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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:44:43 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:44:43 -0700 |
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diff --git a/14514-h/14514-h.htm b/14514-h/14514-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..14cd488 --- /dev/null +++ b/14514-h/14514-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1984 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 102, April 23, 1892, by Various</title> + <style type="text/css"> + /*<![CDATA[*/ + + <!-- + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {text-align: justify;} + blockquote {text-align: justify;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} + pre {font-size: 0.7em;} + + hr {text-align: center; width: 50%;} + html>body hr {margin-right: 25%; margin-left: 25%; width: 50%;} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + html>body hr.full {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;} + hr.short {text-align: center; width: 20%;} + html>body hr.short {margin-right: 40%; margin-left: 40%; width: 20%;} + + .note, .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + + span.pagenum + {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt;} + + .poem + {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem p.i4 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem p.i6 {margin-left: 3em;} + .poem p.i8 {margin-left: 4em;} + .poem p.i10 {margin-left: 5em;} + + .drama {margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .drama p {margin: 1em 0em 0em 0em;; padding-left: 2em; text-indent: -2em;} + .drama p.i2 {margin: 0; margin-left: 1em;} + .drama p.i4 {margin: 0; margin-left: 2em;} + .drama p.i6 {margin: 0; margin-left: 3em;} + .drama p.i8 {margin: 0; margin-left: 4em;} + .drama p.i10 {margin: 0; margin-left: 5em;} + + .figure, .figcenter, .figright, .figleft + {padding: 1em; margin: 0; text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em;} + .figure img, .figcenter img, .figright img, .figleft img + {border: none;} + .figure p, .figcenter p, .figright p, .figleft p + {margin: 0; text-indent: 1em;} + .figcenter {margin: auto;} + .figright {float: right;} + .figleft {float: left;} + + .inline {border: none; vertical-align: middle;} + + p.author {text-align: right;} + a:link {color:#0000ff; + text-decoration:none} + link {color:#0000ff; + text-decoration:none} + a:visited {color:#0000ff; + text-decoration:none} + a:hover {color:#ff0000} + pre {font-size: 8pt;} + --> + /*]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14514 ***</div> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 102, +April 23, 1892, by Various, Edited by F. C. Burnand</h1> +<hr class="full" /> + <h1>PUNCH,<br /> + OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> + + <h2>Vol. 102.</h2> + <hr class="full" /> + + <h2>April 23, 1892.</h2> + <hr class="full" /> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page193" + id="page193"></a>[pg 193]</span> + + <h2>TOWN THOUGHTS FROM THE COUNTRY.</h2> + + <h4>(<i>With the usual apologies.</i>)</h4> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Oh, to be in London now that April's there,</p> + + <p>And whoever walks in London sees, some morning, in + the Square,</p> + + <p>That the upper thousands have come to Town,</p> + + <p>To the plane-trees droll in their new bark gown,</p> + + <p>While the sparrows chirp, and the cats miaow</p> + + <p>In London—now!</p> + + <p>And after April, when May follows</p> + + <p>And the black-coats come and go like swallows!</p> + + <p>Mark, where yon fairy blossom in the Row</p> + + <p>Leans to the rails, and canters on in clover,</p> + + <p>Blushing and drooping, with her head bent low!</p> + + <p>That's the wise child: she makes him ask twice + over,</p> + + <p>Lest he should think she views with too much + rapture</p> + + <p>Her first fine wealthy capture!</p> + + <p>But,—though her path looks smooth, and though, + alack,</p> + + <p>All will he gay, till Time has painted black</p> + + <p>The <i>Marigold</i>, her Mother's chosen + flower,—</p> + + <p>Far brighter is my <i>Heartsease</i>, Love's own + dower.</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <p>A WANT.—"There is only one thing," a visitor writes to + us, "that I missed at Venice, S.W. I've never been to the real + place, which is the Bride, or Pride, of the Sea, I forget + which, but, as I was saying, there's only one thing I miss, and + that is the heather. Who has not heard of 'the moor of Venice'? + And I daresay good shooting there too, with black game and such + like. I only saw pigeons flying, who some one informed me are + the pigeons of SAM MARK. Next time I go, I shall inquire at the + Restaurant for fresh Pigeon Pie. However, if Mr. KIRALFY will + take a hint, he will, in August provide a moor. It will add to + the gaiety of the show. 'The moor the merrier,' eh?"</p> + <hr /> + + <h3>Neo-Dramatic Nursery Rhyme.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>MRS. GRUNDY, good woman, scarce knew what to + think</p> + + <p>About the relation 'twixt Drama and Drink.</p> + + <p>Well, give Hall—and Theatre—good + wholesome diet,</p> + + <p>And all who attend will be sober and quiet!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <p>SPRING'S DELIGHTS IN LONDON.—"VIA + MALODORA"—clearly a lady, "DORA" for short—wrote to + the <i>Times</i> complaining that the result of the splendid + weather for the first ten days of the month was the + reproduction of "summer effluvium rank and offensive" in + Piccadilly. Poor Piccadilly! Oh, its "offence is rank," and + Miss DORA might add, quoting to her father from another scene + in <i>Hamlet</i>, "And smells so. Pa'!" West-Enders, in a dry + summer, must he prepared to have "a high old time of it."</p> + <hr /> + + <div class="figcenter" + style="width:60%;"> + <a href="images/193-1.png"><img width="100%" + src="images/193-1.png" + alt="SANCTA SIMPLICITAS." /></a> + + <h3>SANCTA SIMPLICITAS.</h3> + + <p><i>Orthodox Old Maid.</i> "BUT, REBECCA, IS YOUR PLACE + OF WORSHIP CONSECRATED?"</p> + + <p><i>Domestic</i> (<i>lately received into the Plymouth + Brotherhood</i>). "OH NO, MISS—IT'S GALVANISED + IRON!"</p> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2>MY SOAP.</h2> + + <div class="figright" + style="width:20%;"> + <a href="images/193-2.png"><img width="100%" + src="images/193-2.png" + alt="" /></a> + </div> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I'm the maker of a Soap, which I confidently + hope</p> + + <p>In the advertising tournament will win,</p> + + <p>And remain the fit survival, having vanquished every + rival</p> + + <p>Which is very detrimental to the skin.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I will now proceed to show, what the public ought to + know,</p> + + <p>Unless they would be blindly taken in.</p> + + <p>How in every soap but mine certain qualities + combine</p> + + <p>To make it detrimental to the skin.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>But surely at this date it is needless I should + state</p> + + <p>That the cheaper soaps are barely worth a pin,</p> + + <p>For they all contain a mixture, either free or as a + fixture,</p> + + <p>Which is very detrimental to the skin.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And every cake you buy is so charged with + alkali,</p> + + <p>To soda more than soap it is akin;</p> + + <p>It is really dear at last, for it wastes away so + fast.</p> + + <p>And is very detrimental to the skin.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The public I must warn of the colours that adorn</p> + + <p>The soaps ambitious foreigners bring in;</p> + + <p>They are often very pretty, but to use them is a + pity,</p> + + <p>For they're very detrimental to the skin.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>There are soaps which you can see through. I ask, + What can it be through?</p> + + <p>Is it resin, or some other form of sin?</p> + + <p>There are soaps which smell too strong, and of + course that must be wrong,</p> + + <p>And extremely detrimental to the skin.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And too much fat's injurious, and so are soaps + sulphureous,</p> + + <p>Though they say they keep the hair from growing + thin;</p> + + <p>They may keep a person's hair on, like the precious + oil of AARON,</p> + + <p>And yet be detrimental to his skin.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>In short, the only soap which is fit for Prince or + Pope</p> + + <p>(I have sent some to the KAISER at Berlin)</p> + + <p>Is the article I sell you. Don't believe the firms + who tell you</p> + + <p>It is very detrimental to the skin.