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diff --git a/25685-h/25685-h.htm b/25685-h/25685-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..abbb09b --- /dev/null +++ b/25685-h/25685-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2293 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Punch, or the London Charivari Volume 98, January 4, 1890, by Various</title> +<style type="text/css" media="screen"> + +* { margin: 0; padding: 0; border: none; } +body { margin: 5% 15%; } +h1,h2,h3 { text-align: center; } +h3 { margin-top: 1.5em; } +div, p { line-height: 1.25; margin-top: 1em; } + +blockquote { margin:0 10%; } +hr { width: 75%; margin: 3em auto; border: 1px solid black; } +hr.half { width: 50%; } +hr.quarter { width: 25%; } + +.center { text-align: center; } +.small { font-size: small; } +.x-small { font-size: x-small; } +.xx-small { font-size: xx-small; } +.xx-large { font-size: xx-large; } +.bold { font-weight: bold; } + +.ln-ht2 { line-height: 2; } + +.pagenum { position:absolute; left: 3em; font: normal normal normal 12px/1 serif; } + +.sans { font-family: sans-serif; } + +div.image { margin-bottom: 3em; } +div.image p { line-height: .25em; text-indent: 5em; } +#img0001 { width: 389px; margin: auto; } +#img0002 { width: 700px; margin: auto; } +#img0003 { width: 600px; margin: auto; } +#img001 { width: 700px; margin: auto; } +#img002 { width: 420px; margin: auto; } +#img003 { +float: right; +margin: 0 0 0 .5em; +width:425px; +border-left: double; +border-bottom: double; +padding: 0 0 .5em .5em; +} +#img004 { float: left; width: 264px; padding-right: .5em; } +#img005a { float: left; width: 287px; margin: .5em .5em .5em 0; } +#img005a p { margin-top: .15em; } +#img005b { float: left; width: 320px; margin: 0 .55em .5em 0; } +#img005b p { margin: 0 .15em 0 0; } +#img005c { float:right; width:285px; margin: 0 0 .5em .65em; } +#img006 { width: 700px; margin: auto; } +#img007 { width: 700px; margin: auto; } +#img009 { float: right; width: 400px; } +#img010 { width: 700px; margin: auto; } +#img011 { width: 700px; margin: auto; } +#img012 { width: 700px; margin: auto; } + +.ralign { text-align: right; } + +.stanza span { display: block; } +.in1em { text-indent: 1em; } +.in2em { text-indent: 2em; } +.smcap { font-variant: small-caps; } +.stanza .smcap { display: inline; } + + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} +</style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Punch, or the London Charivari Volume 98, +January 4, 1890, by Various, Edited by Francis Burnand</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Punch, or the London Charivari Volume 98, January 4, 1890</p> +<p>Author: Various</p> +<p>Editor: Francis Burnand</p> +<p>Release Date: June 3, 2008 [eBook #25685]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI VOLUME 98, JANUARY 4, 1890***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Malcolm Farmer, V. L. Simpson,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> + +<div id="img0001"> +<a href="images/ill-0001.png"> +<img src="images/ill-0001-th.png" alt="Punch, Vol. 98" +title="Click for larger image." width="389" height="500" /> +</a> +</div> + +<div class="center bold ln-ht2"> +<span class="small">LONDON:</span><br /> +<span>PUBLISHED AT THE OFFICE, 85, FLEET STREET,</span><br /> +<span class="xx-small">AND SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS.</span><br /> +<span class="x-small">1890.</span> +</div> + +<hr /> +<p class="pagenum">[Pg. iii]</p> + +<div id="img0002"> +<a href="images/ill-0002.png"> +<img src="images/ill-0002-th.png" alt="Preface" +title="Click for larger image." width="700" height="547" /> +</a> +</div> + +<p>It was a Midsummer Night, and Mr. <span class="smcap">Punch</span> in his +<i>sanctum</i> dreamed a Dream! To adapt the Laureate's lay:—</p> + +<div class=" bold poem" style="width:20em;margin:auto;"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>He read, before his eyelids dropt their shade,</span> +<span class="in1em">The <i>Lusiads</i> of <span class="smcap">Camoens</span>, long ago</span> +<span>Sung by the Lusitanian bard, who made</span> +<span class="in1em">Great <span class="smcap">Gama's</span> glories glow.</span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>It was the wondrous tale of <span class="smcap">Stanley</span> which had turned the Sage's +attention to the pages of the great Epic of Commerce.</p> + +<p>He had read:—</p> + +<div class="poem bold" style="width:22em;margin:auto;"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"Afric behold! alas, what altered view!</span> +<span>Her lands uncultured, and her sons untrue;</span> +<span>Ungraced with all that sweetens human life,</span> +<span>Savage and fierce, they roam in brutal strife;</span> +<span>Eager they grasp the gifts which culture yields,</span> +<span>Yet naked roam their own neglected fields."</span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>And though even Africa has considerably changed since the year of grace +1497, when "daring <span class="smcap">Gama</span>" went "incessant labouring round the +stormy Cape," Mr. <span class="smcap">Punch</span> thought of that great gloom-shrouded +Equatorial Forest and its secular savage dwarf-denizens, and mused how +much there was yet for our modern <span class="smcap">Gamas</span> to do in the Dark +Continent.</p> + +<p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Punch</span> found himself in the lovely "Isle of Venus," the +delicious floral Paradise which the Queen of Love, "the guardian goddess +of the Lusian race," created "amid the bosom of the watery waste," as "a +place of glad repast and sweet repose," for the tired home-returning +<span class="smcap">Gama</span> and his companions.</p> + +<p>"Of 'glad repast,'" said a familiar voice, "there is plenty and to +spare; but for the 'sweet repose,' 'tis not to be found in this 'Isle of +Banqueting.'"</p> + +<p>"Mr. <span class="smcap">Stanley</span>, I presume?" said the Sage.</p> + +<p>"You <i>cannot</i> presume," rejoined H. M. neatly. "But some of these +gregarious dinner-givers <i>do</i>, and sometimes,—yes, sometimes I'm +afraid I let them see that I'm aware of it."</p> + +<p>"As fame-preoccupied, country-loving <span class="smcap">Gama</span>, wearied of the +'feasts, interludes, and chivalrous entertainments,' with which 'the +taste of that age demonstrated the joy of Portugal,' might perchance +have snubbed some too importunate Don. 'The compliments of the Court and +the shouts of the streets were irksome to him,' says the chronicle."</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Salisbury</span> is not quite a Prince <span class="smcap">Henry</span> apparently," +remarked the modern <span class="smcap">Gama</span>. "He and his father <span class="smcap">John</span> did +not find the discoveries and acquisitions of their heroic compatriot +'embarrassing.' 'The arts and valour of the Portuguese had now made a +great impression on the minds of the Africans. The King of +<span class="smcap">Congo</span>, a dominion of great extent, sent the sons of some of his +principal officers to be instructed in arts and religion.' This was four +hundred years ago! And now +<span class="pagenum">[Pg. iv]</span> +the Portuguese can be safely snubbed and sat upon, even by a +<span class="smcap">Salisbury</span>! But if your prudent Premier doesn't 'stiffen his +back' a bit, with regard to the tougher and tentative Teuton, 'the arts +and valour' of the Britishers will not make as great an impression on +the minds of the Africans as your ill-used East African Company could +desire."</p> + +<p>"Don't be <i>too</i> downhearted, <span class="smcap">Henry</span>," smiled the Sage. +"Much dining-out doth breed dyspepsia, and atrabilious views are apt to +be a <i>leetle</i> lop-sided."</p> + +<p>"Right, <i>Mr. Punch!</i>" said a musical but somewhat mournful voice, +that of the great but ill-starred <span class="smcap">Luis de Camoens</span> himself. "I +wrote much of my <i>Lusiadas</i> in Africa.</p> + +<p class="center"><b>"'One hand the pen, and one the sword employed.'</b></p> + +<p>"<i>My</i> reward was banishment, imprisonment, poverty, neglect, and a +miserable death in an almshouse. 'Soon after, however,' says the record, 'many +epitaphs honoured his memory: the greatness of his merit was universally +confessed, and his <i>Lusiad</i> was translated into various languages.' 'The +whirligig of time brings its revenges,' as your own illustrious Singer saith. +How think you myself and my friend <span class="smcap">Vasco de Gama</span> +here look upon the fallen state of our beloved native land? In vain he ventured +for her. In vain I warningly sang:—</p> + +<div class="poem" style="width:20em; margin:auto;"> +<div class="stanza"> +<b>"'Chill'd by my nation's cold neglect, thy fires<br /> +Glow bold no more, and all thy rage expires.<br /> +Shall haughty Gaul or sterner Albion boast<br /> +That all the Lusian fame in thee is lost!'"</b><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Punch</span> bowed low to the illustrious Poet and the indomitable +Explorer. "Greatness," said he, courteously, "claims reverence, and +misfortune respect. Your countrymen, Gentlemen, have been rather angry +with me of late. But 'sterner Albion' may be proud indeed if she +produces such men as <span class="smcap">Gama</span> to perform heroic deeds, and such +poets as <span class="smcap">Camoens</span> to sing them." The stately Shades saluted. "I +wonder," said <span class="smcap">Gama</span>, "who will be the Laureate of the later +Ulysses, and which of your singers will write the <i>Epic of +Africa?</i>"</p> + +<p>"I fear," said Mr. <span class="smcap">Punch</span>, "that at present they are too busy +smiting the Socialistic big drum, or tickling their sonorous native +tongue into tinkling triolets. In this Island of Venus——"</p> + +<p>"I beg pardon," interrupted <span class="smcap">Stanley</span>, with a sardonic smile. +"This Island of <i>Menus</i>, you mean, Mr. <span class="smcap">Punch</span>!"</p> + +<p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Punch</span> looked around. The Acidalian roses and myrtles, the +purple lotos and the snowy thorn, the yellow pod-flowers and the waving +palms, the vermeil apples and the primrosed banks, of <span class="smcap">Camoens'</span> +somewhat zone-confounding vision, had indeed vanished, and in their +stead seemed to wave snowy <i>serviettes</i>, to flow champagne-streams, +to glitter goblets, and to glow orchid-laden <i>épergnes</i>.</p> + +<p>"Humph!" said the Sage. "The prose of the <i>Restaurateur</i>—which by +the way sounds as if I were alluding to the literature of the +Restauration,—hath insensibly superseded the poesy of the peerless +Portuguese. Well, Gentlemen, in vain may 'sterner Albion' glory in the +profusion of wealth and the pomp of 'glad repast,' unless also she +breeds heroes to adventure and poets to celebrate. As you sang, my +<span class="smcap">Camoens</span>—</p> + +<div class="poem bold" style="width:20em;margin:auto;" > +<div class="stanza"> +"'The King or hero to the Muse unjust,<br /> +Sinks as the nameless slave, extinct in dust.' +</div> +</div> + +<p>"For the present, <span class="smcap">Stanley's</span> arm and Mr. <span class="smcap">Punch's</span> pen +suffice to save the State from such abasement. But let our timid +Premiers and our temporising Press remember the glories of <span class="smcap">Gama</span> +and <span class="smcap">Camoens</span>, and the fate of ungrateful and indolent +Lusitania!"