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diff --git a/12825-h/12825-h.htm b/12825-h/12825-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f3f7d0b --- /dev/null +++ b/12825-h/12825-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1802 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" /> + + <title>Punch, August 9, 1890.</title> + + <style type="text/css"> + <!-- + body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + p { + text-align : justify; + } + blockquote { + text-align : justify; + } + h1 , h2 , h3 , h4 , h5 , h6 { + text-align : center; + } + pre { + font-size : 0.7em; + } + hr { + text-align : center; + width : 50%; + } + html > body hr { + margin-right : 25%; + margin-left : 25%; + width : 50%; + } + hr.full { + width : 100%; + } + html > body hr.full { + margin-right : 0%; + margin-left : 0%; + width : 100%; + } + hr.short { + text-align : center; + width : 20%; + } + html > body hr.short { + margin-right : 40%; + margin-left : 40%; + width : 20%; + } + .author { + text-align : right; + margin-right : 5%; + margin-top : 0em; + } + .bracket { + margin-left : 10%; + text-indent : -2em; + } + .center { + text-align : center; + } + .note { + margin-left : 10%; + margin-right : 10%; + font-size : 0.9em; + } + .scene { + margin-left : 5%; + text-indent : -1.5em; + } + span.pagenum { + position : absolute; + left : 1%; + right : 91%; + font-size : 8pt; + } + .poem { + margin-left : 10%; + margin-right : 10%; + margin-bottom : 1em; + text-align : left; + } + .poem .stanza { + margin : 1em 0; + } + .poem p { + margin : 0; + padding-left : 3em; + text-indent : -3em; + } + .poem p.i2 { + margin-left : 1em; + } + .poem p.i4 { + margin-left : 2em; + } + .poem p.i6 { + margin-left : 3em; + } + .poem p.i8 { + margin-left : 4em; + } + .poem p.i10 { + margin-left : 5em; + } + .poem p.i16 { + margin-left : 8em; + } + .figure , .figcenter , .figright , .figleft { + padding : 1em; + margin : 0; + text-align : center; + font-size : 0.8em; + } + .figure img , .figcenter img , .figright img , .figleft img { + border : none; + } + .figure p , .figcenter p , .figright p , .figleft p { + margin : 0; + text-indent : 1em; + } + .figcenter { + margin : auto; + } + .figright { + float : right; + } + .figleft { + float : left; + } + --> + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12825 ***</div> + + <h1>PUNCH,<br /> + OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> + + <h2>Vol. 99.</h2> + <hr class="full" /> + + <h2>August 9, 1890.</h2> + <hr class="full" /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page61" id="page61"></a>[pg 61]</span> + +<h2>FIRST AID TO TOMMY ATKINS.</h2> + +<blockquote><p> +Sir,—I visited the Military Exhibition the other day according +to your instructions, my bosom glowing with patriotic ardour. If +anything besides your instructions and the general appropriateness +of the occasion had been necessary to make my bosom glow thus, it +would have been found in the fact that +I formerly served my country in a +Yeomanry Regiment. I shall never forget +the glorious occasions on which I +wore a cavalry uniform, and induced +some of my best friends to believe I had +gone to the dogs and enlisted. However, +to relate my Yeomanry adventures, +which included a charge by six of us +upon a whole army, would be to stray +from my point, which is to describe +what I saw at the Military Exhibition. +I was lame (oh, dear no, not the gout, +a mere strain) and took a friend, an +amiable young man, with me to lean upon.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:30%;"><a href="images/061-1.png"><img width="100%" src="images/061-1.png" alt="Yeoman with Umbrella" /></a></div> + +<p>"There's one place I really <i>do</i> know," +he had said to me, "and that's this +bally place."</p> + +<p>I therefore felt I was safe with him. +We arrived. We entered. "Take me," I said, "to the battle-pictures, +so that I may study my country's glories."</p> + +<p>"Right!" he answered, and with a promptitude that does him +immense credit, he brought me out into a huge arena in the open +air with seats all round it, a grand stand, and crowds of spectators. +The performance in the arena so deeply interested me that I forgot +all about the pictures. I saw at once what it was. Detachments +of our citizen soldiers were going through ambulance drill. The +sight was one which appealed to our common humanity. My daring, +dangerous Yeomanry days rose up again before me, and I felt that +if ever I had had to bleed for my QUEEN I should not have bled +untended. Even my companion, a scoffer, who had never risen +above a full privacy in the Eton Volunteers, was strangely moved. +There were, I think, ten detachments, each provided with a stretcher +and a bag containing simple surgical appliances. All that was +wanted to complete the realism of the picture was the boom of the +cannon, the bursting of shells, and the rattle of musketry. In +imagination I supplied them, as I propose to do, for your benefit, +Sir, in the following short account.</p> + +<p>It was a sultry afternoon; the battle had been raging for hours; +the casualties had been terrible. "Dress up, there, dress up!" said +the Sergeant in command, addressing detachment No. 2, "and you, +JENKINS, tilt your forage-cap a leetle more over your right ear; +BROWN, don't blow your nose, the General's looking; God bless my +soul, THOMPSON, you've buckled that strap wrong, undo it and +re-buckle it at once." With such words as these he cheered his +men, while to right and left the death-dealing missiles sped, on +their course. "Stand at ease; 'shon! Stand at ease! 'shon!" he +next shouted. A Corporal at this point was cut in two by a ball +from, a forty-pounder, but nobody paid any heed to him. Stiff, +solid, and in perfect line, stood the detachments waiting for the +word to succour the afflicted. At last it came. In the midst of +breathless excitement the ten bent low, placed their folded stretchers +on the ground, unbuckled and unfolded them, and then with a +simultaneous spring rose up again and resumed their impassive +attitude. "Very good," said the Sergeant, "very good. THOMPSON +you were just a shade too quick; you must be more careful. Stand +at ease!" and at ease they all stood.</p> + +<p>But where were the wounded? Aha! here they come, noble, fearless +heroes, all in line, marching with a springy step to their doom.</p> + +<p>One by one they took their places, in line at intervals of about +ten yards, and lay down each on his appointed spot to die, or be +wounded, and to be bandaged and carried off. But now a terrible +question arose. <i>Would there be enough to go round?</i> I had only +counted nine of them, which was one short of the necessary complement, +but at this supreme moment another grievously wounded +warrior ran lightly up and lay down opposite the tenth detachment. +We breathed again.</p> + +<p>And now began some charming manoeuvres. Each detachment +walked round its stretcher twice, then stood at ease again, then at +attention, then dressed up and arranged itself, and brushed, itself +down. All this while their wounded comrades lay writhing, and +appealing for help in vain. It was with difficulty that, lame as I +was, I could be restrained from dashing to their aid. But at last +everything was in order. Stretchers were solemnly lifted. The +detachments marched slowly forward, and deposited their stretchers +each beside a wounded man. Then began a scene of busy bandaging. +But not until the whole ten had been bound up, legs, arms, heads, +feet, fingers &c, was it permissible to lift one of them from the +cold cold ground which he had bedewed with his blood.</p> + +<p>"Now then," said the Sergeant, "carefully and all together. +Lift!" and all together they were lifted and placed in their stretchers. +More play with straps and buckles, more rising and stooping, and +then the pale and gasping burdens were at last raised and carried in +a mournful procession round the ground. But when they arrived at +the place where the ambulance was supposed to be, they had all +been dead, three-quarters of an hour. "Dear me," said the Sergeant, +"how vexing. ROBINSON, your chin-strap's gone wrong. Now, all +together. Drop 'em!" And so the day ended, and the pitiless sun +sated with, &c., &c., &c.</p> + +<p>I afterwards visited the Field Hospital to see a number of wax +figures in uniform, cheerfully arranged as wounded men in all the +stages of pain and misery. How encouraging for TOMMY ATKINS, +I thought to myself; but at this moment my supporter informed +me that he had remembered where to find the battle-pictures, and +thither therefore we proceeded, thankful in the knowledge that if +either of us ever happened to be struck down in battle he would be +well looked after by an admirably drilled body of men.</p> +<p>I am, Sir,<br /> +Yours as usual,</p> +<p class="author">LE PETIT SHOWS. +</p></blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE PROFESSIONAL GUEST +AT A COUNTRY HOUSE.</h2> + +<blockquote><p> +DEAR MR. PUNCH,</p> + +<p>Trusting that you take some interest in my fate, after the +more or less pleasant (?) week I spent at Henley, I hasten to let you +know that I am again visiting friends, though this time on <i>terra +firma</i>, and that the customary trials of the "Professional Guest" +are once more my portion. The very evening of my arrival, I discovered +that a man with whom I had not been on speaking terms for +years was to be my neighbour at dinner, and that a girl (who really +I cannot understand <i>any one</i> asking to their house) with the +strangest coloured hair, and the most unnaturally dark eyes, was +taken in by the host, and called "darling" by the hostess. After +dinner, which, by reason of the "range" being out of order, was of +a rather limited type, they all played cards. That is a form of +amusement I don't like—I can't afford it; and this, coupled with +the fact that I was not asked to sing, somewhat damped my ardour +as regards visiting strange houses.