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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. 93, September 3, 1887 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: August 12, 2009 [EBook #29679] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + + + + +Produced by Lesley Halamek, Malcolm Farmer and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + <hr class="full" /> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page97" id="page97"></a>[pg 97]</span> + +<h1>Punch, or the London Charivari</h1> + +<h2>Volume 93, September 3rd 1887</h2> + +<h3><i>edited by Sir Francis Burnand</i></h3> + +<hr class="full" /> + + +<h3>SOME NOTES AT STARMOUTH.</h3> + +<p>3 <span class="sc">p.m.</span>—Arrive at Starmouth—the retired Watering-place at +which I propose to write the Nautical Drama that is to render me +famous and wealthy. Leave luggage at Station, and go in search of +lodgings. Hotel out of the question—<i>table d'hôte</i> quite fatal to +inspiration. On the Esplanade, noting likely places with critical +eye. Perhaps I <i>am</i> a little fastidious. What I should <i>really</i> like +is a little cottage; two bow-windows, clematis on porch, flagstaff, and +cannon (if it wouldn't go off) in front. I could achieve immortality +in a place like that. Sea-view, of course, <i>indispensable</i>. Must be +within sight of the ever-changing ocean, within hearing of "the +innumerable laughter of the waves"—I know what the phrase +<i>means</i>, though I shouldn't like to have to explain it, and the waves +just now are absolutely roaring.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/097-800.png"><img src="images/097-600.png" width="600" height="453" alt="Down by the Sea." /></a> +<h4>Down by the Sea.</h4></div> + +<p>3·15.—Still noting; plenty of time, and Starmouth "all before me +where to choose." More than a mile of Esplanade, and several brass +plates and cards advertising "Apartments." Must be cautious—not +throw the handkerchief in a hurry. Haven't seen the ideal +place <i>yet</i>.</p> + +<p>3·30.—Better make a beginning. Try "Blenheim House" (all the +houses here either bear ducal, naval, or frankly plebeian names, I +observe). Ring: startling effect—grey-mouldy old person, with +skeleton hands folded on woollen tippet, glides in a ghastly manner +down passage. They really ought to put up a warning to people +with nerves, as M. <span class="sc">Van Beers</span> does at his <i>Salon Parisien</i>. Feel as +if I had raised a ghost. Wonder if she waits on lodgers—if so, my +dinners will be rather like the banquet <span class="sc">Gulliver</span> had at Laputa. +"Has she rooms to let at once?" "No?" "<i>Oh!</i>" Well out of +<i>that!</i></p> + +<p>3·45.—Warming to my work. Ring at door in "Amelia Terrace." +Maid appears—nice-looking girl, rather. "Have you"—I begin—when +I see a boy at the ground-floor window. Don't object to boys, +as a class, but this particular boy is pallid, with something round +his throat, and an indescribable air about him of conscious deadliness, +and pride in the unusual terror he inspires, which can only be +accounted for by recent Measles. Never under the same roof with +<i>that</i> boy! He eyes me balefully, and I stare back, fascinated. +"Have you," I begin again—(I am full of resource, thank goodness!) +"a Mrs. <span class="sc">Walker</span>—(first appropriate name that occurs to me)—staying +here?" By a horrible coincidence, they <i>have</i>! She has +taken the ground-floor—where that boy is! Awkward—very.... +I manage to gasp out, "Then will you please mention that I +called?" and retire before she can ask my name. Presence of mind, +again!</p> + +<p>4 <span class="sc">p.m.</span>—Still seeking. Not so fastidious as I <i>was</i>. Have given up +the cottage, and clematis, and flagstaff. Only place answering that +description belongs—or so I inferred, from his language—to a retired +sea-captain, whom I disturbed in his nap to inquire whether he let +lodgings. As it happened, he <i>didn't</i>. Then (as I very nearly went +back and told him) what right had he to sport a brass plate? However, +I got some good racy dialogue for the Nautical Drama out +of him.</p> + +<p>4·15.—More failures. Starmouth busy digesting, which it does +publicly in bow-windows. I must <i>not</i> be so particular. I will do +without balconies—even bow-windows—but I cannot, I will not, sit +on horsehair furniture.</p> + +<p>4·20.—After all, so long as I get a sea-view, what matters? I can +be nautical and dramatic on <i>any</i> kind of chair. And "Collingwood +House," too—what a name for me! I will go in. Rejected again—nothing +till Thursday fortnight! I am beginning to feel like an unpopular +man at a dance. I regard the people wallowing at the +windows with a growing hate; they are the elect—but that is no +reason why they should parade it in that ostentatious way—bad +taste!... Can't get any rooms along these terraces—I subdue +my pride, and try a back-street.</p> + +<p>4·30.—Nature too strong for me—I <i>must</i> face the sea. Surely +there must be <i>some</i> cards I have overlooked!... Thought so! +staring me in the face all the time! Ring—ghost effect again—same +old grey lady! She asks me, in hollow tones, what I want. I ask +her whether I left my umbrella here (full of resource!) "No!" +"Oh!" Back-street again after that.</p> + +<p>4·40.—Even the back-streets will have none of me! I grow +morbid. Remember words of song, entreating vague somethings +(perhaps stars) "to smile on their vagabond boy"—no one smiles on +me. And <i>I</i> to have vapoured about "throwing the handkerchief." +Fool—fool!... They are more sympathetic in the back-streets, +though. "Starmouth is very full!" They say, complacently, "they +don't know if there's any place I <i>could</i> get into, not to say at +once—they +really <i>don't</i>!"</p> + +<p>5 <span class="sc">p.m.</span>—Back on the Esplanade again. Why, I certainly haven't +been <i>here</i> before. Ring. While I am waiting for some one to +appear, face rises at window—<i>the measly boy!</i> Confound these +terrace-houses, all alike! This time I <i>don't</i> wait—I bolt. They +will think I am a clown out for a holiday, but I can't help that.</p> + +<p>5·15.—No, I must draw the line somewhere. At "Hatfield +House," (good address this) landlady appears with eruptive face, +powdered—effect not entirely happy—but I waive that. She has +rooms—but the sitting-room is out at the end of a yard, and I am to +get to my bed room through the kitchen! Can't write an epoch-making +drama under those conditions.</p> + +<p>5·30.—I am growing humbler—I would almost take a coal-cellar +now. Think I will go back to Hatfield and recant.... I have. +"Very sorry—this moment let".... "Oh!"</p> + +<p>5·35.—<i>At last!</i> May choicest blessings light upon the head of +<span class="sc">Plapper</span>!—or rather of Mrs. <span class="sc">Plapper</span>, as her husband is out. +She +has taken me in! Charming rooms—not actually facing the sea, but +with capital view of it round corner from bow-window. <span class="sc">Plapper</span> is +an optician—wonder whether it is weak eyes, or wifely duty, +that makes Mrs. P. wear blue spectacles? Everything arranged—terms +most reasonable—now to recover luggage. Stop; better ask +address—or I might never be able to find my optician again—like +<i>Mrs. Barrett Browning</i> and her lost Bower! "You've only got to +use <span class="sc">Plapper's</span> name, Sir, anywhere, and it will be all right," says +Mrs. P. with natural pride. Very convenient. For instance: <i>Stern +Constable</i> (to me). "Can't come in here, Sir." <i>Myself.</i> "Can't I, +though? <i><span class="sc">Plapper</span>!</i>" And in I go! Or I am in a scrape of some +sort: "Have you anything to say?" asks the Inspector. I whisper +in his ear, "<span class="sc">Plapper</span>!" And they grovel and release me.</p> + +<p>5·45.—Odd—but now I find myself wondering ungratefully, +whether I mightn't have done better than <span class="sc">Plapper</span>, after all. This +is human nature, I suppose—but discreditable. I <i>am</i> overjoyed—really. +I no longer hate people. <i>I</i> too am an initiate! But I can +pity poor devils who are houseless, I hope.... I order sundry +things: "Send them in to <span class="sc">Plapper's</span>." Luggage regained and sent +back—to <span class="sc">Plapper's</span>. I feel self-respect once more.</p> + +<p>6 <span class="sc">p.m.</span>—Returning to <span class="sc">Plapper's</span>. And in this secure retreat my +Nautical drama is destined to see the light—if <span class="sc">Plapper</span> only knew! +I feel an affection already for this humble temporary home. Mrs. P. +meets me at the door. "So sorry, Sir—but <i>you can't have the rooms, +after all</i>! <span class="sc">Plapper</span> had let 'em quite unbeknown to me!"</p> + +<p>And this is Saturday! <i>I am under a curse!</i></p> + +<hr /> + + +<h3>THE BALLET.</h3> + +<h4><i>Lament by the Rev. S. D. Headlam.</i></h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>What was it first my fancy fed,</p> +<p>My steps to the Alhambra led,</p> +<p>And finally quite turned my head?</p> +<p class="i14"> The Ballet!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>What, when I studied it apart,</p> +<p>Struck me with force that made me start,</p> +<p>As being a noble form of Art?</p> +<p class="i14"> The Ballet!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>And what, when seen night after night,</p> +<p>Inspired me with supreme delight,</p> +<p>And made me to the <i>Pall-Mall</i> write?</p> +<p class="i14"> The Ballet!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>But what, when kindled with its fire,</p> +<p>I hoped my Bishop to inspire,</p> +<p>Alas! excited but his ire?</p> +<p class="i14"> The Ballet!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>And what, although the orthodox</p> +<p>Two places in an upper box</p> +<p>I offered him,—but gave him shocks?</p> +<p class="i14"> The Ballet!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Ah! what, though every nerve I've strained</p> +<p>To see the dancers' battle gained,</p> +<p>Leaves me episcopally chained?</p> +<p class="i14"> The Ballet!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">Last Fruits of the Session</span>.—Pairs.