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diff --git a/22691-h/22691-h.htm b/22691-h/22691-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..09667fe --- /dev/null +++ b/22691-h/22691-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1888 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, March 11, 1893, by Various</title> +<style type="text/css"> + <!-- + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {text-align: justify;} + blockquote {text-align: justify;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} + .sc {font-variant: small-caps;} + .center {text-align: center;} + + hr {text-align: center; width: 50%;} + html>body hr {margin-right: 25%; margin-left: 25%; width: 50%;} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + html>body hr.full {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;} + hr.short {text-align: center; width: 20%;} + html>body hr.short {margin-right: 40%; margin-left: 40%; width: 20%;} + + .note, .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + + span.pagenum + {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt; text-indent: 0;} + + .poem + {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem p.i4 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem p.i6 {margin-left: 3em;} + .poem p.i8 {margin-left: 4em;} + .poem p.i10 {margin-left: 5em;} + + .drama {margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .drama p {margin: 1em 0em 0em 0em;; padding-left: 2em; text-indent: -2em;} + .drama p.i2 {margin: 0; margin-left: 1em;} + .drama p.i4 {margin: 0; margin-left: 2em;} + .drama p.i6 {margin: 0; margin-left: 3em;} + .drama p.i8 {margin: 0; margin-left: 4em;} + .drama p.i10 {margin: 0; margin-left: 5em;} + + .figure, .figcenter, .figright, .figleft + {padding: 1em; margin: 0; text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em;} + .figure img, .figcenter img, .figright img, .figleft img + {border: none;} + .figure p, .figcenter p, .figright p, .figleft p + {margin: 0; text-indent: 1em;} + .figcenter {margin: auto;} + .figright {float: right;} + .figleft {float: left;} + + p.author {text-align: right;} + hr.pg { width: 100%; + margin-top: 0em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + border: solid black; + height: 5px; } + pre {font-size: 75%; } + --> + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, +March 11, 1893, by Various, Edited by Francis Burnand</h1> +<pre> +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 <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, March 11, 1893</p> +<p>Author: Various</p> +<p>Editor: Francis Burnand</p> +<p>Release Date: September 20, 2007 [eBook #22691]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, VOL. 104, MARCH 11, 1893***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Matt Whittaker, Juliet Sutherland,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="pg" /> + +<h1>PUNCH,<br /> + +OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> + +<h2>VOL. 104.</h2> + + + + +<h2>March 11, 1893.</h2> + + +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page109" id="page109"></a>[pg 109]</span> + +<h2>MIXED NOTIONS.</h2> + +<p class="center">No. VI.—REGISTRATION REFORM.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>Scene and Persons as Usual.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>First Well-Informed Man</i> (<i>bristling with indignation, as he lays +down his newspaper</i>). Well, I'm dashed!</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer</i> (<i>nervously</i>). What's up?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> <i>What's up!</i> Everything's up. Up the spout, +that's where this blessed country will be if this kind of thing's +going on.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> What kind of thing?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Why, all this gerrymandering kind of business.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> Oh, by the way, that reminds me. I came on that word +the other day. Can any of you chaps tell me what it means?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> It's as plain as +a pikestaff. It means playing +ducks and drakes with things all +round, and letting the whole +business go thoroughly rotten.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> Has it got anything +to do with jerry-builders?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> It's the same +thing precisely.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer</i> (<i>insisting</i>). But what's +the point of calling 'em jerry? +Where does that come in?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> It's a French +word.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> It isn't. +It's German.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Bosh, it's French.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> I bet you a +dollar it's German.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> And I bet you +a dollar it's French. (<i>To Average +Man.</i>) Here, you decide. Which +is it?</p> + +<p><i>Average Man.</i> Well, I'm sure +it isn't French——</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> (<i>interrupting</i>). +Of course it isn't. Pay up, my boy!</p> + +<p><i>Average Man</i> (<i>continuing</i>). But, +on the other hand, it isn't German.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Oh, rot! It +must be one or the other, you +know. (<i>Scornfully.</i>) You'll be +telling us it's Greek next.</p> + +<p><i>Average Man.</i> Well, of course, +it <i>might</i> be; but, as a matter of +fact, I fancy it's English.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i>, <i>Second W. I. M.</i> +(<i>together</i>). Oh, you tell that to the +Marines! It won't wash here.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer</i> (<i>doubtfully</i>). Perhaps +it's American.</p> + +<p><i>Average Man</i> (<i>resignedly</i>). +Well I daresay it is. Any way, +you can have it so if you like, +It may be Sanskrit for all I care.</p> + +<blockquote><p>[<i>Retires to his paper. A pause.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><i>Inquirer</i> (<i>to First W. I. M.</i>). +But, look here, what made you lose +your hair, just now? You looked +as angry as blazes about something.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> (<i>with dignity</i>). +Did I? Well, isn't it enough to +make anybody, who loves his country, +angry when he sees what's +going on. Why, the Government's going to turn everything inside +out, with some blessed new law about elections. Registration Bill, +they call it, or something of that sort. Just as if we hadn't had +enough tinkering and pottering lately. It's all through this confounded +County Council interfering with everything.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> (<i>aggressive</i>). What the dickens has the County +Council got to do with it? You're always dropping on the County +Council.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Oh, they've got their finger in every pie. I'm +pretty certain this is their job.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> Well, you're wrong this time, that's all. +You're thinking of the Employers' Liability Bill.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> No, I'm not. I never even heard of it. So that's +where <i>you're</i> wrong. What has the Employers' Liabill got——I +mean the Employers' (<i>steadily, and with determination</i>) Li-a-bil-ity +Bill got to do with the County Council?</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> Everything. Didn't you read <span class="sc">John Burns's</span> +speech about it?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> No—and I don't mean to. Ask me another.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> All right—I will. Do you mean to deny that +our present Registration System is a ridiculous one?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> (<i>hotly</i>). Yes, I do.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> (<i>with triumph</i>). Ah, I've got you now. You +said, only yesterday, that any system by which a Government like +this got into power must be ridiculous. (<i>To</i> Inquirer.) Didn't he?</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer</i> (<i>hesitating</i>). Well, I'm not quite sure. I rather fancy he +did say something of that kind. But—(<i>deprecatingly</i>)—perhaps he meant something else.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> No, I didn't. I meant what I said—and I stick +to it. But that isn't the same thing as the Registration System.