</p> + +<p>"The Pen of Mr. <span class="smcap">Punch</span>!" cried <span class="smcap">Camoens</span>. "Ah, long have +the valiant <span class="smcap">Vasco</span> and myself desired to peruse its sparkling +and patriotic outpourings.".</p> + +<p>"And you, my <span class="smcap">Stanley</span>," proceeded Mr. <span class="smcap">Punch</span>, "said to +the banqueting Fishmongers, 'I am an omnivorous reader whenever an +opportunity presents itself.' It presents itself here and now. Take, +Illustrious Trio, the greatest gift that even <span class="smcap">Punch</span> can bestow +upon you, to wit his</p> + +<div class="xx-large center bold">"Ninety-Eighth Volume!"</div> + +<div id="img0003"> +<a href="images/ill-0003.png"> +<img src="images/ill-0003-th.png" alt="" title="Click for larger image." +width="600" height="343" /> +</a> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p class="pagenum">[Pg. 1]</p> + +<div id="img001"> +<a href="images/ill-001.png"> +<img src="images/ill-001-th.png" alt="" +title="Click for larger image." width="700" height="384" /> +</a> +</div> + +<hr class="half" /> + +<h2 class="sans">JOURNAL OF A ROLLING STONE.</h2> + +<p class="smcap center">Fourth Entry.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Have</span> for a considerable time past been "eating dinners," +preparatory to being "called" to the Bar. Understand now what people +mean when they talk of a "<i>Digest</i> of the Law."</p> + +<p>Find myself (on dining for the first time this Term) in a mess with a +highly-intelligent native of India, another man up from Oxford, and an +African law-student. Latter black and curly, but good-natured. Says +there is a great demand for English-made barristers on the Gambia, and +he's going to supply the demand.</p> + +<p>Have wild and momentary idea of going to the Gambia myself.</p> + +<p>"Why," I ask this enterprising negro, "why don't English +barristers—white ones, I mean—go and practise there?" Feel that +reference to colour is not felicitous; still, difficult to express the +idea otherwise.</p> + +<p>African doesn't mind. Shows all his teeth in a broad grin, and says, +"Inglis men die, die like flies, on the Gambia."</p> + +<p>Curious to see the Hindoo law-student looking contemptuously at African +ditto. Hindoo a shrewd fellow. Talks English perfectly. Rather given to +gesticulate. Waves his arms, and incidentally knocks over a bottle of +the claret—at twelve shillings a dozen—which the Inn kindly supplies +to wash down the mutton and baked potatoes at our two-shilling meal. +Hindoo laughs. Tells me, confidentially, that he has practised as a +"Vakeel" (whatever that is) in some small country town in Bengal. Why +has he come over here? Oh, to be called. Will get more work and more +pay, when a full-fledged barrister. Gather that there are rival +"Vakeels" in Bengal whom he wants to cut out. He intends "cutting +out"—to India—directly he <i>is</i> called.</p> + +<p>Oxford man tells me in a whisper that "he believes he's a Baboo." +Indeed! Don't feel much wiser for the information.</p> + +<p>African getting jealous of Baboo's fluent talk. Rather a sportive negro, +it appears. Says he goes to theatre nearly every night. Has a regular +and rather festive programme for each day.</p> + +<p>"Lecture, morning," he says; "afternoon, walk in Park, sometimes ride. +Night, theatre or music-hall." He grins like an amiable gargoyle. In his +own country African law-student must be quite a lady-killer—a sort of +Gambia masher.</p> + +<p>Incidentally mention to Hindoo difficulty of law of Real Property, +especially "Rule in <span class="smcap">Shelley's</span> Case."</p> + +<p>It seems Hindoo understands matter perfectly. Begins to explain the +"Rule in <span class="smcap">Shelley's</span> Case." Does it by aid of two salt-cellars +(to represent the parties) and a few knives (to represent collateral +relatives).</p> + +<p>African masher more jealous. Laughs at Baboo's explanation. He and Baboo +exchange glances of hatred. African, who is carving, brandishes knife. +Is he going to plunge it into heart of Baboo just as he's got through +his explanation? Looks like it, as the shilling claret seems to have got +into place where we may suppose African's brain to be. However, dinner +ends without a catastrophe.</p> + +<p>After attending the usual amount of legal lectures, the "Final" Exam. +approaches.</p> + +<p>Get through the papers pretty well. Thank goodness, no question asked so +far about that "Rule in <span class="smcap">Shelley's</span> Case," which is my "<i>Pons +Asinorum</i>!" It's a "rule" to which I take great exception.</p> + +<p>There's a "<i>Vivâ Voce</i>" to come, however. Hate <i>vivâ voce.</i> +Two examiners sit at end of Hall—students called up in batches of +half-a-dozen at a time. Very nervous work. Find, when my turn comes, +that the intelligent Baboo is in the same lot! Appears to like the +position. From his manner I should judge that he'd been doing nothing +all his life but being examined by fifties in a cave, like this.</p> + +<p>Examiner who tackles me has an eye-glass.</p> + +<p>"Now, Mr. <span class="smcap">Joynson</span>," he remarks, putting it up to survey me +better, "if you were a trustee, &c., &c., <i>what would you do?</i>"</p> + +<p>Flattered at the supposition. Answer in a way which seems to partly +satisfy Examiner, who passes on to next man with a new question. In a +minute or two my turn comes round again.</p> + +<p>"Now, Mr. <span class="smcap">Joynson</span>," Examiner again observes cheerfully, "let me +ask you quite an elementary question in Real Property. Just give me a +brief, a very brief, explanation of what you understand by the Rule in +<span class="smcap">Shelley's</span> Case!"</p> + +<p>But I don't understand anything by it! It's a piece of hopeless legal +gibberish to me. I stammer out some attempt at an answer, and see Baboo +looking at me with a pitying, almost reproachful, glance. "Didn't I," he +seems to say, "explain it all to you once at dinner? Do you really mean +to say that you've forgotten the way in which I arranged the +salt-cellars and the table-knives, and how I turned the whole case +inside out for your benefit?"</p> + +<p>I admit the offence. Examiner seems surprised at my ignorance—informs +me that "it's as easy as A.B.C." It may be—to him and the Baboo.</p> + +<p>Baboo, being asked the same question, at once explains the whole matter, +this time without the aid of the salt-cellars and cutlery.</p> + +<p>A few days later go to look at result of examination. Result, for me—a +Plough!</p> + +<p>Walking away dejectedly—("homeward the Plough-man wends his legal +way"—as <span class="smcap">Gray</span> sympathetically put it)—meet African +law-student, who grins insanely. <i>He</i> doesn't sympathise in my +defeat. Shows his fine set of ivories and says:—</p> + +<p>"Me failed too. Me go back Gambia. You come back with me!"</p> + +<p>Tell him I'm not "called" yet: certainly not called to Gambia.</p> + +<p>"Then come to Alhambra!" he suggests, as a sort of alternative to a +visit to the tropics.</p> + +<p>African student evidently still a masher. Decline his invitation with +thanks. Wouldn't be seen with him at a theatre for worlds! Depressed. +Don't even look in at Gaiety Bar. No Gaiety for <i>me</i>—and no "Bar" +either, it seems.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="pagenum">[Pg. 2]</p> + +<div id="img002"> +<a href="images/ill-002.png"> +<img src="images/ill-002-th.png" alt="" +title="Click for larger image." width="420" height="500" /> +</a> +<h3 class="sans">SOME NEW YEAR'S PROBLEMS.</h3> +</div> + +<hr class="half" /> + +<h2>THE BUSY (J.) B.</h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>Not by Dr. Watts.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem" style="width:20em;margin:auto;"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>How doth the busy Jerry Builder</span> +<span class="in1em">Improve his shining hoard,</span> +<span>And gather money, basely earned,</span> +<span class="in1em">From every opening Board!</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span>How skilfully he scamps his "shells"!</span> +<span class="in1em">How deftly spreads his sludge!</span> +<span>And labours to defend his sells</span> +<span class="in1em">By special-pleading fudge!</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span>With what serene, well-practised skill,</span> +<span class="in1em">He "squares" Surveyors too!</span> +<span>For Jobbery finds some baseness still</span> +<span class="in1em">For venal hands to do.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span>Whether for work or healthful play</span> +<span class="in1em">His buildings will not last.</span> +<span>May he be called some day, some day,</span> +<span class="in1em">To strict account at last!</span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="half" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Parliamentary Intelligence.</span>—According +to the announcement in the <i>Gazette</i>, the +<span class="smcap">Speaker</span> will take the Chair in the House of +Commons on Tuesday, the 11th of February, +when the new Session opens. But, as a +matter of fact, <i>The Speaker</i> will be on the +book-stalls on Saturday next, the 4th of +January, entering upon what promises to be +a useful and prolonged Session. Thereafter +<i>The Speaker</i> will take the book-stall once a +week regularly, there being Saturday sittings +throughout the year. <i>The Speaker</i> will, of +course, be on the side of Law and "Order! +Order!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="pagenum">[Pg. 3]</p> + +<div id="img003"> +<a href="images/ill-003.png"> +<img src="images/ill-003-th.png" alt="" +title="" width="425" height="400" /> +</a> +<h3 class="sans">STUDIES IN REPARTEE.</h3> + +<p><i>She.</i> "<span class="smcap">How silent you are! What are you thinking of?</span>"</p> +<p><i>He.</i> "<i><span class="smcap">Nothing!</span></i>"</p> +<p><i>She.</i> "<span class="smcap">Egotist!</span>"</p> +</div> + +<h2>A BALLAD OF EVIL SPEED.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>A Cool Collation of Several Bards.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span><span class="smcap">I would</span> I had not met you, Sweet,</span> +<span>I wish you had been far away</span> +<span>From where, in Upper Wimpole Street,</span> +<span>We two foregather'd yesterday.</span> +<span>Somewhere in that unlovely street</span> +<span>Summer's lost beauty, hid away,</span> +<span>Woke at the music of your feet,</span> +<span>And sought the little girl in grey.</span> +<span>Around your head the sunbeams play—</span> +<span>Home to the depths of your deep eyes</span> +<span>Soft shadows of the woodland stray,</span> +<span>Then sparkle with a quick surprise,</span> +<span>As when the branch-entangled skies</span> +<span>Shake from the depths of woodland stream,</span> +<span>Awhile in laughing circles gleam,</span> +<span>Then spread to heaven's peace again.</span> +<span>Amber and gold, and feathery grey,</span> +<span>You suited well the Autumn day,</span> +<span>The muffled sun, the misty air,</span> +<span>The weather like a sleepy pear.