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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/15973-8.txt b/15973-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..860944e --- /dev/null +++ b/15973-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1536 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, Or The London Charivari, VOL. 103, +November 26, 1892, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Punch, Or The London Charivari, VOL. 103, November 26, 1892 + +Author: Various + +Editor: Francis Burnand + +Release Date: June 3, 2005 [EBook #15973] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + + + + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer, William Flis, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +PUNCH, + +OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. + +VOL. 103. + + + +November 26, 1892. + + + + +LETTERS TO ABSTRACTIONS. + +NO. XVII.--TO FAILURE. + +A Philosopher has deigned to address to me a letter. "Sir," writes +my venerable correspondent, "I have been reading your open letters to +Abstractions with some interest. You will, however, perhaps permit +me to observe that amongst those to whom you have written are not a +few who have no right whatever to be numbered amongst Abstractions. +Laziness, for instance, and Crookedness, and Irritation--not to +mention others--how is it possible to say that these are Abstractions? +They are concrete qualities and nothing else. Forgive me for making +this correction, and believe me yours, &c. A PLATONIST."--To which I +merely reply, with all possible respect, "Stuff and nonsense!" I know +my letters have reached those to whom they were addressed, no single +one has come back through the Dead-letter Office, and that is enough +for me. Besides, there are thousands of Abstractions that the mind +of "A PLATONIST" has never conceived. Somewhere I know, there is an +abstract Boot, a perfect and ideal combination of all the qualities +that ever were or will be connected with boots, a grand exemplar +to which all material boots, more or less, nearly approach; and by +their likeness to which they are recognised as boots by all who in +a previous existence have seen the ideal Boot. Sandals, mocassins, +butcher-boots, jack-boots, these are but emanations from the great +original. Similarly, there must be an abstract Dog, to the likeness of +which, in one respect or another, both the Yorkshire Terrier and the +St. Bernard conform. So much then for "A PLATONIST." And now to the +matter in hand. + +[Illustration] + +My dear FAILURE, there exists amongst us, as, indeed, there has +always existed, an innumerable body of those upon whom you have cast +your melancholy blight. Amongst their friends and acquaintances they +are known by the name you yourself bear. They are the great army of +failures. But there must be no mistake. Because a man has had high +aspirations, has tried with all the energy of his body and soul to +realise them, and has, in the end, fallen short of his exalted aim, +he is not, therefore, to be called a failure. MOSES, I may remind you, +was suffered only to look upon the Promised Land from a mountain-top. +Patriots without number--KOSSUTH shall be my example--have fought +and bled, and have been thrust into exile, only to see their objects +gained by others in the end. But the final triumph was theirs surely +almost as much as if they themselves had gained it. On the other hand +there are those who march from disappointment to disappointment, but +remain serenely unconscious of it all the time. These are not genuine +failures. There is CHARSLEY, for instance, journalist, dramatist, +novelist--Heaven knows what besides. His plays have run, on an +average, about six nights; his books, published mostly at his own +expense, are a drug in the market; but the little creature is as vain, +as proud, and, it must be added, as contented, as though Fame had set +him, with a blast of her golden trumpet, amongst the mighty Immortals. +What lot can be happier than his? Secure in his impregnable egotism, +ramparted about with mighty walls of conceit, he bids defiance to +attack, and lives an enviable life of self-centred pleasure. + +Then, again, there was JOHNNIE TRUEBRIDGE. I do not mean to liken him +to CHARSLEY, for no more unselfish and kind-hearted being than JOHNNIE +ever breathed. But was there ever a stone that rolled more constantly +and gathered less moss? Yet no stroke could subdue his inconquerable +cheerfulness. Time after time he got his head above the waters; +time after time, some malignant emissary of fate sent him bubbling +and gasping down into the depths. He was up again in a moment, +striving, battling, buffeting. Nothing could make JOHNNIE despair, no +disappointment could warp the simple straightforward sincerity, the +loyal and almost childlike honesty of his nature. And if here and +there, for a short time, fortune seemed to shine upon him, you may be +sure that there was no single friend whom he did not call upon to bask +with him in these fleeting rays. And what a glorious laugh he had; not +a loud guffaw that splits your tympanum and crushes merriment flat, +but an irrepressible, helpless, irresistible infectious laugh, in +which his whole body became involved. I have seen a whole roomful of +strangers rolling on their chairs without in the least knowing why, +while JOHNNIE, with his head thrown back, his jolly face puckered into +a thousand wrinkles of hearty delight, and his hands pressed to his +sides, was shouting with laughter at some joke made, as most of his +jokes were, at his own expense. + +It was during one of his brief intervals of prosperity, at a meet +of the Ditchington Stag-hounds that I first met JOHNNIE. He was +beautifully got up. His top-hat shone scarcely less brilliantly than +his rosy cheeks, his collar was of the stiffest, his white tie was +folded and pinned with a beautiful accuracy, his black coat fitted +him like a glove, his leather-breeches were smooth and speckless, and +his champagne-coloured tops fitted his sturdy little legs as if they +had been born with him. He was mounted on an enormous chestnut-horse, +which Anak might have controlled, but which was far above the power +and weight of JOHNNIE, plucky and determined though he was. Shortly +after the beginning of the run, while the hounds were checked, I +noticed a strange, hatless, dishevelled figure, riding furiously round +and round a field. It was JOHNNIE, whose horse was bolting with him, +but who was just able to guide it sufficiently to keep it going in +a circle instead of taking him far over hill and dale. We managed to +stop him, and I shall never forget how he laughed at his own disasters +while he was picking up his crop and replacing his hat on his head. +Not long afterwards, I saw our little Mazeppa crashing, horse and all, +into the branches of a tree, but in spite of a black eye and a deep +cut on his cheek, he finished the run--fortunately for him a very +fast and long one--with imperturbable pluck and with no further +misadventure. "Nasty cut that," I said to him as we trained back +together, "you'd better get it properly looked to in town." "Pooh," +said JOHNNIE, "it's a mere scratch. Did you see the brute take me into +the tree? By Jove, it must have been a comic sight!" and with that he +set off again on another burst of inextinguishable laughter. + +About a week after this, the usual crash came. A relative of JOHNNIE +was in difficulties. JOHNNIE, with his wonted chivalry, came to his +help with the few thousands that he had lately put by, and, in a day +or two, he was on his beam-ends once more. And so the story went on. +Money slipped through his fingers like water--prosperity tweaked +him by the nose, and fled from him, whilst friends, not a whit more +deserving, amassed fortunes, and became sleek. But he was never +daunted. With inexhaustible courage and resource, he set to work again +to rebuild his shattered edifice, confident that luck would, some day, +stay with him for good. But it never did. At last he threw in his lot +with a band of adventurers, who proposed to plant the British flag in +some hitherto unexplored regions of South or Central Africa. I dined +with JOHNNIE the evening before he left England. He was in the highest +spirits. His talk was of rich farms, of immense gold-mines. He was +off to make his pile, and would then come home, buy an estate in the +country--he had one in his eye--and live a life of sport, surrounded +by all the comforts, and by all his friends. And so we parted, never +to meet again. He was lost while making his way back to the coast with +a small party, and no trace of him has ever since been discovered. +But to his friends he has left a memory and an example of invincible +courage, and unceasing cheerfulness in the face of misfortune, of +constant helpfulness, and unflinching staunchness. Can it be said that +such a man was a failure? I don't think so. I must write again. In the +meantime I remain, as usual, + +D.R. + + * * * * * + +SIGNS OF THE SEASON.--"_Beauty's Daughters!_" These charming young +ladies are to be obtained for the small sum of one penny! as for this +trifling amount,--unless there is a seasonably extra charge,--you +can purchase the Christmas Number of the _Penny Illustrated_, +wherein Mr. CLEMENT SCOTT "our dear departed" (on tour round the +world--"globe-trotting"), leads off with some good verses. Will he be +chosen Laureate? He is away; and it is characteristic of a truly great +poet to be "absent." And the Editor, that undefeated story-teller, +tells one of his best stories in his best style, and gives us a +delightful picture of Miss ELSIE NORMAN. "Alas! she is another's! +she never can be mine!" as she is Somebody Elsie's. Success to your +Beauties, Mr. LATEY, or more correctly, Mr. EARLY-AND-LATEY, as you +bring out your Christmas Number a good six weeks before Christmas Day. + + * * * * * + +MOTTO FOR THE LABOUR COMMISSION.--"The proper study of mankind +is--MANN!" + + * * * * * + +THE NEW EMPLOYMENT.--Being "Unemployed." + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: A CABBIN' IT COUNCIL IN NOVEMBER.] + + * * * * * + +CABBIN' IT COUNCIL. + +(IN NOVEMBER.) + +_Grand Old Jarvie, loquitur_:-- + + O Lud! O Lud! O Lud! + (As TOM HOOD cried, apostrophising London), + November rules, a reign of rain, fog, mud, + And Summer's sun is fled, and Autumn's fun done. + Far are the fields M.P.'s have tramped and gunned on! + Malwood is far, and far is fair Dalmeny, + And Harwarden, + Like a garden + (To Caucus-mustered crowds) glowing and greeny + In soft September, + Is distant now, and dull; for 'tis November, + And we are in a Fog! + Cabbin' it, Council? Ah! each _absent_ Member + May be esteemed a vastly lucky dog! + The streets are up--of course! No Irish bog + Is darker, deeper, dirtier than that hole + SP-NC-R is staring into. On my soul, + M-RL-Y, we want that light you're seeking, swarming + Up that lank lamp-post in a style alarming! + Take care, my JOHN, you don't come down a whopper! + And you, young R-S-B-RY, if _you_ come a cropper + Over that dark, dim pile, where shall _we_ be? + Pest! I can hardly see + An inch before my nose--not to say clearly. + Hold him up, H-RC-RT! He was down then, nearly, + Our crook-knee'd "crock." Seems going very queerly, + Although so short a time out of the stable. + Quiet him, WILLIAM, quiet him!--if you're able. + This is no spot for him to fall. I dread + The need--just here--of "sitting on his head." + Cutting the traces + Will leave us dead-lock'd, _here_ of all bad places! + Oh, do keep quiet, K-MB-RL-Y! You're twitching + My cape again! Mind, ASQ-TH! You'll be pitching + Over that barrier, if you are not steady. + Fancy us getting in this fix--already! + Cabbin' it in a fog is awkward work, + Specially for the driver, who can't shirk, + When once his "fare" is taken. + I feel shaken. + 'd rather drive the chariot of the Sun + (That's dangerous, but rare fun!) + Like Phaëthon, + Than play the Jehu in a fog so woful + To this confounded "Shoful"! + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: REAL PRESENCE OF MIND. + +POLICEMAN X 24, DRUNK AND ALMOST INCAPABLE, IS JUST ABLE TO BLOW HIS +WHISTLE FOR HELP!] + + * * * * * + +LADY GAY'S GHOST. + +_Mount Street, Berkeley Square._ + +DEAR MR. PUNCH, + +More than a fortnight ago I fled from the London fog, with the result +that it got thicker than ever about me in the minds of your readers +and yourself! I determined during my absence to do what many people +in the world of Art and _Letters_ have done before me, employ a +"Ghost"--(my _first_ dealings with the supernatural, and probably my +_last_!). I wired to one of the leading Sporting Journals for their +most reliable Racing Ghost--he was busy watching _Nunthorpe_--(who is +only the Ghost of what he was!)--and the Bogie understudy sent to +me was a Parliamentary Reporter!--(hence the stilted style of the +letter signed "POMPERSON." Heavens! what a name!)--I had five minutes +to explain the situation to him before catching the _train de +luxe_--(Lord ARTHUR had gone on with the luggage)--and I don't +think he had the ghostliest idea of what I wanted!--the one point he +grasped, was, that he was to use anonymous names--which he did with +a vengeance!--My horror on reading his letter was such that I +dropped all the money I had in my hand on the "red" instead of the +"black"--and it won!--(I think I shall bring out a system based on +"fright.") + +Of course all my friends thought Lord ARTHUR and I had quarrelled, +and I was "off" with someone else!--What a fog. This idea being +confirmed by the following week's letter, which was the well-meant +but misdirected effort of my friend Lady HARRIETT ENTOUCAS, to whom +I wired to "do something for me"--(she pretty nearly did for me +altogether!)--there was nothing for it but to come home--where I +am--Lord ARTHUR wanted to write you this week, but I thought one +explanation at a time quite enough--so his shall follow--"if you want +a thing done, do it yourself!"--so in future I will either be my own +Ghost or have nothing to do with them! Yours apparitionally, + +LADY GAY. + + * * * * * + +ALL ROUND THE FAIR. + +NO. II. + + INSIDE THE "QUEEN'S GRAND COLLECTION OF MOVING WAXWORKS + AND LIONS, AND MUSEUM DEPARTMENT OF FOREIGN WONDERS AND + NOVELTIES." + + _The majority of the Public is still outside, listening + open-mouthed to a comic dialogue between the Showman and a + juvenile and irreverent Nigger. Those who have come in find + that, with the exception of some particularly tame-looking + murderers' heads in glazed pigeon-holes, a few limp effigies + stuck up on rickety ledges, and an elderly Cart-horse in low + spirits, there is little to see at present._ + +_Melia_ (_to JOE, as they inspect the Cart-horse._) This 'ere can't +never be the live 'orse with five legs, as they said was to be seen +inside! + +_Joe._ Theer ain't no other 'orse in 'ere, and why _shouldn't_ it be +'im, if that's all? + +_Melia._ Well, I don't make out no more'n _four_ legs to'un, nohow, +myself. + +_Joe._ Don't ye be in sech a 'urry, now--the Show ain't _begun_ yet! + +[Illustration: "It's quoite tri-ew!"] + + [_The barrel-organ outside blares "God Save the Queen," and + more Spectators come stumping down the wooden steps, followed + by the Showman._ + +_Showman._ I shell commence this Exhibition by inviting your +inspection of the wonderful live 'orse with five legs. (_To +the depressed Cart-horse._) 'Old up! (_The poor beast lifts his +off-fore-leg with obvious reluctance, and discloses a very small +supernumerary hoof concealed behind the fetlock._) Examine it! for +yourselves--two distinct 'oofs with shoes and nails complete--a +_great_ novelty! + +_Melia._ I don't call that nothen of a leg, _I_ don't--it ain't 'ardly +a _oof_, even! + +_Joe_ (_with phlegm_). That's wheer th' old 'orse gits the larf on ye, +that is! + +_Showman._ We will now pass on to the Exhibition. 'Ere (_indicating +a pair of lop-sided Orientals in nondescript attire_) we 'ave two +life-sized models of the Japanese villagers who caused so much +sensation in London on account o' their peculiar features--you will +easily reckernise the female by her bein' the ugliest one o' the two. +(_Compassionate titters from the Spectators._) I will now call your +attention to a splendid group, taken from English 'Istry, and set in +motion by powerful machinery, repperesentin' the Parting Interview +of CHARLES THE FIRST with his fam'ly. (_Rolls up a painted canvas +curtain, and reveals the Monarch seated, with the Duke of GLOUCESTER +on his knee, surrounded by OLIVER CROMWELL, and as many Courtiers, +Guards, and Maids of Honour as can be accommodated in the limited +space._) I will wind up the machinery and the unfortunate King will be +seen in the act of bidding his fam'ly ajew for ever in this world. + + [_CHARLES begins to click solemnly and move his head by + progressive jerks to the right, while the Little Duke + moves his simultaneously to the left, and a Courtier in the + background is so affected by the scene that he points with + respectful sympathy at nothing; the Spectators do not commit + themselves to any comments._ + +_Showman_ (_concluding a quotation from MARKHAM_). "And the little +Dook, with the tears a-standin' in 'is heyes, replies, 'I will be tore +in pieces fust!'" Other side, please! No, Mum, the lady in mournin' +_ain't_ the beautiful but ill-fated MARY, Queen o' Scots--it's Mrs. +MAYBRICK, now in confinement for poisonin' her 'usban', and the figger +close to her is the MAHDI, or False Prophet. In the next case we +'ave a subject selected from Ancient Roman 'Istry, bein' the story +of ANDROCLES, the Roman Slave, as he appeared when, escaping from his +crule owners, he entered a cave and found a lion which persented 'im +with 'is bleedin' paw. After some 'esitation, ANDROCLES examined the +paw, as repperesented before you. (_Winds the machinery up, whereupon +the lion opens his lower jaw and emits a mild bleat, while ANDROCLES +turns his head from side to side in bland surprise._) This lion is +the largest forestbred and blackmaned specimen ever imported into +this country--the _other_ lion standing beyind (_disparagingly_), has +nothing whatever to do with the tableau, 'aving been shot recently in +Africa by Mr. STANLEY, the two figgers at the side repperesent the +Boy Murderers who killed their own father at Crewe with a 'atchet and +other 'orrible barbarities. I shall conclude the Collection by showing +you the magnificent group repperesentin' Her Gracious Majisty the +QUEEN, as she appeared in 'er 'appier and younger days, surrounded by +the late Mr. SPURGEON, the 'Eroes of the Soudan, and other Members of +the Royal Fam'ly. + +INSIDE THE CIRCUS. + + _After some tight-rope, juggling, and boneless performances + have been given in the very limited arena, the Clown has + introduced the Learned Pony._ + +_Clown._ Now, little Pony, go round the Company and pick me out the +little boy as robs the Farmer's orchard. + + [_The Pony trots round, and thrusts his nose confidently into + a Small Boy's face._ + +_Small Boy_ (_indignantly_). Ye're a _liar_, Powney; so theer! + +_Clown._ Now, see if you can find me the little gal as steals her +mother's jam and sugar. Look sharp now, don't stand there playin' with +yer bit! + +_A Little Girl_ (_penitently, as the Accusing Quadruped halts in front +of her_). Oh, please, Pony, I won't never do it no more! + +_Clown._ Now go round and pick me out the Young Man as is fond o' +kissin' the girls and married ladies when their 'usbands is out o' the +way. (_The Pony stops before an Infant in Arms._) 'Ere, think what +yer _doin'_ now. You don't mean _'im_, do you? (_The Pony shakes his +head._) Is it the Young Man standin' just beyind as is fond o' kissin +the girls? (_The Pony nods._) Ah, I thought so! + +_The Rustic Lothario_ (_with a broad grin_). It's quoite tri-ew! + +_Clown._ Now I want you, little Pony, to go round and tell me who's +the biggest rogue in the company. (_Reassuringly, as the Pony goes +round, and a certain uneasiness is perceptible among some of the +spectators_). I 'ope no Gentleman 'ere will be offended by +bein' singled out, for no offence is intended,--it is merely a +'armless--(_Finds the Pony at his elbow._) Why, you rascal! do you +mean to say _I'm_ the biggest rogue 'ere? (_The Pony nods._) You've +been round, and can't find a bigger rogue than me in all this company? +(_Emphatic shake of the head from Pony; secret relief of inner circle +of Spectators._) You and me'll settle this later! + +_First Spectator_ (_as audience disperses_). That war a clever Pony, +sart'nly! + +_Second Spect._ Ah, he wur that. (_Reflectively._) I dunno as I shud +keer partickler 'bout _'avin_ of 'im, though! + +IN THE HOME OF MYSTERY. + + _A small canvas booth with a raised platform, on which a Young + Woman in short skirts has just performed a few elementary + conjuring tricks before an audience of gaping Rustics._ + +_The Showman._ The Second Part of our Entertainment will consist +of the performances of a Real Live Zulu from the Westminster Royal +Aquarium. Mr. FARINI, in the course of 'is travels, discovered both +men and women--and this is one of them. (_Here a tall Zulu, simply +attired in a leopard's-skin apron, a bead necklace, and an old busby, +creeps through the hangings at the back._) He will give you a specimen +of the strange and remarkable dances in his country, showin' you the +funny way in which they git married--for they don't git married over +there the same as we do 'ere--cert'n'ly _not_! (_The Spectators form a +close ring round the Zulu._) Give him a little more room, or else you +won't notice the funny way he moves his legs while dancin'. + + [_The ring widens a very little, and contracts again, while + the Zulu performs a perfunctory prance to the monotonous + jingle of his brass anklets._ + +_Melia_ (_critically_). Well, that's the silliest sort of a weddin' as +iver _I_ see! + +_Joe._ He do seem to be 'avin' it a good deal to 'isself, don't 'e? + +_Showman._ He will now conclude 'is entertainment by porsin round, +and those who would like to shake 'ands with 'im are welcome to do so, +while at the same time, those among you who would like to give 'im a +extry copper for 'isself you will 'ave an opportunity of noticin' the +funny way in which he takes it. + +_Spectators_ (_as the Zulu begins to slink round the tent, extending a +huge and tawny paw_). 