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> Perhaps you'll tell us, then, what the Registration +System is?</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer</i> (<i>eagerly</i>). Yes, do. I +should like to get to the bottom of +it, because I'm constantly meeting +a sort of third cousin of mine, +who's a Registrar of something or +other, and I never quite know +what he does. All I know is, that +he isn't a Registrar in Bankruptcy.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Let me see—how +can I put it shortly? It's +just this—you chaps have got votes.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer</i> (<i>decisively</i>). No, I +haven't.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> (<i>put out</i>). Ah, +but you ought to have.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> (<i>cutting in</i>). +There you are again. That's just +what I've been saying all along. +He ought to have—but he hasn't; +so where's your beautiful system +now?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> (<i>retreating strategically</i>). +I never said it was <i>perfect</i>, +did I? But I'll come to that +afterwards. (<i>To</i> Inquirer.) Now +why haven't you got a vote?</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer</i> (<i>with a painful sense +of inferiority</i>). I'm sure I don't +know. I suppose the old Johnny, +whoever he is, didn't chalk me +down when he went round last +time.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Probably you +haven't lived in your house long +enough. You haven't got a +qualifying period.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> Haven't I? How long +ought I to have lived there?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> (<i>vaguely</i>). Oh, +it's something between three and +four years. I can't tell you the +exact number; they alter it every +year.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> Who alter it?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> The Revising +Barristers, or somebody.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> Well, my +brother-in-law's a Revising Barrister, +and I never heard of him +doing that.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> (<i>sarcastic</i>). But +you don't suppose he'd tell <i>you</i> +everything he does, do you?</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> But I've lived in my house six years.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Ah! but aren't you a lodger?</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> What's the odds if he is? My brother's a +lodger, and I know he's got a vote.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> But that's a different franchise altogether.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> How do you mean? They're both lodgers.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> But they don't live in the same district. Perhaps +they don't give him a latch-key.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer</i> (<i>producing it</i>). Yes they do. Here it is. (<i>Chuckles</i>.) I think +I jolly well see myself without a latch-key. But, I say, about this vote. +I don't half like not having got one. What shall I do about it?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> You'd better see somebody about it.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> Somebody was talking about Leasehold Franchise the +other day. Perhaps I could get in on that.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Ah! I daresay that <i>might</i> help you. [<i>Terminus.</i></p> + +<hr /> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:40%;"><a href="images/109.png"><img width="100%" src="images/109.png" alt="NOUS AVONS CHANGÉ TOUT CELA!" /></a><h3>"NOUS AVONS CHANGÉ TOUT CELA!"</h3> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Were you ever in Chicago, Duchess?</span>"</p> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Why yes, Lady Mary. It's my Native Place, you know—at +least, it used to be!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">New Novel by</span> Mr. G.—<i>The Art of Midlothian.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page110" id="page110"></a>[pg 110]</span><div class="figcenter" style="width:65%;"><a href="images/110.png"><img width="100%" src="images/110.png" alt="DRESS REHEARSAL OF EMINENT COMEDIANS, GRANDOLPH AND SARUM" /></a><h3>DRESS REHEARSAL OF EMINENT COMEDIANS, GRANDOLPH AND SARUM,</h3> +<p class="center"><i>Previous to Starring Tour in Scotland and Ireland respectively</i>.</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page111" id="page111"></a>[pg 111]</span><h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> + +<p><i>Time and the Woman.</i> By <span class="sc">Richard Pryce</span>. Not by any means +a pearl of Pryce, and certainly not likely to make so great noise in +the novel-reading world as did <i>The Quiet Mrs. Fleming</i>, by the +same author. <span class="sc">Methuen & Co</span>. publish it.</p> + +<p>The Baron heartily recommends <span class="sc">Frank Barrett's</span> novel, in three +vols., entitled, <i>Kitty's Father</i>. A thoroughly absorbing plot, well +worked out, and interesting right up to the last page. <i>Kitty's</i> father +is a mysterious person, and she, not being a wise child, for she doesn't +know him, does several foolish things, and says several wise ones. +<i>Kitty's</i> uncle is a necessary nuisance, but a cleverly and consistently +drawn character, +while <i>Kitty</i> herself is delightfully +made out of good +home-spun material. But +the villanous Curate is +just a bit too grotesque, +too Uriah-Heepish for the +awfully tragic situation in +which he is placed. When +the imaginative author +shifts the scene to Dublin, +why did he not represent +an Irish Cardinal-Archbishop +as waiting at the +stage-door to escort home +the light-and-leading lady? +But "for a' that and a' +that," most decidedly +"read it," quoth the +Baron, and on he goes +again.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Marion Crauford's</span> +<i>Children of the King</i>, published +by <span class="sc">Macmillan</span>, is +a tragic story, told in +most simple and most +fascinating style. It is all +colour and character: the +colours and the characters +being those of Southern +Italy.</p> + +<p>Out of regard to the +importunities of numerous +correspondents, the Baron +has read <span class="sc">Ibsen's</span> <i>Master +Builder</i>, translated by two +of the Ibsenitish cult. +"Only fancy!" Of all +the weak-knee'd, wandering, +effeminate, unwholesome, +immoral, dashed +"rot," to quote <i>Lord Arthur</i> +in the <i>Pantomime +Rehearsal</i>, this is the +weak-knee'dest, effeminatest, +and all the epithets +as above superlatived. +Read it by all means, and +see it, too, if you will, but +if the honest English play-goer's +verdict is worth a +"big, big, D" (I thank +thee, W. S. G., for teaching +me that abbreviated form +of dashed expressiveness!) +he will give <span class="sc">Ibsen's</span> <i>Master +Builder</i> the benefit of the +"D," and "D" it once and for ever. And that, at your service, +my masters, is the rough-and-ready opinion expressed by,</p> + +<p class="center">Yours truly, <span class="sc">The Baron de B.-W.</span></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>A RACY READING OF AN OLD QUOTATION FROM SCOTT.</h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>Suggested by Burns.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"My foot is on Newmarket Heath!</p> +<p>My name, <span class="sc">Jem Lowther</span>!"</p> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p>The benefits that Sir <span class="sc">John Lawes</span> has been able and will yet be +able to confer on agriculturists everywhere, including those in his +immediate neighbourhood, cause him to be regarded as a living +exception to the rule about a prophet in his own country. So, in +that part of England, "Profit and <span class="sc">Lawes</span>" are synonymous terms, +meaning the same person.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>"HAPPINESS IN——FOLKESTONE."</h2> + +<blockquote><p>["He said, 'Go and be——' I accordingly went and stayed at Folkestone."</p> + +<p><i>See last Thursday's "Daily News;" Evidence in the De Walden Case.</i>]</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Thrice happy Town Council! when pestered to pave,</p> +<p class="i2">Remember this fact that her Ladyship mentions.</p> +<p>Intend, but do nothing; your rates you can save</p> +<p class="i2">By paving your streets with the best of intentions.