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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:05:17 -0700 |
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diff --git a/36187-h/36187-h.htm b/36187-h/36187-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..90743de --- /dev/null +++ b/36187-h/36187-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2050 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title>Punch, 15th October, 1887.</title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr {width: 45%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} +hr.medium {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} +hr.full {width: 100%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + +pre {font-size: 0.7em;} + +.pagenum { + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.sans {font-family: sans-serif;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figcenter img, .figright img, .figleft img {border: none;} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i1 { + display: block; + margin-left: 1em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i3 { + display: block; + margin-left: 3em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i5 { + display: block; + margin-left: 5em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +ins {text-decoration:none; border-bottom: thin dotted gray;} + +.tnote {border: dashed 1px; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93, +October 15th 1887, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93, October 15th 1887 + +Author: Various + +Editor: Sir Francis Burnand + +Release Date: May 22, 2011 [EBook #36187] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + + + + +Produced by Jane Robins, Malcolm Farmer and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p> + +<hr class="full" /> +<h1>PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> + +<h2>VOLUME 93, October 15th 1887.</h2> + +<h3><i>edited by Sir Francis Burnand.</i></h3> + +<hr class="full" /> +<h3 class="sans">'ARRY ON OCHRE</h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 326px;"> +<a href="images/169-1500.png"> +<img src="images/169-326.png" width="326" height="450" alt="'ARRY ON OCHRE." title="'ARRY ON OCHRE." /></a> +</div> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Dear Charlie,</span></p> + +<div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">Hoctober, my 'arty, and <span class="smcap">'Arry</span>, wus luck! 's back in town,</span> + <span class="i2">Where it's all gitting messy and misty; the boollyvard trees is all + brown,</span> + <span class="i2">Them as ain't gone as yaller as mustard. I <i>do</i> 'ate the Autumn, + dear boy,</span> + <span class="i2">When a feller 'as spent his last quid, and there's nothink to do or + enjoy.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">Cut it spicy, old man, by the briny, I did, and no error. That Loo</span> + <span class="i2">Was a rattler to keep up the pace whilst a bloke 'ad a brown left to + blue.</span> + <span class="i2">Cleared me out a rare bat, I can tell yer; no Savings Bank lay about + <i>her</i>.</span> + <span class="i2">Yah!—Women is precious like cats, ony jest while you strokes 'em they + purr.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">Lor', to think wot a butterfly beauty I was when I started, old pal!</span> + <span class="i2">Natty cane, and a weed like a hoop-stick, and now!—oh, well, jigger + that gal!</span> + <span class="i2">Cut me slap in the Strand ony yesterday, <span class="smcap">Charlie</span>, so 'elp me, + she did.</span> + <span class="i2">Well, of sech a false baggage as Loo is, yours truly is jolly well rid.</span> +</div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">Wot a thing this yer Ochre is, <span class="smcap">Charlie</span>! The yaller god rules + us all round.</span> + <span class="i2">Parsons patter of poverty's pleasures! I tell yer they ain't to be + found.</span> + <span class="i2">If you 'aven't the ha'pence you're nothink; bang out of it, slap up + a tree.</span> + <span class="i2">That's a moral, as every man as is not a mere mug must agree.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">They talks of "the Masses and Classes,"—old Collars is red on that + rot!—</span> + <span class="i2">There is ony two classes, old pal, them as 'as it and them as 'as not.</span> + <span class="i2">The Ochre, I mean, mate, the spondulicks, call the dashed stuff wot + you please.</span> + <span class="i2">It's the Lucre as makes Life worth livin', without it things ain't + wuth a sneeze.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">O <span class="smcap">Charlie</span>, I wish I'd got millions! I <i>ought</i> to be rich, + and no kid.</span> + <span class="i2">I feel I wos made for it, <span class="smcap">Charlie</span>. To watch every bloomin' + arf quid,</span> + <span class="i2">Like a pup at a rat 'ole is beastly. Some stingy 'uns <i>carn't</i> + go the pace,</span> + <span class="i2">But I know I should turn out a flyer, and so ought to be in the race.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">Oh, it ain't every juggins, I tell yer, who's built for the bullion, + dear boy!</span> + <span class="i2">You must know the snide game that's called "Grab," you must know what + it means to "enjoy."</span> + <span class="i2">Neither one without tother's much use, but the true Ochre Kings are + the chaps</span> + <span class="i2">As can squeeze millions out of "the Masses." They win in life's game, + mate, by laps.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">That's jest wot "the Masses" is made for; <i>them asses</i> I calls + 'em, old man,</span> + <span class="i2">Same letters, same thing, dontcher know. Yus, Socierty's built on + this plan.</span> + <span class="i2">Many littles makes lots, that's the maxim; and he is the snide 'un, + no doubt,</span> + <span class="i2">Who can squeeze his lot out of the littles of half the poor mugs + who're about.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">Twig, <span class="smcap">Charlie</span>, old twister? Yer sweaters, yer Giant + Purviders, and such</span> + <span class="i2">Is all on that lay. Many buds, and one big bloated Bee, that's the + touch!</span> + <span class="i2">Wy, if bees was as many as blossoms, or blossoms as few as the bees,</span> + <span class="i2">Him as nicked a whole hive to hisself would find dashed little honey + to squeeze.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">The honey—or money—wants <i>massing</i>, that's jest wot the Masses + can do—</span> + <span class="i2">And the "Classes," my boy, are the picked 'uns, as know 'ow to put on + the screw.</span> + <span class="i2">That's the doctrine of "<span class="smcap">Dannel</span> the Dosser," a broken-down + toff, as I know;</span> + <span class="i2">And if <span class="smcap">Dannel</span> ain't right, I'm a Dutchman. <i>That's</i> ow + yer big money-piles grow.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">Rum party the Dosser is, <span class="smcap">Charlie</span>—I can't make him out, mate, + not quite.</span> + <span class="i2">Laps beer, when he can, like a bricky, though brandy's his mark. His + delight</span> + <span class="i2">Is to patter to me about Swelldom, Socierty, wot he calls gammon—</span> + <span class="i2">That's Ochre, dear boy, dontcher know. I suppose arf his gab is sheer + mammon.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">He eyes me in sech a rum style, <span class="smcap">Charlie</span>, sort of arf smile and + arf sneer,</span> + <span class="i2">Though he owns I'm a Dasher right down to the ground—when he's well + on the beer.</span> + <span class="i2">A pot and a pipe always dror him, and I'm always game to stand Sam,</span> + <span class="i2">For his patter's A1, and I pump 'im,—a lay as he stands like a lamb.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">"You <i>ought</i> to be rich, my young Cloten!" sez he. It's a part of + his game</span> + <span class="i2">To call me nicknames out of <i>Shakspeare</i>, and so on; but "Wot's in + a name?"</span> + <span class="i2">"My brain and your 'eart now together, would make a rare Dives," says + "Dosser."</span> + <span class="i2">I don't always know wot he means, and I doubt if <i>he</i> does, poor + old josser!</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">'Owsomever, the Ochre's my toppic. Some jugginses talk about "Thrift,"</span> + <span class="i2">Penny Savings' Bank bosh, and that stuff. Wouldn't 'ave their dashed + brains at a gift.</span><br /> + <span class="i2"><i>Save</i>, hay,—out of two quid a week! No, it doesn't fetch me in + that shape.</span> + <span class="i2">You must <i>swag</i> in this world to get rich; if yer carn't, it's no + bottles to <i>scrape</i>.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">The Turf or the Stock Exchange, <span class="smcap">Charlie</span>, would suit me, I'd trust + to my luck,</span> + <span class="i2">And my leariness, <i>not</i> to get plucked like that silly young + Ailesbury duck,</span> + <span class="i2">Wot's life without sport? Wy, like billiards without e'er a bet or a + fluke,</span> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">And that's wy I'd be a Swell Bookie—that is if I carn't be a Dook.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">In fact if I 'ad my own chice, I should jest like to <i>double the</i> + <i>part</i>,</span> + <span class="i2">As I fancy a few on 'em do. Oh, Jemimer! jest give me a start.</span> + <span class="i2">With a 'undered or two, and the Ochre I'd pile 'twould take waggons to + carry.</span> + <span class="i2">The world loses larks, mate, you bet, when among the stone-brokers is</span> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 34em;"><span class="smcap">'Arry.</span></span></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Turning To the Left.</span>—At a recent meeting of the Court of Common Council +(in the teeth of a strong opposition of some of the members of the +Board) it was decided to exclude strangers and the Press during a part +of the proceedings. The matter under secret consideration, it is said, +was the appointment by the Recorder of the Assistant-Judge of the +Mayor's Court. It is rumoured that, acting on the opinion of Mr. <span class="smcap">R. S. +Wright</span>, (with him the Attorney-General) the Court decided not to confirm +that appointment. But why all this mystery? What had the Councillors to +fear? Obviously, they could be doing nothing wrong if they were +sustained by <span class="smcap">Wright</span>!