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diff --git a/37078-h/37078-h.htm b/37078-h/37078-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5217ae5 --- /dev/null +++ b/37078-h/37078-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2139 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" /> + + <title>Punch, October 22nd, 1887.</title> + + <style type="text/css"> + <!-- + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {text-align: justify;} + blockquote {text-align: justify;} + h1,h2,h3,h4 {text-align: center;} + pre {font-size: 0.7em;} + .sc {font-variant: small-caps;} + .lowercase {text-transform:lowercase;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .stage {padding-left: 3em;} + + hr {margin-right: 25%; margin-left: 25%; width: 50%;} + hr.full {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;} + hr.short {margin-right: 40%; margin-left: 40%; width: 20%;} + + + span.pagenum {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt; text-indent: 0;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem h3 {text-align: left;} + .poem h4 {text-align: left;} + .poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem p.i4 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem p.i6 {margin-left: 3em;} + + .figcenter, .figright, .figleft {padding: 1em; margin: 0; text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em;} + .figcenter img, .figright img, .figleft img {border: none;} + .figcenter p, .figright p, .figleft p {margin: 0; text-indent: 1em;} + .figcenter {margin: auto;} + .figright {float: right;} + .figleft {float: left;} + + p.author {text-align: right; margin-right: 3em;} + + div.trans-note {background: #EEEEEE; border: dashed 1px; border-width: 1px; + margin: 3em 15%; padding: 1em; text-align: center;} + --> + </style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 93., +October 22, 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, Vol. 93., October 22, 1887 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: August 14, 2011 [EBook #37078] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + + + + +Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Malcolm Farmer, +Nigel Blower and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team +at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + <h1>PUNCH,<br /> + OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> + + <h2>Vol. 93.</h2> + <hr class="full" /> + + <h2>October 22nd, 1887.</h2> + <hr class="full" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page181" id="page181"></a>[pg 181]</span></p> + +<h2>MR. PUNCH’S MANUAL FOR YOUNG RECITERS.</h2> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:25%;"><a href="images/181.png"> +<img width="100%" src="images/181.png" alt="" /></a></div> + +<p>As has been observed earlier in this series, the Amateur Reciter is influenced +by a natural ambition to harrow his audience to the best of his ability.</p> + +<p>And, be it said, the average audience is +not at all averse to being harrowed—provided +this is done with any science and refinement. +When persons are met together +for social enjoyment, nothing apparently +affords them keener pleasure than a performance +which produces certain peculiar +sensations, such as the feeling of partial +want of control over the facial nerves, +smarting behind the eyes, increasing obstruction +in the throat, and a general conviction +that, unless something occurs to +make them laugh at once, they will be +irresistibly compelled to sob like so many +seals. It is, perhaps, a little odd—but the +taste exists, and must be taken into account. +The sole drawbacks are that, too often, the +means adopted to secure the desired result +depend more than should be upon sentiment +which might almost be described as false; +that the incidents occasionally have too little +relation to real life; and that, what might +have proved eminently touching, is marred +by some involuntary association with the +ludicrous and grotesque. In his anxiety +to preserve his pupils from such pitfalls as these, <i>Mr. Punch</i> offers an +example in which the blemishes he has hinted at have been sedulously +avoided. It is at once homely, wholesome, and tear-compelling—like the common +onion. You will find you produce a favourable impression at once by announcing +it as,—</p> + +<h3><span class="sc">Positively the Last Performance!</span></h3> + +<p>(<i>You must come on with a general suggestion in your manner that you are +supposed to be the proprietor of an itinerant Cat and Canary Troupe. +Begin with a slow and somewhat depressed shake of the head, as if in +answer to imaginary inquirer.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>No, we ain’t performin’ to-day, Sir, and the boys are all on the gape</p> +<p>At seem’ the mice in mournin’, and the cats in chokers o’ crape;</p> +<p>But I’m giving the Show a rest, d’ye see? for I didn’t feel up to the job,</p> +<p>(<i>Pause—then subdued</i>) For my leadin’ comejian’s left me, Sir—</p> +<p>(<i>Explanatory, perceiving you are not understood</i>)—the +brindle kinairy—(<i>more impatiently</i>) Bob!</p> +<p>What, ye don’t remember? (<i>Surprise.</i>) Not him as wore the toonic o’ Turkey red?</p> +<p>What rode in a gilded kerridge with a ’at an’ plumes on his ’ed?</p> +<p>And, as soon as we’d taken a tanner, ’ud fire a saloot from the gun? +<span class="stage">[<i>Excitedly.</i></span></p> +<p>There was Talent inside o’ that bird, there was, or I never see it in one!</p> +<p>(<i>Philosophic bitterness.</i>) Well, he’s soon forgot—but I’ve often thought as a</p> +<p><i>fish</i> keeps longer than Fame!</p> +<p>(<i>Sudden comprehension and restored cordiality.</i>) Oh, ye didn’t +know him as <i>Bob</i>?... I see—no, that were his <i>private</i> name.</p> +<p>I used to announce him in public on a more long-winded-er scale—</p> +<p>I christened him “Gineral Moultky,” (<i>apologetically</i>) +which he <i>’ad</i> rather gone at the tail;</p> +<p>And a bird more popilar never performed on a peripathetic stage,</p> +<p>He was allers sure of a round of applause as soon as he quitted the cage!</p> +<p>For he thoroughly hentered into the part he was down for to play,</p> +<p>And he never got “fluffy” nor “queered the pitch,”—leastwise, till the hother day.</p> +<p>I thought he’d bin hoverexertin’ hisself, and ’ud better be out of the bill,</p> +<p>But it wasn’t till yesterday hevenin I’d any ideer he was <i>ill</i>!</p> +<p>Then I see he was rough on the top of his ’ed, and his tongue looked dry at the tip,</p> +<p>And it dawned on me like a thunderbolt—“Great Evings!” +I groaned,—“<span class="sc">the Pip!</span>” +(<i>Pause here, to emphasise the tremendous gravity of this discovery.</i>)</p> +<p>Well, I <i>’ad</i> bin trainin’ a siskin to hunderstudy the part, +(<i>more ordinary tone for this</i>)</p> +<p>And I sent him on—(<i>tolerantly</i>)—which he done his best, but +he ’adn’t no notion o’ <i>Hart</i>!</p> +<p>So I left the pitch as soon as I could, and (meanin’ to make more ’aste)</p> +<p>I cut across one o’ them buildin’ sites as was left a runnin’ to waste.</p> +<p>There was yawning pits by the flinty road, as rendered the prospeck dull,</p> +<p>And ’ere and there a winderless ’ouse, with the look of a grinning skull,</p> +<p>(<i>Try to paint this scene visibly for the audience; background is essential for what is to come.</i>)</p> +<p>A storm had bin ’anging about all day (and it <i>broke</i>, you’ll remember, at last!)</p> +<p>So I ’urried on, it was gettin’ late—and the Gineral sinking fast!</p> +<p>(<i>You are now approaching the harrowing part, but keep yourself in reserve for the present.</i>)</p> +<p>But all on a sudding I ’eard him give a kind of a feeble flap,</p> +<p>And I stops, and sez in a ’opeful way, “Why, you’re up in yer sterrups, old chap.”</p> +<p>(<i>A bold metapher applied to a bird, but characteristic in the speaker.</i>)</p> +<p>(<i>Sink your voice.</i>) Then I see by the look of his sorrowful eye he was thinkin’: “Afore I go,</p> +<p>I’d like to see one performance—for the last—of the dear old Show!”</p> +<p>(<i>Note, and make your audience feel, the touch of Nature here.</i>)</p> +<p>And I sez, with a ketch in my voice, “You <i>shall</i>!” and I whipped the sheet off the board,</p> +<p>I stuck up the pair o’ trestles, and fastened the tightrope cord;</p> +<p>Then I propped the Gineral up in a place from which he could see the ’ole,</p> +<p>And I set the tabbies a-sparring, and the mice a-climbing the pole.</p> +<p>(<i>Build up the whole scene gradually; the dreary neighbourhood, +the total absence of bystanders, the lurid +threatening sky, and the humble entertainment proceeding +in the foreground.</i>)</p> +<p>I put my company through their tricks—and they made my hold eyes dim,</p> +<p>For they never performed for no orjence like they did last night for <i>him</i>!</p> +<p>Them tabbies sparred with a science you’d ’ardly expect from sich,</p> +<p>And the mouse (what usually boggles) fetched flags with never no ’itch!</p> +<p>Aye, we worked the Show in that lonely place to the sound o’ the mutterin’ storm,</p> +<p>Right through till we come to the finish—the part <i>he</i> used to perform.</p> +<p>He was out of the cage in a minnit—egged on by puffessional pride,</p> +<p>He pecked that incompitent siskin till he made him stand o’ one side!</p> +<p>Well, I felt like ’aving a good cry <i>then</i>—but the time</p> +<p>’adn’t come for that,</p> +<p>So I slipped his uniform over his ’ed, and tied on his little cock-hat. +<span class="stage">[<i>With great tenderness.</i></span></p> +<p>And he set in his tiny kerridge, and was drored along by the mice,</p> +<p>A-looking that ’appy and pleased with hisself, I got ’em to do it twice! +<span class="stage">[<i>Tone of affectionate retrospection.