</p> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Hitherto Unreported</span>.—Mr. <span class="sc">Gladstone</span> and Mr. <span class="sc">Asquith</span> +received deputations on the Eight Hours' Question last Friday. +The chief speakers were Mr. <span class="sc">Parrot</span> and Mr. <span class="sc">Onions</span>. Mr. G. +observed that in all his vast +experience, frequently as +he had tasted a savoury +dish of rabbit and onions, +yet the combination of +Parrot with Onions was +something really novel. +Perhaps Mr. <span class="sc">Parrot</span> would +be useful at any bye-election, +and would give them +the state of the poll. As +to Mr. <span class="sc">Onions</span>, well, he +(Mr. G.) hadn't words of +welcome sufficiently strong +for him. Why hadn't he +brought "<span class="sc">Brer Rabbit</span>" +with him? In approaching +the Eight Hours' Question, +no time must be lost, so he +would at once proceed to +business.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:40%;"><a href="images/111.png"><img width="100%" src="images/111.png" alt="FROM OUR VILLAGE." /></a><h3>FROM OUR VILLAGE.</h3> + +<p><i>Mrs. Sharply</i> (<i>to the Doctor, who has looked in, having heard that her "good man" +is ailing</i>). "<span class="sc">No, I thank ye, Sir. You see I've heerd of you, Sir, as +you've been 'Prac<i>ti</i>sing' here for the last Three Years, and so I'd +rather you went 'Prac<i>ti</i>sing' elsewhere, as I don't want no <i>'Speriments</i> +on my Old Man!"</span></p></div> + +<hr /> + +<p>At a recent Monday Pop +Concert, Mr. <span class="sc">Borwick</span> put +any amount of powder—everyone +has seen or heard +of Borwick's Powder—into +his performance of "<i>Suite +Anglaise</i>. "As a pretty +lady observed, "He might +just as well, or better, have +put the name in English, +and called it, '<i>The Sweet +English Girl</i>.'" Messrs. +<span class="sc">Joachim, Ries, Strauss,</span> +and <span class="sc">Piatti</span>, played a string-quartette +in C Sharp Minor, +and out of respect to the +Ecclesiastical Season of the +year, they gave marked +prominence to the "<i>Lento</i>" +in G. Flat.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">A Genuine Building +Society</span>.—The Birds, just +now. And its members +are not even waiting for a +Re-leaf Fund, which will, +however, soon come, with +"the flowers that bloom in +the Spring, tra-la!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">The G. O. M. from a +Musical Point of View</span>.—When +preternaturally +alert, he is "Mr. G. +Sharp." When depressed, +he is "Mr. G. Flat." When himself again, he is "Mr. G. Natural." +As being second son, he is "G. Minor." He is also <i>hors ligne</i>. +But he refuses to be musically translated to the House of Lords, +and become "The Upper G."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><i>Q.</i> What is the difference between a lover asking the object of +his affections to marry him, and a guest who ventures to hint to +his host that the Pommery '80 is rather corked?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> The one pops the question, the other questions the pop.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Mrs. R. saw the heading of a paragraph in the <i>Times</i>, of Monday. +Feb. 27, "Jade in Upper Burmah." She laid the paper down, and +exclaimed, "Dear me! I wonder who she is!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>If we ever do adopt Bimetallism, it is evident, from Mr. <span class="sc">Gladstone's</span> +masterly speech, that holders of Consols will obtain very +little consol-ation.</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page112" id="page112"></a>[pg 112]</span><h2>PILL-DOCTOR HERDAL.</h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>Translated from the Original Norwegian by Mr. Punch</i>)</p> + +<blockquote><p>[<span class="sc">Prefatory Note</span>. The original title, <i>Mester-Pijl-drögster Herdal</i>, +would sound a trifle too uncouth to the Philistine ear, and is therefore +modified as above, although the term "drögster," strictly speaking, denotes +a practitioner who has not received a regular diploma.]</p></blockquote> + +<p class="center">ACT FIRST.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>An elegantly furnished Drawing-room at</i> Dr. <span class="sc">Herdal's</span>. <i>In front, +on the left, a Console-table, on which is a large round bottle full +of coloured water. On the right a stove, with a banner-screen +made out of a richly-embroidered chest-protector. On the stove, +a stethoscope and a small galvanic battery. In one corner, a hat +and umbrella stand; in another, a desk, at +which stands</i> <span class="sc">Senna Blakdraf</span>, <i>making +out the quarterly accounts. Through a +glass-door at the back is seen the Dispensary, +where</i> <span class="sc">Rübub Kalomel</span> <i>is seated, +occupied in rolling a pill. Both go on +working in perfect silence for four minutes +and a half.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><i>Dr. Haustus Herdal</i> (<i>enters through hall-door; +he is elderly, with a plain sensible +countenance, but slightly weak hair and +expression</i>). Come here, Miss <span class="sc">Blakdraf</span>. +(<i>Hangs up hat, and throws his mackintosh +on a divan.</i>) Have you made out all those +bills yet? [<i>Looks sternly at her.</i></p> + +<p><i>Senna</i> (<i>in a low hesitating voice</i>). Almost. +I have charged each patient with three attendances +daily. Even when you only dropped +in for a cup of tea and a chat. (<i>Passionately.</i>) +I felt I <i>must</i>—I <i>must</i>!</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> (<i>alters his tone, clasps her head +in his hands, and whispers</i>). I wish you could +make out the bills for me, <i>always</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Senna</i> (<i>in nervous exaltation</i>). How lovely +that would be! Oh, you are so unspeakably +good to me! It is too enthralling to be here!</p> + +<blockquote><p>[<i>Sinks down and embraces his knees.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> So I've understood. (<i>With +suppressed irritation.</i>) For goodness' sake, +let go my legs! I do <i>wish</i> you wouldn't be +so confoundedly neurotic!</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width:40%;"><a href="images/112.png"><img width="100%" src="images/112.png" alt="For goodness' sake, let go my legs!" /></a><h3>"For goodness' sake, let go my legs!"</h3></div> + +<p><i>Rübub</i> (<i>has risen, and comes in through +glass-door, breathing with difficulty; he is a +prematurely bald young man of fifty-five, +with a harelip and squints slightly</i>). I beg +pardon, Dr. <span class="sc">Herdal</span>, I see I interrupt you. +(<i>As</i> <span class="sc">Senna</span> <i>rises</i>.) I have just completed +this pill. Have you looked at it?</p> + +<blockquote><p>[<i>He offers it for inspection +diffidently.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> (<i>evasively</i>). +It appears to be a pill of +the usual dimensions.</p> + +<p><i>Rübub</i> (<i>cast down</i>). +All these years you have +never given me one encouraging +word! <i>Can't</i> +you praise my pill?</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> (<i>struggles +with himself</i>). I—I +cannot. You should +not attempt to compound +pills on your +own account.</p> + +<p><i>Rübub</i> (<i>breathing laboriously</i>). +And yet +there was a time when +<i>you</i>, too——</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> (<i>complacently</i>). +Yes, it was certainly a pill that came as a lucky stepping-stone—but +not a pill like that!</p> + +<p><i>Rübub</i> (<i>vehemently</i>). Listen! Is that your last word? <i>Is</i> my +aged mother to pass out of this world without ever knowing whether +I am competent to construct an effective pill or not?</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> (<i>as if in desperation</i>). You had better try it upon your +mother—it will enable her to form an opinion. Only mind—I will +not be responsible for the result.</p> + +<p><i>Rübub.</i> I understand. Exactly as you tried <i>your</i> pill, all those +years ago, upon Dr. <span class="sc">Ryval</span>. [<i>He bows, and goes out.</i></p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> (<i>uneasily</i>). He said that so strangely, <span class="sc">Senna</span>. But +tell me now—when are you going to marry him?</p> + +<p><i>Senna</i> (<i>starts—half glancing up at him</i>). I—I don't know. This +year—next-year—now—<i>never</i>! I cannot marry him ... I cannot—I +<i>cannot</i>—it is so utterly impossible to leave you!