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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14745 ***</div>
<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 102,
June 18, 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>June 18, 1892.</h2>
<hr class="full" />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page289"
id="page289"></a>[pg 289]</span>
<h2>THE COURIER OF THE HAGUE.</h2>
<h4>(<i>By the "Vacuus Viator."</i>)</h4>
<p>He is an elderly amiable little Dutchman in a soft felt hat;
his name is BOSCH, and he is taking me about. <i>Why</i> I
engaged him I don't quite know—unless from a general
sense of helplessness in Holland, and a craving for any kind of
companionship. Now I have got him, I feel rather more helpless
than ever—a sort of composite of <i>Sandford</i> and
<i>Merton</i>, with a didactic, but frequently incomprehensible
<i>Dutch Barlow</i>. My <i>Sandford</i> half would like to
exhibit an intelligent curiosity, but is generally suppressed
by <i>Merton</i>, who has a morbid horror of useful
information. Not that BOSCH is remarkably erudite, but
nevertheless he contrives to reduce me to a state of
imbecility, which I catch myself noting with a pained surprise.
There is a statue in the Plein, and the <i>Sandford</i> element
in me finds a satisfaction in recognising it aloud as WILLIAM
the Silent. It is—but, as my <i>Merton</i> part thinks, a
fellow <i>would</i> be a fool if he didn't recognise WILLIAM
after a few hours in Holland—his images, in one form or
another, are tolerably numerous. Still, BOSCH is gratified.
"Yass, dot is ole VOLLIAM," he says, approvingly, as to a
precocious infant just beginning to take notice. "Lokeer," he
says, "you see dot Apoteek?" He indicates a chemist's shop
opposite, with nothing remarkable about it externally, except a
Turk's head with his tongue out over the door. "Yes, I,
speaking for <i>Sandford</i> and <i>Merton</i>, see
it—has it some historical interest—did VOLLIAM get
medicine there, or what?" "Woll, dis mornin dare vas two
sairvans dere, and de von cot two blaces out of de odder's
haid, and afderwarts he go opstairs and vas hang himself mit a
pedbost," BOSCH evidently rather proud of this as illustrating
the liveliness of The Hague. "Was he mad?" "Yass, he vas mard,
mit a vife and seeks childrens." "No, but was he out of his
senses?" "I tink it vas oud of Omsterdam he vas com," says
BOSCH. "But how did it happen?" "Wol-sare, de broprietor vas
die, and leaf de successor de pusiness, and he dells him in von
mons he will go, begause he nod egsamin to be a
Chimigal—so he do it, and dey dake him to de hosbital,
and I tink <i>he</i> vas die too by now!" adds BOSCH,
cheerfully. Very sad affair evidently—but a little
complicated. <i>Sandford</i> would like to get to the bottom of
it, but <i>Merton</i> convinced there is <i>no</i> bottom. So,
between us, subject allowed to drop. <i>Sandford</i> (now in
the ascendant again) notices, as the clever boy, inscription on
house-front, "Hier woonden GROEN VAN PRINSTERER, 1838-76." "I
suppose that means VAN PRINSTERER lived here, BOSCH?" "Yass,
dot vas it." "And who was he?" "He vas—wol, he vos a
Member of de Barliaments." "Was he celebrated?" "Celebrated?
oh, yass!" "What did he <i>do</i>?" (I think <i>Merton</i> gets
this in.) "Do?" says BOSCH, quite indignantly, "he nefer do
<i>nodings</i>!" BOSCH takes me into the Fishmarket, when he
directs my attention to a couple of very sooty live storks, who
are pecking about at the refuse. "Dose birts are shtorks; hier
dey vas oblige to keep alvays two shtorks for de arms of de
Haag. Ven de yong shtorks porn, de old vons vas kill."
<i>Sandford</i> shocked—<i>Merton</i> sceptical. "Keel
dem? Oh, yass, do anytings mit dem ven dey vas old," says
BOSCH, and adds:—"Ve haf de breference mit de shtorks,
eh?" What <i>is</i> he driving at? "Yass—ven <i>ve</i>
vas old, ve vas nod kill." This reminds
BOSCH—<i>Barlow</i>-like—of an anecdote. "Dere vas
a vrent to me," he begins, "he com and say to me, 'BOSCH, I am
god so shtout and my bark is so dick, I can go no more on my
lacks—vat vas I do?' To him I say, 'Wol, I dell you vat I
do mit you—I dake you at de booshair to be cot op; I tink
you vas make vary goot shdeak-meat!'" Wonder whether this is a
typical sample of BOSCH's <i>badinage</i>. "What did he say to
that, BOSCH?" "Oh, he vas vair moch loff, a-course!" says
BOSCH, with the natural complacency of a successful
humorist.</p>
<div class="figright"
style="width:25%;">
<a href="images/289.png"><img width="100%"
src="images/289.png"
alt="'Some story of a scandalous but infinitely humorous nature.'" />
</a>"Some story of a scandalous but infinitely humorous
nature."
</div>
<p>We go into the Old Prison, and see some horrible implements
of torture, which seem to exhilarate BOSCH. "Lokeer!" he says,
"Dis vas a pinition" (BOSCH for "punishment") "mit a can. Dey
lie de man down and vasten his foots, and efery dime he was
shdrook mit de can, he jomp op and hit his vorehaid.... Hier
dey lie down de beoples on de back, and pull dis shdring
queeck, and all dese tings go roundt, and preak deir bones. Ven
de pinition vas feenish you vas det." He shows where the
Water-torture was practised. "Nottice 'ow de vater vas vork a
'ole in de tile," he chuckles. "I tink de tile vas vary hardt
det, eh?" Then he points out a pole with a spiked prong.
"Tief-catcher—put'em in de tief's nack—and ged
'im!" Before a grim-looking cauldron he halts appreciatively.
"You know vat dat vas for?" he says. "Dat vas for de
blode-foots; put 'em in dere, yass, and light de vire
onderneat." No idea what "<i>blode-foots</i>" may be, but from
the relish in BOSCH's tone, evidently something very
unpleasant, so don't press him for explanations. We go
upstairs, and see some dark and very mouldy dungeons, which
BOSCH is most anxious that I should enter. Make him go in
<i>first</i>, for the surroundings seem to have excited his
sense of the humorous to such a degree, that he might be unable
to resist locking me in, and leaving me, if I gave him a
chance.</p>
<p>Outside at last, thank goodness! The Groote Kerk, according
to BOSCH, "is not vort de see," so we don't see it.
<i>Sandford</i> has a sneaking impression that I ought to go
in, but <i>Merton</i> glad to be let off. We go to see the
pictures at the Mauritshuis instead. BOSCH exchanges greetings
with the attendants in Dutch. "Got <i>another</i> of 'em in
tow, you see—and collar-work, <i>I</i> can tell you!"
would be a free translation, I suspect, of his remarks. Must
say that, in a Picture-gallery, BOSCH is a superfluous luxury.
He <i>does</i> take my ignorance just a trifle too much for
granted. He <i>might</i> give me credit for knowing the story
of ADAM and EVE, at all events! "De Sairpan gif EVA de opple,
an' EVA she gif him to ADAM," BOSCH carefully informs me,
before a "<i>Paradise</i>," by RUBENS and BRUEGHEL. This rouses
my <i>Merton</i> half to inquire what ADAM did with it. "Oh,
<i>he</i> ead him too!" says BOSCH in perfect good faith. I do
wish, too, he wouldn't lead me up to PAUL POTTER's
"<i>Bull</i>," and ask me enthusiastically if it isn't "real
meat." I shouldn't mind it so much if there were not several
English people about, without couriers—but there
<i>are</i>. My only revenge is (as <i>Merton</i>) to carefully
pick out the unsigned canvases and ask BOSCH who painted them;
whereupon, BOSCH endeavours furtively to make out the label on
the frames, and then informs me in desperation, "it was
'<i>School</i>.'—yass, <i>he</i> baint him!" BOSCH kindly
explains the subject of every picture in detail. He tells me a
DROOCHSLOOT represents a "balsham pedder." I suppose I look
bewildered, for he adds—"oppen air tance mit a village."