</i></span></p> +<p>The very tabbies they gazed on him then with their heyes dilatin’ in haw,</p> +<p>As he ’obbled along to the cannon, with the match in his wasted claw!</p> +<p>I never ’eard that cannon afore give sech a tremenjious pop—</p> +<p>(<i>Solemnly.</i>) And a peal o’ thunder responded, as seemed all over the shop!</p> +<p>For a second Bob stood in the lightning, so noble, and bold, and big;—</p> +<p>Then ... a stagger ... a flutter ... a broken chirp— +(<i>you can add immensely to the effect here by a little +appropriate action. Pause, and give time for a +solemn hush to fall upon the audience, then, with a +forced calm, as if you were doing violence to your +own feelings</i>)—he was orf, Sir,—(<i>a slight gulp</i>)—he’d +’opped the twig!</p> +<p>(<i>Second Pause: then more briskly, but still with strong +emotion to the close</i>)</p> +<p>So now you’ve the hexplanation of the crape round the tabbies’ necks,</p> +<p>And kin understand why we close to-day “in token of our respecks.”</p> + </div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p>The time has now come for <i>Mr. Punch</i> to bid his +pupils farewell, which he does with a pleasure that he +has some reason to hope will be not unreciprocated. +During the few months over which this course has extended, +he has made it his aim to furnish the young +carpet-knight for the fray as completely as possible, and, +if the Amateur Reciter be not (as some hold) already +invulnerable, the panoply of pieces with which he has +been armed here should go far to render him so.</p> + +<p>All <i>Mr. Punch</i> would ask in return is that, when any +one of his young friends is retiring, flushed with triumph, +amidst an intoxicating murmur of faint applause and +renewed conversation, after delivering some composition +of his Preceptor’s, he will not suffer himself to be completely +dazzled by success, but will remember the means +which have contributed thereto with such gratitude as +he may be able to command.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>“<span class="sc">Discoveries at Pompeii.</span>”—Under this heading we +read in the <i>Times</i> that four silver urns of fair size were +found, also four smaller vessels, eight open vases, four +cups ornamented with leaves, &c. “Urns” for hot +water: “smaller vessels,” tea-pots; “eight open vases,” +sugar-basins; “four cups,” tea-cups, “ornamented with +leaves,”—very fanciful design, probably tea-leaves,—and +there we have before us “Five o’clock Tea, as known +to the Ladies of Pompeii.”</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page182" id="page182"></a>[pg 182]</span></p> + +<h2>THE LEGION OF DISHONOUR.</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/182.png"> +<img width="100%" src="images/182.png" alt="" /></a></div> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><i>The Modern Autolycus sings</i>:—</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>When parvenus begin to peer,</p> +<p class="i2">With heigh! the ribbon on the coat!</p> +<p>Why, then the love of rank shines clear,</p> +<p class="i2">In base-blood, spite of the People’s vote.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The medal gleaming on the breast!</p> +<p class="i2">With heigh! the red coins how they ring!</p> +<p>The Citizens clamour with eager zest,</p> +<p class="i2">Despite their hate of crown and king!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The <i>bourgeois</i> soul star-honours wants,</p> +<p class="i2">With heigh! the peacock-aping jay!</p> +<p>The hunger for honours finds singular haunts,</p> +<p class="i2">Their sale is a traffic that’s bound to pay.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>I have served Princes, and, in my time, +worn Imperial livery, but now I am in the +Republic’s service.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>But shall I mourn for that, or fear?</p> +<p class="i2">Gold glitters, silver’s bright,</p> +<p>And decorations not <i>too</i> dear</p> +<p class="i2">Citizen-souls delight.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>If pedlars may have leave to live,</p> +<p class="i2">Though “honours” cram their budget,</p> +<p>A good account I yet may give;</p> +<p class="i2">If caught,—I can but trudge it!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Ribbons of all colours, lo!</p> +<p>Crosses—mark their gleam and glow!</p> +<p>Blue as violets, red as roses,</p> +<p>Buy them swift whilst power dozes!</p> +<p>Decorated thus you’ll clamber</p> +<p>To court-height or lady’s chamber.</p> +<p>Golden talismans are these.</p> +<p><i>Parvenus</i> may pass with ease</p> +<p>With these gauds to heights the leal</p> +<p>Buy with brain or stainless steel.</p> +<p>Come buy of me, come buy, come buy!</p> +<p>Cheap “honours” now is all the cry!</p> +<p class="i6">Buy ribbons—like tape,</p> +<p class="i6">Blue blood you may ape,</p> +<p>They’re dainty, and not too dear-a!</p> +<p class="i6">With peers you may tread,</p> +<p class="i6">Yet hold up your head,</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page183" id="page183"></a>[pg 183]</span> +<p>They’re the newest and finest of wear-a!</p> +<p class="i4">Come to the pedlar,</p> +<p class="i4">Money’s a meddler,</p> +<p>That gets <i>all</i> men by the ear-a!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>[<i>Has <span class="sc lowercase">HIS</span> ear suddenly pulled by Madame La République.</i></p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:71%;"><a href="images/183.png"> +<img width="100%" src="images/183.png" alt="RETALIATION." /></a> +<h3>RETALIATION.</h3> + +<p><i>Cabby.</i> “<span class="sc">Wha’s this for, Lady? +Which my Fare’s Two Shill</span>——”</p> + +<p><i>Old Lady (quite able to take care of herself).</i> +“<span class="sc">I beg your pardon, Cabman. I know the Distance—it’s +not Three Miles by Two Hundred Yards. Please knock at the</span>——”</p> + +<p><i>Cabby.</i> “<span class="sc">Ugh! Y’ ’on’t +hev a Double Knock, I can tell yer that!</span>”</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>ROBERT ON SPELLING.</h2> + +<p>I’ve bin informed, on such orthority +as I carnt for a moment dout, wiz., +Professor <span class="sc">Bassingham</span> of the White +Cross Brigade, that a cumpany has +bin formed in Amerrikey to perswade +hewerybody as writes English to spell +it as I does. I never knowd afore but +what I spelt my spelling like other +littery gennelmen, but I’m told now +that I don’t, but that I spells it more +nateral like, and so it appears that +after about 2 years thinkin of it over, +the gratest Orthers in Amerrykey +has all resolved to follow my nobel +xample and do as I does, as neer as +they can git to it. So they has +formed theirselves into the “Spelling +Reform Association,” and has got a +Presedent, and Wise Presidents, and +a Counsel, and a Seketerry, and all +the blooming luxurys of a rich Cumpany, +and has jest published their +fust Number and charges fore shillins +for it, as I nose to my corst, cos +I’ve jest bin and bort one.</p> + +<p>Well, having jest a lezzure hour or +2, I’ve bin a trying to read my noo +book, witch is suttenly to me a dear +book, but I greeves to say as I don’t +find werry much in it, as I understands. +They suttenly uses sum +werry powerful words, and sez sum +werry powerful things, and tries +their werry best to spell like me, but +I don’t think as I can troothfully say +as they always suckeeds. They spels +<i>hed</i> like me, and <i>helth</i>, and <i>dropt</i>, and +<i>enuf</i>; but who ever seed me use sitch +words as <i>thru</i>, or <i>cof</i>, or <i>thuro</i>, or +<i>tuf</i>, or <i>ughly</i>?</p> + +<p>Professor <span class="sc">Chadband</span>, L.L.D., says +that “our senseless spelling makes +him ashamed of his language, and yet +thru habit he continues it.” <span class="sc">David +D. Field</span>, L.L.D., of New York, +talks of our Nobel English Tung +“being disfigured,” and says I ought +to be haild as a deliverer!</p> + +<p>Professor <span class="sc">Hadley</span> says, “our language +is shockingly speld.” Lord +<span class="sc">Lytton</span> says, “it is a lying round-about +puzl-heded delusion!” and our +own heloqwent Sir <span class="sc">C. E. Trevelyan</span>, +K.C.B., says, “it is a labyrinth, a +chaos, an absurdity, and a disgrace!” +and the Hedditer of the book winds it +all up by saying that “it is the wurst +there is!” Poor old English Langwidge! +I ony wonders how <span class="sc">Shakespear</span> +and <span class="sc">Milton</span>, and <span class="sc">Burns</span> +managed to get on with it, tho suttenly +<span class="sc">Burns</span> was a dredful bad speller. +Why he used to spell “who” <i>wha</i>, +and “have” <i>hae</i>, and “whom” +<i>wham</i>! But then he was only a +poor plowman, and not an Hed +Waiter. I of coarse little thort wen +I fust commenced my umbel efforts +to instruckt and enliten the world +with skimmings from my daily dairy, +that I shood ever be held up to the +admirashun and gratitood of English +mankind as a deliverer of our nobel +English Tung from its many defecks, +but I of course acceps the +pursishun, and, I ope, with becoming umility, and if the Spelling Reform Association chooses, as +seems ony nateral, to elect me as one of their Wice Presidents, with a nice cumferal little salary +paid quarterly, in adwance, I shall not at all object to become also one of their regular +contribbuters, or ewen to hedit sum of their harticles as is really not quite hup to the mark in the +spelling line.</p> + +<p>Professor <span class="sc">F. J. Child</span>, P.D., L.H.D., cums it rayther +strong when he says, “Sum hav a religious +aw, and sum hay an erth-born passion for our establisht spelling. I don’t much care how anybody +spells, so he spels different from that.” But praps one of the werry greatest staggerers in my four-shilling +staggering book, is what the Heditter says, wiz., “A filologist who should uphold our present +mode of spelling, would be like an astronomer who should teach that the Erth is based on a Turtl.”