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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, Volume 104, February 4, 1893 + +Author: Various + +Editor: Francis Burnand + +Release Date: February 6, 2007 [EBook #20538] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + + + + +Produced by Matt Whittaker, Juliet Sutherland and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>PUNCH, <br /> +OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> + +<h2>Vol. 104.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> + +<h2>FEBRUARY 4, 1893.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page49" id="page49"></a>[pg 49]</span> + +<div class="figright" style="width:50%;"><a href="images/049.png"><img width="100%" src="images/049.png" alt="WHEN A MAN DOES NOT LOOK HIS BEST." /></a><h3>WHEN A MAN DOES NOT LOOK HIS BEST.</h3> + +<p><i>Burglar</i> (<i>taking the ground heavily</i>). "<span class="sc">Naow, 'ooever'd 'a' thought +o' the Howner o' that there hinnercent little Villa bein' a +Perfessional 'Chucker-hout'?!!!"</span></p></div> + +<h2>LAMENT OF THE (WOULD-BE) IRISH EMIGRANT.</h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>Latest Version, with apologies to Lady Dufferin.</i>)</p> + +<blockquote><p>[Senator <span class="sc">Chandler</span>, in <i>The North-American Review</i>, recommends that +immigration into the United States should be suspended, at least for a year.] +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Oi'm sittin' on the stile, <span class="sc">Mary</span>, an' lookin' o'er the tide,</p> +<p>An' by jabers Oi'm afraid, Aroon, that there Oi'll <i>have</i> to bide!</p> +<p>The grass is springin' fresh an' green in Ould Oireland, but oh moy!</p> +<p>If there's any green in <span class="sc">Jonathan's</span> land, <i>it is not in his oi</i>!</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The States are awful changed, <span class="sc">Mary</span>; it is not <i>now</i> as <i>then</i>,</p> +<p>When they lifted a free latch-string to all exiled Oirishmen.</p> +<p>Now we miss the whoop ov welcome; they suggest it's loike our cheek,</p> +<p>And Oi'm listenin' for brave <span class="sc">Lowell's</span> words—which <span class="sc">Chandler</span> does <i>not</i> speak!</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>It seems to me their Aigle for full Freedom no more pants,</p> +<p>And the Senator, he mutthers ov "degraded immigrants."</p> +<p>Says they can't "assimilate" us; faix, the wurrud sounds monstrous foine,</p> +<p>But Oi fancy that it's maning is, "We mane to draw the loine!"</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Shure, we're "ignorant and debased," dear; and the poor won't now find friends</p> +<p>Even in free Columbia! So 'tis thus the ould boast ends!</p> +<p>"Stop 'em—for a year," says <span class="sc">Chandler</span>; "we'll be holding our Big Show,</p> +<p>An' poverty, an'—well, Cholera, are not wanted <i>thin</i>, you know."</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>It's an artful move, my <span class="sc">Mary</span>, but, it stroikes me, a bit thin,</p> +<p>And it won't come home consolin', to "the poor ov Adam's kin."</p> +<p>Faix! they won't stop 'cabin passengers,' big-wigs, an' British Peerage,</p> +<p>But—<i>they don't want the poor devils that crowd over in the steerage</i>!</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>So Oi'm sittin' on the stile, <span class="sc">Mary</span>, and there Oi'll loikely sthop,</p> +<p>For they don't require poor <span class="sc">Paddy</span> in their big new <span class="sc">Chandler's</span> Shop.</p> +<p>Uncle <span class="sc">Sam</span>'s some punkins, <span class="sc">Mary</span>, but he's not a great green goose;</p> +<p>An' he's goin' to sthop a braggin' ov that latch-string always loose!</p> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>MIXED NOTIONS—NO. IV. EGYPT.</h2> + +<blockquote><p><i>Two</i> Well-Informed Men, <i>an</i> Inquirer, <i>and an</i> Average Man, <i>in +suburban morning train to London</i>.</p></blockquote> + +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>First Well-Informed Man</i> (<i>reading his paper</i>). Oh, I say, dash it, +this'll never do. Here's this young <span class="sc">Khedive</span> of Egypt kicking up a +shine, and dismissing British Ministers. We can't have that, you know.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> What Ministers has he dismissed?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Why, British Ministers,—at least (<i>reading on</i>) I +mean Egyptian Ministers; that's to say, chaps whom we appointed.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> Come, come, we couldn't appoint Egyptian +Ministers, could we?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Oh, it comes to exactly the same thing; they're +appointed subject to our proviso (<i>consulting paper</i>), yes, subject to our +veto, and then this little whipper-snapper goes and gives them the +chuck. He'll jolly soon have to climb down off that.</p> + +<p><i>Average Man.</i> Gently! The young chap's King, after all, isn't he? +I thought Kings might appoint or dismiss Ministers as they liked.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Oh, rot! The <span class="sc">Queen</span> can't appoint her own +Ministers. We all know that. They're appointed by the Prime +Minister. Any fool knows that.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> But who appoints the Prime Minister?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> He appoints himself, and tells the <span class="sc">Queen</span> he's +done it. They all go and kiss hands and get their seals, or something +of that sort.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> Of course, of course. I forgot that. But how about +these Egyptian beggars?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> The <span class="sc">Khedive's</span> had the cheek to dismiss the +Ministry, and shove another lot in. I see Lord <span class="sc">Cromer</span> has been to +the Palace to protest.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> Lord <span class="sc">Cromer</span>! Who's he?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> My dear fellow, fancy not knowing that! Lord +<span class="sc">Cromer's</span> our Ambassador at Cairo.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> Oh, nonsense. There are no ambassadors at Cairo.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Aren't there? Oh, indeed. Well, then perhaps +you'll tell me what Lord <span class="sc">Cromer</span> is?</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> He's our Minister. That's what they call them.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> Was it him the <span class="sc">Khedive</span> dismissed, then?</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> (<i>laughing heartily</i>). No, no; we haven't got to +that yet. He dismissed his own Johnnies, of course; Egyptians. +Lord <span class="sc">Cromer's</span> the English Minister.</p> + +<p><i>Average Man.</i> No, he isn't. He's the English Agent.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> Oh, well, it's the same thing.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> (<i>taking his revenge</i>). No, it isn't at all the same +thing; it's a very different thing. A Minister's only just short of +an Ambassador, and an Agent (<i>pauses</i>)—well, he's something quite +different. I don't think he gets as much pay for one thing, and of +course he can't live in the Embassy.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> But who does live in the Embassy, then?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> It's unoccupied, of course.</p> + +<p><i>Average Man.</i> No, it isn't. There isn't any Embassy at all. [<i>A pause.