</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <p>A LIQUOR QUESTION.—Why does a toper—especially + when "before the beak"—always say that he was "in drink," + when he evidently means that the drink was in him? The only + soaker on record who could rightly be said to be "in drink" + was,</p> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Maudlin <i>Clarence</i> in his Malmsey butt."</p> + </div> + </div> + + <p>He was "in liquor" with a vengeance. But less lucky + wine-bibbers need not be illogical as well as inebriate.</p> + <hr /> + + <p>MR. GOSCHEN'S BUDGET.—"From a fiscal point of view, + the Tobacco receipts are extremely good." So unlike JOKIM. Of + course, as he never loses a chance of a <i>jeu de mot</i>, what + he must have said was, that "the Tobacco 'returns' are + extremely good." "A birthday Budget,—many happy + 'returns,'" he observed jocosely to PRINCE ARTHUR, "quite + japing times!" And off he went for his holiday; and, weather + permitting, as he reclines in his funny among the weeds, he + will gently murmur, "<i>Dulce est desipere in smoko</i>."</p> + <hr /> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page194" + id="page194"></a>[pg 194]</span> + + <h2>THE NEWEST NARCISSUS;</h2> + + <h3>OR, THE HERO OF OUR DAYS.</h3> + + <blockquote class="note"> + <p>["—The curious tendency towards imitation which is + observed whenever some specially sensational crime is + brought into the light of publicity."—<i>Morning + Post</i>.']</p> + </blockquote> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>NARCISSUS? <i>He</i>, that foul ill-favoured + brute,</p> + + <p>A fevered age's most repulsive fruit,</p> + + <p>The murderous coxcomb, the assassin sleek?</p> + + <p>Stranger comparison could fancy seek?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Truly 'tis not the self-admiring boy</p> + + <p>Nymph Echo longed so vainly to enjoy;</p> + + <p>Yet the old classic fable hath a phase</p> + + <p>Which seems to fit the opprobrium of our days.</p> + + <p>Criminal-worship seems our latest cult,</p> + + <p>And this strange figure is its last result.</p> + + <p>Self-conscious, self-admiring, Crime parades</p> + + <p>Its loathly features, not in slumdom's shades,</p> + + <p>Or in Alsatian sanctuaries vile.</p> + + <p>No; peacock-posing and complacent smile</p> + + <p>Pervade the common air, and take the town.</p> + + <p>The glory of a scandalous renown</p> + + <p>Lures the vain villain more than wrath or gain,</p> + + <p>And cancels all the shame that should restrain:</p> + + <p>Makes murder half-heroic in his sight,</p> + + <p>And gilds the gallows with factitious light.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And whose the fault? Sensation it is thine!</p> + + <p>The garrulous paragraph, the graphic line,</p> + + <p>Poster and portrait, telegram and tale,</p> + + <p>Make shopboy eager and domestics pale.</p> + + <p>Over the morbid details workmen pore,</p> + + <p>Toil's favourite pabulum and chosen lore,</p> + + <p>Penny-a-liners pile the horrors up,</p> + + <p>On which the cockney <i>gobe-mouche</i> loves to + sup,</p> + + <p>And paragraph and picture feed the clown</p> + + <p>With the foul garbage that has gorged the town.</p> + + <p>"Vice is a monster of such hideous mien</p> + + <p>As to be hated needs but to be seen."</p> + + <p>So sang the waspish satirist long ago.</p> + + <p>Now Vice is sketched and Crime is made a show.</p> + + <p>A hundred eager scribes are at their heel</p> + + <p>To tell the public how they look and feel,</p> + + <p>How eat and drink, how sleep and smoke and play.</p> + + <p>Murder's itinerary for a day,</p> + + <p>Set forth in graphic phrase by skilful pens,</p> + + <p>With pictures of its face, its favourite dens,</p> + + <p>Its knife or bludgeon, pistol, paramour,</p> + + <p>Will swell the swift editions hour by hour,</p> + + <p>More than high news of war or of debate,</p> + + <p>The death of heroes or the throes of state.</p> + + <p>From club-room to street-corner runs the cry</p> + + <p>After the newest fact, or latest lie:</p> + + <p>The hurrying throng unfolded broad-sheets grasp,</p> + + <p>And read with goggled eyes and lips a-gasp,</p> + + <p>Blood! Blood! More Blood! It makes hot lips go + pale,</p> + + <p>But gives the sweetest zest to the unholy tale.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>What wonder if the Horror, homaged thus</p> + + <p>By frenzied eagerness and foolish fuss,</p> + + <p>Swells to a hideous self-importance, struts</p> + + <p>In conscious dignity, and gladly gluts</p> + + <p>With vanity's fantastic tricks the herd</p> + + <p>Whose pulses first by murderous crime it + stirred.</p> + + <p>Narcissus-like, the slayer bends to trace</p> + + <p>Within Sensation's flowing stream its face,</p> + + <p>And, self-enamoured, smiles a loathsome smile</p> + + <p>Of fatuous conceit and gloating guile;</p> + + <p>Laughs at the shadow of the lifted knife,</p> + + <p>And thinks of all things save its victim's life.</p> + + <p>The "Noisy Nymph," the Echo of our times,</p> + + <p>The gossip, with an eager ear for crimes,</p> + + <p>Lurks, half-admiring, all-recording there,</p> + + <p>Watching Narcissus with persistent stare,</p> + + <p>And ready note-book. Nothing but a Voice?</p> + + <p>No, but its babblings travel, and rejoice</p> + + <p>A myriad prurient ears with noisome news,</p> + + <p>Fit only for the shambles and the stews.</p> + + <p>These hear, admire, and sometimes + imitate!—</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Narcissus is a danger to the State,</p> + + <p>And Echo hardly less. Vain-glorious crime;</p> + + <p>That pestilent portent of a morbid time,</p> + + <p>Would flourish less could sense or law avail</p> + + <p>To strangle coarse Sensation's clamorous tale,</p> + + <p>Silence the "Noisy Nymph," for half crime's ill</p> + + <p>Would end were babbling Echo's voice but still.</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <div class="figcenter" + style="width:75%;"> + <a href="images/194.png"><img width="70%" + src="images/194.png" + alt="'THE MISSING CIPHER.'" /></a> + + <h3>"THE MISSING CIPHER."</h3> + + <p>"OH, PAPA, ONLY FIFTY POUNDS FROM SIR GORGIUS MIDAS! + SUCH A MILLIONAIRE—WHY HE <i>OUGHT</i> TO HAVE SENT + FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS AT LEAST!"</p> + + <p>"AH, I'M AFRAID HE FORGOT THE <i>OUGHT</i>, MY + DEAR!"</p> + </div> + <hr /> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page195" + id="page195"></a>[pg 195]</span> + + <div class="figcenter" + style="width:100%;"> + <a href="images/195.png"><img width="70%" + src="images/195.png" + alt="THE NEWEST NARCISSUS; OR, THE HERO OF OUR DAYS." /> + </a> + + <h3>THE NEWEST NARCISSUS; OR, THE HERO OF OUR DAYS.</h3> + </div> + <hr /> + + <p>FETTERED.—In reply to the Unemployed Deputation which + found employment in paying a visit to the L.C.C. at Spring + Gardens, Messrs. BURNS and BEN TILLETT (Alderman) intimated + that as Mr. POWER, the U.D.'s spokesman, was not a member of + the L.C.C., that body was Power-less to assist them in their + trouble. A nasty time of it had the Labour Candidates on this + occasion. Nothing like putting men of Radical revolutionary + tendencies into responsible positions.</p> + <hr /> + + <p>A SHADY VALET.—One DONALD CROSS was a Valet in the + service of an absent master, whose best clothes and jewellery + DONALD wore, while he kept his flat well aired by giving little + supper-parties to young ladies who took him at his own + valuation,—for a very superior swell. Alas! he was but a + <i>valet de sham</i>! "Cross purposes," but Magistrate + "disposes"; and the once happy Valet is in the shade for the + next six months.</p> + <hr /> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page196" + id="page196"></a>[pg 196]</span> + + <h2>IN FANCY DRESS.</h2> + + <h4>A Sketch At Covent Garden Theatre.</h4> + + <blockquote> + <p><i>Before Supper the proceedings are rather decorous + than lively; the dancers in fancy dress forming a very + decided minority, and appearing uncomfortably conscious of + their costume. A Masker got up as a highly realistic</i> + Hatstand, <i>hobbles painfully towards a friend who is + disguised as a huge</i> Cannon.</p> + </blockquote> + + <div class="drama"> + <p><i>The Hatstand</i> (<i>huskily, through a fox's mask in + the centre of his case, to the</i> Cannon). Just a trifle + slow up to the present, eh?</p> + + <p><i>The Cannon</i> (<i>shifting the carriage and wheels + to a less uncomfortable position.</i>) Yes, it don't seem + to me as lively as usual—<i>drags</i>, don't you + know.