</p> + +<p>I think that’s about the most wunderfullest sentense as ewen a Hedhitter ever wrote, and +they does sumtimes cum out with a startler or 2. Fust with regard to the spelling. As I don’t in +the least know what a Filologist means I carnt of course say much as to that, but if there is one +mortal thing in this butiful world of ours as I does know sumthink about, I should think as all +the ciwilized world woud agree as it was Turtle, and I refuses at once, without no manner of dowt, +to pardon the man who coud carmly and cooly sit down and write that almost sacred name +without his final Hee! Turtl, indeed! why it amost makes me shudder as I rites it down; and +jest before Lord Mare’s Day too, why it’s hadding hinsult to hinjury. But ewen that isn’t all +the marwels of this most egstrordinary sentense. What in the world can he mean by saying as the +world is based on a Turtl?</p> + +<p>Of course no one can posserbly know better nor me, that without that glorious addition to a +gorgeous <i>Manu</i>, the werry hiest classes of society, such as Princes, and Lord Mares, and Bishops, +and Aldermen, woud find it remarkabel difficult to git through their harduous dooties, but ewen I +should never have once thort of saying that the hole world is <i>based</i> upon it, which I spose means, +carnt posserbly git on without it. No, if there’s one thing as I strongly objecs to, it’s xaggerashun, +and in this werry partickler case I boldly charges it against the Hedhitter of “Spelling,” price +four shillings, even though he and his frends does do me the hi honour of holding me hup as a bennyfacter +to all English spelling races.</p> + +<p class="author"><span class="sc">Robert.</span></p> + +<p>Pose Cript.—I sees as how a gent of the xstrordinary name of +“<span class="sc">Eizak Pitman</span>” has been +and gorn and rote to the <i>Times</i> on this werry same subjeck as me; but I’m two busy jest now +with prepperrations for the himportantest of all days—need I say the Ninth of Nowember—to be +abel to give all my hole mind to it, as it seems to require. But I at once, without not no hezzytation +and dowt, gives my caudial assent to his Golden Rule, wiz: “When in dout, selekt the +werry simpletonest spelling.”</p> + +<p class="author"><span class="sc">R.</span></p> + +<hr /> + +<p>“<span class="sc">Irish Prosecutions.</span>”—In +the <i>Times</i> of Friday last, under the foregoing heading, that most +contentious and sledge-hammering correspondent, Lord <span class="sc">Bramwell</span>, came down heavily, very +heavily, on the unfortunate “American Lawyer,” Mr. +<span class="sc">Mundy</span>, who had presumed to express an +opinion opposed to that of my Lord <span class="sc">Bramwell</span>. +Of course, after this, there’s an end of the American +Lawyer, and, at all events, up to the date abovementioned, Lord <span class="sc">Bramwell</span> may say, triumphantly, +“<i>Sic transit gloria Mundy!</i>”</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page184" id="page184"></a>[pg 184]</span></p> + +<h2>THE LETTER-BAG OF TOBY, M.P.</h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">From a Young Man Still in the Country.</span></p> + +<p class="author"><i>Eaton Hall, Saturday.</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:54%;"><a href="images/184.png"> +<img width="100%" src="images/184.png" alt="" /></a></div> + +<p><span class="sc">Dear Toby</span>,—I write to you from here +where I stay a day or two on my way +to Dublin. I expect by the time it +reaches you I will be installed in the +Chief Secretary’s Lodge, and the +National League may prepare to sit +up. I have been spending a week or +two very agreeably in Scotland, a little +out of the way of letters or newspapers. +I am told there has been quite a +demand for me, a sort of popular outcry +that I should forthwith proceed to +Ireland. This is, of course, not unflattering. +It indicates a general +belief which I, for one, am not disposed +to contest, that if Ireland is to be +saved, I’m the man to do it. That’s +all very well; but it is, doncha know, +something of a boah to be thus +bothered at a time when one had two +or three pleasant engagements on +hand. It used to be just the same in the House last Session. If I did not really +live there, entering with the Mace and the <span class="sc">Speaker</span>, and leaving only at the cry +of “Who goes home?” there were impetuous protests. I put in <span class="sc">King-Harman</span> +at Question time, but they wouldn’t have him. Often, as I lay on the sofa in +the Chief Secretary’s room, looking over <i>Punch</i>, or reading the proofs of the +forthcoming new edition of my <i>Defence of Philosophic Doubt</i>, I have heard the +distant growls of the Irish Members when <span class="sc">King-Harman</span> rose to answer a +question addressed to me. Quite touching this personal attachment. At the +same time a little embarrassing.</p> + +<p>Now I am really going to Dublin, and shall spend a cheerful November there. +<span class="sc">Grandolph</span>, in his genial way, has tried to make things pleasant by reminding +me that from the drawing-room window of the Chief Secretary’s Lodge I can see +the place where poor <span class="sc">Freddy Cavendish</span> fell. “They’re sure to take a pot shot +at you,” he says; “but you’re all right. Unless a man can make sure of hitting +a lamp-post at fifty paces, it will be no use his trying to bring you down.” +A nice companionable man <span class="sc">Grandolph</span>. Always tries to say something pleasant. +But really I don’t pay much attention to his kindly apprehensions. I shall +be boahed, I daresay; but not by the passage of a bullet, or the thrust of a knife.</p> + +<p>People evidently expect great things to follow on my arrival in Dublin. To +the accident of my holiday absence in Scotland they attribute all the failures of +the Executive. “If <span class="sc">Balfour</span> had been there,” +they say, “<span class="sc">W. O’Brien</span> would now +be comfortably in gaol and T. D. S., Lord Mayor, would be laid by the heels.” +I weally don’t know. Fact is, I have not closely followed up affairs either in the +newspapers or despatches. There have been some rows, I understand. But that +is not unusual in Ireland. Where people are right in kindly looking to me to +restore peace and order in Ireland is in the supposition that I have a plan. +That is true, though I cannot claim personal and private property in it. Fact +is the plan is <span class="sc">Cromwell’s</span>. It worked admirably when originally put in practice, +and I do not see any reason why it should fail now. There are, of course, difficulties +in the way; prejudice to be overcome, legal forms to be dealt with, and +that sort of thing. There is also, next Session of Parliament to be met, and +awkward questions by <span class="sc">Tim Healy</span> and the rest. But they need not think to +intimidate me by such reflections. I shall put up <span class="sc">King-Harman</span> to answer all +inconvenient questions. Besides, it is exceedingly probable that in the full +development of my plan the Irish Members who last Session distinguished themselves +by “wanting to know” will be unavoidably absent from their places. It +is an awful nuisance breaking in upon a man’s holiday; but it is a difficulty +that has to be faced, and as there seems a popular inclination to look to me to +settle it, I suppose there is nothing to be done but to grapple with it.</p> + +<p>One additional drawback from a quite unexpected +source makes itself known by correspondence with my +colleagues. They are all in a dreadful state of fussy +alarm. My uncle the Markiss begs me to be careful. +“Firmness without Rashness” is an excellent copy-head, +which <span class="sc">W. H. Smith</span> sends me in fine round-hand +from the distant Mediterranean. I wish they’d all mind +their own affairs. In the intervals of my other occupations +I can answer for Ireland, and if any awkwardness +arises, I can put up <span class="sc">King-Harman</span> to answer for me. +So, dear <span class="sc">Toby</span>, don’t you have any anxiety on my +account. Some half-hour after dinner, with the contemplative +toothpick at hand, and my heels on the table, I +will, if the subject occurs to me, settle the Irish Question.</p> + +<p class="center">Yours faithfully,</p> +<p class="author"><span class="sc">Arth-r B-lf-r</span>.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>BIG WORK AND LITTLE HANDS.</h2> + +<p>That a child prodigy should have been able twice last +week to fill St. James’s Hall to overflowing, may not perhaps +speak at the first glance very highly for the artistic instincts +of the British Public, who, as a thoughtful musical critic +remarks in the pages of a contemporary, are sometimes +“more impressed by a little boy in an Eton jacket than +by the finest music that might be played in less exciting +circumstances;” still it cannot be denied that the couple +of recitals referred to, given by Master <span class="sc">Josef Hofmann</span>, +were altogether two exceptionally brilliant performances. +Commenting, however, on the little fellow’s efforts to give +a good rendering of a slow movement, the critic already +alluded to asks how, in a long-drawn melody which is a +matter of passion and of feeling, “a child of eleven can +have much feeling or any passion?” Surely this is +hypercriticism. Ask any boy of eleven who has had a +whipping, or has come off second best in a fight with his +little sister, whether he hasn’t much feeling;—and as for +passion! Well: but, perhaps this is not exactly what +the critic means. Nevertheless, he proceeds rather +pertinently to ask whether this singularly gifted +young artist will be suffered, “when he has served the +immediate purposes of those who have control over him, +to continue his studies in a rational manner and far from +the fierce light and the hot-house temperature pertaining +to the concert platform?” As Master <span class="sc">Josef Hofmann</span> is +already booked for an American tour, there does not seem +any prospect of this highly desirable consummation, at +least in the near future. Judging, therefore, from little +Master <span class="sc">Josef’s</span> present arrangements, one would be disposed +to apostrophise him sympathetically in the language +of Dr. <span class="sc">Watts</span>, and say:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>“Night after night, you’ll prove a sight</p> +<p class="i2">To draw the cute Yankee,</p> +<p>Because your little hands were made</p> +<p class="i2">To stretch from C to C!”