'Ere, _come_ arn! + + [_The booth is precipitately cleared._ + + * * * * * + +"_WRITE Letter Days_" should be the companion volume to _Red Letter +Days_, published by BENTLEY. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: THAT IT SHOULD COME TO THIS! + +_Boy._ "SECOND-CLASS, SIR?" + +_Captain._ "I NEVAH TRAVEL SECOND-CLASS!" + +_Boy._ "THIS WAY THIRD, SIR!"] + + * * * * * + +CONVERSATIONAL HINTS FOR YOUNG SHOOTERS. + +THE SMOKING-ROOM. + +The subject of the Smoking-room would seem to be intimately and +necessarily connected with the subject of smoke, which was dealt with +in our last Chapter. A very good friend of mine, Captain SHABRACK of +the 55th (Queen ELIZABETH'S Own) Hussars, was good enough to favour +me with his views the other day. I met the gallant officer, who is, +as all the world knows, one of the safest and best shots of the day, +in Pall Mall. He had just stepped out of his Club--the luxurious +and splendid Tatterdemalion, or, as it is familiarly called, "the +Tat"--where, to use his own graphic language, he had been "killing the +worm with a nip of Scotch." + +"Early Scotch woodcock, I suppose," says I, sportively alluding to the +proverb. + +"Scotch woodcock be blowed," says the Captain, who, it must be +confessed, does not include an appreciation of delicate humour amongst +his numerous merits; "Scotch, real Scotch, a noggin of it, my boy, +with soda in a long glass; glug, glug, down it goes, hissin' over the +hot coppers. You know the trick, my son, it's no use pretendin' you +don't"--and thereupon the high-spirited warrior dug me good-humouredly +in the ribs, and winked at me with an eye which, if the truth must be +told, was bloodshot to the very verge of ferocity. + +"Talkin' of woodcock," he continued--we were now walking along Pall +Mall together--"they tell me you're writin' some gas or other about +shootin'. Well, if you want a tip from me, just you let into the +smokin' room shots a bit; you know the sort I mean, fellows who are +reg'lar devils at killin' birds when they haven't got a gun in their +hands. Why, there's that little son of a corn-crake, FLICKERS--when +once he gets talkin' in a smokin' room nothing can hold him. He'd talk +the hind leg off a donkey. I know he jolly nearly laid me out the +last time I met him with all his talk--No, you don't," continued the +Captain, imagining, perhaps, that I was going to rally him on his +implied connection of himself with the three-legged animal he had +mentioned, "no you don't--it wouldn't be funny; and besides, I'm not +donkey enough to stand much of that ass FLICKERS. So just you pitch +into him, and the rest of 'em, my bonny boy, next time you put pen +to paper." At this moment my cheerful friend observed a hansom that +took his fancy. "Gad!" he said, "I never can resist one of those +india-rubber tires. Ta, ta, old cock--keep your pecker up. Never +forget your goloshes when it rains, and always wear flannel next your +skin," and, with that, he sprang into his hansom, ordered the cabman +to drive him round the town as long as a florin would last, and was +gone. + +Had the Captain only stayed with me a little longer, I should have +thanked him for his hint, which set me thinking. I know FLICKERS well. +Many a time have I heard that notorious romancer holding forth on +his achievements in sport, and love, and society. I have caught him +tripping, convicted him of imagination on a score of occasions; dozens +of his acquaintances must have found him out over and over again; but +the fellow sails on, unconscious of a reverse, with a sort of smiling +persistence, down the stream of modified untruthfulness, of which +nobody ought to know better than FLICKERS the rapids, and shallows, +and rocks on which the mariner's bark is apt to go to wreck. What +is there in the pursuit of sport, I ask myself, that brings on this +strange tendency to exaggeration? How few escape it. The excellent, +the prosaic DUBSON, that broad-shouldered, whiskered, and eminently +snub-nosed Nimrod, he too, gives way occasionally. FLICKERS'S, I own, +is an extreme case. He has indulged himself in fibs to such an extent, +that fibs are now as necessary to him as drams to the drunkard. But +DUBSON the respectable, DUBSON the dull, DUBSON the unromantic--why +does the gadfly sting him too, and impel him now and then to wonderful +antics. For was it not DUBSON who told me, only a week ago, that he +had shot three partridges stone dead with one shot, and in measuring +the distance, had found it to be 100 yards less two inches? Candidly, +I do not believe him; but naturally enough I was not going to be +outdone, and I promptly returned on him with my well-known anecdote +about the shot which _ricocheted_ from a driven bird in front of me +and pierced my host's youngest brother--a plump, short-coated Eton +boy, who was for some reason standing with his back to me ten yards in +my rear--in a part of his person sacred as a rule _plagoso Orbilio_. +The shrieks of the stricken youth, I told DUBSON, still sounded +horribly in my ears. It took the country doctor an hour to extract +the pellets--an operation which the boy endured, with great fortitude, +merely observing that he hoped his rowing would not be spoiled for +good, as he should bar awfully having to turn himself into a dry-bob. +This story, with all its harrowing details, did I duly hammer into the +open-mouthed DUBSON, who merely remarked that "it was a rum go, but +you can never tell where a _ricochet_ will go," and was beginning upon +me with a brand-new _ricochet_ anecdote of his own, when I hurriedly +departed. + +Wherefore, my gay young shooters, you who week by week suck wisdom and +conversational ability from these columns, it is borne in upon me that +for your benefit I must treat of the Smoking-room in its connection +with shooting-parties. Thus, perhaps, you may learn not so much what +you ought to say, as what you ought not to say, and your discretion +shall be the admiration of a whole country-side. "The Smoking-room: +with which is incorporated 'Anecdotes.'" What a rollicking, cheerful, +after-dinner sound there is about it. SHABRACK might say it was +like the title of a cheap weekly, which as a matter of fact, it does +resemble. But what of that? Next week we will begin upon it in good +earnest. + + * * * * * + +ON THE BOXING KANGAROO. + + From SMITH and MITCHELL to a Kangaroo!!! + The "noble art" _is_ going up! Whilloo! + Stay, though! Since pugilist-man seems coward-clown, + Perhaps 'tis the Marsupial coming down! + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: FELINE AMENITIES. + +"I'VE BROUGHT YOU SOME LACE FOR YOUR STALL AT THE BAZAAR, LIZZIE. I'M +AFRAID IT'S NOT QUITE OLD ENOUGH TO BE _REALLY_ VALUABLE. I HAD IT +WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL." + +"OH, _THAT'S_ OLD ENOUGH FOR _ANYTHING_, DEAREST! HOW LOVELY! THANKS +SO _VERY_ MUCH!"] + + * * * * * + +"LE GRAND FRANÇAIS." + + ["With all his faults, M. DE LESSEPS is perhaps the most + remarkable--we may even say the most illustrious--of living + Frenchmen."--_The Times_.] + + JACQUES BONHOMME _loquitur_:-- + + _Someone_ should suffer--yes, of course-- + For the depletion of my stocking; + But _Le Grand Français_? Bah! Remorse + Moves me to tears. It seems too shocking. + Get back my money? _Pas de chance_! + And then he is the pride of France! + + I raged, I know, four years ago, + Against those Panama projectors. + The law seemed slack, inquiry slow; + How I denounced them, the Directors, + Including _him_--in some vague fashion; + But then--BONHOMME was in a passion! + + And now to see the _gendarme's_ hand-- + Half-shrinkingly--upon _his_ shoulder, + Our _Grand Français_--_so_ old, _so_ grand! + _Ma foi_, it palsies the beholder. + And will it lessen my large loss + To fix a stain on the Grand Cross? + + Too sanguine? Too seductive? Yes! + But was it not such hopeful charming + That led him to his old success? + The thought is softening, and disarming; + O'er Suez and the Red Sea glance, + And see what he has done for France! + + _Peste_ on this Panama affair! + Egyptian sands sucked not our savings + As did those swamps. Still I can't bear + To see _him_ suffer. 'Midst my cravings + For _la revanche_, I'd fain not touch + Our Greatest Frenchman--'tis too much! + + * * * * * + +SHORT AND SWEET. + + ["The Young Ladies of Nottingham have formed a Short-skirt + League."--_Daily Graphic_.] + + Ye pretty girls of England, + So famous for your looks, + Whose sense has braved a thousand fads + Of foolish fashion-books, + Your glorious standard launch again + To match another foe, + And refrain + From the train + While the stormy tempests blow, + While the sodden streets are thick with mud, + And the stormy tempests blow! + + See how the girls of Nottingham + Inaugurate a League + For skirts five inches from the ground; + They'll walk without fatigue, + No longer plagued with trains to lift + Above the slush or snow; + They'll not sweep + Mud that's deep + While the stormy tempests blow; + Long dresses do the Vestry's work, + While stormy tempests blow. + + O pretty girls of Nottingham, + If you could save us men + From our frightful clothing, + How we should love you then! + We'd shorten turned-up trouser, + And widen pointed toe, + Leave off that + Vile silk hat, + When the stormy tempests blow-- + Wretched hat that stands not wind or rain + When the stormy tempests blow. + + We're fools. Yet, girls of England, + We might inquire of you, + Why wear those capes and sleeves that seem + Quite wide enough for two? + And why revive the _chignons_-- + Huge lumps pinned on? You know + You would cry + Should they fly + Where the stormy tempests blow; + For they catch the wind just like balloons, + Where the stormy tempests blow. + + * * * * * + +FAULTS O' BOTH SIDES.--Ardent Radicals grumbled at the Government +for not holding an Autumn Session. That was a fault of omission. Now +touchy Tories are angry with it for showing too strong a tendency to +what Mr. GLADSTONE once sarcastically called "a policy of examination +and inquiry"--into the case of Evicted Tenants, Poor-Law Relief, +&c. This is a fault of (Royal) Commission. Luckless Government! The +verdict upon it seems to be that it + + "Does nothing in particular, + And does it very--_ill_." + + * * * * * + +NOTICE.--The Twin Fountains of Trafalgar Square regret to inform the +British Public that, although they have performed gratuitously and +continuously for a number of years, they are compelled to retire from +business, as they cannot compete with the State-aided spouting which +takes place in their Square. + + * * * * * + +A GREAT "TREAT."--Public-house Politics at Election time. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: "LE GRAND FRANÇAIS!" + +JACQUES BONHOMME (_regarding_ M. DE LESSEPS, _apart_). "BAH! I HAVE +LOST MY MONEY! (_Pause._) ALL THE SAME, I CANNOT DESIRE THAT HE, SO +OLD AND SO DISTINGUISHED, SHOULD SUFFER!!"] + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: GALLANTRY REWARDED. + +_Lady_ (_having had a fall at a Brook, and come out the wrong +side,--to Stranger, who has caught her Horse_). "OH, I'M _SO_ MUCH +OBLIGED TO YOU! NOW, DO YOU MIND JUST BRINGING HIM OVER?"] + + * * * * * + +OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. + +Books from the publishing house of FISHER UNWIN are always goodly to +look upon, the public having to thank him for something new in form, +binding, and colour, in other series than the Pseudonym Library. In a +new edition of _The Sinner's Comedy_, just issued at the modest price +of Eighteenpence, he has solved a problem that has long baffled the +publisher, and bothered the public. Few like the appearance of a book +with the pages machine-cut; fewer still can spare the time to cut a +book. Mr. FISHER UNWIN compromises by presenting this dainty little +volume with the top pages ready cut, the reader having nothing to +do but to slice the side-pages, a labour which no book-lover would +grudge, seeing that it leaves the volume with the uncut appearance +dear to his heart. The story, told in 146 pages, is, my Baronite says, +worthy the distinction of its appearance. The characters are clearly +drawn, the plot is interesting, the conversation crisp, and the style +throughout pleasantly cynical. The author, JOHN OLIVER HOBBES, has a +pretty turn of aphorism. "A man's way of loving is so different from +a woman's"; and again, "Genius is so rare, and ambition is so common." +Here be truths, old enough perhaps, but cleverly re-set. + +Some people complain that politics are dull. They should read the +parliamentary and extra-parliamentary utterances of the Member for +Wrottenborough. They appear weekly in that rising young paper, the +_Sunday Times_, and an extremely readable selection of them has lately +been published "in book form," for the enlivening of the Recess. +Adapting the Laureate's lines, the Baron would say,-- + + "They who would vote for an M.P. whose sense with humour chimes, + Will read the Member for Wrottenborough, all in the _Sunday Times_-- + A paper our sires paid Sevenpence for, along of its grit and go, + Seventy years ago, my Public, seventy years ago!" + +For whimsical audacity, and quaint unexpectedness. Mr. PAIN, in his +latest book, _Playthings and Parodies_, would be hard to beat. In this +there is a good back-ground of shrewd observation. He does not +propose to make your flesh creep, or your eyes run torrents. He simply +succeeds in making you laugh. In "The Processional Instinct," Mr. PAIN +informs us that he has discovered that our private life is circular, +and our public life is rectilineal. SHAKSPEARE, who, being for all +time, and not merely for an age, recommends this author to the general +public when he says that everybody "should be so conversant with +PAIN." + +_The Memories of Dean Hole_ is rather a misleading title; "but," says +the Baron, "I suppose the term 'Reminiscences' is played out. The word +'Memories' seems to suggest that someone, whether Dean HOLE, or Dean +CORNER, or any other Dean, had more than one memory, as indeed those +persons appear to possess who mention their 'good memory for names,' +and their 'bad memory for dates,' and _vice versâ_. _Soit!_" quoth +the Baron, in excellent French, "you may take it from me (if I'll part +with it) that the Hole book is by no means a half-and-half sort of +book, but is vastly entertaining." The stories of "The Cloth" form the +most entertaining part of the work. The Baron wishes success to this +work of the Dean in Holey Orders, and suggests that the volume should +be re-entitled _Gathered Leaves from Dean Hole's Rose Garden_, a +better title than "Reminiscences." + +MARION CRAWFORD'S _Don Orsino_ (published by MACMILLAN & CO.) would +be worth reading were it only for the colour of its word-painting, +and for its high-comedy dialogue. Yet is Mr. CRAWFORD rather given +to pause in his story, for the sake of moralising on the tendencies +of the age; and the reader, patient though he may be, when he has +become interested in the personages of the novel, does not care to be +button-holed by a digression. MARION CRAWFORD'S recipe for commencing +an amorous duologue (early in Vol. III.), which is to lead up to a +declaration of love, is deliciously ingenious. It begins with the +gentleman taking a seat, and his first remark is upon the chair. Mr. +CRAWFORD evidently remembers the old story of how the tenor who knew +but one song, "_In my Cottage near a Wood_," used to introduce it into +any scene of any Opera by the simple process of making his entrance +alone and finding a chair on the stage. "Aha!" quoth he. "What's this? +A chair? and made of wood! Ah! that word! how it reminds me of my +'umble home, 'my cottage near a wood.'" Cue for band; chord; song. +In this instance, the love-scene, admirably led up to on the above +plan, is strikingly powerful; it is the work of a master-hand. The +_dénoûment_ is both artistically original and, at the same time, +ordinarily probable. May all readers enjoy this excellent novel as +much as has the sympathetic + +BARON DE BOOK-WORMS. + + * * * * * + +CLASSICAL QUESTION.--If some schoolboys, home for Christmas holidays, +wanted Sir AUGUSTUS DRURIOLANUS to give them a Christmas Box (not a +private one at the Pantomime), what Ancient Philosopher would they +mention? Why--of course--"ARISTIPPUS." + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: A LABOUR OF LOVE. + +_The Vicar._ "AND WERE YOU AT THE BALL LAST NIGHT, MRS. RAMSBOTTOM?" + +_Mrs. R._ "OH, YES; I WAS SHAMPOOING EIGHT YOUNG LADIES THERE!"] + + * * * * * + +LOCAL COLOUR. + +Mr. ALFRED AUSTIN, in his new poem, _Fortunatus, the Pessimist_, has +hit upon a new notion, to say nothing of a novel rhyme. Sings he:-- + + "When the foal and brood-mare hinny, + And in every cut-down spinney + Lady's-Smocks grow _mauve and mauver_, + Then the Winter days are over." + +This opens a polychromatic vista to the New Poetry. Technical Art +comes to the aid of the elder Muses. The products of gas-tar alone +should greatly regenerate a something time-worn poetic phraseology. As +thus:-- + + When the poet, Mr. PENNYLINE, + Is inspired by beauteous Aniline, + Products chemical and gas-tarry + Give the modern Muse new mastery. + Mauve _may_ chime with love, and mauver + Form a decent rhyme to lover; + While (and if not, why not?) _mauvest_ + Antiphonetic proves to lovest. + (Verse erotic always sports + Tricksily with longs and shorts. + Verbal votaries of Venus + Are an arbitrary genus, + And as arrogant as HOWELLS + In their dealings with the vowels. + _Love, move, rove_, linked in a sonnet, + Pass for rhymes; the best have done it!) + Then again there is Magenta! + Surely science never sent a + Handier rhyme to--well, polenta, + Or (for Cockney Muses) Mentor! + The poetic sense auricular + Can't afford to be particular. + Rags of rhymes, mere assonances, + Now must serve. Pegasus prances, + Like a Buffalo Bill buck-jumper, + When you have a "regular stumper" + (Such as "silver") do not care about + Perfect rhyming; "there or thereabout" + Is the Muse's maxim now. + You _may_ get (bards have, I trow) + Rhyme's last minimum irreducible, + From dye-vat, retort, or crucible. + +Verily (as _Touchstone_ says), "I'll rhyme you so, eight years +together, dinners and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted." And if it +is "the right butterwoman's rate to market," or "the very false gallop +of verses," it is at any rate good enough for a long-eared public or a +postulant for the Laureateship. + + * * * * * + +WAR ON A LARGE SCALE. + +(_AN ACCOUNT OF THE CONFLICT, FROM THE DIARY OF AN INHABITANT OF HERNE +BAY._) + +_Monday._--Extremely awkward--the entire British Fleet have come +ashore; and, as it is impossible to move them on account of their +enormous tonnage, this will entail a loss of £24,000,000,000! + +_Tuesday._--Troubles never come singly! The French, taking advantage +of the temporary suspension of our naval operations, have declared +war. This means the utter ruin of the bathing season, not only at +Herne Bay, but Southend, and the Isle of Thanet. + +_Wednesday._--As I expected! The French Fleet are coming up towards +London. They are sure to pepper us as they pass. As every gun carries +several hundred miles, I do not see how books can be uninterruptedly +issued from and returned to the Circulating Library. + +_Thursday._--Our first slice of luck! The entire French Fleet during +the mist last night came into collision with the Nore Light, and sank +immediately. I was surprised at their sparing the Reculvers and the +local bathing-machines, but now the mystery is explained. + +_Friday._--Just learned that the great gun of Paris, which carries +forty-four thousand miles, is to be tried for the first time +to-morrow. It would have been used earlier, had it not been necessary +to raise a foreign loan to supply funds to load it. Trust it won't +be laid in our direction. This war has already caused the Insurance +Companies to double their charges! Too bad! + +_Saturday._--All's well that ends well. Hostilities are at an end. +This morning all the glass in the windows were broken at 8 o'clock. +Ten minutes later the Champs Elysées was deposited half a mile from +Birchington. We now know that the great Paris gun burst on its +first discharge, and France exists no longer as a country, but as a +"geographical expression" is deposited in various parts of Europe. + + * * * * * + +REAL AND IDEAL.