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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/22724-8.txt b/22724-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..eab45ef --- /dev/null +++ b/22724-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1664 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, +March 25, 1893, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, March 25, 1893 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: September 22, 2007 [EBook #22724] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON *** + + + + +Produced by Lesley Halamek, Juliet Sutherland and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. + +Volume 104, March 25th 1893 + +edited by Sir Francis Burnand + + + +[Illustration: THE PANGS OF MATRIMONY!!! + +_Casual Acquaintance._ "HEAR YOU'RE TO BE MARRIED, MR. RIBBES. +CONGRATULATE YOU!" +_Mr. Ribbes._ "MUCH OBLIGED, BUT I DUNNO SO MUCH ABOUT CONGRATULATIONS. +IT'S CORSTIN' ME A PRETTY PENNY, I TELL YER. MRS. RIBBES AS IS TO BE, +SHE WANTS 'ER _TROUSSEAU_, YER KNOW; AN' THEN THERE'S THE FURNISHIN', +AN' THE LICENCE, AN' THE PARSON'S FEES; AN' THEN I 'AVE TO GIVE 'ER AN' +'ER SISTER A BIT O' JOOL'RY A-PIECE; AN' WOT WITH ONE THING AN' ANOTHER +--SHE'S A 'EAVY WOMAN, YER KNOW, THIRTEEN STUN ODD--WELL, I RECKON +SHE'LL 'A CORST ME PRETTY NEAR _TWO-AN'-ELEVEN A POUND_ AFORE I GIT 'ER +'OME!"] + + * * * * * + +SMALL BY DEGREES. + +_A Story of Defiance not Defence._ + +There was once a Battalion of Volunteers with its full complement of +field, company, and non-commissioned officers, and rank and file. And +according to experts the Regiment was a most valuable addition to the +national defence. One day a General, covered over with gold lace and +wearing a cocked hat, rode up to the Colonel and called him out. + +"Colonel," said the General, "we are thinking of giving over your +command to a C.O. of a Dépôt Centre. It won't interfere with you much +and give you less to do. You may still call yourself Colonel--not that +I call you so myself. I mean off parade." + +But the Colonel did not seem to see it, and so he sent in his papers +and rode away. + +Then the General from the War Office called up the two remaining Field +Officers. + +"Majors" said he, "it seems to us we can help you a good deal by +appointing a Major from a service battalion as Adjutant. Then you +can rank beneath him, and he can look after you and the two half +battalions you each of you are supposed to command. You may still call +yourselves Majors--not that I call you so myself. I mean off parade." + +But the Majors did not seem to see it, so they sent in _their_ papers +too. + +Then the General from the War Office called up the Company Officers. + +"Gentlemen," said he, "we shall continue the snubbing, of which you +have had so much experience. You will do all sorts of new work, and +go to all sorts of fresh expense in the near future. Not that it will +increase your dignity--not a bit of it. However, you may still call +yourselves Captains and Lieutenants--not that I call you so myself. I +mean off parade." + +But the Company Officers did not seem to see it, so they sent in their +papers and marched away. Then the General from the War Office called +up the rest of the Regiment. + +"Now, Non-commissioned Officers and Men," said he, "you have no one to +command you, and no one to pay for your marches out, prizes, and +the rest of it. But don't let that bother you. You may still call +yourselves Soldiers--not that I call you so myself. I mean off +parade." + +But the remainder of the Regiment did not seem to see it, so they sent +in _their_ resignations, and vanished. + +Then the Officer from the War Office rode towards Pall Mall. + +"It won't interfere with me much," said he, "and give the Department +less to do. And I can still call myself General--though I scarcely +deserve the title, either on or off parade!" + + * * * * * + +HOW IT STRIKES "THE CONTEMPORARY." + +["Why should not women take the B.A. degree?... Unfortunately the +older Universities have resented every attempt at breaking down their +cherished exclusiveness."--_From an Article in "The Contemporary +Review" for March._] + + Despotic Dons' dominion + Still subjugates us all, + They scoff at our opinion, + Our purposes miscall; + Will no deliverer appear, + And is it vainly, as we fear, + We hold our meetings every year + Within St. James's Hall? + + Our wrongs, if brought to knowledge, + Would surely move your hearts, + Degreeless from her College + The Wrangler-ess departs; + And shall not too the maids, who can + Give all the usages of [Greek: an], + As well as any living man + Be Bachelors of Arts? + + Persuasive or abusive + We fail our point to gain, + Disgracefully exclusive + These ancient seats remain: + But yet a future we foresee + When Women will the rulers be, + And Men will beg a Pass-degree, + Will beg, and beg in vain! + + * * * + + P.S.--The pith of our petition + Is seldom understood, + It is not all ambition, + Though this, no doubt, is good; + But, speaking frankly, we declare + The point for which we really care + Is just to gain the right to wear + That _most_ becoming hood! + + * * * * * + +THE WITLER'S WISION OF WENGEANCE. + +(IN A SLIGHTLY PICKWICKIAN SENSE.) + +[Illustration: _Being the Dream of an angry "Brother Bung" after +attending the Meeting at St. James's Hall, and trying to soothe +himself with a dip into Dickens._] + +["He" Lord BURTON, "asked why this drastic, this dishonest, this +catchpenny, this gerrymandering Bill should have been brought in?.... +They had heard much of late about the Nonconformist Conscience, which +was said to be the backbone of the Liberal Party. He firmly believed +that the Bill had been brought forward to suit the Nonconformist +Conscience, to pander to the hypocritical self-righteousness, and the +sham respectability of a certain class."--_Lord Burton, at the St. +James's Hall Meeting, on the Direct Veto Bill._] + + * * * * * + +Mr. WITLER, the elder, gave vent to an extraordinary sound, which, +being neither a groan, nor a grunt, nor a gasp, nor a howl, nor a +hoot, nor a hiss, nor a shout, nor a shriek, yet seemed to partake +in some degree of the character of all these inarticulate laryngeal +exercises. It was a big vocal blend, and a stentorian; it made him +pant and turn apoplectically purple in the face, it shook the house, +and very nearly "brought it down." + +Mr. WITLER'S "wocal wagaries" (as his son called them) when he _was_ +roused, were something tremendous, earthquaky, appalling! + +Mr. SWIGSLOP STIGGINS, a leading Shepherd of the Nonconformist +Rechabite Flock, unwarned by this nondescript sound, which he +understood to betoken remorse or repentance, in fact, an awakening of +the "Nonconformist Conscience," in a somewhat unlikely quarter, +looked about him, rubbed his hands, wept, smiled, wept again, and +then mechanically uttering a guttural "Hear! Hear!" (as though he were +listening, in the House of Commons, to the jocund HARCOURT, or the +jocular LAWSON, or the robustious T. W. RUSSELL, or the astute CAINE) +and then, walking across the room to a well-remembered pigeon-hole, +took thence an official-looking scroll, sat down, formally unfolded +it, cleared his throat, and began with pompous complacency to read +aloud its title, preamble, clauses, and provisions, compulsory +regulations, and peremptory prohibitions to the apparently +semi-asphyxiated Mr. WITLER. + +The elder Mr. WITLER, who still continued to make various strange +and uncouth attempts to appear indifferent, offered not a single +word during these proceedings; but when STIGGINS stopped for breath, +previous to a second reading, he darted upon him, and, snatching +the scroll from his hand, first buffeted him briskly about the +head therewith, and then threw it into the fire. Then, seizing the +astonished gentleman firmly by the collar, he suddenly fell to kicking +him most furiously, accompanying every application of his boots to Mr. +STIGGINS'S person with sundry violent and incoherent anathemas, +such as--"Blatant Barabbas!"--"Bumptious busybody!"--"Unblushing +bandit!"--"Barefaced spoliator!"--"Hypocritical humbug!"--"Iniquitous +inquisitor!"--"Fanatical faddist!"--"Self-righteous sneak!"--"Sham +saint!"--"Jerrymandering JEREMY DIDDLER!"--"Pragmatical +pump!"--"Little Bethelite Boanerges!" and "Nonconformist +_Tartuffe_!!!" + +"SAMMY," said Mr. WITLER, "put my cap on tight for me!" SAM dutifully +adjusted the cap more firmly on his father's head, and the old +gentleman, resuming his kicking with greater agility than before, +tumbled Mr. STIGGINS through the bar, and through the passage, out +at the front door, and so into the street, the kicking continuing the +whole way, and increasing in vehemence rather than diminishing every +time the boot was lifted. + +It was a beautiful and exhilarating sight (_to "the Trade"_) to see +the water-drinker writhing in Mr. WITLER'S grasp, and his whole frame +quivering with anguish as kick followed kick in rapid succession; +it was a still more exciting spectacle (_to Bungdom all round, from +boisterous_ Lord BURTON _to the humblest rural Boniface_) to behold +Mr. WITLER, after a powerful struggle, immersing Mr. STIGGINS'S head +in a horse-trough full of water, and holding it there until he was +half suffocated. + +"There!" said Mr. WITLER, throwing all his energy into one most +complicated kick, as he at length permitted Mr. STIGGINS to withdraw +his head from the trough, "send any vun o' them villainous Vetoists, +from burly Sir VILLIAM BARABBAS hisself down to the pettifoggingest +Local Hoptioniser in Little Peddlington, _here_, or to St. James's +'All, or the Alhambra, or elseveres in public meeting or privit pub, +and I'll pound him to a argymentative jelly fust, and drownd him in +public-speritted opinion arterwards!" + +"SAMMY" (added Mr. WITLER, puffing and perspiring freely), "help +me in, and fill me a stiff glass o' Speshal Scotch; for I'm out of +breath, my boy!" + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: RATHER SUSPICIOUS. + +_Mistress_ (_to Housekeeper, after "the Young Person" has left the +room_). "REALLY, WILKINS, I COULD NOT ENGAGE THAT YOUNG PERSON. SHE IS +TOO UGLY BY FAR!" + +_Housekeeper._ "VERY SORRY, MUM. BUT YOU SAID _SO PARTICULARLY_ THAT +I WAS TO LOOK OUT FOR A GOOD PLAIN COOK,--'QUITE A PLAIN COOK,' YOU +SAID, MUM,--THAT I THOUGHT YOU HAD SOME PARTICULAR REASON----"] + + * * * * * + +VERY NATURAL.--Mrs. R. pays great attention to the Parliamentary +debates, and listens attentively while her Nephew reads the speeches +as reported in _The Times_. Last Thursday he was in the midst of the +discussion on the Welsh Liquor-Traffic Bill, and came to this: "Mr. +LLOYD-GEORGE, whose opening remarks were interrupted by a Count----" +Whereupon his Aunt exclaimed, "How very rude! What was the Count's +name? And how does a Count come to be in the House of Commons?" + + * * * * * + +PILL-DOCTOR HERDAL. + +(_Translated from the Original Norwegian by Mr. Punch._) + +THIRD ACT. + + _On the right, a smart verandah, attached to_ Dr. HERDAL'S + _dwelling-house, and communicating with the Drawing-room and + Dispensary by glass-doors. On the left a tumble-down rockery, + with a headless plaster Mercury. In front, a lawn, with a + large silvered glass globe on a stand. Chairs and tables. All + the furniture is of galvanised iron. A sunset is seen going on + among the trees._ + +_Dr. Herdal_ (_comes out of Dispensary-door cautiously, and +whispers_). HILDA, are you in there? + + [_Taps with fingers on Drawing-room door._ + +_Hilda_ (_comes out with a half-teasing smile_). Well--and how is the +Rainbow-powder getting on, Dr. HERDAL? + +_Dr. Herd._ (_with enthusiasm_). It is getting on simply splendidly. +I sent the new Assistant out to take a little walk, so that he +should not be in the way. There is Arsenic in the powder, HILDA, and +Digitalis too, and Strychnine, and the best Beetle-killer! + +_Hilda_ (_with happy, wondering eyes_). _Lots_ of Beetle-killer? And +you will give some of it to _her_, to make her free and buoyant. I +think one really _has_ the right--when people happen to stand in the +way----! + +_Dr. Herd._ Yes, you may well say so, HILDA. Still--(_dubiously_)--it +_does_ occur to me that such doings may perhaps be misunderstood--by +the narrow-minded and conventional. + + [_They go on the lawn, and sit down._ + +_Hilda_ (_with an outburst_). Oh, that all seems to me so foolish--so +irrelevant! As if the whole thing wasn't intended as an Allegory! + +_Dr. Herd._ (_relieved_). Ah, so long as it is merely _allegorical_ of +course---- But what is it an allegory _of_, HILDA? + +_Hilda_ (_reflects in vain_). How can you sit there and ask such +questions? I suppose I am a symbol, of some sort. + +_Dr. Herd._ (_as a thought flashes upon him_). A cymbal? That would +certainly account for your bra---- Then am _I_ a cymbal too, HILDA? + +_Hilda._ Why yes--what else? You represent the Artist-worker, or +the Elder Generation, or the Pursuit of the Ideal, or a Bilious +Conscience--or something or other. _You_'re all right! + +_Dr. Herd._ (_shakes his head_). Am I? But I don't quite see---- Well, +well, cymbals are meant to clash a little. And I see plainly now that +I ought to prescribe this powder for as many as possible. Isn't it +terrible, HILDA, that so many poor souls never really die their +own deaths--pass out of the world without even the formality of an +inquest? As the district Coroner, I feel strongly on the subject. + +_Hilda._ And, when the Coroner has finished sitting on all the bodies, +perhaps--but I shan't tell you now. (_Speaks as if to a child._) +There, run away and finish making the Rainbow-powder, do! + +_Dr. Herd._ (_skips up into the Dispensary_). I will--I will! Oh, I do +feel such a troll--such a light-haired, light-headed old devil! + +_Rübub_ (_enters garden-gate_). I have had my dismissal--but I'm not +going without saying good-bye to Mrs. HERDAL. + +_Hilda._ Dr. HERDAL would disapprove--you really must not, Mr. +KALOMEL. And, besides, Mrs. HERDAL is not at home. She is in the town +buying me a reel of cotton. _Dr._ HERDAL is in. He is making real +Rainbow powders for regenerating everybody all round. Won't _that_ be +fun? + +_Rübub._ _Making_ powders? Ha! ha! But you will see he won't _take_ +one himself. It is quite notorious to us younger men that he simply +daren't do it. + +[Illustration: "My--_my_ Pill-Doctor!"] + +_Hilda._ (_with a little snort of contempt_). Oh, I daresay--that's so +likely! (_Defiantly._) I know he _can_, though. I've _seen_ him! + +_Rübub._ There is a tradition that he once--but not now--he knows +better. I think you said Mrs. HERDAL was in the town? I will go and +look for her. I understand her so well. [_Goes out by gate._ + +_Hilda_ (_calls_). Dr. HERDAL! Come out this minute. I want +you--awfully! + +_Dr. Herd._ (_puts his head out_). Just when I am making such +wonderful progress with the powder! (_Comes down and leans on a +table._) Have you hit upon some way of giving it to ALINE? I thought +if you were to put it in her arrowroot----? + +_Hilda._ No, thanks. I won't have that now. I have just recollected +that it is a rule of mine never to injure anybody I have once been +formally introduced to. Strangers don't count. No, poor Mrs. HERDAL +mustn't take that powder! + +_Dr. Herd._ (_disappointed_). Then is nothing to come of making +Rainbow powders, after all, HILDA? + +_Hilda_ (_looks hard at him_). People say you are afraid to take your +own physic. Is that true? + +_Dr. Herd._ Yes, I am. (_After a pause--with candour._) I find it +invariably disagrees with me. + +_Hilda_ (_with a half-dubious smile_). I think I can understand +_that_. But you did _once_. You swallowed your own pills that day at +the _table d'hôte_, ten years ago. And I heard a harp in the air, too! + +_Dr. Herd._ (_open-mouthed_). I don't think that _could_ have been Me. +I don't play any instrument. And that was quite a special thing, too. +It's not every day I can do it. Those were only _bread_ pills, HILDA. + +_Hilda_ (_with flashing eyes_). But you rolled them; you took them. +And I want to see you stand once more free and high and great, +swallowing your own preparations. (_Passionately._) I _will_ have you +do it! (_Imploringly._) Just _once_ more, Dr. HERDAL! + +_Dr. Herd._ If I did, HILDA, my medical knowledge, slight as it is, +leads me to the conclusion that I should in all probability burst. + +_Hilda_ (_looks deeply into his eyes_). So long as you burst +_beautifully_! But no doubt that Miss BLAKDRAF---- + +_Dr. Herd._ You must believe in me utterly and entirely. I will +do anything--_anything_, HILDA, to provide you with agreeable +entertainment. I _will_ swallow my own powder! (_To himself, as he +goes gravely up to Dispensary._) If only the drugs are sufficiently +adulterated! + + [_Goes in; as he does so, the_ New Assistant _enters the + garden in blue spectacles, unseen by_ HILDA, _and follows him, + leaving open the glass-door._ + +_Senna Blakdraf_ (_comes wildly out of Drawing-room_). Where is dear +Dr. HERDAL? Oh, Miss WANGEL, he has discharged me--but I can't--I +simply _can't_ live away from that lovely ledger! + +_Hilda_ (_jubilantly_). At this moment Dr. HERDAL is in the +Dispensary, taking one of his own powders. + +_Senna_ (_despairingly_). But--but it is utterly impossible! Miss +WANGEL, you have such a firm hold of him--_don't_ let him do that! + +_Hilda._ I have already done all I can. + + [RÜBUB _appears, talking confidentially with Mrs._ HERDAL, _at + gate._ + +_Senna._ Oh, Mrs. HERDAL, RÜBUB! The Pill-Doctor is going to take one +of his own preparations. Save him--quick! + +_Rübub_ (_with cold politeness_). I am sorry to hear it--for his sake. +But it would be quite contrary to professional etiquette to prevent +him. + +_Mrs. Herd._ And I never interfere with my husband's proceedings. I +know _my_ duty, Miss BLAKDRAF, if _others_ don't! + +_Hilda_ (_exulting with great intensity_). At last! Now I see him +in there, great and free again, mixing the powder in a spoon--with +jam!.... Now he raises the spoon. Higher--higher still! (_A gulp +is audible from within._) There, didn't you hear a harp in the air? +(_Quietly._) I can't see the spoon any more. But there is one he is +striving with, in blue spectacles! + +_The New Assistant's Voice_ (_within_). The Pill-Doctor HERDAL has +taken his own powder! + +_Hilda_ (_as if petrified_). That voice! _Where_ have I heard it +before? No matter--he has got the powder down! (_Waves a shawl in the +air, and shrieks with wild jubilation._) It's too awfully thrilling! +My--_my_ Pill-Doctor! + +_The N. A._ (_comes out on verandah_). I am happy to inform you +that--as, to avoid accidents, I took the simple precaution of filling +all the Dispensary-jars with Camphorated Chalk--no serious results +may be anticipated from Dr. HERDAL'S rashness. (_Removes spectacles._) +NORA, don't you know me? + +_Hilda_ (_reflects_). I really don't remember having the +pleasure----And I'm _sure_ I heard a harp in the air! + +_Mrs. Herd._ I fancy, Miss WANGEL, it must have been merely a bee in +your bonnet! + +_The N. A._ (_tenderly_). Still the same little singing-bird! Oh, +NORA, my long-lost lark! + +_Hilda_ (_sulky_). I'm _not_ a lark--I'm a Bird of Prey--and, when I +get my claws into anything----! + +_The N. A._ Macaroons, for instance? I remember your tastes of old. +See, NORA! (_Produces a paper-bag from his coat-tail pocket._) They +were fresh this morning! + +_Hilda_ (_wavering_). If you insist on calling me NORA, I think you +must be just a little mad yourself. + +_The N. A._ We are all a little mad--in Norway. But TORVALD HELMER is +sane enough still to recognise his own little squirrel again! +Surely, NORA, your education is complete at last--you have gained the +experience you needed? + +_Hilda_ (_nods slowly_). Yes, TORVALD, you're right enough _there_. I +have thought things out for myself, and have got clear about them. And +I have quite made up my mind that Society and the Law are all wrong, +and that I am right. + +_Helmer_ (_overjoyed_). Then you _have_ learnt the Great Lesson, and +are fit to undertake the charge of your children's education at last! +You've no notion how they've grown! Yes, NORA, our marriage will be a +true marriage now. You will come back to the Doll's-House, won't you? + +_Hilda-Nora-Helmer-Wangel_ (_hesitates_). Will you let me forge +cheques if I do, TORVALD? + +_Helmer_ (_ardently_). All day. And at night, NORA, we will falsify +the accounts--together! + +_H. N. H. W._ (_throws herself into his arms, and helps herself to +macaroons_). That will be fearfully thrilling! My--_my_ Manager! + +_Dr. Herd._ (_comes out, very pale, from Dispensary_). HILDA, I _did_ +take the----I'm afraid I interrupt you? + +_Helmer._ Not in the least. But this lady is my little lark, and she +is going back to her cage by the next steamer. + +_Dr. Herd._ (_bitterly_). Am I _never_ to have a gleam of happiness--? +But stay--do I see my little SENNA once more? + +_Rübub._ Pardon me--_my_ little SENNA. She always believed so firmly +in my pill! + +_Dr. Herd._ Well--well. If it must be. RÜBUB, I will take you into +partnership, and we will take out a patent for that pill, jointly. +ALINE, my poor dear ALINE, let us try once more if we cannot bring a +ray of brightness into our cheerless home! + +_Mrs. Herd._ Oh, HAUSTUS, if only we _could_--but why do you propose +that to me--_now_? + +_Dr. Herd._ (_softly--to himself_). Because I have tried being +a troll--and found that nothing came of it, and it wasn't worth +sixpence! + + [HILDA-NORA _goes off to the right with_ HELMER; SENNA _to the + left with_ RÜBUB; Dr. HERDAL _and_ Mrs. HERDAL _sit on two + of the galvanised iron-chairs, and shake their heads + disconsolately as the Curtain falls._ + +THE END. + + * * * * * + +OMNIS CELLULA A CELLULÂ. + +(_Professor Virchow--vide Daily Paper._) + + Life's a cell and all things show it. + I thought so once, and now I know it. + +_Gay_ (_up to date_). + + * * * * * + +A RADICAL RIDDLE. + +Why are the Tories so eager to discuss Black-edged Envelopes, and +Black-lead Pencils?