</p> + + <p><i>The Hatstand</i> (<i>heroically</i>). Well, we must + wake 'em up, that's all—put a little <i>go</i> into + the thing!</p> + + <blockquote> + <p>[<i>They endeavour to promote gaiety by crawling + through the crowd, which regards them with + compassionate wonder.</i></p> + </blockquote> + + <p><i>A Black Domino</i> (<i>to a</i> Clown, <i>who is + tapping the barometer on the</i> Hatstand's <i>back</i>). + Here, mind how you damage the furniture, SAMMY, it may be + here on the hire system.</p> + + <blockquote> + <p>[<i>The</i> Hatstand <i>executes a cumbrous caper by + way of repartee, and stumbles on.</i></p> + </blockquote> + + <p><i>A Folly</i> (<i>to a highly respectable</i> Bedouin + <i>in a burnous and gold spectacles</i>). Well, all I can + say is, you don't seem to me to behave much <i>like</i> an + Arab!</p> + + <p><i>The Bedouin</i> (<i>uneasily, as he waltzes with + conscientious regularity</i>). Don't I? How <i>ought</i> I + to behave then?</p> + + <p><i>The Folly</i>. <i>I</i> should have thought you'd + jump about and howl, the way Bedouins <i>do</i> howl. + <i>You</i> know!</p> + + <p><i>The Bed.</i> (<i>dubiously</i>). Um—well, you + see, my dear, I—I don't feel <i>up</i> to that sort + of thing—<i>before</i> supper.</p> + + <p><i>The Folly</i> (<i>losing all respect for him</i>). + No—nor yet after it. I expect you've told some old + four-wheel caravan to come and fetch you home early, and + you'll turn into your little tent at the usual + time—that's the sort of wild Bedouin <i>you</i> are! + Don't let me keep you. [<i>She leaves him.</i></p> + + <p><i>The Bed.</i> (<i>alone</i>). If she only knew the + absolute <i>horror</i> I have of making myself conspicuous, + she wouldn't expect it!</p> + + <p><i>Mephistopheles</i> (<i>to a Picador</i>). This was + the only thing I could get to go in. How do you think it + suits me?</p> + + <p><i>The Picador</i> (<i>with candour</i>). Well, I must + say, old fellow, you <i>do</i> look a beast!</p> + + <blockquote> + <p>[Mephisto <i>appears wounded.</i></p> + </blockquote> + + <p><i>A Masker</i> (<i>with his face painted brown, and in + a costume of coloured paper decorated with small boxes and + packets, to a Blue Domino</i>). You see what <i>I</i> am, + don't you? The Parcels Post! Had a <i>lot</i> of trouble + thinking it out. Look at my face, for instance, I made + <i>that</i> up, with string—marks and all, to look + like a brown-paper parcel.</p> + + <p><i>The Blue Domino</i>. Pity you haven't got something + <i>inside</i> it, isn't it?</p> + + <p><i>The Parcels Post</i> (<i>feebly</i>). Don't you be + too sharp. And it really is a first-rate idea. All these + parcels now—I suppose there must be fifty of 'em at + least—</p> + + <p><i>The Blue Domino</i>. Are there? Well, I wish you'd go + and get sorted somewhere else. I haven't time for it + myself.</p> + + <p><i>Sardonic Spectator</i> (<i>pityingly—to a + Masker in a violent perspiration, who represents Sindbad + carrying the Old Man of the Sea</i>). 'Ow you <i>are</i> + worrying yourself to be sure!</p> + + <p><i>A Polite Stranger</i> (<i>accosting an Individual who + is personifying the London County Council by the aid of a + hat surmounted by a sky-sign, a cork bridge and a tin + tramcar, a toy Clown and a butterfly on his chest, a + portrait of Mlle. Zoeo on his back, a miniature fireman + under an extinguisher, and a model crane, which he winds up + and down with evident enjoyment</i>). Excuse me, Sir, but + would you mind showing us round you—or is there a + catalogue to your little collection?</p> + + <blockquote> + <p>[<i>The L.C.C. maintains a dignified + silence.</i></p> + </blockquote> + + <p><i>Pierrot</i> (<i>critically to Cleopatra</i>). Very + nice indeed, my dear girl,—except that they ought to + have given you a serpent to carry, you know'</p> + + <p><i>Cleopatra</i>. Oh, they <i>did</i>—only I left + it in the Cloak-room.</p> + + <p><i>A Man with a False Nose</i> (<i>to a Friend who is + wearing his natural organ</i>). Why, I thought you said + <i>you</i> were coming in a nose?</p> + + <p><i>His Friend</i>. So I did (<i>he produces an enormous + nose and cheeks from his tail-pocket</i>). But it's no + mortal use; the minute I put it on I'm recognised + (<i>plaintively</i>). And I gave one-and-ninepence for the + beastly thing, too!</p> + + <p><i>Young Man of the Period</i> (<i>meeting a female + acquaintance attired in ferns, rock-work, and coloured + shells, illuminated by portable electric light</i>). + Hul-lo! You <i>are</i> a swell! And what are <i>you</i> + supposed to be?</p> + + <p><i>The Lady in Rock-work</i>. Can't you see? I'm a Fairy + Grotto. Good idea, isn't it?</p> + + <p><i>He</i>. Rippin'! But what the mischief have you got + on your shoulder?</p> + + <p><i>She</i>. Oh, that's an aquarium—real goldfish. + See!</p> + + <blockquote> + <p>[<i>Exhibiting them with pride.</i></p> + </blockquote> + + <p><i>He</i>. Ain't you lettin' 'em sit up rather late? + They <i>will</i> be chippy to-morrow—off colour, + don't you know.</p> + + <p><i>She</i>. Will they? What ought I to do for them, + then?</p> + + <p><i>He</i>. Do? Oh, just put a brandy-and-soda in their + tank.</p> + + <blockquote> + <p><i>Later; Supper is going on in the Boxes and + Supper-room, and the festivity has been further + increased by the arrival of a party of Low Comedians + and Music-Hall Stars. The Lancers have been danced with + more abandonment, and several entirely new and original + figures</i>.</p> + </blockquote> + + <p><i>The Chevalier Bayard</i> (<i>at the Refreshment + Bar—to a Watteau Shepherdess</i>). I say, you come + along and dance with me, will you?—and look here, if + you dance well, I'll give you a drink when it's over. If + you don t dance to please me, you'll get nothing. See?</p> + + <p><i>The Watteau Shepherdess</i> (<i>with delicate + disdain</i>). 'Ere, you go along, you silly ass!</p> + + <blockquote> + <p>[<i>Hits him with her crook.</i></p> + </blockquote> + + <p><i>A Gentleman who has obviously supped</i> (<i>catching + hold of a passing Acquaintance, whose hand he wrings + affectionately</i>). Dear ole HUGHIE! don't go away just + yet. Shtop an' talk with me. Got lotsh er things say to + you, dear ole boy—mosh 'portant things! Shure you, + you're the on'y man in the wide world I ever kicked a + care—cared a kick about. Don't <i>you</i> leave me, + HUGHIE!</p> + + <div class="figright" + style="width:47%;"> + <a href="images/196.png"><img width="100%" + src="images/196.png" + alt="'Exit unsteadily towards Bar.'" /></a>"Exit + unsteadily towards Bar." + </div> + + <p><i>Hughie</i> (<i>who is looking for his partner</i>). + Not now, old man—can't stop. See you later!</p> + + <blockquote> + <p>[<i>He makes his escape.</i></p> + </blockquote> + + <p><i>The Affect. G.</i> (<i>confidentially—to a + Policeman</i>). Thash a very dear ole pal o' mine, + plishman, a <i>very</i> dear ole pal. Worsht of him + ish—shimply imposhble get a lit' rational + conversation with him. No <i>sheriousness</i> in his + character!</p> + + <blockquote> + <p>[<i>Exit unsteadily towards Bar, in blissful + unconsciousness that somebody has attached a large + false nose and spectacles to the buttons of his + coat-tails.</i></p> + </blockquote> + + <p><i>A Troubadour</i> (<i>jealously—to an + Arleguina</i>). No—but look here, you might just as + well say right put which costume you like best—mine + or—(<i>indicating a Cavalier on her other + side</i>)—his.</p> + + <p><i>Arleguina</i> (<i>cautiously—not desiring to + offend either</i>). Well, I'd rather be + <i>him</i>—not as a <i>man</i>, I wouldn't—but, + as <i>myself</i>, I'd like to be <i>this</i> one.</p> + + <blockquote> + <p>[<i>Both appear equally satisfied and soothed by + this diplomatic, but slightly mystic response.</i></p> + </blockquote> + + <p><i>A Vivandière</i> (<i>to a Martyr, who is shuffling + along inside a property-trunk, covered with twigs, and + supposed to represent a Bird in the Hand</i>). Well, that's + <i>one</i> way of coming <i>out</i> to enjoy yourself, I + suppose!</p> + + <p><i>A Middle-aged Man</i> (<i>wandering behind the + Orchestra</i>). It's beastly dull, that's what it + is—none of the give-and-take humour and practical fun + you get in Paris or Vienna!... That's a nice, + simple-looking little thing in the seat over there. (<i>The + simple-looking little thing peeps at him, with one eye over + her fan, in arch invitation.</i>) Gad, I'll go up and talk + to her—it will be something to <i>do</i>, at any + rate—she looks as if she wouldn't mind. (<i>He goes + up.