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diff --git a/13710-0.txt b/13710-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f3c5c45 --- /dev/null +++ b/13710-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1361 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13710 *** + +PUNCH, + +OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. + +VOL. 101. + + + +September 12, 1891. + + + + +SOME CIRCULAR NOTES. + +CHAPTER IV. + +_REIMS--SOLEMNITY--RELIEF--EN +VOITURE--POLITENESS--CALLING--CALVES--CAVES--STARTING--COCHER--DUET._ + +Seen the Cathedral. Grand. As I am not making notes for a Guide-book, +shall say nothing about it. "Don't mention it." I shan't. Much +struck by the calm air of repose about Reims. So silent is it, that +DAUBINET's irrepressible singing in the solemn court-yard of the +Hotel comes quite as a relief. It is an evidence of life. This Hotel's +exceptional quietude suggests the idea of its being conducted like a +prison on the silent system, with, of course, dumbwaiters to assist in +the peculiarly clean and tidy _salle à manger_. + +"Petzikoff! Blass the Prince of WAILES!" sings out DAUBINET, whose +_Mark-Tapley_-like spirits would probably be only exhilarated by a +lonely night in the Catacombs. Then he shakes hands with me violently. +In France he insists upon shaking hands on every possible occasion +with anybody, in order to convey to his own countrymen the idea of +what a thorough Briton he is. + +"_Vous avez eu votre café? Eh bien alors--allons! pour passer chez +mon ami_ VESQUIER," says DAUBINET, at the same time signalling a +meandering fly-driver who, having pulled up near the Cathedral, is +sitting lazily on his box perusing a newspaper. He looks up, catches +sight of DAUBINET, nods, folds up the paper, sits on it, gives the +reins one shake to wake up the horse, and another, with a crack of +his whip, to set the sleepy animal in motion, and, the animal being +partially roused, he drives across the street to us. DAUBINET directs +him, and on we go, lumbering and rattling through the town, meeting +only one other _voiture_, whose driver appears infinitely amused at +his friend having obtained a fare. Some chaff passes between them, +which to me is unintelligible, and which DAUBINET professes not to +catch, but I fancy, whatever it is, it is not highly complimentary to +our _cocher's_ fares. In one quarter through which we drive, they are +setting up the booths and roundabouts for a Fair. + +"They can't do much business here," I observe to my companion. + +"Immense!" he replies.--"But there's no one about." + +[Illustration] + +"There will be," he returns. "Manufacturing town--everybody engaged +in business. Bell rings--_Caramba!_--out they come, like the +cigarette-makers in _Carmen_." Here he hums a short musical extract +from BIZET's Opera, then resumes--"Town's all alive--then, after +dinner, back to business--evening time out to play, to _cafés_, to +the Fair! God save the QUEEN!" + +"But there's nothing doing at night, as we saw when we arrived +yesterday," I observe. + +"No," says DAUBINET; "it is an early place." Then he sings, "If you're +waking"--he pronounces it "whacking"--"call me early, mothair dear!" +finishing up with a gay laugh, and a guttural ejaculation in Russian; +at least, I fancy it is Russian. "Ah! _voilà!_" We have pulled up +before a very clean-looking and handsome _façade_. The carriage-gates +are closed, but a side-door is immediately opened, and a neat elderly +woman answers DAUBINET's inquiries to his perfect satisfaction. +"VESQUIER _est chez lui. Entrez donc!_" We enter, profoundly saluting +the porteress. When abroad, an Englishman should never omit the +smallest chance of taking off his hat and bowing profoundly, no +matter to whom it may be. Every Englishman abroad represents "All +England"--not the eleven, but the English character generally, and +therefore, when among people noted for their politeness, he should be +absolutely remarkable for his courteous manners. As a rule, to which +there can be no exception taken, never lose any opportunity of lifting +your hat, and making your most polished bow. This, in default of +linguistic facility, is universally understood and appreciated in all +civilised countries. In uncivilised countries, to remove your hat, +or to bow, may be taken as a gross outrage on good manners, or as +signifying some horrible immorality, in which case the offender would +not have the chance of repeating his well-intentioned mistake. But +within the limits of Western enlightenment to bow is mere civility, +and may be taken as a preface to conversation; to omit it is to show +lack of breeding and to court hostility. Therefore, N.B. _Rule in +travelling_--Bow to everybody. And this, by the way, is, after all, +only _Sir Pertinax Macsycophant's_ receipt for getting on in the world +by "boo'ing and boo'ing." + +We pass through a courtyard, reminding me of the kind of courtyard +still to be seen in some of our old London City houses-of-business. +This, however, is modernised with whitewash. Here also, it being a +Continental court-yard, are the inevitable orange-trees in huge green +tubs placed at the four corners. A few pigeons feeding, a blinking +cat curled up on a mat, pretending to take no sort of interest in the +birds, and a little child playing with a cart. Such is this picture. +Externally, not much like a house of business; but it is, and of big +business too. We enter a cool and tastefully furnished apartment. +Here M. VESQUIER receives us cordially. He has a military bearing, +suggesting the idea of a Colonel _en retraite_. I am preparing +compliments and interrogatories in French, when he says, in good plain +English, with scarcely an accent-- + +"Now DAUBINET has brought you here, we must show you the calves, and +then back to breakfast. Will that suit you?" + +"Perfectly." I think to myself--why "calves"? It sounded like +"calves," only without the "S." Must ask presently. + +M. VESQUIER begs to be excused for a minute; he will return directly. +I look to DAUBINET for an explanation. "We are, then, going to see a +farm, I presume?" I say to him. "Farm!" exclaims DAUBINET, surprised. +"_Que voulez-vous dire, mon cher?_"--"Well, didn't Mister--Mister--" +"VESQUIER," suggests DAUBINET. + +"Yes, Mister VESQUIER--didn't he say we were to go and 'see the +calves'?--_C'est à dire_," I translate, in despair at DAUBINET's +utterly puzzled look, "_que nous irons avec lui à la ferme pour voir +les veaux_--the calves."--"Ha! ha! ha!" Off goes DAUBINET into a roar. +Evidently I've made some extraordinary mistake. It flashes across me +suddenly. Owing to M. VESQUIER's speaking such excellent English, it +never occurred to me that he had suddenly interpolated the French word +"_caves_" as an anglicised French word into his speech to me. This +accounts for his suppression of the final consonant. + +[Illustration] + +"Ah!" I exclaim, suddenly enlightened; "I see--the cellars." + +"_Pou ni my?_" cries DAUBINET, still in ecstasies, and speaking +Russian or modern Greek. "_Da!_--of course--_c'est ça--nous +allons voir les caves_--the cellars--where all the champagne is. +_Karrascho!