--Because they belong to a Stationary Party. + + * * * * * + +POLITICS AND TRADE. + +(_A Poser for "Patriots."_) + + ["Our Trade is our Politics." Motto of the Licensed + Victualler, as publicly avowed at a recent "great Meeting."] + +[Illustration] + + DEAR Bung, that frank but huckster-like avowal + Is made continually, behind the bar. + It _means_--though rather "laid on with a trowel"-- + A Trade with Public Spirit quite at jar. + The "mercenary politician," making + A pocket-business of a patriot's task, + Recently put your Press in a great taking; + But sordid selfishness here doffs all mask! + Which with a patriot's conscience plays most tricks? + Which most the venal virus has betrayed,-- + The man who makes his Trade his Politics, + Or he who makes his Politics his Trade? + + * * * * * + +OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. + +_BURDETT'S Official Intelligence for_ 1893 is just out, a promising +young thing in its twelfth year. It is a little early to talk of the +holidays, but my Baronite, regarding this thin Vol. of 1783 pages, +says he cannot help thinking with what pleasure the City merchant, +or his clerk, hastening to the seaside, will pack it up with his +collar-box. Every year the monumental work increases in value, by +reason of accumulated information. To the tired City man, scaling some +Alp, gliding in well-found yacht over silver seas, or prone in bosky +dell, there can be nothing more soothing or delightful than to take +his "BURDETT" out of his waistcoat-pocket, and read it through from +first page to last. + +For _The Tragedy of Ida Noble_ the Baron tenders his grateful +thanks to W. CLARK RUSSELL. It starts well, and the excitement is +artistically sustained. At the close of every chapter _Oliver_, +the reader, is perpetually "asking for more." A capital story of +adventure, where all, including the reader, are "quite at sea" until +the very last chapter. On nearing the middle of the book, the question +will occur to everyone experienced in such matters, "Does the hero +marry the heroine?" Now this, being a lady's secret, will not be +revealed by THE BARON DE B.-W. + + * * * * * + +The Plea of the Party Man. + +(_On either side._) + + "THERE'S _no_ Obstruction!"--Why, then, all this ruction? + "When _we_ obstruct, who dares to call't Obstruction?" + To dam a deluge, stop a bolting horse,-- + That is obstruction, of a sort, of course; + _Our_ sort, in fact! But theirs on t'other side? + That's quite another matter. They can't hide + The cloven foot of malice, the false faitours! + Not obstruct _them_? As well say not hang traitors! + +[Illustration: Obstruction.] + + * * * * * + +FAR TOO PREVIOUS. + +In the Agony-Column of the _Times_ we now see daily the following +Advertisement:-- + +TO IRISH LOYALISTS AND PROTESTANTS.--DEATH BEFORE SLAVERY! + +Surely a most blameless sentiment. But the bearings of it lie in the +application. And what is that? It seems as applicable to any existing +situation as, say, "Lunch before Dinner," or "Business before +Pleasure," or "Age before Honesty," or "Fingers before forks." _Mr. +Punch_ ventures to suggest a modification, less striking, perhaps, +in an "Agony-Column," but more in accord with patriotism and +common-sense:-- + + To Irish Loyalists and Protestants! + _Be_ Loyal, and Protest--_Constitutionally_! + +The flamboyant, melodramatic, "Death before Slavery!" _may_ +be applicable--when "Slavery" becomes a conceivable, proximate +probability, or "Death" a possible alternative. Then let us have +"Death before Slavery," by all means. At present, _Punch_ would say, +"Common-sense before either!" + + * * * * * + +Poor Political Economy! + +(_By an elated Parliamentary Want-to-Knower._) + + Oh! to waste half the time asking Questions is grand! + "Supply" is not in it, just now, with "Demand"! + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: INSTINCTIVE CRITICAL ACUMEN. + +"THAT LOOKS LIKE AN OLD PICTURE, JOHN! WHAT IS IT?" + +"IT'S 'MOSES STRIKING THE ROCK'!" + +"AH! I TOLD YOU IT WAS OLD--_DIDN'T_ I, NOW!"] + + * * * * * + +"ALL A-BLOWING!" + +AIR--_The celebrated Duet in "The Mikado."_ + +_Much-sold Pater and Mater sing:--_ + + _Pater._ The flowers that bloom in the Spring, + Tra la, + To purchase henceforth I decline. + The hawkers those blossoms who bring-- + Ah! bah!-- + Will "swop 'em for most anything," + Ha! ha! + But as soon as you've bought 'em they pine. + + _Both._ And that's what they mean when they say, or they sing, + "He's as green as a man who buys flowers in the Spring," + Tra la la la la la, &c. + + _Mater._ The flowers that bloom in the Spring, + Tra la! + Are a sell, my dear hub, in _our_ case. + I bought _this_ with a "suit"--there's the sting, + Pa-pa! + Which _he_ said was "a worn-hout hold thing," + (O-la!) + Just fancy his having the face! + Now 'tis shrunken, and shrivelled, and that's why I sing, + Oh, bother the flowers that bloom in the Spring! + Tra la la la la la, &c. + + _Both_ (_to Servant_). So tell the next rascal who ventures to ring, + _We_'ll buy no more flowers that bloom in the Spring! + + [_Dance, and exeunt, determined never again to be diddled by + the howling "A-a-blowing and a-growing!" impostors, who, at + this season, hawk heat-forced or illrooted pot-plants about + the streets of the suburbs._ + + * * * * * + +HOW IT WOULD LOOK IN ENGLISH. + +(_An adaptation from the French._) + +_Anyone._ Let us accuse the Ministry of misappropriating +twopence-halfpenny. + +_The Entire Press._ Certainly, why not? + +_The Opposition._ The Ministry are thieves. + +_The Government._ After this insult we resign _en masse_. + +_One of the Public._ It is said that Mr. BRIEFLESS JUNIOR has accused +the First Lord of having stolen the Horse-Guards clock. + +_First Lord._ Please, LORD CHIEF JUSTICE, request Mr. BRIEFLESS JUNIOR +to keep a civil tongue in his head. + +_L. C. J._ The Attorney-General is the proper person to offer a +remonstrance. + +_Sir Charles._ Can't undertake rows since I have restricted my private +practice. + +_Ex-Chancellor of the Exchequer._ I accuse the LORD CHANCELLOR. + +_Lord Chancellor._ Why, and of what? + +_Those Concerned._ Never mind that. What does it matter _who's_ +accused, so long as everybody forgets _us_. + +_Someone._ And now everything's completely mixed, does anyone know +what the row's about? + +_Everybody Else_ (_after a short silence_). Don't know, and don't +care! + + * * * * * + +"PUTTING OFF." + +_Old Aquatic Hand, loquitur:--_ + + LOOK here, bonny boys! As we're launching our ship, + And stringing our energies up for the tussle, + Allow your old Stroke to suggest the straight tip! + This is not a mere matter of Milo-like muscle. + You are all looking fit, we've the pull in the weights-- + Not _much_, to be sure, forty pounds, say, or thereabout. + Still, that much should tell 'gainst the smartest of eights; + It should give us the race, which is all that we care about. + + 'Twill be a close fight, bet your boots about that, + _If_ we get a clear course without serious obstruction, + Of which I'm not sanguine; the practice of PAT + Has proved to possess universal seduction. + Our last spin was muffed; never mind whose the fault; + Let bygones be bygones! But now comes the crisis! + It's now win or lose. Every man worth his salt + Will pull like a Titan from Cam or from Isis. + + But--pull clean together, and put on the pace + When I call for a spurt, or we're in for a licking. + And, Cox, don't _you_ steer us all over the place. + In the fight that's before us, the course requires picking! + So keep at attention, MAC, sharp all the way; + A split-second's slackness may set our foes grinning. + _Verb. sap.!_ Our last "spin" proved a "mull," I must say; + We _must_ quicken the pace, if this bout we mean winning! + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: "PUTTING OFF." + +GLADSTONE (_the Old Blue_). "NOW, MY BOYS,--WE MUST ROW A QUICKER +STROKE IF WE'RE TO WIN!"] + + * * * * * + +MIXED NOTIONS. + +No. VIII.--THE BOAT-RACE. + + +_Inquirer._ Are any of you chaps going to the Boat-Race? + +_First Well-Informed Man._ No, I shan't. Everybody knows which is +going to win, so there's deuced little interest in the race; and then +you can always read it on the tape at your Club. Besides, I don't care +much about rowing. It's a silly sort of exercise; anybody can do it. + +_Second W. I. M._ Have you ever tried? + +_First W. I. M._ (_indignantly_). Have I ever tried? Of course I have. +Why, you were with me last Summer when we had that water-party from +Taplow to Cookham. + +[Illustration] + +_Second W. I. M._ Ah! but you didn't do much rowing then. You let me +get all the blisters, and you just sat in the stern and steered us +like a blessed corkscrew. + +_First W. I. M._ Did I? I didn't remember that; but I do remember you +catching about half-a-dozen crabs one after another. + +_Second W. I. M._ True enough I caught one, but that was because you +would keep standing up in the boat, and moving your body backwards +and forwards. I suppose you thought the coxswains do that in their +racing-boats? + +_First W. I. M._ (_boldly_). They do. I've seen 'em doing it often. + +_Second W. I. M._ Why, I thought you'd never seen the crews at all. + +_First W. I. M._ Bosh! I never said anything of the kind. I'm not +going to see the race this year, but I've often seen 'em practising +down at Putney. Everybody knows the coxswains have to stand up. How do +you suppose they could see to steer if they didn't? So where are you +now, with all your accurate information, eh? + +_Second W. I. M._ I'm where I was before, and I know I'm right, +because my brother-in-law had a cousin who was at school with one of +the Coxes about ten years ago. [_A pause._ + +_Inquirer_ (_looking up from his sporting paper_). I say, I thought +the crews rowed in racing-boats. + +_First W. I. M._ So they do. + +_Inquirer._ Well, then, what does this mean? (_Reads._) "Both +yesterday and to-day Cambridge rowed with a bucket. They must improve +this if they want to win." + +_First W. I. M._ (_smiling_). My dear fellow, they call their big +practising-boat a bucket. + +_Second W. I. M._ No, they don't--they call it a tub. + +_First W. I. M._ Well, tub or bucket, it's the same thing. (_To_ +Inquirer.) What you read just now means that their practising-boat has +gone rotten, and they'll have to mend her up a bit. + +_Inquirer_ (_dubiously_). But they don't row the race in a tub or a +bucket, do they? + +_Second W. I. M._ No, they row in a Clinker-Clasper. + +_Inquirer._ What the deuce is that? + +_Second W. I. M._ (_plunging_). Oh, it's a specially fast kind +of racing-boat, built by CLINKER AND CLASPER. They're a firm of +boat-builders--I thought everybody knew that. + +_Inquirer._ But then, what does this paper mean by saying that Oxford +are rowing in a Rough? + +_Second W. I. M._ Why it means that their boat isn't so smooth as that +of Cambridge. + +_Inquirer_ (_puzzled_). But then it goes on to say that "She is as +fine a specimen of a racing-craft as this eminent boat-builder has +ever turned out." How can she be that, if she isn't as smooth as the +Cambridge boat? Besides, who's "this eminent boat-builder?" + +_Average Man._ ROUGH. + +_Second W. I. M._ Rot! + +_Average Man._ ROUGH, not Rot. ROUGH'S his name. + +_Second W. I. M._ Let me see the paper. (_He reads, and addresses the_ +Inquirer.) Why didn't you say the word was printed with a capital R? +(_To_ Average Man.) Perhaps you're right, after all; but I know some +boats _are_ rougher than others. [_A pause._ + +_Inquirer._ What's the difference between First Trinity and Third +Trinity? Three of the Cambridge men are from First Trinity, and two +from Third Trinity, besides the Cox. + +_First W. I. M._ What's your difficulty? First is first, and Third's +third, all the world over. Don't you see, the First Trinity men come +first in the crew, and then the Third Trinity men. + +_Inquirer._ But why don't some of 'em call themselves Second Trinity +men? + +_First W. I. M._ Oh, that's one of their silly bits of College +etiquette. These chaps at the Universities are never happy unless they +do things quite differently from all the rest of the world. + +_Inquirer._ This beastly paper says, "the Cambridge stroke rowed much +longer to-day." + +_First W. I. M._ Well, what then? + +_Inquirer._ Oh! nothing; only I thought they all rowed exactly the +same distance when they're practising; so I don't quite see how any of +'em could have rowed longer than the rest. + +_First W. I. M._ I daresay they made him row a good bit by himself; +they often do that to give the stroke some extra practice. He wants it +more than any of the rest. + +_Second W. I. M._ Why? + +_First W. I. M._ Oh, ah--well, because he's got to set the stroke for +the others, or something of that sort. + +_Inquirer._ How far do they row in the race? + +_Second W. I. M._ About six miles or so. + +_Inquirer._ By Jove, then, how on earth do they manage to get over +all that distance with so few strokes. (_Refers to paper._) It says, +"Oxford rowed 37 all the way, while Cambridge contented themselves +with a well-pulled 35." (_With a happy inspiration._) If Cambridge +can do it in 35 strokes, while Oxford take 37, it looks jolly like +Cambridge winning by two strokes, don't it? + +_First W. I. M._ All right; I'll lay you the odds on Oxford. + +_Second W. I. M._ Good, I'll take 'em to five pounds. Oxford can't +win. + +_First W. I. M._ (_confidently_). Cambridge can't win. Anyway, I'll +lay you ten pounds to five. + +_Inquirer._ I should like to have a bet with somebody. + +_Average Man._ You'd better write to one of the Presidents of the +University-Boat Clubs. They're always ready to oblige a keen fellow +like you with a bet. + +_Inquirer._ Of course. That's my best plan. I'll write to-day. + + [_Terminus._ + + + * * * * * + +UPON TERMS. + +(_A Forensic Drama of the Future._) + + [In a recent trial, Mr. Justice HAWKINS corrected a learned + Counsel who talked about Witnesses "coming up to the + scratch."] + +_The Judge_ (_taking his seat_). I think, Mr. SMALLFEE, that you were +examining a Witness when we adjourned yesterday. Are you ready to go +on with the examination? + +_Mr. Smallfee_ (_pleasantly_). I am sorry to say that Witness has not +turned up yet, m'Lud! + +_The Judge_ (_pained_). Not _what_? + +_Mr. Smallfee._ I beg your Lordship's pardon. Of course what I _meant_ +was that the Witness has not, as yet, condescended to irradiate the +precincts of this tribunal with the sunshine of his presence. + +_The Judge._ _That's_ better! Then we must go on to the next Witness. + +_Mr. Smallfee_ (_with an evident attempt to keep up his spirits, in +spite of misfortune_). The next Witness, also, I regret to say, has +not turned----I mean, has failed to appear. The Solicitor informs me +that he solemnly promised to attend; but I suppose the promise was all +my eye. + +_The Judge._ Dear, dear! What extraordinary expressions you do use, +Mr. SMALLFEE! All my eye! Perhaps you will kindly interpret the +phrase, for the benefit of the Court. + +_Mr. Smallfee_ (_desperately_). As your Lordship pleases! But, as I +feel rather down in the mouth now, and as the twelve sufferers in +the Jury-box evidently think that this trial has lasted long enough +already, and that we ought to stir our stumps, I would suggest---- + +_The Judge._ Usher! Step across to Booksellers' Row, and buy me a +Slang Dictionary! I cannot--I really _cannot_ follow the learned +Counsel. + +_The Foreman_ (_interposing_). _We_ do not object to colloquial +expressions, my Lord. Y' see, we're a _Common_ Jury, and we rather +like them. All we want to do is to get on with the case. And perhaps +it may assist the Court if at this stage I remark that the Jury has +quite made up its mind, and is ready to give its verdict. + +_The Judge_ (_astounded_). But--but--there has been no evidence for +the defence! + +_The Foreman_ (_calmly_). No, my Lord. But no doubt the learned +Counsel's two Witnesses, had they been present, would have supplied +some; and, anyhow, we are so pleased with his talking down to our +level, and not--as usual--over our heads, that we are all agreed to +find a verdict for his client, the Defendant. + +_Mr. Smallfee_ (_bowing_). Thanks for your good opinion, Gentlemen. I +thought, by the cut of your jibs, you were the right sort. + + [_Winks, in passing out._ + +_The Judge._ And this is what the Law has come to! Call on the next +case! + + * * * * * + +NEW PROVERB (_for the use of the Panama Cheque-takers_).--"The game is +not worth the Scandal." + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: DISCRETION. + +"AND HERE'S AN EXTRA SIXPENCE FOR YOU, CABMAN--TO GET YOURSELF SOME +_TEA_, YOU KNOW!" + +"YES, MA'AM! THANK YER, MA'AM! I S'POSE I MAY CHOOSE MY OWN _GROCER_, +MA'AM?"] + + * * * * * + +WILL WATERPROOF'S MONOLOGUE. + +_Adapted to a Direct-Vetoed Parish._ + + O pale Head-Waiter at "The Cock," + How changed for you and me + Is this sad time! 'Tis five o'clock, + Go, fetch a cup of tea; + My pint of port is changed to that-- + Weak COWPER'S washy liquor! + Did tea make Cellarer SIMON fat, + Or cheer Bray's jolly Vicar? + + No more libations to the Muse! + Will cocoa make her kind? + Will water whisper words to use? + Will milk make up my mind, + When writing melancholy rhymes, + Of days not half forgotten, + Before these daft teetotal times + When common-sense seems rotten? + + Head-Waiter, those good pints of port + Are stopped for you and me, + By legislation of the sort + They call grandmotherly; + Two-thirds majority has said + That alcohol would hurt you, + And so you meekly bow your head, + And practise painful virtue. + + We fret, we fume, we scoff, we sneer, + And evil fate upbraid; + Your care is for the ginger-beer, + The milk, the lemonade. + To come and go, and come again + With coffee that you keep hot, + And watched by silent gentlemen, + That trifle with the tea-pot. + + Live long, for water to the head + Was never known to fly, + Your flabby face will not grow red, + Nor will your washy eye. + Live long as you can bear these woes, + Whilst bigots thus defy sense, + Till watery Death's last Veto shows + Life's quite suspended licence. + + "Aquarius," when you shall cease + Teetotal drinks to quaff, + And end life's not repairing lease, + Might be your epitaph. + No carved cross-pipes, no pint-pot's wreath, + Shall show you past to Heaven; + But water-pipes, and, underneath, + A milk-pot neatly graven. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: "WANTING TO KNOW;" OR, THE BEWILDERED USHER.] + + * * * * * + +ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT. + +EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P. + +_House of Commons, Monday Night, March 13._--No use disguising fact +that when House discovered FREDERICK MILNER standing behind Front +Opposition Bench, brandishing heavy boot in his hand as he addressed +ASQUITH, it held its breath. Political passion runs pretty high +of late; Opposition stirred to deepest depths by persistence of +Government in attempting to read Home-Rule Bill Second Time before +Easter. There have been sittings after midnight; sittings through +Saturday; hot words bandied about; preparation for deadly duel in +lobby. No one can say whither men may be led when once they permit +angry passions to rise. CHARLES RUSSELL, whose acquaintance with +criminal classes is extensive, tells me it is by no means uncommon +thing for prisoner in dock to take off boot and hurl it at head of +presiding Magistrate or Judge. + +"Usually an old woman who does it," he added. + +"But this is Sir FREDERICK MILNER, Bart.," I said. + +"Um!" said RUSSELL, with odd significance in the observation. + +Turns out the apprehension groundless. MILNER only wants to know +why Police at Leeds and Bradford should enjoy ultimate resources of +civilisation in respect of "SCAITH'S silent boots," whilst London +Policemen not so privileged? MILNER tells me his earliest idea was +to get a pair of the boots, put 'em on, and surprise SPEAKER by +approaching with noiseless tread from behind Chair, lean over his +shoulder, and suddenly say, "Boo!" That, MILNER thought, would be +conclusive proof of the efficacy of the boots as making the tread +inaudible. On other hand, SPEAKER mightn't like it. So, by way of +compromise, brought down odd boot in tail-pocket of his coat, and +shook it at HOME SECRETARY when he put question. + +ASQUITH behaved very well under trying circumstances. Did not visibly +blench; answered, in off-hand manner, that London Police had had +opportunity of substituting the silent boot for those in ordinary use, +and had not availed themselves of it. Some had objected on domestic +grounds. Female friends engaged in responsible posts in certain +households on their beat were accustomed to the sound of their +footfall on the pavement, and would not have things ready if they +approached like rose-leaves flitting over shaven lawns. Others, +assuming higher ground, resented silent boot as taking unfair +advantage of the burglar or footpad. "Give a 'ardworking cove a fair +chanst, that's my motter," one honest fellow in blue said to HOME +SECRETARY when Right Hon. Gentleman brought silent boot under his +notice. No use attempting to run counter to feeling of this kind. +Conclusion in which DICKY TEMPLE heartily concurred. + +"Silent boot," he said, "forced upon Metropolitan Police might play in +history a part analogous to that of the greased cartridges on which we +slipped into the Indian Mutiny." + +MILNER saw it was evidently no use, so returning boot to coat-tail +pocket, moodily regarded Treasury Bench. + +But there were consolations. SQUIRE of MALWOOD, asked by Prince ARTHUR +what he now thought of prospects of reading Home-Rule Bill Second +Time before Easter, admitted impossibility; triumphant shout from +Opposition. Not in vain had they sat through morning sitting on Friday +discussing the hour at which they should adjourn on Saturday. Not +without recompense had they taken care that when Saturday came it +should see accomplished the minimum of business. Tussling with Mr. +G. ever since Session opened; in first rounds he came off best; drew +first blood; seemed likely to carry everything with him; Opposition +pulled themselves together; went at it hammer and tongs; and now it is +Mr. G. who has retired to corner; the sponge is in requisition on +the Treasury Bench; the air around it redolent of the perfume of the +indispensable vinegar. + +"Guinness will go up a point or two on this," said ELLIS ASHMEAD +BARTLETT, Knight, who has taken Irish securities under his wing. +"Go down a pint or two, you mean," said WILFRID LAWSON, who is +irreclaimable. + +_Business done._--Attack on Justice MATHEW and Evicted Tenants' +Commission repulsed by 287 Votes against 250. + +_Tuesday._--SQUIRE of MALWOOD a changed man. No longer the +light-hearted, sometimes almost frivolous youth who through six years +sat on Front Opposition Bench, and girded at the Unionist Government. +A Minister himself now; Mr. G.'s right-hand man; First Lieutenant of +the Ship of State; acting Captain when, as happens just now, Mr. G. +temporarily turned in. Once this afternoon something of old spirit +stirred within him when HOWARD VINCENT (as he said) used the +Stationary Vote as a peg on which to hang Protection heresies. But, +for most part, he sits silent and self-communing, saying nothing, but, +probably, like the parrot of old, thinking the more. In Conservative +ranks feeling of profound respect growing in his favour. Curious to +hear them say, "Ah! if everyone on Treasury Bench bore himself like +HARCOURT, things would be different." Even the blameless BRYCE is held +up to contumely in contrast with mild-mannered MASTER of MALWOOD. As +for CHARLES RUSSELL, after his speech last night, good Conservatives, +following an Eastern custom, well enough in its place, spit when they +mention his name. For them the model of all Parliamentary virtue is +the SQUIRE of MALWOOD. + +Don't know how long this passion of appreciation will last; +interesting to observe while yet with us. A lull all round in sympathy +with soothing moments of CHANCELLOR of EXCHEQUER. Even J. W. +LOWTHER'S perturbed mind at rest. Knows now, to a fraction, how many +lead-pencils are annually in use in directing destinies of British +Empire. Rumour current that origin of this inquiry was a little +undertaking promoted by Hon. Member in substitution of proscribed +word-guessing competitions. Sweep got up; £5 entry; every man to guess +at precise figure of lead-pencil census; the one coming nearest to +clear the pool. LOWTHER tells me not word of truth in report. In +putting his question as to number of lead-pencils in use, and in +sticking to it in spite of jeers of bystanders and guilty reticence of +Minister, he was actuated simply by motives of public policy; desired, +in short, to live up to standard of late lamented Leader and do his +duty to his QUEEN and Country. + +_Business done._--Great lead-pencil question settled. Excited House +Counted Out at 9.20. + +[Illustration: "Back!! Rasch intruder!"] + +_Thursday Night._--House dying to know what Major FREDERICK CARNE +RASCH had to say on Navy Estimates. Not being Major of Marines, +initial difficulty is to imagine what he did in this galley. If it had +been the Army, or even the Militia, the Major would have seemed all +right. But what had he to do with the Navy? That, however, is for +the Major a minor point. "You CARNE be too RASCH when attacking this +Government," said KENYON, with his pretty elliptical speech. + +It was half-past ten, and a dull night. Navy Estimates been talked +round for nearly five hours. SQUIRE of MALWOOD meekly hoped that a +Vote would now be taken; DICKY TEMPLE presented himself at footlights +with bewitching smile on his lips and elegantly bound gilt-edged +volume under his arm; bowed to audience; opened volume; proceeding to +offer few remarks when SQUIRE swooped down on him with Closure. + +This was cue for RASCH. Chairman rose to put question. So did RASCH. +Closure must not be debated; attempt to speak is unpardonable breach +of order. The Major stood in the imminent deadly breach; House +howled; Chairman cried, "Order! Order!" RASCH glared round, and, after +moment's hesitation, sat down; up again as soon as Question was put; +howls more anguished than ever. Committee having agreed that Question +be put, nothing to do but put it, and here was RASCH bubbling over +with speech. Chairman on his feet peremptorily signalling Major to +sit down; Members near him tugged at his coat-tails; those further off +frantically wave deprecatory hands. Major stood to his guns; shouts of +"Name! Name!" Chairman, desperately pegging away, succeeded in putting +Question, being money-vote for Navy. Major by this time hauled down in +his seat. Up again, like Jack out of box. Chairman also on his feet, +putting next vote; hubbub tremendous; Major's lips observed in motion; +not an articulate syllable rose above uproar. + +[Illustration: On the Stroke of Twelve; or, Cinderella Balfour!] + +Meanwhile Chairman had dexterously put and run through supplementary +vote for Excess of Expenditure; friends near him had got the +catapultic Major down again, in time to hear Chairman declare "the +Ayes have it!" Major up again. "Order! order!" shouted the Chairman. +"Question: is----" Not quite clear amid uproar what question was; +something to do with Army. Anyhow, there was STANHOPE standing at +table discussing Army Votes. Major again on his feet, his moustache +twitching with astonishment. STANHOPE a peculiarly painful +circumstance; all very well for good Conservative to gird against +Government, and jostle Mr. G.'s Chairman of Committees; different +(especially for a Major in the Militia) to struggle with Statesman +who had been Secretary of State for War on his own side. So Major, +defiantly glaring round House slowly dropped into his seat:--"dying +with all his music in him," as JUSTIN MCCARTHY, who knows the poets, +said. But what was the tune he meditated? What is the secret of this +unspoken speech? + +_Business done._--Money voted for Naval men. Halt cried on Army Vote. + +_Friday._--RASCH broken out again; turns up as usual at critical +moment. Committee of Supply adjourned at ten minutes to seven; sharp +at seven morning sitting must be suspended. Report of Supply under +consideration; only tremulous ten minutes to get through it. RASCH +resolved, now or never, to finish the speech he commenced yesterday. +House, after protest, settles down to listen. Seems KAY SHUTTLEWORTH +been "saying things" about the warrior. "He behaved towards me," +said the Major, "in a manner that would be brusque on the part of +Providence addressing a black beetle." House undecided as to which +simile more happily bestowed. On the whole, agreed more polite to +contemplate U. KAY SHUTTLEWORTH as Providence, than Major RASCH as the +other thing. + +_Business done._--Some Votes in Supply. + + * * * * * + + +[Transcriber's Note: + +Missing and illegible/damaged punctuation has been repaired.] + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. +104, March 25, 1893, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON *** + +***** This file should be named 22724-8.txt or 22724-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/7/2/22724/ + +Produced by Lesley Halamek, 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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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, March 25, 1893 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: September 22, 2007 [EBook #22724] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON *** + + + + +Produced by Lesley Halamek, Juliet Sutherland and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + <hr class="full" /> + +<h1>PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> + +<h2>Volume 104, March 25th 1893</h2> + +<h3>edited by Sir Francis Burnand</h3> + +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page133" id="page133"></a>[pg 133]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/133.png"><img src="images/133-350.png" width="350" height="467" alt="THE PANGS OF MATRIMONY!!!" /></a> +<h3>THE PANGS OF MATRIMONY!!!</h3> + +<table summary="description" align="center"> +<tr><td> + +<p><span class="ind"><i>Casual Acquaintance.</i></span> "<span class="sc">Hear you're to be Married, Mr. Ribbes. +Congratulate you!</span>"</p> +<p><span class="ind"><i>Mr. Ribbes.</i></span> "<span class="sc">Much obliged, but I dunno so much about Congratulations. +It's corstin' +me a pretty Penny, I tell yer. Mrs. Ribbes as is to be, she wants 'er +<i>Trousseau</i>, yer +know; an' then there's the Furnishin', an' the Licence, an' the Parson's Fees; +an' then I 'ave to give 'er an' 'er Sister a bit o' Jool'ry a-piece; an' wot +with one +thing an' another—she's a 'eavy Woman, yer know, Thirteen Stun odd—well, I +reckon +she'll 'a corst me pretty near <i>Two-an'-Eleven a Pound</i> afore I git 'er +'Ome!</span>"</p> + +</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>SMALL BY DEGREES.</h2> + +<h3><i>A Story of Defiance not Defence.</i></h3> + +<p>There was once a Battalion of Volunteers with +its full complement of field, company, and non-commissioned +officers, and rank and file. And +according to experts the Regiment was a most +valuable addition to the national defence. One +day a General, covered over with gold lace and +wearing a cocked hat, rode up to the Colonel and +called him out.</p> + +<p>"Colonel," said the General, "we are thinking +of giving over your command to a C.O. of a Dépôt +Centre. It won't interfere with you much and +give you less to do. You may still call yourself +Colonel—not that I call you so myself. I mean +off parade."</p> + +<p>But the Colonel did not seem to see it, and so +he sent in his papers and rode away.</p> + +<p>Then the General from the War Office called up +the two remaining Field Officers.</p> + +<p>"Majors" said he, "it seems to us we can help +you a good deal by appointing a Major from a +service battalion as Adjutant. Then you can +rank beneath him, and he can look after you and +the two half battalions you each of you are supposed +to command. You may still call yourselves +Majors—not that I call you so myself. I mean off +parade."</p> + +<p>But the Majors did not seem to +see it, so they sent in <i>their</i> papers +too.</p> + +<p>Then the General from the War +Office called up the Company Officers.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen," said he, "we shall +continue the snubbing, of which you +have had so much experience. You +will do all sorts of new work, and +go to all sorts of fresh expense in the +near future. Not that it will increase +your dignity—not a bit of it. +However, you may still call yourselves +Captains and Lieutenants—not +that I call you so myself. I mean +off parade."</p> + +<p>But the Company Officers did not +seem to see it, so they sent in their +papers and marched away. Then +the General from the War Office +called up the rest of the Regiment.</p> + +<p>"Now, Non-commissioned Officers +and Men," said he, "you have no one +to command you, and no one to pay +for your marches out, prizes, and the +rest of it. But don't let that bother +you. You may still call yourselves +Soldiers—not that I call you +so myself. I mean off parade."</p> + +<p>But the remainder of the Regiment +did not seem to see it, so they sent +in <i>their</i> resignations, and vanished.</p> + +<p>Then the Officer from the War +Office rode towards Pall Mall.</p> + +<p>"It won't interfere with me +much," said he, "and give the Department +less to do. And I can +still call myself General—though I +scarcely deserve the title, either on +or off parade!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>HOW IT STRIKES "THE CONTEMPORARY."</h3> + +<p>["Why should not women take the +B.A. degree?... Unfortunately the +older Universities have resented every +attempt at breaking down their cherished +exclusiveness."—<i>From an Article in "The +Contemporary Review" for March.</i>]</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Despotic Dons' dominion</p> +<p class="i2">Still subjugates us all,</p> +<p>They scoff at our opinion,</p> +<p class="i2">Our purposes miscall;</p> +<p>Will no deliverer appear,</p> +<p>And is it vainly, as we fear,</p> +<p>We hold our meetings every year</p> +<p class="i2">Within St. James's Hall?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Our wrongs, if brought to knowledge,</p> +<p class="i2">Would surely move your hearts,</p> +<p>Degreeless from her College</p> +<p class="i2">The Wrangler-ess departs;</p> +<p>And shall not too the maids, who can</p> +<p>Give all the usages of <span style="font-size: 0.9em;">ἀ</span>ν,</p> +<p>As well as any living man</p> +<p class="i2">Be Bachelors of Arts?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Persuasive or abusive</p> +<p class="i2">We fail our point to gain,</p> +<p>Disgracefully exclusive</p> +<p class="i2">These ancient seats remain:</p> +<p>But yet a future we foresee</p> +<p>When Women will the rulers be,</p> +<p>And Men will beg a Pass-degree,</p> +<p class="i2">Will beg, and beg in vain!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i8">———</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>P.S.—The pith of our petition</p> +<p class="i2">Is seldom understood,</p> +<p>It is not all ambition,</p> +<p class="i2">Though this, no doubt, is good;</p> +<p>But, speaking frankly, we declare</p> +<p>The point for which we really care</p> +<p>Is just to gain the right to wear</p> +<p class="i2">That <i>most</i> becoming hood!</p> + </div> </div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page134" id="page134"></a>[pg 134]</span> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE WITLER'S WISION OF WENGEANCE.</h2> + +<h3>(<span class="sc">In a slightly Pickwickian Sense</span>.)</h3> +<p><i>Being the Dream of an angry "Brother Bung" after attending the Meeting at St. James's Hall, and trying to soothe himself with a dip into +Dickens.</i></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><a href="images/134.png"><img src="images/134-390.png" width="390" height="470" alt="Being the Dream of an angry 'Brother Bung'..." /></a> +</div><br /><br /> + + + +<p>["He" Lord <span class="sc">Burton</span>, "asked why this drastic, this dishonest, this +catchpenny, this gerrymandering Bill should have been brought in?.... +They had heard much of late about the Nonconformist Conscience, which +was said to be the backbone of the Liberal Party. He firmly believed that +the Bill had been brought forward to suit the Nonconformist Conscience, +to pander to the hypocritical self-righteousness, and the sham respectability +of a certain class."—<i>Lord Burton, at the St. James's Hall Meeting, on the +Direct Veto Bill.</i>]</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Mr. <span class="sc">Witler</span>, the elder, gave vent to an extraordinary sound, +which, being neither a groan, nor a grunt, nor a gasp, nor a howl, +nor a hoot, nor a hiss, nor a shout, nor a shriek, yet seemed to partake +in some degree of the character of all these inarticulate laryngeal +exercises. It was a big vocal blend, and a stentorian; it made him +pant and turn apoplectically purple in the face, it shook the house, +and very nearly "brought it down."</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page135" id="page135"></a>[pg 135]</span> + +<p>Mr. <span class="sc">Witler's</span> "wocal wagaries" (as his son called them) +when he <i>was</i> roused, were something tremendous, earthquaky, +appalling!</p> + +<p>Mr. <span class="sc">Swigslop Stiggins</span>, a leading Shepherd of the Nonconformist +Rechabite Flock, unwarned by this nondescript sound, which he +understood to betoken remorse or repentance, in fact, an awakening +of the "Nonconformist Conscience," in a somewhat unlikely quarter, +looked about him, rubbed his hands, wept, smiled, wept again, and +then mechanically uttering a guttural "Hear! Hear!" (as though +he were listening, in the House of Commons, to the jocund <span class="sc">Harcourt</span>, +or the jocular <span class="sc">Lawson</span>, or the robustious T. W. <span class="sc">Russell</span>, or the +astute <span class="sc">Caine</span>) and then, walking across the room to a well-remembered +pigeon-hole, took thence an official-looking scroll, sat down, +formally unfolded it, cleared his throat, and began with pompous +complacency to read aloud its title, preamble, clauses, and provisions, +compulsory regulations, and peremptory prohibitions to the +apparently semi-asphyxiated Mr. <span class="sc">Witler</span>.</p> + +<p>The elder Mr. <span class="sc">Witler</span>, who still continued to make various +strange and uncouth attempts to appear indifferent, offered not a +single word during these proceedings; but when <span class="sc">Stiggins</span> stopped +for breath, previous to a second reading, he darted upon him, and, +snatching the scroll from his hand, first buffeted him briskly about +the head therewith, and then threw it into the fire. Then, seizing +the astonished gentleman firmly by the collar, he suddenly fell to +kicking him most furiously, accompanying every application of his +boots to Mr. <span class="sc">Stiggins's</span> person with sundry violent and incoherent +anathemas, such as—"Blatant Barabbas!"—"Bumptious busybody!"—"Unblushing +bandit!"—"Barefaced spoliator!"—"Hypocritical +humbug!"—"Iniquitous inquisitor!"—"Fanatical +faddist!"—"Self-righteous sneak!"—"Sham +saint!"—"Jerrymandering <span class="sc">Jeremy Diddler</span>!"—"Pragmatical +pump!"—"Little Bethelite Boanerges!" and "Nonconformist +<i>Tartuffe</i>!!!"</p> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Sammy</span>," said Mr. <span class="sc">Witler</span>, "put my cap on tight for me!" +<span class="sc">Sam</span> dutifully adjusted the cap more firmly on his father's head, +and the old gentleman, resuming his kicking with greater agility +than before, tumbled Mr. <span class="sc">Stiggins</span> through the bar, and through +the passage, out at the front door, and so into the street, the kicking +continuing the whole way, and increasing in vehemence rather than +diminishing every time the boot was lifted.</p> + +<p>It was a beautiful and exhilarating sight (<i>to "the Trade"</i>) to see +the water-drinker writhing in Mr. <span class="sc">Witler's</span> grasp, and his whole +frame quivering with anguish as kick followed kick in rapid succession; +it was a still more exciting spectacle (<i>to Bungdom all round, +from boisterous</i> Lord <span class="sc">Burton</span> <i>to the humblest rural Boniface</i>) +to +behold Mr. <span class="sc">Witler</span>, after a powerful struggle, immersing Mr. +<span class="sc">Stiggins's</span> head in a horse-trough full of water, and holding it there +until he was half suffocated.</p> + +<p>"There!" said Mr. <span class="sc">Witler</span>, throwing all his energy into one +most complicated kick, as he at length permitted Mr. <span class="sc">Stiggins</span> +to withdraw his head from the trough, "send any vun o' them +villainous Vetoists, from burly Sir <span class="sc">Villiam Barabbas</span> hisself +down to the pettifoggingest Local Hoptioniser in Little Peddlington, +<i>here</i>, or to St. James's 'All, or the Alhambra, or elseveres +in public meeting or privit pub, and I'll pound him to a argymentative +jelly fust, and drownd him in public-speritted opinion +arterwards!"</p> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Sammy</span>" (added Mr. <span class="sc">Witler</span>, puffing and perspiring freely), +"help me in, and fill me a stiff glass o' Speshal Scotch; for I'm out +of breath, my boy!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/135.png"><img src="images/135-600.png" width="600" height="399" alt="RATHER SUSPICIOUS." /></a> +<h3>RATHER SUSPICIOUS.</h3> + +<p><i>Mistress</i> (<i>to Housekeeper, after "the Young Person" has left the +room</i>). "<span class="sc">Really, Wilkins, I could not engage that Young +Person. She is too Ugly by far!</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Housekeeper.</i> "<span class="sc">Very sorry, Mum. But you said <i>so particularly</i> +that I was to look out for a good Plain Cook,—'quite +a Plain Cook,' you said, Mum,—that I thought you had some Particular +Reason</span>——"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Very Natural.