</span> +<span>And yet I wish that you had been</span> +<span>Afar, beside the sounding main,</span> +<span>Or swaying daintily the rein</span> +<span>Of mettled courser on the green,</span> +<span>So I had passed, and passed unseen.</span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>For I arose, from dreams of thee,</span> +<span>So late that morn, my matin tea</span> +<span>Was cold as mutton two days cooked;</span> +<span>As in the looking-glass I looked,</span> +<span>Methought the razor need not wreak</span> +<span>Its wonted vengeance on my cheek,</span> +<span>Nor clear the shadow from my chin</span> +<span>Till to the City I had been.</span> +<span>Thus, horrid with a nascent beard,</span> +<span>By chance through Wimpole Street I steered,</span> +<span>Trusting therein to shun contempt</span> +<span>Of who abhor a man unkempt.</span> +<span>For like a mother-bird, who's caught</span> +<span>The cant of modern woman's thought,</span> +<span>My restless tie refused to sit,</span> +<span>And restless fingers vainly sought</span> +<span>To soothe the silkworm's stubborn toil.</span> +<span>But only did its candour soil,</span> +<span>And suffered none the less from it.</span> +<span>For all my neck, and head no less,</span> +<span>Owned to a vague unquietness,</span> +<span>As when the vagrant spiderlet</span> +<span>Has spread at large her filmy net</span> +<span>To catch the moonbeams, wavering white,</span> +<span>At the front gate on Autumn night.</span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>Then suddenly the sombre way</span> +<span>Rock'd like the darkness struck by day,</span> +<span>The endless houses reel'd from sight,</span> +<span>And all romance and all delight</span> +<span>Came thronging in a glorious crowd.</span> +<span>So, when the drums are beating loud,</span> +<span>The mob comes sweeping down the Mall,</span> +<span>Far heralding the bear-skins tall.</span> +<span>Glorious in golden clothing comes</span> +<span>The great drum-major with his drums</span> +<span>And sun-smit brass of trumpets; then</span> +<span>The scarlet wall of marching men,</span> +<span>Midmost of which great Mavors sets</span> +<span>The colours girt with bayonets.</span> +<span>Yes, there were you—and there was I,</span> +<span>Unshaved, and with erratic tie,</span> +<span>And for that once I yearn'd to shun</span> +<span>My social system's central sun.</span> +<span>How could a sloven slave express</span> +<span>The frank, the manly tenderness</span> +<span>That wraps you round from common thought,</span> +<span>And does not ask that you should know</span> +<span>The love that consecrates you so.</span> +<span>No; furtive, awkward, restless, cold,</span> +<span>I basely seemed to set at naught</span> +<span>That sudden bliss, undreamt, unsought.</span> +<span>What must she think, my girl of gold?</span> +<span>I dare not ask; and baffled wit</span> +<span>Droops—till sweet hopes begin to flit—</span> +<span>Like butterflies that brave the cold—</span> +<span>Perhaps she didn't notice it.</span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="half" /> + +<h2>"JUST TO OBLIGE BENSON."</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Punch</span>,—It was not a very happy thought to send me to +the Globe Theatre at this festive season of the year to witness the +representation of a piece, called by the management, for some reason or +other, "a <i>faërie</i> comedy." Now, I like a Burlesque, and I am fond +of a Pantomime, but a mixture of blank verse and tom-foolery is rather +too much for me, especially when that mixture is not redeemed by a plot +of any interest. Nothing can be more absurd than the story (save the +mark!) told in this particularly uninteresting play. It appears that a +"Duke!" of Athens married the Queen of the Amazons, and during the +nuptial rejoicings ordered the daughter of one of his subjects to "die +the death" unless she transferred her affections from her own true love +to a gentleman of her father's choice. The gentleman of her father's +choice was beloved in his turn by a school friend of his would-not-be +betrothed, and the play which lasted from eight until nearly midnight, +was devoted to setting this simple (in more senses than one) +<i>imbroglio</i> right. By a clumsy device, <i>Oberon</i> King of the +Fairies bewitched the two pairs of lovers during their sleep in a wood, +so that one lady had two admirers and the other none. All that was +needed to bring the piece to a conclusion was to have another exercise +of magic when the couples paired off, of course, in a manner calculated +to give satisfaction to their friends and relations. This was the entire +plot. There was now and again some attempts to turn amateur theatricals +into feeble ridicule by the introduction of a party of village +histrions, who were allowed to "clown" to their heart's content; and +<i>voilà tout</i>!</p> + +<p>The mounting is excellent. Nothing better than "a Wood near Athens," +painted by Mr. <span class="smcap">Hemsley</span>, has been seen since Professor +<span class="smcap">Herkomer</span> startled the world with his representation of village +life at Bushey. The music, too (chiefly from the works of +<span class="smcap">Mendelssohn</span>), is always charming, and frequently appropriate. +Moreover, Mr. <span class="smcap">Benson</span>, no doubt feeling that his author required +every possible support, has introduced a number of pretty dances, +executed by comely maidens of ages varying from seven to (say) +seven-and-twenty.</p> + +<p>Of course, such a play required very ordinary acting. Mr. +<span class="smcap">Benson</span> was, on the whole, a gentlemanly <i>Lysander</i>, Mr. +<span class="smcap">Otho Stuart</span> a dignified <i>Oberon</i>, and Mr. <span class="smcap">Stephen +Phillips</span> quite the best of the village histrions. Miss <span class="smcap">Grace +Geraldine</span> was also fanciful in the <i>rôle</i> of a sort of gnome. +But, allowing for the music, and the scenery, and the acting, the piece +itself was unquestionably dull. And now, having given you my unbiassed +opinion, I beg to sign myself, <span class="smcap">Your Unprejudiced Contributor</span>.</p> + +<p>P.S.—I am told that the author of <i>A Midsummer's Dream</i> wrote a number of other plays +of considerable merit. This I challenge, the more especially as those who swear by +Mr. <span class="smcap">William Shakspeare</span> candidly admit that his name is a deterrent rather than an +attraction on a play-bill.</p> + +<hr class="half" /> + +<p class="center">1890 <span class="smcap">Almanack for Funny Dogs.</span>—Evidently "Whitty Curs' Almanack."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="pagenum">[Pg. 4]</p> + +<h2 class="sans">MR. PUNCH'S MORAL MUSIC-HALL DRAMAS.</h2> + +<p class="center">No. II.—JOE, THE JAM-EATER.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>A Musical Spectacular and Sensational Interlude.</i> (<i>Dedicated +respectfully to Mr. McDougall and the L. C. C.</i>)</p> + +<div id="img004"> +<a href="images/ill-004.png"> +<img src="images/ill-004-th.png" alt="" +title="" width="264" height="400" /> +</a> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Music-hall Dramatist, like <span class="smcap">Shakspeare</span>, has a right +to take his material from any source that may seem good to him. <i>Mr. +Punch</i>, therefore, makes no secret of the fact, that he has based the +following piece upon the well-known poem of "<i>The Purloiner</i>," by +the Sisters <span class="smcap">Jane</span> and <span class="smcap">Ann Taylor</span>, who were <i>not</i>, +as might be too hastily concluded, "Song and Dance Duettists," but two +estimable ladies, who composed "cautionary" verses for the young, and +whose works are a perfect mine of wealth for Moral Dramatists. In this +dramatic version the Author has tried to infuse something of the old +Greek sense of an overruling destiny, without detriment to prevailing +ideas of moral responsibility. Those who have the misfortune to be born +with a propensity for illicit jam, may learn from our Drama the terrible +results of failing to overcome it early in life.</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Dramatis Personæ</span></p> + +<p><i>Jam-loving Joe.</i> By that renowned Melodramatic Serio-Comic, +Miss <span class="smcap">Connie Curdler</span>.</p> + +<p><i>Joe's Mother</i> (<i>the very part for</i> Mrs. <span class="smcap">Bancroft</span> +<i>if she can only be induced to make her re-appearance</i>).</p> + +<p><i>John, a Gardener.</i> By the great Pink-eyed Unmusical Zulu.</p> + +<p><i>Jim-Jam, the Fermentation Fiend.</i> By Mr. <span class="smcap">Beerbohm Tree</span> +(<i>who has kindly consented to undertake the part</i>).</p> + +<p><i>Chorus of Plum and Pear Gatherers, from the Savoy</i> (<i>by kind +permission of</i> Mr. <span class="smcap">D'Oyly Carte</span>).</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Scene.</span>—<i>The Store-room at sunset, with view of exterior of +Jam Cupboard, and orchard in distance.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Joe</span>.</p> + +<p>"As <span class="smcap">Joe</span> was at play, Near the cupboard one day, When he thought +no one saw him but himself."—<i>Vide Poem.</i></p> + +<p><i>Joe</i> (<i>dreamily</i>). 'Tis passing strange that I so partial am<br /> +To playing in the neighbourhood of +Jam!</p> + +<p> +[<i>Here</i> Miss <span class="smcap">Curdler</span> <i>will introduce her great humorous +Satirical Medley, illustrative of the Sports of Childhood, and entitled, +"Some Little Gymes we all of us 'ave Plied;" after which, Enter</i> +<span class="smcap">Joe's</span> <i>Mother, followed by</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>and the +Chorus, with baskets, ladders, &c., for gathering fruit.</i> +</p> + +<p>"His Mother and <span class="smcap">John</span>, To the garden had gone, To gather ripe +pears and ripe plums."—<i>Poem.</i></p> + +<p><i>Joe's Mother</i> (<i>with forced cheerfulness</i>)—<br /> + +Let's hope, my friends, to find our pears and plums,<br /> +Unharmed by wopses, and untouched by wums.<br /> +</p> + +<p> +[<i>Chorus signify assent in the usual manner by holding up the right +hand.</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Solo</i>—<span class="smcap">John.</span><br /> + +Fruit when gathered ripe, is wholesome—<br /> +Otherwise if eaten green.<br /> +Once I knew a boy who stole some—<br /> +[<i>With a glance at</i> <span class="smcap">Joe</span>, who turns aside to conceal his confusion.<br /> +His internal pangs were keen! +</p> + + +<p><i>Chorus</i> (<i>virtuously</i>). 'Tis the doom of all who're mean,<br /> +Their internal pangs are keen!</p> + + + +<p><i>Joe's Mother</i> (<i>aside</i>). By what misgivings is a mother tortured!<br /> +I'll keep my eye on <span class="smcap">Joseph</span> in the orchard.<br /> +[<i>She invites him with a gesture to follow.</i></p> + + +<p><i>Joe</i> (<i>earnestly</i>). Nay, Mother, here I'll stay till you have done.<br /> +Temptation it is ever best to shun!</p> + +<p><i>Joe's M.</i> So laudable his wish, I would not cross it—<br /> +(<i>Mysteriously.</i>) He knows not there are jam-pots in yon +closet!</p> + +<p><i>Chorus.</i> Away we go tripping,<br /> +From boughs to be stripping<br /> +Each pear, plum, and pippin<br /> +Pomona supplies!