--"A Really Hard-Headed Man"--the Iron-skulled +individual now exhibiting at the Aquarium. If his will is as iron +as his head, what a despot he would be! If France is tired of her +Republic, she might try the Iron-Headed Man as a ruler. There is the +chance, of course, that he might turn out a numskull, and be only King +Log, after all. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: A GENTLEMAN WHO "TAKES LIFE EASILY."] + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: A REMINISCENCE OF THE BASEBALL SEASON.] + + * * * * * + +JIM'S JOTTINGS. + + ["Do the poor make the slums, or the slums make the + poor?"--_Henry Lazarus, in "Landlordism."_] + +[Illustration] + + Is it the poor wot makes the Slums, or the Slums wot makes the poor? + Well, that's the question, Guv'nor, and I've 'eared it arsked afore, + And the arnser ain't so easy, if you wants to be O.K. + Don't suppose as _I_ can settle it, but I'll have my little say. + + My old friend Mister LAZARUS, now, he ups and sez, sez he, + The great Ground Landlord is the great _prime_ cause. "Yah! + fiddlededee!" + Cries the House-Farmer; "Slums is Slums, acos the Poor is _Pigs_!" + "You try 'em, friend philanthropist! They'll play you proper rigs." + + Yus, there's two sides to heverythink, wus luck! That's where + we're fogged. + Passiges like foul pigstyes, gents, and backyards like black bogs, + Banisters broke for firewood, and smashed winders stuffed with rags, + These make the sniffers slate the poor, Perticular if they're wags. + + Well, gents, you know, it's _this_ way. Just you fancy yerselves + _born_ + In a back-slum like Ragman's Rents. 'Old 'ard, don't larf with + scorn! + Some on us _is_ born there, yer know; it might ha' bin _your_ luck, + _If_ yer mother'd bin a boozer, and yer father'd got the chuck. + + Of course _yourn_ was respectable; _mine_ wosn't; there's the diff.! + Ah! things like this ain't settled by a snort or by a sniff. + Jest fancy hopening yer eyes fust time in a dark dive, + Or a sky-parlour where a plarnt o' musk won't keep alive. + + Emagine, if yer washups can, some ten foot square o' room, + With a stror-heap in one corner, and a "dip" to light the gloom; + With the walls dirt-streaked with damp-lines, outside, a drunken + din, + And hinside, a whiff of sewer-gas in a hatmosphere of gin. + + Some on you carn't emagine there's sech 'orrors on the earth; + But there are, you bet your buttons. Who'd select 'em for their + _birth_? + Not you, not me, not no one, if you asked 'em, I expect; + But yer place o' birth yer see, gents' jest the thing yer _carn't_ + select. + + If you're born where streets is narrer, and where rooms is werry + small, + Where you've damp sludge for a ceiling, rotting plarster for a wall; + Where yer carn't eat, sleep, wash yerselves, or lay up when you're + sick, + Without tumbling one o'er tother, wy, yer _sinks_, gents, pooty + quick. + + _Sinks!_ Yes, when wot yer lives in _is_ a sink, or somethink wus; + With a drunkard for a mother, and some neighbour for a nuss; + With the gutter for yer playground, and a 'ome from which yer + shrink, + Can you wonder that poor Slum-birds is give o'er to Dirt and Drink. + + Ah! them two D's goes together. Just you plant some orty Queen + In a rookery, in her kidhood, and then tell her to keep _clean_, + Wash 'er face, and mend 'er garments,--wich they're mostly + sewed-up rags,-- + In six months she'd be a scare-crow, 'ands like sut, and 'air all + jags. + + Wot yer washups don't quite tumble to's the fack as like breeds + like. + If you would himprove Slum-dwellers, at the Slum you fust must + strike. + Give us small dark 'oles to dwell in, and you must be jolly green + If you think folks bred in dirt like, are a-going to keep 'em clean. + + When the sewer-rats take to sweetening and lime-washing _their_ + foul 'oles, + And bright light and disinfectants are the fads of skunks and moles, + Then poor souls in cellar-dwellings and in jerry-builders' dens, + Will be smart as young canaries and as clean as clucking hens. + + NOCKY SPRIGGINGS guyed me proper, in his chuckly sorter style, + With his thumb 'ooked orful hartful, and his chickaleary smile. + "JIM," sez he, "wot price _your_ jabber? Do yer think the blooming + blokes + Cares a cuss for me and you, JIM, any more than for our mokes? + + "Shut yer face, you pattering josser! Dirt and Drink is good for + Rents! + If the Poor _wos_ clean and sober, where 'ud be their + cent-per-cents? + If it's Public 'Ouse 'gainst Wash 'Ouse, if it's Slumland _wersus_ + Swipes, + _I_ am on for booze and backy 'stead o' drains and water-pipes. + + "You may be _too_ jolly clean, JIM, and a precious sight _too_ + light, + Were's the good to scrub yer skin orf! And if when a cove gits + tight, + Or would give his donah wot-for on the Q.T. _wot_ a lark + If there weren't no 'andy alleys, nor no corners snug and _dark_. + + "If the Public--_and_ the Slops--wos always fly to wot _we_ done, + 'Long o' widened streets and gas-light, wy we'd 'ave no blooming + fun. + Lagged for larrupping yer missus, nailed for boozing till yer nod? + Wy, you jabbering young Juggins, _we should always be in quod!_" + + 'Ard nut is NOCKY SPRIGGINGS--of the sort as make the slums, + 'Cos there ain't much chance for cleanness, or for comfort, when + _he_ comes. + He's as 'appy in the dirt, gents, as a blowfly or a 'og; + Or poor Paddy in his tater-patch alongside of a bog; + + He'd chop up 'is doors and winders for a fire to 'ot his lush, + Don't care a 'ang for decency, and never raised a blush. + But, arter my hexperience--and I've 'ad some down our court-- + I believe that--fair at bottom--it's the Slum as makes _his_ sort. + + Anyways I'm pooty certain, if we'd got more light and space, + And were not jammed up together in a filthy, ill-drained place; + If the sunlight could but see us, and the public _and_ the cops, + There would be less booze and bashing, fewer drabs and + drinking-shops. + + Aye, and fewer NOCKY SPRIGGINGSES! I don't go for to say + As it's _all_ along o' Landlords, who'd rent 'ell, if 'twould but + pay; + But I've noticed you find fewest mice where there are lots of cats, + And where there ain't no rat-holes, well--yer won't spot many rats! + + * * * * * + +THE LAST DISCOVERY. + +(_A SEQUEL TO A RECENT LECTURE. BY MR. PUNCH'S PROPHETIC REPORTER._) + +The enormous crowd cheered again and again. It was furious. The +enthusiasm spread from throng to throng, until a mighty chorus +filled every portion of the land. And there was indeed reason for the +rejoicing. Had not the great Arctic Explorer come home? Had he not +been to the North Pole and back? At that very moment were not a couple +of steam-tugs drawing his wooden vessel towards his native shore? +It was indeed a moment for congratulation--not only personal but +national, nay cosmopolitan. The victory of art over nature belonged to +more than a country, it belonged to the world! + +And the tugs came closer and closer, and the cheers grew louder and +louder. Then the vessel bearing the Explorer was near at hand. +The crowd joyously jumped into the water, and raising him on their +shoulders, bore him triumphantly to land. + +How they welcomed him! How they seized his hands and kissed them! How +they cried and called him "Master," and "Victor," and "Hero!" It was a +scene never to be forgotten! + +When the excitement had somewhat subsided, they began to ask him +questions. At last one of them wished to know how he contrived to find +the North Pole and get back in safety? + +"You intended to drift?" said they. "Great and glorious hero, +victorious victor, triumphant explorer, did you do this?" + +"I did," was the reply. + +"And tell us what was your method of obtaining the knowledge you now +possess? Oh, great chief, how _did_ you manage it?" + +Then came the answer-- + +"By sitting still, and doing nothing!" + +And now it being dark, they separated to illuminate their homes in +honour of the fresh industry--an industry admirably adapted to that +great and contented class of the community, the Unemployed! + + * * * * * + +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. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Punch, Or The London Charivari, VOL. 103, November 26, 1892 + +Author: Various + +Editor: Francis Burnand + +Release Date: June 3, 2005 [EBook #15973] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + + + + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer, William Flis, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + <h1>PUNCH,<br /> + OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> + + <h2>Vol. 103.</h2> + <hr class="full" /> + + <h2>November 26, 1892.</h2> + <hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page241" id="page241"></a>[pg 241]</span> +<h2>LETTERS TO ABSTRACTIONS.</h2> + +<h3>No. XVII.—TO FAILURE.</h3> + +<p>A Philosopher has deigned to address to me a letter. "Sir," +writes my venerable correspondent, "I have been reading your open +letters to Abstractions with some interest. You will, however, perhaps +permit me to observe that amongst those to whom you have +written are not a few who have no right whatever to be numbered +amongst Abstractions. Laziness, for instance, and Crookedness, and +Irritation—not to mention others—how is it possible to say that these +are Abstractions? They are concrete qualities and nothing else. +Forgive me for making this correction, and believe me yours, &c. A +<span class="sc">Platonist</span>."—To which I merely reply, with all possible respect, +"Stuff and nonsense!" I know my letters have reached those to +whom they were addressed, no single one has come back through the +Dead-letter Office, and that is enough for me. Besides, there are +thousands of Abstractions that the mind of "A +<span class="sc">Platonist</span>" has never conceived. Somewhere I +know, there is an abstract Boot, a perfect and +ideal combination of all the qualities that ever +were or will be connected with boots, a grand +exemplar to which all material boots, more or less, +nearly approach; and by their likeness to which +they are recognised as boots by all who in a previous +existence have seen the ideal Boot. Sandals, +mocassins, butcher-boots, jack-boots, these are but +emanations from the great original. Similarly, +there must be an abstract Dog, to the likeness +of which, in one respect or another, both the +Yorkshire Terrier and the St. Bernard conform. +So much then for "<span class="sc">A Platonist</span>." And now to the matter in hand.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width:30%;"><a href="images/241.png"><img width="100%" src="images/241.png" alt="" /></a></div> + +<p>My dear <span class="sc">Failure</span>, there exists amongst us, as, +indeed, there has always existed, an innumerable +body of those upon whom you have cast your +melancholy blight. Amongst their friends and +acquaintances they are known by the name you +yourself bear. They are the great army of failures. +But there must be no mistake. Because a man +has had high aspirations, has tried with all the +energy of his body and soul to realise them, and +has, in the end, fallen short of his exalted aim, +he is not, therefore, to be called a failure. +<span class="sc">Moses</span>, I may remind you, was suffered only to +look upon the Promised Land from a mountain-top. +Patriots without number—<span class="sc">Kossuth</span> shall be +my example—have fought and bled, and have +been thrust into exile, only to see their objects +gained by others in the end. But the final +triumph was theirs surely almost as much as if +they themselves had gained it. On the other +hand there are those who march from disappointment +to disappointment, but remain serenely +unconscious of it all the time. These are not +genuine failures. There is <span class="sc">Charsley</span>, for instance, +journalist, dramatist, novelist—Heaven knows +what besides. His plays have run, on an average, +about six nights; his books, published mostly at +his own expense, are a drug in the market; but +the little creature is as vain, as proud, and, it +must be added, as contented, as though Fame had set him, with a +blast of her golden trumpet, amongst the mighty Immortals. What +lot can be happier than his? Secure in his impregnable egotism, +ramparted about with mighty walls of conceit, he bids defiance to +attack, and lives an enviable life of self-centred pleasure.</p> + +<p>Then, again, there was <span class="sc">Johnnie Truebridge</span>. I do not mean to +liken him to <span class="sc">Charsley</span>, for no more unselfish and kind-hearted +being than <span class="sc">Johnnie</span> ever breathed. But was there ever a stone that +rolled more constantly and gathered less moss? Yet no stroke could +subdue his inconquerable cheerfulness. Time after time he got his +head above the waters; time after time, some malignant emissary of +fate sent him bubbling and gasping down into the depths. He was +up again in a moment, striving, battling, buffeting. Nothing could +make <span class="sc">Johnnie</span> despair, no disappointment could warp the simple +straightforward sincerity, the loyal and almost childlike honesty of +his nature. And if here and there, for a short time, fortune seemed +to shine upon him, you may be sure that there was no single friend +whom he did not call upon to bask with him in these fleeting rays. +And what a glorious laugh he had; not a loud guffaw that splits +your tympanum and crushes merriment flat, but an irrepressible, +helpless, irresistible infectious laugh, in which his whole body became +involved. I have seen a whole roomful of strangers rolling on +their chairs without in the least knowing why, while <span class="sc">Johnnie</span>, with +his head thrown back, his jolly face puckered into a thousand +wrinkles of hearty delight, and his hands pressed to his sides, was +shouting with laughter at some joke made, as most of his jokes were, +at his own expense.</p> + +<p>It was during one of his brief intervals of prosperity, at a meet of +the Ditchington Stag-hounds that I first met <span class="sc">Johnnie</span>. He was +beautifully got up. His top-hat shone scarcely less brilliantly than +his rosy cheeks, his collar was of the stiffest, his white tie was folded +and pinned with a beautiful accuracy, his black coat fitted him like +a glove, his leather-breeches were smooth and speckless, and his +champagne-coloured tops fitted his sturdy little legs as if they had +been born with him. He was mounted on an enormous chestnut-horse, +which Anak might have controlled, but which was far above +the power and weight of <span class="sc">Johnnie</span>, plucky and determined though he +was. Shortly after the beginning of the run, while the hounds were +checked, I noticed a strange, hatless, dishevelled figure, riding +furiously round and round a field. It was <span class="sc">Johnnie</span>, whose horse +was bolting with him, but who was just able to guide it sufficiently +to keep it going in a circle instead of taking him far over hill and +dale. We managed to stop him, and I shall never forget +how he laughed at his own disasters while he was +picking up his crop and replacing his hat on his head. +Not long afterwards, I saw our little Mazeppa crashing, +horse and all, into the branches of a tree, but in spite +of a black eye and a deep cut on his cheek, he finished +the run—fortunately for him a very fast and long one—with +imperturbable pluck and with no further misadventure. "Nasty cut that," I said to him +as we trained back together, "you'd better +get it properly looked to in town." "Pooh," +said <span class="sc">Johnnie</span>, "it's a mere scratch. Did +you see the brute take me into the tree? +By Jove, it must have been a comic sight!" +and with that he set off again on another +burst of inextinguishable laughter.</p> + +<p>About a week after this, the usual crash +came. A relative of <span class="sc">Johnnie</span> was in difficulties. +<span class="sc">Johnnie</span>, with his wonted chivalry, +came to his help with the few thousands that he +had lately put by, and, in a day or two, he was +on his beam-ends once more. And so the story +went on. Money slipped through his fingers like +water—prosperity tweaked him by the nose, and +fled from him, whilst friends, not a whit more +deserving, amassed fortunes, and became sleek. +But he was never daunted. With inexhaustible +courage and resource, he set to work again to +rebuild his shattered edifice, confident that luck +would, some day, stay with him for good. But +it never did. At last he threw in his lot with a +band of adventurers, who proposed to plant the +British flag in some hitherto unexplored regions +of South or Central Africa. I dined with +<span class="sc">Johnnie</span> the evening before he left England. He +was in the highest spirits. His talk was of rich +farms, of immense gold-mines. He was off to +make his pile, and would then come home, buy +an estate in the country—he had one in his eye—and +live a life of sport, surrounded by all the +comforts, and by all his friends. And so we +parted, never to meet again. He was lost while +making his way back to the coast with a small +party, and no trace of him has ever since been +discovered. But to his friends he has left a memory and an example +of invincible courage, and unceasing cheerfulness in the face of +misfortune, of constant helpfulness, and unflinching staunchness. +Can it be said that such a man was a failure? I don't think so. +I must write again. In the meantime I remain, as usual,</p> + +<p class="author">D.R.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Signs of the Season</span>.—"<i>Beauty's Daughters!</i>" These charming +young ladies are to be obtained for the small sum of one penny! +as for this trifling amount,—unless there is a seasonably extra +charge,—you can purchase the Christmas Number of the <i>Penny Illustrated</i>, +wherein Mr. <span class="sc">Clement Scott</span> "our dear departed" (on tour +round the world—"globe-trotting"), leads off with some good +verses. Will he be chosen Laureate? He is away; and it is characteristic +of a truly great poet to be "absent." And the Editor, that +undefeated story-teller, tells one of his best stories in his best style, +and gives us a delightful picture of Miss <span class="sc">Elsie Norman</span>. "Alas! she +is another's! she never can be mine!" as she is Somebody Elsie's. +Success to your Beauties, Mr. <span class="sc">Latey</span>, or more correctly, Mr. +<span class="sc">Early-and-Latey</span>, +as you bring out your Christmas Number a good six weeks before Christmas Day.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Motto for the Labour Commission</span>.—"The proper study of +mankind is—<span class="sc">Mann</span>!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">The New Employment</span>.