</i></p> + +<p><i>Inquirer</i> (<i>returning to the charge</i>). But look here, who <i>is</i> Lord +<span class="sc">Cromer</span>? I never heard of him before. I thought we'd got <span class="sc">Baring</span> +or <span class="sc">Rothschild</span>, or somebody representing us in Egypt.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> (<i>with smiling superiority</i>). My dear chap, you're +thinking of Sir <span class="sc">Evelyn Baring</span>. He left Egypt long ago.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> Why did he leave?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Old <span class="sc">Gladstone</span> gave him the sack.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> No, he didn't. <span class="sc">Gladstone</span> wasn't in power +when <span class="sc">Baring</span> left Egypt. It was <span class="sc">Salisbury</span> who dismissed him.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> I bet you a sov. it was <span class="sc">Gladstone</span>.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> And I bet you a sov. it was <span class="sc">Salisbury</span>.</p> + +<p><i>Average Man.</i> You'll both lose. It was neither.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i>, <i>Second W. I. M.</i> (<i>together</i>). Bosh! That's +impossible.</p> + +<p><i>Average Man.</i> It's a fact.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> (<i>triumphant</i>). Well, how do you account for his +not being there now?</p> + +<p><i>Average Man.</i> He is there.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> He isn't. Lord <span class="sc">Cromer's</span> there. Here it is. (<i>Producing +Times.</i>) "Lord <span class="sc">Cromer</span> has protested in person." So come!</p> + +<p><i>Average Man.</i> All right. I know all that. Only, unfortunately, +they're one and the same person.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i>, <i>Second W. I. M.</i> (<i>together</i>). Oh, I daresay; and +you think we're going to swallow that. You tell that to your +Grandmother! [<i>Both remain absolutely unconvinced.</i></p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> But what's this about the French? What have they +got to do with it?</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> Oh, they've got their fingers in every pie; +always making mischief.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Quite true; but they'll find we're going to sit +tight in spite of them, so the sooner they cart themselves and their +blessed old Pyramids out of the country the better.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> Why should they take the Pyramids?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Well, they built 'em, so I suppose they've got a +right to do what they like with them.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> Of course. [<i>Terminus.</i></p> +</div> +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page50" id="page50"></a>[pg 50]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:60%;"><a href="images/050.png"><img width="100%" src="images/050.png" alt="H.M.S. 'TOKO.'" /></a><h3>"H.M.S. 'TOKO.'"</h3> + +<p><i>Nurse Britannia.</i> "<span class="sc">Allow me to inform your Highness here comes a Box of Soldiers you <i>mustn't</i> play with."</span></p></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><i>The Red Spider</i>, by <span class="sc">Baring Gould</span>, is to be dramatised. What +a chance this would have been for the "Brothers <span class="sc">Webb</span>," were +they still in stage-land.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Sole Survivors</span>.—The uppers of a Tramp's highlows.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Sharp Fighting at Rangoon</span>.—We hope soon to hear that the +Kachins are Kachin' it hot.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Advice to those "up a Gum Tree"</span> (<i>by "Non Possum</i>").—Come +down as quickly as you can, and don't stick there.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page51" id="page51"></a>[pg 51]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:90%;"><a href="images/051.png"><img width="100%" src="images/051.png" alt="A LESSON IN FRENCH." /></a><h3>A LESSON IN FRENCH.</h3> + +<p><i>Fräulein Schnips</i> (<i>who does not devote as much attention to the Toilet as she does to Study, addresses Master Edward who has been made to join +in his Sister's lessons during his holidays</i>). "<span class="sc">Edfard, fot is 'I vash my Hands' in French</span>?"</p> + +<p><i>Master Edward</i> (<i>sulkily</i>). "<span class="sc">Je me lave les mains</span>."</p> + +<p><i>F. S.</i> "<span class="sc">Now den. 'I do not vash my Hands.' Gu'est-ce gue c'est gue ça</span>?"</p> + +<p><i>Master Edward</i> (<i>seizing his opportunity</i>). "<span class="sc">Eh bien, c'est une habitude sale, dont vous devriez avoir honte</span>!"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>"SOME DAY!"</h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>Latest Egyptian Version of Milton Welling's +popular Song.</i>)</p> + +<p class="center">Mr. <span class="sc">Bull</span> <i>to</i> Miss <span class="sc">Egypt</span>, <i>sings</i>:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>I know not when the day shall be,</p> +<p class="i2">I know not when we two shall part;</p> +<p>What farewell you will give to me,</p> +<p class="i2">Or will your words be sweet or tart?</p> +<p>It may not be till years have passed,</p> +<p class="i2">Till France grows calm, young <span class="sc">Abbas</span> grey;</p> +<p>But I am pledged—so, love, at last,</p> +<p class="i2">Our hands, our hearts must part—<i>some day</i>!</p> +<p class="i8">Some day, some day,</p> +<p class="i10">Some day I shall leave you!</p> +<p class="i8">Love, I know not when or how,</p> +<p class="i10">(So I can but vaguely vow)</p> +<p class="i10">Only this, only this,</p> +<p class="i8">(Which I trust won't grieve you),</p> +<p>Only this—I <i>can't</i> go now, I can't <i>go</i> now, I can't go <i>Now</i>!</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>I know not if 'tis far or near,</p> +<p class="i2">Some six months' hence, while we both live;</p> +<p>I know not who the blame shall bear,</p> +<p class="i2">Or who protest, or who forgive;</p> +<p>But when we part, some day, some day,</p> +<p class="i2">France, fairer grown, the truth may see,</p> +<p>And all those clouds be rolled away</p> +<p class="i2">That darken love 'twixt her and me.</p> +<p class="i8">Some day, some day,</p> +<p class="i10">Some day I must leave you!</p> +<p class="i8">Lawks! I know not when or how,</p> +<p class="i8">(Though the Powers kick up a row),</p> +<p class="i10">Only this, only this,</p> +<p class="i8">(Which I won't deceive you),</p> +<p>Only this—I can't go <i>now</i>, I shan't go <i>now</i>, I won't go <i>Now</i>!</p> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>IS SCIENCE PLAYED OUT?</h2> + +<blockquote><p>["In a grain of butter you have 47,250,000 +microbes. When you eat a slice of bread-and-butter, +you therefore must swallow as many +microbes as there are people in Europe."—"Science +Notes" in <i>Daily Chronicle</i>.]</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Charlotte, eating bread-and-butter,</p> +<p>Read this Note with horror utter,</p> +<p>And (assisted by the cutter)</p> +<p>Went on eating bread-and-butter!</p> +<p>Man will say—with due apology</p> +<p>To alarmed Bacteriology—</p> +<p>Spite of menacing bacilli,</p> +<p>Man <i>must</i> eat, friend, willy-nilly!</p> +<p>And where <i>shall</i> he find due foison</p> +<p>If e'en bread-and-butter's poison?</p> +<p>Science told our amorous Misses</p> +<p>Death may be conveyed <i>in kisses</i>;</p> +<p>But it did not keep the nation</p> +<p>From promiscuous osculation.