<br /> + +When homeward we've brought 'em,<br /> +Those products of Autumn,<br /> +We'll carefully sort 'em<br /> +(<i>One of our old Music-hall rhymes</i>),<br /> +According to size! [<i>Repeat as they caper +out.</i></p> + +<p>[<span class="smcap">Joe's</span> Mother, <i>after one fond, lingering look behind, follows: the +voices are heard more and more faintly in the distance. Stage +darkens; the last ray of sunset illumines key of jam-cupboard +door.</i></p> + +<p><i>Joe.</i> At last I am alone! Suppose I tried<br /> +That cupboard—just to see what's kept inside?<br /> +[<i>Seems drawn towards it by some fatal fascination.</i><br /> +There <i>might</i> be Guava jelly, and a plummy cake,<br /> +For such a prize I'd laugh to scorn a stomach-ache!<br /> +[<i>Laughs a stomach-ache to scorn.</i><br /> +And yet (<i>hesitating</i>) who knows?—a pill?... perchance—a powder!<br /> +(<i>Desperately</i>). What then? To scorn I'll laugh them—even +louder!</p> + +<p>[<i>Fetches chair and unlocks cupboard. Doors fall open with loud +clang, revealing Interior of Jam Closet</i> (<i>painted by</i> <span class="smcap">Hawes +Craven</span>). <span class="smcap">Joe</span> <i>mounts chair to explore shelves. Vide poem, +"How sorry I am, He ate raspberry jam, And currants that +stood on the shelf!"</i></p> + +<p><i>Joe</i> (<i>speaking with mouth full, and back to audience</i>). 'Tis raspberry—of all the jams my favourite;<br /> +I'll clear the pot, whate'er I have to pay for it!<br /> +And finish up with currants from this shelf....<br /> +Who'll ever see me?</p> + +<p><i>The Demon of the Jam Closet</i> (<i>rising slowly from an immense +pot of preserves</i>). None—except Myself!</p> + +<p>[<i>The cupboard is lit up by an infernal glare</i> (<i>courteously lent by the +Lyceum Management from "Faust" properties</i>)<i>; weird music;</i> +<span class="smcap">Joe</span> <i>turns slowly and confronts the Demon with awestruck eyes;</i> +N.B.—<i>Great opportunity for powerful acting here.</i></p> + +<p><i>The Demon</i> (<i>with a bland sneer</i>). Pray don't mind +<i>me</i>—I will await your leisure.</p> + +<p><i>Joe</i> (<i>automatically</i>). Of your acquaintance, Sir, I've not +the pleasure.<br /> +Who <i>are</i> you? Wherefore have you intervened?</p> + +<p><i>The Demon</i> (<i>quietly</i>). My name is "Jim-Jam"; +occupation—fiend.</p> + +<p><i>Joe</i> (<i>cowering limply on his chair</i>). O Mr. Fiend, I +<i>know</i> it's very wrong of me!</p> + +<p><i>Demon</i> (<i>politely</i>). Don't mention it—but please to come +"along of" me?</p> + +<p><i>Joe</i> (<i>imploringly</i>). Do let me off this once,—ha! you're +relenting,<br /> +You smile——</p> + +<p><i>Demon</i> (<i>grimly</i>). 'Tis nothing but my jam fermenting!<br /> +[<i>Catches</i> <span class="smcap">Joe's</span> <i>ankle, and assists +him to descend.</i></p> + +<p><i>Joe.</i> You'll drive me mad!</p> + +<p><i>Demon</i> (<i>carelessly</i>). I <i>may</i>—before I've done with +you!</p> + +<p><i>Joe.</i> What do you want?</p> + +<p><i>Demon</i> (<i>darkly</i>). To have a little fun with you!<br /> +Of fiendish humour now I'll give a specimen.</p> + +<p>[<i>Chases him round and round Stage, and proceeds to smear him +hideously with jam.</i></p> + +<p><i>Joe</i> (<i>piteously</i>). Oh, don't! I feel <i>so</i> sticky. +<i>What</i> a mess I'm in!</p> + +<p><i>Demon</i> (<i>with affected sympathy</i>). That <i>is</i> the worst of jam—it's apt to stain you.<br /> +[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Joe</span>, <i>as he frantically endeavours to remove the traces of his crime.</i><br /> +I see you're busy—so I'll not detain you!</p> + +<p>[<i>Vanishes down star-trap with a diabolical laugh. Cupboard-doors +close with a clang; all lights down.</i> <span class="smcap">Joe</span> <i>stands gazing blankly +for some moments, and then drags himself off Stage. His +Mother and</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>, <i>with Pear- and Plum-gatherers bearing laden +baskets, appear at doors at back of Scene, in faint light of +torches.</i></p> + +<p><i>Re-enter Joe</i> (<i>bearing a candle and wringing his hands</i>). Out, +jammed spot! What—will these hands <i>never</i> be clean? Here's +the smell of the raspberry jam still! All the powders of Gregory +cannot unsweeten this little hand.... (<i>Moaning.</i>) Oh, oh, oh!</p> + +<p>[<i>This passage has been accused of bearing too close a resemblance to +one in a popular Stage Play; if so, the coincidence is purely +accidental, as the Dramatist is not in the habit of reading such +profane literature.</i></p> + +<p><i>Joe's Mother.</i> Ah! what an icy dread my heart benumbs!<br /> +See—stains on all his fingers, <i>and</i> his thumbs!</p> + +<p>"What <span class="smcap">Joe</span> was about, His Mother found out, When she look'd at his fingers +and thumbs."—<i>Poem again.</i></p> + +<p>Nay, <span class="smcap">Joseph</span>—'tis your mother ... speak to +her!</p> + +<p><i>Joe</i> (<i>tonelessly, as before</i>). Lady, I know you not (<i>touches lower +part of waistcoat</i>); but, prithee, undo this button. I think I have +jam in all my veins, and I would fain sleep. When I am gone, lay +me in a plain white jelly-pot, with a parchment cover, and on the +<span class="pagenum">[Pg. 5]</span> +label write——but come nearer, I have a secret for your ear alone +... there are strange things in some cupboards! Demons should +keep in the dust-bin. (<i>With a ghastly smile.</i>) I know not what ails +me, but I am not feeling at all well.</p> + +<p>[<span class="smcap">Joe's</span> Mother <i>stands a few steps from him, with her hands twisted in +her hair, and stares at him in speechless terror.</i></p> + +<p><i>Joe</i> (<i>to the Chorus</i>). I would shake hands with you all, were not +my fingers so sticky. We eat marmalade, but we know not what it +is made of. Hush! if <span class="smcap">Jim-Jam</span> comes again, tell him that I am not +at home. Loo-loo-loo!</p> + +<p><i>All</i> (<i>with conviction</i>). Some shock has turned his +brine!</p> + +<p><i>Joe</i> (<i>sitting down on floor, and weaving straws in his hair</i>). My +curse upon him that invented jam. Let us all play Tibbits.</p> + +<p>[<i>Laughs vacantly: all gather round him, shaking their heads, his</i> +Mother <i>falls fainting at his feet, as Curtain falls upon a strong +and moral, though undeniably gloomy dénoûment.</i></p> + +<hr class="half" /> + +<h2 class="sans">THE SAVOYARDS.</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">Messrs. Gilbert and Sullivan's</span> +<i>Gondoliers</i> deserves to rank immediately after <i>The Mikado</i> +and <i>Pinafore</i> bracketed. The <i>mise-en-scène</i> is in every way +about as perfect as it is possible to be. Every writer of +<i>libretti</i>, every dramatist and every composer, must envy the Two +Savoyards, their rare opportunities of putting their own work on their +own stage, and being like the two Kings in this piece, jointly and +equally monarchs of all they survey, though, unlike these two +potentates, they are not their subjects' servants, and have only to +consider what is best for the success of their piece, and to have it +carried out, whatever it is, literally regardless of expense. And what +does their work amount to? Simply a Two-Act Opera, to play +two-hours-and-a-half, for the production of which they have practically +a whole year at their disposal. They can go as near commanding success +as is given to mortal dramatist and composer, and for any comparative +failure they can have no one to blame but themselves, the pair of +them.</p> + +<div id="img005a"> +<a href="images/ill-005a.png"> +<img src="images/ill-005a-th.png" alt="" +title="Click for larger image." width="287" height="450" /> +</a> +<p>"Once upon a time there were two Kings."</p> +</div> + +<p>Whatever the piece may be, it is always a pleasure to see how +thoroughly the old hands at the Savoy enter into "the fun of the +thing," and, as in the case of Miss <span class="smcap">Jessie Bond</span> and Mr. <span class="smcap">Rutland +Barrington</span>, absolutely carry the audience with them by sheer +exuberance of spirits.</p> + +<p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Rutland Barrington</span> possesses a ready wit and keen appreciation +of humour; and, as this is true also of Miss <span class="smcap">Jessie Bond</span>, +the couple, being thoroughly in their element with such parts as +<i>The Gondoliers</i> provide for them, legitimately graft their own fun +on the plentiful stock already supplied by the author, and are literally +the life and soul of the piece.</p> + +<p>On the night I was there a Miss <span class="smcap">Norah +Phyllis</span> took Miss <span class="smcap">Ulmar's</span> part +of <i>Gianetta</i>, and played it, at short notice, admirably. She +struck me as bearing a marked facial resemblance to Miss <span +class="smcap">Fortesque</span>, and is a decided acquisition. +Mr. <span class="smcap">Denny</span>, as the Grand Inquisitor (a part +that recalls the Lord High Chancellor of the ex-Savoyard, <span +class="smcap">George Grossmith</span>, now entertaining "on his +own hook"), doesn't seem to be a born Savoyard, <i>non nascitur</i> and +<i>non fit</i> at present. Good he is, of course, but there's no +spontaneity about him. However, for an eccentric comedian merely to do +exactly what he is told, and nothing more, yet to do that, little or +much, well, is a performance that would meet with <i>Hamlet's</i> +approbation, and Mr. <span class="smcap">Gilbert's</span>. Mr. <span +class="smcap">Frank Wyatt</span>, as "the new boy" at the Savoy +School, doesn't, as yet, seem quite happy; but it cannot be expected +that he should feel "quite at home," when he has only recently arrived +at a new school.</p> + +<p>Miss <span class="smcap">Brandram</span> is a thorough Savoyard; +<i>nihil tetigit quod non ornavit</i>, and her embroidery of a part +which it is fair to suppose was written to suit her, is done in her own +quaint and quiet fashion.</p> + +<div id="img005b"> +<a href="images/ill-005b.png"> +<img src="images/ill-005b-th.png" alt="" +title="Click for larger image." width="320" height="350" /> +</a> +<p>Rutland Pooh-Bah-rington, after signing his +re-engagement, takes his Bond, and sings, "Again we come to the +Savoy."</p> +</div> + +<p>A fantastically and humorous peculiarly Gilbertian idea is the +comparison between a visit to the dentist's, and an interview with the +questioners by the rack, suggested by the Grand Inquisitor Don <span +class="smcap">Alhambra</span> who says that the nurse is waiting +in the torture-chamber, but that there is no hurry for him to go and +examine her, as she is all right and "has all the illustrated +papers."</p> + +<div id="img005c"> +<a href="images/ill-005c.png"> +<img src="images/ill-005c-th.png" alt="" +title="Click for larger image." width="285" height="350" /> +</a> +<p class="center">George Grossmith on his own Hook.</p> +</div> + +<p>There are ever so many good things in the Opera, but the best of all, +for genuinely humorous inspiration of words, music and acting, is the +quartette in the Second Act, "In a contemplative fashion." It is +excellent. Thank goodness, <i>encores</i> are disencouraged, except +where there can be "No possible sort of doubt, No possible doubt +whatever" (also a capital song in this piece) as to the unanimity of the +enthusiasm. There is nothing in the music that catches the ear on a +first hearing as did "<i>The Three Little Maids</i>," or "<i>I've got a +Song to Sing O!