—Being "Unemployed."</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page242" id="page242"></a>[pg 242]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/242.png"><img width="100%" src="images/242.png" alt="A CABBIN' IT COUNCIL IN NOVEMBER." /></a><h3>A CABBIN' IT COUNCIL IN NOVEMBER.</h3></div> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page243" id="page243"></a>[pg 243]</span> + +<h2>CABBIN' IT COUNCIL.</h2> + +<h3 class="sc">(In November.)</h3> + +<center><i>Grand Old Jarvie, loquitur</i>:—</center> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">O Lud! O Lud! O Lud!</p> +<p>(As <span class="sc">Tom Hood</span> cried, apostrophising London),</p> +<p class="i2">November rules, a reign of rain, fog, mud,</p> +<p class="i2">And Summer's sun is fled, and Autumn's fun done.</p> +<p class="i2">Far are the fields M.P.'s have tramped and gunned on!</p> +<p>Malwood is far, and far is fair Dalmeny,</p> +<p class="i10">And Harwarden,</p> +<p class="i10">Like a garden</p> +<p>(To Caucus-mustered crowds) glowing and greeny</p> +<p class="i10">In soft September,</p> +<p>Is distant now, and dull; for 'tis November,</p> +<p class="i10">And we are in a Fog!</p> +<p>Cabbin' it, Council? Ah! each <i>absent</i> Member</p> +<p>May be esteemed a vastly lucky dog!</p> +<p>The streets are up—of course! No Irish bog</p> +<p>Is darker, deeper, dirtier than that hole</p> +<p><span class="sc">Sp-nc-r</span> is staring into. On my soul,</p> +<p><span class="sc">M-rl-y</span>, we want that light you're seeking, swarming</p> +<p>Up that lank lamp-post in a style alarming!</p> +<p>Take care, my <span class="sc">John</span>, you don't come down a whopper!</p> +<p>And you, young <span class="sc">R-s-b-ry</span>, if <i>you</i> come a cropper</p> +<p>Over that dark, dim pile, where shall <i>we</i> be?</p> +<p class="i10">Pest! I can hardly see</p> +<p>An inch before my nose—not to say clearly.</p> +<p>Hold him up, <span class="sc">H-rc-rt</span>! He was down then, nearly,</p> +<p>Our crook-knee'd "crock." Seems going very queerly,</p> +<p>Although so short a time out of the stable.</p> +<p>Quiet him, <span class="sc">William</span>, quiet him!—if you're able.</p> +<p>This is no spot for him to fall. I dread</p> +<p>The need—just here—of "sitting on his head."</p> +<p class="i10">Cutting the traces</p> +<p>Will leave us dead-lock'd, <i>here</i> of all bad places!</p> +<p>Oh, do keep quiet, <span class="sc">K-mb-rl-y</span>! You're twitching</p> +<p>My cape again! Mind, <span class="sc">Asq-th</span>! You'll be pitching</p> +<p>Over that barrier, if you are not steady.</p> +<p>Fancy us getting in this fix—already!</p> +<p>Cabbin' it in a fog is awkward work,</p> +<p>Specially for the driver, who can't shirk,</p> +<p class="i10">When once his "fare" is taken.</p> +<p class="i10"> I feel shaken.</p> +<p>'d rather drive the chariot of the Sun</p> +<p class="i10">(That's dangerous, but rare fun!)</p> +<p class="i10"> Like Phaëthon,</p> +<p>Than play the Jehu in a fog so woful</p> +<p class="i10">To this confounded "Shoful"!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:65%;"><a href="images/243.png"><img width="100%" src="images/243.png" alt="REAL PRESENCE OF MIND." /></a><h3>REAL PRESENCE OF MIND.</h3> + +<span class="sc">Policeman X 24, drunk and almost incapable, is just able to blow his Whistle +for Help</span>!</div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>LADY GAY'S GHOST.</h2> + +<p class="author"><i>Mount Street, Berkeley Square.</i></p> + +<p><span class="sc">Dear Mr. Punch</span>,</p> + +<p>More than a fortnight ago I fled +from the London fog, with the result that it +got thicker than ever about me in the minds +of your readers and yourself! I determined +during my absence to do what many people +in the world of Art and <i>Letters</i> have done +before me, employ a "Ghost"—(my <i>first</i> +dealings with the supernatural, and probably +my <i>last</i>!). I wired to one of the leading +Sporting Journals for their most reliable +Racing Ghost—he was busy watching <i>Nunthorpe</i>—(who +is only the Ghost of what he +was!)—and the Bogie understudy sent to me +was a Parliamentary Reporter!—(hence the +stilted style of the letter signed "<span class="sc">Pomperson</span>." +Heavens! what a name!)—I had five minutes +to explain the situation to him before catching +the <i>train de luxe</i>—(Lord <span class="sc">Arthur</span> had gone +on with the luggage)—and I don't think he +had the ghostliest idea of what I wanted!—the +one point he grasped, was, that he was +to use anonymous names—which he did with +a vengeance!—My horror on reading his letter +was such that I dropped all the money I had +in my hand on the "red" instead of the +"black"—and it won!—(I think I shall bring out a system based on "fright.")</p> + +<p>Of course all my friends thought Lord +<span class="sc">Arthur</span> and I had quarrelled, and I was +"off" with someone else!—What a fog. This +idea being confirmed by the following week's +letter, which was the well-meant but misdirected +effort of my friend Lady <span class="sc">Harriett +Entoucas</span>, to whom I wired to "do something +for me"—(she pretty nearly did for me +altogether!)—there was nothing for it but to +come home—where I am—Lord <span class="sc">Arthur</span> +wanted to write you this week, but I thought +one explanation at a time quite enough—so +his shall follow—"if you want a thing done, +do it yourself!"—so in future I will either be +my own Ghost or have nothing to do with them! Yours apparitionally,</p> + +<p class="author"><span class="sc">Lady Gay</span>.</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page244" id="page244"></a>[pg 244]</span> + +<h2>ALL ROUND THE FAIR.</h2> + +<h4>No. II.</h4> + +<blockquote><p> +<span class="sc">Inside the "Queen's Grand Collection of Moving Waxworks +and Lions, and Museum Department of Foreign Wonders and Novelties."</span></p> + +<p><i>The majority of the Public is still outside, listening open-mouthed to +a comic dialogue between the Showman and a juvenile and +irreverent Nigger. Those who have come in find that, with the +exception of some particularly tame-looking murderers' heads in +glazed pigeon-holes, a few limp effigies stuck up on rickety +ledges, and an elderly Cart-horse in low spirits, there is little to +see at present.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>Melia</i> (<i>to</i> <span class="sc">Joe</span>, <i>as they inspect the Cart-horse.</i>) This 'ere +can't never +be the live 'orse with five legs, as they said was to be seen inside!</p> + +<p><i>Joe.</i> Theer ain't no other 'orse in 'ere, and why <i>shouldn't</i> it be +'im, if that's all?</p> + +<p><i>Melia.</i> Well, I don't make out no more'n <i>four</i> legs to'un, nohow, myself.</p> + +<p><i>Joe.</i> Don't ye be in sech a 'urry, now—the Show ain't <i>begun</i> yet!</p> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width:35%;"><a href="images/244.png"><img width="100%" src="images/244.png" alt="'It's quoite tri-ew!'" /></a>"It's quoite tri-ew!"</div> + +<blockquote><p> +[<i>The barrel-organ outside blares "God Save the Queen," and more +Spectators come stumping down the +wooden steps, followed by the Showman.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>Showman.</i> I shell commence this Exhibition by inviting your inspection of the +wonderful live 'orse with five legs. (<i>To +the depressed Cart-horse.</i>) 'Old up! (<i>The +poor beast lifts his off-fore-leg with obvious +reluctance, and discloses a very small supernumerary +hoof concealed behind the fetlock.</i>) Examine it! for yourselves—two +distinct 'oofs with shoes and nails complete—a <i>great</i> novelty!</p> + +<p><i>Melia.</i> I don't call that nothen of a leg, +<i>I</i> don't—it ain't 'ardly a <i>oof</i>, even!</p> + +<p><i>Joe</i> (<i>with phlegm</i>). That's wheer th' old +'orse gits the larf on ye, that is!</p> + +<p><i>Showman.</i> We will now pass on to the +Exhibition. 'Ere (<i>indicating a pair of +lop-sided Orientals in nondescript attire</i>) +we 'ave two life-sized models of the +Japanese villagers who caused so much +sensation in London on account o' their +peculiar features—you will easily reckernise +the female by her bein' the ugliest one +o' the two. (<i>Compassionate titters from +the Spectators.</i>) I will now call your +attention to a splendid group, taken from +English 'Istry, and set in motion by +powerful machinery, repperesentin' the +Parting Interview of <span class="sc">Charles the First</span> +with his fam'ly. (<i>Rolls up a painted +canvas curtain, and reveals the Monarch +seated, with the</i> Duke of <span class="sc">Gloucester</span> <i>on +his knee, surrounded by</i> <span class="sc">Oliver Cromwell</span>, +<i>and as many</i> Courtiers, Guards, <i>and</i> Maids of Honour <i>as can be +accommodated in the limited space.</i>) I will wind up the machinery +and the unfortunate King will be seen in the act of bidding his fam'ly +ajew for ever in this world.</p> +</div> + +<blockquote><p> +[<span class="sc">Charles</span> <i>begins to click solemnly and move his head by progressive +jerks to the right, while the Little Duke moves his simultaneously +to the left, and a Courtier in the background is so affected by the +scene that he points with respectful sympathy at nothing; the +Spectators do not commit themselves to any comments.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>Showman</i> (<i>concluding a quotation from</i> <span class="sc">Markham</span>). "And the +little Dook, with the tears a-standin' in 'is heyes, replies, 'I will be +tore in pieces fust!'" Other side, please! No, Mum, the lady in +mournin' <i>ain't</i> the beautiful but ill-fated <span class="sc">Mary</span>, Queen o' Scots—it's +Mrs. <span class="sc">Maybrick</span>, now in confinement for poisonin' her 'usban', and the +figger close to her is the <span class="sc">Mahdi</span>, or False Prophet. In the next case +we 'ave a subject selected from Ancient Roman 'Istry, bein' the story +of <span class="sc">Androcles</span>, the Roman Slave, as he appeared when, escaping from +his crule owners, he entered a cave and found a lion which persented +'im with 'is bleedin' paw. After some 'esitation, <span class="sc">Androcles</span> examined +the paw, as repperesented before you. (<i>Winds the machinery up, +whereupon the lion opens his lower jaw and emits a mild bleat, while</i> +<span class="sc">Androcles</span> <i>turns his head from side to side in bland surprise.</i>) This +lion is the largest forestbred and blackmaned specimen ever imported +into this country—the <i>other</i> lion standing beyind (<i>disparagingly</i>), has +nothing whatever to do with the tableau, 'aving been shot recently +in Africa by Mr. <span class="sc">Stanley</span>, the two figgers at the side repperesent the +Boy Murderers who killed their own father at Crewe with a 'atchet +and other 'orrible barbarities. I shall conclude the Collection by +showing you the magnificent group repperesentin' Her Gracious +Majisty the <span class="sc">Queen</span>, as she appeared in 'er 'appier and younger days, +surrounded by the late Mr. <span class="sc">Spurgeon</span>, the 'Eroes of the Soudan, and +other Members of the Royal Fam'ly.</p> +</div> + +<h4 class="sc">Inside the Circus.</h4> + +<blockquote><p> +<i>After some tight-rope, juggling, and boneless performances have been +given in the very limited arena, the</i> Clown <i>has introduced the +Learned Pony.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>Clown.</i> Now, little Pony, go round the Company and pick me out +the little boy as robs the Farmer's orchard.</p> +</div> + +<blockquote><p> +[<i>The Pony trots round, and thrusts his nose confidently into a</i> Small +Boy's <i>face.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>Small Boy</i> (<i>indignantly</i>). Ye're a <i>liar</i>, Powney; so theer!</p> + +<p><i>Clown.</i> Now, see if you can find me the little gal as steals her +mother's jam and sugar. Look sharp now, don't stand there playin' with yer bit!</p> + +<p><i>A Little Girl</i> (<i>penitently, as the Accusing Quadruped halts in +front of her</i>). Oh, please, Pony, I won't never do it no more!</p> + +<p><i>Clown.</i> Now go round and pick me out the Young Man as is fond +o' kissin' the girls and married ladies when their 'usbands is out +o' the way. (<i>The Pony stops before an Infant in Arms.</i>) 'Ere, +think what yer <i>doin'</i> now. You don't mean <i>'im</i>, do you? (<i>The +Pony shakes his head.</i>) Is it the Young Man standin' just beyind +as is fond o' kissin the girls? (<i>The Pony nods.</i>) Ah, I thought so!</p> + +<p><i>The Rustic Lothario</i> (<i>with a broad grin</i>). It's quoite tri-ew!</p> + +<p><i>Clown.</i> Now I want you, little Pony, to +go round and tell me who's the biggest +rogue in the company. (<i>Reassuringly, as +the Pony goes round, and a certain uneasiness +is perceptible among some of the spectators</i>). I 'ope no Gentleman 'ere will be +offended by bein' singled out, for no +offence is intended,—it is merely a 'armless—(<i>Finds the Pony at his elbow.</i>) +Why, you rascal! do you mean to say <i>I'm</i> +the biggest rogue 'ere? (<i>The Pony nods.</i>) +You've been round, and can't find a +bigger rogue than me in all this company? +(<i>Emphatic shake of the head from Pony; +secret relief of inner circle of Spectators.</i>) You and me'll settle this later!</p> + +<p><i>First Spectator</i> (<i>as audience disperses</i>). That war a clever Pony, sart'nly!</p> + +<p><i>Second Spect.</i> Ah, he wur that. (<i>Reflectively.</i>) +I dunno as I shud keer partickler 'bout <i>'avin</i> of 'im, though!</p> +</div> + +<h4 class="sc">In the Home of Mystery.</h4> + +<blockquote><p> +<i>A small canvas booth with a raised platform, on which a Young Woman in +short skirts has just performed a few +elementary conjuring tricks before an audience of gaping Rustics.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>The Showman.</i> The Second Part of our +Entertainment will consist of the performances +of a Real Live Zulu from the Westminster Royal Aquarium. +Mr. <span class="sc">Farini</span>, in the course of 'is travels, discovered both men and +women—and this is one of them. (<i>Here a tall Zulu, simply +attired in a leopard's-skin apron, a bead necklace, and an old busby, +creeps through the hangings at the back.</i>) He will give you a specimen +of the strange and remarkable dances in his country, showin' +you the funny way in which they git married—for they don't git +married over there the same as we do 'ere—cert'n'ly <i>not</i>! (<i>The +Spectators form a close ring round the Zulu.</i>) Give him a little more +room, or else you won't notice the funny way he moves his legs while dancin'.</p> +</div> + +<blockquote><p> +[<i>The ring widens a very little, and contracts again, while the +Zulu performs a perfunctory prance to the monotonous jingle of his brass anklets.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>Melia</i> (<i>critically</i>). Well, that's the silliest sort of a weddin' as iver +<i>I</i> see!</p> + +<p><i>Joe.</i> He do seem to be 'avin' it a good deal to 'isself, don't 'e?</p> + +<p><i>Showman.</i> He will now conclude 'is entertainment by porsin +round, and those who would like to shake 'ands with 'im are welcome +to do so, while at the same time, those among you who would like to +give 'im a extry copper for 'isself you will 'ave an opportunity of +noticin' the funny way in which he takes it.</p> + +<p><i>Spectators</i> (<i>as the Zulu begins to slink round the tent, extending a +huge and tawny paw</i>). 'Ere, <i>come</i> arn!</p> +</div> + +<blockquote><p> +[<i>The booth is precipitately cleared.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<p>"<i><span class="sc">Write</span> Letter Days</i>" should be the companion volume to <i>Red +Letter Days</i>, published by <span class="sc">Bentley</span>.</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page245" id="page245"></a>[pg 245]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:65%;"><a href="images/245.png"><img width="100%" src="images/245.png" alt="THAT IT SHOULD COME TO THIS!" /></a><h3>THAT IT SHOULD COME TO THIS!</h3> + +<p><i>Boy.</i> "<span class="sc">Second-Class, Sir?</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Captain.</i> "<span class="sc">I nevah travel Second-Class!</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Boy.</i> "<span class="sc">This way Third, Sir!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>CONVERSATIONAL HINTS FOR YOUNG SHOOTERS.</h2> + +<h3 class="sc">The Smoking-Room.</h3> + +<p>The subject of the Smoking-room would seem to be intimately and +necessarily connected with the subject of smoke, which was dealt +with in our last Chapter. A very good friend of mine, Captain +<span class="sc">Shabrack</span> of the 55th (Queen <span class="sc">Elizabeth's</span> Own) Hussars, was good +enough to favour me with his views the other day. I met the gallant +officer, who is, as all the world knows, one of the safest and best +shots of the day, in Pall Mall. He had just stepped out of his Club—the +luxurious and splendid Tatterdemalion, or, as it is familiarly +called, "the Tat"—where, to use his own graphic language, he had +been "killing the worm with a nip of Scotch."</p> + +<p>"Early Scotch woodcock, I suppose," says I, sportively alluding to the proverb.</p> + +<p>"Scotch woodcock be blowed," says the Captain, who, it must be confessed, +does not include an appreciation of delicate humour amongst his numerous +merits; "Scotch, real Scotch, a noggin of it, my boy, with soda in a long +glass; glug, glug, down it goes, hissin' over the hot coppers. You know the +trick, my son, it's no use pretendin' you don't"—and thereupon the high-spirited +warrior dug me good-humouredly in the ribs, and winked at me +with an eye which, if the truth must be told, was bloodshot to the very verge +of ferocity.</p> + +<p>"Talkin' of woodcock," he continued—we were now walking along Pall +Mall together—"they tell me you're writin' some gas or other about shootin'. +Well, if you want a tip from me, just you let into the smokin' room shots a +bit; you know the sort I mean, fellows who are reg'lar devils at killin' +birds when they haven't got a gun in their hands. Why, there's that little +son of a corn-crake, <span class="sc">Flickers</span>—when once he gets talkin' in a smokin' room +nothing can hold him. He'd talk the hind leg off a donkey. I know he jolly +nearly laid me out the last time I met him with all his talk—No, you don't," +continued the Captain, imagining, perhaps, that I was going to rally him on +his implied connection of himself with the three-legged animal he had +mentioned, "no you don't—it +wouldn't be funny; and besides, I'm not donkey enough to +stand much of that ass <span class="sc">Flickers</span>. So just you pitch into him, and +the rest of 'em, my bonny boy, next time you put pen to paper." At +this moment my cheerful friend observed a hansom that took his +fancy. "Gad!" he said, "I never can resist one of those india-rubber +tires. Ta, ta, old cock—keep your pecker up. Never forget +your goloshes when it rains, and always wear flannel next your +skin," and, with that, he sprang into his hansom, ordered the cabman +to drive him round the town as long as a florin would last, and was gone.