</p> +<p>Now it warneth the "Young Person"</p> +<p>(Whom <span class="sc">Grant Allen</span> voids his curse on)</p> +<p>"Bread-and-butter Misses" even</p> +<p>In <i>their</i> food may find death's leaven!</p> +<p>Never mind how this is made out!</p> +<p>Science—as a Bogey's—played out.</p> +<p>Spite all warnings it may utter,</p> +<p>Women <i>will</i> have Bread-and-Butter!</p> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>OUT OF WORK.</h2> + +<blockquote><p>(<i>After reading "Outcast London" by the Daily +Chronicle's Special Commissioner at the +East End.</i>)</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Divines inform us that the Primal Curse</p> +<p class="i2">On poor humanity was Compulsory Work;</p> +<p>But Civilisation has devised a worse,</p> +<p class="i2">Which even Christian effort seems to shirk.</p> +<p>The Worker's woes love may assuage. Ah, yes!</p> +<p>But what shall help Compulsory Worklessness?</p> +<p>Not Faith—Hope—Charity even! All the Graces</p> +<p>Are helpless, without Wisdom in high places.</p> +<p>Though liberal alms relieve the kindly soul,</p> +<p>You can't cure destitution by a dole.</p> +<p>No, these are days when men must dare to try</p> +<p>What a Duke calls—<span class="sc">Argyll</span> the high-and-dry—</p> +<p>"The Unseen Foundations of Society";</p> +<p>And not, like wealthy big-wigs, be content</p> +<p>With smart attacks on "Theories of Rent."</p> +<p>Most theories of rent we know, the fact is</p> +<p>What we have doubts about, Duke, is—the practice!</p> +<p>When Rent in Power's hands becomes a rack</p> +<p>To torture Toil, bold wisdom will hark back</p> +<p>To the beginnings and the bases; ask</p> +<p><i>What</i> hides beneath that Economic mask</p> +<p>Which smiles unmoved by Sorrow's strain and stress</p> +<p>On half-starved Work and whole-starved Worklessness!</p> +</div></div> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page52" id="page52"></a>[pg 52]</span> + +<h2>THE MAN FROM BLANKLEY'S.</h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">A Story in Scenes</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><span class="sc">Scene</span> IV.—Mrs. <span class="sc">Tidmarsh's</span> <i>Drawing-room</i>; <span class="sc">Mr. Tidmarsh</span> <i>has +just shaken hands with the latest arrival, and is still in the +utmost perplexity as to the best manner to adopt towards him. +The other Guests are conversing, with increased animation, at +the further end of the room.</i></p></blockquote> + +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>Lord Strathsporran</i> (<i>to</i> Mr. <span class="sc">Tidmarsh</span>). Afraid I'm most abominably +late—had some difficulty in getting here—such +a fog, don't you know! It's really uncommonly +good of you to let me come and see your +antiquities like this. If I am not mistaken, you have +got together a collection of sepulchral objects +worth coming any distance to study. [<i>He glances +round the room, in evident +astonishment.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mr. Tid.</i> (<i>to himself</i>). +Nice names to give my +dinner-party! Impudent +young dog, this—Lord +or no Lord! +(<i>Aloud, with dignity.</i>) +I—ha—hum—don't +think that's quite the +way to speak of them, +Sir—my Lord, I suppose +I <i>ought</i> to say!</p> + +<p><i>Lord Strath.</i> Oh, I +expect a most interesting +evening, I assure +you.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Tid.</i> Well, I—I +daresay you'll have no +cause to complain, so +far as <i>that</i> goes, Lord—er—<span class="sc">Strath</span>—you'll excuse +me, but I haven't +<i>quite</i> got accustomed to +that title of yours.</p> + +<p><i>Lord Strath.</i> (<i>smiling</i>). +Not surprised at +that—feel much the +same myself.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Tid.</i> Ha—well, +to tell you the honest +truth, I should have +been just as pleased if +you had come here +<i>without</i> any handle of +that sort to your name.</p> + +<p><i>Lord Strath.</i> Quite +unnecessary to tell me +so—and, you see, I +couldn't very well help +myself.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Tid.</i> (<i>to himself</i>). +<span class="sc">Blankley</span> sends 'em +<i>all</i> out with titles—then +his <i>is</i> bogus! (<i>Aloud.</i>) +Oh, I don't blame <i>you</i>, +if it's the rule; +only—(<i>irritably</i>)—well, it +makes me feel so devilish +<i>awkward</i>, you +know!</p> + +<p><i>Lord Strath.</i> Extremely +sorry—don't +know why it should. +(<i>To himself.</i>) Queer +little chap my host. +Don't <i>look</i> the Egyptologist +exactly. And +where does he keep all +his things? Downstairs, +I suppose. (<i>He turns, +and recognises</i> Miss <span class="sc">Seaton</span>.) +<span class="sc">Marjory Seaton</span>—here! and I've been trying to hear something +of her ever since I came back from Gîzeh—this <i>is</i> luck! (<i>To +her.</i>) How do you do, Miss <span class="sc">Seaton</span>? No idea we should meet like this!</p></div> + +<div class="figright" style="width:50%;"><a href="images/052.png"><img width="100%" src="images/052.png" alt="I look upon him simply as a human being." /></a><p class="center">"I look upon him simply as a human being."</p></div> + +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>Miss Seaton</i> (<i>in a low constrained voice</i>). Nor I, Mr. <span class="sc">Claymore</span>. [Mr. <span class="sc">Tidmarsh</span> <i>catches his Wife's eye, and crosses to her.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Tid.</i> (<i>sotto voce</i>). <span class="sc">Montague</span>, isn't it time you introduced me +to this Lord Whatever-it-is? As the person of highest rank here, +he certainly ought to take <i>me</i> in!</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Tid.</i> He's <i>done</i> it, <span class="sc">Maria</span>. He's no more a Lord than I am. +Miss <span class="sc">Seaton</span> knows him—I just heard her call him "Mr. <span class="sc">Clayton</span>," +or some name like that!</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Tid.</i> (<i>aghast.</i>) So <i>this</i> is the sort of person you <i>would</i> go and +engage! He'll be found out, <span class="sc">Montague</span>, I can see Uncle edging up +towards him already. And anyhow, you know what his opinions +are. A pretty scrape you've got us into! Don't stand gaping—bring +the man up to me this minute—I must give him a hint to be +careful. (<i>Lord S. is led up and presented.</i>) Sit down here, please, +in this corner, Lord—(<i>with a vicious emphasis</i>)—<span class="sc">Strath-<i>Blankley</i></span>. +(Lord. S. <i>obeys in mild amazement.</i>) Really, my husband and I +were <i>hardly</i> prepared for so <i>aristocratic</i> a guest—we are such plain +humdrum people that a title—a <i>real</i> +title like your <i>lordship's</i>—ahoo!—(<i>with +an acid titter</i>)—is, well—<i>rather</i> +overwhelming. I only hope you +will be able to—er—sustain it, or +otherwise——</p> + +<p><i>Lord Strath.</i> (<i>lifting +his eyebrows.</i>) Am I to +understand that you +did not expect me, after +all? Because, if so,—I——</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Tid.</i> Oh, yes, +we <i>expected</i> you, and +of course, you will be +treated exactly the +same as everybody else—except—I +don't know +if my husband warned +you about not touching +the champagne? No? +Oh, well, you will drink +<i>claret</i> please, <i>not</i> champagne. +I daresay you +prefer it.</p> + +<p><i>Lord Strath.</i> Thank +you, I should indeed—if +you have any misgivings +about your +champagne.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Tid.</i> We must +draw <i>some</i> distinction +between you and our +regular guests, as I'm +sure you'll understand.</p> + +<p><i>Lord Strath.</i> (<i>to himself.