</span>—Mrs. R. pays great attention to the Parliamentary +debates, and listens attentively while her Nephew reads the speeches +as reported in <i>The Times</i>. Last Thursday he was in the midst of the +discussion on the Welsh Liquor-Traffic Bill, and came to this: +"Mr. <span class="sc">Lloyd-George</span>, whose opening remarks were interrupted by a +Count——" Whereupon his Aunt exclaimed, "How very rude! +What was the Count's name? And how does a Count come to be in +the House of Commons?"</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page136" id="page136"></a>[pg 136]</span> + +<hr /> + + +<h2>PILL-DOCTOR HERDAL.</h2> + +<h4>(<i>Translated from the Original Norwegian by Mr. Punch.</i>)</h4> + +<h3>THIRD ACT.</h3> + +<blockquote><p> +<i>On the right, a smart verandah, attached to</i> Dr. <span class="sc">Herdal's</span> <i>dwelling-house, +and communicating with the Drawing-room and Dispensary +by glass-doors. On the left a tumble-down rockery, with +a headless plaster Mercury. In front, a lawn, with a large +silvered glass globe on a stand. Chairs and tables. All the +furniture is of galvanised iron. A sunset is seen going on +among the trees.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p><i>Dr. Herdal</i> (<i>comes out of Dispensary-door cautiously, and +whispers</i>). <span class="sc">Hilda</span>, are you in there?</p> + +<blockquote><p> +[<i>Taps with fingers on Drawing-room door.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p><i>Hilda</i> (<i>comes out with a half-teasing smile</i>). Well—and how is +the Rainbow-powder getting on, Dr. <span class="sc">Herdal</span>?</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> +(<i>with enthusiasm</i>). +It is getting +on simply +splendidly. I +sent the new +Assistant out to +take a little +walk, so that he +should not be in +the way. There +is Arsenic in the +powder, <span class="sc">Hilda</span>, +and Digitalis +too, and Strychnine, +and the best Beetle-killer!</p> + +<p><i>Hilda</i> (<i>with happy, wondering eyes</i>). <i>Lots</i> of +Beetle-killer? And you will give some of it +to <i>her</i>, to make her free and buoyant. I +think one really <i>has</i> the right—when people +happen to stand in the way——!</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> Yes, you may well say so, <span class="sc">Hilda</span>. +Still—(<i>dubiously</i>)—it <i>does</i> occur to me that +such doings may perhaps be misunderstood—by +the narrow-minded and conventional.</p> + +<blockquote><p> +[<i>They go on the lawn, and sit down.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p><i>Hilda</i> (<i>with an outburst</i>). Oh, that all seems +to me so foolish—so irrelevant! As if the +whole thing wasn't intended as an Allegory!</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> (<i>relieved</i>). Ah, so long as it is +merely <i>allegorical</i> of course—— But what is +it an allegory <i>of</i>, <span class="sc">Hilda</span>?</p> + +<p><i>Hilda</i> (<i>reflects in vain</i>). How can you sit +there and ask such questions? I suppose I am +a symbol, of some sort.</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> (<i>as a thought flashes upon him</i>). +A cymbal? That would certainly account for +your bra—— Then am <i>I</i> a cymbal too, <span class="sc">Hilda</span>?</p> + +<p><i>Hilda.</i> Why yes—what else? You represent +the Artist-worker, or the Elder Generation, +or the Pursuit of the Ideal, or a Bilious +Conscience—or something or other. <i>You</i>'re +all right!</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> (<i>shakes his head</i>). Am I? But I +don't quite see—— Well, well, cymbals are +meant to clash a little. And I see plainly now +that I ought to prescribe this powder for as +many as possible. Isn't it terrible, <span class="sc">Hilda</span>, +that so many poor souls never really die their +own deaths—pass out of the world without +even the formality of an inquest? As the +district Coroner, I feel strongly on the subject.</p> + +<p><i>Hilda.</i> And, when the Coroner has finished +sitting on all the bodies, perhaps—but I shan't +tell you now. (<i>Speaks as if to a child.</i>) There, run away and finish +making the Rainbow-powder, do!</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> (<i>skips up into the Dispensary</i>). I will—I will! Oh, +I do feel such a troll—such a light-haired, light-headed old devil!</p> + +<p><i>Rübub</i> (<i>enters garden-gate</i>). I have had my dismissal—but I'm +not going without saying good-bye to Mrs. <span class="sc">Herdal</span>.</p> + +<p><i>Hilda.</i> Dr. <span class="sc">Herdal</span> would disapprove—you really must not, Mr. +<span class="sc">Kalomel</span>. And, besides, Mrs. <span class="sc">Herdal</span> is not at home. She is in +the town buying me a reel of cotton. <i>Dr.</i> <span class="sc">Herdal</span> is in. He is +making real Rainbow powders for regenerating everybody all round. +Won't <i>that</i> be fun?</p> + +<p><i>Rübub.</i> <i>Making</i> powders? Ha! ha! But you will see he won't +<i>take</i> one himself. It is quite notorious to us younger men that he +simply daren't do it.</p> + +<p><i>Hilda.</i> (<i>with a little snort of contempt</i>). Oh, I daresay—that's so +likely! (<i>Defiantly.</i>) I know he <i>can</i>, though. I've <i>seen</i> +him!</p> + +<p><i>Rübub.</i> There is a tradition that he once—but not now—he knows +better. I think you said Mrs. <span class="sc">Herdal</span> was in the town? I will go +and look for her. I understand her so well. [<i>Goes out by gate.</i></p> + +<p><i>Hilda</i> (<i>calls</i>). Dr. <span class="sc">Herdal</span>! Come out this minute. I want +you—awfully!</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> (<i>puts his head out</i>). Just when I am making such +wonderful progress with the powder! (<i>Comes down and leans on a +table.</i>) Have you hit upon some way of giving it to <span class="sc">Aline</span>? I +thought if you were to put it in her arrowroot——?</p> + +<p><i>Hilda.</i> No, thanks. I won't have that now. I have just +recollected that it is a rule of mine never to injure anybody I have +once been formally introduced to. Strangers don't count. No, poor +Mrs. <span class="sc">Herdal</span> mustn't take that powder!</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> (<i>disappointed</i>). Then is nothing to come of making +Rainbow powders, after all, <span class="sc">Hilda</span>?</p> + +<p><i>Hilda</i> (<i>looks hard at him</i>). People +say you are afraid to take your own +physic. Is that true?</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> Yes, I am. (<i>After a +pause—with candour.</i>) I find it invariably +disagrees with me.</p> + +<p><i>Hilda</i> (<i>with a half-dubious smile</i>). +I think I can understand <i>that</i>. But +you did <i>once</i>. You swallowed your +own pills that day at the <i>table d'hôte</i>, +ten years ago. And I heard a harp +in the air, too!</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> (<i>open-mouthed</i>). I don't +think that <i>could</i> have been Me. I +don't play any instrument. And +that was quite a special thing, too. +It's not every day I can do it. Those +were only <i>bread</i> pills, <span class="sc">Hilda</span>.</p> + +<p><i>Hilda</i> (<i>with flashing eyes</i>). But +you rolled them; you took them. +And I want to see you stand once +more free and high and great, swallowing +your own preparations. +(<i>Passionately.</i>) I <i>will</i> have you do +it! (<i>Imploringly.</i>) Just <i>once</i> more, +Dr. <span class="sc">Herdal</span>!</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> If I did, <span class="sc">Hilda</span>, my +medical knowledge, slight as it is, +leads me to the conclusion that I +should in all probability burst.</p> + +<p><i>Hilda</i> (<i>looks deeply into his eyes</i>). +So long as you burst <i>beautifully</i>! +But no doubt that Miss <span class="sc">Blakdraf</span>——</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> You must believe in +me utterly and entirely. I will do +anything—<i>anything</i>, <span class="sc">Hilda</span>, to provide +you with agreeable entertainment. +I <i>will</i> swallow my own +powder! (<i>To himself, as he goes +gravely up to Dispensary.</i>) If only +the drugs are sufficiently adulterated!</p> + +<blockquote><p> +[<i>Goes in; as he does so, the</i> New +Assistant <i>enters the garden in +blue spectacles, unseen by</i> <span class="sc">Hilda</span>, +<i>and follows him, leaving open the +glass-door.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p><i>Senna Blakdraf</i> (<i>comes wildly out +of Drawing-room</i>). Where is dear +Dr. <span class="sc">Herdal</span>? Oh, Miss <span class="sc">Wangel</span>, +he has discharged me—but I can't—I +simply <i>can't</i> live away from that +lovely ledger!</p> + +<p><i>Hilda</i> (<i>jubilantly</i>). At this moment Dr. <span class="sc">Herdal</span> is in the +Dispensary, +taking one of his own powders.</p> + +<p><i>Senna</i> (<i>despairingly</i>). But—but it is utterly impossible! Miss +<span class="sc">Wangel</span>, you have such a firm hold of him—<i>don't</i> let him do +that!</p> + +<p><i>Hilda.</i> I have already done all I can.</p> + +<blockquote><p> +[<span class="sc">Rübub</span> <i>appears, talking confidentially with Mrs.</i> <span class="sc">Herdal</span>, <i>at +gate.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p><i>Senna.</i> Oh, Mrs. <span class="sc">Herdal, Rübub</span>! The Pill-Doctor is going to +take one of his own preparations. Save him—quick!</p> + +<p><i>Rübub</i> (<i>with cold politeness</i>). I am sorry to hear it—for his +sake. But it would be quite contrary to professional etiquette to +prevent him.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Herd.</i> And I never interfere with my husband's proceedings. +I know <i>my</i> duty, Miss <span class="sc">Blakdraf</span>, if <i>others</i> don't!</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page137" id="page137"></a>[pg 137]</span> + +<p><i>Hilda</i> (<i>exulting with great intensity</i>). At last! Now I see him +in there, great and free again, mixing the powder in a spoon—with +jam!.... Now he raises the spoon. Higher—higher still! +(<i>A gulp is audible from within.</i>) There, didn't you hear a harp +in the air? (<i>Quietly.</i>) I can't see the spoon any more. But +there is one he is striving with, in blue spectacles!</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 350px;"><a href="images/136.png"><img src="images/136-320.png" width="320" height="470" alt="'--my Pill-Doctor!'" /></a> +<h3>"My—<i>my</i> Pill-Doctor!"</h3></div> + +<p><i>The New Assistant's Voice</i> (<i>within</i>). The Pill-Doctor +<span class="sc">Herdal</span> +has taken his own powder!</p> + +<p><i>Hilda</i> (<i>as if petrified</i>). That voice! <i>Where</i> have I heard it +before? No matter—he has got the powder down! (<i>Waves a +shawl in the air, and shrieks with wild jubilation.</i>) It's too awfully +thrilling! My—<i>my</i> Pill-Doctor!</p> + +<p><i>The N. A.</i> (<i>comes out on verandah</i>). I am happy to inform you +that—as, to avoid accidents, I took the simple precaution of filling +all the Dispensary-jars with Camphorated Chalk—no serious results +may be anticipated from Dr. <span class="sc">Herdal's</span> rashness. (<i>Removes +spectacles.</i>) +<span class="sc">Nora</span>, don't you know me?</p> + +<p><i>Hilda</i> (<i>reflects</i>). I really don't remember having the +pleasure——And +I'm <i>sure</i> I heard a harp in the air!</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Herd.</i> I fancy, Miss <span class="sc">Wangel</span>, it must have been merely +a bee in your bonnet!</p> + +<p><i>The N. A.</i> (<i>tenderly</i>). Still the same little singing-bird! Oh, +<span class="sc">Nora</span>, my long-lost lark!</p> + +<p><i>Hilda</i> (<i>sulky</i>). I'm <i>not</i> a lark—I'm a Bird of Prey—and, +when +I get my claws into anything——!</p> + +<p><i>The N. A.</i> Macaroons, for instance? I remember your tastes of +old. See, <span class="sc">Nora</span>! (<i>Produces a paper-bag from his coat-tail +pocket.</i>) +They were fresh this morning!</p> + +<p><i>Hilda</i> (<i>wavering</i>). If you insist on calling me <span class="sc">Nora</span>, I +think you +must be just a little mad yourself.</p> + +<p><i>The N. A.</i> We are all a little mad—in Norway. But <span class="sc">Torvald +Helmer</span> is sane enough still to recognise his own little squirrel +again! Surely, <span class="sc">Nora</span>, your education is complete at last—you have +gained the experience you needed?</p> + +<p><i>Hilda</i> (<i>nods slowly</i>). Yes, <span class="sc">Torvald</span>, you're right enough +<i>there</i>. +I have thought things out for myself, and have got clear about +them. And I have quite made up my mind that Society and the +Law are all wrong, and that I am right.</p> + +<p><i>Helmer</i> (<i>overjoyed</i>). Then you <i>have</i> learnt the Great Lesson, +and are +fit to undertake the charge of your children's education at last! +You've no notion how they've grown! Yes, <span class="sc">Nora</span>, our marriage +will be a true marriage now. You will come back to the Doll's-House, +won't you?</p> + +<p><i>Hilda-Nora-Helmer-Wangel</i> (<i>hesitates</i>). Will you let me forge +cheques if I do, <span class="sc">Torvald</span>?</p> + +<p><i>Helmer</i> (<i>ardently</i>). All day. And at night, <span class="sc">Nora</span>, we will +falsify the accounts—together!</p> + +<p><i>H. N. H. W.</i> (<i>throws herself into his arms, and helps herself +to macaroons</i>). That will be fearfully thrilling! My—<i>my</i> +Manager!</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> (<i>comes out, very pale, from Dispensary</i>). <span class="sc">Hilda</span>, +I <i>did</i> +take the——I'm afraid I interrupt you?</p> + +<p><i>Helmer.</i> Not in the least. But this lady is my little lark, and she +is going back to her cage by the next steamer.</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> (<i>bitterly</i>). Am I <i>never</i> to have a gleam of +happiness—? +But stay—do I see my little <span class="sc">Senna</span> once more?</p> + +<p><i>Rübub.</i> Pardon me—<i>my</i> little <span class="sc">Senna</span>. She always believed so +firmly in my pill!</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> Well—well. If it must be. <span class="sc">Rübub</span>, I will take you +into partnership, and we will take out a patent for that pill, jointly. +<span class="sc">Aline</span>, my poor dear <span class="sc">Aline</span>, let us try once more if we cannot +bring +a ray of brightness into our cheerless home!</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Herd.</i> Oh, <span class="sc">Haustus</span>, if only we <i>could</i>—but why do you +propose +that to me—<i>now</i>?</p> + +<p><i>Dr. Herd.</i> (<i>softly—to himself</i>). Because I have tried being a +troll—and found that nothing came of it, and it wasn't worth +sixpence!</p> + +<blockquote><p> +[<span class="sc">Hilda-Nora</span> <i>goes off to the right with</i> <span class="sc">Helmer</span>; <span class="sc">Senna</span> <i>to the +left with</i> <span class="sc">Rübub</span>; Dr. <span class="sc">Herdal</span> <i>and</i> Mrs. <span class="sc">Herdal</span> <i>sit on two +of the galvanised iron-chairs, and shake their heads disconsolately +as the Curtain falls.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">The End.</span></p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>OMNIS CELLULA A CELLULÂ.</h3> + +<h4>(<i>Professor Virchow—vide Daily Paper.</i>)</h4> +<table summary="description" align="center" border="0"> +<tr><td> </td> +<td> +<p> +Life's a cell and all things show it. <br /> +I thought so once, and now I know it. </p> +</td> +<td> </td></tr> +<tr><td class="right" colspan="3"> +<i>Gay</i> (<i>up to date</i>). +</td></tr> +</table> + +<hr /> + +<h3>A RADICAL RIDDLE.</h3> + +<p>Why are the Tories so eager to discuss Black-edged Envelopes, +and Black-lead Pencils?—Because they belong to a Stationary +Party.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>POLITICS AND TRADE.</h3> + +<h4>(<i>A Poser for "Patriots."</i>)</h4> + +<blockquote><p> +["Our Trade is our Politics." Motto of the Licensed Victualler, as +publicly avowed at a recent "great Meeting."] +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 200px;"><a href="images/137a.png"><img src="images/137a-150.png" width="150" height="224" alt="Politics and Trade" /></a></div> +<div class="figleft1"> +<div class="poem1"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Dear</span> Bung, that frank but huckster-like avowal</p> +<p class="i2">Is made continually, behind the bar.</p> +<p>It <i>means</i>—though rather "laid on with a trowel"—</p> +<p class="i2">A Trade with Public Spirit quite at jar.</p> +<p>The "mercenary politician," making</p> +<p class="i2">A pocket-business of a patriot's task,</p> +<p>Recently put your Press in a great taking;</p> +<p class="i2">But sordid selfishness here doffs all mask!</p> +<p>Which with a patriot's conscience plays most tricks?</p> +<p class="i2">Which most the venal virus has betrayed,—</p> +<p>The man who makes his Trade his Politics,</p> +<p class="i2">Or he who makes his Politics his Trade?</p> + </div> </div> </div> + +<br clear="all" /><hr /> + +<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> + +<p><i><span class="sc">Burdett's</span> Official Intelligence for</i> 1893 is just out, a +promising +young thing in its twelfth year. It is a little early to talk of the +holidays, but my Baronite, regarding this thin Vol. of 1783 pages, +says he cannot help thinking with what pleasure the City merchant, +or his clerk, hastening to the seaside, will pack it up with his +collar-box. Every year the monumental work increases in value, +by reason of accumulated information. To the tired City man, scaling +some Alp, gliding in well-found yacht over silver seas, or prone in +bosky dell, there can be nothing more soothing or delightful than to +take his "<span class="sc">Burdett</span>" out of his waistcoat-pocket, and read it through +from first page to last.</p> + +<p>For <i>The Tragedy of Ida Noble</i> the Baron tenders his grateful +thanks to <span class="sc">W. Clark Russell</span>. It starts well, and the excitement is +artistically sustained. At the close of every chapter <i>Oliver</i>, the +reader, is perpetually "asking for more." A capital story of +adventure, where all, including the reader, are "quite at sea" until +the very last chapter. On nearing the middle of the book, the +question will occur to everyone experienced in such matters, "Does +the hero marry the heroine?" Now this, being a lady's secret, +will not be revealed by <span class="sc">The Baron de B.-W.</span></p> + +<hr /> + + + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 200px;"><a href="images/137b.png"><img src="images/137b-150.png" width="150" height="185" alt="Obstruction." /></a> +<h4>Obstruction.</h4></div> + +<div class="figleft1"> + +<h2>The Plea of the Party Man.</h2> + +<h3>(<i>On either side.</i>)</h3> +<div class="poem1"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"<span class="sc">There's</span> <i>no</i> Obstruction!"—Why, then, all this ruction?</p> +<p>"When <i>we</i> obstruct, who dares to call't Obstruction?"</p> +<p>To dam a deluge, stop a bolting horse,—</p> +<p>That is obstruction, of a sort, of course;</p> +<p><i>Our</i> sort, in fact! But theirs on t'other side?</p> +<p>That's quite another matter. They can't hide</p> +<p>The cloven foot of malice, the false faitours!</p> +<p>Not obstruct <i>them</i>? As well say not hang traitors!</p> + </div> </div></div> +<br clear="all" /> +<hr /> + +<h2>FAR TOO PREVIOUS.</h2> + +<p>In the Agony-Column of the <i>Times</i> we now see daily the +following Advertisement:—</p> + +<p>TO IRISH LOYALISTS AND PROTESTANTS.—<span class="sc">Death before +Slavery!</span></p> + +<p>Surely a most blameless sentiment. But the bearings of it lie in +the application. And what is that? It seems as applicable to any +existing situation as, say, "Lunch before Dinner," or "Business +before Pleasure," or "Age before Honesty," or "Fingers before +forks." <i>Mr. Punch</i> ventures to suggest a modification, less striking, +perhaps, in an "Agony-Column," but more in accord with +patriotism and common-sense:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i8">To Irish Loyalists and Protestants!</p> +<p class="i10"><i>Be</i> Loyal, and Protest—<i>Constitutionally</i>!</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>The flamboyant, melodramatic, "Death before Slavery!" <i>may</i> be +applicable—when "Slavery" becomes a conceivable, proximate +probability, or "Death" a possible alternative. Then let us have +"Death before Slavery," by all means. At present, <i>Punch</i> would +say, "Common-sense before either!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>Poor Political Economy!</h3> + +<h4>(<i>By an elated Parliamentary Want-to-Knower.</i>)</h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Oh! to waste half the time asking Questions is grand!</p> +<p>"Supply" is not in it, just now, with "Demand"!</p> + </div> </div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page138" id="page138"></a>[pg 138]</span> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><a href="images/138.png"><img src="images/138-300.png" width="300" height="462" alt="INSTINCTIVE CRITICAL ACUMEN." /></a> +<h3>INSTINCTIVE CRITICAL ACUMEN.</h3> +<table summary="description" align="center"> +<tr><td><p><span class="sc">"That looks like an Old Picture, John! What is it?"