_" + +At this moment M. VESQUIER returns. He will just take us through the +offices to his private rooms. Clerks at work everywhere. Uncommonly +like an English place of business: not much outward difference between +French clerks in a large house like this and English ones in one of +our great City houses; only this isn't the City, but is, so to speak, +more Manchesterian or Liverpoolian, with the immense advantage of +being remarkably clean, curiously quiet, and in a pure and fresh +atmosphere. I don't clearly understand what M. VESQUIER's business is, +but as he seems to take for granted that I know all about it, I trust +to getting DAUBINET alone and obtaining definite information from him. +Are they VESQUIER's caves we are going to see? "No," DAUBINET tells me +presently, quite surprised, at my ignorance; "we are going to see _les +caves de Popperie_--Popp & Co., only Co.'s out of it, and it's all +POPP now." + +"Now then, Gentlemen," says the _gérant_ of POPP & Co, "here's a +_voiture_. We have twenty minutes' drive." The Popp-Manager points +out to me all the interesting features of the country. DAUBINET amuses +himself by sitting on the box and talking to the coachman. + +"It excites me," he explains, when requested to take a back seat +inside--though, by the way, it is in no sense DAUBINET's _métier_ +to "take a back seat,"--"it excites me--it amuses me to talk to a +_cocher. On ne peut pas causer avec un vrai cocher tous les jours._" +And presently we see them gesticulating to each other and talking +both at once, DAUBINET, of course, is speaking English and various +other languages, but as little French as possible, to the evident +bewilderment of the driver. DAUBINET is perfectly happy. "Petzikoff! +Blass the Prince of WAILES!" I hear him bursting out occasionally. +Whereat the coachman smiles knowingly, and flicks the horses. + + * * * * * + +THE TWO WINDS. + +(_A FAIRY STORY FOR THE SEASON OF 1891. IMITATED--AT A DISTANCE--FROM +HANS ANDERSEN'S CELEBRATED TALE OF "THE FOUR WINDS."_) + +[Illustration] + + * * * * * + +The Mother of the Winds (acting as _locum tenens_ for her Clerk of the +Weather, who, sick of his own unseasonable work, was off to spend his +annual holiday with Mr. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON in the Pacific Isles), +received the desperately damp, dishevelled, blown-about, and almost +heart-broken Princess AGRICULTURA at the door of the Cave. + +"Oh, here you are again!" she cried, "once more in the Cavern of the +Winds! And this time you have brought two of my sons with you, I see," +she added, pointing to the South Wind and the West Wind, who were +blowing away at the Princess like bellowsy blends of Blizzards, +Cloud-bursts, Tornadoes and Tritons. + +"Oh, do for pity's sake, stop them!" cried AGRICULTURA, struggling +hard to keep herself and her garments together. "It seems as though +the heavens have become one vast sluice, that keeps pouring down +water, as my predecessor, the Prince, put it. I have not a dry thread +about me. _Please_ put them in their Bags--_do_--whilst I have a +little talk with you about them, and the mischief they have been +doing." + +Two prolonged chuckles, a deep stentorian one and a sharp staccato +one, came from the two Bags already hanging to the wall of the Cavern, +from whence subsequently protruded the round ruddy form of the North +and the pinched figure of the East Wind. "Ho! ho! ho!" chortled the +North Wind, chokingly. "Who says _I_ do all the damage?" + +"He! he! he!" sniggered the East Wind, raspingly. "Who is the pickle +and spoil-sport _now_, I should like to know?" + +"Shut up!" said the Mother of the Winds, sharply. "And as to you two," +she added, turning to the South and West Winds, "if you don't stand +still and give an account of yourselves, I'll pop you into your +respective Bags in the twinkling of a hundred-ton gun!" + +"Why, who is _she_, that she should call us over the clouds?" cried +the two Winds, stopping their blowing a bit, and pointing to the +Princess. + +"She is my guest," said the old woman; "and if that does not satisfy +you, you need only get into the Bags. Do you understand me now?" + +Well, this did the business at once; and the two Winds, in a breath, +began to relate whence they came, and what they had been doing for +nearly three months past. + +"We have been spoiling the English Summer," they said. + +"_That's_ nothing new," muttered the Mother of the Winds. + +"_Isn't_ it, though--in the way _we've_ done it?" cried the two, +triumphantly. "Why, those two Boys over yonder, uniting their +flatulent forces, could not have done better--or worse. Ho! ho! ho! +_They_ made last winter a frozen Sahara. _We've_ made the present +summer a squashy Swamp! The winter was as dry as the dust of RAMESES. +The summer has been as wet as old St. Swithin's gingham. We soaked +June, we drenched July, and we drowned August. We squelched the +strawberry season, reducing tons of promising fruit to flavourless +pulp, and the growers to damp despair. Whooosh!! What a wetting we +gave 'em!!! As soon as the Cricket Season started, so did _we_! Didn't +we just? We simply sopped all the wickets, and spoilt all the matches, +either keeping the cricketers waiting in the pavilion or slipping +about on sloppy slithery turf. Consequently, the Cricketing Season +has been a sickening sell. We 'watered down' the 'averages' of all the +'cracks.' S.W. was too many for W.G. (GRACE, of Gloucester), and W.W. +gave the _other_ W.W. (READ, of Surrey) a fair doing! We followed 'The +Leviathan' in particular about persistently, till he must be real +glad to 'take his hook' to Australia. Wherever _he_ was playing, from +Kennington to Clifton, we combined our forces, swooped down on him, +and simply washed him out!" + +"Wanton wags!" said the Mother of the Winds, reproachfully. + +"Ra-_ther_," yelled her promising offspring in chorus. "But that's not +all, _is_ it, S.W.?--_is_ it W.W.? We mucked up Lawn Tennis, soaked +Henley Regatta, nearly spoilt the German EMPEROR's visit, ruined all +the _al fresco_ functions of the Season--slap!--flooded Society out +of London, only to deluge them in their flitting till they wished they +were back again, intensified the Influenza Epidemic, and--" + +"Oh! stop, stop!" moaned the Old Woman. "Those Boys yonder will +burst--with jealousy. But what have you been doing to the Princess +AGRICULTURA here?" + +The two broke into a spasmodic duo of delight and disdain. "Why _look_ +at her?" they cried. "Doesn't she speak for herself?" + +"I _do_," replied AGRICULTURA. "And I charge this pair of Pernicious +Pickles with planning--and to a large extent effecting--my +Destruction! Hay, Hops, Cereals, Root-Crops, Fruits and Flowers--all +ruined by these roystering rascals. They've done more incurable +mischief in three supposed-to-be Summer Months than those +much-maligned Boys over yonder did all the Winter. They've had it all +their own way the Season through, ay, as much as though they'd nailed +the weathercock to S.W., and knocked out the bottom of Aquarius's +water-pot. And I call upon you, O Mother of the Winds, to pop them at +once into their respective Bags, sit upon them till they are choked +silent and still, and then hang them up to dry--if dry such watery +imps _can_--for at least six months to come!" + +Now whether the Mother of the Winds gave ear to the prayer of the poor +Princess AGRICULTURA, and imposed upon the Two Winds the punishment +they richly deserved, the sequel must show. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: SIGNS OF BREEDING. + +(_Vide Correspondence in the "Daily Telegraph_.") + +_Little Binks agrees with Lord Byron that Breeding shews itself in the +Hands, and complacently surveys his own._ + +"BOSH!" SAYS BLOKER. "BREEDING SHOWS ITSELF IN THE EAR, AND NOWHERE +ELSE!"] + + * * * * * + +MORE MESSAGES FROM THE MAHATMA. + +[Illustration] + +1. I am KOOT HOOMIBOOG. There are more things in my philosophy than +were ever dreamed of in heaven or earth. You are POONSH. You are a +Thrupni but you are not a Mahatma. Be a Mahatma, and save your postage +expenses. But you must be discreet; and you must be exceeding vague. +A Mahatma is nothing if he is not vague. You must also be elusive. Can +you elude? It is no light matter to prove one's spiritual capacity by +materialising a cigarette inside a grand piano. + +2. Your reply to my letter is soulless and sceptical. How _can_ you +ask me, O POONSH, what I am trying to get at? I ask nothing from you. +It would be to your advantage rather than mine if you printed my poem +on the Re-incarnation of Ginan Bittas, entitled _The Soul's Gooseberry +Bush_. And if you will only be a Mahatma, or a disciple, I will gladly +let you have the serial rights in that great work. What do you mean by +saying you do not want to find cigarettes in your neighbour's piano? +Think it over again, and you will see the beauty of it. You are a +Thrupni, but surely you have _some_ spiritual needs. + +3. You say that you do not want my poem, and you ask me if I have no +further attractions to offer. I am KOOT HOOMIBOOG, and I have kept the +greatest attraction for the last. If you will only join us, you _may_ +find a few newspapers who will discuss you. You may see the question +whether you are a fool or a knave debated in the correspondence +columns. Think of the glory of it! + +4. What? you won't? Well; I _am_ surprised! + + * * * * * + +THE (EUROPEAN) WORLD AND ITS WIFE.--Europe--says an oracle--is "Wedded +to Peace." Possibly. And Europe, doubtless, does not exactly desire a +divorce. But Europe has to pay pretty heavily--in armies and fleets, +&c.--for Peace's "maintenance." + + * * * * * + +THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS. + +NO. VI. + + SCENE--_Garden of the Hotel Victoria at Bingen, commanding + a view of the Rhine and the vine-terraced hills, which + are bathed in warm afternoon sunlight. Under the mopheaded + acacias, CULCHARD and PODBURY are sitting smoking. At a + little distance from them, are a Young Married Couple, whose + honeymoon is apparently in its last quarter._ + +_The Bridegroom_ (_lazily, to Bride, as she draws another chair +towards her for a foot-rest_). How many _more_ chairs do you want? + +_Bride_ (_without looking at him_). I should think you could spare me +one--you can hardly sit on three at once! + + [_After this interchange of amenities, they consider + themselves absolved from any further conversational efforts._ + +_Podb._ (_to CULCH., resuming a discussion_). I know as well as you +do that we are booked for Nuremberg; but what _I_ say is--that's no +earthly reason why we should _go_ there! + +_Culch._ No reason why _you_ should go, unless you wish it, certainly. +_I_ intend to go. + +_Podb._ Well, it's beastly selfish, that's all! I know _why_ you're so +keen about it, too. Because the TROTTERS are going. + +_Culch._ (_colouring_). That's an entire mistake on your part. Miss +TROTTER has nothing to do with it. I don't even know whether she's +going or not--for certain. + +_Podb._ No, but you've a pretty good idea that she _is_, though. And +I _know_ how it will be. You'll be going about with her all the time, +and I shall be shunted on to the old man! I don't _see_ it, you know! +(_CULCH. remains silent. A pause. PODBURY suddenly begins to search +his pockets_.) I say--here's a pretty fix! Look here, old fellow, +doosid annoying thing, but I can't find my purse--must have lost it +somewhere! + +_Culch._ (_stoically_). I can't say I'm surprised to hear it. It's +awkward, certainly. I suppose I shall have to lend you enough to go +home with--it's all I can do; but I'll do that with--er--pleasure. + +_Podb._ (_staring_). Go home? Why, I can wire to the governor for +more, easily enough. We shall have to stay here till it comes, that's +all. + +_Culch._ And give up Nuremberg? Thank you! + +_Podb._ I rather like this place, you know--sort of rest. And we could +always nip over to Ems, or Homburg, if it got too slow, eh? + +[Illustration: "Good Heavens, It--It's gone!"] + +_Culch._ If I nip over anywhere, I shall nip to Nuremberg. We may +just as well understand one another, PODBURY. If I'm to provide money +for both of us, it's only reasonable that you should be content to +go where _I_ choose. I cannot, and will not, stand these perpetual +interferences with our original plan; it's sheer restlessness. Come +with me to Nuremberg, and I shall be very happy to be your banker. +Otherwise, you must stay here alone. + + [_He compresses his lips and crosses his legs._ + +_Podb._ Oh, _that_'s it, is it? But look here, why not tit up whether +we go on or stay? + +_Culch._ Why should I "tit up," as you call it, when I've already made +up my mind to go. When I once decide on anything, it's final. + +_The Bride_ (_to Bridegroom, without enthusiasm_). Would you like me +to roll you a cigarette? + +_Bridegroom_ (_with the frankness of an open nature_). Not if I know +it. I can do it better myself. + +_Bride_ (_coldly_). I see. + + [_Another silence, at the end of which she rises and walks + slowly away, pausing at the gate to see whether he intends to + follow. As he does not appear to have remarked her absence, + she walks on._ + +_Podbury_ (_to Culch., in an undertone_). I say, those two don't seem +to hit it off exactly, eh? Seem sorry they came! You'll be glad to +hear, old fellow, that we needn't separate after all. Just found my +purse in my trouser-pocket! + +_Culch._ Better luck than you deserve. Didn't I tell you you should +have a special pocket for your money and coupons? Like this--see. +(_He opens, his coat._) With a buttoned flap, it stands to reason they +_must_ be safe! + +_Podb._ So long as you keep it buttoned, old chap,--which you don't +seem to do! + +_Culch._ (_annoyed_). Pshaw! The button is a trifle too--(_feels +pocket, and turns pale_). Good Heavens, it--it's _gone_! + +_Podb._ The button? + +_Culch._ (_patting himself all over with shaking hands_). +Everything!--money, coupons, circular notes! They--they must have +fallen out going up that infernal Niederwald. (_Angrily._) You _would_ +insist on going! + +_Podb_. Phew! The whole bag of tricks gone! You're lucky if you get +them again. Any number of tramps and beggars all the way up. Shouldn't +have taken off your coat--very careless of you! (_He grins._) + +_Culch._ It was so hot. I must go and inform the Police here--I may +recover it yet. Anyway, we--we must push on to Nuremberg, and I'll +telegraph home for money to be sent there. You can let me have enough +to get on with? + +_Podb._ With all the pleasure in life, dear boy--on your own +conditions, you know. I mean, if I pay the piper, I call the tune. +Now, I don't cotton to Nuremberg somehow; I'd rather go straight on to +Constance; we could get some rowing there. + +_Culch._ (_pettishly_). Rowing be ---- (_recollecting his +helplessness_). No; but just consider, my dear PODBURY. I assure you +you'll find Nuremberg a most delightful old place. You must see how +bent I am on going there! + +_Podb._ Oh, yes, I see _that_. But then I'm _not_, don't you know--so +there we are! + +_Culch._ (_desperately_). Well, I'll--I'll meet you half-way. I've no +objection to--er--titting up with you--Nuremberg or Constance. Come? + +_Podb._ You weren't so anxious to tit up just now--but never mind. +(_Producing a mark_.) Now then, Emperor--Constance. Eagle--Nuremberg. +Is it sudden death, or best out of three? [_He tosses._ + +_Culch._ Sud--(_The coin falls with the Emperor uppermost._) Best out +of three. + + [_He takes coin from PODBURY and tosses._ + +_Podb._ Eagle! we're even so far. (_He receives coin._) This settles +it. [_He tosses._ + +_Culch._ Eagle again! Now mind, PODBURY, no going back after _this._ +It must _be_ Nuremberg now. + +_Podb._ All right! And now allow me to have the pleasure of restoring +your pocket-book and note-case. They did fall out on the Niederwald, +and it was a good job for you I was behind and saw them drop. You +must really be more careful, dear boy. Ain't you going to say "ta" for +them? + +_Culch._ (_relieved_). I'm--er--tremendously obliged. I really can't +say how.