</i>) +Poor devils—if +they only knew! But +what an unspeakable +snob this woman is! +I'd give something to +get out of this house—if +it wasn't for <span class="sc">Marjory</span>. +I must have a +word with her before +dinner—strikes me +she's put out with me +about something or +other.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Gilwattle</i> (<i>to +her Husband</i>). Did you +ever see anything like +the way <span class="sc">Maria's</span> talking +to that young nobleman, +<span class="sc">Gabriel</span>? as easy +and composed as if +she'd kept such company +all her life—it's a +wonder how she can <i>do</i> +it!</p> + +<p><i>Uncle Gab.</i> Look at +the finishing she's had! +And after all, he's flesh +and blood like ourselves. +She might introduce +you and me to him, +though—it looks as if she was ashamed of her own relations. I +shall go up and introduce myself in a minute, and do what I can to +make the young fellow feel himself at home. (<i>Intercepting</i> Lord S. +<i>in the act of moving towards</i> Miss <span class="sc">Seaton</span>.) Excuse me, my Lord, +but, as the uncle of our worthy host and hostess, I should like the +honour of shaking you by the hand. (<i>He shakes hands.</i>) My +name's <span class="sc">Gilwattle</span>, my Lord, and I ought to tell you before I go any +further that I've no superstitious reverence for rank. Whether a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page53" id="page53"></a>[pg 53]</span> +man's a lord or a linen-draper, is exactly the same to me—I look +upon him dimply as a human being.</p> + +<p><i>Lord Strath.</i> Quite so? he—ah—generally <i>is</i>, isn't he?</p> + +<p><i>Uncle Gab.</i> Very handsome of your Lordship to admit it, I'm sure—but +what I <i>mean</i> to say is, I regard any friend of my niece and +nephew's as a friend of mine—be he a Duke or be he a Dustman.</p> + +<p><i>Lord Strath.</i> Unhappily for me, I'm neither a Duke nor a Dustman, +and—er—will you kindly excuse me? (<i>To himself as he passes +on.</i>) That old gentleman makes me quite ill. Ah, <span class="sc">Marjory</span> at last! +(<i>To</i> Miss <span class="sc">Seaton</span>.) You've scarcely spoken a word to me yet! I +hoped somehow you'd look a little pleased to see me—after all +this time!</p> + +<p><i>Miss Seaton.</i> Pleased? I can hardly be that under the circumstances, +Mr. <span class="sc">Claymore</span>!</p> + +<p><i>Lord Strath.</i> Well, I only thought—we used to be such friends +once. You seem so changed!</p> + +<p><i>Miss Seaton.</i> I am not the only one who is changed, I think. You +seem to have changed everything—even your name. What ought I +to call you, by the way, I didn't catch it exactly. "Lord <span class="sc">Somebody</span>," +wasn't it?</p> + +<p><i>Lord Strath.</i> Never mind the confounded name, I have heard quite +enough of it already! It's not my fault if I'm what I am. <i>I</i> never +wanted to be <span class="sc">Strathsporran</span>!</p> + +<p><i>Miss Seaton.</i> Then you really are Lord <span class="sc">Strathsporran</span>! Oh, +<span class="sc">Douglas</span>, how <i>could</i> you?</p> + +<p><i>Lord Strath.</i> I didn't. It was all that accident to my poor uncle +and cousin. And I'm about the poorest Peer in Scotland; if <i>that's</i> +any excuse for me!</p> + +<p><i>Miss Seaton.</i> How can it be any excuse for your coming here? +Have you no pride, <span class="sc">Douglas</span>!</p> + +<p><i>Lord Strath.</i> My goodness, what is there to be proud about? +Why <i>shouldn't</i> I dine with anybody, provided——?</p> + +<p><i>Miss Seaton.</i> Please don't excuse yourself—I can't bear it. You +<i>know</i> it is unworthy of you to be here!</p> + +<p><i>Lord Strath.</i> I don't indeed. I came here simply as a——</p> + +<p><i>Miss Seaton.</i> Don't trouble to tell me—I know <i>everything</i>. And—and +you ought to have <i>died</i> rather than descend to this!</p> + +<p><i>Lord Strath.</i> Ought I? Died, eh? That never occurred to me; +and, after all, <span class="sc">Marjory</span>, <i>you</i>'re here! What's wrong? What +have I let myself in for?</p> + +<p><i>Miss Seaton</i> (<i>bitterly</i>). What have you let yourself <i>out</i> for, you +mean, don't you?</p> + +<p><i>Lord Strath.</i> (<i>mystified</i>). <i>I</i> don't know! I believe my man let +me out; and, anyway, what <i>does</i> it matter now I've come? There's +dinner announced. <span class="sc">Marjory</span>, before we're separated, just tell me +what on earth I've done to deserve this sort of thing!</p> + +<p><i>Miss Seaton</i> (<i>with a little gesture of despair</i>). Is it possible you +want to be told how <i>horribly</i> you have disappointed me!</p> +</div> + <blockquote><p>[<i>The couples are forming to go down.</i></p></blockquote> +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>Lord Strath.</i> (<i>stiffly</i>). I can only say the disappointment is mutual!</p> +</div> + +<blockquote><p>[<i>He moves away, and awaits his hostess's directions.</i></p></blockquote> +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>Little Gwennie</i> (<i>stealing up to her Governess</i>). Oh, Miss <span class="sc">Seaton</span>, +<i>haven't</i> I been good? I've kept quite quiet in a corner, and I +haven't said a single word to anybody ever since he came. But +<i>what</i> nice Gentlemen <span class="sc">Blankley</span> does send, doesn't he?</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Tid.</i> (<i>on</i> Uncle <span class="sc">Gabriel's</span> <i>arm</i>). Oh, I quite forgot <i>you</i>, Lord—ah—<span class="sc">Strathporridge</span>. +As you and Miss <span class="sc">Seaton</span> seem to be +already acquainted, perhaps you will have the goodness to take her +down? You will sit on my left—on the fireplace side—and—(<i>in a +whisper</i>)—the less you say the better!</p> + +<p><i>Lord Strath.</i> I am <i>quite</i> of your opinion. (<i>To himself.</i>) Can't +make my hostess out, for the life of me—or <span class="sc">Marjory</span> either, if it +comes to that! This is going to be a lively dinner-party, I can see!</p> +</div> + +<blockquote><p>[<i>He gives his arm to</i> Miss <span class="sc">Seaton</span>, <i>who accepts it without looking +at him; they go downstairs in constrained silence.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p class="center">(<i>End of Scene IV.</i>)</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>QUEER QUERIES.—<span class="sc">City Improvements</span>.—How much longer +are we to wait for the widening of the whole of Cheapside, the +removal of the Post-Office Buildings to a more convenient site, and +the total and unconditional sweeping away of Paternoster Row and +the south side of Newgate Street? These slight alterations are +<i>imperatively required</i>. They will only cost about ten millions, and +what are ten millions to the Corporation? As I purchased the five +square yards on which my little tobacco-shop is built in confident +expectation of being bought out at a high figure, I consider that any +further delay in the matter involves something like a breach of +public faith. Why should not the Government help? They have +lots of money, and I haven't.—<span class="sc">Disinterested</span>.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Facts and Figures</span>."—The business of the Labour Commissioner +has to be very delicately managed. There must be a good deal of +"give and take" in the work. However much "taking" there +may be, there is sure to be plenty of <i>Giffen</i>.