</i>" but it is all charming, and the masterly +orchestration in its fulness and variety is something that the least +technically educated can appreciate and enjoy. The piece is so brilliant +to eye and ear, that there is never a dull moment on the stage or off +it. It is just one of those simple <i>Bab-Ballady</i> stories which, +depending for its success not on any startling surprise in the plot, but +on general excellence, may, especially on account of the music, be +safely put down on the play-goer's list for "a second hearing."</p> + +<blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Christmas Box.</span></p> +</blockquote> + +<hr class="half" /> + +<h2>RUSSIAN ART.</h2> + +<p>From <i>The Morning Post</i>, last week, we learn that the Russian +Imperial Academy of Arts, has passed a law prohibiting Jews to +become members of its artistic body. By the Nose of <i>Mr. Punch</i>, +but this is too bad, and too bigoted for any century, let alone the +"so-called Nineteenth." If such a rule, or rather such an exception, +could have been possible in England within the last twenty years, +what a discouragement it would have been for all the Royal Academicians, +who would thereby <i>have lost Hart!</i> Dear good old <span class="smcap">Solomon</span>! +He was a poor <span class="smcap">Hart</span> that often rejoiced, and if he was not +the best painter in the world, he was just about the worst punster. +We hope to hear that our Royal Academicians, with their large-hearted +and golden-tongued President at their head, will send a +friendly expostulation to their Russian Brothers in oil, and obtain +the abrogation of this unreasonable legislation, which is one effect +of an anti-semitic cyclone, fit only for the <i>Jew-ventus Mundi</i>, but +not for the world at its maturity.</p> + +<hr class="quarter"/> + +<blockquote> +<p>"<span class="smcap">Dot and go One</span>"—no, see <i>Dot</i>, and go several times again to +see our <span class="smcap">Johnnie Toole</span> at his own Theatre, before he leaves for the +Antipodes. The good old farce of <i>Toole in the Pigskin</i> is well-mounted, +and is, of course, one of the pieces on which he will rely, +as especially appropriate to Horse-tralia.</p> +</blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<p class="pagenum">[Pg. 6]</p> +<div id="img006"> +<a href="images/ill-006.png"> +<img src="images/ill-006-th.png" alt="" +title="Click for larger image." width="700" height="458" /> +</a> +<h3>FRESH TO THE COUNTRY.</h3> + +<p><i>Young Lady.</i> "<span class="smcap">Can you tell me where the +Meet is</span>?"</p> + +<p><i>Butcher's Boy</i> (<i>a recent importation from London</i>). +"<span class="smcap">Yes, Mum. I jist took it hup to the 'All this +mornin'</span>!"</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="half" /> + +<h2>THE START.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span><span class="smcap">Off!</span> Yes; but inexperienced feet,</span> +<span>With pace that's fast and a style that's neat,</span> +<span class="in1em">At first can scarcely be expected</span> +<span>O'er frozen waters to glide and fleet.</span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"<i>Have them on, Sir?</i>" Old Time was there,</span> +<span>With the shining steels and the ready chair.</span> +<span class="in1em">His latest pupil is passing yonder,</span> +<span>No more the ice-locked waters to dare.</span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span><i>His</i> feet are tired and his knees are stiff,</span> +<span><i>His</i> breath comes low in a wheezy whiff.</span> +<span class="in1em">He'll now "lay up," like a worn-out wherry.</span> +<span>'Tis yours to start like a new-launched skiff.</span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>How many a novice that Skate-man old</span> +<span>Has helped to onset alert and bold!</span> +<span class="in1em">How many a veteran worn seen vanish,</span> +<span>Aching with effort and pinched with cold!</span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>And you, young novice, 'tis now your turn</span> +<span>Your skates to try and your steps to learn.</span> +<span class="in1em">You long to fly like the skimming swallow,</span> +<span>To brave the breathless "scurry" you burn.</span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>He knows, he knows, your aged guide!</span> +<span>The screws are fixed, and the straps are tied,</span> +<span class="in1em">And he looks sharp out for the shambling stagger,</span> +<span>The elbows wobbling, the knees too wide.</span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>But boyhood's hopeful, and youth has pluck;</span> +<span>And now, when scarcely your steel hath struck</span> +<span class="in1em">The slithery ice in your first bold venture,</span> +<span><i>Punch</i>, friendly watcher, will wish you luck!</span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>He too has seen some novices start,</span> +<span>And knows, however you play your part,</span> +<span class="in1em">The "outside edge," and attendant perils,</span> +<span>Will tax your sinews and test your heart.</span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>But most on the ice does the old saw hold—</span> +<span>"Be bold, be bold, but be not <i>too</i> bold!"</span> +<span class="in1em">Though there's many a rotten patch marked "Danger!"</span> +<span>Young hearts are warm if the weather be cold.</span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>Bravo, youngster! Steady! Strike out!</span> +<span>Caution, yes, but not palsying doubt.</span> +<span class="in1em">Courage! and you—ere your course you finish—</span> +<span>May beat "Fish" <span class="smcap">Smart</span> at a flying bout!</span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="half" /> + +<h2>ROBERT'S KRISMUS HIM.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>How werry warious is the reasons why</span> +<span class="in1em">We welcoms Crismus with a ringing cheer!</span> +<span>The Skoolboy nos his hollidays is nigh,</span> +<span class="in1em">And treats the hale stout Porter to sum Beer.</span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>The Cook and Ousemaid smiles upon the Baker,</span> +<span class="in1em">Who takes his little fee without no blush,</span> +<span>Likewise upon the Butcher and Shoo Maker</span> +<span class="in1em">Who makes their calls dispite the Sno or Slush.</span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>The Dustman cums a crying out for "Dust,"</span> +<span class="in1em">But nos full well that isn't wot he seeks,</span> +<span>And gits his well-earned shilling with the fust,</span> +<span class="in1em">And smiles on Mary as his thanks he speaks.</span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>The Groser smart, as likewise his Green Brother,</span> +<span class="in1em">In their best close cums with a modest ring,</span> +<span>And having got their orders, one and tother,</span> +<span class="in1em">Smilingly asks for jest one other thing.</span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>The Postman's dubbel nock cums to each door,</span> +<span class="in1em">Whether he has a Letter got or no,</span> +<span>The stingy Master thinks his call a bore,</span> +<span class="in1em">And gives his paltry shilling werry slow.</span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>The jowial Waiter shows unwonted joy!</span> +<span class="in1em">And hails his Crismus with becoming glee!</span> +<span>Knowing full well <i>his</i> plezzurs newer cloy,</span> +<span class="in1em">Who gets from ewery Gest a dubble fee!</span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>Why are not all men like the jowial Waiter,</span> +<span class="in1em">Allers content with what kind Fortune brings,</span> +<span>Whether it's Turtel Soop or a meer tater,</span> +<span class="in1em">He sets a pattern to Lord Mares and Kings.</span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>Then let us all while Crismus time we're keeping,</span> +<span class="in1em">Whether we barsks in fortune's smile or frown,</span> +<span>Be thankful for the harwest we are reaping,</span> +<span class="in1em">And give a thort to them whose luck is down.</span> +</div> +</div> + +<blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Robert.</span></p> +</blockquote> + +<hr class="half" /> +<blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Historical Parallels.</span>—Two Directories. +The French <i>Directoire</i> was a short-lived stopgap of not unmixed +benefit to France, but our English Directory, yclept <span +class="smcap">Kelly's</span>, for 1890, +directorily, or indirectorily, supplies all our wants, comes always "as +a boon and a blessing to men," and is within a decade of becoming a hale +and hearty centenarian. <i>Vivat</i> <span +class="smcap">Kelly</span>!</p> +</blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<p class="pagenum">[Pg. 7]</p> +<div id="img007"> +<a href="images/ill-007.png"> +<img src="images/ill-007-th.png" alt="" +title="Click for larger image." width="700" height="539" /> +</a> +<h3>THE START.</h3> +</div> + +<p class="pagenum">[Pg. 8]</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="pagenum">[Pg. 9]</p> + +<h2 class="sans">UNTILED; OR, THE MODERN ASMODEUS.</h2> + +<p class="in3em">"Très volontiers," repartit le démon. "Vous aimez les tableaux +changeans: je veux vous contenter."</p> + +<p class="ralign"><i>Le Diable Boiteux.</i></p> + +<div id="img009"> +<a href="images/ill-009.png"> +<img src="images/ill-009-th.png" alt="" +title="Click for larger image." width="400" height="345" /> +</a> +</div> + +<p class="center">XV.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span><span class="smcap">Down</span> through the night we drifted slow, the rays</span> +<span>From London's countless gas-jets starred the haze</span> +<span class="in2em">O'er which we darkly hovered.</span> +<span>Broad loomed the bulk of <span class="smcap">Wren's</span> colossal dome</span> +<span>Through the grey mist, which, like a sea of foam,</span> +<span class="in2em">The sleeping city covered.</span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"The year," the Shadow murmured, "nears its close.</span> +<span>Lo! how they swarm in slumber, friends and foes,</span> +<span class="in2em">Kindred and utter strangers,</span> +<span>The millions of this Babylon, stretched beneath</span> +<span>The shroud of night, and drawing peaceful breath,</span> +<span class="in2em">Unstirred by dreads and dangers."</span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"But not by dreams," I answered, "Canst reveal,</span> +<span>O Shade, the vagrant thoughts that throng and steal</span> +<span class="in2em">About these countless pillows?</span> +<span>Or are these sleeping souls as shut to thee</span> +<span>As is the unsounded silence of the sea</span> +<span class="in2em">To those who brave its billows?"</span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"Dreams?" smiled the Shadow. "What I see right well</span> +<span>Your eyes may not behold. Yet can I tell</span> +<span class="in2em">Their import as unravelled</span> +<span>By subtler sense, whilst through these souls they pass!