</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> Yes, I can understand <i>that</i>. But, my poor <span class="sc">Senna</span>, +hadn't you better take a little walk?</p> + +<p><i>Senna</i> (<i>clasps her hands gratefully</i>). How sweet and thoughtful +you are to me! I <i>will</i> take a walk.</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> (<i>with a suppressed smile</i>). Do! And—h'm!—you +needn't trouble to come back. I have advertised for a male book-keeper—they +are less emotional. Good-night, my little <span class="sc">Senna</span>!</p> + +<p><i>Senna</i> (<i>softly, and quiveringly</i>). Good-night, Dr. <span class="sc">Herdal</span>!</p> + +<blockquote><p>[<i>Staggers out of the hall-door, blowing kisses.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><i>Mrs. Herdal</i> (<i>enters through the window, plaintively</i>). Quite an +acquisition for you, <span class="sc">Haustus</span>, this Miss <span class="sc">Blakdraf</span>!</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> She's—h'm!—extremely civil and obliging. But I +am parting with her, +<span class="sc">Aline</span>—mainly on <i>your</i> +account.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Herd.</i> (<i>evades +him</i>). Was it on my +account, indeed, <span class="sc">Haustus</span>? +You have parted +with so many young +persons on my account—so +you tell me!</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> (<i>depressed</i>). +Oh, but this is hopeless! +When I have tried so +hard to bring a ray of +sunlight into your +desolate life! I must +give <span class="sc">Rübub Kalomel</span> +notice too—his pill +is really too preposterous!</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Herd.</i> (<i>feels +gropingly for a chair, +and sits down on the +floor</i>). Him, <i>too</i>! Ah, +<span class="sc">Haustus</span>, you will +never make my home +a real home for me. +My poor first husband, +<span class="sc">Halvard Solness</span>, +tried—and <i>he</i> couldn't! +When one has had such +misfortunes as I have—all +the family portraits +burnt, and the +silk dresses, too, and a +pair of twins, and nine +lovely dolls.</p> + +<blockquote><p>[<i>Chokes with tears.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> (<i>as if to +lead her away from the +subject</i>). Yes, yes, yes, +that must have been a +heavy blow for you, my +poor <span class="sc">Aline</span>. I can +understand that your +spirits can never be +really high again. And +then for poor Master +Builder <span class="sc">Solness</span> to be +so taken up with that +Miss <span class="sc">Wangel</span> as he +was—that, too, was +so wretched for you. +To see him topple off +the tower, as he did +that day ten years +ago——</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Herd.</i> Yes, that +too, <span class="sc">Haustus</span>. But I +did not mind it so much—it all seemed so perfectly natural in both +of them.</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> Natural! For a girl of twenty-three to taunt a +middle-aged architect, whom she knew to be constitutionally liable +to giddiness, never to let him have any peace till he had climbed a +spire as dizzy as himself—and all for the fun of seeing him fall off—how +in the world——!</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Herd.</i> (<i>laying the table for supper with dried fish and punch</i>). +The younger generation have a keener sense of humour than we +elder ones, <span class="sc">Haustus</span>, and perhaps, after all, she was only a perplexing +sort of allegory.</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> Yes, that would explain her to some extent, no doubt. +But how <i>he</i> could be such an old fool!</p> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page113" id="page113"></a>[pg 113]</span><p><i>Mrs. Herd.</i> That Miss <span class="sc">Wangel</span> was a strangely fascinating type +of girl. Why, even I myself——</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> (<i>sits down and takes some fish</i>). Fascinating? Well, +goodness knows, I couldn't see <i>that</i> at all. (<i>Seriously.</i>) Has it never +struck you, <span class="sc">Aline</span>, that elderly Norwegians are so deucedly impressionable—mere +bundles of overstrained nerves, hypersensitive +ganglia. Except, of course, the Medical Profession.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Herd.</i> Yes, of course; those in that profession are not so +inclined to gangle. And when one has succeeded by such a stroke of +luck as you have——</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> (<i>drinks a glass of punch</i>). You're right enough there. +If I had not been called in to prescribe for Dr. <span class="sc">Ryval</span>, who used to +have the leading practice here, I should never have stepped so +wonderfully into his shoes as I did. (<i>Changes to a tone of quiet +chuckling merriment.</i>) Let me tell you a funny story, <span class="sc">Aline</span>; it +sounds a ludicrous thing—but all my good fortune here was based +upon a simple little pill. For if Dr. <span class="sc">Ryval</span> had never taken it——</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Herd.</i> (<i>anxiously</i>). Then you <i>do</i> think it was the pill that +caused him to——?</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> On the contrary; I am perfectly sure the pill had +nothing whatever to do with it—the inquest made it quite clear +that it was really the liniment. But don't you see, <span class="sc">Aline</span>, what +tortures me night and day is the thought that it <i>might</i> unconsciously +have been the pill which——Never to be free from <i>that</i>! To have +such a thought gnawing and burning always—always, like a moral +mustard poultice! (<i>He takes more punch.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Herd.</i> Yes; I suppose there is a poultice of that sort burning +on every breast—and we must never take it off either—it is our +simple duty to keep it on. I too, <span class="sc">Haustus</span>, am haunted by a fancy +that if this Miss <span class="sc">Wangel</span> were to ring at our bell now——</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> After she has been lost sight of for ten years? She is +safe enough in some Sanatorium, depend upon it. And what if she +<i>did</i> come? Do you think, my dear good woman, that I—a sensible +clear-headed general practitioner, who have found out all I know +for myself—would let her play the deuce with me as she did with +poor <span class="sc">Halvard</span>? No, general practitioners don't <i>do</i> such things—even +in Norway!</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Herd.</i> Don't they indeed, <span class="sc">Haustus</span>? (<i>The Surgery-bell +rings loudly.</i>) Did you hear <i>that</i>? There she is! I will go and put +on my best cap. It is my duty to show her <i>that</i> small attention.</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> (<i>laughing nervously</i>). Why, what on earth!——It's the +night-bell. It is most probably the new book-keeper! (Mrs. <span class="sc">Herdal</span> +<i>goes out</i>; Dr. <span class="sc">Herdal</span> <i>rises with difficulty, and opens the door</i>.) +Goodness gracious!—it <i>is</i> that girl, after all!</p> + +<p><i>Hilda Wangel</i> (<i>enters through the Dispensary door. She wears +a divided skirt, thick boots, and a Tam o'Shanter, with an eagle's +wing in it. Somewhat freckled. Carries a green tin cylinder slung +round her, and a rug in a strap. Goes straight up to</i> <span class="sc">Herdal</span>, +<i>her eyes sparkling with happiness</i>). How are you? I've run you +down, you see! The ten years are up. Isn't it scrumptiously +thrilling, to see me like this?</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> (<i>politely retreating</i>). It is—very much so—but still +I don't in the least understand——</p> + +<p><i>Hilda</i> (<i>measures him with a glance</i>). Oh, you <i>will</i>. I have come +to be of use to you. I've no luggage, and no money. Not that +<i>that</i> makes any difference. I never <i>have</i>. And I've been allured +and attracted here. You surely know how these things come +about? [<i>Throws her arms round him.</i></p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> What the deuce! Miss <span class="sc">Wangel</span>, you <i>mustn't</i>. I'm +a married man! There's my wife! [Mrs. <span class="sc">Herd.</span> <i>enters</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Hilda.