</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<a href="images/170a.png"> +<img src="images/170.png" width="415" height="500" alt="JUMPING AT CONCLUSIONS." title="JUMPING AT CONCLUSIONS." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">JUMPING AT CONCLUSIONS.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">"Who's that <i>tiny</i> little Gentleman talking to +Mamma, Tom?" "Mr. Scribbins, the Writing Master at our School."<br /> +"Ah! I suppose he teaches <i>Short-hand!</i>"</span></p> +</div> + +<hr /> +<h3>A LORD MAYOR'S DAY IN DUBLIN.</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>A Lay of the Criminal Law Amendment Act.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">"Shure it's <span class="smcap">Balfour</span> would be troublin', meeself Lord Mayor o' Dublin,</span> + <span class="i3">But every charge he makes I'll meet in fashion you'll call nate;</span> + <span class="i2">For I'll face the accusation that he brings against the <i>Nation</i>,</span> + <span class="i3">Attired from head to foot, my boys, in all my robes of State.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">"So on with hat and gown, boys, for we're goin' through the town, boys,</span> + <span class="i3">And you must help your City's Chief to make a real display,"</span> + <span class="i2">Thus <span class="smcap">Tim Sullivan</span> he cried out, as straightway he did ride out,</span> + <span class="i3">In civic pomp to near the Court on that eventful day.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">And Town Councillors in numbers, woke from their normal slumbers,</span> + <span class="i3">And, donning gowns and tippets, rose and put on all they knew,</span> + <span class="i2">And with approbation glancing at the City Marshal, prancing</span> + <span class="i3">On a hired hack, they followed him, a rather motley crew.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">At length the Court they entered, when attention soon was centred,</span> + <span class="i3">On a squabble that had risen about the Sword and Mace:</span> + <span class="i2">For some swore they were not able to lie upon the table,</span> + <span class="i3">Though the Lord Mayor hotly argued it was their proper place.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">So when 'twas shown quite plainly, after pushing for it vainly,</span> + <span class="i3">Beyond the "bar" the civic baubles had to be conveyed,</span> + <span class="i2">With vow that none should floor them, their guardians upstairs bore them,</span> + <span class="i3">And in the front seats flaunted them conspicuously displayed.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">Then up stood Mr. <span class="smcap">Carson</span>, quite as quiet as a parson,</span> + <span class="i3">And read out his indictment with a settled, stone-like face,</span> + <span class="i2">Till <span class="smcap">Tim Healy</span>, quick replying, rose then and there, denying</span> + <span class="i3">That the Counsel for the Crown had a shadow of a case.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">And then as legal brother argued each against the other,</span> + <span class="i3">The while <span class="smcap">Tim Sullivan</span> reclined in all his civic blaze,</span> + <span class="i2"><span class="smcap">O'Donel</span> he looked vexed there, and he seemed somewhat perplexed there,</span> + <span class="i3">As if the matter struck him as involved in doubtful haze.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">But after some reflection, with a <i>soupçon</i> of dejection,</span> + <span class="i3">He announced that he had settled (though, doubtless, mid some fears</span> + <span class="i2">He might stir up <span class="smcap">Balfour's</span> fury), there was no case for a jury.</span> + <span class="i3">His judgment was received in Court with hearty ringing cheers.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">Then, wild with exultation, up rose Mayor and Corporation,</span> + <span class="i3">And, greeted by the crowd without, were cheered along the way,</span> + <span class="i2">Til the Mansion House on nearing, the mob cried, 'midst their cheering,</span> + <span class="i3">A speech they wanted, and would hear what he had got to say.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">Then <span class="smcap">Tim Sullivan</span> he spouted;—the mob they surged and shouted,</span> + <span class="i3">And the upshot of the speech was this, that if, through legal flaws,</span> + <span class="i2">By any chance your way you see, to battle with the powers that be,</span> + <span class="i3">You're hero both and martyr if you break the Saxon's laws.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">So it's no use, <span class="smcap">Balfour</span>, troublin' the Civic powers of Dublin;</span> + <span class="i3">For if you do, you know that they will meet you just half way;</span> + <span class="i2">And if fresh accusation you but bring against the <i>Nation</i>,</span> + <span class="i3">The City shure will answer with another Lord Mayor's Day!</span> + </div> +</div> + +<hr /> +<h3>THE REAL GRIEVANCE OFFICE.</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>Before</i> Mr. Commissioner <span class="smcap">Punch</span>.)</p> + +<p class="center"><i>An Official of Epping Forest introduced.</i></p> + +<p><i>The Commissioner.</i> Now, Sir, what can I do for you?</p> + +<p><i>Witness.</i> You can confer a favour upon me, Sir, by correcting some +sensational letters and paragraphs on "Deer-Maiming in Epping Forest," +that have lately appeared in the newspapers.</p> + +<p><i>The Commissioner.</i> Always pleased to oblige the Corporation. Well, what +is it?</p> + +<p><i>Witness.</i> I wish to say, Sir, that deer-shooting in Epping Forest, so +far as its guardians are concerned, is not a sport, but a difficult and +disagreeable duty?</p> + +<p><i>The Commissioner.</i> A duty?</p> + +<p><i>Witness.</i> Yes, Sir, a duty; because, in fulfilment of an agreement with +the late Lords of the Forest Manors (to whom we have to supply annually +a certain amount of venison), and in justice to the neighbouring +farmers, whose crops are much damaged by the deer, we are obliged to +keep down the herd to a fixed limit.</p> + +<p><i>The Commissioner.</i> But how about the stories of the wounded animals +that linger and die?</p> + +<p><i>Witness.</i> We have nothing to do with them—we are not in fault. I +mean by "we" those who have a right to shoot by the invitation of the +proper Authorities.</p> + +<p><i>The Commissioner.</i> But are not the poor animals sometimes wounded?</p> + +<p><i>Witness.</i> Alas, yes! Unhappily the forest is infested by a gang of +poachers of the worst type, and it is at their door that any charge of +cruelty must be laid. So far as we are concerned, we kill the deer in +the most humane manner. We use rifles and bullets, and our guns are +excellent shots. As no doubt you will have seen from the report of the +City Solicitor, such deer as it has been necessary to kill, have been +shot by, or in the presence of, two of the Conservators renowned for +their humanity and shooting skill.</p> + +<p><i>The Commissioner.</i> It seems to me that you should put down the +poachers.</p> + +<p><i>Witness.</i> We do our best, Sir. You must remember the Corporation has +not been in possession very long. We have to protect nearly ten square +miles of forest land, close to a city whose population is counted by +Millions.</p> + +<p><i>The Commissioner.</i> Very true. Can I do anything more for you?</p> + +<p><i>Witness.</i> Nothing, Sir. Pray accept my thanks for affording me this +opportunity of offering an explanation. I trust the explanation is +satisfactory?</p> + +<p><i>The Commissioner.</i> Perfectly. (<i>The Witness then withdrew.</i>)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<h3 class="sans">THE OCTOPUS OF ROMANCE AND REALITY.</h3> + +<p class="center">(<span class="smcap">As much Fact as Fancy.</span>)</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 429px;"> +<a href="images/171a.png"> +<img src="images/171.png" width="429" height="450" alt="THE OCTOPUS OF ROMANCE AND REALITY." title="THE OCTOPUS OF ROMANCE AND REALITY." /></a> +<span class="caption">"I had one curried, and found it most +excellent—something like tender tripe."—Extract from Mr. Tuer's +Letter.</span> +</div> + +<div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">"Devil-fish" of <span class="smcap">Victor Hugo</span>,</span> + <span class="i2">Dread <i>Pieuvre</i> of caves where few go</span> + <span class="i3">But are made your palsied prey,</span> + <span class="i2">Where are now your gruesome glories,</span> + <span class="i2">Dwelt upon in shocking stories?</span> + <span class="i2">Realism a big bore is</span> + <span class="i3">"Octopus is cheap to-day!"</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">You who, worst of ocean's gluttons,</span> + <span class="i2">Swallowed man, his boots, and buttons,</span> + <span class="i3">Cooked in this familiar way?</span> + <span class="i2">You who, in the tales of dreamers,</span> + <span class="i2">Sucked down ships and swallowed steamers,</span> + <span class="i2">Made the prey of kitchen schemers?</span> + <span class="i3">"Octopus <i>is</i> cheap to-day!"</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">Swallowed, <i>you</i> colossal cuttle?</span> + <span class="i2">Nemesis is really subtle!</span> + <span class="i3">Carted on the Coster's tray,</span> + <span class="i2">Dressed in fashions culinary,</span> + <span class="i2">Which the cunning <i>chef</i> will vary</span> + <span class="i2">After every vain vagary?</span> + <span class="i3">"Octopus is cheap to-day!"</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">Your huge arms, so strong, so many,</span> + <span class="i2">Like tarantula's <i>antennæ_</i>,</span> + <span class="i3">Just like tenderest tripe, they say!</span> + <span class="i2">Only wait a little longer,</span> + <span class="i2">Turtle soup—as from the Conger—</span> + <span class="i2">They will make from <i>you</i>, but stronger.</span> + <span class="i3">"Octopus is cheap to-day!"</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">Octopus—or is't Octōpus?—</span> + <span class="i2">Fame, that should outshine <span class="smcap">Canopus,</span></span> + <span class="i3">All too swiftly fleets away.