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:30%;"><a href="images/053.png"><img width="100%" src="images/053.png" alt="" /></a></div> + +<p>There is something fascinating +about the title of +Mr. <span class="sc">McCullagh Torrens</span>' +book, published in +one handsome volume, by +<span class="sc">Bentley</span>. There should +be a good deal in <i>Twenty +Years in Parliament</i>, +more so when the epoch +covers recollections of +<span class="sc">Palmerston</span> in his green +old age, Mr. <span class="sc">Gladstone</span> +in his prime, <span class="sc">Bright</span> in +his political prize-fighting +trim, <span class="sc">Cobden, Tom Duncan, +Monckton Milnes, +John Stuart Mill, Isaac +Butt</span>, and a host of other +ghosts that have flitted +off the scene. My Baronite +turned to the book +with gusto, read it +through with patience, +and left it with disappointment. +Mr. <span class="sc">Torrens</span> +knew all these men personally; in fact, he was indispensable to +them. One marvels to find, from hints dropped and assertions +boldly made, how much they were severally indebted to him for +counsel and inspiration through the twenty years the narrative +vaguely covers. The figures of the men named loom large in +history; but they were all stuffed. The wires were pulled by plain +unappreciated <span class="sc">McCullagh Torrens</span>. The weight of the responsibility +has had the effect of somewhat muddling the narrative, and, +from time to time, the diligent reader does not know exactly where +he is. He begins with some episode in which <span class="sc">Dizzy</span>, with arm +affectionately linked with that of <span class="sc">McCullagh Torrens</span>, is walking +along Pall Mall, when a passing Bishop obsequiously takes off his +hat and bows. <span class="sc">McCullagh</span> modestly says this obeisance was paid +to <span class="sc">Dizzy</span>, but <i>we</i> know very well it was to <span class="sc">McCullagh</span>. Then, +before we know where we are, we are in the middle of an account of +the Bulgarian atrocities, the Russo-Turkish war, what Count <span class="sc">Beust</span> +said to <span class="sc">McCullagh</span>, and how, in debate on the Vote of Six Millions, +"a Right Hon. friend who sat next to me urged me to add a few +words to what had been better said by others in this sense." Better +said! Oh, <span class="sc">McCullagh</span>! Oh, <span class="sc">Torrens</span>! There is an ancient story +of an old gentleman who had a treasured anecdote connected with +the going off of a gun. When he could not drag it in otherwise, he +was wont to furtively lift his foot and kick the table. "Hallo, +what's that?" he cried. "Sounds like a gun; that reminds me"—and +then the story. Thus Mr. <span class="sc">Torrens</span> drags in successive +Parliamentary episodes through twenty years—the Disestablishment +of the Church, the Charity Commission, State Aid to Emigrants, +School Board for London, Extradition, Artisans' Dwellings; gives a +not very clear summary of events leading up to each, and then treats +the entranced reader to the heads of the speech he delivered. The +book would have been more accurately entitled had it been called +<i>Twenty Years of McCullagh Torrens</i>, and old Members of the House +of Commons will agree that this is a little too much.</p> + +<p class="author"><span class="sc">Baron de Book-Worms & Co</span>.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>The Three.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Some hold it a terrible fault of omission</p> +<p>That Parsons sit not on the Poor-Law Commission.</p> +<p>Alas! Hope would smile, but she finds it a rarity</p> +<p>For "Faith" not to hamper the freedom of Charity.</p> +<p>The world will look bright when we find in high places</p> +<p>A perfect accord 'twixt the Three Christian Graces!</p> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">The First Bal Masqué of the Season</span>.—Big success. Greater +crowd there than when these entertainments came to an end at the +beginning of last year. All sorts of disguises were permitted, but +it is said that two <i>viveurs</i> who came late, disguised in liquor, were +denied entrance. The Snow Man found it very hot, and melted. +Prizes were to be given away. But there was one prize, an elegant +lady, closely masked and hooded, whose identity remained a puzzle +to everybody. At last "she gave herself away." The happy +recipient congratulated himself on winning the prize.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Next, Please</span>!—Suggested subject for the next Newspaper Controversy:—"Is +<span class="sc">Robert Buchanan</span> played out?"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Rent Reductions</span>" can generally be satisfactorily made <i>pro +tem.</i> with a needle and thread.</p> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page54" id="page54"></a>[pg 54]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:90%;"><a href="images/054.png"><img width="100%" src="images/054.png" alt="THE PLAY'S THE THING!" /></a><h3>"THE PLAY'S THE THING!"</h3> + +<p class="center">"<span class="sc">Could I Have a Fortnight's Leave, Sir?</span>" "<span class="sc">What for, Pray?</span>" "<span class="sc">Urgent Private Theatricals!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE FISHERMAN AND THE GENIUS.</h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>Fragmentary and Unfinished Extracts from the Arabian Nights, Up to Date.</i>)</p> + +<p>"Sir," said <span class="sc">Sheeverready</span>, "how pleasant soever these stories +may be that I have told your Majesty hitherto, they do not come +near that of the Fisherman and the Genius."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>There was an ancient, but hale and opulent Fisherman, who had +fished with much success for many a day in troubled waters. This +practice of his involved him, of course, in extremely arduous +labours, but resulted, generally, in securing him a fair share of +hard-earned spoil, to the great envy of other fishermen of less hardihood +and enterprise. He imposed it upon himself, however, as a +law, not to cast his nets save during a certain season—or session, as +he called it—which usually arrived but once a year.</p> + +<p>His fortune, for some fishing seasons past, had been of a variable, +and not too satisfactory sort. It is <i>not</i> encouraging, after casting +one's nets during a prolonged spell of rough weather, and confidently +anticipating a good draught of fish, to perceive that, instead of fish, +there is nothing in one's net save such unsought spoil as the carcase +of an Egyptian ass, a basket-full of gravel and slime of no substantial +utility, or quantities of stones and mud, fit for nothing but +for use as missiles among quarrelsome boys.</p> + +<p>"O Fortune," cried he; "be not so persistently perverse, nor +persecute an ancient fisherman who groweth a-weary of tumultuous +billows, turbid floods, broken and filth-obstructed nets, and unprofitable +hauls!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Now, behold, it was told to this Fisherman by a certain Grand Old +Voice, vague but sonorous, and voluble exceedingly, that if he +would only make a complete change in his nets, and in the fashion +of his fishing, miraculous draughts would become as common as +minnows in a brook. This Voice visited our Fisherman often in his +visions. And, behold, the Fisherman essayed the schemes suggested +by the Voice. Not at first, it must be admitted, with supreme success, +or entire satisfaction to the Fisherman himself. The Voice, +however, attributed this qualified fortune to the Fisherman's lack +of perfect trust, and of entire reform in his fashion of fishing. +"Behold," cried the Voice, vibrating vehemently, "you have allowed +yourself to be diverted by the sinister councils of antiquated obscurantists +from implicit faith in my programmes and prescriptions!"</p> + +<p>"And what, in brief and plain language, <i>are</i> these latter?" +inquired the anxious but puzzled Fisherman.</p> + +<p>"Nay," answered the Voice, sardonically; "that were to inquire +too nicely. But place your fortunes absolutely in my charge; follow +my lead with unquestioning loyalty, and verily you shall see great +results."