--(_Recollecting himself_.) But you need not have taken +advantage of it to try to do me out of going to Nuremberg--it was a +shabby trick! + +_Podb._ Oh, it was only to get a rise out of you. I never meant to +keep you to it, of course. And I say, weren't you sold, though? Didn't +I lead up to it beautifully? (_He chuckles._) Score to me, eh! + +_Culch._ (_with amiable sententiousness_). Ah, well, I don't grudge +you your little joke if it amuses you. Those laugh best who laugh +last. And it's settled now that we're going to Nuremberg. + + [_Miss TROTTER and her father have come out from the + Speisesaal doors, and overhear the last speech._ + +_Mr. Trotter_ (_to Culchard_). Your friend been gettin' off a joke on +you, Sir? + +_Culch._ Only in his own estimation, Mr. TROTTER. I have nailed him +down to going to Nuremberg, which, for many reasons, I was extremely +anxious to visit. (_Carelessly._) Are we likely to be there when you +are? + +_Miss T._ I guess not. We've just got our mail, and my cousin, +CHARLEY VAN BOODELER, writes he's having a real lovely time in the +Engadine--says it's the most elegant locality he's struck yet, and +just as full of Amurrcans as it can hold; so we're going to start out +there right away. I don't believe we shall have time for Nuremberg +this trip. Father, if we're going to see about checking the baggage +through, we'd better go down to the _dépôt_ right now. [_They pass +on._ + +_Culch._ (_with a very blank face and a feeble whistle_). +Few-fitty-fitty-fitty-fa-di-fee-fee-foo; few--After all, PODBURY, I +don't know that I care so much about Nuremberg. They--they say it's a +good deal changed from what it was. + +_Podb._ So are _you_, old chap, if it comes to that. +Tiddledy-iddlety-ido-lumpty-doodle-oo! Is it to be Constance after +all, then? + +_Culch._ (_reddening_). Er--I rather thought of the Engadine--more +_bracing_, eh?--few-feedle-eedle-oodle-- + +_Podb._ You artful old whistling oyster, _I_ see what you're up to! +But it's no go; she don't want either of us Engadining about after +her. It's CHARLEY VAN STICKINTHEMUD's turn now! We've got to go to +Nuremberg. You can't get out of it, after gassing so much about the +place. When you've once decided, you know, it's _final_! + +_Culch._ (_with dignity_). I am not aware that I _wanted_ to get out +of it. I merely proposed in your--(PODBURY _suddenly explodes._) What +are you cackling at _now_? + +_Podb._ (_wiping his eyes_). It's the last laugh, old man,--and it's +the best! + + [_CULCHARD walks away rapidly, leaving PODBURY in solitary + enjoyment of the joke. PODBURY's mirth immediately subsides + into gravity, and he kicks several unoffending chairs with + quite uncalled-for brutality._ + + * * * * * + +A "KNOT"ICAL STORY OF DRURY LANE. + +(_TOLD BY OUR AGED SALT, WITH A TASTE FOR THE DIBDIN DRAMA._) + +[Illustration: "A Sailor Knot"--not a Sailor.] + +[Illustration: Losing their heads on board the _Dauntless_.] + +What, not remember it! Not the scene on Wapping Old Stairs and Mr. +CHARLES GLENNEY in the Merchant Service, and Miss MILLWARD the Ward of +Count GURNEY DELAUNAY! Not remember all that! Not recollect the pretty +set with the River, the boat-house, and the figure-heads! Ah, tell it +to the Marines! Not that they would believe you! I remember it, and a +good deal more. Now it came about in this way. You see Miss MILLWARD +thought that Lieutenant CHARLES WARNER, R.N.--"her sweetheart as a +boy"--was dead, and, like a sensible young lady, made arrangements to +marry his foster-brother, meaning GLENNEY. This she would have done +most comfortably, had not the Count and a Boat-builder, one JULIAN +CROSS PENNYCAD, objected. But after all, their opposition wouldn't +have come to much hadn't Lieutenant CHARLES WARNER, R.N., taken it +into his head to turn up from the Centre of Africa, or the Cannibal +Islands, or somewhere. On second thoughts I don't think it could have +been the Cannibal Islands, because _there_ they would have certainly +eaten him--he looked so plump, and in such excellent condition. Well, +Lieutenant WARNER, R.N., finding that Miss MILLWARD was on the eve of +marrying Mr. GLENNEY, most nobly made room for his foster-brother, and +hurried back to sea. But as luck (and Mr. HENRY PETTIT) would have it, +just as the lady and gentleman were on their way to Stepney Old Church +to be spliced, who should turn up in a uniform that showed him to be +a fine figure of a man but Lieutenant WARNER, R.N., himself--with +the Press Gang. It turned out that Lieutenant WARNER's ship was very +under-manned, and that he had been ordered by his Captain to get all +the sailors he could on board H.M.S. _Dauntless_--a vessel, by the +way, that afterwards proved to be the very image of the _Victory_. +And here came a complication. Through the treachery of JULIAN CROSS +PENNYCAD, Lieutenant WARNER seized Mr. GLENNEY just as he and Miss +MILLWARD were entering Stepney Old Church. Says Mr. GLENNEY to +Lieutenant WARNER, "What, taking me, because you are jealous of me, +on my wedding-day! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" or words to +that effect. Says Lieutenant WARNER, R.N., to Mr. GLENNEY, "Nothing +of the sort. For the man who would betray another, save in the way of +kindness, on his bridal morn, is unworthy of the name of a British +sailor," or words to _that_ effect. Then Miss MILLWARD chimed in, and +thus touched the heart of Lieutenant WARNER, R.N., so deeply that he +ordered Mr. GLENNEY's immediate release. "I forget my duty," explained +the generous WARNER. "But I don't," put in his superior officer, +Captain WILLIAM LUGG VERNON, "and I order that man to be carried on +board!" and there was not a dry eye amongst those present, except, +perhaps, amongst the heartless "Press Gang," who, having to write +notices for the daily and weekly papers, were naturally eager to see +what "In the Fo'castle" and "The Deck of the _Dauntless_" were like. +And these they did see in the next Act of this really capital Drama. +And here came in a scene that will long be remembered to the honour of +the British Navy and the National and Royal Theatre, Drury Lane. There +came a mutiny, with the misguided GLENNEY at the head of it. Said +Captain WILLIAM LUGG VERNON, after it was quelled, "We can't spare a +man, and so I shall have Mr. GLENNEY flogged." "Don't do that," cried +Lieutenant WARNER; "he is my brother and my friend, although he has +given me a oner, owing to a misunderstanding. Captain, may I appeal to +these men, and ask them in stirring language, to fight the foe." "You +shall," replied