</span> + <span class="i2">Yet our feelings it must harrow,</span> + <span class="i2">That <i>your</i> demon-fame should narrow</span> + <span class="i2">To cook-bench and coster barrow.</span> + <span class="i3">"Devil-fish is cheap to-day!"</span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> + </div> +</div> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<h2 class="sans">SALUBRITIES ABROAD.</h2> + +<p class="center">("Is this the Hend?"—<i>Miss Squeers</i>.)</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 280px;"> +<a href="images/172a.png"> +<img src="images/172.png" width="280" height="327" alt="BAKER" title="BAKER" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Skurrie</span> puts us in the train, gives us our <span class="smcap">Cook's</span> tickets all ready +stamped and dated. No trouble. Then he insists on comparing his notes of +our route with mine, to see that all is correct.</p> + +<p>"Wednesday," he says, "that's to-day. Geneva <i>dep.</i> 12, Bâle <i>arr.</i> +7.45." He speaks a <i>Bradshaw</i> abbreviated language. "Change twice, +perhaps three times, Lausanne, Brienne, Olten. Not quite sure; but you +must look out." Oh, the trouble and anxiety of looking out for where you +change! "Then," he goes on, "Thursday, Bâle <i>dep.</i> 9.2 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span>, Heidelberg +<i>arr.</i> 1.55."</p> + +<p>"Any change?" I ask, as if I wanted twopence out of a shilling.</p> + +<p>"No; at least I don't think so. But you had better ask," he replies. Ah! +this asking! if you are not quite well, and don't understand the +language (which I do not in German Switzerland), and get hold of an +austere military station-master, or an imbecile porter, and then have to +carry that most inconvenient article of all baggage, a hand-bag, which +you have brought as "so convenient to hold everything you want for a +night," and which is so light to carry until it is packed! "Then," goes +on the imperturbable <span class="smcap">Skurrie</span>, "you'll 'do' Heidelberg, dine there, sleep +there, and on Friday Heidelberg <i>dep.</i> 6 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span>——"</p> + +<p>Here I interrupt with a groan—"Can't we go later?"</p> + +<p>"No," says <span class="smcap">Skurrie</span>, sternly. "Impossible. You'll upset all the +calculations if you do."</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Jane</span> says, meekly, that when one is travelling, and going to bed early, +it is not so difficult to get up very early, and, for her part, she +knows she shall be awake all night. Ah! so shall I, I feel, and already +the journey begins to weigh heavily on me, and I do not bless <span class="smcap">Skurrie</span> +and his plan. "But," I say aloud, knowing he has done it all for the +best, and that I cannot now recede, "go on."</p> + +<p>He does so, at railroad pace:—"Heidelberg <i>dep.</i> 6. Mannheim <i>arr.</i> +7.5, <i>dep.</i> 7.15. Mayence <i>arr.</i> 8.22, in time for boat down the Rhine +8.55. Cologne <i>arr.</i> 4.30. And there you are."</p> + +<p>"Yes," I rejoin, rather liking the idea of Cologne, "there we are—and +then?"</p> + +<p>"Well, you'll have a longish morning at Cologne; rest, see Cathedral, +breakfast," and here he refers to his notes, "Cologne <i>dep.</i> 1.13 <span class="smcap">P.M.</span>, +and Antwerp <i>arr.</i> 6.34."</p> + +<p>"Change anywhere?" I inquire, helplessly. "Yes," he answers, +meditatively. "At this moment I forget where, but you've got examination +of baggage on the Belgian frontier, and you have two changes, I think. +However, it's all easy enough."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad of that," I say, trying to cheer up a bit, only somehow I am +depressed: and Cousin <span class="smcap">Jane</span> isn't much better, though she tries to put +everything in the pleasantest possible light, and remarks that at all +events "the travelling will soon be over."</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Skurrie</span> continues reading off his paper and comparing the +details with my notes, "Sunday—Antwerp <i>dep.</i> 6.34 <span class="smcap">P.M.</span> +Rosendael <i>arr.</i> 7.45—yes—then Rosendael <i>dep.</i> 8.44, and +catch the 10.10 <span class="smcap">P.M.</span> boat at Flushing. Queenborough +<i>arr.</i> 5.50, fresh as a lark, and up to town by 7.55."</p> + +<p>"But we don't want to go up to town, we want to go to Ramsgate."</p> + +<p>"Ha!" he says slowly, giving this idea as just sprung upon him his full +consideration. "Ha!—let me see——" Then, as if by inspiration, he +continues quickly—"sacrifice your London tickets, book luggage for +Flushing, only then at Flushing re-book it for Queenborough, and once +you're there you catch an early train to Ramsgate, and you'll be there +nearly as soon as you would have arrived in London. Train just off. Wish +you <i>bon voyage</i>."</p> + +<p>I thank him for all his trouble, and ask, with some astonishment, if he +is not going to accompany us?</p> + +<p>"Can't—wish I could," returns <span class="smcap">Skurrie</span>, "but I've got to go off to +Petersburgh by night mail. Business. Should have been delighted to have +looked after you and seen you through, but you've got it all down and +can't make any mistake. <i>Au plaisir!</i>"</p> + +<p>And he is off. So are we.</p> + +<p>Oh, this journey!! Everything changes. My health, the scenery, the +weather, all becoming worse and worse. Poor Cousin <span class="smcap">Jane</span>, too.</p> + +<p>Oh, the changes of carriage! The rushing about from platform to +platform, carrying that confounded bag, and sticks, and umbrellas, and +small things, of which <span class="smcap">Jane</span>—poor <span class="smcap">Jane</span>!—has her +share, and, but for her sticking to every basket and package, I should, +in despair, have surrendered to chance, left them behind me somewhere, +and should have never seen them again. All aches and pains, and +weariness! At last at Bâle, rattled over stones and bridge in a jolting +omnibus, through pouring rain to the hotel of "The Three Kings."</p> + +<p>Our treatment in the <i>salle-à-manger</i> of that Monarchical Hostelrie is +enough to make the most loyal turn republican. A willing head-waiter +with insubordinate assistants—and we are miserable.</p> + +<p>Off early to Heidelberg. Delighted, at all events, to bid farewell to +the worthy Monarchs. This trip seemed to invigorate us, and if civility, +polite attention, good rooms, and an excellent <i>cuisine</i> could make any +invalid temporarily better, then our short stay at the Prinz Karl +Hotel—a really perfectly managed establishment—ought to have revived +us both considerably. And so it did. A lovely drive to the heights among +the pine woods and in the purest air went for something, but alas the +knowledge that we had to rise at 5 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span>, to be off by six—it turned out +to be a 6.30 train—drove slumber from our eyes, and only by means of a +cold bath, the first thing on tumbling out of bed, could I brace myself +for the effort. Then on we went, taking <span class="smcap">Skurrie's</span> pre-arranged tour.</p> + +<p>Let the remainder be a blank.</p> + +<p>When abroad I had bought a French one-volume novel which I had seen +praised in the <i>Figaro</i>. I will not give its name, nor that of its +author. If it indeed portrays persons really living in Paris, and if +these persons are not wholly exceptional (but, if so, why this novel, +which implies the contrary and denounces them?) then is the latest state +of Republican Paris worse than its former state in the days of the +<i>dégringolade</i> of the Empire, and Paris must undergo a fearful purgation +before she will once again possess <i>mens sana in corpore sano</i>. I read +this disgusting novel half-way through until its meaning became quite +clear to me, and then I proceeded by leaps and bounds, landing on dry +places and skipping over the filth in order to see how the author worked +out a moral and punished his infamous scoundrel of a chief personage. +No. Moral there was none, except an eloquent appeal to Paris to rise and +crush these reptiles and their brood. On the wretched night when +feverish, ill, and sleepless, I lay miserably in the saloon of the +Flemish steamer crossing to Queenborough, I opened the porthole above me +and threw this infernal book into the sea. After this I bore the +sufferings of that night with a lighter heart.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Suffice it that I arrived at home—and how glad I was to get +there—broken down, prostrate and only fit for +bed——where with railways running round and round my head, +steamboats dashing and thumping about my brain, the shrieks of German +and Flemish porters ringing in my ears, <span class="smcap">Skurrie</span> always forcing me to +travel on, on, on, against my will, I remained for about three weeks.</p> + +<p><i>Advice gratis to all Drinkers of Waters.</i>—"The story shows," as +the Moral to the fables of <span class="smcap">Æsop</span> used to put it, that when you have +finished your cure, make straight by the easiest stages for the seaside +at home. Avoid all exertion: and ask your medical man before leaving to +tell you exactly what to eat, drink, and avoid, for the next three weeks +at least after the completion of your cure.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>While ill, but when beginning to crave for some amusement or +distraction, I asked that my dear old <span class="smcap">Boz's</span> <i>Sketches</i> should be read to +me, to which in years gone by I had been indebted for many a hearty +laugh. Alas! what a disappointment! Except for a little descriptive bit +here and there, the fun of these <i>Sketches</i> sounded as wearisome and +old-fashioned as the humours of the now forgotten "Adelphi screamers" in +which Messrs. <span class="smcap">Wright</span> and <span class="smcap">Paul Bedford</span> used to perform, and at which, as +a boy, I used to scream with delight, when the strong-minded mistress of +the house, speaking while the comic servant was laying the cloth for +dinner, would say of her husband, "When I see him I'll give him——" +"Pepper," says the comic servant, accidentally placing that condiment on +the table. "He shan't," resumes the irate lady, "come over me with +any——" "Butter," interrupts the comic servant, quite unconsciously, of +course, as he deposits a pat of Dorset on the table. And so on. Later +on, I tried <span class="smcap">Thackeray's</span> <i>Esmond</i>. How tedious, how involved, and full of +repetitions! It is enlivened here and there by the introduction of such +real characters as <i>Dick Steele</i>, <i>Lord Mohun</i>, <i>Dean Atterbury</i>, and +others, and by the mysterious melodramatic appearances and +disappearances of <i>Father Holt</i>, a typical Jesuit of the "penny +dreadful" style of literature. But the work had lost whatever charm it +ever possessed for me, and, indeed, I had always considered it an +over-rated book, not by any means to be compared with <i>Vanity Fair</i>, +<i>Pendennis</i>, or even with <i>Barry Lyndon</i>, which last is repulsively +clever.