</span></p> +<p><span class="sc">"It's 'Moses striking the Rock'!"</span></p> +<p><span class="sc">"Ah! I told you it was Old—<i>didn't</i> I, Now!"</span></p></td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>"ALL A-BLOWING!"</h2> + +<h3><span class="sc">Air</span>—<i>The celebrated Duet in "The Mikado."</i></h3> + +<h4><i>Much-sold Pater and Mater sing:—</i></h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><i>Pater.</i> The flowers that bloom in the Spring,</p> +<p class="i10"> Tra la,</p> +<p class="i2">To purchase henceforth I decline.</p> +<p>The hawkers those blossoms who bring—</p> +<p class="i10"> Ah! bah!—</p> +<p class="i2">Will "swop 'em for most anything,"</p> +<p class="i10"> Ha! ha!</p> +<p>But as soon as you've bought 'em they pine.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p><i>Both.</i> And that's what they mean when they say, or they sing,</p> +<p>"He's as green as a man who buys flowers in the Spring,"</p> +<p class="i10"> Tra la la la la la, &c.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p><i>Mater.</i> The flowers that bloom in the Spring,</p> +<p class="i10"> Tra la!</p> +<p class="i2">Are a sell, my dear hub, in <i>our</i> case.</p> +<p>I bought <i>this</i> with a "suit"—there's the sting,</p> +<p class="i10"> Pa-pa!</p> +<p class="i2">Which <i>he</i> said was "a worn-hout hold thing,"</p> +<p class="i10"> (O-la!)</p> +<p class="i2">Just fancy his having the face!</p> +<p>Now 'tis shrunken, and shrivelled, and that's why I sing,</p> +<p>Oh, bother the flowers that bloom in the Spring!</p> +<p class="i10"> Tra la la la la la, &c.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p><i>Both</i> (<i>to Servant</i>). So tell the next rascal who ventures to ring,</p> +<p><i>We</i>'ll buy no more flowers that bloom in the Spring!</p> + </div> </div> + +<blockquote><p> +[<i>Dance, and exeunt, determined never again +to be diddled by the howling "A-a-blowing +and a-growing!" impostors, who, at this +season, hawk heat-forced or illrooted pot-plants +about the streets of the suburbs.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<h2>HOW IT WOULD LOOK IN ENGLISH.</h2> + +<h3>(<i>An adaptation from the French.</i>)</h3> + +<blockquote> +<p style="margin-left: 5%"><i>Anyone.</i> Let us accuse the Ministry of +misappropriating twopence-halfpenny.</p> + +<p class="half" style="margin-left: 5%"><i>The Entire Press.</i> Certainly, why not?</p> + +<p class="half" style="margin-left: 5%"><i>The Opposition.</i> The Ministry are thieves.</p> + +<p class="half" style="margin-left: 5%"><i>The Government.</i> After this insult we resign +<i>en masse</i>.</p> + +<p class="half" style="margin-left: 5%"><i>One of the Public.</i> It is said that Mr. +<span class="sc">Briefless Junior</span> has accused the First Lord +of having stolen the Horse-Guards clock.</p> + +<p class="half" style="margin-left: 5%"><i>First Lord.</i> Please, <span class="sc">Lord Chief Justice</span>, +request Mr. <span class="sc">Briefless Junior</span> to keep a +civil tongue in his head.</p> + +<p class="half" style="margin-left: 5%"><i>L. C. J.</i> The Attorney-General is the +proper person to offer a remonstrance.</p> + +<p class="half" style="margin-left: 5%"><i>Sir Charles.</i> Can't undertake rows since I +have restricted my private practice.</p> + +<p class="half" style="margin-left: 5%"><i>Ex-Chancellor of the Exchequer.</i> I accuse +the <span class="sc">Lord Chancellor</span>.</p> + +<p class="half" style="margin-left: 5%"><i>Lord Chancellor.</i> Why, and of what?</p> + +<p class="half" style="margin-left: 5%"><i>Those Concerned.</i> Never mind that. What +does it matter <i>who's</i> accused, so long as +everybody forgets <i>us</i>.</p> + +<p class="half" style="margin-left: 5%"><i>Someone.</i> And now everything's completely +mixed, does anyone know what the +row's about?</p> + +<p class="half" style="margin-left: 5%"><i>Everybody Else</i> (<i>after a short silence</i>). +Don't know, and don't care!</p></blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<h2>"PUTTING OFF."</h2> + +<h3><i>Old Aquatic Hand, loquitur:—</i></h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Look</span> here, bonny boys! As we're launching our ship,</p> +<p class="i2">And stringing our energies up for the tussle,</p> +<p>Allow your old Stroke to suggest the straight tip!</p> +<p class="i2">This is not a mere matter of Milo-like muscle.</p> +<p>You are all looking fit, we've the pull in the weights—</p> +<p class="i2">Not <i>much</i>, to be sure, forty pounds, say, or thereabout.</p> +<p>Still, that much should tell 'gainst the smartest of eights;</p> +<p class="i2">It should give us the race, which is all that we care about.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>'Twill be a close fight, bet your boots about that,</p> +<p class="i2"><i>If</i> we get a clear course without serious obstruction,</p> +<p>Of which I'm not sanguine; the practice of <span class="sc">Pat</span></p> +<p class="i2">Has proved to possess universal seduction.</p> +<p>Our last spin was muffed; never mind whose the fault;</p> +<p class="i2">Let bygones be bygones! But now comes the crisis!</p> +<p>It's now win or lose. Every man worth his salt</p> +<p class="i2">Will pull like a Titan from Cam or from Isis.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>But—pull clean together, and put on the pace</p> +<p class="i2">When I call for a spurt, or we're in for a licking.</p> +<p>And, Cox, don't <i>you</i> steer us all over the place.</p> +<p class="i2">In the fight that's before us, the course requires picking!</p> +<p>So keep at attention, <span class="sc">Mac</span>, sharp all the way;</p> +<p class="i2">A split-second's slackness may set our foes grinning.</p> +<p><i>Verb. sap.!</i> Our last "spin" proved a "mull," I must say;</p> +<p class="i2">We <i>must</i> quicken the pace, if this bout we mean winning!</p> + </div> </div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page139" id="page139"></a>[pg 139]</span> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"><a href="images/139.png"><img src="images/139-600.png" width="600" height="468" alt="'PUTTING OFF.'" /></a> +<h3>"PUTTING OFF."</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">Gladstone</span> (<i>the Old Blue</i>). +"NOW, MY BOYS,—WE MUST ROW A QUICKER +STROKE IF WE'RE TO WIN!"</p></div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page140" id="page140"></a>[pg 140]</span> +<br /><hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page141" id="page141"></a>[pg 141]</span> + +<h2>MIXED NOTIONS.</h2> + +<h3>No. VIII.—THE BOAT-RACE.</h3> + + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> Are any of you chaps going to the Boat-Race?</p> + +<p><i>First Well-Informed Man.</i> No, I shan't. Everybody knows +which is going to win, so there's deuced little interest in the race; +and then you can always read it on the tape at your Club. Besides, +I don't care much about rowing. It's a silly sort of exercise; anybody +can do it.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> Have you ever tried?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> (<i>indignantly</i>). Have I ever tried? Of course I +have. Why, you were with +me last Summer when we +had that water-party from +Taplow to Cookham.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 300px;"><a href="images/141.png"><img src="images/141-300.png" width="300" height="216" alt="The Boat-Race" /></a> +</div> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> Ah! +but you didn't do much +rowing then. You let me +get all the blisters, and you +just sat in the stern and +steered us like a blessed +corkscrew.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Did I? +I didn't remember that; +but I do remember you +catching about half-a-dozen crabs one after another.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> True enough I caught one, but that was because +you would keep standing up in the boat, and moving your body +backwards and forwards. I suppose you thought the coxswains do +that in their racing-boats?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> (<i>boldly</i>). They do. I've seen 'em doing it often.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> Why, I thought you'd never seen the crews at all.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Bosh! I never said anything of the kind. I'm +not going to see the race this year, but I've often seen 'em practising +down at Putney. Everybody knows the coxswains have to stand up. +How do you suppose they could see to steer if they didn't? So +where are you now, with all your accurate information, eh?</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> I'm where I was before, and I know I'm right, +because my brother-in-law had a cousin who was at school with one +of the Coxes about ten years ago. [<i>A pause.</i></p> + +<p><i>Inquirer</i> (<i>looking up from his sporting paper</i>). I say, I thought +the crews rowed in racing-boats.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> So they do.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> Well, then, what does this mean? (<i>Reads.</i>) "Both +yesterday and to-day Cambridge rowed with a bucket. They must +improve this if they want to win."</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> (<i>smiling</i>). My dear fellow, they call their big +practising-boat a bucket.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> No, they don't—they call it a tub.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Well, tub or bucket, it's the same thing. (<i>To</i> +Inquirer.) What you read just now means that their practising-boat +has gone rotten, and they'll have to mend her up a bit.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer</i> (<i>dubiously</i>). But they don't row the race in a tub or a +bucket, do they?</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> No, they row in a Clinker-Clasper.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> What the deuce is that?</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> (<i>plunging</i>). Oh, it's a specially fast kind of +racing-boat, built by <span class="sc">Clinker and Clasper</span>. They're a firm of +boat-builders—I thought everybody knew that.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> But then, what does this paper mean by saying that +Oxford are rowing in a Rough?</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> Why it means that their boat isn't so smooth as +that of Cambridge.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer</i> (<i>puzzled</i>). But then it goes on to say that "She is as +fine a specimen of a racing-craft as this eminent boat-builder has +ever turned out." How can she be that, if she isn't as smooth as the +Cambridge boat? Besides, who's "this eminent boat-builder?"</p> + +<p><i>Average Man.</i> <span class="sc">Rough</span>.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> Rot!</p> + +<p><i>Average Man.</i> <span class="sc">Rough</span>, not Rot. <span class="sc">Rough's</span> his name.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> Let me see the paper. (<i>He reads, and +addresses the</i> Inquirer.) Why didn't you say the word was printed +with a capital R? (<i>To</i> Average Man.) Perhaps you're right, after +all; but I know some boats <i>are</i> rougher than others. [<i>A pause.</i></p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> What's the difference between First Trinity and Third +Trinity? Three of the Cambridge men are from First Trinity, and +two from Third Trinity, besides the Cox.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> What's your difficulty? First is first, and +Third's third, all the world over. Don't you see, the First Trinity +men come first in the crew, and then the Third Trinity men.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> But why don't some of 'em call themselves Second +Trinity men?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Oh, that's one of their silly bits of College +etiquette. These chaps at the Universities are never happy unless +they do things quite differently from all the rest of the world.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> This beastly paper says, "the Cambridge stroke rowed +much longer to-day."</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Well, what then?</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> Oh! nothing; only I thought they all rowed exactly +the same distance when they're practising; so I don't quite see how +any of 'em could have rowed longer than the rest.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> I daresay they made him row a good bit by himself; +they often do that to give the stroke some extra practice. He +wants it more than any of the rest.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> Why?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Oh, ah—well, because he's got to set the stroke +for the others, or something of that sort.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> How far do they row in the race?</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> About six miles or so.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> By Jove, then, how on earth do they manage to get +over all that distance with so few strokes. (<i>Refers to paper.</i>) It +says, "Oxford rowed 37 all the way, while Cambridge contented +themselves with a well-pulled 35." (<i>With a happy inspiration.</i>) If +Cambridge can do it in 35 strokes, while Oxford take 37, it looks +jolly like Cambridge winning by two strokes, don't it?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> All right; I'll lay you the odds on Oxford.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> Good, I'll take 'em to five pounds. Oxford +can't win.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> (<i>confidently</i>). Cambridge can't win. Anyway, +I'll lay you ten pounds to five.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> I should like to have a bet with somebody.</p> + +<p><i>Average Man.</i> You'd better write to one of the Presidents of +the University-Boat Clubs. They're always ready to oblige a keen +fellow like you with a bet.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> Of course. That's my best plan. I'll write to-day.</p> + +<blockquote><p> +[<i>Terminus.</i> +</p></blockquote> + + +<hr /> + +<h2>UPON TERMS.</h2> + +<h3>(<i>A Forensic Drama of the Future.</i>)</h3> + +<blockquote><p> +[In a recent trial, Mr. Justice <span class="sc">Hawkins</span> corrected a learned Counsel who +talked about Witnesses "coming up to the scratch."] +</p></blockquote> + +<p><i>The Judge</i> (<i>taking his seat</i>). I think, Mr. <span class="sc">Smallfee</span>, that +you +were examining a Witness when we adjourned yesterday. Are you +ready to go on with the examination?</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Smallfee</i> (<i>pleasantly</i>). I am sorry to say that Witness has not +turned up yet, m'Lud!</p> + +<p><i>The Judge</i> (<i>pained</i>). Not <i>what</i>?</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Smallfee.</i> I beg your Lordship's pardon. Of course what I +<i>meant</i> was that the Witness has not, as yet, condescended to irradiate +the precincts of this tribunal with the sunshine of his presence.</p> + +<p><i>The Judge.</i> <i>That's</i> better! Then we must go on to the next +Witness.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Smallfee</i> (<i>with an evident attempt to keep up his spirits, in +spite of misfortune</i>). The next Witness, also, I regret to say, has not +turned——I mean, has failed to appear. The Solicitor informs +me that he solemnly promised to attend; but I suppose the promise +was all my eye.</p> + +<p><i>The Judge.</i> Dear, dear! What extraordinary expressions you do +use, Mr. <span class="sc">Smallfee</span>! All my eye! Perhaps you will kindly interpret +the phrase, for the benefit of the Court.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Smallfee</i> (<i>desperately</i>). As your Lordship pleases! But, as +I feel rather down in the mouth now, and as the twelve sufferers +in the Jury-box evidently think that this trial has lasted long +enough already, and that we ought to stir our stumps, I would +suggest——</p> + +<p><i>The Judge.</i> Usher! Step across to Booksellers' Row, and buy me a +Slang Dictionary! I cannot—I really <i>cannot</i> follow the learned +Counsel.</p> + +<p><i>The Foreman</i> (<i>interposing</i>). <i>We</i> do not object to colloquial +expressions, +my Lord. Y' see, we're a <i>Common</i> Jury, and we rather like +them. All we want to do is to get on with the case. And perhaps +it may assist the Court if at this stage I remark that the Jury has +quite made up its mind, and is ready to give its verdict.</p> + +<p><i>The Judge</i> (<i>astounded</i>). But—but—there has been no evidence +for the defence!</p> + +<p><i>The Foreman</i> (<i>calmly</i>). No, my Lord. But no doubt the learned +Counsel's two Witnesses, had they been present, would have +supplied some; and, anyhow, we are so pleased with his talking down +to our level, and not—as usual—over our heads, that we are all +agreed to find a verdict for his client, the Defendant.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Smallfee</i> (<i>bowing</i>). Thanks for your good opinion, Gentlemen. +I thought, by the cut of your jibs, you were the right sort.</p> + +<blockquote><p> +[<i>Winks, in passing out.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<p><i>The Judge.</i> And this is what the Law has come to! Call on the +next case!</p> + + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">New Proverb</span> (<i>for the use of the Panama Cheque-takers</i>).—"The +game is not worth the Scandal."</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page142" id="page142"></a>[pg 142]</span> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a href="images/142.png"><img src="images/142-390.png" width="390" height="467" alt="DISCRETION." /></a> +<h3>DISCRETION.</h3> + +<p>"<span class="sc">And here's an extra Sixpence for you, Cabman—to get yourself some +<i>Tea</i>, +you know!</span>"</p> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Yes, Ma'am! Thank yer, Ma'am! I s'pose I may choose my own <i>Grocer</i>, +Ma'am?</span>"</p></div> + +<hr /> + + +<h2>WILL WATERPROOF'S MONOLOGUE.</h2> + +<h3><i>Adapted to a Direct-Vetoed Parish.</i></h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>O pale Head-Waiter at "The Cock,"</p> +<p class="i2">How changed for you and me</p> +<p>Is this sad time! 'Tis five o'clock,</p> +<p class="i2">Go, fetch a cup of tea;</p> +<p>My pint of port is changed to that—</p> +<p class="i2">Weak <span class="sc">Cowper's</span> washy liquor!</p> +<p>Did tea make Cellarer <span class="sc">Simon</span> fat,</p> +<p class="i2">Or cheer Bray's jolly Vicar?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>No more libations to the Muse!</p> +<p class="i2">Will cocoa make her kind?</p> +<p>Will water whisper words to use?</p> +<p class="i2">Will milk make up my mind,</p> +<p>When writing melancholy rhymes,</p> +<p class="i2">Of days not half forgotten,</p> +<p>Before these daft teetotal times</p> +<p class="i2">When common-sense seems rotten?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Head-Waiter, those good pints of port</p> +<p class="i2">Are stopped for you and me,</p> +<p>By legislation of the sort</p> +<p class="i2">They call grandmotherly;</p> +<p>Two-thirds majority has said</p> +<p class="i2">That alcohol would hurt you,</p> +<p>And so you meekly bow your head,</p> +<p class="i2">And practise painful virtue.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>We fret, we fume, we scoff, we sneer,</p> +<p class="i2">And evil fate upbraid;</p> +<p>Your care is for the ginger-beer,</p> +<p class="i2">The milk, the lemonade.</p> +<p>To come and go, and come again</p> +<p class="i2">With coffee that you keep hot,</p> +<p>And watched by silent gentlemen,</p> +<p class="i2">That trifle with the tea-pot.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Live long, for water to the head</p> +<p class="i2">Was never known to fly,</p> +<p>Your flabby face will not grow red,</p> +<p class="i2">Nor will your washy eye.</p> +<p>Live long as you can bear these woes,</p> +<p class="i2">Whilst bigots thus defy sense,</p> +<p>Till watery Death's last Veto shows</p> +<p class="i2">Life's quite suspended licence.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>"Aquarius," when you shall cease</p> +<p class="i2">Teetotal drinks to quaff,</p> +<p>And end life's not repairing lease,</p> +<p class="i2">Might be your epitaph.</p> +<p>No carved cross-pipes, no pint-pot's wreath,</p> +<p class="i2">Shall show you past to Heaven;</p> +<p>But water-pipes, and, underneath,</p> +<p class="i2">A milk-pot neatly graven.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + + +<h2>ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.</h2> + +<h3><span class="sc">Extracted From the Diary of Toby, M.P.</span></h3> + +<p><i>House of Commons, Monday Night, +March 13.