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:30%;"><a href="images/061-2.png"><img width="100%" src="images/061-2.png" alt="The Odd Girl Out" /></a></div> + +<p>A hard bed, and a distant snore, kept me awake till break of day, +when, for a brief space, I successfully wooed Morpheus. I think I +slept for seven minutes. Then a loud bell rang, and several doors +on an upper floor were heavily banged. I +heard the servants chattering as they went +down to breakfast. Then there was silence, +and once more I composed myself to rest, when +the dreadest sound of all broke on my ear. +<i>The baby began to cry.</i> Then I gave it up as +hopeless, but it was with a sensation of being +more dead than alive that I crawled down to +breakfast—late, of course. One is always late +the first morning in a strange house—one can +never find one's things. I bore with my best +professional smile the hearty chaff of my host +(how I hate a hearty man the first thing in +the morning) and the audible remarks of the +dear children who were seated at intervals round the table. But +my patience well-nigh gave way when I found that our hostess had +carefully mapped out for her guests a list of amusements (save the +mark!) which extended not only over that same day, but several +ensuing ones.</p> + +<p>I am not of a malice-bearing nature, but I do devoutly pray that +she, too, may one day taste the full horror of being tucked into a +high dog-cart alongside of a man who you know cannot drive; the +tortures, both mental and physical, of a long walk down dusty roads +and over clayey fields to see that old Elizabethan house "only a mile +off;" or the loathing induced by a pic-nic among mouldering and +utterly uninteresting ruins. All this I swallowed with the equanimity +and patience born of many seasons of country-house visiting; +I even interviewed the old family and old-fashioned cook, on the +subject of a few new dishes, and I helped to entertain some of those +strange aboriginal creatures called "the county." But the announcement +one afternoon, that we were to spend the next in driving ten +miles to attend a Primrose League <i>Fête</i> in the private grounds of a +local magnate, proved too much for me. Shall you be surprised to +hear that on the following morning I received an urgent telegram recalling +me to town? My hostess was, or affected to be, overwhelmned +that by my sudden departure I should miss the <i>fête</i>. I knew, however, +that the "dyed" girl rejoiced, and in company with the +objectionable man metaphorically threw up her hat.</p> + +<p>As I passed through the Lodge-gates on my way to the station I +almost vowed that I would never pay another visit again. But even +as I write, an invitation was brought me. It is from my Aunt. She +writes that she has taken charming rooms at Flatsands, and hopes I +will go and stay with her there for a few days. She thinks the sea air +will do me good. Perhaps it will. I shall write at once and accept.</p> + +<p class="author">THE ODD GIRL OUT. +</p></blockquote> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page62" id="page62"></a>[pg 62]</span> + +<h2>FROM OUR YOTTING YORICK, P.A.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Aboard the Yot "Placid," bound for Copenhagen (I hope).</i></p> + +<blockquote><p> +DEAR EDITOR,</p> + +<p>You told me when I set sail (I didn't set sail myself, you +understand, but the men did it for me, or rather for my friends, +Mr and Mrs. SKIPPER, to whose kindness I owe my present position—which +is far from a secure one,—but no matter), you said to me, +YORICK Yotting has no buffoonery left in him? I too, who was +once the life of all the Lifes and Souls of a party! Where is that +party now? Where am <i>I</i>? What is my life on board? Life!—say +existence. I rise early; I can't help it. I am tubbed on deck: +deck'd out in my best towels. So I commence the day by going to +Bath. [That's humorous, isn't it? I hope so. I mean it as such.]</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/062-1.png"><img width="100%" src="images/062-1.png" alt="Mr. Punch and Toby in a Cariole" /></a></div> + +<p>"Send me notes of your voyage to Sweden and Norway, and the +land of <i>Hamlet</i>. You'll see lots of funny things, and you'll take +a humorous view of what isn't funny; send me your humorous +views." Well, Sir, I sent you "<i>Mr. Punch looking at the Midnight +Sun</i>." pretty humorous I think ("more pretty than humorous," you +cabled to me at Bergen), and since that I have sent you several +beautiful works of Art, in return for which I received another +telegram from you saying, "No 'go.' Send something funny." +The last I sent ("<i>The Church-going Bell</i>," a pretty peasant woman +in a boat—"<i>belle</i>," you see) struck me as very humorous. The idea +of people going to Church in a boat!</p> + +<p>What was I to do? +Well—here at last I +send you something +which <i>must</i> be +humorous. It looks +like it. <i>Mr. Punch</i> +driving in Norway, +in a <i>cariole. Mr. +Punch</i> anywhere is +humorous; and with +TOBY too; though I +am perfectly aware +that TOBY, M.P., is +in his place in the +House; but then +TOBY is ubarquitous. +That's funny, isn't +it?—see "bark" substituted +for "biq," the original word being "ubiquitous." This is +the sort of "<i>vürdtwistren</i>" at which they roar in Sweden.</p> + +<p>It's all <i>très bien</i> (very well) but how the deuce can you be funny +in the Baltic? Why call it Baltic? For days and nights at sea, +sometimes up, more often down, and a sense of inability coming +over me in the middle of the boundless deep. Alas, poor YORICK!</p> + +<p>Then breakfast. Then lunch. Then dinner. No drinking permitted +between meals: to which regulation. <i>I am gradually becoming +habituated.</i> It is difficult to acquire new habits. Precious difficult +in mid-ocean, where there isn't a tailor. [Humorous again, eh?] +I now understand what is the meaning of "a Depression is crossing +the Atlantic." There's an awful Depression hanging about the +Baltic.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width:70%;"><a href="images/062-2.png"><img width="100%" src="images/062-2.png" alt="Sketch of Elsinore" /></a></div> + +<p>I send you a sketch of Elsinore, as I thought it would be, and +Elsinore as it is. Elsinore is like the Pumping Works at Barking +Creek. And I've come all this way to see this!! Elsinore! I'd +rather go Elsewhere-inore,—say, Margate.</p> + +<p>Think I shall put +this in a bottle, cork +it up, and send it +overboard, and you'll +get it by Tidal Post. +Whether I do this or +not depends on circumstances +over which +I may possibly have +no control. Anyhow, +at dinner-time, <i>I shall +ask for the bottle.</i> +When you ask for it, +see that you get it.</p> + +<p>Yours truly,</p> + +<p class="author">JETSAM<br /> +<i>(or Yotting Artist in Black and White).</i></p> +<p><i>10 A.M. Swedish time 9.5 in English miles. Longitude +4 ft. 8 in. in my berth. Latitude, any amount of.</i> +</p></blockquote> +<hr /> + +<p>AN EXCELLENT RULE.—We are informed that "extreme ugliness" +and "male hysteria" are admitted as "adequate disqualifications" +for the French Army. If the same rule only applied to the English +House of Commons, what a deal of noise and nonsense we should be +spared!</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page63" id="page63"></a>[pg 63]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/063.png"><img width="100%" src="images/063.png" alt="A METROPOLITAN METAMORPHOSIS" /></a><h3>A METROPOLITAN METAMORPHOSIS.</h3> +<i>The Awful Result of Persistent "Crawling."</i></div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>THE DYING SWAN.</h3> + +<p class="center"><i>(Latest Version, a long way after the Laureate.)</i></p> + +<blockquote><p> +"THAMES 'SWAN UPPING.'—The QUEEN'S +swanherd and the officials of the Dyers' and Vintners' +Companies arrived at Windsor yesterday on +their annual 'swan-upping' visit, for the purpose +of marking or 'nicking' the swans and cygnets +belonging to HER MAJESTY, and the Companies +interested in the preservation of the birds that +haunt the stream between London and Henley. It +is said that the Thames swans are steadily decreasing +owing to the traffic on the upper reaches +of the river, and other causes detrimental to their +breeding."—<i>The Times</i>. +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i16">I.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">July was wet,—a thing not rare—</p> +<p class="i2">With sodden ground and chilly air;</p> +<p class="i2">The sky presented everywhere</p> +<p class="i4">A low-pitched roof of doleful grey;</p> +<p class="i2">With a rain-flusht flood the river ran;</p> +<p class="i2">Adown it floated a dying Swan,</p> +<p class="i4">And loudly did lament.</p> +<p class="i2">It was the middle of the day,</p> +<p class="i2">The "Swanherd" and his men went on,</p> +<p class="i4">"Nicking" the cygnets as they went.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i16">II.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">The "Swanherd" showed a blue-peaked nose,</p> +<p class="i2">And white against the cold white sky</p> +<p class="i2">Shone many a face of those</p> +<p class="i4">Who o'er the upper reaches swept,</p> +<p class="i2">On swans and cygnets keeping an eye.</p> +<p class="i2">Dyers and Vintners, portly, mellow</p> +<p class="i4">Chasing the birds of the jetty bill</p> +<p class="i4">Through the reed clusters green and still;</p> +<p class="i4">And through the osier mazes crept</p> +<p class="i2">Many a cap-feathered crook-armed fellow.