduct,  it  was  felt  a  new  and  deadly 
injustice  had  been  wrought  to  Ireland. 
Heretofore  an  Irish  Member  might  have 
his  fling  and  obtain  bold  advertisement  in 


Genial  Doctor  (after  laughing  heartily  at  a  joke  0}  his  patient's).   "  HA  !  HA  !  HA  !     THERE  's 

NOT  MUCH   TH8  MATTER    WITH     YOU.'     THOUGH    I    DO    BELIEVE   THAT   IF   YOU  WERE  ON  YOUR 
DEATH-BED  YOU  *D   MAKE   A  JOKE  I  " 

Irrepressible  Patient.  "WHY,  OF  COURSE  I  SHOULD.     IT  WOULD  BE  MY  LAST  CHANCE  !" 


the  Nationalist  papers  at  the  cost  of  a 
week's  suspension.  As  in  such  circum- 
stances WILLIAM  O'BRIEN'S  sordid  injunc- 
tion stopping  wages  during  absence  from 
Parliamentary  duties  did  not  apply,  it 
meant  in  addition  to  glory  a  week's 
holiday  on  full  pay.  A  very  different 
thing  to  be  expelled  for  rest  of  Session 
from  House,  with  all  its  comfortable 
surroundings,  its  daily  opportunity  of 
getting  your  name  in  the  ne\vspapers. 
The  game  not  worth  so  costly  a  candle. 

Accordingly  Irish  Members,  practising 
truculence  as  far  as  was  safe,  always 
stopped  short  when  limit  of  SPEAKER'S 
supernal  patience  was  reached.  Their 
turn  would  come  by-and-by  when,  end 
of  Session  practically  determined,  they 
could  calculate  to  a  nicety  how  much 
their  advertisement  would  cost ;  a  fort- 
night, ten  days,  or  a  week,  according  as 
they  selected  their  day  for  bearding  the 
SPEAKER  in  his  chair.  Will  all  take  their 
turn  in  time.  Obviously  the  chiefest 
distinction,  the  biggest  advertisement, 
goes  to  the  Member  who  leads  off.  By 
repetition  performance  palls  on  public 
taste.  With  four-score  men,  in  small  or 


large  batches,  going  through  the  same 
noisy  antics,  followed  by  same  disciplinary 
procedure,  thing  becomes  a  bore.  The 
honours  are  with  the  man  who  opens  the 
ball. 

Time  running  short  now.  Little  more 
than  a  fortnight  of  Session  remaining. 
Strange  restlessness  pervades  Irish  camp. 
Members  look  at  each  other  suspiciously. 
SWIFT  MACNEIL  up  at  Question  time, 
waving  his  arms  in  windmill  fashion, 
regarded  with  especial  concern.  Does  he 
mean  business  this  time?  Is  he  going  to 
sneak  a  mean  advantage?  Relief  when 
he  sits  down  breathless.  Anxiety  re- 
newed when  Mr.  FLAVIN  lifts  his  tall  head 
and  like  a  trombone  shouts.  O'SHAUGH- 
NESSY  on  his  legs,  Avatched  with  uneasiness. 
DUFFY'S  movements  of  late  decidedly 
suspicious. 

To-night,  the  dangerous  morass  of 
Questions  escaped,  everything  seemed 
safe.  House  proceeds  to  consider  Agri- 
cultural Rates  Act.  In  that  galley,  at 
least,  Irishmen  nothing  to  do.  Long 
procession  of  dull  speeches  carried  House 
up  to  half  hour  after  midnight.  WALTON 
rose ;  House  shouted  in  despair ;  pro- 


104 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[AUGUST  7,  1901. 


sumably  going  to  state  bearings  of 
Question  on  course  of  Yang-tse  River  ; 
wouldn't  have  him  at  any  price.  Then  it 
was  REDMOND  cadet  saw  his  chance ;  got 
himself  suspended.  PATRICK  O'BRIEN, 
wearing  in  his  countenance  the  green  of 
envy,  made  a  dash  at  his  coat-tails ; 
succeeded  in  getting  himself  carried  off 
with  him. 

This  happened  whilst  Mr.  FLAVIN  was 
walking  on  the  Terrace  communing 
with  the  stars.  At  sound  of  Division 
Bell,  strolled  upstairs  to  find  himself 
locked  out ;  to  learn  that,  as  he  put  it, 
"  the  young  'un  had  done  them." 

Business  done. — REDMOND  cadet  and 
PATRICK  O'BRIEN  got  themselves  expelled. 
Incidentally,  Agricultural  Rates  Act 
Continuance  Bill  read  a  sacond  time. 

Tuesday. — Brotherly  relations  in  Irish 
camp  growing  strained.  If  things  go  on 
as  they  now  shape  the  Nationalists  will 
be  even  as  the  Liberal  Opposition. 
Ominous  talk  of  a  dinner  to  be  given  to 
REDMOND  cadet  at  the ' '  Shamrock ' '  Restau- 
rant ;  threats  that  if  invitation  be  accepted, 
Mr.  FLAVIN  shall  be  banqueted  at  the 
"  Harp-that-Once."  The  principal  guests 
have  promptly  intimated  their  readiness 
to  attend  ;  which  seems  to  have  thrown  a 
cloud  over  the  proceedings.  Anyhow, 
not  yet  gone  further. 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  O'SHEE,  of  all  men,  has 
managed  to  take  the  wind  out  of  the  sails 
of  other  mariners  bound  for  the  haven  and 
the  honour  of  expulsion.  REDMOND  aine, 
who  bears  up  pretty  well  under  his  be- 
reavement, asked  PRINCE  ARTHUR  to  oblige 
Irish  Members  by  setting  aside  public- 
business  in  order  to  give  them  a  day  on 
which  they  might  make  personal  attack 
oii  Lord  Chief  Justice  of  Ireland  in  his 
judicial  capacity.  PRINCE  ARTHUR  thought, 
on  the  whole,  he  would  rather  not.  RED- 
MOND aine  righteously  indignant.  What 's 
the  use  of  the  House  of  Commons  if,  safe 
in  its  sanctuary  from  the  law  of  libel, 
hon.  members  may  not  slander  private 
foes  and  vilify  public  servants  ? 

Above  the  hubbub  that  followed  was 
heard  the  shrill  voice  of  Mr.  O'SHEE 
denouncing  "judicial  blackguardism." 
Time  was  when  for  peace  sake,  in 
generous  hope  that  manners  might  im- 
prove, the  Ghair  would  have  been  dis- 
creetly deaf  to  this  remark.  The  SPEAKER 
at  length  convinced  it 's  no  use  playing 
with  organised  disorder  which  through 
the  Session  has  bubbled  in  the  Irish 
camp.  Down  on  O'SHEE  like  a  shot ; 
insisted  on  withdrawal  of  offensive  re- 
mark. O'SHEE,  fluttered  by  this  un- 
wonted firmness,  hesitated  ;  turned  for 
counsel  to  friends  near  him.  They,  car- 
ried away  by  excitement  of  moment,  for- 
getful of  his  personal  advantage,  urged 
him  on.  So  O'SHEE  defied  the  SPEAKER, 
was  promptly  suspended,  and  went  forth 
to  join  the  growing  army  of  martyrs 
already  on  holiday  leave. 


Business  done. — Education  Bill  read   a 
third  time. 


MUSIC  HATH 

THERE  's  a  lady  I  know 
(To  my  grief  and  my  woe, 
For  she  lives  in  the  very  next  flat  down 

below, 

And  flats  are  not  proof  against  sound,  as 
you  know) 

Whose  joy  is  to  play 
The  piano  all  day, 
And  to  lift  up  her  pitiful  voice  in  a  way 
That  frightens  ray  poor  little  Muse  into 

fits, 
And  drives  her  demented,  clean  out  of  her 

wits, 

And  me  into  words  I  'm  unable  to  smother, 
Though  they  'd  certainly  shock  me  if  used 
by  another. 

C!     C! 

So  hammers  she 
While  she  loudly  gives  voice  to  a  very 

flat  B 
To  which  I  reply  with  a  very  sharp  D. 

A!     A! 

Next  she  will  play, 
While  her  voice  is  at  B  or  still  further 

away ; 
And  the  greater  the  discords  that  come 

from  her  throat 
The  louder   she    bangs    the  unfortunate 

note, 
Till  my  poor  little  Muse  claps  her  hands 

to  her  ears 
And  flies  from  my  flat  in  a  torrent  of  tears. 

When  her  throat  has  got  sore 
And  can  quaver  no  more, 
She  sends  for  the  tuner,  and  almost  before 
The  neat  little  mannikin  gets  to  the  door 
I  hear  her  complain 
In  a  much  aggrieved  strain  : 
"  That    wretched     piano    wants    tuning 

again !  " 
So  the  meek  little  tuner  the  key-board 

doth  try — 

He  pitches  it  low  and  he  pitches  it  high 
In  the  vainest  of  efforts :  it  never  will  go 
In  tune  with  the  voice  of  the  lady  below. 


HOLIDAY    TASKS. 

CHANGE  of  employment,  it  has  been 
said,  is  the  truest  form  of  recreation.  In 
pursuance  of  this  idea,  Mr.  Punch  has 
devised  a  plan  which  has  enabled  his 
brilliant  staff  to  enjoy  a  true  holiday, 
while,  at  the  same  time,  their  valuable 
services  are  not  lost  to  his  columns.  For 
instance,  he  despatched  his  cricket  re- 
porter to  a  concert,  with  the  result  that 
the  notice  of  it  runs  as  follows  : 

"  Herr  THUMPOFFSKY'S  recital  un- 
doubtedly is  one  of  the  most  attractive 
fixtures  of  the  season,  and  it  was  not 
surprising  to  find  a  large  gate  on  Thursday 
night.  Th<e  first  two  performers  on  the 
programme  were  easily  disposed  of  for 


a  single  ballad  apiece,  but  Herr  THUMP- 
OFFSKY  himself  was  in  fine  form.  He 
opened  quietly,  but  after  playing  himself 
in,  seemed  completely  at  home  for  the 
rest  of  his  innings.  Some  of  his  late 
cuts  in  the  treble  were  particularly  fine, 
and  he  scored  a  number  of  quick  runs  by 
dexterous  wrist-play  in  a  manner  which 
elicited  hearty  applause.  Towards  the 
end  of  the  second  movement  he  slowed 
down  somewhat,  and  two  or  three  of  his 
uppish  strokes  in  the  Scherzo  appeared 
a  trifle  risky,  but  these  were  small 
blemishes  in  a  highly  meritorious  per- 
formance. He  was  heartily  cheered  when 
he  returned  to  the  pavilion,  but,  despite 
the  applause  of  the  onlookers,  declared 
his  innings  closed." 

From  our  high-souled  literary  critic's  City 

report. 

"  Brighton  A's  !  Something  of  magic, 
surely,  lingers  o'er  the  phrase.  Brighton 
— the  place  of  sunny,  windy  memories,  of 
the  roystering  Regent,  of  old-world 
scandals,  loves,  intrigues.  And  yet  they 
fell,  these  Brighton  A's,  1-16 — or  rose, 
perchance,  1-12  ?  It  boots  not  to  remem- 
ber ;  of  Brighton  the  charm  is  perennial ; 
outlasting  rise  or  fall,  mode  or  moment. 
And  what,  you  ask,  of  Eldorados  ?  They 
were  in  brisk  demand — aye,  and  in  brisk 
demand  will  be  so  long  as  aspirations 
vague,  ineluctable,  find  their  abode  within 
the  heart  of  man.  I  fancy,  Sir,  I  'm 
dropping  into  verse.  The  name  of 
Eldorado  is  the  cause.  Dear  Eldorado  I 
dear  long-wished-for  land  of  happiness 
and  infinite  delight !  Yes,  Eldorados 
were  in  brisk  demand." 

From  our  dramatic  critic's  remarks  on  a 

race-meeting. 

"The  performance  was  not  altogether 
bad,  but  the  stage-management  was  very 
far  from  artistic.  When,  for  instance,  the 
favourite  won,  it  was  allowed  to  lead 
from  start  to  finish.  Need  1  point  out 
how  much  the  effect  would  have  been 
enhanced  had  it  been  made  to  snatch  the 
victory  by  a  neck  ?  Again,  the  hoisting  of 
the  numbers  at  the  winning-post  should 
have  been  the  cue  for  at  least  one  of  the 
spectators  to  shoot  himself.  Strange  to 
say,  this  well-established  piece  of  busi- 
ness was  forgotten .  Until  these  and  other 
defects  are  made  good,  such  a  trite  perform- 
ance is  not  likely  to  attract  the  public." 

Puddleton  Market  report,  sent  in  by  our 

Lady  contributor. 

"  There  was  an  unusually  smart  gather- 
ing in  the  square  to-day.  Among  others 
we  noticed  Mrs.  GILES,  escorted  by  her 
husband.  She  was  gowned  in  an  exquisite 
creation  of  blue  and  yellow  spotted 
muslin — one  of  the  latest  novelties,  we 
believe,  from  the  Puddleton  post-office. 
Calico  and  bombazine  were  the  founda- 
tion of  some  of  the  choicest  specimens 
of  the  dressmaker's  art." 


AUGUST  7,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVAEL 


105 


W  « 

8  !zi 

•*  •< 

"  X 

M?.  W 

W  § 

s 


_J 
LU 


CO 

Q 


B  H  ta 

n  HO 


H  ^|g 

1  *  M  ^ 

_J  H  H  t"1 

-I  g  M   § 

111  »  5  H 

^  ^Si 

»/»  ~    ^  rt 

CO  -    <j  p^ 

^  ft  I 


«     . 


106 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[AUGUST  7,  1901. 


SORROWS   OF  PATERFAMILIAS  AT  THE  SEASIDE. 

LONG  since,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  MARION — MARION 
is  my  wife — was  right  in  everything.  At  all  events,  I  say  so. 
It  saves  so  much  argument.  So  when  one  morning  at  break- 
fast she  said  that  the  dear  children  wanted  a  change,  I  at  once 
agreed  with  her,  and  went  on  reading  my  paper. 

MARION  poured  herself  out  a  second  cup  of  coffee,  and  then 
said  reflectively  : 

"I  suppose  Scarborough  wouldn't  do  ?  " 

Again  I  agreed  with  her,  readily.  Scarborough  would  not  do, 
and  once  more  settled  down  to  a  perusal  of  the  money  article. 
After  a  brief  pause,  she  went  on : 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  Isle  of  Wight  ?  " 

I  replied  that  I  thought  very  highly  of  the  Isle  of  Wight.  As 
the  summer  home  of  our  King 

"  Don't  be  silly,  GEORGE,"  she  interrupted.  "  Do  put  down 
that  paper,  and  try  to  settle  where  we  can  go  to  this  summer." 

Now,  the  truth  is  that  SIMSGIDDY  and  I  had  talked  over 
the  question  of  taking  our  holiday  together,  en  parfon. 
Talked  over  it,  with  bated  breath,  be  it  understood :  for  SIMS- 
GIDDY  is  as  much  married  as  I  am  myself ;  his  olive  branches 
amount  to  seven,  whilst  my  blessings  are  eight  in  number. 
Still,  we  thought  that  we  should  obtain  more  change  and  rest 
by  going  away  mimts  our  families.  And  whilst  he  had  pro- 
posed this  daring  innovation,  I  had  promised  to  seriously 
consider  it  and  see  if  the  annual  visit  en  famille  to  the  seaside 
could  be  dodged. 

So  I  lowered  the  newspaper,  and,  peeping  over  the  top  of  it, 
said : 

"Er — an  idea  occurs  to  me,  MARION.  Suppose  you  take  the 
darlings  away,  whilst  I — I — er — I  just  run  out  of  town  for 
a  few  days— I  daresay  I  could  get  that  fellow  SIMSGIDDY  to 
go  with  me,  if  I  asked  him."  Then  I  paused  to  see  the  effect. 

MARION  almost  choked  herself  with  a  piece  of  toast. 

"What!  and  leave  me  with  all  the  children?  What  next, 
I  should  like  to  know  ?  " 

"  Still,  my  dear,  it  might  be  more  of  a  change  if " 

But  here  MARION  brought  up  her  strongest  battery  of  quick- 
firing  arguments  in  order  to  silence  my  feeble  guns. 

"GEORGE,  I  am  surprised  at  you.  I  couldn't  have  thought 
that  you  and  that  horrid  SIMSGIDDY  man  could  possibly  have 
concocted  such  a  plot  to  go  away  and ;  leave  me  alone  with 
all  the  children  ;  and  how  I  'm  to  manage  with  nurse  going  on 
as  she  does,  and  no  pleasing  her,  I  don't  know — it 's  really  too 
wearing  for  any  woman,  let  alone  me.  I  don't  believe  you  care 
for  me  any  longer,  and  that 's  about  the  truth  !  " 

And  matters  went  no  farther  that  day.  I  thought  dear 
MARION  would  sulk,  so  prudently  remained  late  at  the  office 
and  stayed  out  to  dinner.  It  is  strange  how  one's  atten- 
tion to  business  suddenly  increases  under  such  circumstances. 
But  MARION  triumphed  in  the  end.  I  really  had  not  the 
courage  to  repeat  my  suggestion — and  SiMSGiDDY's  scheme  went 
to  the  wall.  It  was  finally  settled  that  we  should  go  to 
Cockleton-super-Mare  for  our  summer  trip.  "Which  day  will 
you  go  down  and  see  about  apartments?  "  asked  MARION. 

"  I?  Oh,  I  thought  that  perhaps  you,  my  dear — I  mean  that 

you  would  be  a  better  judge  of "  but  MARION'S  brow  grew 

wrinkled,  and  I  paused,  irresolute. 

"Nonsense,  GKORGE.  Voii  will  go.  I  have  looked  at  Brad- 
sluiw,  and  find  that  you  can  manage  to  get  there  anil  back  in 
the  day,  by  catching  the 6. 10  train  in  the  morning." 

I  shivered.  "  I — I  think,  my  dear,  I  had  better,  pei  haps,  go 
a  little  later,  and  stay  the  night  at  the  hotel." 

"Oh,  there's  not  the  slightest  need  for  that  expense," 
and  I  thought  that  MARION'S  tone  was  somewhat  tart. 

"  Then,  perhaps,  my  dear,  I  had  better  have  breakfast 
overnight,"  I  murmured. 

But  MARION  was  quite  impervious  to  covert  levity.  I  had  to 
go.  by  the  6.10  a.m.  train. 


Arrived  at  Cockleton,  I  fortified  myself  with  a  station  sand- 
wich and  a  glass  of  soda-water  (with  just  a  little  whiskey  in  it) 
before  sallying  forth  along  the  "  front." 

I  tried  three  or  four  houses,  and  then  one  with  a  balcony 
attracted  my  notice.  It  was  called  Shore  Villa.  I  knocked, 
and  was  admitted  by  the  landlady. 

MARION  had  specially  warned  me  against  flighty-looking 
landladies.  So  I  was  naturally  glad  to  find  that  this  person's 
appearance  would  at  once  acquit  her  of  any  such  charge.  No 
photographer  would  have  run  the  risk  of  pitting  his  camera 
against  such  a  face  as  hers,  unless  he  had  insured  the  instru- 
ment first. 

"Guinea  a  room  all  August."  No,  she  couldn't  take  less — oh, 
and  there  was  a  big  fambly,  too?  Ah,  that  made  a  difference — 
another  'arf  guinea  and  hextrys,  if  there  was  a  baby.  Oh,  yes, 
I  could  see  the  rooms — yes,  they  was  beautiful  rooms.  Clean? 
She  should  think  so,  indeed!  Cook?  Well,  if  she  couldn't 
cook  by  this  time — well,  there  ! 

Of  course,  this  last  remark  clinched  the  matter  ;  I  took  the 
rooms,  and  arranged  to  bring  my  family  down  on  the  following 
Thursday. 

We  were  not  fortunate  in  our  train  on  the  day  fixed.  There 
appeared  to  be  about  twice  as  many  passengers  as  there  were 
seats.  Under  these  circumstances,  even  MARION'S  equable 
temper  showed  signs  of  friction.  She  grew  hot  and  flushed, 
spoke  sharply  to  our  offspring,  bullied  the  nurse  and  finally 
called  me  an  idiot. 

At  last  WILLY,  MOLLY,  CHARLES,  Nurse  and  baby,  and  I 
squeezed  into  one  carriage,  whilst  MARION  and  the  rest 
scrambled  into  another.  Red-faced  porters  hurled  our  small 
paraphernalia  in  after  us,  and  the  much-harassed  guard  banged 
the  door,  shutting  my  coat  tail  in,  securely.  We  were  off. 

At  Boodlesby  Junction,  after  hailing  the  guard  to  release  my 
coat  tail,  I  got  out  and  went  to  MARION. 

"GEORGE,"  she  said,  "go  into  the  Refreshment  Room  and 
get  the  children  some  milk." 

"  My  dear,"  I  remonstrated,  "  I — I — I  really  don't  think  it 's 
likely  that  they  keep  such  a  thing  on  a  station.  Now,  ginger- 
beer,  or  even — 

"  Don't  be  so  absurd,  GEORGE,  of  course  they  have  milk.  Do 
make  haste,  or  I  'm  sure  the  train  will  be  starting  again.  Here, 
give  me  the  tickets  in  case  you  get  left  behind  !  " 

I  sighed,  but  had  to  go  and  ask  the  yellow-haired  damsel  at 
the  refreshment  buffet  for  three  glasses  of  milk.  The  lady 
giggled,  adjusted  a  sidecomb  in  her  yellow  hair,  and  then 
leisurely  condescended  to  hand  me  the  three  tumblers  of  milk, 
already  poured  out.  There  was  a  fly  in  two  out  of  the  three. 

I  looked  at  them  dubiously.  Then  I  asked  her  if  I  might  have 
another  fly  for  the  third  tumbler  ?  She  seemed  quite  annoyed 
at  this.  I  bought  some  buns,  and  carefully  holding  the  three 
milk  glasses  I  made  my  uncertain  and  fearful  way  down  the 
over-crowded  platform. 

Of  course  I  passed  the  carriage  I  was  looking  for,  and  went 
the  whole  length  of  the  train  before  discovering  my  error ; 
then  I  retraced  my  steps,  and  MARION,  tarter  than  ever, 
exclaimed : 

"  My  dear  GEORGE,  I  thought  you  must  have  lost  your  way  !  " 
Then  (rather  spitefully,  as  I  thought),  "What  could  you  have 
had  to  talk  about  to  that  creature  at  the  bar  ?  " 

I  said  nothing.  I  waited  patiently  until  the  milk  had  been 
consumed ;  then  ran  back  with  the  empty  tumblers — no  time 
left  in  which  to  get  anything  for  myself — and  finally  scrambled 
into  my  carriage  again,  hot,  breathless,  and  so  thirsty. 

After  what  seemed  an  interminable  journey,  we  arrived. 
MARION  thought  we  could  get  the  luggage  and  ourselves  into 
two  cabs,  and  became  just  a  little  snappish  when  I  expressed 
a  doubt.  However,  after  several  packings  and  re-packings,  in 
the  course  of  which  baby's  particular  trunk  fell  off  the  box-seat, 
smashed,  we  started  for  Shore  \7illa.  I  felt  anxious  to  see 
whether  MARION  would  approve  of  the  rooms — for  when  dear 


AUGUST  7,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


107 


MARION  disapproves,  I  find  it  more  politic 
to  curtail  my  holiday. 

I  assumed  an  air  of  mild  hilarity,  when, 
after  settling  two  altercations  with  the 
cabmen  about  their  fares,  I  approached 
my  wife,  and  rubbing  my  hands  together, 
said : 

"This  is  all  very  jolly,  isn't  it,  my 
dear  ?  " 

MARION  gazed  abstractedly  at  the 
carpet  before  replying.  Then,  looking 
up  at  me,  she  said  solemnly  : 

"  GEORGE— I  smell  a  rat !  " 

"  Do  you,  indeed,  my  dear  ?  That 's 
very  unpleasant,"  I  replied,  sniffing 
about  as  I  spoke.  "I  don't  smell  any- 
thing, myself." 

"No,  no !  What  I  mean  is  that  I  sus- 
pect the  woman — the  landlady — is  not 
clean." 

"  You  don't  say  so,  my  dear !  Then 
perhaps  it  was  that,  and  not  the  rat " 

"Oh,  GEORGE,  don't  be  so  dense!  "  she 
cried  in  worried  tones.  "  I  mean  that  the 
house  is  not  kept  clean  :  can't  you  under- 
stand ?  Men  are  so  stupid  !  " 

"Yes,  my  dear,  certainly  —  I  quite 
agree.  I  think  I  '11  take  a  little  walk 

down  to  the  sea,  and " 

'  "Very  well,"  sighed  MARION;  "and 
WILLY  and  CARRIE  and  MOLLY  and 
CHARLIE  can  go  with  you.  Meantime, 
Nurse  and  I  will  unpack,  though  where 
in  the  world  we  're  to  put  all  the  things 
with  no  hanging  cupboards  and  hardly  a 

peg  to  be  seen,  and "  but  by  this 

time  I  had  gently  edged  out  of  the  door, 
and  eluding  the  dear  children,  put  on 
a  Panama  hat,  and  strolled  out  on  to  the 
beach. 

I  was  just  enjoying  the  first  sniff  of  the 
ozone,  when  a  familiar,  if  not  altogether 
welcome,  voice  smote  upon  my  ear.  1 
looked  round  and,  to  my  great  surprise, 
saw  my  neighbour  at  Hampstead,  little 
PERKSLEY. 

MARION  says  the  PERKSLEYS  are  dread- 
fully common.  I  sincerely  trust  that  they 
are  uncommon,  their  vulgarity  is  so  great. 
I  should  not  like  to  say  that  PERKSLEY  is 
an  awful  little  cad — but  a  man  may  think 
what  he  likes. 

" 'Ullo  !  "  he  cried,  thrusting  a  warm 
red  paw  into  my  hand.  "  Oo'd  ever  'ave 
thought  of  seein'  you  'ere?  Come  down 
ony  garsong,  or  jest  as  the  ordinary  Pater- 
|  Family- Ass  ?  ' ' 

One  serious  drawback  of  PERKSLEY's  is 
that  he  thinks  himself  a  wit. 

I  infused  a  certain  frigidity  into  my 
|  manner,  as  I  replied : 

"My  wife  and  family  are  with  me." 

"Ah,  that's  right — you  must  drop  in 
and  bring  'em  to  see  mine.  And  my 
youngsters  must  play  with  yours  on  the 
i sands." 

Very  condescending  of  him.     I  merely 
!  inclined  my  head  and  passed  on.     How 
shall  I  ever  have  sufficient  courage  to 
'  tell  dear  MARION  that  I  have  brought  her 


UNCLE'S    BANK    HOLIDAY. 

"On,  UNCLE,  WE'RE  so  GLAD  WE'VE  MET  YOU.    WE  WANT  YOU  TO  TAKE  us  ON  THE 

KOUNDABOUT,   AND   STAY  ON   IT  TILL    TEA-TIME  !  " 


to  the  same  seaside  as  that  at  which  the 
hated   PERKSLEYS    are    disporting    them- 
selves? -F.  R. 
(To  be  continued.) 


SOMETHING    LIKE    AN    ORATION. 

(An  imaginary  duologue — of  course  not 
founded  on  facts.) 

Speaker  of  the  Evening.  Any  further  news  ? 

Private  Secretary.  We  don't  seem  to  be 
making  much  headway.  Convoy  success- 
fully attacked. 

Speaker.  Done  before.     Anything  else  ? 

Priv.  Sec.  Fresh  battle,  but  details  not 
yet  reported. 

Speaker.  Quite  so — in  common  form. 
What  more  ? 

Priv.  Sec.  Well,  rumours  of  fresh  ad- 
vances in  all  directions. 

Speaker.  Ah,  to  be  sure,  but  rumours 
are — in  fact  rumours.  Further  ? 


Priv.  Sec.  Confident  judges  say  we  are 
in  about  the  same  position  as  we  were  a 
couple  of  years  ago. 

Speaker.  Experts  seem  to  be  a  bit  too 
confident.  What  next  ? 

Priv.  Sec.  Think  there  's  nothing  more. 
May  take  it  that  there  is  a  feeling  of  un- 
rest everywhere. 

Speaker.  Thank  you  very  much.    Fits  in 
neatly  with  my  peroration  "that  every- 
thing points  to  the  near  approach  of  the 
termination  of  the  war." 
(Curtain.) 


SHE  began  by  being  an  heiress.  Her 
first  husband  died  and  left  her  with 
very  little  remaining  of  her  fortune,  and 
with  three  fine,  healthy  children.  To 
this  spendthrift,  she,  after  her  second 
happier  marriage,  used  to  allude  as,  "  Le 
premier  pa'  qui  coute." 


108 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[AUGUST  7,  1901. 


SLIGHTLY  MIXED. 
(Some    fragments    from  a  speech  by    an 

earnest    citizen,   much  in   request   at 

election  meetings.) 

.  .  .  "should  be  failing  indeed  in  my 
duty  did  I  not  devote  my  whole  attention 
to  this  all-important  contest.  On  Monday 
next,  Gentlemen,  you  are  invited  by  our 
unscrupulous  opponents  to  support  the 
candidature  of  Mr.  SMITH — as  if  you  were 
not  acquainted  with  that  person's  revo- 
lutionary theories  concerning  the  teach- 
ing of  the  multiplication-table  !  When  he 

goes  so  far  as  to  maintain  that (Eh  ? 

What  ?  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  for  the 
moment  I  fancied  this  was  a  School  Board 
election  meeting.)  As  I  was 
saying,  Gentlemen,  when  Mr. 
SMITH,  who  has  the  effrontery 
to  seek  election  as  one  of  your 
municipal  councillors,  goes  so 
far  as  to  maintain  that  the  pro- 
blem of  insanitary  dwelling- 
houses  can  be  solved  by — 
(Well  ?  Not  Municipal  Councils 
either?  Of  course,  I  know  that. 
Do  let  me  finish  my  sentence  ! ) 
— by  the  application  of  a 
colonial  policy,  strong  and  yet 
humane,  just  and  yet  generous, 
— then,  Gentlemen,  realising 
this  to  the  full,  I  ask,  and  ask 
with  confidence,  what  becomes 
of  the  vile  aspersions  so  freely 
made  against  the  character  of 
Mr.  CHAMBERLAIN?  .  .  .  But, 
as  your  chairman  has  just 
whispered  to  me,  the  coun- 
try's verdict  upon  that  issue 
has  been  delivered  already. 
Indeed,  my  reason  for  refer- 
ring to  it  was  simply  to  remind 
you  that  completion  of  the 
parliamentary  campaign  leaves 
you  free  to  concentrate  your 
attention  upon  an  infinitely 
more  important  event.  Need  I 
say  that  I  refer  to  the  choice 
of  the  Puddleton  Parish  Council,  which,  on 
Tuesday — no,  that 's  the  District  Council 
— on  Wednesday  next,  will  rest  with  you. 
Earnestly,  indeed,  do  I  entreat  every 
voter  to  support  Mr.  ROBINSON  on  that 
eventful  day.  Need  I  tell  you  that 
nothing  but  his  candidature  has  occupied 
my  thoughts  for  weeks  past  ?  Why,  just 
compare  his  views  on  the  local  drainage 

system  with (W)iat  's  the  matter  nou>  f 

Nothing  to  do  with  Pariah  Councils  f  All 
right ! )— compare  this,  I  say,  with  the 
matter  which  to-night  we  have  assembled 
solely  to  consider,  namely,  who  are  the 
fittest  persons  to  serve  as  your"  repre- 
sentatives upon  the  Board  of  Guardians. 
(Got  it  right  this  time,  haven't  If  Thank 
goodness ! )  Yes,  Gentlemen,  it  is  because 
I  feel  the  paramount  importance  of  this 
matter  that  I  stand  before  you  to-night. 
Dismissing  all  other  issues,  all  other  con- 


siderations, from  your  mind,  resolve  that 
Friday  next  shall  see  Mr.  JENKINS  trium- 
phantly returned (What's  that  row 

about?  The  wrong  name?  Ah,  yes,  a 
slip  of  the  tongue.) — triumphantly  re- 
turned, I  repeat,  at  the  bottom  of  the 
poll.  I  have  known  Mr.  JENKINS — no,  I 
mean  Mr.  BtLLSON — for  many  years,  and 
I  am  fully  convinced  that  no  one  could 
be  a  better  representative  upon  your 
Parish  Council — or  rather,  Board  of  Guar- 
dians, for  it  is  in  the  latter  capacity  that 
he  now  seeks  your  storages.  The  cause 
of  BlLLSON,  Gentlemen,  jnust  be  dear  to 
all  those  who  wish  to  strengthen  Lord 
SALISBURY'S  hands,  and  to  secure  an 
equitable  settlement  in  South  —  in  the 


SECRETS  OP    THE   SANDS. 

(Overheard  by  the  Sad  Sea  Waves.) 

IT  wasn't  worth  coming  all  this  way  to 

Slocum-super-Mare  from  London  to  meet 

the  east  wind  or  the  rain. 

House-keeping  was  bad  enough  in  town, 
but  the  waste  of  Seaview  Place  is  even 
worse.  How  can  the  children  get  better 
from  their  attack  of  scarlatina  when  they 
meet  none  other  than  convalescents  from 
whooping  cough  and  the  measles  ? 

The  town  band  would  be  more  successful 
with  their  "  Memories  of  Balfe  "  if  two- 
thirds  of  their  strength  of  six  did  not 
desert  their  music-stands  to  forage  for 
pence. 

The  lending  library  would  be 
more  entertaining  if  it  kept 
abreast — say,  within  ten  years 
— of  the  current  publishing 
season . 

The  Theatre  Royal  would 
probably  have  a  larger  and 
more  aristocratic  audience 
were  its  repertoire  not  confined 
to  dramas  such  as  "Prom 
Gutter  to  Mud,"  or  travelling 
parties  such  as  Mr.  GARRICK 
SHAKSPEARE'S  "Perky  Pot- 
boy "  Musical  Comedy  Com- 
pany No.  3. 

It  is  certain  that  Slocum- 
super-Mare,  although  it  may 
be  recommended  by  the  medi- 
cal profession  as  the  very 
place  for  "picking  up,"  is  still 
about  the  most  depressing  spot 
on  the  face  of  the  earth.  To 
sum  up,  it  is  assuredly  true 
that  visitors  who  come  to  stay 
at  Slocum-super-Mare  for  six 
months  are  sure  to  be  off  by 
the  end  of  a  fortnight. 


"  ANYHOW,  I  'VE  GOT  A  BITE  THIS  TIME.     THAT  's  MORE  THAN 

THE  OTHER  FELLOWS   HAVE  !  " 


south  wing  of  the  workhouse,  which  is, 
I  believe,  as  important  as  any  other  part 
of  it. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  have  done.  Pardon  me  if 
I  have  dwelt  exclusively  upon  a  single 
topic ;  its  tremendous  importance  must 
be  ray  excuse.  •  If  you  wish  for  sound 
legislation  upon  —  1  mean,  satisfactory 
education  for — that  is,  reasonable  rates 
and  well-kept  roads- — none  of  which,  your 
chairman  once  more  interrupts  me  to  say, 
have  anything  to  do  with  the  present 
contest — act  on  my  advice  to  you  at 
Tuesday's — if  it  is  Tuesday's — poll.  And 
that  advice,  once  more,  is  simply  this — 
remember. Majuba  and  the  multiplication- 
table,  and  return  Mr.  WILLIAM  THOMSON 
to, the  House  of  Commons  as  your  Dis- 
trict Councillor  by  an  overwhelming 
minority!  " 

A.  C.  D. 


VOICES  IN  THE  AIR.. 

(Heard  in  a  fashionable  hotel  during 
the  Volunteer*'  outing.) 

GOOD  gracious,  HENRY,  you  are  surely 
not  going  to  allow  me  to  sit  in  the  lounge 
with  a  number  of  soldiers  ? 

Noble  profession,  my  love,  and  they  are 
wearing  khaki. 

But  I  have  never  heard  of  such  a 
thing.  You  ought  to  complain  to  the 
manager. 

But  I  assure  you,  Sir,  they  are  of  the 
most  respectable. 

You  hear  what  my  wife  says,  and  you 
must  confess  it  is  unusual. 

Pardon,  gentlemen,  but  I  am  afraid  it 's 
against  the  regulations  to  allow  drinks  to 
be  supplied  to  wearers  of  uniform. 

But  don't  you  know  who  we  are,  fellow! 
Why,  we  are ! 

A  thousand  apologies,  gentlemen.  We 
have  made  a  profound  mistake,  we 
were  under  the  impression  you  were 
soldiers ! 


AUGUST  14,   1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


109 


THE  DESERTED   COCKSHY. 

["An  Aunt  Sally  man  on  Hampstead  Heath 
.ast  Bank  Holiday  was  heard  to  complain  bitterly : 
,  'Young  'uns  are  too  blooming  lazy  to  shy 
sticks.  All  they  cares  to  do  nowadays  is  jest  ter 
drop  a  penny  in  the  slot  an'  pull  a  trigger.'  " — 
Daily  News.'} 

OH,  old  Aunt  Sally,  years  ago 
At  whom  when  boys  we  used  to  throw, 

Yet  none  the  less  respected, 
Your  stick,  alas  !  you  now  must  cut, 
You  and  your  prize,  the  cocoanut, 
Being  alike  neglected. 

Is  it  that  nuts,  once  fourpence  each 
When  they  grew  farther  out  of  reach, 

Or  palm-tree  stems  were  steeper, 
Have  fallen  so  in  price  to-day 
That  those  whose  fancies  lie  that  way 

Can  buy  them  outright  cheaper  ? 

Or,  say,  do  those  whose  aims  contest 
Just  touch  a  trigger,  for  the  rest 

On  others'  aid  relying, 
And  modern  youths,  with  shameful  pride, 
Even  in  side-shows  show  thfeir  "  side," 

And  sticks  fight  shy  of  shying  ? 

A  HOLIDAY  TASK. 
(See  "  The  Lesson,"  by  Rudyard  Kipling.) 
As  the  holidays — we  beg  pardon,  the 
Summer  Vacation,  is  now  beginning,  it 
'las  been  decided  by  Headmaster  Punch 
that  the  following  Imperial  Paper  shall 
be  set  to  the  boys — ahem  !  young  gentle- 
men— of  the  United  Kingdom  ;  and  there 
s  no  objection  to  candidates  of  riper  years 
competing.  The  special  subject  is  the 
elucidation  of  the  above  thirty  lines  written 
by  our  classic  but  somewhat  obscure 
Empire-poet — which  should  prove  "  no  end 
pf  a  lesson"  to  them.  Answers  should 
be  sent  in  by  the  date  of  the  conclusion 
|)f  the  War.  The  Prize  offered  is  the  Feei- 
ng of  Exhilaration  consequent  upon  the 
Achievement  of  Well-nigh  Impossibilities. 

QUESTIONS  ON  "THE  LESSON." 

N.B. — Any  candidate  detected  in  copying 

will  be  instantly  sent  to  St.  Helena. 

1.  Defend    (if    you    can)    the    use     of 
Jiblical    expressions    such  as    "twain," 
'  astonied  camps,"    "made  an  Army   in 
>ur  own    image "    in    combination    with 
lodern  slang  phrases  like,  "jolly  good," 
'jolly  well,"    etc.     Illustrate   from  any 
r  each  of  this  author's  works. 

2.  Line  5.  "Knocked  higher   than  GIL- 
TROY'S     kite."       Translate    and    corn- 
pent     upon    this"     passage.      Who     was 

ILDEROY,  when  he  was  at  home?    Had 

je  any  home  to  be  at?    Was  he  a  Scot- 

!  sh  robber  who  was  hanged  in  the  time 

f  Queen  MARY  (vide  Dr.  BREWER)?    If 

pt,    suggest    an   alternative,   and  state 

hat  he  was  doing  with  a  kite  ?    Do  you 

edinarily  "  knock  "  kites  ? 

t.  Lines  8  and  9.  Draw  a  map    of   the 

Eleven  degrees  of  a  bare  brown  conti- 

5nt,"  marking  Lambart's,  Pietersburgh 

ic)  and  Sutherland.     Can  you  give  any 


'Arry.  "GOOD  MOBNINQ,  MOTHER  GOOSE  1  "        Old  Woman.  "  GOOD  MORNING,  MY  SON  !  " 


.  CXXI. 


reason  why  the  first  and  last  are  in- 
stanced? Had  you  ever  heard  of  them 
before  ? 

4.  Line  10.  "  Fell  the    phenomenal  les- 
son."    Parse  the  first  word  ;  if  you  can't, 
pass  it. 

5.  Line  12.    "  An  island  nine  by  seven." 
Explain  what  on  earth  this  means.     Is  it 
9  inches   x   7  inches?    If   not,  hazard  a 
guess  as  to  the   scale  of  the   map.    Is 
' '  seven ' '  put  in  to  rhyme  with ' '  Heaven ' '  ? 

6.  Line  18.  Scan  "who   faithfully  mir- 
rored its  maker's  ideals,  equipment  and 
mental  attitude,"  before  reading  the  next 
line. 

7.  Line    16.    Is     it     "  cheap     at    the 
price"    to    pay    £100,000,000    to    prove 


H 


that  2x2  [==  4  ?     Could   you  quote  a 
lower  figure? 

8.  Line  21.  "All  the  obese,  unchallerged 
old  things."     Explain  this  as  politely  as 
possible.      Does   it  apply  to  any  of  the 
shining  lights  at  Cambridge  ? 

9.  Line  23.  "  This  marvellous  asset  which 
we  alone  command. ' '  How  about  the  Boers  ? 
Do  you  consider  that  the  Poet  implies  that 
theij  have  not  also  received  a  Lesson  ? 

10.  Line  25.  "Pivotal  fact."    Show,  by 
a  diagram  or  working  model,  the  differ- 
ence between  this  and  a  cardinal  truth. 

11.  Line  28.    Give  our   "  forty  million 
reasons  for  failure,"  adding  any  on  your 
own  account  as  regards  this  Paper.    Take 
your  time  over  this.  A.  A.  S. 


110 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[AUGUST  14,  1901. 


THE   ACTOE-MANAGEE   DISCOUKSES. 
IV. 

MADAM,  I  understand  you  nurse  a  hope 
Of  compassing  the  highest  sphere  of  Art, 
That  is  to  say,  of  going  on  the  stage. 
Bear  with  me,  if  experience  bids  me  use 
A  father's  candour,  coldly  demonstrating 
What  obstacles,  how  rude  and  multiform, 
Await  your  climbing  feet.    I  speak  as  one 
Gifted,  I  grant,  with  genius,  yet  constrained, 
Like  great  APOLLO  in  Phersean  halls, 
Through  many  years  to  ply  the  menial  task 
Until  my  God-like  nature  stood  confessed. 

This  goal  to  which  your  innocence  aspires 
Is  such  as  may  not  lightly  be  embraced 
By  methods  of  the  prompt  instinctive  kind 
So  well  adapted  to  the  lesser  arts. 
The  heights  by  first-rate  histrions  reached  and  kept 
"Were  not  attained  by  sudden-soaring  flight, 
But  by  the  more  exact  and  arduous  route 
Of  discipline,  appointed  in  the  rules 
Of  hoar  tradition.     No,  my  dear  young  lady, 
'Tis  not  enough  that  you  possess  the  charms, 
Which  from  your  photograph  I  judge  are  yours, 
Of  beauty,  grace  of  figure,  virtue,  youth, 
Though  these  are  gifts  which  must  not  be  despised  ; 
They  serve  their  purpose,  as  I  proved  myself 
Before  my  latent  genius  came  to  light. 
Nor  does  it  yet  suffice  that  you  have  filled — 
With  marked  success,  your  testimonial  says— 
A  leading  role  in  drawing-room  charades. 
Indeed,  I  know  no  worse  apprenticeship 
For  serious  business  than  to  play  a  part 
In  amateur  theatricals  without 
Professional  guidance.     Tricks  are  thus  acquired 
Hard  to  unlearn  by  years  of  patient  toil ; 
Such  as  the  childish  habit  of  behaving 
As  people  do  in  ordinary  life  ; 
Of  sitting  in  your  chair  and  keeping  still, 
To  give  the  author's  dialogue  a  chance, 
Instead  of  jumping  up  to  take  the  floor 
At  every  third  remark,  and  crossing  over, 
And  sitting  somewhere  else,  and  coming  back  ; 
Motions  that  might  in  social  intercourse 
Seem  to  betray  a  lack  of  that  repose 
Which  stamps  the  purest  caste  ;  but  on  the  stage 
Are  still  among  the  elemental  signs 
Of  perfect  breeding. 

Take  another  point 

On  which  your  amateurs  are  apt  to  err. 
They  have  a  prejudice  for  looking  at 
The  person  whom  they  happen,  in  the  play, 
To  be  addressing  !     They  have  yet  to  learn 
That  any  actor,  rightly  trained,  ignores 
The  presence  of  an  audience  on  the  stage, 
Unless  compelled  by  force  of  circumstance, 
Such  as  the  need  to  kiss,  or  else  to  fight, — 
Acts  that  demand  collusion.,  Otherwise 
He  disregards  his  fellow  ;  turns  on  him 
His  back,  his  profile,  anything  except 
His  speaking  eyes,  exclusively  reserved 
To  front  the  empty  void  which  represents- 
The  scenic  chamber's  complementary  wall ; 
Through  which  transparent  barrier  he  accosts: 
The  world  at  large,  and  only  looks  elsewhere 
When  moved  to  punctuate  his  dialogue 
By  desultory  pranciugs  up  and  down. 


Trust  me,  my  dear,  Dramatic  Art  is  one 
Of  many  noble  institutions  based 
On  pure  Convention  ;  take  her  prop  away 
And  she  assumes  the  level  of  vulgar  Life, 
Like  mountebanks  when  they  mislay  their  stilts. 
You,  on  the  other  hand,  appear  to  be 
A  child  of  Nature.    When  I  look  upon 
Your  counterfeit  presentment,  so  unspoiled, 
So  immature,  so  wistful — I  could  weep  ! 
I  have  been  faithful  to  discourage  you, 
Because,  hereafter,  I  would  not  be  blamed 
If,  having  lost  your  old  love,  you  attain 
Never  to  clasp  the  new.    Nature  and  Art 
(My  Art,  I  speak  of)  you  must  choose  between  : 
No-one,  not  I  myself,  can  serve  them  both. 

Yet,  if— my  admonitions  duly  weighed — 
A  stubborn  overmastering  consciousness 
Of  innate  genius,  not  to  be  suppressed, 
Still  urges  you  (I  know  the  feeling  well !) 
To  make  the  sacrifice  that  Art  commands, 
I  shall  expect  you  in  my  private  room 
(Stage  Entrance)  Tuesday  next  at  half-past  two, 
And  we  will  try  and  see  what  can  be  done. 


O.  S. 


A  FOREIGN  LION  IN  LONDON. 

(A  Page  /com  a  Diary  kept  during  the  past  Season.) 

Monday. — The  usual  list  of  invitations.  Guest  of  the  Under- 
takers' Company  in  the  City,  members  chiefly  mill-owners 
and  stockbrokers.  Brought  in  my  peroration  about  "Liberty 
never  degenerating  into  licence  "  by  declaring  it  to  be  a  grave 
subject. 

Tuesday. —Cards  by  the  bushel.  Guest  of  the  evening  at 
the  Unconventional  Burglars'  Club.  Members  chiefly  artists 
authors,  and  millionaires.  Peroration,  "Liberty  never  de- 
generating into  licence"  introduced  by  reference  to  the 
use  of  the  felon  of  advanced  ideas.  A  little  far-fetched,  but) 

passable. 

Wednesday.— Again  a  flood  of  requests  for  the  honour  < 
my  company.    Asked  to  speak  at  the  Charwomen's  Provident 
Fund  Festival.    Referred  to  the  claims  of  the   sensible  man 
He  did  not  lose  his  "liberty  when  he  secured  his  marriagt 
licence."     Remarks  well  received. 

Thursday.— Wearied  to  death  by  Garden  Parties  and  other  a 
fresco  distractions.  Dined  with  another  City  Company,  thi 
Skate  Makers.  No  one  seemed  to  have  anything  to  do  wit! 
the  industry.  Master  turned  out  to  be  a  large  cab-owner 
Spoke  of  Holland  and  its  skates.  "  That  was  in  the  land  wert 
Liberty  never  degenerated  into  licence."  Peroration  did  no 
go  so  well  as  usual.  Heard  afterwards  it  was  suspected  o 
being  pro- Boer. 

Friday.— Again  they    come.     Asked  to  unveil  bust  of  1 
great  BROWN.     Never  heard  of  him,  but  consented.    At  subs< 
quent  banquet  referred  to  BROWN  as  that  true  patriot  who  neve 
forgot    "that   liberty    was    not    licence."      Peroration  rig 

again. 

Saturday.— Happy  to  say  week  at  an  end.     Off  to  my  n 
land.     Reception  Committee  bid  me  good-bye.     In  my  reply 
their  cheering  assured  them  that  theirs  was  the   land  whe 
freedom  abounded,  and  where  true    Liberty   never  was  pi-i 
mitted  to  sink  into  licence.     Same  peroration  for  the  sen 
Nothing  like  getting  a  happy  phrase  and  sticking  to  it.    - 
now    for    a    quiet    country    life   to   compensate    for    fest 
banquets  ! 

"NOTHING  NEW  UNDER  THE  SUN."— Not  even  "Arc   Lights. 
Of  course,  NOAH  used  them  on  board  ship. 


AUGUST  H,  1901.]  PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI.  ill 


rzi  Jarfridfl( 


THE    NEW    PROCEDURE. 


A.  J.  B-lf-r.  "THERE  1    I  THINK  WB  VE  TINKERED  IT  UP  ALL  BIGHT  FOR  THE  REST  OF  THIS  RUN." 

Sir  H.  C-mpb-ll-B-nn-rm-n.  "I  DABEPAY,  ARTHUR;  BUT  YOU'IL  HAVE  TO  OVERHAUL  IT  THOROTGHLY  BEFORE  THE  NEXT  TRIP." 


AUGUST  14,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHAEIVARL 


113 


A   BALLADE    OF    LITERARY 
ADVERTISEMENT. 

[Why  should  not  the  literary  advertisement  be 
as  much  a  recognised  branch  of  art  as  the  artistic 
poster?    The  following  verses  are  an  attempt  to 
serve  at  once  the  Muses  and  Mammon  from    a 
Literary  point  of  view.] 
BE  silent,  BROADWOOD  ;  and  refrain, 
COLLARD,  from  melody ;  nor  dare, 
STEINWAY,  your  merits  to  maintain ; 
Your  airs  must  vanish  in  thin  air  ; 
For  lo  !  "when  makers  you  compare, 
Of  North  or  South  or  East  or  "West, 
The  public's  verdict  will  declare 
That 's  pianos  are  the  best. 

O  gay  guitar  of  joyous  Spain, 
O  harp,  rich,  resonant  and  rare, 

O  rural  pipe  with  jocund  strain, 
O  flute,  of  timbre  thin  and  spare, 
O  trumpet  tone  of  (martial  blare, 

Lyre,  violin,  and  all  the  rest 
Of  instruments,  your  claims  forbear, 

For 's  pianos  are  the  best ! 

Come,  pianists,  a  mighty  train, 

From  P 1,  rich  of  hair, 

Down  to  the  schoolgirl  in  the  lane 

Who    practises    "  The   Maiden's 
Prayer," 

All  others  you  '11  henceforth  forswear 
If  once  you  put  these  to  the  test, 

And  speedily  become  aware 
That 's  pianos  are  the  best. 

Envoy. 
N.B. — If  dealers,  all  unfair, 

A  worthless  substitute  suggest, 
Of  their  nefarious  wiles  beware  ! 

For 's  pianos  are  the  best. 


LA  VIE  DE  LUX. 

(From  our  Special  Gormandizer.) 

IT  was  the  Duchess  of  COCAFUKO  (I  need 
scarcely  say  that  I  am  diplomatist  enough 
to  disguise  the  real  name  of  her  Grace) 
who  challenged  me  to  give  her  a  respect- 
able dinner  in  London,  and  bet  me — well, 
I  will  not  say  what  odds  the  noblewoman 
laid,  but  I  may  record  that  my  stake 
consisted  of  six  dozen  pairs  of  Peau- 
dechien's  unrivalled  twelve  -  buttoned 
(fonts  de  suede,  at  the  not  unreasonable 
price  of  half-a-guinea  a  couple. 

Looking  through  my  gastronomical  note- 
book in  the  smoking-room  of  the  Albatross 
;Club  (nicknamed  the  "  Ancient  Mariner  " 
by  certain  wags  of  Bohemia  and  the  beau 
monde),  I  decided  that  my  choice  should 
fall  on  the  Pomrne  de  Terre  Restaurant, 
which  is  not  a  thousand  miles  remote 
from  Regent  Street.  Her  Grace,  I  say, 
arrived  at  the  Pomme  de  Terre  in  that 
stylish  little  brougham,  drawn  by  Andalu- 
aian  mules,  at  eight  eighteen,  and  as 
she  was  only  half-an-hour  and  three 
minutes  late  I  freely  forgave  her,  with 
the  better  grace  because  Signor  CRACA- 
BELLO,  the  excellent  manager  of  the 


A    LESSON    IN    GEOGRAPHY. 

"WHAT  is  WATER  SURROUNDED  BY  LAND  CALLED?" 

"  OH,   A   DUCK   POND,    OF   COURSE." 

"No.    WATER  AS  LARGE  AS  THE  TWO  FIELDS  OUTSIDE  AND  THE  GARDEN  AS  WELL?' 
"On,  THAT'S  CALLED  EXAGGERATION!" 


Pomme  de  Terre,  was  waiting  on  the  steps 
of  the  eating-house  with  a  splendid 
bouquet  of  orchids,  rich  and  creamy  as 
one  of  his  own  souffles,  in  his  hand. 

The  Duchess  was  attired  in  a  piquant 
ensemble  of  rose  geranium,  in  which  my 
eye  did  not  err  in  detecting  the  hand  of 
Madame  SCHITZEL,  the  Anglo-American 
artiste.  She  was,  as  usual,  all  smiles, 
and  when  placed  in  receipt  of  Signor 
CRACABELLO'S  floral  tribute,  became  a 
human  sunbeam  of  good  nature. 

By  the  way,  I  cannot  imagine  how, 
unless  I  inadvertently  gave  him  the  hint, 
CRACABELLO  knew  that  I  was  awaiting  so 
distinguished  a  lady.  I  was  pleased  to 
find  that  he  had  caused  the  table  to  be 
lighted  with  electric  lamps  concealed  by 
shades  matching  her  Grace's  complexion 
and  costume.  I  did  not  forget  to  pay 
him  a  handsome  compliment  on  his  good 
taste.  The  repast  to  which  we  sat  down 
did  infinite  credit  not  only  to  Signor 
CRACABELLO,  but  also  to  his  chef,  Monsieur 
MIRLITON,  who  was  formerly  cordon-blew 
to  the  Sultan  of  MESOPOTAMIA. 


The  menu  was  arranged  as  follows — 
remember,  the  day  was  very  hot,  and  the 
thermometer  showed  no  appreciable  re- 
laxation at  the  time  so  pathetically 
referred  to  by  LONGFELLOW  in  his  noble 
poem,  Excelsior: — Bisque  d'ecrevisses 
(iced),  a  trifle  too  red  to  suit  the  surround- 
ings, but  not  dear  at  ten  shillings  a 
portion;  whitebait  au  diable  (done  with 
curry  powder  and  Nepaul  pepper,  after 
the  recipe  of  my  esteemed  friend  the 
Rajah  of  PICLLIPORE)  came  next,  and  cer- 
tainly well  worth  the  9s.  9d.  put  on  the 
bill.  Then  a  frozen  cucumber  stuffed 
with  caviare — a  luxury  to  be  appreciated 
at  a  modest  sovereign.  A  Surrey  capon, 
larded  with  pate  de  foie  gras  and  farced 
with  black  pudding,  was  economically 
conspicuous  at  three  guineas.  A  sorbet 
of  Mexican  bananas  and  Tokay,  some 
Limburger  cheese  straws,  a  dessert  of 
custard  apples  and  mangoes,  followed  by 
green  coffee  with  a  harmony  of  similarly 
coloured  chartreuse — such  was  our  simple 
repast.  LEONARD  Lux. 

Buckingham  Pal  ice  Cottage,  Peckliam. 


114 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[AUGUST  14,  1901. 


THE   TALE   OF  A   TRUNK. 

["Great  confusion  has  reigned  at  Euston  during  the  last  few  weeks  owing 
to  a  difference  of  opinion  amongst  the  officials  of  the  L.  &  N.  "W.  R.  as  to 
whether  the  system  of  sending  passengers'  luggage  in  advance  has  been 
discontinued  or  not."— Daily  Paper, .] 

A  WAS  an  Artist  that  trusted  to  chance, 

B  was  the  Box  that  he  sent  in  advance, 

C  was  the  Clerk  who  supposed  it  might  go, 

D  was  the  Drayman  who  rather  thought  no. 

E  was  the  Euston  he  wrote  on  the  label, 

F  were  the  Fingermarks,  grimy  and  sable, 

G  was  the  Gee-gee  that  drew  the  big  van, 

H  was  the  Hand  outstretched  by  the  man. 

I    was  the  Item  the  artist  put  in  it, 

J    was  the  Joy  that  appeared  the  next  minute, 

K  was  the  Kick  the  Bucephalus  got, 

L    was  the  Last  that  he  saw  of  the  lot. 

M  Avas  the  Muddle  he  found  at  the  station, 

N  was  the  Noodle  who  gave  information, 

O  were  the  Oaths  which  the  artist  hurled  fast, 

P   was  the  Porter  he  captured  at  last. 

Q  were  the  Questions  he  fired  at  the  porter, 

R  the  Replies  he  received  from  this  quarter, 

S    the  Suggestions  the  manager  made, 

T  was  the  Train  that  would  not  be  delayed. 

U  the  Uncertainty — rushing  and  hurry — 

V  was  a  Vision  of  luggage  and  flurry, 

W  the  Whistle  that  shrilly  was  blown, 

X  the  Expletives — their  number  unknown. 

Y  a  disconsolate  Youngster,  our  hero, 

And  Z  was  the  point  of  his  spirits,  vis.,  Zero. 


ROVING    AT    RAMSGATE. 

Mil.  PrNCH,  SIR, — Thus  sang  the  South  Anglian  Laureate, 
B.A.,  Mus.  Doc.,  S.E.R.,  L.C.D.,  &c.,  as  he  harped  on  the  same 
string  over  and  over  again  : 

Oh,  what  heavenly  weather 

What  a  genuine  treat ! 
As  you  and  I  together 

Sail  in  La  Marguerite. 

As  you  and  I  together, 

Crossing  the  ocean,  wave 
Our  hats— we  're  in  great  feather! — 

We  two  so  bright  and  brave  ! 

"We  wave  our  hats  to  the  ladies 

Of  France,  who  are  on  the  quay, 
But  what  I  am  much  afraid  is 

Our  waving  they  do  not  fee  ! 

At  this  point  the  Bard  was  restrained :  it  was  just  on  the 
stroke  of  one,  and  we  summoned  him,  as  the  Ghost  of  the 
Commcndatore  summoned  DOH  Juan,  "  down  below," — only  this 
was  not  merely  to  receive  his  deserts  but  to  have  his  lunch. 
Feeding  good :  not  great,  not  luxurious :  appetite  excellent ; 
drinkatite  ditto.  Waiting  done  by  stewards  of  the  Q.C.S., 
which  initials  stand  for  "Quiet  Civil  Service."  Doing  the 
same  voyage  two  days  later,  I  find  precisely  the  same  bourgeois 
menu.  If  I  meet  with  it  on  a  third  journey  I  may  fairly  charge 
the  Chief  Steward,  or  the  Purveyors,  with  lack  of  imagination, 
or  with  lazily  adhering  to^very  old-fashioned  notions  on  the 
subject  of  restanration .  Starting  from  Ramsgate,  where  it 
calls  after  leaving  Margate.  By  this  boat,  not  too  crowded, 
but  quite  sufficiently  full  to  pay  and  leave  something  over,  we 
had,  on  the  first  visit,  only  two  complaints  to  make,  and  to 
whom  can  they  be  made  with  better  effect  than  to  you,  Mr. 
Punch,  P.C.O.,  i.e.  "  Public  Complaint  Officer  "  ? 

First,  the  boat  being  advertised  for  10.45  at  Ramsgate,  we 
being  one  quarter  of  an  hour  before  our  time  on  purpose  to 


escape   crowding,   found  the  ticket-office — a  kind   of  bathingl 
machine  in  reduced   circumstances  on  very   small  wheels  — 
closed,    and   it'  was    not   until    the     crowd,    which    we    hatl 
tried  to  escape,  had  become  troublesome,  that  at  length  thel 
pigeon-hole  was  opened,  and  there  was  a  struggle  for  places  I 
while  the  ticket-distributor  civilly  informed  us  that  probabh 
the  Marguerite  wouldn't  arrive  for  another  hour.     Whether 
this  was  his  fun,  or  intended  for  our  comfort,  was  not  evident 
anyway,  his  remarks  had  the  immediate  effect  of  more  or  les 
irritating  everybody,  except  a  few  giggling  females  who  haggle 
over  their  small  change  in  so  exasperating  a  fashion  as  to  mak 
dealing  with  them  quite  a  penance  for  the  ticket  man-in-the 
bathing-machine  box-office,  who  would  have  saved  himself  a 
this  trouble  and  us  all  this  crowding  had  he  arrived  a  quarte 
of  an   hour  earlier.     Then,    in  a  broiling  July  sun,  refreshe 
only  very  occasionally  by  a  whiff  of  S.E.  wind,  with  no  sor 
of  shelter    over    us,    we,    miserable   sinners,    had  to  remaii 
most  of  us  standing,  in  a  sort  of  sheep-pen  (this  is  the  fau 
of    the    harbour  authorities,   not    of  the     "  La    Marguerite 
Company),  being  done  to  rags  by  the   blazing  sun,  scorchec 
baked,  but  of  course  not  on  all  sides,  as  head  and   shoulder 
got  the  worst  of  it.     It  was  courting  sunstrokes.    At  last,  thre 
quarters   of  an   hour   late,   in   came  the   merry  and   majest 
Marguerite,  we  feeling  towards  her  more  like  Mephistopheh 
than  Faust.     On  our  next  visit  the  ticket  distributor  was 
the  bathing-machine-like  office  quite  fifteen  minutes  before  th 
time  advertised  for  starting,  and  there  was  no  crowding ;  bu 
the  absence  of  protection  from  the  sun's  rays  was  notable.    An 
how  utterly  hopeless  this  unprotected  situation  would  be 
a  "  surprise  "  pelting  shower  ! 

"Once   aboard   the   lugger   and   we  were    free!"      It    wa 
delightful.     It  was  "  a  little  bit  of  all  right,"  as  a  jovial  touri 
who  had  previously  joined  the  ship  at  Margate,  observed.     Bi 
if  anything  could  do  harm  to  a  pleasant  day,  it  was  having  bee 
compelled  to  wait  for  the  unpunctual  opening  of  the  ticket-offic 
and  being  detained  for  three  quarters  of  an  hour  in  the  broilin 
sun,  where  we  boys  stood  on  the  burning  stones,  which  we 
like  hot  bricks  to  our  poor  fried  soles,  without  any  awnin 
and  only  a  few  benches. 

Mr.  Punch,  Sir,  we  wish  well  to  the  merry  Marguerite,  he 
crew  and  company,  and  to  our  noble  friend  The  Pier  of  Ram 
gate,  and  if  you,  Sir,  will  only  give  these  pier  officials  a  st 
up  with  your  baton,  just  a  playful  poke  in  the  ribs,  we  a 
certain  they  will  recognise  the  justice  of  complaints  which  c 
not  come  from  grumblers  but  from  well-wishers. 

Ramsgate,  which  ashore  is  capable  of  considerable  improv* 
inont,  as  also,  we  should  imagine,  is  its  Local  Board  of  Manag' 
incut  or  Town  Council,  or  whatever  the  supreme  authority  m» 
be,  is  now  well  provided  with  Boat  Services,  among  othe 
being  one  running  to  and  from  Folkestone,  per  combine 
forces  of  L.  C.  &  D.  and  S.  E.  boats,  calling  at  Deal  and  Dov 
en  route,  and  continuing  the  voyage  to  Margate  on  tl 
return.  This  is  a  service  that,  with  a  very  little  attenth 
given  to  the  times  and  seasons,  and  to  the  cuisine,  which  is 
the  hands  of  an  experienced  steward  (we've  come  across  hi 
before  now,  same  Service,  other  boats),  ought,  as  a  distin« 
feature  of  the  K.C.B.  ("Kent  Coasting  Boats"),  to  becon 
highly  and  deservedly  popular. 

At  Folkestone  the  voyager  has  plenty  of  time  to  mount  to  tl 
big  hotel,  the  Metropole,  or,  if  he  would  take  it  very  easil 
he  can  remain  en  bas  at  the  Imperial,  where,  on  the  occasic 
of  our  visit,  there  was  a  lunch  excellent  in  quality  but  pars- 
monious  in  quantity,  though  no  doubt  we  could  have  had  : 
we  required  if,  like  Oliver  Twist,  we  had  only  "  asked  f< 
more."  But  we  didn't,  except  as  to  tomatoes,  and  these  we 
so  frugally  served  (though  deliciously  done),  being  neat 
divided  into  two  slices  for  each  person  (tomatoes,  you  see,  a 
so  dear !  !),  that  we  summoned  up  courage  to  implore  one  of  tl 
extremely  superior  waiters,  who  had  all  the  chastened  air 
men  ready  at  any  moment  to  undertake  an  order  for  an  expe 


AUGUST 

14, 

1901.] 

PUNCH, 

OR 

THE 

LONDON 

CHARIVARI. 

115 

NOTES    FROM    COWES. 

"CALL  TITS  PLEASURE?    WELL,  ALL  I  CAN  SAY  is,  GIVE  ME  SCAINES  AND  A  FISHING-PUNT  ! 


sive  funeral,  to  repeat  the  dose  of  "tomatoes  for  three."  In 
about  five  minutes  he  returned,  quietly  and  sorrowfully, 

'bringing  his  sheaves  with  him"  in  the  shape  of  tivo  more 
thin  slices  o/  tomatoes  I  It  must  have  gone  to  the  cook's  heart, 
or  the  larder-maid's  heart,  to  part  with  them  !  And  there 
toas  no  extra  charge  in  the  bill !  Fancy  that !  So  we  were 
thankful  for  small  mercies,  and  cheerfully  paid  three  shillings 
for  four  lemon-squashes  (two  of  us  were  thirsty  souls),  and  two 
shillings  for  two  "goes"  of  whisky,  which  at  a  club  would 

i:i\-(!  amounted  to  eightpence  or  tenpence  at  the  most.  How- 
3ver,  "live  and  let  live."  And  so  for  the  present,  until  more 

'complaints  "  induce  us  to  seek  Dr.  Punch  for  a  cure,  we  beg 
:o  remain  (here) 

THE  RAMSGATE  ROVERS  &  Co. 


TOOTHSOME.— Sir  J.  CRICHTON  BROWNE,  proposing  the  health  of 
he  Dental  Association  last  week,  observed  that  "  the  age  in 
.vhich  we  lived  was  one  of  dental  debility."  "The  age  to 
•vhich  some  of  us  live  "  would  have  been  more  accurate,  in 
mother  sense  of  "age."  He  also  said  that  the  new  century 
'  must  look  well  to  the  teeth  of  its  people."  Quite  so  :  it  may 
iot  l)o  long  ere  we  shall  be  among  the  nations  who  have  "to 
liovr  their  teeth,"  and  prove  they  can  bite  as  sharply  as  they 
;m  bark  loudly.  At  the  present  and  at  any  time  the  artist  who 
;ni  most  painlessly  and  most  skilfully  "draw  teeth  "  is  to  be 
eokoned  among  the  greatest  benefactors  of  suffering  mortals. 


MOTTO  KOR  KKNT  JUST  NOW. — "What's  the  odds  as  long  as 

ou  're  Loppy  !  " 


NOT    AT    HOME    TO    HONESTY. 

(A  Man  in  the  Street's  Adventure.) 

"WANT  a  night's  lodging?"  enquired  one  of  the  officials, 
glancing  at  the  intruder. 

"Which  will  you  have,  this  or  that?"  asked  the  other, 
pointing  first  to  one  gateway  and  then  to  the  other. 

The  intruder  pressed  for  particulars. 

"Well,"  said  Number  One,  "you  will  find  the  house  suffi- 
ciently comfortable,  good  and  wholesome  food,  warm  clothing, 
and  tobacco  in  moderation." 

"  That  sounds  well.    And  now,  Sir,  what  can  you  do  forme  ?  " 

"  Your  health  is  our  first  consideration." 

"  So  it  is  with  us,"  put  in  Official  Number  One.  "  Sanitary 
considerations  take  precedence  of  everything  else." 

"  Both  tempting,"  said  the  intruder,  "  and  I  should  certainly 
like  admission." 

"Well,  the  qualification  is  simple  enough,"  said  Number 
One.  "  Are  you  a  pauper  ?  " 

"  No,  not  quite." 

"  Then  are  you  a  thief  or  any  other  kind  of  law  breaker  ?  " 
queried  Number  Two. 

"Sorry  I  am  neither,"  answered  'the  intruder;  "I  am 
only  an  artizaii  out  of  work." 

"Won't  do  for  us.  A  stranger  to  the  Relieving  Officer," 
observed  Number  One. 

"  And  unknown  to  the  police,"  returned  the  other. 

"  Then  what  sliall  I  do  ?  " 

"  You  must  answer  that  question  yourself,"  said  NumberOne. 

But  Number  Two  was  silent,  feeling  that  it  was  no  part 
j  of  his  official  duty  to  find  a  solution  to  conundrums. 


116 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[AUGUST  14,  1901. 


TO    THE    PIANO-FIENDS    NEXT    DOOR. 
(By  a  victim.) 

THUMP  !  thump  !  thump  on  the  shindy-box  all  day, 

But  give  me  a  respite  from  your  whacks  when  midnight  has 

passed  away. 

I  cannot  enjoy  your  scales  or  your  operatic  airs, 
I  weep  at  your  style  chromatic,  and  the  crashing  that  never 
I  pity  the  poor  piano,  with  never  a  minute's  rest,  [spares. 

How  it  quivers  and  shrieks  and  bellows  like  a  slave  who  is 
sore  opprest,  [will> 

How  it  raves  and  rumbles  and  rages  'neath  your  fingers'  iron 
From  morning  till  night  and  from  darkness  to  dawn  its  key- 
board is  never  still. 

It  murders  with   reckless  fury,  though  well  I  know  who 's  to 
blame,  [a  name. 

It  murders  the  unknown  maestro  with  the  maestro  who  's  got 
Yet  I  pity  the  poor  assassin,  for  I  know  it  cannot  be  free 
From  the  thraldom  of  fingering  fiends  who  are  slowly  murdering 


OUR    BOOKING-OFFICE. 

FOR  some  time  past,  at  brief  intervals,  Messrs.  NKWNES  have 
been  issuing  what  they  call  The  Library  of  Useful  Stories.  It 
is  not  a  kind  of  Tit-Bits  of  fiction.  It  is,  in  truth,  a  series  of 
erudite  essays  on  subjects  of  every-day  interest,  written  in  a 
style  understanded  of  the  people.  Amongst  earlier  volumes 
are  The  Story  of  Wild  Flowers,  The  Story  of  Eclipses,  The 
Story  of  a  Piece  of  Coal,  and  The  Story  of  the  Stars.  The  latest 
issue,  The  Story  of  King  Alfred,  comes  out  just  in  time  for  the 
millenary  of  England's  Darling.  When  my  Baronite  adds  that 
the  little  book  was  written  by  Sir  WALTER  BESANT  it  touches 
tautology  to  add  that  it  is  picturesquely  written.  To  be  sold 
at  a  shilling  each  this  library  must  have  a  very  wide  circulation 
in  order  to  pay.  For  those  concerned  for  the  spread  of  educa- 
tion it  is  pleasant  to  think  of  so  powerful  an  agency  at  work. 

The  conclusion  that  must  inevitably  be  arrived  at  by  any  one 
gifted  with  a  true  appreciation  of  the  humorous  during  the  perusal 
of  Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish  R.M. ,  by  Messrs.  SOMERVILLE  and 
MARTIN  Ross  (LONGMANS,  GREEN  &  Co.),  will  be  that  the  authors 
have  a  faculty  for  seeing  things  not  as  others,  mere  ordinary 
persons,  see  them,  and  of  narrating  them  in  so  mirth-provoking 
and  original  a  fashion  as  to  compel  laughter  where,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  our  sympathy  with  the  sufferer  or  our  annoyance  with 
the  cause  of  his  sufferings  should  have  been  the  first  sentiment 
aroused  in  the  breast  of  a  spectator,  as  the  reader  is  supposed 
to  be,  of  the  scenes  described.  But  not  a  bit  of  it !  The 
ludicrous  side  in  every  situation,  fraught  it  may  be  with  more 
or  less  danger  to  life  and  limb,  is  always  kept  uppermost  by 
these  two  laughing  Irish  philosophers.  Dulness  is  banished 
from  the  opening  of  the  book  to  the  close  thereof,  though  it 
may  be  said  that  the  choicest  stories  are  at  the  commence- 
ment, as  the  most  attractive  strawberries  are  to  be  found  at 
the  top  of  the  pottle.  Since  CHARLES  LEVER  was  at  his  best 
with  Harry  Lorrequer,  Charles  O'Malley,  Tom  Burlce  of  Ours, 
and,  may  be,  The  Knight  of  Givynne,  no  such  rollicking  Irish 
book  as  this  has  appeared,  at  least  not  within  the  period  where- 
unto  the  memory  of  the  Baron  runneth  not  to  the  contrary. 
SHEEHAN'S  My  New  Curate  is  as  thoroughly  Irish  as  this,  but  its 
admirable  humour  is  of  a  sedate  and  gentle  character.  Nothing 
of  a  sedate  or  gentle  character  is  to  be  found  herte :  nearly  every 
story  is  calculated  to  "  set  the  table  in  a  roar,"  and  to  only  one 
of  them  is  there  anything  like  a  serious  and  rather  sensational 
finish.  As  a  mirth-pro voker  this  book  might  be  placed  in  the 
same  category  with  Many  Cargoes  and  with  The  Lunatic  at 
Large,  though  this  latter  is  rather  a  work  of  extravagantly 
grotesque  imagination,  while  Some  Experiences  deals  with  facts. 
Over  The  Lisheen  Races  the  Baron  wept  tears  of  laughter, 
anl  would  read  no  more  that  night,  unless  in  the  presence  of 


a  surgeon,  a  nurse,  and  his  own  medical  attendant,  in  case  he 
should  "split  his  sides"  and  require  an  immediate  opera- 
tion to  be  performed  by  the  deftest  hands.  The  Baron  does 
not  remember  having  laughed  so  heartily  since  he  first  learnt 
how  Mr.  Pickwick  drove  the  chaise  with  the  horse  in  it  that 
"  displayed  various  peculiarities,"  while  Mr.  Winkle  bestrode 
an  animal  that  went  up  the  street,  "side  first,  with  his  head 
towards  one  side  of  the  way,  and  his  tail  to  the  other."  The 
book  is  as  full  of  good  things  as  a  terrine  de  foie  gras  or 
exquisitely  made  grouse-pudding. 

Mr.  SYDNEY  BUXTON  has  enlarged  and,  to  a  considerable 
extent,  re-written  a  couple  of  articles  that  appeared  in  the 
spring  in  one  of  the  monthly  magazines,  being  a  study  oJ 
Mr.  GLADSTONE  as  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer.  Mr.  JOHfi 
MURRAY  publishes  them  in  a  convenient  volume.  It  falls  a  fev 
pages  short  of  two  hundred,  but  it  comprises  within  its  boards 
a  marvellous  chapter  in  the  history  of  England.  Betweer 
Mr.  GLADSTONE'S  first  Budget  speech,  delivered  in  April,  1853 
and  his  last,  spoken  in  July,  1882,  there  lies  accomplishment  o; 
national  good  unequalled  by  any  statesman  who  has  helped  t< 
mould  the  destinies  of  the  empire.  Mr.  BUXTON,  dealing  witl 
a  congenial  subject,  makes  his  book  a  model  of  lucidity.  Mj 
Baronite  observes  that  forty  years  ago,  as  to-day,  the 
CHANCELLOR  OP  THE  EXCHEQUER  and  his  colleagues  of  th< 
spending  departments  were  at  loggerheads.  Speaking  of  tin 
Budget  in  1861,  DIZZY,  in  a  characteristic  outburst,  contrast; 
"a  patriotic  Prime  Minister,  appealing  to  the  spirit  of  th< 
country,  with  his  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  whose  duty  is 
to  supply  the  ways  and  means  by  which  those  exertions  are  t< 
be  supported,  proposing  votes  with  innuendo  and  recoinmendinj 
expenditure  in  a  whispered  invective." 

Some  Literary  Landmarks  for  Pilgrims  on  Wheels  (DENT  &  Co.) 
by  Mr.  E.  W.  ROCKETT,  if  not  as  brilliantly  startling  as  the  namt 
of  the  author  would  suggest,  is  a  delightful  little  book,  excep 
tionally  valuable  to  Booky  Bikers,  who  can  carry  it  in  a  sidt 
pocket,  and,  when  resting  for  a  while,  can  dip  into  it  for  menta 
refreshment  and  profitable  instruction.  It  is  prettily  illustrate! 
by  J.  A.  SYMMiNGTON.  The  Baron  is  not  a  Biker,  but  the  countr; 
through  which  this  book  takes  us,  with  its  old  world  storie 
and  pleasant  recollections,  would  be  an  inducement  to  him  t< 
take  to  cruising  on  wheels  had  he  the  leisure  at  his  disposa 
for  perfecting  himself  in  the  Ixionic  labour.  With  a  pleasan 
companion,  too,  there  could  be  much  interchange  of  thought 
as  there  is  no  rule  of  the  road,  as  there  is  of  the  sea,  agains 
speaking  "  to  the  man  at  the  wheel,"  or,  as  it  should  be  her 
rendered,  "  to  the  man  OH  the  wheel." 

The  Baron  can  recommend  My  Lady's  Diamonds  (WAR! 
LOCK  &  Co.),  by  ADELINE  SARGENT,  as  a  novel  pour  passer  I 
temps  when  travelling  by  river,  rail  or  road.  It  is  an  old  themt 
perhaps,  but  the  treatment  is  somewhat  new,  the  hero  is  mor 
or  less  of  a  noodle,  and  the  heroine  is  not  a  particularl 
startling  character.  Still,  'twill  serve  when  on  a  journey. 

Apropos  of  "journeys,"  is  there  a  better  pocket  series  fo 
travellers  than  The  Temple  Classics  (J.  M.  DENT  &  Co.)? — wei 
bound,  simply  but  strongly,  the  latest  of  which  considerabl 
collection  is  The  Love  Letters  of  Abelard  and  Heloise,  "written, 
as  "H.M."  in  his  preface  reminds  us,  "  in  Latin  about  the  yea 
1128  and  first  published  in  Paris  in  1616."  The  present  trant 
lation,  or  rather  paraphrase,  which  admirably  conveys  thl 
spirit  of  the  original,  was  published  in  1722.  Immortal  romanc 
of  real  life  that  as  long  as  the  world  lasts  must  ever  enlist  thi 
sympathy  of  even  the  most  austerely  virtuous  for  these  bitterl 
punished  victims  of  human  frailty  and  of  fiendish  reveng* 
Let  us,  in  a  cooler  season  of  the  year,  visit  the  tomb  c 
ABELARD  and  HELOISE  in  the  cemetery  of  Pere  Lachaise,  anc 
like  "the  soldier"  who  "leant  upon  his  sword  and  wipe 
away  a  tear,"  let  us  dry  our  eyes  and  seek  the  nearest  cat 
where  we  can  moisten  our  sympathetic  throat.  "An  excellec 
excuse  for  a  visit  to  Paris,"  quoth,  knowingly, 

THK  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


AUGUST  14,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


117 


The  Squire.  "I  DON'T  SEEM  TO  KNOW  YOUR  FACT,  MY  MAN.     Do  YOU  LTVE  ABOUT  HTRE?" 
Old  Rustic.  "YES,  SIR.    Bur,  YER  SEE,  I  AIN'T  OFTEN  AT  THE  PUBLIC-'OUSE  1 " 


118 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[AUGUST  14,  1901. 


Master  Bob.   "  I  SAY,  ADAM,  THAT  WAS  A  IMIETTY  BAD  MISS!" 

Keeper.   "  TWASN'T  EVEX  THAT,  MASTER  BOB.     TWAS  FIRING  ix  A  TOTALLY  WRONG  DIRECTIOK." 


IN     ME  MORI  AM. 

J.M.  tittoria. 


GERMAN  EMPRESS,  PRINCESS  ROYAL  OF  ENGLAND. 
BORN,  Nov.  21,  1840.  DIED,  AUG.  5,  1901. 

PROVED  Royal  by  the  courage,  bright,  serene, 

That  bore  through  lingering  pain  the  lonely  test, 
Not  far  behind  her  feet,  your  Mother-Queen, 
You  follow  to  your  rest. 

Daughter  of  England,  gentle,  brave  and  wise, 
Who  looked  to  play  that  high  Imperial  part 
Which  should  have  linked  by  Love's  and  Nature's  ties 
The  lands  that  shared  your  heart ; — 

Ah  !  might  you  have  your  will,  then  Death's  own  hand, 

That  set  upon  your  throne  so  swift  a  doom, 
Through  memory  yet  shall  bind  these  two  that  stand 
To-day  above  your  tomb. 


THE  WAY  THEY  WILL  HAVE   WITH    THE  ARMY. 

(A  Rip-Van-Winklein  peep  into  the  Future.) 

THE  hundred  years  had  passed  rapidly.  RIP,  before  going 
to  sleep,  had  taken  the  latest  patent  remedy  for  preserving 
tissue,  and  came  to  himself  as  fresh  as  ever.  Things  had 
not  changed  very  much  during  his  slumber.  The  same  old 
aerial  navigation,  wireless  telegraphy,  dwelling  atmospheres 
|the  substitute  for  board  and  residence),  and  the  i\est  of  it.  He 
willed,  and  his  brain- wave  took  him  into  a  palace.  \ 

"Why  are  you  here?"  he  asked  a  gentlemaV  who  was 
covered  with  silver,  gold  and  precious  stones. 

"  Because  I  prefer  it,"  was  the  languid  reply." 

"What  is  your  income?  "  queried  RIP  with  a  curiosity  the 
outcome  of  transatlantic  extraction. 


"  A  couple  of  thousand  a  year  or  so  and  perquisites,"  was  the 
reply,  languid  AS  before. 

"Are  you  a  Cabinet  Minister?  " 

"  No — one  infinitely  more  important,  a  soldier." 

"  I  see  ;  so  in  the  twenty-first  century  this  is  the  manner 
which  a  field-marshal  exists  ?  " 

"  No,  you  are  wrong,"  said  the  soldier,  "  I  am  not  a  lielc 
marshal,  but  a  private.  I  cost  a  good  deal — in  fact,  as  yo 
may  imagine,  many  thousands.  But  I  am  told  I  am  cheap  a 
the  price." 

"  Cheap  at  the  price  ?     Why?" 

"  Yes,  because  we  really  can't  afford  conscription." 


"THE  VICIOUS   CIRCLE." 

OH,  tell  me  not  I  've  lost  my  appetite, 

This  is  a  world  of  melancholy  truth  : 
"Alas!  "  quoth  I,  "that  which  did  once  invite 

Was  but  the  stomach  of  Digestive  Youth  !  " 

In  vain  I  strove  to  eat  at — well,  say  fifty, — 
As  eat  I  used  when  I  was  twenty-one ; 

Starving,  1  could  but  drink,  and,  mixed  and  thrifty, 
Weep  for  results  of  chops  so  overdone. 

In  vain  I  murmured,  "  Eat  and  drink  one  hath  to  :  " 
So  quoth  the  cat  that  swalloweth  the  bird  ; 

The  bird,  arising  from  his  morning  bath,  too, 
Eats  up  the  worm  before  it  can  be  heard. 

The  worm  but  turns  in  righteous  indignation, 
And,  to  console  himself  as  best  he  may, 

Says,  "  They  bad  men,  by  order  of  creation, 
Feed  on  we  beasties,  till  we  feed  on  They." 

God  makyth  man  ;  man  dog  unkindly  beatcth  ; 

Dog  chivieth  cat  (explain  it  how  you  can, 
The  circle  goes  full  round) ;  then  cat  bird  eateth  ; 

Bird  swalloweth  worm,  and  worm  devoureth  Man. 

H.  C.  M. 


PUNCFT,    Oil   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI.— AUGUST  14,  1901. 


THE   CHIEF   MOURNERS. 


AUGUST  14,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OK  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


121 


ESSENCE    OF    PARLIAMENT. 

EXTRACTED  FBOM  THB  DIARY  OF  TOBY,  M.P 

House  of  Lords,  Monday,  August  5.— 
Efforts  have  been  made  from  time  to 
time  by  belated  writers  to  picture  the 
MARKISS'S  manner  of  speech  when  he 
stands  at  Table  of  House.  BRAYE  (the 


The  Markiss  murmurs  into  the  privacy  of  his 
waistcoat. 

Baron  not  the  Vicar),  with  unconscious 
humour  to-night  tumbled  upon  description 
which  for  graphicness  and  accuracy  the 
most  skilful  penman  could  not  beat. 
Speaking  on  third  reading  of  Royal 
Declaration  Bill,  BRAYE  brought  startling 
accusation  against  the  MARKISS.  "The 
noble  lord,"  he  said,  "when  referring  to 
the  doctrine  of  transubstantiation  lowered 
his  voice,  inclined  his  head,  and  spoke  in 
a  deeply  reverential  spirit." 

The  MARKISS  jumped  up  and,  for  him, 
hotly  denied  the  description.  "  The 
noble  lord,"  he  observed,  "  said  I  lowered 
my  voice  and  inclined  my  head.  He  is 
quite  mistaken.  I  deny  it." 

All  the  same  it  is  literally  and  exactly 
true.  Only,  tone  and  gesture  had  nothing 
to  do  with  transubstantiation.  The  trick 
might  have  happened  at  the  moment  the 
word  was  pronounced,  and  caught  the 
watchful  eye  of  Lord  BRAYE.  That  is  the 
more  likely  since  it  is  recurrent  at  least 
once  in  every  five  minutes  of  the  MAHKISS'S 
speech.  He  goes  along  pretty  audibly  for 
ten  or  a  dozen  sentences  ;  then  down  drops 
his  massive  chin  on  his  manly  breast,  and 
to  the  anguish  of  the  laboriously  listening 
audience  the  final  clause  of  the  sentence, 
often  the  most  important,  is  murmured  into 
the  privacy  of  his  waistcoat. 

Lord  BUAYE'S  mistake,  delightful  for 
its  elaborate  comicality,  will  have  its 
uses  if  it  brings  home  to  the  MARKISS 
•the  inconvenience  of  a  mannerism  that 
sometimes  reaches  the  proportions  of  a 
public  calamity. 

Business  done. — In  the  Commons  Amurath 
to  Amurath  succeeds.  Wo  have  for  a 


while  lost  SAM  SMITH  ;  we  have  found 
SPROSTON  CAINE.  SAMUEL,  it  will  be  re- 
membered, used  to  prowl  about  Piccadilly 
at  midnight,  or  haunt  the  stage  door  of 
the  music  halls,  coming  down  to  the 
House,  and  making  its  flesh  creep  with 
horror  at  recital  of  things  he  had  seen 
and  heard.  SPROSTON,  according  to  his 
own  account,  has  been  lavishing  his 
pennies  in  looking  up  naughty  things 
hidden  in  the  recesses  of  mutoscopes. 
Home  Secretary  so  interested  in  the 
enterprise  that,  taking  his  tip  from 
SPROSTON,  he  has  spent  all  his  pocket- 
money. 

"The  hon.  Member,"  he  ruefully  said 
just  now,  "  referred  me  to  the  Strand.  I 
paraded  up  and  down  the  Strand  one 
whole  afternoon  and  detected  nothing.  I 
have  spent  the  best  part  of  this  Bank 
Holiday  trying  to  find  these  pictures.  I 
saw  many  picture  boxes,  surrounded  by 
urchins,  and  spent  several  pennies  in  look- 
ing into  them,  but  I  did  not  see  one  single 
thing  that  any  human  being  could  possibly 
object  to." 

This  vision  of  RITCHIE  hovering  round 
mutoscope  with  other  street  urchins,  feel- 
ing in  his  pockets  to  see  if  he  had  got 
another  penny,  tenderly  toying  with  it, 
finally  making  up  his  mind,  hastily  drop- 
ping it  in  the  slot,  bending  his  eye  to 
level  of  peephole,  and  then  being  dis- 
appointed, was  hailed  by  unsympathetic 
House  with  roars  of  laughter. 

Tuesday  night. — The  Hughligans  broke 
out  to-night.  JOHN  o'GoRST,  epitome  of 
harmless  respectability,  taking  an  after- 
noon walk  after  leaving  a  card  on  the 
Committee  of  the  Council  of  Education, 
suddenly  set  upon  ;  his  hat  beaten  over 
his  brow  ;  his  ribs  punched  ;  his  whiskers 
pulled ;  his  body  left  for  dead  in  the 
lonely  furrow  that  lies  between  the  pave- 
ment and  the  roadway  and  is  collo- 
quially known  as  the  gutter. 

All  this,  of  course,  in  a  Parliamentary 
sense.  What  actually  happened  was  that 
HUGH  CECIL  and  his  more  or  less  merry 
men  made  up  their  minds  to  prevent  the 
building  of  a  new  Board  School  at  Step- 
ney. JOHN  O'GORST,  as  representative  of 
the  Board  of  Education,  had  arranged 
everything  for  the  purchase  of  a  site. 
Provisional  Order  confirmed  in  Com- 
mittee ;  Bill  came  up  this  afternoon 
for  consideration  on  Report  stage.  If  it 
passed  all  was  lost ;  Board  School  would 
forthwith  be  built.  If  they  could  get 
the  Bill  re-committed,  on  whatever  ex- 
cuse, delay  would,  at  this  period  of 
Session,  be  fatal,  and  the  evil  day  of 
rection  of  another  Board  School  in  Lon- 
don would  be  put  off  for  twelve  months. 

Lord  HUGH  CECIL  accordingly  met  his 
boys  at  midnight,  by  a  coffee  stall,  in 
quiet  street  at  Greenwich.  All  arranged. 
When  Bill  called  on  to-day  EVANS  GORDON, 
Major  (retired),  put  up  to  make  frontal 
attack.  At  the  right  moment,  HL7GH 


CECIL  came  up  on  the  flank,  and  the 
pounding  began.  Accused  JOHN  O'GORST 
of  "surreptitious  proceedings";  with 
indignant  gesture  of  angry  hand  toward 
the  Treasury  Bench,  on  which  sat  Brother 
CRANBORNE,  Cousin  ARTHUR,  and  Cousin 
GERALD,  declared  that  it  was  the  only 
part  of  the  House  where  honourable  un- 
derstandings were  not  kept. 

Effect  of  scene  on  SQUIRE  OF  MALXYOOD 
quite  painful.  In  voice  choked  with 
emotion,  he  protested  that  never  had  he 
seen  the  House  fallen  so  low  as  when, 
charges  of  this  kind  brought  against 
the  King's  Ministers,  no  reply  was  forth- 
coming. This  interposition  wrought  magic 
results  on  Lord  HUGH.  Ran  over  and 
knelt  by  side  of  prostrate  Vice  President 
of  the  Council ;'  helped  him  to  his  feet ; 
|  smoothed  his  hair  ;  brushed  his  clothes  ; 
promised  him  a  new  coat  of  red  paint  for 
his  bicycle. 

"If,"  he  protested,  "  I  have  said  any- 
thing that  is  capable  of  being  interpreted 
as  reflecting  on  Sir  JOHN  GoRST,  I  with- 
draw it.  I  have  the  warmest  sense  of  the 
fairness  and  honesty  he  always  displays." 

Here  he  tenderly  removed  a  flake  of 
mud  from  the  right  hon.  gentleman's  left 
whisker. 

"Urn,"  said  the  SQUIRE  OF  MALWOOD, 
"wish  I  hadn't  spoken.  Rather  spoiled 
a  promising  little  game." 

Business  done. — The  Hughligans  ruth- 
lessly assault  JOHN  o'  GORST. 

Friday  night. — I  sometimes  ask  the  MEM- 
BER FOR  SARK  what  has  become  of  FRANK 
HUGH  O'DONNELL.  Twenty  years  ago  he 
was,  perhaps,  the  most  brilliant  of  the 
band  of  Irish  obstructionists  who  reduced 
obstruction  to  a  science,  and  showed  how  a 
few  men,  some  of  them  illiterate,  all  reso- 
lute, unscrupulous,  could  defy  and  defame 
the  Mother  of  Parliaments.  The  answer 
comes  to-day  in  a  little  book  published 


Gorst  succumbs  to  the  Chief  of  the  '•  Hughligins  " 


122 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[AUGUST  14,  1901. 


by  JOHN  LONG,  entitled  The  Message -of 
the  Musters.  FRANK  HUGH,  like  Mr. 
Silas  Wegg,  has  dropped  into  poetry.  The 
theme  of  the  verse  is  the  legend,  dear  to 
Irishmen,  which  tells  how  within  the 
bosom  of  the  Mount  of  Aileach  are  buried 
the  ruins  of  the  stately  summer  palace  of 
the  northern  kings  of  Ireland,  who,  silent 
amid  their  slumbering  hosts,  watch:  for 
the'dawning  of  the  day  when  they  shall 
lead  forth  their  warriors  to  deliver  Ireland 
from  the  yoke  of  the  Saxon." 

FHANK  HUGH'S  verse  has  all  the  finish 
and  far  more  of  the  fire  of  'his '  prose 
speeches.  Written  in  the  rhythm  of 
MACAULAY'S  ballads,  there  are  some  verses 
the  Master  might  have  been  proud  to 
have  penned.  I  gather  that  the  former 
Member  for  Dungarvan  does  not  think 
much  of  the  present  Irish  Parliamentary 
Party.  Even  PARNELL  did  not  please  him. 
To  his  memory  he  dedicates  the  following 
lines  : — 
A  shape  of  lath  and  plaster  had  late  been  leader 

there, 
With  puppetry  and  paint-work  to  set  the  folk 

astare. 
There  came  a  wind  of  judgment,  and  lo!  its  place 

was  bare. 

In  a  supplement  of  historical  notes  and 
explanations,  not  the  least  interesting 
portion  of  the  little  book,  t^is  is  admitted 
to  refer  to  CHARLES  STEWART  PARNELL, 
"a  penniless  Wicklow  squire  of  English 
descent."  But  who  is  this  ? — 

We  marked  a   burst  of   cheeiing  that  hailed  a 

bloated  slave 
The  Seller  of  our  exiles  from  Clyde  to  London's 

wave. 
The  Talkers  cheered  the  Knaving;    the    throng 

acclaimed  the  knave. 
And  this  ?— 
And  still,  and  still  a  Talker,  with  Ghetto  shekels 

paid, 
Where  Moy  looks  South  on  Galway,  his  sordid 

mobsmen  bade 
Refuse    the    County    Honour    to    Ireland's    New 

Brigade. 

And  who  can  this  be  ? — 
Still  proaing  and  still  posing !    Like  pedant  from 

hedge  school, 
Came  one,  sour  faced  with  envy,  incompetent  to 

rule, 
To  show  no  fool  in  motley  c.in  match  a  Dismal 

Fool. 

What  FRANK  HUGH  can't  abear  is  the 
making  of  long  speeches  in  the  House  of 
Commons.     As  he  puts  it — 
The  Chiefs  are  hot  with  hating  the  noisome  Night 

of  Words, 
The  Chiefs  are  wild  with  waiting    the    leaping 

Light  of  Swords. 

Yet  SARK  remembers  FRANK  HUGH 
making  a  two  hours'  speech  in  his  first 
Session.  Also  he  remembers  one  night 
in  June,  1880,  when  F.  H.,  in  the  middle 
of  the  Question  Hour,  moved  the  adjourn- 
ment, in  order  to  attack  CHALLEMKL- 
LACOUR,  just  named,  French  Ambassador 
at  the  Court  of  St.  James's,  leading  to 
tvlk  which  lasted  till  one  o'clock  the 


next  morning.  Other  times,  other  O'DON- 
NELL'S.  To-day  none  so  fierce  as  he  in 
flagellation  of  the  Tribe  of  Talkers. 

Business  done. — Report  of  Supply  driven 
through. 


PIEVE   DI   CADORE. 

TWENTY -FIVE  miles  from  a  railway 
station,  arid  without  electric  light  or  gas, 
Piev£  di  Cadore,  the  birthplace  of  TITIAN, 
remains  old-fashioned.  One  can  sit  out- 
side the  Hotel  Progresso,  aild  watch  the 
dusty  travellers  arriving  in  dusty 
carriages  with  the  luggage  tied  on 
behind,  as  in  the  time  of  DICKENS'S 
Pictures 'from  Italy.  A  vettura  pubblica, 
a  degenerate  descendant  of  the  old  dili- 
gence, arrives  four  times  a  day.  It  is 
only  an  omnibus  with  two  seats  in  front, 
but  it  is  inscribed  Mesnaggeria  Postale, 
it  is  painted  bright  yellow,  and  it  does 
its  best  to  look  as  old  as  possible.  As  for 
the  three  horses  in  it,  they  look  as  old  as 
possible  without  any  trying.  They  seem 
to  date  back  to  the  time  of  DICKENS  at 
least,  if  not  of  TITIAN  himself. 

The  name  of  the  Hotel  Progresso  is 
possibly  unique.  Its  progress,  as  regards 
slowness,  is  much  the  same.  However, 
it  has  reached  a  point  of  tolerable  com- 
fort, and,  being  able  to  accommodate 
eighty  people,  it  has  just  bought, a  second 
hip-bath.  It  boasts  already  of  a  plunge 
bath — a  cement  tank  in  the  floor  of  an 
out-house  approached  through  the  garden. 
The  comfort  of  this  bath  is  somewhat 
diminished  by  the  fact  that  the  cold-water 
tap  leaks  and  squirts  a  thin,  but  powerful, 
stream  of  Avater  into  the  air.  The 
stranger,  on  entering,  naturally  en- 
deavours to  turn  off  the  tap,  with  the 
result  that  the  squirt  of  water  is  diverted 
on  to  him,  and  gives  him  a  pleasant 
shower-bath  before  he  has  taken  his 
clothes  off. 

But  one  forgets  all  these  trifling  imper- 
fections in  the  delightful  climate  of  Pieve 
di  Cadore,  which  is  as  nearly  perfect  as 
possible.  An  Italian  sky  and  a  southern 
sunshine  are  blended  with  the  pure  air  of 
three  thousand  feet  above  the  sea.  It  is 
just  the  happy  medium  between  baking 
Belluno  to  the  south,  and  cloudy  Cortina  or 
shivering  Schluderbach  to  the  north.  In 
Cortina,  with  over  3,000  inhabitants,  it  is 
impossible  to  buy  a  book  or  a  newspaper 
of  any  country  whatever.  The  place  is  so 
benighted,  so  literally  in  the  clouds,  that 
even  the  clocks  are  permanently  wrong. 
Marvellous  to  relate  they  are  not  slow, 
but  fast — twenty  minutes  ahead  of  Vienna. 
It  is  possible  that  Cortina,  never  seeing  a 
book  or  a  newspaper,  has  never  heard  of 
Central  European  Time,  but  how  it  gets 
its  clocks  twenty  minutes  fast,  unless  it 
regulates  them  by  the  moon,  is  more  than 
one  can  discover.  At  Pieve  di  Cadore,  .in 
poor,  ignorant  Italy,  with  only  eight 
hundred  poor,  ignorant  inhabitants,  one 
can  buy  a  Venetian  paper  daily,  and  in 


the  shop  where  pins  and  needles,  toys, 
thread,  matches,  picture  post-cards  and 
other  trifles  are  sold,  one  can  even  buy  a 
book.  It  is  not  much  of  a  book,  but  it  is 
more  than  you  could  get  in  Cortina,  un- 
less you  telegraphed  to  Vienna  for  it. 

Pieve  di  Cadore  has  but  one  defect, 
shared  with  other  Italian  towns.  The 
inhabitants  seem  to  require  no  sleep. 
Before  five  in  the  morning  they  ring  the 
church  bells,  terrific  bells,  certainly 
audible  two  miles  away.  This  is  the 
morning  programme : 

4.45  A.M.  —  Church  bells  for  three 
minutes. 

5.0. — Just  as  one  is  settling  off  to  sleep 
again,  clock  of  Municipio  strikes.  It  is 
a  .very  loud  clock.  Second  attempt  to 
fall  asleep  again. 

5.2. — Clock  of  church  strikes.  Also  a 
loud'one. 

5.10,  or  thereabouts.  —  Animated  con- 
versation of  inhabitants  just  under  bed- 
room window.  They  were  talking  outside 
till  11  P.M.  Crowing  of  cocks. 

5.30. — Banging  of  doors  in  corridor,  and 
departure  of  first  travellers  leaving  to- 
day. Much  conversation  in  loud  voices. 
Shouts  in  various  languages — Italian, 
German,  American.  Crashes  of  heavy 
luggage  on  floors.  Creaking  of  brakes  on 
wheels  of  carriages  descending  hill.  Also 
bells,  cocks,  dogs,  swifts  and  others. 

6.0. — Day's  work  well  begun.  Renewed 
movements  of  vehicles,  of  luggage,  of 
travellers.  General  chorus  of  cocks, 
clocks,  dogs,  swifts,  servants  and  in- 
habitants generally.  Occasional  solo  by 
a  donkey.  Last  hope  of  sleep  finally 
abandoned.  Get  up. 

7.0. — Bells  and  clocks.  After  this  a 
profound  peace  settles  down  upon  the 
Piazza  Tiziano.  The  few  people  about 
seem  to  converse  softly.  An  occasional 
vehicle  passing  is  hardly  noticeable. 
The  bells  are  rung  no  more.  Even  the 
clocks  appear  to  strike  more  gently.  But 
it  is  too  late  to  go  to  bed  again  when  one 
is  up  and  dressed. 

After  two  such  awakenings,  it  became 
evident  that  the  only  way  to  get  some 
sleep  was  to  go  to  bed  at  nine.  Un- 
fortunately I  came  to  this  conclusion  on  a 
Sunday,  when  the  town  band,  with  brass 
instruments  of  vast  power  and  a  mighty 
drum,  performed  a  selection  of  music 
under  my  windows  till  10.30  p.m.,  and  so 
completely  aroused  the  already  wakeful 
inhabitants  that  they  remained  on  the 
piazza  discussing  the  performance  till 
midnight.  On  Monday  the  enterprising 
proprietor  of  the  Gaffe  Tiziano,  opposite, 
had  engaged  two  comic  singers,  who  sang 
with  immense  energy,  accompanied  by  a 
harmonium,  from  nine  in  the  evening  until 
some  late  hour,  which  complete  exhaustion 
prevented  me  from  recording.  I  only 
know  that  they  had  finished  when  the 
church  bells  woke  me  at  a  quarter  to  five 
on  Tuesday  morning.  H.  D.  B. 


AUGUST  14,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


123 


ftiS-AdMS^pcv* 


VOLUNTEER    NOTES. 

OUT   WITH  AN   AllMY   CORPS    IN   ArCUST. 


124 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[AUGUST  14,  1901. 


SORROWS  OF  PATERFAMILIAS  AT  THE  SEASIDE. 

PART  II. 

FOUR  of  my  offspring  joined  me  on  the  sands. 

WILLY  and  JOHNNY  expressed  a  desire  to  paddle ;  whilst 
MOLLY  and  CHARLIE  were  equally  determined  to  buy  pails, 
spades  and  nets.  I,  personally,  should  have  preferred  remaining 
on  the  beach,  but 

The  contest  ended  in  tears  on  one  side,  triumph  on  the  other, 
and  a  forced  march  upon  the  toyshop  in  the  High  Street.  It 
struck  me  that,  judging  by  the  varied  assortment  of  smells, 
the  High  Street  was  aptly  named.  Near  the  toy -shop  we  met 
my  eldest  boy  puffing  at  a  cigarette.  I  frowned  warningly,  but 
ALGERNON  exclaimed  :  "  Oh,  it 's  all  right,  Gov'nor  ;  the  Mater 
will  never  know  if  you  don't  tell  her." 

T  sighed,  and  entered  the  shop.  Amid  a  clamour  of  infantile 
cries,  I  fitted  out  the  children  with  nets,  boats,  cheap  bathing 
dresses,  and  canvas  shoes. 

Then  we  again  repaired  to  the  beach.  The  children  all 
paddled,  except  ALGERNON,  who  turned  rather  green,  and  said 
he  didn't  care  for  the  seaside,  and  that  he  thought  the  journey 
down  had  disagreed  with  him.  We  returned,  at  length,  to 
what  is  euphemistically  designated  a  high  tea,  sandy,  dirty  and 
sticky. 

MARION  had  "put  things  to  rights" — whatever  that  may 
mean — we  retired  to  bed  early,  and  awoke  to  a  bright, 
sunny  day.  The  only  drawbacks  to  the  enjoyment  of  our 
breakfast  were  that  the  eggs  were  hard,  and  the  bacon  uneatable. 
The  tea  had  apparently  been  made  with  tepid  water,  too.  But 
we  had  not  come  to  Cockleton  to  eat  but  to  enjoy  the  sight  of 
the  azure  sea.  It  was  not  azure ;  it  was  of  a  faded  pea-soup 
colour  ;  but  that  was  a  detail. 

Shortly  after  breakfast  we  started  for  the  beach,  laden  with 
camp-stools,  milk-buns,  sponge  cakes,  pears,  bananas,  bathing- 
dresses,  towels,  pails  and  spades,  toy  boats  and  fishing-nets, 
brushes  and  combs.  I  carried  most  of  these  things — dear 
MA.RION  is  so  flattering  in  the  confidence  she  reposes  in  me, 
as  evidenced  by  her  desire  that  I  should  personally  take  charge 
of  most,  if  not  all,  of  our  belongings.  I  walked  a  little  in 
advance,  f~o  that  MARION  should  be  able  to  see  if  I  dropped 
anything  en  route. 

We  reached  the  sands  and  spread  our  impedimenta  on  the 
ground.  Selecting  my  wife's  waterproof,  I  was  laying  it  out 
preparatory  to  sitting  on  it,  when  a  yell  from  MARION  apprised 
me  that  the  baby  was  underneath,  having  been  temporarily 
deposited  there  by  Nurse.  How  I  could  be  so  careless 
MARION  could  not  understand.  I  smiled  broadly,  and  MARION 
said  1  was  a  brute. 

About  10  a.m.  we  began  to  think  of  bathing,  and  I  was 
to  ascertain  how  soon  we  could  obtain  possession  of  two  bathing 
machines  in  close  proximity.  Bathing-machine  man  grumpy, 
'Ow  did  'e  know  when  the  machines  was  goin'  to  be  empty  ! 
'O\v  did  'e  know  when  the  "  parties  "  was  comin'  aout !  Pro- 
pitiated him  with  sixpence,  after  which  he  thought  that 
Twenty-four  and  Twenty-six  would  be  ready  in  a  'arf-hour. 
Returned.  For  once,  MARION  quite  pleased  with  me.  So 
astonished,  almost  choked  myself  with  milk-bun. 

The  "parties"  finally  emerged  from  Twenty-four  and  Twenty- 
six,  almost  at  same  moment.  I  and  four  boys  took  Twenty-four, 
whilst  Nurse  and  three  younger  ones  went  into  Twenty-six. 
Baby  left  in  charge  of  our  small  nursemaid,  under  supervision 
of  MARION,  on  sand. 

Space  extremely  limited.  I  got  in  first.  "Water  extremely 
cold.  ALGERNON  insists  on  diving  from  machine.  Does  so,  and 
hits  his  head  against  the  sand.  MARION  screams  from  shore  to 
ask  why  I  allowed  him  to  do  such  a  dangerous  thing.  Two 
youngest  boys  cling  to  each  other  and  decline  to  come  into 
water  at  all.  Stand  at  foot  of  steps  persuading,  and  getting 
very  cold. 


"  C-c-c-come  along,  boys ;  it 's  n-n-n-not  at  all  c-c-c-cold !  "  My 
teeth  were  rattling,  and  giving  the  lie  direct  to  my  assertion. 
WILLY  at  length  puts  toe  in  and  rushes  back.  Have  to  carry 
him  out  screaming.  Dip  him,  and  thereby  earn  his  undying 
distrust.  Same  process  with  CHARLIE.  TOMMY  adventurous, 
and  gets  out  of  his  depth.  Rush  in,  and  drag  him  out — much 
the  pluckiest,  and  quickly  begins  enjoying  himself.  All  the  rest 
follow  suit,  and, desperately  cold,  I  scrambled  back  into  bathing 
machine,  seized  rough  towel  and  began  to  rub  life  into  my 
perished  frame  again.  Door  suddenly  opens,  and  Nurse — who 
has  mistaken  Twenty-four  for  Twenty-six — rushes  in  and  shuts 
door  after  her.  Situation  too  horrible  for  words.  She  gives 
weird  shriek,  and  flies  out  again.  Very  trying,  but  suppose 

accidents  will  happen  in  best  reg Dear  MARION  hammering 

at  door.  Why  don't  I  make  ALGERNON  and  TOMMY  come  in  ? 
Really,  she  thought  I  could  have  no  authority  at  all !  Reply 
that  I  quite  agree  with  her  ;  don't  think  I  have.  Nevertheless, 
shout  to  boys  : 

"  Your  mother  says  you  are  to  come  in,  at  once  !  " 

"  No  fear  !  "  is  the  graceless  and  extremely  vulgar  reply.    . 

What  can  I  do  more  ? 

Dress  and  return  to  beach,  and  MARION,  in  cold  tones,  asks, 
'^How  was  it  that  you  and  Nurse  were  in  same  machine  ?  " 

Explain.  Regret  to  find  dear  MARION  unreasoning  and 
sceptical. 

Succeed  at  length  in  explaining,  but  noticed,  nevertheless, 
that  Nurse  received  month's  warning.  PERKSLEY  dropped  in  that 
evening— unfortunately,  table  was  being  laid  for  supper — and, 
all  our  efforts  to  dislodge  him  proving  abortive,  he  stopped  and 
shared  meal  with  us. 

Dear  MARION,  in  stony  silence,  rose  at  nine  p.m.,  bowed, 
and  stalked  majestically  off,  leaving  me  to  entertain  our  guest 
until  half-past  eleven,  when,  having  smoked  two  of  my  cigars 
and  consumed  nearly  a  third  of  whisky  bottle,  he  rose,  patted 
me  familiarly  on  shoulder,  asked  me  to  excuse  him  for  running 
away  so  early,  and  promised  to  "  drop  in  another  night,  soon." 
If  he  does  drop  in  I  drop  out. 

Low  tide  in  morning,  and  we  made  for  the  rocks.  I  caught  a 
prawn,  and  a  small  green  crab  caught  WILLY.  His  screams 
were  heartrending,  until  I  had  succeeded  in  releasing  his  finger 
from  the  nipping  crustacean  embrace,  which  was  immediately 
transferred  to  me.  I  smashed  crab  on  rock,  taking  the  skin  off 
my  knuckles  in  doing  so. 

Resumed  operations,  and  made  discoveries — amongst  'them, 
that  sitting  down  on  green  seaweed-covered  rocks,  whether 
voluntarily  or  the  reverse — most  frequently  the  latter — is  not 
improving  to  white  flannel  trousers.  JOHNNY,  reaching  out  too 
far  over  a  rock,  overbalanced  and  fell  in.  Wet  through.  Fear- 
ing dear  MARION'S  displeasure,  I  told  him  we  must  go  home  at 
once.  Indignant  protests  from  children.  What  ought  father 
of  family  to  do  under  these  embarrassing  circumstances  ? 
Finally  decide  on  taking  JOHNNY  home,  despite  struggles,  and 
entrust  rest  of  children  to  ALGERNON.  ALGERNON  hardly  rises 
to  situation — says  something  about  "  Blooming  rot !  "  Look 
severe,  but  ALGERNON  only  laughs.  Wish  he  wouldn't.  So 
hurtful.  Ignore  laugh,  and  start  home,  leading  JOHNNY  by 
hand.  He  kicks  and  screams,  until  I  threaten  him  with  condign 
punishment.  At  this,  he  roars  still  more  loudly,  and  I  substi- 
tute promise  of  chalky  looking  sweetstuff,  which  we  obtain  at 
shop  just  off  beach.  We  reach  home  without  further  trouble. 
Dear  MARION  looks  reproachfully  at  me,  and  asks  in  despairing 
tones  why  it  is  that  I  can  never  be  trusted  out  with  the  children 
alone  ?  Was  immediately  sent  back  to  find  the  others,  whilst 
MARION  and  Nurse  took  JOHNNY  in  hand.  Up  to  present,  feel 
that  my  brief  sojourn  at  seaside  has  hardly  afforded  me  the 
rest  I  had  hoped  for. 

When  I  again  found  boys,  ALGERNON  had  dropped  some  way 
behind  rest  to  smoke  cigarette  and  make  eyes  at  pretty 
nursemaid.  Again  ignored  his  fatuous  conduct,  but  care- 
fully took  him  by  arm  and  led  him  on  with  me.  Discovered 


AUGUST  14,   1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


125 


my  other  little  ones  playing  with  that  odious  creature's, 
PERKSLEY'S,  youngsters — so  embarrassing,  as  MARION  had  parti- 
cularly warned  me  against  permitting  this.  Wish  dear  MARION 
were  here.  Thought  best  plan  was  to  adjourn  to  early  dinner. 
Did  so,  in  spite  of  vigorous  protests,  and  got  children  home, 
exhausted — I  mean " 
that  I  was. 

ALGERNON  in- 
formed us,  as  we 
were  struggling 
with  our  under- 
done, tepid  leg  of 
mutton,  and  cab- 
bage tasting  of 
soapsuds,  that 
there  would  be  a 
cricket  match  that 
afternoon  on  the 
sands.  He  and 
WILLY  were  to 
play. 

Welcomed  this, 
as  promising  quiet 
hour  in  which  to 
read  and  indulge 
in  contemplative 
pipe.  Baby  would 
be  asleep — I  hoped 
— and  MARION  ly- 
ing down-  I 
trusted.  Boys  and 
MOLLY  rushed 
away,  after  meal, 
to  sands,  whilst 
MARION  bustled 
upstairs  to  nur- 
sery, and  I  lit  pipe 
and  settled  down 
to  previous  day's 
newspaper.  Began 
to  think  that,  after 
all,  s.easide  life 
very  restful,  when 
WILLY  rushed  in 
and  requested  me 
to  come  and  ' '  make 
up  "  the  needed 
eleven  for  the 
Visitors  —  match 
being  Visitors  v. 
Residents.  Pro- 
tested that  as  I 
had  not  played 
cricket  for  twenty 
years  the  thing 
was  impossible. 
WILLY  inexorable. 
"  You  must  come  ; 
you'll  have  to  !  We 
must  have  one 
more  feller  to  make 
up  —  they  told  me  to  say  that  any  rotter  would  do !  "  Very 
flattering,  this.  Have  to  give  in,  and  repair  to  sands  forth- 
with. 

Visitors  win  toss  and  take  first  innings.  Our  "captain" — 
aspiring  youth  of  sixteen — consults  ALGERNON  as  to  order  of 
going  in.  ALGERNON  replies  airily,  "  Oh,  shove  the  gov'nor  in 
anywhere.  He's  hopeless!"  Smile  pleasantly,  but  feel  both 
annoyed  and  nervous.  When  my  turn  came  for  action  felt 
more  nervous  still. 


Mr.  Punch.   "MAKE  YOUR  MIND  EASY,  SIR  CHRISTOPHER,  I'LL  KEEP  AN  EYE  ox  IT." 

["  WEEN  never  dreamt  of  the  desperate  attacks  the  sandy  substratum  would  have  to  sustain." 

Daily  Paper.] 


I  hit  wildly  at  first  ball,  but  was  unaware  that  success  had 
crowned  my  efforts,  until  a  very  Babel  of  shouts  warned  me 
to  "Run  it  out,  Sir!  "  and,  like  one  possessed,  I  capered  up 
and  down  the  "pitch,"  until  my  mad  career  was  prematurely 
cut  short  by  the  ball,  dexterously  hurled  atjmy  wicket,  missing 

it,  and  hitting  me, 
with  great  force, 
on  the  trouser. 
Rubbed  injured 
part  ruefully,  and 
again  "  took 
guard."  Once  more 
did  I  strike  with 
savage  force  at 
the  unseen :  but 
this  time  my  bat 
only  snicked  the 
flying  missile, 
which  went  into 
the  hands  of 
"si  ip,"  and  I 
was  out.  Thankful 
that  nothing  worse 
had  happened,  I 
retired  from  wic- 
kets, sore  and 
bruised,  but  still 
triumphant,  as  I 
had  hit  a  four, 
anyhow.  Ironical 
cheers  greeted  me 
on  my  return,  and 
our  captain  —  the 
youth  before  al- 
luded to  —  patted 
me  patronisingly  on 
back,  and  said  that 
' '  for  an  old  buffer, 
I  really  wasn't  so 
bad,  after  all."  I 
may  here  remark 
that  this  young 
gentleman  himself 
had  been  bowled 
first  ball. 

Fielding  some- 
what tiresome,  and 
lasted  throughout 
afternoon.  I  missed 
three  catches,  was 
o'penly  execrated 
by  rest  of  Visitors' 
team  —  consisting, 
mostly,  of  small 
boys  —  was  struck 
on  nose  in  attempt- 
ing to  field  lofty 
hit ;  declined  to  go 
into  sea  in  pursuit 
of  ball,  and,  in  one 
way  or  another, 


became  distinctly  unpopular.    Very  glad  when  it  was  all  over, 
and  we  returned  to  our  evening  meal. 

Everything  again  spoiled  in  cooking  and  tasted  of  soot. 
Annoying,  this. 

Was  in  act  of  lighting  pipe  when  awful  crash  from  without 
made  me  spring  to  my  feet.  Dear  MARION  rushed  frantically 
into  room  and  sank  fainting  on  sofa.  TOMMY  had  fallen  through 
the  balcony !  F.  R. 

(To  be  contii>U2d.) 


12G 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[AUGUST  14,  1901. 


His  Fair  Companion  (drowsily).  ''  I  THINK  A  CANADIAN  is  THE  BKST  RIVER  CRAFT, 

AFTER  ALL,    AS   IT  '»   LESS   LIKE    WORK  THAN  THE  OTHERS  !  " 


CRICKET    PROSPECTS    FOR    1902. 

["  First-clasa  cricket,  properly  organised  and 
run  as  an  attractive  variety-show,  would  be  a  fine 
paying  concern." — An  American  financier  to  an 
Interviewer.} 

THE  Anglo -American  "  Willow-and- 
Leather  "  Syndicate  (President:  Mr. 
PIERPOIXT  MowiAN;  capital,  ten  million 
dollars)  beg  to  intimate  that  their  season 
will  open  at  Lqrd's  on  the  first  of  April. 
They  have  obtained  an  exclusive  lease  of 
this  well-known  ground,  and  their  list  of 
star  artists  fairly  licks  creation. 

Turnstiles  open  at  7  A.M.  No  free 
passes.  One  continuous  round  of  amuse- 
ment from  9  A.M.  to  G  P.M.  Program  for 
each  day  of  the  opening  week  : — 

9  A.M. — Prince  RANJI  and  Lord  HAWK.E 
will  take  center.  These  aristocratic 
willow-wielders  will  then  demonstrate  on 
slow  half-volleys,  putting  on  200  runs  in 
the  hour.  Positively  no  disappointment. 
However  often  they  are  bowled  or  caught, 
they  will  continue  to  whack  the  sphere 
until  the  hour  be  expired.  The  Prince 
and  the  Peer  every  morning  from  nine  to 
ten! 

10— 11.— Grand  exhibition  of  bowling 
and  fielding  by  the  united  Yorkshire 
troupe.  (Specially  and  exclusively  en- 
gaged.) RHODES,  HAIGH  and  HIRST  will 


perform  the  celebrated  Hat  Trick.  There 
are  no  spots  on  the  Yorkshire  bowlers  ! 

11 — 11.30. — Comic  interlude,  entitled 
"  No-Ball ;  or,  The  Doubtful  Deliverer  and 
the  Umbraged  Umpire."  Messrs.  MOLD 
and  JAMES  PHILIPS  have  been  booked  at 
fabulous  cost  to  give  this  screamingly- 
funny  performance  each  day  of  the  open- 
ing week. 

11.30—12.30.  —  CHARLES  B.  PHY  will 
lecture  on  "The  Use  and  Abuse  of  the 
Leg-glance."  The  glory  of  C.  B.  as  the 
champion  cricketing  word-spinner  needs 
no  polish  to  increase  its  glitter.  Wise 
words  from  a  brave  batsman  daily  at 
11.30  !  (Schools  admitted  to  this  turn  at 
reduced  fees.) 

12.30— 2.0.  —  The  Champion  Midgets! 
Splendid  show  by  Messrs.  ABEL  and  QUAIFE. 
Skill  versus  size.  The  little  wonders  will 
smack  the  pilule  to  the  boundary  every 
time.  Followed  by  ABEL'S  celebrated 
turn  :  "  How  I  walk  back  to  the  Pavilion." 
Howls  of  delighted  applause  ! 

From  2  to  3. — The  entire  troupe  will  be 
fed  in  the  Pavilion,  and  the  public  will  be 
admitted  to  view  the  fascinating  scene. 
But  the  practice  of  offering  the  performers 
buns  and  lumps  of  sugar  is  very  dangerous 
and  cannot  be  permitted. 

At  3  precisely. — Dr.  W.  G.  GRACE  will 
lead  the  way  into  the  field,  and  will  give 


his  world- renowned  performance, including 
the  Deep-Square-Leg  Trick,  the  Scratch- 
ing-the-ground-with-a-Bail  Trick,  etc.,  etc. 
At  the  conclusion  of  his  turn  he  will  be 
umpired  out  "l.b.w."  to  a  leg-break,  and 
will  then  speak  a  stirring  monologue. 
(Copyright  strictly  reserved.) 

4 — 5.  —  The  Oxford  and  Cambridge 
elevens  will  play  tip-and-run.  The  scene 
on  the  ground  will  be  a  careful  reproduc- 
tion of  the  famous '  Varsity  match .  Beauty 
and  brightness  will  be  seated  on  real 
drags  ;  Peers  (warranted  hall-marked), 
Cabinet  Ministers  and  Judges  will  watch 
the  proceedings  from  the  pavilion.  Real 
triple-distilled  essence  of  British  Aris- 
tocracy will  pervade  this  turn.  Huge 
attraction  for  vistors  from  the  States. 

5 — 6. — America  versus  England.  Magni- 
ficent International  Match.  America  will 
be  represented  by  (among  others)  FRY, 
HAYWARD,  JESSOP,  PALAIRET,  HEARNE,  etc. 
(all  of  whom  conclusively  can  show  Ameri- 
can descent.  Their  pedigrees  have  been 
made  specially  for  the  Syndicate,  and  are 
unquestionably  genuine.)  England  will 
number  among  its  foremost  champions 
Messrs.  TIMSON,  SNOOKS,  STUBBS,  etc.,  of 
the  Lower  Pottlebury  Cricket  Club. 
America  will  win !  The  Supremacy  of  the 
Eagle  over  the  Decrepit  Lion  will  be 
established  daily  !  Unique  scene  ! 

The  whole  of  the  troupe  will  join  in 
singing  "  The  Star-Spangled  Banner" 
(solo  verses  by  S.  M.  J.  WOODS,  G.  J.  Y. 
WETGALL  and  S.  M.  CROSPIELD),  at  the 
conclusion  of  which  stumps  will  be  drawn 
for  the  day.  A.  C.  D. 


A   MATTER  FOR  RE-DRESS. 

SAID  the  Person  in  gorgeous  apparel, 
"  Be  good  enough  to  serve  me  with  a 
glass  of  sherry  and  a  sandwich." 

"Very  sorry,"  replied  the  waiter, 
"  but  it 's  against  the  rules  of  the 
house." 

"What  do  you  mean,  sirrah?"  ex- 
claimed the  Person. 

"From  your  dress,"  continued  the 
waiter,  "I  take  you  to  be  a  drum-major 
of  artillery,  and  we  cannot  serve  N.C.O.'s 
except  when  they  appear  in  mufti." 

"A  drum-major  of  artillery!"  indig- 
nantly echoed  the  wearer  of  much  em- 
broidery. "Why,  I  am  a  Cabinet  Minis- 
ter! " 

"  Very  sorry  indeed,  Sir,"  returned  the 
waiter  more  respectfully,  "  but  I  'm  much 
afraid  I  can't  serve  you.  You  see  our 
orders  are  strict,  not  to  serve  anyone  out 
of  mufti.  No  discourtesy  intended  to  you 
personally,  Sir,  I  am  sure,  Sir,  but — 

"  Merely  an  insult  to  His  Majesty's 
uniform  ?  ' ' 

"Well,  Sir,  that  does  seem  about  the 
size  of  it." 

And  the  man  made  the  admission  be- 
cause he  was  only  a  waiter  and  not  a 
proprietor. 


AUGUST  21,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


127 


Farmer  James.  "It  wim  STBANQE  THAT  MY  SON  AND  SQUI&K  SHOULD  HA*  BEEN  WOUNDED  AT  TUB  SAME  TIME;    THKY    DO  svr 

THAT  THEY  WILL  BOTH  HAVE  THE  V.C." 

Old  Joe  (who  has  heard  of  "  D.  T.").  "  DEAR,  DEAR  !    I  'OPI  IT  WON'T  BE  SEBIOUS  I " 


PERPETUAL  YOUTH. 

["  Prof.  GAUTIEB,  of  the  Institut  de  France, 
has  isolated  the  bacteria  of  physical  fatigue,  which 
he  finds  is  a  poison  strongly  resembling  ptomaine 
in  nature.  From  this  he  deduces  that  fatigue  can, 
by  the  use  of  disinfectants,  be  avoided  like  any 
other  poison,  and  consequently  man,  no  longer 
•uttering  from  wear  and  tear,  need  not  weaken  or 
age." — Evening  Prets  Agency. ~\ 

WHEN  streaks  of  silver  I  descry 

Mid  locks  that  once  were  raven  called, 
When  candid  mirrors  tell  me  I 
Am  bald ; 
When  furrows  on  my  wrinkled  phiz 

I  massage  daily,  but  in  vain, 
I  think,  "  It  is  not  age — it  is 

Ptomaine." 

Then  let  me  not,  like  some  great  dunce, 

Bewail  my  hapless  lot  because 
I  am  not  quite  so  young  as  once 

I  was; 
But  let  me  rather — if  I  can — 

Entrap  the  germs,  and  down  their  throats 
Gently  but  firmly  force  the  an- 
tidotes. 


Then  shall  my  limbs  again  be  lithe, 

My  figure  grow  a  thought  less  stout, 
My  swollen  feet  no  longer  writhe 

With  gout ; 
Smooth,   smooth  shall  be   this   wrinkled 

brow, 

And  oh,  it  will  be  passing  sweet 
To  don  my  youthful  hose  that  now 
Won't  meet. 

Once  more  the  Rigi  peaks  sublime 

1  shall  surmount  withchamois  skill, 
Instead  of  panting  as  I  climb 

Herne  Hill ; 
And  famous  victories  I  '11  win 

Once  more  among  my  brother-Blues, 
Nor  be  content  to  read  them  in 
My  News. 

And  when  my  grandsons,  growing  white, 

The  sports  of  youth  no  more  enjoy, 
I  still  shall  love  my  football,  quite 

A  boy. 
Perpetual  youth  !    To  eat,  to  sleep, 

Digest,  as  one  was  wont  to  do — 
I  think  it  sounds  a  trifle  steep — 
Don't  you  ? 


A  FOLKESTONE  PROPHECY. 

Sketch  descriptive  of  the  Races  of  the 
21st  August  in  common  form. 

NEVER  was  there  such  a  *  day.  Mr.  * 
was  well  in  evidence.  The  dresses  of  the 
ladies  were  appropriately  *.  Thanks  to 
the  *  weather,  the  drags  were  *  and 
the  road  was  *.  According  to  statistics, 
the  numbers  were  *  than  usual.  Every- 
one knows  that  if  *  is  the  case,  *  must 
naturally  follow.  So  all  was  *  and  the 
day  passed  away  with  all  the  *  of  a  *. 

The  horses  taking  part  in  the  Folkestone 
contest  were  *.  *  was  the  favourite,  but 
the  *  felt  that  if  *  could  only  *  the  result 
must  be  *.  This  being  so,  there  was 
little  more  to  be  *. 

At  *  the  principal  race  came  off.  In 
spite  of  the  *  the  excitement  was  intense. 
It  was  noticed  that  *  was  leading  at  *  and 
*  came  within  measurable  distance  of  * 
at  *.  A  few  seconds  of  keen  excitement, 
shouts  and  yells,  and  the  race  was  won 

by*. 
*  Fill    in    blank   with  the  appropriate 

word  at  the  proper  time. 


VOL.  CXXI. 


128 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHABIVAEI, 


[AUGUST  21,  1901. 


AT    GORING. 

WHERE  is  the  sweetest  river  reach, 
With  nooks  well  worth  exploring, 
Wild  woods  of  bramble,  thorn  and  beech 

Their  fragrant  breath  outpouring  ? 
Where  does  our  dear  secluded  stream 
Most  gaily  gleam  ? 
At  Goring. 

Where  sings  the  thrush  amid  the  fern  ? 

Where  trills  the  lark  upsoaring  ? 
Where  build  the  timid  coot  and  hern, 

The  foot  of  man  ignoring  ? 
Where  sits  secure  the  water  vole 

Beside  her  hole  ? 
At  Goring. 

Where  do  the  stars  dramatic  shine 

'Mid  satellites  adoring? 
And  where  does  fashion  lunch  and  dine 

Al  fresco,  bored  and  boring  ? 
Where  do  we  meet  confections  sweet 
And  toilets  neat  ? 
At  Goring. 

Where  are  regattas  ?    Where  are  trains 

Their  noisy  crowds  outpouring  ? 
And  bands  discoursing  hackneyed  strains, 

And  rockets  skyward  soaring  ? 
Where  is  this  nrbs  in  rure  ? — where 

This  Cockney  Fair? 
At  Goring. 


"VENICE,   LIMITED." 

DOWN  by  road  from  Pieve  di  Cadore, 
along  the  valley  of  the  Piave  to  Belluno, 
where  it  is  raining.  Pieve,  Piave,  piove. 
However,  this  is  nothing  unusual  at 
Belluno,  where  it  rains  every  afternoon, 
according  to  account.  It  is  admitted 
even  by  the  waiter,  who  tries  to  speak 
three  languages  in  one  breath,  and 
startles  one  Avitli  rapid  exclamations  such 
as  "  Vino- du-vin- some -wine?"  He  ad- 
mits it  sorrowfully  and  breathlessly. 
"  Si-oui-yass,"  says  he.  If  it  were  not  so 
rainy  Belluno  would  be  a  very  pleasant 
place,  but  one  is  not  tempted  to  linger, 
and  the  truthful  waiter,  with  "  Buon- 
viaggio-signore-bon  -  jou  r  -  monsieur  -  good- 
bye," sees  me  start  for  Venice. 

Venice  in  August.  Friendly  fellow- 
travellers,  aghast,  have  warned  me 
solemnly  of  fearful  heat,  of  terrible 
odours,  of  maddening  mosquitos.  They 
were  all  wrong.  I  saw  one  mosquito, 
and  counted  him  carefully.  As  for  the 
heat,  it  was  nothing  like  London  or  Paris. 
Summer  is  the  time  for  Venice,  rather 
than  the  autumn,  when  one  shivers  in  a 
gondola. 

But  there  will  not  be  much  left  of 
Venice  after  a  short  time,  for  it  is  gradu- 
ally becoming  one  large  show,  run  by 
English  companies.  A  little  extension, 
a  final  amalgamation,  and  "Venice, 
Limited,"  would  offer  its  shares  to  the 
public.  Then  the  poor,  shabby,  old- 
fashioned  parts  of  the  city,  where  no 
tourists,  no  picture  post-cards,  no  hideous, 


gimcrack  souvenirs  are  to  be  seen,  could 
all  be  swept  away.  The  dingy  little 
canals  could  be  filled  in,  and  used  for 
electric  tramways.  Every  campo  could 
have  its  switchback  railway  or  its  music- 
hall.  Then  Venice  would  be  perfect.  The 
English  and  Americans  would  stay  in 
hotels,  on  Italian  territory,  where  no 
Italian  dish  would  ever  be  seen.  They 
would  live  on  grilled  chops,  Irish  stew, 
roast  beef,  plum  puddings,  and  pancakes, 
exactly  as  they  do  at  home.  The  Germans 
would  stay  in  similar  hotels  and  live  on 
Kaltes  Aufschnitt,  Kartoffelnsalat,  Wiener 
Schnitzel,  Compot,  Bier,  und  so  iveiter. 
The  name  of  polenta  would  be  forgotten, 
and ,». everyone 'in  the  city  would  speak 
English  or  German. 

"  Venice,  Limited  !  "  It  is  a  fascinating 
prospect.  That  absurd,  undulating  old 
floor  in  St.  Mark's  would  be  up  in  no 
time,  and  the  Company's  Mosaic  Depart- 
ment would  lay  an  elegant,  modern  floor, 
tested  with  spirit  levels.  The  climb  to 
the  top  of  the  Campanile  is  preposterous ; 
the  Company's  Lift  Department  would 
soon  alter  that.  The  trip  to  the  Lido  by 
water  is  tedious  ;  a  girder  bridge  and  an 
electric  tram  from  the  Piazzetta  would 
be  an  evident  improvement.  One  insti- 
tution would  remain  unaltered.  The 
pigeons  of  St.  Mark's,  those  charming 
little  birds,  exactly  the  same  as  the 
pigeons  of  the  British  Museum,  would 
still  afford  amusement  to  simple-minded 
tourists,  who  never  look  at  a  pigeon, 
much  less  feed  one,  in  New  York,  or 
London,  or  Berlin.  The  Company's  Grain 
Department  would  supply  the  where- 
withal to  feed  them,  obtained  from  penny- 
in-slot  machines.  And  when  the  tourist 
became,  at  last,  a  little  weary  of  feeding 
the  pretty  birds,  the  Company's  gondola 
would  take  him  to  one  of  the  Company's 
shops,  and  the  Company's  Souvenir  De- 
partment, or  its  Antiquities  Department, 
would  sell  him  all  that  he  might  wish  to 
buy.  And  the  Company's  Forwarding 
Department  would  send,  it  to  his  home  in 
any  part  of  the  world. 

Meanwhile,  some  trifling  improvements 
might  be  made.  A  feAV  seats,  not  of  stone, 
might  be  provided ;  some  chairs,  at  a 
penny  or  twopence,  on  the  Piazza.  There 
cannot  be  a  city  anywhere  with  less  seats 
than  Venice.  Unless  one  sits  outside  a 
cafe — and  one  does  not  require  drinks  or 
ices  at  all  hours  of  the  day — one  must  sit 
on  the  pavement.  One  very  hot  evening 
I  perceived  a  number  of  quiet,  well- 
dressed  Italians  sitting  on  the  wide 
plinth  of  St.  Mark's,  that  plinth  so  solid 
that  it  remains  uninjured  after,  perhaps,  a 
thousand  years  of  tumultuous  history.  I 
joined  them,  and  we  sat  peacefully,  with- 
out kicking  the  plinth  or  doing  any 
damage  whatever.  But  soon  there  strolled 
along  one  of  those  ridiculous  little  police- 
men of  Venice — caricatures  of  the  London 
policeman,  in  the  same  clothes,  except 


that  a  sword  is  carried,  but  short  and 
thin  and  stooping,  exactly  like  a  super, 
dressed  as  a  policeman,  in  a  pantomime — 
and  gently  told  us  to  go.  We  yielded, 
with  protests,  and  the  inoffensive  super 
strolled  peacefully  away.  Of  course,  we 
all  had  to  adjourn  to  the  cafes,  in  whose 
interest  this  regulation  is  evidently  made. 
As  for  me,  I  sought  such  vengeance  as 
was  possible.  I  went  at  once  to  the 
Gaffe  Florian,  ordered  a  glass  of  beer,  the 
cheapest  drinjt  obtainable,  and  sat  stolidly 
in  front  of  At>  for  two  mortal  hours.  It 
was  rather  wearisome,  but  I  had  my 
revenge.  H.  D.  B. 


"  TRANSFORMATIONS." 
I. 

ONE  night  the  streets  are  fair  and  smooth, 

the  asphalte  surface  splendid, 
The  telephone  has  gone  to  rest,  the  navvy's 

work  is  ended  ; 

The  'bus,  the  hansom,  and  the  bike 
Can  journey  just  where'er  they  like, 

For  now  the  roadway  's  mended. 
But  with  the  .dawn  .  there  comes  a 

change ; 

From  Charing  Cross  to  Royal  Exchange, 
As  far  and  wide  as  eye  can  range, 

There  's  one  vast  excavation. 
'Tis  sewers,  water,  or  the  gas — 
Result  of  ignorance  most  crass. 
And  some  contractor  who 's  an  ass 
Has  wrought  this  transformation. 

ir. 
One  recollects  the  wayside  inn,  its  snowy 

floor  well  sanded, 
Where  good  refreshment  was  dispensed 

by  PHYLLIS  sweet,  neat-handed. 
With  mirrors,  parquetry  and  paint, 
A  stained-glass  BACCHUS — patron  saint, 

The  place  has  been  expanded. 
Nona  avons  change  tout  cela. 
'Tis  HEBE  now  behind  the  bar, 
Who,  pert  as  Comic  Opera  star, 

Expects  her  adoration. 
To  make  the  change  was  rather  rash, 
For  all  is  done  with  borrowed  cash  ;    . 
Then  conies  a  big  distiller's  smash — 
Another  transformation. 


Not  long  ago  the  sunny  Squares,  by  lime 

trees  screened  and  hidden, 
A  rendezvous  exclusive  were,  to  wanderers 

forbidden. 

And  little  kids  who  trod  the  street 
In  tattered  clothes  and  shoeless  feet, 

From  Paradise  were  driven. 
But  nowadays  our  hearts  decide 
Humanity  shall  conquer  pride, 
So  Eden's  gates  are  opened  wide 

In  welcome  invitation.      . 
No  longer  from  the  waifs  forlorn 
We  bar  the  pleasures  of  the  lawn ; 
They  live,  and  no  one  daces  to  scorn 
This  glorious  transformation. 

HUAN  MEE. 


AUGUST  21,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


129 


THE    UNCOMMERCIAL    TRAVELLER. 

Mr.  Punch.   "Now,  Mit.  BULL,  WAKE  UP!    YOU'LL  HAVE  TO  KEEP  YOUR.  EYE  ON  THAT  CHAP.     HE'S  ALWAYS  AT  IT,  SPEAKS  THEIR 

LANGUAGES,  AND  KNOWS  THEIR  MONEY." 

John  Bull.   "Poon!     MY  GOODS  ARE  BETTER  THAN  HIS!" 

Mr.  Punch.   "I  DARESAY — BUT  YOU'VE  GOT  TO  MAKE  THEM  UNDERSTAND  IT!" 


AUGUST  21,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


131 


THE  MILLIONAIRE'S  LAMENT ; 
OR,  THE  IMPOTENCE  OF  RICHES. 

THERE  are  philosophers  who  state 
That  wealth,  if  not  an  actual  bubble, 

Is  bound  to  prove,  at  any  rate, 
A  source  of  almost  endless  trouble  ; 

Well,  I  was  once  content  to  bear 

These  trials  of  a  millionaire. 

In  town  a  bijou-palace,  and 
Six  country  seats,  all  castellated, 

A  yacht  or  two,  a  four-in-hand, 
A  cuisine  justly  celebrated  ; — 

With  these  for  solace  I  could  find 

Courage  enough  to  be  resigned. 

I  freely  mixed  with  social  stars, 
And  Noblemen  would  grace  my  table  ; 

They  had  the  run  of  my  cigars, 
My  wines,  my  motors  and  my  stable  ; 

They  were  not  difficult  to  please, 

And  always  made  me  feel  at  ease. 

But  now  I  recognise  the  view, 
To  which  the  poets  give  expression 

(Speaking  as  men  belonging  to 
A  sadly  underpaid  profession), 

That  there  are  joys  too  deep,  or  high, 

For  even  billionaires  to  buy. 

I  quite  admit  the  power  of  wealth 

At  any  ordinary  juncture  ; 
But  when  you  sigh  for  youth  or  health, 

Or  for  a  conscience  free  from  punc- 
ture, 

Not  all  the  mines  on  Afric's  map 
Would  serve  to  fill  the  aching  gap. 

With  these  elusive  joys  to  seek, 
Pray  how,  I  ask,  would  it  console  us, 

Though  we  were  offered,  so  to  speak, 
The  private  right  to  tap  Pactolus  ? 

The  gifts  of  Nature,  as  of  Art, 

Are  seldom  quoted  on  the  mart. 

The  other  day  I  bought  a  moor, 
And  on  its  summit  I  erected 

A  massive  structure  where  a  score 
Of  sporting  Peers  might  be  collected  ; 

I  know  its  size  unnerved  the  grouse, 

It  was  so  like  the  Mansion  House. 

And  then  I  purchased,  as  became 
A  lord  of  fifty  thousand  acres, 

Along  with  tools  for  killing  game 
(By  all  the  most  expensive  makers), 

Some  dozen  suits  of  Harris  tweed, 

And  twenty  setters,  guaranteed. 

Now  see  how  little  wealth  can  do  ! 

Despite  the  most  superb  of  shootings, 
Despite  my  weapons  brave  and  new, 
Despite  the  smartest  Highland  suit- 
ings, 

As  yet  (I  know  it  sounds  absurd) 
I  haven't  hit  a  single  bird  I 

O.  S. 


A  HOLIDAY  QUESTION. — "En  route!  " 
lories  worn-out  Paterfamilias;  but  then, 
how  about  the  branches  ? 


OBLIGING. 

Lady  (to  village  jobber,  who  for  days  has  been  "  working  "  in  the  hoiise).   "  CAN  YOU  TELL  ME 

WHEN  YOU   ARE   LIKELY  TO   HAVE   FINISHED  THIS  JOB  ?  " 

Village  Jobber.  "  IF  YOU  CAN  TELL  ME,  MUM,  WHEER  I'M  LIKELY  TO  GET  ANOTHER." 


UNDER  DISTINGUISHED  PATRONAGE. 

SCKNE— A  studio.   TIME— After  the  painting 

of  "  The  Presentation  Portrait." 

Enter  the  BROWN  Forty. 

Pater  Brown  (to  Artist).  I  thought  I 
must  look  you  up.  Splendid  likeness  ! 

Artist  (modestly).  Yes,  I  think  I  have 
caught  the  Field-Marshal's  expression. 
So  glad  you  are  pleased  with  it. 

Mater  Brown.  Yes  ;  and  the  medals  are 
simply  lovely!  I  can  read  the  lettering 
on  all  of  them  distinctly. 

Artist.  I  like  to  be  accurate.  I  think  I 
have  been  fortunate  with  the  flesh  tints. 

Misses  Brown  (together).  Yes  ;  and  the 
chair  looks  quite  real. 

Junior  Broum  (languidly).  Don't  think 
you  've  got  the  Field-Marshal's  sab?e 


right.     Now,   I  know  a  Johnnie   in  the 
militia  who  never 

Artist  (interrupting).  The  Field-Marshal 
gave  me  several  sittings,  and  I  think  I 
have  got  the  accessories  fairly  right. 

Pater  Brown.  And  what  do  you  think  of 
asking  for  it?  (Artist  mentions  a  modest 
sum.)  Oh,  come  ;  you  don't  mean  that ! 
Why,  my  dear  Sir,  it 's  more  than  some 
R. A. 's  are  asking.  Ruination!  And  how 
about  the  frame  ? 

Artist.  Oh,  that  would  go  with  it. 

Pater  Brown.  Oh,  would  it.  That  makes 
a  wide  difference.  Why,  the  frame  is 
worth  a  lot  of  money.  (Imbibing  refresh- 
ment.) Here  's  luck  ! 

Artist.  You  are  very  kind. 

Pater  Brown.  Don't  mention  it ! 
Curtain. 


132 


PUNCH,  OB  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[AUGUST  21,  1901. 


OUE     PKOFESSOR. 

(From  the  Provinces.) 

THE  poet's  eye,  the  poet  says,  is  apt  to  roll  in  frenzy  : 
But  how  describe  the  yellow  orb  of  WILLIAM  FORBES  MACKENZIE? 
How  hint  its  convolutions  as  it  scans  the  growing  shelf 
Where  rest  those  works  of  genius — the  offspring  of  himself  ? 
"The  number's  still  increasing,  as  you  see.     More  proofs? 

.  Oh,  yes, 

F'.ve  half-a-dozen  volumes, at  this  moment  in  the  press  : 
Some  Aspects  of  Our  Laureate,  The  Priest  as  an  Ascetic, 

A  .monograph  on  SOUTHEY,  and  The  Ethic  of  ^Esthetic 

And  here 's  a  mere  parergon  of  a  literary  pen — 

It's  called  My  Reminiscences  of  Celebrated  Men  : 

I  find  it  most  refreshing  idle  moments  to  beguile 

With  TENNYSON,  .MAT.  ARNOLD,  BOBBIE  BROWNING  or  CARLYLE. 

Why,  yes,  I  'm  over  head  and  ears  in  literary  labours 

In  esse  and  in  posse  ;  and  I  envy  much  my  neighbours 

Whose  business  gives  them  leisure  for  a  little  wholesome  air, 

And,  say,  a  round  of  golf  a,  day — but  as  for  me,  que  faire  ? 

When  publishers  bombard  one  every  day  with  some  suggestion, 

However  much  one  needs  it,  rest  is  quite  beyond  the  question. 

My  lectures  ?  Oh,  I  do  not  spend  much  time  on  them :  you  know 

I  said  the  last  on  ARISTOTLE  thirty  years  ago  ; 

Besides,  my  students  have  their  notes  verbatim,  which,  I  hear, 

Are  treasured  up  and  handed  down  by  them  from  year  to  year. 

Last  year  my  doctors  ordered  me  to  travel.     "  You  must  go 

For  six  mouths'  rest.     If  possible,  remain  incognito  ?  " 

I  smiled.    They  sent  me  to  the  States.    The  PRESIDENT,  sly  dog, 

Got  wind  of  niy  arrival,  and  good-bye  to  my  incog. 

I  had  to  lecture  every  day — the  pace  was  killing,  quite — 

Hold  levees,  go  to  dinners,  shake  five  thousand  hands  a  night. 

My  arm  was  almost  paralysed.     Upon  my  word,  'twere  charity 

Would  people  only  let  one  be  ;  but  such  is  popularity. 

You  are  not  going?     Can't  you  wait,  and  have  a  cup  of  tea? 

The  Japanese  Ambassador  is  staying  here  with  me. 

You  'd  like  to  meet  him — striking  head — a  really  charming  man 

He  's  giving  me  some  matter  for  my  Ethics  of  Japan  : 

A  fascinating  subject — you  must  really  leave  so  soon  ? 

I  'm  charmed  to  hear  so  much  of  you.     Good-bye  !     Good 

afternoon ! ' ' 

PEOPLE    WHO    PALL    ON    ME.   . 
VI.— THE  FRIEND  WHO  KNOWS  OB-  AN  "IDEAL  HOLIDAY  SPOT." 

I  OBJECT  to  ideal  holiday  spots— at  any  rate,  to  those  so 
designated  by  friends.  I  don't  care  to  be  told  where  I  ought 
to  go,  any  more  than  I  like  being  told  what  I  ought  to  read. 
But  some  persons  carry  about  the  categorical  imperative  with 
them  as  if  it  were  a  kind  of  walking-stick  or  umbrella. 

One  man  tells  me  of  a  charming  little  place  in  Blankshire 
"away  from  everything,  you  know — quite  idyllic." 

Well,  I  know  something  of  those  charming,  idyllic  little 
places,  and  I  do  not  desire  their  further  acquaintance. 

Besides,  why  on  earth  shouldn't  I  find  out  idyllic  spots  for 
myself  ?  Have  I  not  as  much  imagination  and  enterprise  as  my 
friends  ?  Or,  even  if  I  haven't  (an  absurdly  unlikely  hypothesis, 
but  assumed),  is  it  tactful  of  them  to  thrust  the  fact  under  my 
nose? 

No;  I  must  decline  to  accept  the  stale,  second-hand  idylls 
of  my  friends.  Fancy  going  with  a  man  and  having  this  as  a 
running  commentary  if  you  showed  the  smallest  sign  of  enjoying 
yourself:  "Didn't  I  tell  you!  Fancy  a  man  like  you  never 
having  found  out  ...  now  you  will  know  what  a  holiday  can 
be,  eh  ?  "  Yes,  I  probably  should. 

Why,  therefore,  should  I  bother  myself  with  these  prescribed 
ideal  holiday  spots  ?  Some  will  run  them  like  a  patent  medicine 
in  the  near  future,  and  we  shall  see  monster  advertisements 
something  like  this  :— 

"  Try  BOREMAN'S  Ideal  Holiday  Retreat.     Five  hundred  miles 


from  everywhere.  Invaluable  for  all  nervous  people.  Will 
induce  melancholia  in  two  days.  Complete  imbecility  guaranteed 
in  a  week  !  "  Or  this  :— "  Try  RAZZLETO^'S  Ideal  Holiday  Spot. 
A  perfect  round  of  amusements  from  morning  to  night.  Margate 
is  a  fool  to  it.  Niggers  will  collect  under  your  sitting-room 
window  every  evening.  Music  hall  songs  of  ten  years'  vintage 
alone  on  tap.  Are  you  free  from  headache  ?  Then  go  to 
RAZZLETON'S  Ideal  Holiday  -Spot.  •  Nervous'  wrecks 'turned. out 
at  the  end  of  each  holiday' with  the'  greatest  regularity, ".and 
so  on. 

Now  why  have  any  plans  for  a  holiday?  Isn't  there  somer 
thing  degrading  abpxit  piecing  out  your  time,  one  day.herei 
and  two  days  there  ?  Just  pack  up  a  few  indispensables  and  go 
--out  of  town .  Where?  Well,  you  can  decide  in  the  cab  on 
your  first  stopping  place. 

After  that  let  sweet  inclination  guide  you,  and  eschew  all 
Ideal  Holiday  Spots  "  as  recommended." 

The  essence  of  holiday-making  lies  in  a  whole-hearted  aim- 
less meander,  and  in  the  cultivation  of  mooning  as  one  of  the 
fine  arts.  A.  R. 

THE  SANDAL   BOOM; 

OR,  WHAT  IT  is  COMING  TO. 

Needy  Bootblack  at  London  Bridge  Station  breaks  out  into 

latter-day  Sapphics : 

MAWNIN',  Sir !  shoine,  Sir  ?     'Ere  you  are — w'y,  lumme ! 
Blest  if  the  bloke  yii't  got  a  pair  o'  Sandows ! 
Stroike  me  !  a  toff,  too,  goin'  to  the  City  ! 
'E  's  a  fair  knock-out ! 

Well,  I  '11  be  jiggered — if  there  yn't  another, 
Ten  of  'em,  twenty,  'ere  's  a  blanky  tryne-full, 
Chirks  and  tip-toppers,  streamin'  from  the  sububs — 
Yn't  ne'er  a  boot  on  ! 

Lydies,  too ;  well,  I  never  see  such  Trilbies, 
Airin'  their  dysies,  not  to  mention  hankies — 
Blanked  if  they  yn't  jus'  like  a  lot  o'  kiddies 
Horf  to  the  sea-side  ! 

S'elp  me,  the  blighters  must  be  goin'  dotty — 
Stryte  !  such  a  crahd  of  perishers  a-paddlin', 
Fyked  up  wiv  toe-straps,  showin'  up  their  bunions, — 
Give  me  the  fair  'ump  ! 

'Ere,  BILL,  I  hask  yer,  'oo  are  they  a-kiddin'  ? 
Har  the  'ole  barnshoot  barmy  on  the  crumpet, 
Plyin'  ol'  Rummuns,  or  are  they  a-trynin' 

For  the  Lord  Mare's  Show  ? 

Where  do  Hi  come  in,  wi'  this  'anky-panky 
Dossin'  up  fancy  Coving  Gorden  fashion,  ' 
Lookin'  ridiclous  ? — I  am  stony-broke  and 
Dahn  on  my  uppers  ! 

Shoine,  Sir  ?    Lorbleshyer !  never  moind  yer  corns,  Sir ! 
Hi  '11  give  yer  toes  a  hextra  bit  o'  polish ! 
Yn't  earned  a  d.  this  bloomin'  mawnin' — well,  there  ! 
Do  'em  fer  'arf-proice  ! 

Follower  of  Fashion,  loq. 

I  give  you  tuppence  ?     I  will  see  you — moved  on  !< 
You  are  not  wanted  ;  but  a  public  nuisance ! 
Thei'e  's  not  a  boot  now  left -for  you  in  London, 

Save  to  be  kicked  with  ! 

[Exit  in  a  rage ;  the  Bootblack  lies  low  till  the  winter. 
A.  A.'S. 

A  KITCHEN  QUESTION. — A  Philadelphia  millionaire  named 
ASHBURY  is  about  to  spend  £300,000  on  his  subterranean 
culinary  establishment.  We  are  not  certain  whether  this  gourmet 
should  prefix  an  "  H  "  or  a  "  C  "  to  his  surname. 


AUGUST  21,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


133 


LIVES  OF   GREAT   MEN. 

No.  I. 

PlZARRO  POLO  CORTEZ  JONES 
Was  in  his  youth  a  bag  of  bones, 
A  skinny,  sallow,  grubby  child, 
"Whose  sandy,  touzled  hair  grew  wild, 
Who  wore  (to  see  with,  I  suppose)  . 
A  pair  of  gig-lamps  on  his  nose. 
•"Knobs"  he  was-called — his'  joints  were 

•knotty—  

His  other  playful' name  was-  "  Spotty,"'  ' 

From  which,  I  fear,  we  must  conclude 

That  he  was  plain,  his  fellows  rude. 

He  never  had  a  tie  tied  straight ; 

He  always  came  to  lessons  late. 

His  shirt  displeased  his  friends  because 

It  should  be  washed,  but  never  was. 

His  exercises,  verse  or  prose 

(And  how  he  did  them  goodness  knows), 

Were  always  what  they  should  not  be, 

And  so  got  marked  with  "pessime." 

He  did  not  know,  and  could  not  tell, 

Who  were  the  Kings  of  Israel, 

And  always  showed  he  had  imbued  a 

Pronounced  distaste  for  those  of  Judah, 

Refusing,  though  the  cane  impended, 

To  start  their  list  or  even  end  it. 

In  sober  truth  you  could  not  want 

To  meet  a  boy  more  ignorant. 

Kindness  to  boys  like  that  ?     Oh,  stow  it ! 

You  must  be  firm  with  them  and  show  it. 

The  place  below  his  ragged  jacket 

Simply  invited  one  to  whack  it. 

His  ears  projecting  seemed  to  say, 

"  Come,  box  me,  box  me  every  day." 

And  so  his  ears  were  boxed,  and  he 

Was  caned  all  over  properly. 

"  I  do  not  flog,"  his  master  said, 

"  To  occupy  my  leisure. 
PIZARRO,  if  I  smack  your  head 

It  does  not  give  me  pleasure. 
Flogging  and  smacking  are  to  me 

No  things  of  joy  or  beauty  : 
I  do  them  sadly,  not  with  glee, 

And  from  a  sense  of  duty." 

PIZARRO  deemed  it  idle  chatter  ; 
To  him  it  didn't  seem  to  matter. 
"  A  whack 's  a  whack,  howe'er  you  strike 

it," 

He  said,  and  didn't  seem  to  like  it, 
Showing — a  painful  exhibition — 
A  hardened,  sullen  disposition, 
Which   doomed    him    (here    I    quote   his 

master) 

To  future  failure  and  disaster. 
(To  be  continued.) 


THE  GAME  OF  FAMILY  TYPES. 

(A  Sure  Cure  for  Insomnia.) 
I,  PERCIVAL  PARKINS,  am  confined  to  my 
bed  by  a  severe  attack,  a  disorder  in 
consequence  of  which  I  am  denied,  in 
a  darkened  room,  the  pleasures  of  read- 
ing, writing,  smoking,  drinking  (save 
milk  and  soda),  and  eating  (save  soft 
biscuits  and  rice  pudding).  I  am  pro- 
vided with  a  delightful  amanuensis,  who 


First  Chappie.  "  I   SAY,  OLD  CHAP,  I  'M  GOING  UP  TO  A  BIG  SHOOT.     WHAT  SORT  OF  TIP 

SHOULD   I   GIVE   THE   KEEPER  ?  " 

Second  Chappie.  "  IT  DEPENDS  WHEHE  YOU  HIT  HIM  !" 


also  reads  the  newspaper.  Till  now  I 
never  discovered  how  exactly  the  war 
telegrams  were  alike  to  each  other.  Left 
to  my  own  mental  resources,  I  have  hit 
npon  a  pastime  which  is  quite  original 
and  thoroughly  engrossing.  I  have  called 
it  "Family  Types."  It  is  a  very  simple 
game  to  play.  You  select,  in  the  first 
place,  a  family  circle  with  which  you 
were  intimately  acquainted  some  three 
decades  back.  I  choose,  therefore,  the 
family  of  BRONNSON. 

There  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  BRONNSON  and 
seven  children,  three  boys  and  four  girls. 
Now  the  game  begins.  I  have  to  deter- 
mine correctly  all  the  attributes  of 
the  BRONNSON  family.  Mr.  BRONNSON  is 
easily  got  rid  of.  He  was  a  banker  and 
his  Christian  name  THOMPSON.  Mrs.  B. 
was  the  third,  no  the  fourth,  daughter  of 
Lord  CLINKERTOWN  ;  her  Christian  name 


was — now  what  on  earth  was  her  Christian 
name  ?  This  is  the  first  check.  I  can't  for 
the  life  of  me  remember  it,  and  so  score 
one  mark  against  myself. 

I  now  come  to  the  children.  The  eldest 
lad  was  RICHARD.  He  went  into  the  16th 
Lancers,  no,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it, 
must  have  been  the  21st  Hussars,  who 
nowadays  have  become  Lancers.  Very 
provoking  I  can't  remember  the  right 
regiment!  However,  I '11  on  to  ROBERT 
the  second  son  ;  he  I  know  was  in  the 
Navy,  and  was  drowned  in  the  Red  Sea. 
Stop,  was  it  the  Red  or  the  Yellow  or  the 
White  Sea?  Anyway,  he  was  drowned. 
WILLIAM  was  number  three,  he  went  out  to 
the  Cape — I  am  sure  it  was  the  Cape,  and 
some  demon  keeps  whisper  ing  Texas. 
[Here  Mr.  PARKINS  abruptly  broke  off,  and 
five  minutes  after  was  snoring  loudly. 
ANNE  MUTTON,  Amanuensis., 


134 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[AUGUST  21,  1901. 


TO    A  FAMILY    PORTRAIT  ALBUM. 
VOLUME  strange  and  rather  weird, 
By  my  ancestors  revered, 

Pray  accept  my  greetings. 
"Well  I  know  your  form  so  fat, 
Much  in  requisition  at 
Small  and  social  meetings. 

For,  when  other  topics  pall 
And  'tis  settled,  once  for  all, 

If  it 's  cold  or  warm  out ; 
When  the  conversation  flags, 
Then  some  daring  mortal  drags 

Your  familiar  form  out. 

Sacred  are  your  pages  old, 
Woe  to  him  whose  finger  bold 

Very  slightly  stains  them. 
On  my  knee  I  take  one  end 
While  some  well-intentioned  friend 

Carefully  explains  them. 

Here  we  see  a  countless  host — 
Friends,  relations — all  in  most 

Foolish  looking  poses. 
Backs  to  artificial  skies, 
Touched  up  underneath  the  eyes 

And  along  the  noses. 

Time-worn  tales  your  leaves  provoke 
From  the  quiet  elder  folk — 

Oft  some  aged  tongue  stirs — 
When  they  see,  with  sudden  start , 
On  a  cabinet  or  carte, 

What  they  were  as  youngsters. 

Though  I  love  you  none  too  well, 
Yet  I  have,  the  truth  to  tell, 

Frequent  cause  to  bless  you. 
Much  your  presence  would  be  missed ; 
Can  the  family  exist 

That  does  not  possess  you  ?      P.  G. 

LEAVES  FROM  A  DETECTIVE'S  NOTE- 
BOOK. 

THE  STRANGE  DISAPPEARANCE  OF  PIL- 
BURY'S GRANDMOTHER. 

Thursday,  Five  o'clock.  —  Most  extra- 
ordinary case  ever  dealt  with.  Telegram 
from  Pilbury: — "Come  at  once;  grand- 
mother absolutely  disappeared."  Hastily 
put  up  bag.  Include  all  books  dealing 
with  disappearing  grandmothers.  Also 
pocket  vol.,  Language  of  Vegetables.  Catch 
night  express  to  Slogton. 

Note. — Distance  fifty  miles.  Five  hours' 
journey.  If  only  our  ancestors  could  see 
the  rate  we  travel  nowadays. 

PILBURY  meets  me  at  station.  Intensely 
cut  up.  Strange  look  in  his  eye.  Very 
sprucely  got  up.  Patent  boots. 

Query.— Is  it  customary  to  go  arrayed  in 
patent  boots  on  disappearance  of  grand- 
mother ? 

Footnote.— PILBURY'S  patents.  (Possible 
due.) 

SIGNIFICANT  POINTS  OF  PILBURY 's  STATE- 
MENT. 

Dwells  in  detached  cottage  on  outskirts 
of  Slogton.  Household  consists  of  PIL- 


BURY,  grandmother  (before  she  dis- 
appeared), and  superior  housekeeper, 
Mrs.  BURCHER.  Mrs.  B.  distinctly  good- 
looking.  Observed  same  to  PILBURY,  who 
supposed  she  was. 

Note. — Suspect  PILBURY.  Suspect  Mrs. 
B.  Would  suspect  grandmother  if  I  knew 
where  she  was.  Grandmother  went  for 
walk  Tuesday,  12.30.  Now  Friday  morn- 
ing and  no  trace  of  her.  Simply  dis- 
appeared into  space.  Woman  of  sixty- 
four  years.  Stoutish.  Regular  habits. 

Note. — Has  never  disappeared  before. 
Pity.  Always  so  much  easier  to  have 
precedent.  Country  scoured.  Nobody 
seen  her.  Everybody  completely  mysti- 
fied. Self  included. 

Pilbury's  Theory. — None. 
Mrs.  Burcher's  Theory. — None. 
My  Theory. — None. 

Assure  myself  grandmother  did  not  go 
north,  south,  or  east. 
Note. — Gone  west  ?  (Possible  clue.) 
Follow  it  up  in  afternoon.  Discover 
footprints  edge  of  lake. 
Query. — PILBURY'S  grandmother  ? 
Measure  breadth  of  lake,  300  yards. 
Enquire  of  PILBURY  how  far  his  grand- 
mother could  swim.  Not  100  feet.  Good. 
She  could  not  have  crossed  the  lake. 
PILBURY  ventures  to  think  if  she  had 
swum  lake,  clothes  would  have  been  at 
hand.  Ask  him  has  he  never  heard  of 
native  dodge  of  carrying  clothes  on  head  ? 
Has  not.  Opines  that  elderly,  church- 
going  lady  would  hardly  divest  herself 
of  -  — .  Confess  I  think  it  unlikely. 
But  explain  it  is  the  unexpected  that 
always  happens  —  to  those  who  don't 
expect  it.  Seems  convinced.  Asks  me  if 
I  have  any  faith  in  the  theory.  Smile. 

Note. — Usual  practice  when  completely 
stumped. 

My    Statement. — If    your    grandmother 
could  only  swim  100  feet,  she  must  have 
drowned  before  reaching  opposite  bank. 
Suggest  dragging  lake.     PiLBURY  demurs. 
Cost.     Insist.     Lake  dragged  accordingly. 
Result. — Two  cwt.  miscellaneous  debris. 
No  grandmother.     (Theory  abandoned.) 
Saturday    morning.  —  PILBURY    losing 
onfidence   in   me.     Must   suggest  some- 
thing. 

Query.— What  ? 

Visit  lake  again.  Examine  footprints. 
Ask  PILBURY  why  they  suddenly  cease f 
Doesn't  know.  More  do  I.  Don't  tell 
lira  so ;  but  suggest  grandmother  carried 
>ff  in  a  balloon.  PILBURY  thinks  it  most 
unlikely.  Lady  of  advanced  age  suddenly 
o  ballooning  ?  Reply,  "  not  voluntarily," 
and  smile. 

Note. — Think  it  best  to  keep  on  smiling. 

Asks    me     if    I    think    she    has    been 

forced.     Confess  no  great  faith  in  theory. 

Still,   anchor  dangling  from    car.    Catch 

in  plaquet-hole.     (Theory  abandoned.) 

Afternoon. — PILBURY  doubts  my  capacity. 
Must  do  something.  Search  back  of  house. 
Discover  grandmother's  broken  specs,  in 


dust-hole.     Completely  mystified.     Show 
to  PILBURY  with  smile.    Amazed. 

Important  Note.— Mrs.  BURCHER  knew 
they  were  there.  Quite  useless.  (Possible 
clue.) 

Monday. — Search  front  of  house.  Find 
hairpin  of  disappeared.  More  and  more 
fogged.  Show  to  PILBURY  (with  smile). 

Tuesday. — Search  sides  of  house.  Come 
across  tattered  cap  -  strings.  PILBURY 
wants  to  know  whether  I  am  going  to 
restore  grandmother  in  fragments.  Why 
can't  I  make  a  practical  job  of  it  and 
restore  her  in  bulk?  At  present  rate 
of  progress  says  he  can't  hope  to  see  her 
in  the  entirety  before  Christmas. 

At  Lunch. —  PILBURY  sulky.  Doesn't 
believe  I  am  a  bit  wiser  than  when  I  first 
arrived. 

Mrs.  B.  waiting  table.  Note. — Certainly 
a  handsome  woman. 

She  brings  potatoes.  Note.  —  Three 
waxy,  two  over-boiled,  black  eyes,  one 
deliciously  floury.  Waits  till  PILBURY 
has  helped  himself,  then  hands  potatoes. 
Floury  one  towards  him.  He  takes  it. 
(Clue).  Note. — Three  reasons  why  in  the 
ordinary  course  of  events  I  should  have 
had  the  best  potato.  (1)  a  handsomer 
man  than  P  ;  (2)  a  guest ;  (3)  subtler 
taste.  Action  of  Mrs.  B.  sinister.  Con- 
sult Language  of  Vegetables.  Read : 
Handing  of  floury  potatoes  to  gentleman 
means  "  I  want  to  marry  you  !  "  (Clue.) 

Recall  PILBURY'S  spruce  appearance 
and  decide  he  is  in  love.  No  agitating 
symptoms.  Reciprocated.  Query. — Why 
should  Mrs.  BURCHER  love  PILBURY  ? 
Ans. — He  will  inherit  £500  a  year  from  his 
grandmother.  Note. — As  long  as  she  is 
alive  Mrs.  B,  has  no  prospect  of  marrying 
PiLBURY.  (Phew !  Wipe  perspiration 
from  brow  and  continue.)  Mrs.  BURCHER 
has  made  away  with  PIIBURY'S  grand- 
mother. Awful  discovery !  PiLBURY 
notices  my  agitation.  Asks  cause.  Reply 
"hot  on  scent" — and  fix  Mrs.  B.  with 
eye.  Note. — Rather  pleasant  job.  Dis- 
tinctly handsome  woman.  But  mercenary. 
Tentatively  ask  if  I  may  visit  cellar. 
Mrs.  B.  hurriedly  says,  "door  locked: 
key  lost."  Important  Note. — Has  reasons 
for  keeping  me  from  cellar.  Put  it  to 
PILBURY  quietly  whether  it  isn't  probable 
that  his  grandmother,  for  sinister  purpose, 
is  in  wine  cellar  ? 

Replies  most  improbable,  as  grand- 
mother is  staunch  teetotaler.  JVote. — 
PiLBURY'S  train  of  reasoning  absolutely 
idiotic.  Important  JF  TRUE.  Mrs.  BURCHER 
states  positively  key  of  cellar  in  grand- 
mother's pocket.  Very  puzzling.  This 
ready  evasion  characteristic  of  criminal 
at  bay.  Her  guilt  apparent.  Determine 
to  denounce  her.  Call  her  to  dining-room 
with  PILBURY  and  boldly  accuse  her  of 
being  directly  concerned  in  disappearance 
of  grandmother.  PILBURY  amazed.  Mrs. 
B.,  hardened  in  crime,  denies  all  know- 
ledge. Explain  all  evasion  useless.  Possess 


AUGUST  21,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


135 


proof.  Slap  chest  significantly.  PILBURY 
about  to  interfere.  Wave  him  aside  and 
cry,  "  Pilbury,  your  grandmother  is  at 
this  moment  in  the  house!"  Impressive 
silence.  PILBURY  says,  "  Stuff !"  Mrs.  B. 
cries,  "  Nonsense  !  "  A  voice  is  heard  in 
hall.  Terror.  The  door  opens.  A  woman 
enters.  It  is  PILBURY'S  grandmother ! 
Lose  consciousness,  overcome  with  fear. 

Statement  of  Pilbury's  Grandmother. — 
When  she  went  for  a  walk  met  friends  at 
lake  who  were  driving.  Picked  her  up 
and  drove  to  Little  Slogton.  [Note. — 
Accounts  for  sudden  disappearance  of 
footprints.  Pity  I  didn't  notice  wheel- 
marks.]  Got  laid  up  Avith  severe  cold  at 
friends.  Sent  letter  to  Pilburch  in 
delirium.  Had  it  returned  "  not  known," 
yesterday.  Hurried  back  quickly  as 
possible. 

Note. — Lucky  speech  of  mine,  "  Grand- 
mother in  house."  Convinced  PILBURY  1 
knew  something. 

Advice  to  Pilbury. — Teach  your  grand- 
mother to  stay  at  home. 


THE  CURSE  OF  THE   CUSTOMER. 

(How  the  Beer  Bill  would  liave  acted — a 
Recollection  of  the  Session.) 

"  MIND,  the  beer  must  be  partly  malt — 
no  pure  malt  for  me." 

The  innkeeper  listened  with  amazement. 
In  his  part  of  the  country  the  weaker 
liquid  was  preferred. 

"You  are  quite  sure,  Sir?  "  he  asked 
his  guest.  "You  know  the  doctors  say 
that  pure  malt  is ' ' 

"I  will  not  have  pure  malt,"  inter- 
rupted the  guest,  in  a  tone  that  brooked 
no  further  contradiction .  ' '  Give  me  partly 
malt  or  I  leave  your  hostelry  for  ever." 

The  innkeeper  trembled.  Times  were 
hard,  and  to  lose  a  customer  might  spell 
disaster. 

"  As  you  will,  Sir,"  said  he.  "  I  will  get 
you  the  required  refreshment." 

While  he  was  away  the  arbitrary  visitor 
lighted  his  pipe  and  waited  impatiently 
for  the  promised  liquor.  When  it  came 
he  looked  at  the  bottle. 

"Yes,"  he  murmured,  "it  seems  all 
right.  '  Partly  malt '  is  certainly  dis- 
tinctly visible." 

With  a  trembling  hand  the  innkeeper 
poured  out  a  glass  of  beer.  The  guest 
drank  it,  and  asked  for  more  ;  at  the  end 
of  the  second  glass  he  repeated  his  appli- 
cation. 

"  Sirrah !  "  thundered  the  drinker,  when 
he  had  completed  the  bottle,  "you  have 
betrayed  me.  This  is  not  partly  malt 
beer  !  This  is  beer  composed  entirely  of 
malt." 

The  innkeeper  silently  pointed  to  the 
label. 

"A  cheat,  a  fraud!  You  have  de- 
ceived me !  ' ' 

"What  is  your  proof?  How  do  you 
know  that  this  is  not  partly  malt  beer  ?  " 


Oar  Artist.  "I  DO  WISH  THAT  I  WAS  A  LITTLB  BOULDER!" 


Then  came  the  crushing  and  convincing 
rejoinder. 

"  Because,  if  it  had  been  partly  malt 
I  should  by  this  time  have  been  drunk, 
and,  look  at  me,  I  am  quite  sober." 


HISTORY    AND    MYTH. 

["  The  famous  tale  of  ALFBED'S  burning  the 
cakes  .  .  .  seemed  to  belong  to  a  genuine  tradi- 
tion. There  were  other  stories  of  legendary  type, 
such  as  that  in  which  ALFBED  was  said  to  have 
visited  the  Danish  camp  disguised  as  a  harper." — 
Sir  Frederick  Pollock  to  the  Extension  Students  at 
Oxford.'] 

GREAT  King,  to  you  our  thoughts  we  throw 
Back  for  a  thousand  years  or  so, 

Till  legend  we  are  lost  in ; 
Of  you  still  England  owns  the  fame, 
Her  poets,  too,  have  borne  your  name —  • 

BUNN,  TENNYSON,  and  AUSTIN  ! 

Since  Science  bold,  that  none  may  shun, 
Our  ancient  legends,  one  by  .one, 


Compels  us  to  abandon, 
Even  your  well-loved  stories  she, 
With  wanton  incredulity, 

Now  lays  her  ruthless  hand  on. 

Your  period  now  prim  students  scan, 
And  straightway  they  pronounce  it  an 

Unprincipled  invention 
To  say  that  you,  when  schools  were  few-, 
Were  the  progenitor  of  U- 

niversity  extension. 

And  children's  faith  is  now  upset ; 
We  bid  them  carefully  forget 

The  lessons  once  we  told  them  : 
How  with  your  harp's  melodious  strains, 
Instead  of  buying  off  the  Danes, 

As  minstrel  boy  you  sold  them. 

Yet,  while  the  rest  are  overthrown, 
The  "  story  of  the  cakes  "  alone 

Grim  Science  has  respected. 
Till,  by  a  curious  irony, 
Your  claim  to  future  fame  must  be 

The  task  which  you  neglected. 


136 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[AUGUST  21,  1901. 


HINTS    TO    BEGINNERS.     GROUSE    DRIVING. 

BIRDS    COMING    STRAIGHT    TOWARDS   YOU   SOMETIMES   OFKKR   A   VERY   UNSATISFACTORY    SHOT. 


THE  NEW  MOSQUITO  CURE. 

AN  American  lady,  who  is  a  Christian 
Scientist,  is  quoted  in  the  .St.  James's 
Gazette  as  saying  that  "it  is  outrageous 
to  kill  the  little  harmless  insects.  If  a 
mosquito  is  troubling  you,  just  speak  to 
him  kindly  and  say,  '  Look  here,  my 
friend,  you  leave  me  alone  and  I  '11  leave 
you  alone.'  Then  believe  he  won't  bite 
you.  Even  if  he  does,  his  sting  won't 
hurt.  I  have  done  this  for  years,  and 
now  enjoy  having  the  pretty  little  things 
around  and  listening  to  their  musical 
buzz."  Whence  it  appears  that  the  able- 
bodie'd  ' '  skeeter  ' '  is  amenable  to  reason 
after  all,  if  you  only  address  "him" 
politely,  and  not  in  the  customary  "way. 
All  yon  have  to  do  is  to  catch  his  ear 
(metaphorically),  and  hail  him  as  "my 
friend  "  in  the  American  language.  He 
will  then  submit  the  question  of  dinner 
to  arbitration,  or  enter  upon  a  very 
offensive  and  defensive  alliance  -with 
you  against  some  third  party  who  may 
happen  to  hold  "outrageous"  views  as 
to  the  sanctity  of  his  own  and  the  mos- 
quito's person.  There  are  some  who  hold 
that  the  "musical  buzz"  of  the  "little 
harmless  insect ' '  is  even  more  demoralis- 
ing in  the  night-watches  than  his  bite ; 


but,  believing  that  you  are  immune,  you 
will  be  merely  hilled  to  sleep.  In  the 
morning,  you  will  wake  up  with  your 
forehead,  and  features  generally,  raised 
in  high  relief,  and  any  further  relief  will 
thus  be  rendered  unnecessary. 

We  wonder  if  this  principle  of  parley 
can  be  extended  to  the  case  of  other 
"harmless"  but  too  familiar  insects. 
Some,  we  fear,  will  refuse  to  be  charmed 
by  the  voice  of  transatlantic  logic,  and 
will  continue  deaf  to  the  tenets  of  the 
Hague  Convention.  Will  any  one  sacrifice 
himself  to  the  cause  during  the  holidays, 
and  practise  caressing  a  wasp  or  smooth 
the  ruffled  feelings  of  a  hornet  ?  Will  a 
word  in  season  and  a  soft  answer,  with  or 
without  a  white  flag,  avail  us  in  our  next 
encounter  with  a  mad  bull,  a  rabid  dog, 
or  an  elephant  that  has  turned  "  Turk  "  ? 
What  "  kind  "  conversational  gambit 
should  we  adopt  with  a  poor  little  scorpion 
that  may  have  ensconced  itself  in  the 
boot  we  are  putting  on,  or  with  the  pretty, 
playful  crab  that  nips  our  big  toe  as  we 
are  bathing  ?  Will  the  American  lady 
please  oblige  with  the  correct  formula 
to  employ  on  these  respective  occasions  ? 
Or,  can  it  be  that  such  very  decided 
opinions  have  rendered  her  integument 
so  tough  that  nojnosquito  is  able  to  pierce 


it,  whereas  less  strong-minded  individuals 
like  ourselves  are  still  condemned  to 
suffer  unlimited  puncture?  A.  A.  S. 


A   LITTLE   LATE. 
I  DON'T  know  what  I  wrote  to  you 
Since  you  assert  I  was  untrue, 
And  made  an  old  indictment  new 

(But  surely  I  was  teasing  ?  ). 
It  always  seems  so  strange  to  me 
That  "give  and  take ' '  should  never  be 
A  pastime  gay,  a  fancy  free, 

A  sport  of  petty  pleasing. 
You  know  I  only  talked  of  JACK, 
Because  you  spoke  of  JILL — alack  ! 
The  reel,  indeed,  is  running  back 

When  you  recall  this  folly. 
What  can  I  say  this  Summer-tide 
Except  recall  the  world  is  wide  ? — 
I  send  the  photo  of  my  bride, 

She  is  so  nice  and  jolly, 

More  mistletoe  than  holly. 
So  sends  a  kiss — won't  be  denied, 
I  really  wish  that  you  were  tied. 

Here 's  news  for  melancholy, 

Her  name  is  also  DOLLY  ! 


NOTE  BY  OUR  CRICKETING  PHILOSOPHER. 
— The  no-ball  controversy  gives  plenty  of 
fillips  to  the  game. 


PUNCH,    OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI.— AUGUST  21,  1901. 


HOPE    DEFEERED. 


COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF  S.  A.,  LORD  K-TCH-N-R  (readiny  latest  news  from  England).  "  HOUSE  UP  !    GROUSE  PLENTIFUL ! 
YACHT-RACING   IN  FULL   SWING!     I   WONDER   WHEN   WE  SHALL  GET  OUR   HOLIDAY?" 


AUGUST  21,   1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


139 


ILLUSTRATED    QUOTATIONS. 

(One  so  seldom  finds  an  Artist  who  reaHses  the  poetic 


''UPON   WHAT  MEAT   DOTH   THIS   OUR   CjEUR   FEED, 

THAT  HE  is  GROWN  so  GREAT  1 " — Shakspeare  (Julius  Ccesar). 


ESSENCE    OF    PARLIAMENT. 

IXTSACTED  FROM  THE  DlARY  OF  TOBY,   M.P. 

House  of  Commons,  Monday,  August  12. 
—"Whenever  you  see  an  Irish  Member 
n  his  legs  talking  with  much  fluency  and 
xcessive  bitterness  on  a  topic  not  directly 
elating  to  Ireland,  cherche  JOE." 

This  pearl  of  wisdom  fell  from  lips  of 
IEMBKR  FOR  SARK  when,  entering  House 
ust  now,  he  found  Mr.  DALY  on  his  legs 
's  that  Nightly)  discoursing  on  Pacific 
""able  Bill.  Evidently  knew  nothing  about 
That  no  reason  why  he  should  not 
alk  upon  it  at  length.  Did  so.  Presently 
lie  head  of  DON  JOSK  appeared  in  his 
Memorial,  just  as  that  of  CHARLES  THE 
?IRST  was  wont  to  do  in  another.  The 
jnterprise  is,  Mr.  DALY  declares,  devised 
'or  sole  purpose  of  gratifying  vanity  of 

)N  JOSK  and  extending  his  "  shoddy 
imperialism."  Later,  JOHN  DILLON,  not 
laving  delivered  speech  for  two  hours, 
Jrepared  to  average  matters.  Talked  for 
lalf  an  hour ;  remarks  chiefly  directed  at 
mppily  absent  DON  JOSE.  Might  have 
jone  on  for  two  hours.  Himself  ready 
ind  willing ;  only  one  reason  why  he 
shouldn't.  This  was  the  closure,  abhorred 
(hears  that  cut  the  thin-spun  thread  of 
(OHM'S  verbosity. 

At  least  had  consolation  of  knowing  that 
le  had  enjoyed  earlier  opportunity.  Was 
ip  at  five  o'clock  on  Royal  Titles  Bill. 
s  being  undoubtedly  the  work  of  DON 
f08E,  was  inevitably  iniquitous.  JOHN 
)ILLON  discovered  in  it  a  fresh  crime 
igainst  Ireland:  "stamps  upon  her  the 
jar  sinister."  This  sounds  well  ;  meaning 
i  little  obscure.  SAUNDERSON  protests  he 
•eally  doesn't  know  what  JOHN  means. 


What  of  that?  An  hour  has  been  wasted 
and  DON  Jos£  beaten  afresh  about  his 
unoffending  head. 

Business  done.  —  In  Committee  on 
Factory  and  Workshops  Bill,  Government 
defeated  by  163  votes  against  141.  "  It's 
of  no  consequence,"  said  Mr.  TOOTS 
RITCHIE,  echoing  the  remark  of  his  proto- 
type when  he  inadvertently  sat  down 
on  Florence  Dombey's  Sunday  bonnet. 
"  Resign  !  resign  !  "  shouted  the  Opposi- 
tion. TIM  HEALY,  always  ready  to  oblige, 
moved  the  adjournment  in  order  to  give 
His  Majesty's  Government  opportunity 
of  considering  what  course  they  should 
take  in  the  sudden  crisis. 

"Not  the  slightest  consequence,"  in- 
sisted the  Rigid  Hon.  Mr.  Toots  on  the 
Treasury  Bench.  "The  House  has  deci- 
sively intimated  its  opinion  on  the  subject. 
Resigned  unto  its  heavenly  will,  the 
Government  carry  on  their  business  still." 

Tuesday  niyht. — Have  always  felt  that 
to  know  the  House  of  Commons  is  a  liberal 
education.  It  is  the  most  perfect  realisa- 
tion of  microcosm.  The  men  composing 
it,  of  varied  station  and  diverse  ex- 
perience, know  something  of  everything. 
A  little  incident  that  befell  to-night 
illustrates  the  point.  JOHN  BURNS  dis- 
cussing Laundry  Clause  of  Factories  and 
Workshops  Act.  In  proof  of  the  necessity 
of  supervision  of  so-called  charitable 
institutions,  he  cited  the  case  of  a 
pseudo-religious  adventurer  in  Essex 
who  organised  a  Home  for  Children  and 
starved  them  in  it. 

"I  hope,"  said  JOHN,  "that  that  man 
is  now  climbing  up  the  golden  stairs  of 
the  treadmill." 

The  Committee  manifesting  interest  in 


this  way  of  looking  at  the  exercise, 
reminiscent,  save  in  the  matter  of  level,  of 
going  round  and  round  the  division  lobbies, 
JOHN  became  confidential.  He  knew  all 
about  the  treadmill  ;  had  trodden  its 
endless  steps  when  he  sojourned  in 
Pentonville. 

"  If  I  may  give  hon.  Members  a  tip,"  he 
said,  lowering  his  voice  to  confidential 
note,  "  I  would  advise  them  always  to 
take  the  stairs  by  the  wall  side." 

The  Committee  laughed.  Seated  immedi- 
ately behind  Treasury  Bench,  JOHN  G.  TAL- 
BOT,  constitutionally  free  from  that  in- 
firmity, regarded  the  back  of  RITCHIE'S 
head  with  fresh  interest.  Felt  it  borne 
in  upon  him  that  if  the  Home  Secretary 
went  on  in  the  way  he  was  now  treading, 
he,  J.  G.  T.,  would  some  day,  on  his  round 
of  duty  as  a  visiting  magistrate,  catch  a 
back  view  of  the  right  hon.  gentleman 
curioiTsly  foreshortened,  apparently  walk- 
ing upstairs  and  never  getting  any  nearer 
the  top. 

All  about  this  laundry  business.  Irish 
Members  object  ta  certain  laundries 
under  conventual  direction  being  subject 
to  visits  of  inspection.  TALBOT  doesn't 
know  more  about  laundries  than  the 
ordinary  head  of  a  household  ;  but  here 
ho  catches  glimpse  of  the  skirt  of  the 
Scarlet  Woman. 

"This  will  be  known  in  history  as  the 
Great  Surrender,"  he  sobbed,  tears 
ploughing  the  lonely  furrows  of  his  cheek 
just  as  if  they  were  ex-Premiers  retired 
from  business. 

A  little  cheered  by  the  peep  into 
RITCHIE'S  future  personal  history  sug- 
gested by  JOHN  BUKNS'S  tip.  Never- 
theless, sad  at  heart  to  find  himself 


140 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[AUGUST  21,  1901. 


dragged  at  the  heels  of  the  Irish  Nation- 
alists because  the  masters  of  a  mighty 
majority  shrank  from  the  fight. 

Business  done. — Government  capitulate 
on  Laundry  Clause  of  Factories  and 
"Workshops  Bill. 

Friday, — Royal  Assent  given  to  Royal 
Titles  Bill.  Nobody  likes  the  title  which, 
faute  de  mieux,  the  Government  have 
adopted.  "  EDWARD  THE  SEVENTH,  by  the 
Grace  of  God  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland 
and  of  all  the  British  Dominions  beyond 
the  seas,  King,  Defender  of  the  Faith, 
Emperor  of  India."  Happily  the  title  is 
not  cited  within  the  four  corners  of  Act. 
It  is  left  to  the  KING  to  determine  the 
style.  This  being  so,  I  presume  to  call 
His  MAJESTY'S  attention  to  a  precedent 
that,  through  the  long  controversy,  has 
escaped  attention.  In  the  Anglo  Saxon 
Chronicle  there  is  recorded  a  marvellous 
vision  that  came  to  King  ALFRED. 

"The  KING  lay  awake  and  thought  of 
all  that  had  come  to  pass  by  day,  and 
presently  he  saw  a  great  light,  like  the 
brightness  of  the  sun,  and  he  saw  an  old 
man  with  black  hair,  clothed  in  priest's 
garments,  and  with  a  mitre  on  his  head, 
and  holding  in  his  right  hand  a  book  of  the 
Gospels,  adorned  with  gold  and  gems." 

This  was  ST.  CUTHBERT,  who  comforted 
and  encouraged  ALFRED  on  the  eve  of  the 
battle  that  delivered  Wessex  from  the 
dominion  of  the  Dane.  CUTHBERT  hails 
the  Saxon  royal  soldier  as  "  KING  OF  ALL 
BRITAIN."  What  better,  more  precise, 
yet  equally  comprehensive  title  could  be 
adopted  by  the  twentieth  century  King, 
descended  in  unbroken  line  from  ALFRED  ? 
The  title  would  then  run,  "EDWARD  THE 
SEVENTH,  by  the  Grace  of  God  King  of  all 
Britain  and  Ireland,  Defender  of  the  Faith, 
Emperor  of  India." 

Objection  was  taken  to  Lord  ROSEBERY'S 
suggestion  to  substitute  "  King  of 
Britains  beyond  the  seas,"  on  the  ground, 
amongst  others,  that  the  Canadians  and 
inhabitants  of  Mauritius  are  not  Britons. 
That  does  not  apply  to  adoption  of  King 
ALFRED'S  magnificently  simple  title,  since 
Canada  and  Mauritius  are,  for  imperial 
purposes,  as  much  parts  of  Britain  as 
are  Australasia  or  Cape  Colony. 

Business  done. —  Preparing  for  proro- 
gation. 

Saturday. — Parliament  prorogued. 


VEHICULAR  PROGRESSION. 

Mr.  Ifcey  Motor  (to  Ciistomer).  Want  a 
machine,  Sir?  Certainly.  We've  all 
sorts  to  suit  your  build. 

Customer.  It  isn't  for  me,  but  for  my 
mother-in-law. 

Mr.  Ifcey  Motor.  For    your  mother-in- 
law  !    How  would  a  steam-roller  suit  her  ? 
[Mr.  I.  M.  is  immediately  made  aware 
that  the  lady  in  question  lias  over- 
heard his  ill-timed  jest,  ivhile  the 
Customer  vanishes  in  blue  fire. 


RIVERSIDE  SUNDAY. 
UNNUMBERED  are  the  trees  that  fling 

O'er  Pangbourne  Reach  their  shade, 
Unnumbered  there  the  birds  that  sing 

Melodious  serenade ; 
But  as  the  leaves  upon  the  boughs 

Or  feathers  on  the  birds, 
So  are  the  trippers  who  carouse 

Along  the  banks  in  herds. 

Punt,  centre-board,  launch,  skiff,  canoe, 

Lunch-laden  hither  hie, 
Each  bearing  her  expectant  crew 

To  veal  and  chicken-pie  ; 
And  from  the  woods  around  HART'S  Lock 

Reports  ring  loud  and  clear, 
As  trippers  draw  the  festive  hock 

Or  democratic  beer. 

From  one  to  three,  below,  above, 

Is  heard  the  crisp,  clear  crunch 
Of  salad,  as  gay  Damons  love 

To  linger  over  lunch. 
From  three  to  six  a  kettle  sings 

'Neath  every  sheltering  tree 
As  afternoon  to  PHYLLIS  brings 

The  magic  hour  of  tea. 

Well  may  the  Cockney  fly  the  Strand 

For  this  remoter  nest, 
Where  buses  cease  from  rumbling  and 

The  motors  are  at  rest. 
But  would  you  shun  your  fellows — if 

To  quiet  you  incline — 
Oh,  rather  scull  your  shilling  skiff 

Upon  the  Serpentine. 


THE    JOKE    THAT    CAME    OFF. 

IT  was  a  splendid  joke :  quite  the 
funniest  thing  that  he  had  ever  lighted 
on.  Now  a  really  good  joke  is  not  to  be 
found  every  day,  so  SIMPSON  must  not  be 
blamed  for  making  a  great  deal  of  to-do 
about  this  joke. 

We  were  anxious,  of  course,  to  hear 
the  joke,  and  suggested  to  SIMPSON  that 
he  should  organise  a  select  little  supper- 
party  and  then  acquaint  us  with  the 
humorous  masterpiece.  We  assured  him 
that  we  were  prepared  to  laugh  and 
applaud  atl  lib.,  provided  that  on  his  side 
he  should  see  the  supper  was  a  credit  to 
the  chef  at  the  Savoy. 

But  SIMPSON  was  not  impressed,   and 
declined  to  part  with  his  joke.    This  wai 
decidedly    mean     and     unworthy    of    an 
Englishman. 

What  Englishman  worth  his  salt  ever 
neglected  to  tell  his  friends  "  the  funniest 
thing  in  the  world"?  Was  it  not  done 
always  as  a  matter  of  course  without  the 
least  pressure  being  applied  ?  Nay,  was  it 
not  done  even  after  friends  had  omitted 
to  show  any  wish  to  hear  of  the  "  funniest 
thing"? 

And  we  had  entreated  SIMPSON — in  vain 
Oh,  it  was  preposterous  !    SIMPSON  locked 
up  this  joke  in  his  brain,  so  he  told  us, 
and    intended    keeping    the    poor    thing 
there  till  a  fitting  season. 


Nor  was  he  to  be  moved  from  his 
purpose  by  humanitarian  protests  on  oui 
jart.  We  impressed  upon  him  that  the 
oke  would  die  for  want  of  room,  but  he 
aughed  scornfully,  and  said  we  were 
iealous. 

And  then  a  celebrated  wit  joined  us  al! 
at  the  Club  one  day,  till  SIMPSON,  goadec 
beyond  endurance  at  the  rapturous  waj 
in  which  we  received  the  mildest  mots 
cleared  his  throat  and  prepared  to  unlocl 
tiis  imprisoned  joke.  But  at  the  critica 
moment  the  joke  wouldn't  come.  The 
lock  must  have  turned  rusty,  or  else  tlu 
joke  had  perished — melted  away,  perhap'i 
with  the  extreme  heat. 

It  was  a  ghastly  moment  for  SIMPSON 
a  moment  before  he  had  looked  so  confl 
dent,  and  then  came  his  look  of  horror — hi* 
gasp — his  white  and  red  complexion.  W< 
all  screamed  with  laughter.  No  jok« 
could  have  been  as  funny  as  was  SIMP 
SON'S  face. 

The  celebrated  wit  soon  left  us,  but  hi 
had  not  been  gone  for  a  quarter  of  ai 
hour  before  SIMPSON  rose  to  his  fee 
excitedly. 

"  I  remember  it,"  he  said.  Then  wit! 
a  cry  .of  relief  he  dashed  after  the  cele 
brated  wit. 

Unhappily,  the  wit  had  just  caught  th< 
boat-train  and  was  speeding  away  to 
Paris. 

SIMPSON,  not  to  be  daunted,  pursue* 
him.  He  arrived  in  Paris  and  rushed  t< 
his  rooms.  But,  alas,  he  had  just  lef 
again  for  Switzerland  ^ 

Then  began  a  frantic  pursuit.  Whethe 
the  wit  knew  that  a  joke  was  tracking 
him  down  none  can  tell,  but  anyway,  h< 
eluded  the  Sherlock  -  like  sagacity  o 
SIMPSON  for  a  long  while.  And  then,  om 
day,  the  man  with  a  joke  hunted  hiu 
down — or  rather  up — on  the  high  Alps 
SIMPSON  was  divided  from  the  celebrate! 
wit  by  a  yawning  abyss,  but  undeterrei 
by  this  he  screamed  across  the  snow; 
gulf — the  joke. 

The  celebrated  wit  caught  the  ful 
import  of  the  joke,  and  his  laughte 
rolled  round  the  mountain  sides. 

"Funny,  isn't  it?  "  shouted  SIMPSON. 

"Simply  killing!"  yelled  the  wit 
then  fell,  still  laughing,  into  the  abyss 
The  mountain  itself  was  so  tickled  b; 
the  joke  that  it  broke  into  appreciativi 
avalanches.  Upon  one  of  these  SIMPSON 
chuckling  with  triumph,  was  carried  t< 
join  the  celebrated  wit. 

And  so  the  joke  came  off  after  al 
among  the  high  Alps. 

It  is  regrettable  that  SIMPSON  came  of 
as  well ;  but  the  moral  is  so  obvious  that  w< 
ought  not  to  lament  his  death.  He  diec 
nobly  in  the  cause  of  humour,  and  as  non< 
but  the  celebrated  wit  heard  the  joke,  w 
can  all  believe  that  this  joke  was  the  fun 
niest  and  most  delightfully  humorous  sail 3 
ever  perpetrated  by  man.  "Such  tricks 
hath  strong  imagination."  A.  R. 


AUGUST  21,  1901.]  PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI.  ui 


ffus  keoU 


I.V|    ovj     us    eo      tjairvo 
I  had  Kim  <TOTU  said  he  ria«.  been  very  fser-T 


...ok  ses,  IX 


?'        Buf,a!a%  tor  tke  veracif\   o 
" 


.' 


ThrouJ  Kim  oLowrTTfRrouj  the   ^===^:r^r 

little  Lute  dow-n.,a-txd  lUdrowu  iwht  JlBW 


BuflhcUke 

s Lb bed  hitu  '/'  " 


MR.    TUBBING'S    SHOOTING    PONY. 


142 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHABIVARI. 


[AUGUST  21,  1901. 


SORROWS  OF  PATERFAMILIAS  AT  THE  SEASIDE. 

PART  III. 

EARLY  next  morning  dear  MARION  told  me  she  had  just  seen 
MARY  JANE,  our  Nurse,  walking  with  a  soldier.  Replied 
reassuringly,  "Yes,  my  dear,  well,  why  not?  I  am  sure  we 
all  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  our  noble " 

"Oh,  don/t  be  so  foolish,  GEORGE!"  breaks  in  MARION, 
despairingly.  "  You  know  what  soldiers  are." 

"Certainly,  my  dear.  There  is  surely  nothing  mysterious 
that  I  am  aware  of  in  their  composition." 

MARION  looks  baffled  and  then  says,  in  cutting  tones,  "  Some 
men  are  such  fools."  Agree  with  this  in  abstract,  but  refuse 
to  see  any  personal  application  in  remark. 

After  bathing  with  the  children,  sat  on  beach,  trying  to  read 
paper.  Should  have  succeeded,  but  for  being  importuned  by 
itinerant  vendors  to  buy  flowers,  cakes,  fruit,  toffee  and 
brandyballs  ;  and  also  by  divers  others  to  have  my  photograph 
taken,  patronize  four  piano  organs  and  a  German  band,  and 
witness  the  performance  of  an  Italian  with  a  monkey.  Hid 
behind  rock,  some  distance  from  crowd.  Peace  at  last  !  I 
threw  myself  at  full  length  upon  the  beach,  spread  out  my 
paper  and — "Want  a  boat,  Sir  ?  Nice  day  for  a  sail."  Replied 
distantly  that  there  was  no  wind.  Thought  I  rather  scored 
there,  but  the  man  was  shameless.  "  Well,  no,  there  ain't,  Sir, 
not  in  a  way  o'  speakin',  as  you  might  say,  but  it  'd  be  a  rare 
day  for  goin'  out  to  the  Ledge,  a-flshin'." 

Rather  good  idea,  this — sounded  reposeful  to  lie  at  anchor 
and  flsh. 

"  How  much  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  'Arf-a-crown  a  hour,  Sir,  includin'  everythink,  bait,  lines 
and  all." 

"  I  will  go,"  I  said.     "  At  2.30  this  afternoon. 

Gave  up  attempt  to  read  paper,  and  strolled  home.  Dear 
MARION  suggested  I  should  take  ALGERNON  and  WILLY.  Felt 
rather  damped  at  this,  as  I  had  secretly  hugged  myself  with 
idea  of  quiet  afternoon,  free  from  the  dear  children.  It  ended, 
of  course,  in  taking  them. 

Ancient  Mariner  not  ready  when  we  arrived  on  beach.  Had 
not  enough  bait.  When  bait  brought  down  by  small  boy,  A.  M. 
further  discovered  supply  of  lines  insufficient.  Just  as  we 
were  ready  to  shove  off,  A.  M.  said  he  must  run  up  the  beach 
"to  see  a  man."  Watched  carefully,  and  distinctly  saw  A.  M. 
emerge  from  the  "Pilot  and  Periwinkle,"  wiping  mouth  with 
back  of  hand. 

At  length  we  got  away,  and  A.  M.  pulled  us  out  towards  the 
Ledge.  He  rowed  without  any  undue  haste,  this  man.  Talking 
seemed  more  in  his  line  than  pulling.  He  "minded"  of  the 
time  when  he  had  been  mate  of  the  Sudden  Jerk,  and  a 
gale  had  carried  away  her  main  top-gallant  spritsail  hal- 
liards, and  he  alone  had  been  saved  by  floating  ashore  on  a 
hen-coop.  He  was  also  in  one  of  England's  famous  sea  battles, 
of  which  I  happened  to  recollect  the  date.  A  casual  enquiry 
as  to  Mariner's  age  elicited  that  he  must  have  either  played 
this  gallant  part  at  the  somewhat  early  age  of  three,  or 
else  that  he  was  a  stately  liar.  Personally  I  inclined  to  latter 
opinion,  but  boys  listened  open-mouthed  in  admiring  wonder- 
ment. 

At  length  we  reached  Ledge,  and  A.  M.  dropped  anchor  and 
got  out  and  baited  lines  with  singularly  revolting  lob-worms. 
Commenced  fishing :  WILLY'S  success  immediate,  as  he  quickly 
hauled  out  small  dog-fish.  A.  M.  breaks  its  neck  and  throws 
it  back  into  water.  WILLY  dissolves  into  silent  tears  at  loss 
of  his  prize.  Encourage  him  with  threepenny-piece.  A.  M. 
catches  bigger  dog-fish,  and  repeats  process.  I  feel  tug,  haul 
up  rapidly  and  land  battered  sou '-wester.  A.  M.  regards  it 
critically,  and  then  says,  "Ah,  some  pore  chap  'as  gorn  over- 
board 'ere,  you  may  depend  on  't.  Well,  there  's  sure  to  be 
fish,  any'ow  where  'e  is." 


Feel  myself  turning  shade  paler :  inference  so  obvious : 
recover,  however,  on  reflecting  that  A.  M.  probably  lying. 
More  dog-fish  reward  iis.  At  last,  however,  WILLY  hooks 
whiting  pout,  longer  than  my  forefinger.  Another  and  yet 
another  come  to  hand  :  then  two  sea-perch,  and  a  small  dab. 
After  an  hour  of  this,  I  noticed  that  ALGERNON  had  ceased  talk- 
ing, whilst  I  myself  felt  that,  though  the  sea  was  calm,  there 
was  more  ground  swell  than  one  liked.  We  went  on  fishing  for 
half-hour  longer,  when,  without  warning,  ALGY  let  his  line  slip 
overboard,  and  gently  collapsed  into  bottom  of  boat.  I  at- 
tempted to  rally  him,  but  felt  within  the  thrall  of  a  gloomy 
reserve,  and  disinclined  for  speech.  At  last,  after  languidly 
catching  two  more  whiting,  I  raised  my  heavy  eyes  to 
Ancient  Mariner's,  and  murmured  the  one  -word  "  Home." 

With  diabolical  tardiness,  A.  M.  set  about  getting  up  our 
anchor  ;  this  accomplished,  he  deliberately  loaded  and  lit  his 
evil-smelling  pipe.  WILLY  alone  remained  firm ;  and  with 
the  unthinking  levity  of  youth,  gave  imitations  of  our  suffer- 
ings. Was  too  feeble  to  even  chide  him,  but  never  came  nearer 
disliking  my  own  flesh  and  blood  than  at  that  moment.  Rest 
of  row  to  the  shore  full  of  a  Aveird  calm.  . 

Never  heard  any  sound  so  grateful  as  that  made  by  boat's 
keel  when  it  grated  on  beach. 

ALGY  and  I  stumbled  weakly  out,  whilst  A.  M.  hauled  boat 
up,  and  WILLY  collected  our  catch.  We  had  been  out  nearly 
two  hours,  and  I  silently  tendered  five  shillings  to  A.  M. 
A.M.  looked  dubioiisly  at  money  and  observed  : 

"  Wot's  this?" 

"  Is  it  not  right  ?"  I  asked.  The  ground  I  stood  on  seemed 
to  wave  and  rock  beneath  me,  and  I  was  indisposed  for  argu- 
ment. 

"  We  Avas  jest  hover  tAVo  hours  and  'n'arf,"  he  replied 
indignantly. 

"Then  you  charge  for  not  being  ready  with  the  bait,  and 
for  going  to  the  '  Pilot  and  Periwinkle '  ?  "  I  replied  seArerely. 

"Well,  s'elp  me,  I  thought  you  was  a  gentleman,  I  did! 
Wantin'  to  knock  orf  a  minute  or  two  from  a  pore  man's  time. 
Give  us  the  tAVO  'arf  crowns  then.  Pretty  afternoon's  Avork 
this  'as  bin  for  me,  I  don't  think." 

We  got  back  for  tea,  bearing  our  fish  with  us.  Great  rejoic- 
ings on  part  of  younger  offspring  at  prospect  of  eating  spoil. 

"I  do  wish  I'd  been  with  you!"  exclaimed  JOHNNY, 
earnestly.  ALGERNON  and  I  exchanged  a  fleeting  glance,  but 
said  nothing.  WILLY  burst  into  rude  guffaAv,  and  ALGERNON 
(dear  MARION  not  being  present)  promptly  smacked  his  head. 
Felt  it  my  duty  to  froAvn,  though  secretly  delighted  to  see 
WILLY'S  unfeeling  conduct  so  suitably  reAvarded. 

The  whiting  were  duly  fried  for  supper.  With  gruesome 
memories  of  A.  M.'s  suggestion  anent  the  sou'-Avester,  I 
declined  to  partake  of  the  fish ;  and  when,  later  on,  dear 
MARION  remarked  that  Avhiting  Avas  a  fish  with  a  lot  of  "  body  " 
in  it,  I  left  the  table  and  strolled  into  the  garden  for  air. 
MARION  supposed  we  should  "soon  be  going  out  fishing  again"; 
but  I  looked  at  ALGERNON,  AV!IO  smiled  in  a  far-off  way,  and 
thought  not. 

I  Avas  exhorted  by  MARION,  next  day,  to  take  the  dear  chil- 
dren out  for  donkey-ride  on  sands.  Five  of  them  accompanied 
me,  and  waited  whilst  I  bargained  with  extortionate  donkey 
men.  Arranged  terms  and  then  found  that  children  expected 
me  to  also  ride  donkey.  Tried  to  escape,  but  in  vain.  Had  to 
mount  long-eared  steed,  and  submit  to  its  monotonous  joltings. 
Very  undignified  for  City  man.  Consoled  myself  by  thinking 
that  PERKSLEY  was  the  only  person  Avho  knew  me  in  the  whole 
of  Cockleton,  and  he,  certainly,  did  not  count.  Alas,  for  the 
futility  of  earthly  hopes!  Before  Ave  had  proceeded  two 
hundred  yards  along  sands,  PERKSLEY  himself  met  us,  and 
(unasked)  joined  our  party.  And  two  minutes  later  we  met  the 
wife  of  our  vicar,  Lady  CHXSUBLE,  with  whom  dear  MARION 
particularly  Avishes  to  stand  well.  Had  no  idea  the  CHASUBLES 
Avere  doAvn  here.  She  raised  her  lon/nettes  languidly,  and 


AUGUST  21,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OE  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


143 


with    them. 


focussed  me,  bestriding  a  small  donkey,  and  listening,  perforce, 
to  the  loud  laughter  and  vulgar  jokes  of  PERKSLEY.    As  she 
turned  away  in  lofty  disgust — for  she  has  openly  said  that 
nothing  will  induce  her  to  know  the  PERKSLEYS— I  felt  my  cup 
of  bitterness  to  be  full  indeed.    A  moment  later,  however,  and 
it  was  fuller  still :  for  my  girth  broke,  the  saddle  came  round, 
and  1  rolled  ignominiously  on  the  sand,  amid  a  hideous  din  of 
giggles,  screeches  and  loud  laughter,  led  by  that  arch-villain, 
PERKSLEY.      On   returning  to  house,  bruised  and  humiliated, 
MARION  (rather  unreasonably,  as  I  thought)  said  that  really 
men  were   so  ridiculous    she    had    no    patience 
Afraid  sea  air  too  strong  for  dear  MARION;    I 
sedative  ;  she  suggested  that  I 
was  an  idiot;  and  the  incident 
closed. 

Baby  very  ill  all  that  night. 
JOHNNY  ditto.  About  3  a.m. 
dear  MARION  thought  I  had 
better  go  for  doctor.  Did  so, 
in  costume  consisting  of  frock- 
coat  buttoned  over  pyjamas, 
and  bed-room  slippers.  Could 
not  find  doctor.  Wasted  nearly 
an  hour  looking  for  his  house  ; 
then  met  coast  guard,  who 
[showed  me  the  way.  Rang 
bight-bell  eleven  times ;  then 
doctor  appeared  in  costume 
Lighter  than  my  own.  He 
uccoinpanied  me  home.  On 
inquiry,  found  that  JOHNNY 
nad  been  feeding  Baby  and 
liimself  freely  on  the  chalky- 
poking  sweets.  Doctor  an- 
uoyed,  and  grumbled  at  being 

'called  up  for  nothing." 
Kpologised  and  handed  him 
Kuinea.  To  bed  again  at  4.30 
...m. 

Collector  called  and  I  had 
jo  subscribe  to  Town  Band, 
'jithletic  Sports  Committee, 
picket  Club  and  Regatta 
runds.  Collector  said  he  had 
I'een  told  to  ask  me  to  sit  on 

egatta  Committee.     Felt  that 
should   very    much    like    to 

sit  on  "  collector.     Regattas 

Lways   a   nuisance.      Dear 


down  to  band  first.  Bandmaster  already  very  drunk  and  un- 
pleasant. Demanded  just  twice  sum  agreed  upon.  Feebly  tried 
to  temporise.  Bandmaster  aggressive.  I  looked  around  help- 
lessly, and  saw  telegraph  messenger  approaching.  Took  tele- 
gram and  read — "  Please  return.  POGSON  ill." 

POGSON  is  my  junior  parter.  I  jumped  at  the  chance.  Slip- 
ping away  from  drunken  bandmaster,  I  rushed  back  to  Shore 
Villa,  flung  a  few  things  into  Gladstone  bag,  wrote  explaining 
matters  to  dear  MARION,  and  one  to  PERKSLEY — this  was  my 
revenge — asking  him  to  take  my  place  on  Regatta  Committee, 
and  settle  with  bandmaster.  I  flattered  myself  this  last  move 
suggested  a  absolutely  Machiavellian — and  fled  to  station. 

For  two  days  in  town  I  was 
peaceful  and  happy."  Then 
came  this  letter  from  PERK- 
SLEY : 

"DEAR  OLD  COVE"  [vulgar 
brute!] — "I  soon  settled  your 
little  dispute  with  old  Blow- 
hard.  Told  him  you  were  a 
generous  sort  of  bloke,  and 
that  as  there  seemed  to  have 
been  some  mistake  about  terms, 
you  'd  give  them  a  fiver  out  of 
your  own  pocket  above  what 
the  committee  paid.  Tha't's 
a  bit  of  all  right,  ain't  it?  Met 
Lady  CHASUBLE  yesterday,  and 
introduced  myself  by  telling 
her  you  and  me  were  such 
pals;  more  like  brothers,  in 
fact."  [The  outrageous  vil- 
lain!] "  She  didn't  quite  seem 
to  cotton  to  me,  but  we  shall  get 
on  first-rate  in  time.  So  long. 
Your  pal — WM.  J.  PERKSLEY. 

"P.S.  Your  share  of  the  de- 
ficit of  Regatta  Committee 
amounts  to  seven  pounds  four 
and  a  penny,  which  please 
remit  to  them  at  once." 

And  this  was  the  end  of  it  all. 
It  was  for  this  I  sacrificed  what 
might  have  been  a  pleasant 
holiday. 

I  need  scarcely  say  that  I 
have  done  with  Cockleton.  It  is 
a  place  I  have  no  farther  use  for. 
Fox  RUSSELL. 


Polite  Young  Man.  "PERHAPS  YOU  FEEL  A  DRAUGHT,  MADAM?" 
Old  Lady.  "No,   SIR,  NOT  THIS  SIDE.     I'M  ALWAYS  CAREFUL  TO 

SIT  WITH   MY   BACK   FACING  THE  ENGINE  !  " 


IARION  insisted  upon  my  accepting  proffered  honour,  and  I 
thereupon  told  to  attend  meeting  that  night  at  parish 
oom. 

Next  two  days,  all  Regatta  Committee — no  time  for  anything 
Ise — I  was  to  order  fireworks,  arrange  battle  of  confetti  at 
ight,  engage  town  band,  and,  finally,  present  myself  on  board 
ommittee  boat,  by  10.0  a.m.  on  the  eventful  day. 
Eventful  day  disgusting,  from  weather  point  of  view.  Went 
a  committee  boat  and  was  invested  with  huge  blue  favour, 
quails  of  wind  alternated  with  pelting  showers  throughout, 
oatmen's  sailing  race  interesting,  as  it  produced  three 
rotests,  an  objection  to  winner  for  having  gone  wrong  course, 

double  claim  against  committee,  with  threats  of  County 
ourt  actions  for  stakes,  and  a  row  royal,  eventuating  in 

fight  between  two  beery  mariners  on  beach,  our  boat 
)ckiug  so  disagreeably  that  I  soon  make  excuse  for  being 
it  ashore — thankful  I  reached  there  just  in  time.  Retreated 
>  our  lodgings,  but  messenger  came  up  directly  afterwards  to 
•y  there  was  some  dispute  as  to  band's  terms — would  I  just 
ep  down  and  settle  it?  And  he  added  that  the  fireworks  had 
>t  arrived  from  London — would  I  kindly  wire  at  once  ?  Went 


DIMPLE  DELL. 

DRUSILLA,  dear  DRUSILLA, 
There  's  a  kingdom  in  your  smiles, 
A  rounded  world  hangs  on  your  cheek  of  countless  fairy  railcs. 

A  dimpled  dell,  a  hollow 
In  which  moody  Grief  would  drown, 
For  it  only  lives  with  laughing  and  it  melts  before  a  frown. 

DRUSILLA,  dear  DRUSILLA, 
In  its  velvet  deeps  I  'd  dwell, 
And  bear  my  loves  before  me  for  the  Queen  of  Dimple  Dell. 

In  a  nest  of  lovely  roses, 
'Neath  the  light  of  laughing  eyes 
And  a  gentle  spirit  breathing  through  this  tiny  Paradise. 

DRUSILLA,  dear  DRUSILLA, 
If  within  this  joy-born  dell 
I  lingered  and  you  once  forgot  your  laughter's  magic  spell, 

If  you  prisoned  me  with  smiling, 
And  effaced  me  with  a  sigh, 
Then  Dimple  Dell  would  quickly  prove  a  hollow  mockery! 


144 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[AUGUST  21,  1901. 


A    HOUSE   OF  REST   FOR  HUMAN 
BEINGS. 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCH, — So  much  has  been 
written  by  appreciative  men  and  women 
of  the  Home  of  Rest  for  Horses  at  Acton, 
a  most  deserving  institution,  that,  per- 
haps, a  short  personal  experience  of  a 
biped  at  a  Human  House  of  Rest  in  the 
Northern  Highlands  of  London  may  not  be 
wholly  unacceptable.  In  the  first  place, 
let  it  be  clearly  understood  that  "  perfect 
repose ' '  was  the  recipe  given  by  the 
talented  physician  who  prescribed  for  the 
relief  of  my  nerves,  shattered  by  a  fear- 
some and  dangerous  operation. 
In  the  second,  that  the  air  of 
the  Northern  Highlands  was 
recommended  as  peculiarly 
prone  to  give  bracing  influences 
by  day  and  refreshing  sleep  by 
night.  The  House  of  Rest 
selected  had  mucli  to  recom- 
mend it  in  appearance.  It 
stood  on  the  slope  of  a  toler- 
ably steep  hill,  and  the  road 
being  barred  at  one  end  by 
an  entrance  to  the  public 
park,  the  intrusion  of  the 
raucous  costermonger,  the  in- 
sidious "rag  and  bone  "  man, 
and  the  peripatetic  coal  mer- 
chant seemed  as  strictly 
prohibited  as  would  be  betting 
at  the  street  corner.  But  I, 
the  man  who  needed  rest,  soon 
found  that  appearances  were 
as  deceptive  as  those  supplied 
by  the  proverbial  chameleon. 

The  ground-floor  of  the  House 
of  Rest  was  occupied  by  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  BOUNDERBY — a  vigor- 
ous young  couple,  who  spent 
their  time  in  warbling  comic 
songs,  playing  at  spelling  bee 
with  their  friends,  and  settling 
domestic  disputes  at  all  hours 


gentleman   who  lived  immediately  above 
her. 
This  personage,    a  Prussian  or    Saxon 


GETTING  BELOW  THE  SURFACE. 

["  The  French  Government  are  arranging  a  series 
by  birth,  was  a  perfect  backwoodsman  in  Of  races  for  their  submarine  vessels."— Daily 
his  methods.  Disregarding  the  simplest  Paper. J 
rules  of  the  Tonic  Sol-fa  Society,  he  would 
wrestle  with  Wagnerian  harmonies  of  the 


Cowes,  1902. 
THE  great  sub-aquatic  festival  of  the 


most  difficult  composition,  accompanying    year   is   about  to  take   place,  and   your 
his  minstrelsy  with  violent  thumps  upon   special     correspondent     is     comfortably 


the  nearest  piece  of  furniture.  The  hour 
mattered  not,  the  Teutonic  music-fire  was 
kindled  whenever  the  Niebelungen-fiend 


lodged  in  the  house-boat  Octopus,  ten 
fathoms  below  the  surface.  The  atmos- 
phere, so  far  from  being  in  the  slightest 


seized  upon  the  Fatherlamler.  In  the  degree  oppressive,  is  delightfully  in- 
light  of  day,  in  the  gloaming,  in  the  dead  vigorating,  for  my  host  has  filled  the 
of  night,  or  when  the  dawn  began  to  vessel  with  best  Highland  air  (very  dry) 

imported  in  cylinders  direct 
from  the  north  of  Scotland. 
The  arrival  of  letters  (by 
bottle  post)  is  a  trifle  ir- 
regular, but  I  am  able  to 
send  this  despatch  by  marine 
telegraph.  The  first  race  has 
just  concluded,  but  the  result 
is  a  matter  of  dispute.  As 
the  Cormorant  was  first  seen 
from  the  Umpire's  vessel,  hav- 
ing completed  the  half-mile 
course  in  less  than  two  hours, 
she  \vas  adjudged  the  winner. 
But  the  Dolphin  claims  to  have 
won  by  some  minutes,  though, 
owing  to  her  sailing  some 
fathoms  deeper,  she  \vas  un- 
observed till  she  rose  some 
time  afterwards.  Unfortun- 
ately, she  tried  to  come  to  the 
surface  when  immediately 
underneath  the  house-boat 
Wagtail,  with  the  result  that 
the  latter  was  knocked  into 
very  small  pieces. 

The  Spread  Eagle,  of  New 
York,  was  expected  here  to  take 
part  in  the  Regatta,  but  she  has 
not  arrived.  "When  last  seen, 
she  was  twenty  fathoms  down 
HAVE  YOU  HAD  iu  the  North  Atlantic  Oceanr 
and  it  is  conjectured  that  she 


\\ 


Mother.   "How  ARE  YOU  GETTING  ON,  NEDDY? 
with  miniature  representations  ]  ANY  J-PORT  t " 
of  the  sieges  of  Ladvsmith;     Soy.  "WELL,  MA,  WE  HAVEN'T  CAUGHT  ANY  FISH,   BUT  WE  'VE   may  iiave  run"into  a  whale. 

'    ~*  ~tf\\WirT\      QT?TrT?rt    *   T        -Xl'/^Ti-aco     I    *' 


and  Mafeking.     The  BOUNDER-  I  DROWNED  8EYERAL  WORMS 


BYS,  moreover,  like  the  heroes  of  South   blush,  'twas  all  the  same  to  the  enthusiast 
Africa,  always  kept  their  spirits  up.    As   of  the  Bayreuth   School.      But  even  his 


ducttists,   they    were    not    easily   to   be 
matched ;     the     high    soprano    of     Mrs. 
BOUNDERBY    contrasting   finely  with  the 
rich  bass  of  her  stalwart  spouse. 
In  the    "Drawing-rooms"    was   to  be 


diabolic  discords  were  drowned  by  the 
"Sabbat-din"  of  his  bosom  friend,  who, 
not  content  with  reviewing  imaginary 
regiments  during  lawful  hours,  made 
night  surprises  with  his  boots  and 


found  Miss  LAVINTA  LAVENDER,  an  invalid  i  attacks    with    his    water-jug    upon    the 


spinster,  suffering  from  trembling  of  the 
tonsils — a  malady  which  caused  the  un- 
fortunate possessor  of  the  infliction  to 
explode,  from  time  to  time,  like  a  badly 
corked  ginger-beer  bottle.  Her  medical 


unsuspecting  cats  who  serenaded  the 
House  of  Rest  with  the  fidelity  of  feline 
Blondels.  Day  after  day  the  programme 
was  repeated. 

For    a    month    I    have    endured    these 


advisers,  I  believe,  ascribed  the  symptoms  j  tortures.  A  sadder  and  a  wiseiv  man  I 
to  nervous  degeneration  of  the  uvula.  It  j  have  returned  to  the  peace  of  London, 
must  have  been  unpleasant,  but  though  !  I  write  this  as  a  warning  to  the  afflicted, 


obstreperous, 
catching. 


neither     dangerous 


nor  and  sign  myself. 

Your  slowly  recuperating  servant, 


Possibly  the  distress  of  Miss  LAVENDER 
was    increased    by    the    conduct  of  the    Bloomsbury,  W.C. 


HANNIBAL  HICKS. 


The  Flying  Fish,  which  left 
for  Norway  last  week,  on  rising  to  the 
surface,  unaccountably  found  herself  in 
the  Bay  of  Naples.  Trifling  errors  of 
navigation  are  still  common  in  submarine 
voyages. 

In  a  few  minutes'  time  the  race  for  the 
KING'S  Cup  is  abont  to  be  started,  and  I 
am  preparing  to  write  a  full  account  of  it. 
The  course  .  .  .  (At  this  moment,  owing 
to  some  defect  in  the  machinery,  the 
Octopus  rose  to  the  surface  and  destroyed 
a  fishing-boat.  But  the  inconvenience 
was  only  momentary.  We  are  now  down 
again  at  fifteen  fathoms.)  As  I  was  saying, 
the  course  .  .  .  My  host  has  appeared 
hurriedly  to  say  that  the  air-contractor 
has  swindled  him,  the  reservoir  is  empty, 
and  the  elevating-machinery  won't  act  . 
(At  this  point  the  message  ends  abruptly.) 

A.  C.  D. 


AUGUST  28,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


145 


Mr.  Horatio  Horakle  (who,  on  the  previous  evening,  has  given  a  reading  of  "Eugene  Aram"  at  the  Churchwardens'  entertainment], 

HO.V  DID   YOU  ENJOY  THE  ENTEETAINMENT  AT   THK   PARISH  HALL  LAST  NIGHT,    M.ARY  K " 

Mary.  "00,  LOVELY,  SIR  !    THE  DUMB-BELL  RINGERS  WAS  BEAUTIFUL!" 


AND 


THE    HOLIDAYS. 
Sir  H.  C.-B.  sings — (after  Wordsworth). 

IT  is  the  first  day  of  Recess : 
*  Each  minute  stuffier  than  before  ; 
At  last  we  're  rid  of  all  the  mess, 
And  greet  the  "open  door." 

My  H-RC-T  !  ('tis  a  wish  of  mine) 
Now  that  the  Session's  tasks  are  done, 

Make  haste,  your  usual  work  resign  ; 
Come  forth,  and  feel  the  sun. 

M-RL-Y  will  come  with  you ; — and,  pray, 
Put  on  with  speed  your  woodland  dress  ; 

Bring  no,  Blue  Book — three  months,  to-day, 
We  '11  give  to  idleness. 

No  horrid  Closure  Forms  shall  balk, 
Nor  Midnight  Rules  prohibit ; 

We  from  to-day,  my  friend,  will  talk 
Pro-Boer  stuff  ad  libit. 

Rot,  now  a  universal  birth, 
O'er  all  the  land  's  in  motion  ; — 

Big  gooseb'ries  of  enormous  girth, 
And  serpents  of  the  ocean ! 

Our  jests  and  gibes  we  now  may  poke, 
Devoid  of  sense  or  reason  ; 

Oar  friends  will  cheer  at  every  joke- 
It  is  the  "  silly  season  "  ! 


Some  consolation  we  may  take, 

Suited  to  our  condition  ; 
A.nd  for  the  year  to  come  may  make 

Some  sort  of  coalition. 

As  for  those  wandering  sheep  who  roam 

About,  below,  above, 
We  '11  gently  try  to  bring  them  home — 

They  shall  be  tamed  to  love. 

Then  come,  my  H-RC-T  !     Come,  I  pray, 
With  speed  put  on  your  woodland  dress ; 

Bring  no  Blue  Book — three  months,  to-day, 
We  '11  give  to  idleness. 


HOW  TO  REMAIN  A  MILLIONAIRE. 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCH, — As  the  representa- 
tive of  everyone,  from  the  richest  to  the 
poorest,  I  venture  to  address  you.  I  see 
that  in  one  of  the  magazines  there  is 
an  article  showing  the  expenses  of  the 
wealthy.  I  araconvined  that  the  estimate 
is  misleading  because  it  is  founded  in  some 
respects  011  too  liberal  a  scale.  Now  let 
me  consider  the  items  of  my  actual 
expenditure. 

First  comes  house  rent,  rates  and  taxes. 
It  would  be  ridiculous  to  imagine  that  this 
would  cost  a  penny  less  than  £100  or 


even  £150.  Of  course,  if  one  went  to 
Brixton,  or  even  West  Kensington,  it 
might  be  a  trifle  less.  But  in  a  central 
position  it  would  be  certainly  that. 

Now  as  to  wines.  Say  you  entertain 
once  or  twice  a  week.  Well,  here  again 
it  is  safe  to  put  down  a  substantial  sum. 
You  will  find  £5  a  year  the  very  least. 
One's  friends  will  not  drink  shilling  claret, 
and  are  liable  to  turn  up  their  noses  at  a 
really  effervescing  champagne  at  two  and 
twopence.  Next,  board  and  lodging  for 
yourself,  say  10s.  a  day,  or,  in  the  aggregate, 
£180  a  year,  or  thereabouts.  Servants' 
wages  quite  £20  a  year,  and  board  to 
match,  £5.  With  the  assistance  of  the 
secondhand  clothes  provider  your  wearing 
apparel  might  be  kept  within  £4  10s., 
but  it  would  be  safer  to  say  £5.  Then,  for 
extras,  say  £1000.  And  there  you  are, 
don't  you  see. 

But  stay,  I  have  left  out  of  my  calcula- 
tions the  heaviest  item  of  the  lot,  and  the 
most  important  —  advertisements.  Say 
£1200  for  advertisements.  It  may  be 
asked — by  the  simple  and  inexperienced — 
what  are  advertisements?  To  which  I 
reply,  contributions  to  charities. 

Yours  truly,     CRCESUS,  JUNIOR. 


146 


PUNCH,   OR,  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[AUGUST  28,  1901. 


THE  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 
A  GREAT  THOUGHT  FOR  EVERY  DAY  IN  THE  YEAR. 

SECOND  SERIES. 
VIII.— THE   MRS.   HUMPHRY  WARD  SECTION. 

AUGUST  1ST. — Out  there  on  the  terrace  of  the  Villa  Prighi  the 
last  of  the  sunset  had  ceased  to  illumine  the  intellectual  brow 
of  HELLSMERE  BANNISTY.  "  Modelled  by  PRAXITELES,  tinted  by 
BOTTICELLI";  so  his  head  had  been  described  by  an  artist. 
Through  the  well-preserved  growth  that  clustered  round  this 
noble  organ  he  ran  his  long  nervous  fingers  as  he  pored,  with 
critical  rapture,  over  the  final  proofs  of  his  great  opus  -.—Italian 
Liberty :  its  Cause  and  Cure. 

2ND,  3RD. — Immersed  in  the  splendour  of  one  of  those  scenic 
descriptions  which  reflect  a  conscientious  observation  in  situ — 
had  he  not  rented  the  Villa  Prighi  largely  for  the  very  uses  of 
local  colour  ? — he  could  still  appreciate  the  humorous  exhala- 
tions that  stole  up  from  the  old-world  soil  of  the  Campagna 
through  the  sentinel  lines  of  prophylactic  eucalyptus.  Yet 
in  a  general  way  it  was  not  consonant  with  his  detached 
personality  to  be  affected  by  anything  of  a  strictly  humorous 
character. 