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The Fisherman, much impressed with these assurances, cast his +nets once more in the new fashion; and when he thought it was +time, he drew them in as formerly, with great difficulty. But, +instead of fish, found nothing in them but a vessel of brass, which, +by the weight, seemed to be full of something; and he observed +that it was shut up with singular tightness, and sealed up with a +thick coating of official-looking wax. And the Seal was Green, +green as the abounding grass, or the scarce four-leaved shamrock of +that amazing Isle of Emeralds, which some deem as much matter of +myth as <span class="sc">Sindbad's</span> Valley of Diamonds.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The Fisherman examined the vessel on all sides, and shook it to +see if what was in it made any noise, but heard nothing. This circumstance, +with the impression of the seal upon the cover (which +seemed to represent two Hearts linked in Union by some mystic +abracadabra of unknown words) made him think there was something +precious—or at least peculiar—in it. To try this, he opened it. +He presently turned the mouth downward, but nothing came out, +which surprised him extremely. He set it before him, and while he +looked upon it attentively, there arose from it a very thick smoke, +which obliged him to retire two or three paces from it.</p> + +<p>The smoke ascended to the clouds, and, extending itself along the +sea and upon the shore, formed a great mist, which we may well +imagine did mightily astonish the Fisherman. When the smoke was +all out of the vessel, it slowly took shape, and became a solid-seeming +body, of which there was formed a Genius twice as high and +broad as any giant with which the Fisherman had been aforetime +familiar. At the sight of a monster of such unsizeable bulk, and +from which issued, in as yet unintelligible accents, a Voice which +seemed strangely familiar to his ears, the Fisherman——Here +<span class="sc">Sheeverready</span> perceiving day, broke off her story—for the time.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page55" id="page55"></a>[pg 55]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:60%;"><a href="images/055.png"><img width="100%" src="images/055.png" alt="THE FISHERMAN AND THE GENIUS." /></a><h3>THE FISHERMAN AND THE GENIUS.</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>Vide "Arabian Nights."</i>)</p></div> +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page56" id="page56"></a>[pg 56]</span><br /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page57" id="page57"></a>[pg 57]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:90%;"><a href="images/057a.png"><img width="100%" src="images/057a.png" alt="VERY CONSIDERATE." /></a><h3>VERY CONSIDERATE.</h3> + +<p><i>Mr. Phunkie.</i> "<span class="sc">Deaw me!—new Rails, I declare! Now if there is a Thing which is annoying to the Agriculturist, +in the present state of Depression, it is for People to go recklessly smashing Things of that sort. I shall certainly +put myself to the inconvenience of Going <i>Round</i>—ahem!—as an Example!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>"THE TICKET-OF-LEAVE MAN" AT CAMBRIDGE.</h2> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"><a href="images/057b.png"><img width="100%" src="images/057b.png" alt="" /></a></div> + +<p>Well done, the A. D. C.! Their performance of <span class="sc">Tom Taylor</span>'s +romantic, pathetic, melodramatic, crib-cracking, head- (though not +always side-) splitting play, was an admirable one, carefully rehearsed, +well stage-managed, and played with a fine feeling for the +capital situations in which the piece abounds. +Especially good was Mr. <span class="sc">Bromley-Davenport</span>'s +<i>Jem Dalton</i>, a finished and truculent +presentment of which any young amateur +and many an old professional might be proud. +<i>Hawkshaw</i> (Mr. <span class="sc">Dickinson</span>), too, was excellent, +and the <i>Bob Brierly</i> of Mr. <span class="sc">Thornton</span>, +the <i>Sam Willoughby</i> of Mr. <span class="sc">Theobald</span>, the +<i>Green Jones</i> of Mr. <span class="sc">Norman</span>, and the <i>Maltby</i> +of Mr. <span class="sc">Martineau</span>, were all good in their +several ways. As for the ladies—but who +does not know the A. D. C. ladies, those +visions of female loveliness, with big hands +bass voices, and projecting knees? Mr. +<span class="sc">Agar</span>, whose waist cannot have really measured more than twenty +inches round, was refined and charming as <i>Emily St. Evremond</i>, +while Mr. <span class="sc">Cornish</span>, though taller than most of his male associates, +played <i>May Edwards</i> quietly, and sympathetically. +<i>Mrs. Willoughby</i>, the stage realisation of <span class="sc">Arthur Sketchley</span>'s +<i>Mrs. Brown</i>, had full justice rendered to her garrulous good-nature +by Mr. <span class="sc">Stone</span>. But enough. It was a good performance. +Memories came floating back of a notable performance of this +same play by the A. D. C. far back in the remote ages between +'70 and '80. The <i>Bob Brierly</i> of those days has been Under-Secretary +of State for India, <i>Hawkshaw</i>, the Detective, occupies +a thorny throne as Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, while <i>Jem Dalton</i> +has become the Burglar at the Court Theatre—a very natural +transition. Very great was Mr. <span class="sc">Brookfield</span> fifteen years ago as +the Cracksman, but great, also, was Mr. <span class="sc">Bromley-Davenport</span> last +week. <i>Dixi!</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>DEARTH OF DANCING-MEN.</h2> + +<p>My <span class="sc">Julia</span> has been unusually fortunate this evening. She has +only had to sit out thirteen dances, and has already been given half +a polka by Mr. <span class="sc">Laysibohns</span>, who, however, seemed too tired to +finish it. Her view is, that "half a loafer is better than no dance."</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width:20%;"><a href="images/057c.png"><img width="100%" src="images/057c.png" alt="" /></a></div> + +<p>In order to get men, we have been obliged to +invite the gentlemanly crossing-sweeper at the +end of our road, two hawkers who sell blocks of +wood in the street, a respectable coal-heaver, +and our green-grocer's assistant. They have +each had half-a-dozen dancing lessons (at our +expense), and are to be paid a guinea a-piece, +on condition that they dance at least six dances +before going down to supper.</p> + +<p>Our boy <span class="sc">Bob</span>, who is always trying to be +funny, says he is afraid engaging these people +will turn put a "valse step."</p> + +<p>It certainly is rather slow for the Girls who +have not had a partner all the evening. Still, I did <i>not</i> expect +them to bring pencils and paper with them, and play games of "consequences" +in the billiard-room.</p> + +<p>Since Gentlemen have taken to sharing a dance among several +Ladies, they have become very conceited. My <span class="sc">Emily</span> is congratulating +herself that she has secured one undivided sixteenth part of +the next Lancers with that dear Mr. <span class="sc">Wynn Ingways</span>.</p> + +<p>A good part of Mr. <span class="sc">Masher</span>'s income is, it is said, derived from +the fact that Mothers, sooner than see their Girls sit idle all the +evening, are willing to allow him a handsome commission on +suitable introductions.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Bob</span> has asked <span class="sc">Julia</span> a riddle, which is—"What is the difference +between a game of whist and a ball-room?" The answer seems to +be, that in whist you cut for partners, but, in a ball-room, possible +partners cut you.