</p> + +<p>Had the Captain only stayed with me a little longer, I should +have thanked him for his hint, which set me thinking. I know +<span class="sc">Flickers</span> well. Many a time have I heard that notorious romancer +holding forth on his achievements in sport, and love, and +society. I have caught him tripping, convicted him of imagination +on a score of occasions; dozens of his acquaintances must +have found him out over and over again; but the fellow sails on, +unconscious of a reverse, with a sort of smiling persistence, down +the stream of modified untruthfulness, of which nobody ought to +know better than <span class="sc">Flickers</span> the rapids, and shallows, and rocks on +which the mariner's bark is apt to go to wreck. What is there in +the pursuit of sport, I ask myself, that brings on this strange tendency +to exaggeration? How few escape it. The excellent, the +prosaic <span class="sc">Dubson</span>, that broad-shouldered, whiskered, and eminently +snub-nosed Nimrod, he too, gives way occasionally. <span class="sc">Flickers's</span>, +I own, is an extreme case. He has indulged himself in fibs to such +an extent, that fibs are now as necessary to him as drams to the +drunkard. But <span class="sc">Dubson</span> the respectable, <span class="sc">Dubson</span> the dull, +<span class="sc">Dubson</span> +the unromantic—why does the gadfly sting him too, and impel him +now and then to wonderful antics. For was it not <span class="sc">Dubson</span> who told me, only +a week ago, that he had shot three partridges stone dead with one shot, and in +measuring the distance, had found it to be 100 yards less two inches? +Candidly, I do not believe him; but naturally enough I was not going to +be outdone, and I promptly returned on him with my well-known anecdote about +the shot which <i>ricocheted</i> from a driven bird in front of me and pierced my +host's youngest brother—a plump, short-coated Eton boy, who was for some +reason standing with his back to me ten yards in my rear—in a part of his +person sacred as a rule <i>plagoso Orbilio</i>. The shrieks of the stricken +youth, I told <span class="sc">Dubson</span>, still sounded horribly in my ears. It took the country +doctor an hour to extract the pellets—an operation which the boy endured, +with great fortitude, merely observing that he hoped his rowing would +not be spoiled for good, as he should bar awfully having to turn himself +into a dry-bob. This story, with all its harrowing details, did I duly +hammer into the open-mouthed <span class="sc">Dubson</span>, who merely remarked that "it +was a rum go, but you can never tell where a <i>ricochet</i> +will go," and was beginning upon me with a brand-new <i>ricochet</i> anecdote of +his own, when I hurriedly departed.</p> + +<p>Wherefore, my gay young shooters, you who week by week suck wisdom and conversational +ability from these columns, +it is borne in upon me that for your benefit I must treat of the +Smoking-room in its connection with shooting-parties. Thus, perhaps, +you may learn not so much what you ought to say, as what +you ought not to say, and your discretion shall be the admiration of +a whole country-side. "The Smoking-room: with which is incorporated +'Anecdotes.'" What a rollicking, cheerful, after-dinner +sound there is about it. <span class="sc">Shabrack</span> might say it was like the title +of a cheap weekly, which as a matter of fact, it does resemble. But +what of that? Next week we will begin upon it in good earnest.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>On the Boxing Kangaroo.</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>From <span class="sc">Smith</span> and <span class="sc">Mitchell</span> to a Kangaroo!!!</p> +<p class="i2">The "noble art" <i>is</i> going up! Whilloo!</p> +<p>Stay, though! Since pugilist-man seems coward-clown,</p> +<p>Perhaps 'tis the Marsupial coming down!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page246" id="page246"></a>[pg 246]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/246.png"><img width="100%" src="images/246.png" alt="FELINE AMENITIES." /></a><h3>FELINE AMENITIES.</h3> + +<p>"<span class="sc">I've brought you some Lace for your Stall at the Bazaar, Lizzie. I'm afraid it's +not quite Old enough to be +<i>really</i> valuable. I had it when I was a little Girl.</span>"</p> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Oh, <i>that's</i> Old enough for <i>Anything</i>, dearest! How lovely! Thanks so +<i>very</i> much!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>"LE GRAND FRANÇAIS."</h2> + +<blockquote class="note"><p> +["With all his faults, <span class="sc">M. de Lesseps</span> is perhaps +the most remarkable—we may even say the most +illustrious—of living Frenchmen."—<i>The Times</i>.] +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Jacques Bonhomme</span> <i>loquitur</i>:—</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p><i>Someone</i> should suffer—yes, of course—</p> +<p class="i2">For the depletion of my stocking;</p> +<p>But <i>Le Grand Français</i>? Bah! Remorse</p> +<p class="i2">Moves me to tears. It seems too shocking.</p> +<p>Get back my money? <i>Pas de chance</i>!</p> +<p>And then he is the pride of France!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>I raged, I know, four years ago,</p> +<p class="i2">Against those Panama projectors.</p> +<p>The law seemed slack, inquiry slow;</p> +<p class="i2">How I denounced them, the Directors,</p> +<p>Including <i>him</i>—in some vague fashion;</p> +<p>But then—<span class="sc">Bonhomme</span> was in a passion!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>And now to see the <i>gendarme's</i> hand—</p> +<p class="i2">Half-shrinkingly—upon <i>his</i> shoulder,</p> +<p>Our <i>Grand Français</i>—<i>so</i> old, <i>so</i> grand!</p> +<p class="i2"><i>Ma foi</i>, it palsies the beholder.</p> +<p>And will it lessen my large loss</p> +<p>To fix a stain on the Grand Cross?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Too sanguine? Too seductive? Yes!</p> +<p class="i2">But was it not such hopeful charming</p> +<p>That led him to his old success?</p> +<p class="i2">The thought is softening, and disarming;</p> +<p>O'er Suez and the Red Sea glance,</p> +<p>And see what he has done for France!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p><i>Peste</i> on this Panama affair!</p> +<p class="i2">Egyptian sands sucked not our savings</p> +<p>As did those swamps. Still I can't bear</p> +<p class="i2">To see <i>him</i> suffer. 'Midst my cravings</p> +<p>For <i>la revanche</i>, I'd fain not touch</p> +<p>Our Greatest Frenchman—'tis too much!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>SHORT AND SWEET.</h2> + +<blockquote class="note"><p> +["The Young Ladies of Nottingham have formed +a Short-skirt League."—<i>Daily Graphic</i>.] +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Ye pretty girls of England,</p> +<p class="i2">So famous for your looks,</p> +<p>Whose sense has braved a thousand fads</p> +<p class="i2">Of foolish fashion-books,</p> +<p>Your glorious standard launch again</p> +<p class="i2">To match another foe,</p> +<p class="i10">And refrain</p> +<p class="i10">From the train</p> +<p class="i2">While the stormy tempests blow,</p> +<p>While the sodden streets are thick with mud,</p> +<p class="i2">And the stormy tempests blow!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>See how the girls of Nottingham</p> +<p class="i2">Inaugurate a League</p> +<p>For skirts five inches from the ground;</p> +<p class="i2">They'll walk without fatigue,</p> +<p>No longer plagued with trains to lift</p> +<p class="i2">Above the slush or snow;</p> +<p class="i10">They'll not sweep</p> +<p class="i10">Mud that's deep</p> +<p class="i2">While the stormy tempests blow;</p> +<p>Long dresses do the Vestry's work,</p> +<p class="i2">While stormy tempests blow.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>O pretty girls of Nottingham,</p> +<p class="i2">If you could save us men</p> +<p>From our frightful clothing,</p> +<p class="i2">How we should love you then!</p> +<p>We'd shorten turned-up trouser,</p> +<p class="i2">And widen pointed toe,</p> +<p class="i10">Leave off that</p> +<p class="i10">Vile silk hat,</p> +<p class="i2">When the stormy tempests blow—</p> +<p>Wretched hat that stands not wind or rain</p> +<p class="i2">When the stormy tempests blow.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>We're fools. Yet, girls of England,</p> +<p class="i2">We might inquire of you,</p> +<p>Why wear those capes and sleeves that seem</p> +<p class="i2">Quite wide enough for two?</p> +<p>And why revive the <i>chignons</i>—</p> +<p class="i2">Huge lumps pinned on? You know</p> +<p class="i10">You would cry</p> +<p class="i10">Should they fly</p> +<p class="i2">Where the stormy tempests blow;</p> +<p>For they catch the wind just like balloons,</p> +<p class="i2">Where the stormy tempests blow.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Faults o' Both Sides.</span>—Ardent Radicals +grumbled at the Government for not holding +an Autumn Session. That was a fault of +omission. Now touchy Tories are angry with +it for showing too strong a tendency to what +Mr. <span class="sc">Gladstone</span> once sarcastically called "a +policy of examination and inquiry"—into the +case of Evicted Tenants, Poor-Law Relief, +&c. This is a fault of (Royal) Commission. +Luckless Government! The verdict upon it seems to be that it</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"Does nothing in particular,</p> +<p>And does it very—<i>ill</i>."</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Notice</span>.—The Twin Fountains of Trafalgar +Square regret to inform the British Public +that, although they have performed gratuitously +and continuously for a number of years, +they are compelled to retire from business, as +they cannot compete with the State-aided +spouting which takes place in their Square.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">A Great "Treat."</span>—Public-house Politics at Election time.</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page247" id="page247"></a>[pg 247]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/247.png"><img width="100%" src="images/247.png" alt="'LE GRAND FRANÇAIS!'" /></a><h3>"LE GRAND FRANÇAIS!"</h3> + +<p><span class="sc">Jacques Bonhomme</span> (<i>regarding</i> <span class="sc">M. de Lesseps</span>, <i>apart</i>). +"BAH! I HAVE LOST MY MONEY! (<i>Pause.</i>) ALL THE +SAME, I CANNOT DESIRE THAT HE, SO OLD AND SO DISTINGUISHED, SHOULD SUFFER!!"</p></div> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page249" id="page249"></a>[pg 249]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/249.png"><img width="100%" src="images/249.png" alt="GALLANTRY REWARDED." /></a><h3>GALLANTRY REWARDED.</h3> + +<p><i>Lady</i> (<i>having had a fall at a Brook, and come out the wrong side,—to +Stranger, who has caught her Horse</i>). "<span class="sc">Oh, I'm <i>so</i> much obliged to +you! Now, do you mind just bringing him over?</span>"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> + +<p>Books from the publishing house of <span class="sc">Fisher Unwin</span> are always +goodly to look upon, the public having to thank him for something +new in form, binding, and colour, in other series than the Pseudonym +Library. In a new edition of <i>The Sinner's Comedy</i>, just issued at +the modest price of Eighteenpence, he has solved a problem that has +long baffled the publisher, and bothered the public. Few like the +appearance of a book with the pages machine-cut; fewer still can +spare the time to cut a book. Mr. <span class="sc">Fisher Unwin</span> compromises by +presenting this dainty little volume with the top pages ready cut, +the reader having nothing to do but to slice the side-pages, a labour +which no book-lover would grudge, seeing that it leaves the volume +with the uncut appearance dear to his heart. The story, told +in 146 pages, is, my Baronite says, worthy the distinction of its +appearance. The characters are clearly drawn, the plot is interesting, +the conversation crisp, and the style throughout pleasantly +cynical. The author, <span class="sc">John Oliver Hobbes</span>, has a pretty turn of +aphorism. "A man's way of loving is so different from a woman's"; +and again, "Genius is so rare, and ambition is so common." Here +be truths, old enough perhaps, but cleverly re-set.</p> + +<p>Some people complain that politics are dull. They should read +the parliamentary and extra-parliamentary utterances of the Member +for Wrottenborough. They appear weekly in that rising young +paper, the <i>Sunday Times</i>, and an extremely readable selection of +them has lately been published "in book form," for the enlivening +of the Recess. Adapting the Laureate's lines, the Baron would say,—</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"They who would vote for an M.P. whose sense with humour chimes,</p> +<p>Will read the Member for Wrottenborough, all in the <i>Sunday Times</i>—</p> +<p>A paper our sires paid Sevenpence for, along of its grit and go,</p> +<p class="i4">Seventy years ago, my Public, seventy years ago!"</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>For whimsical audacity, and quaint unexpectedness. Mr. <span class="sc">Pain</span>, in +his latest book, <i>Playthings and Parodies</i>, would be hard to beat. +In this there is a good back-ground of shrewd observation. He does +not propose to make your flesh creep, or your eyes run torrents. He +simply succeeds in making you laugh. In "The Processional +Instinct," Mr. <span class="sc">Pain</span> informs us that he has discovered that our private +life is circular, and our public life is rectilineal. <span class="sc">Shakspeare</span>, who, +being for all time, and not merely for an age, recommends this +author to the general public when he says that everybody "should +be so conversant with <span class="sc">Pain</span>."</p> + +<p><i>The Memories of Dean Hole</i> is rather a misleading title; "but," +says the Baron, "I suppose the term 'Reminiscences' is played out. +The word 'Memories' seems to suggest that someone, whether +Dean <span class="sc">Hole</span>, or Dean <span class="sc">Corner</span>, or any other Dean, had more than one +memory, as indeed those persons appear to possess who mention their +'good memory for names,' and their 'bad memory for dates,' and <i>vice +versâ</i>. <i>Soit!</i>" quoth the Baron, in excellent French, "you may take +it from me (if I'll part with it) that the Hole book is by no means a +half-and-half sort of book, but is vastly entertaining." The stories +of "The Cloth" form the most entertaining part of the work. The +Baron wishes success to this work of the Dean in Holey Orders, and +suggests that the volume should be re-entitled <i>Gathered Leaves from +Dean Hole's Rose Garden</i>, a better title than "Reminiscences."</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Marion Crawford's</span> <i>Don Orsino</i> (published by <span class="sc">Macmillan & +Co.</span>) would be worth reading were it only for the colour of its word-painting, +and for its high-comedy dialogue. Yet is Mr. <span class="sc">Crawford</span> +rather given to pause in his story, for the sake of moralising +on the tendencies of the age; and the reader, patient though he +may be, when he has become interested in the personages of the +novel, does not care to be button-holed by a digression. <span class="sc">Marion +Crawford's</span> recipe for commencing an amorous duologue (early in +Vol. III.), which is to lead up to a declaration of love, is deliciously +ingenious. It begins with the gentleman taking a seat, and his first +remark is upon the chair. Mr. <span class="sc">Crawford</span> evidently remembers the +old story of how the tenor who knew but one song, "<i>In my Cottage +near a Wood</i>," used to introduce it into any scene of any Opera by +the simple process of making his entrance alone and finding a chair on +the stage. "Aha!" quoth he. "What's this? A chair? and made +of wood! Ah! that word! how it reminds me of my 'umble home, +'my cottage near a wood.'" Cue for band; chord; song. In this +instance, the love-scene, admirably led up to on the above plan, is +strikingly powerful; it is the work of a master-hand. The <i>dénoûment</i> +is both artistically original and, at the same time, ordinarily +probable. May all readers enjoy this excellent novel as much as has the sympathetic</p> + +<p class="author"><span class="sc">Baron de Book-Worms</span>.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Classical Question.</span>—If some schoolboys, home for Christmas +holidays, wanted Sir <span class="sc">Augustus Druriolanus</span> to give them a +Christmas Box (not a private one at the Pantomime), what Ancient +Philosopher would they mention? Why—of course—"<span class="sc">Aristippus</span>."</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page250" id="page250"></a>[pg 250]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:65%;"><a href="images/250-1.png"><img width="100%" src="images/250-1.png" alt="A LABOUR OF LOVE." /></a><h3>A LABOUR OF LOVE.</h3> + +<p><i>The Vicar.</i> "<span class="sc">And were you at the Ball last Night, Mrs. Ramsbottom?</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. R.</i> "<span class="sc">Oh, yes; I was Shampooing Eight Young Ladies there!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>LOCAL COLOUR.</h2> + +<p>Mr. <span class="sc">Alfred Austin</span>, in his new poem, +<i>Fortunatus, the Pessimist</i>, has hit upon a +new notion, to say nothing of a novel rhyme. Sings he:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"When the foal and brood-mare hinny,</p> +<p>And in every cut-down spinney</p> +<p>Lady's-Smocks grow <i>mauve and mauver</i>,</p> +<p>Then the Winter days are over."</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>This opens a polychromatic vista to the +New Poetry. Technical Art comes to the +aid of the elder Muses. The products of gas-tar +alone should greatly regenerate a something time-worn poetic phraseology. As thus:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>When the poet, Mr. <span class="sc">Pennyline</span>,</p> +<p>Is inspired by beauteous Aniline,</p> +<p>Products chemical and gas-tarry</p> +<p>Give the modern Muse new mastery.</p> +<p>Mauve <i>may</i> chime with love, and mauver</p> +<p>Form a decent rhyme to lover;</p> +<p>While (and if not, why not?) <i>mauvest</i></p> +<p>Antiphonetic proves to lovest.</p> +<p>(Verse erotic always sports</p> +<p>Tricksily with longs and shorts.</p> +<p>Verbal votaries of Venus</p> +<p>Are an arbitrary genus,</p> +<p>And as arrogant as <span class="sc">Howells</span></p> +<p>In their dealings with the vowels.</p> +<p><i>Love, move, rove</i>, linked in a sonnet,</p> +<p>Pass for rhymes; the best have done it!)</p> +<p>Then again there is Magenta!</p> +<p>Surely science never sent a</p> +<p>Handier rhyme to—well, polenta,</p> +<p>Or (for Cockney Muses) Mentor!</p> +<p>The poetic sense auricular</p> +<p>Can't afford to be particular.</p> +<p>Rags of rhymes, mere assonances,</p> +<p>Now must serve. Pegasus prances,</p> +<p>Like a Buffalo Bill buck-jumper,</p> +<p>When you have a "regular stumper"</p> +<p>(Such as "silver") do not care about</p> +<p>Perfect rhyming; "there or thereabout"</p> +<p>Is the Muse's maxim now.</p> +<p>You <i>may</i> get (bards have, I trow)</p> +<p>Rhyme's last minimum irreducible,</p> +<p>From dye-vat, retort, or crucible.</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>Verily (as <i>Touchstone</i> says), "I'll rhyme +you so, eight years together, dinners and +suppers, and sleeping hours excepted." And +if it is "the right butterwoman's rate to +market," or "the very false gallop of verses," +it is at any rate good enough for a long-eared +public or a postulant for the Laureateship.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>WAR ON A LARGE SCALE.</h2> + +<h4>(<i>An Account of the Conflict, from the Diary of an Inhabitant of Herne Bay.</i>)</h4> + +<p><i>Monday.</i>—Extremely awkward—the entire +British Fleet have come ashore; and, as it +is impossible to move them on account of +their enormous tonnage, this will entail a loss of £24,000,000,000!</p> + +<p><i>Tuesday.</i>—Troubles never come singly! +The French, taking advantage of the temporary +suspension of our naval operations, +have declared war. This means the utter +ruin of the bathing season, not only at Herne +Bay, but Southend, and the Isle of Thanet.</p> + +<p><i>Wednesday.</i>—As I expected! The French +Fleet are coming up towards London. They +are sure to pepper us as they pass. As every +gun carries several hundred miles, I do not +see how books can be uninterruptedly issued +from and returned to the Circulating Library.</p> + +<p><i>Thursday.</i>—Our first slice of luck! The +entire French Fleet during the mist last night +came into collision with the Nore Light, and +sank immediately. I was surprised at their +sparing the Reculvers and the local bathing-machines, +but now the mystery is explained.</p> + +<p><i>Friday.</i>—Just learned that the great gun +of Paris, which carries forty-four thousand +miles, is to be tried for the first time to-morrow. +It would have been used earlier, had it +not been necessary to raise a foreign loan to +supply funds to load it. Trust it won't be +laid in our direction. This war has already +caused the Insurance Companies to double their charges! Too bad!</p> + +<p><i>Saturday.</i>—All's well that ends well. +Hostilities are at an end. This morning all +the glass in the windows were broken at +8 o'clock. Ten minutes later the Champs +Elysées was deposited half a mile from Birchington. We now know that the great Paris +gun burst on its first discharge, and France +exists no longer as a country, but as a "geographical +expression" is deposited in various parts of Europe.