</span> +<span>What said the demon to <i>Don Cléophas</i></span> +<span class="in2em">As o'er Madrid they travelled?</span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"Such dreams as haunt us near the glimmering morn</span> +<span>Shadow forth truth; these through the Gates of Horn</span> +<span class="in2em">Find passage to the sleeper.</span> +<span>Prophetic? Nay! But sense therein may read</span> +<span>The heart's desire, in pangs of love or greed;</span> +<span class="in2em">What divination deeper?</span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"Yon Statesman, struggling in the nightmare's grip,</span> +<span>Fears he has let Time's scanty forelock slip,</span> +<span class="in2em">And lost a great occasion</span> +<span>Of self-advancement. How that mouth's a-writhe</span> +<span>With hate, on platforms oft so blandly blithe</span> +<span class="in2em">In golden-tongued persuasion!</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"He, blindly blundering, as through baffling mist,</span> +<span>Is a professional philanthropist,</span> +<span class="in2em">Rosy-gilled, genial, hearty.</span> +<span>A mouthing Friend of Man. He dreams he's deep</span> +<span>In jungles of self-interest, where creep</span> +<span class="in2em">Sleuth-hounds of creed and party.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"That sleek-browed sleeper? 'Tis the Great Pooh-pooh,</span> +<span>The 'Mugwump' of the <i>Weekly Whillaloo</i>,</span> +<span class="in2em">A most superior creature;</span> +<span>Too high for pity and too cold for wrath;</span> +<span>The pride of dawdlers on the Higher Path</span> +<span class="in2em">Suffuses every feature.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"Contemptuous, he, of clamorous party strife,</span> +<span>And all the hot activities of life;</span> +<span class="in2em">But most the Politician</span> +<span>He mocks—for 'meanness.' How the prig would gasp</span> +<span>If shown the slime-trail of that wriggling asp</span> +<span class="in2em">In his own haunts Elysian!</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"He dreams Creation, cleared of vulgar noise,</span> +<span>Is dedicate to calm æsthetic joys,</span> +<span class="in2em">That he is limply lolling</span> +<span>Amidst the lilies that toil not nor spin,</span> +<span>Given quite to dandy scorn, and dainty sin,</span> +<span class="in2em">And languor, and 'log-rolling.'</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"The head which on that lace-trimmed pillow lies</span> +<span>Is fair as Psyche's. Yes, those snow-veiled eyes</span> +<span class="in2em">Look Dian-pure and saintly.</span> +<span>Sure no Aholibah could own those lips,</span> +<span>Through whose soft lusciousness the bland breath slips</span> +<span class="in2em">So fragrantly and faintly.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"That up-curved arm which bears the silken knot</span> +<span>Of dusky hair, is it more free from blot</span> +<span class="in2em">Than is her soul who slumbers?</span> +<span>Her visions? Of 'desirable young men,'</span> +<span>Who crowd round her like swine round Circe's pen</span> +<span class="in2em">In ever-swelling numbers.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"Of Love? Nay, but of lovers. Love's a lean</span> +<span>And impecunious urchin; lovers mean</span> +<span class="in2em">Gifts, worship, triumph—Money!</span> +<span>The Golden Apple is the fruit to witch</span> +<span>Our modern Atalantas. To be rich,</span> +<span class="in2em">Live on life's milk and honey;</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"Stir crowds, charm royalties,—these are the things</span> +<span>Psyche most cares for, not her radiant wings</span> +<span class="in2em">Or Cupid's shy caresses.</span> +<span>She dreams of conquests that a world applauds,</span> +<span>Or a Stage-wardrobe with a thousand gauds,</span> +<span class="in2em">And half-a-hundred dresses.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"Not so, that other sleeper, stretched at length,</span> +<span>A spectre stripped of charm and shorn of strength,</span> +<span class="in2em">In yon dismantled chamber.</span> +<span>Dreams she of girlhood's couch, the lavender</span> +<span>Of country sheets, a roof where pigeons whirr</span> +<span class="in2em">And creamy roses clamber?</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"Of him the red-faced swain whose rounded eyes</span> +<span>Dwelt on her charms in moony ecstacies?</span> +<span class="in2em">Of pride, of shame, of sorrow?</span> +<span>Nay, of what now seems Nature's crowning good;</span> +<span>Hunger-wrought dreams are hers of food—food—food.</span> +<span class="in2em">She'll wake from them to-morrow;</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"Wake fiercely famishing, savagely sick,</span> +<span>The animal in man is quick, so quick</span> +<span class="in2em">To stir and claim full forage.</span> +<span>Let famine parch the hero's pallid lips,</span> +<span>Pinch Beauty's breast, then watch the swift eclipse</span> +<span class="in2em">Of virtue, sweetness, courage!</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"Cynical? Sense leaves that to callow youth</span> +<span>And callous age; plain picturing of the truth</span> +<span class="in2em">Seems cynical,—to folly.</span> +<span>Friend, the true cynic is the shallow mime</span> +<span>Who paints humanity devoid of crime,</span> +<span class="in2em">And life supremely 'jolly,'</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"See such an one, in scented sheets a-loll!</span> +<span>Rich fare and rosy wine have lapped his soul</span> +<span class="in2em">In a <i>bon-vivant's</i> slumbers.</span> +<span>His pen lies there, the ink is scarcely dry</span> +<span>With which he sketched the smug philosophy</span> +<span class="in2em">Of Cant and Christmas Numbers.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"He dreams of—holly, home, exuberant hearts,</span> +<span>Picturesque poverty, the toys and tarts</span> +<span class="in2em">Of childhood's hope?—No, verily!</span> +<span>'Tis a dream-world of pleasure, power, and pelf,</span> +<span>Visions of the apocalypse of Self,</span> +<span class="in2em">O'er which his soul laughs merrily."</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"Enough!" I cried. "The morning's earliest gleams</span> +<span>Will soon dissolve this pageantry of dreams.</span> +<span class="in2em">The New Year's at our portals.</span> +<span>Unselfishness, and purity, and hope,</span> +<span>Dawn with it through the dream-world's cloudy cope,</span> +<span class="in2em">Even on slumbering mortals."</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"Granted," the Shadow answered. "Poppy-Land</span> +<span>Is not <i>all</i> Appetite and Humbug bland.</span> +<span class="in2em">Myriads of night-capped noddles</span> +<span>We must leave unexplored. Their owners oft</span> +<span>Are saints austere, or sympathisers soft,</span> +<span class="in2em">Truth's types and Virtue's models!"</span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="center">(<i>To be continued.</i>)</p> + +<hr class="half"/> + +<h2>ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">Preparing to meet an Epidemic.</span>—If you sit +all day in your great coat, muffled up to the eyes in a woollen +comforter and with your feet in constantly replenished mustard and hot +water, as you propose, you will certainly be prepared, when it makes its +appearance, to encounter the attack of the Russian Epidemic Influenza, +that you so much dread. Your idea of taking a dose of some advertised +Patent Medicine every other hour, as a preventive, is by no means a bad +one, and your resolution to shut yourself up in your house, see no +friends, open no letters, read no newspapers, and live entirely on +tinned meats for three months, might possibly secure you from the +chances of an attack; but on the whole we should rather advise you to +carry out your plan of leaving the country altogether and seeking a +temporary asylum in South Central Africa until you are assured that the +contagion has blown over, as the preferable one. Anyhow you might try +it. Meanwhile, certainly drench your clothes with disinfectants, fill +your hat with cotton wool steeped in spirits of camphor, and if you meet +any friends in the street, prevent them addressing you, by keeping them +at arm's-length with your walking-stick, or, better still, if you have +it with you, your opened umbrella. They may or they may not understand +your motive, and when they do, though they may not respect you for your +conduct, it is just possible that they may not seriously resent it. Your +precautionary measures, if scrupulously carried out, should certainly +ensure your safety. Put them in hand at once, and be sure you let us +hear from you next Spring informing us, on the whole, how you have got +on.</p> + +<hr class="half"/> + +<blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">What Pocket-Books to Get.</span>—Mark us; +<span class="smcap">Ward's</span>.</p> +</blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<p class="pagenum">[Pg. 10]</p> + +<div id="img010"> +<a href="images/ill-010.png"> +<img src="images/ill-010-th.png" alt="" +title="Click for larger image." width="700" height="469" /> +</a> +<h3>HUNTING HINTS.——HOW TO KEEP THE THING GOING DURING A SNOW.</h3> +</div> + +<hr class="half" /> + +<h2 class="sans">OUR BOOKING-OFFICE</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span><span class="smcap">The Baron's</span> Booking-Office is still decked about with holly,</span> +<span>For the Season that at any rate's conventionally "jolly,"</span> +<span>Is by no means wholly over, and the very hard-worked Baron</span> +<span>Feels rather like a sort of tired-out literary Charon,</span> +<span>With an over-laden ferry-boat, and passengers too numerous.</span> +<span>For seasonable "novelties"—and "notions" quaint and humorous</span> +<span>Still crowd on him, and claim his constant critical attention,</span> +<span>Some may escape his notice, but a few more he must mention</span> +<span><span class="smcap">Marcus Ward's</span> are good as usual, and his "Christmas Cheque Book"'s funny;</span> +<span>Though rather a sardonic "sell" to parties short of money.</span> +<span><span class="smcap">Castell Brothers'</span> Cards are charming, but the words "Printed in Germany,"</span> +<span>The patriotic Baron irk, or may he turn a Merman! He</span> +<span>Can't see why pictured prettiness should be beyond <i>home</i>-printing.</span> +<span>He doesn't want to dogmatise, but really can't help <i>hinting!</i></span> +<span><i>Scout's Head</i>, by <span class="smcap">Langbridge</span>, boys will like. <span class="smcap">Jerome K. Jerome's</span> <i>Stage-Land</i>,</span> +<span>Which <span class="smcap">Bernard Partridge</span> illustrates, might tickle e'en the sage land</span> +<span>Of Puritan Philistia at Clapham-Rise or Barnsbury.</span> +<span>And now let us the memory of Christmas Cards and yarns bury</span> +<span>In a right bowl of stingo, in the which the Baron cheerily</span> +<span>Drinks to his readers heartily, sincerely, and Happy-New-Year-ily!