</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page98" id="page98"></a>[pg 98]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/098-1500.png"><img src="images/098c-400.png" width="400" height="503" alt="VENICE UNPRESERVED." /></a> +</div> + +<p>"The modern Venetian takes pleasure not only in neglecting but in persecuting +the palace and the gondola.... As to the gondola, the mass of Venetians +possess none, and rarely go in them.... They forget that the much-desired +foreigner does not come to Venice to read signboards from a steamboat up and +down the Grand Canal; and, by handing over this magnificent waterway to +a company of foreign speculators, they have well-nigh reduced the ancient +body of gondoliers to beggary. The steamers are numerous and noisy.... If +one contrasts the passengers of these rival craft, the gondola and the +<i>vaporetto</i>, +one asks which, as a body, most contribute to the prosperity of Venice, +and so merits most consideration.... The penny steamer and the gondola +are irreconcileable, and cannot exist long together, for the simple reason that +the gondoliers cannot earn a support, and must take to other avocations."</p> + +<p class="author">"<span class="sc">Exsul's</span>" <i>Letter to the Times on "The Venice of To-day."</i></p> + + +<h3><i>Shade of</i> <span class="sc">Childe Harold</span> <i>sings</i>:—</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">Yes, this is Venice; yon's the Bridge of Sighs;</p> +<p class="i2">The palace and the prison, still they stand:</p> +<p class="i2">But 'midst the maze foul funnel fumes arise.</p> +<p class="i2">As by the touch of an enchanter's hand,</p> +<p class="i2">A hundred such their smoky wings expand,</p> +<p class="i2">Around me, and a dying glory smiles</p> +<p class="i2">On what was once the poet's, artist's land,</p> +<p class="i2">Soot smears the wingéd Lion's marble piles,</p> +<p>And Venice reeks like Hull, throned on her hundred isles.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">She looks a swart sea Cyclops, from the ocean,</p> +<p class="i2">Rising with smutted walls and blackened towers;</p> +<p class="i2">The <i>vaporetto</i>, with erratic motion,</p> +<p class="i2">Muddies the waters with its carbon-showers.</p> +<p class="i2">And such she is! Progress's dismal dowers</p> +<p class="i2">Have spoilt the picture; now the eye may feast</p> +<p class="i2">On garish signs and posters. Gracious powers!</p> +<p class="i2">Sewing-machines and hair-washes at least</p> +<p>Might spare the Grand Canal. Trade is an ogre-ish beast!</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page99" id="page99"></a>[pg 99]</span> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">In Venice Vulcan's echoes hiss and roar,</p> +<p class="i2">And idle sits the hapless Gondolier.</p> +<p class="i2">His Gondola is crumbling on the shore,</p> +<p class="i2">The Penny Steamer's whistle racks his ear.</p> +<p class="i2">'<span class="sc">Arry</span> exults—but Beauty is not here;</p> +<p class="i2">Trade swells, Arts grow—but Nature seems to die.</p> +<p class="i2">Hucksters may boast that Venice is less "dear,"</p> +<p class="i2">"<i>Progresso!</i>" is the Press, the Public cry;</p> +<p>But, by great <span class="sc">Ruskin's</span> self, the thing is all my eye.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">For unto us she had a spell beyond</p> +<p class="i2">Cheap dinners and Advertisement's array</p> +<p class="i2">Of polychrome, of which Trade seems so fond.</p> +<p class="i2">Alas! the Dogeless city's silent sway</p> +<p class="i2">Will lessen momently, and fade away,</p> +<p class="i2">When the Rialto echoes to the roar</p> +<p class="i2">Of <i>vaporetti</i>, and in sad decay</p> +<p class="i2">The Gondola, its swan-like flittings o'er,</p> +<p>Neglected rots upon the solitary shore.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">Such is the Venice of my youth and age,</p> +<p class="i2">Its spell a void, its charm a vacancy.</p> +<p class="i2">Rosy Romance, thou owest many a page,</p> +<p class="i2">Ay, many that erst grew beneath <i>mine</i> eye,</p> +<p class="i2">To what was once the loved reality</p> +<p class="i2">Of this true fairy-land; but I refuse</p> +<p class="i2">To deck with Art's fantastic wizardry</p> +<p class="i2">A haunt of Trade. Mine is not Mammon's Muse,</p> +<p><i>She</i> will not sing for hire of Soaps, or Silks, or Shoes.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">I know that there are such,—but let them go,—</p> +<p class="i2">They came like ghouls, they'll disappear like dreams.</p> +<p class="i2">But oh! my Venice, dare they treat thee so?</p> +<p class="i2">I fain would flay the Vandal horde; still teems</p> +<p class="i2">My mind with memories of thy towers and streams,—</p> +<p class="i2">All that I sought for in thy midst, and found.</p> +<p class="i2">Must these too go? The ogre Progress deems</p> +<p class="i2">Such fair and flattering phantasies unsound;</p> +<p>Now other voices speak, and other sights surround.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">"The spouseless Adriatic mourns her lord,"</p> +<p class="i2">Ay, and yet worse, Venetian souls grow rude.</p> +<p class="i2">The Gondola lies rotting unrestored,</p> +<p class="i2">The Gondolier unhired must lounge and brood,</p> +<p class="i2">Or stoop to "stoking" for his daily food,</p> +<p class="i2">On board a puffing fiend that by "horse pow'r"</p> +<p class="i2">Measures its might. Oh! base ingratitude!</p> +<p class="i2">Dogs! ye one day shall howl for the lost hour,</p> +<p>When Venice was a Queen, with loveliness for dower.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">Gondolas ruled, and now the Steam Launch reigns,</p> +<p class="i2">A stoker shovels where a lover knelt.</p> +<p class="i2">This thing of steam and smoke that stinks and stains,</p> +<p class="i2">Might suit the tainted Thames, the sluggish Scheldt;</p> +<p class="i2">But the Canal, which for long years hath felt</p> +<p class="i2">The sunshine of Romance—that downward go?</p> +<p class="i2">This is the deadliest blow that Trade hath dealt;</p> +<p class="i2">Enough to bring back blind old <span class="sc">Dandolo</span>,</p> +<p>To fight his country's latest most debasing foe.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">Before St. Mark still glow his steeds of brass,</p> +<p class="i2">But garish signboards glitter in the sun;</p> +<p class="i2">And up and down the watery alleys pass</p> +<p class="i2">The snorting steamers. Venice lost and won,</p> +<p class="i2">Her thirteen hundred years of beauty done,</p> +<p class="i2">Sinks to an Isle of Dogs. Let her life close!</p> +<p class="i2">Better be whelmed beneath the waves, and shun</p> +<p class="i2">Ev'n in destruction's depths her Vandal foes,</p> +<p>Than live a thrall to Trade, a scourge to eyes and nose.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">Dreams of Romance—all shattered! They revile</p> +<p class="i2">Our "Ruskinismo," do these souls of dust,</p> +<p class="i2">Who care not for their sumptuous marble pile,</p> +<p class="i2">Oh, sons unworthy of their splendid trust!</p> +<p class="i2">With his oar broken, and his dry keel thrust,</p> +<p class="i2">Unused ashore, the Gondolier recalls</p> +<p class="i2">Gay days and nights of glory, such as must</p> +<p class="i2">Too oft remind him <i>who</i> his land enthrals,</p> +<p>And flings a sordid cloud o'er Venice' shining walls.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">How can the Childe's poetic shade refuse</p> +<p class="i2">To plead his cause, on his base foe make war?</p> +<p class="i2">Perchance redemption from a phantom Muse,</p> +<p class="i2">Whose voice now faintly echoes from afar,</p> +<p class="i2">May come, and check his sordid conqueror's car,</p> +<p class="i2">E'en in its roll of victory, snatch the reins,</p> +<p class="i2">From Greed's foul hands and further havoc bar,</p> +<p class="i2">Say, <i>shall</i> the Penny Steamer's petty gains,</p> +<p>Banish the Gondolier, and hush his cheery strains?</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/099-800.png"><img src="images/099-350.png" width="350" height="417" alt="TENDER PASSAGES." /></a> +<h3>TENDER PASSAGES.</h3> + +<p class="center"><i>He</i> (<i>tenderly</i>). "<span class="sc">Yes; when it's done again, you must really see +the +Blondin Donkey</span>!"</p> + +<p class="center"><i>She</i> (<i>sincerely</i>). "<span class="sc">I will. I'll look out for it, and, when I do +see it, +I will think of <i>You</i></span>!!"</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>VIRTUES OF OMISSION.</h3> + +<p><span class="sc">People</span>—Mr. <span class="sc">Imprey</span>, Mr. <span class="sc">George Smith</span> (of Coalville), +and others—are +actually to be found contending for the barren honour of having invented that +terrible nuisance of a catch-phrase, "Three Acres and a Cow!" Strange and +morbid perversion of ambition! As well fight for the deep discredit of having +been +the first to hit upon such kindred controversial horrors as the boring and +question-begging "gags" of "Law and Order," "Patriot first, and Party-man +afterwards," "Hand over to the tender mercies, &c.," "Disintegration of the +Empire," or even that most hackneyed of political phrases, "Grand Old Man" +itself. Now, if any one took credit to himself for never, never having uttered +the "Acre and Cow" Shibboleth, or made use of any others of these soul-sickening +bits of polemical claptrap, <i>Mr. Punch could</i> understand, and admire, +and envy. There be things that <i>everybody</i>—possessed of sense and +sobriety—would +"rather not have said."</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>THE WAY OF THE WIND.</h3> + +<h4><i>By an anxious Unionist.</i></h4> + +<p class="center">[Mr. <span class="sc">T. W. Russell</span> has formally withdrawn from the Unionist Party.]</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Ah! sorely tossed is our poor "Union" bark,</p> +<p class="i2">We shall not get to port without a tussle.</p> +<p>They say the wind will change against us. Hark!</p> +<p class="i2">That wind seems rising; I can hear its <span class="sc">Russell</span>.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">A Fight for the Forty.</span>—Sir <span class="sc">Edward Hamley</span> is, admittedly, one +of the +greatest strategists the British Army possesses. Although in the prime of life, +this gallant officer will be "automatically retired," unless he receives a +military +appointment before the end of October. It has been suggested that he should be +employed to work out a scheme for the protection of London. This will be far +easier work for him to do than to have to frame a defence of the Government +that has so long, and so strangely, and (some say) so maliciously overlooked +him.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Con: for the Considerate</span>.—Why is Happiness like an Act of Parliament? +Because you can never tell its value until it is passed.</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page100" id="page100"></a>[pg 100]</span> + +<h3>ALL IN PLAY.</h3> + +<p class="ind2"><span class="sc">Dear Mr. Punch</span>,</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width:200px;"><a href="images/100.png"><img src="images/100-200.png" width="200" height="301" alt="All in Play" /></a></div> + +<p style="margin-top:-1em;"><span class="ind">This year has been a great one for America in London.</span> The +Exhibition in West Kensington, with its Wild West Show, has +attracted its thousands, and at this +moment two dramas (both from the +United States) are very popular in +the Strand and Oxford Street. A +few nights ago, anxious to save you +the trouble of filling a stall with your +customary urbanity and critical +acumen (to say nothing of your +august person and opera-glasses), I +visited the Princess's, to assist at a +performance of <i>The Shadows of a +Great City</i>. It was really a most +amusing piece, written by <span class="sc">Jefferson</span>, +the <i>Rip Van Winkle</i> of our youth, +who you will remember was wont in +years gone by to drink to the health +of ourselves and our wives and our +families at the Adelphi. The <i>City</i> +was New York, and the most substantial +of the <i>Shadows</i>, Mr. <span class="sc">J. H. +Barnes</span>, a gentleman who might be +aptly described as one of the +"heaviest" of our light comedians. He played a fine-hearted sailor +with an earnestness of purpose that carried all before it. I cannot +conscientiously say that he gave me the idea that he was exactly +fitted to take command of the Channel Fleet, but after seeing him I +retained the impression that he would have felt entirely at home on +the quarter-deck of a Thames Steamboat. Mr. <span class="sc">Harry Nicholls</span>, +who has so often assisted to make the fortune (as a jocular scoundrel) +of a Drury Lane melodrama, was also in the cast, and so was Miss +<span class="sc">Cicely Richards</span>, <i>the Belinda</i> of <i>Our Boys</i>. Then there was +Miss +<span class="sc">Mary Rorke</span>, a most sympathetic heroine, and several other excellent +performers, whose names, however, were less familiar to me.</p> + +<p>The play, admirably mounted with capital scenery, recalled a +number of pleasant memories. Here was a suggestion of <i>The Ticket +of Leave Man</i>, there a notion from <i>The Colleen Bawn</i>, and yonder +ideas from <i>The Long Strike</i> and <i>Arrah-na-Pogue</i>. There is nothing +new under the sun, and <i>The Shadows of a Great City</i> is no exception +to the rule. However, it is a thoroughly exciting play, full of murder +and mirth, wrong-doing and waggery, startling incidents, and side-splitting +comicalities. It was certainly greatly enjoyed, when I saw +it, by the audience, who cheered Mr. <span class="sc">Barnes</span> and Miss <span class="sc">Rorke</span> to +the +echo, and hissed all their enemies to their heart's content, as a +reward for the most effectively-simulated villany.</p> + +<p>Very soon all the Theatres will be busy with the Autumn-cum-Winter +Season. The first on the List is Drury Lane, which, reserving +<span class="sc">Payne</span> for the Pantomime at Christmas, opens in September with +<i>Pleasure</i>.</p> + + +<p class="right">Always yours sincerely,</p> + +<p class="author"><span class="sc">One who has Gone to Pieces.</span></p> + + +<hr /> + +<h3>SALUBRITIES ABROAD.</h3> + +<p><i>Still at Royat. Hotel Continental.—À propos</i> of <span class="sc">Puller</span> "airing +his French" Miss <span class="sc">Louisa Metterbrun</span> said something <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'delighful'">delightful</ins> to +him the other day at dinner. <span class="sc">Puller</span> had been instructing us all in +some French idioms until Madame <span class="sc">Metterbrun</span> set him right in his +pronunciation. He owned that he had made a slip. "But," says +he, wagging his head and pulling up his wristbands with the air of +a man thoroughly well satisfied with himself generally, "but I +think you'll allow that I can speak French better than most Englishmen, +eh?"</p> + +<p>Madame <span class="sc">Metterbrun</span> doesn't exactly know what to say, but Miss +<span class="sc">Louisa</span> comes to the rescue. "O Mr. <span class="sc">Puller</span>"—he is frequently +at their house in London, and they know him intimately—"I always +say to Mamma, when we're abroad, that I do like to hear you talk +French"—<span class="sc">Puller</span> smirks and thinks to himself that this is a girl of +sense and rare appreciation—"because," she goes on quietly, and all +at table are listening, "because your speaking French reminds me +so of home." Her home is London. I think <span class="sc">Puller</span> won't ask +Miss <span class="sc">Louisa</span> for an opinion on his French accent again in a hurry.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>I have just been reading <span class="sc">Victor Hugo's</span> <i>Choses Vues</i>. Admirable! +<i>Fuite de Louis Philippe!</i> What a pitiful story. Then his account, +marvellously told, and the whole point of the narrative given in two +lines, of what became of the brain of <span class="sc">Talleyrand</span>. Graphically written +is his visit to <span class="sc">Thiers</span> on behalf of <span class="sc">Rochefort</span>. Says +<span class="sc">Thiers</span> to him, +"<i>Cent journaux me traînent tous les matins dans la boue. Mais +savez-vous mon procédé? Je ne les lis pas.</i>" To which <span class="sc">Hugo</span> +rejoined, "<i>C'est précisément ce que je fais. Lire les diatribes, c'est +respirer les latrines de sa renommée.</i>" Most public men, certainly +most authors, artists, and actors, would do well to remember this +advice, and act upon it.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"<i>Choses Vues</i>," written "<i>Shows Vues</i>" would be a good heading +for an all-round-about theatrical and entertainment article in +<i>Mr. Punch's</i> pages. Patent this.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Puller</span> has recovered his high spirits. The temperature has +changed: the waters are agreeing with him. So is the dinner hour, +which <span class="sc">M. Hall</span>, our landlord, kindly permits us to have at the +exceptional and un-Royat-like hour of 7·30. At dinner he is convivial. +Madame <span class="sc">Metterbrun</span> and her two daughters are discussing +music. Cousin <span class="sc">Jane</span> is deeply interested in listening to Madame +<span class="sc">Metterbrun</span> on <span class="sc">Wagner</span>. The young Ladies are thorough +Wagnerites. La Contessa is unable to get a word in about <span class="sc">Shakspeare</span> +and <span class="sc">Salvini</span>, and her daughter, who, in a quiet tone and +with a most deliberate manner, announces herself as belonging to +the "Take-everything-easy Society," is not at this particular +moment interested in anything except the <i>menu</i>, which she is lazily +scrutinising through her long-handled <i>pince-nez</i>.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <span class="sc">Dinderlin</span>, having succumbed to the usual first attack of +Royat depression, is leaning back in her chair, smelling salts and +nodding assent to the Wagnerite theories, with which she entirely +agrees. For my own part, I am neutral; but as the <span class="sc">Metterbruns</span> +are thorough musicians,—the mother being a magnificent pianist, and +the eldest daughter a composer,—I am really interested in hearing all +they have to say on the subject. Our bias is, temporarily, decidedly +Wagnerian, for Cousin <span class="sc">Jane</span>, who is really in favour of "tune," +and plenty of it,—being specially fond of <span class="sc">Bellini</span> and +<span class="sc">Donizetti</span>,—in +scientific musical society has not the courage of her opinions.</p> + +<p>From composers the conversation travels to executants, and we +name the favourite singers. After we have pretty well exhausted +the list, and objected to this one as having a head voice, or to that +as using the <i>vibrato</i>, or to the other as dwelling on an upper note +("queer sort of existence," says <span class="sc">Puller</span>, gradually coming up, as +it were to the surface to open his mouth for breath,—whereat Cousin +<span class="sc">Jane</span> smiles, and Miss <span class="sc">Casanova</span> lazily nods approbation of the +joke—while the rest of us ignore <span class="sc">Puller</span>, putting him aside as not +wanted just now,—when down he goes again), we generally agree +that <span class="sc">Gayarré</span> is about the best tenor we have had in London for some +time; that <span class="sc">Santley</span> is still unequalled as a baritone; that there is no +one now to play and sing <i>Mephistopheles</i> like <span class="sc">Faure</span>; that M. +<span class="sc">Maurel</span> +is about the finest representative of <i>Don Giovanni</i>; that Miss +<span class="sc">Arnoldson</span> +shows great promise; that <span class="sc">Albany</span> is unrivalled; that <span class="sc">Marie +Roze</span> is difficult to beat as <i>Carmen</i>; and that it is a pity that +<span class="sc">Patti's</span> demands are so exorbitant; and having exhausted the list +of operatic artists,—Madame and her daughters holding that certain +Germans, with whose names we, unfortunately for us, are not even +acquainted, are far superior to any French or Italian singers that +can be named—there ensues a pause in the conversation, of which +the Countess <span class="sc">Casanova</span> takes advantage, and extending her right +hand, which movement sharply jingles her bracelets, and so, as it +were, sounds a bell to call us to attention, cuts in quickly with an +emphatic, "Well, I don't profess to understand music as <i>you</i> do. I +know what I like"—("Hear! hear!" <i>sotto voce</i> from <span class="sc">Puller</span>, +coming up again to the surface, which draws a languidly approving +inclination of the head from Miss <span class="sc">Casanova</span>, and a smile, deprecating +the interruption, from Cousin <span class="sc">Jane</span>),—"and I must say," +continues the Countess, emphatically, "I would rather have one hour +of <span class="sc">Salvini</span> in <i>Othello</i>, than a whole month of the best Operas by +the +best composers,—<span class="sc">Wagner</span> included," and down comes her hand on +the table, all the bracelets ringing down the curtain on the first act.</p> + +<p>We, the non-combatants, feel that the mailed gauntlet has been +thrown down by the Countess as a challenge to the <span class="sc">Metterbruns</span>.</p> + +<p>"O Mother!" faintly remonstrates Miss <span class="sc">Casanova</span>, who loves a +stall at the Opera. She fears that her mother's energetic declaration +means war, and fans herself helplessly.