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>REAL AND IDEAL.—"A Really Hard-Headed Man"—the Iron-skulled individual +now exhibiting at the Aquarium. If his will +is as iron as his head, what a despot he would +be! If France is tired of her Republic, she +might try the Iron-Headed Man as a ruler. +There is the chance, of course, that he might +turn out a numskull, and be only King Log, after all.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:33%;"><a href="images/250-2.png"><img width="100%" src="images/250-2.png" alt="A GENTLEMAN WHO 'TAKES LIFE EASILY.'" /></a>A GENTLEMAN WHO "TAKES LIFE EASILY."</div> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page251" id="page251"></a>[pg 251]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/251.png"><img width="100%" src="images/251.png" alt="A REMINISCENCE OF THE BASEBALL SEASON." /></a><h3>A REMINISCENCE OF THE BASEBALL SEASON.</h3></div> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page252" id="page252"></a>[pg 252]</span> + +<h2>JIM'S JOTTINGS.</h2> + +<blockquote class="note"><p> +["Do the poor make the slums, or the slums +make the poor?"—<i>Henry Lazarus, in "Landlordism."</i>] +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="figright" style="width:33%;"><a href="images/252.png"><img width="100%" src="images/252.png" alt="" /></a></div> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Is it the poor wot makes the Slums, or the Slums wot makes the poor?</p> +<p>Well, that's the question, Guv'nor, and I've 'eared it arsked afore,</p> +<p>And the arnser ain't so easy, if you wants to be O.K.</p> +<p>Don't suppose as <i>I</i> can settle it, but I'll have my little say.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>My old friend Mister <span class="sc">Lazarus</span>, now, he ups and sez, sez he,</p> +<p>The great Ground Landlord is the great <i>prime</i> cause. "Yah! fiddlededee!"</p> +<p>Cries the House-Farmer; "Slums is Slums, acos the Poor is <i>Pigs</i>!"</p> +<p>"You try 'em, friend philanthropist! They'll play you proper rigs."</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Yus, there's two sides to heverythink, wus luck! That's where we're fogged.</p> +<p>Passiges like foul pigstyes, gents, and backyards like black bogs,</p> +<p>Banisters broke for firewood, and smashed winders stuffed with rags,</p> +<p>These make the sniffers slate the poor, Perticular if they're wags.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Well, gents, you know, it's <i>this</i> way. Just you fancy yerselves <i>born</i></p> +<p>In a back-slum like Ragman's Rents. 'Old 'ard, don't larf with scorn!</p> +<p>Some on us <i>is</i> born there, yer know; it might ha' bin <i>your</i> luck,</p> +<p><i>If</i> yer mother'd bin a boozer, and yer father'd got the chuck.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Of course <i>yourn</i> was respectable; <i>mine</i> wosn't; there's the diff.!</p> +<p>Ah! things like this ain't settled by a snort or by a sniff.</p> +<p>Jest fancy hopening yer eyes fust time in a dark dive,</p> +<p>Or a sky-parlour where a plarnt o' musk won't keep alive.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Emagine, if yer washups can, some ten foot square o' room,</p> +<p>With a stror-heap in one corner, and a "dip" to light the gloom;</p> +<p>With the walls dirt-streaked with damp-lines, outside, a drunken din,</p> +<p>And hinside, a whiff of sewer-gas in a hatmosphere of gin.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Some on you carn't emagine there's sech 'orrors on the earth;</p> +<p>But there are, you bet your buttons. Who'd select 'em for their <i>birth</i>?</p> +<p>Not you, not me, not no one, if you asked 'em, I expect;</p> +<p>But yer place o' birth yer see, gents' jest the thing yer <i>carn't</i> select.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>If you're born where streets is narrer, and where rooms is werry small,</p> +<p>Where you've damp sludge for a ceiling, rotting plarster for a wall;</p> +<p>Where yer carn't eat, sleep, wash yerselves, or lay up when you're sick,</p> +<p>Without tumbling one o'er tother, wy, yer <i>sinks</i>, gents, pooty quick.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p><i>Sinks!</i> Yes, when wot yer lives in <i>is</i> a sink, or somethink wus;</p> +<p>With a drunkard for a mother, and some neighbour for a nuss;</p> +<p>With the gutter for yer playground, and a 'ome from which yer shrink,</p> +<p>Can you wonder that poor Slum-birds is give o'er to Dirt and Drink.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Ah! them two D's goes together. Just you plant some orty Queen</p> +<p>In a rookery, in her kidhood, and then tell her to keep <i>clean</i>,</p> +<p>Wash 'er face, and mend 'er garments,—wich they're mostly sewed-up rags,—</p> +<p>In six months she'd be a scare-crow, 'ands like sut, and 'air all jags.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Wot yer washups don't quite tumble to's the fack as like breeds like.</p> +<p>If you would himprove Slum-dwellers, at the Slum you fust must strike.</p> +<p>Give us small dark 'oles to dwell in, and you must be jolly green</p> +<p>If you think folks bred in dirt like, are a-going to keep 'em clean.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>When the sewer-rats take to sweetening and lime-washing <i>their</i> foul 'oles,</p> +<p>And bright light and disinfectants are the fads of skunks and moles,</p> +<p>Then poor souls in cellar-dwellings and in jerry-builders' dens,</p> +<p>Will be smart as young canaries and as clean as clucking hens.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Nocky Spriggings</span> guyed me proper, in his chuckly sorter style,</p> +<p>With his thumb 'ooked orful hartful, and his chickaleary smile.</p> +<p>"<span class="sc">Jim</span>," sez he, "wot price <i>your</i> jabber? Do yer think the blooming blokes</p> +<p>Cares a cuss for me and you, <span class="sc">Jim</span>, any more than for our mokes?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>"Shut yer face, you pattering josser! Dirt and Drink is good for Rents!</p> +<p>If the Poor <i>wos</i> clean and sober, where 'ud be their cent-per-cents?</p> +<p>If it's Public 'Ouse 'gainst Wash 'Ouse, if it's Slumland <i>wersus</i> Swipes,</p> +<p><i>I</i> am on for booze and backy 'stead o' drains and water-pipes.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>"You may be <i>too</i> jolly clean, <span class="sc">Jim</span>, and a precious sight <i>too</i> light,</p> +<p>Were's the good to scrub yer skin orf! And if when a cove gits tight,</p> +<p>Or would give his donah wot-for on the Q.T. <i>wot</i> a lark</p> +<p>If there weren't no 'andy alleys, nor no corners snug and <i>dark</i>.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>"If the Public—<i>and</i> the Slops—wos always fly to wot <i>we</i> done,</p> +<p>'Long o' widened streets and gas-light, wy we'd 'ave no blooming fun.</p> +<p>Lagged for larrupping yer missus, nailed for boozing till yer nod?</p> +<p>Wy, you jabbering young Juggins, <i>we should always be in quod!</i>"</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>'Ard nut is <span class="sc">Nocky Spriggings</span>—of the sort as make the slums,</p> +<p>'Cos there ain't much chance for cleanness, or for comfort, when <i>he</i> comes.</p> +<p>He's as 'appy in the dirt, gents, as a blowfly or a 'og;</p> +<p>Or poor Paddy in his tater-patch alongside of a bog;</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>He'd chop up 'is doors and winders for a fire to 'ot his lush,</p> +<p>Don't care a 'ang for decency, and never raised a blush.</p> +<p>But, arter my hexperience—and I've 'ad some down our court—</p> +<p>I believe that—fair at bottom—it's the Slum as makes <i>his</i> sort.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Anyways I'm pooty certain, if we'd got more light and space,</p> +<p>And were not jammed up together in a filthy, ill-drained place;</p> +<p>If the sunlight could but see us, and the public <i>and</i> the cops,</p> +<p>There would be less booze and bashing, fewer drabs and drinking-shops.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Aye, and fewer <span class="sc">Nocky Spriggingses</span>! I don't go for to say</p> +<p>As it's <i>all</i> along o' Landlords, who'd rent 'ell, if 'twould but pay;</p> +<p>But I've noticed you find fewest mice where there are lots of cats,</p> +<p>And where there ain't no rat-holes, well—yer won't spot many rats!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>THE LAST DISCOVERY.</h3> + +<h4>(<i>A Sequel to a recent Lecture. By Mr. Punch's Prophetic Reporter.</i>)</h4> + +<p>The enormous crowd cheered again and +again. It was furious. The enthusiasm spread +from throng to throng, until a mighty chorus +filled every portion of the land. And there was +indeed reason for the rejoicing. Had not the +great Arctic Explorer come home? Had he not +been to the North Pole and back? At that very +moment were not a couple of steam-tugs drawing +his wooden vessel towards his native +shore? It was indeed a moment for congratulation—not only personal but national, nay +cosmopolitan. The victory of art over nature +belonged to more than a country, it belonged to the world!</p> + +<p>And the tugs came closer and closer, and the +cheers grew louder and louder. Then the +vessel bearing the Explorer was near at hand. +The crowd joyously jumped into the water, +and raising him on their shoulders, bore him triumphantly to land.</p> + +<p>How they welcomed him! How they seized +his hands and kissed them! How they cried +and called him "Master," and "Victor," and +"Hero!" It was a scene never to be forgotten!</p> + +<p>When the excitement had somewhat subsided, +they began to ask him questions. At +last one of them wished to know how he contrived +to find the North Pole and get back in safety?</p> + +<p>"You intended to drift?" said they. +"Great and glorious hero, victorious victor, +triumphant explorer, did you do this?"</p> + +<p>"I did," was the reply.</p> + +<p>"And tell us what was your method of +obtaining the knowledge you now possess? +Oh, great chief, how <i>did</i> you manage it?"</p> + +<p>Then came the answer—</p> + +<p>"By sitting still, and doing nothing!"</p> + +<p>And now it being dark, they separated to +illuminate their homes in honour of the fresh +industry—an industry admirably adapted to +that great and contented class of the community, the Unemployed!</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><font size="+1">☞</font> 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> + + +<hr class="full" /> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, Or The London Charivari, VOL. +103, November 26, 1892, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + +***** This file should be named 15973-h.htm or 15973-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/9/7/15973/ + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer, William Flis, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Punch, Or The London Charivari, VOL. 103, November 26, 1892 + +Author: Various + +Editor: Francis Burnand + +Release Date: June 3, 2005 [EBook #15973] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + + + + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer, William Flis, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +PUNCH, + +OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. + +VOL. 103. + + + +November 26, 1892. + + + + +LETTERS TO ABSTRACTIONS. + +NO. XVII.--TO FAILURE. + +A Philosopher has deigned to address to me a letter. "Sir," writes +my venerable correspondent, "I have been reading your open letters to +Abstractions with some interest. You will, however, perhaps permit +me to observe that amongst those to whom you have written are not a +few who have no right whatever to be numbered amongst Abstractions. +Laziness, for instance, and Crookedness, and Irritation--not to +mention others--how is it possible to say that these are Abstractions? +They are concrete qualities and nothing else. Forgive me for making +this correction, and believe me yours, &c. A PLATONIST."--To which I +merely reply, with all possible respect, "Stuff and nonsense!" I know +my letters have reached those to whom they were addressed, no single +one has come back through the Dead-letter Office, and that is enough +for me. Besides, there are thousands of Abstractions that the mind +of "A PLATONIST" has never conceived. Somewhere I know, there is an +abstract Boot, a perfect and ideal combination of all the qualities +that ever were or will be connected with boots, a grand exemplar +to which all material boots, more or less, nearly approach; and by +their likeness to which they are recognised as boots by all who in +a previous existence have seen the ideal Boot. Sandals, mocassins, +butcher-boots, jack-boots, these are but emanations from the great +original. Similarly, there must be an abstract Dog, to the likeness of +which, in one respect or another, both the Yorkshire Terrier and the +St. Bernard conform. So much then for "A PLATONIST." And now to the +matter in hand. + +[Illustration] + +My dear FAILURE, there exists amongst us, as, indeed, there has +always existed, an innumerable body of those upon whom you have cast +your melancholy blight. Amongst their friends and acquaintances they +are known by the name you yourself bear. They are the great army of +failures. But there must be no mistake. Because a man has had high +aspirations, has tried with all the energy of his body and soul to +realise them, and has, in the end, fallen short of his exalted aim, +he is not, therefore, to be called a failure. MOSES, I may remind you, +was suffered only to look upon the Promised Land from a mountain-top. +Patriots without number--KOSSUTH shall be my example--have fought +and bled, and have been thrust into exile, only to see their objects +gained by others in the end. But the final triumph was theirs surely +almost as much as if they themselves had gained it. On the other hand +there are those who march from disappointment to disappointment, but +remain serenely unconscious of it all the time. These are not genuine +failures. There is CHARSLEY, for instance, journalist, dramatist, +novelist--Heaven knows what besides. His plays have run, on an +average, about six nights; his books, published mostly at his own +expense, are a drug in the market; but the little creature is as vain, +as proud, and, it must be added, as contented, as though Fame had set +him, with a blast of her golden trumpet, amongst the mighty Immortals. +What lot can be happier than his? Secure in his impregnable egotism, +ramparted about with mighty walls of conceit, he bids defiance to +attack, and lives an enviable life of self-centred pleasure. + +Then, again, there was JOHNNIE TRUEBRIDGE. I do not mean to liken him +to CHARSLEY, for no more unselfish and kind-hearted being than JOHNNIE +ever breathed. But was there ever a stone that rolled more constantly +and gathered less moss? Yet no stroke could subdue his inconquerable +cheerfulness. Time after time he got his head above the waters; +time after time, some malignant emissary of fate sent him bubbling +and gasping down into the depths. He was up again in a moment, +striving, battling, buffeting. Nothing could make JOHNNIE despair, no +disappointment could warp the simple straightforward sincerity, the +loyal and almost childlike honesty of his nature. And if here and +there, for a short time, fortune seemed to shine upon him, you may be +sure that there was no single friend whom he did not call upon to bask +with him in these fleeting rays. And what a glorious laugh he had; not +a loud guffaw that splits your tympanum and crushes merriment flat, +but an irrepressible, helpless, irresistible infectious laugh, in +which his whole body became involved. I have seen a whole roomful of +strangers rolling on their chairs without in the least knowing why, +while JOHNNIE, with his head thrown back, his jolly face puckered into +a thousand wrinkles of hearty delight, and his hands pressed to his +sides, was shouting with laughter at some joke made, as most of his +jokes were, at his own expense. + +It was during one of his brief intervals of prosperity, at a meet +of the Ditchington Stag-hounds that I first met JOHNNIE. He was +beautifully got up. His top-hat shone scarcely less brilliantly than +his rosy cheeks, his collar was of the stiffest, his white tie was +folded and pinned with a beautiful accuracy, his black coat fitted +him like a glove, his leather-breeches were smooth and speckless, and +his champagne-coloured tops fitted his sturdy little legs as if they +had been born with him. He was mounted on an enormous chestnut-horse, +which Anak might have controlled, but which was far above the power +and weight of JOHNNIE, plucky and determined though he was. Shortly +after the beginning of the run, while the hounds were checked, I +noticed a strange, hatless, dishevelled figure, riding furiously round +and round a field. It was JOHNNIE, whose horse was bolting with him, +but who was just able to guide it sufficiently to keep it going in +a circle instead of taking him far over hill and dale. We managed to +stop him, and I shall never forget how he laughed at his own disasters +while he was picking up his crop and replacing his hat on his head. +Not long afterwards, I saw our little Mazeppa crashing, horse and all, +into the branches of a tree, but in spite of a black eye and a deep +cut on his cheek, he finished the run--fortunately for him a very +fast and long one--with imperturbable pluck and with no further +misadventure. "Nasty cut that," I said to him as we trained back +together, "you'd better get it properly looked to in town." "Pooh," +said JOHNNIE, "it's a mere scratch. Did you see the brute take me into +the tree? By Jove, it must have been a comic sight!" and with that he +set off again on another burst of inextinguishable laughter. + +About a week after this, the usual crash came. A relative of JOHNNIE +was in difficulties. JOHNNIE, with his wonted chivalry, came to his +help with the few thousands that he had lately put by, and, in a day +or two, he was on his beam-ends once more. And so the story went on. +Money slipped through his fingers like water--prosperity tweaked +him by the nose, and fled from him, whilst friends, not a whit more +deserving, amassed fortunes, and became sleek. But he was never +daunted. With inexhaustible courage and resource, he set to work again +to rebuild his shattered edifice, confident that luck would, some day, +stay with him for good. But it never did. At last he threw in his lot +with a band of adventurers, who proposed to plant the British flag in +some hitherto unexplored regions of South or Central Africa. I dined +with JOHNNIE the evening before he left England. He was in the highest +spirits. His talk was of rich farms, of immense gold-mines. He was +off to make his pile, and would then come home, buy an estate in the +country--he had one in his eye--and live a life of sport, surrounded +by all the comforts, and by all his friends. And so we parted, never +to meet again. He was lost while making his way back to the coast with +a small party, and no trace of him has ever since been discovered. +But to his friends he has left a memory and an example of invincible +courage, and unceasing cheerfulness in the face of misfortune, of +constant helpfulness, and unflinching staunchness. Can it be said that +such a man was a failure? I don't think so. I must write again. In the +meantime I remain, as usual, + +D.R. + + * * * * * + +SIGNS OF THE SEASON.--"_Beauty's Daughters!_" These charming young +ladies are to be obtained for the small sum of one penny! as for this +trifling amount,--unless there is a seasonably extra charge,--you +can purchase the Christmas Number of the _Penny Illustrated_, +wherein Mr. CLEMENT SCOTT "our dear departed" (on tour round the +world--"globe-trotting"), leads off with some good verses. Will he be +chosen Laureate? He is away; and it is characteristic of a truly great +poet to be "absent." And the Editor, that undefeated story-teller, +tells one of his best stories in his best style, and gives us a +delightful picture of Miss ELSIE NORMAN. "Alas! she is another's! +she never can be mine!" as she is Somebody Elsie's. Success to your +Beauties, Mr. LATEY, or more correctly, Mr. EARLY-AND-LATEY, as you +bring out your Christmas Number a good six weeks before Christmas Day. + + * * * * * + +MOTTO FOR THE LABOUR COMMISSION.