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i16">III.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">The lone Swan's <i>requiem</i> smote the soul</p> +<p class="i2">With the reverse of joy.</p> +<p class="i2">It spake of sorrow, of outfalls queer,</p> +<p class="i2">Dyeing the floods once full and clear;</p> +<p class="i2">Of launches wildly galumphing by,</p> +<p class="i2">Washing the banks into hollow and hole;</p> +<p class="i2">Sometimes afar, and sometimes a-near.</p> +<p class="i2">All-marring 'ARRY'S exuberant voice,</p> +<p class="i2">With music strange and manifold,</p> +<p class="i2">Howling out choruses loud and bold</p> +<p class="i2">As when Bank-holidayites rejoice</p> +<p class="i2">With concertinas, and the many-holed</p> +<p class="i2">Shrill whistle of tin, till the riot is rolled</p> +<p class="i2">Through shy backwaters, where swan-nests are;</p> +<p class="i2">And greasy scraps of the <i>Echo</i> or <i>Star</i>,</p> +<p class="i2">Waifs from the cads' oleaginous feeds,</p> +<p class="i2">Emitting odours reekingly rank,</p> +<p class="i2">Drift under the clumps of the water-weeds,</p> +<p class="i2">And broken bottles invade the reeds,</p> +<p class="i2">And the wavy swell of the many-barged tug</p> +<p class="i2">Breaks, and befouls the green Thames' bank.</p> +<p class="i2">And the steady decrease of the snow-plumed throng</p> +<p class="i2">That sail the upper Thames reaches among,</p> +<p class="i2">Was prophesied in that plaintive song.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>DOING IT CHEAPLY.</h3> + +<p>A re-action against the extravagance +which marked the entertainments of the +London Season of 1890 having set in, the following +rules and regulations will be observed +in the Metropolis until further notice.</p> + +<p>1. Persons invited to dinner parties will be +expected to furnish their own plate and linen, +and some of the viands and wines to be used +at the feast.</p> + +<p>2. To carry out the above, a <i>menu</i> of the +proposed meal will form a part of every card +of invitation, which will run as follows:—"Mr. +and Mrs. —— request the honour of +Mr. and Mrs. ——'s company to dinner, on +—— when they will kindly bring with them +enough for twelve persons of the dish marked +—— on the accompanying <i>Menu</i>, P.T.O."</p> + +<p>3. Persons invited to a Ball will treat the +supper as a pic-nic, to which all the guests +are expected to contribute.</p> + +<p>4. On taking leave of a hostess every guest +will slip into her hand a packet containing a +sum of money sufficient to defray his or her +share of the evening's expenses.</p> + +<p>5. Ladies making calls at or about five +o'clock, will bring with them tea, sugar, milk, +pound-cake, cucumber sandwiches, and bread +and butter.</p> + +<p>6. As no bands will be furnished at evening +parties, guests who can play will be expected +to bring their musical instruments +with them. N.B. This does not apply to +pianofortes on the premises, for which a small +sum will be charged to those who use them.</p> + +<p>7. Should a <i>cotillon</i> be danced, guests will +provide their own presents, which will become +the perquisites of the host and hostess.</p> + +<p>8, <i>and lastly</i>. Should the above rules, compiled +in the interest of leaders of Society, be +insufficient to keep party-givers from appearing +in the Court of Bankruptcy, guests who +have partaken of any hospitality will be expected +to contribute a gratuity, to enable the +Official Receiver to declare a small and final +dividend.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>PERQUISITES.—"Nice thing to belong to +National Liberal Club," observed Mr. G., who +didn't dine at that establishment for nothing, +"because, you see, they go in there for 'Perks.'"</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>"NOBLESSE OBLIGE!"</h3> + +<p class="center"><i>(Latest Reading.)</i></p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"><i>Noblesse oblige!</i> And what's the obligation,</p> +<p class="i2">Read in the light of recent demonstration?</p> +<p class="i2">A member of "our old Nobility"</p> +<p class="i2">May be "obliged," at times, to play the spy,</p> +<p class="i2">Lay traps for fancied frailty, disenthrall</p> +<p class="i2">"Manhood" by "playing for" a woman's fall;</p> +<p class="i2">Redeem the wreckage of a "noble" name</p> +<p class="i2">By building hope on sin, and joy on shame;</p> +<p class="i2">Redress the work of passion's reckless boldness</p> +<p class="i2">By craven afterthoughts of cynic coldness;</p> +<p class="i2">Purge from low taint "the blood of all the HOWARDS"</p> +<p class="i2">By borrowings from the code of cads and cowards!</p> +<p class="i2"><i>Noblesse oblige?</i> Better crass imbecility</p> +<p class="i2">Of callow youth—<i>with</i> pluck—than such "nobility"!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<p>HOME-ING.—Dr. BARNARDO'S delightfully +simple plan of getting a little boy to sign an +affidavit to the effect that he was so happy at +Dr. BARNARDO'S Home, Sweet Home, and that, +wherever he might wander, there was really +no place on earth like Dr. BARNARDO'S Home, +may remind Dickensian students of a somewhat +analogous method apparently adopted +by <i>Mr. Squeers</i> when, on his welcome return +to Dotheboys Hall, he publicly announced +that "he had seen the parents of some boys, +and they're so glad to hear how their sons +are getting on, that there's no prospect at all +of their going away, which, of course, is a very +pleasant thing to reflect upon for all parties." +The conduct of such parents or relatives +who send children or permit them to be sent +to Dr. BARNARDO'S Home, Sweet Home, where, +at all events, they are well fed and cared for, +bears some resemblance to that of <i>Graymarsh's</i> +maternal aunt, who was "short of money, +but sends a tract instead, and hopes that +<i>Graymarsh</i> will put his trust in Providence," +and also to that of <i>Mobb's</i> "mother-in-law," +who was so disgusted with her stepson's conduct +(for DICKENS meant step-mother when he +wrote "mother-in-law"—an odd <i>lapsus +calami</i> never subsequently corrected) that she +"stopped his halfpenny a-week pocket-money, +and had given a double-bladed knife +with a corkscrew in it to the Missionaries, +which she had bought on purpose for him." +We don't blame Dr. BARNARDO—much; but +we do blame these weak-knee'd parents and +guardians, who apparently don't know their +own minds. In the recent case which was +sarcastically treated by the Judge, Dr. B. +found that he could buy GOULD too dear.</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page64" id="page64"></a>[pg 64]</span> + +<h2>SOMETHING LIKE A REVOLUTION!</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>(From Our Own Correspondent on the Spot.)</i></p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:50%;"><a href="images/064-1.png"><img width="100%" src="images/064-1.png" alt="Our Correspondent at Breakfast" /></a>Our Correspondent at Breakfast.</div> + +<p><i>Samol Plazo</i>, 8 A.M.—My <i>plat</i> of <i>egsibaconi</i> has just been knocked +out of the hands of my servant, PATPOTATO, by a bullet. My man +(who is of Irish extraction) thinks that the long-expected revolution +must have commenced; "for," as he argues, "when everything +is down, something is sure to be up." I think so too. I am now +going to Government House. If I don't get this through, make +complaint at the Post Office, for it will be their fault not mine.</p> + +<p>9 A.M.—Am now at Head Quarters. Not much trouble getting here. +Came by a <i>bussi</i>, a local conveyance drawn by two horses, and much +used by the humbler classes. On our road one of the steeds and the +roof of the <i>bussi</i> were carried away by a shell, but as I was inside +this caused me little annoyance, and I got comfortably to my +destination with the remainder. Just seen the President, who says +laughingly, that +"there has been +practically nothing +but perfect +peace and quiet." +I doubt whether +this can be quite +the case, as he was +sitting in front of +Government +House, which was +at that very moment +undergoing +a vigorous bombardment. +When +I pointed this out +to him, he confessed +that he had +noticed it himself, +but did not think +much of it. He +was in excellent spirits, and told me a funny story about the narrow +escape of his mother-in-law. I am now off to see how the other side +are progressing. If the Post Office people tell you they can't send +my telegrams to you, refuse to believe them.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:35%;"><a href="images/064-2.png"><img width="100%" src="images/064-2.png" alt="Narrow Escape of Our Correspondent" /></a>Narrow Escape of Our Correspondent.</div> + +<p>10 A.M.—As I suspected, from the first, there <i>has</i> been a disturbance. +I thought it must be so, as I could not otherwise understand why my +<i>cabbi</i> should have been blown into the air, while passing through a +mined street on the road here. I am now at the Head Quarters of +the Oniononi, who seem to be in great strength. They appear to be +very pleased that the fleet should have joined them, and account for +the action by saying that the sailors, as bad shots, would naturally +blaze away at the biggest target—Government House. So far, the +disturbances have caused little inconvenience. I date this 10 A.M., +but I cannot tell you the exact time, as the clock-tower has just been +carried away by a new kind of land torpedo.</p> + +<p>12, NOON.