"Hier dey vas haf a tispute; dis man say de ham vas more value
as de cheese—dere is de cheese, and dere is the ham."
"Hier is an old man dot marry a yong vife, and two tevils com
in, and de old man he ron avay." "Hier he dress him in voman,
and de vife is vrighten." "Hier is JAN STEEN himself as a
medicine, and he veel de yong voman's polse and say dere is
nodings de madder, and de modder ask him to trink a glass of
vine." "Hier is de beach at Skavening—now dey puild
houses on de dunes—bot de beach is schdill dere." Such
are BOSCH's valuable and instructive comments, to which, as
representing <i>Sandford</i> and <i>Merton</i>, I listen with
depressed docility. All the same, can't help coming to the
conclusion that Art is <i>not</i> BOSCH's strong point. Shall
come here again—alone. We go on to the Municipal Museum,
where he shows me what <i>he</i> considers the treasures of the
collection—a glass goblet, engraved "mit dails of tobaggo
bipes," and the pipes themselves; a painting of a rose "mit ade
beople's faces in de leafs;" and a drawing of "two pirts mit
only von foots."</p>
<p>Outside again. BOSCH shows me a house. "Lokeer. In dot house
leef an oldt lady all mit herself and ade sairvans. She com
from Friesland, yassir." Really, I think BOSCH is going to be
interesting—at last. There is a sly twinkle in his eye,
denoting some story of a scandalous but infinitely humorous
nature. "Well, BOSCH, go on—what about the old lady?" I
ask, eagerly, as <i>Merton</i>. "Wol, Sir," says BOSCH, "she
nefer go noveres." ... That's <i>all</i>! "A devilish
interesting story, <i>Sumph</i>, indeed!" to quote <i>Mr.
Wagg</i>.</p>
<p>But, as BOSCH frequently reminds me, "It vas pedder, you
see, as a schendlemans like you go apout mit me; I dell you
tings dot vas nod in de guide-books." Which I am not in a
position to deny.</p>
<hr />
<p>BY ONE OF THE UNEMPLOYED.—"It is a curious fact,"
wrote the Recording Angel, a very superior sort of person to
"the Printer's Devil," on the <i>Daily Telegraph</i>, "that in
Greater London last week the births registered were just one
more than twice the number of deaths. Thus grows the population
in this great Babylon." Very appropriate, in this instance, is
the title of "Great Baby-lon." If you put it down an "e," my
Lord, and spell it "berths," then these are by no means in
proportion to the unemployed youth in search of them.</p>
<hr />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page290"
id="page290"></a>[pg 290]</span>
<div class="figcenter"
style="width:100%;">
<h3>DISSOLUTION—(AS THE ENEMY OF THE LONDON
SEASON).</h3><a href="images/290.png"><img width="60%"
src="images/290.png"
alt="DISSOLUTION--(AS THE ENEMY OF THE LONDON SEASON)." /></a>
</div>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>There was a sound of revelry by day,</p>
<p>And England's Capital had gathered then,</p>
<p>Her Beauty and her Masherdom, and gay</p>
<p>Spring's sun shone o'er smart women and swell
men;</p>
<p>A thousand shops shone showily; and when</p>
<p>MAY came to Mayfair, FLORA to Pall-Mall,</p>
<p>Shrewd eyes winked hope to eyes which winked
again,</p>
<p>And maids heard sounds as of the marriage-bell.</p>
<p class="i2">But hush! hark! a harsh sound strikes
like a sudden knell!</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>Did ye not hear it? Is it howling wind?</p>
<p>The tram-car rattling o'er the stony street?</p>
<p>The groans of M.P.'s wearily confined</p>
<p>To the dull House when night and morning meet,</p>
<p>Dragged to Divisions drear with dawdling feet?</p>
</div>
</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page291"
id="page291"></a>[pg 291]</span>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>No, hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more,</p>
<p>The street, the hall its echoes now repeat,</p>
<p>And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!</p>
<p class="i2">Arm! Arm! it is—it is—the
Elections' opening roar!</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>'Tis in our midst—that figure draped and
dim,</p>
<p>Whose mocking music makes us all afraid.</p>
<p>"Death as the Foe!" Can it indeed be <i>Him</i>?</p>
<p>Duller, more dirge-like tune was never played</p>
<p>On strings more spirit-chilling. Feet are stayed</p>
<p>Though in mid-waltz, and laughter, though at
height,</p>
<p>Hushes, and maidens modishly arrayed</p>
<p>For matrimonial conquest, shrink with fright;</p>
<p class="i2">And Fashion palsied sits, and Shopdom
takes to flight.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>Ah! then and there are hurryings to and fro</p>
<p>And gathering tears, and poutings of distress,</p>
<p>And cheeks all pale, which some short hours ago</p>
<p>Glowed with the deep delights of Dance and
Dress;</p>
<p>And there are sudden partings, such as press</p>
<p>The hope from Spoons of promise, meaning sighs</p>
<p>Which ne'er may be repeated; who can guess</p>
<p>If ever more shall meet those mutual eyes,</p>
<p class="i2">When Dissolution snaps the Season's
tenderest ties?</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>And there is scuttling in hot haste: the steed,</p>
<p>The Coaching Meet, the Opera's latest star,</p>
<p>The Row, the River, the Vitellian feed,—</p>
<p>All the munitions of the Social War,</p>
<p>Seem fruitless now, when peal on peal afar</p>
<p>And near, the beat of the great Party Drum</p>
<p>Rouses M.P.'s to platform joust and jar,</p>
<p>While tongue-tied dullards scarcely dare be
dumb,</p>
<p class="i2">When the Whips whisper "Go!" Wirepullers
clamour "Come!"</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>"Too bad! Too bad!" The Influenza chilled,</p>
<p>Court-mourning marred, the Season's earliest
prime,</p>
<p>And now, just as with hope young breasts are
filled,</p>
<p>When young leaves still are verdant on the lime,</p>
<p>When diners-out are having a good time,</p>
<p>When Epsom's o'er and Ascot is at hand;</p>
<p>To cut all short, is scarcely less than crime.</p>
<p>Confusion on that wrangling party-band</p>
<p class="i2">Whose Dissolution deals the doldrums
round the land!</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>Ah! wild and high those Phantom-fiddlings
rise!—</p>
<p>All jocund June with palsying terror thrills;</p>
<p>Fashion sits frozen dead with staring eyes.</p>
<p>How that dread dirge the ambient Summer fills</p>
<p>Savage and shrill! Smart frocks, soft snowy
frills,</p>
<p>Long trains which dancing Beauty deftly steers.</p>
<p>Through waltzes wild or devious
quadrilles,—</p>
<p>All vanish; bosoms white, beset with fears;</p>
<p class="i2">Beat flight as that fell strain falls
harsh on Beauty's ears.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>And June yet waves above them her green leaves,</p>
<p>Dewy with Springtide's night-drops as they pass</p>
<p>Grieving,—if aught that's modish ever
grieves,—</p>
<p>Over the unreturning chance. Alas!</p>
<p>Their hopes are all cut down ere falls the
grass.</p>
<p>That with corn-harvest might have seen full
blow.</p>
<p>See how foiled Shopdom flies, a huddled mass</p>
<p>Of disappointment, hurrying from the foe,</p>
<p class="i2">Who all their Season's prospects
shatters, and lays low.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>Last month beheld them full of lusty life.</p>
<p>Beauty, and Wealth, and Pleasure, proudly gay;</p>
<p>This music brings the signal-sound of strife,</p>
<p>This month the marshalling to arms. Away!</p>
<p>Party's magnificently sham array</p>
<p>The muster of Mode's mob will soon have rent.</p>
<p>Play on, O Phantom, ominously play!</p>
<p>Death as the Foe! They fly before thee, blent,</p>
<p class="i2">Maid, Matron, Masher, Mime, in general
discontent!</p>
</div>
</div>
<hr />
<div class="figcenter"
style="width:70%;">
<a href="images/291.png"><img width="100%"
src="images/291.png"
alt="THE DARWINIAN THEORY—VARIATION FROM ENVIRONMENT." />
</a>
<h3>THE DARWINIAN THEORY—VARIATION FROM
ENVIRONMENT.</h3>
<table align="center"
summary="caption">
<tr>
<td>"KNOCKED 'EM IN THE OLD KENT KOAD!"</td>
<td>"ATTRACTED ALL EYES AT CHURCH PARADE."</td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<hr />
<h3>ADVICE GRATIS.</h3>
<p>DEBT.—"SIMPLE SIMON" writes: "A man owes me money
which he cannot pay. He lives in furnished lodgings, and has
given me a Bill of Sale on the furniture. Is this sufficient
security? He also offers to insure his life for £200 if I will
advance him £100, which will be the cost of the first premium,
which he says is always heavy. I am disposed to close with this
offer. Am I prudent?"—Prudent is hardly the word to
describe you. We should not in your position make the advance
mentioned. A retreat would be much better tactics. We fancy,
from your description, that your friend would do well as a
Company Promoter.</p>
<p>STOCK-DEALING TRANSACTIONS.—"Will you advise me under
the following circumstances?" asks "CHEERFUL SOUL," on a
post-card. "I placed £50 with an Outside Broker as a
speculation for the rise in Cashville and Toothpeka First
Preference. Yesterday I received a note to say I had lost my
money, as 'cover had run off.' On repairing to the Broker's
Office, I was surprised to find it apparently deserted. What is
my remedy?"—We should imagine that the Broker had "run
off" too. Your remedy is—not to speculate again.