4TH,  5TH. — Nor  would  a  nature  less  absorbed  in  its  own 
identity  have  put  so  severe  a  strain  on  the  devotion  of  its 
audience.  But  to  a  type  like  HELLSMERE'S  it  did  not  occur 
that  ROSAMOND  was  laying  more  surely  every  minute  the 
foundation  of  an  -incurable  catarrh.  It  only  seemed  natural 
that  she  should  want  to  sit  shivering  in  this  deadly  air  for  mere 
joy  of  hearing  the  following  passage  for  the  twenty-third 
time : — 

6TH. — "  Above  me,  as  I  write,  stretches  the  midsummer 
cobalt  of  an  Italian  sky  in  the  full  sense  of  that  expression. 
Below,  beneath,  before,  behind,  to  right,  to  left,  lies  the  vast 
sweep  of  the  Campagna.  To  have  seen  Rome  apart  from  the 
Campagna — rich  though  the  Eternal  City  undoubtedly  is  in 
classical  and  ecclesiastical  traditions,  continuously  maintained 
from  the  era  of  ROMULUS  and  RHEA  SILVIA  down  to  that  of 
MARIE  CORELLI  and  HALL  CAINE,  not  excluding  the  Pontiffs — 
is  to  have  missed  the  intrinsic  force  of  Italy's  association  with 
her  own  soil. 

?TH,  STH. — "  Here  from  the  terrace  of  the  Villa  Prighi  I  look 
out  over  avenues  of  ilex  and  stone-pine,  over  a  wide  largesse 
of  rose  and  lilac  and  cyclamen,  and  other  growths  whether 
perennial  or  appropriate  to  the  season,  to  where,  like  a  phantom 
balloon,  rises  the  airy  dome  of  PETER,  and,  beyond,  on  the  faint 
horizon,  Soracte  stands  up  and  drinks  the  noontide.  And 
everywhere,  and  always,  always,  always,  the  Campagua. 
Hour  by  hour,  day  by  day,  week  by  week,  under  varying  con- 
ditions of  light  and  weather,  I  have  remarked  the  view  from 
my  terrace  at  Villa  Prighi;  and  I  can  recall  no  occasion, 
however  apparently  trivial,  when  the  Campagna  in  some  form 
or  other  has  not  met  my  astonished  eyes. 

9TH — HTH. — "But  when  the  dying  splendour  falls  on  vine- 
yard and  ploughland,  on  broom  and  cytisus  aud  aromatic  bean 
when  waves  of  pellucid  amethyst  and   purple  come  tumbling 
out  of  the  wild  west,   and  throw  a  reflected  glory  on  the 
dazzling  gleam  of  stucco  antiques  and  sombre  lichen-crusted 
travertine ;   and  the  love-lorn  nightingale   prepares  to  grov 
eloquent  in  cypress-bowers  ;  then  the  Campagna  is  her  trues 
self ;  then  from  her  ghostly  soil,  a  teeming  hot-bed  of  forgottei 
effigies,  uprise  those  effluvia  of  the  shadowy  past  which  intoxi 
cate  the  lizard  and  other  native  fauna,  and  to  an«impressionist 
like  myself,  are  a  most  lively  source  of  literary  inspiration." 
****** 

12TH. — [Grouse  shooting  begins.]  From  the  Campagna  to  the 
moors  of  Balliemet ;  what  a  change  of  milieu  !  And  it  was 
characteristic  of  HELLSMERE  that  his  spiritual  condition  alwayi 
took  on  something  of  the  colour  of  his  physical  environment 


He  was  cognisant  of  a  recrudescence  of  feeling  in  favour  of  the 
strait  tenets  of  his  childhood's  orthodoxy.    The  very  air,  waft- 
ng  warm  scents  of  moorland,  seemed  heavy  with  Presbyterian 
jonviction. 

13TH. — Almost  involuntarily  he  found  himself  reviewing  the 
processes,  now  logical,  now  arbitrary,  by  which  he  had  arrived 
at  his  present  tolerance  of  the  principles  of  Christian  Science, 
qualified  by  an  obscurantist  Panatheism.  His  early  unreason- 
ng  acceptance  of  U.  P.  dogma  ;  his  tentative  excursions  in 
KANT,  followed  by  a  sudden  and  glorious  emancipation  from  the 
school  of  Peebles ;  his  reaction  from  the  strain  of  the  larger 
Secularism  under  the  Pagan  teaching  of  Barbizon  and  La 
Boheme ;  then,  at  first  sight  of  the  Eternal  City,  his  volte-face 
from  the  doctrines  of  the  Latin  Quarter  to  those  of  the  Latin 
Fathers  ;  the  yearning,  out  of  a  confused  memory  of  CROCKETT, 
JOHN  STUART  MILL,  and  the  Contes  Drolatiques,  to  find  in 
traditional  Authority  a  sure  euthanasia  of  speculative  thought ; 
and,  finally,  the  attraction  towards  the  new  Occidental  creed 
of  Faith-healing,  culminating  in  an  attitude  of  reservation  and 
eclectic  detachment. 

16TH. — Yet  the  chains  of  heredity  were  not  to  be  so  lightly 
thrown  off.  He  had  been  reminded  of  their  force  as  he 
swallowed  his  bowl  of  porridge  at  breakfast.  And  now,  what 
the  Scots  oatmeal  had  begun,  the  heather  and  the  gillies  and 
the  whining  of  the  Gordon  setters  seemed  likely  to  confirm. 
For  a  while  he  almost  trembled  to  think  that  he  was  on  the  eve 
of  an  atavism.  o.  S. 

(To  be  continued.) 


THE  GOLLY  GIRL  AND  HER  GALOOT. 

(A  West  Country  Ditty.) 

[The  "  Golly  Girl "  is  the  maiden  who  works  her  trade  of  fish-selling  on 
the  shore.  The  "  Galoot,''  evidently  a  name  borrowed  from  over  the  seas,  is 
the  lover  who  braves  the  ocean  wave.  This  explanation  is  necessary  because 
"  Golly  Girl"  and  "Galoot"  have  not  yet  been  put  into  any  English  Dic- 
tionary.] 

IN  the  old  West  port  by  the  rolling  of  the  sea 

Part  the  Golly  Girl  and  her  Galoot. 
It 's  the  story  of  the  past,  of  what  might  but  couldn't  be 

For  the  Golly  Girl  and  her  Galoot. 

The  Golly  Girl  is  slender,  and  her  head  is  red  with  gold, 
And  her  eyes  are  like  the  amethysts  that  violets  unfold 
When  the  dew  is  waxing  weaker  and  the  sun  is  growing  bold,  . 
So  the  Golly  Girl  to  her  Galoot. 
O  sweet  Golly  Girl 
With  red-gold  curl, 
Never  listen  to  the  white  owl's  hoot. 
For  the  dawn  will  surely  rise 
With  the  splendour  of  your  eyes 
When  you  welcome  back  your  own  Galoot ! 

In  the  old  West  port  by  the  roaring  of  the  gale 

Waits  the  Golly  Girl  for  her  Galoot. 
And  her  locks  are  very  lank  and  her  lips  are  very  pale, 

She  is  longing  for  her  lost  Galoot. 

The  Golly  Girl  is  weary  with  the  waiting  of  the  years, 
With  the  never-ended  watching  'mid  the  storm  of  constant  tears, 
But  she  's  clinging  like  a  limpet  to  the  man  she  knows,  who 

steers 

To  the  Golly  Girl — her  own  Galoot. 
O  sweet  Golly  Girl, 
In  the  tempest's  whirl, 
Can't  you  see  where  that  ship  must  shoot  ? 
Between  the  rock  and  pier 
He  is  there,  but  he  can  steer, 
At  the  wheel  is  standing  your  Galoot. 
And,  glory  be,  she  's  free,  he  is  safe  as  safe  can  bo, 
And  harboured  is  your  own  Galoot  I  . 


AUGUST  28,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


147 


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AUGUST  28,  1901,] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


149 


THE  EXCUSE-MAKER. 

I  REALISED  at  once  that  I  had  mistaken 
the  number  of  the  chambers  :  the  middle- 
apod  gentleman  in  a  frock-coat  obviously 
was  not  the  manager  of  The  Euthlight, 
whom  I  was  anxious  to  interview  concern- 
ing an  honorarium  somewhat  overdue. 

"  Excuse  me  " — I  began. 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  he  said,  opening 
a  large  note-book.  "  Delighted  to  do  so 
— on  the  usual  terms.  If  you  will  give  me 
the  details  of  your  case ' ' 

"You  misunderstand  me,  Sir,"  I  said, 
considerably  surprised,  "  I  was  about  to 
explain " 

"  Just  what  I  asked  you  to  do.  I  gathered 
that  you  want  an  excuse,  and  my  profes- 
sion is  to  supply  them — for  strict  cash." 

"  You  are  a  solicitor,  then  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Not  at  all.  I  am  an  Excuse-maker. 
I  supply  excuses  to  the  nobility,  clergy, 
landed  gentry,  and  others.  If  you  haven't 
come  to  consult  me  professionally,  what 
are  you  doing  here  ?  ' ' 

"It  was  a  mistake,"  I  explained.  "  If 
'an  excuse  is  needed " 

"You  have  come  to  the  right  person," 
he  concluded.  "  Those  I  supply  are 
sound,  superfatted,  and  defy  competition. 
Perhaps  you  suffer  from  a  tender  con- 
science? Precisely.  Most]of  my'clients^are 
victims  to  that  ailment,  but,  thanks  to  me, 
its  evil  consequences  are  entirely  avoided. 
My  time  is  precious,  however.  May  I  ask 
you  once  more  to  be  good  enough  to  state 
what  brand  of  excuse  you  need  ?  " 

"What  sorts  do  you  supply  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Every  possible  kind.  Here,  for 
instance," — he  picked  up  a  letter — "  is  a 
typical  case — that  of  a  Cambridge  under- 
graduate who  wishes  to  attend  a  dance  in 
town  on  Thursday.  He  has  no  imagination  ; 
his  own  excuses — if  he  was  foolish  enough 
to  make  them  for  himself — would  be 
contemptible.  Probably  he  'd  say  that  he 
wanted  to  see  a  dentist,  and  his  tutor 
would  laugh  in  his  face  at  that  ancient 
fable.  But  he  has  had  the  sense  to  ask 
my  assistance,  and  on  the  right  day  he  '11 
get  a  letter  saying  :  '  Sir,  many  years  ago 
your  grandfather  did  me  an  inestimable 
service.  Now  I  am  a  millionaire,  and  as 
a  slight  mark  of  gratitude,  I  wish  to  offer 
your  college  a  small  benefaction  of  a  few 
hundred  thousands  or  so.  Please  meet 
me  at  the  Hotel  Cecil  on  Thursday  night 
to  arrange  details.'  This  letter  he  '11 
show  to  his  tutor,  who,  of  course,  will  give 
him  his  exeat  like  a  shot.  Then  here  's 
another  case  —  that  of  an  M.P.  who 
promised  some  time  back  to  address  his 
constituents  next  week.  Unfortunately, 
he  's  offended  them  since  by  some  of  his 
votes,  and  he  would  be  heckled  in  a  very 
disagreeable  way  if  he  appeared.  To- 
morrow, therefore,  he  '11  receive  a  letter, 
signed  with  the  name  of  an  eminent 
doctor,  absolutely  forbidding  him  to  take 
part  in  any  political  meeting  for  the  next 


She.  "IT'S  NO  USE  BOTHERING  MF,  JACK.     I  SHALL  MA.BKY  WHOM  I  PLEA>E  " 

He.  "THAT'S  ALL  I'M  ASKING  YOU  TO  no,  MY  DEAR.     You  PLEASE  ME  WELL  EXOUOH  !' 


six  months,  and  with  this  he  '11  be  able  to 
pacify  his  committee." 

"Quite  so,"  I  remarked,  "  but  as  I 
am  neither  an  undergraduate  nor  an 
M.P. " 

"  Oh,  but  I  provide  excuses  for  every 
class  —  those  two  are  only  samples. 
Possibly  you  are  about  to  stay  at  a  country- 
house  of  which  you  know  very  little.  Per- 
haps it  will  be  dull,  perhaps  not.  Well, 
two  days  after  your  arrival  you  '11  have  a 
wire  from  me  saying,  '  Return  to  London 
at  once.  Most  important  business.  Your 
presence  absolutely  necessary.'  If  you  're 
having. a  good  time,  you'll  merely  tear 
this  up.  But  if  you  're  bored,  you  '11  show  it 
to  your  host  and  leave  by  the  next  train." 

"  In  fact,"  I  said,  rather  coldly,  "  your 
system  is  one  of  organised  falsehood." 

"On  the  contrary,"  he  returned,  "  it's 


the  very  opposite.  But  for  my  services 
as  an  excuse  maker  many  persons  would  bo 
compelled  to  resort  to  falsehood — a  pain- 
ful thing  to  people  with  tender  consciences. 
They  employ  me,  and  then  there 's  no 
necessity  for  them  to  tell  untruths." 

"  And  yet,"  I  suggested,  "there's  that 
old  saying,  '  qiii  s'excuse  s'accuse.'  ' 

"Precisely,"  he  said,  triumphantly, 
"  precisely.  The  man  who  makes  his  own 
excuses  in  so  doing  accuses  himself  of 
idiocy.  He  's  like  the  man  who  tries  to 
be  his  own  doctor  or  solicitor.  His  con- 
science suffers,  and  his  home-made 
excuses  are  crude,  inartistic,  unconvinc- 
ing. The  wise  man  comes  to  me,  and  I  do 
the  business  for  him  for  a  most  moderate 
fee.  But  I  've  got  seventeen  more  excuses 
to  provide  tc-day,  and  really  cannot 
waste  my  time  in  talk.  Good-morning !  " 


150 


[PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVAEL 


[AUGUST  28,  190L 


FOBTHCOMING    DEAMAS. 
I.— THE  RETURN  OF  ULYSSES. 

MB.  STEPHEN  PHILLIPS  is  writing  a  play  in  blank  verse,  for 
Mr.  TREE,  on  The  Return  of  Ulysses.  But  why  in  Blank  Verse  ?  A 
prose  drama  on  realistic  lines,  dealing  with  the  hero's  return  after 
his  twenty  years  of  absence  and  with  his  subsequent  departure 
(see  TENNYSON)  would  be  far  more  in  keeping  with  the  modern 
spirit.  Let  Mr.  PHILLIPS  break  away  from  the  old-fashioned 
poetic  treatment  of  the  subject  (as  exemplified  in  HOMER),  and 
approach  it  frankly  and  fearlessly  from  the  realistic  stand- 
point. He  would  then  turn  out  a  play  of  thrilling  human 
interest,  more  or  less  as  follows  : — 

SCENE  I. — The  courtyard  before  the  Palace  of  ULYSSES  at  Ithaca. 
The  house  is  greatly  out  of  repair.  ARGUS,  a  watch-dog, 
very  old  and  blind,  dozes  on  the  mat  before  the  front  door, 
which  is  open.  ULYSSES,  in  an  extremely  ragged  suit  of 
armour,  and  with  nothing  on  his  legs,  enters  R  and  goes  up 
to  the  door.  He  seems  annoyed  at  the  neglected  condition 
of  the  house. 

Ulysses.  H'rn  !  Don't  think  much  of  the  way  things  have 
been  looked  after  during  my  absence.  They'll  have  the  rain 
through  the  roof  if  those  tiles  aren't  seen  to.  But  that 's  the 
worst  of  being  away  so  long.  Everything  goes  to  rack  and 
ruin.  (Notices  ARGUS  on  the  mat.)  Hullo,  ARGUS,  is  that  you? 
You  must  be  precious  old  by  now.  Come  and  speak  to  your 
master.  (Stoops  down  to  pat  him.) 
Argus  (without  even  looking  at  him).  Urrgh ! 
Ulysses  (stepping  back  hastily).  I  believe  the  idiot  doesn't 
recognise  me.  Here,  ARGUS,  good  dog !  (ARGUS  does  not  stir.) 
I  wish  I  had  a  stick  or  something.  (Sycophantically.)  Good 
old  dog  then. 

Argus  (slowly  turning  his  head  and  facing  the  intruder). 
Urrrrrrgghh ! 

Ulysses  (retreating  hurriedly).  Dash  it,  this  is  very  awkward. 
The  old  fool  will  bite  me  if  I  don't  take  care.  (Advancing 
cautiously.)  If  I  could  only  manage  to  reach  that  bell.  (Does 
so,  by  a  great  effort,  and  pulls  violently.  It  does  not  ring.) 
Broken,  by  Jove  !  (With  vexation.)  I  do  think  PENELOPE  might 
have  kept  the  front  door  bell  in  order.  It 's  really  very  careless 
of  her.  (ARGUS  lowers  his  head  once  more  upon  his  paws  and 
closes  his  eyes.)  I  believe  he  's  going  to  sleep  again.  I  wonder 
if  I  can  step  over  him  without  his  waking.  (Creeps  up  on  tiptoe 
and  endeavours  to  do  so.  ARGUS  opens  Ms  eyes  and  snaps 
viciously).  Ah,  would  you  ! 

Argus  (rising  and  glaring  short-sightedly  at  the  visitor.  Wow, 
wow,  wow,  wow,  WOW ! 

Ulysses  (backing  nervously).  Good  dog !  Good  doggie !  I  wish 
to  goodness  I  had  something  on  my  legs.  Hang  it,  he 's  coming 
after  me.  (ARGUS  advances  slowly  upon  him.  He  retreats  before 
him  across  the  court-yard.)  Good  dog  then  !  Nasty,  vicious 
brute,  he  '11  nip  me  before  I  know  where  I  am.  If  he  'd  only 
look  the  other  way  for  a  moment  I  might  make  a  dash  for  the 
door  and  get  in  before  he  caught  me.  (With  a  sudden  inspira- 
tion.) Hi,  ARGUS  !  Rats  !  (ARGUS  looks  round  for  a  moment. 
ULYSSES  makes  a  rush  for  the  door,  but  the  dog  is  too  quick  for 
him,  and  grips  him  firmly  by  the  leg.)  Hi !  Help  !  Let  go,  you 
brute ! 

There  is  a  short  scuffle,  and  then  a  howl  from  ARGUS  as 
ULYSSES  wrenches  himself  free,  and  gives  him  a  kick  which 
lands  him  in  the  middle  of  the  court-yard.  ULYSSES 
rushes  to  the  hat-stand,  and  searches  feverishly  for  a 
walking-stick  with  ivhich  to  defend  himself.  \  At  this 
inopportune  moment  the  inevitable  Old  Servant  of 
Greek  tragedy  appears. 

Old  Servant.  Now,  then,  what  are  you  doing  there  ? 
Ulysses  (angrily).  What  am  I  doing?     What  are  you  doing, 
you  mean.    Why  didn't  you  come  before  ?    Didn't  you  hear  me 


calling  ?    That  confounded  dog  has  bitten  me,  and  I  'm  looking 
for  a  stick  to  break  his  ribs  with. 

Old  Servant  (with  great  scorn).  Looking  for  a  stick,  indeed! 
Trying  to  steal  the  umbrellas,  that 's  what  you  Ve  doing  !  Be 
off  with  you,  or  I  '11  call  the  dog  again.  Here,  ARGUS,  at  him  ! 

Ulysses  (alarmed).  Don't  do  that,  you  fool.  Don't  you  know 
me  ?  I  'm  ULYSSES. 

W  Old  Servant.  Gracious,  it 's  master  !    Whatever  will  mistress 
say  !     (Runs  in  excitedly.) 

Ulysses.  Here,  come  back  !  What 's  come  to  the  man,  running 
off  like  that.  (ARGUS  rises  from  the  ground  and.  limps  painfully 
toioards  the  house,  growling  in  an  undertone.)  And  here  's  that 
dashed  dog  coming  after  me  again.  Confound  it !  I  can't  stay 
here.  (Bolts  after  aged  servant  as  the  curtain  falls.) 

SCENE  II.  The  dining  hull  and  general  living  room  of  the  Palace. 
The  table  is  laid  for  a  large  number  of  diners,  but  the  only 
occupant  of  the  room  at  present  is  PENELOPE,  a  dear  old 
lady,  very  amiable  and  very  deaf,  who  sits  in  a  great  chair  by 
the  hearth. 

Old  Servant  (shuffling  into  the  room  and  running  all  his  words 
together  in  his  excitement.)  The- master  's-come-back-and-he  's-in 
the-hall-now-and 

Penelope  (peering  at  him  over  her  spectacles).  Eh? 

Old  Servant  (raising  his  voice).  The  master  's  come  back 

Penelope.  I  can't  hear  you.    You  must  speak  louder. 

Old  Servant  (shouting).  The  MASTER'S 

Penelope.  No,  I  didn't  say  you  were  to  speak  faster.  I  said 
you  were  to  speak  louder. 

Old  Servant  (goes  up  and  bellows  angrily  in  her  ear).  I  didn't 
say  ' « FASTER. ' '  I  said  « '  MASTER. ' ' 

Penelope.  Well,  well;  there's  nothing  to  be  cross  about. 
"  Faster  "  and  "  pasture  "  are  very  much  alike,  and  you 
know  I  'm  a  little  hard  of  hearing.  What 's  happened  to  the 
pasture? 

[Enter  ULYSSES.     The  Old  Servant,  giving  up  all  attempt  to 
make  tlie  old  lady  hear,  points  mutely  at  him. 

Penelope.  ULYSSES  !  (Jumps  up,  toddles  to  him  and  throws 
her  arms  round  his  neck).  Is  it  really  you,  safe  and  sound  ? 

Ulysses  (grumbling).  Safe  enough,  but  I  should  have  been 
sounder  if  that  cursed  dog  hadn't  just  taken  a  piece  out  of  my 
leg.  Why  don't  you  keep  your  front  door  bell  in  order  ? 

Penelope.  I  don't  hear  so  well  as  I  did,  dear.  You  must  speak 
a  little  louder. 

Ulysses  (raising  his  voice).  I  said  that  brute  of  a  dog  had 
bitten  me. 

Penelope.  Written  ?  Of  course  I  've  written.  But  we  haven't 
known  your  address  for  some  time.  Even  the  Delphic  Oracle 
didn't  know  it,  for  I  sent  TELEMACHUS  to  ask  them. 

Ulysses  (shouting).  What  message  did  they  send  back  ? 

Penelope.  Not  bend  your  back  ?  Poor  dear ;  you  're  stiff 
after  your  journey.  Sit  down  by  me. 

Ulysses  (sitting  by  her  and  roaring  into  her  ear).  I  didn't  say 
"BEND."  I  said  "SEND." 

Penelope  (quite  unruffled).  Well,  well,  "bend"  and  "spend" 
are  very  much  alike.  And  I  don't  hear  so  well  as  I  did. 
Where 's  my  trumpet  ?  (Puts  it  to  her  ear.)  Now  I  can  hear 
you.  Tell  me  all  your  adventures.  Where  have  you  been  all 
this  time  ? 

Ulysses  (evasively).  Paying  visits.  I  stayed  some  time  with 
ALCINOUS,  and  payed  a  call  on  the  CYCLOPS,  and  put  in  a  year 
or  two  with  CALYPSO,  and  some  time  with  CiRCE. 

Penelope.  I  thought  CiRCE  always  turned  men  into  pigs. 

Ulysses.  So  she  does.  So  would  you,  my  dear,  if  you  cooked 
as  well  as  she  does. 

Penelope.  How  horrible ! 

Ulysses.  On  the  contrary.  Most  agreeable.  And  how  have 
you  been  ? 

Penelope.  Pretty  well — if  it  weren't  for  the  suitors. 

Ulysses.  The  what  ? 


AUGUST  28,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


151 


FINISHING    TOUCHES. 

Facetious  Tourist.  "I  WONDER  HOW  MUCH  WHISKEY  IT  TOOK  TO  PAINT  THAT  NOSE  OF  YOURS,  PAT?" 
Pat.  "SHURE,  YER  HONOUR,  AND  IT'S  JUST  THAT  LITTLB  DROP  THAT'S  WANTIN"  TO  VARNISH  IT  !" 


Penelope.  The  suitors,  dear.  My  suitors.  They  want  to 
marry  me. 

Ulysses.  But  they  can't  do  that  while  I  'm  alive. 

Penelope.  So  I  told  them.     But  they  said  they  'd  see  to  that! 

Ulysses.  The  deuce  they  did.  That  sounds  rather  ominous. 
How  many  are  there  of  them  ? 

Penelope.  About  a  hundred. 

Ulysses  (jumping  up  and  dropping  trumpet  in  his  hurry). 
About  a  hundred !  Where 's  my  hat  ?  I  must  go  at  once. 
They  '11  cut  my  throat  if  they  find  me  here.  I  'm  not  so  young 
,  as  I  was,  and  my  nerve  's  rather  shaken. 

Penelope.  I  can't  hear  a  word  you  're  saying,  dear. 

Ulysses.  Confound  it !  where  's  that  trumpet  ?  (Speaking  into 
it.)  I  was  saying,  I  thought  I  'd  be  off  before  your  admirers 
turned  up,  as  they  sound  rather  dangerous. 

Penelope  (beaming  on  him).  That 's  right,  dear.  Go  down  to 
your  ship  and  bring  up  your  crew,  and  when  the  suitors  are  all 
sitting  comfortably  at  their  dinner  you  can  rush  iu  and  butcher 
them. 

Ulysses  (peevishly).  But  I  haven't  got  a  ship.  It  was  wrecked 
years  ago. 

Penelope.  "Were  all  the  crew  drowned? 

Ulysses.  All  of  them.     I  was  the  last  to  leave  the  ship. 

Penelope.  My  brave  husband  ! 

Ulysses.  Not  at  all.  She  was  bottom  upwards.  The  others 
held  on  as  long  as  they  could. 


Penelope.  Then  what  are  you  going  to  do  ? 

Ulysses  (irritably).  Do?  Be  off  as  fast  as  my  legs  can  carry 
me,  of  course.  "What  do  you  suppose  ? 

Penelope.  And  leave  me  altogether? 

Ulysses.  Can't  help  it,  my  love.  A  wife  with  a  hundred 
suitors  all  clamouring  for  her  husband's  blood  isn't  the  most 
comfortable  person  in  the  world  to  live  with. 

Penelope.  I  'm  so  sorry. 

Ulysses  (grimly).  Not  half  so  sorry  as  I  am,  my  own.  If  you'd 
travelled  as  much  as  I  have  during  the  past  ten  years,  you  'd 
be  pretty  sick  at  having  to  leave  home  before  you  'd  been  in  it 
half  an  hour.  "What  time  do  you  expect  these  ruffians  ? 

Penelope.  They  may  be  here  any  minute  now. 

Ulysses.  Then  there  's  no  time  to  be  lost.  I  believe  I  hear 
footsteps  already.  Goodbye  !  My  love  to  TELEMACHUS. 

Penelope  (embracing  him  tearfully).  Oh,  it 's  dreadful  to  have 
to  lose  you  directly  you  have  got  back,  in  this  way. 

Ulysses  (torn  between  desire  to  comfort  his  wife  and  longing  to 
get  away).  Of  course  it  is,  dear.  And  I  'm  dreadfully  sorry  to 
leave  you.  Hark  !  isn't  that  somebody  coming  ?  No,  it 's  no 

one.     Yes,  as  I  was  saying,  I  'd    dearly  like  to  stay  and 

Eh  ?  Yes,  I  '11  write  directly  I  have  an  address.  Dash  it,  here 
they  are.  For  Heaven's  sake  leave  go  of  my  neck.  There, 
there,  don't  cry.  I  really  must  be  off  now. 

[Exit  stealthily  R,  as  Suitors  troop  in  boisterously  L. 
(Curtain.)  ST.  J.  H. 


152 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHAKIVAEL 


[AUGUST  28,  1901 


A    HOUSE-HUNTING    SONG. 

SOME  people  hunt  the  local  fox  and  some  the  polar  bear, 
And  some  chase  after  bargains  with  extraordinary  care ; 
Some  try  to  sweep  celebrities  within  their  social  net, 
But  I  go  hunting  houses  and  I  haven't  found  one  yet. 

There  's  a  close  time  for  whatever  game  that  sportsmen  may 

pursue, 

And  after-season  remnants  aren't  continually  on  view  ; 
While  Mrs.  LEO  HUNTER  finds  sometimes  her  quarry  flee, 
But  from  an  endless  house-hunt  there's  no  holiday  for  me! 

I  want  to  live  in  Surbiton,  Pall  Mall,  and  Cheyne  Walk, 
The  baby  'd  vote  for  Hampstead  Heath  if  he  could  only  talk  ; 
His  parent  on  the  mother's  side  likes  frequent  change  of  air, 
And  varies  like  a  weather-hen — from  Richmond  to  Mayfair. 

There  always  is  a  room  too  few,  or  else  a  room  too  much, 

The  neighbourhood  's  too  low — if  not,  the  rent  's  too  high  to 

touch  ; 

It  seems  as  if  I  might  as  well  chase  BOTHA  or  DE  WET, 
The  fact  is,  that  I  can't  decide  what  kind  of  house  to  get ! 


"BUONA    NOTTE." 

(Or  not,  ch  f) 

NORTH  Italy  is  delightful  in  summer,  and  existence  would  be 
perfect  if  sleep  were  possible.  Even  Dr.  WATTS  could  not  have 
condemned  the  voice  of  the  sluggard  complaining  that  he  had 
been  waked  too  soon,  if  the  awakening  had  been  at  five  in  the 
morning,  or  earlier.  Venice  itself,  though  the  traffic  is  noise- 
less, has  means  of  arousing  one.  People  argue  and  walk,  and 
sometimes  sing,  under  the  windows  till  2  or  3  A.M.,  and  before 
5  the  neighbouring  church  bells  are  in  full  swing.  In  winter, 
when  one  could  shut  the  windows,  one  might  hear  less,  but  in 
summer  one  does  not  lose  a  word  of  the  discussion  or  a  note  of 
the  song.  The  afternoon  siesta  is  some  compensation,  for  at 
that  time  no  one  talks  becaiise  everyone  is  dozing.  Sometimes 
one  is  willing  to  keep  awake,  when,  for  instance,  thei-e  is  a 
Serenata  on  the  Grand  Canal,  an  excellent  concert  in  a  deco- 
rated barge  moving  slowly  along,  surrounded  by  gondolas  with 
gondoliers  all  in  white,  looking  by  moonlight  like  coffins  rowed 
by  ghosts. 

To  return  towards  England  avoid  Milan,  hotter  and  noisier, 
and  go  across  by  Brescia  and  the  Lakes.  Arrive  at  Brescia 
in  the  evening,  the  only  time  a  train  is  supportable.  Waiter 
ushers  me  into  elegant  bedroom  almost  entirely  covered  with 
red  velvet.  Appears  warm.  Hope  it  is  quiet.  Look  out  of 
the  window  and  perceive  wide  thoroughfare  paved  with  cobble- 
stones. There  may  not  be  much  early  traffic.  Waiter  assures 
me  there  is  no  noise.  Perhaps  on  the  first  floor  a  little,  but  on 
the  second,  ah,  no !  Retire  to  rest.  Suddenly  awakened  by 
sounds  as  of  an  earthquake  and  a  thunderstorm  combined.  It 
is  the  first  waggon  over  the  cobble-stones,  and  the  time  is 
4.15  a.m.  Then  follows  a  moment's  peace  and  then  another 
waggon.  Get  up  and  rush  out  on  to  the  staircase.  Discover 
sleepy  porter  in  hall.  Explain  my  position.  He  remarks  that 
it  is  nearly  five,  as  though  everyone  were  anxious  to  get  up  at 
five.  Explain  that  I  am  not,  and  follow  sleepy  porter  with 
candle  along  various  passages  to  distant  apartment  of  vast 
size,  remote  from  chief  street.  Porter  points  out  regretfully 
that  there  are  no  sheets.  Excursion  back  to  previous  room, 
procession  along  passages  with  armful  of  sheets  and  pillows, 
and  peaceful  sleep  for  at  least  an  hour.  Then  become  aware 
that  there  is  a  peal  of  bells  not  many  yards  away.  Leave 
Brescia  without  regret. 

Arrive  at  Lecco  also  late  in  the  evening.  Crowd  sitting  out- 
side hotel.  Proprietor  opens  door  of  omnibus.  Every  room 
full.  "JVon'c'e  una  camera."  There  is  a  regatta  to-morrow. 


Impossible  to  leave  Lecco  as  there  is  no  train.  Lengthy  dis- 
cussion between  proprietor  and  his  wife.  Finally  put  me  in  the 
large  reading  room,  made  as  comfortable  as  possible.  But  feel 
compelled  to  rise  early,  to  make  way  for  the  readers,  if  there 
are  any. 

Across  the  Swiss  frontier  to  Bellinzona.  Amongst  the  placid 
Swiss  may  sleep  more  peacefully.  Hotel  recommended  by  the 
infallible  Baedeker.  Find  that  it  is  clean  and  fairly  well- 
managed,  but  in  the  most  undesirable  position  imaginable, 
squeezed  in  between  a  high  rock,  four  feet  away,  and  a  stone- 
paved  street.  Far  from  being  entre  cour  et  jardin,  an  ideal 
situation,  it  is  entre  rue  et  rocher.  Not  only  that.  The 
architect  has  further  ideas  of  comfort.  Between  the  rock  and 
the  street  stands  the  campanile  of  the  church.  Ecco  /  The 
site  is  perfect.  He  puts  his  building  against  the  tower,  and 
every  time  the  clock  strikes  the  hotel  quivers.  Less  than  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  away  there  are  open  fields,  and  charming 
views  of  woods  and  mountains.  At  most  places  with  Italian 
names  sleep  is  difficult.  But  at  Bellinzona,  in  the  hotel 
recommended  by  the  infallible  BAEDEKER,  himself  sleepless, 
ever  on  the  watch  for  information,  it  is  impossible.  H.  D.  B. 


FOLLOWING  UP  THE  TRAIL. 

(A  fragment  from  a  Sartorial  Romance.) 

"BUT  surely  you  will  be  reasonable,"  said  the  Professor, 
"you  know  that  your  trailing  skirt  may  .mean  dea  h  to  tens, 
to  hundreds,  to  thousands  !  " 

The  Lady  without  Mercy  merely  smiled  and  pointed  to  a 
highly-coloured  plate  in  which  a  female  was  depicted  strutting 
proudly  across  a  marble  terrace  side  by  side  with  a  peacock. 

"Yes,  I  know  many  wear  them,"  continued  the  Professor, 
earnestly.  "But  you  should  remember  the  responsibilities 
of  your  station.  Did  you  not  hear  at  the  recent  conference 
that  the  trailing  skirt  carries  the  germs  of  sickness,  aye,  and 
death,  into  the  house  and  the  home?  " 

But  the  Lady  without  Mercy  continued  smiling  and  pointing. 

"  Can  nothing  move  you  ?  "  implored  the  Professor.  "Listen. 
Like  most  scientists,  I  am  a  millionaire  ;  like  most  scientists,  I 
have  received  a  peerage  for  my  services  to  the  world.  I  lay 
my  cash,  ray  rank  at  your  feet.  I  ask  only  one  concession,  and 
I  ask  it  in  the  name  of  civilisation  and  my  own  self-respect. 
Give  up  the  trailing  skirt  and  become  my  wife  !  " 

For  a  moment  the  Lady  without  Mercy  wavered,  then  she 
smiled — this  time  a  little  sadly — pointed  to  the  picture,  and  left 
him. 

A  week  passed  and  they  met  once  more.  To  his  delight  she 
wore  the  short  skirt  of  common  sense.  He  rushed  towards  her. 

"  Oh,  my  darling,  you  have  made  the  concession  I  demanded  ! 
Oh,  my  angel,  you  have  listened  to  the  dictates  of  your 
conscience  !  My  own,  my 'soon-to-be  wife  !  " 

"Yes,  ERASMUS  DIONYSIUS,"  she  responded  softly,  "I  am 
willing  to  share  your  rank  and  cash.  And,  dearest,  as  there 
should  be  no  secrets  between  the  recently-engaged,  let  me 
confess  to  you  that  I  gave  up  my  trailing  skirt  because  I  read 
in  the  Times  it  was  no  longer  fashionable." 


SOME  LITTLE  SUGGESTIONS  OP  NOMENCLATURE. — FOR  a  car  on 
the  "Tube  "  railway — a  Tubicle.  For  a  coffee-stall — a  Mocha- 
car.  For  a  railway  porter — a  Tip-staff.  For  a  barrister's  clerk 
— a  Brief-snatcher.  For  a  costermonger — a  Barrow-knight., 
For  a  Duke  (among  some  graces) — a  Strawberry-gardenia.  For 
a  tippler — a  Boo-hoozer.  For  a  teetotaler — a  Liptonian.  }?or 
a  bookmaker — the  Dardanelles.  (N.B. — This  is  a  straight  affair.) 
For  a  debutante — a  Beginning  for  an  End.  For  a  millionaire — 
Cave  Carnem-gie — (purely  Scottish.)  For  a  Briton — the  Pride 
of  the  Feat.  For  a  pro-Boer — the  Pride  of  the  Soul.  For  the 
KING— Selkirk  (Monarch  of  all  I  survey.)  For  the  KAISER 
— The  Swiss  Family  Robinson  (Monarch  of  all  I  haven't  s  urveyed.) 
For  the  Duke  of  CORNWALL — H.R.H.  PHILEAS  FOGG. 


AUGUST  28,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


153 


PLACE  FOR  THE  PRESS. 

[The    Annual    Conference  of   the  Institute   of 
Journalists  commenced  at  Leeds  on  August  24. J 

IN  olden  time,  in  Portsmouth  town, 
When    GEORGE    the  something  wore  the 

crown, 
When   wars  with  Prance  seemed  always 

near 

And  of  invasion  we  'd  a  fear  ; 
A  gang  went  round — the  Press. 
And  men  who  by  this  gang  were  caught, 
When  blood  was  hot,  like  tigers  fought ; 
Thus  oft  was  England's  freedom  bought! 
Through  power  of  the  Press. 

In  present  time  in  every  town 
The  Fourth  Estate  achieves  renown. 
Our  freedom,  still  our  proudest  boast, 
Wins  recognition  in  the  toast 
Of  "  Gentlemen— The  Press  !  " 
Search  where  you  will  on  sea  or  land, 
From  Pekin  to  Witwatersrand, 
The  best  of  fellows  form  the  band 
Which  represents  the  Press. 


LIVES  OF   GREAT   MEN. 
No.  I. — (Continued.) 

SUCH  was  PIZARRO'S  life  at  school, 

Not  formed  or  planned  on  any  rule, 

Save  this  : — if  at  a  given  minute 

There  comes  a  scrape,  be  sure  you  're  in  it. 

If  Justice  chanced  to  want  a  victim, 

She  never  paused,  but  promptly  picked 

him : 

Not  that  his  crimes  were  great  or  many — 
He  rarely  perpetrated  any — 
But  rather  that  his  looks  bewrayed  him  ; 
He  blushed  with  ease,  a  fact  that  made 

him, 

When  red  beyond  all  recognition, 
Obnoxious  to  extreme  suspicion. 
The  booby-trap  that  spilt  its  water 
On  Dr.  CUFFLAD'S  matron's  daughter  ; 
That  worthy  matron's  bed — oh,  fie  ! — 
Converted  to  an  apple-pie  ; 
The  broken  pane,  the  tattered  syntax, 
The  master's  highlows  filled  with  tintacks ; 
The  dart  impelled  by  secret  force 
Upon  its  swift  and  peccant  course — 
These  crimes,  and  more  as  fine  and  large, 
Were  always  laid  to  JONES'S  charge. 
Not  his  the  deeds,  but  his  the  rueing. 
To   blush   when   charged   is   worse    than 

doing. 

Well,  well,  the  years  passed  on,  and  he 

Passed  his  matriculation  : 
In  ancient  days  it  used  to  be 

No  hard  examination. 
His  Greek  and  his  arithmetic 

He  was  not  very  pat  in  ; 
He  knew  no  French  ;  he  used  to  stick 

In  Euclid  and  in  Latin. 
Yet  he  became — the  feat  Avas  great — 
An  Oxford  undergraduate  ! 

I  shall  not  follow  his  career 

From  week  to  week,  from  year  to  year ; 


' '  WELL,  THERE  's  YOUR  TREACLE. 
"MOTHER  PUT  IT  IN  TH'  JUG  !" 


WHERE  'S   YOUR   TWOPENCE  ?  " 


The  task  would  bore  you. 
I  can  describe  PIZARRO'S  acts 
By  laying  certain  salient  facts 

Coldly  before  you : — 
He  did  not  run,  he  would  not  row, 
His  private  reading  was  no  go  ; 

He  knew  no  cricket. 
He  did  not  seem  to  be  aware 
That  when  a  pig-skin  's  full  of  air, 

You  catch  or  kick  it. 
In  this  dead  list  of  negatives 
One  positive  stands  out  and  lives  : 
Upon  his  face  he  wore  a  fur-suit — 
His  cheeks  and  chin  were  very  hirsute. 
In  short,  although  his  comrades  jeered 
He  was  a  smug  and  grew  a  beard  ! 
The  years  went  on,  and  finally 
Our  hero  took  a  pass  degree, 
Fading  from  Oxford  life  away 
As  P.  P.  CORTEZ  JONES,  B.A. 

1  pass  the  intervening  years, 

With  all  their  hopes  and  joys  and  fears. 


Let  this  poor  fact  suffice  for  fame, 
That  JONES  took  Orders  and  became, 
His  life  progressing  at  a  due  rate, 
A  Church  of  England  country  curate. 
Would  that  my  humble  pen  were  equal 
To  telling  all  the  glorious  sequel ; 
Would  that  my  skill  could  paint  the  glory 
Of  our  PIZARRO'S  splendid  story  ! 
Enough.    I  '11  take  one  blazing  scene 
To  show  my  readers  what  I  mean  : — 
That  fate  unkindly  tests  and  searches 
Our  early  lives  with  canes  and  birches  ; 
Or  takes  and  dooms  us  to  perdition 
With  keepings-in  or  imposition  ; 
Makes  us  uncouth  and  void  of  sense, 
And  far  too  apt  to  give  offence, 
Merely  in  order  to  devote  us 
To  later  splendour,  and  promote  us 
On  our  dead  selves,  as  stepping-stones, 
To  higher  things — 'twas  thus  with  JONES. 

R.  C.  L. 
(To  be  concluded.) 


154 


PUNCH,   OK  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[AUGUST  28,  1901. 


Intelligent  Foreigner.  "I  AM  AFRAID  ZEY  ARE  MOT  MUCH  USE,  ZEZE  GRAND  WORKS  OF  YOURS  AT  DOVAIRE.  VOT  CAN  ZEY  DO 
AGAINST  OUR  SUBMARINES  ? — OUR  LEETLE  GUSTAVE  ZEDE  ?  All,  ZE  SUBMARINE  E*  IS  MOS  TERRIBLE,  AN'  ZE  CREWS  ALSO — ZE  MATELOTS 
—ZEY  ARE  'EROES  !  VY,  EVERY  TIME  ZEY  GO  ON  BOARD  OF  HIM  ZEY  SAY  GOODBYE  TO  ZER  VIVES  AN'  FAMILIES  ! " 


RAILWAY    COMPANIONS. 

(B;/  a  Disagreeable  Traveller.) 
I. 

I  HAVE  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
railway  train  exercises  a  sinister  influence 
upon  the  human  race.  Persons  who  are 
tolerable — or  even  welcome — in  ordinary 
daily  life,  become  peculiarly  obnoxious  so 
soon  as  they  enter  the  compartment  of  a 
train.  No  fairy  prince  ever  stepped  into 
a  railway  train — assuming  he  favoured 
that  means  of  locomotion — without  being 
transformed  straightway  into  a  Beast,  and 
even  Beauty  herself  could  not  be  distin- 
guished from  her  disagreeable  sisters — in 
a  train. 

Speaking  for  myself,  railway  travelling 
invariably  brings  to  the  surface  all  my 
worst  qualities. 

My  neighbour  opposite  hazards  some 
remark.  I  feel  immediately  a  fit  of 
taciturnity  coming  over  me,  and  an  over- 
powering inclination  to  retreat  behind  a 
fortification  of  journals  and  magazines. 
On  the  other  hand,  say  that  I  have 
exhausted  my  stock  of  railway  literature 
— or,  no  remote  possibility,  that  the 
literature  has  exhausted  me — then  I  make 
a  casual  remark  about  the  weather.  The 


weather  is  not  usually  considered  a 
controversial  topic :  in  railway  trains, 
however,  it  becomes  so. 

"  Rain  !  not  a  bit,"  says  a  passenger  in 
the  far  corner,  evidently  meditating  a 
walking  tour,  and  he  views  me  suspiciously 
as  if  I  were  a  rain-producer. 

"And  a  good  thing  too,"  remarks  the 
man  opposite.  "  It 's  wanted  badly,  I  tell 
you,  Sir — very  badly.  It 's  all  very  well 
for  you  holiday  folk,"  &c.,  &c. 

And  all  this  bad  feeling  because  of  my 
harmless  well-intentioned  remark. 

The  window  is  up.  "Phew!  .  .  . 
stuffy,"  says  the  man  opposite.  "You 
don't  mind,  I  hope,  the  window — 
eh?"  "Not  in  the  least,"  I  say,  and 
conceive  a  deadly  hatred  for  him. 
I  know  from  experience  that  directly 
that  window  is  down  all  the  winds 
of  heaven  will  conspire  to  rush  through, 
bearing  upon  them  a  smoky  pall.  I  resign 
myself,  therefore,  to  possible  bronchitis 
and  inflammation  of  the  eye.  Schoolboys, 
I  may  remark  by  the  way,  are  the  worst 
window  offenders,  owing  to  their  dia- 
bolical practice  of  looking  out  of  window 
in  a  tunnel — and,  of  course,  nothing  ever 
happens  to  them.  What 's  the  use  of 
expostulating  after  the  compartment  is 
full  of  yellow,  choking  vapour.  These 


boys  should  be  leashed  together  like  dogs 
and  conveyed  in  the  luggage- van. 

The  window  is  down.  "  W-h-oop " 
coughs  aii  elderly  man.  "Do  you  mind, 
Sir,  that  window  being  closed  ?  "  Polite 
mendacity  and  inward  bitterness  on  my 
part  towards  the  individual  who  has  con- 
verted the  compartment  into  an  oven. 

But  there  are  worse  companions  even 
than  these,  of  whom  I  must  speak  another 
time.  A.  R. 


THE    SONG    OP    THE    SEEDY 

BACHELOR. 
THE  world  is  like  a  wedding-cake 

That  once  was  prodigal  of  plums  ; 
But  fruitless  now  the  search  I  make,- 

Alas  !  my  way  no  currant  comes  ! 
O'er  devastated  plains  of  crumbs 

A  crusty  Bachelor  I  roam  ; 
In  vain  I  saccharine  my  thumbs, 

Sultan  aless  I  wander  home ! 

In  vain  I  probe  life's  almond  paste 

To  find  some  raisin  gone  astray ; 
No  almond  eyes  illume  the  waste 

Where  once  a  baker's  dozen  lay. 
Alas  !  no  currant  comes  my  way, 

Now  one  would  satisfy  my  greed  ; 
I  must,  to  chase  dull  carroway, 

Inevitably  run  to  seed  !        R.  E.  L. 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI.— AUGUST  28,  1901. 


APHAPPY  RETURN. 


MADAME  LA  REPUBLIQUE.  "  AH,   NICHOLAS,   MON  BIEN-AIME,  I  KNEW  YOU  'V  COME  AT  LAST,  IK  ]   ONLY 

KEPT  ON   ASKING  YOU  !  " 


\ 


AUGUST  28,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARTVART. 


THE  TABLETS  OF  AZIT-TIGLETH-MTPHANSI,  THE  SCRIBE. 


1.  IN    the    eighth    month    of    the    first 
ear 

2.  of  Ed-wad  the  King, 

3.  Lord  of  all  of  the  Britains 

4.  ( — as  they  say  at  Dhalmeni 

5.  and  also  the  Dhei'dunz,) 

6.  who  skimmed  along  highways 

7.  in  el-ektrikl  ten/-teu/s, 

8.  who  transferred  all  his  horses, 

9.  and  even  the  ydht  of  this  Ruler  of 
)ceans, 

10.  the  Vikht-oriyaan-albhat, 

11.  refused  to  keep  stable 

12.  and  took  some  persuasion 

13.  to  stop  a  bit  upright, 

14.  but  she  got  pherlih-nirit  \vhcn  they 
ook 

15.  all  her  masts  out  and  planted  some 

16.  new    ones    that    weighed    next    to 
othing  and  looked  dhus-ed-phlimsih, 

17.  with  rudimentary  funnels, 

18 when  the  crew  crawled  on 

I'lphorz  after  having  their  hair  cut, 

19.  (all    the  guests,    even   royal,    were 
Iways  requested  to 

20.  sit  telali-fdsh&n   on   very  low  foot- 
tools, 

21.  somewhere  near  the  centre 

22.  -when  the  helm  was  hard  over).  .  .  . 

23.  I  'm  sorry  for  Lamt-un  ! 

24.  he  was  no  doubt  selected  as  being 

25.  clean-shaven, — a  bhlrd  or  mliustdsh, 

26.  even  nliant-ikal-uiskaz, 

27.  at  that  height  above  water 

28.  might  lead  to  disaster. 

29.  — There  's  an  interesting  roumah  his 
tkktat 

30.  was  cancelled,  or  shorn  of  its  bullion, 

31.  his     epaulets     trimmed     to     more 
imble 

32.  dinitinshana —  and    his    boots    filled 
ith  lead 


TWELFTH  FRAGMENT. 

33.  — (one  of  many  precautions  !) 

34 must  have  breathed  much 

more  freely 

35.  when  he  got  into  port,  flying  nice 
little  standards 

36.  — the  big  ones  were  discarded   as 
being 

37.  excessive, — when  he  got  alongside, 

38.  with  the  county  of  Hamshur 

39.  or  something  substantial 

40.  to  lean  on. 

41.  At  lunsham  and  pikh-mkhz  (I  may  as 
well  mention) 

42.  they  proceeded  at  once  to   reduce 
the  top  -  hamper  —  from    sheer   force    of 
habit 

43.  When  passing  through  war-ships 

44.  He  always  arranged  that  the  cheer- 
ing 

45.  was  equal  from  port  and  from  star- 
board, 

46.  as  the  least  indiscretion,  an  extra 
loud  bliomin,  vociferously  loyal, 

47.  on  a  neighbouring  kntsah 

48.  for  instance, 

49.  might  have  made  them  turn  tertiil. 
(This    is   all    introduction !    that 's  the 

worst  of  these  Tablets,  they  are  so  e/- 
axtikh  ;  they  would  stretch  out  till 
Dhumsdeh  if  the  Edhit-al-ettum  !) 

50.  Then  did  the  Lorgivvaz 

51.  the  Jabraz,  and  Chatraz  who  would 
talk  the  hind-leg  off 

52.  A  khdstay&n-donkih 

53 concluding  their  labours  by 

sitting  till 

54.  breakfast,  till  the  daylight  streamed 
in  on  their  crumpled-up  shirtfronts, 

55.  on  their  fevered  endeavours  to  un- 
ravel the  tangle  [give 

56.  of  things  they  'd  neglected  and  to 

57.  an  appearance  of  having  done 


58.  something  in  ekhstenu-eshun 

59 continued  existence  ; 

60 half-killing 

61.  the   pressmen  (who*  had  always  to 
help 

62.  them  to  finish  a  sentence;  give  an 
air 

63.  of  coherence  to  somewhat  chaotic 

64.  abuse  of  their  neighbours) 

65.  ...  who    fell    forward    exhausted 
and   camo  to  a  stop,  or,  perkaps,  semi- 
coma  at  four 

66.  or   four-thirty,  with  their  ncses  in 
inkpots, 

67.  and  awoke  with 

68.  the  modern  improvements 

69.  on  Pitman 

70.  tattooed  on  their  features 

71.  while   the   ret  schidp-ul- lumen,    re- 
duced to 

72.  a  shadow, 

73.  sank  down  on   the  pavement  out- 
side in 

74.  the  kortydd  at  the  foot  of  the  clock- 
tower  and  wished  the  whole 

75.  business  (by  the  way,  a  misnomer) 

76.  at  bleziz  ....  or  elsewhere. 

77.  Then  forth  from  the  portals 

78.  did  stream  the  Lorgivvaz,  discard- 
ing the  toppat 

79.  of  sivvilaih  -  zealnin,  into  tuidz  did 
they  hasten, 

80.  Arthab-dl-Phur  and  Lekkih 

81.  and  Kamm-el-Banraman ; 

82.  also  Shuv-men^bar  with  his 

83.  plididus-ak-etiz, 

84.  miatah  Pikh-uikh-thaperkih, 

85.  who  wrote  such  ....  nons  .... 

86.  going  over  in  detail  his  efforts  at 
humour  in  the  Seshun  just  closing, 

87.  and  the  Bakkaz-av-Prempeh, 

88.  who  wield  the  Shilelih. 


158 


[AUGUST  28,  1901. 


89.  who    sternly  repress  all   attempts 
itt  disorder 

90.  and  bewail  in  exteiiso  their  muzzled 
condition. 

91 They  manage  to  get  a  good 

deal  through  the  -wires  though  ! 

92.  and  into  the  hands  of  Bhar-dolfyan 
cliar-lcdiz 

93.  the  place  is  made  over.      E.  T.  R. 


BELGIUM   AND   THE  B.P. 

(By  our  Quite-a-Little-Holiday-maKing 
Impressionist,) 

WHAT  B.P.  ?  Not  the  British  Public? 
Well,  yes,  the  best  representative  of  the 
British  Public— the  British  Press.  (Cheers.) 
But  this  is  not  a  speech,  but  at  this  point 
there  would  have  been  left  a  blank  in  the 
reporter's  notebook  for  applause,  and  I  am 
speaking  of  reporters.  And  the  British 
Press,  how  was  it  represented  ?  Well, 
nowadays,  the  reporter  carries  out  the 
•eneral  impression  conveyed  by  the  words, 
1  Gentlemen  of  the  Press."  Always  did, 
but  does  it  now  more  than  ever.  Take 
the  representatives  of  British  journalists 
who  went  to  Ostend  and  Bruges  a  week  or 
so  since  and  sample  them.  Take  a  third, 
say  half  a  dozen.  Item,  a  pressman  who 
had  held  a  commission  R.N.,  item,  a  press- 
man who  had  appeared  in  the  Army  List, 
the  rest,  members  of  the  Bar.  Nothing 
incongruous  in  Burgomasters,  general 
managers,  and  such  like  gentlemen  doing 
honour  to  the  British  Press  when  so 
represented. 

Picture  a  pleasant  journey  from  London 
to  Dover.  On  the  way  down,  the  relation 
of  marvellous  adventures  concerning 
foreign  lands  frOin  the  salt  with  the 
pencil.  And  all  true,  every  one  of  them. 
And  yet  the  rest  of  the  company  talk  of 
ever-interesting  Fleet  Street  with  an 
occasional  dash  into  the  Common  Rooms 
of  the  Cam  and  the  Isis,  and  the  last 
anecdotes  from  the  Robing  Room  in 
Carey  Street,  now  closed  for  the  long 
vacation.  "The  boys"  who  could  wear 
helmets  and  horsehair  wigs  in  camp  and 
Court,  but  who  were  now  exchanging 
straw  hats  for  caps,  were  ushered  on 
board  one  of  the  splendid  vessels  of  the 
State  Administration  of  Railways  and 
Steamboats  in  Belgium,  and  carried  across 
the  ocean  to  the  shore  opposite  the  chalky 
cliffs  of  Albion.  The  clerk  of  the  weather 
was  on  his  best  behaviour — did  not  risk  a 
practical  joke  at  the  expense  of  the 
R.B.P.  So  the  Rapide  •  was  worthy  of 
her  name,  and  the  blithesome  party  were 
landed  punctual  to  the  moment. 

Ostend  was  hospitable.  The  R.B.P. 
dined  with  the  revered  Minister  of 
Railways,  or  rather,  his  admirable 
representative.  Eloquence  was  all  the 
better  because  it  was  not  reported — save 
in  the  local  Ostend  papers.  At  a  moment's 
notice  (possibly  accepting  a  little  help)  a 
respected  R.B.P.  explained  the  system  of 


the  State  Railways  of  Belgium,  the  luxury 
of  saloon  cars,  the  delight  of  a  season 
ticket,  carrying  one  over  the  whole 
system,  with  stoppages,  like  bread,  a 
Hscretion.  Then  the  P.I.J.  spoke  from 
his  heart  and  said  the  nicest  things  (to 
him)  imaginable.  Congratulations  and 
an  adjournment  to  the  ball  held  at  the 
largest  acreage  of  hotel  in  the  world. 
Did  the  R.B.P.  dance  ?  Certainly.  Every 
one  of  them — save  those  whose  dancing 
days  were  over. 

And  the  next  day  ?  The  visit  to.  Bruges. 
What  could  have  been  more  luxurious 
than  the  saloon  of  luxury  ?  WThat  could 
have  been  more  impressive  than  the 
reception  of  theR. B.P.  by  the  Municipality 
of  Bruges?  In  a  chamber  suggestive  of 
centuries  ago  the  Chief  of  the  Municipal 
State  welcomed  the  interesting  strangers. 
Was  French  spoken  ?  Wasn't  it !  First 
one  Pressman  returned  thanks  in  the 
French  language — over  which  the  great 
THACKKRAY  had  so  complete  a  mastery — to 
the  admiration  of  all  beholders.  Then  the 
P.I.  J.  proposed  prosperity  to  Bruges  in  a 
speech  with  an  accent  which  was  more 
Parisian  than  that  of  the  Parisians.  "  NOHS 
sommes  freres!"  Splendid  sentiment — 
binding  Briton  and  Belgian  in  a  bond  of 
union  which,  &c.,  &c.,  &c. 

Then  to  see  the  monuments.  Old 
churches,  old  pictures,  restored  town 
halls,  the  most  ancient  archery  club  in 
the  world  (of  whom  the  late  Queen 
VICTORIA  was  President),  a  room  with  the 
chair  of  REUBENS  in  it,  a  gateway  with 
apartments  overhead,  said  to  have  been 
once  occupied — a  long  while  ago — by  a 
renowned  Archbishop  of  Canterbury. 
Then,  after  hearing  that  Bruges  was  to  be 
a  seaport,  thanks  to  a  coming  canal,  away 
to  Ostend  for  dinner  and  a  concert  at  the 
Kursaal. 

Was  the  dinner  a  success?  Quite. 
Ostend  was  so  crowded  that  the  banquet 
had  to  be  held  in  a  room  partly  occupied  by 
other  guests.  But  what  mattered  that? 
Could  not  the  Burgomaster  tell  his  guests 
how  the  Belgians  loved  the  British  ? 
Could  not  the  ever-eloquent  P.I.J.  return 
the  compliment,  and  speak  of  the  fetes  of 
1867,  when  the  Volunteers  and  the  Liege 
Riflemen  were  brothers,  as,  indeed,  they 
were  in  Waterloo  year,  when  they  stood 
shoulder  V»  shoulder  not  so  many  miles 
from  Brussels?  And  then  away  to  the 
excellent  music  of  the  Kursaal  and  the 
glorious  moonlight  of  the  beautiful  pro- 
menade on  the  sea  front. 

Oh,  what  a  week's  end  !  The  last  morn- 
ing was  passed  with  a  visit  to  the  Exhibi- 
tion, which  was  interesting,  and  to  a 
museum  of  exhibits  from  the  huge  collec- 
tion, gathered  together  by  the  State 
traiteur,  of  the  late  Duke  ALFRED  OF  SAXE- 
COBURG  GOTHA.  Then,  by  the  good  ship 
Clementine,  home  to  Dover.  Clementine 
the  swift,  Clementine  the  scientific  — 
was  there  not  a  wireless  telegraphic 


conversation  between  Belgium  and  Eng- 
land conducted  from  the  deck  of  the  State 
packet  ?  —  Clementine  the  luxuriously 
furnished  and  punctually  up -to -time. 
From  Dover  to  London  by  S.E.  and  C.R. 
also  satisfactory. 

And  so  the  dream  of  swords,  pens, 
barristers'  wigs,  reporters'  pencils,  seas, 
sands,  hotels,  balls,  vins  d'honneur, 
capital  yarns,  delightful  talk,  excellent 
speeches  in  admirable  English  and  more 
than  admirable  French  came  to  an  end 
Thanks  to  the  ever-courteous  manager,  t( 
whom  the  State  Administration  owes  s< 
much,  thanks  to  the  standard-bearer  wh< 
carried  the  flag  of  Britain  ten  years  ago  tx 
Belgium,  thanks  to  the  worthy  representa- 
tive of  the  B.P.,  who  maintained  the  besi 
traditions  of  English  journalism.  Thanfa 
all  round. 


FINANCIAL  FOLLIES. 

(By  Our  City  Laureate.) 

THE  COMING  BOOM. 
Banish  care  and  dull  foreboding, 

Banish  every  thought  of  gloom, 
Soon  we  '11  all  commence  unloading,    • 

Soon  will  come  the  time  of  boom. 
Shout  Hurrah  !  the  public  nibble, 

Soon  there  '11  be  an  awful  fight, 
For  the  Kaffirs  we  've  been  keeping 
They  '11  be  pleading,  begging,  weeping 

Everything  will  then  be  right. 
Just  observe  the  closing  prices — 

Steady  tone,  and  not  too  high : 
We  are  waiting  your  advices, 

Take  a  friendly  tip  and  buy. 

THE  LOST  BOOMLET. 

i. 
We  have  lost  our  little  Boomlet, 

He  has  left  this  world  of  sin  ; 
And  our  hearts  are  really  breaking, 
We  've  no  soul  for  market  faking: 

Don't  care  if  we  lose  or  win. 
He  was  born  about  two-twenty 

On  a  light  contango  day, 
We  thought  he  was  heaven-sent,  he 

Now,  alas  1  has  passed  away. 

Little  Boomlet,  precious  Boomlet, 
Only  really  lived  a  day  ; 

Close  the  House  at  every  week-end 
Little  Boomlet 's  gone  away. 

II. 

We  have  lost  our  little  Boomlet, 

Tho'  he  looked  .so  strong  and  fit.; 
We  did  all  we  could  to  strengthen — 
All  we  could  his  hours  to  lengthen, 

But  he  didn't  care  a  bit. 
When  before  our  fires  we  're  kneeling, 

Fires  of  Kaffir  scrip  so  gay, 
Back  will  come  that  choking  feeling, 

Little  Boomlet 's  gone  away. 

Little  Boomlet,  precious  Boonilet, 
Only  really  lived  a  day  ; 

Now  we  're  waiting  for  another 
Boomlet  just  to  come  our  way. 


AUGUST  28,  1901  ] 


PUNCH,   OH  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


159 


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163 


PUNCH,   Oil  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[AUGUST  28,  1901. 


MRS.    MEDWIN. 

BY  HENRY  JAMES. 
I. 

"WELL,  we  are  a  pair!"  the  poor  laly's  visitor  broke  out  to 
her,  at  the  end  of  her  explanation,  in  a  manner  disconcerting 
enough.  The  poor  lady  was  Miss  CUTTER,  who  lived  in  South 
Audley  Street,  where  she  had  an  "  upper  half"  so  compact  that 
it  might  have  passed  for  convenient ;  and  her  visitor  was  her 
half-brother,  whom  she  had  not  seen  for  three  years.  She  was 
remarkable  for  a  maturity  of  which  every  symptom  might  have 
been  observed  to  be  admirably  controlled,  had  not  a  tendency 
to  stoutness  just  affirmed  its  independence.  Her  present,  no 
doubt,  insisted  too  much  on  her  past,  but  with  the  excuse, 
sufficiently  valid,  that  she  must  certainly  once  have  been 
prettier.  She  was  clearly  not  contented  with  once — she  wished 
to  be  prettier  again.  She  neglected  nothing  that  could  produce 
that  illusion,  and,  being  both  fair  and  fat,  dressed  almost 
wholly  in  black.  When  she  added  a  little  colour  it  was  not,  at 
any  rate,  to  her  drapery.  Her  small  rooms  had  the  peculiarity 
that  everything  they  contained  appeared  to  testify  with 
vividness  to  her  position  in  society',  quite  as  if  they  had  been 
furnished  by  the  bounty  of  admiring  friends.  They  were 
adorned  indeed  almost  exclusively  with  objects  that  nobody 
buys,  as  had  more  than  once  been  remarked  by  spectators  of 
her  own  sex,  for  herself,  and  would  have  been  luxurious  if 
luxury  consisted  mainly  in  photographic  portraits  slashed  across 
with  signatures,  in  baskets  of  flowers  be-ribboned  with  the 
cards  of  passing  compatriots,  and  in  a  neat  collection  of  red 
volumes,  blue  volumes,  alphabetical  volumes,  aids  to  London 
lucidity,  of  every  sort,  devoted  to  addresses  and  engagements. 
To  be  in  Miss  CUTTER'S  tiny  drawing-room,  in  short,  even  with 
Miss  CUTTER  alone — should  you  by  any  chance  have  found  her 
so — was  somehow  to  be  in  the  world  and  in  a  crowd. 

This  was  what  the  tall,  lean,  loose  gentleman  lounging  there 
before  her  might  have  appeared  to  read  in  the  suggestive  scene, 
over  which,  while  she  talked  to  him,  his  eyes  moved  without 
haste  and  without  rest.  "  Oh,  come,  MAMIE  !  "  he  occasionally 
threw  off  ;  and  the  words  were  evidently  connected  with  the 
impression  thus  -absorbed.  His  comparative  youth  spoke  of 
waste  even  as  her  positive — her  too-positive — spoke  of  economy. 
There  was  only  one  thing,  that  is,  to  make  up  in  him  for  every- 
thing he  had  lost — though  it  was  distinct  enough  indeed  that 
this  tiling  might  sometimes  serve.  It  consisted  in  the  perfec- 
tion of  an  indifference,  an  indifference  at  the  present  moment 
directed  to  the  plea — a  plea  of  inability,  of  pure  destitution — 
with  which  his  sister  had  met  him.  Yet  it  had  even  now  a 
wider  embrace ;  took  in  quite  sufficiently  all  consequences  of 
queerness,  confessed  in  advance  to  the  false  note  that,  in  such 
a  setting,  he  almost  excruciatingly  constituted.  He  cared  as 
little  that  he  looked  at  moments  all  his  impudence  as  that  he 
looked  all  his  shabbiness,  all  his  cleverness,  all  his  history. 
These  different  things  were  written  in  him,  in  his  premature 
baldness,  his  seamed,  strained  face,  the  lapse  from  bravery  of 
his  long  tawny  moustache,  above  all  in  his  easy,  friendly, 
universally  acquainted  eye,  so  much  too  sociable  for  mere  con- 
versation. What  possible  relation  with  him  could  be  natural 
enough  to  meet  it  ?  He  wore  a  scant,  rough  Inverness  cape  and 
a  pair  of  black  trousers,  wanting  in  substance  and  marked  with 
the  sheen  of  time,  that  had  presumably  once  served  for  evening 
use.  He  spoke  with  the  slowness  helplessly  permitted  to 
Americans— as  something  too  slow  to  be  stopped;  and  he 
repeated  that  he  found  himself  associated  with  Miss  CUTTER  in 
a  harmony  worthy  of  wonder.  She  had  been  telling  him  not 
only  that  she  couldn't  possibly  give  him  ten  pounds,  but  ttiat 
his  unexpected  arrival,  should  he  insist  on  being  much  in  view, 
might  seriously  interfere  with  arrangements  necessary  to  her 
own  maintenance  ;  on  which  he  had  begun  by  replying  that  he 
of  course  knew  she  had  long  ago  spent  her  money,  but  that  he 


looked  to  her  now  exactly  because  she  had  without  the  aid  of 
that  convenience  mastered  the  art  of  life. 

"  I  'd  really  go  away  with  a  fiver,  my  dear,  if  you  'd  only  tell 
me  how  you  do  it.  It 's  no  use  saying  only,  as  you  've  always 
said,  that '  people  are  very  kind  to  you.'  What  the  devil  are 
they  kind  to  you  for?  " 

"Well,  one  reason  is  precisely  that  no  particular  incon- 
venience has  hitherto  been  supposed  to  attach  to  me.  I  'm  just 
what  I  am,"  said  MAMIE  CUTTER;  "nothing  less  and  nothing 
more.  It's  awkward  to  have  to  explain  to  .you — which, 
moreover,  I  really  needn't  in  the  least.  I  'm  clever  and  amusing 
and  charming."  She  was  uneasy  and  even  frightened  ;  but  she 
kept  her  temper  and  met  him  with  a  grace  of  her  own.  "  I 
don't  think  you  ought  to  ask  me  more  questions  than  I  ask 
you." 

"Ah,  my  dear,"  said  the  odd  young  man,  "  I  've  no  mysteries. 
Why  in  the  world,  since  it  was  what  you  came  out  for  and  have 
devoted  so  much  of  your  time  to,  haven't  you 'pulled  it  off? 
Why  haven't  you  married?  " 

"  Why  haven't  you  ?  "  she  retorted.  "  Do  you  think  that  if  I 
had,  it  would  have  been  better  for  you? — that  my  husband 
would  for  a  moment  have  put  up  with  you  ?  Do  you  mind  my 
asking  you  if  you '11  kindly  go  now?"  she  went  on  after  a 
glance  at  the  clock.  "I'm  expecting  a  friend,  whom  I  must 
see  alone,  on  a  matter  of  great  importance " 

"  And  my  being  seen  with  you  may  compromise  your  respecta- 
bility or  undermine  your  nerve?  "  He  sprawled,  imperturbably, 
in  his  place,  crossing  again,  in  another  sense,  his  long  black 
legs  and  showing,  above  his  low  shoes,  an  absurd  reach  of  parti- 
coloured sock.  "I  take  your  point  well  enough,  but  mayn't 
you  be,  after  all,  quite  wrong  ?  If  you  can't  do  anything  for 
me,  couldn't  you  at  least  do  something  with  me  ?  If  it  comes 
to  that,  I  'm  clever  and  amusing  and  charming  too  !  I  've  been 
such  an  ass  that  you  don't  appreciate  me.  But  people  like  me 
— I  assure  you  they  do.  They  usually  don't  know  what  an  ass 
I  've  been  ;  they  only  see  the  surface  ;  which  " — and  he 
stretched  himself  afresh  as  she  looked  him  up  and  down — "  you 
can  imagine  them,  can't  you,  rather  taken  with  ?  /  'm  '  what  I 
am  '  too  ;  nothing  less  and  nothing  more.  That 's  true  of  us  as 
a  family,  you  see.  We  are  a  crew!"  He  delivered  himself 
serenely  ;  his  voice  was  soft  and  flat  ;  his  pleasant  eyes,  his 
simple  tones,  tending  to  the  solemn,  achieved  at  moments  that 
effect  of  quaintness  which  is,  in  certain  connections,  socially 
so  known  and  enjoyed.  "  English  people  have  quite  a  weakness 
for  me— more  than  any  others.  I  get  on  with  them  beautifully. 
[  've  always  been  with  them  abroad.  They  think  me,"  the 
young  man  explained,  "diabolically  American." 

"  You !  "    Such  stupidity  drew  from  her  a  sigh  of  compassion. 

Her  companion  apparently  quite  understood  it.  "  Are  you 
homesick,  MAMIE?  "  he  asked  with  wondering  irrelevance. 

The  manner  of  the  question  made  her  for  some  reason,  in  spite 
of  her  preoccupations,  break  into  a  laugh.  A  shade  of 
indulgence,  a  sense  of  other  things,  came  back  to  her.  "  You 
are  funny,  SCOTT  ! ' ' 

"Well,"  remarked  SCOTT,  "that's  jast  w'lat  I  claim.  But 
are  you  so  homasick  ?  "  he  spasiously  inquired;  not  as  if  to  a 
pi-aetical  end,  but  from  an  easy  play  of  intelligence. 

"  I  'm  just  dying  of  it !  "  said  MAMIE  CUTTER. 

"  Why,  so  am  I !  "  Her  visitor  had  a  sweetness  of  con- 
currence. 

"We're  the  only  decent  people,"  Mis?  CUTTER  declared. 
"And  I  know.  YOH.  don't — you  can't;  and  I  can't  explain. 
Come  in,"  she  continued  with  a  return  of  her  impatience  and  an 
increase  of  her  decision,  "  at  seven  sharp." 

She  had  quitted  her  seat  some  time  before,  and  now,  to  get 
him  into  motion,  hovered  before  him  while,  still  motionless,  ho 
looked  up  at  her.  Something  intimate,  in  the  silence,  appeared 
to  pass  between  them — a  community  of  fatigue  and  failure  and, 
after  all,  of  intelligence.  There  was  a  final,  cynical  humour 
in  it.  It  determined  him,  at  any  rate,  at  last,  and  he  slowly 


AUGUST  28,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


161 


rose,  taking  in  again,  as  he  stood  there,  the  testimony  of  the  room. 
He  might  have  been  counting  the  photographs,  but  he  looked 
at  the  flowers  with  detachment.  "  Who  's  coming  ?  " 

"Mrs.  MEDWIN." 

"  American?" 

"Dear,  no!" 

"  Then  what  are  you  doing'ifor  her?  " 

"  I  work  for  everyone,"  she  promptly  returned. 

"For  everyone 
who  pays?  So  I 
suppose.  Yet  isn't 
it  only  we  who  do 
pay?" 

There  was  a  drol- 
ery,  not  lost  on 
icr,  in  the  way  his 
[ueer  presence 
ent  itself  to  his 
emphasized  plural. 
'Do  you  consider 
;hat  you  do  ?  " 

At  this,  with  his 
deliberation,  |he 
came  back  to  [his 
charming  idea. 

Only  try  me,  and 
see  if  I  can '  t  be 
made  to.  Work  me 
in."  On  her  sharply 
presenting  her 
mck  he  stared  a 
little  at  the  clock. 

If  I  come  at 
seven,  may  I  stay 
to  dinner  ?  ' ' 

It  brought  her 
round  again.  "  Im- 
possible. I  'm  din- 
ling  out." 

I  "With  whom?" 
I  She  had  to  think. 
lfcWith  Lord  CON- 
BTOINE." 

1  "Oh,  my  eye!  " 
BOOTT  exclaimed. 
I  She  looked  at 
liim  gloomily.  "  Is 
•that  sort  of  tone 
ivhat  makes  you 
)ay  ?  I  think  you 
•(night  under- 
lltand,"  she  went 
|j»n,  "  that  if  you  're 
no  sponge  on  me 
uccessf u  1 1  y  you 
austn't  ruin  me. 
must  have  some 
emote  resem- 
lance  to  a  lady." 

"  Yes  ?  But  why  must  If"   Her  exasperated  silence  was  full 
f  answers  ;  of  which,  however,  his  inimitable  manner  took  no 
ccount.    "  You  don't  understand  my  real  strength — I  doubt 
'  you  even  understand  your  own.    You  're  clever,  MAMIE  ;  but 
ou 're  not  so  clever  as  I  supposed.       However,"  he  pursued, 
it 's  out  of  Mrs.  MEDWIN  that  you  '11  get  it  ?  " 
"Get  what?" 

"  Why,  the  cheque  that  will  enable  you  to  assist  me." 
On  this,  for  a  moment,  she  met  his  eyes.    "If  you'll  come 
ick  at  seven  sharp — not  a  minute  before,  and  not  a  minute 
'ter — I  '11  give  you  two  five-pound  notes." 


He  thought  it  over.    "  Whom  are  you  expecting  a  minute 

after?" 
It  sent  her  to  the  window  with  a  groan  almost  of  anguish, 

and  she  answered  nothing  till  she  had  looked  at  the  street. 

"  If  you  injure  me,  you  know,  SCOTT,  you  '11  be  sorry." 
"  I  wouldn't  injure  you  for  the  world.    What  I  want  to  do, 

in  fact,  is  really  to  help  you,  and  I  promise  you  that  I  won't 

leave  you — by  which  I  mean  won't  leave  London — till   I  've 

effected  something 
really  pleasant  for 
you.  1  like  you, 
MAMIE  —  because 
I  like  pluck  ;  I  like 
you  much  more 
than  you  like  me. 
I  like  you  very, 
very  much."  He 
had  at  last,  with 
this,  reached  the 
door  and  opened 
it,  but  he  remained 
with  his  hand  on 
the  latch.  "What 
does  Mrs.  MEDWIN 
want  of  you?  "  he 
thus  brought  out. 

She  had  come 
round,  to  see  him 
disappear,  and  in 
the  relief  of  this 
prospect  she  again 
just  indulged  him. 
"  The  impossible." 
He  waited  ano- 
ther minute.  "And 
you  're  going  to  do 
it?" 

"I'm  going  to 
doit,"  said  MAMIE 
CUTTER. 

"  Well  then,  that 
ought  to  be  a 
haul.  Call  it 
three  fivers!  "  he 
laughed.  "At 
seven  sharp."  And 
at  last  he  left  her 
alone. 
(To  be  continued.) 


TO    THE    RESCUE! 

SNOWDON,  DERWENTWATER,  AND  THE  GREEN  PARK  ARE  ALL  THREATENED  BY  THE 
DEMON  OP  DESTRUCTION  ! 


WAR    NEWS 
AT  HOME. 

Boy  (reading 
from  newspaper). 
I  say,  grandma, 
here 's  good  news ! 
They've  shot  all 
the  boars  in  Windsor  Park  except  four,  and  sent  DE  WET  to 
the  Zoo. 

Grandma.  Boers  in  Windsor  Park  1  Well  I  never  !  To  think  of 
their  coming  there !  And  sent  DE  WET  to  the  Zoo  !  It 's  a  pity 
they  'aven't  got  KRUGER  too.  There 's  plenty  of  room  in  the 
monkey-house. 

[Boy  does  not  undeceive  the  good  lady,  but  pockets  tip 
without  contrition. 


A  CHAMPION  Cricketer  evidently  closely  associated,  with  the 
Clerk  of  the  Weather— C.  B.  PRY. 


162 


PUNCH,   OE  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[AUGUST  28,  1901. 


OUR    BOOKING-OFFICE. 

IN  The  Devastators  (MKTHUEN),  no  one  is  happy  though  married. 
ADA  CAMBRIDGE — (Mrs.  or  Miss  ?  From  her  frank  confidences 
on  the  married  starte  and  what  it  involves,  my  Baronite  sus- 
pects the  latter.  Those  who  have  suffered  are  more  reticent) — 
is  almost  monotonous  in  the  misery  in  which  she  envelopes  her 
households.  It  is  a  game  of  cross  purposes  all  through.  If 
Dr.  Dallas,  or  Keith  Macdonald,  had  married  Peggy,  all  would 
have  been  well,  and  if  Harry  Bedingfteld  had  married  Mimi 


acquaintance  the  Baron  would  be  desirous  of  cultivating.  Sucl 
a  criticism,  however,  may  be  a  tribute  to  the  truth  of  th< 
author's  portraiture.  Not  a  single  opportunity  is  afforded  t( 
the  '  skipper  '  for  exercising  his  mental  agility  over  so  manj 
pages  at  a  time,  or  even  over  any  part  of  a  page.  Dialogue  01 
description,  it  is  all  good  reading ;  although  the  author's  fond 
ness  for  dropping  into  parentheses  is  amusingly  irritating.  Th< 
title  is  not  a  good  one,  as  to  many  readers  besides  the  Baron  th< 
suggestion  will  occur  that  to  have  styled  the  novel  Josial 
Cholderton's  Journal  would  have  been  far  better.  And,  whil< 


Carter  it  would  havre  served  him  right.  But  they  don't.  On  \  on  the  subject  of  titles,  it  is  in  fancy  nomenclature  that  the  in 
the  contrary,  each  marries  the  wrong  one  (Mimi  does  it  four  ventive  faculty  of  Mr.  ANTHONY  HOPE  HAWKINS  is  at  its  weakest- 
times,  of  course  in  succession),  and  complications  and  disasters  He  attempts,  after  the  manner  of  THACKERAY  and  TR'OLLOPE 
duly  follow.  These  Miss  CAM- 
BRIDGE manages  with  con- 
siderable skill,  succeeding  in 
holding  the  attention  of  the 
reader  to  the  end,  where  he  is 
rewarded  by  coming  upon  quite 
a  little  novel  by  itself.  This  is 
the  story  of  Gordon  le  Marchand 
and  his  wife.  Here  ADA -revels 
in  the  wealth  of  her  ideas  of 
the  usual  sort  of  thing  in  the 
average  British  household. 
Gordon  marries  Eleanor  when 
both  were  ordinarily  young 
and  extraordinarily  handsome. 
They  quarrel ;  she  goes  home 
to  her  mother  ;  he  makes  love 
elsewhere  ;  she  gets  a  divorce 
and  marries  again  ;  he  remains 
single  and  rails  against  beauty 
in  woman  ;  her  second  husband 
dies  ;  on  what  might  have  been 
their  silver  weddingday  Cordon 
and  Eleanor  meet  on  the  very 
spot  where  a  quarter  of  a  cen- 
tury earlier  they  started  on 
their  honeymoon  ;  they  make 
it  up,  marry  again,  and  live 
happy  ever  afterwards.  My 
Baronite's  Advice  to  those 
About  to  Marry  is,  "Read 
The  Devastators." 

In  The  Skirts  of  Happy 
Chance  (METHUEN),  Mr. 
MARRIOTT  WATSON  relates  the 
adventures  of  FRANCIS,  second 
son  of  the  late  Marquess  of 
AURIOL.  They  are  delightful, 


First  Young    Wife.    "Do  YOU  FIND  IT  MORE  ECONOMICAL,  DEAB, 

TO  DO  YOUIl  OWN   OOOKINQ  ?  " 

Second   Young   Wife.    "  OH,   CERTAINLY.     MY    HUSBAND  DOESN'T 

EAT   HALF   80  MITCH  AS   HE   DID  !  " 


and  are  told  with  a  literary  art  and  skill  that  add  much  to  the 
njoyment  of  the  reader.  It  is  quite  possible  they  might  not 
have  been  written  had  there  been  no  Lunatic  at  Large.  But  my 
Baronito  does  not  suggest  that  as  a  reproach  or  a  drawback, 
fn  a  weary  world  he  is  too  grateful  for  a  hearty  laugh  to  quarrel 
with  the  benefactor. 

"There  is,  as  it  seems  to  me,"  quoth  the  Baron  reflectively, 
"  a  considerable  difficulty  in  'placing'  Mr.  ANTHONY  HOPE'S 
latest  romance,  Tristram  of  Blent  (JOHN  MURRAY).  The  plot 
is  simple  to' a  fault:  and  the  story,  as  worked  out  by  the 
marked  individuality  of  the  characters  through  a  series  of 
well-pointed  dialogues,  striking  scenes,  and  dramatic  situations) 
is,  if  not  absorbing,  enticingly  interesting.  Whether  the  family 
idiosyncrasies  of  the  Tristmms  of  Blent  are  likely  to  recommend 
themselves  to  the  reader  as  among  the  probabilities  of  life 
which  are  not  of  tlxo  merely  ordinary  type,  is  a  question  the 
B.iron  would  not  undertake  to  answer  in  the  affirmative. 
Neither  hero  nor  heroine  of  this  romance  is  in  any  sort  of  way  a 
lovable  character,  nor  is  there  anyone  among  them  whose  better 


to  create  titles  that  will  b( 
suggestive  not  only  of  exist 
ing  ones,  but  of  the  distil 
guished  individuals  who  bear 
or  have  borne,  them.  Whal 
can  be  more  misleading  thai 
the  name  of  Disney  as  thai 
of  the  Prime  Minister  (witt 
the  Christian  name  ol 
Robert),  coupled  with  such  n 
description  of  the  personal 
appearance  of  its  owner  as 
might  possibly  identify  the 
character  with  Lord  RIPON  't 
Then  Viscount  Broadstairt 
(Disney's  private  secretary), 
4  eldest  son  of  the  Earl  oj 
Ramsgate  '  (and,  he  might  have 
added,  '  first  cousin  to  the 
Marquis  of  Margate'),  is 
simply  the  sort  of  burlesque 
title  that  THACKERAY  might 
have  used  in  Jeames's  Diary, 
or  in  the  Yellmvplush  Papers. 
In  another  line  he  writes, 
4  BIRCH  &  Co.,  the  famous 
furnishers,'  evidently  wish- 
ing his  readers  to  n~te  how 
slily  humorous  he  can  be 
when  he  wishes  to  indicate, 
without  plainly  mentioning, 
4  Messrs.  MAPLE  &  Co.'  [or 
4  SONS,'  the  Baron  forget* 
which  it  is].  Presumably,  the 
Tri»trams  of  Blent,  being 
very  ancient  family,  were 
Catholics  up  to  the  Reforma 
tion,  and  then  saved  their 
estate  by  conforming  to  the  new  order.  This  circumstance 
must  be  taken  for  granted  in  the  story,  otherwise  Mr.  ANTHONY 
HOPE  would  have  been  confronted  by  a  difficulty  which  not 
only  would  have  given  full  scope  for  the  play  of  his  inventive 
power. v  but  would  have  intensified  the  interest  in  an  excep- 
tional manner.  It  is  not,"  says  the  Baron,  "for  me  to  give 
away  this  idea,  which  may  have  occurred  to  Mr.  ANTHONY  HOPE; 
and  in  which  he  may  have  foreseen  difficulties  which  he  refusec 
to  tackle.  However,  as  it  is,  the  interest  is  sufficient  to  carr) 
the  reader  from  a  pleasant  start  to  a  satisfactory  finish,  with- 
out causing  him  the  smallest  pang  of  regret  at  parting  with 
any  one  of  the  characters. 
voild  tout." 


The  story  has  served  its  purpose* 
THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


POLITICAL  UPHOLSTERY.  — Lord  ROSEBERY  has  subscribed  & 
towards  the  refurnishing  of  the  National  Liberal  Club.     If  thi.' 
refers  to  the  introduction  of  new  Members,  out  of  coinplimeni 
to  the  Noble  Earl,  the  work  should  be  conducted  on  the  highei 
or  Upper  House  system. 


SEPTEMBER  4,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


163 


THE    RIVALS. 

["  It  is  when  she  has  passed  the  fourth  decade 
that  a  woman  is  now  said  to  be  most  dangerous  to 
the  susceptible  of  the  other  sex.  In  carriage,  iu 
interests,  in  thought,  the  woman  of  forty  at  the 
present  day  is  as  young  as  her  daughter  less  than 
half  her  years ;  but  her  mind  is  better  balanced, 
her  judgments  are  clearer."  —  Extract  from  a 
Lady's  Paper.'] 

TAKE,  oh,  take  mamma  away, 

"Who  for  ever  is  forsworn, 
That  her  beauties  may  not  weigh 

'Gainst  the  charms  that  thee  adorn. 

Let  her  not  my  heart  enthral 
With  her  dangerous  dignity  : 

Thou  wert  to  me  all  in  all 
Till  mamma  came  sweeping  by. 

In  her  thoughts,  her  ways,  her  dress, 

Such  alluring  grace  I  find  ; 
Nor  can  I  my  love  repress 

Of  her  equal  balanced  mind. 

Roving  go  my  lover's  eyes 

Every  time  mamma  appears 
With  a  splendour  that  defies 

All  her  two  times  twenty  years. 

Take,  then,  take  mamma  away, 

Let  her  not  infatuate  me, 
Or  lead  my  poor  heart  astray, 

Till  I  have  proposed  to  thee. 


VERBAL    ENDINGS. 

A  YEAR  ago,  to  wit,  before 

The  General  Election, 
This  everlasting  campaign  wore 

The  rosiest  complexion : 
The  Boers  were  beaten  out  and  out, 

Our  men  were  simply  splendid  ; 
In  short,  the  war,  beyond  a  doubt, 

Was  practically  ended. 

But  though  the  Boers — benighted  crew^- 

Were  obviously  routed, 
Like  WELLINGTON  at  Waterloo, 

The  notion  still  they  scouted  ; 
And  so,  that  we  might  not  be  blamed 

If  war  was  not  suspended, 
We  called  it  murder  and  proclaimed 

It  technically  ended. 

And  yet,  despite  assurance  clear, 

Despite  our  best  endeavour, 
The  casualty  lists  appear 

About  as  long  as  ever. 
When  these  I  see,  it  seems  to  me 

Quite  time  that  things  were  mended, 
And  that  this  weary  war  should  be, 

Say,  genuinely  ended. 

AN  ENGLISHMAN'S  LOVE-LETTER. 

An  Open  Offer. 
LADY,  tell  me  may  I  love  thee  ? 

I  've  a  heart  can  beat  for  two  ; 
I  will  vow  there  's  none  above  thee, 

If  thou  wilt  but  let  me  woo. 
Let  me  prove  my  heart's  devotion 

With  what  grace  I  may  and  can, 


Fond  Parents.  "ISN'T  HE  A  FINK  LITTLE  CHAP?" 

Prize  Idiot.  "KuMMY  LITTLE  SHRIMP,  I  CALL  IT.    How  LONO  RAVE  rou  BAD  IT?' 


Humour  the  fantastic  notion 
Of  a  literary  man  ! 

I  '11  not  ask  that  thou  be  rather 

Under  than  above  three  score, 
Or  that  thou  shouldst  have  a  father 

With  a  million  pounds  or  more. 
Some  would  ask  a  queen  exquisite 

To  reign  o'er  their  heart's  domi- 
nion. 
I  don't.     Loveliness,  what  is  it 

But  a  matter  of  opinion  ? 

Lady,  only  let  me  love  thee 

In  a  literary  way, 
With  my  fervour  I  will  move  thee 

If  thou  wilt  but  say  I  may. 
Thou  mayst  be  as  fair  as  Venus, 

Or  a  lamentable  fright, 
Only  let  there  be  between  us 

An  arrangement  definite. 

Lady,  I  don't  ask  to  wed  thee, 
Or  to  take  thee  by  the  hand. 


If,  unconsciously,  I  've  fed  thee 
With  vain  hopes,  pray  understand- 

Decorous  will  be  such  passion 
As  I  venture  to  propose, 

Ruled  by  the  prevailing  fashion, 
And  susceptible  to  prose. 

I  shall  pour  out  my  affection 

In  a  letter  day  by  day. 
Thou  wilt  have  a  nice  collection 

By  the  end  of — April,  say. 
Letters  couched  in  phrase  erotic 

(Suitable  for  calf  or  leather), 
I  shall  touch  on  every  topic 

From  hysteria  to  the  weather. 

And  when,  in  a  dainty  cover, 

My  effusions  thou  shalt  see, 
Titled  :  Spasms  of  a  Lover, 

I  believe  thou  wilt  agree, 
Though  we  never  met  nor  mated, 

If  the  sales  we  can  maintain 
Of  the  volume  herewith  stated, 

We  shall  not  have  loved  in  vain. 


164 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[SEPTEMBER  4,  1901. 


ME.  PUNCH'S  MUSEUM. 

[It  is  stated  that  a  Museum  of  Local  Antiquities 
is  about  to  be  founded  at  Fulham.  Other  districts 
of  the  Metropolis  will  doubtless  follow  suit,  with 
curious  and  obsolete  exhibits.] 

WEST  END  COLLECTION. 

EXHIBIT  No.  1.  "Sandwich-man  (temp. 
1900)."  Preserved  in  spirits  of  wine. 
This  quaint  antique  was  one  of  the  last 
survivors  of  a  somewhat  eccentric  method 
of  advertising,  adopted  by  our  ancestors 
at  the  end  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
Of  exceedingly  dejected  and  miserable 
appearance  in  life-time  owing  to  the  diffi- 
culty of  obtaining  a  sufficiency  of  strong 
drink  on  a  pittance  of  one  shilling  per 
diem,  he  has  now  acquired  a  cheerful 
and  even  jaunty  demeanour  through  the 
superabundance  of  alcohol  now  permeat- 
ing his  system. 

No.  37.  "Part  of  a  London  Bus." 
Early  Edwardian  (VII.,  not  VI.).  These 
strange  vehicles  came  to  be  known  as 
Penny,  or  Twopenny,  Ovens,  from  the 
singular  reluctance  of  their  proprietors 
to  provide  the  passengers  with  adequate 
ventilation  in  hot  weather,  even  so  late 
as  the  beginning  of  the  twentieth  cen- 
tury. No  complete  specimen  is  known  to 
exist,  as  during  the  Great  Heat  Wave  of 
1902,  they  were  one  and  all  reduced  to 
fragments  by  their  exasperated  occu- 
pants. 

No.  666.  "  Hide  of  a  Shouting  News- 
vendor.  ' '  These  offensive  creatures  were 
at  one  time  quite  common  in  the  streets  of 
London.  They  were  remarkable  for  their 
throat  and  lungs,  which  were  made  of 
leather ;  also  for  their-  thick  skins,  im- 
pervious to  the  attentions  of  passers-by 
or  police*  They  were  gradually  tanned 
out  of  existence. 

No.  667.  "  Coat-tail  of  the  last  Hyde 
Park  Orator."  A  venerable  relic  which 
represents  all  that  could  be  secured  by 
the  constables  who  chased  its  owner  over 
the  railings.  This  sub-order  is  now 
happily  extinct,  unlike  some  of  its 
congeners  of  the  Obstructive  Party  in 
Parliament. 

No.  668.  "  Grin  ding-organ."  Period, 
late  Victorian ;  complete  with  monkey 
(stuffed),  and  working  models  of  attendant 
Italian  family.  N.B. — Any  person  handling 
this  particular  exhibit  will  be  condemned 
to  penal  servitude  for  life.  It  was  only 
with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  these 
noxious  pests  were  extirpated  from  London 
life,  as  they  long  defied  all  by-laws  and 
street  regulations.  The  instrument  is 
charged  with  the  deadly  air  of  the 
"Absent-minded  Beggar,"  which  used  to 
incite  its  hearers  to  battle,  murder  and 
sudden  death,  and  therefore  must  on  no 
account  be  resuscitated. 

No.  669.  "  Music-score  and  Obsolete 
Brass  Implements."  Supposed  to  belong 
to  a  German  band  before  these  were  sup- 


pressed. The  peculiarity  of  this  very 
primitive  composition  is  that  it  makes  no 
difference  whether  the  score  is  played 
right  side  up,  upside  down,  forwards  or 
backwards.  It  was  the  only  tune  the 
performers  knew,  and  variations  were 
obtained  by  each  taking  his  own  time  and 
key  simultaneously.  The  brass  -  ware 
appears  to  have  undergone  severe  treat- 
ment and  shows  marks  of  kicks,  probably 
aimed  at  the  operators,  who  doubtless 
used  these  exhibits  as  means  of  defence 
as  well  as  offence  in  some  emeute 

LIVES  OF  GREAT  MEN. 

No.  I.   (Concluded.) 

SOME  twenty  years  went  by.    The  school 
Where  JONES  was  deemed  a  graceless  fool 

Whom  nothing  was  excused  to, 
Still  stood  upon  a  hill-top  high, 
Its  turrets  pointing  to  the  sky 

Precisely  as  they  used  to. 
The  shouts,  the  tramp  of  boyish  feet, 
The  masters'  houses  in  the  street, 

Rented  at  quite  a  stiff  rent ; 
The  games,  the  tasks,  the  furtive  Bohn — 
All  were  the  same  ;  the  boys  alone 

Were,  though  they  seemed  not,  different. 

Oh,  day  of  days,  oh,  joy  that  I 

Should  be  this  day's  recorder ! 
The  sun  came  out,  the  hours  went  by 

In  their  appointed  order. 
The  Prefects  looked  like  little  kings, 

And  every  impish  urchin 
Wore  all  the  tasteful  Sunday  things 

He  mostly  went  to  Church  in. 
The  masters,  if  some  fault  was  done, 

Showed  a  benignant  blindness : 
They  smiled  as  though  their  life  was  one 

Unbroken  round  of  kindness. 
The  fathers  came,  an  eager  crowd, 

And  with  them  came  the  mothers ; 
Sisters  were  bashfully  allowed 

To  walk  and  talk  with  brothers. 
This  was,  in  short — permit  the  phrase — 

No  day  of  blame,  no  teach-day, 
But  just  our  day  for  prize  and  praise — 

In  fact  it  was  our  Speech-Day. 
A  boy  came  on  the  da'is  dressed 

(A  tall  and  comely  fellow) 
In  swallow-tails  and  low-cut  vest 

To  represent  Othello. 
Another,  garbed  the  same  as  he, 

Whose  pride  it  was  to  own  a 
Bass  voice,  expired  in  agony 

As  Lady  Desdemona. 
Tell,  Harpagon,  and  (Edipus, 

We  lumped  them  all  together : 
In  evening  clothes  they  spoke  to  us, 

And  pumps  of  patent  leather. 
And  though  (in    Greek)   they   feigned 
despair, 

And  then  (in  French)  grew  skittish, 
The  accents  that  they  talked  in  were 

Imperially  British. 

The  speeches  ended,  the  Headmaster  rose ; 
He  hemmed,  he  hawed,  and  then  he  blew 
his  nose, 


Spoke  of  his  pride  at  being  there  and 
greeting 

So  many  friends  at  this   their  annual 
meeting. 

Glanced,  as  he  spoke,  at  Harrow  and  at 
Eton, 

But  held  that  Rod  well's  record  was  un- 
beaten : 

In  every  point,  in  scholarship,  in  tone, 

In  sports,  in  numbers  Rodwell  held  its  own. 

Its  grounds  were  large,  its  buildings  were 
extensive, 

Its  air  was  good,  its  fees  were  inexpensive  : 

All  things,  in  fact,  combined — as  all  things 
should — 

To  make  it  better  while  they  kept  it  good. 

"Amongst  our  old  Rodwellians  one,"  he 
said, 

"  Is  here  to-day  whose  fame  is  widely 
spread ; 

A  man  of  genius,  tempered  by  sobriety, 

Of  learning  made  sublimely  great  by  piety. 

I  was  his  friend  at  school ;    I  knew  him 
well; 

No  words  of  mine  are  adequate  to  tell 

The  story  of  his  boyish  deeds — I  mean 

The  Bishop  " — here  he  glowed — "  of  Peck- 
ham  Green. 

He,  as  each  one  of  you,  of  course,  sur- 
mises,— 

You  know  his  goodness, — will  present  the 
prizes." 

Of  Bishops  many  have  I  seen, 

But  none  so  nobly  meek  or 
So  mildly  large  as  Peckham  Green, 

Whose  signature  was  "  Pecor." 
Fate  had  not  done  the  thing  by  halves, 

Nor  had  she  meanly  catered 
For  one  with  such  a  pair  of  calves 

So  admirably  gaitered. 
On  all  the  best  of  boiled  and  roast 

His  being  he  had  grounded  : 
What  came  beneath  his  chest  was  most 

Episcopally  rounded. 
He  rose,  a  gorgeous  presence,  and 

He  laid  his  views  before  us  ; 
His  voice  was  dignified  but  bland, 

His  attitude  decorous. 
"  In  all  you  do,  in  all  you  try, 

Strive  for  the  perfect  tense,  boys  ; 
If,"  he  went  on,  "  your  aim  is  high, 

You  won't  hit  low  :  that's  sense,  boys. 
When  I  was  but  a  little  boy 

I  tried  to  guide  each  action 
To  give  my  worthy  parents  joy, 

My  masters  satisfaction. 
And  now — ' '  he  paused ;  we  gave  a  shout ; 

We  understood  his  thesis ; 
Our  wild  applausive  yells  filled  out 

The  aposiopesis. 
But  while  the  cheers  still  rent  the  sky, 

And  while  the  air  was  humming, 
Dim  memories  of  days  gone  by 

Kept  obstinately  coming. 
Somehow,  I  felt,  I  knew  those  tones — 

Great  Zeus !  how  shall  I  tell  it  ? — 
I  recognised  the  idiot  JONES 

In  Peckham's  portly  prelate ! 

R.  C.  L. 


SEPTEMBER  4,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  165 


HOME,    SWEET    HOME!" 

British  Paterfamilias.  "WELL,  IF  IT  DOESN'T  RUN  TO  A  FOREIGN  TRIP  THIS  YEAR,  WE  SEEM  PRETTY  HAPPY  AT  HOME  !" 
["  In  most  parts  of  the  Continent  British  tovirists  are  said  to  be  very  scarce." — Daily  Paper. ~\ 


SEPTEMBER  4,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


167 


"  MANCEUVRES." 

"WELL-KEPT  lawns,  and  marquees  long, 
Of  Unionists  almighty  throng  ; 
See,  they  come  in  thousands  strong 

In  the  season  of  Manoeuvres. 
In  "  country  dress  "  they  're  all  arrayed, 
The  staunchest  ones,  and  those  who've 

strayed ; 

?or  demonstrating  is  simply  grand,  * 
"With    lunch    thrown    in    and    a   vintage 

brand 

As  part  of  the  mad  Manoeuvres, 
fhey  would  sooner  leave  for  Moors  and 

grouse, 

Jut  they  deem  it  wise  outside  the  House 
to  explain  what  they  propose  to  do 
Do  settle  the  fractious  Irish  crew  ; 
So  forty  odd  of  the  rowdy  boys 
They  seek  to  rob  of  St.  Stephen's  joys. 
[f  the  forty  left  make  double  noise, 

Well,  what  of  these  new  Manoeuvres  ? 

Yeoman  back  from  veldt  and  fray, 
feoman  waiting  his  promised  pay, 
Haunts  Pall  Mall  from  day  to  day 

Because  of  its  mad  Manoeuvres. 
'The  pay-sheet's  lost,"   someone   com- 
plains. 

[The  same  remark  applies  to  brains.) 
le  's  paid  one  score,  but  he 's  got  to  wait 
Before  his  own  's  wiped  off  the  slate, 

"With  these  muddled  up  Manoeuvres. 
But  what 's  the  odds  ?    He 's  only  fought ; 
ust  been   where    the    "jolly  lesson's" 

taught 

[For  "jolly  "  it's  called  in  poet's  song). 
Jut  he's  "jolly"  sure  it's  "jolly"  wrong, 
rhough  cash  is  due,  he  should  have  to 

stay 

Waiting  till  Government  sees  its  way 
To  follow  the  Jingo  cry  and  "  pay," 
And  stop  these  mean  Manoeuvres. 
HUAN  MEE. 


FAIR'S   FAIR(?). 

[Mr.  HAVELOCK  ELLIS,  in  an  article  on  the 
Domparative  Abilities  of  the  Fair  and  the  Dark  in 
lie  last  Monthly  Review,  proves  by  statistics  that 
nen  of  action  are  generally  fair,  while  men  of 
bought  are  dark.  Those  who  have  the  highest 
'index  of  pigmentation,"  and  are  therefore 
airest,  are  political  reformers,  sailors  and  soldiers ; 
it  the  dark  end  of  the  scale  are  actresses  and 
irofessional  beauties.] 

POETS,  since  the  days  of  HOMER 
Down  to  ONIONS,  all  have  erred, 

Cherishing  a  sad  misnomer 
Making  all  their  odes  absurd. 

Briefly,  what  I  have  to  tell  is 

From  a  current  magazine, 
Where  ungallant  Mr.  ELLIS 

Says  that  "fair"  not  fair  should 
mean. 

Paradoxic  is  his  thesis — 
Beauty  's  dark,  and  dark  is  fair, 

Fair  is  ugly  ;  so  to  pieces 
Idylls  fall  beyond  repair. 


WELL    BROUGHT    UP. 

"NOW  THEN,  MY  LITTLE  MEN,  DIDN'T  YOU  SEE  THAT  BOARD  ON  THAT  TREE?1 

"YES." 

"WELL,  THEN,  CAN'T  YOU  READ?" 

"YES;  BUT  WE  NEVER  LOOK  AT  ANYTHING  MARKED  '  PRIVATE.1  " 


Neither  flaxen-haired  nor  florid 

Is  the  veritable  belle  ; 
Figures  with  percentage  horrid 

Thus  our  pained  assent  compel ! 

This  iconoclast  unruly 

Dares  the  dreadful  fact  to  hint :  — 
"Fair  ones  "  should  be  darkies  truly, 

Or,  at  least,  a  swarthy  tint. 

In  his  scale  of  pigmentation 
First  come  socialists  and  tars ; 

They  're  the  fairest  of  the  nation, 
Followed  next  by  sons  of  Mars. 

Last  upon  the  list  he  places 
Those  with  colour-index  low  ; 

Darkest  are  the  brightest  Graces 
Whom  as  actresses  we  know. 

Spite  of  powder  and  peroxide, 
Dark  is  light  and  gay  and  bright ; 


Ladies  will  their  auburn  locks  hide 
Now  with  wigs  as  black  as  night ! 

So  the  bard  will  sing,  when  jilted, 
"  If  she  be  not  dark  to  me  " 

(Though  the  phrase  is  fairly  stilted), 
"  What  care  I  how  dark  she  be?  " 

Farewell,  author  greatly  daring — 
Lest  the  fair  think  you  unfair, 

And,  when  next  you  forth  are  faring, 
Hold  Judge  LYNCH'S  fair,  beware  ! 
A.  A.  S. 


QUERY  BY  OLD  WESTMINSTER  WAG. — It 
is  to  be  noted  that  Whitehall  and 
Parliament  Street  are  now  being  relaid 
with  blocks  of  red  gum.  Is  this  in  any 
way  connected  with  the  healthy  state  of 
the  mouth  of  the  Nation  at  St.  Stephens  ? 


168 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[SEPTEMBER  4,  1901. 


THE  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 
A  GREAT  THOUGHT  FOR  EVERY  DAY  IN  THE  YEAR. 

SECOND  SERIES. 
VIII.— THE    MRS.    HUMPHRY   WARD    SECTION. 

(Continued  from  Aiiyust.) 

AUGUST  17TH.— The  path  up  to  the  moor  lay  through  hanging 
woods  lush  -with  dew,  alive  with  the  stir  of  nature.  HELLSMERE'S 
eyes,  lifted  from  the  page  of  HUME'S  Essays,  fell  on  a  great  fir- 
trunk  with  its  russet-red  that  seemed,  under  a  cloudy  sky,  to 
retain  the  fire  of  departed  suns.  How  was  that  for  an  image  of 
the  survival  of  religious  emotions  still  aglow  with  the  colour 
of  discarded  creeds  ? 

18TH,  19TH. — The  train  of  thought  to  which  this  figure  gave 
an  impulse  was  disturbed  by  a  flash  of  gold  plumage.  A  cock- 
pheasant  went  whirring  through  the  brake.  A  squirrel,  beady- 
eyed  and  tawny-brushed,  peered  from  a  pine  and  pursued  his 
spiral  ascent.  Here  and  there  went  the  bobbing  of  rabbits' 
tails  speeding  to  shelter.  Over  the  broad  leaves  of  water- 
lilies  lying  flat  on  the  surface  of  a  dusky  pool,  a  moor-hen 
hurried,  dryfoot,  like  Israel's  host,  to  the  further  bank.  HELLS- 
MERE  became  subconsciously  aware  that  all  these  furred  and 
feathered  creatures  were  actuated  by  a  common  passion  for 
self-preservation,  expressing  itself  in  various  manifestations 
according  to  their  respective  shapes  and  habits.  What  more 
natural !  What  else,  indeed,  was  the  human  cry  for  immor- 
tality but  this  same  instinct  in  a  form  perhaps  more  spiritual, 
certainly  more  sanguine  ?  Could  it  be  possible,  he  asked  him- 
self, that  the  analogy  went  further  ?  That  the  Powers  above, 
in  the  careless  calm  attributed  to  them  by  the  Lucretian 
philosophy,  had  no  deeper  designs  on  our  existence  than  he, 
HELLSMERE,  had  at  that  moment  on  these  denizens  of  the 
woods  ? 

20TH. — And  yet  with  them  it  was  not  mere  untutored  instinct 
that  warned  them  to  seek  safety.  There  had  been  rude  and 
bitter  experience.  Pheasants  had  been  killed  ;  though  not,  he 
hoped,  in  August.  As  for  rabbits,  they  were  a  perpetual  prey. 
What,  indeed,  was  his  objective  at  that  moment?  Was  it  not 
the  destruction  of  certain  forms  of  life  ?  primarily  the  grouse, 
incidentally  the  hare,  and,  conceivably,  the  snipe  ?  A  divine 
shame  smote  his  heart  as  he  felt  in  the  game-pocket  of  his  coat 
and  brought  out  a  copy  of  the  Canticle  of  the  Creatures. 

21sT,  22ND. — And  now  the  moor  stretched  before  him,  sweeping 
up  the  long  low  braes  of  Athol,  chequered  with  purple  patches, 
here  flaunting  the  conscious  symmetry  of  a  draught-board,  there 
counterfeiting  the  dappled  shadows  of  the  milch-kine  of  Apollo. 
The  guns  spread  out  into  line.  The  dogs,  unleashed,  bounded 
forward  with  drooped  necks  and  sentient  nostrils  lifted  up  the 
wind.  Not  even  then  could  HELLSMERE  escape  from  his  attitude 
of  mental  absorption.  Though  an  early  predilection  for  ratting 
had  remained  among  the  most  poignant  memories  of  his  child- 
hood, his  subsequent  trend  had  been  towards  metaphysics 
rather  than  pure  animalism.  Of  a  disposition  too  analytical  for 
the  comparative  directness  and  simplicity  of  vision  required  in 
a  perfect  sportsman,  he  had  sometimes,  on  occasions  like  the 
present,  been  tempted  to  follow  up  a  line  of  abstract  reasoning 
—associated,  perhaps,  with  the  identity  of  his  ego — even  when  a 
crisis,  such  as  the  opportunity  for  a  right  and  left,  had  seemed 
to  demand  instantaneous  action.  This  tendency  had  from  time 
to  time  been  detrimental  in  its  effects  upon  the  bag. 

23RD. — And  to-day  he  could  not  throw  off  a  certain  obsession 
of  mind  caused  by  his  reflections  upon  the  Canticle  of  ST. 
FRANCIS.  On  reaching  the  commencement  of  the  beat  he  had 
handed  this  work,  along  with  HUME'S  Essays,  Bishop  BERKELEY'S 
Sermons,  and  Sesame  and  Lilies  to  the  man  who  was  carrying 
his  cartridges ;  but  the  words,  "Praise  Heaven  for  our  sister 
the  grouse,"  kept  ringing  in  his  ears. 

24TH. — The  question,  too,  of  intuition  in  dogs   arrested   his 


fancy.  He  derived  an  appreciable  ecstasy  from  differentiating 
between  the  instinct  of  a  pointer  for  the  scent  of  the  living, 
and  that  of  a  retriever  for  the  scent  of  the  dead  or  dying. 
How  far  were  these  qualities  inherent  in  their  natures,  and  how 
far  were  they  a  matter  of  training  ?  And  why,  in  whatever 
proportions  inherited  and  acquired,  were  they  more  permanent 
in  animals  than  in  men?  Why,  for  instance,  had  he  outgrown 
his  taste  for  Presbyterianism  ?  and  was  it  possible  for  him  to 
revert  to  it  by  the  mere  process  of  reproducing  the  geographical 
conditions  which  evolved  it? 

25TH. — Fascinated  by  the  field  of  argument  opened  up  by 
these  enigmas,  he  was  dimly  conscious  of  the  subdued  voice 
of  the  head-keeper  inviting  him  to  "take  a  point."  Mechani- 
cally he  walked  towards  the  dog,  that  stood  poised  like  a  rigid 
simulacrum  of  itself ;  mechanically  he  advanced  beyond  it, 
moving  as  in  a  dream;  faintly  murmuring,  "For  our  sister 
the  grouse." 

26TH. — A  sudden  nausea  seized  him,  to  the  partial  oblitera- 
tion of  the  landscape.  Was  it  to  be  tolerated  that  humanity, 
not  content  with  the  use  of  lethal  weapons  diabolically  pre- 
cise, must  needs  employ  the  instincts  of  one  of  the  lower  orders 
of  creation  for  the  annihilation  of  a  sister  existence  ?  Surely 
the  whole  question  of  our  moral  responsibility  to  these  lower 
forms,  whether  we  label  ourselves  Positivist,  Deist,  01 
Orthodox,  was  here  involved.  If  we  hypothecate  the  exis- 
tence of  higher  powers,  can  we  count  it  consistent  with 
their  Divine  nature  to  play  off  humanity  against  humanity  for 
their  own  better  sport  ?  A  Pagan  doctrine,  only  excusable  in 
the  makers  of  Trojan  and  collateral  myths. 

27TH  TO  29TH.— And  yet— but  it  was  at  this  point  of  hi* 
internal  argument  that  the  birds  got  up  and  went  away  un- 
scathed. Nor  was  this  all ;  for  the  lamentable  accident 
which  ensued  was  a  further  tribute  to  the  complexity  ol 
HELLSMERE'S  organism.  The  desperate  character  of  his  reflec- 
tions had  reduced  him  to  a  state  of  acute  scepticism,  in  which 
he  even  permitted  himself  to  doubt  the  actuality  of  all 
phenomena.  A  wave  of  subjectivity  passed  over  him.  Meanwhile 
he  had,  as  if  automatically,  raised  his  gun  in  the  direction  oi 
one  of  the  rising  birds  and  placed  his  finger  on  the  trigger 
of  the  right  barrel.  The  natural  completion  of  this  action 
was  arrested  by  an  inanition  of  will-power  consequent  upon 
the  absence  of  his  mind.  The  arrest  was,  however,  only 
temporary.  Before  he  could  disengage  his  mind  from  the  con- 
clusion that  all  phenomena  were  alike  in  the  quality  of  non- 
existence,  he  had  performed  a  kind  of  reflex  movement — the 
result  of  associated  ideas — and  pressed  the  trigger  home.  This 
happened — in  even  less  time  than  has  been  required  for  the 
narration  of  events — at  the  moment  when  his  gillie,  after 
remarking,  "Hoot!  mon  ;  they 're  awa',"  and  advancing  with- 
out further  comment,  had  reached  the  position  vacated  by  the 
bird  at  which  HELLSMERE  had  pointed  his  gun. 

30TH. — By  great  good  fortune,  the  major  and  more  crowded 
portion  of  the  discharge  was  intercepted  by  Bishop  BERKELEY'S 
Sermons,  which  the  man  was  carrying  in  an  empty  game-bag 
slung  across  his  back.  Only  the  outlying  shot  lodged  in  his 
actual  body.  To  the  inconvenience  caused  by  these  pellets 
HELLSMERE  alluded  coldly  in  the  language  of  Christian  Science, 
urging  that  the  injury  was  apparent  rather  than  real ;  but  when 
representations  were  made  to  him  subsequently  in  the  gun- 
room, he  cancelled  his  obligations  in  conformity  with  the  usual 
tariff  arranged  for  these  regrettable  incidents,  the  scale  of 
charges  being  regulated  according  to  the  part  of  the  person 
affected. 

31ST.  —  The  account  of  this  contretemps,  appearing  in  the 
North  British  papers  on  the  very  day  of  the  publication  of 
his  work  on  Italian  Liberty,  created  a  great  sensation  in  the 
literary  world,  and  established  the  success  of  the  volume.  - 
was  natural,  therefore,  that  his  immediate  accession  to  the^ 
ranks  of  the  Broader  Vegetarianism  should  have  been  a  painful) 
shock  to  the  friends  who  had  prophesied  for  him  a  political 


SEPTEMBER  4,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


169 


career.  Later,  his  assumption  of  friar's 
orders  in  the  Brotherhood  of  Assisi  caused 
little  surprise.  The  transition  was  re- 
garded as  the  logical  issue  of  his  pre- 
vious departure.  O.  S. 


TO  ONE  I  LOVE  NOT. 

You  came  unsought,  unseen, 
"When  summer  skies  grew  clouded, 

And  blasts  blew  chill  and  keen, 
And  fields  in  mist. were  shrouded. 

You  found  me,  as  some  guest 

Unwelcome,  unexpected, 
Who  claims  from  one  his  best, 

"Who  may  not  be  neglected. 

And  at  your  sojourn  though 
Tended  and  nursed  and  petted, 

Yet,  when  at  length  you  go, 
You  leave  me  unregretted. 

I  loved  you  not  ?  ah,  true, 
Yet  was  my  hate  no  treason, 

For  cold  I,  too,  found  you — 
My  first  bad  cold  this  season. 


SEASIDE    SOLITUDE. 

HIGHBUR  YB  ARN-ON-SE  A  . 
(From  our  Special  Commissioner.) 

DEAR  Mr.  PUNCH,  —  This  is  a  spot, 
which,  according  to  your  instructions,  I 
reached  last  evening.  In  these  same  in- 
structions you  described  it  as  "  a  growing 
place."  1  fancy  it  must  be  of  the  aspara- 
gus order,  that  vegetable,  as  you  are  well 
aware,  taking  three  years  in  which  to 
develop  itself  to  perfection.  Highbury- 
barn-on-Sea  is,  I  regret  to  say,  in  the  first 
stage — judged  from  an  asparagus  point  of 
view.  I  cannot  entertain  the  enthusiastic 
description  of  the  candid  correspondent. 
(I  refer  to  the  cutting  forwarded  by  you 
from  an  eminent  daily  paper  under  the 
heading,  "By  the  Golden  Ocean.")  He 
describes  it  as  "an  oasis  on  the  desert 
coast  of  Great  Britain."  Far  be  it  from 
me  to_deny  the  desert — all^I  object  to  is 
the  oasis. 

I  ask  you,  Sir,  if  you  ever,  in  the  course 
of  the  travels  in  which  you  have  out- 
rivalled  STANLEY,  CAMERON,  LIVINGSTONE, 
HARRY  DE  WINDT,  and,  may  I  add,  DE 
ROUGEMONT,  ever  came  across  an  oasis 
consisting  of  two  score  villas,  built  with 
scarcely  baked  bricks,  reposing  on  an  arid 
waste  amid  a  number  of  tumbled -down 
cottages,  and  surmounted  by  a  mighty 
workhouse-like  hotel  looking  down  on  a 
pre-Adamite  beershop  ? 

The  sky  was  blue,  the  air  was  fresh,  the 
"waves  had  retreated  to  sea  when  I  arrived 
in  a  jolting  omnibus  at  Highburybarn-on- 
Sea,  and  deposited  myself  and  luggage  at 
the  Metropolitan  Hotel.  A  page-boy  was 
playing  airs  on  a  Jew's  -  harp  when  I 
alighted  on  the  sand-driven  steps  of  the 
hostelry.  He  seemed  surprised  at  my 
ival,  but  in  most  respectful  fashion 


Mrs.  0' 'Brady.  "SHURE  oi  WANT  TO  BANK  TWINTY  POUNDS.     CAN  I  DRAW  IT  OUT  QUICK 

IF   I   WANT  IT  ? " 

Postmaster.  "  INDADE,  MRS.  O'BRADY,  YOU  CAN  DRAW  IT  OUT  TO-MORROW  IP  YOU  GIVE 
ME  A  WAKE'S  NOTICE  !  " 


placed  his  organ  of  minstrelsy  in  his 
jacket  pocket,  the  while  he  conveyed  my 
Gladstone  bag  to  my  apartment,  secured 
by  an  interview  with  an  elderly  dame, 
who  gave  an  intelligent  but  very  wan 
smile  when  I  suggested  dinner.  She 
referred  me  to  the  head  waiter.  This 
functionary  pointed  in  grandiose  fashion 
to  the  coffee-room,  wherein  some  artistic 
wall  -  papering  wag  had  committed 
atrocities  on  which  it  would  be  libel  to 
comment. 

There  was  only  one  occupant,  a  short 
clean-shaven  gentleman  with  white  hair 
and  a  red  nose,  who  was  apparently 
chasing  space.  This  turned  out  to  be  a 
militant  blue-bottle.  Meantime,  the 
head-waiter  produced  his  bill  of  fare,  or 
rather  the  remains  of  it.  Nearly  every 
dish  had  apparently  been  consumed,  for 
the  most  tempting  plats  were  removed 
from  the  menu  by  a  liberal  application  of 
red  pencil.  Finally,  I  decided  on  a  fried 
sole  and  a  steak.  The  white-haired  man 
still  pursued  the  blue-bottle. 

I  went  up  to  my  room,  and  after 
washing  with  no  soap  I  returned  to  the 
coffee-room.  The  blue-bottle  still  had 


the  best  of  it.  The  head-waiter,  after 
the  lapse  of  an  hour,  informed  me  that 
the  sole  would  not  be  long.  When  it 
arrived,  I  found  that  he  spoke  the  truth. 
If  you  have  any  recollection  of  the  repast 
which  Porthos  endured  when  entertained 
by  Madame  Coquenard,  you  will  have  some 
notion  of  my  feast.  The  head-waiter  told 
me  that  some  bare-legged  persons  who 
had  waded  into  the  water  were  shrimp- 
catchers.  I  only  wished  that  I  were  one 
of  them,  for  at  least  they  found  food. 

Later  on  I  retired  to  rest.  I  was 
visited  in  the  hours  of  darkness,  to 
which  I  had  consigned  myself,  by  a  horde 
of  mosquitoes,  imported,  so  I  was  informed 
in  the  morning,  by  American  travellers, 
who  never  tipped  the  waiters.  I  fulfilled 
their  obligations,  still  gazing  on  the 
auburn  sand-drift,  still  looking  on  the  sea, 
still  feeling  hungry  and  murmuring  to  my- 
self, 4 '  Highbury barn-on-Sea  would  be  a 
capital  place  for  children,  if  I  could  only 
see  any  cows."  A  melancholy  cocoa-nut 
shy  by  the  station  appeared  to  afford  all 
the  milk  in  the  place. 

Yours  despondently, 

NlBBLETHORPE  NOBBS. 


170 


PUNCH,  0$  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[SEPTEMBER  4,  1901. 


A  TEN  DAYS'  TRIP. 

FOR  "all  the  good  it  might  do  me  "  (and  it  has  done  a  lot)  I 
was  recommended  by  an  eminent  medical  authority  to  go  to 
Norway  and  back — ten  days'  trip.  "  Where  do  I  start  from?  " 
I  asked.  "Oh,"  he  replied  somewhat  brusquely,  as,  having 
many  patients  waiting,  he  showed  me  out,  "go  to  Hull."  I 
thanked  him  and  withdrew.  I  decided  on  further  inquiry,  not 
to  go  to  Hull,  but  to  take  boat  to  Christiania  from  Tilbury. 
In  this  way  I  should  have  more  sea,  more  air,  less  train, 
less  trouble.  The  next  thing  was  to  secure  berths  aboard  the 
gallant  ship,  the  Wilson-liner  Orlando,  in  plenty  of  time,  as 
during  the  summer  holidays  the  cabins  are  ' '  bespoke ' '  quite  a 
month  in  advance.  Being  a  mere  raw,  that  is,  un-Cook'd 
English  traveller,  ignorant  of  the  Norwegian  language,  and 
doubtful  as  to  generally  received  opinion  that  "English  and 
French  will  take  you  anywhere"  [they  won't,  as  a  matter 
of  fact ;  or,  if  they  do,  they  leave  you  where  they  've  taken 
you  and  refuse  to  bring  you  back  again],  I  sent  a  mercurial 
boy  to  purchase  me  an  inexpensive,  handy  and  pocketable 
Cook's  Tourists'  Handbook  for  Norway.  Primarily  intended  for 
a.  "  personally  conducted  "  Coo.kian  tourist,  this  book  doubtless 
fulfils  its  purpose.  But  a  tourist,  unattached  and  unbound,  like 
myself  (and  Prometheus),  by  any  vows  or  solemn  obligations  to 
the  Chief  Cooks,  will  do  better  for  himself  if  he  procure  some 
other  guide-book  whose  line  is,  to  adapt  technically  theatrical 
language,  the  "  general  utility  business." 

First,  in  this  Cook-ery  Book  I  fail  to  find  the  Norwegian  for 
"bath."  There  is  "  Vamt  Vaud"  for  "warm  water;"  but 
the  words  for  "hot"  and  "cold  "  do  not  reward  my  search. 
The  Boots,  who,  according  to  the  printed  instructions  on  the 
card  in  the  bedroom,  is  summoned  per  three  tinkles  of  electric 
bell,  shakes  despairing  head,  as  also  does  the  Chambermaid, 
whom  two  tinkles  "a  fa  carte"  have  added  to  our  conclave; 
we  all  three  pantomime  to  each  other  and  shake  our  heads  hope- 
lessly. Suddenly  a  happy  thought  strikes  the  Chambermaid, 
and  she  rushes  off  frantically,  returning  with  a  captive  waiter 
slim  and  light-haired,  who  not  only  speaks  but  understands 
English.  He  appears  as  the  Dens  ex  machina,  translates  and 
explains.  "  Ah !  "  exclaim  the  Chambermaid  and  Boots,  throw- 
ing up  their  hands  and  smiling  brightly,  as  if  the  cloud  that 
had  threatened  to  obscure  the  sunshine  in  their  lives  had  been 
for  once  and  ever  removed. 

Then,  "Happy  thought," — after  my  next  difficulty,  not  worth 
dwelling  upon  here,  is  over, — I  write  down  my  orders  for  the 
two  following  days,  and  confide  these  instructions  to  the  poly- 
glottic  porter  of  the  Hotel  Victoria,  who,  being  a  first-rate 
specimen  of  "  porter  with  a  head  on,"  is  worth  any  number  of 
Victorian  chambermaids  and  bootses,  however  ready  and  will- 
ing, with  a  fair  sprinkling  of  nimble  waiters  thrown  in. 

Then,  in  this  Cook-ery  Book,  where  are  the  Norwegian  names 
for  the  days  of  the  week ?  Where  the  word  for  "to-morrow  "  ? 
That  the  non-arrival  of  "to-morrow"  is  proverbial  may  serve 
as  an  excuse  for  its  absence  from  this  vocabulary.  Messrs. 
COOK  might  with  advantage  add  a  page  or  two  to  their  "voca- 
bulary and  useful  phrases  ' '  without  overburdening  either  book 
or  tourist. 

For  example,  this  eighteenpenny  handbook  gives  me,  among 
other  items  of  comparatively  useless  or,  at  least,  superfluous 
knowledge,  "the  Legal  Boating  Tariff."  Now,  how  does  this 
affect  the  mere  ordinary  tourist,  myself  for  example  ?  Am  I 
going  to  remain  in  Norway  to  learn  the  language  and  the 
intricacies  of  the  law  simply  to  bring  an  action  against  some 
boatman  for  extortion?  It  sounds  improbable.  This,  and 
certain  other  pieces  of  gratuitous  information,  I  should  class 
under  the  head  of  "luxurious"  ;  and  putting  these  aside,  let 
us  see  how  this  "guide,  philosopher  and  friend"  deals  with 
"necessities."  At  haphazard  I  take  an  example.  There  is  no 
form  of  words  to  be  addressed  to  the  chambermaid  asking  her 
to  "make  the  room  while  I  am  out."  COOK'S  tourists  employ- 


ing this  vocabulary  in  Norway  can  ask  for  "meat,"  "  bacon," 
"fish"  (generically),  "supper  and  breakfast"  (neither  in 
detail) ;  but  they  would  find  themselves  at  fault  should  they 
desire  "soup,"  "potatoes,"  "cutlets,"  or  "wine."  However, 
the  last  can  be  ordered  by  selection  from  the  "  carte." 

Cook's  Guide  obliges  us  with  "numerals  "up  to  a  thousand, 
which,  of  course,  is  uncommonly  useful.  "  Please,"  "  thanks," 
and  "how  much?"  are  all  there,  "  all  right  "  and  "take  my 
things."  The  regulations  as  to  "Close  time  for  game"  are 
most  useful  to  "the  sportsman,"  but  are  waste  paper  to  the 
ordinary  voyageur. 

As  for  coinage  in  "Kronin"  and  "Ohre,"  I  learnt  more  in 
five  minutes  from  the  intelligent  hall-porter  at  the  Hotel  Vic- 
toria than  I  did  from  a  prolonged  study  of  the  "  tables  "  in  this 
Norwegian  Cook-ery  Book. 

Mem. — For  "Wilson  Line"  tickets  apply  to  Messrs.  BOTT. 
Name  easily  remembered  "apropos  de  Bott."  At  their  office 
you  will  be  treated  with  the  most  polite  attention  to  all  the 
details  of  your  requirements,  and  you  will  have  only  yourself 
to  blame  if  there  is  one  single  detail  of  the  tour  left  un- 
explained. 

The  one  drawback  at  the  commencement  is  the  starting  from 
Fenchurch  Street  Station.  Such  an  inconvenient  place  !  So 
narrow,  cribbed,  confined  !  Such  a  crowd  of  people  coming  out 
and  going  in  !  Porters  at  their  wits'  end  !  Cabs,  trucks,  carts, 
vehicles  of  all  sorts,  rammed  and  jammed  up  together,  appar- 
ently in  a  kind  of  back  yard.  Desperate  struggles  through 
crowd  after  bidding  "aureuoir"  to  the  porter  who  has  our  bags 
and  baggage  on  his  truck.  Will  we  ever  see  him  again  in  this 
world  ?  I  say  "we  "  not  "  editorially,"  but  as  two  of  us  travel- 
ling. Then  we  are  hustled  and  bustled  on  to  the  platform. 
(Summer,  mind  you,  and  about  95°  in  the  shade.)  "  Oh  where 
and  oh  where  is  my  little  Porter?  Oh  where  on  earth  can 
he  be?" — Old  song  adapted  to  occasion — "Oh  where  and 
oh  where  has  my  (anything)  Porter  gone?"  Train  crammed. 
Carriages  nearly  full :  mostly  quite  full.  Enfin  !  At  the  latest 
moment,  porter  with  truck  and  all  luggage !  Nay,  I  will  not 
use  strong  language — so — Bless  thee,  my  porter  ! 

Now  then,  all  in  to  begin  the  journey,  and  away  we  go  along 
the  most  depressing  line  of  country,  wet  or  shine,  ever  devised 
by  mortal  engineer,  until  we  reach  Tilbury.  Melting  day: 
exeunt  collars  ;  wristbands  limp.  More  porters  ;  more  trucks : 
on  to  quay.  New  porters,  a  trifle  more  nautical  by  this  time,  as 
being  in  keeping  with  our  approach  to  river  and  sea,  and  remind- 
ing me  of  some  of  the  characters  so  graphically  described  by 
Mr.  JACOBS  in  Many  Cargoes.  At  last  our  "  cargo  "  is  on  board 
the  good  ship  Orlando ;  and  we  are  speedily  shown  to  our 
cabins,  which  seem  all  "  trim  and  taut,"  as  becomes  a  well-tried 
passenger  ship  that  does  the  Viking  business  between  England 
and  Norway,  belonging  to  the  "  Wilson  liner  fleet." 

I  am  glad  to  come  aboard:  I  anticipate  a  first-rate  cruise: 
I  look  forward  to  a  restoration  to  perfect  health,  and,  with  a 
kind  of  amateur  emigrant's  feeling,  to  seeing  a  new  life  in  a 
world  entirely  fresh  to  me  within  the  next  few  days  ;  though, 
as  I  bid  farewell  to  Tilbury,  it  occurs  to  me  that  I  might  as 
well  be  going  away  ' '  for  a  year  and  a  day, ' '  as  for  only  a  brief 
holiday.  Quite  up  to  time  the  bell  rings;  "any  more  for 
shore"  return  by  the  tender — there  are  many  "tender  fare- 
wells," waving  of  handkerchiefs,  shoutings,  injunctions  to  mes- 
sengers and  telegraph  boys,  and  then — we  are  away  ! 

Suddenly  an  old  song  and  old  tune,  not  sung  or  heard  of  for 
years,  occurs  to  me, — it  is  "  When  I  beheld  the  anchor  iveighed," 
— which  takes  me  back  ....  However,  I  don't  want  to  be  taken 
back,  but  am  glad  to  recognise  that  we  are  gliding  onwards, 
dodging  vessels  to  the  right  of  us,  vessels  to  the  left  of  us, 
barges,  P.  &  O.  steamers,  and  any  amount  of  shipping,  opening 
out  to  us  a  zigzag  course  as  the  Orlando  steadily  steams 
seawards. 

The  next  point  on  the  horizon  is  luncheon  at  1.30  punctually. 
All  hands  to  the  menu. 


SEPTEMBER  4,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


171 


One  of  the  Wagstaff  family  is  on  board, 
and  takes  the  first  opportunity  of  making 
himself  known  to  me.  "Good  ship, 
Orlando,"  he  says ;  "  only  why  that 
name?"  I  don't  know:  why  not?  "Well, 
my  dear  Sir,"  he  returns,  with  an  emphasis 
on  the  "dear,"  "because,  why  call  the 
ship  Orlando,  when  it  goes  '  O'er  Sea 
O'?" 

I  groan  in  spirit.  WAGSTAFF  must  be 
repressed.  Mentally  I  utter  a  hope  that 
he  may  not  be  a  good  sailor.  Fortunately, 
he  is  placed  at  a  distant  table,  where  his 
old  jokes  are  appreciated  by  an  entirely 
new  company,  and  where  he  can  be  amus- 
ing without  being  vulgar,  as  long,  at  all 
events,  as  we  remain  in  the  river. 


THE    COMING    NAVAL    MANCEUVRES. 

(A  yarn — for  consumption  by  the  Marines 
— of  Fleet  Street  and  the  sea.) 

"IT  is  very  serious,"  said  the  senior 
editor,  as  he  read  the  document  handed  to 
him  by  one  of  his  colleagues.  "So  the 
Admiralty  will  permit  no  correspondents 
to  attend  the  operations  ?  " 

"It  is  indeed  the  case,"  returned  the 
other.  "  Although  the  fact  was  published 
in  the  columns  of — — ,"  and  the  name  of  a 
well-known  journal  was  murmured,  "it  is 
undeniably  true." 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  to  be  done," 
cried  the  senior  editor,  striking  with  his 
fist  the  reading-desk  in  front  of  him. 
"  We  must  charter  a  vessel  of  our  own, 
and  start  on  a  voyage  of  discovery." 

"Agreed  !  "  cried  the  other  editors. 

"  It  will  be  only  what  we  shall  have  to 
do  in  the  next  land  war  if  the  censorship 
retains  the  mastery." 

"Just  so,"  cried  the  other  editors. 

And  thus  came  it  to  pass  that  The  Lively 
Sally  —  immediately  re-christened  The 
Fourth  Estate — was  purchased  for  the 
benefit  of  the  Press. 

jje  3|c  :fc  'Jf.  # 

"Now  who  shall  command  her  ?  "  asked 
the  reporter  with  the  longest  service. 

"Why  not  you?  "  suggested  a  youngster 
who  had  just  come  from  the  completion  of 
his  education  on  the  banks  of  the  Isis,  and 
•was  fond  of  sport. 

"  Always  willing  to  oblige,  but  the  fact 
is,  I  am  not  quite  sure  whether  I  know 
the  difference  between  a  marline-spike 
and  a  pair  of  main  braces." 

"  Next,  please !  "  put  in  a  colleague  who 
had  given  up  the  Civil  Service  for 
journalism.  "What  do  you  know  about 
navigation  ? ' ' 

"  Well,  not  much,  except  when  I  am 
getting  up  an  Admiralty  case.  Fact  is, 
too,  that  my  briefs  belonged  more  to 
Probate  and  Divorce  than  to  the  other 
business  of  the  division — I  mean  to  say, 
when  I  was  in  practice." 

Then  of  a  sudden  there  was  a  cry  for 
"the  Admiral." 


DIARY    OF    AN    AUTOM  OBI  LIST    ABROAD. 

TANGIER,  FRIDAY. — "Oun    CAR   MAKES   A  DEEP    IMPRESSION  IN  MOROCCO.    ALFONSO, 

MY  MECHANIC,    WHO   ACCOMPANIES   ME,    THINKS   IT   IS  NOT  A   GOOD   COUNTRY  FOR    MOTORING. 
HE   SEEMS  TO  FEEL  THE  HE4.T   MORE  THAN   I   DO." 


"Well,  yes,"  he  admitted,  "I  have 
been  a  naval  officer.  But  then,  you  see, 
I  have  been  everything  else.  When  I 
commanded  the  North  Pole  Fusiliers, 
I  recollect " 

But  there  was  no  time  for  a  yarn.  The 
Fourth  Estate,  nee  The  Lively  Sally, 
steamed  gallantly  away,  and  was  soon 
miles  distant  from  shore. 

"With  your  permission,"  said  the  newly 
appointed  C.O.,  "  I  will  open  our  sealed 
orders.  As  I  expected.  Short  and  sweet. 
They  say,  '  Find  out  what  you  can,  and 
transmit  same  by  wireless  telegraphy.' 
All  right,  we  will." 

The  Press  boat  went  here,  the  Press 
boat  went  there,  the  Press  boat  went 
everywhere. 

"Ahoy!"  hailed  one  of  the  specials, 
under  the  rightful  impression  that  he  was 
nautical  to  the  tips  of  his  fingers.  "  I 
think  I  can  see  the  remains  of  a  destroyer 
fathoms  deep  under  water." 

Field-glasses  and  search-lights  were 
brought  to  bear. 

"Right  you  are,"  answered  the  C.O. 
"  Make  it  so." 

And  the  incident  was  entered  in  the 
log  and  passed  round  for  general  infor- 
mation. 


Farther  discoveries  were  made.  A 
derelict  cruiser  was  met  and  avoided ; 
four  battleships  were  seen  to  be  resting 
gracefully  on  some  submarine  rocks  ;  and 
other  interesting  details  of  a  kindred 
character  were  noticeable. 

At  last  The  Fourth  Estate,  nee  The 
Lively  Sally,  entered  a  fog,  and  gently 
collided  with  and  all  but  sank  an  enor- 
mous man-o'-war. 

"  Ship  ahoy  !  "  shouted  an  officer  from 
H.M.S. 

"Ship  ahoy!"  was  the  reply  of  the 
Press  Admiral.  "  We  are  The  Fourth 
Estate,  nee  The  Lively  Sally,  from  Fleet 
Street,  bound  for  information." 

"And  I  am  Commander-in-chief  of  all 
that  remains  of  the  British  Navy." 

"  What 's  the  matter  ?  "  asked  the  Press 
Admiral. 

"  Lost  my  way.  Can  you  assist  me  to 
get  back  to  head-quarters  ? ' ' 

"  Certainly,"  was  the  cheery  response. 
"  Always  pleased  to  oblige  the  defenders 
of  our  country  in  the  hour  of  their  dis- 
tress. Follow  us." 

And  the  Press  boat  piloted  the  battle- 
ship back  to  England,  and  very  properly 
received  the  thanks  of  the  Lords  of  the 
Admiralty. 


172 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[SEPTEMBER  4,  1901. 


"NOW,    MIND,    IF   ANY  OF  THOSE  NASTY  PEOPLE   WITH   CAMERAS   COME   NEAR,    YOU  'RE   TO   SEXD   THEM   AWAY!" 


CCELUM  NON   ANIMUM. 
Rcmce  Tibtir. 

AH,  for  the  fields  of  yellow  corn, 

Ah,  for  the  trees  that  quiver 
Beneath  the  gentle  breeze  of  morn 

Beside  the  brimming  river, 
Ah,  for  the  silver  wavelets  gay 

With  golden  water-lily 
That  gleam  a  hundred  miles  away 

From  hateful  Piccadilly. 

To  hear  the  birds  outpour  their  joys 

In  carolling  melodious, 
Instead  of  listening  to  the  noise 

Of  barrel-organs  odious ; 
To  lie  beneath  some  spreading  oak 

No  more  a  slave  to  work  '11 
Be  rapture  after  smuts  and  smoke 

Upon  the  Inner  Circle. 

And  then  to  sleep  !     Each  night  at  ten 

To  sink  in  easy  slumber  ; 
No  more  to  listen  while  Big  Ben 

Some  "  wee  sma'  hour  "  shall  number  ; 
To  court  sweet  Morpheus  to  the  strains 

Of  nightingales — oh,  that  '11 
Be  better  than  these  whistling  trains 

And  early  milk-carts'  rattle. 


Tibure  Romam. 

All   night  the  sleepless  ducks  quack, 
quack, 

All  night  the  cock'rels,  growing 
To  cock's  estate,  their  voices  crack 

While  practising  their  crowing  ; 
The  owlets  hoot,  the  nightjar  cries 

In  weary  iterations, 
While  from  the  orphaned  lambkins  rise 

Heart-rending  lamentations. 

All  night  the  keepers  rend  the  air 

With  tootling  most  unpleasant, 
As  Reynard  they  attempt  to  scare 

Prom  midnight  feasts  of  pheasant ; 
Anon  the  geese  with  piercing  cries 

Upraise  a  fearful  riot, 
As  Reynard,  sick  of  rabbit,  tries 

To  get  a  change  of  diet. 

All  night  I,  sleepless,  toss  and  ban 

The  everlasting  Babel 
Of  senseless  bird  and  beast  and  man 
\  In  wood  and  coop  and  stable  ; 
All  night  upon  my  mattress  hard 

I  curse  the  fancy  silly 
That  lured  my  steps  a  single  yard 

From  peaceful  Piccadilly. 


NO    MORE. 

THE  memory  of  those  bygone  days 
Brings  thoughts  too  sacred  for 

Expression  in  a  studied  phrase : 
I  can  suggest — no  more. 

She  whom  I  wildly  idolized 
Of  years  knew  but  a  score. 

I  must  confess  I  was  surprised 
To  hear  it  was  no  more. 

My  love  was  far  from  idle  sport, 

Yet  when  I  fiercely  swore 
To  love  but  her — she  cut  me  short, 

And  begged  I  'd  say  no  more. 

Saddest  of  hours  I  chose,  I  fear, 

Out  of  the  twenty-four. 
I  told  her  what  I  made  per  year, 

Her  glances  said,  "  no  more?  " 

I  vowed  to  take  my  wretched  life — 
To  drown  in  grief  and  gore  ; 

I  made  my  will,  I  bought  a  knife — 
And  then  could  do  no  more. 

She  gave  her  hand — her  shapely  hand- 
To  one  she  'd  loved  before, 

Whom  she  soon  taught,  I  understand, 
To  wish  he  were' no  more. 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI.— SEPTEMBER  4,  1901. 


TINOPLE  ! 


PADISHAH-.  "WELL,    THEY   DIDN'T  DO   MUCH  TO   CHINA  WHEN  THEY   WERE  ALL   TOGETHER:   SO  I  DON'T 
THINK  I  NEED  WORRY  MYSELF  ABOUT  ONE  OF  THEM!" 


SEPTEMBER  4,   1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


175 


DIFFERENT   ASPECTS. 

She.    "ISN'T  IT  A  PRETTY  VIEW?" 

Susceptible  Youth.   '  '  AWFULLY  PRETTY,  BY  JOVE  ! " 


A  FAREWELL. 

OH,  let  my  tongue  your  ancient  merits  tell ! 

When  others  left  me,  did  you  not  remain, 
Performing  duty  for  a  time  so  well, 

And  rarely  causing  me  or  grief  or  pain  ? 

And  yet !  to  think  that  free  from  serious  taint 
You  might  have  lived  with  me,  nor  white,  nor  coaly  ; 

In  fact,  so  near  the  character  of  saint, 
That  when  I  saw  you  I  pronounced  you  "  holey." 

You  were  so  good  at'first,  so  strong,  so  polished  ! 

To  think  one  day  you'd  play  the  very  doose  ! 
That  you,  restrictions  all  around  demolished, 

Should  first  be  fast,  and  then — alas ! — so  loose  ! 

One  night  I  formed  a  project  in  my  head, 
That  to  my  tend'rest  feelings  I  'd  do  vi'lence  ; 

And  so,  at  midnight  hour,  prepared  for  bed, 
I  held  my  jaw  ....  and  then — the  rest  was  silence  ! 

But  in  my  thoughts  I  said,  "  I  '11  not  complain, 
Though  you  have  gone  from  bad  to  worse  since  youth. 

Your  hour  has  come  !  "     I  steeped  you  in  cocain, 
Grasped  you,  and  tugged  .  .  .  then  out  you  came,  old  tooth  ! 


OUR   BOOKING-OFFICE. 

MR.  Louis  BECKE  is  the  prose-poet  of  the  South  Sea  Islands. 
Across  a  waste  of  sadder  sea  he  scents  their  perfume,  beholds 
the  breakers  foaming  over  the  coral  reefs,  recalls  stirring 
episodes  through  which  their  light-hearted  populations  dance 
and  drink,  make  love  and  fight.  Happily  for  ncms  autres, 
islanders  also  but  of  more  sombre  type,  he  has  the  gift  of 
communicating  his  impressions  and  recollections.  His  latest 
book,  By  Rock  and  Pool  (FiSHER  UNWIN),  is  full  of  brightly- 
drawn  pictures  of  far-off  folk  and  scenery.  They  seem  to  drink 
pretty  freely  in  Samoa  and  places  adjacent,  and  they  catch 
very  large  fish.  Mr.  BECKE'S  narrative  of  a  day  out  with  the 
fisher  folk  of  Nukufetan  will  cause  to  water  the  mouth  of  a 
commonplace  angler  by  Deeside.  Mr.  RITCHIE'S  Undersized 
Fish  Bill  would  require  radical  alteration  in  its  schedules 
before  it  were  applicable  to  the  South  Sea  Islands.  My  Baronite 
gathers  that  at  Nukufetan  they  would  contemptuously  throw 
back  into  the  abashed  Pacific  anything  that  measured  less  than 
three  feet  from  tail  to  mouth,  or  weighed  under  twenty 
pounds.  THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 

PETIT  POIDS  AU  Ror.— A  contemporary  has  been  giving  details 
as  to  the  KING'S  weight.  Of  course  it  was  gauged  avoir- 
du-roi.  Meantime,  the  greatest  wait  to  which  our  Sovereign 
can  attain  will  be  that  between  now  and  his  Coronation. 


170 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[SEPTEMBER  4,  1901. 


ILLUSTRATED    QUOTATIONS. 

(One  so  seldom  $nds  an  Artist  who  realises  the  poetic  conception.} 


Is  THIS  THE  NOBLE  Moon  .  .   .  ?" — Othello,  Act  IV.,  Scene  1. 


THE    CRUISE    OF    THE    SABRINA. 

I.— "SEA  CALM." 

EXTRACTS    FROM    THE    TRAVEL    DIARY    OF 
TOBY,  M.P. 

Haverfordwest ,  Tuesday. — Remote,  not 
unfriended,  but  solitary,  slow,  Haverford- 
west sleeps  at  the  head  of  a  beautiful 
estuary.  Steamed  up  it  to-day  in  the 
yacht's  launch.  At  many  points  where 
the  woods  stoop  down  to  cool  their  over- 
hanging branches  in  the  stream  it  recalls 
Clieveden  in  its  prime.  How  many  Eng- 
lish folk,  who  at  great  expense  and  much 
inconvenience  rush  off  to  spend  their 
holiday  abroad,  have  seen  the  beautiful 
view  of  Haverfordwest  presented  when 
you  look  up  stream  from  the  old  Bridge  ?  I 
confess  I  have  seen  Agra,  Salt  Lake  City, 
and  eke  Tokio.  Never  till  to-day  did  I 
look  upon  this  old  Welsh  town. 

Tenby  another  restful  place  in  Pem- 
brokeshire. None  of  the  bustle  and  towni- 
ness  of  watering-places  nearer  London. 
Magnificent  sea  view  from  Castle  Hill. 
On  the  light  purple  silken  surface  of  the 
harbour  float  fishing  boats  with  broad 
sails  of  delicate  red,  terra-cotta,  and  tan. 
Wonder  whether  the  boatmen,  when  buy- 
ing sails  for  their  craft,  give  a  moment's 
thought  to  what  shade  of  colour  will  best 
suit  the  sea  on  summer  days.  Fancy  not. 
Mind  concentrated  at  moment  on  getting 
the  best  stuff  at  the  lowest  price.  All  the 
same  the  effect  most  happy  ;  grateful  to 
eyes  dimmed  in  the  bustle  of  London 
life. 

Rather  a  lively  voyage  from  Falmouth 
to  Milford  Haven.  After  rounding  Land's 
End  the  sea  brisked  up  in  determined 
fashion.  SARK  tells  me  there  was  in  the 
'74  Parliament  an  Irish  Member  who 
lived  at  Kilkee.  SARK'S  imagination, 
kindled  by  thought  of  the  grandeur  of 
the  scenery  on  the  rock-girdled  coast ; 
the  sea  in  its  many  moods  ;  sometimes  a 
boundless  expanse  of  blue,  sometimes,  in 
days  of  wrath,  incessantly  beating  against 


and  over  the  rocks.  And  the  solemn  sun- 
sets, and  the  stately  ships  going  on  to 
their  haven  under  the  hill. 

"You  must  live  among  some  splendid 
scenery,"  mused  SARK. 

"  Scenery  !  "  almost  screamed  the  Irish 
member.  "  Bedad  !  there  's  nothing  but 
wather  between  us  and  Ameriky." 

Through  a  long  day  there  was  nothing 
but  water  between  us  and  Ameriky.  The 
Sabrina  greatly  enjoyed  the  prospect.  As 
good  a  sea-boat  as  she  is  a  comfortable 
home,  she  took  to  it  like  a  duck.  Dipped 
her  head  in  the  sparkling  blue  water,  and, 
throwing  it  back,  streamed  the  foredeck 
with  the  wave.  Some  vacant  seats  at  the 
luncheon  table. 

"Don't  let  us  forget  to  look  in  the 
Times  to-morrow  and  see  how  the  sea  in 
these  parts  is  described,"  said  the  COMMO- 
DORE, Bart.,  dexterously  catching  a  claret 
bottle  taking  a  header  off  the  table  to- 
wards his  capacious  bosom.  Looked  up 
paper  on  arriving  at  Milford.  Turned  to 
map  illustrating  meteorological  report  of 
day  before.  Across  the  fathomless  water 
over  which  we  had  danced,  our  heels  in 
the  air  as  often  as  not,  was  printed  the 
legend  : — SEA  CALM. 

Neiv  Milford,  Wednesday.  —  ICHABOD  is 
written  on  the  walls  of  this  town.  Created 
in  BRUNEL'stime  as  the  port  of  connection 
with  Ireland,  the  Great  Western  Railway 
is  about  to  abandon  its  offspring. 
Passengers  and  goods  now  bound  for 
Ireland  steam  from  Milford  to  Waterford, 
a  voyage  of  114  miles.  From  Fishguard 
to  Rosslare,  the  passage  is  only  sixty-two 
miles,  little  more  than  one  half.  So  a 
new  harbour  is  being  built  at  Fishguard  ; 
a  link  of  rail  will  connect  Clarbeston 
Road  on  the  main  line  with  Lettersiton  on 
the  way  to  Fishguard,  cutting  off  some 
miles.  In  three  years  the  service  will  be 
commenced,  and  a  new  route  opened  to 
Ireland,  bringing  southern  parts  of  the 
distressful  country  nearer  to  London  by 
two  hours  and  a  half  as  compared  with  the 


North  Western  route  which  now  takes 
the  cake  and  the  traffic.  New  Milford 
will  be  forsaken,  and  Fishguard  will  be 
even  as  the  green  bay  tree. 

BRUNEL,  who  needs  some  compensation 
for  the  monument  erected  to  him  on  the 
Thames  Embankment,  will,  in  his  retire- 
ment, find  consolation  in  the  thought  that, 
after  the  lapse  of  half  a  century,  a  bit  of 
line  he  surveyed  and  commenced  will  be 
completed  by  his  successors  at  Paddington. 
The  navvies  at  work  upon  the  new  line, 
shortening  (by  straightening)  the  road  to 
Fishguard,  have  come  upon  a  few  fur- 
longs of  railway  cuttings  and  embankments 
laid  down  by  the  great  engineer.  The 
company  was  not  so  rich  then  as  it  is 
to-day,  and  the  project  was  abandoned, 
to  be  carried  out  in  the  opening  years  of 
the  twentieth  century. 

"  Cast  your  rails  upon  the  land  and 
they  will  return  to  you  after  many  days," 
says  the  COMMODORE,  under  the  impres- 
sion that  he  is  quoting  his  prototype, 
King  SOLOMON. 


FINANCIAL  FOLLIES. 
(By  Our  City  Laureate,  dejected.) 

THE  House  is  very  dull  to-day, 

Its  ladies  fair  neglected, 
And  SARAHS,  DORAS,  NORAS,  they 

Are  seriously  affected. 

From  time  to  time  our  favourite  stocks 
Lead  us  some  frightful  dances, 

'Tis  time  they  wore  their  Autumn  frocks 
And  made  a  few  advances. 

So,  SARAH  sweet  and  NORA  neat, 
Just  throw  off  your  depression, 
And  though  you  don't  feel  up  to  par, 
Pray  do  remember  who  you  are, 
And  make  a  good  impression. 

Oh,  CORA  coy,  and  BERTHA  shy, 

Pray  don't  be  antiquated, 
Tho'  by  expenses  you  've  been  hit, 
Just  get  your  figure  up  a  bit, 

And  you  '11  be  reinstated. 


SEPTEMBER  4,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHAE1VARI.  177 


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178 


PUNCH,  OE  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[SEPTEMBER  4,  1901. 


MRS.    MEDWIN. 

BY  HENRY  JAMES. 
II. 

Miss  CUTTER  waited  till  she  heard  the  house-door  close ;  after 
which,  in  a  sightless,  mechanical  way,  she  moved  about  the  room, 
readjusting  various  objects  that  he  had  not  touched.  It  was 
as  if  his  mere  voice  and  accent  had  spoiled  her  form.  But  she 
was  not  left  too  long  to  reckon  with  these  things,  for  Mrs. 
MEDWIN  was  promptly  announced.  This  lady  was  not,  more 
than  her  hostess,  in  the  first  flush  of  her  youth ;  her  appearance 
— the  scattered  remains  of  beauty  manipulated  by  taste — re- 
sembled one  of  the  light  repasts  in  which  the  fragments  of 
yesterday's  dinner  figure  with  a  conscious  ease  that  makes  up 
for  the  want  of  presence.  She  was  perhaps  of  an  effect  still  too 
immediate  to  be  called  interesting ;  but  she  was  candid,  gentle 
and  surprised — not  i'atiguingly  surprised,  only  just  in  the  right 
degree ;  and  her  white  face — it  was  too  white — with  the  fixed 
eyes,  the  somewhat  touzled  hair  and  the  Louis  Seize  hat,  might, 
at  the  end  of  the  very  long  neck,  have  suggested  the  head  of  a 
princess  carried,  in  a  revolution,  on  a  pike.  She  immediately 
took  up  the  business  that  had  brought  her — with  the  air,  how- 
ever, of  drawing  from  the  omens  then  discernible  less  confi- 
dence than  she  had  hoped.  The  complication  lay  in  the  fact 
that  if  it  was  MAMIE'S  part  to  present  the  omens,  that  lady 
yet  had  so  to  colour  them  as  to  make  her  own  service  large. 
She  perhaps  over-coloured,  for  her  friend  gave  way  to  momen- 
tary despair. 

"  What  you  mean  is,  then,  that  it 's  simply  impossible  ?  " 

"Oh,  no,"  said  MAMIE,  with  a  qualified  emphasis.  "It's 
possible." 

"  But  disgustingly  difficult  ?  " 

"  As  difficult  as  you  like." 

"  Then  what  can  I  do  that  I  haven't  done  ?  " 

"You  can  only  wait  a  little  longer." 

"  But  that 's  just  what  I  have  done.  I  've  done  nothing  else. 
[  'm  always  waiting  a  little  longer  1 ' ' 

Miss  CUTTER  retained,  in  spite  of  this  pathos,  her  grasp  of 
he  subject.      "  The  thing,  as  I've  told  you,  is  for  you  first 
to  be  seen." 

"  But  ii  people  won't  look  at  me  ?  " 

"They  will." 

"  They  will?  "— Mrs.  MEDWIN  was  eager. 

"They  shall,"  her  hostess  went  on.  "It's  their  only  having 
leard — without  having  seen." 

"But  if  they  stare  straight  the  other  way?"  Mrs.  MEDWIN 
continued  to  object.  "You  can't  simply  go  up  to  them  and 
iwist  their  heads  about !  " 

"  It 's  just  what  I  can  !  "  said  MAMIE  CUTTER. 

But  her  charming  visitor,  heedless,  for  the  moment,  of  this 
attenuation,  had  found  the  way  to  put  it.  "  It 's  the  old  story. 
You  can't  go  into  the  water  till  you  swim  ;  and  you  can't  swim 
"ill  you  go  into  the  water.  I  can't  be  spoken  to  till  1  'm  seen ; 
but  I  can't  be  seen  till  I  'm  spoken  to." 

She  met  this  lucidity,  Miss  CUTTER,  with  but  an  instant's 
apse.  "You  say  I  can't  twist  their  heads  about.  But  I  have 
twisted  them." 

It  had  been  quietly  produced,  but  it  gave  her  companion 
a  jerk.  ' '  They  say  '  Yes  '  ?  " 

She  summed  it  up.    "  All  but  one.    She  says  'No.'  " 

Mrs.  MEDWIN  thought— then  jumped.     "  Lady  WANTRIDGE  ?  " 

Miss  CUTTER— as  more  delicate— only  bowed  admission.  "I 
shall  see  her  either  this  afternoon  or  late  to-morrow.  But  she 
las  written." 

Her  visitor  wondered  again.     ' '  May  I  see  her  letter  ?  ' ' 
No."     She  spoke  with  decision.     "  But  I  shall  square  her." 

"Then  how?" 

"  Well,"— and  Miss  CUTTER,  as  if  looking  upward  for  mspira- 
to°m'e  "  her  CyeS  aWhUe  °n  the  ceilin£~"  wel1'  ifc  wi»  come 


Mrs.  MEDWIN  watched  her — it  was  impressive.  "  And  will 
they  come  to  you  —  the  others?"  This  question  drew  out 
the  fact  that  they  would — so  far,  at  least,  as  they  consisted  of 
Lady  EDWARD,  Lady  BELLHOUSE  and  Mrs.  POUNCER  ;  who  had 
engaged  to  muster,  at  the  signal  of  tea,  on  the  14th — prepared, 
as  it  were,  for  the  worst.  There  was,  of  course,  always  the 
chance  that  Lady  WANTRIDGE  might  take  the  field  in  such  force 
as  to  paralyse  them — though  that  danger,  at  the  same  time, 
seemed  inconsistent  with  her  being  squared.  It  didn't  perhaps 
all  quite  ideally  hang  together ;  but  what  it  sufficiently  came 
to  was  that  if  she  was  the  one  who  could  do  most  for  a  person 
in  Mrs.  MED  WIN'S  position  she  was  also  the  one  who  could  do 
most  against.  It  would  therefore  be  distinctly  what  our  friend 
familiarly  spoke  of  as  "collar-work."  The  effect  of  these 
mixed  considerations  was,  at  any  rate,  that  MAMIE  eventually 
acquiesced  in  the  idea,  handsomely  thrown  out  by  her  client, 
that  she  should  have  an  "advance"  to  go  on  with.  Miss 
CUTTER  confessed  that  it  seemed  at  times  as  if  one  scarce  could 
go  on ;  but  the  advance  was,  in  spite  of  this  delicacy,  still 
more  delicately  made — made  in  the  form  of  a  banknote,  several 
sovereigns,  some  loose  silver  and  two  coppers,  the  whole 
contents  of  her  purse,  neatly  disposed  by  Mrs.  MEDWIN  on  one 
of  the  tiny  tables.  It  seemed  to  clear  the  air  for  deeper 
intimacies,  the  fruit  of  which  was  that  MAMIE,  lonely,  after  all, 
in  her  crowd,  and  always  more  helpful  than  helped,  eventually 
brought  out  that  the  way  SCOTT  had  been  going  on  was  what 
seemed  momentarily  to  overshadow  her  own  power  to  do  so. 

"I've  had  a  descent  from  him."  But  she  had  to  explain. 
' '  My  half-brother — SCOTT  HOMER.  A  wretch. ' ' 

"  What  kind  of  a  wretch?  " 

"Every  kind.  I  lose  sight  of  him  at  times — he  disappears 
abroad.  But  he  always  turns  up  again,  worse  than  ever." 

"Violent?" 

"No." 

"  Maudlin?" 

"No."' 

"  Only  unpleasant?." 

"No.  Kather  pleasant.  Awfully  clever — awfully  travelled 
and  easy." 

"  Then  what 's  the  matter  with  him  ?  " 

MAMIE  mused,  hesitated — seemed  to  see  a  wide  past.  "  I 
don't  know." 

"  Something  in  the  background  ?"  Then,  as  her  friend  was 
silent,  "Something  queer  about  cards?"  Mrs.  MEDWIN  [threw 
off. 

"  I  don't  know — and  I  don't  want  to  !  " 

"Ah,  well,  I'm  sure  I  don't,"  Mrs.  MEDWIN  returned  with 
spirit.  The  note  of  sharpness  was  perhaps  also  a  little  in  the 
observation  she  made  as  she  gathered  herself  to  go.  "  Do  you 
uiiud  my  saying  something  ?  ' ' 

MAMIE  took  her  eyes  quickly  from  the  money  on  the  little 
stand.  "  You  may  say  what  you  like." 

"  I  only  mean  that  anything  awkward  you  may  have  to  keep 
out  of  the  way  does  seem  to  make,  more  wonderful,  doesn't  it, 
that  you  should  have  got  just  where  you  are  ?  I  allude,  you 
know,  tojjyour  position." 

"I  see."  Miss  CUTTER  somewhat  coldly  smiled.  "To  my 
power." 

' '  So  awfully  remarkable  in  an  American  !  ' ' 

"  Ah,  you  like  us  so." 

Mrs.  MEDWIN  candidly  considered.     "kBut  we  don't,  dearest." 

Her  companion's  smile  brightened.  "  Then  why  do  you  come 
to  me  ?  ' ' 

"  Oh,  I  like  you  !"  Mrs.  MEDWIN  made  out. 

"Then  that's  it.  There  are  no  'Americans.'  It's  always 
'you.'  " 

"  Me  ?  "    Mrs.  MEDWIN  looked  lovely,  but  a  little  muddled. 

"  Me  !  "  MAMIE  CUTTER  laughed.  "  But  if  you  like  me,  you 
dear  thing,  you  can  judge  if  I  like  you."  She  gave  her  a  kiss 
to  dismiss  her.  "  I  '11  see  you  again  when  I  've  seen  her." 


SEPTEMBER  4,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


179 


"  Lady  WANTRIDGE  ?  I  hope  so,  indeed. 
I'll  turn  up  late  to-morrow,  if  you  don't 
catch  me  first.  Has  it  come  to  you  yet  ?  " 
the  visitor,  now  at  the  door,  went  on. 

"  No — but  it  will.    There  's  time." 

"  Oh — a  little  less  every  day !  " 

Miss  CUTTER  had  approached  the  table, 
and  glanced  again  at  the  gold  and  silver 
and  the  note — not,  indeed,  absolutely  over- 
looked the  two  coppers.  "The  balance," 
she  put  it,  'the  day  after  ?  " 

"  That  very  night  if  you  like." 

"  Then  count  on  me." 

"Oh,  if  I  didn't 1  "     But  the  door 

closed  on  the  dark  idea.  Yearningly 
then,  and  only  when  it  had  done  so,  Miss 
CUTTER  took  up  the  money. 

She  went  out  with  it  ten  minutes  later, 
«tnd,  the  calls  on  her  time  being  many, 
remained  out  so  long  that  at  half-past  six 
she  had  not  come  back.  At  that  hour, 
on  the  other  hand,  SCOTT  HOMER  knocked 
at  her  door,  where  her  maid,  who  opened 
it  with  a  weak  pretence  of  holding  it  firm, 
ventured  to  announce  to  him,  as  a  lesson 
well  learnt,  that  he  had  not  been  ex- 
pected till  seven.  No  lesson,  none  the 
less,  could  prevail  against  his  native  art ; 
he  pleaded  fatigue,  her— the  maid's— 
dreadful  depressing  London  and  the  need 
to  curl  up  somewhere.  If  she  would  just 
leave  him  quiet  half-an-hour  that  old  sofa 
tip-stairs  would  do  for  it;  of  which  he 
took,  quickly,  such  effectual  possession 
that  when  five  minutes  later  she  peeped, 
nervous  for  her  broken  vow,  into  the 
drawing-room,  the  faithless  young  woman 
found  him  extended  at  his  length  and 
peacefully  asleep. 

(To  be  continued.) 


RAILWAY    COMPANIONS. 

(By  a  Disagreeable  Traveller.) 

II. 

I  I  HAVE  known  people  thoughtlessly 
speak  well  of  the  luncheon-basket.  In 
my  opinion,  the  luncheon-basket  arouses 
the  worst  passions  of  human  nature,  and 
is  a  direct  incentive  to  deeds  of  violence. 
To  say  this  is  to  cast  an  aspersion  upon  the 
refreshment  contractor,  who  is  evidently 
a  man  of  touchingly  simple  faith  and  high 
imagination.  Simple  faith  assuredly,  for 
does  he  not  provide  on  the  principle  that 
our  insides  are  hardy  and  vigorous  and 
unspoilt  by  the  art  of  cooking?  High 
imagination  most  certainly,  otherwise  he 
would  never  call  that  red  fluid  by  the 
name  of  claret. 

No,  it  is  to  the  social  rather  than  to  the 
itronomic  influence  of    the   luncheon- 
basket  that  I  wish  to  advert. 
Once  I  procured  a  luncheon-basket  and 
ith  it  came  the  demon  of  discontent  and 
spicion,  converting  three  neutral  people 
tto  deadly  enemies. 

One  was  a  pale  young  man  who  had 
scowling  over  BROWNING  and  making 


ON    THE    LINE. 

Old  Lady.  "CAN  YOU  TELL  ME,  IF  YOU  PLAZE,  WHERE  I'LL  GET  THE  BLACKROCK  TRAM?' 
Dublin  Car-driver.   "  BEGORR,  MA'M,  IF  YOU  DON'T  WATCH  YOURSELF,  YOU  'LL  GET  IT  IN 

THE   SMALL   OF  YOUR   BACK   IN  ABOUT  HALF   A  MINUTE." 


Personally,  I  don't  think  it  quite  decent 
for  pale  young  men  to  improve  their  minds 
in  a  public  conveyance — but  at  any  rate 
he  had  seemed  harmless.  Now  he  raised 
his  eyes  and  viewed  me  with  undisguised 
contempt.  "Wretched  glutton,"  he  said 
in  effect,  and  when  accidentally  I  burned 
my  mouth  with  mustard  (which  a  sudden 
swerve  had  sent  meandering  in  a  yellow 
stream  across  the  chicken  and  ham),  he 
gave  a  sneering,  callous  smile,  which 
reminded  me  that  a  man  may  smile  and 
smile  and  be  a — railway  companion. 

I  verily  believe  that  youth  to  be 
capable  of  any  crime,  even  Extension 
lecturing. 

Then  there  was  a  young  lady  reading  a 
sixpenny  BRADDON,  who  viewed  me  as  if 
I  were  some  monster;  when  I  shut  my 


brought  biscuits  and  lemonade  from  a 
small  bag  and  refreshed  herself  with 
ostentatious  simplicity,  as  if  to  say, 
"  Look  upon  this  picture  and  on  the  wine- 
bibbing  epicurean  in  the  corner."  An 
old  lady  with  her  was  more  amply  pro- 
vided for  (old  ladies  usually  take  more 
care  of  their  insides  than  anyone  else  in 
creation),  but  although  she  munched 
sandwiches,  and  washed  them  down  with 
sherry  (probably  sweet,  ugh !)  luxuriously, 
she  looked  with  pious  horror  at  my  plates 
and  dishes  spread  out.  I  might  have  said, 
"Madam,  I  eat  frankly  and  openly;  my 
resources  may  be  viewed  by  all.  Your 
secret  and  delusive  bags  have  limitless 
resources  that  you  are  ashamed  to  show." 
I  didn't  say  so ;  but  the  restraint  placed 
on  myself  quite  spoilt  the  lunch.  No  more 


180 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHAEIVARI. 


[SEPTEMBER  4,  1901. 


"COURT   AND    CAMP." 

(To  be  read  without  prejudice  to  ditto  and 
ditto  under  proper  management.) 

As  an  earnest,  hard-working  curate 
(three  Bazaars  and  a  Jumble  Sale  "during 
the  last  six  weeks  !)  I  took  charge  of  a 
detachment  of  our  local  Lads'  Brigade,  at 
their  sea-side  camp  this  year.  How  the 
boys  would  glory  in  the  hitherto  unknown 
ocean ,  and  all  the  beauties  of  Nature ! 
And  it  should  be  my  pleasing  task  to  cul- 
tivate their  minds  withal — to  which  end 
I  packed  a  small  volume  of  poems,  pub- 
lished anonymously,  but — ah,  I  suppose  I 
may  as  well  confess  it — they  were  mine. 

The  Lads  mustered  in  force,  wearing 
smart  round  caps  and  belts,  and 
looking  like  a  cross  between  a 
District  Messenger  and  one  of 
the  Army  Service  Corps — I,  as 
Commanding  Officer,  also  wore 
a  belt,  buckled  round  my  black, 
long-skirted  coat,  white  sand- 
shoes, and  a  Glengarry  cap, 
which  gave  me  quite  a  military 
appearance.  Our  baggage  was 
very  limited ;  my  own  effects 
being  contained  in  a  large 
biscuit  tin  and  a  cigar-box. 

Directly  we  entrained,  the 
dear  lads'  spirits  and  love  of 
music  began  to  assert  them- 
selves. Nearly  all  had  brought 
mouth-organs,  and'soon  we  went 
along  merrily  to  the  lilt  of  at 
least  twenty  different  tunes, 
varied  by  hoorayings  ad  lib. 
It  was  all  so  unaffectedly 
hearty. 
Arrived  at  Prawntown,  our 

Fife  and  Drum  band  was  quickly 

formed  up,  and  with  me  at  their 

head,    our  drums   banged   and 

our  fifes  shrieked  through  the 

peaceful  little  village.     I  after- 
wards heard  that  most  of  the 

inhabitants   fled    fearfully  out 

into  the  surrounding  country, 

but  noticed  nothing  at  the  time, 

being  too   nearly  stunned   by 

the  big  drum. 
We  reached  the  camp  and  soon 

settled  down.    After  our  frugal  meal — my 

own  consisting  of  two  currant  buns  and  a 

bottle  of  ginger-beer — I    approached  an 


— 'is  orchid's  a-bustin'  over  with  'em. 
But  'e  keeps  a  dorg,  that 's  the  wust  of  it. 
Larst  year,  wen  I  was  shaikin'  the  tree, 
'e  nearly  tore  orl  the  close  orf  of  me  !  " 

Next  morning  the  reveille  sounded,  and 
I  marched  the  lads  down  to  bathe,  stand- 
ing well  up  to  windward  of  their  clothing, 
deposited  in  little  heaps  upon  the  shore. 
What  with  yelling,  horse-play,  chiveying 
a  wretched  terrier,  and  two  fights,  we  had 
not  a  dull  moment. 

After  breakfast,  they  played  cricket, 
whilst  I  read  one  of  my  poems  to  a  sick 
lad.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  he  was  much 
sicker  after  the  reading  than  he  had  been 
before.  Then  I  betook  myself  for  a  ramble 
in  the  country  lanes. 


did  not.  Indeed,  a  more  brutal  perso 
than  the  Chairman  of  the  Bench  I  neve 
met. 

I  appeared  wearing  my  belt  and  Gler 
garry  cap,  and  was  at  once  made  to  tak 
off  the  latter  by  the  Gaoler.  The  Chaii 
man  stared  at  me  and  asked,  "What  i 


"THERE'S   NOTHING   HALF  SO  SWEET   IN   LIFE   AS  LOVE'S 
YOUNG   DREAM." 

TlMPKINS,  AFTER  MA.NY  YEARS  OF  WANDERING  THE  WORLD  O'EE, 
GRATIFIES  A  LONG-FELT  DESIRB  TO  RETURN  TO  THE  HALLOWED  SPOT 
WHERE  HE  WAS  REFUSED  BY  HIS  FIRST  AND  ONLY  LOVE. 


I  blushingly  explained,  and  he  went  on 
"  Are  you  the  head  of  this  camp  ?  " 
I  proudly  replied    that    I   commanda 

these  lads. 

"  Or  they  command  you?    Which  is  it 

he  asked  sarcastically. 
Wretched  man  ! 
Then,    the    case    being    proved,     thi 

unsympathetic  creature  gave  his  decision 
"Fined  five  shillings  eac] 
and  costs.  And  I  take  thi: 
opportunity  of  saying  that  th< 
worthy  young  gentleman  "— 
(myself)  —  ' '  who  thinks  h< 
'  commands  '  this  camp,  is  uboir 
as  fitted  for  the  task  as  ai 
ostrich  is  to  climb  trees.  Since 
the  arrival  of  these  boys,  a  reigi 
of  terror  has  existed.  Thej 
break  into  orchards,  steal  fruit 
destroy  fences,  bathe  in  pro 
hibited  places,  bawl  in  tht 
streets,  fight  with  each  other, 
and  now  fi  ve  of  them  stand  con- 
victed  of  wanton  destruction, 
The  inhabitants  of  this  once 
peaceful  spot  will  feel  that  it 
is'no  place  for  them  any  longer. 
Most  of  them  have  already 
fled  in  despair,  lodging-house 
keepers  see  ruin  staring  them 
in  the  face,  whilst  the  residents 
have  barred  and  shuttered  their 
doors  and  windows.  And  all 
because  this  amiable  gentle- 
man entirely  fails  to  keep  his 
charges  in  order.  His  conduct 
should  be  at  once  investigated 
by  his  Bishop — or  his  Mamma." 
I  left  the  Court — and  later 
in  the  day,  the  Camp. 


intelligent  youth  to  ask  what  had  been 
his  impression  of  the  vast,  illfynitable  sea, 
which  had  now  gladdened  his  eyes  for  the 


first  time  ? 

"Fust  time 
ventional.)     " 


year    since    the 
opened.    Wot  do 


be   blowed  ! ' '   (So  uncon- 
I  bin  daown   'ere  hevery 


bloomin' 
1    think 


camp's     bin 
o'    the    sea  ? 


Hoh,  well,  that's  a  bit  of  all  right,  »'  long 
as  yer  don't  fall  inter  it." 

"I  trust  you  take  in  the  beauties  of 
Nature  ?  "  I  continued. 

"Yus,  I  do  tliat!  You  see  me  wen  I 
gits  a  chawnce  at  ole  fatty  JONES'S  apples  ! 


All  went  well  until  the  fourth  day.  The 
lads,  with  their  mouth-organs  and  their 
yellings,  were  rapidly  emptying  an  over- 
crowded locality  and  getting  the  place 
almost  entirely  to  themselves.  But  the 
catastrophe  was  at  hand. 

That  day,  some  of  the  boys  playfully 
raided  the  peach-house  and  destroyed 
the  grape  -  vines  of  Sir  HAUGHTYBIRD 
HUMPLEBY,  and  the  latter,  instead  of 
treating  the  matter  as  a  harmless  joke, 
promptly  called  a  constable  and  "  ran  in  " 
the  offenders. 

I  had  to  bail  them  out  and  produce 
them  in  Court  next  morning. 

I  thought  my  explanation  would  at  once 
settle  this  disagreeable  business ;  but  it 


CRICKETIANA. 
THE  best  judge  of  stumps  i 
the  world — a  dentist, 
haughtiest     individual  —  a    good 


The 
cutter. 

A    splendid    whip — the    man  who    can 
make  a  long  drive. 

A  stayer — long  stop. 

Not  a  Cinderella  dance — a  long  hop. 

Quite  other  than  a  jockey — the  cricketer 
who  "pulls." 

Usually  more  than  twenty — a  score. 

The  crusher  of  a  joke — cover  point. 

Police  Court  worthies — bails. 

Definition  of  C.  B.  FRY— the  acrobat. 

Why  ?    &Ki>6s  on  the  top,  and  falvfiv  to  go. 
— You  can't  beat  that. 

No,  but  ABEL  might. 

How? 

By  using  cane  as  a  handle. 


SEPTEMBER  11,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


181 


IN  TWO  PLAY-HOUSES. 
A  Page  from  our  Impressionist's  Note-Book. 
Becky  Sharp !  At  the  Prince  of  Wales's 
Theatre.  Yes,  a  part  of  her  and  the 
pleasanter  part.  The  wit,  the  fun,  the 
good  nature.  But  the  darker  side  absent. 
Scarcely  a  suggestion  of  the  heartless, 
thoroughly  and  entirely  wicked  woman. 
"I  am  innocent!"  justified.  Not  quite 
THACKERAY,  but  very  good  play  acting. 
Miss  MARIE  TEMPEST  to  be  congratulated. 
Bttuvlon  Crawley,  Mr.  LEONARD  BOYNE, 
excellent.  Everyone  has  his  own  ideal, 
and  perhaps  the  Rawdon  Crawley  of 
Mr.  LEONARD  BOYNE  is  not  the  ideal  of 
everyone.  But  it  would  be  difficult  for 
anyone  to  suggest  an  improvement. 
Heavy  cavalry  man,  gambler,  but,  to  use 
the  slang  of  the  day,  "good  sort." 
Magnificent  in  the  supper  scene.  Mr. 
GILBERT  HARE  not  quite  the  Marquis  of 
Steijne.  Very  near,  but  not  quite.  A 
trifle  too  old.  A  little  angular,  and 
THACKERAY'S  Marquis  was  rounded.  Diffi- 
cult again  to  suggest  improvement.  A 
fine  performance,  worthy  of  his  father's 
[son.  Version  ?  Well,  not  bad.  On  the 
'hole  a  good  play.  Rather  absurd  the 
>rl's  courtship.  Meets  Becky  in  Act 
El.,  and  then  a  number  of  years  pass. 
lOnder  the  circumstances  the  incidents 
\)t  the  last  scene  a  little  late.  But  taken 
ill  round — considering  that  scenery  and 
ises  are  first-rate — good  play,  well 
jworth  seeing.  Final  objection,  interior 
if  sponging-house  a  little  too  gorgeous. 
is  of  the  second-rate  palace  and  more 
\>t  the  fifth-rate  coffee-house  would  have 
sn  better.  But  on  the  whole,  I  repeat, 
|;ood  play,  well  worth  seeing. 

A  Man  of  Ms  Word.  At  Mrs. 
[jANGTRY's  truly  beautiful  Imperial 
'heatre.  Rather  forced  idea  of  honour, 
leer  and  gentleman,  believing  himself 
jo  be  dying,  confesses  that  he  did  not 
srform  an  act  usually  rewarded  with  the 
ictoria  Cross.  Induces  his  dearest  friend 
promise  never  to  tell.  Dearest  friend 
.oesn't  tell,  and  gets  into  a  scrape  in  con- 
[uence.  Believed  to  have  missed  the 
ictoria  Cross  himself,.  Senior  Failure  for 
Victoria  Cross  recovers,  and  is  ordered 
take  command  of  the  Army  somewhere  in 
le  North-West  Provinces,  because  (to  put 
in  mess-room  form)  "  he  's  about  the  only 
IHNNIE  who  knows  how  to  win  the 
ittle,  don't  you  know."  Matter,  re- 
sly  connected  with  the  Victoria  Cross, 
ihed  up  in  consequence  of  national 
iportance  of  the  programme.  Exit 
snior  Failure  for  the  Victoria  Cross, 
ising — in  a  vague  kind  of  way — that 
'tor  he  has  won  the  battle  he  will 
ippear  for  ever.  Probably  change 
name,  shave  off  his  moustache  and 
>rue  a  millionaire  or  something  of  that 
•Ft.  Still,  amusing  piece.  Mr.  HERBERT 
ARING,  admirable  as  dearest  friend  of 
Senior  Failure  for  the  Victoria  Cross. 


\* 

\r\xV:\\ >*\vvv^\    .^^ 


Officer.  "WELL,  MV  MAN,  WHAT  is  YOUR  RELIGION?" 
Mam.   "I  DUNNO,  SIR." 

Officer.    "COME,  COME  !     WHAT  CHURCH  DO  YOU  ATTEND — CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND,  ROMAN 
CATHOLIC    OR  NONCONFORMIST  ?" 

Man.  "  PLEASE,  SIB,  I  FOLLERS  THE  BAND  ! " 


Mr.  H.  B.  IRVING,  as  Senior  Failure,  also 
capital.  Mrs.  CECIL  RALEIGH,  as  a  lady 
who  seems  anxious  to  act  as  a  guide  to  a 
personally-conducted  party  to  the  High 
Court  of  Justice,  Probate,  Divorce  and 
Admiralty  Division,  also  most  pleas- 
ing. Character  rather  curious  specimen 
of  society  at  Simla. 

Play  judiciously  stage-managed,  but 
rather  a  pity  that  some  one  from  H.Q.S. 
was  not  asked  to  look  in  to  inspect  mili- 
tary details.  In  the  absence  of  that 
individual,  and  acting  as  his  unwilling 
substitute,  I  venture  to  hint  that  some  of 
the  officers  should  not  have  been  passed 
their  drill  until  they  had  learned  how  to 
close  their  fingers  in  saluting.  Divided 
opinion,  too,  about  the  wearing  of  sword 
knots.  Fancy  that  C.R.A.  in  the  last  act 
would  have  had  sufficient  service  to  have 
known  that  his  sword  knot  was  wrong — 
think  it  would  have  attracted  unfavour- 
able attention  at  an  official  inspection. 
And  why  levee  dress  for  dinner  or  five 


o'clock  tea?  Of  course,  the  entire  garri- 
son may  have  been  lunching  in  state  with 
the  Viceroy,  but,  in  spite  of  this  sugges- 
tion, the  levee  dress— although  distinctly 
effective,  was  scarcely  convincing.  Yet 
these  are  very  minor  details.  A  Man  of 
his  Word,  a  very  good  play  very  well 
acted.  Seems  to  be  a  success.  Success 
deserved. 


ACCORDING  to  the  Daily  Telegraph,  the 
French  Police,  in  view  of  the  Czar's  visit, 
"are  actively  looking  for  Anarchists  at 
Dunkirk,"  and  in  the  same  column  a 
quotation  from  the  Francois,  dated  from 
the  port  which  CHARLES  THE  SECOND  sold, 
announces  that  "  well-known  Nihilists  and 
persons  reported  to  be  dangerous  Anar- 
chists have  for  several  days  been  missing 
from  their  usual  places  of  residence." 
Mr.  Punch,  without  pretending  to  be  a 
SHERLOCK  HOLMES,  would  respectfully 
suggest  that  "  the  well-known  &c."  may 
have  crossed  the  Channel. 


VOL.  ex  XL 


182 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  [SEPTEMBER  11,  1901. 


OVER! 

TAKE  off  the  bails  and  put  the  timbers  by, 
And  stand  the  willow  in  his  upright  bed, 

Yea,  doff  the  prophylactic  pad  and  cry, 
Cry  "  Over  !  "  for  the  cricket  year  is  dead  ? 

Now  let  the  white-robed  umpire  be  at  peace 
From  that  eternal  doubt  of  leg-before  ; 

Now  from  his  trundling  let  the  bowler  cease, 
And  let  the  weary  lobster  lob  no  more. 

Lo  !  on  the  bounds  of  Space  and  Time,  set  loose, 
That  fin  de  siecles  promised  by  the  seers, 

Foreshadowed  in  a  temporary  truce 
Of  centuries  and  a  silence  of  the  spheres  ! 

Henceforth  the  Amateur,  through  winter-days 
Obscurely  eking  out  his  summer's  fame, 

Consumes  the  hour  in  idleness  or  plays 
Upon  a  rougher  pitch  a  sterner  game. 

The  Pro.,  descending  from  his  high  estate, 
Now  veils  his  godhead  like  a  setting  star  ; 

And  County  Heroes  deign  to  hibernate 
Disguised  as  publicans  behind  a  bar. 

No  more  the  placard  at  the  closing  hour 

Shall  thrill  the  breast  of  London's  homeward  throng 
"With  tales  of  "SAMMY'S  CIDER  TURNING  SOUR," 

Or  "  BOBBY  AT  THE  OVAL  GOING  STRONG." 

Now  may  the  statistician's  brain  desist, 

Soon  as  the  ultimate  account  is  cast, 
From  wondering  whether  FRY  will  head  the  list 

Or  RANJI'S  record-aggregate  be  passed. 

Conundrums  which  were  wont  to  rack  the  Town 
Ai*e  either  answered  or  they  leave  us  cold  ; 

For  instance,  "Are  the  Champions  breaking  down  ? 
Or,  Is  there  any  further  use  for  MOLD  ?  " 

No  longer  shall  we  spoil  our  bacon's  fat, 

Scanning  the  morning  news  with  fevered  eye, 

To  see  if  TROTT  secured  another  "  hat," 
Or  ARCHIE  had  the  courage  to  "declare." 

To  half-forgotten  themes  we  turn  again, 

To  politics,  to  books,  to  social  modes, 
From  ABEL  we  adjourn  to  thoughts  of  CAINE, 

And  from  the  greater  to  the  lesser  RHODES. 

Imagination  with  reluctant  wings 
On  European  monarchs'  tracks  shall  go, 

And  find  in  Denmark's  company  of  kings 
Poor  substitutes  for  Leicester's  KING  and  COE. 

And  we  shall  read  about  the  Royal  Cruisle, 
And  marvel  how  the  Duke  of  CORNWALL  likes 

To  wear  a  third-class  County's  name  and  lose 
The  lonely  lustre  streaming  from  the  Tykes. 

"We  may  admire  the  Daedalean  nerve 
Of  French  mechanics  steering  round  the  sky, 

But  can  their  clumsy  methods  match  the  swerve 
Of  HIRST'S  deliveries  swooping  as  they  fly  ? 

And  all  this  fuss  of  ALFRED,  called  The  Great ! 

What  was  his  average  ?    Did  he  play  to  win  ? 
Can  he  compare  (allowing  for  the  date) 

With  England's  other  ALFRED— meaning  MYNN? 

So  must  we  read  of  War  and  Trade  and  Art, 
Dull  chronicles,  for  half  the  winter  through, 

Till  something  happens  fit  to  fire  the  heart, 
Then  when  the  Lion  meets  the  Kangaroo ! 

O.  S. 


HYDE   PARK  AND  THE   FAIRY. 
(A  Holiday  Fancy.) 

IT  began  with  the  rainbow.  Stretched  on  brown  turf  I  had 
watched  the  slate-coloured  sky  illuminated  on  a  sudden  by 
a  wealth  of  colouring  which  suggested  that  the  clerk  of  the 
weather  was — with  all  his  shortcomings — a  man  of  true  artistic 
feeling.  The  ground  on  which  ^l  was  lolling  was  scarcely 
touched  by  the  recent  shower,  for  a  friendly  old  elm  spread 
his  protecting  arms  above  me.  Evidently  the  rainbow  had 
exercised  an  exhilarating  effect  upon  him,  for  a  handful  of  dry 
leaves  pattered  on  to  my  upturned  face.  I  captured  one  of 
these,  and  was  idly  pulling  it  to  pieces  when  a  tiny  voice  at 
my  elbow  said  : 

"  You  needn't  destroy  fairy  correspondence." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  said,  turning  round. 

A  tiny  elf  was  perched  upon  a  tuft  of  cornflowers  a  few  paces 
from  me. 

"You  know  very  well,"  continued  a  voice  like  the  purling 
of  a  brook,  "that  we  send  messages  to  one  another  on  the 
leaves.  At  least  you  used  to  know  it  once  when  you  tried  to 
read  our  marks  and  symbols  in  that  old  Surrey  garden." 

"  That  was  such  a  long  time  ago,"  I  observed  lamely.  "  You 
see  I  was  very  small  then,  and  so  much  has  happened  since. 
But  how  is  it  you  are  here,  of  all  places.  Surely  those  quaint 
old  gardens  and  woods — 

The  blue  eyes  gleamed  till  the  cornflowers  paled  with  envy. 
"There  are  plenty  of  children  who  want  us.  Perhaps  you 
thought  we  ceased  to  exist  when  you  forgot  to  look  for  us." 

"Not  at  all,"  I  said,  with  the  uncomfortable  feeling  that  my  I 
thoughts  had  been  read.  "  These  children,  however,"  I  added  I 
hastily,  in  order  to  turn  the  conversation  from  a  personal 
channel,  "will  scarcely  appreciate  your  kind  attentions." 

"  You  're  far,  far  more  stupid  than  you  used  to  be,"  said  the* 
fairy,  reflectively;  "like  all  grown-up  people  —  especially! 
men! "  She  looked  wistfully  at  the  scattered  bands  of  grubby,  1 
yelling,  Cockney  children  playing  about. 

"When  you  were  a  sensible  little  boy,"  she  resumed,  "you! 
found  us  because  you  wanted  us.  These  children  want  us  far| 
more  than  you  did  —  although  they  may  not  know  how  tcl 
express  it.  Every  child  is  not  brought  up  luxuriously  on  HANi-l 
ANDERSEN."  (She  looked  severely  at  me.)  "  But  we  can  read  in| 
their  eyes  and  their  wistful  mouths  that  they  want  us.l 
Why,  every  London  park  is  full  of  fairies  now." 

The  journalistic  instinct  rose  within  me.     I  had  visions  (if  ai; 
article,   "  Interview  with  a  Fairy  :    an    Elf's    Opinion  of  the! 
London  School  Board,"  etc.    At  that  moment  a  small  girl  of  .si.\ 
created  a  diversion  by  rushing  across  the  grass  close  by  JUKI 
climbing  over  prohibitive  railings  into  a  sacred,  ringed-off  por-i 
tion  of  ground.     She  was  hunting  after  a  ball  she  had  lost.    AH 
severe-looking  park-keeper  came  up  from  the  opposite  direction M 
Instantly  the  fairy  swung  off  her  perch,  and  just  as  the  keepei1 
passed  she  threw  two  stray  sunbeams  into  his  eyes.    This  sc 
dazzled  him  that  he  didn't  note  the  trespasser  who  had  pausedl 
in  terror.     Then  another  sunbeam  was  flung  in  the  direction  oil 
the  ball,  and  the  next  minute  the  child  was  racing  away  wit™ 
the  recovered  treasure. 

"  Capital,"  I  said 

"  Eh  ?  "  said  the  park-keeper,  looking  down. 

"  I  wasn't  speaking  to  you,"  I  explained,  then  looked  around! 
me.  The  fairy  had  gone.  But  I  realised  that  there  were  moral 
things  in  a  London  park  than  are  dreamt  of  in  a  park-keeper's— |i 
or,  for  the  matter  of  that,  a  journalist's — philosophy. 


THE  PAINTER'S  FAVOURITE  BALLAD. — The  song  whicb  touchec 
my  art — "  The  Veiled  Picture." 


THE  LATEST  FRENCH  TOAST. — L'eau  de  vie  pour  le  Czarl 


SEPTEMBER  11,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  183 


A    SHORT    MEMORY. 

Shaie  of  Bismarck  (to  German  Pressman).   "You  WRITE  OF  BRITISH  'BRUTALITIES,'  MY  FRIEND.     HAVE  YOU  FORGOTTEN  YOUR 

BISMARCK  so  SOON  ?  " 

["For  almost  every  repressive  measure  taken  by  our  military  authorities  in  South  Afric,a,  and  others  which  may  yet  be  taken,  a  precedent  can  be 
found  in  the  measures  taken  by  the  German  military  authorities  in  France  during  the  war  of  1870-71."— Letter  to  the  "  Times,1'  8tpt.  3,  1901.] 


SKPTK.MBER  11,   1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  1HE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


185 


THE   CRUISE  OF  THE  SABRTNA. 
IT.— A  CIRCULAR  TOUR. 

EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  TRAVEL  DIARY  or 
TOBY,  M.P. 

Milford  Haven,  Tuesday. — Wasn't  there 
someone  who  wrote  a  treatise  on  The 
Hunting  of  the  Staff?  Or  was  it  The 
Tracking  of  the  Snark  ?  Fancy  it  was  the 
former.  Anyhow,  we've  spent  a  fair 
summer  day  in  hunting  for  the  Staff. 
Game  peculiar  to  single  line  railways 
worked  on  the  block  system.  Idea — very 
reasonable — is  that  if  you  have  only  one 
train  at  a  time  on  a  particular  section  of 
the  line,  you  can't  possibly  have  a  colli- 
sion. Argalj  the  guard  of  a  train  passing 
through  station  A  is  handed  something 
like  a  policeman's  truncheon  which  he 
delivers  up  on  passing  station  B.  Till  the 
Staff  comes  back  to  station  A  no  train 
may  follow  on  track  of  train  number  one. 

"Very  well,"  as  WILLIAM  ALLAN  says 
when  explaining  to  the  House  the. fear- 
some potentialities  of  the  Belleville 
Boiler. 

Our  intent  was  to  make  our  way  from 
Milford  Haven  to  Fishguard  on  the 
northern  coast  of  the  peninsula  that 
flanks  the  entrance  to  the  Bristol  Chan- 
nel. If  we  had  taken  the  ordinary  train  all 
would  have  been  well.  But  none  of  your 
ordinary  trains  for  the  COMMODORE,  Bart. 
Like  Todgers,  he  "  can  do  it  when  he 
likes,"  and  he  always  likes.  Must  have 
a  special  train,  and  such  a  specialler! 
Only  a  saloon  carriage  ;  but  the  floor  was 
carpeted  with  rugs  from  far-off  Ind ; 
the  cushions  on  the  seats  were  of  faint 
sea-green  morocco;  the  silken  curtains 
looped  across  the  windows  were  of  the 
same  tint.  A  silver  lamp  swung  over  a 
table  at  which  eight  could  comfortably 
sit  at  luncheon.  From  a  corner  peeped  a 
lordly  hamper. 

"  Something  iced,"  said  the  COMMODORE 
in  reply  to  the  MEMBER  FOR  SARK'S  mute 
enquiring  glance. 

Capital  start  this.  Run  across  from 
coast  to  coast  in  hour  and  a  half.  High 
noon  now.  Lunch  at  1.80.  Meal  at  hotel 
ordered  by  telegraph.  "  And  lobsters," 
the  COMMODORE,  with  his  own  hand,  added 
to  the  simple  suggestions  of  SARK,  who 
drafted  the  telegram.  Trundled  merrily 
out  of  the  station  ;  passed  in  triumph 
through  Tenby ;  reached  Saundersfoot, 
and  the  discovery  that  life  is  not  all  silk 
curtains,  silver  lamps  and  Eastern  rugs. 
As  at  a  critical  point  in  his  career, 
Q RANDOLPH  "  forgot  GOSCHEN  "  so  we  had 
forgotten  the  Staff,  and  all  it  implies. 
The  Staff  had  gone  on  with  the  ordinary 
train  to  Whitland,  and  till  it  was  brought 
back  by  down  train  we  couldn't  stir  a 
foot — "not  a  Saundersfoot"  as  the  COM- 
MODORE gloomily  said. 

Half -an -hour  sped.  In  some  circum- 
stances Saundersfoot  may  have  its  attrac- 
tions for  the  intelligent  wayfarer.  Under 


OLD    ACQUAINTANCE    FROM    COLORADO. 


Colorado  P.  Sugg  (from  the  States).   "  SECKERTITRRY  HANBURRY,  I  RECK'N  ?    GUESS  YOU  'RE 

KINDER   SKEERED   TER   SEE   ME  AROUXD    HERE  !       COME   AFTER   THEM   PERTATERS    O*    YOUR'N." 

President  of  Board  of  Agriculture.   "No  YOU  DON'T,  DEAR  BOY!     NOT  THIS  TIME!!" 


the  midday  sun,  with  luncheon  already 
postponed,  they  were  not  apparent 
through  the  plate-glass  windows  of  our 
luxuriant  carriage.  Ten  minutes  later 
down  train  arrived.  Our  guard  seized 
the  magic  Staff  ;  put  on  steam  for 
Clynderwen ;  not  so  bad  after  all ;  a 
cold  lunch  was  ordered  ;  in  this  weather 
couldn't  get  much  colder  for  half- an  - 
hour's  wait. 

Clynderwen  the  junction  with  the  main 
line  and  the  single  line  going  on  to 
Fishguard.  Do  the  rest  of  the  run  in 
half-an-hour. 

"  Very  sorry,  Sir,  indeed,  but  the  Staff 
just  gone  on.  Back  in  fifty  minutes." 

'Twas  the  voice  of  the  station-master. 
Blank  silence  fell  on  the  company. 
Began  to  regard  the  COMMODORE  with 
estranging  glance.  What  did  he  mean 
by  taking  us  out  to  Barmecide  feasts  in 
luxurious  equipages?  "And  lobsters," 
forsooth !  If  he  had  been  content  with 
the  ordinary  train  (return  tickets  at 
considerable  reduction  in  price)  all  would 
have  been  well.  Instead  of  which,  as  the 
j^dge  said,  he  goes  about  the  country  in 
purple  and  fine  linen,  pulling  up  for  fifty 
minutes  at  every  other  roadside  station. 

This  last  block,  if  nothing  worse 
happened,  would  bring  us  to  Fishguard 
at  three  o'clock,  a  little  late  for  lobsters. 
Besides,  who  knows  where  the  confounded 
Staff  would  be  when  we  arrived  at  the 
next  boundary  of  a  section  ? 

"  I  really  think,"  said  the  COMMODORE,  in 
a  meek  voice  quite  unfamiliar,  what  time 
his  gaiters  twinkled  on  his  own  quarter- 
deck, "we'd  better  not  go  on.  Mightn't 
reach  Fishguard  till  four  o'clock,  that 
would  be — don't  you  think--eh  ?  We're 
on  the  main  line  now,  where  the  Staff 
doesn't  count.  If  we  keep  on  we  shall  get 


to  Milford  Haven  by  three  o'clock,  and  can 
have  a  snack  on  the  yacht." 

"  Milford  Haven,  Sir  !  "  exclaimed  SARK, 
with  irritating  access  of  politeness.  "  Isn't 
that  the  place  we  started  from  at  noon?  " 

"  Well,  yes,"  said  the  BARONITE,  apolo- 
getically. "But,  you  know,  we  must 
start  from  somewhere  ;  everybody  does.'' 

So  we  steered  W.S.W.  by  south,  reach 
ing  Milford  Haven  at  3.15,  hot  and  hungry. 

"  Je  n'al  pas  vu  Carcasonne,"  wails  the 
dying  man  in  the  plaintive  Gascon  ballad. 
We  did  not  see  Fishguard. 

This  melancholy  and  true  story  should 
be  illustrated  by  a  map  after  the  manner 
of  Treasure  Island.  Failing  that,  look  up 
the  map  in  the  railway  guide  of  the  Great 
Western  Co.  and  you  '11  find  our  circular 
tour  appropriately  marked  in  blood-red- 
line. 


A    DIALOGUE   OF  DEGREES. 

Little  Daughter  (to  poor  Vicar).  Daddy, 
a  gentleman  in  gaiters  has  called. 

Vicar.  A  gentleman  in  gaiters  !  Was 
he  anything  like  Dean  SIMPKIN  ? 

Little  Daughter.  Oh,  no,  daddy  I  Be- 
sides, he  told  me  that  he  thought  a  pair 
of  braces  would  do  you  good. 

Vicar.  A  pair  of  braces  !  It  surely 
couldn't  have  been  the  Bishop. 

Little  Daughter.  No,  daddy ;  he  said  he 
was  Lord  MoNKCHESTER's  gamekeeper, 
and  here  are  the  braces. 

[Produces  a  brace  of  partridges. 

Vicar  (relieved).  Very  kind,  I  'm  sure  ; 
but  he  did  wear  gaiters,  didn't  he,  dear  ? 

Little  Daughter.  Yes,  daddy  ;  but  they 
were  so  dirty  that  I  thought  at  first  he 
was  a  grateful  poacher. 

[Vicar  comes  to  the  conclusion  that 
his  daughter  has  hit  the  mark. 


186 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHAEIVAEL  [SEPTEMBER  11,  1901. 


LIVES    OF    GREAT    MEN. 
No.  II.— THE  DUKE  OP  DONNYBROOK  AND  Bow. 

THE  fifteenth  Duke  of  Donnybrook  and  Bow- 
It  is  a  splendid  and  an  ancient  title — 

Felt  that  life's  lamp  was  sinking  very  low, 
Leaving  but  little  of  the  spark  called  vital. 

His  sins — nay,  let  us  speak  of  them  as  errors — • 

Were  few  ;  for  such  a  Duke  death  has  no  terrors. 

He  was  a  good  old  man ;  not  overwise, 
But  Dukes  require  no  ample  store  of  wisdom  ; 

Dulness  had  no  disfavour  in  his  eyes, 
And  dull  men  loved  him,  for  he  never  quizzed  'em. 

He  was  no  wit — in  fact,  I  don't  know  whether 

It 's  right  to  mention  Dukes  and  wit  together. 

Yet  he  was  great :  he  won  the  Derby  race 
First  with  a  chestnut,  next  time  with  a  bay  gee. 

In  every  Cabinet  he  had  a  place, 
And  so  they  made  him  G.C.B.  and  K.G. 

In  every  English  county  he  had  got  land  ; 

He  owned  a  river  and  a  moor  in  Scotland. 

All  other  things  he  had  his  rank  to  suit : 

Cedars  and  oaks  his  spacious  gardens  grew  in  ; 

Much  glass  he  owned  for  orchids  and  for  fruit — 
Possessed  five  castles  and  a  hoary  ruin. 

Pictures  and  prints — I  scarce  know  how  to  tell  'em — 

And  busts  and  arms  and  folios  bound  in  vellum. 

That  death  should  take  this  man  appears  to  me 
A  most  un-English  and  pro-Boer  proceeding. 

To  cut  the  flowers  and  let  the  coarse  stuff  be 
Is,  you  '11  agree  with  me,  unskilful  weeding. 

It  needs  a  lot  of  pretty  hard  forgiving 

To  take  a  Duke  and  leave  a  pauper  living. 

Such  pleas  availed  not,  as  the  hour  drew  nigh, 
To  check  the  purpose  of  the  grizzly  spectre. 

The  Duke,  good  soul,  resigned  himself  to  die, 
Sustained,  consoled,  encouraged  by  the  Rector, 

"Who  held  a  Ducal  living  and  was  trying 

To  do  his  best  to  help  the  Ducal  dying. 

So  the  Duke  died,  and  all  men  praised  him  well 
(Some  praised  too  much,  but  nobody  rebuked  'em) ; 

But,  which  was  strange,  no  man  of  them  could  tell 
Who  should  succeed  the  dead  Duke  in  the  Dukedom. 

Much  to  the  British  public's  consternation, 

The  Duke,  it  seemed,  had  left  no  male  relation. 

Three  brothers  he  had  had,  but  one 

In  infancy  departed. 
His  breath  Avas  short,  his  race  was  run 

Almost  before  he  started. 
The  second  might  have  travelled  far, 

And  might  have  died  in  bed,  Sir. 
One  day  he  bought  a  motor-car  ; 

The  next  day  he  was  dead,  Sir. 
The  third  one  (of  a  City  man 

He  seemed  to  have  the  makings) 
In  manhood's  prime  set  out  to  plan 

Commercial  undertakings. 
The  City  was  his  hunting  ground  : 

In  many  a  bright  prospectus 
On  which  his  Lordship's  name  was  found 

He  offered  to  direct  us. 
Withal,  the  man  was  never  l«ash, 

For,  ere  the  wise  forebodedX 
Or  even  hinted  at  a  crash, 

He  skilfully  unloaded. 


He  floated  out  his  companies, 

But  when  there  came  a  gale,  or 
When  clouds  were  black,  finance's  seas 

Knew  no  more  careful  sailor. 
If  storms  arose  he  judged  it  best, 

Unless  they  could  be  weathered, 
To  make  for  home  ;  he  had  a  nest 

Most  comfortably  feathered. 
But  how  shall  man  foretell  his  end'? 

His  companies  outgrew  him, 
And  one  declared  a  dividend — 

The  shock  was  such  it  slew  him. 
(To  be  continued.) 


R.  C.  L. 


TORTURE-CHAMBER  MUSIC. 

["  The  French  Academic  de  Medecine  has  been  much  excited  over  a 
new  dental  apparatus  which  combines  the  administration  of  gas  with 
phonographic  musical  selections.  While  you  are  inhaling  the  one,  you  are 
likewise  drinking  in  the  other,  and  the  result  is  said  to  be  '  a  most  agree- 
able sensation.'  " — Lady's  Pictorial.'] 

SCENE — A  Modern  Torture -Chamber,  i.e.,  the  Operating-room 
of  a  Dentist.  In  a  prominent  position  before  the  window 
stands  a  "roomy"  cluiir  fitted  with  meclianism  for  adjust- 
ing same.  Overhanging  it  is  a  movable  case  of  implements 
of  the  most  dis-  and  ex-tracting  kind.  Near  by  is  a  formidable 
apparatus  exhaling  a  gaseous  odour  for  administering  an 
anaesthesia,  to  it  is  attached  a  phonograph,  contiguous  to 
which  latter  is  an  enormous  array  of  boxes  filled  with  ivax 
cylinders  containing  "times."  A  shadowy  assistant  flits 
to  and  fro,  appearing  and  disappearing  with  alarming 
frequency  and  mystery,  rising  and  falling  in  clouds  of 
odoform.  The  Dentist  is  wiping  a  particularly  aggressive- 
looking  instrument  when  a  stout  and  elderly  lady  enters. 
Her  face  is  so  swollen  she  cannot  speak. 

Dentist.  Good  morning !  (Referring  to  visiting-book  as  he 
waves  elderly  sufferer  to  the  chair.)  Ah  !  (Apparently  satisfied 
that  the  lady  is  not  there  under  false  pretences,  proceeds  to 
gaze  upon  her  disfigurement  with  a  cheerful  smile.)  An  abscess, 
ma'am.  I  'm  afraid  we  shall  have  to  dispense  with  the  services 
of  that  gentleman  (forcing  Elderly  Lady's  mouth  open  and  play- 
fully tapping  offending  "gentleman  "  with  forceps.  Elderly  Lady 
winces  and  throws  up  a  pair  of  remonstrating  hands).  Please, 
don't  be  alarmed.  We  will  take  it  out,  I  think,  under  gas. 
Painless.  Absolutely,  I  assure  you,  and  not  unpleasant. 
(Elderly  Lady's  face,  if  capable  of  expression,  would  facially 
"  beg  to  differ."  Dentist  signals  violently  to  Shadowy  Assistant, 
who  is  energetically  engaged  in  looking  the  other  way  ;  luiving  at 
length  made  him  appreciate  the  fact  that  the  Elderly  Lady  is 
about  to  have  "  gas,"  he  proceeds  to  make  the  necessary  pre- 
parations.) It  is  usual,  Madam — (with  great  confidence  and 
professional  aplomb) — to  make  these  operations  as  agreeable 
as  possible.  I  propose  to  lull  you  into  a  rapturous  repose. 
(Sweeps  his  /lands  slowly  before  Elderly  Lady's  face,  suggesting, 
in  a  general  way,  the  enchantment  of  the  process.)  You  will 
fall  asleep  on  "  a  dying  air."  (Elderly  Lady  attempts  to  rise. 
Adjusting  the  chair  to  an  almost  horizontal  position.)  Pray  be 
calm,  Madam.  A  quotation  merely,  SHAKSPEARE.  I  mean  a 
musical  air,  as  you  shall  see — or  hear.  (Laying  a  hand  affec- 
tionately on  phonograph.)  Attached  to  the  apparatus  is  this 
phonograph,  which  will  be  set  in  motion  at  the  same  time  as 
the  gas  is  administered.  You  will  float  away — metaphorically 
—to  the  sound  of  soft  music.  (Elderly  Lady  is  much,  impressed.) 
Now,  I  should  be  so  obliged  if  you  could  give  me  some  idea  of 
the  kind  of  music  you  would  like  to  go  off  to.  (Happily.)  Shall 
it  be  a  spirited  mazurka,  reminiscent  of  happy  girlhood's 
days?  (Elderly  Lady  signifies  disapproval  by  gurgle.)  Then  a 
dreamy  waltz?  We  have  all  the  latest,  and  I  must  say  the 
delirium  of  some  of  our  modern  waltzes  has  a  most  spirit- 
wafting  effect.  Lift  you  'out  ofj'yourself.  (Elderly  Lady  shmvs 


SEPTEMBER  11,   1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


187 


Dealer.   "  Is  HE  QUIKT?     BLKSS  YER  'FARP,  THAT  'OUSE  'E'S  A  CONFIDENTIAL  'OHSE,  THAT'S  WOT  'K  is!" 
Customer.     'An,  1  SEE— CONFIDENTIAL.     THKN  I  SUPPOSE  YOUR  LAD'S  WHISPERING-  SOMETHING  IN  HIS  EAU  NOW!" 


great    aversion    to    waltz  -  music.)       No  ? 
iThen.    a    patriotic    song    or    a   soft   solo 
Ifrom  one  of  our  comic  operas  ?     (Elderly 
|Lady  suggests  by  muffled  interjections  that 
lit  would  be  most  inappropriate.     It  is  anij- 
ythingbut  acomicopera-tion.)    True.    "Well, 
shall  we  say  a  nocturne  ?    Something  from 
^ithe  divine  CHOPIN?    (Elderly  Lady  franti- 
cally signals  to  dentist  to  extract  tooth,  and 
[Becomes  exhausted.)     Then,  Madam,  I  'in 
sure  WAGNER  is  to  your  taste.    Quite  a 
run  on  Tannhiiuser  for  back  teeth,  while 
the  "  Wedding  March  "  from  Lohengrin  is 
a  safe  "  molar  "  accompaniment.     (Elderly 
Lady  stares  blankly  at  Dentist,  who  takes 
silence    for    consent    and     proceeds    with 
operation  to  the  tune  of  :  • 
"  You  may  wriggle,  you  may  struggle,  but  I've  got 

him  in  my  eye, 
And  I'll  have  him,  yes,  I'll  have  him,  I  will  have 

him  by-and-by !" 

|an  air  from  "  Faust-up-to-Date  "  which  the 
Shadowy  Assistant  slips  in  by  mistake.) 
SAME  SCENE.    (Two  hours  later.) 
A  slim,  clean-shaven  young  man,  with  glasses 
and  what  is  termed  an  "artistic"  get- 
*.  wp,  rises  in  an  excited  state  from  the 
chair.1      Gas    having    been    just    ad- 
mi         red  and  a  tooth  drawn,  to  the 
The  Absent-Minded  Beggar." 


8.  Y.  M.  (as  furiously  as  the  exliausted 
state  in  which  the  gas  has  left  him  will 
allow,  to  Dentist,  who  smiles  in  amiable 
discomfort).  You  more  than  fool !  You 
Philistine !  To  rob  me  of  a  sound  tooth. 
I  particularly  pointed  out  the  tooth  I 
Avanted  extracted.  (Dentist  suggests  choice 
was  prompted  by  decay).  Nonsense  !  Rot ! 
It  was  the  other  one,  two  teeth  off.  But 
that 's  a  small  matter.  It 's  not  the  tootli 
I  grudge.  But  I  'in  a  musician,  and  to  be 
forced  to  experience  one  of  the  most 
deliciously  languishing  sensations  to  that 
execrable  tune  !  It 's  atrocious,  it 's 
degrading !  An  insult  to  my  artistic 
instinct,  an  outrage  against  my  delicately 
constituted  organisation.  It  has  left  me 
with  impressions  that  it  will  take  weeks 
to  obliterate.  If  you  had  only  let  me  go 
off  to  TSCHAIKOWSKY'S  Last  Symphony !  I 
would  have  forgiven  a  trifling  mistake. 
Even  MENDELSSOHN,  or  a  Ritournelle  by 
Madame  CHAMINADE.  I  could  have  borne 
the  loss  of  a  few  teeth  under  such  circum- 
stances. But  the  "Absent " 

[Completely  collapses  at  the  idea,  and 
is  gently  removed  by  the  shadoioy 
Assistant,  who  is  responsible  for 
the  mistake  and  the  dreadfully 
tragic  situation. 


THE  CALENDAR  OF  LOVE. 
I  KNEW  a  little  maid  in  January, 

She  was  so  sweet  and  wary, 
But  not  the  little  maid  I  knew 

In  February  ; 
I  knew  that  little  maid  in  March, 

All  frills  and  furbelows  and  starch, 
But  when  in  April  storm  and  shine 

(A  different  sort  of  weather) 
I  thought  the  little  maid  was  mine, 

And  we  together  I 

I  knew  that  little  maid  in  May, 

When  blossoms  were  a-showing, 
She  grew  more  proud  from  day  to  day 

When  June  with  life  was  flowing. 
Then  came  July,  and  she  and  I 

Had  quite  a  tender  tether  : 
What  mattered  storm  or  cloudy  sky  ? — 

We  were  together ! 

Then  August  brought  the  bloom  to  come, 

With  fruit  both  rich  and  mellow  ; 
September  made  the  Harvest  Home, 

With  fields  of  cornstalks  yellow ; 
October — then  she  showed  her  pride, 

November  made  her  slither, 
December  showed  I  was  denied — 

We  are  no  more  together. 
But  still  I  love  her,  time  or  tide, 

And  hope  for  better  weather  ! 


188 


PUNCH,    OB    THE    LONDON    CHAEIVABI.  [SEPTEMBER  11,  1901. 


SEPTEMBER    SONG. 

TtS  the  soason  of  unreason ;  it  wore  treason 

To  write  sense. 
In  September,  pray  remember,  silly  songs  are 

No  offence. 
If  you  're  clever  now  you  never  -will  endeavour 

To  be  wise, 
But  be  frivolously  jolly,  catching  folly 

As  it  flies. 

Now  we  weary  with  our  dreary,  silly  query 

Every  print ; 
Not  forgetting  to  be  setting  social  problems 

"Without  stint. 
Now  the  scaly  serpent  daily  do  we  gaily 

Renovate, 
On  his  visit  in  a  solemn  open  column 

We  dilate. 

Lass  ami  lad,  see,  ma  and  dad,  see,  from  the  sad  sea 

Come  at  last, 
For  the  summer  has  become  a  happy  mem'ry 

Of  the  past. 
Now  we  tumble  with  a  grumble  to  our  humble 

Business  ways. 
As  we  dream  in  manner  hazy  of  our  lazy 

Holidays. 

Maids  alluring  are  enduring  now  the  curing 

Homburg  yields. 
Now  the  partridge  with  a  cartridge  seeks  the  sportsman 

O'er  the  fields. 
Now  the  clubby,  fresh  and  chubby  (trifle  tubby) 

City  he 
Doth  in  triumph  romp  and  royster  with  the  oyster 

From  the  sea  ! 


A   TEN   DAYS'   TRIP. 

Aboard  the  "Orlando,"  1.80.  Already  quite  a  nautical  appe- 
tite. Steward  places  us.  My  next  neighbour  and  boon  com- 
panion is  CHARLIE  WORTLER,  an  old  friend  and  distinguished 
actor  (though  WORTLER  is  not  his  nom  de  tliedtre),  whom  I  have 
not  seen  for  years.  Delighted,  both  of  us  ;  and,  in  a  second, 
we  are,  as  it  were,  Siamese  twins ;  at  all  events,  we  are  to- 
gether bound  for  the  same  port,  on  the  same  voyage — but  not, 
of  course,  in  a  twin-ship. 

Captain  also  delighted  at  our  knowing  each  other.  But  was 
there  ever  such  a  captain  ?  Why,  on  his  personal  introduction  as 
host  and  master  of  the  ceremonies  aboard  ship,  we  all,  every 
man  Jack  of  us,  and  every  woman  Jil  of  us,  become  intimately 
acquainted,  nay,  on  the  very  best  possible  terms  with  one 
another  within  the  first  twenty  minutes  of  dinner-time.  This 
fraternal  sentiment  commences  at  our  table  which,  tem- 
porarily, is  the  Captain's,  and  communicates  itself  rapidly  to 
the  entire  party  occupying  the  several  tables  in  the  dining 
saloon,  for  the  Wilson  Liner  is  choke-full  and  not  a  cabin  to 
spare.  With  most  courteous  diplomacy,  our  Captain  does  not 
stick  to  one  table  and  isolate  a  small  party,  as  if  by  favouritism, 
but  he  takes  the  chair,  as  it  were,  at  various  meetings — now  at 
one  mess,  now  at  another — of  his  constituents,  who,  to  a  man  or 
woman,  will  at  the  end  of  the  voyage  all  plump  for  Captain 
COWLRICK,  and  would  vote  solid  for  making  him  Admiral  of 
the  Fleet,  but  for  the  fact  that  thereby  they  would  lose,  not 
only  his  cheery  companionship,  but  his  tried  and  experienced 
seamanship  on  this  Tilbury  to  Norway\  voyage. 

If  it  be  fine  weather,  our  Captain  points  out  the  pleasures  of 
the  trip,  and  expatiates  on  all  the  manifest  advantages  of 
travelling  by  sea.  He  is  the  first  to  set  the  passengers  amus- 
ing themselves  with  "deck  quoits,"  with  "deck  croquet"  (a 


most  ingenious  game),  and  with  "deck"  anything  else  ths 
offers  opportunities  for  exercise  or  that  affords  diversion, 
there  be  a  "  nasty  sea  on  "  and  ladies  are  collapsing,  is  not  01 
Captain  at  hand  to  see  them  well  and  comfortably  bestowe 
and  to  restore  courage  to  the  most  nervous  by  pointing  on 
clearly  and  sensibly,  how  there  could  not  possibly  be  at 
danger,  as,  if  there  were,  could  lie,  as  Captain,  be  attendir 
to  them?  Would  he  not  have  to  be  "above,"  like  the  swe- 
little  cherub  in  the  old  nautical  song  "  perched  "  (as  a  chert 
might  be,  being  in  a  general  way  physically  incapacitated  ft 
either  sitting  or  standing — but  not  so  our  Captain)  "i 
aloft,  keeping  watch  for  the  life  of  poor  JACK,"  that  is  (in  tl 
Captain's  case),  for  the  safty  of  the  ship  and  those  committ* 
to  his  charge  ?  Certainly  he  would ;  and  that  commo 
sense  reasoning  is  the  most  efficacious  remedy  for  the  nervi 
at  sea. 

So  the  Captain  is  a  capital  doctor  for  mal-de-mer,  and  thoi 
who  imagine  themselves  at  their  worst  would  be  simply  hop 
less  but  for  his  considerate   and   tactful  treatment.      Bra\ 
Captain  COWLRICK,  who,  when  we  are   "  all   at   sea,"   mak 
every  one  of  us  feel  "quite  at  home."     Let  us  all  chorus, 
years  ago  they  did  in  Black  Eye.'d  Hunan  Burlesque,  only  subsi 
tuting    Cowlrick    for    Croxstre.c,   to   the  once   familiar  air 
"  Champagne  Charlie."     "Captain  COWLRICK  is  my  name  (bi; 
Good  for  any  game  to-night,  my  boys  (bis),  Then,  bravo,  boj 
off  again  to  sea  !  " 

Very  hot  August  day,  but  comparatively  cool,  with  geni 
breeze,  as,  post-prandially,  wo  sit  about  on  deck,  readin 
chatting  and  idling  generally,  with  occasional  doze.  Univers 
opinion  nautically  expressed,  that,  in  lovely  weather,  on  a  p< 
fectly  calm  sea,  and  with  land  still  clearly  in  view,  there 
nothing  like  a  sea  trip,  absolutely  nothing  to  compare  with 
for  real  enjoyment ! 

Also  there  is  nothing  like  companionship  aboard,  on  a  a 
voyage,  to  bring  out  the  real  genuine  man  or  woman,  no  matt 
what  his  or  her  profession  or  business  may  be  when  on  shoi 
Here  is  WORTLER,  a  melodramatic  actor  of  either  the  bright* 
or  the  deepest  dye,  according  to  the  part  for  which  he  may  ha 
been  cast.  Rarely  have  I  seen  him  on  the  boards  otherwi 
than  as  a  gallant  rescuer  of  heroines,  a  champion  of  virtue, 
man  who  redeems  a  vicious  past  by  one  act  of  heroic  self  renn 
elation,  uniting  the  lovers'  hands  over  his  breast  and  dying 
slow  music  as  the  final  curtain  descends,  or,  occasionally,  as 
polite  villain  of  the  modern  school,  with  a  self-possessed  mann 
and  a  handy  pistol  in  his  trousers  pocket,  and  once  as  sa 
an  awful  type  of  humanity  degraded  by  drunkenness  that  t 
representation  brought  tears  to  the  eyes  of  all  and  caused  sa 
dryness  of  throats  (through  emotion)  as  could  only  be  relievi 
by  the  longest,  deepest,  and  most  cooling  draughts  imno 
diately  that  exceptionally  thrilling  performance  was  over, 
and  here  he  is,  in  propria  persona,  "  merry  and  free  "  (as  th 
atrocious  gay  scoundrel,  JACK  SHEPPARD,  used  to  describe  hii 
self  in  his  old  song)  and  about  as  jolly  as  the  jolliest  of  san 
boys,  whatever  a  "  sandboy  "  may  be — as  long  as  he  remains  ti 
accepted  nautical  type  of  joviality. 

Be  the  voyageur  a  barrister,  statesman,  actor,  author,  clerg 
man,  doctor,  no  matter  what,  there  is  such  a  briny  breezine 
about  a  sea-voyage  that  it  takes  off  every  particle  of  pr 
fessional  veneer,  blows  away  all  conventional  cobwebbines 
and  men  and  women  en  voyage  appear,  perhaps  for  the  fir 
time  in  their  lives,  as  what  they  really  are,  as  Avhat  Natu 
originally  intended  them  to  be,  and  shows  them  all,  with  ver 
very  few  exceptions,  to  be  just  about  "  as  good  as  they  tnal 
'em  " — that  is,  generally,  honest  specimens  of  kindly  humanit 
Aye  !  and  even  in  their  suffering  !  For  suffering  is  "  the  badj 
of  "  nearly  "all  the  tribe"  that  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships  ai 
attempt  to  take  their  pleasure  in  the  decidedly  "  deep,"  . 
say  treacherous,  waters. 

Here  is  WORTLER,    on  the  very  first  evening,  de1/  ' 
...                         , .          ,                                                 .  ,11  shmvs 
with  some  recitations,  having  been  pressed  tnereu 


SKITRMHER  11,   1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


189 


MIL,  MRS..  AND  MASTER  JONES  AS  THEY  APPEAR  xow. 


MR.,  MRS.    AND  MASTER  JO-NES  AS  THEY  MAY  APPEAR  IN  THE 

NEAR  FUTURE. 
[The  Sandal  craze  may  be  the  beg'nning  of  a  great  change  iu  the  matter  of  dress.] 


who,  captain  included  and  taking  the  lead,  have  all  been  doing 
their  level  best  to  make  the  time  pass  pleasantly.     And  the 
Inext  evening  where  is  WORTLER,   "where  is  he?"    Wrapped 
lup,  bedless,  supperless,  drinkless,  swathed  in  rugs,  lying  in 
la  sort  of  gutter  on  the  upper  deck,  refusing  to  be  comforted, 
land  only  murmuring  polite  but  almost  inarticulate  regrets  as 
Ito  the  impossibility  of  his  accepting   any  invitation  to    take 
Ilight  refreshment    "down   below,"    being   at   that   particular 
Imoment   otherwise  engaged.     But  that  was  an  evening  and  a 
Inight  when,   with  a  few  fortunate  exceptions   (not  including 
IWAGSTAFF,  who,  after  being  ultra-marine  and  affecting  to  play 
the  sailor,  has  every  old  joke  and  every  possibility  of  a  joke 
taken   out  of  him),   all    landsmen    and   lands  women    on   board 
Jwere  either  quite  overcome  by  mal-de-mer,  or  nervously  over- 
mtious,  deciding  upon  not  "going  down  to  avoid"   [as  the 
•pugilists  have  it]  the  probable  unpleasant  consequences  of  what 
|i  composer  might  describe  as  "a  movement  in  C."     Yet  once 
the  storm  over,  all  are  alive  again  !  Then,  as  evening  advances, 
Bind   calm   soa   and   rest  and   dinner    restore  us,    the   guests, 
like  the  blackbirds  in  the  opened  pie,  "began  to  sing,"  and 
long  bofore  our  arrival  at  Christiansand  we  are,  one  and  all  of 
is,  "  a  pretty  dish  to  set  before  a  "  \7iking. 

Gradually  (I  am  referring  to  the  first  night  and  not  to  that 
|)f  the  storm),  the  music  being  over  and  the  National  Anthem 
khorussed  by  the  entire  company  (upon  the  principle  of  each 
me  for  himself,  and  God  save  the  King  for  us  all),  we  retire, 
me  by  one,  to  our  cabins  in  order  to  give  ourselves,  indi- 
ridually,  plenty  of  time  for  so  arranging  our  compartments 
some  eight  or  ten  feet  high,  and  five  or  six  broad)  as  to 
amble,  as  nearly  as  may  be,  our  own  spacious  bed  and 
ssing  rooms  at  home.  The  door  of  my  cabin  is  partially 
]pen,  and  the  port-hole  open  also:  a  delightful  current  of  air. 
myself  round  somewhat  after  the  manner  of  a  tired  dog 
self  comfortable  on  a  hearthrug  before  the  fire,  I, 
MUpeak,  worm  myself  into  the  "bunk"  (why  "bunk"?) 
tunttiously  stretch  out  my  legs  as  I  mentally  measure  the 


space  at  command,  and  accommodate  the  coverlet,  sheets,  and 
blanket  to  my  straitened  circumstances. 

After  taking  a  half  turn,  so  to  put  it  nautically,  to  star- 
board and  remaining  there  on  trial.  I  execute  another  equally 
cautious,  and,  as  it  would  be  called  in  music,  "  slow  move- 
ment "  to  larboard  side.  ("  Larboard  it  is  " — or,  if  it  isn't,  let 
me  be  corrected  by  those  who  know  better.)  Having  decided 
on  the  advantages  of  this  position  I  begin  to  pay  attention  to 
my  going  to  sleep,  and  now  for  the  first  time  I  become  aware 
of  the  wonderful  power  of  the  screw.  It  is  like  the  heart 
of  the  ship,  pulsating  quickly,  unceasingly,  loudly,  but  with 
a  decidedly  healthy  action.  Its  healthiness  is  encouraging. 
But  will  it  not,  like  Macbeth' s  crime,  "murder  sleep"?  I 
begin  to  read  in  order  to  distract  my  attention  from  the  screw 
and  to  induce  sleep.  I  will  not  mention  the  name  of  the  book, 
as  to  do  so,  under  the  circumstances,  might  be  deemed  uncom- 
plimentary to  the  author.  However,  whether  I  became  deeply 
interested  and  began  to  meditate,  or  whether  the  monotony  of 
the  thudding  exercised  a  soothing  effect  on  my  nerves,  I 
suddenly  found  myself  dozing,  when,  seizing  the  opportunity, 
and  always  preternaturally  cautious  as  to  making  any  sudden 
movement  which  should  hopelessly  muddle  the  bunk-coverings 
for  the  night,  I  stretch  my  hand  towards  the  electric  button, 
turn  it,  "  put  out  the  light,  and  then" — slowly  and  very  gin- 
gerly withdraw  myself  into  my  little  lair,  as  if  I  were  some 
fugitive  hiding  from  the  minions  of  a  cruel  tyrant,  and,  once 
more  neatly  and  quietly  folding  myself  up  and  laying  myself  out, 
like  a  suit  of  flannels,  on  a  shelf  in  a  store  cupboard,  I  am  very 
soon  sound  asleep.  Not  absolutely  without  rocking,  but  the 
rocking  is  of  the  gentlest  possible  "  hushabye-baby  "  descrip- 
tion, so  that  this  child  of  nature  feels  quite  at  "  home  on  the 
rolling  deep,  where  the  scattered  waters  "  do  something  or 
other,  I  forget  what  it  was  in  the  old  song,  "  and  the  winds 
their  revels  keep."  Revels  or  no  revels,  the  winds  do  not 
disturb  me,  and  I  do  not  open  my  eyes  again  until  5  A.M.  on  a 
glorious  Sunday  morning. 


190 


PUNCH,   OR   THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[SEPTEMBER  11,  1901. 


A    BLANK    DAY. 

First  Friend.   "THE  BIRDS  ARE  TERRIBLY  WILD  TO-DAY." 

Second  Friend.   "Nt>T  HALF  so  WILD  AS  OUR  HOST  WILL  BE,  IF  IT  KEEPS  ON  LIKE  THIS. 


CLOUD-PLASHES. 