</i>—No use disguising fact that when +House discovered <span class="sc">Frederick Milner</span> standing +behind Front Opposition Bench, brandishing +heavy boot in his hand as he addressed +<span class="sc">Asquith</span>, it held its breath. Political passion +runs pretty high of late; Opposition stirred +to deepest depths by persistence of Government +in attempting to read Home-Rule Bill +Second Time before Easter. There have +been sittings after midnight; sittings through +Saturday; hot words bandied about; preparation +for deadly duel in lobby. No one +can say whither men may be led when once +they permit angry passions to rise. <span class="sc">Charles +Russell</span>, whose acquaintance with criminal +classes is extensive, tells me it is by no means +uncommon thing for prisoner in dock to take +off boot and hurl it at head of presiding +Magistrate or Judge.</p> + +<p>"Usually an old woman who does it," he +added.</p> + +<p>"But this is Sir <span class="sc">Frederick Milner</span>, +Bart.," I said.</p> + +<p>"Um!" said <span class="sc">Russell</span>, with odd significance +in the observation.</p> + +<p>Turns out the apprehension groundless. +<span class="sc">Milner</span> only wants to know why Police at +Leeds and Bradford should enjoy ultimate resources +of civilisation in respect of "<span class="sc">Scaith's</span> +silent boots," whilst London Policemen not so +privileged? <span class="sc">Milner</span> tells me his earliest idea +was to get a pair of the boots, put 'em on, and +surprise <span class="sc">Speaker</span> by approaching with noiseless +tread from behind Chair, lean over his +shoulder, and suddenly say, "Boo!" That, +<span class="sc">Milner</span> thought, would be conclusive proof +of the efficacy of the boots as making the +tread inaudible. On other hand, <span class="sc">Speaker</span> +mightn't like it. So, by way of compromise, +brought down odd boot in tail-pocket of his +coat, and shook it at <span class="sc">Home Secretary</span> when +he put question.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Asquith</span> behaved very well under trying +circumstances. Did not visibly blench; +answered, in off-hand manner, that London +Police had had opportunity of substituting +the silent boot for those in ordinary use, and +had not availed themselves of it. Some had +objected on domestic grounds. Female friends +engaged in responsible posts in certain households +on their beat were accustomed to the +sound of their footfall on the pavement, and +would not have things ready if they approached +like rose-leaves flitting over shaven +lawns. Others, assuming higher ground, +resented silent boot as taking unfair advantage +of the burglar or footpad. "Give a 'ardworking +cove a fair chanst, that's my motter," +one honest fellow in blue said to <span class="sc">Home Secretary</span> +when Right Hon. Gentleman brought +silent boot under his notice. No use attempting +to run counter to feeling of this kind. +Conclusion in which <span class="sc">Dicky Temple</span> heartily +concurred.</p> + +<p>"Silent boot," he said, "forced upon Metropolitan +Police might play in history a part +analogous to that of the greased cartridges +on which we slipped into the Indian Mutiny."</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Milner</span> saw it was evidently no use, so returning +boot to coat-tail pocket, moodily +regarded Treasury Bench.</p> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page143" id="page143"></a>[pg 143]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/143.png"><img src="images/143-600.png" width="600" height="436" alt="'WANTING TO KNOW;' OR, THE BEWILDERED USHER." /></a> +<h3>"WANTING TO KNOW;" OR, THE BEWILDERED USHER.</h3></div> + +<p>But there were consolations. <span class="sc">Squire</span> of +<span class="sc">Malwood</span>, asked by Prince <span class="sc">Arthur</span> what he +now thought of prospects of reading Home-Rule +Bill Second Time before Easter, admitted +impossibility; triumphant shout from Opposition. +Not in vain had they sat through +morning sitting on Friday discussing the +hour at which they should adjourn on Saturday. +Not without recompense had they +taken care that when Saturday came it should +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page144" id="page144"></a>[pg 144]</span> +see accomplished the minimum of business. Tussling with Mr. G. +ever since Session opened; in first rounds he came off best; drew +first blood; seemed likely to carry everything with him; Opposition +pulled themselves together; went at it hammer and tongs; and +now it is Mr. G. who has retired to corner; the sponge is in +requisition on the Treasury Bench; the air around it redolent of +the perfume of the indispensable vinegar.</p> + +<p>"Guinness will go up a point or two on this," said <span class="sc">Ellis Ashmead +Bartlett</span>, Knight, who has taken Irish securities under his wing. +"Go down a pint or two, you mean," said <span class="sc">Wilfrid Lawson</span>, who is +irreclaimable.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Attack on Justice <span class="sc">Mathew</span> and Evicted Tenants' +Commission repulsed by 287 Votes against 250.</p> + +<p><i>Tuesday.</i>—<span class="sc">Squire</span> of <span class="sc">Malwood</span> a changed man. No longer +the +light-hearted, sometimes almost frivolous youth who through six +years sat on Front Opposition Bench, and girded at the Unionist +Government. A Minister himself now; Mr. G.'s right-hand man; +First Lieutenant of the Ship of State; acting Captain when, +as happens just now, Mr. G. temporarily turned in. Once this afternoon +something of old spirit stirred within him when <span class="sc">Howard +Vincent</span> (as he said) used the Stationary Vote as a peg on which to +hang Protection heresies. But, for most part, he sits silent and self-communing, +saying nothing, but, probably, like the parrot of old, +thinking the more. In Conservative ranks feeling of profound +respect growing in his favour. Curious to hear them say, "Ah! if +everyone on Treasury Bench bore himself like <span class="sc">Harcourt</span>, things +would be different." Even the blameless <span class="sc">Bryce</span> is held up to +contumely in contrast with mild-mannered <span class="sc">Master</span> of <span class="sc">Malwood</span>. As +for <span class="sc">Charles Russell</span>, after his speech last night, good Conservatives, +following an Eastern custom, well enough in its place, spit when +they mention his name. For them the model of all Parliamentary +virtue is the <span class="sc">Squire</span> of <span class="sc">Malwood</span>.</p> + +<p>Don't know how long this passion of appreciation will last; interesting +to observe while yet with us. A lull all round in sympathy +with soothing moments of <span class="sc">Chancellor</span> of <span class="sc">Exchequer</span>. Even J. W. +<span class="sc">Lowther's</span> perturbed mind at rest. Knows now, to a fraction, how +many lead-pencils are annually in use in directing destinies of +British Empire. Rumour current that origin of this inquiry was a +little undertaking promoted by Hon. Member in substitution of proscribed +word-guessing competitions. Sweep got up; £5 entry; every +man to guess at precise figure of lead-pencil census; the one coming +nearest to clear the pool. <span class="sc">Lowther</span> tells me not word of truth in +report. In putting his question as to number of lead-pencils in use, +and in sticking to it in spite of jeers of bystanders and guilty +reticence of Minister, he was actuated simply by motives of public +policy; desired, in short, to live up to standard of late lamented +Leader and do his duty to his <span class="sc">Queen</span> and Country.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Great lead-pencil question settled. Excited +House Counted Out at 9.20.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 500px;"><a href="images/144a.png"><img src="images/144a-500.png" width="500" height="307" alt="'Back!! Rasch intruder!'" /></a> +<h3>"Back!! Rasch intruder!"</h3></div> + +<p><i>Thursday Night.</i>—House +dying to know what Major +<span class="sc">Frederick Carne Rasch</span> +had to say on Navy Estimates. +Not being Major of +Marines, initial difficulty is +to imagine what he did in +this galley. If it had been the Army, or even the Militia, the +Major would have seemed all right. But what had he to do with +the Navy? That, however, is for the Major a minor point. "You +<span class="sc">Carne</span> be too <span class="sc">Rasch</span> when attacking this Government," said +<span class="sc">Kenyon</span>, +with his pretty elliptical speech.</p> + +<p>It was half-past ten, and a dull night. Navy Estimates been +talked round for nearly five hours. <span class="sc">Squire</span> of <span class="sc">Malwood</span> meekly +hoped that a Vote would now be taken; <span class="sc">Dicky Temple</span> presented +himself at footlights with bewitching smile on his lips and elegantly +bound gilt-edged volume under his arm; bowed to audience; +opened volume; proceeding to offer few remarks when <span class="sc">Squire</span> +swooped down on him with Closure.</p> + +<p>This was cue for <span class="sc">Rasch</span>. Chairman rose to put question. So did +<span class="sc">Rasch</span>. Closure must not be debated; attempt to speak is unpardonable +breach of order. The Major stood in the imminent +deadly breach; House howled; Chairman cried, "Order! Order!" +<span class="sc">Rasch</span> glared round, and, after moment's hesitation, sat down; up +again as soon as Question was put; howls more anguished than +ever. Committee having agreed that Question be put, nothing to +do but put it, and here was <span class="sc">Rasch</span> bubbling over with speech. +Chairman on his feet peremptorily signalling Major to sit down; +Members near him tugged at his coat-tails; those further off +frantically wave deprecatory hands. Major stood to his guns; +shouts of "Name! Name!" Chairman, desperately pegging +away, succeeded in putting Question, being money-vote for Navy. +Major by this time hauled down in his seat. Up again, like Jack +out of box. Chairman also on his feet, putting next vote; hubbub +tremendous; Major's lips observed in motion; not an articulate +syllable rose above uproar.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 350px;"><a href="images/144b.png"><img src="images/144b-350.png" width="350" height="300" alt="On the Stroke of Twelve; or, Cinderella Balfour!" /></a> +<h3>On the Stroke of Twelve; or, Cinderella Balfour!</h3></div> + +<p>Meanwhile Chairman had dexterously put and run through +supplementary vote for Excess of Expenditure; +friends near him had got the catapultic Major +down again, in time to hear Chairman declare +"the Ayes have it!" Major up again. "Order! +order!" shouted the Chairman. "Question: +is——" Not quite clear amid uproar what question +was; something to do with Army. Anyhow, +there was <span class="sc">Stanhope</span> standing at table +discussing Army Votes. Major again on his feet, +his moustache twitching with astonishment. +<span class="sc">Stanhope</span> a peculiarly painful circumstance; all +very well for good Conservative to gird against +Government, and jostle Mr. G.'s Chairman of +Committees; different (especially for a Major in +the Militia) to struggle with Statesman who +had been Secretary of State for War on his own +side. So Major, defiantly glaring round House slowly dropped into +his seat:—"dying with all his music in him," as <span class="sc">Justin McCarthy</span>, +who knows the poets, said. But what was the tune he meditated? +What is the secret of this unspoken speech?</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Money voted for Naval men. Halt cried on Army +Vote.</p> + +<p><i>Friday.</i>—<span class="sc">Rasch</span> broken out again; turns up as usual at critical +moment. Committee of Supply adjourned at ten minutes to seven; +sharp at seven morning sitting must be suspended. Report of +Supply under consideration; only tremulous ten minutes to get +through it. <span class="sc">Rasch</span> resolved, now or never, to finish the speech he +commenced yesterday. House, after protest, settles down to listen. +Seems <span class="sc">Kay Shuttleworth</span> been "saying things" about the +warrior. "He behaved towards me," said the Major, "in a manner +that would be brusque on the part of Providence addressing a black +beetle." House undecided as to which simile more happily +bestowed. On the whole, agreed more polite to contemplate +<span class="sc">U. Kay Shuttleworth</span> as Providence, than Major <span class="sc">Rasch</span> as the +other thing.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Some Votes in Supply.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + + +<table align="center" summary="note" style="margin-top: 5em;"> +<tr><td class="note"> +<h4>Transcriber's Note:</h4> + +<p>Missing or illegible/damaged punctuation has been repaired.</p> + +</td></tr></table> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. +104, March 25, 1893, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON *** + +***** This file should be named 22724-h.htm or 22724-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/7/2/22724/ + +Produced by Lesley Halamek, 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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a/22724.txt b/22724.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..56f91f4 --- /dev/null +++ b/22724.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1664 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, +March 25, 1893, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, March 25, 1893 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: September 22, 2007 [EBook #22724] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON *** + + + + +Produced by Lesley Halamek, Juliet Sutherland and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. + +Volume 104, March 25th 1893 + +edited by Sir Francis Burnand + + + +[Illustration: THE PANGS OF MATRIMONY!!! + +_Casual Acquaintance._ "HEAR YOU'RE TO BE MARRIED, MR. RIBBES. +CONGRATULATE YOU!" +_Mr. Ribbes._ "MUCH OBLIGED, BUT I DUNNO SO MUCH ABOUT CONGRATULATIONS. +IT'S CORSTIN' ME A PRETTY PENNY, I TELL YER. MRS. RIBBES AS IS TO BE, +SHE WANTS 'ER _TROUSSEAU_, YER KNOW; AN' THEN THERE'S THE FURNISHIN', +AN' THE LICENCE, AN' THE PARSON'S FEES; AN' THEN I 'AVE TO GIVE 'ER AN' +'ER SISTER A BIT O' JOOL'RY A-PIECE; AN' WOT WITH ONE THING AN' ANOTHER +--SHE'S A 'EAVY WOMAN, YER KNOW, THIRTEEN STUN ODD--WELL, I RECKON +SHE'LL 'A CORST ME PRETTY NEAR _TWO-AN'-ELEVEN A POUND_ AFORE I GIT 'ER +'OME!"] + + * * * * * + +SMALL BY DEGREES. + +_A Story of Defiance not Defence._ + +There was once a Battalion of Volunteers with its full complement of +field, company, and non-commissioned officers, and rank and file. And +according to experts the Regiment was a most valuable addition to the +national defence. One day a General, covered over with gold lace and +wearing a cocked hat, rode up to the Colonel and called him out. + +"Colonel," said the General, "we are thinking of giving over your +command to a C.O. of a Depot Centre. It won't interfere with you much +and give you less to do. You may still call yourself Colonel--not that +I call you so myself. I mean off parade." + +But the Colonel did not seem to see it, and so he sent in his papers +and rode away. + +Then the General from the War Office called up the two remaining Field +Officers. + +"Majors" said he, "it seems to us we can help you a good deal by +appointing a Major from a service battalion as Adjutant. Then you +can rank beneath him, and he can look after you and the two half +battalions you each of you are supposed to command. You may still call +yourselves Majors--not that I call you so myself. I mean off parade." + +But the Majors did not seem to see it, so they sent in _their_ papers +too. + +Then the General from the War Office called up the Company Officers. + +"Gentlemen," said he, "we shall continue the snubbing, of which you +have had so much experience. You will do all sorts of new work, and +go to all sorts of fresh expense in the near future. Not that it will +increase your dignity--not a bit of it. However, you may still call +yourselves Captains and Lieutenants--not that I call you so myself. I +mean off parade." + +But the Company Officers did not seem to see it, so they sent in their +papers and marched away. Then the General from the War Office called +up the rest of the Regiment. + +"Now, Non-commissioned Officers and Men," said he, "you have no one to +command you, and no one to pay for your marches out, prizes, and +the rest of it. But don't let that bother you. You may still call +yourselves Soldiers--not that I call you so myself. I mean off +parade." + +But the remainder of the Regiment did not seem to see it, so they sent +in _their_ resignations, and vanished. + +Then the Officer from the War Office rode towards Pall Mall. + +"It won't interfere with me much," said he, "and give the Department +less to do. And I can still call myself General--though I scarcely +deserve the title, either on or off parade!" + + * * * * * + +HOW IT STRIKES "THE CONTEMPORARY." + +["Why should not women take the B.A. degree?... Unfortunately the +older Universities have resented every attempt at breaking down their +cherished exclusiveness."--_From an Article in "The Contemporary +Review" for March._] + + Despotic Dons' dominion + Still subjugates us all, + They scoff at our opinion, + Our purposes miscall; + Will no deliverer appear, + And is it vainly, as we fear, + We hold our meetings every year + Within St. James's Hall? + + Our wrongs, if brought to knowledge, + Would surely move your hearts, + Degreeless from her College + The Wrangler-ess departs; + And shall not too the maids, who can + Give all the usages of [Greek: an], + As well as any living man + Be Bachelors of Arts? + + Persuasive or abusive + We fail our point to gain, + Disgracefully exclusive + These ancient seats remain: + But yet a future we foresee + When Women will the rulers be, + And Men will beg a Pass-degree, + Will beg, and beg in vain! + + * * * + + P.S.--The pith of our petition + Is seldom understood, + It is not all ambition, + Though this, no doubt, is good; + But, speaking frankly, we declare + The point for which we really care + Is just to gain the right to wear + That _most_ becoming hood! + + * * * * * + +THE WITLER'S WISION OF WENGEANCE. + +(IN A SLIGHTLY PICKWICKIAN SENSE.) + +[Illustration: _Being the Dream of an angry "Brother Bung" after +attending the Meeting at St. James's Hall, and trying to soothe +himself with a dip into Dickens._] + +["He" Lord BURTON, "asked why this drastic, this dishonest, this +catchpenny, this gerrymandering Bill should have been brought in?.... +They had heard much of late about the Nonconformist Conscience, which +was said to be the backbone of the Liberal Party. He firmly believed +that the Bill had been brought forward to suit the Nonconformist +Conscience, to pander to the hypocritical self-righteousness, and the +sham respectability of a certain class."--_Lord Burton, at the St. +James's Hall Meeting, on the Direct Veto Bill._] + + * * * * * + +Mr. WITLER, the elder, gave vent to an extraordinary sound, which, +being neither a groan, nor a grunt, nor a gasp, nor a howl, nor a +hoot, nor a hiss, nor a shout, nor a shriek, yet seemed to partake +in some degree of the character of all these inarticulate laryngeal +exercises. It was a big vocal blend, and a stentorian; it made him +pant and turn apoplectically purple in the face, it shook the house, +and very nearly "brought it down." + +Mr. WITLER'S "wocal wagaries" (as his son called them) when he _was_ +roused, were something tremendous, earthquaky, appalling! + +Mr. SWIGSLOP STIGGINS, a leading Shepherd of the Nonconformist +Rechabite Flock, unwarned by this nondescript sound, which he +understood to betoken remorse or repentance, in fact, an awakening of +the "Nonconformist Conscience," in a somewhat unlikely quarter, +looked about him, rubbed his hands, wept, smiled, wept again, and +then mechanically uttering a guttural "Hear! Hear!" (as though he were +listening, in the House of Commons, to the jocund HARCOURT, or the +jocular LAWSON, or the robustious T. W. RUSSELL, or the astute CAINE) +and then, walking across the room to a well-remembered pigeon-hole, +took thence an official-looking scroll, sat down, formally unfolded +it, cleared his throat, and began with pompous complacency to read +aloud its title, preamble, clauses, and provisions, compulsory +regulations, and peremptory prohibitions to the apparently +semi-asphyxiated Mr. WITLER. + +The elder Mr. WITLER, who still continued to make various strange +and uncouth attempts to appear indifferent, offered not a single +word during these proceedings; but when STIGGINS stopped for breath, +previous to a second reading, he darted upon him, and, snatching +the scroll from his hand, first buffeted him briskly about the +head therewith, and then threw it into the fire. Then, seizing the +astonished gentleman firmly by the collar, he suddenly fell to kicking +him most furiously, accompanying every application of his boots to Mr. +STIGGINS'S person with sundry violent and incoherent anathemas, +such as--"Blatant Barabbas!"--"Bumptious busybody!"--"Unblushing +bandit!"--"Barefaced spoliator!"--"Hypocritical humbug!"--"Iniquitous +inquisitor!"--"Fanatical faddist!"--"Self-righteous sneak!"--"Sham +saint!"--"Jerrymandering JEREMY DIDDLER!"--"Pragmatical +pump!"