</i> As if <i>that</i> mattered—it's only dear, sweet Mrs. <span class="sc">Solness</span>. +<i>She</i> doesn't mind—<i>do</i> you, dear Mrs. <span class="sc">Solness</span>?</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Herd.</i> It does not seem to be of much <i>use</i> minding, Miss +<span class="sc">Wangel</span>. I presume you have come to stay?</p> + +<p><i>Hilda</i> (<i>in amused surprise</i>). Why, of course—what else should +I come for? I <i>always</i> come to stay, until—h'm!</p> + +<blockquote><p>[<i>Nods slowly, and sits down at table.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> (<i>involuntarily</i>). She's drinking my punch! If she +thinks I'm going to stand this sort of thing, she's mistaken. I'll +soon show her a Pill-Doctor is a very different kind of person from a +mere Master Builder!</p> + +<blockquote><p>[<span class="sc">Hilda</span> <i>finishes the punch with an indefinable expression in +her eyes, and</i> Dr. <span class="sc">Herdal</span> <i>looks on gloomily as the Curtain +falls. End of First Act.</i></p></blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Among the Memorable Books of the Present Raine</span>."—Canon +<span class="sc">Raine</span> has just published (<i>per</i> <span class="sc">Longmans</span>) his <i>York</i>, as one of +the series of Historic Towns. The proofs of <span class="sc">Raine</span> on <i>York</i> of course +came very moist from the press. Is there a frontispiece to it of +"<span class="sc">Raine</span> poring over his own book?" The work is highly spoken +of,—so <i>disons</i>, "<i>Vive le Raine!</i>"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Mr. <span class="sc">Wilson Barrett</span> is to appear in a play called <i>Pharaoh</i>—"What +the plague!"—Is he coming out as an Egyptian Mummer? +Will the drama prove interesting to plague-goers?</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>A FULL MEASURE OF JUSTICE.</h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>According to the Modern Method.</i>)</p> + +<blockquote><p><span class="sc">Scene</span>—<i>The Old Bailey.</i> Judge <i>seated on the Bench, thoroughly +enjoying himself</i>. Prisoner <i>in the Dock</i>. Jurymen <i>in the Box</i>. +Counsel, Solicitors, <i>and</i> Public, <i>in attendance</i>.</p></blockquote> + +<p><i>Judge.</i> Now I will swear the Jury.</p> + +<p><i>Officer of the Court.</i> I beg your Lordship's pardon, but I have +always been accustomed to——</p> + +<p><i>Judge</i> (<i>interrupting</i>). Not at all; I will do it myself. You can't +give <i>me</i> too much work. (<i>Swears the</i> Jury.) And now, Prisoner, +what do you plead, guilty or not guilty?</p> + +<p><i>Prisoner.</i> Well, my Lord, I should say——</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width:60%;"><a href="images/113.png"><img width="100%" src="images/113.png" alt="" /></a></div> + +<p><i>Judge.</i> Not guilty. Quite right, always give yourself the benefit +of the doubt. You can't imagine what stupid Jurymen we have +sometimes. Quite right to say Not guilty. And now who appears for +the prosecution?</p> + +<p><i>Counsel.</i> I do, my Lord, I——</p> + +<p><i>Judge.</i> Glad to see the eminent counsel here, and I know of no +one who can better conduct a case. Still, with my learned friend's +or rather my learned brother's, I should say the learned Counsel's +permission, I will just open for the Crown myself. (<i>Opens for the +Crown with brilliant effect. Applause.</i>) No; I cannot allow any +demonstration of that sort. By the way (<i>to</i> Counsel for the Prosecution), +Have we any witnesses?</p> + +<p><i>Counsel.</i> Yes, my Lord, a Police Sergeant.</p> + +<p><i>Judge.</i> Oh, indeed, I will soon settle him. (Witness <i>enters box +and is sworn</i>.) And now, you Sir, I am not going to allow any +speeches—so be on your guard. (<i>Examines and cross-examines him.</i>) +Have we any more witnesses?</p> + +<p><i>Counsel.</i> No, my Lord—that is our case.</p> + +<p><i>Judge.</i> Quite so. The face of the learned Counsel, who is retained +for the defence, is new to me, but if he has no objection, I will +open for him.</p> + +<p><i>Counsel.</i> As your Lordship pleases.</p> + +<p><i>Judge.</i> Thank you. (<i>Addresses the Jury.</i>) And now, if we have +no witnesses, I think I will sum up. (<i>To</i> Counsel for the Defence.) +Have we any witnesses?</p> + +<p><i>Counsel.</i> As your Lordship pleases.</p> + +<p><i>Judge.</i> Well, I think we won't call any witnesses, because then +the Prosecution won't have a reply.</p> + +<p><i>Counsel.</i> As your Lordship pleases.</p> + +<p><i>Judge.</i> Quite so. And now, Gentlemen of the Jury, I have now +my own special functions to perform. I will sum up the case in my +judicial capacity. You must know then——(<i>Sums up.</i>) And now +I will leave you to decide upon your verdict. (<i>Jury consults.</i>) +Or perhaps you would like to leave the matter to me?</p> + +<p><i>Foreman of the Jury.</i> As your Lordship pleases.</p> + +<p><i>Judge.</i> Thank you. Then I think we may say "Guilty." +Prisoner at the Bar, it is now my duty to sentence you. I think, +under all the circumstances of the case, that I need not treat you too +harshly. There is no doubt that the prosecution has been conducted +in a very able manner; and this remark is equally applicable to the +manner in which the defence has been carried out. I think a month's +imprisonment will be sufficient. Prisoner, you are sentenced to a +month's imprisonment.</p> + +<p><i>Prisoner.</i> As your Lordship pleases.</p> + +<p><i>Judge.</i> But, as I have had a good deal to do with this case, I +think I may as well remain in it to the end. So, with the consent +of the convict, the Counsel, and the Jury, I will go to prison myself.</p> + +<p><i>The Entire Court.</i> As your Lordship pleases.</p> + +<p><i>Judge.</i> Thank you all very much. I hope, after a month's +retirement, to have the pleasure of meeting you again.</p> + +<blockquote><p>[<i>Exit, in custody. Curtain.</i></p></blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">For a Few Nights Ohnet</span>.—Mr. and Mrs. <span class="sc">Kendal</span> have revived +<i>The Ironmaster</i>. As may be imagined, the dialogue is full of irony.</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page114" id="page114"></a>[pg 114]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:70%;"><a href="images/114.png"><img width="100%" src="images/114.png" alt="THE OLD COUNTRY. ST. WYCLIFFE'S COLLEGE, OXBRIDGE." /></a><h3>THE OLD COUNTRY. ST. WYCLIFFE'S COLLEGE, OXBRIDGE.</h3> + +<p><i>Mr. Jonah P. Skeggs, from Chicago (with his family) suddenly bursts on Jones, who keeps at Letter A in the Cloisters.</i></p> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Sir—we offer you—many Apologies—for this—unwarrantable Intrusion! We were not aware the Old Ruin was +Inhabited!"</span></p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>BETWEEN THE ROUNDS.</h2> + +<blockquote><p>["The record of the Opposition, so far, is one of +wasted opportunities and ill-conceived tactics. +They have been beaten, out-manœuvred and +discredited by a foe on whom, with proper management, +they might often have turned the tables.... +These are no days for punctilious or overstrained +courtesy in dealing with political +opponents.... Conservatives and Unionists may +be tolerably certain that they will gain nothing +by this misplaced delicacy."—<i>The Standard.</i>]</p></blockquote> + +<p class="center"><i>Perturbed Old Party loquitur</i>:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Wich, <span class="sc">Arthur</span>, I'm puffeck aweer as a fighter you're truly tip-top,</p> +<p>Our party's pecooliar pride, and our cause's particular prop!</p> +<p><i>You</i> can "pop in a slommacking wunner," if ever a lad could, dear boy:</p> +<p>But—well, there, you ain't scored <i>this</i> round; and yer foes is a-chortling with joy!</p> +<p>'Ow is it, my <span class="sc">Arthur</span>, 'ow is it! I've nurriged you up from a kid,</p> +<p>And if ever a lathy young scrapper showed pluck and fair promidge, boy, <i>you</i> did;</p> +<p>Wich I've cheridged and cracked you up constant, and backed you in all of your fights.</p> +<p>And I've swore it was you, right as rain, as would do the Grand Ould 'Un to rights!</p> +<p>But he's turned up more younger than ever—O drabbit him; 'ow he do wear!—</p> +<p>I thought he'd be knocked out at once, the fust round, and he ain't turned a hair!</p> +<p>He hits hard and fast as the "<span class="sc">Tinman</span>," he's nimble as poor "Young <span class="sc">Ducrow</span>."