"Flutters" lead to the Gutters.</p>
<hr />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page292"
id="page292"></a>[pg 292]</span>
<div class="figcenter"
style="width:55%;">
<a href="images/292-1.png"><img width="100%"
src="images/292-1.png"
alt="THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE EXPRESSED OTHERWISE." />
</a>
<h3>THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE EXPRESSED OTHERWISE.</h3>
<p><i>Married Vicar</i>, "WELL, MY BISHOP WAS VERY
PARTICULAR WITH <i>ME</i>. AMONG OTHER THINGS, HE ASKED ME,
BEFORE PRESENTING ME, <i>WHETHER MY WIFE WAS A
LADY</i>!"</p>
<p><i>His Curate</i> (<i>reflectively</i>). "I CAN
<i>QUITE</i> UNDERSTAND <i>THAT</i>!"</p>
</div>
<hr />
<h2>THE WAY THEY HAVE IN THE ARMY.</h2>
<h4>(<i>A Conversation—Purely Imaginary.</i>)</h4>
<blockquote>
<p>SCENE—<i>Pall Mall. Present</i>, SECRETARY OF
STATE <i>and</i> Military Adviser.</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="drama">
<p><i>Mil. A.</i> I want to know your ideas about the
Autumn Manoeuvres. Are we to have any this year?</p>
<p><i>Sec. of S.</i> (<i>with a melancholy smile</i>). That
depends upon circumstances not entirely under my
control.</p>
<p><i>Mil. A.</i> Oh, yes; I know. But Governments may come
and Governments may go, but the State flows on for ever.
Whatever <i>you</i> commence <i>they</i> will have to carry
out.</p>
<p><i>Sec. of S.</i> Can we have these Manoeuvres without
expense?</p>
<p><i>Mil. A.</i> Well, scarcely. For instance, there is
the ammunition.</p>
<p><i>Sec. of S.</i> Oh, we can get over that! Every
soldier, when he is supposed to fire, can say, "Bang!" or
words to that effect. We might add the direction to the new
Provisional Drill-Book.</p>
<p><i>Mil. A.</i> (<i>drily</i>). Yes, you might; and it
would prove about as useful as the other regulations in
that remarkable volume! Well, suppose the difficulty of
ammunition surmounted, what next?</p>
<p><i>Sec. of S.</i> Well, I suppose we shall have to spend
some money on the farmers for rights of way and the rest of
it?</p>
<p><i>Mil. A.</i> I suppose so, if you want the troops to
move over an unfamiliar country.</p>
<p><i>Sec. of S.</i> But I am not sure I do. Why shouldn't
they learn how to defend Aldershot? Then it would cost
nothing. What next?</p>
<p><i>Mil. A.</i> Well, there will be the Commissariat
expenses.</p>
<p><i>Sec. of S.</i> Suppose food costs the same in most
places. Besides, isn't TOMMY ATKINS supposed to purchase
his own victuals?</p>
<p><i>Mil. A.</i> Yes, theoretically I suppose he is; but
practically he—</p>
<p><i>Sec. of S.</i> Oh, bother practice! Of course he
must, somehow; he must pay for the Commissariat out of his
own pocket.</p>
<p><i>Mil. A.</i> Well, then there is the question of
transport. Of course, many regiments have their own waggons
and carts, but for a special occasion I think it would be
advisable if—</p>
<p><i>Sec. of S.</i> (<i>interrupting</i>). What nonsense!
Why, of course we will make them all walk. It will do them
a world of good!</p>
<p><i>Mil. A.</i> Well, as we want to bring some from
Scotland, it will distinctly be a long walk—a very
long walk indeed!</p>
<p><i>Sec. of S.</i> (<i>heartily</i>). So much the
better—so much the better!</p>
<p><i>Mil. A.</i> (<i>sarcastically</i>). I fancy you will
have to pay a large bill in shoe-leather!</p>
<p><i>Sec. of S.</i> (<i>aghast</i>). So we shall! Oh,
bother the Manoeuvres just now! The fact is, I have to
think of other things!</p>
<blockquote>
<p>[<i>Scene closes in upon</i> Secretary <i>thinking
of other things.</i></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
<hr />
<h2>STUDIES IN THE NEW POETRY.</h2>
<h3>No. II.</h3>
<p>MR. PUNCH's first example of the New Poetry was, it may be
remembered, in the rhymed, irregular style. It is not a
difficult style. The lines may be long or short; some may groan
under an accumulation of words, while others consist of merely
two or three—a most unfair distribution. The style of the
following specimen, (also by Mr. H-NL-Y) is, however, even
easier to manage. There are no rhymes and very few
restrictions. The lines are very short, and a few words,
therefore, go a very long way, which is always a consideration,
even if you don't happen to be paid by the column. This style
is very fierce and bloodthirsty and terrible. Timid people are,
therefore, advised, for the sake of their nerves, not to read
any farther.</p>
<h3>THE SONG OF THE POKER.</h3>
<div class="figright"
style="width:45%;">
<a href="images/292-2.png"><img width="100%"
src="images/292-2.png"
alt="" /></a>
</div>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i4">The Poker,</p>
<p class="i4">Clanging.</p>
<p>I am the Poker the straight and the strong,</p>
<p class="i2">Prone in the fire grate,</p>
<p class="i2">Black at the nether end,</p>
<p class="i2">Knobby and nebulous.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2">Fashioned for fight</p>
<p class="i2">In the Pit Acherontic:</p>
<p class="i2">Many have grappled me,</p>
<p class="i2">Poised me and thrust me</p>
<p class="i4">Into the glowing,</p>
<p class="i2">The flashing and furious</p>
<p class="i4">Heart of the fire.</p>
<p class="i2">Raked with me, prized with me,</p>
<p class="i4">Till on a sudden</p>
<p class="i2">Besparked and encircled</p>
<p class="i2">With Welsh or with Wallsend,</p>
<p class="i4">Shattering, battering</p>
<p class="i6">They drew me away.</p>
<p class="i4">Others in rivalry,</p>
<p class="i6">Thinking to better</p>
<p class="i2">The previous performance,</p>
<p class="i4">Seized me again;</p>
<p class="i2">Pushed with a leverage</p>
<p class="i4">Hard on the haft of me,</p>
<p class="i2">Till with the shocks</p>
<p class="i2">Sank the red fire,</p>
<p class="i2">Shivered and sank</p>
<p class="i2">Subdued into blackness.</p>
<p class="i4">That is my Toil;</p>
<p class="i2">I am the Poker.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>Oh, and the burglar's head</p>
<p class="i2">Often hath felt me,</p>
<p class="i2">Hard, undesirable</p>
<p class="i2">Cracker of craniums.</p>
<p>I have drunk of the blood,</p>
<p>The red blood, the life-blood</p>