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Then I asked for a book that I never yet could get through, and to which +I thought that now, with leisure and a craving for distraction, I might +take a liking. This was <i>Little Dorrit</i>. I tried hard, but it made my +head ache even more than <i>Esmond</i> had done, and I laid it down, utterly +unable to comprehend the mystery which takes such an amount of dreary, +broken-up, tedious dialogue in the closing chapters to unravel.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>I took down <span class="smcap">Washington Irving's</span> <i>Sketch-book</i>, and read it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> with +delight. Fresh as ever! It did me good. So did <span class="smcap">Charles Lamb's</span> Essays. +And then guess what moved me to laughter, to tears, and to real +heartfelt gratitude that we should have had a writer who could leave us +such an immortal work? What? It is a gem. It is very small, but to my +mind, and not excepting any one of all he ever wrote, the most precious +in every way for its true humour, for its natural pathos, and for its +large-hearted Christian teaching, is <i>The Christmas Carol</i>, by <span class="smcap">Charles +Dickens</span>. Had this been his only book, it would have sufficed for his +imperishable fame.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>And then what made me chuckle and laugh? Why,<span class="smcap">Thackeray's</span> <i>Sultan Stork</i>, +which, somehow or other, I never remembered having read before this time +of convalescent leisure. It is <span class="smcap">Thackeray</span> in his most frolicsome humour, +and, therefore, <span class="smcap">Thackeray</span> at his best.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>I am almost recovered, and am finding my "Salubrity at Home."</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2 class="sans">THE LETTER-BAG OF TOBY, M.P.</h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">From an Anxious Householder.</span></p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 424px;"> +<a href="images/173a.png"> +<img src="images/173.png" width="424" height="500" alt="CARPENTER" title="CARPENTER" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Toby</span>,—It was in my mind to write to you some days ago, but I +have had my time much occupied with a subject of domestic interest. In +fact, I have just been laying the carpet presented to me by our +fellow-citizens of the ancient and important community of Kidderminster. +The carpet, regarded individually, is a desirable and an acceptable +thing. It is, as you have observed in the newspaper reports, woven of +the wool known to the trade as the Queen's Clip. In colour it is a rich +damson, and in quality Wilton. Apart from its suitability and +acceptability, we here see in it the beginning of what I confess we +should be inclined to regard as a pleasing habit on the part of our +fellow-countrymen. As you are aware, my wife and myself have for some +years been the recipients of gifts consisting of what a well-known +person of the name of <i>Wemmick</i> was accustomed to call, articles of +portable property. Our journeys to Scotland were always marked by the +presentation of gifts that even became embarrassing by reason of their +quantity and variety. We have quite a stock of Paisley shawls. Dundee +marmalade is a drug in our domestic market. Plaids, snuff-boxes, +walking-sticks, and, above all, axes I have in abundance. Through the +medium of an interesting periodical, of which you may have +heard—(it is known as <i>Exchange and Mart</i>)—we have managed +to average our possessions, a process not entirely free from adventure. +In one instance an unscrupulous individual, probably a member of the +Primrose League, succeeded in obtaining a two-dozen case of marmalade +and a Scotch plaid presented by the working-men of Glasgow, in promise, +yet unfulfilled, of delivery of a bicycle warranted new. I have rather a +hankering after trying a bicycle. <span class="smcap">Lowe</span> gave his up with the ultimate +remainder of his Liberal principles. But in old times I have heard him +speak with enthusiasm of the exercise. When I noticed this person +advertising in <i>Exchange and Mart</i> his desire of bartering his bicycle, +we entered upon the negotiation which has ended so unfortunately. He has +our Paisley plaid and Dundee marmalade, and we have not his bicycle.</p> + +<p>This, however, by the way. What I had at heart to write to you about, +suggested by the Kidderminster carpet, is the new opening here offered +for manifestations of political sympathy at a serious political crisis. +We are, to tell the truth, towards the close of a long career, a little +overburdened with articles of portable property of the kind already +indicated. But our residence is large, and, if I may say so, receptive. +Carpets, though a not unimportant feature in the furnishing of a house, +do not contain within themselves the full catalogue of a furnishing +establishment.</p> + +<p>If Kidderminster has its carpets, there are other localities throughout +the Kingdom which have their tables and chairs, their bed-room +furniture, their curtains, their brass stair-rods, and their +gas-fittings. History will, I believe, look with indulgent eye upon an +ex-Premier, the Counsellor of Kings, the leader of a great Party, +assisting at the hauling in and laying down of an eleemosynary carpet, +the wool of which is made from Queen's Clip, has a rich damson colour, +and is of Wilton quality. Why should I not give a back to an arm-chair +presented by an admiring Liberal Association? or walk upstairs with a +bolster under either arm, token of the esteem and admiration of the West +of England Home Rulers?</p> + +<p>I throw out these thoughts to you, dear <span class="smcap">Toby</span>, as I sit in my study and +survey the carpet of Wilton quality, which covers the floor. As you will +have seen in the newspaper reports, "on entering the room where the +carpet was displayed the Right Honourable Gentleman remarked that it had +a quiet tone, which was so pleasant to the eye; adding that it was a +great mistake, (which used to be committed about fifty years ago) when +carpets were made with staring patterns." It is, I need hardly say, the +growth of Liberal principles which has effected this change in the +public taste for carpets. Whether indeed, suppose we were in need of a +battle-cry, "Our Quiet Tones and Our Liberal Principles," would not +serve as opposed to "Toryism and Staring Patterns," I am not certain. +These things we must leave to the evolution of time. Meanwhile I will +not deny in the confidence of a friendly letter that we could very well +do with a sofa, the tone and construction of which should, of course, +match the carpet from Kidderminster. If you are attending any public +meeting and you find the popular indignation against the Government of +Lord <span class="smcap">Salisbury</span> rising to an ungovernable pitch, you might gently and +discreetly guide it in this direction.</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Always yours faithfully,</span></p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>H-w-rd-n C-stle.</i> <span class="smcap">W. E. Gl-dst-ne.</span></span></p> + +<p>P.S.—A mangle and a garden-roller might later, and in due order, occupy +your kindly thought.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>GENTLE SHEPHERD</h3> + +<p class="center"><i>A Ballade for the Board.</i></p> + +<blockquote><p>"The lobby of the Metropolitan Board of Works offices was +recently the scene of a serious assault, committed by Mr. +<span class="smcap">Keevil</span>, upon Mr. <span class="smcap">Shepherd</span>."—<i>Daily Paper.</i></p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">Gentle <span class="smcap">Shepherd</span>, tell me true,</span> + <span class="i3">Did, selecting time and place,</span> + <span class="i2">Wary <span class="smcap">Keevil</span> go for you,—</span> + <span class="i3">Hit you on the chest and face?</span> + <span class="i2">Did he, waiting on the stairs,</span> + <span class="i3">Watch until you passed him by,</span> + <span class="i2">Then adroitly, unawares,</span> + <span class="i2">Plant one on your weather eye?</span> + <span class="i2">Did, O <span class="smcap">Shepherd</span>, tell me true,</span> + <span class="i2">Wary <span class="smcap">Keevil</span> get at you!</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i2">Gentle <span class="smcap">Shepherd</span>, answer me,</span> + <span class="i3">Say, did you, when last you spoke,</span> + <span class="i2">Language use that possibly</span> + <span class="i3">Wary <span class="smcap">Keevil</span> might provoke?</span> + <span class="i2">If so, p'raps 'twas not too wise,</span> + <span class="i3">Though it could involve no right</span> + <span class="i2">To attempt to black your eyes</span> + <span class="i3">In a stand-up Board-Room fight!</span> + <span class="i2">Ah! sweet <span class="smcap">Shepherd</span>, sure his due</span> + <span class="i2">He will get who went for you!</span> + </div> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Proud o' the Title.</span>"—The Bishop of <span class="smcap">Lichfield</span>, in one of his +speeches at the Church Congress last week, included the English Roman +Catholics among the "other Nonconformists." Then his Lordship was +graciously pleased to observe that he was very willing to acknowledge +the <span class="smcap">Queen</span> as supreme, but objected to the authority of Parliament, in +Church matters. It is very evident on which side Dr. <span class="smcap">Maclagan</span> would have +been in the reign of the pure and pious <span class="smcap">Henry the Eighth</span>, when that +amiable monarch ordered the decapitation of those bigoted and obtuse +"Nonconformists," Bishop <span class="smcap">Fisher</span>, and Sir <span class="smcap">Thomas More.