</p> +<p>And now this round's over, <i>where are we</i>? I'm jiggered, dear boy, if <i>I</i> know!</p> +<p>Look at 'im! As perky as pickles! Weaves in like a young 'un, he do,</p> +<p>Jest as limber of limb as a kitten; pops in that perdigious one—two,</p> +<p>Like a new Eighty-tonner. Good gracious, the wetterun's all over the shop!</p> +<p>He can mill you, or throw you a burster; feint, parry, duck, counter, or stop!</p> +<p>Reglar mixture of <span class="sc">Mace</span>, Young <span class="sc">Dutch Sam</span>, and a Old Pugilistical 'And!</p> +<p>'Ow the dooce does he do it, I wonder? I don't mind admitting it's grand.</p> +<p>But—wot price our Party, my <span class="sc">Arthur</span>? He's scoring two points to our one;</p> +<p>And I don't see the fun of it, <span class="sc">Arthur</span>, I certinly <i>don't</i> see the fun.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Mustn't take it to heart overmuch, '<span class="sc">Arty</span>! 'Taint as I wants for to scold;</p> +<p>But—you play him too light—<i>entry noo</i>! 'Taint acos you are young, and he's old.</p> +<p>As you need be so precious "punctilious." Delicate 'andling of <i>him</i></p> +<p>Won't pay; it's misplaced altogether. Go at him, lad! Lam the old limb!</p> +<p>His bellows can't be as they used to wos. Youth will be served—that's your chance;</p> +<p>But, if you play light with Old Shifty, he'll lead you no end of a dance.</p> +<p>Think of <span class="sc">Benjy</span>, dear boy, my old champion, bless his black curls! <i>He</i> wired in,</p> +<p>Never thinking of manners or taste, wich is muck when you're fighting to win.</p> +<p>Look at <span class="sc">Grandolph</span>, the Marlborough Midget, as often reminds me of <span class="sc">Ben</span>!</p> +<p>There—there! Don't turn touchy, and tiff; we all need a straight tip now and then.</p> +<p>You can do him, next round, I've no doubt, if you'll only fight up to your form.</p> +<p>Pull yourself well together, 'it 'ard, bustle up the old boy, make it warm!—</p> +<p>Remember wot <span class="sc">Johnny Broome's</span> mother once wrote to her boy—mark, and mind!—</p> +<p>"Be sure you make use of your left; keep away from your man till you find</p> +<p>You can reach him in safety, and <i>then</i>—give him pepper. Avoid being thrown.</p> +<p>But give 'im all the bursters you can!" Wich that Ammyzon, who is beknown</p> +<p>To the fistical world, gave her son—as you're mine—werry proper advice.</p> +<p>When time's called, my <span class="sc">Arthur</span>, wire in; and wotever you do, <i>don't be nice</i>!</p> +<p>No "overstrained courtesy" <i>this</i> time! It's blessed nigh bunnicked your chance.</p> +<p>Let me fan you, dear boy, let me fan you! And when it is time to hadvance</p> +<p>Go at 'im for all you are wuth! Bless yer, him and his low Irish lot</p> +<p>Won't be in it with <span class="sc">Gentleman Arthur</span>—<i>if only you'll give it him hot</i>!</p> + +<blockquote><p>[<i>Left fanning and fuming.</i></p></blockquote> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Shakspearii Juniores.</span>—Sir <span class="sc">Augustus +Harris's</span> and <span class="sc">Pettitt's</span> <i>Prodigal Daughter</i> +is going all over the shop. She is coming out +in France, in Germany, also, of course, in +the Horse-tryin' capital, and will appear, as +a matter-of-Corso, in Rome. This for the +original English authors is a dramatic +triumph which for the universality of their +work is second only to that of <span class="sc">Shakspeare</span>.</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page115" id="page115"></a>[pg 115]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:70%;"><a href="images/115.png"><img width="100%" src="images/115.png" alt="BETWEEN THE ROUNDS." /></a><h3>BETWEEN THE ROUNDS.</h3> + +<p><span class="sc">Perturbed Old Party</span> (<i>loq.</i>) "WHICH, ARTHUR MY DEAR, YOU'VE TREATED HIM TOO DELICATE IN FUST ROUND! YOU'LL 'AVE TO PULL +YERSELF TOGETHER, IF YOU'RE A-GOIN' TO DO ANY GOOD!"</p></div> + + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page116" id="page116"></a>[pg 116]</span> +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page117" id="page117"></a>[pg 117]</span><h2>POPULAR SONGS RE-SUNG.</h2> + +<p class="center">THE MAN THAT SMOKES THE RANK TWO-D CIGAR, OH!</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">Air</span>—"<i>The Man that broke the Bank at Monte Carlo.</i>"</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width:30%;"><a href="images/117a.png"><img width="100%" src="images/117a.png" alt="" /></a></div> + +<blockquote><p>[<i>Pardon, good</i> +<span class="sc">Gilbert</span>, +<i>pardon, genial</i> +<span class="sc">Coborn</span>, +<i>That from the +Bois Boolong. +Unto the Cockney +purlieus +of 'Igh 'Olborn, + We shift your +famous song.</i>]</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>I'm just "all there," no <span class="sc">'Arry</span>; I've the money, so I score!</p> +<p class="i2">To a Race last week I went,</p> +<p class="i2">And there staked a quarter's rent.</p> +<p>Dame Fortune smiled upon me as she never done before:</p> +<p class="i2">And now I've copped the ochre I'm a gent!</p> +<p class="i2">Yus, now I've piled the pieces, I'm a gent!</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> + +<p class="i10"><i>Chorus.</i></p> + +</div> <div class="stanza"> + +<p class="i2">As I mash and lark in Finsbury Park,</p> +<p class="i4">With a free an' heasy hair,</p> +<p class="i4">You can twig the donahs stare.</p> +<p class="i4">"<span class="sc">Bob</span> must be a millionnaire!"</p> +<p class="i6">You can 'ear 'em cry,</p> +<p class="i6">"Oh, ain't <i>'e</i> fly?</p> +<p class="i2">And carn't 'e wink the hother heye?"</p> +<p>The man wot smokes the prime Two-D cigar, oh!</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>I've chucked my crib, and two-quid-screw, for betting's now <i>my</i> walk;</p> +<p class="i4">I do my mornin' march</p> +<p class="i4">Down to the Marble Arch.</p> +<p>I'm bound to spot more winners; I've a eye that's like a 'awk;</p> +<p class="i4">I'm a mass of oof and 'air-oil, shine and starch;</p> +<p class="i4">Yus, a reg'lar mass of ochre, shine and starch.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> + +<p class="i10"><i>Chorus.</i></p> + +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">As I walk along, still "going strong,"</p> +<p class="i4">With my Tuppenny all a-flare,</p> +<p class="i4">You can 'ear old buffers swear,</p> +<p class="i4">As my baccy scents the air.</p> +<p class="i6">You can hear 'em sigh,</p> +<p class="i6">And moan, "Oh my!"</p> +<p class="i2">You can see 'em choke, and blink the heye</p> +<p>At "the man wot smokes the rank Two-D cigar, oh!"</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>I paternise the Promenards on a Sunday, with the Swells,</p> +<p class="i2">With my topper on the skew,</p> +<p class="i2">And my cloud a-blowin' blue;</p> +<p>For a tuppenny smoke and a leary joke they nobble the mam'selles,</p> +<p class="i2">And if they're nuts on me, wot can <i>I</i> do?</p> +<p class="i2">Yus, if they're arter me, wot can <i>I</i> do?</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> + +<p class="i10"><i>Chorus.</i></p> + +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">As I swagger and swell along Pell-Mell,</p> +<p class="i4">With a reg'lar oof-bird air,</p> +<p class="i4">You can 'ear sour swells declare,</p> +<p class="i4">"A Whitechapel weed!"—and swear.</p> +<p class="i6">But their narsty cry</p> +<p class="i6">Means—jealousy.</p> +<p class="i2">So I puff, and wink the hother heye—</p> +<p>"The man wot smokes the rank Two-D Cigar, oh!"</p> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Nuts for Knutsford.</h2> + +<p>In the City Article of last Saturday's <i>Times</i>, +we read that Lord <span class="sc">Knutsford</span> has joined the +London Board of "<span class="sc">Chaffey, Bros</span>., Limited." +What a festive board! What a rivalry must +exist among the <span class="sc">Chaffey</span> Brothers as to who +shall be the chaffiest and the wheatiest of the +family!</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>WOMEN'S WRONGS IN JAPAN.</h2> + +<blockquote><p>[The new Japanese Press Bill prohibits women from +becoming Publishers or Editors.—<i>Daily Graphic.</i>]</p></blockquote> + +<div class="figright" style="width:22%;"><a href="images/117b.png"><img width="100%" src="images/117b.png" alt="" /></a></div> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>A Land of flowers and of Art,</p> +<p>Which lived for centuries apart,</p> +<p>Some years ago woke with a start;</p> +<p class="i2">Folks, simply dressed by wrappin' knees</p> +<p>In silken robes of dainty hue,</p> +<p>Began to long for something new</p> +<p>The good, the beautiful, the true</p> +<p class="i2">No longer charmed the Japanese.