—I am now once again at the Government Head Quarters. +As I could get no better conveyance, I inflated my canvas carpet-bag +with gas, and used it as a balloon. I found it most valuable in crossing +the battery which now masks the remains of what was once Government +House. The President, after having organised a band of <i>pic-pockettini</i> +(desperadoes taken from the gaols), has gone into the provinces, +declaring that he has a toothache. By some, this declaration +is deemed a subterfuge, by others, a statement savouring of levity. +The artillery are now reducing the entire town to atoms, under the +personal supervision of the Minister of Finance, who deprecates +waste in ammunition, and +declares that he is bound to +the President by the tie of +the battle-field.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width:35%;"><a href="images/064-3.png"><img width="100%" src="images/064-3.png" alt="Our Correspondent in an Elevated Position" /></a>Our Correspondent in an Elevated Position.</div> + +<p>2 P.M.—Have rejoined the +Oniononi, coming hither by +ricochet on a spent shell. +The people are entirely with +them, and cheer at every +fresh evidence of destruction. +Found a well-known +shopkeeper in ecstasies over +the ruins of his establishment. +He said that, "Although +the revolution might +be bad for trade, it would +do good, as things wanted +waking up." A slaughter of +police and railway officials, +which has just been carried +out with infinite spirit, +seems to be immensely +popular. If you don't get +this, make immediate complaint. Don't accept, as an excuse, that +the wires have been cut, and the office razed to the ground. They +can get it through, if they like.</p> + +<p>4 P.M.—Just heard a report that I myself have been killed and +buried. As I can get no corroboration of this statement, I publish +it under reservation. I confine myself to saying that it may be true, +although I have my doubts upon the subject.</p> + +<p>6 P.M.—It seems (as I imagined) that the report of my death and +funeral is a canard. This shows how necessary it is to test the +truth of every item of information before hurrying off to the Telegraph +Office. Efforts are now being made to bring about a reconciliation +between the contending parties.</p> + +<p>8 P.M.—The revolution is over. When both sides had exhausted +their ammunition, peace naturally became a necessity. The contending +parties are now dining together, <i>al fresco</i>, as the town is +in ruins. Nothing more to add save, All's well that ends well!</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>MR. PUNCH'S DICTIONARY OF PHRASES.</h3> + +<h4>WORKMEN'S.</h4> + +<p><i>"Merry Christmas to you, Sir, and many on 'em!" i.e.,</i> "Have +you got that half-crown handy?"</p> + +<h4>IN THE SMOKING-ROOM.</h4> + +<p><i>"Quite so; but then, you see, that's not my point;" i.e.,</i> "It <i>was</i>, +ten minutes ago."</p> + +<p><i>"Yes, but allow me one moment;" i.e.,</i> "Kindly give me your +close attention for twenty-five minutes."</p> + +<h4>SOCIAL.</h4> + +<p><i>"Not your fault, indeed! Mine for having so long a train;" +i.e.,</i> "Awkward toad!"</p> + +<p><i>"Where did you get that lovely dress, dear?" i.e.,</i> "That I may +avoid that dress-maker."</p> + +<h4>THEATRICAL.</h4> + +<p><i>"Whose talents have been seen to better advantage:" i.e.,</i> +"A cruel bad actor—but can't say so."</p> + +<p><i>"When the nervousness of a first night has been got over;" i.e.,</i> +"Never saw a worse play—but it may catch on."</p> + +<p><i>"The Author's modesty prevented him from responding to loud +calls;" i.e.,</i> "Timid youth, probably. Foresaw brickbats."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"BRAVO, TORO!"—M. CONSTANS will not allow Bull-fighting in +Paris, even for "the benefit of the Martinique sufferers." Quite +right! But if he would only discourage "Bull-fighting" in Egypt—the +sort of "Bull-fighting" desired by Chauvinist M. DELONCLE—he +would do good service to the land of the Pyramids, to the poor +fellah, and to civilisation.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>NOTE FROM BRIGHTON.—The exterior of the recently-opened Hôtel +Métropole, is so effective, that the Architect, Mr. WATERHOUSE, R.A., +is likely to receive many commissions for the erection of similar +hostelries at our principal marine resorts. He will take out letters +patent for change of name, and be known henceforward as Mr. SEA-WATERHOUSE, +R.A. By the way, the Directors of the Gordon Hotels +Co. wish it to be generally known that they have not started a +juvenile hotel for half-price children, under the name of the Gordon +Boys' Hotel.</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page65" id="page65"></a>[pg 65]</span> + +<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:35%;"><a href="images/065-1.png"><img width="100%" src="images/065-1.png" alt="Man Under Book" /></a></div> + +<p>Who remembers a certain story called, if I remember aright, +<i>The Wheelbarrow of Bordeaux</i>, that appeared in a Christmas +Number of the <i>Illustrated London News</i> some years ago? If no +one else does, I do, says the Baron; and that sensational story was +a sensational sell, wherein +the agony was piled up to +the "n<sup>th</sup>," and just as the +secret was about to be disclosed, +the only person who +knew it, and was on the +point of revealing it, died. +This is the sort of thing +that Mr. RUDYARD KIPLING +has just done in this month's +<i>Lippincott's Magazine</i>. It +is told in a plain, rough and +ready, blunt style, but so +blunt that there's no point in it. And the idea,—that is if the idea +be that the likeness of the assassin remains on the retina of the victim's +eye, and can be reproduced by photography,—is not a novelty. +Perhaps this story in <i>Lippincott</i> comes out of one of Mr. RUDYARD +KIPLING'S pigeon-holes, and was just chucked in haphazard, because +Editorial <i>Lippincott</i> wanted something with the name of the KIPLING, +"bright and merry," to it. It's not very "bright," and it certainly isn't "merry."</p> + +<p><i>Black's Guide to Kent</i> for 1890, useful in many respects, but +not quite up to date. The Baron cannot find any information about +the splendid Golf Grounds, nor the Golf Club at Sandwich; it +speaks of Sir MOSES MONTEFIORE'S place on the East Cliff of Ramsgate +as if that benevolent centenarian were still alive; and it retains an +old-fashioned description of Ramsgate as "The favorite resort of +superior London tradesmen"—"which," says the Baron, "is, to my +certain knowledge, very far from being the case." It talks of the +"humours of the sands," and alludes to what is merely the cheap-trippers' +season, as if this could possibly be the best time for Ramsgate. +The <i>Guide</i> knows nothing, or at least says nothing, of the Winter +attractions; of the excellent pack of harriers; of the delightful climate +from mid-September to January; of the southern aspect; of the pure +air; of the many excursions to Ash, Deal, Sandwich, Ickham, and +so forth; nor can the Baron discover any mention of the Granville +Hotel, nor of the Albion Club, nor of the sport for fishers and +shooters; nor of the Riviera-like mornings in November and in the +early Spring, which are the real attractions of Ramsgate, and make +it one of the finest health-resorts in Winter for all "who love life, and +would see good days." "It reminds me," says the Baron, puffing off +his smoke indignantly, "of Mr. IRVING and a certain youthful critic, +who, in his presence at supper, had been running down <i>Macbeth</i>, finding +fault with the Lyceum production of it, and ridiculing SHAKSPEARE +for having written it. When he had quite finished HENRY IRVING, +'laying low' in his chair at the table, adjusted his pince-nez, and, +looking straight at the clever young gentleman, asked, in the mildest +possible tone, 'My dear Sir, have you ever <i>read Macbeth?</i>' So," +resumes the Baron, "I am inclined to ask Mr. BLACK'S young man, +'Do you <i>know</i> Ramsgate?' And of course I mean the Ramsgate +of 1890."</p> + +<p>From the specimens of <i>London City</i> that have been sent for inspection +by Messrs. FIELD & TUER, of the Leadenhall Press, who are bringing +it out, the Baron augurs a grand result, artistically and financially. +It is to be published at forty-two shillings, but subscribers will get +it for a guinea, so intending possessors had evidently better become +subscribers. The history of the Great City is to be told by Mr. W.J. +LOFTIE, so that it starts with an elevated tone and the loftiest +principles, and the illustrations will be by Mr. WM. LUKER, a +talented draughtsman who, as a Luker-on has seen most of the +games in the City. In consequence of some piratical publisher +having attempted to bring out a work under the same title, intended +to deceive even the elect, Messrs. FIELD & TUER have secured +the copyright of the title <i>London City</i>, by the ingenious device of +publishing, for one farthing each, five hundred copies of a miniature +pamphlet bearing this title, and containing the explanation. The +value of these eccentric farthing pamphlets may one day be thousands +of pounds. <i>Mem</i>.—Twopence would be well invested in purchasing +four of them.</p> + +<p><i>Salads and Sandwiches</i> is an attractive title, specially at this +season. The arrangement of the book is, like the salad, a little +mixed. When, however, the knowing Baron finds that abomination +known as salad dressing, or "salad mixing," which is sold at the +grocer's, recommended by a writer who professes to teach salad-making, +then he closes the book, and reads no more that day. This +author, who is in his salad days, might bring out a book entitled <i>How +to Suck Eggs; or, Letters to my Grandmother</i>. It is a suggestion +worth considering, says</p> + +<p class="author">THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figright" style="width:30%;"><a href="images/065-2.png"><img width="100%" src="images/065-2.png" alt="Woman and Youth with Oar" /></a></div> + +<h3>TO PYRRHA ON THE THAMES.