</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>Still, as he is an unquestionable genius who has a +future before him, it is to be hoped that he won’t be +“worked out” early at high pressure, and stimulated by +a success that will only blunt his powers by depriving +him of that desire for true progress in his art by which +alone they can be legitimately developed. “Not too much +gaslight, some practice, and plenty of battledore and +shuttlecock,” is the proper <i>recipe</i> for little Master <span class="sc">Josef</span>. +With this he can’t go wrong, and will, without doubt, +if he stick to it, command the musical world of the +future as surely as he has astonished that of to-day.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>“NO MORE SEA-SICKNESS!” <span class="sc">No More “bad +quarters-of-an-hour” in Crossing the Channel!</span> +Try Mons. <span class="sc">M. L. Mayer’s</span> Remedy, to be provided on +October 24 up to the middle of November, and probably +longer, if all goes well, at the Remedy Theatre—no—at +the Royalty Theatre, where he intends giving a season of +French plays, and brings M. <span class="sc">Coquelin</span>, Mmes. <span class="sc">Chaumont</span> +and <span class="sc">Jane May</span>,—not all at once but one at a time,—over +to afford amusement to those Londoners who can’t afford +amusement in Paris, or who object to the sea-passage, or +who cannot spare sufficient time for the trip. M. <span class="sc">Coquelin</span> +has with him a fair-sized bag of tricks which includes, +among other things, <i>Don Cæsar de Bazan</i>, and he means +to devote three-fourths of one evening’s entertainment to +monologues, among which, Mr. <span class="sc">Beerbohm Tree</span> will be +delighted to hear, is announced <i>Gringoire</i>. M. <span class="sc">Mayer</span>, +will of course, see that his stars are well supported, and +the public, delighted to save the sea-voyage, will support +M. <span class="sc">Mayer</span>.</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page185" id="page185"></a>[pg 185]</span></p> + +<h2>SHOWS VIEWS.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>By Victor Who-goes-Everywhere.</i></p> + +<div class="figright" style="width:24%;"><a href="images/185.png"> +<img width="100%" src="images/185.png" alt="" /></a></div> + +<p>THE suggestion made a month ago by a “Salubrity Abroad,” (now +happily a “Salubrity at home”) that the above title would make a +good heading for an all-round-about theatrical and entertainment +article in <i>Mr. Punch’s</i> pages, is +at length carried out. In the character +of a hero conquering difficulties, +I have been here, there, +and everywhere. My first triumph +was at the Gaiety Theatre, where +(after surmounting all obstruction) +I secured a place from whence +<i>Miss Esmeralda</i> could be watched +in comfort. This piece is called a +“melodramatic burlesque,” in +two Acts, but I confess I failed to +distinguish either the melodrama +or the burlesque. It was, however, +well mounted with good scenery +and pretty dresses. It had further +the advantage of an excellent +stage-manager in Mr. <span class="sc">Charles +Harris</span>, and a no less excellent +dance inventor in Mr. <span class="sc">John +D’Auban</span>, but of the book the less that is said the better. Frankly, +it is not amusing. This being the case I was not surprised to find +the names of its authors printed in the programme in a type just +half the size accorded to the style and title of “the producer.” The +acting calls for no particular comment. Mr. <span class="sc">Lonnen</span> sings an Irish +song excellently well, but is less diverting when he trusts to +attitudinising as a provocative to merriment. Miss <span class="sc">Marion Hood’s</span> +charming face is sweeter than her voice, and Miss <span class="sc">Fannie Leslie’s</span> +singing is as welcome now as ever it was—it recalls many a +vocal triumph of the past. Mr. <span class="sc">George Stone</span> as <i>Gringoire</i> is more +broadly comic than Mr. <span class="sc">Beerbohm Tree</span> in a somewhat similar <i>rôle</i> +in the <i>Ballad Monger</i>. Both the Misses <span class="sc">Blanche</span> are all that +could be desired in two subordinate characters. In the last Act there +is a “Pyramid Ballet,”—which is slightly perplexing. Until my +attention was pointedly called to the fact that I was watching a +terpischorean demonstration of a game of billiards, I was under the +impression that some of the intricacies of the plot of <span class="sc">Victor Hugo’s</span> +<i>Notre Dame</i> were being very cleverly explained to me in easily +followed dumb show. Perhaps the best thing (barring the Irish song) +in the whole piece is an ingenious dance of Warders and Prisoners in +Scene I., Act 2. In alluding to the list of the company I should not +have forgotten to say that the names of that admirable comedian +Mr. <span class="sc">H. Leslie</span> and that evergreen queen of burlesque, Miss <span class="sc">E. Farren</span>, +are conspicuous by their absence. In spite of this very serious drawback, +no doubt Miss <i>Esmeralda</i> will be as successful as it deserves to +be. The scenery, dresses, and music, are alone worth a visit. And +when I say this I leave out the acting, the singing and the dancing.</p> + +<p>I also went to the Royal Aquarium the other afternoon, and witnessed +the performances of a troupe of genuine Russian Wolves. If I <i>had</i> to +appear in public myself with a company of performing animals, I think +I should prefer poodles, or white mice, though, as a spectacle, wolves +are undoubtedly more thrilling. I don’t know that these particular +wolves did much; but the really striking fact, of course, was their +condescension in doing anything, and it was certainly “pretty to +see” them jumping a gate, and arranging themselves picturesquely +on chairs, with just sufficient display of grinning jaws to make the +audience congratulate themselves that the stage was fenced round +by temporary iron railings. The creatures are evidently deeply +attached to the Professor, who has so ably prepared them for public +life. I was convinced of this by the effusion with which one after +another advanced and kissed his forehead, on receiving a slight hint +to that effect from a whip. But to be kissed—however tenderly—by +a wolf, must be a creepy sensation. On the occasion when I was +present we were afforded an additional, and I may say an unrehearsed, +sensation after the act-drop fell. There was a scurry behind, a +shout, and then—a great jagged rent in the curtain. People in the +front row of stalls looked uncomfortable—it did seem very much as +if one of the wolves had determined to “take a call” on his own +account, but it was merely a little mishap with one of the railings. +However, there was no real cause for alarm in any case, for an +audience would have had ample time to escape while the wolf was +amusing himself with the orchestra, which, fortunately, is a +remarkably good one.</p> + +<p>After the Wolves, by way of contrast, I paid a visit to La Belle +<span class="sc">Fatma</span>. On delivery of a shilling, I, with other members of the Public, +was passed in to a screened-off portion of the Imperial Theatre. A +stout French gentleman seated himself at a piano below the stage, +and the curtain rose presently, disclosing the fair <span class="sc">Fatma</span> and her +troupe seated in a row, like a new variety of Christy Minstrels. +With regard to the principal lady, I am bound to say that her +charms did not seem to me to have been at all overestimated, and her +portraits upon the posters actually do her less than justice. But +this is a matter of opinion; and I must confess that, after all, it +was not upon the peerless <span class="sc">Fatma</span> that my eyes were most riveted. +There was a stout old lady in a turban, two places from her—<i>such</i> +an old lady! with immense black eyebrows, meeting over flashing +dark eyes, and a massive Oriental nose, a wide sternly compressed +mouth, and three chins. Upon her knees she held a gourd-shaped +drum, which she smacked severely at intervals; she might have sat +for <span class="sc">Cornelia</span> polishing one of her “jewels”; and when she sang, +the illusion was complete!