</i>) Think I know your face—haven't we met + before?</p> + + <p><i>The Simple Little Thing</i> (<i>after an elaborate + wink aside at a</i> Fireman). Shouldn't wonder. Don't you + run away yet. Sit down and talk to me—do now. No, not + <i>that</i> side—try the arm-chair, it's more + comfortable.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page197" + id="page197"></a>[pg 197]</span> + + <p><i>The M.M.</i> (<i>throwing himself gracefully into a + well-padded chintz chair</i>). Well, really—(<i>The + chair suddenly digs him in the ribs with one of its + elbows</i>). Eh, look here now—'pon my—(<i>He + attempts to rise, and finds himself tightly pinioned by the + arms of the chair.</i>) There's some confounded fool + <i>inside</i> this chair!</p> + + <p><i>The Simple Little Thing</i> (<i>tickling him under + the chin with her fan</i>). Shouldn't call yourself names! + I'm going—don't get up on <i>my</i> account. [<i>She + goes off, laughing; a crowd collects and heartily enjoys + his situation.</i></p> + + <p><i>The M.M.</i> (<i>later—very red after his + release</i>). If I could have found a policeman, I'd have + given that chair in custody! It's scandalous to call + <i>that</i> coming in Fancy Dress! [<i>Exit + indignantly.</i></p> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2>THE BROWN-JONES INCIDENT.</h2> + + <h4>(<i>Adapted from the French.</i>)</h4> + + <blockquote> + <p>SCENE—<i>A Street. Enter</i> BROWN <i>and</i> + JONES. <i>They meet, and regard one another for a moment, + fixedly. Then they salute one another respectfully.</i></p> + </blockquote> + + <div class="drama"> + <p><i>Brown.</i> I have been looking for you + everywhere.</p> + + <p><i>Jones.</i> Then I am delighted to have met you.</p> + + <p><i>Brown.</i> I have said of you that you are a + trickster, a scoundrel, a fool, and an idiot!</p> + + <p><i>Jones.</i> Yes—and I have regretted the saying, + because it shows to me that you have misunderstood the + great literary movement of the present day, in its vast and + varied effort.</p> + + <p><i>Brown.</i> Of that I know nothing, for I confess I + have never read your books.</p> + + <p><i>Jones</i> (<i>reproachfully</i>). Yes—and yet + you accuse me of being a trickster, a scoundrel, and a + fool, without knowing my works?</p> + + <p><i>Brown.</i> It was my duty. But still I had no wish to + be guilty of an outrage.</p> + + <p><i>Jones.</i> An outrage—how an outrage?</p> + + <p><i>Brown.</i> Had I known you had been present to hear + me I would not have caused you the pain of listening to + me.</p> + + <p><i>Jones</i> (<i>with admiration</i>). But it was the + act of a brave man! Did it not occur to you that had I been + within reach of you that you too would have suffered + pain?</p> + + <p><i>Brown.</i> It did not, I was unconscious of your + presence. I would have preferred to have spoken behind your + back. It is brutal to speak before any face. It might lead + to an unpleasantness.</p> + + <p><i>Jones.</i> No, it is your duty to do what you think + is right. It is also my duty to do what I think is right. + We are now face to face. Have you anything further to say + to me?</p> + + <p><i>Brown</i> (<i>hurriedly</i>). You have immense + gifts—gifts which are those of genius.</p> + + <p><i>Jones.</i> I thought you would understand me better + when we met. My dear friend, I am delighted at this + reconciliation. Give me your hand.</p> + + <p><i>Brown</i> (<i>clasping palms</i>). With all the + pleasure in the world. But still I owe you reparation. How + can I—</p> + + <p><i>Jones</i> (<i>interrupting</i>). Not another word, my + dear friend. That is a matter we can leave in the hands of + our Solicitors.</p> + </div> + + <blockquote> + <p>[<i>Scene closes in upon the suggestion.</i></p> + </blockquote> + <hr /> + + <div class="figcenter" + style="width:50%;"> + <a href="images/197-1.png"><img width="100%" + src="images/197-1.png" + alt="A SOLILOQUY." /></a> + + <h3>A SOLILOQUY.</h3> + + <p><i>Youthful Mercury.</i> "WHAT'S THIS 'ERE ON THE PLYTE? + 'KNOCK AND RING'! BLOWED IF THEY WON'T BE HARSKING YER TO + '<i>WALK HINSIDE</i>,' NEXT!!"</p> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> + + <div class="figleft" + style="width:30%;"> + <a href="images/197-2.png"><img width="100%" + src="images/197-2.png" + alt="'Oliver asking for More.'" /></a>"Oliver asking + for More." + </div> + + <p>It is curious to find a coincidence in style and in idea + between an earnest, witty and pious English author of the + Sixteenth Century, and an American author of our own day. Yet + so it is, and here is the parallel to be found between the + quaint American tales about the old negro, <i>Uncle Remus</i>, + by JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS, in this year of Grace, 1892, and the + fables writ by Sir THOMAS MORE in 1520, or thereabouts, which + he represents as if told him by an old wife and nurse, one + Mother MAUD. Here are "The Wolf,"—"Brer Wolf"—and + the simple-minded Jackass, both are going to confession to + Father Fox—"Brer Fox." Æsop is, of course, the common + origin of all such tales. The extracts which I have come + across, are to be found in a small book compiled by the Rev. + THOMAS BRIDGETT, entitled, <i>The Wit and Wisdom of Sir Thomas + More</i>. The Baron wishes that with it had been issued a + glossary of old English words and expressions, as, to an + ordinary modern reader, much of Sir THOMAS MORE's writing is + well-nigh unintelligible; nay, in some instances, the Baron can + only approximately arrive at the meaning, as though it were a + writ in a foreign language with which his acquaintance was of + no great profundity. Certes, the learned and reverend compiler + hath a keen relish for this quaintness, but not so will fifteen + out of his twenty readers, who, pardie! shall regret the + absence of a key without which some of the treasure must, to + them at least, remain inaccessible. With this reservation, but + with no sort of equivocation, doth the Baron heartily recommend + The Reverend BRIDGETT's compilation of Sir THOMAS MORE's + "English as she is writ" in the Sixteenth Century, to all + lovers of good books in this "so-called (O, immortal phrase!) + Nineteenth Century." The Rev. THOMAS hath well and ably done + his work, and therefore doth the Baron advise his readers to go + to their booksellers, and, being there, to imitate the example + of DICKENS's oft-quoted <i>Oliver</i>, and "ask for MORE."</p> + + <p>Quoth the Baron, "Much liketh me the Macmillanite series of + <i>English Men of Action</i>, and in a very special manner do I + laud the latest that, to my knowledge, hath appeared 'yclept + <i>Montrose</i>, by Master MOWBRAY MORRIS—a good many + 'M's' in these names—who hath executed his + <i>Montrose</i> with as loving a heart and as tender a touch as + ever did use old IZAAK towards the gentle that he, and the + simple fish, did love so well. Did not the very hangman burst + into tears as he thrust the unfortunate nobleman off the step? + and did not a universal sob of pity break from the vast crowd + assembled to see the last of the noble cavalier, victim to an + unfortunate tradition of loyalty? What wonder then if we + sympathise with this luckless hero of romance? The weak-knee'd + villain of this historical drama was '<i>Charles</i> (his + friend),' in which character, be it allowed, this sad dog of a + Merry Monarch not infrequently appeared. Thank you much, Mr. + MOWBRAY MONTROSE MORRIS," quoth</p> + + <p class="author">THE BENEFICENT BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.</p> + <hr /> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page198" + id="page198"></a>[pg 198]</span> + + <div class="figcenter" + style="width:100%;"> + <a href="images/198.png"><img width="100%" + src="images/198.png" + alt="SYMPATHY." /></a> + + <h3>SYMPATHY.</h3> + + <p><i>Mamma</i> (<i>to Cook</i>)—"AND MRS. STUBBS, + THE CREAM WITH THE APPLE-TART YESTERDAY OUGHT TO HAVE BEEN + WHIPPED."</p> + + <p><i>Ethel</i> (<i>who has a grateful remembrance of the + dish in question</i>). "OH, MUMMY DEAR! 'OUGHT TO HAVE BEEN + WHIPPED!' I THOUGHT IT WAS PARTICULARLY GOOD!"</p> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2>APRIL SHOWERS;</h2> + + <h3>OR, A SPOILED EASTER HOLIDAY.</h3> + + <h4>(<i>A Vacation Cantata.</i>)</h4> + + <div class="drama"> + <p><i>Master George (stretching forth his fingers to feel + if the shower is abating) sings</i>:—</p> + + <p class="i6">Rain! Rain!</p> + + <p class="i8">Go away!</p> + + <p class="i6">Come again</p> + + <p class="i8">Another day!