<p class="i2">Of the wife of the drunkard.</p>
<p>Hoh! then, the glory.</p>
<p class="i2">The joyous, ineffable</p>
<p class="i2">Cup of fulfilment,</p>
<p class="i2">When the policeman,</p>
<p class="i2">Tall with a bull's-eye,</p>
<p class="i2">Took me and shook me,</p>
<p class="i2">Produced me in evidence,</p>
<p class="i2">There in the dim</p>
<p class="i2">Unappeasable grisliness</p>
<p class="i2">Of the Police-Court.</p>
<p>Women to shrink at me,</p>
<p>Men to be cursed with me,</p>
<p>Bloodstained, contemptuous,</p>
<p class="i2">Laid on the table.</p>
<p class="i2">I am the Minister,</p>
<p class="i4">Azrael's Minister.</p>
<p class="i4">I am the Poker.</p>
</div>
</div>
<hr />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page293"
id="page293"></a>[pg 293]</span>
<div class="figcenter"
style="width:50%;">
<a href="images/293-1.png"><img width="100%"
src="images/293-1.png"
alt="VENUS (ANNO DOMINI 1892) RISES FROM THE SEA!!" />
</a>
<h3>VENUS (ANNO DOMINI 1892) RISES FROM THE SEA!!</h3>
</div>
<hr />
<h2>OPERATIC NOTES.</h2>
<p><i>Wednesday</i>.—Great German Night. Third Part of
the Festival Play for Four Nights by RICHARD WAGNER, with
(thank goodness just to lighten it) an English translation by
the Messrs. CORDER.</p>
<p>"<i>Sursum Corder!</i>" A light and airy work as everyone
knows is <i>Der Ring des Nibelungen</i>, or <i>The Nibelung's
Ring</i>, requiring all the power of lungs to get the true ring
out of the work. Hard work for singers, more so for orchestra,
and most so for audience. As for the "Ring," there are a lot of
animals in the Opera, but no horse, so the Circus entertainment
is not complete until <i>Brünnhilde</i> shall appear in the
next part of the tetralogy, with her highly-trained steed. Odd!
Throughout two long (and, ahem! somewhat weary, eh?) Acts, not
a female singer visible on stage (though one sings "like a
bird" off it,—that is, quite appropriately, "at the
wings"), and not until the Third Act, does <i>Erda</i> the
witch "rise from below," and we all saw her and 'Erd 'er. Then,
later on, appears <i>Brünnhilde</i>, asleep, "in a complete
suit of gleaming plate-armour, with helmet on her head and long
shield over her body," a style of free-and-easy costume which,
as everyone knows, is highly conducive to sleeping in perfect
comfort. No wonder <i>Siegfried</i> mistakes her for a
man-in-armour out of the Lord Mayor's Show, and exclaims,</p>
<div class="figright"
style="width:50%;">
<a href="images/293-2.png"><img width="100%"
src="images/293-2.png"
alt="Scenes in the Ring. Sir Alvary Siegfried, with Nothung on, as Master of 'the Ring,' gives a Special Entertainment." />
</a>Scenes in the Ring. Sir Alvary Siegfried, with Nothung
on, as Master of "the Ring," gives a Special Entertainment.
</div>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>"Ha, a Warrior, sure!</p>
<p>I scan with wonder his form!"</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>(I was scanning with wonder the verses,—but
<i>passons!</i>)—he continues:—</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>"His haughty head</p>
<p>Is pressed by the helm!"</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>This at first sight looks nautical; and therefore his next
question is, "Can I speak to the man at the wheel?" He decides
that, as the sleeping warrior "heaveth his breast," and "is
heavily breathing," it will be a humane act to give him a
little air,—[which is done in the orchestra whatever air
there is],—and then <i>Siegfried</i> asks himself if it
won't be as well, or "better, to open his byrnie?" Those among
the audience who have been carefully reading the translation up
to this point, here look up and closely watch
<i>Siegfried's</i> proceedings, being evidently uncertain as to
what "his byrnie" may be. Some clever person in Stalls observes
that up to now, he has always thought that "'byrnie' was the
affectionate diminutive for a mountain 'byrne' in Scotland."
Which clever person had evidently much to learn. However the
effect of the operation for "byrnie" (which ought to have been
performed by Dr. BYRNIE YEO, ever ready to rescue a
fellow-creature in distress) is to show that the supposed
Knight is a Lady. Whereupon <i>Siegfried</i> with "surprise and
astonishment starts back" exclaiming:—</p>
<p>"This is no man! Burning enchantment"—he meant
"Byrnieing"—"charges my heart;"—(what charge does a
heart make in these circumstances?)—"fiery awe falls on
my eyesight;" (bad symptoms these!)—"My senses stagger
and sway,"—So <i>he</i> swaggers and stays.</p>
<p>It is some time before he can pull himself together, and
then the "Bewitched Maiden" awakes and addresses him
bewitchingly. This causes him to be taken with a fit of
"exalted rapture," while the lady, on her part, cannot help
being "deeply stirred."</p>
<p>After a mad wooing, she laughs in a "wild transport of
passion," calls him a "high-minded boy," likewise "a blossoming
hero," also "a babe of prowess;" all which epithets, styles and
titles, are in quite the vein of <i>Falstaff</i> addressing
<i>Prince Hal</i>. Then, in return, <i>Siegfried</i> can hit on
no better compliment than to style her "a Sun" and "a Star."
Having thus exhausted their joint-stock of complimentary
endearments, they throw themselves into each other's arms. On
which situation the Curtain discreetly falls.</p>
<div class="figright"
style="width:32%;">
<a href="images/293-3.png"><img width="100%"
src="images/293-3.png"
alt="Sir Druriolanus Wagnerensis offering the Tea-tray-logy to his Patrons." />
</a>Sir Druriolanus Wagnerensis offering the Tea-tray-logy
to his Patrons.
</div>
<p>All very fine and large, of course. Orchestra splendid.
<i>Siegfried</i> and <i>Brünnhilde</i> recalled four times.
Everybody, including Mr. MAHLER the Conductor, and Sir AUGUSTUS
WAGNERENSIS, called before Curtain. Madame ROSA SUCHER had her
evening all to herself, to go wherever she liked, as she had
only to drop in at the Opera at 11 P.M., don her armour in
which to appear before the public at midnight, sing a few
solos, join in a duet, and be off the stage again by 12:30 A.M.