his superior officer; "and, by arrangement with Mr. +HENRY PETTITT, I will see that '_Rule Britannia_' is played softly by +an efficient orchestra while you are speaking to them." "A thousand +thanks!" cried the eloquent WARNER; and then he let them have it. He +told them that the enemy were waiting for them--that they had left +Brest for the purpose of engaging in a first-class naval engagement. +He pointed out that the other ships of the Fleet were on their way to +the scrimmage. "Would the gallant _Dauntless_ be the only laggard?" +"No!" shouted the now-amenable-to-naval-discipline GLENNEY, and with +the rest of the malcontents, he asked to be led to glory. It was +indeed stirring to see the red-coats waving their hats on the tops of +their bayonets, and the Blue Jackets brandishing their swords. In the +enthusiasm of the moment, the entire ship's company seemed to have +lost their heads, and cheers came from the deck, and the auditorium +equally. It was a moment of triumph for everyone concerned! Everyone! +And need I say anything more? Need I tell you how it came right in the +end? How Miss MILLWARD (who was always on the eve of being married +to someone) did actually go through a civil ceremony (the French +were polite even in the days before Waterloo) with the Count, which, +however, failed to count (as an old wag, with a taste for ancient +jests, observed to a brother droll), because the Gallic nobleman got +killed immediately after the ceremony? Need I hint that Mr. GLENNEY +was falsely accused of murder, to be rescued at the right moment +by the ever-useful and forgiving WARNER? Need I say that Mr. HENRY +PETTITT was cheered to the echo for his piece, and Sir AUGUSTUS +DRURIOLANUS for his stage management? No, for other chronicles have +given the news already; and it is also superfluous to describe the +fun of those excellent comedians, Mr. HARRY NICHOLLS and Miss FANNY +BROUGH. All I can say is, if you want to see a good piece, well +mounted, and capitally acted all round, why go to Old Drury, and you +will agree with me (and the old wag with a taste for ancient jests) +that Sir AUGUST-US might add September, October, November, and +December to his signature, as _A Sailor's Knot_ seems likely to remain +tied to the Knightly Boards until it is time to produce the Christmas +Pantomime. So heave away, my hearties, and good luck to you! + + * * * * * + +SONGS FOR THE PRO. AND CON. THEOSOPHICAL CONTROVERSIALISTS.--"_All +round Mahatmas_," "_He's a jolly good Chela!_" "Row, _Brothers_, Row!" +and "_Why did my 'Masters' sell me?_" + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: CRICKETANA. YOUNG LADIES V. BOYS. + +_Fair Batter_ (_ætat._ 18). "NOW, JUST LOOK HERE, ALGY JONES--NONE OF +YOUR PATRONAGE! YOU _DARE_ TO BOWL TO ME WITH YOUR LEFT HAND AGAIN, +AND I'LL BOX YOUR EARS!"] + + * * * * * + +"NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH." + +_A SCENE VERY FREELY ADAPTED FROM "THE CRITIC."_ + + _Enter Mr. PUNCH, First Commissioner of Police, Inspector, + and Constables._ + +_Commissioner_. Oh! very valiant Constables: one is the Inspector +himself, the others are ordinary P.C.'s. And now I hope you shall hear +some better language. I was obliged to be plain and intelligible in +my manifesto, because there was so much matter-of-fact ground for +remonstrance, and even chiding; but still, 'i faith, I am proud of my +men, who, in point of fact, are fine fellows. + +_Mr. P._ Unquestionably! But let us listen--unobserved, if so it may +be. + +_Inspector_. How's this, my lads! What cools your usual zeal, + And makes your helméd valour down i' the mouth? + Why dimly glimmers that heroic flame + Whose reddening blaze, by civic spirit fed, + Should be the beacon of a happy Town? + Can the smart patter of a Bobby's tongue + Thus stagnate in a cold and prosy converse, + Or freeze in oathless inarticulateness? + No! Let not the full fountain of your valour + Be choked by mere official wiggings, or + Your prompt consensus of prodigious swearing + Be checked by the philanthropists' foaming wrath, + Or high officialdom's hostility! + +_Mr. P._ There it is, Mr. Commissioner; they admit your by no means +soft impeachment. + +_Commissioner_. Nay, listen yet awhile! + +_1st P.C._ No more!--the freshening breeze of your rebuke + Hath filled the napping canvas of our souls! + And thus, though magistrates expostulate, + + [_All take hands and raise their truncheons._ + + And hint that ANANIAS dressed in blue, + We'll grapple with the thing called Evidence, + And if we fall, by Heaven! we'll fall _together_! + +_Inspector_. There spoke Policedom's genius! + Then, are we all resolved? + +_All_. We are--all resolved. + +_Inspector_. To pull--and swear--together? + +_All_. To pull--and swear--together. + +_Inspector_. All? + +_All_. All! + +_Mr. P._ _Nem. con._ Egad! + +_Commissioner_. Oh, yes! When they do agree in the Force, their +unanimity is wonderful! + +_Inspector_. Then let's embrace this resolution, and "Keep it with a +constant mind--and now--" + + [_Kneels._ + +_Mr. P._ What the plague, is he going to pray? + +_Commissioner_. Yes--hush! In great emergencies--on the Stage or in +the Force--there's nothing like a prayer in chorus. + +_Inspector_. "O MENDEZ PINTO!" + +_Mr. P._ But why should he pray to MENDEZ PINTO? + +_Commissioner_. Oh, "the Knight, PINTO-MENDEZ FERDINANDO," as POE +calls him, is the tutelary genius of Bards--and Bobbies! Hush! + +_Inspector_. If in thy homage bred + Each point of discipline I've still observed; + Swearing in squads, affirming in platoons; + Nor but by due promotion, and the right + Of service to the rank P.C. Inspector, + Have risen; assist thy votary now! + +_1st P.C._ Yet do not rise--hear me! [_Kneels._ + +_2nd P.C._ And me! [_Kneels._ + +_3rd P C._ And me! [_Kneels._ + +_Inspector_. Now swear--and pray--all together! + +_All_. We swear!!! + Behold thy votaries submissive beg + That thou wilt deign to grant them all they ask, + Assist them to accomplish all their ends, + And sanctify whatever means they use + To gain them + +_Mr. P._ A very orthodox and harmonious chorus. Their "_tutti_" is +perfection. + +_Commissioner_. Vastly well, is't not? Is that well managed or not? Is +the "thin Blue line" well disciplined or not? Have you such absolute +perfection of "alltogetherishness" on your lyric stage as the Force +voluntarily maintains--in its own interests, and obedient to its own +peculiar _esprit de corps_? + +_Mr. P._ (_with significance_). Not exactly! + + * * * * * + +MANY HAPPY RETURNS! + +(_PUNCH TO MADAME LA RÉPUBLIQUE._) + + ["The Republic attains its majority to-morrow (Sept. 4). It + is the first Government since the Revolution which has had a + twenty-first birthday."--_The Times_.] + + Dear Madam, "Perfidious Albion" proffers + The best birthday wishes good feeling can shape! + A snap of the fingers for cynical scoffers! + A fig for the framers of venomous jape. + May Peace and Goodwill be your lasting possession, + Your proud "Valour" tempered by "years of discretion!" + + * * * * * + +HYGEIA OFF THE SCENT.--It is stated that even the charms of a +champagne luncheon failed to attract more than one out of twenty-four +members of the Hygienic Congress invited to test the merits of +sewage-farms by ocular--or should we say _nasal_?