</span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> +<a href="images/174a.png"> +<img src="images/174.png" width="550" height="366" alt="HARDLY FAIR." title="HARDLY FAIR." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">HARDLY FAIR.</h3> +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">"Our Artist paints an interesting Study of a Furze Bush."</span></p> +</div> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<h2>THE NEW NORTH-WEST PASSAGE.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>A Colloquy on the Canadian Shore.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i1"><i>Canada.</i> "Westward the course of empire takes its way."</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i1"><i>Britannia.</i> The Bishop's famous line, dear, bears to-day</span> + <span class="i1">Modified meaning; westward runs indeed</span> + <span class="i1">The route of empire,—ours!</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i1"><i>Canada.</i><span style="margin-left: 5em;">If I succeed</span></span> + <span class="i1">In drawing hither Trade's unfaltering feet</span> + <span class="i1">And <i>yours</i>, my triumph then will be complete.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i1"><i>Britannia.</i> Across your continent from sea to sea</span> + <span class="i1">All is our own, my child, and all is free.</span> + <span class="i1">No jealous rivals spy around our path</span> + <span class="i1">With watchfulness not far remote from wrath.</span> + <span class="i1">The sea-ways are my own, free from of old</span> + <span class="i1">To keels adventurous and bosoms bold.</span> + <span class="i1">Now, from my western cliffs that front the deep</span> + <span class="i1">To where the warm Pacific waters sweep</span> + <span class="i1">Around Cathay and old Zipangu's shore,</span> + <span class="i1">My course is clear. What can I wish for more?</span> + <span class="i1">To your young enterprise the praise is due.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i1"><i>Canada.</i> The praise, and profit, I would share with you.</span> + <span class="i1">Canadian energy has felt the spur</span> + <span class="i1">Of British capital; the flush and stir</span> + <span class="i1">Of British patriot blood is in our heart;</span> + <span class="i1">Still I am glad you think I've done my part.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i1"><i>Britannia.</i> Bravely! Yon Arctic wastes no more need slay</span> + <span class="i1">My gallant sons. Had <span class="smcap">Franklin</span> seen this day</span> + <span class="i1">He had not slept his last long lonely sleep</span> + <span class="i1">Where the chill ice-pack lades the frozen deep.</span> + <span class="i1">"It can be done; England should do it!" Yes,</span> + <span class="i1">That is the thought which urges to success</span> + <span class="i1">Our struggling sore-tried heroes. <span class="smcap">Waghorn</span> knew</span> + <span class="i1">Such inspiration. Many a palsied crew</span> + <span class="i1">Painfully creeping through the Arctic night</span> + <span class="i1">Have felt it fill their souls like fire and light.</span> + <span class="i1">Well, it <i>is</i> done, by men of English strain,</span> + <span class="i1">Though in such shape as they who strove in vain</span> + <span class="i1">With Boreal cold and darkness never dreamed</span> + <span class="i1">When o'er the Pole the pale aurora gleamed</span> + <span class="i1">Perpetual challenge.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i1"><i>Canada.</i><span style="margin-left: 5em;">Here's your Empire route!</span></span> + <span class="i1">A right of way whose value to compute</span> + <span class="i1">Will tax the prophets.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i1"><i>Britannia.</i><span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Links me closer still</span></span> + <span class="i1">With all my wandering sons who tame and till</span> + <span class="i1">The world's wild wastes, and throng each paradise</span> + <span class="i1">In tropic seas or under southern skies,</span> + <span class="i1">See, Halifax, Vancouver, Sydney, set</span> + <span class="i1">Fresh steps upon a path whose promise yet</span> + <span class="i1">Even ourselves have hardly measured. Lo!</span> + <span class="i1">Far China brought within a moon or so,</span> + <span class="i1">Of tea-devouring London! Here it lies,</span> + <span class="i1">The way for men and mails and merchandise,</span> + <span class="i1">Striking athwart your sea-dividing sweep</span> + <span class="i1">Of land; one iron road from deep to deep!</span> + <span class="i1">Well thought, well done!</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i1"><i>Canada.</i><span style="margin-left: 5em;">No more need you depend</span></span> + <span class="i1">On furtive enemy or doubtful friend.</span> + <span class="i1">Your home is on the deep, and when you come,</span> + <span class="i1">To the Dominion's land you're still at home.</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i1"><i>Britannia.</i> And woe to him the Statesman cold or blind,</span> + <span class="i1">Of clutching spirit or of chilling mind,</span> + <span class="i1">Pedantic prig or purse-string tightening fool,</span> + <span class="i1">Who'd check such work and such a spirit cool!</span> + <span class="i1">Yours is the praise and may the profit flow</span> + <span class="i1">In fullest stream, 'midst your Canadian snow</span> + <span class="i1">A true Pactolus. Trade's prolific fruit,</span> + <span class="i1">Should freely flourish on our Empire Route.</span> + </div> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Loaded with Presents.</span>—In the account given in the <i>Times</i> (Oct. 7) of +the unveiling of Mr. <span class="smcap">Boehm's</span> statue of the <span class="smcap">Queen</span> in the presence of its +donors, <span class="smcap">Her Majesty's</span> tenants and servants on the Balmoral Estates +assembled at Crathie, there is a funny misprint:—</p> + +<blockquote><p>"At this point (<i>i.e.</i> after <span class="smcap">Her Majesty's</span> reply to the Prince +of <span class="smcap">Wales's</span> address) the soldiers saluted and fired a <i>feu de +foie</i>."</p></blockquote> + +<p>As refreshments were supplied by the <span class="smcap">Queen's</span> command immediately +afterwards, perhaps the guns had been loaded with "<i>foie gras</i>," tightly +compressed into cartridges.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175"></a></span></p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"> +<a href="images/175a.png"> +<img src="images/175.png" width="364" height="450" alt="BRITANNIA" title="BRITANNIA" /></a> +<h2>THE NEW NORTH-WEST PASSAGE.</h2> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Britannia.</span> "NOW, FROM MY WESTERN CLIFFS THAT FRONT THE DEEP</span> +<span class="i5"> TO WHERE THE WARM PACIFIC WATERS SWEEP</span> +<span class="i5"> AROUND CATHAY AND OLD ZIPANGU'S SHORE,</span> +<span class="i5"> MY COURSE IS CLEAR. WHAT CAN I WISH FOR MORE?"</span> </div></div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176"></a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3 class="sans">SOME NOTES AT STARMOUTH.</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Ethel Dering</span> has not recognised me yet. Naturally she would not expect +to find me being photographed on the beach with such a crew as this—but +she <i>will</i> in another instant, unless,—ah, <span class="smcap">Louise's</span> sunshade! my +presence of mind never <i>quite</i> deserts me. There is a slit in the +silk—through which I can see <span class="smcap">Ethel</span>. As soon as she discovers what the +excitement is all about, she turns away.... Thank goodness, she is gone! +I have saved the situation—but ruined the group ... they are all +annoyed with me. I had really no idea <span class="smcap">Louise</span> looked so plain when out of +temper!</p> + +<p>As we go back, <span class="smcap">Alf</span> wants to know whether I noticed that "clipping girl." +He means <span class="smcap">Ethel</span>. <span class="smcap">Louise</span> says, he "ought to know better than to ask me +such things, considering my situation." Agree with <span class="smcap">Louise</span>.</p> + +<p><i>Evening.</i> I am staying at home; <i>nominally</i>, to work at the Drama +(still in very elementary stage) <i>really</i>, to think out the situation. +Remember now the <span class="smcap">Derings</span> have a yacht; they <i>may</i> only have put in here +for a day or two—if not, can I avoid being seen by her sooner or later? +The mere idea of meeting <i>her</i> when I am with <span class="smcap">Alf</span> or <span class="smcap">Ponking</span>, and my +Blazer acquaintances, makes me ill. (Not that I need distress myself, +for she would probably cut me!) Can't think in Mrs. <span class="smcap">Surge's</span> little front +parlour. I must get out, into the air! Let me see, <span class="smcap">Louise</span> and her Aunt +(and no doubt <span class="smcap">Ponking</span> and <span class="smcap">Alf</span>) will be at the Music Hall this evening, +as there is a "benefit" with the usual "galaxy of talent." If I keep +away from the sands (where I might see <span class="smcap">Ethel</span>), I shall be safe enough.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 350px;"> +<a href="images/177aa.png"> +<img src="images/177a.png" width="350" height="286" alt="'Why, he's a man of whacks!'" title="'Why, he's a man of whacks!'" /></a> +<span class="caption">"Why, he's a man of whacks!" Shakspeare.</span> +</div> + +<p>Turn into Public Gardens; nobody here just now, except a couple in +front, who seem to have quarrelled—at least the lady's voice sounds +displeased. Too dark to see, but as I come nearer—is it only my nervous +fancy that—? No, I can't be mistaken, that <i>is</i> <span class="smcap">Ethel</span> speaking now! +"Why will you persist in speaking to me?" she is saying, "I don't know +you—have the goodness to go away at once." Some impudent scoundrel is +annoying her! Didn't know anything could make me so angry. I don't stop +to think—before I know where I am, I have knocked the fellow down ... he +can't be more surprised than <i>I</i> am! It is all very well—but what is +to become of me when he <i>gets up again</i>? He is sure to make a row, and I +can't go <i>on</i> knocking him down! Must get <span class="smcap">Ethel</span> away first, should not +like to be pounded into shapelessness before her eyes. "Miss <span class="smcap">Dering</span>," I +say, "you—you had better go on—leave him to me," (it will probably be +the other way, though!) "Mr. <span class="smcap">Coney</span>!" she cries. "Oh, I am so glad!