</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">O Pyrrha! say what youth in "blazer" drest,</p> +<p class="i4">Woos you on pleasant Thames these summer eves;</p> +<p class="i2">For whom do you put on that dainty vest,</p> +<p class="i4">That sky-blue ribbon and those <i>gigot</i> sleeves.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">"<i>Simplex munditiis</i>," as HORACE wrote,</p> +<p class="i4">And yet, poor lad, he'll find that he is rash;</p> +<p class="i2">To-morrow you'll adorn some other boat,</p> +<p class="i4">And smile as kindly on another "mash."</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">As for myself—I'm old, and look askance</p> +<p class="i4">At flannels and flirtation; not for me</p> +<p class="i2">Youth's idiotic rapture at a glance</p> +<p class="i4">From maiden eyes: although it comes from thee.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>IN THE KNOW.</h3> + +<p class="center"><i>(By Mr. Punch's Own Prophet.)</i></p> + +<p>I am a modest man, as well as an honest one. Censure cannot +move me by one hair's breadth from the narrow path of rectitude; +praise cannot unduly puff me up. Had I been other than I am, this +last week would have gone fatally near to ruining that timid and +shrinking diffidence which (I say it without egotism) marks me off +from the poisonous, pestilential, hydrocephalous, putty-faced, suet-brained +reptiles who disgrace the profession to which I belong. All +I wish now to do is to point out that <i>I am the only prophet</i> who indicated, +without any beating about the bush, that <i>Marvel</i> would win +the Stewards' Cup at Goodwood. My admirers have recognised the +fact, and my private residence has been choked by an avalanche of +congratulatory despatches, including two or three from some of the +highest in the land. H.S.H., the Grand Duke of PFEIFENTOPF +says:—"You have me with your writings much refreshed. I have +the whole revenues of the Grand Duchy against one thousand +<i>flaschen</i> of lager bier gebetted, and I have won him on your noble +advice on <i>Marvel</i>. I make you Commander of the Honigthau +Order." I merely cite this to show that my appreciators are not to +one country confined—I mean, confined to one country.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width:30%;"><a href="images/065-3.png"><img width="100%" src="images/065-3.png" alt="Mr. Punch and Prophet" /></a></div> + +<p>What did I say last week, in speaking of the Stewards' Cup +horses? By the well-known grammatical +figure known as the <i>hysteroproteron,</i> +I mentioned <i>Marvel</i> +last, intending, of course, as even +a buffalo-headed Bedlamite might +have seen, that he should be first. +And he was first. But to make +assurance doubly sure, and to bring +prophecy down to the intellectual +level of a bat, I added, in speaking +of the winner, that he "would +certainly be a <i>Marvel</i>." I say no +more. As the great Cardinal once +observed to his chief of police, "<i>Je +te verrai soufflé d'abord,"</i> so I +reply to those who wish me to reveal +the secret of my success. Mr. +J. knows it not, and no single +member of the imbecile, anserous, +asinine, cow-hocked, spavin-brained, venomous, hugger-mugger +purveyors of puddling balderdash who follow him has the least conception +of my glorious system. But I am willing to teach, though I +have nothing to learn. For six halfpenny stamps those who desire +to <i>know</i>, shall receive my pamphlet on "Book-making." Every +applicant must send his photograph with his application, not +necessarily for publication, but as a guarantee of good faith.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"SUR LE TAPIS."—It was a carpet that ostensibly parted an +eminent firm of composer, author, and theatrical manager. W.S.G. +didn't want D'OYLY CARPET—no, beg pardon, should have written +D'OYLY CARTE to have <i>carte blanche</i>. [Pretty name this. Is there +a BLANCHE CARTE? If not, "make it so."]—to do whatever he liked +whenever he liked with the decorating and upholstering of the theatre. +And recently another carpet, not in connection with the above firm, +created a difficulty. What's a thousand-guinea carpet to a man who +likes this sort of thing? Nothing. Yet as <i>amici curiae</i>, we would +have thought that that Tottenham Road carpet might have been kept +out of Court. Wasn't that a Blunder, MAPLE?</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page66" id="page66"></a>[pg 66]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/066.png"><img width="100%" src="images/066.png" alt="The Love Letter--A Study of Indiscretion" /></a> +<h3>THE LOVE LETTER.—A STUDY OF INDISCRETION.</h3></div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>FROM NILE TO NEVA.</h3> + +<blockquote><p class="note"> +["And the Egyptians made the children of Israel +to serve with rigour. And they made their lives +bitter with hard bondage."—<i>Exodus.</i></p> + +<p class="note">"The Russian Government, by the new edicts +legalises persecution, and openly declares war +against the Jews of the Empire."—<i>Times.</i>] +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">"Beware!" 'Tis a voice from the shades,</p> +<p class="i4">from the dark of three thousand long years,</p> +<p class="i2">But it falls like the red blade of RA, and</p> +<p class="i4">should echo in Tyranny's ears</p> +<p class="i2">With the terror of overhead thunder; from</p> +<p class="i4">Nile to the Neva it thrills,</p> +<p class="i2">And it speaks of the judgment of wrong, of</p> +<p class="i4">the doom of imperious wills.</p> +<p class="i2">When PENTAOUR sang of the PHARAOH, alone</p> +<p class="i4">by Orontes, at bay,</p> +<p class="i2">By the chariots compassed about of the foe</p> +<p class="i4">who were fierce for the fray,</p> +<p class="i2">He sang of the dauntless oppressor, of RAMESES,</p> +<p class="i4">conquering king;</p> +<p class="i2">But were there such voice by the Neva to-day,</p> +<p class="i4">of what now should he sing?</p> +<p class="i2">Of tyranny born out of time, of oppression</p> +<p class="i4">belated and vain?</p> +<p class="i2">Put up the old weapon, O despot, slack hand</p> +<p class="i4">from the scourge and the chain;</p> +<p class="i2">For the days of the PHARAOHS are done, and</p> +<p class="i4">the laureates of tyranny mute,</p> +<p class="i2">And the whistle of falchion and flail are not</p> +<p class="i4">set to the chords of the lute.</p> +<p class="i2">True, the Hebrew, who bowed to the lash of</p> +<p class="i4">the Pyramid-builders, bows still,</p> +<p class="i2">For a time, to the knout of the TSAR, to the</p> +<p class="i4">Muscovite's merciless will;</p> +<p class="i2">But four millions of Israel's children are not</p> +<p class="i4">to be crushed in the path</p> +<p class="i2">Of a TSAR, like the Hittites of old, when great</p> +<p class="i4">RAMESES flamed in his wrath</p> +<p class="i2">Alone through their numberless hosts. No,</p> +<p class="i4">the days of the Titans of Wrong</p> +<p class="i2">Are past, for the Truth is a torch, and the</p> +<p class="i4">voice of the peoples is strong.</p> +<p class="i2">Even PENTAOUR, the poet of Might, spake in</p> +<p class="i4">pity that rings down the years</p> +<p class="i2">Of the life of "the peasant that tills" of his</p> +<p class="i4">terrible toil and his tears;</p> +<p class="i2">Of the rats and the locusts that ravaged, and,</p> +<p class="i4">worse, the tax-gathering horde</p> +<p class="i2">Who tithed all his pitiful tilth with the aid</p> +<p class="i4">of the stick and the cord;</p> +<p class="i2">And the splendour of RAMESES pales in the</p> +<p class="i4">text of the old Coptic Muse,</p> +<p class="i2">And—one hears the mad rush of the wheels</p> +<p class="i4">that the fierce Red Sea billow pursues!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">O Muscovite, blind in your wrath, with</p> +<p class="i4">your heel on the Israelite's neck,</p> +<p class="i2">And your hand on that baleful old blade,</p> +<p class="i4">Persecution, 'twere wisdom to reck</p> +<p class="i2">The PHARAOH'S calm warning. Beware!</p> +<p class="i4">Lo, the Pyramids pierce the grey gloom</p> +<p class="i2">Of a desert that is but a waste, by a river</p> +<p class="i4">that is but a tomb,</p> +<p class="i2">Yet the Hebrew abides and is strong.</p> +<p class="i4">AMENEMAN is gone to the ghosts,</p> +<p class="i2">He the prince of the Coptic police who so</p> +<p class="i4">harried the Israelite hosts</p> +<p class="i2">When their lives with hard-bondage were</p> +<p class="i4">bitter. And now bitter bondage you'd try.</p> +<p class="i2">Proscription, and exile, and stern deprivation.</p> +<p class="i4">Beware, Sire! Put by</p> +<p class="i2">That blade in its blood-rusted scabbard. The</p> +<p class="i4">PHARAOHS, the CAESARS have found</p> +<p class="i2">That it wounds him who wields it; and you,</p> +<p class="i4">though your victim there, prone on the ground,</p> +<p class="i2">Look helpless and hopeless, you also shall find</p> +<p class="i4">Persecution a bane</p> +<p class="i2">Which shall lead to a Red Sea of blood to</p> +<p class="i4">o'erwhelm selfish Tyranny's train.</p> +<p class="i2">"Beware!" Tis the shade of MENEPTHA</p> +<p class="i4">that whispers the warning from far.</p> +<p class="i2">Concerning <i>that</i> sword there's a lesson the</p> +<p class="i4">PHARAOH may teach to the TSAR!</p> + </div> </div> +<hr /> + +<p>"REWARDS FOR GALLANTRY."—Among the +numerous rewards mentioned in the <i>Times</i> of +last Thursday, the magnificent gold watch, +with monogram in diamonds, presented by +the Royal Italian Opera Company to AUGUSTUS +DRURIOLANUS at the close of the present exceptionally +successful season, was not mentioned. +Most appropriate present from the persons up +to tune to one who is always up to time. The +umble individual who writes this paragraph +only wishes some company—Italian, French, +no matter which—would present <i>him</i> with a +golden and diamonded watch. "O my prophetic +soul! My Uncle!!