punctually.</p>
<p>The English translation will repay perusal. There are in it
some really choice morsels. This subject must be considered at
the earliest operatunity.</p>
<p>The Singing Dragon is delightful throughout, and his death
as tragic as anything in <i>Pyramis</i> and <i>Thisbe</i> as
played by <i>Bottom the Weaver & Co</i>,
<i>Limited</i>.</p>
<p><i>Saturday</i>.—Production of the Illustrious ISIDORE
DE LARA's <i>Light of Asia</i>. So the operatic day, that is
Saturde-ay, finishes with generally-expressed opinion that this
Opera is a</p>
<blockquote>
<p>"DE-LA-RA-Boom-de-ay!"</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Everything scenically and stage-managerially that could be
done to make <i>The Light of Asia</i> brilliant, Sir
DRURIOLANUS has done; but, after a first hearing, it strikes me
that, regarded as a work for the stage, it is a mere
<i>Night-light of Asia</i>, which, like <i>Macbeth's</i> "brief
candle," will go "out," and "then be heard no more." If,
however, it be relegated to the concert-hall, as a Cantata,
<i>The Light of Asia</i> may appear lighter than it does on the
boards of Covent Garden, where, intended to be a dramatic
Opera, it only recalls to me the title of one of RUDYARD
KIPLING's stories, viz., <i>The Light that Failed</i>.</p>
<hr />
<p>A SUTTON THOUGHT.—Mr. CHAMBERLAIN can now allude to
Lord ROSEBERY as "a Sutton person of his acquaintance."</p>
<hr />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page294"
id="page294"></a>[pg 294]</span>
<div class="figcenter"
style="width:100%;">
<a href="images/294.png"><img width="100%"
src="images/294.png"
alt="QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS." /></a>
<h3>QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.</h3>
<p><i>Unfashionable Mother.</i> "WHAT A SWEET CHILD! HOW
OLD IS SHE?"</p>
<p><i>Fashionable Mother.</i> "WELL, REALLY, IF YOU ARE
GOING TO ASK <i>THAT</i> SORT OF QUESTION, I'D BETTER SEND
FOR THE NURSE!"</p>
</div>
<hr />
<h2>AN OLD SONG REVIVED.</h2>
<blockquote>
<p>(<i>As sung by the Champion Ulster "Comique," Colonel
S-nd-rs-n, to the old tune of "De Groves of de Pool,"
written by "honest Dick Millikin."</i>)</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>Whillaloo! If they droive us to foighting,</p>
<p class="i2">'Tis ourselves who will lead 'em a
dance,</p>
<p>Till, loike the Cork bhoys, they're deloighting,</p>
<p class="i2"><i>Back again</i> to their homes to
<i>advance</i>!</p>
<p>No longer in beating such rebels</p>
<p class="i2">We'll take than in baiting a bull.</p>
<p>How they'll squake, in effeminate trebles,</p>
<p class="i2">When Ulster's battalions are full!</p>
<p class="i10">Ri fol didder rol didder rol!</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p><i>We</i> trate 'em as loving relations?</p>
<p class="i2"><i>We</i> trust to the "Union of
Hearts"?</p>
<p><i>We</i> heed the Grand Old One's orations?</p>
<p class="i2"><i>We</i> play the Minority's parts?</p>
<p><i>We</i> bow to the yoke of TIM HEALY?</p>
<p class="i2"><i>We</i> stoop to the Papisthry
rule?</p>
<p>Faix! them who imagine it really</p>
<p class="i2">Must fancy that "Orange" spells
"fool."</p>
<p class="i10">Ri fol didder rol didder rol!</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p><i>We</i> consint to a sham House o' Commons</p>
<p class="i2">Established on ould College Green?</p>
<p>They fancy we're Radical rum 'uns!</p>
<p class="i2">Allaygiance we owe to our QUEEN!</p>
<p>But we're fly to <i>their</i> thraitorous
dodges;</p>
<p class="i2">Our loyalty's edge would they dull?</p>
<p>Fwit! We'll pour like a flood from our Lodges,</p>
<p class="i2">And crack every "National" skull!</p>
<p class="i10">Ri fol didder rol didder rol!</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>We're all friends of Law and of Order,</p>
<p class="i2">But would they wrench <i>us</i> from the
Crown?</p>
<p>We'll soon be a-singing "<i>Boyne Water</i>,"</p>
<p class="i2">And marching to "<i>Croppies, lie
down!</i>"</p>
<p>'Tis we have the Men and the Money,</p>
<p class="i2">We don't <i>want</i> to foight, we're
quite cool.</p>
<p>But, by Jingo, our foes will look funny,</p>
<p class="i2">When Ulster turns out 'gin Home Rule!</p>
<p class="i10">Ri fol didder rol didder rol!</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>To-day in our myriads we muster.</p>
<p class="i2">Friendly <i>warning</i> is all that
<i>we</i> mean.</p>
<p>About SOLLY's "incitement" Rads fluster;</p>
<p class="i2">We're thrue to the Crown and the
QUEEN:</p>
<p>But Ulster no "pathriot" shall sever,</p>
<p class="i2">And Ulster no "Papish" shall school.</p>
<p>Whillaloo! Here's the Union for ever,</p>
<p class="i2">And into the Boyne wid Home Rule!</p>
<p class="i10">Ri fol didder rol didder rol!</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>Och! Here's to Dutch WILLIAM the Pious!</p>
<p class="i2">And here's to VICTORIA the Good!</p>
<p>If they think we <i>won't</i> foight, let 'em try
us!</p>
<p class="i2">They mock at an Orangeman's mood,</p>
<p>But once set the Green 'gainst the Yellow,</p>
<p class="i2">(Wid no one our coat-tails to pull,)</p>
<p>And I pity the pathriots who bellow</p>
<p class="i2">(Like bhoys in a bog) for Home Rule!</p>
<p class="i10">Ri fol didder rol didder rol!</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>Come, all loyal props of the nation,</p>
<p class="i2">Come fill up a bumper all round!</p>
<p>Drink success to our great federation;</p>
<p class="i2">With Brummy JOE's blessing 'tis
crowned.</p>
<p><i>He</i> says we are heroes, right stingo,</p>
<p class="i2"><i>He</i> vows W.G.'s an old fool.</p>
<p>No, we <i>don't</i> want to fight, but, by
Jingo,</p>
<p class="i2">Whin we <i>do</i>—it's all up wid
Home Rule!</p>
<p class="i10">Ri fol didder rol didder rol!</p>
<p class="i10">[<i>Left "bombinating."</i></p>
</div>
</div>
<hr />
<h2>A BACHELOR'S GROWL.</h2>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>Oh, the beautiful women, the women of ancient
days,</p>
<p class="i2">The ripe and the red, who are done and
dead,</p>
<p class="i4">With never a word of praise;</p>
<p>The rich, round SALLIES and SUSANS, the POLLIES and
JOANS and PRUES,</p>
<p class="i2">Who guarded their fame, and saw no
shame</p>
<p class="i4">In walking in low-heeled shoes.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>They never shrieked on a platform; they never
desired a vote;</p>
<p class="i2">They sat in a row and liked things
slow,</p>
<p class="i4">While they knitted or patched a coat.</p>
<p>They lived with nothing of Latin, and a jolly sight
less of Greek,</p>
<p class="i2">And made up their books, and changed
their cooks</p>
<p class="i4">On an average once a week.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>They never ventured in hansoms, nor climbed to the
topmost 'bus,</p>
<p class="i2">Nor talked with a twang in the latest
slang;</p>
<p class="i4">They left these fashions to us.</p>
<p>But, ah, she was sweet and pleasant, though possibly
not well-read,</p>
<p class="i2">The excellent wife who cheered your
life,</p>
<p class="i4">And vanished at ten to bed.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>And it's oh the pity, the pity that time should ever
annul</p>
<p class="i2">The wearers of skirts who mended
shirts,</p>
<p class="i4">And never thought nurseries dull.</p>
<p>For everything's topsy-turvy now, the men are bedded
at ten,</p>
<p class="i2">While the women sit up, and smoke and
sup</p>
<p class="i4">In the Club of the Chickless Hen.</p>
</div>
</div>
<hr />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page295"
id="page295"></a>[pg 295]</span>
<div class="figcenter"
style="width:100%;">
<a href="images/295.png"><img width="70%"
src="images/295.png"
alt="AN OLD SONG REVIVED." /></a>
<h3>AN OLD SONG REVIVED.</h3>COLONEL S-ND-RS-N <i>(the
Irish "Lion Comique") sings</i>—
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>"WE DON'T WANT TO FIGHT,</p>
<p>BUT, BY JINGO, IF WE DO, ——"</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page297"
id="page297"></a>[pg 297]</span>
<h3>THE USEFUL CRICKETER.</h3>
<h4>(<i>A Candid Veteran's Confession.</i>)</h4>
<div class="figright"
style="width:18%;">
<a href="images/297-1.png"><img width="100%"
src="images/297-1.png"
alt="" /></a>
</div>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>I am rather a "pootlesome" bat—</p>
<p class="i2">I seldom, indeed, make a run;</p>
<p>But I'm rather the gainer by that,</p>
<p class="i2">For it's bad to work hard in the sun.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>As a "field" I am not worth a jot,</p>
<p class="i2">And no one expects me to be;</p>
<p>My run is an adipose trot,</p>
<p class="i2">My "chances" I never can see.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>I am never invited to bowl,</p>
<p class="i2">And though, p'raps, this seems like a
slight</p>
<p>In the depths of my innermost soul</p>
<p class="i2">I've a notion the Captain is right.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>In short, I may freely admit</p>
<p class="i2">I am not what you'd call a great
catch;</p>
<p>But yet my initials are writ</p>
<p class="i2">In the book against every match!</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>For although—ay, and there is the
rub—</p>
<p class="i2">I am forty and running to fat,</p>
<p>I have made it all right with the Club,</p>
<p class="i2">By presenting an Average Bat!</p>
</div>
</div>
<hr />
<h2>PRIVATE REFLECTIONS OF THE PUBLIC ORATOR AT CAMBRIDGE.</h2>
<h4>(<i>As recorded by Mr. Punch's Patent Phonograph.</i>)</h4>
<p>Deadly business, this Latin joking. One speech is bad
enough, but fifteen are absolutely crushing. Still it must be
done. Shade of CICERO, befriend me! Here goes:—</p>
<p>"What on earth can I say about the DUKE OF EDINBURGH?
