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diff --git a/14046-0.txt b/14046-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ab17a52 --- /dev/null +++ b/14046-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1587 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14046 *** + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 14046-h.htm or 14046-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/0/4/14046/14046-h/14046-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/0/4/14046/14046-h.zip) + + + + + +PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI + +VOL. 101 + +SEPTEMBER 26, 1891 + + + + + + + +THE WAITERS' STRIKE. + +(_AT THE NAVAL EXHIBITION._) + +[Illustration] + + The German Waiter waxeth fat; he grows exceeding proud; + He is a shade more kicksome than can fairly be allowed. + The British Press goes out to dine--the Teuton, they relate, + Throws down his napkin like a gage, and swears he will not wait. + + Now there are many proverbs--some are good and some are not-- + But the Teuton was misled who cried, "Strike while the _entrée_'s hot!" + Like readers with no book-marks, all the rebels lost their place, + And vanished out of Chelsea in their dress-suits and disgrace. + + And I'm told that there were murmurings and curses deep and low + In darksome public-houses in the road of Pimlico, + And a general impression that it was not safe to cross + The temper of that caterer, Mr. MACKENZIE ROSS. + + O Waiter, German Waiter! there are many other lands + Where you can take your creaking boots and eke your dirty hands; + And we think you'll have discovered, ere you reach your next address, + That in England German Waiters aren't the Censors of the Press. + + * * * * * + +MARLOWE AT CANTERBURY. + +"Keep up the Christopher!" a recommendation adapted _urbi et orbi_ +which, quoting _Mr. Puff_, our HENRY when speaking at Canterbury ought +to have given after the unveiling of KIT MARLOWE's statue. We hope +that the unveiling address will not prove unavailing, and that the +necessary funds may soon be forthcoming for the completion of the +work. For the present all that has been effected by the ceremony is to +have given the _Times_ and _Telegraph_ opportunities for interesting +leading articles at a very dull season when material is scarce; also +it has given the author of _Tom Cobb_ and other remarkable plays a +chance of writing to the _Times_; and finally it has broken in upon +the well-earned holiday of the indefatigable and good-natured HENRY. +But there was one question not put by our HENRY. It ought to have +arisen out of the record of MARLOWE's interment, but didn't. "The +burial register of St. Nicholas, Deptford," said the _Times_ of +September 16, "contains the entry, 'CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE, slain by +FRANCIS ARCHER, June 1, 1593.'" The entry maybe taken as veracious, +although made by "a clerk of St. Nicholas." [MARLOWE was a dramatist; +was ARCHER a dramatic critic?] + + * * * * * + +TWO WORDS IN SEASON. + +(_HUMBLY DEDICATED TO THOSE EMINENT CONTROVERSIALISTS, LORD GRIMTHORPE +AND MR. TALLACK._) + +NO. I. + + A little more grammar, a touch of the file + To smooth the rough edge of his tongue and his style; + And some friends, who could soften his temper or check it, + Might amend Baron GRIMTHORPE, who once was called BECKETT. + +NO. II. + + Some scorn for the faddists who ask us to hug, + Not with ropes but with pity, the pestilent Thug, + And some sense (of which Fate, it would seem, says he shall lack,) + Of the value of logic would much improve TALLACK. + + * * * * * + +ANOTHER STRIKE THREATENED.--The advent of the brother of the reigning +King of SIAM threatens to cause embarrassment in some English houses +where HIS HIGHNESS might expect to be received. JEAMES has positively +declined to throw open a door and announce, "Prince DAMRONG!" "Such +langwidge," he says, "is unbecoming and beneath Me--leastways unless +it is remembered in the wages." + + * * * * * + +WHY SHOULD MERIT WAIT? + +We have reason to believe that Sir HENRY EDWARDS, whose stone image +adorns a thoroughfare in Weymouth, will not long be left in sole +possession of the honour of having a monument dedicated to him in his +lifetime. In view of an interesting event pending in his family, it is +proposed that a statue shall be erected to Sir SAMUEL WILSON, M.P., +in the grounds at Hughenden. The project has so far advanced that the +inscription has been drafted, and we are pleased to be able to quote +it:-- + + To Perpetuate the Memory + of + Sir SAMUEL WILSON, Kt., + A good Husband, a kind Father, + A great Sheep-Farmer. + Twice elected to the Legislative Assembly of Victoria, + He once sat for the borough of Portsmouth. + He built Wilson Hall for Melbourne University, + And bought Hughenden Manor for Himself. + He introduced Salmon into Australian Waters, + And married his Eldest Son + To the Sixth Daughter of the + Duchess of MARLBOROUGH. + + Of such is the Colony of Victoria. + + * * * * * + +OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. + +"Dear Miss DOLLIE RADFORD," writes the Assistant-Reader, "I trust I am +right in the feminine and unconjugal prefix; but, be that as it may, I +wish simply to tell you that, at the instigation of a lettered friend, +I have spent a few moments very wisely in reading your thin little +book of verse, _A Light Load_. (ELKIN MATHEWS.) I feel now as if I had +been gently drifting down a smooth broad river under the moonlight, +when all nature is quiet. I don't quite know why I feel like that, +but I fancy it must be on account of some serene and peaceful quality +in your poems. Here, then, there are sixty-four little pages of +restfulness for those whose minds are troubled. You don't plunge +into the deep of metaphysics and churn it into a foam, but you perch +on your little bough and pipe sweetly of gorse and heather and wide +meadows and brightly-flashing insects; you sing softly as when, in +your own words-- + + "--gently this evening the ripples break + On the pebbles beneath the trees, + With a music as low as the full leaves make, + When they stir in some soft sea-breeze." + +One of my "Co." says he always reads anything that comes in his way +bearing the trade-mark BLACKWOOD. His faith has been justified on +carrying off with him on a quiet holiday, _His Cousin Adair_, by +GORDON ROY. The book has all the requisites of a good novel, including +the perhaps rarest one of literary style. _Cousin Adair_ is well worth +knowing, and her character is skilfully portrayed. As a foil against +this high-minded, pure-souled unselfish girl, there are sketched in +two or three of the sort of people, men and women, more frequently met +with in this wicked world. But _Cousin Adair_ is good enough to leaven +the lump. GORDON ROY is evidently a _nom de plume_ that might belong +to man or woman. My "Co." is inclined to think, from certain subtle +touches, that he has been entertained through three volumes by a lady. + +BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & Co. + +[Illustration: A Puff to swell the Sale.] + + * * * * * + +WHAT'S IN A TITLE? + +(_TO THE AUTHOR OF "VIOLET MOSES."_) + + With a title so lucky (though luck's all my eye), + Your book's sure of readers I'll wager my head. + For not even a Critic will dare to reply, + When he's asked to review it, "I'll take it as re(a)d." + + * * * * * + +FROM THE LATEST COLWELL-HATCHNEY EXAMINATION PAPER IN FOREIGN +LANGUAGES FOR THE CAKE SCHOLARSHIP.