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>The Price of It.</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">GLADSTONE'S latest Benedicite</p> +<p class="i2">Is bestowed on "free publicity."</p> +<p class="i2">'Tis the thing that we all strive at,</p> +<p class="i2">Praise in speech, and hate—in private!</p> +<p class="i2">Where are pride, reserve, simplicity?</p> +<p class="i2">Fled for ever—from Publicity!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<p>"MORE LIGHT!"—The Berners Hotel Co., +with Mr. GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA as Chairman, +should at once be advertised as "The +G.A.S.-Berners Hotel Co.," and, of course, +no electric lighting would be used. Mr. +SIMS REEVES is also a Director of this Hotel +Company. So it starts with a tenner.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Socialistic Military Novel. By JAMES ODD +SUMMER. <i>One Iron Soldier, and the Led +Captain.</i></p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page67" id="page67"></a>[pg 67]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/067.png"><img width="100%" src="images/067.png" alt="" /></a> +<h3>FROM THE NILE TO THE NEVA.</h3> +SHADE OF PHARAOH. "FORBEAR! THAT WEAPON ALWAYS WOUNDS THE HAND THAT WIELDS IT."</div> + +<hr /> +<!--blank page 68--> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page69" id="page69"></a>[pg 69]</span> + +<h2>MR. PUNCH'S MORAL MUSIC-HALL DRAMAS.</h2> + +<h4>No. XII.—CONRAD; OR, THE THUMBSUCKER.</h4> + +<p class="center"><i>(Adapted freely from a well-known Poem in the "Struwwelpeter.")</i></p> + +<p class="center">CHARACTERS.</p> + +<p><i>Conrad (aged 6). Conrad's Mother (47). The Scissorman (age immaterial).</i></p> + +<p class="scene">SCENE—<i>An Apartment in the house of</i> CONRAD'S <i>Mother, window in +centre at back, opening upon a quiet thoroughfare. It is dusk, +and the room is lighted only by the reflected gleam from the +street lamps.</i> CONRAD <i>discovered half-hidden by left window-curtain.</i></p> + +<p><i>Conrad (watching street).</i> Still there! For full an hour he has not +budged beyond the circle of yon lamp-post's rays! The gaslight +falls upon his crimson hose, and makes a steely glitter at his thigh, +while from the shadow peers a hatchet-face and fixes sinister +malignant eyes—on whom? <i>(Shuddering.)</i> I dare not trust myself +to guess! And yet—ah, no—it cannot be myself! I am so young—one +is still young at six!—What man can say that I have injured +him? Since, in my Mother's absence all the day engaged upon +Municipal affairs, I peacefully beguile the weary hours by suction +of consolatory thumbs. <i>(Here he inserts his thumb in his mouth, +but almost instantly removes it with a start.)</i> Again I meet those +eyes! I'll look no more—but draw the blind and shut my terror +out. <i>(Draws blind and lights candle; Stage +lightens.)</i> Heigho, I wish my Mother were at +home! <i>(Listening.)</i> At last. I hear her latchkey +in the door!</p> + +<p class="scene"><i>Enter</i> CONRAD'S Mother, <i>a lady of strong-minded +appearance, rationally attired. She +carries a large reticule full of documents.</i></p> + +<p><i>Conrad's M.</i> Would, CONRAD, that you were +of riper years, so you might share your +Mother's joy to-day, the day that crowns her +long and arduous toil as one of London's +County Councillors!</p> + +<p><i>Conrad.</i> Nay, speak; for though my mind +be immature, one topic still can charm my +infant ear, that ever craves the oft-repeated +tale. I love to hear of that august Assembly +<i>(his Mother lifts her bonnet solemnly)</i> in +which my Mother's honoured voice is raised!</p> + +<p><i>C's. M. (gratified).</i> Learn, CONRAD, then, +that, after many months of patient "lobbying" +(you've heard the term?) the measure +by my foresight introduced has triumphed by +a bare majority!</p> + +<p><i>Con.</i> My bosom thrills with dutiful delight—although +I yet for information wait as to +the scope and purpose of the statute.</p> + +<p><i>C's. M.</i> You show an interest so intelligent that well deserves it +should be satisfied. Be seated, CONRAD, at your Mother's knee, and +you shall hear the full particulars. You know how zealously I +advocate the sacred cause of Nursery Reform? How through my +efforts every infant's toys are carefully inspected once a month—?</p> + +<p><i>Con. (wearily).</i> Nay, Mother, you forget—I <i>have</i> no toys.</p> + +<p><i>C's. M.</i> Which brings you under the exemption clause. But—to +resume; how Nursery Songs and Tales must now be duly licensed +by our Censor, and any deviation from the text forbidden under +heavy penalties? All that you know. Well; with concern of late, +I have remarked among our infancy the rapid increase of a baneful +habit on which I scarce can bring my tongue to dwell. <i>(The Stage +darker; blind at back illuminated.)</i> Oh, CONRAD, there are children—think +of it!—so lost to every sense of decency that, in mere +wantonness or brainless sloth, they obstinately suck forbidden +thumbs! (CONRAD <i>starts with irrepressible emotion.)</i> Forgive me +if I shock your innocence! <i>(Sadly.)</i> Such things exist—but soon +shall cease to be, thanks to the measure we have passed to-day!</p> + +<p><i>Con. (with growing uneasiness).</i> But how can statutes check such +practices?</p> + +<p><i>C's M. (patting his head).</i> Right shrewdly questioned, boy! I +come to that. Some timid sentimentalists advised compulsory +restraint in woollen gloves, or the deterrent aid of bitter aloes. <i>I</i> +saw the evil had too deep a seat to yield to such half-hearted +remedies. No; we must cut, ere we could hope to cure! Nay, +interrupt me not; my Bill appoints a new official, by the style and +title of "London County Council Scissorman," for the detection of +young "suck-a-thumbs."</p> + +<p class="bracket"><i>[Here the shadow of a huge hand brandishing a gigantic pair of +shears appears upon the blind.]</i></p> + +<p><i>Con. (hiding his face in his Mother's lap).</i> Ah, Mother, see!... +the scissors!... On the blind!</p> + +<p><i>C's. M.</i> Why, how you tremble! You've no cause to fear. The +shadow of his grim insignia should have no terror—save for thumb-suckers.</p> + +<p><i>Con.</i> And what for <i>them</i>?</p> + +<p><i>C's. M. (complacently).</i> A doom devised by me—the confiscation +of the culprit thumbs. Thus shall our statute cure while it corrects, +for those who have no thumbs can err no more.</p> + +<p class="bracket"><i>[The Shadow slowly passes on the blind</i>, CONRAD <i>appearing +relieved at its departure. Loud knocking without. Both +start to their feet.</i></p> + +<p><i>C's M.</i> Who knocks so loud at such an hour as this?</p> + +<p><i>A Voice.</i> Open, I charge ye. In the Council's name!</p> + +<p><i>C's M.</i> 'Tis the Official Red-legged Scissorman, who doubtless +calls to thank me for the post.</p> + +<p><i>Con. (with a gloomy determination).</i> More like his business, +Madam, is with—Me!</p> + +<p><i>C's. M. (suddenly enlightened).</i> A Suck-a-thumb?... <i>you</i>, +CONRAD?</p> + +<p><i>C. (desperately).</i> Ay,—from birth!</p> + +<p class="bracket"><i>[Profound silence, as Mother and Son face one another. The +knocking is renewed.</i></p> + +<p><i>C's. M.</i> Oh, this is horrible—it must not be! I'll shoot the bolt +and barricade the door.</p> + +<p class="bracket">[CONRAD <i>places himself before it, and addresses his Mother in a +tone of incisive irony.</i></p> + +<p><i>Con.</i> Why, where is all the zeal you showed of late? is't thus +that you the Roman Matron play? Trick not a statute of your own +devising. Come, your official's waiting—let +him in! (C's. M. <i>shrinks back appalled.</i>) So? +you refuse!—(<i>throwing open door</i>)—then—enter, +Scissorman!</p> + +<p class="scene"><i>[Enter the</i> Scissorman, <i>masked and in red tights, +with his hand upon the hilt of his shears.</i></p> + +<p><i>The S. (in a passionless tone).</i> Though sorry +to create unpleasantness, I claim the thumbs +of this young gentleman, which my own eyes +have marked between his lips.</p> + +<p><i>C's. M. (frantically).</i> Thou minion of a +meddling tyranny, go exercise thy loathsome +trade elsewhere!</p> + +<p><i>The S. (civilly).</i> I've duties here that must +be first performed.</p> + +<p><i>C's. M. (wildly).</i> Take my thumbs for his!</p> + +<p><i>The S.</i> 'Tis not the law—which is a model +of lucidity.</p> + +<p><i>Con. (calmly).</i> Sir, you speak well. My +thumbs are forfeited, and they alone must pay +the penalty.</p> + +<p><i>The S. (with approval).</i> Right! Step with +me into the outer hall, and have the business +done without delay.</p> + +<p><i>C's. M. (throwing herself between them).</i> +Stay! I'm a Councillor—this law was <i>mine!</i> +Hereby I do suspend the clause I drew.</p> + +<p><i>The S.</i> You should have drawn it milder.</p> + +<p><i>Con.</i> Must I teach a parent laws were meant to be obeyed? +[<i>To</i> Sc.] Lead on, Sir. <i>(To his</i> Mother <i>with cold courtesy.)</i> +Madam,—may I trouble you?</p> + +<p class="bracket"><i>[He thrusts her gently aside and passes out with the</i> S.; <i>the +door is shut and fastened from without.</i> C's. M. <i>rushes to +door which she attempts to force without success.</i></p> + +<p><i>C's. M.</i> In vain I batter at a senseless door, I'll to the keyhole +train my tortured ear. <i>(Listening.)</i> Dead silence!... is it over—or, +to come? Hark! was not that the click of meeting shears?... +Again! and followed by the sullen thud of thumbs that drop upon +linoleum!...