--demonstration. +Perhaps the missing three-and-twenty thought that in this case, at +least, Mrs. MALAPROP would be both correct and pertinent in saying +that "Comparisons are _odorous_!" + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: "NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH." + +INSPECTOR. "NOW SWEAR! ALL TOGETHER!" CONSTABLES. "WE SWEAR!!" + +MR. PUNCH (_aside_). "DEAR ME, SIR EDWARD; WHEN THEY _DO_ AGREE, THEIR +UNANIMITY IS WONDERFUL!."--"_The Critic_," _freely adapted._] + + * * * * * + +ROBERT'S ROMANCE. + +I have been so bothered for coppys of my Romanse, as I read at the +Cook's Swarry some time back, that I have detummined to publish it, +and here it is. In coarse, all rites is reserved. + +ROBERT. + +[Illustration] + +THE MYSTERY OF MAY FARE. + +(BY ONE BEHIND THE SEENS.) + +CHAPTER I.--_DESPARE!_ + +It was Midnite! The bewtifool Countess of BELGRAVIER sat at the hopen +winder of her Boodwar gazing on the full moon witch was jest a rising +up above the hopposite chimbleys. Why was that evenly face, that +princes had loved and Poets sillybrated, bathed in tears? How offen +had she, wile setting at that hopen winder, washed it with Oder +Colone, to remove the stanes of them tell tail tears? But all in wane, +they wood keep running down that bewtifool face as if enamelled with +its buty; and quite heedless of how they was a spiling of her new +ivory cullered sattin dress that Maddam ELISE's yung ladies had been a +workin on up to five a clock that werry arternoon. + +She had bin to the great ball of the Season, to be washupped as usual +by the world of Fashun, but wot had driven her home at the hunerthly +hour of harf-parst Eleven? Ah, that cruel blo, that deadly pang, that +despairin shok, must be kep for the nex chapter. + +CHAPTER II.--_THE HELOPEMEANT!_ + +Seated in the House-keeper's own Room at the Dook of SURREY's lovely +Manshun, playfoolly patting his fatted calves, and surrounded by his +admiring cirkle, sat CHARLES, the ero of my Tale. CHARLES was the idle +of that large establishment. They simply adored him. It was not only +his manly bewty, tho that mite have made many an Apoller envy him. It +was not only his nolledge of the world, tho in that he was sooperior +to menny a Mimber of Parlyment from the Sister Oil, but it was his +stile, his grace, his orty demeaner. The House-keeper paid him marked +attenshuns. The Ladies Maid supplyed him with Sent for his ankerchers. +The other Footmen looked up to him as their moddel, and ewen the +sollem Butler treated him with respec, and sumtimes with sumthink +else as he liked even better. The leading Gentlemen from other Doocal +establishments charfed him upon his success with the Fare, ewen among +the werry hiest of the Nobillerty, and CHARLES bore it all with a +good-natured larf that showed off his ivory teeth to perfecshun. Of +course it was all in fun, as they said, and probberly thort, till +on this fatal ewening, the noose spread like thunder, through the +estonished world of Fashun, that CHARLES had heloped with the welthy, +the middle-aged, but still bewtifool, Marchioness of ST. BENDIGO. + +CHAPTER III.--_THE DEWELL_. + +The pursoot was rapid and sucksessful, and the MARKISS's challenge +reyther disterbed the gilty pair at their ellegant breakfast. But +CHARLES was as brave as he was fare, and, having hired his fust Second +for twenty-five francs, and made a few other erangements, he met his +hantigginest on the dedly field on the follering day at the hunerthly +hour of six hay hem. CHARLES, with dedly haim, fired in the hair! but +the MARKISS being bald, he missed him. The MARKISS's haim was even +more dedly, for he, aperiently, shot his rival in his hart, for he +fell down quite flat on the new-mown hay, and dishcullered it with his +blud! + +The MARKISS rushed up, and gave him one look of orror, and, throwing +down a £1000 pound note, sed, "that for any one who brings him two," +and, hurrying away to his Carridge, took the next train for Lundon. +CHARLES recovered hisself emediately, and, pocketing the note, winked +his eye at the second second, and, giving him a hundred-franc note for +hisself, wiped away the stains of the rouge and water, and returned to +breakfast with his gilty parrer-mour. + +CHAPTER IV.--_THE END_. + +The poor MARKISS was so horryfied at his brillyant sucksess, that +CHARLES's sanguinery corpse aunted his bed-side, and he died within +a munth, a leetle munth, as _Amlet_ says, of the dredful ewent, and +CHARLES married his Widder. But, orful to relate, within a werry short +time CHARLES was a sorrowin Widderer, with a nincum of sum £10,000 a +year; and having purchased a Itallien titel for a hundred and fifty +pound, it is said as he intends shortly to return to hold Hingland; +and as the lovely Countess of BELGRAVIER is fortnetly becum a Widder, +and a yung one, it is thought quite posserbel, by them as is behind +the seens, like myself, for instance, that before many more munce is +past and gone, there will be one lovely Widder and one andsum Widderer +less than there is now; and we is all on us ankshushly looking forred +to the day wen the gallant Count der WENNIS shall lead his lovely +Bride to the halter of St. George's, Hannower Squeer, thus proving the +truth of the Poet's fabel,-- + + "The rank is but the guinny's stamp, + The Footman's the man for a' that." + + * * * * * + +WHERE ARE OUR DAIRYMAIDS? + +A SONG OF VANISHED SUMMER. + + ["What has become of our Dairymaids?"--_Newspaper Question._] + +AIR--"_THE DUTCHMAN'S LITTLE DOG_." + + O where and O where is our Dairymaid gone? + O where, O where can she be? + With her skirts cut short and her hair cut long, + O where, and O where is she? + + Well, Summer is gone, and so is the Sun, + And farming is nought but a bilk. + When our Butter is Dutch, and our Cheese is Yank, + Why, why should they leave us our Milk? + + Our brave Queen BESS, as the Laureate says,[1] + Might wish that a milkmaid were she; + Whilst MAUDLIN in WALTON's bucolical days + Could troll forth her ballad with glee. + + But, alas! for the days of the stool and the churn, + And the milking-pails brass-bound and bright! + There is much to do and but little to earn + In the Dairy, once IZAAK's delight. + + Now Companies deal with the lacteal yield, + And churns clank o' night at Vauxhall, + Who dreams with delight of the buttercup'd field, + Or Dun Suke in her sweet-smelling stall? + + Milking the Cow, and churning the milk + Made work for the maids long ago, + But possible Dairymaids now dress in silk, + _That's_ where our Dairymaids go. + + Ah! DOLLY becomes a mechanical drudge, + And SALLY--a something much worse. + Through cowslip-pied meadows to merrily trudge + Won't fill a maid's heart, or her purse. + + The meadow at eve and the dairy at morn, + And a song--from KIT MARLOW--between, + Would fire a fine-dressed modern MAUDLIN with scorn, + And move modish MOLLY to spleen. + + The Dairymaid's true "golden age" is long fled + With Summer, and pippins and cream; + Like little _Bo-Peep_ and _Boy-Blue_, it is dead, + Save as parts of a pastoral dream. + + O where and O where is our Dairymaid gone? + O where, and O where can she be? + Well, they make cockney shop-girls of PHILLIS and JOAN, + And I guess that they make such with _she_! + +[Footnote 1: + + "I would I were a milkmaid + To sing, love, marry, churn, brew, bake and die." + + TENNYSON's _Queen Mary_.] + + * * * * * + +A MATTER OF CORSET.--At Sydenham, Ontario (it is stated), the Corset +has been declared to be "incompatible with Christianity!" If some of +our fashionable dames uttered their innermost feelings, they would +doubtless reply, "So much the worse for--Christianity." It is so +obvious that many modish Mammas care much more for their daughters' +bodices than their souls. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: MR. PUNCH ON TOUR. HE ARRIVES AT KINGSTOWN BY THE IRISH +MAIL.] + + * * * * * + +THE GUZZLING CURE. + + [Sir DYCE DUCKWORTH, in a letter written to a Vegetarian + Correspondent, says, "I believe in the value of animal food + and alcoholic drinks for the best interests of man. The abuse + or misuse of either is another matter."] + +[Illustration] + + O plump Head-waiter, I have read + What worthy DUCKWORTH writes! + And that is why I've swiftly sped + To where your door invites. + I kept my indigestion down + Of old, by sheer starvation; + But now no longer shall I frown + On food assimilation. + + I pledge him in your oldest port, + _This_ medical adviser, + For vainly elsewhere might be sought + A cheerier or a wiser, + He bids me speedily return + To ordinary diet-- + A sage prescription!--and I burn + To chance results, and try it! + + I've lived on air; on food for Lent; + On what some Doctor calls + "Nitrogenous environment"-- + A fare that quickly palls. + I'll eat the chops I once did eat; + All care and thought I banish; + And with this unexpected treat + My old dyspeptics vanish. + + What though they warn me that at first-- + It may be merely fancy-- + The stomach's sure to try its worst + In base recalcitrancy? + When half-starved gastric juice is set + To cope with dainty dishes, + The outcome--one may safely bet-- + Won't be just what one wishes. + + This earth is rich in chemists' shops, + With doctors it abounds, + Who, if I feel the change from slops, + Will take me on their rounds. + So, scorning indigestive ache, + I count each anxious minute; + Oh, waiter, hurry up that steak! + My happiness is in it. + + * * * * * + +ANNALS OF A WATERING-PLACE + +THAT "HAS SEEN ITS DAY." + +I do not know when Torsington-on-Sea's day precisely was, or, whether +indeed its day has yet dawned, but I was sent there by my medical +adviser as being _the very place_ for me, it being "delightfully +quiet", nine miles from a railway station, which apparently means +in plain English twenty-four hours behind the rest of this habitable +globe, and generally stranded in the race for every conceivable +comfort or necessity with which an age of Co-operative Stores +and Electric Lighting has made one comfortably--perhaps too +comfortably--familiar. Judging, however, from the fact that +Torsington-on-Sea consists mainly of a pretentious architectural +effort consisting of six-and-thirty palatial sea-side residences, +twenty-four of which are let in sets of furnished apartments to highly +respectable families, and twelve of which appear, from want of funds, +to have stopped short in their infancy many years ago at the basement, +showing a weed-covered foundation of what might, had the over-sanguine +capitalist not overshot the initial mark, have proved as fine a +sea-side terrace on the South East Coast as the weary cockney eye +could well hope to light upon, it would be including the fact that +there is but one policeman to protect the lives and properties of the +inhabitants and strangers of Torsington-on-Sea, by day and by night, +and a town band (with a uniform) of five, of which two-fifths are, I +was going to say "armed" with cymbals, triangle and with big and side +drums, it would be more reasonable to suppose that Torsington-on-Sea +had seen its day, and that what glories it ever had may be regarded as +having departed with the vanished years. + +[Illustration] + +Beyond the stock recreation afforded by the militarily-apparelled +Town Band of five, whose _répertoire_ appears to be confined to a +sad and serious opening march, a rather lugubrious galop, and a +couple of valses and a quick-step Polka, which evidently owe their +origin to the genius of the Conductor, the entertainment offered by +Torsington-on-Sea must be further sought for from a donkey-chair, the +donkey attached to which has many a long year ago lost what it ever +possessed in the shape of "spirit," a cast-off Nigger Minstrel, with a +concertina that is somewhat out of order, and a lovely "public-house" +tenor, who is heard only after dark, but with a voice so sweet and +true in tone, that one wonders how it is that instead of thrilling +the High Street of Torsington-on-Sea for possibly the few halfpence +he picks up in that rather unappreciative thoroughfare, he is +not simultaneously rushed at and eagerly caught up by the leading +_impressarios_ of all the continental opera-houses in Europe! + +Then there is the daily arrival of the "coach," for such is the faded +yellow omnibus styled, that meets the London train from Boxminster, +which pulls up with a flourish at the "Three Golden Cups." There is +seldom anything brought by this noteworthy conveyance, unless it be +a package or parcel for Mr. DUNSTABLE, the one highly respectable +tradesman in the town. DUNSTABLE's is _the_ emporium _par excellence_ +where anything, from a patent drug down to the latest new novel, can +be ordered down from Town. There is a tradition that old GEORGE THE +THIRD, when passing through Torsington in the year 1793, stopped at +DUNSTABLE's for some boot-laces, and, patting the grandfather of the +present proprietor on the head, said, "What! what! none in stock! Then +I think we must have some of these pretty curls instead." Anyhow, that +is given as the reason for the style and title of "Dunstable's _Royal_ +Library and Reading Room," which it has enjoyed without dispute from +the commencement of the present century to the present day. + +I came here, as I said, by the advice of my medical adviser, to "pick +up." How far Torsington-on-Sea has helped me to do this, I must deal +with subsequently. + + * * * * * + +IGNORANT BLISS. + +[Illustration] + + At noon through the open window + Comes the scent of the new-mown hay. + I look out. In the meadow yonder + Are the little lambs at play. + They are all extremely foolish, + Yet I haven't the heart to hint + That over the boundary wall there grows + A beautiful bed of mint. + For a little lamb + Will run to its mam. + And will say "O! dam," + At a hint, however well intentioned, + When the awful name of mint is mentioned. + + At the close of day the burglar comes + For to ply his gentle trade. + I fondly gaze on his jemmy, and + Grow timid and quite afraid. + I wouldn't for kingdoms have him know + That my neighbours of titled rank + Went abroad on a sudden last night and left + Their jewels at COUTTS's Bank. + For a burglar bold + Grows harsh and cold + When he finds he's sold, + And his burglar's bosom heaves at knowing + That the sell of a swag isn't worth the stowing. + + I'm a poet--you may not know it, + But I am and hard up for "tin," + So I've written these clever verses + And I hope they'll get put in. + Yet Life is an awful lottery + With a gruesome lot of blanks, + And I wish the Editor hadn't slips + That are printed "Declined with Thanks." + For it's rather hard + On a starving bard + When his last trump card + Is played, and he wishes himself bisected + When his Muse's lays come back--rejected! + + * * * * * + +STORICULES. + +III.