—but +don't hurt him any more—<i>please</i>." He is getting up, as well as I can +make out in the darkness, I am not <i>likely</i> to hurt him any more ... I +wish he would begin, this suspense is very trying. He <i>has</i> begun—to +weep bitterly! Never was so surprised in my life; he is too much upset +even to swear, simply sits in the gutter boohooing. If he knew how +grateful I am to him! However, I tell him sternly to "think himself +lucky it is no worse," and leave him to recover.</p> + +<p>Must see <span class="smcap">Ethel</span> safe home after this. She and her father <i>did</i> come in +the yacht—they are at the Royal Hotel, and she missed her way and her +maid somehow, trying to find a Circulating Library. She really seems +pleased to meet me. It is not an original remark—but <i>what</i> a delight +it is to listen to the clear fresh tones of a well-bred girl—not that +<span class="smcap">Ethel</span>'s voice is anything to me <i>now!</i> She "can't imagine what I find to +do in Starmouth,"—then she did <i>not</i> recognise me this afternoon, which +is some comfort! I should like to tell her all, but it would be rather +uncalled-for just now, perhaps. We talk on general matters, as we used +to do. Singular how one can throw off one's troubles for the time—I am +actually <i>gay!</i> I can make <i>her</i> laugh, and what a pretty rippling laugh +she has! We have reached the Hotel—<i>already!</i></p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 350px;"> +<a href="images/177bb.png"> +<img src="images/177b.png" width="350" height="294" alt="'So many guests invite as here are writ.'" title="'So many guests invite as here are writ.'" /></a> +<span class="caption">"So many guests invite as here are writ."—Shakspeare.</span> +</div> + +<p>Now I am here, it would be rude not to go in and see old <span class="smcap">Dering</span>. I do. +He is most cordial. Am I alone down here? Critical, this. After all, I +<i>am</i> alone—in my lodgings. "Then I must come to luncheon on board the +<i>Amaryllis</i> to-morrow." <span class="smcap">Ethel</span> (I <i>must</i> get into the way of thinking of +her as "Miss <span class="smcap">Dering</span>") looks as if she expects me to accept. I had better +go, and find an opportunity of telling her about <span class="smcap">Louise</span>—who knows—they +might become bosom friends. No, hang it, <i>that's</i> out of the question!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Derings'</span> private room opens on to the Esplanade; old <span class="smcap">Dering</span> comes to +the French windows, and calls out after me, "Don't forget. Lunch at two. +On board the <i>Amaryllis</i>—find her at the quay." "Thanks very much—I +<i>won't</i> forget. Good-night!" "Good-night!" Someone is waiting for me +under a lamp. It is <span class="smcap">Alf</span>, but I did not know him at first. "Why, where on +earth!"—I begin. He regards me reproachfully with his one efficient +eye, and I observe his nose is much swollen. Good heavens, I see it +all—I have knocked down my <i>future brother-in-law!</i> Well, it serves him +right.</p> + +<p>He explains, sulkily; he meant no harm; never thought anyone would be +offended by being spoken to civil; <i>he</i> never met girls like that before +(which is likely enough); and to think I should have treated him that +savage and brutal—it was <i>that</i> upset him. Tell him I am sorry, but I +can't help it now. "Yes you can," he says, hoarsely. "You know this +girl—this Miss <span class="smcap">Derin'</span>," (he has followed us, it appears, and caught her +name)—"you don't ought to play dog in the manger <i>now</i>—I want you to +introduce me in a reg'lar way. I tell yer I'm down-right smitten." +Introduce <i>him</i>—to <span class="smcap">Ethel</span>! Never, not if I won the V.C. for it! "Then +you <i>look out!</i>"</p> + +<p>He has gone off growling—the cub! He will tell <span class="smcap">Louise</span>. On second +thoughts, his own share in the business may prevent that—but it is +unfortunate.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 285px;"> +<a href="images/177cc.png"> +<img src="images/177c.png" width="285" height="350" alt="" title="Thrown over at a Watering-place." /></a> +<span class="caption">Thrown over at a Watering-place.</span> +</div> + +<p><i>Next Day.</i>—Have got leave of absence (without mentioning reason). I +believe I pleaded the Drama, as usual, and I <i>have</i> jotted down a line +or two. Am dressing for luncheon—somehow I take longer than usual. +Ready at last; the coast is clear, I am a trifle early, but I can stroll +gently down to the quay.... Turn a corner, and come upon <span class="smcap">Ponking</span>, with +<span class="smcap">Louise</span>. Fancy both look rather confused, but they are delighted to see +me. "Was I going any where in particular?" "No—nowhere in particular." +"Then I'd better come along with them—they have dined early, and are +doing the lions." <span class="smcap">Louise</span> makes such a point of it that I can't +refuse—must watch my chance, and slip off when I can.</p> + +<p><i>Later.</i>—We have done an ancient gaol, the church, and a fishermen's +almshouse—and I have not seen my chance <i>yet</i>. <span class="smcap">Ponking</span> determined to +see all he can for his money. <span class="smcap">Louise</span>, more demonstrative than she has +been of late, clings to my arm. It is past two, but we are working our +way, slowly, towards the quay. <span class="smcap">Ponking</span> suggests visit to Fisherring +Establishment. Now is my chance; say I won't go in—don't like +herrings—will wait outside. To my surprise, they actually meet me +half-way! "If you want to get back to your play-writing, old chap," says +<span class="smcap">Ponking</span> (really not a bad fellow, <span class="smcap">Ponking</span>!) "don't you mind <i>us</i>—we'll +take care of one another!" Just as deliverance is at hand, that infernal +<span class="smcap">Alf</span> comes up from the quay, with an eye that is positively <i>iridescent!</i> +"Oh, look at his poor eye!" cries <span class="smcap">Louise</span>. I look—and I see that he +means "<i>being nasty</i>." He addresses me: "Why ain't you on board your +swell yacht, taking lunch along with that girl, eh?" he inquires. +Exclamations from <span class="smcap">Louise</span>: "Girl? yacht? who? what?" and then—it all +comes out!</p> + +<p>Painful scene; fortunate there are so few looking on. <span class="smcap">Louise</span> renounces +me for ever opposite the Town-hall. "She knew I was a muff, but she had +thought I was too much the gentleman to act deceitful!" <span class="smcap">Ponking</span> is of +opinion I "haven't a gentlemanly action in me." So is <span class="smcap">Alf</span>, who adds that +he "always felt somehow he could never make a pal of me." There is balm +in <i>that!</i></p> + +<p>Thank goodness, it is over! I am <i>free</i>—free to think of <span class="smcap">Ethel</span> as much +as I like! I see now what a wretched infatuation all this has been. I +can tell her about it some day—if I think it necessary. I am not sure I +<i>shall</i> think it necessary—at all events, just yet.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 400px;"> +<a href="images/177dd.png"> +<img src="images/177d.png" width="400" height="315" alt="A love-lorn Romeo ready for his Beer." title="A love-lorn Romeo ready for his Beer." /></a> +<span class="caption">A love-lorn Romeo ready for his Beer.</span> +</div> + +<p>I am a little late, but I can apologise for that. Odd—but I can't find +the <i>Amaryllis</i> anywhere! Ask. A seaman on a post says "There <i>was</i> a +yacht he see being towed out 'bout 'arf an hour back—he didn't take no +partickler notice of her name." No doubt I mistook the moorings—better +ask at hotel, perhaps. I do. Waiter says if I am the gentleman by name +of <span class="smcap">Coney</span>, there are two notes for me in Coffee-Room.</p> + +<p>Open first—from Mr. <span class="smcap">Dering</span>.</p> + +<p>"Regrets; unforeseen circumstances—compelled to sail at once, and give +up pleasure, &c."</p> + +<p>Second—from <span class="smcap">Ethel</span>; there is hope still—or would she write?</p> + +<p>"Dear Mr. <span class="smcap">Coney</span>,—So sorry to go away without seeing you. You might have +told me of your engagement yourself, I think—I should have been so +interested. Your brother-in-law and his aunt thought it necessary to +call and inform us. We are delighted that you are having a pleasanter +time here than you gave us to understand last night. With best wishes +for all possible happiness," &c.</p> + +<p>So <i>that</i> was <span class="smcap">Alf's</span> revenge—it was a good one! After that, I shake off +the sand of Starmouth—for ever!</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<a href="images/178a.png"> +<img src="images/178.png" width="389" height="450" alt="JOHN BULL" title="JOHN BULL" /></a> +<h3 class="sans">A GOOD EXAMPLE.</h3> +<p>John Bull (loq). "Very kind of Her Majesty to let me see Her Jubilee +Gifts; but I wonder when Her Advisers will allow me to see my Own!"</p> +</div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>ECHOES FROM ST. JAMES'S PALACE. (JUBILEE DEPARTMENT.)</h3> + +<p class="center"><i>Crowd discovered besieging entrance to Staircase. Policeman examines +bags for concealed Dynamite.</i></p> + +<p><i>Loyal Old Lady (presenting reticule for inspection).</i> Which there's +nothing in it but a few cough-drops.</p> + +<p><i>Policeman (exercising a very wise discretion).</i> Pass on, Mother!</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">On the Stairs.</span></p> + +<p><i>'Arry (to Halfred—taxing his memory).</i> I dunno as I was ever 'ere +before—was <i>you?</i></p> + +<p><i>Halfred (conscientiously).</i> Not to remember.</p> + +<p><i>A Deliberate Old Gentleman, full of suppressed general information (to +his two boys).</i> Now, the great thing is not to hurry—we shall find +much deserving of careful study here.<br /> +<span class="figright">[<i>Faces of boys lengthen perceptibly.</i></span><br /></p> + +<p><i>An Aunt (to Niece).