</p> + + <p><i>Master Arthur</i> (<i>gloomily</i>). Pooh! Rain won't + go away, not in these times,</p> + + <p class="i4">By being sung at to old nursery rhymes:</p> + + <p class="i4">Especially in such a voice as yours!</p> + + <p><i>Master George.</i> Needn't be nasty, ARTHUR!</p> + + <p><i>Master Robert.</i>7nbsp;7nbsp;7nbsp;7nbsp;How it pours!</p> + + <p class="i4">Thought we were going to have a real jolly + day,</p> + + <p class="i4">And now it's set in wet, to spoil our + holiday.</p> + + <p><i>Master George.</i> Always the way at Easter. Shall we + trudge it?</p> + + <p><i>Master Arthur.</i> Not yet. What have you got, + GEORGE, in your Budget?</p> + + <p><i>Master George.</i> Not very much, I fear!</p> + + <p><i>Master Arthur.</i>7nbsp;7nbsp;7nbsp;7nbsp;Ah, that's vexatious!</p> + + <p class="i4">It might have cheered us up a bit.</p> + + <p><i>Master George</i> (<i>indignantly</i>). Good + gracious!</p> + + <p class="i4">You're always down on me, with no good + reasons.</p> + + <p class="i4">You know <i>I</i>'m not the ruler of the + Seasons.</p> + + <p class="i4">Now if I'd been in <i>your</i> + place—but no matter!</p> + + <p><i>Master Robert.</i> By Jingo, how the raindrops rush + and clatter!</p> + + <p class="i4">Ah, Primrose-gathering is not half so + jolly</p> + + <p class="i4">As once it used to be.</p> + + <p><i>Master Arthur.</i>7nbsp;7nbsp;7nbsp;7nbsp;Ah! my dear SOLLY,</p> + + <p class="i4">The springs are now so awfully wet and + cold,</p> + + <p class="i4">The "cry" don't seem so fetching as of + old.</p> + + <blockquote> + <p>[<i>Pipes up.</i></p> + </blockquote> + + <p><i>Recitative. "Who will buy my pretty, pretty + Pri-im-ro-o-ses!</i></p> + + <p class="i4"><i>All fresh gathered from the + va-a-a-ll-ey?"</i></p> + + <p><i>Master George.</i> The wet and cold have got into + your throat,</p> + + <p class="i4">A quaver and a crack on every note!</p> + + <p><i>Master Robert.</i> Don't aggravate each other, boys; + 'tis wrong,</p> + + <p class="i4">But while it rains <i>I</i>'ll tootle out a + song:—</p> + + <p class="i4">(<i>Sings.</i>) The days we went + a-Primrosing!</p> + + <p class="i8">AIR—"<i>The days we went + a-Gipsying!</i>"</p> + + <p class="i4">The days are gone, the happy days</p> + + <p class="i6">When <i>we</i> were in our Spring;</p> + + <p class="i4">When all the Primrose loved to praise,</p> + + <p class="i6">And join its gathering.</p> + + <p class="i4">Oh! we could sing like anything,</p> + + <p class="i6">We felt the conqueror's glow,</p> + + <p class="i4">In the days when we went Primrosing,</p> + + <p class="i10">A long time ago.</p> + + <p class="i8"><i>Chorus.</i>—In the days, &c.</p> + + <p class="i4">Then April's flowery return</p> + + <p class="i6">Was "Peace-with-Honour's" goal.</p> + + <p class="i4">And the bright brimstone-bunch would burn</p> + + <p class="i6">In every button-hole.</p> + + <p class="i4">Our Dames were gaily on the wing,</p> + + <p class="i6">With blossoms in full blow,</p> + + <p class="i4">In the days when we went Primrosing,</p> + + <p class="i10">A long time ago.</p> + + <p class="i8"><i>Chorus.</i>—In the days, &c.</p> + + <p class="i4">But now Progressive storms prevail</p> + + <p class="i6">Election blizzards chill;</p> + + <p class="i4">The Primroses seem sparse and pale</p> + + <p class="i6">In valley and on hill.</p> + + <p class="i4">Yon cloud looks black as raven's wing!</p> + + <p class="i6">Things did not menace so.</p> + + <p class="i4">In the days when we went Primrosing</p> + + <p class="i10">A long time ago!</p> + + <p class="i8"><i>Chorus.</i>—In the days, &c.</p> + + <p><i>Both.</i> Oh, brayvo, BOBBY!</p> + + <p><i>Master Robert.</i> Thanks. Yet my song's burden</p> + + <p class="i4">Is dismal as the croakings of <i>Dame + Durden</i>.</p> + + <p class="i4">Our holiday is spoilt by driving showers.</p> + + <p class="i4">I fear we shall have no great show of + flowers;</p> + + <p class="i4">But—anyhow my boys we're under + cover;</p> + + <p class="i4">And let us hope that storm-cloud will pass + over</p> + + <p class="i4">Without first giving us a dreadful + drenching,</p> + + <p class="i4">And all our April-hopes entirely + quenching.</p> + + <p><i>All</i> (<i>singing together</i>).</p> + + <p class="i6">Rain! Rain!</p> + + <p class="i8">Go away!</p> + + <p class="i6">Come again</p> + + <p class="i8">Another day!</p> + + <blockquote> + <p>[<i>Left crouching and singing.</i></p> + </blockquote> + </div> + <hr /> + + <p>FROM THE THEATRES, &C. COMMISSION.—"I am afraid," + said Mr. P.S. RUTLAND, speaking of the Music Halls, and in + answer to a question of Mr. BOLTON's, "we cannot do a wreck. + (<i>Laughter.</i>)" Mr. WOODALL: "Without being wrecked in the + attempt. (<i>Renewed laughter.</i>)" Oh, witty WOODALL! Why, + encouraged by this applause, he may yet be led on to make a pun + on his own name, and say, "<i>Would all</i> were like him!" or + some such merry jest. The proceedings in this Committee were + becoming a trifle dull, but it is to be hoped that they may yet + hear something still more sparkling from the wise and witty + WOODALL.</p> + <hr /> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page199" + id="page199"></a>[pg 199]</span> + + <div class="figcenter" + style="width:100%;"> + <a href="images/199.png"><img width="100%" + src="images/199.png" + alt="APRIL SHOWERS; OR, A SPOILT EASTER HOLIDAY." /> + </a> + + <h3>APRIL SHOWERS; OR, A SPOILT EASTER HOLIDAY.</h3>TRIO. + "RAIN! RAIN! GO AWAY! COME AGAIN ANOTHER DAY!" + </div> + <hr /> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page201" + id="page201"></a>[pg 201]</span> + + <h2>TO MY COOK.</h2> + + <div class="figright" + style="width:33%;"> + <a href="images/201-1.png"><img width="100%" + src="images/201-1.png" + alt="My cook." /></a> + </div> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Oh, hard of favour, fat of form,</p> + + <p class="i2">How fairer art thou than thy looks,</p> + + <p>Whose heart with kitchen fires is warm,</p> + + <p class="i2">Thou plainest of the plainer Cooks!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Low down upon thy forehead grows</p> + + <p class="i2">Thick hair of no conducive dye;</p> + + <p>Short and aspiring is thy nose,</p> + + <p class="i2">Watched ever by a furtive eye.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>In shy defiance rarely seen</p> + + <p class="i2">Where kitchen stairways darkly tend,</p> + + <p>A foe to judge thee by thy mien,</p> + + <p class="i2">Proclaimed in every act a friend!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I know thee little; not thy views</p> + + <p class="i2">On public or on private life,</p> + + <p>Whether a single lot thou'dst choose,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or fain would'st be a Guardsman's + wife;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>For who can rightly read the change</p> + + <p class="i2">When, still'd the work-day traffic's + din,</p> + + <p>In best apparel, rich and strange,</p> + + <p class="i2">Thou passest weekly to thy kin!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>A silken gown, that bravely stands</p> + + <p class="i2">Environing thy form, or no;</p> + + <p>Stout gloves upon thy straining hands,</p> + + <p class="i2">For brooch, the breastplate cameo.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Shod with the well-heeled boots, whose knell</p> + + <p class="i2">Afar along the pavement sounds,</p> + + <p>Blent with the tinkling muffin-bell,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or milkman, shrilling on his rounds.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p><i>Nil tangis quod non ornas.</i> Nay,</p> + + <p class="i2">'Tis not alone the parsley sprig,</p> + + <p>The paper frill, the fennel spray,</p> + + <p class="i2">The Yule-tide's pertly-berried twig;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>But common objects by thy art</p> + + <p class="i2">Some proper beauty seem to own;</p> + + <p>Thy chop is as a chop apart,</p> + + <p class="i2">Fraught with a grace before unknown;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The very egg thou poachest seems</p> + + <p class="i2">Some work of deft + <i>orfévrerie</i>,—</p> + + <p>A yolk of gold that chastely gleams</p> + + <p class="i2">Through a thin shrine of ivory.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>From thee no pale and wilted ghost,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or branded by the blackening bar,</p> + + <p>But crisp and cheery comes the toast,</p> + + <p class="i2">And brown as ripening hazels are.