[As  most  modern  "lyrics,"  however  obscure, 
seem  to  conceal  some  sort  of  meaning,  which  to 
that  extent  detracts  from  their  artistic  perfection, 
the  following  verses  are  intended  as  an  attempt  at 
avoiding  this  blemish.] 

SOUL  of  soft  silence,  while  the  shadowed 

lawns 

Hold  lambent  laughters,  subtle  joys 
(Ere  yet  the  morrow's  saffron  dawns) 

In  equipoise, 
Let  languor-stirring  shafts,  more  fleet  than 

fawns, 
Bask  in  the  beam  that  cloys. 

.  •   ;  \ 

Ah  me  !  pale  pulse  of  heartsick  soul  a^id 
wan, 

Pant  in  wild  roseate  pain,  and  pine 
(One  moment  more  and  it  is  gone), 

Oh,  heart  of  mine  ! 
Anon  it  fevers  and  it  sinks  anon, 

While  sinuous  folds  entwine. 


Runnels   of    wine !    Boy    Bacchus's    lush 

kind  ! 
What  time  a  May-day   insect   flits   its 

span — 
(Air  chains  to  hold,  and  ropes  of  sand  to 

bind !) 

Rankle,  and  scan  , 

Hot,  seething  verses,  passion-charged,  and 

find 
A  meaning  if  you  can. 


A    BALLADE    OP    UNPROFITABLE 
SPECULATION. 

OH,  you  on  philosophy's  page 
The  oracles  skilled  to  explain, 

Who  obsolete  tendencies  gauge, 
And  reconstruct  periods  again, 
Come,  weigh  us  this  loss  with  that 
gain, 

Compare  with  the  pessimist's  curse 
The  optimist's  jubilant  strain, — 

Is  the  world  growing  better  or  worse  ? 


In  progress  of  age  after  age, 

The  stage  coach  must  yield  to  the  train 
Now  croquet,  now  golf  is  the  rage, 

Now  rises  Democracy's  reign  ; 

Now  SHAKSPEARE  gives  place  to  H — 

C E, 

Pine  prose  is  now  turgid,  now  terse, 

One's  meat  is  another  man's  bane, — 
Is  the  world  growing  better  or  worse  ? 

Still  strife  on  the  world's  mighty  stage 
The  villain  and  hero  maintain ; 

Still  problems  it  offers  the  sage, 
Still  dreamers  build  castles  in  Spain  : 
The  moon  that  now  waxes  will  wane, 

And  pros  and  cons,  when  we  rehearse 
The  question,  bewilder  the  brain, — 

Is  the  world  growing  better  or  worse  ? 

Envoy. 

Nay,  strive  from  the  world  but  one  pair- 
One  evil,  at  least,  to  disperse, 

And  let  who  will  argue  in  vain— lighting 
Is  the  world  growing  better  o)  by  othi 


K   >;    s 


OH 


> 


s§  ° 

ra  .          u— i 


3  W 

0  Cl 

§  QQ 

cc 

9  ^ 

o  CO 

3  OQ 


)  to 
cau 


SEPTEMBER  11,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


193 


THE  PLAYS  OF  SHAWKSPEARE. 
NO  I.— McBETH. 

READERS  of  Cresar  and  Cleopatra  may 
remember  that  Mr.  GEORGE  BERNARD  SHAW 
is  at  some  pains  to  justify  himself  in  a 
preface  for  writing  a  drama  dealing  with 
characters  already  used  by  SHAKSPEARE. 
He  maintains  that  the  intelligent  play- 
goer, however  much  he  may  admire 
SHAKSPEARE,  may  reasonably  desire,  as 
time  goes  on,  to  see  his  plots  and  charac- 
ters rehandled  in  the  light  of  modern 
ideas.  Sated  with  SHAKSPEARE,  in  fact, 
he  clamours  for  SHAWKSPEARE.  The 
tragedy  of  Macbeth  is  a  crucial  instance 
of  the  need  for  such  revision.  The  deplor- 
able lack  of  any  trace  of  Scots  idiom 
must  entirely  prevent  it  from  being  ac- 
cepted as  a  realistic  picture  of  the  events 
it  purports  to  recall.  In  the  Shawk- 
spearian  version  this  defect  has,  it  is 
hoped,  been  successfully  overcome,  while 
the  five  acts  have  been  successfully  com- 
pressed into  two. 

ACT  I.—  SCENE—  Glamis  Castle.  McBETH, 
who,  it  will  be  remembered,  iras  Thane 
of  Glamis,  is  discovered  sitting  by  the 
fire  in  the  great  hall  with  a  glass  of 
whisky  and  water  at  his  elbow.  It  is 
nearly  midnight.  Enter  Lady  McBETH. 

McB.  Hoots,  wife,  are  ye  noe  abed  yet  ? 

Lady  M.  'Tis  noe  likely  wi'  DOONCAN  an 
a'  ben  the  house. 

McB.  Eh,  woman,  ye  're  jist  puffit  up 
wi'  pride  to  hae  the  King  o'  Scotlan'  to 
stop  wi'  ye. 

Lady  M.  Aweel,  'tis  a  great  honour. 

McB.  Ay,  ah'  verra  expeensive.  Will 
he  gang  the  morrow,  d'ye  ken  ? 

Lady  M.  (darkly).  I  hope  noe  to  see  that 
morrow,  guidmon. 

McB.  (taking  some  more  whisky).  Eh, 
wife,  yer  face  is  as  a  buke  whaur  mon 
may  read  strange  matters. 

Lady  M.  'Tis  verra  like. 

Mc.B.  At  the  same  time  I  dinna  ken 
why  ye  should  noe  wish  to  see  him  gane. 
'Tis  aye  wastefu'  to  hae  veesitors. 

Lady  M.  (impatiently).  Mon,  mon,  ye 're 
nae  better  than  a  fule.  What  did  the 
Weird  Seesters  say  to  ye  when  ye  met 
them  ? 

McB.  They  askit  me  for  twa  shillin'. 

Lady  M.  And  when  ye  gied  it  to  them  ? 

McB.  They  said  I  wad  be  Thane  o' 
Cawdor  an'  King  o'  Scotlan'. 

Lady  M.  Aweel,  are  ye  noe  Thane  o' 
Cawdor  ? 

McB.  Ay,  syn  that  puir  body,  CAWDOR, 
lost  his  head  through  takin'  the  wrang 
side  in  the  war  wi'  Narroway. 

Lady  M.  And  wad  ye  noe  like  to  be 
King  o'  Scotlan'  ? 

McB.  (wavering).  'Tis  a  gran'  poseetion. 

Lady  M.  Ye  shall  hae  it,  guidmon  !  Ye 
shall  hae  it ! 

McB.  (shaking  his  head).  Woman,  woman, 
I  'm  tLinkin'  ye  're  too  ambeetious. 


Visitor  (to  Model)    "AND  is  THIS  AM,  YOU  no  FOR  A  LIVING,  MR.  BLOPHY?" 

Model.   "On,  NO,  SIR,  I  COLLECT.     WHAT  MAY  I  HAVE  THE  PLEASURE  OF  PUTTING  YOU 

DOWN    FOR  ?  " 


Lady  M.  (contemptuously).  Are  ye 
afeard  ? 

McB.  Nae,  nae,  I  'm  noe  afeard.  But 
I  'm  noe  sac  rash  either. 

Lady  M.  (still  unappeased).  Eh,  mon, 
ye  're  a  gey  speeritless  body.  Ye  '11  be 
lettin'  "  I  daur  na  "  wait  upon  "  I  wad," 
like  the  puir  bit  pussie  in  the  story- 
buke. 

McB.  (siilkily).  I  've  as  muckle  courage 
as  my  neighbours. 

Lady  M.  Then  ye 've  a  gran'  gift  for 
concealin'  it. 

McB.  What  wad  ye  hae  me  do  ?  I 
canna  murder  DOONCAN.  'Twad  be  maist 
inhospitable. 

Lady  M.  'Twill  noe  be  necessary. 
(Solemnly.)  Do  ye  ken  whaur  DOONCAN 
sleeps  the  nicht  ? 

McB.  Nae. 


Lady  M.  (triumphantly).  In  the  haunted 
chamber. 

McB.  (alarmed).  The  haunted  chamber? 
Hecht,  woman,  His  Meejesty  will  noe  like 
that. 

Lady  M.  Mon,  mon,  whaur  hae  ye  left 
yer  inteeligence  ?  If  the  Glamis  Ghaist 
sees  DOONCAN  he  '11  shak'  the  life  oot  of 
him.  An'  then  ye  may  tak'  the  crown  for 
yersell. 

McB.  (struck  with  admiration  at  his 
wife's  superior  cunning).  Eh,  wife,  but 
ye  're  a  gran'  woman. 

Lady  M.  (ccmip/acentfy).  I  winna  say  nae 
to  that.  But  whaur  wad  be  the  guid  of 
havin'  a  bonnie  braw  ghaistio  on  the 
preemises  if  I  couldna  mak'  use  of  him 
when  we  waur  entertainin'  strangers  ? 

McB.  (nervously).  And  ye  noe  think 
the  King  will  be  alive  the  morn  and 


194 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[SEPTEMBER  11,  1901. 


A    STUDY    IN    MILITARY    DEMEANOUR    TO    ORDER. 


BEFORE  ATONEMENT. 


AND    AKTEl! 


speirin'  why  ho  \vaur  set  to  pass  the  nicht 
\vi'  a  bogle  ? 

Lady  M.  It 's  verra  improbable. 

McB.  (doubtfully).  The  Thane  o'  Fife 
will  hae  soniethin'  to  say  aboot  it  a',  I 
reckon.  And  if  we  fail 

Lady  M,  (interrupting  this  gloomy  train 
of  reflection).  Wha  talks  o'  failin'  ?  Screw 
courage  to  the  steeckin'  place,  nion, 
and  we  '11  noe  fail. 

McB.  'Tis  a  gey  awsom'  thocht  to  set 
he  family  ghaist  on  yer  lawfu'  sovereign. 

Lady  M.  (cheerfully).  Ay,  DOONCAN  will 
lae  a  teerrible  time  wi'  oor  Kelpie. 

McB.  (thoughtfully).  BANQUO  will  be  noe 
ae  sorry  to  have  me  King  o'  Scotlan'. 

Lady  M.  Are  ye  sure  o'  that  ? 

McB.    (nodding  his    head).  The    Weird 

Seesters  were  verra  encouragin'  to  BANQUO. 

After  the  auld  gaberlunzies  had  had  twa 

uid  shillin'  fra  me  and  had  said  I  wad  be 

King,  mon  BANQUO  interruptit  them  verra 

unceevilly,  speirin'  if  he  wadna  be  King 

oo.    They  said  he  wad  noe  be  King,  but 

his  bairns  wad  be  Kings  after  him. 

Lady  M.  (philosophically).  Aweel,  ye 
maun  just  slit  his  weasend  for  him. 

McB.  Nae  doot.  But  I  dinna  like  the 
uke  of  it  a'.  (Shaking  his  head  mournfully.) 
Twill  be  a  dirhty  beesiness,  I  'm  thinkin', 
i  verra  dirhty  beesiness.  (Draws  whisky 
'awards  him  absently.) 

Lady  M.  (taking  it  from  him).  YeVve 
lad  eneugh,  guidmon.  If  ye  hae  oily 
mair,  ye  '11  be  seein'  daggers  in  the  air 
and  sic  onwholesom'  fulishness. 

McB.  Maybe  I  will.  I  've  but  a  puir, 
sickly  stamach.  But  eh,  wife,  'tis  a 
grimly  thing  to  think  of  oor  Kelpie  gettin' 


his  teeth  in  the  guid  DOONCAN.     He  will 
hae  noe  muckle  sleep  the  nicht,  I  reckon. 

Lady  M.  (grim///).  He  will  hae  muckle 
sleep  the  morrow.  But  will  ye  noe  gang 
to  the  haunted  chamber  and  spy  hoo  frien' 
DOONCAN  is  speedin'  ? 

McB.  Hoots,  wife,  I  canna  spy  through 
a  brick  wall,  an'  the  door  will  noe  be 
open . 

Lady  M.  Ye  might  leesten  in  the  cor- 
ridor. 

McB.  Eh,  woman,  ye 're  altogither  too 
inqueesitive.  But  I  maun  humour  ye. 

[fi.rit  on  tiptoe  to  investigate. 

Lady  M.  (calling  after  him  in  an  ironi- 
cal undertone).  Wak  DOONCAN  wi'  thy 
knockin'  !  Ye  '11  noe  do  that !  Whisht, 
mon,  can  ye  noe  keep  yer  boots  frae 
creakin'  ?  (A  pause.  Then  a  scream  is 
heard.)  I  'm  thinkin'  that  will  be  the 
last  o'  frien'  DOONCAN  !  (Re-enter  McB., 
pale  with  terror.)  Mon,  mon,  'tis  a 
gran'  nicht  for  Glamis.  DOONCAN  skirled 
fine. 

McB.  (sinking  into  a  chair).  'Twas  noe 
DOONCAN  that  skirled.  'Twas  I. 

Lady  M.  (contemptuously.)  'Twas  a  verra 
fulish  proceedin'. 

McB.  (overcome  with  terror).  Eh,  woman, 
wadna  ye  hae  skirled  yersell  if  ye  saw 
mon  DOONCAN  and  oor  Kelpie  sittin'  on 
the  bed  and  havin"  a  frien'ly  crack 
thegither?  (Wailing.)  Ohon, 'tisanawfu' 
sell  for  baith  of  us. 

Lady  M.  'Tis  noe  possible.  How  could 
ye  see  if  the  door  waur  noe  open  ? 

"McB.  I  puttit  my  ee  ahint  the  keyhole 
and  there  waur  DOONCAN  girning  at  oor 
Kelpie  and  oor  Kelpie  girning  at  DOON- 


CAN like  twa  brithers.     And  then  I  rinned 
awa'  skirlin'. 

Lady  M.  (shaking  him  fiercely).  Gang 
back,  mon,  and  put  yer  knife  in  his 
innards. 

McB.  I  daurna. 

Lady  M.  Hoots,  mon,  hae  ye  nae  proper 
pride.? 

McB.  I  hae  as  muckle  pride  as  is  reason- 
able;.   But. I  daur  na-face  oor  Kelpie  ! 
(Curtain.) 


AN  IRREGULAR  VERB ; 

Or,  More  Liberties  with  the  King's  English. 

["  Where  shall  we  week-end  ?  "] 

PRKSKNT. 
1  weekend. 
Thou  cheaptrippest. 
He  excurs  (or,  excurses). 
We  sharabang. 
Ye  start  strong. 
They  end  weak. 

PAST  (IMPERFECT). 
I  was  southending. 
Thou  wast  blowing  the  expense. 
He  was  handing  a  bottle  round. 
We  were  changing  hats. 
Ye  were  travelling  back  under  the  seat. 
They  were  interviewing  the  beak. 

PERFECT. 
(Not  this  journey.) 

PLUPERFECT. 

(No  more  this  season.) 

SUBJUNCTIVE  PRESENT. 
I  may  ostend. 
Thou  mayest  marguerite. 
He  (or  she)  may  show  off  on  the  Digue. 
We  may  punt  in  the  Cercle  Prive. 
Ye  may  propose  to  break  the  bank. 
They  may  have  to  swim  home. 

IMPERATIVE. 

Steward ! 
Let  him  wait  ! 

Let 's  land    somewhere,   for  goodness' 
sake  ! 

Tickets,  please ! 
All  ashore ! 


To  beano. 


INFINITIVE. 


PARTICIPLES. 

Present :  "  Nothing  to  declare  !  " 
Past :  Fined  £40  in  the  Custom  House. 

A.  A.  S. 


FINANCIAL    FOLLIES. 
RATIONAL  NATIONAL  TELEPHONE. 

It  seems  there  is  a  chance  at  last 
Of  seeing  something  National. 
The  G.P.O.— tho'  none  too  fast- 
Shows  inclinations  rational. 
And  soon,  perchance,  the  telephone 
May  cease  to  be  contention's  bone, 
And  in  the  future  we  may  own 
A  service — International ! 


SEPTEMBER  11,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


195 


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190 


PUNCH,  OB  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI 


[SEPTEMBER  11,   1901 


MRS.    MEDWIN. 

BY  HENRY  JAMES. 
III. 

THE  situation,  beforo  Miss  CUTTER'S  return,  developed  in 
other  directions  still,  and  when  that  event  tQok  place,  at  a 
few  minutes  past  seven,  these  circumstances  were,  by  the  foot 
of  the  stair,  between  mistress  and  maid,  the  subject  of  some 
interrogative  gasps  and  scared  admissions.  Lady  WANTRIDGE 
had  arrived  shortly  after  the  interloper,  and  wishing,  as  she 
said,  to  wait,  had  gone  straight  up  in  spite  of  being  told  he  was 
lying  down. 

'She  distinctly  understood  he  was  there  ?" 

'Oh  yes,  ma'am— 1  thought  it  right  to  mention." 

'  And  what  did  you  call  him  ?  " 

'  Well,  ma'am,  I  thought  it  unfair  to  you  to  call  him  anything 
but  a  gentleman." 

MAMIE  took  it  all  in,  though  there  might  well  be  more  of  it 
than  one  could  quickly  embrace.  "But  if  she  has  had  time," 
she  flashed,  "  to  find  out  he  isn't  one  ?  " 

"  Oh  ma'am,  she  had  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

"  Then  she  isn't  with  him  still  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am — she  came  down  again  at  last.  She  rang,  and  I 
saw  her  here,  and  she  said  she  wouldn't  wait  longer." 

Miss  CUTTER  darkly  mused.     "  Yet  had  already  waited ?  '' 

"Quite  a  quarter." 

"  Mercy  on  us  !  "  She  began  to  mount.  Before  reaching  the 
top,  however,  she  had  reflected  that  quite  a  quarter  was  long 
if  Lady  WANTRIDGE  had  only  been  shocked.  On  the  other  hand 
it  was  short  if  she  had  only  been  pleased.  But  how  could  she 
tiave  been  pleased  ?  The  very  essence  of  their  actual  crisis 
was  just  that  there  was  no  pleasing  her!  MAMIE  had  but  to 
open  the  drawing-room  door  indeed  to  perceive  that  this  was 
not  true  at  least  of  SCOTT  HOMER,  who  was  horribly  cheerful. 

Miss  CUTTER  expressed  to  her  brother  without  reserve  her 
sense  of  the  constitutional,  the  brutal  selfishness  that  had 
determined  his  mistimed  return.  It  had  taken  place,  in 
violation  of  their  agreement,  exactly  at  the  moment  when  it 
was  most  cruel  to  her  that  he  should  be  there,  and  if  she  must 
now  completely  wash  her  hands  of  him  he  had  only  himself  to 
thank.  She  had  come  in  flushed  with  resentment,  and  for  a 
moment  had  been  voluble  ;  but  it  would  have  been  striking 
that,  though  the  way  he  received  her  might  have  seemed  but 
to  aggravate,  it  presently  justified  him  by  causing  their  relation 
really  to  take  a  stride.  He  had  the  art  of  confounding  those 
who  would  quarrel  with  him  by  reducing  them  to  the  humilia- 
tion of  an  irritated  curiosity. 

"  What  could  she  have  made  of  you?  "  MAMIE  demanded. 

"  My  dear  girl,  she  's  not  a  woman  who  's  eager  to  make  too 
much  of  anything — anything,  I  mean,  that  will  prevent  her  from 
doing  as  she  likes,  what  she  takes  into  her  head.  Of  course,'1 
he  continued  to  explain,  "  if  it  's  something  she  doesn't  want 
to  do,  she  '11  make  as  much  as  MOSES  !  " 

MAMIK  wondered  if  that  was  the  way  he  talked  to  her  visitor, 
but  felt  obliged  to  own  to  his  acuteness.  It  was  an  exact 
description  of  Lady  WANTRIDGE,  and  she  was  conscious  of 
tucking  it  away,  for  future  use,  in  a  corner  of  her  miscellaneous 
little  mind.  She  withheld,  however,  all  present  acknowledg- 
ment, on'y  addressing  him  another  question.  "  Did  you  really 
get  on  with  her  ?  " 

"  Have  you  still  to  learn,  darling — I  can't  help  again  putting 
it  to  you — that  I  get  on  with  everybody  ?  That 's  just  what  I 
don't  seem  able  to  drive  into  you  !  Only  see  how  I  get  on  with 
you." 

She  almost  stood  corrected.  "What  I  mean  is,  of  course, 
whether ' ' 

"Whether  she  made  love  to  me?    Shyly,  yet — or  because — 
shamefully.    She  would  have  liked  awfully  to  stay." 
"  Then  why  didn't  she?  " 


"  Because,  on  account  of  some  other  matter — and  I  could  see 
it  was  true — she  hadn't  time.  Twenty  minutes — she  was  here 
less — were  all  she  came  to  give  you.  So  don't  be  afraid  I 
frightened  her  away.  She  '11  come  back." 

MAMIE  thought  it  over.  "  Yet  you  didn't  go  with  her  to  the 
door  ?  ' ' 

"  She  wouldn't  let  me,  and  I  know  when  to  do  what  I  'm  told 
— quite  as  much  as  what  I  'm  not  told.  She  wanted  to  find  out 
about  me.  I  mean  from  your  little  creature  ;  a  pearl  of  fidelity, 
by  the  way." 

"But  what  on  earth  did  she  come  up  for?"  MAMIE  again 
found  herself  appealing  and,  just  by  that  fact,  showing  her 
need  of  help. 

"Because  she  always  goes  up."  Then,  as,  in  the  presence 
of  this  rapid  generalization,  to  say  nothing  of  that  of  such  a 
re'ative  altogether,  Miss  CUTTER  could  only  show  as  compara- 
tively blank  :  "I  mean  she  knows  when  to  go  up  and  when 
to  come  down.  She  has  instincts.  She  didn't  know  whom  you 
might  have  up  here.  It 's  a  kind  of  compliment  to  you  anyway. 
Why,  MAMIE,"  SCOTT  pursued,  "you  don't  know  the  curiosity 
we  any  of  us  inspire.  You  wouldn't  believe  what  I  've  seen. 
The  bigger  bugs  they  are  the  more  they  're  on  the  look-out." 

MAMIE  still  followed  but  at  a  distance.  "The  look-out  for 
what?" 

"Why,  for  anything  that  will  help  them  to  live.  You've 
been  here  all  this  time  without  making  out,  then,  about  them 
what  I  've  had  to  pick  out  as  I  can  ?  They  're  dead,  don't  you 
see  ?  And  we  're  alive." 

"  You  ?    Oh  !  " — MAMIE  almost  laughed  about  it. 

"Well,  they're  a  worn-out  old  lot,  anyhow.     They've  used 
up  their  resources.     They  do  look  out.     And  I  '11  do  them  the 
justice   to  say   they're  not  afraid.       Not  even   of  me!"   he 
continued  as   his  sister  again  showed  something  of  the  same 
irony.     "  Lady  WANTRIDGE,  at  any  rate,  wasn't ;  that 's  what  I 
mean  by  her  having  made  love  to  me.     She  does  what  she  likes. 
Mind  it,  you  know."     He  was  by  this  time  fairly  teaching  her 
to  know  one  of  her  best  friends,  and  when,  after  it,  he  had 
come  back  to  the  great  point  of  his  lesson — that  of  her  failure, 
through  feminine   inferiority,    practically  to  grasp  the  truth 
that  their  being  just  as  they  were,  he  and  she,  was  the  real 
card  for  them  to  play — when  he  had  renewed  that  reminder  he 
left  her  absolutely  in  a  state  of  dependence.     Her  impulse  to 
press  him  on  the  subject  of  Lady  WANTRIDGE  dropped ;  it  was 
as   if  she  had   felt    that,    whatever  had    taken  place,   some- 
thing   would    somehow    come    of    it.      She  was    to    be    in  a 
manner    disappointed,    but    the    impression    helped    to    kee 
her    over    to   the    next   morning,    when,   as    SCOTT  had  fore 
told,  his  new  acquaintance  did  reappear  ;  explaining  to  Mis 
CUTTER    that    she    had    acted    the    day    before  to  gain    tim 
and  that  she  even  now  sought  to  gain  it  by  not  waiting  longe 
What,  she  promptly  intimated  she  had  asked  herself,  could  tha 
friend  be  thinking  of?    She  must  show  where  she  stood  befor 
things  had  gone  too  far.     If  she  had  brought  her  answer  withou 
more  delay    she  wished    to    make  it   sharp.      Mrs.    MEDWIN 
Never  !     "  No,  my  dear — not  I.     There  I  stop  !  " 

MAMIE  had  known  it  would  be  "collar-work,"  but  somehow 
now,  at  the  beginning,  she  felt  her  heart  sink.  It  was  no 
that  she  had  expected  to  carry  the  position  with  a  rush,  bi 
that,  as  always  after  an  interval,  her  visitor's  defences  reall 
loomed — and  quite,  as  it  were,  to  the  material  vision — to 
large.  She  was  always  planted  with  them,  voluminous,  in  th 
very  centre  of  the  passage ;  was  like  a  person  accommodate 
with  a  chair  in  some  unlawful  place  at  the  theatre.  Sh 
wouldn't  move,  and  you  couldn't  get  round.  MAMIE'S  calcuh 
tion  indeed  had  not  been  on  getting  round  ;  she  was  oblige 
to  recognise  that,  too  foolishly  and  fondly,  she  had  drearned 
producing  a  surrender.  Her  dream  had  been  the  fruit  rtf  lit 
need  ;  but,  conscious  that  she  was  even  yet  unequipped  f( 
pressure,  she  felt,  almost  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  s'upe 
ftcial  and  crude.  She  was  to  be  paid — but  with  what  was  sli 


SEPTEMBER  11,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


197 


to  that  end,  to  pay?  She  had  engaged  to  find  an  answer  to 
this  question ;  but  the  answer  had  not,  according  to  her  pro- 
raise,  "  come."  And  Lady  WANTRIDGE  meanwhile  massed  her- 
self, and  there  was  no  view  of  her  that  'didn't  show  her  as 
verily,  by  some  process  too  obscure  to  be  traced,  the  hard 
depository  of  the  social  law.  She  was  no  younger,  no  fresher, 
no  stronger,  really,  than  any  of  them ;  she  was  only,  with  a 
kind  of  haggard  fineness,  a  sharpened  taste  for  life,  and  with 
all  sorts  of  things  behind  and  beneath  her,  more  abysmal  and 
more  immoral,  more  secure  and  more  impertinent.  The  points 
she  made  were  two  in  number.  One  was  that  she  absolutely 
declined.  The  other  was  that  she  quite  doubted  if  MAMIE 
herself  had  measured  the  job.  The  thing  couldn't  be  done. 
But  say  it  could  be :  was  MAMIE  quite  the  person  to  do  it  ? 
To  this  Miss  CUTTER,  with  a  sweet  smile,  replied  that  she 
quite  understood  how  little  she  might  seem  so.  "I'm  only 
one  of  the  persons  to  whom  it  has  appeared  that  you  are." 

"  Then  who  are  the  others  ?  ' ' 

"Well,  to  begin  with — Lady  EDWARD,  Lady  BELLHOUSE  and 
Mrs.  POUNCER." 

"Do  you  mean  that  they  '11  come  to  meet  her ?  " 

"  I  've  seen  them,  and  they  've  promised." 

"  To  come,  of  course,"  Lady  WANTRIDGE  said,  "  if  I  come." 

Her  hostess  hesitated.  "Oh,  of  course  you  could  prevent 
them.  But  I  should  take  it  as  awfully  kind  of  you  not  to. 
Won't  you  do  this  for  me?  "  MAMIE  pleaded. 

Her  friend  looked  about  the  room  very  much  as  SCOTT  had 
done.  "  Do  they  really  understand  what  it 's  for  ?  " 

"  Perfectly.    So  that  she  may  call." 

"And  what  good  will  that  do  her  ?  " 

Miss  CUTTER  faltered,  but  she  presently  brought  it  out. 
"  Of  course,  what  one  hopes  is  that  you  '11  ask  her." 

"  Ask  her  to  call  ?" 

"Ask  her  to  dine.  Ask  her — if  you  'd  be  so  truly  sweet — for 
a  Sunday,  or  something  of  that  sort,  and  even  if  only  in  one 
of  your  most  mixed  parties,  to  Catchmore." 

Miss  CUTTER  felt  the  less  hopeful  after  this  effort  in  that  her 
companion  only  showed  a  strange  good-nature.  And  it  was 
not  the  amiability  of  irony.  Yet  it  was  amusement.  "Take 
Mrs.  MEDWIN  into  my  family  ?  " 

"  Some  day  when  you  're  taking  forty  others  !  " 

"Ah,  but  what  I  don't  see  is  what  it  does  for  you.  You're 
already  so  welcome  among  us  that  you  can  scarcely  improve 
your  position  even  by  forming  for  us  the  most  delightful 
relation." 

"  Well,  I  know  how  dear  you  are,"  MAMIE  CUTTER  replied  ; 
"  but  one  has,  after  all,  more  than  one  side  and  more  than  one 
sympathy.  I  like  her,  you  know."  And  even  at  this  Lady 
WANTRIDGE  was  not  shocked  ;  she  showed  that  ease  and  bland- 
ness  which  were  her  way,  unfortunately,  of  being  most  impos- 
sible. She  remarked  that  she  might  listen  to  such  things, 
because  she  was  clever  enough  for  them  iiot  to  matter ;  only 
MAMIE  should  take  care  how  she  went  about  saying  them  at 
large.  When  she  became  definite,  however,  in  a  minute,  on 
the  subject  of  the  public  facts,  Miss  CUTTER  soon  found  herself 
ready  to  make  her  own  concession.  Of  course,  she  didn't 
dispute  them :  there  they  were ;  they  were  unfortunately  on 
record,  and  nothing  was  to  be  done  about  them  but  to — MAMIE 
found  it,  in  truth,  at  this  point,  a  little  difficult ! 

"  Well,  what  ?    Pretend  already  to  have  forgotten  them  ?  " 

"  Why  not — when  you  've  done  it  in  so  many  other  cases?  " 

"There  are  no  other  cases  so  bad.  One  meets  them,  at  any 
rate,  as  they  come.  Some  you  can  manage.  Others  you  can't. 
It's  no  use — you  must  give  them  up.  They're  past  patching 
— there's  nothing  to  be  done  with  them.  There's  nothing, 
accordingly,  to  be  done  with  Mrs.  MEDWIN  but  to  put  her  off." 
And  Lady  WANTRIDGE  rose  to  her  height. 

"  Well,  you  know,  I  do  do  things !  "  MAMIE  quavered  with  a 
smile  so  strained  that  it  partook  of  exaltation. 

"  You  help  people  ?    Oh,  yes,  I  've  known  you  to  do  wonders. 


But  stick,"  said   Lady   WANTRIDGE   with   strong  and  cheerful 
emphasis,  "  to  your  Americans  !  " 

Miss  CUTTER,  gazing,  got  up.  "You  don't  do  justice,  Lady 
WANTRIDGE,  to  your  own  compatriots.  Some  of  them  are  really 
charming.  Besides,"  said  MAMIE,  "working  for  mine  often 
strikes  me,  so  far  as  the  interest — the  inspiration  and  excite- 
ment, don't  you  know? — go,  as  rather  too  easy.  You  all,  as  I 
constantly  have  occasion  to  say,  like  us  so  !  " 

Her  companion  frankly  weighed  it.  "Yes — it  takes  that  to 
account  for  your  position.  I've  always  thought  of  you,  never- 
theless, as  keeping,  for  their  benefit,  a  regular  working 
agency.  They  come  to  you,  and  you  place  them.  There  re- 
mains, I  confess,"  her  ladyship  went  on  in  the  same  free  spirit, 
' '  the  great  wonder ' ' 

"Of  how  I  first  placed  my  poor  little  self?  Yes,"  MAMIE 
bravely  conceded,  "when  I  began  there  was  no  agency  !  I  just 
worked  my  passage.  I  didn't  even  come  to  you,  did  I  ?  You 
never  noticed  me  till,  as  Mrs.  SHORT  STOKES  says,  '  I  was  'way, 
'way  up!'  Mrs.  MEDWIN,"  she  threw  in,  "can't  get^over 
it."  Then,  as  her  friend  looked  vague:  "Over  my  social 
situation. ' ' 

"Well,  it's  no  great  flattery  to  you  to  say,"  Lady  WANT- 
RIDGE good  humouredly  returned,  "  that  she  certainly  can't 
hope  for  one  resembling  it."  Yet  it  really  seemed  to  spread 
there  before  them.  "  You  simply  made  Mrs.  SHORT  STOKES." 

"  In  spite  of  her  name  !  "  MAMIE  smiled. 

"  Oh,  your  names !     In  spite  of  everything." 

"Ah,  I'm  something  of  an  artist!"  With  which,  and  a 
relapse,  marked  by  her  wistful  eyes,  into  the  gravity  of  the 
matter,  she  supremely  fixed  her  friend.  She  felt  how  little 
she  minded  betraying  at  last  the  extremity  of  her  need,  and 
it  was  out  of  this  extremity  that  her  appeal  proceeded.  "  Have 
I  really  had  your  last  word  ?  It  means  so  much  to  me." 

Lady  WANTRIDGE  came  straight  to  the  point.  "  You  mean 
you  depend  on  it  ?  " 

"Awfully!  " 

"Is  it  all  you  have ?" 

"  All.     Now." 

"But  Mrs.  SHORT  STOKES  and  the  others — '  rolling,' aren't 
they  ? — don't  they  pay  up  ?  " 

"  Ah,"  sighed  MAMIE,  "if  it  wasn't  for  them !  " 

Lady  WANTRIDGE  perceived.     "  You  've  had  so  much  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't  have  gone  on." 

"Then  what  do  you  do  with  it  all ?  " 

"  Oh,  most  of  it  goes  back  to  them  !  There  are  all  sorts,  and 
it's  all  help.  Some  of  them  have  nothing." 

"Oh,  if  you  feed  the  hungry,"  Lady  WANTRIDGE  laughed, 
"  you  're  indeed  in  a  great  way  of  business.  Is  Mrs.  MEDWIN  " 
— her  transition  was  immediate — "  really  rich?  " 

"Really.     He  left  her  everything." 

"  So  that  if  I  do  say  Yes " 

"  It  will  quite  set  me  up  !  " 

"  I  see — and  how  much  more  responsible  it  makes  one.  But 
I  'd  rather  myself  give  you  the  money." 

"  Oh  !  "  MAMIE  coldly  murmured. 

"  You  mean  I  mayn't  suspect  your  prices  ?  Well,  I  dare  say  I 
don't !  But  I  'd  rather  give  you  ten  pounds." 

"  Oh !"  MAMIE  repeated  in  a  tone  that  sufficiently  covered 
her  prices.  The  question  was  in  every  way  larger.  "  Do  you 
never  forgive?  "  she  reproachfully  inquired.  The  door  opened, 
however,  at  the  moment  she  spoke,  and  SCOTT  HOMER  presented 
himself. 

(To  be  continued.) 


NOTE  BY  A  HOUSEHOLDER. — "Oh,  Mr.  Coal,  you  are  a  funny 
man !  You  have  gone  up  a  shilling  a  ton,  and  yet  the 
official  statement  is  that  while  the  cellars  are  being  filled  for 
the  winter  at  the  increased  rate,  the  buyers  need  be  under 
no  apprehension.  What  price  the  other  sellers?  " 


198 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[SEPTEMBER  11,  1901. 


THAT    FELLER'S    DICTIONARY. 

"  Traduttori,  traditori." 
IN  most  countries  and  in  most  European 
languages  there  may  be  obtained  pocket 
dictionaries  by  a  German  feller  called 
FELLER.  In  form  they  are  perfect,  in 
type  they  are  good,  in  the  contents  alone 
can  any  fault  be  discovered.  The  words 
—a  not  unimportant  feature  of  a  dic- 
tionary— are  at  times  less  useful  than 
could  be  wished.  This  defect,  however, 
is  to  be  found  in  most  dictionaries.  Care- 
ful research  reveals  the  method 
of  this  German  feller  in  his 
English  -  Italian  volume.  The 
Highwellborn  Mister  Doctor 
Professor — apparently  un- 
acquainted with  either  language 
— has  obtained  the  dictionary 
of  JOHNSON  and  that  of  some 
Italian  contemporary  of  the 
Great  Lexicographer,  and, 
selecting  those  words  most 
impressive  by  their  length  or 
their  rarity,  has  triumphantly 
produced,  according  to  the  title 
page,  his  "  Third  Stereotype 
Edition." 

If  GOLDSMITH,  when  he  was 
wandering  in  Italy,  had  met 
GOLDOM,  he  might  have  appre- 
ciated the  dictionary  of  the 
Herr  Doktor.  It  must  be 
admitted  that  there  are  a  few 
anachronisms  which  clash  with 
the  words  of  the  eighteenth 
century  or  earlier.  ' '  Railroad ' ' 
for  instance.  Yet  here  the 
editor  has  done  his  best  to  be 
old-fashioned  by  choosing  the 
word  commonly  used  in  Eng- 
land fifty  years  ago. 

The  captious  tourist  of  to-day 
may  grumble  at  a  dictionary 
which  entirely  omits  such 
words  as  cab,  omnibus,  cigar, 
cigarette,  postage-stamp  and 
telegram,  and  gives  train, 
tunnel,  porter,  ticket  and  plat- 
form in  a  sense  which  no  one 
requires.  When  he  asks  where 
the  train  is  and  finds  that  he 
has  enquired  the  whereabouts 
of  his  retinue,  or  when  he 


also  gives  gybe  and   gyre,  had  ideas  of 
attempting  a  translation  of  Jabberwocky. 

However,  the  tourist  may  not  always 
grumble.  Whenever  he  wishes  to  refer  to 
them,  and  in  ordinary  conversation  some 
tourists  may  do  this  often,  he  will  always 
be  able  to  find  the  Italian  equivalents  of 
xerocollyrium,  xerophthalmy,  xerotes, 
xiphias,  xylobalsamum,  xylographer  and 
xyster.  Though  five  of  these  seven  words 
are  medical  terms,  it  must  not  be  supposed 
that  a  feller-feeling  has  prompted  Dr. 
FKLLRK  —  most  probably  not  doctor  of 


and    xerophthalmy,  could   ask   for   xero- 
collyrium and  xylobalsarnum  anywhere. 

Of  course,  one  can  get  on  very  well  in 
the  larger  Italian  towns  without  even  the 
few  useful  words  provided  by  this  remark 
able  dictionary.     Usually    chambermaids 
speak  only  the  language  of  the  country 
But  if  at  the  Hotel  Danieli,  in  Venice,  you 
ask  for  hot  water  or  a  cold  bath  in  the 
purest  Tuscan,  or  as  near  to  it  as  you  can 
manage,  the  chambermaid,  being  Swiss 
will  reply  "  I  do  not  spik  Italien  ;  I  spik 


Anglish." 


Gentleman.  "THAT  LOOKS  A  WELL-BRED  DOG." 

Owner.    "I   SHOULD  THINK  HE   WAS  WELL-BRED.      WHY,    HE  WON'T 
HAVE  A   BIT   ER  DINNER  TILL   HE  *8  GOT  HIS  COLLAR  ON  !  " 


wishes  for  a  railway  ticket  and  is  offered 
a  receipt,  he  will  grumble  yet  more  at  this 
odd  FELLER.  As  for  clothes,  overcoat  is 
overlooked  altogether,  but  he  will  find 
"trossers"  as  a  plural  garment  and 
"trouse  "  as  a  singular  one — a  decidedly 
singular  one. 

Of  course,  in  a  day  or  two  any  tourist 
learns  the  simplest  substantives,  but 
when  he  first  looks  for  cigar  or  cigarette 
and  finds  neither,  he  may  be  annoyed  to 
discover  in  their  place  such  words  as, 
churuie,  cicuration,  ciliary  and  cineri- 
tious.  "  Churme,  ntmore  confuso,"  is 
charming.  Perhaps  this  odd  FELLER,  who 


medicine,  but  of  philosophy,  or  possibly 
even  of  philology — to  arrange  his  Words- 
book  for  dialogues  with  a  surgeon  or  a 
chemist.  Should  the  unhappy  tourist 
catch  a  cold,  he  might  as  well  lose  his 
voice  also,  for  he  could  never  find  words 
to  explain  his  condition.  If  he  went  to 
an  Italian  chemist  to  buy  some  quinine, 
or  a  little  vaseline,  or  a  cake  of  carbolic 
soap,  he  must  remain  speechless  for  all 
the  German  feller  would  do  to  help  him. 

Only  one  sufferer — a  case  which  is  pro- 
bably rare — could  describe  his  complaints 
and  obtain  remedies.  A  xylographer, 
afflicted  with  a  complication  of  xerotes 


If  the  German  feller  contem- 
plates yet  another  "stereotype 
edition,"  he  might  with  advan- 
tage have  it  revised  by  the 
chambermaids  at  Danieli 's 
They  know,  perhaps,  as  mucl 
"Anglish"  as  he.  In  remote 
places,  as,  for  instance,  Pieve 
di  Cadore  in  the  Dolomites,  such 
linguistic  attainments  are  rarer 
The  very  obliging  landlord  anc 
landlady  of  the  hotel  at  Pieve 
di  Cadore  do  not  attempt  one 
foreign  word.  The  elderly 
cashier,  Signer  GASPARE 
VKCELLIO,  a  descendant  oi 
TITIAN  himself,  is  satisfied  with 
the  language  of  his  immortal 
ancestor.  Of  the  active  anc 
obliging  staff,  one  waiter  speaks 
some  German,  and  one  maid 
believes  that  she  can  speak 
French,  and  even  English.  The 
present  writer  heard  her  once 
conversing  rapidly  with  an 
American  lady,  who  believed 
that  she  also  could  speak 
French,  and  even  English. 
Around  them  stood  the  pro- 
prietors, the  staff,  and  casual 
loungers,  lost  in  admiration  at 
this  linguistic  display.  Unfor- 
tunately the  phrases  known  to 
the  one  were  not  apparently 
those  known  to  the  other.  So, 
while  French  and  English  words 
flew  about  wildly,  the  Italian 
and  American  languages  formed 
the  backbone  of  the  con- 
versation. It  is  in  such  a 
town  that  one  can  use  a  pocket 
dictionary  —  but  not  the 
pharmaceutical  philology  of  the 


philosophic  FELLER. 


II.  D.  B. 


WHERE  the  French  Ambassador  has 
been  put  by  the  Sultan  of  Turkey— it  la 
porte.  Where  the  Sultan  of  Turkey  has 
been  placed  by  the  French  Ambassador — 
a  la  Rnsse. 


SPORTING  NOTE. — Early  in  September 
the  British  Government  began  Krause- 
potting. 


A  MOTTO  NOT  ALWAYS  POPULAR  AT  THE 
WAR  OFFICE. — "  Tender  and  true." 


SEPTEMBER  18,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


199 


DOMESTIC    ECONOMIES. 

"ECONOMY,"  said  I,  "is  the  art  of 
saving-  five  shillings  at  the  expense  of 
ten." 

"  I  wish  you  would  talk  sense  instead 
of  trying  to  make  epigrams,"  replied  my 
wife.  "But  I  suppose  that  is  hardly  to 
be  expected  of  a  minor  poet." 

The  writing  of  occasional  verses  being 
among  the  various  ways  in  which  1  pick 
up  a  somewhat  precarious  livelihood, 
GWENDOLEN  is  able,  when  put  out,  to 
apply  to  me  this  most  opprobrious  of 
epithets.  I  was  silent. 

"  As  I  said  before,  when  you  were  rude 
mough  to  interrupt  me,"  GWENDOLEN 
jontinued,  "  it 's  quite  time  we  began  to 
itudy  economy.  Last  year  we  made  two 
lundred  and  fifty  pounds,  and  spent " 

"  Oh,  that  was  Switzerland,  darling." 

"And  the  year  before " 

"That  was  our  honeymoon." 

"This  year,  so  far — "  went  on  GWEN- 

i)LEN,  doggedly,  taking  up  the  account 

"My  dear,  I  am  sure  you  are  quite 
jht.  Let  us  economise  by  all  means. 
|'.ow  do  you  propose  to  begin  ?  " 

'At  the  beginning,  of  course." 

"And  that  is ?" 

"Pood.    We  must  give  up  our  butcher." 

"But,  darling " 

In  any  case,  VEAL  says  if  you  don't 

|;nd  him  a  cheque " 

]"How  irrational!    When  I've  nothing 
.the  bank !  " 
I"  Well,  he  says  he  won't  leave  another 

Itlet " 

("Then  you'd  better  say  you'll  with- 

aw  your  custom." 

I"  But  suppose  I  had  to  carry  out  the 
Ireat,  would  anyone  else  supply  us?  " 
ll  had  to  admit  that  it  was  doubtful. 
I"  Well,"  concluded  my  wife  illogically, 
|d  abruptly  returning  to  the  point  from 

ich  we  had  both  unconsciously  strayed, 

?ou    needn't    talk    about   sticking    to 


'  My  dear,  I  suggested  leaving  him." 
Until  you  can  find  some    editor    to 
bept  your  masterpieces." 
['Sarcasm,"  said  I,  "one  expects  from 
imies  ;  one  puts  up  with  it  from  friends  ; 

from  a  wife ' ' 

I'  Darling,  I  was  horrid." 
ntellectually  I  am  to  GWENDOLEN  as  a 
|n.t  to  a  dwarf.     She  is  a  woman — I,  a 
She  scribbles  the  fashion  column  in 
Woman's     World,     and    sentimental 
•ies  for  inferior  magazines.    I,  on  the 
jer  hand,  in  addition  to  verses,  write 
•edithian  Novels  and  learned  articles 
—I  do  not  say  in — the  great  Reviews. 
1,   when  GWENDOLEN  comes  and   sits 
my  knee  and,  putting  her  soft  arm 
my  neck,   gently   pats  my  cheek 
her  plump  little  hand,  I  confess  I  am 
f(  ly  to  concede  any  point  she  may  ask 
mto  agree  1o. 


ON    THE    VILLAGE    GREEN. 

Amateur  Bowler  (to  Umpire).   "HERE,  I  SAY!     I  CAN'T  SEE  THE  WICKET.     How  CAN  I 

BOWL   HIM  ?  " 

Umpire.   " FIRE  AWAY!     IF  YOU  'IT  'IM   IN  FRONT,  IT'S  'LEG  BEFORE.'     IF  YOU  'IT  'IM 

BEHIND,    IT  'S   A    '  WlDE  '  !  " 


VOL.   CXXI. 


Having  smoothed  my  ruffled  suscepti- 
bilities by  the  familiar  means,  GWENDOLEN 
proceeded  to  disclose  her  plans. 

"Instead  of  dealing  any  longer  with 
VEAL  and  extortionate  tradesmen,  I  mean 
to  shop  in  the  King's  Road  on  Saturday 
night.  Yes,"  continued  GWENDOLEN,  ignor- 
ing my  lifted  eyebrows,  "I'm  told  you 
can  get  things  for  next  to  nothing. 
AUGUSTA  says," — AUGUSTA  is  our  general 
— "that  you  can  get  exactly  the  same 
meat  for  twopence  that  VEAL  charges  a 
shilling  a  pound  for.  It 's  so  much 
cheaper! " 

"Is  it?" 


K 


"A  shilling  is  tenpence  more  than  two- 
pence." 

"Nothing  is  twopence  less  than  two- 
pence." 

"  I  've  calculated,"  said  GWENDOLEN, 
paying  no  attention  to  my  frivolous 
suggestion,  "  that  if  we  do  our  week's 
shopping  on  Saturday  night,  we  '11  save 
seven  and  sixpence.  I  have  made  up  my 
mind ' ' 

"My  dear,  that  settles   it.     Run   and 
put  on  your  hat,  and  I  '11  come  with  you 
to  carry  home  the  Sunday  dinner." 
*  *  *  * 

(To  be  continued.) 


200 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[SEPTEMBER  18,  1901 


LIVES     OF     GREAT     MEN. 

No.  II.—  THE  DUKE  OP  DONNYBROOK  AND  Bow. 

(Continued.) 

THE  Duke,  I  should  have  said  before, 

Although  he  liked  the  fair  much, 
Lived  all  his  life  a  bachelor, 

And  didn'tjseem  to  care  much. 
Though  often  tenderly  inclined, 

And  twice  within  an  ace  of 
Engagement  rings,  he  failed  to  find 

A  girl  to  make  Her  Grace  of. 
He  owed  immunity  from  strife 

(And  that  was  all  he  did  owe) 
To  this  :  he  lived  without  a  wife, 

And  died  without  a  widow. 
So,  when  the  old  man  sank  to  sleep, 

We  mourned  for  him  the  rather 
That  not  a  son  was  left  to  weep 

The  loss  of  such  a  father. 
Male  relatives  of  all  degrees 
He  once  had  had  by  dozens, 
They  all  were  doomed  to  predecease — 

His  uncles,  nephews,  cousins. 
Throughout  his  life  the  Duke  had  been 

In  almost  ceaseless  mourning  : 
His  cousins  vanished  from  the  scene 

Without  a  word  of  warning. 
Just  as  the  Duke  regained  his  smile 

And  ceased  to  be  condolent, 
One  cousin  met  a  lion,  while 

Another  plumbed  the  Solent. 
A  third  up  Monte  Rosa  went — 

It  took  him  hours  to  win  it. 
He  made  an  unforeseen  descent 

In  less  than  half  a  minute. 
A  fourth  would  chase  the  fox,  and  Fate, 

While  he  was  chasing,  chased  him. 
She  had  a  longish  time  to  wait 

Before  the  jade  outpaced  him. 
She  caught  him  girt  with  hunting  folk, 
And,  though  he  fain  had  missed  her, 
A  neck  or  nothing  man,  he  broke 

The  former  with  the  Bicester. 
But  why  the  fatal  list  pursue? 

1  've  given  you  a  sample. 
To  prove  that  what  I  say  is  true 

These  instances  are  ample. 
All  men  who  heard  the  story  deemed 

The  Duke  unduly  careless  : 
In  such  a  well-known  Duke  it  seemed 

Unjust  to  be  so  heirless. 
At  Court  the  news  gave  great  surprise, 

But,  though  no  doubt  the  KING  wished 
That  facts  had  shaped  it  otherwise, 
The  Dukedom  seemed  extinguished. 

Now  mark  the  sequel ;  lay  it  well  to  heart. 

Note  how  the  fortunes  of  great  families 

And  ancient  houses  hang  upon  a  hair ; 

How  a  mere  chance  may  shatter  them,  and  how 

A  humble  hand  niay  'stablish  them  again. 

The  dead  Duke's  family  solicitors 

Were  Messrs.  DEED&WELL,  GINNYPEE  and  BITTER, 

A  well-known  firm.    They  carried  on  their  work 

Within  the  classic  Fields  of  Lincoln's  Inn. 

Much  had  they  grieved  when  their  old  client  died, 

Not  idly,  as  a  common  man  might  grieve, 

But  deeply  with  a  poignant  business-grief 


As  of  three  men  who  see  a  stream  of  wealth 

Dry  at  its  source,  and  know  not  where  to  turn 

To  find  another  half  so  bountiful. 

Never^  again  would  it  be  theirs  to  send 

Those  stout  half-yearly  bills  so  promptly  paid  : 

So  much  "  for  writing  you,"  so  much  again 

"  For  two  attendances  re  Broseley  Farm  "  ; 

"  For  taking  your  instructions  "  so  much  more  ; 

"  For  drawing  deed  " — you  know  the  way  it  runs, 

With  all  its  folios  ;  "  for  engrossing  same  " — 

In  short  the  items  all  set  down  that  make 

Grist  for  the  comfortable  lawyer's  mill. 

Never  again  !    The  thought  made  DEEDSWELL  sad, 

And  GINNYPEE  was  sad,  and  HITTER  too. 

To  them  thus  grieving  came  their  Clerk,  a  man 

Bred  to  the  law  and  by  the  law  made  keen. 

He,  since  the  Duke  had  died,  had  made  the  case 

His  own  :  full  many  a  wakeful  night  he  passed 

With  all  the  dull  and  dusty  documents 

Wherein  was  writ  the  story  of  the  house. 

Much  had  he  pored  o'er  ancient  muniments, 

Had  mastered  all  the  records  of  the  race, 

Their  origin,  their'genealogy, 

Duly  worked  out  in  complicated  trees. 
Thus  fortified  #nd  crammed  and  brimming  o'er, 

He  came  before  his  gloomy  principals, 

And  at  a  nod  from  GINNYFEE  he  spoke  : 

"  Sirs,  I  assume  that  you  are  seized  of  all 

The  salient  points  that  mark  this  tragedy, 

For  tragedy  it  is  as  all  men  know. 

I  spare  you  their  recital  and  proceed 

Straight  to  my  point,  the  very  point  of  points, 

Though  noted  by  no  mortal  man  before. 

It  is  recorded  that  the  thirteenth  Duke 

Was  born  in  1752  ;  he  died 

In  1820,  having  had  two  sons. 

One,  who  was  born  in  1785, 

Succeeded  him  as  fourteenth  Duke  ;  with  him 

We  are  not  now  concerned,  but  with  his  brother 

Born  three  years  later,  1788. 

What  of  that  Ducal  scion,  Gentlemen  ? 

How  fared  it  with  him  ?     What  became  of  him  ?  " 

Hereat  the  heavy  cloud  on  DEEDSWELL'S  face 

Lifted,  and  GINNYFEE  was  seen  to  smile. 

And  BITTER  said,  "  Proceed,  young  man,  proceed  !  " 

"  Lord  ARTHUR  BATTLEMORE,"  the  Clerk  went  on, 

"  (That  was  the  young  man's  name)  was  very  wild ; 

A  harum-scarum  temper  marked  his  acts. 

What  then  ?    Here  comes  the  point :  they  shipped  him  oi 

When  he  was  twenty-two,  to  Africa, 

And  he  was  never  heard  of  after  that. 

Whether  he  lived  or  died,  or  if  he  married 

And  reared  a  family,  no  man  can  say 

For  certain — but  I  think  we  should  enquire. 

For  it  may  chance  that  in  that  torrid  land 

Some  grandson  or  great  grandson  yet  may  live. 

Should  we  not  seek  him  ?    Must  we  not  exhaust 
All  means  to  find  an  heir  to  him  we  mourn  ?  " 
He  ceased,  but  his  three  principals  broke  out 
In  exultation  :  never  was  there  heard 
So  great  a  noise  from  three  solicitors. 

"  Eureka  !  "    DEEDSWELL  cried  ;  it  was  not  true, 

But  BITTER  echoed  him,  and  GINNYFEE, 

Swept  beyond  prudence,  cried  "  Eureka  !  "  too. 

(To  be  continued.)  B.  C.  L. 


ANGLO-FRENCH  EXAM.— How  would  you  epigrammaticall 
xpress  in  English,  "  Transmettant  un  cadavre  sur  un  fourgci 
u  cimetiere  "  ?  Satisfactory  answer:  A  "  Fourgon"  conclusion 


SEPTEMBER  18,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


201 


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Q. 

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s  ° 

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1—1    53 
-     O 


SEPTEMBER  18,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


203 


THE  PLAYS  OP  SHAWKSPEARE. 
No.  I. — McBETH. 

ACT  II. — SCENE,  the  hall  at  Glamis  Castle. 
TIME,  the  following  afternoon.  Lady 
McBETH  is  sitting  by  the  window 
darning  a  pair  of  trews.  Enter  Mc- 
BETH, looking  depressed  and  slightly 
sulky. 

Lady  M.  Is  he  gane? 

McB.  DOONCAN?  Ay,  an'  winna  come 
back  sune,  I'm  thinkin'.  Eh,  woman,  a 
puirty  mess  ye  've  mad'  wi'  yer  pliskies. 

Lady  M.  Hoots,  mon,  wha  waur  to  ken 
that  DOONCAN  and  oor  bit  ghaistie  wad  be 
sae  f reendly  ? 

McB.  Ye  should  hae  mad'  siccar  before 
ye  puttit  him  to  sleep  in  the  haunted 
chamber. 

Lady  M.  Did  he  say  aucht  aboot  the 
matter  ? 

McB.  Nae,  he  jist  said  he  had  had  a 
bonnie  nicht's  rest,  ate  his  parritch,  an' 
borrowed  sax  guid  shillin'  of  me  before 
he  ganged  awa. 

Lady  M.  (anxiously).  BANQUO  didna 
gang  wi'  him  ? 

McB.  Nae. 

Lady  M.  (much  relieved).  Aweel,  'tis 
noe  sae  bad  if  BANQUO  hanna'  left  us. 

McB.  (irritably).  I  dinna  ken  what 
manner  o'  beenifit  that  will  be  to  us. 
Ilka  mouth  we  hae  to  feed  will  cost  us 
guid  siller. 

Lady  M.  (darkly).  Ye  need  noe  feed  him  j 
for  lang,  guidmon. 

McB.  Hoo  will  that  be  ? 

Lady  M.  (impatiently).  Hoots,  mon,  hae 
ye  forgottit  that  ye  maun  kill  BANQUO,  or 
Ms  bit  bairns  will  be  kings  o'  Scotlan'  ? 

McB.  (sullenly).  I  dinna  see  ony  sort 
of  uteelity  in  kill  in'  BANQUO  till  we  hae 
dune  wi'  DOONCAN. 

Lady  M.  (contemptuously).  Mon,  mon, 
ye  're  nob'>ut  a  Stickit  Murderer. 

McB.  (obstinately).  I  winna  do  it. 

Lady  M.  (persuasively).  Ye  need  na  do 
it  yersell,  mon.  Ye  can  gie  a  shillin'  or 
twa  to  some  pauchty  cateran  to  do  it 
for  ye. 

McB.  (bu?-sting  into  a  rage).  Hoots, 
woman,  will  ye  ruin  me  wi'  yer  expeen- 
sive  fancies  ?  'Tis  a  sbillin'  here  an'  twa 
shillin'  there  an'  niver  an  end. 

Lady  M.  (ivith  great  guile).  Ye  might 
borrow  the  monny  frae  BANQUO. 

McB.  (restored  to  good  humour  by  the 
brilliancy  of  this  suggestion).  Hecht,  wife, 
ye  're  a  pawky  woman.  I  '11  noe  say  I 
winna  do  it  after  a'.  Be  off  wi'  ye  an' 
leave  me  to  gie  the  matter  my  atteen- 
tion.  (Exit  Lady  McBETH.)  Borrow  the 
monny  frae  BANQUO  !  'Tis  a  gran'  scheme. 
I  inaun  mak'  the  expeeriinent.  Hi,  JOCK  ! 

inter  a  servant.)  Hae  ye  seen  ony 
loiterin'  cantrips  hereaboots  that  wad 

.t  a  throttle  if  a  mon  askit  them. 

Jock.  Ay,  if  ye  paid  them  for  their 
^esrviees. 


/ 
THE    FIRST    OF    SEPTEMBER. 

(Our  sporting  French  friend,  voted  dangerous,  has  been  given  a  beat  to  himself.) 


Chorus.   "WELL,  COUNT,  WHAT  LUCK?" 

Count.  "MAGNIFIQUE  !     I  HAVE  ONLY  SHOT  ONE  !    MAIS  VOILA  ! 
KINO  PARTRIDGE!     REGARDEZ   SES  PLUMES!     N'EST  CE  PAS?" 


Qu'lL  EST  BEAU  !      lllE 


McB.  Fetch  them  hither,  rnon.  (Exit 
JOCK.)  Borrow  the  money  !  Wife,  wife, 
ye  're  a  wonderfu'  woman  ! 

[Interval.  Curtain  descends.  Appro- 
priate music  on  bagpipes.  Five 
minutes  allowed  between  the 
scenes. 


A  SONG   IN  TWO  ACTS. 

ACT  I. 

WHY  do  you  like  my  song,  dearest  ? 

Why  do  you  love  my  tale  ? 
Perhaps  one  or  other  was  long,  dearest, 

But  either  I  thought  would  fail, 
Because  story  and  song  reflected 

The  light  of  a  long  long  ago  ; 


And  in  each  I  was  once  rejected 
By  someone  you  do  not  know  ! 

Acr  it. 
I  know  why  you  like  my  song,  faithless, 

I  know  why  you  love  my  tale, 
It 's  because  there  is  something  wrong, 

faithless, 

In  the  legend  that  now  is  stale. 
You  liked  the  story  and  ballad 

Because  it  brought  back  to  you 
The  days  when  you  made  your  salad 
And  the  principal  green  in  it  rue. 
And  yet  then  poor  I, 
Who  said  "goodbye," 
Thought  }you,  so    vainly,   true  I  oh,  so 
vainly  true  ! 


204 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  [SEPTEMBER  18,  1901. 


mire"  is  "  Wild  duck." 


A   LITTLE  LEARNING,"   &0. 

Examiner.  Translate  "  Malade 
imaginaire." 

Candidate  (briskly).  Wild 
duck. 

Exam,  (taken  aback).  How  do 
you  arrive  at  that  ? 

Cand.  (confidently).  Why, 
Sir,  "Mallard"  is  a  kind  of 
duck. 

Exam,  (decidedly  interested). 
That  is  so.  And  "  imaginaire  "? 

Cand.  Oh,  that's  one  wio 
"imagines"  —  "  a  bit  off," 
"dotty"— so  "-wild."  (Concltt- 
sively.)  So  "Mallard  imagi- 
(Candidate  bowed  out.) 


VIVE    LE    RUSSE  ! 

Being  a  forecast  of  M.  Edmond  Rostand's  Ode  of  Salutation  from 

France  to  the  Czar, 
i,  you  come ! 

Far  on  the  faint  horizon's  curve, 
A  thousand  patient  telescopes  observe 
My  love's  approaching  chimney-stacks  ! 
The  eager  semaphore 
Gesticulates  with  amorous  arms, 
Bidding  the  wide-mouthed  cannon  roar 
Their  glad  alarms  ; 

The  clarion  tootles  and  the  urgent  drum 
Gives  off  its  deep  erotic  rum-ti-tum  ; 
Conscious  of  civic  dues 
M.  le  Maire, 

Has  his  sublime  discourse  by  heart ; 
Meanwhile  the  eloquent  air 
Breathes  bunting  ;  over  Ocean's  local  surge, 
Already  teeming  with  vociferous  smacks, 
A  halcyon  calm,  for  this  occasion,  coos ; 
And  I,  your  lonely  love,  emerge, 
As  by  a  swift  sea-change, 
From  playing  that  most  tedious  part 
Of  Mariana  in  the  Moated  Grange. 

For  you  the  poet's  fingers,  all  on  fire, 

Set  to  the  sounding  lyre 

An  ode  replete  with  loyalty  and  laud ; 

For  you  our  naval  squadrons  shall  perform 

The  opening  figure,  well-rehearsed, 

Of  a  descent  on  faithless  Albion's  coasts  ; 

For  you  our  captious  boilers,  overawed, 

This  once  have  undertaken  not  to  leak  ; 

For  you  our  Infantry  shall  mass  their  hosts 

In  Grand  Manoeuvres  splendidly  antique ; 

For  you  our  Cavalry  shall  burst 

In  one  long  rolling  thunder-storm, 

Reckless  of  umpires,  onward  to  the  death  ; 

For  you,  with  bated  breath, 

Oar  native  Fowl  shall  curb  his  diddle-doo ; 

For  you  the  Legion's  buttons,  and  for  you 

Our  Treasury  shall  contrive 

A  further  loan  for  supplemental  dower ; 

Yea  and  for  you  your  love  has  gone 

And  put  her  best  confections  on, 

Tremulous  for  the  long-expected  hour 

When  on  this  panting  bosom  you  arrive ! 

Ah !  may  no  blizzard  intervene 

To  mar  our  mutual  joys  I  no  rain  bedew 

The  scarf  of  tricolor,  red,  white  and  blue, 


Lashed  to  your  tunic  with  a  true-love  knot ! 

May  no  insensate  submarine 

(Pride  of  our  fleet)  grow  restive  'neath  the  brine, 

And,  getting  out  of  hand, 

Puncture  your  bark  below  the  water-line 

Or  ere  you  leap  to  land  ! 

Oh,  may  no  worthy  red-cap  sansculotte, 

In  pauses  of  the  Marseillaise 

Or  Russian  Anthem,  prance 

Indignant,  or  his  lusty  voice  upraise 

In  language  calculated  to  offend 

Absolute  Empire,  visible  in  the  friend 

Of  Freedom-loving  France  I 

Dearest  (and  costliest), 

Let  me  consider  why  I  love  you  so  ; 

What  is  the  thought  of  you 

That  most  particularly  thrills 

The  nerves  of  this  impressionable  breast  ? 

It  is  not  merely  your  intrinsic  charms  ; 

Nor  that  you  come  with  conquering  arms 

Straight  from  Manchuria  where  the  Boxers  grow 

(Making  such  useful  grist  for  my  love's  mills), 

And,  as  the  harbinger  of  wars  to  cease, 

Consent  to  pass  our  warriors  in  review  ; 

Ono! 

Not  that  you  stand  confessed 

A  "little  father  "  to  the  Finns  ; 

Nor  that  in  culture  and  the  arts  of  peace, 

In  every  social  scheme 

To  lavish  liberty  upon  the  thrall, 

In  every  philanthropic  plan 

Conducive  to  the  Brotherhood  of  Man, 

We  two  would  seem 

To  be  inseparable  twins : — 

That  is  not  all. 

There  is  a  cause,  more  delicate  than  these, 

Why  I  intend  to  fly 

Into  your  arms  direct  and  grip  you  tight, 

Why  I  am  anxious  even  to  engage 

In  open  osculation  on  the  quays ; 

It  is  for  joy  of  Albion's  jealous  eye, 

For  pure  delight 

To  hear  her  gnash  her  teeth  in  helpless  rage. 

O.  8. 

OUR    BOOKING-OFFICE. 

IN  Love  and  HisMasfc(HEiNEMANN),  MENIEMURIEJ 
DOWIE  tries  what  is  for  her  a  new  method  an 
makes  a  great  success  of  it.  The  self-deceptio 
of  Lestie  Rose,  a  most  engaging  heroine,  i: 
elaborately  worked  out,  and  it  has  the  merit  o 
being  convincing.  Altogether  a  very  cleve 
novel  brightly  written,  with  just  that  amount  o 
the  Khaki  flavour  which  rather  more  than  "  half-suspecte» 
animates  the  whole." 

The  Baron  once,  and  not  so  very  long  ago,  suggested  a  series  c 
"  Bogie  Books."  Had  this  idea  been  caught  up  and  acted  upo 
by  any  spirited  publisher — of  course,  only  a  publisher  in  con 
junction  with  some ' '  spirit ' '  could  adequately  deal  with  what  wa 
a  mere  ghost  of  an  idea— then  RICHARD  MARSH'S  The  Joss  : 
Reversion  (F.  WHITE  &  Co.)  would  at  first  sight,  that  is  judgin 
by  its  earlier  chapters,  be  entitled  to  a  place  on  the  shelve 
devoted  to  "  Terrible  Tales  "  and  "Many  Mysteries."  But  a 
"  second  sight" — most  appropriately  used  in  dealing  with  th 
sort  of  work— the  Baron  qualifies  his  opinion,  and  says  that  if  i 
"Hanwell  Bogie  Series"  or  a  series  of  "Muddle-Headej 
Mysteries,"  were  in  existence,  ROBERT  MARSH'S  romance  ougb 
to  rank  among  its  chiefest  ornaments.  After  the  earlie 


SEPTEMBER    18,    1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


205 


chapters  "  O  what  a  falling  off  is  there  !  " 
It  picks  up  again  towards  the  finish,  but 
'tis  only  a  fitful  flash-in-the-pan  illumi- 
nating a  chapter  or  two,  and  then,  with- 
out even  a  fizzle,  it  is  gone.  Better  re- 
read WILKIE  COLLTNS'S  Moonstone  or  EDGAR 
POE'S  Beetle. 

The  Temple  Classics  (J.  M.  DENT  &  Co.) 
still  continue  their  excellent  course, 
with,  apparently,  undiminished  "power 
of  adding  to  the  number."  Among  the 
very  latest  is  the  most  charming  and 
most  ancient  Romance  of  the  Rose  admir- 
ably translated  and  rhythm'd  by  F.  S. 
ELLIS,  from  the  original  of  GuiLLAUME  DE 
LORRIS  and  JEAN  DE  MEUN.  This  Romance 
was  written  before  CHAUCER  was  "  born 
or  thought  of."  At  the  close  of  his  inter- 
esting preface,  Mr.  ELLIS,  referring  to  the 
"word-play,"  otherwise  puns,  in  which 
JEAN  DE  MEUN,  like  SHAKSPEARE,  de- 
lighted, is  needlessly  apologetic,  though 
apologising  in  defiant  tone,  because  quite 
sure  of  his  ground  when  he  says,  "Good 
critic  " — of  course  he  only  addresses  him- 
self to  good  critics — "  ere  you  censure  " — 
the  Baron,  going  one  better  than  'good,' 
will  not  even  find  fault—"  try  your  hand." 
Which  is  as  much  as  to  say,  plainly,  "take 
this  up  as  a  holiday  task,  my  fine  fellow, 
and  see  how  you  like  it."  Now  the  Baron 
did  take  the  Rose  up  qua  holiday  task, 
and  liked  it  so  much  that  it  became 
temporarily  his  constant  companion.  A 
propos  of  this  the  Baron  ventures  on 
erratic  rhyming  paraphrase  after  the 
style  of  Wandering  Willie  : 

"  Good  critic,  ere  you  censure 

Try  your  hand." 
And  then,  sure, 

You'll  understand 
How  difficult  the  task  hath  been 
So  well  by  ELLIS  done,  I  ween, 
That  nobody  can  deny  it ! 
Or,  if  they  do, 
Then  say  I,  "Pooh! 
Let  Somebody  Ellis  try  it !  " 

W.  LORRIS  and  JOHN  CLOPINEL  "  flour- 
ished"— their  memory  is  yet  green  and 
their  leaves  immortelles — "circa  1230  and 
1270.  Their  work  was  first  printed  about 
1475,  having  previously  been  partly  tran- 
slated by  CHAUCER  and  another  (  "  name  ! 
name  !  "  )  about  1365  :  and  here  we  are 
enjoying  it,  as  fresh  and  as  true  as 
ever  it  was,  in  the  Year  of  Grace  1901. 
Litera  scripta  manet.  "  Ah  !  don't  they  ? 
Ra-t/ierJ"  cries  the  enthusiastic. 

Horace  at  Cambridge  (JOHN  LANE),  by  OWEN 
SEAMAN.  Delightful  when  all  the  world 
was  young,  and  our  poet  the  youngest  of 
'em!  "Sic  te  diva  potens  Cypri,"  here 
adapted  and  headed  "Of  Naval  Adven- 
ture," gives  the  keynote  of  the  song 
and  season.  In  future  years  will  not  the 
author  chuckle  over  these  lines  of  his — 
"  With  the  moon  at  full  quarter  we  enter  our  quads 

By  an  open  ascent  of  the  palings, 
So  little  we  reck  of  the  wrath  of  the  gods, 

Or  a  Dean  and  his  railings !  " 


He.  "THB  JOKB  WAS,  BOTH  THKSE  GIELS  WERE  HOPELESSLY  IN  LOVE  WITH  ME,  AND  I 

MADK  THEM  MADLY  JEALOUS  OF  EACH  OTHER." 

She.  "  I  WONDER  YOU  HAD  THE  FACE  TO  DO  IT,  MR.  SPARKINS  !  " 


Delightful  escapades — to  look  back  upon  ! 
Wonderful  flights   of   poetry  and  fancy ! 
"  ffcec  olim,"  &c.  There  's  a  spring-breezy 
lilt  about  these  verses  that  inspires  the 
musically  -  inclined    with    the    desire    of 
setting  and  singing  them  to  his  own  com- 
position, more  or  less  original.    Humour, 
quiet  or  buoyant,  is  of  the  essence  of  these 
Horatian  imitations.     Chants  the  Baron, 
previous  to  quaffing  a  beaker, 
In  this  sparkling  Moe't 
I  drink,  "0.  S.," 
To  your  success 
As  Parodist  and  Poet ! 

And  so  the  Baron  pledges  the  Poet, 
drinking  his  jolly  good  health,  and  signs 
himself  his  friend  and  well-wisher, 

THE  BARON  DE  B.W. 


"  STATISTICS  OF  POPULATION." — The  Pre- 
sident of  the  Economic  Science  and 
Statistics  Section  of  the  British  Asso- 
ciation (a  difficult  combination  of  words 
for  the  convivial  scientists  after  the 
banquet)  gave  statistics  which  had 
been  taken  for  him.  Summed  up,  this 
speech  was  an  example  of  "  Taking  and 
Giffen." 


'ARRY  IN  PAREE. — Look  'ere !  Why  is 
beetroot  as  good  as  a  wife  to  a  French- 
man? I  don't  ask  you  to  give  it  up, 
'cos  you  '11  guess  it  if  I  don't  tell  you. 
Well,  it 's  like  this :  'cos  beetroot  is  the 
Frenchy's  better  'arf.  See  ?  Say  I  can't 
speak  the  lingo  ?  Go  on  ! 


206 


PUNCH,    OE    THE    LONDON    CHAEIVARL  [SEPTEMBER  18.  1901. 


LOVE'S  OMISSION. 
I  HAVE  whispered  my  love  to  the  bright  stars  above, 

To  the  mountains ! 
To  the  echoing  hills,  to  the  murmuring  rills, 

To  the  fountains  ! 
In  woodland  and  vale  I  've  unfolded  my  tale 

Of  devotion ; 
Not  a  meadow  or  grove  but 's  aware  of  my  love — 

My  emotion  ! 

1  have  spoken  as  well  to  each  flower  in  the  dell, 

The  bees  ranging 
My  passion  reveal  as  the  honey  they  steal, 

Sweets  exchanging. 
And  the  sti'eam  as  it  flows  all  my  ecstasy  knows,  , 

Ah,  sweet  feeling  ! 
To  the  air,  to  the  sky,  my  love  secrets  am  I 

All  revealing. 

To  the  moon  shining  bright  I  have  breathed  my  delight, 

Ah,  my  passion  ! 
All  below,  all  above,  I  've  informed  of  my  love 

In  a  fashion  ; 
But  thoxigh  I  have  cried  my  desire  far  and  wide, 

I  'm  afraid  I 
Have  yet  to  impart  the  true  state  of  my  heart — 

To  the  lady  I 


A    TEN    DAYS'    TKIP. 

Sunday  morning. — Good  weather  or  bad  weather,  and  taking 
the  rough  with  the  smooth,  and  an  unfair  proportion  of  the 
rough  without  the  smooth,  we  sight  Christiansand.  Cool  on 
board :  but  on  shore,  melting,  scorching !  So,  except  first  to 
have  a  stroll  and  see,  as  the  conversation  books  have  it,  "  the 
fine  streets,"  "the  good  shops,"  and  to  note  the  particularly 
cleanly  appearance  of  Christiansand  and  its  delightful  air  of 
Sunday-like  repose,  more  remarkable  than  in  any  sea-side 
place  in  Scotland  that  I  can  call  to  mind,  we,  that  is,  two 
of  us  at  least,  after  a  stroll,  are  glad  to  return  to  the  ship  and 
there  remain  with  our  books  and  conversation,  diversified  by 
the  leisurely  cxcercise  of  occasionally  promenading  the  deck. 
WORTLER,  perfectly  recovered  from  effects  of  roughish  night, 
and  impelled  by  vigorous  reaction,  has  been  early  ashore,  and, 
with  all  the  zeal  of  a  First  Discoverer,  has,  as  I  learn  after- 
wards, seen  most  of  what  there  was  to  be  seen  within  a  radius 
of  twenty  miles,  has  made  the  acquaintance  of  several  Norwegian 
families  (by  whom  he  had  been  invited  to  stay  or  at  least  revisit 
them  as  early  as  possible)  and  is  now,  when  reappearing  on 
deck,  after  at  least  five  hours  ashore,  quite  ready  to  play  a 
"speaking  part"  as  a  thorough  Norwegian,  having  picked 
up  and  mastered  so  much  of  the  language  as  might  be  neces- 
sary to  his  purpose  within  the  short  leave  of  absence  granted 
by  the  Captain.  Then,  after  bidding  cheery  farewells  to  many 
of  our  companions  who  are  going  away  on  shooting  and  fishing 
expeditions,  waving  adieux  to  others  remaining  on  the  pier  to 
see  us  off,  the  Orlando  starts  for  Christiania. 

So  delightful  a  sail  round  the  coast  from  Christiansand  to 
Christiania,  that  at  night  the  concert  party  is  able  to  give 
a  varied  entertainment.  Re-appearance  of  WAGSTAFP,  wh»p,  un- 
asked, gives  us  a  song  or  two.  This  is  very  thoughtful  of 
him,  as  it  decides  in  the  negative,  once  and  for  all,  the  question 
as  to  whether  he  should  be  requested  to  perform  on  some  future 
occasion.  WORTLER,  on  excessively  pressing  invitation,  gives 
us  a  telling  recitation  from  BRET  HARTE  that  brings  tears  to 
the  eyes  of  the  ladies  and  would  have  spread  rather  a  gloom 
over  the  company  generally,  but  for  the  Captain,  who,  after 
publicly  thanking  WORTLER,  forthwith  restores  our  spirits  by 
himself  contributing  considerably  to  the  harmony  of  the  meeting 
and  thus  setting  us  all  going  again  quite  merrily. 


Monday  morning,  Christiania. — Arriving,  We  are  much  struck 
by  the  lightness,  brightness,  and  bustle  of  the  place.  It  is 
very  early,  and  seems  as  if  the  curtain  had  just  risen  on  the 
opening  scene  of  an  opera,  all  "movement "  and  market  chorus. 
Landing-stage-management  excellent.  Carts  and  open  voitures 
("vogns  "  according  to  the  Cook-ery  Book's  vocabulary)  every- 
where. Likewise  tramcars  all  over  the  principal  streets. 
A  network  of  them.  OSCAR  is  King  of  Sweden  and  Denmark. 
The  'os  is  disappearing,  except  for  voitures  and  wagons,  and 
only  the  car  remains.  "Why  not  change  title  to  King  Tramcar  the 
First.  And  with  tH!s  witticism,  his  last  on  the  present  occasion, 
WAGSTAFF  disappears  from  the  scene.  He  is  on  a  fishing 
expedition,  and  the  "first  thing  I  have  to  catch,"  he  says, 
"  is  a  train."  So  "exit  WAGSTAFF,"  and  may  joy  and  jokes  go 
with  him ! 

Thought  I  should  see  some  carioles,  of  which  species  of  con- 
veyance much  has  been  heard,  likewise  a  few  slotkjcerres,  await- 
ing us.  To  my  great  disappointment,  none  are  in  evidence,  only 
the  usual  sort  of  open  fly  to  hold  four,  generally  driven  by  most 
respectable-looking  coachmen,  infinitely  superior  to  the  majority 
of  cochers  in  Paris,  and  to  our  "  growler  cabbies  "  in  London. 
Also,  within  my  travelling  experience  (which  in  a  short  time  is 
considerable,  as  the  weather,  on  the  occasion  of  our  visit,  is  so 
overpoweringly  hot  in  Christiania,  worse  even  than  in  Christian- 
sand,  that  I  refuse  to  walk  as  long  as  a  cab  or  a  tram  can  be 
obtained),  I  am  bound  to  say  that  never  anywhere  have  I  known 
cabmen  so  polite  or  so  honest  as  these  of  Christiania.  "  Honest, 
my  Lord  ?  Aye,  honest :  for  to  be  honest  as  this  world  goes  is 
to  be  as  one  man  picked  out  of  ten  thousand."  Hamlet  the 
Dane,  must  have  had  the  elite  of  uogn-drivers  in  his  eye  at  that 
moment. 

The  coachmen  we  employed  never  overcharged,  stuck  exactly 
to  the  tariff,  never  once  asked  for  a  ' '  pou  r-boire, ' '  were  most  civil 
and  polite  in  their  manner,  and,  on  more  than  one  occasion,  when, 
through  want  of  familiarity  with  the  coinage,  we  had  acciden- 
tally overpaid  our  driver,  he  took  off  his  hat  most  courteously, 
shook  his  head,  lumded  back  the  surplus,  and  was  about  to  drive 
away,  when,  as  in  courtesy  bound,  we  pressed  the  extra  fifty 
"  ohre  "  (about  half  a  franc)  on  his  acceptance,  whereupon, 
this  noble  descendant  of  a  line  of  Norwegian  Vikings  who  had 
driven  their  enemies  out  of  the  land,  smilingly  accepted  the 
gratuity,  bowed,  and  rattled  away  with  a  light  heart  and 
empty  trap. 

"  Rattled  !  "  Oh,  the  rattling  of  everything  with  wheels  over 
the  awful  big-stoned  pavements  of  these  streets !  If  any  one 
wants  to  have  a  "real  rattling  time  of  it,"  let  him  go  to 
Christiania  and  drive  about  in  any  vehicle,  no  matter  what. 
When  in  one  of  these  traps,  and  going  slow  or  fast,  speaking 
is  difficult,  talking  impossible.  There  are  some  quiet  streets, 
but  they  are  very  few  and  very  far  between  within  the  cab 
radius  of  the  town.  If  there  were  any,  they  are  lost  to  memory 
in  the  rattle  and  jolting  of  the  vogn  over  the  stones.  "Rattle 
his  bones  Over  the  stones,  Driving  about  In  one  of  their  vogns! ' 
In  fact,  never  take  a  cab  unless,  by  staying  in  the  town,  you 
have  become  acclimatised  to  the  noise,  but  employ  the  trams, 
which  are  swift,  sure,  and  comparatively — only  comparatively, 
mark  you — noiseless. 

What  strikes  one  first  and  most  forcibly  in  Norway,  that  is,  at 
least,  in  Christiania,  is  the  civility,  which  is  beyond  mere  polite- 
ness, of  everybody  towards  "  the  stranger  within  their  gates." 
In  Christiania  a  Londoner,  accustomed  to  travel  at  home  and 
abroad,  will  marvel  at  the  entire  absence  of  beggars.  Anyone 
attempting  to  beg  is  "downed  upon"  at  once  by  the  wary 
police  (the  streets  are  well  but  not  obtrusively  police'd),  and 
therefore  the  professional  beggar's  occupation  is  gone,  although 
a  few  may  be  seen,  as  I  am  informed,  here  and  there  holding  out 
their  hats  as  receptacles  for  coin,  but  not  uttering  a  plaint. 
Of  these,  within  three  days'  time  and  going  about— walking,  or 
driving,  or  in  tram, — pretty  well  everywhere,  1,  personally,  saw 
only  one  single  example. 


SEPTEMBER  18,   1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


207 


The  trams  arc  first-rate,  except  for  noise.  As  for  distance, 
they  go  np-hill,  a  pretty  steep  but  gradual  ascent,  to  Holmcn 
Kollen,  via  Majorstuen  (a  trajet  of  about  an  hour  or  so),  where 
there  is  a  huge  restaurant,  a  hotel  in  case  you  want  to  stay  the 
night,  and  tables  whereat  the  visitors  may  sit  and  refresh 
themselves  as  they  gaze  on  the  beautiful  panoramic  view  of 
the  islands,  town  and  harbour,  the  outlines  occasionally 
blurred  by  rising  haze.  The  return  journey  takes  about  half 
an  hour,  as  the  electric  tram  does  "  the  double"  on  the  down- 
ward way — a  real  facilis  descensns — back  to  Majorstuen. 

I  am  not  now  writing  a  guide  to  Christiania,  but  simply 
mentioning  the  town  as  the  objective  of  a  trip  from  London  to 
anyone  who  cannot  spare  more  than  ten  days  for  a  holiday,  and 
would  like  to  spend  six  of  those  on  river,  sea,  and  fiord,  starting 
from  Tilbury. 

Avis  aux  Voyageurs. — If  you  cannot  get  in  at  the  Grand  Hotel, 
Christiania,  go  to  the  Victoria.  Put  up  at  the  one,  or  put  up 
with  the  other.  The  Grand,  however,  for  choice,  as  it  is  in  all 
respects  quite  up  to  latest  date.  There  may,  perhaps,  be  other 
hotels  in  Christiania  equally  as  good  as  the  Grand,  but  none, 
I  feel  sure,  superior. 

Should  you  have  time  you  may  discover  many  a  cafe  where 
you  can  procure  a  bottle  of  light  wine,  excellent,  at  a  kronin 
(i.e.  thirteen  pence  halfpenny),  for  which  at  any  "first-class  " 
hotel  you  will  be  charged  two  kronin  and  a-half. 

I  am  not  aware  of  there  being  an  early  closing  movement  in 
Christiania  ;  at  all  events,  there  are  no  signs  of  it  as,  at  past 
midnight,  after  quitting  the  restaurant,  \ve  are  rattled  back, 
with  occasional  swervings  of  the  vehicle,  caused  by  the  wheels 
gripping  the  interlacing  tram-lines,  to  the  Hotel  Victoria. 


THE  SUBMERGED  SUBURBS. 

[A  correspondent  in  the  Titnex  suggests  that  sea-water  should  be  taken 
in  at  Brighton,  stored  in  the  Crystal  1'alace  heights,  and  thence  distri- 
buted all  over  London.] 

O  PRINCE  of  bold  projects,  that  seem 

Our  wonderful  period  to  crown  ! 
At  last  they  are  broaching  a  scheme 

For  bringing  sea-water  to  town. 

No  more  in  cheap  trains  shall  we  ride, 
In  quest  of  far  distant  sea  shores, 

Since  here  is  a  plan  to  provide 
The  ocean  itself  at  our  doors. 

Soon  Dalston  with  Margate  shall  vie, 

Ozone  it  will  give  us  to  sniff, 
And  outlying  suburbs  supply 

Sea-breezes  refreshing  and  stiff. 

Lo  !  henceforth  Victoria  Park 

The  whiff  of  the  briny  inhales  ; 
There  swims  to  the  Zoo  the  stray  shark, 

The  Serpentine's  teeming  with  whales. 

To  win  for  the  public  this  prize — 

Sea- water  in  London  at  will — 
It  needs  but  a  plan  to  devise 

To  get  it  to  travel  uphill. 


Vicar's  Daughter.   "On,  Mits.  UPTON,  DO   YOU   KNOW  I    AM  GOING 
TO  LADY  RACKET'S  GARDEN  PARTY  NEXT  WEEK  ? " 
Mrs.   Upton.     "REALLY,    DEAR.'     I  HOPE  YOU'LL  ENJOY   IT.     BUT 

THEY  TELL   ME  THAT  LADY  RACEBY  IS  SO  MUCH  LESS  EXCLUSIVE  THAN" 
SHE   USED   TO   BE  !  " 


TOWN  AND  COUNTRY. — A  sight  to  be  seen  frequently  in  towns 
in  times  of  great  excitement,  but  never  to  be  met  with  in  the 
country,  i.e.  "  Ugly  Rushes."  In  the  low-lying  lands  they  are 
always  picturesque,  and,  bending  to  the  breeze,  most  graceful. 


"VACCINATION  Concerts,"  as  mentioned  recently  in  the 
Times,  ought  to  have  something  very  "taking"  about  them. 
How  appropriate  would  be  the  old  Scotch  song,  "Oh,  dear, 
what  can  the  matter  be?  " 


THE   MOTOR   'E'S  A  MAD  'UN. 

(With  apologies  to  the  Author  of  "  The  Liner  she  's  a  Lad;/.") 
THE  Motor  'e  's  a  mad  'un  as  'e  'urls  'isself  along, 
The  Driver  'e  's  a  bad  'un,  and  'e  thinks  'e  's  goin'  strong  ! 
But,  oh,  the  frightened  'orses  that  trot  down  the  crowded 

street, 
They  're  just  the  same  as  you  and  me  a-walkin'  on  our  feet ! 

Walkln'  thro'  the  street,  sonny,  anywhere  you  like, 

Or,  perhaps,  a-ridin'  by  on  a  dandy  bike  ; 

Anything  for  motion  I  but  our  nerves  it  numbs — 

Dodging  down  the  street,  sonny.     Look  out !     'Ere  'e  comes  ! 

The  Motor  'e  's  a  mad  'un  by  the  smell  'e  leaves  be'ind, 
And  raises  mud  and  dust  enough  to  strike  a  creature  blind  ; 
The  Driver  'e  's  a  bad  'un,  for  'e  merely  winks  'is  eye,  « 

But,  oh,  the  kerridge  'orses  !  they  are  plungin'  fit  to  die. 

The  Motor  'e  's  a  mad  'un  with  'is  yellow  painted  sides, 
The  Driver  'e  's  a  bad  'un  ;  twenty  mile  a  hour  'e  rides  ! 
But,  oh,  the  pantin'  'orses  that  are  'itched  to  cab  or  'bus, 
They  've  got  to  do  their  business  first,  and  not  make  any  fuss. 

The  Motor  'e  's  a  mad  'un,  and  if  a  war  should  come 
The  Driver  what 's  a  bad  'un  would  leave  'is  Car  at  'ome  ; 
But,  oh,  the  frightened  'orses  that  in  a  'bus  is  tied — 
They'd    'avo    to   up    and    fight,  they    would,    for    they  are 
England's  pride. 

The  Motor  'e  's  a  mad  'un,  but  if  'e  wasn't  out 
There  still  would  be  the  'orses  for  to  carry  folks  ab  .nifc. 
The  Driver  'e 's  a  bad  'un,  but  if  'e  didn't  drive 
'E  wouldn't  be  the  terror  of  such  folks  as  is  alive  ! 
Folks  as  is  alive,  sonny,  anywhere  you  like, 
Walkin',  cartin',  bitssin',  cabbin',  ridin'  on  a  bike; 
Anything  for  motion !  but  our  nerves  it  numbs — 
Dodging  down  the  street,  sonny.     Look  out  I  'Ere  'e  comes  ! 


208 


PUNCH,  OK  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[SEPTEMBER  18,  1901. 


Surgeon.   "FEET  SORE,  EH?    WHERE  DO  THEY  HURT  YOU  MOST?" 

Private.   "WELL,  SIR,  IT   AIN'T  so   MUCH   WHEN   WE'RE   ON  THE   MARCH;   BUT   WHEN 
WE  'RE  'ALTED  IT  's  SOMETHIN'  DREADFUL,  SIR  !  " 

Surgeon.    "OH,  INDEED!    WELL,  THE  NEXT  TIME  YOU  HALT,  YOU  JUST  MARK  TIME  !" 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


I  COMB  from  haunts  of  grouse  and  hare, 
And,  free  from  worldly  burdens, 

I  linger  in  dear  Berkeley  Square, 
Or  loiter  round  the  Durdans. 

I  roam  by  some  Italian  lake, 

I  make  a  sudden  sally, 
And  into  twain  my  party  break 

"Whene'er  it  tries  to  rally. 

And  next  I  -widen  up  the  breach,    \ 

Since  I  can  do  no  better, 
"With  here  and  there  a  little  speech,  \ 

And  here  and  there  a  letter.  ' 

A  score  of  papers  curse  me  well, 

A  dozen  sing  my  praises, 
And  half-a-hundred  posters  tell 

My  very  latest  phases. 


I  draw  my  followers  along, 
I  make  still  fresh  seceders, 

I  mingle  those  cross-currents  strong 
That  fret  unhappy  leaders. 

Then  in  again  I  go,  and  laugh, 

To  hide  my  cerebellum 
Mid  many  a  tome  of  stately  calf 

And  many  a  tome  of  vellum. 

I  sit,  I  sigh,  I  gloom,  I  groan 

Of  new  Imperialism ; 
I  plough  my  furrow  all  alone, 

I  sow  the  seeds  of  schism  ; 

\    But  out  again  I  come,  and  lo  ! 
v      Men  cease  expecting  never, 
For  CAMPBELLS  come  and  HARCOURTS  go, 
But  I  go  on  forever. 


WHIFFLETON'S  BOGEY. 

A  Story  with  a  Moral. 

I. 

"WHIFFLETON  was  a  good  fellow — not  a 
genius,  an  hereditary  omission  that 
gladdened  the  hearts  of  his  friends,  but — 
a  genial,  reliable,  easy-tempered  chap, 
with  just  a  few  foibles  to  redeem  his 
character  from  virtuous  insipidity.  When, 
however,  WHIFFLETON  returned  from  his 
summer  holiday,  it  was  clear  that  some- 
thing had  happened.  He  was  gloomy  and 
taciturn,  and  used r  to  leave  the  club 
at  some  disgracefully  early  hour.  We 
were  deeply  concerned  about  him  and 
hazarded  various  explanations  as  to  the 
change. 

"  I  didn't  like  the  way  he  sipped  his 
whisky  last  night,"  said  MULLET  in  a 
melancholy  tone.  "It  seems  to  me  the 
chap 's  drifting  towards — why,  hang  it, 
you  know,  I  believe  he  's  actually  falling 
into — teetotalism." 

"  Pooh,"  remarked  GREGSON.  "  You  're 
too  morbid,  MULLET."  GREGSON  rarely 
advanced  any  view  of  his  own,  but  made  a 
point  of  pooh  -  poohing  other  people's 
views.  "  Depend  upon  it,  WHIFFLETON 's 
moodiness,  whatever  it  arises  from,  has 
nothing  to  do  with  that." 

"  The  explanation  's  easy  enough,"  said 
the  Colonel.  "  Six  weeks  in  south-west 
Cornwall,  and  liver  to  follow.  Oh,  nothing 
but  liver  could  have  made  him  so  glum 
last  night,  when  I  told  that  dreadfully 
funny  story — you  remember  ? ' ' 

The  others  assented  hastily. 

"I  still  think,"  asserted  MULLET,  "that 
he  's  meditating  some  fad.  There  's  abso- 
lutely no  reason  why  a  bachelor  of  forty, 
with  £5,000  a  year,  and  excellent  health, 
and — er  —  dashed  good  friends,  should 
mope,  unless  he  had  got  some  silly  whim 
into  his  head." 

"Only  two  things  make  a  sane  map 
mope — liver  and  love,"  put  in  the  Colonel 
and  he  knocked  out  his  pipe  with  an  air  o 
finality.  "  If  it  isn't  liver,  it 's  the  other 
thing." 

"Not  a  bit,"  said  GREGSON,  with  a 
Burleigh-like  shake  of  the  head.  "None 
of  the  usual  signs." 

"  What  are  the  usual  signs  ?  "  enquired 
MULLET,  with  a  sudden  thirst  for  infor- 
mation. 

But  GREGSON  was  not  to  be  drawn. 

At  this  moment  WHIFFLETON  came  up. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "you  all  look  worried 
and  just  a  thought  disputatious.  What 
is  it— the  War?" 

"  No,  my  boy,  khaki-ng  care  of  another 
kind,"  replied  the  Colonel,  with  a 
snigger. 

WHIFFLETON  rounded  on  the  speaker  in 
an  unexpected  blaze  of  anger. 

"  What  on  earth  has  come  over  you?  ' 
interposed  MULLET.     "That's  what  we 
want  to  know  !  ' ' 

(To  be  concluded.) 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI.— SEPTEMBER  18,  1901. 


THE   WOLVES   OF  ANARCHY. 

Friday,  September  6,  a  murderous  attempt  was  made  on  the  life  of  the  President  of  the  United  States  by  an  avowed  Anarchist. 

["  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  people  in  the  United  States  are  talking  loudly  of  the  necessity  of  stamping  out  the  organisation  which  breeds  such 
men  and  such  deeds,  in  every  shape  and  form." — Times,  September  9.  ...  President  McKiNLEY  died  2  A.M.  Saturday,  September  14.] 


\ 


SEPTEMBER  18,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI. 


211 


CUB    HUNTING. 


1.  "AH,  MY  BOYS,"  SAID 
PERCY  JOHNSON,  "GIVE  ME  A 
GOOD  OLD  HURRY  AND  SCURRY 
— HEIGH  0  !  GEE  WHOA  ! — OVER 
THE  DOWNS  AND  THROUGH  THE 
BRUSHWOOD  AFTER  THE  CUBS. 
SO,  EARLY  IN  THE  MORNING  AS 
YOU  LIKE.  WHAT  CAN  BE  MORE 
EXHILARATING  ?  " 


2.  SO,  IN  HAPPY  ANTICIPATION 
OF  THE  MORROW'S  MEET,  HE 
RETIRED. 


3.  LATER,  AT  A  LITTLE  AFTER 
4  A.M.,  THE  OLD  BUTLER  AND 
GENERAL  MAN-SERVANT  CAME  TO 
ROUSE  HIM.  "SIR!"  A  PAUSE. 
"SIR!"  ANOTHER  PAUSE.  "  SIR, 
TH'  OSSES  BE  VERY  NIGH  READY  ! " 
UNCERTAIN  VOICE  FROM  WITHIN 
— "  EH  ?  GOOD-NIGHT  !  REMEM- 
BER TO  CALL  ME  EARLY  IN  THE 

MORNING  !  " 


4.  SNORING  RESUMED  /A  ISFI- 
NITUM.  STILL,  PERCY  LOOKED 
RATHER  SHEEPISH  LATER  ON, 
WHEN  THE  OTHERS  PRETENDED 
THEY  HAD  MISSED  HIM  ON  THE 
ROAD,  AND  INQUIRED  WHETHER 
HE  HAD  FOUND  THE  MORNING 
AS  EXHILARATING  AS  HE  HAD 
EXPECTED 


MORE  ANTIQUITIES  FOR   LONDON 

LOCAL  MUSEUMS. 

(See  "Punch,"  Sept.  4.) 

ANNOTATED  LIST  OF  EXHIBITS,  CONTINUED. 

"  Domestic      Servant      (Mummy)."     An 
extremely     rare     and     finely-preserved 
specimen    of    a    vanished     class,    whose 
extinction    dates    from    1901    A.D.     It   is 
therefore  of  the  highest  interest  to  the 
anthropologist      and      the      comparative 
anatomist.     Its  duties  are  now  performed, 
I  perhaps  more  effectively,  by  the  automa- 
jtic"  general"    and    the  electric  dumb- 
waiter.    "When    alive,  it   commanded  the 
I  salary  of  a  prima  donna,  and  towards  the 
close  of  its  career  was  engaged  by  the 
Syndicate  Halls  to  give   exhibition  per- 
formances in  the  now   obsolete  arts  of 
plate-smashing  and  "  giving  notice." 

"  Semi-circular     Wooden    Framework — 
irolably  a   so-called   'Paddle-box.'"     We 


have  here,  no  doubt,  part  of  the  strange 
craft,  propelled  by  steam,  which  plied 
between  landing-stages  on  the  Thames  at 
irregular  intervals  from  1840  until  well 
within  the  twentieth  century,  when  they 
gradually  fell  to  pieces.  This  portion  was 
dredged  up  from  the  river-bed,  when  the 
foundations  for  the  new  half-tide  lock  at 
Westminster  were  being  laid. 

"  View  of  an  Advertisement-Hoarding 
(early  Edwardian).  About  this  period  there 
was  a  remarkable  craze  for  covering  up 
every  available  elevation  with  crude  de- 
signs in  flaring  colours,  mostly  on  behalf 
of  sundry  nostrums  and  condiments.  The 
sums  spent  on  these  "posters"  (as  they 
were  termed)  increased  to  such  an  extent 
that  there  were,  at  last,  no  funds  left  to 
produce  the  wares  advertised,  and  the 
mania,  therefore,  died  a  natural  death. 

"  Model  of  Street  Excavations."  The 
chief  amusement  of  the  "authorities" 


(who  these  were  could  never  be  ascer- 
tained), at  the  beginning  of  the  Tube 
and  Telephone  Era,  was  to  hand  over  the 
most  important  thoroughfares  to  gangs  of 
navvies,  with  instructions  to  investigate 
the  nature  of  the  London  subsoil,  to 
search  for  pre- historic  finds,  to  shift 
every  pipe  encountered,  and  to  lay  as 
many  others  as  possible,  with  the  maximum 
amount  of  inconvenience  to  passengers 
and  householders.  This  state  of  things 
continued  until  a  general  collapse  of 
houses  along  the  Strand  and  elsewhere 
engulfed  the  workmen  and  contractors  in 
a  ready-made  and  well-merited  grave. 


ON  Drr. — "Not  for  years,"  says  the 
Westminster  Gazette,  "  has  such  good 
sport  been  enjoyed  among  the  grouse." 
Doesn't  this  look  as  if  the  grouse  were 
thoroughly  enjoying  themselves  ? 


212 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  [SEPTEMBER  18,  1901, 


ILLUSTRATED    QUOTATIONS. 

(One  so  seldom  finds  an  Artist  who  realises  the  poetic  coiception.) 


"WE   HAVE  FED   OUR  SEA  FOR  A   THOUSAND  YEARS." — Kipling. 


THE    CRUISE    OF    THE     SABRINA. 
III.— A  LADY  OF  COCKLES. 

EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  TRAVEL  DIARY  OF 
TOBY,  M.P. 

Waterford,  Saturday. — Hitherto  thought 
of  Waterford  chiefly  in  connection  with  dear 
old  (perennially  young)  DICK  POWER,  who 
represented  it  in  the  House  of  Commons 
for  many  years,  distraught  between  his 
duties  as  "Whip  of  the  Parnellite  party  and 
his  passion  for  hunting.  Also,  "Waterford 
contributed  Major  O'GORMAN  to  "West- 
minster. Alack  !  the  Nationalist  party  of 
to-day  has  no  successor  to  either.  But 
"Waterford  still  has  its  Suir,  one  of  the 
finest  waterways  in  the  kingdom.  BOBS 
has  often  dreamed  of  it,  whether  on  his 
way  to  Kandahar  or  Pretoria.  He  is  a 
"Waterford  "boy,"  descended  on  the 
distaff  side  from  a  Huguenot  family  that 
settled  here  little  more  than  three  hun- 
dred years  ago. 

"  His  great-grandfather  lived  in  Patrick 
Street,"  said  a  friendly  sergeant  of 
police  in  a  coat  adorned  with  much- 
frayed  frogs,  whom  we  met  by  the  old 
French  church .  ' '  He  was  an  architect  and 
had  twenty-four  children." 

The  sequence  was  not  inevitable,  but  it 
satisfied  our  philosopher  and  friend  with 
the  frayed  frogs. 

"  Just  the  two  dozen,"  he  added,  com- 
placently. 

Certainly  one  more  or  less  would  have 
spoiled  the  symmetry  of  the  family  circle. 

"  He  was  buried  here  and  his  French 
wife  too.  Also  his  son  and  his  wife,  both 
of  this  parish.  Himself"  (meaning  BOBS) 
"will  come  here  at  the  end  of  his  last 
march." 


May  the  day  be  far  off ! 

Meanwhile  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  when  it 
dawns  the  official  who  has  charge  of  the 
key  of  the  church  will  not  be  away  on 
his  holiday.  He  is  so  enjoying  himself 
just  now,  and  consequently,  to  the 
genuine  distress  of  our  friend  with  the 
frogs,  we  can't  see  the  interior  of  the 
ruined  edifice.  Why  a  gentleman  in 
charge  of  a  church  door-key,  presumably 
of  considerable  size,  should  pack  it  up  in 
his  portmanteau  when  he  goes  for  his 
annual  holiday  is  one  of  those  things  the 
simple  Saxon  cannot  understand. 

Content,  perforce,  with  feasting  the  eye 
on  the  beautiful  tower,  first  seen  as  we 
reached  our  moorings,  its  dainty  outline 
standing  out  amid  the  squalid  shops  and 
warehouses  flanking  the  quay.  Founded 
in  1240  as  a  Franciscan  Friary,  HENRY  THE 
THIRD  richly  endowed  it.  Not  much  of 
the  structure  left  to-day;  the  ruins 
closed  in  on  all  sides  by  mean  modern 
habitations.  What  remains  is  a  precious 
possession,  illustrating  afresh  the  familiar 
lesson  that  whilst  the  march  of  civilisation 
shows  most  things  better  done  in  the 
twentieth  century  than  in  Plantagenet 
times,  we  have  lost  by  the  way  the  art 
of  architecture. 

Jn  the  afternoon  drove  across  country 
—  there  and  back  eighteen  miles  —  to 
Woodstown  Strand.  On  the  way,  passed 
the  residence  of  Lady  CAREW,  who 
charmed  the  court  of  CHARLES  THE  TENTH 
of  France  with  her  pretty  face  and  her 
Irish  poplin  frock.  In  her  103rd  year  she 
is  still,  SARK  says,  a  formidable  hand  at 
chess. 

On  the  beach  made  a  charming  acquaint- 
ance. She  was  about  four  feet  five  high, 


and  fully  half  the  measurement  in  circum- 
ference of  the  waist.  Her  costume  was 
tailor-made  to  the  extent  that  its  variety 
was  largely  composed  of  odds  and  ends 
from  a  series  of  male  wardrobes.  Her 
age  might  be  sixty.  In  a  face  tanned  to 
mahogany  hue  twinkled  a  pair  of  laughing 
eyes.  Her  voluminous  skirts  did  not 
droop  far  below  her  generous  knees. 
Presumably  from  motives  of  economy  she 
wore  only  one  garter.  From  the  leg  whose 
turn  to  wear  the  garter  was  not  to-day 
something  that  was  originally  a  sack,  and 
now  served  as  a  stocking,  drooped  to  her 
heel.  This  negligence  displayed  what  at 
first  sight  might  have  been  taken  for  a 
highly-polished  mahogany  bedpost ;  but 
was  otherwise.  Honi  soit  qui  trial  y 
pense. 

She  had  spent  the  morning  in  picking 
cockles,  digging  them  out  of  their  retreat 
in  the  wet  sand  with  virile  forefinger. 
Her  treasure  was  displayed  at  the  bottom 
of  a  small  much-mended  sack. 

"  What  fine  cockles,"  I  exclaimed,  with 
polite  desire  to  open  conversation  with  a 
lady  to  whom  I  had  not  been  formally 
presented. 

"  Deed,  yer  Honour,"  she  said,  fondly 
dipping  her  hands  in  the  heap  and  drop- 
ping their  fulness  back  into  the  sack, 
"  they  're  fit  for  anny  society." 

With  this  recommendation,  we  bought 
the  lot  and  carried  them  back  to  Water- 
ford  in  the  well  of  the  outside  car.  An 
excellent  breakfast  dish. 

Queenstown,  Sunday. — Moored  close  by 
H.M.S.  Howe.  After  breakfast  the  blue- 
jackets and  marines,  dressed  all  in  their 
best,  muster  for  inspection  on  the 
snowy  decks.  We  can  see  the  captain  and 
his  chief  officers  passing  down  the  lines. 
The  band  begins  to  play;  the  music, 
wafted  by  a  light  western  breeze,  floats 
around  the  yacht.  Pretty  to  see  how  the 
sea-gulls,  for  hours  circling  and  shrilly 
chattering  in  the  space  between  the 
man-of-war  and  the  yacht,  become  mute, 
and,  settling  down  on  the  water,  beat  time 
to  the  music  as  they  rise  and  fall  on  the 
swell  of  the  sunlit  sea. 


THE  MOTOR  CAR. 
AIR—"  The  Low-back1  d  Car" 
WHEN  first  I  saw  sweet  PEGGY, 

'Twas  on  an  Autumn  day, 
A  motor  car  she  drove  and  got 

In  everybody's  way. 
It  made  such  hay  of  blooming  grass 
When  blund'ring  off  the  road, 
It  went  o'er  stones 
With  grunts  and  groans, 
I  thought  it  would  explode. 

As  she  sat  in  the  motor  car, 
We  shouted  from  ever  so  far, 

"Hallo  there  I  Isayl 

Get  out  of  the  way 
Of  that  Juggernaut  motor  car  !  " 


SEPTEMBER  18,  1901.J  PUNCH,    OE    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  213 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI 


[SEPTEMBER  18,   1901. 


MRS.    MEDWIN. 

BY  HENRY  JAMES. 
IV. 

SCOTT  HOMER  wore  exactly,  to  his  sister's  eyes,  the  aspect  he 
had  worn  the  day  before,  and  it  also  formed,  to  her  sense,  the 
great  feature  of  his  impartial  greeting. 

"  How  d'ye  do,  MAMIE  ?  How  d'ye  do,  Lady  WANTRIDGE  ?  " 
"How  d'ye  do  again?"  Lady  WANTRIDGE  replied  with  an 
equanimity  striking  to  her  hostess.  It  was  as  if  SCOTT'S  own 
had  been  contagious  ;  it  was  almost  indeed  as  if  she  had  seen 
him  before.  Had  she  ever  so  seen  him — before  the  previous 
day  ?  While  Miss  CUTTER  put  to  herself  this  question  her 
visitor,  at  all  events,  met  the  one  she  had  previously  uttered. 

"Ever  'forgive'?"  this  personage  echoed  in  a  tone  that 
made  as  little  account  as  possible  of  the  interruption.  "  Dear, 
yes!  The  people  I  luive  forgiven!  "  She  laughed — perhaps  a 
little  nervously  ;  and  she  was  now  looking  at  SCOTT.  The  way 
she  looked  at  him  was  precisely  what  had  already  had  its  effect 
for  his  sister.  "  The  people  I  can !  " 

"  Can  you  forgive  me  ?  "  asked  SCOTT  HOMER. 
She  took  it  so  easily  !  "  But — what  ?  " 
MAMIE  interposed ;  she  turned  directly  to  her  brother. 
"  Don't  try  her.  Leave  it  so."  She  had  had  an  inspiration ;  it 
was  the  most  extraordinary  thing  in  the  world.  "Don't  try 
him" — she  had  turned  to  their  companion.  She  looked  grave, 
sad,  strange.  "  Leave  it  so."  Yes,  it  was  a  distinct  inspira- 
tion, which  she  couldn't  have  explained,  but  which  had  come, 
prompted  by  something  she  had  caught — the  extent  of  the 
recognition  expressed — in  Lady  WANTRIDGE'S  face.  It  had  come, 
absolutely,  of  a  sudden,  straight  out  of  the  opposition  of  the 
two  figures  before  her — quite  as  if  a  concussion  had  struck  a 
light.  The  light  was  helped  by  her  quickened  sense  that  her 
friend's  silence  on  the  incident  of  the  day  before  showed  some 
sort  of  consciousness.  She  looked  surprised.  "Do  you  know 
my  brother  ?  ' ' 

"  Do  I  know  you  ?  "    Lady  WANTRIDGE  asked  of  him. 
"No,  Lady  WANTRIDGE,"  SCOTT  pleasantly  confessed,  "not 
one  little  mite  !  " 

"  Well  then,  if  you  must  go !  "  and  MAMIE  offered  her  a 

hand.  "  But  I  '11  go  down  with Jy on.  Not  you!  "  she  launched 
at  her  brother,  who  immediately  effaced  himself.  His  way  of 
doing  so— and  he  had  already  done  so,  as  for  Lady  WANTRIDGE,  in 
respect  to  their  previous  encounter — struck  her  even  at  the 
moment  as  an  instinctive  if  slightly  blind  tribute  to  her 
possession  of  an  idea ;  and  as  such,  in  its  celerity,  made  her  so 
admire  him,  and  their  common  wit,  that,  on  the  spot,  she  more 
than  forgave  him  his  queerness.  He  was  right.  He  could  be 
as  queer  as  he  liked  !  The  queerer  the  better  !  It  was  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  .when  she  had  got  her  guest  down,  that  what 
she  had  assured  Mrs.  MEDWIN  would  come  did  indeed  come. 
'  Did  you  meet  him  here  yesterday  ?  " 
"  Dear,  yes.  Isn't  he  too  funny  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  MAMIE  gloomily.     "  He  in  funny.      But  had  you 
sver  met  him  before  ?  ' ' 
"  Dear,  no  !  " 

"  Oh  !  "—and  MAMIE'S  tone  might  have  meant  many^things. 
^  Lady  WANTRIDGE,  however,  after  all,   easily  overlooked  it. 
'  I  only  knew  he  was  one  of  your  odd  Americans.     That 's  why, 
when  I  heard  yesterday,  here,  that  he  was  up  there  awaiting 
your  return,  I  didn't  let  that  prevent  me.     I  thought  he  might 
be.    He  certainly,"  her  ladyship  laughed,  "  is." 
^  Yes,  he 's  very  American,"  MAMIE  went  on  in  the  same  way. 
"As  you  say,  we  are  fond   of^you !    Good-bye,"    said   Ladv 
WANTRIDGE. 

But  MAMIE  had  not  half  done  with  her.    She  felt  more  and 
>— or  she  hoped  at  least-that  she  looked  strange.     She  was 
>  doubt,  if  it  came  to  that,  strange.     ««  Lady  WANTHIDGK,"  she 
almost  convulsively  broke  out,   "I  don't  know  whether  you'll 


understand  me,  but  I  seem  to  feel  that  I  must  act  with  you— I 
don't  know  what  to  call  it ! — responsibly.     He  is  my  brother." 

"  Surely— and  why  not  ?  "  Lady  WANTRIDGE  stared.  "  He 's 
the  image  of  you  ! ' ' 

"  Thank  you  !  "—and  MAMIE  was  stranger  than  ever. 

"Oh,  he's  good  looking.  He's  handsome,  my  dear.  Oddly 
— but  distinctly  !  ' '  Her  ladyship  was  for  treating  it  much  as  a 
joke. 

But  MAMIE,  all  sombre,  would  have  none  of  this.  She  boldly 
gave  him  up.  "  I  think  he 's  awful." 

"He  is  indeed — delightfully.  And  where  do  you  get  your 
ways  of  saying  things  ?  It  isn't  anything — and  the  things 
aren't  anything.  But  it's  so  droll." 

"Don't  let  yourself,  all  the  same,"  MAMIE  consistently 
pursued,  "be  carried  away  by  it.  The  thing  can't  be  done — 
simply." 

Lady  WANTRIDGE  wondered.     "  '  Done  simply  '  ?  " 

"Done  at  all." 

"  But  what  can't  be?  " 

"  Why,  what  you  might  think — from  his  pleasantness.  What 
he  spoke  of  your  doing  for  him." 

Lady  WANTRIDGE  recalled.     "  Forgiving  him  ?  " 

"He  asked  you  if  you  couldn't.  But  you  can't.  It's  too 
dreadful  for  me,  as  so  near  a  relation,  to  have,  loyally — loyally 
to  you — to  say  it.  But  he  's  impossible." 

It  was  so  portentously  produced  that  her  ladyship  had  some- 
how to  meet  it.  "  What's  the  matter  with  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"Then  what's  the  matter  with  you?"  Lady  WANTRIDGE 
laughed. 

"  It's  because  I  won't  know,"  MAMIE — not  without  dignity- 
explained. 

"  Then  I  won't  either !  " 

"Precisely.  Don't.  It 's  something,"  MAMIE  pursued  with 
some  inconsequence,  "that — somewhere  or  other,  at  some  timo 
or  other — he  appears  to  have  done  ;  something  that  has  mado 
a  difference  in  his  life." 

"'Something'?"  Lady  WANTRIDGE  echoed  again.  "What 
kind  of  thing?" 

MAMIE  looked  up  at  the  light  above  the  door,  through 
Avhich  the  London  sky  was  doubly  dim.  "  I  haven't  the  least 
idea." 

"  Then  what  kind  of  difference  ?  " 

MAMIE'S  gaze  was  still  at  the  light.  "  The  difference  you 
see." 

Lady  WANTRIDGE,  rather  obligingly,  seemed  to  ask  herself 
what  she  saw.  "But  I  don't  see  any!  It  seems,  at  least," 
she  added,  "such  an  amusing  one!  And  he  has  such  nice 
eyes." 

"Oh,  dear  eyes!"  MAMIE  conceded;  but  with  too  much 
sadness,  for  the  moment,  about  the  connections  of  the  subject, 
to  say  more. 

It  almost  forced  her  companion,  after  an  instant,  to  proceed. 
"  Do  you  mean  he  can't  go  home?  " 

She  weighed  her  responsibility.  "  I  only  make  out — moro's 
the  pity  ! — that  he  doesn't." 

"  Is  it  then  something  too  terrible ?  " 

Shefthought  again.  "I  don't  know  what — for  men— is  too 
terrible." 

"Well  then,  as  you  don't  know  what  '  is'  for  women  either 
— good-bye  !  "  her  visitor  laughed. 

It  practically  wound  up  the  interview ;  which,  however, 
terminating  thus  on  a  considerable  stir  of  the  air,  was  to  give 
Miss  CUTTER,  the  next  few  days,  the  sense  of  being  much  blown 
about.  The  degree  to  which,  to  begin  with,  she  had  been 
drawn — or  perhaps  rather  pushed — closer  to  SCOTT  was  marked 
in  the  brief  colloquy  that,  on  her  friend's  departure,  she  had 
with  him.  "  You  '11  see  if  she  doesn't  ask  me  down  !  "  he  had 
immediately  said. 

4  So  soon  ?  " 


SEPTEMBER  18,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OK  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


215 


"Oh,  I've  known  them,  at  places — at 
Cannes,  at  Pau,  at  Shanghai — to  do  it 
sooner  still.  I  always  know  when  they 
will.  You  can't  make  out  they  don't  love 
me ! ' '  He  spoke  almost  plaintively — as 
if  he  wished  she  could. 

"Then  I  don't  see  why  it  hasn't  done 
you  more  good." 

"Why,  MAMIE,"  he  patiently  reasoned, 
"what  more  good  could  it?  As  I  tell 
you,"  he  explained,  "it  has  just  been 
my  life." 

"  Then  why  do  you  come  to  me  for 
money  ?  ' ' 

"Oh,  they  don't  give  me  tliat !  "  SCOTT 
returned. 

"So  that  it  only  means  then,  after  all, 
that  I,  at  the  best,  must  keep  you  up  ?  " 

He  fixed  on  her  the  nice  eyes  that  Lady 
WANTRIDGE  admired.  "Do  you  mean  to 
tell  me  that  already — at  this  very  moment 
— I  am  not  distinctly  keeping  you?  " 

She  gave  him  back  his  look.  "Wait  till 
she  has  asked  you.  And  then,"  MAMIE 
added,  "decline." 

SCOTT — not  too  grossly — wondered .  "  As 
acting  for  you  ?  ' ' 

MAMIE'S  next  injunction  was  answer 
enough.  "  But  before — yes — call." 

He  took  it  in.  "  Call — but  decline. 
Good." 

"The  rest,"  she  said,  "I  leave  to 
you; "  and  she  left  it,  in  fact,  with  such 
confidence  that,  for  a  couple  of  days,  she 
was  not  only  conscious  of  no  need  to  give 
Mrs.  MEDWIN  another  turn  of  the  screw, 
but  positively  evaded,  in  her  fortitude, 
another  visit  from  that  lady.  It  was  not 
till  the  third  day  that  she  waited  upon 
her,  finding  her,  as  she  had  expected, 
tense. 

"  Lady  WANTRIDGE  will ?  " 

"  Yes — though  she  says  she  won't." 

"She  says  she  won't?  O— oh!"  Mrs. 
MEDWIN  moaned. 

"  Sit  tight,  all  the  same.    I  have  her." 

"But  how?" 

"Through  SCOTT— whom  she  wants." 

"Your  bad  brother?"  Mrs.  MEDWIN 
stared.  ' '  What  does  she  want  of  him  ? ' ' 

"To  amuse  them  at  Catchmore.  Any- 
thing for  that.  And  he  would.  But  he 
sha'n't !  "  MAMIE  declared.  "  He  sha'n't 
go  unless  she  comes.  She  must  meet  you 
first — you  're  my  condition." 

"  O — o — oh  !  "  Mrs.  MEDWIN'S  tone  was 
a  wonder  of  hope  and  fear.  "  But  doesn't 
he  want  to  go  ?  " 

"He  wants  what  I  want.  She  draws 
the  line  at  you — I  draw  the  line  at  him." 

"  But  she ?  Doesn't  she  mind  that 

he's  bad?" 

It  was  so  artless  that  MAMIE  laughed. 

No.  It  doesn't  touch  her.  Besides,  per- 
haps he  isn't.  It  isn't  as  for  you — people 
seem  not  to  know.  He  has  settled  every- 
thing, at  all  events,  by  going  to  see  her. 
It 's  before  her  that  he 's  the  thing  she 
will  have  to  have." 

"'Have'  to ?" 


HISTORY    REPEATS    ITSELF. 

Mistress.   "How  is  THIS,  MARY?    READING — AND  THE  CAKES  BURNING  IN  THE  OVEN!" 
Mary.   "  VERY  SORRY,  MUM  ;  BUT  I  WAS  so  INTERESTED  IN  KING  ALFRED'S  MILLINERY  !" 


"  For  Sundays  in  the  country.  A 
feature.  The  feature." 

"  So  she  has  asked  him?  " 

"  Yes — and  he  has  declined." 

"For  me?"  Mrs.  MEDWIN  panted. 

' '  For  me  ! ' '  said  MAMIE  on  the  door- 
step. "  But  I  don't  leave  him  for 
long."  Her  hansom  had  waited.  "  She  '11 
come." 

Lady  WANTRIDGE  did  come.  She  met  in 
South  Audley  Street,  on  the  14th,  at  tea, 
the  ladies  whom  MAMIE  had  named  to  her 
— together  with  three  or  four  others  ;  and 
it  was  rather  a  master-stroke  for  Miss 
CUTTER  that,  if  Mrs.  MEDWIN  was  modestly 
present,  SCOTT  HOMER  was  as  markedly 
not.  This  occasion,  however,  is  a  medal 
that  would  take  rare  casting ;  as  would 
also,  for  that  matter,  even  the  minor  light 
and  shade,  the  lower  relief,  of  the  pecu- 
niary transaction  that  Mrs.  MEDWIN'S 
flushed  gratitude  scarce  awaited  the  dis- 
persal of  the  company  munificently  to 
complete.  A  new  understanding  indeed, 
on  the  spot,  rebounded  from  it,  the  con- 
ception of  which,  in  MAMIE'S  mind,  had 
promptly  bloomed.  "He  sha'n't  go  now 
unless  he  takes  you."  Then,  as  her  fancy 
always  moved  quicker  for  her  client  than 
her  client's  own:  "Down  with  him — to 
Catchmore — when  he  goes  to  amuse  them. 
You,"  she  comfortably  declared,  "shall 


amuse  them  too."  Mrs.  MEDWIN'S  re- 
spouse  was  again  rather  oddly  divided, 
but  she  was  sufficiently  intelligible  when 
it  came  to  meeting  the  intimation  that 
this  latter  would  be  an  opportunity  in- 
volving a  separate  fee.  "Say,"  MAMIE 
had  suggested,  "  the  same." 

"  Very  well.    The  same." 

The  knowledge  that  it  was  to  be  the 
same  had  perhaps  something  to  do,  also, 
with  the  obliging  spirit  in  which  SCOTT 
eventually  went.  It  was  all,  at  the  last, 
rather  hurried — a  party  rapidly  got  to- 
gether for  the  Grand-Duke,  who  was  in 
England  but  for  the  hour,  who  had  good- 
naturedly  proposed  himself,  and  who  liked 
his  parties  small,  intimate  and  funny. 
This  one  was  of  the  smallest,  and  it  was 
finally  judged  to  conform  neither  too  little 
nor  too  much  to  the  other  conditions — 
after  a  brief  whirlwind  of  wires  and 
counterwires,  and  an  iterated  waiting  of 
hansoms  at  various  doors — to  include 
Mrs.  MEDWIN.  It  was  from  Catchmore 
itself  that,  snatching  a  moment  on  the 
wondrous  Sunday  afternoon,  this  lady 
had  the  harmonious  thought  of  sending 
the  new  cheque.  She  was  in  bliss  enough, 
but  her  scribble  none  the  less  intimated 
that  it  was  SCOTT  who  amused  them  most. 
He  was  the  feature. 

THE  END. 


21G 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[SEPIEMUEH  18,  1901. 


AT  COMPI£GNE. 

AN  IMPOSSIBLE  CONVERSATION. 

(From  our  Special  Prophet.) 
Exalted  Personage.  Qucl  luxe  !  Sont- 
ils  aimables,  vos  compatriotes  !  Ce  qu'ils 
out  prodigue  d'objets  d'art !  On  dirait 
mi  muse"e.  Vraiment  j'ai  peur  de  toucher 
a  des  choses  si  merveilleuses.  Eh  bien, 
messieurs,  aliens  nous  asseoir  quelques 
instants  apres  notre  petite  promenade. 
Nous  avons  1111  bon  quart  d'heure  sans 
revue,  sans  reception,  sans  discours.  J'ai 
envie  de  me  reposer. 


dessus.     Envoyez  chercher  des  pantoufles,  ; 
donnez-moi  un  tire-botte,  et  apportez-moi 
cette  chaise-Ik.    Elle  est  ancienne  ? 

A.  Ah,  Sire,  tres  peu  de   chose.     Une 
chaise  de  DIANE  DE  POITIERS.    Nous  allons  ; 
oter  les  bottines  de  Votre  Majeste. 

E.  P.  Pas  du  tout.  Je  prefere  un  tire-botte. 

A.  Parfaitement,  Sire.  Voici  le  tire-  j 
botte  du  Grand  Monarque,  et  les  pantoufles  | 
de  Votre  Majeste. 

E.  P.  Ca  va  bien.  Maintenant  je  j 
traverse  votre  tapis  sans  rougir  de  honte.  i 
Qu'est-ce  que  c'est  que  ce  fauteuil? 

A.  Le  fauteuil,  Sire,  de  NAPOLEON  Ier. 


E.  P.  C'est  tout  ce  que  vous  avez  comme 
journal  ?  Est-ce  que  vous  avez  un  livre 
quelconque  ? 

A.  II  y  a  huit  cents  volumes  k  la  dis- 
position de  Votre  Majeste.  II  y  a  la 
Clmnson  de  Roland,  tres  beau  manuscrit, 
et  les  Sonnets  de  PETRARQUE,  qui  appar- 
tenaient  k  CATHERINE  DE  MEDICIS. 

E.  P.  Tres,  tres  interessants,  j'en  suis 
sur.  Mais,  si  par  hasard  vous  aviez 
quelque  chose  de  plus  moderne  ? 

A.  Parfaitement, Sire.  Les (Euvresde VOL- 
TAIRE, en  quatre-vingt-dix-sept  volumes. 

E.  P.  Malheureusement  je  n'ai   pas  le 


HARRY'S    SON'S    HOLIDAY    REMINISCENCES.     No.    I.-PARIS. 

(Drorn  all  by  himself,  and  slfjned  "Harry's  Son.") 


Attendants  (of  the  Protocol).  Votre 
Vlajeste  daignerait-elle  entrer  par  ici  'i 
p'est  la  bibliotheque  de  Votre  Majeste. 

E.  P.  Volontiers.  Maisquel  tapis  super  be ! 

A.  C'est  un  tapis,  Sire,  qui  appartenait 
au  Grand  Mogol. 

E.  P.   Vraiment!     Et  lo  prix?    Est-ce 
qu'on  a  jamais  calcule  ca  ? 
^  A.  On  ne  sais  pas  au  juste,  Sire.     Peut- 
etre  cinquante  mille  francs. 

-E.  P.  Combien  de  metres  du  Trans- 
Siberien  !  Je  vais  dire  ca  k  DE  WITTE. 
Et  moi  je  rentre  du  pare  en  bottines  pour 
traverser  ce  tapis-la  ? 

A.  La  France  le  jette  aux  pieds  de  Votre 
Majeste. 

E.  P.  Mais  moi  je  no  vcux  pas  marcher 


E.  P.  Et  1'autre  ? 

A.  Celui  de  Louis  XVI.,  par  RIESENER. 

E.P.  Encoredesobjetsprecieux.  Voulez- 
vous  avoir  la  bonte  de  m'apporter  un  fauteuil 
moderne,  sans  aucune  valeur,  sur  lequel 
j'osem'assjeoir.  Mercibien.  Jepeuxregarder 
ce  beau  mobilier  k  mon  aise.  Ce  bureau  ? 

A.  Par  BQULLE,  Sire. 

E.  P.  Etlapendule? 

A.  Par  FALCONET,  Sire. 

E.  P.  Ce  qut\ca  represente,  le  mobilier 
de  cette  chambi'*} !  Combien  de  versts  du 
Trans-Sibe"rien !  Et  nous  n'avons  pas  le 
sou.  Eh  bien,  je^vais  lire  un  instant. 
Donnez-moi  un  journal. 

A.  Votre  Majeste  d<aignerait-elle  lire  les 
premiers  numeros  du  Mercure  de  France? 


temps.  S'il  y  avait  peut-etre  quelque 
chose  d'amusant  ? 

A.  Votre  Majeste  daiguerait-elle  lire  les 
Fables  de  LA  FONTAINE,  premiere  Edition  ? 

E.  P.  Ah,  je  les  connais  bien  !  Tout  ce 
qu'il  y  a  de  plus  admirable.  Cependant, 
je  voulais  dire  un  livre,  un  je  ne  sais  quoi, 
de  plus  actuel,  un  romau  en  effet. 

A.  Ah,  Sire,  un  roman  !  En  voici  un, 
qui  appartenait  k  ROBESPIERRE.  Paul  et 
Virginie. 

E.  P.  Ravissant !  Je  serais  enchante. 
Settlement,  messieurs,  le  petit  quart 
d'heure  est  passe.  II  faut  nous  en  aller. 
Ce  sera  pour  une  autre  fois.  En  atten- 
dant, pretez  ce  roman  k  LAMSDOBFF. 
(Exeunt.)  H.  D.  B. 


SEPTEMBER  25,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


21: 


BARL. 


Clwrus  oj  excited  Otter-hunters.   "TAIL  HIM,  MAJOR!    TAIL  HIM  !" 

Major  (who  has  been  beguiled  into  going  Otter -hunting],  "  FiRsr  YOU  SHOUT   '  HEAD  HIM  ! ' 
THEN  'TAIL  HIM!'    CONFOUND  IT,  SIR,  DO  YOU  SUPPOSE  I  GAME  OUT  TO  PLAY  PITCH  AND 

TOSS  IN  THE  MIDDLE  OF  A  BEASTLY  STREAM?'' 

[The  ambition  of  an  otter-hunter  is  to  catch  the  otter  by  the  tail.] 


arrives.  Then  one  of  the  old  Frenchmen, 
who  has,  meanwhile,  consumed  a  large 
helping,  sees  his,  and  seizes  his,  oppor- 
tunity. "  Lc  plat!"  he  cries,  and  has 
a  second  quantity.  But  when  we  reach 
the  cheese,  fortune  has  turned.  Then 
the  Frenchpeople  wait,  but  not  patiently. 
They  are  inconsiderate,  for  Gruyere  is 
a  rare  delicacy  in  Switzerland.  Their 
lamentations  and  complaints  are  inces- 
sant. One  of  the  old  gentlemen  even 
claims  my  sympathy  across  the  table. 
"  Vous  avez  etc  la  victime  de  I'entre-cote, 
monsieur,  et  mot  je  suis  la  victime  du 
fromage."  But  there  is  no  envy  between 
us  now  ;  we  are  brothers  in  misfortune. 


Away  by  the  train  to  Paris,  which  starts 
at  10.22.  It  is  there,  at  the  platform,  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  before.  In  the  waiting- 
room  stand  all  the  passengers,  looking  at 
the  empty  train,  but  kept  back  by  one 
puny  official  till  it  is  actually  past  10.20. 
Then  with  one  frantic  rush  they  are 
allowed  not  quite  two  minutes  to  take 
their  seats  for  a  journey  of  over  eight 
hours.  Any  less  stupid  people  would  have 
swept  away  that  puny  official  long  ago. 
Of  all  the  senseless  arrangements  of  all 
the  sleepy  Swiss  there  is  no  arrangement 
which  reaches  such  a  depth  of  stupidity 
as  this  one. 

H.  D.  B. 


218 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[SEPTEMBER  25,  1901 


LIVES   OF   GEE  AT   MEN. 

No.  II.— THE  DUKE  OF  DONNYBROOK  AND  Bow. 

(Concluded.) 

THEY  appointed  a  Commission  to  report  with  proper  care, 

On  the  possible  survival  of  an  unsuspected  heir. 

The  instructions  that  they  gave  them  were  exhaustive  and 

concise, 
"If  he  lives,"  they  wrote,  "  just  find  him,  and  you  needn't  mine 

the  price. 

Through  the  Continent  of  Africa  your  duty  you  '11  discharge  : 
It 's  a  biggish  stretch  of  country,  so  the  order 's  rather  large. 
Still,  the  task  you  're  undertaking  is  ineffably  sublime, 
And  we  don't  intend  to  hamper  you  or  limit  you  in  time. 
Fare  you  well ;  do  all  you  can,  Sirs ;  and,  wherever  you  may  go, 
Think  of  England,  think  of  duty,  think  of  Donnybrook  and  Bow." 
I  may  spare  you  the  recital  of  a  lot  of  deeds  they  did  ; 
And  some  painful  things  they  suffered  in  oblivion  may  be  hid. 
But  I  can't  forbear  to  mention  that  they  learnt  to  speak  with 

ease 

Many  queer  and  tricky  lingoes  and  the  dialects  of  these. 
When  upset  upon  the  Pungwe  they  were  saved  for  fame  and  us 
By  the  opportune  arrival  of  a  hippopotamus 
Who  took  in  the  situation  and  conveyed  them  from  the  wreck, 
Clinging  tightly  to  salvation  by  his  rather  massive  neck. 
Then  they  wandered  through  Sahara,  traced  the  Congo  to  its 

source ; 
Took  the  Niger  in  a  steam-launch,  and  were  wrecked  again,  of 

course ; 

Did  a  trip  or  two  from  Cairo,  where  they  lingered  for  a  while, 
And  conversed  with  all  the  fellahs  whom  they  found  about  the 

Nile. 

They  discovered  that  an  eight-oar  isn't  equal  for  a  bump 
To  that  desert-ship,  the  camel,  with  a  saddle  on  his  hump, 
And  that  missionary  fillet  or  explorer  barbecue 
Isn't  always  used  for  dinner  in  the  wilds  of  Timbuctoo. 
Their  adventures  in  the  forests  make  a  formidable  list : 
They  were  shot  at  by  the  Pigmies,  but  were  fortunately  missed  ; 
And  they  learnt  by  having  suffered  how  your  courtesy  it  tries 
To  be  entertained  by  Bushmen  or  be  feasted  on  by  flies. 
Kaffirs,  Hottentots  and  Zulus,  Matabeles,  Portuguese, 
Fuzzy-Wuzzies,  men  of  Benin  and  the  savage  Ashantees, 
Every  tribe  they  plied  with  questions  as  to  whether  they  had  met 
Any  man  whose  brow  seemed  fitted  for  a  ducal  coronet. 
Failure,  failure,  always  failure !    And  the  months  went  slipping 

by, 

And  no  clue  appeared  to  gladden  their  investigating  eye- 
Till  one  day  on  Lake  Nyanza,  as  they  paddled  their  canoe, 
They  were  greeted  by  a  negro  with  a  cheery  "how-de-do  ?  " 
When  they  heard  these  words  in  English— oh,  the  magic  of  that 

tongue ! — 

All  this  middle-aged  Commission  felt  at  once  supremely  young. 
They  approach  him,    and  their  Chairman  with  a  joyful   eye 

perceives 

On  his  chest  the  ducal  birthmark  of  a  strawberry  with  leaves  ! 
In  his  hut  he  kept  his  records :  all  the  amulets  were  there, 
All  the  marriage-lines  and  tokens  that  can  rna\:e  a  man  an  heir; 
And  they  found  that,  though  a  black  man,  he  dould  trace- and 

did  with  glee — 
To  a  line  of  Dukes  in  England  quite  a  flawless  pedigree.        \ 

they  cabled  home  to  London,  "  We  have  found  the  heir  aliV  5 
He  s  great-grandson  to  Lord  ARTHUR,  and  his  age  is  twenty- 
five. 

We  have  packed  the  proofs  securely,  and  shall  start  with  him 

to-night. 
He  has  very  pleasant  manners,  but  he  isn't  very  white." 

The  sixteenth  Duke  of  Donnybrook  and  Bow, 
George  Alured  Augustus  BATTLEMORE, 


Marquis  of  GOLD$TONE,  Earl  of  BALLYHINCH 

In  Ireland 's  peerage,  Baron  STRUACHA.N 

In  Scotland,  and  I  know  not  what  beside, 

Dwells  in  the  Castle  that  his  ancestor, 

The  Great  Red  Duke,  built  centuries  ago. 

Oh,  what  a  scene  that  was  whfin  he  returned 

To  claim  his  own  and  be  an  English  peer. 

Rumour  preceded  him  and  spread  the  news, 

And  all  the  country-side  was  set  agog. 

The  tenants  all  were  there,  a  goodly  crowd, 

Stout,  comfortable  farmers  and  their  wives, 

Peasants  in  smocks,  and  stablemen,  and  grooms, 

And  footmen  with  their  well-developed  calves  ; 

The  Parish  Council  with  its  Chairman  too, 

And  all  the  children  from  the  village  school, 

The  Rector  at  their  head  ;  he  had  prepared 

A  long  congratulatory  address, 

And  meant  to  read  it  to  the  coming  Duke. 

At  last  there  rose  a  shout,  "  He  comes,  he  comes !  " 

And  lo  !  the  County  Yeomanry  appeared 

A-clatter  up  the  ducal  avenue. 

Dragoons  they  were,  a  set  of  burly  men 

On  burly  horses— a  terrific  sight. 

Behind  them  whirled  the  family  barouche, 

Drawn  by  four  spanking  greys,  and  in  it  sat 

The  Duke,  the  object  of  all  men 's  desires. 

"  He  's  black,"  said  farmer  HOBBS,  "  as  black  as  blacl 

I  never  seed  a  Duke  like  that  afore." 

But  Mrs.  HOBBS  opined  you  couldn't  look 

For  everything  to  please  you :  there  must  be 

A  sort  of  give  and  take  :  and  thus  to  carp 

At  colour  was  aflying  in  the  face 

Of  Providence  that  had  restored  the  Duke. 

Then  the  whole  multitude  broke  out  in  cheers  ; 

The  carriage  stopped,  and  so  the  Rector  spoke  :— 

"  Your  Grace,"  he  said— hereat  the  black  Duke  smiled- 

"  We  have  assembled  here  to  welcome  you. 

Before  the  ancient  mansion  of  your  race 

We  greet  you,  for  we  know  that  you  will  show 

The  virtues  that  have  marked  your  loyal  house 

In  Church  and  State,  and  on  the  tented  field. 

From  that  far  country  where  you  had  your  home, 

You    bring    the —      '    here    the    Rector    paused    an 

coughed, 

And  grew  embarrassed  ;  he  had  meant  to  say 
"  The  white  flower  of  a  blameless  life,"  but  now, 
Noting  the  ducal  ebony,  he  thought 
The  words  were  tactless,  so  he  slurred  them  o'er, 
And  passed  to  other  things,  and  made  an  end. 
The  Duke  replied — he  had  been  coached  with  skill — 
Leapt  from  his  carriage,  shook  a  thousand  hands, 
And  all  men  said,  "  How  affable  !  "  and  all 
Their  wives  and  daughters,  as  they  saw  him  pass, 
Observed  his  smile  and  much  admired  his  teeth. 
And  now,  beloved  of  all,  he  holds  his  rule. 
Society  acclaims  him  ;  he  is  seen 
At  every  meeting  of  the  Primrose  League ; 
Opens  bazaars,  and  rides  to  hounds,  and  shoots. 
And  though  he  sometimes  shocks  the  staider  folk 
With  intempestive  laughter,  or  with  songs 
And  dances  of  a  savage  character, 
These  faults  are  venial,  and  his  neighbours  own 
They  are  such  eccentricities  as  Dukes 
May  use  at  will,  and  none  the  less  be  Dukes. 
P.S. — The  Morning  Post  announces  this  : 
"  We  are  informed  a  marriage  is  arranged 
Between  the  Duke  of  DONNYBROOK  and  Bow 
And  Lady  ANGELINA,  only  child 
Of  GEOFFREY,  Marquis  of  FITZALTAMONT." 

R.  C.  L. 


SEPTEMBER  25,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVAKL  219 


^jj^.^Y;.'V-  ...j 


CH  a 

3  « 

<  s 

UJ 


eo     .,- 

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SEPTEMBER  25,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OB    THE    LONDON    CHARIVABI. 


221 


THE  PLAYS  OF  SHAWKSPEARE. 
ACT  IT. — CONTINUED. 

Re-enter  JOCK,  ushering  in  two  murderers. 
Their  appearance  shoivs  them  to 
belong  to  the  lowest  branch  of  their 
profession . 

McB.  Quid  mornin'  Men's. 
First  Murderer.  Same  to  you,  Gov'nor. 
McB.    Ye're    noe    frae    Scotlan',    I  'm 
thinkia'  ? 

Second  Murderer  (decidedly).  You  may 
take  your  oath  of  that. 

McB.  Aweel,  I  hae  a  triflin'  bit  o'  beesi- 
ness  ye  might  care  to  do  for  me. 
.  First  Murderer  (brusquely).  How  much? 
McB.  I  'm  comin'  to  that.    Do  ye  ken  a 
canty  Scot  ca'ed  BANQUO  ? 

First  Murderer.  Long-legged  chap  with 
sandy  whiskers  ?  I  know  the  party. 

McB.  If  ye  will  riii  yer  knife  across  his 
throttle  ye  shall  hae  half  the  monny  ye 
find  in  his  pockets. 

Second  Murderer  (sarcastically).  And 
hand  you  the  other  half?  Not  good 
enough. 

First  Murderer.  Not  by  a  long  chalk. 
McB.  I  think  it  a  verra  handsome  offer. 
First  Murderer.  I  dare  say.    Where  'd 
we    be    if    he    hadn't    anything    in    his 
pockets  ?    We  know  Scotland  ! 

McB.  What  wad  ye  tak'  to  settle  him 
'or  me  ? 

First  Murderer.  Half-a-sovereign. 
Second  Murderer.  Apiece. 
McB.  'Tis  a  braw  sum,  I  'm  thinkin'. 
First  Murderer.  Not  at  all.  Dirt  cheap. 
McB.  Will  ye  tak'  sax  shillin'  ? 
First  Mtwderer  (much  hurt  at  the  sug- 
lestion).     Look  here,  Gov'nor,  I  said  half- 
rgovereign.      And    when    I    say    half-a- 
overeign  I  mean  half-a-sovereign. 
McB.  Will  ye  noe  tak'  feefteen  shillin' 
tween  ye  ? 
First     Murderer     (sternly).      Half  -  a  - 
[overeign. 

Second  Murderer.  And  Beer  money. 
McB.    (disgusted).    Mon,     mon,     ye  're' 
erra  avareecious. 

First  Murderer.  It 's  the  Union  rate, 
ov'nor.  We  daren't  take  less. 
McB.  Whisht,  whisht !  yon's  mon  BAN- 
walkin'  thro*  the  planteetion.  Gang 
ter  him,  frien's.  Ye  shall  hae  the 
lOnny. 

First     Murderer.    Shake   hands   on    it, 
v'nor  !     I  thought  we  should  come   to 
rms.  [Exeunt  Murderers  stealthily. 

McB.    (to    himself).  The    puir    feckless 
ies  noe  to  hae  thocht  of  askin'   for 
yment  in  advance  !    Wha  iver  heerd  o' 
fulishness.    A   canny  Scot  wad   hae 
:etit     his    monny    before    puttin'    a 
to  the  beesiness.    But  there  's  nae 
konin'  wi'  Southrons.     (lie-enter  Mur- 
rs,  each  adorned  with  a  blade   eye.) 
ye  kilt  him  ? 

rst    Murderer    (savagely).     I    should 
her  think  so. 


"  BILL,  CAN  YER  LEXD  ME  TWOPENCE  ?  " 

"WOT  A  SILLY  QUESTION  TER  ARST  !      WHY,  IF  I  'AD  TWOPENCE,  WOT  'UD  I  BE  DOIN* 

STANDIN'  OUTSIDE  A  PUBLIC  'OUSE  ? " 


Second  Murderer.  And  a  tough  job  we 
had  of  it. 

McB.  Aweel,  ye  've  twa  bonnie  black 
een  to  show  for  it. 

First  Murderer.  You  needn't  remind  us 
of  it.  Where  's  the  whisky  ? 

Second  Murderer.  And  the  blunt  ? 

McB.  (ignoring  the  second  suggestion,  but 
handing  ^vhisky).  Did  ye  find  a  braw  lot  o' 
siller  on  him  ? 

First  Murderer  (sulkily).  What 's  that 
to  do  with  you  ?  Just  you  give  us  cur 
wages  and  don't  ask  questions. 

[Helps  himself  and  mate  to 
whisky. 

McB.  Eh,  mon,  ye  're  verra  unceevil. 

Second  Murderer.  We  are  that.  So 
hurry  up  with  that  sovereign. 


McB.  (defiantly).  And  if  I  winna? 
Second    Murderer  (producing  knife  and 
liandling    it    meditatively).     There  '11    be 
another  throat  cut  in  Bonnie  Scotland. 

McB.  (taking  out  purse  sullenly).  Tak' 
the  monny,  ye  murderin'  ne'er-be-lickits 
and  let  me  see  the  hinders  o'  ye.  (Exeunt 
Murderers  with  money).  I  ought  to  hae 
dune  the  killin'  mysell.  'Twad  hae  been 
mair  eeconomical. 

[McBfiTH  sits  down  by  the  hearth  sad- 
dened by  this  reflection.  JOCK 
lays  supper  for  three.  Presently 
Lady  McBETH  enters.  She  and 
her  husband  seat  themselves  at 
table.  Music  pianissimo  as  cin- 
toins  close  on  Part  2,  Scene  2, 
Act  II.  An  interml. 


222 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[SEPTEMBER  25,  1901. 


THE   BOOK  OF   BEAUTY. 
A    GREAT  THOUGHT  FOR  EVERY  DAY  IN  THE  YEAR. 

SECOND  SERIES. 
IX.— THE    "ETERNAL   CITY"   SECTION. 

[The  author,  in  attempting  to  follow  Mr.  HALL  CAINE  in  his  latest,  nights 
of  actuality,  wishes  to  cast  no  sort  of  reflection  upon  any  extant  Monarch  or 
OffK-ia.1  of  State  whom  he  has  found  it  convenient  to  introduce  for  the  purposes 
ofA't.l 

SEPTEMBER  IST. — It  was  the  dawn  of  a  new  century,  practically 
contemporary  with  the  present.  By  an  edict  of  the  young,  pale 
King  EPAMINONDAS  I.,  this  unusual  event  was  to  be  marked 
by  the  inauguration  of  a  colossal  scheme  for  restoring  the 
Parthenon.  A  Jubilee  Procession  to  the  Acropolis  had  been 
arranged  with  a  view  of  reviving  the  splendours  of  the  ancient 
Panathenaic  festival.  All  Athens  had  been  notified  to  attend. 

2ND,  3RD. — In  the  great  Square  (plateia)  of  the  Constitution 
a  vast  and  motley  crowd  was  assembled.  Here  was  the  Athenian 
Demos,  ever  ready,  as  in  *the  days  of  the  Christian  Era,  to  see 
something  new.  Politicians  of  the  cafd  (estiatori(t)  might  be 
seen  sipping  their  sweet  masticlia,  or  munching  Gret-kish  delight 
(gluknmi)  inlaid  with  pistacchio  nuts.  In  the  midst  of  animated 
conversation,  they  were  telling  the  beads  of  their  secular 
rosaries,  as  occupation  for  their  restless  hands.  Here  were 
shepherds  from  distant  Nomarchies,  Slavs  from  Boeotia, 
Roumanians  from  Acarnania,  clad  in  capotes  of  goat's-hair,  or 
red  vests  and  baggy  trousers,  green  and  blue.  Hero  were 
Albanian  peasant-women  in  long  shirts  with  broidered  sleeves 
and  leather  girdle,  and  the  glint  of  sequins. in  their  hair.  Here 
were  local  Demarchs  swelling  with  importance  ;  there  a  street 
Arab  crying  his  sigarocharto  (cigarette  papers)  at  25  lepta,  or 
about  2£<Z.  the  packet ;  or  a  newspaper-boy  shouting  Ephemeris  ! 
or  Astul  (the  names  of  party-organs).  There  again  was  an 
archmandrite  rubbing  elbows  with  a  parish  Papa  in  his  conical 
hat,  long  hair  and  dark  gown ;  and,  mixed  with  these,  the  foreign 
tourist,  recognisable  by  his  alien  speech  and  appearance. 

4TH. — On  the  balcony  of  the  Prime  Minister's  Palace,  over- 
looking the  Square  of  the  Constitution,  the  flower  of  Athenian 
beauty  and  chivalry  had  gathered,  'along  with  the  Ministers 
accredited  from  the  various  European  Courts,  the  Vatican 
amongst  them.  They  were  greeting  one  another  in  terms  of 
aristocratic  familiarity,  such  as  Kale  mera  (good  day),  or 
ydssou  (your  health  ! )  From  group  to  group  flitted  the  charming 
Princess  YEViFWiSKi,  a  Russian  blonde  with  cockatoo  plumes 
rising  from  a  Parisian  toque,  now  tapping  a  General  of  Cavalry 
with  her  lorgnette,  now  ogling  an  attache  behind  her  fan. 
Scandal  was  the  topic  of  the  hour. 

iJTH. — In  an  adjoining  salon  the  Prime  Minister,  M.  R^X,LIPAPIA, 
having  dismissed  his  Cabinet  and  the  corps  diplomatique,  was 
now  closeted  with  the  Heads  of  the  Army,  the  Navy,  and  the 
Auxiliary  Forces,  the  Chief  of  Police,  the  Mayors  of  Athens 
and  the  Piraeus,  the  Directors  of  the  Foreign  Schools  of 
Archaeology,  and  the  Commandante  of  the  Fire  Brigade.  The 
face  of  the  Premier,  who  was  faultlessly  dressed  with  a  crimson 
peony  in  his  button-hole,  was  that  of  a  man  habituated  to 
command,  and  unscrupulous  in  the  methods  by  which  he 
attained  his  ends. 

GTH.— "You,  gentlemen,"  he  srid,  turning  to  the  Archaeo- 
logists, "have  guaranteed  the  stability  of  the  ruins  of  the 
Acropolis  during  to-day's  ordeal,  earthquakes  excepted  ;  I  do 
not  anticipate  a  fracas  in  any  other  quarter.  But," — and  here 
he  fixed  a  sombre  eye  upon  the  various  officials  grouped  about 
him— "  at  the  first  sign  of  disturbance,  I  have  only  to  fire  the 
cannon  on  my  Palace-roof,  connected  with  my  watch-fob  by 
the  MARCONI  system,  and  you  will  at  once  block  the  passes  to 
Eleusis  and  Marathon,  hock  the  horses  in  the  hipposiderodromi 
(tramways),  blow  up  the  suburban  lines,  turn  the  municipal  hose 
on  to  the  main  squares  and  streets,  and  arrest  every  one  who 
cannot  establish  his  identity  by  the  name  on  his  shirt-collar." 


"  Malista,  Kyrie  (certainly,  honoured  Sir),"  replied  th< 
officials,  as  they  bowed  themselves  out  backwards. 

7TH. — Meanwhile,  a  thrill  of  tense  expectation  animated  th< 
brilliant  company  that  thronged  the  reception  rooms.  Sud 
denly,  up  the  stairs  of  Pentelican  marble,  ornamented  witl 
low  prehistoric  reliefs,  came  a  penetrating  whiff  of  ottai 
of  patchouli,  followed  almost  immediately  by  a  full  roum 
figure,  with  a  face  radiant  as  a  lark,  and  dewy  as  Aphrodite 
fresh-risen  from  the  foam.  Her  smile,  which  embraced  every 
body,  including  perfect  strangers,  seemed  to  permeate  he 
whole  being,  from  the  Gainsborough  hat  (with  its  wreath  o 
natural  edelweiss)  to  the  astrachan  gaiters,  slashed  witl 
priceless  ermine. 

STH  TO  10TH. — "Dearest  ATHENA  !  "  cried  the  Priness  VEVI 
FWISKI,  as  her  rouged  lips  imprinted  a  peck,  soft  as  a  dove's 
and  hypocritical  as  a  hawk's,  on  the  daffodil  complexion  of  th< 
full  round  beauty;  "mais,  mon  Dien,  how  ravishing  a  toilette 
and  what  blooming  cheeks!  "  She  spoke  in  fluent  French,  thi 
invariable  medium  of  expression  in  the  best  court  circles. 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  asked  the  new  English  Minister,  Lord  TiRO 
addressing  himself  to  the  Plenipotentiary  Representative  o 
the  United  States. 

"  My  !  Not  to  know  her,  Viscount,  argues  yourself  unknown,' 
replied  General  GOATEE.  "  Why,  I  guess  she  just  walks  aroun< 
with  the  Prime  Minister  and  runs  this  yere  Government  01 
her  own.  Pro-digious  !  " 

"Ah  !  "  said  the  English  Minister,  "she  has  a  past.  I  sa\ 
that  at  a  glance.  But  tell  me,  General,  for  I  am  fresh  to  thi 
work,  what  is  the  nature  of  the  ambitions  that  govern  thi: 
ancient  Hellenic  race  in  regard  to  their  political  status?  " 

"  Sir,"  said  the  American,  "  I  will  figure  it  up  for  you  righ 
here.  Ever  since  that  Cretan  business  this  one-horse  Govern 
ment  has  been  afflicted  with  notions.  They  reckon  to  re 
juvenate  the  Pan'lenic  instinct,  and  start  fair  again  with  : 
slap-up  new  Parthenon.  In  view  of  the  im'nent  dissolutioi 
of  the  Turkish  Empire,  of  which  you,  as  a  Britisher,  may  ho 
have  had  any  pre-monition,  they  are  pegging  out  moral  claim; 
on  a  thickish  slab  of  Thessaly.  That's  so." 

"  You  astonish  me,"  said  the  Viscount.  "My  Governmem 
had  given  me  no  information  of  this  contingency.  But  I  shal 
have  my  eyes  open." 

"A  bright  man,  Sir,  this  RALLIPAPIA,  and  no  flies  on  him 
Reads  his  BYRON  (not  forgetting  Don  Juan,  you  bet !)  and  haf 
military  aspirations,  and  means  to  knock  sparks  out  of  the 
European  concert ;  if  only  this  all-fired  Demos  don't  call  hit 
hand  over  the  olive-tax." 

"Ah!  the  People!"  said  the  British  Minister  pensively. 
"  one  has  always  to  reckon  with  the  People  where  there  is  a 
tradition  of  democracy." 

HTH  TO  13TH. — The  Jubilee  Procession  had  begun.  The  vat 
of  the  resplendent  cortege  had  already  traversed  the  Street  oJ 
Hermes,  wheeled  by  the  Church  of  Kapnikarea,  and  debouched 
on  the  Square  of  the  Temple  of  the  Winds,  heading  for  the 
sacred  ascent  of  the  Propylaea. 

"Holy  Martyrs  !  "  cried  ATHENA,  as  she  leaned  her  full  round 
shape  over  the  balustrade,  "  what  a  picture  !  See  the  pro- 
cession, how  it  unwinds  its  apparently  interminable  coils  amid 
the  multitudinous  populace,  and  bristles  like  a  gigantic  boa- 
constrictor  threading  the  countless  ripple  of  the  jungle." 

In  another  moment  she  had  forgotten  the  sequence  of  hei 
remarks  in  a  delicious  ecstasy  of  personal  detail. 

"  There  's  a  battalion  of  Euzoni !  "  she  cried  in  childish  glee, 
with  a  flash  of  her  mulberry  eyes.  "Look  at  their  Albanian 
uniform,  with  the  fez,  and  the  embroidered  jacket  with  open 
sleeves,  and  the  full  white  petticoat,  or  fustanella,  and  the  red: 
shoes  turned  up  at  the  toes.  That  man  with  the  grimy  face  is< 
from  the  mines  at  Laurion,  where  they  get  from  two  to  twenty) 
pounds  of  silver  for  every  ton  of  lead.  And  there  's  the  dear, 
Metropolitan  himself  in  the  funny  high  hat !  Fancy  their  call- 
ing the  Paris  underground  railway  after  him !  And,  oh,  look 


SEPTEMBER  25,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


223 


There  's  M.  ZOLA,  who  Avrites  novels.  He  's  taking  notes  for"  a 
volume  OH  Athens.  And  Mrs.  HUMPHRY  WARD,  too,  on  the  same 
tack.  And  there  's  the  famous  Signorina  MARIE  CORELLI.  That 
makes  three.  She  comes  from  Stratford-on-the-A  von.  Oh,  yes, 
I  was  brought  up  in  England.  And,  talking  of  Stratford,  if 
tliriv  isn't  the  blessed  spook  of  SHAKSPEARE  !  No,  it  isn't. 
It  's  the  great  Master,  HALL  CAINE,  with  his  nice  little  red 
Baedeker, t  and  a  green  grammar  of  Modern  Greek.  He  's  going 
to  out-Corelli  the  Signorina.  On  dit,  there  is  no  love  lost 
there.  And  that  makes  four.  All  on  the  same  tack.  "Why,  no 
more  English  people  need  ever  come  to  Athens.  They  can  get 
it  at  the  lending  bibliotliekcs  !  " 

Her  brilliant  flow  of  comment  flooded  the  noontide  air,  heavy 
with  the  scent  of  honey  wafted  from  the  purple  slopes  of 
Hymettus.  At  her  back  there  was  that  constant  tittering  and 
whispering  behind  fans  which  is  de  rigueur  in  the  highest 
quarters.  AsPASiA  and  POMPADOUR  were  among  the  allusive 
names  which  passed  from  lip  to  lip. 

"  And  where,  I  wonder,  is  my  dear  Anarchist,  the  Honorable 
DOTTI  ?  I  know  I  shall  lose  my  heart  to  him.  And  I  want  him 
so  to  sit  as  a  model  for  HARMODIUS,  or  else  ARISTOGEITON,  who 
slew  the  tyrant.  You  know,  of  course,"  she  cried,  throwing  a 
dazzling  glance  from  her  mulberry  eyes  upon  the  company, 
"  that  I  have  been  asked  by  the  Board  of  Works  to  do  a  fresco 
for  the  wall-paper  of  the  new  Parthenon.  You  must  all  of  you 
come  to  the  private  view."  The  invitation  was  received  with 
well-simulated  rapture.  The  Prime  Minister  had  just  entered, 
twirling  his  moustaches  with  a  confident  air  of  proprietorship. 

14TH  TO  16TH. — A  quivering  vibration  passed  through  the 
crowd  below,  as  in  a  play  just  before  the  ghost  comes  on. 
This  was  followed  by  a  muttering,  vague  as  distant  thunder, 
faintly  audible  as  a  tideless  sea.  All  eyes  were  directed  to  a 
figure  that  was  climbing  up  an  electric  lamp-post  immediately 
under  the  balcony  of  the  Premier's  Palace.  It  was  Deemster 
DOTTI.  His  face  was-  as  green  as  an  olive,  yet  as  bold  as  a 
beacon. 

"  Eupliemeite,  O  politai !  Citizens,  hush  your  tongues  to 
holy  silence  !  "  he  began  in  the  formula  familiar  to  all  in  whom 
flowed  the  blood  of  the  old  Athenian  people.  "I  am  not 
DEMOSTHENES  that  I  should  declaim  from  the  Pnyx;  nor  the 
Apostle  that  I  should  address  you  from  the  Areopagus  :  but  the 
spirit  of  both  still  animates  me  even  on  this  precarious  point 
of  vantage.  Brothers,  we  are  to-day  the  victims  of  a  cruel 
farce.  Under  the  guise  of  restoring  the  fraternal  beauty  of  an 
ancient  Republic,  the  Government,  ambitious  of  a  higher  place 
in  the  Councils  of  Europe,  is  but  riveting  more  firmly  the 
fetters  about  your  patient  necks." 

Murmurs  of  dissent  and  approval  floated  up  from  the  multitude. 
"  Kalo  (bravo  !  )."  "  Siga  (shut  up  ! )."  "  Go  it,  cockey  !  " 

"  People  of  the  Eternal  City  of  the  Violet  Crown  !  It  is  a 
true  Republic  that  we  want  to  restore,  the  Republic  of  Man- 
hood. We  want  no  Kings,  no  Governments,  no  Army,  no  Navy, 
no  Auxiliary  Forces,  no  Fire  Brigade  !  We  want  no  Prime 
Minister  sucking  the  People's  veins  while  he  toys  with  the 
tangles  of  a  Phryne's  locks  !  " 

"Eu!  eu!"  "To  the  crows  with  him!"  "Good  old 
DOTTI  !" 

"  Yet  let  us  not  move  through  rapine  and  violence  to  noble 
s.     Let  us  simply  express   opinions.     Let  us  convince  by 
>ral  suasion.     Let  our  motto  be — For  others  !    Everything  for 
else!  " 


17'fH. — The  peroration,  designedly  conciliatory,  was  lost  in 
sudden  roar  of  a  cannon  from  the  Prime  Minister's  roof. 
was  followed  by  a  terrific  explosion  on  the  down  line  of 
Pirseus  railway.  Fountains  of  red  blood  spurted  from  the 
aks  of  their  chargers  as  the  mounted  police  bore  down  upon 
the  crowd  with  fixed  carbines.  Honorable  DOTTI  had  raised  his 
vcm  to  implore  the  people  not  to  resist,  when  a  live  jet  of  water 


Visitor.  "No,  I   WON'T   COMB   IN.     IF   I  COULD   SEE  MR.  JONES 

FOR  TWO  MINUTES  ?  " 

Servant.  "WHAT  NAME  SHALL  01  SAY,  SORR?" 
Visitor.  "PROFESSOR  VANDERSPLINKENTOOTLEHEIMER." 
Servant.  "  OCH,  SURE  YE  'D  HETTBR  STEP   IN  AND  BRING  IT  WID 
YE,  SORR  ! " 


from  the  municipal  hose  caught  him  full  between  the  eyes,  felling 
him  to  the  foot  of  the  lamp-post. 

18TH. — The  brilliant  gathering  on  the  balcony  had  melted 
away  like  snow  towards  the  back-door.  As  they  streamed 
through  the  gorgeous  saloons,  tittering  behind  their  fans,  a 
quick  ear  might  have  overheard  a  ripple  of  society  gossip. 
"Well,  I  never!"  "Who'd  have  thought?"  What '11  the 
boss  do  with  it  ?  "  "  That 's  one  for  the  minx  !  " 

As  the  curtain  fell  upon  this  first  act  of  the  modern  Athenian 
drama,  the  full  round  form  of  ATHENA,  her  beauty  strangely 
altered,  was  lying  in  the  Cabinet  Chamber  prone  across  a 
despatch-box.  The  Prime  Minister  stood  above  her,  still  fault- 
lessly dressed  and  twirling  the  waxed  ends  of  his  inscrutable 
moustaches.  O.  S. 

(To  be  continued.) 


THE   WASP  WAIST. 
IT  isn't  the  hatred  of  lacing 

That  to  feminine  custom  I  bring, 
It  is  only  the  fear  of  the  facing 

The  feminine  wasp  with  the  sting. 

APPROPRIATE  TO  THE  SEASON. — For  sportsmen,  the  old  song 
long  ago  popular,  entitled  "  There 's  a  Good  Time  Coming, 
Boys,"  if  sung  by  a  M.F.H.  with  a  bad  cold,  as  thus,: 
"  There  's  a  Good  Tibe  Cubbing,  Boys  !  " 


224 


PUNCH,    OK    THE    LONDON    CIIAIUVAPJ.  [SEPTEMBER  25,  1901. 


A   TEN   DAYS'   TKIP. 

August  in  Cfmstiama.— Dining  very  late,  or  supping  very 
early,  whichever  you  like  to  call  it,  the  energetic  tourist  (that 
is,  as  energetic  as  a  tourist  can  be  when  it  is  90  degrees  in  the 
shade,  and  when  he  is  suffering  from  perpetual  din  of  wheels 
over  paving-stones,  from  the  constant  sound  of  tram-whistles, 
and,  like  Sir  HENRY  IRVING  as  Mathias,  from  "the  bells,"  the 
electric  bells  ringing  spasmodically  in  one's  ears)  can  "put 
in"  any  number  of  meals  between  early  coffee,  regulation 
table  d'hote  dinner  at  2.30,  and  10  P.M.,  as  during  these 
intervals  he  will  be  jolted  about  the  town  in  an  open 
vehicle  which  thoroughly  realises  the  idea  of  a  "rattle-trap." 
The  environs  of  Christiania  recall  those,  to  a  certain  extent,  of 
Paris  towards  Auteuil,  with  an  occasional  dash  of  Regent's 
Park,  the  country  about  Bournemouth,  and  St.  John's  Wood. 
The  tourist  who  has  been  well  advised  as  to  the  outlay  of  his 
time  will  probably  "drop  in,"  in  quite  a  friendly  way,  to  see 
if  H.M.  OSCAR,  King  of  Norway  and  Sweden,  be  at  home,  either 
at  his  palace  in  the  town  or  at  "OSCAR'S  Hall,0  a  little  way  out. 
This  last-mentioned  chateau  is  a  castellated  palace  on.  a  small 
scale,  commanding  lovely  views,  and  employing  aquaint  custodian 
who  can  speak  sufficient  English  to  make  the  explanation  of  the 
pictures  and  the  curios  rather  like  a  series  of  conundrums,  and 
whose  gratitude  for  a  couple  of  Ttronin — there  were  three  of 
us,  and  we  did  it  all  thoroughly — is  so  unbounded  that,  from  the 
moment  he  receives  this  unwonted  gratuity,  until  he  is  gradually 
lost  to  our  view  as  we  drive  away,  he  positively  refuses  to 
remain  covered  in  our  presence,  while  he  continues  "  booing, 
booing,  and  booing  "  with  all  the  perseverance  of  a  Sir  Pertinax 
MacSycophant. 

Nor  must  the  traveller  miss  seeing  the  old  Viking  ship  :  not 
that  he  will  be  allowed  to  miss  it  if  Mr.  BENNETT'S  courtly 
and  most  attentive  cicerone  be  first  consulted ;  so  he  needs  no 
advice  from  me ;  and,  if  he  be  a  COOK'S  Tourist,  the  intelligent 
shepherd,  into  whose  charge  the  flock  of  trotters  is  committed, 
will  be  sure  to  take  him  there.  Also,  whether  he  "follow  the 
man  from  COOK'S"  or  not,  he  must  on  no  account  omit  the 
trip,  per  tram,  to  Majorstuen,  and  thence,  per  ascending 
electric  tram,  to  Holmen  Kollen,  to  which  place  "we  go  up,  up, 
up,  up,"  and  upper  and  upper,  through  grand  rocks,  skirting, 
on  one  side,  pine  forests,  and,  on  the  other,  sheer  precipices 
suggestive  of  all  sorts  of  unpleasant  possibilities.  "Excelsior! 
Excelsior!  "  ascending  at  a  fair  rate  of  speed,  ever  obtaining 
peeps  of  such  landscapes  and  water-scapes  as  whet  the  appetite 
for  the  entire  panorama  "  at  a  glance,"  which  we  are  soon  to 
behold  in  all  its  glory  on  this  lovely  summer  evening,  when, 
having  quitted  the  tram  and  walked  very  gently  and  circum- 
spectly up  to  the  uttermost  height,  we  sit  down  at  one  of  the 
small  tables  in  the  Restauration's  gardens,  order  our  much- 
needed  consommations,  and  enjoy  the  grand  scene  which  would 
be  described  in  an  auctioneer's  descriptive  prospectus  as 
"  This  lovely  and  extensive  panorama." 

The  neat-hauded  Phyllis  who  serves  us,  and  it  is  to  be  noted 
all  the  waitresses  a're  neat-handed,  tidily-dressed,  and  most 
respectable  young  Phyllises,  speaks  English  perfectly,  and 
gives  \is  such  information  as\our  thirst,  for  knowledge  and 
for  cool  draughts  of  hock,  requires.  The  view  is  entrancing;  we 
could  sit  here  for  any  time  \vatc\iing  the  alternations  of  light 
and  shade,  the  sun  cautiously  "  climbing  down,"  and  the  mists 
gradually  stealing  up  the  mountains^ 

"WORTLER,  too,  is,  as  it  were,  in  theXclouds,  yearning  towards 
the  setting  sun,  whose  brilliant  "  las\ appearance,"  and  "for 
this  night  only  !  "  is  evidently  affectingyhim  deeply.  Mechani- 
cally he  stretches  out  his  hand  toward*  the  hock  bottle.  But 
it  is  all  gone;  "'Jiocfc'  olim  meminissk  juvabit."  WORTLER 
sighs  ;  there  are  indications  of  tears  ii\  his  voice  when  he 
murmurs,  "  What  a  glorious  evening  !  lYcould  stay  here  all 
night!"  As  the  practical  carrying  out  Yf  this  sentiment 
would  disarrange  all  our  plans,  we  reca\l  WORTLER  from 


the  ruddy,  golden  sunset  in  the  skies  to  dull  earth  by  ask- 
ing the  waitress  for  the  bill  and  requesting  his  contribution 
thereto.  But  he  is  in  no  humour  for  such  mundane  calculations  ; 
he  is  for  throwing  down  his  ptirse  on  the  table  and  exclaiming, 
"There's  gold  for  ye;  take  it!"  So,  falling  in  with  this 
glorious  humour  of  his,  we  submissively  allow  him  to  discharge 
in  full  our  indebtedness  for  the  "consommations,"  adding  a 
guerdon  for  Phyllis.  Then,  with  WORTLER  walking  as  one  in  a 
dream,  we  "  wander  down  the  mountain  side."  • 

On  our  return  to  the  Eidevolds  Plads  we  look  in  at 
the  Tivoli  Gardens,  where  is  given,  every  evening,  an 
entertainment  not  so  exceptionally  different  from  any  other 
music-hall  entertainment,  al  fresco  or  under  cover,  as  to 
warrant  my  recommending  a  visit  to  it,  unless  pour  passer  le 
temps.  The  National  Theatre  being  closed  and  under  repair, 
much  to  CHARLIE  WORTLER'S  disappointment,  we  content  our- 
selves with  criticising  a  statue  of  IBSEN  erected  in  front  of  it. 
There  is  also  a  statue  of  another  eminent  Norwegian  play- 
wright (is  it  BJORNSEN  ?)  on  the  other ;  dramatic  Gog  and  Magog 
guarding  Norwegian  Temple  of  Thespis. 


DOMESTIC  ECONOMIES. 

(Continued.) 

"  DIDN'T  I  tell  you  so  !  "  cried  GWEN,  pointing  with  triumph 
to  a  greasy  ticket  stuck  in  a  piece  of  meat. 

"  Twopence,"  I  read.  "Yes,  of  course  you  were  right.  It's 
very  cheap  and — nasty." 

"  I  suppose  it 's  quite — good?  "  GWEN  queried. 

"  It  appears  it  hasn't  been  condemned  yet,  at  all  events." 

"  I  wonder  if  raw  meat  always  looks  like  that?  " 

"  I  rather  thought  it  was  red,"  said  I. 

"  I  thought  so  too.    I  wonder  why  it  is  so  black  ?  " 

"  King's  Road  is  not  the  cleanest  place  in  the  world,  love, 
and  the  denizens  of  Chelsea  have  not  the  cleanest  fingers." 

GWENDOLEN  turned  up  her  nose.     " Let's  try  another  shop." 

"Buy!  buy!  buy!"  cried  the  butcher's  assistant.  "Wot 
kin  I  do  for  you,  Ma'm  ?  " 

It  was  too  late  to  fly.  We  were  wedged  in  by  a  crowd  of 
Chelsea  ladies  intent  on  Sunday  dinners  and  to  test  in  the 
approved  method  of  the  slums  the  quality  of  their  bargains. 
The  assistant  had  us  at  his  mercy,  and  almost  before  we  knew 
what  had  happened,  I  found  myself  laden  with  a  large  doubtful 
mass  wrapped  in  a  greasy  Star. 

"Now  for  the  vegetables,"  said  GWENDOLEN.  The  glitter  in 
her  eye  betokened  that  the  purchase  had  roused  the  genuine 
feminine  lust  for  a  bargain.  She  had  tasted  first  blood  and  was 
eager  for  the  fray. 

Hundreds  of  barrows  lined  the  King's  Road  ;  hundreds  of 
naphtha  flares  smoked  and  blazed  and  smelt ;  hundreds  of 
costers  shouted  their  wares,  .and  thousands  of  women  fought 
for  bargains.  Tomatoes,  gooseberries,  marrows,  peas,  bananas, 
cherries,  currants,  potatoes,  raspberries — all  lay  heaped  on  one 
another  in  boundless  profusion,  to  be  had  almost  for  the  asking. 
A  delirious  desire  to  buy  up  everything  seized  upon  GWENDOLEN, 
and  even  my  sluggish  blood  was  stirred.  For  half-an-hour  we 
struggled  and  haggled  and  bought,  and  by  this  time  I  was  a 
walking  greengrocer's  shop. 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  can't  carry  anything  more,   dear,"  said  I, 
as  raspberries,  peas  and    currants    dropped   from  me  on  all  j 
sides  ;  "  no,  not  even  that  cauliflower." 

"  It 's  so  cheap,"  pleaded  GWENDOLEN.  "  The  man  says  we 
may  have  two  for  three-halfpence." 

Surreptitiously  I  dropped  a  large  marrow  and  seized  the 
cauliflowers.  "I  think  we  had  better  be  getting  home  now, 
love,"  I  suggested. 

"  Perhaps  we  had." 

We  walked  a  few  steps  in  silence.  "  These  cabbages 
and  things  are  very  heavy,"  I  remarked. 

"  Vertj,"  emphasised  GWENDOLEN. 


SEPTEMBER  25,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


225 


"  Darling,  are  you  tired  ?  " 

GWEN  looked  at  me  piteously.  Now  if 
there  is  an  event  in  the  world  that  I 
dread,  it  is  when  GWENDOLEN  gets  tired. 
Fatigue  does  not  come  to  her,  as  to  me, 
gradually  and  gently,  giving  timely 
warning  of  its  approach  ;  it  leaps  upon 
her  suddenly,  from  the  back,  as  it  were, 
and  before  she  knows  it  is  there  it  has 
knocked  her  doAvn.  One  moment  she  is 
all  vivacity  and  "go"  —  twenty  times 
more  energetic  than  myself — and  the  next 
she  is  collapsed — a  dismasted  wreck — a 
broken  reed — a  helpless  baby  in  my  hands. 

"  Shall  we  get  an  omnibus,  dear  ?  " 

GWENDOLEN  nodded. 

"  If  we  walk  to  the  Vestry  Hall — it 's 
only  twenty  yards ' ' 

Had  I  suggested  a  stroll  to  the  North 
Pole,  GWENDOLEN  could  hardly  have  looked 
more  hopeless  and  reproachful. 

"  Very  well,  we  will  wait  here." 

Scores  of  omnibuses  passed  us,  an  end- 
less procession  of  kaleidoscopic  colours, 
bound  for  Putney,  Fulham,  Walham  Green, 
World's  End — anywhere  but  for  our  desti- 
nation. GWENDOLEN  watched  the  advent 
of  delusive  possibilities  with  intent  ex- 
pectancy, but  as  each  possible  blue  re- 
solved itself  into  an  uncompromising  red, 
white,  green  or  chocolate,  despair  settled 
more  and  more  pertinaciously  on  her  heart. 

At  length  our  own  familiar  blue  appeared. 
"Here  it  is !  "  I  cried,  and  began  waving 
a  bunch  of  carrots  at  the  driver.  "Hi! 
Stop  !  "  But  the  stately  blue  leviathan 
held  heedless  on  its  way. 

"  Full !  "  I  murmured. 

"  Full !  "  gasped  GWENDOLEN. 

It  was  but  a  monosyllable,  but  what  a 
world  of  pathos  and  reproach  was  in  the 
tone  of  it !  "  Why  did  you  bring  me  here 
on  this  dreadful  errand?"  it  said,  far 
more  clearly  than  if  the  words  had  been 
uttered ;  and  the  force  of  it  lay  in  this, 
that  while  I  might  have  argued  with  the 
spoken  thought,  demonstrating  that  it 
was  not  I  who  had  insisted  on  coming, 
from  the  accusation  that  was  ijpver  made 
I  was  powerless  to  defend  myself. 

It  was  clearly  a  case  for  a  cab,  for  to 
argue  with  GAVENDOLEN  as  the  plums, 
which  had  now  soaked  through  the  paper 
bag  she  was  carrying,  dropped  one  by 
one  in  a  sad  procession  into  the  gutter, 
would  have  been  sheer  cruelty. 

When  we  come  to  tot  up — a  rite  that  is 
religiously  performed  every  quarter — we 
shall  find  that  I  grossly  understated  the 
case  against  economy.  We  did  not  know, 
till  AUGUSTA  told  us,  that  "  the  tuppenny 
mutton  never  kep',  and  'ad  to  be  et  over- 
night"; so  the  porter  had  to  be  bribed 
to  bury  the  meat ;  the  dustman,  too,  re- 
quired a  consideration  to  carry  away  the 
vegetables,  and  the  cabman  to  be  com- 
pensated for  the  cushions  on  which  our 
orted  bargains  had  left  a  thousand 
.ins.  Moreover,  as  we  had  nothing  to  eat 
the  house,  we  had  to  dine  out  on  Sunday. 


A    LIBERAL    ALLOWANCE. 

Huntsman  (who  has  just  drawn  Mr.  Van  Wyck's  coverts  blank}.   ::  RATHER  SHORT  OF  CUBS, 

l'j,l   AFRAID,    SIR  !  " 

Mr.  Van  Wyck  (ivho  has  very  recently  acquired  his  country  seat}.   "MosT  EXTRAORDINARY  ! 
CAN'T  UNDERSTAND  IT  AT  ALL  !    WHY,  I  TOLD  MY  KEEPER  TO  ORDER  A  DOZEN  ONLY  LAST 

WEEK  !  "  •» 


But  as  I  lit  my  cigar  after  an  excellent 
dinner  at  the  Carlton — A.B.C.'s  are  closed 
on  Sundays — I  remarked  that,  after  all, 
economy  had  its  points. 

And  GWENDOLEN,  pouring  her  Cognac 
into  her  coffee,  endorsed  my  sentiment. 


THAT  DOG. 

By  a  Lover  annoyed  by  a  Poodle. 

I  DO  not  like  that  dog, 
He  sniffs  about  my  heels, 

Though  I  stand  stiffly  as  a  log, 
Or  work  my  calves  like  eels. 


He  has  a  beastly  grumpy  growl 

Whene'er  he  sits  to  beg, 
And  sometimes  gives  a  ghostly  howl, 

As  though  he  'd  eat  my  leg. 

I  do  not  like  that  dog, 

Despite  the  proverb  old ; 
He  seems  to  think  that  I  would  jog 

His  dogship  from  the  fold. 
But  I  do  love  his  lady, 

The  Queen  of  my  delight. 
Why  was  that  brutal  hound  e'er  made? 
he 

Can  bark  and  bite  at  sight — 
I  know  it — yet  I  love  her.     Am  I  right  ? 


226 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHAKIVABI.  [SEPTEMBER  25,  1901. 


Butler.   "MASTER  SAYS  YOU'RE  TO  HAVE  A  GLASS  o'  THIS  BEFORE  YOU  GO,  MRS.  GILES.     Now,  THAT'S  SOME  HAKE  GOOD  STUFF, 

THAT  IS,  AN'  WILL  DO  *EE  A  WORLD  o'  GOOD  !  " 

Mrs.  Giles.   "WELL,  IT  CERTAINLY  DO  TASTE  BETTER  THAN  THE  PHYSIC  I- BE  IN  THE  'ABIT  o'  TAKIN'  !" 


CHEERFUL  READING. 

IN  the  Bookman  of  this  month  we  are 
informed  that  "Mr.  RIDER  HAGGARD'S 
novel  in  favour  of  Vaccination  is  to  have 
a  reply  from  the  Anti-Vaccination  Society 
in  the  form  of  another  novel."  To  this 
pleasing  announcement  we  are  not  author- 
ised to  make  the  following  additions  : — 

Dr.  KOCH'S  arrangements  for  the  com- 
ing publishing  season  are  now  complete. 
He  has  engaged  the  services  of  Messrs. 
ANTHONY  HOPE,  HALL  CAINE,  and  Mrs. 
MEYNELL,  who  are  to  collaborate  on  a  strik- 
ing work  of  fiction  entitled  The  Tuber- 
culosis of  Timothy.  From  the  qcenario, 
already  drafted,  we  gather  that  £he  plot 
is  of  the  most  thrilling  interest,  and  that 
the  closing  chapters  afford  a  dramatic 
vindication  of  Dr.  KOCH'S  latest  theories. 


Mrs.  MOLESWORTH'S  juvenile  stories  are 
always  sure  of  a  welcome  in  the  nursery, 
and  doubtless  the  two  volumes  she  has 
just  completed  —  Matilda's  Mumps  and 
Little  Lottie's  Lumbago— "will  be  as  popu- 
lar as  her  previous  works. 


An  odd  controversy  has  arisen  con- 
cerning the  serial  publication  of  a  well- 
known  author's  last  production.  He  en- 


titled it  Temperature  106' 5,  and  as  it 
dealt  with  the  behaviour  of  a  patient  in 
a  high  state  of  fever,  the  name — if  be- 
traying some  exaggeration — seemed  fairly 
appropriate.  But  the  proprietors  of  The 
Perfect  Lady's  Mirror  objected  to  the 
realism  of  some  of  the  scenes,  and  in- 
sisted both  on  toning  them  down  and  at 
the  same  time  on  changing  the  title  to 
Very  Nearly  Normal. 


Owing  to  the  interest  taken  by  the 
public  of  late  in  medical  matters,  impor- 
tant changes  are  to  be  made  in  the 
character  of  the  Lancet.  Henceforth,  it 
is  to  be  issued  ^nonthly,  with  numerous 
coloured  illustrations.  Dr.  CONAN  DOYLE 
will  act  as  editor,  and  serials  are  pro- 
mised by  GUY  BOOTHBY,  DR.  ViRCHOW,  and 
other  popular  writers.  A.  C.  D. 


MR.  PUNCH'S  MUSEUM.  —  "  Table  of 
British  Weights  and  Measures."  This 
may  be  regarded  in  the  light  of  a 
practical  joke  perpetrated  upon  Anglo- 
Saxon  schoolboys  throughout  several  cen- 
turies, and  sanctioned  by  repeated  acts 
of  Parliament,  until  the  weight  of  foreign 
competition  brought  the  decimal  system 
into  vogue.  Note  especially  the  laugh- 


able "rod,  pole,  or  perch"  =  5|  yards; 
the  humorous  or  "dry"  measure  of 
pottles  and  quarts,  and  quarters  and 
quarterns ;  the  comic  and  ingenious 
system  of  firkins  and  kilderkins,  tods  and 
weys,  Troy  and  Avoirdupois  and  Apothe- 
caries' weight,  and  English  and  French 
and  Flemish  ells,  all  calculated  to  produce 
hilarity  in  the  course  of  a  business  trans- 
action. These  venerable  jeux  d' esprit 
were  all  ^vept  away  in  the  commercial 
crash  of  1903. 


FINANCIAL  FOLLIES. 
IM-"  PRESS"-IONS. 

I. 

WHEN  dividends  get  sadly  in  arrear, 
It 's  certain  the  directorate  will  hear 
That  for  office  they  're  unfitted, 
And  in  other  ways  be  twitted  ; 
'Then  the  Press  is  not  admitted, 
For  nothing  of  the  meeting  must  appear. 

ii. 
But  when  they  quit  the  street  that 's  known 

as  Queer, 

And  no  longer  there 's  hostility  to  fear, 
These  Directors  so  keen-witted 
With  proprietors  are  knitted  ; 
And  the  Press  will  be  admitted, 
For  columns  of  the  meeting  must  appear. 


PUNCH,    OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI.— SEPTEMBER  25,  1901. 


THE   BOUGH   EIDEB. 


WITH   MR.    PUNCH'S   BEST   \V1SHE8.TO   PRESIDENT  ROOSEVELT. 


SEPTEMP.ER  25,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI. 22) 

THE    TABLETS    OF    AZIT-TIGLETH-IVNPHANSI,    THE    SCRIBE. 


1.  Now  to  Amur-rikkah 

2.  came  Li'p-tiin-Thatlhman, 

3.  shunning  counter  attractions, 

4.  the  slapper  of  shoulders, 

5.  who  called  them  midhir-bhois 

6.  with  the  smile  biyat-ifik,  who  is  so 
;hick  with 

7.  sovereigns, — a  mdhsuv-buniimmi, 

8.  the  Lord  of  the  Jampot,  the  king 

9.  of'theDhllaz 

10.  in  jenr-al-grosiriz, 

11.  in  rdshaz-av-behkan,  and 

12.  other  komez-tibulz, 

18.  to  have  one  more  shdiyat  the  Cup 

14.  that  inebriates  so  many 

15.  Nhu-yaukaz, — and  others 

16.  from   this   side  . 


17.  and  over  the  seas  came  Shamrokh 
the  second, 

18.  a  sort   of  a   VThnus-anadiyoh-mineli 
...  in  oilskins, 

19.  a    mahrinat-al-antah   ....  on    her 
way  to  the  resiz 

20 in  a  tahrp-orlin-jtikkit ; 

21.  her  pherila'ik  form  most  cunningly 

22.  shielded  with  temprarit-imbah  from 

23.  the  blows  of  the  ocean 

24.  — as  carefully  packed  as  a  vdlyub-al- 
ndtsukeh. 


THIRTEENTH    FRAGMENT. 

25.  From  .the  Klaul  did  she  sail, 

26.  and  after  many  days  unto  Sannd-ihuk 

27.  did  she  come,  midst  the  wailing  of 
sairenz 

28.  more  than  yiizul-i-nhesal. 

29.  Then  did  she  cast  off  this  nautikli- 
al-krisalis, 

30.  break  forth  her  fleecy  diaphanous 
canvas, 

31.  spreading  her  wings  to  the  tenderest 
breezes, 

32.  and  lightly  careening  she  scudded 
about  at  a of  a  pace 

33.  off  the  shores  of  Manhattan, 

34.  till  avisibli-el-iJctllah 

35.  spread  over  the  faces 

36.  of  all  the  Aigessiz,  Airekkuns,  and 

Yubetz Bit-Sikki,    .    .    Bit- 

Squlmish. 

37.  Then  did  Lip-tun-Thatlhruan 

38.  have  tested  the  kordidj,  and  experts 
in 

39.  sail-cutting,— salt-water  miltnSz, 

40.  — the  Worths  of  the  ocean,  reported 
in  detail 

41.  on  this  latest  konfekshan 

42.  — "Just  a  wee  bit  in  here,  fitting 
close 

43.  to  the  stays ;  a  suspicion  of  fulness 
just  there. 


44.  Yes,  thank  you !     I  fancy — No,  the 
spinnaker 's 

45.  perfect ! 

46.  It's    a   dhtik  of  a    mehnsal !      Oh! 
Yes,  it  cuts  into  a  lot  of  material. 

47.  Would  you  kindly  just  raise  the  yard- 
arm  for  one  moment.     That 's  better !  " 

48.  With  vihgrns-el-bogns  her  sides 

49.  did  they  burnish 

50.  till  they  shone  like  a  mirror, 

51.  — very  handy  for  shaving 

52.  (alongside  in  the  dinghi). 

53 But  which  way  the   Cup 

goes 

54.  depends  on  the  weather,  and  also 
on  whether 

55.  the  ekskih-slian-bhotz  leave  any  space 

56.  on  the  ocean 

57.  to  race  in ;  and  likewise  on 

58.  whether    the    masts  —  which     are 
hollow — 

59.  should  choose  to  bend  over 
GO.  like  candles 

61.  in  August ! 

62.  and  the  sails  all  come  doAvn  with  a 
run 

63.  — just  like  the  week's  washing — 

64.  on  top  of  the 

65.  sailors. 

E.  T.  R. 


MR.  PUNCH'S  MUSEUM.—"  Toy  Jacobite." 
One  of  a  small  set  of  curious  marionette- 
like  figures  which  were  used  to  play 
the  game  of  "  Nursery  Treason,"  invented 
or  revived  about  the  year  1890  for  adver- 
tising purposes.  They  seem  to  have 
been  chiefly  in  evidence  on  STUART 
umiversaries,  like  the  30th  of  January, 
>vhen  their  old-fashioned  antics  some- 


what amused  the  public.  They  were  con- 
structed to  lay  wreaths  in  the  small 
hours  of  that  particular  morning*  in  Tra- 
falgar Square,  and  to  utter  the  word 
"  Remember  !  "  with  the  dark  air  of  con- 
spirators. They  would  curl  up  at  the 
mention  of  CROMWELL  or  Police.  If  no 
notice  was  taken  of  them,  they  would 
endeavour  to  attract  it  by  drawing  up  a 


proposal  for  the  canonisation  of  JAMES 
THE  SECOND,  or  the  restoration  of  the 
Legitimate  Pretender  to  the  Throne  of 
the  Cannibal  Islands.  They  were  useful 
in  Kindergartens  to  explain  the  term 
"make-believe."  This  specimen  was  un- 
earthed near  a  Thames  Valley  backwater. 
It  is  not  known  what  became  of  the  rest 
of  the  set. 


230 


PUNCH,  OE  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[SEPTEMBER  25,  1901. 


THE  FOLLY  OP  THE  WISE. 

["  In  an  ideal  stsite,  gentlemen  who  were  immersed  in  abstruse  calculations 
and  discoveries  would  be  forced  by  Act  of  Parliament  to  talk  for  forty-five 
.inutes  to  an  ostler  or  a  landlady ;  they  would  be  examined  by  the  State  in 
Cockney  dialect,  or  in  the  colours  of  various  omnibuses ;  they  would  be  taught 
to  become  men  of  the  world,  which  is  a  step  towards  becoming  men  of  the 
Universe." — Daily  News.] 

COME  hither,  heads  of  Colleges, 

Come  hither,  O  ye  grads., 
And  learn  for  once  what  knowledge  is, 

That  ye  should  teach  the  lads. 
Corne  hither,  dons  and  doctors, 
Come,  Fellows,  Tutors,  Proctors, 
Come,  all  ye  mad  concoctcrs 

Of  academic  fads  ! 
The  school  of  life  is  wider  than  the  widest  Oxford  schools. 
You  never  learnt  to  pluck  a  fowl,  though  good  at  plucking  fools. 
You  may  have  got  a  First,  yet  grates  have  never  vexed  your 
head  ;  [bread. 

And  though  you  're  bred  in  learning,  yet  the  learning  's  not  in 

What  are  your  emendations  ?    You  have  spent  no  end  of  care 
In  clearing  up  dark  passages,  but  could  you  clean  a  stair  ? 
What  do  you  knoAV  of  cooking  ?     I  am  very  much  mistaken 
If  you  could  even  poach  an  egg,  although  you  '  ve  done  your  BACON. 

You  make  divine  Alcaics— HORACE  never  wrote  a  neater — 
But  though  you  write  such  charming  verse,  you  cannot  read 
your  meter,  [with  gas, 

And  though  you  burst  with  rage  because  you  're  overcharged 
A.S  you  can't  check  aright  your  bill,  you  write  a  cheque,  you  ass  ! 

Then  come,  ye  heads  of  colleges, 

Come  hither,  O  ye  grads., 
And  learn  at  last  that  knowledge  is 

Not  academic  fads. 


"NO   P'LICE   LIKE   HOLMES!" 
Sherlock  Holmes,  by  CONAN  DOYLE  and  WILLIAM  GILLETTE,  as 
now  being  played   at  the  Lyceum,  is  a  first-rate  melodrama. 
I  make  the  reservation  of  "as  now  being  played,"  because  it  is 
possible    to    conceive    that  it   might    not    have    achieved    so 
immediate    and    so    great    success   had   it   been   in   less  able 
hands    than    those    of    Mr.    WILLIAM    GILLETTE,    representing 
that  master   of    logical    deduction,    the   cool    amateur    detec- 
tive Sherlock   Holmes,   and   in  those  of  Mr.   W.  L.  ABINGDON 
as    Sherlock's    deadly    enemy,    the    creepy-crawly    spider-like 
king    of    criminals,    Professor   Moriarty.      Not    less   excellent 
are    Mr.    RALPH    DELMORE,    as     the    burly    scoundrel    James 
Larrabee,    and    Miss    GUANVILLE    in    the    most    difficult    part 
of  the  female  villain,  Madge  Larrabee,  while  Miss  MAUDE  FEALY 
awakens  our  sympathy  for  the  mildly  vindictive,  but  much 
suffering  and   interesting  heroine,  Alice  Faulkner.    Nor  from 
the  cast  must  be  omitted  the  light  comedy  scoundrel,  Sidney 
Prince,  as  represented   by  Mr.  FULLER   MELLISH,   nor   Master 
HENRY  McARDLE's  Billy,  whose  racy,  uncontrollable  laughter, 
inspired  by   Mr.  GILLETTE'S   quiet   chuckle,  brings  down  the 
curtain  on  the  final  tableau  of  the  second   act  to  uproarious 
applause.    But  for  the  matter  of  that,  every  "  curtain  "  is  thus 
greeted,  though  the  situation  at  the  end  of  the  third  act,  being 
the  greatest  surprise  of  all,  is  the  one  that  "brings  the  house 
down,"  and  the  house  doesn't  recover  its  equanimity  until  "  all 
concerned  "  have  reappeared,  grouped  on  the  scene  of  Sherlock 
Holmes'  triumph,  to  receive  so  hearty  and  spontaneous  a  tribute 
of  applause  as  the  oldest  playgoer  with  the  best  memory  would 
find  it  difficult  to  parallel.     It  is  a  drama  in  which  the  lights 
and  shades,   not  being   confined    to    the    situations   and   the 
dialogue  (throughout  good  and  individually  characteristic),  be- 
come, as  it  were,  part  and  parcel  (if  such  impalpable  creations 
as  light  and   shade  can  become,   "parts  and  parcels" — but 
that 's  another  story)  of  the  auditorium,  where  at  one  moment 


the  audience  is  in  a  blaze  of  light,  while  the  band,  under  the 
skilful  direction  of  Mr.  RAYMOND  ROZE,  keeps  everybody  merry 
with  appropriately  brilliant  music,  till  suddenly,  at  a  signal 
for  the  curtain  rising,  all  are  in  darkness !  Gradually  the 
stage-lights  dawn  upon  the  house,  when  "action"  commences. 
The  audience  being  for  the  greater  part  of  the  evening  in  the 
dark,  few  of  them  would  come  away  with  a  clear  and  defined 
notion  of  the  plot  were  it  not  for  the  "brief  synopsis  of  the 
first  act  "  given  on  the  third  page  of  the  programme  by  a  kindly 
and  considerate  management.  Otherwise,  many  would  be  like 
little  Peterkin,"  in  the  poem,  whose  inquiries  as  to  what  the 
Battle  of  Blenheim  was  all  about  the  veteran  Casper  was  unable 
to  completely  satisfy.  To  adapt  his  reply  to  the  occasion  : 
"  Why,  that  I  cannot  tell,  quoth  he, 

But  'twas  a  famous  mystery !  " 
And  that's  just  it.  The  action  carries  it  triumphantly;  it  is 
a  game  of  hunt  the  slipper  in  the  shape  of  a  packet  of  com- 
promising letters  inexpressibly  valuable  to  "a  very  exalted 
foreign  personage " — whose  name  is  never  even  breathed, 
and  who  remains  invisible  and  unmentionable  to  ears  polite 
from  the  rise  to  the  fall  of  the  curtain.  Personally,  I 
should  have  liked  Messrs.  DOYLE  and  GILLETTE  to  have 
given  us  a  fifth  act,  and  to  have  shown,  on  the  glaciers 
of  the  Alps,  or  in  any  other  equally  mysterious  locality,  the 
realisation  of  Professor  Moriarty's  prophetic  threat  of  ven- 
geance ;  only,  of  course,  such  a  catastrophe  is  bound  to 
happen  during  Sherlock's  happy  honeymoon  with  "sweet  Alice," 
and  the  bride's  sudden  and  unexpected  appearance  on  the  scene 
would  have  saved  her  husband  just  at  the  critical  moment  when 
it  had  become  a  question  as  to  whether  Sherlock,  or  his  old 
enemy  Moriarty,  should  go  over  the  precipice.  "Ce  que  la 
femme  vent" — and  over  would  have  rolled  Moriarty,  smash, 
crash,  bang!  while  the  ever-faithful  "  Do -you -follow -me  - 
Watson"  would  have  been  seen  climbing  up  with  the  guides 
as  his  friend  Sherlock  would  once  more  have  fervently  embraced 
his  wife  in  the  gradually  expiring  lime-light,  and  the  house 
would  have  risen,  for  the  last  time  that  evening,  to  enthusias- 
tically applaud  a  grand  and  thrilling  climax. 

But  perhaps,  Sherlock's  adventures  being  endless,  another 
drama  may  be  up  the  collaborateurs'  sleeves,  with  this  fifth  act 
as  a  finish.  It  is  a  good  suggestion,  as  it  brings  in  not  only 
the  principals  up  to  the  very  latest  moment  of  interest,  but  it 
satisfies  the  audience  by  showing  that  latest  edition  of 
"CHARLES,  his  Friend,"  in  the  person  of  "Dr.  Do-you-follow- 
me- Watson,"  alive  and  well,  to  whom,  as  the  confidant  of  the 
great  Sherlock,  the  audience  primarily  owe  a  deep  debt  of 
gratitude,  since,  without  "  Do-you-follow-me- Watson,"  cleverly 
played  by  Mr.  PERCY  LYNDAL,  what  would  anyone  have  known 
of  Sherlock  Holmes  ?  For  how  long  Mr.  GILLETTE  may  be  in 
possession  of  the  Lyceum  is  uncertain,  but  this  piece  has 
certainly  come  to  stay,  and  at  this  House  our  American  artistic 
cousins  have  made  their  Holmes. 


THE   GOLDEN   PACIFIC. 

["An  American  specialist  on  education  has  just  discovered  that  anxious 
mothers  will  have  110  trouble  with  the  most  troublesome  children  if  they  will 
begin  by  teaching  them  metaphysics." — The  Globe.] 

WHEN  your  little  one  is  teething,  just  endeavour  to  explain 
The  philosophic  aspect  and  significance  of  pain. 
Don't  dose  him  with  such  quackeries  as  syrups  and  emulsions ; 
There 's  nothing  like  a  page  of  KANT  or  HEGEL  for  convulsions. 

Should  your  youngster  bump  his  head  against  a  table  or  a  chair, 
Lo  !  PLATO  will  convince  him  that  per  se  it  wasn't  there  ; 
He  might  believe  he  felt  it,  but  it  wasn't  really  real : 
Your  little  boy  will  laugh  again — the  system  is  ideal. 

What 's  physic  ?    Throw  it  to  the  dogs  !     But  metaphysic  still 
Contains  the  sovereign  remedy  for  every  infant  ill ; 
So  when  your  babe  is  querulous  and  will  not  take  nis  bottle, 
The  very  best  prescription  is  a  dose  of  Aristotle. 


SEPTEMBER  25,  1901. 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHAEIVARI. 


TAKING    COVER. 

MAJOR  JONES,  LATE  OF  THE  IMPERIAL  YEOMANRY,  BRINGS  HIS  SOUTH  AFRICAN  EXPERIENCES  INTO  USE  UPON  THE  EXMOOR  VELDT. 


THE  MAGNETIC  NEEDLE ; 

Or,  Bringing  Him  to  the  "  Point." 

["  The  cleverest  argument  in  favour  of  a  return  to 
the  vanishing  domesticities  is  put  forward  by  a 
French  lady  in  the  columns  of  a  Parisian  contem- 
porary. Turning  from  housewifery  in  general  to 
the  '  art  of  the  needle,'  she  says :  — '  It  cannot  be 
denied  that  a  pretty  hand,  wielding  this  delicate 
weapon ;  a  pretty  figure  bending  over  a  piece  of 
work ;  a  pair  of  bright  eyes,  thoughtfully,  atten- 
tively considering  the  article  in  hand,  have  a 
charm  of  their  own.  The  attitude  of  calm  serenity 
and  innocence  is,  moreover,  a  delightful  piece  of 
coquetry,  standing  in  graceful  contrast  to  the 
general  restlessness  of  the  time.'" — Westminster 
Gazette.] 

I  SAAV  her  on  a  shimmering  wheel 
The  country  speed  along, 

I  saw  her  with  unlovely  zeal 
A-practising  ping-pong. 

And,  thought  I  to  myself  :  "  No,  she 
^  Is  not  the  kind  of  girl  for  me  ! " 

I  saw  her  center  shyly  down 

The  Row.    And  from  afar 
I  saw  her  steering  (bolder  grown) 

Her  brand-new  motor  car. 
And  ttill  unto  myself  I  said  : 
"  She  's  not  the  kind  of  girl  I  wed  !  " 


I  saw  her  drive  a  skittish  mare 

At  Ranelagh,  or,  drawn 
By  game  less  vigorous,  make  a  pair 

At  croquet  on  the  lawn. 
And  still  I  had  no  doubt  that  she 
"Was  not  the  kind  of  wife  for  me. 

I  saw  her  swimming  in  the  sea, 

I  saw  her  in  a  punt, 
I  saw  her  golfing  on'the  lea, 

I  saw  her  dance  and  hunt. 
But  still  no  tremor  in  my  breast 
A  small,  incipient  love  confest. 

I  saw  her  do  a  hundred  things 

That  might  a  fellow  move, 
Things,  too,  round  which  some  romance 

Yet  never  felt  in  love.  [clings, 

She  wanted  just  that  little  touch 
Of  coquetry  which  means  so  rnuah. 

Something  each  day  I  saw  her  at, 

But  it  was  not  until 
I  saw  her  ply  her  needle  that 

I  felt  a  sudden  thrill ! 
Unconsciously  I  said,  "  By  Jove, 
I  do  believe  I  am  in  love  !  " 

I  saw  her  work  !     It  was  too  much, 
More  than  I  could  resist, 


There  was  just  that  coquettish  touch — 

My  eyes  bade  her  desist. 
But,  heedless  of  my  mute  appealings, 
She  worked,    and    worked  —  upon   my 
feelings ! 


AN  ASPIRATION. 

Shamrock  the,  Second,  from  over  the  sea 
Bring  back  the  Cup  for  the  gallant  Sir  T., 

True  to  your  rudder  and  staunch  to  your 
sail, 

Whether  the  weather  be  fair  or  a  gale, 
Sailing  majestical,  graceful  and  free. 

Though  in  the  future  no  mortal  can  see, 
Though  the  fates  doomed  once  by  cruel 

decree 

Shamrock    the    First,  may   they  grant 
you  '/I  prevail, 

Shamrock  the  Second. 

You  have  for  skipper — who  better  than 

he?— 

Good  Captain  SYCAMORE  (top  of  the  treol). 
So  when  our  plaudits  the  victor  shall  hail 
(Since  one  must  win  and  the  other  must 

fail), 
May  you  be  first  and  Columbia  bo, 

Sliamrock,  the  second. 


232 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVAEL  [SEPTEMBER  25,  1901. 


THE  CRUISE  OP  THE  SABRINA. 
LAST  Loo.— THE  TRAGEDY  OF  GALWAY. 

EXTRACTS    FROM    THE    TRAVEL    DIARY    OF 
TOBY,    M.P. 

Killarney,  Simdaij.— Drove  hither  from 
Keumare  through  Windy  Gap,  above  and 
alongside  the  Lakes.  The  sun  shone  on 
mountain  and  valley,  on  the  far-reaching 
lakes,  studded  with  islands  and  islets  of 
emerald  green.  The  low  walls  of  the 
roadway  are  clad  with  mosses  and  ferns. 
Behind  stretch  acres  of  wood-oak,  yew, 
arbutus,  holly,  rowan,  ash  ;  everywhere 
the  birch  -  tree  with  trunk  of  polished 
ivory  and  leaves  of  silver  beaten  out 
to  gossamer  thinness.  Only  the  horses 
didn't  care  for  it.  They  had  on  previous 
day  done  their  forty  miles  to  Killarney 
and  back.  A  second  day  too  much. 
Walked  up  all  the  hills  to  save  them  ; 
finally  undertook  to  do  the  last  four 
miles  on  foot,  waggonette  going  on  with 
the  COMMODORE  and  the  baggage. 

An  hour  later  came  up  with  horses 
fairly  broken  down.  Our  destined  hotel 
two  miles  off :  horses  couldn't  do  another 
two  furlongs.  Luncheon  hour  long  passed ; 
famished  :  scouts  going  out  came  back 
with -news  of  wayside  inn.  "Not  much 
to  look  at,"  they  said.  But  broken-down 
travellers  can't  be  choosers.  So  wag- 
gonette wearily  dragged  along  till  we 
reached  "Mulligan's." 

Certainly  not  palatial  in  build  nor  luxu- 
rious in  appointments.  But ' '  Mulligan's  ' ' 
is  no  longer  the  type  of  the  average  hotel 
in  the  South  and  West  of  Ireland.  Next 
morning  we  went  on  to  one  which,  in 
respect  of  cleanliness,  comfort  and  cook- 
ing, need  not  shirk  comparison  with  any 
in  holiday  resorts,  whether  in  Great 
Britain  or  on  the  Continent.  In  the  matter 
of  reasonable  charges  it  beats  them  all. 
Do  not  name  it,  this  not  being  the  adver- 
tisement sheet.  But  it  rather  than  "  Mul- 
ligan's "  is  the  type  of  the  modern  hotel 
in  the  beautiful  country  on  whose  stately 
rocks  the  Atlantic  impotently  flings  itself. 

The  railway  companies  have  of  late 
years  wakened  up  to  their  opportunities. 
No  use  making  costly  lines  and  inviting 
the  British  public  to  use  them  in  holiday 
time  if  travellers  have  nowhere  to  lay 
their  head  at  night  but  on  the  dubious 
pillow  of  a  whitewashed  hovel  innocent 
of  ordinary  sanitary  conveniences.  The 
great  railway  company  of  which,  last 
session,  we  heard  a  good  deal  in  the 
House  of  Commons  at  private  Bill  time, 
have  taken  the  matter  in  hand.  At  most 
of  their  termini  will  be  found  a  first-class 
hotel  where  one  may  live  like  a  fighting 
cock  (if  he  lias  leanings  that  way)  on  a 
fixed  tariff  of  ten  shillings  a  day. 

Gahvay,  Monday. — Made  this  place  from 
Kenmare,  calling  at  Parknasilla,  a  lovely 
place  with  a  fine  hotel  cosily  set  in  an 
inlet  of  the  widely  stretched  mouth  of 
Kenmare  river;  Valentia,  with  the  sweet, 


soft  air  of  the  Riviera ;  Ballybunion,  where 
our  Chief  Engineer  (G.W.R.)  inspected 
the  mono-rail  that  runs  as  far  as  Listowel. 
A  weird-looking  affair.  A  rail  is  laid  on 
trestles  three  feet  off  the  ground.  On 
this  is  slung,  pannier  wise,  two  sets  of 
carriages,  and  off  we  go,  doing  ten  miles 
in  forty  minutes,  including  one  stoppage. 
Am  told  traffic  occasionally  delayed  by 
difficulty  of  balancing  weights  in  either 
pannier.  If  a  gentleman  of  fourteen  or 
flteen  stone  gets  in  on  one  side,  women 
and  children  are  weighed  to  an  ounce 
or  two  and  packed  in  carriage  on  t'other. 
Owing  to  their  convenience  for  this 
purpose  children  are  carried  at  half-price. 

Arrival  of  Sabrina  in  Ballybunion  Bay 
created  profound  sensation.  No  pier. 
Landing  a  little  difficult.  Only  thing  to 
do  was  to  run  the  gig  ashore  and  then 
wade.  Fortunately  a  boat  already  beached. 
Got  alongside  and  scrambled  ashore.  The 
COMMODORE'S  progress  watched  with 
breathless  interest. 

"He  's  seventeen  stun  at  laste,"  said  a 
sympathetic  Irish  lady  with  a  shawl  over 
her  head.  "God  bless  him!"  fervently 
responded  her  companion. 

The  Traffic  Manager  of  the  Mono-rail 
regarded  him  with  business  eye.  Invalu- 
able as  part  of  the  rolling  stock.  Put  him 
in  one  of  the  panniers  and  you  might  safely 
seat  two  women  and  a  child  in  t'other. 
Save  time  and  trouble  in  weighing. 

"Worth  five  shillings  a  day  and  a 
uniform,"  murmured  the  Traffic  Manager 
under  his  breath. 

Don't  seem  to  have  anything  to  do  in 
Ballybunion.  Chief  industry  to  lounge 
about  the  streets  —  against  a  wall  for 
preference.  Our  descent  on  the  place 
gave  quite  a  fillip  to  local  life. 

"  They  're  numbers  of  the  Government 
landed  from  the  gunboat  that  just  came 
in."  I  heard  one  explain  to  a  friend. 

As  three  out  of  seven  were  ladies,  this 
implied  the  establishment  of  petticoat 
Government. 

Tuesday. — In  dock  on  a  wet  day  in 
Gahvay.  Language  does  not  permit  of 
picturing  equal  desolation  in  eight  words. 

Just  forty-nine  years  ago  another,  an 
illustrious,  member  of  the  little  company 
that  once  a  week  sits  down  to  dinner 
round  "  The  Old  Mahogany  Tree,"  as  it 
has  sat  through  nearly  three  score  years, 
visited  Galway.  It  was  raining  then. 
"  The  rain  poured  down  for  two  days  after 
our  arrival  at  Kilroy's  Hotel,"  wrote 
Thackeray  in  the  Irish  Sketch  Book.  Has 
it  rained  ever  since  those  far-off  days 
when  Mr.  Tit  marsh  was  Mr.  Punch's  Fat 
Contributor?  It  really  looks  like  it,  so 
sodden,  so  sad  looking  is  the  town  that 
once  proudly  bore  the  name  of  the  Rome 
of  Connaught. 

Seven  hills  has   Rome,  seven  mouths  has  NLlus 

stream, 
Around  the  Pole  seven  burning  planets  gleam. 


Twice  equal  these  is  Galway,  Connaught's  Rome, 
Twice  seven  illustrious  tribes  here  find  their  home. 

The  ancient  City  of  the  Tribes  has 
fallen  on  evil  days.  Wherever  the  eye 
rests  it  sees  evidence  of  ruin  and  decay. 
Empty  harbour,  roofless  factories,  front- 
less  houses.  Once  upon  a  time,  not  so 
long  ago,  the  sitting  member  for  Galway 
resolved  to  restore  its  ancient  state, 
when  it  was  a  prosperous  port,  doing  a 
fine  trade  with  Spain.  The  nearest  point 
of  touch  with  America,  why  should 
Liverpool  monopolise  the  trade  ?  Mr. 
ORRELL  LEVER,  M.P.,  answered  his  own 
enquiry  by  starting  a  new  line  of 
steamers  to  America.  But  the  ill  luck  of 
Galway,  gathering  through  the  centuries, 
stuck  to  it.  One  of  the  new  steamers  was 
wrecked.  Another  was  burned.  Funds 
failed;  Mr.  LEVER  and  his  big  scheme 
vanished  from  the  scene. 

The  wraith  of  young  LYNCH  seems  to 
hover  over  the  town  and  blast  its  hopes 
and  efforts.  His  story  is  told  to  this  day 
in  a  tablet  adorned  with  a  skull  and 
crossbones  let  into  the  wall  of  the  grave- 
yard. It  bears  record  how  in  the  last 
years  of  the  fifteenth  century  Mayor 
LYNCH'S  son  murdered  a  Spaniard ;  how, 
found  guilty  and  condemned  to  death,  the 
Mayor's  wife  raised  the  town  and  tried 
to  rescue  her  son ;  how  sturdy  Mayor 
LYNCH,  finding  the  hangman  on  strike  and 
the  place  of  execution  in  the  hands  of  the 
Mother-led  mob,  escorted  his  son  to  a 
projecting  window  of  a  prison  cell  and 
there,  with  his  own  hand,  hanged  him. 

"Very  pretty,"  said  the  MEMBER  FOR 
SARK.  "But  I'll  tell  you  something 
nearer  the  seat  of  the  cancer  than  young 
LYNCH  or  his  wraith.  Walking  along  the 
harbour  this  morning  I  came  upon  a  man 
building  a  boat,  five  others,  their  hands 
in  their  pockets,  short  pipes  in  their 
mouths,  looking  on.  It  was  very  small 
and  of  unfamiliar  build.  '  What 's  it 
meant  for?'  I  asked.  'Herrings,  yer 
honour,'  cheerily  answered  the  builder. 
'Herrings!'  I  cried;  'but  isn't  it  very 
small  to  go  out  herring  fishing  ?  '  '  It  is 
that,'  he  replied.  '  But  here  in  Galway 
we've  always  built  boats  like  this,  and 
1  suppose  we  '11  go  on  doing  so.'  " 

Moral — but  no  ;  it  stares  out  upon  the 
passer-by  at  every  corner  of  the  old  town, 
in  writing  more  sharply  cut  than  is  the 
inscription  on  the  LYNCH  stone. 


MR.  PUNCH'S  MUSEUM. — "Piece  of  Red 
Tape."  This  article  formed  a  large  part 
of  the  outfit  and  stock-in-trade  of  the 
permanent  officials  of  the  late  War  Office 
and  the  unreformed  G.P.O.  No  transac- 
tion was  considered  binding  without  its 
application,  and  it  covered  a  multitude  of 
departmental  stupidities.  It  is  not  to  be 
confused  with  the  "thin  red  line"  of 
the  British  Army,  also  obsolete.  It  was 
used  to  measure  telegraphic  addresses. 


SEPTEMBER  25,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARL  233 


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234 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[SEPTEMBER  25,  1901. 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

EXHAUSTED  by  the  audacious  garrulity  of  Mr.  HALL  CAINE'S 
The  Eternal  City  (HEINEMANN),  with  its  cheap  guide-book  erudi- 
tion on  the  one  hand,  and  its  fascinating  ignorance  of  human  pro- 
babilities on  the  other,  I  have  found,  says  my  Nautical  Retainer, 
a  most  perfect  medicine  in  the  refreshing  pages  of  King's  End 
(CONSTABLE),  a  simple,  unlaboured  story  of  New  England  village 
life,  by  ALICE  BROWN.  Here  is  no  factitious  pomp  of  melo- 
drama, no  tawdry  bravery  to  hide  the  place  where  the  puppet's 
heart  never  so  much  as  begins  to  beat.  We  breathe  the  imme- 
diate air  of  Nature,  alive  and  palpable.  Yet  there  is  nothing 
in  the  whole  book  that  is  obvious  or  unmeditated ;  each  type  has 
its  own  fresh  piquancy ;  we  seem  not  to  have  met  them  before, 
and  yet  are  never  doubtful  that 
they  are  to  be  met,  and  wel 
worth  the  meeting.  It  is  quite 
admirable  how,  within  the  sc 
narrow  limits  she  has  assigned 
to  herself,  the  author  has  had 
the  genius  to  create  character 
so  individual,  so  clear-cut,  so 
diverse.  To  English  readers  oi 
this  book  its  harmony  of  humour 
and  pathos  may  appeal  more  ex- 
quisitely than  to  those  with 
whom  the  manner  of  speech  and 
life  which  it  reflects  is  more 
intimate.  But  no  one  can  con- 
ceivably resist  the  charm  of  the 
author's  humanity,  the  strong 
reserve  of  her  eloquence,  her 
instant  feeling  for  the  felici- 
tous word. 

Bagsby' a  Daughter  (GRANT 
RICHARDS)  is  notable  among 
other  things  for  the  creation  of 
a  new  situation.  My  Baronite 
is  ever  punctilious  in  refraining 
from  giving  away  a  story  by 
disclosing  its  plot.  As  the 
situation  referred  to  is  pre- 
sented in  the  first  chapter, 
the  beginning  as  contrasted 
with  the  middle  or  end  of 
things,  no  harm  can  be  done 
by  revealing  it.  The  hero  by 
chance  meets  the  heroine  at  an 
afternoon  party,  and  in  the 
ordinary  course  of  things  is 
formally  presented.  He  had 
never  seen  her  before,  nor  she 
him.  At  the  time  of  their  in- 
troduction, they  knew  nothing 
of  each  other.  Ten  minutes  later,  Robert  Halifax  has  asked 
Violet  Bagsby  to  marry  him,  and  Violet  has  murmured  "Yes." 
It  seems  a  little  preposterous,  but  it  is  a  tribute  to  the  skill 
of  BESSJE  and  MARIE  VAN  VORST,  joint  mothers  of  Bagsby's 
Daughter,  that  the  bewitched  reader  accepts  the  situation 
as  readily  as  did  the  father  and  mother  of  the  bride.  There 
are  other  surprises  in  store,  compounded  and  cleared  up  with 
contagious  vivacity.  The  Misses  VAN  VORST  are  evidently 
intimately  acquainted  with  the  manners  and  customs  of  the 
society  in  the  framework  of  which  their  story  is  set.  It  is, 
Consequently,  a  little  alarming  for  those  about  to  marry  to 
arn  that  at  a  fashionable  wedding  breakfast  in  Chicago,  the 
ulster  who  had  offlciated  at  the  altar  haying  pronounced  a 

etion,  ••  his  assistants  were  asked  for  further  blessings 
a  at  last  the  breakfast  was  served."  Old  Bagsby,  the 
Uionaire  pill-maker,  is  delightful.  Early  in  his  career  his 


wife  falling  ill,  he  turned  his  attention  to  the  manufacture  of  a 
really  wholesome  and  effective  pill.  Successfully  trying  it  on 
Mrs.  B.,  he  launched  forth  in  the  pill  line,  and  made  a  colossal 
fortune.  That  is  a  case  not  without  precedent.  Where  Pere 
Bagsby  shines  is  in  the  fact  that,  recognising  the  accidental 
fount  of  his  fortune,  he  set  apart  one-third  of  his  profits  to  the 
personal  account  of  his  first  patient.  What  do  the  Shades  of 
Cockle  and  the  Venerable  Blue-Pill  think  of  t/iat?  In  all 
matters  relating  to  the  social  world  of  Chicago,  my  Baronite 
sits  humbly  at  the  feet  of  his  guides.  But  when  they  shift  the 
scene  to  London  he  must  tell  them  that  a  member  of  our  old 
nobility  may  not  be  indifferently  spoken  of  as  Lord  Everard 
Appleyard  and  as  Lord  Appleyard.  The  two  styles  indicate 
widely  different  status.  As,  neither  could  he  invite  a  stranger 

to  ' '  lunch  at  the  Marlborough 
Club." 

The  Pocket  Poetry  Series, 
though  this  is  not  its  title, 
issued  by  JOHN  LANE,  has  re- 
cently been  enriched  by  the 
publication  of  a  neat  little 
volume  entitled  Love  Poems  by 
Landor,ff>f  a  size  to  fit  into  a 
waistcoat  pocket,  left  side, 
nearest  the  heart.  A  lover  in 
difficulties,  wishing  to  make  a 
fervid  sonnet  to  "his  lady's 
eyebrow,"  and  at  the  same 
time  to  express  the  unutter- 
able constancy  of  his  devotion, 
will  only  have  to  take  a  leaflet 
out  of  this  little  book,  couple 
its  Pegasus  with  his  own  jog- 
trot animal,  drive  off  in  his 
Landor  and  pair,  and  drop  his 
verses  into  the  nearest  pillar- 
box.  THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


Tramp.    "  PLEASE  ASSIST  A  POKE  MAN  WHOSE   'OUSE  AN'  EVERY- 
FING,  INCLOOBIN'  ME  FAMILY,  WAS  BURNT  UP  T«TO  MONTHS  AGO." 
Lady.     "HAVE    YOU    ANY    PAPERS    TO    SHOW    THAT    YOU    LOST 

ANYTHING   BY   FIRE  ?  " 

Tramp.  "I  DID  'AVE  A  CERTIFICATE,   MUM,  BUT   IT  WAS  BURNT 

UP,    M.UM,    IN     THE   'OUSE   WITH     ME    FAMILY    AND    THE    RE8T    OF    ME 
THINGS." 


MR.  PUNCH'S  MUSEUM. 

ANNOTATED  LIST  OF  EXHIBITS 

(continued). 

"Sample  of  Air  from  the 
Underground  Railway."  Care- 
fully gathered  and  bottled  be- 
fore the  electrification  of  the 
line.  Our  hardy  ancestors  ap- 
peared to  have  breathed  it,  if 
they  did  not  hold  their  noses 
all  the  time.  Recent  attempts 
at  analysis,  however,  have  been 
unsuccessful,  owing  to  its 
deadly  nature,  and  no  demon- 
strator has  survived  the  ex- 
periment; According  to  tradition,  its  constituents  are  London 
fog,  coal  fumes,  train  oil,  sulphur,  marsh  gas  und  stale  tobacco 
smoke  in  about  equal  propoitions.  No  trace  of  oxygen  has  ever 
been  observed. 

"Mess  or  Shell  Jacket."  This  sartorial  freak  was  probably 
part  of  a  fancy  dress,  like  the  busbies,  hussar-jackets,  and 
other  grotesque  adornments  which  appear"  in  old  military 
prints.  It  gave  to  a  corpulent  colonel  or  dandified  capiaiu 
the  appearance  of  an  overgrown  schoolboy,  and,  if  geueraMy 
worn,  must  have  been  subversive  of  gravity  and  discipline. 

"Assortment  of  London  Statues."  Collected  from  various 
squares  and  public  places.  It  has,  unfortunately,  been  impos- 
sible to  identify  them,  as  the  original  inscriptions  and  labols 
have  been  lost,  and  they  all  bear  a  strong  likeness  to  each 
other.  From  their  pose  and  expression  they  would  appear  )o 
date  from  the  darkest  period  of  English  art. 


A.  A.  S. 


OCTOBER  2,  1901.] 


235 


THE  PLAYS  OP  SHAWKSPEARE. 

NO.  I. — McBETH  (continued). 
&CT  II.,  SCENE  2,  PART  3.    Scene  as  before. 
Lady  McBKTH  and  McBETH  discovered 
seated   at   table.     Lights   down,   then 
gradually  up.     Music  pianissimo. 

Lady  M.  Is  BANQUO  noe  back  for  supper 
pet? 

McB.  (grimly).  I  'm  noe  thinkin'  he  '11 
svant  muckle  supper  the  nicht. 

Lady  M.  (banding  him  his  food).  I  dinna 
fen  hoo  that  may  be.  Mon  BANQUO  hae  a 
*ran'  appeteet  for  supper. 

McB.  Hoots,  wife,  ye  're  sair  lackin'  in 
seenetration. 

Lady  M.  (crossly).  Eat  yer  haggis,  mon, 
ind  dinna  talk  fulishness.  (Enter  BANQUO.) 
Sh,  mon,  ye  're  gey  an'  late,  I  'm  thinkin'. 

McB.  (to  Lady  McBETH,  jumping  np 
vith  a  scream).  Tak'  him  awa',  tak'  him 
iwa'.  He  's  a  spuke. 

Lady  M.  "Whisht,  mon,  what  are  ye 
ikirlin'  at  ? 

McB.  He  's  a  spuke,  I  tell  ye,  a  braw, 
mhandsom'  ghaistie.  Dinna  hae  nocht 
;o  do  wi'  him. 

Lady  M.  Ye  're  gane  clean  oot  of  yer 
lenses,  guidmon.  (Aside  to  him,  while  she 
iclps  BANQUO  to  Jus  supper.)  Can  ye  noe 
ceep  yer  tongue  frae  clackin'  ? 

McB.  (lamentably).  Hecht,  woman,  ye  're 
nazed.  A  grit  awsom'  corpsie  comes  to 
nipper  and  ye  waste  guid  haggis  on  him. 
[  hae  nae  peetience  wi'  sic  extreevagance. 

Lady  M.  (to  BANQUO).  Dinna  heed  his 
jaicklin.  He  's  fey,  puir  soul.  (To  MC- 
BETH.) Will  ye  noe  hauld  yer  noise  ? 

McB.  (much  aggrieved).  Aweel,  I  say 
lothin'.  But  I  'm  noe  used  to  sittin' 
loon  to  supper  wi'  a  bogle. 

Lady  M.  (to  BANQUO,  giving  him  more 
lagyis).  Hae  ye  had  a  guid  walk  ? 

Banquo.  'Twas  weel  eneugh.  I  met 
bwa  hulkin'  kerns  wha  attackit  me  verra 
unexpectedly.  But  I  knockit  their  heads 
thegither  and  they  rinned  awa'. 

McB.  (weeping  at  this  revelation  of 
Southron  duplicity).  An'  I  gied  them 
twenty  guid  shillin'  !  The  swindlin'  can- 
trips ! 

Lady  M.  (alarmed,  to  McBETH).  Hauld 
yer  tongue,  mon,  and  dinna  greet  like 
that.  (To  BANQUO.)  Dinna  listen  to  him. 
My  guidmon  is  often  tuke  sae. 

Banquo  (to  McBETH).  Mon,  mon,  dinna 
fash  yersell  that  ye  hanna  slitten  my 
throttle.  There  's  time  eneugh. 

McB.  (refusing  to  be  comforted).  Eh, 
mon,  'twas  downricht  robbery.  I  com- 
meesioned  them  to  do  it,  and  they  pro- 
mised me  faithfu'. 

Banquo  (rising).  Aweel,  I  maun  gang  to 

bed.    And  dinna  come  skelpin'  round  me 

the  nicht  o'r  'twill  noe  be  wholesom*  for 

[Exit  BANQUO. 

Lady  M.  Hoots,  mon,  ye  hae  mad*  a 
complete  exhibeetion  of  yersell.  Ye  '11 
noe  be  able  to  kill  him  noo  without  a 
scandal. 


AN    ALARMING    THREAT. 

Miss  Dora  (debating  her  stroke).   "I  HAVE  A  GREAT  MIND  TO  KNOCK  you  INTO  THE  BUSHES, 
MR.  PIPPS  ! " 

[Mr.  Pipps  (who  is  a  complete  novice  at  the  game)  contemplates  instant  flight.     He  was  just  on 
the  point  of  proposing,  too. 


McB.  (rather  relieved).  That 's  verra 
true.  We  maun'gie  up  the  whole  sinfu.' 
enterprise. 

Lady  M.  Will  ye  noe  gang  to  the  Weird 
Seesters  an'  speir  if  they  canna  help  us  ? 

McB.  Nae,  nae,  I  hae  had  eneugh  of 
the  auld  wirriecows.  They  hae  costit  me 
mair  than  theerty  shillin'.  I  '11  tak'  a 
wee  bit  mair  haggis  an'  forget  the  whole 
wearifu'  beesiness.  St.  J.  H. 

(Curtain.) 


MR.    PUNCH'S    MUSEUM.  —  "  Crossing- 
sweeper    and    Lady    with    Trailing    Skirt 


I  (Working  Models)."  On  the  insertion 
of  a  two-cent  piece  in  the  slot,  these 
bizarre  automatons  will  demonstrate 
how  the  streets  of  London  were  sca- 
venged during  the  Age  of  Dirt.  They 
work  as  a  pair  together,  as  the  originals 
supplemented  each  other.  Between  them 
all  microbes  were  effectually  hustled  and 
kept  on  the  move.  The  more  alert  bacteria 
profited  by  the  opportunity  to  follow  in 
the  lady's  train  into  Mayfair  drawing- 
rooms,  and  thus  see  something  of  high  life. 
Once  having  made  good  their  footing  in 
Society,  they  were  seldom  or  never  dis- 
lodged. 


236 


PUNCH,   OK  THE  LONDON  CHABIVABI. 


[OCTOBER  2,  1901. 


LIVES   OF   GREAT   MEN. 