--"Little Bethelite Boanerges!" and "Nonconformist +_Tartuffe_!!!" + +"SAMMY," said Mr. WITLER, "put my cap on tight for me!" SAM dutifully +adjusted the cap more firmly on his father's head, and the old +gentleman, resuming his kicking with greater agility than before, +tumbled Mr. STIGGINS through the bar, and through the passage, out +at the front door, and so into the street, the kicking continuing the +whole way, and increasing in vehemence rather than diminishing every +time the boot was lifted. + +It was a beautiful and exhilarating sight (_to "the Trade"_) to see +the water-drinker writhing in Mr. WITLER'S grasp, and his whole frame +quivering with anguish as kick followed kick in rapid succession; +it was a still more exciting spectacle (_to Bungdom all round, from +boisterous_ Lord BURTON _to the humblest rural Boniface_) to behold +Mr. WITLER, after a powerful struggle, immersing Mr. STIGGINS'S head +in a horse-trough full of water, and holding it there until he was +half suffocated. + +"There!" said Mr. WITLER, throwing all his energy into one most +complicated kick, as he at length permitted Mr. STIGGINS to withdraw +his head from the trough, "send any vun o' them villainous Vetoists, +from burly Sir VILLIAM BARABBAS hisself down to the pettifoggingest +Local Hoptioniser in Little Peddlington, _here_, or to St. James's +'All, or the Alhambra, or elseveres in public meeting or privit pub, +and I'll pound him to a argymentative jelly fust, and drownd him in +public-speritted opinion arterwards!" + +"SAMMY" (added Mr. WITLER, puffing and perspiring freely), "help +me in, and fill me a stiff glass o' Speshal Scotch; for I'm out of +breath, my boy!" + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: RATHER SUSPICIOUS. + +_Mistress_ (_to Housekeeper, after "the Young Person" has left the +room_). "REALLY, WILKINS, I COULD NOT ENGAGE THAT YOUNG PERSON. SHE IS +TOO UGLY BY FAR!" + +_Housekeeper._ "VERY SORRY, MUM. BUT YOU SAID _SO PARTICULARLY_ THAT +I WAS TO LOOK OUT FOR A GOOD PLAIN COOK,--'QUITE A PLAIN COOK,' YOU +SAID, MUM,--THAT I THOUGHT YOU HAD SOME PARTICULAR REASON----"] + + * * * * * + +VERY NATURAL.--Mrs. R. pays great attention to the Parliamentary +debates, and listens attentively while her Nephew reads the speeches +as reported in _The Times_. Last Thursday he was in the midst of the +discussion on the Welsh Liquor-Traffic Bill, and came to this: "Mr. +LLOYD-GEORGE, whose opening remarks were interrupted by a Count----" +Whereupon his Aunt exclaimed, "How very rude! What was the Count's +name? And how does a Count come to be in the House of Commons?" + + * * * * * + +PILL-DOCTOR HERDAL. + +(_Translated from the Original Norwegian by Mr. Punch._) + +THIRD ACT. + + _On the right, a smart verandah, attached to_ Dr. HERDAL'S + _dwelling-house, and communicating with the Drawing-room and + Dispensary by glass-doors. On the left a tumble-down rockery, + with a headless plaster Mercury. In front, a lawn, with a + large silvered glass globe on a stand. Chairs and tables. All + the furniture is of galvanised iron. A sunset is seen going on + among the trees._ + +_Dr. Herdal_ (_comes out of Dispensary-door cautiously, and +whispers_). HILDA, are you in there? + + [_Taps with fingers on Drawing-room door._ + +_Hilda_ (_comes out with a half-teasing smile_). Well--and how is the +Rainbow-powder getting on, Dr. HERDAL? + +_Dr. Herd._ (_with enthusiasm_). It is getting on simply splendidly. +I sent the new Assistant out to take a little walk, so that he +should not be in the way. There is Arsenic in the powder, HILDA, and +Digitalis too, and Strychnine, and the best Beetle-killer! + +_Hilda_ (_with happy, wondering eyes_). _Lots_ of Beetle-killer? And +you will give some of it to _her_, to make her free and buoyant. I +think one really _has_ the right--when people happen to stand in the +way----! + +_Dr. Herd._ Yes, you may well say so, HILDA. Still--(_dubiously_)--it +_does_ occur to me that such doings may perhaps be misunderstood--by +the narrow-minded and conventional. + + [_They go on the lawn, and sit down._ + +_Hilda_ (_with an outburst_). Oh, that all seems to me so foolish--so +irrelevant! As if the whole thing wasn't intended as an Allegory! + +_Dr. Herd._ (_relieved_). Ah, so long as it is merely _allegorical_ of +course---- But what is it an allegory _of_, HILDA? + +_Hilda_ (_reflects in vain_). How can you sit there and ask such +questions? I suppose I am a symbol, of some sort. + +_Dr. Herd._ (_as a thought flashes upon him_). A cymbal? That would +certainly account for your bra---- Then am _I_ a cymbal too, HILDA? + +_Hilda._ Why yes--what else? You represent the Artist-worker, or +the Elder Generation, or the Pursuit of the Ideal, or a Bilious +Conscience--or something or other. _You_'re all right! + +_Dr. Herd._ (_shakes his head_). Am I? But I don't quite see---- Well, +well, cymbals are meant to clash a little. And I see plainly now that +I ought to prescribe this powder for as many as possible. Isn't it +terrible, HILDA, that so many poor souls never really die their +own deaths--pass out of the world without even the formality of an +inquest? As the district Coroner, I feel strongly on the subject. + +_Hilda._ And, when the Coroner has finished sitting on all the bodies, +perhaps--but I shan't tell you now. (_Speaks as if to a child._) +There, run away and finish making the Rainbow-powder, do! + +_Dr. Herd._ (_skips up into the Dispensary_). I will--I will! Oh, I do +feel such a troll--such a light-haired, light-headed old devil! + +_Ruebub_ (_enters garden-gate_). I have had my dismissal--but I'm not +going without saying good-bye to Mrs. HERDAL. + +_Hilda._ Dr. HERDAL would disapprove--you really must not, Mr. +KALOMEL. And, besides, Mrs. HERDAL is not at home. She is in the town +buying me a reel of cotton. _Dr._ HERDAL is in. He is making real +Rainbow powders for regenerating everybody all round. Won't _that_ be +fun? + +_Ruebub._ _Making_ powders? Ha! ha! But you will see he won't _take_ +one himself. It is quite notorious to us younger men that he simply +daren't do it. + +[Illustration: "My--_my_ Pill-Doctor!"] + +_Hilda._ (_with a little snort of contempt_). Oh, I daresay--that's so +likely! (_Defiantly._) I know he _can_, though. I've _seen_ him! + +_Ruebub._ There is a tradition that he once--but not now--he knows +better. I think you said Mrs. HERDAL was in the town? I will go and +look for her. I understand her so well. [_Goes out by gate._ + +_Hilda_ (_calls_). Dr. HERDAL! Come out this minute. I want +you--awfully! + +_Dr. Herd._ (_puts his head out_). Just when I am making such +wonderful progress with the powder! (_Comes down and leans on a +table._) Have you hit upon some way of giving it to ALINE? I thought +if you were to put it in her arrowroot----? + +_Hilda._ No, thanks. I won't have that now. I have just recollected +that it is a rule of mine never to injure anybody I have once been +formally introduced to. Strangers don't count. No, poor Mrs. HERDAL +mustn't take that powder! + +_Dr. Herd._ (_disappointed_). Then is nothing to come of making +Rainbow powders, after all, HILDA? + +_Hilda_ (_looks hard at him_). People say you are afraid to take your +own physic. Is that true? + +_Dr. Herd._ Yes, I am. (_After a pause--with candour._) I find it +invariably disagrees with me. + +_Hilda_ (_with a half-dubious smile_). I think I can understand +_that_. But you did _once_. You swallowed your own pills that day at +the _table d'hote_, ten years ago. And I heard a harp in the air, too! + +_Dr. Herd._ (_open-mouthed_). I don't think that _could_ have been Me. +I don't play any instrument. And that was quite a special thing, too. +It's not every day I can do it. Those were only _bread_ pills, HILDA. + +_Hilda_ (_with flashing eyes_). But you rolled them; you took them. +And I want to see you stand once more free and high and great, +swallowing your own preparations. (_Passionately._) I _will_ have you +do it! (_Imploringly._) Just _once_ more, Dr. HERDAL! + +_Dr. Herd._ If I did, HILDA, my medical knowledge, slight as it is, +leads me to the conclusion that I should in all probability burst. + +_Hilda_ (_looks deeply into his eyes_). So long as you burst +_beautifully_! But no doubt that Miss BLAKDRAF---- + +_Dr. Herd._ You must believe in me utterly and entirely. I will +do anything--_anything_, HILDA, to provide you with agreeable +entertainment. I _will_ swallow my own powder! (_To himself, as he +goes gravely up to Dispensary._) If only the drugs are sufficiently +adulterated! + + [_Goes in; as he does so, the_ New Assistant _enters the + garden in blue spectacles, unseen by_ HILDA, _and follows him, + leaving open the glass-door._ + +_Senna Blakdraf_ (_comes wildly out of Drawing-room_). Where is dear +Dr. HERDAL? Oh, Miss WANGEL, he has discharged me--but I can't--I +simply _can't_ live away from that lovely ledger! + +_Hilda_ (_jubilantly_). At this moment Dr. HERDAL is in the +Dispensary, taking one of his own powders. + +_Senna_ (_despairingly_). But--but it is utterly impossible! Miss +WANGEL, you have such a firm hold of him--_don't_ let him do that! + +_Hilda._ I have already done all I can. + + [RUeBUB _appears, talking confidentially with Mrs._ HERDAL, _at + gate._ + +_Senna._ Oh, Mrs. HERDAL, RUeBUB! The Pill-Doctor is going to take one +of his own preparations. Save him--quick! + +_Ruebub_ (_with cold politeness_). I am sorry to hear it--for his sake. +But it would be quite contrary to professional etiquette to prevent +him. + +_Mrs. Herd._ And I never interfere with my husband's proceedings. I +know _my_ duty, Miss BLAKDRAF, if _others_ don't! + +_Hilda_ (_exulting with great intensity_). At last! Now I see him +in there, great and free again, mixing the powder in a spoon--with +jam!.... Now he raises the spoon. Higher--higher still! (_A gulp +is audible from within._) There, didn't you hear a harp in the air? +(_Quietly._) I can't see the spoon any more. But there is one he is +striving with, in blue spectacles! + +_The New Assistant's Voice_ (_within_). The Pill-Doctor HERDAL has +taken his own powder! + +_Hilda_ (_as if petrified_). That voice! _Where_ have I heard it +before? No matter--he has got the powder down! (_Waves a shawl in the +air, and shrieks with wild jubilation._) It's too awfully thrilling! +My--_my_ Pill-Doctor! + +_The N. A._ (_comes out on verandah_). I am happy to inform you +that--as, to avoid accidents, I took the simple precaution of filling +all the Dispensary-jars with Camphorated Chalk--no serious results +may be anticipated from Dr. HERDAL'S rashness. (_Removes spectacles._) +NORA, don't you know me? + +_Hilda_ (_reflects_). I really don't remember having the +pleasure----And I'm _sure_ I heard a harp in the air! + +_Mrs. Herd._ I fancy, Miss WANGEL, it must have been merely a bee in +your bonnet! + +_The N. A._ (_tenderly_). Still the same little singing-bird! Oh, +NORA, my long-lost lark! + +_Hilda_ (_sulky_). I'm _not_ a lark--I'm a Bird of Prey--and, when I +get my claws into anything----! + +_The N. A._ Macaroons, for instance? I remember your tastes of old. +See, NORA! (_Produces a paper-bag from his coat-tail pocket._) They +were fresh this morning! + +_Hilda_ (_wavering_). If you insist on calling me NORA, I think you +must be just a little mad yourself. + +_The N. A._ We are all a little mad--in Norway. But TORVALD HELMER is +sane enough still to recognise his own little squirrel again! +Surely, NORA, your education is complete at last--you have gained the +experience you needed? + +_Hilda_ (_nods slowly_). Yes, TORVALD, you're right enough _there_. I +have thought things out for myself, and have got clear about them. And +I have quite made up my mind that Society and the Law are all wrong, +and that I am right. + +_Helmer_ (_overjoyed_). Then you _have_ learnt the Great Lesson, and +are fit to undertake the charge of your children's education at last! +You've no notion how they've grown! Yes, NORA, our marriage will be a +true marriage now. You will come back to the Doll's-House, won't you? + +_Hilda-Nora-Helmer-Wangel_ (_hesitates_). Will you let me forge +cheques if I do, TORVALD? + +_Helmer_ (_ardently_). All day. And at night, NORA, we will falsify +the accounts--together! + +_H. N. H. W._ (_throws herself into his arms, and helps herself to +macaroons_). That will be fearfully thrilling! My--_my_ Manager! + +_Dr. Herd._ (_comes out, very pale, from Dispensary_). HILDA, I _did_ +take the----I'm afraid I interrupt you? + +_Helmer._ Not in the least. But this lady is my little lark, and she +is going back to her cage by the next steamer. + +_Dr. Herd._ (_bitterly_). Am I _never_ to have a gleam of happiness--? +But stay--do I see my little SENNA once more? + +_Ruebub._ Pardon me--_my_ little SENNA. She always believed so firmly +in my pill! + +_Dr. Herd._ Well--well. If it must be. RUeBUB, I will take you into +partnership, and we will take out a patent for that pill, jointly. +ALINE, my poor dear ALINE, let us try once more if we cannot bring a +ray of brightness into our cheerless home! + +_Mrs. Herd._ Oh, HAUSTUS, if only we _could_--but why do you propose +that to me--_now_? + +_Dr. Herd._ (_softly--to himself_). Because I have tried being +a troll--and found that nothing came of it, and it wasn't worth +sixpence! + + [HILDA-NORA _goes off to the right with_ HELMER; SENNA _to the + left with_ RUeBUB; Dr. HERDAL _and_ Mrs. HERDAL _sit on two + of the galvanised iron-chairs, and shake their heads + disconsolately as the Curtain falls._ + +THE END. + + * * * * * + +OMNIS CELLULA A CELLULA. + +(_Professor Virchow--vide Daily Paper._) + + Life's a cell and all things show it. + I thought so once, and now I know it. + +_Gay_ (_up to date_). + + * * * * * + +A RADICAL RIDDLE. + +Why are the Tories so eager to discuss Black-edged Envelopes, and +Black-lead Pencils?--Because they belong to a Stationary Party. + + * * * * * + +POLITICS AND TRADE. + +(_A Poser for "Patriots."_) + + ["Our Trade is our Politics." Motto of the Licensed + Victualler, as publicly avowed at a recent "great Meeting."] + +[Illustration] + + DEAR Bung, that frank but huckster-like avowal + Is made continually, behind the bar. + It _means_--though rather "laid on with a trowel"-- + A Trade with Public Spirit quite at jar. + The "mercenary politician," making + A pocket-business of a patriot's task, + Recently put your Press in a great taking; + But sordid selfishness here doffs all mask! + Which with a patriot's conscience plays most tricks? + Which most the venal virus has betrayed,-- + The man who makes his Trade his Politics, + Or he who makes his Politics his Trade? + + * * * * * + +OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. + +_BURDETT'S Official Intelligence for_ 1893 is just out, a promising +young thing in its twelfth year. It is a little early to talk of the +holidays, but my Baronite, regarding this thin Vol. of 1783 pages, +says he cannot help thinking with what pleasure the City merchant, +or his clerk, hastening to the seaside, will pack it up with his +collar-box. Every year the monumental work increases in value, by +reason of accumulated information. To the tired City man, scaling some +Alp, gliding in well-found yacht over silver seas, or prone in bosky +dell, there can be nothing more soothing or delightful than to take +his "BURDETT" out of his waistcoat-pocket, and read it through from +first page to last. + +For _The Tragedy of Ida Noble_ the Baron tenders his grateful +thanks to W. CLARK RUSSELL. It starts well, and the excitement is +artistically sustained. At the close of every chapter _Oliver_, +the reader, is perpetually "asking for more." A capital story of +adventure, where all, including the reader, are "quite at sea" until +the very last chapter. On nearing the middle of the book, the question +will occur to everyone experienced in such matters, "Does the hero +marry the heroine?" Now this, being a lady's secret, will not be +revealed by THE BARON DE B.-W. + + * * * * * + +The Plea of the Party Man. + +(_On either side._) + + "THERE'S _no_ Obstruction!"--Why, then, all this ruction? + "When _we_ obstruct, who dares to call't Obstruction?" + To dam a deluge, stop a bolting horse,-- + That is obstruction, of a sort, of course; + _Our_ sort, in fact! But theirs on t'other side? + That's quite another matter. They can't hide + The cloven foot of malice, the false faitours! + Not obstruct _them_? As well say not hang traitors! + +[Illustration: Obstruction.] + + * * * * * + +FAR TOO PREVIOUS. + +In the Agony-Column of the _Times_ we now see daily the following +Advertisement:-- + +TO IRISH LOYALISTS AND PROTESTANTS.--DEATH BEFORE SLAVERY! + +Surely a most blameless sentiment. But the bearings of it lie in the +application. And what is that? It seems as applicable to any existing +situation as, say, "Lunch before Dinner," or "Business before +Pleasure," or "Age before Honesty," or "Fingers before forks." _Mr. +Punch_ ventures to suggest a modification, less striking, perhaps, +in an "Agony-Column," but more in accord with patriotism and +common-sense:-- + + To Irish Loyalists and Protestants! + _Be_ Loyal, and Protest--_Constitutionally_! + +The flamboyant, melodramatic, "Death before Slavery!" _may_ +be applicable--when "Slavery" becomes a conceivable, proximate +probability, or "Death" a possible alternative. Then let us have +"Death before Slavery," by all means. At present, _Punch_ would say, +"Common-sense before either!" + + * * * * * + +Poor Political Economy! + +(_By an elated Parliamentary Want-to-Knower._) + + Oh! to waste half the time asking Questions is grand! + "Supply" is not in it, just now, with "Demand"! + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: INSTINCTIVE CRITICAL ACUMEN. + +"THAT LOOKS LIKE AN OLD PICTURE, JOHN! WHAT IS IT?" + +"IT'S 'MOSES STRIKING THE ROCK'!" + +"AH! I TOLD YOU IT WAS OLD--_DIDN'T_ I, NOW!"] + + * * * * * + +"ALL A-BLOWING!" + +AIR--_The celebrated Duet in "The Mikado."_ + +_Much-sold Pater and Mater sing:--_ + + _Pater._ The flowers that bloom in the Spring, + Tra la, + To purchase henceforth I decline. + The hawkers those blossoms who bring-- + Ah! bah!-- + Will "swop 'em for most anything," + Ha! ha! + But as soon as you've bought 'em they pine. + + _Both._ And that's what they mean when they say, or they sing, + "He's as green as a man who buys flowers in the Spring," + Tra la la la la la, &c. + + _Mater._ The flowers that bloom in the Spring, + Tra la! + Are a sell, my dear hub, in _our_ case. + I bought _this_ with a "suit"--there's the sting, + Pa-pa! + Which _he_ said was "a worn-hout hold thing," + (O-la!) + Just fancy his having the face! + Now 'tis shrunken, and shrivelled, and that's why I sing, + Oh, bother the flowers that bloom in the Spring! + Tra la la la la la, &c. + + _Both_ (_to Servant_). So tell the next rascal who ventures to ring, + _We_'ll buy no more flowers that bloom in the Spring! + + [_Dance, and exeunt, determined never again to be diddled by + the howling "A-a-blowing and a-growing!" impostors, who, at + this season, hawk heat-forced or illrooted pot-plants about + the streets of the suburbs._ + + * * * * * + +HOW IT WOULD LOOK IN ENGLISH. + +(_An adaptation from the French._) + +_Anyone._ Let us accuse the Ministry of misappropriating +twopence-halfpenny. + +_The Entire Press._ Certainly, why not? + +_The Opposition._ The Ministry are thieves. + +_The Government._ After this insult we resign _en masse_. + +_One of the Public._ It is said that Mr. BRIEFLESS JUNIOR has accused +the First Lord of having stolen the Horse-Guards clock. + +_First Lord._ Please, LORD CHIEF JUSTICE, request Mr. BRIEFLESS JUNIOR +to keep a civil tongue in his head. + +_L. C. J._ The Attorney-General is the proper person to offer a +remonstrance. + +_Sir Charles._ Can't undertake rows since I have restricted my private +practice. + +_Ex-Chancellor of the Exchequer._ I accuse the LORD CHANCELLOR. + +_Lord Chancellor._ Why, and of what? + +_Those Concerned._ Never mind that. What does it matter _who's_ +accused, so long as everybody forgets _us_. + +_Someone._ And now everything's completely mixed, does anyone know +what the row's about? + +_Everybody Else_ (_after a short silence_). Don't know, and don't +care! + + * * * * * + +"PUTTING OFF." + +_Old Aquatic Hand, loquitur:--_ + + LOOK here, bonny boys! As we're launching our ship, + And stringing our energies up for the tussle, + Allow your old Stroke to suggest the straight tip! + This is not a mere matter of Milo-like muscle. + You are all looking fit, we've the pull in the weights-- + Not _much_, to be sure, forty pounds, say, or thereabout. + Still, that much should tell 'gainst the smartest of eights; + It should give us the race, which is all that we care about. + + 'Twill be a close fight, bet your boots about that, + _If_ we get a clear course without serious obstruction, + Of which I'm not sanguine; the practice of PAT + Has proved to possess universal seduction. + Our last spin was muffed; never mind whose the fault; + Let bygones be bygones! But now comes the crisis! + It's now win or lose. Every man worth his salt + Will pull like a Titan from Cam or from Isis. + + But--pull clean together, and put on the pace + When I call for a spurt, or we're in for a licking. + And, Cox, don't _you_ steer us all over the place. + In the fight that's before us, the course requires picking! + So keep at attention, MAC, sharp all the way; + A split-second's slackness may set our foes grinning. + _Verb. sap.!_ Our last "spin" proved a "mull," I must say; + We _must_ quicken the pace, if this bout we mean winning! + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: "PUTTING OFF." + +GLADSTONE (_the Old Blue_). "NOW, MY BOYS,--WE MUST ROW A QUICKER +STROKE IF WE'RE TO WIN!"] + + * * * * * + +MIXED NOTIONS. + +No. VIII.