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Thy butter has not lost the voice</p> + + <p class="i2">Of English meads, where cowslips + grow,</p> + + <p>And oh, the bacon of thy choice—</p> + + <p class="i2">Rose-jacinth labyrinthed in snow!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And mutton, colder than the kiss</p> + + <p class="i2">Of formal love, where loathing lurks</p> + + <p>Its deadlier chill doth wholly miss,</p> + + <p class="i2">Fired with the spirit of thy works.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>To true occasion thou art true,</p> + + <p class="i2">As upon great occasions great;</p> + + <p>Doing whatever Cook may do</p> + + <p class="i2">When PHYLLIS, neat, alone will wait,</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>As when the neighbouring villas send</p> + + <p class="i2">Their modish guests to statelier + fare,</p> + + <p>And PHYLLIS, neat, is helped to tend</p> + + <p class="i2">By that staid man the Greengrocer.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Though thou art more than plain in look,</p> + + <p class="i2">Thou wieldest charms that never + tire—</p> + + <p>O Cook—we will not call thee Cook,</p> + + <p class="i2">Thou Priestess of the Genial Fire.</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2>LAYING A GHOST!</h2> + + <blockquote> + <p>PROSPECTIVE ARRANGEMENTS.—Owing to the continued + success of <i>Hamlet</i>, it has been decided (by + arrangement with the Author) to postpone, + &c.—<i>Extract from Advertisement in Daily + Paper.</i></p> + + <p>SCENE—<i>Sanctum of</i> Popular Actor-Manager + <i>of Theatre Royal Haymarket</i>, Popular Actor-Manager + <i>dozing over a submitted Play. He closes his eyes and + slumbers. When to him enter</i> Master WILLIAM + SHAKSPEARE.</p> + </blockquote> + + <div class="drama"> + <p><i>Master W.S.</i> (<i>shouting</i>). What ho, Sir + Player! Wake up, Sir, wake up!</p> + + <p><i>P.A.-M.</i> (<i>rousing himself</i>). Delighted to + see you, Mr. SHAKSPEARE. I hope you have been in front and + seen us?</p> + + <p><i>Master W.S.</i> Yes, I just had a glance. Find you + have put in some new business. When will all you fellows + leave me alone?</p> + + <p><i>P.A.-M.</i> (<i>earnestly</i>). I hope, Sir, that in + the cause of Art you do not object, that—</p> + + <p><i>Master W.S.</i> (<i>interrupting</i>). Oh, no! It + makes little difference to me what you do. <i>My</i> + author's fees ceased years ago! But look here, What do you + mean by this? (<i>Produces Press-cutting of advertisement + and reads</i>)—"Theatre Royal, Haymarket, Prospective + Arrangements. Owing to the continued success of + <i>Hamlet</i>, it has been decided (by arrangement with the + Author) to postpone" another play. Now, Master TREE, or as + I may call ye, "Master up a Tree," what have you to say to + that? You see your advertisement has caught my eye. I am + here to answer it!</p> + + <p><i>P.A.-M.</i> Most wonderful! I do not know how or + wherefore my pen slipped, but slip it did, indeed. However, + I apologise. Is that enough?</p> + + <p><i>Master W.S.</i> More than enough!</p> + + <blockquote> + <p><i>Enter the</i> Ghost of HAMLET's Father + <i>suddenly.</i></p> + </blockquote> + + <p><i>Ghost</i> (<i>with a glance at W.S.</i>). Ah, the + Governor here already! Still, I may have my chance as well + as he! I gave the plot of <i>Hamlet</i>! Why shouldn't I + have another shot? (<i>To P.A.-M.</i>)—</p> + + <p class="i8">But that I am forbid</p> + + <p class="i8">To tell the secrets of my prison-house,</p> + + <p class="i8">I could a tale unfold, whose lightest + word</p> + + <p class="i8">Would harrow up thy soul.</p> + + <p><i>P.A.-M.</i> (<i>eagerly</i>). The very thing for a + melodrama. Delighted to make your + acquaintance—hem—in the Spirit!</p> + + <p><i>Master W.S.</i> Nay, good Master Player, this is + scarcely business! If anything in <i>that</i> line is to be + done, I should do it. (<i>To</i> Ghost of HAMLET's Father). + Begone, Sirrah!</p> + + <p><i>Ghost.</i> Nay, this is professional jealousy! (<i>To + P.A.-M.</i>). I find thee apt—</p> + + <blockquote> + <p>[<i>A book falls, and</i> Master WM. SHAKSPEARE + <i>and</i> Ghost of HAMLET's Father <i>vanish + together.</i></p> + </blockquote> + + <p><i>P.A.-M.</i> (<i>opening his eyes</i>). Was I + dreaming? (<i>With a recollection of "The Red Lamp</i>") I + wonder! [<i>Left wondering.</i></p> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2>TAKING A SIGHT AT RINGANDKNOCK.</h2> + + <h4>(<i>By Ruddier Stripling.</i>)</h4> + + <p>After the roughness of the Atlantic, in which to my taste + there is far too much water moving about, I stepped on to + America with considerable relief. I was quite satisfied, after + that excellent dinner, the first I had enjoyed since Liverpool + slid away eastward, to walk aimlessly through the streets till + I fell into the arms of a broad-shouldered, pug-nosed, Irish + New York policeman. I remember no more till New York passed + away on a sunny afternoon, and then I fell asleep again and + slept till the brakeman, conductor, Pullman-car conductor, + negro porter and newsboy somehow managed to pull me out into + the midnight temperature of 80 below freezing. It was just like + having one's head put under the pump, but it did not quite + revive me, for I mistook my host in his sleigh for a walrus, + and tried to harpoon him with my umbrella. After matters had + been explained, we went off, at least I did, and never woke up + till I fell out into a snow-drift, just as we turned a corner + at our journey's end.</p> + + <div class="figright" + style="width:17%;"> + <a href="images/201-2.png"><img width="100%" + src="images/201-2.png" + alt="'Ta-ra-ra-Boom!'" /></a>"Ta-ra-ra-Boom!" + </div> + + <p>In the morning, I had some idea that the sky was a great + sapphire, and that I was inside it, and that the fields were + some sort of velvet or wool-work, going round and round with + the sun rioting over them, whatever that may mean, till my head + ached. I can't quite understand all this now, but it seemed a + very picturesque, impressionist description when I wrote it. + Then I went for a walk down Main Street. I think it is about + 400 miles long, for I got nowhere near the end, but this was + perhaps owing to my uncertainty as to which side was the + pleasanter to walk on. At last I gave it up, and sat down on + the side-walk. Now, the wisdom of Vermont, not being at all + times equal to grasping all the problems of everybody else's + life with delicacy, sometimes makes pathetic mistakes, and it + did so in my ease. I explained to the policeman that I had been + sitting up half the night on a wild horse in New Zealand, and + had only just come over for the day, but it was all in + vain.</p> + + <p>The cell at Vermont was horribly uncomfortable. I dreamt + that I was trying to boil snow in a thimble, to make maple + syrup, and to swim on my head in deep water, with a life-belt + tied to my ankles. There was another man there, and in the + early morning he told me about Mastodons and Plesiosauri in a + wood near the town, and how he caught them by the tails and + photographed them; and also that Ringandknock, a mountain near, + was mentioned by EMERSON in a verse, which I remembered, + because he made "co-eval" rhyme with "extended." Only a truly + great Philosopher could have done that.</p> + + <p>It was all new and delightful; and it must have been true, + because my informant was a quiet, slow-spoken man of the West, + who refrained from laughing at me. I have met very few people + who could do that. Next day all the idleness and trifling were + at an end, and my friends conveyed me back to New York.</p> + <hr /> + + <h3>EPITAPH ON A DYER.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>This Dyer with a dire liver tried</p> + + <p>To earn a living dyeing, and he died.</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page202" + id="page202"></a>[pg 202]</span> + + <h2>THE CONFESSIONS OF A DUFFER.</h2> + + <h3>No. VIII.—THE DUFFER AS A HOST.</h3> + + <p>Of course I don't try to give dinners at home. The + difficulties and anxieties are too enormous. First there is + inviting the people. I like to have none but very clever men + and very pretty women, but nobody's acquaintance is limited to + those rare beings, and, if I did invite them, they would all + have previous engagements: I do not blame them. But suppose + that two or three of the wits and beauties accept, that is + worse than ever, because the rest are a Q.C. (who talks about + his cases) and his wife, who talks about her children. An old + school-fellow, who has no conversation that does not begin, "I + say, do you remember old JACK WILLIAMS." This does not + entertain the beauty, who sits next him.