--_Question_. What is the feminine +of _Beau temps? Answer_ (_immediately given_). Belle-Wether. + + * * * * * + +THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS. + +NO. VIII. + + SCENE--_A Bridge over the Pegnitz, at Nuremberg. Time, + afternoon. The shadows of the old gabled and balconied houses + are thrown sharply on the reddish-yellow water. Above the + steep speckled roofs, the spires of St. Lorenz glitter against + the blue sky. CULCHARD is leaning listlessly upon the + parapet of the bridge_. + +_Culchard_ (_to himself_). How mediæval it all is, and how infinitely +restful! (_He yawns._) What a blessed relief to be without that fellow +PODBURY! He's very careful to keep out of my way--I've scarcely +seen him since I've been here. He must find it dreadfully dull. (_He +sighs._) I ought to find material for a colour-sonnet here, with these +subdued grey tones, those dull coppery-greens, and the glowing reds of +the conical caps of those towers. I _ought_--but I don't. I fancy that +half-engagement to MAUD TROTTER must have, scared away the Muse. I +wonder if PODBURY has really gone yet? (_Here a thump on the back +disposes of any doubt as to this._) Er--so you're still at Nuremberg? +[Awkwardly. + +[Illustration: "Er--I have brought you the philosophical work I +mentioned."] + +_Podbury_ (_cheerfully_). Rather! Regular ripping old place +this--suits me down to the ground. And how are _you_ getting on? + +_Culch._ Perfectly, thanks. My mind is being--er--stimulated here in +the direction most congenial to it. + +_Podb._ So's mine. By the way, have you got a book--don't mean a +novel, but a regular improving book--the stodgier the better--to lend +a fellow? + +_Culch._ Well, I brought an _Epitome of Herbert Spencer's Synthetic +Philosophy_ away with me to dip into occasionally. It seems a very +able summary, and you are welcome to it, if it's of any use to you. + +_Podb._ SPENCER, eh?--he's a stiff kind of old bird, ain't he? He'll +do me to-rights, thanks. + +_Culch._ It strikes me, PODBURY, that you must find the time +rather long, to want a book of that kind. If you wish to resume +our--ah--original relations, I am quite ready to overlook what I am +sure was only a phase of not unnatural disappointment. + +_Podb._ (_cheerily_). Oh, _that's_ all right, old fellow. I've got +over all that business. (_He colours slightly._) How soon did you +think of moving on? + +_Culch._ (_briskly_). As soon as you please. We might start for +Constance to-morrow, if you like. + +_Podb._ (_hesitating_) Well, you see, it's just this: there's a fellow +staying at my hotel--PRENDERGAST, his name is--rattling good sort--and +I've rather chummed up with him, and--and he's travelling with a +relation of his, and--well, the fact is, they rather made a point of +my going on to Constance with _them_, don't you see? But I daresay +we could work it so as to go on all together. I'll see what they say +about it. + +_Culch._ (_stiffly_). I'm exceedingly obliged--but so large a party +is scarcely--however, I'll let you know whether I can join you or not +this evening. Are you--er--going anywhere in particular just now? + +_Podb._ Well, yes. I've got to meet PRENDERGAST at the _Café Noris_. +We're going to beat up some stables, and see if we can't hire a couple +of gees for an hour or two before dinner. Do you feel inclined for a +tittup? + +_Culch._ Thanks, but I am no equestrian. (_To himself, after PODBURY's +departure._) He seems to manage well enough without me. And yet I do +think my society would be more good for him than--. Why did he want to +borrow that book, though? Can my influence after all-- (_He walks on +thoughtfully, till he finds himself before an optician's window in +which a mechanical monkey is looking through a miniature telescope; +the monkey suddenly turns its head and gibbers at him. This familiarity +depresses him, and he moves away, feeling lonelier than ever._) + +_ON THE TERRACE OF THE BURG. HALF AN HOUR LATER._ + +_Culch._ (_on a seat commanding a panorama of roofs, gables, turrets, +and spires_). Now this is a thing that can only be properly enjoyed +when one is by oneself. The mere presence of PODBURY--well, thank +goodness, he's found more congenial company. (_He sighs._) That +looks, like an English girl sketching on the next seat. Rather a +fine profile, so regular--general air of repose about her. Singular, +now I think of it, how little repose there is about MAUD. (The Young +Lady _rises and walks to the parapet._) Dear me, she has left her +india-rubber behind her. I really think I ought-- (_He rescues the +india-rubber, which he restores to the owner._) Am I mistaken in +supposing that this piece of india-rubber is your property? + +_The Y.L._ (_in musically precise tones_). Your supposition is +perfectly correct. I was under the impression that it would be safe +where it was for a few moments; but I am obliged to you, nevertheless. +I find india-rubber quite indispensable in sketching. + +_Culch._ I can quite understand that. I--I mean that it reduces +the--er--paralysing sense of irrevocability. + +_The Y.L._ You express my own meaning exactly. + + [_CULCHARD, not being quite sure of his own, is + proportionately pleased._ + +_Culch._ You nave chosen an inspiring scene, rich with historical +interest. + +_The Y.L._ (_enthusiastically_). Yes, indeed. What names rise to one's +mind instinctively MELANCHTHON, JOHN HUSS, KRAFT, and PETER VISCHER, +and DÜRER, and WOHLGEMUT, and MAXIMILIAN THE FIRST, and LOUIS OF +BAVARIA! + +_Culch._ (_who has read up the local history, and does not intend to +be beaten at this game_). Precisely. And the imperious MARGRAVE OF +BRANDENBURG, and WALLENSTEIN; and GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS, and GOETZ VON +BERLICHINGEN. One can almost see their--er--picturesque personalities +still haunting the narrow streets as we look down. + +_The Y.L._ I find it impossible to distinguish even the streets from +here, I confess, but you probably see with the imagination of an +artist. _Are_ you one by any chance? + +_Culch._ Only in words; that is, I record my impressions in a poetic +form. A perfect sonnet may render a scene, a mood, a passing thought, +more indelibly than the most finished sketch; may it not? + +_The Y.L._ That is quite true; indeed, I occasionally relieve my +feelings by the composition of Greek or Latin verses, which I find, on +the whole, better adapted to express the subtler emotions. Don't you +agree with me there? + +_Culch._ (_who has done no Greek or Latin verse since he left +school_). Doubtless. But I am hindering your sketch? + +_The Y.L._ No, I was merely saturating my mind with the general +effect. I shall not really begin my sketch till to-morrow. I am going +now. I hope the genius of the place will inspire you. + +_Culch._ Thank you. I trust it will--er--have that effect. (_To +himself, after the Young Lady has left the terrace._) Now, that's a +very superior girl--she has intellect, style, culture--everything the +ideal woman _should_ have. I wonder, now, whether, if I had met her +before--but such speculations are most unprofitable! How clear her +eyes looked through her _pince-nez_! Blue-grey, like Athene's own. If +I'd been with PODBURY, I should never have had this talk. The sight of +him would have repelled her at once. I shall tell him when I take him +that book that he had better go his own way with his new friends. I +shall spend most of to-morrow on this terrace. + + SCENE--_The Conversations-Saal at the Wurtemburger-Hof. + Evening. PODBURY at the piano; BOB PRENDERGAST and his + sister HYPATIA seated near him._ + +_Podb._ (_chanting dolefully_)-- + + Now then, this party as what came from Fla-an-ders, + What had the com-plex-_i_-on rich and rare, + He went and took and caught the yeller ja-aun-ders-- + And his complexion isn't what it were! + +_Mr. and Miss Prendergast_ (_joining sympathetically in chorus_). And +his complexion _isn't_ what it _were_! + + [_There is a faint knock at the door, and CULCHARD enters + with a volume under his arm. None of the three observes him, + and he stands and listens stiffly as PODBURY continues,--_ + + Well, next this party as what came from Fla-an-ders, + Whose complex-shun was formi-ally rare, + Eloped to Injia with ELIZA SA-AUN-DERS, + As lived close by in Canonbury Square. + +_Culch._ (_advances to piano and touches PODBURY's arm with the air +of his better angel_). Er--I have brought you the philosophical work +I mentioned. I will leave it for an occasion when you are--er--in a +fitter frame of mind for its perusal. + +_Podb._ Oh, beg pardon, didn't see you, old fellow. Awfully obliged; +jam it down anywhere, and (_whispering_) I say, I want to introduce +you to-- + +_Culch._ (_in a tone of emphatic disapproval_). You must really excuse +me, as I fear I should be scarcely a congenial spirit in such a party. +So good night--or, rather--er--good-bye. [_He withdraws._ + +_Miss Hypatia P._ (_just as C. is about to close the door_). Please +don't stop, Mr. PODBURY, that song is quite too deliciously inane! + + [_CULCHARD turns as he hears the voice, and--too + late--recognises his Athene of that afternoon. He retires in + confusion, and, as he passes under the window, hears PODBURY + sing the final verse._ + + The moral is--Now _don't_ you come from Fla-an-ders, + If you should have complexions rich and rare; + And don't you go and catch the yaller ja-aun-ders, + Nor yet know girls in Canonbury Square! + +_Miss Hypatia P._ (_in a clear soprano_). "Nor yet know girls in +Canonbury Square!" + + [_CULCHARD passes on, crushed._ + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: THE STERNER SEX! + +"HULLO, GERTY! YOU'VE GOT FRED'S HAT ON, AND HIS COVER COAT?" + +"YES. DON'T YOU LIKE IT?" + +"WELL--IT MAKES YOU LOOK LIKE A YOUNG MAN, YOU KNOW, AND THAT'S SO +EFFEMINATE!"] + + * * * * * + +DOGGEREL BY A "DISHER." + + [On September 1 the Free Education Act came into force + throughout England and Wales.] + + Remember, remember + The first of September + And Free Education's sly plot; + I know no reasons + Why cancelling fees on + The poor should not silence Rad rot! + + * * * * * + +A NOTE AND QUERY.--At the enthronement of Dr. MACLAGAN as Archbishop +of York "the band of the First Royal Dragoons," says the _Daily +Graphic_, "played an appropriate march." That the band of the Royal +Dragoons should symbolically and cymballically represent the Church +Militant is right enough; but what is "a march appropriate" to an +Archbishop? One of BISHOP's glees would have been more suitable to +the occasion. Henceforth Dr. MACLAGAN can say, if he likes, "I'_m +Arch_-bishop of Canterbury!" + + * * * * * + +"THE GREAT LOAN LAND."--Russia. + + * * * * * + +THE GROUSE THAT JACK SHOT. + +(_A SOLEMN TRAGEDY OF THE SHOOTING SEASON._) + +This is the Grouse that _Jack_ shot. + +This is the friend who expected the Grouse that _Jack_ shot. + +This is the label addressed to the friend who expected the Grouse that +_Jack_ shot. + +This is the Babel where lost was the label addressed to the friend, +&c. + +This is the porter who "found" the "birds" in the Babel where lost was +the label, &c. + +This is the dame with the crumpled hat, wife of the porter who "found" +the "birds," &c. + +This is the cooking-wench florid and fat of the dame with the crumpled +hat, &c. + +This is the table where diners sat, served by the cooking-maid florid +and fat of the dame with the crumpled hat, &c. + +This is the _gourmand_ all forlorn, who dreamed of the table where +diners sat, served by the cooking-wench florid and fat, &c. + +This is the postman who knocked in the morn awaking the _gourmand_ all +forlorn from his dream of the table, &c. + +And this is _Jack_ (with a face of scorn), thinking in wrath of +"directions" torn from the parcel by Railway borne, announced by the +postman who knocked in the morn, awaking the _gourmand_ all forlorn, +who dreamed of the table where diners sat, served by the cooking-wench +florid and fat of the dame with the crumpled hat, wife of the +porter who "found" the "birds" in the Babel where lost was the label +addressed to the friend who expected the Grouse that _Jack_ shot! + +MORAL. + + If in the Shooting Season you some brace of birds would send + (As per letter duly posted) to a fond expectant friend, + Pray remember that a railway is the genuine modern Babel, + And be very very careful _how you fasten on the label_! + + * * * * * + +A MUSICAL SUGGESTION. + +(_CERTAINLY NEW AND ORIGINAL._) + +Why doesn't one of our talented composers--Sir ARTHUR, or Mr. +MACKENZIE, or Mr. STANFORD, or Mr. EDWARD SOLOMON--write a Cantata, +entitled _The Weather?_ The subject is thoroughly English, and lends +itself so evidently to much variety in treatment. The title should be, +_The Weather: a Meteorological Cantata_. + +It should commence with a hopeful movement, indicative of the views of +various people interested in the weather as to future probabilities. +The sportsman, the agriculturist, the holiday-maker, likewise the +livery-stable keeper, and the umbrella manufacturer would, _cum multis +aliis_, be all represented; Songs without Words; the Sailor's Hope; +then wind instruments; solo violin; the Maiden's Prayer for her +Sailor-love's Safety, &c. Then "as the arrows" (on the _Times_ chart) +"fly with the wind," so would the piccolo, followed by the trombone, +and thus the approach of the storm would be indicated. Roll on drum, +distant thunder; the storm passes off, and we have a beautiful air +(the composer's best), which delights and reassures us. + +All at once, "disturbances advance from the Atlantic;" grand effect, +this! + +Sudden Fall of Barometer! (This would be something startling on drum +and cymbals, with, on 'cello, a broken chord.) Momentary relief +of a "light and fresh breeze" (hornpipe), interrupted by showers +from the West and winds from the North; then strong wind from East +(something Turkish here); light breeze from Scotland (Highland Fling); +Anticyclonic movement; "Depression" on the hautbois; increase of wind; +then thunder, lightning, rain--all the elements at it! Grand effect!! +Crash!!! and ... for _finale_, calm sea, sun shining, joyful chorus, +Harvest Home, weddings, &c., &c., &c. + +I've nothing more to say. Surely this outline is sufficient. Only if +any Composer does make use of this idea, and become famous thereby, +let him not be ungrateful to the suggester of this brilliant notion +(copyright), whose name and address may be had for the asking at the +Fleet Street Office. + + * * * * * + +SOME CIRCULAR NOTES. + +CHAPTER VI. + + +_RECOVERY--WAITER--VICOMTE--CHÂTEAU--RECEPTION--NIGHT--MORNING-- +WORKERS--HEADSTONES--MEMORIES--STONES--EXPLANATIONS--BREAKFAST-- +OFF--BACK AGAIN._ + +[Illustration: "Karascho!" exclaims Daubinet.] + +DAUBINET, quite recovered from his fatigue, sings "Blass the Prince of +WAILES" enthusiastically, and at intervals ejaculates queer, uncouth +words in the Russian tongue. Breakfast with Russian tongue. He asks +the waiter for "_minuoschhah karosh caviar_." To which the waiter +adroitly replies, "_parfaitement M'sieu_" and disappears. Returning +ten minutes afterwards, the wily attendant makes no further allusion +to the supposed errand that has taken him out of the room. + +Then DAUBINET, remembering that we are literally "here to-day and gone +to-morrow," says we must visit his friend the Vicomte. I cannot catch +the Vicomte's name; I manage to do so for half an hour at a time, and +then it escapes me. As we are in this champagney country, I write it +down as M. le Vicomte DE CHAMPAGNIAC. We are to dine and sleep there. +A Night in a French Château. "But this is another story." + +On our arrival at the Château de Quelquechose we are right royally +and heartily received. Delightful evening. _Vive la Compagnie_! +Magnificent view from my bedroom. In the clear moonlight I can see +right away for miles and miles over the Champagne valleys. At 6.30 we +are in the break, and within an hour or so are "All among the barley," +as the song used to say, which I now apply to "All amongst the +Vineyards." Peasants at work everywhere: picking and sorting. How +they must dislike grapes! Of course they are all teetotallers, and no +more touch a drop of champagne than a grocer eats his own currants, +or a confectioner his own sweetmeats. I suppose the butcher lives +exclusively on fish, and his friend, the neighbouring fishmonger, is +entirely dependent on the butcher for his sustenance, except when game +is in, and then both deal with the gamester or poulterer. There are +some traders in necessaries who can make a fair deal all round. The +only exception to this rule, for which, from personal observation, I +can vouch, is the tobacconist, who is always smoking his own cigars. + +Wonderful this extensive plain of vineyards! and what stunted little +stumps with leaves round them are all these vines! Not in it with +our own graceful hops. No hedges or ditches to separate one owner's +property from another's. To each little or big patch of land there is +a white headstone with initials on it, as if somebody had hurriedly +and unostentatiously been buried on the spot where he fell, killed in +the Battle of the Vineyards, by a grape-shot. At first, seeing so many +of these white headstones with initials on each one, I conclude that +it is some peculiar French way of marking distances or laying out +plots, and I find my conclusion is utterly erroneous. + +"These white stones," M. VESQUIER. explains, "mark the boundaries of +different properties." Odd! The plain is cut up into little patches, +and champagne-growers, like knowing birds, have popped down, on "here +a bit and there a bit and everywhere a bit" from time to time, so that +one headstone records the fact that "here lies the property of J.M.," +and within a few feet is another headstone "sacred to the memory of +P. and G.," or P. without the G.; then removed but a step or two is +a stone with a single "A." on it. and a short distance from the road +is "H."--poor letter "H" apparently dropped for ever. Here lie "M.," +and "M. and C.," and several other heroes whose names recall many a +glorious champagne. And so on, and so on; the initials recurring again +quite unexpectedly, the plots of ground held by the same proprietor +being far apart. But, as it suddenly occurs to me, if these +champagne-growers are all in the same plains for twenty miles or +more round about, all in much the same position, and all the grapes +apparently the same, why isn't it all the same wine? + +"_Karascho!_" exclaims DAUBINET, who, under the hot rays of the early +morning sun, is walking in his shirt-sleeves, his coat over his arm, +his hat in one hand, and a big sunshade in the other, "I will tell +you." Then he commences, and except for now and then breaking off into +Russian expletives, and interspersing his discourse with selections +from British national melodies, his explanation is lucid, and the +reasons evident. Soil and sun account for everything; the soil being +varied, and the sun shifty. "_Pou ni my? comprenez-vous?_" he asks. + +[Illustration: "Da Karascho! All r-r-right!"] + +I do perfectly, at the moment; but subsequently trying to explain the +phenomena scientifically, I find that I have not quite penetrated the +mystery _au fond_. We visit the Wine-press, which (_Happy Thought!_) +would be an appropriate title for a journal devoted entirely to the +wine-growing and wine-vending interests. + +"And now," says M. le Vicomte, "we must return to breakfast, or the +sun will be too strong for us." + +So back we go to our eleven o'clock _déjeuner_ in a beautifully cool +room, of which repast the sweetest little cray-fish, fresh from the +river, are by no means the worst part of the entertainment. Then +coffee, cigars, and lounge. Yes, there are some things better managed +in France than _chez nous_; and the division of the day between +labour and refreshment is, in my humble opinion, one of them. In the +contriving of dainty dishes out of the simplest materials, the French +seem to hold that everything is good for food in this best of all +possible worlds, if it be only treated on a wise system of variation, +permutation, and combination. We discuss these subjects of the higher +education until arrives the inevitable hour of departure. Let us not +linger on the doorstep. Into the trap again. _Bon voyage! Au revoir!_ +And as passing out of the lodge-gate we get a last glimpse of the +party waving adieux to us from the upper terrace, DAUBINET flourishes +his hat, and sings out at the top of his voice, "We're leaving thee in +sorrow, ANNIE," which is more or less appropriate, perhaps; and then, +as the last flutter of a pocket-handkerchief is seen, he finishes +with "And blass the Prince of WAILES!" After which he subsides, +occasionally breaking the silence to sigh aloud, "_O Maman!_" and +thenceforth, for the greater part of the journey to Paris, he slumbers +in a more or less jumpy manner. + +_At the Grand Hotel, Paris_.--"Aha!" cries M. le Baron BLUM,--always +in full Blum at the Grand Hotel,--"At last! arrived!" as if he had +expected us for several weeks past,--"How are you? I have your rooms +ready for you!" He must have seen us driving into the courtyard, and +settled our numbers there and then, not a minute ago. It's a great +thing for weary travellers to be welcomed on arrival. No matter +if they're forgotten again the next moment, and not thought of +again until the hour of their departure. It is the welcome that is +everything; it implies so much, and may mean so little. But, at the +Grand, Paris, _Avis aux Messieurs les voyageurs, _"When in doubt, +consult BLUM!" We enjoy a good but expensive dinner at the Maison +Dorée. For myself, I prefer the simple fare at half the price to be +found _chez Noël_, or at some other quiet and moderate restaurants +that I could name. Next morning a brief but welcome breakfast at +Amiens, a tranquil crossing, and we are bidding each other adieu at +the Victoria Station. Music to the situation, "_Home once more_." +Good-bye to my excellent _ami_ DAUBINET, who stays a few hours in +London, and then is off to Russia, Egypt, Iceland, Australia. + +"_Da Karascho!_ All r-r-right!" + +And so ends a pleasant holiday trip to the Champagne Country, or real +"Poppy-Land." + + * * * * * + +STORICULES. + +V.--A BORN ARISTOCRAT. + +[Illustration] + +Whenever I forgot to put the matches in my pocket on leaving the +chambers, I used to buy a box from a boy who stood at the street +corner, where the 'busses stop. He was a small boy, somewhat ragged +and occasionally a good deal splashed with mud. He was bright and +energetic, and he did a very fair trade. There was an air of complete +independence about him, which one does not often find in match-boys. +His method of recommending his wares was considerably above the +average of the peripatetic vendor; it suggested a large emporium, +plate glass, mahogany counters, and gorgeous assistants with fair hair +parted in the middle: + +"Now off'rin! A unooshally lawge box of wax vestas for one penny. +Shop early and shop often. Foosees, Sir? Yessir. Part o' a bankrupt's +stock." + +This was smart of him. By differing a little from the usual match-boy +manner, he attracted more attention, and grins, and coppers. + +One morning I had climbed up to the top of the 'bus and taken my seat, +when I saw that the boy had followed me. + +"No use," I said; "I don't want any this morning." + +"Well, I ain't sellin' none this mornin', Sir. I'm goin' a ride on +this 'ere 'buss. My wife's got the carridge hout in the Park; so I'm +druv to takin' busses--same as you, Sir." He took the seat next to +mine, and added seriously, "I expecks as you ain't likely to be buyin' +no more matches from me." + +"Why, WILLIAM?" + +"My name is REGGERNULD, Sir. Yer see, I'm movin' inter other premises, +as yer might say. I've give up my stand at yon corner." He jerked his +thumb in the direction of it. + +"What's that for?" + +"Oh--well--nothin'. Some of 'em think I'm a fool for doin' it. The +fac' was--I couldn't quite git on with my comp'ny there?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean that other boy what come last Toosday, and started sellin' +pipers at my corner. You don't know 'oo 'e is, p'r'aps, nor 'oo I +am." I did not know, and I was very willing to get the story out of +REGINALD. + +"Well, I come o' pretty mod'rately 'spectable folks, I do; and I ain't +goin' to chum up with no thieves' sons an' as like as not thieves +theirselves. No thankyer. Them Board Schools is a deal too mixed. +Thet's 'ow I come to know about thet boy. 'Is father 'ad a barrer, +thet were what _'is_ father did for a livelihood, an' 'is mother were +up afore the beaks for poppin' shirts what she'd took in to wash. +Well, I ain't one to brag, but my father were a 'air-dresser's +assistant in Pimlico. Pretty well up, too, 'e was. The way 'e'd shive +yer were sutthin' to see. Shivin'? Yer couldn't call it shivin'; it +were gen'us, thet's what it were. Speccilation rooined 'im. 'E stawted +a small plice of 'is own, and bust. Then 'e took to the turf, and bust +agin. Then Mother begun dress-mikin' and there weren't no dress-mikin' +to be 'ad; so that bust. We was unfortnit. Heve'rythin' as we touched +bust. But we never run no barrers, an' we never was up afore no beaks, +and if there weren't such a thund'rin' lot of us, I shouldn't be doin' +this now. Anywye, I respecs myself. So I'm goin' to start a new pitch +an' chawnce it." + +I inquired where the new pitch was to be. + +"I'm swoppin' with another boy (EDDUDS 'is nime is) up fur end o' this +street. 'E ain't so perticler as I am. Clerks lives there mostly, an' +the biz ain't so good as it was in my old plice. Them clerks wears +top-'ats, an' consequently they daren't smoke pipes. They cawn't +afford to smoke cigars, and cigarettes is off'rin' eyep'ny oices to a +stawvin' man. So they don't smoke at all, an' don't want no matches. +An' I don't blime 'em, mind yer. Pussonally, I chews--but if I smoked +a pipe I wouldn't do it with one o' them 'ats on. 'Cos why? 'Cos I +believes in a bit o' style. Not that I'm stuck-up as yer might say, +but I don't see no sense in lettin' myself down. If I'd liked I could +'a made it so 'ot fur thet newspiper boy that 'e'd 'ave 'ad to go. I +could 'a mopped up the puddles with 'im if I'd wanted. But I wouldn't. +I wouldn't conterminate myself by so much as 'avin' a word with 'im. +I'd sooner leave--even if I lose money on it. My father were one +for style too, afore 'is shop bust. Thet's 'ow it is, yer see. Some +goes up, and some goes down. We've come down, but I draws the line +somewheer fur all thet--sure's my name's REGGERNALD. An' what do you +think?" + +I told him that I was rather inclined to think that he was an idiot, +and tried to show him why he was an idiot. But he would not be +convinced. Class prejudice was strong within 'im. + +"Look 'ere," he said, "you may think I'm young to be a'visin' o' you, +Sir. But jest mark my words--you cawn' be too keerful what comp'ny +yer gits familyer with. I gits off 'ere. All--right, kinducter, yer +needn't stop." + + * * * * * + +MORE EXCITEMENT IN PARIS. + +[Illustration: Portrait of English Tourist searched in Paris on +suspicion of having a valuable Porcelain Vase concealed about his +person.] + +[Illustration: The Porcelain Vase in question.] + + ["A valuable porcelain vase having been stolen from Versailles + Palace, a band of English tourists who were visiting the place + have been searched by the police; but nothing was found upon + them, and they have been liberated."--_St. James's Gazette, + Sept_. 17.] + + * * * * * + +HOLIDAY FARE IN CORNWALL. + + A roll on the billow, + A Loaf by the shore, + A Fig for fashion, + And Cream galore! + + * * * * * + +"WHAT'S IN A NAME?" + +Mr. AUGUSTIN DALY says, "I have never found, as CHATTERTON did, that +SHAKSPEARE spelt Ruin." Perhaps he has been more inclined to think +that SHAKSPEARE spelt REHAN, eh? + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: TRULY CONSCIENTIOUS. + +_Toyshopman_. "BEG PARDON, MISS, BUT HERE'S YOUR CHANGE, WHICH YOU'D +FORGOTTEN--ONE-AND-NINEPENCE!" + +_Little Maid_. "OH, THANK YOU VERY MUCH! BUT WE'RE NOT ALLOWED TO TAKE +MONEY FROM ANYBODY BUT GRANDPAPA!"] + + * * * * * + +TURNING THE TABLES; + +OR, THE BEAR AS LEADER. + + ["The French believed so implicitly in Russian friendship, + even when there was nothing whatever to indicate its + existence, that they may be excused for rating at more than + they are worth expressions of goodwill, which, after all, are + as ambiguous as they are tardy.... The success of a Russian + Loan is not dearly purchased by a little effusion, which, + after all, commits Russia to nothing. French sentiment + is always worth cultivating in that way, because, unlike + the British variety, it has a distinct influence upon + investments."--_Daily Paper_.] + + "But just fancy the confusion + When a bear has burst his fetters!" + +HEINE's _Atta Troll_. + +AIR--"_BLOUDIE JACKE_." + + Oh! why does your eye gleam so bright? + Russian Bear? + Oh! why does your eye gleam so bright? + You've broken your fetters. Like some of your betters, + Your freedom moves some with affright. + All right? + Well, _that_'s reassuring,--oh! _quite_! + + Yes, your optic gleams piggishly bright, + Russian Bear; + It gleams with true ursine delight. + 'Tis done--France is won, And 'tis capital fun + To hold it in shackles, which, slight-- + Ho! ho!-- + Yet fit so remarkably tight. + + The chains may feel light as a thread, + Russian Bear! + As light and as slight as a thread; + But though light be the chain. Will his might and his main + Again rend it in twain? Fear is fled! + Quite fled! + And old animosity dead. + Haw! haw! + + Nay, laugh not I pray you so loud, + Russian Bear! + Oh! laugh not so loud and so clear! + Though sly is your smile The heart to beguile, + Bruin's chuckle is horrid to hear, + O dear! + And makes quidnuncs quake and feel queer. + + You have quite turned the tables, that's true, + Russian Bear, + The dancer did use to be _you_. + Now _you_ thump the tabor, And France, your "dear neighbour," + Seems game to dance on till all's blue. + Hurroo! + + Alliances _are_ pretty things, + Russian Bear! + Seductive and promising things; + That rat-a-tat-too, Which suggests a Review-- + Makes his legs whirl as swiftly as wings. + How he springs + And leaps to the wild whillaloo! + + You pipe and he dances this time, + Russian Bear! + The Bear and his Leader change places. + Quicker and quicker he, Steps; Miss TERPSICHORE + Scarce could show prettier paces. + _Houp là!_ + _Atta Troll_ could not rival his graces. + + He who pays for the Pipe calls the tune-- + Russian Bear! + Pooh! _that_ old saw's quite obsolete. + Just look at that stocking! What matters men's mocking? + _He_'ll pay, but your tune is so sweet-- + Rat-tat-too!-- + That it keeps him at work hands and feet! + + How long? That remains to be seen, + Russian Bear; + But in spite of political spleen, + And Treaties and Fables, You _have_ turned the tables. + Such sight is not frequently seen. + + You've slipped yourself out of your chains, + Russian Bear; + 'Till hardly a shackle remains + In Black Sea or Bosphorus. This may mean loss for us, + Bruin cares not whilst he gains. + + Treaties and protocols irk, + Russian Bear; + And therefore are matters to shirk. + Berlin and Paris, No longer must harass + This true friend of France--and the Turk. + Hrumph! hrumph! + Well, well, we shall see how 'twill work! + + * * * * * + +"HANGING THEOLOGY."--Readers of the _Times_ have been for some time +in a state of suspense--most appropriately--as to the result of the +correspondence carried on by Lord GRIMTHORPE & Co. under the above +heading. At all events the Editor of the _Times_ has been giving his +correspondents quite enough rope to ensure the proverbial termination +of their epistolary existence. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: "TURNING THE TABLES." + +("The success of a Russian Loan is not dearly purchased by a little +effusion, which, after all, commits Russia to nothing. French +sentiment is always worth cultivating in that way, because, unlike +the British variety, it has a distinct influence upon investments." +--_Daily Paper_.)] + + * * * * * + +"REVOLTED MORTIMER." + + [Dr. MORTIMER GRANVILLE, in a letter to the _Times_, + attacks the logic and disputes the dogmas of the fanatical + Teetotaller, and carries the war into the enemy's country by + boldly asserting that "incalculable harm has been done to the + average human organism, with its functions, which we are wont + to classify as mental and physical, by the spread of teetotal + views and practices."] + + Oho! Doctor MORTIMER GRANVILLE, + You are scarcely as bland as DE BANVILLE. + On the Knights of the Pump + Your assertions come thump + Like an old Cyclops' "sledge" on his anvil. + + Fanatical logic _is_ "quisby"; + Each crank in his bonnet has _his_ bee. + They swagger, dod rot'em!-- + Like loud Bully _Bottom_ + When playing the _Thraso_ to "_Thisby_." + + Total abstinence purely pernicious? + Oh, Doctor, that's really delicious! + That's turning the tables + On faddists, whose fables + Do make the judicious suspicious. + + Your modest and moderate drinker, + Who's also a fair-minded thinker, + Would look in the face + The fell scourge of our race. + Sense from logic should not be a shrinker. + + But drinking and drunkenness, truly, + Should not be confounded unduly. + Fanatics here blunder; + As far they're asunder + As Tempe and Ultima Thule! + + We thank you, whose lucid urbanity + Assures us our favourite "vanity" + (To quote cheery SAM) + Need _not_ be a "dram" + To drive us to death or insanity. + + Good wine and sound ale have their uses, + To distinguish 'twixt which and abuses + The clear-headed want; + But illogical cant + Will ne'er solve our worst social _cruces_. + + "Table waters and watery" wines, Sir, + Don't cheer up a man when he dines, Sir. + To gases and slops, + And weak "fizzles," and "pops," + The weak stomach only inclines, Sir. + + Like teetotal cant, they're "depressing," + And if you can give them a dressing. + With logic compact, + Firmly founded on fact, + Sober sense will bestow its best blessing. + + But drunkenness, Doctor is awful, + 'Tis that we could wish made unlawful. + 'Tis that which will prick + A man's conscience when sick + Of fanatics of flatulent jaw full. + + Your sots are sheer abominations, + But they who deserve castigations + Much more than poor "drunks," + Are those pestilent skunks + Who _poison the people's potations_! + + Good wine and sound ale need apology? + No! But there's something to follow, G.! + Distilling and Brewing + Must work our undoing + _When branches of mere Toxicology_! + + Good malt, hop, and grape, though fermented, + May leave a man well and contented, + But poisons infernal + (See any Trade Journal!) + Drive decent souls drunk and demented. + + _Verb. sap._! You'll, excuse the suggestion. + They soften brains, ruin digestion; + Sap body and soul, + In the (drugged) Flowing Bowl. + There, Doctor, 's the real Drink Question! + + Meanwhile, _Punch_ admires your plain speaking. + Enough of evasion and sneaking! + Let fact, logic stout, + And sound pluck fight it out. + Truth's "at home" to right valorous seeking. + + Of course, my dear Doctor, you'll catch it. + The Pump is aggressive; you match it. + Whoever proves right, + Your pluck starts a good fight, + And _Punch_ is delighted to watch it! + + * * * * * + +THE CONQUERED "WORTH." + +(_SOME WAY AFTER POE'S_ "_CONQUEROR WORM_.") + +[Illustration] + + ["When women no longer interest themselves in silks and + satins, ribbons and furbelows, it will be an infallible sign + that the great drama of humanity is at length played out, and + that the lights are to be turned down, and the house left to + silence and the dark."--_Daily Chronicle_.] + +I. + + Lo! 'tis a gala night + Within the "Rational" latter years! + A female throng, dowdy, bedight + In veils, and drowned in tears, + Sits in a theatre, to see + A play of hopes and fears, + Whilst the orchestra breathes fitfully + The music of the spheres. + +II. + + Mimes, dressed in fashion now gone by, + Mutter and mumble low, + And hither and thither fly: + Mere puppets they who come and go + At the bidding of a huge formless Thing + That shifts the scenery to and fro, + Ruling the World from flat and wing-- + Paris and Pimlico! + +III. + + That motley drama--oh, be sure + It shall not be forgot! + With its Phantom chased for evermore + By a crowd that seize it not, + Through a circle that ever returneth in + To the self-same spot; + With much of Folly, and waste of Tin, + And Vanity soul of the plot. + +IV. + + But see, amid the mimic rout + A mystic shape intrude! + A formless thing that writhes from out + The scenic solitude! + It writhes! it squirms!--with mortal pangs, + Mocked at by laughter rude; + There's no more snap in its sharp fangs, + Which once that crowd subdued. + +V. + + Out--out are the lights--out all! + And over each pallid form, + The curtain, Mode's funeral pall, + Comes down amidst hisses in storm; + And the audience, dowdy, but human, + Uprising proclaim, with wild mirth, + That the play is the Comedy "Woman," + And the hero the conquered "WORTH." + + * * * * * + +EXTREMES MEET. + + It is a noticeable thing + That when Kent bines produce their crop, + Swelldom is always "on the wing," + And Slumdom "on the Hop"! + + * * * * * + +THE LATEST WEATHER-WISE DOGGEREL. + +_BY A SCIENTIFIC RAIN-MAKER._ + + [It is stated that rain may be brought down by the explosion + of dynamite and blasting-powder attached to oxyhydrogen + balloons and kite-tails.] + + Evening red and morning grey + Will send the traveller on his way; + But--blasting-powder on kites' tails spread, + Will bring down rain upon his head. + +_RETORT BY A WASHED-OUT WAYFARER._ + + If dynamite would bring _fine_ weather, + Scientists might be in fine feather, + As 'tis, I sing, to the schoolboy tune, + "Yah-bah! (oxyhydrogen) balloon!" + + * * * * * + +FATHER AND SON. + +(_A POSSIBLE DIALOGUE AFTER A RECENT DECISION AT MARYLEBONE._) + +_Father_. And now, my dear Son, I must ask you for your rent. + +_Son_. But surely, Father, I am entitled to a room in your