</i> You'd better go first, <span class="smcap">Eliza</span>; then you can read it +all out to me as we go along.</p> + +<p><i>Confused Murmurs</i>—"Where's Grandma?"—"It <i>is</i> ridiklous to go pushing +like that!"—"Well, the Pit's a joke to this!" &c., &c.</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">In the State Apartments.</span></p> + +<p><i>Delib. O. G.</i> This, boys, is the ante-room, and here, you see, is a +trophy presented by the Maha——<br /> +<span class="figright">[<i>Puts on glasses, to inspect label.</i></span><br /></p> + +<p><i>Policeman (loudly).</i> Now then, Sir, don't block the way, please,—keep +moving!<br /> +<span class="figright">[<i>O. G. moves on, under protest, to secret relief of boys.</i></span><br /></p> + +<p><i>The Aunt (examining pair of Elephant Tusks set in carved Buffalo's +Head).</i> They may call them "tusks" if they like, <span class="smcap">Eliza</span>,—but anyone can +see they're horns. They belong to one of them "Cow-Elephants," depend +upon it!<br /> +<span class="figright">[<i>Peers anxiously about in vain attempt to discover it.</i></span><br /></p> + +<p><i>Loyal Old Lady.</i> There's nothing here but these caskets. I thought +they'd the Jubilee Cake on view!</p> + +<p><i>Visitor (in state of general gratification).</i> Ha! they've given her +some nice things among 'em, I must say. There, you see,—an +arm-chair,—always come in useful, they do!</p> + +<p><i>Female V.</i> <span class="smcap">Jane</span>, come here, quick! (<i>They gaze reverentially on carved +chest full of slippers.</i>) That's what I call a <i>nice</i> present, +now,—but, if they were mine, I should unpick all that raised embroidery +inside the soles before ever I put 'em on!</p> + +<p><i>Jane.</i> Well, I suppose she wouldn't only wear them when she's in +<i>state</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Policeman.</i> Now, Ladies, please don't linger! Pass along, there!</p> + +<p><i>The Well-informed Old G.</i> You see this device, formed of green and +yellow feathers, boys. Well, these feathers come from——</p> + +<p><i>Policeman (as before).</i> Don't stop the way, Sir, please!</p> + +<p><i>Old G. (hanging on obstinately to barrier)</i>——The Sandwich Islands, +and are worn exclusively by—(<i>is swept on by crowd, and wedged tightly +against case containing samples of woollen products—boys dive under red +cord, and escape</i>).</p> + +<p><i>Two Ladies (from the country).</i> Those Policemen is like so many +parrots, with their "Keep moving;" they don't give you time for a good +look! <i>That's</i> a handsome pair of jugs the Crown Prince and Princess +give her, a little like the pair old Mr. <span class="smcap">Spudder</span> won with his Shorthorns +at the Show, don't you think? Only more elaborate, p'raps. Tell me if +you can see the Cake anywhere, my dear. I don't want to go away, and not +see <i>that!</i></p> + +<p><i>Intelligent Visitor.</i> That's a curious thing, now. Look at that label, +"Presented by——" and the name left blank!</p> + +<p><i>A Jocular Visitor (seeing an opportunity).</i> Too bad, <span class="smcap">Maria</span>! I'm sure we +wrote our names plainly enough!<br /> +<span class="figright">[<i>Sensation amongst bystanders, who regard the couple with respectful +interest.</i></span><br /></p> + +<p><i>Maria (who considers this trifling with a serious subject).</i> If I had +known you were going to be so <i>foolish</i>, <span class="smcap">George</span>, I should not have come!<br /> +<span class="figright">[<i>Collapse of</i> <span class="smcap">George.</span></span><br /></p> + +<p><i>A Practical Visitor.</i> Now, there's a neat idea—d'ye see? A crown, made +all out of tobaccer. There's some <i>sense</i> in giving a thing like that!</p> + +<p><i>The Jocular Visitor (reviving at sight of embroidered Child's Frock in +case).</i> Pretty costume, that, eh, <span class="smcap">Maria</span>? But do you think <span class="smcap">Her Gracious +Majesty</span> will ever be able to <i>get it on?</i></p> + +<p><i>Maria (horrified).</i> I tell you what it is, <span class="smcap">George</span>, if you go on making +these stupid jokes, you will get us both turned out—if not <i>worse!</i> I'm +sure that Policeman heard!</p> + +<p><i>Loyal Old Lady.</i> They've given her scent, and little brass-nailed +boots, and cotton reels enough to set her up for life. But there, she +deserves it all, bless her!</p> + +<p><i>Party of Philistines (to one another.)</i> You don't want to go in +there—there's only a lot of water-colours presented by the British +Institute. Let's see if we can find the Jubilee Cake!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Final Tableau.—At the General Exit.</span></p> + +<p><i>Crush of enthusiastic Britons, gazing at a gigantic ornament from the +Jubilee Cake. Various exclamations.</i> "All of it pure sugar, I shouldn't +wonder!"—"What do you think of <i>that</i> for a cake, <span class="smcap">Jemmy</span>?"—"Lift <span class="smcap">Joey</span> +up to have a look!"—"Well, I do call that grand!"</p> + +<p><i>Loyal Old Lady (forcing her way to the front—disappointedly).</i> But +that's only the <i>trimmings!</i></p> + +<p><i>A Bystander (correctively).</i> You can't expect any Cake to keep long, +with so many in the family; and, even as it is, you get some ideer what +it must have been!</p> + +<p><i>All (deeply impressed).</i> Ah, you do, indeed—you get that! Well, I'm +glad I came; I shan't forget this as long as I live!<br /> +<span class="figright">[<i>Exeunt awestruck—their places are taken by others, who gaze long and +respectfully on the Cake. Scene closes in.</i></span><br /></p> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<h2>BOB SAWYER REDIVIVUS.</h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>At the Middlesex Hospital.</i>)</p> + +<p>Just been given what the newspapers call "the privileges and status of a +true Collegian,"—in other words find I'm no longer to be allowed to +live in the jolly old free-and-easy way, in one's own diggings, but am +to be boxed up inside the Hospital instead! Hang the Authorities! Should +like to cup them all.</p> + +<p>Anyhow, got a decent room: can show it off to visitors. Visit from +Oxbridge friend. Seems surprised at smallness of my apartment. Says it's +"not <i>his</i> idea of living in College: more like living in <i>Quad</i>," he +adds, humorously. "Do I really mean to say," he asks, "that I am to +sleep in same room I live in, with only a curtain between?" Have to +confess such is the intention of the architect. He says, "if he was me, +he'd complain to the Dean." Don't like to show ignorance—so don't ask +him if he means Dean of <span class="smcap">Westminster</span> or <span class="smcap">St. Paul's.</span> Oxbridge friend +declines my invitation to "dine in Hall," and disappears.</p> + +<p>Ah! They've given us a Smoking-room, anyhow. Is it a smoking-room? No—a +"Library and Reading-room." Disgusting! Ring for brandy-and-soda. Nobody +answers the bell! It seems the "Collegiate servants" go out of College +between meals. Nothing to do, so amuse myself for an hour in +Dissecting-room. Pine for freedom. Go to entrance and am stopped by +Porter. Porter says, "Gentlemen not allowed to leave Hospital after dark +without leave of House Surgeon." Tell Porter I'm a child of nature, and +that I want to visit a dying relative. Porter incredulous—proposes +sending one of the resident Physicians instead. No, thanks! Retire to +room and think of old rollicking days. Nothing to do. Wonder if Porter +would let me bleed him. No, perhaps he's not in the vein.</p> + +<p><i>Hall Dinner.</i>—Hate dining in common—reminds one of the Zoo. Student +next to me very <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'shoppy'">sloppy</ins>. Brings a bone in with him, and puts it on table, +studying it between courses. Tell him, pleasantly, it'll be a bone of +contention if he does not remove it. He doesn't understand. Replies, +quite seriously, that it's the "<i>os humeri</i>."</p> + +<p><i>After Dinner.</i>—Tedious. Just the time when the "Lion Comique" is +"coming on" at the Parthenon Music Hall. And I can't get out to hear +him!</p> + +<p><i>Later.</i>—Had jolly spree, after all—also after Hall. Tied new curtains +together and let myself down into street, amid yells of large crowd. +Rather damaged right scapula, but can't be helped. Went to Gaiety; jolly +supper, met Ben Allen and a lot of chappies, who are at Bart's and +haven't any of these ridiculous Collegiate regulations, and had high old +time. How to get back, though? Ay, "there's the rub,"—worse than +rubbing scapula, too.</p> + +<p>Boldest plan best. Rap Porter up. Porter surprised to see me. Says it's +"past one o'clock," and wants to know how I got out. Tell him I'm a +child of nature, and if he reports me to House Surgeon I shall certainly +cup him to-morrow. Porter asserts, quite untruly, that I am intoxicated.</p> + +<p><i>Next Day.</i>—Authorities have heard how I escaped from Hospital last +night. Also Porter—the idiot!—has complained that he goes in fear of +his life because of my threats. On the whole, Hospital Authorities come +to conclusion to ask me to leave, as "they think I am not fitted for +Collegiate life," and I quite agree with them. Pack up, and pack off.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<a href="images/179a.png"> +<img src="images/179.png" width="329" height="500" alt="By the way, do you know McScrew?" title="By the way, do you know McScrew?" /></a> +<h3 class="sans">"UNCO GUID!"</h3> +<p><i>Southerner</i> (<i>in Glasgow, to Friend</i>). "By the way, do you know McScrew?" + +Northerner. "Ken McScrew?" Oo' fine! A graund man, McScrew! Keeps the Sawbath, +—an' everything else he can lay his Hands on!"</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Quite a little Holiday.</span>—The unfortunate Vacation Judge this year has +been detained at Court or Chambers five times a week instead of (as in +the olden days) thrice a fortnight. He must appreciate the meaning of +"getting his head into Chancery"—and his wig too!</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> + +<h2 class="sans">THE TWO GOATS.</h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">An Old Fable with a New Application.</span></p> + +<p class="center">(<i>For the benefit of Bolton.