</p> + +<p class="bracket"><i>[The door is opened and</i> CONRAD <i>appears, pale but erect,—N.B. +The whole of this scene has been compared to one in "La +Tosca"—which, however, it exceeds in horror and intensity.</i></p> + +<p><i>C's. M.</i> They send him back to me, bereft of both! My CONRAD! +What?—repulse a Mother's Arms!</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:35%;"><a href="images/069.png"><img width="100%" src="images/069.png" alt="Mother at Son's Feet" /></a></div> + +<p><i>Con. (with chilling composure).</i> Yes, Madam, for between us +ever more, a barrier invisible is raised, and should I strive to reach +those arms again, two spectral thumbs would press me coldly back—the +thumbs I sucked, in blissful ignorance, the thumbs that solaced +me in solitude, the thumbs your County Council took from me, and +your endearments scarcely will replace! Where, Madam, lay the +harm in sucking them? The dog will lick his foot, the cat her claw, +his paws sustain the hibernating bear—and you decree no law to +punish <i>them</i>! Yet, in your rage for infantine reform, you rushed +this most ridiculous enactment—its earliest victim your neglected son!</p> + +<p><i>C's. M. (falling at his feet).</i> Say, CONRAD, you will some day +pardon me?</p> + +<p><i>Con. (bitterly, as he regards his maimed hands.)</i> I will,—the day +these pollards send forth shoots!</p> + +<p class="bracket"><i>[His</i> Mother <i>turns aside with a heartbroken wail</i>; CONRAD <i>standing +apart in gloomy estrangement as the Curtain descends.</i></p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page70" id="page70"></a>[pg 70]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/070.png"><img width="100%" src="images/070.png" alt="Running His Eye Over Them" /></a> <h3>"RUNNING HIS EYE OVER THEM".</h3> +<i>Colonel North and Lord Dunraven.</i> "COME ALONG WITH US, GRANDOLPH. WE'VE GOT A BETTER LOT THAN THAT."</div> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page71" id="page71"></a>[pg 71]</span> + +<h2>"RUNNING HIS EYE OVER THEM."</h2> + + +<p class="center">GRANDOLPH <i>muses</i>:—</p> +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">"My Kingdom for a horse!"</p> +<p class="i4">Ah, well!</p> +<p class="i2">The question is,—which <i>is</i> my Kingdom?</p> +<p class="i2">I'm bound to own there <i>is</i> a spell</p> +<p class="i4">In Turfdom, Stabledom, and Ringdom,</p> +<p class="i2">The spell that Lord GEORGE BENTICK knew,</p> +<p class="i2">As DIZZY tells, <i>I</i> feel it too.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">He won brief leadership, who might</p> +<p class="i4">Have won the Derby! Which was better?</p> +<p class="i2">There's rapture in a racer's flight,</p> +<p class="i4">There's rust on the official fetter.</p> +<p class="i2">Of me the Press tells taradiddles!</p> +<p class="i2">Well, I do set the fools strange riddles!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">"Fourth Party!" He was no bad start</p> +<p class="i2">For a new stable, but he's done with.</p> +<p class="i2">"Tory Democracy!" No heart!</p> +<p class="i2">But 'tis a mount I've had good fun with.</p> +<p class="i2">"Leader!" "Economy!" "Sobriety!"</p> +<p class="i2">My Stable has not lacked variety.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">What does NORTH say? A ragged lot?</p> +<p class="i4">Try a new string? And you, DUNRAVEN?</p> +<p class="i2">Humph! Fancy does blow cold and hot.</p> +<p class="i4">Audacious now, and now half craven.</p> +<p class="i2">Well, freak's an unexhausted fount.</p> +<p class="i2">Mentor, can <i>you</i> guess my next mount?</p> + </div> </div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:50%;"><a href="images/071-1.png"><img width="100%" src="images/071-1.png" alt="A Careful Man" /></a> <h3>A CAREFUL MAN.</h3> + +<i>Host.</i> "HULLO! WATERING MY CHAMPAGNE! AFRAID OF ITS +GETTING INTO YOUR <i>HEAD</i>, I SUPPOSE?"<br /> + +<i>Guest.</i> "No! IT'S NOT MY <i>HEAD</i> I'M AFRAID OF WITH <i>YOUR</i> CHAMPAGNE!"</div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>MY PITHY JAYNE.</h3> + +<blockquote><p class="note"> +[DR. JAYNE, Bishop of Chester, at +a Conference of the Girl's Friendly +Society, at Chester, said that until +they were prepared to introduce basket-making +into London Society as a substitute +for quadrilles and waltzes, he +was not disposed to accept it as an +equivalent for balls and dances among +girls of other classes.] +</p></blockquote> + +<p class="center">AIR.—"<i>My Pretty Jane</i>."</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">My pithy JAYNE, my plucky JAYNE,</p> +<p class="i4"><i>Punch</i> fancies you looked sly</p> +<p class="i2">When you met them, met them down at Chester,</p> +<p class="i4">And gave them "one in the eye."</p> +<p class="i2">Bigotry's waning fast, my boy,</p> +<p class="i4">But Cant we sometimes hear,</p> +<p class="i2">And Chester cant is pestilent cant,</p> +<p class="i4">My Lord, that's pretty clear.</p> +<p class="i2">Then pithy JAYNE, my plucky JAYNE,</p> +<p class="i4">Of smiting don't be shy;</p> +<p class="i2">But meet them, meet the moonstruck Puritans</p> +<p class="i4">And tell them it's all my eye.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">'Tis only play, and harmless play,</p> +<p class="i4">Like kissing in the ring,</p> +<p class="i2">When lads and lasses of spirits gay</p> +<p class="i4">Dance like young lambs in Spring.</p> +<p class="i2">That Spring will wane too fast, alas!</p> +<p class="i4">But while it yet is here,</p> +<p class="i2">Let youth enjoy, or girl or boy,</p> +<p class="i4">The dance to youth so dear.</p> +<p class="i2">Then pithy JAYNE, my plucky JAYNE,</p> +<p class="i4">Don't heed the bigot's cry,</p> +<p class="i2">But meet them, meet them down at Chester</p> +<p class="i4">And teach them Charity!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.</h2> + +<h4>EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.</h4> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:35%;"><a href="images/071-2.png"><img width="100%" src="images/071-2.png" alt="Turning over fresh Leaves" /></a>Turning over fresh Leaves.</div> + +<p><i>House of Commons, Monday, July 28.</i>—STRATHEDEN and CAMPBELL +are amongst the most regular visitors to our lobby from House +of Lords. RAVENSWORTH and UMBRELLA run +them pretty close, but come in only a good second. +Moreover, whilst RAVENSWORTH and UMBRELLA +rarely go beyond the lobby, STRATHEDEN and +CAMPBELL press forward into Gallery reserved +for Peers, and there sweetly go to sleep, "Like +Babes in the Wood," says Colonel MALCOLM, +turning over leaves of Orders as if he would like +to complete the simile by acting the part of the +birds. To-night STRATHEDEN and CAMPBELL +leave us forlorn. They have business in their +own House; been long concerned for interests +of State as affected by the MARKISS'S persistence +in combining office of Premier with that of +Foreign Secretary.</p> + +<p>"It would be too much even for us," said +STRATHEDEN, in conversation we had before +House met; "and," he continued, "though I +say it what shouldn't, I don't know any arrangement +that would be happier or more complete +than if we undertook the job. What do you +say, CAMPBELL? Would you be Premier, or +would you take the Foreign Seals?"</p> + +<p>"The Premier place is yours," said CAMPBELL, +gallantly; "at least, it is now. When +we first started in life we used to call ourselves +CAMPBELL and STRATHEDEN. You'll find it so +in the <i>Peerages</i> of earlier date; now it's the +other way about, and STRATHEDEN takes the +<i>pas</i>."</p> + +<p>"That was entirely your doing, CAMPBELL, +said STRATHEDEN; so modest, so retiring, so thoughtful! After +we'd been known as CAMPBELL and STRATHEDEN for good many +years, you came to me and said it was my turn now. I objected; +you insisted; and here we are, a power in the State, an object of +interest in the Commons, STRATHEDEN and CAMPBELL in the Lords."</p> + +<p>"A little awkward, don't you think," I ventured +to say, edging in a word, "for you two +fellows to take this strong stand against +duality?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all," said STRATHEDEN and CAMPBELL, +both together; "we are authorities on +the subject, and we say that the MARKISS cannot +in his single person adequately perform the +dual duties pertaining to his high offices; therefore +we shall go and move our resolution protesting +against arrangement."</p> + +<p>Pretty to see them marching off. Always +walk on tip-toe; ROSEBERY says it is a practice +adopted so as not to disturb each other when engaged +in thinking out deep problems; two of +the best and the happiest old fellows in the +world; their only trouble is that on divisions +their vote should count as only one. CAMPBELL, +in whom hot Cupar blood flows, once proposed +to raise question of privilege, but soothed by +STRATHEDEN, who has in him a strong strain +of the diplomatic character of his grandfather, +ABINGER.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—In the Lords, STRATHEDEN +and CAMPBELL raised question of MARKISS as +Premier and Foreign Secretary. In Commons, +Anglo-German Agreement sanctioned.</p> + +<p><i>Tuesday.</i>—Scotch Members had their innings +to-night; played a pretty stiff game till, at twelve +o'clock, stumps drawn. All about what used to +be called the Compensation Bill. Got a new +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page72" id="page72"></a>[pg 72]</span> +name now; Compensation Clauses dropped; but JOKIM finds it dreary +work dragging the wreck along.</p> + +<p>"Seems to me, Tony," he said with a sob in his voice, "that +whatever I do is wrong. This Bill has gone through various transmogrifications +since; with a light heart, I brought it in as part of +Budget scheme. But it's all the same. Hit high or hit low, I can't +please 'em. Begin to think if there were any other business open +for me, should chuck this up."