--"The proper study of mankind +is--MANN!" + + * * * * * + +THE NEW EMPLOYMENT.--Being "Unemployed." + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: A CABBIN' IT COUNCIL IN NOVEMBER.] + + * * * * * + +CABBIN' IT COUNCIL. + +(IN NOVEMBER.) + +_Grand Old Jarvie, loquitur_:-- + + O Lud! O Lud! O Lud! + (As TOM HOOD cried, apostrophising London), + November rules, a reign of rain, fog, mud, + And Summer's sun is fled, and Autumn's fun done. + Far are the fields M.P.'s have tramped and gunned on! + Malwood is far, and far is fair Dalmeny, + And Harwarden, + Like a garden + (To Caucus-mustered crowds) glowing and greeny + In soft September, + Is distant now, and dull; for 'tis November, + And we are in a Fog! + Cabbin' it, Council? Ah! each _absent_ Member + May be esteemed a vastly lucky dog! + The streets are up--of course! No Irish bog + Is darker, deeper, dirtier than that hole + SP-NC-R is staring into. On my soul, + M-RL-Y, we want that light you're seeking, swarming + Up that lank lamp-post in a style alarming! + Take care, my JOHN, you don't come down a whopper! + And you, young R-S-B-RY, if _you_ come a cropper + Over that dark, dim pile, where shall _we_ be? + Pest! I can hardly see + An inch before my nose--not to say clearly. + Hold him up, H-RC-RT! He was down then, nearly, + Our crook-knee'd "crock." Seems going very queerly, + Although so short a time out of the stable. + Quiet him, WILLIAM, quiet him!--if you're able. + This is no spot for him to fall. I dread + The need--just here--of "sitting on his head." + Cutting the traces + Will leave us dead-lock'd, _here_ of all bad places! + Oh, do keep quiet, K-MB-RL-Y! You're twitching + My cape again! Mind, ASQ-TH! You'll be pitching + Over that barrier, if you are not steady. + Fancy us getting in this fix--already! + Cabbin' it in a fog is awkward work, + Specially for the driver, who can't shirk, + When once his "fare" is taken. + I feel shaken. + 'd rather drive the chariot of the Sun + (That's dangerous, but rare fun!) + Like Phaethon, + Than play the Jehu in a fog so woful + To this confounded "Shoful"! + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: REAL PRESENCE OF MIND. + +POLICEMAN X 24, DRUNK AND ALMOST INCAPABLE, IS JUST ABLE TO BLOW HIS +WHISTLE FOR HELP!] + + * * * * * + +LADY GAY'S GHOST. + +_Mount Street, Berkeley Square._ + +DEAR MR. PUNCH, + +More than a fortnight ago I fled from the London fog, with the result +that it got thicker than ever about me in the minds of your readers +and yourself! I determined during my absence to do what many people +in the world of Art and _Letters_ have done before me, employ a +"Ghost"--(my _first_ dealings with the supernatural, and probably my +_last_!). I wired to one of the leading Sporting Journals for their +most reliable Racing Ghost--he was busy watching _Nunthorpe_--(who is +only the Ghost of what he was!)--and the Bogie understudy sent to +me was a Parliamentary Reporter!--(hence the stilted style of the +letter signed "POMPERSON." Heavens! what a name!)--I had five minutes +to explain the situation to him before catching the _train de +luxe_--(Lord ARTHUR had gone on with the luggage)--and I don't +think he had the ghostliest idea of what I wanted!--the one point he +grasped, was, that he was to use anonymous names--which he did with +a vengeance!--My horror on reading his letter was such that I +dropped all the money I had in my hand on the "red" instead of the +"black"--and it won!--(I think I shall bring out a system based on +"fright.") + +Of course all my friends thought Lord ARTHUR and I had quarrelled, +and I was "off" with someone else!--What a fog. This idea being +confirmed by the following week's letter, which was the well-meant +but misdirected effort of my friend Lady HARRIETT ENTOUCAS, to whom +I wired to "do something for me"--(she pretty nearly did for me +altogether!)--there was nothing for it but to come home--where I +am--Lord ARTHUR wanted to write you this week, but I thought one +explanation at a time quite enough--so his shall follow--"if you want +a thing done, do it yourself!"--so in future I will either be my own +Ghost or have nothing to do with them! Yours apparitionally, + +LADY GAY. + + * * * * * + +ALL ROUND THE FAIR. + +NO. II. + + INSIDE THE "QUEEN'S GRAND COLLECTION OF MOVING WAXWORKS + AND LIONS, AND MUSEUM DEPARTMENT OF FOREIGN WONDERS AND + NOVELTIES." + + _The majority of the Public is still outside, listening + open-mouthed to a comic dialogue between the Showman and a + juvenile and irreverent Nigger. Those who have come in find + that, with the exception of some particularly tame-looking + murderers' heads in glazed pigeon-holes, a few limp effigies + stuck up on rickety ledges, and an elderly Cart-horse in low + spirits, there is little to see at present._ + +_Melia_ (_to JOE, as they inspect the Cart-horse._) This 'ere can't +never be the live 'orse with five legs, as they said was to be seen +inside! + +_Joe._ Theer ain't no other 'orse in 'ere, and why _shouldn't_ it be +'im, if that's all? + +_Melia._ Well, I don't make out no more'n _four_ legs to'un, nohow, +myself. + +_Joe._ Don't ye be in sech a 'urry, now--the Show ain't _begun_ yet! + +[Illustration: "It's quoite tri-ew!"] + + [_The barrel-organ outside blares "God Save the Queen," and + more Spectators come stumping down the wooden steps, followed + by the Showman._ + +_Showman._ I shell commence this Exhibition by inviting your +inspection of the wonderful live 'orse with five legs. (_To +the depressed Cart-horse._) 'Old up! (_The poor beast lifts his +off-fore-leg with obvious reluctance, and discloses a very small +supernumerary hoof concealed behind the fetlock._) Examine it! for +yourselves--two distinct 'oofs with shoes and nails complete--a +_great_ novelty! + +_Melia._ I don't call that nothen of a leg, _I_ don't--it ain't 'ardly +a _oof_, even! + +_Joe_ (_with phlegm_). That's wheer th' old 'orse gits the larf on ye, +that is! + +_Showman._ We will now pass on to the Exhibition. 'Ere (_indicating +a pair of lop-sided Orientals in nondescript attire_) we 'ave two +life-sized models of the Japanese villagers who caused so much +sensation in London on account o' their peculiar features--you will +easily reckernise the female by her bein' the ugliest one o' the two. +(_Compassionate titters from the Spectators._) I will now call your +attention to a splendid group, taken from English 'Istry, and set in +motion by powerful machinery, repperesentin' the Parting Interview +of CHARLES THE FIRST with his fam'ly. (_Rolls up a painted canvas +curtain, and reveals the Monarch seated, with the Duke of GLOUCESTER +on his knee, surrounded by OLIVER CROMWELL, and as many Courtiers, +Guards, and Maids of Honour as can be accommodated in the limited +space._) I will wind up the machinery and the unfortunate King will be +seen in the act of bidding his fam'ly ajew for ever in this world. + + [_CHARLES begins to click solemnly and move his head by + progressive jerks to the right, while the Little Duke + moves his simultaneously to the left, and a Courtier in the + background is so affected by the scene that he points with + respectful sympathy at nothing; the Spectators do not commit + themselves to any comments._ + +_Showman_ (_concluding a quotation from MARKHAM_). "And the little +Dook, with the tears a-standin' in 'is heyes, replies, 'I will be tore +in pieces fust!'" Other side, please! No, Mum, the lady in mournin' +_ain't_ the beautiful but ill-fated MARY, Queen o' Scots--it's Mrs. +MAYBRICK, now in confinement for poisonin' her 'usban', and the figger +close to her is the MAHDI, or False Prophet. In the next case we +'ave a subject selected from Ancient Roman 'Istry, bein' the story +of ANDROCLES, the Roman Slave, as he appeared when, escaping from his +crule owners, he entered a cave and found a lion which persented 'im +with 'is bleedin' paw. After some 'esitation, ANDROCLES examined the +paw, as repperesented before you. (_Winds the machinery up, whereupon +the lion opens his lower jaw and emits a mild bleat, while ANDROCLES +turns his head from side to side in bland surprise._) This lion is +the largest forestbred and blackmaned specimen ever imported into +this country--the _other_ lion standing beyind (_disparagingly_), has +nothing whatever to do with the tableau, 'aving been shot recently in +Africa by Mr. STANLEY, the two figgers at the side repperesent the +Boy Murderers who killed their own father at Crewe with a 'atchet and +other 'orrible barbarities. I shall conclude the Collection by showing +you the magnificent group repperesentin' Her Gracious Majisty the +QUEEN, as she appeared in 'er 'appier and younger days, surrounded by +the late Mr. SPURGEON, the 'Eroes of the Soudan, and other Members of +the Royal Fam'ly. + +INSIDE THE CIRCUS. + + _After some tight-rope, juggling, and boneless performances + have been given in the very limited arena, the Clown has + introduced the Learned Pony._ + +_Clown._ Now, little Pony, go round the Company and pick me out the +little boy as robs the Farmer's orchard. + + [_The Pony trots round, and thrusts his nose confidently into + a Small Boy's face._ + +_Small Boy_ (_indignantly_). Ye're a _liar_, Powney; so theer! + +_Clown._ Now, see if you can find me the little gal as steals her +mother's jam and sugar. Look sharp now, don't stand there playin' with +yer bit! + +_A Little Girl_ (_penitently, as the Accusing Quadruped halts in front +of her_). Oh, please, Pony, I won't never do it no more! + +_Clown._ Now go round and pick me out the Young Man as is fond o' +kissin' the girls and married ladies when their 'usbands is out o' the +way. (_The Pony stops before an Infant in Arms._) 'Ere, think what +yer _doin'_ now. You don't mean _'im_, do you? (_The Pony shakes his +head._) Is it the Young Man standin' just beyind as is fond o' kissin +the girls? (_The Pony nods._) Ah, I thought so! + +_The Rustic Lothario_ (_with a broad grin_). It's quoite tri-ew! + +_Clown._ Now I want you, little Pony, to go round and tell me who's +the biggest rogue in the company. (_Reassuringly, as the Pony goes +round, and a certain uneasiness is perceptible among some of the +spectators_). I 'ope no Gentleman 'ere will be offended by +bein' singled out, for no offence is intended,--it is merely a +'armless--(_Finds the Pony at his elbow._) Why, you rascal! do you +mean to say _I'm_ the biggest rogue 'ere? (_The Pony nods._) You've +been round, and can't find a bigger rogue than me in all this company? +(_Emphatic shake of the head from Pony; secret relief of inner circle +of Spectators._) You and me'll settle this later! + +_First Spectator_ (_as audience disperses_). That war a clever Pony, +sart'nly! + +_Second Spect._ Ah, he wur that. (_Reflectively._) I dunno as I shud +keer partickler 'bout _'avin_ of 'im, though! + +IN THE HOME OF MYSTERY. + + _A small canvas booth with a raised platform, on which a Young + Woman in short skirts has just performed a few elementary + conjuring tricks before an audience of gaping Rustics._ + +_The Showman._ The Second Part of our Entertainment will consist +of the performances of a Real Live Zulu from the Westminster Royal +Aquarium. Mr. FARINI, in the course of 'is travels, discovered both +men and women--and this is one of them. (_Here a tall Zulu, simply +attired in a leopard's-skin apron, a bead necklace, and an old busby, +creeps through the hangings at the back._) He will give you a specimen +of the strange and remarkable dances in his country, showin' you the +funny way in which they git married--for they don't git married over +there the same as we do 'ere--cert'n'ly _not_! (_The Spectators form a +close ring round the Zulu._) Give him a little more room, or else you +won't notice the funny way he moves his legs while dancin'. + + [_The ring widens a very little, and contracts again, while + the Zulu performs a perfunctory prance to the monotonous + jingle of his brass anklets._ + +_Melia_ (_critically_). Well, that's the silliest sort of a weddin' as +iver _I_ see! + +_Joe._ He do seem to be 'avin' it a good deal to 'isself, don't 'e? + +_Showman._ He will now conclude 'is entertainment by porsin round, +and those who would like to shake 'ands with 'im are welcome to do so, +while at the same time, those among you who would like to give 'im a +extry copper for 'isself you will 'ave an opportunity of noticin' the +funny way in which he takes it. + +_Spectators_ (_as the Zulu begins to slink round the tent, extending a +huge and tawny paw_). 'Ere, _come_ arn! + + [_The booth is precipitately cleared._ + + * * * * * + +"_WRITE Letter Days_" should be the companion volume to _Red Letter +Days_, published by BENTLEY. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: THAT IT SHOULD COME TO THIS! + +_Boy._ "SECOND-CLASS, SIR?" + +_Captain._ "I NEVAH TRAVEL SECOND-CLASS!" + +_Boy._ "THIS WAY THIRD, SIR!"] + + * * * * * + +CONVERSATIONAL HINTS FOR YOUNG SHOOTERS. + +THE SMOKING-ROOM. + +The subject of the Smoking-room would seem to be intimately and +necessarily connected with the subject of smoke, which was dealt with +in our last Chapter. A very good friend of mine, Captain SHABRACK of +the 55th (Queen ELIZABETH'S Own) Hussars, was good enough to favour +me with his views the other day. I met the gallant officer, who is, +as all the world knows, one of the safest and best shots of the day, +in Pall Mall. He had just stepped out of his Club--the luxurious +and splendid Tatterdemalion, or, as it is familiarly called, "the +Tat"--where, to use his own graphic language, he had been "killing the +worm with a nip of Scotch." + +"Early Scotch woodcock, I suppose," says I, sportively alluding to the +proverb. + +"Scotch woodcock be blowed," says the Captain, who, it must be +confessed, does not include an appreciation of delicate humour amongst +his numerous merits; "Scotch, real Scotch, a noggin of it, my boy, +with soda in a long glass; glug, glug, down it goes, hissin' over the +hot coppers. You know the trick, my son, it's no use pretendin' you +don't"--and thereupon the high-spirited warrior dug me good-humouredly +in the ribs, and winked at me with an eye which, if the truth must be +told, was bloodshot to the very verge of ferocity. + +"Talkin' of woodcock," he continued--we were now walking along Pall +Mall together--"they tell me you're writin' some gas or other about +shootin'. Well, if you want a tip from me, just you let into the +smokin' room shots a bit; you know the sort I mean, fellows who are +reg'lar devils at killin' birds when they haven't got a gun in their +hands. Why, there's that little son of a corn-crake, FLICKERS--when +once he gets talkin' in a smokin' room nothing can hold him. He'd talk +the hind leg off a donkey. I know he jolly nearly laid me out the +last time I met him with all his talk--No, you don't," continued the +Captain, imagining, perhaps, that I was going to rally him on his +implied connection of himself with the three-legged animal he had +mentioned, "no you don't--it wouldn't be funny; and besides, I'm not +donkey enough to stand much of that ass FLICKERS. So just you pitch +into him, and the rest of 'em, my bonny boy, next time you put pen +to paper." At this moment my cheerful friend observed a hansom that +took his fancy. "Gad!" he said, "I never can resist one of those +india-rubber tires. Ta, ta, old cock--keep your pecker up. Never +forget your goloshes when it rains, and always wear flannel next your +skin," and, with that, he sprang into his hansom, ordered the cabman +to drive him round the town as long as a florin would last, and was +gone. + +Had the Captain only stayed with me a little longer, I should have +thanked him for his hint, which set me thinking. I know FLICKERS well. +Many a time have I heard that notorious romancer holding forth on +his achievements in sport, and love, and society. I have caught him +tripping, convicted him of imagination on a score of occasions; dozens +of his acquaintances must have found him out over and over again; but +the fellow sails on, unconscious of a reverse, with a sort of smiling +persistence, down the stream of modified untruthfulness, of which +nobody ought to know better than FLICKERS the rapids, and shallows, +and rocks on which the mariner's bark is apt to go to wreck. What +is there in the pursuit of sport, I ask myself, that brings on this +strange tendency to exaggeration? How few escape it. The excellent, +the prosaic DUBSON, that broad-shouldered, whiskered, and eminently +snub-nosed Nimrod, he too, gives way occasionally. FLICKERS'S, I own, +is an extreme case. He has indulged himself in fibs to such an extent, +that fibs are now as necessary to him as drams to the drunkard. But +DUBSON the respectable, DUBSON the dull, DUBSON the unromantic--why +does the gadfly sting him too, and impel him now and then to wonderful +antics. For was it not DUBSON who told me, only a week ago, that he +had shot three partridges stone dead with one shot, and in measuring +the distance, had found it to be 100 yards less two inches? Candidly, +I do not believe him; but naturally enough I was not going to be +outdone, and I promptly returned on him with my well-known anecdote +about the shot which _ricocheted_ from a driven bird in front of me +and pierced my host's youngest brother--a plump, short-coated Eton +boy, who was for some reason standing with his back to me ten yards in +my rear--in a part of his person sacred as a rule _plagoso Orbilio_. +The shrieks of the stricken youth, I told DUBSON, still sounded +horribly in my ears. It took the country doctor an hour to extract +the pellets--an operation which the boy endured, with great fortitude, +merely observing that he hoped his rowing would not be spoiled for +good, as he should bar awfully having to turn himself into a dry-bob. +This story, with all its harrowing details, did I duly hammer into the +open-mouthed DUBSON, who merely remarked that "it was a rum go, but +you can never tell where a _ricochet_ will go," and was beginning upon +me with a brand-new _ricochet_ anecdote of his own, when I hurriedly +departed. + +Wherefore, my gay young shooters, you who week by week suck wisdom and +conversational ability from these columns, it is borne in upon me that +for your benefit I must treat of the Smoking-room in its connection +with shooting-parties. Thus, perhaps, you may learn not so much what +you ought to say, as what you ought not to say, and your discretion +shall be the admiration of a whole country-side. "The Smoking-room: +with which is incorporated 'Anecdotes.'" What a rollicking, cheerful, +after-dinner sound there is about it. SHABRACK might say it was +like the title of a cheap weekly, which as a matter of fact, it does +resemble. But what of that? Next week we will begin upon it in good +earnest. + + * * * * * + +ON THE BOXING KANGAROO. + + From SMITH and MITCHELL to a Kangaroo!!! + The "noble art" _is_ going up! Whilloo! + Stay, though! Since pugilist-man seems coward-clown, + Perhaps 'tis the Marsupial coming down! + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: FELINE AMENITIES. + +"I'VE BROUGHT YOU SOME LACE FOR YOUR STALL AT THE BAZAAR, LIZZIE. I'M +AFRAID IT'S NOT QUITE OLD ENOUGH TO BE _REALLY_ VALUABLE. I HAD IT +WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL." + +"OH, _THAT'S_ OLD ENOUGH FOR _ANYTHING_, DEAREST! HOW LOVELY! THANKS +SO _VERY_ MUCH!"] + + * * * * * + +"LE GRAND FRANCAIS." + + ["With all his faults, M. DE LESSEPS is perhaps the most + remarkable--we may even say the most illustrious--of living + Frenchmen."--_The Times_.] + + JACQUES BONHOMME _loquitur_:-- + + _Someone_ should suffer--yes, of course-- + For the depletion of my stocking; + But _Le Grand Francais_? Bah! Remorse + Moves me to tears. It seems too shocking. + Get back my money? _Pas de chance_! + And then he is the pride of France! + + I raged, I know, four years ago, + Against those Panama projectors. + The law seemed slack, inquiry slow; + How I denounced them, the Directors, + Including _him_--in some vague fashion; + But then--BONHOMME was in a passion! + + And now to see the _gendarme's_ hand-- + Half-shrinkingly--upon _his_ shoulder, + Our _Grand Francais_--_so_ old, _so_ grand! + _Ma foi_, it palsies the beholder. + And will it lessen my large loss + To fix a stain on the Grand Cross? + + Too sanguine? Too seductive? Yes! + But was it not such hopeful charming + That led him to his old success? + The thought is softening, and disarming; + O'er Suez and the Red Sea glance, + And see what he has done for France! + + _Peste_ on this Panama affair! + Egyptian sands sucked not our savings + As did those swamps. Still I can't bear + To see _him_ suffer. 