</span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Once upon a time Mr. <span class="smcap">Lewis Carroll</span> wrote a marvellously grotesque, +fantastic, and humorous book called <i>Alice in Wonderland</i>, +and on another occasion he wrote <i>Through the Looking-Glass</i>, in +which <i>Alice</i> reappeared, and then the spring of Mr. <span class="smcap">Lewis Carroll's</span> +fanciful humour apparently dried up, for he has done nothing +since worth mentioning in the same breath with his two first works; +and if his writings have been by comparison watery, unlike water, +they have never risen by inherent quality to their original level. +Of his latest book, called <i>Sylvie and Bruno</i>, I can make neither head +nor tale. It seems a muddle of all sorts, including a little bit of +Bible thrown in. It will be bought, because <span class="smcap">Lewis Carroll's</span> name +is to it, and it will be enjoyed for the sake of Mr. <span class="smcap">Furniss's</span> excellent +illustrations, but for no other reason, that I can see. I feel +inclined to carol to <span class="smcap">Carroll</span>, "O don't you remember sweet <span class="smcap">Alice</span>?" +and, if so, please be good enough to wake her up again, if you can.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">M. Fréderic Mayer's</span> International Almanack takes my breath +away. It is overwhelmingly international. Most useful to the +International Theatre-goer, as there are plans of all the principal +theatres in Europe, with the seats numbered, so that you have only +to wire (answer paid) to the Théâtre Français for <i>fauteuil d'orchestre</i> +Number 20, to Drury Lane in the same way, to the Operahaus, Berlin +("Open Haus" sounds so internationally hospitable) for <i>Parquet</i> +Number 200 (so as to get a good view), to the Wallner Theater, Berlin, +for something of the same sort, or to La Scala, Milan, for the sixth +<i>Sedie d'orchestra</i> on the left (as the numbers are not given—why?) +and you'll be accommodated. Then with ease the internationalist +can learn when the Moon is full, <i>Pleine Lune</i>, <i>Vollmond</i>, <i>Luna Piena</i> +and <i>Luna Ilena</i> in five languages. The Italian, the Spaniard, the +French, the Englishman, the German and the Dutchman can find +out all about the different watering-places of Europe, each one in +his own native tongue, and all about "the Court of Arches" in +London and Madrid. There is the Jewish and also the Mahommedan +Calendar, but I see nothing about the Greek Kalends. I am +not quite sure that the Bulgarians will be quite satisfied, and I +should say, that the Aborigines of Central Africa will have a distinct +grievance, which <span class="smcap">M. Fréderic Mayer</span> will rectify after an interview +with Mr. <span class="smcap">Stanley</span>. It's a wonderful production, and as it gives +postal rates and cab-fares in ever so many languages, it will be of +great practical value to the traveller. But no list of cab-fares is +perfect without a model row with the driver in eight languages, +including some bad language and directions as to the shortest route +to the nearest police court.</p> + +<p>Our good Doctor <span class="smcap">Roose</span> <i>in urbe</i>, has just published a <i>brochure</i>, +dealing with the origin, treatment, and prevention (for there is +apparently no cure) of the fell disease to which, and for a multitude of +whose victims, Father <span class="smcap">Damien</span> died a martyr. If in the Doctor's treatment +of this subject after his own peculiar fashion <i>à la</i> <span class="smcap">Roose</span>, he can +help to alleviate present suffering and materially assist the crusade +now being undertaken against this common enemy, he will have +contributed his share of energy in starting 1890 hopefully.</p> + +<p>Those who suffer from indigestion at this festive season, and wish +to intensify the effects of the malady, will do well to read a new +book entitled <i>Master of his Fate</i>, by <span class="smcap">J. MacLaren Cobban</span>, who, if +he does not write well, that is, judging his style from a hypercritical +purist's point of view, yet contrives to interest you with a story +almost as sensational as that of <i>Hyde and Jekyl</i>. The <i>Master of his +Fate</i> might have had for its second title, <i>Or, The Accomplished +Modern Vampire</i>, the hero being a sort of a vampire, but not one of +the good old school.</p> + +<p class="ralign"><span class="smcap">Baron De Book-Worms & Co.</span></p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="pagenum">[Pg. 11]</p> +<div id="img011"> +<a href="images/ill-011.png"> +<img src="images/ill-011-th.png" alt="" +title="Click for larger image." width="700" height="459" /> +</a> +<h3 class="sans">"THE SERVANTS."</h3> + +<p><i>Lady Patroness</i> (<i>Registry Office of Charitable Society</i>). +"<span class="smcap">And why are you leaving your present +Place?</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Small Applicant.</i> "<span class="smcap">Please, 'M, the Lady said +she can do with a less experienced Servant!</span>"</p> +</div> + +<hr class="half" /> + +<h2>AMONG THE AMATEURS.</h2> + +<p class="center">No. II.—PREPARATION.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Scene.</span>—<i>The Theatre of the provincial town of Blankbury. A +company of Amateurs, the "Thespian Wanderers," are rehearsing +the well-known Comedy of "Heads or Tails?" Amongst +them are our friends</i> <span class="smcap">Buckstone Boldero, Tiffington +Spinks, Charlie Gushby</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Harry Hall</span>. <i>Besides these, +we may note</i> Colonel <span class="smcap">Thomas Clumk</span>, <i>an ex-military +Amateur, who devotes more time to acting small parts and talking +big about them than he ever did to soldiering. Then there is</i> +<span class="smcap">Andrew Jarp</span>, <i>a portly and elderly partner in a considerable +firm of Solicitors, and an actor who, by long practice, has grown +perfect in the part of a Family Butler. His office is in the City, and +he drives down to it every morning in a private brougham, fitted +with a looking-glass, by the help of which he studies the air and +deportment characteristic of a modern Seneschal. He is a man +of few words, off as well as on the stage; but his eyes flash fury +if he hears his favourite Art derided by the scoffer.</i> <span class="smcap">Horatio +Spuffil</span> <i>is also in the cast. He has dabbled in literature, +but has lately abandoned such frivolity, and been elected a +Member of the London County Council. A few rising Amateur +Supers complete the male portion of the cast. The Ladies' parts +are played by professional Actresses, of the Theatres Royal +generally, who happen to be, as they pleasantly express it in +their advertisements in the "Era," "resting"</i>—Miss <span class="smcap">Dorothy +Shuttle</span>, Miss <span class="smcap">Amelia Slimper</span>, <i>who are new to the Amateurs,</i> +and <span class="smcap">Kitty Larkings</span>, <i>who has "assisted" the "Thespian Wanderers" +before.</i> <span class="smcap">Boldero</span> <i>is Stage Manager. The Stage is +occupied by</i> <span class="smcap">Spinks</span> (<i>as</i> Colonel <span class="smcap">Debenham</span>, <i>a retired Indian +Officer</i>), <span class="smcap">Gushby</span> (<i>as</i> <span class="smcap">Tom Tilbury</span>, <i>a comic Country Squire</i>), +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Dorothy Shuttle</span> (<i>as</i> <span class="smcap">Belinda</span>, <i>Nurserymaid in the family +of</i> Lord <i>and</i> Lady <span class="smcap">Shorthorn</span>, <i>represented respectively by</i> +<span class="smcap">Boldero</span> <i>and</i> Miss <span class="smcap">Amelia</span>). +</p> + +<p><i>Boldero</i> (<i>from the front of the house</i>). Stop a moment! You know +we really must settle what we are to do about those two children that +<i>Belinda's</i> got to wheel on in the double perambulator. I asked the +Duchess of <span class="smcap">Middlesex</span> to lend us her twins for a couple of nights, +but she writes to say they've just got the measles. Isn't there any +one here who can help us? [<i>The three Ladies titter.</i></p> + +<p><i>Gushby</i> (<i>in whose breast the leading part played by</i> <span class="smcap">Spinks</span> <i>still +rankles</i>). Why not let <span class="smcap">Spinks</span> do it? He's always wanting to +"double" parts, and here's a splendid chance for him.</p> + +<p><i>Spinks</i> (<i>coldly</i>). That's <i>very</i> funny—really <i>very</i> funny, <span class="smcap">Gushby</span>. +It's a pity "Colonel <span class="smcap">Debenham</span>" (<i>alluding to his own rôle in the +comedy</i>) isn't a <i>clown's</i> part. I'd give it up to you right off, if it +was. Ha, ha! (<i>bitterly</i>).</p> + +<p><i>Colonel Clumk</i>. There's a man in my old regiment who's got two +red-haired brats; but he wants ten shillings a night for 'em.</p> + +<p><i>Boldero.</i> That's pretty stiff. However, I'll inspect them to-morrow. +Let's get on a bit now. Come, <span class="smcap">Spinks</span>!</p> + +<p><i>Spinks.</i> Where were we? (<i>With an air of intense annoyance.</i>) +These constant interruptions put one off so. Oh, yes, I remember. +(<i>Resumes rehearsing the part of</i> "Colonel <span class="smcap">Debenham</span>.") "Nursemaid, +take those squalling infants away. I'm surprised at Lady <span class="smcap">Shorthorn</span> +permitting them in the drawing-room. Wheel them away at +once—at once, I say; or I'll make curry-powder of the lot of you!"</p> + +<p><i>Miss Dorothy Shuttle</i> (<i>as</i> "<span class="smcap">Belinda</span>"). "Well, I'm sure; I never +was so spoken to afore. (<i>To her imaginary children.</i>) Did the +horrid man scold them, then, pretty dears? (<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Debenham</span>.) You +a Colonel? You ain't fit to be a General in the Salvation Army. +Imperence!" [<i>Exit, wheeling an imaginary perambulator.</i></p> + +<p><i>Boldero</i> (<i>enthusiastically</i>). Excellent! That couldn't have been +done better. When we get the perambulator and the babies, it's +bound to go. (Miss <span class="smcap">Dorothy Shuttle</span> <i>is much pleased, and foresees +several stalls being taken on the occasion of her next benefit.</i>) Now, +then (<i>to</i> <span class="smcap">Spinks</span>, <i>who thinks it a mistake that a Stage Manager should +stop to praise anybody, with one exception, of course, at rehearsal</i>), +<span class="smcap">Spinks</span>, hurry up a bit, hurry up!</p> + +<p><i>Spinks.</i> My dear <span class="smcap">Boldero</span>, I'm perfectly ready to begin as soon +as ever the talking stops. I know my cues, I fancy; but it's quite +hopeless to get on if <i>everybody</i> wants to talk at the same moment. +(<i>Resumes his part as</i> "Colonel <span class="smcap">Debenham</span>," <i>shaking his fist at the +departing</i> <span class="smcap">Belinda</span>.) "Impertinent minx! (<i>Turns furiously on</i> +<span class="smcap">Gushby</span>, <i>who is on the stage in the character of</i> <span class="smcap">Tilbury</span>, <i>the comic</i> +<span class="pagenum">[Pg. 12]</span> +<i>Squire.