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diff --git a/14272-0.txt b/14272-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..abc50b0 --- /dev/null +++ b/14272-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1163 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14272 *** + +PUNCH, + +OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. + +VOL. 102. + + + +January 30, 1892. + + + + +CONFESSIONS OF A DUFFER. + +III.--THE LITERARY DUFFER. + +[Illustration: "I have worn a cloak and a Tyrolese hat, and +attitudinised in the Picture-galleries."] + +Why I am not a success in literature it is difficult for me to tell; +indeed, I would give a good deal to anyone who would explain the +reason. The Publishers, and Editors, and Literary Men decline to tell +me _why_ they do not want my contributions. I am sure I have done +all that I can to succeed. When my Novel, _Geoffrey's Cousin_, comes +back from the Row, I do not lose heart--I pack it up, and send it off +again to the Square, and so, I may say, it goes the round. The very +manuscript attests the trouble I have taken. Parts of it are written +in my own hand, more in that of my housemaid, to whom I have dictated +passages; a good deal is in the hand of my wife. There are sentences +which I have written a dozen times, on the margins, with lines leading +up to them in red ink. The story is written on paper of all sorts and +sizes, and bits of paper are pasted on, here and there, containing +revised versions of incidents and dialogue. The whole packet is now +far from clean, and has a business-like and travelled air about it, +which should command respect. I always accompany it with a polite +letter, expressing my willingness to cut it down, or expand it, or +change the conclusion. Nobody can say that I am proud. But it always +comes back from the Publishers and Editors, without any explanation +as to why it will not do. This is what I resent as particularly hard. +The Publishers decline to tell me what their Readers have really said +about it. I have forwarded _Geoffrey's Cousin_ to at least five or six +notorious authors, with a letter, which runs thus:-- + + "DEAR SIR,--You will be surprised at receiving a letter from + a total stranger, but your well-known goodness of heart must + plead my excuse. I am aware that your time is much occupied, + but I am certain that you will spare enough of that valuable + commodity to glance through the accompanying MS. Novel, and + give me your frank opinion of it. Does it stand in need of + any alterations, and, if so, what? Would you mind having it + published _under your own name_, receiving one-third of the + profits? A speedy answer will greatly oblige." + +Would you believe it, _Mr. Punch_, not one of these over-rated and +overpaid men has ever given me any advice at all? Most of them +simply send back my parcel with no reply. One, however, wrote to say +that he received at least six such packets every week, and that his +engagements made it impossible for him to act as a guide, counsellor, +and friend to the amateurs of all England. He added that, if I +published the Novel at my own expense, the remarks of the public +critics would doubtless prove most valuable and salutary. + +This decided me; I _did_ publish, at my own expense, with Messrs. +SAUL, SAMUEL, MOSS & CO. I had to pay down £150, then £35 for +advertisements, then £70 for Publisher's Commission. Other expenses +fell grievously on me, as I sent round printed postcards to everyone +whose name is in the Red Book, asking them to ask for _Geoffrey's +Cousin_ at the Libraries. I also despatched six copies, with six +anonymous letters, to Mr. GLADSTONE, signing them, "A Literary +Constituent," "A Wavering Anabaptist," and so forth, but, +extraordinary to relate, I have received no answer, and no notice has +been taken of my disinterested presents. The reviews were of the most +meagre and scornful description. Messrs. SAUL, SAMUEL, Moss & Co. have +just written to me, begging me to remove the "remainder" of my book, +and charging £23 15s. 6d. for warehouse expenses. Yet, when I read +_Geoffrey's Cousin_, I fail to see that it falls, in any way, beneath +the general run of novels. I enclose a marked copy, and solicit your +earnest attention for the passage in which _Geoffrey's Cousin_ blights +his hopes for ever. The story, Sir, is one of controversy, and is +suited to this time. _Geoffrey McPhun_ is an Auld Licht (see Mr. +BARRIE's books, _passim_). His cousin is an Esoteric Buddhist. They +love each other dearly, but _Geoffrey_, a rigid character, cannot +marry any lady who does not burn, as an Auld Licht, "with a hard +gem-like flame." _Violet Blair_, his cousin, is just as staunch an +Esoteric Buddhist. Nothing stands between them but the differences of +their creed. + +"How can I contemplate, GEOFFREY," said VIOLET, with a rich blush, +"the possibility of seeing our little ones stray from the fold of the +Lama of Thibet into a chapel of the Original Secession Church?" + +They determine to try to convert each other. _Geoffrey_ lends _Violet_ +all his theological library, including WODROW's _Analecta_. She +lends him the learned works of Mr. SINNETT and Madame BLAVATSKY. They +retire, he to the Himalayas, she to Thrums, and their letters compose +Volume II. (Local colour _à la_ KIPLING and BARRIE.) On the slopes of +the Himalayas you see _Geoffrey_ converted; he becomes a Cheela, and +returns by overland route. He rushes to Ramsgate, and announces his +complete acceptance of the truth as it is in Mahatmaism. Alas! alas! +_Violet_ has been over-persuaded by the seductions of Presbyterianism, +she has hurried down from Thrums, rejoicing, a