</p> + +<p>It is quite true that we have decided to emigrate to North-West +Colorado, as my Girls say they will have far more chance of partners in +a country where the "surplus population" consists entirely of males.</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page58" id="page58"></a>[pg 58]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:70%;"><a href="images/058.png"><img width="100%" src="images/058.png" alt="TROP DE ZÈLE." /></a><h3>TROP DE ZÈLE.</h3> + +<p><i>Hostess.</i> "<span class="sc">Why are some of the Liqueur Glasses <i>empty</i>, Kathleen?</span>"</p> + +<p><i>The New Parlour Maid.</i> "<span class="sc">If you please, my Lady, they're for thim as don't take +any Liqueur!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>MARGARINA.</h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">A Back-Street Ballad.</span></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">Air</span>—"<i>Margarita.</i>"</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>I passed along a dim back-street, Margarina!</p> +<p>In search of something good to eat, Margarina!</p> +<p class="i2">O pallid tripe! O "faggots" queer!</p> +<p class="i2">Was ever such strange human cheer?</p> +<p class="i4">And O my heart, I loathed thee so,</p> +<p class="i4">There on show, there on show, Margarina!</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>I saw thee in a sallow dab, Margarina!</p> +<p>Upon the grubby marble slab, Margarina!</p> +<p class="i2">O sickening stodge! O greasy shine!</p> +<p class="i2">O "Dairy Produce" miscalled "Fine"!</p> +<p class="i4">O haunt of all blue-flies that blow,</p> +<p class="i4">There on show, there on show, Margarina!</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>I fled along that gloomy street, Margarina!</p> +<p>Disgusted, sickened, sad, dead-beat, Margarina!</p> +<p class="i2">Yet still I see that dingy slab,</p> +<p class="i2">That oleaginous pale, pale dab.</p> +<p class="i4">And thou art still on sale I know,</p> +<p class="i4">Where soot-flakes all, and blue-flies blow, Margarina!</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>But every night at my snug tea, Margarina!</p> +<p>Over my toast I muse on thee, Margarina!</p> +<p class="i2">I sniff that smell, I see that dab,</p> +<p class="i2">That greasy, grimy, marble slab.</p> +<p class="i4">And thou art still the same I know,</p> +<p class="i4">The slum's strange love, the slum's strange love.</p> +<p class="i4">The poor man's "Butter," there on show! Margarina!</p> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Mrs. Ram</span>, who had been listening to a +conversation among golf-players, and now +flatters herself on knowing something +about the game, observed—"I suppose, in +the Season, instead of Five-o'clock Teas, +the fashion at Hurlingham and those +places will be to have Golf Teas." She +didn't know that it was spelt 'Tees.'</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.</h2> + +<h4>EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M. P.</h4> + +<p><i>House of Commons, Tuesday, Jan. 31st.</i>—Back again in old place, +with <span class="sc">Speaker</span> in Chair, Mace on table, and Serjeant-at-Arms on +guard. Nothing changed except the Government. Some old +familiar faces gone; others replace them. Same old bustle, hearty +greeting, and effusive hand-shaking.</p> + +<p>"There's only one thing," says <span class="sc">Erskine</span>, of Cardross, "that +equals the hilarity of the opening of a New Session, and that is the +joy with which the boys go off on the day of Prorogation."</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Erskine</span> been in the Chair by the cross-benches some years now. +Naturally growing philosophical; insensibly cultivates habit of +sententious speech.</p> + +<p>"Wonder you can be so garrulous, <span class="sc">Toby</span>," he says, "considering +the number of Speeches you hear in a Session. We take in eloquence +at the pores, and I for one have no tendency toward exudation."</p> + +<p>"Ah," I said, "perhaps that's the lack of exercise. Dear old +<span class="sc">Gosset</span>! he was better off in that respect. Remember how he used +to waltz up and down between doorway and table with <span class="sc">Bradlaugh</span>? +A heavy partner, too, especially taken after dinner. But, on score of +health, not by any means an undesirable variation on sedentary life."</p> + +<p>"Well, well," said <span class="sc">Erskine</span>, whose forbears were out in '45, "we +must hope for the best." And the gallant Scot's hand involuntarily +sought the hilt of his sword as his keen eye roved over the Clan +gathered below the Gangway.</p> + +<p>A little odd at first to see Mr. G. on the Bench to the right of +<span class="sc">Speaker</span>, Prince <span class="sc">Arthur</span> facing him on Opposition Bench. They +seem to assume altered position quite naturally. Mr. G. looks pretty +much as he has done any time these two years back. Eager, +straight-backed, bright-eyed, smiling gaily in response to cheer +that greets him from at present undivided majority.</p> + +<p>"Pretty well, thank you, <span class="sc">Toby</span>. Only one thing the matter with +me, and that, you know, doesn't mend as the years pass. Looking +over <span class="sc">McCullagh Torrens'</span> book the other day, I noted what <span class="sc">Dizzy</span> +said when that genial statesman, the former Member for Finsbury, +inquired after the health of Lady <span class="sc">Beaconsfield</span>. 'They tell me +she is better, but you know what better is at 83.' I'm as well as +can be expected going o' 84. I must admit it's pretty well. I'll +undertake to walk a mile, run a mile, eat a meal, and make a speech +with any fellow ten years my junior."</p> + +<p>Certainly no one on Treasury Bench exceeds Mr. G. in vivacity or +overflowing energy. <span class="sc">Squire of Malwood</span> looks very fit, but there's +a massivity about his mirthful mood that becomes a Chancellor of +the Exchequer with a contingent surplus. Is much comforted by +consciousness that, whilst <span class="sc">Sage of Queen Anne's Gate</span> views composition +of Ministry with mixed feelings, and will not commit himself +to promise of fealty till he is in possession of full details of their +policy, he unreservedly approves the <span class="sc">Squire</span>.</p> + +<p>On other side, Her Majesty's late Ministers in state of almost +boisterous hilarity. Evidently inclined to regard deposition as a +joke. Prince <span class="sc">Arthur</span> beaming with delight. Something curiously +like a smile wreathes stolid countenance of Sir <span class="sc">James Fergusson</span>.</p> + +<p>"It's their turn now," says Prince <span class="sc">Arthur</span>, gleefully rubbing +his hands, "and I wish them joy of it. As for me, I shall live +my Saturday to Monday in peace, and shall go to the Opera every +Wednesday night in the Season."</p> + +<p>"You can go oftener if you like," said <span class="sc">Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett</span> +(Knight). "You may depend on my remaining here. I've thought +of a good many things to say during the last six years."</p> + +<p>"Ha," said Prince <span class="sc">Arthur</span>, thoughtfully, "then perhaps I may +absent myself through portions of other nights of the week."</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Address moved.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page59" id="page59"></a>[pg 59]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:80%;"><a href="images/059.png"><img width="100%" src="images/059.png" alt="PARLIAMENTARY SHOOTING BEGINS, JANUARY 31." /></a><h3>PARLIAMENTARY SHOOTING BEGINS, JANUARY 31.</h3></div> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page60" id="page60"></a>[pg 60]</span> + +<h2>HIS LITTLE GAME AT THE COMEDY.