Mustn't offend these blessed Royalties. Am told they never take
kindly to jokes. Let me see, he served on the <i>Euryalus</i>
(query? ought I to bring in <i>Nisus</i>). Travelled a great
deal—<i>multorum vidit et urbes</i>. <i>Mem.</i> Work
this up. By the way, ALFRED's his name. Bring in ALFRED and the
cakes. ALFRED thrashed Danes. PRINCE OF WALES married a Dane.
To be worked up. Sailor-Prince: <i>mem.</i> <i>O navis
referent, etc.</i> See also VIRGIL's description of storm.
Prince plays fiddle. Might say that VIRGIL was poet <i>quem
vicina Cremonæ Mantua genuit</i>. Did this, years ago, for old
JOACHIM, but can use it again. Never mind the <i>væ nimium
miseræ vicina Cremonæ</i>. Prince won't know about that. What's
the best Latin for Admiral? Daughter betrothed to Crown PRINCE
OF ROUMANIA. Can get in Roman legionaries. Ripping!!</p>
<p>"NORTHBROOK's fairly easy. Oxford man. Mustn't mention he
only got Second Class. Never mind, India will pull me through.
Conquests of ALEXANDER, and all that sort of thing. Must look
up RUDYARD KIPLING for latest tips. Dusky brothers (Query,
<i>sub-fusci fratres?</i>) good Academical joke this; sure to
fetch the VICE-CHANCELLOR. Pity the CHANCELLOR's so poor in
Latin.</p>
<p>"CRANBROOK next. Bother all these brooks! He's a Viscount
(<i>Vice-Comes</i> DE CRANBROOK). Lord President of Council;
looks after education. That'll do it. Who's this fool that has
sent a post-card asking me to say something about <i>Educatio
libera</i>? <i>Num est tuus servus canis ut hanc rem
faciat?</i></p>
<p>"HENRY JAMES. Dear me! No University education. Must refer to
CICERO as a barrister. <i>Solicitor Generalis</i> doesn't sound
right somehow. Refused to be Lord Chancellor. <i>Mem.</i> Get
good joking Latin for Woolsack. Factory and Workshops Act must
see me through.</p>
<p>"JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN. Hard nut to crack. Can't say I like him
myself. <i>Birminghamiæ decus; civium consensu
ter</i>—What the dickens is Mayor in Latin? Did anybody
make screws in ancient Rome? <i>Mem.</i> Work up orchids and
eyeglass. <i>Una cum Cancellario nostro seni grandi
restitit.</i> Absolutely no literary distinction. Still, he's
got a son who was a Cambridge man. Must get in a sly dig at
OSCAR BROWNING and East Worcestershire. Something about old-age
pensions. Bah, I hate the job!</p>
<p>"JOHN MORLEY. Humph! Delicate ground. Home Rule's got to be
skimmed over. Only consistent Home-Ruler of the lot (<i>sibi
constat</i>). Books by the dozen (<i>lucidus ordo, etc.</i>).
French Revolution (<i>res novæ</i>). Ardent reformer (<i>res
renovanda radicitus</i>). Ought to drag in <i>impiger,
iracundus, inexorabilis acer</i>. Better not, on second
thoughts.</p>
<p>"That's enough for one morning. Polish off the rest
to-morrow. <i>Mem.</i> WEBSTER won two miles against Oxford
(<i>duo millia passuum; Oxoniensibus triumphatus</i>, and a few
japes about Isthmian games. Must fetch them). Remember to give
ROBY one or two for himself over his Latin grammar. Mostly
wrong. He'd better stick to making reels of cotton. SEELEY and
the others can wait."</p>
<hr />
<p>MR. HARDUP lately came into a large fortune, and changed his
name to SKATTERKASH. He has started a coach, and drives four
duns. "The duns used always to be after me," says he; "now I've
got 'em before me. It's a pleasant reminder of unpleasant
times."</p>
<hr />
<h3>KENSINGTON GARDENS.</h3>
<h4>(<i>In the Summer Evenings, after Eight.</i>)</h4>
<p><i>As they are, always.</i>—Closed. Within, a solitary
policeman, moping. Without, the jaded citizens, gasping on a
dusty road, and gazing through the iron railings at the cool
groves within. A mile away, or nearer, some military bands
(paid—by whom?—no matter—ultimately by
tax-payers, who don't get much for their money), bored to death
for lack of work, and any number of charitable institutions
spending half their funds in advertising for more.</p>
<p><i>As they might be, sometimes.</i>—Open. At the gate
energetic policemen taking the shillings of eager citizens who
crowd in to sit and smoke in the cool groves, lighted by
inexpensive Chinese lanterns, and to listen to the music of the
military bands, now alert, cheerful and occupied. Scattered
through the cool groves a few energetic, but unobtrusive,
policemen, seeing that everyone behaves as quietly as at the
Fisheries or the Healtheries. And (the next morning) any number
of charitable institutions receiving the shillings thus
virtuously and profitably spent.</p>
<hr />
<h2>SYLLOGISMS OF THE STUMP.</h2>
<h4>(<i>Selected—and condensed—from recent Platform
"Arguments."</i>)</h4>
<p>There is no principle, no precedent, no reason why, if the
majority desire anything, a Legislative sanction should not be
given to their decision.</p>
<p>The majority in Ireland desire Home Rule.</p>
<p>Therefore, it would be an outrage to the minority to give
Legislative sanction to that desire.</p>
<div class="figright"
style="width:20%;">
<a href="images/297-2.png"><img width="100%"
src="images/297-2.png"
alt="Going to the Country with a Cry." /></a>Going to
the Country with a Cry.