--THE BOAT-RACE. + + +_Inquirer._ Are any of you chaps going to the Boat-Race? + +_First Well-Informed Man._ No, I shan't. Everybody knows which is +going to win, so there's deuced little interest in the race; and then +you can always read it on the tape at your Club. Besides, I don't care +much about rowing. It's a silly sort of exercise; anybody can do it. + +_Second W. I. M._ Have you ever tried? + +_First W. I. M._ (_indignantly_). Have I ever tried? Of course I have. +Why, you were with me last Summer when we had that water-party from +Taplow to Cookham. + +[Illustration] + +_Second W. I. M._ Ah! but you didn't do much rowing then. You let me +get all the blisters, and you just sat in the stern and steered us +like a blessed corkscrew. + +_First W. I. M._ Did I? I didn't remember that; but I do remember you +catching about half-a-dozen crabs one after another. + +_Second W. I. M._ True enough I caught one, but that was because you +would keep standing up in the boat, and moving your body backwards +and forwards. I suppose you thought the coxswains do that in their +racing-boats? + +_First W. I. M._ (_boldly_). They do. I've seen 'em doing it often. + +_Second W. I. M._ Why, I thought you'd never seen the crews at all. + +_First W. I. M._ Bosh! I never said anything of the kind. I'm not +going to see the race this year, but I've often seen 'em practising +down at Putney. Everybody knows the coxswains have to stand up. How do +you suppose they could see to steer if they didn't? So where are you +now, with all your accurate information, eh? + +_Second W. I. M._ I'm where I was before, and I know I'm right, +because my brother-in-law had a cousin who was at school with one of +the Coxes about ten years ago. [_A pause._ + +_Inquirer_ (_looking up from his sporting paper_). I say, I thought +the crews rowed in racing-boats. + +_First W. I. M._ So they do. + +_Inquirer._ Well, then, what does this mean? (_Reads._) "Both +yesterday and to-day Cambridge rowed with a bucket. They must improve +this if they want to win." + +_First W. I. M._ (_smiling_). My dear fellow, they call their big +practising-boat a bucket. + +_Second W. I. M._ No, they don't--they call it a tub. + +_First W. I. M._ Well, tub or bucket, it's the same thing. (_To_ +Inquirer.) What you read just now means that their practising-boat has +gone rotten, and they'll have to mend her up a bit. + +_Inquirer_ (_dubiously_). But they don't row the race in a tub or a +bucket, do they? + +_Second W. I. M._ No, they row in a Clinker-Clasper. + +_Inquirer._ What the deuce is that? + +_Second W. I. M._ (_plunging_). Oh, it's a specially fast kind +of racing-boat, built by CLINKER AND CLASPER. They're a firm of +boat-builders--I thought everybody knew that. + +_Inquirer._ But then, what does this paper mean by saying that Oxford +are rowing in a Rough? + +_Second W. I. M._ Why it means that their boat isn't so smooth as that +of Cambridge. + +_Inquirer_ (_puzzled_). But then it goes on to say that "She is as +fine a specimen of a racing-craft as this eminent boat-builder has +ever turned out." How can she be that, if she isn't as smooth as the +Cambridge boat? Besides, who's "this eminent boat-builder?" + +_Average Man._ ROUGH. + +_Second W. I. M._ Rot! + +_Average Man._ ROUGH, not Rot. ROUGH'S his name. + +_Second W. I. M._ Let me see the paper. (_He reads, and addresses the_ +Inquirer.) Why didn't you say the word was printed with a capital R? +(_To_ Average Man.) Perhaps you're right, after all; but I know some +boats _are_ rougher than others. [_A pause._ + +_Inquirer._ What's the difference between First Trinity and Third +Trinity? Three of the Cambridge men are from First Trinity, and two +from Third Trinity, besides the Cox. + +_First W. I. M._ What's your difficulty? First is first, and Third's +third, all the world over. Don't you see, the First Trinity men come +first in the crew, and then the Third Trinity men. + +_Inquirer._ But why don't some of 'em call themselves Second Trinity +men? + +_First W. I. M._ Oh, that's one of their silly bits of College +etiquette. These chaps at the Universities are never happy unless they +do things quite differently from all the rest of the world. + +_Inquirer._ This beastly paper says, "the Cambridge stroke rowed much +longer to-day." + +_First W. I. M._ Well, what then? + +_Inquirer._ Oh! nothing; only I thought they all rowed exactly the +same distance when they're practising; so I don't quite see how any of +'em could have rowed longer than the rest. + +_First W. I. M._ I daresay they made him row a good bit by himself; +they often do that to give the stroke some extra practice. He wants it +more than any of the rest. + +_Second W. I. M._ Why? + +_First W. I. M._ Oh, ah--well, because he's got to set the stroke for +the others, or something of that sort. + +_Inquirer._ How far do they row in the race? + +_Second W. I. M._ About six miles or so. + +_Inquirer._ By Jove, then, how on earth do they manage to get over +all that distance with so few strokes. (_Refers to paper._) It says, +"Oxford rowed 37 all the way, while Cambridge contented themselves +with a well-pulled 35." (_With a happy inspiration._) If Cambridge +can do it in 35 strokes, while Oxford take 37, it looks jolly like +Cambridge winning by two strokes, don't it? + +_First W. I. M._ All right; I'll lay you the odds on Oxford. + +_Second W. I. M._ Good, I'll take 'em to five pounds. Oxford can't +win. + +_First W. I. M._ (_confidently_). Cambridge can't win. Anyway, I'll +lay you ten pounds to five. + +_Inquirer._ I should like to have a bet with somebody. + +_Average Man._ You'd better write to one of the Presidents of the +University-Boat Clubs. They're always ready to oblige a keen fellow +like you with a bet. + +_Inquirer._ Of course. That's my best plan. I'll write to-day. + + [_Terminus._ + + + * * * * * + +UPON TERMS. + +(_A Forensic Drama of the Future._) + + [In a recent trial, Mr. Justice HAWKINS corrected a learned + Counsel who talked about Witnesses "coming up to the + scratch."] + +_The Judge_ (_taking his seat_). I think, Mr. SMALLFEE, that you were +examining a Witness when we adjourned yesterday. Are you ready to go +on with the examination? + +_Mr. Smallfee_ (_pleasantly_). I am sorry to say that Witness has not +turned up yet, m'Lud! + +_The Judge_ (_pained_). Not _what_? + +_Mr. Smallfee._ I beg your Lordship's pardon. Of course what I _meant_ +was that the Witness has not, as yet, condescended to irradiate the +precincts of this tribunal with the sunshine of his presence. + +_The Judge._ _That's_ better! Then we must go on to the next Witness. + +_Mr. Smallfee_ (_with an evident attempt to keep up his spirits, in +spite of misfortune_). The next Witness, also, I regret to say, has +not turned----I mean, has failed to appear. The Solicitor informs me +that he solemnly promised to attend; but I suppose the promise was all +my eye. + +_The Judge._ Dear, dear! What extraordinary expressions you do use, +Mr. SMALLFEE! All my eye! Perhaps you will kindly interpret the +phrase, for the benefit of the Court. + +_Mr. Smallfee_ (_desperately_). As your Lordship pleases! But, as I +feel rather down in the mouth now, and as the twelve sufferers in +the Jury-box evidently think that this trial has lasted long enough +already, and that we ought to stir our stumps, I would suggest---- + +_The Judge._ Usher! Step across to Booksellers' Row, and buy me a +Slang Dictionary! I cannot--I really _cannot_ follow the learned +Counsel. + +_The Foreman_ (_interposing_). _We_ do not object to colloquial +expressions, my Lord. Y' see, we're a _Common_ Jury, and we rather +like them. All we want to do is to get on with the case. And perhaps +it may assist the Court if at this stage I remark that the Jury has +quite made up its mind, and is ready to give its verdict. + +_The Judge_ (_astounded_). But--but--there has been no evidence for +the defence! + +_The Foreman_ (_calmly_). No, my Lord. But no doubt the learned +Counsel's two Witnesses, had they been present, would have supplied +some; and, anyhow, we are so pleased with his talking down to our +level, and not--as usual--over our heads, that we are all agreed to +find a verdict for his client, the Defendant. + +_Mr. Smallfee_ (_bowing_). Thanks for your good opinion, Gentlemen. I +thought, by the cut of your jibs, you were the right sort. + + [_Winks, in passing out._ + +_The Judge._ And this is what the Law has come to! Call on the next +case! + + * * * * * + +NEW PROVERB (_for the use of the Panama Cheque-takers_).--"The game is +not worth the Scandal." + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: DISCRETION. + +"AND HERE'S AN EXTRA SIXPENCE FOR YOU, CABMAN--TO GET YOURSELF SOME +_TEA_, YOU KNOW!" + +"YES, MA'AM! THANK YER, MA'AM! I S'POSE I MAY CHOOSE MY OWN _GROCER_, +MA'AM?"] + + * * * * * + +WILL WATERPROOF'S MONOLOGUE. + +_Adapted to a Direct-Vetoed Parish._ + + O pale Head-Waiter at "The Cock," + How changed for you and me + Is this sad time! 'Tis five o'clock, + Go, fetch a cup of tea; + My pint of port is changed to that-- + Weak COWPER'S washy liquor! + Did tea make Cellarer SIMON fat, + Or cheer Bray's jolly Vicar? + + No more libations to the Muse! + Will cocoa make her kind? + Will water whisper words to use? + Will milk make up my mind, + When writing melancholy rhymes, + Of days not half forgotten, + Before these daft teetotal times + When common-sense seems rotten? + + Head-Waiter, those good pints of port + Are stopped for you and me, + By legislation of the sort + They call grandmotherly; + Two-thirds majority has said + That alcohol would hurt you, + And so you meekly bow your head, + And practise painful virtue. + + We fret, we fume, we scoff, we sneer, + And evil fate upbraid; + Your care is for the ginger-beer, + The milk, the lemonade. + To come and go, and come again + With coffee that you keep hot, + And watched by silent gentlemen, + That trifle with the tea-pot. + + Live long, for water to the head + Was never known to fly, + Your flabby face will not grow red, + Nor will your washy eye. + Live long as you can bear these woes, + Whilst bigots thus defy sense, + Till watery Death's last Veto shows + Life's quite suspended licence. + + "Aquarius," when you shall cease + Teetotal drinks to quaff, + And end life's not repairing lease, + Might be your epitaph. + No carved cross-pipes, no pint-pot's wreath, + Shall show you past to Heaven; + But water-pipes, and, underneath, + A milk-pot neatly graven. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: "WANTING TO KNOW;" OR, THE BEWILDERED USHER.] + + * * * * * + +ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT. + +EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P. + +_House of Commons, Monday Night, March 13._--No use disguising fact +that when House discovered FREDERICK MILNER standing behind Front +Opposition Bench, brandishing heavy boot in his hand as he addressed +ASQUITH, it held its breath. Political passion runs pretty high +of late; Opposition stirred to deepest depths by persistence of +Government in attempting to read Home-Rule Bill Second Time before +Easter. There have been sittings after midnight; sittings through +Saturday; hot words bandied about; preparation for deadly duel in +lobby. No one can say whither men may be led when once they permit +angry passions to rise. CHARLES RUSSELL, whose acquaintance with +criminal classes is extensive, tells me it is by no means uncommon +thing for prisoner in dock to take off boot and hurl it at head of +presiding Magistrate or Judge. + +"Usually an old woman who does it," he added. + +"But this is Sir FREDERICK MILNER, Bart.," I said. + +"Um!" said RUSSELL, with odd significance in the observation. + +Turns out the apprehension groundless. MILNER only wants to know +why Police at Leeds and Bradford should enjoy ultimate resources of +civilisation in respect of "SCAITH'S silent boots," whilst London +Policemen not so privileged? MILNER tells me his earliest idea was +to get a pair of the boots, put 'em on, and surprise SPEAKER by +approaching with noiseless tread from behind Chair, lean over his +shoulder, and suddenly say, "Boo!" That, MILNER thought, would be +conclusive proof of the efficacy of the boots as making the tread +inaudible. On other hand, SPEAKER mightn't like it. So, by way of +compromise, brought down odd boot in tail-pocket of his coat, and +shook it at HOME SECRETARY when he put question. + +ASQUITH behaved very well under trying circumstances. Did not visibly +blench; answered, in off-hand manner, that London Police had had +opportunity of substituting the silent boot for those in ordinary use, +and had not availed themselves of it. Some had objected on domestic +grounds. Female friends engaged in responsible posts in certain +households on their beat were accustomed to the sound of their +footfall on the pavement, and would not have things ready if they +approached like rose-leaves flitting over shaven lawns. Others, +assuming higher ground, resented silent boot as taking unfair +advantage of the burglar or footpad. "Give a 'ardworking cove a fair +chanst, that's my motter," one honest fellow in blue said to HOME +SECRETARY when Right Hon. Gentleman brought silent boot under his +notice. No use attempting to run counter to feeling of this kind. +Conclusion in which DICKY TEMPLE heartily concurred. + +"Silent boot," he said, "forced upon Metropolitan Police might play in +history a part analogous to that of the greased cartridges on which we +slipped into the Indian Mutiny." + +MILNER saw it was evidently no use, so returning boot to coat-tail +pocket, moodily regarded Treasury Bench. + +But there were consolations. SQUIRE of MALWOOD, asked by Prince ARTHUR +what he now thought of prospects of reading Home-Rule Bill Second +Time before Easter, admitted impossibility; triumphant shout from +Opposition. Not in vain had they sat through morning sitting on Friday +discussing the hour at which they should adjourn on Saturday. Not +without recompense had they taken care that when Saturday came it +should see accomplished the minimum of business. Tussling with Mr. +G. ever since Session opened; in first rounds he came off best; drew +first blood; seemed likely to carry everything with him; Opposition +pulled themselves together; went at it hammer and tongs; and now it is +Mr. G. who has retired to corner; the sponge is in requisition on +the Treasury Bench; the air around it redolent of the perfume of the +indispensable vinegar. + +"Guinness will go up a point or two on this," said ELLIS ASHMEAD +BARTLETT, Knight, who has taken Irish securities under his wing. +"Go down a pint or two, you mean," said WILFRID LAWSON, who is +irreclaimable. + +_Business done._--Attack on Justice MATHEW and Evicted Tenants' +Commission repulsed by 287 Votes against 250. + +_Tuesday._--SQUIRE of MALWOOD a changed man. No longer the +light-hearted, sometimes almost frivolous youth who through six years +sat on Front Opposition Bench, and girded at the Unionist Government. +A Minister himself now; Mr. G.'s right-hand man; First Lieutenant of +the Ship of State; acting Captain when, as happens just now, Mr. G. +temporarily turned in. Once this afternoon something of old spirit +stirred within him when HOWARD VINCENT (as he said) used the +Stationary Vote as a peg on which to hang Protection heresies. But, +for most part, he sits silent and self-communing, saying nothing, but, +probably, like the parrot of old, thinking the more. In Conservative +ranks feeling of profound respect growing in his favour. Curious to +hear them say, "Ah! if everyone on Treasury Bench bore himself like +HARCOURT, things would be different." Even the blameless BRYCE is held +up to contumely in contrast with mild-mannered MASTER of MALWOOD. As +for CHARLES RUSSELL, after his speech last night, good Conservatives, +following an Eastern custom, well enough in its place, spit when they +mention his name. For them the model of all Parliamentary virtue is +the SQUIRE of MALWOOD. + +Don't know how long this passion of appreciation will last; +interesting to observe while yet with us. A lull all round in sympathy +with soothing moments of CHANCELLOR of EXCHEQUER. Even J. W. +LOWTHER'S perturbed mind at rest. Knows now, to a fraction, how many +lead-pencils are annually in use in directing destinies of British +Empire. Rumour current that origin of this inquiry was a little +undertaking promoted by Hon. Member in substitution of proscribed +word-guessing competitions. Sweep got up; L5 entry; every man to guess +at precise figure of lead-pencil census; the one coming nearest to +clear the pool. LOWTHER tells me not word of truth in report. In +putting his question as to number of lead-pencils in use, and in +sticking to it in spite of jeers of bystanders and guilty reticence of +Minister, he was actuated simply by motives of public policy; desired, +in short, to live up to standard of late lamented Leader and do his +duty to his QUEEN and Country. + +_Business done._--Great lead-pencil question settled. Excited House +Counted Out at 9.20. + +[Illustration: "Back!! Rasch intruder!"] + +_Thursday Night._--House dying to know what Major FREDERICK CARNE +RASCH had to say on Navy Estimates. Not being Major of Marines, +initial difficulty is to imagine what he did in this galley. If it had +been the Army, or even the Militia, the Major would have seemed all +right. But what had he to do with the Navy? That, however, is for +the Major a minor point. "You CARNE be too RASCH when attacking this +Government," said KENYON, with his pretty elliptical speech. + +It was half-past ten, and a dull night. Navy Estimates been talked +round for nearly five hours. SQUIRE of MALWOOD meekly hoped that a +Vote would now be taken; DICKY TEMPLE presented himself at footlights +with bewitching smile on his lips and elegantly bound gilt-edged +volume under his arm; bowed to audience; opened volume; proceeding to +offer few remarks when SQUIRE swooped down on him with Closure. + +This was cue for RASCH. Chairman rose to put question. So did RASCH. +Closure must not be debated; attempt to speak is unpardonable breach +of order. The Major stood in the imminent deadly breach; House +howled; Chairman cried, "Order! Order!" RASCH glared round, and, after +moment's hesitation, sat down; up again as soon as Question was put; +howls more anguished than ever. Committee having agreed that Question +be put, nothing to do but put it, and here was RASCH bubbling over +with speech. Chairman on his feet peremptorily signalling Major to +sit down; Members near him tugged at his coat-tails; those further off +frantically wave deprecatory hands. Major stood to his guns; shouts of +"Name! Name!" Chairman, desperately pegging away, succeeded in putting +Question, being money-vote for Navy. Major by this time hauled down in +his seat. Up again, like Jack out of box. Chairman also on his feet, +putting next vote; hubbub tremendous; Major's lips observed in motion; +not an articulate syllable rose above uproar. + +[Illustration: On the Stroke of Twelve; or, Cinderella Balfour!] + +Meanwhile Chairman had dexterously put and run through supplementary +vote for Excess of Expenditure; friends near him had got the +catapultic Major down again, in time to hear Chairman declare "the +Ayes have it!" Major up again. "Order! order!" shouted the Chairman. +"Question: is----" Not quite clear amid uproar what question was; +something to do with Army. Anyhow, there was STANHOPE standing at +table discussing Army Votes. Major again on his feet, his moustache +twitching with astonishment. STANHOPE a peculiarly painful +circumstance; all very well for good Conservative to gird against +Government, and jostle Mr. G.'s Chairman of Committees; different +(especially for a Major in the Militia) to struggle with Statesman +who had been Secretary of State for War on his own side. So Major, +defiantly glaring round House slowly dropped into his seat:--"dying +with all his music in him," as JUSTIN MCCARTHY, who knows the poets, +said. But what was the tune he meditated? What is the secret of this +unspoken speech? + +_Business done._--Money voted for Naval men. Halt cried on Army Vote. + +_Friday._--RASCH broken out again; turns up as usual at critical +moment. Committee of Supply adjourned at ten minutes to seven; sharp +at seven morning sitting must be suspended. Report of Supply under +consideration; only tremulous ten minutes to get through it. RASCH +resolved, now or never, to finish the speech he commenced yesterday. +House, after protest, settles down to listen. Seems KAY SHUTTLEWORTH +been "saying things" about the warrior. "He behaved towards me," +said the Major, "in a manner that would be brusque on the part of +Providence addressing a black beetle." House undecided as to which +simile more happily bestowed. On the whole, agreed more polite to +contemplate U. KAY SHUTTLEWORTH as Providence, than Major RASCH as the +other thing. + +_Business done._--Some Votes in Supply. + + * * * * * + + +[Transcriber's Note: + +Missing and illegible/damaged punctuation has been repaired.] + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. +104, March 25, 1893, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON *** + +***** This file should be named 22724.txt or 22724.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/7/2/22724/ + +Produced by Lesley Halamek, 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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