</i>)</p> + +<p>Two bellicose goats once encountered each other in the middle of a +narrow bridge spanning a deep gulf and a raging torrent. To pass each +other seemed (to them) impossible, at least without much more careful +and courteous mutual self-adjustment than either was at all disposed +for. For one or the other to make way by temporarily backing, was, of +course—to bellicose goats—entirely out of the question. The only +alternative was clearly a butting-match.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 480px;"> +<a href="images/180ii.png"> +<img src="images/180.png" width="480" height="305" alt="THE TWO GOATS." title="THE TWO GOATS." /></a> +</div> + +<p>Our angry goats entered upon it with great gusto. Heads hotly +encountered, horns angrily collided. The harder the hits the less did +either feel disposed to give way.</p> + +<p>But a narrow bridge over a deep gulf is a bad place for a battle <i>à +outrance</i>. The infuriated animals quickly settled the point at issue, in +a way as final as unpleasant, by butting each other over into the gulf, +leaving the disputed path clear for the passage of creatures more +conciliatory and less cantankerous.</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Application.</span></p> + +<p>Two objects cannot occupy the same space—even in Bolton. Battles upon +bridges—even iron bridges—are bad things. A quarrel between two +parties—even if they represent Capital and Labour—cannot be regarded +as satisfactorily settled by the destruction of both—unless they are +thieves, or Kilkenny cats. It is much easier to get into a gulf—even +the gulf of Bankruptcy—than out of it. To parties expiring at the +bottom of a gulf, into which they have hurled each other, it is small +consolation to see more peaceful persons—though they be +foreigners—making better use of the bridge which might have carried +them both safely over.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> + +<p><i>A Collection of Thackeray's Letters</i> (1847 to 1855. <span class="smcap">Smith & Elder</span>).—It +must have cost Mrs. <span class="smcap">Brookfield</span> a good deal of mental anxiety before she +decided upon giving publicity to this correspondence. But she has +undoubtedly done well and wisely, as everybody interested in the +personal <span class="smcap">Thackeray</span>, outside and away from his works, will gratefully +acknowledge. <span class="smcap">Thackeray</span> was always fond of alluding to himself as the +Showman with the puppets, or portraying himself as taking off the +cap-and-bells when, from behind the grinning mask, peep out the sad eyes +and the rueful countenance. Now in these Letters we are sometimes +admitted behind the scenes, as, for instance, when he is just going to +work; but, as a rule, we see him in his leisure, out for a holiday, +amusing himself and others, and enjoying himself like an overgrown +schoolboy full of fun and frolic, not a bit of a cynic, and there are no +sad eyes and rueful countenance when the mask is off. The peculiar charm +of these Letters is that they are so evidently private; there is nothing +of the <i>poseur</i> about them. They were never intended to be addressed +<i>urbi et orbi</i>.</p> + +<p>One favourite style of amusing himself in writing he had, which, by the +way, rather calls to mind the way <i>Mr. Peter Magnus</i> had of amusing his +friends, and that was mis-spelling, and spelling in Cockney fashion. How +he must have revelled in writing <i>Jeames's Diary!</i> The burlesque element +of humour was irrepressible in <span class="smcap">Thackeray</span>, and found vent through pen and +pencil. Nearly all his sketches, with remarkable exceptions, are, more +or less, grotesque. Many of his Vignettes, with which he illustrated his +novels, cannot fail to suggest a kind of Dicky-Doyleian humour. Two +characteristics of the man are brought out strongly in these letters; +first, his humility as regards his own work (he was proud in other +matters), and, secondly, his generosity as exhibited in his unaffected +admiration for the work of <span class="smcap">Charles Dickens</span>.</p> + +<p>Occasionally we catch a glimpse of his religious tendencies, which are +at one time influenced by <span class="smcap">J. H. Newman</span>, at another by <span class="smcap">J. S. Mill</span>; and it +is interesting to read his <i>naïve</i> utterances about Scripture, showing +that whatever lectures he may have attended at Cambridge, those on +Divinity, or on the Greek Testament, could not have been among them. And +this indeed is highly probable. His kindness of heart is evident +throughout. His laughing at himself as a Snob when affecting the company +of great people is delightful, though there seems to be in this +self-ridicule something of the true word spoken in jest. He makes a +burlesque flourish—so like him—about sending in "his resignation" to +<i>Mr. Punch</i>. As a matter of fact, he remained an honorary member of <i>Mr. +Punch's</i> Cabinet Council, and retained his seat at <i>Mr. Punch's</i> table, +up to the time of his death. The present writer remembers <span class="smcap">William +Makepeace Thackeray</span> being frequently present in <i>Mr. Punch's</i> Council +Chamber, <i>Consule Marco</i>. A most interesting, amusing, and instructive +book, especially to literary men—(some novelists must be delighted at +finding <span class="smcap">Thackeray</span> reading over the previous portions of his own serial +in order to recall the names of his characters, and his frantic joy at +hitting on the title of <i>Vanity Fair</i>)—is this collection of +<span class="smcap">Thackeray's</span> Letters. To Mrs. <span class="smcap">Brookfield</span> our heartiest thanks are due.</p> + +<p><i>Like and Unlike.</i> By Miss <span class="smcap">Braddon</span>. Everybody who cares about a novel +with a good plot so well worked out that the excitement is kept up +through the three volumes and culminates with the last chapter of the +story, must "Like" and can never again "Unlike," this the latest and +certainly one of the best of Miss <span class="smcap">Braddon's</span> novels. Miss <span class="smcap">Braddon</span> is our +most dramatic novelist. Her method is to interest the reader at once +with the very first line, just as that Master-Dramatist of our time <span class="smcap">Dion +Boucicault</span> would rivet the attention of an audience by the action at the +opening of the piece, even before a line of the dialogue had been +spoken. This authoress never wastes her own time and that of her reader, +by giving up any number of pages at the outset to a minute description +of scenery, to a history of a certain family, to a wearisome account of +the habits and customs of the natives, or to explaining peculiarities in +manners and dialect which are to form one of the principal charms of the +story. No: Miss <span class="smcap">Braddon</span> is dramatic just as far as the drama can assist +her, and then she is the genuine novelist. A few touches present her +characters living before the reader, and the story easily developes +itself in, apparently, the most natural manner possible. <i>Like and +Unlike</i> will make many people late for dinner, and will keep a number of +persons up at night when they ought to be soundly sleeping. These are +two sure tests of a really well-told sensational novel. <i>Vive</i> Miss +<span class="smcap">Braddon</span>!</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 12em;"><span class="smcap">Your Own Book-Worm.</span></span></p> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<h3>A LICHFIELD HOUSE OF CALL.</h3> + +<p>Shade of <span class="smcap">Boswell</span>, awake, arise! Know that the Lord Mayor of Lichfield, +Mr. <span class="smcap">A. C. Baxter</span>, has announced in the <i>Times</i> that the house Dr. +<span class="smcap">Johnson</span> was born in is put up for sale by auction on the 20th inst. Now, +then, is the time for a big brewer who would like to get bigger, or any +licensed victualler, with command of a moderate capital, to invest it in +the purchase of the premises in which the great Lexicographer and +Moralist first saw the light, and in the conversion of them into a +public-house, to be called and known by the sign and name of "The +Johnson's Head." A likeness of Dr. <span class="smcap">Johnson,</span> copied by a competent Artist +from the best of Sir <span class="smcap">Joshua Reynolds's</span> portraits, and mounted on the +signboard, would be sure to attract multitudes of respectable people, +and others, besides forming a decoration of the tavern at Lichfield, and +an ornament to that town. A pub. associated with one of the highest +names in literature could hardly fail to be frequented by numerous +bookmakers. The memory of Dr. <span class="smcap">Johnson</span> might, however, be honoured by the +preservation of his home for what many may consider a nobler purpose +than that of a liquor-shop; and those who are of that opinion should +look sharp and secure his birthplace by coming forward, and taking care +that, when under the hammer, it shall be knocked down on their own +account to the highest bidder. "The man who could make a pun would pick +a pocket;" true, but he might prefer putting his hand in his own to +commemorate the name of the great <span class="smcap">Samuel</span>, by helping to stand Sam.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Favourite Seasoning at the Guildhall Banquet on the 9th of +November.</span>—<i>Sauce à la Maître d'Hôtel.</i></p> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 50px;"> +<img src="images/180a.png" width="50" height="35" alt="Pointing hand" title="Pointing hand" /> +</div> + +<blockquote><p><br />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></blockquote> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3> <p>Obvious punctuation errors repaired.</p> + +<p>The remaining corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the +corrections. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text will +<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'apprear'">appear</ins>.</p> + +<p>P. 179. changed 'shoppy' to 'sloppy'.</p> +<p>P. 180. 'developes' (sic). Probably not an error. +"and the story easily developes itself" </p> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume +93, October 15th 1887, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + +***** This file should be named 36187-h.htm or 36187-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/1/8/36187/ + +Produced by Jane Robins, 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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