</i>) And you, Sir, what in the name of fifty thousand jackasses, +do you mean by standing there grinning from ear to ear like a buck +nigger? But I'll not stand it any longer, Sir, not for a moment. +D'ye hear, you miserable turnip-faced bumpkin, d'ye hear?" +(<i>Carried away by histrionic enthusiasm</i>, <span class="smcap">Spinks</span> <i>brings his fist +down violently on the precise spot where a table ought to be, but +is not, standing. As a natural result, he hits himself with much +force on his leg. The others laugh, and the Ladies turn away giggling, +feeling that they ought to be sympathetic. The unfortunate</i> <span class="smcap">Spinks</span> +<i>hurts himself considerably, and is furious. Coming, as it were, right +out of the part, and being temporarily himself again, only in a rage, +he addresses the Stage Manager.</i>) Upon my soul, <span class="smcap">Boldero</span>, this is +perfectly infamous. How often have I begged you to get that table +placed there <i>at all costs</i>, and time after time you forget it. I know +what it is; you want to make me ridiculous. But you'll be d—— +(<i>suddenly remembers that ladies are present, and substitutes a milder +expletive</i>)—confoundedly sorry for yourself when you find I'm +too lame to act, and the whole of your precious piece will be +ruined. You'll none of you get notices worth twopence from the +critics. [<i>Limps up and down the Stage.</i></p> + +<p><i>Miss Amelia Slimper</i> (<i>rather a novice, and anxious to make useful +acquaintances among the distinguished Amateurs—to</i> Miss <span class="smcap">Kitty</span>, +<i>whispering</i>). Are they very keen about notices?</p> + +<p><i>Miss Kitty</i> (<i>experienced in Amateurs</i>). Keen! I should think +they were. They talk about nothing else when it's over.</p> + +<p><i>Boldero</i> (<i>peaceably</i>). Well, <span class="smcap">Spinks</span>, you know you smashed two +tables last week, and I thought we agreed to rehearse without one. +But I'll see it's there next time. Now then, <span class="smcap">Jarp</span>! Where's +<span class="smcap">Jarp</span>? This is his entrance. Where the deuce is he? (<i>Enter</i> +<span class="smcap">Jarp</span> <i>as</i> "Mr. <span class="smcap">Binns</span>, <i>Butler to</i> Lord <span class="smcap">Shorthorn</span>"). Dear me, <span class="smcap">Jarp</span>, +what have you been up to?</p> + +<p><i>Jarp</i> (<i>vexed</i>). What have I been up to? I'll tell you. I've been +learning my part, and it would be a good thing if everybody were to +follow my example, instead of talking all day.</p> + +<p><i>Boldero.</i> <span class="smcap">Jarp</span>, don't be sarcastic. It doesn't suit you. Let's +see if you know your part, after all this.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Jarp</span> (<i>as</i> <span class="smcap">Binns</span>, <i>without moving a muscle</i>). "'Er Ladyship's compliments, +Colonel <span class="smcap">Debenham</span>, and she would like to see +you."</p> + +<p><i>Spinks</i> (<i>as</i> <span class="smcap">Debenham</span>). "Very +well. Tell her I'll come."</p> + +<p><i>Jarp</i> (<i>as</i> <span class="smcap">Binns</span>). "Yes, +Sir."</p> + +<p>[<i>Exit</i> <span class="smcap">Jarp</span> <i>as</i> <span +class="smcap">Binns</span>, <i>but immediately becomes</i> <span +class="smcap">Jarp</span>, <i>and complains to the young Ladies +that these fellows never will rehearse properly. The +professional Ladies sympathise with him, and admit that it is +very provoking, and</i> Miss <span class="smcap">Amelia</span> +<i>takes the opportunity of expressing her confident opinion that +he</i>, <span class="smcap">Jarp</span>, <i>will play his part +admirably, and only wonders that he hasn't got more to do. Then +somehow the conversation wanders towards professional matters, +and the probability of</i> Miss <span +class="smcap">Amelia</span> <i>being engaged next season at a +fashionable London Theatre, &c., &c.</i> </p> + +<p><i>Miss Dorothy</i> (<i>aside, in a whisper, to</i> Miss <span class="smcap">Kitty</span>, <i>alluding to</i> +<span class="smcap">Jarp's</span> <i>recent exit</i>). Is that all he's +got to say?</p> + +<p><i>Miss Kitty</i> (<i>in same tone to</i> Miss <span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>). Not quite. He says, +"'Er Ladyship is served!" in the next Act. A part like that takes +a deal of learning.</p> + +<p>[<i>The rehearsal proceeds.</i> <span class="smcap">Spuffil</span> +<i>does wonders as "a young man about town";</i> Colonel <span +class="smcap">Clumk</span> <i>performs the part of a Country +Clergyman in a manner suggestive rather of a Drill-sergeant than +a Vicar.</i> <span class="smcap">Boldero</span> <i>having +praised</i> <span class="smcap">Spinks</span>, <i>is pronounced +by the latter to be unapproachable as</i> Lord <span +class="smcap">Shorthorn</span>. <i>In the Third Act</i>, <span +class="smcap">Hall</span> <i>sings his song about</i> "the Boy +in Buttons." <i>On the previous day, he had had a difference with</i> +<span class="smcap">Spinks</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Boldero</span>. </p> + +<p><i>Boldero.</i> I think that song's out of place. What say you, <span +class="smcap">Spinks</span>?</p> + +<p><i>Spinks.</i> Well, it does sound just a trifle vulgar.</p> + +<p><i>Boldero.</i> Yes. I think we shall have to cut it, <span class="smcap">Hall</span>. It'll do +for next year just as well. You can make it fit any piece?</p> + +<p><i>Hall</i> (<i>pale, but determined</i>). If that song goes, I go too. Oh, yes, +<span class="smcap">Spinks</span>, it's all very well for you to be so blessed polite to <span class="smcap">Boldero</span>, +but you didn't seem to think much of his acting (<i>observes</i> <span class="smcap">Spuffil</span> +<i>smiling</i>) no, nor of <span class="smcap">Spuffil's</span> either, when you spoke to me yesterday: +and as for <span class="smcap">Gushby</span>, why we all know what <span +class="smcap">Gushby</span> is.</p> + +<p class="ralign"> [<i>All join in the fight, which continues for ten minutes.</i> +</p> + +<p><i>Boldero</i> (<i>looking at his watch</i>). Good heavens! we shall miss our +train, and I've promised to look in on <span class="smcap">Irving</span> to-night. He'd never +forgive me if I didn't turn up.</p> + +<p> +[<i>Smiles of quiet intelligence appear on the faces of the other +Amateurs, accompanied with a few winks, which like +"laughter in Court," are "immediately suppressed." +Exeunt omnes, severally, each pleased with himself, and +more or less disgusted with everybody else.</i> +</p> + +<p><i>Miss Amelia</i> (<i>to</i> <span class="smcap">Kitty</span>). What a funny lot! Are they like that +every year?</p> + +<p><i>Miss Kitty.</i> Yes, always. But (<i>confidentially</i>) they do come out +strong for a "ben."</p> + +<p class="ralign"> +[<i>They retire to their lodgings for a little quiet tea and a rest.</i> +</p> + +<hr class="half" /> + +<h2 class="sans">A MID-WINTER'S NIGHT'S DREAM.</h2> + +<div id="img012"> +<a href="images/ill-012.png"> +<img src="images/ill-012-th.png" alt="" +title="Click for larger image." width="700" height="173" /> +</a> +</div> + +<p>Surely <span class="smcap">Augustus Druriolanus</span> has triumphed and beaten the +record! For the last nine years it has been the cry, "There never +was so good a Pantomime as <i>this</i> one," and now again the shout is +repeated. <i>Jack and the Beanstalk</i> is the eleventh of the series, and +the best. "How it is done?" only <span class="smcap">Augustus</span> can answer. The +Annual (no longer, alas! written by the gentle and genial E. L. B.) +has an excellent book. It contains something of all sorts. Now +we have <span class="smcap">Shakspeare's</span> fairy-land with <i>Oberon</i>, <i>Titania</i>, and <i>Puck</i>, +then <span class="smcap">Harry Nicholl's</span> Royal Palace with Mr. <span class="smcap">Herbert Campbell</span> +and Miss <span class="smcap">Harriet Vernon</span>, then Madame <span class="smcap">Katti Lanner's</span> Market +Place, with a number of the most promising of her pupils (of all ages +too, from the tiny child to the "ceased-growing-a-long-while-ago") +then Mrs. <span class="smcap">Simpson's</span> Back Garden, with Mr. <span class="smcap">George Conquest</span> junior +as a giant, Mr. <span class="smcap">Dan Leno</span> as a widow, and the Brothers <span class="smcap">Griffiths</span> +as the Cow Company Limited, and lastly, controlling the whole, we +have Mr. <span class="smcap">Augustus Harris</span> who is seen at his very best when we +reach the Giant's Library and the realms of Olympus.</p> + +<p>And this Pantomime is not only beautiful but amusing. It has +two grand processions, but this year, by good stage-management, +neither is tedious. The Shakspearean Heroines do a little play-acting +between whiles, and the gods and goddesses, or rather their +attendants, manœuvre before the eye becomes weary of watching +their approach. For instance, Mars has scarcely time to swagger +down to the foot-lights in the most appropriate and approved fashion, +before he finds himself called upon to stand near a private box on +the prompt side, to be well out of the way of his dancing terpsichorean +satellites. <i>Lady Macbeth</i> has hardly "taken the daggers" before +<i>King Lear</i> (Mr. <span class="smcap">Lorraine</span>) is bringing a furtive tear to the eyes of +all beholders (<i>one</i> tear is sufficient at Christmastide) by his touching +pantomime in the presence of his three fair daughters.</p> + +<p>Then, too, Mr. <span class="smcap">Harry Payne</span> has <i>his</i> +chance, and makes the most of it. It was quite pleasant to see the Clown +on Boxing-Night, and those who left the theatre mindful of trains that +will not delay the hours fixed for their departure, must have determined +(if they were wise people) to come again to witness the remainder of the +performances. Then those who liked acrobats had the Leopold Troupe, and +a strong man who lifted up a horse (but did not have his own name, or +the name of his charger, on the programme) to delight them. And it was +also a pleasing reflection to remember that the entertainment was the +result of solid hard work, combined with excellent judgment and taste. +Paterfamilias could say to Young Hopeful home for the holidays, "See +here, my lad, the lessee of our National Theatre could never have caused +us so much thorough enjoyment had he not worked with a will that you +will do well to imitate when you return to Dr. <span +class="smcap">Swishtales'</span> Academy at the conclusion of +the Christmas vacation." And so all can cry with genuine +enthusiasm:—"<i>Ave</i>, <span class="smcap">Augustus</span>! +<i>Ave</i>, <span class="smcap">Druriolanus</span>! <i>Ave</i>, <span +class="smcap">Imperator</span>! <i>Ave! Ave!</i>—and <span +class="smcap">Nicholls</span>."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="small"><span class="smcap">Notice.</span>—Rejected +Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, +or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even +when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. +To this rule there will be no exception.</p> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI VOLUME 98, JANUARY 4, 1890***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 25685-h.txt or 25685-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/5/6/8/25685">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/6/8/25685</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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