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>So Western Art improved their lot;</p> +<p>A House of Commons grew. Each got</p> +<p>Boots, trousers, frock-coat, chimney-pot.</p> +<p class="i2">"Art? 'E don't care a rap, an' 'e's,"</p> +<p>Saus <span class="sc">'Arry</span>, "sich a swell! I'm blowed</p> +<p>'E'd knock 'em in the Old Kent Road."</p> +<p>You are a sight, dressed <i>à la mode</i></p> +<p class="i2">O too-progressive Japanese!</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>And yet, to <i>Madame Chrysanthème</i>,</p> +<p>Divided Skirter, Primrose Dame,</p> +<p>And all the rest, are but a name;</p> +<p class="i2">It therefore cannot happen ease</p> +<p>Is yours, although men dress like frights,</p> +<p>And even have election fights;</p> +<p>One thing is wanting—Women's Rights,</p> +<p class="i2">O <i>fin-de-siècle</i> Japanese!</p> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE COMING COAL-SCUTTLE.</h2> + +<div class="figright" style="width:30%;"><a href="images/117c.png"><img width="100%" src="images/117c.png" alt="" /></a></div> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Sweet Maiden, what is this you wear,</p> +<p class="i2">This most eccentric sort of bonnet,</p> +<p>That stands erect upon your hair</p> +<p class="i2">As though a coal-scoop fixed upon it?</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>A very funny shape it seems,</p> +<p class="i2">Flat, oval, rather like a shuttle,</p> +<p>Or, like some Statesmen's foreign schemes,</p> +<p class="i2">A sort of undecided scuttle.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>And yet not wholly of the kind</p> +<p class="i2">Beloved by loud Salvation lasses,</p> +<p>Which brings the coal-box to one's mind—</p> +<p class="i2"><span class="sc">Booth's</span> fashions would not suit the Classes.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>There's some resemblance to a spoon,</p> +<p class="i2">But you are not considered "spooney"—</p> +<p>Word coined by some low buffoon,</p> +<p class="i2">Romantic, quite, as "<i>Annie Rooney</i>."</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>It's rather like the ace of spades,</p> +<p class="i2">And yet it plays the deuce with features,</p> +<p>O Queen of hearts, of pretty maids,</p> +<p class="i2">So say we knaves of clubs, male creatures;</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Who look askance at what may shade—</p> +<p class="i2">When larger grown—the face that charms us.</p> +<p>If scoop or scuttle, spoon or spade,</p> +<p class="i2">No matter; each of them alarms us.</p> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">A Possible Bungler</span>.—Through <span class="sc">Reuter's</span> +Agency last Friday, we learn that "<span class="sc">Bungle +Khan</span> is in Afghan territory." Capital man +to be opposed to us. We shall be ready to +take any advantage of him, as, if <span class="sc">Bungle +Khan</span> <i>can bungle</i>, he will of course do so.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">One for the Other Side</span>.—Mrs. R. cannot +understand how Mr. <span class="sc">Gladstone</span> can +advocate Monometallism in the House of Commons, +as, she says, she has always heard that +"Words are silver, and silence is gold."</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page118" id="page118"></a>[pg 118]</span><div class="figcenter" style="width:75%;"><a href="images/118.png"><img width="100%" src="images/118.png" alt="EMBARRASSING." /></a><h3>EMBARRASSING.</h3> + +<p><i>Curate.</i> "<span class="sc">Hello, Regie! Ah, it's good to be you! A Poor Beggar like Me, you see, has to be content with Running +after the Hounds on Foot</span>."</p> + +<p><i>Regie</i> (<i>who, as the Son of our M.F.H., has all the Hunting-Man's horror of Foot-people</i>). "<span class="sc">Ah—yes. And the Pater says he +wouldn't mind that so much, if only half the Parish didn't sometimes turnout to Run after <i>You</i></span>!"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.</h2> + +<p class="center">EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.</p> + +<p><i>House of Commons, Monday, February 27.</i>—"Am thinking, +<span class="sc">Toby</span>," said <span class="sc">Rigby</span>, just now, "of applying for Chiltern Hundreds. +Parliament isn't quite the place I pictured to myself when I fought +for a seat. Of course I've done pretty well. To be made <span class="sc">Solicitor-General</span> +right off, with <span class="sc">Waddy</span> around, and <span class="sc">Willis</span> still in prime +of life and energy, was a fine thing. But House seems perversely +inclined to accept me as a joke, and that's not the sort of thing I'm +accustomed to at Chancery Bar. Look what happened the other +night, when, in my learned brother <span class="sc">Russell's</span> absence, I answered +questions. Did it in my best, most imposing, and conclusive style. +Kept my eye on <span class="sc">Speaker</span> throughout, to see how he'd take it. +Effect most satisfactory. You know I make <span class="sc">Chitty</span> sit up, and +<span class="sc">North</span> tremble. They, to certain extent, used to it; all new to +<span class="sc">Speaker</span>, and told accordingly. Was really fascinated myself. +I frowned at him, pursed my mouth, wrinkled my forehead, squared +my jaw, sometimes lowered my voice into my boots, anon uplifted it +above where my wig ought to have been. Being my first appearance +at table, thought it worth while to make an effort. Judging +from <span class="sc">Speaker's</span> limp appearance towards conclusion of my remarks, +felt I had done it. Suddenly curious noise, that I'm told is known as a +titter, interrupted me, and, before I had quite finished, there was a +boisterous roar of laughter."</p> + + +<p>"Oh, come," I said, "you mustn't take that too much to heart. +House will have its joke, and, if you won't make it, it sometimes +makes it round you, using you as lay-figure. Your voice and +manner in answering simple matter-of-fact question, were perhaps +a size or so too large. But you'll get the hang of the place by-and-by, +and will be all right."</p> + + +<p>"I don't think so," said <span class="sc">Solicitor-General</span>, sadly. "Look +again what happened just now. House unexpectedly goes into Committee. +Can't find <span class="sc">Mellor</span>. 'You take the Chair,' says the <span class="sc">Squire</span>; +'you'll fill it admirably.' No time for hesitation; I take the Chair; +Clerk claps Bill into my hand. I say, 'Question is, that I do report +progress, and ask leave to sit again.' Shouts of 'Aye,' and 'No.' 'I +think the Ayes have it,' I say, in deep chest-notes, with persuasive +fall of eyebrows. 'The Noes have it!' they shout. Very well; first +duty of Chairman is to be impartial; so <i>I</i> say, 'The Noes have it.' +Again they roar with laughter. <span class="sc">Woodall</span>, in charge of Bill, feels +for sword of Financial Secretary to War Office. Fortunately, can't +find it. Otherwise, Chair of Committees might have been +steepled with my gore. What shall I do next? 'Put question +again,' Clerk hoarsely whispered. 'Question is, that I do report +progress, and ask leave to sit again. Those who are of that opinion +say Aye; the contrary, No. I think the Ayes have it.' That would +at least get me out of the Chair, and you certainly won't find me +asking for leave to sit again. But what follows? In all parts of +the House, just now opposing progress, hilarious shout of 'No! No!' +rises up. That means I'm to go on with the Bill; but I know if I +declare 'the Noes have it,' they'll turn round to the 'Ayes.' So, +after standing for moment irresolutely, Bill in hand, I'm not ashamed +to say I bolted from table, taking Bill with me. House roared louder +than ever. Seem to have discovered excellent joke. But I don't see +it, <span class="sc">Toby</span>. If this is House of Commons life, give me the dignity and +quiet of the Chancery Bar."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:80%;"><a href="images/119.png"><img width="100%" src="images/119.png" alt="APPLYING FOR THE CHILTERN HUNDREDS." /></a><h3>APPLYING FOR THE CHILTERN HUNDREDS.</h3></div> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page119" id="page119"></a>[pg 119]</span> + +<p>Quite a procession of new Members took their seats on election. +Honours of the day with <span class="sc">Harry Lawson</span>, who, after stubborn fight, +has won Cirencester. As young <span class="sc">Harry</span>, with his beaver on, marched +to table, Liberals temporarily relieved themselves from imputation +that they don't know how to cheer.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Local Veto Bill brought in.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><i>Tuesday Night.</i>—"It's a natural temptation," said <span class="sc">Charles</span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page120" id="page120"></a>[pg 120]</span><span class="sc">Russell</span>, "for the human mind to believe that Mr. G.'s latest performance +at table of House of Commons excels all he has done +before. There is a phrase—you are probably familiar with it in +<span class="sc">Horace</span>—which speaks of the <i>Laudator temporis acti</i>. But the other +impulse is certainly, in this connection, quite as strong, I, therefore, +hesitate to affirm that that's the best speech Mr. G. ever made; but +certainly it's among the best."</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width:40%;"><a href="images/120a.png"><img width="100%" src="images/120a.png" alt="Young Harry obtaining his Majority on Coming of Age in the +Parliamentary Time." /></a><h3>Young Harry obtaining his Majority on Coming of Age in the +Parliamentary Time.</h3></div> + +<p>It was on Bimetallism. Like olives and claret, Bimetallism quite +an acquired taste; ordinary Member will have none of it; flees +House when subject announced. In the Parliamentary world, +Bimetallism supplies part of the <span class="sc">Browning</span> or <span class="sc">Ibsen</span> cult known +out-of-doors. Analogy accurate +inasmuch, that whilst mass of mankind +are averse to contemplation +of topic, the few faithful pass all +ordinary bounds in the enthusiasm +of their worship. Thus, for upwards +of hour to-night, <span class="sc">Meysey-Thompson</span> +handled it as if he loved it. <span class="sc">Montagu</span>, +whilst musically jingling in +trowser-pocket handful of newly-minted +sovereigns, equally adulatory. +Then Mr. G. walked in. It was +reasonably thought in advance that +Bimetallism would prove too much +even for the charm of his oratory. +Had evidently come down unprepared +for special effort; neither +sheaf of notes nor pomatum-pot. He +listened to mover and seconder, and +then just talked to entranced House, +crowding up in every corner. Quite surprised, as Mr. G. was himself +when he sat down, to find he'd been talking for an hour.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—House declares by 229 votes against 148, will +have nothing to do with Bimetallism.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><i>Wednesday.</i>—Hear a very pleasant thing in connection with an +old friend. Am told that as soon as Local Veto Bill passes into law, +<span class="sc">Wilfrid Lawson</span> is to be raised to the Peerage.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" asks <span class="sc">Squire of Malwood</span>. "On the principle that +the Devil shouldn't have all the good tunes suitable for <span class="sc">Wesley's</span> +hymns, why should the Trade have the monopoly of the Peerage? +Why shouldn't there be a Viscount <span class="sc">Appolinaris</span> as well as a Baron +<span class="sc">Bass</span>, a Lord <span class="sc">Barleywater</span> to pair off with a Baron <span class="sc">Barleycorn</span>? +Let us drink (in toast-and-water), health and long life to Lord +<span class="sc">Barleywater</span> of Brayton!"</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—In discussion on Irish National Education Bill +<span class="sc">Grandolph</span> effects little surprise. Been running admirably in +double harness with Prince <span class="sc">Arthur</span>. This afternoon suddenly jibs; +nearly upsets coach.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><i>Friday</i>, 1 <span class="sc">A.M.</span>—"Begin to think, <span class="sc">Toby</span>," said Prince <span class="sc">Arthur</span>, as +we walked home together in the moonlight, "that we shall scotch +this Home-Rule Bill yet. Expectation only just dawned on me. +When I went down to House in the afternoon, was of different +opinion. Had philosophically settled down to acceptance of inevitable. +Might maim it a bit in Committee; play with it so as to +block off other business, and send it up to Lords at so late period of +Session that they would seem justified in throwing it out, on score of +inadequate time to discuss it. Now I think we shall go one better. +<span class="sc">Courtney</span> thought he could serve Unionist cause better from standpoint +below Gangway. The supremest service he could render to +that cause was effected when he created vacancy in Chair."</p> + +<p>"Don't you think," I said, "they were a little hard on <span class="sc">Mellor</span>? +Wasn't the sport something after the fashion of the gallant emprise +in Windsor Park with the carted stag? And then the merry sportsmen +didn't give the new Chairman the ordinary courtesy of a fair +start and a little run."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Prince <span class="sc">Arthur</span>, "if you put it in that way, of course +there's something to be said. But all is fair in hate and war. Mr. +G. should have thought of that before he got rid of <span class="sc">Courtney</span>. Our +business is to stop Home-Rule Bill from passing, and after to-night +the way is clear, and the goal certain."</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—New Chairman baited for an hour by Westminster +Clock. Before the lawless, disorderly squabble about Law and +Order in County Clare, regular foot-ball scrimmage, in which +<span class="sc">Saunderson</span> naturally turned up. In one of the pauses the Colonel +dropped into poetry? could hear him crooning to himself:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>There's Justice <span class="sc">O'Brien</span> of Clare,</p> +<p class="i10">How rare!</p> +<p>'Tis little for justice they care</p> +<p class="i10">Down there!</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>They're choke full of crimes,</p> +<p>(So at least says the <i>Times</i>),</p> +<p>And they've got no policemen to spare,</p> +<p class="i10">How quare!</p> +<p>They've got no policemen to spare.</p> +</div></div> + +<p><i>Friday Night.</i>—Seems, after all, <span class="sc">Mellor</span> quite right in his ruling +yesterday. Point was that, on supplementary Estimate, you may +not debate questions of policy settled when original vote agreed +to. Prince <span class="sc">Arthur</span> denounced this as absolutely novel principle. +<span class="sc">Chamberlain</span> kept game up from other side, and for full hour +conviction borne in upon new Chairman that life not worth +living. <span class="sc">Speaker</span>, appealed to to-day, declares <span class="sc">Mellor</span> to have +been in the right. Report of Select Committee on Estimates. Procedure +cited to show <span class="sc">Courtney</span> categorically laid down the principle +challenged, and systematically acted upon it.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:80%;"><a href="images/120b.png"><img width="100%" src="images/120b.png" alt="Irish National Football Match." /></a><h3>Irish National Football Match.</h3></div> + +<p>"Yes," said <span class="sc">Squire of Malwood</span>, reflectively stroking his chin, +"and <span class="sc">Courtney</span> might have got up and said so last night. Only +his fatal bashfulness, his irreclaimably retiring disposition, could +have kept him silent in such circumstances. True, his interposition +would have spoiled the little game of his friends. It would +not have been War, but it would have been Magnanimous."</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—<span class="sc">Albert Rollit</span>, and Ex-Lord Mayor <span class="sc">Whitehead</span>, +carry Resolution declaring Revised Railway Rates prejudicial +to commercial interests of country.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="pg" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, VOL. 104, MARCH 11, 1893***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 22691-h.txt or 22691-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/6/9/22691">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/6/9/22691</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>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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