No.  III.— THE  BIGHT  HONOURABLE  ADOLPHUS  BUFFERTOP,  M.P. 
ADOLPHUS,  when  I  knew  him  first,  was  stout, 
Rotund  and  apple-cheeked,  a  cheerful  boy, 
"Within  whose  trouser-pocket  there  reposed 
Much  treasure  garnered  from  the  deuce  knows  where, 
And  stored  with  undiscriminating  zeal. 
Item,  a  watchkey,  not  designed  to  fit 
His  watch,  or  any  watch  that  mortal  knew  ; 
Item,  three  yards  of  string,  a  tangled  maze  ; 
Two  chestnuts  pierced  with  holes,  and  so  prepared 
To  break  or  conquer  in  the  mimic  fray — 
"  Conkers  "  we  called  them  ere  they  met  the  doom 
That  falls  to  every  chestnut  soon  or  late. 
Item,  a  pencil  guiltless  of  a  point ; 
Two  lengths  of  stout  elastic  formed  to  be 
The  missile  power  of  his  catapult ; 
The  catapult  was  absent :  it  had  been 
Confiscate  to  an  usher  weeks  before. 
An  indiarubber  ball ;  three  drawing-pins  ; 
Two  little  slabs  of  polished  cocoa-nut, 
Soon  to  be  fashioned  by  his  cunning  hand 
To  anchors,  crosses,  hearts  and  things  that  were 
His  sister's  pleasure  and  his  mother's  pride. 
Item,  a  piece  of  steel— it  had  a  spring, 
And  some  day  it  was  meant  to  take  its  place 
Upon  a  pocket  pistol,  and  discharge 
Shots  at  his  comrades'  calves— you  know  the  kind. 
Item,  an  apple — what,  at  least,  had  been 
An  apple  once,  but  now  rediiced  to  core, 
Fluffy  and  brown  with  age,  it  had  become 
The  mouldy  relic  of  a  ribstone  pippin. 
One  halfpenny  and  one  farthing,  and  a  knife 
Broken  in  blade  ;  a  crumpled  paper  bag, 
Empty,  but  redolent  of  peppermint. 
And,  last,  within  the  utmost  corner  lurked 
A  lollipop  not  utterly  devoid 
Of  stickiness  :  reluctantly  it  left- 
Clinging  to  life  and  lining  to  the  last — 
Its  warm  retreat,  to  be  transferred  at  once 
Into  its  owner's  much-desiring  mouth. 
From  these  contents,  so  faithfully  set  down, 
You  may  infer  ADOLPHUS  :  he  was  much 
What  many  boys  are  at  the  age  of  twelve. 
Take  him  at  fourteen,  see  him  in  his  class 
With  thirty  other  boys,  the  Lower  Fourth. 
It  is  the  hour  for  Cw.sar  ;  BUFFERTOP 
Cared  not  for  GVt'.sar  ;  little  did  he  reck 
Of  Gaul  and  its  divisions,  little  cared 
For  marches,  camps,  attacks  and  winter  quarters. 
He  saw  no  use  in  LS|tin,  and  his  mind, 
Which  should  have  followed  C.ESAR  to  the  wars, 
Strayed  to  the  tuck-shop  or  the  playing  field. 
On  him  thus  gathering  wool  an  eagle  eye 
Pounced,  and  the  master's  sudden  voice  broke  out 
Sternly,  "  Stand  up  and\construe,  BUFFERTOP." 
Oh,  luckless  BUFFERTOP  !\  He  stood  indeed, 
But  that  was  all ;  his  boolk  was  in  his  hand  ; 
His  fevered  eye  went  up  aim  down  the  page, 
Finding  nor  stay  nor  comfoA  as  it  went. 
RUDGE  minor  prompted  him,  mit  all  in  vain, 
And  took  an  imposition' for  hisYpains. 
Then  spoke  the  master,  "  'Tis  the  fifteenth  time 
That  BUFFERTOP'S  attention  is  at  fault. 
Such  infamies  must  cease— one  hundred  lines  !  " 
"  Oh,  Sir  !  "— "  Two  hundred,"  was  the  swift  retort. 

4<  Please,  Sir,  I  didn't "     "  Do  four  hundred  then." 

"  But,  Sir,  I "  "  Write  EIGHT  hundred  ;  and  to  show 


That  I  will  not  be  trifled  with,  stay  in 

For  two  half-holidays  at  least,  and  learn 

That  inattention  brings  you  misery." 

He  paused  indignant,  but  the  culprit's  soul 

Was  wrung  with  woe  ;  down  on  the  form  he  sank, 

And  sobbed  as  though  his  heart  would  break,  and  wipet 

With  inky  fingers  both  his  brimming  eyes, 

And  both  his  streaming  cheeks,  a  hideous  sight. 

And  even  as  he  sobbed  a  vision  mocked 

His  aching  senses,  and  he  saw  the  field 

Next  Saturday,  and  all  the  merry  rout 

Of  happy  boys,  their  cricket  bats  in  hand, 

Pitching  the  stumps  ;  and  someone  seemed  to  say 

"  Where  's  BUFFERTOP,  our  champion  junior  bat?  " 

And  someone  answered  him,  "  Kept  in,"  whereat 

His  heartless  fellows  laughed,  and  he  the  while, 

Pent  in  the  hateful  class-room,  laboured  on. 

Ah  well,  he  was  assured  that  keepings  in 

And  lines  were  very  dangerous  to  health. 

It  might  be  he  would  fade  away  and  die, 

And  then  too  late  his  virtues  would  be  known, 

And  the  harsh  master  who  had  kept  him  in,' 

Racked  by  remorse,  would  pour  upon  his  grave 

The  tardy  tribute  of  repentant  tears. 

Too  late,  too  late  !  for  BUFFERTOP  would  lie 

Cold  in  his  coffin  underneath  the  earth. 

His  piteous  mother  would  bewail  her  son, 

Crying,  "Give  back,  oh,  give  me  back  my  boy  !  " 

And  it  might  chance  his  father  would  be  wroth, 

And  send  policemen  to  arrest  his  foe, 

And  doom  him  to  the  scaffold  and  the  rope. 

With  this  consoled  he  ceased  to  weep,  and  raised 

His  heavy  head,  and,  lastly,  stowed  away 

His  handkerchief,  and  came  to  life  again. 

(To  be  continued.)  R.  C.  L. 


NEVER    TOO   LATE  FOR  AN  OLD  FRIEND. 

SIR, — I  subjoin  a  letter  and  a  sketch  made  on  the  spot.  Th 
writer  and  drawer  are  most  reliable  persons.  They  've  swoi 
to  the  truth,  and  I  have  no  sort  of  reason  to  doubt  their  wore 
—I  am,  Sir,  yours,  LITTLEMORE  DOTTIE,  R.H.M. 

Me  and  my  mate  was  steaming  23  dej 
(worse  than  usual)  8  bells-and-make-i 
by  the  Chukkar  Outugo  Islands,  where 
sau  a  murmaid  a-playin'  on  a  harp  wh 
my  messmate  said  as  was  a  liar,  s 
knocked  him  down  as  bein'  rude  t 
murmaid  with  a  liar  in  her  arms,  and 
was  playin'  to  the  sea-sarpint,  as  was 
pleased  with  it  as  he  wisked  up  his 
and  dived  down,  so  my  other  mate 
had  time  to  draw  this  ere  likeness  of 
and  send  it,  the  sarpint  avin  gone  out  of  site.  Pleese  forr 
me  and  my  mate  ten  soverins  for  infurmashun  reseeved  and 
piksher  of  same.  Yours  on  oath,  BEN  BOOZER. 

Aboard  the  Grumpur.  TOM  TITE. 


MR.  PUNCH'S  MUSEUM. — "  Costume  of  a  Pan-Celt."  A  c 
bination  of  a  Roman  toga,  a  Druid's  dressing-gown,  and 
thirteenth-century  wimple  for  the  head,  the  whole  dating  fr 
the  year  1901.  It  has  nothing  to  do  with  pan-taloons  or  p. 
tomime,  as  has  been  asserted  by  certain  unsympathetic  SaJ 
archaeologists,  who  have  gone  so  far  as  to  question  the  er 
ence  even  of  a  "  Pan-Celt."  It  is  said,  however,  that  th 
were,  about  this  time,  certain  renegade  English  who 
anxious  to  unlearn  their  mother-tongue  and  make  aiitiquar 
exhibits  of  themselves  by  acquiring  a  more  abusive  and  m- 
bund  language. 


OCTOBER  2,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


237 


'FREE    AS    AIR." 

L-rd  R-s-b-ry  (as  Harold  Skimpole).  "  I    WOULD  ADMIT  THIS — THAT    WHILE    THE  TREASURY   DOES  ITS   DUTY  IN  A  HAED  AND 

CONSCIENTIOUS   MANNER,    IT   IS   A   LITTLE   DEFICIENT   IN    THE   QUALITY  OF   IMAGINATION  !      NOW,    MY   DEAR   FRIENDS,    AS  TO   THIS   TUNNEL 

BETWEEN  GREAT  BRITAIN  AND  IRELAND,  THERE  is  so  MUCH  MONEY  WANTED.     I  HAVE  NOT  AN  IDEA  HOW  MUCH.    CALL  IT  EIGHT 

MILLIONS,    CALL    IT   EIGHT    PENCE.       THEY  TELL  ME  IT  MAY  COST  MORE   THAN   THAT.       I    DARE  SAY    IT    WILL.       I    DARE  SAY   THEY'LL   MAKE  IT 
COST  AS   MUCH   AS  POSSIBLE.       IF  THEY  DON'T  PUT  A  LIMIT,  WHY  SHOULD  I  ?      TlIERE  YOU  HAVE  ROSEBERY-SKIMPOLE  IN  LITTLE.       IF  THAT  *S 

RESPONSIBILITY,  I  AM  RESPONSIBLE." — See  Lord  Rosebcry's  Speech  at  Stranraer,  "  Times,"  Sept.  26.     Vide  "  Bleak  House,"  Vol.  I.,  Chap.  6. 


OCTOBER  2,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OE  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


239 


FINANCIAL  FOLLIES. 

"JUNGLES." 

TEHEE  is  a  spot  in  Afric  "West, 
By   -white    man's    foot    it 's    ne'er    been 
pressed, 

For  he 's  not  the  chap  to  bungle. 
There  's  no  one  would  be  such  an  ass — 
It  's  eighty  miles  of  black  morass, 

And  a  hundred  more  of  jungle. 
The  sleepy  crocodile  eyes  the  moon, 
And  the  python  gives  an  afternoon 

Or  a  small  and  early  party.  [care, 

The  microbe  thrives,  for  lie  's  free  from 
In  the  reeking,  pestilential  air, 
And  the  expert  who  shall  first  get  there 

Is  sure  of  a  welcome  hearty. 

A  guileless  stranger,  wandering  round, 
Within  a  brandy  shanty  found 

The  owner  of  this  location. 
And  then  this,  also,  guileless  chief 
Produced  some  plans  which  showed  a  reef 

Of  a  banket  true  formation. 
The  gentleman  dark  released  his  grip 
For  a  bit  in  cash  and  some  promised  scrip, 

And  the  purchaser  sent  a  cable. 
Thus  starting  out  on  his  road  to  fame  ; 
And  quite  au  fait  at  the  latest  game, 
He  christened  his   "mine"   a  crackjaw 
name, 

That  certainly  helped  the  fable. 

To  London  soon  he  brought  his  wares, 
People  struggled  and  fought  for  shares 

In  the  manner  he  intended . 
The  buyers  do  not  feel  they  're  sold, 
They  dream  of  tons  of  standard  gold 

For  the  thousands  they  've  expended. 
But,  still  the  crocodile  eyes  the  moon 
And  the  python  gives  an  afternoon 

Or  a  small  and  early  party. 
The  microbe  thrives,  he  is  free  from  care, 
In  the  reeking,  pestilential  air, 
And  the  expert  who  shall  first  get  there, 

Is  sure  of  a  welcome  hearty. 


WHIFFLETON'S    BOGEY. 

(Continued from  September  18.) 

"  So  you  've  noticed  that  I  'd  something 
on  my  mind,"  said  WHIFFLETON,  slowly. 

"  Egad,  I  should  think  so,"  observed 
the  Colonel.  "  I  don't  ask  any  man  to 
laugh  at  my  jokes.  I  pity  his  lack  of 
humour — but,  dash  it  all,  I  don't  expect 
to  be  treated  as  a  criminal.  Perhaps, 
like  other  men  with  your  income,  you 
begin  to  feel  the  burden  of  riches.  Well, 
the  cure  is  simple.  There  's  no  need  to 
stalk  about  like  a  melodramatic  villain. 
We  could  all  do  with  a  better  balance  at 
our  banks,  eh,  boys?  " 

"We  would  do  anything  to  make  you 
happy,"  put  in  GREGSON  heartily. 

WHIFFLETON  ordered  a  small  brandy, 
then  lit  a  cigar.  After  this  appropriate 
prologue,  he  remarked,  "  The  truth  of  it  is 
— I  'm  haunted.  Ever  since  I  returned 
from  Cornwall,  I  've  been  haunted  day  and 
night.  I  can't  escape  the  horrid  thing." 


SONGS    AND    THEIR    SINGERS. 

Dilapidated  Old  Party  (squalling)  — 

"WE  SHALL  KNOW  EACH  OTHER  BETTER 
WHEN  THE  MISTS  HAVE  ROLL'D  AWAY  ! " 


"Troublesome  matter,  holiday  flirta- 
tions," said  the  Colonel,  gravely.  "I 
remember  in  India ' 

"Holiday  flirtations  be  jiggered," 
interrupted  WHIFFLETON  impatiently. 
"  Women  aren't  the  only  horrid  things — 
beg  pardon,  GREGSON,  Mrs.  G ex- 
cluded, of  course.  I  'm  haunted  by  the 
obvious.  It  follows  me  everywhere.  It 
started  after  a  course  of  magazine  read- 
ing during  my  long  railway  journeys. 
It  gave  me  no  peace  afterwards.  When 
I  began  a  story,  it  whispered  the  con- 
clusion. I  met  a  friend,  it  told  me  what 
he  would  say.  I  knew  exactly  what  the 
people  opposite  at  table  d'hote  would  chat 
about.  I  foresaw  all  the  Colonel's  jokes 
when  I  returned.  I  knew  what  every 
mother's  son  of  you  would  say  in  reply 
to  my  enquiries :  '  great  mistake,  holi- 
days '  ;  '  What,  you  in  town  again  ? '  etc. 
I  rush  to  the  theatre  or  a  music  hall, 
the  thing  pursues  me  there.  I  open  the 
papers — "  WHIFFLETON  groaned. 


"Hullo,  WHIFFLETON!"  called  out  a 
jovial  looking  man  at  another  table. 
"Just  a  word  with  you  if  it's  con- 
venient." 

"  Coming,"  said  WHIFFLETON  in  a  tragic 
voice.  "  Shall  I  tell  you  what  he  '11  say  ?  " 
he  added  in  a  gloomy  whisper.  "Ho 
borrowed  five  pounds  from  me  last  June — 
and  he  's  going  to  say,  awfully  sorry  he 
can't  square  things,  but  if  I  make  it  ten 
he  's  expecting  some  luck  at  the  end  of 
the  week — well,  you  know  the  old  game. 
Oh,  this  bogey  of  mine  !  " 

"Thanks,  old  chap,"  said  the  jovial 
borrower,  as  WHIFFLETON  came  up,  "much 
obliged  for  that  fiver.  Better  take  it 
now  whilst  I  have  it.  Eh — what ?  " 

WHIFFLETON  wrung  his  hand  with  wild 
hilarity.  "  You  've  destroyed  it,"  he  said, 
' '  the  darned  thing 's  gone !  Here,  have  the 
money,  take  another  fiver.  Yes,  I  insist ! ' ' 

The  jovial  man  whistled.  "Good  dodge 
that,  though  risky,"  ho  murmured  to 
himself  as  he  jingled  some  small  change. 


240 


PUNCH,  OE  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[OCTOBER  2,  1901. 


THE   BOOK  OF   BEAUTY. 

A  GREAT  THOUGHT  FOR  EVERY  DAY  IN  THE  YEAR. 

SECOND  SERIES. 
THE   "ETERNAL  CITY"   SECTION. 

(Continued  from  September.) 

19TH. — THE  rays  of  the  afternoon  sun  fell  in  rich  blotches  of 
golden  glory  on  the  walls  of  ATHENA'S  studio  underneath  the 
Hill  of  the  Demi-Nymphs.  Palette  in  hand,  her  prehensile  fingers 
were  rapidly  blocking  out  in  the  plastic  clay  the  features  of  the 
great  Athenian  Martyr.  As  the  temperature  of  her  feelings 
towards  her  model  had  moved  up  from  the  zero  of  hatred  to  the 
boiling  point  (80°  Reaumur)  of  passionate  worship,  so  the  bust 
had  successively  represented  CLEON  (the  brawling  demagogue), 
ALCIBIADES,  HERODOTUS,  THEMISTOCLES,  ARISTIDES,  and  finally 
SOCRATES  himself.  The  work,  when  accomplished,  was  to  be  a 
pleasant  surprise  for  the  model,  who  had  always  been  looking 
the  other  way. 

20TH. — The  door  opened.  "Honorable  DOTTi!"  cried  the 
butler,  and  withdrew  without  comment.  The  Deputy  entered 
carrying  a  large  mpaoulo  (trunk)  heavily  padlocked.  He  gave 
a  quiet  sniff  of  satisfaction  as  he  recognised  the  familiar  per- 
fume of  patchouli.  Then  silently,  as  if  by  the  force  of  a  habit 
which  he  was  powerless  to  arrest,  he  stepped  to  the  throne, 
wrought  of  Parian  marble  and  draped  with  Phoenician  bijssos  (a 
kind  of  linen,  not  so  diaphanous  as  Coan  silk)  and  assumed  a 
bust-like  attitude  with  his  back  to  the  artist.  There  was  an 
expression  on  his  face.  It  was  the  spirit  of  outraged  Justice. 
The  atmosphere  of  the  studio  tingled  with  suppressed  passion. 
As  the  salient  features  of  SOCRATES  leaped  into  actuality  under 
her  rapid  touch,  it  seemed  to  ATHENA  that  she  could  not  resist 
the  impulse  to  infuse  some  of  her  own  superfluous  warmth  into 
the  lifeless  clay.  Furtively  she  kissed  the  Martyr's  clammy 
nose.  It  was  the  connubial  instinct.  For  the  moment  she  was 
playing  the  part  of  XANTHIPPE. 

21ST. — The  silence  was  broken  by  DOTTI'S  voice,  the  relic  of 
a  noble  organ  ruined  by  the  practice  of  addressing  outdoor 
crowds  in  the  teeth  of  a  brutal  constabulary. 

"ATHENA,"  he  said,  "  my  soul  has  learned  to  trust  in  your 
discretion,  and  the  purity  of  your  motives,  ever  since  that 
hour  in  my  bachelor  attic  when  you  introduced  yourself  to  me 
in  an  evening  dress  that  displayed  the  full  round  ripeness  of 
your  youth  and  beauty.  I  will  now  proceed  to  read  aloud  to 
you  a  little  thing  of  my  own  composition.  It  is  the  draught  of 
a  poster  giving  instructions  to  the  Great  Over-taxed  how  to 
behave  at  our  mass-meeting  to-rnorrow  night  under  the  columns 
of  Zeus  Olympics.  For  days  they  have  been  coming  in  from 
far  and  near  ;  not  only  from  Attica  and  the  Peloponnese,  but 
from  the  uttermost  isles  of  the  Archipelago.  I  ought,  perhaps, 
to  say  that  the  splendid  paradox  of  the  opening  sentence  is 
taken  verbatim  from  the\ien  of  the  Master.  I  have  printed  the 
passage  in  small  caps." 

"Go  on,  DANIEL  DOTTI,"  said  ATHENA.  "My  heart  is  with 
you.  But  don't  look  round." 

The  Deputy  took  a  long  breath  and  began.  Never  had  his 
face  so  closely  resembled  the  Bust  as  at  this  moment. 

22ND. — "  Friends,  Athenians,  Countrymen!  THE  SKY  is  DARK, 

THE  HEAVENS  ARE  VOID,  WE  ARE  TRAVELLING  BENEATH  THE  STORM- 
CLOUD.  Yet  it  has  the  customanj  silver  lining.  It  is  the  dawn 
of  the  Milky  Way,  though  still  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand. 
Come,  then,  to  the  Olympieion  in  your  myriads,  leaving  behind 
your  poniards  and  shot-guns.  Let  each  man  wear  his  own  liair 
with  a  simple  branch  of  olive  twined  about  it.  It  sltall  be  at  once 
a  symbol  of  Peace,  and  a  protest  against  the  olive-tax.  Do  not 
provoke  violence.  The  hired  soldiers,  themselves  your  down- 
trodden brothers,  would  be  reluctantly  tempted  to  retaliate.  Do 
nothing,  or  you  will  surely  be  done  by.  Simply  assemble  and  talk. 
Better  still,  just  listen  to  me.  Respect  property.  Pay  honour 


to  vested  interests.  Remember  Thermopylae !  Remember  Salamis  I 
To-morrow  after  dark ;  say,  about  8.30.  DANIEL  DOTTI. 

23RD. — "  Beautiful,  isn't  it  ?  "  cried  ATHENA.  "  And  now  tell 
me  something  about  your  past.  I  feel  I  must  have  met  you  in 
another  and  a  better  world."  There  was  a  passionate  appeal  in 
her  mulberry  eyes.  "My  child,"  enquired  DOTTI,  "  are  you  strong 
enough  to  bear  the  truth  ?  "  "  Try  me,"  she  said.  With  that, 
having  drawn  down  the  blinds,  he  extracted  from  the  trunk  a 
phono-cinemato-biograph  with  oxy-hydrogen  lantern  complete. 
Fixing  them  in  position,  he  cleared  his  throat  and  started : — 

24TH  TO  26TH. — "Constantly  harried  by  the  police  in  my 
capacity  of  Friend  of  Man,  yet  never,  even  in  my  most  rapid 
movements — even  when  my  very  boots  were  an  impediment — 
have  I  consented  to  part  with  this  ingeniously  complicated 
instrument,  my  sole  memento  of  the  noblest  Exile  I  ever 
clapped  eyes  on." 

ATHENA'S  attention  had  now  become  seriously  diverted  from 
the  Bust. 

"  The  victim  of  his  virtues,  he  was  placed  in  what  is  in- 
variably known  as  domic j/io  coatto  (confinement)  on  a  sea-bound 
island.  There,  loaded  with  chains,  and  guarded  day  and  night 
by  heavy  dragoons  with  drawn  sabres,  he  ultimately  perished. 
That  man  was  your  father!  " 

ATHENA'S  palette  fell  from  her  nerveless  grasp. 

"I  now  turn  on  the  gas,  and  both  the  dead  and  the  dead-alive 
will  appear.  The  scene  before  you  represents  Trafalgar  Square. 
Victorious  troops  from  Egypt  are  marching  by.  They  have  just 
detrained  at  Charing  Cross.  I  suppose  they  must  have  come  over- 
land as  far  as  Calais  or  Boulogne.  You  will  notice  the  Exiled 
Philanthropist  with  a  bright  little  girl  and  a  handsome  Greek 
boy,  the  latter  holding  a  stuffed  squirrel  on  wheels  by  a  string." 

A  sudden  tremor  passed  through  ATHENA'S  limbs.  It  shook 
her  easel,  displacing  the  Bust,  which  fell  nose-downwards  with 
a  thud  to  the  floor.  Where  it  fell,  there  it  stuck. 

"  The  Philanthropist  addresses  the  boy.  '  DANIEL  LEONIDAS,' 
he  says,  '  listen  to  the  band  !  '  The  drums  and  fifes  are  pass- 
ing ;  they  are  playing  Tlie  Girl  I  left  behind  me!  The  little 
maid  is  speaking  to  the  Philanthropist.-  '  Papa,'  she  asks,  '  is 
dey  playing  Kinynm  turn?  '  ' 

ATHENA'S  knees  were  going  under  her.  She  sank  down 
uneasily  on  the  moist  clay  of  the  prostrate  chef  d'osuvre. 

"I  never  rightly  understood,"  continued  DOTTI,  "why  she 
could  manage  the  guttural  in  the  word  Kingdom,  and  yet  failed 
to  pronounce  it  in  the  word  come.  But  let  that  pass.  Now  the 
gentleman  hails  a  four-wheeler.  '  Soho  !  '  he  cries.  '  What 
ho  ! '  answers  the  cabman.  '  So-ho  ! '  replies  the  Exile  with 
grave  courtesy." 

ATHENA  could  bear  no  more.  "  But  surely,"  she  cried,  "  my 
father  never  made  a  joke  ?  ' ' 

"Not  consciously,"  replied  Dorri.  "I  learned  much  from 
him  in  that  respect.  I  owe  him  a  great  debt." 

"  But  who  is  the  little  LEONIDAS  in  the  picture  ?  " 

"  Ego  o  idios  (I  myself) !     DOTTI  is  an  alias." 

"Never  mind,  dear,"  cried  ATHENA.  u  To  me,  whatever 
your  real  name,  you  will  never  be  anything  but  dotty  !  "  She 
smiled  shyly  at  her  own  jeu  d'esprit,  and  flung  herself  upon 
his  answering  chest. 

27TH. — DEAREST  HUSBAND, — For  are  we  not  man  and  wife  in  all 
except  actual  fact  ? — Ever  since  you  left  me  at  the  church- 
door  at  4  A.M.  this  morning  in  a  red  wig  and  top-boots,  so  as  to 
elude  the  cordon  of  detectives,  I  have  been  wondering  what 
you  had  for  breakfast.  I  say  to  myself,  "  Why  does  he  hold 
such  perilous  opinions?"  And  then  I  remember  that  I  have 
promised  to  be  your  true  little  help-meet. 

All  the  police  are  asking  one  another  "  Have  you  seen  Honor- 
able DOTTI?  "  The  crowds  are  restive  and  want  to  go  home. 
Throughout  the  night  the  troops  were  raking  them  with  shot 
and  shell ;  but  the  list  of  casualties  is  smaller  than  we  anti- 
cipated. One  milch-goat  from  the  Stadioii  killed  by  a 


OCTOBER  2,  1901  ] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


£41 


He.  "AND  .SHE  SENT  ME  AS  A  SOUVENIR  A  LITTLE  BOOK  OF  POEMS,  BY — ER — BY — OH,  BOTHER  THE  NAME — BY- 
tihe.  "BY  POST,  I  EXPECT." 


15-pounder,    and   a  Member  of  the   Boule   (Parliament)  bitten 
by  a  stray  dog  in  the  Street  of  Victory. 

Your  loving  ATHENA. 

***** 

28TH. — MY  DEAR  DANIEL  DOTH, — Of  course  it  is  splendid  having 
love-letter  after  love-letter  from  you,  full  of  such  beautiful 
language  about  the  Republic  of  Man,  and  telling  me  how  you  have 
got  the  greater  part  of  Europe  to  agree  with  you.  But  I  was  a 
little  jealous  of  the  Parisian  ladies.  I  feel  happier  now  you  are 
in  Berlin.  I  have  had  all  your  placards  put  up  ;  and,  as  you  must 
have  foreseen,  am  soon  going  to  prison  for  it.  I  am  dying  to 
have  you  back  ;  but  still,  don't  you  think  that  Athens  may  be 
a  little  warm  for  you  ?  You  see,  it  is  only  quite  a  short  time 
since  you  left,  and  some  of  the  detectives  remember  names  and 
faces  so  curiously  well.  Or,  are  you  coming  back  in  the  red  wig 
and  a  new  nom  de  plume  ?  I  feel  so  excited. 

Your  faithful  little  Wife. 
***** 

29TH.— "  Dearest,"  said  ATHENA,  as  she  lay  limply  in  DOTTI'S 
arms,  "  I  am  so  glad  that  I  lived  long  enough  to  see  your  hour  of 
triumph,  and  share  your  joy  at  the  Abolition  of  Hierarchies.  How 
our  poor  human  methods  are  but  as  clay  or  plasticene  in  the 
hands  of  a  Higher  Destiny  !  You  hoped  to  attain  your  end  by 
peaceful  means.  I  dare  not  think  how  long  this  might  have 
taken.  But  now  you  have  succeeded  in  a  moment  by  the  simple 
murder  of  a  Prime  Minister — no,  no,  dearest,  I  know  it  was  only 
manslaughter " 

"  ATHENA  !  "  cried  DOTTI,  hoarsely,  "  do  not  mention  it.  Have 
I  not  abjured  the  guerdon  of  that. — of  that  regrettable  incident  ? 
Elected  this  day  to  the  Presidency  of  the  New  Republic,  my 
motto  is  still  Everything  for  Everybody  else.  As  usual,  I  efface 
myself." 

EPILOGUE. 

30TH. — It  was  a  summer  evening.     KASPARI'S  work  was  done. 


shepherd  was  sitting  in  the  sun.  He  had  just  returned  from 
Athens,  after  a  one-day  excursion. 

"  Papoiis !  (grandpapa)"  cried  little  PETROKINOS,  "what  is 
that  you  have  in  your  pocket,  so  large  and  smooth  and  round  ?  " 

"My  child,"  replied  KASPARI,  "  'tis  a  present  from  Athens 
for  a  good  boy.  'Tis  a  bit  of  the  Bust  of  the  great  DOTTI  !  " 

"With  that  he  drew  forth  a  cast  of  the  lately-discovered 
fragment  of  a  portrait  head  which  that  day  had  been  set  up, 
to  the  accompaniment  of  the  massed  bands  of  all  available 
Brotherhoods,  on  the  tomb  of  ATHENA  in  the  Potters'  Quarter 
(Kerameikos). 

"  Who  was  DOTTI,  grandpapa  ?  " 

"  DOTTI,  my  boy?  why  that's  ages  ago,  back  in  the  early 
part  of  the  twentieth  century,  before  they  did  away  with 
Kings  and  Boundaries,  and  such-like  relics  of  barbarism." 

"  Is  it  a  pretty  story,  grandpapa?  "  asked  the  boy  wistfully. 

"  That 's  a  matter  of  taste,  my  child,"  replied  the  old  man  ; 
"  but  I  know  it 's  a  d d  long  one."  O.  S. 


INCORRECT. — The  phrase,  "Mrs.  So-and-so  presented  Mr.  So- 
and-so  with  a  flue  boy,  girl,  or  twins,"  as  the  case  may  be,  is 
not  a  happy  one,  especially  in  the  case  of  twins.  Why  should 
Mrs.  So-and-so  present  Mr.  So-and-so  with  what  is  his  own? 
This  isn't  the  usual  idea  of  a  birthday  present.  And  if,  per 
contra — but— ahem  ! — that 's  another  story. 


ALICE  AT  SEA  IN  YACHT  RACINGLAND.  —  "Well,"  said  tho 
Carpenter  to  the  Walrus,  after  they  had  both  been  hearing 
from  ALICE  detailed  accounts  in  the  newspapers  of  the  great 
Anglo- American  yacht  contest:  "It  ought  to  be  a  nailing 
good  race  as  there  is  such  a  lot  of  tacks  in  it." 


WHEN  affairs  come  to  a  deadlock  what  is  the  best  remedy  ? 


"42 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[OCTOBER  2,  1901. 


'•THE  OLD  MILLIONAIRE." 

(Parody  on  "  The  Old  Arm  Chair.") 

I  'M  married ;  I  'm  married,  and  who  shall  dare 
To  chide  me  for  -wedding  a  millionaire  ; 
I  wavered  long  ;  though  his  money  I  prize, 
In  other  respects  the  match  seemed  unwise. 
But  what  could  I  do— with  bills  lying  there  ?— 
A  warning  to  wed  this  old  millionaire. 

In  former  years  I  had  hoped  to  wed 
A  man  I  loved — my  dear  friend  TED  ! 
Yet  I  heeded  the  worldly  truths  that  fell 
From  the  lips  of  my  mother,  who  loves  me  well. 
She  said,  "No  evil  will  ever  betide 
A  girl  who  becomes  a  rich  man's  bride  !  " 
And  creditors  taught  me  I  must  not  dare 
Again  to  refuse  the  old  millionaire. 

I  watched  and  I  watched  him  for  many -a  day, — 
His  eyes  were  blear'd',  and  his  locks  were  grey  ; 
And  I  almost  hated  him  when  he  smiled, 
While  his  unctuous  manners  drove  me  wild. 
"Weeks  passed  on — then  he  ask'd  once  more, 
That  time  I  said  "  yes  "  to  the  rich  old  bore  ; 
And  learned  how  much  the  heart  could  bear, 
After  giving  my  hand  to  that  old  millionaire. 

'Tis  past,  'tis  past,  but  I  gaze  on  him  now 
"With  aching  heart  and  with  throbbing  brow. 
Thus  I  who  married  for  gold  alone 
Am  reaping  the  harvest  I  have  sown. 
Say  it  is  folly,  and  deem  me  weak  ; 
When  he  drops  his  H's  I  want  to  shriek  ; 
But  I  'm  married,  I  'm  married,  and  cannot  tear 
Myself  away  from  the  old  millionaire ! 


A    TEN    DAYS'    TRIP. 

THE  tourist  will  have  plenty  of  drives  at  a  very  reasonable 
charge,  and  at  a  very  fair  rate  of  speed,  if  he  be  so  inclined ; 
his  own  legs  and  occasional  trams  will  do  the  rest;  and, 
by  the  way,  his  own  legs  will  be  glad  enough  in  any  case  to  do 
:i  rest  when  he  can  find  an  unoccupied  arm-chair  or  couch. 
At  our  rooms  at  the  Victoria  we  are  so  exceptionally  well  off 
in  this  respect  that,  once  settled  down  in  Victorian  armchair, 
or  at  full  length  on  sofa,  we  found  it  very  difficult  to  rouse 
ourselves  up  and  once  again  pursue  our  wild  and  rattling 
career. 

The  indefatigable    tourist    will  visit    Den  Kullurhistoriske 
Udstillings,  which  is  a  sort  of  National  Gallery  and  Kensington 
Museum   combined,   and   can   take   his  midday  meal    at    the 
Restauration  there  situated,  if  hunger  is  a  -very  sharp  thorn 
but  if  it  isn't,  let  him  drive  straight   away  to  the  Restaura 
tion  at  the  Grand,  and  there  take  "  the  order  of  the  day,"  or 
give  any  other  order  he  pleases,  and  he  will  be  pretty  sure  to 
lunch  well  and  wisely. 

Remember  the  little  steamers  in  Piperviken  Bay  for  short 
excursions  ;  also  the  larger  steamer  that  takes  you  about  the 
islands  between  4.30  and  7  o'clock  of  an  afternoon.  Finally 
"when  in  doubt,"  "play  your  trump  card,"  i.e.  Mr.  BENNETT, 
whose  shop,  full  of  Norwegian  curios  and  all  sorts  of  souvenirs 
to  delight  children,  you  will  find  at  No.  35  Carl  Johans  Gade, 
not  three  minutes'  walk  from,  and  in  a  line  with,  the  Grand 
Hotel,  which  is  apparently  to  the  English  and  American 
tourist  "  the  hub  of  the  universe  in  Christiania."  Should  Mr. 
BENNETT  himself  be  invisible,  his  amiable  representative  (all 
that  there  is  of  him— which  is  about  six  foot  tli\ree)  will  attend 


;o  you  and  put  you  in  the  right  and  the  best  way  of  doing 
verything  and  of  going  everywhere  at  the  least  possible 
xpense  compatible  with  perfect  comfort. 

A  delightful  two  days  and  a-half  return  voyage  to  England. 

ON  arriving  in  the  Thames,  not  daring  to  face  the  vacant  streets 
of  London,  broiling  under  the  rays  of  an  early  autumn  sun  or  a 
ate  summer  one,  which  is  much  the  same  thing,  we  debark  at 
Tilbury,  bid  au  revoir  to  our  gallant  Captain,  and,  after  wait- 
ng  about  an  hour  or  so,  watching  nothing  in  particular, 
rM  Marguerite  comes  alongside.  We  are  inclined  to  follow  the 
sxample  of  the  mariners  in  the  old  "  Bay  of  Biscay"  song,  and 
'hail  her  with  three  cheers,"  but  we  restrain  our  enthusiasm 
and  go  quietly  on  board.  A  lovely  day  ;  some  hundreds  swarm- 
ng  in  by  train,  pouring  into  the  ship,  and  stowing  themselves 
away  in  all  directions,  treble-lining  the  side  nearest  the  landing 
tage,  but  all  settling  themselves  down  comfortably  as  we  get 
under  weigh. 

A  pleasant  trip  by  the  lovely  Marguerite  to  Ramsgate. 
Average  bourgeois  lunch  en  route.  (I  have  tried  it  since. 
Tis  always  good,  but  monotonous.)  Personally  I  should  not 
select  the  Marguerite  for  the  society  of  its  passengers.  Am 
quite  content  to  imagine  what  a  nice,  quiet,  "  say -nothing- 
to-nobody-sort  of"  set  they  will  be  on  the  return  voyage. 
However,  trippers  will  be  trippers,  and  tipplers  will  be  tipplers. 

Ramsgate  at  last.  Happy  thought. — Let  us  keep  up  the  idea 
of  still  travelling  about,  and  dine  at  the  Hotel.  Carried, 
nem.  con.  A  well-served  dinner  at  the  Granville,  in  company 
with  our  capital  travelling  companion,  CHARLES  WORTLER, 
winds  up  the  Norway  holiday  just  in  the  right  way.  We  drink 
to  our  next  merry  meeting  and  voyaging. 

The  next  day. — The  nostalgic  of  the  sea  being  upon  us,  we 
continue  being  nautical  by  going  aboard  one  of  the  taut  and  trim 
little  steamers  in  the  S.  E.  and  L.  C.  &  D.  service,  plying  this 
season  merrily  between  Folkestone  and  Ramsgate,  oiler  et 
retour.  We  make  several  pleasant  runs  over  to  Folkestone  and 
back,  distributing  our  favours  between  the  Imperial  Hotel  below 
and  the  Metropole  above,  and  by  exercising  "  the  wisdom 
of  the  wise,"  (here  's  a  health  to  JOHN  OLIVER  HOBBES!)  we  do 
ourselves  very  well  at  both  establishments.  This  little  steamer, 
if  its  running  is  continued  next  season,  is  worth  attention ; 
six  hours  at  sea,  allowing  two  and  a-half  ashore,  coasting  all 
the  way,  and  stopping  at  the  two  intermediate  ports.  More 
sea  breeze  benefit  than  can  be  obtained  during  a  shorter  voyage 
on  a  bigger  ship,  and  not  a  third  of  the  expense  !  When  found 
make  a  note  of  it !  And  thus,  after  our  Norway  outing,  do 
we,  speaking  for  self  and  the  partners  of  our  voyaging  joys, 
let  ourselves  down  gently;  then  gradually  extending  the 
intervals  between  the  sailing  excursions,  we  reduce  them  tc 
one  in  the  week,  and  by  that  time  the  year's  brief  holidaj) 
is  over. 


"ENGLISH  AS   SHE   IS   SPOKE!" 

Or,  at  what  she  arrive. 

[WANTED,  a  House  on  agreement :  rent  not  to  exceed,  etc.,  comealalk  tc 
Tube  Railway.—  Morning  Post.] 

"  COMEATABLE  "  !  Next,  please.  At  this  rate  we  await  with 
alarm  the  appearance  of  advertisements  couched  in  the  follow- 
ing terms : — 

TO  LET. — Pleasant  bungalow  ;  smellable  distance  of  sea ;  walk- 
able  to  station. 
FOR  SALE.— Bull  terrier ;  excellent  house  dog ;  scareable  tc 

duns  and  burglars. 
WANTED,  for  the  Little  England  Debating  Society,  an  Oratoi 

of  approved  pro-boerability. 

GENTLEMAN  going  abroad  wishes  to  dispose  of  his  Bay  Mare, 
rising  7  (breakfast  8.30),  15.2,  rideable,  driveable,  huntable, 
No  reasonable  offer  refuseable.  Viewable,  by  appointment, 
any  afternoon. 


OCTOBER  2,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


243 


HUMOURS   OF   CUB-HUNTING. 

Huntsman.  "HERE!    HOLD  HARD!    WHAT  ARE  YOU  GALLOPING  AFTER  THAT  HOUND  FOR?" 
Farmer.  "I  BAIN'T  ARTER  YOUR  DOG.     I  BE  ARTER  HAVIN'  THAT  OLE  RABBIT  WHEN  'E  KETCHES  'IM! 


"  PHOTOGRAPHS." 

ONE  used  to  think  a  Photograph  was  honest  as  the  sun, 

The  acme  of  veracity,  sans  bias, 
But  that  was  in  the  early  days  before  it  had  begun 

To  follow  in  the  steps  of  Ananias. 
One  saw  a  vieAv  of  sunlit  sands,  and  dreamed  the  sky  was  blue, 

The  colour  of  the  waves  an  emerald  green, 
And  if  what  one  imagined  didn't  happen  to  be  true 

One  simply  blamed  one's  fancy  for  the  scene. 
But  now,  in  brilliant  colours,  they  produce  a  photochrome, 

That  really  out  of  Fancy  takes  the  shine ; 
One  thinks  Virginia  Water  is  a  bit  of  Ancient  Rome, 

Or  mistakes  the  Thames  at  Shadwell  for  the  Rhine. 

When  a  girl  was  very  pretty — vivacious  or  demure, 

In  days  before  photography  was  known, 
'Twas  only  in  a  miniature  her  portrait  you  'd  secure 

And  a  wonderful  resemblance  would  be  shown. 
You  'd  recognise  the  maiden  with  her  dainty  air  of  grace, 

The  lilies  and  the  roses  on  her  cheek, 
The  hair,  the  eyes,  the  attitude,  expression  of  the  face — 

The  picture  could  do  everything  but  speak. 
But  now  outside  a  theatre  you  perceive  a  mighty  frame 

Of  photos  from  the  Chorus  to  the  Star, 
And  can  you  trace  the  likeness,  altho'  they  put  the  name 

To  tell  the  British  public  who  they  are  ? 


What  charming  views  they  forward  when  a  villa  is  for  sale, 

And  p'raps  for  further  details  you  have  sent, 
By  woodlands  'tis  surrounded,  or  'tis  in  a  fertile  dale, 

And,  as  the  agent  puts  it—"  Why  pay  rent?  " 
The  entrance  looks  so  spacious  and  the  carriage  sweep  so 
grand. 

And  every  room 's  so  lofty  and  so  wide ; 

There  's  a  lake  and  there  's  a  paddock  and  a  lot  of  meadow 
land ; 

To  buy  it,  from  the  photos,  you  decide. 
Alas  !  the  shameful  swindle  of  the  camera  again, 

For  disillusion  comes  when  far  too  late, 
It  is  pokey,  also  stuffy,  p'raps  the  roof  lets  in  the  rain, 

And  you  could  not  get  a  go-cart  through  the  gate. 

In  illustrated  papers,  where  the  interviews  appear 

With  some  Continental  beauty  when  chez  elle, 
Duplicity  of  photos  is  phenomenal,  I  fear, 

Regarding  that  most  charming  demoiselle. 
There 's  a  corner  of  her  boudoir,  of  the  salon  there' s  a  slice, 

A  vista  of  a  glasshouse  full  of  flowers, 
A  pond  within  the  garden  where  shawskates  when  there  is  ice, 

A  kiosk  wherein  she  spends  the  sunny  hours. 
The  camera  's  a  liar !  and  we  '11  let  it  go  at  that 

(Tho'  letterpress  is  also  far  from  true), 
For  this  palatial  mansion  is  an  ordinary  flat, 

And  the  photos  give  a  quite  ideal  view! 


244 


[OCTOBER  2,  1901. 


YEOMANRY    MANCEUVRES.      (FIRST    DAY    IN    CAMP.) 


Officer.   "WHAT'S  ALL  THIS?    WHAT  ARE  YOU  DOING  WITH  THAT  CASK?" 


Trooper.   " TENT  EQUIPMENT,  SIR! 


DOMESTIC  ECONOMIES. 
II. 

"  I  CAN'T  think  why  we  go  on  living  in 
a  pokey  little  flat  overlooking  a  mews, 
and  paying  eighty  pounds  a  year  for  the 
privilege,  when  they  tell  me  you  can  get 
a  charming  little  cottage  in  the  country 
for  five." 

"  My  dear,  shall  I  tell  the  porter  we 
wish  to  sub-let  the  flat  ?  ' ' 

"If  you  would  occasionally  have  an 
opinion  of  your  own  on  some  subject," 
remarked  GWENDOLEN  in  a  tone  of  icy  con- 
tempt, "  you  would  be  so  infinitely  more 
interesting." 

Seeing  that  an  amiable  alacrity  to  fall 
in  with  any  and  every  suggestion  was  not 
enough,  and  that  GWENDOLEN  was  deter- 
mined I  should  take  an  intelligent  interest 
in  the  approaching  discussion,  I  settled 
myself  in  an  easy  chair  and  lit  a  cigar. 

"Living  in  London  is  so  terribly  ex- 
pensive." A 

"Yes,"  I  agreed,  glancing  at  a 
milliner's  bill  which  had  just  made  posi- 
tively its  last  appearance. 

"  You  see,"  continued  GWENDOLEN, 
divining  my  thoughts,  "  one  can  dress  on 


nothing  in  the  country.  A  cycling  skirt 
and  a  sailor  hat  — 

I  pulled  a  long  face ;  but  the  opportunity 
was  not  to  be  lost.  "And  I,  of  course, 
would  wear  a  flannel  shirt,"  I  interposed 
casually.  GWENDOLEN  is  most  particular 
about  my  linen. 

"Mm — yes,"  she  replied,  doubtfully, 
"  well,  when  you  are  digging  in  the  garden 
perhaps.  Of  course,  we  '11  do  all  our  own 
gardening  :  it  will  be  such  splendid  exer- 
cise for  you,  and  we  shan't  be  able  to 
afford  a  gardener.  How  delightful  it  will 
be  to  grow  all  our  own  fruit  and  vege- 
tables !  Living  will  cost  practically 
nothing.  Why,  the  butcher's  will  be  the 
only  bill  we  shall  have  to  pay  !  " 

"  Or  leave  unpaid,"  I  suggested. 

"  Then  cabs — I  'm  sure  we  spend  quite  a 
small  fortune  on  them,  and  there  aren't 
any  hansoms  in  the  country." 

"  Nor  theatres." 

"No,  nor  suppers  after  them,"  added 
GWEN,  with  just  a  suspicion  of  regret  in 
her  voice. 

"Well,  my  dear,  that  will  save  us  no 
end  of  money.  Then,  we  shan't  have  to 
entertain." 


"  No,  dear^  there  '11  just  be  our  two 
selves.  Anu  you  '11  be  able  to  give  up 
that  stupid  old  club  where  you  never 
meet  those  editors  you  were  to  get  to 
know.  Well,  it 's  perfectly  true,  JACK  : 
you  know  you  do  nothing  at  the  club  but 
stand  drinks  to  budding  journalists  more 
impecunious  than  yourself." 

"  The  budding  journalist  of  to-day  may 
be  the  full-blown  editor  of  to-morrow,"  I 
remarked. 

"  In  which  case  you  hope  he  will 
remember  the  Avhisky-and-watering  you 
!  gave  him  in  his  youth  ?  No,  dear,  you 
;  haven't  the  physique  for  late  hours  and 
cigars  and  things.  In  the  country  you  "11 
have  no  more  headaches  and  bilious 
attacks,  but  be  my  own  sunburnt,  strong 
Goliath.  Yes,"  continued  GWEN,  pulling 
up  my  sleeve  and  patting  the  puny  white 
arm  she  discovered,  "  it  shall  grow  as  big 
and  brown  as  a  navvy's.  And  as  for  my 
dear  sparrow  legs  — 

"Really,  GWENDOLEN^ " 

"Did  I  tease  it?  Oh,  JACK  !  wo  shall 
live  on  nothing  !  Do  go  down,  ther  ]s  & 
dear,  and  tell  the  porter  we  want  /  sub- 
let our  flat."  [To  be  com  ued. 


OCTOBER  2,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHAKIVAKI. 


247 


Young  Lady.  "On,  MR.  GREEN,  I  DON'T  KNOW  WHAT  TO  DO  WITH  EFFIE  !     SHE  is  so  MISERABLE  BECAUSE  SHE  HASN'T  HAD  HER 

DONKEY   RIDE.      WOULD   YOU   MIND   GIVING   HER   A   PICK-A-BACK  ?  " 


OUR    BOOKING-OFFICE. 

The  Queen's  Comrade  (HurcniNsox)  is  SARAH,  Duchess  of 
Marlborough,  whose  life  and  times  Mr.  FITZGERALD  MOLLOY 
pictures  in  two  handsome  volumes.  The  work  is  a  valuable 
contribution  to  the  knowledge  of  the  history  of  a  stirring  period. 
The  Duchess  lived  through  six  reigns,  playing  a  prominent 
part  in  the  majority  of  them.  Mr.  MOLLOY  begins  at  the 
beginning,  when  SARAH  JENNINGS,  the  budding  Duchess,  was 
appointed  Maid  of  Honour  to  the  Duke  of  YORK'S  bride, 
the  hapless  Princess  of  MODENA.  The  Duke  (in  course  of 
time  JAMES  THE  SECOND),  forming  his  household  as  heir- 
apparent,  promoted  his  former  page,  JOHN  CHURCHILL,  to 
be  Master  of  the  Robes.  At  a  ball  given  by  CHARLES  THE 
SECOND  in  honour  of  the  new  Duchess  of  YORK,  young 
CHURCHILL  saw  SARAH  and  straightway  fell  in  love.  She  treated 
him  with  persistent  coquetry,  an  attitude  that  only  inflamed 
his  ardour.  Mr.  MOLLOY  quotes  many  letters  written  by 
CHURCHILL  before  and  subsequent  to  his  marriage,  all  breathing 
unfaltering  affection.  Faithless  found  in  other  quarters,  he 
was,  to  the  last,  faithful  to  his  first  love.  Among  many  episodes 
of  enthralling  interest,  the  invasion  of  England  by  WILLIAM  OF 
ORANGE  and  the  flight  of  King  JAMES  is  not  least.  The 
story  is  mainly  told  from  the  letters  of  those  who  made  the 


force  in  the  name  of  another,  deserted  by  his  trusted  generals, 
with  his  protege  JOHN  CHURCHILL  in  the  van,  feebly  trustful, 
futilely  irresolute,  King  JAMES  cuts  a  pathetic  figure.  But  my 
Baronite  is  constrained  to  say  that  kings  and  queens  of  this 
final  STUART  era,  pimps  and  paramours,  were  a  poor  lot. 

What  a  splendid-looking  book  is  this  tenth  volume  of  The 
Anglo-Saxon  Review  for  this  quarter,  edited  by  Lady  RANDOLPH 
CHURCHILL,  and  published  by  Mrs.  CORNWALLIS  WEST  at  49, 
Rupert  Street.  Two  charming  ladies  rolled  into  one.  Such  a 
volume  ought  to  be  replete  with  articles  de  luxe.  It  opens 
with  a  delicate  reproduced  engraving  of  Sir  THOMAS  LAWRENCE'S 
well-known  portrait  of  the  lovely  Lady  BLESSINGTON,  about 
whom  there  is  an  interesting  article  by  JOHN  FYVIE,  who 
styles  her  Ladyship  "the  Gorgeous."  The  Baron  does  not 
approve  of  the  epithet,  preferring,  "Beautiful  BLESSINGTON." 
Mr.  FYVIE'S  memoir  is  most  interesting.  The  Baron,  having 
only  quite  recently  received  The  Anglo-Saxon,  must  possess 
his  soul  in  patience  until  from  his  much-occupied  time  a  fair 
proportion  can  be  spared  for  further  consideration  of  the  many 
articles  with  most  attractive  titles.  .  THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


j ,  SUGGESTION. — If  Sir  HENRY  IRVING  be  going  to  America  on 
tour  this  month  what  an  appropriate  production  in  honour  of 


PUNCH,   OK  THE  LOiNDON   CllAliiVAHI. 


[OCTOBER  2,  1901. 


THE  ETHICS   OF   METEOROLOGY. 

f "  Professor  Dexter,  of  the.  University  of  Illinois, 
has  been  investigating  the  effects  of  weather  on 
morals." — St.  James's  Gazette.'} 
DEXTEROUS  Dexter,  to  bo  sure ! 
If,  as  papers  now  assert,  you 
Prove  that  from  the  temperature 
We  derive  our  vice  and  virtue. 

Though  we  are  not  (ah,  too  true !) 
What  we  should  be  altogether, 

'Tis  some  comfort  that  is  due 
To  the  influence  of  the  weather. 

Yet,  Professor,  not  content, 

Win  your  way  to  further  laurels, 

Be  your  next  step  to  invent 
A  barometer  of  morals. 

Prove  dog-days  to  many  a  dog 
Gives  the  bad  name  now  he 's  bearing 

To  its  source  in  rain  or  fog 
Trace  the  sudden  fit  of  swearing. 

Teach  us  in  the  bud  to  nip 
All  the  evils  we  are  prone  to  ; 

Save  poor  culprits  from  the  whip 
For  the  crimes  they  now  must  own  to. 

Whether,  then,  with  glass  "  set  fair," 
Some  rare  fit  of  virtue  takes  us, 

Or  at  some  dull  day  we  swear — 
We  are  what  the  weather  makes  us. 


THE   SMILE   CURE; 

OR,  No  LAUGHING  MATTER. 

(A  Very  Serious  Story.) 

CHAPTER  I. 

DURING  the  last  eighteen  months  busi- 
icss  with  ARTHUR  JOLLIFER  had  suffered  a 
general  depression.  Being  susceptible  to 
commercial  influences,  it  was  only  natural 
hat  ARTHUR  should  share  the  depression, 
t  was  particularly  unfortunate  that  a  long 
treak  of  commercial  prosperity  should 
uddenly  evaporate  —  immediately  'after 
is  marriage.  ENID  was  a  splendid  girl, 
'lucky,  light-hearted,  and  all  that,  and  he 
elt  that  his  silent  brooding  over  bad 
imcs  was  unfair  to  her.  Ho  ought  to 
make  an  effort  to  simulate  an  air  of 
heerfulness— at  least  at  home.  He  must 
hrow  off  the  shroud  of  gloomy  foreboding. 
He  must  pull  himself  out  of  himself,  and, 
•enerally  speaking,  buck  up  and  be 
prightly.  Dinner  each  evening  was 
ecoming  a  rather  dismal  affair.  It  must 
e  altered.  "  Dash  it  all,"  said  JOLLIFER, 
ulling  a  daily  paper  from  his  pocket,  "  it 
sn't  fair  to  her." 

As  he  said  this  to  himself  his  eye  caught 
he  following  paragraph : 

"  We  have  had  many  strange  cures  from  America, 
nd  the  latest  seems  to  be  the  smile  cure.  A  well- 
nown  doctor  of  Minneapolis  issues  the  following 
refcription:  'Smile,  keep  on  smiling,  don't  stop 
railing.'  This  is  said  to  be  useful  for  melancholy 
atiente." 

"By  Jove!  Just  the  thing.  I '11  adopt 
he  cure.  Don't  stop  smiling.  I  won't! 
mil  cure  myself,  by  Jove,  for  her  sake  !  " 


CHAPTER,  II. 

Now  it  so  happened — so  much  stranger 
is  truth  than  fiction — that  the  day  on 
which  JOLLIFER  had  registered  the  firm  and 
unbreakable  vow  recorded  above  had  been 
a  very  unfortunate  one  with  ENID.  To 
begin  with,  her  presentation  pup  (from 
workers  of  Walthamstow)  had  attacked  a 
tradesman  in  the  vital  parts  of  his  con- 
tinuations, for  which  compensation  would 
have  to  be  made.  This  was  in  itself 
annoying  ;  but  when  the  man  became 
abusive  (after  the  pup  had  been  tied  up), 
and  threatened  to  shoot  the  "animal," 
and  have  JOLLIFER  imprisoned  and  Mrs. 
JOLLIFER  fined,  and  "  get  all  their  names 
in  the  paper,"  ENID  began  to  despair. 
Then  the  cook,  "  a  perfect  treasure,"  gave 
notice.  At  four  o'clock  ENID  cut  her 
finger.  At  half-past  six  the  curling-irons 
got  over-heated,  and  a  little  red  burn 
began  to  throb  and  smart  beneath  the 
curls  on  ENID'S  troubled  brow.  Alto- 
gether this  chapter  may  be  not 
inappropriately  called  one  of  accidents, 
notwithstanding  that  we  recognize  the 
appellation  as  an  old  friend.  But  we  can't 
all  be  original. 

CHAPTER  III. 

JOLLIFER,  who  did  nothing  by  halves, 
started  rehearsing  a  soft,  ingratiating 
smile  directly  he  left  the  office.  To  tired 
and  morose  gentlemen  who  travelled 
towards  their  suburban  homes  on  that 
evening  JOLLIFER  was  a  source  of  no  little 
irritation.  As  he  put  the  latch-key  in  the 
door  a  beautiful  beamy  expression  came 
over  him.  It  was  a  really  exhilarating  ex- 
pression of  supreme  innocent  delight,  and 
would  have  established  a  reputation  for 
permanent  good  nature  among  the  most 
polished ofamiable shopwalkers.  JOLLIFER, 
as  we  intimated,  did  things  thoroughly, 
and  in  mercantile  parlance  we  may 
without  exaggeration  ['affirm  that  a  steady 
and  assiduous  application  to  the  business 
of  risibility  in  all  its  ramifications  had 
furnished  him  with  a  most  efficient  and 
workmanlike  article.] 

CHAPTER{IV. 

ENID  was  greatly  disconcerted  by  the 
complaisant  smile  that  overspread  the 
countenance  of  her  husband  as  he  sat  down 
to  dinner.  She  had  anticipated  a  rather 
gloomy  atmosphere  in  which  to  parade  her 
misfortunes.  She  waited  until  ARTHUR'S 
mood  was  more  in  sympathy  with  what 
she  had  to  tell  him  before  she  spoke. 
But  ARTHUR'S  mood  was  not  of  a  change- 
able quality.  A  broad  and  generous 
smile  illumed  his  face  and  gave  every 
indication  of  being  a  permanent  fixture. 
This  was  so  unusual  that  ENID  became 
nervous.  But  she  reflected,  "He's  in 
such  a  good  humour  I  think  I  might  try 
him  with  the  cook."  So,  in  a  plaintive, 
appealing  manner,  she  told  ARTHUR  that 
the  "  treasure  "  had  given  notice. 
ARTHUR  was  intenselv  amused.  There 


might  have  been  a  lurking  suspicion*  of 
annoyance  for  a  second,  the  cook  tuns  a 
treasure.  It  was  intensely  aggravating, 
but  ARTHUR  clenched  his  fists  and  gave 
vent  to  a  scries  of  merry  chuckles. 

"  We  paid  fifteen  shillings  in  Registry 
Office  fees,"  said  ENID,  "and  we  shall 
never  get  another." 

ARTHUR  knew  it  was  true,  and  a  smile 
mellowed  on  his  lips. 

It  was  something  of  a  relief  to  ENID 
that  he  took  it  so  well.  She  had  expected 
an  outburst.  It  gave  her  courage  to 
mention  the  puppy  incident.  In  tremulous 
syllables  she  did  so— fully.  It  seemed  at 
first  as  though  the  pup  would  be  immo- 
lated on  the  altar  of  JOLLIFER'S  wrath. 
It  was  not  his  first  offence  ;  he  had  been 
warned.  But  when  the  story  was  told, 
JOLLIFER  gripped  his  chair  with  both  hands 
and — burst  into  a  peal  of  hearty  laughter. 
"  Dogs  will  be  dogs,"  he  said,  "only  natu- 
ral— serve  the  tradesman  right,"  pointing 
each  phrase  with  an  ebullient  smirk. 

This  was  capital.  But  it  hardly  pre- 
pared the  way  for  the  cut  finger,  for  which 
a  great  deal  of  sympathy  was  anticipated. 
ENID  had  kept  it  in  case  ARTHUR  should 
threaten  to  get  rid  of  the  pup,  or  storm 
because  the  cook  Avas  leaving.  He  had 
taken  both  like  an  angel.  Consequently  it 
had  a  strange  superfluity.  However,  it 
was  held  up  and  commiseration  cordially 
urged  on  its  behalf. 

JOLLIFER  treated  his  expectant  wife  to 
a  magnificent  series  of  cordial  smiles. 

"ARTHUR,"  urged  ENID,  "  aren't  you 
sorry  ?  "  , 

"Awfully,  darling,"  he  replied,  with  a 
crisp  chuckle. 

ENID  stared  at  him  in  amazement  and 
then  burst  into  tears.     JOLLIFER  was  not 
a  man  to  break  a  resolution  once  having 
formed  it,  so  the  more  his  wife  cried  the 
more  he  smiled.     Finally,  ENID  left  the 
room.  /The  puppy,  not  knowing  quite  what 
was  going  on,  approached  JOLLIFER  for  a 
caress,  and  was  promptly  kicked  from  on 
end  of  the  room  to  the  other.    His  yow 
brought  ENID  back  again,  and  she  made  i 
second  exit  with  the  pup  under  her  arm. 

JOLLIFER  became  a  little  uneasy  as  to 
the  entire  success  of  his  smile-cure.  He 
wondered  if  he  had  followed  the  direc- 
tions correctly.  As  he  pondered  over 
what  he  had  read  the  front  door  closed  to 
with  a  bang.  He  rushed  into  the  hall. 

"Where  is  Mrs.  JOLLIFER?"  he  asket 
of  the  maid . 

"Gone  to  her  mother's,  Sir — Avith  the 
little  dog,  Sir  !  " 

JOLLIFER  felt  that  this  justified  him  in 
bringing  his  resolution  to  an  end,  so  he 
stopped  smiling  and  looked  dangerous. 
Then  he  took  a  cab  and  followed  his  wife. 
At  twelve  o'clock  that  evening  he  was 
still  explaining  matters. 

JOLLIFER'S  next  role  is  HENRY  THE 
FIRST,  the  gentleman  who  "  never  smiled 
ao-ahi"  W.  H.  M. 


OCTOBER  2,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


249 


UJ 

o 


H 
X 
O 


DC 
0. 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[OCTOBER  2,  1901. 


A    MUCH    INJURED    MAN. 

CHAPTER  I. 

NOW,  in  telling  this  story,  I  don't  want  any  one  to  run  away 
with  the  idea  that  I  'm  one  of  those  conceited  asses  who  think 
themselves  absolutely  irresistible  with  women.  I  don't  exactly 
think  that ;  but  really,  I  fancy  I  know  something  about  the  sex. 
My  friend,  DE  THODE,  said  to  me  the  last  time  he  came  to  borrow 
a  sovereign,  "  By  Jove,  old  man,  you  are  a  deuce  of  a  fellow 
amongst  the  ladies!"  Well,  that's  D.E  TflODE'S  idea— not 
mine.  However,  he  may  be  right.  I  really  don't  know,  and 
offer  no  opinion  on  the  subject. 

This  is  merely  preliminary  to  my  story.  Briefly  put,  it  is 
this.  I  had  heard  from  my  Uncle,  that  Miss  ACRESBY,  the 
great  heiress,  was  going  down  to  the  Blazeaway  country  to 
hunt,  last  season,  so  thought  I  might  as  well  send  my  stud  down 
there,  especially  after  my  uncle  had  given  me  a  hint  that  he 
was  rather  tired  of  seeing  me  a  bachelor.  Thought  I  might 
hunt  the  heiress  and  the  fox  at  one  and  the  same  time.  Funny 
fellow,  my  uncle.  Of  course,  he  's  very  fond  of  me,  but  he 
put  the  matter  rather  crudely  when  he  said  : 

"The  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  marry  some  fool  of  a  girl 
who  '11  keep  you,  for  I  '11  be  past-participled  if  I  '11  do  so  much 
longer ! ' ' 

So  I  sent  clown  my  stud-groom — I've  only  one  groom  at 
present,  but  I  call  him  my  stud-groom — to  take  rooms  for  me  at 
"The  George,"  Splashington,  and  stabling  for  my  stud — I've 
only  one  horse  just  now,  but  I  call  it  my  stud — and  after 
getting  a  plentiful  supply  of  good  cigars  (on  credit),  and  a  few 
other  necessaries,  which  I  told  them  to  put  down  to  my  uncle, 
just  as  a  matter  of  form — I  toddled  down  next  day  by  the  fast 
train  to  Splashington  ;  my  stud-groom  met  me  with  a  cab  at 
the  station,  and  I  drove  up  to  "  The  George." 

The  rooms  were  fairly  comfortable  ;  and  after  I  'd  had  some 
of  the  furniture  taken  out,  and  a  sofa  brought  in  from  the  land- 
lord's own  apartments — always  find  it  necessary  to  recline  for 
an  hour  before  dinner — I  proceeded  to  settle  myself,  leaving 
my  fellow — the  stud-groom — to  unpack  my  things,  discover  the 
address  of  Miss  ACRESBY,  fetch  me  the  local  paper,  and  trace 
out  my  route,  on  the  map,  to  next  day's  meet.  Young  GADSBY, 
who  knows  everybody,  dropped  in  late  in  the  evening,  and  we 
chatted  about  the  prospects  of  sport,  both  with  the  fox  and  the 
fair  sex,  till  nearly  midnight.  By  Jove,  GADSBY  does  possess  a 
thirst !  The  beggar  drank  six  whiskies  and  sodas — I  only  took 
five,  because  I  wanted  to  be  in  good  going  order  for  the  next 
day.  Just  before  he  left,  he  said,  "  Well,  if  you  want  an  intro- 
duction to  the  heiress,  I  'm  your  man.  I  '11  do  it  to-morrow,  at 
covert-side."  I  think  I  said  it  was  deuced  gocd  of  him,  but  I  'm 
not  quite  sure  ;  anyhow,  that 's  what  I  meant  to  say,  but  really 
I  felt  so — tired — that  that 's  all  I  remember. 

Can't  think  what  made  my  head  ache  so  awfully  the  next 
morning.  Deuced  strange,  because  I  'm  always  so  careful  what 
I  drink  overnight.  If  it  had  been  GADSBY,  now,  I  shouldn't 
have  been  surprised. 

Got  up  and  felt  rather  better,  after  my  tub.  My  stud-gr — 
my  fellow,  I  mean,  valets  me  awffllly  well,  I  must  say.  After 
he  had  helped  me  dress — I'm  not  conceited,  but  the  "pink" 
rather  suits  me,  I  fancy — he  said  that  the  meet  was  at  Bolington 
Cross-roads,  about  four  miles  out  of  the  town,  and  that  my 
stud-groo — that  he,  I  should  say,  wouid  have  my  hunter  ready 
at  10.15.  I  went  down  to  breakfast  wi£h  a  sort  of  feeling  that 
I  didn't  care  so  much  about  hunting  as  I<  thought  I  did.  Don't 
know  how  it  was:  the  headache,  I  suppose.  Horrid  meal, 
breakfast.  Drank  four  cups  of  tea,  butyite  nothing.  From 
my  window  I  saw  lots  of  fellows  pass,  on  fcheir  way  to  covert. 
Didn't  think  I  should  hunt  that  day  :  felt  ra^er  more  inclined 
to  potter  about  and  trot  out  the  heiress.  AMy  hunter  was 
brought  round  punctually,  and  a  quarter  of  an  tipur  later— for  I 
rather  like  to  watch  my  horse  paraded  up  and\down,  whilst 


n\s     A. 


the  small  boys  stand  around  gaping,  and  making  admiring 
comments — I  went  down  and  mounted.  Had  to  have  all  tho 
tackle  re-adjusted— girths  tightened,  stirrup  leathers  lot  down, 
throat-lash  drawn  up :  it 's  really  never  safe  to  leave  these 
things  to  even  the  most  accomplished  stud-groom ;  one  always 
knows  so  much  better  oneself. 

I  found  that,  with  all  this  delay — so  stupid  of  my  fellow — 
I  had  got  a  bit  behindhand,  so  I  had  to  gallop  my  horse 
along  a  hard  road  the  whole  four  miles  to  the  meet.  That 's 
enough  to  make  any  fellow  swear  at  his  stud-groom,  isn't  it? 
However,  I  got  to  Bolington  Cross-roads  just  as  hounds  were 
in  the  act  of  moving  off,  and  fell  in  with  the  ruck  of  horsemen 
going  down  a  narrow  lane.  There  were  two  ladies  riding  just 
ahead  of  me,  both  magnificently  mounted,  and  on  them  my  gaze 
became  immediately  fixed. 

Now,  I  fancy  I  know  something  about  horses.  And  I  should 
be  well  under  the  mark  in  saying  that  neither  of  those  two 
splendid  animals  could  have  cost  much  less  than  three  hundred 
guineas.  Just  as  I  was  twisting  up  the  ends  of  my  moustache 
before  coining  into  the  range  of  vision  of  these  ladies,  GADSBY 
dropped  back  to  speak  to  me. 

That  fellow's  six  whiskies  overnight  hadn't  affected  him  a 
bit! 

"  Morning,  old  chap,"  he  said  to  me  with  a  grin,  "  you  were 
a  bit — tired — last  night,  weren't  you?  " 

Now,  I  didn't  see  what  that  had  to  do  with  GADSBY,  so  I 
answered  in  rather  an  offhand  tone  : 

"  Oh,  a  little.     Who  are  the  ladies  on  in  front  ?  " 

He  dropped  his  voice  as  he  answered : 

"  Ssh  ! — tliat  's  the  heiress — that 's  Miss  ACRESBY." 

"  Which  ?  "  I  asked,  "  the  one  on  the  chestnut  ?  " 

"  No,  the  little  dark-eyed  woman  on  the  brown  mare." 

This  was  rather  a  disappointment  to  me.  I  should  so  much 
have  preferred  marrying  the  tall,  fair-haired  girl  on  the  chest- 
nut. However,  as  I  could  not  help  it,  I  bowed  to  the  inevitable 
— I  am  a  bit  of  a  philosopher — and  made  up  my  mind  that  I 
must  take  the  brunette. 

"  Introduce  me,  GADSBY,"  I  said,  with  an  air  of  resignation 
which  I  hardly  felt.  But  I  always  look  at  the  bright  side  of 
things,  and  I  thought  I  should  probably  find  the  girl  pretty 
tolerable.  After  all,  one  woman  is  so  much  like  another,  and 
they  are  all  so  vastly  inferior  to  the  male  part  of  creation  that 
— provided,  of  course,  she  has  money,  one  may  just  as  well 
marry  A.  as  B.  DE  THODE  has  on  many  an  occasion  said  to  me, 
"  My  dear  MAXIMILIAN,  a  man  of  your  calibre  ought  to  marry  a 
Duchess — but  in  the  astonishing  topsy-turveydom  of  the  world, 
I  daresay  you  '11  end  by  simply  carrying  off  some  rich  com 
moner."  It  looks  rather  as  if  DE  THODE  is  about  to  prove  him- 
self a  true  prophet.  Well,  never  mind  her  want  of  title :  the 
woman  is  always  raised  to  the  man's  level :  he  is  not  dragge( 
down  .to  her's.  When  I  marry  her,  she  will  become  a  Boun- 
cerby,  and  that  is  good  enough  for  me.  The  Bouncerbys 
came  over  with  the  Conqueror — so  DE  THODE  tells  me. 

As  soon  as  hounds  had  been  thrown  in  to  covert — I  flattei 
myself  I  know  something  about  hounds,  and  determined  thai 
on  a  future  occasion  I  would  give  the  huntsman  a  gentle  him 
that  he  was  not  going  the  right  way  to  work  in  drawing  hif 
coverts — GADSBY  motioned  me  up  alongside  him,  and  rldinf 
over  to  where  the  two  ladies  sat  in  their  saddles,  he  raised  hi; 
hat  and  said  : 

"Allow  me  to  introduce  a  particular  friend  of  mine,  Mr 
MAXIMILIAN  DE  VERB  BOUNCERBY,  who  has  just  come  down  t< 
hunt  with  these  hounds." 

The  little  woman  with  the  dark  eyes  at  once  commence* 
talking  in  most  animated  fashion  to  me.  Now,  I  fancy  I  knov 
something  about  women,  and  I  can't  help  saying  that  she  niadi 
strong  running  from  the  first,  probably  to  cut  out  her  cousin 
the  fair-haired  girl,  who  only  accorded  me  a  somewhat  stii 
bow.  Shy,  very  probably,  I  thought.  F.  R.  j 

(To  be  continued.) 


2,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OK  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


251 


HARRY'S    SON'S    HOLIDAY    REMINISCENCES.      No.    2.-HOLLAND. 

(Drorn  all  ly  himself,  ami  signed  "Harry's  Son.") 


"  PAYING  FOR  HIS  WHISTLE." 

IP  at  any  time  Mr.  BENSON'S  dramatic  company,  on  a  visit  to 
Ramsgate,  should  wish  to  give  a  performance  of  Much  Ado 
About  Nothing,  and  find  themselves  without  actors  capable  of 
taking  the  parts  of  Dogberry  and  Verges,  they  will  have  to  go 
no  farther  than  the  police  station  of  that  seaside  town  in  order 
to  obtain  the  services  of  Chief  Constable  JONES  to  impersonate 
that  immortal  model  of  all  chief  constables,  the  profound  and 
dignified  Dogberry,  while  any  one  of  his  subordinates  could 
appear  as  Verges.  That  Chief  Constable  JONES  would  have  been 
beloved  by  SHAKSPEARE,  and  might,  on  request,  have  stood  to 
CHARLES  DICKENS  for  a  fair  type  of  Orummer  must  be  to  this 
worthy  official  a  source  "of  comfort  and  joy."  Is  it  not  all 
recorded  at  length  in  the  Kent  Coast  Times  for  September  25  ? 
And  amusing  reading  it  is. 

The  plot  of  the  story  seems  to  have  been  on  this  wise  :  A  and 
B,  it  is  alleged,  damage  C's  fence  at  Broadstairs  ;  C,  hatless, 
pursues  A  and  B  to  Ramsgate  (a  distance  of  about  two  miles 
and  a-half,  without  coming  across  a  constable),  where,  on 
arriving,  he  blows  a  police  whistle  in  order  that  "  the  watch  " 
may  arrest  A  and  B.  The  watch,  however,  represented  by  Chief 
Constable  aforesaid,  arrests  the  hatless  and  injured  C.  The 
hatless  and  injured,  always  good-tempered  and  polite  up  to  a 
certain  point  of  forbearance,  when  it  appears  he  used  a  naughty 
swear  word,  on  subsequently  receiving  notification  of  a  sum- 
mons having  been  taken  out  against  him,  consulted  his  solici- 
tors, who  wrote  a  sharp  "  lawyer's  letter  "  to  energetic  Chief 
Constable,  which  that  eminently  facetious  official  treated  "as  a 
joke,"  for  how  possibly  could  any  threat  of  proceedings  against 
the  representative  of  Law  and  Order,  in  the  execution  of  his 
"  dooty,"  be  anything  but  a  joke  ? 

However,  the  defendant's  hard-headed  lawyers,  unable,  appar- 


ently, to  enter  into  the  humour  of  the  thing,  insisted  on  tackling 
the  Chief  Constable,  who  thereupon,  following  the  example  of  his 
Shakspearian  prototype,  called  together  the  "Watch"  Com- 
mittee, and  left  himself,  so  to  speak,  in  their  hands.  Hence 
the  employment  of  that  eminent  K.C.,  Mr.  KEMP,  to  come  down 
from  town  and  undertake  the  prosecution  of  Mr.  JOHN  WARREN, 
charged  with  "  sounding  a  noisy  instrument,  to  wit,  a  whistle," 
and  "  so  collecting  an  assembly,"  &c.,  &c. 

The  Worshipful  Mayor  and  thirteen  Justices  assembled  in 
terrible  array  to  do  justice  in  the  KING'S  name.  Now,  though 
Orummer  was  represented  among  the  constables,  yet  the 
Magistrate,  Mr.  Nupkins,  not  being  impersonated  by  any  of 
the  Justices,  was  a  deficiency  in  the  cast  that  rather  detracted 
from  the  humour  of  the  scene,  although  on  one  occasion  the 
Worshipful  Mayor  did  venture  on  an  astute  Nnpkins-y  sort  of 
question  as  to  whether  "  if  a  certain  act  were  committed  in 
Broadstairs,  would  the  Ramsgate  police  be  justified  in  arrest- 
ing 1 ' '  This  most  pertinent  and  far-reaching  conundrum  was 
curtly  quashed  by  Mr.  ABRAHAMS,  who,  showing  a  strange  lack 
of  humorous  appreciation,  replied,  "  I  don't  know,  and  it  does 
not  matter  a  bit,  if  I  may  respectfully  say  so!"  Heavens! 
This  to  the  Mayor!  The  "if"  was  a  saving  clause,  and 
the  thirteen  magistrates  must  have  breathed  again. 

However,  the  whole  thing  was  pooh-poohed,  DOGBERRY-JONES 
was  not  "  wery  much  applauded  for  what  he  'd  done."  But  he 
was  not  "  severely  reprimanded"  by  the  Bench  of  magistrates, 
as  they  evidently  did  not  like  to  be  hard  upon  one  of  their 
own  officials,  who,  after  all,  had  perhaps  afforded  themselves 
and  the  applauding  public  more  genuine  amusement  in  a  quiet 
way  than  they  had  enjoyed  for  a  considerable  time.  So,  at  the 
request  of  Counsel  for  the  defence,  the  defendant's  whistle  was 
restored  to  him,  and  the  Chief  Constable,  as  he  left  the  Court, 
probably  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  blow  it !  " 


252 


[OCTOBER  2,  1901. 


A  RECENT  CORRESPONDENCE. 

Telegram  from  Beaulieu. — What  is  all 
this  fuss?  Times,  Post,  Standard,  St. 
James's,  Pall  Mall,  and  others  seem  to 
think  we  must  wake  up.  What  is  the 
matter  now  ?  Reply  immediately.  Never 
can  get  quiet  doze  anywhere  but  in  the 
House  of  Lords.  As  that  closed  now  came 
here.  No  sooner  arrived  than  read  all 
these  papers. 

Telegram  from  St.  Andrews. — Yours  re- 


We  must  really  find  some  title  for  him  at 
New  Year.  How  about  J.P.  ?  I  think  that 
would  suit  him  nicely.  How  's  your  tricycle 
getting  on  ?  Nothing  like  gentle  exercise 
and  fresh  air  for  nerves.  Off  to  Whitting- 
harne  to-morrow. 

Letter  from  Beaulieu. — I  have  just  re- 
ceived your  second  card,  but  not  the  first. 
What  on  earth  do  you  mean  ?  Why  make 
ROSEBERY  a  J.P.  ?  But  I  can't  bother 
about  that  now,  as  I  am  just  going  to  begin 
the  preparation  of  that  French  speech.  I 


ceived  yesterday.  Don't  know 
anything.  Never  read  papers. 
Why  do  you  ? 

Telegram  from  Beaulieu. — 
Thought  you  would  have  helped 
somehow.  Have  to  read  papers 
here.  Nothing  else  to  do. 
Fresh  lot  came  to-day,  still 
more  urgent  we  wake  up. 
Really  most  tiresome.  You 
might  do  something,  not  being 
abroad.  Can't  you  speak  some- 
where on  something?  Need  not 
be  political.  Look  at  ROSE- 
BERY. Try  Golf,  HANDEL, 
Bimetallism.  If  exhausted 
those,  try  Gardening.  Never 
mind  if  know  nothing  about  it. 
ROSEBERY  didn't  either.  Or 
try  ALFRED.  Where  's  ALFRED 
AUSTIN?  Couldn't  he  write 
ode?  Does  nothing  now. 
Where's  DEVONSHIRE?  Where's 

HAMBERLAIN?  Couldn't  he 
speak  ?  Is  always  awake, 
fteply  immediately. 

Telegram  from  St.  Andreivs. 
— Wish  you  wouldn't  worry  so. 
)on't  know  where  others  are. 
All   serene  here.      Will  write 
o-morrow. 

Telegram   from    Beaulieu.— 
You  are  a  chap  not  to  help  one 
at  all.   Have  read  more  papers.  ' 
Can't  go  on   like  this.     If  all  j 
fellows  at  home  say  noth- 
ng  shall  have  to  make  French 
peech  here  on  Gardening  or 
[ing  ALFRED.    Something  must 
te  done. 

Post-cord  from  St.  Andrews. 

—  Telegraphed     yesterday. \ 

'elegrams  are  really  very  expensive, 
lope  you  are  less  bothered  noMr.  I 
lon't  see  what  good  any  speech  would 


Telegram  from  Beaulieu. —  Immediate. 
Very  important.  What  is  French  for 
"  Peat-Reek  and  Harris  Tweeds"?  Can't 
find  it  anywhere,  not  even  in  BELLOWS. 
Unexpected  difficulty.  If  you  don't  know 
will  telegraph  LANSDOWNE.  Reply  with- 
out moment's  delay. 

Telegram  from  Wittinghame. — No  idea. 
Telegram  from  Beanlieu. —  Have  tele- 
graphed LANSDOWNE.  He  doesn't  know. 
Dreadfully  disappointing.  Thought  ho 
knew  French  thoroughly.  Appears  he 
has  mere  smattering.  Am 
therefore  unable  do  anything. 
Proposed  speech  impossible. 
Awful  nuisance.  Would  have 
shown  papers  and  people  at 
home  what  we  could  do.  Wish 
you  had  tried  something  on 
ALFRED,  or  Gardening,  or  even 
the  Irish  Tunnel.  Really  ab- 
surd to  be  so  absorbed  with 
golf.  ROSEBERY  isn't.  My 
tricycling  is  only  amusement, 
not  business.  But  no  good 
grumbling.  So  things  must  go 
on  as  they  are,  whatever 
papers  say.  H.  D.  B. 


•- 

F°\. 


PORTRAIT  OF  A  GENTLEMAN 
THE  SEASIDE,  FOLLOWED  BY 
ADDRESS  BEHIND. 


WHO    SENT    HIS    WIFE    AND   FAMILY   TO 
A     LATER     TRAIN,      AND     LEFT     THEIR 


(Sketched  after  five  hours' futile  search  for  them.) 


have  given  up  the  idea  of  Gardening  or 
ALFRED,  and  chosen  "  Peat-Reek  and 
Harris  Tweeds,"  which  seems  the  most 

.o,  but  your  idea  of  an  ode  is  not  bad.  j  absorbing  question  at  home.  I  flatter 
Jut  did  you  mean  an  ode  to  ROSEBERY  V  myself  it  will  be  a  great  success.  I  am 
Unfortunately  AUSTIN  seems  sulky  justXnot  quite  sure  whether  to  deliver  it  in  the 
low,  as  he  is  eclipsed  by  the  greater  garden  here,  or  to  read  it  as  a  lecture  in 
ALFRED.  He  didn't  go  to  Winchester,  the  Casino  at  Nice.  Unfortunately  there 
appeared  rather  to  indicate  •  is^obody  at  Nice  now.  Besides,  if  there 

any  people    there,   they    wouldn't 


which 
ealousy  ;  but,  of  course,  he  might  say  it ;  wer\ 


*vas  a  sort  of  Liberal  picnic  presided  over 
>y— (couldn't  get  any  more  on  that  card, 
so  have  to  use  this  second  one,  which  is 
annoying)— over  by  ROSEBERY.  Anyway,  it 
won't  do  to  let  him  get  quite  disgusted. 


appreciate  a  conference.     It  will  brush  up 
my  FrYnch  a  lot,  though  it  will  be  rather 
anslating  it  beforehand.    LANS- 
rattle it  straight  off.     Lucky 


DOWNE 
chap  ! 


k 


MR.  PUNCH'S  MUSEUM. — 
"Phonographic  Record  of  a 
First  Night  at  a  London 
Theatre."  The  genuineness 
and  date  (1901)  of  this  exhibit 
are  beyond  question,  but  of 
its  authenticity  there  is  some 
doubt,  certain  students  of 
phonetics  maintaining  that  the 
noises  emitted  could  only  have 
come  from  a  farmyard  or  a 
cattle-show,  and  not  from  an 
assemblage  of  human  beings. 
They  allude  with  some  justice 
to  the  hissing  of  geese,  the 
hooting  of  owls,  the  yapping 
of  dogs,  the  booing  of  bulls, 
and  similar  animal  cries.  We 
leave  the  title,  therefore, 
subject  to  revision. 

"  Photograph  of  Butcher's 
Stall,  in  Colours."  A  realistic 
exhibition  of  uncooked  flesh 
and  slaughtered  animals 
which  was  quite  common  all  over 
London  until  well  within  the  twentieth 
century.  It  was  allowed  to  regale  the 
eye  and  other  senses  of  passers-by  in 
the  open  street,  as  will  be  seen  from 
this  excellent  reproduction  in  all  the- 
original  tints.  The  scene  is  one  of 
the  poorer  quarters  of  the  Metropolis 
on  a  Saturday  night,  when  such 
establishments  were  specially  active. 
By  the  Slaughterhouses  and  Knackers 
Regulation  Act  of  1910,  displays  and 
entertainments  of  this  nature  were 
no  longer  permitted  in  public  thorough- 
fares. 


DCTOBER  9,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


DOMESTIC  ECONOMIES. 
(Continued.) 

"  THIS  bo  t'  sloepin'  room  an'  this  bo  t' 

tchen,"  cxplaincnl  the  old   woman  who 

owed   us  over  a   cottage   to  which    a 

atched  roof  covered  with  green  moss 

id  attracted,  us. 

"Charming!"    cried   GWENDOLEN.      "I 

>  so  love  these  red-tiled  floors.     And  is 

at  the  scullery?" 

"  Scoollery?  Theer  bain't  no  scoollery." 

"  Then  where  do  you  wash  up  ?  " 

"Wash  oop?    Theer  be  a  poorap  down 

village " 

GWENDOLEN'S  face  fell.   "Then  I  suppose 

ere  's  no  bath-room?  " 

"  Baath-room  ?    "What  be  that  ?  " 

"My  dear,"  I  interposed,  "you  can't 

:pect  all  the  luxuries  for  five  pounds 

year." 

"  Luxuries  !     I  thought  everybody  had 

ith-rooms  in  these  hygienic  days.    There 

n't  even  water  in  the  house " 

"Except  what  comes  in  by  the  roof,"  I 
erected,  pointing  to  a  glistening  shimmer 
i  the  walls. 

"  It  certainly  smells  damp,"  said 
ffENDOLEN.  "  Oh,  I  don't  think  we  need 
ouble  you  to  show  us  upstairs.  Thank 
u  so  much  !  Good  morning  !  " 

Oar   books  would    have    got    ruined 
ere,  JACK." 

"And  our  constitutions,  too." 
"  It  would  be  cheaper  in  the  end  to  pay 
ittle  more." 
•Undoubtedly." 

We  spent  several  weeks  cycling  through 
country,    inspecting    all    sorts    and 
iditions  of  cottages.    A  few  were  too 
ge,  most  too  small,  and  all  too  hopelessly 
onvenient ;  while     those      with      any 
itensions  to  beauty  were  ready  to  fall 
ut  our  ears  in  picturesque  ruins.     One 
le  place  we  did  discover  which  all  but 
up  to  our  ideal,   but  the   "  large 
.en  "  which  the  local  agent  assured 
it  adjoined  turned   out  to   belong  to 
big  house  next  door.     I  looked  at  the 
strip  of  nettles  in  which  it  might 
y  fate  to  delve. 
My    dear,"  I    ventured,    "  I   hardly 

k  it  would " 

1 1  know  it  wouldn't,"  said  GWENDOLEN, 
lave  set  my  heart  on  growing  our  own 
stables,  and  I  think,  JACK,  we  ought 
ive  a  lawn  as  well." 
K  lawn  ?  "  I  queried. 

love  a  lawn." 
Ihook  my  head  doubtfully.     "  I  hardly 

It  real  cottagers 

perhaps  they  don't,"  admitted  GWEN. 
It,  you  see,  we  're  both  fond  of  tennis, 
If  we  didn't  have  a  lawn  of  our  own, 
d  have  to  join  a  club  ;  so  although 
led  a  pound  or  two  to  our  rent,  it 
ll  save  us  in  the  end." 
|o  it  would,"  I  agreed. 

(To  be  continued). 


The  Vicar.  "I  HAVE  NOT  SEEN  YOUR  HUSBAND  AT  CHURCH  LATELY,  MRS.  MURPHY." 
Mrs.  Murphy.   "  WELL    SIR,  I'M   SORRY  TO  SAY  AS  MY  OLD  MAN  i*  SKJOI'INQ  VERY  BAD 
'EALTH  AT  PRESENT  !  " 


MR.  PUNCH'S  MusEnvr.  —  "  Yeomen's 
Arrears  of  Pay."  This  curiosity  was 
discovered  in  one  of  the  pigeon  -  holes 
of  the  War  Office  towards  the  end  of 
the  tenth  year  of  the  Great  Boer  War, 
enveloped  in  a  mass  of  official  memo- 
randa. From  the  latter  it  has  been  con- 
jectured that  the  Government  of  the 
period  considered  that  the  phrasa  "  to  do 
yeoman's  service  "  meant  "  to  serve 
without  pay,"  and  that  a  wife  and  family 
could  be  maintained  on  a  South  African 
medal  plus  a  few  clasps.  After  a  few 
years  it  seems  that  all  Yeomanry  claims 
were  extinguished  by  the  simple  process 
of  allowing  the  claimants  to  die  out. 
Many  of  them  also  had  very  reasonably 


accelerated  this  result  by  undergoing 
wounds  and  disablement  while  campaign- 
ing for  their  country.  It  has  not  been 
ascertained  that  there  were  ever  any 
arrears  of  pay  in  the  case  of  military 
officials  and  clerks  who  sat  at  home 
while  others  did  the  fighting.  Another 
singular  point  in  connection  with  this 
extinct  branch  of  the  service  was  that 
the  British  public  (and  especially  the 
employers)  wei'e  extremely  ready  to 
allow  the  Yeomen  and  other  volunteers 
to  do  battle  in  their  defence,  and  as 
remarkably  loth  to  stretch  a  point  and 
keep  their  places  open  or  provide  them 
with  work  on  their  return  from  the 
front. 


LIVES  OF   GEE  AT  MEN. 

No.  in. 
THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE  ADOLPHUS  BUFFERTOP,  M.P. 

(Continued.) 

SING,  Muse,  of  wool  and  all  that  comes  of  wool  1 
Take  a  swift  flight  to  Coleman  Street,  E.G., 
Where  the  wool-brokers  mostly  congregate. 
These  are  no  common  men  :  their  minds  are  full 
Of  ships  and  bales  and  fleeces  shorn  to  be, 
Not  merely  to  the  State, 
But  to  themselves  a  gain. 
Attempt  not  to  deceive  them :  'tis  in  vain ! 
Textures  they  know  and  values  ;  they  have  been 
Down  to  the  Docks,  and  passed  in  keen  review 

The  cargoes  new. 

The  heaped-up  bales  their  careful  eyes  have  seen, 
"With  eager  fingers  plucking  here  and  there, 

The  samples  they  compare, 
And,  though  the  work  is  scarcely  over  nice, 
Force  them  to  yield  the  secret  of  their  price. 
Alas  !  for  wool  which  to  the  fancy  seems 

A  thing  of  dreams, 

Fleecy  and  soft  and,  above  all  things,  clean  ! 
Behold  it  as  it  is  upon  the  Docks, 
Reeking,  exuding  oil  from  all  its  flocks. 
Vainly  its  votary  seeks  the  silvery  sheen 
Pictured  in  visions  ;  and,  behold,  he  wears 
Old  clothes  which  he  may  soil, 

But  cannot  spoil, 

Since  they  were  spoilt  long  years  ago  ;  and  Pears, 
Cleaver,  Vinolia,  or  the  ancient  brown 
Renowned  in  Windsor,  is  the  soap 

To  meet  and  cope 

With  wool-reek  when  his  daily  work  is  done, 
Somewhere  about  the  setting  of  the  sun. 
Of  these  was  BUFFERTOP  :  in  that  old  hall 
Where  wool  is  sold  his  father  had  a  seat. 

Thither  with  agile  feet 

And  heart  that  in  the  hope  of  gain  beat  high, 
Close  to  the  auctioneer's  revolving  eye, 
Blithely  he  strayed  and  loudly  did  he  bawl. 
In  the  fierce  babel  of  competing  tongues 
He  held  his  own  and  stretched  his  leathern  lungs. 
And  none,  I  ween,  knew  better  how  to  take 
Occasion  by  the  hand  and  through  the  maze 
Of  prices  win  to  profit,  with  a  mind 

Intent  to  make 
His  earnings  overbalance  his  expense, 

And  so  to  find 
He  had  his  meed  of  unremitting  praise 

Wherever  he  might  roam, 
In  Coleman  Street,  E.G.,  or  in  his  home, 
While  all  men  said,  "  This  is  a  man  of  sense." 

Our  hero's  father  went  the  way 

That  all  wool-brokers  must  go. 
They  have,  like  us,  their  little  day, 

And  then,  like  us,  to  dust  go. 
He,  when  he  passed  the  Stygian  bounds 

And  went  to  join  the  blest  dead, 
Left  some  two  hundred  thousand  pounds 

Judiciously  invested. 
His  father's  joy  ADOLPHUS  was : 

He  never  haii  a  brother. 
He  was  an  only  child  because 

There  wasn't  ally  other. 
And  so  his  father  left  him  land ; 

He  left  him  all  he  could  will : 


His  stocks,  his  shares,  his  cash  in  hand, 

His  business  with  its  goodwill. 
ADOLPHUS  mourned  his  father  gone, 

But,  like  a  man  of  grit,  he 
Resolved  at  once  to  carry  on 

The  business  in  the  City. 
To  Coleman  Street  he  seemed  to  grow 

A  sort  of  mould-of-form  man  ; 
He  was  wrapped  up  in  wool,  and  so 

Was  quoted  as  a  warm  man. 
When  things  were  slack,  when  things  were  firm, 

In  dull  times  as  in  full  trade, 
He  was,  if  I  may  use  the  term, 

Bell  wether  to  the  wool  trade. 
This  man  of  fleeces  earned  his  wealth : 

He  never  stooped  to  fleece  us  ; 
In  open  ways,  and  not  by  stealth, 

He  grew  as  rich  as  CRCESUS. 
And  all  men  thought  and  spoke  him  fair, 

Especially  the  poor  folk. 
He  had  a  house  in  Belgrave  Square, 

And  leased  a  place  in  Norfolk, 
And  though  he  rarely  took  the  life 

Of  partridge  or  of  pheasant, 
His  own— he  had  a  charming  wife- 
Was  moderately  pleasant. 

At  last  there  came  a  day  when  politics 

Grew  mixed,  and  a  majority  that  seemed 

Firm  as  a  rocky  cliff  came  crashing  down. 

Thereafter  there  was  hurrying  to  and  fro, 

And  rumour  followed  rumour  till  suspense 

Could  bear  no  further  burden,  and  at  last 

The  King  dissolved  his  Parliament,  and,  lo  ! 

The  writs  went  flying  forth  through  all  the  land. 

Then  Councils  and  Associations  met ; 

Three  Hundreds  in  their  customary  halls, 

With  their  array  of  usual  Presidents, 

Passed  party  resolutions,  and  at  once 

Adopted  candidates  and  faced  the  foe. 

To  his  surprise — he  mentioned  that  surprise 

In  his  address— ADOLPHUS  BUFFERTOP, 

A  pillar  of  our  staple  industry, 

Was  made  a  candidate.    He  had  not  hoped, 

He  said,  for  so  much  honour;  yet  he  felt 

At  such  a  crisis  every  man  must  give 

All  that  he  could  of  energy  and  time 

To  save  the  State,  himself  among  the  rest. 

Wherefore,  he  said  (it  is  the  common  form), 

He  was  prepared  to  leave  no  stone  unturned, 

Lest  haply  there  might  lurk  beneath  that  stone 

A  chance  of  triumph  ;  he  had  placed  his  hand 

Swift  to  the  plough,  and  would  not  cast  a  look 

Behind  him  ;  if  his  friends  would  only  march 

Shoulder  to  shoulder,  casting  feuds  aside, 

Nothing  could  stop  them:    they  were  bound  to 

win. 

Thereon  he  took  his  cheque-book  and  subscribed 
To  fifteen  cricket  clubs,  to  twenty-three 
Dissenting  chapels,  sixteen  Church  bazaars, 
Twelve  football  clubs,  and  presently  became 
Oddfellow,  Buffalo,  and  Heart  of  Oak, 
Free  Gardener,  Loyal  Shepherd,  Forester, 
And  Ancient  Druid  and  much  else  beside  ; 
And  having  platformed  here  and  platformed  there, 
And  spoken  neither  wisely  nor  too  well, 
Was  in  the  end  triumphantly  returned 
Head  of  the  poll,  and  so  the  land  had  peace. 

R.  C.  3 

(To  be  continued.) 


OCTOBER  9,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


255 


Irish  Porter  (thrusting  his  head  into  a  compartment  as  the  train  stops  at  small,  dingy,  ill-Vt  country  station).  "  Is  THUR 

ANNYBODT   THEBE   FOE,   HERE?" 


OCTOBER  9,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


257 


Girl.  "Two  PORKS  AND  APPLE  SAUCE — IN  THE  CORNER,  I  THINK." 
Waiter.  "No,  NO!    THAT'S  A  CURRIED  LIVER  AND  A  DEVILLED  BONE!" 


THE  FLOWER  OF  CHIVALRY;  OR,  REAL  AND  IDEAL. 


WITHIN  a  greeny  bower 
loofed  by  a  twisted  tower, 
I  A  morbid  maid, 
In  silk  arrayed, 
iloped  o'er  a  pale-eyed  flower. 

ller  sad  robe,  flowing  wide, 
Vith  pearly  cords  was  tied, 
Her  gold,  gold  hair, 
In  rivers  rare, 
'lowed  down  on  either  side. 

nth  languid  grace  she  prest 
'he  pale  flower  to  her  breast, 

i  And  threw  her  eyes 

i  Up  to  the  skies 
a*gold  and  purple  drest. 

IOVALOTTE  was  she  night 
nd  many  a  noble  knight 
Had  shook  with  fear 
When  she  drew  near, 
or,  ah,  she  was  a  sight ! 

nd  one  fair  morn  there  came 

noble  knight  whose  name 

Was  LANCE-A-LOTTE, 

And  he,  I  wot, 

'  any  knight  was'game. 


Fair  LOVALOTTE  'gan  he 
To  woo  on  bended  knee, 
His  head  he  bowed 
And  five  times  vowed 
Her  love-lord  he  would  be. 

But  when  ef  tsoons  he  traced 
LOVALOTTE'S  morbid  taste, 

He  held  it  crime 

That  she  her  time 
In  such  drear  way  should  waste. 

And  'gan  he  to  insist 

That  she  should  straight  desist. 

But  she  replied, 

With  wild  eyes  wide  : — 
' '  I  am  an  Idealist !  ' ' 

Then  LANCE-A-LOTTE  fell  sad, 
For  that  too  late  he  had 

Discovered  she, 

His  wife  to  be, 
Was  little  short  of  mad. 

Inclined  he  did  not  feel 

To  take  a  wife  Ideal, 
Who  moped  in  bower 
O'er  pale-hued  flower, 

And  sniffed  at  what  was  Real. ' 


So  from  his  casque  he  snatched 
A  one-eyed  flower  that  matched 

That  to  which  she 

Had  come  to  be 
So  very  much  attached. 

Down  on  his  knees  he  prayed 
This  Idealistic  maid 

Would  in  her  bower 

Caress  his  flower 
Until  its  bloom  did  fade. 

"  When  I  will  come,"  he  cried, 
' '  And  claim  thee  for  my  bride ! ' ' 

Then  LANCE-A-LOTTE 

From  LOVALOTTE 
Away  did  swiftly  ride. 

Bat  still  in  greeny  bower, 
Roofed  by  a  twisted  tower, 

That  morbid  maid 

In  silk  arrayed 
Mopes  o'er  her  lover's  flower. 

Nor  recks  the  morbid  maid 
The    trick    that    knight    had 

But  wonders  why,       [played, 

As  years  go  by, 
That  flower  will  never  fade. 


The  truth,  then,  to  reveal: 
"  To  maiden  so  Ideal," 

Said  LANCE-A-LOTTE, 

"  Give  I  can  not 
A  flower  that 's  grossly  Real !  " 

So  in  that  greeny  bower, 
Until  her  dying  hour, 

That  morbid  miss 

May  fondly  kiss 
That  artificial  flower. 

L'Envoi. 

This  chivalric  romance 
I  further  will  enhance 

By  one  or  two 

More  words  to  you 
Of  deep  significance. 

A  wife  filled  with  "  Ideals  " 
Seldom  to  man  appeals — 

He  likes  to  feel 

That  someone  Real 
Will  superintend  his  meals  ! 
W.  H.  M. 

A  NOTE  TO  SPORTSMEN. — The 
real  good  game : —  A  cricket 
bat-tue. 


258 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


LIPTON    UNLIMITED. 

PRIDE  of  Britannia's  element  (the  Ocean), 
At  what  incredible  expense  and  pains, 
Sir,  you  have  roused  to  maritime  emotion 
The  Viking  in  our  veins  ! 

Mixed  nature,  like  the  versatile  Phoenician, 
Blending  with  trade  the  instincts  of  a  tar, 
You  keep  intact  that  mercantile  tradition 
"Which  made  us  what  we  are  ! 

Reared  on  a  fundamental  base  of  tea-leaves, 

Your  tower  of  fortune  scales  the  arduous  sky, 
Till  on  the  Hook  off  which  your  copper  keel  heaves 
Two  Worlds  have  fixed  their  Eye. 

Not  since  the  heirs  of  freedom  fairly  shivered, 

Waiting  upon  Trafalgar's  great  sea-test, 
Has  England's  universal  marrow  quivered 
With  such  a  strange  unrest. 

With  flaming  cheeks  or  else  unearthly  pallor, 

Our  youth,  recalling  NELSON'S  brilliant  fight, 
Couples  that  Viscount's  mention  with  the  valour 
Of  THOMAS  LIPTON,  Knight. 

I  have  known  public  men  of  light  and  leading, 

Accustomed  at  ephemeral  themes  to  scoff, 
Turn  absolutely  giddy  just  with  reading 

The  pregnant  phrase — THEY'RE  OFF! 

People  of  irreligious  mind,  whose  nerve  is 

Such  that  they  never  know  when  they  have  sinned, 
Gravely  perused  the  Church  of  England  Service 
To  find  a  prayer  for  wind. 

We  loathed  the  breeze  too  light  to  lift  a  feather, 

Longed  for  the  spanking  kind  which  you  prefer, 
And  asked  why  what  is  known  as  Shamrock  weather 
Seemed  never  to  occur  ! 

Upsprang  at  last  a  twenty-knotted  blizzard, — 
Lee-rails  awash  beneath  the  scudding  brine  ; 
And  hope  pervaded  every  patriot's  gizzard, 
Warming  his  blood  like  wine. 

Fathers,  unused  to  these  nocturnal  capers, 

Up  perilous  suburban  chimneys  clomb 
To  see  your  efforts  told  by  halfpenny  papers 
On  the  recording  bomb. 

Infants,  neglecting  early  bed  and  bottle 

To  play  their  part  in  this  historic  scene, 

Would  watch  the  preconcerted  signals  mottle 

Old  Thames  with  red  and  green. 

Sharp  envy  overtook  the  moon  at  rising  ; 

A  myriad  counter-fires  usurped  the  view  ; 
So  many  took  this  chance  of  advertising 
Their  wares  as  well  as  you. 

From  height  to  answering  height  the  signs  went  streaming, 
From  "  Hampstead's  swarthy  moor  "  to  Wrekin's  pile, 
Till  "  the  red  glare  on  Skiddaw  "  set  blaspheming 
"  The  burghers  of  Carlisle." 

Bear  up  !  Sir  T.  ;  remember  BRUCE'S  spider  ; 

Build  further  Shamrocks  through  the  coming  years  ; 
Virtue  like  yours,  though  long  retirement  hide  her, 
Ends  in  the  House  of  Peers  ! 

O.  S. 


THE  LAST  SOUND  OF   SUMMER. 

["To  the  great  relief  of  many  an  inhabitant  of  the  outer  ring  of  Loni 
the  voice  of  the  '  beanfeaster '  will  for  the  winter  be  no  more  heard  in 
land.    No  reasonable  person  objects  to  the  myriads  enjoying  themselves  ; 
every  reasonable  person  has  cause  to  complain  when  they  assume  to  th< 
selves  a  sole  proprietorship  in  the  gospel  of  noise." — Westminster  Gaze 
September  20th.] 


SUMMER  has  flown ! 

Her  sunny  smiles 
No  more  are  known 

In  British  Isles. 
Now  silence  wraps 

The  pebbly  shore, 
And  trippers  traps 

Are  heard  no  more. 

The  straw  hat's  sheen, 

Its  rainbow  band, 
No  more  are  seen 

Within  the  land. 
No  more  one  views 

The  tourist  suit, 
Its  strident  hues 

At  last  are  mute. 

No  more  shall  the 

Excursionist 
By  shrimp  and  tea 

Hold  to  his  tryst 
By  cornet's  strain, 

At  pleasure  willed, 
The  leafy  lane 

No  more  is  filled. 


No  more  is  met 

The  jocund  crew 
With  organette 

Breathed  deftly  throuj 
The  patriot's  cheer 

In  every  street 
Our  sated  ear 

No  more  shall  greet. 

No  more  the  cheap 

O'er-loaded  train 
Shall  southward  creep. 

No  more  the  brain 
Of  working  man 

Shall  be  beguiled 
By  foaming  can 

Of  stout  and  mild. 

Equal  all  men, 

The  Socialist 
Declares  with  pen 

And  thumping  fist. 
On  pleasure  bent 

All  class  is  drown'd ! 
The  argument 

No  doubt  is— SOUND. 


OUR    BOOKING-OFFICE. 

IN  The  History  of  Sir  Richard  Calmady  (METHUEN)  Luc 
MALET  has  produced  the  greatest  work  in  fiction  the  m 
century  has  seen.  That  is  not  saying  much  in  point  of  til 
measurement.  But  it  will  be  remembered  that  within  ti 
space  two  novels  have  appeared  of  which  it  is  boasted  th 
had,  to  begin  with,  a  circulation  of  100,000.  They  are  pt 
things,  of  the  glittering  meritricious  merit  that  attracts  a 
stimulates  the  commonplace  mind  that  likes  to  think  it 
thinking.  Richard  Calmady  may  possibly  not  reach  a  sale 
20,000.  But  it  is  good  work,  its  foundation  deeply  set 
human  nature,  its  structure  shapen  by  skilful  hands.  It 
the  supreme  triumph  of  the  artist  that,  deliberately  selecti 
for  her  hero  a  natural  abortion,  she  conquers  aversion.  Tl 
achievement  is  in  no  wise  due  to  paltering  with  the  subje< 
She  is  even  ruthlessly  insistent  upon  the  actuality  of  t 
deformity  of  her  legless  man,  and  in  many  graphic  touch 
brings  its  horror  home  to  the  mind  of  the  reader  by  descripti 
of  its  momentary  effect  upon  those  in  his  presence.  Yet  i 
Baronite  comes  to  feel  and  understand  with  Honoria  ho 
whether  in  his  good  or  evil  moods,  the  helpless  cripp 
pitying,  hating  himself  by  reason  of  his  deformity,  is  t 
master  spirit  in  whatever  circle  he  finds  himself.  The  coura 
with  which  LUCAS  MALET  grapples  with  the  intrinsica 
disagreeable  motif  of  her  story  is  shown  in  other  directioi 
In  Helen  de  Vallorbes  is  limned  in  flesh  colour  a  courtezan 
fuller  animal  nature  than  any  of  her  sisters  who  live  in  1 
annals  of  Paris  in  Bourbon  days,  or  in  the  records  of  ancie 
Rome.  It  is  curious  how  a  woman  resolved  to  deal  wi 
these  matters  literally  goes  the  whole  hog.  She  dares 
describe  episodes  most  men,  if  they  are  familiar  with  the 
would  rather  not  speak  about.  In  this  respect  GEORGE  MOOl 
not  without  reproach,  is  an  ascetic  scribe  compared  with  Luc 
MALET.  Withal  there  is  a  difference.  LUCAS  MALET  looks  up 
and  thoroughly  understands  a  world  composed  of  bad  and  go< 


OCTOBER  9,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


Without  prurient  intent  she  frankly  deals 
with  one  class.  She  lavishes  her  labour 
on  the  other,  creating  in  Lady  Calmady 
and  Honoria  two  women  whose  sweet- 
ness, purity  and  nobility  of  nature  finally 
clear  the  palate  of  the  nasty  taste  com- 
municated by  earlier  developments  of  The 
History  of  Sir  Ricliard  Calmady, 

The  second  title  of  Mr.  GILBERT 
PARKER'S  novel,  The  Right  of  Way  (HEINE- 
MANX),  should  be,  Or,  When  Charley  came 
to  Chaudiere,  at  which  place  the  aforesaid 
CMrlcy  was  not  everybody's  darling. 
"Nor  is  he  mine  by  any  means,"  quoth 
the  Baron.  Rarely  does  it  happen  that 
a  hero  of  romance  is  invented  so  irritat- 
ing as  this  same  Charley.  The  story,  often 
picturesque  in  description  and  occasion- 
ally dramatic  in  action,  is  for  the  most 
part  dull  to  weariness  ;  yet  just  when  the 
expert  reader  is  beginning  to  follow  the 
example  of  the  tinker  during  the  first  part 
of  the  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  performed  by 
a  nobleman's  private  company  of  his- 
trions,  he  is  aroused  from  his  doze  and 
his  attention  arrested  by  some  telling 
situation  which,  for  a  time,  sets  every- 
thing going  again  brilliantly.  But  'tis 
only  a  flash,  and  then  we  come  to  the  old 
jog-trot  again,  and  so  on  to  the  finish. 
THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


AN   UN-HAPPY  THOUGHT. 
I  STOOD  within  the  City's  hum, 
"Where  slender  clerks  and  merchants  come 

And  go  intent  on  trade. 
The  atmosphere  was  damp  and  brown, 
And  foggy  whirlwinds  up  and  down 

My  spinal  column  played. 

And  past  me  swept  a  human  tide 
Which  gathered  force  from  every  side, 

But  I  observed  it  not. 
The  traffic's  roar  was  in  my  ear, 
The  towering  buildings  far  and  near 

To  me  were  but  a  blot. 

No  sense  had  I  of  weal  or  woe 
(Which  marked  this  hurrying  to  and  fro; 

Another  time  I  might 
I  Have  given  a  philosophic  touch 
|  To  such  a  scene,  for  there  was  much, 
To  ponder  in  the  sight. 

I  But  now  from  me  such  thoughts  as  these 
['Were  far  removed  as  chalk  from  cheese, 

I  only  felt  the  air 
My  frame  was  cutting  through  and  through, 

id  that  I  had  neglected  to 

Put  on  my  winter  wear  ! 


A  DREAM-STORY. 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCH, — A  contemporary  of 
irs  (the  Spectator)  has  been  publishing 
oe  very  remarkable  "Dream-Stories," 
vhich  will,  no  doubt,  do  much  good  in 
irousing  the  interest  of  thousands  in  an 
interesting  subject.     I  think  that  you, 
might    reach    and  influence  a  still 
vider  circle,  therefore  I  venture  to  send 


THE   PURCHASING    LIMIT. 

Mr.  Steinsen  (our  latest  millionaire — after  his  third  fruitless  stalk}.   "Now,  LOOK  HERE,  YOU 

RASCAL  !    IF   YOU   CAN'T   HAVE   THE    BRUTES   TAMER,    I'M   HANGED   IF    I   DON'T   SACK   YOU  !  " 


yov  my  own  somewhat  weird  experiences. 
A  year  ago  last  April  (to  be  strictly 
accurate  it  was  the  night  of  April  the 
first)  I  had  a  most  appalling  dream.  I  am 
perfectly  certain  of  the  night  in  question, 
as  I  keep  a  careful  diary,  and  various 
trivial  events  combined  to  fix  the  exact 
date  in  my  mind.  For  instance,  we  had 
pork-chops  for  supper,  and  my  Aunt 
MARIA  having  threatened  me  with 
nightmare,  I  playfully  ate  a  double  por- 
tion as  a  rebuke  to  her  superstitious 
ideas  ;  for,  as  the  veriest  schoolboy  is 
aware,  no  such  creature  as  the  "night- 
mare "  has  ever  existed.  But  revenons  a 
nos  moutons,  let  me  return  to  my  dream. 

In  the  course  of  the  night  I  had  one  of 
the  most  horrible  experiences  ever  granted 
to  mortal  man.  I  seemed  to  be  struggling 
for  bare  existence  amid  the  blackness  of 


darkness.  Then  came  a  sensation  of 
falling.  Down,  down  I  fell,  but  before 
reaching  the  end  of  that  hideous  fall,  I 
awoke  with  a  shriek,  and  gasping  for 
breath !  All  this  I  noted  in  my  diary,  but 
nothing  happened.  For  a  few  days  I  was 
in  hourly  expectation  of  a  catastrophe, 
but  the  event  gradually  faded  from  my 
mind.  Note  the  sequel !  On  the  first  of 
April  last,  exactly  a  year  after  the  above- 
recorded  dream,  as  I  was  coming  from  my 
bedroom — I  tripped  over  a  loose  end  of 
carpet  and  FELL — fell  down  two  flights  of 
stairs,  covering  myself  with  bruises, 
twisting  my  ankle,  and  remaining  an 
invalid  for  three  months. 

I  may  say  that  I  had  no  thought  of  the 
dream  in  my  mind  at  the  time.     Comment 
is  quite  needless.— Yours  affectionately, 
A  DREAMER. 


[OCTOBER  9,  1901. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  PURSUIT. 
COME  bring  mo  my  weapons,  come  saddle  my  steed 
(Who  hunts  for  DE  WET  must  be  eager  indeed)  ! 
Let  rifle  be  ready  and  trappings  be  trim, 
For  he  whom  we  follow  is  crafty  and  "  slim." 

Bring  waggons,  and  see  that  the  oxen  are  strong— 
The  road  we  must  travel  is  rugged  and  long- 
Critics  load  them  with  victuals,  with  meat  and  with  bread, 
For  I  and  my  soldiers  will  need  to  be  fed. 

And  bring  up  those  tables  and  sofas  and  chairs 
(For  every  contingency  prudence  prepares), 
And  those  kitchen-ranges,  and  then,  let  me  see, 
Those  wardrobes— they  '11  all  come  in  handy,  may  be. 

Harmoniums  bring,  and  pianos  as  well, 
To  lead  the  loud  chaunt  that  our  triumph  shall  swell, 
And  soothe  War's  grim  strife  with  their  comforting  art ; 
Now  on  to  the  chase !  for  we  're  ready  to  start. 

Still  on  !  hurry  on,  for  the  country  we  '11  scour, 

With  an  effort  we  '11  cover  three  miles  in  an  hour  ; 

And  tremble,  DE  WET,  at  our  pitiless  chase, 

For  the  copy-books  say  :  "  Slow  and  sure  wins  the  race." 


THE  "IMS"  QUESTION. 

HAP  Iris  been  written  by  "  a  person  of  no  importance,"  and 
produced  by  a  speculative  manager,  it  is  more  than  probable 
;hat  it  would  have  been  received  with  scant  courtesy  by  a 
first-night  audience,  and  pretty  generally  condemned  by  the 
professional  critics.  But  being  a  play — another  specimen  of 
what  has  been  stupidly  termed  "the  problem  play  " — written 
ay  our  chief  dramatist,  Mr.  PiNERO,  it  has  been  treated  with 
enient  criticism,  with  even  laudatory  notices,  and  has  received 
the  honour  of  an  article  in  the  editorial  type  of  our  leading 
English  journal. 

Mr.  PINERO  has  attempted  to  surpass  himself  by  out-Tan- 
queraying  Tanqueray,  and  he  has  failed,  distinctly  failed.  His 
)lay,  Iris,  at  the  Garrick,  never  once  comes  within  measurable 
.listance  of  his  play,  The  Second  Mrs.  Tanqueray,  at  the  St. 
James's.  Iris  is  admirably  cast,  and,  with  one  exception, 
admirably  played  ;  but  that  exception  is  Iris  herself,  as  repre- 
sented by  Miss  FAY  DAVIS.  Mr.  PINERO,  however,  deliberately 
3hooses  his  own  cast  for  his  own  pieces,  and,  therefore,  it 
must  be  taken  for  granted  that  Miss  FAY  DAVIS  impersonates 
the  heroine  to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  the  author.  He  knows 
what  he  wants,  and  it  is  to  be  supposed  that  what  he  wanted 
he  has  obtained  in  Miss  FAY  DAVIS  for  Iris. 

Charming  as  this  actress  was,  and,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  still  is, 
in  certain  parts  where  the  brightness  and  naivete  of  the  ingenue 
have  to  be  emphasised,  she  seems  quite  overweighted  in  this 
part  of  Iris,  while  her  peculiar  American  mannerism  in  speak- 
ing seems  to  drag  out  to  weariness  a  play  out  of  which  at  least 
an  hour's  talk  could  be  judiciously  excised  to  the  greatest 
possible  advantage.  However,  Miss  FAY  DAVIS  plays  Iris  for 
"  all  she's  worth,"  and  if  Mr.  PINERO  is  pleased  then  the 
public  should  be  satisfied. 

Mr.  OSCAR  ASCHE,  as  the  repulsively^  genial  and  ferociously 
affectionate  Frederick  Maldonado,  a  wfcjtey-brown  Othello,  is 
very  powerful :  were  he  not  so,  the  occasional  nervous  titter 


that  his  action  excites 
unrestrainable  guffaw. 


would  soon  have  burst  out  into  an 


Mr.  CHARLES  BRYANT'S  presentment  of  the  lover,"  Laurence 
Trenwith,  is  a  fine  rendering  of  a  very  difficult  part.  But  they 
are  all  difficult  parts,  and  Mr.  DION  BouciCAULT  triumphs  in  one 
of  the  most  improbable  and  most  unsympathetic  of  them,  Croker 
Harrington,  who  is  simply  a  weak,  contemptible  fool,  permitted 
by  the  author  to  recognise  the  moral  degradation  of  his  foolish- 
ness. As  the  embezzling  solicitor,  Archibald  Kane,  Mr.  JERROLD 


ROBERTSHAW  is  excellent.  To  these  two  actors  and  to  some  of 
the  ladies,  Miss  BERYL  FABER,  Miss  NORA  LANCASTER,  Miss 
REGINA  REPTON,  and  Mrs.  MAESMORE  MORRIS,  are  given  the  only 
lines  probably  intended  by  the  author  to  impart  to  the  general 
conversation  a  spark  or  two  of  the  old  PINERO  brilliancy.  But 
alas  !  it  is  "  the  light  that  failed." 

And  the  plot?  A  rich  young  widow  will  lose  all  her  money 
on  re-marrying ;  so,  while  encouraging  the  familiar  attentions 
of  all  sorts  and  sizes  of  persons,  and  behaving  in  such  a  manner 
towards  them  individually  as  would  most  decidedly  entitle 
each  one  to  consider  himself  alone  as  the  person  of  her  choice, 
she  really  falls  in  love  with  a  penniless  young  man,  and  having 
suddenly  thrown  over  a  millionaire  whom  she  has  accepted,  she 
hurls  herself  into  the  arms  of  the  youth  and  remains  there  as 
the  curtain  falls  on  this  decidedly  strong  situation.  Then  Iris 
and  Laurence  live  together  abroad  ;  but  Laurence  wearies  of 
it,  wants  to  work,  and  after  a  tender  farewell  (a  very  telling 
scene  this — quite  the  best),  he  leaves  her.  In  his  absence  Iris 
loses  all  her  money,  and  is  destitute;  Maldonado  provides  her 
with  means,  and,  to  put  it  plainly,  and  "  come  to  Hecuba"  at 
once,  she  becomes  Maldonado' s  mistress. 

How  she  arrives  at  this  we  partly  see,  as  when  she  uses  the 
millionaire's  cheque-book,  and  partly  hear  from  herself  when 
she  informs  her  lover  on  his  return  what  has  happened  in  his 
absence.  The  lover  won't  marry  her,  and  leaves  the  house. 
Maldonado,  having  overheard  the  scene  between  them,  and 
learnt  the  true  history  of  Mistress  Iris,  to  whom  he  has  offered 
marriage,  goes  half  mad,  assaults  her  and  then  turns  her  out  of 
the  house,  where,  after  the  curtain  is  down  and  Maldonado  has 
finished  smashing  the  "  properties  "  and  had  a  fit  of  apoplexy, 
let  us  hope  that  young  Laurence,  repenting  now  of  his  harsh- 
ness and  injustice,  is  waiting  to  receive  poor  Iris  and  i*eady  to 
take  her  away  to  his  ranch  (it  always  is  a  ranch  nowadays) 
where  they  will  live  happily  ever  afterwards. 

And  this  story  (illustrated  by  the  most  effective  scene  painting 
from  those  "Brother  Brushes,"  Messrs.  HARFORD  and  RYAN) 
takes  from  eight  till  twenty  minutes  past  eleven  to  tell.  Why, 
it  might  easily  and  far  more  effectively  be  done  from  nine  till 
eleven,  and  then  stalls  and  circle  would  come  in  a  far  more 
tolerant  humour  than  at  present,  having  been  able  to  dine 
comfortably.  Ah,  Mr.  PINERO,  give  the  public  a  Third  Mrs. 
Tanqueray,  and  the  audience  (no  "  young  persons  "  present,  ol 
course)  will  sit  it  out  for  three  hours,  enjoying  your  humour, 
the  lights  and  shades  of  your  wit,  and  be  more  than  content. 


SOMETHING  LIKE   A  CURE. 

(Notes  from  the  blank  pages  of  Mr.  Briefless  Junior's  Fee  Book.) 

Doctor's  Orders. — To  be  off  at  once.  No  more  nonsense  about 
"  being  tied  by  the  leg  to  town  and  unable  to  get  away."  Saie 
the  same  thing  for  twenty  years  consecutively.  Not  admissible 
this  year.  Must  go.  Some  place  Switzerlandwards.  Ouchj 
fair,  but  Evian  better.  Great  place  for  "  a  cure  "  Evian. 

En  route. — Started  from  Victoria  at  10  A.M.,  Ostend  I 
Dover)  at  four  or  thereabouts.  The  circulars  and  other  im- 
portant documents  at  the  Temple  must  answer  themselves 
Delightful  to  get  away  from  Fleet  Street  and  three  hundret 
yards  round.  Beautiful  passage.  Luncheon  on  board  the  boa' 
—Rapide  in  name  and  quality — excellent.  The  waves  ruled 
Britannia  as  they  should  be.  English  travellers,  rosy  cheeks 
A  few  foreigners  melancholy  and  inclined  to  demand  the  prc 
sence  of  their  mothers — and  the  steward.  Ever  thus.  Ostenc 
in  sight.  A  third  of  a  mile  or  thereabouts  of  the  Royal  Palact 
Hotel.  Plage,  seen  through  glass,  deserted.  The  season  over 
Giddy  throng  migrating — like  the  swallows — South.  Sooner  o: 
later  the  giddy  throng,  plus  the  swallows,  will  appear  in  Mont* 
Carlo.  Where  the  swallows  will  lose  less  than  their  traveling 
companions,  the  giddy  throng — Douane. 

From  Ostend  to  Ouchy. — First  stage  of  the  journey  extremel; 
pleasant.  Places  secured  in  the  wagon  lit.  A  couple. 


OCTOBER  9,  1901.] 


261 


Colonel  (who  is  taking  a  turn  round  to  sec  how  his  subs  are  getting  along  with  their  road  sketching).   "You  KNOW,  THIS  WON'T  DO.     You 

SHOULD    BE   ABLE   TO   RIDS  ABOUT   THE   COUNTUY,    AND    MAKE   SKETCHES    AS    YOU   GO." 

Jones  (not  getting  along  at  all  nicely,   tliank  you).   "WELL,  SIR,  IF   I  COULD   DO  THAT,  Sin,  I  SHOULD  CHUCK  UP  THE  AIIMY,  AND 

,JOIN    A   C'IKCUS  !  " 


places   vacant.     Compartment  for  four.     Appeal   to   the  con- 
i  ductor.     It  might  be  that  on  arrival  at  Brussels  a  third  occupant 
|  might  enter  the  compartment !     Painful  consideration.     Motto : 
"  Let  us  hope  for  the  best." 

A   Shadow   by   the   Way. — Train  pauses  at  Brussels  for  new 
I  travellers.     Have  a  recollection — or  may  be   an  impression — 
|  that  a  stout  foreigner  sought  admission  to  the  compartment  for 
i!  four  at  Brussels.     I  suggested  to  him  that  it  would  be  incon- 
venient— he  could   see   it  would    be    so — if    he  claimed    full 
privileges  of  his  loagon  lit.     But  he  cried,    "Oh,  I  have  not 
[been  in  bed  for  three  days."     Then  he  undressed  and  retired 
ito  his  berth,  with  the  explanation  that  he  was  "  the  father  of 
|a  family."     Distinctly   embarrassing,    as    the  ivagons   lits   are 
iterided  for  travellers  without  distinction  of  sex.     Impression  : 
ly  have  been  a  dream — a  nightmare.     Still,  as  a  precaution,  as 
3ll  to  see  that  you  have  a  coupe  compartment  for  yourself 
vhen  you  have  not  left  your  better  seven-eighths  at  home, 
lerwisc  railway  travelling  in  Belgium  delightful. 
A  Dinner  on  Wheels. — Turned  into  the  Restaurant  car.     Menu 
and    sound.     Table    d'hote    that    would    satisfy    the 
luirements  of  a  doctor  strong  on  diet.     Sauces  at  a  discount, 
imple  soup.    Simple  fish.    Simple  meat.     Simple  salad.     Wine 
Jo   match.      Simple  and  good.    Prices  —  like    the    banquet — 

enable. 

Thi-ongh  the  Watches  of  the  Night. — Sounds  of  wheels — and,  if 
he  impression  were  more  than  a  dream — the  reverberation 
I  deep  breathings.  "  The  father  of  a  family  "  was  unconscious, 


and  apparently  not  easily  self-awakened.  Every  now  and 
again  the  train  stopped.  A  pause,  a  whistle,  a  melancholy 
sound  on  a  horn — suggestive  of  the  sixpenny  trumpet  of^the 
nursery — and  away  once  more  into  the  darkness.  Basle. 

Breakfast.  —  Everyone  turns  out.  Cafe  an  lait.  Leather- 
lunged  official  shouts  out  various  names.  "  You  can  go  to 
Paris  or  Ostend,  or  Geneva  or  Italy."  Ask  him  a  question. 
The  reply  is  the  same.  Same  voice,  same  shout.  Universal 
answer  to  everything.  You  may  call  him  a  fool.  If  you  are 
irritable  you  will.  Good  time  for  irritability,  8  A.M.,  after  the 
deep  breathings  of  a  fat  father  of  a  presumably  fat  family. 

End  of  the  Journey. — Nine  hours  of  continuous  travel.  The 
nightmare  disappeared.  Fat  father  returned  to  his  presumably 
fat  family.  No  more  deep  breathings.  Sunshine.  Peeps  at-the 
Lac  Leman.  Lovely  scenery.  Better  already.  Not  so  much 
traffic  perhaps  as  in  Fleet  Street.  But  seems  infinitely  more 
beautiful.  At  any  rate  for  a  while.  Road  too  not  up.  Possibly 
because  chief  highway  is  a  water-course.  But  certainly  Fleet 
Street  for  scenery  not  a  patch  on  Lac  Leman.  More  miles, 
more  peeps.  Ouchy.  Programme :  rest  for  twenty-four  hours 
to  recover  from  nightmare,  and  then  across  the  lake  to  Evian — 
and  the  cure. 

Parting  reflections  (made  on  watching  the  moonlight  shining  on 
the  scenery).  Mountains  of  silver !  Twinkling  lights  in  fairy 
palaces  !  Trees  with  golden  leaves  and  jewelled  shrubberies  ! 
Ships  passing  in  the  night !  Dreamland  !  Beautiful !  Lovely 
beyond  compare  !  Far  finer  than  Fleet  Street ! 


262 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[OCTOBER  9,  1901. 


Paterfamilias  (who,  in  Jionour  of  Master  Tom's  birthday,  has  opened  a  bottle  of  the  Royal  Sherry],   "  IN  EVERY  WAY  A*  MOST  EXCELLENT 
WINE.     IT  QUITE  CLINGS  TO  THE  GLASS."  Master  Tom.   "MiNE  DOESN'T!" 


THE  NEWEST  JOURNALISM. 

["  The  Daily  Express  publishes  the  progress  and 
results  of   the  America   Cup   Races  by   means  of 
explosive  bombs '  and  coloured  lights  '  visible  for 
twenty  miles  round.'  "J 

Ox  an  autumn  evening  in  the  year  1902, 
bhe  Londoner  and  the  Country  Cousin 
were  strolling  together  along  the  Em- 
bankment. 

"I  thought  so,"  observed  the  Country 
Cousin,  as  a  dull  booming  sound  filled  the 
air,  "  I  said  we  should  have  thunder 
before  long. ' ' 

"Thunder?"  cried  his  friend,  "that's 
not  thunder — it 's  a  signal  gun  from  one 
of  the  newspaper  offices.  Haven't  you 
heard  of  the  new  plan  of  publishing  the 
latest  intelligence?  Look!"- — as  he  spoke 
a  shower  of  many-coloured  rockets  leapt 
towards  the  sky  —  "that's  from  the 
Sparkler."  (Boom  !  Bang  !  Crash  !  came 
explosions  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
Strand.)  "Ah,  and  there's  the  Screech- 
Owl'  s  latest  starting  prices." 

"But,"  gasped  the  Country  Cousrtj, 
half-stunned  by  the  deafening  explosions^ 
which  increased  in  frequency  each 
minute,  "  how  on  earth  do  you  know  what 
those  noises  mean  ? 

The  Londoner  produced  a  small  volume 
from  his  pocket.  "  Got  them  all  down  in 
this  code,"  he  said.  "There!  see  that 
Bengal  light?  that  means  "—he  turned 


over  the  pages  hastily — "  that  means — oh, 
confound  it !  that  Niagaras  have  dropped 
another  couple  of  points — and  my  broker 
said  they  were  safe  to  rise  !  " 

At  this  moment  a  succession  of  roars 
from  a  steam-siren  drowned  his  voice, 
and  a  salvo  of  artillery  went  off  (appar- 
ently) just  behind  the  Country  Cousin's 
back. 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  and 
is  all  your  news — 

"The  German  Emperor 's  made  another 
speech!  "  shouted  the  Londoner,  looking 
intently  at  his  signal-book,  "  and  the  fore- 
cast for  to-morrow  is  westerly  winds, 
unsettled,  and — hi !  look  out !  ' ' 

As  he  spoke  a  shower  of  "golden  rain  " 
descended  upon  the  Country  Cousin's  head 
from  a  passing  fire-balloon. 

"Of  all  the  fiendish  ideas,"  spluttered 
the  Country  Cousin,  "  which  ever  — 

"  Oh,  it 's  all  right! "  said  the  Londoner, 
cheerfully,  "  that  signal  says — by  the 
way,  isn't  your  coat  on  fire  ? — that  Jessop 
has  got  another  century  !  " 

A  flash  like  lightning  blinded  their  eyes 
and  caused  the  Country  Cousin  to  stagger 
Backwards.  The  Londoner,  however,  re- 
nmned  unmoved. 

'^SThat  's  from  the  Upper  Ten  office,"  he 
said,\ "  to  tell  us  that  the  Duke  of 
PEPPE&CORN  has  left  for  Scotland.  And 
those  guns  mean  that  Mr.  ABLE  has 
finished  the  ninety-second  chapter  of  his 


new  book,  The  Everlasting  Suburb.  Grand 
system,  isn't  it?  All  the  latest  news,  you 
see,  and  nothing  to  pay !  " 

' '  Take  me  home !  ' '  said  the  Country 
Cousin  piteously ;  "for  goodness  sake,  take 
me  home !  I  'm  deafened,  blinded,  stunned 
— oh  !  what  in  the  world  is  that  ?  ' ' 

He  pointed  to  the  sky,  which,  in  the 
direction  of  Fleet  Street,  had  become  a 
vivid,  ghastly  green. 

"Oh,  that?"  returned  his  friend  with 
some  contempt ;  that 's  only  the  coloured 
fire  they  burn  every  night  on  the  top  of 
the  Sturdy  Patriot  office.  It 's  a  signal, 
of  course,  and  it  means  '  the  South 
African  War  is  now  practically  over.'  " 

A.  C.  D. 


MR.  PUNCH'S  MUSEUM. — "  Interior  of  a 
Third-class  Smoldng  Carriage  on  a  Suburban 
Railway."      Noticeable  for  a  thoughtful 
recommendation  to  passengers  not  to  put 
their    feet    on    the   cushions,    with    the 
quaint    explanation    added,    in    another] 
hand,     "Or      they      will      dirty      their! 
boots."        It    contains    also    character- 
istic   examples    of    nineteenth     century 
wit,     viz.,    the    inscriptions  : — "  To    Kat 
Five  Persons,"     and     "  Wait    Until    the 
Rain    Stops."      This  exhibit    has    been) 
thoroughly  disinfected,   and  may  be  in- 
spected at  a  safe  distance  without  feaj 
of  consequences. 


n 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI —OCTOBER  9,  1901. 


THE   KEVEKSE   OF  THE   MEDAL! 

OR,  PAY  DEFERRED  MAKETH  THE  HEART  SICK. 

RECRUITING-SERGEANT  BRODRICK.  "NOW,  MY  MAN,  YOU  LOOK  HARD  UP.  WHY  DON'T  YOU  JOIN  THE 
IMPERIAL  YEOMANRY?" 

EX-YEOMAN.  "  THANK'EE,  I  'YE  BEEN  THERE  BEFORE,  AND  HAVEN'T  GOT  MY  MONEY  YET  !  JUST  GOING 
TO  POP  MY  MEDAL  !  " 


OCTOBER  9,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OK  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


263 


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260 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[OCTOBER  9,  1901. 


THE  TRIALS  OF  AUTHORSHIP ; 
OR,  LITERATURE  AS  SHE  is  NOW  WROTE. 
SCENE — A  Publisher's  sanctum.     To  those 
who  are  unacquainted  with  this  sacred 
apartment    a  description   is    impossi- 
ble;   to   those   who  are,    unnecessary. 
A  publisher  is  gracefully  sitting  in  an 
armchair  making  .desultory  notes  in  a 
14  tastefully"   bound  book.    Enter  an 
Author,  nods  affably,  to  Publisher,  who 
greets   him  with  a  certain  restraint. 
Author  sits  nervously,  a  sickly  smile 
flickers  on  his  lips  and  goes  out  under 
the  severe  scrutiny  of  the  Publisher. 
Publisher.  You  received  my  note  ? 
Author.  Yes,  I  came  as  you  requested, 

n  reply 

Publisher  (pursing  his  lips).  It's  a 
serious  business.  This  last  book  of  yours 
has  fallen  absolutely  flat.  It 's  a  hope- 
ess  fizzle. 

Author  (greatly  alarmed).  Really,  I 
jan't  understand  it. 

Publisher  (in  brisk,  matter-of-fact  tones). 
Of  course,  the  book  is  a  dead  loss  as  it 
tands.    Something  must  be  done. 
Author.  We  made  a  great  mystery  of 
he  authorship,  too. 

Publisher.  Yes,  but  I'm  afraid  that  kind 
if  thing  is  played  out. 
Author  (in  the  spirit  of  a  bright  sugges- 
ion).  1  was  thinking — if  it  could  be  "cur- 
ently  reported  that  a  titled  lady  had 
lictated  it  to  her  cook  through  the  tele- 
hone." 

Publisher.  But  you  did  that  with  your 
Sentimental  Servant  Girl. 
Author.    True.        (Sits      abashed       but 
houghtful.) 

Publisher.  Perhaps  you  don't  write 
if  ten  enough  to  the  papers.  How  are 
he  drains  in  your  district?  Can't  you 
nake  them  a  subject  of  complaint? 

Author.  1  'm  afraid  not.  I  'm  on  the 
Vestry. 

Publisher.  Haven't  you  a  new  theory 
;o  end  the  war  ? 

Author.  Not  ready.  I  've  given  advice 
;o  all  the  Generals,  and  severely  cen- 
sured the  Commissariat. 

Publisher.  Yes.  That  did  a  little  for 
your  Travels  with  a  Typeiuriter.,  What 
about  being  taken  ill  at  the  theatre  ? 

Author  (dejectedly).  Last  time  I  did 
that  it  was  misunderstood,  and  I  was 
turned  out  for  being  disorderly. 

Publisher.  Yes,  I  am  afraid  there  was 
a  little  mismanagement  somewhere. 
Couldn't  you  keep  a  tiger  in  \your 
garden  ?  \ 

Author  (toith  great  trepidation).  Poor 
TYPER  bought  what  was  supposed  to  be  V 
tame  giraffe,  to  give  his  last  book  of  verse 
a  fillip,  and,  if  you  remember,  it  ate  him. 
Publisher  (toith  professional  pride).  Yes, 
but  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing 
before  he  died  that  the  third  edition  of 
his  stuff  was  completely  exhausted.  It 
established  a  record  in  minor  verse.  - 


Author  (encouragingly).  I've  got  a  motor 
car. 

Publisher  (with  contempt).  So  has  every- 
body. (With  sudden  inspiration.)  Will  it 
blow  up  ? 

Author.  I — I  hope  not. 

Publisher.  'iThink  how  it  would  send  up 
your  book  ! 

Author.  Yes,  but  I  should  go  up  with  it. 

Publisher  (impatiently).  Of  course  there 
is  that' possibility.  Couldn't  you  manage 
a  little  inexpensive  law  suit  ? 

Author  (with  gloomy  countenance  at  past 
recollections).  The  last  one  nearly  landed 
me  in  prison  and  cost  an  enormous  amount. 

Publisher.  You  were  unfortunate  in  your 
counsel.  Well,  something  must  be  done. 
I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  fall 
down  a  coal  mine. 

Author  (hopelessly).    Well,  if  I  must,  I 
must ;  but  (with  a  piteous  appeal)  I  have 
only  just  recovered  from  falling  out  of  a 
balloon  to  boom  my  last  book  ! 
(Scene  closes.) 


HYDE  PARK  AND  THE  FAIRY. 
II.— MY  SECOND  ENCOUNTER. 

BAYSWATER  had  broken  out  into  an 
epidemic  of  ladders  and  paint-pots,  and  it 
was  grateful  to  turn  into  Kensington 
Gardens  with  its  fluttering  leaves  and 
nuttish  atmosphere.  Besides,  I  was 
anxious  to  flnd  my  friend  the  fairy  again, 
and  remove,  if  possible,  the  bad  impression 
I  had  left  the  other  day.  I  sauntered 
along  by  the  fountains  —  which  were  in 
a  state  of  autumnal  somnolence  —  and 
watched  for  a  sign  of  the  blue-eyed  elf. 
A  duck  waddled  solemnly  across  the  path 
into  the  grass  beyond,  and  there  was  a 
cold,  cynical  look  about  its  glance,  as  if  it 
wondered  who  could  be  foolish  enough  to 
look  for  fairies  when  worms  were  to  be 
had.  I  followed  the  duck  idly,  and  moved 
my  stick  to  flick  away  the  petal  of  some 
flower  that  was  clinging  to  my  sleeve. 

"I  wish  I  could  see  the  fairy!"  I 
murmured  disconsolately. 

The  petal  floated  away  from  my  stick  on 
to  the  ground,  and  two  bright  eyes  shone 
up  at  me.  "Then  why  didn't  you  stand 
in  a  fairy-ring  before  ?  " 

"I  had  quite  forgotten  about  these 
things,"  I  said,  looking  down  in  ashamed 
surprise.  "  Of  course,  when  I  was  a  kiddy 
I  knew  all  about  fairy-rings,  but  as  one 
grows  older " 

"You  shouldn't  grow  older,"  said  the 
fairy  seriously.  "That's  where  most 
mortals  make  the  mistake;  it's  easy 
enough  to  remain  young  if  you  wish. 
There,  for  instance  (pointing  towards  a 
^seat),  is  a  child  who  never  grew  up." 
\I  followed  the  fairy's  flourish  and  saw 
an  old  woman  with  white  hair  and  de- 
crepit form. 

"Bah!"  said  the  fairy,  noticing  my 
expression,  "  don't  look  at  the  outside, 
look  into  her  eyes!  interpret  her  smile. 


A  child,  I  tell  you,  who  knows  as  much 
about  us  now  as  she  did  when  she  wore 
short  frocks,  and  when  we  used  to  play 
tricks  with  her  tangled  chestnut  hair. 
Now  don't  pull  that  long  face — tell  me, 
don't  you  think  we've  been  working 
hard?" 

I  looked  up  at  the  trees,  and  the  truth 
uddenly  flashed  upon  me. 

"Yes,  the  invisible  painters  have  been 
working  splendidly ;  what  pigment  do 
you  use  to  get  that  wonderful  burnish  of 
jrolden-brown  ?  ' ' 

"A  fairy  secret,"  laughed  the  elf. 
"But  you're  improving.  Really,  you 
look  twenty  years  younger  now.  I  think, 
however,"  she  added  reflectively,  "we 
shall  have  to  send  a  message  to  the  frost- 
goblin  soon.  He  's  rather  spiteful  some- 
times, but  he  brightens  up  the  trees  when 
they  are  inclined  to  mope,  and  they  grow 
quite  scarlet  with  excitement  in  their 
foliage  tips  when  he  plays  at  hide  and 
seek." 

"  Take  care,"  I  exclaimed  irrelevantly, 
as  the  excursionising  duck  waddled  along 
right  in  the  way  of  the  fairy. 

"I  'm  all  right,"  nodded  the  elf,  and  sure 
enough  the  duck  bore  round  elaborately 
to  the  left  just  before  it  came  up  to  us. 

"Uninteresting  birds,"  I  murmured, 
watching  the  ungainly  intruder. 

"Now  don't  grow  old  again!"  ex- 
postulated my  little  friend.  "You  were 
quite  nice  and  young  a  moment  ago. 
Uninteresting,  you  think.  If  you  heard 
the  stories  they  tell  the  peacocks  about 
what  happens  in  the  Park  and  Gardens 
every  day  you  wouldn't  thing  so." 

"  I  should  like,"  I  began — then  started 
with  a  sudden  recollection.  "  Oh  dear,  I 
must  hurry  away  now.  I  have  to  report 
some  afternoon  lecture — very  dull — but  a 
journalist,  you  know — 

"Yes;  it's  very  unfortunate,"  sighed 
the  fairy. 

"  Of  course,"  I  added  in  self-defence, 
"  journalism  is  a  splendid  profession  in 
many  ways.  It  quickens  the  intelli- 
gence  ' ' 

"  So  I  observed,"  said  the  fairy  dryly. 
"There,  don't  look  so  cross.  Come  back 
another  day — feeling  young,  mind  you. 
Choose  a  fairy-ring  and  wish  to  hear  the 
Story  of  the  One-eyed  Duck.  Then — even 
if  I  'm  not  about  here,  and  I  've  promised 
to  go  down  to  Bethnal  Green  to-morrow — 
you  will  flnd  that  you  will  have  to  revise 
your  opinion  as  to  ducks.  Goodbye." 
A  light  breeze  whirled  away  what  looked 
like  a  saffron  leaf.  My  fairy  friend  had 
vanished,  and  I  stepped  away  briskly, 
speculating  about  the  One-eyed  Duck  and 
anathematizing  the  lecturer. 


OCEANA. — A  curious  fact  in  yachting  :-— 
Whenever  "  blanketing  "  is  done,  it  is  by 
"  sheets."  Does  this  apply  to  the  "  bed  " 
of  the  sea  ? 


OCTOBER  9,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


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268 


PUNCH,  OR  THE 'LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[OCTOBER  9,  1901. 


A     MUCH     INJURED     MAN. 

CHAPTER  II. 

"  AND  have  you  come  for  the  whole  season,  Mr.  BOUNCERBY  ?  " 
asked  the  little  heiress.  She  spoke  in  very  winning  tones,  and 
I  ceased  regretting  her  fair  cousin.  After  all,  does  not 
SHAKSPEARE — or  some  other  fellow — tell  us  that  beauty  is  only 
skin  deep  ?  So  I  made  up  my  mind  to  go  in,  vi  et  armis,  for  the 
rich  Miss  ACRESBY,  and  to  cast  out  all  thought  of  the  other. 

GADSBY  had  told  me  the  heiress  had  her  penniless  cousin 
living  with  her  as  a  sort  of  paid  companion.  A  very  good 
berth  of  it  she  must  have,  thought  I,  as  I  looked  at  the  fault- 
lessly cut  habit  she  wore,  and  the  glorious  piece  of  horseflesh 
she  was  riding. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  in  deliberate  tones,  "I  think  I'll  stay  the 
season  through.  This  seems  a  very  decent  sort  of  country, 
though,  of  course,  it's  not  Leicestershire,"  I  added,  as  I 
smiled  down  on  her. 

"Oh,  you've  been  accustomed  to  hunt  in  Leicestershire?" 
she  asked.  "Then  I'm  afraid  you  won't  care  much  for  this. 
What  hounds  did  you  go  with,  there  ?  " 

Well,  that  was  rather  a  stupid  thing  for  her  to  a^k,  because, 
as  a  matter  of  detail,  I  hadn't  ever  hunted  in  Leicestershire. 
But  I  passed  it  ^off  with  a  gentle  smile.  Then  she  asked 
another  stupid  question.  "  How  many  horses  have  you  brought 
here  ?  We — my  cousin  and  I — have  only  five  between  us,  but 
we  are  going  to  have  as  much  fun  out  of  them  as  we  can." 

Now,  I  naturally  didn't  want  to  say  that  my  stud — that,  in 
fact,  I  was,  at  that  precise  moment  of  time,  sitting  on  my 
stud;  so  I  remarked,  enigmatically,  "A  man  may  have  a  good 
many  horses,  but  he  may  not  have  them  all  with  him,  eh  ?  " 

Whereupon  she  smiled — probably  wondering  what  the  deuce 
I  meant.  I  didn't  quite  know,  myself. 

Meantime,  GADSBY  was  making  himself  extremely  agreeable 
to  the  companion.  Awfully  good  of  GADSBY,  really.  Then 
hounds  came  tumbling  out,  on  the  line  of  a  fox,  and  we  all 
prepared  for  the  coming  gallop. 

Slowly  at  first,  they  puzzled  it  out,  then  gradually  in- 
creasing the  pace,  onwards  they  went  down  a  grass  field  until 
coming  to  a  small  brush  fence.  Over  this  I  led,  and  we  galloped 
on,  across  some  ridge  and  furrow,  I  well  in  front.  I  always  like 
leading  any  field  I  may  find  myself  out  with.  Hate  the  sight 
of  wretched  duffers  afraid  to  ride  over  a  fence.  Always  was 
rather  a  daredevil  of  a  fellow,  but  really  cannot  help  it.  DE 
THODE  tells  me  I  am  awfully  rash  across  country.  Perhaps 
he  's  right.  We  went  on  across  some  half-dozen  fences — some 
of  them  well  over  two  feet  high,  I  should  say— I  found  myself 
still  leading,  and  looking  over  my  shoulder  saw  the  rest  strug- 
~ling  behind  me.  Then  we  came  in  sight  of  a  nasty-looking 
post-and-rails ;  and  I  had,  most  regretfully,  to  pull  up,  because 
I  didn't  think  my  throat-lash  was  quite  tight  enough.  The  way 
those  two  girls  charged  the  obstacle  was  something  awful ;  it 
quite  took  my  breath  away,  and  made  me  feel  nervous— if  that's 
possible.  Now,  I  fancy  I  know  something  about  riding  across 
country;  and  after  I  had  got  the  throat-lash  to  my  entire 
satisfaction,  it  seemed  to  me  rather  a  waste  of  jumping  power, 
to  ride  at  that  post-and-rails.  So  I  cantered  up  the  field  till 
I  reached  an  open  gate,  and  directly  I  was  through  this,  I 
pushed  along  as  fast  as  my  horse  could  go— I  'm  a  pretty  hard 
rider— until  reaching  another  post-a\id-rails,  as  big  as  the 
former  ones.  Then,  as  I  couldn't  see  Anything  of  hounds— 
or  even  of  the  people  following  them-tl  thought  my  most 
sensible  plan  was  to  light  a  cigar,  find  my  -way  on  to  the  high 
road,  and  get  back  to  "  The  George,"  in  time  for  a  comfortable 
luncheon. 

I  was  in  a  bit  of  a  puzzle  to  know  how  to  appear,  next  day, 
at  covert  side  on  the  same  horse  again  without  it  being  noticed. 
So  I  told  my  stud-groom  that  I  had  a  fancy  for  painting  out  my 
horse's  white  face  and  white  forelegs.  He  stared,  and  I  feared 
that  he  would  relapse  into  a  giggle.  But  I  glared  at  him  in 


stony  silence,  and  after  a  momentary  struggle,  the  inclination 
was  conquered,  and  the  danger  past.  He  touched  his  forehead 
with  his  customary  humility,  and  left  the  room. 

Next  day,  hounds  were  at  Gerrard's  Barn,  six  miles  away. 
This  time  I  was  not  late,  and  my  virtue  was  rewarded  by 
falling  in  with  the  two  ACRESBY  girls  on  the  road  to  the  meet. 
Again,  the  "  companion  "  bowed  somewhat  distantly.  "Can't 
get  over  her  shyness,  I  suppose,"  I  said  to  myself.  The  dark- 
eyed  little  lady,  however,  was  as  vivacious  as  ever. 

"Where  did  you  get  to,  yesterday,  Mr.  BOUNCERBY?"  she 
asked,  looking  at  me  quite  archly.  "  We  didn't  see  you 
anywhere." 

"  Oh,  I  took  a  line  of  my  own,"  I  answered  airily. 

"  Capital  gallop,  wasn't  it  ?  "  she  said. 

"Splendid,"  I  replied.  And  then  we  fell  to  discussing  the 
theatres,  new  books,  &c.,  as  we  jogged  easily  along  to  covert- 
side. 

We  had  a  capital  blank  day,  in  which,  there  being  no  hunting, 
flirting  took  its  place,  and  I  thoroughly  enjoyed  myself.  Even 
the  hitherto  coy  "companion"  came  out  of  her  shell,  and  talked 
affably.  I  insisted  on  escorting  them  home  to  the  pleasant 
little  house  they  had  taken,  and  to  my  great  delight,  was  asked 
to  afternoon  tea  on  the  morrow,  which  was  a  non-hunting  day. 
As  I  rode  home,  I  could  plainly  see  what  an  impression  I  had 
made  on  the  heiress,  though,  as  I  have  said  before,  not  at  all 
a  conceited  fellow. 

When  I  went  to  tea — a  function  I  generally  hate,  but  we  men 
must  occasionally  sacrifice  ourselves,  in  order  to  give  the 
women  a  little  pleasure  in  life — I  was  really  quite  charmed 
with  all  I  saw.  The  delicate  Sevres  ,  the  elegant  dresses  of  the 
two  Misses  ACRESBY,  the  silent  footman,  and  the  general  air  of 
wealth  and  luxury,  were  all  grateful,  to  a  man  of  refined  and, 
I  fear,  somewhat  expensive  tastes.  Both  ladies  were  delightful 
as  conversationalists,  and  I  came  away  having  thoroughly  made 
up  my  mind  to  take  the  plunge,  and  marry  the  heiress.  Mar- 
riage, of  course,  is  always  a  pill  to  a  man  ;  so  it  is  as  well  that 
it  should  be  thoroughly  gilded  when  one  has  to  swallow  it. 

For  nearly  a  month  this  pleasant  life  continued.  I  was  asked 
to  dinner,  tea,  and  luncheon,  at  the  ACRESBYS',  and  always 
managed  to  get  in  some  words  alone  with  my  charming  little 
brunette.  At  last  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  time  had 
arrived  to  lay  myself  at  the  feet — figuratively  speaking,  of 
course — of  the  heiress.  I  may  say  that,  being  of  a  prudent 
nature,  I  had  already  made  enquiries  as  to  the  extent  of  that 
lady's  fortune,  and  found  that  the  sacrifice  of  liberty  would 
be  well  worth  my  while,  from  a  financial  point  of  view.  That 
Miss  ACRESBY  was  madly  in  love  with  me  there  could,  of 
course,  be  absolutely  no  doubt.  Well,  I  couldn't  complain.  I 
must  frankly  admit  that  I  had  given  her  a  good  deal  of  en- 
couragement. 

When  a  fellow  encourages  a  girl — and  even  a  look — at  all 
events,  one  of  my  looks,  so  DE  THODE  says — is  sometimes 
sufficient  to  raise  hopes  in  the  female  breast — he  must  be  pre- 
pared to  take  the  consequences — that  is,  he  must  be  prepared 
to  think  seriously  over  the  great  sacrifice.  And  especially 
when  the  man  has  not  a  copper  which  he  can  legitimately 
call  his  own,  and  the  girl  possesses  a  comfortable  number  of 
thousands  which  she  is  able,  and  more  than  willing,  to  cast  at 
his  feet.  This  was,  more  or  less,  the  case  with  me,  and  so  I 
finally  determined  upon  making  the  plunge.  It  would  please 
my  people,  even  if  it  failed  to  amuse  me.  F.  B. 

(To  be  continued.) 


MR.  PUNCH'S  MUSEUM.— "Agenda  Paper  of  Rural  Parish  Coun- 
cil." This  eloquently  blank  sheet  testifies  to  the  happiness 
conferred  upon  country  districts  by  a  grand-maternal  Govern- 
ment, in  that  they  had  no  business  to  transact,  and  nobody  to 
transact  it  if  they  had,  every  British  subject  after  the  American 
annexation  having  been  forced  to  seek  a  livelihood  in  the  towns. 


OCTOBER  9,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


2G9 


REAL  HARD   WORK. 

[The  Times  states  that  the  German  Emperor  has 
ordered  every  architectural  project  of  the  City  of 
Berlin  to  be  submitted  to  him.  ] 
SCKXK — The  Konigliche  Schloss  in  Berlin. 
The    KAISER    at    his    writing  -  table. 
Count  BULOW  awaiting  instructions. 
Count.  And  in  reference  to  the  Bagdad 
railway  terminus  at  Kuweit,  your  Majesty 

desires ? 

Kaiser.  I  desire —  •  (Enter  First  Secre- 
tary, hastily.)  What  is  it  ? 

First  Sec.  Your  Majesty,  it  is  the  design 
for  a  new  house  in  the  Landsberger  Allee. 
Kaiser.  Wait  a  moment,  BULOW.  I  think 
it  will  do.  Only  this  doorway  must  be 
liigher.  So.  With  a  little  more  ornament 
on  the  architrave.  Thus.  It  is  approved. 

As   for   the   Bagdad    railway (Enter 

Second  Secretary.)    What  is  it? 

Second  Sec.  It  is  the  design,  your 
Majesty,  for  a  new  lamp-post  in  the 
Friedrich  Strasse. 

Kaiser.  One  moment  BULOW.  I  don't  like 
this  at  all.  I  will  design  one  myself. 
Give  me  paper,  pencils  and  indiarubber. 
I  wonder  what  sort  of  thing  it  can  be. 
Could  you  suggest  anything,  BiJLOW  ? 

Count.  I  regret  infinitely,  your  Majesty, 
that  I  am  not  endowed  with  any  artistic 
talent  whatever.  Moreover,  I  could  not 
presume  to  assist  so  consummate  an  artist 
as  your  Majesty.  But  perhaps  I  might 
venture  to  suggest  an  Imperial  crown  at 

the  top 

Kaiser.  I  have  it.  There  was  that  table 
ornament  I  designed  for  my  uncle,  King 
EDWARD.  A  sort  of  vase  with  a  crown  on 
it. 

Count.  An  exquisite  design,  your 
Majesty. 

Kaiser.  What  ?  I  thought  you  said  you 
had  no  artistic  talent. 

Count.  None,  your  Majesty,  to  design. 
But  sufficient  to  admire.  No  one,  however 
ignorant  of  art,  could  inspect  unmoved 
that  superb  masterpiece.  And  the  inscrip- 
tion was  equally  admirable.  "  Emperor 
WILLIAM  to  King  EDWARD."  So  original, 
so  concise  ! 

-Kaiser.  True,  BULOW.  I  flatter  myself 
it  was  rather  good.  Very  well,  let  this 
lamp-post  be  the  same.  It  is  approved. 

Count.  In  addition  to  the  Bagdad  rail- 
way, I  would  venture  to  mention  to  your 
Majesty  the  new  tariff,  the  recent  military 
manoeuvres,  the  additions  to  the  fleet— 
(Enter  Third  Secretartj,  very  rapidly.) 
Kaiser.  What  now  ? 
Third  Sec.  It  is  a  design,  your  Majesty, 
for  a  new  dust-bin  for  the  Rathaus. 

Kaiser.  That  won.'t  do.  The  design  is 
quite  Austrian  rococo.  And  the  Rathaus 
is  not  in  that  style  at  all.  Really  the 
Municipality  gives  me  a  lot  of  work. 
Can't  this  design  wait? 

Third  Sec.  Your  Majesty,  it  has  been 
certified  by  Medizinalrat  Hofarzt  Professoi 
Doktor  WERBR  that  the  absence  of  a  dust- 


City  Magnate.   "OF   COURSE  I  DON'T  WISH  TO  STAND  IN  THE  WAY  OF  MY  DAUGHTER'S 

HAPPINESS,    BUT   I   KNOW   SO   LITTLE  OF  YOU,    MR.    HAWKINS.      WHAT  IS  YOUR  VOCATION  ? " 

Mr.   Hawkins  (airily).    "On,    I  WRITS—  ER— POETRY,    NOVELS— ER — PLAYS,   AND  THAI 

SORT  OF  THING." 

City  Magnate.   "INDEED!     MOST  INTERESTING.     AND  HOW  DO  YOU  LIVE?" 


bin  at  the  Rathaus  is  prejudicial  to  the 
public  health. 

Kaiser.  Dear,  dear !  Do  you  think  you 
could  design  this,  BULOW? 

Count.  Unhappily,  yoiir  Majesty,  I  have 
no  experience  whatever.  If  I  might 
venture  to  suggest  that  there  is  your 
Majesty's  architect,  Wirklicher  Geheimrat 
Oberbaumeister  Hofbaurat  Professor 
Doktor  MEYER. 

Kaiser.  Not  he.  I  correct  all  his  designs. 
I  must  do  it  myself.  I  have  to  do  every- 
thing myself.  Sometimes  I  wish  I  could 
have  a  holiday,  like  the  English  Govern- 
ment. A  complete  holiday.  Doing  nothing. 
Wouldn't  you  like  a  holiday,  BULOW  ? 

Count.  Your  Majesty  overwhelms  me. 
If  I  could  have  a  day  off, 

Kaiser.  Well,  you  won't  have  one. 
Nor  shall  I.  No  time  to  spare.  See,  I 
have  designed  it.  A  moveable  dust-bin. 
The  same  shape  as  a  band-box.  The  top 
opens.  It  is  approved.  Now,  BULOW,  as 

to  Kuweit (Enter  Fourth  Secretary.) 

What,  more  plans  ? 


Fourth  Sec.  Yes,  your  Majesty. 

Kaiser.  What  is  this ?  "Green  Park  "  ? 
There  is  some  mistake.  Who  has  dared 
t:>  make  a  mistake  ?  It  is  in  London.  An 
absurd  plan  for  widening  Piccadilly.  Has 
the  English  Government  sent  this  to  me 
because  it  has  gone  for  its  holiday?  If  so, 
I  will  design  it  all  afresh  in  two  minutes. 

Fourth  Sec.  Pardon  me,  your  Majesty. 
It  is  a  possible  amendment  of  the  plan  of 
London  to  be  lodged  in  the  Ministry  of 
War. 

Kaiser.  That  explains  it.  It  is  ap- 
proved. The  English  Government  would 
never  have  time  for  its  two  months 
holiday  if  it  attended  to  such  things, 
even  when  it  was  at  work,  more  or  less. 
I  say,  BULOW,  do  you  play  golf?  Wouldn't 
you.  like  to  go  and  bask  in  the  sun  at 
Bcaulieu  ? 

Count.  Your  Majesty  overwhelms  me. 

Kaiser.  It 's  a  shame  to  chaff  you.  No 
time  even  for  that.  Let 's  settle  about 
Kuweit  before  another  municipal  design 
comes.  H.  D.  B. 


270 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[OCTOBER  9,  1901. 


GOLFING    NOTES. 

["Denmark  is  the  latest  of  the  Continental  nations  to  receive  golf."—  The  Tatl.r.] 


Err  GOLF  MUST  HAVE  FLOURISHED  AT  DENMARK  IN  HAMLET'S  TIME,  JUDGING  UY  THE  ABOVE  REPRODUCTION-  OF  A  VERY  ANCIENT 

MURAL  DECORATION  WHICH  HAS  JUST  COME  TO  LIGHT. 
See  also  Quotation,  Hamlet,  Act  II.,  Scene  2:-".  .  .  DRIVES;  IN  RAGE,  STRIKES  WIDE!" 


WHAT  WE  DO  WITH  OUR  BOYS. 

THE  cab?  Oh— er — yes,  you'd  better 
tell  the  man  to  wait.  Of  course.  And 
tell  Mr.  GREY  I  'm  here  with  my  son — 
Lady  WESSEX.  I  should  like  to  see  him 
as  soon  as  possible. 

Have  you  got  your  watch,  MARJORY  ? 
I  do  hope  these  people  will  be  quick.  I 
know  they  '11  keep  us  waiting  for  ages, 
and  we  shan't  get  back  in  time  for — 
PERCY!  Please,  darling.  Do  sit  down, 
my  pet.  You  go  fussing  about  the  room 
just  like  a  large  blue-bottle.  Remember, 
you've  got  to  be  a  good  boy  now,  and  do 
what  mummy  tells  you,  or  else  I  can't 
let  you  come  to  this  nice  school.  Oh, 
but  it  is,  a  charming  school,  and — my 
darling  boy,  you  C,o  want  to  come.  You 
know  you  do.  Doesn't  he,  MARJORY  ? 
Very  well,  then,  PERCY.  If  you  say  that 
again  I  '11  take  you  straight  back  to 
Fraulein,  and  you  know  you  can't  bear 
her.  Though  I  'm  sure  I  'm  not  surprised, 
you  poor  thing.  It  's  really  most  extra- 
ordinary that  people  who  go  in  for  teach- 
ing are  always  so— so— what 's  the  word, 
MARJORY  ? — 'm  no,  not  formidable,  so — 
er — angular.  So  angular.  Poor  Fraulein 
is  dreadfully  angular,  and  I  'm  sure  this 
Mr.  GREY  will  be  just  the  same,  and  I 
never  know  what  to  talk  to  them  about. 
We've  so  little  in  common,  and  they 
lldget  me  so,  and— PERCY,  you  are  not  to 
play  with  the  blinds.  You  're  sure  to— 
there!  I  told  you  so.  You've  broken  it. 
How  tiresome  of  you.  Now  do  sit  down. 
Yes,  yes,  my  pet,  I  know.  It 's  a  horrid 


bore  waiting;  but  if  you'll  bo  good  I'll 
send  you  some  marrons  glaces  directly  I 
get  home.  That 's  a  dear  boy. 

I  do  wish,  MARJORY,  I  'd  made  your 
father  bring  PERCY  down.  But  he's 
always  so  dreadfully  selfish.  Oh,  why 
don't  they  come.  What  am  I  to  talk  to 
them  about  ?  They  're  sure  not  to  know 
a  soul  we  do,  and — oh,  your  Aunt  GEORGY  ! 
Yes  ;  but  poor  dear  GEORGY  goes  in  for 
knowing  all  sorts  of  extraordinary  people. 
She  always  was  so  different  to  the  rest  of 
the  family,  poor  darling.  And  then,  of 
coiirse,  she  's  quite  mad  about  education. 
You  know  the  way  she  raves  about  FRANK 
CUDDESDEX,  as  if  schoolmastering  was  the 
only  thing  worth  doing.  Though  why  his 
mother  let  him  do  it  I  never  could 
imagine.  Why  ain't  he  a  soldier,  now, 
like  his  brothers  ?  Of  course,  JANE 
always  was  odd.  But  really  !  if  it  was 
trade,  now,  or  acting,  or  even  the  Church, 
one  could  understand.  But — oh,  my 
darling,  you  can't  imagine  anyone  choosing 
to  be  a  schoolmaster.  Fancy  being  tied 
for  life  to  a  set  of  spoilt,  disagreeable 
little — PERCY,  darling,  please  be  quiet. 
Of  course,  if  you  look  at  it  as  a  -way  of 
making  money — oh,  PERCY,  what  is  it  ? 
No,  certainly  not — way  of  making  money, 
it  ain't  a  bad  thing  to  do.  I  'm  sure  this 
Mr.  GREY  charges  enough  ;  though,  of 
course,  really  that 's  rather  a  comfort, 
because  he  must  get  a  nicer  set  of  boys. 
FRANK'S  fees  are  too  absurdly  low.  I  told 
your  aunt  I  couldn't  possibly  send  PERCY 
to  his  school  under  the  circumstances. 
Low  fees  mean  low  everything  else.  Oh, 


Aunt  GEORGY  says  !  Yes,  GEORGY  says — 
but  depend  upon  it,  my  dear,  philanthropy 
and  keeping  a  school  don't  agree.  The 
people  who  charge  most  must  get  the 
nicest  boys,  and  that's  my  one  reason  for 
choosing  Mr.  GREY.  You  know  BOBBY 
GRINSTED  is  here  for  one,  and  that  horrible 
little  COXYERS  boy — here  they  are. 

How  do  you  do,  Mr.  GREY  !     Oh,  no,  not 
at  all,  thanks.     Of  course,  I  know  you  're 
dreadfully    busy.     I  've     been    perfectly 
happy  Avith  my  children.     My  daughter, 
Lady  MARJORY.    And  my    boy — PERCY  ! 
PERCY  darling!     Come   and  talk   to  Mr. 
j  GREY  and  tell  him  how  sorry  you  are  for 
!  breaking  his  blind.     Oh,  but  how  nice  of 
I  you,  Mr.   GREY.    He  's  a  dreadful  little 
fidget,  ain't   you,  my  PERCY  ?    I  do  hope 
you  '11  be  able  to  cure  him,  Mr.  GREY. 
/  can't  manage  it,  and  I've  tried  every- 
thing, haven't  I,  MARJORY  ?    Everything  ! 
Now  who  is  this  ?  Surely  I — ah,  I  thought 
so.    BOBBY  GRINSTED.    How  kind  of  you 
to  send  for  him.     So  like  his  poor  darling 
mother,  MARJORY,  isn't  he  ?    Yes  !     Now, 
PERCV,  my  pet,  run  along  with  BOBBY. 
May  he,  Mr.  GREY  ?    1  'd  like  to— oh,  but 
you  mustn't  say  you  don't  want  to. 

No,  thank  you,  Mr.  GREY.  I  think  I  '11 
just  stay  here,  if  I  may,  and  have  my  little 
talk  with  you.  Sometimes  I  find  PERCY 
dreadfully  fatiguing.  I  can't  think  how 
you — oh,  is  this — how  do  you  do,  Mrs. 
GREY?  Thanks,  yes,  I  am  a  little  tired. 
Your  husband  lias  most  kindly  offered  to 
take  me  over  the  place,  but  I  think,  if 
you  '11  forgive  me,  I  won't.  Then  Mr.  GREY 
and  I  can  have  our  little  talk  in  peace. 


OCTOBER  16,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


271 


THE   LOGICIAN'S   LOVE-SONG. 

WHEN  lovers  toast  their  fancies 

And  eagerly  acclaim 
Their  KATES  and  MAUDS  and  NANCIES, 

Sweet  BARBARA  I  name. 
Unlike  your  maid  contrary, 
Now  fiend,  now  winsome  fairy, 
Her  mood  doth  never  vary — 

She  always  is  the  same. 

Her  nature  is  as  flawless 

As  is  the  morning  star  ; 
She  suffers  nothing  lawless 

Her  premises  to  mar. 
No  follies  can  engage  her  ; 
She  never  trips — I  '11  wager 
No  questionable  major 

Hath  wiles  to  tempt  her  far. 

Were  they  whose  rival  faces 

Old  Ilion's  walls  so  curst 
To  match  their  glorious  graces 

With  hers  for  whom  I  thirst, 
Upon  their  merits  purely 
Might  PARIS  judge  securely, 
For  BARBARA'S  figure  surely 

Must  always  be  the  first. 

PICCADILLY. 

Widening  the  Wide  and  Neglecting  the 

Narrow. 

THE  County  Council  and  the  First  Com- 
missioner of  Works  propose  to  relieve  the 
congestion  of  traffic  in  Piccadilly,  at  the 
extreme  western  and  eastern  ends,  by 
cutting  down  some  trees  and  widening 
the  roadway  in  the  central  part  of  that 
thoroughfare,  where  there  is  never  any 
block  at  all.  This  is  not  a  joke,  as  one 
might  suppose  ;  it  is  the  serious  proposal 
'of  an  official  body  and  an  official  per- 
sonage, who  take  themselves  so  seriously 
that  they  are  quite  incapable  of  seeing 
the  absurdity  of  anything.  Taste  in 
planning  street  improvements  cannot  be 
expected  from  any  municipal  assembly  of 
common-sense  Englishmen.  But  for  such 
body  there  is  one  word  of  magic 
influence,  the  word  "  practical."  If  the 
County  Council  and  their  equally  common- 
lense  ally,  the  First  Commissioner,  would 
Jonsider  it  "  practical  "  to  loosen  a  man's 
»aist-belt  because  his  boots  pinched  him 
md  his  hat  was  not  large  enough,  then, 
Jerhaps,  there  is  something  to  be  said  for 
bheir  amazing  scheme. 

Probably  the  Council  has  its  eye  on 
Mccadilly  as  a  future  tramway  -route, 
^he  extra  width  would  just  accommodate 
he  rails,  and  the  forecourt  of  Devonshire 
louse  would  form  an  ideal  terminal  yard 
nd  starting  place  for  the  electric  tramcars 
o  Hounslow,  to  Hampton  and  to  Hanwell. 
'he  last,  O  Councillors,  is  a  restful  spot ! 
[|f  ever  you  succeed  in  making  that  tram- 
'ay»  you  might  try  a  little  trip  there. 
But  if  you  want  to  be  really  "  practical," 
'hy  not  endeavour  to  begin  the  widening 

VOL.  CXXI. 


,-'• 


-,  - — :-r"-— &'r'i.    '•-- 
- '.  >•-.  -rr-  ^  -"-ri*5-  «•  -»t     — 

~-w*#-  ^4 "" 
-£,?^*  •"' 


A   WISE    PRECAUTION. 

Sportsman  (to  his  wife,  who  is  rather  a  wild  shot]    "  BY  JOVE  !  NELLY,  YOU  NEARLY  GOT  us 

AGAIN,  THAT  TIME  !   IF  YOU  ARE  NOT  MORE  CAREFUL,  I  *LL  GO  HOME  !  " 

Old  Keeper  (sotto  TO  re).   "!T'S  ALL  RIGHT,  SQUIRE.     HER   BAG   is  FULL  OF  NOTHING  BUT 
BLAJK  'UNS  !  " 


of  Piccadilly  at  its  narrowest  part,  between 
Swallow  Street  and  the  Circus  ?  It  will 
be  very  expensive,  but  it  will  have  to  be 
done  some  day.  In  a  few  years,  no  doubt, 
there  will  be  a  Twopenny  Tube — possibly 
even  a  Penny  Pipe— under  Piccadilly. 
Then  the  omnibuses  will  diminish  in 
number  as  they  have  already  diminished 
along  Oxford  Street.  Would  it  not  be 
practical  to  leave  well  alone  until  then  ? 
Why  spoil  what  is,  perhaps,  the  pleasantest 
thoroughfare  of  its  kind  in  Europe  to 
carry  out  a  useless  scheme  which  is  not 
practical  at  all  ? 

And  if  you  want  to  show  still  more 
common-sense,  why  not  apply  to  Parlia- 
ment for  power  to  '.  check  the  ceaseless 
tearing  up  of  London  streets  ?  Instead  of 
widening  roads  of  sufficient  width  at 


present,  why  not  try  to  keep  intact  the 
narrower  ones  elsewhere  ? 

Meanwhile  there  are  rumours,  possibly 
untrustworthy,  that  the  Council,  for  the 
purpose  of  relieving  the  congestion  of 
traffic  at  the  narrowest  part  of  Bond 
Street,  is  about  to  buy  and  set  back  one 
side  of  Portland  Place,  and  so  add  thirty 
feet  to  the  width  of  the  roadway.  It  is 
also  said  that  the  First  Commissioner  of 
Works,  equally  alert  in  the  public  in- 
terest, proposes  to  diminish  the  crush 
of  vehicles  in  Park  Lane  and  Hamilton 
Place  by  cutting  down  the  trees  on 
both  sides  of  the  Broad  Walk  in  Ken- 
sington Gardens,  and  making  that  path, 
stilJ  reserved  for  pedestrians  and  per- 
ambulators, double  its  present  width. 

H.  D.  B. 


272 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[OCTOBER  16,  1901. 


LIVES    OF    GREAT    MEN. 

No.  III.— THE  BIGHT  HONOURABLE  ADOLPHUS  BUFFERTOP,  M.P. 
(Concluded.) 

A  GENIAL  man  was  BUFFERTOP  : 

He  never  put  a  side  on. 
In  Parliament  he  did  not  drop 

The  friends  he  first  relied  on. 

He  worked  upon  a  simple  plan 

Of  modest  self-effacement. 
He  did  not  seem  to  be  a  man 

For  office  or  for  place  meant. 

He  did  not  shine  in  brilliant  deeds, 

But,  like  a  man  of  sense,  he 
Became  devoted  jto  the  needs 

Of  his  Constituency. 

He  knew  his  borough  through  and  through  : 

He  was  amongst  the  rare  men 
"Who  knew  the  Aldermen,  and  knew 

His  Presidents  and  Chairmen. 

And  so  this  vale  of  tears  became 

To  him  a  Vale  of  Tempe, 
A  place  of  joy  that  loved  the  name 

Of  "  BUFFERTOP,  our  M.P." 

His  understanding,  I  confess, 

Was  what  the  world  calls  tacit. 
But,  though  his  talk  was  valueless, 

His  smile  was  quite  an  asset. 

With  smiles  the  man  was  seen  to  glow 

When  other  men  looked  sadly, 
Whenever  things  appeared  to  go 

Immoderately  badly. 

Whate'er  he  felt  when  most  depressed 

By  gloominess,  he  hid  it. 
He  always  tried  to  smile  his  best, 

And  generally  did  it. 

Such  men  are  always  loved  in  Parliament ; 

Their  merits  far  outshine  the  fitful  gleams 

Of^the  uneasy  spirits  who  arise 

Time  after  time  to  catch  the  Speaker's  eye, 

And  rail  at  Governments,  and  hurl  their  shafts 

Of  satire  full  in  an  opponent's  face, 

Saying,  "What  men  are  these  who  thus  conspire 

Against  the  safety  of  our  well-loved  land ; 

These  indolent  and  miserable  men, 

Lapped  in  the  ease  of  great  emoluments, 

Who  see  the  country  totter  to  its  fall, 

And  never  raise  a  hand  to  draw  it  back  ; 

Nay,  rather,  with  a  treacherous  intent, 

Impel  it  to  destruction  ;  wretched  slaves 

Who  proudly  clank  their  fetters,  and  prepare 

Chains  for  the  limbs  of  freedom-loving  men  ?  " 

And  some  men  cheer,  and  others,  in  despair, 

Cry,  "  '\7ide,  'vide,  'vide!  "  or  rise  and  shrike  their  fists, 

Implying  that  the  frothy  orator  \ 

Is  no  whit  better  than  the  men  he  scorns. 

And  some  there  are,  keen  fighters  high  in  place, 

Who,  having  to  expound  a  policy, 

Are  not  contented  to  explain  at  ease 

Their  scheme,  but  turn  upon  the  other  side, 

And  taunt  it,  crying,  "  Lo !  these  men,  who  now 

Oppose  my  policy,  were  once  themselves 

Keen  workers  for  the  end  I  have  in  view. 

They  failed,  and  now  maliciously  they  strive 

Against  MY  POLICY— I  should  say  ours, 


For  it  is  our  united  policy. 

And  we  are  those  that  flinch  not,  but  pursue 

Our  nobler  purpose  with  an  energy 

Higher  than  theirs,  and  with  a  pure  design, 

Which,  by  its  contrast,  makes  their  paltry  schemes  : 

Muddy  and  foul ;  the  true-souled  patriot 

Is  here  upon  these  benches  ;  he  who  speaks 

Knows  what  he  speaks  of."     Then,  with  dauntless  mien, 

Raking  the  Hansard  dust-heaps,  they  contrive 

To  prove  the  Opposition  but  a  mass 

Of  suicidal  inconsistencies ; 

And,  on  the  other  hand,  themselves  appear 

Firm  and  unwavering,  patriotic,  true, 

Devoted  to  their  King  and  fatherland. 

But  BUFFERTOP  held  on  his  way : 

He  was  born  for  the  humdrum  and  stock  work ;  - 
He  came  to  the  House  every  day, 

And  applauded  and  voted  by  clock-work. 

The  record  of  voting  he  burst: 

When  the  lists  had  been  faithfully  reekonedjt 
It  was  found  that  ADOLPHUS  was  first, 

With  a  very  inferior  second.. 

The  knowledge  and  talents  that  were 

The  pride  of  his  friends  in  the  Gity, 
He  joyfully  brought  them  to  bear 

On  the  business  that 's  done  in  Committee. 

And  at  length,  as  the  years  went  along, 

Men  said,  when  they  met  and  discussed  him, 

"  We  don't  say  he  's  brilliant  or  strong, 
But  he  's  safe,  and  we  like  him  and  trust  him. 

"  He  is  never  sarcastic  or  coarse, 

And  he  never  attempts  to  be  funny ; 
But  he  works  every  day  like  a  horse, 

And,  in  fact,  he  's  the  man  for  our  money." 

Every  detail  or  ruling  he  knew, 

No  man  was  so  clearly  a  dab  in  it. 
Till  at  last — which  was  felt  as  his  due — 

He  was  given  a  seat  in  the  Cabinet. 

And  then  in  quick  succession  he  became — 

He  who  was  once  the  wool  trade's  ornament— 

War-Minister,  Colonial  Minister, 

And  lastly  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer 

And  leader  of  the  House  ;  and  men  declared 

No  man  had  ever  led  it  with  a  hand 

So  firm  and  yet  so  pleasantly  applied. 

And  some  wrote  letters  to  the  newspapers 

And  said,  "  We  knew  this  man  in  early  life, 

And  even  as  a  lad  he  showed  the  signs 

Of  greatness,  and  his  brow  was  born  to  bear 

The  wreath  reserved  for  those  who  guard  the  State." 

Such  then  was  BUFFERTOP,  nay  is,  for  still, 

As  all  men  know,  he  lives  and  works  and  smiles. 

And  some  day,  when  his  toil  is  done,  the  KING 

Will  make  him  peer,  and  send  him  to  the  Lords. 

' R.  C,  L. 

FACT  AND  FICTION. — Oh  seeing  the  drama  of  Sherlock  Holn 
at  the  Lyceum,  it  may  have  occurred  to  o'thefs  besides  A 
Punch's  oflBcial  dramatic  critic,  that  the  detention  of  t 
heroine  by  that  unscrupulous  pair  of  villains,  husband  a 
wife,  or  so  representing  themselves,  was  to  the  last  degi 
improbable.  The  situation,  however,  is  justified  by- 
statement  made  by  Mr.  CHARLES  MATHEWS,  prosecuting 
"The  Extraordinary  Charge  of  Conspiracy "  case,  now  ; 
judice,  and  "therefore  not  to  be  commented  upon,'at  Marylelx 
Police  Court. 


OCTOBER    16,    1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


273 


V 


WITH    THEIR    BACK    TO    THE    LAND. 

"  YES,    IT   IS  SAD  TO  SEE  THE  TIDE  OF  RUIN  CREEPING  OVER  SO  MUCH  OF  ENGLISH  LAND,   AND  THE  PEOPLE  TURNING  THEIR  BACKS 
ON  THE  VILLAGES  WHERE  THEIR  FOREFATHERS  HAVE  DWELT  FOR  GENERATIONS." — Mr.  Rider  Haggard  on  the  Land  Question. 


OCTOBER  16,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


275 


DOMESTIC   ECONOMIES. 

The  Kitchen  Garden. 

BY  making  the  lawn  a  sine  qua  non  of 
our  establishment  we  saved  ourselves 
no  end  of  trouble,  as  GWENDOLEN  pointed 
out ;  for  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine 
cottages  in  every  thousand  were  weeded 
out,  as  it  were,  and  the  only  difficulty 
was  to  find  the  thousandth.  "We  pedalled 
many  weary  miles  through  many  weary 
counties,  and  I  was  beginning  to  despair 
of  ever  succeeding  in  the  quest  of  our 
ideal,  when  one  sweet  evening,  after  a 
long  and  fruitless  day  in  the  saddle, 
GWENDOLEN  suddenly  sprang  off  her 
bicycle  and  stood  for  a  moment  motion- 
less, peering  through  a  hole  in  an  oak 
paling. 

"  Eureka !  "  she  cried.  "  Come  and  look 
at  this,  JACK  !  Red  tiles,  gables,  lawn 
and  everything !  " 

"Charming!"  I  cried,  craning  over 
GWEN'S  shoulder. 

"  I  must  live  there." 

"  Darling,  it 's  occupied." 

"But  perhaps  it's  to  let.  Ride  onto 
the  gate — there  might  be  a  board  up. 
JACK,  there  is!" 

"  '  Beware  of  the  dog  I '  "  I  suggested  as 
its  probable  legend.  "By  Jove!  it  isn't 
though.  '  To  Let.  Enquire  Within.'  " 

GWENDOLEN  fell  off  her  bicycle  in  her 
excitement,  and  in  another  moment  was 
hurrying  up  the  drive. 

"  It 's  rather  large,"  I  suggested. 

"  It 's  perfectly  heavenly,"  said  GWEN- 
DOLEN. 

"  It  '11  be  more  than  fi  ve  pounds  a  year. ' ' 

"  It  would  be  cheap  at  any  price." 

A  comely  old  housekeeper  showed  us 
over  the  bungalow,  whose  long  French 
windows  opened  on  to  the  very  lawn. 
At  every  step  GWENDOLEN  became  more 
enchanted. 

"  Oh,  JACK,"  she  cried,  "what  a  sweet 
little  study!  Couldn't  you  write  soully 
things  in  here  I  "  And  I,  looking  round 
on  the  well-filled  shelves  that  ran  right 
up  to  the  ceiling,  felt  that  indeed  I  could. 

"  There  's  simply  everything  one  could 
want,"  said  GWENDOLEN,  when  we  had 
completed  our  tour  of  the  premises. 

"  Everything,"  I  agreed.  "  It 's  a  pity 
the  rent  is  so  stiff.  A  hundred  and " 

"  But  look  what  we  get  for  it !  Compare 
this  house " 

"  Yes,  I  know.    But  still " 

"  The  price  includes  everything.    And 
think    of    the   garden !     Asparagus    and 
peaches  for  nothing  !    JACK,  it  would  be 
madness  to  throw  away  the  chance !  " 
*  *  *  * 

We  are  economising.  Out  of  deference 
to  my  feelings,  GWENDOLEN  has  consented, 
nothing  loth,  to  forego  the  cycling  skirt 
and  sailor  hat  with  which  she  threatened 
me ;  and  the  dainty  muslins  which  she 
wears  instead  keep  so  clean  in  the  country 
that  they  do  not  st  so  very  much  more 


Mrs.  Sinks  (who  has  lost  control  of  her  machine}.    "  OH,   OH,  HARRY  ! 

BANK  SOON.      I   MUST   HAVE  SOMETHING   SOFT   TO   FALL   ON  !  " 


PLEASE  GET  INTO  A 


than  the  silk  dress  she  had  to  wear  in 
town.  We  have  no  greengrocer,  except 
on  occasions ;  for  all  my  wife  has  to  do 
when  we  want  vegetables  is  to  tell  the 
head-gardener.  We  found  it  much  cheaper 
in  the  end  to  get  two  men  to  assist  the 
boy  we  had  originally  thought  of,  for 
when  I  tried  to  grow  asparagus  I  planted 
it  upside  down  ;  moreover,  I  got  such 
rheumatism  from  working  in  the  wet  that 
GWENDOLEN,  after  a  talk  with  the  doctor, 
insisted  on  my  giving  it  up.  And  besides, 
as  she  pointed  out,  if  I  spent  all  my 
energy  on  manual  labour,  how  could  I 
write  those  epoch-making  works  for 
which  the  world  was  waiting?  Our 


friends  are  delighted  to  visit  us  in 
summer ;  and  when  we  find  the  long 
winter  evenings  are  beginning  to  drag, 
we  either  pack  up  our  traps  for  a  month 
in  the  Riviera,  or  run  up  to  the  Carlton 
and  do  a  week  of  theatres.  GWENDOLEN  is 
persuading  all  her  friends  to  return  to  a 
natural  life. 


NOTHING  LIKE  LEATHER.— It  is  said  that 
the  L.  C.  C.  propose  to  supply  their  em- 
ployes with  boots  at  fixed  rates,  after 
the  method  in  vogue  at  Scotland  Yard. 
Of  course,  the  denizens  of  Spring  Gardens 
will  then  be  known  as  the  London  County 
Cobblers. 


276 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[OCTOBER  16,  1901. 


OF     THE     MAKING     OF     LEADERS.- 

HOW  IT  STRIKES  A  CONTEMPORARY. 

NONA7  let  the  nameless  sister  of  the  Muses 
(Tenth  of  her  kind)  who  represents  the  Press, 

That  system  which  informs  us  what  the  news  is, 
Or  makes  a  shrewd  anticipative  guess 

Of  what  it  will  be, -lest  a  man  should4use  his- 
Own  common-sense  too  much  (though'!  confess       ,-. 

I  like  to  learn  the  movements  of  the  Boer,  and 

Also  the  Derby  winner's  name,  beforehand) — 

Now  let  the  Muse  to  whom  I  just  alluded 
Sing  very  loud  the  leader-writer's  praise, 

On  whose  notorious  arts  I  've  often  brooded 
"With  a  profound  and  envious  amaze  ; 

(Reader,  I  never  understood — if  you  did — 
His  trick  of  ready  nerve  and  facile  phrase, 

Nor  how  he  writes  with  such  admired  persistence, 

Nor  even  what 's  his  reason  for  existence). 

The  name  of  leader  strictly  should  imply 
A  sort  of  object  which  contrives  to  lead, 

Yet  the  reports  that  meet  the  common  eye 
Are  such  as  any  fool  who  runs  may  read, 

Grasping  the  truth  and  letting  go  the  lie, 
Without  a  paraphraser's  flowing  screed  ; 

You  don't  get  any  wiser  through  a  resume, 

Although  the  scribe  by  implication  says  you  may. 

A  certain  Mr.  WORDSWORTH  (if  I  'm  right), 
Snatching  an  interval  from  metric  prose, 

Describes,  as  seen  by  early  morning  light, 
The  view  from  Westminster  (Lord  only  knows 

Where  he  had  been  and  spent  the  previous  night), 
And  notes  the  way  in  which  the  river  flows, 

And  tells  us  how  it  gives  him  quite  a  thrill 

To  feel  the  heart  of  London  lying  still. 

I  hold  that  this  remark,  however  witty, 
Is  not  in  keeping  with  the  actual  case  ; 

For  if  there  is  a  period  when  the  City 

"  Lies  "  less  than  usual  in  the  public's  face, 

'Tis  when  the  homing  Pressman  (I  submit  he 
Prefers  the  dark  because  his  deeds  are  base) 

Has  cracked  at  coffee-stalls  his  stirrup-cup, 

And  Evening  Journalists  are  not  yet  up. 

There  is  a  pause  in  the  affairs  of  men, 

Prior  and  just  posterior  to  the  dawn, 
When  even  those  Great  Powers  that  wield  the  pen 

Are  from  mendacity  a  while  withdrawn  ; 
The  early  cock-bird  calls  his  drowsy  hen, 

The  earlier  worm  parades  the  dewy  lawn  ; 
But  otherwise  on  each  recumbent  snorer 
Sits  what  is  known  as  "  Nature's  sweet  restorer." 

There  are  a  few  exceptions,  by  the  way, 
That  emphasise  the  rule  which  I  have  stated  ; 

The  slim  Field-Cornet,  who  has  lied  all  day, 
Lies  on  in  darkness ;  having  first  located 

Some  unsuspecting  Yeomen,  he  will  say, 
"  Courage !  our  foes  have  just  capitulated 

To  Europe's  fleet :  at  present  Temple  Bar 

Is  occupied  by  LOUBET  and  the  CZAR  !  " 

That  person  surely  spoke  without  conviction 
Who  impudently  taught  the  loilgar  view 

That  facts  are  even  stranger  striff  than  fiction ; 
I  never  met  a  Correspondent  whH 

Would  willingly  incur  the  grave  restriction 
Of  only  saying  what  he  knows  is  trua ; 


If  facts  should  happen,  they  're  prepared  to  tell  'em  ; 
If  not,  they  draw  upon  their  cerebellum. 

I  have  diverged  from  my  initial  attitude, 
But  if  you  marked  the  measure.  I  have  used — 

Lord  B.'s  (how  irresponsibly  he  chatted  !) — you  'd 
Count  my  digressions  easily  excused! 

I  now  return  to  that  pure  well  of  platitude,    ... 
The  leader-writer,  whom  I  have  perused       . .    . 

So  rarely  that  my  judgment  cannot  savour . 

Of  prejudices  rooted  in  his  favour. 

I  ask,  as  one  who  never  yet  has  heard, 
How  is  it  done  ?  what  siipernatural  fires  - 

Kindle  his  brain  to  stamp  the  final  word 
On  matters  piping-hot  f i'om  off  the  wires,    • 

Things  which  an  hour  ago  had  not  occurred  ? 
No  answer  comes,  no  outer  tale  transpires  ; 

And  I  must  fall,  foi*  want  of  information, 

Heavily  back  on  my  imagination. 

Picture  him,  then,  by  night,  his  collar  loose, 
His  haunt  by  printer's  devils  close  invested, 

Swiftly  exuding  pancreatic  juice 

To  make  the  facts  more  readily  digested, 

His  cursive  comments,  almost  too  profuse, 

Checked  by  a  towel  dripping  roiind  his  pressed  head  ; 

And  there  you  have  (I  'm  told  by  those  who  read  'em) 

The  very  fundament  of  British  Freedom. !  O.  S. 


AS  CLEAR  AS  CRYSTAL. 

QUIETLY,  in  an  unpretentious  but  entirely  pleasing  manner,  the 
great  Exhibition  of  1851  has  been  celebrated  at  Sydenham. 
Just  half  a  century  ago  last  May  the  Crystal  Palace  was  opened 
amidst  great  rejoicing  in  Hyde  Park.  The  opening  was  to  usher 
in  the  millennium.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  didn't,  but  served  as 
an  overture  to  one  of  the  most  ill-starred  European  wars  of  the 
century.  Then,  after  serving  its  proper  purpose  as  a  huge 
international  bazaar  in  the  rear  of  Knightsbridge  barracks,  it 
was  moved  into  Sydenham.  Since  then  it  has  seen  good  and  evil 
fortune.  Thanks  to  the  present  excellent  management,  the 
good  fortune  remains  and  the  bad  days  are  half-forgotten 
memories — save,  perhaps,  by  the  earlier  shareholders — of  the 
past. 

The  good  fortune  is  well  deserved.  What  can  be  more- 
interesting  than  the  Courts,  from  the  house  in  Pompeii  to  the 
splendid  Alhambra?  Why,  they  contain  a  liberal  education 
in  themselves.  Then  the  series  of  exhibitions.  All  well 
selected  and  instructive.  And  the  concerts !  Why,  Mr. 
MANNS  made  the  C.  P.  the  headquarters  of  British  music. 
And  the  bands,  and  the  organ-playing.  And  the  picture 
gallery.  And  last,  not  least,  the  catering.  All  good.  Then 
the  local  clubs  housed  in  the  Palace.  Again  good.  And  the 
grounds  and '•  the  fireAvorks.  Then  in  the  summer  cricket,  in 
the  winter  football.  Never  was  there  such  a  place  so  sugges- 
tive of  delightful  recollections.  And  during  the  past  year 
even  the  figures — once  so  disappointing  —  have  been  cheer- 
ingly  satisfactory.  C.  P.,  go  on  and  prosper!-  Is  there  any 
question?  No.  Stay!  Is  it  absolutely  necessary  to  have  all 
the  year  round  a  cafe  cluintant  ?  Such  an  institution — no 
doubt  excellent  in  its  way  when  judiciously  conducted — seems 
just  a  little  out  of  place  with  such  dignified  surroundings. 


"WRIT  IN  ERROR."— In  Monday's  issue  of  the  Daily  Tele- 
graph, last  week,  an  odd  slip  of  the  printer's  appeared  in  the 
advertisement  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  FRED  TERRY'S  Company,  then 
at  the  Kennington  Theatre,  playing  Sweet  Nell  of  Old  Drnry, 
which  was  announced  as  " '  Swel I  Nell  of  Old  Drury."  What  a 
capital  title  for  a  burlesque  ! 


OCTOBER  16,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


277 


Nervous  Tourist.   "STOP,  DRIVER,  STOP!     THERE  's  SOMETHING  WRONG  !     I  AM  SURE  A  WHEEL  's  COMING  OFF  !" 

Driver.  "  ARRAH,  BE  AISY  THEN,  YER  HONOUR.     SURE,  IT'S  THE  SAME  ONE'S  BEEN  COMIN'  OFF  THIN  THESE  THREE  PAYS  BACK! 


THE  CASTAWAY. 

(After  the  late  R B .) 

GOODBYE  !     You  will  make  this  curt  farewell 

A  rack  for  my  soul  and  a  tenter-hook 
For  my  life-warm  limbs  !     Well,  the  truth  to  tell, 

I  have  read  this  page  in  the  Future's  book. 
In  the  soft  caress  of  your  coal-black  hair  ; 

Yes,  I  stroked  it  tenderly,  grant  me  that, 
Lovingly, — watching  the  sunlight  throw 

Its  jewels,  and  wondering  why  the  dark  shade 
Of  this  parting  thought  ne'er  obscured  the  glow. 

' '  The  time  must  come !  "  to  myself  I  said , 
In  all  our  union  the  thought  was  there, 

As  the  world  is  a  ball  I  knew  it  pat. 

A  hundred  times  as  you  kissed  my  brow, 

Wrung  or  serene  with  as  many  moods, 
In  as  many  places,  where  you,  I  trow, 

Shone  out  the  best  of  my  chattels  and  goods, — 
Full  five  score  times, — did  the  doleful  thought 

Strike  on  my  heart  as  the  awkward  oar 
Of  an  unskilled  sculler  on  Thamis'  breast. 

The  thought :  that  you  're  only  a  fair-weather  friend, 
Not  for  the  atmosphere  storm-possest 

Lashing  of  hail,  drip,  drip  without  end, 
But  you  for  the  set-fair  seasons — in  short, 

A  fair-weather  friend,  as  I  said  before. 

Only  a  fortnight  ago  to-day 

JONESULET  bade  me  in  grotesque  tone 
Throw  you  aside.     But  that 's  just  his  way, 

To  pluck  out  the  rose  when  the  perfume  's  gone. 


By  the  blessed  calendar  there  on  the  wall 

Nearly  a  year  has  slipped  into  the  void 
Sith  jackanapes  BRUN  impatiently  pursed 

His  lips  in  entreating  that  I  'd  forswear 
Your  kisses.     In  answer  I  merely  cursed. 

And,  showing  the  rascal  that  I  could  dare, 
Through  the  fashionable  throng,  before  them  all, 

I  wore  you.     And  weren't  the  fools  annoyed  ! 

But  that  was  last  year.     Now  ?    Devil  a  word 

Can  aptly  express  what  a  change  is  here, 
And  many  's  the  rascal  has  said,  I  've  heard 

— New  as  you  were — that  I  bought  you  dear. 
Oh,  I  know  I  'm  a  man  of  the  world,  while  you 

Are  nothing  now,  lifeless,  not-wanted,  cold  : 
But  still  you  've  a  part  in  the  world  to  play — 

A  doubtful  ornament !     Still  you  '11  deck 
The  coarse,  dank  hair  of  some  scamp  whose  way 

Is  for  tawdry  grandeur.     Poor  colourless  wreck  ! 
And  never  again  shall  we  meet,  we  two, 

I  who  am  young  and  you  who  are  old. 

Countless  the  sum  in  this  world  of  ours 

Of  such  as  you  are.     And  as  like  as  peas, 
Or,  better,  as  weeds  that  affront  the  flowers 

In  our  civilised  garden  of  sloth  and  ease. 
Keep  in  the  town.     In  the  country  not  one 

You  '11  find  for  your  favours,  depend  on  that. 
You  in  the  country  !     The  notion  is  cruel. 

'Mid  natures  cast  roughly  in  earth's  simple  mould, 
A  mark  you  would  serve  for  their  newly-chopped  fuel 

Or  crimson-veined  wurzel  hilariously  bowled. 
Such  is  the  world  !     Yes,  your  reign  is  done, 

Shabby,  old,  moth-eaten,  worn  top-hat ! 


278 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[OCTOBER  16,  1901. 


SOMETHING  LIKE   A   CURE. 

(Notes  from  the  blank  pages  of  Mr.  Briefless  Junior's  Fee  Book.) 
First  Impression  of  Evian.— Absolutely  French.  No  English 
need  apply.  Comraissionnaire  of  "  One  of  the  Best  "  hotels  does 
not  speak  English.  However,  he  has  the  accomplishment — some- 
what difficult  of  acquirement,  I  should  think— of  understanding 
my  French.  Sometimes.  Determine  to  patronise  "One  of  the 
Best."  Fine  situation,  overlooking  the  lake,  and  on  clear  days 
Ouchy  to  be  seen.  When  Ouchy  is  visible  look  out  for  squalls. 
Sunshine  deceptive.  Rain  to  follow.  Rain  in  autumn  standing 
dish.  Seldom  "off."  No  English,  but  plenty  of  hammering. 
Discover  later  that  chronic  hammering  is  caused  by  continuous 
bottling  of  waters  of  the  Source.  For  exportation. 

England  at  a  Discount.  —  Through  the  kind  offices  of  my 
excellent  doctor  (Swiss)  I  am  introduced  to  a  French  gentle- 
man. Charming  fellow.  Very  cheerful.  He  is  not  exactly  in 
the  army — so  far  as  I  can  gather — bat  when  out  of  mufti  \vears 
a  uniform.  Some  Governmental  appoint  nent,  requiring  for  the 
proper  performance  of  the  functions  attaching  thereto  a  sword, 
cocked  hat  and  epaulets.  On  Sundays  and  holidays,  probably 
(in  addition)  spurs.  He  is  quite  proud  of  not  understanding 
English.  He  is  equally  proud  of  never  having  been  in  England. 
What  does  he  want  with  London,  Leicester  Square,  Vauxhall 
Bridge  Road  and  Margate  ?  Has  he  not  France  ?  Is  he  not  a 
Frenchman  ?  What  would  I  have  more  ?  I  reply  in  my  French 
— as  spoken  in  Paris — tray  bony. 

How  I  am  to  be  Cured. — I  am  to  rise  at  six.  Then  to  the 
Source,  where  I  am  to  drink  three  glasses  of  water.  A  quarter 
of  an  hour's  walk  between  each.  For  the  rest,  a  simple  diet 
and  more  glasses  of  water  when  (like  Mrs.  Gamp)  "I  am  so 
dispoged."  It  appears  that  the  pure  air  and  the  perfect  peace 
will  do  the  rest.  Evian  water  in  the  town  everywhere.  You 
find  it  in  your  matutinal  tub.  It  forms  the  basis  of  splendid 
soup.  It  is  extremely  pleasant  in  your  tea. 

At  the  Source. — Water  drinkers  walking.  Continuous  stream 
at  drinking  fountain.  Table  containing  fancy  glasses  sugges- 
tive of  "Present  from  the  Crystal  Palace,"  mugs  "For  a 
Good  Boy,  from  St.  Leonards,"  and  the  like.  Presiding  goddess 
preparing  tumblers  enquires  courteously  if  I  am  a  subscriber. 
She  speaks  in  French.  I  answer  in  French — as  spoken  in  Paris 
— Wee,  Madarm.  Am  presented  with  a  glass  of  water.  Drink 
it.  Cold,  pleasant,  excellent.  Take  my  first  quarter  of  an  hour's 
walk.  Stroll  leisurely  over  half  of  Evian  and  back.  Five 
minutes  to  spare.  Second  glass  of  water.  Take  my  second 
quarter  of  an  hour's  walk.  Stroll  leisurely  over  the  other  half 
of  Evian  and  back.  Five  minutes  to  spare.  Third  glass  of 
water.  Look  at  French  paper.  News  about  England  a 
twentieth  of  a  column.  Takes  a  minute  and  a  half  to  read.  Rest 
of  the  last  quarter  of  an  hour  consumed  in  getting  back  to 
"  One  of  the  Best."  Uphill. 

Distractions. — It  is  the  end  of  the  season,  so  the  Casino  is 
"slowing  down."  Placards  of  past  glories  tell  of  theatrical 
performances  in  which  MoUNET-SuLLY,  COQUKLTN  and  RKJANE 
have  taken  part.  Grand  orchestra  still  going  strong — especially 
in  the  brass.  Chemin  de  fer — attracting  (between  the  first  and 
second  parts  of  the  afternoon  band  programme)  a  number 
of  one-franc  to  five- franc  speculators.  Try  my  system. 
Result :  loss  in  five  minutes,  sixteen  francsi  Stupid  game, 
Chemin  de  fer.  Think — in  French— speedy  condemnation.  Put 
more  briefly,  naughty  swear  word.  Further  distraction — Little 
horses.  Back  two,  then  six,  then  four,  then  seveuMhen  eight. 
Result :  loss  of  twenty  francs.  Say,  in  English^  naughty 
swear  word.  Attracts  no  attention.  Giddy  throng  of  foreigners 
do  not  understand  a  single  word  of  English.  No,  notVidest- 
known  word  in  the  language  !  Stupid  game,  Little  horses. 
And  this  is  not  following  doctor's  orders.  Prescription  for 
cure— plenty  of  water  and  perfect  peace.  Losing  thirty  -  six 
francs  in  ten  minutes  may  be  getting  into  hot  water,  but 
certainly  not  perfect  peace.  Naughty  swear  word  ! 


A  Festival. — In  gpite  of  the  fast  approaching  end  of  the  season, 
Evian  very  gay  with  a  visit  of  travelling  doctors.  So  far  as  I  can 
make  out,  medical  men  from  all  parts  of  the  world— minus  the 
British  Empire — are  "  doing  "  the  Sources  of  Lac  Leman.  They 
are  personally  conducted  by  a  gentleman  in  a  suit  of  tweeds 
and  a  red  ribbon  button-hole.  They  hold  a  conference  anent 
the  Source  of  Evian.  Perfect  stranger  teaches  the  local  doctors 
the  advantages  of  the  eau  minerale  of  the  neighbourhood. 
Local  doctors  no  doubt  much  obliged  for  the  startling  informa- 
tion. If  time  had  permitted  probably  lecture  on  egg-sucking 
(addressed  to  grandparents)  would  have  followed.  But  social 
side  uppermost.  Much  music  and  a  banquet.  Last  function, 
final  junketing  of  the  personally-conducted  medicos.  An  Evian- 
cured  guest  thereat  said  to  have  subsequently  undone  all  the 
good  of  his  course  by  partaking  of  too  many  entrees.  Much 
speech  -  making.  Abrupt  conclusion.  Watches  of  the  night 
later  on  disturbed  by  doctors  (and  their  belongings)  missing 
boats  and  trains.  Naughty  swear  words  in  many  languages. 

Perfect  Peace. — No  letters,  no  papers.  Hourly  application  to 
Concierge  fruitless.  The  world  seems  to  be  standing  still. 
Reminded  of  the  Strand  and  Fleet  Street  by  finding  an  old  copy 
of  somebody's  Press  Guide.  Probably  left  by  some  agent  travel- 
ling in  journals.  "  One  of  the  Best  "  does  not  take  in  regularly 
any  English  paper.  Explanation — no  English  to  read  them. 
Apparently  never  heard  of  the  Thunderer  of  Printing  House 
Square,  or  the  young  LIOHS  of  Peterborough  Court,  or  the 
Chronicles  of  the  corner  of  Wellington  Street !  What  ignorance ! 
The  schoolmaster  evidently  not  abroad.  At  least  not  at  Evian. 

Pleasing  Joke. — Waggish  friend  writes  to  me  saying  that  I 
must  be  staying  in  an  Evianly  place.  Quite  so. 


LEAVES  FROM  AN  AERONAUT'S  DIARY. 

April  1. — Flying  machine  just  completed.  A  triumph  of 
ingenious  construction.  All  my  own  invention.  Material, 
aluminium.  Motor  power,  benzine./  Success  assured.  Have 
worked  out  the  whole  scheme  on  paper  and  find  machine  is 
simply  bound  to  fly.  Only  waiting  for  a  calm  day  to  demon- 
strate the  fact  to  a  sceptical  public.  These  March  winds  very 
troublesome.  Not  fair  to  the  machine  to  make  its  first  trial 
under  unfavourable  conditions.  Shall  make  my  ascent  at  noon 
to-day,  weather  permitting.  Have  announced  the  fact  in  all  the 
daily  papers. 

Noon. — Lovely  day  for  the  ascent.  Large  crowd  assembled 
in  Exhibition  grounds,  from  which,  by  permission  of  the  pro- 
prietors, ascent  to  be  made.  Everybody  keen  and  expectant. 
Remain  outwardly  calm,  but  feel  a  curious  sensation  in  pit  of 
stomach.  Not  fear,  of  course.  On  the  contrary,  confident  I 
shall  succeed.  A  few  friends  gather  round  to  wish  me  luck. 
Shake  hands  with  them,  and  step  on  board.  A  cheer  is  raised. 
I  give  the  word  to  let  go.  They  let  go. 

Nothing  happens  I  A  slight  hitch,  I  explain  to  bystanders. 
Can  be  put  right  in  a  moment.  Only  needs  the  turn  of  a  screw 
and  I  shall  soar  gracefully  Iik3  a  bird.  Interval  of  expecta- 
tion. Machine  still  declines  to  rise.  Seems  as  if  I  was  too 
heavy  for  it.  Must  go  into  the  question  of  proportion  of 
weights  to  horse-power  again.  Explain  this  to  bystanders. 
Ascent  will  take  place  to-morrow  without  fail.  Crowd  melts 
away  discouraged.  Machine  towed  back  to  shed. 

April  7. — Unexpected  difficulties  have  delayed  second  experi- 
ment. Turned  out  that  motor  had  not  sufficient  power,  and 
rudder  was  too  heavy.  Have  remedied  both  defects.  Shall 
certainly  soar  at  midday  to-day.  Spectators  not  so  numerous 
as  on  last  occasion,  but  interest  still  cordial.  Weather  un- 
happily threatening.  Towards  noon  wind  rises.  Postponement 
again  unavoidable.  Most  disappointing.  Must  wait  for  next 
fine  day. 

April  12. — Fine  days  not  so  common  in  this  country.  Four 
have  passed  and  conditions  still  unfavourable.  To-day  more 
promising.  Machine  in  flrst-rate  trim.  Have  been  able  to 


OCTOBER  16,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


279 


make  sundry  minor  improvements  in 
it  during  enforced  delay.  Once  more 
respectful  crowd  gathers,  fit  but  unde- 
niably few.  Public  temporarily  losing 
faith  in  my  machine.  As  a  friend  of 
mine  explained,  a  flying  machine  which 
not  only  doesn't  fly,  but  doesn't  even 
kill  its  inventor,  rapidly  ceases  to  be 
an  object  of  popular  curiosity.  At  the 
time  I  pretended  to  smile  at  this,  but 
looking  back  upon  it  consider  the  plea- 
santry in  doubtful  taste.  Twelve  o'clock 
strikes.  I  start  in  half-an-hour. 

12.30. — Once  more  I  take  my  stand 
proudly  on  the  deck  of  my  machine. 
Reporters  grouped  round  me  in  dense 
phalanx  watching  proceedings  and  avid 
for  copy.  Once  more  I  give  the  signal. 
The  anchor  is  loosed,  the  screw  begins  to 
revolve.  We  are  certainly  rising.  I  lay 
my  hand  on  the  tiller,  prepared  to  steer 
proudly  as  soon  as  we  have  risen  above 
the  heads  of  the  people.  Process  of  soar- 
ing somewhat  slow.  Would  like  to  in- 
crease number  of  vibrations  of  screw, 
but  hesitate  to  leave  the  rudder.  How- 
ever, we  are  certainly  flying,  though 
dying"  somewhat  low.  Crowd  raises  a 
cheer.  Most  exhilarating.  Not  much 
steerage  way  yet.  Narrowly  miss  a  tree. 
Wall  straight  in  front.  Shall  we  clear  it  ? 
Afraid  not.  Decide  to  put  about  instead 
and  skim  gently  back  to  starting  point. 

Problem  arises,  how  to  get  down. 
Never  thought  of  this  before.  All  very 
well  to  say  "let  her  down  gently"  ;  not 
so  easy.  Might  misjudge  velocity  and 
smash  delicate  mechanism.  On  other  hand , 
might  underestimate  speed  of  descent  and 
never  get  down  at  all.  Decide  to  proceed 
cautiously.  Slacken  speed.  Fall  like  a 
stone  in  a  moment,  right  in  the  middle  of 
representatives  of  the  Press.  All  jumped 
clear  however.  Most  unfortunate.  Might 
have  landed  on  some  of  them  and  broken 
the  fall.  As  it  is  machine  a  total  wreck 
and  self  badly  shaken.  Ominous  murmurs 
among  reporters,  who  seem  to  think  I 
did  it  on  purpose.  Offer  my  apologies. 
Accepted  ungraciously.  Promise  to  under- 
take further  ascent  as  soon  as  machine 
can  be  repaired  or  new  one  made  ready. 

April  30. — New  machine  built  at  last. 
Old  one  proved  past  mending.  Sold  for 
scrap-iron,  or  rather  scrap-aluminiutr. 
Gathering  of  spectators  considerably 
larger,  encouraged  presumably  by  pros- 
pect of  seeing  me  break  my  nock.  Re- 
porters have  selected  somewhat  distant 
part  of  field  for  watching  progress.  Have 
decided  to  modify  conditions  of  the  start. 
New  machine  built  like  a  ship,  deaked 
all  over,  and  will  start  from  the  surface 
of  convenient  pond.  This  makes  ascent 
equally  easy  and  guards  against  worst 
consequences  of  descent.  At  midday  am 
rowed  on  board  in  small  boat.  Make  short 
speech  from  deck  of  machine,  pointing  out 
that  conquest  of  air  is  at  length  complete. 
I  have  only  to  turn  lever  and  machine  will 


Vicars  Dauy]dcr.  "On,  Mil.  GUFLING,  I'VE  CALLED  THIS  MORNING  TO  TELL  YOU  THAT 
FOR  THE  PARISH  CHARITIES  WE  OPEN  OUR  MOST  INTERESTING  SHOW  OF  LOCAL  ANTIQUITIES 
AND  CURIOSITIES,  AND  MAY  I  HOPE  THAT  YOU  WILL  KINDLY  GIVE  IT  YOUR  COUNTENANCE  ? " 


rise  like  the  admired  albatross.  Proudest 
moment  of  my  life !  Turn  lever.  Screw 
revolves.  We  don't  seem  to  rise.  On  the 
contrary,  we  arc  actually  sinking.  We  have 
sunk  !  Am  rescued,  half  drowned,  by  man 
with  boat-hook.  Sensation  most  disagree- 
able. Machine  remains  at  bottom  of  pond. 
Long  may  it  do  so.  Shall  give  up  flying 
and  take  to  croquet.  ST.  J.  H. 


At  the  Gimcrack   Restaurant. 

Customer  (to  Waiter).  Why  am  I  charged 
two  shillings  for  devilled  kidneys  ? 

Waiter.  On  account,  Sir,  of  the  strike 
at  Grimsby. 

Customer.  What  on  earth  have  kidneys 
to  do  with  Grimsby  ? 

Waiter.  I  beg  pardon,  Sir,  I  mistook 
you  for  the  gentleman  as  ordered  cod's-roe 
on  toast.  [Error  rectified. 


TO   CHLOE. 

LAST  week  the  common  circumstance 
Of  meeting  drew  from  you  a  glance, 

From  me  a  stately  bow. 
Your  mien  was  dignified  and  grand, 
I  touched  your  languid,  high -held  hand, 

'Twas  all  you  would  allow. 

Alas  !  since  then  stern  Fate  has  dealt 
A  wanton  stroke  ;  we  each  have  felt 

A  cruel  and  heartless  blow. 
The  self-same  hand  our  joy  has  killed, 
Our  brow  has  wrung,  our  breast  has  filled 

With  deep  and  dreadful  woe. 

This  week,  by  mutual  sorrow  torn, 
Each  feels  towards  the  other  drawn 

By  misery's  mystic  charm. 
Pity,  they  say,  to  Love  's  akin  — 
Then  what  a  world  of  Love  lies  in 

A  vaccinated  arm  ! 


280 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[OCTOBER  16,  1901. 


First  Farmer.  "You  OUGHT  TO  ALLOW  I  SUMMAT  OFF  THE  PRICK  o'  THAT  'ORSE  YOU  SOLD  I  LAS'  WEEK.     WHY  'E'VE  BIN  AN' 

TOOK  AN'   DIED  !  " 

Second  Farmer.  "  WELL,  'THAT  's  FUNNY,  NOW;   'E  NEVER  CUT  ANY  o'  THEM  CAPERS  WHEN  I  'AD  'm  !" 


VICTORIA  MARY— PRINCESS  OF  THE  SEAS. 

[On  crossing  the  line  H.K.H.  the  Duchess  of  COENWALL  and  YOEK  was 
admitted  u  daughter  of  Neptune  and  accepted  the  letters  patent  of  Grand 
Dame  and  Liege  Lady  of  the  Order  belonging  to  the  Men  of  the  Sea.] 

DAUGHTER  of  Sea  Kings  ! — your  line  running  down  to  them, 

Gallant  and  sturdy,  the  Vikings  of  old ; 
Foernen  who  fought  with  us,  adding  a  crown  to  them, 

Launching  their  galleys  for  glory  and  gold  :— 

"Wife  of  a  Sailor  ! — a  man  who  is  one  of  us, 
Made  by  the  Navy,  its  smooth  and  its  rough, 

Pleasures  and  labours  ; — be  sure  there  are  none  of  us 
Wish  he  were  made  of  a  daintier  stuff  ! — 

Mother  of  Princes  ! — and  we  have  a  plea  for  them ; 

Lend  us  your  children,  we  '11  give  them  back  men ! 
Born  to  the  blue,  there  's  no  trade  but  the  sea  for  them, 

Wonders  and  wisdom  'twill  bring  to  their  ken  : — 

Princess  of  Britons  !  we  heard  how  they  bore  for  you, 
Gifts  that  were  royal  and  gauds  that  were  rarej 

We  have  no  jewels,  no  riches  in  store  for  you, 
Only  of  homage  we  proffer  our  share. 

Queens  of  your  race,  in  the  tale  of  its  history, 
Marshalled  their  armies  and  mustered  their  ships, 

None  of  them  learned  of  the  sea  and  its  mystery, 
S    n  of  the    yes  and  not  heard  from  the  lips. 


Came  there  the  call  of  our  kindred,  the  brotherhood 

Dwelling  afar,  but  in  loyalty  near  ; — 
"  We  would  be  one,  O  our  Queen,  in  thy  motherhood, 

Send  us  thy  dearest,  we  hold  them  as  dear  !  " 

Then  by  the  way  of  the  wonderful  waters, 
Won  by  our  fathers  who  fought  on  the  foam, 

Fared  you  to  hearten  our  sons  and  our  daughters, 
Folk  who  are  fain  at  the  thought  of  their  home. 

{•>o,  as  you  saw,  in  the  days  of  your  wandering, 

Nations  of  landsmen  as  loyal  as  free, 
Haply  there  rose,  in  the  time  of  your  pondering, 

Thoughts  of  the  sailors  whose  home  is  the  sea. 

Royalty  spared  you  no  whit  of  our  dreariness, 
Wanting  the  touch  .of  our  little  ones'  hand  ; 

Daytime  and  darkness  of  watching  and  weariness, 
Waiting  for  wives  who  are  waiting  on  land. 

Aye,  and  we  knew  it,  and  so  did  you  win  of  us 

Titles  confirmed  by  a  royal  decree, 
Neptune  himself  he  has  hailed  you  as  kin  off  us, — 

"  Princess  and  Lady  of  Men  of  the  Sea  !  " 

Take  then,  O  Princess,  the  tribute  we  bring  to  you, 
Simple  and  homely,  as  simple  our  part ; 

Hear  then,  O  Lady,  the  song  that  we  sing  to  you, 
Songs  must  ring  true  when  they  rise  from  the  heart ! 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI.— OCTOBER  16,  1901. 


MUTUAL  ADVANTAGE, 


JOHN  BULL  (to  the  new  Ameer,  Habibullah).  "  YOUR  FATHER  AND  I  WERE   VERY  GOOD  FRIENDS,    MY  BOY,  AND 
IF  YOU  WANT  THE  BEST  ADVICE,   YOU  WILL  KNOW  WHERE  TO  COME  FOR  IT." 


OCTOBER  16,   1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


283 


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284 


PUNCH,  OK  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[OCTOBER  16,  1901.- 


GARB  AND  GARBAGE. 

["At  Ems  the  authorities  have  put  up  a  notice  that  no  long  skirts  are  to  be 
admitted  within  the  precincts  of  the  gardens."— Daily  Paper.} 
O  FEMININE  gowns,- 
That  often  the  frowns 

Of  the  strait-laced  evoked  in  a  period  still  recent, 
"When  censors  would  say 
The  corps  de  ballet 
"Was  robed  in  a  style  that  was  barely  just  decent ; 

No  longer  we  're  shocked 

By  ladies  short-f rocked, 
Our  censure  lies  now  in  another  direction — 

On  those  that  their  hems 

Ti-ail  in  ells  about  Eros, 
And  scatter  dire  germs  for  their  neighbours'  infection. 

So  bear,  if  you  will, 
Flounce,  pleating,  or  frill, 

-    Be  Paris  or  tailor-built,  just  as  you  like,  robes, 
But,  whatever  you  are, 
This  one  thing  we  bar — 
We  won't  have  your  fringes  embroidered  with  microbes. 

OUR    BOOKING-OFFICE. 

RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  .Kim  (MACMILLAN  &  Co.)  is  a  strangely 
fascinating  tale  of  Indian  life  under  British  rule  justly  sus- 
picious of  foreign  intrigue.  The  two  principal  characters  in 
the  story  are  a  simple,  lovable,  and  holy  "Lama,"  and  his 

chelah"  (pupil  and  companion),  a  bright,  unscrupulous, 
affectionate,  clever  boy,  who,  his  parents  (one  Sergeant  Kimball 
O'Hara  and  his  wife,  a  nursemaid  in  a  colonel's  family)  having 
both  died  before  he  was  three  years  old,  was  brought  up  by  a 
half-caste  Avoman,  and  started  by  her  to  seek  his  fortune  where 

hance  might  lead  him,  with,  as  an  outfit,  an  amulet  case  hung 
round  his  neck  containing  a  parchment  with  prophetic  writing 
on  it,  and  a  birth-certificate  by  way  of  passport  and  for  future 
identification.  The  third  principal  character  in  the  tale  is  the 
sly,  highly-accomplished  Balm,  in  the  Secret  Service  Depart- 
ment of  the  British  Government,  whose  peculiar  "  English  as  she 
is  spoke  "  will  forcibly  remind  not  a  few  readers  of  "Honble 
PUNCH'S  "  Anglo-Indian  contributor,  who,  as  it  may  be  remem- 
bered, had  the  rare  opportunity  of  airing  his  knowledge  of  the 
English  language  and  of  English  Law  in  a  London  Court  of 
Justice,  as  defendant  in  a  celebrated  breach  of  promise  action. 
With  his  exceptional  power  of  vividly  picturesque  description, 
Mr.  RUDYARD  KIPLING  sets  so  clearly  before  our  eyes  the  dazzling 
scenes  of  life  in  an  Indian  city,  where  the  old  order  is  only 
gradually  changing  giving  place  to  new,  that  we  see  every 
figure,  no  matter  how  unimportant,  sharply  defined,  and  the 
moving  throng  quivering  with  animation  as  in  the  "living 
pictures"  of  the  .whirring  cinematograph.  Out  of  the  ever- 
moving  crowd,  so  wearying  to  eye  and  brain,  as  indeed  is 
every  crowd  in  real  life  to  the  quiet  spectator,  issue  four 
personages  whose  steps  we  follow  with  increasing  interest  until 
the  end  of  the  romance  ,  which  still  leaves  the  reader  not 
dissatisfied  but  unsatisfied,  asking,  as  the  inquisitive  child  does 
after  the  very  last  word  of  a  fairy  tale  has  been  uttered,  "  And 
what  did  they  do  then?"  The  embossed  illustrations  by 
J.  L.  KIPLING  are  original  in  design  and  peculiarly  effective. 

Rickerby's  Folhj  (METHUEN)  is  a  rollicking,  rough-and-tumble 
story  of  the  kind  dear  to  the  heart  of  the  gallery  in  the  old 
transpontine  theatre.  Mr.  TOM  GAJim  has  in  his  wallet  a 
boundless  store  of  devices,  expedients  and  surprises  which 
carry  the  reader  through  at  breathlesk  pace.  Never  outside 
the  range  of  Rickerby's  Folly  were  such  happenings.  Murders, 
personations,  abductions,  incendiarism,  a  corpse  falling  out  of 

a   casually-opened  cupboard  door,  and  a  midnight  burial  by 

lantern  light — these  are  some  of  the  delicacies  my  Baronite  can 

promise  to  the  reader  in  search  of  a  rattling,  racy  book. 


The  fifth  volume  of  the  New  English  Dictionary  comes  from 
the  Oxford  University  Press.  It  will  appreciably  add  to  its 
renown,  and  to  that  of  HENRY  FROWDE,  whose  watchful  care 
and  exquisite  taste  have  endowed  the  nation  with  this  rare 
workshop.  Dr.  MURRAY,  toiling  through  the  alphabet,  has  to 
regret  the  loss  of  one  esteemed  colleague  fallen  by  the  way. 
This  is  Mr.  FrrzEoWARD  HALL,  who,  dying  at  the  age  of  seventy- 
six,  was  within  a  few  weeks  of  the  end  hard  at  work  on  the 
Dictionary,  service  rendered  as  a  pure  labour  of  love.  The 
new  volume  completes  the  first  eleven  letters  of  the  alphabet, 
comprising  four  of  them  within  its  mighty  tome.  They  are  H, 
T,  J,  K.  My  Baronite  notes  with  interest  how  the  letter  H, 
persistently  dropped  by  some  of  his  fellow-citizens,  comes  out 
well  ahead  in  the  Dictionary.  It  prefaces  over  16, 000  words,  as 
compared  with  14,000  I's,  3,300  K's  and  3,000  J's.  In  this  new 
word  competition,  Dr.  JOHNSON  wasn't  in  it  with  Dr.  MURRAY 
and  his  army  of  collaborateurs.  Compared  with  the  above 
figures,  JOHNSON'S  dictionary  deals  with  1,533  words  beginning 
with  H,  2,012  with  I,  299  with  J,  and  205  with  K.  As  a  rule,  a 
dictionary  is  not  attractive  in  the  ordinary  way  of  reading- 
Complaint  of  patchiness  has  justly  been  brought  against  it. 
The  Neio  English  Dictionary,  beautifully  printed,  is  a  museum 
of  fascinating  out-of-the-way  information,  supplied  through  the 
medium  of  quotations  illustrating  the  use  and  meaning  of  words. 
The  complaint  my  Baronite  makes  about  the  book  is  that,  turn- 
ing to  it  for  elucidation  of  a  word,  he  finds  the  page  so  fasci- 
nating that  he  goes  on  reading  when  he  ought  to  be  writing. 

Mr.  ERNEST  RADFORD,  with  his  instructive  preface  to 
BosweU's  Life  of  Johnson,  leads  the  reader  up  to  where  Mr. 
AUGUSTINE  BIRRELL,  K.C.,  self-effacing,  "introduces"  him  to 
the  present  six-volume  edition  (ARCHIBALD  CONSTABLE  &  Co.) 
of  that  immortal  work,  fringed  afresh  with  illuminative 
notes,  and  illustrated  with  some  eighty  well-reproduced  por- 
traits of  contemporary  Johnsonian  celebrities.  In.  the  course 
of  above-mentioned  preface,  the  aforesaid  ERNEST,  touching 
upon  the  portrait,  by  Sir  JOSHUA,  of  "GARTANO  APOLLINE 
BALDASSARE  YESTRIS,  1729 — 1808,  Le  Dieu  de  la  Danse,"  writes : 
"  His  son  AMAND,  Ballet-master,  King's  Theatre,  Haymarket, 
married  BARTOLOZZI'S  daughter,  who  afterwards  married  CHARLES 
MATHEWS  the  elder."  If  this  were  so,  who,  then,  was  the 
"  Madame  VESTRIS  "  whom  CHARLES  MATHEWS  the  younger,  i.e. 
CHARLES  JAMES  MATHEWS,  married,  and  with  whom  he  managed 
the  Lyceum  Theatre  somewhere  about  1846,  "  Consule  Planco," 
which,  being  literally  translated,  means  when  PLANCHE  was 
their  consultant,  and  wrote  their  Christmas  extravaganzas? 
The  Baron  has  ever  been  under  the  impression  that  Madame 
VESTRIS  was  a  BARTOLOZZI,  and  that  her  second  husband  was 
CHARLES  JAMES  MATHEWS,  the  CHARLES  MATHEWS  of  Used  Up, 
Patter  v.  Clatter.,  and  a  hundred  other  amusing  pieces,  the 
youthful  friend  of  Lady  BLESSINGTON  and  Count  D'ORSAY  in  Italy 
and  London.  If  the  Baron  be  right  his  CHARLES  MATHEWS,  husband 
of  Madame  VESTRIS,  was  not  the  "elder"  (Heavens!  he,  the 
ever-green,  never  could  have  been  an  "  elder,"  since,  though 
he  lived  till  nearly  eighty,  he  had  not  attained  to  the  positive 
"old  "),  but  the  younger.  There  's  an  error  somewhere.  Whose  ? 

"Our  Mr.  ANSTEY  "  has  republished  in  one  volume  (LONG- 
MANS) his  original  Man  from  Blankley's  —  not  the  dramatic 
version — with  several  "  other  sketches,"  all  so  delightfully 
amusing  that  it  is  difficult  to  select  any  single  one  as  "  the 
pick  of  the  basket."  As  a  rule  the  Baron,  appro veth  not  of 
illustrations,  as  forcing  upon  the  reader  types  that  do  not  seem 
in  accordance  with  the  author's  intention.  But  this  instance  is 
a  brilliant  exception,  all  the  characters,  as  humorously  realised 
and  perfectly  presented  by  "our  Mr.  BERNARD  PARTRIDGE,"  ap- 
pearing not  only  just  exactly  as  the  author  of  their  being  would 
in  real  life  have  had  them  appear,  but  also  as  the  appreciative 
reader  would  have  necessarily  imagined  them  to  be.  Certes,  to 
author  and  artist,  the  Baron  tenders  his  sincere  congratula- 
tions, as  also  does  he  to  the  public  on  their  having  so  enjoyable 
a  work  within  such  easy  reach.  THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


OcroBER  16,  1901.]  PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI.  285 


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286 


PUNCH,   OR   THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


[OCTOBER  16,  1901. 


A     MUCH     INJURED     MAN. 

CHAPTER  III. 

I  CAST  about  for  a  propitious  chance  of  proposing  to  the 
heiress.  Finally,  I  decided  that  no  better  time  could  be  found 
than  the  afternoon  of  a  non-hunting  day.  And  for  the  place, 
what  could  be  more  suitable  than  the  cosy  little  drawing-room 
of  the  girl's  own  house? 

I  hacked  over  there  on  my  white-faced  horse,  having  had  him 
done  over  with  the  paint,  and,  leaving  him  to  be  walked  about 
by  a  boy,  I  knocked,  and  was  shown  in.  Well,  thought  I  to 
myself,  luck  is  in  my  way,  as  the  brunette  entered  the  room 
alone. 

"Poor  MINNIE  has  a  headache,"  she  began,  as  we  shook 
hands  and  then  drew  seats  up  to  the  fire.  "  So  she  has  sent  me 
to  entertain  you  and  make  her  excuses." 

"Miss  ACRESBY  could  not  have  found  a  better  substitute!  " 
I  replied  gallantly,  and  with  a  certain  look  in  the  eye  which  I 
fancy  always  "  takes  "  with  women.  Women  all  like  it,  in  me. 

"  Shall  I  give  you  some  tea  ?  "  she  said. 

"  I  want  you  to  give  me  something  more  than  tea,  Miss 
ACRESBY,"  I  said. 

She  pretended  to  look  puzzled. 

"  Muffins  ?  "  she  asked. 

"More  even  than  muffins,"  I  answered,  infusing  a  tremble 
into  my  deep,  full-toned  voice.  "I  want  you  to  say  that  this 
pleasant  friendship  of  ours,  my  dear  Miss  ACRESBY — my  dear 
MAUD — let  me  call  you  MAUD,  may  1  ?  I  want  you  to  say 
that  this  friendship  of  ours  has  now  ripened  into  something 
worse — better,  I  mean — than  friendship  alone — that,  in  fact,  we 
may — nay,  must  be — more  to  each  other  than  we  have  ever 
been  before." 

Rather  a  neat  and  effective  little  speech,  that.  I  thought  so 
at  the  time,  and  I  think  so  still. 

MAUD  ACRESBY'S  eyes  fell  to  the  tips  of  her  shoes.  They 
were  very  pretty  ones — the  eyes,  not  the  shoes  :  though,  on 
second  thoughts,  I  remember  the  shoes  were  also  very  pretty ; 
but  let  that  pass.  She  did  not  answer  a  word. 

"Am  I  hoping — asking  for — too  much?"  I  went  on,  impres- 
sively. 

Still  no  answer. 

"MAUD!"  and  again  I  had  resort  to  the  tremolo,  "I  love 
you  !  Will  you  be  my  wife  ?  " 

"MAX!"  That  was  all  she  said;  but  the  next  moment  she 
was  in  my  arms.  I  had  triumphed ;  her  subjugation  was  com- 
plete. The  radiant  flush  of  victory  was  on  my  cheek  ;  at  least, 
I  think  it  was  ;  and  never  have  I  felt  more  utterly  happy  than 
at  the  moment  in  which  I  told  myself  that  MAUD  ACRESBY— 
and  her  fortune — were  mine. 

We  sat  together  on  the  sofa— how  I  hoped  that  "  MINNIE" 
would  not  recover  from  her  headache,  and  come  in !  And  for 
the  space  of  at  least  half-an-hour,  I  enjoyed  something  like 
bliss  unalloyed. 

Then,  her  hand  still  in  mine,  MAUD  said  : 

"I  wonder  where  we  shall  settle  down  to  live?  Not  in  a 
hunting  country,  dear  MAX,  do  you  think  so  ?  It  would  be  too 
maddening  to  see  others  hunting,  when  one  couldn't  do  so 
oneself." 

I  patted  the  little  hand  encouragingly.  \ 
"I  should  never  be  so  selfish  as  to  objebt  to  your  hunting, 
dearest,  simply  because  you  were  married,"  I  said. 
She  looked  rather  puzzled. 

|  But,  MAX,  hunting  is  expensive,  and  wo " 

"Well,  money  would  hardly  stand  in  the  way,  would  it?  "  I 
asked,  laughingly.  DE  THODE  always  says  my  laugh  is  infec- 
tious, and  I  think  he  must  be  about  right.  Anyhow,  my  little 
fiancee  laughed  merrily,  too,  and  exclaimed  : 

'm  so  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  MAX,  for  I  love  hunting, 
could  only  have  given  it  up  for  your  sake  "-(dear  little 


girl !  By  Jove,  women  can  tell  a  real  good  fellow  when  they 
see  one) — "and  I  thought — I  rather  feared,  dear  MAX,  that  you 
wouldn't  be  able  to  afford  me  hunters  as  well  as  yourself. 
However,  I  'm  only  too  glad  to  hear  that  you  can.  What  jolly 
days  we  shall  have  together,  sha'n't  we?"  and  she  clapped 
her  little  hands  with  delight. 

"Yes,  awfully  jolly,"  I  said,  in  rather  feeble  tones.  I  did 
not  quite  like  the  reference  to  myself  as  the  provider  of  the 
hunters.  1  supposed  it  was  merely  her  way  of  putting  things. 

"Dear  MAX,"  she  went  on,  laying  her  head  against  my 
shoulder  and  gazing  up  at  me  with  her  dark,  star-like  eyes,  "  I 
must  tell  you — it  was  such  a  shame — people  said  you  were " 

"  My  darling !  "  I  exclaimed,  in  outraged  tones. 

"  Don't  be  angry,  MAX.  I  never  believed  it.  They  said  you 
were  not  in  love  with  anything  except  yourself  and  '  the 
heiress's  money.'  I  felt  furious  at  such  vile  calumny." 

"The  scoundrels  !  "  I  said,  in  hot  indignation. 

"  Yes,"  she  resumed  ;  "and  now,  when  they  see  that  it  was 

me,  and  not  the  heiress  at  all  that  you my  darling,  what  is 

the  matter?    You  are  ill,  you — 

I  wiped  the  cold  perspiration  away  from  my  forehead. 

"No — o,"  I  said,  weakly,  "  but  I  feel  rather — rather  cold." 

I  could  almost  have  wished  that  MINNIE  would  recover  from 
her  headache  and  come  in.  It  might  have  relieved  the  strain 
and  created  a  divertissement.  Now  that  I  come  to  calmly  reflect 
over  the  whole  of  the  proceedings,  I  am  distinctly  of  opinion 
that  MINNIE  must  have  purposely  cultivated  that  headache  in 
order  to  leave  us — MAUD  and  myself  —  alone,  on  that  fatal 
afternoon. 

"When  will  you  come  to  see  me  again,  dear  MAX?"  she 
cooed,  softly. 

"  I — or — oh,  soon,  dear  MAUD,  very  soon,"  I  replied,  vaguely, 
and  with  a  groping  movement — for  I  felt  almost  blinded  with 
my  sudden  grief — making  for  the  door. 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  not  quite  well,"  she  said,  with  anxious 
solicitude,  and  just  that  (to  me)  terrible  soupyon  of  proprietor- 
ship in  her  tone,  that  engaged  men  know  so  well. 

I  nodded  and  smiled,  in  sickly  silence. 

Feeling  that  the  quiet  of  my  own  rooms  at  "The  George" 
was  what  I  chiefly  valued  in  life  at  that  moment,  I  rose  and 
said  good-bye.  MAUD  accompanied  me  to  the  door — so  nice  of 
her,  of  course,  but  I  was  past  appreciating  the  delightful 
flattery  of  such  an  act,  just  then.  The  boy  met  me  with 
my  hack — the  painted  one — and  but  for  the  fact  that  "  melan- 
choly had  marked  me  for  her  own,"  1  might  have  noticed  that 
it  had  been  raining,  and  my  horse's  face  was  again  white. 
MAUD,  ever  quick  in  observation,  exclaimed  : 

"Oh,  you've  had  another  horse  sent  over  for  you,  then?  I 
saw  you  ride  up  to  the  house  on — 

"  Yes,"  I  broke  in,  as  I  hurriedly  climbed  up  into  the  saddle. 
"It — it's  a  beastly  day,  isn't  it.  Good-bye."  Here  I  felt 
something  rise  in  my  gorge,  but  I  persevered  and  ended  the 
sentence  with  "  dear."  Then  I  rode  off  home  as  if  the  devil 
had  kicked  me. 

Of  course,  I  saw  it  all  now — now  that  it  was  too  late.  That 
unmitigated  scoundrel,  GADSBY,  had  introduced  the  companion 
as  the  heiress ;  a  shabby,  stale,  threadbare  trick.  GADSBY  had 
leftSplashington,  or  I  should  have— well,  I  should  have  written 
him  an  abusive,  anonymous  letter,  by  Jove,  I  would  ! 

I  sat  down  and  thought  out  the  whole  situation  until  my 
head  ached.  What  was  I  to  do  ?  Could  I  apply  to  some  friend 
to  get  me  out  of  the  difficulty  by  explaining  that  there  was 
some  mistake  somewhere?  No,  it  was  not  a  mistake  which 
would  bear  explaining.  Should  I  run  away  ?  Should  I  commit ) 

sui ?   No,  certainly  not  that.     Well,  then  what  on  earth  was  j 

the  best  course  to  take?  I  couldn't  confess  the  mistake  I  had 
made  ;  I  couldn't  tell  my  uncle,  or  he  would  cut  me  off  with  a 
shilling.  The  only  way  I  could  see  out  of  the  difficulty  was 
the  one  I  decided  upon  taking,  then  and  there.  I  seized  writ-j 
ing  mate-rials  and  began  : — 


OCTOBER  1G,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


287 


MANOEUVRES. 

Lieutenant  Nobs  (just  arrived).  "How  LONG  WILL  YOU  TAKE  TO  DRIVE  ME  TO  THB  FORT,  CABBY?" 

Cabby.  "TEN  MINUTES,  CAPTIXG,  BY  THE  SHORT  CUT  THROUGH  THE  HALLEYP.     BUT  THE  MILITARY  ALLUB  GOES  THE  LONG  WAY 

ROUND,    THROUGH   THE  FASHIONABLE   PART  O*   THE   TOWN,  YER    flONOUR,    WHICH   TAKES   AN   HOUR."  [Oabby  gets  his  hour. 


MY  DEAR  Miss  ACRESBY, 

I  hardly  know  whether  I  made  myself  quite  clear  to 
you  to-day.  When  I  proposed  that  you  should  marry  me, 
what  I  meant  to  say  was,  would  you  marry  me  at  some  future 
time  if — I  mean — when — or  rather,  to  make  the  matter  even 
simpler — in  the  event  of — my  succeeding  to  my  uncle's  property 
and  Baronetcy — there  are  only  seven  lives  between  me  and  the 
title — and  one  never  knows  one's  luck,  you  know  ;  they  might 
all  be  killed  in  a  railway  accident,  or  drowned  in  a  butt — boat, 
I  mean .  I  hope  I  make  myself  clear  ? 

I  am  sure  you  will  see  matters  in  the  same  light  as  I  do  ; 
and,  although  I  may  have  asked  you  to  marry  me — you  will 
remember  that  nothing  was  actually  said  as  to  the  date.  So  I 
think,  perhaps,  it  would  be  wiser  to  leave  you,  for  the  present, 
at  all  events,  entirely  free — unless  you  care  to  remain  engaged 
to"  me  until  those  seven  lives  drop  in. 

With  every  good  wish  for  your  future  Avelfare, 
I  remain, 

Yours  very  sincerely, 

M.  DE  VERB  BOUNCERBY. 

P.S. — As  I  am  unexpectedly  recalled  to  town  to-morrow,  will 
you  kindly  make  my  adieux  to  your  charming  cousin,  and 
accept  the  same  for  yourself  ? 

P.P.S. — I  shall  very  probably  be  starting  for  Equatorial 
Africa  next  week. 

To  this  I  received  no  reply  for  over  a  fortnight,  and  was 
beginning  to  think  I  had  got  out  of  a  terribly  awkward  situa- 
tion, with  my  usual  skill  and  address — for  without  any  conceit, 
I  fancy  I  know  something  about  the  ways  of  the  world— when 
this  letter  arrived. 


21,  Lincoln's  Inn  Meadows,  W.C. 
DEAR  SIR, 

Yourself  &  Acresby. 

We  are  instructed  to  commence  an  action  against  you  to 
recover  damages  (£5,000)  for  breach  of  a  promise  to  marry 
our  client,  Miss  MAI'D  ELSIE  ACRESBY.  Kindly  send  us  the 
name  of  your  solicitor  who  will  accept  service  of  the  writ  oh 
your  behalf,  and  oblige, 

Your  obedient  servants, 

GOTTIM,  TIGHT  &  Co. 

I   took   the   letter   straight  to  my  Uncle.    He  called  me  a 
consummate  ass,  and  kicked  Hie  out  of  the  front  door* 
He  was  always  so  crude.  Fox  RUSSKLLV 


TO  LORD  CROMER. 

(On  the  announcement  of  his  approaching  marriage.) 

MY  Lord,  we  all  know  that  with  eye  of  the  lynx 

You  have  ever  kept  watch  on  the  face  of  the  Sphinx, 

And  the  Sphinx,  in  its  own  very  silent,  dim  way, 

Wishes  joy  to  the  Bride  who  won't  take  you  away 

From  the  land  which  yoii  'ye  made — that  is  make  the -nihil  pay. 


"  MAIS — il  y  a  ton  jours  un  '  mats,'  "  says  the  French  proverb, 
and,  as  we  approach  November,  don't  we  Londoners  wish  that 
"il  y  a  toujours  un  '  Mai  '  "  were  proverbially  true  a^Londres  ! 


SOUTH  AFRICAN  ANATHEMA. — Botha  de  Wet !    We  say  so  too. 


283 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHAEIVARL 


[OCTOBER  16,   1901. 


ACTUALITY. 

(An  Extract  from  a  "probable  "  new  novel.) 

["  Probably  one  of  the  characteristic  features  of  the  new  novel  will  be  the 
relegation  of  the  element  of  eex  love  to  a  subsidiary  place.  It  may  bo  that 
current  fiction  has  rather  exaggerated  the  importance  of  the  love  of  a  man 
for  a  maid.  It  is  open  to  doubt  if,  in  most  live?,  love  is  the  be-all  and  end-all 
of  existence."— The  Academy,  September  24.] 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. — A  MOMENT  FOR  MATRIMONY. 

AND  so  PKNDLETON  PIGOT  was  recognised  by  the  whole  world 
as  a  fully-fledged  multi-millionaire.    And  so  young,  too,  for  he 
was  barely  forty-one,  in  spite  of  the  grey  flecks  amid  his  well- 
groomed  hair.    As  he  sat  in  his  library,  drawing  dreamily  at  a 
Floro  di  Leuiathano,  the  whole  of  his  busy  life  passed  before 
him    like   some   wonderful    pageant.     The   errand-boy   at    the 
ginger-beer  factory,  the  supernumerary  stamp-moistener,  the 
toiling   clerk,   the   commercial 
traveller,  the  proprietor  of  a 
greengrocery  business,  and  so 
on   through   the    myriad    com- 
mercial   labyrinths,   until   the 
dizzy    pinnacle     of      financial 
success    was  reached,  and   he 
floated  the  Empire  and  Battle- 
ship  Supply  Association,   and 
stood   revealed   as   the   triple- 
Napoleon     of     commerce. 
PENDLETON  was  a  typical  pro- 
duct   of    the    age  —  though    a 
nigh  one :    a   man  who   had   a 
large    grasp    of    our    complex 
life,    and  who  early    set   him- 
self  to    devote   to   everything 
within    his    ken  —  which   was 
everything  —  just     so    much 
ime    and    mental    energy    as 
its  importance    in    the    great 
osmic   scheme  justified.    For 
three  hundred   and  sixty- four 
days  in  the  year  he  immersed 
limself     in     the     multifarious 
jroblems  which  crop  up  in  the 
ife    of    a    young    man    deter- 
mined   to    get    on.      On    the 
hree  hundred  and  sixty-fifth 
^ENDLETON  allowed   himself  to 

bored  by  the  unmonetary 
usiness    of    domesticity,    or, 
to  stretch    a  somewhat    anti- 


Thc  secretary  found  them  and  read  as  follows 
Miss  SYLVIA  FLINDRIES.    Aix.    '9! 


Matrimonial  Advantages. 
Tall,  brunette. 
Well  connected. 
Nice  voice,  features,  and  figure.   Brotheran  absolute  fool. 
Dresses  well. 


Matrimon ial  Disadvantages. 
Invalid  mother  (loquacious). 
Father  overbearine:. 


Tactful  and  easy  in  manner. 

Vivacity. 

Age  26,  or  thereabouts. 


Will  sing  and  read  novels. 

A  dash  of  sentiment  (bad). 

Mode  of  life  and  tastes — simple. 

Fond   of    theatre  and    society 

functions. 

Note.    When  thinking  of  marrying  worthy  of  a  trial. 
PENDLETON  expelled  a  cloud  of  smoke  cogitatively. 
"  Just  type  a  note,  OGLETON." 
"  Ai-e   you  thinking  of    marrying,   Sir,"    enquired   he   with 
the  privilege  of  an  old  employe. 


ILLUSTRATED    QUOTATIONS. 

(One  so  seldom  finds  an  Artist  who  realises  the  poetic  conception.') 


'  OUT,  DAMNED  SPOT  !  " — Macbeth. 


"  I  had  some  such  idea," 
answered  PENDLETON,  with  a 
half  smile  of  good  nature.  "  If 
you  remember,  next  Wednes- 
day week  is  the  one  day  set 
aside  out  of  the  year  for 
such  trivialities  as  infect  our 
modern  life.  Matrimony  is 
one  of  them,  to  which  love- 
making  was  an  insensate 
preliminary  in  my  boyhood's 
days,  and  a  great  deal  of  the 
fiction  concocted  during  that 
flimsy  period  of  our  history 
was  devoted  to  it.  I  intend 
to  get  married.  I  have  been 
meaning  to  do  so  for  some 
years  past,  bub  being  occu- 
pied by  so  many  important 
affairs  has  put  the  idea  out 
of  my  head.  It's  a  thing  I 
believe  one  ought  to  do,  so 
I  want  to  do  it,  and  have 
done  with  such  nonsense 
once  and  for  all.  Just  drop 
a  nice  note  to  Miss  FLINDRIES, 
enclosing  in  tabulated  form 
my  conception  of  her  advan- 
tages and  disadvantages,  and 
say  I  intend  to  get  married 
on  Wednesday  week,  and 
would  be  happy  to  give  her 
the  first  refusal  of  myself. 

Ask  her  to  enclose  the  last  six  photos  she  has  had  taken  of 
herself,  as  I  only  vaguely  remember  what  she  is  like.  Say 
that  I  consider  she  could  bo  adapted  to  my  few  domestic 


By-the-bye,  OGLETON,"  he  said,  as  the  young  man  entered, 
'  the    name    of    that    young    lady   I   told    you    to 


what   was 
remember  ?  ' 


ciuated  term,  his  love  affairs,     that  day  was  near   at  hand, 
and  he  felt  that  a  little  relaxation  from  the   more  serious 
duties  of  existence  would  only  be  consistent  with  his  admirable 
TJ  wants,    and    if    she    is    desirous    of    soeing    my    houses    and 

stretched  out  his  hand  and  pressed  tho  electric  bell  for   property  I  should  be  most  happy  to  personally  conduct  her 
scretary.  over  tnem>  and  repiy  to  the  best  of  my  ability  to  any  questions 

she  may  think  it  necessary  to  ask. 

"Remind  Miss  FLINDRIES  of  all  the  sources  for  acquaint- 
ing herself  of  my  character,  and  enclose  extracts  from 
red  books,  etc.,  with  a  stamped  and  addressed  envelope 
in  case  of  rejection.  State  that  an  early  reply  will  oblige, 
as  in  the  event  of  Miss  SYLVIA  FLINDRIES  declining  my 

,,  _„   —  0 — r —     offer,  I   have  other   ladies   on  my  list  (though   I   freely  con- 

fess   none    -with    so    few    disadvantages)    to   whom   a   similar 

uw          Monte  Carlo,  in '97,  wasn't  it?"  [offer  will   b3   extended.     That  is   all.     I   shall   leave  all  tho 

ne  is  dated  June   in  the  following  year,  Sir,  at   details  of  the   ceremony  in   your   hands.     Remind   me   that  I 

have  an  appointment  to  be  married  on  Wednesday  week, 
and  post  me  up  in  the  bride's  family  history.  And  now  we 
can  return  once  more  to  the  normal  features  of  our  modern 
civilized  life." 


The   secretary    turned    hastily    somo    leaves    of    his    note- 
book. 

"  Miss  SYLVIA  FLINDRIES,  Sir." 
Ah  !    I  fancy  I  was  rather  struck  by  her  general  deport- 


Aix.' 


"  Oh,"  said  PENDLETON,  calmly.    "  One  meets  so  many  people. 

I  be  level  jotted  down  a  few  particulars  for  future  reference. 
Have  you  them  handy  ?  " 


OCTOBER  23,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI 


289 


WHAT  WE  DO  WITH  OUR  BOYS. 

REALLY,  Mr.  GREY,  it 's  most  kind  of 
your  "wife  to  take  so  much  trouble.     But 
everyone  spoils  MARJORY.    Ah,  you  think 
so  ?    So  glad  !    And  yet  I  'm  very  anxious 
about  her.     Oh,    clear  no,  she  's  delight- 
fully good  and  obedient,  and  all  that,  so 
different  from  PERCY.    But  then,  girls  are 
different,  are  they  not?     But  still — you 
have  no  daughters  of  your  own,  I  believe  ? 
Yes  ?    Ah,  then,  you  can  sympathise  with 
me.     A  mother's  responsibilities  are  so — 
so — exactly,  so  overwhelming,  that  some- 
times one's  heart  fails  one.     But  we  can't 
do  more  than  our    best    for    them,    can 
we?      And   some 'mothers  are  so  —  now 
there 's  Lady  COOTE.  You  know  her  ?  Yes  ? 
Exactly !      And   her  one   idea   is   to  get 
those    red  -  haired    girls    married.       She 
thinks    of    nothing  —  nothing,    but    that. 
Yes!     So  narrowing,  ain't  it?    And  the 
way  she  hunted  that  poor  cracked  Lord 
SAXDOWN  last  •  year  —  positively  hunted 
him!     Makes  her  look  so  ridiculous,  don't 
it?      Ah  yes,  yes,  of  course.     I  suppose 
my  MARJORY  will  marry  some  day.    They 
do,   don't  they  ?    But  what  troubles  me 
is  the — just  so,  the  bringing  her  tip  to — 
I  suppose  now,  you  believe  in  the  Higher 
Education  of  Women  and  all  that?     No? 
Oh,  but  how  nice  of  you  to  say  so.     And 
yet,   you  know,   there   are  people — now, 
there 's   ISABEL   SOUTHOATE.     I    suppose 
you  don't  know — yes,  Sir  CHARLES  is  my 
cousin.     Yes.     Well,   would   you   believe 
it,  she   is  positively  going   to  send   her 
girls  to  Newnham,  or  one  of  those  places. 
Yes,  really.     And  they^are  actually  going 
to  take  up  teaching  themselves.      Now 
can    you    conceive    anything    more  —  of 
sourse,  I  only  mean  as  regards  women. 
Y^our  case  is  so'different.     I  always  think 
yours   is   such   a  noble   profession.     Oh, 
Wit    it    is.     So— er — so    unselfish.     Yes ! 
3oys  are  so  difficult,  ain't  they  ? 
Now  do  tell  me  what  you  think  of  my 
'ERCY.     Ah,  you  've  noticed  that  ?    High- 
;pirited !     Yes !     How   I  envy  you  that 
;ift  of  reading  character.     Directly  you 
poke  to  him  I  could  see  that  you  would 
•et  on'beautifully  together.     He  certainly 
[ias  rather  high 'spirits,  hasn't  he  ?    Yes  ! 
.t,  of  course,  all  his  father's  family  are 
e  '"that,   you  know.      Yes,   poor    Lord 
ATRICK.      Very  sad,   wasn't  it,   and  so 
isagreeable  for  the  |  family .     But  it  was 
[ll.the  fault  of  that,  terrible  old  dowager, 
he  way  she  neglected  her  children,  when 
e  wasn't  spoiling  them.     Well,   what 
so  could  one'expect  ? 
But  I  feel  quite  happy  about  PERCY, 
w  that  I  know  he  's  in  such  good  hands, 
.ways  think,  you  know,  that  a  mother 
really  the  last  person  in  the  world  to 
ain  her -,own  boys.     Of 'course,  yes,  so 
,ny  other  things  to  think  of,  hasn't  one  ? 
id  they  're  so  noisy,   ain't  they,    and 
vays  getting   into  mischief.     Exactly, 
'thing  else  for  them  to^do,  is  there  ? 


Lady  Sneerwell.  " HAVE  YOUR  DAUGHTERS  ACCOMPLISHED  MUCH  IN  MUSIC?" 
Unfortunate  Father.  "YES — THE  TENANTS  BELOW  HAVE  MOVED." 


The  end  of  the  holidays  is  always  such  a 
relief.  It 's  so — so  restful  to  think  that 
someone  else  is  looking  after  them. 
Someone  one  knows  and  trusts,  of  course. 
But  really,  your  influence  over  boys  is 
quite — oh,  but  how  delightful  of  you. 
Now,  I  've  never  thought  of  that  before. 
How  simple !  Yes,  I  see.  Just  to  love 
them  all.  To  love  them.  That  must  make 
it  so  delightfully  easy.  Let  me  see, 
haven't  you  a  little  CONYERS  boy  here? 
Yes  ?  And  you  love  him  ?  Really  ? 
Really!  Well,  now,  that  is  too  dear  of 
you.  I  must  tell  MARJORY.  Ah,  here 
they  are. 

Well,  darling?  And  you  liked  it  all? 
I  'm  sure  it  is.  And  I  feel  so  happy  about 
PERCY.  Mr.  GREY  has  just  been  telling 
me  the  secret  of  his  influence.  Can  you 
imagine  anyone  loving — really  loving — 
that  unfortunate  boy  of  MABEL  CONYERS  ? 
Ah,  well  then,  you  are  like  Mr.  GREY. 


I  'm  sure  I  couldn't.  But  he  says  he  loves 
them  all,  and — oh,  MARJORY,  do  you  hear 
that?  The  more  disagreeable  they  are 
the  more  he  loves  them.  Wonderful  ! 
I  'm  sure  after  that  we  can  have  no  qualms 
about  leaving  PERCY  in  Mr.  GREY'S  hands. 
Now,  darling,  if  we  're  to  catch  our  train 
I  think  we  ought  to  be — oh,  by  the  way, 
my  husband  is  rather  particular  about 
religious  views, — not  too  high,  you  know. 
Yes  ?  But  that 's  a  great  relief.  And 
they  say  their  prayers  and  that  sort  of 
thing  ?  Yes  ?  How  nice !  Oh,  and  will 
you  be  so  kind,  Mrs.  GREY,  as  to  see  that 
he  wears  his  thick  Jaegers?  Nonsense, 
PERCY,  they  don't  tickle.  He  's  always 
so  tiresome  about  them,  Mrs.  GREY,  but 
I  'm  sure  he  '11  do  what  you  tell  him.  Well 
now,  we  really  must  be— Goodbye,  my 
darling  boy.  Goodbye,  Mr.  GREY  ;  I  have 
so  enjoyed  our  little  chat.  So  glad  you  're 
not  too  high.  Good-bye.  G.  F.  C. 


VOL.  cxxi. 


290 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHAEIVARL 


[OCTOBER  23,  1901. 


WE  ARE  POOR  YEOMANRY. 

(After,  though  not  precisely  on  a  par  vntli,  the  "Poor  Labourers  "- 

"  Altes  Volkslieder.") 
WE  'VE  had  no  pay  to-day-ay-ay-ay, 
Nor  yet  for  many  a  day-ay-ay-ay, 
We  've  done  what 's  right  and  we  've  fought  our 

fight, 
Yet  we  cannot  get  our  pay  ! 

Red  Tape  is  in  the  way-ay-ay-ay, 
And  they  won't  cut  it  away-ay-ay-ay. 

It  seems  a  shame,  and  WHO  's  to  blame 
When  we  cannot  get  our  pay  ? 


SOMETHING  LIKE   A  CUBE. 

(Notes  from  the  blank  pages  of  Mr.  Briefless  Junior's  Fee  Book.) 
The  End  of  the  Season  at  Evian-les-Bains. — Owing  to  pressing 
work  in  Chambers  (looking  out  for  chances  in  the  Vacation)  I 
have  come  a  little  late  to  Lac  Leman.  My  hotel,  "  One  of  the 
Best,"  is  "slowing  down."  The  lift  is  only  half  working.  You 
may  go  up,  but  unless  compelled  by  force  majeure  you  may  not 
come  down.  But  force  majeure  can  be  created  by  an  occasional 
tip  to  the  lift  man.  Then  the  Commissionnaire,  resplendent  in  a 
gold  cap  and  Swiss  general's  green  uniform,  performs  unusual 
offices.  In  the  early  morning,  on  my  way  to  the  Source,  I  find 
him  in  our  under-stableman  's  mufti,  seemingly  in  the  absence 
of  a  dismissed  fellow-servant,  hard  at  work  washing  windows 
with  a  mop.  Then  the  Restaurant  visitors  are  turned  into  the 
table  d'hote  room.  This  is  a  proof  that  the  season  is  nearing 
the  end. 

Society  at  "One  of  the  Best." — There  are  three  sets.  The 
first  is  composed  of  the  Restaurant  people  who  have  either  made 
better  bargains  or  pay  more  money  than  the  table  d'hoters. 
They  sit  in  a  separate  apartment  to  the  latter,  and  have  the 
same  meals  but  with  more  flowers  and  candles.  On  the  strength 
of  the  additional  flowers  and  candles  they  look  down  upon  the 
table  d'hoters.  The  table  d'hoters,  the  second  set,  regard  with 
supreme  contempt  (on  the  strength  of  having  better  tables  to 
themselves)  the  common  or  garden  all-at-one-long-boarcl  people. 
When  the  Restaurant  people  are  turned  out  of  their  special  room 
(closed  for  the  season)  the  table  d'hoters  and  others  are  levelled 
up.  All  have  small  tables  and  all  have  more  flowers  and  lights. 
The  Restaurant  people  unbend,  and  the  hotel  contains  a  happy 
family,  which  daily  becomes  small  by  degrees  and,  as  the  hours 
of  departure  by  boat  and  rail  arrive,  beautifully  less. 

Against  Doctor's  Orders. — Those  who  go  to  Evian  for  the  cure 
must  be  careful  to  avoid  making  friends  amongst  the  residents. 
If  you  are  not  careful  you  run  the  chance  of  being  killed  by 
kindness.  Invitations  here,  invitations  there,  invitations 
everywhere.  Charming  music  at  a  chateau.  Pleasant  talks  in 
an  orchard.  Delightful  soiree^  en  ville.  But  against  doctor's 
orders.  You  are  to  be  quiet  and  forget  the  gay  world.  But 
that  you  cannot  do.  This  wheft,  you  are  proffered  the  most 
gracious  and  graceful  hospitality  ?  So  when  visiting  Evian  for 
the  cure,  keep  to  the  role  of  "  The  Stranger." 

The  Cessation  of  the  Casino.— Owing  to  the  close  of  the  season 
Evian  is  losing  its  gaiety.  The  Casinft  has  given  up  its  band 
and  "distractions."  You  miss  the  chance  of  losing  thirty 
francs  in  ten  minutes.  You  are  sorry  a\  the  disappearance  of 
the  grand  orchestra  with  its  marvellous  (Infancy  fifty)  musicians. 
First  went  the  lady  who  played  the  harp\  Then  a  number  of 
strings.  Then  a  good  half  of  the  whole  s\ength  of  the  corn- 
any.  Then  the  conductor.  Even  the  younj\  lady  who  gives 
you  glasses  of  water  at  the  entrance  to  theVrooms  has  dis- 
appeared. Only  the  placards  recording  past  \itures  remain. 
3  it  is  cold  comfort  to  know  how  gay  Evian  \as  in  August 
when  you  are  on  the  road  to  November.  \ 

From  Land  to  TFater.-But  still  we  have  the  b\ats  on  Lac 


Leman.  You  can  make  the  tour  du  Lac.  You  get  on  board  a 
vessel  that  would  give  points  (not  many)  to  the  Thames  steamer, 
and  buy  twenty  francs  worth  of  journey  by  the  kilometre.  You 
wish  to  make  the  tour  of  the  lake,  and  at  once  a  portion  of  your 
card  is  cut  off  and  stamped.  The  journey  by  the  kilometre  is  a  tip. 
You  save  a  third  or  two-thirds  (I  forget  which)  of  the  ordinary 
expense.  Once  on  board  you  possess  yourself  of  a  guide-book 
and  read  up  the  beauties  of  your  surroundings.  You  are  to  see 
mountains,  valleys,  old  castles,  churches,  chateaux,  waterfalls, 
all  lovely  beyond  compare.  This  you  would  do  were  it  not 
for  lunch.  While  you  are  passing  (seated  in  a  cabin)  the  most 
romantic  scenery  imaginable  you  are  eating  a  meal  of  four 
courses  and  a  dessert.  Well,  you  know  what  it  is  like  outside 
— from  the  guide-book. 

A  Fellow  Traveller. — I  met  him  travelling  from  Evian  to 
Ouchy.  He  was  full  of  tact.  I  spoke  to  him  in  French.  He 
understood  me  I  Marvellous  !  Then  he  spoke  to  me  in  French, 
and  I  understood  him  !  Again  marvellous !  Then  we  discovered 
that  we  were  both  born  and  bred  Londoners.  He  had  been 
everywhere.  He  had  during  the  past  fortnight  visited  Naples, 
Rome,  Petersburg,  Berlin,  and  was  on  his  way  to  Brussels. 
He  had  been  twice  to  South  Africa.  He  had  been  round  the 
world  frequently.  He  told  me  all  about  Canada,  India, 
America,  and  Australia.  He  was  full  of  information.  He 
seemed  to  have  been  always  on  the  move.  I  remembered  the 
old  legend  of  the  world-wide  wanderer,  but  he  did  not  look  in 
the  least  like  the  hero  of  that  painful  story.  My  better  seven- 
eighths  whispered,  "  Evidently  a  diplomatist."  I  was  inclined 
to  agree  with  her.  French  is  the  language  of  the  Foreign 
Offices — at  home  and  abroad — and  he  understood  my  French. 
Wonderful  tact !  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir,"  said  I,  "  forgive 
me  for  asking,  as  a  comparative  stranger,  what  I  trust  you  will 
not  consider  an  impertinent  question.  But,  how  are  you  con- 
nected with  Downing  Street  ?  Do  you  carry  despatches  ?  Are 
you  in  the  Diplomatic  service?  "  "  Oh,  no,"  replied  my  fellow 
traveller,  with  a  shrug  of  polite  contempt.  "No,  nothing  of 
that  sort.  I  travel  in  lavender  water." 

On  the  Wing. — I  have  stayed  a  whole  fortnight,  and  my  kind 
doctor  (Swiss)  tells  me  I  may  go  home.  Cured  ?  He  hopes  so, 
and  so  do  I.  I  give  notice  at  "  One  of  the  Best."  The  gentle- 
man who  keeps  the  books  seems  deeply  obliged.  On  the 
strength  of  our  departure  I  fancy  a  deputy  cook  and  a  chap 
who  sweeps  up  leaves  in  the  grounds  are  dismissed — until 
next  season.  We  bid  adieu.  First  to  our  kind  and  hospitable 
friends.  Then  to  the  constituents  of  Evian.  I  give  a  list  of 
those  who  receive  tips.  Two  chambermaids.  Man  who  brings 
in  the  matutinal  tub.  Man  who  brings  in  the  complete  tea. 
Fellow  with  the  lift.  Chap  who  helps  him  sometimes.  Con- 
cierge. Man  who  says  there  are  no  letters  when  the  concierge 
is  not  there.  Head  waiter.  Waiter  who  looks  after  our  table. 
Another  waiter  who  takes  an  interest  in  us  because  he  says 
he  knew  us  when  we  stayed  at  the  Hotel  First-rate  in  town.  A 
fellow  who  opens  the  door.  Smoking-room  waiter.  Smoking- 
room  waiter's  deputy.  Several  porters.  Two  omnibus  men. 
Employes  at  the  Source.  Beggar  who  gave  us  a  shock  on  our 
arrival  by  exhibiting  a  deformed  leg  as  a  specimen  of  an  Evian 
cure.  Chap  who  touches  his  hat  on  the  pier.  And,  last  but 
not  least,  the  Commissionnaire  (tipped  several  times  during  our 
stay)  who  seizes  a  rug  from  a  porter  and  presents  himself 
smiling.  Porter  looks  so  disappointed  that  have  to  tip  him  too. 
Total  of  largesses :  Fifty-seven  francs  ! 

Parting  Opinion. — "My  dear  friend,"  says  an  acquaintance 
who  pretends  to  know  all  about  it,  "  the  beauty  of  the  Evian 
water  is  this  :  it  brings  everything  out  of  you.  It  will  dis- 
cover all  the  ailments  under  the  sun — if  you  have  them.  All 
you  have  to  do  after  taking  your  course  is  to  wait.  The  Evian 
water  is  deliberate.  You  don't  know  at  once.  Wait  for  a  few 
weeks  and  then  you  will  know  what 's  the  matter." 

***** 

A  Month  .Later. — No  complaints. 


OCTOBER  23,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


291 


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OCTOBER  23,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OK  THE   LONDON   CHAKIVARL 


293 


HOW  IT   STKIKES  A  CON- 
TEMPORAEY. 

II.— O/  "T/ie   Spectator,"  regarded   as  a 
sensational  organ. 

["Gentlemen,  there  is  something  cruelly  com- 
plete in  all  the  circumstances  of  this  nine  days' 
imposture.  A  respectable  weekly  newspaper — 
(laughter)—  of  blameless  antecedents— (laughter)— 
and  growing  infirmities— (laughter) — was  selected 
at  once  to  be  its  vehicle  and  its  victim.  It  was  a 
piquant  variation  of  those  stories  about .  .  .  eccen- 
tric members  of  the  animated  creation  with  which 
the  journal  is  in  the  habit  of  regaling  its  unsophis- 
ticated readers.  (Laughter)."  —  Mr.  Asquith  on 
the  Rhodes -Schnadhorst  correspondence  in  "  The 
Spectator."] 
IT  is  indeed  an  age  of  doubt, 

Incredulous,  iconoclastic ; 
The  ancient  creeds  are  dying  out, 

Or  growing  daily  more  elastic  ; 
We  stand  with  folded  arms  and  see 

Our  fondest,  shapeliest  idols  shattered  ; 
And  wear  a  torpid  apathy 

Just  as  if  nothing  really  mattered. 

We  note  the  pains  that  History  takes 

With  certain  hoary  myths  to  grapple — 
How  truthful  ALFRED  wrecked  the  cakes, 

Or  WILLIAM  TELL  secured  the  apple  ; 
And  fee.l  no  rising  in  our  gorge 

Though  faiths  are  left  without  a  rag  on, 
Not  though  it  seems  that  good  St.  George 

Never  competed  with  a  Dragon. 

Yet  from  the  slump  which  overtook 

The  dear  beliefs  we  used  to^cherish 
One  faith  survived,  and,  hook  or  crook, 

We  swore  it  should  not  lightly  perish  ; 
All  others  might  be  meltediin 

The  Higher  Criticism's  crater, 
Our  confidence  we  yet  would  pin 

To  our  beloved  and  tried  Spectator  I 

For  though  a  taste  for  Nature's  "sports  " 

Had  left  it  reckless  how  it  sifted 
The  origin  of  those  reports 

Of  puppies  fabulously  gifted, 
At  such  impostures  we  connived  ; 

We  knew  that  they  were  faked  at  leisure 
By  country  rectors  who  derived 

From  this  employ  U  harmless  pleasure. 

In  fact  our  organ's  credit  grew 

More  firm  by  this  facetious  column, 
Because  it  called  attention  to 

The  general  tone  as  strictly  solemn  ; 
We  saw  its  wit  was  thus  confined 

Within  the  mute  creation's  borders, 
While  all  its  serious  powers  of  mind 

Were  centred  on  the  higher  orders. 

Why  could  not  such  a  scheme  suffice  ? 

O  blameless,  O  demure  Spectator, 
Lone  vehicle  of  sound  advice, 

And  virtue's  prime  perambulator  !   j 
Have  you  at  last  been  led  astray 

Through  momentary  exaltation, 
And  gone  the  pestilential  way 

Of  prints  that  traffic  in  sensation  ? 

How  did  you  ever  come  to  mix 
In  scandal  aimed  at  Mr.  SCHNALHJRST, 


ENGLISHMAN'S    HOUSE,"    &C. 


Maid  (looking  over  wall  to  newly-married  couple  just  returned  from  their  honeymoon).    "  OH, 

PLEASE   'M,    THAT    DOG  WAS    SENT    HERE    YESTERDAY  AS    A   WEDDING.  PRESENT  ;   AND   NONE  O'F 

us  CAN'T  GO  NEAR  HIM.    You  'LL  HAVE  TO  COME  IN  BY  THE  BACK  WAY  !  ' 


Or  try  these  giddy  circus-tricks, 
Hoop-flying,  hobby-mounted,  fad-horsed  ? 

Feats  that  become  a  skittish  wench, 
With  flaunting  hose  and  flimsy  skirt  on, 

Should  not  be  practised  by  the  Bench, 
Or  solid  matrons  reared  at  Girton. 

You  have  your  part ;  it  is  to  preach 

The  value  of  the  old  convictions, 
Or,  failing  this,  at  worst  to  reach 

Our     children's     hearts    with    homely 

fictions : 
Need  your  respected  ears  be  lent 

To  public  Rumour's  brazen  trumpets  ? 
No,  no  !  come  back,  and  be  content 

With  tales  of  our  prodigious  dumb  pets. 

O.  S. 


OVER  THE  SEA. 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCH, — I  read  that  two  new 
cures  for  sea  sickness  have  just  been 
discovered ;  the  one  the  eating  of  bananas ; 
the  other,  found  out  by  Professor  HEINZ,  of 
Erlangen,  who  declares  that  the  malady 
proceeds  from  the  lobe  of  the  brain,  and 
that  to  avert  it  one  has  only  to  breathe 
freely.  As  to  the  Professor's  theory 
about  breathing  freely,  I  can  safely  assert 
that  I  never  open  my  mouth  so  wide  as 
when  crossing  the  Channel,  but  the 
experiment  is  an  unpleasant  failure. 
Your  obedient  servant, 

PccWiam  Rye.     DiONYSius  DABELRISK. 


[OCTOBER  23,  1901. 


LIVES   OF   GREAT   MEN. 
No.  IV.— HERBERT  WELLESLEY  ROSSITER. 
SOME  time  ago,  with  nothing  much  to  do, 

It  chanced  that  I  was  wandering  through  the  City. 
Something  there  was  I  wanted  to  put  through, 

But  could  not  think  of  it,  the  more  's  the  pity. 
These  great  resolves  which  have  no  base  to  stand  on 
Are  hard  to  act  on,  easy  to  abandon. 
What  hope  inspired  me  ?    "Whither  was  I  bound  ? 

"Why  had  I  left  my  West-End  fellow  mortals  ? 
What  brought  me  to  the  consecrated  ground, 

Close  to  the  Mansion  House's  massive  portals  ? 
I  could  not  say— I  might  have  been  a  dumb  thing — 
But  well  I  knew  that  there  had  once  been  something. 

Ranged  in£a  line,  the  buses  seemed  to  fret 
The^City  constable,  their  kind  instructor  ; 

While  each  one's  pole — so  closely  were  they  set- 
All  but  impaled  the  previous  one's  conductor. 

And  all  the  busmen  looked  most  unseraphic, 

Thus  blocked  and  hindered  in  the  seething  traffic. 

I  saw  the  brokers  hurrying  on  their  way, 

Swift  past  the  corners  where  the  cunning  touts  hide  ; 
I  saw  promoters  pouncing  on  their  prey  ; 

I  saw  the  StockAExchange — at  least  its  outside. 
I  heard'the  jobbers  coax  and  curse  and  wheedle  ; 
I  saw  the  Bank,  jand,  ah  !  I  saw  its  beadle. 

Clerks  with  their  downy  faces  too  Avere  there, 
Sharp  as  the  razors  that  they  had  no  use  for  ; 

And  well-fed  men — I  knew  not  who  they  were  : 
Such  ignorance  there  's  really  no  excuse  for. 

At  any  rate,  the  rather  stout  and  balder  men 

I  marked  as  Common  Councillors  or  Aldermen. 

My  lingering  gait,  where  most  men  seemed  to  race, 
Struck  me  at  last  as  something  almost  shameless  ; 

Amid  this  eager  crowd  there  was  no  place, 
It  seemed,  for  one  so  indolently  aimless. 

Jostled  by^all  this  swift  financial  flurry, 

I  too,  I  thought,  must  rouse  myself  and  hurry. 

And  so  I  scooted  "on  like  anything, 

An  air  of  resolution  on  my  visage 
Fashioned  to  make  me  like  some  merchant  king 

Intent  to  stamp  himself  at  least  on  his  age. 
And  in  a  step  or  two  a  change  came  o'er  me, 
And'golden  visions  seemed  to  float  before  me. 

And  many  other  men,  a  motley~crew, 
Drawn,  I  suppose,  by  these  ecstatic  visions, 

Along  the  City  street  were  hurrying  too, 
Heedless  of  hindrance,  reckless  of  collisions. 

A  quest  they  had  and  a  resolve  to  win  it : 

"  There  's  something  on,"  I  thought,  "  and  I  '11  be  in  it. 

I  followed  one  who  seemed  to  promise  pelf  : 
It  came  from  every  pore  in  all  his  fat  form  ; 

And  then,  I  know  not  hoAV,  I  found  myself 
Seated  upon  a  bench  before  a  platform  ; 

And  there  I  found  what  I  had  long  been  seeking, 

For  HERBERT  WELLESLEY  ROSSITER  was  speaking. 

Who>nows  not  HERBERT  ?    He  is  of  the  .men 
Who  made  the  Empire — not  as  Romans  made  it, 

Or  GENGHIS  KHAN  or  ALEXANDER,  when 
With  fire  and  sword  they  harried  and  invaded. 

He  worked— we  have  it  in  his  own  confession^— 

By  giving  cheques  and  getting  fat  concessions 

His  mind^vas'^most  inadequately  stored  : 
At  school  and  college  he  was  dull  and  stupid. 


Men  he  despised  ;  by  women  lie  was  bored  : 

He  did  not  once,  in  fact,  give  way  to  Cupid. 
He  did  no  work,  he  did  not  seem  for  play  made, 
This  hulking  lout  of  very  common  clay  made. 

His  wit  was  small ;  his  wisdom  seemed  to  lie 
Mainly  in  jests  that  stung  and  jeers  that  hurt  you. 

For  daily  life  his  standard  was  not  high  : 
Honour  he  scorned,  and  much  derided  virtue  : 

"  Its  own  reward  ?  "  he  sneered,  "  Too  low  the  price  is  ; 

I  much  prefer  the  market  rate  for  vices." 

"Why  strive,   since  strife  makes   heat?"  he  [said :   it 
That  moiiey  down  was  easier  and  cooler,  [seemed 

And  so  he  drew  his  cheques,  and  paid,  and  dreamed 
A  world  of  dupes  with  ROSSITER  as  ruler. 

Those  who  outwitted  him  he  liked,  nor  pitied 

But  only  laughed  at  those  whom  he  outwitted. 

Oft  had  I  wanted  to  behold  this  man, 

Hero  of  countless  anecdotes  and  stories, 
Hear  him  expound  some  new  financial  plan, 

Or  tell  the  tale  of  all  his  ancient  glories. 
Till  now  from  print  I  merely  had  inferred  him, 
And  lo  !  by  chance  I  sat  and  saw  and  heard  him. 

(To  be  continued.)  R.  C.  L. 


THE   MAYOR  AND   THE  MAJOR. 

THE  Mayor-elect  of  Portsmouth  is  one  Major  DUPREE.  Some 
of  the  ratepayers  would  apparently  have  preferred  another 
candidate,  Alderman  SCOTT-FOSTER,  but  there  is  a  smack  of 
lautical  rhythm  about  the  name  of  DUPREE  quite  appropriate  to 
Portsmouth.  For  instance — 

The  freedom  of  the  boundless  sea 
la  now  an  heirloom  of  DUPEKE. 

Or  again  : 

Oh !  who  will  o'er  the  Downs  so  free, 

With  Portsmouth  Mayor,  the  great  DUPEEE  ? 

Or  yet  again  : 

I  sing  to  you  in  minor  key 

Of  one  who 's  Major,  named  DUPEEE, 

A  Mayor  of  Mare,  that 's  the  sea. 

Or  yet  once  more  : 

At  Portsmouth  town  the  Council,  sager 
Than  anybody,  chose  the  Major, 
And,  having  whims  and  whams,  DUTEKE 
Made  Mayor  and  Major  joined,  you  see. 

All  good  health  to  the  Major-Mayor !  May  his  present  du-pre- 
ciation  by  his  adversaries  never  be  fostered  for  long.  We  are 
perfectly  certain  that  during  his  mayoralty  Portsmouth  will 
not  be  a  mere  geographical  expression,  for  he  has  the  support 
of  the  Licensed  Victuallers. 


"MY  'OSSES." 
EXTRACT  FROM  THE  TRAVEL  DIARY  OF  TOBY  M.P. 

STRICTLY  speaking  they  are  not  his  horses.  By  legal  right 
derived  from  cash  payment,  they  belong  to  his  master,  Sir 
PHILIP.  CHARLES  is  merely  the  coachman.  But  having  been 
in  charge  of  the  stables  for  seven  years,  he  has  come  to  look  upon 
all  connected  with  that  sacred  locality  as  his  private  property 
the  master  being  a  perhaps  indispensable  adjunct.  I  often 
share  the  box-seat  with  CHARLES,  my  place  being,  of  course,  the 
lower  one.  I  never  descend  to  the  further  level  trodden  by 
people  who  don't  drive  horses  without  a  feeling  of  abject 
inferiority. 

CHARLES  has  looted  convictions  on  all  topics,  and  is  not  averse 
to  stating  them.    He  doesn't  think  much  of  the  present  Ministry 

'  'They  run  in  blinkers,"  he  says  ;  "  which  is  well  enough  for 


OCTOBER  23,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


295 


Angler.   "I  THINK  WE  MIGHT  CATCH  ANOTHER  ONE  TO-NIGHT  YET,  DOUGAL." 

Dougal.   "I'M  THINKIN',  SIR,  WE'D  AS  WELL  BE  GOIN'  HOME.     THERE'S  NO  ENOUGH — ER — LIGHT  TO  CATCH  ANOTHER  FISH!" 


a  'oss,  but  not  the  thing  for  a  human  being,  much  less  for  a 
Cabinet  Minister.  Wot  did  they  bring  ROBERTS  'ome  for?  "  he 
sternly  asks  me. 

"  Why  indeed?  "  I  say,  meanly  shaking  my  head  as  if  I  had 
long  brooded  over  the  problem  and  given  it  up  as  hopeless. 

Bicycles  he  despises ;  motor  cars  he  abominates.  His  loyalty 
is  shaken  by  hearing  that  the  other  day  the  KING  drove  from 
Windsor  to  London  on  a  motor  car,  occasionally  doing  forty 
miles  an  hour. 

"  I  never^cycle,  much  less  moter,"  says  CHARLES,  in  a  tone 
that  speaks  infinite  contempt  and  distrust  for  those  who  do. 
"A  pair  of  'osses  like  them  now  afore  you  is  good  enough 
for  me." 

He  speaks  very  nicely  of  his  master,  a  feeling  justified  by 
habit  on  the  part  of  that  person  to  keep  his  place. 

"  I  will  have  good  'osses  to  drive,"  he  said,  "  and  Sir  PHILIP 
knows  it.  This  pair — look  at  the  gloss  on  the  chestnut's  coat — 
if  put  up  at  TATT'SILLS  to-morrow  would  bring  500  guineas.  If 
I  wasn't  allowed  the  like  of  'em  I  'd  leave  the  shop.  But  then, 
look  what  I  do  for  'em.  There  's  four  of  us  in  the  yard..  But 
lor  !  what 's  four  for  six  'osses  ?  It 's  elbow-grease  that  makes 
that  coat  shine,  and  I  stand  by  and  see  my  fellers  put  it  on." 

CHARLES  does  not  approve  his  master's  choice  this  year  of  a 
country  house,  albeit  it  is  one  of  historic  renown. 

"The  stables  ain't  a  patch  on  them  we  had  last  year,"  he 
gloomily  remarks;  "  nor  my  quarters  isn't  neether.  Only  for 
my  'osses  I  'd  take  rooms  in  the  village.  But  there,  how  could 
I  be  spared  ?  There  's  dinner  and  tea  to  go  and  git,  and  where 
would  my  'osses  be  whilst  I  was  feedin'  ?  In  a  way,  it 's  like 
KITCHENER,  d'ye  see?  He's  put  in  charge  of  the  War  now 
ROBERTS  has  come  'ome, — though  why  the  Government.  .  .  . 
KITCHENER  's  made  responsible  by  CHAMBERLING  for  the  business 


of  the  War,  and  he  must  be  on  the  spot  night  and  day.  Sir 
PHILIP  's  give  my  'osses  into  my  charge,  and  I  'm  allus  on  the 
spot.  But  they  're  poor  rooms  compared  with  those  I  had  last 
year.  Wo'a,  Lovely  !  Wo'a,  lass  !  " 

Throned  on  the  box  of  the  landau,  CHARLES  casts  an  air  of 
severe  respectability  over  the  company  seated  within.  To  a 
back  view  he  presents  a  blue  coat  with  bright  brass  buttons  ; 
a  carefully  brushed  hat  with  a  cockade ;  a  shirt  collar  of  the 
stiffness  of  a  wall  and  the  height  of  a  fence.  How  he  gets  his 
head  in  and  out  of  it  no  other  man  knoweth. 

Some  experts  occasionally  drive  a  pair  of  horses  with  the 
reins  held  in  the  left  hand.  CHARLES  never.  Driving  is  a 
serious  occupation,  and  must  be  conducted  accordingly. 
CHARLES,  with  his  shoulders  squared,  his  elbows  akimbo,  his 
feet,  with  the  toes  slightly  turned  outward,  firmly  set  on  the 
boards,  with  the  pleased  sun  shining  on  his  spotless  white 
breeches  and  his  highly  -  polished  top  boots,  always  holds 
the  reins  in  both  gloved  hands. 

"  It  looks  easy  enough,"  he  said,  rightly  interpreting  a  glance 
of  admiration  involuntarily  falling  on  his  figure  and  pose.  "  But 
no  one  that  'asn't  got  to  do  it  knows  how  my  near  'oss  pulls. 
He  's  got  no  mouth  at  all.  Come  up,  Lovely." 


TOOTHSOME. — Here  is  a  chorus  to  delight  a  sufferer  who  is 
expecting  to  be  fitted  up  with  an  entire  ratelisr: — 

"  Oh,  that  will  be  jaw-ful ! " 

Though,  by  the  way,  the  well-known  concluding  line  of  this 
jubilant  verse  would  not  suggest  a  state  of  happiness  to  the 
"wearer  of  the  grin,"  as  there  would  be  neither  meat  nor 
drink  for  the  unhappy  person  whose  new  teeth,  upper  and  lower, 
should  "  meet  to  part  no  mor3  !  " 


PUNCH,   OE  THE  LONDON  CHABIVARI. 


[OCTOBER  23,  1901. 


OUR    BOOKING-OFFICE. 

CHRISTMAS  is  coming,  there 's  no  doubt  about  it ;  and  as 
Christmas  gets  nearer  and  nearer— which  is  really  qur 
contrary  to  the  genial  and  generous  disposition  of  all  past 
rec-handed  Christmases  with  which  the  Baron  has  bee 
ntimately  acquainted— so  ought  our  hearts  to  expand  and  oui 
hands  go  out  of  our  pockets,  with  money  in  them,  to  pay,  pay, 
pay,  and  give  pleasure  to  those  young  'uns  whose  turn  will  come 
n  time  to  do  likewise  and  to  give  pleasure  freely  as  freely  they 
nave  received  it.  So  to  those  in  search  of  Gift  Books  the  Baro« 
recommends  The  Adventures  of  a  Japanese  Doll,  written  and 
capitally  illustrated  in  colours  and  Anglo-Japanese  style  by 
HENRY  MAYER  (GRANT  RICHARDS)  ;  also  Fairy  Tales  from,  the 
Siuedish  by  H.  L.  BRJSKSTED  (among  which  will  be  found  some 
variants  of  very  ancient  friends)  with  clever  illustrations  by 
KITTELSEN,  ERIK  WERENSKIOLD  and  CARL  LARSSON  (HEINEMANN). 
Then  there  is  Old  King  Cole's  Book  of  Nursery  Rhymes  (MACMILLAN 
&  Co.,  Limited,  London  and  New  York),  with  eccentric  pictures 
in  colours  by  BYAM  SHAW,  representing  Sad  Peter  Piper,  the 
mystery  of  whose  embezzlement  of ' '  a  peck  of  pickled  pepper ' '  has 
never  yet  arrived  within  measurable  distance  of  being  cleared 
up ;  and  there  is  "  Hush-a-bye  Baby  "  Americanized  as  "  Rock-a- 
bye  Baby,"  and  a  number  of  other  dear  old  nursery  rhymes  that 
the  Baron,  the  Baroness,  the  Baronites,  and  the  Baronitesses 
would  not  willingly  let  die,  all  set  out  in  clear  print  with 
plenty  of  margin,  just  the  very  thing  for  nursery  delight  in  the 
present  year  of  grace  and,  being  carefully  preserved,  for 
reflection  in  "The  Coming  By-and-By."  Also,  from  the  same 
MACMILLANERY  Co.,  we  have  Old  Irishe  Rimes  of  Brian 
O'Linn,  amusingly  written  and  spiritedly  illustrated  by 
ROSAMUND  PRAEGER.  Here,  too,  is  The  Green  Cat,  by  S.  ASHTON 
(SiMPKiN,  MARSHALL  &  Co.,  Limited),  and  illustrated  by  DOROTHY 
FURNISS,  who  is  to  be  congratulated  on  having  made  such  strides, 
such  "grand  strides,"  in  her  art  that,  "  'pon  my  life  and  soul,  oh, 
demmit,"  as  Mr.  Mantalini  observed,  the  Baron  could  scarcely 
believe  his  eyes  when  they  informed  him  that  he  was  not 
admiring  the  humorous  touches  of  the  HARRY  FURNISS  pencil 
but  those  of  his  daughter.  Only  here  and  there  occurs  a  draw- 
ing that  H.  F.  pera  could  not  have  done,  except,  perhaps,  when 
he  was  the  same  age  as  his  clever  daughter  who  here  exhibits 
brilliant  sparks  of  genius  derived  from  the  original  FURNISS. 

The  Life  of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  (METHUEN),  designed  as  a 
supplement  to  the  two  volumes  of  his  Letters,  was  to  have  been 
written  by  his  early  and  late  friend,  Mr.  SYDNEY  COLVIN.  When 
my  Baronite  recalls  the  admirable  manner  in  which  the  Letters 
were  edited,  there  is  impulse  to  regret  that  the  intention  was 
not  carried  out,  regret  increased  on  learning  that  the  task  was 
abandoned  owing  to  ill-health.  Happily,  a  competent  substitute 
lias  been  found  in  Mr.  GRAHAM  BALFOUR.  As  a  rule,  a  kinsman 
is  not  the  best  man  to  undertake  a  biography.  Mr.  BALFOUR'S 
work  is  admirably  done.  Subjected  to  the  fascination,  amount- 
ing almost  to  idolatry,  which  STEVENSON  exercised  over  all  who 
came  in  close  touch  with  him,  he,  nevertheless,  refrains  from 
ecstacy.  He  tells  a  plain  unvarnished  tale  that  enables  those 
of  the  outer  circle  to  realise  what  manner  of  man  was  this 
whose  name  filled,  and  will  hold,  a  prominent  place  in  English 
literature.  The  story  is  frequently  touched  with  infinite  pathos. 
STEVENSON'S  life  was  an  almost  daily  struggle  with  Death. 
Several  times  he  received  what  seemed  a  knockdown  blow.  But 
he  came  up  to  the  scratch  again,  cheerily  re-commencing  his 
work  at  the  place  where,  suddenly,  he  had  been  forced  to  lay 
down  the  pen.  He  had  an  intense  pleasure  in  being  alive, 
though  he  was  peremptory  and  insistent  on  the  conditions  of 
life.  In  his  early  days  his  ideal  was  realised  in  the  Bohemian 
latitude  of  Barbizon.  Towards  the  end  he  found  perfect  peace 
and  rest  in  a  remote  island  in  the  Pacific.  "  Life,"  he.  wrote, 
in  one  of  the  letters  that  are  in  themselves  the  highest  develop- 
ment of  the  style  whose  perfection  he  laboriously  sought, 
"  is  far  better  fun  than  people  dream  who  fall  asleep  among  the 


chimney  stacks  and  telegraph  wires."  In  his  closing  years 
STEVENSON  became  the  idol  of  the  reading  public  at  home  and 
in  the  United  States.  Samoa  was  a  shrine.  It  is  interesting, 
and  to  some  inglorious  if  not  mute  MILTONS  will  be  encourag- 
ing to  gather  from  Mr.  BALFOUR'S  narrative  how  slowly  recog- 
nition came  to  this  prince  of  writing-men.  He  began  the 
profession  of  literature  in  his  sixteenth  year,  publishing  anony- 
mously an  account  of  the  Pentland  Rising.  Year  after  year  he 
pegged  away,  but  it  was  not  till  1879,  thirteen  years  after  his 
first  essay,  that  he  made  something  like  a  mark  with  his 
Travels  with  a  Donkey  in  the  Cevennes.  He  was  in  his  thirty- 
sixth  year  when  he  took  the  public  by  storm  with  The  Strange 
Case  of  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde.  After  that  he  had  a 
triumphal  march.  Probably  the  fantastic  story  is  not  the 
portion  of  his  work  which  STEVENSON,  if  he  had  his  choice, 
would  select  as  the  basis  of  his  fame. 

The  Wooing  of  Sheila,  by  GRACE  RHYS  (METHUEN),  with  its 
strong  sensational  incidents,  its  deep  pathetic  tragedy,  and 
its  light-hearted  comedy  dialogue,  is  one  of  the  best  as  it  is 
certainly  one  of  the  most  fascinating  Irish  stories  the  Baron 
has  had  the  pleasure  of  reading  this  many  a  day.  The  types  of 
Hibernian  character  are,  for  the  most  part,  as  novel  as  they 
are  original.  Sheila  is  the  sweetest  of  Irish  maiden  heroines, 
as  innocent  as  was  the  Colleen  Bawn  herself  ;  while  a  parallel 
character  to  her  lover,  Micluiel  Power,  it  would  be  difficult  to 
find  anywhere  out  of  a  farmstead  in  a  somewhat  wild  part  of 
ould  Ireland,  and  nowadays,  but  rarely  even  there.  The  de- 
scriptions of  scenery  have  all  the  charm  of  true  poetic  feeling. 
Then  there  is  Mick-a-Dandy  the  "born  natural,"  own  brother 
to  one  of  CHARLES  LEVER'S  best  studies  from  Irish  life,  Tipperary 
Joe  in  Jack  Hinton,  a  wild,  fanciful,  lovable  creature  who 
grows  so  dear  to  the  reader  that  it  is  difficult  to  realise  how 
the  author  could  have  been  so  hard-hearted  as  to  kill  him  before 
the  happiness  of  the  lovers,  with  which  Mick  has  had  so  much 
to  do,  is  achieved.  A  really  delightful  book,  highly  recom- 
mended by  the  Baron. 

The  Diva,  by  Miss  ANNIE  THOMAS  (Mrs.  PENDER  CUDLIP),  is  an 
entertaining  novel  .of  modern  times.  Plenty  of  action  and 
local  colouring.  A  Veteran  Servant  of  the  Baron  has  perused 
the  book — so  he  says — with  the  deepest  interest.  One  of  the 
ladies  in  the  story  is  not  unlike  a  twentieth  -  century  Becky 
Sharp.  But  poetical  justice  comes  in  and  sends  her  out  of  her 
mind  in  lieu  of  installing  her — as  in  THACKERAY'S  romance — in  a 
Fancy  Bazaar.  The  atmosphere  of  Kaki  redolent.  Altogether, 
says  the  Veteran,  &c.,  a  book  to  be  read.  With  pleasure. 

In  East  of  Suez,  by  A.  PERRIN  (ANTHONY  TREHERNE  &  Co., 
Limited).  The  authoress  gives  us  a  collection  of  cleverly- 
written  stories  which,  the  Baron  thinks  it  not  too  much  to  say, 
for  graphic  description,  sharp  incisive  sketches  of  character, 
and  effective  dramatic  situation,  are  second  only  to  the  Plain 
Tales  by  RUDYARD  KIPLING  ;  while  two  or  three  of  them  run  even 
the  best  of  KIPLING'S  uncommonly  close.  Possessing  the  great 
merit  of  brevity,  the  reader,  with  a  clear  three-quarters  of  an 
hour  ere  the  dressing-bell  rings,  can  get  through  any  one  of 
these  stories  in  that  space  of  time,  only  he  will  find  his  literary 
appetite  so  sharpened  for  another  tale  that  only  a  still  sharper 
appetite  for  dinner  will  compel  him  to  put  aside  the  book  as 
one  "  to  be  continued  in  his  next  "  leisure  moment. 

THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 

P.  S. — My  juniorest  Baronitess  informs  me  that  Christmas 
Cards  and  Calendars,  all  of  the  most  elaborate  kind,  are  once 
again  offered  to  the  public  by  RAPHAEL  TUCK  AND  SONS.  Of  the 
various  Calendars  .the  most  ingeniously  devised  specimen  is  the 
"  Sedan  Chair,"  which  will  be  generally  welcomed  as  a  charm- 
ing Christmas  present. 

A  CREDIT- ABLE  SUGGESTION. — Bilkins    (reading   from   paper. 
Why,  what's  this?— the  New  Public-House  Trust!     Chorus  of 
Auditors.   Where  ?    Where  ?     Let 's  be  off  at  once.     (General 
dismay  on  learning  the  objects  of  the  Company.) 


OCTOBER  23,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  297 


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PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[OCTOBER  23,  1901. 


Visitor.  '  AND  HAVE  YOU  ANY  UNCLES  AND  AUNTS  ? " 

Winifred.   "On,  YES,  LOTS  OF  UNCLES  AND  AUNTS.     BUT  I'M  VERY  SCARCE  IN  GRANDFATHERS  AND  GRANDMOTHERS! 


NOLI  MB  TANGERE  ; 
OR,  THE  RED  RIBBON  LEAGUE. 

SCENE — Any  London  Street. 

Hail-FeUoiu-ivell-mei,  loq. : 
WHY,  why  is  it,  when  now  we  meet 
Your  manner's  grown  so  frigid, 

And  down  the  street 
From  those  you  rarely  deign  to  greet 
You  keep  a  distance  rigid  ? 

Why,  pray,  of  late  this  haughtiness 

That  really  ill  befits  you  ? 

I  'm  not,  I  guess, 
A  process-server,  and  still  less 

A  student  of  Bartitsu ! 

Though  you've   of  late    been   strangely 

queer, 
I  know  of  nought  between  us, 

While  you  appear 
To  cherish  a  dislike  sincere 
Of  the  whole  human  genus. 

ORESTES  to  your  PYLADES 
I  played  at  school  and  college  ; 
To-day  you  freeze, 

BuUiow  my  presence  fails  to  please 
Isjiuite  beyond  my  knowledge  ! 


1  once  could  dig  you  'neath  the  rib 
And  slap  you  on  the  shoulder  ; 
With  banter  glib 

I  'd  punch  you  freely — now  you  jib, 
Nor  could  you  seem  much,  colder. 

You  've  red  tape  round  your  arm — is  that 

A  decoration  mystic  ? 

I  '11  eat  my  hat 
If  I  know  what  you  're  driving  at 

With  signals  cabalistic ! 

Friend  of  his  Youth  replies : 
It  simply  means  "  pray  pass  me  by, 
I  mayn't  be  touched  or  shaken  !  " 
You  wonder  why  ? 
"Tis  vaccination  makes  me  shy, 
,  E'er  since  the  place  has  "  taken  !  " 

A.  A.  S. 


\       MILLIONS   IN  IT. 

(From^dhe  Note-book  of  a  Play-going 
\      Impressionist.) 

HOPE  so.  tFrom  the  look  of  the  house 
when  I  visiflecl  it  a  fortnight  since,  not 
unlikely.  Mr^ARTHUR  COLLINS,  who  pro- 
duced it,  may  congratulate  Mr.  WALTER 


RALEIGH,  who  wrote  it.  Then  both  re- 
ceive thanks  of  the  shareholders  of  Drury 
Lane  Theatre,  Limited.  Scenery  excel- 
lent. Dining-room  of  huge  hotel  perhaps 
a  little  disappointing.  Dinner,  too,  ap- 
parently not  very  substantial.  Rather 
too  much  plate  and  flowers.  Scarcely  as 
convincing  as  meal  of  a  kindred  character 
in  The  Man  from  Blankley's.  Seen  the 
smashing  of  glass  before  at  Drury  Lane. 
Last  occasion — under  the  auspices  of 
Druriolanus — bank,  not  baker's,  windows 
were  shattered.  Seen,  too,  a  street  riot 
on  the  stage  at  the  Princess's,  and  fancy  it 
was  one  of  SIMS'S  plays.  But,  taken  all 
round,  The  Great  Millionaire  very  enter- 
taining. Guildhall  act  first  rate.  Capital 
reproduction  of  the  Lord  Mayor  of  Lon- 
don (now  nearing  the  end  of  his  municipal 
reign)  and  equally  fine  embodiment  of  the 
German  Emperor.  Motor  car  smash  at 
first  (so  reported)  a  little  doubtful,  now 
absolutely  definite.  Played  well  all 
round.  Representative  of  The  Great 
Millionaire  (Mr.  FULTON)  could  not  be 
better.  Most  of  his  colleagues  nearly  as 
good.  Safe  for  a  run  to  the  eve  of  the 
Pantomime.  Quite  worth  seeing. 


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f-l  r^i^ 

^  .      ^ 


OCTOBER  23,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHAKIVARI. 


301 


export  trade  in  fiction  is  carried  on  just 
now  with  South  Africa,  the  most  attrac- 
tive samples  bearing  the  brand  "From 
our  own  Correspondent."  Frbm  the 
northern  coasts  comes  a  good  supply  of 
ancient  MSS.,-  preserved  for  thousands 


THE  YOUNG  NOVELIST'S  GUIDE  TO 
GEOGRAPHY. 

AMERICA  (North).  Composed  of  the  United 
States,  which,  for  tictionary  purposes, 
occupy  about  the  same  area  as  an  English 
county.  The  male 
inhabitants  are 
employed  chiefly 
in  guessing,  bet- 
ting, and  calker- 
lating  ;  the  women 
in  drinking  iced 
water,  eati  n'g 
candy,  and  marry- 
i  ing  the  British 
peerage.  "  A  cen- 
ter of  high  grade 
matrimonial  c  o  n- 
i  traptions  "  is  a 
description  which 
:  gets  right  there 
in  the  matter  of 
local  colour.  The 
lower-class  inhabi- 
tants soliloquise 
in  bad  Irish  for 
pages  together  on 
things  in  general, 
in  an  atmosphere 
of  ward-p  o  1  i  t  i  c  s 
and  cocktails.  This 
the  British  public 
has  been  taught 
to  recognise  as 
humour,  and  it 
may  be  used  freely 
for  purposes  of 
comic  relief.  The 
chief  exports  from 

lie  States  are  mil- 

onaires,  Colonels 

fith  a  nasal  twang, 

igh  -  toned    hero- 

nes    and  their 

tfommas,  all  of 

vhich  are  in  brisk 

.emand  among  Bri- 

ish  fictionists. 

AMERICA  (South). 

if  cry   little    is 

mown  of  this  re- 
lion.   But  younger 

ons  (shipped   ex 

incestral  homes 

»er  stern  parents) 

nay  be   dumped 

flto  it  in  Chapter 

I.,  to  reappear  in 

ihe  last  chapter 

with  the  addition  of  a  fortune.    Noexplan-jof  years    in    mummy-cases.     Deciphered 

ition  is  needed  of  the  means  by  which  it ;  and    transcribed,    these    afford    valuable 

las   been  gained ;  a  vague  reference  to 


STEPS   TOWARDS   THE    END. 

Asq-th  (useful  man).  "  IF  YOU  WOULD  TRUST  YOURSELF  TO  THESE  STEPS,  MA'AM,  I  THIXK 

YOU  WILL  BE  ABLE  TO  GET  TO  THE  FRUIT." 

["  I  think  I  have  said  enough  to  show  that  there  is  work  both  urgent  and  fruitful  for  the  Liberal 
Party  to  do." — Mr.  Asquith  in  Edinburgh,  "  Times,"  October  17.] 


'a  successful  ranche "   will  satisfy  the 


reader. 

America 

tions. 

AFRICA. 
novi," 
?et    a 


The    chief    industry    of    South 


material  for  Christmas  Numbers. 

AUSTRIA  is  composed  of  a  number  of 
small  states,  each  of  which  needs  a  king, 


is   the    manufacture  of   revolu-   and    is    prepared    to    welcome    in    that 

capacity  any  English  hero  on  his  travels. 


1A.  "  Ex  Africa  semper  aliquid 
which  means,  "  you  can  always 
novel  out  of  Africa."  A  large 


The  country  is  rich  in  ancient  castles 
equipped  with  moats,  dungeons,  secret 
passages  and  other  conveniences.  The 


language  principally  in  use  among  the 
inhabitants  is  a  modified  form  of  Dolly- 
dialoguish.  Among  the  principal  produc- 
tions we  may  enumerate  Princesses, 
revolvers,  moonshine,  faithful  valets  and 
marriage-bells. 

ROME.  A  town 
lying  midway  be- 
tween Stratford- 
on-Avon  and  the 
Isle  of  Man.  Its 
inhabitants  are' 
remarkable  chiefly 
for  the  abnormal 
development  of 
their  vocal  chords, 
enabling  them  to 
talk  through  six 
hundred  pages 
without  apparent 
fatigue.  Impos- 
sible Popes,  in- 
credible Cardi- 
nals, and  drivel- 
ling socialists  are 
manufactured 
here.  The  climate  is 
distinctly  oppres- 
sive, but  several 
novelists  'ihave 
found  that  it  bene- 
fits the  circulation . 
RUSSIA.  An  in- 
teresting and 
useful  country, 
abounding  in  local 
colour.  On  the 
north  lie  the  Sibe- 
rian mines,  to 
which  superfluous 
villains  may  be 
banished  on  the 
last  page.  The 
inhabitants  of  Rus- 
sia are  Nihilists, 
spies,  pe'asants 
whose  names  end 
in  itch,  and  English 
heroes  in  want  of 
a  job.  The  tem- 
perature of  Russia 
is  never  above 
forty  degrees 
(Farenheit),  and 
wolves  are  common 
in  the  principal 
towns.  Among  the 
exports  are  sar- 
donic old  Barons 
with  a  dry  cough, 
dynamite,  and  gigantic  hounds  (always 
called  "  Boris  "). 

SCOTLAND.  The  chief  towns  are  Thrums 
and  Drumtochty.  This  country  is  well 
known  for  its  haggis,  kailyards  and  meenis- 
ters,  while  the  brand  of  sentiment  manu- 
factured here  is  cheaper  than  any  obtain- 
able elsewhere.  But  this  region  has  been 
explored  so  thoroughly  of  late  years  that 
a  detailed  description  of  it  is  unnecessary. 


302 


[OCTOBER  23,  1901. 


SIR  DUOKIE  ; 

OR,  RlCHAR'D  NEVER  WAS   HIMSELF  AGAIN. 

(Being  a  fragment  from  a  very  free  adaptation  of  a  scene  in  c 
recent  novel  by  an  eminent  authoress.) 

****** 

"OH,  DODGER  !  "  Lady  Hen  PARTLETT  cried.  "  Oh,  DODGER 
what  is  it?  " 

And  he  told  her,  repeating,  with  but  a  few  omissions,  the 
statement  made  to  him  by  the  doctor  ten  days  ago. 

"  Your  little  one  is— a  duck,"  said  DODGER  TWENTISTUN. 

Lady  HEN  was  very  still.  She  made  no  cackle.  Once  the 
feathery  plumage  gave  a  shuddering  rustle. 

That  was  all. 

At  last  it  was  over. 

Then  DODGER,  swearing  a  little  under  his  breath,  stole  out. 

"  A  duck  !  my  pretty  chick,  a  duck  !  " 

Lady  HEN  arched  her  beautiful  head,  thrusting  her  beak  under 
her  wing,  as  she  murmured — 

"  This  comes  of  employing  a  quack  doctor  !  " 

****** 

But  the  little  one,  once  launched,  got  on  swimmingly,  it? 
mother  watching  it  anxiously  from  the  brink  of  danger  through 
many  a  chapter  of  accidents. 


FINANCIAL   FOLLIES. 
HINTS  TO  CHAIRMEN. 

WHEN  things  are  bad  and  language  strong 

From  Shareholders  who  've  suffered  long, 
And  hopelessly  the  Company  is  floundering  in  the  mire ; 

Should  they  attack  Directors'  fees, 

Then  let  your  manner  slightly  freeze, 
And  say,  "  I  think  the  labourer  is  worthy  of  his  hire." 

Suppose  of  proxies  you  've  a  lot, 

Then  let  your  speech  grow  rather  hot, 
Assert  that  you  would  simply  scorn  to  leave  a  sinking  ship  ; 

Say,  "  Since  I  've  got  the  helm  in  hand, 

I  '11  steer  you  to  the  promised  land, 
But  swopping  horses  in  the  stream  is  bound  to  cause  a  slip." 

If  when  you  step  inside  the  door, 
They  rave  and  hoot  and  hiss  and  roar, 
And  "  Yar  !  "  or  "Boo,"  or  "Guinea  pig,"  they  all  distinctly 

say; 

Then  gaze  around  with  some  surprise, 
In  martyred  manner  droop  your  eyes, 

And  say,   "I  hope,  as  Englishmen,  you'll  let  me  have  fair 
play." 

If  on  a  show  of  hands  you  find 

They'll  do  without  you  (most  unkind  !) 

And  when  they  hear  you  '11  proxies  use  they  shriek  that  it 's  a 
sell; 

Then  say,  "  Although  I  much  regret 

The  fact,  I  cannot  leave  you  yet, 
My  duty  's  to  record  the  votes  of  absentees  as  well." 

If  one  should  have  the  nerve  to  say 

(You  ne'er  can  tell,  perhaps  he  may), 
Because  you  sit  on  twenty  boards  he  won't  have  your  advice ; 

Then  shrug  your  shoulders  just  a  bit, 

And  give  him  back  this  gentle  hit, 
"  That  means  that  my  experience  is  cheap  at  any  price." 

But  if  at  last  things  clearly  show, 

That  really  you  will  have  to  go, 
There's  just  one  final  sentiment  they'll  heartily  applaud  : 

You  give  your  voice  a  clarion  ring, 

And  say,  "  In  spite  of  everything, 
You've  welcome  to  my  services  although  I've  left  the  board." 


THE  TALE   OF  A  TYPEWRITER. 

IT  was  a  phantom  of  delight 

When  first  it  gleamed  upon  my  sight ; 

A  lovely  apparition  sent 

To  be  my  study's  ornament. 

The  key-board  twinkled  bright  and  new, 

The  plated  levers  twinkled  too, 

And  underneath  the  case  was  seen 

The  very  pulse  of  the  machine, 

That  seemed  to  beckon  and  invite 

To  sit,  to  meditate,  to  write. 

I  sat  for  a  while 

With  a  big  broad  smile, 
While  the  little  bell  rang  in  encouraging  style  ; 

And  I  tapped  on  the  keys 

As  fast  as  you  please, 

Like  a  woodpecker  busily  tapping  the  trees. 
I  watched  with  delight  on  the  paper  appear 
The  letters  so  legible,  round  and  clear, 
And  curly  and  curlier  grew  my  lip 
As  I  gazed  on  my  masterly  workmanship. 

But  who  can  tell 

When  all  is  well? 
What  I  thought  was  a  psean  performed  by  the  bell 

Was  really  a  knell 

My  hopes  to  dispel 

And  change  my  bright  heaven  to  desolate  hell. 
When  my  gaze  on  the  paper  more  narrowly  fell 
I  found  the  whole  business  a  fraud  and  a  sell — 
For  the  typer  had  never  been  taught  to  spell ! 

The  howlers  it  made  ! 

I  am  fairly  afraid 

To  tell  all  the  tricks  that  typewriter  played  ! 
You  couldn't  believe  them  although  you  essayed  ; 

And  take  this  from  me — 

No  infant  of  three, 

However  much  "  mixed  "  the  said  infant  might  be, 
Would  dream  of  misspelling  the  words — simple,  quite — 
That  that  fool  of  a  typewriter  couldn't  write  right. 

Then  the  stops  :  it  was  weird 

To  see  what  appeared  ! 

Where  a  meek  little  comma  the  sense  might  have  cleared 
A  tall  exclamation  defiantly  reared, 
Or  high  in  the  air  a  small  asterisk  peered  ; 
While  as  for  its  grammar,  a  fool  had  detected 
Its  whole  education  'd  been  grossly  neglected. 

Envoy. 

For  sale,  a  typewriter  that 's  hardly  been  used. 
A  bargain.  No  offer  in  reason  refused. 


A  WORD   TO  THE  WISE. 

AT  a  famous  murder  trial  in  the  middle  of  the  last  century, 

witness   testified  that  the    accused    (who    was    subsequentl 

langed.)  was  locally  regarded  as  a  respectable  man.    Pressed  fo 

he  grounds  for  such  a  reputation  the  witness  replied,  "He  drov 

a  gig."    The  Daily  Telegraph  beats  that  classic  distinction,  whic 

nearly   drove    CARLYLE    mad.    Reporting    the    circumstances 

ttending  the  attempted  murder  and  suicide  at  Blackfriars,  i 

;ravely  says : — 

Bunting,  who  is  some  years  younger  than  his  brother,  wore  a  silk  hat,  and  i 
van  no  doubt  due  to  this  appearance  of  superior  position  as  much  as  1 
stonishment  at  the  unusual  incident  that  spectators  who  witnessed  th 
mrsuil  along  the  subway  refrained  from  interfering." 

Much  is  said,  especially  in  hot  weather,  despitefully  of  th< 
op  hat.  These  about  to  commit  murder  in  a  public  place  wi) 
lote  its  remarkable  influence  at  a  critical  moment. 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI 


[OCTOBER  23,   1901. 


PUNCH,   OB  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


THE   REASON  WHY. 

[Under  the  title,  "  The  Impossibility  of  Dressing 
on  £1000  a  year,"  a  popular  monthly  magazine 
gives  an  analysis  of  the  expenditure  which  '  the 
smart  society  woman '  finds  it  absolutely  necessary 
to  devote  to  her  toilet  during  the  year.] 
IN  course,  it  stands  ter  reason,  which  it 's 

stited  pline  and  clear, 
No  lidy  thinks  o'  dressin'  on  a  thahsand 

pahnds  a  year. 
'Owever  she  desire 
Ter  economise,  MARIER, 
She 's  always  wantin'  suthink  wot  '11  send 

the  bills  up  'igher ; 
For  if  it  ain't  chinchiller,  why, 

It 's  probably  a  fewer — 
She  must  'ave  suthink  noo  ter  try 
Forever  an'  forever. 

An'  ain't  there  reason  too, 
Pore  thing,  for  wot  she  do  ? 
'Cos    why?     'Er    friends    they    wouldn't 

know  for  clear 
She  really  wos  a  lidy— 
They  would  think  'er  suthiuk  shidy 
If  she  didn't  spend  a  thahsand  pahnds  a 

year. 
Unless  she  's  dressed  quite  commyfo, 

Wiv  fur  an'  lyce  an'  fewer, 
They  never  would  suspect  'er — no  ! 
They  never  wouldn't— never  ! 


A  SAIL   AND   A   "SELL." 

BLUFFER,  to  whom,  in  a  weak  moment, 
I  entrusted  my  fortunes  last  Saturday,  in 
a  small  sailing  boat,  deserves  to  be  shown 
up  for  the  misery  he  inflicted  upon  an 
individual  who  has  never  done  him 
any  injury.  (As  yet — but  I  am  waiting  for 
BLUFFER  still !)  Overnight  BLUFFER  had 
looked  me  up  at  my  hotel,  and  after  a 
cigar,  he  suggested  that  I  should  sail 
round  to  Puddlecornbe  with  him  in  his 
five-tonner,  in  the  morning. 

''  °Hrt  9.30 — have  a  good  sail — be  there 
at  twelve.  Come  ashore  and  lunch  with 
me  at  the  l.cht  Club,  and  you  shall  be 
back  here  befoe  five.  What  say  you?  " 
Thus  BLUFFER,  wl  f^lislily  ignoring  the 
sapient  sentence  I  spring  "  If  sinners 
entice  thee  "— and  BUFFER  is  an  awful 
sinner,  and  no  mistake!—  I  foolishly 
Consented. 

^eSt-  morning,  at  0.15,  BLUFFER'S  one 
"  hand  "--he  facetiously  calls  him  his 
crew — came  up  to  my  hotel  with  a  message 
to  the  effect  tbaft  we  must  start  in  five 
minutes.  I  bo'ieijl  about  half  my  break- 
fast, scalded  m^i  tongue  with  hot  tea, 
forgot  my  pipe,  and  hurried  off  to  the 
jetty  without  a  mackintosh.  Here,  "the 
crew  ' '  invited  me  to  euter  a  very  cranky- 
looking,  small,  "collapsible"  dinghy,  to 
be  rowed  on  board. 

Entered  dinghy  gingerly.  "  Afraid  you 
must  sit  in  bottom  of  boat,  Sir.  She  's  a 
bit  crank,  yer  see,  Sir,  and  sometimes  she 

tarn  right  over  if  you "     S\t  down 

with  great  promptness,  in  threeMjtche 
of  water.    Trousers  at   once  [thoroughly 


wetted  for  rest  of  day.  Caught  in  swell 
of  passing  steamer  and  nearly  capsized 
a  truly  thrilling  moment.  Reached  sail- 
ing boat  at  last,  safe,  but  nervous. 
Climbed  on  board  shivering.  Wet  through 
from  waist  downwards. 

"This  is  jolly,  isn't  it?"  says  enthu- 
siastic BLUFFER,  as  he  dislocates  my 
wrist  helping  me  over  the  side.  "Just 
stand  by,  old  chap,  and  — ah,  look  out 
for  the  boom! -that's  it!  Oh,  sorry, 
really,"  as  he  jerks  coil  of  rope  on  which 
I  stand  from  under  me,  nearly  throwing 
me  overboard.  "Now,  just  duck  your 
head— that 's  it-out  of  the  way,  quick  ! 
I  shall  only  want  you  to  keep  in  a  stoop- 
ing position  for  less  than  a  quarter  of  an 
ho'ur.  Haul  up  your  anchor,  WILL.  Now 
stand  by.  I  say,  old  man,  you  don't  mind 
my  telling  you  that  you  're  rather  in  the 
way  there,  do  you  ?  Better  go  into  the 
cabin  till  we  're  sailing." 

"  Go  into  the  what  ?"  I  ask  dubiously. 
"  Oh,  this  is  the  cabin,  is  it  ?  This— this 
sort  of  shelf  thing,  eh  ?  Lie  on  the  shelf  ? 
Oh,  very  well,"  and  I  crawled  into  a 
place  like  a  rabbit-hutch,  only  not  quite 
so  big.  Much  tramping  about,  and  then 
we  started,  or  tried  to,  but  there  was  not 
a  breath  of  wind.  "Sure  to  get  a.  puff 
presently,"  cries  the  ever  cheery  BLUFFER, 
as  he  hauls  at  tangled  mass  of  ropes,  then 
slips  up  and  sits  with  fearful  violence  on 
the  floor — deck,  I  mean. 

We  at  once  commenced  a  stately  retro- 
gression, until  our  further  career  was 
arrested  by  going  stern  foremost  into  a 
yacht  at  anchor.  I  draw  a  veil  over  the 
scene  that  ensued,  and  forbear  to  repeat 
the  awful  language  which  hurtled  through 
the  air  from  boat  to  boat.  We  got  clear, 
and  then  came  a  thunder -clap,  followed 
immediately  by  a  drenching  downpour 
of  rain,  and  once  more  I  took  refuge  ii 
the  rabbit  hutch.  After  an  hour  of  this 
a  slight  breeze  sprang  up,  and  we  drew 
away  from  the  other  boat,  forging  ahead 
for  nearly  a  hundred  yards.  "Looks 
pretty  bad  to  windward,"  says  BLUFFER 
It  did — black  as  ink.  More  thunder — 
vivid  lightning — dead  calm.  WILL  takes 
dinghy  and  begins  to  tow  us,  in  order  tc 
avoid  going  on  rocks.  Three  hours  slowlj 
— oh,  so  slowly  ! — pass.  Nothing  to  eat 
drink  or  smoke. 

BLUFFER  still  optimistic.  I  depressed 
Am  wet  through,  hungry  and  thirsty 
Once  more  light  breeze  springs  up.  W< 
hope  again.  In  vain,  for  it  drops  almos 
immediately,  and  we  drift  slowly  and  sadl^ 
on  with  the  tide. 

We  shall  be  up  to  the  Club  house  ii 
another  four  hours,"  says  B. 

But  by  this  time  I  am  on  the  verge  o 
tears. 

"  Obuldn't  you  put  me  ashore  in  th 
dinghy?  "  I  ask  feebly. 

"Well,  yes,  I  could,  if  you're  no 
enjoying  it,"  he  replies,  in  rather  a 
offended  tone. 


"  Enjoying  it  ?  "  I  cover  my  faca  with 
iy  hands  and  repress  a  groan.  Never 
jit  so  happy  in  my  life  as  when,  once 
tore,  I  take  my  seat  in  dinghy— this  time 
ix  inches  deep  in  water— and  WILL 
addles  me  a  mile  and  a  half  to  the  shore. 
)rop  WILL  a  shilling  and  rush  off  to 
tation  at  Puddlecombe. 

'Train  for  Swanbourne,   Sir?"     says 
ympathetic  porter.    "  Train's  jest  gone— 
wo  hours  and  a  'arf  to  wait,  Sir.     Like  to 
it  in  the  waitin'   room,  Sir  ?    Refresh- 
ment room,   Sir?    Well,   no,  there  ain't 
o    refreshments,   not    rightly    speakin', 
ir  ;   but  there's  a  bottle  o'  water  and  a 
lass  in  the  waitin'  room,  Sir." 

F.  R. 

"SIC  ITUR  AD  ASTRA." 

Telegram  from  Beaulieu. — Unfortunate 
„  )u  never  read  papers.  ROSEBERY  at 
Birmingham  really  good.  Borrow  Wed- 
icsday's  Times  and  read  speech.  Splendid 
dea  astronomy.  Such  a  change  and  rest, 
ihall  take  it  up  immediately.  Plenty  of 
inie  now,  as  HlCKS-BEACH  and  others  have 
imoothed  over  recent  hubbub. 

Telegram  from  Whittingliame.  —  I  have 
•ead  speech.  Not  bad  for  him.  Especially 
.hat  jeer  at  newspapers.  But  remarks 
about  astronomy  really  admirable.  Never 
thought  he  could  have  such  an  inspiration. 
Just  the  thing  for  me.  Begin  to  find  golf 
and  motor  are  not  far  enough  away  from 
ordinary  life.  So  glad  you  think  the  same. 
Await  news  of  your  work  with  eagerness". 

Telegram  from  Beaulieu.— lust  my  view, 
new  you  would  be  interested.  •  Have 
jought  small  telescope.  Unfortunately, 
have  no  books  on  astronomy.  Only 
WhitaTcer.  Can't  understand  his  long 
words.  What  does  "planet  in  opposi- 
,1011 ' '  mean  ?  Sounds  like  HARCOURT. 

Letter  from  Wtiittinghame. — I  am  getting 
on  splendidly.  No  time  to  write  much.  ] 
have  got  Astronomy  for  Beginners  from 
Edinburgh,  and  will  try  to  help  you.  1 
:annot  find  "  Plantagenet  in  opposition  " 
in  it.  Have  mislaid  your,  telegram,  bul 
remember  you  mentioned  HARCOURT.  ] 
am  just  reading  about  the  Nebular  Hypo- 
thesis. 

Telegram  from  Beaulieu. — Sat  up  al 
night  looking  through  telescope  for  Ne- 
bular Hypothesis.  Awfully  sleepy,  anc 
couldn't  see  anything  that  seemed  .like 
it.  "Where  is  it  ? 

Telegram  from  Whittingliame — No  idea 
But  have  found  Great  Bear. 

Telegram  from  Beaulieu. — Ask  Astrono 
mer  Royal.  Reply  immediately. 

Telegram  from  Whittingliame. — Most  in 
judicious  reveal  our  ignorance  to  expert. 

Telegram  from  Beaulieu. — Very  true 
Seems  a  foreign  phrase.  Ask  LANSDOWNE 
Splendid  linguist. 

Telegram  from  Whittingliame.  —  Tele 
graphed  to  LANSDOWNE,  ' '  Where  is  Nebula 
Hypothesis?"  He  replied,  "Why  worr 
about  policy  in  Persia  or  China  ?  W 


— 

\ 


OCTOBER  23,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


305 


THE    OPENING    MEET    OF    THE    WOPSHIRE    HUNT. 


have  none."  I  knew  he  would  make  a 
mistake.  Knows  nothing  about  astronomy. 
Advise  you  to  look  at  Great  Bear.  It 's 
in  the  North.  Most  interesting. 

Letter  from  Beaulieu. — I  sat  up  again 
all  night  looking  through  telescope  for 
Great  Bear,  but  I  couldn't  see  anything 
•with  the  faintest  resemblance  to  a  bear. 
I  really  begin  to  doubt  if  astronomy  is 
such  a  rest  after  all.  I  get  no  sleep 
whatever  now,  except  in  the  day-time. 
But  I  couldn't  rest  till  I  found  it,  so 
I  went  over  to  Nice  and  called  on  the 
Prefet.  Always  thought  him  a  charming 
'fellow.  I  said,  "  Avez-vous  appris  astro- 
nomic? Avez-vous  vu  le  Grand  Ours?" 
"Pardon,"  said  he.  "  Le  Grand  Ours," 
said  I,  "dans  le  nord?"  "  Ah,  monsieur 
le  marquis,"  said  he,  "  quelle  charmante 
plaisanterie  I  Vous  paries  dn  Tsar.  Non, 
me  ne  I'ai  pas  vu."  It  is  so  annoying; 
people  always  will  talk  politics,  the  very 
thing  I  want  to  avoid.  So  I  came  back 
here,  and  read  all  I  could  find  in  Wliitdker. 
Didn't  you  make  a  mistake  in  spelling 
"Nebula"?  There  is  no  R  at  the  end. 
Anyway,  I  found  the  words  "  Nebula  in 
Orion."  But  that  didn't  help  much,  for 


I  don't  know  where  Orion  is.  If  I  could 
only  find  Orion,  perhaps  Hypothesis  might 
be  near  it.  Just  at  that  moment  the 
Prefet  came  to  return  my  call.  Rather 
a  nuisance.  So  I  asked  him,  "OiV  est 
Orion?"  Perhaps  I  didn't  pronounce  it 
quite  rightly.  ' '  All , ' '  he  answered  with 
a  laugh,  "toujours  dcs  plaisanteries !  Oil 
est  V  Orient?  La  Question  d' Or  lent.  Tres- 
bien !  "  He  always  drags  in  politics.  I 
shall  drop  his  acquaintance.  As  for  that 
Hypothesis  Nebula,  we  shall  really  have 
to  call  a  Cabinet  Council  if  we  can't  find 
it.  Never  do  to  ask  Astronomer  Royal. 
You  were  quite  right.  By  the  way, 
DEVONSHIRE  is  President  of  the  Board  of 
Education,  so  he  ought  to  know  a  little 
something  about  elementary  knowledge. 
Telegraph  to  him,  probably  asleep  at 
Newmarket. 

Post-card  from  Whittingliame.  —  Good 
idea.  I  also  wanted  to  know  where 
Perseus  is.  So  I  telegraphed  to  DEVON- 
SHIRE, "  "Where  are  Orion  and  Perseus  ?  " 
He  replied,  "  Never  heard  of  either.  Are 
you  thinking  of  Ormonde  and  Persimmon  ? ' ' 
I  cannot  understand  this  at  all.  Have 
searched  all  through  my  Astronomy  for 


Beginners,  and  cannot  find  either  of  these 
stars.  DEVONSHIRE  must  have  been  dream- 
ing as  usual. 

Telegram  from  Beaulieu. — Never  mind 
anything.  Finding  night  work  awfully 
tiring,  tried  day  studies.  Have  made 
grand  discovery.  Immense  spot  on  sun. 
Estimate  its  diameter  about  five  hun- 
dred thousand  miles.  Am  writing  full 
description  of  it.  Get  no  sleep  now  day 
or  night. 

Telegram  from  \\niittingliame. — Heartiest 
congratulations.  Shall  I  inform  Astrono- 
mer Royal  ? 

Telegram  from  Beaulieu.  —  Immediate. 
Very  important.  For  goodness'  sake,  don't. 
All  a  mistake.  Spot  of  ink  on  end  glass 
of  telescope.  Utterly  disgusted.  Shall 
give  up  astronomy.  Politics  less  agitating. 
So  am  coming  home.  H.  D.  B. 


AFGHANISTAN  IN  FOUR  LINES. 
THE  quidnuncs  quaked  with  quivering 

fear 

"When  learning  of  the  dead  AMEER. 
Bnt  why  decry  the  Afghan  nation  ? — 
'11  e  new  i  ith  n  cans  Ameer li oration. 


PUNCH,   OE  THE  LONDON  CHARIVAB 


HARRY'S    SON'S    HOLIDAY    REMINISCENCES.      No.    3.-SWITZERLAND. 

(Drorn  all  by  himself,  and  signed  "Harrys  Son.") 


ENTERPRISING  PRO-MOTOR. 

ONR  of  our  special  correspondents 
started  out  to  try  the  effect  of  taking 
notes  from  his  motor  car  whilst  proceed- 
ing at  top  speed.  The  experiment  took 
place  in  June  ;  but  we  have  only  just  re- 
ceived the  following  account  of  the  result. 

"  Started  away  and  turned  on  full  head 
of  smell — steam,  I  mean.  Over  South- 
wark  Bridge,  fizz,  kick,  bang,  rattle ! 
Flew  along  Old  Kent  Road;  knocked 
down  two  policemen  on  patrol  duty 
("  Knocked  'em  in  the  Old  Kent  Road  ") ; 
fizzed  on  through  New  Cross  and 
Lewisham  at  awful,  nerve  -  destroying, 
sobbing  pace,  "toot  toot-ing"  horn 
all  the  way\  No  good,  apparently,  to 
some  people,  who  would  not,  or  possibly 
could  not,  get  out  of  the  way.  Cannoned 
milk-cart  entering  Eltham  village,  ran  into 
bus,  but  shot  off  it  again,  at  a  tangent,  up 
on  to  the  footpath,  frightening  old  lady 
into  hysterics.  Onwards  we  went,  leap- 
ing and  flying  past '  everything  on  the 
road,  into  open  country.  Ran  over  dog 
and  three  chickens,  and  saw  tandem 
horses  take  fright  and  bolt ;  dust  flew, 
people  yelled  at  us  and  we  yelled  at 
people.  Came  round  sharp  corner  on  to 
donkey  standing  in  road.  "  Boosted  "  him 
up  into  the  air  and  saw  him  fall  through 


roof  of  outhouse  !  Whirr-r-up  !  bang  ! 
rattle  !  fizz-izz — BUST  ! 

"Where    am  I?— Oh,  in  hospital  — oh, 
really? — Seems  nice  clean  sort  of  place. — 

How  long ?    Oh,  been  here  about  six 

weeks — have' I,  really?     And  what  — 
Oh,  both  arms,  you  say  ? — and  left  leg  ? 
Ah — by  the    way,   do  you  know  anyone 

Avho  wants  to  buy  a  motor ?  What,  no 

motor  left  ? — By  Jove  !  that  's  funny,  isn't 
it  ?— Well,  I  think  I  '11  go  to  sleep  again 
now." 


MR.  PUNCH'S  MUSEUM. 

"  Packet  of  Cheap  Cigarettes."  Apaper- 
and-hay  currency  which  circulated  among 
the  male  infant  population  of  Great  Britain 
at  the  close  of  the  "Victorian  era,  paving 
the  way  to  decimal  coinage.  Each  packet 
contained  ten  "  fags,"  or  cigarettes,  and, 
with  portrait  of  popular  general  or  actress 
thrown  in,  was  exchanged  at  par  for  two 
cents,  or  one  penny.  The  portraits  were 
redeemable  from  the  purchaser  in  various 
advantageous  ways,  if  a  set  could  be 
obtained  ;  hence  a  fine  spirit  of  hero  and 
stage-worship  was  bred  among  the  juve- 
nile speculators,  who  would  waylay  the 
most  unlikely  persons  with  requests  for 
"fag-photos"  instead  of  coppers.  In- 
cidentally, these  patriotic  efforts  at  last 


impaired  the  nerves  and  reduced  the 
stature  of  the  rising  (sic)  generation  to 
such  an  extent  that,  the  currency  in 
question  had  be  abolished.  It  was  then 
discovered  by  bimetallists  what  had  been 
through  many  years  the  disturbing  factor 
in  the  rates  of  exchange. 

"South  African  Loyalist  Family 
(Skeletons)."  These  specimens,  in  their 
living  form,  belonged  to  a  branch  of  sub- 
tropical fauna  which  at  one  time  (previous 
to  1900)  were  widely  spread  over  Cape 
Colony  and  the  adjoining  parts.  Owing, 
however,  to  a  systematic  policy  of  dis- 
couragement pursued  by  the  Imperial 
Government  then  in  office  (the  same 
authorities  who  "preferred  unmounted 
men ' '  for  mobile  columns),  it  was  gradually 
brought  home  to  the  individuals  in 
question  that  "  loyalty  did  not  pay," 
especially  when  they  saw  that  all  the 
available  fat  of  the  land  was  reserved 
ipso  facto  for  the  more  dangerous  crea- 
tures who  displayed  enough  "  slimness  " 
(Anglice,  treachery)  and  truculency  to 
warrant  an  outcry  in  their  favour  on  the 
part  of  the  home  sentimentalists.  The 
breed  of  loyalists,  therefore,  became 
extinct,  at  least  in  this  part  of  Africa, 
but  the  collector  may  still  occasionally 
meet  with  whole  groups  of  skeletons  in 
the  remoter  districts  of  the  veld. 


OCTOBER  30,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


307 


ENTIRELY  FRIENDLY. 

["  For  that  sort  of  criticism,  which  is  entirely 
friendly  and  based  upon  a  full  belief  in  the  sound- 
ness of  their  principles,  Ministers  ought  to  be 
grateful  rather  than  not."— Pall  Matt  Gazette.} 

WHEN  with  apt  and  easy  pen, 

In  a  fancy-flowing  phrase, 
We  are  tempted  now  and  then 

Just  to  criticise  your  ways, 
Just  to  analyse  your  acts, 

Blaming  strongly  where  we  may, 
Don't  misunderstand  the  facts — 

It 's  our  friendly  little  way. 

When  we  bring  to  light  of  day 

Little  blemishes  possest 
By  such  statesmen  as  hold  sway 

— And  you  '11  find  'em  in  the  best — 
You  can  bet  an  even  dollar 

We — politically — say, 
"  Sir,  your  tie 's  above  your  collar  !  " 

It 's  our  friendly  little  way. 

When  we  scornfully  insist 

On  a  duty  left  undone, 
On  a  chance  you  've  somehow  missed, 

On  a  cause  you  might  have  won  ; 
When  we  state  your  only  plan 

Is  our  counsel  to  obey, 
Pray  remember,  if  you  can, 

It 's  our  friendly  little  way. 

When  we  heap  you  with  abuse 

For  your  treatment  of  our  foes, 
Which  admits  of  no  excuse, 

In  our  fierce  and  fearful  prose, 
We  allow  you're  all  quite  sound — 

Asleep — we  add,  but  pray 
Our  meaning  don't  confound — 

It 's  our  friendly  little  way. 

We  may  pooh-pooh  your  opinions 

In  a  stream  of  ridicule, 
And  declare  the  King 's  dominions 

Are  subjected  to  misrule  ; 
But  we  're  only  like  the  wight,  Sir, 

Whom  we  meet  with  every  day, 
He  tells  us  how  to  write,  Sir — • 

It 's  his  friendly  little  way. 


HYDE  PARK  AND  THE  FAIRY. 
III.— THE  STORY  OP  THE  ONE-EYED  DUCK. 

"  STAND  in  a  fairy  ring  and  wish  to  hear 
the  Story  of  the  One-eyed  Duck . ' '  That  had 
been  the  advice  of  my  little  elf  friend. 
Or  had  I  imagined  the  whole  thing — just 
an  Autumn  day-dream  ?  "  The  fact  is,  old 
chap,"  I  said,  addressing  myself  severely, 
"  you  shouldn't  take  stout  in  the  middle 
of  the  day.  If  you  do  you  will  feel  sleepy, 
and,  feeling  sleepy,  by  a  natural  transition 
you  will  sleep  in  the  Park,  and  then 
perchance  to  dream  !  " 

Talking  ducks — a  fairy  ring !  I  was 
growing  quite  scornful.  The  idea  was  so 
absurd  ;  and  to  show  how  absurd  it  was  I 
would  look  out  for  a  ring  and  fulfil  the 
imaginary  instructions.  Therefore  I  left 
the  Serpentine  and  made  for  the  grass. 


Professional  Medicant.  "PLEASE  GIMME  TUPPENCE,  LADY,  TO  BUY  SOME  BREAD." 

Little  Girl.  "WHY,  GBAN'MA,  YOTT  GAVE  THAT  MAN  SOME  MONEY  ONLY  HALF  AN  HOTTB 

AGO  !  " 

P.  M.   (taking  in  the  situation).  "Yzs,    MY   LITTLE  DEAR,    BLESS   YER  I    Bur    I'M    A 

TERRIBLE   BREAD-KATER  !  " 


"Dropped  anything,  Sir?  "  remarked  an 
affable  policeman,  as  I  was  bending 
intently  over  a  faintly  defined  circle. 

"  No  thanks — only  looking  out  for  a 
fairy  ring." 

The  policeman  favoured  me  with  a  pro- 
longed stare,  then  moved  off,  to  meditate, 
doubtless,  upon  what  kind  of  jewellery  a 
fairy  ring  might  be. 

"  Please,  wot 's  the  toime?  "  screeched 
a  small  boy. 

"  Wish  to  hear  the  Story  of  the  One- 
eyed  Duck,"  I  muttered  to  myself. 

"  Can't  'ear  yer,"  said  the  urchin. 

"  Three  o'clock,  three  o'clock  !  "  I  said 
rather  irritably  ;  then  walked  away  feeling 
ashamed  of  my  performance.  "But,  at 
any  rate,"  I  argued,  "you've  shown  the 
futility  of  the  wish,  and  corroborated  the 
'  stout '  theory." 

By  this  time  I  had  reached  the  Serpen- 
tine again,  and  was  watching  a  white 
mist  curl  round  the  boat-house,  when — 


A  queer,  hoarse,  croaky  voice  near  by 
remarked  suddenly,  "The  worst  worm  I'd 
tasted  for  a  long  time."  I  stared  round, 
but  there  was  no  one  near  at  hand  to 
whom  I  could  attach  this  astonishing 
gastronomic  criticism.  Then  I  looked 
down.  Two  ducks  were  standing  gloomily 
at  the  water's  edge.  The  reflections  of 
one  were  suddenly  dissipated  by  a  piece 
of  floating  bread.  Her  friend  gave  an 
indignant  quack,  not  having  observed 
the  morsel  herself.  Then  I  noticed  she 
was  blind  of  one  eye. 

"Heartfelt  apologies,  kind  Fairy,"  I 
ejaculated,  and  sat  down  straightway  on 
a  seat  close  by  to  listen.  The  duck  paid 
no  attention  to  me  ;  but  I  could  under- 
stand perfectly  what  she  said,  as  she 
quacked  out  to  her  companion  a  recent 
adventure  in  Hyde  Park  in  which  she 
had  played  a  part,  which  certainly  threw 
a  new  light  upon  London  Life. 
(To  be  continued.) 


308 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[OCTOBER  30,  1901. 


LIVES    OF     GREAT    MEN. 
No.   IV.— HERBERT   WELLESLEY   ROSSITER 

(Continued.) 

MEN  who  make  Empire  should  not  speak  :  the  rule 
Bears  no  exception  at  the  present  day. 
Those  massive  thoughts  which,  if  transformed  to  deeds, 
Flutter  the  dovecotes  of  diplomacy, 
Make  nations  tremble,  and  can  carve  their  way 
To  fame  and  fortune  on  a  stricken  field — 
These  thoughts,  so  great,  so  true,  so  numerous, 
Brook  not  the  trammels  of  our  native  tongue. 
A  man  may  think,  "  I  '11  plant  the  Union  Jack 
Triumphant  on  the  ramparts  of  the  foe  ; 
Civilisation  shall  attend  my  steps  ; 
Progress  shall  be  my  handmaid  ;  I  will  bring 
Plenty  and  peace  where  chaos  was  before." 
All  this  a  man  may  think,  but  if  he  strives 
To  utter  what  he  thinks  it 's  ten  to  one 
(It  may  be  more,  I  am  not  skilled  in  odds) 
His  tongue  will  trip  him  and  his  words  will  prove 
Traitors,  and  wheresoever  gapes  a  hole, 
Seen  by  all  men,  avoidable  and  large, 
Into  its  depths  his  woful  foot  must  plunge, 
Though  all  the  world  should  warn  and  call  him  back. 
Of  these  was  ROSSITER,  the  man  of  cheques. 
I  saw  him  standing  on  the  platform,  flanked 
By  listening  peers  :  a  Duke  was  on  his  right ; 
Upon  his  left  a  monied  Marquis  shone  ; 
Two  Earls,  three  Viscounts  gilded  the  array, 
Barons  and  younger  scions,  Hons.,  were  there, 
Strewed  o'er  the  platform  thick  as  autumn  leaves. 
Rulers  of  Banks  and  princes  of  finance, 
Men  at  whose  nod  the  giddy  millions  flew, 
Were  ranged  about  him,  and  the  hall  was  packed 
From  door  to  dais,  seats  and  gangways,  too, 
Were  crammed  with  sympathetic  City  men. 
And  in  his  front,  before  a  table,  sat 
The  keen  reporters  in  a  serried  row, 
Their  ears  intent  to  hear  his  eloquence, 
Their  pencils  sharpened  swift  to  write  it  down. 
They  did  not  seem  unkind  ;  their  look  was  bland, 
Much  like  the  look  of  ordinary  men. 
Their  homes  in  Camberwell  or  Islington, 
Clapham  or  Balham,  Battersea  or  Bow, 
Were  cheerful  homes ;  they  lived  industrious  lives, 
Respected  by  their  neighbours,  went  to  church, 
And  paid  their  rent,  and  brought  their  children  up, 
And  gave  their  wives  the  Avherewithal  to  keep 
Wolves  from  the  door  and  victuals  on  the  board. 
Who  could  have  thought  they  were  so  terrible 
That  ROSSITER  should  fear  them  ?    Yet  they  turned 
His  blood  to  water  as  they  sat  and  wrote 
There  in  their  devilish  shorthand  what  he  spoke. 
Words,  words  !    Where  were  they  ?    All  the  careful  words 
That  he  had  trimmed  and  polished  for  his  use  ? 
Forgotten  like  a  dream,  and  in  their  stead 
Danced  in  his  brain  a  troop  of  flighty  words, 
Wrong,  but  alluring,  words  that  beckoned  him, 
Saying,  "  Come,  use  me  ;  I  am  what  you  seek." 
And  this,  or  something  like  it,  was  his  speech  :— 
"  Ahem— I  never  thought— at  least,  I  did— 
But  there,  you  know  me — you  have  heard  my  name — 
Ahem  "—(a  voice,  "  Speak  up!  ")— ^It  's  jolly  fine 
To  say,  '  speak  up,'  but  let  the  gentleman, 
That  is,  if  truly  he  's  a  gentleman, 
Which  "—(interruption,  mingled  with  applause)— 
"  Well,  if  he  wants  to  speak  himself  he  can, 
Not  now,  but  later  "—(voices  :   "  Wliat  about 
The  Blacklock  Syndicate  ?  ")— "  The  Syndicate 


Was  never  better  :  ten  per  cent,  it  paid 

Last  year— but,  let  me  see,  I  meant  to  say 

Something— what  was  it  ?— ah,  I  recollect, 

Something  about  our  mines  in  Turkestan." 

(Wild  cheers,  the  audience  shouting  as  one  man.) 

"  They  're  pretty  good — eh  ?  what  ? — there  's  nothing  much 

The  matter  with  the  mines."    (Applause.)     "  I  say 

Those  who  foretold  their  ruin  are  but  curs, 

Mean,  Avhisky-soaking  curs.     I  never  mince 

My  words."    ("  You  don't.")     "  I  know  what 's  what"— 

("  You  do")— 

"  And  mean  to  have  it  all  the  time."     ("  Bravo  I") 
"  I  don't  think  much  of  statesmen."     ("  JVor  do  we.") 
"  They  seem  to  wish  to  stamp  our  commerce  out 
With  silly  theories  of  right  and  wrong. 
There  's  not  a  patriot  amongst  them  all. 
I  'm  for  the  Union  Jack  " — ("  You  are  I  you  are  I  ") — 
"  The  good  old  interest-bearing  Union  Jack, 
The  flag  of  freedom  and  the  badge  of  trade." 
(Immense  applause,  the  audience  rising  up 
And  singing  "  Rule  Britannia.")     "  I  'm  the  man 
To  show — aheni — (he  drank  some  water  here) — 
What  was  I  saying  ? — ah — I  beg  to  move 
That  we  adopt  the  Board's  report,  and  pass 
The  balance-sheet  which  is  attached  thereto." 
With  this  he  ended,  and  sat  down  and  wiped 
His  .humid  brow,  and  all  the  gathering 
Broke  in  a  storm  of  loud  applause,  and  men 
Yelled  their  approval,  and  the  meeting  seemed 
One  mad  confusion  of  concordant  cheers. 
And  the  stout  Duke  who  sat  by  ROSSITER 
Whispered,  "  Well  done  "  ;  the  Marquis  and  the  Earls 
And  all  the  Barons  on  the  platform,  too, 
Beamed  their  delight :— "  You  didn't  tell  them  much," 
Opined  the  Duke,  "  but  what  you  said  was  more, 
Far  more,  than  ample  to  confirm  their  faith." 
And  I  too  went  direct  and  bought  a  bull 
Of  the  Consolidated  Turkestans, 
Thus  proving  that  though  eloquence  is  much, 
Money  is  more  and  ROSSITER  is  great.  R.  C.  L. 

(To  be  continued.) 


APOSTROPHES ! 
No.  I.— To  MY  UMBRELLA. 

HAIL  !  magic  membrane  spread  o'er  ribs  of  steel, 
Thy  "  points  "  are  many,  and  with  mute  appeal 
They  rouse  the  tend'rest  feelings  in  my  breast ; 
To  thee  I  turn,  and  turning  I  am  blest. 

Whence  is  this  ecstasy  of  pure  delight? 
Why  do  I  hail  thee  morning,  noon  and  night? 

It  is  not  merely  that  for  many  a  month 
The  gingham  thief,  who  feareth  not  nor  shunn'th 
To  rob  his  neighbour,  hath  respected  me, 
And,  pilfering  others,  hath  not  pilfered  thee. 

It  is  not  that,  alike  in  rain  or  shine, 
Thou  hast  stood  steadfastly  a  friend  of  mine, 
Casting  thy  segis  o'er  my  cowering  form, 
And  shielding  nobly  from  the  biting  storm. 

No  !  biit  that  once,  what  time  the  clouds  had  power 
To  pelt  the  pavement  with  a  passing  shower, 
As  in  a  dream,  I  sheltered  ARABELLA 
Beneath  thy  glorious  ribs,  O  grand  umbrella ! 
'Twas  then,  'twas  then,  one  simple  word  she  said 
That  would  have  roused  me  dying  !    Ah,  sweet  maid  ! 
It  needeth  no  philosopher  to  guess 
That  that  same  "  simple  word  "  was  simply  "  yes." 
And  thou  art  evermore  a  thing  apart — 
A  fairy  form  enshrined  within  my  heart. 


OCTOBER  30,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


309 


UJ 

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DC 


OCTOBER  30,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


ill 


ODE  TO  A  HUMORIST. 

SEE  where  the  Humorist  lets  fly 

His  shafts  of  ready  -wit ; 
Hear  how  his  observations  dry 

Make  all  with  laughter  split. 
The  loud  guffaw  his  mirth  provokes, 
You  wonder  where  he  gets  his  jokes, 
You  marvel  at  his  sportive  vein ; 

While  treasuring  up  his  smartest  jest 

(As  yours)  you  let  it  off  with  zest 
Next  morning  in  the  train. 

"Where'er  a  sense  of  humour  lurks 

He,  hopeful  to  beguile, 
Is  heard,  extorting  by  his  quirks 

A  tributary  smile. 

The  measured  grin,  the  chuckle  e'en, 
Assures  him  that  the  point  is  seen. 
With  what  applause  you  feed  his  fun 

As  off  the  jest  is  lightly  tost, 

And  roar  insanely  at  the  most 
Excruciating  pun. 

To  millions  Life  is  little  more 

Than  three  good  meals  a  day, 
To  him  who  asks  you  when  a  door 

Is  not  a  door,  a  play 
On  words.    His  livelihood  depends 
On  his  good  humour.    Him  his  friends 
View  as  a  man  at  whom  to  laugh. 
A  joke  existence  is  to  him, 
A  ribald  jest,  a  sport,  a  whim, 
A  granary  for  "  chaff." 

Vain  jest  preserver,  ponder  well 

Thy  period  ultimate, 
When  groans  instead  of  giggles  tell 

How  serious  is  thy  state  ! 
When  fancy  flags,  when  thou  hast  run 
Thy  space  of  superficial  fun. 
Thou  poor,  misguided  Humorist ! 

When  thou  art  humorously  "  broke," 

When  thou  hast  got  "  beyond  a  joke," 
No  laughing  matter  is't. 


PROHIBITIONS   TO  NOVELISTS  AND 
JOURNALISTS. 

NEVER— (1)  Talk  of  plovers'  eggs  at  a 
sumptuous  feast  or  county  ball  during  the 
winter  months ; 

(2)  Allude  to  the  KING  as  "He  who  was 
born  Prince    of    Wales,"    because,   as    a 
matter  of  fact,  His  Majesty  was  not ; 

(3)  Make  mention  of  the  Lord  and  Lady 
Mayoress  of  London.     There  is  no  Lord 
Mayoress  of    London,   nor  yet  of    Man- 
chester, Birmingham,  or  Dublin ; 

(4)  Talk  of  the  New  Cut.    In  aristocratic 
circles  it  is  known  as  Lower  Marsh  ; 

(5)  Describe  a  "  ride  "  in  a  carriage  or 
other  vehicle.  Some  persons  ride  on  horses, 
camels,  elephants  and  donkeys.   The  illite- 
rate    ride    on     omnibuses,     motor-cars, 
"trams,"  and  costermongers'  barrows; 

(6)  Rhapsodise  on  "cherry  lips."     No- 
body's    lips     could     possibly    resemble 
cherries.     It  is  only  just,   however,   to 
state  that  gooseberry  eyes  and   banana 
noses  are  fair  comparisons  ; 

(7)  Discourse      on      "limpid      water." 
"  Limpid  ">  means    bright,  -  and    is    the 


Sentry  (on  the  simultaneous  approach  of  two  persons). 

WAYS   AT   ONCE  !  " 


:  WHO   GOES   THERE  ? — TWO 


current  term  of  advertising-mongers  of 
filters.  Otherwise  it  has  no  signification 
whatever ; 

(8)  Say,  in  criticising  a  play,  "The  pit 
rose."     The  pit  never  rises,  but  sometimes 
it  is  content  with  standing  room  only ; 

(9)  Allude  to  the  "waning  moon."     No 
moon  ever  wanes.     It  merely  waits  for  a 
turn  of  the  earth  ; 

(10)  Be  enthusiastic  about  the  surge  of 
the  sea.     The  best  sea  serge  is  converted 
into  yachting  suits ; 

(11)  Lightly    refer    to    a    coffin    as    a 
sarcophagus.     A  sarcophagus  is  not  easily 
transferred  by  hearse  labour  ; 

(12)  Say  the  audience  rose  as  one  man 
when  many  members   of  the  fairer  and 
stronger  sex  were  present. 


NON  EBUR  NEQUE  AUREUM. 
No  marble  porticos  adorn 

My  unpretentious  dwelling. 
On  costly  columns  high  upborne — 
My  neighbour's  house  I  do  not  scorn 

With 'pride  unduly  swelling. 


I  own  no  princely  pedigrees, 

No  income  worth  the  mention, 
No  host  of  clients'  golden  fees 
Bring  to  support  me  at  my  ease, 
I  draw  no  ample  pension. 

Yet  humble  though  my  house  appear, 

The  rich  desire  to  get  it ; 
Since  the  Procession  passes  near, 
A  fortune  I  may  make  next  year — 

If  I  can  only  let  it. 


DURING  AN  INTERVIEW.  —  A  leading 
actress,  who  is  notably  well  "  billed  "  all 
over  town  and  country,  observed  to  the 
interviewer:  "Of  course  I  can't  get  on 
without  'billing,'  and,"  she  added  slyly, 
"a  little  'cooing.'  Do  I  use  powder? 
Why,  of  course.  What  do  you  think? 
And,  my  dear  Sir,  I  shall  now  depend  on 
you — for t the  powder? — oh  dear  no — for 
the  puff!"  

NEW  CAPITAL  FOR  SCOTLAND  (Suggested 
by  Lord  Rosebery). — Harris-on-Tweed. 


THE   BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 
A  GREAT  THOUGHT  FOR  EVERY  DAY  IN  THE  YEAR. 

SECOND  SERIES. 
X.— THE  HENRY  JAMES  SECTION. 

OCTOBER  IST.— Tt  superficially  might  have  seemed  that  to 
answer  Lady  CHEVELEY'S  invitation  to  her  daughter's  wedding 
was  a  matter  that  would  put  no  intolerable  strain  upon  the 
faculties  of  discriminative  volition.  Yet  the  accident  of  foreign 
ravel  had  brought  about  that  this  formal  invitation,  found  on 
my  .return,  constituted  my  first  advertisement  of  even  so 
much  as  VIVIEN  CHEVELEY'S  engagement  to  M.  le  Conte 
llCHARD  SANSJAMBES.  The  original  question,  simplified  as  it 
was  by  public  knowledge  of  the  fact  that  I  regard  all  cere- 
monial functions  with  a  polite  abhorrence,  had,  accordingly, 
;aken  on  a  new  complexity,  involving  considerations  of  a  high 
sociologic  interest;  as,  notably,  whether,  and,  if  at  all,  in 
what  form,  I  should  offer  the  lady  my  felicitations. 

2ND,  3RD.— My  obsession  by  these  problems  over  a  space  of 
four-and-twenty  hours  was  only  partially  relieved  by  contact 
with  the  divertissements  of  Piccadilly  as  I  drove  to  the 
Prytaneum  Club.  To  my  hansom's  temporary  arrest,  however, 
attributable  to  the  stream  of  vehicles  converging  in  a  trans- 
verse sense  at  the  corner  of  St.  James's  Street,  T  owed  an 
_nterval  of  recrudescent  deliberation.  During  that  so  tense 
period  I  conscientiously — such  is  the  force  of  confirmed  habit — 
•eviewed  all  the  permissible  methods — and  scarce  fewer  than  a 
round  dozen  of  variants  lay  at  that  moment  in  my  right  breast- 
joeket — of  addressing  a  woman-friend  on  the  occasion  of  her 
jetrothal.  Always  the  equivocal  detachment  of  an  unrejected 
bachelor  had  for  me  the  air  of  imparting  to  these  crises,  poig- 
lant  enough  in  themselves,  a  touch  of  invidious  dilemma.  The 
delicate  question  why  the  felicitator  himself— to  hypothecate 
us  eligibility — had  not  been  a  candidate  for  the  lady's  heart,  a 
question  answerable,  on  the  lips  of  her  friends,  by  a  theory  of 
self-depreciation,  and,  on  those  of  her  enemies,  by  one  of 
indifference,  remained — unless  he  chose,  as  one  says,  to  "give 
himself  away  " — incapable  of  adequate  solution. 

4TH. — For  myself,  it  is  true,  by  way  of  a  passable  solace  in 
this  cornucopious  predicament,  there  was  my  known  prejudice, 
amounting  almost,  I  am  told,  to  a  confessed  morbidity,  in  favour 
It  was  still,  however,  nevertheless,  open 
malice  that  I  conceivably  might  have — 
whereas,  in  fact,  I  had  not — submitted  to  the  lady's  charms, 
had  they — as  they  apparently  had  not — been  of  a  sufficiently 
overwhelming  nature.  But  this,  relatively,  was,  after  all,  a 
trivial  embarrassment,  mastered,  on  more  occasions,  already, 
than  one,  by  a  delicate  subtlety  of  diction,  in  which  I  permit 
myself  to  take  a  pardonable  pride. 

5TH.— ' '  My  dear  Miss  VIVIEN,  ' '  I,  recalling  the  terms  of  a  parallel 
correspondence,  had  written,  "  what  brings  to  you,  for  whom  I 
entertain  a  so  profound  regard,  brings,  to  me  also,  an  exquisite 
joy."  And,  again,  alternatively,  and  in  a  phraseology  more 
instinct  with  poetry  and  pith — "  I,  in  your  gladness,  am  myself 
glad."  And,  once  more,  with,  I  confess,  a  greater  aloofness, 
yet,  at  the  same  time,  positing,  by  implication,  a  plurality  of 
suitors  to  select  from: — "Quite  indubitably  enviable  is  the 
man  on  whom  your  choice  has  fallen." 

6TH,  7m— But  what  complicated  the  situation  and  left  me 
hesitant  between  these  and,  roughly,  some  nine  other  open- 
ings, was  the  reflection  that,  in  point  of  fact,  I  had  never 
set  eyes  on  the  Count,  nor  yet  even  heard— and  with  this  my 
long  absence  from  England  must  be  charged—the  lightest  tale 
of  him.  Mightn't  it  be,  after  all,  a  marriage,  purely,  I  asked 
myself,  of  convenience  ?— wealth,  possibly,  a  title,  certainly, 
exchanged  for  the  asset  of  youthful  bloom  ?  Mightn't  it  be— 
and  there  was  recorded  precedent  for  this— that  the  man 
:  French,  as  one  gathered,  and  calling  himself  by  a  foreign 


of  the  celibate  state, 
to  the  contention  of 


[OCTOBER  30,  1901. 

title— a  pretension,  commonly,  that  invited  scepticism— had 
ixerted  over  her  some  Magic,  or  even,  taking  into  account 
both  his  foreignness  and  his  Counthood,  as  much  as  Two 
Magics?  Or,  again,  most  deplorable  of  all,  mightn't  he  have 
acquired  a  hold  upon  her  by  secret  knowledge  of  some  skeleton, 
as  the  phrase  is,  in  her  private  cupboard  ;  an  intrigue,  let  us 
daringly  say,  with  a  former  butler,  banished  for  that  de- 
inquency  and  harbouring  vengeance  against  her  house  by  the 
revelation  of  her  complicity  ? 

. — But  here  I  subconsciously,  reminded  myself  that  the 
nicest  adepts  in  abstract  psychology  may,  if  they  do  but 
sufficiently  long  address  themselves  to  problems  abnormally 
occult,  become  the  prey  of  a  diseased  imagination.  And  by 
reat  good  luck  the  forward  movement  of  my  hansom,  now 
disembroiled  from  the  traffic,  which  had  thrown  off  something 
of  its  congestion,  caused  a  current  of  air  which  allowed  me, 
the  glass  being  up,  a  saner  purview  of  the  question.  "  When  I 
reach  the  Prytaneum,  I'll,"  I  said,  "look  the  gentleman  up  in 
the  Almanach  de  Gotlui."  This,  in  fact,  had  been  among  the 
motives,  had  been,  I  might  even  say,  the  dominating  motive,  of 
my  visit  to  the  Club. 

9TH,  10TH. — That  atmosphere  of  considered  serenity  which 
meets  one  at  the  very  portals  of  the  Prytaneum,  and  is  of  an 
efficacy  so  paramount  for  the  allaying  of  neurotic  disorders,  had 
already  relieved  the  tension  of  my  introspective  mood  by  the 
time  that  I  had  entered  the  fumoir  and  rung  for  cigarettes  and 
mineral  water.  The  greeting,  familiarly  curt,  that  reached  me 
from  an  armchair  near  the  fire,  was  traceable,  it  appeared,  to 
GUY  MALLABY.  Here,  I  was  glad  to  think,  I  had  found  a  living 
supplement  to  the  Almanach,  for  I  remembered  him  to  have  been 
a  friend,  some  had  even  said  a  blighted  admirer,  of  VIVIEN 
CHEVELEY.  He  had  married,  whether  for  consolation  or  from 
pique,  his  cook  ;  and  I  now  noticed,  in  a  glance  that  embraced 
him  cursorily,  that  his  girth  had,  since  his  marriage,  increased 
by  some  four  to  six  inches. 

HTH. — It  could  scarce  be  more  than  a  rude  estimate,  viewing 
the  fact  that  I  had  no  tape-measure  about  me,  an  adjunct 
that  I  from  time  to  time  have  found  serviceable  in  cases  that 
apparently,  called  for  mere  psychologic  diagnosis ;  nor,  had  I 
so  had,  am  I  convinced  that  I  should,  in  this  instance,  have 
allowed  myself  the  application  of  it.  Simply  I  moved  to- 
wards him,  and,  at  the  same  time,  yielding  to  the  usage  which 
a  twelve-months  absence  requires,  held  out  my  hand.  He  took 
it  with,  as  I  thought,  a  certain  surprise,  quickly  dissembled,  but 
not,  as  I  repeat,  before  I  'd  mentally  remarked  it. 

12TH,  13TH. — At  any  other  juncture  I  should  have  been  closely 
tempted  to  pursue  the  train  of  inference  suggested  by  this 
phenomenon  ;  but  just  then,  for  the  moment,  I  was  preoccupied. 
Besides,  anyhow,  his  initial  observation  proved  his  astonish- 
ment to  be  derived  from  a  quite  transparent,  if  not  altogether 
venial,  cause.  "  Been  out  of  towrn,"  he  asked,  "  for  Christmas  ?  " 
I  confess  that,  though  I  had  the  good  breeding  not  to  betray  it, 
this  speech,  the  tone  of  which,  under  ordinary  conditions, 
would  not  have  affected  me  to  the  point  of  regarding  it  as  a 
truancy  beyond  the  prescribed  bounds  of  gentlemanly  casual- 
ness,  caused  me,  having  regard  to  the  circumstance  of  my  long 
absence,  a  calculable  pain  in  my  amour  propre.  Never  so 
vividly  had  not  merely  the  complexity,  almost  cosmic,  of  life  in 
the  Metropolis,  its  multiform  interests  and  issues  so  exigently 
absorbing,  but  also  the  inconspicuousness  of  the  vacuum 
created  by  the  withdrawal  of  any  single — in  this  case  my 
own — personality,  been  forced  upon  my  attention. 

14TH,  15TH. — Here,  again,  at  any  other  time,  I  should  have 
found  abundant  matter  for  analysis ;  but  the  entrance  of  the 
waiter  with  my  cigarettes  and  mineral  water,  one  of  the  former 
of  which  I  deliberately  lighted,  recalled  me  from  this  inviting 
diversion.  By  a  natural  process  of  reaction  I  become  cognisant 
of  the  necessity,  every  moment  more  pressing,  of  composing 
an  answer  to  MALLABY 's  question. 
Scarce  anything  could  have  been  easier  than  so  to  ir  pregnate 


OCTOBER  30,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


313 


my  reply  with  the  truth,  whole  and 
unadulterated,  as  to  compel,  on  his  side, 
an  embarrassment  which  I,  for  one,  s,hquld 
have  viewed,  in  the  retrospect,  as  regret- 
table. Yet,  for  a  full  three  quarters  of  a 
minute,  towards  the  latter  half  of  which 
period  it  was  evident  that  MALLABY  con- 
ceived my  memory  to  have  strangely  lapsed, 
the  temptation  possessed  me  to  follow  the 
course  I  have  just  indicated.  But,  in 
the  issue — whether  more  from  a  desire  to 
spare  his  feelings,  or,  at  least  as  much, 
because  the  practice  of  finesse,  even  in 
conjunctions  of  negligible  import,  has  had 
for  me  always  a  conquering  fascination, 
I  cannot  determine — I,  with  a  terseness 
sufficiently  antiphonal  to  his  own, 
replied  : — "  Yes.  Monte  Carlo." 

16TH. — Then,  from  an  apprehension  that 
he  might  follow  up  his  enquiries — for  my 
travels  had,  in  actual  fact,  been  confined 
to  Central  Asia  and  the  transit  there  and 
in  an  opposite  sense — or  invite  a  reciprocal 
curiosity,  on  my  part,  in  regard  to  7ns 
Christmas,  "  By  the  way,"  I,  as  if  by  a 
natural  continuity  of  thought,  added, 
;  who  is  this  Count  RICHARD  SANSJAMBES 
that  is  to  marry  Miss  CHEVELEY  ?  "  At 
the  same  time,  not  to  appear  too  intrigued 
by  the  matter  in  question,  I  withdrew  my 
cigarette  from  my  mouth,  flicked  it  lightly 
in  air,  and  then  abstractedly  replaced  it, 
less  the  ash.  O.  S. 

(To  be  continued.) 


THE  MERRY  MOTORIST'S  LAMENT. 

IP  you  desire  to  travel  fast, 
A  motor  car  is  unsurpassed  ; 
Should  *jrou  desire  to  travel  far, 
Trust  not  too  much  a  motor  car. 

And  if  you  're  bold  enough  to  start, 
Take  duplicates  of  every  part : 
Two  sparking  plugs,  and  tremblers  twain, 
But,  chief,  a  double  dose  of  brain. 

For  foes  are  many  ;  and,  of  course, 
The  Avorst  of  all 's  the  brainless  horse, 
Who  fain  would  crush  in  malice  blind 
This  coming  saviour  of  his  kind. 

And  rules  long  made  by  custom's  code 
For  safer  usage  of  the  road 
Are  broken  with  sublime  disdain 
By  muffs  or  masters  of  the  rein. 

And  children,  always  out  of  school, 
Make  it  their  one  unfailing  rule 
To  dart  from  wheresoe  'er  they  are 
To  prance  before  a  motor  car. 

For  this  remember  :  in  a  town 
The  street 's  the  only  playground  known, 
Where  gambol,  deaf  to  every  noise, 
The  town's  whole  strength  of  girls  and 
boys. 

And  on  each  adult  face  is  written 
The  protest  of  the  outraged  Briton 
When,  deeply  shocked,  he  fails  to  find 
Oaths  strong  enough  to  ease  his  mind. 


5r 


OUGHT  MOTOR  CARS  TO  BE  LICENSED  AND  COMPELLED  TO  CARRY  A 
DISTINGUISHING  NUMBER  ? 


See  ambushed  flocks  of  hostile  sheep 
Frpm  every  hedge  prepared  to  leap  : 
See  every  cow  regard  askance 
This  last  monstrosity  from  France  ! 

See  goats,  ablaze  with  moral  scorn, 
Rush  butting  with  too  bold  a  horn : 
See  dogs,  despairful  of  the  age, 
Seized  with  a  suicidal  rage  ! 

Ware,  too,  the  Peeler  :  see  him  stand 
Sneaking  at  milestones,  watch  in  hand, 
To  swear  your  pace  exceeded  far 
The  pace  that 's  lawful  for  a  car ; 

That  when  before  the  Bench  you  come 
The  Court  may  do  a  simple  sum 
To  prove  a  mile  in  minutes  three 
More  than  twelve  miles  an  hour  must  be  ! 

Drivers  may  leave  their  horses'  heads, 
Or  sleep  in  carts  instead  of  beds, 
Butchers  may  gallop  through  a  town  : 
But  not  on  these  will  Justice  frown. 


No  !  only  motorists  inspire 
Justice  with  undiluted  ire  : 
For  them  alone  she  weights 

scales, 
For  them  alone  no  plea  avails. 


the 


These  are  the  perils,  these  the  woes, 
Only  the  motor-driver  knows  : 
For  whom  is  writ,  in  earth  and  air, 
One  single  word,  the  word  Beware  I 


"WITHDRAW!  WITHDRAW  !"—"  It  has 
so  often  been  in  withdrawals,"  said  the 
Times  of  October  23,  "that  ho  (Sir 
REDVERS  BULLER)  has  prided  himself, 
when  perhaps  other  men  would  not  have 
withdrawn."  Yes,  quite  true  ;  and  now 
Sir  REDVERS  has,  on  compulsion,  with- 
drawn himself  altogether,  without  having 
withdrawn  anything  that  he  said  at  the 
unfortunate  banquet  on  October  10. 


314 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[OCTOBER  30,  1901. 


THE  PLAYS  OF  SHAWKSPEARB. 
NO.    II.— CORIOLANUS. 
An  Election  Tragedy. 

ACT  I.— SCENE— A  street  in  Rome.  The 
stage  is  filled  with  the  usual  croivd  of 
idlers  which  never  fails  to  assemble  in 
any  city  when  a  victorious  army  is 
returning  home  from  war.  The,  croivd 
on  this  occasion  is  more  than  usually 
enthusiastic,  since  CORIOLANUS  is  one  of 
the  generals  in  command  of  the  return- 
ing troops,  and  the  accounts  of  his 
taking  of  Corioli  in  the  war  against  the 
Volscians  have  fired  the  popular 
imagination. 

On  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd  stand 

SICINIUS  mid  BRUTUS,  Tribunes  of  the 

People  and  prominent  members  of  the 

Liberal  Opposition.    BRUTUS  is  a  fat, 

rubicund  man  with    a   twinkling  eye. 

SICINIUS  is  lean  and  saturnine.     They 

note    the    demeanour    of    the    people 

critically,  considering  its  bearings  upon 

the  fortunes  of  the  political  party  to 

which  they  both  belong. 

Brutus  (turning  to  his  companion  with 

an  amused  smile).  Humph  !     Looks  bad  for 

us,  eh  ? 

Siciniws  (with  a  scoiol).  Bah  !     The  war 
fever.    It  won't  last. 

Bru.  It  '11  last  long  enough  to  make  him 
Consul. 

Sic.  CORIOLANUS? 

Bru.    Yes.      They  '11    elect    him    to    a 
certainty. 

Sic.  (savagely).  Not  if  I  can  prevent  it. 
Brit,  (shrugging his  shoulders).  TheKhaki 
vote,  my  dear  fellow. 

[The  sound  of  a  military  band  is  heard 
in  the  distance  playing  a  popular 
Jingo  march. 

Sic.  (irritably).  That  infernal  tune  too! 
Bru.    The  mob  like   it.      We're  not  a 
musical  nation.     Here  they  come.     Stand 
aside  and  watch  the  people  cheer  their 
favourite. 

[SlCINIUS  and  BRUTUS  stand  aside.  The 
music  grows  louder  and  the  pro- 
cession begins  to  cross  the  stage 
ivith  drums  banging,  colours  flying 
and  all  the  pomp  of  a  military 
spectacle.  The  people  cheer  from 
time  to  time  as  some  incompetent 
but  popular  officer  rides  by. 
BRUTUS  watches  the  ivhole  proces- 
sion with  the  utmost  good  humour. 
SICINIUS  turns  impatiently  army. 
Sic.  How^long  are.they  going  to  keep  up 
this  howling  ? 

Brit,  (laughing).  They've  hardly  begun 
yet.    Wait  till  CORIOLANUS  appears,  and 
you  '11  see  what  cheering   is.     (A  distant 
roar  of  "CORIOLANUS!"  "CORIOLANUS! 
is  heard  off.)    I  told  you  so. 

[The  roar  of    cheering    comes    nearer 

until  it  rises  to  frantic  enthusiasm 

as  a  fat,  bumptious,  red-faced  man 

appears  upon  the  stage  L  riding 

in  «  chariot.     He  passes    slowly 


across   the  stage,  and  the  whirl- 
wind of  applause  passes  with  him 
and  dies  off  gradually  R. 
Sic.    All  that  fuss    over    a    third-rate 
General ! 

Bru.  If  you  talk  like  that,  my  dear 
fellow,  you  '11  certainly  be  mobbed. 

Sic.  The  fools  can't  hear  anything  except 
their  own  shouting. 

Bru.  Aren't  you  rather  hard  on  CoRIO- 
LANUS?  He's  not  a  genius,  of  course. 
None  of  our  generals  are.  But  he 's  a 
dashing  officer. 

Sic.  Dashing  !    He  's  the  worst  tactician 
in  the  army.    The  Volscians  laugh  at  him. 
Bru.  Well,  you  can't  deny  his  courage. 
He  's  been  wounded  thirty  times. 

Sic.  Then  he  ought  to  be  cashiered. 
What, business  has  a  general  to  be 
wounded  ?  He  ought  to  keep  out  of  range 
and  direct  operations. 

Bru.  (goodhumouredly).  He  took  Corioli, 
anyhow. 

Sic.  Yes.  The  Volscians  ran  away,  and 
so  CoRroLANUS  is  a  hero — with  a  title 
and  the  thanks  of  the  Senate.  The  attack 
ought  to  have  failed  by  all  the  rules  of 
war.  (Rhetorically.)  And  what  a  war  ! 
A  nation  in  arms  against  a  handful  of 
farmers  ! 

Bru.  Hush,  my  dear  fellow.  You  '11  be 
heard  if  you  don't  take  care. 

Sic.  (losing  all  sense  of  prudence, 
and  almost  screaming  with  Pro-Volscian 
fervour).  Heard !  So  much  the  better. 
It  is  time  that  someone  spoke  out.  I  tell 
you  that  CORiOLANUS'S  generalship  is  per- 
fectly contemptible,  that  his  troops  were 
guilty  of  outrages  against  women  and 
children,  and  that  .... 

[An  ominous  murmur  arises  from  the 
crowd,  whose  attention   has  wan- 
dered now  that  the  last  of  the  pro- 
cession haspassed.  Hearingthei'oice 
of  SICINIUS  raised  in  impassioned 
oratory,    it    lias    gathered    round 
with  the  ready  curiosity  of  croiods. 
A  Citizen.  What's  that  he  says  about 
CORIOLANUS  ? 

Another  Citizen.  Slandering  theGcneral, 
is  he  ?  Knock  his  ugly  head  off. 

[The  croivd  begins  to  hustle  SlCINIUS. 

BRUTUS  fries  to  get  him  away. 
Bru.  Come     away,     my     dear     fellow. 
They  're  looking  dangerous. 

Sic.  (furiously).  I  won't!  I  won't!  (At 
the  top  of  his  voice.)  Citizens !  Hear 
what  I  have  to  say.  (To  BRUTUS  again.) 
Let  me  go,  BRUTUS. 

Br».  (shrugging  his  shoulders).  Very 
well.  But^don't  expect  me  to  back  you 
up.  1  'vejio^ainbition  for  martyrdom. 

[[Disappears  into  the  crowd. 

Sic.'  Citizens  !    I  tell  you  this  has  been 

an  unjust  war,  a  vile  war.  .  .  . 

Crowd.  Down  with  him  !  Down  with 
the  traitor!  He's  a  Pro-Volscian!  &c., 
&c. 

[The  crowd  closes  round  SICINIUS,  look- 
ing vicious,   j, 


Sic.  (shouting).  Back,  there !  I  am 
SICINIUS,  Tribune  of  the  People,  and  my 
person  is  inviolable. 

Crowd.  We'll  see  about  that.  Tribunes 
be  hanged  !  To  the  Tiber  !  Pro-Volseian  ! 
[There  is,  hoivever,  a  division  of  opinion 
among  the  crowd.  The  soberer 
portion  feel  obliged  to  defend  the 
inviolability  of  a  tribune,  while  the 
majority  are  bent  on  avenging 
the  honour  of  the  army.  In  the 
melee  which  follows  SiCiOTUS  is 
more  or  less  severely  knocked  about. 
Just  as  things  are  getting  serious, 
the  inevitable  Policeman  saunters 
up. 

Policeman.  Now  then,  what 's  the  matter 
there.  Pass  along  !  Pass  along  ! 

Croivd.    He 's    a    Pro-Volscian !     Break 
his  neck  !     To  the  Tiber  ! 
Pol.    (shouldering  his  iray   through   the 
rowd      imperturbably,      and      wrenching 
SlCINIUS,  sadly  mauled,  out  of  the  hands  of 
his  tormentors).  Hands  off,  there  !     You  '11 
kill  the  man ! 

Crowd  (taking  up  the  cry).  Kill  him ! 
Kill  him  I 

[The  crowd  make  another  ugly  rush  in 
the    direction    of    the    wretched 
Tribune  and   his    protector.     The 
Policeman   blows  his    ivhistle.    A 
dozen  constables  run  up  from  all 
sides  ;  truncheons  are  drawn  ;  there 
is  a  scrimmage,  and  the  mob  are 
driven  off.   The  Policeman  props 
SICINIUS  in  a  sitting  posture  against 
a    trail.      Enter    BRUTUS    L.      He 
strolls  up  and    contemplates    his 
friend  dispassionately. 
Bru.  Close  shave  that,  officer., 
Pol.  Yes,  Sir.     Friend  of  your's,  Sir  ? 
Bru.  Yes.    No  bones  broken,  I  suppose? 
Pol.   (feeling  him  over).  Not  this  time, 
Sir. 

Bru.  That 's  lucky.  My  friend  was  ex- 
pressing some  opinions  which  happen  to 
be  not  very  popular  with  the  people  just 
now. 

Pol.  (ivith  a  twinkle  in  his  eye).  So  I 
supposed,  Sir. 

Brit.  It 's  just  as  well  you  turned  up 
when  you  did.     (Giving  him  money.)    You 
can  leave  him  to  me  now. 
Pol.  Very  well,  Sir.     Thank  you,  Sir.  . 
[Exit  Policeman. 

Bru.  (to  SlCINIUS).  You  look  pretty  bad. 
Can  you  move,  do  you  think  ? 

Sic.  (groaning).  I  feel  as  if  there  wasn't 
a  whole  bone  in  my  body. 

Brit.  Poor  fellow.  I  told  you  what  would 
happen  if  you  tried  to  hold  a  Stop-the- 
War  meeting  here  to-day. 

Sic.  (sulkily).  Well,  you  seem  safe 
enough. 

Brit,  (cheerfully).  I  should  think  so. 
I  'm  not  an  absolute  fool.  If  you  'd  seen 
me  shouting  "  Down  with  the  Volscians !  " 
and  "  CORIOLANUS  for  ever  !  "  ten  minutes 
ago  you  wouldn't  have  known  me. 
Sic.  You  did  that  ? 


OCTOBER  30,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


315 


Brii.  Of  course  I  did.  You  don't  Avaiit 
all  the  Pro-Volscians  in  this  city  trampled 
to  death  by  the  mob  on  the  same  day,  do 
you  ?  If  you  and  I  had  both  been  killed, 
who  would  have  led  the  Party  ? 

Sic.  (faintly).  That 's  true. 
[Enter  MENENIUS  AGKIPPA,  a  popular 
ami  amiable  member  of  the  Con- 
servative Party. 

Menenius.  Hullo  BRUTUS!  SiciNiustoo? 
Been  making  a  speech  to  the  League  of 
Romans  against  Aggression  and  Mili- 
tarism? (SICINIUS  turns  away  liis  head 
impatiently.)  By  the  way,  how  is  the 
League  ?  At  the  last  meeting  I  heard  that 
the  speakers  had  to  retire  by  a  back  door 
under  the  protection  of  the  Police. 
(Looking  at  SICINIUS  curiously.)  On  this 
occasion  you  really  do  seem  to  have  been 
rather  battered. 

Brit.  My  dear.  MENENIUS,  don't  be 
brutal. 

Men.  He 's  not  seriously  hurt,  is  he  ? 

Brit.  No. 

Men.  (shaking  his  head  mournfully).  1 
was  afraid  not. 

Sic.  (staggering  painfully  to  his  feel).  It 's 
your  Party  who  have  done  this  !  It 's  a 
plot,  a  plot  to  murder  me  ! 

Men.  (unruffled).  A  plot?  My  dear 
SICINIUS,  what  an  idea  !  My  poor  dear 
Party  isn't  capable  of  plotting.  We're 
far  too  stupid. 

Sic.  (ivith  a  snarl  of  rage).  It 's  a  lie. 
You  want  to  get  me  out  of  the  way  in 
order  that  CORIOLANUS  may  be  Consul. 
But  you  '11  fail.  He  '11  never  be  Consul ! 

Men.  (easily).  That  is  for  the  people  to 
decide. 

Sic.  I  speak  for  the  people.    And  I  tell 
you   they  will  never   elect  CORIOLANUS. 
Take  me  away,  BRUTUS.    Take  me  home. 
[E.vtt,  limping,  and  leaning  onBRUTUS's 
arm.     MENENIUS  looks  thoughtfully 
after  them, 

(Curtain.)         ST.  J.  H. 


THE  FORBIDDEN  SCIENCE. 

["It  was  dangerous,  in  his  judgment,  to  study 
astronomy,  for  astronomy  killed  ambition." — Lord 
Rosebery  at  tlie  Birmingham  and  Midland 
Institute.] 

You  in  the  future  who  will  bear 

Aloft  trade  banners  and  its  pennants, 
Who  march  its  victories  to  share, 

As  captains  and  lieutenants, 
Your  armour  don  from  head  to  feet — 

Each  modern  and  approved  appliance, — 
And  add,  your  training  to  complete, 

At  least  a  smattering  of  science. 

Only  astronomy  I|bar, 

The  universe's  contemplation, 
Fly  not  in  thought  from  star  to  star 

(A  useless  occupation  !) 
Lest,  blinded  by  the  starry  dust 

That  heaven's  empyrean  spangles, 
Yon  turn  and  eye  with  deep  disgust 

Earth's  petty  tradeand  party  wrangles. 


Patient.   "WHAT  won,j>  YOU  THINK  OF  A  WARMER  CLIMATE  FOR  ME,  DOCTOR?" 
Doctor.  "Goon  HEAVENS,  SIR,  THAT  's  JUST  WHAT  I  AM  TRYING  TO  SAVE  YOU  FROM  ! 


But  keep  your  aims  in  modest  bounds — 

To  making  speeches  after  dinners, 
The  Premiership,  to  ride  to  hounds, 

Or  owning  Derby  winners  ; 
These,  if  you  learn  to  edge  your  wit 

With  seasonable  erudition, 
Will  offer  you,  you  '11  all  admit, 

An  ample  scope  for  your  ambition. 


MR.   PUNCH'S   MUSEUM. 

"  Biograph  Record  of  Football  Match." 
We  have  here  another  interesting  mediae- 
val survival  in  this  exhibit,  which  dates 
from  September,  1901.  It  throws  a  strong 
light  on  the  behaviour  of  professionals 
and  the  manners  of  the  crowd  at  this 
bygone  period.  The  match  in  question 
was  between  the  Hit-and-Punch  Hooligans 
and  the  Win -Tie -or -Wranglers.  There 


are  several  exciting  incidents  to]  be 
noted,  as  when  the  goal-keeper  is  neatly 
"laid  out"  by  four  opponents,  and  the 
Hooligans'  half-back  bites  off  a  Wrangler's 
nose — of  course,  only  in  play — and  has  his 
head  battered  in  by  way  of  friendly  ex- 
change. Mark  also  the  spirited  conduct 
of  the  bystanders  in  stoning  a  former  idol 
now  playing  against  the  home  team,  and 
their  prompt  disapproval  of  the  umpire's 
verdict  in  giving  a  "foul."  Towards 
half-time  he  is  being  carried  off  the 
ground  unconscious,  and  with  a  broken 
spine.  No  wonder  such  a  stirring  game 
should  have  been  so  popular  among  the 
more  vigorous  elements  of  the  British 
democracy.  It  was  essentially  a  sport, 
too,  for  lookers-on,  and,  as  such,  an 
excellent  substitute  for  a  bull-fight. 


316 


PUNCH,   OB  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. [OCTOBER  30,  1901. 


Solicitor,  "Now,  AS  A  MATTER  OF  FACT,  WHEN  EXPRESSING  YOUR  OPINION  OF    YOUR  OPPONENT,  YOU  LW  USE  A  LSXTLS  STRONG 

LANGUAGE?"  Client.    "  WULL,    I   DON'T   KNOW   AS    I   FORGOT  ANYTHING!" 


WAR  OFFICE   REFORM. 

(Further  Regulations  under  consideration.) 

1.  THE  three  consultative  bodies,  the 
War  Office  Council  (afterwards  called  the 
W.  O.  C.),  the  Permanent  Executive  Com- 
mittee (afterwards  called  the  P.  E.  C.), 
and  the  Army  Board  (afterwards  called 
the  A.  B.),  shall  meet  when  and  where 
they  please,  so  long  as  they  assemble  in 
June,  not  earlier  than  the   31st   of   that 
month,  and  October,  not  earlier  than  the 
32nd  of  that  month. 

2.  All  matters  of  vital  importance  shall 
be  decided  on  the  29th  of  February,  when 
all  the  consultative  bodies  shall  assemble 
in  Room  4,789  for  interchange  of  opinions. 

3.  When  the  Chairman  of  the  W.  O.  C. 
is  absent,  the  P.  E.  C.  shall  be  presided 
over  by  the  Deputy-Chairman  of  the  A.  B. 
and  vice  versa. 

4.  When  the  assistance  of  the  P.  E.  C. 
is  required  by  the  W.  O.  C.,  nothing  shall 
be  done  until  the  summoning  of  the  A.  B., 
when  the  matter  under  consideration  shall 
be  adjourned  sine  die. 

5.  The  Chairman  of  the  W.  O.  C.,  after 
ti  correspondence  with  the  Deputy-Chair- 
man of  the  P.  E.  C.  and  several  lengthy 
interviews   with    the    Secretary-Deputy- 
Assistant-Probationer  of  the  A.B.,  shall 
bring  before  the  notice  of  the  Deputy 
Director-General  of  Ordnance,  an  officer 
of  the  Mobilisation  Section  of  the  Depart- 
ment of  the  Director-General  of  Military 


Intelligence,  the  Deputy  Accountant-Gene- 
ral,  and  a  couple  of  Assistant  Accountant- 
Generals,  any  cases  in  which  it  appears 
there  has  been  delay  in  connection  with 
the  completion  of  a  subject. 

6.  A  record  of  all  proceedings  will  be 
kept   by    the    Assistant    Quartermaster- 
General,  the  Deputy  Inspector-General  of 
Fortifications  (selected  by  the  Inspector- 
General  of  Fortifications),  the  Assistant- 
Director     of    Contracts,    the    Permanent 
Under-SecretaryofState,or,mhisabscnce, 
the  Assistant  Under-Secretary  of  State, 
or,  in  the  absence  of  all  the  above  officials, 
away    on    leave,    or    for    other    special 
reasons,   by  Mr.   TENTERFOR,    temporary 
clerk. 

7.  All     important    questions    will    be 
brought  before  the  various  consultative 
bodies  at  times  so  arranged  that  Room 
4,789  shall  be  available  for  the  purpose,  but 
also  be  equally  at  the  service  of  those  high 
officials  who  desire  to  use  it  as  an  apart- 
ment not  accessible  to  the  public,  and 
consequently    well    adapted    to    private 
conversation  with  relatives  and  friends. 

8.  When  an  important  question  has  been 
brought  before  the  consultative  bodies  in 
the  manner  indicated,  without  prejudice 
to   other  arrangements  hereafter  to  be 
considered,  then  the  question  shall    be 
discussed    with  the   Foreign   Office,   the 
Admiralty,  and  the  Colonial  Office  (which 
will  take  the  opinion  thereon  of  the  Crown 
Colonies),  and  the  result  shall  be  attained 
by  the  combined  action  of  all  the  depart- 


ments when  the  subject  concerns  more 
than  one  department. 

9.  The   Secretary  of   the    consultative 
bodies    will    carry    out    the    necessary 
arrangements     for      preparing      reports. 
Papers  containing  such   reports  will   bo 
marked  in  the  first  instance  by  the  Secre- 
tary, and  will  eventually  be  closed  for  him 
by  his  great-great-grandson. 

10.  The  War  Office  will  be   closed  on 
public  holidays,  some  part  of  the  recess, 
a  portion  of  the  Session,   and  on  other 
appropriate  occasions. 

11.  The  consultative  bodies  will  meet 
either  on  Tuesdays  and  Fridays  or  Mon- 
days and  Wednesdays,  or  Thursdays  and 
Saturdays,  on  such  dates  as  may  be  fixed 
by    the  Deputy  Director-General,   Army 
Medical    Department,    or    an    officer    of 
the  Mobilisation  Section  of  the  Depart- 
ment of  the  Director-General  of  Military 
Intelligence,  or  the  Deputy  Accountant- 
General,   or  a   couple  of    Assistant   Ac- 
countant-Gene rals,    or,    in    the    absence 
of  all  the  above  officers  on  leave,  or  for 
other  special  purposes,  by  Mr.  TENTERFOR, 
temporary  clerk. 

12.  The  constitution  and  duties  of  the 
W.  O.  C.,  the  P.  E.  C.,  and  the  A.  B.  will 
remain  as  at  present,  subject  to  the  fol- 
lowing alteration,  which  has  been  approved 
by   the    Secretary    of   State,    viz.,    the 
Director-General,  Army  Medical  Depart- 
ment  (Lunacy  Section),  shall  (when  not 
otherwise    occupied)    be    a    consultative 
member. 


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OCTOBER  30,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


319 


THE  YOUNG  NOVELIST'S  GUIDE  TO 
LAW. 
-  BARRISTER.    A  favourite  profession  for 
a  hero.    He  should  bo  pale,  clean-shaven, 
dark,  and  a  cynical  smile   should    play 
faintly  round  his  lips.    "When  not  engaged 
n    making     brilliant    and    impassioned 
speeches  in  Court,  the  barrister  devotes 
his    time    to   giving   tea-parties   in    his 

ravel  the  whole  mystery  in  a  couple  of 
pages. 
EVIDENCE  .    Talk  about  things  in  general  , 
and  a  convenient  way  of  putting  dull  but 
necessary  explanations  before  the  reader. 
Having  arranged  for  a  trial  of  some  sort 
in    your    story,    you    subpoena    all    the 
characters    as    witnesses.    Perhaps    you 
will  begin  with  the  bluff  old  Squire,  and 
follow  him  with  the  comic  rustic  witness 

to  try  next  day,  especially  with  one  o: 
the  parties  to  the  suit.    So  anxious  tc 
save    trouble,    that    frequently    he   will 
undertake  the  duties  of  counsel  for  the 
plaintiff  or  defendant  (according  to  the 
side  the  heroine  is  on)  as  well  as  his  own 
At  the  end  of  the  book  he  will  take  off  ancl 
wipe  his  gold-rimmed  glasses,  and  address 
a  few  words  of  paternal  advice  to  th( 
bride  and  bridegroom. 

jhambers .  O  e  c  a-  - 
sionally  he  is  in- 
terrupted  b  y 
clients  " — i.e. 
by  litigants.  The 
fictionary  barrister 
is  always  delighted 
to  see  them,  and 
scorns  to  ask  for 
the  mediation  of  a 
mere  solicitor. 
Beautiful  young 
ladies  in  distress 
eagerly  seek  his 
advice.  The  villain 
has  secured  the 
services  of Jat  least 
five  King's  Coun- 
sel, but  the  hero- 
barrister  and  the 
young  lady  always 
win  their  case. 

BRIEF.  A  mys- 
terious thing  out 
of  which  the  bar- 
rister makes  his 
fortune.  In  the 
case  of  the  barris- 
ter-hero, the  first 
brief  often  is 
brought  to  him  by 
his  fiancee,  who 
carries  it  about 
with  her  in  er 
pocket.  It  is  never 
marked  less  than 
one  hundred 
guineas,  and  two 
chapters  after  re- 
ceiving it  the  hero 
takes  silk. 

DETECTIVE.  A 
profession  which 
once  promised  a 
good  opening,  but 
is  now  distinctly 
overcrowded,  especially  since  the  firm 
of  SHERLOCK  and  WATSON  have  turned 
their  business  over  to  an  unlimited 
company.  The  detective  force,  for  the 
novelist's  purposes,  may  be  classed  under 
two  heads :  (1)  the  free-lance  detective, 
who  is  phenomenally  astute,  (2)  the  official 
detective,  who  is  incredibly  idiotic. 
When  a  specimen  of  the  latter  class  has 
found  three  false  clues,  made  four  bad 
blunders,  and  arrested  half  -  a  -  dozen 
entirely  innocent  and  respectable  people, 
the  free-lance  detective  may  be  brought 
on  the  scene.  He,  of  course,  will  un- 


How 


SOLICITOR.  Oc- 
casionally a  bland 
and  amiable  gen- 
tleman, but  more 
often  a  villain  of 
the  deepest  dye. 

TRESPASS.  A 
dreadful  crime,  for 
which  (in  novels) 
people  can  be  pro- 
secuted and  com- 
mitted to  prison 
on  the  shortest 
notice.  At  the 
same  time,  it  may 
be  perpetrated  in 
all  good  faith,  so 
that  you  may  let 
one  of  your  best 
characters  be 
guilty  of  it  by  ac- 
cident. Then  he 
will  promptly  be 
handcuffed  and  led 
away  from  t.he 
heart  - b  roken 
heroine,  and  your 
readers  will  weep 
like  anything. 

WILL.  No  legal 
document  is  so 
useful  to  the  novel- 
ist as  this.  Be  sure 
to  remember  that 
no  one  in  your 
novel  must  make  a 
will  until  they  are 
at  %the  point  of 
death.  Then  "  the 
family  lawyer  ' '  is 
hastily  summoned, 
and,  after  the  will 
has  been  signed, 
it  will  be  placed  in 
one  of  the  usual 
repositories  for 
— always  very  popular.  After  this,  amid  such  documents,  viz.,  in  a  secret  drawer 


Siii  JONATHAN  D'OUTRE-MER  DESIRED  THE  SOLE  CONTROL  OF  THE  LADY  NICOTINE, 

AND   CHALLENGED   SlR  JOHN   DE   BULL  TO   DO   BATTLE   FOR   THIS   CAUSE. 


a  low  murmur  of  repressed  excitement, 
the  fair  young  heroine  will  step  into  the 
box.  "Madam,"  the  Judge  will  say, 
"  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  favour  us  with 
your  opinion  in  regard  to  this  case?" 
And  then  in  a  voice  low  but  clearly  audible 
in  every  corner  of  the  court,  the  heroine 
will  talk  for  the  rest  of  the  chapter. 

JUDGE.  Usually  a  benevolent  old  gentle- 
man who  has  gold-rimmed  glasses  and  a 
heart  several  sizes  too  large  for  his  pro- 
fession. Is  always  glad  to  talk  over  in 
his  own  house  a  case  which  he  will  have 


which  no  one  knows  of,  in  the  coal-scuttle, 
which  will  be  sold  (with  the  will  inside  it) 
upon  the  testator's  death,  or  in  the  breast- 
pocket of  the  nearest  villain.  In  the  first 
case,  the  heroine  will  accidentally  touch 
the  spring  of  the  secret  drawer  ten  years 
afterwards ;  in  the  second,  a  mysterious 
figure  will  appear  to  the  hero  at  midnight, 
bidding  him  buy  the  coal-scuttle  at  any 
cost ;  in  the  third,  the  villain  will  subse- 
quently die  of  remorse,  and,  in  a  chapter 
headed  "At  Last!"  the  long-sought-for 
document  will  reappear.  A.  C.  D. 


320 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[OCTOBER  30,  1901. 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

Mr.,  ANDHEW  LANG  has  contributed  Alfred  Tennyson  to  Messrs, 
BLACKWOOD'S  now  series  of  Modern  English  Writers.  "  This 
brief  sketch  of  the  life  of  TENNYSON  "  he  calls  it,  on  the  principle 
that  it  adds  nothing  new  to  man's  knowledge  of  the  theme. 
Mr.  LANG  is  loftily  indifferent  to  ordinary  requirements  for 
such  a  work.  Common  people  may  stoop  to  narrative  and 
details.  He  soars  aloft  in  sublime  superiority.  In  the  preface, 
he  frankly  tells  the  snubbed  reader  that  he  will  find  nothing  in 
the  book  that  may  not  be  read  at  fuller  length  in  the  Biography 
the  second  Lord  TENNYSON  dutifully  laid  on  his  father's  tomb. 
"As  to  the  Life,"  Mr.  LANG  writes,  "doubtless  current  anecdotes 
not  given  in  the  Biography  are  known  to  me  and  [now  this  is 
condescending]  to  most  people.  But  as  they  must  also  be 
familiar  to  the  author  of  the  Biography,  I  have  not  thought  it 
desirable  to  give  them.  The  work  of  the  '  localizers  '  I  have  not 
read.  The  professed  commentators  I  have  not  consulted." 
The  result  of  this  superfine  system  is  not  such  that  my  Baronite 
can  conscientiously  recommend  it  to  writers  of  ordinary  calibre. 
There  is  nothing  new  in  the  book,  not  even  the  long  quota- 
tions from  Idylls  of  the  King  and  In  Memoriam.  Mr.  LANG, 
having  in  the  manner  indicated  barred  himself  out  from  the 
way  of  the  vulgar  biographer,  and  having  230  pages  to  fill 
up,  has  hit  upon  the  device  of  discovering  TENNYSON, 
explaining  to  the  startled  reader  the  story  of  the  Idylls,  In 
Memoriam,  and  some  others,  quoting  passages  therefrom,  and 
illuminating  them  with  critical  remarks.  This  is  very  obliging. 
But  as  most  of  us  have  TENNYSON  on  our  shelves,  if  not  on  the 
tip  of  our  tongue,  we  prefer  to  go  to  the  fountain  head  and 
drink  as  we  desire.  After  all,  there  is  something  to  be  said  for 
ancient  ways. 

An  Occasional  Critic  in  the  employment  of  the  Baron  ventures 
to  suggest  that  The  Lords  of  Life,  written  by  (presumably)  Miss 
BESSIE  DILL,  and  published  by  Mr.  JOHN  LONG  (whose  name  he 
inadvertently  omitted  last  week  as  publisher  of  The  Diva),  is 
not  without  its  charm.  The  heroine's  character  undergoes 
formation  during  the  course  of  356  pages.  In  page  20  she— at 
the  age  of  ten — shows  traces  of  agnosticism,  and  in  page  354 
informs  her  first  betrothed  of  her  earlier  flirtations.  The  Occa- 
sional Critic  ventures  to  recommend  The  Lords  of  Life  to  the 
not  too  exacting  novel-reader. 

My  Juniorest  Baronitess  says  that,  in  her  opinion,  The 
Octopus,  by  FRANK  NORRIS  (GRANT  RICHARDS),  is  a  most  inter- 
esting Californian  story.  It  tells  of  the  war  that  at  one  time 
raged  between  the  wheat  grower  and  the  Railroad  Trust.  The 
principal  characters  are  all  well  drawn  ;  but  the  two  that  make 
most  demand  upon  the  reader's  sympathies  are,  Annixter  (pro- 
prietor of  the  Quieu  Sabe  Rancho),  and  llilma  Tree,  a  dairy  girl 
on  Annixter' s  ranch.  The  love  scene  between  these  two  is 
quite  the  prettiest  part  of  the  book.  The  last  chapter,  where 
Behrham  (the  representative  of  the  Pacific  and  South-Western 
Railroad)  meets  his  death,  is  dramatically  effective.  My 
Juniorest  adds  that,  as  a  book  of  more  than  mere  passing 
interest,  it  is  worthy  of,  at  least,  a  permanent  place  on  the  top 
shelf  of  a  library. 

The  Potter  and  the  Clay  first  saw  the  light  in  the  United 
States,  and  was  brought  hither  by  Messrs.  HODDER  AND 
STOUGHTON,  who  have  a  keen  eye  for  a  promising  new  writer. 
It  is  reported  that  the  author,  MAUD  HOWARD  PETERSON,  is 
still  in  her  teens.  That  is  no  particular  business  of  the 
reader's,  who  simply  wants  a  good  book  for  his  six  shillings, 
even  if  he  has  eighteenpence  taken  off  by  way  of  discount. 
But  the  fact,  if  it  be  one,  certainly  increases  the  admiration 
compelled  by  a  notable  piece  of  work.  Miss  PETERSON,  living 
in  America,  is  evidently  old  enough  to  have  visited  Scotland, 
both  on  the  East  and  West  Coast,  If  she  has  not  also  been  to 
India,  she  has  a  remarkable  gift  for  assimilating  information. 
r  picture  of  the  plague-stricken  barracks  and  village  is 


remarkably  vivid.  As  to  the  moving  story,  it  is  hard  to  realise 
a  man  of  Robert  Trevelyan's  proved  coiirage  deliberately  malin- 
gering in  order  to  escape  the  danger  of  leading  a  forlorn  hope, 
a  prize  pressed  upon  his  acceptance  to  the  envy  of  his  fellow 
officers.  He  confesses  that  he  was  suddenly  transformed  into 
a  coward  for  very  love.  If  he  went  forth  he  might  (a)  get  shot ; 
(b)  death  might  ensue ;  (c)  baing  a  corpse,  all  hope  of  marrying 
Canj  was  lost.  Q.  E.  I).  But  who  shall  say  what  mere  man  is 
not  capable  of  when  his  actions  are  devised  in  the  imagination 
of  a  woman.  Probabilities  apart,  Miss  PETERSON  makes  a  fine 
study  of  the  desperation  and,  remorse  of  Trevelyan,  of  the 
unselfish  heroism  of  John  Stewart,  and  of  the  wavering  affection 
of  Carl/,  loved  from  childhood  by  both.  For  a  first  novel  it  is 
notable.  My  Baronite  sees  in  it  the  promise  of  even  more 
excellent  things  to  follow. 

For  Our  Lady  of  Deliverance  (HurcHiNSON)  Mr.  JOHN  OXENHAM 
has  utilised  the  tragedy  of  DREYFUS,  to  whom  the  book  is 
inscribed.  It  is,  however,  only  the  main  fact  of  an  officer  in 
the  French  Army  being  falsely  accused  of  treason  that  is  bor- 
rowed. Mr.  OXENHAM  invents  his  own  machinery  for  the 
vindication  and  triumph  of  the  victim.  It  is  a  little  crude, 
falling  away  from  the  workmanship  of  an  excellent  start. 
Oddly  enough,  lie  does  not  explain  how  the  mad  painter  came 
to  have  sittings  from  Mademoiselle,  why  he  turned  up  at  the 
Chateau,  or  why,  indeed,  he  came  into  the  story  at  all.  My 
Baronite  recognises  in  the  bulldog  the  best-drawn  character 
in  the  book. 

The  Baron  has  just  got  through  The  Real  Christian,  by  LUCAS 
CLEE\TE  (JOHN  LONG),  and  has  come  out  alive.  The  Real  Christian 
— not  the  "ideal"  you  Avill  understand,  no,  nor  anything  like 
it — is  apparently  a  rather  muddle-headed  barrister  who  refuses 
to  defend  his  client  imprisoned  on  a  charge  of  murder,  because 
he  happens  to  have  been  present  when  said  prisoner  talked  and 
walked  in  his  sleep,  and  in  that  state  acted  the  crime  he  had 
committed  just  as  did  Matthias  in  the  ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN  story 
of  Le  JuifPolonais.  This  very  unprofessional  barrister,  Harold, 
not  "  Skimpolc  "  but  Trafford,  falls  in  love  with  a  girl  who 
by  mistake  marries  somebody  else ;  whereupon  he  becomes  a 
Catholic  priest,  in  which  character,  being  even  more  dundei" 
headed  than  he  was  as  a  barrister,  he  wears  the  soutane,  be- 
lieves in  nothing  in  particular,  not  much  in  himself,  and  dies 
suddenly  "  on  the  hillside  outside  "  ("hillside  outside  "  sounds 
odd,  rather  suggestive  of  "inside  outside,"  some  mysterious 
sort  of  complicated  complaint)  "  a  country  town,"  where  he  is 
preaching  to  a  crowd  of  "  upturned  faces."  Only  "  faces,"  no 
bodies  to  speak  of.  This  is  the  sort  of  person  whom  LUCAS 
CLEEVE  sets  before  us  as  "  The  Real  Christian."  If  we  are  to 
have  law  or  theology  in  a  novel,  its  author  should  first  satisfy 
legal  or  qualified  theological  examiners  as  to  his  proficiency 
or  soundness.  But  amateur  law,  or,  what  is  more  mischievous, 
amateur  theology,  ought  to  be  entirely  avoided. 

THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 

P.  S. — With  the  prospect  of  Christmas  before  them,  the  pub- 
lishers (RAPHAEL  TUCK  AND  SONS)  have  not  forgotten  to  specially 
cater  for  the  children.  There  is  a  "  Painting  Book,"  entitled 
Father  Tuck's  "  Little  Artists  "  Series,  which  will  undoubtedly 
fill  the  heart  of  every  child  with  joy.  Moreover,  it  will  prove 
a  boon  to  parents,  for  it  is  calculated  to  keep  the  noisiest  of 
children  quiet  for  any  length  of  time  ;  and  they  will  remember 
it  in  their  pleasant  dreams  when  Tuck  'd  into  their  little  beds. 


"TWEEDLE-DUM  AND  TWEEDLE-DEE  ;  "   OR,  LORD  ROSEBERY  AND 

MR.  WINSTON  CHURCHILL  ON  "  HARRIS  TWEEDS,"— though  his 
Lordship  can  hardly  be  styled  "  Tweedle-dumb."  Pity  that 
neither  of  them  showed  their  proficiency  as  students  of  DICKENS 
by  bringing  in  any  allusion  to  Betsey  Prig,  who,  as  she  didn't 
believe  as  there  were  no  sich  a  person  "as  Mrs.  Harris,  couldn't 
have  trusted  the  tweeds  of  that  name. 


OCTOBER  30,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


321 


THE  DIARY  OF  AN  AUTHOR. 

Monday.— Shouted  first  two  chapters  of 
Melissa  and  the  Madman  into  phonograph 
during  bath.  Secretary  read  excerpts 
from  half-a-dozen  minor  poets  while  dress- 
ing. Very  inferior  stuff.  Dictated  half 
column  review.  "Was  interviewed  at 
breakfast  by  Daily  Diddler.  Polished  off 
two  hundred  and  fifty  requests  for  "auto- 
graphs, and  read  my  press  cuttings. 
Public  losing  sight  of  me.  Must  do  some- 


fast.  Sales  of  last  book  hanging  ffire. 
"Will  accept  offer  to  recite  a  few  chapters 
of  it  at  Syndicate  Music  Hall.  Also 
arrange  for  the  tour  in  States  to  lecture 
on,  "Why  I  am  such  a  Genius."  Accept 
invitation  to  open  a  bazaar.  Send  fifty 
copies  of  last  romance*  autographed,  for 
sale  at  same.  Decide  to  give  away  prizes 
Ditchwater  College.  "Write  a  few  letters 
to  the  papers  about  myself  generally. 

Thursday. — Finish  article  for  Literary 
Chat :    "  What    it-  feels   like   to   be   so 


rich,  flexible  baritone.  Should  be  able  to 
debate  well.  -Must  remember  to  look  up 
Politics  in  Encyclopaedia  Britannica.  Will 
make  Melissa  and  the  Madman  a  political 
novel. 

Saturday. — Decide  to  go  to  Cape  Town. 
A  book  on  the  war  seems  expected  of  me. 
Arrange  to  send  "letters  to  half  a'dozen 
papers.  If  this,  doesn't -give  my  books,  a 
fillip  T  don't  knowwhat  to  do.  At  any 
rate  I  shall  be  able  to  give  Lord  KITCHENER 
a  helping  hand. 


'THE    GOSSIP    OF    POLITICAL    GRAVE-DIGGERS." 

G-rge  W-ndh-m,  Prince  of  Denmark.  ' '  Now  THEN,  YOU  TWO,  NOT  so  MUCH  CHATTER  DOWN  THERE  !     WE  WANT  TO  CONCENTRATE 

OUR  THOUGHTS   ON   THE   MILITARY  PROBLEM  !  " 


thing.  Will  consent  to  give  my  name  to 
new  kind  of  motor  air-cycle.  Ought  to 
influence  my  sales  in  right  direction. 

Tuesday. — Was  photographed  in  twenty- 
five  capital  positions.  Wrote  testi- 
monials for  typewriters,  phonographs, 
moustache -curlers,  and  fountain  pens. 
Man  called  from  Silly  Bits  and  photo- 
graphed back  garden.  Another  from  some 
other  magazine  and  snapped  me  in  moun- 
taineering costume,  with  cycle.  Rather 
effective  picture,  I  thought.  Dictated 
'Boyhood  Memories"  for  a  Christmas 
Annual. 

M  ednesday. — Breathed    patriotic    poem 
into  phonograph  while  waiting  for  break- 


clever."  Publisher's  statement  of  accounts 
still  far  from  satisfactory.  Find  I  am  only 
making  bare  £15,000  a  year.  Think  seri- 
ously of  going  on  the  stage.  Experience 
immense  difficulty  in  keeping  my  name 
perpetually  before  public.  Am  to  open 
new  social  club  to-night.  Will  try  and 
make  a  really  ridiculous  speech.  I  can  be 
exceptionally  foolish  when  I  try.  Intend 
to  write  two  or  three  plays  next  week. 

Friday. — After  repeated  refusals  have 
at  length  agreed  to  stand  for  Parliament. 
M.P. — look  welUon  title-page.  Thanks  to 
doing  all  my"  literary"  work  viva  voce, 
through  megaphone,  to  secretaries,  or 
into  phonograph,  have  developed  quite  a 


WAITS— BEFORE    CHRISTMAS. 

AT  the  first  night  at  Her  Majesty's 
Theatre  on  Thursday,  there  were  signs  of 
impatience  in  the  gallery  at  the  long 
waits  between  the  Acts  of  The  Last  of 
the  Dandies.  This  was  a  little  unreason- 
able, as  Mr.  BEERBOHM  TREE  gave  full 
notice  of  exceptional  extension,  of  the 
customary  intervals.  On  the  programmes 
it  was  expressly  stated  that  "An  in- 
terval of  one  day  takes  place  be- 
tween Acts  II.  and  III.,  and  of  two 
years  between  Acts  III.  and  IV." 
After  all,  it  was  not  nearly  as  bad  as 
that. 


[OCTOBER  30,  1901. 


THOMPSON 


TINNED   COW. 


TIN  LiN  CHOW  was  his  proper  name,  but  we  called  him 
"Tinned  Cow,"  though  he  never  much  liked  it,  and  said  that 
his  father,  who  was  a  Mandarin,  or  some  such  thing,  would 
have  made  it  hot  for  us  if  we  had  been  in  China.  But  we  were 
at  Merivale  School  in  England,  so  we  reckoned  that  "  Tinned 
Cow  "  was  near  enough,  that  being  good  English  anyway. 

The  chap  was  exactly  the  same  colour  as  the  stomach  of 
"Corkey  "  Minor's  guinea-pig;  and  his  father  was  allowed  to 
wear  a  gold  button  in  his  hat,  so  he  said,  that  being  a  sign  of  a 
man  who  wrote  books  in  China.  He  wrote  Chinese  books  for  a 
living,  and  when  we  asked  "  Tinned  Cow  "  if  his  father  could 
turn  out  stuff  a  patch  on  HENTY  or  MAYNE  REID,  he. said  much 
better.  But  he  had  to  confess  afterwards  that  his  father  was 
only  doing  a  history  of  China  in  a  hundred  volumes,  or  some 
such  muck  ;  so  evidently  he  was  no  real  good,  for  all  his 
gold  button. 

When  the  kid  first  came  to  learn  English  and  get  English 
ideas_owing  to  his  father  having  convinced  himself  that  Chinese 
customs  Avere  rotten — he  rather  gave  himself  airs,  and  seemed 
to  think  because  he  was  somebody  at  Pekin  he  must  be  at 
Merivale  ;  but  the  only  person  who  made  anything  of  him  was 
the  Doctor.  He  used  to  bring  everything  round  to  China- 
even  arithmetic,  and  he  evidently  thought  it  was  rather  fine 
to  have  a  Mandarin's  son  in  the  school.  Especially  as  "  Tinned 
Cow  "  had  brothers  coming  on,  who  might  follow.  What  a 
Mandarin  is  exactly,  "  Tinned  Cow  "  didn't  know  himself  ;  but 
he  seemed  to  think  they  were  about  equal  to  Dukes,  which 
must  be  rot,  because  Dukes  can  be  Kings  in  time,  whereas 
Mandarins  can't  be  Emperors.  In  fact,  the  only  Mandarins  1 
ever  heard  of  till  then  were  oranges. 

He  was  a  frightful  liar,  but  good  as  a  maker  of  kites.  And 
BROWNE,  the  classical  master  in  the  Third  and  Lower  Fourth, 
said  that  both  things  were  common  to  the  Chinese  character. 
For  mere  lies  we  had  FOWLE  and  STEGGLES,  and  others,  even 
better  than  "Tinned  Cow,"  because  his  knowledge  of  English 
wasn't  xip  to  lying  without  being  found  out  for  some  terms ; 
but  at  kites  he  could  smash  anybody.  His  kites,  in  fact,  were 
corkers,  and  he  taught  us  to  kite-fight,  which  is  not  bad  sport 
when  there  's  nothing  better  on.  Chinese  kites  are  very  light, 
and  all  made  of  tissue-paper  and  cane,  or  bamboo,  split  up 
fine.  For  a  cane,  "Tinned  Cow"  had  the  beautiful  cheek  to 
go  into  Doctor  DUNSTAN'S  study,  when  'he  was  reading  prayers 
in  the  chapel,  and  rout  about  in  the  cane-corner  and  steal  a 
good  specimen,  and  hide  it  in  the  gym.  That  was  the  first 
thing  that  made  me  like  the  kid.  But  he  said  it  was  nothing, 
and  seemed  surprised  that  I  thought  much  of  it.  He  also  said, 
that  over  the  pictures  in  a  huge  Shakspeare  the  Doctor  had, 
was  tissue-paper  of  such  a  choice  kind  that  it  must  undoubtedly 
be  Chinese,  and  that,  if  so,  it  was  the  best  in  the  world  for 
kites.  He  said  that  if  I  would  allow  him  to  be  my  chum,  he 
would  get  several  sheets  of  this  paper  in  a  quiet  moment,  and 
.make  me  the  best  kite  he  had  yet  made.  Well,  I  never  guessed 
then  what  a  Chinese  kid  really  is  in  the  way  of  being  a  worm, 
so  I  agreed,  provided  he  made  two  kites  and  put  my  initials  on 
them  in  silver  paper  from  a  packet  of  cigarettes — the  initials, 
of  course,  being  J.  H.  T.  They  stand  for  JOHN  HENNING 
THOMPSON — merely  THOMPSON  now,  but  THOMPSON  Major  next 
term,  when  my  young  brother  comes  to  Merivale. 

The  chap  was  so  frightfully  keen  to  become  my  chum  (niy 
aeing  captain  of  the  second  footer  eleven)  that  he  agreed  to 
the  two  kites  without  a  murmur,  and  stole  the  tissue-paper  and 
used  the  cane  for  the  framework.  So,  rather  curiously,  the 
tissue-paper  from  a  swagger  Shakspeare  and  a  bit  of  one  of  old 
DUNSTAN'S  canes  soared  up  to  a  frightful  height  over  the  school ; 
and  it  happened  that  the  Doctor  saw  it,  and,  little  dreaming  of 
the  materials,  patted  "  Tinned  Cow  "  on  the  head,  and  greatly 
praised  him,  and  said  that  the  art  of  kite-flying  in  China  was 


tremendously  ancient,  and  that  in  the  matter  of  kites,  as  well 
as  many  other  more  important  things,  China  had  instructed  the 
world.  Yet,  when  FULLER  tried  to  sneak  a  quill  pen  for  a 
private  purpose,  believing  the  Doctor  was  not  in  the  study  at 
the  time,  whereas  he  had  merely  gone  behind  a  screen  to  find  a 
book,  FULLER  got  five  hundred  lines  and  the  Eighth  Command- 
ment to  translate  into  Latin  and  Greek,  and  French  and  German. 
Which  shows  that  to  be  found  out  is  its  own  punishment,  as 
STEGGLES  told  FULLER  afterwards. 

Well,  I  let  "  Tinned  Cow  "  be  my  chum,  and  found  him  fairly 
decent,  considering  he  was  a  heathen,  for  two  terms.  Then  he 
began  to  settle  down  and  learn  English  and  football,  and  say 
that  Merivale  was  better  by  long  chalks  than  China.  In  fact, 
he  rather  hated  China  really,  and  said,  except  for  toys  and 
sweets  and  fireworks,  that  England  was  really  better.  I  may 
mention  that  his  feet  were  small,  but  not  like  pictures,  and  he 
said  that  only  wretched  girls  had  their  feet  squashed  in  his 
country.  He  had  a  sister  wliose  feet  were  squashed,  and  he 
said  that  she  was  pretty,  which  must  have  been  rot ;  but  he 
had  to  admit  that  English  girls  were  prettier,  because  MATHERS 
made  him,  and  said  that  he  'd  tattoo  a  lion  and  unicorn  on  the 
middle  of  his  chest  if  he  didn't.  So  he  yielded ;  in  fact,  he 
always  yielded  very  readily  to  force,  though  I  often  tried  to 
arrange  a  fight  for  him.  He  had  no  idea  even  of  doubling  a 
decent  fist,  and  said  that  only  wild  beasts  fight  without  proper 
weapons.  But  once  he  took  on  BRAY  with  single-sticks,  and 
they  chose  a  half-holiday  and  went  into  the  wood  by  the 
cricket-ground  and  fought  well  for  two  hours  and  a  half  ;  and  a 
bruise  on  a  Chinese  skin  is  very  interesting  to  see.  BRAY 
turned  yellow,  then'  blue,  that  deepened  to  black  on  the  fourth 
day;  but  "Tinned  Cow,"  from  the  usual  putty-like  tint  of  his 
body,  went  lead-colour  where  BRAY  whacked  his  arm  and  leg. 
And  "  Tinned  Cow's  "  bravery  surprised  me  ;  but  it  was  a  draw, 
and  he  assured  me  that  he  didn't  care  a  bit  about  being  alive, 
and  would  have  gone  on  hammering  and  being  hammered  untii 
BRAY  had  killed  him  if  necessary.  He  said  that  in  his  country, 
when  two  chaps  are  going  to  fight,  they  begin  by  cutting 
frightful  attitudes,  and  standing  in  rum  and  awful  positions, 
and  sticking  out  their  muscles  and  making  faces,  like  Ajax  defy- 
ing the  lightning  in  SMITH'S  Dictionary  of  Antiquities.  This  the 
idiots  do,  each  hoping  to  terrify  the  other  chap,  and  funk  him 
and  so  defeat  him  without  striking  a  blow.  ' '  Tinned  Cow ' '  saic 
that  most  battles  were  settled  in  this  way ;  and  once,  when 
MARTIN  Minimus  called  him  a  yellow  weasel,  he  puffed  out  hia 
cheeks  and  frowned,  as  well  as  you  can  without  eyebrows,  ane 
crooked  his  hands  like  a  bird's  claws  and  tried  to  horrify  MAR- 
TIN Minimus,  which  he  did  ;  but  it  was  young  MARTIN'S  first  term, 
and  the  kid  was  barely  eight  years  old. 

Now  I  come  to  that  little  brute  MILLY  DUNSTAN,  the  Doctor's 
youngest  daughter.  She  didn't  care  much  about  "  Tinned  Cow ' 
at  first,  for  she  always  takes  about  three  terms  to  see  what  a 
new  chap  's  like  ;  but  after  the  Mandarin  in  China  had  senl 
Doctor  DUNSTAN  a  gift  of  some  rusty  armour  and  screens  and  old 
religious  books — more  like  window-blinds  than  decent  books — 
and  a  live  Chinese  dog  with  a  tongue  like  as  if  it  had  been  lick- 
ing ink,  then  MILLY,  who  's  the  greediest  little  hateful  wretch, 
even  for  a  girl,  I  ever  saw,  suddenly  dropped  MATHERS,  whose 
father  was  merely  a  lawyer,  and  began  to  encourage  "  Tinned 
Cow  "  like  anything.  He  didn't  understand  her  character  as  ] 
and  a  few  other  chaps  did.  «TOMKINS  and  MATHERS  and  FORDYCE 


their  pocket  money  for  term  after  term ;  and  so  I  told  "  Tinned 
Cow"  that  her  blue  eyes  and  curls  and  ways  generally  were 
simply  a  white- washed  sepulchre,  and  certainly  wouldn't  last 
longer  than  a  hamper  from  Pekin ;  which,  I  told  him,  he  'd  jolly 
soon  find  out.  But  there 's  nothing  so  obstinate  as  the  Chinese 
naljjon  ;  and  if  she  'd  asked  him  for  his  pigtail,  I  believe  "  Tinned 
Cow"  would  have  chopped  it  off  for  her,  though  he  would  not 
have  dared  to  return  home  to  his  own  country  after  that  tili 
he  'd  grown  a  new  one. 


OCTOBER  30,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


323 


It  seemed  rather  a  horrid  thing, 
MATHERS  said,  for  a  Christian  girl  to 
encourage  a  chap  the  colour  of  parsnips, 
not  to  mention  his  eyes,  which  were  like 
button-holes  :  but  that  was  only  because 
MILLY  had  chucked  MATHERS  ;  and  we  all 
knew  what  she  really  was ;  and,  as  YATES 
said,  she  'd  have  sacrificed  herwhole  family 
for  a  new  sort  of  lemon  drop  ;  and  of  course 
when  ' '  Tinned  Cow ' '  found  out  how  mad 
she  was  after  sweets,  he  wrote  to  China,  to 
his  mother,  for  the  best  sweets  in  Pekin 
which  she  sent.  But  while  he  was  waiting 
for  them,  the  Chinese  dog  got  homesick 
or  something,  and  bit  the  boot-boy  and 
was  poisoned  painlessly.  Still,  MILLY 
stuck  to  "  Tinned  Cow,"  and  walked  openly 
about  the  playing  fields  on  match-days 
with  him.  And  people  said  it  was  just 
like  Doctor  DUNSTAN'S  dear  little  girl  to 
encourage  a  poor,  lonely,  foreign  kid  ;  but 
we  knew  what  she  was  waiting  for  well 
enough. 

In  fact,  "Tinned  Cow"  had  translated 
part  of  his  letter  home  to  me.  It  was  in 
Chinese  characters,  and  went  down  the 
paper  instead  of  along,  and  looked  as  if 
you'd  dipped  a  grasshopper  in  ink  and 
then  put  him  out  to  dry.  But  his  mother 
evidently  understood,  and  sent  such  sweets 
as  were  never  before  sucked  in  England 
— since  the  Christian  era  very  likely.  And 
"  Tinned  Cow  "  had  also  asked  for  one  of 
his  mother's  rings  for  MILLY  ;  but  this  he 
didn't  much  expect  her  to  send  ;  and  she 
didn't.  So  he  bought  MILLY  a  ring  from 
a  proper  ring-shop  with  three  weeks' 
.pocket  money ;  which,  seeing  that  he  had 
the  huge  sum  often  bob  a  week,  amounted 
to  thirty  shillings,  and  it  had  a  real 
precious  stone  in  it,  though  no  one  exactly 
knew  what. 

Anyway,  MILLY  wore  it  at  chapel,  and 
flashed  it  at  "Tinned  Cow"  when  the 
Doctor  had  his  back  turned  saying  the 
Litany.  And  MATHERS  said  the  flash  of  it 
was  like  a  knife  in  his  heart.  Which  shows 
what  a  footling  ass  MATHERS  was  over  this 
wretched  girl.  I  warned  "Tinned  Cow," 
all  the  same,  that  he  'd  simply  chucked 
thirty  bob  away ;  because  she  'd  change 
again  the  moment  his  Chinese  sweets  were 
finished.  And  she  never  gave  back  pre- 
sents when  she  changed ;  as  MILLBROOK 
had  found  to  his  cost,  being  an  awfully 
rich  chap,  who  gave  her  a  bracelet  that 
cost  three  pounds  ten.  And  when  she 
threw  him  over  and  wouldn't  give  it  up, 
MILLBROOK,  who  was  certainly  rich  but  a 
frightful  hound,  went  to  the  Doctor.  So 
he  got  his  bracelet  and  left  soon  after- 
wards ;  and  MILLY,  much  to  her  horror, 
was  sent  to  a  boarding  school  for  a  term 
<or  two.  But  then  old  DUNSTAN,  who  is 
simply  an  infant  in  MlLLY's  hands,  gave 
way  and  let  her  come  home  again  because 
she  cried  over  a  letter  and  splashed  it  with 
tears,  or,  more  likely,  common  water,  and 
told  him  that  nobody  in  the  world  could 


the  cunningness  of  her.    And  many  such- 
like things  she  did,  of  which  I  will  toll  you 


later. 


(To  be  continued.) 


E.  P 


DOMESTIC    ECONOMIES. 

Miss  SNIPPET. 

"  I  CAN'T  think  why  I  go  on  paying  that 
wretched  little  dressmaker  half-a-crown  a 
day  to  give  me  a  figure  like  this,"  said 
GWENDOLEN,  regarding  herself  ruefully  in 
the  over-mantel  mirror.  "  I  'm  a  cross 
between  RICHARD  THE  THIRD  and  the 
scarecrow'. ' ' 

"Darling,  you  look  nice  in  anything." 
"  Oh,  rubbish  !    Really,  it 's  quite  pre- 


ILLUSTRATED   QUOTATIONS. 

(One  so  seldom  ji-tids  an  Artist  who  realises  the 
poetic  conception.] 


"LEST   WE    FORGET." 

Eudyard  Kipling 


posterous.  Let  me  see.  She 's  been  here 
a  week.  That 's  six  half-crowns.  How 
many  pounds  is  that,  JACK  ?  ' ' 

'Six    half-crowns?"      I    prepared    to 
tackle  the  problem. 

"Oh,  well,  never  mind  !  Anyway,  it's 
far  too  much  money  to  waste  on  Miss 
SNIPPET,  besides  food  and — and  things. 
And  you  know  you  don't  like  having  her 
in  the  house." 

"  Well,  I  confess  I  shouldn't  mind 
getting  back  to  my  study." 

"  I  knew  she  was  getting  on  your  nerves. 
You  were  perfectly  horrid  at  luncheon." 

"  My  dear,  when  the  same  face  appears 
every  day  at  every  meal — when  it  isn't 
yours,  that  is  to  say " 

"  Well,  you  shan't  have  it  any  more, 
dear.  I  'm  going  to  give  up  the  SNIPPET 


teach  her  Greek  but  him.     Which  shows  j  thing,  and  make  my  dresses  myself.     It  '11 


save — oh,  pounds  and  pounds,  JACK  !  And 
then  we  '11  be  able  to  get  that  sweet  little 
Chippendale  book-case  we  saw  the  other 
day  in  Ward  our  Street." 

Bent  on  her  policy  of  peace,  retrench- 
ment and  reform,  GWENDOLEN  proposed 
that  very  evening  that  we  should  run  up 
to  town  next  day  and  purchase  the  raw 
material  for  the  experiment.  A  long 
afternoon  was  spent  in  the  purlieus  of 
Piccadilly.  Hitherto  we  had  patronised 
Oxford  Street,  but,  as  GWENDOLEN  pointed 
out,  we  could  now  afford  the  most  expen- 
sive stuffs,  as  it  was  the  making  that  cost, 
and  that  was  to  cost  nothing.  So  many 
purchases  were  made  that  we  lost  our 
last  train  home.  That,  however,  mattered 
the  less  as  I  wanted  to  see  the  new  piece 
at  the  Lyceum,  which  I  thought  might 
give  me  some  ideas  for  the  tragedy  I  was 
writing  ;  and  as  we  had  half-an-hour  to 
put  in  before  dinner,  we  strolled  along  to 
Wardour  Street  to  have  another  look  at 
the  book-case. 

GWENDOLEN  eyed  it  longingly.  "Oh, 
JACK !  Think  of  our  Aldines  in  those 
shelves !  " 

"  Yes,  and  the  Elzevirs  !  " 

"  Wouldn't  it  just  make  the  study  ?  " 

"  It  most  certainly  would." 

' '  How  many  half-crowns  are  there  in 
thirty  pounds  ?  ' ' 

I  took  out  a  piece  of  paper,  and  was 
preparing  to  multiply  by  twenty,  twelve 
and  four,  when  suddenly  I  felt  GWENDO- 
LEN clutch  me  nervously  by  the  arm. 

"  JACK  !  "  she  whispered.  "He  's  ask- 
ing about  it !  " 

"Who,  dear?" 

"That  man." 

I  looked  round.  Whilst  I  had  been  deep 
in  my  calculation,  a  customer  had  entered 
the  shop.  Not  a  moment  was  to  be  lost. 
Quick  as  thought,  GWENDOLEN  drew  her 
hand  from  my  arm  and  followed  him.  A 
minute  later,  the  book-case  was  ours. 

As  we  discussed  a  little  supper  after 
the  play  that  night,  GWENDOLEN  suddenly 
turned  on  me  indignant.  "JACK,"  she 
said,  "  you  're  thinking  !  " 

"  My  dear,"  I  protested. 

"Don't  try  to  deny  it!  You  know  I 
don't  allow  it  at  meals.  Now,  what  was 
it  all  about  ?  ' ' 

"Well,"  I  admitted,  "I  believe  I  was 
thinking  in  a  hazy  sort  of  way  what  a 
blessing  it  is  to  have  an  economical 
wife."  • 

GWENDOLEN  smiled. 

"We've  had  a  day  in  town,  an  excel- 
lent dinner,  stalls  at  the  theatre,  a  capi- 
tal supper " 

"  And  the  book-case " 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  ;  and  as  far  as  I  can 
make  out  it  all  costs  us  less  than  nothing." 

"  Of  course  it  does.  It  will  all  be  saved 
out  of  Miss  SNIPPET  ;  and  you  shall  see 
I  'm  going  to  be  dressed  far  better  than 
ever." 

(To  be  continued.) 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHAEIVAEI.  [0°™™  30,  1901. 


324  

,    a  sty  in  a  narrow  alley,  a  few  yards  from 
"THE  SITE  OP  THE  ALBERT  HALL.'     Lady  BLESSINOTON'S,  called  either  Park  or 

(A   Suggestion  for  an  Epilogue   to    "  The   Gore  Lane. 

Last  of  the  Dandies.")  Shade  of  N.  the  Third.  And  pray,  why  was 

subsequently    demolished    I  not  allowed  to  have  a  speaking  part  ? 

Count.  Oh,  Sire,  we  couldn  t  get  in 
everybody.  Surely  Sir  EDWARD  BULWER 
LYTTON  and  Mr.  DISRAELI  were  sufficiently 
near  to  modern  times  to  satisfy  a  modern 
audience  ;  and,  remember,  when  you  lived 

inhis  sleep,  after  recover-   in  King  Street,  St.  James's,  and  turned  out 

n 


SCENE — A  room, 

to  make  way  for  the  Horticultural 
Gardens.  TIME  —  earlier  half  of  the 
nineteenth  century.  The  Count  dis- 
covered slumbering  in  the  costume  of 
the  period. 


ing  from  a  trance).  I  think  I  have  fairly 
caught    the    local    colouring  ! 
Yes,  yes  !  the  local  colouring. 

Shade  of  Toll-Keeper  (appear- 
ing). Haven't  you  forgotten  me? 
I  who  used  to  live  in  the  Turn- 
pike House  at  the  top  of  Hyde 
Park  Gate  South  ? 

Count.  To  be'sure,  HydeTark 
Gate  South,  the  home  of  COPE 
the  Elder,CooKE,  the  sea  painter, 
and  THACKERAY'S  and  POLICE- 
MANX'S  friend,  "ABECKETTthe 
Beak."  Yes,  yes,  yes  ! 

Shade  of  Soyer(folloioing  suit). 
And  couldn't  you  have  said 
something  prophetically  about 
my  taking  Gore  House  and  turn- 
ing it  into  a  cheap  restaurant  ? 

Count.  Certainly.  You  did 
very  well,  and  covered  the 
walls  with  caricatures  by 
GEORGE  AUGUSTUS  SALA. 

Shade  of  Paxton.  And  if  you 
were  to  foretell  the  immediate 
future,  why  not  refer  to  the 
Crystal  Palace  of  1851  built 
opposite  ? 

Count.  Why,  yes — the  same 
period  as  the  chef  of  the  Reform 
Club.  Yes,  yes  !  The  Crystal 
Palace  of  1851 — suggested  by 
the  glass  at  Chatsworth. 

Shade  of  Cook.  And  a  little 
later  you  might  have  produced 
a  plan  of  the  Hippodrome,  now 
occupied  by  De  Vere  Gardens. 

Count.  Quite  so.  A  very 
different  sort  of  institution  to 
the  one  near  Leicester  Square. 
Ah,  yes — I  remember,  I  remem- 
ber! 

Shade  of  a  Burglar.  And, 
guv 'nor,  'ow  about  Jenning's 
Buildings  ?  Within  'ail  of  Gore 
'Ouse — veren't  they  ? 


EVIDENT    ERROR. 

OUR  ARTIST  INFORMS  US  THAT  HE  MEANS  THIS  PICTURE  TO 
REPRESENT  A  "  MISTRESS  ENGAGING  PLAIN  COOK,"  AND  THEN,  OF 
COURSE,  FOLLOWED  SOME  AMUSING  DIALOGUE,  WHICH  WE  OMIT,  IT 
BEING  PERFECTLY  CLEAR  TO  EVERY  ONE  THAT  THE  TITLE  OUGHT  TO 
HAVE  BEEN 

PLAIN  MISTRESS  ENGAGING  COOK. 


WE    DOUBT,    TAKING     EVERYTHING    INTO    CONSIDERATION, 
SHE   18  AT  ALL   LIKELY  TO   OBTAIN   THE  SITUATION. 


Count.  You  are  right.  I  remember,  the 
worst  rookery  in  Suburban  London.  A 
couple  of  Peelers  were  afraid  to  walk 
through  it  unless  accompanied  by  a  third. 

Shade  of  Pre-Crimean  Cavalryman.  And 
our  barracks  ?  Don't  you  remember  them, 
Gen'ral  ?  At  the  entrance  of  Kensington 
Gardens  ? 

Count.  Over  the  way?  Yes,  over  the 
way! 

Shade  of  a  Pig.   And  don't  you  call  to 


mind  my  grunts  ? 
Count.  To  be  sure 


You  used  tc»  live  in 


Highness  by  courtesy.  And,  Sire,  you  were 
specially  referred  to  in  the  last  Act. 

All  the  Shades  (in  cJiorws).  Again  we 
demand,  why  are  we  omitted? 

C'oimt  (confused).  Really,  really,  the 
last  of  the  dandies  can't  be  bullied  in 
this  fashion !  I  refer  you  to  Mr.  FITCH. 
(Walcing.)  Ah,  a  vision  !  But  still,  I  think 
we  might  work  'em  in.  Although  I  have  got 
the  atmosphere  pretty  right,  I  think  they 
would  make  the  ensemble  more  complete. 

All  the  Shades  (in  chorus,  heard  without). 
Much,  much  more  complete  !  [Curtain. 


DE  PRO-FUND-IS. 

School  Room 
(with  1  eye  on  STOGGINS, 

our  Form-master.) 

DEAR  UNCLE  CHARLIE, — Ass  other  people 
are  rasing  Funds  for  Soldiers'  Cumferts 
for  those  at  the  Frunt  we  thought  weed 
get  up  a  Fund,  two.  It  is  corled  the 
"Fellers  Feeld  Force  Fund,"  and,  altho 
your  not  strickly  specking  one  of  the 
Fellers,  there  woodent  be  enny  objeck- 
tion  to  you  sending  us  a  sub- 
skription. 

Well,  weeve  dun  pretty  well 
up  to  now,  colleckting.  Last 
week  I  collecktid*  ROBINSON 
Major's  new  winter  socks,  six 
pares,  witch  he  hassent  even 
mist  yet ;  then  BLINKER  collerd 
the  gardiner's  old  trousers, 
witch  heed  quite  dun  with  j  and 
wen  old  STOGGINS  confish- 
caketed  a  box  of  siggerettes 
he  saw  SMITH  Minor  playing 
with,  I  waited  till  STOGGINS  had 
left  the  desk  and  then  a-next 
them  for  the  Fund. 

BLINKER'S  own  contribbution 
is  a  cricket  batt  with  brokin 
liandel,  and  sum  stumse — he 
wood  have  sent  a  borl  ass  well, 
but  thinks  he  mite  want  it 
himself  next  season. 

Young  FATTY  BOWDEN  sends 
a  Bathing  costume  witch  has 
srunk  so  mutch  he  carnt  get 
into  it.  SIMMONS  (the  wiin  who 
squince),  sum  sented  note  paper 
witch  he  took  from  his  sister's 
desk.  ME,  the  M.S.  of  an 
origginal  melon-Drainer  witch 
the  Offersers  mite  like  to  akt  at 
Xmas  time. 

Weeve  orlso  collecktid  old 
STOGGINS'S  great  coat,  he  canot 
possbly  want  it,  ass  he  never 
goes  outside  in  the  winter,  and 
it  wood  be  a  reel  cumfert  for 
enny  Sentry  on  a  cold  night. 
In  this  matter  STOGGINS  is 
doing  a  good  deed  without 
knowing  it. 

You  mite  send  a  hamper  of 
apples  and  pares  ass  well  ass  a 
small  doughnation  in  tin. 
BLINKER  sends  love. 

Your  affeckshunt 
nephew,  MAX. 

p.S. — jest  as  I  close  this  theres  an 
orfle  row  becos  wun  of  the  littel  fellers 
carnt  come  inter  the  Class  Room  to 
"Absence"  Call,  ass  weeve  collecktid 
orl  his  nickkerbockers  for  the  Soldiers' 
Cumferts  Fund— he  hassent  enny  trowsers 
— and  old  STOG  threttens  to  keep  us  orl 
in  next  harf  holiday.  Everywun  looks 
gluemy ;  even  our  brave  Difenders  will 
suffer,  ass  we  shall  doutless  have  io 
return  the  nickkerbockers. 


WHETHER 


NOVEMBER  G,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHAKIVARI. 


325 


THE  PLAYS  OP   SHAWKSPEARE. 
No.    II.— CORIOLANUS. 

1CT  II.,  SCENE  I.—  CORIOLANUS'S  Com- 
mittee Room  on  the  eve  of  the  Consular 
Elections,  CORIOLANUS  has  been  duly 
chosen  for  the  Consulship  by  the  Semite, 
and  it  only  remains  to  have  that  choice 
confirmed  by  the  People.  The  candi- 
date himself  and  a  number  of  his 
principal  Conservative  supporters  are 
discovered  in  consultation.  Among  the 
latter  are  MENENIUS  and  COMINIUS. 

Menenms  (persuasively).  My  dear  fellow, 
[  assure  you  it 's  always  done. 

Coriolanus.  What  !  go  down 
iO  the  Forum  and  beg  votes  of 
!rouzy  plebeians?  Couldn't  do 
t,  by  Jove ! 

Cominius  (yawning).  It's  only 
i  matter  of  form. 

Cor.  Deuced  bad  form,  I  call 
I.  High  time  it  was  given  up. 

Men.  (testily).  Very  likeb  . 
Jut  this  is  hardly  a  favourable 
noment  for  making  the  innova- 
;ion. 

"Cor.  Yes,  but  dash  it,  man, 
[  can't !  I  'm  not  accustomed 
—haw — to  beg.  I  am  accus- 
tomed to  command. 

Com.  (aside).  Ass!  (turns 
tway  impatiently.) 

Cor.  (brightening).  I  tell  you 
nrhat  I  '11  do.  I  '11  make  'em  a 
speech,  if  you  like. 

Men.  (seriously  alarmed).  Not 
'or  the  world,  my  dear  fellow. 
Generals  should  never  make 

eeches. 
or.    (huffed).    What   do   you 

int  me  to  do  then  ? 

Men.  Only  to   be   civil  to 

em.   Say  you  '11  redress  their 

ievances.    They  always  have 

ievances,  confound  them ! 

Cor.  (grumbling).  Well,  you'll 

ve  to  coach  me,  that 's  all. 

Jon't  know  what  the  beggars 

int. 

Com.  (to  MENENIUS).  There 's 

6  Money-lenders'  Bill.      He  might  try 

6m  on  that  ? 

Men.  Yes.     That  will  do.     Tell  them  if 

ey  elect  you  they  won't  have  to  pay 

eir  debts.      They'll  like   that.      Then 

ere  's  the  Corn  Laws.     Tell  them  about 

ifi  inalienable  right  of  every  citizen  to 
fed  at  someone  else's  expense.     And 

ie  Franchise, — say  you  believe  in  One 

.an  One  Vote'and  One  Vote  One  Value. 

Cor.    (scratching  his    head).    And  what 

ay  that  mean  ? 

Com.   (impatiently).    Why,    that    every 

an  can  sell  his  vote  for  five  shillings,  of 

>urse. 

Cor.  (to  whom  this  sounds  an  eminently 

asonable  measure  of  reform).  Is  that  all? 

don't  mind  promising  my  support  to 


Men.  Then  there  's  Taxation  of  Ground 
Values  and  Equal  Electoral  Areas  and 
Agricultural  Holdings.  (Cheerfully.)  You'll 
do  all  right. 

Cor.  (doubtfully).  But  I  don't  know  any- 
thing about  all  this.  It 's  Greek  to  me. 
I  wish  you  'd  let  me  make  'em  a  rousing 
speech  about  the  war. 

Men.  (hastily).  No,  no !  For  Heaven's 
sake !  No  more  speeches,  my  dear  fellow. 

Cor.  (obstinately).  I  believe  you're 
wrong.  Just  you  lot  me  tell  'em  how  I 
took  Corioli !  (With  immense  gusto.)  It 
was  this  way.  There  was  the  town  bang 


Jt. 


"CORIOLANUS." 

(Sir  R  dv-rs  B-ll-r  as  ha  appeared  in  this  Shakspcarian  character.) 

in  front  of  us.  We  'd  brought  up  our 
siege  train  during  the  night.  The  batter- 
ing rams,  under  CRASSUS  of  the  58th, 
were  on  the  right.  CATO,  of  our's,  with 
the  Sappers  and  four  catapults,  was  on 
the  left.  The  bugles  sounded  the  charge. 
My  men  advanced  at  the  double.  The 
enemy  poured  in  a  murderous  fire  of 
javelins.  My  men  wavered,  then  broke 
and  ran.  Bolted,  by  Jove !  I  drew  my 
sword  and  galloped  to  the  front.  "  Come 
on,  you  dashed  white-livered  cowards!" 
I  cried.  That  rallied  'em  !  They  turned. 
We  rushed  the  North  Gate,  and  in  half 
an  hour  Corioli  was  ours,  Sir  ! 

[Wipes  his  brow  after  the  exertions  of 

description. 

Men.  But,  my  dear  fellow,  you  mustn't 
talk  to  them  like  that.    The  people  want 


to  hear  about  "  our  valiant  soldiery."  If 
you  tell  them  they  ran  like  hares  you 
won't  get  a  single  vote. 

Cor.  (tinth  some  heat).  It 's  true,  Sir, 
true,  every  word  of  it. 

Com.  (drily).  That 's  no  reason  for  tell- 
ing it  to  them.  Truth  is  out  of  place  at 
an  election. 

Cor.  (sulkily).  If  you  want  someone  who 
will  truckle  to  the  fellows,  you  'd  better 
go  elsewhere,  dash  me  ! 

Men.    (soothing    him).      COMINIUS     only 
means  that  in  describing  our  soldiers  you 
should  make  the  best  of  things  and  gloss 
over  any  little  defects.      The 
people  will  like  it  better. 

Cor.  (wavering).  Yes,  but — 
'pon  my  soul,  I  don't  half  like 
the  business.  I  'in  a  plain 
soldier — haw.  Hang  all  poli- 
tics. 

Men.  By  all  means.  And 
politicians — when  you  're  Con- 
sul. Come,  you  '11  conciliate 
them,  to  oblige  me  ? 

Cor.  (ungraciously).  Very 
well.  But  it's  a  dashed  un- 
dignified position  for  a  soldier 
to  occupy,  let  me  tell  you. 
The  regiment  won't  half  like 
it.  You  'd  better  come  with 
me  to  prompt  me  if  I  get  stuck. 
[Swaggers  out  tugging  at  his 

whiskers. 

Com.  (ivitli  a  sigh  of  relief). 
That 's  done,  thank  goodness. 

Men.  Yes.     Let 's  hope  he  '11 
keep  a  civil  tongue  in  his  head. 
You  can't  ride  roughshod  over 
the  electorate  nowadays. 
Com.  Worse  luck  ! 
Men.  If  he  tries    to   bully 
them,  it 's  all  up  with  him. 

Com.  Couldn't  you  have  got 
a  more  tractable  candidate  ? 

Men.  No  use.  The  only 
chance  for  the  Party  was  to 
put  up  a  popular  general. 

Com.    That's  true.     It's   a 
pity  he  's  such  a  dolt.     A  man 
with  his  reputation  might  re- 
establish  the  power  of   the    Senate,  and 
put  those  rascally  tribunes  in  their  places 
— if  he  could  only  keep  his  mouth  shut ! 

Men.  If  !  (Rising.)  Well,  I  must  go  after 
him  and  try  and  prevent  his  making  a  fool 
of  himself.  [E.rit  after  CORIOLANUS. 

SCENE  II. — The  Forum.  A  few  representa- 
tives of  tlie  Sovereign  People  lounging  in 
thestreets.  EnterSlciNiuscmd  BRUTUS, 
the  two  Radical  Tribunes.  The  former 
has  the  remains  of  a  black  eye.  The  latter 
looks  as  fat  and  well-liking  as  ever. 

Brutus  (glancing  at  the  people).  A  thin 
house ! 

Sicinius.  Yes.  The  war  fever  is  over.  A 
fortnight  ago  they  would  have  assembled  in 
thousands  if  there  was  a  chance  of  seeing 
CORIOLANUS. 


VOL.  cxxr. 


326 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[NOVEMBER  G,  1901. 


Bru.  It  has  been  a  short  boom. 
Sic.    Fortunately    for    us.       Here    he 
comes. 

[Enter  CORIOLANUS  R,  looking  half 
fierce,  half  sheepish.  As  he  ap- 
pears a  faint  cheer  goes  up  from 
the  croivd. 

Cor.  (to  himself).  What  the  deuce  am  I 
to  say  to  the  beggars  ?  "Why  doesn't 
MENENIUS  come  ?  He  ought  to  be  at  my 
elbow  to  prompt  me.  How  on  earth  am  I 
to  begin.  (Clears  his  throat.)  Um — haw — 
Citizens  .  .  . 
Croivd.  Hear  !  hear ! 
Cor.  (to  himself).  I  wish  MENENIUS  would 
hurry  up.  (Aloud.)  Citizens,  I  have  come 
to — er — solicit  your  voices  for  the  Consul- 
ship, haw ! 

A  Small  Bon.  Brayvo  ! 
Cor.  My  credentials — haw — are  pretty 
good,  I  fancy.  At  the  storming  of  Corioli 
— (to  himself) — dash  it !  they  said  I  wasn't 
to  talk  about  that.  (Aloud.)  Citizens,  as  I 
have  said,  I  come  to  offer  myself  for  the 
Consulship. 

Small  B.  (encouragingly).  Say  it  again, 
Governor. 

Cor.  (glaring  in  his  direction).  And,  as  I 
was  about  to  remark — er — when  that  ex- 
cessively ill-mannered  young  person  inter- 
rupted me,  at  the  taking  of  Corioli 
Small  B.  Haw ! 
[Tlie  crowd  giggles  furtively.   Someone 
makes  a  dart  at  Small  Boy,  who 
vanishes. 

First  Cit.  Look  here,  Governor.  Never 
mind  about  the  taking  of  Corioli.  What 
we  want  to  know  is,  what  are  you  going 
to  do  for  us  ? 

Cor.  (losing  the  thread  of  his  remarks  at 
this  nnlookedfor  heckling).  I  don't— haw- 
understand  you. 

First  Cit.  Are  you  in  favour  of  extend- 
ing the  Franchise,  for  instance  ? 

Cor.  (forgetting  his  cue).  Certainly  not, 
Sir !  There  are  too  many  idle  rascals  with 
votes  already  ! 

First  Cit.  Then  you  don't  have  my  voice ! 
Cor.  (amazed).  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me— 
haw— my  man,  that  you  refuse  to  support 
a  man  who  has  fought  and  bled  for  his 
country— bled  profusely,  by  Jove  !  — be- 
cause of  some  beggarly  fad  about  the 
Franchise? 

[Murmurs    in    the    crowd    which    has 

gradually  increased  in  numbers. 
Second  Cit.  Come,  General,  no  offensive 
expressions. 

Cor.  (losing  his  temper).  Offensive  ex- 
pressions !  Death  and  Furies,  Sir !  do  you 
know  who  I  am?  If  you  were  in  one  of 
my  regiments,  by  Jove,  I  'd  teach  you  to 
talk  to  me  about  offensive  expressions  ! 
[The  murmurs  of  the  crowd  grow 

louder.    Some  booing  is  heard. 
sic.  (to  BRUTUS).  It 's  all  over  with  him. 
[BRUTUS  nods. 

MENENIUS.  He  takes  in  the 
sit7tation  at  a  glance  and  hurries 
to  CORIOLANUS'S  side. 


Men.   (aside  to  Cor.).    Gently,  gentl 
Keep  your  temper  or  you  're  lost. 

Cor.  (Zosing  all  self-control).  Keep  m 
temper  !  Dash  me  if  I  ever  heard  such 
request !  An  unwashed  dog  of  a  plebeia 
stands  up  and  bandies  words  with  me  i 
the  open  Forum,  and  I  'm  to  keep  m 
temper!  (The  sound  of  booing  grou 
louder.  CORIOLANUS  raises  his  voice  i 
fury.)  Let  me  tell  you,  you  blackguards 
if  I'd  half  a  cohort  of  my  legionarie 
here,  I'd  cut  the  throat  of  every  mother' 
son  of  you  and  rid  the  world  of  a  lot  o 
pestilent  loafers.  As  for  your  Consulship 
if  you  want  someone  who  '11  cringe  to  yo 
for  it,  you  'd  better  go  elsewhere.  (Ad 
vancing  on  the  crowd  which  actually  re 
treats  before  his  fury.)  Out  of  my  way 
you  rabble,  and  make  a  Consul  out  of  th 
first  rascal  who  takes  your  fancy! 

[Exit  through  the  crowd,  which  make 
way  for  him,  followed  by  MENENIU 
trying    to  soothe    him.     The  mo 
gaze  after  them  in  blank  astonish 
ment,  forgetting  even  to  hoot. 
Sic.  That  settles  CORIOLANUS. 
Bru.  Yes.    I  'm  almost  sorry.    That  las 
outburst  was  magnificent. 

Sic.     (grimly).    Yes.      But    it     wasn' 
politics. 

(Curtain.)          ST.  J.  H. 


"TO  MAKE  THE  PUNISHMENT  FIT 
THE  CRIME." 


DEAR  MR.  PUNCH,  —  According  to  ; 
morning  paper,  after  the  discovery  o 
a  recent  plot  against  the  SHAH,  one  o 
the  prominent  personages  implicated  ii 
the  conspiracy  was  punished  by  being 
paraded  stark-naked  through  the  street 
of  Teheran. 

An  excellent  idea  !  Surely  there  is  much 
to  be  said  for  its  application  to  English 
political  and  other  misdemeanours.  The 
Secretary  for  War,  for  example  —  for 
weeks  the  Radical  Press  have  been  de- 
manding his  head  on  a  charger,  naturally 
in  vain.  Mr.  BRODRICK'S  head  remains 
where  it  has  always  been,  on  his  own 
shoulders. 

But  if  the  DaiZ-y  News  had  demanded 
that  Mr.  BRODRICK  should  be  escorted 
down  Piccadilly  by  the  police,  clad  only 
in  his  shirt,  their  demand  would  have 
been  at  once  more  picturesque  and  more 
reasonable. 

This  policy  has  already  been  tried  on 
a  small  scale  in  this  country  with  con- 
spicuous success.  Was  not  Mr.  WILLIAM 
O'BRIEN  on  one  occasion,  when  imprisoned 
for  his  devotion  to  Erin,  deprived  of  his 
trousers  ?  And  what  is  good  for  an  Irish 
patriot  is  surely  good  enough  for  a  brutal 
Saxon ! 

Let  us  take  example  from  Persia  with- 
out delay.  Let  all  generals  who  in 
future  make  indiscreet  speeches  be  ex- 
hibited to  the  people,  in  Trafalgar  Square, 
clothed  mainly  in  their  socks.  Let  Cabinet 


Ministers  whose  policy  does  not  meet  with 
the  approval  of  the  popular  press  attend 
at  the  Palace  of  Westminster  in  a  bathing 
costume.  And  let  undistinguished  mem- 
bers of  the  Opposition  who  are  in  the 
habit  of  addressing  public  meetings  in 
the  Boer  interest  be  compelled  to  make 
those  speeches  in  pyjamas. 

In  this  manner  military  discipline  will 
be  maintained,  political  efficiency  secured, 
and  treasonable  utterances  discounten- 
anced.— Yours,  dear  Mr.  P., 

TOM  NODDY. 

WHERE'S  AIR? 
LET  faddists  declare 
The  delights  of  fresh  air, 
Their  throats  to  the  knife  of  the  East  let 

them  bare, 
And  revel  at  will 
In  the  draughts  that  blow  shrill 
With  a  swirl  and  a  rush  through  the  rootsj 
of  their  hair. 

But  I,  if  you  please, 

Beg  to  differ  from  these, 
When  the  fogs  of  November  teach  mortals j 
to  wheeze, 

And  a  thousand  aches  seize 

On  one's  elbows  and  knees, 

And  one's  marrow  doth  freeze, 

And  life  's  one  long  wheeze, 

And  with  horror  one  sees 

Emerge  by  degrees, 

Thick  as  bees 

In  lime-trees, 

Or  as  mites  in  a  cheese, 
The  palpable  symptoms  of  every  disease, 
That  was  ever  invented  by  learned  M.D.'s  j 

Then  my  windows  I  close 
Ere  I  seek  my  repose, 
And  I  use  every  means  ingenuity  knows 
To  shut  out  the  fog 
That  would  poison  a  dog — 
Tis  a  death  one   would  spare  to  one',] 
bitterest  foes. 

Yes,  though  we  are  told 

That  fresh  air  is  as  gold, 
Worth  more  than  the  costliest  gems  thf 
are  sold, 

Though  its  praise  be  extolled, 

Though  the  faddists  may  scold 

At  my  notions  of  old, 

I  will  not  be  cajoled,  I 

But  be  bold 

To  uphold 

That  a  man  with  a  cold 
lad  better  by  far  in  his  blankets  be  rolle 
""han  breathing  ttye  microbes  that  lurk  i 

each  fold 
)f  a  "London  particular,"  yellow  as  golctj 


SHORT  TALE  OP  A  TIGER. 

I  must  put  in  my  '  operative  claws,'  " 
As  the  tiger  said  to  the  Solicitor ; 
Agree  with  you  I  don't!"  cried   tl 

student  of  laws ; 
But  you  will !  "  growled  the  tiger.    En| 

of  visitor.         Jingle  Jungle  Rhymes. 


XOVKMBEK  c,  1901.]  PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


CORONA    FINIT    OPUS. 

Ma i-;i  Anne.   " WHEX  ARE  THEY  GOING  TO  START  THIS  ARMY  REFORM  THEY  TALK  SUCH  A  LOT  ABOUT? 
Private  Atkins.  "WHY    IJLESS  YOUU  'EART,  IT'S  ALL  DONE!    LOOK  AT  ouu  NEW  CAPS  !" 


NOVEMBER  6,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


NEGOTIATE. 

WHEN  some  foreign  city  far  away 
Is  much  in  default  and  will  not  pay 

Its  interest  up  to  date  ; 
With  coupons  terribly  overdue, 
What  is  the  thing  you  decide  to  do  ? 
You  say,  "  I'll  put  on  a  bit  of  screw." 

They  answer :— •"  Negotiate." 
That  is  the  thing  they  are  bound  to  say, 
In  far  Cordoba  or  Santa  F& — 
"  Now,  just  in  a  quiet,  friendly  way, 

Pray  let  us  negotiate." 

But  years  go  by,  and  it 's  still  the  same, 
They  play  an  extremely  artful  game 

At  bluffing  your  delegate. 
At. last  with  life  you  are  almost  through, 
And  thinking  of  probate  nearly  due, 
tyell,  what  is  the  course  you  then  pursue  ? 

You  have  to  negotiate. 
And  when  you're  dead,  to  your  heirs  they 

say, 

In  far  Cordoba  or  Santa  Fe — 
"  Now,  just  in  a  quiet,  friendly  way, 

Pray  let  us  negotiate." 


"NONE  FOR  THE  BRAVE." 

(Military  Sketch  according  to  Regulations.) 

THE  Nominator  had  exhausted  his  list. 
He  had  summoned  all  and  every,  and 
scores,  nay  hundreds,  nay  thousands,  had 
appeared  in  his  catalogue  as  worthy  of  a 
medal. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "I  think  we  have  got 
all  we  can.    We  allowed  the  man  who 
had  seen  the  engagement  through  a  tele- 
scope at  a  distance  of  fifteen  miles  ?  ' ' 
"  We  did,  Sir." 

"And  we  made  no  objection  to  the  man 
who  reached  the  scene  of  action  the  next 
day  when  all  the  fighting  was  over.  We 
allowed  him  too  ?  " 

"  We  did,  Sir.  You  decided  that  the 
unpunctuality  of  a  train  should  not  be 
permitted  to  rob  a  warrior  of  his  just 
reward." 

"  Quite   right.     Well,   now  I  think  we 
can  close  the  office  and  go  home." 
"  I  beg  your  pardon." 
A    weather-worn,    war-worn    veteran 
Stood  at  the  door.    He  had  but  one  leg 
d  his  left  arm  was  in  a  sling. 
"  Well,  Sir.    What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 
"  I  have  come  to  know  if  I  may  have  a 
nedal,  Sir?" 

"Have  you  the  qualifications?     Were 
rou  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  fight  ?  ' ' 

"  I  was  at  the  front  of  the  battle  from 

norning  until  night — from  the  sound  ci 

he  first  shot  to  the  call  for  cease  firing." 

"  That  sounds  all  right.     I  wonder  why 

have  not  got  your  name.     P.ay  let  me 

ihake  hands  with  you." 

I  must  give  you  my,  left  hand,  Sir, 
vhic-h  is  still  a  little  shaky.  My  right 
las  been  amputated." 

You  were  badly  wounded  in  the 
iDgagement  ?  ' ' 


A    SEVERE    TEST. 

Miss  Sally  (tclw  has  just  takfii  off  her  mackintosh — to  ardent  admirer).  "  LOOK  !  THKY'KK 
AWAY!  Do  JTST  STUFF  THIS  THING  INTO  YOUR  POCKET.  I'M  sritK  I  SHAN'T  WANT  IT 
AGAIN  !  " 


"Well,  yes,  I  suppose  so.  But  not 
worse  than  others.  Fortunately  it  was 
quite  at  the  end  when  I  got  knocked  over. 
Until  then  I  saved  a  good  many  poor 
fellows  by  carrying  them  out  of  action." 

"  Worthy  of  the  Victoria  Cross  !  " 

"  Well,  scarcely.  Certainly  other 
fellows  have  got  it  for  less,  but  that 
doesn't  matter.  I  have  come  only  for  a 
medal." 

"  And,  my  brave  fellow,  you  seem  to 
have  deserved  it.  What 's  your  name  ?  " 

"BunLEiGH  FORBES  RUSSELL  STEEVENS 
HENTY  WILLIAMS  JONES.  A  good  many 
names,  but  all  of  them  appropriate." 

"Oh,  certainly.  And  now  for  your 
regiment  ?  " 

The  veteran  paused  for  a  moment  and 
then  the  blood  in  his  cheeks  deepened  in 
their  red.  "  I  have  no  regiment,  Sir.  1 
did  my  duty  as  a  member  of  the  Press." 


"As  a  member  of  the  Press!"  cried 
the  Nominator.  "  Asking  for  a  medal  as 
a  member  of  the  Press  !  Too  absurd  ! 
Why  we  don't  give  medals  to  members  of 
the  Press." 

"  It  's  a  crying  shame  that  you 
don't !  " 

But  the  Nominator,  being  accustomed 
to  the  eloquence  of  Fleet  Street,  merely 
nodded.  Then  he  looked  cheerfully  to- 
wards his  visitor  and  observed,  "Next, 
please !  May  I  trouble  you,  as  you  leave, 
to  close  the  door." 

The  Veteran  courteously  obeyed,  and 
the  Press  were  shut  out.  But  not  shut  up. 


OPINION  OF  ONE  WHO  HAS  TASTED  IT. — 
"Bock"  is  pleasant;  "Jam"  is  sweet; 
but  the  Boer  compound  of  the  two  is 
painfully  unpleasant. 


[NOVEMBER  6,  '1901. 


THE  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 
A  GREAT  THOUGHT  FOR  EVERY  DAY  IN  THE  YEAR. 

SECOND  SERIES. 

X.—  THE  HENRY  JAMES  SECTION. 
(Continued  from  October.) 

17TH.—  I  'd  scarce  done  asking  myself  whether  I  'd  formu- 
lated my  enquiry  into  the  identity  of  this  SANSJAMBES, 
who  was  to  marry  VIVIEN  CHEVELEY,  with  an  air  of  sufficient 
detachment,  or,  in  default  of  this,  had  so  clearly  underlined 
the  suggestion  of  indifference  by  my  manner  of  manipulating 
my  cigarette  as  to  assure  myself  against  the  possible  suspicion, 
easily  avoidable,  I  had  hoped,  of  a  too  immediately  concerned 
curiosity,  when  "Ah!  the  fellow  without  legs!"  replied 
MALLABY,  with,  as  it,  perhaps  unwarrantably,  seemed  to  me, 
a  levity  so  flippant  that  it  might  have  appalled  a  controver- 
sialist less  seasoned  by  practice  than  I  'd  the  permissible 
satisfaction  of  crediting  myself  with  the  reputation  of  being. 

"  But  you  have  not  then  lost  it  ?  "  I  threw  off,  on  a  note  of 
implicit  irony. 

"  Lost  what  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Your  old  facility,  of  course,  in  jeux  d'esprit,"  I  explained. 

"On  the  contrary,"  he  replied,  "my  translation  of  SANS- 
JAMBES is  not  more  literal  than  the  facts  themselves  !  " 

18TH.—  His  answer  was  so  quite  what  I  had  not  foreseen,  that 
I  was  surprised,  as  by  a  sudden  reflex  jerk  of  the  muscles,  into 
an  unwonted  lucidity  of  diction. 

"How  did  he  lose  them  ?  "  I  asked. 

"He  didn't;  he  never  had  any  to  lose!"  MALLABY,  with 
unnecessary  brutality,  replied.  "An  early  ancestor  lost  Ms 
under  the  walls  of  Acre.  Pre-natal  influences  affected  his  first- 
born, and  ever  since  then  the  family  has  had  no  legs  in  the 
direct  line." 

"But  the  title?"  —  I  was  still  too  altogether  the  sport  of 
surexcitation  nicely  to  weigh  my  words. 

"  The  gallant  ancestor's  own  choice  —  prior,  naturally,  to  the 
birth  of  his  heir  —  to  perpetuate  the  deed  of  prowess  that  won 
it.  And  his  descendants  take  it  on  as  a  matter  of  pride." 

19TH.  —  By  this  I  'd  sufficiently  recovered  my  habitual  aplomb 
to  be  in  a  position,  while  reserving  my  perfected  conclusions 
for  a  less  disturbing  occasion,  to  collate,  as  I  sipped  my  drink, 
a  few  notes  on  the  comparative  periods  of  sustained  effervescence 
in  the  cases,  respectively,  of  Seltzer  and  Salutaris. 

"And  the  cause  you  assign  to  this  projected  marriage?  "  I 
then,  less  with  a  desire  for  enlightenment,  asked,  than,  my  own 
judgment  being  made  up  to  the  point  of  finality,  to  seem  to 
flatter  him  by  an  appeal  to  Ms. 

"Oh,  there's  money,  of  course,"  he  answered.  "But  that 
isn't  all.  It  's  the  old  tale  —  Eve,  apple,  curiosity,  with  a  touch 
of  the  brute  thrown  in  !  " 

20TH.  —  You  could  have  knocked  me  down,  in  the  vulgar  phrase, 
with  a  feather.  Here  was  GUY  MALLABY,  immeasurably  my 
unequal  in  fineness  of  spirit,  laying  his  fat  finger  plumb  on  the 
open  offence,  while  I  was  still  complacently  nosing  it  on  a  false 
scent  of  Womanly  Pity.  True,  he  had  enjoyed  a  three-months 
start  of  me  in  the  running  down  of  a  mystery  that  doubled  too 
distractingly  on  its  traces  for  that  instinctive  flair  to  which  I 
hitherto  had  urged  a  predominant  claim  ;  or  was  it  the  cook- 
wife  that  had  piqued,  through  the  stomach's  Sacred  Fount,  his 
intellectual  appetite  ?  Gratuitously  to  admit  him  my  superior 
on  the  strength  of  a  forestalled  judgment  was  the  last  of  a  quite 
urprising  number  of  alternatives  that  just  then  occurred  to 

™       ''m  g°ing  t0  look  in  on  Lady  JANE>"  I  made  evasion. 
if  she  's  honest,    endorse  my  conjecture  ;  she  's  a 
he,  without  hesitation,  observed. 
21ST,  22ND.—  More  interestingly  stimulated  than  I  could,  at 
e  moment,  remember  to  have  been  by  any  previous  visit  to 
ne  Frytaneum,  I  made  my  way  westward  down  the  Mall  of 
bt.  James's  Park,  taking  the  broad  boulevard  on  the  left      In 


the  particular  atmosphere  of  exaltation  by  which  I  perceived 
myself  to  be  environed,  it  was  easy  to  image  these  widowed 
avenues  in  their  midsummer  fulness,  to  revive  their  inarticu- 
late romance,  to  restore,  in  the  grand  style,  the  pomp  of  their 
verdurous  pageantry.  Oh,  there  was  quite  enough  of  analogy 
to  reclothe  a  whole  Arden  of  As  you  like  it !  It  was  really 
portentous  on  what  a  vista  of  alluring  speculations  I  'd  all 
but  originally  stumbled;  virgin  forest,  in  fact,  before  the 
temerity  of  just  one  pioneer,  and  that  a  woman,  had  stripped  it 
this  very  summer  so  pitilessly  bare.  With  hoAV  fine  an  abstrac- 
tion from  the  moralities  I  'd,  in  the  way  of  pure  analysis,  have 
probed  its  fungus-roots,  have  dissected  its  saffron-bellied  toads, 
have  sampled  its  ambiguous  spices.  And  to  have  utilised  a 
legless  abortion  for  the  genius  of  its  lush  undergrowths  ! 

23RD,  24TH — But  I  soon  became  aware  of  an  appreciable  recoil 
from  the  first  poignancy  of  self-reproach  at  being  anticipated 
by  the  author  of  Sir  Richard  Calmady,  when,  upon  a  more  meti- 
culous reflection — for,  by  this  time,  I  'd  arrived  opposite  the 
footpath  leading  over  the  bridge  that  commands  the  lake  and  its 
collection,  recognisably  unique,  of  water-fowl — I  'd  convinced 
myself  how  little  of  consonance  was  to  be  found  between  this 
theme  and  the  general  trend  of  my  predilections.  About  the 
loves  of  a  so  ineffable  prodigy — and  to  differentiate  them  as  law- 
ful or  lawless  didn't,  for  me,  modify  the  fact  of  their  uniform 
repulsiveness — I  detected  a  quality  something  too  preposterously 
flagrant,  an  element  iin  pen  trap  criant  of  pungent  indelicacy. 
It  needed  only  this  flash  of  recognition  at  once  to  disabuse  me 
of  all  regret  for  having  been  forestalled  in  the  treatment  of  a 
subject  of  which  the  narrow  scope  it  offered  for  the  play  of 
hypersensitized  subtlety  remained  the  incurably  fatal  defect. 

25TH. — So  immediate,  indeed,  and  so  absolute  was  my  mental 
recovery  that  I  had  scarce  cleared  the  facade  of  Buckingham 
Palace  and  addressed  myself  to  what  I  have,  from  time  to  time, 
regarded  as  the  almost  contemptibly  easy  ascent  of  Constitu- 
tion Hill,  before  I  had  in  mind  to  rush  to  the  opposite  extreme, 
totally,  in  fact,  to  disregard  the  relation  of  legs  to  the  question 
at  issue.  I  won't,  I  said,  allow  the  hereditary  absence  of  this 
feature  from  the  Count's  ensemble  to  prejudice,  one  way  or 
another,  the  solution,  which  I  hope  ultimately  to  achieve,  of 
the  original  problem,  namely,  should  I,  or  shouldn't  I,  offer  my 
congratulations  to  VIVIEN  CHEVELEY  ;  and  that  second  problem, 
subordinately  associated  with  the  first,  namely,  what  form,  if 
any,  should  those  congratulations  assume  ? 

26TH,  27TH. — But  I  was  instantly  to  perceive  the  super-pre- 
cipitancy of  my  revulsion.  It  imposed  itself,  and  with  a  clarity 
past  all  possible  ignoring,  that  in  this  matter  of  the  Count's 
legs,  the  introduction  of  a  new  element — or,  to  be  accurate,  the 
withdrawal  of  an  old  one,  so  usual  as  to  have  been  carelessly 
assumed — was  bound,  whatever  dissimulation  was  attempted, 
to  command  notice.  The  gentleman's  lower  limbs  were,  to  an 
undeniably  overwhelming  degree,  conspicuous,  as  the  phrase 
runs,  by  their  absence.  A  fresh  condition,  as  unique  as  it  was 
unforeseen,  had,  with  a  disturbing  vitality,  invaded  what  had 
given  promise,  in  the  now  remote  outset,  of  being  an  argument 
on  merely  abstract  and  impersonal  lines.  For,  even  if  one 
postulated  in  the  bride  the  delicatest  of  motives,  a  passion, 
let  us  assume,  to  repair  a  defect  of  Nature,  as  much  as  to  say, 
figuratively,  "  You  that  are  blind  shall  see  through  my  eyes," 
or,  more  literally,  "  You,  having  no  legs  to  speak  of,  are  to  find 
in  me  a  vicarious  locomotion,"  even  so  a  sensitive  creature 
might  wince  at  the  suspicion  that  the  language  of  congratula- 
tion was  but  a  stammering  tribute  to  the  quality,  in  her,  of 
inscrutable  heroism.  And  there  was  still  an  equal  apprehension 
to  deplore,  should  it  appear  that  it  was  to  an  artistic  faculty, 
on  the  lady's  part,  capable,  imaginatively,  of  reconstructing, 
from  the  fragmentary  outlines  of  his  descendant,  the  originally 
unimpaired  completeness  of  the  gallant  ancestor — much  as  the 
old-moon  shows  dimly  perfect  in  the  hollow  of  the  young  cres- 
cent— that  the  Count  owed  his  acceptability  in  her  eyes. 

28TH. — "There  it   is!"   I  said,   and  at   the    ,~ame    momeui 


NOVEMBER  6,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


inadvertently  grasped  the  extended  hand 
a  constable  at  the  corner  of  Hamilton 
Place;  "there's  no  escaping  from  the 
obsession  of  this  inexorable  fact.  It 
colours  the  whole  abstract  problem  only 
a  little  less  irritatingly  than,  I  can  well 
believe,  it  has  coloured  the  poor  Count's 
existence."  And  I  'd  scarce  so  much 
as  begun  to  exhaust  the  possible  bearings 
of  the  case  in  their  absorbing  relation  to 
simply  me,  as  distinct  from  the  parties 
more  deeply  committed  and  so,  presum- 
ably, exposed  to  the  impact  of  yet  other 
considerations. 

29rn. — For,  what  lent  a  further  com- 
plexity to  the  situation  was  that,  even 
to  suppose  me  arrived  at  the  conclusion, 
effectively  supported,  that  her  motive  for 
this  so  painfully  truncated  alliance  was 
commendable,  it  still  left  her  the  liberty, 
accentuated  by  the  conditions  at  which  I 
have  glanced,  to  misinterpret  mine  in  con- 
gratulating her  upon  it.  And  if,  on  the 
other  hand,  her  engagement  were  attri- 
butable to  unworthy  or  frivolous  causes, 
wouldn't  the  consciousness  of  this,  on  her 
side,  give  even  stronger  countenance  to  a 
suspicion  of  mere  impertinence  on  mine? 

30TH. — That  her  motive  indeed  had  been 
no  better  than  one  of  curiosity — mother 
EVE'S,  in  fact,  for  exploring  the  apple- 
tree — was  the  contention  of  MALLABY, 
and  by  him  expressed  with  so  resolved 
an  assurance  that  it  had,  as  I  only  now 
remembered,  won  me  over,  at  the  time, 
by  its  convincing  probability.  Hadn't  his 
confidence  even  gone  the  length  of  claim- 
ing Lady  JANE  as  of  the  same  camp  ?  And 
this  recalled  for  me,  what  I  had  tempo- 
rarily ignored  in  the  so  conflicting  rush 
of  ideas,  the  primary  objective  of  my 
present  excursion.  I  'd  overlooked  the 
bifurcation  of  ways  where  the  traverse  to 
South  Audley  Street  leads  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Lady  JANE'S  house  ;  and  now  was 
poising  irresolutely  before  crossing  at 
the  convergence  of  Upper  Brook  Street 
and  Park  Lane. 

31ST. — But  after  all,  I  asked  myself,  was 
a  woman's  final  word  really  just  the  thing 
I  stood  in  dearest  need  of  in  so  nice  a 
hesitancy  ?  If  I  was  conscious  of  a  certain 
strain  in  seeking  to  confine  this  incident 
.of  freakish  abbreviation  to  its  properly 
obscure  place  in  the  picture,  would  not 
she,  with  all  her  sex's  reluctance  to  attack 
any  question  from  an  abstract  standpoint, 
experience  an  insuperable  difficulty  in 
assigning  to  the  Count's  deficiency  its 
relative  "  value  "  ?  And  mightn't  I,  in  a 
moment  of  unguarded  gallantry,  of  simu- 
lated deference,  let  me  put  it,  to  her 
assumption  of  a  larger  knowledge  of 
women,  or,  say,  simply  a  more  profound 
intimacy  with  the  particular  woman,  be 
carried  away,  against  what  I  foresaw, 
even  at  this  incipient  stage  of  my  reflec- 
tions, would,  in  the  event,  turn  out  to  be 
my  better  judgment,  on  a  veritable  whirl 
of  grossly  material  considei'ations  ?  At 


Officer  (to  Irish  sentry  on  guard  tent).   "WHY  DON'T  YOU    FACE   Yoi'U    PROPER   FKONT, 
SENTRY  ? " 

Sentry.   "SURE,  YER  HONOUR,  THE  TINT'S  ROUND.     DIVIL  A  FRONT  IT'S  GOT!" 


worst,  after  all,  there's  still,  I  said,  the 
last  resort  of  an  answer  in  the  third 
person,  declining  the  wedding  invitation 
on  a  plea,  strictly  untrue,  of  an  earlier 
engagement.  Meantime,  while  so  many 
hitherto  unregarded  aspects  of  the  matter 
called  on  my  intelligence  for  their  dues, 
the  fabric  of  my  problem  was,  I  told  myself, 

of  a  delicacy  too  exquisite  for 

[Left  reflecting  on  curbstone. 
O.  S. 


VIDE  "TIMES,"  OCTOBER  28. —  "Civis 
BRITANNICUS,"  in  his  remarks  on  Mr. 
THOMAS  G.  BOWLES'  suggestions  as  to  the 


KING'S  presence  at  a  Cabinet  Council, 
observed,  "Execution  is  for  the  Crown." 
So  CROMWELL  thought ;  and  so,  conse- 
quently, CHARLES  THE  FIRST  was  brought 
to  the  block. 


THE  SINCEREST  FORM  OF  FLATTERY. 

Lady  Customer  (fo  grocer).  I  see,  Mr. 
PHIGGS,  that  you  have  charged  me  with 
English  Cheddar,  and  what  you  sent  was 
undoubtedly  Canadian. 

Mr.  Phiggs.  Well,  Ma'am,  it  was  such  a 
beautiful  imitation  that  I  was  deceived  by 
it  myself.  I  cannot  say  more. 

Lndy  Customer.  No.  But  you  will  take  less. 


332 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHAKIVARI. 


[NOVEMBER  G,  1901. 


THE  CURSE  OF  EDUCATION. 

SCBXE — A  Scotch  Moor. 

TIME. — During  the  Recess  recently  inter- 
rupted by  a  Cabinet. 

Chorus  of  Ministers. 
WHEN,  at  length,  our  toils  are  ended, 
Passing  sweet  to  lie  extended, 
With  a  glass  of  "  finest  blended," 

'Mid  our  bulging  bags  of  grouse  ; 
Passing  sweet  in  halcyon  weather, 
Thus  to  lie  and  lunch  together 
Here  amid  the  purple  heather, 

All  oblivioxis  of  the  House. 

Passing  sweet,  too,  this  reflection, 
Adding  zest  to  our  refection, 
As  we  con  the  recollection 

Of  our  midnight  labours  past : 
By  our  prudent  legislation, 
We  have  saved  the  English  nation 
Prom  the  curse  of  education — 

She  is  safe  and  sound  at  last. 

Enter  Clients  of  Bairns. 
Wee  bit  bairns  frae  schule  are  we — 
Good  little  bairns  as  bairns  can  be  ; 
Learnin'  the  rudiments  o'  A  B  C — 
Wee  bittie  bairns  frae  schule. 

First  Min.  They  sing,  no  doubt,  expressing 

jubilation 

To  us  who  have  effected  their  salvation 
And    saved    them    from    the    curse    of 

education. 


Chorus  of  Bairns. 

We  are  wantin'  fine  tae  ken 

Buiks  an'  a'  thae  things,  for  then, 

Teacher  says,  we  '11  be  guid  men — 

Wee  bittie  bairns  frae  schule. 

First  Min.  What!  you  like  school  where 
you  are  caned  and  shaken  ? 

Dear  children,  you  arc  wof  ully  mistaken  ! 

We  are  your  friends,  and  mean  to  fill 
your  cup 

Of  happiness  by  shutting  schoolrooms  up. 

In  good  Queen  BESS'S  golden  days 

No  School  Boards  did  their  standard? 

raise. 

The  girls  were  merry  maidens  then, 
And  did  not  ape  the  ways  of  men  ; 
They  did  not  trip  to  short-hand  schools, 
And  type  all  day  on  office  stools  ; 
They  were  not  taught  at  school  to  dance, 
Nor  mispronounce  the  tongue  of  France. 
They  learnt  to  sew  and  scrub  the  floor, 
And  if  they  learn  these  things  once 

more, 

So  bright  will  shine  Great  Britain's  rays 
As  in  Queen  BESS'S  glorious  days. 
The  boys  were  not  all  anxious  then 
To  wield  a  junior-clerkly  pen  ; 
They  did  not  all  to  London  come 
To  live  in  croAvded  court  and  slum ; 
Ihey  did  not  starve  on  buns  and  teas 
At  inexpensive  A.  B.  C.'s  • 
They  were  not  half  of  them  de  trop, 
And  all  too  old  at  forty-No  ! 


They  learnt  to  plough  and  saw  and  plane, 
And  if  they  learn  these  things  again, 
So  bright  will  shine  Great  Britain's  rays 
As  in  Queen  BESS'S  glorious  days. 

Enter  Chorus  of  Scotch  Professors. 
False  Ministers,  hold  ! 

We  have  heard  what  you  say, 
And  the  views  you  unfold 

Make  our  hair  turn  to  grey  ; 
But  we  have  a  word  for  the  children 

Whom  you  would  send  empty  away. 

You  would  make  us  all  ignorant,  all, 
As  an  ox  that  is  kept  in  a  stall, 
But,   thanks    to    CARNEGIE,    your    policy 

plaguy 
Is  destined  to  come  by  a  fall. 

He  's  given  us  plenty  of  gold, 
And  so  you  will  find  yourselves  sold, 
For,  in  spite  of  your    preaching,  we  '11 

still  go  on  teaching 
Whatever  there  is  to  be  told. 

And  unless  you  see  fit  to  take  heed 
Of  England's  more  clamorous  need, 
All  Cabinet  work  '11  be  kept  in  a  circle 
That  hails  from  the  North  of  the  Tweed. 

First  Min.  Pooh!  brats  like  those  in  ragged 

clothes  ? 

A  fig  for  your  suggestion  ! 
To  think  of  these  as  sworn  P.C.'s 

Is  quite  beyond  the  question. 
But  let  that  be.    This  thought  had  we — 

To  save  the  British  nation 
From  those  pitfalls  which  HAROLD  calls 

The  curse  of  education. 
But  since  the  sum  is  not  to  come 

From  us,  why,  spend  your  dollars 
As  suits  your  taste  ;  yes,  even  waste 
Them  all  upon  your  scholars  !          • 

[Exeunt  Ministers. 
Firxt   Prof.   We  will!     And  you  may  go 

your  ways, 

Ye  wicked  old  detractors  ! 
Come,  bairns,  and  join  the  song  of  praise 
That  unto  thee  we  gladly  raise, 

O  Prince  of  benefactors  ! 
Long  live  the  man  whose  noble  plan 

Has  saved  us  from  the  chance 
Of  those  pitfalls  which  Wisdom  calls 
The  curse  of  ignorance. 


AN  UNREAL   CONVERSATION. 

Recorded  by  Archie  Williams. 
SCENE  —  The    Library    at    Hatfleld.     Dis- 
covered,   Lord    SALISBURY.      To   him 
enter  A.  W.,  exactly  in  the  manner  of 
W.  A.  in  the  "Pall  Mall  Magazine." 
A.  W.  Good  morning,  my  Lord.     I  hope 
I  don't  disturb  you. 

Lord  S.  Not  at  all.  I  was  only  having 
my  usual  doze  after  breakfast.  But  I 
always  wake  up  about  this  time.  What 
have  you  come  for  ? 

A.  W.  Oh,  only  for  a  little  chat  about 
things  in  general. 

Lord  S.  That 's  very  nice,  I  'm  sure.  I 
shall  be  delighted  to  hear  anything  you 
have  to  say. 


If  yo 


<*  A.  W.  It/s  the  other.way  about, 
don't  mind  speaking,  I  '11  listen. 

Lord  S.  Oh,  that 's  it,  is  it  ?  What  ar 
I  to  speak  about  ? 

A.  W.  (eagerly).  Well,  my  Lord,  if  yoi 
could  give  me  your  ideas  on  the  situa 
tion? 

Lord  S.  The  situation  of  this  house 
As  you  see,  it  is  not  unpleasant.  It  woulc 
not  become  me  to  praise  it  in  remark! 
intended  for  publication.  In  speeches  ii 
is  usual  for  the  speaker  to  refer  to  hif 
"  humble  abode." 

A.  W.  Oh,  my  Lord,  you  could  hardlj 
do  that !  When  I  !said  the  situation,  ] 
meant  public  affairs. 

Lord  8.  Taverns,  and  licences,  ami 
teetotalisrn,  and  such  things?  I  reallj 
don't  know  much  about  them.  A  friend 
my  mine,  JOSEPH  CHAMBERLAIN — you  maj 
have  heard  of  him — might  give  you  some 
information.  I  believe  there  is  a  large 
establishment  of  the  kind  on  some  land 
of  mine  in  London. 

A.  W.  Yes,  the  Hotel  Cecil.     Talking  oi 
that,  there  was  a  very  disrespectful  appli- 
cation of  that  name  to  the  Cabinet. 
Lord  S.  Was  there  ?    What  cabinet  ? 
A.  W.  Your  Cabinet,  my  Lord.    But  I 
really    couldn't    repeat    it.     As    for  the 

Cabinet 

Lord  S.  If  you  're  interested  in  furni- 
ture, I've  got  some  rather  nice  old 
cabinets  in  this  house.  The  butler  would 
show  them  to  you. 

A.  W.  You  're  very  kind.  But,  as  I  was 
saying,  as  for  the  Cabinet  and  that  idea  of 
BONVLES'- 

Lord  S.  Ah,  now  you  come  to  playing  at 
bowls,  I  must  confess  I  never  cared  for  it. 
A  nephew  of  mine,  ARTHUR  BALFOUR— you 
may  have  heard  of  him— is  rather  keen  on 
games,  and  might  give  you  some  informa- 
tion. If  I  ever  went  to  see  a  game  I 
should  fall  asleep  directly.  The  only, 
thing  that  keeps  me  awake  is  a  Brass-band 
Competition,  or,  perhaps,  u  Military 
Tournament. 
A.  W.  As  you  mention  military  affairs, 

what  do  you  think  about  Bun ? 

Lord  8.  Talking  about  a  bull,  did  you 
see  the  account  of  the  one  at  Chelmsford 
which  ran  upstairs  to  the  first  floor  of  a 
house  and  tried  to  play  on  the  piano  ? 

A.  W.  (with  concealed  impatience).  I 
did.  But,  as  I  was  saying,  what  do  you 
think  about  military  matters  ?  Have  you 
studied  those  very  complicated  questions 
of  War  Office  administration,  and  appoint- 
ments to  the  commands  of  the  three  Army 
Corps  ?  Do  you  still  advocate  rifle  clubs  ? 
Have  you  thought  out  all  these  problems 
at  Beaulieu  ?  (A  pause.)  Why,  I  believe 
he  's  asleep. 

Lord  S.  (opening  his  eyes).  Beaulieu,  did 
you  say?  Yes,  it  is  a  nice  place.  So 
quiet.  Excuse  me,  what  -were  you  say- 
ing ?  I  thought  I  was  in  the  House  of 
Lords,  and  you  were  making  a  speech. 
A.  W.  Do  you  still  advocate  rifle  clubs? 


NOVEMBEB    6,    1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


333 


Lord  S.  I"?  I  don't  know  anything  about 
rifles.  As  for  clubs,  I  sometimes  go  and 
have  a  little  doze  at  the  Carlton.  It 's 
so  quiet. 

A.  W.  Then,  after  rifle  clubs,  you  were 
interested  in  the  British  Constitution. 

Lord  S.  Ah  yes.  On  an  average  it 's  a 
very  good  one.  Of  course  there  are 
invalids  in  all  countries,  but  the  people  of 
these  islands  have  a  good  constitution  as 
a  rule.  Look  how  they  stand  extremes  of 
climate  in  the  colonies. 

A.  W.  Talking  of  health,  are  you  a 
conscientious  objector  yourself,  and  is 
Mr.  BALFOUR  one  ? 

Lord  S.  Dear  me,  no  !  I  never  object 
to  anything.  Nor  does  ARTHUR.  Much 
too  much  trouble. 

A.  W.  And  talking  of  colonies,  it  takes 
a  long  time  to  settle  the  fighting  in  South 
Africa.  When  do  you  think  it  will  be 
finished  ?  Probably  you  have  abandoned 
the  theory  that  it  is  already  over.  No 
doubt  it  is  difficult  to  conquer  what  the 
Times,  in  the  leading  articles,  always  calls 
"guerrillas."  One  might  mistake  it  for 
"gorillas."  Of  course  the  Times  means 
"  guerrilleros,"  only  it  doesn't  know  any 
Spanish.  (A  pause.)  Dash  it,  he  's  asleep 
again  ! 

Lord  S.  (openinfj  liis  eyes).  Spanish,  did 
you  say  ?  You  should  see  my  Spanish 
onions.  The  finest  in  the  county.  The 
head  gardener  would  show  them  to 
you. 

A.  W.  {impatiently).  Oh,  thank  you ! 
But,  as  regards  Spanish  affairs,  do  you 
still  think  the  same  about  decaying ? 

Lord  S.  My  Spanish  onions  aren't  decay- 
ing. They  're  as  strong  as  possible. 

A.  W.  (cirowing  desperate).  I  fear  I  weary 
you,  without  gaining  much  information. 
I  should  like  to  ask  one  more  question. 
What  about  China  ? 

Lord  >S'.  Well,  there  are  some  rather 
nice  pieces  in  the  other  rooms.  The 
housekeeper  would  show  them  to  you. 

A.  W.  No,  no !  I  meant  the  Chinese 
Empire.  T  have  read  Pekin 

Lord  S.  Ah,  I  believe  mine  are  Nankin 
Blue. 

A.  W.  1  fear  I  must  be  going. 

Lord  S.  Must  you  really  ?  So  sorry  you 
have  to  hurry  away.  I  have  quite  enjoyed 
our  little  chat.  Don't  forget  to  see  the 
pigs  at  the  Home  Farm  as  you  go  out. 
They  're  splendid.  The  finest  in  the 
county.  Goodbye  !  [Exit  A.  W. 

H.  D.  B. 


DECLINING   FORTUNES. 

WHEN  first  to  SWISH'S  we  were  sent, 

Mere  babes  that  scarce  could  stammer, 
Our  infant  minds  were  ever  bent 

On  Greek  and  Latin  grammar  ; 
And  since  that  exercise  in  tense, 

Life,  with  its  pains  and  racks,  is 
One  chapter  long  of  accidence 

With  lots  of  sin  and  taxes. 


Miss  Young  (lo  Brown,  who  has  just  returned  from  his  holidays).  "  BUT  DID  YOU  KOT  FEEL 

LONELY  DOWN  AT   DESERT   FARM?" 

Brown.  "On  NO.      IT  is  A  CHARMING  PLACE.     BESIDES,  I   DID  NOT  GET  UP  BEFORE 

LUNCH.      AND   I   SPENT  THE   REST  OF  THE  DAY   IN  TOWN  1  " 


Then  lio,  lie,  to  was  all  the  go, 

And  though,  when  we  had  conned  it, 
We  passed  to  other  things,  I  know 

Some  never  got  beyond  it. 
What  boots  it  that  my  classic  quill 

Pens  essays  bright  and  shining  ? 
I  find  the  editors  are  still 

The  articles  declining. 

If  publishers  I  ask  to  con 
The  pick  of  my  productions, 

Their  answers  read  like  THOMSON  on 
The  negative  constructions. 


Mere  Jacks-in-office — well  I  know 
The  vanity  that  eats  them — 

Who  lightly  give  a  verdict,  though 
To  parse  a  sentence  beats  them. 

When  all  is  wrong  and  credit  low, 

And  dismal  is  existence, 
Then  to  my  maiden  aunt  I  go 

And  beg  for  some  assistance  ; 
And  when  she  hears  my  piteous  cry, 

Although,  of  course,  she  needn't, 
This  relative  's  attracted  by 

Its  gentle  Aunty-cedent. 


334 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVABI. 


[NOVEMBER  G,  1901. 


Conductor  (on  "  Eleplwnt  ainl  Castle  "  route).   "  FARES,  PLEASE  !  " 
Fare.  "Two  ELEPHANTS!" 


LIVES   OF   GEEAT   MEN. 

No.  IV.— HERBERT  WELLESLEY  ROSSITER. 

(Concluded.) 

IN  many  most  alluring  things 

At  which  a  mild  man  winces 
He  shone,  this  intimate  of  kings, 

This  bosom-friend  of  princes. 
In  fact,  of  those  who  played  with  Fate, 

And  boldly  sought  to  boss  it  e'er, 
No  man  was  ever  half  so  great 

As  HERBERT  WELLESLEY  ROSSITER. 
He  owned  a  private  troupe  of  Peers, 

And  many  a  trick  he  taught  them  ; 
He  always  thought  in  hemispheres, 

And  very  often  bought  them. 
He  took  a  massive  size  in  hats, 

His  head  was  so  Titanic  ; 
He  drank  his  beer  and  wine  from  vats  ; 

His  feasts  were  Aldermanic. 
He  travelled  fast  in  special  trains 

Wherever  he  was  able  ; 


While  other  men  wore  Albert  chains, 

He  much  preferred  a  cable. 
Time  had  a  value  in  his  eyes, 

And  so  its  course  he  reckon 'd 
By  watches  of  a  soup-plate  size 

That  struck  each  separate  second. 
Some  simple  thing  like   "dash"    or 
" zounds  " 

He  said — he  found  it  noted : 
He  would  have  paid  a  million  pounds 

To  be  less  widely  quoted. 
If  ever  he  should  chance  to  chaff, 

Or  if  his  looks  seemed  solemn, 
In  paragraph  on  paragraph 

And  column  after  column 
He  found  it  down  as  "  Painful  News," 

Or  "  Smiles  that  may  console  us," 
Or  thus — ' '  The  Banner  interviews 

The  Owner  of  Pactolus." 
His  team  of  minor  poets  hymned 

His  praise  in  rather  puny  verse  : 
If  anything,  their  efforts  dimmed 

A  man  who  ran  the  universe. 


If  asked  to  read  their  stuff  himself, 

He  muttered  fiercely,  "  Stow  it !  " 
As  great  men  do,  he  paid  the  pelf, 

But  much  despised  the  poet. 
Though  other  folk  he  far  surpassed, 

He  did  not  ask  to  do  so : 
He  had  no  wish  to  grow  so  vast ; 

He  simply  went  and  grew  so. 
He  never  knew  a  single  need  ; 

Some  men  whose  day  is  over 
Must  go  to  grass  or  run  to  seed  : — 

He  always  lived  in  clover. 
At  last,  while  all  men  owned  him  great, 

His  very  greatness  bored  him  ; 
Of  fame  and  wealth  this  overweight 

No  pleasure  could  afford  him. 
"  My  millions  I  must  spend,"  said  he  ; 

"  No  more  I  '11  try  to  pile  'em." 
He  went  and  built  a  gallery, 

And  founded  an  asylum. 
He  made  a  little  private  war, 

And  very  ill  he  made  it ; 
His  army  was  a  large  one,  for 

He  punctually  paid  it. 
He  advertised  himself  as  one 

Who  answered  begging  letters  ; 
He  gave  a  cheque  to  every  dun 

Who  troubled  needy  debtors. 
He  took  a  trip  to  Monaco, 

And,  though  he  had  no  mascot, 
He  couldn't  waste  enough,  and  so 

He  tried  his  luck  at  Ascot. 
And  yet  he  failed  to  tire  his  star, 

Although  the  man  was  clever, 
And,  as  I  write,  is  richer  far 

And  wretcheder  than  ever. 

R.  C.  L. 


MR.  PUNCH'S  MUSEUM. 

"  Military  Pantechnicon,  with  Contents." 
One  of  the  regulation  furniture-removing 
vans  which  used  to  form  part  of  a 
British  mobile  column.  It  will  be  observed 
that  this  indispensable  regimental  adjunct 
contains  every  requisite  necessary  to  the 
success  of  a  flying  expedition  from  a  social 
and  sporting  point  of  view.  It  weighs 
barely  forty  tons,  and  was  a  marvel  of 
departmental  forethought.  Every  taste 
was  catered  for.  We  may  note  a  couple 
of  billiard  tables  (one  English  and  the 
other  foreign,  for  prisoners'  amusement), 
a  water-roller  for  cricket  pitches,  a  steam 
roundabout,  and  boat-swings  for  juvenile 
and  female  enemies,  an  orchestrion  for 
"sing-songs,"  a  complete  set  of  the 
Encyclopaedia  Britannica,  and  all  the  back 
flies  of  the  Times  for  the  studious,  a 
SMITH'S  bookstall  for  the  more  frivolous, 
a  Christmas-tree  for  children  "on  the 
strength,"  and  a  number  of  sets  of  a  game 
known  as  "ping-pong,"  which  seemingly 
enjoyed  great  popularity  about  this  time. 
The  whole  appears  to  have  been  drawn  by 
a  couple  of  traction-engines,  and  to  have 
contributed  not  a  little  to  the  entertain- 
ment of  all  parties.  This  exhibit  was 
recaptured  from  a  Boer  laager  live  miles 
from  Cape  Town. 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI.— NOVEMBER  6,  1901. 


THE   GUILDHALL  BANQUET; 

OR,    THE    SPEECH    REHEARSED. 
Lord  BurleigJi  .  .  LORD  S-L-SB  RY.        Sneer  .  .  SIR  H.  C-MPB-LL-B-XX-RMAX.        Puff  .  .  MR.  J-S-PH  CH-MB-RL-X. 

(Lord  Burleiyh  comes  forward,  shakes  his  head,  and  exit.) 
SNEER.  "  NOW,   PRAY  WHAT  DID  HE   MEAN  BY  THAT  ?  " 

PUFF.  "WHY,  BY  THAT  SHAKE  OF  THE  HEAD  HE  GAVE  YOU  TO  UNDERSTAND  THAT  EVEN  THOUGH  THEY 
HAD  MORE  JUSTICE  IN  THEIR  CAUSE  AND  WISDOM  IN  THEIR  MEASURES,  YET,  IF  THERE  WAS  NOT  A 
GREATER  SPIRIT  SHOWN  ON  THE  PART  OF  THE  PEOPLE,  THE  COUNTRY  WOULD  AT  LAST  FALL  A 
SACRIFICE  TO  THE  HOSTILE  AMBITION  OF  THEIR  ENEMIES."— The  Critic,  Act  III.,  Scene  1. 


NOVEMBER  G,   1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


INCREASED    ACTIVITY    OF    THE    POLICE. 

A  Possibility  of  the  very  ntar  future. 
P.O.  X.  (of  the  A.  or  Aerial  Division.)  "Now  THEN,  THIRTY  MILES  AN  HOUR  WON'T  DO  up  HERE  !     I  'VE  TIMED  YOU  W-ITH  MY  ANEROID 

BAROMETRICAL  CHECK   CLOCK,    AND  YOU  *LL   HAVE  TO   COME   DOWN   TO   THE   STATION  !  " 


PARTDRIUNT  MONTES. 

[The  Playgoers  have  at  last  selected  the  play  which  Mr.  ALEXANDER  is  to 
produce  according  to  agreement.  According  to  the  President,  it  makes  some 
small  approach  to  human  nature.] 

FULL  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene 

The  dark  unfathomed  desks  of  Grub  Street  bear  : 
Full  many  a  play  is  typed  to  blush  unseen, 

And  waste  its  Attic  wit  on  garret  air. 
Beneath  obscurity's  dark  bushel  set 

What  shining  lights  may  burn  to  little  good  ! 
"What  mute  inglorious  SHAKSPEARE  here  may  fret, 

What  BYRON  guiltless  of  his  Manfred's  blood  ! 
But  to  their  names  unknown  the  jealous  stage 

Her  closely-guarded  door  declines  to  ope  ; 
Chill  managers  repress  their  noble  rage, 

And  ruthlessly  forbid  them  e'en  to  hope. 
PINERO,  JONES  and  GRUNDY,  who  are  they 

That  theirs  is  fame  fast-founded  as  a  rock  ? 
Has  Thespis  made  them  his  high  priests  to-day, 

And  -whispered  all  the  secrets  of  the  sock  ? 
Is  there  none  other  left  that  might  retrieve 

The  great  traditions  of  our  greatest  art  ? 
No  SHAKSPEARE,  JONSON,  MASSINGER,  CONGREVE, 

In  nameless  greatness  eating  out  his  heart  ? 
PINERO,  JONES  and  GRUNDY,  ye  shall  see 

Thao  there  are  other  dramatists  than  you, 
And  ye  shall  yield,  monopolising  Three, 

The  greater  place  to  greater  genius  due. 
irour  vested  interest,  and  that  alone, 

The  course  of  merit  shall  no  longer  mar, 


And  youth,  to  fortune  and  to  fame  unknown, 
Shall  dare  to  dawn  as  a  dramatic  star. 

Envoy. 
With  labour  infinite  our  task  is  done  : 

The  great  unacted  have  produced  a  play 
Which  may  be  safely  guaranteed  to  run. 

Unbroken  through  a  trial  matinee. 


[ADVT.J 

LOST.  AN  APPETITE.  It  was  in  a  normally  healthy  condition 
up  to  the  night  of  Monday  last,  when,  after  a  late  supper 
it  suddenly  disappeared,  and  did  not  return  during  the  day 
following.  It  is  a  fairly  big  specimen  of  its  class,  and  regular 
in  its  habits,  but,  if  away  from  home  and  not  properly  treated 
at  stated  times,  it  is  apt  to  become  fierce  and  ravenous.  When 
in  this  condition  it  is  dangerous  to  itself,  being  of  suicidal 
tendencies,  as  well  as  to  those  who  may  attempt  to  satisfy  its 
excessive  demands.  Anyone  finding  it  is  entreated  to  restore 
it  with  all  possible  despatch  to  its  owner,  by  whom  ho  will 
be  handsomely  rewarded.  Failing  of  success  in  recovering 
the  aforesaid  lost  appetite  (a  very  good  one,  and  of  no  possible 
use  to  «ny  one  except  its  owner),  whoever  will  provide  the 
present  advertiser  with  a  thoroughly  fresh,  healthy,  and  first- 
rate  appetite,  or  with  that  variety  known  as  a  "  really 
splendid  appetite,"  serviceable  for  all  occasions,  and  ready 
for  active  service  \vhenover  called  upon,  without  the  present 
advertiser  having  to  walk,  or  ride,  long  distances  in  search 
of  it,  will  receive  a  carte  blanche  invitation  for  one  year  to  all 
the  dinners  given  by  "GOURMET."  Address,  "  Stafford  Hall, 
Monmouth." 


333 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  [NOVEMBER  6,  1901. 


OUR    BOOKING-OFFICE. 

.Renaissance  Types,  by  W.  S.  LILLY  (T.  FISHER 
UNWJN),  Has  given  us  a  most  interesting  work, 
•written  in  a  thoroughly  judicial  spirit.  Each 
character  as  summed  up  with  perfect  impar- 
tiality. Of  the  five  "types,"  the  one  that  above 
all  others  must  appeal  to  everyone,  no  matter 
what  may  be  his  nationality  or  his  religion,  is 
Sir  THOMAS  MORE,  the  touching  story  of  whose  simple  faith 
and  loyalty  is  here  admirably  given  as  a  plain  unvarnished 
tale  which  none  can  read  unmoved.  The  calm,  unostenta- 
tious way  in  which  Mr.  LILLY  occasionally  turns  aside  to 
give  Mr.  FROUDE  a  severe  rap  over  the  knuckles  and  some- 
times "one  for  his  nob  "—well  deserved  in  every  instance- 
serves  as  a  light  diversion  to  the  reader  from  the  more  serious 
matter  in  hand.  His  MICHAEL  ANGELO  is  picturesque  without 
sacrificing  truth  to  effect;  "  while  Mr.  LILLY  on  LUTHER  re- 
minds me,"  quoth  the  Baron,  "of  that  'honest  chronicler,' 
GRIFFITH,  pronouncing  his  epitaph  on  Cardinal  WOLSEY." 

Cavalier  and  Puritan  (SMITH  ELDER)  presents  an  interesting 
page  of  history  compiled  from  the  private  papers  and  diary  of 
Sir  RICHARD  NEWDIGATE.  It  is  supplemented  by  extracts  from 
MS.  news-letters  addressed  to  him  from  London  between 
the  years  1675  and  1689.  There  is  nothing  new  under  the 
sun,  not  even  the  ubiquitous  London  Correspondent.  My 
Baronite  finds  the  progenitor  of  the  artist  of  to-day  sitting 
down  in  his  favourite  coffee-house,  in  the  latter  half  of 
the  seventeenth  century,  inditing  his  weekly  or  fortnightly 
letter.  These  were  not  published  in  the  provincial  press 
for  the  reason  that,  like  the  Spanish  Fleet  on  a  critical 
occasion,  "it  was  not  yet  in  sight."  The  subscribers  were 
country  gentlemen  desirous  of  being  kept  informed  how  the 
world  wagged  in  the  great  Metropolis,  and  ready  to  pay  for 
the  luxury  at  the  rate  of  25s.  a  quarter.  The  extracts  made 
by  Lady  NEWDIGATE-NEWDEGATE  are  profoundly  interesting,  by 
simplest  touches  lifting  the  veil  from  social  life  in  England  when 
CHARLES  THE  SECOND  was  king.  Drinking,  duelling,  varied  by 
the  diversion  of  assassination,  were  the  principal  occupations  of 
the  gentlemen  of  England.  Here  is  a  specimen  of  the  news 
of  the  day  and  of  the  severely  unadorned  style  of  the  London 
Correspondent  in  1675  : — "A  gentleman  this  evening  was  brought 
by  a  coach  to  the  Castle  Tavern  door,  in  Fleet  Street,  who, 
going  into  the  house  before  he  had  satisfied  the  coachman, 'he 
called  on  the  gentleman  for  his  money,  who,  instead  thereof, 
killed  him,  and  is  committed  to  prison."  The  nominatives  are 
a  little  mixed.  But  the  "  instead  thereof  "  rivals  the  famous 
"  instead  of  which,  you  go  about  the  country  stealing  ducks" 
of  the  English  judge.  The  fascinating  volume  is  enriched  by 
an  engraving  of  a  portrait  of  Sir  RICHARD,  painted  by  Sir  PETER 
LELY.  From  a  letter  cited,  it  appears  that  Sir  PETER'S  price 
for  such  work  was  £40.  But  then  "  beefe  is  now  at  the  dearest ; 
one  with  another  it  is  three  pence  halfepeny  a  pound." 

Who  among  the  Baron's  friends  will  not  be  grateful  to  him 
for  telling  them  where  they  will  be  certain  to  enjoy  a  hearty 
laugh  ?  So  not  to  keep  them  in  suspense,  the  Baron  hastens  to 
assure  them  that  they  cannot  do  better  than  become  the  happy 
possessors  of  Light  Freights,  by  W.  W.  JACOBS  (METHUEN  &  Co.), 
which  is  a  "jolly  companion  volume"  to  the  same  amusing 
author's  inimitable  Many  Cargoes.  No  one  equals,  much  less 
surpasses,  Mr.  JACOBS  in  this  line  of  business,  which  he  has 
made  peculiarly  his  own.  If  the  Baron  has  previously  come 
across  some  of  them,  he  is  only  too  delighted  to  renew  their 
acquaintance  in  such  excellent  company.  It  is  one  of  the 
most  laughter-moving  books  the  Baron  has  come  across  since 
he  read  the  same  author's  Sea  Urchins  and  afore-mentioned 
Many  Cargoes.  The  only  grim  intruder  into  this  merry  company 
is  "  Jerry  Bundler,"  a  story  that  might  have  been  omitted  with 
advantage. 


For  a  well-told  and  exciting  story,  which  can  be  picked  up 
and  read  within  the  limits  of  a  wet  day,  or  on  tho  night  of  a 
fine  one,  A  Social  Pretender,  by  WINIFRED  GRAHAM  (JOHN  LONG), 
can  be  recommended  by  my  Juniorest  Baronitess.  The  interest 
is,  on  the  whole,  well  sustained,  in  spite  of  the  story  being  rather 
spun  out. 

Mexico  as  I  Saw  It  (HURST  AND  BLACKETT)  is  the  title  of  the 
record  of  Mrs.  ALEC  TWEEDiE's  latest  jaunt.  She  "saw  it" 
under  exceedingly  favourable  circumstances.  Armed  with  an 
introduction  to  the  President,  she  was  welcomed  with  more 
than  Mexican  warmth.  Not  content  with  offering  the  hospitality 
of  the  Presidential  residence,  the  President  communicated  with 
the  authorities  on  the  traveller's  route  up  country,  with  the 
result  that  she  was  received  with  almost  regal  honours. 
Naturally,  she  has  a  high  opinion  of  the  President,  whom  she 
hails  as  "the  greatest  man  of  the  nineteenth  century."  A 
born  traveller,  ready,  when  occasion  compelled,  to  put  up  with 
hardships  and  short  commons,  Mrs.  TWEEDIE  took  cheerfully  to 
the  private  cars  provided  for  her  on  the  railways,  to  the  semi- 
official banquets,  and  to  life  in  palaces.  She  travelled  all  over 
Mexico,  as  usual  with  her  eyes  wide  open.  Her  pictures  of 
home  life  and  street  life  are  made  more  vivid  by  a  collection  of 
admirable  photographs  taken  on  the  spot.  Travellers  who  may 
not  have  Mrs.  TWEEDIE'S  exceptional  advantages  will  be  com- 
forted to  learn  that  the  best  written  chapter  in  the  book  is  the 
second,  giving  an  account  of  life  on  a  Mexican  ranch.  That 
was  written  on  the  threshold  of  the  journey,  before  discovery 
was  made  of  the  supremacy  of  President  DIAZ. 

Barbara  West,  by  KEIGHLEY  SNOWDON  (JOHN  LONG),  would  be 
a  pathetic  story  were  not  the  heroine,  Barbara,  a  poor  creature 
obviously  responsible  for  her  own  misfortunes.  Her  redeeming 
quality  is  her  generous  disposition.  My  Juniorest  Baronitess 
can  see  neither  point  nor  moral  in  this  novel,  which,  after  all, 
is  of  a  rather  commonplace  character. 

An  Occasional  Critic  in  the  employment  of  the  Baron  asks 
permission  to  say  that  he  has  read  The  Glowworm,  by  MAY 
BATEMAN  (WILLIAM  HEINEMANN),  with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure. 
Here  and  there  a  little  mystical  and  not  quite  so  luminons  as 
its  title  would  suggest.  But  on  the  whole,  a  clever,  well- 
written  story.  The  Occasional  Critic  humbly  adds  his  meed 
of  praise.  Miss  MAY  BATEMAN  will  do  better  work  in  the  future. 
For  the  moment,  however,  her  present  is  open  to  some  criticism 
— but  not  much. 

Not  a  few  burlesque  imitations  of  GEORGE  MEREDITH,  the 
Great  Involvolist's  peculiar  style,  have  from  time  to  time 
appeared, — and  to  note  this  fact  is  to  pay  an  unmistakable 
tribute  to  the  ever-increasing  popularity  of  this  masterful 
novelist, — but  the  Baron  can  only  recall  a  passage  in  one  of 
them  so  perfect  as  is  Mr.  R.  C.  LEHMANN'S  brief  and  most 
absurdly  nonsensical  "per- version,"  entitled  Lord  Ormont's 
Mate,  which,  with  The  Adventures  of  Picklock  Holes  (from  Punch) 
and  The  Pink  Hippopotamus,  now  appears  in  one  volume, 
published  by  Messrs.  BRADBURY,  AGNEW  &  Co.  The  book  is 
humorously  illustrated  by  the  much  daring  E.  T.  REED,  and  the 
carefully  comic  E.  J.  WHEELER.  THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 

P.S. — Some  studious  little  bookworm  will  be  fascinated  with  The 
Reign  of  King  Cole  (J.  M.  DENT  &  Co.),  edited  by  J.  M.  GIBBON  ; 
containing  as  it  does  "the  true  annals  of  Fairy- 
land." To  the  much-discussed  Fiddlers  Three  is 
credited  the  singing  or  relating  of  these  tales  at  ye 
court  of  the  merriest  monarch  of  ancient  renown. 
This  erudite  collection  possesses  the  charm  of 
finding  old  friends  bound  together  anew  in  the 
happiest  style.  There  are  delightful  pictures  in 
nearly  every  page  by  CHARLES  ROBINSON. 


QUOTATION  WITH  OMITTED  PUNCTUATION. — "'Lest  W3  forget' 
RUDYARD  KIPLING."  Not  much  chance  of  forgetting  Mr.  R.  K. 
as  long  as  advertising  may  be  considered  as  a  fine  art. 


NOVEMBER  6,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHAEIVARL 


330 


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340 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  [NOVEMBER  6,  1901. 


THOMPSON   ON    "TINNED   COW." 

ii. 

,  though  I  despise  all  girls,  I  never  hated  one  worse  than 
this.  The  least  a  girl  can  be  at  any  time  is  harmless  ;  bat  MtLLY 
DUNSTAN  was  brimful  of  trickery,  and,  just  because  her  eyes 
were  accidentally  blue,  thought  she  could  score  off  everybody 
and  everything.  jSbt  that  she  ever  scored  off  me.  She  knew 
that  I  barred  her  altogether,  and  scorned  me  in  consequence, 
and  called  me  "  Master  THOMPSON  "  to  make  me  wa*y,  me  being 
only  about  four  months  younger  than  her. 

She  got  his  mother's  pet  name  for  him  out  of  "Tinned  Cow," 
and  called  him  by  it  in  secret.  Sot  that  1  ever  heard  it,  or 
wanted  to.  And  she  also  gave  out  that  anybody  calling  him 

Tinned  Cow  "  any  more  would  be  her  enemy ;  and  one  or  two 
chaps  were  feeble  enough  actually  to  stop. 

MlLLY  Dl'XSTAX  wrecked  his  character.  Before,  he  'd  been  as 
keen  as  knives  about  sport  and  so  on,  and  there  is  no  doubt 
that  he  would  have  got  into  the  second  footer  team  next  term  if 
GREGSOX  Minor  had  passed  his  exam,  for  the  "  Britannia."  But 
MLLLY  DUXSTAX  didn't  care  a  straw  about  footer,  though  she 
understood  cricket  fairly  well  for  a  girl ;  and  so  "  Tinned  Cow," 
like  a  fool,  gave  up  all  hope  of  getting  on  at  footer,  at  which  he 
promised  to  be  some  use,  and  went  in  like  mad  for  cricket,  at 
which  he  never  could  be  any  earthly  good  whatever.  And  that 
made  another  row,  because  MlLLY  promised  to  walk  twice  round 
old  DUXSTAX'S  private  garden  with  STREET,  the  captain  of  the 
third  eleven  (cricket),  if  he  'd  give  "  Tinned  Cow  "  a  trial  in  an 
unimportant  match ;  and  STREET  said,  "Eight."  And  they  went, 
during  prep.,  and  it  happened  that  the  Doctor,  coming  out  of 
his  greenhouse,  caught  them ;  and  STREET  got  five  hundred 
lines  ;  which  naturally  made  him  in  such  a  bate,  thinking  it  was 
a  trap,  that  he  refused  to  try  "  Tinned  Cow  "  for  ever. 

I  'm  sure  I  did  all  I  could,  for,  though  I  'd  lost  any  feeling  for 
him  since  he  let  this  girl  sit  on  him,  still  I  was  his  chum  once. 
And  I  tried  to  save  him,  and  asked  him,  many  a  time  and  oft,  why 
he  let  his  life  be  spoilt  by  a  skimpy  girl.  And  he  said  that  it 
was  her  skimpiness  he  liked,  for  she  put  him  in  mind  of  his 
sister — only  his  sister  was  smaller,  and,  of  course,  had  squashed 
feet.  To  see  a  girl  who  can  walk  about  seems  to  be  a  great 
treat  to  the  Chinese  ;  so  what  for  they  let  theirs  all  squash  their 
feet,  Heaven  only  knows. 

"Tinned  Cow"  confessed  to  me  that  MlLLY  DIXSTAX  was 
pretty  sharp,  and  had  been  reading  up  all  about  China  in  one  of 
the  Doctor's  books.  In  fact,  he  confessed  also  that  she  knew  a 
lot  more  about  China  in  general  than  he  did.  And  some  things 
she  liked,  and  soma  she  didn't;  and  especially  the  marriage 
customs  she  didn't  like  ;  and  she  told  "  Tinned  Cow  "  that  un- 
less he  let  her  father  marry  them  in  a  proper  Christian  church, 
it  was  off.  So  he  promised  :  and  he  also  promised,  though  very 
reluctantly,  not  to  say  a  word  about  it  to  Doctor  DCNSTAN  until 
he  got  to  be  head  of  the  Sixth  and  the  School.  But  he  knew 
that  at  the  rate  he  was  going,  ho  would  never  get  there  till  he 
was  at  least  fifty  years  old.  And  sons  of  Mandarins  marry  very 
early  indeed  in  their  own  country — as  soon  as  they  like,  in  fact 
— so  "Tinned  Cow"  promised  reluctantly.  Then  lie  took  to 
working  and  swatting ;  yet  all  his  swatting  only  got  him  into 
the  lower  fourth  in  three  terms.  Then,  seeing  what  a  lot  it 
meant  getting  into  the  Sixth,  and  what  a  frightful  thing  it  was, 
especially  for  a  foreigner,  to  do  it,  "Tinned  Cow  ".fell  back 
upon  the  customs  of  his  country  ;  and  his  methods  of  cribbing 
were  certainly  fine  and  new.  But  they  couldn't  do  everything^ 
and  he  tried  still  other  Chinese  customs  in  an  arithmetic  exam, 
and  attempted  to  bribe  old  THWAITBS  with  two  weeks'  pocket 
money— a  pound,  in  fact— if  he  would  arrange  to  let  him  get 
enough  marks  to  go  up  a  form.  Of  course,  everybody  knew  old 
THWAITES  had  a  wife  and  about  ten  children  at  Merivale  and, 
though  a  Sixteenth  Wrangler  in  olden  times,  was  at  present 
frightfully  hard  up  in  secret.  But  what  is  a  paltry  pound  to  a 


Sixteenth  "Wrangler?  Anyway  THWAITES  raged  with  great 
fierceness  and  took  "  Tinned  Cow  "  to  the  Doctor  ;  and  as  the 
Doctor  hates  strategy  of  this  kind,  he  made  it  hot  for  "  Tinned 

iow  "  and  flogged  him  pretty  badly.  I  asked  if  it  hurt,  being 
the  first  time  the  Doctor  had  ever  flogged  him,  and  he  said  the 
only  thing  that  hurt  was  the  horrid  feeling  that  he  'd  offered 
•QO  little  to  THWAITES.  He  said  that  in  his  country,  and 
especially  among  Mandarins,  offering  too  little  was  almost  as 
great  a  crime  as  offering  too  much,  and  that  he  deserved  to 
je  flogged  on  the  feet  as  well  as  elsewhere.  He  said  that  his 
father  was  such  a  good  judge  of  people  that  he  always  offered 

nst  the  right  sum  ;  and  he  felt  certain  that  in  the  case  of 
THWAITES  not  a  penny  less  than  ten  pounds  ought  to  have  been 
offered.  It  was  the  known  hard-uppishness  of  THWAITKS  that 
made  him  think  a  pound  would  do  ;  but  now,  seeing  what  a  little 
way  money  seemed  to  go  with  a  man,  he  felt  about  the  only 
chap  within  reach  of  being  bribed  was  the  drill  sergeant  ;  and 
of  course  he  couldn't  help  "Tinned  Cow"  to  get  into  the 
Sixth.  Besides,  the  drill  sergeant  had  fought  in  China  in  his 
young  days,  and  he  had  a  sort  of  war-like  repugnance  against 

Tinned  Cow"   that  would  have  taken  at  least   gold  to  get 


So  things  went  on  until  the  arrival  of  the  sweets  from  China  ; 
and  they  were  all  right,  though  "  Tinned  Cow  ' '  told  me  that  she 
wasn't  as  keen  about  them  as  he  expected,  or  at  any  rate 
pretended  not  to  be.  The  truth  is  that  some  of  the  very 
swaggerest  Chinese  sweets  take  nearly  a  lifetime  thoroughly 
to  like ;  and  by  the  time  that  MlLLY  began  to  feel  the  remark- 
able beauty  of  this  sort,  she  'd  finished  them.  However,  she 
was  fairly  just — for  her,  and  didn't  throw  the  beggar  over 
aefore  the  taste  of  the  last  sweet  -was  out  of  her  mouth,  as  you 
might  have  expected.  In  fact,  she  kept  friendly  for  a  matter  of 
several  weeks  ;  and  then  she  began  to  get  rather  sick  of  his 

hinese  ways — so  she  said — and  cool  off  towards  him,  even 
though  in  his  despair  he  promised  her  idols  and  fireworks  and 
many  things  that  probably  wouldn't  have  been  sent  even  if 
lie  'd  written  home  for  them. 

But  Chinese  chaps  have  quite  different  ideas  to  English  chaps, 
owing  to  their  bringing-up,  and  things  we  utterly  bar  and 
consider  caddish,  such  as  sneaking,  a  Chinese  chap  will  do 
freely  without  the  least  idea  he  is  making  a  beast  of  himself. 
I  didn't  know  this,  or  else  I  should  never  have  allowed  "  Tinned 
Cow  "  to  be  my  chum,  but  at  last  I  discovered  the  fatal  truth  ; 
and  the  worst  of  it  was  that  he  sneaked  against  a  bitter  enemy 
of  mine,  called  FORRESTER,  thinking  that  he  was  doing  a  right 
and  proper  thing  towards  me. 

This  chap  FORRESTER  I  hated  for  many  reasons,  but  chiefly 
because  he  'd  beaten  me,  by  about  ten  marks  only,  in  a  Scripture 
exam,  owing  to  knowing  the  names  of  the  father  and  mother  of 
MOSES,  which  are  not  generally  known.  I  always  had  a  fixed 
idea,  funnily  enough,  that  MOSES  was  the  son  of  PHARAOH'S 
daughter ;  and  I  said  so,  and  I  added,  as  a  shot — for  shots  often 
come  off,  though  they  are  dangerous — that  Holy  "Writ  was  silent 
concerning  the  father  of  MOSES.  And  the  Doctor  hates  a  shot 
that  misses,  frightfully,  so  I  had  to  write  out  the  whole  business 
of  MOSES  fifty  times,  till  I  was  sick  of  the  very  name  of  him  ; 
whereas  FORRESTER  won  the  prize.  Well,  this  FORRESTER  kept 
sardines  in  his  desk  and  ate  them  during  Monsieur  MICHEL'S 
class.  But  some,  already  opened,  ho  forgot  for  several  weeks. 
And  these — being  doubtful  of  them  when  he  found  them  again — 
he  gave  to  MlLLY  DuNSTAX's  Persian  kitten  ;  and  "Tinned  Cow  " 
saw  h  m.  Well,  the  kitten  showed  that  FORRESTER  was  quite 
right  to  b  j  doubtful  about  the  sardines  by  dying.  It  disappeared 
from  that  very  hour,  and  was  believed  to  have  gone  next  door  to 
die,  as  cats  are  generally  very  unwilling  to  die  in  their  own 
homes,  and  always  go  next  door  to  do  so,  curious  to  say.  And 
MILLY  was  in  an  awful  bate  when  "Tinned  Cow"  told  her, 
thinking  it  would  please  me ;  whereas,  if  anything  could  have 
made  me  get  friends  with  FORRESTER  it  would  have  been  to 
know  he  'd  scored  off  MlLLY  DUXSTAN.  But  her  rage  against 


NOVEMBER  6,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


341 


FORRESTER  was  pretty  frightful— especially,  she  said,  because  a 
boy  whose  strong  point  was  Scripture  could  have  done  this 
thing  ;  and  she  made  "  Tinned  Cow"  tell  the  Doctor;  and  such 
was  his  piffling  weakness  where  she  was  concerned,  that  he  did. 
But  old  DUNSTAN,  who  hated  cats,  said  it  was  a  case  of  circum- 
stantial evidence — whatever  that  is — and  the  proofs  of  the  cat's 
death  were  too  slight,  seeing  the  body  couldn't  be  found,  and  re- 
membering a  cat's  power  of  eating  sardines,  even  when  a  bit  off. 


any  shuffling  of  feet  had  occurred.  The  smell  of  hot  rashers, 
the  frizzling  of  eggs  and  the  bubbling  of  coffee  convinced  me 
that  this  outspoken  man  was  correct  in  his  definition  of  the 
atmosphere,  which,  I  am  constrained  to  say,  has  never  changed 
since  that  memorable  morning,  judging  by  sounds  with  which  I 
have  never  ventured  to  make  nearer  acquaintance.  But  it  has 
been  impossible  for  me  not  to  note  that  the  chances  of  certain 
race  horses  (when  the  artists  are  wandering  about  my  little 


Then  he  turned  against  "Tinned  Cow,"  and  told  him  that  the  |  pleasaunce)  afford  them  infinite  interest,  and  I  should  be  lack- 
character  of  an  informer  ill  became  any  pupil  of  DUNSTAN'S,  and  j  ing  in  courtesy  to  the  brewer  who  supplies  me  with  ale  if  I  did 
that  to  try  and  undo  a  fellow- 
student  might  be  Oriental  but 
was  not  English,  and  so  on— all 
in  words  that  you  can  find  in 
Dictionaries,  but  nowhere  else 
that  I  _ever  heard  of. 

"Which  showed  the  Doctor 
wasn't  so  keen  about  "Tinned 
Cow"  as  he  used  to  be,  and 
that  was  chiefly  because 
"Tinned  Cow's"  younger 
brother  was  not  coming  to  be 
educated  in  England  after  all, 
as  Doctor  DUNSTAN  had  hoped, 
but  was  going  to  Germany 
instead.  E.  P. 

(To  be  continued.) 


THE  ARTIST  UP  TO  DATE. 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCH, — I  am  not 
alluding  to  a  Royal  Acade- 
mician, or  even  to  a  talented 
scene  painter,  such  as  Mr. 
FRED  STOREY  or  Mr.  BANKS, 
by  the  above  heading,  but  to 
the  common  or  garden  limner 
— the  latter  is  a  very  fitting 
term,  for  reasons  which  I  shall 
now,  with  your  permission,  pro- 
ceed to  show,  in  the  fervent 
hope  that  you,  Sir,  may  help 
me  to  get  hold  of  an  automatic 
or  mechanical  layer-on  of  pig- 
ment. 

It  happened  a  short  time 
ago  that  the  little  house  which 
I  occupy  with  my  wife  and 
family  required,  under  my 
lease,  an  exterior  redecoration. 
I  accordingly  summoned  to  my 
assistance  the  firm  of  Messrs. 
MAUL  AND  SONS.  Five  eminent 
gentlemen  appeared  on  the  fol- 
lowing morning  at  the  hour  of 
six.  They  conversed  in  the  tone  of  voice  which  distinguishes 
the  melodrama  of  commerce,  and,  in  so  far  as  I  can  judge, 
without  laying  myself  open  to  an  action  for  libel,  breakfasted 
off  the  plums  and  apples  in  my  orchard. 

At  8.30,  however,  my  spouse,  a  nervous  woman  with  a  heart 
like  an  indifferent  telephone,  requested  me  somewhat  imperi- 
ously to  look  into  the  kitchen  and  ascertain  the  reason  of 
certain  shouts  of  laughter,  not  unaccompanied  with  the  rattling 
of  boots,  proceeding  from  the  spot  of  culinary  culture.  The 
guild  of  five  artists,  when  I  entered  the  kitchen,  were  engaged, 
together  with  the  cook,  housemaid  and  nurse,  in  a  dance  not 
unlike  that  known  as  an  Irish  jig.  Of  course,  on  my  appearance 


THE    BOTTLE-JACK    OVERMANTEL- 

ATTACHABLK  TO  READING  OR  ANY  EASY  CHAIR  ;  RECOMMENDED 
THOSE  WHO  ARE  WANTING  A  LUXURIOUS  "ALL-ROUND"  WARM 
THE  FIBESIDE  DURING  THE  COMING  WINTER  EVENINGS. 


not  state  that  someone  other 
than  myself  did  not  appreciate 
the  quality  of  his  malt  and 
hops. 

When  the  probable  and  possi- 
ble winners  of  the  races  of  the 
day  have  been  discussed  and  de- 
cided, the  burst  of  minstrelsy 
is  unanimous  among  the  festive 
five,  but  it  is  not  always  har- 
monious. Two  of  the  limners 
whistle  through  their  teeth, 
two  others  sing  selections  from 
the  Emerald  Lste,  and  the  fifth 
— I  think  he  must  be  the  fore- 
man— has  a  distant  conception 
of  the  Conspirators'  Chorus  from 
La  Fille  de  Madame  Anyot. 

I  should  not  complain  of  the 
conduct  of  my  pictorial  bene- 
factors were  it  not  that  they 
will  not  go,  for  the  excellent 
reason  that  they  do  not  com- 
plete their  labour.  The  red- 
headed foreman  has  a  knack  of 
assembling  his  four  bandit- 
companions  after  they  lay  on 
a  thin  coat  of  evil-smelling 
material  over  a  shutter,  and 
saying,  "  Well,  boys,  how  does 
that  look?  Give  me  your 
opinion."  They  always  do. 
It  means  a  return  to  the 
kitchen  and  the  beer  barrel. 

You  may,  perhaps,  have  re- 
marked that  I  have  no  male 
servant.  But  since  this  reno- 
vation, the  disappearance  of 
my  tobacco  has  been  phenome- 
nal. I  think  that  the  gentler 
sex,  when  in  service,  is  often 
too  generous.  Meantime,  what 
am  I  to  do?  I  can  only  ask 
you,  Sir,  to  find  the  mechanical 

medium  for  having  a  cottage 

repainted.    Will  you  think  this  out  with  Professor  EDISON  or 
Sir  H.  MAXIM  ?  and  greatly  oblige, 

Your  distressed  Servant, 
Bunthorpe  Cottage, 

East  Toad-in-the-Hole,  Somersetsliirc. 


OLIVER  KAXDEL. 


NEW  LEGAL  APPOINTMENTS. — Who  are  the  unfortunate  persons 
whose  names  are  "  in  the  Black  Books  "  of  Lincoln's  Inn  ?  Let 
them  hasten  to  secure  the  good  offices  of  Sir  EDWARD  CLARKE, 
who  has  recently  been  appointed  "  Keeper  of  the  Black  Books  " 
to  this  Honourable  Society.  And,  should  anyone  wish  to  acquire 


these  Terpsichorean  revels  ceased,  and  the  foreman,  a  most  j  the  graces  of  deportment  when  out  for  a  stroll,  let  him  apply 
polite  personage,  assured  me  that  it  was  only  due  to  the  cold  for  a  lesson  to  Lord  MACNAGHTEN,  who  has  been  appointed 
condition  of  the  feet  of  himself  and  his  worthy  associates  that  "  Master  of  the  Walks." 


342 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHAKIVAEL  [NOVEMBER  c,  1901. 


•Oi  HE  EUutTv-i'oivE,  Zuu." 

'DEAR  ME!    You  DOK'T  LOOK  IT.     AND  HOW  OLD  is  TOCE  WIKK  ? " 

1  OH,    SHE   BE   EIGHTV-FOIVE  TOO.      BUT  SHE  '\"E  LOOKED  IT  FER  THE   LAST  FOWllTY  TEAK 


THE  WOOIN'  O'T. 

[N  -rthern  Vuivercities  address  a  dutinguUhed 
individual.] 

"Wire  all  our  faculties  and  arts 

We  come,  Sir,  courting  thee  ; 
Ah  !  grant  the  longing  of  our  hearts, 

And  our  Lord  Rector  be. 
Our  principals  nre  at  thy  feet— 

Oh  !  covild  we  only  see 
From  thine  the  interest  so  sweet 

That  ours  do  take  in  thee  ! 

O  man  of  steel,  be  wax  to-day  ! 
On  thee  our  hopes  are  built ; 


Como,  join  our  company,  we  pray  ; 

Promote  us  as  thou  wilt. 
No  check  that  thou  canst  give  will  make 

Thy  wooers  draw  the  line  ; 
Medicine  itself  will  gladly  take 

A  little  draught  of  thine. 

Already,  Sir,  thou  art  enrolled 

Among  our  LL.D.'s, 
And  therefore  do  our  hopes  grow  bold 

To  win  thee  by  degrees. 
The  cap  is  waiting  for  thy  brow, 

The  robe  is  ready  hero — 
O  peerless  in  investments  thou, 

In  vestments  now  appear  ! 


A  MATTER  OF  SENTIMENT. 

A.  and  B.  meet  face  to  face  in  St.  Martin's 

Lane. 

A.  My  friend,  you  look  very  weary. 

B.  Yes,  I  am  weary  indeed. 

A.  What  is  the  cause  of  the  deep  melan- 
choly that  seems  to  overwhelm  you  ? 

B.  I  have  been  doing  a  theatre  with  a 
new  piece.     I  am  perplexed  and  fatigued. 

A.  Ah,  then  you  have  seen  The  Senti- 
mentalist at  the  Duke  of  York's  ? 

B.  I  have.    It  was  hard  to  bear.    Very 
hard  indeed  when  the  two  heroes  —  one 
middle-aged,  the  other  juvenile — told  of 
their  early  unsatisfactory  lives  to  heroine 
No.  2. 

A.  But  surely  heroine  No.  2  was  greatly 
shocked  ? 

B.  She  could  not  have   been.    For  ac- 
cording to  her  own  account  she  had  read 
books — ahem — not   usually  obtainable  at 
SMITH'S  or  MUDIE'S. 

A.  And  did  not  she  accept  a  satyr  Duke 
in  revenge  ? 

B.  Yes — yes — yes  !     A  sad  story.     But 
it  was  redeemed  by  the  capital  murder  of 
the  satyr  Duke  by  that  most  excellent  of 
players,  Mr.  LEWIS  WALLER. 

A.  You  say  it  was  a  good  murder  ? 

B.  A  very  good  one  indeed.    Something 
in    scratches,    with    a    poisoned    dagger 
thrown   in.      A   most  excellent    murder. 
The  victim  died  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth 
in  great  agony.     Most  effective. 

A.  And  did  not  heroine  No.  1  confess 
to  weighing  thirteen  stone  ? 

B.  Only  in  the  play.     In  the  prologue 
she  was  much  slimmer.     She  looked  very 
young — in  the  prologue. 

A.  And  Mr.  LEWIS  WALLER,  did  he  not 
look  also  very  young — in  the  prologue  ? 

B.  He  looked  younger  in  the  play.     In 
the  play  he  might  have  passed  for  thirty, 
or  even  twenty-five.    But  he  did  not  look 
so  young  in  the  prologue. 

A.  Would  you  care  to    see    the  play 
again  ? 

B.  Well,  no  ;  although  it  is  well  written. 
Stay — I  think  I   would  like  to  see   the 
murder  of  the  Duke  again.     It  was  very 
effective  to  see  him  die  with  a  cigar  in  his 
mouth  in  great  agony.     It  was  not  totally 
unlike  the  death  of  the  fellow  in  The  Cat 
and  the  Cherub.     Yos,  I  would  like  to  see 
that  again.     I  would  like  to  see  the  Duke 
dying  in  tortures  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth. 

A.  But  would  you — adopting  the  Chinese 
suggestion — like  to  see  that  sombre  inci- 
dent twice  daily  for  a  thousand  years  ? 

B.  (after  mature  deliberation).  No,  I  do 
not  think  I  would.     But  now  I  must  leave 
you.    After  the  dismal  play  I  want  cheer- 
ing up. 

A.  But  where  will  you  go  to  be  cheered 
up? 

B.  As  I  must  be  cheered  up  gradually,  I 
shall  go— in  the    first    instance — to  the 
School  of  Mines  in  Jermyn  Street. 

[Exeunt  severally. 


NOVEMBER  13,  1901-1 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


343 


THE  YOUNG  NOVELIST'S  GUIDE  TO 
MEDICINE. 

CHLOROFORM.    Invaluable  to  writers  of 
ensational    stories.      Every    high -class 
ctionary  criminal  carries  a  bottle  in  his 
>ocket.    A  few  drops,  spread  on  a  hand- 
kerchief and  waved  within  a  yard  of  the 
icro's  nose,  will  produce  a  state  of  com- 
plete unconsciousness  lasting  for  several 
lours,  within  which  time  his  pockets  may 
>e  searched  at  leisure.    This  property  of 
hloroform,    familiar    to    every     expert 
novelist,  seems  to  have  escaped  the  notice 
)f  the  medical  profession. 

CONSUMPTION.     The   regulation    illness 

'or  use  in  tales  of  mawkish  pathos.     Very 

>opular  some  years  ago,  when  the  heroine 

made  farewell  speeches  in  blank  verse,  and 

lied  to  slow  music.    Fortunately,  how- 

sver,  the  public  has  lost  its  fondness  for 

;ork  of  this  sort.    Consumption  at  its 

ast  stage  is  easily  curable  (in  novels)  by 

,he  re-appearance  of  a  hero  supposed  to 

>e  dead.     Two  pages  laterjthe  heroine  will 

gain  strength  in  a  way  which  her  doctors 

—  not    unnaturally  —  will     describe    as 

4  perfectly  marvellous."    And  in  the  next 

•hapter  the  marriage-bells  will  ring. 

DOCTOR.  Always  include  a  doctor  among 
your  characters.  He  is  quite  easy  to 
manage,  and  invariably  will  belong  to  one 
of  these  three  types :  (a)  The  eminent 
specialist.  Tall,  imperturbable,  urbane. 
)nly  comes  incidentally  into  the  story, 
b)  Young,  bustling,  energetic.  Not  much 
>ractice,  and  plenty  of  time  to  look  after 
other  poeple's  affairs.  Hard-headed  and 
>ractical.  Often  the  hero's  college  friend . 
Should  be  given  a  pretty  girl  to  marry 
n.  the  last  chapter,  (c)  The  old  family 
doctor.  Benevolent,  genial,  wise.  Wears 
jold  spectacles,  which  he  has  to  take  off 
and  wipe  at  the  pathetic  parts  of  the 
sook. 

FEVER.  A  nice,  useful  term  for  fic- 
bionary  illnesses.  It  is  best  to  avoid 
mention  of  specific  symptoms,  beyond  that 
of  "a  burning  brow,"  though,  if  there 
are  any  family  secrets  which  need  to 
be  revealed,  delirium  is  sure  to  supervene 
at  a  later  stage.  Arthur  Pendennis, 
tor  instance,  had  fictional  "fever,"  and 
baffled  doctors  have  endeavoured  ever 
since  to  find  out  what  really  was  the 
matter  with  him.  *' Brain-fever j"  again, 
is  unknown  to  the  medical  faculty,  but 
you  may  safely  afflict  your  intellectual 
hero  with  it.  The  treatment  of  flctionary 
fever  is  quite  simple,  consisting  solely 
of  frequent  doses  of  grapes  and  cooling 
drinks.  These  will  be  brought  to  the 
sufferer  by  the  heroine,  and  these  simple 
remedies  administered  in  this  way  have 
never  been  known  to  fail. 

FRACTURE.  After  one  of  your  char- 
acters has  come  a  cropper  in  the  hunting- 
field  he  will  be  taken  on  a  hurdle  to  the 
nearest  house :  usually,  by  a  strange 
coincidence,  the  heroine's  home.  And  he 


i!  WHAT  is  IT,  MVMMIE  DEAR?" 


A   Ml'MMY,    PEAK." 


will  be  said  to  have  sustained  "a  com- 
pound fracture" — a  vague  description 
which  will  quite  satisfy  your  readers. 

GOUT.  An  invaluable  disease  to  the 
humorist.  Remember  that  heroes  and 
heroines  are  entirely  immune  from  it, 
but  every  rich  old  uncle  is  bound  to 
suffer  from  it.  The  engagement  of  his 
niece  to  an  impecunious  young  gentleman 
invariably  coincides  with  a  sharp  attack 
of  gout.  The  humour  of  it  all  is,  perhaps, 
a  little  difficult  to  see,  but  it  never  fails 
to  tickle  the  public. 

HEART-DISEASE.  An  excellent  complaint 
for  killing  off  a  villain.  If  you  wish  to 
pave  the  way  for  it  artistically,  this  is 


the  recognised  method.  On  page  100  he 
will  falter  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence, 
grow  pale,  and  press  his  hand  sharply  to 
his  side.  In  a  moment  he  will  have  re- 
covered, and  will  assure  his  anxious 
friends  that  it  is  nothing.  But  the  reader 
knows  better.  He  has  met  the  same  pro- 
monitory  symptom  in  scores  of  novels, 
and  he  will  not  be  in  the  least  surprised 
when,  on  the  middle  of  page  250,  the 
villain  suddenly  drops  dead.  A.  C.  D. 


A  CURIOUS  FACT.— Property  is  generally 
converted  into  ducks  and  drakes  by  mem- 
bers of  the  goose  family. 


[NOVEMBER  13,  1901. 


PEGASUS  ON  THE  WAR-PATH 

[The  reader  is  referred  to  an  article  in  the  Daily 
Chronicle  of  November  6,  on  «  The  Question  of 
Mobility:    A    Comparison  of    British    and 
Methods."] 

DEAR  Friend  of  Animals,  I  write 
To  let  you  know  my  parlous  plight ; 
Behold  in  me  a  living  corse 
That  used  to  be  a  British  horse. 

You  will,  I  'm  sure,  be  glad  to  know 
Just  why  my  health  has  got  so  low  ; 
And  how  unfair  it  is  to  me 
To  mock  my  immobility. 

At  home  they  kept  me  sleek  and  fat, 
And  stroked  me  like  a  pussy-cat ; 
I  never  had  to  sit  up  late 
Or  carry  any  dreadful  weight. 

They  gave  me,  in  between  supplies, 
A  little  healthy  exercise, 
Not  more,  not  even  on  review, 
Than  I  could  comfortably  do. 

But  here  I  hardly  ever  feel 

Quite  certain  of  a  solid  meal ; 

They  make  me  march  (this  can't  be  right 

At  any  hour  of  day  or  night. 

I  barely  have  the  breath  to  groan 
Beneath  my  two-and-twenty  stone, 
Including  blanket,  tent,  and  sack 
Of  ornamental  bric-a-brac. 

Sometimes,  to  give  the  mules  a  change 
I  wear  a  model  kitchen-range, 
And  count  it  lucky  not  to  find 
A  grand  piano  up  behind. 

We  trek  a  dozen  miles  or  so 
Till  dawn  reveals  the  sleeping  foe  ; 
Then  halt  in  line,  and  mustn't  stir, 
But  wait  for  something  to  occur. 

My  rider  sits  me  like  a  rock. 

From  five  to  eight  (or  nine)  o'clock  ; 

The  rules  forbid  his  getting  off 

To  ease  my  flanks  and  let  me  cough. 

My  withers  wrung,  my  belly  void, 
Each  minute  makes  me  more  annoyed, 
Until  at  last  he  leaps  to  earth 
Only  to  tighten  up  my  girth. 

After  a  quiet  time  in  bed 
The  Boers,  by  this,  have  breakfasted ; 
£  The  same  is  true  of  all  their  gees, 
"Which  makes  them  feel  as  fit  as  fleas. 

Refreshed  by  slumber,  grass  and  meat, 
They  bustle  off  in  full  retreat ; 
And  when  they  've  gone  a  league  or  tw 
We  are  invited  to  pursue. 

The  regulations  don't  allow 
That  we  should  reason  why  or  how  ; 
And  so  we  lurch  along  their  track 
With  awful  aches  about  the  back. 

At  times  I  sink  my  patriot  pride 
And  wish  I  were  the  other  side  ; 
From  all  I  hear,  in  point  of  feed 
They  do  you  very  well  indeed. 


Besides,  they  have  a  pretty  touch: 
And  never  load  you  overmuch  ; 
The  biltong's  weight  is  very  small, 
And  really  hardly  counts  at  all. 
They  ride,  in  fact,  at  fourteen  nett, 
And  every  man  is  born  a  vet. ; 
Some  captured  ponies  whom  I  know 
Distinctly  said  that  this  was  so. 
They  ride  at  large  with  loosish  rein 
Which  saves  the  neck  from  needless  pain, 
And  lets  you  see  the  shocking  pits 
That  break  our  prancers'  legs  to  bits. 

A  moment's  halt  behind  a  kop— 
Saddles  are  off  and  bridles  drop  ; 
And  there  you  browse  in  perfect  ease, 
Or  sit  and  smile  just  where  you  please. 

No  doubt,  a  Dutchman  can't  afford 
Virtues  that  are  their  own  reward, 
But  he  has  learned  some  little  ways 
Of  showing  kindness  where  it  pays. 

With  us — the  boast  is  often  made — 
We  fight  as  if  upon  parade : 
From  certain  silly  points  of  view 
This  is,  unfortunately,  true. 

Indeed,  I  heard  a  foreign  blood 
(Attached,  I  think,  to  KEUTER'S  stud) 
Remark  with  supercilious  air : — 
"  C'est  magnifique,  mais  pas  la  guerre  !' 

For  we  are  not  by  any  means 
Identical  with  mere  machines  ; 
And  even  they  are  apt  to  spoil 
For  want  of  proper  care  and  oil. 

Dear  Mr.  Punch,  two  years  are  gone, 
And  still  the  war  goes  footling  on, 
And  well  it  may,  till  people  glean 
Some  homely  truths  outside  routine. 

It 's  widely  known  by  now  that  horses 
Arc  useful  aids  to  mounted  forces, 
And  somebody  some  day  will  prove 
That  mobile  troops  are  meant  to  move  ! 

O.  S. 


CHANGE  AT  THE  END  OF  THE 
CENTURY. 

(From  the  T-m-s  of  1990.) 


be  more  quaint  than  the  low  elevation, 
with  its  suggestions  of  zinc  roofing  and 
dimly-lighted  wooden  platforms?  What 
would  our  ancestors  have  thought  of  such 
a  desecration  ?  Our  ancestors  who  re- 
garded it  as  the  starting-point  to  and  the 
returning-point  from  their  labours  in  the 
City  !  Why,  it  is  more  than  a  century  old  ! 
Surely  its  antiquity  should  protect  it ! 

The  Griffin  of  Temple  Bar. —  And  this 
is  threatened  !    It  is  said  that  it  impedes 
the  traffic  between  the  Strand  and  Fleet 
Street !      A   cry    reaching   back  to    the 
Georgian  Era  !    When  this  splendid  work  ! 
of  art  was  erected,  more  than  a  century  i 
ago,  it  was  claimed  for  it  that  it  was  the 
finest  product  of  the  sculptor's  studio  in 
London.    And  to-day  it  retains  its  title 
unchallenged. 

The  Clock  at  the  end  of  Victoria  Street 
and  the  commencement  of  the  Vauxliall 
Bridge  Road.— It  is  proposed  to  make  it 
double  its  height!  What  can  be  more 
absurd !  When  it  was  erected  it  was 
said  to  be  an  excellent  foil  to  the  Clock 
Tower  of  the  Houses  of  Parliament  and 
the  timepiece  belonging  to  Westminster 
Abbey.  And  now  it  serves  the  same  pur- 
pose to  the  black  walls  (said  once  to  have 
been  bright  red  brick)  of  the  venerable 
Westminster  Cathedral  in  once-quite- 
fashionable  Ashley  Place.  Why  remove 
our  ancient  land-marks  ? 

But  there,  I  am  tired  of  continuing  the 
list !  Electric  trams  have  invaded  every 
pleasant  countrified  spot.  They  are  spoil- 
ing Uphavn  Park  Road  in  the  effort  to  get 
to  Bedford  Park,  and,  it  is  said,  even 
purpose  running  round  the  entire  length 
of  Red  Lion  Square !  Where  will  it  all  stop? 
Are  our  tenderest  feelings  to  be  outraged 
in  this  fashion  for  ever  ?  I  hope  not. 
Yours  indignantly, 

SMYTHE  DE  JOYNKS. 
Victoria  House,' 

Croydon  Common  East, 
South  Kensington. 


TO  THE  EDITOR. 

SIR,  —  As  the  twentieth  century  has 
reached  its  last  decade,  I  think  it's  only 
right  to  protest  in  the  names,  not  only  of 
the  inhabitants  of  Greater  London — which 
include  the  residents  at  Windsor,  Chat- 
ham and  Maidenhead — but  of  that  even 
larger  multitude,  the  rest  of  the  civilised 
world,  against  the  ruthless  hand  of  the 
Philistine.  Rapidly  sites  hallowed  by 
memories  of  the  past  are  being  put  to 
purposes  that  rob  them  of  every  trace  of 
romance.  On  the  plea  that  "  they  are  being 
turned  to  better  account,"  some  of  our 
most  cherished  possessions  are  being 
swept  away.  I  jot  down  a  few  chosen  at 
random. 

The  Exterior  of  South  Kensington 
Station. — It  is  proposed  to  re-erect  this 
interesting  building  in  stone  !  What  can 


AN  EXPOSTULATION. 

[A  Kelmecott  Press  Chaucer  was  recently  sold 

at  auction  for  £510.] 
YOUR  very  pen  must  blush  with  shame 

A  cheque  for  such  a  sum  to  draw,  Sir ; 
The  wicked  waste  deserves  our  blame. 

Five  hundred  guineas  for  a  Chaucer  ! 

Necessity  you  cannot  plead, 

Charged  with  extravagance  on  th  is  count : 
One  every  bit  as  good  to  read 

You  'dget  for  three-and-six  less  discount, 

In  times  like  these,  when  money  's  tight, 
And  when  Consols  are  daily  falling 

And  taxes  rising,  is  it  right — 
A  waste  so  wanton  and  appalling  ? 

But  surely  this  will  make  you  rue 
Your  outlay  wildly  injudicious : 

Consider,  for  the  money  you 
Might  buy  two  '47  Mauritius. 


NOVEMBER  13,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


NOVEMBER  13,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


347 


HOURS   OP  IDLENESS. 

["  Hong  Kong  appears  to  be  a  perfect  Paradise 
for  the  heads  of  Government  departments.  From 
a  local  paper  we  learn  that — « Yesterday  at  the 
meeting  of  the  Legislative  Council  there  was  an 
Acting  Director  of  Public  "Works,  an  Acting 
Commander  of  the  Forces,  an  Acting  Colonial 
Treasurer,  an  Acting  Attorney  -General,  and  an 
Acting  Clerk  of  Council  To-day  the  Criminal 
Sessions  commenced,  and  there  was  an  Acting  Chief 
Justice,  an  Acting  Attorney-General,  an  Auting 
Captain  -  Superintendent  of  Police,  an  Acting 
Registrar,  an  Acting  Clerk  of  Court,  and  an 
Acting  Supreme  Court  building.'  "'—Daily  Ptper.} 

ST.  ANDREWS,  passing  cheery 

Thy  links  are  said  to  be 
To  politicians  weary 

Beside  the  Northern  sea  ; 
And  Beaulieu  one  supposes 
A  Paradise  of  roses 
Where  drowsily  one  dozes, 

Secure  and  fancy-free. 

But  though  one  fain  would  fritter 

One's  life  in  such  retreat, 
Even  here  the  mortal  bitter 

Is  mingled  with  the  sweet ; 
Even  here  black  cares  afflict  you, 
And  tedious  ties  restrict  you, 
For  sometimes,  triste  dictw, 
Even  Cabinets  must  meet. 

Then  let  not  envy  covet 

The  ministerial  lot ; 
I  know  a  fate  above  it 

That  care  corrodeth  not ; 
Where  great  officials  measure 
Their  halcyon  days  in  pleasure, 
And  life  is  one  long  leisure 

In  that  Elysian  spot. 

There  nought  that 's  prejudicial 
Can  mar  one's  quiet ;  there 

The  Government  official 
Is  free  from  carking  care  ; 

Thero  all  is  peace  and  plenty, 

Hours  idle  four-and-twenty  ; 

There  dolce  fur  niente 

Holds  empire  everywhere. 

And  thither,  always  thither 
My  yearning  fancies  throng  ; 

Then  come,  ye  Muses,  hither, 
Inspire  my  wistful  song  ; 

And  I,  with  prayers  intent,  '11 

Desire  of  Fortune  gentle 

A  billet  departmental 

In  drowsy,  sweet  Hong  Kong. 


"FELLERS   FEELD  FORCE  FUND." 

Doormattry,  School-house. 
DEAII  UNCLE  CHARLIE, — I  say,  weeve 
not  bin  well  treated  at  orl  over  this  Fund 
— Orl  the  same,  thanks  orfly  for  your 
jenrus  doughnation  and  the  pares  and 
apples  nss  well.  I  spose  Ide  better  ret- 
turn  yon  the  doughnation  ass  STOGGINS 
bass  stopt  the  collektion  for  the  Fund — or 
better  stil  I  mite  keap  it  till  you  want  it 
—at  orl  evence  I  wont  retturn  it  til  I 
heer  from  you  agane. 


Old  A  it  lit  (despondently}.  "WELL,  I  SHALL  NOT  BE  A  NUISANCE  TO  YOU  MUCH  LONGER." 
Nephew  (reassuringly).  "  DOX'T  TALK  LIKE  THAT,  AUNT.     You  KNOW  YOU  WILL!' 


Well,  look  hear,  it  hapend  like  this — 
that  sily  ass  ROBINSON  Major  kiked  up  a 
row  and  sneaked  to  STOGGINS  simpelly 
becos  weede  collektid  his  winter  socks 
for  the  Fund — then  inkquiries  wear  maid 
and  STOGGINS  dishcovered  his  winter  coat 
had  orlso  gorn — then  ther  was  the  row 
about  young  HIXSON'S  nikkerbockers  and 
an  orfle  shindy  becos  I  contribbutid 
anuther  fellers  nightshirt  and  football 
jersey.  Ass  I  sed,  these  things  dident  do 
me  any  good :  I  only  wanted  to  bennyfit 
our  brave  Difenders  at  the  Frunt :  and 
yet  they  maike  orl  this  fuss  ;  I  got  so 
enoide  ;  oh,  its  sikkening. 

Rasing  sutch  obstickles  and  objektions 
hass  had  a  most  discurridgcing  efect  upon 
the  pastryotic  portion  of  the  school :  in 
fackt  most  of  them  gave  it  up  in  disparo 


and  sed,  oh  blow  the  Fund — it 's  an  orfle 
pitty  all  the  same  though. 

Yours  affeckshuntly, 

MAX. 

P.S. — I  rote  this  yestiddy  and  this  after- 
noon being  a  £  holiday,  TOMMY  and  me, 
quite  forgeting  the  surcumstances,  went 
to  the  tuck  shop  and  beeing  rarthor  short 
of  tin,  wee  spent  about  harf  of  your  dough- 
nation  in  tarts  and  ices  and  lemmernade 
and  things.  It  was  dun  in  compleat 
absens  of  mind  and  I  must  ajopolise — I 
meen  ajolopise — for  the  misteak. 


NOMENCLATURE  RR  SOUTH  AFRICA. — The 
various  political  parties  are  now  known 
as  Pro-Boers,  Anti-Boers,  and  Uncle 
Kruger  Boers — all  "  bores  "  more  or  less. 


34.8 


PUNCH,  OK  THE  LONDON  CHABIVAEI.  [NOMMBEB  i-s,  1901. 


JUSTIFIABLE      SLANG. 

November  4th,  5th,  and  6th. 
"Err  THICK,  AIN'T  IT  !" 


LIVES  OF   GEEAT  MEN. 
No.  V. — HOMER  THEOPHILUS  EENTON. 
GREATNESS  !    "What  is  it  ?    To  be  born  a  Prince, 
To  pule  in  purple  swaddling  clothes  and  chew 
"With  toothless  gums  a  natal  silver  spoon, 
Is  nothing  :  any  self-respecting  babe, 
If  but  his  fate  shook  out  the  glittering  chance, 
Could  do  it,  so  to  speak,  upon  his  head. 
How  oft,  unless  our  novelists  have  erred, 
The  babes  of  humble  ploughmen  have  been  changed 
At  birth  for  babes  of  lordly  parents  born. 
The  little  changelings  looked  so  much  the  same, 
The  high-born  and  the  lowly  :  both  had  heads, 
Legs,  arms,  and  all  that  may  pertain  thereto. 
Both  had  been  dipped,  it  would  appear,  in  port, 
And  had  retained  the  colour  of  the  wine. 
Both  closed  their  fists  and  in  their  leisure  time 
Sparred  a  brisk  round  or  two  with  unseen  foes. 
Both  yelled,  and  took  their  nourishment  with  zest, 
Had  blobs  for  noses,  little  beads  for  eyes, 
Bats'  wings  for  ears,  and  both  were  formed  to  be 
The  fond  delight  of  grandmammas  and  aunts. 
In  fact  there  was  no  difference,  and  they  grew 
"Without  a  murmur  to  their  changed  estates. 
GILES  was  a  Viscount,  but  he  scared  the  birds, 
Herded  the  sheep,  or  drove  a  team  a-field. 
The  Viscount  MONTGELAS,  his  true  name  GILES, 
Was  swished  at  Eton,  went  to  Trin.  Coll.  Cam., 
And,  later,  drove  his  team  to  Hurlingham. 
He  took  his  swishings  like  the  lord  he  wasn't, 
Became  a  blood  at  Cambridge,  and  was  famed 


As  polo-player,  hunting  mail  and  shot. 

His  talents  in  the  House  of  Lords  were  such 

That  he  was  made  an  under  secretary ; 

And  men  remembered  his  great  grandfather, 

And  hailed  him  very  chip  o'  the  ancient  hlo.ok, — 

What  time  poor  GILES,  the  true-born  chip  of  chips, 

Within  whose  veins  the  blood  of  many  peers 

Blended  and  ran,  was  ploughing  steadily, 

And  sowing  seed,  and  bringing  up  a  brood 

Of  lusty  children  in  his  cottage  home. 

Then  came  the  crash — a  foster-mother  sjp.oke, 

Pricked  by  her  conscience,  and  revealed  the  fraud. 

And  then — but,  bah !    I  'm  straying  from  my  task : 

I  only  meant  to  show  that  men  may  be, 

If  a  rash  foster-mother  should  misguide 

Their  destinies,  far  greater  than  themselves 

Without  so  much  as  lifting  up  a  hand. 

These  rouse  no  admiration  in  my  mind, 

Although  I  envy  them  their  wealth  and  rank, 

The  gold-topped  fittings  of  their  dressing-bags, 

Their  rent-rolls  and  their  horses  and  their  lands, 

And  all  their  store  of  studs  and  links  and  pins, 

Their  valets  and  their  footmen  and  their  coats, 

Their  fancy-patterned  waistcoats  and  their  ties, 

And  the  meek  deference  of  men  they  meet ; 

And,  above  all,  the  gay,  the  reckless  ease 

With  which  they  put  a  penny  in  each  slot 

At  railway  stations  on  bank-holidays. 

Oft  have  I  seen  them,  caring  not  a  whit 

Though  the  false  dial  should  declare  their  weight 

As  eighteen  stone  and  then  should  make  it  ten, 

Or  even  if  the  coin  that  should  have  drawn 

A  pure  fruit  tablet  from  its  coy  recess 

Produced  a  box  of  matches  to  their  grasp. 

Yet  I  admire  them  not,  but  I  admire 

Men  who  achieve  their  greatness  for  themselves  : — 

Of  these  was  RENTON,  HOMER  T.,  the  bard. 

Poets  are  made  :  their  wildly  rolling  eye, 
Their  hair,  the  poses  which  they  use  to  bore  us, 

Are  art's,  not  nature's,  and  they  give  the  lie 
To  what  was  idly  said  by  ancient  FLORUS. 

If  metric  fame  from  early  youth  they  're  bent  on, 

They  make  themselves  :  this  was  the  case  with  RENTON. 

A  Rector  I  have  seen  in  early  days : 

He  wished  for  things,  but,  having  sent  his  wish  up, 
He  worked  with  might  and  main  to  win  such  praise 

As  might  entitle  him  to  be  a  Bishop, 
Until  he  realised  his  youthful  dreaming, 
And  blossomed  out,  lawn-sleeved  and  bland  and  beaming. 

Jobbers  who  haunt  the  Stock  Exchange  are  prone 
To  raise  their  voice — they  do  not  often  spare  it. 

From  some  exalted  perch  they  shout  alone ; 
This  is  the  way  in  which  they  millionaire  it. 

They  end,  although  their  manners  are  not  courtly, 

Park-Laned  and  shooting-boxed  and  very  portly. 

And  I  have  watched  a  barrister  apply, 
His  subtle  mind  to  many  a  complex  problem. 

The  fees  were  great  and  his  ambitions  high  ; 
He  knew  solicitors  and  how  to  nobble  'em. 

And  while  his  arguments  the  Court  were  shaking, 

I  felt  I  saw  a  Law  Lord  in  the  making. 

All  these  I  knew  ;  but  never  till  I  met 

HOMER  T.  RENTON  had  I  watched  a  poet, 
Or  seen  him  keep  his  plant  of  metre  wet 

With  studious  water  that  might  help  to  grow  it. 
He  was,  in  fact,  a  most  industrious  climber 
Up  fame's  high  hill,  this  manufactured  rhymer. 

(To  be  continued.)  R.  C.  L. 


13;  1901." 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


349 


Huntsman. 

Whip.  "DON'T  KNOW 


A    MATTER    OF    HABIT. 

"WHO'S   THIS   GENT,    TOM,    'AS   BEEN   OBSTRUCTIN'   EVERYTHING   ALL   MORNIN'  ?  " 


'IS   NAME  ;   BUT   I   'EAHD   SAY  AS   *E 'S   ONE   O*   THEM   IRISH   MEMBERS   0*   PARLIAMENT." 


.  COURTSHIP  A  LA  GALTON; 

Or,  An  Idyll  of  To-morrow. 

[Dr.  FEANCIS  GALTON,  in  a  recent  lecture  at  the  Society  of  Arts, 
on  "  The  Possible  Improvement  of  the  Human  Race,"  recommended  the 
granting  of  diplomas  of  matrimonial  fitness  to  a  select  Class  X  of  young  men 
and  women,  adding  that  personal  likes  and  dislikes  would  not  materially 
vitiate  the  success  of  such  unions.] 
Enter  severally  STREPHON  and  PHYLLIS  (strangers  to  each  other). 

STREPHON  sings  : 
STAY,  maiden,  prithee,  a  word  with  you — 

Not  for  long  will  I  detain  you  ; 
But  I  have  a  business  plan  in  view, 

That  I  'in  anxious  to  explain  you. 
"We  haven't  been  introduced  as  yet — 
I  don't  know  your  name,  I  much  regret ; 
But  time  is  pressing,  and  I  must  seize 
This  chance  of  an  interview,  if  you  please, 
For  Anthropology  is  the  cause 
Why  here  for  your  kind  reply  I  pause, 
And,  believe  me,  I  wouldn't  the  same  expect 
If  I  didn't  belong  to  the  Class  Select 

(My  diploma  has  just  been  granted). 
I  am  one  of  Class  X,  to  be  quite  correct — 
My  meaning  I  hope  you  now  detect, 

Verb.  sap.  is  all  that 's  wanted  ! 


PHYLLIS  replies : 
You  astonished  me,  Sir,  I  own,  a  bit 

With  your  somewhat  sudden  greeting  ; 
Your  name  to  reveal  you  still  omit 

At  this  oar  initial  meeting  ! 
However,  this  lapse  of  etiquette 
I  will  overlook,  as  although  you  met 
A  girl  that  you  doubtless  thought  alone, 
I  too  have,  on  paper,  a  diaper  one ; 
I  carry  it  with  me  where  I  go, 
For  when  you  may  want  it  you  never  know — 
The  fact  is,  I  'm  also  a  Galtonite, 
And  into  Class  X  I  passed  all  right 

With  honours  in  ample  measure  ! 
An  exchange  of  documents  you  'd  invite  ? 
I  gather  you  'd  like  of  mine  a  sight — 

Very  well,  here  's  mine  with  pleasure  ! 

Together  : 

Well  {  PHYLLIS  \  I  'm  glad  to  know  your  name  ; 
I STREPHON  ) 

Our  mission  in  life  appears  the  same  ! 

Our  mutual  love  or  hate — what  matter  ? 

No  need  to  quarrel  or  woo  or  flatter — 

Our  union  is  in  Galtonian  taste, 

So  now  to  the  Registry  let 's  make  haste  !      [Exeunt. 


350 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[NOVEMBER  13,  1901. 


NOT    NOVEL. 

[The  reading  public  ...  is  still  eagerly  devour- 
ing the  threadbare  Russian  '  Nihilist  novel.' " — 
Laily  Press. 

"ON  THE  STEPPES." 

A  Nihilistic  Novel. 

HURRYING  down  the  Nevski  Prospect, 
clad  in  heavy  sables,  went  IVAN  BLACK- 
BROWSKI.  Snow  was  falling :  Droski 
drivers  were  urging  along  their  steeds — 
always  three  abreast,  always  at  full 
gallop,  always  threatened  with  the  driver's 
upraised  whip  (unless  the  pictures  are 
hopelessly  wrong) :  the  sleigh  bells  made 
mournful  music  for  the  mujilt — they  are 
all  mujikal  in  Russia. 

At  the  corner  house — a  Pitbski — IVAN 
BLACKBROWSKI  suddenly  paused,  and 
turned  abruptly  in. 

But  he  was  not  unobserved,  and  when, 
an  hour  later,  he  emerged,  somewhat 
xqnijfski,  from  vodka,  a  dark  figure  fol- 
lowed him  on  hands  and  knees,  through 
the  deep  snow.  It  was  that  of  an  Agent 
of  the  Third  Section — ALEXIS  RUNIMINSKI 
— an  Extra  Special  constable.  "Wearing  a 
false  nose  and  whiskers,  he  knew  that  he 
would  not  be  recognised,  and  therefore 
kept  close  to  his  quarry.  RUNIMINSKI  was 
the  most  celebrated  living  "Agent  of 
Secret  Service  "  (A.S.S.),  and  well  had  he 
deserved  that  proud  title. 

IVAN  BLACKBROWSKI  had  never  been  an 
upright  man ;  under  the  influence  of 
eleven  split  vodki,  he  was  less  so  now 
than  ever ;  but  he,  nevertheless,  made 
rapid  progress  as  he  crossed  the  bridge 
over  the  Neva,  though  he  had  neva — beg 
pardon,  never  —  been  that  way  before. 
The  Police  Agent  kept  up  with  difficulty, 
by  reason  of  proceeding  on  hands  and 
knees.  "Not  a  knees-y  task!  "  he  mut- 


was  shot  sharply  down  the  Steppes,  and 
measured  his  length  upon  the  snow-white 
mantlet  covering  the  earth. 

The  emissary  of  the  Third  Section 
slowly  rose  and  rubbed  himself  with  deep 
thought  and  a  fur-lined  glove. 

1 '  Foiled !  "  he  muttered ,  darkly.  ' '  Clear- 
ly, when  a  man  walks  into  a  house,  in 
Russia— or  at  all  events,  in  a  "  Russian  " 
ROVel_there  must  be  danger  to  the  White 
Tsar."  (N.B.— For  the  benefit  of  the  un- 
initiated, we  may  mention  that  there  are 
no  black  or  coloured  Tsars  about.)  "I 
will  at  once  inform  Prince  ORFULTOFF  at 
the  Crys— the  Winter  Palace." 

Prince  SERGIUS  ORFULTOFF  was  of  the 
bluest  blood  in  Russia:  "Blue  SERGIUS" 
was  his  sobriquet.  He  was  very  near  the 
Throne  (especially  when  riding  a  restive 
horse):  ho  was  rich  and  powerful.  He 
looked  from  a  window  of  his  castle,  and 
said :  "  As  far  as  eye  can  reach,  all  this  is 
mine."  It  was  a  lie  ;  but,  still,  it  afforded 
him  a  cheap  form  of  entertainment,  and  he 
often  indulged  himself  thus. 

Equerry  and  Grand-Hereditary  Trousers- 
Stretcher  to  the  Tsar,  he  was  proud  as 
Lucifer — for  whom  he  was  quite  a  match. 

silken 


in     the     gorgeous 
which   he    reclined,    and    a 


tered,  grimly.  But  soon  his  patience  was 
rewarded ;  for  BLACKBROWSKI  stopped  at 
a  house  opposite  the  fortress  of  St. 
Peter  and  St.  Paul  (must  drag  this  in, 
somehow).  Here  he  paused,  irresolute — 
but  a  deftly  aimed  snowball  alighting 
in  his  left  ear,  coupled  with  the  ribald 
laughter  of  the  smorlkadld  who  had 
thrown  it,  decided  him.  "  I  will  go  on 
to  the  Steppes,"  he  murmured.  He  gave 
one  rap  with  the  knocker,  the  door 
opened  as  though  by  magic,  and  the 
conspirator  disappeared  within. 

The  Police  Agent  smiled  grimly. 

"He  is  mine — Siberian  mine — for  now 
I  know  the  secret  signal.  I  have  cap- 
tured the  knock ! " 

He  grasped  his  revolver  and  commenced 
the  ascent  of  the  Steppes.  At  the  top, 
he  seized  the  knocker  and  gave  a  clever 
imitation  of  IVAN'S  summons.  Then  he 
turned  away  and  stared  up  at  the  grisly 
fortress  opposite. 

With  equal  celerity  the  door  was  again 
opened,  and  a  heavily  shod  foot  came  into 
such  violent  contact  with  the  rear  eleva- 
tion of  the  Police  Agent,  that  the  latter 


Revelling 
cushions  on 

twopenny  manilla,  held  lovingly  between 
his  white  bejewelled  fingers,  Prince 
ORFULTOFF  was  languidly  conversing  with 
the  Court  physician,  Dr.  KURAKOFF. 

"  A  slump  in  Nihilism,  eh,  mon  Prince  ?" 
asked  the  latter. 

"Yes.  This  week  we  have  only  had 
three  attempts  on  the  TSAR'S  life.  I  fear 
he  is  beginning  to  miss  the  daily  excite- 
ment." 

A  tap  on  the  door  was  followed  by  the 
appearance  of  a  Secretary. 

' '  Another  plot  ? ' '  asked  ' '  Blue  SERGIUS  ' ' 


wearily,  as  he  stuck  a  second,  and  then 
a  third  "  twopenny  "  between  his  pearly 
teeth.  He  lit  the  cigars  with  a  match 
drawn  from  a  diamond-covered  box,  and 
then  said — 

"Where  are  the  Police  ?  " 
'  The  Chief  Bobbikoff  now  stands  upon 


doormat,  awaiting  your 
KURAKOFF,  the  Equerry 
And  the  Doctor  went, 


the    Kurdish 
pleasure." 

Turning    to 
briefly  said — 

"Get   out." 
hurriedly. 

The  Chief  of  the  Third  Section  entered, 
and  struck  an  attitude. 

"I  have  discovered  a  plot " 

"Building  plot?"  queried  ORFULTOFF, 
cynically,  and  pulling  lightly  at  his  three 


he  is  a  notorious  Anarchist — to  a  meeting- 
place.  '  He  traced  his  little  footsteps  in 
the  snow,'  "  quoted  the  Bobbikoff,  who  was 
poetical,  and  sometimes  made  a  few  versts 
himself.  Ho  reeked  of  vodka,  and  the 
Prince  drew  back  shudderingly — this  was 
a  man  who  always  made  his  presence 
smelt — felt,  we  mean. 

Then  "  Blue  SERGIUS  "  aroused  himself ; 
' '  Arrest  everybody  you  happen  to  see. 
Lodge  them  all  in  the  fortress— torture 
them  on  Tuesdays  and  Fridays — have  them 
whipped — your  executioner  is  '  a  thing 
of  knout.'  And  afterwards  we  will  send 
them  to  Siberia.  Stay — perhaps  we  had 
better  try  them  first.  Bring  the  bombs 
into  Court,  and " 

"But  there  are  no  bombs." 

"Get  some,  then.    Stuff  some  incrimi 
nating  papers  into    their  pockets.    Say 
they  are  Polish — probably  their  speed 
will  be  un-polished  if  they  come  from  the 
Volga— they  are  all   very  Volga    there 
And  now,  away  !     Report  to  me  at  th< 
Palace,   where   I   shall   be  playing   half 
penny  nap  with  the  ROMANOFFS." 

And  the  Bobbikoff  awayed. 

A  month  later,  included  in  the  chain 
gangs  wearily  tramping  the  Great  Siberiai 
road  to  Tomkatz,  were  BLACKBROWSKI  am 
six  others  captured  with  him.  These 
seven  were  a  limited  company,  of  whom 
one  DEMETRIUS  DIVIDENDSKI  was  the 
chairman.  This  man,  together  with  SACHA 
KASKOWHISKI — a  very  ardent  spirit — and 
the  beauteous  Princess  OLGA  SOSSIDGE- 
SKIN,  formed  a  daring  plan  of  escape. 
One  night,  soon  after  arriving  at  a  dreary 
post-house,  the  Chairman  rose  and  said  : 

"  Gentlemen "  when  the  report  of  a 

pistol  interrupted  him.  "We  will  take 
the  report  as  read,"  added  DEMETRIUS 
pleasantly.  "  Gentlemen,  should  you  per- 
severe in  dragging  us  to  the  mines  we 
shall  at  once  take  possession  of  them  in 
the  name  of  the  company,  and  issue  to 
you  shares  (with  unlimited  liability).  Your 
sole  escape  from  that  is  to  release  us — 
your  prisoners — at  once.  What  say  you  ?  " 

He  looked  round,  but  the  captives  were 
alone — their  guards  had  fled  into  the  night 
at  the  Chairman's  threat. 

The  unhappy  prisoners  were  free.  Joy- 
fully they  broke  into  the  Russian  National 
Anthem — broke  into  it  so  severely,  that 


it  was  hopelessly  shattered.  They 
escaped  "the  stepper,"  and  were  ' 
the  Steppes." 


had 
'On 


cigars. 


Tsar ! ! ! 


-a  plot  to  assassinate  the   White 


"That  all  ?  Couldn't  you  start  something 
more  original?"  asked  the  Prince,  lan- 
guidly. 

"  RUNIMINSKI  has  followed  a  notorious 
Anarchist— at  least,  we  (the  Police)  don't 
know  anything  of  him,  so  we  conclude  that 


ON  THE  UNDERGROUND  ELECTRIC 
SCHEME. 

(By  a  Constant  Sufferer  in  tJiis  line,  of 

business.) 

Lei1  YERKES  and  PERKH 
Provide  the  works, 
And  we  shall  bless  the  givers 
If  YERKES  and  PERKS 
Get  rid  of  jerks, 
Which  now  disturb  our  livers. 


NOVEMBER  13,  1901.]  PUNCH,  •  OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  351 


UJ 

X 

o 


UJ 

x 

H 


o 

2 

o 

OL 

6 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  T.ONDON  CHARIVABI. 


who  could  not   produce  enough  coal  to 
boil  the  kettle  for  breakfast. 

Then  again,  on  engaging  a  servant,  the 
first  question  put  by  the  mistress  of  the 
house  would  be,  "How  much  carbon  did 
you  produce  a  day  in  your  last  situa- 
tion?" 

The  despair  of  Lord  LONDONDERRY  and 
other  pit-owners  would  doubtless  be  very 
great,  but  the  advantage  to  the  human 
race  would  be  enormous.  For  instance, 
orators  might  make  their  own  gas  and 
locomotive  drivers  stoke  their  own  en- 
gines. As  to  the  limited  companies 
which  could  be  floated  on  the  scheme, 
the  prospect  of  these  undertakings  opens 
up  vistas  of,  at  least,  sixty-one  million 
tons  of  gold — instead  of  carbon.  Do,  Sir, 
put  your  powerful  brain  to  work  and 
ionstruct  the  apparatus  which  I  venture 
o  suggest. 

In  the  fairy  tales  of  old  beautiful  prin- 
jesses  used  when  they  spoke  to  drop  pearls 
from  their  rosy  lips.  Let  there  fall  black 
diamonds  from  our  dearest  and  best,  and 
they  will  be  worshipped  by. 

Your  obedient  Servant, 

NEHEMIAH  COKE. 
Newcastle-on-Tyne. 

P.S.— The  scientist  does    not  seem  to 
ive  either  his  name  or  address,  but  you 
know  everybody — that  is  no  objection. 


Nurse.    "On,  DEAR!   Miss  JANE,  AN'  JUST  AFTER  YOU'VE  BEEN  SAYING  YOUR  PRAYERS 

TO   BE   A   GOOD  GIRL." 

Jane.  "WELL,  I  DIDN'T  REALLY  WANT  TO  BE," 


HUMAN  COALFIELDS. 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCH,— A  clever  statisti- 
cian has  stated  that  the  volume  of  car- 
bonic acid  exhaled  by  a  healthy  person 
in  twenty-four  hours  is  about  15,000  cubic  i 
inches,  containing  about  six  ounces  of  | 
solid  carbon.  This  is  at  the  rate  of  137 
pounds  avoirdupois  annually.  Averaging 
the  human  race  at  a  thousand  millions, 
the  scientist  calculates  that  they  breathe 
out  every  year  sixty-one  million  tons  of 
solid  carbon,  or  nearly  twice  as  much 
as  the  total  export  of  coal  from  Great 
Britain. 


I  write  to  you,  Sir,  as  the  most  profound 
thinker  and  most  enlightened  chemist  of 
the  day,  to  know  whether  you  cannot 
invent  a  little  apparatus  to  be  fitted  over 
the  mouth  of  every  human  being,  thus 
converting  him  or  her  into  a  personal 
coal-scuttle?  Think  of  the  saving  to  the 
pocket  of  the  householder  in  winter  when 
each  member  of  his  family  shakes  the 
quantum  of  carbon  into  the  grate  ! 

And  then,  how  would  it  not  affect  the 
question  of  marriage  ?  Two  healthy  young 
"  carbonisers  " — title  registered  —  would 
be  much  more  likely  to  do  Avell  in  the 
world  than  a  couple  of  sickly  individuals 


DISILLUSIONED ! 

(A    Song   of  the  Strand.) 

I  MET  an  ancient  in  the  Strand, 

An  exile  long  was  he 
Abroad  far  from  his  native  land 

In  lands  beyond  the  sea. 
He  marvelled  much  at  what  he  saw 

On  every  side,  and  said : 
"  Does  London  feed  her  greedy  maw 

"With  loaves  of  Strand-grown  bread  ? 
For  here  I  see  the  furrows  made, 

No  doubt  by  some  steam  plough  ; 
The  floors  for  threshing-floors  arc  laid, 

The  seed  is  sown  ere  now. 

"Instead  of  roads  of  dirty  brown 
We  shall  have  fields  of  corn ; 

The  harvest  home  of  London  town 
The  country  put  to  scorn. 

O  great  and  noble  thought  to  bring 
The  farmer  to  the  Strand : 

0  L.C.C.,  of  you  I  '11  sing, 
A  great  and  noble  band." 

1  undeceived  that  ancient  man, 
The  iipturned  soil  reviled ; 

He  left  me  saddened,  weird,  and  wan, 

With  all  his  hopes  defiled. 
The  corn  lands  that  he  thought  so  sweet 

Made  corns  alone  for  weary  feet. 


THE  LATEST  NAME  FOR  A  SUBURB  SOUTH 
OF  THE  THAMES  WHERE  LARGE  BUILDING 
OPERATIONS  ARE  GOING  ON. — Mortar-and- 
Brickston. 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI.— NOVEMBER  13,  1901. 


THE   MITYLENE   MARCH. 


(Solo  /or  \lie  French  Horn.) 
THE  SULTAX.  "  I   DON'T  LIKE  SOLOS  !     GIVE  ME  THE  GOOD   OLD-FASHIONED  EUROPEAN  CONCERTO  !  " 


NOVEMBER  13,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


355 


DOMESTIC  ECONOMIES. 

Miss  SNIPPET. 

GWENDOLEN  was  resolved  to 
lose  no  time  in  setting  to  work. 

"Your  study  table  is  the 
best  place  in  the  house, 
JACK ' ' 

"Then  I  may  as  well  cycle 
over  to " 

"JACK!" 

The  reproach  in  GWENDOLEN'S 
tone  was  a  slap  in  the  face 
to  me.  I  had  been  rather  con- 
gratulating myself  on  the  good 
grace  With  which  I  agreed  to 
forsake  my  tragedy  for  the 
morning,  and  here  was  GWEN- 
DOLEN looking  at  me  as  if  I 
were  the  most  heartless  of 
monsters. 

"My  dear,"  I  began,  "if 
you  would  rather  I  stayed " 

"  I  thought  you  were  going 
to  help  ine." 

"Help  you?  Todressmake?" 

"  Oh,  of  course,  if  you  're  so 
superior  that  you  can't  con- 
descend to  anything  lower 
than  blank  verse " 

"My  dear,  you  know  it  is 
not  that.  But  I  simply  know 
nothing  about  dressmaking. 
If  you  will  teach  me,  I  will  try 
to  learn." 

"  Ah,  that 's  my  own  dear 
JACKUMS!  " 

"It's  perfectly  simple," 
explained  GWEN  after  we  had 
undone  our  packages.  "  You 
just  pin  on  the  patterns  and 


JUST  NOW  "  A  TAKING  SUBJECT  "  FOR  CONVERSATION. 

THESE  THREE  MEN,  JUST  BACK  FROM  THE  FRONT,  AND  RECENTLY 
DISCOVERED  IN  THE  SMOKING  ROOM  OF  A  WELL-KNOWN  SERVICE  CLUB, 
ARE  NOT  (AS  ONE  MIGHT  POSSIBLY  IMAGINE)  RELATING  THEIR  ADVEN- 
TURES OF  THE  CAMPAIGN,  BUT  ARE  DESCRIBING  THE  HORRORS  OF 

THEIR   RESPECTIVE  A'ACCINATIONS. 


or  heard  of  GWENDOLEN.  I  be- 
came alarmed,  and  creeping  on 
tiptoe  to  the  study  door,  I 
listened.  I  heard  the  sound 
of  sobs.  An  instant  more  and 
GWENDOLEN  was  in  my  arms. 

"  B-b-both  the  sleeves  are 
for  the  right  arm,"  she  mur- 
mured tearfully,  "and  there 
isn't  any  b-b-back  to  the  b-b- 
b-b-bodice." 

Wondering  how  even  so 
much  had  been  extracted  from 
the  mysterious  fragments,  I 
attempted  consolation.  "We 
must  get  some  more  cloth, 
love." 

"  It  was  the  last  b-b-bit.  It 
was  such  a  b-b-bargaiu." 

Clearly  the  case  was  des- 
perate; and,  at  any  cost,  GWEN 
must  be  consoled.  "Let  us 
give  these  to  the  poor,"  I 
said,  pointing  to  the  frag- 
ments; "and  GWEN,  I've 
heard  there's  a  very  good 
shop  in  Bond  Street  where 
they  make  really  first-class 
dresses." 

The  sobs  ceased.  "  Yes,"  I 
continued,  "  the  cloth  wears 
for  ever,  and  the  cut  is  Al. 
Of  course,  it's  a  little  bit 
dearer  than  Miss  SNIPPET  ;  but 
then  you  always  look  decent, 
and  it  's  really  cheaper  in  the 
end." 

GWEN  is,  as  she  said  she 
would  be,  better  dressed  than 
ever;  and  if  we  are  ever 
troubled  by  doubts  as  to  the 
economy  of  the  change  from 


then  you  cut  round  them." 

"  I  see,"  said  I.     "  Do  I  pin  them  on    which  betokens  that  all  sense  of  humour  -t  the  SNIPPET  to  Bond  Street,  we  have  only 
anywhere  ?      I    thought,    as    there    is    a   has  fled,  and  that  she  is  not  to  be  trifled  i  to  look  at  the  Chippendale   book-case  to 


pattern  on  the  cloth,  perhaps 

"  Perhaps  it  does,"  said  GWEN. 

"  I  think  we  had  better  cut  it  on  the 
cross,"  I  hazarded. 

GWENDOLEN  looked  at  me  much  im- 
pressed. "  Where  did  you  learn  that, 
JACK?  " 

"  I  believe  I  saw  it  in  a  lady's  paper  the 
other  day.  I  thought  you  might  know 
what  it  meant." 

"  I  daresay  it's  all  right,  but  it  sounds 
rather  complicated.  I  think  AVC  had 
better  just  cut  them  anyhow." 

"  Very  well,"  I  acquiesced  ;  and,  filling 
my  mouth  with  pins,  I  proceeded  with  my 
work. 

"  They— they  look  rather  funny,  don't 
they?"  asked  GWEN,  gazing  doubtfully  at 
the  quaint  shapes  that  bestrewed  the 
floor. 

"  Very  !  "  I  agreed. 

"  I  wonder  what  this  can  be  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  must  be  the  trousers." 

"  Don't  be  silly." 

I  stole  a  look  at  GWEN.  She  was  now 
wearing  that  serious  grim  expression 


with.    I  remained  silent,  nervously  await-  j  see  what  we  saved  by  her  dismissal, 
ing  developments.     GWEN  picked  up  the 


pieces  one  by  one,  and  tried  to  fit  them 
together. 

"It's  like  a  horrid  Chinese  puzzle," 
she  sighed,  after  many  futile  efforts. 
"  Can  you  see  how  they  go,  JACK  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  if  you  can't  do  it,  how 
can  I?  " 

"  You  might  at  least  try." 

"Very  well,"  I  said.  But  before  I  had 
succeeded  in  piecing  two  bits  together, 
GWENDOLEN  took  them  from  my  hands. 

"Men  are  so  clumsy,"  she  said. 
"  You  'd  better  go  and  smoke." 

Delighted  at  the  suggestion,  I  made 
towards  the  door,  but  paused  with  my 
hand  on  the  handle.  GWENDOLEN  was 
sighing  like  a  furnace,  and  her  brow  was 
lined  with  care.  "I  wonder,"  I  sug- 


MR.  PUNCH'S  MUSELTM. — "Buckler  (Early 
Twentieth  Century  Model)."  An  exhibit 
which  exemplifies  a  curious  law  of  de- 
velopment. In  the  middle  ages  it  was 
regarded  as  a  useful  means  of  defence, 
taking  the  form  of  a  small  circular 
shield  worn  by  foot-soldiers.  After  a 
period  of  many  years'  abeyance  it  reap- 
peared as  an  item  of  naval  equipment. 
It  was  then  intended  to  be  of  so  highly 
offensive  a  nature  as  to  be  termed  a 
"  destroyer."  This  it  undoubtedly  turned 
out  to  be,  though  not  in  the  sense 
proposed.  It  proved  highly  offensive  to 
the  tax-payer  instead  of  to  the  enemy. 
It  was  so  ready  to  "  buckle  to  "  and  get  to 
work  of  its  own  accord  as  a  submarine, 
that  every  specimen,  except  this  model, 
now  lies  in  two  pieces  at  the  bottom  of 


gested,  "  if  I  should  ride  over  for  Miss 

SNTPPET?  "  one  of  the  Four  Seas  within  a  few  cables 

"iVo/"  said  GWENDOLEN,  with  great  length  of  the  shore.  Many  millions  ster- 
clecision  ;  and,  without  venturing  another  ling  were  sunk  in  this  way,  the  Admiralty 
word,  I  slunk  from  the  room.  |  professing  to  regard  their  wrecks  as  Bri- 

Some  hours  passed.     Nothing  was  seen  i  tannia's  most  effective  bulwark. 


35C 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  .LONDON  CHAEIVARI. 


[NOVEMBER  13,  .1901. 


/  LIGHTEE  .LONDON. 

An  Improbable  Dialogue-,?}  the  Future. 
-.-.IT  "was  a  sunny  moaning  in  November. 
The  elderly  gentleman  from.  Mnwangaboo 
stepped  from  the  electric  "train  on  to  the 
spotless  platform  of  the  London  terminus. 
As  he  did, -so,  another  old  gentleman, 
ruddy  and  jovial,. clasped. his- hand. 

"  TQM,.old.lellow,".-he  said,  "how  glad 
I  am  to  see  you  after. all these,  years  !  "  . 
".Why,  it's. JACK:!"  cried  the  traveller, 
4t  bless  you,  how.  well  you  look  !  "Any- 
one would  think  you  jived  in  the  country. 
And  what  weather  j you 'ye  got !  Why, 
where's  the  fog?  "  . 

"Gone!  "  said  the  other,  still  shaking 
hands  vigorously,  "of -course,  when  you 
went  out  in  command  of  that  batch  of 
rheumatic  recruits  we  were  plagued  with 
it  still." 

"  I  should  think  you  were,"  replied  the 
Colonist,  "  that  was  in  the  fifth  year  of 
the  war." 

"I  don't  remember  what  year  of  the 
war  it  was,"  said  the  Londoner,  "for  we 
lost  all  count  of  time  in  that.  I  remember 
it  was  when  the  income  tax  was  half-a- 
crown,  about  the  time  that  someone  pro- 
posed to  put  the  war  into  the  hands  of 
the  London  County  Council,  as  a  business- 
like sort  of  body.  But  don't  let 's  talk 
about  Queen  ANNE,  or  the  war,  or  any- 
thing else  that 's  over  and  done  with  at 
last.  Come  along  home  in  my  motor,  and 
tell  me  all  about  Mnwangaboo  and  your 
commissioner  ship." 

So  the  two  walked  out  into  the  clean, 
sunlit  station  yard,  where  there  was  a 
pleasant  breeze,  took  their  seats  in  the 
neat  little  carriage,  and  sped  away  over 
mudless  roadways  —  without  a  single 
trench  in  them  —  through  wide  tree- 
planted  streets,  lined  with  white  stone 
houses,  gleaming  in  the  autumn  sunshine. 
The  Commissioner  of  Mnwangaboo  gazed 
open-eyed.  Then  he  burst  out,  "But,  1 
say,  what  have  you  done  with  London? 
Where  's  the  fog  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  I 
must  be  in  Paris,  only  it 's  cleaner  than 
Paris  used  to  be  in  my 
know  this  part  at  all. 
altered  ?  " 
"Not  it!"  answered 


time.     I  don't 
Is    it   May  fair 

the  Londoner, 
"  it 's  just  exactly  where  Drury  Lane  used 
to  be.  The  atmosphere  is  rather  improved, 
isn't  it  ?  People  get  sunburnt  in  London 
in  the  summer  now.  Many  come  up  from 
the  country  in  the  autumn  to  avoid  the  fogs. 
Here 's  my  flat,  up  there  on  the  fifth  floor. ' ' 

"  Yes,  but  how  on  earth  was  it  done  ?  " 
asked  the  Colonist,  as  they  shot  up  in  the 
lift. 

"Sit  here,"  said  the  other,  pointing  to 
an  easy  chair  in  the  sunny  library,  "  and 
I'll  tell  you  all  about  it.  You  don't 
mind  the  sunshine  streaming  in?  " 

The  Commissioner  shifted  uneasily. 
"No,  perhaps  not,"  he  said;  "I  should 
never  think  of  having  such  a  thing  in 


Mnwangaboo.  Perhaps  that  blind  migl 
be  a  little  down,  -the  light  is  so  ver 
strong.  Thanks.  -Now  I  can  see  you 
Well,  how  was  it  managed?  " 

"My  .dear  TOM,'"  said  the  Londoner 
"the  simplest,  thing  in  the  world,  whe 
once    it    was    thought  of.      The  Count 
Council  of  that  time  began  some  wonder 
fully  elaborate  experiments.     They  thre 
up  little  air  balloons,  and  they  fired  o 
little  rqelcets,  and  they-  took  the  tempera 
ture.dPthe  fog,  a,ndrttiey  noted  whether  i 
was  dry  or  moist,  and  they  calculated  hoi 
many  inches  away   they    could    see    a 
omnibus — you    remember    the   old   omni 
buses  ?    By  Jove,  how  people  would  laug 
if  they  saw  one.  now,  though  they  coul 
hardly  see  one  then  because  of  the  fog 
But  still  nothing  happened.   Then  suddenl 
it  occurred  to  somebody  that  there  wa 
never  a  fog  when  there  was  a  brisk  wind 
So  they  fixed  big  metal  fans  on  the  Grea 
Wheel  at  that  rather  dismal  sort  of  placi 
called    an    Exhibition,    principally    long 
passages    and    staircases  and  advertise- 
ments, don't  you  remember?    Then  they 
sent  the  Great  W'heel  round  as  fast  as  11 
would  go,  and  the  fog  cleared  off  as  far  as 
Kensington  High  Street.     They  couldn't 
get  a  breeze  farther  than  that.     However 
the  principle   of  the   thing  was  settled 
Of  course  it  was  impossible  to  have  such 
hideous  things  as  Great  Wheels  all  over 
London.     Then    somebody    invented    the 
Electric  Blowers,  which  now  keep  the  air 
in  movement  day  and  night." 

"  I  understand,"  said  the  Commissioner, 
"  how  they  move  the  fog.  But  what  takes 
the  smoke  right  away?  " 

"Why,  the  Fog  Drain  of  course,' 
answered  the  other,  "which  somebodj 
else  got  the  idea  of.  There  's  a  greal 
underground  tube  from  the  front  of  the 
Royal  Exchange  to  somewhere  beyond 
Barking  in  Essex.  It  has  a  sort  of  metal 
plug  in  it,  and  the  plug  is  moved  along 
somehow  by  electricity  and  this  makes  a 
vacuum  behind  it,  as  far  as  I  understand. 
Then  the  fog  rushes  in  and  fills  the  tube, 
and  the  plug  comes  out.  Then  another 
plug  starts,  pushes  all  this  smoky  air  out 
beyond  Barking,  and  draws  in  another 
tubeful.  I  believe  the  idea  came  from  a 
pneumatic  tube.  When  it  was  first  started 
some  stockbrokers  were  nearly  sucked  in 
from  the  steps  of  the  Royal  Exhange.  It 
Of  course  there 
other  parts  of 

After  that  they  made  Air  Tubes 
on  the  same  system  from  Knockholt 
Beeches  and  Box  Hill  and  Harrow.  It 's  a 
marvellous  improvement,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  the  Colonist,  "it's  very 
clever  and  very  wonderful,  and  no  doubi 
it's  awfully  good  for  the  health.  But 
somehow  the  old  fog  used  to  seem  home- 
like. When  I  first  went  to  Mnwangaboo, 
with  its  beastly  blue  sky  and  its  con- 
founded sunshine,  I  often  longed  for  a 
good  old  '  London  Particular  ' " 


is  better  protected  now. 
are  Smoke  Pipes  from 
London. 


"Stop!"  shouted  the  other,  "don't 
call  it  that,  or  you  '11  be  fined.-  The-news- 
paper  writers  worked 'that  name  so  hard 
that,  out  of  respect  for- DICKENS  and  to 
giave  people  from  going  crazy,  a  law  was 
made  to  inflict  a  fine  of  forty  shillings  on 
anyone  saying  or  writing  that." 

"Ah,  well,"  concluded  the  Commis- 
sioner, "  you  may  call  it  what  yoiuplease, 
and  very  likely  it 's  all  for  the  best,  But 
somehow  I  seem  to  miss  something,"' 

"By  Jove,"  cried  the  Londoner, 
impatiently,  "some  people  are  never 
satisfied  !  "  .  H.  D.  B. 

MILK— OH ! 

[According  to  the  Daily  Graphic  of  November  7, 
whiskers,  it  appears,  form  the  latest  danger  to  tbe 
purity  of  our  morning's  milk.  'The  Xow  York 
Medical  Milk  Commission  state  in  a  repojt.just 
issued  that  "the  milk  from  a  cow  that  is  milked 
by  a  smooth-faced  man  is  purer  than  the  milk  from 
a  cow  milked  by  a  man  with  whiskers,"  ihe  reason 
being  that  the  whi-kers  collect  microbes  from  the 
sir,  and  these  are  shaken  off'  into  the  milk  during 
the  process  of  milking.] 
THIS  is  the  Milk  we  pay  for. 

This  is  the  Cow  that  wasn't  a  pump, 
Nor  over  the  moon  was  known  to  jump, 
But  provided  the  Milk  we  pay  for. 

This  is  the  local  Dairyman 
Who  habitually  held  a  pail  or  can 
Underneath  the  Cow  that  wasn't  a  pump, 
But  much  too  staid  and  obese  to  jump, 
While  providing  the  Milk  we  pay  for  ! 

These  are  the  Whiskers  that  ran  to  seed 
O'er  the  face  (like  a  patch  of  garden- weed) 
Of  the  local  and  innocent  Dairyman 
Who  at  cock-crow  would  hold  a  pail  or  can 
To  comfort  the  Cow,  not  to  mention  the 

pump 

That  assisted  them  o'er  the  law  to  jump 
And  provided  the  "  Milk  "  we  pay  for. 

These  are  the  Microbes  all  alive 

Which  daily  delighted  to  take  a  dive 

"n  the  cream  from  the  Whiskers  that  ran 

to  seed 

On  the  face  (that  resembled  a  patch  of  weed) 
Of  the  hairy  unwary  Dairyman, 
Who  twice  in  the  day  would  fill  his  can 
With  the  aid  of  the  Cow  and  aforesaid  pump, 
Jntil  the  Inspector  would  make  them  jump, 
Vhile. providing  the  Milk  we  pay  for. 

'his  is  the  Baby,  five  months  old, 
Who,  somewhat  disgusted,  had  to  hold 

.  bottle  of  Microbes  all  alive 

'hat  had  q  uitted  their  perch  and  made  a  di  vo 
"rom  the  Whiskers  that  ran,  as  I  've  said, 
to  seed 

'er  the  face  (that  required  a  rake  to  weed) 

f  the  hirsute  and  hurtful  Dairyman, 
flTho  made  it  his  business  to  take  his  can 

rom  the  same  old  Cow  to  the  same  old 
pump, 

nd  rattle  his  tins  till  from  sleep  we  jump, 

nd  take  in  the  Skim  we  pay  for. 

his  is  the  Milk  we  '11  owe  for !       A.  A.  S. 


NOVEMBER  13,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHAE1VARI.  357 


358 


PUNCH    OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI.  [NOVEMBER  13,  1901. 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

THE  third  volume  of  the  Supplement,  to  the  Dictionary 
National  Biography  (SMITH,  ELDER)  brings  the  annexe  of  a  monu 
mental  work  down^tOjthe  letter  W.j  LThe  longest  and  most  im 
portant  article  is  that  on  the  late  QUEEN,  contributed  by  th 
Editor.    It  is  marked  by  that  gift  of  insight  and  grace  of  dictio 
that  distinguishes  Mr.  SYDNEY'LEE'S contributions  to  this  field  o 
literature.    It  stands  and,  -with  limitations  necessitated  by  it 
condensation,  will  remain  the  best  thing  yet  written  abou 
Queen  VICTORIA.    Other  articles  of  interest  are  those  dealing 
with  HUXLEY,   WILLIAM   MORRIS,   JAMES  PAYN,   RUSKIN,   Si 
ARTHUR  SULLIVAN,  and  Sir  JOHN  MILLAIS.     Intimate  through 
life,  in  death  these  last  two  are  not  divided  in  the  volumes  o 
the  great  Dictionary.    A  notice  of  Lord  RUSSELL  OF  KlLLOWE? 
from  the  pen  of  his  countryman  and  long-time  friend,  Lon 
Justice  MATHEW,  is  a   model    of  conciseness  and  comprehen 
siveness.    My  Baronite  turned  the  pages  in  search  of  record 
of  the  long,  honourable,  and  useful  life  of  the  head  of  the  firm 
who  have  endowed  the  world  with  this  magnificent  work.    The 
innate  modesty  of  GEORGE  SMITH  kept  him  ever  in  the  back 
ground  when  recognition  of  merit  was  to  the  fore.     It  is  quite 
conceivable  that  it  is  in  accordance  with  his  instructions  tha 
no  room  is  found  in  the  Dictionary  for  him.    That  is,  perhaps 
excess  of  modesty.     The  world  could  not  know  too  much  ot 
the  high  character  and  generous  nature  of  the  man  who,  ii: 
early  life,  discovered  CHARLOTTE  BRONTE,  and  at  the  close  oi 
his  career  lavished  care  and  money  on  an  undertaking  which 
regarded  from  a  commercial  point  of  view,  was  from  the  outsel 
hopelessly  uuremunerative.      After  all  there  is  a  fitness  in 
the  state  of  things.    WREN  has  no  monument  in  St.  Paul' 
Cathedral,   nor  has    GEORGE    SMITH  a  page  in  the    National 
Dictionary  of  Biography.    Those  who  have  the  volumes  on  their 
library  shelves  will  recall  and  adapt  the  closing  line  of  the 
inscription  on  WREN'S  tombstone,  Si  monumentum  requiris,  cir- 
cumspice. 

Of  Mr.  Punch's  Dramatic  Sequels,  by  ST.  JOHN  HANKIN 
(BRADBURY,  AGNEW  &  Co.),  it  would  scarcely  become  the 
Baron,  seeing  that  the  Sequels  bear  Mr.  Punch's  imprimatur, 
to  say  more  than  that  as  many  as  are  not  already  familiar 
with  these  Sequels  should  by  no  manner  of  means  lose  this 
chance  of  making  their  acquaintance  in  book  form ;  while 
those  who  have  recently  enjoyed  them  in  Mr.  Punch's  pages 
will  do  well  to  develop  their  appreciation  of  them  by  reperusing 
the  artistic  carrying  out  of  a  decidedly  original  idea.  The 
likenesses  suggested  by  Mr.  E.  J.  WHEELER'S  illustrations  are 
quite  in  keeping  with  the  author's  peculiar  vein  of  humour. 

"•Good  morning,'  he  said.  'It  is  good  of  you  to  come.  I 
am  sorry  I  haven't  been  able  to  shave. '  "  Thus  on  his  death- 
bed spoke  Major  Iredale,  who  really,  though  not  nominally,  is 
the  hero  of  Miss  MONTRESOR'S  fine  story,  The  Alien  (METHUEN). 
The  plot  is  reminiscent  of  the  musty  TICHBORNE  case.  But  it  is 
managed  even  more  skilfully  than  the  Claimant  conducted  his 
affair.  Whilst  the  Major  is  a  cleverly-drawn  character,  a 
simple-minded,  strictly  disciplined,  slightly  selfish,  wholly 
honest  soldier,  he  is  not  alone  in  marked  individuality.  Mrs. 
Mordant,  to  whosa  estate  he  is  heir  in  law,  is  moulded  with 
skill  and  touched  with  a  certain  grim  humour.  On  the  whole, 
my  Baronite  has  found  the  book  interesting  beyond  the  average! 
In  The  Giant's  Gate  (CASSELL  &  Co.)  the  author,  MAX  PEMBER- 
TON,  not  by  any  means  at  his  best,  gives  us  a  rather  confusing 
and  considerably  over-spun-out  yarn,  commencing  with  the 
invention  of  a  submarine  boat,  and  a  trial  trip  therein,  which  at 
once  recalls  JULES  VERNE'S  A  Hundred  Thousand  (or  whatever 
•e  number  was)  Leagues  Under  the  Sea.  After  this  there  are 
some  sensational  incidents  of  a  not  particularly  novel  character 
which  scarcely  assist  in  just  keeping  alive  to  the  end  the 
reader  s  waning  interest  in  the  story. 

My  Juniorest.  Baronitess  informs  me  that  WALTKR   CRANE'S 
beautatul   -Picture  Book  "  (JOHN  LANE),  engraved  and  printed 


by  EDMUND  EVANS,  is  a  capitally  arranged  volume  of  Fairy 
Tales,  with  numerous  original  illustrations  and  coloured  plates. 
The  old  favourites,  Goody  Two  Shoes,  Aladdin,  and  the  Yellow 
Dwarf,  are  comprised  in  this  collection.  It  will  make  many 
little  eyes  glisten  with  delight,  "and  no  nursery  which  re- 
spects itself,"  says  B.  Juniorest  aforesaid,  "  should  be  without 
this  fascinating  picture-book." 

Also,  while  on  the  subject,  my  Juniorest  Baronitess  has  not 
the  slightest  hesitation  in  recommending  Miss  KATHARINE 
TYNAN'S  latest  book,  entitled  A  Girl  o/  Gahray  (BLACKIE  AND 
SON),  to  all  young  lady  readers.  The  heroine's  devices  for 
gaining  the  love  of  her  miserly  and  evil-tempered  old  grand- 
father are  crowned  with  success ;  but  how  she  achieves  this 
my  Juniorest  Baronitess  leaves  the  readers  of  the  story  to 
discover  for  themselves. 

The  Lovely  Mrs.  Pemberton,  by  FLORENCE  WARDEN  (JOHN  LONG), 
is,  to  the  Baron's  thinking,  one  of  her  best.  It  might  have  been 
quite  her  best,  but  for  the  lack  of  originality  in  the  character 
of  Lord  Thannington,  an  inferior  variety  of  the  Lord  Steyne 
enus.  The  very  young,  very  simple,  unsuspecting  but  a 
trifle  too  artless  Nannie  is  prettily  drawn,  while  her  hus- 
band, the  youthful  solicitor,  clever  in  business,  but  stupid  to  a 
degree  as  a  husband,  is  an  artistic  study  of  character.  His 
mischief-making  sister  is  equally  good.  The  other  personages 
are  well  drawn,  and  each  one  has  a  distinct  mission  in  carrying 
out  the  perfectly  simple  but  well  worked  out  plot  of  a  thor- 
oughly interesting  story.  FLORENCE  WARDEN  evidently  intends 
young  wives  to  cull  from  it  an  excellent  moral,  which  is, 
'  Never  mind  how  dull  you  may  be  at  home  ;  never  accept  any 
nvitations  that  do  not  include  your  husband."  And  for 
husbands — 

Pray  be  careful  what  you  're  about  — 
Be  generous,  kind,  and  hearty, 

But  never  let  your  wife  dine  out 
Unless  you  are  one  of  the  party. 

And  this  is  a  nice  domestic  moral  (after  Doctor  WATTS'  style) 
of  which  all  Barons  will,  and  of  which  all  Baronesses  ought  to, 
lighly  approve. 

It  is  with  the  greatest  pleasure  that  the  Baron  welcomes  the 

•ppearance  of  a  volume  entitled  Then  and  Now  (HUTCHINSON  & 

Co.),  written  by  Dean  HOLE,  whom,  as  companion  of  MARK 

EMON,  SHIRLEY  BROOKS,  DOUGLAS  JERROLD  and  THACKKRAY, 

also  as  travelling  and  collaborating  with  JOHN  LEECH  in  their 

4ttle  Tour  in  Ireland,  and  as  cequalis  with  Sir  JOHN  TKNXIEL, 

Mr.  Punch  is  delighted  to  reckon  among  his  staunchest  friends 

rnd  earliest  contributors.    Known  to  fame  not  only  as  a  horti- 

ulturist  specially  skilled  in  rose-growing,  but  also  as  a  keen 

bserver  of  men  and  manners,   the  amiable  and  witty  Dean 

>utton-holes  the  reader  and  gives  him  some  of  his  finest  and 

reshest  observations  on  Then  and  Now,  showing  how  justly  he 

ppreciates  every  varying  phase  of  society  without  being  a 

mere  "  laudator  temporis  acti."     Not  a  hint  of  fogeyism  about 

im  ;  but  the  strong  personality  of  a  highly  cultivated— and, 

s  a  scientific  gardener,  highly  cultivating — genial,  Christian 

entleman,  the  best  type  of  an  English  clergyman  of  the  old 

chool,  pervades  the   book  throughout.    A  few  of  the  many 

ood  things  in  Then  and  Now  the  Baron  is  much  tempted  to 

uote,  but,  on  consideration,  he  will  not  make  any  cuttings 

rom  the  rose-growing  Dean's  book,  to  which,  as  to  a  garden,  he 

refers  directing  his  readers,  as  therein  they  will  find,  in  the 

etting  of  pleasant  leaves,  bright  flowers  of  genuine  humour, 

ragrant  with  the  best  and  strongest  sense. 

DOUGLAS  JERROLD's  immortal  Caudle  Lectures,  as  all  the 
/orld  knows,  first  appeared  in  Mr.  Punch's  pages,  and  there 
ade  the  most  notable  success  that  JERROLD  had  up  to  that 
me  achieved,  although,  according  to  Mr.  SPIELMANN,  quoted 
y  Mr.  WALTER  JERROLD  (who  has  written  a  preface  to  this  new 
clition  published  by  BRIMLEY  JOHNSON),  he  "always  affected 
ot  to  think  "  that  they  had  "  added  greatly  to  his  reputation." 
ut,  with  the  exception  of  the  drama  of  Black-Eyed  Susan,  is 


NOVEMBER  13,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI. 


359 


there  any  other  work  of  JERROLD'S  that  has  achieved  a  lasting 
popularity?  None.  And  specially  welcome  to  those  who  know 
their  Caudle  well,  and  to  those  who  have  yet  to  become 
acquainted  with  this  happy  specimen  of  an  ordinary  middle- 
class  couple,  will  be  this  collection  of  the  celebrated  "  curtain 
lectures,"  characteristically  illustrated  by  CHARLES  KEENE 
(perfectly  at  home  when  engaged  on  such  a  subject),  with 
delightfully  eccentric  "  head  and  tail  "  pieces  by  DICKY  DOYLE 
(whether  they  were  "heads  or  tails  "  he  won  with  both),  and 
some  cuts  by  JOHN  LEECH,  who  here  is  not  "in  it"  with 
CHARLES  KEENE.  Thoroughly  amusing,  and  therefore  highly 
recommended  by  THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


THOMPSON   ON    "TINNED   COW." 
Hi. 

WHEN  it  was  found  out  that  "Tinned  Cow"  was  a  sneak 
— by  birth,  as  you  might  say — chaps  naturally  chucked  him 
over ;  and  MAYNARD  refused  to  let  the  kid  fag  for  him  any  more ; 
and  I,  of  course,  told  him  I  was  no  longer  his  chum.  He  made 
a  frightful  fuss  about  this,  and  implored  me  to  go  on  being  his 
chum,  and  offered  me  a  Chinese  charm  that  had  undoubtedly 
been  the  eye  of  a  Buddhist  idol  in  its  time ;  but  he  was  such  an 
utter  worm,  and  took  such  a  heathen  view  of  things,  that  I  had 
to  refuse  the  charm  and  let  him  go.  He  was  frightfully  down 
about  it,  and  slunk  about  in  corners  and  offered  to  make  kites 
for  the  smallest  kids  in  the  school — simply  that  he  might  have 
somebody  friendly  to  him. 

When  I  think  he  was  beginning  to  change  his  mind  about 
England  being  better  than  China,  the  last  straw  came  in  the 
shape  of  a  new  boy  called  VERNON  VERB — a  chap  of  a  good 
age — sixteen  at  least.  He  was  the  grandson  of  a  Viscount,  or 
a  Marquis,  or  some  such  person,  and  he  explained  that  with 
any  hick  he  would  be  a  Marquis  himself  some  day,  because  his 
only  brother,  though  older,  having  shaky  lungs,  for  which  he 
was  in  the  Canary  Islands  at  that  moment,  might  pass  away  and 
lose  his  turn. 

I  heard  what  followed  from  CoRKEY  Minimus,  who  was  MlLLY'S 
spy  and  carrier,  for  which  he  got  a  peach  from  the  Doctor's 
orchard-house  now  and  again,  but  only  ones  that  fell  off.  He 
told  me  that  MILLY  received  no  less  than  three  letters  from 
VERNON  VERB  before  he  'd  been  at  Merivale  a  month.  And  the 
third  she  answered. 

So  we  knew  that  "  Tinned  Cow  "  was  done  for;  and  very 
soon  he  found  it  out  himself,  and  then  he  turned  several  shades 
yellower  and  moped  in  the  gymnasium  for  hours  together,  and 
lost  all  hope  of  doing  any  good  at  work,  and  sank  down  to  the 
bottom  of  the  Lower  Third,  and  spent  all  his  spare  time  doing 
impositions.  He  went  about  like  a  dog  that's  frightened  of 
being  kicked  ;  and  many  chaps  did  kick  him,  out  of  sheer  cheer- 
fulness, because  he  seemed  as  if  he  only  wanted  a  kick  to 
complete  the  picture.  Then,  one  day,  very  civilly,  he  asked 
"  Freckles  "  for  his  celebrated  bowie-knife  that  he  goes  bush- 
ranging  with  on  half-holidays  and  carries  inside  his  trousers 
for  that  purpose.  And  "Freckles"  very  kindly  lent  it,  after 
"Tinned  Cow"  had  promised  not  to  cut  anything  harder  than 
wood  with  it.  Then  "Tinned  Cow"  thanked  him  [and  went 
into  the  gym.,  saying  that  he  only  wanted  to  cut  some- 
thing soft.  He  didn't  come  back,  and  when  the  bell  rang, 
"Freckles"  and  I — he  being  rather  anxious  about  his  bowie- 
knife — went  up  to  the  gym.  to  see  what  "Tinned  Cow"  was 
after.  Suddenly  ' '  Freckles  ' '  shouted  out  from  the  shower-bath 
room,  and,  hearing  him  yell,  I  rushed  in.  And  there  was  the 
wretched  "  Tinned  Cow  "  in  a  most  horrible  fix.  He'd  taken 
off  his  shirt  and  given  himself  a  dig  in  the  ribs,  or  possibly  two, 
and  he  was  lying  in  a  comfortable  position  bleeding  to  death. 
At  least,  so  he  hoped  ;  and  he  begged  iis  earnestly  to  mind  our 
own  business  and  leave  him  to  "  salute  the  world,"  as  he  said, 
without  any  bother.  But  we  hooked  it  for  THW.AITES  and 


BROWNE  and  JACKSON  ;  and  they  came  and  carried  him  in ;  and 
ruined  their  clothes  with  Chinese  gore. 

Of  course  we  all  thought  "Tinned  Cow"  was  booked,  and 
"  Freckles,"  knowing  the  sharpness  of  his  knife,  said  the  kid 
must  kick  to  a  certainty  if  he  'd  used  the  knife  with  proper 
firmness.  Yet,  strange  to  relate,  he  didn't  die,  but  lived ; 
which  seemed  to  show  that  the  knife  of  "Freckles"  wasn't 
nearly  such  a  fine  one  as  he  fancied.  But  he  said  that  it  only 
showed  "  Tinned  Cow"  had  lost  his  nerve,  and  funked  what  he 
was  doing  at  the  critical  moment. 

Two  mornings  afterwards  Dr.  DUNSTAN  told  us  all  he  knew 
after  prayers  in  his  finest  style,  ending  with  a  sermon. 

"This  unhappy  Asiatic,  this  young  Celestial,  from  the  un- 
tutored and  pagan  fastnesses  of  China,  despite  months  not  a 
few  of  tuition  in  this  our  manly  and  civilised  atmosphere  of 
Merivale,  has  relapsed  upon  the  degraded  and  barbaric  customs 
of  his  benighted  country — a  proof  of  heredity  and  the  natural 
cowardice  and  baseness  of  the  human  heart  when  unillumined 
by  the  light  of  Christianity.  The  vain  folly  which  led  him  to 
his  rash  act  is  not  for  your  ears.  Let  it  suffice  that  TIN  LIN 
CHOW,  in  a  fit  of  mental  infirmity,  not  to  say  active  insanity, 
sought  to  deliver  himself  from  imaginary  miseries  by  the  act  of 
self-destruction  —  the  Harri-Kari  of  his  country,  or  Happy 
Despatch,  as  we  may  translate  it.  Thanks  to  fear  at  the  crucial 
moment,  or  an  ignorance  of  his  own  anatomy,  or,  as  we  must 
rather  believe,  the  direct  interposition  of  a  merciful  Providence, 
TIN  LIN  CHOW  failed  of  his  fearful  project  and  is  now ,  out  of 
danger.  For  the  rest,  I  may  inform  you  that  the  lad,  when  fit 
to  travel,  will  return  to  his  native  land,  and  I  can  only  hope 
and  pray  that  the  traditions  of  Merivale,  its  teaching  and  its 
tone,  will  cleave  to  him  ;  but  I  fear  that  TIN  will  all  too  soon 
relapse  into  the  pristine  paganism  of  his  unhappy  country'." 

Here  he  went  on  with  the  sermon  part,  which  I  forget. 

Of  course  the  thing  that  "was  not  for  our  ears"  was  the 
reason  why  this  little  Chinese  idiot  had  tried  to  kill  himself. 
And  that  was  because  MILLY  DUNSTAN  and  everybody  had 
chucked  him,  but  especially  MILLY.  Anyway,  his  vitals  healed 
up  In  a  fortnight,  and  after  six  weeks  or  so  had  passed  by  he 
was  Lack  at  school  again.  But  only  for  a  few  days.  Then  a 
ship  sailed  from  London  for  China  and,  as  STEGGLES  very  truly 
said,  the  only  Happy  Despatch  that  "  Tinned  Cow  "  got  was  a 
despatch  back  to  his  native  land.  And  probably  he  liked  it 
better  than  England,  when  all  was  said  and  done  ;  because  the 
schools  out  there  have  got  no  Sixth  Forms,  so  he  told  us. 
Therefore  he  '11  be  all  right  very  likely — and  live  to  thank  his 
stars  that  he  didn't  kill  himself  after  all.  Though  myself,  I 
think  he  honestly  tried  and  the  fault  was  in  the  knife.  Still, 
after  two  such  sickening  failures — I  mean  MILLY  DUNSTAN,  and 
the  attempt  to  slay  himself — I  expect  the  kid  won't  ever  want 
to  make  friends  with  girls  again,  or  try  to  Harri-Kari  his 
wretched  stomach,  but  just  lead  an  ordinary  sort  of  life  with- 
out fuss,  like  other  people  do. 

I  made  it  up  with  him  in  a  sort  of  way  after  his  attempt  to 
kill  himself  failed ;  and  he  explained  to  me  how  he  ought  to 
have  done  it ;  but  the  details  were  no  use  to  me,  because  I 
wouldn't  kill  myself  for  all  the  girls  in  the  world.  Thou 
"Tinned  Cow"  left,  and  he  seemed  sorry  to  go,  if  you  will 
believe  it,  at  the  last  moment;  and  he  promised  to  send  me 
materials  for  birds'-nest  soup  and  other  interesting  things. 
But  he  never  did ;  and  I  never  thought  he  would,  and  didn't 
count  upon  it  in  the  least,  because,  once  back  in  his  own 
country,  where  everybody  tells  lies  from  morning  till  night, 
simply  from  the  habit  of  centuries  and  centuries,  owing  to 
China  being  the  birthplace  of  civilisation,  you  couldn't  expect 
the  beggar  to  keep  his  word.  And  nobody  in  this  country  will 
ever  hear  of  him  again.  Not  that  that  matters.  But  if  I  ever 
go  to  China,  which  I  very  likely  shall,  I  may  look  him  up,  I 
think,  just  to  see  if  he  got  any  good  from  coming  over  here 
or  has  "relapsed  into  his  pristine  paganism,"  as  old  DUNSTAN 
bet  he  would.  EDEN  PHILLPOTTS. 


360  PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI.  [NOVEMBER  13,  1901 


HE    ROADS   WERE    ALWAYS    "UP"    EVEN    IN    ANCIENT    EGYPT. 

The  above,  hieroglyphics  have  been  ref.enthj  discovered  by  our  Student  in  Egyptology. 


TO  PHYLLIS-PROM   A   MILLIONAIRE. 
PHYLLIS  \  I  am  a  four-fold  millionaire, 

Three  castles  and  a  moated  grange  are  mine, 
iosirlo*  a  gorgeous  palace  in  Mayfair 

Of  rich  design. 
And  I  have  galleries  hung  with  pictures  rare, 

And  gems  outnumbering  all  the  numbered  stars 
And  priceless  fabrics,  glass  and  golden  ware, 

And  motor  cars. 
I  am  a  man  of  many-sovereign  power  • 

My  minted  sauce  of  life  do  not  disdain, 
And  I  will  on  thee  all  my  substance  shower- 
A  golden  rain. 

And  thou  shalt  delve  in  Afric's  glittering  mines, 
And  piuck      d  nuggets  from  Ausfcralia,s  b 

TS  hile  travellmg  on  our  private  railway  lines 

Marked  with  our  crest. 
And  we  will  sprinkle  with  a  generous  hand 

Our  golden  crumbs-park,  library  or  school, 
And  fling  a  com  of  vantage  o'er  the  land 
We  hope  to  fool. 


There  is  a  cosy  corner  in  my  heart 

Larger  than  that  I  late  in  tallow  made, 
Furnished  throughout  by  Love,  and  set  apart 
For  thee,  sweet  maid  ! 

I  am  a  man  of  goodly  company, 

In  which  the  great  and  rich  would  hold  a  share, 
But  all  to  thee  I  '11  give  an  thou  be  my 
Director  fair. 

In  me  thy  charms,  thy  happiness  invest, 

And  thou  Love's  daily  dividends  shalt  draw, 
Our  Mutual  Trust  shall  be  the  very  best 

Man  ever  saw.  W.  li.  .M. 


Overheard  in   the  Squashtub   Club. 

First  Member.  Now,  my  good  friend,  answer  me  this  question. 
Is  Sir  THOMAS  LIPTON  a  Liberal  or  a  Conservative  ? 

Second  Member.  I  regret  deeply  that  I  cannot  oblige  you. 
I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  to  what  party  he  belongs. 

Third  Member.  What!  you  don't  know!  Well,  I  do.  He's 
a.  capital  fellow  and  a  good  sportsman,  and  ho  belongs  to  the 
nost  peaceful  party  possible— the  tea-party,  of  course. 


NOVEMBER  20,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


361 


A  LIKENESS  OF  A  LIKENESS. 

(By  a  Theatre-visiting  Impressionist.) 
AT  the  St.  James's.  A  well  -  written 
play  excellently  acted  and  perfectly 
staged.  All  of  the  best.  Mrs.  KENDAL 
exquisite.  Full  of  charm  always,  and  in 
the  second  act  powerful  to  a  degree,  and 
in  the  third  tear  -  compelling.  At  her 
best.  Mr.  KENHAL  smooth,  suave,  de- 
lightful. The  easy  man  of  the  world,  who 
would  pass  as  "  a  good  chap."  When  the 
time  arrives  for  pathos,  pathetic.  At  his 
best.  Mrs.  BEERBOHM  TREE  worthy  third 
of  an  admirable  trio.  At  her  best.  Care- 
fully selected  company.  Miss  KATE  BISHOP 
— recalling  by  her  pleasing  presence  re- 
collections of  romantic  domestic  drama 
when  she  played  in  About  Town  at  the  first 
Royal  Court  Theatre,  well,  some  years 
ago  —  good  as  ever.  At  her  best.  In 
fact,  all  in  all,  nothing  could  be  better 
than  The  Likeness  of  the  Night. 

But.  Is  there  a  but  ?  Well,  the  story. 
What  about  the  story  ?  A  good-natured 
kind  of  man  marries  for  money.  He  is 
absolutely  correct  in  his  conduct  to  his 
wife.  No  "cruelty"  of  any  kind  that 
Sir  FRANCIS  JEUNE  would  recognise.  Well- 
conducted  menage  in  Onslow  Gardens, 
but  a  trifle  triste.  Possibly  enervating 
effect  of  South  Kensington  air,  said  to  be 
relaxing.  Second  manage  at  Hampstead. 
Wife  discovers  the  secret  and  then  com- 
mits suicide.  Widower  marries  at  Hamp- 
stead. Second  wife  the  earliest  love  of  his 
heart.  Would  have  married  her  at  first 
had  it  not  been  that  the  lady  had  passed 
out  of  his  life  when  the  temptation  of  a 
perfectly  suitable  wife  with  an  equally 
suitable  banking  account  crossed  him. 
Then  the  suitable  wife  commits  suicide, 
and  lets  the  newly-married  pair  know  the 
manner  of  her  death.  A  pleasant  legacy  ! 
And  what  do  the  newly-married  pair 
say  ?  Something  to  the  effect  that  a 
pale  face  peering  from  the  waves  (the 
vindictive  wife  had  thrown  nerself  into 
the  sea)  will  separate  them  for  ever. 
Nonsense.  Probably,  in  this  prosaic  age, 
the  husband  would  have  observed,  "  My 
own,  of  course  we  are  very  sorry 
indeed  about  poor  dear  fanciful  MIL- 
DRED. But  really,  take  it  all  round, 
we  did  our  level  best  to  behave  well 
under  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  the 
case.  You  tried  to  avoid  wounding  her 
feelings — so  did  I.  You  cooped  yourself 
up  at  Hampstead,  seeing  no  one,  and  I 
suffered  martyrdom  in  attending  the 
dreariest  of  five -o'clock  teas  at  Onslow 
Gardens.  If  it  had  not  been  for  your  well- 
conducted  dinners  I  don't  know  what  I 
should  have  done.  At  last,  when  I  thought 
all  was  going  well,  she  passes  away  in  the 
most  natural  manner  in  the  world.  Every- 
thing comes  right,  when  she  lets  us  know 
— I  can't  help  saying,  a  bit  spitefully — 
that  she  has  committed  suicide.  If  she 
had  rerliy  loved  me,  I  don't  think  she 

VOL.  CXXI 


Gent  (rushing  out  of  dub  in  a terrific  hurry}.   "I  SAY,  CABBY,  muvE  AS  FAST  AS  YOU  CAN 
TO  WATERLOO — LEATHERHEAD  !  " 

Cabby.  "  'ERE,  I  SAY,  NOT  so  MUCH  OF  YOUR  LEATHER' '*/>,  IF  YOU  PLEASE  !  " 

[Goes  off  grumbling. 


would  have  done  that."  "Yes,"  wife 
No.  2  would  have  replied,  "  I  don't  think 
it  was  quite  nice  of  her.  Don't  let  us 
think  any  more  about  her."  And  probably 
she  would  have  gone  from  their  memory. 


METEOROLOGICAL  Music.— That  eminent 
entertainer,  composer,  actor  and  vocalist, 
Mr.  ALBERT  CHEVALIER,  would  be  well 
advised  were  he  to  adapt  as  a  solo  to  the 
requirements  of  the  barometer  in  continu- 
ously wet  weather  his  capital  song  of 
"  You  can't  get  a  rise  out  of  J." 


PROBABLE  RESULT  OF  A  TRIP  OF  THE  AERO 
CLUB. — (Balloon  rises  and  reaches  Jupiter.) 
Sentry.  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  Guide- 
in-chief  (in  car).  Why,  from  the  Earth — the 
World.  Sentry.  From  where  ?  Guide-in- 
chief  (repeating).  From  the  Earth,  you 
know,  near  the  planet  Mars.  The  Earth — 
the  World  !  Sentry.  The  Earth,  the 
World  ?  Never  heard  of  them  !  Can't  rest 
here  !  Clear !  [Balloon  descends. 


A  TIP. — "  Rather  a  sore  point  with  some 
people  ' ' — the  nose  in  very  cold  weather. 


362 


PUNCH,   OR   THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI.          Jg°ILMBJE.  *JL 19Q1- 


THE  IDEOCRAT  AT  THE  DINNER-TABLE. 

i. 
AT  THE  CARLTON  RESTAURANT. 

YES,  as  you  justly  say,  the  times  are  bad, 
And  yieid  a  very  bitter  food  for  thought 
To  whoso  loves  his  country.     Take  this  war 
"Whereof  the  promised  end  is  still  to  seek. 
I  miss  that  manhood's  rage  of  sacrifice 
Responsive  on  the  instant  call  to  arms 
"Which  sent  us  out  one-third  per  cent.,  no  less, 
Of  all  our  able-bodied — I  myself, 
Though  bachelor,  in  what  request  you  know, 
Had  most  indubitably  volunteered 
But  for  the  claims  of  service  nearer  home, 
A  mine  to  run,  a  broad  estate  to  nurse, 
A  thousand  faithful  workmen's  throats  to  fill, 
Capital's  task  that  keeps  our  England  great 
By  those  same  means  that  made  us  what  we  are. 
(Waiter  !  another  Veuve,  the  '91.) 
And  here 's  this  public,  zealous-hot  of  late, 
Incurious  now  how  long  the  business  lasts, 
Impatient  only  of  the  tardy  end 
When  it  awakes  at  intervals  to  note 
Its  pockets  nearly  touched — not  theirs  alone, 
The  plutocrats',  but  such  as  yours  and  mine, 
The  not-too-gra&ping  (try  those  ortolans  !) 
Who  own  a  paltry  million,  say,  apiece, 
And  shrewdly  feel  the  pinch  of  imminent  need, 
Being  mulct  i'  th'  matter  o'  duty  laid  on  coal, 
Or  tax  on  income  earned  by  sweat  of  brow. 
You  blame  the  Government,  and  rightly  too — 
Supposed  expert  at  rounding  off  a  war, 
And  kept  for  just  that  end  by  you  and  me, 
Who  pay  them  amply,  getting  no  results. 
And  these  young  carpet  captains,  blue  of  blood, 

Sleek  idlers,  players  o'  polo,  sporting  lights, 
Pets  of  the  women,  pampered,  overfed — 
(You  pass  the  souffle?     'Tis  the  local  c/u'/'.s 

Unique  creation  !  ) — overfed,  I  say, 

Gapingly  void  of  what  intelligence 

The  leadership  of  fighting  men  demands  ! 

Why,  there  's  a  scandal  exigent  of  reform  ! 

Brave,  are  they  ?    Well,  and  what  of  that  ?  say  I ; 

It 's  in  the  incurable  English  bones  of  us. 

Instance  what  courage  served  i'  th'  face  of  odds 

To  lift  our  parents  up  the  primal  rungs 

O'  th'  ladders  you  and  I  command  to-day  ; — 

Sheer  dogged  pluck  !  but,  look  you,  closely  wed 

With  craftsman's  wit,  eye  ope  and  ear  alert 

On  track  o'  th'  main  chance,  unattainable  else. 

Plain  working  virtues  these,  and  left  intact 

To  us  the  inheritors,  who  need  them  less 

Yet  use  them  still  to  keep  the  thing  they  won  ! 
Pass,  next,  to  art  and  letters  ;  how  explain 

The  mediocrity  that  gets  us  known 

For  "  Europe's  Suburb  "  (good  PlNERO's  phrase), 

Save  on  the  ground  of  overflowing  wealth, 

Luxury's  curse  (a  kiimmel  with  your  ice? 

It  aids  digestion  ! )  luxury's  curse  that  kills 

These  soft  creative  fancies  in  the  bud  ? 

Not  so  with  our  superb  commercial  gifts  ! 

For  where,  by  now,  had  England's  name  declined 

Had  we,  the  heirs  of  easy  competence, 

So  far  forgot  the  duty  owed  ourselves 

As  to  repose  our  talents  under  earth 

In  lieu  of  turning  them  to  noble  ends, 

Divinely  discontent  with  what  we  have, 

Insatiate  of  extracting  more  from  much'? 


Thank  Heaven  !  the  Stock  Exchange  is  with  us  still, 

A  Spartan  remedy  good  against  the  germs 

Of  general  dissolution.     This  away, 

I  dare  not  think  what  fate  should  overwhelm 

A  land  so  sunk  in  comfortable  sloth. 

Another  peach  ?     You  're  sure?    Then  we  '11  adjourn 
To  th'  hall  below  for  coffee  and  cigars. 
Where  did  we  take  it  last  the  Turkish  way  ? 
Ah,  yes,  the  Place  Vendoine  !     You  run  across 
From  time  to  time  to  patronise  the  Ritz  ? 
I  also  ;  still,  for  ordinary  use, 
Being  a  busy  man  with  simple  tastes, 
I  find  the  Carlton  good  enough  for  me. 


O.  S. 


ELEGY    IN    A    COUNTRY    CHURCHYARD. 

(NOTE  FROM  THE  TRAVEL  DIARY  OF  TOBY,  M.P.) 

SCENE — A  churchyard  sloping  down  to  the  English  Channel.  ^ 
church  of  hoary  age,  famous  for  its  collection  of  skulls  datin 
back  to  the  era  of  the  Saxon  invasion.  A  still,  late  autum1 
evening.  In  the  distance,  painted  ships  upon  a  painted  ocean 
In  the  near  foreground,  two  children  playing  hide-and-see 
round  an  upright  tombstone.  Two  old  women,  in  rusty  b/aci 
frocks  with  ancient  shawls,  stroll  into  view.  One  walks  wit: 
a  crutch  ivhich  serves  to  keep  her  foot  out  of  an  open  grav 
dug  this  morning. 

First  Old  Woman  (looking  sharply  at  the  open  grave).  JAN 
MARIA  FAGG  doesn't  mind  it  now.  I  remember  me  when  shi 
was  always  up  here  on  Sunday  afternoons  putting  flowers  01 
his  grave. 

Second  Old  Woman.  Ah,  but  'e  's  been  there  a  long  time  now 
[They  seat  themselves  on  a  tombstone 

First  0.  W.  Some  folk  don't  seem  to  like   churchyards, 
nust  say  I  allus  do. 
Second  0.  W.  Yes,  it 's  so  quiet. 
First  0.  W.  It 's  getting  very  crowded. 

Second  0.  W.  And  it 's  only  ten  year  last  Michaelmas  thej 
ook  in  a  bit  of  the  medder. 

First  0.  W.  I  'm  told  that  they  're  buryin'  them  three  dee] 
low. 

Second  0.  W.    Aye,  that  '11  make  a  nice  difference.     I  wa! 
oing  to  be  buried  lip  to  Burntwood*     It 's  a  nice  place  to  li< 
n,  but  it 's  a  long  way  off  for  your  friends  afterwards.     I  'n 
going  to  lie  atop  of  my  sister~and  her  husband  over  there. 

[Nodding  with  pleased  appreciation  at  a  neighbouring  grave 
First  0.  W.  (cheerfully).  I  do  trust  they  're  not  dug  up.     Yoi 
enow,  ground  being  scarce,  they?  have  to  make  room. 
SecondO.  W.  (chuckling).  Aye,  they  ' ve  got  to  keep  the  crypt  up 
First  0.  W.  (suspecting  ]there\'x  a  joke  somewliere,  and,  noi 
eeing  it,  inclined  to  be  .nasty).    Drat  them   childer,  they  're 
•ulling  a  'sturtion.     (After  a  pause.)    What  do  you  mean  bj 
rer  crypt  ? 

Second  0.  W.  Why,  you  know,  where  they  keep  the  bones  oi 
he  early  Saxons  killed  at  Waterloo ;  naterally  they  crumble 
way  and  must  be  kept  up. 

First  O.  W.  Just  so.     Was  yer  parents  buried  here  ? 
Second  0.  W.  Only  my  father,  and  that 's  sixty  years  ago. 
le  's  over  there.     [Nodding  towards  the  bleak  side  of  the  church. 
First  0.  W.  (firmly).  He  's  been  dug  up  by  this. 
Second  O.  W.  Sure  to. 

First  O.  W.   (after  a  prolonged  pause).   I  do  say,   whatever 
others  may  think,  I  like  sittin'  in  the  evenin'  in  the  church- 
yard. 
Second  0.  W.  Yes.    After  a  cup  of  tea  it 's  soothing  like. 


HISTORICAL  ACCURACY. — It  is  not  encouraging  to  the  character 
of  the  City  of  London  for  commercial  honesty  that  its  first 
Lord  Mayor  (vide  letter  to  the  Times,  Nov.  13)  was,  in  the  Old 
English  spelling  of  the  word,  a  "  Legge." 


NOVEMBER  20,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  363 


TRAFFIC-EOTOMY. 

Dr.  L-nd-n  C-nty  C-nc-l  (to  his  patient,  Father  London],   "FEEL  A  CHOKING  SENSATION,  EH  ?    An— A  BIT  CONGESTED.     You  SMOKE 
TOO  MUCH.    WHAT  YOU  WANT  is  A  LITTLE  SYSTEM  OF  TUBES— QUITE  A  SIMPLE  OPERATION  ! " 


NOVEMBER  20,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


365 


LIVES    OF   GREAT    MEN. 

No.  V.— HOMER  THEOPHILUS  RENTON. 
(Concluded.) 

A  DINING  club  there  was  of  men 
Prepared  to  puff  their  fellows  ; 

Whoever  wielded  brush  or  pen, 
The  rest  applied  the  bellows. 

Young  RENTON  needed  wind  to  fan 

His  dull  poetic  embers  ; 
He  much  approved  the  puffing  plan, 

And  so  he  joined  the  members. 

His  early  efforts  were  not  high — 

A  Triolet,  or  Sonnet, 
An  Ode  to  ARAMINTA'S  Eye, 

A  Ballade  on  her  Bonnet. 

These  little  tricks  of  sentiment 

Were  voted  fine,  but  finer 
His  "  Stanzas  to  our  President 

Considered  as  a  Diner." 

He  exercised  his  intellect 
On  "  CELIA  going  Shrimping," 

In  thirty  lines  of  poor  effect, 
As  limp  as  they  were  limping. 

lie  hymned  her  pink  and  tender  toes 

Divested  of  their  stocking 
(Of  course  the  beggar  called  it  "hose," 

And  seemed  to  think  it  shocking). 

He  praised  her  ankle  trim  and  neat, 
And  said,  about  her  tootsies, 

How  sweet  a  sight  a  pair  of  feet 
Without  a  pair  of  boots  is.  • 

Next  he  composed  a  Villanelle 
(He  knew  that  if  you  rub  men 

The  right  way  down  you  please  them 

well) 
On  all  his  fellow  club-men. 

His  fellow  club-men  cheered  the  lad, 
His  praise  with  praises  matching ; 

They  scratched  his  back,  for  each  one 

had 
A  back  that  wanted  scratching. 

And  so  in  time  he  came  to  be, 
Although  he  did  his  work  ill, 

The  poet  of  a  coterie, 
The  singer  of  a  circle. 

But  soon  he  felt  ambition  stir  ; 

Such  private  praise  seemed  stinted  ; 
He  found  a  pliant  publisher, 

And  got  his  poems  printed. 

Some  poets,  men  of  heart  and  soul, 
The  sort  that  fame  is  bright  with, 

Have  private  stacks  of  native  coal 
To  keep  their  fire  alight  with. 

They  count  no  cost,  but  feed  the  flame, 
However  small  their  earning, 

And  give  no  heed  to  praise  or  blame 
If  but  the  fire  keeps  burning. 

Our  hero  worked  in  other  ways 

To  eke  his  bardic  fate  out : 
Where   others    heaped   with   coal    the 
blaze 

He  went  and  raked  the  grate  out. 


Miss  Feathcrhead.  "I  HOPE  YOU  ARK  FEELING  BETTER  TO-DAY,  MR.  BOREHAM  ?  ' 
Mr.  B.  "No,  I'M  VERY  DULL  AND  LOW-SPIRITED." 

Miss  F.    "AH,    BUT  YOU  SEESI   MORE  YOURSELF  1  " 


Then,  sifting  through  his  metric  sieves 

These  literary  cinders, 
He  took  some  good  infinitives 

And  split  them  into  flinders. 

(You  see  I  drop  the  metaphor, 

But  metaphors  are  vexing  ; 
To  keep  them  up  grows  more  and  more 

Unspeakably  perplexing.) 

Of  random  rhymes  he  had  a  pack 

By  which  he  was  outwitted 
And  dragged — he    couldn't    call    them 
back — 

Beyond  what  sense  permitted. 

Nay,  sometimes  he  was  cockneyfied, 
And  when  the  day  was  "  dawning," 

The  poet  all  the  rules  defied, 
And  made  it  rhyme  with  "morning." 

Some  ravening  critics  left  their  cage — 
They  bared  their  teeth  for  tearing — 

And  took  each  palpitating  page 
And  rentjt  past  repairing. 


They  plied  their  most  sarcastic  pens 

To  make  the  poet  rue  it ; 
ROMEIKE  sent  the  specimens, 

And  so  the  author  knew  it. 

Nothing  availed  this  first  defeat 
To  keep  the  man  from  fighting  : 

He  owned  a  bullet-proof  conceit, 
And  simply  went  on  writing. 

Let  Culture,  when  she  hears  his  name, 

Deny  his  reputation, — 
A  sort  of  poet  he  became 

By  force  of  iteration. 

And,  quoted  in  no  causerie, 
Nor  talked  about  in  leaders, 

By  some  strange  chance  he  seems  to  be 
A  man  of  many  readers.        R.  C.  L. 


SUGGESTED  MOTTO  OP  THE  NEW  PRINCE 
AND  PRINCESS  OP  WALES  (in  view  of  the 
many  banquets  to  which  they  have  been 
bidden).  "J_dine,"  instead  of  "Ic/i  dien." 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

As  the  hand  of  the  dyer  is  subdued  to  the  colour  of  the 


liquid  he  works  in,  so  is  the  pen  of  Mr.  STANLEY  WEYMAN 
steeped  in  the  colour  of  the  old  French  Court.  Count  Hannibal 
(SMITH  ELDER)  presents  a  series  of  vivid  pictures  of  the  Court 
of  CHARLES  THE  NINTH,  and  of  life  beyond  its  precincts.  The 
story  opens  with  a  dramatic  scene  in  the  Louvre  on  the  eve  of 
the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew.  That  long-drawn  tragedy  is 
dashed  on  the  pages  in  all  its  lurid  terror.  Interest  properly 
centres  round  the  hero,  Count  Hannibal,  a  ruthless  soldier, 
lured  first  by  passion,  gradually  enchained  in  the  links  of  love. 
The  strange  thing  in  the  Court  of  CHARLES  THE  NINTH  is  the 
circumstance  that  the  object  of  his  affection  is  his  wedded  wife. 
The  wedding,  like  the  wooing,  is  an  affair  that  deepens  my 
Baronite  's  longing  for  the  good  old  times.  Count  Hannibal  is, 
at  least  to  begin  with,  what  we  in  these  days  should  call  a 
ruflian.  So  skilful  is  the  art  of  Mr.  STANLEY  WEYMAN  that 
the  fierce  Count  gradually  wins  his  way  into  the  reader's  esteem, 
as,  after  picturesque  vicissitudes,  he  does  into  his  wife's  heart. 
This  original  and  striking  character  is  cleverly  contrasted  with 
the  Huguenot  lover,  a  well-intentioned  but  wavering  reed. 

Mrs.  HENRY  DUDENEY'S  work  possesses,  as  a  rule,  the  definite 
charm  of  individuality.  Her  latest  novel,  The  Spindle  and 
Plough  (HEINEMANN),  is  bright  and  attractively  interesting. 
Though  not  quite  so  strong  as  her  Folly  Corner,  it  is  con- 
siderably superior  to  the  ordinary  novel.  Evidently  the 
gardening  mania,  which  has  affected  much  of  the  literature 
this  year,  has  given  Mrs.  DUDENEY  the  ingenious  idea  of  making 
her  heroine  an  uncommon  specimen  of  the  "woman  gardener." 
The  characters  all  stand  out  well  defined,  but  none  so  abso- 
lutely as  the  feather-headed,  vain,  elderly  mother,  from  whom 
the  girl  learns  to  regard  matrimony  with  the  utmost  aversion. 
Hence  the  title.  A  fresh,  breezy,  healthy  story. 

The  Young  Barbarians  (HODDER  AND  STOUGHTON),  with  whom 
IAN  MCLAREN  deals,  are  the  boys  at  Muirtown  Seminary.  They 
are  real  flesh  and  blood  and  fist  boys.  The  atmosphere  of  the 
school  breathes  over  every  page.  Splueg  (Scottish  for  sparrow), 
a  name  bestowed  by  the  boys  in  recognition  of  his  impudence, 
his  courage,  his  endurance,  his  cockiness,  and  his  boundless 
ingenuity  in  mischief,  is  a  delightful  boy — though  not  for  the 
best  parlour.  So,  on  another  level,  is  Duncan  Robertson,  The 
account  of  their  rescuing  from  embrace  of  the  swift  Tay  the 
little  English  boy,  Nestie,  is  in  its  humour  and  pathos  equal 
to  anything  IAN  McLAREN  has  written.  After  all,  doubtless 
unintentionally,  possibly  unknowingly,  the  best  character  in 
the  book  is  that  of  the  old  writing  and  mathematical  master, 
Dugald  MacKinnon,  known  to  the  boys  as  "Bulldog."  He 
is  almost  as  good  as  the  Doctor,  dear  to  Drumtochty.  My 
Baronite  feels  that  in  the  way  of  praise  of  portraiture  it  is 
difficult  to  go  beyond  that  admission. 

MARION  CRAWFORD  is  at  his  very  best  in  Marietta,  A  Maid  of 
Venice  (MACMILLAN  &  Co.).  It  is  a  powerfully  dramatic  story 
of  Venice  under  "The  Ten,"  told  in  a  series  of  picturesque 
scenes  described  in  strikingly  artistic  word-painting,  the 
action  being  carried  on  by  well-imagined,  clearly-defined 
characters.  Perfect  is  the  description  of  Venice,  and  of  the 
hour  of  Ave  Maria,  Hero  and  heroine  are  skilfully  drawn  types  ; 
while  the  quaint  old  salt  Pasquale,  retired  from  active  naval 
service  and  now  gate-porter  to  Beroviero,  the  celebrated  glass- 
blower,  is  drawn  with  the  keenest  sense  of  humour.  The 
revenge  taken  by  Anstarchi,  the  pirate,  on  the  Venetian  aristo- 
cratic dandy,  Contarini,  is  deliciously  original.  Altogether,  the 
Baron  has  no  hesitation  in  pronouncing  this  romance  equal  to 


the  best  among  the 
romantic  literature. 


same   author's  notable  contributions  to 


The  Wouldbegoods,  by  E.  NESBIT  (T.  FISHER  UNWIN),  is  more 
or  less  a  sequel  to  the  Treasure  Seekers,  which  was  the  starting- 
point  of  this  interesting  yet  every-day  family  of  boys  and  girls. 
Their  further  adventures,  and  the  practical  formation  of  their 


society  of  Wouldbegoods  is  full  of  thrilling  interest.  A  book 
to  be  read  with-  pleasure  by  even  those  old  enough  to  have 
passed  that  period  of  life  when  naughtiness  has  its  own  peculiar 
phase  of  enjoyment,  "  But, "  asks  the  Baron  of  himself,  ' '  what 
period  of  life  '  may  '  that '  be  ?  " 

No  better  gift  book  could  be  found  for  a  boy  than  G.  A. 
HENTY'S  latest  work,  entitled  At  the  Point  of  the  Bayonet, 
effectively  illustrated  by  WAL  PAGET.  Ifr  is  an  exciting  tale  of 
the  Mahratta  War,  full  of  hard  fighting,  gallant  rescues,  and 
narrow  escapes.  Harry  Lindsay  is  a  most  attractive  hero,  and 
one  for  whom  all  readers  will  have  an  intense  admiration.  The 
boys  who  are  so  fortunate  as  to  get  the  book  as  a  Christmas 
present  will  enjoy  many  hours  of  supreme  delight.  As  for  the 
taking  title,  it  sounds  sensational,  as  naturally  would  be  the 
position  of  anyone  "  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet."  The  above 
and  the  three  following  are  from  Messrs.  BLACKIE  AND  SON. 

In  the  Days  of  Prince  Hal ;  or,  The  Little  Forester.  H.  ELRING- 
TON  tells  a  pretty  story  of  a  forester's  children,  Wat  and 
Hal  Wainflete,  calculated  to  please  youthful  readers.  The 
,cene  is  laid  in  the  New  Forest.  Encountering  many  adven- 
tures and  enduring  great  misfortune,  Hal  proves  himself  a 
thorough  hero.  My  Juniorest  Baronitess  informs  me  that  she 
highly  commends  this  tale.  A  Little  Irish  Girl  (3.  M.  CALLWELL) 
gives  us  the  story  of  Noruh  O'Brien  and  her  small  brother 
Manns,  who,  in  their  encounters  with  seals,  with  smugglers, 
with  a  hard-hearted  uncle,  and  with  a  ghost,  come  off 
triumphant.  Capitally  told  and  well  worth  reading.  For  the 
Old  School,  by  FLORENCE  COOMBE,  is  a  spirited  story  for  boys, 
well  illustrated  by  PAUL  HARDY,  whose  name  suggests  that, 
were  there  a  Gardeners'  Book  published  regularly  every  Christ- 
mas, this  artist  should  be  engaged  upon  designs  in  the  "  Hardy 
Annual"  department. 

Mrs.  BOYD  spent  a  pleasant  Versailles  Christmas-tide  (CHATTO 
AND  WINDUS),  and  succeeds  in  drawing  the  reader  within  the 
circle  of  pleasure.  As  she  confesses,  Versailles  at  Christmas 
is  a  hopelessly  dull  place.  But  gentle  dulness,  hard  to  suffer 
at  close  quarters,  is  agreeable  enough  to  study  when  chatted 
of  by  Mrs.  BOYD,  her  conversation  illuminated  by  the  drawings 
of  A.  S.  B.  Of  these  there  are  fifty-three,  done  on  the  spot, 
instinct  with  life  and  colour,  of  denizens  in  the  old  French 
town.  Mrs.  BOYD  has  a  quiet  sense  'of  humour,  which  scintil- 
lates over  the  pages.  Any  in  search  of  an  attractive  Christmas 
present  should  look  up  this  dainty  volume. 

Unfortunately  for  Mr.  THOMAS  NELSON  PAGE,  A  Christmas 
Carol  delighted  the  world  many  years  before  Mr.  GRANT  RICHARDS 
published  Santa  Clans' s  Partner.  Undeterred  by  that  circum- 
stance, he  has  undertaken  to  write  over  again  CHARLES 
DICKENS'S  masterpiece.  Rarely  has  a  similar  task  been  carried 
out  with  such  daringly  close  parallel.  For  Old  Scrooge  in  his 
counting  house  in  the  heart  of  the  City  of  London  we  have 
Berrijman  Livingstone  "seated  in  his  cushioned  chair  in  his 
inner  private  office  in  the  best  office  building  in  the  City" 
of  New  York.  His  over-worked,  under-paid  clerk  is  not 
Bob  Crachit  but  John  Clark.  Tiny  Tim  becomes  the  little 
daughter  of  Mr.  Clark.  For  the  rest,  there  is  a  Christmas  Eve 
party  at  the  house  of  the  poor  clerk,  into  which  the  rich 
employer,  converted  to  Christmas,  bursts,  carries  off  the  little 
girl  in  his  sledge,  buys  up  the  contents  of  a  toy-shop,  loads  a 
Christmas-tree,  and  finally  not  only  pays  off  the  mortgage  on  his 
clerk's  house,  but  takes  him  into  partnership.  From  this  it  will 
be  perceived  that  Mr.  PAGE  is  a  bold  man.  My  Baronite  confesses 
that,  having  read  both  books,  he  prefers  The  Christmas  Carol. 
All  the  same,  Santa  Claws's  Partner  is  a  very  pretty  story. 

ALLEN  UPWARD'S  romance,  entitled  The  Ambassador's  Adventure 
(CASSELL  &  Co.,  Limited),  would  be  as  much  to  the  taste  of  the 
lover  of  "sensation"  as  a  woodcock  in  season  to  the  gourmet, 
were  it  not  that  the  story  suffers,'  as  would  the  dainty  little 
bird,  from  being  overdone.  It  has  yet  another  fault,  and  that 
is  its  form,  since  it  is  presented  to  the  reader  as  a  narrative 
told  by  the  Ambassador  himself,  for  no  particular  purpose,  to 


NOVEMBER  20,  1901.1 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


367 


M  F.  H.  "HOLD  HARD!    HOLD  HARD,  PLEASE!  !     WHERE  ARE  YOU  GOING  WITH  THAT  BRUTE? 
Diana  (plaintively).   "I  WISH  I  KNKW  !" 


an  ;  attentive  listener,  much  as  the  Ancient  Mariner  button- 
loled  the  wedding  guest,  only  that  in  this  case  the  listener  is 
ready  and  willing,  while  the  Ambassador  is  as  a  "  blessed  Ben- 
deveer,"  whose  peculiar  privilege  it  was  to  be  loquacious  at 
ihe  expense  of  a  victimised  listener.  The  story,  which  com- 
mences well  and  fairly  excites  the  curiosity  of  the  reader, 
acquires,  as  it  proceeds,  a  flavour  of  burlesque  which  is  fatal 
its  realism.  A  secret  anti-Anarchist  "  Royal  Society  "  is 
an  idea  that  should  prove  valuable  to  a  librettist  of  comic 
opera,  associated  with  a  safely  popular  composer,  but  which, 
worked  out  as  it  is  by  ALLEN  UPWARD,  is  fatal  to  a  romance 
ntended  to  be  taken  seriously.  THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


AN    AFFAIR    OF    ART. 
SCENE — Breakfast  Room. 

"  CURIOUS  assembly  this,  Aunt  dear,"  quoth  young  LARKYNS, 
reading  the  Times  aloud  to  his  excellent  relative:  "  Many  of 
;hem  emerge  for  almost  the  first  time  from  their  old  homes," — 
What  a  treat  for  them,  poor  dears !  To  see  some  artistic 
works  ?  How  nice  ! — "  and  scarcely  any  have  been  seen  lately 
11  London"  —  no  indeed!  rather  too  foggy! — "galleries  or 
sale  rooms.  ROMNEY'S  Mrs.  Trotter" — ahem!  Wlio  is  '  ROM- 
NEY'S Mrs.  Trotter '  ?  and  why  isn't  she  '  Mister  TROTTER'S  Mrs. 
TROITER  ?  '  I  should  like  to  know  !  Oh,  don't  tell  me — go  on  ! — 
"  and  the  Constable  " — Good  heavens  ! — "  being  among  the  few 
exceptions." — "Thank  you!  I  don't  want  any  more  police 
news,"  said  Mr.  L.'s  aunt.  "But  I  must  say  I  am  glad  that 
'Mrs.  TROTTER'  was  trotted  off  by  the  constable.  Whoever 
she  is,  she  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  herself."  [Needless  perhaps 
explain  that  Mrs.  L.'s  nephew  was  giving  the  old  lady  an 
extract  from  the  Times  report  of  the  GAINSBOROUGHS  — '  the 
JDear  Duchess '  included — and  other  pictures  on  view  at  the 
^.gnew  Gallery.] 


THE  BATTLE   OF  THE  NORTH. 

(Suburban  Version.) 

COME,  buckle  tight  my  hauberk  on,  and  reach  me  down  my  pike, 
My  breast  to  shield  from  peril,  and  the  enemy  to  strike, 
And,  boldly  as  I  venture  forth  to  wage  the  conflict  fell, 
Lady,  I  crave  one  last  fond  kiss,  and  bid  one  more  farewell. 

Ho  !  comrades,  muster  for  the  fray,  be  neither  slow  nor  slack, 
Seize  every  coigne  of  vantage,  and  make  ready  the  attack  ; 
And  take  what  cover  best  ye  may  to  ward  off  counterblows, 
Then  on,  press  onward  with  the  cry,  "  Confusion  to  our  foes  !  " 

We  wage  no  far-off  conflict  with  Afridi  or  with  Boer, 
A  present  peril  we  must  face,  our  foes  are  at  the  door  ; 
Brave  must  he  be  of  heart,  and  as  a  flint  must  set  his  face, 
Who  in  the  train  at  Finsbury  Park  would  struggle  for  a  place. 


COMPLIMENTARY  CHORUS, 

WHICH  the  worthy  Maestro,  MEYER  LUTZ,  may  arrange  as  a 
Complement  of  the  Complimentary  Matinee  to  be  given 
Thursday,  28th  November,  1.30  P.M.,  at  the  Gaiety  Theatre, 
where  for  so  many  many  years  he,  as  Chef  d'Orchestre,  con- 
ducted his  men  to  victory  after  victory. 

Ensemble. 

"We  give  thee  all  we  can !  though  poor 

At  best  that  offering  be, 
Our  hearts  to  LUTZ  go  out !    Now  score 

lu  notes  and  gold  may  he  ! 

"So  mote  it  be  !  "  And  sot  n<>  doubt,  will  it  be.  Here  's  his 
health,  and  all  their  healths,  for  the  "  MEYER  the  Merrier," 
and  may  he,  the  beneficiaire,  "live  long  and  prosper!  "  Prosit. 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI.  [NOVEMBER  20,  1901. 


AN  OPINION  ON  PALMISTRY. 

I  BEG  to  say  that  I  am  flattered  to  have 
been  desired  by  the  Editor  of  the  leading- 
forensic  journal  (himself  a  member  of  the 
Bar)  to  give  an  opinion  upon  the  merits  or 
demerits— as  governed  by  the  incidents  of 
the  case— of  palmistry.  I  will  not  enter 
into  the  question  -whether  palmistry  comes 
under  the  category  of  obtaining  money 
under  false  pretences,  or  any  kindred  mis- 
demeanour. I  will  merely  use  my  powers 
of  observation — which  may  be  taken  to 
comprise  a  trained  legal  intellect,  for  I 
passed,  after  not  a  few  years  of  earnest 
intellectual  endeavour,  the  examination 
necessary  to  securing  my  admission  to 
the  Outer  Bar,  and  kept  all  my  dining  terms 
with  the  same  object — to  the  sifting  of 
the  bond  fides  of  the  palmist  qua  palmist, 
and  not  qua  possible  infringer  of  the  laws 
of  the  country.  For  the  sake  of  conveni- 
ence and  also  to  render  my  opinion  more 
palatable  to  the  general  reader  I  will 
break  up  my  "points"  under  italic  side- 
headings. 

Personal  Appearance  of  the  Palmist. — 
Decidedly  prepossessing.  Costume  in 
excellent  taste.  Just  a  touch  of  the 
Oriental  in  the  shape  of  an  Egyptian 
necklace  and  a  soupcon  of  the  barbaric  in 
the  gold-mounted  shark's-tooth  brooch. 
Soft  voice — softer  touch. 

Mode  of  Procedure. — She  begged  me  to 
show  her  both  my  hands.  First  she 
examined  them  palms  uppermost,  then 
palms  reversed.  Then  she  pondered  and 
told  me  I  had  been  married.  She  added 
that  I  would  be  married  again.  This 
saddened  me,  as  I  have  kept  my  silver 
wedding,  and  would  be  glad  to  celebrate 
the  golden  or  even  diamond  anniversary 
of  my  nuptials. 

True  Indications  of  my  Disposition.— 
She  said  I  am  "generous  to  a  fault."  I 
am.  I  gave  sixpence  to  a  crossing  sweeper 
one  Christmas  Eve  ten  or  eleven  years 
ago.  That  I  am  "  almost  too  conscien- 
tious." I  am.  The  assessor  of  income 
tax  is  entirely  wrong,  or  nearly  entirely 
wrong,  in  the  view  he  has  taken  for  many 
years  past  concerning  my  return.  I  am 
"  very  fond  of  dress."  I  am.  I  have  kept 
a  favourite  frock  coat  in  constant  use  for 
the  last  ten  years.  I  am  very  fond  of  it. 
"  When  once  I  make  up  my  mind  to  any- 
thing, I  do  it."  Absolutely  correct.  The 
more  so  that  I  never  make  up  my  mind 
about  anything.  If  I  did,  of  course  I 
should  do  it. 

Questionable  indications. — My  delineator 
informed  me  that  I  was  "  cut  out  to  be  a 
soldier."  This  may  be  so,  but  it  is  only 
right  to  say  that  when  I  joined  the  Inns  of 
Court  Rifle  \Tolunteers  I  never  succeeded 
in  getting  my  dismissal  from  drill.  The 
military  evolution  technically  known  as 
"forming  fours  "  was  an  insuperable 
difficulty  to  my  advancement.  However, 
if  I  had  received  rapid  promotion  and 


.   .-.    .  i      —  — 

had  become  Field-Marshal  Commanding-in- 
Chief,  there  is  no  knowing  what  I  might 
have  done.  I  am  very  fair  as  a  tactician 
as  may  be  gathered  from  the  fact  that  I 
am  frequently  successful  in  a  game  of 
draughts.  I  am  also  a  dangerous  opponent 
—when  my  player  is  not  too  strong— at 
dominoes.  On  the  other  side,  it  is  only 
right  to  admit  that  I  know  very  little  of 
chess,  and  am  an  unpopular  partner  at 
bridge. 

Final  impression. — There  is  something 
in  it.  I  was  led  to  this  conclusion  by  the 
palmist  (who  did  not,  however,  pretend  to 
reveal  the  secrets  of  the  future)  informing 
me  that  it  was  "  highly  probable  that  I 
should  some  day  become  Lord  Chancellor." 
This  has  been  my  opinion  for  the  last 
thirty  years — in  fact,  since  the  date  of  my 
' '  call ' '  supper.  And  that  I  ha ve  made  con- 
siderable progress  in  this  direction  may 
be  assumed  by  the  layman.  To  my  col- 
leagues at  the  Bar  I  can  adduce  a  few 
facts  in  support  of  my  contention.  I  may 
mention  for  their  information  that  during 
last  term  I  made  no  less  than  three  appli- 
cations— certainly  in  the  same  action,  but 
the  action  is  one  of  very  considerable 
importance — to  a  Master  in  Chambers, 
and  already  this  term  have  been  entrusted 
with  the  responsible  office  of  holding  a 
Avatching  brief. 

And  with  this  observation  I  conclude 
my  opinion.  My  impression  of  palmistry 
may  be  summed  up  in  five  words — there  is 
something  in  it. 

(Signed)    A  BRIEFLESS,  JUNIOR. 

Pumphandle  Court, 
November  18,  1901. 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  FANCY. 

I  THINK  the  joke  extremely  good 
And  marvel  at  my  buoyant  mood  ; 
The  point  is  clear,  the  humour  terse, 
I  '11  sketch  it  in  an  easy  verse. 

The  joke  is  good  ;  I  think  how  JONES 
Will  greet  it  with  his  cheery  tones  : 
I  laugh  to  think  how  many  times 
JONES  has  exploded  at  my  rhymes. 

Still,  as  I  think,  the  joke  somehow   . 
Less  rich  in  humour  seems  to  grow ; 
The  point  so  clear,  the  wit  so  terse 
Seems  less  adapted  to  a  verse. 

The  subtle  point  so  deftly  made 
Within  my  mind  begins  to  fade. 
The  quaint  allusions  cease  to  lend 
Charm  to  an  unexpected  end. 

I  take  it  from  another  view, 
I  turn  it  round — it  will  not  do  ; 
The  parts  I  most  had  chuckled  at 
Appear  now  singularly  flat. 

Yet  still  the  joke  I  ponder  o'er, 
Though  now  to  me  a  joke  no  more, 
Though    blurred    by    every    changing 

mood, — 
And  still  I  think  the  joke  was  good. 


EXTRAORDINARY  EFFECTS  OF  THE 
FOG. 

"TRUTH  is  stranger  than  fiction,"  and 
especially  strange  are  the  truths  re- 
corded hereunder,  and  based  upon  ac- 
counts which  are  but  now  beginning  to 
come  in,  relating  to  the  late  awful  visita- 
tion of  fog.  Amongst  them  we  learn, 
that  :— 

The  skipper  of  a  cargo  boat  feeling 
her  way  up  the  Thames  was  shot  over- 
board by  the  sudden  blowing  of  the 
syren.  Of  course,  the  unfortunate  man 
was  drowned :  this  was  a  fog-horn — beg 
pardon,  fore-gone  conclusion. 

In  the-  heavy  murk  of  Regent  Street, 
one  gentleman's  hand  was  found  in 
another's  watch-pocket.  Questioned  by 
a  constable,  he  said  that  he  had  not  the 
remotest  notion  how  it  got  there.  The 
constable  said  that  that  was  "too  thin  "  ; 
and,  subsequently,  the  magistrate  said, 
"  three  months." 

One  gentleman  was  actually  obliged  to 
go  to  bed  in  his  boots,  as  the  fog  made  it 
quite  impossible  for  him  to  find  his  own 
feet. 

There  have  been  several  well  authenti- 
cated instances  of  men  who — owing  to 
the  thickness  of  the  fog — actually  an- 
nexed their  neighbours'  drinks  whilst 
standing  in  Fleet  Street  bars. 

Several  curious  mistakes  have  been 
made  at  the  clubs  over  umbrellas  and  I 
overcoats,  all  the  more  remarkable  as  in  i 
nearly  every  instance  members  took  new- 
articles,  leaving  behind  them  old  and 
worn-out  ones. 

Fog  was  responsible  for  a  singular  i 
mistake  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Lancaster  < 
Gate,  where  a  person  was  seen  to  climb  up 
over  the  portico  and  enter  a  house  by 
the  first-floor  window.  His  subsequent 
explanation  to  the  policeman  was  that  he 
was  under  the  impression  $hat  it  was  his 
own  house,  and  that,  for  the  sake 
exercise,  he  was  always  in  the  habit  ol 
entering  in  that  way.  Without  going  so 
far  as  to  reject  this  explanation,  the 
learned  magistrate  thought  that  during 
a  seven  days'  remand  matters  of  interest' 
on  the  subject  of  this  gentleman's  ante- 
cedents might  possibly  come  to  light,  and 
so,  for  the  present,  the  case  stands.  The 
police  at  large  are  earnestly  hoping  that 
we  may  have  no  more  serious  visitations 
of  the  fog  fiend  this  side  of  Christmas. 


'.'  AYE,  AYE,  SIR !  " — The  announcement 
that  ANDERSON  CRITCHETT,  the  well-known 
oculist,  has  recently  received  the  honour 
of  knighthood  is  "a  sight  for  sore  eyes." 
Sir  ANDERSON,  or  rather  Sir  ANDY,  is  in- 
deed one  of  the  best  practical  illustrations 
of  "  The  'Andy  Man  "  in  his  particular  line 
that  Mr.  Punch  can  call  to  mind.  SoM?\P., 
raising  his  glass  to  his  eye,  previous  to 
lowering  it  to  his  lips,  says  heartilyi 
' '  Congratulations  to  you,  my  dear '  Sir ' ! " 


NOVEMBER  20,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  369 


370 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI.  [NOVEMBER  20,  1901. 


Parson.  "WHY,  JOHN,  WHAT  ARE  YOU  DOING  THERE?"  John.  "  IT  BE  TOO  WET  TO  WORK,  ZUR." 

''Parson.  "WELL,  IF  IT'S  TOO  WET  TO  WORK,  WHY  DON'T  YOU  GO  HOME?"         John.  "  WULL,  MY  OLD  'OOMAN,  SHE  DO  JAW  so!" 


THE    HERMIT    OF    SAINT 
ROUIN. 

['-^Saint  Rouin,  the  place  of  pilgrimage  in 
Argonne,  is  without  a  hermit.  The  last  of  thrse 
anchorites  was  not  exactly  an  object  of  veneration 
to  the  faithful  of  the  neighbourhood.  This  old 
Zouave  was  not  averse  to  using  bad  language,  or 
to  begging  in  the  village  and  apostrophising  in 
lurid  French  mixed  with  Arabic  those  who  refused 
him  alms.  Moreover,  he  was  rather  too  fond  of  the 
bottle.  On  his  d*ath  the  Bishop  of  Verdun  deemed 
it  advisable  not  to  nominate  a  successor." — Magasin 
Pittoresque.'} 

To  sit  in  solitary  spot 
With  contemplative  air, 

This  is  the  unexciting  lot 
That  hermits  love  to  bear, 
And  prayer 

Should  be  their  constant  care. 

But  he  was  of  another  hue  : 
Your  alms  be  would  implore, 

And  if  you  offered  him  a  sou 
With  oaths  he  asked  for  more. 
O  Lor' ! 

How  shockingly  he  swore  ! 

Nor  had  he  that  ascetic  turn 
A  hermit  ought  to  sport : 


For  alcohol  his  soul  did  yearn — 
Beer,  brandy,  sherry,  port. 
In  short 
He  worshipped  every  sort. 

With  many  a  pilgrim  passing  by 
Was  many  a  bottle  cracked, 

And  many  a  double-seeing  eye 
This  holy  hermit  blacked. 
In  fact 
There  's  scarce  a  crime  he  lacked. 

At  last  this  anchorite  became 

Of  nuisances  the  chief, 
And  when  he  left  his  mortal  frame 

The  sighs  for  him  were  brief. 
Belief 

Was  felt  instead  of  grief. 

And  now  beside  Saint  Rouin  fair 
Good  pilgrims  feel  no  qualms 

To  see  a  drunken  hermit  there 
Stretch  forth  his  grimy  palms 

For  alms 
With  oaths  instead  of  psalms. 

And  in  this  tragic  tale,  I  vow, 

A  moral  one  may  see 
For  all  who  are  good  hermits  now 

Or  ever  hope  to  be — 
i.e. 

They  ought  to  be  T.T. 


MR.  PUNCH'S  MUSEUM. 
"  Bill  of  Fare  (from  the  Archives  of  a 
London  Restaurant.)"  This  quaint  docu- 
ment has  been  supposed  by  philologists  to 
be  written  in  a  kind  of  French.  There 
appears  to  have  been  a  superstition  of 
some  tenacity  that  dishes  would  taste 
inadequately  or  indelicately  if  labelled 
in  the  vulgar  tongue.  Thanks,  however, 
to  the  labours  of  the  various  Professors  of 
Cookery  at  the  Universities  of  Peckham, 
Joeburg,  Toowoomba,  Oklahoma  and 
Medicine  Hat,  the  resources  of  the 
Anglaustramericafrican  language  have 
long  been  found  equal  to  the  task. 


NOT  THE  FASHION  IN  NATAL. 

THERE  was  a  young  lady  of  Durban, 
Who  imported  a  Paris-made  turban. 

It  was  blue,  green  and  red, 

But  the  natives  all  said 
That  the  style  was  remote  and  suburban. 


Compassionate  Gentleman  (to  bandaged 
stranger).  I  'm  afraid  you  've  been  badly 
wounded  in  the  war,  my  poor  fellow  ! 

Bandaged  Stranger.  No.  I  got  a  trifle 
knocked  in  our  last  football  match ! 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHAEIVAKL— NOVEMBER  20,  1901. 


DISSEMBLED   LOVE. 


"IT  IS  A   MATTER  FOR  CONGRATULATION  THAT  WE  HAVE  FOUND  SUCH  A  KINDLY  FEELING  AND  SUCH 
A  CORRECT   ATTITUDE   ON  THE  PART  OF  ALL  THE  GREAT  POWERS. "—Lord  Salisbury's  Speech  at  the  Guildhall. 
[Effigies  of  the  Colonial  Secretary  have  recently  been  burnt  on  the  Continent." — Daily  Paper.] 


NOVEMBER  20,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


373 


small  Pro-Pigaden  faction  who  advocate  a 
"climb-down,"  the  enemy  has  proclaimed 
a  "Jehad,"  or  Holy  War.  This  means 
that  they  will  fight  to  the  death,  and  give 
no  quarter.  Their  flag  is  a  crude  combina- 
tion of  red  and  white  bars  with  a  number 
of  white  patches  on  a  blue  ground  in  one 
of  the  upper  corners.  It  is  reported  that  the 


A  "SORT"  OF  INTERNICOTINE  WAR. 

(Telegrams  from  Our  Special  Fumiste  at 
the  Front.) 

Nov.  7. — Trouble  has  been  brewing  upon 
the  Guinea  Gold  Coast  for  several  weeks 
past.     The  Pigaden  tribe  left  Somaliland 
last  September,  under  the  leadership  of 
a    new   headman"" 
(known,   curiously 
enough,  by  the 
English  title  of 
"Duke"),    -with 
the  avowed  object 
of  raiding  British 
territory. 

Nov.  8.  — It  has 
now  transpired 
that  quite  a  month 
ago  certain  emis- 
saries of  the  Piga- 
dens in  disguise 
were  especially 
active  in  endeav- 
ouring to  win 
adherents  among 
the  more  influen- 
tial members  of 
the  British  mer- 
cantile community. 
These  enterprising 
advance  agents  ap- 
pear to  have  been 
amply  supplied 
with  funds,  but 
failed  to  shake  the 
loyalty  of  our  com- 
patriots. 

Nov.  9.  —  The 
"Dake  "or  Kha- 
lifa of  the  Pigadens 
has  to-day  reached 
the  British  fron- 
tier. His  manner 
is  distinctly  mina- 
tory, and  his  fol- 
lowers are  openly 
defiant. 

Nov.  9  (later).— 
The  Pigadens  have 
just  forwarded  an 
ultimatum  to  the 
effect  that  the  Bri- 
tish territory  will 
be  invaded  in  force 
unless  the  whole 
plant,  assets  and 
control  of  every 
factory  within  the  same  be  handed  over  !  Pigaden  watch-word  is  "  Trust  or  Bust." 


H.R.H.    GEORGE,    PRINCE    OF    WALES. 

I   KNOW,    SlR,    THAT   YOU  WILL   MAINTAIN   THE   PRESTIGE   OF   THE   TlTLE. 
BE   IMPOSSIBLE  TO   INCREASE   IT." 


to  them  before   the 

twenty-four  hours. 

usual,    have    only  just  woke  up   to  the  j  invaders,  but  their  mobility  leaves  some- 


expiry  of  the  next  j     Nov.  11. — The  Imperial  combined  columns 
Our  authorities,    as   have  at  last  taken  the  field  against  the 


necessity  of  a  counter-move,  and  an  Im-  j  thing  to   be 


(passage   struck   out  by 


Nov.  12. — The  enemy  have  reached  the 
capital,  and  have  signalised  the  event  by 
issuing  a  list  of  persons  captured,  which 
fills  three  whole  pages  of  an  evening 
journal.  The  Philippines  have  promptly 
replied  with  a  patriotic  counterblast 
spread  over  four  pages  of  a  rival  print, 
without,  however,  specifying  any  "  bag  " 
of  prisoners.  The 
Imperial  comman- 
der-in  -  chief  ap- 
pears to  be  play- 
ing a  waiting 
gain,e. 

N<n>.  13.— Smoke- 
creating  tactics 
have  been  adopted 
by  both  sides, 
leaving  the  issue 
atpi-esent  obscure. 
A  general  engage- 
ment is  in  pro- 
gress, and  the  war 
promises  to  be  i  li- 
ter necine.  The 
Pigadens  have  now 
declared  for  an- 
nexation pure  and 
simple,  while  the 
Imperialists  are 
fighting  for  inde- 
pendence. There 
is  an  enormous 
output  of  nicotine 
and  deadly  explo- 
sives of  a  similar 
kind,  which  even 
urchins  of  tender 
years  are  being 
taught  to  handle. 
Some  of  the  cap- 
tured traders  are 
beginning  to  com- 
plain of  the  rig- 
ours of  the  Inva- 
ders' concentra- 
tion camps. 
,  Nov.  14.  —  The 
Pro-Pigadens  a  n  d 
Pipe-of-Peace 
Clique  are  making 
frantic  efforts,  but 
without  success, 
to  induce  the 
patriotic  party  to 
th'row  up  the 
sponge.  Their 
efforts  to  bring 
about  a  conference  between  the  opposing 
generals  have  so  far  ended  in  smoke. 

Nov.  15. — This  war,  in  a  formal  sense — 
Hullo,  they  're  turning  the  lights  out  in 
the  smoking-room  of  my  club,  and  I  must 


IT  WOVLD 


perial  force  is  on  the  march  in  the  direc- 
tion of  ...  (here  jolloivs  a  blank,  deleted 
by  the  Censor.) 
Nov.    10.  —  No    answer    having    been 


Censor).     They  have  been   reinforced  by  j  catch  the  last  bus  home  to  the  suburbs, 
the   Philippines,    a   contingent    that  are  ;  A.  A.  S. 

quite  English,  in  spite  of  their  designa-  — 

tion.     A  number  of  small  traders,    I   re- 


received  to  the  ultimatum,  the  terms  of  j  gret  to  say,  have  gone  over  to  the 
which  are  considered  in  the  capital  to  be  I  Pro-Pigaden  party,  and  probably  other 
wantonly  provocative  by  all  except  a  I  waverers  will  follow. 


SOMETIMES  in  good  and  sometimes  in  bad 

temper, 
"  Fcemina  varium  et  mutabile  semper." 


[NOVEMBER  20,  1901. 


AN  UNREAL  CONVERSATION. 

Recorded  by  Archie  Williams. 
SCENE— Mr.  A.  J.  BALFOUR'S  London  house. 
Tlie  Right  Honourable  gentleman's  bed- 
room.   Discovered,   Mr.    BALFOUR    in 
bed.     To  him  enter  A.  W. 
A.  W.  Good  morning,  Mr.  BALFOUR.     I 
am  very  sorry  indeed  to  find  that  you  are 

ill. 

Mr.  B.  (yawning).  On  the  contrary  I  'm 
in  the  best  of  health.  But  I  don't  get  up 
so  ridiculously  early  as  some  fellows.  It 's 
only  half  past  eleven  now.  What  have 
you  come  about  ?  I  hope  you  don't  want 
a  literary  pension  from  the  Civil  List. 
One  of  those  wretched  things  gave  me  an 
immense  amount  of  troublesome  time  ago. 

A.  W.  No,  thank  you.  I  only  wanted  a 
little  chat  on  public  affairs. 

Mr.  B.  Oh,  that 's  all  right.  Please 
chat  about  anything  you  like,  except  golf. 
Nothing  annoys  me  move  than  a  man 
talking  golf  unless  he  understands  it 
perfectly.  Some  fellows  are  always  talk- 
ing golf.  Besides,  one  must  have  some 
recreation.  That 's  why  I  devote  part  of 
my  leisure  to  statesmanship.  It  bores  me 
horribly,  but  it  is  a  change  from  golf. 


You  won't  mind   if 
while  vou  're  chattin. 


I  finish  this  novel 
?  It 's  one  of  GYP'S 
last.  How  dreadfully  poor  her  books  have 
been  since  she  first  dragged  in  politics  ! 
She  's  really  quite  tedious  now.  What 
were  you  saying  ? 

A.  W.  I  wasn't  saying  anything.  I  was 
delighted  to  hear  your  views  on  current 
literature. 

Mr.  B.  I 'm  glad  you  think  the  same. 
And  BOURGET  is  so  long-winded,  and.  ZOLA 
is  still  more  long-winded  and  quite  im- 
possible with  all  his  surgical  horrors,  and 
PIERRE  LOTI  writes  in  newspapers,-  and 
the  brothers  MARGUERITTE  bore  one  with 
war  news  of  1870,  still  more  like  news- 
papers, only  old  ones.  Really  I  think  I 
shall  have  to  try  MARIE  CORELLI. 

A.  W.  When  I  came  in,  and  saw  you  in 
bed,  I  was  afraid  you  were  suffering  from 
vaccination.  In  fact,  I  hoped  I  should 
hear  your  views  on  the  "  conscientious 
objector."  I  believe  you  started  that 
name.  (A  pause.)  Can  he  be  asleep  ? 

[Mr.  BALFOUR'S  book  falls  ivith  a  crash 
on  the  floor. 

Mr.  B.  (starting  up).  What's  that? 
Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon  !  That 's  the  worst 
of  reading  in  bed.  One  's  almost  sure  to 
fall  asleep.  It  always  seems  so  snug,  but 
it  isn't  really  very  comfortable  after  all. 
If  you  lie  on  your  back  you  can't  see 
properly,  and  the  book  slips  forward  on 
your  nose,  and  if  you  lie  on  your  side 
you  get  pins  and  needles  in  your  arm.  It 
is  difficult  to  get  a  really  comfortable 
position  anywhere,  isn't  it  ?  In  the  House 
I  put  my  feet  on  the  table,  but  the  edge 
of  that 's  very  sharp  against  one's  ankles. 
We  ought  to  have  sofas,  only  the  space  is 
so  cramped.  I  '11  just  ring  for  my  man  to 


pick  up  that  book.  Oh,  please  don't! 
You  really  are  too  kind.  It 's  so  difficult 
to  lean  out  of  bed  to  pick  up  a  book. 
One  's  apt  to  fall  out  after  it,  and  that 
is  so  very  uncomfortable.  I  'm  afraid  I 
interrupted  you. 

A.  W.  I  was  only  asking  your  views  on 
vaccination. 

Mr.  B.  Ah,  that  's  a  thing  I  really  know 
nothing  about.  I  believe  there  was  some 
talk  about  it  some  time  ago.  I  never  can 
remember  statistics  and  that  sort  of 
thing.  They  bore  me  dreadfully.  But 
there 's  somebody  called  BERNARD  SHAW, 
who  wrote  a  book,  or  a  treatise,  or  some- 
thing on  the  subject,  called  Arms  and  the 
Man.  That  ought  to  tell  you  all  about  it. 
I  have  an  idea  he  considers  himself  an 
expert  on  the  subject.  Come  to  that, 
why  not  consult  your  own  doctor?  I  've 
only  one  more  page  left. 

A.  W.  (with  hesitation).  If  it  is  not 
asking  you  to  reveal  state  secrets  I  should 
be  so  glad  if  you  could  give  me  any  idea  of 
the  character  of  the  mysterious  informa- 
tion about  the  war  which  was  hinted  at 
by  Lord  SALISBURY  at  the  Guildhall.  But 
please  don't  let  me  appear  inquisitive. 
In  fact,  in  reference  to  the  situation  in 
South  Africa,  you  might  prefer  to  give 
me  your  private  opinion  in  vague  terms. 

Mr.  B.  (flinging  the,  book  on  the  floor). 
Worse  and  worse  ! 

A.W.  (excitedly)  What?  You  don't  mean 
to  say  it 's  as  bad  as  that  ?  And  everyone 
hoping  it  was  getting  near  the  end. 

Mr.   B.  It 's  finished,  thank  goodness! 

A.  W.  (indignantly).  How  can  you  say 
that  ?  It 's  what  you  've  been  saying  all 
along.  Really,  Mr.  BALFOUU,  you  must 
excuse  me  if  I  say  that  something  ought 
to.be  done. 

Me.  B.  (drowsily).  Done,  did  you  say? 
What  can  be  done  ? 

A.  W.  (more  indignantly.)  You  ask  me 
that  ?  How  on  earth  should  I  know  ?  It  's 
as  bad  as  that  senseless — excuse  me,  that 
strange  remark  about  the  Man  in  the 
Street.  If  you  and  the  others  don't 
know  what  to  do,  with  all  the  wonderful 
secret  information  you  have,  or  ought  to 
have,  how  can  I  ?  Really,  I  must  say  there 
never  can  have  been  a  more  absent-minded 
collection  of  dreamers.  But  it 's  no  use 
talking,  there  must  be  something  (emphati- 
cally) to  be  done. 

Mr.  B.  (waking  up  with  a  start).  There  ! 
you  said  it  again.  But  what  can  be  done  ? 
The  only  way  is  not  to  bother  about  such 
tedious  twaddle. 

A.  W.  (still  more  indignantly).  Tedious 
twaddle,  you  call  it?  Really,  Mr.  BAL- 
FOUR, it  is  difficult  to  find  words  to  express 
what  I  think. 

Mr.  B.  Oh,  come  now,  it 's  not  so  bad 
as  that.  She  's  a  clever  woman,  only  she 
has  written  less  well  since  she  thought 
she  was  carried  off  to  the  suburbs  of  Paris, 
and  munched  that  carrot  out  in  the  fields. 

A.  W.  What  woman  ?    What  carrot  ? 


Mr.  B.  Why,  GYP,  of  course. 

A.  W.  I  wasn't  talking  about  GYP,  but  I 
about  the  war. 

Mr.  B.  (droivsily).  Oh,  if  it 's  anything 
about  a  war,  you  must  ask  my  friend 
BRODRICK.  I 'm  a  perfect  ignoramus  in 
such  matters.  They  bore  me  dreadfully 
if  I  even  think  about  them.  So  I  don't. 
Don't  you  see? 

A.  W.  If  that 's  the  case  I  have  nothing 
more  to  ask.  Good-bye.  (A  pause.)  He's 
asleep  again.  (Loudly.)  Good-bye,  Mr. 
BALFOUR. 

Mr.  B.  (drowsily).  Oh,  good -night! 
Good-bye,  I  mean.  [Exit  A.  W. 

[The  scene   and   Mr.   BALFOUR'S  eyes 
close  simultaneously.      H.  D.  B. 


A  PRECIOUS  TEAR. 
["  An  American  woman  carries  about  with  her 

a  crystal  locket  in  which  she  claims  that  otje  of 

M.    PAUEBEWSKI'S  tears  is  enshrined." — Daily 

Paper.] 

WHEN  the  day  is  dark  and  dreary, 
And  my  heart  is  worn  and  weary, 

Then  I  fumble  in  my  dress  about  the  rear, 
Till  I  find  the  cunning  pocket 
Whence  I  take  this  crystal  locket, 

And  I  gaze  on  PADKHEWSKl's  precious  tear. 

Women  friends  to  whom  I  've  shown  it 

Say  they  'd  give  the  world  to  own  it, 
And  they  offer  me  the  ransom  of  a  peer — 

Which  they'd  give  with  satisfaction 

For  a  teeny  weeny  fraction 
Of  my  master  PADEREWSKI'S  precious  tear. 

And  they  come  in  hundreds  thronging, 

And  they  gaze  with  eyes  of  longing 
On  the  relic  in  its  crystal  bright  and  clear  ; 

But  although  they  madly  covet, 

Far  too  dearly  do  I  love  it 
To  distribute  PADEREWSKI'S  precious  tear. 

For  I  watched  it  slowly  straying 
Down  his  nose  as  he  was  playing, 

And  I  vowed  a  vow  'twixt  trembling  hope 

and  fear — 

If  I  caught  it  I  would  perish 
Ere  I  ever  ceased  to  cherish 

In  its  crystal  PADEREWSKI'S  precious  tear. 

So  when  Philistines  unsouly 
Come  and  mock  my  relic  holy 

With  a  vulgar  jest^and  idiotic  sneer, 
Then  again  I  seek  the  pocket 
And  restore  the  crystal  locket 

Which  contains  my  PADEREWSKI'S  precious 
tear. 


MEDITATIONS. — "  Screwed  as  an  owl  "  is 
a  simile  certainly  not  founded  on  fact. 
Birds,  beasts  and  fishes  do  not,  as  a  rule, 
become  intoxicated  by  drink.  If  a  "  grig  " 
be  merry,  yet  he  remains  sober.  "Drunk 
as  a  fly"  is  the  only  exception;  flies 
being  undoubtedly  easily  overcome,  as, 
too,  in  a  less  degree,  are  wasps  and  drones, 
unable  to  resist  a  sweetened  beer  trap. 
There  is  one  exception  to  the  rule  of 
equine  sobriety,  and  that  is  a  horse  when 
he's  "groggy." 


NOVEMBER  20,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  375 


THE    RETURN    OF    THE    "LITTLE    MINISTER." -A    SEQUEL. 

( With  apoloyies  to  Mr.  J.  M.  Barrie.) 
THE  REV.  GAVIX  DISHART  ROSEBERY  RECEIVES  BACK  THE  KEYS  OF  THE  "MANSE."    His  RECEPTION'  BY  THE  ELDERS,  HOWEVER,  is 

NOT   EXACTLY   OF   WHAT  YOU   WOULD   CALL   A   UNANIMOUS   OH   AN   UPROARIOUSLY   ENTHUSIASTIC   CHARACTER. 


376 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI.  [NOVEMBER  20.  1901. 


JACOB    AND    HIS    MASTER. 

PART  I. 

THE  dreadful  and  dreaded  funeral  ceremony  was  at  an  end  ; 
the  friends  and  relatives  of  the  deceased— distant  relatives, 
most  of  them,  who  had  come  from  a  distance— were  dispersing ; 
the  will,  which  disposed  of  a  most  exiguous  estate,  had  been 
duly  read ;  the  chief  mourner,  accompanied  by  the  only  friend 
left  to  him  in  the  wide  world,  slipped  softly  out  of  the  grim, 
grey  house  and  sat  himself  down  on.  the  outskirts  of  an  adjoin- 
ing pine-copse  to  think  things  over.  A  mournful  little  chief 
mourner  he  was  (though  with  a  stout  heart  beneath  his  waistcoat 
and  a  sensible  head  under  his  cap),  and  his  only  friend,  pressed 
close  to  him  by  an  encircling  arm,  knew  better  than  to  attempt 
boisterous  consolation.  Even  in  those  early  days  of  excitable 
puppyhood  that  true  and  shaggy  friend  of  his  had  grave  moods, 
as  well  as  profound  instincts.  Airdale  terriers,  indeed,  are 
almost  always  prone  to  contemplate  life  in  its  more  serious 
aspects. 

BOB  CRACROFT'S  life,  as  it  presented  itself  to  him  on  that 
windy  March  afternoon,  offered  a  picture,  present  and  future, 
which  looked  serious  enough.  He  had  been  very  fond  of  his 
father,  who  had  met  with  instantaneous  death  in  the  hunting- 
field  only  a  few  days  before,  and  whose  obsequies  he  had  been 
summoned  by  telegraph  to  attend— so  fond,  that  he  had  to  bite 
his  lips  and  postpone  reflections  upon  that  subject  until  friendly 
darkness  and  bed-time  should  supervene.  He  wished  just  now 
to  bring  his  mind,  if  he  could,  to  bear  upon  the  question  of 
what  was  going  to  become  of  him.  To  this  he  had  been  unable 
to  disentangle  any  lucid  reply  from  the  puzzling  phraseology  of 
the  legal  document  which  had  been  recited  in  his  presence  ; 
only  he  had  gathered  from  sundry  whispered  remarks  that  there 
would  be  very  little  money  for  him  and  no  home.  Something  had 
been  audibly  said  about  the  necessity  of  letting  Kirkhall,  and  the 
probable  difficulty  of  discovering  a  tenant  for  the  place.  Poor 
little  grey  Kirkhall  ! — wild  and  forbidding  on  its  bleak  hillside, 
under  the  low  northern  sky,  yet  dear  from  its  association  with 
many  happy  holidays — small  likelihood,  in  truth,  was  there  of 
eager  competition  for  such  a  residence.  The  thought  might  not 
have  been  wholly  discomforting,  had  Kirkhall  been  BOB'S  own 
property  ;  but  that,  lie  supposed,  could  not  be  the  case. 

That,  however,  was  the  case ;  and  his  uncle,  THEODORE 
CRACROFT,  having  descried  him  from  the  dining-room  window,  was 
even  now  stepping  lightly  across  the  grass  to  inform  him  that  he 
was,  amongst  other  things,  a  landowner  in  static  pupillari. 
This  tall,  slim,  carefully-attired  gentleman,  with  whom  his  elder 
brother,  a  man  wholly  addicted  to  Held  sports,  had  never  cared 
to  maintain  close  relations,  was  known  to  BOB  only  by  name 
and  by  vague,  unflattering  reputation.  In  circles  less  rustic 
THEODORE  CRACROFT  enjoyed  some  considerable  reputation  as  a 
rising  barrister  and  a  not  ungraceful  contributor  to  contempor- 
ary literature.  If  at  that  particular  moment  he  looked  a  little 
cross  and  impatient,  excuses  must  be  made  for  him.  Who,  after 
a  long  journey  into  stern,  northern  wilds,  terminating  with  a 
funeral  and  with  the  agreeable  discovery  that  he  has  been 
constituted  sole  guardian  of  an  ill-provided-for  orphan,  can  be 
expected  to  look  pleased  ?  But  THEODORE  endeavoured  to  make 
the  best  of  a  bad  job.  He  said,  in  a  tone  of  kindly  remon- 
strance : 

"My  dear  boy,  this  really  isn't  weather  for  sitting  out  of 
doors.  Jump  up  before  the  east  wind  freezes  the  marrow  of 
your  bones  !  " 

BOB  rose  slowly.  "  I  don't  mind  it,  thanks,"  he  answered; 
"  I  rather  like  it." 

"Do  you  indeed?  I  wish  I  did!  Is  that  queer-looking 
mongrel  yours  ?  ' ' 

BOB  was  too  much  shocked  and  taken  aback  to  make  any 
immediate  reply.  That  that  flat  head,  that  long  muzzle,  that 
perfect  blue-grey  and  tan  coat,  those  strong,  straight  legs  and 
round  feet  should  be  pronounced  the  attributes  of  a  "queer- 


looking  mongrel  "  was  indeed  a  startling  revelation  of 
ignorance  !  The  only  rejoinder  that  could  be  made  was,  "I 
suppose  you  don't  know  much  about  Airdales." 

"Absolutely  nothing,"  Mr.  CRACROFT  confessed,  good- 
humouredly  enough.  "  If  he  is  a  prize  specimen  of  the  breed, 
I  beg  to  offer  him  my  apologies.  What  do  you  call  him?  " 

"Jacob  Faithful,"  answered  the  boy,  adding  explanatorily: 

I  named  him  after  a  favourite  character  of  mine  in  a  book." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  the  other,  laughing.  "I  am  acquainted 
with  the  book.  One  has  heard  of  Captain  MARRY  AT,  though 
one  isn't  familiar  with  the  points  of  an  Airdale.  I  'm  glad  you 
have  a  liking  for  sea  stories ;  you  can't  do  better  than  stick 
to  the  sea — can't  do  better !  " 

What  he  meant  was,  that  the  boy  could  not  do  better  than 
adopt  a  profession  which  would  render  him  as  little  as  possible 
of  a  nuisance  to  his  guardian.  "But,"  he  resumed,  pinching 
his  chin  meditatively,  "I  presume  that  you  won't  be  allowed 
to  take  Mr.  Jacob  Faithful  back  to  the  Britannia  with  you?  " 

"Oh,  no,"  answered  BOB,  with  a  sorrowful  shake  of  the 
head  ;  "  that  isn't  allowed." 

"H'rn! — and  as  your  home  henceforth,  during  the  holidays* 
will  have  to  be  my  London  chambers ' ' 

"  Am  I  to  live  with  you,  Sir  ?  "  asked  the  boy  quickly. 

THEODORE  responded  by  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  which 
seemed  to  imply  pretty  plainly  that  the  arrangement  was  not 
one  of  his  seeking.  He  laid  bare  the  situation  in  a  few  con. 
else  sentences.  "Your  poor  father  seems,  unfortunately,  to 
have  lived  for  many  years  beyond  the  limits  of  his  small  in- 
come. He  has  left  some  money — just  enough,  perhaps,  to 
defray  the  expenses  of  your  education  and  give  you  a  start  in 
life.  As  for  this  modest  estate,  which  is  to  be  held  in  trust 
for  you  until  you  come  of  age,  I  am  afraid  it  is  likely  to  cost 
all  that  it  will  bring  in.  Well,  one  must  take  things  as  they 
come.  I  don't  suppose  you  will  like  London  at  first ;  but,  in 
the  ordinary  course  of  matters,  you  will  be  going  to  sea  before 
very  long." 

"  What  about  Jake,  though?  "  BOB  anxiously  inquired. 

"Oh,  Jacob  Faithful,  eh?  Well — upon  my  word,  I  hardly 
know ' ' 

He  was  almost  inclined  to  say  that  he  would  take  charge  of 
the  dog,  whose  rough  head  he  stooped  down  to  pat ;  but,  un- 
luckily, Jacob,  who,  for  all  his  tact  and  wisdom,  was  still  very 
young,  misinterpreted  this  advance  and  jumped  to  unwarranted 
conclusions.  He  had,  of  course,  heard  his  name,  and  had  very 
likely  divined  that  his  fate  was  under  discussion  :  he  settled  it 
by  flinging  himself  impulsively  upon  the  stranger  and  barking 
aloud,  as  who  should  say,  "  I  thank  you,  Sir  ;  you  are  a  better 
fellow  than  I  took  you  for,  after  all !  " 

"Get  down,  you  brute!  "  called  out  Mr.  CRACROFT,  stepping 
back  and  brushing  the  imprint  of  muddy  paws  off  his  black 
coat.  To  the  boy  he  said,  "  Dogs  are  out  of  the  question  in 
London,  you  know — a  burden  to  themselves  and  everybody  else. 
You  Avill  have  to  part  with  this  one,  I  'm  afraid." 

"He  's  an  awfully  obedient  dog,"  BOB  remarked,  with  the  air 
of  one  who  merely  states  a  fact  and  asks  no  favour. 

"  I  doubt  whether  I  should  find  him  so.  Besides,  I  couldn't 
spare  time  to  give  him  the  exercise  necessary  to  keep  him  in 
health.  There  really  isn't  room  for  a  dog  in  my  very  occupied 
lifev" 

"  I  suppose,"  said  BOB,  "he couldn't  be  left  here,  could  he?' 

"  Not  very  well ;  we  hope  to  let  the  house,  you  see.  You  hat 
better,  I  should  say,  present  Jacob  Faithful  to  somebody  in  the 
neighbourhood  who  will  be  kind  to  him." 

"  All  right,"  answered  the  boy. 

He  himself  was  obedient  and  accustomed  to  discipline  :  alsc 
he  was  proud  and  a  bit  of  a  stoic  :  furthermore,  he  had  taker 
stock  of  his  guardian,  who  struck  him  as  ill-adapted  to  exercist 
control  over  a  high-spirited  animal.  THEODORE  CRACROFT 
pleased  and  somewhat  surprised  by  BOB'S  ready  submission 
patted  him  on  the  shoulder,  said  a  few  words  which  wer< 


NOVEMBER  20,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


377 


intended  to  be  approving  and  encouraging,  mentioned  that  they 
would  both  have  to  leave  on  the  morrow,  and  presently  retired 
into  the  house.  He  must  write  some  letters  before  the  post 
went  out,  he  remarked — perhaps  as  a  hint  that  he  did  not  wish 
to  be  disturbed. 

BOB  was  innocent  of  any  desire  to  intrude  upon  his  guardian, 
whose  back  he  was  relieved  to  see.  He  consulted  the  silver 
watch  which  his  father  had  given  him  on  his  last  birthday, 
found  that  there  would  be  plenty  of  time  to  walk  over  to 
Horsley  Park  upon  an  errand  which  had  become  imperative,  and 
started  across  the  fields  towards  his  destination  with  plodding 


grounds  would  be  a  rare  bit  of  luck,  and  he  was  conscious  of 
not  being  at  present  in  luck's  way.  Luck,  however,  is  of  all 
phenomena  the  most  capricious,  and  he  had  not  trudged  many 
yards  along  one  of  the  shrubberies  which  surrounded  the 
imposing  white  mansion  before  he  found  himself  face  to  face 
with  PHYLLIS  BUNCOMBE  herself,  unattended  (oh,  joy !)  by  the 
formidable  German  lady  whose  duty  it  was  to  keep  a  vigilant 
eye  upon  her  movements. 

"  BOB  !  "  exclaimed  the  little  girl,  throwing  out  both  her  hands 
towards  him  with  an  impulsive  gesture  of  pity  and  sympathy  ; 
"  I  was  just  thinking  about  you.  I — I'm  so  dreadfully  sorry  !  " 


THE    FIRST    SETTLERS    IN    AMERICA. 

[According  to  the  Daily  Mail,  there  is  evideace  to  show  that  the  Welsh  discovered  America  a  long  time  before  Columbus.] 


steps  and  a  rather  heavy  heart,  Jacob  Faithful  trotting  quietly 
at  his  heels. 

"  Hold  up,  Jacob,"  he  said  presently  ;  "  don't  be  dismal,  old 
man.  It 's  going  to  be  all  right  for  you." 

So  Jacob  ranged  on  ahead,  affecting  an  access  of  high  spirits 
and  pursuing  invisible  rabbits.  It  was  quite  true  that  he  Avas 
a  very  obedient  dog. 

Horsley  Park,  the  residence  of  Mr.  DUNCOMBE,  M.P.,  was 
situated  at  a  distance  of  some  four  miles  from  Kirkhall  as  the 
crow  flies.  Within  an  hour  BOB  had  reached  the  confines  of  the 
extensive  gardens  and,  dropping  his  elbows  upon  an  iron  railing 
which  separated  these  from  the  park,  paused  to  consider.  He 
did  not  very  much  want  to  present  himself  at  the  front  door 
and  be  stared  at  by  the  butler  and  a  couple  of  cheeky  footmen  ; 
but  that,  in  all  probability,  was  what  he  would  have  to  do.  To 
come  across  PHYLLIS  and  her  governess  somewhere  in  the 


The  boy  nodded,  tightened  the  set  of  his  mouth  and  grasped 
the  little  hands  extended  to  him  in  his  own  rather  big  and  red 
ones.  He  understood,  and  he  was  grateful ;  but  there  are  subjects 
which  cannot  be  talked  about  without  danger  of  incurring 
personal  disgrace.  So  all  he  said  was  : 

"I  thought  I  would  just  come  up  and  see  if  you  were  any- 
where about.  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  favour,  if  you  will." 

"  Oh,  but  of  course  I  will  do  anything  I  can  for  you,  BOB— 
anything  !  "  the  girl  cried,  with  shining  eyes. 

She  was  a  very  pretty  little  girl,  and  her  grey  eyes  were  most 
pleasant  to  look  upon.  BOB  thought  so,  and  had  always  thought 
so ;  although  it  had  never  before  been  his  privilege  to  gaze  into 
them  at  such  close  quarters,'for  Miss  PHYLLIS  knew  how  to  keep 
admirers  in  their  proper  place.  Just  then,  no  doubt,  she  was 
moved  by  compassion,  and  willing,  perhaps,  to  unbend  to  an 
extent  of  which  no  gentleman  ought  to  take  advantage. 


378 


PUNCH,    OttTTTE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  [NOVEMBER  20,  1901. 


Realisin"  this,  BOB  relinquished  her  hands,  sighed  and  went  on  : 
"  It 's  only  about  Jake.  Will  you  have  him  ?  He  's  no  trouble 
in  the  house,  and  he  never  flghts  unless  he  's  attacked.  He 
ought  to  have  bones  sometimes  for  the  sake  of  his  teeth  ;  but  1 
wouldn't  give  him  any  meat,  if  I  were  you.  You  '11  find  him 
awfully  affectionate." 

"You  are  never  going  to  part  with  Jacob!"  exclaimed  the 

girl. 

"  Well,  I  must,  you  see.  I  'in  under  orders  from  an  uncle  of 
mine  who  lives  in  London,  and  who  isn't  particularly  fond  of 
dogs.  And  I  don't  know,"  added  BOB  meditatively,  "that  1 
should  care  about  trusting  him  with  a  dog  even  if  he  was.  Now 
you  do  know  a  well-bred  one  from  a  mongrel  ;  so  I  should  feel  a 
lot  happier  if  Jake  were  yours." 

"  Jake  will  never  be  anybody's  but  yours,"  Miss  PHYLLIS 
declared;  "but  I'll  take  care  of  him  for  you— oh,  I'll  take 
the  greatest  care  of  him  !— until  you  have  a  home  of  your  own 
again  and  send  for  him." 

Jacob,  who  had  seated  him- 
self between  the  couple,  and 
had  been  turning  his  head  from 
one  to  the  other  during  the 
above  dialogue,  looked  wist- 
fully up  at  her.  She  stooped 
and  kissed  him,  receiving  a 
huge  lick  in  return.  BOB  also 
kissed  the  dog :  if  he  selected 
the  same  spot  for  his  salute  as 
had  been  hallowed  by  the  touch 
of  PHYLLIS'S  lips,  that  may  have 
been  a  mere  coincidence.  At 
any  rate,  the  gruff,  rather  husky 
accents  in  which  he  presently 
addressed  her  were  suggestive 
of  no  silly  sentimentality. 

"  I  suppose  you  haven't  got 
such  a  thing  as  a  pair  of  scissors 
about  you,  have  you  ?  " 

PHYLLIS  was  sorry  that  she 
had  not. 

"  Oh,  well,  never  mind  !  I'll 
manage  it  with  my  knife.  I 
only  wanted  a  bit  of  the  old 
chap's  hair,  in  case  I  shouldn't 
ever  see  him  again." 

He  managed  it  with  his  knife 
— which  was  a  blunt  one — while 
Jacob,  without  a  whimper  of  re- 


QUITE   THE  RIGHT   SORT   OF   LINA'-BOY. 


Yet  she  could  not,  even  to  please  a  poor  boy  who  had  just  lost 
his  father  and  was  about  to  lose  his  dog,  make  the  implored 
sacrifice  without  a  little  more  pressure.  Although  she  was 
only  fourteen,  she  was  not  ignorant  of  the  powers  and  prero- 
gatives which  are  the  birthrights  of  her  sex. 
°  "Oh,  BOBBY,"  she  expostulated  laughingly,  "don't  be  ridi- 
culous !  " 

BOB  could  not  bear  to  be  called  BOBBY,  and  was  not  fond  of 
beiilg  thought  ridiculous  ;  but,  as  he  wanted  that  lock  of  hair 
rather  badly,  he  had  the  courage  to  persist.  After  some  further 
debate,  he  carried  his  point ;  the  blunt  instrument  was  once 
more  called  into  requisition  and  a  treasure,  which  was  destined 
to  remain  with  him  for  many  years  to  come,  was  safely  stowed 
away  in  his  waistcoat  pocket.  Then,  in  answer  to  PHYLLIS'S 
queries,  he  drew  a  succinct  anticipatory  sketch  of  his  coming 
career,  so  far  as  it  admitted  of  forecast.  In  about  eighteen 
months  he  would  pass  out  of  the  Britannia— as  midshipman,  he 
llopecl--ana  would  at  once  proceed  to  sea.  He  would,  he  said, 

-  have  "  precious  little  to  live 
upon ' '  beyond  his  pay ;  but 
sooner  or  later  a  big  war  was 
bound  to  come  and  bring  rapid 
promotion  to  those  who  survived 
it.  Anyhow,  there  were  always 
little  wars  going  on,  and  in  these 
a  Naval  Brigade  was  always 
engaged.  With  ordinary  luck, 
a  fellow  might  expect  to  be 
posted  before  his  beard  was 

grey,  and  then " 

"What  then?"  PHYLLIS 
inquired. 

"Then,"  answered  the  boy, 
with  determination,  "I  shall 
settle  down  at  Kirkhall.  That 
is,  of  course,  between  my 
commands." 

"  It  seems  rather  a  long  time 
to  wait, ' '  observed  PHYLLIS  pen- 
sively. "  Let  me  see ;  you  are 
fifteen  now ' ' — she  began  check- 
ing off  the  decades  on  her  fingers 
— ' '  twenty  -  five,  thirty  -  five, 
forty-five — thirty  years  !  Jacob 
won't  be  here  when  you  come 
back  to  live  at  Kirkhall." 

"No,  nor  you  either,"  re- 
turned BOB  sadly.  "Well,  it 
can't  be  helped.  Don't  forget 
a  fellow,  that 's  all !  " 


monstrance,  wagged  his  stump 

of  a  tail  up  and  down.    One  of 

Jacob's  idiosyncrasies  (unique  in  the  experience  of  the  present 

historian)  was  that  he  always  wagged  his  tail  perpendicularly, 

instead  of  horizontally.    This,  somehow  or  other,  lent  a  certain 

dignity  to  the  demonstration  and  seemed  to  accord  with  the 

serious  trend  of  his  character.    It  was  with  his  honest,  anxious,  •  had  presence  of  mind  enough  to  return  it  with  interest.    Then 

yellowish  eyes  that  he  was  wont  to  smile,  and  the  smile  so  j  he  took  the  dog's  chin  in  his  hand  and  said,  in  a  hoarse,  but 

plainly  visible  therein  now  was  full  of  anxiety.     Too  full  of  it '  steady  voice  : 

"  Jacob  Faithful,  this  is  your  mistress 


She  gave  him  an  unhesitating  promise  that  she  would  never 
do  that ;  she  even  (but  this  is  a  great  secret)  bestowed  upon 
him  at  the  last  moment  an  intoxicating  pledge  of  remembrance 
which  went  near  to  depriving  him  of  his  wits.  However,  he 


to  be  contemplated  by  BOB,  who  hastily  averted  his  head  and 
turned  once  more  to  the  little  girl. 

"I  say,"  he  began. 

"  Well,"  she  returned,  "  what  do  you  say  ?  " 

"I  suppose  you  wouldn't  —  you'll  think  me  no  end  of  an  ass, 
I  expect—  but,  might  I  have  a  bit  of  yours  too?  " 

"A  bit  of  what?"  PHYLLIS  innocently  inquired 
knew  well  enough. 

"  You  've  got  a  tremendous  lot  of  it,  you  know, 


though  she 


"  you  wouldn't  miss  just  a  scrap  of  it  off  the  ends. 


BOB  urged  ; 


She  had,  indeed,  a  tremendous  lot  of  it  for  her  age  ;  it  fell 
in  a  thick  golden-bronze  shower  below  her  waist,  and  often, 
while  it  was  being  combed,  she  lamented  its  abnormal  density. 


You  are  going  to  live 

with  her  now ;  you  don't  belong  to  me  any  more.  Be  a  good 
dog,  and  stay  where  you  are.  Goodbye,  dear  old  chap- 
goodbye  ! ' ' 

BOB  left  rather  abruptly,  without  once  looking  back ;   t 
laurels  and  the  rhododendrons  soon  concealed  him  from  view, 
and  Jacob  made  no  attempt  to  follow  him. 

Jacob,  fully  realising  the  situation,  remained  squatted  upon 
his  haunches,  threw  up  his  nose  and  gave  one  long,  low  moan  ; 
while  the  little  girl,  flinging  herself  upon  her  knees  besjxJe; 
him,  pressed  him  to  her  heart  and  wept  aloud. 


W.  E. 


(To  be  continued.) 


NOVEMBER  27,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


379 


WINTER  RESORTS. 

SLACKTON-ON-SEA  . 

WEATHER  of  the  most  varied  description 
—  best  described  as  samples  —  can  be 
obtained  here  now,  suiting  every  taste. 
The  visitor  to  this  highly-favoured  locality 
usually  has  the  double  advantage  resulting 
from  heat  and  cold,  applied  alternately. 
Thus,  those  who  enjoy  a  warm,  genial  air, 
generally  obtain  their  desire — often  accom- 
panied by  a  strong,  life-giving  gale  :  later 
in  the  day  quite  a  St.  Moritz  turn  is 
taken  by  the  weather  :  and  those  who  like 
a  cold  frosty  temperature  —  coupled  in 
most  cases  with  a  thick  fog — can  revel  in 
the  atmospheric  conditions  offered  them. 
The  inhabitants  have  a  never-failing  source 
of  amusement  here  in  the  constant  change 
from  summer  to  winter  clothing,  necessi- 
tated by  the  charming  inconsistency  of 
things  meteorological.  The  band  now 
performs  once  a  day  only,  in  deference  to 
the  wishes  of  both  visitors  and  residents, 
who  got  up  a  joint  petition  to  the 
authorities  declaring  that  they,  the  said 
petitioners,  could  not  stand  it  oftener. 

DEADLEIGH. 

Wintry  weather  has  given  place  to  a 
pleasant  thick  fog,  which  local  practi- 
tioners consider  very  health-giving.  The 
Chrysanthemum  Show  would  have  been  a 
great  success  had  people  been  able  to  find 
it ;  as  it  was,  only  eight  people  arrived  there 
during  the  day,  the  Mayor  and  Mayoress 
driving  some  seventeen  times  round  t-hn 
town  before  discovering  where  they  were. 
The  Lord-Lieutenant  would  have  opened 
the  show  but  for  the  fact  that  he  emphati- 
cally declined  to  do  anything  of  the  sort 
when  requested. 

BRIXANMORTARVILLE. 

There  has  been  no  complaint  of  monotony 
at  this  rising  young  town  during  the  last 
week,  for  what  with  sleet,  snow,  rain, 
frost,  fog  and  hail,  we  have  been  favoured 
with  an  endless  and  charming  variety  that 
must  attract  all  lovers  of  change.  A 
company  of  amateur  actors  has  been  per- 
forming at  the  Town  Hall,  but  ceased 
somewhat  hurriedly  on  the  third  night, 
and  left  the  place  contemporaneously  with 
the  arrival  of  a  large  consignment  of  shop 
eggs  from  abroad. 

A. bazaar  here  would  have  been  opened 
by  Lord  Kitchener  but  for  his  presence  in 
South  Africa. 

The  Mayor  will  give  a  vegetarian  and 
teetotal  banquet  on  December  23rd.  In- 
vitations are  being  accepted  somewhat 
languidly. 

MUDDIFORD. 

Another  visitor  arrived  the  day  before 
yesterday  in  the  town,  and  was  at  once 
called  upon  by  the  Mayor  and  most  of  the 
Aldermen .  Several  of  the  principal  inhabi- 
tants followed  suit  on  the  same  afternoon 

An    entertainment    was    given    in    the 


iJRURY  LANE 


Pantomime  Child  (to  admiring  friend).    "  Yus,  AND   THERE'S   ANOTHER   HAD  VANTAGE  IN 

IN*   A   HACTKESS.       YOU   (SET   YER   FORTYGRAPHS   TOOK   FOR   NOFFINK  !  " 


market  square  yesterday,  with  the*  aid 
of  a  monkey  and  a  barrel  organ.  This 
most  interesting  exhibition  was  witnessed 
by  a  large  crowd,  almost  the  whole  of 
Muddiford  turning  out  en  masse  to 
watch  the  monkey's  eccentric  evolutions. 

A  section  of  the  new  drainage  scheme 
has  now  been  commenced. 

At  the  College,  on  Monday,  the  wife 
of  the  Headmaster  held  a  reception,  and 
afterwards  an  adjournment  was  made  to 
the  schoolroom  for  the  prize-giving.  The 
prizes  would  have  been  distributed  by 
the  Duke  of  DITCHWATER  but  that,  when 
approached  on  the  subject,  His  Grace  said 
he  would  see  them — about  it  later  on. 


THE  MOST  POPULAR  "  JOKE  "  ON  RECORD. 
— The  one  about  there  being  many  "a  slip" 
between  Sir  THOMAS  LIP-TON  and  the 
America  Cup.  "Slip"  and  "Lip,"  don't 
you  see?  Oh,  rare!  " Rare  !"  we  wish  it 
were,  as  no  less  than  3,610  variations  of 
this  amusing  jest  have  been  already  re- 
ceived at  10,  Bouverie  Street.  It  has 
quite  taken  the  place  of  "  When  is  a 
door  not  a  door?  "  which  admirable  witti- 
cism may  be  once  again  revived  after  the 
"  slip  and  Lip  "  drollery  has  been  uttered 
for  the  last  time. 


DEFINITION  OP  THE  BAR  (by  an   unlucky 
suitor). — Silk,  stuff,  and  nonsense. 


VOL.   CXXI. 


THE  IDEOCRAT  AT  THE  DINNER-TABLE. 

II. 

IN  PARK  LANE. 

AND  so  your  neighbour  charmed  you  ?     '  Tis  a  type 
Instinct  with  sound  commercial  qualities, 
And  dowered  with  every  solid  bridal  grace 
Good  to  restore  the  fortunes  of  a  line 
Noble  in  name  but  out  at  elbow-joint, 
Groggy  o'  thews,  thin-marrowed,  run  to  seed 
For  lack  of  lusty  graft  on  senile  stock, 
Yet  keeping  what  of  wit  sufficed  to  know 
The  price  of  antique  curios  cornered  tight, 
Intrinsic  worth  of  crusted  quarterings, 
And  what  the  legend's  tag  was  like  to  fetch- 
How  goes  it  ?     "  Foy  et  loy ' ' ^old  Norman  style. 
And  so  you  found  her  charming ?    What !    I'm  wrong  . 
'Twas  not  the  Countess  pleased  your  sense  of  style, 
But  just  your  other  neighbour  ?    Why,  my  friend, 
That  was  the  governess,  called  at  sudden  pinch 
From  meal  i  'th '  nursery  regions — tea  and  eggs 
To  supplement  our  numbers,  thirteen  else. 
O  but  of  course  a  lady,  need  I  say  ? 
A  thing  imperative  for  the  children's  sake, 
Who  ask  correction,  being  apt  to  lean 
Too  much  for  speech  and  manners  on  the  maids. 
Good  family— goes  back,  I  understand, 
Five  hundred  years  or  more— stout  yeoman  stuff. 
Had  chance  of  title,  but  declined  the  same 
On  ground  of  being  unversed  in  brewers'  ways  ; 
Nay,  more,  concealed  the  offer  so  refused, 
A  case  of  false  pride,  happily  rare  enough 
In  business  circles.    Brief,  their  fortunes  fell 
(Value  o'  land  depressed,  the  old  excuse) 
On  indigence,  the  genteel-piteous  kind, 
Bringing  the  eldest  daughter  down  to  this, 
A  post  of  five-and-forty  pound  a  year 
With  beer-allowance.     Sweaters'  wage,  you  '11  say, 
And  scarce  a  third  of  salary  paid  my  cook  ? 
Why,  there  I  'm  with  you,  were  I  free  to  waive 
What  rules,  imposed  by  economic  law, 
Provide  a  check  for  thoughtless  altruism, 
Which  else  had  rashly  pauperised  the  girl 
Or  spoilt  the  market-rates  for  poorer  men. 
But  to  resume  our  Countess.     'Tis  a  type 
Instinct,  I  said,  with  sound  commercial  sense, 
In  whose  "  combine  "  with  yonder  belted  Earl 
You  have  a  sign  o'  th'  times  who  rnns  may  read  ; 
Our  ancient  orders,  visibly  corrupt — 
How  says  the  Laureate  ? — yielding  place  to  new  ! 
Alchemy's  trick  of  good  red  blood  infused 
In  old  nobility's  veins  ;  fresh  Phoenix-flights 
Of  fowl  revived — the  Eastern  fable  serves — 
By  breath  o'  th'  spirit  o'  commerce  blown  on  ash. 

Frankly  it  is  a  patriot's  part  they  play, 
Our  merchant-princes,  who  restore  the  breed 
By  taking  noblemen  for  sons-in-law  ! 
How  else  re-galvanise  the  Upper  House 
Closed,  this  long  while,  against  commercial  claims, 
Letting  what  prime  financiers  prop  the  state 
Go  unennobled,  save  by  Nature's  work  ? 
Ay,  there  's  the  price  we  placid  Tories  pay, 
And  something  too  serenely,  through  the  nose, 
For  huge  majorities,  not  greatly  prone 
I'  th'  naughty  pride  of  numbers  to  recall 
By  just  what  manner  o'  process  they  arrived. 
Were  I  indifferent  to  my  country's  weal, 
Or  less  the  loyalist  you  know  me  for, 


— 

Almost  I  might  be  moved  to  shift  my  flag 
Into  the  camp  of  men  so  deep  in  need, 
The  battlements  they  storm,  so  steep  to  win, 
And,  being  narrowly  won,  so  hard  to  hold, 
They  could  not  well  afford  to  disallow 
Its  due  equivalent  to  service  done  ! 

Well,  well,  one  rambles  on  in  idle  talk. 
The  wine  is  with  you.    No  ?    Then,  if  you  please, 
We  '11  join  the  ladies.    You  shall  prove  me  right 
Who  praised  the  Countess.    'Tis  a  type,  I  said, 

Instinct  with  sound  com What  ?    The  governess ! 

I  fear  you  must  excuse  her.    She  withdraws 

Straight  from  the  table  to  her  proper  place 

On  these  occasions,  by  my  wife's  desire, 

Who  shrinks  to  trespass  on  her  leisure  time.          O.  S. 

TO  WOULD-BE  STATESMEN. 
THE  following  appears  in  a  Liverpool  paper{: 

BAR,  PULPIT,  PARLIAMENT,  MUNICIPAL.— Speeches  on  any  subject. 
Either    side    of   the    Political    Hemisphere;    Conservative,    Liberal, 

Nationalist,  &c.    Oratory,  Eloquence,  Wit,     Sermons  written  from  21s.  each. 

Politics  taught.    The  best  way  of  getting  Parliamentary  and  Municipal 

Reforms  explained.    Vocabulary,  Pronunciation,  and  Gesture.     Ready-made 

Toasts,  Responses,  &c.     Law  of  Procedure.     Rules  of  Debate.    Duties  of 

Chairman,  &c.     Terms  from  2ls.  per  hour.     London,  Manchester,  Liverpool, 

and  districts  visited  each  week.     Address,  &c. 

IP  you're  anxious  for  to  shine  in  the  public-speaking  line  as  a 
man  of  gifts  and  power, 

You  should  come  and  learn  from  me  at  the  very  modest  fee  of 
one  pound  one  per  hour  ;  '     ' 

For  at  such  a  small  expense  I  will  teach  you  eloquence,  wit, 
humour,-  terse  and  pithy, 

And  on  any  subject  stated  an  impromptu  animated  that 's  dis- 
tinctly SYDNEY-SMITHY. 
And  every  one  will  say, 
As  you  walk  your  brilliant  way, 

"If  this  young  man  can  think  of  things  which   never  would 
occur  to  me, 

Why,  what  a  very  singularly  smart  young  man  this  smart  young 
man  must  be  !  " 

I  have  toasts  all  ready-made  which  I  '11  send  you,  postage  paid, 
on  receipt  of  my  small  fee, 

Little    delicate    orations  full  of  sparkling  scintillations  and 
brilliant  repartee ; 

And  when  you  slowly  rise  with  a  twinkle  in  your  eyes,  and 
up  to  puns  you  soar, 

As  you  puff  a  cigarette,  you  are  guaranteed  to  set  the  table  in 

a  roar. 

And  every  one  will  say, 
As  you  walk  your  envied  way, 

"If  he  can  make  a  speech  like  that,   which   simply  excru- 
ciates me, 

Why,  what  a  most  astonishingly  brilliant  man  this  brilliant 
man  must  be  !  " 

I  will  teach  you  to  deplore  this  interminable  war,  with  its 

blood  and  treasure  spent, 
And  your  thunderbolts  to  forge,  a  la  LABBY  and  LLOYD-GEORGE, 

against  the  Government ; 
Or,  if  it  is  your  glory  to  be  rated  as  a  Tory,  I  will  make  it  cle 

and  plain 
That  the  one  chance  of  salvation  for  the  British,  as  a  nation, 

is  in  JOSEPH  CHAMBERLAIN. 
And  every  one  will  say, 
As  you  walk  your  lucid  way, 
"  If  he  can  see  these  things  so  well,  which  are  not  so  clear 

to  me,  fa 

Why,  ,what  a  most  astonishingly  great  young  man  this 

young  man  must  be  !  " 


NOVEMBER  27,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  381 


COLONEL    JONATHAN    J.    BULL; 

OK,  WHAT  JOHN  B.  MAY  COME  TO. 


1 


NOVEMBER  27,   1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


383 


The  Geneial.   "AND  WHAT  ARE  \ou  GOING  TO  BE  WHEN  YOU  GKOW  UP,  "SOUNG  MAN?  ' 

Bobbie.    "WELL,   I  CAN'T  QUITE  MAKE  UP  MY  MIND.     I  DON'T  KNOW  WHICH  WOULD  BE  NICEST— A  SOLDIEK,  LIKE  YOU,  OR  A 

SAILOR,    LIKE   MR.    SMITHER8." 


PATTERING  FEET. 
SOMETHING  's  afoot ;  beware,  beware  ! 
Something  is  climbing  the  bedroom  stair. 
"With  here  a  stumble  and  there  a  slip, 
Into  the  passage — trip,  trip,  trip. 

Sharp  little  footfalls  queer  and  quick, 
Never  a  careful  step  they  pick. 
Quaintly  marking  a  morning  song, 
Hurry-scurry  they  rush  along. 

Tripping  bright  on  the  passage  floor, 
Up  they  come  to  your  bedroom  door. 
Never  was  music  half  so  sweet 
As  the  pit^a-pat  patter  of  tiny  feet. 

Dear  little  voices,  high  and  clear, 
Ring  like  a  bell  in  the  sleeper's  ear. 
Small  hands  pluck  at  his  touzled  head, 
"  Daddy,  oh  Daddy,  get  out  of  bed  !  " 

Keeping  the  rules — it 's  all  a  game — 
Out  they  patter  as  in  they  came, 
But  somehow  the  song  moves  rather  slow, 
As  down  the  passage  and  off  they  go. 

And  it 's  oh  for  the  years  that  have  passed  away, 

And  the  feet  that  pattered  at  break  of  day. 

Now  they  are  heavily  booted  feet, 

And  they  tramp  and  stamp  in  the  busy  street. 

And  some  of  them  seemed  to  tire  of  fun, 

So  they  wandered  away  till  they  met  the  sun  ; 

But  he  sends  them  sliding  along  his  beams, 

To  patter  again  in  your  morning  dreams. 


"HOOD'S  OWN"   AT  THE  SAVOY. 

NEITHER  Ib  and  Little  Christina — in  which  title  the  first  name 
is  not,  we  believe,  a  familiar  abbreviation  of  " IBSEN" — nor 
The  Willow  Pattern,  both  by  Captain  BASIL  HOOD,  have  we,  as 
yet,  seen  at  the  Savoy  ;  only,  on  reading  a  notice  of  the  latter 
trifle  in  The  Times,  where  the  writer  referred  to  A  Tale  of  Old 
China,  as  played  by  the  German  Reed's  Company  years  ago  at 
the  Gallery  of  Illustration,  it  occurred  to  the  present  reader 
and  writer,  "  two  single  gentlemen  rolled  into  one,"  that  The 
Willow  Pattern  had  served  ALBERT  SMITH  and  collaborateurs 
very  many  years  ago  as  the  subject  for  an  excellent  extrava- 
ganza at  the  Haymarket,  with  a  full  description  of  action  as 
represented  on  the  plate  itself,  which  was  painted  on  the  "  act 
drop,"  and  spoken  by  one  of  the  authors  (WILLIAM  BROUGH  it 
might  have  been),  who  stood  in  front,  as  a  lecturer  with  a 
wand,  pointing  out  the  figures  and  situations  as  portrayed  on 
the  plate,  and  identifying  them  with  what  the  audience  would 
see  when  the  curtain  should  rise  and  the  action  should  com- 
mence. There  has  been  quite  a  market  for  Old  China  recently 
in  the  way  of  musical  pieces,  ballets,  and  so  forth  ;  perhaps 
the  above-mentioned  old  extravaganza,  "served  up  "  with  new 
music  and  modern  improvements  in  costumes  and  scenery, 
might  yet  serve  the  turn  of  some  enterprising  manager. 


EXERCISE  RECOMMENDED  TO  THIN  PERSONS  IN  ORDER  TO  ACHIEVE 
CORPULENCE. — Select  a  nice  soft  grass-plat.  Then,  being  quite 
thin,  jump  up  in  the  air  and  let  yourself  fall,  not  on  your  feet  of 
course.  The  thinnest  man,  who  has  carefully  followed  this  advice, 
will  at  the  very  second  of  his  descent  discover  that  he  has 
come  down  plump  on  the  grass.  Nothing'further  is  required. 


[NOVEMBER  27,  1901. 


AUTHORESSES. 

['« Madame  KAISSAVOW,  who  died  lately  in  St. 
Petersburg,  has  left  behind  an  immense  library 
of  a  curiously  unique  character.  It  consists  of 
nearly  18,000  volumes,  and  every  work  in  the 
collection  was  the  product  of  a  female  author. 
She  would  never  permit  any  book  from  a  mascu- 
ine  pen  to  'unsex'  her  shelves."—  Westminster 
•azette.} 

No  SHAKSPEARE  here  hath  quibbled 

In  jests  best  left  unsaid  ; 
No  CONGREVE  waxes  ribald 

In  plays  that  can't  be  read  ; 
But  here  the  heart  may  gladden 
The  hours  that  such  would  sadden 
With  ANNIE  SWAN,  Miss  BRADDON 
And  Mrs.  WARD  instead. 

No  wild  Byronic  passion 
In  this  chaste  study  rings  ; 

No  KEATS  in  dubious  fashion 
Proclaimeth  dubious  things  ; 

Yet  need  we  not  man's  pity, 

For  hark,  how  sweetly  pretty 

The  pure  and  pious  ditty 
That  holy  HKMANS  sings  ! 

With  firmness  all  unyielding 
Far  from  our  shelves  we  spurn 
The  wicked  works  of  FIELDING, 

SWIFT,  RICHARDSON  and  STERN*. 
No  gorged  digestion  sickens 
On  THACKERAY  or  DICKENS  ; 
To  Mother  CAREY'S  chickens 

For  lighter  food  we  turn. 

Consistent  still  we  banish 

Man-writers  of  to-day ; 
Q.,  HOPE  and  KIPLING  vanish 

Far  from  our  shelves  away  ; 
For  wherefore  should  we  need  a 
PETT-RIDGE  while  we  can  read  a 
CORELLI,  GRAND,  or  OUIDA, 

A  GYP  or  MAXWELL  GRAY  ? 

Here  in  this  haunt  of  virtue, 
Here  in  this  Vestal  shrine, 

No  work  of  man  shall  hurt  you 
With  humour  masculine : 

This  pure  and  chaste  collection 

Owes  all  its  sweet  perfection 

And  virtuous  complexion 
To  fingers  feminine. 


ATHENS    v.   CORINTH. 

[The  Daily  Express  publishes  an  Athens  tele- 
gram stating  that  "the  Minister  of  Instruction 
will  submit  a  Bill  to  the  Chamber  of  Deputies, 
making  compulsory  in  Greek  schools  the  game  of 
cricket,  which  he  claims  to  be  an  ancient  Greek 
game."  The  following  extract  from  a  recently- 
discovered  Greek  MS.  seems  to  substantiate  this 
view.] 

"...  PENTHEUS  therefore,  the  egg  of  a 
waterfowl  having  been  secured  (:),  came 
back  into  the  building,  the  crowd  indeed 
shouting,  not  as  those  who  grant  applause, 
but  as  making  ridicule.  Next  in  turn  it 
behoved  LYSIAS,  good  at  shaking  trees  (-), 
to  sally  forth.  First  then  he,  his  armour 
fastened  about  his  lirnfcs,  made  supplica- 


tion to  the  gods,  saying :  '  Grant,  O  ye 
Gods  !  that  CHIRON,  whose  gentle  casting 
of  the  ball  is  no  less  dear  to  me  than 
honey  of  Hymettus,  be  not  compelled  to 
cease  from  his  task,  and  let  the  fingers  of 
those  situated  in  rural  districts  be  well- 
spread  with  rich  butter.'(3)  So  saying, 
he  ceased ;  and,  having  sacrificed  a  cock 
and  a  sheep,  sped  forth  into  the  midst  of 
the  field. 

"Forthwith  then  CHIRON,  good  at  frac- 
turing the  lower  limbs  (4),  seized  the  ball 
and  propelled  it  dexterously.  It  com- 
ing, LYSIAS  smote,  not  gently  indeed, 
but  with  the  utmost  force.  As  a  bird  in 
early  morning  soars  gladly  far  above  the 
heads  of  men,  not  otherwise  the  ball, 
LYSIAS  having  struck,  sought  the  upper 
air.  Awaiting  its  return  stood  a  man  of 
Athens,  situated  in  the  lengthy  pas- 
turage^), his  hands  outspread.  But  him 
the  ball  eluded,  falling  headlong  to  the 
earth ;  cries  of  derision  also  being  uttered 
by  the  spectators.  And  the  loader  of 
the  Athenians,  grieved  as  to  his  clear 
heart,  spake  winged  words,  saying, 
'  Your  clumsiness  is  excessively  annoy- 
ing. '(f>)  But  the  other  answered  that  he 
was  not  to  blame,  Phoebus  Apollo  having 
blinded  his  eyes.  Then  CHIRON  once  more 
propelling  the  ball,  it  struck  LYSIAS  on 
the  elbow,  passing  thence  into  the  hands 
of  the  guardian  of  the  gate(').  He, 
turning  about  to  the  arbitrator,  good  at 
judgments,  cried  aloud  :  '  Publish  unto 
us,  O  arbitrator,  thine  opinion.'  Now 
the  arbitrator,  himself  an  Athenian, 
chanced  to  have  a  wager  of  several 
drachmae  on  the  contest.  Wherefore  he 
replied :  '  O  men  and  citizens,  very 
much  especially  indeed  it  befits  that 
LYSIAS  should  depart.'  LYSIAS,  there- 
fore, his  heart  being  grieved,  went  back 
into  the  building ;  and  then,  pointing 
to  the  arbitrator,  he  said  to  his  com- 
panions  "(3) 

Notes  by  our  Classical  Editor. 

(!)  An  obscure  phrase.  POFFENDORF  plausiblj 
conjectures  that  the  egg  was  taken  as  refreshmen 
by  one  of  the  protagonists. 

(2)  Another  difficult  sentence.  Literally,  it  means 
"  a  skilful  willow-handler,"  but  this  seems  point- 
less. 

(;t)  Lit.  ''  The  fingers  of  the  men  in  the  country ' 
— apparently  a  pious  prayer  for  the  agricultura 
population  of  the  neighbourhood. 

(*)  Lit.  "skilled  at  leg-breaking."  POFFEN 
DOEF  traces  the  epithet  tc  the  speed  with  whicl 
CHIEON  could  throw  the  ball.  But  LYSIAS  (cf 
supra)  speaks  of  him  as  casting  it  "gently." 

(J)  Some  scholars  translate :  "  in  the  long  field.' 
My  rendering,  I  think,  is  more  poetic. 

0  I  have  ventured  thus  briefly  to  paraphras 
a  vituperative  speech  of  considerable  length. 

(7)  A   difficult  sentence.      How  could  the  ba' 
travel  from  LYSIAS'  elbow  all  the  way  to  th 
keeper  of  the  gate,   or  wicket  ?      POFFENDOB 
conjectures,  rather  inanely,  that  the  gate  was  i 
the  centre  of  the  field. 

(8)  Out  of  regard  for  the  feelings  of  my  reader 
I  cannot  translate  the  passage  which  follows. 

A.  C.  D. 


N   PRAISE  OF  THE  FOURTH  ESTATE. 
ENGLAND,  when  your  star  grows  dim, 

And  when  troubles  gather  round, 
When  about  you,  fierce  and  "  slim," 

Cruel  enemies  abound — 
Nought  their  onset  need  affect  you, 
With  your  "  Dailies  "  to  protect  Jyou. 

What  though  Premiers  waver  still, 
And  your  ministers  prove  frail ; 

Though  your  statesmen  lose  their  skill, 
Or  in  times  of  peril  fail  ? — 

Chiding,  teaching,  prosing,  warning, 

You  have  ' '  leaders  ' '  every  morning. 

If  red  tape  the  soldier  clogs  ; 

At  a  pace  that  none  may  stop 
If  the  army,  neck  and  crop, 

Daily  rushes  to  the  dogs — 
Diagnoses  analytic 
Gives  "Our  Military  Critic." 

Then  if  crimes  your  peace  should  vex — 
Scatheless  if  the  culprit  roams — 

M  yst eries  that  would  perplex 

Scotland  Yard  or  Sherlock  Holmes 

Yield  their  key  to  one  still  greater — 

"  Our  own  Crime  Investigator." 

So,  though  army  and  police 
Fail  you  in  your  hour  of  need, 

Let  your  sad  forebodings  cease, 
Public,  for  you  need  not  heed 

Periods  of  storm  and  stress 

While  you  have  a  Daily  Press. 


AN    UNREAL    CONVERSATION. 

Recorded  by  Archie  Williams. 
SCENE — The  Library  at  Devonshire  House. 
Discovered,  the  Duke  of  DEVONSHIRE, 
asleep  in  an  easy  chair.    Enter  A.  W. 

A.  W.  I  'm  very  much  obliged  to  your 
Grace —  Why,  here  's  another  sleeper ! 
Ahem  ! 

The  Duke  (tint/tout  opening  his  eyes). 
What  's  won  ? 

A.  W.  (uside).  He  must  think  I  'm  a 
pupil-teacher,  coming  to  be  examined. 
(Loudly.)  One  is  a  cardinal  number. 

The  Duke.  You  needn't  shout.  Never 
heard  of  Cardinal  Number.  Funny  name 
for  a  horse  !  Some  outsider.  (Opens  his 
eyes.)  Hullo,  who  are  you  ? 

A.  W.  Your  Grace  was  kind  enough  to 
give  me  an  appointment  for  a  little  con- 
versation. 

The  Duke.  I  remember.  You  don't 
happen  to  know  the  name  of  the  winner, 
do  you  ?  By  the  way,  are  you  fond  of 
racing  ?  Keep  any  horses  ? 

A.  W.  That  is  beyond  the  dreams  of 
literature.  Only  a  publisher  or  a  theatrical 
manager  could  run  to  that.  A  popular 
novelist  or  dramatist  hardly  could.  Even 
the  author  of  Lord  Quex 

The  Duke.  That 's  one  of  mine. 

A.  W.  Excuse  me,  I  think  it 's  PlNERO'S. 
The  Duke.  You  're  quite  mistaken.  Lord 
Quex  is  a  horse  of  mine. 

A.  W.  Oh,  indeed  !  I  meant  the  play. 
I  must  confess  I  know  nothing  of  racing. 


NOVEMBER  27,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


385 


The  Duke.  My  goodness  !  How  do  you 
amuse  yourself  ? 

A.  W.  I  get  along  somehow.  I  occupy 
myself  with  books. 

The  Duke  (suddenly  sitting  bolt  upright). 
You  don't  mean  to  say  you  're  a  bookie  ? 
And  yet  you  know  nothing  about  racing  ? 

A.  W.  Nor  do  I.  I  mean  reading  and 
studying. 

The  Duke.  Oh  lord !  A  sort  of  school- 
master. Not  Board  School,  I  hope  ? 

A.  W.  Oh  no  !  Talking  of  amusement, 
might  I  ask  what  your  Grace  is  most  fond 
of  doing  ? 

The  Duke.  Nothing. 

A.  W.  I  mean,  what  is  your  favourite 
recreation  ? 

The  Duke.  I  've  told  you.  Doing  nothing. 

A.  W.  Ah,  I  understand  !  Naturally  a 
Minister,  weighed  down  with  the  cares  of 
office  and  all  the  responsibilities  of  this 
vast  empire,  must  at  times  have  complete 
repose.  He  cannot  have  the  physical 
strength  to  devote  himself  without  inter- 
mission to  the  intellectual  advancement  of 
the  human  race — 

The  Dnke  (sleepily).  Eh  ?  At  Nottingham 
or  Leicester  ? 

A.  W.  Excuse  me,  I  don't  think  any  of 
the  Ministers  live  at  either  of  those 
places.  Nor,  as  I  was  saying,  can  he  give 
up  every  moment  of  his  life  even  to  those 
mighty  schemes,  those  grand  national 
ideals 

The  Duke  (opening  his  eyes).  What?  The 
Grand  National  isn't  now  !  It 's  in  March  ! 

A.  W.  What  has  marching  to  do  with  it  ? 
Oh,  your  Grace  is  thinking  of  military 
progress.  Well,  so  far,  the  only  thing 
altered  is  the  soldier's  head-dress.  It 's 

not  beautiful,  but  perhaps why,  he 's 

asleep  ! — (loudly) — perhaps  it 's    a   handy 
cap. 

The  Duke  (drowsily).  Manchester  Handi- 
cap ?  You  're  thinking  of  my  Trans- 
parency. 

i^A. _W.   (confused).  Your  Transparency? 
Is  that  a  Chinese  title  ? 

The  Duke  (almost  asleep).  Or  else — oh, 
I  am  sleepy  !  Or  else  Baldoyle,  as  they 
said  in  some — some — some  papers.  [Nods. 

A.  W.  Boiled  oil.  What  a  horrible  idea ! 
Is  it  a  Chinese  torture?  Talking  of  China, 
do  you  think  the  Yang-tse-Kiang  arrange- 
ment will  open  up  a  new  market  ? 

The  Duke  (thoroughly  aroused).  Eh? 
Newmarket  ?  Do  you  know  it  ?  Jolly 
place,  isn't  it  ?  I  go  there  whenever  I 
can.  Never  feel  so  well  anywhere.  So 
different  to  London,  where  you  never  see 
a  race-horse.  Funny  place,  London !  I 
suppose  it 's  full  of  schoolmasters  like  you . 

A.  W.  I  'm  not  a  schoolmaster. 

The  Duke.  Why,  you  said  you  studied 
books,  so  I  thought  you  must  be.  Some- 
times I  go  to  the  Education  Department. 
Bores  me  awfully.  They  're  all  school- 
masters. Don't  know  a  horse  from  a 
motor  car.  I  can't  ever  understand  what 
they  're  talking  about. 


Unde.  "  YES,  CHARLES.     I  LAID  THE  FOUNDATION  OF  MY  FORTUNE  BY  SAVING  CAB-FARES. 
Spendthrift  Nephew.  "I  "DIDN'T  KNOW  YOU  EATER  DROVE  ONE,  UNCLE!" 


A.  W.  That  reminds  me  your  Grace  is 
President  of  the  Board  of  Education. 

The  Duke.  Dear  me,  I  believe  I  am  ! 
Now  you  mention  it  I  remember  something 
of  the  sort.  But  I  know  nothing  about  it 
at  all.  Never  understand  a  word  anybody 
says  on  the  subject.  That  's  a  very  good 
reason  why  I  never  say  a  word  about  it 
myself.  Perfect  gibberish  to  me.  But  I 
wish  you  Avouldn't  make  me  talk  so  much. 
I  'm  supposed  to  be  having  a  rest. 

A.  W.  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  had  hoped 
to  find  you  primed  to  the  finger-tips. 

The  Duke  (drowsily).  Tips  ?  Ah  now,  if 
you  were  a  racing  man,  you  might  be  able 
to  give  me  some. 

A.  W.  What  sort  of  sum?  I  was  always 
bad  at  arithmetic.  I  'm  not  like  your 
Grace's  subordinates  in  the  Board  Schools. 

The  Duke.  Do  they  bet  ?  If  so,  you  in 
proportion — 

A.  W.  In  proportion?  Well,  let  us  say, 
as  ten  is  to  one,  so  is — 

The  Duke.  If  that  was  the  betting,  I 
hope  you  put  your  money  on  another 
horse.  But,  I  say,  do  finish  your  ques- 


tions as  soon  as  you  can.  I  'm  awfully 
tired.  I  shall  get  no  sleep  this  morning. 

A.  W.  Well,  as  to  the  war,  if  you  could 
give  me  your  views 

The  Duke.  I  haven't  any. 

A.  W.  I  mean,  if  you  have  studied 

The  Duke.  I  don't  study. 

A.  W.  Well,  let 's  say  your  opinion 

The  Duke.  I  never  have  one. 

A.  W.  Dear,  dear!  Don't  you  know 
what  the  other  Ministers  think  ? 

The  Duke.  Not  I. 

A.  W.  Or  what  is  to  be  done  ? 

The  Duke.  I  haven't  the  faintest  idea. 

A.  W.  Might  I  venture  to  ask  what 
induced  you  to  become  a  Minister  ? 

The  Duke.  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know.    [Nods. 

A.  W.  Aren't  you  all  trembling  at  the 
thought  of  Lord  BOSEBERY  smashing  you 
at  Derby,  or  somewhere  in  that  county, 
next  month  ? 

The  Duke  (hardly  awake).  ROSEBERY  ? 
Try  for  the  Derby  again  ?  Possibly.  But 
that 's— that 's— that 's  not  for  six  months. 
Good-bye.  [Falls  asleep.  Exit  A.  W. 

H.  D.  B. 


386 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  [NOVEMBER  27,  1901. 


DOMESTIC  DRAMA. 
(A  Hors-d'oeuvre.) 

WKLL!    Yes?    "What  is  it?    I  can't  hear  a  word. 

Oh,  bother  !    What  d  'you  want  ?    What  do  you  want  ? 

Open  the  door  then.     Open  the  door,  I  said. 

Open  the — can't  !    I  'm  shaving.    Don't  come  in. 

Look  here,  I  've  nothing  on.     Dash  !  I  mean  d — . 
Sorry  I  spoke,  my  dear,  but  you  're  enough 

To  make  a  saint— yes,  yes,  I  know  I  did  : 

To  open  it,  not  to  come  in.     Oh,  yes  ! 

I  only  meant — now  where's  that  cotton-wool  ? 

I',m  bleeding  like — those  wretched  maids  of  yours 

Hide  all  my  things.    They  do.    Well,  someone  does, 

You  and  the  girls  are  every  bit  as  bad. 

I  know  I  had  some.     Clara  ?    Then  I  wish 

To  goodness  Clara  wouldn't ;    What  on  earth — 

Why  can't  she  stuff  her  shoes  with  something  else  ? 

I  don't  take  her  things.    Bosh  !    You  seem  to  think 

My  dressing-room  's  a  sort  of  Westbourne  Grove. 

What 's  that?    Oh,  cotton-wool.     I  've  got  some,  thanks. 

Yes,  yes,  confound — I  mean,  I  've  found  it  now. 

Oh,  yes,  it 's  better. 

Nov      on,  fire  away. 

What  was  it  you  were  going  to — oh,  look  here  ! 

It  really  is  too  bad.    Who  is  supposed 

To  mend  my  things  ?    Is  anyone  ?    What  ?    Who  ? 

Well  then,  she  doesn't.    Why  there  's — hang  the  girl ! 

There  's  not  a  single  one  that  I  can  wear. 

One,  two,  three — look  !    It  surely  doesn't  take 

A  week  to  sew  a  button  on  a — what  ? 

You  can't.    There  isn't  time.    I  '11  cut  a  hole 

And  shove  a  stud  through.     There!     Well,  now,  my  dear, 

What  was  it — 

Well !     Of  course  !     I  might  have  known  ! 
Now  where  the — where  on  earth — oh,  nothing,  thanks  ! 
My  only  decent  set  of  studs.     That 's  all. 
Someone — I  know  I  left  them  on  the  glass  : 
I  always  do.    I  'm  sure— of  course  I  've  looked. 
What  shirt  ?    Why  should  I  leave  them  in  my  shirt  ? 
I  never  do  :  I  nev — er,  well,  my  dear, 
What  was  it  you  were  going  to  say  ? 

Eh,  what? 

What  studs?    Oh,  those.    Yes,  thanks,  1  've  found  'em  now. 
Exactly,  in  the  shirt.     You  told  me  so  ? 
You  did.    You  always  do.    You  are  a — woman  : 
And  I  'm — well,  yes,  no  doubt  I  am  a  man, 
But  also,  as  I  was  about  to  say, 
An  angel.    Any  ordinary  man 
Would  certainly  have  lost  his — hang  it  all  ! 
I  say,  I  've  lost  my  braces  now.     I  '11  swear — 
I  wish  you  wouldn't  interrupt.     I  '11  swear 
I  put  them  here.    No,  here.     Why,  so  they  are. 
Now  how  the  Dickens — well,  it 's  very  odd, 
However — how  's  the  time  ?     By  Jove,  we  're  late  ! 

Youj-eady  V    Got  a^pin  ?    Do  hurry  up. 
This  beastly  tie's  all  cockeye.     Here,  look  out ! 
Don't  stick  it  in  my  nepk  !     Yes,  that  '11  do. 
Now  then,  the  other.    Thanks.    Oh,  yes,  don't  fuss'; 
You  '11  make  us  late.    What  is  it  ?    Oh,  your  dress  ?' 
Yes,  pretty  well.    Not  bad.    It  looksTall  right, 
As  far  as  I  'm— hullo  !  why,  what's  the  row  ? 
Unkind  ?    What,  me  ?    My  dear,  you  really  are  ! 
Why  can't  you  keep  your  temper  to  yourself, 
Instead  of— well,  I  like  that.    I  was  ?    When  ? 
I  wasn't.    Do  shut  up.    Here,  dry  your  eyes, 
I  hate  to  see  a  woman  crying.    There 
That 's  better.    Please  don't  argue  any  more. 
No,  I  insist.     You  shall  not  spoil  my  dinner.  ' 


SUCCESSFUL  SOCIETY; 
Or,  What  the  Future  lias  in  store. 

["The  successful  society  of  the  future  will  depend  in  the  main  on  an 
intelligent,  scientific  middle-class,  strenuous,  efficient,  serious,  and  highly 
educated.    Aristocracy  and  plutocracy  there  will  still  be,  but  since  in  the 
scientific  states  of  the  future  training  and  efficiency  will  count  for  everything, 
those  who  rely  on  money  and  birth  cannot  play  the  part  that  they  played  in 
simpler  organisations.    They  will  tend  more  and  more  to  supply  the  decorative, 
non-efficient  side  of  life,  unless,  indeed,  luxury  and  ease  spoil  them  for  any 
serious  purpose  whatever."— Popular  Evening  Paper.] 
The  scene  is  at  Hie  house  of  CUTPRISE,  Chief  Director  of  the 
Tinned  Tomato  Trust.     The  room  is  severely  and  uncomfort- 
ably   furnished.      Books,     official    documents,    mechanical 
appliances  and  nerve  tonics  are  conspicuous  objets  d'art. 
An  air  of  restlessness,  seriousness,  business  and  electricity 
liangs  pall-like  over  everything.    In  the  background  are  open 
folding-doors.     Within  is  seen  a  sumptuous  office  about  which 
highly-educated  and  gloomy  officials  flit.    In  front  of  a  fire- 
place, in  a  big  armchair,  is  seated  THOMASINE,  a  pale,  nervous 
girl.    She  is  in  out-door  costume  and  pince-nez.    Enter  from 
office,  CUTPRISE,  a  lean,  yellow-faced,  weak-eyed,  intelligent, 
scientific,  strenuous,  efficient,  serious  and  highly-educated 
automaton  of    the  middle  -  class.     The  folding-doors   close. 
THOMASINE  rises  wearily  and  gives  him  a  limp  hand,  which 
CUTPRISE  takes  without  emotion. 

Cutprise  (in  business-like  tones).  And  you  are  to  give  me  your 
answer  to-day  ? 

Thomasine.  Yes,  before  I  go. 

[Casts  furtive  glance  at  folding-doors. 
Cut.  You  had  no  ulterior  motive  in  coming  here  ? 
Tlwm.  What  motive  should  1  have  ? 

Cut.  (puzzled).  I  hardly  know.    Yet — business  success    has 
aught  me    that  human    nature    is  subject    to  fluctuation.    I 

want  to  guard  against  a  slump.    If  I  thought  that  you 

Thorn.  Why  these  suspicions?    The  sexes  are  equal.    Two 
can  suspect. 

Cut.  True.    Forgive  me  if  1  appear  a  little  strenuous.    (Goes  to 

fire  and  speaks  into  it.)    From  every  point  of  view  our  marriage 

would  be  a  thoroughly  sound  transaction.     We  are  both  middle 

lass  and  leaders  of  society.    Intelligent  enough  to  know  that 

.ove  is  not  a  practical  asset  of  every-day  life,  and  sufficiently 

serious    and    sensible    to    desire    above    all   things — (repeats 

mpliatically) — above  all  things,  I  say,  worldly  success  and  a 

premier  position  in  society.    (Girl  winces.)   1  began,  as  you  know, 

as  a  vendor  of  ha'penny  papers  in  the  gutters,  but  by  indomitable 

push  I  got  on  and  on,  until  now — see  (waves  his  liand  round  room). 

I  determined  1  would  win  for  myself  a  place  in  successful  society. 

I  have  done  it ;  but  one  false  step,  even  now,  would  send  me 

down  into  the  submerged  circles  of  the  decorative  aristocrat  or 

he  non-efficient  plutocrat.    And  your  case  ? 

Thorn.  Yes,  substantially,  mine  is  the  same.     The  terrible 

beginning  at  the  hairpin  factory  ;  toil,  night  and  day,  till  by 

assiduity  I  worked  ray  way  into  the  patching  departoient  of  a 

West-End  tailor's.     Then  more  strenuous  efforts,  self-education 

jefore  breakfast,  a  scholarship  at  the  Bermondsey  Industrial 

University,  and  then  the  first  marmalade  factory.    Now  they 

spread  far  and  wide,  and  I  manufacture  sufficient  marmalade 

ach  year  to  spread  over  Wales. 

j  LCut.  And  all  this  triumph  you  may  retain  by  marrying  me. 

You  hear  ? 

Thorn.  Yes,  I  know. 

Cut.  Think  it  well  over.     Your  place  in  society  !     What  man 

s  worth  giving  up  for  that  ? 

[The  curtain  is  lowered  for  a  few  minutes.     When  it  rise* 

GKRALD,  an  employe  of  CUTPRISK,  is   discovered  gazing 

affectionately  into  the  wan  face  of  THOMASINE. 

Gerald.  You  were  to  give  me  your  answer  to-day  ! 

Thorn,  (her  eyes  light  up  for  a  second).  Yes.     Oh,  if  I  dared,  i 

[  dared 


NOVEMBER  27,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON  CHARIVARI 


387 


SUCCESS    TO    OUR    ARMS.!" 

(Toast  for  the  Vaccinated.} 


Ger.  Be  brave 

Thorn.  If  I  could  get  rid  of  the  awful  suspicions. 
Ger.  (starting).  Suspicions  ? 

Thorn.  Yes.  You  are  different  from  most  men.  Fresh-com- 
plexioned,  white-handed,  gentle-mannered,  and  free  from  the 
efficient  strenuity  that  characterises  the  potent  forces  of  our 
modern  civilisation.  I  sometimes  think,  forgive  me,  that  although 
an  employe  here  you  are  not  a  member  of  the  middle  class. 
Think  what  it  means  !  (GERALD  starts.)  I  can  only  live  in 
society.  Assure,  me  you  are  middle-class  and  I  will  say  Yes. 
Ger.  (trembling).  THOMASINE — 

Thorn.  You  hesitate.  J  am  right,  you  are  an  aristocrat?  Tell 
me,  tell  me — 

Ger.  Ah  !  I  have  renounced  all  that — 

Thorn.  Impossible.  There  are  too  many  vigilant  eyes  ready 
to  detect  aristocratic  interlopers.  Tell  me  you  have  no  blue 
blood,  that  you  sprung  from  nothing. 

[GERALD  ivaves  his  hands  despondently.  He  struggles  with 
his  feelings,  gasps,  and  then  nerves  himself  to  speak 
out. 

Ger.  (with  calm  despair).  I  cannot  deceive  you.  I  am  a 
duke  ! 

Tliom.  (with  cry  of  horror).  A  duke  !  Ah  !  My  worst  fears. 
The  very  word  is  enough.  A  duke !  Oh,  it 's  too  awful !  "We 
must  never  see  one  another  again.  It 's  impossible.  Me — a 
duchess  !  Oh,  it 's  too  horrible  !  I  can't  think  of  it! 

[The  curtain  is  lowered  for  a  few  minutes.  When  it  is  raised 
another  employe  is  sitting  I  facing  THOMASINE,  again 
tranquil. 

Second  Em.  You  were  to  give  me  your  answer  to-day  ! 
Thorn,  (rising  and  rvalking  up  stage  rapidly).  What  you  have 


told  me  makes  it  impossible  that  anything  but  the  most  distant 
nodding  acquaintance  can  subsist  between  us. 

Second  Em.  Ah  !  you  have  no  pity. 

Thorn.  Do  not  let  us  prolong  the  interview  which  must  be  so 
distasteful  to  both  of  us 

Second  Em.  (in  anguish).  Was  it  any  fault  of  mine  that  my 
father  died  a  millionaire  ?  I  was  reared  in  luxury  ;  before  I  was 
of  an  age  to  realise  the  awful  fortune  to  which  I  was  born  the 
insidious  habit  of  comfort  had  got  too  firm  a  hold  on  my  system. 
The  loathed  name  of  plutocrat  (THOMASINE  shivers)  became  early 
attached  to  me,  and  with  the  awful  curse  of  a  hundred  thousand 
a  year  I  have  dragged  my  dreadful  and  luxurious  way  through 
life,  scorned,  slighted  and  tabooed  by  the  cream  of  successful 
society. 

Thorn.  And  you  ask  me  to  link  my  name  with  one  who  is  the 
constant  theme  of  social  condemnation  and  the  subject  of 
democratic  meetings ! 

Second  Em.  I  have  tried  to  work,  but  having  been  educated 
at  a  University,  I  find  I  know  nothing.  But  I  am  already  very 
strenuous.  I  am  now  a  supernumerary  tomato-tin-opener.  Give 
me  a  chance  and  I  will  work  my  way  up.  With  my  money 

Thorn.  Your  money  !  your  money  ! 

Second  Em.  (grimly).  You  are  right.  I  must  be  content  to 
remain  a  mere  decoration  on  the  fringe  of  so — so— society,  to  be 
for  ever  a  submerged  plutocrat.  You  are  right. 

[Head  sinks  on  his  breast.  The  curtain  is  again  lowered. 
When  it  is  raised  CUTPRISE  is  being]  formally  accepted 
by  THOMASINE.  The  folding  doors  are  open  and  the  two 
employes  are  seen  breaking  up  the  office  furniture  in  tlie 
twentieth  century  dramatic  style.  The  curtain  then  falls, 
marking  the  end  of  the  play.  W.  H.  M. 


388 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI.  [NOVEMBER  27,  1901. 


"  NUTS   FOR  THjf 'MONKEYS,    SlR  ?      BUY   A   BAG   O*   NUTS   FOE  THE   MONKEYS  !" 

"I'M    NOT   GOING   TO    THE   ZOO." 

"AH,    WELL,    SlR,    HAVE  SOME  TO   TAKE   HOME   TO   THE   CHILDREN  !" 


IN  IMAGINATION. 

["Miss  MARIE  CORELLI  read  an  interesting  address  to  the  Edinburgh 
Philosophical  Society  last  evening  on  what  she  called  '  The  Vanishing 
Gift.'  The  vanishing  gift  meant  imagination." — Daily  Telegraph. ,] 

(An  Imaginary  Address  to  Maecenas.) 

ALL  writers  have  this  fault — that  when  a  score 

Of  novels  they  have  written,  to  the  fore 

They  needs  must  press  in  other  walks  of  life. 

Perchance  attempt  on  streams  of  party  strife 

To  pour  their  midnight  oil,  perchance  to  lend 

A  helping  hand  to  some  politic  friend. 

Empyreal  fire  disdaining,  glad  they  right 

To  be  espied  in  an  Imperial  light. 

And  while  much  thought  they  give  to  other  woes, 

Their  crippled  grammar  unattended  goes. 

In  short,  each  writer  strives  to  attain  the  end 

Of  national  guide,  philosopher  and  friend. 

M^CENAS,  wouldst  thou  know  the  writer's  art 
By  which  he  plays  so  various  a  part, 
By  which  he  feels  himself  innately  fit 
To  be  at  once  SCOTT,  SHAKSPEARE,  ELIOT,  PIT  ? 
Know  that  this  gift,  this  spirit  of  self-elation 
Springs  from  a  rich  and  strong  imagination  ! 


Imagination  !  lovely,  laughing  fay  ! 
How  wonderful  the  tricks  thou  lov'st  to  play  ! 
The  nodding  clerk  sinks  back  in  soft  repose 
Before  his  figures  long  unadded  rows, 
By  thee  persuaded  he  has  earned  his  wage 
In  languor  lolls  upon  the  ledger's  page. 
By  thee  the  hungry,  when  he  shall  partake 
Of— what  is  not  too  rare— a  toughish  steak, 
Beguiled,  shall  swear  'tis  tender  as  can  be, 
And  prove  a  martyr  to  the  steak — and  thee  ! 
The  densest  fog  that  veils  the  winter's  skies 
Before  a  strong  imagination  flies, 
Unless  it  happen  ere  the  charm  be  tried 
One  doth  with  some  belated  friend  collide, 
When  each  shall  greet  the  other  with  an  oath, 
To  dwell  on  which  imagination 's  loath. 
And  on  me  it  has  ever  been  my  way 
To  let  imagination  have  full  play. 
What  am  I  ?     Be  my  talents  great  or  small, 
With  imagery  I  can  colour  all 
Till  I  shall  seem,  by  virtue  of  my  stories, 
The  height  of  England's  literary  glories, 
The  pride,  the  honour  of  the  British  nation, 
All  this,  MAECENAS — in  imagination  ! 


NOVEMBER  27,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


391 


SHERLOCK    HOLMES    ADAPTED.-No.   I. 

1899. — PROFESSOR  MORIARTY  KRUGER  HAS  A  LITTLE  INTERVIEW  WITH  JOSEPH  SHERLOCK  HOLMES. 


TELEPHONIC   TALK. 

(Wlien  the  new  regulations  come  into  force.) 

Edwin  (aged  twenty-five).  Are  you  there, 
sweetheart  ? 

Angelina  (ditto).  Yes,  darling. 

Edit).  I  am  so  very  pleased  to  find  that 
I  shall  be  able  to  dine  at  home  to-night 
after  all. 

Ang.  Oh,  I  am  so  glad. 

Edw.  I  knew  you  would  be.  Yes,  I 
have  been  able  to  put  off  the  business 
dinner.  It  might  have  led  to  a  little 
profit,  but  what  would  that  have  been 
compared  with  our  usual  delightful  tete- 
a-tete  ? 

Ang.  Dearest ! 

Edw.  So  we  have  postponed  it  indefi- 
nitely. Something  will  come  along  just  as 
good.  After  all,  we  must  keep  the  vie 
intime  sacred. 

Ang.  Yes,  darling;  but  you  must  not  let 
your  love  for  our  dear  happy  little  home 
stand  in  the  way  of  our  advancement. 


Edw.  Clever  little  woman  ! 

Ang.  Your  happiness  and  mine  is  my 
first  and  only  care.  We  must  be  economi- 
cal. And  that  reminds  me  that  we  are 
paying  a  penny  for  this  chat. 

Edu\  And  cheap  at  the  price  ! 

[Communication  cut  off. 

***** 

Edw.  (aged  forty-five).  Are  you  there? 

Ang.  (ditto).  Yes.     What  is  it  ? 

Edw.  Can't  stand  any  more  home  din- 
ners. Shall  dine  at  the  club  to-night ! 

Ang.  Fancy  wasting  a  penny  to  tell  me 
that! 

Edw.  Quite  so.  A  penny  for  a  talk 
with  you  !  Dear  at  the  price  ! 

{Communication  cut  off. 


THE  Queen-Mother  of  Holland  must 
be  an  inveterate  card-player,  as  she 
spends  so  much  of  her  time  at  Loo. 
Whether  limited  or  unlimited  is  not 
stated. 


THE  "OFF"  SEASON. 

DAPHNE,  that  day 

Do  you  remember 
(Then  it  was  May, 

Now  it 's  November) 

Plighting  our  troth 
Nothing  sbould^sever  ; 

Binding  Us  both 
Firmly,  for  ever  ? 

Yes,  I  allow 

STREPHOX  's  more  showy : 
As  for  me,  now 

I  prefer  CHLOE. 

Yet,  if  men  say 

"Fickle,"  remember 
Then  it  was  May, 

Now  it 's  November. 


SUGGESTED  NAME  FOR  AN  ASSOCIATION 
DEVOTED  TO  THE  PRESENT  POPULAR  CARD- 
CRAZE. — The  London  Bridge  Club. 


392 


PUNCH,   OK  THE  LONDON  CHAB1VARI.  [NOVEMBER  27,  1901. 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

DEALING  with  The  Life  of  Lord  Russell  of 
Killowen  (SMITH,  ELDER),  Mr.  BARRY  O'BRIEN  has 
the  advantage  of  personal  intimacy  with  the  sub- 
ject of  his  essay.  In  the  case  of  the  late  Lord 
Chief  Justice,  that  is  a  condition  more  than 
customarily  essential  to  success.  To  the  outside 
world,  not  excepting  the  Bar,  RUSSELL'S  leading 
characteristics  (apart  from  his  genius)  were  his 
short  temper  and  his  sharp  speech.  He  was  truly,  as  the 
cabman  said  of  JOHN  FOSTER  "a  harbitrary  gent."  But  be- 
hind a  frowning  countenance  he,  not  always  successfully, 
concealed  the  kindest  of  hearts.  There  were  two  CHARLES 
RUSSELLS,  one  in  wig  and  gown,  facing  meanness  and  un- 
truthfulness  in  the  witness  box,  or  confronted  by  stupidity 
on  the  part  of  whatsoever  hapless  person  ;  the  other  beaming 
in  a  circle  of  intimate  friends,  or  the  centre  of  the  happy 
family  circle.  My  Baronite  was  privileged  to  know  him  at 
Tadworth  Court,  where  the  real  man  was  disclosed.  Mr. 
O'BRIEN  touches  a  chord  in  the  home  life  when  he  quotes  the 
letter  written  to  Lord  RUSSELL'S  daughter,  MAY,  when  she 
finally  resolved  to  take  the  veil.  Perhaps  never  has  so  beauti- 
ful and  tender  an  epistle  been  written  under  the  formidable 
headline,  "  Royal  Courts  of  Justice."  RUSSELL  was  entirely  a 
self-made  man,  shouldering  his  way  to  the  front,  and  holding 
his  place  there  by  sheer  capacity.  His  crowning  triumph  came 
the  end,  when  he  stepped  from  the  Bar  to  the  Bench. 
Everyone  admitted  his  supremacy  as  an  advocate.  Many, 
including  faithful  friends,  feared  that  what  should  be  the 
judicial  serenity  of  the  Bench  would,  when  he  sat  upon  it,  be 
disturbed  by  occasional  outbursts  of  angry  impatience.  Before 
RUSSELL  had  worn  the  ermine  six  months,  the  point  of  con- 
troversy was  whether  he  was  not  greater  as  a  Judge  than  he 
had  been  supreme  as  an  advocate.  He  leaves  behind  him  the 
memory  of  a  strenuous  life,  a  brilliant  career.  The  value  of 
Mr.  O'BRIEN'S  admirable  record  is  enhanced  by  a  photogravure 
of  Mr.  SARGENT'S  painting  of  the  Lord  Chief  Justice — a  master- 
piece of  portraiture. 

Up-to-date  boys,  on  seeing  the  representation,  on  the  cover, 
of  a  proud  but  wily  "Heathen  Chinee"  with  a  drawn  sword, 
may  be  sure  that  The  Dragon  of  Pekin,  by  Captain  F.  S.  BERES- 
FORD,  R.A.M.C.  (BLACKIE  AND  SON,  Ltd.),  is  an  exciting  story 
of  the  late  Boxer  Rebellion.  Two  English  boys,  with  the 
daring  only  to  be  found  in  the  youthful  heroes  in  Christmas 
books,  after  varied  hairbreadth  escapes,  manage  not  only  to 
get  into  the  Legations,  but  out  again,  and  finally  reach  Tient- 
sin !  Their  enemy,  the  villain  Sung,  dies  tragically  at  the 
hands  of  his  own  Boxers. 

SAMUEL  MERWIN  is  a  name  unfamiliar  to  the  Baron,  who,  in 
making  this  candid  admission,  lays  himself  open  to  the  obvious 
retort  that  not  to  know  MERWIN  argues  himself  unknown.  But 
"  that 's  as  may  be,"  and  the  Baron  is  glad  to  have  this  oppor- 
tunity of  making  Mr.  MERWIN'S  literary  acquaintance  through 
the  medium  of  1iis  most  excellent  romance,  entitled  The  Road  to 
Frontenac,  which  is  not  a  guide  book,  although  the  publisher  is 
MURRAY.  As  the  romances  writ  in  Indian  ink  by  FENIMORE 
COOPER  were  to  an  earlier  generation,  so  ought  the  stories  by 
SAMUEL  MERWIN  to  be  to  the  present,  that  is,  should  he  con- 
tinue in  the  line  of  romance  business  whereof  the  Road  to 
Frontenac  is  a  first-rate  specimen.  The  descriptions  are 
vividly  picturesque,  the  actors  stirringly  dramatic,  and  the 
reader's  interest  in  the  adventures  is  never  allowed  to  flag  for 
one  single  second. 

In  writing  his  autobiography  Before  I  Forget  (FlSHER  UNWIN), 
Mr.  CHEVALIER  discloses  the  secret  of  his  brilliant  success.  He 
just  thinks  and  works— thinks  incessantly,  works  patiently. 
He  is,  in  a  literal  sense,  what  some  years  ago  Mr.  Punch 
dubbel  him,  a  Chevalier  d' Industrie.  When  it  is  done,  it  seems 
easy  to  don  "the  pearlies,"  and  sing  "My  Old  Dutch"  so 


as  to  bring  both  tears  and  laughter  to  the  countenance  of 
the  audience.  The  spell  is  wrought  by  CHEVALIER  only 
after  profound  study  of  the  original  and  the  exercise  of 
that  intuition  of  human  nature  which  is  recognised  as 
genius.  The  popular  singer-in-character  is  the  product  of 
;he  penny  reading  craze  of  thirty  years  ago.  His  first  en- 

•agement  on  the  stage  was  as  one  of  the  boys  in  TOM 
TAYLOR'S  comedy  To  Parents  and  Guardians.  Ten  shillings  a 
week  was  his  salary,  an  assured  fortune  upon  which  he  must 
iave  looked  back  with  regret  when,  some  years  later,  on  tour 
with  JOHN  BEAUCHAMP,  their  total  receipt  at  Northampton  on 
Bank  Holiday  night  was  one  shilling.  Amongst  the  charges 
brought  against  members  of  the  theatrical  profession  is  that 
of  inordinate  personal  vanity.  There  may  be  some  modern 
memoirs — wild  horses  would  not  drag  from  my  Baronite  identifica- 
tion— wherein  the  charge  is  sustained.  A  charm  about  Mr. 
CHEVALIER'S  tale  is  the  unaffected  modesty  of  the  narrator. 
The  only  people  he  extols  are  those  with  whom  he  has  worked, 
and  the  one  or  two  who  helped  him  when  he  could  not  help 
himself,  an  epoch,  not  too  thickly  peopled,  to  which  all  success- 
ful men  look  baclc  with  gratitude.  Shrewd  observation,  a  keen 
sense  of  humour,  wide  experience,  enable  him  to  write  a  book 
at  once  entertaining  and  instructive.  Its  pages  are  illuminated 
with  many  photographs  of  the  songster  in  his  most  popular 
characters  on  the  music-Jin  11  stage. 

'It  is  to  be  hoped,"  says  my  Right  Reverend  Bishop- 
Baronite,  "that  the  Aldine  House  publishers  of  the  pocket- 
able  Temple  Bible,  whereof  the  first  two  books,  eruditely 
edited  by  Drs.  SAYCE  and  KENNEDY,  have  already  appeared, 
will  include  The  Apocrypha  in  their  excellently  got-up 
re-issue,  as  being  of  considerable  interest  to  the  biblical 

tudent." 

In  The  Temple  Classics  series  (DENT  &  Co.)  the  Baron  has 
just  been  reading  that  most  delightful  of  all  books  of  Eastern 
travel,  CHARLES  KINGLAKE'S  Eothen.  Written  light-heartedly 
in  the  early  forties  of  last  century,  its  matter  and  style  are  as 
fresh  as  on  the  first  day  of  its  publication  ;  more  so,  indeed,  if 
that  were  possible,  seeing  that  the  interest  having  been  allowed 
to  increase  (as  in  the  mysterious  East  it  ever  will)  at  compound 
rate,  the  record  of  his  tour  is  more  valuable  than  ever ;  while 
the  buoyant  spirit  of  this  keen  observer  and  most  candid 
raconteur  having  lost  none  of  its  "go,"  the  book  will  always 
be  an  admirable  model  for  literary  tourists. 

"  I'm  bound  to  say,"  quoth  the  Baron — "aye,  and  as  hand- 
somely bound  as  are  the  two  volumes  of  Lamb's  Tales  from 
Sliakspeare  (RAPHAEL  TUCK  AND  SONS,  Ltd.),  with  introductions 
and  additions  (but  no  '  subtractions  '  thank  goodness  ! )  by 
F.  J.  FURNIVALL,  M.A.  Camb.,  charmingly  illus- 
trated by  HAROLD  COPPING, — that  no  more  perfect 
present  as  a  Christmas  book  for  all,  whether 
young,  middle-aged,  or  old,  can  be  found]  than 
these  dear  old  familiar  tales  (with  new  heads  and 
bodies  supplied  by  artist)  by  sweet  MARY  LAMB 
and  her  delightful  brother  CHARLES." 

THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


After  a  Visit  to  the  Bond  Street  Gallery. 

(By  Our  Inspired  One.) 

THERE  's  no  mistaking  that  great  painter's  touches 
In  this  our  Long- Lost  but  Re-Gained's-borougb's  Duchess  !• 


"  SOLA  !  SOLA  !  "—Last  Thursday  was  given  (that  is,  for  pay- 
ment), at  the  Royal  Albert  Hall,  "  The  only  PATTI  concert  of  the 
season."  Thus  was  it  advertised.  And  rightly.  As  long  as 
Baroness  CEDERSTROM  will  permit  our  ADELINA  to  sing  in 
public,  so  long  will  she  ever  remain  "the  only  PATTI"  (as 
advertised)  without  [the  "  concert."  AJa  sante  de^Madame  to 
Baronne ! 


NOVEMBER  27,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OE    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  393 


<£  w 

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394 


PUNCH,   OE  THE  LONDON   CHARIVAEI.  [NOVEMBER  27,  1901. 


JACOB    AND    HIS    MASTER. 

PART  IT. 

THE  beautiful  Miss  DUNCOMBE  was  eighteen  years  of  age  when 
sho  dawned   resplendently   upon  the  highest  society   in  he 
native  land,  and  if  she  did  not  at  once  become  engaged  to  £ 
peer  of  the  realm  or  a  South  African  millionaire,  the  fault  laj 
neither  with   her  parents  nor  with  eager  postulants  for  hei 
hand.    It  was  disappointing  for  the  postulants,  but  scarcelj 
disquieting  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  DUNCOMBE,  that  she  saw  fit  to 
decline  all  offers  during  her  first  London  season  ;  for  indeed  she 
was  pretty  enough  and  charming  enough  to  claim  the  right  o 
taking  her  time.     PHYLLIS  was  wayward  and  fastidious  ;  but 
that  really  did  not  matter,    since    several    years    of    ample 
opportunity  lay  evidently  before  her.    Now  it  came  to  pass 
one  evening  in  the  course  of  her  second  season,  that  she  was 
taken  in  to  dinner  by  Mr.  THEODORE  CRACROFT,  a  comparatively 
young  politician  who  had  already  made  his  mark  in  the  House, 
and  who  was  destined — so  well-informed  persons  predicted — to 
go  far  in  public  life.     She  did  not  pay  her  neighbour's  pre- 
liminary remarks  the  compliment  of  listening  to  them,  but  as 
soon  as  she  had  finished  her  soup  she  turned  her  lovely  face 
towards  him  and  said  : 

"  This  is  a  stroke  of  good  fortune  for  me,  Mr.  CRACROFT  ;  you 
ave  the  one  person  whom  I  have  been  wanting  to  meet  for  ever 
so  long,  and  I  was  beginning  to  be  afraid  that  our  paths  would 
never  cross." 

'  I  am  more  than  flattered,"  smilingly  returned  the  well-pre- 
served gentleman  with  the  short  brown  beard  who  sat  on  her 
left.  "  May  I  venture  to  hope  that -my  little  volume  of  verse 
has  found  favour  in  your  eyes,  then  ?  " 

"  I  won't  deceive  you,"  answered  the  young  lady  composedly  ; 
1 1  will  confess,  to  my  shame,  that  I  didn't  even  know  you  had 
jomposed  a  little  volume  of  verse." 

"  Poor,  unappreciated  me  !  So  you  take  an  intelligent  interest 
n  contemporary  politics,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Not  more  than  is  unavoidable  from  the  fact  that  my  father 
s  a  Member  of  Parliament.  You  belong  to  his  party,  I  believe, 
and  my  sympathies  are  with  you  both,  little  as  I  understand 
what  all  the  fuss  is  about.  But  I  do  take  an  immense  interest 
n  your  nephew  BOB.  How  is  BOB? — and  where  is  he  ?— and 
,vhy  does  he  never  so  much  as  send  a  message  to  his  old 
riends  ?  ' ' 

Mr.  CRACROFT  laughed.  "Oh,  BOB  is  all  right ;  he  has  been 
n  the  Mediterranean  foi-  some  time  past ;  but  he  is  on  his  way 
tome  now,  and  I  expect  him  to  turn  up  in  London  any  day.  I 
am  sure  he  will  be  proud  to  hear  that  you  remember  his 
:xistence." 

"He  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself  if  he  has  ever  doubted 
hat,  and  still  more  ashamed  if  he  has  forgotten  mine  and 


'  Jacob's  ?  ' '  repeated  Mr.  CRACROFT  interrogatively.  Then, 
vith  a  sudden  flash  of  memory,  "Oh,  the  dog,  to  be  sure! 
'acob  Faithful,  yes  !  Dear  me  !  What  a  long  time  it  seems 
ince  that  bitter  March  afternoon  of  my  poor  brother's  funeral 
when  the  boy  tramped  over  to  your  place,  taking  the  four- 
ooted  friend  whom  I  really  couldn't  offer  to  adopt  with  him  ! 
Tacob  Faithful  survives,  does  he  ?  '' 

"  Of  course  he  does  ;  he  is  in  the  prime  of  life.     Now  tell-  me 
all  about  BOB,  please." 

There  was  not  a  great  deal  to  be  told  ;  but  what  there  was 
edounded  entirely  to  BOB'S  credit.     He  had  given  his  uncle 
-nd  guardian  no  sort  of  trouble ;  he  was  getting  on  capitally 
n  his  profession ;  he  was  quite  as  likely  as  not  to  die  in  the 
uniform  of    an  Admiral  of    the    Fleet.      He  had  never,   Mr. 
JRACROFT  generously  admitted,  been  in  any  sort  of  way  a  bore. 
That  he  ended,  on  this  particular  evening,   by  becoming  some- 
what of  a  bore  was  due  only  to  Miss  BUNCOMBE'S  persistency  in 
alkmg  about  him— for  which  he  could  not  fairly  be  blamed. 
But  in  truth  it  was  very  pleasant  to  be  honoured  with  Miss 


BUNCOMBE'S  undivided  attention,  upon  no  matter  what  pretext ; 
so  the  self-complacent  THEODORE  (many  great  ladies,  and  some 
great  men,  had  given  this  budding  statesman  excuse  for  self- 
complacency)  harboured  no  ill-will  against  his  nephew.  To  be 
jealous  of  a  mere  boy  like  BOB  would  be  too  absurd ;  yet  it  did 
occur  to  THEODORE  CRAGROFT,  when  he  returned  to  his  luxurious 
chambers  at  a  late  hour,  that  he  could  quite  easily  learn  to  feel 
jealous  of  anybody  whom  PHYLLIS  DUNCOMBE  might  be  pleased 
to  favour.  He  was  ambitious,  sybaritic,  by  no  means  as  well 
off  as  he  would  have  liked  to  be :  it  obviously  behoved  him  to 
espouse  some  heiress  or  wealthy  widow.  But,  unluckily  for 
him,  he  had  refined,  fastidious  tastes,  while  his  heart  was  a 
somewhat  susceptible  one.  Therefore  the  thought  of  Miss 
PHYLLIS — so  pretty,  so  fascinating,  so  well-connected,  so  ad- 
mirably qualified  to  secure  and  retain  social  recognition  for  her 
future  husband  ! — drew  several  profound  sighs  frem  him.  For 
although  Mr.  DUNCOMBE  was  a  rich  man,  he  had  a  large  family 
and  could  scarcely  be  expected  to  bestow  more  than  a  modest 
marriage-portion  upon  his  daughter. 

THEODORE  unlocked  one  of  the  drawers  of  the  writing-table 
and  took  therefrom  certain  letters  which  he  had  already  perused 
more  than  once.  They  related  to  the  recent  discovery  that 
coal  lay  beneath  the  surface  of  the  hitherto  barely  remunerative 
Kirkhall  estate,  and  they  contained  offers  which  looked  highly 
advantageous  to  the  proprietor  of  that  estate.  The  proprietor 
had  not  as  yet  been  made  acquainted  with  them,  inasmuch  as 
he  had  only  within  the  last  few  days  come  of  age,  and  his 
guardian  had  very  properly  hesitated  to  make  arrangements  on 
liis  behalf.  But  he  would  soon  be  in  London  now,  and  his 
guardian  had  already  ceased  to  possess  legal  control  over  him. 
Fortunate  young  beggar  !  —  more  fortunate  than  grateful,  no 
doubt.  His  property  had  been  well  and  carefully  administered  ! 
'or  him  during  his  minority  ;  but  that  he  would  see  in  that 
jircumstance  any  reason  for  allowing  the  administrator  a  share 
n  his  luck  was,  of  course,  most  improbable.  One  cannot  be  a 
barrister,  much  less  a  politician,  for  a  considerable  number  of 
years,  without  recognising  the  melancholy  truth  that  ours  is 
an  inherently  selfish  race.  So  Mr.  THEODORE  CRACROFT,  M.P., 
sighed  once  more,  put  away  his  papers  and  went  to  bed.  The 
drawer  contained  other  documents — offensive  documents,  set- 
ing  forth,  most  of  them,  the  curt  statement  of  "account  ren-j 
lered  " — which  he  wisely  refrained  from  examining.  Hi;  was 
desirous  of  forgetting  them,  and  fairly  successful,  as  a  rule, 
n  so  doing. 

A  day  or  two  later  his  nephew,  just  arrived  from  Portsmouthl 
strode  in  upon  him — a  brown-faced,    well-knit  young  yelloyw 
white  teeth,  clear  eyesy  and  a  breezy  manner. 

"Well,"  Uncle  THEODORE,"  said  he,  "here  I  am,  you  seel 
Off  your  hands  at  last,  and  ready  to  take  over  my  title-deeds,; 
which  are  worth  about  twopence  half-penny  a  year,  I  supposej 
h?" 

"  Oh,  you  will  find  them  worth  rather  more  than  that,  1 
lope,"  answered  the  older  man,  smiling;  "but  we  won' 
liscuss  business  matters  until  after  dinner." 

His  ward  and  he  had  seldom  met  since  the  former  had  first 
one  to  sea,  and  had  corresponded  only  at  rare  intervals.  They 
lad  not  much  in  common  ;  still,  their  relations  had  always  been 
.micable,  and  they  had  a  species  of  distant  mutual  regard, 
^his,  naturally,  grew  somewhat  warmer  after  an  excellent 
[inner,  accompanied  by  a  sufficiency  of  champagne  ;  so  that 
,vhen  the  time  came  for  Mr.  CRACROFT  to  render  an  account  of 
lis  stewardship,  he  was  in  the  presence  of  an  indulgent  and 
menable  auditor. 

"  Well,  you  see  how  it  is,"  he  wound  up  a  full  arid  lucid 
larrative  by  saying:  "there  is  the  chance,  which  we  must 
lot  venture  to  call  more  than  a  chance,  that  this  coal  mine 
may  prove  highly  remunerative  ;  but  then  again,  there  is  the 
jontrary  possibility  to  be  considered.  I  need  scarcely  point 
»ut  to  you  how  important  it  is,  in  such  cases,  that  the  owner 
hould  be  upon  the  spot  to  look  after  his  interests,  and  "- 


NOVEMBER  27,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


395 


"  Oh,  I  can't  be 
upon  the  spot," 
nterrupted  BOB; 
I  'm  as  good  as 
>ooked  for  West 
Africa  now,  I  be- 
leve." 

That  a  man 
Tiould  be  sen- 
ienced  to  the  West 
ifrican  station, 
nd  look  as  if  he 
iked  it!  Well! 
well !  tastes 
iffer." 

It 's  a  beastly 
limate  of  course; 
rat  there 's  every 
>rospect  of  fight- 
ng  in  those  parts 
ust  now,"  BOB 
jxplained.  "At 
east,  so  they 
ay." 

;  H '  m !  I  can 
>nly  repeat  that 
Bastes  differ.  But 
o  return  to  what 
we  were  talking 
ibout.  Quite  the 
>est  thing  you 
iould  do,  I  should 
say,  would  be  to 
sell  Kirkhall,  if  a 
mrchaser  were 
discoverable.  The 
)lace,  now  that  the 
sxistence  of  coal 
s  an  ascertained 
'act,  should  be 
worth  something 
substantial  —  five 
or  six  thousand 
xmnds,  perhaps." 

BOB  opened  his 
yes  and  his 
mouth ;  the  sum 
named  sounded  to 
lira  a  very  sub- 
stantial one  i 
deed ;  though,  if  he  had  been  better  informed,  he  would  have 
cnown  that  his  patrimony  must  either  be  worth  considerably 
ess  or  a  great  deal  more.  "Bo  you  suppose  I  could  get  hold  of 
a  purchaser  at  that  figure?  "  he  asked. 

A  would-be  purchaser  was  not  far  to  seek.  BOB'S  uncle  was 
quite  open  and  straightforward  about  it ;  he  pointed  out  that 
his  position  as  an  ex-trustee  might  lay  him  open  to  subsequent 
criticism  of  an  unfavourable  character,  that  he  might  make  an 
uncommonly  good  bargain  by  paying  £5,000 — which  was  the 
highest  price  he 'felt  justified  in  offering— for  the  Kirkhall 
estate,  and  that  the  owner,  before  deciding  to  sell,  ought 
certainly  to  see  all  the  correspondence  which  had  passed  upon 
the  subject  of  the  proposed  mining  operations.  But  BOB 
declared  that  five  thousand  down  was  good  enough  for  him. 
"If  you  think  it  worth  your  while  to  take  the  place  off  my 
hands  on  spec,  Uncle  THEODORE,  it 's  yours  ;  and  the  more  you 
profit  by  the  transaction,  the  better  I  shall  be  pleased.  I  used 
to  think,  when  I  was  a  youngster " 

"  Good  heavens  !  what  are  you  now  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  a  flag-lieutenant  before  you  know  where  you  are," 


He. 

She. 
He. 


answered  BOB, 
with  a  grin.  "  I 
was  fgoing  to  say 
that  I  used  to 
think  I  should 
rather  like  to  end 
my  days  at  Kirk- 
hall ;  but  I  expect 
that 's  past  pray- 
ing for  now.  Most 
of  the  things  that 
one  used  to  dream 
about  in  one's 
puppyhood  are 
past  praying  for." 
He  added,  after  a 
moment  of  silence, 
"  I  suppose  you 
never  hear  or  see 
anything  of  the 
BUNCOMBES,  do 
you?" 

"  I  had  the  plea- 
sure of  meeting 
them  at  dinner  not 
long  ago,"  Mr. 
CRACROPT  made 
honest  reply. 
"  Miss  BUNCOMBE 
inquired  about 
you ;  she  has  de- 
veloped  into  a 
smart  young  lady 
and  a  famous 
beauty." 

"The  deuce  she 
has!  I  wonder 
whether  she  would 
condescend  to  re- 
ceive me  if  I  looked 
her  up." 

"  I  daresay  she 
and  her  mother 
would  be  happy  to 
receive  you,  if 
they  happened  to 
be  at  home  ;  but  I 
am  not  sure  that 
I  should  advise 
you  to  call. 
People  of  the  class  to  which  they  belong  are  apt  to  be  dis- 
concertingly patronising  to  the  likes  of  us,  and  what  is  the  use 
of  inviting  a  snub  ?  " 

Notwithstanding  this  discouragement,  which  he  recognised 
as  being  kindly  meant,  BOB  betook  himself  on  the  following 
afternoon  to  Mr.  BUNCOMBE'S  town  residence  in  Eaton  Square. 
He  said  to  himself  that,  after  all,  his  old  playmate  was  not 
likely  to  insult  him,  and  that,  even  if  she  should,  his  shoulders 
were  broad  enough  to  bear  any  burden  that  might  be  laid 
upon  them.  He  met  with  the  good  fortune  which  proverbially 
favours  the  audacious.  Mrs.  BUNCOMBE,  he  was  informed,  was 
not  at  home  ;  but  Miss  BUNCOMBE,  for  whom  he  promptly  asked, 
was,  and  no  sooner  had  she  received  his  card  than  she  sum- 
moned him  by  a  most  cordial  message  to  her  presence. 

He  found  her  in  the  great,  cool,  flower-scented  drawing-room 
all  alone,  save  for  the  shaggy  companion  who  was  ever  at  her 
side — found  her  and  fell,  so  to  speak,  prostrate  before  her  then 
and  there.  Literally,  he  stood  bolt  upright  and  shook  hands  in 
an  awkward  manner  (being  more  than  a  little  shy) ;  but  if  he  had 
flattered  himself  that  his  boyish  passion  for  PHYLLIS  BUNCOMBE 


MY   PEOPLE   ARE    BOTHERING   ME   TO    MARRY   MlSS   MAYFORI)." 
'  YOU  'D  BE  VERY  LUCKY  IF  YOU  DID.      SHE  IS  VERY  CLEVER  AND  VERY  BEAUTIFUL ' 

;0n  !    /  DON'T  WANT  TO  MARRY  BRAINS  AND  BEAUTY.     I  WANT  TO  MARRY  YOU." 


396 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHAKIVARL  [NOVEMBER  27,  1901. 


was  a  thing  of  the  past,  he  was  at  once  undeceived.  For 
the  girl  who  smiled  so  brightly  upon  him  was  the  old  PHYLLIS, 
idealised  ;  the  same  (only  more  so)  in  face,  in  voice,  nay,  even 
— so  she  gave  him  to  understand — in  constancy  to  the  absent. 
To  be  upbraided  with  his  own  lack  of  constancy,  reproached 
for  having  never  once  written  during  all  those  long  years,  and 
accused  of  having  no  heart  at  all  was  infinitely  more  delightful 
than  the  kindliest  welcome  would  have  been  to  him.  And  then 
Jacob  Faithful,  who  scrutinised  him  doubtfully,  with  ears 
cocked  and  head  on  one  side,  until  he  spoke,  leapt  on  a  sudden 


on  to  his  knees  and  overwhelmed  him  with  rapturous  caresses. 

Well,    that   sort    of 
thing 
turn 


was  enough  to 
any  young  man's 

head,  and  if,  in  the  agi- 
tation of  the  moment, 

BOB  gave  utterance  to 

some  extravagant  asser- 
tions,   no  doubt   Miss 

BUNCOMBE   pardoned 

them.     She  was  also 

pleased  to  pardon  his 

past  offences  of  omission 

when  it  had  been  made 

clear  to  her  that  these 

had  been  due  to  an  ex- 

cessive  and  misplaced 

humility  ;  only  she  could 

not  allow   him  to  say 

that  it  was  impossible 

for  the  dog  to  know  him 

again  after  such  a  lapse 

of  time,  because  nothing 

was  more  evident  than 

that  the  dog   did   know 

him  again. 

"1  have  never  known 

Jacob  make  advances  to 

a  stranger,"  she  de- 
clared. "He  is  always 

polite,    both   to  human 

beings  and  to  other  dogs, 
and  he  only  fights  when 
he  is  attacked;  bat  he 
doesn't  encourage  fami- 
liarity, much  less  ob- 
trude it." 

"Good  old  Jake!  He 
sounds  rather  as  if  he 
took  after  his  former 
master." 

"His  former  master 
might  do  worse'  than 
take  after  him— has  done  worse,  indeed,  in  some  respects. 
That  is,  if  you  allude  to  yourself.  But  let  me  remind  yon,  as 
he  is  doing  his  best  to  remind  you,  that  he  hasn't  ceased  to 

)elong  to  you,  notwithstanding  all  your  neglect  and  in- 
difference, and  you  can  resume  possession  of  him  now  if  you 
like." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say    that   you  would   like  that?"     BOB 
reproachfully  asked. 

"No;  1  don't  mean  to  say  that  I  should  like  it,   but  I  am 

a  most  afraid  he  would.    Just  look  at  hinf!     Isn't  he  saying  as 

plainly  as  possible  that  no  dog  can  serve  two  masters  ?  " 

He  really  did  seem  to  be  saying  something  to  that  effect 

J  was  apologetic  about  it;   he  went  to  PHYLLIS  when  she 

lied  him,  soon  returning,  however,  to  BOB,  who  did  not  call 

Irt'th  .S  HaKnnerv, implled  that  a  comPromise  might  be  arranged 

that  although  allegiance  to  two  masters  was  incompatible 

11-respect,  he  was  prepared  to  accept  the  joint  sway  of 


HEAR     A    GOOD    DEAL    NOW    OK    THE    <;  SUBMARINE,"    BUT    NO    ONE    HAH   YET 
SUGGESTED    HOW    HE     CAN     GET     ANYTHING      STRONGER     THAN     AQUA     PORA    "DOWN 

BELOW.        SOMETHING  ox  THE  LINES   OF  THE  PNEUMATIC   PUMP  MAY  BE  USEFUL 

TO    INTENDING   LICENSED   VICTUALLERS    IN    LOW    WATER. 


a  master  and  a  mistress.      But  canine  intelligence  is  mor, 
direct  than  human  in  its  conclusions,  and,  despite  this  clea 
encouragement,    Lieutenant    CRACROFT,    R.N.,  refrained    fro 
putting  forward  preposterous  suggestions.    Ho  only   begged 
Miss  BUNCOMBE  to  be  so  very  kind  as  to  keep  his  dog  for  him 
a  little  longer,  in  consideration  of  the  notorious   insalubrity 
of  the  West  African  climate. 

This,  naturally  enough,  led  to  a  prolonged  discussion  of  the 
perils  belonging  to  the  young  man's  destined  station  and  t 
expressions  of  deep  regret  that  he  should  have  applied  —  as  h,. 
confessed  he  had  done  —  for  employment  in  so  deadly  a  region 

No  wonder  that  young 
man  left  Eaton  Square 
in  an  elated  frame  o 
mind,  with  Jake  trotting 
at  his  heels.  For  Jake's 
mistress  insisted  upon 
resigning  her  charge 
during  the  brief  period 
of  BOB'S  stay  in  London 
and  that  remarkable  dog 
acquiesced  in  the  pro- 
posed arrangement  as  a 
matter  of  course.  The 
ways  of  dogs  are  past 
finding  out;  and  so, 
alas!  are  those  of  women. 
Still,  if  BOB  had  had  a 
little  more  experience  ol 
the  latter,  he  would 
doubtless  have  divined 
that  all  this  extreme 
amiability  on  Miss 
PHYLLIS'S  part  was  any- 
thing but  a  hopeful  sign. 

W.  E.  JNT. 
(To  be  continued.) 


"ON  A  COUNT."—  Judg- 
ing by  the  name,  as  we 
have  neither  his  face 
nor  hands  from  which  to 
read  his  character,  the 
appointment  of  Count 
CZEECSEN  as  the  new 
Austro-Hungarian  Am- 
bassador to  the  Vatican 
is  most  felicitous.  As- 
tutely diplomatic,  the 
Count  will  know  what 
to  keep  to  himself  and 
what  to  ferret  out,  and 
will  have  power  to  add 
Count  Hide-and-Czeecsen."  What  he  doesn't 


to  his  title  as 


know  won't  be  worth  knowing.  His  leisure  hours  may  be  de- 
voted to  Be"zique,  when  he  Avill  be  "Count  B.  Czeecsen."  If 
he  has  had  the  advantage  of  an  English  legal  training,  then, 
when  giving  his  professional  opinion,  he  would  also  sign 
"Count  Czeecsen  eightpence." 


PROBLEMS. — "  Of  what  use  is  it,"  writes  to  us  a  "  THOROUGH 
TORY,"  "  to  give  a  boy  a  '  liberal '  education  if  he  finishes  as  a 
Conservative?"  On  the  other  hand,  we  ask  this  "T.T.,"  should 
the  youth  be  going  in  for  Parliament,  wouldn't  you  expect  him, 
after  being  liberally  brought  up,  to  turn  out  a  Conservative  ? 

"VACCINATION  MOTTO  (for  anybody  classically  inclined).— "  Anna 
virum—que  cano ! "  "Arms,  and  the  virus!  I  sing  out!" 
The  foregoing  is  an  illustration  of  "  Sors  Virgiliana." 


DECEMBER  4,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


397 


HYDE  PARK  AND  THE  FAIRY. 
III.— THE  STORY  OF  THE  ONE-EYED  DUCK. 

(Continued  from  page  307.) 

"CHILDREN  would  get  on  very  well  if  there  were  no  nurse- 
naids,"  said  the  one-eyed  duck  grumpily. 

"Nursemaids,"  chirped  a  perky-looking  sparrow,  "wore 
nvented  to  provide  conversation  for  the  military." 

The  one-eyed  duck  looked  with  ruffled  disgust  at  the  inter- 
•upter,  but  she  only  said,  "  Fly  away,  there  's  a  good  chap,  I  'in 
ielling  my  friend  a  story,  though,  if  you  like  to  hear  it  ..." 

"  Can't  stop  !  "  cut  in  the  sparroAv.  "A  pal  of  mine  has  told 
ne  of  some  splendid  place  where  you  can  get  one  of  the  best 
;rumb  suppers  in  London.  You  let  me  have  a  note  of  it  later." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  duck,  then  observed  in  a  low  tone  to  her 
jompanion:  "  Have  to  keep  on  good  terms  with  the  little  good- 
'or-nothing.  Ho  's  undertaken  to  edit  my  reminiscences." 

"Well,"  observed  the  friend  rather  impatiently,  "  let 's  have 
;he  story.  There 's  fog  coming,  and  I  shallgo  to  sleep  at  sunset." 

"  I  can't  .bo  flurried  !  "  said  the  one-eyed  duck.  "  But  when 
rott  're  sleepy  AVO  '11  adjourn.  The  other  day  when  the  pea- 
len  was  telling  you  about  her  love  affair  I  noticed  you  were 
isleep  the  whole  time." 

"  If  you  'd  been  a  confidante  so  often  as  I  have,  you  'd  do  the 
lame,"  returned  her  friend.  "  I  'm  rather  anxious  to  learn  how 
rou  got  that  eye  damaged." 

"Because  I  saved  a  child's  life."  And  she  plumed  her 
eathers  with  an  impressive  air. 

"  Unnecessary  !  There  are  too  many  about  as  it  is." 

"  'Twas  quite  accidental,"  explained  the  narrator.  "  The  fact 
s,  the  silly  little  thing  had  dropped  a  doll  in  the  water.  I 
twain  up ' ' 

"  You  thought  the  doll  was  something  tasty,  I  suppose?  " 

"Our  best  motives,  our  noblest  impulses,  are  perhaps  tainted 
>y  a  thought  of  self, ' '  said  the  one-eyed  d  uck  reflectively. 

Her  friend  made  no  reply.     Philosophy  always  bored  her,  and 
proceeded  to  conduct  minute  investigations  somewhat  on  the 

es  of  Calverley's  dog.     The  effort  proved  exhausting. 
'  You 're  asleep,"  said  the  one-eyed  duck.     "  To-morrow  at 
by  the  fountains."  (To  be  continued.) 


;  THICK  ?     IT  AIN'T  ANYTIIIN'  LIKE  IT  WAS  THIS  MORNIN'. 
BLESS  YOU,  SIR,  I  COULDN'T  SEE  MY  FEET  ! " 


WHY, 


A  REAL  USE  FOR  FOG. 

)EAR  MR.  PUNCH, — I  have  invented  an 

renious   machine   for   utilising   London 

gs,  and  I  should  be  glad  if  you  would 

ng  it  to  the  notice  of  the  authorities, 

it  is  not  only  effective  but  economical. 

its  use  the  fog  is  cut   into   slabs   of 

id  material,   which   can   be   employed 

r  paving  or  building  purposes.     My  in- 

ition  should  also  commend  itself  to  the 

ndon  County  Council,   the  more  so  as 

can   slice   the   solid   atmosphere   into 

aller  blocks,  which  make  most  excel- 

nt  fuel.      This    Christmas    I    intend   to 

ru    a    Yule    log    fashioned    from    this 

glected    material.      All    the    nonsense 

ritten  about  fans  and  steam-blasts  does 

t  commend  itself  to 

Your  obedient  Servant, 

FERDINAND  FOGEY 
(Sole  Patentee  o/  the  London 
and  Provincial  Fogometer), 
The  Inventories,  S.W. 

P.S. — If  you  know  of  any  enterprising 
pitalists,  I   should  be   very  willing  to 
them  find  the  money   wherewith   to 
ndicate  my  invaluable  invention. 


LOVE'S  SPELL. 

IN  CELIA'S  ear  I  breathed  a  tale 

Of  youth  and  rosy  love, 
But  nothing  did  my  sweets  avail, 

Her  heart  I  could  not  move. 

AH  unconcerned  she  heard  me  out, 
Serene  and  self-possessed, 

And  in  her  two  lips'  budding  pout 
My  failure  stood  confessed. 

Love's  magic  spell  in  vain  I  wove, 
The  charmed  circle  drew, 

With  honey-dropping  Avords  I  strove 
Her  coldness  to  subdue. 

The  letters  four  I  bade  her  range  — 

L-O-V-E,  to  tell 

The  truth,  I  prayed  her  heart  would 
change 

Beneath  the  mystic  spell. 

With  languid  hand  she  idly  traced, 

A  graceful  L,  and  then 
Across  the  letter's  slender  waist 

She  twice  drew  cruel  pen. 

I  saw  then  why  my  tale  of  love 
Void  of  enchantment  fell. 

For  CELIA,  as  her  £  did  prove, 
Love  had  a  different  spell ! 


WALKER  WELL  IN  THE  RUNNING. 

SINCE  Mr.  Punch  no  longer  issues  His 
Own  Private  Pocket-Book,  profusely  illus- 
trated, he  is  willing  to  admit  that  tho 
Pocket  Books  and  Diaries  of  WALKER  & 
Co.  (Farringdon  House)  are  among  some 
of  the  next  best  things  to  the  above- 
mentioned  unique  little  volume.  These 
for  1902  are  no  way  inferior  to  those  of 
former  years,  and  being  more  or  less  on 
the.  old  form,  present  no  startling  novelty, 
except  here  and  there  in  the  catalogued 
description,  as,  for  example,  a  "Fast" 
diary,  which  Mr.  P.  would  be  curious  to 
see  when  filled  up  (by  any  one  "fast") 
in  the  course  of  the  next  twelve  months. 
There  is  something  in  the  names  of 
the  varieties,  as,  for  example,  a  "  solid 
Pigskin  "  diary  is  suggestive  of  the 
record  of  a  very  obstinate  person  ;  an 
"Orient  Limp"  might  be  suitable  to 
a  Pasha  quite  overcome  by  the  heat ; 
a  "  Medium  Octavo  "  would  suit  a  pro- 
fessional Spiritualist  for  jotting  down 
engagements;  while  "A  Quarterly  Pocket 
Diary  "  is  evidently  suitable  for  those 
fortunate  annuitants  who  are  sure  of 
making  an  entry  every  quarter 


398 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI 


[DECEMBER  4,  1901. 


THE  IDEOCRAT  AT  THE  DINNER-TABLE. 

Ill  .—WITH  THE  WORSHIPFUL  COMPANY  OF  PORKMONGF.RS. 
HOW  do  you  call  the  book  ?     Our  Uncroivned  Kings  ? 
Tis  new  to  me,  who  have  but  little  time 
Reserved  from  higher  claims  to  keep  abreast 
With  novel  lines  in  literary  goods. 
A  satire  ?     Ah  !     I  never  greatly  cared 
For  humour,  notably  such  as  leaves  the  mind 
Vaguely  aware  of  swift  allusions  lost, 
Impalpable  airy  flights  supposed  of  wit ; 
Clearly  a  state  obnoxious  to  repose, 
Being  apt  to  cause  diversion  o'  blood  to  brain, 
Needed  elsewhere  to  aid  the  liver's  work 
After  your  dinner,  Nature's  only  hour 
For  reading.    What  ?    It 's  clever  stuff,  you  say, 
And  levelled  at  the  new  plutocracy  ? 
Well,  'tis  the  penalty  we  have  to  pay, 
We  of  the  wealth  that  tickles  envy's  ire, 
Harmless,  I  hope,  for  whoso  has  his  feet 
So  firmly  planted  he  can  well  consent 
To  pay  what  silent  pity  greatness  owes 
To  ignorant  detraction  found  i'  th'  mouth 
Of  who,  poor  devils,  after  all  must  live. 
Doubtless  they  have  their  figure,  not  too  long, 
If  one  but  cared  enough  to  buy  them  out. 

Young  D'ARCY  wrote  it?     Why,  I  know  the  man  ; 
Dined  with  us  in  the  Lane — Lord  only  knows 
Just  where  the  women  pick  these  scribblers  up  ! 
Came  in  and  out,  a  tolerated  guest, 
Till  lie  forgot  his  manners,  had  the  face 
To  please  my  daughter,  and  was  shown  the  door. 
T)i at 's  how,  being  entertained  on  sufferance, 
They  glean  what  little  lore  they  boast  to  have 
Of  good  society,  and  go  their  ways 
And  shamelessly  profane  its  mysteries 
In  books  like  this  !     I  say,  you  're  never  safe 
If  once  your  footmen  let  them  pass  the  hall. 

Mind,  I  distinguish.     I  refer  to  men 
Professed  of  letters,  not  the  other  sort, 
Mere  social  mercenaries  I  employ 
(Paid  by  the  Press  in  cash,  by  me  in  kind — 
A  dance,  a  dinner,  even  a  simple  crush) 
To  make  a  paragraph's  advertisement, 
Telling  an  eager  public  how  I  dine, 
Who— and  their  jewels'  value — graced  my  board, 
Or  under  what  unequalled  wealth  of  flowers 
The  staircase  laboured  when  my  wife  received. 
With  such  I  make  no  war  ;  they  earn  their  feed  ; 
And,  though  they  use  what  tact  the  case  demands, 
Impose  on  none  that  moves  within  the  pale. 
But  when  I  see  an  open  welcome  given 
To  struggling  men  of  literary  tricks 
In  houses  commonly  assumed  select, 
Why,  there  's  a  snobbery  finds  me  justly  wroth, 
Who  recognise  that  subtlest  form  of  pride 
Which  bids  remark  its  status  how  secure, 
How  unassailably  proof  against  assault. 
Since  it  allows  itself  to  ope  its  doors 
(No  man's  opinion  asked)  to  whom  it  will, 
Highway  or  hedge,  made  worthy  for  the  nonce 
By  that  approving  seal  the  house  confers. 
Rank  snobbery,  so  say  I ! 

Yet  here  again 

I  make  a  nice  distinction,  please  to  note  ; 
Holding  that  even  writers  may  be  classed 
In  different  ranks  according  to  deserts. 
How  judge  this  difference,  otherwise  obscure, 
Save  as  we  millionaires  apprize  success 


By  tangible  results  that  take  the  eye  ? 

Thus  there  are  authors,  as  I  understand, 

So  skilled  to  gauge  the  reading  public's  views, 

And  what  new  turn  the  market's  like  to  tuke, 

Making  supply  anticipate  demand 

Upon  a  scale  so  noble,  that  their  art 

Assumes  proportions  almost  fit  to  wear 

The  higher  style  and  dignity  attached 

To  Commerce  proper.     Such  a  type  as  this, 

Since  prejudice  is  impotent  to  floor 

The  unanswerable  logic  of  results, 

I  'd  not  refuse  to  meet,  no  matter  where ; 

Nor  would  our  Chairman,  having  thrice  my  wealth, 

Yet  strangely  free  from  pride  for  one  so  great. 

Rumour  indeed  alleges  he  was  born 

With  literary  tastes  he  might  have  turned 

To  lucrative  employ,  yet  chose  to  be 

The  amateur  and  gentleman  he  is. 

You  '11  see  him  soon  with  what  fine  modesty, 

As  though  oblivious  how  the  nations  gape 

For  awe  of  private  monarchs  like  himself, 

He  bids  you  charge  your  glass  to  drink  the  KING  !       O.  Si 

APOSTROPHES! 

TO   A   BLACK   CAT. 

"  Wisdom  embodied  sits  upon  thy  brow, 
And  long-drawn  music  lingers  in  thy  'meaow.'  " 

Passim' s  Poems. 

HAIL  !  cat  of  ebon  hue,  and  golden  orbs 
That  gaze  serenely  on  this  nether  world. 
What  thoughts  are  thine,  the  while  with  dext'rous  paw  1 
Thou  add'st  a  lustre  to  thy  furry  face  ? 
Dost  thou  hark  back  to  Ancient  Egypt's  clime, 
Where  cats  were  sacred,  and  the  mummied  frame 
Of  many  a  mouser  slept  the  dreamless  sleep? 
Doth  thy  mind  loiter  on  that  later  age 
When  witch  and  wizard  wrought  unholy  spells 
With  such  as  thee  to  aid  ?     I  may  not  know. 
Perchance  thy  fancies  do  not  range  beyond 
Careering  mice  and  luscious  bowls  of  milk  ; 
But  this  I  sec,  and  marvel  more  and  more, 
Thou  art  a  miracle  of  grace  and  power. 
How  lithe  thy  limbs,  how  beautiful  thy  paws, 
How  like  an  ebon  angel  is  thy  form ! 
To  watch  thy  sweet  contentment  is  a  joy, 
And  doubtless  thou  art  crammed  with  mystic  lore. 
If  only  I  could  read  thy  restless  brain, 
The  World  would  be  rewarded.     Wondrous  cat, 
Thy  lives  are  nine,  thy  tail  is  only  one, 
Thou  art  not  of  the  cat-o'-nine-tails  breed, 
And  yet,  methinks,  thou  couldst  a  tale  unfold 
Would  .  .  .  hullo  !  what 's  that  you  say,  MATILDA  ? 
Killed  my  canary  ?     Mangled  its  remains  ? 
Confound  the  horrid,  vicious,  ugly  beast ! 
Let  me  get  at  it  with  a  poker  .  .  .  gone  ! 
And  I  am  left  to  "  dree  my  weird  "  and  mourn. 


MR.  PUNCH'S  MUSEUM.— " Suburban  Water-Cart."  This  playful 
toy,  which  dates  from  the  mismanagement  period  of  London  streets 
(first  decade  of  twentieth  century)  was  remarkable  for  its  capri- 
cious and  unexpected  habits.  Its  chief  accomplishment  was  tc 
irrigate  the  gutters  and  kerbstones  in  a  leisurely  way,  and  now 
and  then  display  a  freakish  humour  by  suddenly  spraying  over 
foot-passengers'  boots.  It  was  a  sworn  foe  to  cyclists  and  posi- 
tively revelled  in  causing  side-slips.  On  a  rainy  day,  however, 
the  perambulating  whimsicality  was  at  its  best,  when  it  < 
lighted  to  show  off  in  the  middle  of  the  road  and  add  its  quot 
to  the  seas  of  mud.  Much  of  the  dislocation  of  London  traffic  was 
caused  by  these  wayward,  if  well-meaning,  obstructions. 


DECEMBER  4,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  399 


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DECEMBER  4,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


401 


BY    THE    COVERT    SIDE. 

Fred  (a  notorious  funk).   "  BAI  JOVE!  JACK,  I'M  AFRAID  I'VE  LOST  MY  NERVE  THIS  SEASON  !" 
Jack.  "HAVE  YOU?    DOOSID  SORRY  FOU  THE  POOR  BEGGAR  WHO  FINDS  IT!" 


CRICKET  A   LA  GRECQUE. 

(Some  "oTi'xo<  TToXiriKoi"  to  the  Greek  ex-Minister  of  Instruction.) 

KaAoJs  and  Mwpdfio,  Mr.  STAIS  !  (although  the  late  imbroglio 
At  Athens  has  resulted  in  the  loss  of  your  portfolio). 
Your  native  metre  let  us  use— if  English  and  prosaic, 
Excuse  it,  as  we  're  sadly  out  of  practice  in  Romaic  ! 
And  when  all  Europe  can't  or  won't  see  any  good  in  .Britain, 
Believing  every  calumny  our  own  pro-Boers  have  written, 
You  'd  compliment  Old  England  at  this  somewhat  overcast  time 
By  borrowing  for  the  young  Hellene  JOHN  BULL'S  especial  pas- 
time, 

E'en  though  you  did,  on  evidence  that 's  rather  esoteric, 
Claim  for  our  local  riw-ai'S  pvv  an  origin  Homeric  ! 
Are  you  quite  right  to  trace  it  from  Nausicaa's  game  of  rounders, 
Or  rank  the  mythic  GRACES  Three  among  its  early  founders  ? 
The  first  club — did  it  take  its  name  from  Hercules,  its  wieldcr, 
Or  was  the  Styx  the  sticks  beheld  by  each  Elysian  Fielder  ? 
Still,  that 's  as  may  be — all  the  same,  we  'd  wish  you  luck  with 

"  Kp'lKKfT," 

And  would  give  something  to  be  there  when  first  you  pitched 

your  wicket. 

"Where  would  the  rival  "EvtifKa  's,  we  wonder,  greatly  daring, 
Beneath  your  most  pellucid  sky  be  giv'n  their  premier  airing  ? 
Would   they,   for   instance,    bowl   against    the   few   remaining 

columns 
Of  Zeus  Olympius,  till  with  byes  through  Hadrian's  Arch  the 

ball  hums, 

Or,  delicately  marching,  field  where  scanty  lawns  environ 
The  marble  "Hellas,  maiden  fond  that  pats  the  head  of  BYRON  ; 


With  "  dipd-nav"  in  the  theatre  named  after  Dionysus 
And  "  \6yy  \ty  "  in  the  Stadion  across  the  brook  Ilissus  ? 
Would   they   for  lost  ball   wildly  hunt  on  "Madmen's    Hill" 

(Hymettus) 

Or  cut  the  daisies,  if  they  grow,  on  stony  Lycabcttus  ? 
(Though    Athens    may    be    "violet-crowned,"    her   verdure's 

pretty  arid — 

There  was  no  grass  at  all  when  there  the  other  day  we  tarried). 
Well,   if   you    ever  want    a    "coach,"    we   English   won't   bo 

stingy-— 

We  '11  even  lend  our  champion  4>pai'  or  Tlpiyttrity  PavT^ruivr^i] ! 
And  you  shall  send  a  "  rrju.  ' '  to  Lord's  before  ten  years  are  ended, 
And   hear   us   shout   "  ou  's  QO.T  •  "  "  V&T  oSr  !  "  "  oi>t\\  TrAcueS," — or 

"  well  intended  !  "  A.  A.  S. 


MR.  PUNCH'S  MUSEUM. — "  Collection  of  Pur/our  Games  (temp. 
1901)."  We  learn  from  contemporary  records  that  at  this 
time  there  was  a  perfect  outbreak  of  childish  contrivances 
to  dissipate  ennui.  It  is  supposed  that  Society,  having  lost 
the  power  to  appreciate  the  value  of  intellectual  recreation, 
betook  itself,  in  its  efforts  to  escape  the  dread  demon  of  bore- 
dom, to  the  pleasures  of  the  kindergarten.  Those  who  in- 
spect this  odd  congeries  will  be  astonished  at  the  marvel- 
lous number  of  combinations  into  which  the  principle  of  the 
tip-cat,  the  battledore,  the  button,  the  marble,  and  the 
pea-shooter  entered.  It  is  said  that  the  middle-aged  devotees 
of  these  pastimes  were  so  delighted  in  the  re-discovery  of 
their  juvenility  that  the  fact  that  England  was  at  war  was 
completely  forgotten,  until  the  conscription  of  the  younger 
generation  put  things  in  a  different  light. 


CHARIVARI. 


[DECEMBER  4,  1901. 


THE  IDEAL   STATESMAN. 

[«  According  to  a  German  scientist,  the  moral  qualities  have  serums  with 
which  patients  may  be  profitably  inoculated. "—Daily  Paper.} 
FAITH,  hope  and  charity,  love,  hate, 

Ambition,  envy,  gall — 
Whatever  moralists  may  state- 
Are  microbes  one  and  all. 
Each  has  its  serum  \vhich  you  can 

Inoculate :  e.g., 
To  make  a  perfect  public  man 

Be  this  your  recipe  : 
Take  a  man  in  the  street,  the  first  one  that  you  meet— it  really 

don't  matter  much  who, 
For  the  truth  to  confess,  he  can  hardly  know  less  than  our 

Cabinet  Ministers  do — 
To  fill  him  with  nerve,  eapieglerie,  verve,  dose  him  well  with  a 

serum  of  S-L-SB-EY  ; 
]('   he  wants  situations  for   all   his  relations,  correct  with  a 

virus  of  H-LSB-UY. 
ii  modesty,  tact  and  good  breeding  arc  lacked,  if  his  language 

is  vulgar  and  low, 
These  faults,  I  am  sure,  you  will  easily  cure  with  a  serum  of 

Gentleman  JOR. 
If  he's  limp  in  the  back  and  inclined  to  be  slack,  of  a  dry 

academic  complexion, 
And  inclining  to  shirk  Parliamentary  work,  dose  him  well  with 

a  B-LK-R  injection. 
If  his  somnolent  mind  is  to  slumber  inclined,  if  he  yawns  when 

his  speech  is  begun, 
D-V-XSH-RE  serum  will  certainly  clear  him  from  dozing  until 

it  is  done  ; 
While  if  lie  is  found   to   be  feeble  all  round,  and  on  nothing 

especially  strong, 

These  faults  to  correct  you  need  only  inject  a  double  strong 
serum  of  L-NG. 

TO  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON. 


I  Man  may  be  a  vain  thing,  a  purposeless  shadow  flitting  across 

lis  little  tract  of  earth,  but  the  creatures  of  man's  imagination, 

he  shapes  he  calls  into  being,  breathing  the  breath  of  life  into 

heir  lungs,  these  remain  with  us  and  fill  our  minds.     So  Hector 

nd  Achilles,  Ajax  and  Ulysses  live,  while  HOMER  is  no  more 

han  a  name  to  be  quarrelled  over  by  pedants  and  archaeologists. 

In  one  sense  you  are  more,  in  another,  perhaps,  less,  fortunate 

,han  HOMER.     Your  life  has  been  written,  and  all  men  can  learn 

kvhat  manner  of  man  you  were.     Those  who  were  your  friends 

nd  loved  you  may  renew  their  memories  of  your  presence, 

our  cheerful  talk,  and  your  astounding  achievements  with  that 

magician's  wand,  your  pen.     They,  and  those  who  knew  only 

your  fame  and  had  not  clasped  your  hand,  can  follow  you  in 

your   cousin's   authentic   pages  from   infancy  to   middle    age 

hrough   all   the   varying    scenes    of    your    high-spirited    and 

ulventurous  life.     It  is  a  pious  book,  compiled  and  written  with 

;eal  and  discretion,  and  the  picture  it  gives  is  that  of  a  real 

nan,  not  a  mere  image  made  up  of  proof  sheets  and  printer's 

nk.     The  tone  is  kindly  and  generous,  as  the  tone  of  such  a 

>ook  ought  to  be.     That  you  were  a  man  and  that,  being  a  man, 

you  had  your  moments  of  Aveakne'ss,  of  uncompleted  effort,  nay, 

if  entire  failure  and  warping  error,  who  shall  deny?     But  what 

>f  that?     We  are  such  as  God  made  us,  who  made  it  our  lot  to 

rise,  our  own  strenuous  vigour  helping,  through  misery  and 

despair  to  success  and  triumph  and  the  praise  of  men.     So  you, 

t  seems,  rose,  a  bright  and  soaring  spirit,  cleaving  your  way  to 

the  stars,  disdaining  to  be  drawn  down  by  the  weakness  of  the 

[lesh  and  its  sufferings.     That  is  enough,  and  for  the  rest  I  say — 

No  farther  seek  his  merits  to  disclose, 

Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode, 
(There  they  alike  in  trembling  hope  repose), 

The  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his  God. 

And  now  let  me  end  with  a  story  for  your  private  ear.  There 
was  once  a  man — let  us  say  he  was  moulded  after  your  fashion, 
ind  lived  and  died  much  as  you  did.  After  his  death  the  world 
went  on  reading  his  books,  and  his  friends  talked  of  him  and 
wrote  of  him,  holding  that  it  was  good  for  the  world  to  know 
what  a  noble  and  delightful  fellow  he  had  been  and  how  clieer- 


BELOVED  SHADE, — I  like  to  think  of  you,  now  that  you  have 
put  away  the  stress  and  fret  of  life,  and  have  been  rapt  from 
us  to  the  society  of  the  mighty  dead,  your  meet  companions 
who  went  before  you  and  hailed  you  as  your  ghostly  feet 
touched  the  borders  of  their  glorious  country.  I  like  to 
imagine  you,  I  say,  stretched  at  ease  in  the  meadow  of  aspho- 
del, with  FIELDING  and  SCOTT  and  DICKENS  and  THACKERAY, 
and  the  great  DUMAS,  the  beneficent  thunder-shaking  giant, 
to  bear  you  company.  There  is  no  envy,  nor  hatred,  nor 
malice,  nor  any  uncharitableness,  but  a  deep  glow  of  happy 
contentment  is  over  all.  You  are  warriors  who  have  fought 
your  fight  amongst  us  and  have  gone  to  your  rest,  leaving  to 
us  not  only  your  pleasant  voices,  the  nightingales  that  are 
still  awake  with  us,  but  high  and  noble  lessons  of  courage 
and  endurance  and  kindness  and  humanity,  to  sustain  our 
faltering  efforts.  Sometimes  you  speak  and  again  you  listen, 
now  compelling  silence,  now  compelled  to  it,  emulous  only  in 
great  and  kindly  thoughts,  and  the  high  peaks  .echo  and 
re-echo  with  yotir  laughter.  It  is  a  heathen  fancy,  but  let  it 
pass.  Be  sure  of  this,  at  any  rate :  we,  who  still  live  out  our 
little  lives  in  the  busy  haunts  of  men,  and  whose  tired  minds 
turn  for  refreshment  to  romance  and  poetry,  and  the  eterna 
records  of  heroism  and  faith  and  gallant  deeds,  we  love 
you  as  of  old  and  reverence  your  name.  Of  all  the  gay  and 
splendid  souls  that  have  flashed  across  our  sky  with  a  trail  of 
glory,  none  was  more  vivid  than  yours,  none  has  left  a  more 
enduring  memory.  Your  company  of  brave  men  and  noble 
women  are  still  our  friends.  We  leave  with  them  the  beater 
round  of  our  daily  lives,  and  plunge  into  magic  regions, 
watching  with  a  still  breathless  interest  their  efforts,  hear- 
ing them  strike  their  blows  and  speak  their  sounding 
phrases,  and  following  them,  foiled  or  triumphant,  to  the  end 


fully  he  had  looked  out  upon  mankind,  even  through  the  mists 
of  approaching  death.  But  one  fine  day  there  came  along  a 
rough  and  blustering  sort  of  companion,  and,  "  By  heaven," 
says  he,  "  what  a  pother  they  are  all  making  about  one  who 
was  after  all  a  very  poor  and  ordinary  creature !  Why,  I  was 
the  man  who  helped  him  along ;  but  for  me  he  had  never  done 
a  hand's  turn  to  deserve  fame,  and,  if  you  '11  believe  me,  lie 
requited  me,  as  he  did  all  others,  most  scurvily.  He  outsoared 
us,  actually  outsoared  us  all,  won  his  way  to  glory  while  we, 
his  betters,  were  left  flapping  ineffectual  wings.  As  for  writing 
books,  have  not  others  written  much  better  books  and  earned  a 
smaller  reward  ?  And  as  for  the  man  himself  as  he  lived  amon£ 
his  friends,  all  I  can  say  is,  he  was  often  petty  and  dismal  and 
conceited  and  pragmatical — so  much  so,  that  some  who  knew 
him  would  describe  him  by  a  word  of  three  letters  (oaf,  lop, 
cad,  ass,  don — the  field  is  open  for  pleasant  conjecture,  and 
you  may  make  your  own  choice)  that  would  make  him  turn  in 
his  grave  could  he  hear  it.  Pooh  !  I  call  him  an  Anxious 
Egotist,  a  Shorter  Catechist,  an  unfriendly  and  forgetting 
friend,  a  being  deteriorating  from  fault  to  fault  —  until 
I  ceased  to  care  for  the  man,  so  little  was  there  in  him 
to  care  for  or  reverence  or  praise.  Not  if  I  can  help  it 
shall  his  frailties  be  hidden,  so  here  you  have  them."  And,* 
having  finished,  away  he  goes  in  a  fine  frenzy  of  self-righteous 
indignation.  But  the  oddest  part  of  the' tale  is  yet  to  come. 
This  indignant  follower  of  the  veracities  was  one  whom  the 
dead  man  held  to  be  his  friend,  of  whom  he  never  spoke,  so  fur 
as  public  records  may  guide  us,  without  kindness  and  affection. 
What  think  you  of  this?  For  myself,  I  think  it  was  not 
STEVENSON'S  way,  nor  ought  ifc  to  be  the  Avay  of  any  man  who, 
having  loved  a  friend,  has  lost  him. 

Farewell,  and  own  me  YOUR  ADMIRER. 


DECEMDER  4,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


403 


RATHER    HANDY    WITH    AN    EXCUSE. 

Jealous    Wife.    "MY  DEAR  FRED,  AT  YOUR  AGE  YOU  OUGHT  REALLY  TO  BE   QUITE  ASHAMED  OF  YOURSELF!    You  ARE  ALWAYS 

RUNNING   AFTER   ALL  THE   PRETTY   LADIES  !  " 

Fred  (quick  at  a  repartee}.   "MY  DEAR  !  MY  DEAR  !   THAT  OUGHT  TO  PUT  YOU  QUITE  AT  YOUR  EASE.     IT  ONLY  TROVES  THAT  THEY 

ARE   ALWAYS  TRYING   TO    GET  AWAY  FROM  ME!" 


THE  HOUSE  AND  THE  HOTEL. 
(A  Hnyyestion  /or  a  Yule-tide  Story.) 

"  I  DON'T  think  you  will  like  it,"  said 
the  good  manager  seated  behind  the  desk 
in  the  bureau. 

"That  is  all  you  know  about  it,"  re- 
plied the  husband.  "  House-keeping  has 
become  intolerable." 

"  Yes,  intolerable,"  echoed  the  wife. 

"  But  there  are  so  many  drawbacks," 
urged  the  good  manager.  "  For  instance, 
I  am  going  to  put  you  into  a  room  with 
a  dead  wall  in  front  of  you." 

"  \Vell,  I  rather  like  dead  walls,"  ob- 
served the  husband,  "there  is  a  novelty 
about  them.  Besides,  they  shut  out  an 
ugly  prospect." 

"Yes,"  chimed  in  the  wife,  "  such  as 
trees  without  leaves,  or  houses  with  in- 
quisitive neighbours  seated  for  ever  at 
the  windows." 

"  Then  I  don't  think  you  will  care 
about  the  food,"  went  on  the  good 

aii.ui-er,  "  it  's  very  rich,  and  after  three 
days  you  get  to  know  all  the  items  of  the 


menu  by  heart.  We  try  to  change  twice 
a  week." 

"Well,  that  is  better  than  a  joint," 
returned  the  husband. 

"Yes,"  added  the  wife,  "a  joint  that 
passes  through  the  stages  of  hot,  cold  and 
hashed." 

"  But  we  do  something  [in  the  line  of 
comestible  development  ourselves.  You 
will  find  that  the  'grand  piece'  of  to-day  is 
the  fricandeau  of  to-morrow.  Besides,  I 
am  sure  you  won't  care  about  the  head- 
waiter." 

"  On  the  contrary,  they  are  always 
exceedingly  civil,"  put  in  the  gentleman. 

"  Yes,  very  polite,"  added  the  lady. 

"  But  ours  is  an  exception  to  the  rule," 
explained  the  good  manager.  "  He  will 
give  you  a  table  that  you  won't  like,  and 
not  alter  it  for  a  fortnight." 

"  But  even  that  will  be  better  than  our 
own  monotonous  dining-room. " 

"As  you  will,"  said  the  good  manager 
with  a  sigh.  "  I  have  warned  you.  Number 
2,486." 

So  the  husband  and   the  wife   entered 


the  lift,  went  up  and  up  until  they  reached 
the  top  floor. 

Twenty-four  hours  later  they  were  once 
again  in  the  bureau. 

"You  are  quite  right,"  said  the  hus- 
band, "  I  prefer  our  small  and  not  too 
comfortable  home." 

"  They  did  not  call  us  at  therig'.it  hour, 
and  they  put  us  at  a  table  with  four  other 
people." 

"  And  the  soup  was  cold,  and  we  had  to 
wait  ten  minutes  between  the  courts." 

"  And  I  think  the  sheets  were  da  up." 

"And  I  couldn't  find  any  daily  papers 
in  the  smoking-room." 

"And  so  you  are  going  home,  sweet 
home,"  cried  the  good  manager,  beaming. 

"  Yes,"  they  answered  together,  "  you 
have  reconciled  us  to  the  home  that  is 
our  very  own." 

So  after  they  had  spent  a  small  fortune 
in  tips  they  entered  the  cab. 

"  dood  bye,  my  dear  friends,"  cried  the 
proprietor  of  the  hotel. 

And  the  husband  and  the  wife  blessed 
the  philanthropist  through  the  window. 


404 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[DECEMBER  4,  1901. 


OUR  PUP. 

WHEN  GWENDOLEN  expressed  a  desire  for 
a  little  Aberdeen  terrier  with  a  kind  face, 
I  knew  in  my  heart  of  hearts  that  before 
many  weeks  were  past  a  pup  would  be 
amongst  our  Penates  ;  but  at  the  same 
time  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  point  out  the 
difficulties  of  keeping  such  a  pet  in  a 
small  flat,  in  order  that,  when  the  hour 
came,  I  might  have  the  smug  satisfaction 
of  feeling— I  should  never  venture  to  say 
it — "  I  told  you  so." 

"My  dear,"  I  objected,  "you  know 
that  our  lease  specially  prohibits  dogs." 

"  And  I  know  that  every  tenant  in  the 
mansions  keeps  one." 

This  was  true.  I  had  often  watched  the 
guilty  procession  of  men  and  maids  that 
at  ten  o'clock  every  evening  stole  down 
the  stairs  like  so  many  conspirators,  each 
leading  his  contraband  property  on  a 
'leash.  At  such  a  time  the  party-wall  of 
stiff  reserve  that  prevented  No.  28  speak- 
ing to  No.  29  was  broken  down,  and  the 
owner  of  the  yellow  dachshund  might  be 
seen  exchanging  amenities  with  the  master 
of  the  black  poodle  or  listening  to  the 
basement  expounding  the  points  of  his 
nondescript  cur.  Occasionally,  too,  the 
dogs  exchanged  amenities  as  well  as  their 
masters,  and  when  the  Irish  terrier  met 
the  bull  on  the  first  landing,  only  pepper 
and  lighted  vestas  could  part  their  warm 
embrace. 

"  You  needn't  be  afraid  of  fights,  JACK," 
broke  in  GWENDOLEN,  who  had  evidently 
been  following  the  train  of  my  thoughts. 

"  Afraid,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  know  you  went  quite  pale 
when  the  porter  asked  you  to  catch  hold 
of  Paddy's  tail." 

"  It  was  a  disgusting  sight,"  I  replied, 
my  heart  palpitating  at  the  recollection. 

"So  it  was,"  agreed  GWEN  ;  "but,  at 
any  rate,  the  pup  won't  fight." 

"Not  till  he  becomes  a  dog.  Then 
there  's  AUGUSTA.  Doesn't  she  object  to 
dogs  ?  ' ' 

G\YENDOLEN  frowned.  Time  'and  again 
had  our  general  expressed  in  no  measured 
terms  her  hatred  of  all  four-legged  things. 
"  We  must  keep  the  pup  out  of  her  way, 
JACK." 

"  In  our  flat  ?  "     I  laughed. 

"  Of  course.  It  will  be  perfectly 
simple." 

I  whistled. 

"Don't  do  that." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  I. 

A  pause  ensued  ;  but  apparently  GWEN- 
DOLEN found  my  silence  as  trying  as  my 
whistling. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of?"  she 
asked. 

"I  was  wondering  whether  we  should 
give  the  pup  our  bedroom  or  the  drawing- 
room." 

"  Sarcasm—  "  began  GWEN. 


"  It  was  anything  but  sarcasm, 
darling." 

"  Then  it  was  simply  fatuity." 

"  On  the  contrary,  my  clear.  If  we 
can't  put  the  pup  in  AUGUSTA'S  premises, 
where  he  would  do  little  harm — 

"We'll  put  him  in  the  bath-room, 
where  he  can  do  none." 

This  argument  appeared  to  GWENDOLEN 
conclusive,  and  as  I  dared  not  whistle 
again,  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to 
smile  and  say,  "  Very  well." 

No  one  treats  a  fallen  foe  more  gener- 
ously than  GWENDOLEN.  In  a  moment  all 
the  fierce  battle-lust  was  forgotten,  and, 
the  pros  having  won  the  day,  she  was  as 
willing  as  I  to  admit  the  existence  of 
cons. 

"  But  you  know,  dear,"  she  concluded, 
' '  it  will  be  so  good  for  you  to  take  the 
puppy  for  its  walks.  You  sit  in  your 
study  all  day  long  smok — working,  and 
you  don't  get  half  enough  exercise.  Your 
figure  is  not  quite  so  athletic  as  it  was 
when  I  saw  you  bump  Brasenose,  is  it? 
Then  it  will  hardly  cost  us  anything ;  it 
will  just  live  on  the  scraps  that  would 
otherwise  be  wasted.  We  needn't  even 
jet  a  licence  for  it  till  it  is  six  months 
old,  and  then  you  must  just  write  a  little 
doggy  poem  for  the  Spectator.  You  '11  get 
no  end  of  copy  out  of  the  little  fellow, 
JACK  ! ' ' 

"  Oh,  the  darling  !  "  cried  GWENDOLEN, 
when  I  arrived  home  one  evening  with 
the  pup  in  my  arms.  "  Look  at  his 
'kind  boot-buttons,'  JACK!  Isn't  he  a 
dear  little  thing  ?  " 

"  Rather  !  "  I  replied.  He  had  already 
cost  me  five  guineas  besides  his  railway 
fare  from  Wick,  not  to  mention  a  cab- 
fare  and  compensation  for  a  torn -up 
cushion.  But  he  looked  very  sweet  and 
innocent  as  he  nestled  in  my  overcoat, 
and  he  put  up  his  baby  paw  to  GWEN- 
DOLEN in  a  way  that  won  her  heart  at 
once. 

"  There  is  a  nice  fire  in  the  study.  He 
will  be  quite  happy  on  the  Persian  mat." 

"  Will  he  ?  "  I  asked,  vaguely  thinking 
of  the  bath-room. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  think  so.  See  ?  How  per- 
fectly sweet  he  looks  on  the  crimson 
ground!  But,  JACK,  they  haven't  sent 
the  biscuits." 

"  Haven't  they  ?  What  a  nuisance  !  I 
suppose  we  must  just  give  him  some 
scraps  to-night." 

"  Scraps  !  They  would  kill  him  !  I  've 
been  getting  up  Aberdeens,  and  they  must 
have  nothing  but  puppy  biscuits,  -with 
some  cod-liver  oil  cakes  when  they  are 
teething,  and  pepsinated  puppy  meal  if 
they  are  'bad  doers.'  I've  ordered  al 
these  from  the  stores,  with  some  dog  soap 
and  towels,  and  the  sweetest  little  basket 
and  mat  that  only  cost  thirty-five  shillings 
But  they  haven't  come,  so  you  must  go 
and  fetch  the  biscuits  at  any  rate." 


"  But,  my  dear,  it 's  just  dinnertime." 

"  The  stores  will  be  shut  if  you  don't 
O  at  once.  And  JACK  !  it  will  save  time 
f  you  take  a  cab  and  bring  all  the  things 
ogether. ' ' 

When  I  got  back,  I  found  the  pup  the 
5ole  occupant  of  my  study.  He  was  very 
busy  on  the  rug  and  the  floor  was  strewn 
vith  paper.  There  was  a  loud  yelp  and 
iWENDOLEN  came  rushing  in. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  JACK  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  he  has  eaten  an  Elzevir,  and 
•vas  just  starting  on  an  Aldine." 

GWENDOLEN  screwed  her  courage  to  the 
sticking  place.  "  Bad  puppy  !  Naughty  ! 
to  do  that !  "  she  reiterated,  accom- 
panying the  reproaches  with  gentle 
smacks. 

The  pup's  ears  fell,  its  tail  went  down 
between  its  legs,  and  it  looked  such  a 
lejected  little  atom  that  I  relented  at 
once.  "Don't  you  think  that  will  do, 

WEN  ?  Poor  little  chap  !  I  daresay  he 
was  hungry,  and  if  he  had  had  his  biscuits 
Ms  wouldn't  have  happened." 

After  dinner,  of  which  meal  the  pup  was 
a  painfully  interested  spectator,  I  felt  in 

ood  fettle  for  work,  and  proposed  that  I 
should  go  into  the  study,  and  write  a 
scene  of  ray  tragedy.  GWENDOLEN  usually 
encourages  me  in  any  unwonted  efforts  of 
:his  kind,  but  to-night  she  looked  serious. 

"  LYDIA  tells  me" — LYDIA  is  a  doggy 
friend  of  GWEN'S — "  that  a  pup  must  be 
taken  out  every  two  hours,  so  I  think, 
JACK,  if  you  don't  mind — 

"In  this  fog  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  won't  hurt  the  pup.  LYDIA 
ays  it  must  go  out  in  all  weathers — from 
ten  minutes  to  an  hour,  according  to 

ircumstances. " 

The  pup  was  as  loth  to  go  as  I.  It 
planted  its  little  broad  feet  firmly  on  the 
floor  and  refused  to  budge.  Persuasion  had 
no  effect  whatever  except  a  deprecatory 
wag  of  the  tail ,  and  I  had  to  drag  the  strug- 

ling  mite  down  the  stairs  by  sheer  force. 
By  the  time  it  reached  the  bottom  it  was 
nearly  strangled,  and  thenjt  sat  down  on 
the  pavement  and  wagged  its  tail.  I  had 
not  the  heart  to  drag  it  any  further,  so 
we  stood  together  shivering  and  inhaling 
fog  until  we  thought  it  time  to  venture 
back  again. 

Yery  early  next  morning  I  was 
awakened  by  the  sound  of  energetic 
scrubbing.  GWENDOLEN  is  not  inordi- 
nately fond  of  scrubbing,  while  as  for 
AUGUSTA — I  knew  she  had  far  too  much 
self-respect  to  be  anywhere  but  in  bed 
at  such  an  hour.  I  rose  to  see  what  it 
was  all  about,  and  slipping  on  my 
dressing  -  gown,  opened  the  bath-room 
door.  GWENDOLEN  was  on  her  knees 
scrubbing  for  dear  life,  while  the  pup 
was  dancing  round  her  in  high  delight, 
and  making  dabs  at  the  flying  brush. 
"  My  darling  !  "  I  exclaimed. 
GWENDOLEN  looked  up.  "Oh!  JACK, 
I '  ve  got  such  megrims  ! ' ' 


DECEMBER  4,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


405 


"  Whatever  are  you  doing,  dear?  " 

"Why,    you   see,    JACK,    I   came   in   to 
lave  a   look   at   the   pnp,    and   he   must 
lave    got   his   feet  dirty   last   night,    or 
something,  for  the  place  was  in  an  aw- 
ful  mess,  and    1   knew   that   if  AUGUSTA 
saw  it " 

"  I  see,  dear.     But  you  really  shouldn't 
— and   in   that  airy   costume!     I've,    at 
east,  got  on  a  dressing-gown." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  GWEN,  relinquish- 
ing the  scrubbing-brush.  "  But  do  make 
haste  and  get  it  done  before  AUGUSTA 
jets  up." 

I  set  to  work  and  finished  the  job,  but 
lot  before  I  had  felt  the  glance  of  amused 
contempt  which  our  mistress  the  servant 
flung  at  me  as  she  passed  the  bathroom  on 
ier  domestic  rounds. 

When  I  came  to  make  the  puppy's  bed, 
I  found  he  had  not  been  idle  even  during 
;he  night.  My  new  guinea  sponge  was 
torn  into  a  thousand  pieces,  and  my  best 
Turkish  toAvel  lay  in  shreds.  I  consulted 
GWENDOLEN,  and  we  agreed  that  punish- 
ment must  be  administered.  I  seized  a 
stick  and  raised  a  threatening  arm.  The 
pup  sat  down,  cocked  his  head  on  one 
side,  and  cast  kind  but  reproachful, 
glances  at  me. 

"  Hit  him  !  "  urged  GWENDOLEN. 

I  tried.  Thump,  thump  went  the 
puppy's  tail  on  the  ground.  I  handed  the 
stick  to  GWEN. 

"  Well,  you  are  a  coward,  JACK  !  " 

"Perhaps  if  we  asked  AUGUSTA,"  I 
suggested. 

"How  can  you  bo  so  cruel?  AUGUSTA 
would  hurt  it." 

So  the  puppy  got  off  scot-free,  and  in 
the  course  of  the  morning  devoured  my 
favourite  slippers.  But,  as  GWENDOLEN 
pointed  out,  this  mattered  the  less  be- 
cause (as  I  soon  found  out)  I  was  seldom 
to  take  off  my  boots  again,  the  exigencies 
of  puppy  nature  requiring  that  I  should 
spend  most  of  my  life  in  the  open  air. 

AUGUSTA  regards  the  devotion  of  GWEN- 
DOLEN and  myself  as  mild  lunacy — harm- 
less, so  long  as  the  pup  does  not  trespass 
in  her  kitchen,  when  she  lets  him  "feel 
the  weight  of  her  hand  across  his  back." 
She  takes  no  pains  to  conceal  her  con- 
tempt for  my  present  occupation,  though, 
after  all,  it  is  not  so  very  much  lower 
in  her  esteem  than  my  late  profession — 
the  writing  of  minor  verse. 


THE  BRITISH  MANUFACTURER'S 
APOLOGY. 

[A  prominent  Midland  manufacturer  states  in  the 
British  Weekly  that  English  goods  are  actually 
sold  as  American,  because  it  is  the  fashion  to  talk 
down  on-'e's  o\vn  country  and  its  productions.] 

ALAS  !  too  long  (we  own  with  pain) 
With  patriot  ardour  have  we  dreamt 

With  British  fabrics  to  sustain 
Our  British  trade — a  vain  attempt — 


Little  Effie  (not  at  all  'inclined  to  yo  to  sleep — to  Xtirss,  who  is  about  to  switch  off  the  electric  light). 
"On,  PLEASE,  NANNA    DON'T  TURN  ON  THE  DARK!" 


Only  to  find  Britain  prefers 
The  industries  of  foreigners. 

Lo  !  England  scans  each  foreign  part, 
Wealth  in  their  "notions  "  to  invest ; 

From  far  Japan  she  culls  her  art, 
In  Paris  gowns  her  dames  are  dressed 

Whose  competition  vainly  strives 
Our  peerage  to  supply  with  wives. 

Then,  if  to  quicken  dwindling  trade, 

A  dolly  or  a  tin  gee-gee, 
Albeit  in  Whitechapel  made, 

Is  labelled  "  Made  in  Germany," 
Public,  the  harmless  fraud  forgive — 

For  even  Englishmen  must  live. 


MR.  PUNCH'S  MUSEUM.  —  "  Miniature 
Model  of  Lord  Mayor's  Show."  This  ex- 
hibit has  been  added  to  the  collection 
by  way  of  comic  relief,  and  to  show 
that  our  ancestors,  especially  the  "City 
Fathers,"  could  sink  to  the  occasion 
when  necessary.  The  instincts  of  the 
London  crowd  appear  to  have  craved  for 
an  annual  and  gratis  circus  display  of 

1  shivering  supers  on  unsteady  perches, 
and  the  authorities  responded  nobly. 
Nothing  equal  to  the  great  gilt  coach 

I  and  the  magnificent  double-chin  of  its 
coachman  was  ever  seen  in  the  wildest 
flights  of  pantomime. 


406 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[DECEMBER  4,  1901. 


Giles.    "I    BE   GOT   UP   HERE,    MlSTEK,    BUT   I    DON'T   ZEE    *OW   EVEH    I    BE   GOIN*   TO   GET   DOWN." 

Farmer.   "  THEE  ZHUT  THEE  EYES  AX'  WALK  ABOUT  A  BIT,  AN'  THEE'LL  ZOON  GET  DOWN  !" 


ROMANCE   AND   REALITY. 

["  Nothing  is  so  pitilessly  cruel  as  cold  fact,  and 

the  facts  of  life  destroy  half  its  romance.     One  of 

;hc;e  days  we  shall  be  solemnly  informed  that  the 

lea  Serpent  and  the  Big  Gooseberry  are  nothing 

>ut  myths,  and  when  that  unhappy  day  comes  most 

of  us  will  probably  make  up  our  minds  that  it  will 

«  better  to  believe  nothing  at  all." — St.  James's 

'•azelte.~\ 

WRETCHED  scribbler,  cease  to  fling- 
Doubt  on  every  sacred  thing 
That  has  to  this  formal  earth 
Reconciled  us  from  our  birth. 
Keep,  oh,  keep  thy  hand  off  the 
Mighty  Serpent  of  the  Sea  ! 

Cross  with  other  doubts  our  mind, 
Doubts  in  men  and  women  kind  ; 
Prove  a  company's  prospectus 
Is  but  made  to  misdirect  us. 
But  no  slander  speak  of  the 
Mighty  Serpent  of  the  Sea  ! 

Bid  us  scout  as  idle  fables 

Foreign  telegrams  and  cables  ; 

We  will  pooh-pooh  BROWN'S  dog  stories, 

Doubt  that  at  an  end  tire  war  is, 

So  you  cast  no  slur  on  the 

Mighty  Serpent  of  the  Sea  ! 

Bid  us  even  relinquish  faith 
In  some  fond  domestic  wraith 


Which  for  centuries  has  been 
On  the  stroke  of  midnight  seen. 
But  renew  our  faith  in  the 
Mighty  Serpent  of  the  Sea  ! 

Bid  us  think  no  genius  lies 
In  the  hues  of  TURNER'S  skies  ; 
Deemed  we  ancient  SAMSON*  strong, 
Prove  by  science  we  were  wrong. 
But  prove  nothing  about  the 
Mighty  Serpent  of  the  Sea  ! 

Tell  us  BACON  is  the  '  pote  ' 

Who  the  plays  of  SHAKSPKARK  wrote, 

Prove  that  all  romance  is  Avrit 

In  an  epileptic  fit. 

But,  O  science,  touch  not  the 

Mighty  Serpent  of  the  Sea  ! 


BOOKWORMS    ALL. 
HERE,    where   old   smoke  hangs    fra- 
grant, 

Here,  where  round  circles  cloak 
With  cloudlets  ever  vagrant 

The  long,  dark  shelves  of  oak, 
Mid  tomes  of  vellum,  yellow 
With  years  and  sweetly  mellow, 
E  ich  dearer  than  its  fellow, 

We  meditate  and  smoke. 

While  leave  is  ours  to  burrow 
In  books,  we  care  no  jot 


Whether  the  lonely  furrow 

Is  being  ploughed  or  not  ; 
Nor  if  Peer-ploughmen,  weary 
Of  furrows  lone  and  dreary, 
Should  seek  a  life  more  cheery 

Beside  the  common  pot. 
No  statesman's  lucubrations 

In  this  retreat  read  we, — 
Not  even  the  orations 

Of  him  they  call  C.-B. ; 
But  read  with  glowing  wondor 
The  Demosthenic  thunder 
That  PHILIP  trembled  under— 

Our  thoughts  are  all  B.C. 
Nor  are  AVC  ever  debtors 

To  fiction  for  our  ease  ; 
No  Garden  Books,  L-nv-letters, 

Nor  Visits  here  one  sees  ; 
The  music  of  CATULLUS, 
We  much  prefer  to  lull  us, 
Or  PLACCUS,  or  TJ  HULL  us, 

Or  ARISTOPHANKS. 

Thus,  mid  old  comrades  pleasant, 
WThosc  souls  so  long  have  fled, 
The  past  alone  is  present, 
The  present  lies  unread ; 
And  in  such  tranquil  setting, 
Afar  from  care  and  fretting, 
We  live,  the  world  forgetting, 
Among  the  deathless  d  -ad. 


r   S 

1     K     f 


cr  a  L_J 

8  I  M 

•  §3  t=J 

H  PJ 

!    w  >  ?2 

'  »  5  2 

i  o  -°  H 

O  ;  i— i 


O 


W 


DECEMBER  4,  1901.] 


409 


A  LETTER  TO  A 
YOUNG  PUB- 
LISHER, 

NEARLY  a  year 
must  have  passed, 
my  dear  JONES, 
since  I  last  gave 
you  (through  the 
medium  of  Mr. 
Punch's  columns) 
some  modest  hints 
on  the  profession 
— never,  oh  !  never 
let  it  be  termed  a 
"  trade  "  —  upon 
which  you  have 
embarked.  I 
pointed  out,  you 
will  remember, 
how  sweet  are  the 
uses  of  advertise- 
ment. I  showed 
you  how,  by  the 
magic  of  a  few 
hiatus  marks,  an 
unfavourable  re- 
view can  be  con- 
verted into  an  en- 
thusiastic eulogy ; 
so  that,  for  exam- 
ple, the  opinion  of 
the  Pi  rants,  which 
ran  :  "  This  is  a 
thorough  ly  good 
example  of  a  rub- 
bishy  class  of 
book,"  etc.,  etc., 
will  figure  in  your 
advert  isement 
as,  "This  is  a 
thoroughly  good 
.  .  .  book."  But, 
as  you  point  out 
to  me,  there  are 
limits  to  the  use- 
fulness of  this 
method.  So  grossly 
prejudiced,  it 
seems,  are  many 
of  the  critical  journals,  that,  having  ob- 
served, it  may  be,  your  ingenious  use  of 
their  unfavourable  reviews,  they  have 
simply  desisted  from  giving  reviews  of 
any  kind  to  many  of  the  works  which 
bear  your  imprint. 

And  so,  I  take  it,  the  question  you 
now  propound  to  me  is  this:  "  Sup- 
I  posing  that  the  verdicts  of  the  press 
upon  my  publications  arc  so  worded 
as  to  preclude  the  possibility  of  their 
being  twisted  into  laudatory  sentences  ; 
or,  worse  still,  supposing  that  there 
are  no  press  verdicts  at  all  —  what 
am  I  to  do  then?  For  instance,  you  tell 
me  that  all  .your  efforts  so  far  to  boom 
(GREGSON'S  Morbidities  have  proved 
jfutile.  Even  the  Lower  Slopjtington  Ad- 

srtiser,  whose  critic  you   had  come  to 

aunt  upon  for  the  opinion  that  "there 


A    NEW    DEPARTURE. 

Shucfe  of  Charles  Lamb.    "Ax  HIS  COUNTRY  PLACE,  AND  IN  HIS  MODERN  SUIT,  THE 

BOY  MAY   BE   HAPPIER,    BUT  HE  WILL   NOT   BE   SO   PICTURESQUE." 

["  It  is  thought  probable  that  the  Bluecoat  Boys  will  soon  be  allowed  to  adopt  modem  dress." — 
Standard,  November  27.] 


is  not  a  dull  page  in  this  volume"  —  a 
sentence  employed  by  him  four  or  five 
times  in  every  issue  of  the  paper  —  even 
the  Lower  Sloppington  Advertiser,  you  re- 
peat, has  had  the  impudence  to  slate 
Morbidities.  Its  sale  hangs  fire,  you 
have  a  thousand  copies  in  hand,  and 
(beyond  a  paltry  £40  or  £50  you  sur- 
charged the  author  upon  "the  cost  of 
production  ").  you  will  make  no  profit  out 
of  it.  You  suggest,  as  a  last  resource, 
that  you  should  boldly  invent  flaming 
eulogies,  and  father  them  in  your  adver- 
tisements upon  the  Times  and  the  Athe- 


Candidly,  I  cannot  recommend  this 
plan.  For  one  thing,  it  is  a  trifle  risky  ; 
for  another,  it  is  quite  unnecessary. 
"  No  one,"  you  complain,  "will  say  a 
good  word  for  the  wretched  thing."  That 


is  too  hasty  an 
assertion.  Pause 
and  consider  for  a 
moment.  Are  there 
no  persons  who  are 
quite  willing  to 
praise  it  as  freely 
as  you  could  wish? 
Why,  obviously, 
there  are  two  — 
GREG  SON,  its 
author,  and  your- 
self, its  publisher. 
"  But,"  you  may 
object,  "  I  can't 
quote  these 
opinions  as  ad- 
vertisements." 
My  dear  JONES, 
that  is  precisely 
what  you  can  and 
must  do.  Believe 
me,  you  will  not 
be  the  first  to 
adopt  this  simple 
but  excellent  plan. 
Take  a  column 
of  next  week's 
Pirfeiis,  and  fill  it 
with  announce- 
uients — in  heavily- 
leaded  type  —  of 
this  kind  : 
"MORBIDITIES." 
—  Of  this  work 
Mr.  G  REGS  ON 
writes  :  "  I  have 
never  done  any- 
thing so  fine. 
The  book  fairly 
took  away  my 
breath  while  I 
was  writing  it. 
Simple  regard 
for  truth  com- 
pels me  to  pro- 
nounce it  a  co- 
lossal master- 
piece. No  one 
can  know  so 
much  about  a  book  as  its  author,  and 
my  dispassionate  verdict  pronounces 
Morbidities  a  veritable  triumph." 
"MORBIDITIES."— As  the  publisher  of 
this  remarkable  novel,  Mr.  JONES  ven- 
tures cordially  to  endorse  the  author's 
opinion  of  it.  It  is  a  superb  piece  of 
work.  So  confident  is  he  that  it  will 
be  a  gigantic  success,  that  he  has  given 
instructions  to  the  printers  to  prepare 
fifteen  more  large  editions  with  the 
utmost  speed. 

.  .  .  And  so  on.  If  space  permits, 
add  the  opinions  of  the  author's  wife 
and  the  publisher's  second-cousin.  The 
trick  is  quite  simple,  you  see  !  A.  C.  D. 


THE  LATEST  DISEASE  IN  LONDON  (UNDER- 
GROUND).— Tuberculosis. 


PUNCH,  OH  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[DECEMBER  4,  1901 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

IN  the  absence  of  Mr.  SIDNEY  LKE  on  a  well-earned  holiday, 
the  Assistant  Editor  of  the  National  Dictionary  of  Biography, 


he  '  Booking-Office '  of  your  issue  of  November  13,  in  an  appreciative 
review  of  the  Sup^plement  to  the  Dictionary  of  National  Biography  I 
notice  that  your  Baronite  states  that  he  has  searched  Volume  III.  (Ho* - 
C  ±iU  in  vain  for  a  memoir  of  the  proprietor  of  the  Dictionary  the 
late  Mr  GEORGE  SMITH.  No  memoir  of  Mr.  SMITH  was  introduced  into  the 
Iphabetical  series  for  two  reasons.  First,  because  the  work  terminates  with 

r  TT rtTiT  .          BAA/tMdlYr      nAAanfta    if.   WHS   t  noiliTilt 


llpllliuetiuui  BCIICO  AW*   "  -  ,  ,, 

the  death  of  the  late  Queen  VICTOBIA.     Secondly,  because  it  was  thought 


prefixed  to  Volume  I.  of  the  Supplement,  where  it  occupies  nearly  fifty 
pages.  Thfl  same  volume  contains,  as  frontispiece,  a  portrait  of  Mr.  SMIT1 
ifter  Mr.  G.  F.  WATTS." 

My  Baronite  did  not  Qhaiice  to  see  the  first  volume  of  the 
Supplement.  The  third  volume,  including  the  letter  S,  he,  in 
his  unimaginative  way,  looked  through  to  find  the  name 
of  Mr.  SMITH.  Failing  in  the  endeavour,  lie  came  to  the 
onclusion  that,  for  highly  honourable  if  somewhat  quixotic 
reasons,  it  was  omitted.  He  does  not  regret  the  misunder- 
standing, since  it  gave  him  opportunity  of  paying  a  humble 
tribute  to  the  memory  of  one  of  the  worthies  of  the  nineteenth 
century  whom,  when  honours  were  being  distributed  among 
lesser  men,  the  Government  of  the  day  systematically  ignored. 
It  will  be  as  well,  when  a  second  edition  of  the  Supplement  is 
called  for,  to  insert  a  line  in  proper  place  among  the  S's,  guid- 
ing the  searcher  after  truth  to  the  GEORGE  SMITH  memoir. 

JILL  generally  evinced  an  amiable  readiness  to  explain  any 
obscurity  that  might  characterise  her  discourse."  Thus  it  is 
written  in  IOTA'S  latest  novel,  The  Happening  of  Jill  (HrrcHIX- 
SON).  My  Baronite,  patiently  plodding  through  the  tangles  of  the 
story,  wishes  he  could  testify  that  this  promise  was  realised. 
IOTA,  bursting  with  desire  to  say  something  smart,  persistently 
If  she  would  only  condescend  to 'write 
might  have  been  made  of  the  story  and 


obscures  her  meaning, 
unaffectedly,  sometuinj 


the  characters  that  should  live  in  it.  But  they  must  all, 
especially  JILL,  sparkle  with  epigram,  even  when  asking  each 
other  to  pass  the  salt.  The  whole  thing  is  jerky,  inconse- 
quential, occasionally  unintelligible.  The  happenings  to  Jill 
are  nothing  compared  with  what  befalls  the  conscientious 
reader  endeavouring  to  make  out  who's  who,  what  they  fought 
each  other  for,  why  some  make  love  and  others  get  married. 
"  I  think  you  understand,"  said  JILL  to  her  husband  after  he 
had  been  some  months  in  training.  "'Oh,  I  understand,'  he 
said,  very  much  as  though  he  did  not."  Which  was  at  least 
honest  of  him. 

In  Quest  of  the  Giant  Sloth  (BLACKlE  AND  SON,  Ltd.),  by 
Dr.  GORDON  STABLES,  R.N.,  is  a  thorough  good  tale  of  a  young 
hero  and  his  friend,  ambitious  to  discover  a  survival  of  tlie  by- 
gone age,  who  start  on  an  expedition  which  leads  them  through 
strangely  marvellous  lands  in  South  America.  Here  they  gain 
more  than  a  peep  at  the  prehistoric  Sloth,  a  large  creature  of 
a  kindly  nature,  living  chiefly  on  nuts.  Both  books  are  well 
illustrated.  Certainly  this  nautical  and  literary  Doctor  R.N. 
ought  to  write  a  tale  of  the  Horse-Marines.  If  ever  man  knew 
all  about  these  mysterious  warriors,  that  man  ought  to  be  the 
bearer  of  such  a  name  as  "  STABLES,  R.N." 

Few  greater  literary  treats,  says  my  Juniorest  Baronitess, 
could  be  given  to  the  average  girl  than  to  make  her  a  Christina* 
present  of  these  two  beautifully  bound  books,  A  Popular  Girl, 
by  MAY  BALDWIN,  and  A  Nest  of  Girls,  by  E.  WESTYN  TIMLOAV 


(both  from  W.  &  R.  CHAMBERS). 
brightly  told  story  of  a  youn 


The  first  is  an  interesting  and 
English   girl's   school   life   in 


Germany,  where  to  the  heroine  is  unanimously  accorded  the 


listinction  of  "the  most  popular  girl  in  the  school";  and 
the  second  is  just  the  sort  to  please  and  fascinate  nil  girl 
readers.  Well  illustrated  by  H.  R.  RICHARDS. 

Pater's  Book  of  Ji'/n/ws,  by  JUDGE  PARRY,  illustrated  by 
A.  RUSDEN  (SHERRATT  AND  HUGHES),  is  a  comical  collection  of 
eccentric  pictures  and  nonsensical  verses  of  the  "  Shockheaded 
Peter"  kind,  though  not  within  measurable  distance  of  that 
mmortal  work.  Good  as  a  present  from  Santa  Claus. 

In  The  Secret  Orchard  (MACMILLAN),  AGNES  and  EOERTON 
TASSEL  have  set  themselves  a  delicate  task.  To  bring  together 
under  the  same  roof  a  loving  spotless  wife,  a  faithless  husband, 
and  the  young  girl  with  whom  he  has  gone  astray  is  a  situation 
;hat  requires  supreme  skill  to  make  otherwise  than  revolting. 
The  skill  is  forthcoming.  So  deftly  do  the  two  authors  work 
;he  web  and  woof  of  their  story  that  there  is  in  the  reader's 
mind  no  other  feeling  than  one  of  profound  interest.  It  is  a 
'resh  triumph  for  the  system  of  collaboration.  Where  ACXKS 
begins  and  where  EGERTOX  stops  my  Baronite  occasionally 
'ancies  he  guesses.  But  "  the  flats  are  jined  "  in  such  master- 
ful manner  that  he  is  probably  mistaken.  The  recurring 
episodes  of  the  narrative,  up  to  its  fine  finish,  all  intensely 
dramatic,  arc  led  up  to  and  out  of  with  consummate  power. 

MY  Baronite  used  to  wonder  whether,  as  some  said,  it  is 
true  that  a  generation  has  arisen  that  knows  not  CHARLES 
DICKENS.  Answer  is  forthcoming  in  the  fact  that  during  the 
last  year  or  two  more  than  one  popular  edition  lias  been 
liberally  welcomed.  The  best  wine  is  saved  to  the  last. 
Messrs.  CHAPMAN  AND  HALL,  in  collaboration  with  Mr.  HEXRY 
FROWDE,  have  commenced  to  issue  a  copyright  edition  printed 
on  the  incomparable  India  paper  that  is  the  unique  trade 
mark  of  the  Oxford  University  Press.  By  its  magic  art  we  have 
beautifully  printed  in  large  type,  in  a  dainty  volume  that  will 
comfortably  lurk  in  the  jacket  pocket,  novels  that  on  their 
original  publication  held  the  world  entranced  whilst  they  ran 

In  some  cases,  as  in  that 
found  to  bind  up  with  it 
another  complete  Avork,  to  wit,  A  Child's  History  of  England. 
Pickwick,  running  to  928  pages,  has  one  of  the  charming  volumes 
all  to  itself.  Increased  value  is  given  to  the  edition  by  the 
inclusion  of  all  the  original  illustrations. 

The  Sinner  and  the  Problem  (MACMILLAN  &  Co.),  by  ERIC 
PARKER,  is  a  slight  story,  as  wholesomely  fresh  and  sweet  as 
its  conception  and  design  are  original.  A  mere  gossamer 
thread  of  plot  runs  through  such  pleasant  pages  as  seem 
to  have  been  written  in  moments  of  reposeful  leisure,— just 
as  one  may  jot  down  the  outcome  of  a  reverie,  and  be  sur- 
prised to  find  that  what  commenced  as  a  mere  note  had 
developed  into  a  chapter, — and  then,  as  an  afterthought,  such 
chapters  had  been  strung  together  and  connected.  For,  delight- 
ful as  it  all  is,  yet  is  effort  apparent  in  the  finishing  touch. 
Has  Mr.  ERIC  PARKER  caught  unconsciously  a  trick  of  PEACOCK 
in  dialogue,  of  STERNE  in  occasional  abruptness,  and  of  MERE- 
DITH in  descriptive  colouring  ?  Excellent  masters  truly  ;  but 
the  student's  style  is  yet  to  be  perfected.  The  short  chapter 
about  the  boy's  illness  is  a  masterpiece  owing  nothing  to  any 
writer,  past  or  present.  After  penning  this,  he  must  have 
trembled  to  know  whether  he  had  done  ill  or  well,  and  nervously, 
with  true  artistic  instinct,  decided  to  let  it  stand  as  it  was. 
A  very  little  more,  how  little,  and  it  might  have  become 
"gush."  As  to  the  lovemaking  in  it  —  well,  the  ordinary 
scenes  that  elaborately  lead  up  to  "proposal  "  and  "acceptance" 
would  have  been  here  utterly  out  of  place  ;  and  so,  to  those 
who  never  can  have  enough  of  a  good  thing  and  who  may 
inquire,  as  did  Mr.  Tony  Weller  regarding  his  son's  valentine, 
"  That 's  rather  a  sudden  pull  up,  ain't  it,  SAMMY?  "  the  author 
will  have  a  complete  answer,  on  replying  with  Sam,  "Not  a 
bit  on  it ;  she  '11  vish  there  wos  more,  and  that 's  the  great  |j 
art  o'  letter  writin'."  Substituting  "novel"  for  "letter," 
there  is  Mr.  ERIC  PARKER'S  last  word— and  the  Baron's— on  the 


through  twelve  monthly  numbers, 
of  A  Tale  of  Two  Cities,   space  is 


subject. 


THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 


DECEMBER  4,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  411 


PC  a  to 

o  ^  o 


- 


412 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI. [DECEMBER  4,  1901. 


JACOB    AND    HIS    MASTER. 

PART  III. 

PERHAPS  the  DUNCOMBKS  were  disposed  to  give  tbemselve> 
airs ;  in  their  own  county  they  were  considered  to  do  so,  and 
possibly  they  were  none  the  less  highly  thought  of  on  that 
account.  But,  be  that  as  it  may,  anybody  could  have  told  BOB 
that  Miss  BUNCOMBE  was  about  as  likely  to  bestow  her  hand 
upon  a  juvenile  lieutenant  in  the  Royal  Navy  as  upon  a  crossing- 
sweeper.  There  was,  however,  no  need  for  outsiders  to 
demonstrate  a  fact  which  his  own  common  sense  very  soon 
rendered  obvious  to  him.  A  dinner-party  and  a  dance  in  Eaton 
Square,  to  both  of  which  entertainments  he  was  kindly  invited 
more  than  sufficed  to  open  his  eyes.  His  eyes  were  sharp,  and 
ample  leisure  was  afforded  to  him  to  use  them  ;  for  he  did  not 
belong  to  PHYLLIS 's  world,  nor — with  such  incessant  claims 
upon  her— could  she  be  expected  to  notice  how  completely  he  was 
left  out  in  the  cold  on  these  two  occasions.  So  he  watched  her, 
and,  watching  her,  made  various  salutary,  if  painful,  discoveries. 
Did  she,  he  wondered  once  or  twice,  intend  him  to  make  them  ? 
If  so,  he  bore  her  no  ill-will,  recognising  that  she  was  cruel 
only  to  be  kind.  It  stood  to  reason  that  there  could  be  no  sort 
of  chance  for  him,  and  he  doubted  whether  there  was  much 
chance  for  his  uncle  (whose  ambition  he  speedily  divined) 
either.  Beset  by  so  dense  a  throng  of  lords  and  lordlings,  she 
would  not,  he  imagined,  fix  her  choice  upon  a  mere  Member  of 
Parliament  who,  though  getting  on  in  public  life,  was  getting 
on  also  in  years.  He  did  not,  therefore,  fall  out  with  that 
somewhat  ridiculous  and  over-sanguine  uncle  of  his,  but  main- 
tained a  stoical  calm  which  it  might  under  other  circumstances 
have  been  beyond  him  to  compass.  For  PHYLLIS  in  the  character 
of  an  aunt  by  marriage  was  really  unthinkable  ! 

So  the  days  slipped  away,  bringing  him  no  fresh  opportunity 
— it  is  true  that  he  solicited  none — for  private  intercourse  with 
a  young  lady  whose  engagements  were  very  numerous.  He  met 
her  pretty  frequently  and  she  treated  him  always  with  the 
kindliness  which  their  bygone  intimacy  gave  him  some  title  to 
expect;  but  it  was  quite  evident  that  his  absence  would  have 
passed  unnoticed  by  her  had  he  seen  lit  to  sulkily  absent  him- 
self. Only  on  the  eve  of  his  departure  to  join  his  new  ship  did 
she  of  her  own  accord  make  an  appointment  with  him.  Jacob 
had  to  be  restored  to  her  keeping,  and  when  he  mentioned  that 
lie  would  be  leaving  the  dog  in  Eaton  Square  that  afternoon, 
;he  said  : 

"Bring  him  at  six  o'clock,  then,  and  I  will  give  you  a 
farewell  cup  of  tea.  I  ought  to  be  at  a  garden-party  at  that 
hour,  but  I  think  I  will  have  a  headache  instead,  and  let  my 
mother  represent  the  family." 

Whether  her  head  was  actually  aching  or  not  when  the 
obedient  BOB  arrived,  she  certainly  looked  as  though  it  might 
be ;  for  there  were  dark  semi-circles  beneath  her  eyes,  and  she 
owned  to  being  rather  out  of  spirits.  Every  now  and  again, 
she  explained,  life  presented  itself  to  her  in  a  difficult  and 
perplexing  aspect ;  every  now  and  again  she  felt  very  deeply  the 
need  of  some  disinterested  and  trustworthy  friend  to  advise 
her.  In  other  words,  she  could  not  make  up  her  mind  whether 
she  wanted  to  marry  or  not,  and  her  parents,  who  had  quite 
made  up  their  minds  that  they  wished  her  to  do  so,  were  of 
little  assistance.  They  left  her  practical  freedom  of  choice; 
only  they  expected  her  to  choose  somebody,  and  entertained  no 
doubt  that  she  would  comply  with  so  reasonable  a  demand. 

The  above  confidence  was  not,  it  need  scarcely  be  said,  at 
once  reposed  in  BOB  CRACROFT,  but  w^s  the  outcome  of  a 
protracted  colloquy  and  of  a  sober  and  diffident  request  on  his 
part  that  lie  might  be  regarded  in  the  light  of  the  desired 
counsellor.  PHYLLIS  may  not  have  intended  her  appeal  to  be 
responded  to  exactly  in  that  spirit— she  seemed,  indeed,  rather 
to  lose  interest  in  the  subject  from  the  moment  that  it  be-an  to 
interest  Min-yet  she  could  not,  surely,  have  desired  him  to 


make  a  fool  of  himself  and  embarrass  her  by  proclaiming 
sentiments  of  which  she  was  far  too  clear-sighted  to  be  ignorant. 
Such,  at  any  rate,  was  his  belief,  and  he  was  not  ungrateful  to 
her  for  the  delicacy  with  which  she  had  nipped  his  nascent  and 
manifestly  unrealisable  hopes  in  the  bud.  She,  for  her  part, 
was  grateful  to  him — or  declared  she  was— when  he  placed 
himself  without  reserve  at  her  disposal. 

"  Drop  me  a  line  at  any  time,"  said  he,  "  and  you  shall  have 
an  honest  opinion  by  return  of  post.  I  don't  pretend  to  know 
much  of  the  world,  and  the  odds  are  that  I  shall  know  nothing 
at  all  about  the  men  who  may  want  to  marry  you  ;  but  if  you  '11 
tell  me  just  how  you  feel,  I  shall  understand  fast  enough  what 
advice  to  give  you.  Everything  is  sure  to  depend*,  you  see, 
upon  your  own  feeling." 

Everything  was,  in  truth,  so  sure  to  depend  upon  that  that 
the  necessity  for  an  adviser  was  not  altogether  conspicuous  ; 
still,  most  of  us,  when  we  request  advice,  only  mean  that  we 
should  be  glad  of  support,  and  very  likely  that  was  what  Miss 
PHYLLIS  meant  when,  she  wound  up  with:  "Well,  I  shall  be 
guided  by  you,  then.  Anyhow,  I  shall  take  no  decisive  step 
without  consulting  you.  I  can't  tell  you  what  a  relief  it  is  to 
feel  that  there  is  somebody  in  the  world  who  can  contemplate 
me  and  my  poor  little  affairs  in  such  a  thoroughly  friendly, 
unselfish,  dispassionate  way  !  Jacob  is  a  great  comfort ;  but 
then  Jacob,  I  am  afraid,  is  hardly  as  unselfish  or  as  dispassionate 
as  he  ought  to  be." 

Dispassionate  the  poor  dog  was  not ;  for  lie  had  deep 
affections  and  invincible  prejudices.  Nevertheless,  she  might 
have  allowed  him  some  credit  for  unselfishness,  considering 
how  strongly  it  was  in  his  mind  to  share  the  fortunes  of  his 
recovered  master  and  how  submissively  he  obeyed  that  master's 
orders  to  remain  where  he  was,  in  charge  of  his  mistress.  As 
on  a  previous  occasion,  BOB  kissed  him  at  parting,  and  it  may 
be  that,  after  BOB  had  left,  the  precedent  of  that  dim  and 
distant  occasion  was  followed  by  the  pair  who  remained  behind, 
all  by  themselves. 

***** 

THKOJ>ORE  CRACROKT  was  a  clever  man,  and  a  successful  one  ; 
but  he  was  not  much  of  a  shot.  One  cannot  expect  to  have 
everything,  and  he  was  conscious  of  having  obtained  more  than 
he  had  any  business  to  expect  when  he  was  invited  to  stay  at 
Horsley  Park  during  the  shooting  season.  The  fact  of  his  being 
so  indifferent  a  performer  with  his  gun  was,  indeed,  rather  a 
matter  of  congratulation  than  otherwise,  affording  him,  as  it 
did,  an  excuse  for  remaining  at  home  with  the  ladies  and 
proving,  as  it  certainly  seemed  to  do,  that  his  presence  was 
desired  on  other  grounds  than  those  to  which  his  fellow-guests 
were  indebted  for  Mr.  DUNCOMBE'S  hospitality.  His  suit,  in 
short,  was  progressing  and  prospering  ;  PHYLLIS,  during  the 
week  which  he  had  already  spent  under  her  father's  roof,  had 
bestowed  upon  him  some  marked  signs  of  favour  ;  while  her 
parents,  if  not  enthusiastic,  had  the  air  of  being  resigned  to 
probable  future  developments.  Her  parents,  he  perceived, 
would  never  offer  serious  opposition  to  a  will  stronger  than 
their  own,  and  although  he  was  no  catch  in  a  pecuniary  sense, 
lio  began  to  see  his  way  to  a  largely  increased  income.  For  the 
Kirkhall  coal-mine  held  out  every  promise  of  paying  handsomely. 
It  was,  therefore,  with  a  light  heart  that  he  lay  in  wait  for  ami 
overtook  Miss  DUNCOMBE  in  the  park  one  bright,  frosty  autumn 
afternoon,  and  it  was  with  some  discomposure  that  he  heard 
the  abrupt  query  \yhich  his  appearance  drew  from  her. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  CRACROFT,"  said  she,  "  is  what  they  tell  me  true  ? 
Is  it  a  fact  that  you  have  bought  Kirkhall  from  your  nephew 
for  a  few  thousand  pounds,  and  that  this  horrid  coal  mine, 
which  is  going  to  disfigure  the  neighbourhood,  will  make  a 
nillionairc  of  you?  " 

THEODORE  smiled  and  replied  that  he  was  afraid  it  would 
fall  very  far  .short  of  doing  that.  He  admitted,  however, 
laving  purchased  the  estate — "for  which,"  he  added,  "  I  paid 
30B  his  own  price.  Of  course,  it  was  a  mure  speculation  on 


DECEMBER  4,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


413 


my  part,  and  whether  it  will  turn  out  well  or  badly  for  me  is 
still  quite  uncertain." 

"My  father  says,"  observed  the  girl,  "that  it  is  quite 
certain  to  turn  out  most  profitably  for  you.  He  :ilso  says  that 
you  are  an  uncommonly  sharp  hand  at  doing  a  stroke  of 
business — which  seems  to  be  true.  Only  1  can't  admire  you 
us  much  as  he  does  on  that  account." 

"  My  dear  Miss  BUNCOMBE,  are  you  accusing  me  of  having 
swindled  my  nephew  ?  " 

"  '  Swindle '  is  an.  ugly  word,  Mr.  CRACUOFT  ;  I  haven't  used 
it.  But  to  do  so  extremely  well  for  yourself  at  the  expense 
of  a  mere  boy,  and  of  one  who  was  your  ward  only  the  other 
day,  too  —  well, 
frankly,  that  does 
not  strike  me  as 
pretty  behaviour." 

THEODORE  was  no 
fool.  He  saw  at 
once  that  there 
was  but  a  single 
safe  course  for  him 
to  adopt,  and  he 
took  it  without 
hesitation. 

' '  I  am  not  in  the 
least  ashamed  of 
anything  that  1 
have  done,"  was 
his  calm  response ; 
"  yet  I  must  own 
that  I  have  felt 
sundry  qualms  of 
conscience  about 
it  of  late,  and  what 
you  say  confirms 
me  in  an  intention 
which  1  had  al- 
ready almost 
formed.  I  shall 
write  to  BOB  imme- 
diately and  offer 
to  let  him  off  his 
bargain." 

This  was  bold 
strategy  (for, 
although  BOB  was 
very  unlikely  to 
take  him  at  his 
word,  there  is 
never  any  knowing 
what  youth  may 
not  do  when  ex- 


Nevcrtheless,  she  temporised. 

Mr.  CRACROFr,  she  said,  must  wait  for  a  final  answer — would 
have  to  wait  several  weeks;  five  or  six,  perhaps.  ("How 
long,"  she  inwardly  wondered,  "does  it  take  to  get  an  answer 
from  West  Africa?  ")  But  although  she  could  not  consent  to 
an  immediate  engagement,  she  did  not  mind  telling  him  that, 
as  at  present  advised,  she  would  a  little  rather  marry  him  than 
anybody  else  whom  she  knew. 

Pressed  to  give  reasons  for  the  very  long  delay  which  she 
demanded,  she  ended  by  avowing  that  she  wished  to  take  the 
opinion  of  a  friend  who  happened  to  be  away  from  England. 
Naturally,  she  declined  to  mention  that  friend's  name,  and 

THEODORE  was  left 
a  prey  to  more  or 
less  vague  conjec- 
ture.     W.  E.  N. 
(To  lie  continued.) 


Photographer  (on  tour,  absent-mindedly).   "Now  SMILE,  PLEASE 


posed  to  powerful  temptation),  but  it  achieved  its  purpose 
triumphantly,  so  far  as  PHYLLIS  DUNCOMBE  was  concerned.  A 
bright  smile  and  an  outstretched  hand  gave  prompt  reward  to 
the  magnanimous  proprietor  of  Kirkhall. 

"I  was  sure,"  she  declared,  "that  you  would  act  like  a 
gentleman !  " 

She  had  been  sure  of  no  such  thing;  but  it  may  be  that  she 
was  glad  to  have  assurance  forced  upon  her.  Whether  she  was 
glad  to  receive  further  prompt  and  ardent  assurances,  which 
she  was  unable  to  check,  is  another  question  ;  they  did  not,  in 
any  case,  take  her  by  surprise.  For  some  time  past  she  had 
been  peri'ectly  cognizant  of  THEODORE  CRACROFT'S  wishes,  and, 
upon  the  whole,  she  rather  liked  and  admired  the  man.  That 
is  to  say  that  she  admired  his  talents  and  liked  his  manners, 
which  were  suave  and  urbane.  She  was  not,  to  be  sure,  in 
love  with  him ;  but  that  was  a  consideration  of  small  impor- 
tance, for  she  had  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  it  was  not  in 
her  to  fall  in  love  with  anybody. 


RECIPROCITY. 

(Latest  phase  dated 
ten  years  hence.) 

THE  Emigrant 
neared  New  York. 
There  were  tears 
in  his  eyes  as  he 
thought  of  the  Bri- 
tish nation  he  had 
left  behind  him  in 
Australia. 

"Now  for  the 
Yankee  drawl  and 
the  Transatlantic 
twang !  ' ' 

He  left  the  gang- 
way, and  for  the 
first  time  trod  the 
soil  of  the  United 
States. 

"  You  require  a 
hotel  ?  "  The  ques- 
tion was  asked  in 
perfect  English. 

"  Will  you  go  by 
the  tram,  Sir,  or 
do  you  prefer  a 
cab?" 

Again  the  Eng- 
lish tongue  was 
spoken,  and  in  per- 
fect purity. 

"This  is  only 

find     the     pure 


the    voice    of    an    exception.    I    soon    shall 
American." 

But  he  was  mistaken.  Go  where  he  would,  do  what  he 
would,  it  was  English  and  only  English. 

"How  is  this?"  he  asked  at  last.  "I  expected  to  find 
nothing  but  Americans  here,  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  there 
are  none  but  Englishmen." 

"  My  good  friend,  you  must  have  been  away  from  town  for 
some  time.  Fact  is  we  have  been  crowded  out  of  Europe. 
Our  places  are  taken  in  England  by  our  American  cousins, 


dation  for  any  one  else,  we  have  come  over." 

"  You  don't  say  so  ?"    . 

"I  do.  There  are  now  so  few  native-born  Americans  in 
New  York  that  the  attempt  to  get  up  a  dinner  of  Americans 
in  their  native  country  failed." 

"  Like  Londoners  in  London." 

And  so  the  matter  ended. 


414 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[DECEMBER  4,  1901. 


AN  UNREAL   CONVERSATION. 

Recorded  by  Archie  Williams. 
SCENE— The  Office  of  Works.    Discovered, 
Mr.   AKEIIS  -  DOUGLAS,    Industriously 
rubbing  out  alarge  pencil-drawing.     To 

liirn  enter  A.  W. 
A.  W.  Good  morning  !    I'm  afraid  you  're 

very  busy. 

Mr.A.-D.  What  is  it  now  ?  I 'm  worried 
to  death.  Never  had  such  a  time  in  my 
life  !  Have  you  come  for  a  design  ? 

A.  W.  No,  for  a  little  conversation. 

Mr.  A.-D.  My  jlear  Sir,  I 
haven't  a  moment.  But,  I  say, 
do  you  know  anything  about 
architecture?  We've  started 
designing  all  the  new  Govern- 
ment offices  here.  I  thought 
the  clerks  would  be  able  to  do  it 
all.  Save  architect's  fees.  Do 
you  know  the  Record  Office  ? 

A.  W.  Oh  yes  !  In  Chancery 
Lane.  A  hideous  building. 

Mr.  A.-D.  You  know  nothing 
about  it.  We  're  awfully  proud 
of  it  here.  The  clerks  designed 
it.  But  they  get  stuck  over 
this  work,  so  it  falls  upon  me. 
Look  here,  do  help  me  a  little  ! 
You  '11  find  a  lot  of  indiarubber 
in  that  basket.  Just  help  me 
with  this  design.  There  now, 
I  've  rubbed  a  hole  right  through 
the  paper !  Hang  this  architec- 
ture !  I  shall  have  to  take  a 
fresh  sheet  of  paper,  and  HlCKS- 
BEACII  will  be  in  an  awful  state 
if  we  don't  keep  the  cost  of  the 
new  buildings  as  low  as  pos- 
sible. We  had  to  pay  such  a 
lot  for  those  old  ones  on  Salis- 
bury Plain. 

A.  W.  I  had  no  idea  any  of 
the  Cabinet  worked  so  hard. 
Some  of  them  seem  to  do  too 
little,  and  others  too  much. 

Mr.  A.-D.  Three  feet  seven 
and  five  feet  six  make  nine  feet 
one.  What  did  you  say?  By 
the  way,  what  height  ought  a 
room  to  be  ? 

A.  \W.  I  should  think  that 
depends  on  the  length  and  width. 

Mr.  A.-D.  Oh  no,  it  doesn't  !  As  far  as 
I  remember,  they  're  all  twenty  feet  high 
at  the  Record  Office.  Nine  feet  one  long, 
and  seven  feet  six  wide,  and  twenty  feet 
high.  That  '11  give  plenty  of  air.  I  say, 
what  is  the  pattern  of  a  Corinthian  column  ? 
There  now,  I  've  mislaid  my  pencil ! 

A.  W.  It 's  in  your  mouth. 

Mr.  A.-D.  So  it  is.  This  work  's  so  dis- 
tracting. I  wish  to  goodness  it  was  as 
easy  to  settle  as  Piccadilly. 

A.  W.  Ah,  I  see  you  've  settled  that  by 
a  compromise. 

Mr.  A.-D.  Three,  four,  five.  Five  and 
two  are  seven.  A  compromise  ?  Oh  yes  ! 
A  graceful  concession. 


A.  W.  A  compromise  which  will  please 
nobody.  You  cut  little  slices  off  the 
Green  Park  as  if  it  were  a  cake.  You 
can't  cut  your  cake  and  have  it.  There'll 
be  a  few  more  aimless  curved  at  Hyde 
Park  Corner. 

Mr.  A.-D.  Oh,  don't  bother  me!  What's 
the  width  for  a  door  ? 

A.  W.  What  sort  of  door  ? 

Mr.  A.-D.  I  said  a  door.     Any  door. 

A.  W.  I  should  think  it  depends  upon 
whether  it's  the  door  of  a  rabbit-hutch 
or  the  door  of  a  furniture  warehouse. 


FANCY    CORONATION    PORTRAIT 


"  BOBS  "    AS  A   BOBBIE. 

["  CORONATION  CLAIMS. — There  being  no  succession  to  certain  offices,  the 
appointment  thereto  rests  with  His  MAJESTY,  and  the  following  are  regarded 
as  probable  candidates  :— Lord  High  Constable — The  EAEL  ROKEETS,"  &c. 

Vide  "Daily  Mail,"  Nov.  19,  1901.] 


Mr.  A.-D.  Nonsense !  We  have  an 
official  size  for  doors  here.  I  've  remem- 
bered it  now.  This  is  hard  work.  I  say, 
do  you  think  if  I  went  over  to  Berlin  for 
a  day  or  two  the  German  Emperor  would 
give  me  a  little  help  or  a  few  hints  ?  He 
knows  a  lot  about  architecture. 

A.  W.  Does  he?  But  surely  a  colleague 
of  Mr.  CHAMBERLAIN  would  be  badly 
received  by  those  howling  Germans. 

Mr.  A.-D.  Ah,  yes!  I'd  forgotten. 
What  disgraceful  violence  ! 

A.  W.  When  a  German  tries  to  be  polite 
he  says  "  Bitte  !  "  when  he  wants  to  enjoy 
himself  he  drinks  bitter,  and  when  he 
gets  excited  he  is  bitter. 

Mr.A.-D.  Excuse  my  interrupting  you, 


but  I  've  just  got  a  grand  idea.  No  public 
building  ever  pleases  everybody.  Even 
if  it 's  liked  at  first,  it 's  abused  after. 
The  First  Commissioner 's  abused  all  the 
time.  My  idea  is  to  build  the  new  offices 
of  steel  framework  covered  with  plaster 
stuff,  like  the  Paris  Exhibition  buildings. 
Then  the  design  could  be  altered  every 
time  there  was  a  change  of  Government, 
or  a  General  Election.  The  clerks  would 
stop  in  the  rooms  all  the  time,  as  the 
plaster  could  be  changed  in  the  warm 
weather  when  they  'd  be  glad  of  more 
air.  Isn't  it  a  magnificent 
notion  ? 

A.  W.  Perhaps. 
Mr.. A.-D.  I  must  get  to  work 
at  once. 

A.  W.  Then  I  '11  be  going. 
Mr.  A.-D.  Wait  one  minute 
and  I  '11  tell  you  a  secret.  I  'in 
going  to  make  a  design  for  the 
American  sky-scraper  in  the 
Strand. 

A.  W.  That  hideous  mon- 
strosity ? 

Mr.  A.-D.  It  '11  all  be  steel, 
with  stone  a  few  inches  thick 
stuck  on  all  over  it.  Look  as 
massive  as  possible.  It  will  be 
a  magnificent  building.  As  high 
as  Queen  Anne's  Mansions  and 
five  times  as  wide. 
A.  W.  Horrible  ! 
Mr.  A.-D.  They  '11  have  to  get 
an  Act  of  Parliament  before 
they  can  build  it,  and  so.  we 
can  make  them  use  my  design 
or  chuck  out  their  Bill. 

A.  W.  And  what  would  your 
design  be  ? 

Mr.  A.-D.  That's  another 
secret.  Promise  you  won't  tell 
anybody.  All  the  other  fellows 
in  the  Cabinet  thought  the 
design  awfully  handsome.  But, 
of  co\irse,  they  don't  know  so 
much  about  architecture  as  I 
do. 

A.  W.  And  what  is  it  ? 
Mr.A.-D.  Why,  exactly  like 
the  Record  Office !  Only  fifteen 
times  the  size  !     I  '11  show  you 
my  drawing. 

A.  W.  Good  heavens  !          [Exit  liaotily. 

H.  D.  B. 


ALLITERATION  NOT  VEXATION.  We  observe 
that  Mr.  HUGH  ST.  LEGHR,  famous,  like  a 
Royal  Marine,  by  sea  and  land,  has  brought 
out  a  very  bright  book  for  boys,  called 
Billets  and  Bullets.  This  is  the  kind  of 
title  which  pleases  us,  and  we  would 
venture  to  suggest  that  Mr.  ST.  LKUKK 
might  follow  it  with  Comfort  and  Cannon- 
balls,  Rest  and  Rijles,  Dinner  and  Dyna- 
mite, Lodgings  and  Lances,  Blankets  and 
Bayonets,  Meat  and  Maxims,  Sleep  and 
Shrapnels,  Hotels  and  Horse-yuns,  &c., 
ad  lib. 


DECEMBER  11,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


415 


A  NOBLE  OBJECT. 

["  A  well-known  young  peer  is  forming  a  league 
for  the  abolition  of  the  present  form  of  men's 
jvening  dress.  The  main  object  of  the  league  is  to 
iifferentiate  the  gentleman  from  the  waiter. " — The 
Taller.] 

WHEN  evening  dress  I  don  to  dine 

At  A. B.C.  or  SLATER'S, 
My  swallowtails  and  waistcoat  fine 
Are  taken  for  the  waiter's. 

I,  son  of  twenty  earls,  that  boast 

A  marquis  for  a  pater, 
Am  taken  by  my  very  host 

Not  seldom  for  the  waiter. 

In  coronet  I  can't  well  dine, 
Save  on  occasions  greater, 

To  let  the  other  folk  divine 
That  I  am  not  the  waiter. 

A  Bishop  one  may  know  as  such 

By  apron,  hat  or  gaiter, 
But  I  have  really  nothing  much 

To  show  I  'm  not  the  waiter. 

No  doubt,  did  we  but  live  and  move 
All  "  in  a  state  of  natur'," 

My  native  nobleness  would  prove 
That  I  am  not  the  waiter. 

But,  hidden  in  the  hideous  dress 
Of  those  that  carve  and  cater, 

What  chance  has  native  nobleness 
To  show  I  'm  not  the  waiter  ? 

Ah  !  would  some  tailor-genius  rise 

Before  it  is  much  later, 
Who  would  some  evening  dress  devise 
To  make  it  clear  to  all  men's  eyes 
That  I,  in  spite  of  this  disguise, 

Am  really  not  the  waiter  ! 


A   MONEY-NO-OBJECT   LESSON. 

"  You  are  right,  as  usual,  Mr.  JONES— 
ot  a  halfpenny  missing,"  said  the  genial 
Banker  to  his  oldest  clerk. 

"Thank  you,  Sir,"  was  the  response, 

of  course  it  wants  a  little  care  to  count 

couple  of  thousand  pounds  in  copper." 

"  And  I  must  tell  you  that  we— self  and 
o-directors — are  exceedingly  pleased  to 
ave  at  the  expense  of  a  new  safe.  Our 
hareholders  are  so  sharp  about  every 
tern  nowadays." 

"  Well,  Sir,  1  must  confess  that  it  would 
lave  been  more  satisfactory  to  me  if  I  had 
>een  able  to  keep  the  cash  in  a  repository. 
t  's  not  so  much  the  two  thousands  in 
lalfpence,  but  you  know  there  are  so 
aany  notes.  Some  of  them  for  five 
lundred  a  piece." 

"Yes,  yes, ' '  returned  the  Bank  Manager, 
'we  all   know   that   you  have  a  certain 
measure  of   responsibility,  but  we  have 
•very  confidence  in  you." 
"  You  are  very  good,  Sir." 

"  And  now  I  have  quite  a  pleasant  duty 
10  perform.  You  have  been  with  us  five- 

ncl-twenty  years?  " 
"  Twenty-six   years   and  nine  mouths, 

ir." 


(Extract  from  a  letter  received  by  Mr.  SJtootall  on  the  morning  when  hounds  were  expected 

to  draw  his  corcrx.) 

LeadenJiaU  Market,  Thursday. 

SIR, — YOUR  ESTEEMED  ORDRR  TO  HAND.  WE  11  EGRET  THAT  WE  ARB  QUITE  OUT  OF 
FOXES  AT  1'KESENT  ;  BUT,  AS  YOU  MENTIONED  THEY  WERE  FOR  CHILDREN'S  PETS,  WE  THOUGHT 
GUINEA  PIGS  MIGHT  DO  INSTEAD,  SO  ARE  SENDING  HALF  A  DOZEN  TO-DAY.  HOPING,  &.C.,  &C. 


VOL.   CXXI. 


"Ah,  so  long?  Well,  it  makes  our  act 
the  more  defensible  with  the  share- 
holders." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Sir." 

"During  the  last  twenty  odd  years  you 
have  been  receiving  a  pound  a  week,  and 
upon  that  modest — when  we  consider  your 
services — sum  you  have  maintained  a 
wife  and  family." 

"Thank  you,  Sir.  Yes,  my  wife  and 
I  have  got  on  very  well  indeed,  and, 
assisted  by  the  School  Board  and  the 
churchyard,  we  have  managed  to  keep  our 
children  out  of  the  workhouse." 

"  Very  creditable.  But  not  more  than 
we  should  have  expected  from  you.  Your 

BB 


connection  with  the  Bank  has  been  con- 
spicuous for  its  integrity,  unselfishness, 
and,  in  fact,  all  the  virtues."  . 

"  You  are  most  kind,  Sir." 

"Not  at  all.  And  now,  to  show  our 
appreciation  of  your  efforts  and  to 
encourage  your  juniors  to  further  efforts 
to  secure  our  approval,  we  propose  to 
increase  your  salary.  You  are  now 
receiving  a  pound  a  week.  With  the  new 
year  we  shall  make  it  up  to  a  guinea." 

And  as  the  oldest  clerk  read  the  con- 
tents bills  of  the  papers,  suggesting 
breaches  of  trust  amongst  bank  employes, 
on  his  way  home  that  evening,  he  wondered 
how  such  things  could  be. 


416 


_____———— 

PUNCH,  OE  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI.  [DECEMBER  11,  1901 


THE   IDEOCKAT   AT   THE   DINNER  -  TABLE. 

IV. 
AT  AN  A.B.C.  RESTAURANT. 

IFor  facts  relating  to  the  treatment  of  the  employees  of  this  Company,  con- 
sult the  recent  correspondence  in  the  Daily  Chronicle.-] 

A  MOST  engaging  fancy,  this  of  yours, 

To  bid  me  share  your  light  ascetic  meal 

Amid  these  happily  aerated  haunts 

Beloved  o'  th'  people.     "Tis  a  double  boon  ; 

First,  to  a  liver  clamorous  for  repose  ; 

And,  next,  to  that  more  spiritual  self, 

The  still  small  inner  voice,  the  mobile  breast 

Swift  to  expand  in  sympathetic  mood, 

Yearning  to  know,  by  contact  with  its  kind 

("Its  kind,"  I  say,  since  even  the  self-made  man 

Must  in  his  humbler  moments  recognise 

The  initial  aid  Divinity  confers 

On  his  collaborative  handiwork), 

What  the  ideas  that  actuate  the  mass, 

Our  fellow-creatures  still,  though  circumscribed, 

Though  forced  by  social  usage  to  exist 

Debarred  from  our  communion— float,  in  fact, 

Outside  the  orbit  of  our  cognisance. 

An  excellent  sausage,  and  the  ginger-beer 
Most  satisfying.     'Tis  a  healthy  change 
Should  lend  my  banquet  of  to-morrow  night 
A  piquant  flavour.     No,  I  never  yet 
Set  foot  in  one  of  these  refreshment-shops 
Frequented  by  the  lower-middle  class- 
Is  that  their  name  ?    One  loses  touch  of  terms 
Below  a  certain  grade.     I  like  their  look 
Of  poor  but  honest ;  very  decent  folk. 
Oh,  not  my  first  experience  of  the  sort, 
Who  gave,  i'  th'  Duchess'  train,  an  afternoon 
To  charitable  work  among  the  slums  ; 
This,  with  my  canvass  at  Election-time, 
Left  me,  I  hope,  sufficiently  informed 
O'  th'  life  our  less  ambitious  brothers  live. 

But,  to  return  to  this  same  Company 
Whose  admirable  fare  we  here  consume. 
Strangely  enough,  I  had  an  early  stake 
I'  th'  enterprise  (what 's  that  ?     Oh,  very  good  ! 
A  steak  !     I  follow  you  ;  too  good,  too  good  !), 
Took  up,  I  say,  a  block  of  shares  at  par 
Which  yield  a  matter  o'  forty  odd  per  cent., 
Fair  recompense  as  speculations  go  ; 
The  one  pound  shares,  however,  only  stand 
At  just  thirteen,  a  palpable  falling-ofi 
*         From  last  year's  highest ;  still,  one  has  to  face 
These  turns  of  fortune  with  a  manly  front ! 

Nice  girls,  the  waitresses,  as  you  remark : 
Neat-handed,  quick  of  foot,  and  have  the  air 
Of  self-dependence  good  in  womankind, 
And  here  a  credit  to  the  Management, 
Domestic  pillars,  one  may  well  suppose, 
With  daughters  of  their  own,  and  know  the  needs 
Of  delicate  natures.    Ah  !  you  have  the  facts  ? 
Ten  shillings  a  week  at  start,  and  live  outside, 
Paying  for  daily  dinner,  fares  and  dress, 
Save  always  aprons — these  a  gift  express, 
With  washing  o'  same  thrown  in  ?    God  bless  my  soul, 
What  would  you  have  ?    How  often  must  I  urge 
The  peril  o'  pauperising  our  employed 
By  largesse  overlaid  on  market's  price? 
Already  one  deplores  a  growing  taste 
For  lavish  luxury  in  the  working  class, 
Fostered  by  whoso  rashly  advocates 


A  wanton  superfluity  of  wage  ! 

And  you,  who  call  yourself  philanthropist, 

You  would  divert  them  down  the  primrose  path 

That  leads  to  feathers,  ribbons,  silken  blouse, 

Stockings  of  lattice-work  and  such-like  gauds 

Invoked  by  art  to  lure  the  guileless  male  ! 

Ten  shillings  !     'Tis  a  sum  should  surely  leave 

An  ample  scope  for  all  permissible  joys, 

After  the  outlay  due  for  dress  and  board 

And  lodging — What  ?  they  make  them  live  at  home 

I'  th'  family  circle?    There  again  you  have 

A  wise  provision  lets  the  Company  save    * 

What  else  had  gone  to  waste  for  weekly  rent 

In  houses  possibly  inimical 

To  morals  ;  ay,  and  so  the  margin  swells, 

If  not  beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice, 

Yet  to  a  point  should  well  suffice  a  taste 

Bounded  by  virtue.     Here  I  take  my  stand 

On  elevated  ground,  you  '11  please  observe, 

Contending,  past  all  laboured  argument, 

How  the  divine  Commercial  Principle 

And  what  I  deem  the  true  Philanthropy 

Work  ever — watch  but  closely — hand  in  hand. 

Pardon  !     The  shilling  underneath  your  plate ! 
You  disregard  the  notice,  clear  enough, 
Defending  all  gratuities  under  pain 
Of  instant  exile.     There,  once  more,  I  trace 
A  timely  providence  exercised  to  spare 
Our  clients'  pockets,  and  the  self-respect 
Of  these  young  women.    That 's  an  honest  type, 
The  girl  that  takes  your  money  by  the  door  ! 
Fine  drawn,  you  think,  about  the  face  of  her? 
Effect,  perhaps,  of  forced  economies  ? 
Some  careless  customer  who  may  have  passed 
Bad  money  or  short ;  they  have  to  make  it  good 
Out  of  their  wages  ?     Well,  and  what  of  that  ? 
The* rule  is  vital,  else  a  perilous  field 
Were  opened  up  to  frailty. 

There 's  my  brougham, 
And  THOMAS,  nose  aloft  in  silent  scorn. 
Frankly,  one  trifles  with  one's  dignity, 
Dining  in  these  strange  places.     Take  you  on  ? 
I  want  your  judgment  on  a  new  cigar, 
A  remnant  from  the  clays  of  Spanish  rule, 
One  eighty-five  the  hundred,  cheap  at  that. 
You  're  walking?     Well,  good  night  and  many  thanks. 
This  dinner  of  herbs  on  which  digestion  waits 
Has  clarified  my  system.     Don't  forget 
That  point  of  Commerce  and  Philanthropy 
WTorking  towards  millennium  hand  in  hand  !  O.  S, 


THE    NEW    MARTIAL    CODE. 

(As  arranged  by  Lord  H-bli-se.) 

Thomas  Atkins  (sentry).  Who  goes  there? 
Miss  H-bli-se.  An  enemy  ! 
T.  A.  What  nationality? 
Miss  H.  British ! 

T.  A.  Pass,  enemy  of  British  nationality,  and  pray  don't  thi 
of  troubling  to  give  the  countersign. 


GAMES  WITH  CARDS  FOR  CHRISTMAS.— Among  the  playei 
"DELGADO"  certainly   holds  some  trumps,  as  do  also  " 
BROS.,"  with  their  exceptionally  dainty  specimens.    When  w 
Christmas  Cards  be  played  out  ?    We  are  pretty  sure  of  wh 
the  late  TOM  HOOD'S  answer  would  have  been,  but  the  jest 
bit  too  serious.     Of  all  the  dealers  in  these  cards  it  may 
said,  "  Honours  easy." 


DECEMBER  11,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OE    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  «7 


OUT    OF    DRAWING. 

Mr.  Butt.   "HERE,  HANG  IT  ALL,  I'M  NOT  LIKE  THAT!    TIIBRE  MUST  BE  .SDMETHIXG  YVIONU  WITH  THOSE  GLASSES  OF  YOURS! 


DECEMBER  11,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


419 


Little  Boy.   "I  SAY,  MAX,  I  WISH  YOU'D  LET  GO  HIS  HEAD  AND  SQUAT  UP  BEHIND  WITH  YOUR  ARMS  FOLDED  AS  HIGH  up 
AS  YOU  CAN.    THEN  WE  SHALL  LOOK  EVER  so  MUCH  BETTER  !" 


A  SPORTING  NOVEL. 

DEAR  UNCLE  CHARLIE,— Ime  writing  a 
porting  novvle — the  inklosed  is  the  1st 
hapter.  JONES  major  red  it  and  sed 

Then  I  hope  ittle  be  the  larst,"  and  he 
irfed — I  spose  he  thought  it  funny.  I 
lought  it  simpelly  rood — the  f ackt  is  hees 
ot  Littry,  though  he  just  can  play  football 
y  gum,  he  got  a  long  rundown  larst  match, 
e  was  playing  ^  back,  and  then  he  parst  the 
all  to  a  feller  and  the  feller  parst  it  back 
ad  he  ran  rite  into  gaol.  Well,  ass  I  was 
aying,  I  inklose  1st  chapter  becos  you 
lite  like  to  publitch  the  novvle  when 
nished— its  corled  TALLY  HOE. 

CHAPTER  I. 

Old  Squier  FOXFACE  lived  in  a  mededevil 
iastle  whoose  moss  coverd  lichens  hung 
ayly  flltring  over  the  battilments.*  A 
lote  srounded  the  old  castle  and  so  did 
drorbridge.  "Well,  they  orl  used  to 
ant  like  mad,  and  lie  had  a  pack  of  orfly 
no  foxhounds.  It  was  sed  that  Squier 
'OXHOUND'S  Foxfaces  —  I  meen  Squier 
OXPACE'S  Foxhounds — wear  the  best  in 
tie  world,  and  had  never  bin  known  to 
>se  a  fox.  Every  fox,  in  his  own  mute, 

*This  dussent  look  quite  natchral,  sumhow, 
acle  CHAELIE.  Please  put  it  rite  for  me.  MAX. 


damb,  langwitch,  sed,  "I  am  lorst"  ass 
soon  as  he  was  found. 

Well,  he  had  one  loverly  daughter — the 
Squier,  I  meen,  not  the  fox — whoo  was  a 
cold,  horty  gurl  (not  littruly  cold,  of 
coarse,  ass  if  she  haddent  enuff  close  on, 
or  coodent  get  to  the  fire,  but  cold  indiss- 
persisshon.)  They  orl  fell  in  love  with 
her  and  side  hevilly  and  orl  that  sort  of 
rot,  you  know,  for  she  was  butiful  and 
well  dowerd,  for  the  old  Squier  was  rich  as 
GREASEUS,  and  quite  beyond  the  dreams 
of  average.  But  she  ternd  a  deff  ear  to 
orl. 

Arfter  menny  years  when  this  pearless 
buty  was  getting  a  bit  long  in  the  tooth 
(ass  our  coachman  ses  of  the  horses)  a 
dashing  young  feller  with  curling  locks 
and  black  eyes — I  meen  natchral  black 
eyes,  of  coarse,  not  the  black  eye  you  get 
when  you've  bin  fiting  sum  feller  arfter 
school — came  to  hunt  with  the  Squier's 
sellibrated  pack  of  foxface — oh,  blow  it, 
foxhounds  I  meen.  Each  day  he  orlways 
rode  the  same  coal  black  stead  witch  cood 
unstrip  orl  competiters.  One  day  when 
hounds  had  bin  runing  for  5  or  6  hours  he 
raind  in  his  horty  stead  and  terning  in  the 
saddel,  larfed  litely,  and  sed,  "  What  ho, 
whoo  will  foller  me  over  yon  feersum 
gump?"  and  he  pointid  to  a  yorning 


chassum  witch  lay  acrorse  his  parth.  And 
not  a  feller  wood. 

And  the  black-eyed  Brunette,  gathring 
up  his  rains  with  one  hand  and  setting 
spers  to  his  stead  with  the  other,  bolely 
charged  the  gump  and  alited  safely,  but 
owing  to  his  horse  giving  way  in  its 
bohind  legs,  the  feller  slipt  litely  orf, 
over  his  tale,  and  lay  insenseless  upon  the 
floor.  Instinktivly,  the  Squier's  daughter, 
whoose  name,  I  forgot  to  mention  it  be- 
fore, was  LERVINIA,  felt  that  he  whoo 
had  unchained  her  by  his  eegil  glarnce, 
would  come  a  mucker — and  she  was  round 
the  chassum  and  on  her  knees  at  his  side 
in  a  momint.  He  had  cot  his  hed  an  orfle 
crak.  Willing  hands  and  hearts  gently 
rased  him  and  bored  him  away.  "Take 
him  to  the  castle,"  cride  the  Squier,  "  he 
is  hartilly  welcum  to  my  pore  hospital- 
tality — and  see  you  do  not  shake  him  up 
too  mutch." 

LERVINEGAR — LERVIXIA  I  meen — nursed 
him  devotedly  with  the  old  Housescraper 
whoo  had  bin  in  the  Squier's  famly  for 
neerly  a  sentury.  He  had  no  bones 
brokin,  but  sufferd  from  concushion  of 
the  brains,  so  ass  soon  ass  he  cood  put 
it  in  a  sling,  he  wood  dash  orf  a  horn 
of  extrack  of  beef— the  same  beasely 
stuff  they  made  mo  take  wen  I  had 


420 


PUNCH,   OK  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI  [DECEMBER  n,  1901, 


measils— and  go  to  join  his  fare  hoastess  in  the  garden,  wear 
he  wood  breethe  hunnid  words  of  love  and  orl  that  rot,  into 
her  shell-like  ear. 

And  thus  it  was  that  the  UNKNOWN  black-eyed  feller  was 
introjuiced  into  the  old  Squier's  harth  and  home. 

There,  Uncle  CHARLIE,  that 's  the  1st  chapter.  Its  rarther 
good,  issent  it  ?  If  you  care  to  arsk  TOMMY  and  me  to  stay 
part  of  the  Xmas  holidays,  line  shure  we  cood  come.  I 
expect  the  D.  LANE  pantermine  will  be  a  good  one,  dont  you  ? 
the  Governor's  going  abroad,  so  wont  be  able  to  take  us— 
this  is  a  pity,  aint  it  ?  If  you  should  happen  to  be  going  we 
mite  go  the  same  day  ass  you,  mitent  we  ? 

Your  affeckshunt  MAX. 


BOOKS, 

LIKE    FRIENDS, 
SHOULD     BE 
FEW     AND 
WELL  C/1OSE/V. 


A    LITERARY   STANDPOINT. 


OUR   BOOKING-OFFICE. 

Two  dainty  and  delightful  books  have  lately  come  from  the 
press.  A  Little  Book  of  Light  Verse,  with  an  introduction 
and  notes  by  A.  C.  DEANE  (METIIUEN),  and  An  Anthology  of 
Humorous  Verse,  edited  by  T.  A.  COOK  (VIRTUE  &  Co.).  The 
one  editor,  it  will  be  noted,  speaks  of  "light"  verse,  the 
other  of  "humorous,"  but,  though  at  first  sight  it  would 
appear  fairly  easy  to  make  and  keep  the  distinction,  a  glance 
at  the  two  booklets  will  show  how  often  they  have  overlapped 
one  another.  This  fact  is  not  stated  as  an  argument  against 
buying  either  for  the  very  small  price  charged  by  the  pub- 
lishers, but  rather  as  an  incentive  to  the  purchase  of  both, 
for  it  may  be  truly  said  that  both  Mr.  DEANE  and  Mr.  COOK 
have  performed  their  tasks  with  zeal  and  discretion.  No 
lover  of  the  lighter  muse  should  lose  this  opportunity  of 
adding  to  his  collection  these  two  examples  of  infinite  riches 
in  a  little  room. 


My  Baronite's  impression  on  taking  up  Prosperous  British 
India  (FISHER  UNWIN)  was  that  Mr.  DIGBY  had  lent  the  weight 
of  his  deservedly  high  authority  to  strengthen  the  common 
impression  that  the  people  of  India  owe  much  to  British  rule. 
This  turns  out  to  be  an  innocent  mistake.  Mr.  DIGBY,  when 
he  talks  of  prosperous  India,  "writes  sarkastic,"  as  ARTEMUS 
WARD  used  to  say.  In  his  last  Budget  speech  Lord  GEORGE 
HAMILTON,  addressing  a  hostile  critic,  observed,  "  You  speak  of 
the  increasing  impoverishment  of  India,  and  the  annual  drain 
upon  her  as  steadily  and  continuously  exhausting  her  resources. 
I  assert  you  are  under  a  delusion."  A  similar  view  of  the 
situation  was,  at  other  times,  taken  by  the  present  VICEROY, 
and  by  Sir  HENRY  FOWLER,  Lord  GEORGE  HAMILTON'S  prede- 
cessor at  the  India  Office.  Mr.  DIGBY  undertakes  to  prove  the 
assertion  the  Secretary  of  State  combats.  This  he  does  by 
laborious  research  and  voluminous  quotation  from  official 
papers.  He  demonstrates  that,  so  far  from  increasing  in  pros- 
perity, the  people  of  India  are  overtaxed  beyond  compare,  and 
the  process  of  treading  them  down  is  going  forward  with 
increasing  severity.  It  is  a  weighty  indictment  ho  challenges 
Lord  GEORGE  HAMILTON  to  disprove.  Probably  the  Secretary 
of  State  will  be  too  busy  to  accept  the  invitation.  All  directly 
concerned  in  the  welfare  of  India  will  find  this  remarkable 
book  worth  close  attention. 

Now  this,  if  you  like,  is  a  really  seasonable  book  for  all  Christ- 
mases.  The  name  ?  "Why  certainly.  Fairy  Tales  from  Hanx 
Andersen  (WELLS  GARDNER,  DARTON  &  Co.). 

S.  BARING-GOULD'S  latest  book,  entitled  Orettir  the  Outlaw 
(BLACKIE  AND  SON),  is  a  capital  story  for  boys.  The  author 
recounts  most  romantic  adventures,  and  every  youth  of  spirit 
will  appreciate  such  thrilling  scenes  as  "  exciting  fight  of 
Grettir"  with  twelve  "bearserks!"  wrestle  with  Karr  in  "the 
chamber  of  the  dead  !  !  "  defence  of  the  dying  hero  by  his 
younger  brother  !  !  !  Effective  illustrations  by  M.  ZENO  DIEMER. 

The  Firebrand  (MACMILLAN  &  Co.),  by  S.  R.  CROCKETT,  ought 
to  be  welcomed  by  any  melodramatist  in  search  of  materials 
for  a  stirring  sensational  drama.  Scene,  Spain,  where  the 
"three  musketeers"  have  their  analogues  in  El  Sarria, 
brigand,  Rollo,  the  Scottish  swashbuckler,  and  John  Mortimer, 
English  traveller  in  search  of  "good  goods."  A  romance  of 
the  early  Carlist  wars,  tempore  MENDIZABAL,  banker,  specu- 
lator, and  Prime  Minister.  At  first,  tout  va  bien,  then,  after 
three  hundred  pages  or  so,  when  The  Firebrand  begins  to 
nicker,  comes  the  chance  for  experienced  skippers.  It  is 
somewhat  fatiguing  to  be  always  fighting  and  burning  and 
scragging,  capturing,  being  captured  and  escaping,  and  all  this 
interspersed  with  a  little  love-making.  The  dish,  as  set  before 
the  Baron,  had  it  been  half  the  size,  with  a  third  of  the 
seasoning,  would  have  been  twice  as  good. 

Mr.  HARRY  FURNISS,  like  Ulysses,  has  travelled  far,  seeing 
much  of  cities  and  men.  Unhappily,  as  appears  from  The 
Confessions  of  a  Caricaturist  (FISHER  UNWIN),  they  have, 
in  the  main,  failed  to  please  him.  Another  voyager  was 
"disappointed"  with  the  Atlantic.  HARRY  FURNISS,  survey- 
ing mankind  from  Liverpool  to  New  York,  from  Adelaide 
to.  Dublin,  confesses  them  failures.  At  home  the  Royal 
Academy  pleased  him  not,  nor  the  National  Portrait  Gallery 
either.  In  the  United  States  he  couldn't  get  along  Avith. 
the  genial  Major  POND.  As  for  Australia,  "  it  is  patchy.  That 
expresses  everything  Australian."  Exit  Australasia.  But  there 
is  compensation,  and  Mr.  FURNISS  finds  it  in  turning  from  other 
people  and  their  work  to  pleased  reflection  upon  his  own.  There 
is  a  pathetic  chapter  in  which  he  demonstrates  that  Lika  Joka 
fizzled  out  not  because  it  was  a  failure,  but  by  reason  of  its 
success.  "  My  one  mistake,"  he  writes,  "  in  publishing  was 
that  having  started  a  success,  Lika  Joka,  I  let  it  drop  to  take 
up  another."  The  other  was  the  Pail  Mali  Budget,  which  he  re- 
christened  The  New  Budget.  Following  the  fashion  of  successes, 
it  died  very  few  weeks  after  its  birth.  When  Mr.  FURNISS  gets 
away  from  contemplation  of  unique  example  of  perfection  his 


DECEMBER  11,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


421 


book  is  amusing  and  interesting.  Its 
best  things  arc  the  account  of  his  deal- 
ings'with  LEWIS  CARROLL  in  performance 
of  his  commission  to  illustrate  Sylvie  and 
Bruno.  Here  Greek  meets  Greek,  and  the 
native  fractiousness  of  HARRY  FURNISS  is 
overwhelmed  by  the  superior  quality  and 
persistence  of  the  author  of  Mice  in 
Wonderland.  Another  excellent  study, 
full  of  humour,  both  in  the  letterpress  and 
the  illustrations,  is  that  of  the  former 
custodian  of  the  Press  Gallery  in  the 
House  of  Commons,  in  charge  when  Mr. 
FURNISS  entered  upon  a  scene  where  he 
speedily  earned  renown.  Admirably  told, 
too,  is  the  account  of  his  presiding  at  the 
dinner  of  the  Thirteen  Club,  a  body  of 
gentlemen  who  delight  in  flouting  common 
superstitions,  who  dine  thirteen  at  table, 
pass  under  a  ladder  on  the  way  to  the 
meal,  cross  knives  and  forks,  spill  salt, 
and  in  other  fashions  defy  fortune.  The 
work,  with  its  abundant  illustrations, 
many  of  them  new,  is  sumptuously  pro- 
duced in  two  volumes. 

The  Baron,  whose  ancestor  was  in  the 
very  front  rank  of  those  undaunted  war- 
riors who  compelled  King  JOHN  to  sign 
the  Great  Charter,  welcomes  exuberantly 
the  English  Coronation  Records  as  brought 
put  in  quite  royal  style  by  Messrs. 
ARCHIBALD  CONSTABLE  &  Co.,  Ltd.  This 
is  indeed  a  subject  for  a  Constable  to 
take  up.  And  it  is  edited  by  Mr.  LEGG, 
M.A.  Which  Legg?  The  right  Legg,  of 
course,  namely,  LEOPOLD  G.  WICKHAM 
LEGG,  M.A.,  of  New  College,  Oxford.  A 
Coronational  work.  Here  is  given  the 
history  of  "the  Coronation  oath."  Why 
was  the  form  sworn  to  by  RICHARD  CCEUR- 
DE-LlON  ever  altered  ?  It  is  good  enough 
in  all  conscience.  But  what  a  mighty 
trouble  !  Yet  a  King  who  has  had  such 
experience  in  Masonic  ritual,  having 
been  Grand  Master  of  The  Craft,  well 
knows  that  not  one  jot  or  tittle  of  a 
ceremonial  that  occurs  but  once  in  a  life- 
time can  be  slurred  over  or  omitted.  A 
King,  or  Queen,  of  England  ought  to  be, 
as  a  first  consideration,  a  patron  of  the 
drama,  as  all  the  "  stage  directions  "  for 
the  Coronation  instruct  every  actor  in  the 
pageant  as  to  their  "stage-business"  in 
"the  theatre!"  See  page  365,  where 
only  the  technical  abbreviations  of  R., 
B.H.,  etc.,  L.,  L.H.,  etc.,  are  wanting  to 
make  the  printed  and  published  form  of 
the  Coronation  "  as  good  as  a  play." 

After  all  said  and  done"  comes  a 
homely  finish,  summed  up  thus,  "  Which 
being  done,  the  Archbishop  and  Bishops 
will  divest  themselves  o/  their  copes,  and 
leave  them  there,  proceeding  in  their  usual 
habits."  Isn't  that  a  real  touch  of  nature? 
"Their  usual  habits."  Some  Bishops  to 
their  homes ;  some  to  their  friends' 
houses ;  some  to  their  hotels ;  and  not  a 
few  to  the  Athenaeum,  to  chat  over  the 
chief  events  within  the  Abbey  on  that 
exceptional  day.  Then  from  the  library 


Golfer.   "  AND  WHAT'S  YOUR  NAME?" 

Caddie.  "THEY  CA'  ME  'BREEKS,'  BUT  MA  MAIDEN  NAME  is  CHRISTF." 


shelves  a  Right  Reverend  with  a  taste 
for  ' '  swate  poe-thry  ' '  might  take  down 
the  Ingoldsby  Legends,  and,  in  "  Barney 
Maguire's  Account  of  the  Coronation  "  in 
1838,  he  would  read — 
"  Then  the  Lord  Archbishop  held  a  goulden  dish  lip 

For  to  resave  her  bounty  and  great  wealth, 
Saying,  '  Plase  your  Glory,  great  Queen  Vic-tory ! 

Ye  '11  give    the    Clargy    lare    to    dhrink    your 
health  ! '  " 

Even  THACKERAY'S  Irish  "pomes,"  as 
that  about  the  "  Crystial  Palace"  for 
example,  are  not  "  in  it "  with  the  delight- 
ful Hibernian  [rhymings  of  the  Reverend 
THOMAS  BARHAM,  at  least  that  is  how  it 
strikes  the  open-minded 

BARON  DE  B.-W. 

P.S.  —  In  "Our  Booking  -  Office  "  for 
November  27,  the  authorship  of  a  capital 
up-to-date  Christmas  story  for  boys  was 
attributed  to  "  Captain  F.  S.  BERESFORD  " 
(lucky  fellow  Captain  BERESFORD  ! ), 


whereas  the  name  ought  to  have  been 
"Captain  FRED  S.  BRERETON,"  to  whom 
the  Baron  here  makes  the  amende  honor- 
able. 


MEM.  FOR  EVERYBODY.— Do  not  forget 
"  The  Montagu  Williams  Blanket  and 
Clothing  Fund,"  which  of  all  excellent 
Christmas  charities  is  one  of  the  very 
best.  Let  warm  hearts  and  kind  hands 
forward  "the  stuff,"  and  Messrs.  HADEN 
CORSER  and  CLUER,  magistrates,  will  see 
that  every  penny  goes  to  comfort  the  poor 
and  needy  this  Christmas-tide. 


"  Kiss  and  be  Friends ! "  says  Mr. 
Punch,  in  his  heartiest  style  and  with 
his  best  wishes,  to  WILHELMINA  and 
HENRY.  Bless  ye,  my  children  !  Be  happy 
together ;  or,  if  you  don't,  Mr.  Punch 
will  have  to  talk  to  you  "like  a  Dutch 
uncle!" 


THE  "IBIS"  CLUB. 

EVERYONE  who  has  seen  Mr.  PIXERO'S 
depressing  drama,  Iris,  will  remember 
the  scene  in  the  last  act  in  which  Mal- 
donado,  transported  with  rage,  destroys 
the  furniture  and  ornaments  in  his  very 
unattractive  flat.  He  will  recall  the  sigh 
of  satisfaction  which  arises  from  the 
house  as  half-a-dozen  detestable  pieces 
of  china  are  swept  in  ruins  from  the 
mantelshelf,  and  an  "occasional"  chair 
of  detestable  design  is  shattered  to  frag- 
ments. 

"Where  does  all  this  undesirable  bric-a- 
brac  come  from?  It  is  a  professional 
secret ;  but  Mr.  Punch  has  no  hesitation 
in  revealing  it.  It  comes  from  the  Iris 
Club. 

In  the  early  days  of  the  run  of  the 
play  poor  Mr.  BOURCHIER  was  compelled 
to  purchase  these  articles.  Humour 
speaks  of  the  genial  manager,  disguised 
in  a  beard  and  a  brown  ulster,  haunting- 
old  furniture  shops  in  Fulham  and  search- 
ing feverishly  for  "  bargains."  Finding 
this  too  fatiguing,  he  next  endeavoured 
to  arrange  a  contract  with  a  firm  in  the 
Tottenham  Court  Road  for  a  weekly  con- 
signment of  them.  And  when  this  scheme 
fell  through,  an  attempt  is  believed  to 
have  been  made  to  lay  down  a  year's 
supply  to  mature  in  the  cellars  of  the 
Garrick  Theatre. 

Happily  the  Iris  Club  came  into  exis- 
tence, and  Mr.  BOURCHIER  was  saved 
from  all  further  trouble  on  this  head. 
The  Club  undertook  to  provide  cheap 
chairs  and  china  to  any  amount  for  Mal- 
donado's  flat,  on  the  sole  condition  that 
Maldonado  would  break  them.  The  Club 
now  consists  of  several  hundred  members, 
and  every  member  has  the  privilege  of 
contributing  one  undesirable  object  per 
week  from  the  furniture  of  his  household 
for  Maldonado's  use. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  success  of 
the  institution  has  been  enormous,  and 
that  the  secretary  is  besieged  with 
applications  from  would-be  members. 
Everybody  who  has  a  chair  which  his  wife 
inherited  from  an  aunt,  or  a  middle- 
Victorian  vase  on  a  pedestal,  or  a  bust  of 
a  statesman  under  a  glass  case — and  who 
has  not? — clamours  for  admission.  It  is 
not  too  much  to  say  that  half  the 
respectable  households  in  London  are 
cursed  with  the  possession  of  some  in- 
cubus of  this  kind  which  they  have  not 
the  moral  courage  to  destroy.  For  these 
the  Ms  Club  is  a  God-send.  A  card  with 
the  mystic  letters  I.C.  is  put  in  the 
window,  the  Club's  furniture  van  calls, 
and  the  offending  object,  which  has  been 
surreptitiously  placed  in  the  hall,  is 
silently  removed.  A  night  or  two  later 
the  happy  owner,  lurking  at  the  back  of 
the  pit  or  the  stalls,  watches  with  a  smile 
of  triumph  the  destruction  of  his  hated 
property  at  the  hands  of  Maldonado. 


Indeed,  so  great  is  the  anxiety  among 
Londoners  to  get  rid  of  their  unsightly 
furniture  at  Mr.  PlNERO's  expense,  that 
the  entrance-fee  of  the  Club  has  had  to  be 
raised  more  than  once,  while  owners  of 
more  than  usually  atrocious  pieces  of 
china  are  believed  to  have  attempted  to 
bribe  the  secretary  to  procure  their  ad- 
mission. It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say, 
under  these  circumstances,  that  Maldonado 
is  at  this  moment  perhaps  the  most  popular 
character  in  London. 

The  only  crumple  in  the  rose-leaf  of 
the  committee's  content  arises  from  this 
necessity  of  limiting  the  membership  of 
the  Club.  This  exclusiveness  springs 
from  no  paltry  spirit  of  class  prejudice. 
There  is  no  class  in  London,  from  the 
highest  to  the  lowest,  which  is  not  blighted 
with  the  possession  of  furniture  and  bric- 
a-brac  which  it  would  be  happier  without. 
It  is  due  solely  to  the  inadequate  accom- 
modation at  the  disposal  of  the  Garrick 
Theatre.  From  time  to  time  a  note,  polite 
but  plaintive,  arrives  from  the  stage- 
manager  requesting  the  secretary  not  to 
send  any  more  van-loads  of  Maldonado 
pottery  for  the  present,  as  there  is  no 
room  for  them.  Then  a  halt  has  to  be 
called,  the  Club's  vans  cease  to  go  their 
rounds,  and  no  more  chairs  and  tables  are 
despatched  until  the  stock  at  the  theatre 
has  been  reduced  to  more  manageable 
limits. 

Meantime,  more  than  one  suggestion 
has  been  made  for  dealing  with  this 
unfortunate  congestion  at  the  Garrick 
Theatre.  One  idea  is  that  Mr.  PINERO 
should  at  once  write  another  play  in  which 
furniture  is  destroyed  in  every  act,  but 
Mr.  PINERO  is  understood  to  object  to  this. 
Another  and  a  more  practicable  scheme, 
however,  has  since  been  propounded,  and 
this  may  possibly  be  carried  into  effect  in 
the  near  future.  This  consists  simply  in 
modifying  the  stage  "  business  "  in  Act  V. 
so  as  to  widen  the  area  of  destruction. 
Hitherto  Maldonado  has  been  contented 
with  sweeping  off  the  mantelpiece  some 
few  articles  of  china  and  breaking  a 
solitary  chair.  According  to  the  new 
stage  directions  he  will,  on  the  departure 
of  Iris,  set  to  work  in  a  business-like  way 
to  demolish  the  furniture  with  a  hatchet. 
This  will  enable  him  to  deal  with  bulkier 
articles,  and  will  at  the  same  time  provide 
a  moro  popular  ending  for  the  play. 

But  even  without  this  projected  improve- 
ment the  service  rendered  by  the  Club  to 
London  aesthetically  has  been  incalculable. 
The  drawing-rooms,  and  still  more  the 
spare  bedrooms,  of  its  members  have  taken 
on  quite  an  altered  appearance  since  it 
came  into  existence,  and  before  the  play 
is  taken  off  it  is  hoped  that  the  last 
Maldonado  vase  will  have  disappeared 
from  their  happy  homes.  Nor  will  the 
good  work  be  carried  on  only  in  London. 
For  when  Iris  goes  on  tour  affiliated  clubs 
are  to  be  formed  in  the  various  provincial  j 


centres,  and  wherever  Mr.  PINERO'S  play 
halts  for  a  night  or  two  a  selection  of  the 
most  atrocious  furniture  and  mantelpiece 
ornaments  contained  in  the  town  visited 
will  be  delivered  at  the  stage  door  for  the 
use  of  the  company. 

ST.  J.  H. 


FROM  A  BACHELOR  UNCLE'S  DIARY. 
MY  NEPHEW'S  "BRAKING  UP." 

Monday.— Letter  from  MAX  "enounc- 
ing" (sic)  date  of  Christmas  "braking 
up  "  entertainment.  Formal  invitation 
from  School  Committee  enclosed.  Awful 
nuisance — shall  have  to  go. 

Thursday.  —  School  entertainment. — 
Ushered  in  to  Gymnasium,  decorated  with 
evergreens,  "  Welcome  to  Our  Guests," 
legends,  &c.  Sat  on  wooden  form.  So 
hard — reminded  one  of  one's  schoolboy 
days— quite  brought  the  scent  of  the 
boot-leather  and  pewter  ink-pots  across 
the  gulf  of  years.  Hate  sitting  on  back- 
less bench.  So  wearing.  Sat  immediately 
behind  last  row  of  schoolboys.  Boys  all 
spotlessly  clean  and  tidy,  wearing  "  Mary 
Ann"  collars  and  Eton  jackets.  Noticed 
that  most  of  them  sucked  sweetstuff  or 
surreptitiously  cracked  nuts.  Kept  sharp 
look-out  for  shells. 

At  eight  o'clock  precisely  (just  when 
one  ought  to  have  been  commencing  cosy 
dinner,  instead  of,  as  in  my  case,  wrest- 
ling with  indigestion  from  having  dined 
at  six),  Head-master,  wearing  gown  and 
familiar  "mortar-board,"  closely  followed 
by  about  a  dozen  assistant  masters 
similarly  arrayed,  troop  on  to  platform, 
and  sit  behind  long  green-covered  table, 
on  which  are  ranged  the  prizes.  Boys 
cheer — faintly — as  Head-master  advances 
to  edge  of  platform,  and  with  imperious 
gesture,  raises  hand  for  silence. 

"Beast!  "  exclaims  boy  nearest  me  in 
aggressively  loud  tones — then  finding  that 
several  people  in  vicinity  are  looking  to 
find  culprit,  little  wretch  stares  hard  at 
me — feel  most  uncomfortable — wish  boys 
would  not  do  this  sort  of  thing.  Head- 
master, sharply  looking  at  me  (why  me?), 
says:  "Er — er — er — hrrr  !  Ladies  and 
Gentlemen.  You  will  doubtless  be  ex- 
pecting a  few  words  from  me  about  our 
School."  ("  No  fear  !  "  from  stolid  youth, 
munching  bun,  "  had  a  jolly  sight  too  much 
of  that,  already.")  "But,  alas!  'Tempus 
fugit,'  and  of  the  precious  hours,  can  any- 
thing truer  be  said  than  ' Pereunt  et 
imputantitr' ?  "  (Head -master  evidently 
very  pleased  at  having  so  opportunely 
unburdened  himself  of  some  of  his  super- 
fluous stock  of  Latin.)  "  Time  will  not 
permit  me  to  do  more  than  tell  you  of  our 
steady  progress.  I  will  just  read  our 
Honours  List,  and  then  we  must  proceed  to 
our  programme  without  delay." 

"  Old  rotter  !  "  scornfully  murmurs  boy 
with  red  hair  and  chubby  cheeks,  as  he 
pockets  half-finished  apple. 


DECEMBER  11,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHAEIVAKI. 


423 


Brief  recital  of  honours  gained  by 
students  follows,  arid  then,  amid  noise 
of  shuffling  feet,  wooden  forms  knocked 
over,  etc.,  some  twenty  boys  rise,  leave 
auditorium  and  trip  over  their  own  feet 
on  to  platform.  Aggressive  air  of  con- 
fidence about  them— doubtless  inspired 
by  numbers.  One  boy,  with  hands  in 
trousers  pockets,  begins  whistling.  So 
friendly.  Head-master  glares.  Boy  sub- 
sides incontinently. 

Consult  programme.  Item  I.  —  Glee, 
"  My  Love's  a  'full-blown  rose." 

Herr  SPLFTZEN  SELTZER,  musical  director 
of  school ,  rushes  on  and,  turning'  his  back 
to  audience,  raises  baton,  with  a  "  pst, 
pst !  "  for  silence.  Boys  shuffle  feet  about 
afresh,  and  after  a  laboured  "  one,  two, 
tree  ! ' '  from  their  leader,  whole  force  of 
chorus  let  go  concerted  howl,  lyrically 
informing  us,  with  quite  needless  emphasis, 
that  their  collective  love  was  a  "full- 
blown rose."  After  repeating  this  sev- 
ieral  times,  Tenori  (together  with  truly 
excruciating  Alto)  shriek  : 

"My  love's  a  fool " 

"  My  love  's  a  fool " 

"'My  love  's  a  fool  blown  rose  !  " 

The  Bassi  then  corroborate  the  asser- 
tion by  growling  out : 

"A  fool  .  .  .  blo-o-o-own  .  .  .  rose!  " 

Boys  clear  off  platform,  and  Master 
MOODLER,  pale  youth  with  generally 
unwholesome  appearance,  advances  to 
edge  of  dais.  Master  M.  clearly  nervous. 
Long  time  arranging  music,  persistently 
dropping  one  leaf  as  fast  as  he  picks 
up  another.  So  harassing.  Feel  sure 
MOODLER  will  break  down.  Herr  SPLITZEN 
SELTZER,  glaring  through  spectacles, 
strikes  preliminary  chords  on  piano.  Find, 
on  referring  to  programme,  that  Master 
;M.  is  to  sing  "The  Good  Rhine  Wine." 
By  his  present  appearance  should  say 
that  the  "Good  Rhine  Wine  "had  not 
agreed  with  him.  Master  M. ,  in  quavering 
tones,  begins.  Voice  from  back  row  of 
boys'  benches  shouts  encouragingly, 
"Cheer  up,  muttonhead!"  and  singer 
at  once  collapses,  bursts  into  tears,  and 
hurriedly  leaves  platform.  So  sad. 
Recitation  next.  MAX  and  TOMMY  'now 
come  and  sit  by  me.  TOMMY  says  in  loud 
tones,  "  I  say,  Uncle  CHARLIE,  do  you  see 
old  STOGGINS  up"  there  ?  that  chap  who 
looks  as  if  his  hair  had  got  moth-eaten  ?  ' ' 
Try  to  silence  him.  No  use.  "Well,  we're 
going  round  to  serenade  him  to-night." 

"Yes,"  chimes  in  MAX,  "  we'regoingto 
sing,  '  We  '11  hang  old  STOGGINS  on  a  sour 
apple  tree !  '  You  must  come  with  us — 
you  '11  enjoy  it  awfully." 

Have  since  heard  that  "  old  STOGGINS'S" 
sister  was  sitting  immediately  behind  us 
— so  pleasant. 

Took  earliest  opportunity  of  escaping, 
and  returning  home  —  most  wearisome 
drive  and  very  cold. 

Saturday. — Letter  from  MAX,  describing 
rest  oJ'  entertainment. 


Miss  Short.   "  ISN'T  MY  NAME  AN  ABSURD  MISFIT,  MK.  LONG  ? " 

Mr.  Long  (thoughtlessly).   "YES,  RATHER.      IF  YOU  COULD  HAVE  MINE  IT  WOULD  BE  ALL 
RIGHT,  WOULDN'T  IT  ? " 

Miss  Short.  "On,  MR.  LONG,  THIS  is  so  SUDDEN!" 


DEAR  UNCLE  CHARLIE, — When  you  left, 
BROWN  major  let  off  a  ressitation,  it  was 
sutck  orfle  rot.  He  stuck  out  one  arm  ass 
stiff  as  a  railway  sammyfore  and  kept 
saying,  about  every  half  minute,  "But 
BRUTUS  was  an  honourable  man  !  " 

Well,  who  sed  hewassent?  Why  did 
he — I  mean  BROWN  major,  not  BRUTUS — 
want  to  reppeat  it  so  orfen  ?  I  did  get  so 
enoide  at  first,  but  arfterwards  we  all 
jest  yelled  with  larftcr  until  BROWN 
simpclly  had  to  shut  up.  Old  STOGGINS 
was  fewrious  ;  he  got  in  an  orfle  rage  and 


sent  word  down  that  heed  give  us  all  a 
thousand  lines.  Sum  masters  are  bease, 
arnt  they?  Well,  we  took  joly  good  care 
to  deserve  the  1000  lines  ennyhow,  for 
drecktly  it  was  over  and  while  the  Parents 
and  things  were  stuffing  cake  and  sherry 
in  the  tuck  room,  wee  startid  out  and 
pulled  STOGGINS'S  gate  orf  its  hinges  and 
chucked  it  into  the  swimming  bath.  Wont 
he  sware  !  And,  ass  it  was  orl  done  in 
Smearyun  darkness,  hecarnt  possibly  spot 
cnny  of  us  fellers  who  did  it ! 

Your  affecksluint  nephew,        MAX. 


424 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHABIVARL  [DECEMBER  11,  1901. 


M 


»<>" 

Ferocious-looking  Individual  (to  meek-lookinrj  Stranger).  "  I  'VE  JUST  HAD  TO  SMACK  A  MAN 

OX   THE   NOSE   FOR  TALKING    'ROT'  ABOUT  BOLLER  !       WHAT   DO    YOU  THINK    ABOUT    BULLER  ?  " 


SOME  FURTHER!  CORONATION 
CLAIMS 

To  be  dealt  withjat  the  Next  Sitting  of  the 
Court. 

Mr.  D-n  L-no. — To  perform  the  combined 
duties  of  Housebuyer  and  Huntsman  to 
His  MAJESTY,  and  to  have  all  semi- 
detached villas,  bailiffs,  landlords,  and 
other  ground  game|as  his  fee,  with  the  title 
of  "Sweet  Sandringham  Songster,  S.S.S. 

Mrs.  Dr-ce. — To  be  Arch-Litigant  and 
Exhumer  of  Mares'-nests,  with  all  profits 
(if  any)  arising  therefrom  ;  also  Mistress 
of  the  King's  Horse  and  Chief  Bandier  of 
Epithets  with  the  King's  Counsel. 

Miss  E.  S.  M.  W-hh-re.—To  be  Strewer 
of  Tea-leaves  in  the  Royal  Corridors,  and 
to  have  the  former,  with  all  Dust  and 
Rubbish  thereto  appertaining,  as  her  fee. 

Mr.  H-ll  C-ne.—fo  be  Master-Key  and 
Winder-Up  of  the  Mind  of  Man  ;  and 
Lighter  of  such  a  Candle  as  shall  not 
This  Day  be  Snuffed  out,  not  if  he  can 
help  it,  and  to  have  the  Tallow,  Wick- 
ends  and  Royalties  appendant  to  the 
office. 


The  Abbey  Cook. — To  exercise  the  office 
of  Pancake-Tosser  to  the  KING,  and  to 
toss  for  his  fees,  double  or  quits. 

The  Broad  Sanctuary  Crossing-sweeper 
—To  serve  His  MAJESTY  as  Balayer-in- 
Chief  and  Custos  Denariorum  after  the 
manner  of  his  Predecessors  since  the 
Conquest ;  and  to  have  the  Red  Cloth 
with  Jewellery,  Garters  and  Coronets, 
dropped  thereon  as  his  fee. 

The  Mayor,  Aldermen,  and  Burgesses  of 
the  Town  of  Snorum  Parva  to  act  as 
Assistants  to  the  Previous  Claimants,  and 
to  have  as  fees  their  respective  Admission- 
Tickets  to  the  Ceremony,  with  Front 
Places  for  their  wives. 

Mr.  Kr-g-r. — To  appear  as  Chief  Hin- 
drance to  the  King's  Peace  in  South 
Africa,  and  to  receive  a  Flea  in  his  Ear. 

General  De  W-t. — To  disappear  as  Chiel 
Vanisher-round-the-Corner  at  the  ap- 
proach of  the  KING'S  Body-guard,  and  to 
be  elected  for  Galway,  vice  "Colonel' 
LYNCH,  detained  during  His  MAJESTY'! 
pleasure. 

Mrs.  Washington  de  Troit  (U.S.A.).— To 
wear  a  bigger  diamond  than  Her  MAJESTY 


and  to  get  right  there  with  it ;   if  neces- 
;ary — British  subjects  only  being  admitted 
jO  Abbey — to  divorce  husband  and  pur- 
chase English  Peer  pro  tern. 
Mr.  Punch. — To  sing  with  all  his  heart 
nd  voice,  "  God  save  the  King !  " 


TO  A  VIGILANT  LADY. 

ADY,  in  a  hundred  places 

You  have  seen  my  loving  glances — 
At  the  skating-rink,  at  races, 

Dinners,  theatres,  soirees,  dances. 
And  your  presence — unexpected — 

"With  what  feelings  it  can  fill  me  1 
Your  clear  gaze  on  me  directed 

Can  invariably  chill  me  ! 

Often  on  my  passion  smiling, 

"With  a  tender  look  you  greet  me  ; 
Oft  you  deem  I  'm  merely  whiling 

Time  away,  and  then  you  treat  me 
ike  a  boy  whose  worldly  knowledge 

Is  no  more  than 's  to  be  found 
[n  the  four  walls  of  a  college, 

Which,  you  think,  is  not  profound. 

In  what  moods  Ij've  found  you !    Trifling 

Time  away  with  idle  chatt'ring — 
Time,  who  has  a  way  of  rifling 

Lovely  charms  that 's  far  from  flatt'ring  ! 
1  have  seen  you  palely  yawning 

At  a  dreary  ball,  and  rapping 
On  your  fan,  as  cold  the  morning 

Breaks,  and  you  would  fain  be  napping. 

And  your  multifarious  dresses  ! 

Sometimes  gorgeous  gowns  Parisian, 
Richly  gemmed,  and  coiffeured  tresses 

Wafting  perfumed  airs  Elysian. 
Other  times  apparelled  sadly 

In  a  sombre  black  or  brown, 
Or  a  grey — which  fits  so  badly — 

And  with  which  you  wear  a  frown. 

In  what  guise  you  have  surveyed  me 

Pleading  tremblingly  my  passion  ! 
What  quaint  signals  have  you  made  me 

Not  to  talk  in  such  a  fashion  ! 
My  affection  as  a  mother 

You  have  viewed  (with  consternation) 
As  some  family  friend  or  other, 

As  an  aunt  or  poor  relation. 

Lady,  what  poor  verse  can  measure 

Half  the  riches  in  your  care  ? 
And  so  well  you  guard  your  treasure 

As  to  fill  me  with  despair  ! 
To  the  loveliest  of  the  Beauties 

I  have  ever  gazed  upon 
How  I  envy  you  your  duties, 

My  BELINDA'S  chaperon ! 


"  YOU  'LL  SEE  THE  PULL  OF  THESE."- 
In  the  Christmas  Crackery  Department 
Messrs.  SPARAGNAPANE  &  Co.'s  are  again 
to  the  fore.  Our  Christmas  Commissioner, 
having  thoroughly  examined  most  of  their 
wonderful  productions,  decides  that  "The 
Ornamental  Cosaques  for  table  decora- 
tions are  out  and  away  of  the  very  best ! ' 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI.— DECEMBER  11,  1901. 


HEE  WOKST  ENEMY. 


PEACE.  "  YOU   MAKE  SUCH  A  NOISE   THEY  CAN'T  HEAR   MY  VOICE. 


DECEMBER  11,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVAKI. 


4-2: 


MORE    BILITE- 
RAL  CYPHERS. 

A  Startling  Dis- 
covery. 

WE  have  re- 
ceived the  follow- 
ing remarkable 
communication 
from  a  correspon- 
dent. As  a  contri- 
bution.  to  the 
secret  history  of 
the  present  time 
it  appears  -worthy 
of  the  most 
thoughtful  and 
anxious  study.  He 
writes  : — 

"The  other  day 
I  took  up  the  Nine- 
teenth Century  and 
glanced  at  an 
article  by  Mr.  W. 
H.  MALLOCK  on 
The  Biliteral 
Cypher  of  Francis 
Bacon,  a  book  by 
Mrs.  GALLUP.  I 
should  mention 
that  up  to  that 
time  I  had  been 
a  light-hearted, 
easy-going,  care- 
less man,  plump 
and  rosy,  blessed 
with  a  healthy 
appetite  and  sound 
sleep,  and  fond  of 
any  exercise  in 
the  open  air.  I 
read  that  article 
once ;  I  read  it 
again  carefully; 
I  began  for  the 
third  time.  By 
degrees  it  cast  a 
spell  over  me,  and 
the  horrible  fasci- 
nation of  those 
groups  of  a's  and 
b's  caught  me  in  a 
charmed  web  from 
which  I  could  not 
escape.  All  night 
long  I  struggled 

with     that    weird 

alphabet,  until  at  last  I  could  write !  of  relaxation.  My  brain  whirled.  For- 
abbba,  baabb,  abbaa,  aitaba,  aabbb.  Not  merly  I  never  could  understand  how  that 
many  days  ago  I  should  have  said,  }  could  happen,  but  now  I  often  feel  it  dis- 
jeeringly,  that  this  must  be  the  bleat-  tinctly.  I  thought  that  to  read  some  light 
ing  of  a  flock  of  sheep.  But  now  I 
know  that  it  represents  the  letters  P,  u, 
N,  C,  H.  It  is  to  you,  Mr.  Abbbabaabbabb- 
aaaaabaaabbb,  that  I  reveal  my  discovery. 
"For  a  week  I  studied  this  cypher.  I 
hardly  ate,  I  hardly  slept.  I  became  pale, 
haggard,  nervous.  After  days  and  nights 
of  almost  ceaseless  work,  I  felt  the  need  |  a  powerful  magnifying  glass  I 


SEASONABLE    BARGAINS. 

Miss  Panama.  "I  ASSURE  YOU,  SIR,  THIS  MODEL  CANAL  ONLY  WANTS  A  LITTLE  C-AREFUL 

ATTENTION,    AND    IT   WILL   WORK   BEAUTIFULLY!"  .  ^ 

Uncle  Ham.   "An,  JSUT  THIS  FIRM   RECKONS  TO   MAKE  ME  A  BRAND  NEW  ONE  FOR  LESS 
MONEY  !  " 

["The  Beport  of  the  Isthmian  Canal  Commission  favours  the  Nicaragua  route." — Times,  Dec.  5.] 


literature  would  divert  my  thoughts,  and 
I  began  a  leading  article  in  the  Times. 
Suddenly  I  perceived  a  letter  not  precisely 
the  same  as  the  others  in  the  line.  My 
brain  began  to  whirl  once  more,  but,  after 
binding  a  towel  soaked  in  cold  water 
round  my  head,  I  started  afresh.  With 

soon 


found  more  letters, 
and  spelt  out,  in 
the  Ba  con  i  an 
cypher,  H,  A,  T, 
F,  I,  E,  L,  .D. 

"By  this  time 
my  head  had  oon> 
pletely  dried  my 
towel,  and  my  eyes 
swam.  I  rested 
for  a  moment  and 
pondered  on  this 
marvellous  dis- 
cov  e  r  y.  The  one 
Minister  who 
avoids  speaking, 
who,  when  he  does 
speak,  says  as 
little  as  possible, 
and  in  that  little 
gives  the  minimum 
of  information,  is 
not  really  silent. 
The  descendant  of 
the  great  BURLEIGH 
writes,-  in  the 
cypher  of  the  great 
BACON,  hidden, 
like  his,  in  con- 
temporary type,  a 
secret  diary  which 
future  generations 
may  interpret  and 
peruse.  To  them 
will  be  revealed 
the  thoughts,  the 
diplomacy,  the  in- 
tentions of  the 
great  statesman . 
I  was  staggered  ! 
Then  I  soaked  my 
towel  again, 
rubbed  my  eyes, 
and  slowly  spelt 
out  the  following 
words.  Sometimes 
I  could  not  under- 
stand the  meaning. 
In  such  a  case  I 
have  given  the 
Baconian  letters. 

'"Hatfleld.  Fir.e 
day.  Nice  ride  on 
tricycle.  Walked 
round  garden.  Net 
many  vegetables 

now.      L  ANSDOWN  E 

telegraphed    must 

decide  about  abababbbaabbaaabb.  Tire- 
some. Telegraph  back  baababaabbba. 
Letter  from  ARTHUR  at  Brighton.  Feels 
aaabababbbababa.  So  glad.  But  does 
not  much  care  for  Brighton.  Says  the 
town  is  too  bbabbaaaaabbaaaa.' 

"I. must  cease  writing  now  as  my  head 


is- 


Here  our  correspondent's  letter  abruptly 
ends.  The  doctor  who  sends  it,  says  the 
unfortunate  gentleman  is  quite  unable  to 
attend  to  ar.v  business.  H.  I>.  B. 


THE  DISSIPATED  DAMSELS. 

OR,  A  NOVEL  WORKING  PARTY. 

["  Novel-writing  has  become  the  selected  dissipa- 

ion  of  the  dear  devoted  woman  who  in  early  and 

;ven  mid  Victorian  days  filled  her  left-over  hours 

with  the  construction  of  blobby  wool  cushions  and 

slippery  bead  mats" —Westminster  Gazette.] 

The  scene  is  tlie  drawing-room  in  Lady 

CLARICE  CULTURE'S   town  house.    It 

is    luxuriantly    furnished.     Complete 

silence   reigns.     Disposed    about    the 

room  are  some  dozen  small  tables,  at 

each  of  which  is  seated  a  young  lady. 

All  are  in  various   stages   of  mental 

perturbation,     seriously    engaged     in 

writing  novels.    Lady  CLARICE    rises 

and  goes  to  the  sofa,  in  which  she  sinks 

languidly.    It  is  ten  minutes  to  four, 

and  a  footman  and  a  maid  servant  are 

creeping  noiselessly    about    with    tea 

things.      As    the    sugar-tongs    rattle 

LETTICE,   ivho    is    writing  at  a  table 

near  the  sofa,  looks  upland  glares  at 

the  footman.    Then  she  turns  towards 

Lady  CLARICE. 

Lettice  (in  a  whisper).  What  an  im- 
provement this  is  on  the  dreary  working 
parties  and  unintellectual  Sewing  Bees 
of  the  last  century. 

Lady  C.  (  pressing  her  liand  affec- 
tionately). I  'm  so  glad  you  like  it.  How 
have  you  got  on  with  your  novel  ? 

Leltice.  I  haven't  written  a  line.  I 
can't  decide  what  kind  of  dress  a  middle- 
aged  lady — one  of  the  strongest  charac- 
ters I  have  ever  conceived  —  ought  to 
commit  suicide  in. 

Lady  C.  Perhaps  after  tea 

Lettice  (cheerfully).  Yes,  I  'm  dying  for 
a  cup. 

[ENID,  a  slim,  pretty  girl,  throivs  down 
her  pen  and  comes  across  to  Lady 
CLARICE. 

Enid  (hi  undertones).  The  mood  is 
past.  It  is  useless  to  sit  staring  at  the 
paper. 

Lady  C.  What  progress  ? 
Enid.  I  have  left  the  baffled  Duke  in  the 
absurdest  fix.  Alfonso,  the  Italian  waiter 
from  the  Century  Restaurant,  the  only 
man  in  the  world  who  holds  the  secret 
of  the  Pink  Pilloiv-Slip,  is  dangling  over 
an  unfathomable  abyss. 

Lady  C.  Cruel  girl,  to  leave  them  in  such 
difficulties  I 

Enid  (with  a  faint  smile).  The  exigenciei 
of  'the  story  demand  that  they  should  both 
suffer.  I  would  have  left  them  more  com- 
fortably situated,  but  my  inspiration  ha 
suddenly  evaporated.  I  should  like  to 
have  killed  Alfonso  before  tea — but  he 
must  wait.  (With  great  energy,  as  tea  if 
announced  and  a  general  relaxation  o 
tension  takes  place.)  Won't  it  make  a 
splendid  illustration  ?  Can't  you  see  the 
yawning  chasm,  the  blue  sky,  and  the 
fleecy  clouds  scudding  across  the  mountair 
tops,  and  the  attenuated  form  of  the 
parchment-skinned  waiter  waving  slowly 


slowly,  in  the  fitful  breeze  ?  (Considering.) 
Or  chill  night-wind?  I  don't  quite  know 
which  to  make  it. 

Lady  C.  (sympathetically).  Chill  night- 
wind  is  very  poetical. 

Enid.  Yes,  but  fitful  breeze  gives  the 
itmosphere ;  it  is  more  realistic.  You 
magine  Fate  in  the  gusty  breezes,  moan- 
ng  dreadfully  as  it  impatiently  shakes  the 
wretched  creature,  like  an  avenging  angel. 
You  see,  the  conception  is  so  moral.  One 
has  to  think  of  all  these  things. 

Lady  C.  Of  course.  Jt  's  really  wonder- 
:ul,  your  talent. 

[ENID  smiles  with  approval  and  supe- 
riority, and  takes  a  cup  of  tea  as 
she  moves  away.  NINA,  a  smartly 
attired  girl,  rushes  up  to  Lady 
CLARICE,  holding  several  sheets  of 
MS.  still  wet  with  ink. 

Nina  (speaking  affectedhj).  Dear  Lady 
CLARICE,  I  'm  in  the  utmost  difficulties. 
All  the  interest  in  my  book  is  centred  in 
the  caprices  of  Madame  Bolero  a  fashion- 
able Bond  Street  dressmaker,  and  really 
it 's  too  silly,  but  I  simply  cannot  recon- 
cile her  actions  with  her  temperament. 
And  now  I  must  either  make  her  an 
ordinary  private  lady  or  alter  the  whole 
plot.  Isn't  it  positively  sickening? 

Lady  C.  (assuming  a  tragic  interest). 
Most  perplexing. 

Nina  (gazing  ruefully  at  MS.).  I  have 
been  working  up  in  the  last  fifty  pages  to 
a  dramatic  "curtain,"  and  now,  unless  I 
can  alter  it,  I  get  an  anticlimax  in  the 
conservatory,  where  Evadne — I  do  hope  ] 
have  made  her  sympathetic — meets  the 
man  whom  she  thinks  is  her  lover,  but 
who  is,  of  course,  the  ex-burglar  butler 
decamping  with  the  plate-basket  under 
his  Inverness  coat. 

Lady  C.  But  do  butlers — er — wear  Inver- 
ness coats  ? 

Nina  (quite  unabashed).   Oh !  in  books 
Lady  CLARlfE,  butlers  dress  absurdly.    I 
shall  make  him  eccentric  in  other  things 
(Suddenly    looking    at      MS.)     Oh!    how 
stupid  !  I  have  made  Euadne  clutch  him 
by  the  arm   on    which    is    hanging    the 
basket. 

Lady  C.  (with  brilliant  insight).  Of  course 
she  would  suspect. 

Nina.  Yes  (pondering).  Urn !  Well,  '. 
must  make  her  absorbed 

Lady  C.  What  in,  dear  NINA  ? 

Nina.  I — I  haven't  quite  thought,  but — 
er — something.  I  can  see  the  situation 
exactly. 

[Lady  CLARICE  rises  and  approache 
ETHEL,  who  sits  dreamily  nibblin 
her  fingers. 

Lady  C.  Well,  and  how  are  The  Impres 
sions  of  an  Impressionable  Girl  getting  on 

Ethel  (looking  up  through  her  glasses 
Can  you  tell  me  who  suggests  the  cover 
of  the  books  ? 

Lady  C.  The  publisher  sees  to  all  that 
I  fancy. 

Ethel.  So  I  imagined.  Inmy  Impression 


[DECEMBER  11,  1901. 


am  going  to  insist  on  a  pale  heliotrope 
over  with  a  shower  of  violets.  The 
mpressions  of  will  be  at  the  top  of  the 
over,  and  from  the  letters  the  violets  will 
ain  down,  almost  covering  An  Impression- 
ble  Girl. 

Lady  C.  But  won't  it  be  a  little  difficult 
o  see  what  the  title  is  ? 

Ethel.  Possibly.    But  then,  you  see,  the 
dea  is  so  intensely  artistic.    The  violets 
ypify  the  things  of  the  world  which  play 
in  the  emotions.     These  things   so  over- 
whelm the  Impressionable  Girl  that  her 
personal  being  is  drowned  in  a  sea  of 
motion,  and  she  must  be  considered  not 
is  a  girl  but  as  a  successive  train  of 
sensuous  emotions. 

Lady  C.  (totally  at  a  loss  to  understand 
he  "idea").  How  delightfully  simple,  and 
so  artistic  !     But  will  the  public  see  it  ? 

Ethel  (scornfully).  Dear  Lady  CLARICE, 
does  the  public  ever  see  anything? 
And— 

[Is  cut  short  by  footman,  who  liands  a 
tray.  ETHEL  takes  a  cup  of  coffee, 
black  and  strong.  Mrs.  FENCER, 
*  a  bright,  mature  lady,  edges  her 
way  towards  Lady  CLARICE  and 
draws  her  down  on  the  sofa. 
Mrs.  F.  Oh,  my  dear  CLARICE,  I  've 
made  my  hero  such  a  delightful  wretch. 
He  falls  in  love  with  every  female  char- 
acter in  the  book — novel  idea,  isn't  it? — 
and  swears  enough  to — (raises  her  liands 
and  laughs  gaily).  Of  course  nothing 
really  bad.  But  it 's  such  a  relief,  after 
receiving  notice  from  one's  cook,  and 
being  obliged  to  remain  silent  through  it 
all,  to  be  able  to  sit  down  and  have  a  real 
good  swear — on  paper. 

Lady  C.  Dear  DORA,  your  last  book,  I 
remember,  was  very  racy,  although  you 
didn't  find  a  publisher. 

Mrs.  F.  Oh!  they  tell  me  that  every- 
body pays  to  have  their  books  published 
nowadays.  We  poor  unknown  paupers ! 
The  great  unprinted  ! 

[Laughs  heartily.  Lady  CLARICE  rises 
to  say  goodbye  to  MYRA,  a  pale, 
nervous  girl  with  a  pinched,  wan 
face. 

Lady  C.  Must  you  go,  MYRA  ?  Have  you 
finished  your  short  story  yet  ? 

Myra  (in  a  monotonous,  expressionless 
voice).  No.  I  have  only  been  writing  it 
two  years.  It  will  take  me  five.  I  do 
not  believe  in  inspiration.  The  theme 
requires  the  utmost  delicacy  of  treat- 
ment. A  word  too  few  or  too  much,  a 
superfluous  comma,  could  mar  the  whole 
effect,  so  subtle  is  the  harmony.  The 
style  must  be  in  perfect  keeping  with 
the  theme,  and  one  such  as  can  alone 
illustrate  it.  I  study  MAUPASSANT  and 
PATER.  Goodbye.  Next  Thursday  as  usual  ? 
Lady  C.  Yes,  dear. 

[MYRA's  departure  is  the  signal  for  the 
others  to  take  their  leave,  and  the 
"  novel  "  working  party  breaks  up 
as  the  scene  closes.  W.  H.  M. 


DECEMBER  11,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


429 


UNITY    AND    UNANIMITY. 

A  MEETING  OF  THE  NATIONAL  LIBERAL  FEDERATION  IN  THE  STONE  AGE. 

"The  Chairman  remarked  that  Liberals  had  now  arrived  at  a  point  where  they  could  sink  all  differences  that  had  occurred  between. them  in  the 
past."    The  Daily  News  said,  "  A  great  victory  was  won  yesterday  at  Derby  for  the  cause  of  peace,  sobriety,  and  common-sense." 


WHAT  RETAIL  TRADE  IS  COMING  TO. 

["The  tendency  is  towards  abolishing  the  shop 
and  substituting  the  reception  room.  From  the 
newest  houses  of  business  the  counter  has  dis- 
appeared and  rounded  arm-chairs  appear  to  har- 
monise with  elaborate  wall-papers  and  electric- 
light  brackets. "—Court  Journal.'] 

"Now,"  said  the  lady,  when  she  had 
settled  her  feathers,  assumed  her  diamonds, 
and  smoothed  out  her  train,  "  are  you 
quite  sure  the  drawing-room  is  in  order  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  Madam,"  replied  the  powdered 
footman. 

"  Is  the  five-o'clock  tea  ready  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  Madam,"  returned  the 
neatly  attired  parlour-maid. 

"Is  the  Yellow-Green  Russian  Boudoir 
Band  prepared  ?  ' ' 

"Assuredly,  Madam,"  responded  the 
conductor,  in  a  handsome  uniform,  braided 
with  gold  and  silver  and  studded  with 
precious  stones. 

"  I  suppose  in  the  library  all  the 
papers,  reviews  and  magazines  are 
ranged  in  order?  " 

"  I  have  seen  to  that,  Madam,"  smil- 
ingly put  in  the  head  of  the  literary 
department. 

"  Then  may  we  assume  that  the  Em- 
porium represents  a  mansion  worthy  of 
Grosvenot  Square  ?  " 

"  Absolutely,"  replied  the  enormous 
staff. 

"  Then  open  the  doors,  for  at  last  we 


are  prepared  to  sell,  amongst  other  manu- 
factures, a  halfpenny  reel  of  cotton." 
And  the  public  were  admitted. 


DECEMBER. 
(A  slightly  previous  Poem.) 
THE  old  year  is  slipping 

Away.     As  he  goes, 
Jack  Frost  is  a-nipping 

Our  fingers  and  toes.* 
Now  Yuletide  reflections, 

Box,  present  (with  bill), 
And  Christmas  confections 

The  atmcsphere  till. 

The  bosom  parental 
,  •  "With  love  doth  expand  ; 

The  card  sentimental 

Is  sent  o'er  the  land. 
Now  pantomime's  glories 

Each  schoolboy  shall  prove, 
With  horror  ghost  stories 

Their  hearers  shall  move. 

The  mercury 's  dropping 

Uncommonly  low, 
Fair  damsels  are  shopping 

With  cheeks  all  aglow. 
With  parcels  they  're  lade  n, 

With  wonderful  toys 
For  wee,  lisping  maiden, 

Or  rosy -faced  boys. 

*  Is  he ?  but  "there's  many  a  slip"  between 
prophecy  and  fulfilment,  and  more  slips  when 
"  Jack  F."  arrives. 


The  mistletoe  bough  dotli 

From  ceiling  depend, 
And  blissfully  now  doth 

A  permit  extend. 
It  bids  man  and  maid  to 

Preserve  a  quaint  custo:n, 
And  be  not  afraid  to — 

I  think  we  can  trust  'em. 

The  carols  are  cheering 

The  night  with  their  lays, 
Their  music,  I  'm  fearing, 

Has  seen  better  days. 
The  postman  is  knocking 

From  morning  till  night, 
The  kiddies  their  stocking 

Huig  out  with  delight. 

The  dancer  is  gliding 

The  ball-roc  m  around  ; 
The  errand-boy's  sliding 

On  slippery  ground. 
The  skater  is  greasing 

With  ardour  his  skates, 
The  chance  of  its  freezing 

He  patiently  waits. 

Now  relatives  gather 

In  country  and  town, 
In  spite  of  the  weather, 

The  old  year  to  drown. 
Success  to  such  meetings 

In  cottage  or  hall  1 
With  true  Christmas  greet  ii:<; 

Good  luck  to  us  all  I 


430 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  [DEOKMBER  11.  1901. 


JACOB    AND    HIS    MASTER. 

PART  IV. 

THEODORE'S  conjectures,  during  the  evening  and  night,  assumed 
definite  form.  Absurd  and  provoking  as  it  was  of  the  girl,  there 
iould  be  very  little  doubt  but  that  she  proposed  to  consult  BOB, 
and  a  less  capable  Mentor  she  could  hardly  have  selected  !  After 
breakfast,  on  the  following  morning,  her  lover,  who  knew  that 
she  had  retired  to  the  library  to  write  letters,  took  heart  of 
grace  to  follow  her  thither,  with  the  intention  of  temperately 
pointing  out  to  her  how  foolish  it  was  to  evade  responsibility 
;n  a  matter  which  concerned  herself  alone  ;  and  an  unfortunate 
thing  it  was  for  him  that  she  had  been  called  away  the  minute 
aefore  he  entered  the  room,  leaving  a  half-written  sheet  and  a 
hastily  dropped  pen  upon  the  blotting-book  which  at  once  caught 
his  eye.  Why,  he  subsequently  asked  himself  with  much  bitter- 
ness, did  he  yield  to  an  ignoble  impulse  and,  snatching  up  that 
relinquished  document,  carry  it  to  the  window  ?  Equally 
nforming,  equally  ignoble — and  how  much  safer  ! — woiild  it 
have  been  to  master  its  contents  without  laying  hands  upon  it. 
But,  the  room  being  rather  dark  and  his  sight  none  of  the  best, 
he  acted  as  described,  thus  obtaining  full  confirmation  of  his 
suspicions.  Miss  PHYLLIS  reminded  her  dear  BOB  of  a  promise 
dndly  made  by  him  previous  to  his  departure  from  London,  and 
stated  that  the  emergency  to  which  she  had  then  alluded  as  not 
unlikely  to  arise  had  now  actually  arisen.  "  Yesterday  after- 
noon your  uncle  honoured  me  by  an  offer  of  marriage,  and  what 
reply  to  give  him  I  don't  know.  Of  course  he  is  not  young, 
and  he  is  no  sportsman,  and  many  people  would  call  him  rather 
a  bore ;  yet  I  am  not  sure  that  I  should  not  prefer  him  in  some 
ways  to  the  rest  of  them.  As  far  as  I  can  judge,  he  is  an  honest, 
trustworthy  sort  of  person,  and " 

At  this  point  the  writer  had  been  interrupted,  and  the  morti- 
fied reader  came  perforce  to  a  pause.  It  was  well  enough  to  be 
deemed  honest  and  trustworthy — even  at  a  moment  so  ironically 
inappropriate — but  who  could  be  the  people  who  were  credited 
with  a  disposition  to  pronounce  so  brilliant  a  personage  as  Mr. 
THEODORE  CRACROFX,  M.P.,  a  bore?  Never  until  now  had  it 
occurred  to  him  that  such  people  existed,  and  the  mention  of 
them  vexed  as  much  as  it  astonished  him. 

"Well,  well!  Listeners  hear  no  good  of  themselves,"  he 
muttered,  with  a  wry  smile,  and  he  was  about  to  replace  the 
candidly  unflattering  letter  which  he  had  taken  the  liberty  of 
examining  when  he  was  brought  up  short  by  a  loud,  menacing 
growl. 

"Get  out,  you  ugly  brute!"  he  exclaimed,  apostrophising 
Jacob  Faithful,  who,  with  bared  teeth  and  a  back  like  a  boot- 
brush,  stood  facing  him.  But  Jacob  declined  to  get  out  and, 
what  was  much  more  awkward,  declined  to  let  Mr.  CRACROFT 
get  out  either.  Always  prone  to  take  it  for  granted  that,  when 
left  in  a  room,  he  was  also  left  in  charge  of  all  that  it  contained, 
Jacob  (who,  moreover,  did  not  like  Mr.  CRACROFT)  strongly 
suspected  that  this  was  a  case  of  attempted  larceny.  At  any 
rate,  he  judged  it  prudent  to  keep  that  gentleman  penned  into 
the  embrasure  of  the  window  during  his  mistress's  absence — 
which  plan  of  operations  he  was  very  well  able  to  execute. 
Perhaps  THEODORE  was  not  a  particularly  brave  man ;  perhaps 
most  men,  situated  as  he  was,  would  have  employed  the  alter- 
native threats  and  blandishments  to  which  he  had  vain  recourse 
before  deciding  to  risk  being  bitten  through  the  calf  of  the  leg. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  he  was  still  a  prisoner  when  PHYLLIS  walked  in 
and  perceived  at  a  glance  what  he  had  been  about.  She  seated 
herself  at  the  writing-table  and,  looking  the  culprit  full  in  the 
eyes,  said  composedly,  "  When  you  have  quite  done  with  my 
letter,  Mr.  CRACROFT,  perhaps  you  will  kindly  give  it  back  to 
me.  It  is  unfinished,  as  you  see." 

There  was  absolutely  no  reply  to  be  made,  save  that  which 
THEODORE,  with  a  sickly  grin,  did  make.  "  Perhaps  you  wil 
kindly  call  your  dog  off,  then  ;  I  can't  give  you  anything  unti 
I  am  set  at  liberty." 


"  Jacob,  come  in  !  "  said  PHYLLIS. 

<(  R_ r r — r — h'm  ?  "  growled  Jacob  interrogatively,  with  his 

icad  on  one  side.     "Do  you  think,"  he  seemed  to  suggest, 
'  that  it  is  safe  to  let  this  miscreant  go  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  PHYLLIS  ;    "he  won't  run  away.    You  were 
quite  right  to  detain  him,  but  you  can  release  him  now." 

She  snapped  her  finger  and  thumb  at  Jacob,  who  obediently 

aised  the  siege,  and  Mr.  CRACROFT  proceeded  to  make  out  as 

good  a  case  for  himself  as  forensic  ability  could  make  out  of  a 

lopcless  one.    He  received  a  patient  hearing,  followed  by  a 

polite,  but  firm,  condemnation. 

'  You  have  told  me  all  that  I  wanted  to  know,  thanks," 
PHYLLIS  said,  "  and  I  need  not  now  trouble  my  correspondent. 
The  excuses  which  yon  plead  may  or  may  not  be  good  ones  ;  it 
s  a  matter  of  taste  and  opinion,  I  suppose.  But,  personally,  I 
should  not  care  to  marry  a  man  who  holds  your  ideas  of  honour- 
able conduct ;  so  we  will  consider  that  question  finally  settled, 
please." 

Being  unable  to  shake  her  decision,  he  was  fain,  in  the  sequel, 
to  bow  to  it.  All  that  he  obtained  from  her,  before  quitting 
;he  room  and  the  house,  was  a  promise  that  she  would  not 
betray  him,  and  what  he  chiefly  regretted,  while  making 
preparations  for  departure,  was  that  he  had  already  despatched 
i.  Quixotic  and  uncalled-for  epistle  to  BOB.  It  was  also  a  pity 
hat  he  had  in  that  epistle  spoken  of  his  engagement  to  Miss 
DUNCOMBE  as  an  accomplished  fact,  although,  to  be  sure,  this 
was  unlikely  to  affect  his  nephew's  reply  in  an  adverse  sense. 
BOB  might  be  a  fool,  and  might  be  jealous — was,  indeed,  pro- 
bably both — but  it  was  to  be  hoped  that  he  was  alike  too  proud 
and  too  much  of  a  gentlemen  to  be  spiteful. 

As  for  PHYLLIS,  she  rubbed  her  hands  and  told  herself  that 
she  had  had  a  lucky  escape,  while  Jacob  concurred,  thumping 
the  floor  approvingly  with  his  tail,  which  he  wagged  straight 
up  and  down,  as  of  yore.  She  did  not,  under  the  circumstances, 
think  it  necessary  to  communicate  with  BOB,  from  whom  she 
received,  some  weeks  later,  a  rather  formal  missive  of  con- 

ratulation  upon  her  supposed  imminent  marriage. 

"  I  should  have  thought,"  the  young  man  wrote,  "  that  Uncle 
THEODORE  was  getting  rather  long  in  the  tooth  for  you ;  but 
that,  of  course,  is  no  business  of  mine.  I  hope  you  will  both 
be  very  happy,  and  that  the  Kirkhall  mine,  which  he  most 

onerously  wants  me  to  take  back  from  him  (as  if  I  could 
possibly  accept  such  an  offer!)  will  make  you  tremendously 
rich.  Please  give  my  love  to  old  Jake.  Sir  GEORGE  DOWNES, 
who  was  our  Admiral  on  the  Mediterranean  Station,  and  was 
awfully  kind  to  me,  is  at  Portsmouth  now.  He  thinks  he  may 
get  me  appointed  to  the  command  of  a  gunboat  after  we  have 
finished  this  job,  and,  if  so,  I  should  be  able  to  relieve  you  of 
the  old  dog.  I  daresay  you  wouldn't  be  sorry  to  hand  him 
over;  for  Uncle  THEODORE  and  he  never  hit  it  off  particularly 
well  together." 

PHYLLIS  did  not  think  this  a  nice  letter,  and,  therefore,  took 
no  notice  of  it.  The^writer  would  doubtless  soon  find  out  that 
he  had  been  misinformed  with  regard  to  her  and  his  uncle,  and 
in  the  meantime  it  was  interesting  to  hear  from  somebody  who 
had  spent  the  preceding  winter  at  Malta,  that  Sir  GEORGE 
DOWNES  had  a  remarkably  pretty  daughter,  with  Avhom  BOB 
CRACROFT,  amongst  many  others,  was  believed  to  be  much 
smitten.  Still  more  interesting  was  it  to  learn,  not  long  after- 
wards, from  the  newspapers,  that  Lieutenant  CRACROFT,  R.N., 
who  had  been  hit  by  a  slug  in  one  of  those  little  wars  of  which 
the  newspapers  and  the  nation  take  but  scant  cognizance,  had 
been  invalided  home,  and  was  making  satisfactory  progress 
towards  recovery  under  the  hospitable  roof  of  the  Admiral 
comman ding-in-chief  at  Portsmouth. 

Now,  it  so  happened  that  Miss  DUNCOMBE  had  friends  in  that 
neighbourhood,  who  had  often  asked  her  to  stay  with  them, 
and  who  were  only  too  glad  to  welcome  her  and  her  dog  when 
she  made  so  bold  as  to  offer  them  a  brief  visit.  Likewise,  they 
willingly  placed  a  carriage  at  her  orders  on  being  casually 


DECEMBER  11,  1901.] 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


431 


informed  that  she  rather  wanted  to  drive 
into  Portsmouth.  "  In  order,"  she  ex- 
plained, "  to  look  up  a  sort  of  protege  of 
mine — a  poor  boy  in  the  Navy  who  has 
been  sent  home  wounded  from  Sierra 
Leone  or  somewhere,  and  is  being  taken 
care  of  by  the  Admiral's  family."  Thus 
the  well-nigh  convalescent,  but  still  re- 
cumbent, BOB  had  a  delightful  surprise 
one  afternoon  when  good-natured  Lady 
DOWNES  threw  open  the  door  of  the  room 
in  which  he  was  lying  and  announced  : 

"  I  have  brought  an  old  friend  to  see 
you.". 

The  most  trusty  of  old  friends,  in  the 
person  of  Jacob,  promptly  announced 
himself  by  leaping  on  to  the  sofa  and 
smothering  his  prostrate  master  with 
moist  caresses.  By  the  time  that  he  had 
been  persuaded  to  put  some  restraint 
upon  his  emotions  Lady  DOWNES  had  re- 
tired, and  Miss  DUNCOMBB  remained  the 
sole  claimant  upon  the  invalid's  atten- 
tion. 

"How  awfully  good  of  you  !  "  he  grate- 
fully exclaimed. 

It  must  be  owned  that  PHYLLIS  did  not 
at  that  particular  moment  look  so  very 
good.  Her  features,  it  is  true,  expressed 
a  certain  disdainful  compassion,  but  there 
was  a  hard  light  in  her  eyes,  and  her 
words,  when  she  spoke,  were  not  words 
of  pleasantness  or  peace. 

"Oh,  not  at  all,"  she  made  cold  and 
careless  reply.  "  I  am  staying  with  some 
people  near  here,  so  I  thought  I  might  as 
well  take  this  opportunity  of  restoring 
your  dog  to  you.  I  am  glad  to  see  you 
looking  so  strong  and  cheerful  ;  your 
wound  was  only  a  scratch  after  all,  I 
suppose?  " 

"Not  much  more,"  answered  BOB,  flush- 
ing slightly.  "I  have  had  some  bother 
with  the  surgeons,  but  I  'm  getting  all 
right  again  now.  You  want  me  to  relieve 
you  of  Jake,  then  ?  " 

' '  Well ,  you  seemed  to.  take  it  for  granted , 
when  you  wrote,  that  I  should  be  glad  to 
be  relieved  of  him." 

"  Ah,  but  that  was  because  I  thought — 
however,  I  was  mistaken,  thank  goodness ! 
You  never  answered  my  letter,  by  the 
way." 

"Did  it  require  an  answer?  You  will 
have  heard,  no  doubt,  from  your  uncle 
that  I  was  not  entitled  to  the  congratu- 
lations which  you  were  so  amiable  as  to 
offer  me." 

BOB  nodded.  "Yes;  he  told  me  the 
engagement  was  off." 

"  Off  ! — had  he  the  impertinence  to  pre- 
tend that  it  had  ever  been  on?  " 

Mr.  CRACROFT  had  been  guilty  of  that 
impertinence  ;  but  her  displeasure  was  so 
manifest  that  BOB  judged  it  prudent  to 
evade  the  query,  and  ciave  pardon  on  his 
own  account.  "I  say,"  he  pleaded,  "I 
meant  no  offence,  you  knoV." 

"I  take  none.  Perhaps  it  was  rather 
extraordinary  of  you,  and  not  very  flatter- 


ing, to  imagine — but  never  mind  !  Let 
us  talk  about  something  else.  "What  a 
charmingly  pretty  girl  Miss  DOWNES  is ! 
I  saw  her  for  a  minute  just  now,  and  I 
quite  understood  her  having  worked  havoc, 
as  they  say  she  has,  with  the  hearts  of  so 
many  young  naval  officers." 

"What,  VIOLET?  Yes;  she  is  a  real 
good  sort.  But  she  is  going  to  be  married 
to  some  fellow  who  isn't  in  the  service  ; 
I  forget  his  name." 


he  tell  you  that  Kirkhall  has  come  back, 
after  all,  to  its  old  owner?  " 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  so !  I  thought 
you  had  declined  his  offer." 

"  Well,  I  did  at  first ;  but  when  the  coal 
mine  turned  out  to  be  no  good,  it  seemed 
hardly  honest  to  hold  him  to  his  bargain. 
So  I  handed  him  back  his  £'5,000 — luckily, 
I  hadn't  spent  a  penny  of  the  money — and 
he  returned  me  my  title-deeds." 

"Oh,  BOB!   how  splendid — and  at  the 


ANCIENT    HISTORY. 

Visitor.  "WELL,  JOY,  I  AM  GLAD  TO  SEE  THAT  YOU  ARE  NOT  AT  ALL  SHY.'I 

Joy.     "OH    NO,    I    AM    NOT    SHY    NOW,    THANK    YOU.       BUT    I   WAS    VSRY  SHY   WHEN 
BORN  !  ' 


I   WAS 


In  spite  of  herself,  PHYLLIS'S  face  and 
voice  softened  perceptibly.  "Really! 
Then  I  must  condole  with  you ;  for  you 
are  said  to  be  one  of  her  victims." 

The  young  man  did  not  even  protest 
against  so  ridiculous  a  charge.  "  Ah, 
you  know  very  well  whose  victim  I  am, 
and  always  shall  be,"  he  returned,  with  a 
mournful  little  smile.  "  Of  course  I  am 
out  of  the  question  ;  I  have  understood 
that  all  along,  and  I  might  have  under- 
stood that  poor  old  Uncle  THEODORE  was 
out  of  the  question  too.  By-the-by,  did 


same  time  how  utterly  idiotic  of  you !  At 
this  rate,  you  will  certainly  die  in  the 
workhouse ! ' ' 

"Not  I!"  B)B  cheerfully  declared. 
"There's  still  a  chance  of  coal  being 
found  on  the  property,  they  tell  me, 
though  this  first  venture  has  failed  for 
some  reason  or  other  ;  besides,  I  should 
be  all  right  if  I  had  only  my  pay  to 
depend  upon.  I  'in  sure  of  a  gunboat 
now,  the  Admiral  says." 

"I  see,"  observed  PHYLLIS  pensively. 
"And  will  the  Admiral  object  to  yorr 


432 


PUNCH,  OE  THE  LONDON  CHARIVABI.  [DECEMBER  11,  1901. 


resuming  immediate  possession  of  Jacob, 
do  you  suppose  ?  ' ' 

"I  don't  think  so.  That  is,  if  you 
really  -want  to  part  with  him." 

"  It  will  break  my  heart  to  part  with 
him!  "  the  girl  suddenly  and  unexpectedly 
exclaimed. 

BOB  raised  his  brows.  "  Oh,  well,  then 
of  course  you  must  keep  him.  Jake,  go 
back  to  your  mistress." 

Jacob  submissively  slipped  off  the  sofa 
and  trotted  across  to  PHYLLIS,  who  bent 
over  him,  gazed  for  a  moment  into  his 
wistful  face  and  then  remarked:  "But 
he  says  it  will  break  his  heart  to  part 
with  you." 

"Oh,  dear,  no!  He  isn't  the  dog  to 
talk  such  nonsense  as  that.  He  will  be 
sorry  for  a  bit,  and  so  shall  I  ;  but ' 

"  Ah,  exactly  !  That  is  just  where  men 
and  beasts  of  the  male  sex  score !  You 
can  do  without  Jacob,  and  Jacob  can  make 
shift  at  a  pinch  to  do  without  you  ; 
whereas  I " 

"  Eh?  "  ejaculated  BOB,  round-eyed  and 
aghast ;  for  he  perceived,  to  his  conster- 
nation, that  Miss  BUNCOMBE  was  upon 
the  brink  of  tears. 

"I  am  afraid,"  resumed  PHYLLIS,  with 
a  tremulous  laugh,  "  that  I  can't  do  with- 
out either  of  you  ;  I  am  afraid  I  want  you 
both." 

She  might  have  added  that  there  was 
nothing  to  cry  about  in  that,  seeing  that 
she  had  hitherto  invariably  obtained,  and 
was  likely  to  go  on  obtaining,  whatever 
it  had  pleased  her  to  want.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  DUNCOMBE  were  not  precisely  over- 
joyed when  they  learned  that  their  future 
son-in-law  was  to  be  a  juvenile  sailor,  who 
had  little  beyond  an  unblemished  character 
and  a  certain  reputation  for  valour  to 
recommend  him  ;  but  their  resistance  was 
of  a  feeble  order,  and  they  are,  at  the 
present  time  of  writing,  quite  reconciled 
to  PHYLLIS'S  choice.  For  a  fresh  and 
highly  remunerative  seam  of  coal  was 
eventually  discovered  on  the  Kirkhall 
estate,  and  THEODORE  CRACROFT,  who,  in 
a  moment  of  ill-timed  discouragement, 
allowed  wealth  to  slip  through  his  fingers, 
is  a  sad  and  remorseful  man.  It  may  be 
that  he  also  cherishes  a  grudge  against 
Jacob,  now  a  very  old  dog  ;  but  Jacob 
is  .civil  enough  to  him  when  they  meet. 
A  really  well-bred  dog  is  never  rancorous, 
always  satisfied  with  acknowledged  vic- 
tory. W.  E.  NORRIS. 


MR.   PUNCH'S   MUSEUM. 

"Tall  Hat  (supposed)."  This  oddly- 
shaped  article  was  discovered  in  a  semi- 
petrified  condition  among  the  debris  of 
one  of  the  tutelary  figures  that  used  to 
occupy  commanding  positions  on  broom- 
sticks in  the  many  English  cornfields  now 
gone  out  of  cultivation.  Some  students 
of  folk-lore  maintain  that  this  species  of 


A  SUGGESTION  TO  THE  VACCINATED. 

MR.  LYMPH'S  LITTLE  DODGE  TO  SAFEGUARD 
HIS  VACCINATED  ARM  IX  THE  CROWDED 
THOROUGHFARES  OF  THE  ClTY  IS  TO  RING  A 
SMALL  BELL  AS  HE  WALKS.  THE  PLACARD  ON 
HIS  CHEST  DOES  THE  REST. 


head-dress  was  found  to  be  tho  most 
effective,  from  its  hideousness,  in  defy- 
ing the  elements  and  predatory  birds. 
Others  lean  to  the  theory  that  it  was 
introduced  by  one  GriDO  FAWKKS,  a 
would-be  reformer  of  dress  and  other 
matters.  Whatever  may  be  the  origin, 
it  is  certain  that,  in  spite  of  its  extra- 
ordinary vogue  throughout  the  soi-disant 
nineteenth  century,  no  headgear  could 
have  been  less  adapted  to  withstand  sun, 
rain,  wind,  sea-water,  the  casual  brick- 
bat, and  contact  with  a  cab-roof,  or  the 
King's  enemies.  It  seems  to  have  -been 
in  such  a  constant  state  of  collapse  that 
hatters  sold  it  ready  crushed  for  evening 
entertainments,  when  etiquette  was  at  a 
discount.  It  began  to  decline  in  popu- 
larity after  being  officially  adopted  as 
the  sole  item  of  costume  by  Uganda 
headmen  ;  and  the  last  straw  was  when 
it  was  manufactured  of  that  material  and 
worn  by  coachmen  in  the  Row.  It  had 
many  nicknames,  such  as  "stove-pipe," 
"tube,"  "cylinder,"  and  a  depth  of 
absurdity,  viz.,  on  the  head  of  the  small 
public  school  boy,  who,  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted, frequently  and  rightly  used  it  as 
a  football. 


HYDE  PARK  AND  THE  FAIRY. 
III. — THE  STORY  OP  THE  ONE-EYED  DUCK. 

(Continued.) 

THE  journalist,  as  a  rule,  pays  no  heed 
to  that  artificial  distinction  between  day 
and  night  observed  by  the  majority  of 
men  and  women.  Consequently,  when,  as 
a  kind  of  late  afterthought,  he  does  take 
to  bed  he  follows  ELIA'S  excellent  advice 
to  linger  there  and  digest  his  dreams. 
He  may  rise  early  for  a  lark,  but  he  cer- 
tainly does  not  rise  with  the  lark.  In  this 
instance,  however,  I  did  rise,  though  it 
was  for  a  duck  and  not  a  lark.  I  wanted 
to  hear  the  interrupted  story,  and,  as  had  it 
not  been  for  the  kind  permission  of  the 
Hyde  Park  fairy  I  should  never  have 
heard  the  story  at  all,  I  felt  it  only 
courteous  to  be  at  the  fountains,  Kensing- 
ton Gardens,  by  ten  o'clock.  The  duck 
was  standing  on  her  head  in  one  of  the 
fountain  basins,  a  proceeding  which  ap- 
peared to  refresh  her.  The  friend  was 
waddling  round  the  edge  looking  very 
sleepy. 

"Tired?"  said  the  one-eyed  duck, 
emerging  suddenly  from  the  water.  "  If 

"Never  mind,  talk  away,"  said  her 
friend,  with  a  brave  attempt  to  look  alert. 
The  one-eyed  story-teller  took  another 
header,  and  started  almost  before  her 
beak  was  out  of  the  water. 

"  When  I  swam  up  to  the  doll  the 
stupid  thing  was  sinking,  and  its  staring 
blue  eyes  made  me  quite  uncomfortable. 
Then  a  small  child,  with  long  brown 
feathers  —  never  can  understand  why 
human  beings  have  no  feathers  except 
on  the  head — rushed  to  the  edge  of  the 
water  and  made  a  horrible  noise — just 
like  a  peacock,  my  dear.  I  told  her  very 
clearly  that  I  would  drag  the  doll  to 
land,  but  human  beings  are  so  stupid  and 
suspicious.  She  thought  I  was  hurting 
it,  and  squalled  again.  The  squall  so 
shook  her  that  she  lost  her  balance  and 
fell  in.  All  this  time  the  nurse  was 
talking  to  an  ugly  thing,  something  like 
a  robin  redbreast  swelled  out,  the  mili- 
tary, as  the  sparrow  says  ;  but  then  he 
travels  so  much  more  than  we  do.  I 
called  out  my  loudest,  and  the  nurse  and 
the  red  thing  rushed  to  the  water.  The 
nurse  seized  the  child  and  the  red  thing 
poked  at  me  with  his  stick — I,  who  had 
sounded  the  alarm.  And  that 's  how  I 
lost  my  eye.  You  don't  catch  me  rescu- 
ing children  again." 

"But  you  didn't  rescue  anyone,"  said 
the  friend,  closing  one  eye. 

"  Don't  quibble,"  said  the  one-eyed 
duck.  "I  hate  quibbling  when  there's 
a  north-east  wind  blowing." 

"Never  thought  ducks  suffered  from 
nerves,"  I  murmured,  as  I  turned  re- 
luctantly to  gy.  But  a  fresh  surprise 
was  in  store  for  me. 

(To  be  continued.) 


DECEMBER  18,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


433 


CINCINNATUS. 

I  LAY  OF  ANCIENT  ROME  AND  MODERN 
ENGLAND. 

[Historical  Reminder. — Lucirs  QUINTUH  CIN- 
NNATTTH,  after  being  Consul  in  460  B.C.,  retired 
his  farm  and  lived  in  perfect  simplicity  till  he 
is  summoned  from  the  plough  to  become  Dictator 
d  extricate  MINUCIUS  from  a  tight  corner  in 
lich  he  was  being  squeezed  by  the  ^Equi.  After 
rapid  and  brilliant  campaign,  L.  Q.  C.  returned 
his  rural  pursuits,  having  been  absent  only 
[teen  days.] 

I. 

THEN  out  spake  CINCINNATUS, 

And  smote  upon  his  plough  ; — 
"  What  would  ye,  O  Quirites, 

What  are  ye  after  now  ? 
Has  our  old  friend  MINUCIUS 

Sustained  another  rout, 
And  do  you  want  a  man  of  parts 

To  go  and  pull  him  out  ? 
Great  should  be  his  discretion, 

High  courage  his  should  be!; 
Can  I  be  right  in  gathering 

That  Rome  has  chosen  me  ? 

Have  I  not  sworn,  and  often, 

By  the  nine  leading  gods, 
That  I,  who  once  was  Consul, 

Have  done  with  Motors'  rods  ? 
Did  I  not  frankly  scuttle 

To  yonder  frugal  cot, 
And  state  aloud  that  I  was  vowed 

To  plough  my  lonely  plot  ? 

Still,  when  I  see  you  standing 

In  such  momentous  need, 
Looking  for  someone  likely 

To  rise  and  take  the  lead ; 
If  you  are  short  of  bulwarks 

For  Rome  to  lean  upon — 
Why,  I  'm  the  man  to  meet  your  plan, 

L.  Q.,  in  fact,  is  on .'  " 

Few  were  the  words  he  wasted, 

His  tone  indeed  was  blunt, 
As  on  the  nail  he  donned  his  mail 

And  started  for  the  front ; 
And  ere  ten  days  were  oven — 

He  had  the  .^Equians  broke, 
And  two  by  two  propelled  them  through 

The  space  beneath  the  yoke. 
Six  further  days  (sixteen  in  all) — 

And  he  unwreathed  his  brow, 
And  turned  again,  a  private  swain, 

To  steer  his  private  plough. 
Thenceforth  he  stuck  to  furrows, 

And  only  stirred  from  home 
Dnce,  to  oblige  the  nation 

And  save  the  life  of  Rome. 

II. 

Such  was  the  fair  ideal 

That  fired  the  people's  breast ; 
And,  Saxon,  shouldst  thou  haply  deem 

The  ancient  times  were  best ; 
Shouldst  thou  enquire  what  parallel 

Our  English  annals  yield — 
[  must  proceed  to  cite  the  deed 

Performed  at  Chesterfield  ! 


Mr.  Muddleton  (whose  day's  fox-hunting  is  becoming  quite  interesting' in  the  telling).   "  So  I 

MUST    HAVE     RIDDEN     SOME     THIRTY     MILES — OVER     FENCES,      DITCHES,     AND     EVERYTHING — 
STRAIGHT  ACROSS   COUNTRY  A8  THE  FLY  CROWS  !  " 


Our  modern  CINCINNATUS, 

Like  him  of  Roman  breed, 
He  too  employed  the  ploughshare, 

He  loved  the  turfy  mead  ; 
Ex-Consul,  Peer,  and  archer 

Good  at  the  long  Scots  bow, 
Wild  horses  could  not  drag  him 

From  where  he  lay  so  low. 

Then  came  the  cry  of  England 

For  action  bold  and  prompt ; 
He  saw  our  plight,  he  felt  we  might 

Just  any  hour  be  swamped  ; 
It  was,  he  osvned,  a  crisis 

That  might  not  brook  delays, 
And  "  I  '11  be  with  you,  Sirs,"  he  said, 

"  One  of  thesa  autumn  days." 

Fast  flew  the  circling  seasons, 

The  last  red  leaves  were  gone, 
When,  "Ho!"  he  cried, '"  brave  men 
and  tried, 

I  'm  coming  later  on  !  " 
And  ere  the  winter  ended 

He  kept  that  holy  VOMT, 
And  straightway  on  the  morrow 

Was  back  behind  the  plough. 

Once  started,  you  will  notice,) 

His  feat  was  quickly  done  ; 
He  brought  the  ancient  record  down 

From  sixteen  days  to  one  ! 


Only — the  actual  triumph 

Omitted  to  occur  ; 

And    friends    complained    that    things 
remained 

Precisely  where  they  were.       O.  S. 


AN   UNDOUBTED   CLAIM— IF   UNIQUE. 

DEAR  MR.  PUNCHt — I  note,  in  connection 
with  the  Coronation,  that  very  many 
esteemed  citizens  are  anxious  to  serve 
the  King  as  Larderers,  Butlers,  High 
Pantlers,  and  the  like.  I  have  also  a 
desire  to  have  a  claim  approved,  which 
for  certain  reasons  I  have  not  submitted 
to  the  Court  presided  over  by  the  Lord 
Chancellor.  It  is  that  of  Chief  Para- 
graphist-in-advance.  I  have  written  more 
about  the  Coronation  than  any  other 
journalist,  without  troubling  the  Lord 
Cliamberlain  or  any  other  official.  Ought 
I  not  to  get  my  reward  in  all  fairness  ? 
Your  obedient  Servant, 

GREGORY  GRUB  PAPILLON. 

British  Museum,  W.C. 


SMALL  POTATOES. 

Q.  Why  are  regular  travellers  by  the 
'Shepherd's  Bush  and  City  Railway  like 
certain  vegetables? 

A.  Because  they're  "Tubers." 


434 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI.  [DECEMBER  is,  1901. 


DOMESTIC     DRAMA. 

THE  CHILDREN'S  BREAD. 

WELL,  JAMES  ?    The  Waits  ?    No,  tell  them  not  to— oh  ! 
It 's  Mr.  WACE.     How  very  .  .  .  How  d'ye  do? 
Oh,  not  at  all.    Delightful !    JAMES,  bring  tea. 
You've  brought  the  cold  in  with  you.— Oh  !  and,  JAMKS,- 
Don't  go  before  I  've  finished  speaking,  please,— 
Tell  them  to  air  Miss  Fido's  Jaeger  sheets, 
At  once.    Poor  love,  she 's  perished  with  this  weather. 
Yes,  isn't  it  ?    Ah  yes,  the  poor.     Quite  so ! 
They  must.    I  'm  sure  they  do.    But  you're  so  wrong, 
You  clergy.    Yes,  you  are.    You  coddle  them. 
Oh,  but  you  do,  you  know.    You  know  you  do. 

Won't  you  sit  down  ?    You  '11  find— oh,  no,  not  there  ! 
Take  care  !     My  precious  Fido !     Is  she  hurt  ? 
My  sainty  dainty  !    How  you  frightened  me. 
Shall  have  a  biccy,  precious.    Would  you  mind  ? 
So  many  thanks.     That  silver  bonbonniere. 
He  's  werry  sorry,  pet,  so  don't  be  cross. 
Give  him  a  nice  wet  kiss. 

Ah,  here  comes  tea. 

Sugar  and  cream  ?    One  lump?    Thanks,  not  for  me. 
I  '11  wait,  I  think,  till  you  have — afterwards. 
Now  tell  me,  are  you  fond  of — yes?    How  nice  ! 
Well  then  I  must — I  wonder  if  you  'd  like 
To  see  her  little  things,  her  odds  and  ends, 
And  all  her  clothes— yes,  Fido's.     Sure  you  would? 
Yes,  get  them,  JAMES,  and  don't  forget  the  plates. 
Oh,  yes,  her  very  own.     She  never  eats 
Off  anything  but  silver, — never  has. 

Another  cup  ?     No  ?     Well,  I  think  you  're  wise  : 
It  does  destroy  one's  appetite  for  dinner. 
And — yes,  my  sweet,  what  is  it?     Oh,  of  course  ! 
Her  dinner.     Yes,  she  always  knows  that  word. 
Isn't  it  sweet  of  her  ?    Yes,  clever  one 
Shall  have  its  little  din-din  by-and-by. 
Oh,  put  them  here,  JAMES.    Yes.    And  tell  the  cook 
To  mince  Miss  Fido's  kidneys  very  fine, 
And  send  them  up  directly  they  are  done. 
She  's  positively  starving,  precious  love. 
But — are  there  really?     Children?    Very  sad  ! 
Improvidence,  no  doubt, — and  drink,  of  course. 
But  still  it 's  most  distressing. 

Oh,  don't  go. 

It 's  only  parish  business,  I  suppose? 
To  carry  lukewarm  soup  to  some  old  woman, 
Or— is  it  that  ?    What  nonsense.     Let  her  wait. 
Sit  down  again.    Now,  don't  you  like  this  brooch? 
Sweet,  isn't  it?    Oh,  dear  rue,  no,  they  're  real. 
Yes,  diamonds.    Let 's  see.     I  gave  it  her 
This  time  last  year.     I  made  them  put  the  date 
In  pearls.    My  own  design.    I  always  think — 
Don't  you? — that  Christmas  is  the  time  we  ought 
To  give  to  others  of  our  very  best. 

Oh,  but  of  course.    Your  Coal  and  Clothing  Club  ? 
Delighted.    Now  this  bangle,  don't  you  think 
It 's  rather  nice?    A  cat's-eye.    No,  quite  cheap. 
O,h,  those.    Her  little  indiarubber  shoes. 
Yes,  for  wet  weather.    She 's  so  delicate, 
Poor  precious  darling.    That 's  her  saut-de-lit : 
Real  Mechlin,  yes.    And  here,  you  see,  she  's  got 
A  weeny  pocket  for  her  handkerchief. 
What's  this  ?    Oh,  no ;  please  wrap  it  up  again. 
She  mustn't  see  it  yet.    Her  Christmas-box  ; 
A  little  sable  coat.     I  've  had  it  lined> 
With  mink.    It 's— not  so  very.    Thirty  pounds 
I  think  it  was.    It 's  much  too  cold  for  her 


To  be  in  England  now  that  winter 's  here. 
She  simply  had  to  have  it. 

Must  you  go  ? 

Well,  if  you  really— ah,  the  Clothing  Club  ! 
I  quite  forgot.     What  did  I  give  last  year  ? 
Five  shillings  ?    Well,  I  '11— yes,  I  '11  make  it  ten, 
And  half-a-crown  from  Fido :  twelve  and  six. 
No,  please  don't  thank  me.     It 's  the  merest— what  ? 
Put  Fido  in  your  sermon  !     But  how  sweet ! 
And  what  will  be  your  text  ?     "  The  Children's  Bread  !  " 
That  sounds  quite  charming,  though,  I  must  confess, 
I  don't  see  what  it  has  to, do  with  dogs. 
Oh,  shall  I  ?    Yes,  of  course  I  '11  come.    Goodbye. 

^ G.  F.  C. 

SAVOYVAL  OF  THE  FITTEST. 

QUITE  the  best  of  them — well,  at  all  events,  one  of  the  very 
best  of  the  light,  tuneful  and  sparkling  GILBERT-SULLIVAN 
comic  operas  —  is  lolanthe,  recently  revived  at  the  Savoy 
Theatre.  "After  all  these  many  weary  years,"  quavers 
the  shaky,  faithful  old  stage  retainer  of  the  very  ancient 
school  of  drama,  "do  ray  eyes  again  behold  my  long-lost 
lolanthe  !  " 

The  old  typical  "first  night  of  a  Savoy  piece"  was  also 
revived,  at  least,  so  we  gathered  from  the  notice  in  the 
leading  journal.  Alas!  not  the  entire  audience  of  lolanthe's 
premiere  could  be  also  revived,  though  it  appears  they  were 
re-placed. 

And  what  excellent  stage-craft,  aye,  and  front-of-the- 
house-craft  too,  it  was,  to  point  the  topical  allusion  in  the 
sung  invocation  to  Captain  SHAW  (the  distinguished  Fire- 
Brigade  Commander  of  that  period,  now,  it  is  to  be 
regretted,  ex-tinguished  as  a  fireman),  by  having  the  noble 
Captain  present  in  person,  hale  and  hearty,  towards  Avhom 
all  eyes  were  turned  and  whose  presence  was  acclaimed  by 
the  hands  that  applauded  the  words,  the  tune  and  the 
vocalisation.  Ah !  they  understand  these  things  down 
Savoy. 

And  was  the  Captain  of  the  Gallant  Extinguishers  "put  out« 
Not  a  bit  of  it.  A  great  coup  !  But  how  about  future  perform- 
ances, when  the  first  fervour  of  revival  shall  have  somewhat 
waned?  Captain  SHAW  cannot  be  present  there  night  after 
night,  and  matinee  after  matinee  ?  Will  a  double,  ' '  made  up ' '  to 
resemble  the  Cap'en,  be  engaged  regularly?  Or  will  there  be  a 
wax  effigy,  the  very  image  of  the  .original  hero,  seated  in  the 
stalls,  with  working  interior,  after  the  fashion  of  the  mechanical 
snuff-taking  figure  of  Mr.  COBBETT  at  Madame  TUSSAUD'S,  to 
which  simple  visitors,  stumbling  over  his  toes,  used  to  pro- 
foundly apologise?  However,  this  extra  attraction  can  be 
safely  left  to  the  ingenuity  of  the  clever  management. 


BETTER  LATE  THAN  NEVER ! 

THE  Academy  of  December  7,  in"  quoting  Mr.  Punch's  open 
letter  to  ROBERT  Louis  STEVENSON,  added  the  information — 

"  Mr.  SIDNEY  COLVIX  has  announced  his  intention  of  dealing  with  th 
subject  in  his  own  time,  which,  we  hope,  will  be  icon." 

With  the  Academical  Editor  Mr.  Punch  likewise  expresses 
the  same  hope.     But  that  "  Mr.  SIDNEY  COLVIN  has  announced 
his    intention"    is    rather    reminiscently    suggestive    of    1 
street  row  at  Ipswich,  tempore  Pickwickiano,  when  the  poetii 
Mr.  Stiodgrass,  "in  a  truly  Christian  spirit  and  in  order  t 
he  might  take  no  one  unawares,  announced  in  a_very  loud  tone 
that  he  was  going  to  begin,  and  proceeded  to  take  off  his  coat 
with  the  utmost  deliberation." 

Perhaps    ere    this    number  appears  Mr.   COLVIN  will  havi 
gone   in  for  the   offender  and  finally  disposed  of    him.    > 
transit  HENLEY  ! 


DECEMBER  18,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  435 


PRINCE    GEORGE   AND   THE    DRAGON. 

H.R.H.  the  Prince  of  Wales  (to  Welsh  Dragon).  "  COMB  TO  MY  ARMS  !  " 

Tlie  badge  of  the  Red  Dragon  is  now,  by  Royal  command,  added  to  the  "achievement "  of  the  Prince  of  Wales.] 


DECEMBER  18,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


NON  SECUS  IN  BONIS. 
(To  the  L.  C,  C.) 

DEAR  Council,  take  it  not  amiss 
If  I  should  venture  to  remind  you 

Of  darker  days  preceding  this, '. 
Of  anxious  moments  left  behind  you. 

"When  first  for  London's  love  you  sued, 
Your  zeal  in  her  affairs  professing 

The  daily  paper's  attitude 
Was  just  a  little  bit  depressing. 

Before  the  butterfly  emerged 

The  chrysalis  was  voted  evil, 
And  you  were  very  often  urged 

To  go  directly  to  the  D — 1. 

And  yet  the  self-same  Press  to-day 
Your  influence  for  good  rehearses  ; 

Who  came  to  scoff  remain  to  pray,        < 
And  blessings  fill  the  room  of  curses. 

Our  drains  are  yours,  in  every  park 
With  classic  melodies  you  train  us, 

You  quench  the  flames,  you  light  the  dark, 
And  license  things  to  entertain  us. 

Now  at  your  banquets  not  a  sound 
Is  heard  that  could  suggest  detraction, 

You  are,  when  loving  cups  go  round, 
The  toast  of  each  opposing  faction. 

If  we  embrace  Lord  ROSEBERY'S  view, 
Nought  is  too  big  for  you  to  handle, 

And,  in  respect  of  work,  to  you 
The  Houses  cannot  hold  a  candle. 

But,  oh — verb.  sap. — continue  good 

(Think  what  a  transient  joy  the  rose  is  !), 

Lest  your  fond  parent's  praises  should 
Become  his  child's  apotheosis. 


ANY  PERSON; 
Or  Grandmotherly  Government. 

ON  January  the  First  there  comes  into 
operation  an  Act  of  Parliament  whereby 
"the  KING'S  Most  Excellent  Majesty,  with 
the  advice  and  consent  of  the  Lords 
Spiritual  and  Temporal,"  ordains,  by 
the  authority  of  the  same,  that  "Every 
holder  of  a  licence  who  knowingly  sells 
or  delivers  or  allows  any  person  to  sell  or 
deliver,  save  at  the  residence  or  working 
place  of  the  purchaser,  any  description  of 
intoxicating  liquor  to  any  person  under 
the  age  of  fourteen  years  for  consump- 
tion by  any  person  on  or  off  the  premises, 
excepting  such  intoxicating  liquors  as 
are  sold  or  delivered  in  corked  and  sealed 
vessels  in  quantities  not  less  than  one 
reputed  pint,  shall  be  liable  to  a  penalty 
not  exceeding  forty  shillings  on  the  first 
offence  and  not  exceeding  five  pounds  for 
>any  subsequent  offence,"  the  same  punish- 
iments  awaiting  the  senders  for  refresh- 
'inent. 

The  expression  "sealed,"  it  is  interest- 
i  ing  to  learn,  means  secured  with  any  sub- 
stance "without  the  destruction  of  which 
the  cork,  plug  or  stopper  cannot  be  with- 


REHEARSAL    FOR    CHRISTMAS. 

Auntie.  "WHAT  MAKES  YOU  so  SERIOUS,  TOMMY?" 

Tommy.  "WHY,  MA  TOLD  ME  THAT  I  MUST  KEMEMBER  NOT  TO  ASK  FOR  ANYTHING  TO 

EAT,    AND   I   AM  TRYING   TO   REMEMBER   IT  !  " 


drawn."  As  a  matter  of  fact,  thin  strips 
of  gummed  paper  are  to  be  the  restraining 
agents,  and  we  can  picture  POLLY  or  BOBBY, 
carelessly  removing  the  wet  labels  before 
arriving  at  the  family  mansion,  and  chuck- 
ling at  the  result,  forgetful  of  the  parental 
slap. 

But  the  grand  idea  of  the  whole  scheme 
is  sublime  in  its  loophole  nature.  There 
is  absolutely  no  prohibition  to  the  vendor 
of  intoxicating  liquors  to  send  out  by 
means  of  children  under  fourteen  years  of 
age  as  much  beer,  wine  or  spirits  as  his 


customers  demand,  to  their  "residences 
or  working  places  "  !  A  corps  of  boy  and 
girl  Ale-bearers  will  surely  be  instituted 
and  placed  at  the  disposal  of  every 
licensed  victualler.  In  the  name  of 
common  sense,  and  in  the  hope  that  the 
householders  will  not  be  laying  in  stocks 
of  liquor  which  they  cannot  afford  to  pay 
for,  in  order  to  avoid  _ the  "stopper" 
hindrance,  Mr.  Punch  presents  his  ideas 
to  the  publicans  and  public,  placing  them 
" under  flying  seal"  for  the  use  of  every- 
body, including  the  Lords  Spiritual. 


438 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  [DECEMBER  18,  1901. 


"  STREET  MUSIC." 
4 '  Music  hath  charms , "  so  SHAKSPEARE  said , 

"  To  soothe  the  savage  breast," 
But  I  assured  a  friend  one  day 

It  might  become  a  pest. 

My  friend,  JOHN  SCRIBBLES,  o'er  this  point 
Grew  angry,  almost  coarse ; 

Said  I  talked  rot,  and  had  no  soul- 
He  raved  himself  quite  hoarse. 

"  Friend,"  I  replied,  "  I  know  you  live 

In  a  secluded  spot ; 
But  come  and  spend  some  days  with  me, 

To  judge  if  I  talk  rot." 

Quite  late  one  Saturday  he  came, 

And  said  on  Sunday  night : 
"  Excuse  me  if  I  early  rest, 

To-morrow  I  must  write  !  " 

My  dear  old  chap,"  I  answered  straight, 
"  Seek  what  repose  you  can, 
It's  precious  little  peace  you  '11  find 
To  write  in,  poor  old  man ! " 

We  breakfasted  at  eight  next  day, 

And  as  the  clock  struck  nine, 
Said  SCRIBBLES,  "  Ere  I  set  to  work 

I  '11  send  my  wife  a  line." 

I  went  into  the  sitting-room 

Old  JOHN  not  to  disturb, 
And/  glancing  at  the  window,  saw 

An  organ  near  the  kerb. 

The  "  Geislia,"  this  was  grinding  out, 

When  came  a  German  band, 
Which  rent  the  air  with  tunes  well  known 

To  their  loved  Fatherland. 

A  few  yards  lower  down  the  street 

A  man  on  crutches  stood, 
Who  piped  a  sorely  piercing  air 

On  instrument  of  wood. 

The  organ-man  moved  further  down  ; 

The  band  played  sadly  still, 
A  hurdy-gurdy  hove  in  sight, 

And  set  to  with  a  will ! 

Then  there  arrived  a  pallid  youth 

Who  grasped  a  violin, 
He  played  it  opposite  our  house  ; — 

Can  you  conceive  the  din  ? 

Well,  at  this  juncture  it  appeared 
SCRIBBLES  knocked  down  his  chair, 

He  rushed  into  my  sitting-room, 
His  hands  thrust  through  his  hair ! 

His  language  just  at  first  was, — well — 

I  'm  glad  you  didn't  hear; 
But,  strictly  now  twixt  you  and  me, 
'  For  SCRIBBLES'  soul  I  fear ! 

At  last  I  thought  it  time  to  pour 

Into  his  mind  some  balm, 
So,  giving  him  an  easy  chair, 
i  " SCRIBBLES,"  quoth  I,  "be  calm ! 

"  I  am  a  fixture  here,  alas ! 

You  can  reach  home  to-night ; 
Before  you  go,  I  think  you  must 

Admit  that  I  was  right?" 


"Yes!"   SCRIBBLES  screamed,   "you've 

proved  your  point ; 
Such  music  (!)  is  a  pest !  " 
Home  he  returned  a  wiser  man 
In  search  of  peace  and  rest  1 

M.  D.  V. 


THE  LAST  (I  HOPE)  OF  THE  DANDIES. 

A  Touching  Drama  in  One  Act,  by 

Crude  Fudge. 

SCENE— Bore  House,  Lady  BLESSINGTON'S 
famous  residence  in  Kensington.  Count 
D'ORSAY  and  tJwit  lady  are  engaged  in 
pinning  numbers  on  the  furniture  in 
preparation  for  the  auctioneer. 

D'Orsay  (pausing  in  Ms  work).  Is  it 
usual,  dear  Lady  BLESSINGTON,  for  persons 
in  our  position,  however  insolvent,  to  do 
this  kind  of  thing  ? 

Lady  Blessington  (meekly).  It  is  an 
American  custom,  I  believe. 

D'O.  It  is  excessively  fatiguing.  (Enter 
Valet.)  Well? 

Valet.  Lord  RAOUL  ARDALE  to  see  you, 
Sir. 

D'O.  The  young  man  who  saved  my  life 
yesterday  when  my  horses  ran  away  in 
the  Park  ?  Show  him  up.  [Exit  Valet. 

Lady  B.  I  will  leave  you  to  entertain 
him. 

[Lady  BLESSINGTON  goes  out  L.  as  Valet 
enters  R.  with  Lord  RAOUL. 

Valet.  Lord  RAOUL  ARDALE.  [Exit. 

D'O.  My  preserver  !  I  am  delighted  to 
see  yoiT.  It  is  true  your  clothes  arc  de- 
testable, but  as  you  saved  my  life  I.  will 
overlook  it.  [Shakes  him  by  the  hand. 

Lord  Raoul.  This  friendly  attitude  is 
very  gratifying.  It  emboldens  me  to  ask 
you  for  something. 

])'0.  (alarmed).  Not  money,  I  hope? 

Lord  R.  No,  only  for  your  assistance 
in  persuading  Lady  BLESSINGTON  to  let 
me  marry  her  niece. 

D'O.  Certainly,  my  dear  fellow.  Cer- 
tainly. 

Lord  R.  You  see,  I  'm  really  awfully 
fond  of  her.  And  as  I  've  no  money  what- 
ever, of  course  I  feel  I  can  show  my  affec- 
tion for  her  best  by  asking  her  to  marry 
me. 

D'O.  Unquestionably.  At  the  same 
time,  I  don't  quite  see  what  you  're  to 
live  on. 

Lord  R.  I  thought  of  selling  my  Com- 
mission in  the  Guards.  That  -would  keep 
us  going  for  six  months. 

D'O.  I  don't  think  selling  your  Com- 
mission would  help  you  much.  I  believe 
some  people  make  a  living  by  selling  on 
commission.  But  it's  not  considered  a 
genteel  occupation. 

Lord  R.  I  suppose  not. 
D'O.    Under    the    circumstances    your 
marriage  would  be  something   of  an  im- 
prudence ? 

Lord  R.  (depressed).  So  my  mother 
thinks. 


D'O.  Sensible  woman  !    I  should  like  t( 
meet  her. 

Lord  R.  You  can  if  you. like.    I  left  hei 
elow  in  the  carriage. 
D'O.  Send   her   up,    my   dear   fellow 
oodbye.     I  'm  afraid  I  can't  shake  hands 
with  you  again.     Your   clothes   are  to< 
depressing.  '  Goodbye. 

[Exit  Lord  RAOUL.      A  moment  latet 

enter  Lady  SOMERSHIRE. 
Lady  Somershire.  Good  morning,  Coun' 

D'ORSAY  ! 

D'O.  Good  morning  ! 

Lady  S.  (sternly).  We  have  met  before 


How  care 
I  have  : 
I  wonde 


D'O.  Surely  not  ? 

Lady  H.  (bitterly).  Considering  that  ii 
jarlier  days  you  seduced  me  under  pro 
nise  of  marriage 

D'O.  To  be  sure.  So  I  did. 
less  of  me  to  forget.  But 
wretched  memory.  (Aside.) 
what  her  name  was. 

Lady  S.  But  it  was  not  to  revive  pain 
'ul  recollections  that  I  came  here.  I  onl; 
wish  to  ask  you  to  use  your  influence  wit! 
my  son  to  prevent  his  marrying  Lad; 
BLESSINGTON'S  niece.  As  I  have  knowi 
my  son  for  years,  while  you  met  him  fo 
the  first  time  yesterday,  your  influeno 
with  him  is  naturally  greater  than  mine 
[  rely  on  you  to  do  this. 

D'O.  I  should  have  thought,  dear  Lad; 
SOMERSHIRE,  that  you  had  had  enough  o 
relying  on  me. 

Lady  S.  I  have.  (Darkly.)  But  ther 
is  a  special  reason  why  you  should  oblig 
me  in  this  matter. 

D'O.  And  what  is  that,  dear  Lady? 

Lady  S.  Well — ahem — it 's  a  delicat 
thing  to  say ;  but,  you  sec,  RAOUL  is  you 
son  as  well  as  mine. 

D'O.  God  bless  my  soul,  you  don't  sa; 
so?  Why,  I  felt  drawn  to  the  fellow  th 
moment  he  stopped  my  runaway  horses 
Wonderful  thing  paternal  instinct ! 

Lady  S.  Considering  how  complete!; 
you  had  forgotten  his  mother  the  instinc 
is  certainly  curious. 

D'O.  Curious,  but  highly  creditably 
don't  you  think?  Anyhow,  I'm  sure  he'] 
see  it  in  that  light,  dear  fellow ! 

Lady  S.  (horrified.)  He?  RAOUL?  Bu 
you  mustn't  breathe  a  word  of  this  to  bin 

D'O.  Not  tell  him?  Absurd!  Think  ho^ 
pleased  he'll  be !  The  son  of  COUD 
D'ORSAY  !  What  an  honour ! 

Lady  S.     (bitterly).    After  believing  a' 
his  life  that  he  is  the  legitimate  son  of 
nobleman  he  will  certainly  be  delighted  t 
learn  that  he  is  the  illegitimate  son  of 
beggar  !     People  always  are. 

D'O.  (shocked).  My  dear  Lady,  wha 
expressions ! 

Lady  S.  Well,  you  are  a  beggar,  aren' 
you? 

D'O.  Don't  let  us  go  into  that  painfi 
question.  In  point  of  fact,  you  do  u( 
think  he  will  be  altogether  pleased  at  th 
news? 


DECEMBER  18,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE   LONDON   CHABIVARI. 


439 


Slowcoach,  Esquire  (to  Lady,  passing  him  on  fast  roarer}.   "  I  HEARD  YOU  COMING  FROM  A  LONG  DISTANCE  ! ' 
Lady.  " DID  you?    WELL,  NOW  YOU'LL  SEE  ME  GOING  FROM  A  MUCH  LONGER  DISTANCE.     GOODBYE!" 


Lady  8.  I  should  think  he  wouldn't ! 

D'O.  This  is  very  disappointing.  Must 
I  strangle  this  nascent  paternal  affection 
almost  before  I  have  begun  to  feel  it  ?  It 
seems  hard. 

Lady  S.  Nonsense !  If  you  can  forget 
the  mother,  you  can  forget  the  son.  Try 
and  exercise  a  little  common  sense.  And 
remember  that  you  must  prevent  this 
marriage. 

D'O.  "What  a  task  for  parental  tender- 
ness ! 

Lady  S.  Pooh !  I  '11  send  him  up  to 
you,  and  you  can  tell  him  you  can't  assist 
his  suit.  [Exit. 

D'O.  "What  a  woman  !  She  has  no  heart 
at  all.  And  to  think  that  twenty  years 
ago  I  loved  her  !  I  wish  I  could  remember 
what  her  name  was. 

Enter  Lord  RAOUL.    He  goes  up  to 
D'ORSAY  eagerly. 

Lord  RaouL  You  are  going  to  plead  my 
cause  with  Lady  BLESSINGTON  ? 

D'O.  (aside).  Still  those  terrible  clothes  ! 
Down,  fluttering  heart !  (Aloud.)  Well, 
no,  my  young  friend.  To  tell  you  the 
truth,  I  have  just  promised  your  dear 
mother  to  do  nothing  of  the  kind. 

Lord  It.  I  say,  confound  it  all 

D'O.  You  see,  you  've  no  money. 

Lord  R.  I've  twenty  pounds  in  bank 
notes. 


D'O.  (eagerly).  Have  you  them  about 
you? 

Lord  R.  Yes ;  in  my  pocket. 

[Produces  them. 

D'O.  (taking  them).  Thanks.  A  thousand 
thanks,  dear  fellow  1 

Lord  R.  I  say,  you  mustn't  take  those. 
They're  all  the  money  I  've  got  in  the 
world. 

D'O.  They're  all  the  money  I  've  got  in 
the  world  ! 

Lord  R.  (annoyed).  Look  here !  just  you 
give  me  them  back. 

D'O.  (indignant).  Ungrateful  son — ahem 
— -I  should  say  man  !  Do  you  mean  to  tell 
me  you  don't  feel  irresistibly  impelled  to 
give  me  these  paltry  notes  ? 

Lord  R.  I  can't  say  I  do. 

D'O.  (aside).  These  instincts  of  kinship 
seem  curiously  one-sided.  (Aloud.)  I  have 
an  idea.  I  '11  go  to  CROCKFORD'S  with 
these,  and  if  I  win  you  shall  have  the 
money.  That  Avill  help  you  immensely ! 

Lord  R.  Noble  fellow  ! 

D'O.  (proudly).  Oh,  I  'in  awfully 
generous — with  CROCKFORD'S  money. 

Lord  R.  But  what  will  you  do  ? 

D'O.  Oh,  I  'm  going  abroad.  It  seems 
the  only  honourable  course  when  you  owe 
as  much  as  I  do.  Lady  BLESSINGTON  is 
selling  her  furniture,  and  that  will  pay 
for  my  ticket. 


Lord  R.  And  after  that  ? 

D'O.  Oh,  I  shall  settle  in  Paris. 

Lord  R.  But  what  will  you  live  on  ? 

D'O.  (airily).  Art,  my  dear  fellow,  Art — 
and  my  creditors. 

Lord  R.  (admiringly).  You  are  so  full  of 
resources  L 

D'O.  And  finally,  when  I  die,  I  shall  die 
in  my  best  coat  and  waistcoat,  like  a 
gentleman.  No  gentleman  could  possibly 
die  in  the  sort  of  clothes  you  have  on  at 
this  moment.  They  have  no  style.  I  shall 
stand  up  before  my  mirror  and  make  the 
most  extraordinary  faces,  and  then  I  shall 
fall  dead  in  the  arms  of  Sir  EDWARD 
BULWER  LYTTON.  Touching,  eh?  Good 
morning  ! 

[Bows  him  out  and  thoughtfully  pockets 
the  twenty  pounds. 

(Curtain.)          ST.  J.  H. 


"RECEIPT  FOR  VALUE."  — Received,  a 
stamped  envelope,  sealed  (so  that  its  con- 
tents could  not  be  ascertained),  and  for- 
warded by  Mr.  P.  to  "  The  Montagu 
Williams  Blanket  Fund,"  from  "EDITH 
MOWNERY,"  apparently,  but  signature 
not  clear. 


REPUTED   QUARTZ. — Gold  taken  out  in 
pints — according  to  prospectus. 


440 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI.  [DECEMBER  is.  1901. 


A.  S.  S. 

("Associated"  SMreholders'  Soiree.) 
THERE  are  more  things,  HO-RA-TI-O, 

Than  ever  you  dreamt  about ; 
But  it's  only  fair  that    folks    should 

know 
Your  recipe,  when  in  doubt. 

It's  quite  the  thing  in  financial  schools 
To  a  "  private  meeting  "  hold  ; 

For  this  is  the  first  of  a  set  of  rules, 
And  the  gulls  do  as  they  're  told. 

Then  next  of  "a  frugal  lunch"  they 
eat, 

And  gaze  on  the  wine  when  red, 
Till  at  3  P.M.  the  others  meet 

To  be  innocently  led, 

It 's  talk,  talk,  talk,  for  an  hour  or  more, 
And  when  you  '  ve  had  your  say, 

They  know  as  much  as  they  did  before, 
And  delightedly  go  away. 


PING-PONG  PROPER. 

The  Scene  is  in  a  large  hall  in  an  outlying 
suburb,  during  the  progress  of  a  Ping- 
Pong  Tournament  "open  to  all  comers." 
The  Mil  is  furnished  with  four  trestle 
tables  stained  dark  green,  across  each  of 
which  a  white  net  is  adjusted.  Stir- 
rounding  the  tables  at  a  little  distance 
from  them  are  two  roivsof  cliairs,  filled 
with  spectators.  At  each  of  the  tables 
men  and  ladies  are  playing  with  a  tense 
seriousness  and  pent-up  anxiety  that  is 
almost  hysterical.  Crowded  in  the 
centre  of  the  hall  and  streaming  up  and 
down  the  avenues  betiveen  the  "  courts  " 
is  an  intensely  excited  mass  of  people  : 
local  cliampions  with  vellum  bats 
protruding  from  their  bosoms  ;  reverend 
fathers  waiting  on  the  victory  of  their 
unbeaten  youngest;  pretty  cousins  in 
sables  wanting  to  know  when  he  will 
play ;  anxious  mammas  with  flaming 
cheeks  getting  hints  for  future  ping- 
pong  parties ;  besides  grave  smile-lorn 
umpires  carrying  formidable  scoring- 
boards.  It  is  four  o'clock.  The  atmos- 
phere is  tropical.  There  is  an  incessant 
ping-pong-ping-  pong-ping  -  ping  -  pong — 
not  unlike  a  lull  in  the  Parrot  House 
at  the  Zoo.  Occasional  outbursts  of 
clapping  and  other  forms  of  applause 
add  to  the  din.  At  the  doorway  a  slim, 
ascetic  man  is  accosted  by  a  short, 
purple-faced  boy  three  sizes  too  large 
for  his  clothes. 

Purple-faced  Boy.  Hullo,  STIGGS,  you 
ping-ponging  ? 

Slim  Man.  Yes.  Thought  I  might  as 
well  enter.  I— I  feel  in  a  ghastly  funk. 

P.-/.  Boy.  Funk,  I  should  think  so.  I  've 
been  watching  them  at  >To.  2  table,  and 
they're  frightfully  hot.  Do  you  know 
who  you  have  to  play  ?  (Slim  man  shakes 
his  head  weakly.)  The  Catford  Champion. 


One  of  the  hottest  men  on  the  cross  half- 
volley  shots  there  is. 

[Slim  man  "gives  "  ot  the  knees. 
P.-f.  Boy.  No  drawing-room  game  this, 
STIGGS.    Serves  at  a  frightful  lick,  with  a 
tricky  back-hand  swish-sh. 

[Goes  through  the  exact  mode  with 
great  energy,  at  which  the  Slim 
Man's  jaw  drops.  He  fingers  his 
bat  nervously. 

Slim  Man.  (ivitli  great  courage,  pulling 
himself  together).  I— 1  wonder  where  he 
is? 

P.-f.  Boy.  Come  on,  we'll  go  and  find 

him.     Long  legs— got  an  en-ormous  reach. 

{They  edge  their  way  through  a  cluster 

of  people  and  disappear. 
***** 

A  lean  child,  with  thick  legs  and  a  pig-tail, 
is  playing  against  a  tall,  gaunt  lady, 
with  high  eyebroivs,  in  a  black  dress, 
with  a  yellow  rosette  of  the  bigness  of 
a  soup-plate.    Near  by  is  sitting  Lean 
Child's  mother,  a  stout  spreading  lady 
of  an  excitable  nature. 
Umpire    (at    side    of    table,    drearily). 
Seventeen,  eighteen. 

Mother  (clapping  furiously,  and  beam- 
ing triumphantly  on  all  within  the  radius 
of  her  smiles).  Eighteen  !  Well-played, 
CLARA!  "Well  -  played  !  (To  a  friend.) 
Twenty 's  the  game.  CLARA  's  a  point 
ahead.  She 's  playing  up.  (Confidentially, 
to  another  friend.)  Never  been  beaten. 
We  've  had  all  the  lady  champions  up  at 
our  place,  and  CLARRY'S  beaten  them  one 
after  the  other. 

Umpire.  Nineteen — eighteen. 
Mother.  Nineteen — eighteen,  CLARRY  ! 
(Appealing  distractedly.)  A  point  behind  ! 
Give  her  one  of  your  twisters.  Make 
your  balls  shoot.  You  can  do  it  with 
pa  and  me. 

Umpire  (monotonously  as  before).  Nine- 
teen all ! 

Mother  (standing  up  in  perspiration  and 
frenzy).  Bra-vo  ! 

Lean  Child  (with  chilling  dignity).  Ma, 
do,  for  goodness'  sake,  keep  calm.  You  're 
making  me  look  ridiculous.  Remember 
this  is  a  tournament ! 

Mother    (contritely).    Oh,    CLARRY !      I 
can't  help  it.     My  nerves  are  ail  jumpy  ! 
[The  Lean  Child  becomes  suddenly  dis- 
concerted,   and    the   Gaunt   Lady 
ivins.    Being  a  local  "fancy,"  the 
applause  is  deafening.     The  Lean 
Child    is     quarrelling    with    her 
mother.     The  mother  is  expostu- 
lating with  the   Umpire,  and  the 
victorious  lady  is  being  violently 
caressed  by  her  "  backers  "  as  the 
crowd  surges  in  and  veils  them  from 
sight. 
***** 

A  flabby-looking  youth,  with  woe-begone  ex- 
pression, is  listening  to  a  bald-headed, 
thick-set  little  man,  with  heavy  blonde 
moustache,  who  has  just  beaten  his  man. 
Bald-headed    Gent.    My    dear    chap,    I 


played  all  i ound  him,  I  took  every  ser- 
vice. He  's  got  a  drive  like  the  Scotch 
Express,  but  I  took  'em  all.  And  he's 
one  of  the  hottest  men  Hackney  have. 
He  led  me  up  to  ten,  I  led  him  at  fifteen, 
and  then  I  got  into  my  stride  and  simply 
romped  home,  twenty — sixteen.  What  did 
you  do  ? 

Flabby  Youth  (disconsolately).  Gotlicked. 

Bald-headed  Gent.  Why,  what  ever  were 
you  doing? 

Flabby  Youth  (sloivly  drawing  from  his 
pocket,  like  a  conjurer,  a  long  parchment 
!>ot).  Feel  that.  (Bald-headed  Gent  rubs 
kis  fingers  sympathetically  over  the  surface 
and  utters  an  expression  of  dismay.)  Limp, 
isn't  it  ?  What  could  you  expect  ?  I 
couldn't  get  one  drive  off.  Simply  couldn't 
make  the  blessed  pill  travel  an  inch. 
Worst  of  these  halls  where  the  gas  is  in 
the  ceiling.  How  's  a  fellow  to  warm  up 
his  bat  ?  I  went  up  to  the  referee  and 
told  him.  There  ought  to  be  a  fire.  Next 
tournament  I  play  in  I  shall  stipulate  for 
a  fire,  or  a  gas-stove  or  something,  and 
et  my  bat  taut. 

Bald-headed  Gent  (tapping  him  on  the 
shoulder,  empluitically).      My    dear    boy. 
Take  my  tip  and  get  a  vellum  bat.     Those 
parchment  bats  are  doomed  absolutely. 
[Violent    applause      drowns     further 

observations . 
***** 

There  is  a  sudden  movement  among   the 
crotvd   towards   No.  4   table.     Alt   the 
chairs    become    filled,   and  a    general 
excitement  prevails   as  a    tall,    long- 
necked  man,  in  a  tennis  shirt  without  a 
collar,    fiercely    grasping    a    uniquely 
constructed  weapon,  steps  towards  the 
table  and  lightly  tosses  a  ball  up  in  the 
air  with  frightful  nerve. 
An  eager-eyed  Girl.  Oh !   do  come,  Pa. 
It 's  the  best  match  of  the  whole  tourna- 
ment.   He  's  the  South  London  Champion. 
Pa (unsympatlietically).  Don't  thinkmuch 
of  his  looks. 

[Another  burst  of  excitement  lakes 
place  as  his  rival  breaks  aivay  from 
a  little  feverish  group  of  backers 
and  takes  up  his  position  oppo- 
site his  rival.  He  is  a  youth 
with  fan-like  ears  and  a  low 
forehead. 

A  Curate  (gratuitously,  to  a  fervid  devotee 
of  the  game,  seated  next  to  him).  These 
men  are  supposed  to  be  rather  good,  aren't 
they? 

Fervid  Devotee  (almost  incoherently). 
Good  !  1  should  just  think  they  were. 
It '11  be  a  tough  fight.  (Nods  with  proud 
familiarity  to  new  comer.)  I  know  him. 
Curate  (unimpassioned).  Who  are  they  ? 
Fervid  Devotee.  Tall  chap  's  BUTCHER, 
South  London  Champion.  Absolutely  un- 
beaten. Won  the  Herne  Hill  Tournament 
with  ease.  Nobody  got  near  him.  Little 
chap  's  TINGLER.  Got  a  forehand  drive  that 
simply  knocks  spots  off  the  best  player 
ever  put  up  against  him.  Clapham's  finest 


DECEMBER  18,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI. 


441 


exponent  of  game.    Look  out !     They  've 

begun  ! 

[The  game  proceeds.  Every"  stroke, 
every  movement  is  rapturously  en- 
cored. Excitement  rises  to  fever 
heat.  Serves  are  stretched  to 
tnapptog-potnt  as  the  two  doughty 
champions  contend  for  the  honour 
of  their  district.  Everybody  noes 
mad  with  excitement,  ivhich  is  only 
accentuated  bij  the  ping-ponying  of 
the  bats,  the  tropical  heat,  and  the 
desperate  character  of  the  game. 
Everything  after  this  is  bathos 

W.  H.  M. 


THE  GHOST  OP   AN  IDEA. 

DEAR  PUNCH, — As  I  remember  years  ago 
you  used  not  to  show  much  apprehension 
on  the  appearance  of  an  apparitida  in 
white,  I  venture  to  address  you.  I  know 
you  won't  be  frightened  of  me.  I  have  a 
complaint  to  make.  I  belong  to  a  very 
respectable  corporation,  or,  perhaps  I 
should  call  it,  in-corporation,  of  spectres. 
My  friends  and  myself  are  really  fairly 
intelligent.  We  most  of  us  belong  to  the 
best  families,  and  this  being  so,  we  are 
greatly  disgusted  at  being  credited  with 
the  most  idiotic  proceedings.  One  of  us 
is  said  to  appear  at  midnight  to  shake  his 
head  out  of  a  window.  Another  strides 
up  to  a  fire  and  pokes  it  three  times,  and 
then  vanishes.  Then  couples  of  us  walk 
up  and  down  corridors,  and  sigh  as  if  we 
were  suffering  from  a  nightmare,  possibly 
created  by  an  indigestible  supper.  There 
is  no  end  of  the  silly'things  we  are  sup- 
posed to  do.  And  what  makes  the  matter 
worse  is  the  fact  that  the  slanders  are  all 
circulated  on  hearsay  evidence.  No  one 
has  really  seen  us  making  fools  of  our- 
selves as  recounted.  Now,  Punch — good 
old  Punch — this  is  Christmas-time,  when 
stories  of  the  character  to  which  I  have 
referred  will  be — to  use  a  colloquialism — 
!all  over  the  shop.  Ridicule  the  cruel 
custom,  my  dear  friend,  and  secure  the 
hearty  gratitude  of 

Yours  faithfully,      A  GHOST  BOGIK. 

The  Shades. 


THE  WICKED  WIRE. 

["  The    telephone    may    not    be    an    unmixed 
blessing." — Daily  Paper.] 
SCENE — Author's  sanctum.  TIME — The  hour 
of     inspiration.       PRESENT  —  Gifted 
Individual. 

Gifted  Individual  (settling  himself  down 
to  work).  Now,  I  think  I  have  got  the 
second  act  well  in  hand.  (Referring  to 
mems.)  Conversation  between  hero  and 
heroine.  Comic  incident.  Romantic 
incident.  Excellent  curtain.  Come,  I 
think  I  ought  to  have  the  act  ready  for 
the  copyist  by  four  o'clock.  (Ring.) 
Why,  it 's  that  telephone  ! 

[Puts  ear  to  receiver. 

Voice.  Arc  you  Mr.  TENNYSON  BROWN? 


001 


Customer  (looking  in  at  door).   "On,  I  LL  CALL  AGAIN  LATER!" 
Barber.    "COME   ix,    SIR!    WON'T  KEEP  YOU  A  MINUTEJ  SIR. 
LOXG,  SIR  ! " 


THIS  WON'T  TAKE  ME 


G.  I.  Yes.  Who  are  you  ? 

Voice.  Well,  a  great  friend  of  yours  who 
knows  you  says  you  are  most  charitable, 
and  if  you  would  send  me  a  postal  order 
for  ten  shillings 

G.  I.  Certainly  not.  (Drops  receiver.) 
Let  me  see.  Yes,  hero  and  heroine  dis- 
covered. (Ring.)  Well,  what  is  it  ? 

Voice.  I  say,  I  have  just  found  your 
name  on  the  list — how  are  you  ? 

G.  I.  Very  busy. 

Voice.  You  remember  me,  don't  you? 
I  was  at  school  with  you  thirty  years  ago. 
My  name  's  SCRUBBY — you  remember 
SCRUBBY  major,  don't  you? 

G.  I.  (brutally).  No,  I  don't.  (Drops  re- 
ceiver.) Let  me  see.  They  are  watching 
the  sunset.  (Bell.)  Well,  what  is  it  now  ? 

Voice.  How  is  dear  MOPSY  ? 

G.  I.  Out  with  the  children,  and  I  am 
really  very  busy. 


Voice.  Oh,  I  wouldn't  bother  you  for  a 
moment,  but  you  are  so  much  nearer 
Regent  Street  than  I  am,  that  I  thought 
you  wouldn't  mind  calling  on  BRASS  AND 
ORMOLU  the  jewellers. 

G.  I.  Sorry,  not  going  out  to-day. 
(Drops  receiver.)  Now  let  me  see,  where 
was  I?  Oh,  watching  the  sunset.  (Ring.) 
What  is  it  now? 

Voice.  My  dear  son-in-law,  you  know 
sweet  MOPSY  arranged  that  I  should  come 
on  a  visit. 

G.  I.  (furiously).  Oh,  did  she?  Well, 
I  can't  settle  anything  until  I  see  her. 

Voice.  Then  do  you  mind  asking  her  at 
once. 

G.  I.  (grimly).  Oh,  certainly.  Just  wait 
until  I  have  found  her  ! 

[Cuts  wire  and  completely  severs 
communication.  Curtain  shuts 
ouL  a  scene  of  yuiltij  triumph. 


442 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI.  [DECEMBER  is.  1901. 


MB.  MOZAMBIQUE,  WHO  HAS  RENTED  LOUD  XOKASH'S  WELL-KNOWN  SHOOTING,  DRIVES  A  SELECT  PAIITY  TO  THE  COVERTS  ! 


THE   COUNTRY  VISITOR'S   DIARY  OF 

THE   CATTLE-SHOW   WEEK. 
UP  for  the  Show,  taking  DOLLY  and  ROSE  : 
Monday— the  Hippodrome,  Madame  Tus- 

saud's, 
Tuesday— went  shopping   all   day  at  the 

Stores, 
Wednesday — had  headache,  stayed  all  day 

indoors, 

Thursday — a  matinee,  had  to  take  stalls, 
Friday— the  Abbey,  the  Tower,  St.  Paul's, 
Saturday — home  again,  fagged  out.    Well, 

no — 
Somehow  we  couldn't  find  time  for  the 

Show. 


PREHISTORIC  PEPYS. 

(A  recently  deciphered  MS.  from  Mykenai.) 

Lakedaimon,  1199  B.C. — Hearing  of  the 
white  arms  of  HELEN,  and  seeing  a  great 
crowd  of  gallants  in  the  town,  all  hot  on 
the  wench,  I  also  to  Court  in  my  best 
coloured  camelot  chiton  of  flowered 
tabby  vest,  and  did  enter  my  name  as  a 
wooer,  my  wife  being  in  Athens.  By- 
and-by  HELEN,  the  greatest  beauty  I 
ever  saw,  I  think,  in  all  my  life,  whom  I 
did  eye  mightily,  being  dressed  this  day 
in  fair  hair,  mighty  pretty.  With  her 
PENELOPE,  a  modest  maid  whom  I  did 
labour  to  take  by  the  hand ;  but  she 
would  not,  but  prudently  got  further  and 


further  away,  and  near  to  ODYSSEUS.  And 
then  I  fell  to  gazing  on  another  pretty 
maid,  HELEN'S  sister ;  she  looked  mighty 
out  of  humour,  seeing  AGAMEMNON  toy 
with  HELEN'S  curls. 

***** 

1196  B.C.— To  the  marketplace,  and  did 
hear  that  HELEN,  as  looked  for,  was  off 
with  PARIS,  MENELAUS  being  absent ; 
whereat  much  talk  of  war,  some  saying 
that  MENELAUS  had  sent  ambassadors  to 
Ilion.  Fell  in  with  one  from  Ithaka  and 
told  me  ODYSSEUS  was  mightily  against 
the  war,  being  still  in  love  with  his  wife, 
PENELOPE,  and  would  not  leave  her  ;  and 
another  said  AGAMEMNON  was  in  tears  in 
Mykenai  because  of  KLYTEMNAISTRA  ;  he 
himself  was  mighty  earnest  for  the  wars 
and  another  sight  of  HELEN,  and  she  not. 
***** 

1195  B.C.— To  Aulis,  where  the  greatest 
concourse  that  ever  I  did  see  in  all  my 
life,  I  in  my  new  suit  of  armour  with  the 
brazen  helmet  and  greaves  ;  cost  me 
thirty  oxen  and  very  fine.  To  MENELAUS'S 
tent,  where  a  great  council  and  many 
opinions  about  the  war,  MENELAUS  vow- 
ing that  it  is  just  and  inevitable,  and 
that  not  only  will  we  punish  the  evil-doer 
but  also  gain  PRIAM'S  gold  ;  but  ODYSSEUS 
saying  HELEN  was  a  mighty  flirt  and  jade, 
ill  worth  the  spending  of  blood  and 
treasure,  being  as  much  in  the  wrong  as 


PARIS.     Whereat  a  great  shout  of  "  pro- 
Trojan  "  and  would  not  hear  him  more. 

***** 

1194  B.C.— By  water  to  Ilion.  Found 
that  the  town  has  walls  and  PRIAM  fifty 
sons,  and  so  little  fear  of  HELEN  return- 
ing yet.  Sent  to  Hellas  for  battering 

rams,  whereby  much  delay. 

***** 

1193  B.C.— Up  betimes,  hearing  that 
battering-rams  have  arrived.  War,  so  to 
speak,  over ;  and  so  more  troops  from 

Hellas. 

***** 

1190  B.C. — Siege  still  going  on.  Many 
sick  with  horseflesh,  and  so  dead. 

*  *  *  *  *      . 

1187  B.C. — Abroad  with  MENELAUS,  and 
passed  by  the  walls  where  HELEN,  an  old 
hag,  ogl  ing  HEKTOR  ;  and  we  falling  into 
discourse  on  women,  I  would  needs  ask 
him  if  he  still  had  hankering  for  the 

jade,  which  he  denied,  but  PRIAM'S  gold. 

***** 

1185  B.C. — HEKTOR  dead,  and  so  wrote 
my  wife  to  send  no  more  tabby  tuniques, 
eager  to  be  gone.  Called  by  AGAMEMNON'S 
tent,  and  there  heard  a  hundred  teachers 
arriving  from  Athens,  and  will,  I  think, 
sing  the  Harmodios-sony  to  the  young 
captives.  Very  expenseful 


"MADE  IN  GERMANY."— MISTAKES. 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI  —DECEMBER  18,  1901. 


THE  CHESTEEFIELD   HAMLET. 


LORD  R-S-B-RY  (in  leading  role,}- 

"  THE   «  PARTY  'S  '    OUT  OP   JOINT  :—  O,   CURSED  SPITE, 
THAT  EVER  I   WAS   'ASKED'    TO   SET  IT  RIGHT!" 

Act  I.,  Scene  5,  Mr.  Punch's  edition. 


DECEMBER  18,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


445 


THE    BRITANNIA    FANCY    HAIR-DRESSING    COMPETITION  ; 

OR,   "METHODS  OF  BARBER-ISM." 
L"  The  Second  Annual  Exhibition  of  the  Hairdresser's  Art  was  given  at  the  Portman  Booms  on  Tuesday  evening." — Dai'y  Graphic.] 


WHY  NOT? 

IT  will  bo  remembered  that  not  very 
long  ago  an  American  newspaper  secured 
a  world-wide  advertisement  by  handing 
over  the  editing  of  its  columns  for  a  week 
to  the  admired  Mr.  SHKLDON. 

A  London  evening  paper,  which  need 
not  be  named  here,  is  following  the 
same  policy,  and  is  now  announcing  (upon 
the  backs  of  ubiquitous  sandwich-men) 
that  it  will  be  edited  during  Christmas 
week  by  the  well-known  liadical  and 
Labour  Agitator,  Mr.  GEORGE  JACOB 

HOLYOAKE. 

It  was  not  to  be  supposed  that  the 
enterprise  of  this  journal  would  not  find 
immediate  imitators.  We  are,  therefore, 
able  to  announce  that  on  the  first  of  April 
next — 

The  Times  will  appear  under  the  direction 
of  Mr.  DANIEL  LENO. 

The  Sportsman  will  be  edited  by  Mr. 
FREDERIC  HARRISON. 


Church  Bells  will  be  controlled  by  Mr. 
ALFRED  HARMSWORTH.  And 

The  Licensed  Victuallers'  Gazette  will 
be  written  throughout  by  Sir  WILFRID 
LAWSON. 

Nor  is  this  system  of  temporary  appoint- 
ments to  important  positions  to  be  confined 
to  Journalism,  since  we  are  officially 
informed  that  on  the  same  date — 

Mr.  BRODRICK'S  post  at  the  War  Office 
will  be  occupied  by  the  Archbishop  of 
CANTERBURY. 

Lord  KITCHENER'S  command  will  be 
transferred  for  twenty-four  hours  to  Mr. 
LLOYD-GEORGE,  M.P. 

Lord  SALISBURY'S  place  at  DoAvning 
Street  will  be  filled  by  Mr.  THOMAS 
GIBSON  BOWLES.  And 

The  important  duties  attaching  to  the 
post  of  Poet  Laureate  will  be  discharged 
by  Mrs.  JANE  OAKLEY. 

In  this  way  it  is  hoped  that  these  pains- 
taking officials  will  obtain  a  day's  rest, 


while  new  blood  will,  for  one  day  at  least, 
be  infused  into  the  veins  of  an  effete 
Administration. 


FIRE-FANCIES. 

IN  the  fire  I  watch  the  embers  glow, 
Snatching  at  the  fancies  that  they  throw, 
Till  I  feel  the  magic-working  blaze 
Bringing  back  the  spell  of  other  days — 
Wonders  dreamt  of  many  $ears  ago  ! 

Gorgeous  castles  rise  :  about  them,  lo  ! 
Knights  and  ladies  hurry  to  and  fro — 
One  and  all  they  vanish  as  I  gaze 
In  the  fire  ! 

Can  I  hope — if  but  a  glimpse  or  so—- 
Something of  these  memories  to  show, 
Haloed  round  with  childhood's  distant 

haze, 

In  this  verse  ray  clumsy  pen  essays 
Thus  to  fashion? — or,  must  it,  too,  go 
In  the  fire  ? 


446 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  [DECEMBER  18,   1901. 


CHEERFUL   CRICKET. 

["The  Australians  are  anxious  that  the  test- 
matches  of  next  season  should  be  'played 'to  a 
finish,'  and  the  M.C.C.  is  cDnsidering  this-  pro- 
posal."] 

THE  twenty-seventh  day  of  the  flrst 
tost -match  between  the  English -and 


Australian  elevens  was  full  of  interest. 
The  crowd  was,  perhaps,  less  dense  than 
when  the  match  was  commenced,  more 
than  a  month  ago,  but  yesterday's  play 
at  the  Oval  must  have  been  watched  by 
at  least  two  dozen  spectators.  The  pro- 
ceedings commenced  fairly  punctually  at 
one  o'clock,  when  Messrs.  NOBLE  and 
THUMPER,  who  have  been  together  at  the 
wickets  for  the  last  fortnight  or  so,  re- 
sumed their  innings.  On  the  second  day 
of  the  match,  it  will  be  remembered,  the 
last  English  wicket  fell  with  the  score  at 
315.  No  doubt  the  total  should  have  been 
larger,  and  the  extraordinary  rashness  of 
our  batsmen — Avho  even  risked  a  short 
run  more  than  once — provoked  the  undis- 
guised amazement  of  their  rivals.  For 
the  succeeding  twenty- five  days,  the 
Australians  have  retained  possession  of 
the  wickets,  and  their  methods  have  been 
marked  by  extreme  caution.  Up  to  the 
resumption  of  play  yesterday,  they  had 
lost  one  wicket  for  128  runs. 

The  start  of  yesterday's  play  was  most 
exhilarating.  Two  leg-byes  were  actually 
scored  in  the  flrst  over,  causing  130  to  be 
hoisted  on  the  telegraph  board  amid 
tremendous  cheers.  And,  only  twenty 
minutes  later,  Mr.  TRUMPER  made  a  mag- 
nificent snick  for  a  single  in  the  direction 
of  long-slip.  This  brilliant  hitting,  as 
was  to  be  expected,  caused  an  immediate 
change  in  the  bowling,  RHODES  being  sub- 
stituted for  HAIGH  at  the  Gasworks  end. 
At  1.30  the  usual  interval  for  lunch  -was 
taken,  but  the  players  reappeared  with 
commendable  promptitude  at  2.45.  A 
spell  of  quiet  play  followed,  though  a 
finely-executed  leg-stroke  of  Mr.  NOBLE'S 


very  nearly  resulted  in  an  addition  to  the 
score.  When,  however,  he  tried  to  repeat 
the  manoeuvre  with  the  next  ball,  he  was 
nearly  caught,  short-leg  having  moved  up 
to  within  a  few  feet  of  the  striker's  bat. 
At  3.15  the  teams  retired  for  a  short  rest, 
the  score  standing  at  the  same  figure  as 
at  lunch  time. 

Matters  became  far  more  lively  when 
play  was  once  more  resumed.  Two  wides, 
a  bye,  and  nine  singles  were  registered 
by  the  scorer  within  half-an-hour.  Finally, 
Mr.  NOBLE,  whose  play  was  of  the  most 
brilliant  description,  lashed  out  at  a  ball 
of  HEARNE'S,  and  drove  it  to  the  boundary ! 
It  is  very  many  days  since  such  a  stroke 
has  been  witnessed  at  the  Oval,  and  it 
was  loudly  cheered.  So  severely  was  the 
bowling  punished,  that  eleven  more  runs 
were  put  on  before  4.15,  when  the  players 
adjourned  for  their  well-earned  tea.  It 
may  be  conjectured  that  the  batsmen  were 
then  counselled  to  be  prudent  for  the 
remainder  of  the  day,  since,  beyond  some 
brilliant  stone-walling  by  Mr.  TRUMPER— 
who  would  not  be  tempted  by  slow  half- 
volleys  to  leg— the  play  after  tea  -was 
almost  dull.  The  batsmen  remained  un- 
defeated till  five  o'clock,  when  stumps 
were  drawn. 

The  game  will  be  resumed  to-day  at  the 
usual  hour.  As  there  seems  little  likeli- 
hood that  this,  the  first  test-match,  will 
be  finished  before  the  end  of  the  cricket- 
season,  we  understand  that  arrangements 
are  being  made  for  its  continuance  next 
year.  A.  C.  D. 

THE  TALE  OF  A  COD. 


["A  codfish  has  been  found  near  Cherbourg  by 
some  fishermen.  On  opening  it  they  discovered  a 
volume  of  contemporary  English  poetry.  The  book 
was  quite  undigested." — Daily  Paper. ~\ 

GOOD  people  all,  both  fools  and  wise, 

Come,  listen  unto  me, 
And  you  shall  learn  what  danger  lies 

In  minor  poetry. 

Near  Cherbourg  town  there  lived  a  cod, 
Of  youth  and  pionrse  rare  : 

All  blameless  were  the  paths  he  trod 
Among  the  codlings  there. 

The  ordinary  little  sins 

To  which  youth  sometimes  strays 
He  never  knew :  despite  his  fins 

His  were  not  lishy  ways. 


"When  low,  he  sought  no  fragrant  cloud 

To  solace  sorrow's  stroke, 
Although  the  bloated  herrings  vowed 

That  they  were  cured  by  smoke. 

He  took  no  alcoholic  drink, 

Though  round  the  bar  he  'd  stray ; 

And  if  a  mermaid  chanced  to  wink, 
He  looked  the  other  way. 

So  lived  he  happy  in  his  homo 

As  any  fish  might  be, 
Till  he  was  tempted  by  a  tome 

Of  minor  poetry 

A  poetn  from  the  later  quill 

Of  warlike  R-DY-RD  K., 
An  ode  by  Sir — or  is  it  still 

Mere  Mr.  ALFRED  A.  ? — 

A  shriek  from  W-TS-N,  or  a  sigh 
From  SW-NB-R\E'S  patriot  breast, 

What  codling,  scarcely  more  than  fry, 
Could  possibly  digest  ? 

A  piece  of  H-NL-Y  kept  him  long, 
Though  all  his  strength  he  plied  ; 

But  when  at  last  he  reach  a  song 
Of  M-R-D-TH,  he  died. 

Then,  O  my  youthful  friends,  beware  ! 

There  is  a  baneful  curse 
That  lurks  behind  these  bindings  fair  ! 

There 's  death  in  minor  verse. 


A  GRAND  OLD   MARINER. 

SAYS  JAMES  HAY  LETT  (whom  Mr.  Punch 
hails  with  "three  cheers,"  as  the  crew 
did  in  the  song  of  the  "Bay  of  Biscay 
0".),  who  has  been  a  lifeboatman  for  fifty 
years,  a  long-lifeboatman,  giving  evidence 
before  the  Board  of  Trade  inquiry  into  the 
Caister  disaster  (in  which  the  tough  old 
salt  lost  two  sons),  "The  crew  of  the  life- 
boat did  not  wear  life-belts  on  this  occa- 
sion, and  a  good  job  too,  or  there  would 
not  have  been  one  of  them  saved.  They 
were  cumbersome,  and  he  seldom  wore 
one."  Does  this  not  recall  the  expert 
opinion  of  the  Waterloo  veteran  who, 
asked  if  he  would  not  prefer  being  pro- 
tected by  cuirass  and  helmet  against  the 
steel  and  bullet  of  the  enemy,  replied 
that  "  if  he  had  to  be  in 
the  battle  over  again  he 
should  prefer  fighting  in 
his  shirt  -  sleeves  "  ?  But 
"  cumbersome  "  though  the 
life  -  belts  may  appear  to 
be,  and  doubtless  are,  yet 
would  not  the  weight  of 
evidence  given  by  the  "  life- 
belted  knights "  be  in  favour  of  their 


ALL  THE  DIFFERENCE. — "  A  C  ha  aberlain  " 
and  "  The  Chamberlain." 


DECEMBER  18,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI. 


o 


w  gf  « 

06  B  H 


-         -  si 

r»      Ed 

<;* 

HO     fe 
^  ° 


W     ^ 

02      O 


~   o 


448 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  [DECEMBER  18,  1901. 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

MR.  WILKINS,  who  has  done  much  to  estab- 
lish the  fame  of  Sir  RICHARD  BURTON— who 
revealed  to  the  world  the  merits  of  that  far 
more  estimable  person,  Lady  BURTON— dipping 
his  hand  into  the  lucky-basket  of  the  travel- 
ler's chance  MS.,  has  brought  forth  a  volume 
of  posthumous  essays.  Wanderings  in  Three 
Continents  (HUTCHISSQN)  comprise  narratives  of  BURTON'S  visits 
o  Medina  and  Mecca,  his  ride  to  Harar,  his  journey  to  the 
aeart  of  Africa,  his  call  at  Salt  Lake  City,  when  BRIGHAM 
YOUNG  was  in  his  prime ;  a  mission  to  Dahome,  a  trip  up  the 
tongo,  a  plunge  into  the  interior  of  Brazil,  and  -a  voyage 
trough  Syria  to  Palmyra.  On  most  of  these  enterprises  — 
wtably  his  adventurous  journey  to  Mecca  and  Medina,  dis- 
mised  as  a  Moslem— he  has  written  at  length  in  familiar 
volumes.  These  papers  were  prepared  in  the  form  of  lectures 
delivered  before  various  audiences,  and  have,  my  Baronite 
estifies,  the  charm  of  lightness  of  touch  proper  to  such  occa- 
^ions.  They  convey  vivid  impression  of  the  dauntless  enter- 
prise' of  the  pioneer  of  later  travellers  through  that  dark 
Continent  which  to-day  is  so  closely  interwoven  with  the  life 
>f  the  British  Empire. 

Like  all  authors  of  a  successful  first  book,  Mrs.  BURNETT'S 
enemies  are  those  of  her  own  household.  Whenever  she  writes 
new  book,  the  shadow  of  Little  Lord  Fanntleroy  is  cast  upon 
t,  and  embarrassing  comparisons  are  forthwith  provoked. 
fhe  Making  of  a  Marchioness  (SMITH,  ELDER)  stands  the 
ordeal.  The  story,  the  characters,  and  the  surroundings  are 
altogether  different.  Mrs.  BURNETT  has  even  invented  a  new 
villain  in  the  person  of  a  ruthless  ayah,  faithful  to  her  mistress 
with  dog-like  affection,  pitiless  to  all  who  consciously  or  involun- 
tarily assail  her  interests.  Emihj  Fox-Seton  is  a  fine  study  of  a 
pure-minded,  kind-hearted,  absolutely  blameless  woman.  My 
3aronite  is  aware  that  this  is  not  a  description  of  a  heroine 
that  will  recommend  her  to  the  modern  novel-reader.  It  is  one 
of  Mrs.  BURNETT'S  new  successes  that  she  makes  her  interesting, 
whether  as  maiden  or  Marchioness.  Lady  Maria  Bayne  lives 
up  to  her  reputation  as  "the  cleverest,  sharpest-tongued, 
smartest  old  woman  in  London."  Lord  Walderhurst  admirably 
fills  the  part  assigned  to  him.  He  leads  off  in  two  fine  scenes — 
where  he  asks  the  maiden  to  marry  him,  and  where,  kneeling  by 
what  the  doctors  thought  was  the  deathbed  of  the  Marchioness, 
he  literally  calls  her  back  to  life. 

My  Baronite,  aweary  of  much  reading  of  new  books,  turns 
gratefully  to  a  new  edition  of  the  Essays  o/  Elia,  just  issued 
by  Mr.  METHEUN.  All,  all  are  here,  the  well-remembered 
chapters  —  The  Southsea  House,  Christ's  Hospital,  Mackery 
End,  Grace  Before  Meat,  Mrs.  Battle's  Opinions  on  Whist,  and 
the  rest.  Musing  over  an  old  colleague  at  Southsea  House, 
"the  polished  man  of  letters"  of  the  office,  LAMB  wrote: 
"Thy  wit  is  a  little  gone  by  in  these  fastidious  days;  thy 
topics  are  staled  by  the  new-born  gauds  of  the  time."  It  is 
delightful  to  find  afresh  how  little  this  lament  attaches  to 
Elia.  His  gentle  humour  never  palls,  nor  does  the  infinite 
variety  of  his  fancy  stale.  The  Essays  are  introduced  by 
pleasant  pre.ace  by  E.  V.  LUCAS,  and  there  are  many  illustra- 
tions by  Mr.  GARTH  JONES.  My  Baronite  does  not  care  about 
the  binding  of  the  volume.  There  is  about  it  something  alike 
in  colour  and  design  that  is  un-Lamb-like.  On  the  other  hand 
print  and  paper  are  thoroughly  satisfying. 

Twenty  years  ago  GRANT  ALLEN  contributed  to  a  London 
evening  paper  a  series  of  erudite  and  interesting  historica 
notes  on  English  towns  and  counties.  Under  the  title  Counti 
and  Town  in  England  (GRANT  RICHARDS)  they  are  re-printed* 
with  a  prefatory  note  by  the  Regius  Professor  of  Moderi 
History  at  Oxford.  In  a  small  space  GRANT  ALLEN,  with  prac 
Used  hand,  compressed  the  ancient  history  of  many  shires 


towns  and  hamlets.    My  Baronite,  reading  the  chapter  dealing 
with  his  own  county,  and  wandering  on  through  others,  finds 
an  amazing  measure  of  research  picturesquely  scattered. 
The  Baron  has  received  a  book  with  a  somewhat  severe 
xterior  entitled  Bardell  versus   Pickwick,   edited  by   PERCY 
'ITZGERALD  (ELLIOT  STOCK),  and  the  Baron  would  most  care- 
ully  criticise  its  contents  in  detail  were  he  not  "  given  pause  " 
>n  the  threshold  of  his  undertaking  by  the  tone  of  this  highly 
espected  writer's  work.    Mr.  PERCY  FITZGERALD  follows  his 
eader,  the  late  Sir  FRANK  LOCKWOOD,  Q.C.,  who  in  an  able 
ecture  on  this  very  subject,  boldly  attempted  to  whitewash 
he  dingy  reputation  of  Messrs.  Dodson  and  Fogg.    The  Baron 
;annot  deny  that  Mr.  Frrz  G.'S  efforts,  like  those  of  his  leader, 
lave  achieved  a  certain  amount  of  success.     Also,  Mr.  Frrz  G. 
omewhat  discredits  Mr.  Perker,  that  model  of  a  family  solici- 
or !     On  these  grounds  the  Baron  is  decidedly  anxious  as  to 
he  Pickwickian  future  of  his  PERCY  Frrz.    Is  he  going  to  round 
)n  his  old  friends  and  whilom  favourites  ?    Is  he  going  to  write 
treatise  extolling  Dodson-and-Foggism  at  the  expense  of  Per- 
ierism  'i    Where  will  he  stop  ?     Will  he  elevate  the  character 
ind  actions  of  Jackson,  the  attorneys'  clerk,  to 
depreciation    of  Sam   Weller,   the    serving 
man  ?    And,   being  on  the  downward  war-path, 
will  he  stop   short  of    branding   Mr.   Pickwick 
limself    as    one    addicted  to   riotous    living,  ta 
;luttonous     man,  .  a    wine-and-spirit-bibber,    a 
ouceited,  bald-headed,  elderly  satyr,  misleader 
of   youtli   intrusted    to  his   care,    and   the   ill- 
id  viser  of  virtuous  maidens  ?    It  looks  as  though 
Mr.  PERCY  were  about  to  give  us  a  series  of  Fitz  and  Starts! 
Let  Mr.  PERCY  Frrz  G.  be  warned  in  time  by  the 

BARON  DE  B.-W. 


ADDITIONAL  THEATRICAL  REGULATIONS. 
(At  the  Service  of  tlie  L.C.  and  the  L.C.C.) 

NOT  only  no  living  person  shall  be  introduced  in  a  modern 
play,  but  it  shall  be  illegal  to  show  hansom  cab  horses,  hounds, 
and  steam  launches  floating  in  tanks.  To  secure  safety  from 
fire,  any  member  of  the  audience  admitted  by  an  order  shall 
not  be  allowed  to  take  his  seat  unless  he  can  show  a  medical 
;ertilicate  warranting  him  certain  to  remain  awake  until  the 
end  of  the  performance. 

The  iron  curtain  shall  descend  on  the  first  night  of  a  new  play 
when  the  senior  critic  present  has  had  enough  of  it.  When 
lowered,  the  iron  curtain  shall  not  be  raised  again  for  at 
least  twenty-four  hours. 

Not  only  shall  authorised  members  of  the  L.C.C.  be  permitted 
to  be  present  at  all  performances  of  a  popular  character,  but 
the  privilege  shall  be  further  extended  to  their  wives,  their 
cousins,  their  sisters  and  their  aunts.  Not  only  shall  refresh- 
ments be  illegal  in  the  auditorium,  but  all  over  the  premises, 
and  for  a  radius  round  the  theatre  of  one  square  mile. 

All  the  above  regulations — and  anything  else  that  occurs  to 
anyone — shall  be  carried  out  to  prove  that  technical  knowledge, 
worldly  tact  and  general  good  feeling  is  not  in  any  sense  requisite 
in  the  proper  management  of  a  play-house. 


"HURRAH  FOR  THE  COSAQUE  I  "  is  an  old  chorus  that  merry 
families  of  youthful  BROWNS,  JONESES,  and  ROBINSONS  might 
appropriately  revive  and  chant  at  Christmas  time  when  the 
kousekeeper  goes  to  the  cupboard  where  is  kept  the  Christmas 
crackery,  and  produces  therefrom  the  "  Table-decoration 
Cosaques"  and  the  "Toy  Symphony  Cracker  Box"  inventec 
this  year  by  the  ingenious  TOM  SMITH.  Pull  away,  boys  and 
girls  !  The  reports  that  reach  us  from  the  crackers  are  as 
startling  as  ever,  and  the  sparks  from  the  anvil  of  the  Tom 
Smithy  as  brilliant. 


DECEMBER  18,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


449 


JOCOSA  LYRA. 

THE  simultaneous  pub- 
lication of  two  antho- 
logies of  light  verse — one 
of  them,  by  the  way,  is 
entitled  an  Anthology  o/ 
Humorous  Verse  —  leads 
one  to  suppose  that  the 
great  reading  public  has 
begun  to  take  a  serious 
interest  in  verse  that  is 
anything  but  serious,  or, 
to  express  the  matter 
perhaps  with  greater  ac- 
curacy, disguises  its  oc- 
casional seriousness  by 
the  wearing  of  the  jester's 
cap  and  the  jingle  of  his 
bells.  We  may  suppose, 
in  fact,  that  there  exists 
a  paying  public  which  has 
realised  that  the  writing 
of  good  light  verse  de- 
mands very  high  quali- 
ties, and  that  a  mere 
comic  rattle  with  a  liberal 
amount  of  puns  thrown  in 
does  not  quite  fill  the  bill. 
This  is  a  matter  for  con- 
gratulation ,  since  the 
art  of  writing  light  verse 
is  not  an  easy  one,  and 
the  more  its  professors 
are  sustained  and  encour- 
aged, the  higher  will  be 
their  standard  and  the 
more  valuable  their 
efforts. 


the    ponies 
field. 


in    a    polo- 


English   poetry   has   a 

majestic  record  of  many 

centuries,  but  it  is  only 

in  comparatively  recent 

times    that   the    lighter 

Muse  has  gained  her  due 

recognition  amongst  us. 

Why  did  she  come  so  late 

and  in  so  timid  a  fashion  ? 

HORACE,   MARTIAL  and 

CATULLUS — what  are  they 

but    writers    of    light 

verse  ?    Our  forefathers 

read 'them    and     knew 

them  by  heart,  but  those 

who    rhymed    shunned 

these  shining  examples, 

and  for  the  most  part  preferred  Epics,  Dramas,  Odes — any- 
thing rather  than  the  sparkling  little  piece  in  which  a 
friend  speaks  to  his  friends  about  matters  of  everyday 
experience,  redeeming  them  from  commonness  by  the  gaiety 
of  his  humour  and  the  perfection  of  his  phrases.  I  do  not 
forget  SUCKLING  or  PRIOR,  but  they  were  exceptions.  Our 
earlier  poets,  when  they  affected  humour  and  lightness,  for 
the  most  part  trod  their  measure  with  a  heavy  foot.  For 
instance,  both  the  anthologies  to  which  I  have  referred 
include  MILTON'S  "On  the  Oxford  Carrier."  Where  is  its 
lightness  or  its  humour?  In  the  midst  of  its  frisking  com- 
panions it  has  all  the  effect  that  might  be  produced  by  an 
ancient  war-horse,  fully  caparisoned,  prancing  about  among 


Or,  take  a  much  later 
period,  and  consider 
"John  Gilpin."  Both 
collections  include  it. 
Indeed,  I  suppose  one  of 
an  editor's  fixed  points  in 
preparing  his  selection 
would  necessarily  be 
"  John  Gilpin."  Shall  I 
be  accused  of  treason  if 
I  hint  that  the  reputation 
and  endurance  of  this 
piece  are  a  matter  for 
wonder?  How  did  it, 
even  in  an  age  that  joked 
with  difficulty,  produce 
so  overpowering  an 
effect  ?  The  narrative  is 
bald  and  portentously 
lengthy,  the  workman- 
ship is  not  felicitous,  the 
theme  itself  is  trite  and 
obvious.  Something 
there  must  have  been  in 
the  nature  of  citizens 
and  train  band  captains 
and  their  frugal  wives 
that  produced  in  the 
minds  of  our  forefathers 
an  exquisite  sense  of 
incongruity,  as  of  some- 
thing that  had  no  serious 
right  to  exist,  or,  if  it 
did  exist,  was  by  that 
mere  fact  intensely  hu- 
morous and  comic,  a 
proper  subject  for  the 
most  obvious  ridicule. 
Echoes  of  their  laughter 
still  come  to  us,  and 
since  even  the  echoes  of 
laughter  are  infectious, 
we  laugh  too,  though  the 
jest  has  lost  its  savour. 


THE  GOOD  FAIRY  ELECTRA  OF  THE  CONTINUOUS  CURRENT 
BANISHES  THE  DEMON   KING  SULPHUR. 

["  The  Directors  of  the  Metropolitan  Underground  Railway  announced  yesterday  that  no 
time  will  be  lost  in  proceeding  with  the  installation  of  electric  traction." — Daily  Mail.'} 


On  the  whole  I  think  it 
is  a  fairly  accurate  state- 
ment —  it  is  Mr.  A.  C. 
DEANE  who  has  made  it 
—  that  the  tradition  of 
light  verse  to  which  we 
now  hold  was  originated 
by  CANNING,  continued 
by  the  brothers  SMITH, 
and  finally  established  by  WINTHROP  MACKWORTH  PRAED. 
Before  that,  the  efforts  were  spasmodic,  the  occasional 
divagations  of  poets  who  put  away  their  thunderbolts  and 
sported  for  an  hour  with  Amaryllis  in  the  shade.  Since  that 
time  we  have  come  to  recognise  as  poets  those  who,  like 
THACKERAY,  or  FREDERICK  LOCKER,  or  CALVERLEY,  or  Mr. 
AUSTIN  DOBSON  (to  take  a  few  recent  examples  only),  were  the 
skirmishers  of  the  army  of  the  Muses,  gay  companions  who  rode 
in  light  order  with  a  bandolier  filled  with  jest,  and  humour, 
and  wit.  And  who  shall  say  that  they  cannot  win  a  battle  as 
well  as  the  Long  Tom  and  Lyddite  Shells  of  Mr.  SWINBURNE  ? 


You  may  begin  by  trying  to  make  a  distinction  between  verse 


450 


that  is  light  and  verse 
that  is  humorous,  but 
you  will  find  in  the 
end  that  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  draw  a  hard 
and  fast  line.  Your 
two  selections  will 
overlap  at  a  hundred 
points.  How,  for  in- 
stance, are  'you  to 
deal  with  parody, 
whether  it  be  the 
parody  which  has  for 
its  object  the  ridicule 
of  its  original,  or  the 
other  parody  which 
merely  takes  the  form 
of  that  original  and 
adapts  it  to  another 
purpose  ?  How  again 
are  you  to  distribute 
TOM  HOOD,  a  mere 
word -twister  on  one 
side  of  his  mind, 
shading  off  through 
satire  and  pure  light 
verse  into  the  greater 
poetry?  These  are 
only  two  examples  of 
the  difficulties  that 
meet  you.  The  fact 
is,  of  course,  that 
such  verse,  whether 
you  call  it  light  or 
humorous,  has  many 
different  forms,  and 
the  most  judicious 
editor  may  well  be 
puzzled  as  he  makes  his  choice. 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI 


CATCHING    A    MERMAID!" 

[Submarine  Photography  is  now  possible.] 


lean  perfection  of 
form,  such  amazing 
and  almost  devilish 

leverness,  or  so 
light  a  touch?  The 
tenderness  that 
THACKERAY  had  he 
did  not  pretend  to. 
His  verse  sparkles 
like  a  well -cut 
diamond,  but  there  is 
no  such  glow  about 
it  as  that  which 
comes  from  "  The 
Ballad  of  Bouilla- 
baisse," or,  to  take 
another  instance, 
from  TOM  HOOD'S  "I 
remember,  I  remem- 
ber." Of  living  men 
I  must  not  speak,  ex- 
cept to  affirm  my  be- 
lief that  in  the  skilful 
exercise  of  their 
pleasant  art  they  are 
not  inferior  to  their 
predecessors.  They 
maintain  the  good 
tradition  and,  in  main- 
taining it,  each  of 
them  asserts  his  own 

individuality  both  of 

style  and  matter. 


In  its  best  and  most  attractive  form  it  requires  many  quali- 
ties. Its  writer  must,  if  he  is  to  succeed,  have  a  correct  ear, 
a  fine  sense  of  scholarship,  a  happy  knack  of  fitting  his  most 
difficult  rhymes  so  closely  into  the  texture  of  his  subject  that 
they  may  seem  inevitably  a  part  of  it,  and  an  easy,  rippling 
flow  of  perfectly  appropriate  language.  Let  him  have  a  genial 
and  friendly  outlook  on  humanity,  the  outlook  of  a  man  who 
has  lived  in  the  world,  and  is  able  to  speak  of  its  struggles, 
and  its  disappointments  with  a  humour  that  is  always 
kindly  and  a  pathos  that  is  never  (at  least,  in  expression) 
tragic.  If  his  verse  sometimes  trembles  into  tears  it  must 
be  only  for  a  moment,  and  a  smile  must  go  with  the 
tears.  Is  there  any  man  who  combines  these  requisites  better 
than  THACKERAY,  and  this,  though  he  has 

ventured  to  make   "saffron"    rhyme    to 

"tavern,"  and  "long  year"  to  "fron- 
tier," an  execrable  collocation?  Gaiety 

that  is  touched  with  regret,  humour  that 

is  never  without  humanity,  and  a  mellow, 

tolerant  wisdom  —  these    are    the    noble 

qualities    of    THACKERAY'S    verse.       His 

workmanship,  though  it  is  generally  fine, 

is  not  always  impeccable,  but  he  never 

allowed  his  workmanship  to  master  him, 

and,  therefore,  he  always  made  the  effect 

he  wished  to  make. 


SHADOWS   OF 
FUTURITY. 

["  In  consequence  of  the 
inferior  quality  of  modern 
printing  ink,  it  is  a  question  whetner  the  works  of  writers  of  to-day  will 
survive  a  century." — Daily  Paper.} 

OH  !  Oh !  .Horror  and  woe ! 

Hapless  Futurity,  what  a  sad  blow  !. 

Never  to  kiyyw  the  writers  that  strow 

With  the  flowers  of  culture  the  paths  that  we  go  ! 

Ah  me !  to  think  that  inferior  ink 

Your  souls  in  such  Stygian  darkness  should  sink, 

That  ye  never  shall  welcome  those  meteors  bright 

That  gladden  our  sight 

With  their  radiance  bright, 

And  scatter  the  numberless  horrors  of  night ! 

For  you,  O  Futurity,  fast  our  tears  flow  ! 

Oh  !     Oh  !     Horror  and  woe  ! 


CALVERLEY  too  must  have  his  place,  a 
very  high  one,  though  not  quite  beside 
THACKERAY.  Where  else  can  you  find  sucli 


His  swish  is  law. 


Oimoi !    Otototoi ! 

Will  you  survive   it?    Your   hours   how 

employ 

When  troubles  annoy  and  the  vulgar  alloj 
Of  sorrow  is  mixed  with  the  gold  of  your 

joy? 
In  vain,  all  in  vain  will  you  sigh  for  the 

brain 

Of  a  M-RIE  C-R-LLI,  a  GR-ND,  a  H-LL  C-NE 
Or  those  soul-stirring  odes  that  the  public 

delight 

With  their  brilliancy  bright, 
Unapproachable  quite, 
Which  none  but  our  England's  own  ALFRED 

could  write  ! 

But  these  are  not  fated  for  you  to  enjoy. 
Oimoi !     Otototoi ! 


DECEMBER  25,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHAEIVAKI. 


451 


A      CHRISTMAS      CAROL. 

BY  GHARI.KH  DIOKEXS  AXD  TOBY,  M.P. 

No.  10,  Downing  Street ;  Christmas  Eve. — PRINCE  ARTHUR,  turning  out  of  Parliament  Street,  walked  along  Downing  Street 
with  long  stride,  arms  limply  hung  by  his  side,  hat  slightly  tilted  back  from  his  feverish  brow.    Left  in  town  at  this  festive 
time  to  look  after  the  affairs  of  the  nation,   he  had  spent  a  tiring  day   at  his  desk.    The  night  was   in  unison  with  his 
faltering  spirits.    Fog  and  frost  hung  over 
the   street.     Ghostly    figures,    suddenly 
emerging  from  the  mist,  sharply  scanned 
him.     They  turned  out  to  be  policemen, 
who  wondered  what  he  was  doing  out  on 
such  a  night,  and  it  Christmas  Eve. 

Arrived  at  No.  10,  he  fumbled  at  the 
key-hole  in  vain  attempt  to  insert  his 
latch-key.  Now  it  is  a  fact  that  there 
was  nothing  at  all  particular  about  the 
knocker  on  the  door,  except  that  it  was 
very  large.  It  is  also  a  fact  that  PRINCK 
ARTHUR  had  seen  it  night  and  morning  all 
through  his  official  residence.  Let  it  also 
be  borne  in  mind  that  throughout  the  day 
he  had  not  bestowed  one  thought  upon  OLD 
MORALITY.  And  then  let  any  man  explain , 
if  he  can,  how  it  happened  that  PRINCE 
ARTHUR,  having  his  key  in  the  lock  of 
the  door,  saw  in  the  knocker,  without 
its  undergoing  any  intermediate  process 
of  change,  not  a  knocker  but  OLD 
MORALITY'S  face ! 

OLD  MORALITY'S  face.  It  was  not  in 
impenetrable  shadow  as  the  front  of  No. 
10,  Downing  Street  was.  It  had  a  faint 
flicker  upon  it  such  as  might  fall  on  an 
upturned  countenance  from  the  dying 
light  in  the  glass  roof  in  the  House  of 
Commons  when  members  answer  to  the 
cry  "Who  goes  home?"  It  looked  at 
PRINCE  ARTHUR  as  OLD  MORALITY  used  to 
look,  with  kindly  but  shrewd  glance,  as 
if  doubting  whether  he  were  altogether, 
as  he  has  described  himself,  "  a  child  " 
in  some  matters.  The  hair  (what  was  left 
of  it)  was  curiously  stirred,  as  if  by 
breath  or  hot  air ;  and  though  the  eyes 
were  wide  open  they  were  perfectly 
motionless. 

As  PRINCE  ARTHUR  looked  fixedly  at 
this  phenomenon  it  was  a  knocker  again. 

To  say  he  was  not  startled,  or  that  his 
blood  was  not  conscious  of  a  terrible  sen- 
sation to  which  it  had  been  a  stranger 
from  infancy — an  earlier  stage  from  that 
of  the  childhood  alluded  to  —  would  be 
untrue.  But  he  thrust  the  key  into  the 
key-hole,  turned  it  sturdily,  walked  in 
and  lighted  his  candle. 


"OLD  MORALITY  IN  HIS  SQUARE  MORNING  COAT." 


He  made  his  way  to  the  room  nearest  the  doorway  connecting  No.  10  with  No.  11,  Downing  Street.  This  was  knocked 
through  at  the  instance  of  the  SQUIRE  OF  MALWOOD  when  he  was  CHANCELLOR  OP  THE  EXCHEQUER,  and  Lord  ROSEBERY,  as  Prime 
Minister,  was  his  neighbour.  He  (the  SQUIRE)  liked  to  feel  that  at  any  moment,  without  the  delay  consequent  upon  passing  out 
of  one  front  door  and  through  another,  he  could  seek  and  find  the  counsel  and  companionship  of  his  chief.  PRINCE  ARTHUR 
thought  of  this  touching  incident  with  a  sense  of  relief.  He  was  alone  in  the  house.  All  the  servants  were  making  Christmas 
holiday.  It  was  nice  to  think  that  by  passing  through  a  door  he  could,  in  case  anything  happened,  be  in  the  next  house  in 
|  no  time. 

"  Pooh  pooh!  "  he  said,  when  he  thought  of  OLD  MORALITY'S  face  where  the  door-knocker  ought  to  have  been.  Nevertheless, 
|  he  doubled-locked  the  door.  Thus  secured  against  surprise,  he  took  off  his  turned-down  collar,  put  on  his  dressing-gown  and 
his  slippers  and  his  nightcap,  and  sat  down  before  the  fire  to  sup  the  gruel  which  the  prevision  of  a  faithful  servant  had  left 
'ready  on  the  hob. 

Half-an-hour  passed  ;  it  may  have  been  only  twenty-five  minutes.    PRINCE  ARTHUR  heard  a  familiar  step  in  the  passage.    It 

is  coming  straight  towards  the  door.     Whilst  he  was  congratulating  himself  on  the  precaution  he  had  taken  of  double- 


VOL,  cxxi. 


D  D 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHAEIVAEI.  [DECEMBER  25,  1901. 


locking  it,  the  SOMETHING  moved  on  through  the  massive  door 
and  entered  the  room.  The  dying  flame  leaped  up  as  though 
it  cried,  "I  know  him;  OLD  MORALITY'S  Ghost!"  and  fell 
again. 

The  same  face  ;  the  very  same.  OLD  MORALITY  in  his  square 
morning  coat,  his  usual  waistcoat,  his  trousers  of  the  last 
century,  and  boots  of  the  same  date.  His  body  was  trans- 
parent, so  that  PRINCE  ARTHUR,  looking  through  his  waistcoat, 
could  clearly  see  the  bookstall  at  Charing  Cross  loaded  with 
those  newspapers  he  never  reads. 

"How  now?"  growled  PRINCE  ARTHUR,  throwing  into  his 
voice  a  tone  of  Philosophic  Doubt.  "  What  do  you  want  with 
me?" 

"Much."    OLD  MORALITY'S  voice  ;  no  doubt  about  it. 

"  Who  are  you?  " 

"  In  life  I  was  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury  and  Leader  of 
the  House  of  Commons  whilst  you  were  Chief  Secretary  for 
Ireland." 

"  Can  you — can  you  sit  down  ?  "  asked  PRINCE  ARTHUR,  look- 
ing doubtfully  at  him. 

The  Ghost  sat  down  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fireplace  as 
if  he  were  quite  used  to  it. 

"Don't  be  frightened,"  he  said  genially,  warming  his  hands 
at  the  fire  and  rubbing  his  leg  in  the  place  Avhere  the  calf 
formerly  was.  "  I  daresay  you  didn't  expect  me.  I  can't 
stay  long,  though  I  don't  suppose  you  are  much  troubled 
with  cock-crowing  in  Downing  Street.  I  just  wanted  to  have 
a  little  chat  with  you  about  Procedure  in  the  Commons. 
I  hear  something  about  you  going  to  tighten  up  the  Rules 
so  as  to  choke  off  Obstruction.  I  don't  want  to  say  anything 
disagreeable.  Merry  Christmas :  good  -  will  on  earth,  and 
all  that,  you  know.  So  I  won't  refer  to  the  time  when 
you  and  GRANDOLPH  and  WoLFFEY  and  JOHN  GORST—  how's 
GORST  getting  on?  still  respectful  to  his  Chiefs,  I  sup- 
pose ? — when  you  four  did  your  best  to  make  legislation 
impossible. 

"  What  I  wanted  to  say  to  you  is — if  I  may  quote  a  copy-book 
heading  possibly  not  unfamiliar  to  you — when  you  put  your  hand 
to  the  plough,  don't  turn  back.  No  half  measures :  fill  the 
flowing  bowl :  you  know  what  I  mean.  I  did  something  in  my 
time  to  deliver  the  majority  from  the  tyranny  of  the  minority. 
Never  had  such  a  chance  as  you  possess.  You  have  an  over- 
whelming majority.  The  Irish  Party,  under  the  leadership  of 
a  pinchbeck  PARNELL,  have  given  themselves  away,  alienated 
public  opinion  by  openly  declaring  their  intention  of  making 
the  House  of  Commons  a  byword  among  Parliaments,  impotent, 
ludicrous.  Now  's  your  time.  Snatch  it  and  do  your  work 
thoroughly." 

PRINCE  ARTHUR  began  to  feel  quite  at  home.  Had  never 
heard  a  ghost  talk  in  so  sensible  a  manner,  or  comport  itself  in 
such  homely  fashion. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "though  unexpected,  as  you  put  it, 
I'm  very  glad  to  see  you  again.  Won't  you  take  some- 
thing?" he  was  about  to  add  when,  catching  a  glimpse  of 
the  back  of  the  chair  through  the  lower  part  of  his  visitor's 
waistcoat,  he  recognised  the  inappropriateness  of  the  sugges- 
tion. 

As  he  looked  OLD  MORALITY  edged  towards  the  corner  of  the 
seat,  placed  his  hands  on  his  knees  and  turned  his  head  to  the 
left  in  the  direction  where  the  Speaker's  chair  is  viewed  from 
the  Treasury  Bench. 

"He 's  going  to  pounce !  "  cried  PRINCE  ARTHUR  excitedly. 

Pounce  he  did,  clear  off  his  chair,  through  the  shut  and 
double-locked  door.  PRINCE  ARTHUR,  his  faculties  strangely 
quickened,  could  hear  the  pattering  of  his  feet  along  the 


"Pooh  pooh!"  he  muttered  as  he  finished  his  gruel,  "I 
don't  believe  my  own  eyes.  No  Foundations  for  Belief  in  this 
sort  of  thing.  All  the  same  there's  a  good  deal  in  what  he 
said." 


A  CHRISTMAS  RONDEAU. 
OLD  Father  Christmas  !  one  more  joyous  peal 
Hails  your  return,  your  wonted  gifts  to  deal : 
You  bring  your  blessing — Peace  on  earth  to  dwell- 
To  men  you  teach  good-will,  and  with  your  spell 
Calm  their  fierce  feuds,  and  differences  heal. 

Now  wondering  children  to  their  stockings  steal, 
And  find  them  bulging — leg  and  toe  and  heel. 
Glad  at  the  gifts  the  giver's  name  they  tell — 
Old  Father  Christmas  ! 

I  also  join  their  joyful  sports  with  zeal : 
Crackers  I  pull,  to  cry  the  forfeits  kneel, 

And  at  Sir  Roger  I  once  more  excel. 

Yes,  when  each  year  your  gladsome  carols  swell, 
Despite  time's  ravages,  I  cannot  feel 

Old,  Father  Christmas! 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY. 
THE  OLD  STYLE. 

NOTHING  could  have  been  more  cheerful  than  the  well-lighted 
streets.  The  holly  and  mistletoe  glistened  in  the  green-grocers' 
windows.  Toys  were  everywhere,  and  scores  of  happy  children 
toddled  beside  their  rosy-cheeked  parents  full  of  the  glee  of 
the  joyful  season,  and  so  on,  and  so  on,  for  a  dozen  pages. 

The  family  party  assembled  together  in  the  old  ancestral  hall 
was  a  right  merry  one.  The  armour  reflected  back  the  red 
glare  of  the  blazing  yule  log.  Dancing  and  flirtation  and  all 
the  brightest  side  of  life  were  in  evidence  on  all  sides.  What 
could  have  been  more  delightful?  What  could  have  been 
more  in  keeping  with  the  good  traditions  ?  And  so  on,  and 
so  on,  for  another  dozen  pages. 

"Ah,"  said  the  host,  as  he  bid  adieu  to  the  last  guest  for 
the  last  time,  smiling,  0what  a  pity  it  is  that  Christmas  comes 
but  once  a  year  !  ' ' 

THE  NEW  STYLE. 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  dismal  than  the  fog-hidden 
streets.  The  green — if  there  were  any — could  not  be  seen  in 
the  fruiterers'  windows.  The  custamary  cheap  presents  in  the 
toy  shops  were  hidden  by  the  prevailing  gloom.  Children  by  the 
score  shivered  and  whimpered  as  they  listened  to  the  querulous 
voices  of  their  parents.  And  so  on,  and  so  .on,,  for  a  dozen  pages. 

The  family  party  assembled  together  in  the  large  dining  room 
quarrelled  with  the  utmost  heartiness.  They  had  been  so  in- 
tent upon  th^ir  bickerings  that  they  had  quite  forgotten  to 
keep  up  the  fire.  The  coals  were  cold  as  the  biting  frost  with- 
out. The  hall  table  was  covered  with  unpaid  bills.  County 
Court  summonses  had  been  left  early  in  the  afternoon  and  were 
well  in  evidence.  What  could  have  been  more  in  keeping  with 
the  sadness  of  the  dismal  season  ?  What  could  have  been  more 
wretched  ?  What  could  have  been  more  in  keeping  with  the  bad 
traditions?  And  so  on,  and  so  on,  for  another  dozen  pages. 

"Ah!  "  said  the  host,  as  he  bid  adieu  to  the  last  guest  for 
the  first  time,  smiling,  "  how  fortunate  it  is  that  Christmas 
comes  but  once  a  year  !  " 

LADY  GADABOUT'S  CABRIGE  WAITS. 

HONERD  MR.  PUNCH,  SIR, — If  you  -would  empress  upon  your 
reeders  the  fack  that  wating  night  after  night  drurin  the 
Xmas  hollydays  up  by-streets,  while  my  imployers  are  injoin  the 
pantermines  and  plays,  and  I  and  JOHN  THOMAS,  to  say  nothin 
of  the  'osses,  are  shivrin  an  starvin,  is  not  my  ideer  of  the 
festy  seesun,  you  would  greatly  oblidge 

Your  obedient  servant,  JEHU  JONES  (Coachman). 

P.S.— Couldn't  you,  honerd  Sir,  start  a  kinder  messinger  boy 
surviss  as  could  go  round  with  drinx  an  am  sangwishes  free 
gratiss  for  nothink  wile  hour  imployers  is  amoosinof  thesselves? 


DECEMBER  25,  1901.]  PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI.  453 


PARTNERS. 

Britannia.  "AFTER  ALL,  MY  DEAR,    WE  NEEDN'T  TROUBLE  OURSELVES  ABOUT  THE  OTHERS. 
Colonia.  ' '  No  ;  WE  CAN  ALWAYS  DANCE  TOGETHER,  YOU  AND  I  ! " 


DECEMBER  25,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


SANTA  GLAUS. 
A  Special  and  Exclusive  Interview. 

"I  HAD  some  difficulty,"  writes  Mr. 
Punch's  representative,  "in  finding  the 
old  gentleman  -whoso  views  on  current 
topics  I  had  been  instructed  to  ascertain. 
Everybody  knew  him — at  least  everybody 
pretended  to — and  one  little  girl  to  whom 
I  applied  for  information  was  sure  she 
had  seen  him  last  Christmas-time  creeping 
up  to  her  cot  in  the  middle  of  the  night. 
She  described  him,  however,  as  looking 
*  just  like  Daddy,'  and,  as  I  knew  that 
that  particular  Daddy  owned  no  beard, 
white  or  otherwise,  I  saw  at  once  that  her 
story  lacked  that  vraisemblance  which  to 
a  newspaper-man  is  more  valuable  than 
life,  to  say  nothing  of  truth.  At  length, 
however,  by  dint  of  a  lavish  expenditure 
of  money,  I  found  a  clue,  and  eventually 
tracked  the  illustrious  friend  of  all 
children  to  his  home  in  a  neatly  con- 
structed and  unpretentious  cave  situated 
not  far  from  Hyde  Park.  The  avenue 
leading  up  to  the  entrance  is  composed, 
if  I  may  say  so,  of  five  hundred  magnifi- 
cent fir-trees,  and  fifteen  poodle-dogs, 
specially  wound  up  to  spring  at  an  intruder 
and  each  of  them  constructed  with  a 
special  and  novel  arrangement  for  barking, 
guard  the  outer  gate.  Having  safely 
surmounted  these  obstacles,  I  was  ad- 
mitted by 

%  A  NORWEGIAN  TROLL 

of  peculiar  shagginess  and  highly  curved 
legs.  He  wore  a  beard  at  least  two  feet 
long,  reaching  from  his  chin  to  the  ground, 
and  on  his  head  was  a  funny  old  cap 
shaped  like  those  usually  associated  with 
brewers'  draymen  and  revolutionary  en- 
thusiasts. In  answer  to  one  question  as 
to  whether  his  master  was  at  home  the 
replied,  with  an  affectation  of  surliness 
which  could  not  conceal  the  nobility  of 
his  character  and  the  true  kindliness  of 
his  heart,  that  Santa  Glaus  was  very  busy 
at  this  particular  moment,  and  that  any- 
one presuming  to  disturb  him  would 
probably  be  converted  immediately  into 
a  story-book  with  brilliantly-coloured 
pictures  and  sold  for  8s,  6d.  a  copy  on  the 
railway  bookstalls.  Being  naturally  of  a 
retiring  disposition,  and  hating  both  pub- 
licity and  advertisement,  I  was  just  about 
to  turn  away  when  the  voice  of 

SANTA  CLAUS  HIMSELF 

was  heard  inside  the  cave  loudly  instruct- 
ing his  servant  to  admit  the  stranger  at 
once.  At  this  the  demeanour  of  the  Troll 
instantly  changed,  a  smile  spread  over  his 
rugged  Norse  features,  and  with  a  low  bow 
he  proceeded  to  conduct  me  down  a  flight 
of  golden  steps  into  the  audience  chamber 
of  his  lord  and  master. 

My  first  sight  of  Santa  Claus  disap- 
pointed me,  and  the  description  of  it  will 
no  doubt  disappoint  readers  of  Punch. 
"We  live  in  an  eminently  rationalised 


A    DEFINITION. 

New  Governess.  "Now,  TOMMY,  SIT  UP,  AND  TELL  ME  WHAT  ARE  'WEIGHTS  AND  MEA- 
SURES." " 

Tommy.  "PLEASE,  Miss  JONES,  WATTS  ARE  PEOPLE  WHO  COME  HOWLING  OUTSIDE  AT 
CHRISTMAS-TIME,  AND  MEASURES  ARE  WHAT  PAPA  SAYS  HE  'LL  TAKE  TO  STOP  'EM  ! " 


world.  All  romances  and  fairy  tales  and 
legendary  myths  have  been  carefully 
smoothed  out  and  reduced  to  the  common 
experience  of  every-day  life,  and  even  the 
glamour  of  childhood  has  had  to  give  way, 
so  we  are  assured,  before  the  relentless 
advance  of  common-sense  coupled  with 
business  methods  imported  from  the 
United  States.  When,  therefore,  I  entered 
the  audience  chamber  I  expected  to  see  a 
dapper  gentleman  in  a  frock-coat  and 
patent-leather  boots,  with  an  up-and-down 
collar,  a  diamond-and-pearl  scarf-pin,  and 
a  bunch  of  violets  in  his  button-hole.  I 
confidently  anticipated  that  he  would 
address  me  in  curt  tones,  asking  me  to 
state  my  business  quickly,  as  he  was 
expecting  a  visit  from  ^ 

THE  SUPERINTENDENT  OF  A  TOY-SHOP, 

and  could  give  me  only  ten  minutes.  You 
may  judge  my  surprise  when  I  found  Santa 
Claus  to  be  just  what  the  old,  kind,  cheer- 
ful stories  of  childhood  had  represented 
him — a  hale,  red-cheeked  old  gentleman, 
with  a  big  white  beard,  his  face  and  his 
long  coat  and  his  tall  boots  all  powdered 


with  snow  and  an  indescribable  look  of 
joviality  in  his  clear  blue  eyes.  "Great 
Scot!  "  I  observed,  in  the  first  shock  of 
my  astonishment.  "  You  don't  mean  to 
tell  me  that  you  're  Santa  Claus  !  Why,  I 
expected  quite  a ' ' 

"No  matter  what  you  expected,"  said 
the  Saint,  "  here  I  am  at  your  service." 

"About  those  stockings,  Santa  Claus: 
don't  you  ever  find  a  difficulty  in  filling 
them  ?  Come  now,  you  can't  possibly  do 
the  whole  job  yourself.  Why,  in  England 

alone  there  are ' ' 

.."If  you're  going  to  bother  me  with 
statistics,  I  've  done  with  you.  You  don't 
suppose  I  care  a  farthing  rushlight  for 
all  that  kind  of  thing.  I  've  done  the  job, 
as  you  call  it,  for  nigh  on  two  thousand 
years,  and  I  'm  not  going  to  cry  peccavi 
now." 

I  saw  that  the  old  man  was  offended,  and 
hastened  to  change  the  subject. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  meditatively,  in  answer 
to  a  question  from  me,  "  dolls  are  still  in 
great  request.  My  doll-cavern  extends 
underground  through  a  great  part  of 
Europe.  Then  there  is  the  animals' 


456 


PUNCH,    OR    THE    LONDON    CHARIVARI,  [DECEMBER  25,  1901. 


'in  conservative    and    old-fashioned.    I 
ust  keep  a  few  in  stock  byway  of  variety ; 
ut  as  a  matter  of  fact,  when  a  kid 's  old 
nough    for     some    of    these    elaborate 
machinery  things,  why  it 's  old  enough  to 
o  without  toys  altogether.    Anyhow,  my 
isits  are  not  required  in  that  particular 
ome.    The  old  things,  I  find,  go  down 
est) — dolls,  animals,  Noah's  arks,  jacks- 
n-the-box,  and  that  sort." 
At  this  moment  a- fearful  noise  broke  out.  • 
"  It's-  only  my  dolls  practising-'  Papa ' 
nd  •  -'Mamma';'  "-said"   -Santa  •  Clause." 
'  Come   and    see   them.      It 's    really    a 
harming  sight." 

I  had,  however,  heard  enough.  Thank- 
ng  the  Saint  warmly  for  his  courtesy,  and 
jestowing  a  handful  of  brass  tokens  on 
he  attendant  Troll,  I  regained  the  upper 
ir,  deeply  impressed  with  all  that  I  had 
een  during  my  short  visit  to  the  Cave  of 
)elight  and  Happy  Memories. 


Mamma.  " TO-MORROW'S  CHRISTMAS  DAY,  EFFIE  DEAR,  AND  YOU  WILL  GO  TO  CHURCH 

FOR  THE  FIRST  TIME."    (Encouragingly.)     "THERE  WILL  BE  BEAUTIFUL  MUSIC " 

JEffie.  "  OH,  MUMMY  DEAR,  MAY  I  DANCE?" 


emporium,  a  very  large  place,  with  every 
possible  appliance  for  keeping  the  occu- 
pants in  good  health  from  Christmas  to 
Christmas.  My  kennels  are  second  to  none, 
and  my  aviaries  have  been  much  admired. 

STUFFED  BIRDS,  OF  COURSE, 
but  even  a  stuffed  bird  wants  its  bit  of 
groundsel  and  its  handful  of  seed  regu- 
larly. Kittens  ?  I  should  think  so.  Lots 
of  them,  with  red-glass  eyes  and  horse- 
hair whiskers.  Some  of  'em  are  capital 
mousers.  Here,  for  instance,  is  one.  You 
see,  it  keeps  a  firm  hold  on  its  victim  all 
the  time.  None  of  "that  inhuman  playing 
about  with  it  which  disgraces  so  many 
cats  who  ought  to  know  better.  I  never 
allow  that." 

"  "Where  do  you  keep  your  horses  ?  " 


"  The  ordinary  ones  on  platforms  or 
wheels  have  excellent  quarters  in  a  handy 
mews  in  the  neighbourhood.  The  rockers 
have  special  loose  boxes  elsewhere.  "We 
can't  keep  them  together  on  account  o 
their  jealousy.  The  rockers  swagger  sc 
much  about  their  fine  free  action  and  thei 
painted  wood  that 

NO  ORDINARY   HORSE 

can  stand  it.  However,  I  don't  kee; 
many  rockers :  there  's  such  a  difficult} 
about  getting  stockings  large  enough  t 
hold  them." 

"  How  about  mechanical  toys  ?  " 

"  Oh,  well,  of  course  we  march  with  th 

times,  you  know,  and  all  that.     There ' 

something    about    mechanical    toys   tha 

doesn't  quite  appeal  to  me,  but  I  suppos 


TABLE   TALK. 

[The    Daily  Mail  has    recently    quoted    some 
triking  farts  to  show  our  increase  of  luxury.] 
OUR  vulgar  sires  decided 
To  take  in  calm  content 
The  goods  the  gods  provided, 
Whenever  they  were  sent ; 
Their  bourgeois  tastes  and  sober 

"Were  grateful  for  the  boon 
Of  peaches  in  October 
And  strawberries  in  June. 

But  now  we  think  it  treasd^ 
To  all  good  sense  and  reason 
To  own  a  taste 
That 's  so  debased, 
And  eat  a  thing  in  season. 

When  every  coster's  barrow 

With  strawberries  is  spread, 
And  every  alley  narrow 

With  strawberries  is  red, 
It  must  in  reason  follow 

That  self-respecting  men 
Would  father  die  than  swallow 

Your  vulgar  favourite  then. 

But  when  the  skies  are  snowing, 

When  prices  all  increase,. 
And  strawberries  are  going 

At  half-a-crown  a  piece, 
Then  one^  without  forsaking 

One's  self-respect,  might  dream 
Of  possibly  partaking 

Of  strawberries  and  cream. 

You  offer,  us  green  peas  from 
Your  Surrey  farms  in  vain ; 
We  only  look  at  these  from 

The  "  middle  zones  "  of  Spain  ; 
Spring  duckling  in  November 

We  reckon  at  its  prime, 
With  lamb  about  December, 
And  trout  at  Christmas-time. 

In  short,  we  hold  it  treason 
To  all  good  sense  and  reason 
To  dare  to  wish 
For  any  dish 
That  is  not  out  of  season. 


DECEMBER  25,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON   CHARIVARI. 


457 


CHRISTMAS   DAY,   1901. 

(By  one  10/10  lias  been  forced  to  keep  Christ- 
mas Eve,  and  is  still  at  it.) 

PUDDINGS  of  plum  and  mince  pies  too  ! 
Hammer  and  nails  for  the  holly — balloo! 
(There I   I  've  hammered  my  thumb !  (joroo !) 

A  romping  party  of  girls  and  boys, 

And  a  Christmas-tree  that  is  hung  with 

toys 
(Greed,  ill  manners,  and  aivful  noise  ! ) 

To  the  family  pew  while  the  day  is  young, 
And  a  carol  of  love  on  the  bells  is  rung 
(The  beautiful  anthem  vilely  sung .') 

At  night  we  '11  dance  till  the  morn  is  gray, 
And  drink  to  the  friends  who  are  far  away 
(How  fearfully  ill  we  shall  be  next  day  ! ) 


THE   GHOST   THAT   FAILED. 

(A  Story  for  the  Festive  Season.) 

ALL  my  life  long  have  J  desired  to  meet 
and  speak  with  a  ghost.  I  am  now  an  oldish 
man  with  my  wish  still  unrealised.  As  a 
boy  I  revelled  in  the  old-fashioned  ghost 
story — with  gibbets  and  gibbering,  spec- 
tral lights  and  hollow  groans,  but  I  was 
far  too  healthy  ever  to  be  frightened, 
and  though  I  tonged  to  have  that  deli- 
cious creepy  feeling,  that  sense  of  I- 
don '  t-kno w-what '  s-goi  ng-to  - h appen - but - 
I-shall-scream-in-a-minute,  no  ghost  or 
suspicion  of  a  ghost  ever  came  my  way. 
"You  want  to  be  in  the  proper  mood," 
said  my  sister  NEURASTHENIA;  "read 
EDGAR  ALLEN  POK  and  HOFFMAN."  I  read 
POB  with,  T  admit,  a  mild  discomfort,  but 
HOFFMAN  bored  me.  In  despair,  I  took 
to  late  suppers  (lobsters,  pork,  anything, 
provided  it  was  indigestible)  ;  but  my 
cursed  digestion  was  so  magnificent  that 
I  slept  afterwards  the  sleep  of  an  infant, 
and  only  succeeded  in  keeping  everyone 
within  six-room  radius  awake  with  my 
snoring.  Time  passed  on  ;  I  grew  middle- 
aged,  and  with  approaching  baldness,  the 
joy  of  feeling  my  hair  "standing  on  end  " 
receded  into  the  distance  of  the  unex- 
perienced— into  the  abysm  of  the  much 
unrealised.  And  yet  II  have  not  given  up 
hope.  Even  now,  as  I  am  writing  these 
lines  (1  A.M.,  dark  stormy  night — haunted 
spare-room —  country  house  —  guttering 
candle),  the  thought  that,  perhaps,  some- 
thing may  happen  inspires  me.  I  will 
blow  the  light  out  and  see — metaphori- 
cally, of  course. 

*  *  *  *  * 

1.15  A.M. — Have  been  in  darkness  a 
quarter  of  an  hour.  Making  this  entry  by 
the  light  of  a  match.  Casement  rattling, 
but  nothing  has  happened.  Feel  stupidly 
sleepy,  but  horribly  matter-of-fact  and 
tranquil — D — n  !  Match  burnt  down  to 
my  fingers. 

'2  A.M. — Have  re-lit  candle.     Must  have 


Little  Montague.  "I  WAS  AWAKE  WHEN  SANTA  GLAUS  CAME,   DAD!" 

Father.  ""WERE  YOU?    AND  WHAT  WAS  HE  LIKE,  EH  ?" 

Little  Montague.    "OH,  I   COULDN'T  SEE  HIM— IT   WAS  DARK,    YOU  KNOW. 

HE   BUMPED   HIMSELF   OX   THE  WASHSTAND  HE   SAID " 

Father  (hastily).  "THERE,  THAT'LL  DO,  MONTY.     RUN  AAV  AY  AND  PLAY.!" 


BUT  WHEN 


been  asleep.  Trying  to  recall  dream. 
Ah !  I  have  it  ...  was  buying  Christmas 
presents  with  insufficient  money.  That 's 
better ;  not  exactly  ghostly,  but  shows  a 
certain  vague  discomfort.  Perhaps  now 
.  .  .  what  was  that  ?  Chair  turned  over 
outside.  I  walk  to  door  and  look  out. 
My  host  in  dressing-gown.  Says  he  felt 
sleepless,  and  was  taking  book  from  book- 
case outside  my  room  when  a  form  glided 
out  .  .  .  dissolved  from  the  panels.  The 
family  ghost !  Had  I  seen  it  ?  Then  I 
lost  my  temper. 

"You  wretch,"  I  said  :  "you  inhospit- 


able wretch,  to  keep  a  ghost  only  dis- 
cernible by  yourself.  Here  have  I  been 
waiting  all  night — done  so  for  sixty  years  ' ' 
— and  then  I  sobbed  like  a  child  in  bitter 
disappointment . 

"Try  sleeping  in  the  churchyard," 
suggested  my  friend. 

"Done  so  for  two  seasons,  and  only  got 
rheumatism." 

"Hopeless,"  murmured  myl  friend. 
"  Incurable."  Then  he  wrung  my  hand 
and  fled,  and  I  returned,  Ghost-less  and 
irritable,  to  sleep  with  my  usual  abomin- 
able tranquillity.  A.  R. 


458 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI.  [DECEMBER  25.  1901. 


OUR    CHRISTMAS   TEA. 

Unregenerate  Youth,  ' '  PASS  THE  SEEDY  CAIKE  !  " 

Vicars  Daughter.  "  IF  ? — IF  ? " 

Unregenerate  Youth.   "  IF  'E  DON'T  I  'LL  SHOVE  'IM  IN  THE  FAICE  ! 


HYDE    PARK   AND    THE    FAIRY. 

IV.— WHAT  THE  SPARROW  SAW  ON 
CHRISTMAS  EVE. 

THE  sparrow  surveyed  me  from  a  neigh- 
bouring twig,  with  small,  bright,  beady 
eyes.  Then  he  winked. 

"Slow  creatures,  those  ducks,"  he  re- 
marked in  a  piping  voice.  "Pity  you 
haven't  got  a  fairy  pass  every  day." 

"  Beg  pardon,"  I  observed  with  puzzled 
politeness.  'Twas  rather  difficult  to  know 
how  to  address  a  sparrow.  He  was  so 
very  small,  and  yet  looked  so  smart,  that 


any  slip  on  your  part  would  [be  quickly 
taken  advantage  of. 

"  "Well,  haven't  you  got  permission  from 
the  fairies  to  understand  bird-language 
for  a  time  ?  You  ought  to  be  proud  of  it 
You  big  two-legged  things  are  so  verj 
ignorant  of  what  goes  on  among  us  tha 
a  fairy  pass " 

I  hastened  to  assure  the  sparrow  that 
was  extremely  grateful. 

"You  write  Christmas  stories,  and  al 
that  sort  of  thing,  for  the  papers?  " 

I  pleaded  guilty. 

"  What  do  you  write  about  usually  ?  " 


aid  the  sparrow,  with  his  head  inquisi- 
orially  cocked  aside. 

"Oh,  the  usual  love  stories — plenty  of 
mistletoe  and  pretty  cousins,  and  the 
idvantages  of  sitting-out  dances  in  the 
ionservatory,  and — and  ghost  stories  of 
every  kind,  ghosts  that  aren't  ghosts  as  a 
ule; — must  end  up  all  right,  you  know." 

"Rather  samey,  isn't  it?  "  chirped  the 

parrow.      "I    prefer    my  stories;    they 

•eally  happen.      Don't    I    forget    them  ? 

Well,  I  expect  I  should,  only  I  tell  the 

airies,  and  fairies  forget  nothing.    Listen 

o    this :    it 's    more    exciting    than    the 

Luck's  story.    Last  Christmas  Eve  I  was 

flying  along  one  of  your  dirtier  streets  the 

)ther  side  of  the  river,  when  I  saw  a  little 

rowd  of  children  peering  into  a  flaring 

toy-shop.     Gracious !    how    bright    their 

yes  were,  and  how  flushed  their  faces — 

much  brighter  than  many  of  the  children 

n  the  big,  fine  streets — only  dirtier,  more 

ike  we  are,  you  know ;  while  the  other 

children  were  more  like  goldfinches  and 

peacocks,  you  understand.    Well,  I  flew 

down,  not  so  much  for  the  shop  as  because 

someone  had  been  eating  a  bun,  and  I  like 

suns  !  ' '  added  the  sparrow  with  refreshing 

and  our.  "Then  a  man  came  out  and 
drove  the  crowd  away — all  but  one  little 
girl  who  was  making  a  horrid  noise  in  her 
throat  like  a  dog  barking,tand  who  kept  a 
blue  cold  nose  [fixed  against  the  window. 
After  a  while  she  grew  tired  and  crept  to 
a'doorstep.  Then,  of  course,  I  knew  what 
ought  to  be  done,  and  I  flew  away  to  tell 
the  fairies."  A.  R. 


TO  CINCINNATI^  JUNIOR. 

FOR  AMENDS. 

(See  last  week's  "  Cincinnatus.") 
MY  Lord,  if  I  may  understand 

That  you  at  last  consent  to  yield, 
To  leave,  in  fact,  your  furrow-land 
And  take,  for  good,  the  tented  field  ; 

(Not  that  you  say  it  anywhere 
In  such  reports  as  I  have  read  ; 

But  Mr.  ASQUITH,  he  was  there, 

And  this  is  what  he  says  you  said) — 

Kindly  permit  me  to  repent 
Of  that  poor  Cincinnatus-song, 

Composed  before  the  great  event, 
And  proved  oracularly  wrong. 

None  gladlier  than  I,  my  Lord, 
Would  welcome  with  the  coming  year 

Your  plough-share  turned  into  a  sword, 
Your  pruning-hook  become  a  spear. 

For  you  have  put  one  doubt  to  flight 
In  Chesterfield's  vociferous  hail- 
Under  what  flag  you  meant  to  fight 
(Supposing  that  you  fought  at  all). 

And,  so  you  serve  your  country's  ends, 
Careless  how  else  the  issue  goes, 

You  cannot  lack  for  loyal  friends 
Except  among  our  common  foes. 

O.  S. 


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DECEMBER  25,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVAKI. 


461 


AN  EXTRA-ACTIVE  VERB. 

On  all  fours  mith  To  Mote,  Tu  Be,  Ta  Boo, 
and  To  Week-end. 

["Table  Tennis"  achieved  its  apotheosis  in  a 
Championship  Tournament  at  the  Royal  Aquarium 
last  week.  It  has  therefore  to  be  conjugated.] 

PRESENT  TENSE. 
I  PING. 

Thou  pongest. 

He — ahem  ! — plays  "  table-tennis." 
We  are  all  champions. 
Ye  pay  subscriptions. 
They  are  outsiders ! 

IMPERFECT~AND  AMATEURISH. 

I  was  pooh-poohing.1 
Thou  wast  using  an  eighteenpenny  set. 
He  was  wearing  a  club  "Lblazer." 
"We  were  pitching  into  the  umpire. 
Ye  were  making  your  own  rules. 
They  were  having  words. 

PAST  (last  Season). 
I  pang. 

|    Thou  pongedst. 
He  pung. 

"We  grovelled  after  balls. 
Ye  split  your  trouser-knees. 
They  burst  their  braces. 

FUTURE. 

I  will  ping,  or  perish  in  the  effort. 
Thou  shalt  "retrieve." 
He    will    upset    the    furniture    in    his 
enthusiasm. 

We  shall  annex  the  dining-room. 
Ye  shall  go  without  dinner. 
They  (the  servants)  will  bless  us  ! 

POTENTIAL  MOOD. 

I  may  turn  professional. 
Thou  mayest  take  lessons  from  me  (five 
guineas  an  hour). 
She  may  show  off  her  figure. 
We  may  electrify  Balham. 
Ye  may  get  "  blues  "  (not  "  the  blues  "). 
They  may  win  at  the  Aquarium. 

OPTATIVE  OR  MATRIMONIAL  MOOD. 

I  might  become  a  "  parti." 
Thou  mightest    introduce   me   to    thy 
uighter. 
She  might  double  her  chance  of  marry- 

We  might  ping-pong  into  "  Society." 
Ye  might  "  stand  the  racket." 
They  might  hit  it  off. 

IMPERATIVE. 
Play! 

Let  him  mop  1 
Let 's  have  a  drink  I 
Go  it,  ye  cripples  1 
Game! 

PARTICIPLES. 

Present :  Ping.      Passive :  (not  found). 
Infinitive:    To  get  into  the  Badminton 
erles  and  abandon  the  now  undignified 
'fle  of  "  Ping-pong."  A.  A.  S. 


She  (who  has  been  buying  Christmas  presents,  to  K?  husband,  who  is  uncomfortably  conscious 
of  the  fact).    "Ho  RATIO  DEAR,  DON'T  YOU  SEE  MRS.  PARKER  OVER  THE  WAY?     WHY  DON'T 

rOU  TARS   TOUR  HAT  OFF?" 


OUR  BOOKING-OFFICE. 

IN  a  certain  weekly  paper  of  which  he 
is  editor  and  was,  if  my  Baronite  is  not 
mistaken,  "onlie  begetter,"  Dr.  ROBERT- 
SON NlCOLL,  thinly  disguised  as  "CLAUDIUS 
CLEAR,"  comforts  and  counsels  a  wide 
circle  of  devoted  readers.  He  has  col- 
lected and  published  his  essays  in  a 
handy  volume  entitled  Letters  on  Life 
(HoDDER  AND  STOUGHTON).  They  well  bear 
the  ordeal.  The  subjects  range  over  the 
wide  plain  of  common  daily  life.  Amongst 
the  headlines  are  The  Art  of  Conversa- 
tion ;  Some  Questions  about  Holidays  ; 
The  Sin  of  Overwork ;  Good  Manners ; 
On  Growing  Old ;  Firing  Out  the  Fools. 
This  last  is  a  trenchant  utterance  gene- 


ratec  by  experience  during  a  visit  to  the 
Unitd  States.  All  the  essays  are  marked 
by  wde  knowledge  of  men  and  books, 
equabe  common  -  sense,  unfailing  good 
humoi.-.  Even  when  firing  out  fools 
CLAUD  js  CLEAR  manages  to  convey  the 
idea  tht,  save  for  a  predominant  sense 
of  dutjto  his  country,  he  would,  following 
person^  preference  and  apostolic  exam- 
ple, suer  them  gladly.  When  writing 
of  book  or  on  literary  topics,  CLAUDIUS 
CLEAR  Talks  familiar  paths  through  far- 
reachin^fields.  He  not  only  reads,  but 
discrimiates  and  remembers. 

"Unde  which  King,  Bezonian?  Speak 
or  die  !  "  This  is  what  the  Baron,  apt  at 
quotation  asks  himself  while  reading 
Caroline,  l,he  Illustrious  Queen-Consort  of 


462 


PUNCH,  OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


[DECEMBER  25,  1901. 


I 


A    BROWIMIi:    STUDY. 


fvjAYDANK- 


George  the  Second,   by  W.  H. 
M.A.,  F.S.A.  (LONGMANS,  GREEN  &  Co.). 
Under  which  King  will  you  rank  yourself 
[s  it  to  be  the  Hanoverian  GEORGE,  first  o 
that  name,  with  all  the  STUART  vices  an 
none  of  their  pleasant  qualities,  or  KIN 
JAMES  THE  THIRD  of  England  and  Seven 
of  Scotland  ?    The  First  GEORGE  was 
sual,    selfish  and  cruel,  and  the    1 
JAMES  was  not  worth  such  wild  ent 
siasm   as   the  STUART  cause  aroused 
English  and  Scottish  hearts.    The  Ba*n 
would  have  been  inclined  towards 
King  over  the  water  "  ;  but  sagely 
on  retaining  his  wise  head  where  I 
dence  has  safely  placed  it,  he  would  hive 
drank  the  KING'S  health  and  requeued 
him  to  remain  "  over  the  water,"  wit/out 
attempting  to  regain  the  crown  his  f; 
had  thrown  away,  unless  summoned  b  do 
so  by  the  nation.     The  most  uncoipro- 
mising  adherent  of  the  STUARTS  canpow- 
a-days  throw  up  his  cap  for  the 
descendant  of  JAMES  THE  FIRST  of  E 
and  cry  with  all  his  heart  and  voice 
save  King  EDWARD  THE  SEVENTH  ! 
what  a  set  from  the  First  CHARLES  Blame- 
less in  his  domestic  life,  to  the  Fourth 
GEORGE    (saving    "  Farmer   GEORp,"    of 
kindly  but  melancholy  memory),  memor- 
able as  the  "  finest  gentleman  in  Brope." 
It  needed  the  virtues  and  stregth  of 
character  of  so  pure  and  sweet  /  soul  as 


was   the    Gracious    Queen    VICTORIA   to 
thoroughly  purge  a  court  that  was  not  so 
very  far  removed  from  the  open  licen- 
tiousness  that   characterised  the   reign 
of  the  Second  CHARLES  so  endeared  to 
Englishmen,  who   "take  their   pleasures 
sadly  "    as    "  The     Merrie     Monarch." 
Brilliantly  written,  with  every  incident 
dramatically  given,  and  with  every  im- 
portant   character    duly    weighed    and 
'  valued,  there  is  not  a  dull  page  in  the 
entire  work.    It  is,  indeed,  one  of  the 
]  most  interesting,  as  it  is  one  of  the  most 
delightful,  of  books,  sparkling  with  the 
romance  of  real  life,  that  has  engrossed 
the  Baron's  attention  this  many  a  day. 
I  Those  who  have  a  lively  recollection  of 
!  The  Love  of  an  Uncrowned  Queen  will  be 
j  in  no  way  disappointed  with  this  new 
!  work  by  the  same  author. 

THE  BARON  DE  B.-W. 
P.S. — Not  in  the  regular  Booking-Offlce 
line  is  a  story  in  the  Christmas  number 
of  the  Penny  Illustrated,  but  Mr.  LATEY'S 
Love  Conquers  All  is  worthy  of  exceptional 
recommendation . 


RECOMMENDATION  for  spending  a  really 
jovial  time  any  evening  during  Christmas 
holidays. — Attend  meeting  of  the  Statis- 
tical Society  and  hear  a  lecture  on  The 
Absorption  of  Interest  and  its  Effect  on 
the  Price  of  Meat  at  Berlin. 


JUST  AT  CHRISTMAS-TIME  TOO 


The  Ghost  of  Jtotham Oranae.  Cook  here,  I  call  this  monstrous !     I  've  kept  the  Grange  empty  for  more  than  two  hundred  years,  and  scared  some 
score  of  people  to  death.    Now  they  |e  gone  and  turned  the  place  into  an  Asylum  for  Idiots ! " 

rot  her  Ghost  (his  friend,  out  f  employment).  "  Oh,  it 's  disgusting !    I  don't  know  where  2  shall  gpend  Christmas ! " 


DECEMBER  25,  1901.] 


PUNCH,   OR  THE  LONDON  CHARIVARI. 


463 


A  BERLIN  !  "  9 

Actor-Manager  Discourses  (The),  110 
Actuality,  288 

Additional  Anticipations,  17 
Additional  Theatrical  Regulations,  448 
Affair  of  Art  (An),  367 
Age  of  Culture  (The),  80 
American  Offer  (An),  28 
Anti-Green  Park  (The),  81 
Any  Person,  437 
Apostrophes,  308, 398 
Artist  up  to  Date,  341 
As  Clear  as  Crystal,  276 
As  others  see  us,  95 
Aspiration  (An),  231 
At  Compit^gne,  216 
At  Goring,  128 
Athens  v.  Corinth,  381 
Authoresses,  384 

BALLADE  of  Literary  Advertisement,  113 
Ballade  of  Unprofitable  Speculation,  190 
Barl,  217 

Battle  of  the  North  (The),  367 
Belgium  and  the  B.P.,  158 
Better  Late  than  Never,  434 
Black  Forest  Vade-Mecum  (The),  62 
Book  of  Beauty  (The),  2,  78,  98,  146,  168, 

222,  240,  258,  812,  330 
Bookworms  All,  406 
British  Brutality,  7 
British  Manufacturer's  Apology,  405 
"  Buona  Notte,"  152 
CALENDAR  of  Love  (The),  187 
Camp-followers,  61 
Castaway  (The),  277 
Change  at  the  End  of  the  Century,  344 
Cheerful  Cricket,  446 
Cheerful  Reading,  226 
"  China  Mended,  ",86 
Christmas  Carol  (A),  451 
Christmas  Day,  1901,  457 
Christmas  Rondeau  (A),  452 
Christmas  Story  (A)  452 
Cincinnatus,  433 
Cloud-flashes,  190 
Ccelum  non  animum,  172 
Ccelum,  non  animum,  mutant,  qui  trans 

mare  currant,  42 

Coming  Naval  Manoeuvres  (The),  171 
Complete  Author  (The),  100 
Complimentary  Chorus,  367 
Corruptio  optimi— ?  50 
Courtship  a  la  Galton,  349 
Cricket  a  la  Grecque,  401 
Cricket  prospects  for  1902,  126 
Cruise  of  the  Sabrina  (The),  176, 185,  212, 

232 

Cult  of  Culture  (The),  54 
Curious  Creed  (A),  24 
Curse  of  Education  (The),  332 
Curse  of  the  Customer  (The),  135 
DECEMBER,  429 
Declining  Fortunes,  333 
"Delusions,"  77 
De  pro-fund-is,  324 
Der  Schnell-Zug,  90 
Deserted  Cockshy  (The),  109 
Dialogue  at  the  Naval  Manoeuvres,  73 
Dialogue  of  Degrees  (A),  185 
Diary  of  an  Author  (The),  321 
Dimple  Dell.  143 
Disillusioned,  852 
Dissipated  Damsels  (The),  428 


Domestic  Drama,  386,  434 

Domestic  Economies,  199,  224,  244,  253, 

275,  323,  355 
Dream-Story  (A),  259 
SLEGY  in  a  Country  Churchyard,  362 
End  of  Eustace  Jenkins  (The),  59 
Snterprising  Pro-Motor,  306 
Entirely  Friendly,  307 
Essence  of  Parliament,  13,  31,  49,  67,  85, 

103,  121,  139 

Ethics  of  Meteorology  (The),  248 
'  Euphonisms,"  55, 
Eve  and  her  London  Eden,  18 
Excuse-Maker  (The),  149 
Expostulation  (An),  344 
Extraordinary  Effects  of  the  Fog,  368 
FAIR'S  Fair  ( '!),  167 
Farewell  (A),  175 
Farthest  South,  82 
"  Fellers  Feeld  Force  Fund,"  347 
Financial  Follies,  158,  176,  194,  226,  239, 

302 

Fire-Fancies,  445 
Flight  of  Fancy,  368 
Flower  of  Chivalry  (The),  257 
Following  up  the  Trail,  152 
Folly  of  the  Wise  (The),  230 
Forbidden  Science  (The),  315 
For  Charity's  Sake,  25 
Foreign  Lion  in  London  (A),  110 
Forthcoming  Dramas,  150 
For  their  Hearts  and  Homes,  46 
From  a  Bachelor  Uncle's  Diary,  422 
From  Father  Thames  to  the  Oarsmen,  8 
Further  Regulations  for  Henley,  14 
GAME  of  Family  Types  (The),  133 
Garb  and  Garbage,  284 
Getting  below  the  Surface,  144 
Ghost  that  Failed  (The),  457 
Gladshaw's  Holiday,  96 
"  Go  "  at  the  Gaiety  (A),  8 
Golden  Pacific  (The),  230 
Golly  Girl  and  her  Galoot  (The),  146 
Gouty  Courtship  (A),  34,  52 
Grand  Old  Mariner  (A),  446 
Great  Expectations,  208 
HERE  and  there,  68 
Hermit  of  Saint  Rouin  (The),  370 
H.I.M.  Victoria,  118 
History  and  Myth,  135 
Holiday  Task  (A),  109 
Holiday  Tasks,  104 
Holidays  (The),  145 
Home-Coming  (A),  82 
"Hood's  Own  "  at  the  Savoy,  383 
Hours  of  Idleness,  347 
House  and  the  Hotel  (The),  403 
Householder's  Vade  Mecum  (The),  55 
House-hunting  Song,  152 
House  of  Rest  for  Human  Beings  (A),  144 
How  it  strikes  a  Contemporary,  293 
How  to  remain  a  Millionaire,  145 
Human  Coalfields,  352 
Hyde  Park  and  the  Fairy,  182,  266,  307, 

397,  432,  458 

IDEAL  Statesman  (The),  402 
Ideocrat  at  the  Dinner-Table  (The),  362, 

380,  898,  416 
Idylls  of  the  Chief,  38 
In  Imagination,  388 
In  the  Cause  of  Heart,  70 
In  two  Playhouses,  181 
"Iris"  Club  (The),  422 


"  Iris  "  Question  (Th),  260 

JACOB  and  His  Mastc,  376,  394,  412,  430 

Jocosa  Lyra,  449 

Joke  that  Came  Off  (he),  140 

July,  14 

LAMENTS  of  London, ; 

Last  Appeal  (A),  79 

Last  (I  hope)  of  the  Undies,  438 

Last  Nights  at  the  Lymm,  43 

"  Last  Nights !    Walhp !    Walk  up !  " 

20 

Last  Sound  of  Summer  The),  258 
La  Vie  de  Lux,  113 
Leaves  from  a   Detecve's   Note-book, 

134 

Leaves  from  an  Aeronai's  Diary,  278 
Letter  to  a  Young  Publher,  409 
Liberal  Social-ism  (The £0 
Lighter  London,  356 
Likeness  of  a  Likeness  (ie),  361 
Lipton  Unlimited,  258 
Little  Late  (A),  136  . 

Lives  of  Great  Men.  13153.  161,  186, 

200,  218,  236,  254,  272,  2,  £08,  334,  348, 

365 

Logician's  Love-Song  (Th,  271 
Lost  Follower  (The),  20 
Lovesick  Locomotive  (The  92 
Love's  Omission,  206 
Love's  Spell,  397 
MACHINE,  Some  Mortals,  al  a  Bat  and 

Ball,  44 

Magnetic  Needle  (The),  231 
Man  behind  the  Pen  (The),, 
"  Manoeuvres,"  167 
Match-less  Beauties,  88 
Matter  for  Re-dress  (A),  126 
Matter  of  Sentiment  (A),  34: 
Mayor  and  the  Major  (The),)4 
Medicinal  Marriage  (A),  41 
Merry  Motorist's  Lament  (Tl)  313 
Milk^oh !  356 

Millionaire's  Lament  (The),  1 
Millions  in  it,  298 
Money-np-Object  Lesson  (A),  5 
More  Biliteral  Cyphers,  427 
Motor,  "e  's  a  Mad  'un  (The),  * 
Mr.  Punch's  Museum,  164,  2122«,  229, 

232,  234,  235,  236,  V52,  253,  26268,  306, 

315,  334,  355,  870,  398,  401,  40432 
Mrs.  Medwin,  160, 178,  196,  214 
Much  Injured  Man  (A),  250,  26286 

Music  Hath ,  104 

"My  "Osses,"  294 

My  Sporting  Life,  74 

NEGOTIATE,  329 

Never  too  late  for  an  Old  Friendse 

Newest  Journalism  (The),  262 

New  Mosquito  Cure  (The),  136 

Noble  Object  (A),  415 

Noli  me  Tangere,  &c.,  298 

No  More,  172 

"  None  for  the  Brave,"  329 

Non  Secus  in  Bonis,  437 

"  No  P'lice  like  Holmes,"  230 

Not  at  Home  to  Honesty,  115 

Not  Novel,  350 

OCCASIONAL  Operatic  Notes,  6,  26,  60 

Ode  to  a  Humorist,  811 

"Off"  Season  (The),  891 

Of  the  Making  of  Leaders,  276 

Old  Millionaire  (The),  242 

Opinion  on  Palmistry  (An),  268 


Our  Booking-Office,  6,  21.  42.  60,  74,  f>2, 
116,  162,  175,  204,  234,  247,  284,  296,  320, 
838,  358,  866,  392,  410,  420,  448,  461 

Our  Club,  89 

Our  Professor,  132, 

Our  Pup,  404 

Over !  182 

"  PACE  that  Kills  "  (The),  19 

Paris  Omnia  Pura,  16 

Parturiunt  Montes,  337 

Pattering  Feet,  383 

"  Paying  for  his  Whistle,"  251 

Pegasus  on  the  War-path,  344 

People  who  Pall  on  Me,  19,  132 

Perpetual  Youth,  127 

Photographs,  243 

Piccadilly,  271 

Pieve  di  Cadore,  122 

Ping-Pong  Proper,  440 

Place  for  the  Press,  153 

Plays  of  Shawkspeare  (The),  193,  203, 
221,  235,  314,  325 

Politicians  at  Play,  96 

P.P.8.,  96 

Precious  Tear  (A),  374 

Prehistoric  Pepys,  442 

Press  and  Depress,  72 

Prohibitions  to  Novelists  and  Journalists 
311 

"  Promotion,"  70 

RAILWAY  Companions,  154,  179 

Real  Hard  AVork,  26.9 

Real  Use  for  Fog  (A),  397 

Reason  Why  (The),  304 

Recent  Correspondence  (A) ,  252 

Reclame  a  la  Re1  jane,  36 

Reflections  of  a  Motor-racer,  27 

Rivals  (The),  163 

River  Revellers  (The),  74 

Riverside  Sunday,  140 

Romance  and  Reality,  406 

Rosebery :  the  latest  Phase,  56 

Roundabout  London,  23 

Round  the  Book  Shops,  91 

Roving  at  Ramsgate,  114 

SAIL  and  a  "  Sell  "  (A),  304 

Sandal  Boom  (The),  132 

Santa  Glaus,  455 

Savoyval  of  the  Fittest,  434 

Seaside  Solitude,  169 

Secrets  of  the  Sands,  108 

Senti-mental,  71 

September  Song,  188 

Shadows  of  Futurity,  450 

"  Sic  itur  ad  Astra,"  304 

Side-Show  (A),  70 

Sir  Duckie  &c.,  302 

"  Site  of  the  Albert  Hall "  (The)  324 

Slightly  Mixed,  108 

Smile  Cure  (The),  248 

Some  Bank  Holiday  Plans',  88 

Some  Further  Coronation  Claims,  424 

Something  like  a  Cure,  260,  278,  290 

Something  like  an  Oration,  107 

Song  of  the  Pursuit  (The),  260 

Sorrows  of  Paterfamilias  at  the  Seaside 
106,  124, 142 

"  Sort  "  of  Intemicotine  War  (A),  373 

Sporting  Novel  (A).  419 

Strayed  Thought  (The),  62 

"Street  Music, "438 

Submerged  Suburbs  (The),  207 

Successful  Society,  386 


CHARIVARI. 


[DECEMBER  25,  1901. 


TABLE  Talk,  456 

Tale  of  a  Cod  (The),  446 


That  Feller's  Dictionary,  198 

Then  and  Now,  99 

Things  are  not  what  they  seem,  18 

Thompson  on  "Tinned  Cow,"  822,  840, 

To  a  Family  Portrait  Album,  134 

To  a  Vigilant  Lady,  424 

To  Chloe,  279 

To  Cincinnatus  Junior,  43H  .       „ 

To  Make  the  Punishment  fit  the  01  me, 

826 

To  One  I  love  not,  169 
To  Phyllis—  from  a  Millionaire,  360 
To  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  402 
Torture-Chamber  Music,  186 
To  Would-be  Statesmen,  380 
"  Transformations,"  128 
Trials  of  Authorship  (The),  266 
UNDER  Distinguished  Patronage,  131 
Un-happy  Thought  (An),  259 
Un  Hotel  de  Province,  63 
Unreal  Conversation  (An),  332,  374,  384, 

414 

Urbs  in  Urbe,  5 
VAINGLORY.  61 
"  Venice,  Limited,"  128 
Verbal  Endings,  163 
Verb  To  Dine  (The),  25 
Very  Memorable  Date  (A),  10 
"  Vicious  Circle"  (The),  118 
Victoria  Mary—  Princess  of  the  Seas,  280 
Views  about  a  View,  64 
Vive  le  Russe  !  204 
Voices  in  the  Air,  108 
"  Voila  ce  que  Ton  dit  de  Moi  7     t 
WALKEK  well  in  the  Running,  397 
War-Office  Reform,  316 
What  Uetail  Trade  is  Coming  to,  429 
"What's  the  odds   as  long  as  you  re 

Jappy  1  "  37 

What  we  do  with  our  Boys,  270,  289 
Where's  Air?  326 
Whiffleton's  Bogey,  208,  239 
Why  not?  445 
Wicked  Wire  (The),  441 
Winter  Resorts,  379 
Wooin'o't  (The),  842 
Word  to  the  Wise  (A),  302 
"X"-HIBITION  (An),  56 
YOUNG  Novelist's  Guide  to  Geography,  301 
Young  Novelist's  Guide  to  Law,  819 
Young  Novelist's  Guide  to  Medicine,  343 

LARGE  ENGRAVINGS. 

CHIEF  Mourners  (The),  119 

Chesterfield  Hamlet  (The),  443 

Christmas  on  the  Veldt,  459 

Cross  Currents,  889 

"  Deus  in  Machina  "  (The),  65 

Dirty  Weather,  29 

Dissembled  Love,  871 

End  of    the    Parliamentary    "Flat" 

Season  (The),  83 
Guildhall  Banquet  (The),  335 
Happy  Return  (A),  155 
Her  Worst  Enemy,  425 
Hope  Deferred,  1B7 
Lazy  Dog  (The),  11 
Matter  of  Business  (A)  ,'191 
Meet  in  a  Fog  (A),  817 
Mitylene  March  (The),  853 
Mutual  Advantage,  281 
Parting  is  such  Sweet  Sorrow,  101 
Preparing  for  the  Speeches,  407 
Reverse  of  the  Medal  (The),  263 
"Rough  Rider  (The),  227 
Self-Complacency  ;    or,  The  Dormouse 

and  the  Lion,  299 
--  tinoplel  173 
'  •  To  be  well  Shaken,'  '  245 
United  Front  (A),  47 
Wolves  of  Anarchy  (The),  209 

SMALL  ENGRAVINGS. 

ADMIKALTY  Official  asleep  in  Boat,  21 
Att'able  Motorist  and  Skittish  Colt,  87 
American  Uul  iver  ^The),  147 
American  Lady  at  Con  way,  283 
Angler  getting  a  Bite,  108 
Army  Surgeon  and  Sore  Feet,  208 
'Any  and  the  Goose  Woman,  109 
Artist's  Model  who  "  Collects,"  193 
Aunt's  Argument  with  the  Doctor,  369 
Automobilist  in  Morocco,  171 
Baby  and  a  Prize  Idiot,  163 
Balfour  and  Devonshire  Cream,  15 
Banking  at  an  Irish  Post-Office,  169 
Birds  coming  straight  at  Shot,  136 
Blind  Politicians,  839 
Blue-coat  Boy  metamorphosed,  409 
Boatman  and  Whisky  Bottles  295 
"  Bobs  "  as  a  Bobbie,  414 
Bottle-  jack  Overmantel  (The),  341 


Bowling  to  a  Stout  Bateriian,  199 
Boy  on  Books  at  Cupboard,  420 
Boys  and  Board  marked) "  Private,"  167 
Bread-eating  Mendicanm  A),  307 
Britannia  and  Colonia  dinting,  453 
Britannia  Hair-dressingjCompetition,  44 
Brownie  Study  (A),  46i 
Brown  staying  at  Desert  Farm,  333 
Bulldog  as  a  Wedding  fresent,  293 
Cabby  and  Leatherheai  Fare,  361 
Caddie's  Maiden  Name* A),  421 
Captain's  Cousins  at  Pflp  Match,  33 
Car-driver's  Nose  and  JVhiskey,  151 
Chef  Rosebery  and  Stofk-pot,  345 
Chinese  Envoy  and  Geknan  Sentry,  194 
City  Magnate  and  Aufor,  269 
City  Streets  "Up," 
Client's  Strong  Langufge  (A),  316 
Colonel  and  Bobbie's  Jrofession,  383 
Colonel  and  Surveying  Subaltern,  261 
Country  Barber's  Rair  (A),  64 
Count  shoots  a  King  fartridge !  203 
Cub-hunting  Fannerlf  ter  Rabbit,  243 
Cupid  as  Link-boy,  8B 
Desponding  Old  Aud  and  Nephew,  347 
Disguised  Politiciansin  Downing  Street, 

803 

Dissatisfied  Ghosts, 
Doctor  and  Jesting  ktient,  103 
Doctor's  Patient  oufcf  Danger,  265 
Dogs  and  the  PubliiBheep,  899 
Driving  a  Motor-canowimill,  45 
Driving  Lady  upsetjCyclist,  99 
Duke  and  Duchess  i  Neptune's  Car,  30 
Effie's  First  Visit  tfchurch,  456 
Extending  Refreshment  Apparatus,  18 
Fair  Invalid  in  Bai  Chair.  69 
Fairy  Electra  and  lemon  Sulphur,  449 
Fanner's  Dead  Ho^e  (A),  280 
Father  London  an/County  Council,  363 
Father  Neptune'sjank  Holiday,  89 
Father's  Musical  tughters  (A),  289 
First  Settlers  in  Meric-a  (The),  377 
Flirting  Husbandjnd  Jealous  Wife,  403 
Flying  PolicemanB37 
Foreigner  on  the  (over  Works,  154 
Freddy's  First  D{  at  Henley.  23 
French  and  Englp  Sailors,  93 
French  Presidenlpxldressing  Sub-marine 

Fleet,  285 

French  Seaside  ftures, 
Gentleman  Seekfe  Wife  and  Family,  252 
German  Visitor  pd  Irish  Housemaid,  223 
"Giddy  Gorst  "/The),  39 
Giles  on  the  Str*  Waggon,  406 
Giving  little  Effla  pick-a-back,  247 
Groom  and  Loot  Scandal,  9 
Guards'  Caps  af.  Army  Reform,  32; 
Guinea  Pigs  infcad  of  Foxes,  415 
Hairdresser  arfBald  Customer,  441 
Hamlet  playinjGolf,  270 
Harry's  Son's  tliday  Reminiscences,  216, 

251,  306 


Horses  Frightened  by  Motor-cars,  313 
Housemaid  and  Dumb-bell  Ringers,  145 
How  to  Tip  the  Keeper,  133 
H.R  H.  George,  Prince  of  Wales,  878 
Hunting  Lady's  Horse  bolting,  367 
Hunting  Lady  on  a  Roarer,  439 
Hunting  Lady's  Mackintosh,  329 
Hunting  Man  lost  his  Nerve,  401 
Illustrated  Quotations,  54,  139,  176,  212 

288,323 

Image  of  her  Mother  (The),  195 
In  a  Canadian  Canoe,  126 
Infant  Motor  Car  (The),  17 
Irish  Car's  Loose  Wheel,  277 
Irish  Chambermaid  and  Swell,  893 
Irish  Railway  Porter's  Question,  255 
Irish  Sentry  and  Guard  Tent,  331 
John  Bull  and  Censor's  Telescope,  53 
John  Bull  and  German  Artist,  417 
John  Bull  and  German  Salesman,  129 
Jonathan  Bull  and  Lion- Eagle,  381 
Labourer  and  Parson  in  Ram,  370 
Lady  and  Village  Jobber,  131 
Lady  Croquet  Player's  Threat,  235 
Lady  Nicotine  and  American  Knight,  319 
Listening  to  a  French  Song,  59 
Little  Boy  in  Goat  Chaise,  419 
Little  Boy's  Geography  Lesson,  113 
Little  Effie  and  Electric  Light,  405 
Little  Geoffrey  and  the  Cakes,  291 
Little  Girl  is  no  longer  shy,  431 
Little  Girl  won't  put  out  tongue,  71 
Little  Haymaker's  Refreshment,  10 
'Little  Minister,"  Dishart  Rosebery,  375 
little  Montague  and  Santa  Glaus,  457 
Local  Antiquities  Show  (The),  279 
looking  at  a  Mummy,  843 
kfajor  Jones  and  Furious  Stag,  231 
kfajor  Otter-Hunting  (The),  217 
tlamma  and  Children  Angling,  144 
dairying  whom  she  pleases,  149 
Hary  and  the  Burning  Cakes,  215 
Idaster  Bob's  Bad  Shot,  118 
ilending  Parliamentary  Motor  Car,  111 
Meeting  in  a  London  Fog,  848 
Military  Fare  and  Artful  Cabby,  287 
liss  Featherhead  and  Mr.  Boreham,  365 
lisa  Heavy-weight's  Dancing,  63 
diss  Jessop's  Piano-playing,  411 
liss  Short  and  Mr.  Long,  423 
lotor-Car  at  Covert  Side,  442 
rlotor  Car  at  Wopshire  Hunt,  805 
fotorists,  not  Microbes,  90 
Mr.  Boreham  and  the  Hot  Weather,  27 
Mr.  Muddleton's  Fox-hunting  Story,  438 
Mr.  Punch  and  Sir  Christopher  Wren, 

125 

Mrs.  Binks's  Runaway  Bicycle,  275 
Mrs.  Brown  and  Village  Doctor,  73 
Mrs.  Giles's  Glass  of  Wine,  226 
Mrs.  Murphy  and  the  Vicar,  253 
Mr.  Sopor's  Ambiguous  Compliment,  201 
Mr.  Sparkins  and  his  Conquests,  205 


Mr.  Tubbing's  Shooting  Pony,  141 
Mr.  Van  Wyck  and  his  Huntsman,  225 
New  Governess  and  Tommy,  455 
Nurse  and  Miss  Jane's  Prayers,  352 
Nursemaid  and  Unsuccessful  Angler,  81 
Nuts  for  the  Monkeys,  888 
Obstructive  Hunting  Man  (An),  319 
Old  Lady  and  District  Visitor,  219 
Old  Lady  and  Dublin  Tram-car,  179 
Old  Rustic's  Notion  about  V.C.,  127 
Opposing  Punters,  3 
Pantomime  Girl  and  Friend,  879 
Pals  outside  a  Public-house,  221 
Parish  Christmas  Tea  (A),  458 
Parliamentary  Cricket  Hatch,  67 
Parson  on  board  a  Yacht,  51 
Paterfamilias  and  Family  at  Seaside,  165 
Patient  and  a  Warmer  Climate,  315 
Percy  Johnson's  Cub  Hunting,  211 
Photographer  and  Sphinx,  418 
Ping-pong  in  the  Kitchen,  851 
Ping-pong  in  the  Stone  Age,  177 
Plain  Mistress  Engaging  Cook,  324 
Poet  Laureate's  Re-engagement,  75 
Political  Grave-diggers,  821 
Political  Meeting  in  the  Stone  Age,  429 
Primeval  Yacht-race  (A),  249 
Prince  George  and  the  Dragon,  435 
Private  Soldier's  Religion  (A),  181 
Punch  photographing  a  Mermaid,  450 
Railway  Station  in  ye  Roman  Period,  238 
Register-keeper  at  a  Rifle  Range,  28 
Rejected  Stout  Suitor  (A),  5 
Relief  to  meet  Unintellectual  Person,  79 
Result  of  Early  Bathing,  97 
Review  of  Royal  (Sub)  Marines,  267 
Roads  "  Up  "  in  Ancient  Egypt,  860 
Rosebery-Skimpole's  Opinion,  237 
Rustics  and  London  Attractions,  278 
Scene  in  a  Restaurant,  287 
Schoolmaster  and  Lady's  Whip,  105 
Seaside  Resort  of  Roman  Period,  297 
Secretary-  Hanbury  and  Colorado  Beetle, 

185 

Jelling  a  "  Confidential "  Horse,  187 
Sentry  Challenging  Two  Persons,  811 
Shade  of  Bismarck  and  Editor,  188 
Shelter  Trench  Exercise  (The),  82 
She  played  a  wrong  Note,  159 
Sherlock  Holmes  Chamberlain,  391 
Sherry  that  clings  to  the  Glass,  262 
Sitting  with  her  Back  to  Engine,  148 
Skating  in  the  Roman  Period,  213 
inowdon,  Derwentwater,  &c.,  161 
Snubbing  a  priggish  Gent,  72 
Songs  and  their  Singers,  239 
Squire  und  an  Old  Rustic,  117 
Steps  for  the  Liberal  Party,  301 
Stout  Lady  entering  Bathing  Machine, 

172 

Stout  Policeman  in  the  Fog,  397 
Strange  Faces  at  a  Conversazione,  447 
Street  Vendor's  Grievance  (A),  46 
Submarine  Refreshment  Bar,  896 
Supplying  Sportswomen  with  "Blanks," 
Tablets    of    Azit-tigleth-Miphansi,    157, 

229, 

Talking  Boer  Horses,  88 
talking  "  Rot "  about  Buller,  424 
Taming  a  Vicious  Colt,  55 
Teddy  and  Aunt  on  the  Sands,  19 
Three  Vaccinated  Military  Men,  355 
Timpkins  and  the  Donkey,  180 
Toast  for  the  Vaccinated  (A),  387 
Tommy  and  his  Mother's  Intended,  25 
\  mimy  Atkins  cpntinentalised,  357 
Tourist  and  Ancient  Rustic,  842 
Jurists  at  the  Lakes,  91 
Tramp  and  a  Boathauler,  77 
Tramp's  Loss  by  Fire  (A),  234 
"rooper  and  the  Beer  Cask,  244 
Vue  Love  speaks  to  Papa,  41 
*wo  "  Elephant "  'Bus  Fares,  884 
Vopence  in  the  Treacle,  158 
Jncle  Sam's  Choice  of  Canals,  427 
Jnsucoessful  Deer- Stalker's  Threat,  259 
''accinated  Swell's  Precaution,  432 
Veteran  Hunting  Man's  Cab  Fares,  885 
Vicar's  Daughter  and  Mrs.  Upton,  207 
Volunteer  Manoeuvres — Warm  Work,  100 
Wanting  Uncle  on  Roundabout,  107 
War  Office  Red  (Tape;  Briar  Rose,  1 
Well-bred  Dog  (A),  198 
Vidow  who  is  looking  for  a  Flat,  61 
Wild  Birds  and  a  Wild  Host,  190 
Winifred's    Grandfathers     and    Grand- 
mothers, 298 

Wishing  he  was  a  little  Boulder,  185 
With  an  Army  Corps  in  August,  123 
What  a  loafing  boy  is  fit  for,  95 
What  Sandals  may  lead  to,  189 
Whom  he  wanted  to  Marry  .295 
Why  he  didn't  take  off  his  Hat,  461 
Why  he  was  a  Cricket  Captain,  48 
Why  the  Bugler  didn't  Blow,  37 
Why  Tommy  was  Serious,  487 
Yachting,  a  Pleasure  ?  115 
Young  Couple  and  a  Pretty  View,  175 
Young  Lady  and  Gent  in  a  Boat,  241 
Young  Wives'  Cookery,  162 


BRADBUBY,    AQNEVT   &  CO.,   LD.,    PBINTBBS,    LONDON   AND   TONBBIDOE.