full-blown Auld Licht. +And, in her _Geoffrey_, she finds a convinced Esoteric Buddhist! They +are no better off than they were, their union is impossible, and Vol. +III. ends in their poignant anguish. + +Now, _Mr. Punch_, is not this the very novel for the times; rich in +adventure (in Kafiristan), teeming with philosophical suggestiveness, +and sparkling with all the epigrams of my commonplace book. Yet I am +about £300 out of pocket, and, moreover, a blighted being. + +I have taken every kind of pains; I have asked London Correspondents +to dinner; I have written flattering letters to everybody; I have +attempted to get up a deputation of Beloochis to myself; I have tried +to make people interview me; I have puffed myself in all the modes +which study and research can suggest. If anybody has, I have been "up +to date." But Fortune is my foe, and I see others flourish by the very +arts which fail in my hands. + +I mention my Novel because its failure really is a mystery. But I +am not at all more fortunate in the reception of my poetry. I have +tried it every way--ballades by the bale, sonnets by the dozen, loyal +odes, seditious songs, drawing-room poetry, an Epic on the history of +Labducuo, erotic verse, all fire, foam, and fangs, reflective ditto, +humble natural ballads about signal-men and newspaper-boys, Life-boat +rescues, Idyls, Nocturnes in rhyme, tragedies in blank verse. Nobody +will print them, or, if anybody prints them, he regrets that he +cannot pay for them. My moral and discursive essays are rejected, my +descriptions of nature do not even get into the newspapers. I have +not been elected by the Sydenham Club (a clique of humbugs); I have +let my hair grow long; I have worn a cloak and a Tyrolese hat, and +attitudinised in the picture-galleries, but nobody asked who I am. I +have endeavoured to hang on to well-known poets and novelists--they +have not welcomed my advances. + +My last dodge was a Satire, the _Logrolliad_, in which I lashed the +charlatans and pretenders of the day. + + While hoary statesmen scribble in reviews + And guide the doubtful verdict of the Blues, + While HAGGARD scrawls, with blood in lieu of ink, + While MALLOCK teaches Marquises to think, + +so long I have rhythmically expressed my design to wield the dripping +scourge of satire. But nobody seems a penny the worse, and I am not a +paragraph the better. Short stories of a startling description fill my +drawers, nobody will venture on one of them. I have closely imitated +every writer who succeeds, but my little barque may attendant sail, it +pursues the triumph, but does not partake the gale. + +I am now engaged on a Libretto for an heroic opera. + +What offers? + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: THE IMPERIAL JACK-IN-THE-BOX. + +_Chorus_ (_Everybody_). "EVERYTHING IN ORDER EVERYWHERE! O! WHAT A +SURPRISE! SOLD AGAIN!"] + + * * * * * + +THE IMPERIAL JACK-IN-THE-BOX. + +A SONG FOR THE SHOUTING EMPEROR. + +AIR--"_THE MAJOR-GENERAL._" + + I am the very pattern of a Modern German Emperor, + Omniscient and omnipotent, I ne'er give way to temper, or + If now and then I run a-muck in a Malay-like fashion, + As there's method in my madness, so there's purpose in my passion. + 'Tis my aim to manage _everything_ in order categorical-- + My fame as Cosmos-maker I intend shall be historical. + I know they call me _Paul Pry_, say I'm fussy and pragmatical-- + But that's because sheer moonshine always hates the mathematical. + I'm not content to "play the King" with an imperial pose in it-- + Whatever is marked "Private" I shall up and poke my nose in it. + +ALL. + + _He_ won't let drowsing dogs lie, he'll stir up the tabby sleeping Tom-- + In fact, he is the model of a modern German Peeping Tom! + + I bounce into the Ball-Room when they think I'm fast asleep at home, + And measure steps and skirts and things and mark what state folks keep + at home; + Watch the toilette of young Beauty on the very strictest Q.T. too, + Evangelise the Army and keep sentries to their duty, too, + On the Navy, and the Clergy, and the Schools, my wise eyes shoot lights, + Sir. + I'm awfully particular to regulate the footlights, Sir. + I preach sermons to my soldiers and arrange their "duds" and duels, too, + And tallow their poor noses, when they've colds, and mix their gruels, + too; + I'll make everybody moral, and obedient, and frugal, Sir-- + In fact I'm an Imperial edition of MCDOUGALL, Sir! + +ALL. + + He'd compel us to drink water and restrain us when to wed agog; + In fact he is the model of a Modern German pedagogue. + + I've all the god-like attributes, omniscient, ubiquitous, + I mean to squelch free impulse, which is commonly iniquitous. + But what's the good of being Chief Inspector of the Universe, + And prying into everything from pompous Law to puny verse, + If everything or nearly so, shows a confounded tendency + _To go right of its own accord_? My Masterful Resplendency + Would radiate aurorally, a world would gaze on trustingly + If only things in general wouldn't go on so disgustingly. + Where _is_ the pull of being Earth's Inspector autocratical, + When the Progress _I_'d be motor of seems mainly automatical? + +ALL. + + Hooray! My would-be Jupiter, a _parvenu_ is told again + He's not the true Olympian, Jack-in-the-Box is "Sold Again!!!" + + * * * * * + +"ARTIFICIAL OYSTER-CULTIVATION," read Mrs. R., as the heading of a par +in the _Times_. "Good gracious!" she exclaimed, "who on earth would +ever think of eating 'artificial oysters!'" + + * * * * * + +NOTHING is certain in this life except Death, Quarter Day and stoppage +for ten minutes at Swindon Station. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: SO CONVENIENT! + +_Young Wife_. "WHERE ARE YOU GOING, REGGIE DEAR?" + +_Reggie Dear_. "ONLY TO THE CLUB, MY DARLING." + +_Young Wife_. "OH, I DON'T MIND THAT, BECAUSE THERE'S A TELEPHONE +THERE, AND I CAN TALK TO YOU THROUGH IT, CAN'T I?" + +_Reggie_. "Y-YES--BUT--ER--YOU KNOW, THE CONFOUNDED WIRES ARE ALWAYS +GETTING OUT OF ORDER!"] + + * * * * * + +PARLIAMENT À LA MODE DE PARIS. + + SCENE--_The Chamber during a Debate of an exciting character. + Member with a newspaper occupying the Tribune._ + +_Member_. I ask if the report in this paper is true? It calls the +Minister a scoundrel! [_Frantic applause._ + +_President_. I must interpose. It is not right that such a document +should be read. + +_Member_. But it is true. I hold in my hand this truth-telling sheet. +(_Shouts of_ "_Well done_!") This admirable journal describes +the Minister as a trickster, a man without a heart! [_Yells of +approbation._ + +_President_. I warn the Member that he is going too far. He is +outraging the public conscience. ["_Hear! hear_!" + +_Member_. It is you that outrage the public conscience. [_Sensation._ + +_President_. This is too much! If I hear another word of insult, I +will assume my hat. + + [_Profound and long-continued agitation._ + +_Member_. A hat is better than a turned coat! (_Thunders of +applause._) I say that this paper is full of wholesome things, and +that when it denounces the Minister as a good-for-nothing, as a +slanderer, as a thief--it does but its duty. + + [_Descends from the Tribune amidst tumultuous applause, and is + met by the Minister. Grand altercation, with results._ + +_Minister's Friends_. What have you done to him? + +_Minister_ (_with dignity_). I have avenged my honour--I have hit him +in the eye! + + [_Scene closes in upon the Minister receiving hearty + congratulations from all sides of the Chamber._ + + * * * * * + +PRESERVED VENICE. + +(_SPECIALLY IMPORTED FOR THE LONDON MARKET._) + +A SATURDAY NIGHT SCENE AT OLYMPIA. + +IN THE PROMENADE. + +_A Pessimistic Matron_ (_the usual beady and bugle-y female, who +takes all her pleasure as a penance_). Well, they may _call_ it +"Venice," but _I_ don't see no difference from what it was when +the Barnum Show was 'ere--except--(_regretfully_)--that then they +'ad the Freaks o' Nature, and Jumbo's skelinton! + +[Illustration: "I'm sure I'm 'ighly flattered, Mum, but I'm already +suited."] + +_Her Husband_ (_an Optimist--less from conviction than +contradiction_). There you go, MARIA, finding fault the minute you've +put your nose inside! We ain't _in_ Venice yet. It's up at the top o' +them steps. + +_The P.M._ Up all them stairs? Well, I 'ope it'll be worth seeing when +we _do_ get there, that's all! + +_An Attendant_ (_as she arrives at the top_). Not this door, +Ma'am--next entrance for Modern Venice. + +_The Opt. Husb._ You needn't go all the way down again, when the steps +join like that! + +_The P.M._ I'm not going to walk sideways--_I_'m not a crab, JOE, +whatever _you_ may think. (_JOE assents, with reservations_). Now +wherever have those other two got to? 'urrying off that way! Oh, +_there_ they are. 'Ere, LIZZIE and JEM, keep along o' me and Father, +do, or we shan't see half of what's to be seen! + +_Lizzie_. Oh, all right, Ma; don't you worry so! (_To JEM, her +fiancé_.) Don't those tall fellows look smart with the red feathers in +their cocked 'ats? What do they call _them_? + +_Jem_ (_a young man, who thinks for himself_). Well, I shouldn't +wonder if those were the parties they call "Doges"--sort o' police +over there, d'ye see? + +_Lizzie_. They're 'andsomer than 'elmets, I will say _that_ for them. +(_They enter Modern Venice, amidst cries of "This way for Gondoala +Tickets! Pass along, please! Keep to your right!"_ &c., &c.) It _does_ +have a foreign look, with all those queer names written up. Think it's +like what it is, JEM? + +_Jem_. Bound to be, with all the money they've spent on it. I daresay +they've idle-ised it a bit, though. + +_The P.M._ Where are all these kinals they talk so much about? I don't +see none! + +_Jem_ (_as a break in the crowd reveals a narrow olive-green +channel_). Why, what d'ye call _that_, Ma? + +_The P.M._ That a kinal! Why, you don't mean to tell me any barge +'ud-- + +_The Opt. Husb._ Go on!--you didn't suppose you'd find the Paddington +Canal in _these_ parts, did you? This is big enough for all +_they_ want. (_A gondola goes by lurchily, crowded with pot-hatted +passengers, smoking pipes, and wearing the uncomfortable smile of +children enjoying their first elephant-ride._) That's one o' these +'ere gondoalers--it's a rum-looking concern, ain't it? But I suppose +you get _used_ to 'em--(_philosophically_)--like everything else! + +_The P.M._ It gives me the creeps to look at 'em. Talk about +_'earses_! + +_The Opt. Husb._ Well, look 'ere, we've come out to enjoy +ourselves--what d'ye say to having a ride in one, eh? + +_The P.M._ You won't ketch me trusting _my_self in one o' them tituppy +things, so don't you deceive yourself! + +_The Opt. Husb._ Oh, it's on'y two foot o' warm water if you do +tip over. _Come_ on! (_Hailing Gondolier, who has just landed his +cargo._) 'Ere, 'ow much'll you take the lot of us for, hey? + +_Gondolier_ (_gesticulating_). Teekits! you tek teekits--là--you vait! + +_Jem_. He means we've got to go to the orfice and take tickets and +stand in a cue, d'yer see? + +_The P.M._ Me go and form a cue down there and get squeeged like at +the Adelphi Pit, all to set in a rickety gondoaler! I can see all _I_ +want to see without messing about in one o' them things! + +_The Others_. Well, I dunno as it's worth the extry sixpence, come to +think