</p> + +<p>As to the performance, it was Oriental; and no description can +convey much more. We had an Overture on the familiar “Rum-tum-tum, +tum-a-tum-tum-tum, tum-a-tum” theme, which revealed +considerable “staying power” on both sides of the footlights. +Then one member of the <i>troupe</i> after another advanced, and, if a +lady, <i>chassé</i>’d and revolved with slowly waving arms, and an expression +that seemed to imply that she would take more pains if it +were only worth while; if a man, he capered and grinned and shouted +in a manner which, at all events, infinitely amused the performer +himself. While this was going on, the old lady continued to +“spank”—there really is no better term for it—her drum in a sort +of grim <i>rêverie</i>, and a young person by her side emitted piercing +shrieks by way of enlivening the proceedings. There was a mysterious +One on the stage, who reminded me of an immense dice-box +muffled in muslin; this, it turned out, was the <span class="sc">Colossus</span> of <span class="sc">Sousse</span>, +to whom was entrusted the function of “presenting” Mademoiselle +<span class="sc">Fatma</span> at the close of the performance. This seemed superfluous, +particularly as the excellent Colossus had no notion of doing more +than taking her by the hand and stalking two paces forward. It +was all over in a quarter of an hour or so; and, for my own part, I +considered the old lady in the turban alone worth the paltry shilling +charged for admission.</p> + +<p>I have also been to <span class="sc">Terry’s</span> Theatre, where great precautions are +taken to prevent fire. Everything, more or less, is labelled “Exit,” +and, instead of doors, in several parts of the house there are curtains. +On the whole it must be a good theatre to escape from. This is +worth noting, if the performances are wearisome.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>BALLADE OF THE TIMID BARD.</h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>To Angelica, who bids him publish.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>In Memory’s mystical hazes</p> +<p class="i2">I see a vast Gander and grey,</p> +<p>I see the small boy that he chases</p> +<p class="i2">At the head of a hissing array:</p> +<p class="i2">How I wept when they brought me to bay,</p> +<p>How I pleaded in vain for a truce!</p> +<p class="i2">Too frightened to shoo them away,</p> +<p>I could never say Boh to a Goose!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>I have lived through a number of phases,</p> +<p class="i2">I have rhymed of the grave and the gay,</p> +<p>But the clatter of critical phrases,</p> +<p class="i2">But the moralist armed for the fray,</p> +<p class="i2">I have fled in unseemly dismay,</p> +<p>Since the Gander—’tis all my excuse—</p> +<p class="i2">For, in brief, since that terrible day—</p> +<p>I could never say Boh to a Goose!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>It was fabled of old that in places</p> +<p class="i2">Grow goose-bearing trees by the way,</p> +<p>Where bough within bough interlaces</p> +<p class="i2">Green geese flutter down from the spray;</p> +<p class="i2">In reviews, at first nights of the play,</p> +<p>These shrubs are in general use,</p> +<p class="i2">And I would not encounter them, nay,</p> +<p>I could <i>never</i> say Boh to a Goose!</p> + </div> + +<p><i>Envoy.</i></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Angelica!</span> bid me essay</p> +<p class="i2">The deeds of a <span class="sc">Wallace</span> or <span class="sc">Bruce</span>,</p> +<p>But talk not of <i>publishing</i>, pray—</p> +<p class="i2">I could never say Boh to a Goose!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Irish Appointment Extraordinary</span> (<i>subject to the kind permission +of Sir Bernard Burke, C.B., LL.D.</i>).—The Right Hon. <span class="sc">Joseph +O’Chamberlain</span>, M.P., to be Ulster-King-of-Arms.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Note by Augustus Druriolanus, after the Granting of +the Licence to the Empire Theatre.</span>—“<i>L’Empire c’est la</i> pay +46 per cent.—like the Alhambra.”</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page186" id="page186"></a>[pg 186]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/186.png"><img width="100%" src="images/186.png" +alt="THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE LEFT UNSAID." /></a> +<h3>THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE LEFT UNSAID.</h3> + +<p><i>Professor Chatterleigh.</i> “<span class="sc">By George! +I’m so Hungry I can’t <i>Talk!</i></span>”</p> + +<p><i>Fair Hostess (on hospitable thoughts intent).</i> “<span class="sc">Oh, +I’m <i>so</i> Glad!</span>”</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE MESSENGER OF PEACE.</h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>With apologies to the Shade of the Author of +“Al Aarof.”</i>)</p> + +<blockquote><p> +[I have read ... that I have come to Ulster +to revive religious bigotry, to rekindle the embers +of party strife, and to revive ancient feuds which +are now in a fair way to be forgotten. I can assure +you that these are not the objects which I propose +to myself. (<i>Laughter.</i>)—<i>Report of Mr. Chamberlain’s +Speech in Belfast.</i>] +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><i>Erin’s Guardian Angel sings</i>:—</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>I came (by the steamer)</p> +<p class="i2">A cross the wild spray.</p> +<p>No bigot, no dreamer,</p> +<p class="i2">To moon time away.</p> +<p><span class="sc">Bright</span> lingers to ponder,</p> +<p class="i2">And make tart replies;</p> +<p>But I come, from yonder,</p> +<p class="i2">Drawn down from the skies.</p> +<p>With love I am laden,</p> +<p class="i2">Peace sits on my brow.</p> +<p>No, sweet Ulster maiden,</p> +<p class="i2">My game is <i>not</i> row!</p> +<p>Arise! from your dreaming,</p> +<p class="i2">In bright Orange bowers,</p> +<p>To duties beseeming,</p> +<p class="i2">Your fame and past powers.</p> +<p>My presence expresses</p> +<p class="i2">My fondness for you;</p> +<p>(My game no one guesses,</p> +<p class="i2">They read it askew)</p> +<p>Oh, how without you, love,</p> +<p class="i2">Can Ireland be blest?</p> +<p><i>You</i>’re loyal, <i>you</i>’re true, love,</p> +<p class="i2">Mad traitors the rest.</p> +<p>I shake from my wing</p> +<p>Each hindering thing.</p> +<p>The black Parnellite</p> +<p>Would weigh down my flight.</p> +<p>The G. O. M.’s messes,</p> +<p class="i2">I leave them apart,</p> +<p>His lures and his jesses,</p> +<p class="i2">His tricks and his art.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>W. G.! W. G.! Ah!</p> +<p class="i2">My old artful one,</p> +<p>You had an idea</p> +<p class="i2">With you I should run.</p> +<p>No! it is my will</p> +<p class="i2">On the breezes to toss</p> +<p>At caprice, or be still</p> +<p class="i2">Like a lone albatross.</p> +<p>Daring duckling? That’s past!</p> +<p class="i2">Stormy petrel? That’s flown!</p> +<p>I’m a halcyon at last,</p> +<p class="i2">A new <i>rôle</i>,—and my own!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>W. G. Ah! Whoever</p> +<p class="i2">Thine “items” may be,</p> +<p>For ever I sever</p> +<p class="i2">My fortunes from thee.</p> +<p>Thou hast bound many eyes</p> +<p class="i2">In sophistical sleep,</p> +<p>But the angel that flies</p> +<p class="i2">Will <i>thy</i> vigilance keep?</p> +<p>O Walker! (Again</p> +<p class="i2">A rhetorical flower</p> +<p>From thy full-teeming brain!)</p> +<p class="i2">I have passed a brief hour</p> +<p>In those same cipherings</p> +<p class="i2">Which you fudge—let that pass!</p> +<p>But my own view of things</p> +<p class="i2">Is not modell’d, alas!</p> +<p>On <i>yours</i>—none of the clearest—</p> +<p class="i2">But then, that’s your way—</p> +<p>’Tis one of the queerest;</p> +<p class="i2"><i>Do</i> you find it pay?</p> +<p>Ah! love moved the smiles</p> +<p class="i2">That beamed forth on my rest</p> +<p>On the greenest of Isles.</p> +<p class="i2">Its <i>Scotch</i> natives are best,</p> +<p>For they have in their keeping</p> +<p class="i2">Its wealth and its trade,</p> +<p>And Sedition, unsleeping,</p> +<p class="i2">Has spoilt, I’m afraid,</p> +<p>The true Pat of the Island.</p> +<p class="i2"><i>He</i> burns to be free,</p> +<p>His bosom holds guile, and</p> +<p class="i2">His bonnet a bee.</p> +<p>Go to! Let them slumber,</p> +<p class="i2">The Home-Ruling lot</p> +<p>Are not the huge number</p> +<p class="i2">They tell us—that’s rot!</p> +<p>I came to awaken,</p> +<p class="i2">An Angel of Peace!</p> +<p>I’m bound to be taken</p> +<p class="i2">For such ere I cease.</p> +<p><span class="sc">Parnell’s</span> spell makes <span class="sc">Pat</span> slumber,</p> +<p class="i2">Its witchery is test,</p> +<p>And your Orange-host’s number</p> +<p class="i2">Must manage the rest!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>A PROTEST.</h2> + +<p><span class="sc">Dear Mr. Punch</span>,—Will you please ask +the <i>Times</i> not to allow such unpleasant subjects +to be introduced into its columns as there +was last Wednesday,—that is, judging by the +heading on page 8, “The Birch and the +Primitive Seat,” which of course none of us +fellows read (one line of it was enough for +me), and if there is another of the sort, we +shall vote that the <i>Times</i> isn’t taken in here +in future, and I don’t think the <i>Times</i> would +like that. A word from you will be sufficient, +I am sure.</p> + +<p class="center">Your Constant Reader,<br /> +<span class="sc">Upper Lower Middleton</span>.<br /> +<i>Eton College, Bucks, near Windsor, England.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Mrs. <span class="sc">Ram</span> says she couldn’t stop in an out-of-the-way +country-place, give up society, +and live like a Helmet in the desert.</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page187" id="page187"></a>[pg 187]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/187.png"><img width="100%" src="images/187.png" +alt="THE MESSENGER OF PEACE." /></a><h3>THE MESSENGER OF PEACE.</h3></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page189" id="page189"></a>[pg 189]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:57%;"><a href="images/189.png"><img width="100%" +src="images/189.png" alt="BRITISH FRENCH." /></a> +<h3>BRITISH FRENCH.</h3> + +<p><i>Emily.