</div>
<hr class="short" />
<p>The influence of Women in politics must be elevating and
refining.</p>
<p>That influence can be most effectively and legitimately
exercised by and through possession of the Electoral
Franchise.</p>
<p>Therefore it would unsex and degrade women to give them the
Parliamentary vote.</p>
<hr class="short" />
<p>It is useless to receive a deputation (say, upon Eight
Hours' Day legislation) unless you "mean business" in that
matter.</p>
<p><i>I</i> do not mean business in that matter—at
present.</p>
<p>Therefore I shall be delighted to receive the
deputation.</p>
<hr class="short" />
<p>Liberal Legislation is bad for the country.</p>
<p>The present Government has successfully accomplished more
Liberal Legislation than any of its predecessors.</p>
<p>Therefore the country should vote for the present
Government.</p>
<hr class="short" />
<p>The Gladstone Government of 1880 made many serious
mistakes.</p>
<p><i>I</i> was a leading Member of that Government.</p>
<p>Therefore you cannot go wrong in following me now.</p>
<hr class="short" />
<p>Mr. C. made a slashing attack on Lord R., and addressed to
him certain awkward questions and posing arguments to which he
is bound to attempt an answer.</p>
<p>Lord R. made a dashing rejoinder to Mr. C., and devoted the
whole of his speech to answering Mr. C.'s questions and
arguments.</p>
<p>Therefore Lord R. showed bad taste and temper, and wasted
his own time and the public's.</p>
<hr class="short" />
<p>I have altered my opinion of many men since 1885.</p>
<p>Many men have altered their opinion of <i>me</i> since that
same date.</p>
<p>Therefore they are either fickle fools or idolatrous
items.</p>
<hr class="short" />
<p>I followed my Leader until 1881.</p>
<p>Some follow him still.</p>
<p>Therefore either they don't know what they do, or don't mean
what they say.</p>
<hr class="short" />
<p>If any logical-minded reader should object that these
so-called syllogisms are not really syllogisms at all, we
should agree with him. But then they are not only the brief and
formal expression of long-winded so-called arguments, which are
not really arguments at all, but which, veiled in floods of
verbiage, are duly presented to the public, from platform and
Press, as though they really were so. <i>Moral</i>:—The
clear analysis of stump-oratory generally takes the form of a
<i>reductio ad absurdum</i>.</p>
<hr />
<p>MUTUAL ADVERTISEMENT BY THE COURT JESTER.—At the
Shaftesbury Theatre is announced <i>A Play in Little</i>. At
the Court they might announce a LITTLE in a Play.
[N.B.—For explanation see Cast under Clock.] Just now,
very little in any play.</p>
<hr />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page298"
id="page298"></a>[pg 298]</span>
<div class="figcenter"
style="width:65%;">
<a href="images/298.png"><img width="100%"
src="images/298.png"
alt="A DISTINCTION WITH A DIFFERENCE." /></a>
<h3>A DISTINCTION WITH A DIFFERENCE.</h3>
<p><i>Mistress</i> (<i>to applicant for situation, who has
been dismissed, from her last place</i>). "SO YOU'VE JUST
LEFT? DIDN'T YOUR SITUATION SUIT YOU?"</p>
<p><i>Martha.</i> "OH YES, 'M. SITUATION SOOTED ME VERY
WELL. IT WAS ME, MUM, AS DIDN'T SOOT THE SITUATION!"</p>
</div>
<hr />
<p>FROM A LAHORE PAPER.—"<i>Punch</i>," the writer ought
to have said "<i>Mr. Punch</i>,"—"possesses a battery of
guns, and maintains a standing army of 1,200 men." Quite
correct. Wonderful how they get the news out there. The guns
fire a hundred jokes per minute; all killing ones. The standing
army do the thing well, and will stand anything (well-iced) to
all friends within reasonable limits, under command of <i>Mr.
Punch</i>, President.</p>
<hr />
<p>VERY NATURAL.—Mrs. BROWN POTTER, tired of playing a
Hero, is now coming out as a Heroine before the Chaff'dsbury
Theatre is shut up.</p>
<hr />
<p><i>ROD and RIVER</i> is the title of a useful book about
fly-fishing (it only needs "fly-leaves" for notes to make it
perfect), written by a Major bearing the appropriate name of
FISHER. One note he might append for the benefit of intending
Etonians, that those who, not having "passed" their swimming
examination, venture to go on the "river", are in danger of the
"rod."</p>
<hr />
<p>MRS. RAM was told that Mr. JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN is a giant in
intellect. She said, "I don't know much about intellect, but he
must be a very big giant to carry an orchard in his
buttonhole."</p>
<hr />
<h2>ODONT.!</h2>
<h4>(<i>An Ode to the Modern Flora.</i>)</h4>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>Oh, Flora, fair Goddess of Flowers, skies brighten,
the gardens are glowing,</p>
<p>And lo! 'tis the season of Flower Shows, when
everything seems "All-a-blowing!"</p>
<p>And what the dickens you've been up to with the
dictionary, I'm dashed if there's any possibility of
knowing.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>Talk about "Volapück." Why, it isn't a circumstance
compared with the floral goddess's crack-jaw.</p>
<p>I've been trying to read the account of a Flower
Show to my wife. Now, at patter-songs I've a slick
tongue and slack jaw.</p>
<p>I can do "<i>John Wellington Wells</i>" pretty
patly; but to read through a horticultural article</p>
<p>Would give an alligator instantaneous tetanus; and
of <i>meaning</i> the words seem to have no
particle.</p>
<p>I should like to be introduced, in its Bornean home,
to the glorious plant called Cælo Dyana.</p>
<p>But fancy a footman having to announce Madame
SPATHOGLOTTIS KIMBALLIANA!</p>
<p>Odont. Uro-Skinneri <i>sounds</i> like something
medical and epidermic, but then we're informed that its
sepals and petals</p>
<p>Are "reticulated in tender brown and broad
rosy-mauve," which immediately sends one "off the
metals."</p>
<p>The Masdevallias may be a respectable family, though
<i>I</i> should not care to marry into it,</p>
<p>But "the hybrid M. Mundyana representing M. Veitchii
× M. Ignea" (though "a wonderfully glowing orange" by
all accounts), sounds so exceedingly mixed and mongrel
that I'd certainly eschew it.</p>
<p>"A noble Catt: Gigas" <i>sounds</i> rather
aristocratic: "Catt: Jacomb," I suppose, is a sort of a
relative;</p>
<p>But Od. Citrosmum, sounds awfully odd, and is not
<i>my</i> notion of a reassuring appellative.</p>
<p>And what <i>are</i> you to make of Odont. crisp.
Sanderæ, which, whomsoever "Sanderæ" may be, <i>I</i>
don't want to "crisp" him;</p>
<p>"A sport of nature unequalled" they call him, and no
doubt his <i>name</i> is, for I can neither clearly
articulate, stutter or lisp him.</p>
<p>I've not a doubt that, whoever he is, he is probably
liked and considered by some a gem.</p>
<p>Gyp. Chamberlainianum has a political sound, and has
a strong savour of a floral Brummagem.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>And then comes "Odont. vex. Bleui splendidissimum,"
which sounds like an appeal for "<i>Two Lovely Blue
Eyes</i>."</p>
<p>But if it means something entirely different, I
shall hear it without the smallest surprise.</p>
<p>In fact, looking further, I find, it's "an
artificial hybrid from Odont. vexillarium × Odont.
Roezlii." That's a staggerer.</p>
<p>But Dend. phalænopsis Schroderæ Dellense is a still
bigger horticultural swaggerer.</p>
<p>O. Coradenei! likewise O. Crispum! I only wish that
your Godmother, Flora,</p>
<p>Would insist upon shorter and more intelligible
names for her modern offspring. By bright Aurora,</p>
<p>I can't go on worshipping at your floral shrine if
the ritual is polyglot gibberish, and what's more, I
won't, Ma'am.</p>
<p>In the word (queerly spelt) of which you seem very
fond, I earnestly say, Flower Goddess, Odont.
Ma'am!!!</p>
</div>
</div>
<hr />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page299"
id="page299"></a>[pg 299]</span>
<div class="figcenter"
style="width:100%;">
<a href="images/299.png"><img width="100%"
src="images/299.png"
alt="THE RACE FOR THE COUNTRY. WAITING FOR THE SIGNAL." />
</a>
<h3>THE RACE FOR THE COUNTRY. WAITING FOR THE
SIGNAL.</h3>(<i>By Our Americanised Artist.</i>)
</div>
<hr />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page300"
id="page300"></a>[pg 300]</span>
<h2>ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.</h2>
<h3>EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.</h3>
<div class="figleft"
style="width:15%;">
<a href="images/300-1.png"><img width="100%"
src="images/300-1.png"
alt="'Standing at Bar.'" /></a>"Standing at Bar."