</p> + + <p>A Dowager Duchess, she knows none of the other people and + wonders audibly (to me) who they are. A clever young man, whose + language is the language of the future, and whose humour is of + a date to which I humbly hope my own days may not be prolonged. + A Psychical Researcher, with a note-book; he gets at the + Duchess at once, and cross-examines her about a visionary Piper + who plays audible pibrochs through Castle Blawearie, her + ancestral home. Does she think the pibroch could be taken down + in a phonograph. Could the Piper be snapped in a kodak? The + Duchess does not know what a phonograph is; never heard of a + kodak. She does not like the note-book any more than <i>Mr. + Pickwick's</i> cabman liked it. She is afraid of getting into + print. Then there is the Warden of St. Jude's, a great scholar; + he pricks up his ears, not the keenest, at the word kodak, and + begins to talk about a newly-discovered <i>Codex</i> of + PODONIAN the Elder. Nobody knows what a <i>Codex</i> is. There + is a School-board Lady, but, alas, she is next the Warden of + St. Jude's, not next the enthusiastic Clergyman, who proses + about a Club for Milliners. There is GRIGSBY, who develops an + undesirable interest in the Milliners' Club. Have they a + Strangers' Room? Do they give suppers? Are they Friendly Girls? + Everyone thinks GRIGSBY flippant and coarse; I wish I had not + asked him to come. There is a Positivist, who sneers at the + Clergyman; there are a Squire and his wife from Rutlandshire: + she is next the Radical Candidate for the Isle of Dogs. They do + not seem to get on well together. GRIGSBY and the humorist of + the future are chaffing each other across the table: nobody + understands them; I don't know whether they are quarrelling or + not. Miss JONES, the authoress of <i>Melancholy Moods</i> (in a + Greek dress, with a <i>pince-nez</i>: a woman should not + combine these attributes) is next the Squire: he has never + heard of any of her friends the Minor Poets: she takes no + interest in Hay, nor in Tithes. I see the Guardsman and the + Beauty looking at each other across the flowers and things: the + language of their eyes is not difficult, nor pleasant, to read. + Why is the champagne so hot, and why are the ices so salt and + hard? I know something is the matter with the claret: something + is always the matter with the claret. It has been iced, and the + champagne has been standing for days in an equable temperature + of 65°.</p> + + <div class="figright" + style="width:65%;"> + <a href="images/202.png"><img width="100%" + src="images/202.png" + alt="'It is midnight; I am tired to death.'" /></a>"It + is midnight; I am tired to death. Yes, Bielby + <i>will</i> have something to drink, and another + cigar—a very large one." + </div> + + <p>When they want to go away, it is a wet night, and those who + have come in cabs cannot get cabs to go back in. The Duchess's + coachman lost his way, coming here, she was half-an-hour late: + she is anxious about his finding his way home. GRIGSBY has got + at the Psychical-Researcher, and I hear him telling stories, as + personal experiences, which I know are not true. + Psychical-Researchers have no sense of humour. "S.P.R.," why + not "S.P.Q.R.?" I hear GRIGSBY asking, and suggesting "Society + for Propagating Rubbish." It is very rude of him, and not at + all funny.</p> + + <p>However, they do go away at last, that advantage a dinner at + home has over a dinner at the Club, there they often seem as if + they would never go away at all.</p> + + <p>On the other hand, the wine is all right at the Club, I + believe, for I know nothing about wine myself. Some men talk of + nothing else, and seem to know the vintages without looking at + the names on the bottles.</p> + + <p>The worst of giving a dinner at the Club is, that I never + know how many men I have asked, nor even who they are. It is + enough if I remember the date. It might be a good thing to + write these matters down in a Diary, or on a big sheet of + paper, pinned up in one's room. I know I have written to ask + some Americans whom I have not seen: they brought letters of + introduction. I forget their names—there is a Professor + who has written a novel, there is a General, I think, and a Mad + Doctor.</p> + + <p>My best plan will be to stand about in the drawing-room, and + try to select them as they come in. Here is WILKINSON, who was + at St. Jude's with me: I shake hands with him warmly. He looks + blank. It is not WILKINSON, after all; it is a stranger, he is + dining with somebody else. Some other men have come in while I + am apologising. One of them comes up and says, "Mr. McDUFFER!" + He must be an American. Which? He tells me: he is the Mad + Doctor. He introduces his countrymen; they all say "Mr. + McDUFFER!" How am I to remember which is the General and which + is the Professor? Other people drop in. Here is CRIMPTON. He is + a Reviewer. Clever fellow, CRIMPTON. Here is old + BEILBY—he is hot from the University Match. He begins to + tell me all about it. JONES was awfully well set, but that muff + SMITH ran him out. BEILBY does not believe it <i>was</i> out. + Odd the spite umpires always have at our side. Feel that I must + tear myself from BEILBY, the only man whose conversation really + interests me. Here is an English writer on military subjects. I + introduce him to the American General. Find he is the + Professor, after all. We get down-stairs somehow. BEILBY is + opposite me. CRIMPTON is next the Professor. The Military + Writer is next the General. Things do not appear to go very + smoothly. It seems that the Military one has said something + about General BEAUREGARD which he should not have said. The + General is getting red. I hate it, when men begin to talk about + the American War. Any other war they are welcome to: the Danish + War, the war of 1866, the war of 1870, the glorious affair of + Majuba. But Americans are touchy about their war, not easy to + please them whatever you say. Much best to say nothing. + CRIMPTON is laughing at American novels. He does not know that + the Professor is an American novelist. What am I to do? I try + to kick him under the table. I kick the Mad Doctor, and + apologise. Was feeling about for a footstool. BEILBY is trying + to talk about Base Ball to the General, who is still red. + Nothing is more disagreeable than these international + discussions at dinner.</p> + + <p>Now, a clever host would know how to get out of this; he + would start some other subject. I can think of no other + subject. Happy thought: gradually glide into American cookery, + clams, canvas-backed ducks, what is that dish with a queer + name—Jumbo? I don't feel as if it were Jumbo. Squambo? + Terapin soup? It sounds rather like the Hebrew for a talisman, + or an angel of some sort. However, they are talking about + cookery now, and wines. Is there not an American wine called + Catawampus? The Mad Doctor has his eye on me; he seems + interested. I thought I heard him murmur Aspasia, or Aphasia, + or something like that. It is not Catawampus—it is + Catawba. I feel that I <i>patauge</i>—flounder, I mean. I + am getting quite nervous; feel like a man in a powder-magazine, + with lighted cigarettes everywhere. If one can withdraw them to + the smoking-room, they will settle down somehow. They do. The + Military Critic gets into a corner with BEILBY. The Americans + and I consort together. Most agreeable fellows; have been + everywhere, and seen everything. CRIMPTON, luckily, is reading + one of his own reviews in the evening paper. I glance at it; it + is a review of the Professor's novel. Not a kind + review—rather insulting than otherwise. He hates BEILBY, + and he does not know the Military Critic. If he joins us, there + will be more international discussion. I get them on to the + balcony, and pretend to go to ring the bell for coffee. I + whisper to CRIMPTON. He is quite taken aback. "Awfully sorry; + never dreamed the Professor was not English." He wants to tell + the Professor that, thinks he will be pleased. He apologises to + me; it is dreadfully disagreeable to be apologised to by a + guest. "All my fault," I say; and, really, so it is. CRIMPTON + remembers an evening engagement, and goes off <i>à + l'Anglaise</i>.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page203" + id="page203"></a>[pg 203]</span> + + <div class="figcenter" + style="width:100%;"> + <a href="images/203.png"><img width="60%" + src="images/203.png" + alt="A PENNY FOR THE MEMBER'S THOUGHTS." /></a> + + <h3>A PENNY FOR THE MEMBER'S THOUGHTS.