house? + +_Father_. Out of my love and affection; but this is a matter of +business; and, if you desire to be a Voter, you must behave as such. + +[Illustration] + +_Son_. But I have had some difficulty in scraping up enough to pay +you. + +_Father_. Surely, eighteen shillings a-week is a reasonable sum for an +apartment, however small, in Mayfair? + +_Son_. I do not deny it; still it seems hard that I should be mulcted +to that extent some fifty times a-year. + +_Father_. I cannot see the hardship, _nor_ the money! + +_Son_. If you really want it, it is here. + + [_Produces a pocket-book, from which he takes sufficient + change to satisfy the claim._ + +_Father_ (_pocketing coin_). Thank you; and now we may say, adieu! + +_Son_. But how about dinner--am I not to dine with you? + +_Father_. Dine with me! What an idea! Why should you? + +_Son_. Because I am your Son. + +_Father_. You mean someone infinitely more important--my Lodger. + +_Son_. And you absolutely refuse me food? + +_Father_. Not I, my boy; not I! It is the law! If I was to give you +what you ask, you and I would be had up for bribery. + +_Son_. Then you prefer patriotism to paternal affection? + +_Father_. Well, to be candid with you, I do! It is distinctly cheaper! + + * * * * * + +MUSCOVITE VERSION OF A MUSIC-HALL CHORUS. + + HIRSCH! HIRSCH! HIRSCH! + Here comes the Bogie Man! + He wants to help the Hebrews; he'll catch them if he can. + HIRSCH! HIRSCH! HIRSCH! + He's hit upon a plan, + And all the persecutors cry, "Here comes the Bogie Man!" + + * * * * * + +LINES ON A PHOTOGRAPH. + + DOWNEY has photographed "the FIFES" at home. + Aha! Domestic music! FIFE and "drum "! + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: MR. PUNCH ON TOUR. A LITTLE HOLIDAY IN WALES.] + + * * * * * + +OUR REAL DESIDERATUM. + +(_BY A "WELL-INFORMED" FOOL._) + + Ah! I was fogged by the Materialistic, + By HUXLEY and by ZOLA, KOCH and MOORE; + And now there comes a Maëlstrom of the Mystic, + To whirl me further yet from sense's shore. + Microbes were much too much for me, bacilli + Bewildered me, and phagocytes did daze, + But now the author 'cute of "Piccadilly," + HARRIS the Prophet, the BLAVATSKY craze, + Thibet, Theosophy, and Bounding Brothers-- + No, Mystic Ones--Mahatmas I _should_ say, + But really they seem so much like the others + In slippery agility!--day by day + Mystify me yet more. Those germs were bad enough, + But what are they compared with Astral Bodies? + Of Useless Knowledge I have almost had enough, + I really envy uninquiring noddies, + I would not be a Chela if I could. + I have a horror of the Esoterical. + BESANT and OLCOTT _may_ be wise and good, + They seem to me pursuing the chimerical. + Maddened by mysteries of "Precipitation," + The Occult Dream and the Bacillus-Dance; + We need Societies for the propagation + Of Useful--_Ignorance_! + + * * * * * + +DWARFS IN AND ABOUT LONDON. + +Sir,--We need not go so far afield as Messrs. HALIBURTON & CO. in +search of dwarfs. In the suburbs of London, and even in the more +densely-populated districts of this vast Metropolis, there are +numbers of people who are uncommonly short. About quarter-day these +extraordinary individuals may be heard of, but are rarely seen; which +fact, however, affords no proof of their non-existence. + +Yours, TAXOS GATHEROS. + + * * * * * + +LATEST PUBLICATION (OF THE POLITICAL NATURAL HISTORY +SERIES).--_Curious Development of French Froggies into Toadies of +Russia_. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: "WHEN A MAN DOES NOT LOOK HIS BEST."--NO. 1. + +WHEN HE MAGNANIMOUSLY CONSENTS TO GO ON THE PLATFORM AT A CONJURING +PERFORMANCE, AND UNWONTED OBJECTS ARE PRODUCED FROM HIS INSIDE +POCKETS.] + + * * * * * + +TO THE GRAND OLD CRICKETER. + + Dear Dr. GRACE, the season through + You've struggled on, and striven gamely; + Your leg, for all you've tried to do, + Has made your record come out lamely; + Your county suffers, too, with you; + Your failures very dear have cost her. + But better luck in 'ninety-two + To you, old friend, and good old Gloucester! + + * * * * * + +THE MODERN CAGLIOSTRO; OR, THE POWER OF THE SPIRITS. + +(_A PAGE FROM A ROMANCE UP TO DATE._) + +And so PETER, learning that the veteran Alchymist was to be seen on +the presentation of a small coin of the realm, approached the old +man's residence. He had heard that the Sage had discovered the secret +of immortality--barring accidents, he would live for ever. + +"Now that JOSEPHINE is true to me," he murmured, "I have no objection +to a further century of existence, or even two." + +And he continued his walk. He had never seen so many taverns in his +life. On every side of him were distilleries, public-houses, and +beer-shops. He marvelled that a man of so many summers should have +chosen such a bibulous spot for his home. + +"He must be exceedingly eccentric," he thought to himself; "however, +that is nothing to me. If he can teach me how to live continuously, +this bag of gold, now mine, shall change masters." + +The small coin of the realm was presented, and PETER stood face to +face with the Sage of the Ages. + +"What do you want?" asked the ancient Alchymist, with a glistening +eye. "What d'ye want with an old man--a very old man?" And the Sage +wept. + +"I meant not this," remonstrated PETER, greatly distressed at the +incident. "I came here merely to crave your aid. I wish to live now, +for JOSEPHINE is true to me." + +"Who's JOSEPHINE?" asked the Sage, in the same thick voice. "Never +heard of JOSEPHINE. JOSEPHINE's bore--swindle! Old JOSEPHINE's jolly +humbug!" + +"Well, let that pass," said PETER, "I am here to ask you why you +have lived so long. You are one hundred and twenty-seven years old, I +think, and yet you are still alive." + +"Why, certainly. But you know all about it. Secret no longer. Dr. +MORTIMER GRANVILLE has told the _Times_ how it's done. Consider it +great shame. Takes the bread, so t' speak, out of one's mouth." Here +the Sage gave a lurch and seated himself accidentally on a stuffed +alligator. Seeing that his host was about to indulge in an untimely +nap, PETER thought the moment had arrived to urge him to reveal his +wonderful secret. "I implore you to tell me how you have managed to +live for so many years when all your contemporaries are gone." + +"Well, sure I don't mind," was the reply. "Won't hurt me--may do you +good. Want to know how it's managed?" + +"That I do, indeed," was the earnest answer, + +"Why reason I've lived for more than century and quarter is this! I've +never been--mind, never been during all that time--see--during all +that time--never been sober!" + +PETER was astounded. + +"Why, Sir WILFRID LAWSON says--" he began. + +"Never mind what Sir WILF-LAWSON says, I say if you want, keep your +health you must--hic--always--be--in--in--intoxicavated! Now go to +public-house. My patients in public-houses yonder." + +And, urged by a sense of duty, PETER withdrew; and, joining the Sage's +cures, found them in various stages of renewed health, and increased +intoxication. + + * * * * * + +THE BITTER CRY OF THE BRITISH BOOKMAKER. + +(_AFTER A FAMOUS ORIGINAL._) + + 'Tis a very good land that we live in + To lend, or to lose, or to give in; + But to _sell_--at a profit--or keep a man's own, + 'Tis the very worst country that ever was known. + Men give cash for their wines, wives, weeds, churches and cooks, + But your genuine Briton _won't_ pay for his--Books! + + * * * * * + +JOURNAL OF A ROLLING STONE. + +EIGHTH ENTRY. + +Since my call to the Bar, have been treating myself to rather a long +roll abroad. Now, however, the time has come to devote myself to the +work of the profession, which seems to mean studying practical law +with some discreet and learned Barrister. + +[Illustration: Dick Fibbins.] + +Met a few nights ago, at dinner, a very entertaining fellow. Full +of legal anecdotes. Told that it was DICK FIBBINS, a Barrister, "and +rather a rising one." DICK (why not RICHARD?) talked about County +Courts with condescending tolerance; even the High Court Judges seemed +(according to his own account) to habitually quail before his forensic +acumen. + +Mentioned to FIBBINS that I had just been "called," and was "thinking +of reading in a Barrister's chambers;" and he seemed to take the most +friendly and generous interest in me at once--asked me, indeed, to +call on him any day I liked at his chambers in Waste Paper Buildings, +which I thought extremely kind, as I was a complete stranger. + +Go next day. Clerk, with impressive manner, receives me with due +regard to his principal's legal standing. (_Query_--has a _rising_ +Barrister any standing?) Ushered into large room, surrounded with +shelves containing, I imagine, the Law Reports from the Flood +downwards. Just thinking what an excellent "oldest inhabitant" +METHUSELAH would have made in a "Right of Way" case, when DICK FIBBINS +rises from the wooden arm-chair on which he has been sitting at a +table crowded with papers, and bundles tied up in dirty red tape, and +shakes hands heartily. + +"What's your line of country?" he asks--"Equity or Common Law?" + +I admit that it's Common Law. Have momentary feeling that Equity +sounds better, Why _Common_ Law? + +"Quite right," he says, encouragingly; "much the best branch. _I_ am +a Common-Law man too." Refers to it as if it were a moral virtue on +his--and my--part to have avoided Equity. Wonder if Equity men talk +in this way about "Common" Lawyers? If so, oughtn't there to be more +_esprit de corps_ in the Profession? + +"Been before old PROSER, Queen's Bench Division, to-day," he proceeds. +"Do you ever sit in Court?" + +I reluctantly confess that I have not made an habitual point of doing +so. + +"Ah," he says, finding that I can't contradict him as to what did +really happen in old PROSER's Court to-day; "you _should_ have been +there just now. Had BLOWHARD, the great Q.C., opposed to me. But, +bless you, he couldn't do anything to speak of against my arguments. +PROSER really hardly would listen to him once or twice. Made BLOWHARD +quite lose his temper, I assure you." + +"So he lost his case, too, I suppose?" I remark, humorously. + +"Um," replies FIBBINS, sinking into despondency, "not exactly. PROSER +didn't quite like to decide _against_ BLOWHARD, you know; so he--so +he--er--decided _for_ him, in fact. Of course we appeal. It won't," +goes on FIBBINS, more cheerfully, "do BLOWHARD's clients a bit of +good. Only run their bill up. I'm safe to win before the Court of +Appeal. Lord Justice GRILL a first-rate lawyer--sure to reverse old +PROSER. I can," he ends with conscious pride, "twist GRILL round my +finger, so to speak." + +The idea of twisting a Lord Justice round one's finger impresses me +still more with DICK FIBBINS's legal genius. How lucky I am to have +made his acquaintance! Feel impelled to ask, as I do rather nervously, +not knowing if a bitter disappointment does not await me. + +"Do you--er--take legal pupils ever?" + +I feel that I've put it in a way that sounds like asking him if he +indulges in drink. But FIBBINS evidently not offended. He answers +briskly, with engaging candour. + +"Well, to tell you the truth, though I've often been asked to--quite +pestered about it, in fact--I've never done so hitherto. The +Solicitors don't like it quite--makes 'em think one is wasting the +time which ought to be given to their briefs on one's own pups--I mean +pupils." + +Perhaps, after all, FIBBINS will dash my hopes (of becoming his +"pup!" _Query_, isn't the word _infra dig._--or merely "pleasantly +colloquial?") to the ground. + +"I was," I say boldly, "going to ask you if you would let _me_ read +with you." + +"Were you?" replies DICK, apparently intensely astonished at the idea; +"By Jove! I should be really sorry to disappoint _you_. Yes," he goes +on in a burst of generosity, "I will make room for you--there!" + +This is really kind of DICK FIBBINS. We finally arrange that I am to +come in two days' time--at the usual, and rather pretentious, fee of +one hundred guineas for a year's "coaching"--and begin work. + +"You'll see some good cases with me--good fighting cases," FIBBINS +remarks, as I take my leave. "When there are no briefs, why, you +can read up the Law Reports, you know. My books are quite at your +disposal." + +"But," I remark, a little surprised at that hint about no briefs--I +thought DICK FIBBINS had more than he knew what to do with--"I +suppose--er--there's plenty of business going on here?" + +"Oh, heaps," replies FIBBINS, hastily. Then, as if to do away with any +bad impression which his thoughtless observation about no briefs might +have occasioned in my mind, he says, heartily,-- + +"And, when I take old PROSER up to the Court of Appeal, _you shall +come too, and hear me argue!_" + +I express suitable gratitude--but isn't it rather "contempt of Court" +on FIBBINS's part to talk about "taking up" a Judge?--and feel, as I +depart, that I shall soon see something of the real inner life of the +Profession. + + * * * * * + +ON THE MARLOWE MEMORIAL. + +(_UNVEILED BY MR. HENRY IRVING AT CANTERBURY, SEPTEMBER 16, 1891._) + + MARLOWE, your "mighty line" + Though worthy of a darling of the Nine, + Has--in quotation--many a reader riled. + Like SHAKSPEARE's "wood-notes wild," + And POPE's "lisped numbers," it becomes a bore + When hackneyed o'er and o'er + By every petty scribe and criticaster. + Yet we must own you master + Of the magnificent and magniloquent. + And modern playwrights might be well content + Were they but dowered with passion, fancy, wit, + Like great ill-fated "KIT." + + * * * * * + +THE LAST OF THE CANTERBURY TALES. + +BEFORE THE UNVEILING. + +_She_. What do you know about MARLOWE? + +_He_. Isn't it somewhere near Taplow? + +_She_. I think not, because Mr. IRVING went to unveil MARLOWE, and I +don't think he is a rowing-man. + +_He_. But he may be doing it for Sir MORELL MACKENZIE, who has a place +at Wargrave. + +_She_. Yes, but then the papers would have said something about +it--wouldn't they? + +_He_. Very likely; they would say anything in the silly season. + +AFTER THE UNVEILING. + +_She_. Well, I know all about MARLOWE now. He was a great +poet--greater than SHAKSPEARE, or thereabouts. + +_He_. Always thought that they would find some fellow greater than +SHAKSPEARE. SHAKSPEARE always bores me awfully. But what did _this_ +fellow write? + +_She_. Oh, lots of things! _Faust_, amongst the rest. + +_He_. Come, that must be wrong, for _Faust_ was written by GOUNOD. +Wasn't it? + +_She_. Now! I come to think of it, I suppose it was--or BERLIOZ. + +_He_. Yes, they did it together. But where does MARLOWE come in? + +_She_. Well, I am not quite sure. + +_He_. You had better write to Mr. IRVING about it; he will tell you. +He's awfully well up in the subject. As for me, I'm still under the +impression that Marlow is somewhere on the river. + + * * * * * + +HONOURS DIVIDED. + + Writers can't speak in public. So says WALTER. + They mumble, stumble, hammer, stammer, falter! + BESANT, why grumble at fate's distribution? + To writers, sense; to speakers, elocution! + Some books are bosh, but all experience teaches + "Rot's" native realm is--After-dinner Speeches! + + * * * * * + +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 14046 *** |