of it. (_They pass on, contentedly._) + +_Jem_. We're on the Rialto Bridge now, LIZZIE, d'ye see? The one in +SHAKSPEARE, _you_ know. + +_Lizzie_. That's the one they call the "Bridge o' Sighs," ain't it? +(_Hazily._) Is that because there's _shops_ on it? + +_Jem_. I dessay. Shops--or else suicides. + +_Lizzie_ (_more hazily than ever_). Ah, the same as the Monument. +(_They walk on with a sense of mental enlargement._) + +_Mrs. Lavender Salt_. It's wonderfully like the real thing, LAVENDER, +isn't it? Of course they can't _quite_ get the true Venetian +atmosphere! + +_Mr. L.S._ Well, MIMOSA, they'd have the Sanitary Authorities down on +them if they _did_, you know! + +_Mrs. L.S._ Oh, you're so horribly unromantic! But, LAVENDER, couldn't +we get one of those gondolas and go about. It would be so lovely to be +in one again, and fancy ourselves back in dear Venice, now _wouldn't_ +it? + +_Mr. L.S._ The illusion is cheap at sixpence; so come along, MIMOSA! + + [_He secures, tickets, and presently the LAVENDER SALTS, + find themselves part of a long queue, being marshalled + between barriers by Italian gendarmes in a state of politely + suppressed amusement._ + +_Mrs. L.S._ (_over her shoulder to her husband, as she imagines_). I'd +no idea we should have to go through all this! Must we really herd +in with all these people? Can't we two manage to get a gondola all to +ourselves? + +_A Voice_ (_not LAVENDER's--in her ear_). I'm sure I'm 'ighly +flattered, Mum, but I'm already suited; yn't I, DYSY? + + [_DYSY corroborates his statement with unnecessary emphasis._ + +_A Sturdy Democrat_ (_in front, over his shoulder_). Pity yer didn't +send word you was coming, Mum, and then they'd ha' kep' the place +clear of us common people for yer! [Mrs. L.S. _is sorry she spoke._ + + IN THE GONDOLA.--_Mr. and Mrs. L.S. are seated in the back + seat, supported on one side by the Humorous 'ARRY and his + Fiancée, and on the other by a pale, bloated youth, with a + particularly rank cigar, and the Sturdy Democrat, whose two + small boys occupy the seat in front._ + +_The St. Dem._ (_with malice aforethought_). If you two lads ain't +got room there, I dessay this lady won't mind takin' one of yer on her +lap. (_To Mrs. L.S., who is frozen with horror at the suggestion._) +They're 'umin beans, Mum, like yerself! + +_Mrs. L.S._ (_desperately ignoring her other neighbours_). Isn't that +lovely balcony there copied from the one at the Pisani, LAVENDER--or +is it the Contarini? I forget. + +_Mr. L.S._ Don't remember--got the Rialto rather well, haven't they? +I suppose that's intended for the dome of the Salute down there--not +quite the outline, though, if I remember right. And, if that's the +Campanile of St. Mark, the colour's too brown, eh? + +_The Hum. 'Arry_ (_with intention_). Oh, I sy, DYSY, yn't that the +Kempynoily of Kennington Oval, right oppersite? and 'aven't they got +the Grand Kinel in the Ole Kent Road proper, eh? + +_Dysy_ (_playing up to him, with enjoyment_). Jest 'aven't they! +On'y I don't quoite remember whether the colour o' them gas-lamps is +correct. But there, if we go on torkin' this w'y, other parties might +think we wanted to show orf! + +_Mrs. L.S._ Do you remember our _last_ gondola expedition, LAVENDER, +coming home from the Giudecca in that splendid sunset? + +_The Hum. A._ Recklect you and me roidin' 'ome from Walworth on a +rhinebow, DYSY, eh? + +_Chorus of Chaff from the bridges and terraces as they pass._ 'Ullo, +'ere comes another boat-load! 'Igher up, there!... Four-wheeler!... +Ain't that toff in the tall 'at enjoyin' himself? Quite a 'appy +funeral! &c., &c. + +_Mrs. L.S._ (_faintly, as they enter the Canal in front of the +Stage_). LAVENDER, dear, I really can't stand this _much_ longer! + +_Mr. L.S._ (_to the Bloated Youth_). Might I ask you, Sir, not to puff +your smoke in this lady's face--it's extremely unpleasant for her! + +_The B.Y._ All right, Mister, I'm always ready to oblige a +lydy--but--(_with wounded pride_)--as to its bein' _unpleasant_, yer +know, all _I_ can tell yer is--(_with sarcasm_)--that this 'appens to +be one of the best tuppeny smokes in 'Ammersmith! + +_Mr. L.S._ (_diplomatically_). I am sure of that--from the aroma, but +if you _could_ kindly postpone its enjoyment for a little while, we +should be extremely obliged! + +_The B.Y._ Well, I must keep it _aloive_, yer know. If there's anyone +'ere that understands cigars, they'll bear me out as it never smokes +the same when you once let it out. + + [_The other Passengers confirm him in this epicurean dictum, + whereupon he sucks the cigar at intervals behind Mrs. L.S.'s + back, during the remainder of the trip._ + +_Mr. L.S._ (_to Mrs. L.S. when they are alone again_). Well, MIMOSA, +illusion successful, eh? + +_Mrs. L.S._ Oh, _don't_! + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: ABOMINATIONS OF MODERN SCIENCE. + +MARIANA ARRIVES AT THE MOATED GRANGE (AFTER A LONG, DAMP JOURNEY) JUST +IN TIME TO DRESS FOR DINNER, AND FINDS, TO HER SORROW, THAT HER ROOM +IS WARMED BY HOT WATER PIPES AND LIGHTED BY ELECTRICITY.] + + * * * * * + +TO MY CIGARETTE. + +[Illustration] + + My own, my loved, my Cigarette, + My dainty joy disguised in tissue, + What fate can make your slave regret + The day when first he dared to kiss you? + + I had smoked briars, like to most + Who joy in smoking, and had been a + Too ready prey to those who boast + Their bonded stores of Reina Fina. + + In honeydew had steeped my soul + Had been of cherry pipes a cracker, + And watched the creamy meerschaum's bowl + Grow weekly, daily, hourly blacker. + + Read CALVERLEY and learnt by heart + The lines he celebrates the weed in; + And blew my smoke in rings, an art + That many try, but few succeed in. + + In fact of nearly every style + Of smoke I was a kindly critic, + Though I had found Manillas vile, + And Trichinopolis mephitic. + + The stout tobacco-jar became + Within my smoking-room a fixture; + I heard my friends extol by name + Each one his own peculiar mixture. + + And tried them every one in turn + (_O varium, tobacco, semper_!); + The strong I found too apt to burn + My tongue, the week to try my temper. + + And all were failures, and I grew + More tentative and undecided, + Consulted friends, and found they knew + As little as or less than I did. + + Havannah yielded up her pick + Of prime cigars to my fruition; + I bought a case, and some went "sick." + The rest were never in condition. + + Until in sheer fatigue I turned + To you, tobacco's white-robed tyro, + And from your golden legend learned + Your maker dwelt and wrought in Cairo. + + O worshipped wheresoe'er I roam, + As fondly as a wife by some is, + Waif from the far Egyptian home + Of Pharaohs, crocodiles, and mummies; + + Beloved, in spite of jeer and frown; + The more the Philistines assail you, + The more the doctors run you down, + The more I puff you--and inhale you. + + Though worn with toil and vexed with strife + (Ye smokers all, attend and hear me), + Undaunted still I live my life, + With you, my Cigarette, to cheer me. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: SOMETHING WRONG SOMEWHERE. + +"HOW CHARMING YOU LOOK, DEAR MRS. BELLAMY--AS USUAL! _WOULD_ YOU MIND +TELLING ME WHO MAKES YOUR LOVELY FROCKS? I'M _SO_ DISSATISFIED WITH MY +DRESSMAKER!" + +"OH, CERTAINLY. MRS. CHIFFONNETTE, OF BOND STREET." + +"CHIFFONNETTE! WHY, I'VE BEEN TO HER FOR YEARS! THE WRETCH! I WONDER +WHY SHE SUITS YOU SO MUCH BETTER, NOW!"] + + * * * * * + +A TALK OVER THE TUB; + +_OR, LEGAL LAUNDRESSES IN COUNCIL._ + + ["The whole legal machinery is out of gear, and the country is + too busy to put it right."--_Law Times_.] + +_A LEADING LAUNDRESS._ + + Wich I say, Missis 'ALSBURY, Mum, + We are all getting into a quand'ry; + You and me can no longer be dumb, + Seein' how we're the heads of the Laundry: + It is all very well to stand 'ere, + Sooperintending the soaping and rinsing; + Old pleas for delay, I much fear, + Are no longer entirely conwincing. + Just look at the Linen--in 'eaps! + And no one can say it ain't dirty! + Our clients, a-grumbling they keeps, + And some of 'em seem getting shirty. + Wotever, my dear, shall we do? + Two parties 'as axed me that question; + And now I just puts it to _you_, + And I 'ope you can make some suggestion. + +_HEAD LAUNDRESS._ + + My dear Missis COLEY, I own + _I_ ain't heard from the parties you 'int at. + But them Linen-'eaps certny _has_ grown, + Wich their bulk I 'ave just took a squint at. + We sud, and we rub, and we scrub. + And the pile 'ardly seems to diminish. + It tires us poor Slaves of the Tub, + And the doose only knows when we'll finish, + +_A LEADING LAUNDRESS._ + + Percisely, my dear, but it's _that_, + As the Public insists upon knowin', + Missis MATHEW 'as told me so, pat, + Wich likeways 'as good Missis BOWEN. + You can't floor their argyments, quite, + 'Owsomever you twirl 'em or 'twist 'em; + They say, and I fear they are right, + There is somethink all wrong with our System! + +_HEAD LAUNDRESS._ + + _Our_ System! Well, well, my good soul, + You know 'twasn't _us_ as inwented it. + We wouldn't have got into this 'ole, + If _you_ and _me_ could 'ave perwented it. + I know there's no end of a block, + That expenses is running up awfully; + The sight of it gives me a shock, + But 'ow can we alter it--_lawfully_? + +_A LEADING LAUNDRESS._ + + I fear, Mum, I very much fear, + That word doesn't strike so much terror + As once on the dull public ear; + Times change. Mum, they do, make no error! + Our clients complain of the cost, + And lots of Commercials is leaving us. + I think, Mum, afore more is lost, + We had best own the block is--well grieving us! + +_HEAD LAUNDRESS._ + + There can't be no 'arm, dear, in _that_. + Let's write to the papers and 'int it. + I know with your pen you are pat, + And the _Times_ will be 'appy to print it. + If we are to git through _that_ lot, + We must 'ave some more 'elp--that's my notion! + Let's strike whilst the iron is 'ot, + The Public may trust our dewotion. + We'll call the chief Laundresses round; + Some way we no doubt shall discover. + At least, dear, 'twill 'ave a good sound, + If we meet, and--well _talk the thing over!_ + + [_Left doing so._ + + * * * * * + +A MENU FROM HATFIELD. + +POTAGES. + +Consommé de Neveu aux Balles de Golf. +Au Jo poché. + +ENTRÉES. + +Suprême de Livres Bleus. +Irlandais Sauvages en Culottes. +Filou Mignon Randolph, Sauce Tartarin. +Dégoût de Goschen à la Financière. + +RÔTS. + +Canards Portuguais. +Entrecôte d'Afrique à l'Allemande. + +RELEVÉS. + +Terrine de Fermes Vendues à la Parnell. +Pâté de Loi à l'Ordre Publique. + +LÉGUMES. + +Petits Soupçons Français, Sauce Égyptienne. +Vêpres Ceçiliennes. + +ENTREMETS. + +Absorbé de Birmingham. +Succès de Whitehall aux Affaires Étrangères. + +DESSERT. + +Amendes Parlementaires. +Raisons de Plus en Défaites. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: "SHORT 'ANDED." + +MRS. H-LSB-RY. "I TELL YOU WHAT IT IS, MRS. COLEY, MUM,--IF ALL THIS +'ERE DIRTY LINEN'S TO BE GOT THROUGH, WE MUST 'AVE _'ELP_, MUM!!"] + + * * * * * + +"THE MUSIC IN OUR STREET." + +(_A WORD FROM A GIRL WHO LIVES IN IT._) + +[Illustration] + + Did you ever 'ear our music? What, never? _There_'s a shame; + I tell yer it's golopshus, we do 'ave such a game. + When the sun's a-shinin' brightly, when the fog's upon the town, + When the frost 'as bust the water-pipes, when rain comes pourin' down; + In the mornin' when the costers come a-shoutin' with their mokes, + In the evenin' when the gals walk out a-spoonin' with their blokes, + When Mother's slappin' BILLY, or when Father wants 'is tea, + When the boys are in the "Spotted Dog" a 'avin' of a spree, + No matter what the weather is, or what the time o' day, + _Our_ music allus visits us, and never goes away. + And when they've tooned theirselves to-rights, I tell yer it's a treat + Just to listen to the lot of 'em a-playin' in our street. + + There's a chap as turns the orgin--the best I ever 'eard-- + Oh lor' he does just jabber, but you can't make out a word. + I can't abear Italians, as allus uses knives, + And talks a furrin lingo all their miserable lives. + But this one calls me BELLA--which my Christian name is SUE-- + And 'e smiles and turns 'is orgin very proper, that he do. + Sometimes 'e plays a polker and sometimes it's a march, + And I see 'is teeth all shinin' through 'is lovely black mustarch. + And the little uns dance round him, you'd laugh until you cried + If you saw my little brothers do their 'ornpipes side by side, + And the gals they spin about as well, and don't they move their feet, + When they 'ear that pianner-orgin man, as plays about our street. + + There's a feller plays a cornet too, and wears a ulster coat, + My eye, 'e does puff out 'is cheeks a-tryin' for 'is note. + It seems to go right through yer, and, oh, it's right-down rare + When 'e gives us "_Annie Laurie_" or "_Sweet Spirit, 'ear my Prayer_"; + 'E's so stout that when 'e's blowin' 'ard you think 'e must go pop; + And 'is nose is like the lamp (what's red) outside a chemist's shop. + And another blows the penny-pipe,--I allus thinks it's thin, + And I much prefers the cornet when 'e ain't bin drinkin' gin. + And there's Concertina-JIMMY, it makes yer want to shout + When 'e acts just like a windmill and waves 'is arms about. + Oh, I'll lay you 'alf a tanner, you'll find it 'ard to beat + The good old 'eaps of music that they gives us in our street. + + And a pore old ragged party, whose shawl is shockin' torn, + She sings to suit 'er 'usband while 'e plays on so forlorn. + 'Er voice is dreadful wheezy, and I can't exactly say + I like 'er style of singin' "_Tommy Dodd_" or "_Nancy Gray_." + But there, she does 'er best, I'm sure; I musn't run 'er down, + When she's only tryin' all she can to earn a honest brown. + Still, though I'm mad to 'ear 'em play, and sometimes join the dance, + I often wish one music gave the other kind a chance. + The orgin might have two days, and the cornet take a third, + While the pipe-man tried o' Thursdays 'ow to imitate a bird. + But they allus comes together, singin' playin' as they meet + With their pipes and 'orns and orgins in the middle of our street. + + But there, I can't stand chatterin', pore mother's mortal bad, + And she's got to work the whole day long to keep things straight for dad. + Complain? Not she. She scrubs and rubs with all 'er might and main, + And the lot's no sooner finished but she's got to start again. + There's a patch for JOHNNY's jacket, a darn for BILLY's socks, + And an hour or so o' needlework a mendin' POLLY's frocks; + With floors to wash, and plates to clean, she'd soon be skin and bone + ('Er cough's that aggravatin') if she did it all alone. + There'll be music while we're workin' to keep us on the go-- + I like my tunes as fast as fast, pore mother likes 'em slow-- + Ah! we don't get much to laugh at, nor yet too much to eat, + And the music stops us thinkin' when they play it in the street. + + * * * * * + +"MARIE, COME UP!"--When Miss MARIE LLOYD, who, unprofessionally, when +at home, is known as Mrs. PERCY COURTENAY, which her Christian name is +MATILDA, recently appeared at Bow-Street Police Court, having summoned +her husband for an assault, the Magistrate, Mr. LUSHINGTON, ought +to have called on the Complainant to sing "_Whacky, Whacky, Whack!_" +which would have come in most appropriately. Let us hope that the +pair will make it up, and, as the story-books say, "live happily ever +afterwards." + + * * * * * + +NIGHT LIGHTS.--Rumour has it that certain Chorus Ladies have objected +to wearing electric glow-lamps in their hair. Was it for fear of +becoming too light-headed? + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: THE POLITICAL WIREPULLER AT WORK.] + + * * * * * + +POLITE LITERATURE. + +DEAR MR. PUNCH,--Having seen in the pages of one of your +contemporaries several deeply interesting letters telling of "the +Courtesy of the CAVENDISH," I think it will be pleasing to your +readers to learn that I have a fund of anecdote concerning the +politeness--the true politeness--of many other members of the Peerage. +Perhaps you will permit me to give you a few instances of what I may +call aristocratic amiability. + +On one occasion the Duke of DITCHWATER and a Lady entered the same +omnibus simultaneously. There was but one seat, and noticing that +His Grace was standing, I called attention to the fact. "Certainly," +replied His Grace, with a quiet smile, "but if I had sat down, the +Lady would not have enjoyed her present satisfactory position!" The +Lady herself had taken the until then vacant place! + +Shortly afterwards I met Viscount VERMILION walking in an opposite +direction to the path I myself was pursuing. "My Lord," I murmured, +removing my hat, "I was quite prepared to step into the gutter." "It +was unnecessary," returned his Lordship, graciously, "for as the path +was wide, there was room enough for both of us to pass on the same +pavement!" + +On a very wet evening I saw My Lord TOMNODDICOMB coming from a shop +in Piccadilly. Noticing that his Lordship had no defence against the +weather, I ventured to offer the Peer my _parapluie_. + +[Illustration] + +"Please let me get into my carriage," observed his Lordship. Then +discovering, from my bowing attitude, that I meant no insolence by my +suggestion, he added,--"And as for your umbrella--surely on this rainy +night you can make use of it yourself?" + +Yet again. The Marchioness of LOAMSHIRE was on the point of crossing a +puddle. + +Naturally I divested myself of my greatcoat, and threw it as a bridge +across her Ladyship's dirty walk. + +The Marchioness smiled, but her Ladyship has never forgotten the +circumstance, and I have the coat still by me. + +And yet some people declare that the wives of Members of the House of +Lords are wanting in consideration! + +Believe me, dear _Mr. Punch_, + +Yours enthusiastically, S. NOB. + +_The Cringeries, Low Booington_. + + * * * * * + +NOTICE--No. XXV. of "Travelling Companions" next week. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: FANCY PORTRAIT. + +SEÑOR DRUMMONDO WOLFFEZ, REPRESENTING THE JOHN BULLFIGHTER AT MADRID. + +_"TORÉADOR CONTENTO!"_] + + * * * * * + +THE JUDGES IN COUNCIL. + + ["All the judicial wisdom of the Supreme Court has met in + solemn and secret conclave, heralded by letters from the heads + of the Bench, admitting serious evils in the working of the + High Court of Justice; a full working day was appropriated for + the occasion; the learned Judges met at 11 A.M. (nominally) + and rose promptly for luncheon, and for the day, at 1·30 + P.M. Two-and-a-half hours' work, during which each of the + twenty-eight judicial personages no doubt devoted all his + faculties and experience to the discovery, discussion, and + removal of the admittedly numerous defects in the working of + the Judicature Acts! Two-and-a-half hours, which might have + been stolen from the relaxations of a Saturday afternoon! + Two-and-a-half hours, for which the taxpayers of the United + Kingdom pay some eight hundred guineas! Truly the spectacle + is eminently calculated to inspire the country with confidence + and hopes of reform."--_Extract from Letter to the Times._] + + SCENE--_A Room at the Royal Courts. Lord CHANCELLOR, Lord + CHIEF JUSTICE, MASTER of the ROLLS, Lords Justices, Justices._ + +_L.C._ Well, I'm very glad to see you all looking so well, but can +anyone tell me why we've met at all? + +_L.C.J._ Talking of meetings, do you remember that Exeter story dear +old JACK TOMPKINS used to tell on the Western Circuit? + +[Illustration: Fee-simple.] + + [_Proceeds to tell JACK TOMPKINS's story at great length to + great interest of Chancery Judges._ + +_M.R._ (_who has listened with marked impatience_). Why, my dear +fellow, it isn't a Western Circuit story at all. It was on the +Northern Circuit at Appleby. + + [_Proceeds to tell the same story all over again, substituting + Appleby for Exeter. At the conclusion of story, Great laughter + from Chancery Judges. Common Law Judges look bored, having + all told same story on and about their own Circuits._ + +_L.C._ Very good--very good--used to tell it myself on the South Wales +Circuit--but what have we met for? + +_Lord Justice A._ I say, what do you think about this +cross-examination fuss? It seems to me-- + +_L.C.J._ Talking of cross-examination--do you fellows remember the +excellent story dear old JOHNNIE BROWBEAT used to tell about the +Launceston election petition? + + [_Proceeds to tell story in much detail. L.C. looks + uncomfortable at its conclusion_. + +_M.R._ (_cutting in_). Why, my dear fellow, it wasn't Launceston at +all, it was Lancaster, and-- + + [_Tells story all over again to the Chancery Judges._ + +_L.C._ Yes--excellent. I thought it took place at Chester--but really, +now, we must get to business. So, first of all, will anyone kindly +tell me what the business is? + +_Mr. Justice A._ (_a very young Judge_). Well, the fact is, I believe +the Public-- + +_Chorus of Judges_. The what? + +_Mr. Justice A._ (_with hesitation_). Why--I was going to say there +seems to be a sort of discontent amongst the Public-- + +_L.C._ (_with dignity_). Really, really--what have we to do with the +Public? But in case there should be any truth in this extraordinary +statement, I think we might as well appoint a Committee to look into +it, and then we can meet again some day and hear what it is all about. + +_L.C.J._ Yes, a Committee by all means; the smaller the better. "Too +many cooks," as dear old HORACE puts it. + +_M.R._ Talking of cooks, isn't it about lunch time? + + [_General consensus of opinion in favour of lunching. As + they adjourn, L.C.J. detains Chancery Judges to tell them a + story about something that happened at Bodmin, and, to prevent + mistakes, tells it in West Country dialect. M.R. immediately + repeats it in strong Yorkshire, and lays the venue at + Bradford. Result; that the whole of HER MAJESTY's Courts in + London were closed for one day._ + + * * * * * + +THE LAY OF THE LITIGANT. + +(_AFTER HOOD. ALSO AFTER COLERIDGE'S (C.J.) LETTER TO THE LORD +CHANCELLOR ON THE DECAY OF LEGAL BUSINESS._) + + I remember, I remember + The Law when I was born, + The Serjeants, brothers of the coif, + The Judges dead and gone. + The Judicature Acts to them + Were utterly unknown; + It was a fearful ignorance-- + Oh, would it were my own! + + I remember, I remember + The worthy "Proctor" race, + The "Posteas," and the "Elegits," + The "Actions on the Case." + The "Error" each Attorney's Clerk + Did wilfully abet, + The days of "Bills" in Equity-- + _Some_ bills are living yet! + + I remember, I remember + The years of "_Jarndyce_" jaw, + The lively game of shuttlecock + 'Twixt Equity and Law. + Tribunals then were "Courts" indeed + That are "Divisions" now, + And Silken Gowns have feared the frowns + Upon a "Baron's" brow. + + We remember, we remember + The flourishing of trumps, + When Parliament took up our wrongs, + And manned the legal pumps. + Those noble Acts (they said) would end + Obstructions and delay, + And ne'er again would litigants + The piper have to pay. + + I remember, I remember + Expenses, mountains high; + I used to think, when duly "taxed," + They'd vanish by-and-by. + It was a foolish confidence, + But now 'tis little joy + To know that Law's as slow and dear + As when I was a boy! + + * * * * * + +THE HERO OF THE SUMMER SALE. + +(_BY OUR OWN PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL POETESS_.) + +[Illustration] + + I would I loved some belted Earl, + Some Baronet, or K.C.B., + But I'm a most unhappy girl, + And no such luck's in store for me! + I would I loved some Soldier bold, + Who leads his troops where cannons pop, + But if the bitter truth be told-- + I love a man who walks a shop! + For oh! a King of Men is he-- + With princely strut and stiffened spine-- + So his, and his alone, shall be, + This fondly foolish heart of mine! + + On Remnant Days--from morn till night, + When blows fall fast, and words run high, + When frenzied females fiercely fight + For bargains that they long to buy-- + From hot attack he does not flinch, + But stands his ground with visage pale, + And all the time looks every inch + The Hero of that Summer Sale! + For oh! a King of Men is he-- + Whom shop-assistants call to "Sign!" + So his, and his alone, shall be + This fondly foolish heart of mine! + + * * * * * + +MONDAY, _Jan._ 18, 1892. "Bath and West of England's Society's Cheese +School at Frome." Of this School, the _Times_, judging by results, +speaks highly of "the practical character of the instruction given +at the School." This is a bad look-out for Eton and Harrow, not +to say for Winchester and Westminster also. All parents who wish +their children to be "quite the cheese" in Society generally, and +particularly for Bath and the West of England, where, of course, +Society is remarkably exclusive, cannot do better, it is evident, +than send them to the Bath and West of England Cheese School. + + * * * * * + +ON THE TRAILL.--It is suggested that in future M.P. should stand for +Minor Poet. Would this satisfy Mr. LEWIS MORRIS? Or would he insist on +being gazetted as a Major? + + * * * * * + +OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. + +[Illustration: The following Page.] + +One of the Baron's Deputy-Readers has been looking through Mr. +G.W. HENLEY's _Lyra Heroica; a Book of Verse for Boys_. DAVID NUTT, +London.) This is his appreciation:--Mr. HENLEY has tacked his name +to a collection which contains some noble poems, some (but not much) +trash, and a good many pieces, which, however poetical they may be, +are certainly not heroic, seeing that they do not express "the simpler +sentiments, and the more elemental emotions" (I use Mr. HENLEY's +prefatory words), and are scarcely the sort of verse that boys are +likely, or ought to care about. To be sure, Mr. HENLEY guards himself +on the score of his "personal equation"--I trust his boys understand +what he means. My own personal equation makes me doubt whether Mr. +HENLEY has done well in including such pieces as, for instance, +HERBERT's "_Memento Mori_," CURRAN's "_The Deserter_," SWINBURNE's +"_The Oblation_," and ALFRED AUSTIN's "_Is Life Worth Living_?" If Mr. +HENLEY, or anybody else who happens to possess a personal equation, +will point out to me the heroic quality in these poems, I shall feel +deeply grateful. And how, in the name of all that is or ever was +heroic, has "_Auld Lang Syne_" crept into this collection of heroic +verse? As for Mr. ALFRED AUSTIN, I cannot think by what right he +secures a place in such a compilation. I have rarely read a piece +of his which did not contain at least one glaring infelicity. In +"_Is Life Worth Living_?" he tells us of "blithe herds," which (in +compliance with the obvious necessities of rhyme, but for no other +reason) + + "Wend homeward with unweary feet, + Carolling like the birds." + +Further on we find that + + "England's trident-sceptre roams + Her territorial seas," + +merely because the unfortunate sceptre has to rhyme somehow to +"English homes." + +But I have a further complaint against Mr. HENLEY. He presumes, in the +most fantastic manner, to alter the well-known titles of celebrated +poems. "_The Isles of Greece_" is made to masquerade as "The Glory +that was Greece"; "_Auld Lang Syne_" becomes "The Goal of Life," and +"_Tom Bowline_" is converted into "The Perfect Sailor." This surely +(again I use the words of Mr. HENLEY) "is a thing preposterous, and +distraught." On the whole, I cannot think that Mr. HENLEY has done +his part well. His manner is bad. His selection, it seems to me, is +open to grave censure, on broader grounds than the mere personally +equational of which he speaks, and his choppings, and sub-titles, +and so forth, are not commendable. The irony of literary history has +apparently ordained that Mr. HENLEY should first patronise, and then +"cut," both CAMPBELL and MACAULAY. Was the shade of MACAULAY disturbed +when he learnt that Mr. HENLEY considered his "_Battle of Naseby_" +both "vicious and ugly"? + +BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & CO. + + * * * * * + +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, Volume +102, January 30, 1892, by Various + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14272 *** |