</h3> + </div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page204" + id="page204"></a>[pg 204]</span> + + <p>The Americans go off; say they have enjoyed themselves. I + feel inclined to apologise for CRIMPTON. On second thoughts, I + don't. They do not look like men who write about their + adventures in their native newspapers. Ladies do that. A weight + is off my mind. The Military Writer goes home. He asks, "Who + was that old man who fancied himself so about SHERMAN's March?" + "That was General HOME, who held a command under SHERMAN." The + Military Writer whistles; wishes I had told him that before + dinner. I wish I had, but I got so flurried and confused. It is + midnight; I am tired to death. Yes, BEILBY <i>will</i> have + something to drink, and another cigar—a very large one. + He begins to talk about the University Match, about all + University Matches, about old scores, and old catches, from + MITCHELL's year to the present day.</p> + + <p>It is three o'clock before I get home; the Americans + <i>may</i> have enjoyed themselves, I have not. I dream about + the Mad Doctor; perhaps he will put me into his next book on + <i>Incipient Insanity</i>. Serve me right.</p> + <hr /> + + <h2>THE YOUNG GIRL'S COMPANION.</h2> + + <h4>(<i>By Mrs. Payley.</i>)</h4> + + <h4>I.—THE YOUNG GIRL'S DIARY.</h4> + + <p>My very dear young girls, those Arts and accomplishments + which form part of the average education will be taught you by + your Governess, and in some cases, if your parents think it + judicious, by a male Professor. I do not propose in these + papers to deal with such subjects. But there are certain points + in the life of the young girl, about which the handbooks have + but little to say, which your teachers do not include in their + course of tuition. Some of these points are particularly + intimate and sentimental. It is here that I would wish to act + as your adviser, and, if I may, as your confidential friend. I + shall always be glad, while these papers are being published, + to receive and answer any letters from young girls on questions + of sentiment and propriety. If we had no sentiment, life would + not stand thinking about; if we had no propriety, life would + not stand talking about. Of the two, propriety is, perhaps, for + the woman the more important, but I shall be glad to answer + questions on both. And now let me say a few words on the + subject of the Young Girl's Diary.</p> + + <div class="figleft" + style="width:25%;"> + <a href="images/204.png"><img width="100%" + src="images/204.png" + alt="Young girl." /></a> + </div> + + <p>You must most certainly keep a Diary.</p> + + <p>When I was a young girl of twenty-eight—it is not so + very long ago—I had my Diary bound in pale blue watered + silk; it had three locks and a little silver key which I wore + on a riband round my neck. I never took it off except + to—I mean for the purposes of the toilette. There was a + pocket at the end of the book, which would hold a faded flower + or any little souvenir. I always wrote it in solitude and by + night. Secresy has its ritual, and it is infinitely sweet and + consoling. If you should ever choose to read any passage from + your Diary to the dearest of your girl-friends, the confidence + becomes in consequence so much more confidential; for she will + know that you are reading to her what was never intended for + any human eye to see, and will enjoy it more. If you have the + least appreciation of what sentiment really means, if you feel + that you are misunderstood, or if you suffer from the most + sacred of all emotions, you will most certainly keep a + Diary.</p> + + <p>The entries in the Diary need not be of any great length. I + once had a dear girl-friend who, during the happy season of her + first love, became in the pages of her Diary almost entirely + interjectional. I think this was from natural delicacy. I was + recently stopping at her house, and owing to circumstances over + which she had no control, I am able to reproduce here the + entries which she made in the few days which culminated in her + engagement.</p> + + <p>"<i>September</i> 6.—Why?"</p> + + <p>You observe that she is puzzled to account for her own + emotions, and yet hesitates to give the inevitable solution. + The intense reticence of this entry seems to me peculiarly + beautiful.</p> + + <p>"<i>September</i> 7.—I hate MARY BINDLER."</p> + + <p>I can remember the circumstances very well, and I am + inclined to think that she had some reason to be jealous of + MARY BINDLER. MARY was not at all a nice girl.</p> + + <p>"<i>September</i> 8.—Joy, joy, joy!"</p> + + <p>I think I can explain this entry. MARY BINDLER had been + called away hurriedly. Somebody was dead, or something of that + sort. My friend's expression of relief seems to me very pretty + and natural.</p> + + <p>"<i>September</i> 9.—Ah!"</p> + + <p>"<i>September</i> 10.—Oh!"</p> + + <p>In that little word "Ah!" there is the whole history of a + pic-nic and a carriage accident. It was there that she first + guessed his feelings towards her. I am sorry to say that I have + not been able to obtain any adequate explanation of the "Oh!" + But I know they went out after dinner to see if it was possible + to play tennis by moonlight. I conclude that it was not, for + the next entry, which consists simply of a note of exclamation, + is really a record of her engagement.</p> + + <p>Of course I need not point out the impropriety of mixing in + the pages of your Diary the record of the most sacred emotions, + and notes of things more commonplace. I knew a girl who + invariably did this. She always commenced with an account of + any money that she might have spent during the day. I have + managed, with considerable difficulty, to make a copy of one of + these entries, and I give it as a warning:—</p> + + <p>"Chocolate, one-and-six. ALGERNON has written to me, asking + me to see him again for the last time. I have written back that + my decision is unalterable. It breaks my heart to have to be so + cruel—but fate wills it, and it's no good fighting + against Mamma. Sent my grey to be cleaned—but it won't + look anything when it's done."</p> + + <p>In another entry I found the following:—</p> + + <p>"A dear long letter from EGBERT. How perfect his sympathy + is! Not feeling very well to-day—will always refuse + <i>vol-au-vent</i> in future."</p> + + <p>I need hardly say that a girl who would chronicle the state + of her digestion and the sympathy of her lover in one paragraph + could not possibly have any soul.</p> + + <p>The perfect Diary is something of a paradox. It should be + composed chiefly of what is unpublishable—of one's + secrets and sentiments—but it should always be written as + if with a view to publication. In your Diary you can say things + about yourself which it would be conceited to say openly, and + you can say things about your friends which it would be unkind + to say openly; you can make your own pose seem more real to + yourself. So, my dear young girls, take my advice, and commence + Diaries. And remember I shall be very glad to answer any + questions on the subject.</p> + <hr /> + + <h3>Jokim's Latest Little Joke.</h3> + + <h4>(<i>By a many times disappointed Income-Tax + Payer.</i>)</h4> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>It is out at last, but it falls very flat;</p> + + <p>Such a very big "bag," such a very small "cat"!</p> + + <p>Popularity Budget? It can't be called + <i>that</i>!</p> + + <p>The Budget that was to have been such "good + biz,"</p> + + <p>And have caused the Election to go with a + "whizz,"</p> + + <p>Fizzles out in—reducing the duty on Fizz!</p> + + <p>Ah, JOKIM, my joker, you've hardly the knack</p> + + <p>Of holding the Bag, so we'll give you "<i>the + Sack</i>!"</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <p>"MEET IT IS I SET IT DOWN."—"Mr. J. McN. WHISTLER," it + was remarked by one of his visitors on the closing day of his + recent Exhibition, "has in his Catalogue put down all + unfavourable criticisms." How, in this respect, would all of us + like to imitate the Eccentric Knight of the Order of the + Butterfly, and put down all adverse criticism.</p> + <hr /> + + <p>NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, + whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any + description, will in no case be returned, not even when + accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or + Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.</p> +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14514 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |