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diff --git a/30018-h/30018-h.htm b/30018-h/30018-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ba675aa --- /dev/null +++ b/30018-h/30018-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1530 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Punch, February 22, 1890.</title> +<style type="text/css"> + + body { + margin-left : 10%; + margin-right : 10%; + } + + p { + text-align : justify; + } + + p.indent { + text-indent : 1.5em; + } + + blockquote { + text-align : justify; + } + + h1, h2, h3, h4, h5, h6 { + text-align : center; + } + + pre { + font-size : 0.7em; + } + + hr { + text-align : center; + width : 50%; + } + + html > body hr { + margin-right : 25%; + margin-left : 25%; + width : 50%; + } + + hr.full { + width : 100%; + } + + html > body hr.full { + margin-right : 0%; + margin-left : 0%; + width : 100%; + } + + hr.short { + text-align : center; + width : 20%; + } + + html > body hr.short { + margin-right : 40%; + margin-left : 40%; + width : 20%; + } + + .note { + margin-left : 10%; + margin-right : 10%; + font-size : 0.9em; + } + + span.pagenum { + position : absolute; + left : 1%; + right : 91%; + font-size : 8pt; + } + + .smcap { + font-variant : small-caps; + font-weight : normal; + } + + .poem { + margin-left : 10%; + margin-right : 10%; + margin-bottom : 1em; + text-align : left; + } + + .poem .stanza { + margin : 1em 0 1em 0; + } + + .poem p { + margin : 0; + padding-left : 3em; + text-indent : -3em; + } + + .poem p.i2 { + margin-left : 1em; + } + + .poem p.i16 { + margin-left : 8em; + } + + .figure { + padding-right : 1em; + padding-left : 1em; + font-size : 0.8em; + padding-bottom : 1em; + margin : 0; + padding-top : 1em; + text-align : center; + } + + .figcenter { + padding-right : 1em; + padding-left : 1em; + font-size : 0.8em; + padding-bottom : 1em; + margin : 0; + padding-top : 1em; + text-align : center; + } + + .figright { + padding-right : 1em; + padding-left : 1em; + font-size : 0.8em; + padding-bottom : 1em; + margin : 0; + padding-top : 1em; + text-align : center; + } + + .figleft { + padding-right : 1em; + padding-left : 1em; + font-size : 0.8em; + padding-bottom : 1em; + margin : 0; + padding-top : 1em; + text-align : center; + } + + .figure img { + border-top-style : none; + border-right-style : none; + border-left-style : none; + border-bottom-style : none; + } + + .figcenter img { + border-top-style : none; + border-right-style : none; + border-left-style : none; + border-bottom-style : none; + } + + .figright img { + border-top-style : none; + border-right-style : none; + border-left-style : none; + border-bottom-style : none; + } + + .figleft img { + border-top-style : none; + border-right-style : none; + border-left-style : none; + border-bottom-style : none; + } + + .figure p { + margin : 0; + text-indent : 1em; + } + + .figcenter p { + margin : 0; + text-indent : 1em; + } + + .figright p { + margin : 0; + text-indent : 1em; + } + + .figleft p { + margin : 0; + text-indent : 1em; + } + + .figure p.in { + margin : 0; + text-indent : 8em; + } + + .figcenter p.in { + margin : 0; + text-indent : 8em; + } + + .figright p.in { + margin : 0; + text-indent : 8em; + } + + .figleft p.in { + margin : 0; + text-indent : 8em; + } + + .figcenter { + margin : auto; + } + + .figright { + float : right; + width : auto; + } + + .figleft { + float : left; + width : auto; + } + +</style> +</head> + +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30018 ***</div> + +<h1>PUNCH,<br /> +OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> + + +<h2>VOL. XCVIII.</h2> + +<hr class="full" /> + + +<h2><span class="smcap">February 22, 1890.</span></h2> + +<hr class="full" /> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:50%"> +<a href="images/p085.png"><img width="80%" src="images/p085.png" alt="" /></a> +<h3>THE SCIENTIFIC VOLUNTEER.</h3> +<blockquote> +"If ever I have to choose.... I shall, without hesitation, +shoulder my rifle with the Orangeman."—<i>See Professor Tyndall's +Reply to Sir W. V. Harcourt.</i> "<i>Times</i>," Feb. 13, 1890. +</blockquote> +</div> + +<hr /> + + +<h2>'ARRY ON EQUALITY.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="smcap">Dear Charlie</span>,—Bin down as a dab with that dashed heppydemick, dear boy.</p> + <p>I 'ave bloomin' nigh sneezed my poor head orf. You know that there specie of toy</p> + <p>Wot they call cup-and-ball! That's <i>me</i>, <span class="smcap">Charlie</span>! My back seemed to open and shut,</p> + <p>As the <i>grippe</i>-demon danced on my innards, and played pitch-and-toss with my nut.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Hinfluenza be blowed! It licks hague and cholera rolled into one.</p> + <p>The Sawbones have give it that name, I'm aware, but of course that's their fun.</p> + <p>I've 'ad colds in the head by the hunderd, but <i>this</i> weren't no cold, leastways <i>mine</i>.</p> + <p>Howsomever, I'm jest coming round a bit, thanks to warm slops and QyNine.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Took to reading, I did as I mended; that's mostly a practice with me.</p> + <p>When I'm down on my back that's the time for a turn at my dear old <i>D. T.</i></p> + <p>A party named <span class="smcap">Robert Buchanan</span>, as always appears on the job,</p> + <p>Was a slating a chappie called <span class="smcap">Huxley</span>. Thinks I, I'll take stock of friend <span class="smcap">Bob</span>.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Well, <i>he</i> ain't much account, that's a moral; a ramblinger Rad never wos.</p> + <p>Old <span class="smcap">Huxley's</span> wuth ten on him, <span class="smcap">Charlie</span>, though <i>he's</i> rather huppish and poz.</p> + <p>Are men really born free and equal? Ah! that's wot they're harguing hout.</p> + <p><span class="smcap">Bob B.</span>, he says "Yus;" <span class="smcap">Huxley</span>, "No;" and <span class="smcap">Bob's</span> wrong, there's no manner of doubt.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Free and equal?" Oh, <span class="smcap">Nebuchadnezzar</span>! how <i>can</i> they talk sech tommy-rot?</p> + <p>Might as well say as Fiz and Four-Arf should be equally fourpence a pot.</p> + <p>Nice hidea, but <i>taint so</i>, that's the wust on it. There's where these dreamers go wrong.</p> + <p>Ought's nothink, and that as is, <i>is</i>; all the rest isn't wuth a old Song.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Bad as <span class="smcap">Buggins</span>, the Radical Cobbler, these mugs are. Sez <span class="smcap">Buggins</span>, sez he,</p> + <p>Wos it Nature give Mudford his millions, and three bob a day to poor me?</p> + <p>Not a bit on it. Nature's a mother, and meant all her gifts <i>for</i> us all.</p> + <p>It's a Law as gives Mudford his Castle, and leaves me a poor Cobbler's Stall.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>All I've got to say, <span class="smcap">Charlie</span>, is this. If so be Nature meant all that there,</p> + <p>She must be a fair "J." as a mater. <i>I've</i> bin bested out of <i>my</i> share.</p> + <p>So has <span class="smcap">Buggins</span>, and nine out o' ten on us. <i>If</i> the few nobble the quids</p> + <p>Spite of Nature, wy Nature's a noodle as cannot purtect her own kids.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Poor <span class="smcap">Buggins!</span> He's nuts upon <span class="smcap">Henery George</span>, <span class="smcap">William Morris</span>, and such.</p> + <p>He's got a white face, and is humpy, and lives in a sort of a hutch</p> + <p>Smellin' strong of wax-end and stale dubbin. <i>Him</i> born free and equal? Great Scott!</p> + <p>'Bout as free as a trained flea in harness, or sueties piled in a pot.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Nature's nothink, dear boy, simply nothink, and natural right don't exist,</p> + <p>Unless it means natural flyness, or natural power of fist.</p> + <p>It's brains and big biceps, wot wins. <i>Is</i> men equal in muscle and pith?</p> + <p>Arsk <span class="smcap">Bismarck</span> and <span class="smcap">Derby</span>, dear boy, or arsk <span class="smcap">Jackson</span> the Black and <span class="smcap">Jem Smith</span>.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>There'd be precious few larks if they wos, <span class="smcap">Charlie</span>—where'd be the chance of a spree</p> + <p>If every pious old pump or young mug was the equal of Me?</p> + <p>It's the up-and-down bizness of life, mate, as makes it such fun—for the ups.</p> + <p>Equal? Yus, as old <span class="smcap">Barnum</span> and <span class="smcap">Buggins</span>, or tigers and tarrier pups.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>He's a long-winded lot, is <span class="smcap">Buchanan</span>, slops over tremenjous, he do;</p> + <p>Kinder poet, dear boy, I believe, and they always do flop round a few,</p> + <p>Make a rare lot o' splash and no progress, like ducks in a tub, dontcher know,</p> + <p>But cackle and splutter ain't swimming; so <span class="smcap">Robert</span>, my nabs, it's no go.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Men ain't equal a mite, that's a moral, and patter won't level 'em up.</p> + <p>Wy yer might as well talk of a popgun a holding its own with a Krupp.</p> + <p>'Ow the brains and the ochre got fust ladled hout is a bit beyond me,</p> + <p>But to fancy as them as <i>has</i> got 'em will part is dashed fiddle-de-dee.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Normans nicked? Landlords copped? Lawyers fiddled? Quite likely; I dessay they did.</p> + <p>Are they going to hand back the swag arter years? Not a hacre or quid!</p> + <p>Finding's keeping, and 'olding means 'aving. I wish <i>I</i>'d a spanking estate</p> + <p>Wot my hancestors nailed on the ready. They wouldn't wipe me orf the slate.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>No fear, <span class="smcap">Charlie</span>, my boy! I'd hang on by my eyelids; and so will the nobs,</p> + <p>Despite Mounseer Roosso's palaver or rattletrap rubbish like <span class="smcap">Bob's</span>.</p> + <p>As <span class="smcap">Huxley</span> sez, Robbery's whitewashed by centries of toffdom, dear boy.</p> + <p>Poor pilgarlicks whose forbears wos honest rich perks earn't expect to enjoy.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Life's a great game of grab, fur's <i>I</i> see, <span class="smcap">Charlie</span>. Robbery? Well, <i>call</i> it that.</p> + <p>If you only lay hands on your own, mate, you won't git remarkable fat.</p> + <p>There isn't enough to go round and yet give a fair dollop to each,</p> + <p>It's a fight for front place, and he's lucky who gets the first bite at the peach.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><i>High priori</i> hideas about Justice, as <span class="smcap">Huxley</span> declares, is all rot.</p> + <p>Fancy tigers dividing a carcase, and portioning each his fair lot!</p> + <p>"Aren't men better than tigers?" cries <span class="smcap">Buggins</span>. Well, yus, there's religion and law;</p> + <p>Pooty fakes! But when <i>sharing's</i> the word they ain't in it with sheer tooth and claw.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Orful nice to see Science confirming wot <i>I</i> always held. Blow me tight,</p> + <p>If I don't rayther cotton to <span class="smcap">Huxley</span>; he's racy, old pal, and he's right.</p> + <p>The skim-milk of life's for the many, the lardy few lap up the cream,</p> + <p>And all talk about trimming the balance is rubbish, a mere Roosso's Dream!</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Philanterpy's all very nice as a plaything for soft-'arted toffs,</p> + <p>Kep in bounds it don't do no great 'arm. Poor old <span class="smcap">Buggins</span>, he flushes and coughs;</p> + <p>Gets hangry, he do, at my talk. I sez, keep on your hair, my good bloke,</p> + <p>Hindignation ain't good for your chest; cut this Sosherlist cant, or <i>you'll</i> choke.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Philanterpy squared in a system would play up Old Nick with the Great,</p> + <p>As 'cute Bishop <span class="smcap">Magee</span> sez Religion would do—<i>carried out</i>—with the State.</p> + <p>Oh, when Science and Saintship shake hands, in a sperret of sound common sense,</p> + <p>To chuck over the cant of the Pulpit, by Jingo, old pal, it's Himmense!</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>All cop and no blue ain't <i>my</i> motter; I likes to stand treat to a chum;</p> + <p>And if I wos flush of the ochre, I tell yer I'd make the thing hum.</p> + <p>And there's lots o' the rich is good parters; bit here and bit there, dontcher know;</p> + <p>But shake up the Bag and share round, like good pals a pot-lucking? Oh no!</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Wot these jokers call Justice means knocking all 'andicap out of life's race;</p> + <p>"Equal chances all round," they declare, wouldn't give equal power and pace!</p> + <p>Wy, no; but if things weren't made nice for the few with the power and the tin,</p> + <p>The 'andicapped many would be in the 'unt, and some on 'em might <i>win</i>.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Pooty nice state o' things for the perkers! Luck, Law, and the Longheads, dear boy,</p> + <p>Have arranged the world so that the many must work that the few may enjoy.</p> + <p>These "Equality" jossers would spile it; if arf their reforms they can carry,</p> + <p>The enjoyers will 'ave a rough time, and there won't be a look in for '<span class="smcap">Arry</span>.</p> + </div> +</div> + + +<hr /> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>"LE PETIT DUC."</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%"> + <a href="images/p086.png"><img width="100%" src="images/p086.png" alt="" /></a> + <h3><i>Audience.</i> "<span class="smcap">Bravo, Monseigneur</span>!"</h3> +</div> + +<div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="smcap">"Bravo</span> Monseigneur!" Quite a natural cry,</p> + <p class="i2">For he looks picturesque, and appears to be plucky,</p> + <p>The Roscius <i>rôle</i> the young actor would try;</p> + <p class="i2">His <i>début</i> "gets a hand," which is certainly lucky.</p> + <p>These Infant Phenomena frequently fail</p> + <p class="i2">To rouse anything more than good-natured derision;</p> + <p>But clappings and cheers this boy histrion hail.</p> + <p class="i16">What then is his Vision?</p> + </div> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"The thoughts of youth, they are long, long thoughts;"</p> + <p class="i2">Exceedingly true, most mellifluous <span class="smcap">Longfellow</span>!</p> + <p>But later come crosses, oft leading to noughts,</p> + <p class="i2">And "<i>l'homme nécessaire</i>" often finds he's the wrong fellow.</p> + <p>How many <i>débuts</i> have occurred on the Stage</p> + <p class="i2">With various set scenes, and with properties varied?</p> + <p>Sensationalism, the vice of the age,</p> + <p class="i16">To extremes has been carried.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>A good situation all actors desire,</p> + <p class="i2">All playrights approve, and all managers glory in.</p> + <p>He has struck out his own with decision and fire.</p> + <p class="i2">What part will he play a more serious story in?</p> + <p>Who knows? For the moment the cue is applause.</p> + <p class="i2">"<i>Vive</i>, <span class="smcap">Roscius</span>!" It may mean mere <i>claque</i>, empty chatter.</p> + <p>And whether the youngster will further the Cause</p> + <p class="i16">Is a different matter.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><i>A coup de théâtre</i> is not everything,</p> + <p class="i2">As well he's aware, that tragedian troubled</p> + <p>Who is gliding so gloomily off at the wing.</p> + <p class="i2">Hope's cup at his lips lately brimmingly bubbled,</p> + <p>Now "foiled by a novice, eclipsed by a boy!"</p> + <p class="i2">Is the thought in his mind. The reflection is bitter—</p> + <p>Theatrical taste often craves a fresh toy,</p> + <p class="i16">And is captured by glitter.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>What thinks Madame France of the attitude struck</p> + <p class="i2">By this confident slip of good stock histrionic?</p> + <p>Though dames swear their dear <i>Petit Duc</i> is a duck,</p> + <p class="i2">The smile of old stagers is somewhat ironic.</p> + <p>But "Bravas!" resound. A lad's "resolute will,"</p> + <p class="i2">The "wisdom of twenty years," stir admiration,</p> + <p>The political <i>Café Chantant</i> pluck will thrill</p> + <p class="i16">In a stage-loving nation.</p> + </div> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Royal Berkshire.</span>—Go to <span class="smcap">Dowdeswell's</span>, in Bond Street, and they will +show you how County-history is written in the present day. It is +altogether different to the dull, old, dry volumes, "the musty +histories," which our grandfathers exhibited on their shelves, but +never took down to read; and these County-historians are of a much +more entertaining character. Those who know Royal Berkshire well—as +most of us do—will be glad to have their memory refreshed by the +fresh, bright, breezy pictures by <span class="smcap">Yeend King</span>, <span class="smcap">John M. Bromley</span>, and <span class="smcap">J. +M. Mackintosh</span>. <span class="smcap">Keeley Halswelle's</span> superb painting of "<i>Royal Windsor</i>" +occupies the place of honour in the room. It is one of the best +pictures—and at the same time one of the most unconventional—ever +produced of this oft-painted subject.</p> + +<hr /> + + +<h2>THE ROOT OF THE MATTER.</h2> + +<h4>(<i>The Typical Woman's Reply to the Arguments of the Rational Dress Society.</i>)</h4> + +<div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>My dear <span class="smcap">Lennox Browne</span>, and my good Dr. <span class="smcap">Smith</span>,</p> + <p>There is probably truth, there is certainly pith,</p> + <p class="i2">In your Kensington talk about Rational Dress.</p> + <p>Dr. <span class="smcap">Garson</span> and Miss <span class="smcap">Leffler-Arnim</span> also,</p> + <p>Talk sound common sense, but they'll find it no go;</p> + <p class="i2">The Crusade they have started <i>can't</i> meet with success.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>No, sage Viscountess <span class="smcap">Harberton</span>, sweet Mrs. <span class="smcap">Stopes</span>,</p> + <p>You had better not nourish ridiculous hopes</p> + <p class="i2">About "rationalising" our frocks and our shoes.</p> + <p>There is just one invincible thing, and that's Fashion!</p> + <p>That object of every true woman's chief passion,</p> + <p class="i2">'Tis vain to attack, and absurd to abuse.</p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>You may say what you please about feminine "togs,"</p> + <p>That they're ugly, unhealthy, are burdens or clogs,</p> + <p class="i2">Too high, or too low, or too loose, or too tight,</p> + <p>There is just one reply (but 'tis more than enough)</p> + <p>To such "rational," but most irrelevant stuff:—</p> + <p class="i2"><i>If not in the Fashion, a Woman's a Fright!!!</i></p> + </div> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="smcap">From the Zoo.</span>—The Tapir, the <i>Daily Telegraph</i> stated in one of the +paragraphs of its useful and amusing diary of "London Day by +Day,"—"The Tapir," at the Zoological Gardens, is a specimen of a +species now "verging on the brink of extinction. He was an old Tory; +the world changes, but change he would not." He should be known as the +"Red Tape-ir."</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Seas-on.</span>—Mr. <span class="smcap">J. L. Toole</span>, until he reaches Australia.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:50%"> +<a href="images/p087.png"><img width="100%" src="images/p087.png" alt="" /></a> +<h3>A WOMAN'S REASON.</h3> + +<blockquote> +<i>Cousin Jack.</i> "<span class="smcap">Then why did you Marry him, Effie</span>?"<br /> +<i>Effie.</i> "<span class="smcap">Oh, well—I wanted to see the Paris Exhibition, you know</span>!" +</blockquote> +</div> + + +<hr /> + +<h2>SHOOTING ARROWS AT A SONG.</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Punch</span>,—I observe, that a gentleman has written, in a book +called <i>In Tennyson Land</i>, an account of the exact localities of "the +Moated Grange," and other well-advertised places—statements, which +however, have been promptly challenged by the Poet's son in the +<i>Athenæum</i>. As there seems to be some doubt upon this subject, +perhaps, you will allow me to give a few notes anent the interesting +objects which Lord <span class="smcap">Tennyson</span> has so obligingly immortalised in song.</p> + +<p><i>The Owl.</i>—The name of a bright little newspaper which, amongst other +items of news and flashes of humour, gave a list of proposed +marriages—hence, no doubt, the refrain of "To wit and to woo." It +owed its temporary success both to its fun and its matrimonial +intelligence.</p> + +<p><i>The Dying Swan.</i>—Probably, suggested by the condition of one of +these interesting creatures on the Thames, whose plumage had changed +from white to blue, owing to the River being made the temporary +repository for the outcome of some chemical works.</p> + +<p><i>Oriana.</i>—This name, there is every reason to believe, was suggested +by a character in the opening of a pantomime at one of the minor +theatres, very popular some twenty or thirty years ago.</p> + +<p><i>The Miller's Daughter.</i>—A very touching reference to the domestic +life of a hero of the Prize Ring.</p> + +<p><i>Lady Clara Vere de Vere.</i>—Tradition has it that this aristocratic +sounding title was originally intended for a new sort of velveteen, +that would have been sold at a profit at three-and-sixpence a yard, +double width.</p> + +<p><i>The May Queen.</i>—Believed to have been changed at the last moment +from "The Jack-in-the-Green," a subject that had already been used by +a poet of smaller fame than <span class="smcap">Alfred Tennyson</span>.</p> + +<p><i>The Lotos Eaters.</i>—No doubt adapted from the English translation to +a German picture of some children playing at a once well-known game +called "The Loto Seaters."</p> + +<p><i>The Northern Cobbler.</i>—Suggested by a favourite coal, supplied to +this day from Newcastle.</p> + +<p><i>The Moated Grange.</i>—The site of the original still exists at +Haverstock Hill, and was fifty years ago more remote than it is now. +Hence the title of one of the most pleasing little poems of +comparatively modern times.</p> + +<p>Trusting that these hints may be of service to those who take an +interest in Lord <span class="smcap">Tennyson's</span> very entertaining works, I remain, my dear +<i>Mr. Punch</i>, yours sincerely,</p> + +<p style="text-align :right;"> +<span class="smcap">A Scotch Cousin (Thrice Removed against His Will) of</span><br /> +<i>Brain Cobwebby, Hatchley Colwell.</i> +<span class="smcap">Baron de Book-worms.</span> +</p> + + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> + +<h2>MR. PUNCH'S MORAL MUSIC-HALL DRAMAS.</h2> + +<h4>No. VII.—RECLAIMED!</h4> + +<h4><i>Or, How Little Elfie taught her Grandmother.</i></h4> + +<p style='text-align: center;'> +<span class="smcap">Characters.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p><i>Lady Belledame</i> (<i>a Dowager of the deepest dye</i>).</p> + +<p><i>Monkshood</i> (<i>her Steward, and confidential Minion</i>).</p> + +<p><i>Little Elfie</i> (<i>an Angel Child</i>). This part has been specially +constructed for that celebrated Infant Actress, Banjoist, and Variety +Comédienne, Miss <span class="smcap">Birdie Callowchick</span>.</p> + +<p style='text-align: center;'><span class="smcap">Scene</span>—<i>The Panelled Room at Nightshade Hall.</i></p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:50%"> + <a href="images/p088.png"><img width="100%" src="images/p088.png" alt="" /></a> +</div> + +<p><i>Lady Belledame</i> (<i>discovered preparing parcels</i>). Old and +unloved!—yes, the longer I live, the more plainly do I perceive that +I am <i>not</i> a popular old woman. Have I not acquired the reputation in +the county of being a witch? My neighbour, Sir <span class="smcap">Vevey Long</span>, asked me +publicly only the other day "when I would like my broom ordered," and +that minx, Lady <span class="smcap">Violet Powdray</span>, has pointedly mentioned old +cats in my hearing! <span class="smcap">Pergament</span>, my family lawyer, has +declined to act for me any longer, merely because <span class="smcap">Monkshood</span> +rack-rented some of the tenants a little too energetically in the +Torture Chamber—as if in these hard times one was not justified in +putting the screw on! Then the villagers scowl when I pass; the very +children shrink from me—[<i>A childish voice outside window</i>: "Yah, 'oo +sold 'erself to Old Bogie for a pound o' tea an' a set o' noo +teeth?"]—that is, when they do not insult me by suggestions of +bargains that are not even businesslike! No matter—I will be avenged +upon them all—ay, all! 'Tis Christmas-time—the season at which +sentimental fools exchange gifts and good wishes. For once I, too, +will distribute a few seasonable presents.... (<i>Inspecting parcels.</i>) +Are my arrangements complete? The bundle of choice cigars, in each of +which a charge of nitro-glycerine has been dexterously inserted? The +lip-salve, made up from my own prescription with corrosive sublimate +by a venal chemist in the vicinity? The art flower-pot, containing a +fine specimen of the Upas plant, swathed in impermeable sacking? The +sweets compounded with sugar of lead? The packet of best ratsbane? +Yes, nothing has been omitted. Now to summon my faithful <span class="smcap">Monkshood</span>.... +Ha! he is already at hand.</p> + +<p style='text-align: center;'>[<i>Chord as</i> <span class="smcap">Monkshood</span> <i>enters</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Monkshood.</i> Your Ladyship, a child, whose sole luggage is a small +bandbox and a large banjo, is without, and requests the favour of a +personal interview.</p> + +<p><i>Lady B.</i> (<i>reproachfully</i>). And you, who have been with me all these +years, and know my ways, omitted to let loose the bloodhounds? You +grow careless, <span class="smcap">Monkshood</span>!</p> + +<p><i>Monks.</i> (<i>wounded</i>). Your Ladyship is unjust—I <i>did</i> unloose the +bloodhounds; but the ferocious animals merely sat up and begged. The +child had took the precaution to provide herself with a bun!</p> + +<p><i>Lady B.</i> No matter, she must be removed—I care not how.</p> + +<p><i>Monks.</i> There may be room for one more—a little one—in the old +well. The child mentioned that she was your Ladyship's granddaughter, +but I presume that will make no difference?</p> + +<p><i>Lady B.</i> (<i>disquieted</i>). What!—then she must be the child of my only +son <span class="smcap">Poldoodle</span>, whom, for refusing to cut off the entail, I had falsely +accused of adulterating milk, and transported beyond the seas! She +comes hither to denounce and reproach me! <span class="smcap">Monkshood</span>, she must not +leave this place alive—you hear?</p> + +<p><i>Monks.</i> I require no second bidding—ha, the child ... she comes!</p> + +<p style='text-align: center;'>[<i>Chord.</i> <i>Little</i> <span class="smcap">Elfie</span> <i>trips in with touching self-confidence.</i></p> + +<p><i>Elfie</i> (<i>in a charming little Cockney accent</i>). Yes, Grandma, it's +me—little <span class="smcap">Elfie</span>, come all the way from Australia to see you, because +I thought you must be sow lownly all by yourself! My Papa often told +me what a long score he owed you, and how he hoped to pay you off if +he lived. But he went out to business one day—Pa was a bushranger, +you know, and worked—oh, <i>so</i> hard; and never came back to his little +<span class="smcap">Elfie</span>, so poor little <span class="smcap">Elfie</span> has come to live with you!</p> + +<p><i>Monks.</i> Will you have the child removed now, my Lady?</p> + +<p><i>Lady B.</i> (<i>undecidedly</i>). Not now—not yet; I have other work for +you. These Christmas gifts, to be distributed amongst my good friends +and neighbours (<i>handing parcels</i>). First, this bundle of cigars to +Sir <span class="smcap">Vevey Long</span>, with my best wishes that such a connoisseur in tobacco +may find them sufficiently strong. The salve for Lady <span class="smcap">Violet Powdray</span>, +with my love, and it should be rubbed on the last thing at night. The +plant you will take to the little <span class="smcap">Pergaments</span>—'twill serve them for a +Christmas tree. This packet to be diluted in a barrel of beer, which +you will see broached upon the village green; these sweetmeats for +distribution among the most deserving of the school-children.</p> + +<p><i>Elfie</i> (<i>throwing her arms around</i> Lady B.'s <i>neck</i>). I <i>do</i> like +you, Grandma; you have such a kind face! And oh, what pains you must +have taken to find something that will do for everybody!</p> + +<p><i>Lady B.</i> (<i>disengaging herself peevishly</i>). Yes, yes, child. I trust +that what I have chosen will indeed do for everybody,—but I do not +like to be messed about. <span class="smcap">Monkshood</span>, you know what you have to do.</p> + +<p><i>Elfie.</i> Oh, I am sure he does, Grandma! See how benevolently he +smiles. You're such a good old man, you will take care that all the +poor people are fed, <i>won't</i> you?</p> + +<p><i>Monks.</i> (<i>with a sinister smile</i>). Ah! Missie, I've 'elped to settle +a many people's 'ash in my time!</p> + +<p><i>Elfie</i> (<i>innocently</i>). What, do they all get hash? How nice! I like +hash,—but what else do you give them?</p> + +<p><i>Monks.</i> (<i>grimly</i>). Gruel, Missie. (<i>Aside.</i>) I must get out of this, +or this innocent child's prattle will unman me!</p> +<p style='text-align: center;'>[<i>Exit with parcels.</i></p> + +<p><i>Elfie.</i> You seem so sad and troubled, Grandma. Let me sing you one of +the songs with which I drew a smile from poor dear Pa in happier days.</p> + +<p><i>Lady B.</i> No, no, some other time. (<i>Aside.</i>) Pshaw! why should I +dread the effect of her simple melodies? Sing, child, if you will.</p> + +<p><i>Elfie.</i> How glad I am that I brought my banjo! [<i>Sings.</i><br /> +Dar is a lubly yaller gal that tickles me to deff;<br /> +She'll dance de room ob darkies down, and take away deir breff.<br /> +When she sits down to supper, ebery coloured gemple-man,<br /> +As she gets her upper lip o'er a plate o' "possum dip," cries, "Woa, <span class="smcap">Lucindy Ann</span>!" (Chorus, dear Granny!)<br /> +Woa, <span class="smcap">Lucindy</span>! Woa, <span class="smcap">Lucindy</span>! Woa, <span class="smcap">Lucindy Ann</span>!<br /> +At de rate dat you are stuffin, you will nebber leave us nuffin; so woa, Miss <span class="smcap">Sindy Ann</span>!<br /> +</p> + +<p><i>To Lady B.</i> (<i>who, after joining in chorus with deep emotion, has +burst into tears</i>). Why, you are <i>weeping</i>, dear Grandmother!</p> + +<p><i>Lady B.</i> Nay, 'tis nothing, child—but have you no songs which are +less sad?</p> + +<p><i>Elfie.</i> Oh, yes, I know plenty of plantation ditties more cheerful +than that. (<i>Sings.</i>)</p> + +<p> +Oh, I hear a gentle whisper from de days ob long ago,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I used to be a happy darkie slave. (<i>Trump-a-trump.</i>)</span><br /> +But now I'se got to labour wif de shovel an' de hoe—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For ole Massa lies a sleepin' in his grave! (<i>Trump-trump.</i>)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: center;'><i>Chorus.</i></p> + +<p>Poor ole Massa! Poor ole Massa! (<i>Pianissimo.</i>) Poor ole Massa, dat I nebber more shall see!<br /> +He was let off by de Jury, Way down in ole Missouri—But dey lynched him on a persimmon tree.<br /> +</p> + +<p><i>Elfie.</i> You smile at last, dear Grandma! I would sing to you again, +but I am so very, very sleepy!</p> + +<p><i>Lady B.</i> Poor child, you have had a long journey. Rest awhile on this +couch, and I will arrange this screen so as to protect your slumbers.</p> + +<p style='text-align: center;'>[<i>Leads little</i> <span class="smcap">Elfie</span> <i>to couch.</i></p> + +<p><i>Elfie</i> (<i>sleepily</i>). Thanks, dear Grandma, thanks.... Now I shall go +to sleep, and dream of you, and the dogs, and angels. I so often dream +about angels—but that is generally after supper, and to-night I have +had no supper.... But never mind.... Good night, Grannie, good night +... goo'ni' ... goo ... goo!</p> + +<p style='text-align: center;'>[<i>She sinks softly to sleep.</i></p> + +<p><i>Lady B.</i> And I was about to set the bloodhounds upon this little +sunbeam! 'Tis long since these grim walls have echoed strains so sweet +as hers. (<i>Croons.</i>) "Woa, <span class="smcap">Lucindy</span>," &c. "Dey tried him by a jury, way +down in ole Missouri, an' dey hung him to a possum-dip tree!" (<i>Goes +to couch, and gazes on the little sleeper.</i>) How peacefully she +slumbers! What a change has come over me in one short hour!—my +withered heart is sending up green shoots of tenderness, of love, and +hope! Let me try henceforth to be worthy of this dear child's +affection and respect. (<i>Turns, and sees</i> <span class="smcap">Monkshood</span>.) Ha, <span class="smcap">Monkshood</span>! +Then there is time yet! Those parcels ... quick, quick!—the +parcels!——</p> + +<p><i>Monks.</i> (<i>impassively</i>). Have been left as you instructed, my Lady.</p> + +<p style='text-align: center;'>[<i>Chord</i>: Lady B. <i>staggers lack, gasping, into chair. Little</i> <span class="smcap">Elfie</span> +<i>awakes behind screen, and rubs her eyes.</i></p> + +<p>[N.B.—The reformation of a Grandmother being necessarily a process of +some length, the conclusion of this touching little Drama is +unavoidably deferred to a future number.]</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>MODERN TYPES.</h2> + +<h4>(<i>By Mr. Punch's Own Type-writer.</i>)</h4> + +<h3>No. I.—THE DULL ROYSTERER.</h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:25%"> + <a href="images/p08901.png"><img width="100%" src="images/p08901.png" alt="Modern types" /></a> +</div> + +<p>The Dull Roysterer, or, as he is termed by the slangiest of his +intimates, the "Bluff Boozer," is ordinarily the son of a wealthy, but +injudicious father, who, having sent him to a good public school, +furnished him with an income that would keep a curate in luxury. He +developes an early inclination for check trousers, and the pleasures +of the table. Appalled by the difficulties of English spelling, he +seeks comfort in Scotch whiskey, and atones for a profound distaste +for the tongues of ancient Greece and Rome by cultivating an +appreciative palate for the vintages of Modern France. His burly +frame, and a certain brute courage, gain for him a place in the School +Football team, and a considerable amount of popularity, which he +increases by the lavish waste of his excessive allowance. He has a +fine contempt, which he never fails to express, for those boys who +attempt to cultivate their minds by the reading of books, and, +naturally, does not hesitate to degrade his own by the immoderate +absorption of strong drinks.</p> + +<p>Having, however, been discovered in a state of intoxication, he leaves +school hurriedly and betakes himself to an Army-crammer's where +discipline is lax and dissipation easy. Here he keeps half-a-dozen +fox-terriers, and busies himself about the destruction of domestic +cats. Yet, by dint of much forcing on the part of his Coach, he +succeeds in passing into Sandhurst, and eventually obtains a +commission in a Cavalry Regiment. During this stage of his career he +frequents race-courses and worships earnestly at the shrine of +Bacchus. He entangles himself with the wife of a brother officer, and, +after figuring as the co-respondent in an undefended case, marries +her. In the meantime he sends in his papers, and retires from the +Army. Shortly afterwards he enlists in the ranks of those who seek +pleasure in the night-resorts of the town. He soon becomes the boon +companion of shady sporting men, latter-day coachmen, pink and +paragraphic journalists, and middle-aged ladies, who, having once +been, or been once, on the stage, still affect the skittish manners of +a ballet-dancer. He is a man of short speech, but his humour is as +broad as his drinks are long. He affects a rowdy geniality and a +swaggering gait, by which he seeks to overawe the inoffensive. Though +he has but a small stock of intelligence, he passes for a wit amongst +his associates by dint of perpetually repeating an inane catch-word. +With this, and a stamp of the foot, he will greet a friend who may +meet him before lunch. Amongst his intimates such a welcome is held to +be intensely humorous. He scatters the same sort of stamp and the +identical remark broadcast over the loungers who congregate in front +of <span class="smcap">Hatchett's</span>; by these signs and tokens he announces his presence at +a Sporting Restaurant, and to the same accompaniment he sups at the +Camellia, or looks on, in a heavy, sodden sort of way, while others +dance, at the ball of a <i>demi-mondaine</i>.</p> + +<p>Yet his general ignorance leads him into perpetual pitfalls, and makes +him the butt of those of his associates who are cleverer than himself. +Having on a certain occasion been addressed as Falstaff, in delicate +allusion to his size and capacity for drink, he is easily persuaded +that the original owner of this name was celebrated in history for his +grace and sobriety. He takes much pride in recounting the incident +ever afterwards.</p> + +<p>Though the Roysterer is generally fuddled, he is rarely glorious. +Having once driven a tandem, he is credited with a complete knowledge +of horses, which, however, he invariably fails to turn to any +profitable account. He begins his day with whiskey cock-tails, +continues it with a series of brandy-and-sodas, followed by unlimited +magnums of <i>brut</i> Champagne, and concludes it with more Champagne, a +liberal allowance of liqueur brandies, and two or three tumblers of +whiskey-and-seltzer to round off the night. As the hours advance, his +face assumes a ruddier glow. With the progress of years, being +compelled to conceal the increasing girth of his lower chest by the +constant inflation of his upper, he wears frock-coats. The point which +is lacking in his conversation is conspicuous in his boots, whilst his +collars possess an elevation entirely denied to his manners.</p> + +<p>He suffers from no restraint in consequence of his marriage. He is +adored by a certain class of burlesque actresses. He flatters them by +adoring himself. He owns a small house in Belgravia, but he frequently +lives elsewhere. No pigeon-shooting matches, and few poker parties, +amongst a certain set, are complete without him. Having benefited only +to a limited extent under the will of his father, he is not generally +reputed to be wealthy, but he is always extravagant. Yet he manages to +steer clear of the painful consequences of writs with some astuteness. +In middle-age he becomes obese, and cannot go the pace as formerly. +His friends therefore abandon him, and he dies before he is fifty, in +reduced circumstances, of an enlarged liver.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>"JOHNNYKIN AND THE GOBLINGS."</h2> + +<div class="figright" style="width:25%"> + <a href="images/p08902.png"><img width="100%" src="images/p08902.png" alt="" /></a> + <p style='text-align: center;'>Bon Voyage! et Au Revoir!</p> +</div> + +<p>Two hundred and fifty Goblings in the Grand Banquet room of the Hotel +Métropole assembled, as all the world knows by this time, to bid +"Farewell, but not good-bye," as <span class="smcap">Clement Scott's</span> admirable verses have +it, to <span class="smcap">Johnnykin</span>; that is, to Mr. <span class="smcap">J. L. Toole</span>, usually and popularly +spoken of as "<span class="smcap">Johnnie Toole</span>," and generally endeared to his private +friends as, simply, "<span class="smcap">Johnnie</span>." Quite the best specimen of a "<span class="smcap">Johnnie</span>," +among all the "Johnnies" of the present time. <i>Mr. Punch</i>, for the +first time in his life, permitted his merry men, The Knights of His +Own Round Table, to convert their usual Wednesday dinner into a +"movable feast," and to transfer it to the day beforehand, in order to +do honour to the unique occasion, and the exceptional guest of the +evening. No wonder there were two hundred and fifty acceptances to the +bill of fare, and two hundred and fifty more ready to sign, seeing +that the invitations came in effect from the President, the +Solicitor-General, who could not solicit in vain.</p> + +<p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Frank Lockwood</span>, Q.C., M.P., excelled himself in proposing the +toast of "The Drama." He contemned the ancient Greek Drama, but was of +opinion—Counsel's opinion—or, as he was speaking of the Romans, +"Consul's opinion"—that there was "more money in the Latin Drama." +<i>Mr. Punch</i>, regretted he was not at his learned friend's elbow to +suggest, that an apt illustration of the truth of his remark might be +found in the success of <span class="smcap">Augustus Druriolanus, Imperator</span>.</p> + +<p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Henry Irving</span> proved, by his perfect recital of <span class="smcap">Clement Scott's</span> +verses, how thoroughly "by heart" he had got them. <span class="smcap">Henry's</span> "heart is" +<i>not</i> "dead" when <span class="smcap">Johnnie</span> is concerned. Sir <span class="smcap">Edward Clarke</span>, as we +learnt from the speeches made by himself, Mr. <span class="smcap">Irving</span>, and Mr. <span class="smcap">Toole</span>, +seems to have been at school with all the leading Actors; and it was a +miracle that he escaped the attractions of the sock and buskin. Pity +that the song, "When we were boys, Merry merry boys, When we were boys +together," had not been arranged as a trio for them. <span class="smcap">Johnnie</span> was in +his best form; very detached, casual, and uncommonly funny. Lord +<span class="smcap">Rosebery</span> apologised by letter for not being able to be in Scotland and +London at the same time; and the Wicked Abbé <span class="smcap">Bancroft</span> in replying to +the toast of the Drama, pathetically represented his hard case of +being called upon to make an after-dinner speech, when he hadn't had +any dinner. The Actor's lot is evidently, not always a happy one. He +wanted a "feeding-part" and didn't get it. The dinner was excellent, +and the waiting of the waiters was, as far as I could ascertain, +exceptionally good. Certainly the Métropole, or the New "Holland" +House,—as it might be termed, after its manager,—holds first rank +for this sort of business. We present Mr. <span class="smcap">Holland</span>, the Métropole +Caterer, with this suggestion:—</p> + +<p> +<i>The Only Condiment for a Farewell Banquet</i>—"Sauce Ta Ta!"<br /> +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Avenue Theatre.</span>—<span class="smcap">Alexander</span> the Growing, not yet the Great, finds that +for some weeks to come there will be no necessity to doctor his Bill. +He will be wise, however, not to reject any proffered assistance, as, +from his present success, it is evident he cannot get on un-Aidé-d.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%"> +<a href="images/p090.png"><img width="100%" src="images/p090.png" alt="" /></a> +<h3>HAPPY THOUGHT.</h3> +<p>"<span class="smcap">Oh, I Say, Old Man, I wish you'd run upstairs and hunt for my Aunt, +and bring her down to Supper. She's an Old Lady, in a Red Body, and a +Green Skirt, and a Blue and Yellow Train, with an Orange Bird of Paradise in her Cap. +You can't <i>possibly</i> mistake her. Say <i>I</i> sent you!</span>"<br /><br /></p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Awfully sorry, Old Man, but—a—I'm totally Colour-Blind, you know. +Just been tested!</span>"</p> + +<p style='text-align: center;'>[<i>Exit in a hurry.</i></p> + +</div> + +<hr /> + + +<h2>THE INCANTATION SCENE.</h2> + +<h4><i>Freely Adapted from "Der Freischütz."</i></h4> + +<p style='text-align: center;'> +<i>Caspar</i>, Mr. <span class="smcap">L-b-ch-re</span>.<br /> +<i>Zamiel</i>, Mr. <span class="smcap">P-rn-ll</span>.<br /> +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><span class="smcap">Scene</span>—<i>Stage in complete shadow. An Irish Glen surrounded by bare +mountains covered with dwarf oaks, overhanging a big bog. The Moon is +shining dimly.</i> <span class="smcap">Caspar</span> <i>discovered with a pouch and hanger, busily +engaged in making a Circle of fairy lanterns, in the middle of which +is placed a turnip-skull, a shillelagh, a bunch of shamrock, a +crucible, and a bullet-mould. Distant mutterings heard.</i></p> + +<p><i>Chorus of Distant Party-Spirits.</i></p> +</div> + +<p> +Shindy now would be a boon,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">("<i>Hear, hear! Hear, hear!</i>")</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Interest in M-tch-llst-wn hath died,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">("<i>Hear, hear! Hear, hear!</i>")</span><br /> +Mischief must be stirred up soon.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">("<i>Hear, hear! Hear, hear!</i>")</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Obstruction once more tried.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">("<i>Hear, hear! Hear, hear!</i>")</span><br /> +Ere this S-ss-n's course is run<br /> +We must really have some fun.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">("<i>Hear, hear! Hear, hear!</i>")</span><br /> +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>[<i>At the end of chorus, a Big Bell booms twelve times; the Circle +being finished,</i> <span class="smcap">Caspar</span> <i>within it, draws his hanger round the +lanterns, and at the twelfth stroke strikes it into the turnip-skull.</i></p> +</div> + +<p><i>Caspar (kneeling, and raising the skull on the hanger at arm's length).</i></p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Zamiel, Zamiel</span>, hear me, hear!<br /> +By this bogey-skull appear!<br /> +<span class="smcap">Zamiel</span>, rise, for things look queer!<br /> +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>[<i>A confused noise is heard, a Meteor (looking rather like a +long-expected Blue-Book) falls on the Circle, and</i> <span class="smcap">Zamiel</span>, <i>looking +coldly triumphant, appears.</i></p></div> + +<p> +<i>Zamiel.</i> Why callest thou?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Caspar.</i> Well, hang it! I like that!<br /> +But, by St. Patrick's beard, your advent's pat,<br /> +Our foes boast three years longer they may live.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Zamiel.</i> No!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Caspar.</i> Then good reason you and I must give.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Zamiel.</i> Who says so?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Caspar.</i> One who hardly dared—till now—<br /> +To face thy really rayther freezing brow;<br /> +But, moved by reason, and a late Report,<br /> +He's on the job; and we shall have some sport.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Zamiel.</i> What doth he seek?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Caspar.</i> To be supplied<br /> +With bullets which thy skill shall guide.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Zamiel.</i> Six shall obey,<br /> +The seventh—who'll say?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Caspar.</i> Lord of the mystic League,<br /> +I hope, by sly intrigue,<br /> +To rule the seventh also,<br /> +And let it kill—<i>you</i> know!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Zamiel.</i> Too risky.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Caspar.</i> Oh, I say,<br /> +Let's have no more delay.<br /> +Three long years yet to sway?<br /> +Pooh, <span class="smcap">Zamiel</span>! It's child's-play.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Zamiel.</i> Enough—no more! I'll tell thee now<br /> +By this day month there'll be—a row?<br /> +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>[<i>More mutterings are heard and repeated in chorus. The skull and +hanger sink, and in their place a hearth with lighted coals and +faggots, rise out of the earth, within the Circle. The Moon becomes +red.</i></p></div> + +<p> +<i>Caspar.</i> Well served! Bless thee, <span class="smcap">Zamiel</span>!<br /> +The day will be ours!<br /> +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>[<span class="smcap">Caspar</span> <i>moves to and fro, places faggots on the coals, blows the +fire, which blazes and fumes. In the smoke certain cabalistic letters +appear.</i></p></div> + +<p>Now for it! Every moment is precious. "Every bullet hath its billet," +saith the old saw. Rather! Black <span class="smcap">C-c-l</span>, beware! Bland <span class="smcap">William H.</span>, look +out! Brutal <span class="smcap">B-lf-r</span>, mind your eye! Shrewish <span class="smcap">G-sch-n</span>, be warned! +Haughty <span class="smcap">H-rt-ngt-n</span>, take care! Perfidious <span class="smcap">J-s-ph</span>, watch it! That +accounts for Six out of the fatal Seven. 'Twill suffice, even if the +seventh—bah! that's silly superstition. Here goes! First this +lead—heavy as <span class="smcap">Sm-th's</span> speeches; then this glass, brittle as the bond +between the Unionists; some quicksilver of Randolphian shiftiness; +three charmed balls which have already hit their mark. See, they are +marked. "<span class="smcap">P-g-tt</span>," "<span class="smcap">P-rn-ll</span>," "C-mm-ss-n"!!! <i>Probatum est!</i> Now for +the blessing of the balls.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>[<span class="smcap">Caspar</span> <i>bowing down his head three separate times (as to three +Judges) before he commences his incantation.</i></p></div> + +<p> +Thou who hast Fate's mystic dower,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Zamiel, Zamiel</span>, work thy power!<br /> +Spirit of the evil dead<br /> +(At Madrid), bless, bless the lead!<br /> +May they be as featly sped<br /> +As the one that pierced his head.<br /> +I am sick of shilly-shally,<br /> +May they—metaphorically,<br /> +For, of course, I don't mean murder,<br /> +Nothing could be—well, absurder—<br /> +May they spifflicate our foes.<br /> +Neither progress nor repose,<br /> +On Bench or in Cabinet,<br /> +May they any of them get<br /> +Till they get their last quietus<br /> +From these bullets (That will seat us<br /> +Comfortably in their places,<br /> +To the rapture of three races)<br /> +How the fire fumes! There'll be ruction.<br /> +Characters <i>look</i> like <span class="smcap">Obstruction</span>!<br /> +But they <i>mean</i>—and that's their beauty!—<br /> +Merely, simply, purely <span class="smcap">Duty</span>!<br /> +Therefore, 'tis my occupation<br /> +So at present, Incantation!<br /> +G. O. M. won't take a part;<br /> +He objects to the Black Art.<br /> +Though he rather shirks my cult,<br /> +He will relish the result.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Zamiel!</span> you're the chap I like,<br /> +Charm the bullets that they strike.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Zamiel</span>, lend thy might to kill<br /> +To each burning drop we spill!<br /> +Now then for it! Out on fear!<br /> +<span class="smcap">Zamiel, Zamiel</span>, be thou near!<br /> +</p> + +<p>[<i>Sets to work at—<span class="smcap">The Casting of the Bullets</span>. Music.</i></p> + +<hr /> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%"> + <a href="images/p091.png"><img width="100%" src="images/p091.png" alt="" /></a> + <h3>THE "INCANTATION."</h3> + <p style='text-align: center;'>(<i>Scene from the Very Latest Version of "Der Freischütz</i>.")</p> +</div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p><hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%"> +<a href="images/p09301.png"><img width="100%" src="images/p09301.png" alt="" /></a> +<h3>RUSTIC POLITENESS.</h3> + +<p><i>Squire Roadster.</i> "<span class="smcap">Where are the Hounds, my Man</span>?"<br /><br /></p> + +<p><i>Yokel.</i> "<span class="smcap">Gar on with Yer! Don't knaw wheer the 'Ounds be, and got a +Red Coat and a big 'Oss! Yer oughter be ashamed of yerself</span>!"</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The Latest Catch-line.</span>—Good <span class="smcap">Day</span>! Have you read the Report of the +Special Commission?</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> + +<p><i>Leaves of a Life.</i> So <span class="smcap">Montagu Williams</span>, Q.C., and Worthy Beak, styles +his Reminiscences. The Leaves are fresh, and will be Evergreen. +Nothing in his Life has become him so well as his leave-ing it. I +fancy that the most popular part of it will be the early days—his +salad days—when his leaves were at their greenest. Certainly, to all +old Etonians, the opening of Volume One must prove the most +interesting part of the two books; and after this, in point of +interest to the general reader, will rank all the stories about +persons whose names, for evident reasons, the learned Reminiscenser +cannot give in full. When you read about what enormities "C——" +committed, and what an unmitigated scoundrel "D——'s" brother was, +there is in the narrative a delightful element of mystery, and an +inducement to guess, which will excite in many a strong desire for a +private key, which, of course, could not be placed in any publisher's +hands, except under such conditions as hamper the trustee of the +<i>Talleyrand Memoirs</i>.</p> + +<p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Williams</span> has better stories of Sergeant <span class="smcap">Ballantine</span> than the latter +had of himself in his own book. But I should like more of the <span class="smcap">Montagu</span> +out of Court—more of the behind-the-scenes of the cases in which he +was engaged or interested. All his book is written in a dashing style, +and there would be an enormous demand for a third volume, which might +be all dash—C—— D—— E——; every letter of the alphabet dash—a +dash'd good book, in fact, giving us the toothsome <i>fond d'artichaut</i> +after the "leaves" have been disposed of. But that this should be the +strong feeling expressed not alone by the Baron <span class="smcap">De B.-w.,</span> but by very +many readers, is proof sufficient of the art with which these +Reminiscences have been compiled, so as, according to <i>Sam Weller's</i> +prescription for a love-letter, to make us "wish there was more of +it." By the way, I doubt whether <span class="smcap">Whateley's</span> <i>Evidences of +Christianity</i> was the work that <span class="smcap">Montagu Williams</span> was dozing over +during "Sunday Private" in pupil-room; doesn't he mean <span class="smcap">Paley's</span> +<i>Evidences</i>? Also, wasn't the old College Fellow's name spelt <span class="smcap">Plumtre</span>, +or <span class="smcap">Plumptre</span>, not <span class="smcap">Plumptree</span>? However, the Baron is less likely to be +right than the Magistrate, who is evidently blessed with a wonderfully +retentive memory.</p> + +<p>My faithful Co. reports that he has read <i>On the Children</i>, a not very +interesting novel, by <span class="smcap">Annie Thomas</span>, otherwise Mrs. <span class="smcap">Pender Cudlip</span>. The +story deals with a young girl, who, after serving in a village +newspaper shop, marries the local nobleman, and no doubt lives happily +ever afterwards. Persons who are interested in the doings of the class +<span class="smcap">Jeames</span> calls the "hupper suckles," will perhaps be a little +disappointed, as, truth to tell, the narrative is rather homely. Many +of the characters seem to have that exaggerated awe of rank which used +to be characteristic of the tales in the <i>London Journal</i>. The book +should, however, be welcome in the homes of some of the lower middle +class.</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><span class="smcap">Baron de Book-Worms</span> & Co.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Parker Smith</span>, the recently elected M.P., appeared in the House +looking Partickularly happy.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:80%"> + <a href="images/p094.png"><img src="images/p094.png" alt="" /></a> +</div> + +<h2>ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT,<br/> +EXTRACTED FROM The DIARY Of TOBY M.P.</h2> + +<p><i>House of Commons, Tuesday, February 11.</i>—"Rather slow this," said +Commandant (of the Yeomanry Cavalry) Lord <span class="smcap">Brooke</span> to Admiral (in black +velvet suit, with silver buckles) <span class="smcap">Royden</span>.</p> + +<p>They were locked up in a room adjoining <span class="smcap">Old Morality's</span> private +apartment, at back of <span class="smcap">Speaker's</span> chair. Both dressed in warlike +costumes, both uniforms new, unaccustomed, and uncomfortable. Both +warriors had waked in the morning full of joy and proud anticipation. +"If you're waking call me early," Quartermaster-General Lord <span class="smcap">Brooke</span> +had said to his man; "this is the happiest day of all the bright new +year; for I'm to Second the Address. Yes, I'm to Second the Address."</p> + +<p>Captain <span class="smcap">Royden</span> had made a remark of a similar purport to his body +servant, though he had kept more closely to prose. Now here they were +locked in, with a glass of sherry wine and a sponge cake, waiting for +the signal that might never come. Ordinary course on <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>opening night of +Session is, for <span class="smcap">Speaker</span> to take Chair; Notices of Motion to be worked +off; Queen's Speech read; then Mover and Seconder of Address march +into seats immediately behind Ministers, especially kept for them; +dexterously dodge tendency of sword to get between their knees; sit +down with the consciousness that they are the cynosure of every eye, +including those of <span class="smcap">Joseph Gillis</span>, regarding them across House through +horn-bound spectacles. To-day everything upside down. Instead of +moving the Address, <span class="smcap">Harcourt</span> on with question of Privilege—<span class="smcap">Harcourt</span>, +a plain man, in civilian costume! Worst of it was, they could not go +away and change their clothes. No one knows what may happen from hour +to hour in House of Commons; debate on Privilege might break down; +Address brought on, and what would happen to British Constitution if +Mover and Seconder were dragged in in their dressing-gowns?</p> + +<p>"Dem'd dull," said Captain of Yeomanry Cavalry Lord <span class="smcap">Brooke</span>, toying +with his sword-tassel.</p> + +<p>"Trenormous!" yawned Bosun's Mate <span class="smcap">Royden</span>, loosening his belt, for he +had been beguiled into taking another sponge-cake. "If they'd only let +us walk about the corridors, or lounge in the House, it would be +better. But to sit cooped up here is terrible. Worst of it is I've +conned my speech over so often, got it mixed up; end turning up in +middle; exordium marching in with rear-guard; was just right to go off +at half-past six; now it's eight, and we won't be off duty till +twelve."</p> + +<p>Vice-Admiral <span class="smcap">Royden</span> feebly hitched up his trousers; sadly sipped his +sherry wine, and deep silence fell on the forlorn company.</p> + +<p>No one in crowded House thought of these miserable men. <span class="smcap">Harcourt</span> made +his speech; <span class="smcap">Gorst</span> demonstrated that Motion was indefensible, being +both too late and too soon; the Mouse came and went amid a spasm of +thrilled interest; <span class="smcap">Gladstone</span> delivered oration in dinner-hour; <span class="smcap">Parnell</span> +fired up at midnight; House divided, and <span class="smcap">Speaker</span> left the Chair. Then +was heard the rattling of keys in the door by <span class="smcap">Old Morality's</span> room; two +limp warriors were led forth; conducted to four-wheel cab; delivered +at their own doorways, to spend night in pleased reflection on the +distinction of Moving and Seconding the Address.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width:50%"> + <a href="images/p09502.png"><img width="100%" src="images/p09502.png" alt="" /></a> + <p style='text-align: center;'>"Ridiculus Mus," the New Member.</p> +</div> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Charge of Breach of Privilege against <i>Times</i>, +negatived by 260 Votes against 212.</p> + +<p><i>Wednesday.</i>—House met at Noon as usual on Wednesdays; the two men of +war in their places in full uniform, which looked a little creased as +if they had slept in it. The eye that has sternly reviewed the +Warwickshire Yeomanry Cavalry, lacks something of its wonted +brightness; whilst <span class="smcap">Royden's</span> black velvet suit sets off the added +pallor of a countenance that tells of sleepless vigil.</p> + +<p>House nearly empty; Members won't turn up at Noon even to hear the +thrilling eloquence clothing the original thoughts of the Mover and +Seconder of the Address. Amid the dreary space the stalwart figure of +<span class="smcap">George Hawkesworth Bond</span>, Member for the East Division of Dorset, +stands forth like a monument. Curious to see how <span class="smcap">Bond</span> avoids vicinity +of Cross Benches. Was standing there in contemplative attitude last +night, whilst <span class="smcap">Gorst</span> was demonstrating that <span class="smcap">Harcourt's</span> Motion on Breach +of Privilege was, (1) too late, and (2) that it was too soon. It was +at this moment that the Mouse appeared on the scene, leisurely +strolling down floor apparently going to join the majority. A +view-halloa started him; doubled and made for Cross Benches; BOND, +awakened out of reverie by the shout, looked down and saw the strange +apparition. Never believed a man of his weight could get so high up +into the air by sudden swift gyration. Mouse, more frightened even +than the man, dodged <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>round the Benches and disappeared. "All very +well once in a way," said <span class="smcap">Bond</span> this afternoon, sinking into a seat far +removed from the Cross Benches; "but it is foolish unnecessarily to +court danger; won't catch <i>me</i> standing at the bar any more when <span class="smcap">Gorst</span> +is orating."</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:15%"> + <a href="images/p09601.png"><img width="100%" src="images/p09601.png" alt="" /></a> + <p style='text-align: center;'>Before the Mouse came.</p> +</div> + + +<p>And his word is as good as his Bond.</p> + +<p>After Mover and Seconder had completed their story, Grand Old Man +appeared at the table, and talked for nearly an hour. Few to listen, +but that no matter. A rapt auditor in <span class="smcap">Old Morality</span>, sitting forward +with hands on knees, eyes reverently fixed on orator, drinking in his +honeyed words. Something paternal in his attitude towards Ministers. +Here and there they had done not quite the right thing. The <span class="smcap">Markiss</span>, +in particular, had been particularly harsh to Portugal; but, on the +whole, things might have been worse.</p> + +<p>"Bless you, my children; bless you!" were the last words of the Grand +Old Man as he stretched forth his hands across the table. Not a dry +eye on the Treasury Bench. <span class="smcap">Old Morality</span> deeply touched, but through +his sobs managed to make acknowledgment of the unexpected clemency. +<i>Business done.</i>—Address Moved.</p> + +<p><i>Thursday.</i>—The languor in which House steeped since Debate on +Address opened, not varied to-night till, at ten o'clock, copies of +Report of Parnell Commission brought to Vote Office. Then such a +scrimmage as never before seen.</p> + +<p>At re-opening of Debate, <span class="smcap">Howorth</span> started off with reference to +Portugal. Immediately Members, with one consent, went forth, +discovering that they had special business in the Lobby, the Library, +the Tea-room, anywhere out of the House. The <span class="smcap">Sage of Queen Anne's Gate</span> +had not even waited for resumption of Debate to quit the scene; was +comfortably ensconsed in Smoking-room, distilling words of wisdom to +listening circle. Someone dropping in, accidentally mentioned that +<span class="smcap">Howorth</span> had brought on Portugal business. <span class="smcap">Sage</span> jumped up nearly as +high as <span class="smcap">Bond</span> when he saw the Mouse. Had an Amendment on the paper +referring to Portugal; had prepared a few paragraphs elucidating it. +If opportunity missed, speech would be lost. So bolted off; arrived +just in time to follow <span class="smcap">Howorth</span>. Whilst discoursing, Our Latest Duke +came in, fresh from the pageant of his installation in House of Lords. +Seated in Peers' Gallery, toying with his walking-stick, thinking no +evil, started to hear his name mentioned. <span class="smcap">Sage's</span> quick eye had caught +sight of him.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width:50%"> + <a href="images/p09602.png"><img width="100%" src="images/p09602.png" alt="" /></a> + <p style='text-align: center;'>Fight for the Report of the Royal Commission.</p> +</div> + +<p>"Halloa!" said the <span class="smcap">Sage</span> to himself, "here's a Duke; let's throw arf a +brick at him!"</p> + +<p>So, with innocent manner and pretty assumption of ignorance of the +presence in Peers' Gallery of the highly favoured young gentleman with +the walking-stick, the <span class="smcap">Sage</span> traced all the evils of Central Africa, +leading directly up to the quarrel with Portugal, to the action of the +British South Africa Company, of which the Duke of <span class="smcap">Fife</span>, he said, was +a Promoter and Director.</p> + +<p>"Very odd thing that, <span class="smcap">Toby</span>," said the Duke, under his breath, as he +left the Gallery on tip-toe; "most remarkable coincidence; odds seemed +to be a thousand to one against it; and yet it came off. Don't look +into Peers' Gallery twice a year; yet on very night I happened to be +there for five minutes, <span class="smcap">Labby</span> on his legs and talking about <span class="smcap">Me</span>!"</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Debate on Address.</p> + +<p><i>Friday.</i>—A dull night, uplifted, at outset, by powerful speech +from <span class="smcap">Parnell</span>, and, towards finish, by Colonel <span class="smcap">Saunderson</span> riding +in, and slashing off heads all round. After him came <span class="smcap">Sheehy</span>. +Splendid fellow, <span class="smcap">Sheehy</span>; must see more of him.</p> + +<p>"What you want is blood!" <span class="smcap">Sheehy</span> shouted across the House +at <span class="smcap">Balfour</span>, lounging, dull and depressed, on Treasury Bench; +"I repeat the phrase—Blood!"</p> + +<p>"Blood," said <span class="smcap">Saunderson</span>, carelessly passing his hand through +the black locks that crown his lofty brow, "is not exactly a phrase. +Besides, after eight hours of this, a cup of black coffee would be +more in <span class="smcap">Balfour's</span> way. But a good deal must be conceded to +<span class="smcap">Sheehy</span>. What a nation we are for genders! We had an <span class="smcap">O'Shea</span>, +we have an <span class="smcap">O'Hea</span>; and here's a <span class="smcap">Shee-he</span>. I have occasional +differences with some of my countrymen; but I am proud of my +country."</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Debate on Address.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"> +<a href="images/p09501.png"><img width="100%" src="images/p09501.png" alt="" /></a> +<h3>"IN KIND."</h3> +<p style='text-align: center;'><i>Country Editor's Wife.</i> "<span class="smcap">Oh, John dear! Somebody's sent us such a +Splendid Salmon</span>!"<br /><br /></p> + +<p style='text-align: center;'><i>Editor</i> (<i>after a moment's thought</i>). "<span class="smcap">Ah, yes—I know—and cheap +too! On'y half a column</span>!"</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>FIFTY YEARS OF RAILWAY PROGRESS—FIFTY YEARS HENCE.</h2> + +<p>A large and attentive audience assembled yesterday evening to hear Mr. +<span class="smcap">Fairweather's</span> discourse on the highly interesting and instructive +subject of the progress made in the matter of Railway Travelling in +the course of the last fifty years.</p> + +<p>The lecturer commenced by reminding his audience that, in the days of +their fathers and grandfathers, fifty years ago, towards the close of +the Nineteenth Century, the wretched Public had to content themselves +with a miserable conveyance called a Pullman Car, that they in those +days considered a triumph of elegant and convenient locomotion, +because they could get tucked away on a shelf at night as a sort of +apology for a bed, and be served with a mutton-chop by day, as a +makeshift for lunch, and this they considered wonderful, because they +were being dragged over their road at the marvellous, soul-thrilling +pace of sixty miles an hour. (<i>Loud laughter.</i>) What would the poor +benighted travellers of those days say to their present Grand Circular +Express, that ran from London to York in two-and-twenty minutes, and +ran up to the most northern point in Scotland, then down the Western +Coast to Land's End, and back again to London all along the Channel +Shore, doing the entire circuit in four hours and a quarter, and this +while you reclined on the rich red velvet cushions of the lofty and +sumptuously decorated third-class carriage at a one-and-ninepenny +fare? No wonder that people took monthly tickets, and went round, and +round, and round the two kingdoms; living, in fact, in the train, and +being thus perpetually on the move. Look at the advantages offered by +the Company, on their new extra-triple width line. A Brass Band, a +Theatrical Company, a Doctor, Dancing-Master, Teacher of Elocution, +Solicitor, Dentist, and Police Magistrate, accompanied every train, +which was, moreover, provided with Turkish Shower and Swimming Baths, +Billiard-rooms, Circulating Library, and offered attractive advantages +to families wishing, either at their doctor's orders or for the mere +sake of the run on its own account, continual change of air, complete +sets of handsomely furnished apartments not fitted up with sleeping +shelves—(<i>laughter</i>)—but supplied with regular six foot +four-posters, such as would have delighted the eyes of their great +grandfathers a hundred years ago. The law, too, recently passed, which +consigned a Director to penal servitude, in the event of a train being +ten minutes after its time, which had been passed owing to the +persistent unpunctuality of the South-Eastern Company, had worked +admirably, and to it, no doubt, they owed the present orderly +management of all the lines in the three kingdoms. What would be the +next development of Railway travelling he could not venture to +predict, but he thought that if, in the next fifty years, they made as +much progress as they had in the fifty years just expired, he was of +opinion, that though the shareholders might possibly receive a smaller +dividend even than that they were drawing to-day—(<i>loud +laughter</i>)—the Railway, as an institution in the country, could not +be regarded but as being in a highly flourishing condition.</p> + +<p>A vote of thanks having been passed to the Lecturer for his lively and +instructive discourse, which he briefly acknowledged, the proceedings +terminated.</p> + +<hr /> + + +<h2>Another "Competitive."</h2> + +<div class="poem"> + <p>Why have we no Exams, for our M.P.'s.?</p> + <p class="i2">Why not give marks for intellectual variance?</p> + <p>And range each class according to degrees—</p> + <p class="i2">Here the Tomfoolites—there the Noodeletarians?</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + + +<p>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> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30018 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/30018-h/images/p085.png b/30018-h/images/p085.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..14b04b6 --- /dev/null +++ b/30018-h/images/p085.png diff --git a/30018-h/images/p086.png b/30018-h/images/p086.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..36181f5 --- /dev/null +++ b/30018-h/images/p086.png diff --git a/30018-h/images/p087.png b/30018-h/images/p087.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b40f175 --- /dev/null +++ b/30018-h/images/p087.png diff --git a/30018-h/images/p088.png b/30018-h/images/p088.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9f64b2d --- /dev/null +++ b/30018-h/images/p088.png diff --git a/30018-h/images/p08901.png b/30018-h/images/p08901.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..349e7b0 --- /dev/null +++ b/30018-h/images/p08901.png diff --git a/30018-h/images/p08902.png b/30018-h/images/p08902.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..461e884 --- /dev/null +++ b/30018-h/images/p08902.png diff --git a/30018-h/images/p090.png b/30018-h/images/p090.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c3eee39 --- /dev/null +++ b/30018-h/images/p090.png diff --git a/30018-h/images/p091.png b/30018-h/images/p091.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..fcedd04 --- /dev/null +++ b/30018-h/images/p091.png diff --git a/30018-h/images/p09301.png b/30018-h/images/p09301.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4390b3e --- /dev/null +++ b/30018-h/images/p09301.png diff --git a/30018-h/images/p094.png b/30018-h/images/p094.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a51e8e8 --- /dev/null +++ b/30018-h/images/p094.png diff --git a/30018-h/images/p09501.png b/30018-h/images/p09501.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..28eef78 --- /dev/null +++ b/30018-h/images/p09501.png diff --git a/30018-h/images/p09502.png b/30018-h/images/p09502.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2acb4ea --- /dev/null +++ b/30018-h/images/p09502.png diff --git a/30018-h/images/p09601.png b/30018-h/images/p09601.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cab9472 --- /dev/null +++ b/30018-h/images/p09601.png diff --git a/30018-h/images/p09602.png b/30018-h/images/p09602.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7fa5d90 --- /dev/null +++ b/30018-h/images/p09602.png |