</i> “<span class="sc">Ask her to give us some more of her <i>Sacred</i> Music, George!</span>”</p> + +<p><i>George (a linguist).</i> “<span class="sc">Oh, Mademoiselle, donnez-nous encore de votre +Sacrée Musique.</span>”</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>JOE’S JAUNT.</h2> + +<p><i>Off to Ireland!</i>—At last. <span class="sc">Collings</span> with me, of course:—rather grumpy, +because <span class="sc">Salisbury’s</span> got the credit of passing the Allotments Bill, instead of +himself. Still, <span class="sc">Jesse</span> better than nobody. Would create bad impression to visit +Belfast without an <i>entourage</i>.</p> + +<p><i>In Steamer.</i>—Look up my Irish History—or rather, <span class="sc">Jesse’s</span> Irish History, +which he’s borrowed from Birmingham Free Library. An Alderman <i>can</i> do +that sort of thing. Also examine revolver. Not accustomed to carrying one. +What is the best place for it? <span class="sc">Jesse</span> says, “left-hand coat-tail pocket, +decidedly, because then you can whip it out in a twinkling.” <span class="sc">Jesse’s</span> confidence +contagious—he talks as if he had always been in the habit of “whipping-out” +revolvers, like a cow-boy,—or a “three-acres-and-a-cow-boy.” Do as he advises. +Very uncomfortable feeling. Sit down on revolver in a moment of +forgetfulness, and nearly blow Captain’s head off. Captain irritated. Asks me +for “ransom.” Ridiculous!</p> + +<p><i>Belfast.</i>—No end of a reception. Drive through the principal streets. +Enthusiastic populace insist on taking horses out of carriage and pulling it +themselves. Gratifying, but should feel safer with the horses. Why <i>will</i> <span class="sc">Collings</span> +bow? I’m the person to bow, obviously. Bad taste, but don’t like to +stop him. Believe the mob <i>take</i> him for me—or why do they cheer him so?</p> + +<p><i>At Hotel.</i>—Just found out reason of enthusiasm evoked by appearance of +<span class="sc">Jesse</span>. <i>He’s got on an Orange tie!</i> Ask him, reproachfully, why he did this? +Pretends it was a mere accident—forgot that orange was favourite Ulster colour. +Don’t want a religious riot, so make him take it off. <span class="sc">Jesse</span> getting grumpier. +Can’t help it.</p> + +<p><i>Evening.</i>—Before going to meeting, had better find out what Belfast chiefly +famous for. Ask <span class="sc">Collings</span>. Replies “linen-shirts and handkerchiefs.” Try +to put him in good humour by remarking that “<i>he</i> seems shirty.” Is there no +other historical fact connected with place? “Yes,” he replies, “visit of Lord +<span class="sc">Randolph Churchill</span>.” Wish he hadn’t mentioned latter event. Dispiriting. +Reminds one of proposed National Party, with self and <span class="sc">Randolph</span> as sole leaders—and +sole followers, too, it seems.</p> + +<p><i>At Hotel—after Speech.</i>—Great success. Felt horribly inclined to start +another Home Rule plan—my fifth—but fortunately refrained. Instead of +dismemberment of Empire, I offered more Members to +Ulster. Ulster people saw the justice of this arrangement +at once. Told ’em there were “two Irelands.” +Isn’t one Ireland enough, however?</p> + +<p><i>Coleraine.</i>—A triumphal arch, with “Welcome to +English Peasant Emancipators” on it. Stupid to bracket +<span class="sc">Collings</span> with me in this way. Receive threatening +letter. Reminds me of my revolver. <span class="sc">Jesse</span> examines +it with the air of a professional gunsmith, critically. +Appears quite hurt at its condition; says, “I’ve sat on +it so often he doubts if it would go off now,” and recommends +my carrying a “bowie-knife” instead. Am +surprised at <span class="sc">Jesse’s</span> acquaintance with deadly weapons. +Ask him what historical event took place at Coleraine. +Says he doesn’t know and doesn’t care. But what’s he +here for except to keep me posted up in local details? +Hint to him that “I hope I may be able to offer him +post of President of Local Government Board in my +future Ministry.” Replies (rudely, I think) that “he’ll +wait till I’m asked to form one.” <i>Query</i>—doesn’t air +of Ulster exercise demoralising effect on English politicians? +Is this the “Ulster Custom” one’s heard so +much about? <span class="sc">Randolph</span> a case in point.</p> + +<p><i>Back again.</i>—Coleraine speech excellent, though I say +it, as shouldn’t. Cheered to the echo. So was <span class="sc">Jesse</span>, +hang him! Shan’t take <i>him</i> to Canada with me. Now +for a study of the habits of deep-sea fish in the pages of +a Natural Science Primer.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>AN AUTUMN LAY.</h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>By a Belated Oarsman.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Come, little Maid, to the cracked piano,</p> +<p class="i2">The semi-grand in the coffee-room;</p> +<p>We’ll take your harmonies all <i>cum grano</i>,</p> +<p class="i2">For the strings vibrate like the crack of doom.</p> +<p class="i2">Over the lawn the flat clouds loom,</p> +<p>And when they lighten the rain falls faster;</p> +<p>Like gossips who relish a friend’s disaster</p> +<p class="i2">The ducks quack loud in the rain-ruled gloom.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>I’ve studied the cracks in the ceiling-plaster,</p> +<p class="i2">And the statuettes with their stolid leer,</p> +<p>And the landscape visions of some Young Master,</p> +<p class="i2">Who viewed the world through a haze of beer.</p> +<p class="i2">We’ve done as much with the hostel’s cheer</p> +<p>As sane men may <i>in corpore sano</i>;</p> +<p class="i2">So come, little Maid, to the cracked piano.</p> +<p>Play us “<i>The Battle of Prague</i>,” my dear.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The silence clouds, like a potion shaken,</p> +<p class="i2">As the limp strings jar to an ancient pain;</p> +<p>Their light and sweetness no touch can waken,</p> +<p class="i2">And only the dregs of a tone remain.</p> +<p class="i2">The silk-sewn music with fray and stain</p> +<p>Swoons on the keys at the urgent stages,</p> +<p class="i2">And the little Maid, as she props the pages,</p> +<p>Just murmurs, “Bother!” and starts again.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>And the streaming window again engages</p> +<p class="i2">The thoughts that stray from the field of Prague;</p> +<p>And the moping birds in their gauze-girt cages,</p> +<p class="i2">And the wax-work fruits of a genus vague;</p> +<p class="i2">And the flies that buzz like a lazy plague</p> +<p>Round the lone lorn jam, as it stands forsaken;</p> +<p class="i2">And the varnished pike in the mill-pool taken</p> +<p>About the year that they fought at Prague.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>But twilight falls, and its folds encumber</p> +<p class="i2">The misty mounds of the patient trees,</p> +<p>And sunset cheers with a touch of umber</p> +<p class="i2">The puddles of steel-gray Gruyère cheese.</p> +<p class="i2">And, interposing a little ease,</p> +<p>Our frail thoughts dally with false surmises</p> +<p class="i2">Of a morning as brilliant as mid July’s is</p> +<p>With bravest sunshine and sweetest breeze.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>A soothing silence the soul surprises,</p> +<p class="i2">For the little Maid, like a hero true,</p> +<p>Has fought her fight through its poignant crises,</p> +<p class="i2">And shown what practice can dare and do.</p> +<p class="i2">And, tearing the moonlight in handfuls through,</p> +<p>A giant arm in the cloudland sombre</p> +<p class="i2">Scatters the light on a world of slumber,</p> +<p>Through snowy craters, from gulfs of blue.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page190" id="page190"></a>[pg 190]</span></p> + +<h2>BOGEY IN BOND STREET.</h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>A Legend of the Grosvenor Gallery.</i>)</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:65%;"><a href="images/190.png"> +<img width="100%" src="images/190.png" alt="" /></a></div> + +<p>The Spirit of Art glided through the streets of Modern London, seeking a resting-place. +She entered the Diploma Gallery of the Royal Academy, but hurried away, +affrighted at some of the terrible examples of the illustrious Forty.</p> + +<p>“And these are the greatest English painters!” she murmured—“the countrymen of +<span class="sc">Shakspeare</span>, <span class="sc">Milton</span>, and <span class="sc">Addison</span>, +<span class="sc">Tennyson</span>, <span class="sc">Macaulay</span>, and <span class="sc">Dickens</span>! How is it +that Painting cannot keep pace with Literature?”</p> + +<p>It sounded like a Conundrum, and the Spirit of Art was not good at Conundrums. So +she gave it up. Then she passed into other Exhibitions—there were quite a dozen in +the neighbourhood at the very least. But she was unsatisfied, and came away. She +paused, and considered. The Spirit of Art had one great English friend (of Irish extraction), +who was a Musician.</p> + +<p>“<span class="sc">Arthur</span> is a clever fellow,” +said the Spirit of Art to herself—there was no one else +to speak to—“and if he <i>does</i> compose more comic Operas than Oratorios, it is, I suppose, +because there is a greater demand for the former than the latter.”</p> + +<p>From this it will be seen the Spirit of Art had, on the whole, a good head for business. +“Now,” continued the Representative of the Beautiful, “I distinctly recollect that the +words to one of the songs of my friend <span class="sc">Arthur</span> contained a pointed reference to the +Greenery Yallery Gallery. I fancy, from all I +have heard, that the sort of thing I want will +be found in the Greenery Yallery Gallery.”