'Midst my cravings + For _la revanche_, I'd fain not touch + Our Greatest Frenchman--'tis too much! + + * * * * * + +SHORT AND SWEET. + + ["The Young Ladies of Nottingham have formed a Short-skirt + League."--_Daily Graphic_.] + + Ye pretty girls of England, + So famous for your looks, + Whose sense has braved a thousand fads + Of foolish fashion-books, + Your glorious standard launch again + To match another foe, + And refrain + From the train + While the stormy tempests blow, + While the sodden streets are thick with mud, + And the stormy tempests blow! + + See how the girls of Nottingham + Inaugurate a League + For skirts five inches from the ground; + They'll walk without fatigue, + No longer plagued with trains to lift + Above the slush or snow; + They'll not sweep + Mud that's deep + While the stormy tempests blow; + Long dresses do the Vestry's work, + While stormy tempests blow. + + O pretty girls of Nottingham, + If you could save us men + From our frightful clothing, + How we should love you then! + We'd shorten turned-up trouser, + And widen pointed toe, + Leave off that + Vile silk hat, + When the stormy tempests blow-- + Wretched hat that stands not wind or rain + When the stormy tempests blow. + + We're fools. Yet, girls of England, + We might inquire of you, + Why wear those capes and sleeves that seem + Quite wide enough for two? + And why revive the _chignons_-- + Huge lumps pinned on? You know + You would cry + Should they fly + Where the stormy tempests blow; + For they catch the wind just like balloons, + Where the stormy tempests blow. + + * * * * * + +FAULTS O' BOTH SIDES.--Ardent Radicals grumbled at the Government +for not holding an Autumn Session. That was a fault of omission. Now +touchy Tories are angry with it for showing too strong a tendency to +what Mr. GLADSTONE once sarcastically called "a policy of examination +and inquiry"--into the case of Evicted Tenants, Poor-Law Relief, +&c. This is a fault of (Royal) Commission. Luckless Government! The +verdict upon it seems to be that it + + "Does nothing in particular, + And does it very--_ill_." + + * * * * * + +NOTICE.--The Twin Fountains of Trafalgar Square regret to inform the +British Public that, although they have performed gratuitously and +continuously for a number of years, they are compelled to retire from +business, as they cannot compete with the State-aided spouting which +takes place in their Square. + + * * * * * + +A GREAT "TREAT."--Public-house Politics at Election time. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: "LE GRAND FRANCAIS!" + +JACQUES BONHOMME (_regarding_ M. DE LESSEPS, _apart_). "BAH! I HAVE +LOST MY MONEY! (_Pause._) ALL THE SAME, I CANNOT DESIRE THAT HE, SO +OLD AND SO DISTINGUISHED, SHOULD SUFFER!!"] + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: GALLANTRY REWARDED. + +_Lady_ (_having had a fall at a Brook, and come out the wrong +side,--to Stranger, who has caught her Horse_). "OH, I'M _SO_ MUCH +OBLIGED TO YOU! NOW, DO YOU MIND JUST BRINGING HIM OVER?"] + + * * * * * + +OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. + +Books from the publishing house of FISHER UNWIN are always goodly to +look upon, the public having to thank him for something new in form, +binding, and colour, in other series than the Pseudonym Library. In a +new edition of _The Sinner's Comedy_, just issued at the modest price +of Eighteenpence, he has solved a problem that has long baffled the +publisher, and bothered the public. Few like the appearance of a book +with the pages machine-cut; fewer still can spare the time to cut a +book. Mr. FISHER UNWIN compromises by presenting this dainty little +volume with the top pages ready cut, the reader having nothing to +do but to slice the side-pages, a labour which no book-lover would +grudge, seeing that it leaves the volume with the uncut appearance +dear to his heart. The story, told in 146 pages, is, my Baronite says, +worthy the distinction of its appearance. The characters are clearly +drawn, the plot is interesting, the conversation crisp, and the style +throughout pleasantly cynical. The author, JOHN OLIVER HOBBES, has a +pretty turn of aphorism. "A man's way of loving is so different from +a woman's"; and again, "Genius is so rare, and ambition is so common." +Here be truths, old enough perhaps, but cleverly re-set. + +Some people complain that politics are dull. They should read the +parliamentary and extra-parliamentary utterances of the Member for +Wrottenborough. They appear weekly in that rising young paper, the +_Sunday Times_, and an extremely readable selection of them has lately +been published "in book form," for the enlivening of the Recess. +Adapting the Laureate's lines, the Baron would say,-- + + "They who would vote for an M.P. whose sense with humour chimes, + Will read the Member for Wrottenborough, all in the _Sunday Times_-- + A paper our sires paid Sevenpence for, along of its grit and go, + Seventy years ago, my Public, seventy years ago!" + +For whimsical audacity, and quaint unexpectedness. Mr. PAIN, in his +latest book, _Playthings and Parodies_, would be hard to beat. In this +there is a good back-ground of shrewd observation. He does not +propose to make your flesh creep, or your eyes run torrents. He simply +succeeds in making you laugh. In "The Processional Instinct," Mr. PAIN +informs us that he has discovered that our private life is circular, +and our public life is rectilineal. SHAKSPEARE, who, being for all +time, and not merely for an age, recommends this author to the general +public when he says that everybody "should be so conversant with +PAIN." + +_The Memories of Dean Hole_ is rather a misleading title; "but," says +the Baron, "I suppose the term 'Reminiscences' is played out. The word +'Memories' seems to suggest that someone, whether Dean HOLE, or Dean +CORNER, or any other Dean, had more than one memory, as indeed those +persons appear to possess who mention their 'good memory for names,' +and their 'bad memory for dates,' and _vice versa_. _Soit!_" quoth +the Baron, in excellent French, "you may take it from me (if I'll part +with it) that the Hole book is by no means a half-and-half sort of +book, but is vastly entertaining." The stories of "The Cloth" form the +most entertaining part of the work. The Baron wishes success to this +work of the Dean in Holey Orders, and suggests that the volume should +be re-entitled _Gathered Leaves from Dean Hole's Rose Garden_, a +better title than "Reminiscences." + +MARION CRAWFORD'S _Don Orsino_ (published by MACMILLAN & CO.) would +be worth reading were it only for the colour of its word-painting, +and for its high-comedy dialogue. Yet is Mr. CRAWFORD rather given +to pause in his story, for the sake of moralising on the tendencies +of the age; and the reader, patient though he may be, when he has +become interested in the personages of the novel, does not care to be +button-holed by a digression. MARION CRAWFORD'S recipe for commencing +an amorous duologue (early in Vol. III.), which is to lead up to a +declaration of love, is deliciously ingenious. It begins with the +gentleman taking a seat, and his first remark is upon the chair. Mr. +CRAWFORD evidently remembers the old story of how the tenor who knew +but one song, "_In my Cottage near a Wood_," used to introduce it into +any scene of any Opera by the simple process of making his entrance +alone and finding a chair on the stage. "Aha!" quoth he. "What's this? +A chair? and made of wood! Ah! that word! how it reminds me of my +'umble home, 'my cottage near a wood.'" Cue for band; chord; song. +In this instance, the love-scene, admirably led up to on the above +plan, is strikingly powerful; it is the work of a master-hand. The +_denoument_ is both artistically original and, at the same time, +ordinarily probable. May all readers enjoy this excellent novel as +much as has the sympathetic + +BARON DE BOOK-WORMS. + + * * * * * + +CLASSICAL QUESTION.--If some schoolboys, home for Christmas holidays, +wanted Sir AUGUSTUS DRURIOLANUS to give them a Christmas Box (not a +private one at the Pantomime), what Ancient Philosopher would they +mention? Why--of course--"ARISTIPPUS." + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: A LABOUR OF LOVE. + +_The Vicar._ "AND WERE YOU AT THE BALL LAST NIGHT, MRS. RAMSBOTTOM?" + +_Mrs. R._ "OH, YES; I WAS SHAMPOOING EIGHT YOUNG LADIES THERE!"] + + * * * * * + +LOCAL COLOUR. + +Mr. ALFRED AUSTIN, in his new poem, _Fortunatus, the Pessimist_, has +hit upon a new notion, to say nothing of a novel rhyme. Sings he:-- + + "When the foal and brood-mare hinny, + And in every cut-down spinney + Lady's-Smocks grow _mauve and mauver_, + Then the Winter days are over." + +This opens a polychromatic vista to the New Poetry. Technical Art +comes to the aid of the elder Muses. The products of gas-tar alone +should greatly regenerate a something time-worn poetic phraseology. As +thus:-- + + When the poet, Mr. PENNYLINE, + Is inspired by beauteous Aniline, + Products chemical and gas-tarry + Give the modern Muse new mastery. + Mauve _may_ chime with love, and mauver + Form a decent rhyme to lover; + While (and if not, why not?) _mauvest_ + Antiphonetic proves to lovest. + (Verse erotic always sports + Tricksily with longs and shorts. + Verbal votaries of Venus + Are an arbitrary genus, + And as arrogant as HOWELLS + In their dealings with the vowels. + _Love, move, rove_, linked in a sonnet, + Pass for rhymes; the best have done it!) + Then again there is Magenta! + Surely science never sent a + Handier rhyme to--well, polenta, + Or (for Cockney Muses) Mentor! + The poetic sense auricular + Can't afford to be particular. + Rags of rhymes, mere assonances, + Now must serve. Pegasus prances, + Like a Buffalo Bill buck-jumper, + When you have a "regular stumper" + (Such as "silver") do not care about + Perfect rhyming; "there or thereabout" + Is the Muse's maxim now. + You _may_ get (bards have, I trow) + Rhyme's last minimum irreducible, + From dye-vat, retort, or crucible. + +Verily (as _Touchstone_ says), "I'll rhyme you so, eight years +together, dinners and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted." And if it +is "the right butterwoman's rate to market," or "the very false gallop +of verses," it is at any rate good enough for a long-eared public or a +postulant for the Laureateship. + + * * * * * + +WAR ON A LARGE SCALE. + +(_AN ACCOUNT OF THE CONFLICT, FROM THE DIARY OF AN INHABITANT OF HERNE +BAY._) + +_Monday._--Extremely awkward--the entire British Fleet have come +ashore; and, as it is impossible to move them on account of their +enormous tonnage, this will entail a loss of L24,000,000,000! + +_Tuesday._--Troubles never come singly! The French, taking advantage +of the temporary suspension of our naval operations, have declared +war. This means the utter ruin of the bathing season, not only at +Herne Bay, but Southend, and the Isle of Thanet. + +_Wednesday._--As I expected! The French Fleet are coming up towards +London. They are sure to pepper us as they pass. As every gun carries +several hundred miles, I do not see how books can be uninterruptedly +issued from and returned to the Circulating Library. + +_Thursday._--Our first slice of luck! The entire French Fleet during +the mist last night came into collision with the Nore Light, and sank +immediately. I was surprised at their sparing the Reculvers and the +local bathing-machines, but now the mystery is explained. + +_Friday._--Just learned that the great gun of Paris, which carries +forty-four thousand miles, is to be tried for the first time +to-morrow. It would have been used earlier, had it not been necessary +to raise a foreign loan to supply funds to load it. Trust it won't +be laid in our direction. This war has already caused the Insurance +Companies to double their charges! Too bad! + +_Saturday._--All's well that ends well. Hostilities are at an end. +This morning all the glass in the windows were broken at 8 o'clock. +Ten minutes later the Champs Elysees was deposited half a mile from +Birchington. We now know that the great Paris gun burst on its +first discharge, and France exists no longer as a country, but as a +"geographical expression" is deposited in various parts of Europe. + + * * * * * + +REAL AND IDEAL.--"A Really Hard-Headed Man"--the Iron-skulled +individual now exhibiting at the Aquarium. If his will is as iron +as his head, what a despot he would be! If France is tired of her +Republic, she might try the Iron-Headed Man as a ruler. There is the +chance, of course, that he might turn out a numskull, and be only King +Log, after all. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: A GENTLEMAN WHO "TAKES LIFE EASILY."] + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: A REMINISCENCE OF THE BASEBALL SEASON.] + + * * * * * + +JIM'S JOTTINGS. + + ["Do the poor make the slums, or the slums make the + poor?"--_Henry Lazarus, in "Landlordism."_] + +[Illustration] + + Is it the poor wot makes the Slums, or the Slums wot makes the poor? + Well, that's the question, Guv'nor, and I've 'eared it arsked afore, + And the arnser ain't so easy, if you wants to be O.K. + Don't suppose as _I_ can settle it, but I'll have my little say. + + My old friend Mister LAZARUS, now, he ups and sez, sez he, + The great Ground Landlord is the great _prime_ cause. "Yah! + fiddlededee!" + Cries the House-Farmer; "Slums is Slums, acos the Poor is _Pigs_!" + "You try 'em, friend philanthropist! They'll play you proper rigs." + + Yus, there's two sides to heverythink, wus luck! That's where + we're fogged. + Passiges like foul pigstyes, gents, and backyards like black bogs, + Banisters broke for firewood, and smashed winders stuffed with rags, + These make the sniffers slate the poor, Perticular if they're wags. + + Well, gents, you know, it's _this_ way. Just you fancy yerselves + _born_ + In a back-slum like Ragman's Rents. 'Old 'ard, don't larf with + scorn! + Some on us _is_ born there, yer know; it might ha' bin _your_ luck, + _If_ yer mother'd bin a boozer, and yer father'd got the chuck. + + Of course _yourn_ was respectable; _mine_ wosn't; there's the diff.! + Ah! things like this ain't settled by a snort or by a sniff. + Jest fancy hopening yer eyes fust time in a dark dive, + Or a sky-parlour where a plarnt o' musk won't keep alive. + + Emagine, if yer washups can, some ten foot square o' room, + With a stror-heap in one corner, and a "dip" to light the gloom; + With the walls dirt-streaked with damp-lines, outside, a drunken + din, + And hinside, a whiff of sewer-gas in a hatmosphere of gin. + + Some on you carn't emagine there's sech 'orrors on the earth; + But there are, you bet your buttons. Who'd select 'em for their + _birth_? + Not you, not me, not no one, if you asked 'em, I expect; + But yer place o' birth yer see, gents' jest the thing yer _carn't_ + select. + + If you're born where streets is narrer, and where rooms is werry + small, + Where you've damp sludge for a ceiling, rotting plarster for a wall; + Where yer carn't eat, sleep, wash yerselves, or lay up when you're + sick, + Without tumbling one o'er tother, wy, yer _sinks_, gents, pooty + quick. + + _Sinks!_ Yes, when wot yer lives in _is_ a sink, or somethink wus; + With a drunkard for a mother, and some neighbour for a nuss; + With the gutter for yer playground, and a 'ome from which yer + shrink, + Can you wonder that poor Slum-birds is give o'er to Dirt and Drink. + + Ah! them two D's goes together. Just you plant some orty Queen + In a rookery, in her kidhood, and then tell her to keep _clean_, + Wash 'er face, and mend 'er garments,--wich they're mostly + sewed-up rags,-- + In six months she'd be a scare-crow, 'ands like sut, and 'air all + jags. + + Wot yer washups don't quite tumble to's the fack as like breeds + like. + If you would himprove Slum-dwellers, at the Slum you fust must + strike. + Give us small dark 'oles to dwell in, and you must be jolly green + If you think folks bred in dirt like, are a-going to keep 'em clean. + + When the sewer-rats take to sweetening and lime-washing _their_ + foul 'oles, + And bright light and disinfectants are the fads of skunks and moles, + Then poor souls in cellar-dwellings and in jerry-builders' dens, + Will be smart as young canaries and as clean as clucking hens. + + NOCKY SPRIGGINGS guyed me proper, in his chuckly sorter style, + With his thumb 'ooked orful hartful, and his chickaleary smile. + "JIM," sez he, "wot price _your_ jabber? Do yer think the blooming + blokes + Cares a cuss for me and you, JIM, any more than for our mokes? + + "Shut yer face, you pattering josser! Dirt and Drink is good for + Rents! + If the Poor _wos_ clean and sober, where 'ud be their + cent-per-cents? + If it's Public 'Ouse 'gainst Wash 'Ouse, if it's Slumland _wersus_ + Swipes, + _I_ am on for booze and backy 'stead o' drains and water-pipes. + + "You may be _too_ jolly clean, JIM, and a precious sight _too_ + light, + Were's the good to scrub yer skin orf! And if when a cove gits + tight, + Or would give his donah wot-for on the Q.T. _wot_ a lark + If there weren't no 'andy alleys, nor no corners snug and _dark_. + + "If the Public--_and_ the Slops--wos always fly to wot _we_ done, + 'Long o' widened streets and gas-light, wy we'd 'ave no blooming + fun. + Lagged for larrupping yer missus, nailed for boozing till yer nod? + Wy, you jabbering young Juggins, _we should always be in quod!_" + + 'Ard nut is NOCKY SPRIGGINGS--of the sort as make the slums, + 'Cos there ain't much chance for cleanness, or for comfort, when + _he_ comes. + He's as 'appy in the dirt, gents, as a blowfly or a 'og; + Or poor Paddy in his tater-patch alongside of a bog; + + He'd chop up 'is doors and winders for a fire to 'ot his lush, + Don't care a 'ang for decency, and never raised a blush. + But, arter my hexperience--and I've 'ad some down our court-- + I believe that--fair at bottom--it's the Slum as makes _his_ sort. + + Anyways I'm pooty certain, if we'd got more light and space, + And were not jammed up together in a filthy, ill-drained place; + If the sunlight could but see us, and the public _and_ the cops, + There would be less booze and bashing, fewer drabs and + drinking-shops. + + Aye, and fewer NOCKY SPRIGGINGSES! I don't go for to say + As it's _all_ along o' Landlords, who'd rent 'ell, if 'twould but + pay; + But I've noticed you find fewest mice where there are lots of cats, + And where there ain't no rat-holes, well--yer won't spot many rats! + + * * * * * + +THE LAST DISCOVERY. + +(_A SEQUEL TO A RECENT LECTURE. BY MR. PUNCH'S PROPHETIC REPORTER._) + +The enormous crowd cheered again and again. It was furious. The +enthusiasm spread from throng to throng, until a mighty chorus +filled every portion of the land. And there was indeed reason for the +rejoicing. Had not the great Arctic Explorer come home? Had he not +been to the North Pole and back? At that very moment were not a couple +of steam-tugs drawing his wooden vessel towards his native shore? +It was indeed a moment for congratulation--not only personal but +national, nay cosmopolitan. The victory of art over nature belonged to +more than a country, it belonged to the world! + +And the tugs came closer and closer, and the cheers grew louder and +louder. Then the vessel bearing the Explorer was near at hand. +The crowd joyously jumped into the water, and raising him on their +shoulders, bore him triumphantly to land. + +How they welcomed him! How they seized his hands and kissed them! How +they cried and called him "Master," and "Victor," and "Hero!" It was a +scene never to be forgotten! + +When the excitement had somewhat subsided, they began to ask him +questions. At last one of them wished to know how he contrived to find +the North Pole and get back in safety? + +"You intended to drift?" said they. "Great and glorious hero, +victorious victor, triumphant explorer, did you do this?" + +"I did," was the reply. + +"And tell us what was your method of obtaining the knowledge you now +possess? Oh, great chief, how _did_ you manage it?" + +Then came the answer-- + +"By sitting still, and doing nothing!" + +And now it being dark, they separated to illuminate their homes in +honour of the fresh industry--an industry admirably adapted to that +great and contented class of the community, the Unemployed! + + * * * * * + +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. 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