--THE DEAR OLD LADY. + +There were three of them in the railway-carriage. One was a +Stockbroker; one was a Curate; one was an Old Lady. They had been +strangers to each other when they started; but it was near the end of +the journey, and they were chatting pleasantly together now. One could +see that the little Old Lady was from the country; she was exquisitely +neat and simple in appearance; there was an air of primness about her +which one rarely sees in a city product. She carried a big bunch of +hedgerow flowers. She seemed to be a little nervous about travelling, +and still more nervous about encountering the noise and confusion of +the great city. She had asked the Stockbroker and Curate a good many +questions about the sights that she ought to see, and how much she +ought to pay the cabman, and which were the best shops. "Not but what +TOM will look after me," she explained; "Tom's a very good son to me, +and he'll be waiting on the platform for me. And such a boy as he +was too when he was younger! Fruit! There wasn't anything that boy +wouldn't do to get it--any kind of mischief." She grew garrulous on +the subject of Tom's infancy. The two men answered her questions, +and listened amusedly to her chatter. Occasionally they interchanged +smiles. Presently the train got near to the station just before the +terminus. The Curate warned the Old Lady that the tickets would be +collected there. + +[Illustration] + +"Thank you, Sir," she said, "for telling me. Then I must be getting +my ticket ready. I've got it quite safely. Such a lot of money it did +seem to pay for a ride to London! But TOM _would_ have me come. He +never forgets his old Mother." She undid her reticule and took out her +purse; she undid the purse and took out a folded paper; she unfolded +the paper and took out the ticket. Then she put the paper back in +the purse, and the purse back in the reticule. She held the ticket +gingerly between two fingers of her cotton-gloved hand, as if it were +a delicate fruit, and she were afraid of rubbing the bloom off it. + +"What a refreshing contrast to our city ways!" thought the +Stockbroker. + +"_How_ characteristic!" thought the Curate. + +"My word! there's one of my hair-pins coming out," said the Old Lady, +suddenly. The hand which held the ticket flew to the back of her head, +to put the hair-pin right. + +And then, all at once, the look of animation died out of the Old +Lady's face. She seemed utterly aghast and horror-stricken. She gasped +out an unintelligible interjection. + +"What's the matter, Ma'am?" asked the Stockbroker. + +"My ticket's gone! I was putting that hair-pin right, and the ticket +slipped out of my fingers, and dropped down the back of my neck +between my clothes and--and myself. What _shall_ I do when that +gentleman comes for the tickets?" + +The Curate blushed violently. In his boyhood's days he had put +halfpennies down the back of his neck and jumped up and down until +they percolated out in the region of his boots. He had only just +checked himself in the act of advising the Old Lady to get up and +jump. + +The Stockbroker was more practical, and soon consoled her. He was a +season-ticket-holder, and knew the collector. He would explain it to +the man. "You'll be able to get the ticket again, you see, when you--I +mean, later on." The British love of euphemism had asserted itself. +"And then you can send it to the collector by post. You had better +write down your name and address to give him. I'll guarantee to the +collector that it will be all right." + +The Old Lady overwhelmed him with thanks. Slowly and laboriously she +wrote the name and address on the piece of paper in which the ticket +was folded. All happened just as the Stockbroker had foretold. The +Ticket-collector was very well satisfied and very much amused. + +TOM was waiting for her at the terminus, and took charge of her at +once. + +"Ah!" said the Stockbroker to the Curate, when she had gone, "that's +my notion of a dear Old Lady." + +"Everything about her was _so_ characteristic," answered the Curate, +admiringly. + +Neither the Curate nor the Stockbroker had the advantage of hearing +what the dear Old Lady said to Tom that afternoon. + +"It came off just beautifully, my boy. Not that I blame _them_, mind +you,--how were they to know that it was a ticket which I didn't give +up last year, and that I hadn't even taken a ticket at all to-day? No, +I don't blame them. As for the address, I put the same address that +was on the label of the Curate's bag, only I altered The Rev. CHARLES +MARLINGHURST to Mrs. MARLINGHURST. And the Stockbroker guaranteed that +I should send either the ticket or the money. So he'll have to pay up! +Oh, my word! My gracious word, what a treat!" + +The dear Old Lady chuckled contentedly. + +Tom also chuckled. + +The Stockbroker subsequently relinquished to a great extent his habit +of remarking upon his own marvellous intuition, enabling him to +read character at sight; the Curate preached a capital sermon on the +deceptiveness of man, and when he said man he meant woman. + + * * * * * + +TO A TOO-ENGAGING MAIDEN. + +[Illustration] + + I think you should know I've been put out of humour + By something I hear very nearly each day. + In a small town like ours, as you know, every rumour + Gets about in a truly remarkable way. + It is too much to hope for that women won't prattle, + But I candidly tell you, I do feel enraged + When I find that a part of their stock tittle-tattle + Is that we--how I laugh at the thought!--are engaged. + + Though you don't even claim to be reckoned as pretty, + You are not, I admit it, aggressively plain. + You dress pretty well, and your talk, if not witty, + As a rule doesn't give me much positive pain. + You will one day be rich, for your prospects are "healthy," + Yet as Beauty and Riches do not make up Life, + Why, were you as lovely as Venus, as wealthy + As Croesus I wouldn't have _you_ for my wife. + + Are you free altogether from blame in the matter-- + I'm resolved to be frank, so it's useless to frown-- + Have you not had a share in the mischievous chatter + Which makes our "engagement" the talk of the town? + When some eager, impertinent person hereafter + Shall inquire of its truth, and shall ask, "Is it so?" + Instead of implying assent by your laughter, + Would you kindly oblige me by answering, "No"? + + I recognise freely your marvellous kindness + In allowing your name to be linked with my own. + Maybe it is only incurable blindness + To your charms that compels me to let them alone. + But if with reports I am still to be harried, + I've thoroughly made up my mind what to do; + Just to settle it all, I shall shortly be married, + I shall shortly be married, but not--_not_ to you. + + * * * * * + +"WHO BREAKS PAYS."--"In some large restaurants," says the _Daily +Chronicle_, "the girls engaged have to pay for the breakages which +occur in the course of carrying on a business in which they are not +partners." If the maxim at the head of this paragraph were strictly +and impartially enforced, such exacting employers would have to +pay pretty smartly for certain "breakages" which occur in the +carrying on of a business in which they consider _they_ have no +concern--breakages, to wit, of the girls' health, spirits, and, often, +hearts! + + * * * * * + +MODERN VERSION OF "WISE MEN OF THE EAST."--The Congress of +Orientalists. + + * * * * * + +NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., +Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no +case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed +Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. +101. Sep. 12, 1891, by Various + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13710 *** |