</h2> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:33%;"><a href="images/060a.png"><img width="100%" src="images/060a.png" alt="Opening the Case." /></a><p class="center">Opening the Case.</p></div> + +<div class="figright" style="width:20%;"><a href="images/060b.png"><img width="100%" src="images/060b.png" alt="Briscoe, having lost one suit, gains another." /></a><p class="center">Briscoe, having lost one suit, gains another.</p></div> + +<p>Mr. Lestocq's amusing farce, <i>The Sportsman</i>, +now being played at the Comedy Theatre, +must inevitably recall to the experienced play-goer +the plot and situations of <i>The Serious +Family</i> and <i>The Colonel</i>, <i>Truth</i>, <i>The Candidate</i>, +<i>Artful Cards</i>, and it may be some +others of the same extensive dramatic family. +In this piece the husband, under pretence of +joining a shooting-party, is accustomed to +absent himself from home, in order to indulge +his propensity +for gambling, +and he invariably +brings home +to his wife the +hares and rabbits +he has shot. This +is "his little +game." Just so +did the husband +in <i>The Serious +Family</i>, when +<i>Aminadab Sleek</i> +remarks that he +has seen something +very like +them at a neighbouring +poulterer's. +In the +Second Act the +police make a +raid on the gambling +Club, and +the husband escapes +in any coat +he can lay hold +of, following the +example of the +unfortunate hero +of <i>Artful Cards</i>, +only that the +situation at the +end of <i>that</i> +Second Act was +far stronger in +that play than it +is in <i>The Sportsman</i>. +In <i>Artful Cards</i> the unfortunate hero +escaped, carrying a trombone, which turned up +in evidence against him when he was inventing +plausible explanations to his wife. In fact, +<i>The Sportsman</i> is concocted out of excellent +old material cleverly worked up, with +only one new point in it, to which, as it has +escaped the eye of the English adapter, it +would be useless to draw his attention; yet, +had he seen it, he might therefrom have +developed a really original sequence of perplexing +situations. The dialogue is not particularly +brilliant; jerky, not crisp. But such +is the "go" of the principals, and especially +of Mr. <span class="sc">Hawtrey</span>, who is the life and +soul of the farce, that the laughter is hearty +and continuous.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figright" style="width:20%;"><a href="images/060c.png"><img width="100%" src="images/060c.png" alt="" /></a></div> + +<h2>PATRIOTISM AT THE LAW COURTS.</h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>As we expect to see it.</i>)</p> + +<blockquote><p>["<span class="sc">The Inns of Court and the Volunteers.</span>—A +Meeting was held yesterday afternoon in the +Banqueting Hall of Lincoln's Inn for the purpose +of taking such steps as might be deemed necessary +to revive the former numerical strength of the +Inns of Court Corps of Volunteers, now sadly +below its proper strength."—<i>Daily Paper.</i>]</p></blockquote> + +<p>Frequent Meetings in the Banqueting Hall +will soon rectify the "reduced condition," +and, after a few gatherings, a gallant and +learned Q. C. will don his ancient tunic, and +present himself at Head Quarters.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>"THE ETERNAL FEMININE!"</h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>By a candid—if capricious—Conjugator.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Amo, amas</i>—All love a lass!<br /> + +<i>Amamus, amatis</i>—Churls cry, <i>jam satis</i>!<br /> + +<i>Amat, amant</i>—But that's masculine cant!<br /> + +<i>Amem, ames</i>—We wish to please.<br /> + +<i>Amemus, ametis</i>—'Cos love so sweet is.<br /> + +<i>Amet, ament</i>—Man's never content!<br /> + +<i>Amavissem</i>—We yearn to kiss 'em.<br /> + +<i>Amavisses</i>—They accept our kisses.<br /> + +<i>Ama, amato</i>—Lips like a tomato.<br /> + +<i>Amate, amanto</i>—Move many a canto.<br /> + +<i>Amare, amavisse</i>—We Marry sweet Missy.<br /> + +<i>Amans, amaturus</i>—Her charms to secure us.<br /> + +<i>Amandum, amandi</i>—As wives they come handy.<br /> + +<i>Amando, amandum</i>—But we don't understand 'em.<br /> + +<i>Amandum, amando</i>—Their novels are grand, oh!<br /> + +<i>Amatum, amatu</i>—Cries male critic, "I'll slate you!"<br /> + +<i>Amor, amaris, amatur</i>—Woman goes like thunder when a starter!<br /> + +<i>Amamur, amamini, amantur</i>—And she swears she'll lick us in a canter!<br /> + +<i>Amemur, amemini, amentur</i>—And 'twill take us all our time to prevent her!</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figright" style="width:20%;"><a href="images/060d.png"><img width="100%" src="images/060d.png" alt="" /></a></div> + +<h2>THE NEWEST HUMOUR.</h2> + +<blockquote><p>["The atmospheric envelope of the Globe is at +present in a baccilophil humour."—<i>Professor</i> <span class="sc">Pettenkofer</span> +<i>on Microbes, quoted by</i> <span class="sc">James Payn</span>.]</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Is that the humour o 't, O learned Nym?</p> +<p>Well, these be days of mad and morbid whim,</p> +<p>When would-be wits strain wildly at a joke</p> +<p>As an o'erladen ox against the yoke.</p> +<p>But "a baccilophil humour"!—in the air!</p> +<p>Science does love the unlearned soul to scare,</p> +<p>But what does this thing mean? With fear to fill us?</p> +<p>Can aught thus love and cherish the Bacillus?</p> +<p>O "atmospheric envelope" <i>thy</i> humour</p> +<p>Is worse than—Blank's—if we may trust this rumour.</p> +<p>Since microbe "humour" fills both air and earth,</p> +<p>Farewell to honest fun and wholesome mirth!</p> +<p>Adieu to genial <span class="sc">Dickens</span>, gentle <span class="sc">Hood</span>!</p> +<p>Hail to the peddling pessimistic brood</p> +<p>Whose "nimini-pimimi" mouths, too small by half</p> +<p>To stretch themselves to a Homeric laugh,</p> +<p>Mince, in a mirror, to the "Paphian Mimp!"</p> +<p><span class="sc">Momus</span> is dead, and e'en that tricksy imp</p> +<p>Preposterous <i>Puck</i> hath too much native grit</p> +<p>To take the taste of <span class="sc">Osrick</span> turned a wit.</p> +<p>Humour baccilophil, microbic merriment,</p> +<p>Might suit him better. He will try the experiment.</p> +<p>His mirth's a smirk and not a paroxysm;</p> +<p>"Papa, potatoes, poultry, prunes and prism"</p> +<p>Do not disturb the "plie" of his prim lips,</p> +<p>Neither do cynic quirks and querulous quips.</p> +<p>Mirth would guffaw—when hearts and mouths were bigger,</p> +<p><span class="sc">Osrick</span> would shrink from aught beyond a snigger,</p> +<p>Such as is stirred by screeds of far-fetched whim.</p> +<p>Ay! that's the humour o't, sententious Nym.</p> +<p>Let's hail a dying century's latest birth,—</p> +<p>The Newest Humour—purged from taint of Mirth!</p> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Mrs. Ram</span>'s practical knowledge of French +is not marvellous. She was discussing the +question as to whether the French Working-classes +cared for malt liquor as brewed in +England. The excellent Lady observed—"I +don't think so, because, if I remember rightly, +when I was in Paris, I was told always to +give the coachman money for drink, and this +they called 'poor beer.' So they couldn't care +for 'strong ale,' such as ours."</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> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume +104, February 4, 1893, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + +***** This file should be named 20538-h.htm or 20538-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/5/3/20538/ + +Produced by Matt Whittaker, Juliet Sutherland and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://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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