</p> + +<p>She was quite pleased at the notion. To tell +the truth the Spirit of Art was rather weary +of perambulating the streets of London—not +even the advertisements of <span class="sc">Buffalo Bill</span> on +the hoardings gave her lasting satisfaction.</p> + +<p>“Let me consider,” she said, as she hovered +on the threshold of the Grosvenor Gallery, +“now I shall find myself amongst the grandest +works of Mister <span class="sc">Jones</span>. I am never tired of +that pale face with the pointed chin—no more +is Mister <span class="sc">Jones</span>. This frequently-reproduced +portrait of a lady is most interesting. No +doubt it is a study of a chronic case of +dyspepsia that must have lasted for twenty +years. Then I shall see the choicest works +of <span class="sc">More</span> and <span class="sc">Millais</span>, and <span class="sc">Watts</span>, and oh, +joy! of Sir <span class="sc">Coutts-Lindsay</span>! This is indeed +the very spot for a resting-place.”</p> + +<p>So the Spirit of Art glided up the staircase +and into the Grosvenor Gallery. For a moment +she was puzzled. There was no dyspeptic lady—“no +greenery” and very little “yallery.” +Then she shivered, for on all sides she found +immense pictures of battles and executions +ghastly beyond description.</p> + +<p>“Why, what are these?” she gasped. +“What are these?”</p> + +<p>“Catalogue, Miss?” replied a civil attendant. +“Thank you, Miss,—sixpence.”</p> + +<p>And then the Spirit of Art read that such +and such a picture represented a dreadful defeat, +that a pestilent hospital, yonder one a +scene of torture. She found representations of +war treated in the most prosaic and unbeautiful +form.</p> + +<p>She was horrified and fainted!</p> + +<p>Then the vision, before her became more and +more terrible and the entire contents of the +Catalogue was unfolded before her. Dying +soldiers defying vultures, mutilated Russians +lying in an open grave, old men being blown +from the guns! Wounds, and fire, and blood!</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>When she came to herself she hurried away. +She thought it out.</p> + +<p>“I must gradually accustom myself to less +horrible things,” she whispered. “I will begin +at once. If I were not to do this by degrees, +I should go mad!” She called a hansom.</p> + +<p>“Where to, Miss?”</p> + +<p>“To the Marylebone Road,” cried the Spirit +of Art—in these days the Spirit is a very self-assertive +young person, and not at all like an +unprotected female—“Baker Street Station, +Marylebone Road.”</p> + +<p>Then she threw away her Catalogue.</p> + +<p>“I must see something less repulsive than +this—I must gradually resume my normal condition. +Something less repulsive! I have it! +I will begin with the figures of Madame <span class="sc">Tussaud’s</span>—in +the Chamber of Horrors!”</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>CHAIRS TO MEND.</h2> + +<p>Congregation at Oxford, having (in an +empty House), for the sake of economy, turned +the old Professorship of Anglo-Saxon into +one of English Literature, and having, with a +view to utilising its salary, entirely suppressed +the chair of Poetry, it is rumoured that the +Hebdomadal Council have already in contemplation +a sweeping list of curtailments in the +same direction.</p> + +<p>The Professorships of Arabic, Archæology, +Astronomy, Botany, Celtic, Chemistry, and +Chinese, will, it is said, also be rolled into one.</p> + +<p>It is hoped that, by some spirited reforms in +the direction indicated above, the University +that, from the fashion in which it has dealt +with the Chair of Poetry, appears indeed to be +out at elbows, may survive the financial crisis +in which it is evidently involved.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page191" id="page191"></a>[pg 191]</span></p> + +<h2>CHANNEL TALK.</h2> + +<p><i>Arranged for the use of +the returning British +Passenger at Breakfast-time. +By a very Dyspeptic +Contributor.</i></p> + +<p>It is a glorious thing +to think that one is +leaving France and all +foreign kickshaws behind +one, and is once +more approaching dear +honest old England on +the deck of a British +steamer.</p> + +<p>But let us come into +the cabin and have a +bit of breakfast before +we get in.</p> + +<p>Surely that table +covered with a dirty +sheet instead of a tablecloth +is not prepared for +our repast?</p> + +<p>Why, this stale +loaf must have been on +board quite a week.</p> + +<p>It has evidently made +several passages backwards +and forwards in +company with this extremely +remarkable +sample of butter.</p> + +<p>Why does this coffee +the Steward has just +brought us look like +ink and sawdust, and +taste like something +perplexing?</p> + +<p>The Frenchman, who +has been expecting <i>déjeuner +à la fourchette</i>, +is surveying with astonishment +the dish of +mutton-chops they have +set down before him.</p> + +<p>It is a great pity that +they are all two inches +thick, and are underdone +when cut.</p> + +<p>I wonder whether he +is thinking, as I am, of +the clean, fresh, and +trim <i>restaurant</i> table, +the excellent <i>café au +laít, petits-pains</i>, Normandy +butter, and other +“foreign kickshaws,” +that he has just left behind +him in France.</p> + +<p>Though he has had to +pay three shillings for +his hot breakfast, he +has informed me that +he will wait till he arrives, +and take “<i>le +lunch</i>” on shore.</p> + +<p>I wonder whether he +is aware that, if he +makes this meal at the +typical Refreshment-Room, +he will have to +content himself with +stale sponge-cakes, the +day-before-yesterday’s +buns, and small tins of +lemon-drops.</p> + +<p>But let us get out of +the Cabin. I certainly +prefer the deck of an +excellent steamer to the +arrangements made for +providing one with +breakfast down below.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>A QUESTION OF POLICE.</h2> + +<blockquote><p> +“The rapid increase both of buildings and population which has +taken place in the Metropolitan Police district of late +years has outrun the increase which it has been possible to make to the +Police Force.”—<i>Sir Charles Warren, in his Official +Reports, 1885, 1886.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p> +“The average applications for admission to the Metropolitan Police Force now amount to one hundred per diem.” +<i>Statistics, October, 1887.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:80%;"><a href="images/191.png"> +<img width="100%" src="images/191.png" alt="Sergeant Punch (inspecting would-be ex-Unemployed)." /></a> +<p><i>Sergeant Punch (inspecting would-be ex-Unemployed).</i> +<span class="sc">“So, my Lad, you want to be a Constable! +Rather enforce the Law than break it, eh? That’s right! Hem! The Force has long been +undermanned. We must see if we can’t make room for you!”</span></p></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Ne Plus Ulster.</span>—Mr. <span class="sc">Chamberlain</span> +seems to find the heart of the Irish Question in Ulster. Does he expect +to find its solution there? He appears to set little store by the wishes of those not inconsiderable portions of +Ireland which, as he says, “do not form a portion of the Ulster plantation.” +All other parts, even of the favoured province, “though geographically part of Ulster, +are not parts of what we know as political Ulster.” This certainly +narrows the Irish Question. But does it simplify it? We have all heard of those who are “more Irish +than the Irishmen themselves.” Mr. <span class="sc">Chamberlain</span> seems to be more Ulsterish than +the men of Ulster, though they, to be sure, on his own showing, are virtually English and Scotch. +In declining to look beyond Ulster, it may be asked whether he looks into the Irish Question at all. +Altogether Irish—very!</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page192" id="page192"></a>[pg 192]</span></p> + +<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> + +<p><i>The Danvers Jewels</i>, published by <span class="sc">Richard +Bentley and Son</span>, and written by an anonymous +author who dedicates the work to his +sister “<span class="sc">Di</span>,” (from whom he received some +assistance in the story, otherwise he would +“never have said ‘<span class="sc">Di</span>’”) is a short and +well-told sensational novelette in a shilling +volume. There is a genuine vein of humour +running through it, which is so artistically +managed as at first to escape the reader’s +attention, who becoming more and more irritated +with the stupidity of the supposed +narrator, gradually discovers that the story +which is being recounted by a middle-aged +Indian Colonel, who prides himself on being +remarkably astute, and on possessing a perfectly +marvellous insight into character, is +being recounted by a conceited, shallow-pated +old ass. I think it a fault that at the very +last, by some such accident as being in an +assize town and being invited to sit on the +bench, he does not see the villain thoroughly +unmasked, placed in the dock, and condemned +to death, or at least penal servitude for life. +The story, excellent as it is, seems to me to +want this finish. By the way, why, for no +conceivable purpose, quote on the title-page +a line from the Old Testament which, as every +one remembering its context and after reading +the book must see, has no apparent bearing +on the subject? Mistake this.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:29%;"><a href="images/192-1.png"> +<img width="100%" src="images/192-1.png" alt='A work by "Q."' /></a>A work by “Q.”</div> + +<p><i>Deadman’s Rock.</i> By “Q.” Have Messrs. +<span class="sc">Louis Stevenson</span> and <span class="sc">Rider Haggard</span> combined +under the signature of “Q.” to write +at all events the first part of the weird and +exciting Romance entitled <i>Deadman’s Rock</i>? +If not let those two authors look to their +laurels. There is much in this book to remind +the reader of <i>Treasure Island</i>, especially the +fiendish Sailor’s uncouth chaunt, “Sing hey +for the deadman’s eyes, my lads,” which, +however, is not a patch upon Mr. <span class="sc">Stevenson’s</span> +“Ho! Ho! Ho! and a bottle of rum,” in +<i>Treasure Island</i>. Then there is one line in +“Q.’s” story, “And here a strange thing +happened,” which must call to mind Mr. +<span class="sc">Rider Haggard’s</span> patent of “and now a +strange thing happened.” “Q.”—rious coincidence, +isn’t it? But a “coincidence” is +not likely to annoy Mr. <span class="sc">Haggard</span>.</p> + +<p>In the first part the most impatient reader +will find that he cannot afford to skip a couple +of lines without detriment to the narrative, +but in the second part he may skip handfuls, +as the lovemaking is common-place, and +time is wasted over the tragedy which is +written by one of the heroes, and over the +description of their life in London. But on +the other hand the scene in the gambling-house +is exciting and artistically worked up,—and +coming immediately after this, the lovemaking +is uncommonly tame,—and the scene +at the Theatre is also very good, but after +this there is a lull in the excitement until +the end approaches, when there is one very +strong situation. But the actual finish is +weak. So the summing up is that the first +part is first-rate, and the second part is, on +the whole, second-rate. But who is “Q.”?</p> + +<p>That is the Q. and what is the A.? <i>Deadman’s +Rock</i> is not a good book for very +nervous persons or children: for the latter +<i>Almond Rock</i> would be far preferable.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE MUSE IN MANACLES.</h2> + +<p>(<i>By an Envious and Irritable Bard, after reading +“Ballades and Rondeaus,” just published, +and wishing he could do anything like any +of them.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Bored by the Ballade, vexed by Villanelle,</p> +<p>Of Rondeau tired, and Triolet as well!</p> + </div> + +<h3>THE BALLADE.</h3> + +<p>(<i>In Bad Weather.</i>)</p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Oh! I’m in a terrible plight—</p> +<p class="i2">For how can I rhyme in the rain?</p> +<p>’Tis pouring from morn until night:</p> +<p class="i2">So bad is the weather again,</p> +<p class="i2">My language is almost profane!</p> +<p>Though shod with the useful galosh,</p> +<p class="i2">I’m racked with rheumatical pain—</p> +<p>I think that a Ballade is bosh!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>I know I am looking a fright;</p> +<p class="i2">That knowledge, I know, is in vain;</p> +<p>My “brolly” is not water-tight,</p> +<p class="i2">But hopelessly rended in twain</p> +<p class="i2">And spoilt by the rude hurri<i>cane</i>!</p> +<p>Though clad in a stout mackintosh,</p> +<p class="i2">My temper I scarce can restrain—</p> +<p>I think that a Ballade is bosh!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Oh, I’m an unfortunate wight!</p> +<p class="i2">The damp is affecting my brain;</p> +<p>My woes I would gladly recite,</p> +<p class="i2">In phrases emphatic and plain,</p> +<p class="i2">Your sympathy could I obtain.</p> +<p>I don’t think my verses will wash,</p> +<p class="i2">They’re somewhat effete and inane—</p> +<p>I think that a Ballade is bosh!</p> + </div> + +<h4><span class="sc">Envoy.</span></h4> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>I fancy I’m getting insane,</p> +<p class="i2">I’m over my ankles in slosh;</p> +<p>But let me repeat the refrain—</p> +<p class="i2">I think that a Ballade is bosh!</p> + </div> + +<h3>THE VILLANELLE.</h3> + +<p>(<i>With Vexation.</i>)</p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>I do not like the Villanelle,</p> +<p class="i2">I think it somewhat of a bore—</p> +<p>This tinkle of a Muffin-bell!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The reason why I cannot tell;</p> +<p class="i2">Each day I fancy, more and more,</p> +<p>I do not like the Villanelle!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>It makes me stamp and storm and yell,</p> +<p class="i2">It makes me wildly rage and roar:</p> +<p>This tinkle of a Muffin-bell!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>I look upon it as a sell,</p> +<p class="i2">Its use I constantly deplore;</p> +<p>I do not like the Villanelle!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Poetic thoughts it must dispel,</p> +<p class="i2">It very often tries me sore:</p> +<p>This tinkle of a Muffin-bell!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>For this I know, and know full well—</p> +<p class="i2">Let me repeat it o’er and o’er!—</p> +<p>I do not like the Villanelle,</p> +<p>This tinkle of a Muffin-bell!</p> + </div> + +<h3>THE TRIOLET.</h3> + +<p>(<i>In a Temper.</i>)</p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>A triolet’s scarcely the thing—</p> +<p class="i2">Unless you would carol in fetters!</p> +<p>If lark-like you freely would sing,</p> +<p>A Triolet’s scarcely the thing:</p> +<p>I miss the poetical ring,</p> +<p class="i2">I’m told that it has, by my betters!</p> +<p>A Triolet’s scarcely the thing—</p> +<p class="i2">Unless you would carol in fetters!</p> + </div> + +<h3>THE RONDEAU.</h3> + +<p>(<i>In a Rage.</i>)</p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Pray tell me why we can’t agree</p> +<p>To bid the merry Muse run free?</p> +<p class="i2">Pray tell me why we should incline</p> +<p class="i2">To see her in a Rondeau pine,</p> +<p>Or sigh in shackled minstrelsy?</p> +<p>Why can’t she sing with lark-like glee,</p> +<p>And revel in bright <i>jeux d’esprit</i>?</p> +<p class="i2">Where form can’t fetter or confine—</p> +<p class="i6">Pray tell me why?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Pray tell me why that frisky gee,</p> +<p>Called Pegasus, should harnessed be?</p> +<p class="i2">Why bit and bridle should combine</p> +<p class="i2">To all his liveliness consign,—</p> +<p>To deck the Rondeau’s narrow line—</p> +<p class="i6">Pray tell me why?</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>BAD NEWS FOR TEA-DRINKERS.</h2> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:21%;"><a href="images/192-2.png"> +<img width="100%" src="images/192-2.png" alt="A Simple Clearance under Protest." /> +</a><p>A Simple Clearance under Protest.</p></div> + +<p>We learn from a report of the proceedings +of the City Commissioners of Sewers +last week, that +those vigilant +protectors of the +health of our +ancient City had +before them a +case that fairly +puzzled them, +and in its +strangeness and +difficulty would +probably have +puzzled even a +more judicial body than they probably pretend +to be. It would seem that they had +received a note of warning from the eminent +firm of <span class="sc">Francis Peek & Co.</span>, that a large +parcel of tea was about to be submitted to +public auction which was “simple filth,” +and utterly unfit for consumption.</p> + +<p>A Commissioner stated that he was present +at the Sale that morning, and that the whole +quantity, consisting of 1000 Chests, had been +sold, duty paid (it must have been cleared +at the Custom House with or without protest), +at one halfpenny per pound! The +natural expectation was that the “simple +filth” as it had been termed by experts, +would be at once seized by the officials and +destroyed, but this strange difficulty arose. +The Medical Officer of Health stated that he +had analyzed a sample of the tea in question, +and could not swear before a Magistrate +that it was unfit for use! He stated too, as +a specimen of the wisdom of our legislators, +that, by Act of Parliament, Tea was specially +exempted from the operations of Public +Analysts! So the willing Commissioners +found themselves powerless to act, but referred +the whole matter to their Sanitary +Committee, who, we understand, will at their +next meeting take tea, instead of luncheon, +made from the remains of the sample, and +report the result.</p> + +<p>In the meantime <i>Mr. Punch</i>, ever ready to +assist in a good cause, dispatched one of his +City young men to make further inquiries, +who reported that he had visited the Auction +Mart on three successive days at lunch-time, +and had asked one or two of the sharpest-looking +of the crowd, as possible purchasers +of the wondrous tea, to lunch with him, +which they had willingly done; but, although +he says he lunched them copiously, they one +and all denied any knowledge of the tea +sale in question.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>“<span class="sc">Shepherd <i>v.</i> Keevil.</span>”—<i>Mem</i>; Christian +maxim for a Pastor or Shepherd, “Do +not think eevil of your neighbour.”</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 50px;"> +<a href="images/192-3.png"><img src="images/192-3.png" width="50" height="30" alt="Pointing finger" /></a> +</div> + +<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> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<div class="trans-note"> +<h3>Transcriber’s notes</h3> + +<p>On page 181, “influenced” was missing the letter “d”, and on page 183, +“enliten” was missing its first “e”. These have been corrected.</p> + +<p>On page 185, “Gringore” was changed to “Gringoire” for consistency.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="full" /> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. +93., October 22, 1887, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + +***** This file should be named 37078-h.htm or 37078-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/0/7/37078/ + +Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Malcolm Farmer, +Nigel Blower 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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