</p> + +<p>I am preparing to reconcile music and the drama, and am getting +ready a supply of oil for what I foresee will be troubled waters, as +the <span class="sc">Metterbruns</span> are beginning to rustle their feathers and flap +their wings,—when <span class="sc">Puller</span>, leaning well forward, and stretching +out an explanatory hand, with his elbow planted firmly on the table, +("Very bad manners," says Cousin <span class="sc">Jane</span> afterwards to me) says +genially, "Well, <i>voyez vous</i>, look here, you may talk of your +<span class="sc">Wagners</span> and <span class="sc">Shakspeares</span>, and <span class="sc">Gayarrés</span>, and +<span class="sc">Pattis</span>, but, for +singing and acting, give me <span class="sc">Arthur Roberts</span>. Yes," he repeats +pleasantly but defiantly, and taking up, as it were, the Countess's +gauntlet, "<span class="sc">Salvini's</span> not in it with <span class="sc">Arthur Roberts</span>."</p> + +<p>The Countess's fan spreads out and works furiously. The steam is +getting up. The <span class="sc">Metterbruns</span> open their eyes, and regard one +another in consternation. They don't know who <span class="sc">Arthur Roberts</span> is.</p> + +<p>"Not know!" exclaims <span class="sc">Puller</span>, quite in his element. "Well, +when you come to London, you send to me, and I'll take you to +hear him."</p> + +<p>"He's a Music-Hall singer," says the Countess, fanning herself +with an air of contemptuous indifference.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page101" id="page101"></a>[pg 101]</span> + +<p>"Music-Hall Ar-<i>tiste</i>!" returns <span class="sc">Puller</span>, emphasising the second +syllable, which to his mind expresses a great deal, and makes all +the difference. "Now, Miladi," he goes on, imitating the manner +of one of his own favourite counsel, engaged by <span class="sc">Puller & Co.</span>, +conducting +a cross-examination, "Have you ever seen him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she replies, shrugging her shoulders, "once. And," she +adds, making the bracelets jingle again, as with a tragedy queen's +action of the right arm she sweeps away into space whole realms of +Music Halls and comic singers, "that was quite enough."</p> + +<p>"Didn't he make you laugh?" continues <span class="sc">Puller</span>, still in the +character of a stern cross-examiner.</p> + +<p>"Laugh!" almost shrieks the Countess, extending her hands so +suddenly that I have only time to throw myself back to avoid a +sharp tap on the head from her fan. "Heavens! not a bit! not the +least bit in the world! He made me sad! I saw the people in the +stalls laughing, and I said,"—here she appeals with both hands to +the majority of sensible people at large—still at large—"'Am I +stupid? am I dull? Do I not understand?'"</p> + +<p>"O Mother!" expostulates her daughter, in her most languid +manner, "he <i>was</i> funny!"</p> + +<p>"Funny!" ejaculates the Countess, tossing her head.</p> + +<p>"I'd rather see <span class="sc">Arthur Roberts</span> than <span class="sc">Salvini</span>," says +<span class="sc">Puller</span>, +waggishly, but with conviction.</p> + +<p>"I think I would, for choice," says Miss <span class="sc">Casanova</span>, meditatively, +but seeing the Countess's horrified expression of countenance, she +takes care to add more languidly than ever, as if taking the smallest +part in an argument were really too exhausting, "but then, you +know, I really don't understand tragedy, and I love a laugh."</p> + +<p>"Prefers <span class="sc">Arthur Roberts</span> to <span class="sc">Salvini</span>!" exclaims the Countess, +and throws up her hands and eyes to the ceiling as if imploring +Heaven not to visit on her the awful heresy of her child.</p> + +<p>Here I interpose. <span class="sc">Salvini</span>, I say, is a great <i>Artiste</i>, no doubt +of +it, a marvellous Tragedian; and <span class="sc">Arthur Roberts</span> is not, in the true +dramatic sense of the word, a genuine Comedian; but he is, in +another sense a true Comedian, though of the Music-Hall school.</p> + +<p>"What a school!" murmurs the Countess, and with a pained +expression of countenance as though she were suffering agonies.</p> + +<p>The <span class="sc">Metterbruns</span> see the difference. Madame remembers a fat +comic man in Berlin, at some garden, who used to wear a big hat +and carry a large pipe, and make her laugh very much when she +was a girl. Certainly, in his way, he was an artist. Is this <span class="sc">Arthur +Roberts</span> anything like <span class="sc">Max Splütterwessel</span>? At this point, as we +have finished coffee, and the Countess finds the room hot, I propose +adjourning the debate to the Restaurant in the garden, as we are +too late for the band at the Casino Samie.</p> + +<p>The party is broken up in order to walk down to our rendezvous.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Puller</span>, whose idea of making things pleasant, and, as he expresses +it, "sweetening everyone all round," is to order "drinks" for everybody, +insists upon the party taking "<i>consommations</i>"—he loves +saying this word—at his expense. The Countess at first objects, as +also does Madame <span class="sc">Metterbrun</span>; but, on <span class="sc">Puller's</span> explaining that +he belongs to "The Two-with-you Society," they accept this explanation +as utterly unintelligible but perfectly satisfactory; and so, +accepting <span class="sc">Puller's</span> <i>al fresco</i> hospitality, we form a cheerful +group +round two tables put together for our accommodation. <span class="sc">Puller's</span> +hospitality has taken the form of grenadines, chartreuses, and +"sherry-gobblers,"—he loves this word too,—for us all round, and +he has ordered for himself a strange mixture, which perfumes +the night air as if some nauseous draught had been brought out +of a chemist's shop, and which looks like green stagnant water in +a big glass. It is called by <span class="sc">Puller</span>, with great glee, an "Absinthe +gummy."</p> + +<p>Anything nastier to look at or to smell I am not acquainted with +in the way of drinks. However, he is our host, and I have a +grenadine before me of his ordering, and between my lips an excellent +cigar which is his gift. I can only say mildly, "It looks nasty;" +and Cousin <span class="sc">Jane</span> expresses herself to the same effect, remarking +also as she looks significantly towards me, that it is late, and that I +am not keeping Royat hours. I promise to come away in ten +minutes. <span class="sc">Puller</span> is in the highest possible spirits: surrounded by +this company, all drinking his drinks, he as it were takes the chair +and presides. He knocks on the table, which brings the waiter, to +whom he says, holding up a couple of fingers "Two with you,"—whereat +the waiter only smiles upon the eccentric Englishman, shakes +his head, and wisely retires.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Miladi," says <span class="sc">Puller</span>, "you must take a course of <span class="sc">Roberts</span>. +He's a rum 'un." Then he sings, "He's all right when you know +him, but you've got to hear him <i>fust</i>."</p> + +<p>His guests politely smile, all except the Countess. I preserve a +discreet silence. Taking this on the whole for encouragement, +<span class="sc">Puller</span> commences the song from which he has already quoted the +chorus. What the words are I do not catch, but as <span class="sc">Puller</span> reproduces +to the life the style and manner of a London Music-Hall +singer, and cocks his hat on one side, it is no wonder that the French +people at the other table turn towards us in amazement.</p> + +<p>"For goodness sake, <span class="sc">Mr. Puller</span>!" cries the Countess, rising +from her chair in consternation. <span class="sc">Jane</span> also rises, Miss +<span class="sc">Casanova</span> is +laughing nervously. The <span class="sc">Metterbruns</span> look utterly astonished. I +feel I must stop this at once.</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow," I say, magisterially, "you really mustn't do +this sort of thing"—he is breaking out again with "<i>O what a +surprise!</i>"—but I get up from my seat to reprove him gravely. +"You would not do this if you were in a London Restaurant."</p> + +<p>"No," he replies, not in the least offended—"that's the lark of +it. I belong to 'The Out-for-a-lark-and-Two-with-you Society.' +Don't you mind me," he adds; then turning with a pleasant wink +to the ladies, who have been putting on their wraps and mantles, +and are preparing to leave, he sings again,—</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"I'm all right when you know me—</p> +<p>But——"</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>We leave him to finish the song by himself.</p> + +<p>And to think that my friend <span class="sc">Puller</span>, with his hat cocked on one +side, a big cigar in his mouth, a tumbler of "absinthe gummy" +before him, a rakish expression in his eye, is the same <span class="sc">Puller</span> to +whom, as partner in the firm of <span class="sc">Horler, Puller, Puller (J), +Baker and Dayville</span>, Solicitors, I would trust my dearest interests +in any matter of property, of character, even of life itself! The +strange story of <i>Hyde</i> and <i>Jekyll</i> is no fiction, after all.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>WHITMAN IN LONDON.</h3> + +<h4>(<i>Adapted from the American.</i>)</h4> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:200px;"><a href="images/101.png"><img src="images/101-200.png" width="200" height="339" alt="A Salt and Battery." /></a> +<p>A Salt and Battery.</p></div> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Oh, site of Coldbath Fields Prison!</p> +<p>Oh, eight and three-quarter acres of potential Park for the plebs!</p> +<p>I gaze at you; I, <span class="sc">Walt</span>, gaze at you through cracks in the</p> +<p class="i4">black hoarding,</p> +<p>Though the helmeted blue-coated Bobby dilates to me on the</p> +<p class="i4">advantages of moving on.</p> +<p>I marvel at the stupidity of Authorities everywhere.</p> +<p>I stand and inhale a playground which in a week or two will be turned</p> +<p class="i4">into a Post Office by Government orders!</p> +<p>Instead of plants growing here, bricks will be planted.</p> +<p>Instead of girlhood, boyhood playing here, cash will be counted, stamps</p> +<p class="i4">will be affixed (savagely) by the public, and letters weighed when</p> +<p class="i4">the young women have time, and also inclination, to do so.</p> +<p>I, from the wild Western Continent, wilder myself, weep for this Park</p> +<p class="i4">soon to be devoured.</p> +<p>I am like a buck-jumper: I buck at it.</p> +<p>I am like the Giant Cowboy: only I am not gigantic, and I am cowed by it.</p> +<p>Oh, Northerly end of Farringdon Street! Oh, Coldbath Fields Square!</p> +<p class="i4">Oh, dwellers in all the adjacent slums and rookeries, redolent of</p> +<p class="i4">old clothes' shops, swarthy Italian organ-grinders, and the</p> +<p class="i4">superannuated herring,</p> +<p>Are you going to see another House of Correction—a Postal one—built</p> +<p class="i4">where the old one stood?</p> +<p>If so, it is <i>I</i> who correct you: I, who am so correct myself!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>And you, too, Clerkenwell Gaol!</p> +<p>What are the dodrotted Authorities going to do with <i>you</i>?</p> +<p>Eh? Clear you away, and build a Board School there?</p> +<p>But why build anything?</p> +<p>Clerkenwell is mine: I am <i>à propos</i> of Clerkenwell: Clerkenwell is</p> +<p class="i4"><i>à propos</i> of me.</p> +<p>Morally, if not legally, it is mine; morally it is yours as well, you</p> +<p class="i4">wizened, pallid, blue-nosed, dunderheaded Metropolitan Citizen!</p> +<p>In this jungle of houses, what is wanted is fresh air.</p> +<p>Everyone of you toilers should be given the real "Freedom of the City,"</p> +<p class="i4">by having free spaces bestowed on you.</p> +<p>It is better to learn how to expand the limbs, and play rounders, and</p> +<p class="i4">leap over the frog, and fly kites,</p> +<p>Than to acquire in a school-room elementary education, consisting of</p> +<p class="i4">algebra and Assyrian hieroglyphics, spelling, Greek, Italian, and</p> +<p class="i4">advanced trigonometry.</p> +<p><i>Allons</i>, then! <i>Esperanza!</i> Also <i>cui bono!</i> Go to your Home</p> +<p class="i4">Secretary, your Postmaster in General, and tell them that no</p> +<p class="i4">Post Office or School shall be built on this spot,</p> +<p>Because I, <span class="sc">Walt</span>, hailing hoarsely from Manhattan, have spotted it,</p> +<p>And <i>Punch</i>, the lustrous <i>camerado</i>, the ineffable dispensator, will</p> +<p class="i4">spot it too!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page102" id="page102"></a>[pg 102]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/102-1500.png"><img src="images/102-600.png" width="600" height="390" alt="COMPENSATION." /></a> +<h3>COMPENSATION.</h3> + +<p><i>Effie.</i> "<span class="sc">But, dear Mamma, how can we <i>help</i> being selfish, Maud +and I? You and Papa have always given way to us +in everything! Unselfish Parents always make Selfish Children, you know—and +<i>vice versa!</i></span>"</p> + +<p><i>Maud.</i> "<span class="sc">Yes; and, according to that, Mummy darling, just think what +nice <i>Un</i>selfish <i>Grand</i>children you'll have, +if we ever Marry!</span>"</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>JUPITER TONANS!</h3> + +<p class="center"> +"Shall I fetch your thunderbolt, Jove?" inquired +Ganymede.—<i>Ixion in Heaven.</i> +</p> + +<h4><i>Modern Jupiter loquitur:—</i></h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>A bolt, a potent one, and brought at need!</p> +<p>That <span class="sc">B-lf-r</span> is a ready Ganymede.</p> +<p>And yet—and yet—ah, well, upon my soul,</p> +<p>A troublous function is the Thunderer's <i>rôle</i>.</p> +<p>'Tis vastly fine, of course; if fate would smile,</p> +<p>I fancy that the Cloud-Compeller's style</p> +<p>Would suit me sweetly; just the line I love;</p> +<p>Resolute rule's the appanage of a Jove.</p> +<p>But <span class="sc">Shelley</span>'s dismal Demogorgon's self,</p> +<p>That solemn, shadowy, stern, oracular elf,</p> +<p>Plus obstinate Prometheus, did not play</p> +<p>Such mischief as the parties do to-day,</p> +<p>With Law and Order. Who would be a god</p> +<p>When force forsakes his bolt, and fear his nod?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Yes, here's the bolt forged ready to my hand,</p> +<p>But,—will it fly obedient to command,</p> +<p>And hit the mark I mean? Would I were sure;</p> +<p>Then should I hold my new-found seat secure,</p> +<p>Without a thought of Saturn, or that Hour</p> +<p>Which sets a term e'en to Olympian pow'r.</p> +<p>But what if like a boomerang, it fly</p> +<p>Back to my hand, or, worse, into mine eye?</p> +<p>Ah, Ganymede, Jupiter Tonans seems</p> +<p>A splendid part, in young ambition's dreams,</p> +<p>But, Ganymede, who would aspire, I wonder,</p> +<p>To be a Jove who's half afraid to thunder?</p> +<p>With doubts about the handling of my bolt,</p> +<p>And half Olympus in half-veiled revolt;</p> +<p>With hostile Titans mustering on the plain,</p> +<p>And old Prometheus "popping up again";</p> +<p>With Demogorgon lurking down below,</p> +<p>Disguised as Demos, with its muffled, low,</p> +<p>But multitudinous slowly-swelling voice,</p> +<p>How should I in Olympian power rejoice?</p> +<p>I grasp the bolt; I cannot well refuse it;</p> +<p>But—I half hope I may not have to use it!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>"HOMES IN THE HILLS."</h3> + +<blockquote><p> +[The absence of skilled nursing in the British +Military Hospitals in India having long been felt +to be a serious evil, leading to the needless sacrifice +of brave and valuable lives, the <span class="sc">Secretary</span> of +<span class="sc">State</span> has sanctioned the employment of Lady +Nurses in these hospitals. The Government of India +have undertaken the whole cost in connection with +this scheme, except the provision of "Homes in +the Hills," as restorative resorts for the Nursing +Sisters, when their own health feels the strain of +their arduous duties in such a climate as that of +the plains of India. The money required for this +most essential purpose the Government consider +might be "appropriately left to the active benevolence +of private individuals interested in the welfare +of the British Soldier in India."</p> + +<p>For aid towards the establishment of these +"Homes in the Hills," Lady <span class="sc">Roberts</span>, wife of the +gallant Indian hero, Sir <span class="sc">Frederick Roberts</span>, +makes an appeal which <i>Mr. Punch</i> desires most +earnestly to second.</p> + +<p>Subscriptions will be received by the Alliance +Bank, Simla; Messrs. Cox & Co., Craig's Court, +London; and by Lady <span class="sc">Roberts</span> herself.] +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>To nurse our stricken Soldiers! Nobler task,</p> +<p>Or more ennobling, can our Sisters ask?</p> +<p class="i2">Whilst stout hearts suffer, soft ones shall not fail</p> +<p>In selfless readiness to soothe and save,</p> +<p>Sharing the tribute rendered by the brave</p> +<p class="i4">To <span class="sc">Florence Nightingale</span>.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Her sex's strong and sweet exemplar, she</p> +<p>Must surely send across the orient sea</p> +<p class="i2">To "<span class="sc">Nora Roberts</span>," as a kindred heart,</p> +<p>Message of warm good-will. And we at home</p> +<p>For whom our soldiers fight, and watch, and roam,</p> +<p class="i4">Shall we not do our part?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>'Tis sad to think that in that burning land,</p> +<p>For lack of ministry from woman's hand,</p> +<p class="i2">Strong men and gallant boys have sunk and died.</p> +<p>Gladdening to hear that Nursing Sisters now,</p> +<p>To cool hot lips and ease pain-fevered brow,</p> +<p class="i4">Will seek our Soldiers' side.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>But who shall nurse the Nurses? When the strain</p> +<p>Of ministry on India's torrid plain</p> +<p class="i2">Brings the fatigue that, long-neglected, kills,</p> +<p>They'll need, as health-resorts whereto to send,</p> +<p>For rest restorative, the soldiers' friend,</p> +<p class="i4">Homes in the cooler hills.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>For these the Lady of our gallant Chief,</p> +<p>Whose brilliant march brought Candahar relief,</p> +<p class="i2">Pleads to a public whom that honoured name</p> +<p>Alone should stir to sympathy and aid.</p> +<p>Help for the Helpers! <i>Punch</i> is not afraid</p> +<p class="i4"><i>That</i> plea will miss its aim!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page103" id="page103"></a>[pg 103]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/103-1500.png"><img src="images/103-360.png" width="360" height="460" alt="JUPITER TONANS!" /></a> +<h2>JUPITER TONANS!</h2></div> + +<h4>"HA!—A POWERFUL WEAPON!—HOPE I MAYN'T HAVE TO USE IT!!"]</h4> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page104" id="page104"></a>[pg 104]</span> +<p> </p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page105" id="page105"></a>[pg 105]</span> + + + +<h3>HOLIDAY HINTS.</h3> + +<h4>(<i>From Crowded-out Correspondents.</i>)</h4> + +<p> +<span class="sc">Sir</span>,—The plan of your Correspondent, "<span class="sc">A Doubtful Sailor</span>," who +alleges that he avoids sea-sickness by drinking two bottles of +Champagne before starting, and then goes on board accompanied by +his Family Doctor, who administers alternately nitrous oxide gas and +ginger beer to him every ten minutes till the passage is over, though +no doubt an efficacious preventive, strikes me as less simple than the +means I invariably employ to secure a comfortable crossing. They +are easily available, and are as follows. Before I start I provide +myself with a six-foot mattrass, several yards of rope, and four screw-hooks, +which, the moment I enter the cabin, I proceed with a large +gimlet to fasten to the ceiling, and, before the Steward or passengers +have had time to protest, I have rigged myself up a capital swinging +bed in the very centre of the vessel. To jump in, occupy it, and keep +officials at bay with an umbrella, only needs a little nerve and +practice, and when once fairly out of port, specially if <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'if'">it</ins> be rough, +one is not very easily dislodged. In the course of thirteen passages, +I have only been overturned eleven times, in nine of which I was cut +down by order of the Captain; and though on several occasions, +through clinging to the swinging-lamp, I brought it down in the +struggle, and had to pay for the damage, I can confidently recommend +any one who has a horror of the Channel crossing, and does +not mind a brisk physical encounter with three Stewards, the First +Mate, and half the crew of one of the Folkestone and Boulogne boats, +to follow my example. +</p> + + +<p class="right">I am, Sir, your obedient servant,</p> + +<p class="author"><span class="sc">Abaft the Funnel.</span></p> + + +<p> +<span class="sc">Sir</span>,—"<span class="sc">One who Hasn't Yet Done It</span>," wants to know how, +travelling with only one ticket, he can secure an entire third-class +compartment for the whole journey to himself. I will tell him. Let +him install himself in his quarters taking with him five full life-sized +lay-figures dressed in old great-coats with hats pulled down over +their ears and eyes, and let him arrange these picturesquely about +the carriage in attitudes indicative of the suffering of much internal +torture. Then let him stand at the window with a genial and good-humoured +expression on his face, and pointing over his shoulder to the +scene behind him, explain briefly to any passengers who are thinking +of entering, that he is travelling with "five aged uncles in the last +stage of delirium from a contagious and infectious fever," and he +will find they will instantly desist from their efforts and hurry to +another portion of the train. To carry out this little <i>ruse</i> successfully +it may be sometimes necessary to wink at the ticket-collector and +give him threepence, but this does not follow as a matter of course. +The plan will be found to work excellently on comparatively short +excursions to the sea-side, during which people sent in search of health +are necessarily anxious to avoid anything approaching to the risk of +contagion. For longer distances, such as a journey to the North for +instance, there is nothing like travelling with an Indian Chief, and +if possible, with a hyæna. The appearance of the former in gleaming +paint and feathers brandishing a tomahawk and uttering wild war-whoops +at every station, will be sure to prevent the intrusion of +women with babies, while even a country farmer, on seeing the +hyæna emerge from under the seat, and on your remarking smilingly, +"He isn't muzzled, but I don't think he'll bite," will be likely to +select some other compartment. I have travelled from King's Cross +to Inverness several times under the above conditions, and except on +one occasion at Perth, where the hyæna got loose and <ins title="Transcriber's Note: [sic]">eat</ins> thirteen +half-crown breakfasts, for which I had to pay, and on one other at +Edinburgh, when the Indian Chief scalped a ticket-collector by mistake, +I have never met with any sort of <i>contretemps</i>, but enjoyed +the journey in comfort, and kept the carriage the whole way entirely +to myself. At this season of the year when so many who are off "for +the grouse," think twice before putting their hands into their +pockets for the exorbitant fare of a journey first-class, my method of +securing all its comfort at half the cost, may possibly find some +votaries willing to profit by my experience. Such as it is, it is thus +freely placed at their disposal. +</p> + + +<p class="right">By yours inventively,</p> + +<p class="author"><span class="sc">There and Back.</span></p> + + +<p> +<span class="sc">Sir</span>,—Your Correspondent, a "<span class="sc">Stifled Invalid</span>," wants to know +how, in these days of ill-drained and ill-ventilated lodgings, he can +secure a breath of fresh sea-air without the risk of being prostrated +by a local fever, or poisoned by sewer gas. His course is simple +enough. He has only to do as I have done. Let him get a furniture-van +(if he is a married man with a family, he will want more—I +have five), and hire a traction-engine to drag him to some well-known +watering-place, and deposit him on the Pier. I have tried +the experiment, as yet, with every prospect of success. Here am I, +with my five vans, well installed at the end of the Pier of a well-known +fashionable health resort, the band playing twice a day, with the +fresh air blowing all about me, and the sea surrounding me on every +side. We managed to get on when the man who takes the tickets +was away having his dinner. The situation is quite delightful, and +but for the fact that all the local Authorities have commenced proceedings +against me, and that there was a slight riot last night +during an ineffectual attempt made by six-and-thirty cart-horses to +move me on to the Marine Parade, I have every reason to be satisfied +with the result of my experiment. I am living rent free, and, beyond +the cost of a family ticket for the Pier, which, though it is disputed +by the Committee, I insist gives me a right to have my vans on as +well, have, as yet, been put to no expense whatever. There was a +report that the Local Fire Brigade had resolved, in the event of my not +moving off, to force me to do so by "pumping" me out, but I am loth +to believe this. Meantime we are having some excellent fishing with +a lawn-tennis net. The traction-engine is to call for me in a month. +Strongly recommending my "Plan of Campaign" to a "<span class="sc">Stifled +Invalid</span>," I beg to subscribe myself, your obedient servant, +</p> + + +<p class="author"><span class="sc">No Land Lubber.</span></p> + + +<hr /> + +<h3>THE NOVEL-READER'S VADE MECUM.</h3> + +<p><i>Question.</i> I believe you are a very rapid reader of fiction?</p> + +<p><i>Answer.</i> Certainly. My average rate is three and a half volumes +a day. This gives me plenty of time for meals, sleep and skipping.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:300px;"><a href="images/105.png"><img src="images/105-300.png" width="300" height="248" alt="Through Booking, First-Class and otherwise." /></a> +<p>Through Booking, First-Class and otherwise.</p></div> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Do you skip a great deal?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> A very great deal. For instance, +I have skipped about two-thirds of <i>Isa</i>, +by the Editor of the <i>North-Eastern +Daily Gazette</i>, in spite of it being only +in a couple of volumes, and containing +for an introduction the following rather +lengthy sentence:—"If the devil were +in a laughing mood, what could seem +more grimly humorous to him than the +vision of a fair young spirit striving +consciously after ethereal perfection, +but overweighted unconsciously by the bonds and fetters of human +infirmity and passion, and dragged at last headlong down the +abysmal descent to perdition?" "Abysmal" is good—very good.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Well, and what of the book itself?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Chiefly horrors. Nightmare after a pork-chop supper I fancy. +<i>Nelly Jocelyn</i> (<i>Widow</i>), is a welcome contrast. One of the best +things +Miss <span class="sc">Jean Middlemass</span> has done. The character of <i>Paul Cazalet</i> +capitally drawn and foreign local colouring admirable.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> What do you think of <i>His Own Enemy</i>?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Fancy the title somehow must refer to the Author. Clerical +sketches full of unconscious humour. Two volumes but <i>very</i> big +ones. Quite a relief to get to <i>A False Start</i>,—by <span class="sc">Hawley Smart</span>, +which is most entertaining. But in this case the name of the Author +is a safe guarantee for something worth reading.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> What do you think of <i>A Modern Circe</i>?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> I fancy it is not quite so good as <i>Molly Brown</i>, by the same +Author.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> What do you know of <i>Molly Brown</i>?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Nothing—I have not read it.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> What have you to say about <i>Scamp</i>?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> That it is by the Author of <i>The Silent Shadow</i>, which I fancy +must be the sequel of another novel called <i>The Garrulous Ghost</i>. +In the first chapter the heroine <i>Scamp</i>, (a young lady) is discovered +up a tree from which coign of vantage she throws a yellow-paper-covered +novel at the gardener's head.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> The first chapter then must be vastly entertaining?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Vastly. I am absolutely dying to read the chapters that follow +it, and will—some day.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> What is <i>Brother or Lover</i> about? <i>A.</i> I don't know—do you?</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> This is trifling! Pray describe <i>Out of Tune</i>.</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Ought to have been called <i>Out of Paganini</i>—founded upon +that distinguished fiddler's life, although (as the Author says) "it is +necessarily speculative as to its details."</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Have you read <i>In the King's Service</i>?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Some of it. Fancy it deals with the Peninsular War.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> How about <i>Jill and Jack</i>?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Book I imagine written before the title. Rather hard work to +get up the hill which ends with the last chapter.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> What is <i>Hidden in my Heart</i>?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Seemingly the words which finish the third volume, "It is two +years now since <i>Hubert</i> died, and to-morrow is my second wedding-day."</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Is this the first novel that the Authoress has written?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Oh dear no. She has also published <i>Out of Eden</i>, <i>Quite +True</i>, +and a book which apparently refers to the late-in-life "finishing" +of an uneducated ecclesiastic called <i>The Vicar's Governess</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Don't you think that you are rather hard upon the novelists?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> I hope not. I am sure I owe them a deep, deep debt of +gratitude.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> How so? <i>A.</i> Without them I should be a victim to insomnia.</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page106" id="page106"></a>[pg 106]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/106a.png"><img src="images/106a-400.png" width="400" height="473" alt="A REMINISCENCE OF THE VERY DRY WEATHER." /></a> +<h3>A REMINISCENCE OF THE VERY DRY WEATHER.</h3> + +<p class="center"><i>Secretary to Water-Works.</i> "<span class="sc">Tut-t-t-t. 'Getting very serious, y'know! +If this Drought continues, I don't know what we——</span>"</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Friend.</i> "<span class="sc">Look here,—can't you turn on some Whiskey in the service? +My dear Fellow, it would infallibly prevent Waste!</span>"</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>THE WHISTLING RELIEF.</h3> + +<h4>(<i>A Song for the Sleepy.</i>)</h4> + +<blockquote><p> +"Baron <span class="sc">H. de Worms</span> informed Mr. <span class="sc">Lawson</span>, +that the Board of Trade had communicated with +some of the Railway Companies as to the nuisance +caused to the inhabitants of the Metropolis by the +constant use of railway whistles at night, and the +Board were assured that every effort would be +made to reduce the nuisance."—<i>Parliamentary +Report.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<h4><span class="sc">Air</span>—"<i>The Whistlin' Thief.</i>"</h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>When one is tired or ill,</p> +<p class="i2">And fain asleep would be,</p> +<p>A whistle loud and shrill</p> +<p class="i2">Oft brings the "big, big D."</p> +<p>"<span class="sc">De Worms</span>," young <span class="sc">Lawson</span> said,</p> +<p class="i2">"This whistling is a bore."</p> +<p>"All right," says the Baron; "don't you be afraid.</p> +<p class="i2">They'll whistle at night no more."</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>"I've lived a long time, Baron,"</p> +<p class="i2">Says <i>Punch</i>, "in the world, my dear,</p> +<p>But of a nuisance settled <i>at once</i>,</p> +<p class="i2">I never yet did hear.</p> +<p>Yet if you'll lessen nocturnal shines,</p> +<p class="i2">And let us sleep or think,</p> +<p>Your jolly good health all the commonwealth</p> +<p class="i2">In a bumper deep will drink."</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Eccentric Conduct of a Journalist +on the Spree</span>.—The Editor of the Berlin +<i>Echo</i> has offered a prize for the best Poem +in praise of the Mother-in-Law. This +singular demand proves that the gentleman +cannot be married.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>CHANGE OF NAME.</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>If thus Penny Papers are freely allowed</p> +<p class="i2">To fling right and left their absurd imputations,</p> +<p>To find a new name for the quill-driving crowd</p> +<p class="i2">Will surely be one of our first obligations.</p> +<p>The Penny-a-Liner for long has been known</p> +<p class="i2">As a genial gusher, a fine phrase-refiner;</p> +<p>But now that he false and malignant has grown,</p> +<p class="i2">We must call him "The Penny Maligner."</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>THE FLY AND THE FARMERS.</h3> + +<blockquote><p> +"The Hessian Fly is causing great alarm amongst +the agriculturists. Its extinction is attracting the +attention of the Faculty."—<i>Daily Paper.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:200px;"><a href="images/106b.png"><img src="images/106b-200.png" width="200" height="158" alt="Catching Perch with a Fly." /></a> +<p>Catching Perch with a Fly.</p></div> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Now we number the Potato</p> +<p class="i2">Beetle 'mong the scares gone by;</p> +<p>But a cuss has found its way to</p> +<p class="i2">Fields of corn—the Hessian Fly.</p> +<p><i>Unde derivatur</i> "Hessian"?</p> +<p class="i2">Named from whence the fly had flown,</p> +<p>Under quite a wrong impression,</p> +<p class="i2">No such thing in Hesse's known.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p><i>Cecidomyia destructor</i>,</p> +<p class="i2">(What long names have little things!)</p> +<p>Comes o'er Ocean by conductor;</p> +<p class="i2">Straw, pestiferous, <i>pupæ</i>, brings.</p> +<p>They turn, each, into a small gnat,</p> +<p class="i2">Not a blow-fly, bottle-blue;</p> +<p><i>Cecidomyia</i>, <i>vulgò</i>, gall-gnat,</p> +<p class="i2">Galls both growths and growers too.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>So the Farmers, full of trouble,</p> +<p class="i2">Help imploring go about,</p> +<p>They are told to burn the stubble;</p> +<p class="i2">No way else to stamp it out.</p> +<p>True the <i>Chalcis</i> is reputed,</p> +<p class="i2">On the Gall-gnat's grub to feed;</p> +<p>But, for service to be suited,</p> +<p class="i2">How that parasite can they breed?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Yet there is a vermin-killer,</p> +<p class="i2">Like to thin the dipterous pest,</p> +<p>To the farmer and the miller,</p> +<p class="i2">Which instruction may suggest.</p> +<p>What may be, the question narrows,</p> +<p class="i2">If they doubt they can but try,</p> +<p>Is, if let alone, the sparrows</p> +<p class="i2">Might keep down the Hessian Fly.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Bless his 'Art</span>.—If there is anything in +a name, the recently suggested appointment +of <i>Artin Effendi</i> as Turkish Commissioner at +Sofia ought to mean something. Certainly +the situation is one demanding the exercise +of no little diplomatic art. But the question +is, whether the proposed Commissioner has +got, as <span class="sc">Robert</span> would put it, his <i>art in</i> the +business. There's the point.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">A Pretty Kettle of Fish</span>.—The Riots at +Ostend.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>THE SIGH OF THE SEASON.</h3> + +<div class="figright" style="width:200px;"><a href="images/106c.png"><img src="images/106c-200.png" width="200" height="182" alt="Pilled at the Club." /></a> +<p>Pilled at the Club.</p></div> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Good-bye dinner, good-bye lunch,</p> +<p>Good-bye turtle, good-bye punch,</p> +<p>Good-bye jambon soaked in cham.,</p> +<p>Good-bye venison, cutlets lamb,</p> +<p>Good-bye salmon, smelts, and sole,</p> +<p>Good-bye <span class="sc">Heidsieck's</span> Monopole,</p> +<p>Good-bye hock, sauterne, and sherry,</p> +<p>Good-bye all that makes me merry,</p> +<p>Good-bye liqueurs, <i>petite verre</i>,</p> +<p>Good-bye Sauce <i>au Vin Madère</i>,</p> +<p>Good-bye all these joys of life,</p> +<p>Good-bye fork, and good-bye knife,</p> +<p>Good-bye all I take when out,</p> +<p>Good-bye <i>then</i> this twinge of gout!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Worth Notice</span>.—There is this slight difference +between the conventional Yankee and the +average Home Ruler, that whilst the former +swears "by Gum," the latter swears by G. O. M.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"<span class="sc">The Story of a Kiss</span>."—(<i>A "Novel" +Reading.</i>)—Kiss and tell! For shame!</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page107" id="page107"></a>[pg 107]</span> + +<h3>INTERIORS AND EXTERIORS. N<b>°</b>· 51.</h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/107-1500.png"><img src="images/107-600.png" width="600" height="499" alt="THE LATE PARLIAMENTARY HARVEST." /></a> +<h3>THE LATE PARLIAMENTARY HARVEST.</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>Facsimile of Sketch by Our Out-of-Town Special.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.</h3> + +<h5>EXTRACTED FROM</h5> + +<h4>THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.</h4> + +<p><i>House of Commons, Monday August 22.</i>—Peers at last face the +inevitable. As records have shown there has been for week or two +no work for them to do. Still, they have eased their tender consciences +by assembling to see <span class="sc">Halsbury</span> take the Woolsack. (Always +a pleasing spectacle. Innate grace of <span class="sc">Lord Chancellor</span> comes out in +every step and gesture.) To-night there was, as usual, nothing to +do; but Noble Lords really could not again make believe that Nation +could not get on without them. So stayed away, and for one night +House of Lords abolished.</p> + +<p>In Commons at hour for commencing public business barely a +quorum present. Both Front Bench and Treasury Bench vacant. +<span class="sc">George Balfour</span>, always ready to throw himself into breach, took +possession of seat of Leader of Opposition, and calmly gazed across +table. Never should it be said as long as he had seat in House that +Liberals were as sheep without a shepherd. Few Members on back +benches visibly brightened up at sight of veteran volunteer.</p> + +<p>Only a few questions, but unwonted difficulty in getting through +them. Some cases the questioner not present. In others Minister +addressed not yet arrived. <span class="sc">McArthur</span> had question down pretty +early in list. <span class="sc">Speaker</span> called upon him. No response. Went on to +next question. Quarter of an hour later, all other questions run +through. <span class="sc">McArthur</span> coming in put his question to Parliamentary +Secretary for Foreign Affairs. <span class="sc">Fergusson</span>, who had also just +arrived, supposing that <span class="sc">McArthur</span> had put question in due course, +apologised to him for not having been in his place; whereat House +laughed uproariously. Very grateful in these times for anything +that looks like joke.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">P. Stanhope</span> brought under notice of Home Secretary case of +enterprising parish constable in North Hunts. P.C., a supporter of +Her Majesty's Government, resented Liberal candidate presenting +himself before constituency. Determined he should not be heard. +Brought down enormous rattle; swung it about throughout candidate's +speech. <span class="sc">Joseph Gillis</span> pricked up his ears. What a notion +this would be for adaptation to Parliamentary usage! Suppose he +had rattle and swung it whilst <span class="sc">Saunderson</span> or <span class="sc">Johnston</span> were +speaking? Will consult <span class="sc">Speaker</span> as to how far this would be in +order. <span class="sc">Home Secretary</span> declined to be responsible for either parish +constable or his rattle.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Votes on Supply.</p> + +<p><i>Tuesday.</i>—Lords sat ten minutes to-night. Home to dinner, with +sense of deserving well of country.</p> + +<p>Commons at work again in Supply. Considered Vote for Science +and Art Department, South Kensington. <span class="sc">Cavendish-Bentinck</span> +contributed one or two speeches of great interest. Thin attendance, +and prevalent air of lassitude. But, whilst on legs, C.-B. riveted +attention. Very indignant with neglect of Art in common life. Old +Members accustomed to Right Hon. Gentleman's little trick, of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page108" id="page108"></a>[pg 108]</span> +which he is sole repository. But new Members tremble, and grow +pale, as, when denouncing any person or practice, Right Hon. +Gentleman mysteriously raises his hair till it stands on end. Once +this phenomenon came about when he denounced certain weighing-machines, +which, he said, had recently been put up at London +railway stations. Tops of this machine, he said, were supported by +two columns, one supposed to be Ionic, and the other Doric.</p> + +<p>"As matter of fact," said <span class="sc">C.-B.</span>, his hair slowly uprising, "they're +neither one thing nor the other, but simply German!"</p> + +<p>As he spoke, fixed fiery eye on <span class="sc">Home Secretary. Matthews</span>, so +accustomed to be badgered, and feeling his perfect innocence in this +respect, shook his head. Phenomenon witnessed again when +<span class="sc">Bentinck</span> discovered that picture, bought at <span class="sc">Christie's</span> for 120 +guineas, subsequently sold to National Gallery for 400. Hair rose in +angry protest.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Thirteen Votes passed.</p> + +<p><i>Thursday.</i>—Dreary wilderness of House of Commons blossomed +to-night like a rose-garden. Yesterday, and for days before, empty +benches and a fagged remnant wrestling with routine votes. To-night +House crowded, and buzz of excitement filled chamber. <span class="sc">Gladstone</span> +going to move hostile Resolution on Government proposal to +proclaim Land League. Every Member in town early in his place. +Members from afar arrived post haste. Even <span class="sc">Randolph</span>, temporarily +returns. Old Morality smiles ghastly smile of welcome, but knees +tremble as he wonders what <span class="sc">Randolph</span> means to do. The <span class="sc">O'Gorman +Mahon</span> back again, <span class="sc">Parnell</span> having elected him for Carlow +County. The old boy as young as ever, and full of reminiscences +of his early Parliamentary career, which goes back immeasurable +distance.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width:250px;"><a href="images/108a.png"><img src="images/108a-210.png" width="210" height="470" alt="C. Br-dl-gh." /></a> +<p class="center">C. Br-dl-gh.</p></div> + +<p>"Ah," he said, looking at the Mace, "there it is agin. I remimber +well the afternoon—we always sat in the afternoon thin—when +<span class="sc">Cromwell</span> came down, and said, 'Take away that bauble, ye +spalpeens, or I'll make it worse for ye.' I was younger then, <span class="sc">Toby</span> +me bhoy, indade quite a young man."</p> + +<p>Old boy's limp is, I fancy, getting better. He has suffered it for +some years now. Seems that one day towards the close of last +century <span class="sc">Burke</span> flung dagger on floor of +House by way of peroration. Weapon rebounded, +and struck The <span class="sc">Mahon</span> on the +instep. If you step into the lavatory with +him, he'll show you the scar.</p> + +<p>"A mere thrifle, a mere thrifle, acushla! +They were lively bhoys when I was in me +proime."</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Gladstone</span> in fine form and excellent +voice. Honoured occasion by donning one +of his biggest collars and a new necktie. +Curious proof of his persuasiveness how he +gradually talked his necktie round till +knot rested under left ear. <span class="sc">Balfour</span> +squealed forth his disapprobation for upwards +of an hour. Rather a pitiful spectacle, +the more so by reason of the contrast.</p> + +<p>"He should try to avoid immediately +following <span class="sc">Gladstone</span>," said <span class="sc">Randolph</span>, +looking down contemptuously at his former +friend.</p> + +<p>Best speeches after first, <i>longo intervallo</i>, +were <span class="sc">Bradlaugh's</span> and <span class="sc">Robertson's</span>, the +Scotch Solicitor-General. Conservatives +quite forgotten their old animosity to +Member for Northampton. As for Parnellites, +cheer him madly as they do +<span class="sc">Parnell</span>. Certainly <span class="sc">Bradlaugh</span> has acquired +House of Commons' manner. Speeches in good style and full +of point.</p> + +<p>Quite a treat to hear such speech as <span class="sc">Robertson's</span> from Treasury +Bench. Mem. for Markiss. Why not double his salary, and let him +speak from <span class="sc">Matthews's</span> brief, and, above all, from <span class="sc">Balfour's</span>?</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Debate on Proclamation of National League.</p> + +<p><i>Friday.</i>—Amphibious old Warrior, who has been Admiral afloat, +Generalissimo ashore, and is now Member for County Carlow, reappeared +to-night, and took oath. It was a moving scene. Old +veteran got up in rather young-looking costume, light tweed, with +white waistcoat, in cut what young beau of twenty might wear.</p> + +<p>"Why, Colonel," said <span class="sc">Cyril Flower</span>, a judge of these things, +"you look younger than ever in your new suit!"</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width:300px;"><a href="images/108b.png"><img src="images/108b-280.png" width="280" height="346" alt="Lord H-rt-ngt-n's attitude towards" /></a> +<p class="center">Lord H-rt-ngt-n's attitude towards +Mr. Gl-dst-ne.</p> +</div> + +<p>"New, bedad," says The <span class="sc">Mahon</span>, "why I had 'em made to go to +the wedding of <span class="sc">William</span> and <span class="sc">Mary</span>. All Mimbers of Parliament +invoited; special seats in Abbey; and, what's more, a good luncheon +at <span class="sc">Bellamy's</span>. Haven't worn suit lately; thought it would do for +this festive occasion."</p> + +<p>The <span class="sc">Mahon's</span> advance to table to take oath a triumphal progress. +Members on both sides cheered like mad. The Colonel stopped half +way, and, facing friends and countrymen, blew them a kiss from +tips of fingers. Turning to Ministerialists, who joined in applause +he bowed gracefully. Clerks had +greatest difficulty in convoying him +to <span class="sc">Speaker's</span> Chair. Broke away +from escort, and shook hands with +Old Morality. No joke when The +<span class="sc">Mahon</span> shakes hands. Pumps away +violently for several moments, as if +ship were leaking, and all depended +on him. Next got hold of <span class="sc">Balfour</span>, +and avenged long woes of Ireland. +At last got at <span class="sc">Speaker</span>. +Thought he'd never let go. +Pumped away till the +<span class="sc">Speaker</span> had hardly breath +to call "Order! order!" +Finally flopped himself +down next to <span class="sc">Gladstone</span>, +on Front Bench, and gave +him fearful shaking up.</p> + +<p>This, liveliest episode in +debate. Some pretty good +speaking, but everyone sick +to death of topic.</p> + +<p>A little movement of interest +when <span class="sc">Hartington</span> rose; +but happiest moment when +bell rang, and Division actually at hand. Business done.—Proclamation +of Land League approved.</p> + +<br clear="all" /> +<hr /> + +<h3>A SUMMER SOLILOQUY.</h3> + +<h4><i>By Jaques Junior.</i></h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>A bee, or not a bee? That is the question.</p> +<p>Whether 'twere better not to mind, and suffer</p> +<p>The stings that every summer are our portion,</p> +<p>Or take the trouble but to move an arm,</p> +<p>And, by opposing, end them. It flies—it creeps,</p> +<p>It creeps, perchance it stings! Then comes the rub,</p> +<p>When we have shuffled off our clothing. Soft,</p> +<p>'Twas but a bluebottle! How sweet it is</p> +<p>To lie like this i' the sun, and think of nought</p> +<p>Save how sweet 'tis to lie, and think of nought;</p> +<p>And that meseems to many wordy sages</p> +<p>Were small refreshment in this windy time.</p> +<p>How many are there who do cheat themselves,</p> +<p>And with themselves the many, that they are</p> +<p>The very vaward leaders of the fray,</p> +<p>The lictors of the pomp of intellect.</p> +<p>Whereas they are the merest driven spray,</p> +<p>The running rabble heralding the march</p> +<p>Impelled by what they herald;—</p> +<p>Who ever glance behind to see which way——</p> +<p>Oh, my prophetick soul! my Aunt <span class="sc">Eliza</span>!</p> +<p class="i28">[<i>He is stung</i>!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>IRISH NET PROFIT.</h3> + +<p>In connection with the establishment, thanks chiefly to the +munificence of Lady <span class="sc">Burdett-Coutts</span> and the Duke of <span class="sc">Norfolk</span>, +at Baltimore (Cork) of +a New Industrial +Fishery School to the +end of teaching the +fishermen there how +to make the most of +their hauls, the +<i>Times</i>, as one example +of the need of +that instruction for +those toilers of the +Sea, very justly observes +that "their +ignorance of the art +of curing fish causes +them endless loss." +The hap of Kill or +Cure may be hazarded +by physicians, but the practice of fishermen should be to kill and +cure too—kill first and cure afterwards. Sure, no Irishman can +fail to see the force of that. An Irish peasant sometimes when his pig +is poorly, kills the animal, as he says, to save its life, whereby, of +course, he means, to save his bacon. Fishermen should be up to +curing all fish that are curable—except—they are not bootmakers—the +cure of soles!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:300px;"><a href="images/108c.png"><img src="images/108c-300.png" width="300" height="225" alt="'Putting the Carte before the Hoarse.'" /></a> +<p class="center">"Putting the Carte before the Hoarse."</p></div> + +<hr class="full" /> + + +<div class="figleft1"><img src="images/finger.png" width="32" height="14" alt="finger pointing" border="0" /> +</div> + <p class="center" style="margin-top: -0.2em;">NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed +Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will +in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed +Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule +there will be no exception.</p> +<hr class="full" /> + +<table align="center" summary="note" style="margin-top: 5em;"> +<tr><td class="note"> +<h4>Transcriber's Note:</h4> + +<p>Missing and illegible/damaged punctuation has been repaired.</p> + +<p>The remaining corrections are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections.</p> +<p style="margin-top:-1em;">Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text will <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'apprear'">appear</ins>.</p> + + +</td></tr></table> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch or the London Charivari, Vol. +93, September 3, 1887, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + +***** This file should be named 29679-h.htm or 29679-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/6/7/29679/ + +Produced by Lesley Halamek, Malcolm Farmer 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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