</div>
<p><i>Thursday, June 9.</i>—The great strength of the
Liberal Party lies in its illimitable resources of Leadership.
When in ordinary times Mr. G. is away, there is either the
SQUIRE OF MALWOOD or JOHN MORLEY to take his place. Now, in
these last days of dying Parliament, the Squire follows Mr.
G.'s leadership even to extent of stopping away from House.
JOHN MORLEY been here for short while to-night, but as soon as
he saw House comfortably in Committee he, too, departed. Seemed
as if Opposition, thus deserted, would stagger blindly on till
it fell in some ditch. At critical moment BOBBY SPENCER quietly
appeared on scene; naturally and irresistibly dropped into seat
of Mr. G. on otherwise almost empty front Bench. No sounding of
drums or braying of trumpets. BOBBY quietly walks up, brushing
past ATHERLY JONES standing at the Bar, and takes his proper
place.</p>
<div class="figright"
style="width:20%;">
<a href="images/300-2.png"><img width="100%"
src="images/300-2.png"
alt="'Question! Question!'" /></a>"Question!
Question!"
</div>
<p>Effect upon House instant and soothing. Prince ARTHUR looks
up relieved. No one more interested in presence of strong hand
on the rein of Opposition than the Leader of the House.
Business immediately settles down to even and rapid pace. It is
generally understood that BOBBY is desirous that the Government
shall have every assistance given them in disposing of the
remaining business. ALPHEUS CLEOPHAS shows himself a little
restive. Here is a great opportunity fleeting past; vote after
vote put from Chair agreed to almost as rapidly as it can be
recited. After half-a-dozen have been galloped through, ALPHEUS
CLEOPHAS moves uneasily in his seat. Anxiously watches the
youthful figure seated on front Bench. Bang goes another
Million. ALPHEUS CLEOPHAS can sit it no longer; jumps up and
wants to know something. BOBBY, half-turning, regards him with
grave eyes. Speaks no word, but ALPHEUS CLEOPHAS knows what is
passing through his mind; his fluent speech falters; presently
he sits down, shrivelled up, as it were, under the reproachful
glance of the new Leader. Thus the hours pass, and the votes
too, till by midnight all the money is voted for the Navy, and
whole blocks of Civil Service Estimates have been passed.</p>
<div class="figleft"
style="width:30%;">
<a href="images/300-3.png"><img width="100%"
src="images/300-3.png"
alt="Poltalloch." /></a>Poltalloch.
</div>
<p><i>Business done.</i>—Supply voted with both
hands.</p>
<p><i>Friday.</i>—Army Estimates on in Committee of
Supply. Gather from general conversation that things are awful.
FRASER, V.C., says they are going to the dogs. WALTER BARTTELOT
"going," as he sometimes asks permission to do, "one step
farther," says they've gone. STANHOPE evidently expecting an
assault on his Department, brought in with him a stout stick.
"When JULIUS 'ANNIBAL PICTON got up just now, and gave a brief
<i>résumé</i> of the operations in which his great ancestor
defeated FLAMINIUS and SERVILIUS at the Lake of Thrasymenus;
pretty to see how STANHOPE almost involuntarily made a pass at
him with the stick.</p>
<p>"Question! Question!" cried STUART WORTLEY, from behind the
SPEAKER's chair.</p>
<p>"This is the question," retorted J.A.P., "or it is at least
leading me up to it. I am about, Mr. COURTNEY, to show how,
supposing the War Office at Carthage had been managed on the
same principles as those which govern the conduct of the Right
Hon. Gentleman, my illustrious ancestor, instead of routing the
enemy, would have fled from the face of FLAMINIUS, scuttled off
before SERVILIUS, and would never have lived to vanquish VARROW
at Cannes."</p>
<p>"You rather had STANHOPE there," said POLTALLOCH meeting
J.A.P. in the Lobby afterwards, and shouting down at him a few
words of hearty encouragement.</p>
<p><i>Business done.</i>—Another gallop through the
Votes.</p>
<hr />
<h2>LADY GAY'S SELECTIONS.</h2>
<p class="author"><i>Phantom Lodge, Ascot.</i></p>
<p>DEAR MR. PUNCH,</p>
<div class="figright"
style="width:28%;">
<a href="images/300-4.png"><img width="100%"
src="images/300-4.png"
alt="" /></a>
</div>
<p>Here I am once more at Ascot—beloved of Women and
Milliners! <i>Ascot</i>, I mean, not <i>myself</i>, as I'm
thankful to say women don't like me—Milliners don't count
as women, of course, being so very liberal-minded; and that's
the advantage of being "somebody," and having a
figure—you can get all your gowns on the condition of
telling everyone (in strict confidence) who "built" them! I had
a most fatiguing day yesterday, as, after arriving, I had to
show the Baroness all my Ascot "confections," and I made the
poor dear quite jealous, which, of <i>course</i>, vexed me, as
she is quite my dearest friend! I was much gratified to see my
protest against these "glove contests" so admirably and
cleverly "seconded" (I'm afraid that's a fighting expression)
by one of your wonderful Artists in Black-and-White (black and
blue it might have well been on this occasion)—though, by
the way, he must have been present himself, or he wouldn't have
seen how ashamed of his own face every man was! We shall have
the dear wretches wearing veils next, I suppose!</p>
<p>On every hand I hear great complaints of the "moderate lot"
our English Three-year-olds have turned out; and the Vicomte DE
FOSSE-TERRE (a descendant of the historical QUEEN OF NAVARRE)
quite upset our dinner-party last night by claiming immense
superiority for the French horses of the same age—why
should this be?—I don't consider the French ahead of us
in politeness, so why should they be so in breeding? However,
the fact remains, that no English Horse will run in the French
Derby this year!</p>
<p>Lord STONEHENGE tells me we may expect the "Dissolution"
very shortly, and I'm sure the poor Members must be glad of it,
for this weather makes one long to dissolve—though I must
say it seems to me an absurd time to choose, as it will stop
the Season and upset everybody's arrangements! These things
will be better managed when we get a "House of Peeresses" at
the head of affairs—and <i>that</i> is only a question of
time, I feel sure!</p>
<p>But now to glance at the Ascot Programme—it is such a
lengthy and important one, that a mere glance will be quite
sufficient for me, whereas a <i>man</i> would study the thing
for a week and then know nothing about it! I will just mention
a few horses that my readers will do well to "keep their eye
on," that is if they can—for really at Ascot one does not
pay much attention to the races—and in conclusion I will
give my "one-horse selection" for the <i>last</i> in the Gold
Cup. The expression "one-horsed," is, I believe, generally used
contemptuously, but it must serve till I find time to think out
another, which is impossible at present, as the luncheon-gong
has just sounded, and I have visions of a lobster-salad and
iced Hock-Cup! And now to prophesy? On the "<i>Queen's
Birthday</i>" a "<i>Sprightly</i>" "<i>Buccaneer</i>" gave an
"<i>Order</i>" to attack "<i>Harfleur</i>", captured the town,
and at the end of the "<i>Comedy</i>" paid the
"<i>Bill</i>!"</p>
<p class="author">Yours devotedly,<br />
LADY GAY.</p>
<h3 class="sc">Gold Cup Tip.</h3>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>The bloom on the leaf of a first-rate cigar</p>
<p class="i2">Is expressed by the trade as "Flor
Fina,"</p>
<p>But the sight, to a racing-man, finer by far</p>
<p class="i2">Is the bloom of the mare
"<i>Caterina</i>!"</p>
</div>
</div>
<hr />
<p>GOOD NEWS!!—"Apprehended Great Cyclone!" So ran the
heading of a paragraph in the <i>Daily Telegraph</i> last
Friday. We trust this turbulent person once apprehended, will
be sentenced and imprisoned.</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 14745 ***</div>
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