</p> + +<p>"Ever been in the carpet-cleaning line?" said MAPLE-BLUNDELL, +in harsh voice, and with curiously soured face. Generally beams +through life as if it were +all sunshine. Now cloud +Seems to have fallen over +his expansive person, and +he is as gloomy as JOKIM.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:35%;"><a href="images/072-1.png"><img width="100%" src="images/072-1.png" alt="Floored by the Carpet" /></a>Floored by the Carpet.</div> + +<p>"It's all very well for +you," he continues, glowering +at JOKIM, "to complain +of your lot; but till you go +into the carpet-cleaning +line you never know what +vicissitudes mean. One +day, alighting from your +four-in-hand, and happily +able to spare to Tottenham +Court Road a few moments +from direction of national +affairs, you look in at your +shop; enter a lady who +says she wants a carpet +cleaned. 'Very well' you +say rubbing your hands, +and smiling blandly; 'and +what will be the next +article.' Nothing more. +Only this blooming carpet, +out of which, when the job +is finished and it is sent +home you make a modest +five bob. Your keen insight into figures, JOKIM, will convince +you that the coin colloquially known as five bob won't go far +to enable you to cut a figure in Society, drive four-in-hand, give +pic-nics in your park to the Primrose League, and subscribe to +the Canton Fund. However, there it is; carpet comes; you send +it out in usual way, and what happens? Why it blows itself up, +kills two boys, lames a man, and then you discover that you've been +entertaining unawares a carpet worth £1000 which you have to pay. +Did that ever happen to you at the Treasury?" MAPLE-BLUNDELL +fiercely demanded. JOKIM forced to admit that his infinite sorrows +had never taken that particular turn.</p> + +<p>"Very well, then," snapped MAPLE-BLUNDELL, "don't talk to me +about your troubles. As far as I know this is the only carpet in the +world valued at £1000; it is certainly the only one that ever went off +by spontaneous combustion; and I had this particular carpet in +charge, at the very moment when it +was ready to combust spontaneously."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said JOKIM, softly, as +MAPLE-BLUNDELL went off, viciously +stamping on the carpet that covers +the Library floor, "we all have our +troubles, and when I think of MAPLE-BLUNDELL +and his combustible carpet +I am able the better to bear the woes +I have."</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width:35%;"><a href="images/072-2.png"><img width="100%" src="images/072-2.png" alt="Man Reading Aloud" /></a><h4>? ? ?</h4></div> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—In Committee on +Local Taxation Bill.</p> + +<p><i>Thursday.</i>—"True, TOBY," OLD +MORALITY said, in reply to an observation, +"I am a little tired, and +naturally; things haven't been going +so well as they did; but I could get +along well enough if it wasn't for +SUMMERS. CONEYBEARE'S cantankerous; +STORY is strenuous; TANNER +tedious; and DILLON denunciatory. +But there's something about SUMMERS +that is peculiarly aggravating. +In the first place, he is, as far as +appearances go, such a quiet, amiable, +inoffensive young man. Looking at him, one would think that +butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, much less that Mixed Marriages +in Malta should keep him awake at night, and the question of International +Arbitration should lower his appetite. Yet you know how +it is. He seems to have some leisure on his hands; uses it to formulate +conundrums; comes down here, and propounds them to me. +Just look at his list for to-night. LINTORN SIMMONDS'S Mission to +the POPE; Customs' Duty in Algeria; International Arbitration; +Walfish Bay, and Damara Land, together with the view the Cape +Colonies may take of the Anglo-German Agreement. That pretty +well for one night; but he's gone off now, to look up a fresh batch, +which he'll unfold to-morrow. Now is the winter of our discontent, +which is chilly enough; but, for my part, I often think that life +would be endurable only for its SUMMERS."</p> + +<p>Haven't often heard OLD MORALITY speak so bitterly; generally, +even at worst time, overflowing with geniality; ready to take +kindest view of circumstances, and hope for the best. But SUMMERS, +surveying mankind from China to Peru in search of material for +fresh conundrum, too much for mildest-mannered man. OLD +MORALITY, goaded to verge of madness, jumps up; hotly declines to +reply to SUMMERS; begs him to address his questions to Ministers to +whose Department they belonged.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Local Taxation Bill through Committee.</p> + +<p><i>Friday.</i>—Still in our ashes live our wonted fires. Dwelling just +now amid ashes of expiring Session; everything dull and deadly; +pounding away at Local Taxation Bill; Scotch Members to the fore, +for the fortieth time urging that the £40,000 allotted them in relief +of school fees shall be made £90,000. House divides, and also for +fortieth time says "No;" expect to go on with next Amendment; +when suddenly HARCOURT springs on OLD MORALITY'S back, digs his +knuckles into his eyes, bites his ear, and observes that he "has never +seen a piece of more unexampled insolence." OLD MORALITY, when +he recovers breath, goes and tells the Master—I mean the SPEAKER. +SPEAKER says HARCOURT shouldn't use language like that; so HARCOURT +subsides, and incident closes as rapidly and suddenly as it opened.</p> + +<p>A little later COMPTON goes for RAIKES; hints that he sub-edited +for <i>Hansard</i> portions of a speech delivered in House on Post Office +affairs. RAIKES says "Noble Lord charged me with having deliberately +falsified my speech." COMPTON says he didn't. "Then," +said RAIKES, with pleading voice that went to every heart, "I wish +the Noble Lord had the manliness to charge me with deliberate falsification." +COMPTON refused to oblige; RAIKES really depressed.</p> + +<p>"Don't know what we're coming to, TOBY," he said, "when one +almost goes on his knees to ask a man to charge him with deliberate +falsification, and he won't do it. Thought better of COMPTON; see +him in his true light now." <i>Business done.</i>—A good deal.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>A SPORTING STYLE.</h3> + +<p>Our next example of a true sporting style will be constructed on +the basis of Nos. 11, 12, and 13 of the Rules. These, it will be +remembered, require the writer to refer to "the good old days;" to +be haughty and contemptuous, with a parade of rugged honesty; to +be vain and offensive, and to set himself up as an infallible judge of +every branch of sport and athletics. This particular variety of style +is always immensely effective. All the pot-boys of the Metropolis, +most of the shady bookmakers, and a considerable proportion of the +patrons of sport swear by it, and even the most thoughtful who read it +cannot fail to be impressed by its splendour. This style deals in paragraphs. +<i>Second Example.</i>—Event to be commented on: A Regatta.</p> + +<p>I am led to believe by column upon column of wishy-washy +twaddle in the morning papers, that Henley Regatta has actually +taken place. The effete parasites of a decayed aristocracy who +direct this gathering endeavour year after year to make the world +believe that theirs is the only meeting at which honour has the least +chance of bursting into flower. I have my own opinions on this +point. Really, these tenth transmitters of foolish faces become more +and more brazen in their attempts to palm off their miserable two-penny-halfpenny, +tin-pot, one-horse Regatta as the combination of +all the cardinal virtues.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>These gentry presume to dictate to rowing men what shall constitute +the status of the Amateur. For my own part (and the world +will acknowledge that I have done some rowing in my time) I prefer +the straight-forward conduct of any passing rag-and-bone merchant +to the tricks of the high and mighty champions of the amateur qualification +in whose nostrils the mere name of professional oarsman seems +to stink. These pampered denizens of the amateur hothouse would, +doubtless, wear a kid-glove before they ventured to shake hands with +one who, like myself, despises them and their absurd pretensions.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>As for the rowing, it was fantastic. I wasn't there. Indeed, those +who know me, would never think so meanly of me as to suppose that +I would attend this Regatta <i>pour rire</i>. But I know enough to be +sure that the Eights were slow, the Fours deficient in pace, the pairs +on the minus side of nothing, and the scullers preposterous. Rowing +must be in a bad way when it can boast no better champions (save the +mark!) than those who last week aired their incompetence, and +impeded the traffic of the people upon the Thames. Time was when +an oarsman was an oarsman, but now he is a miserable cross between +a Belgravian flunkey and a riverside tout. Which is all I care to +say on an unsavoury matter.</p> + +<hr class="full" /> + + <div class="figleft" + style="margin-bottom:10em"> + <img src="images/pointer.png" + alt="pointer" /> + </div> + + <p>NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, + whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any + description, will in no case be returned, not even when + accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or + Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.</p> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12825 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |