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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:08:14 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:08:14 -0700 |
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diff --git a/37553-h/37553-h.htm b/37553-h/37553-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5f318e1 --- /dev/null +++ b/37553-h/37553-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1849 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" /> + + <title>Punch, 2nd September, 1893.</title> + + <style type="text/css"> + + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {text-align: justify;} + .ind {margin-left: 2em;} + .ind1 {margin-left: 5em; margin-right: 5em;} + .ind2 {margin-left: 8em; margin-right: 8em;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} + blockquote {text-align: justify; font-size: 0.9em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .sans {font-family: sans-serif;} + pre {font-size: 0.7em;} + .sc {font-variant: small-caps;} + .center {text-align: center;} + td.note {text-align: left; font-size: 0.9em; font-weight: normal; border: 1px dashed; padding: 1em;} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + html>body hr.full {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;} + hr.medium {width: 76%;} + html>body hr.medium {margin-right: 12%; margin-left: 12%; width: 76%;} + p.note {margin-left: 27%; margin-right: 20%; font-size: 1.0em;} + p.author {text-align: right; margin-top: -1em; margin-right: 2em;} + span.pagenum {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt; text-indent: 0;} + .poem {margin-left: 25%; margin-right: 10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .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;} + .poem p.i8 {margin-left: 4em;} + .poem p.i10 {margin-left: 5em;} + .poem p.i14 {margin-left: 7em;} + .poem p.i34 {margin-left: 17em;} + + .figure, .figcenter, .figright, .figleft {padding: 1em; margin: 0; text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em;} + .figure img, .figcenter img, .figright img, .figleft img + {border: none;} + .figure p, .figcenter p, .figright p, .figleft p + {margin: 0; text-indent: 1em;} + .figcenter {margin: auto;} + .figright {float: right;} + .figleft {float: left;} + + </style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 105, +September 2nd, 1893, 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. 105, September 2nd, 1893 + +Author: Various + +Editor: Sir Francis Burnand + +Release Date: September 28, 2011 [EBook #37553] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON *** + + + + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Lesley Halamek, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page97" id="page97"></a>[pg 97]</span> + +<h1>Punch, or the London Charivari</h1> + +<h2>Volume 105, September 2nd 1893</h2> + +<h4><i>edited by Sir Francis Burnand</i></h4> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<h2 class="sans">LETTERS TO ABSTRACTIONS.</h2> + +<h3>TO FAILURE</h3> + +<p><i>Ecce iterum!</i> Well, why not? So long as I do not exanimate +you with my letters, I remain content. Besides, I have not yet fully-developed +all my theories. Let us, therefore, continue to chat +together for a little.</p> + +<p>I cannot proceed for ever by the negative method. No doubt I +might in the end, exhaust the list of those who are not your subjects, +but the process would be long, and, I fear, tedious. No; I must +come to the point and produce my cases. What shall we say of +them, then? <span class="sc">Hood</span> declares that—</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"There is a silence where hath been no sound,</p> +<p>There is a silence where no sound may be,</p> +<p>In the cold grave, under the deep, deep sea."</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>and so forth; doubtless you remember the sonnet. Not there, however, +is the true silence—</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"But in green ruins, in the desolate walls</p> +<p>Of antique palaces, where Man hath been,</p> +<p>Though the dun fox, or wild hyena calls,</p> +<p>And owls, that flit continually between,</p> +<p>Shriek to the echo, and the low winds moan,—</p> +<p>There the true Silence is, self-conscious and alone."</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>As with silence, so with failure, say I. The +man who has never felt the spur of ambition nor +the intoxication of a success, who has travelled +always upon the level tracts of an unaspiring +satisfaction, on him, surely, failure sets no mark, +and disappointment has for him no stings. But +the poor souls who soar only to sink, who melt +their waxen wings in the fierce heat of the sun, +and fall crashing to earth, theirs is the lot for +pity. And yet it is not well to be too sure. For +in the eyes of the world a man may be cheated +of his purpose, and yet gain for himself the +peace, the sober, contented joy, which is more +to him than the flaunting trophies of open success. +And some clasp the goddess in their arms, +only to wither and decay in the embrace they +sought with so eager a passion. But I tarry, +while time creeps on.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 200px;"><a href="images/097-400.png"><img src="images/097-200.png" width="200" height="470" alt="From the mist of memory...." /></a></div> + +<p>From the mist of memory rises a scene. A +knot of laughing Freshmen is gathered in the +ancient Court outside the lecture-room staircase. +It wants a minute or two to the hour. +They are jesting and chaffing with all the +delightful unconcern of emancipated youth, +and their cheerful faces shine brighter in the +October sunshine. Some thirty yards away +from them a strange figure, in dingy cap and +gown, paces wearily along. It is that of a +prematurely aged man, his back bent, his head +sunk upon his chest. The Freshmen begin to +knock one another about; there is what we +used to call a "rag," and one of them, seizing +a small lump of turf, throws it at a companion. +It misses him, and strikes the old, weary figure +on the back of the neck. He totters forward +with outstretched hands, just saves himself from falling, and turns +round. There is a terrible, hunted, despairing look on the face, +made more pitiful by the grey, straggling beard. The Freshman +has darted forward with an apology. The old man mutters, half +to himself, "What was it? Did some one call for me? I am +quite alone, and I scarcely remember——" and then shuffles away +quickly, without listening to the words of apology. The adventure +chills the laughter of the young men, the clock strikes, and they +vanish to the lecture-room.</p> + +<p>This poor, rambling, distraught wreck of a man, was all that +was left in those days of a great and brilliant scholar, whose fame a +quarter of a century before had been alive in the mouths of Cambridge +men. From the moment that he entered at St. Mark's, +<span class="sc">Henry Arkwright</span> began a glorious career of prize-winning. +Scholarships were to him a part of his daily bread. He swallowed +them as other men swallow rolls for breakfast. A magic influence +seemed to smooth for him the rough and rocky paths of learning. +While his comrades stumbled along with bruised limbs, he marched +with firm and triumphant step to the summit. And he had other +advantages. He was handsome, his manner was frank and winning, +he was an athlete of distinction, he spoke with fiery and epigrammatic +eloquence at the Union. It is needless to add that his popularity +was unbounded amongst his companions. He took the best +degree of his year, and was made a Fellow of his College.</p> + +<p>There was no lack of glowing prophecies about his future. The +only doubt was whether the Lord Chancellorship or the post of Prime +Minister would more attract his genius. Nobody supposed that he +would stay on at Cambridge. But he did. A few years after taking +his degree he published a monumental edition of a Greek classic, +which is still one of the fountain-heads of authority, even amongst +the severe scholars of the Fatherland. And after that there was an +end of him. Nobody quite knew what had happened to him, and as +the years rolled on fewer and fewer cared to inquire. He went to +hall, he sat silent in the Combination-room, he withdrew himself +gradually from all intercourse with friends. His whole appearance +changed, he became dishevelled, his face grew old and wrinkled, and +his hair turned grey before his time. And thus dwindling and shrinking +he had come to be the pitiable shadow who, as I have related, +faded dismally across the College Court before a knot of cheerful +Undergraduates on an October morning many years ago. What was +the reason? I have often wondered. Did his labours over his book +displace by a hair's-breadth some minute particle of matter in his +brain? Or was there in his nature a lack of the genuine manly +fibre, unsuspected even by himself until he felt himself fatally +recoiling from the larger life of which the +triumphs seemed to be within his grasp, if only +he would stretch out his hand and seize them? +I know not. Somebody once hinted that there +was a woman at the bottom of it. There may +have been, but it is a canon of criticism to +reject the easier solution. When he died a few +years ago, it appeared to be a shock to all but +a few to remember that he had not died ages +before.</p> + +<p>And as I write this, I am reminded, I scarce +know why, of poor Mrs. <span class="sc">Highflyer</span>. <i>Poor</i> +Mrs. <span class="sc">Highflyer</span>! I hear somebody exclaim in +astonishment. Why is she poor? Why must +we pity her? Is she not rich? Do not the +great and the titled throng to her parties during +the London Season? Has she not entertained +Princes in the country? What lot can be more +enviable? Granted, I reply, as to the riches +and the parties. But can it be seriously supposed +that a life spent in a feverish struggle for +recognition, its days and nights devoted to +schemes for social advancement, to little plots +by which Lady <span class="sc">Mottling</span>, the wife of the millionaire +Member of Parliament, shall be out-witted; +or Mrs. <span class="sc">Furber</span>, the wife of the returned +Australian, shall be made to pale her ineffectual +fires; to conspiracies which shall end in a +higher rung of the giddy ladder of party-giving +ambition—can such a life, I ask, with all its +petty miseries, its desperations, its snubs, and +its successes no less perilous than desperation, +be considered an enviable one? Ask Mrs. <span class="sc">Highflyer</span> +herself. Visit that poor lady, as she is +laying her parallels for her tenth attempt to +capture some stout and red-faced royalty for +her dance or her country-house, and see for +yourself how she feels. She may bear aloft a +smiling face, but there is unhappiness in her +heart, and all her glories are as nothing to her, +because she has read in the <i>Weekly Treadmill</i> +that Lady <span class="sc">Mottling's</span> latest party was attended +by a Royal Duke, two Ambassadors, and a Kamtchatkan Chieftain. +There is failure in the meanest shape. Was I right to pity her?</p> + +<p>Are there not, moreover, critics and literary celebrities who——but +I dare too much, my pen refuses its office, so tremendous is the +subject on which I have rashly entered. And with that, farewell.</p> + +<p class="author">D. R.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>EFFEMINACY OF THE AGE.</h3> + +<p class="ind2">Mr. <span class="sc">James Payn</span> says that "some boys are really missed at home." +Well, <i>Mr. Punch</i> has observed that some fond and foolish parents +tog and tittivate their boys till they look behind like girls. But to +"<i>miss</i>" them, as though they were maidens or barmaids is <i>too</i> +bad. To adapt <span class="sc">Ko-Ko's</span> celebrated song, he would say:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>A boy may wear his hair in curls, or bear a pudding face,</p> +<p class="i2">Some mothers, as you wist, that folly can't resist!</p> +<p>Of true boy in dress and manners they may leave him scarce a trace,</p> +<p class="i2">But he never should be "missed"—he never should be "missed."</p> +<p>Maternal idiots molly-coddle little lads they own,</p> +<p>Till they're girlish in demeanour, and effeminate in tone,</p> +<p>But the <i>mater</i> who her "<span class="sc">Tommy</span>" spoils, and dresses like a guy,</p> +<p>Till he doesn't think he crickets, and has no desire to try;</p> +<p>Is a silly, weak anomaly who ought to be well hissed;</p> +<p>Boys never should be "missy," and they never should be "missed."</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="center">Mrs. R. is delighted. "My youngest niece," she says, "has +lately become engaged to a very illegible young man."</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page98" id="page98"></a>[pg 98]</span> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3 class="sans">THE DIVER.</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>Fragments of a Modern Parliamentary Version. A very long way after +<span class="sc">Schiller</span>.</i>)</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a href="images/098-1000.png"><img src="images/098-460.png" width="460" height="587" alt="THE DIVER." /></a></div> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"Oh! where is the youth or man so bold</p> +<p class="i2">To dive mid yon billowy din?</p> +<p>There's a cup of the purest (Hibernian) gold,</p> +<p class="i2">Lo! how the whirlpool has sucked it in!</p> +<p>'Tis a crown of glory, that golden cup,</p> +<p>To the venturous hand that shall bear it up!"</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> + * * * * * + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>They listened, that goodly Company,</p> +<p class="i2">And were mute both squire and knight;</p> +<p>For they liked not the look of that wild (Irish) sea.</p> +<p class="i2">And they funked a fight with that maelstrom's might,</p> +<p>And a Voice, for the second time, loudly spake,</p> +<p>"Will no man dive for Ould Oireland's sake?"</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>But silently still they gaze and stand,</p> +<p class="i2">Till a grey-pate grand and old</p> +<p>Steps lightly forth from the shuddering band.</p> +<p class="i2">Oh, the glances that greet him are stern and cold!</p> +<p>And a whispered warning around doth pass:</p> +<p>"Now, Grand Old Diver, don't be an ass!"</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page99" id="page99"></a>[pg 99]</span> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>And lo! as he stands on the uttermost verge,</p> +<p class="i2">He sees, in the dark seas rushing,</p> +<p>Obstructive monsters that swell and surge</p> +<p class="i2">From the depths of the muttering whirlpool rushing,</p> +<p>And their sound is the sound of hoot and hiss,</p> +<p>And they leap in foam from the black abyss.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Then quick, ere his fellows were half awake,</p> +<p class="i2">That old man grand and grey</p> +<p>Plunged headlong! Ah! it made them quake</p> +<p class="i2">As he whirled in the whirling stream away;</p> +<p>And they cried, "'Tis pity the land should suffer</p> +<p>This suicide of the Grand Old Duffer!"</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> + * * * * * + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Down! down he shot like a lightning flash!</p> +<p class="i2">When lo! from the depth of the rocky ground,</p> +<p>Did a thundering torrent to meet him dash.</p> +<p class="i2">Like a child's frail top he span around,</p> +<p>Powerless and pale; for how should he fight</p> +<p>With the <i>double</i> stream in its banded might?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The obstructive darkness of the deep</p> +<p class="i2">Lay all beneath him, above, about;</p> +<p>And goggle-eyed monsters that made him creep,</p> +<p class="i2">Glared at him there in a menacing rout;</p> +<p>For the dismal depths of those waters dark</p> +<p>Seemed alive with the kraken, the sword-fish, the shark.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>There, there they clustered in grisly swarm,</p> +<p class="i2">Curled up into many a labyrinth knot,</p> +<p>The octopus with its horrible arms,</p> +<p class="i2">And the sea-snake fierce, with a mouth like a slot;</p> +<p>And the glassy-eyed dog-fish with threatening teeth,</p> +<p>Hyena fierce of the sea beneath.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>And the Grand Old Diver he felt half-choked,</p> +<p class="i2">And he mused to himself, "<i>Must</i> I give it up?"</p> +<p>In ledge and rock-cranny he peered and poked,</p> +<p class="i2">Till he caught the glint of that golden cup</p> +<p>Hung on a rock, as though it had grown</p> +<p>In the depth which the sea-snake calls her own.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> + * * * * * + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>But see! What shines from the dark flood there</p> +<p>As a swan's soft plumage white?</p> +<p>A thin, wan face, scant, wave-washed hair,</p> +<p class="i2">And arms that move with a summer's might.</p> +<p>It is he, and lo! in his left hand high</p> +<p>He waveth the goblet exultingly!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>He is breathing deep, he is gasping long,</p> +<p class="i2">As he clings to a rock—for his strength half fails.</p> +<p>"By Jove, he has got it!" yelled forth the throng,</p> +<p class="i2">"He lives! he is safe!" But he pants, he pales!</p> +<p>The Grand Old Diver the goblet grips!</p> +<p>Will he live to lift it wine-brimmed to his lips?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> + * * * * * + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 560px;"><a href="images/099-500.png"><img src="images/099-200.png" width="200" height="490" alt="'SUNT LACHRYMÆ RERUM--NOS ET MUTAMUR IN ILLIS!'" /></a> +<h3 class="sans">"SUNT LACHRYMÆ RERUM—NOS ET MUTAMUR IN ILLIS!"</h3> + +<p><i>Old Adonis (gazing at his bust, which was done in the +early Fifties).</i> "<span class="sc">Ah! it never did me justice! and it +gets less and less like me every day!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>CURE-IOUS!</h2> + +<p>Saw advertisement to-day, "Wanted, a +few hopeless Drunkards," from a person +who has a new Patent Remedy for Dipsomania. +Fancy that I answer the description. +Why should I not apply? Funds +rather low just at present, and I might get +the price of a few bottles of gin out of this +Anti-Alcoholic Enthusiast. He asks us to +"apply by letter." Better to see if it's all +a hoax or not. Shall go in person.</p> + +<p>Have just made my application. Four +other inebriates had also gone in person. +They were in the waiting-room when I +arrived, in advanced stage of <i>delirium +tremens</i>. Scandalous! All of them +had fiery serpents coming out of their +boots, too, which they set at me directly +I appeared. What the police are +about in allowing such people at large +I cannot understand. Obliged to defend +myself against the serpents. I believe +a shindy ensued, and I was accused—most +unjustly—of being intoxicated, +whereas I had purposely abstained +from taking more than half a bottle +of neat Cognac that morning, in order +to have my head quite clear for the +interview. However, had a chat with +the Enthusiast, who said he thought +I would "do very well." Wants me +to get a couple of "good testimonials" +from my friends, saying that I have +"really made a hopeless beast of +myself for at least two years past." +Rather awkward this, as most of my +old chums refuse to see me now. Such +is friendship!</p> + +<p>Testimonials secured at last. Had +to create a slight disturbance outside +the houses of my friends before I could +get them to do what I wanted. When +they <i>did</i> really understand what was +expected, they gave me the highest +character for inebriety. One says that +he "has good reason for knowing that +I have not been really sober for more +than a day at a time for the last five +years." The other "willingly certifies" +that "a more absolutely besotted +specimen of gin-soddened humanity" +it would be impossible to find. Sent +the replies off to the Enthusiast, who +returns me some of the Patent Remedy +in a bottle, "to be taken as +directed," but no money! What a +swindle! Pawnbroker round the corner +declines to advance a farthing on the +Remedy. Nothing left but to try it!</p> + +<p>Have tried it! Awfully good stuff! +Must have gin in it, I think. Leave +off my nightly potation of spirits, and +drink half the bottle instead. Refreshing +sleep. Haven't had such a +night for ages. Enthusiast calls to +see how I am getting on. Immensely +pleased. Leaves me another bottle of +the Remedy, and—on my threatening +to strike unless he gives me some +money—half a sovereign. Get in more +gin.</p> + +<p>Extraordinary thing has happened. +Gin seems positively nasty to me now! +Forced myself to drink a little. Deadly +sick! There must be something very +unwholesome about the Remedy. Pitch +rest of it out of window.</p> + +<p>Glad to say that my taste for gin +has come back. Was able to finish +half a bottle at a sitting. Go round +to Enthusiast's office, to tell him +about dangerous effect of his alleged +Remedy. He says "the sickness and +the distaste for gin was just what he +wanted to produce." The inhuman +monster! Give him a little of my mind, +and he retreats into an inner room, and his +Clerk comes out to try and remove me from +the premises. Curiously enough, the Clerk's +front teeth all suddenly drop out and turn +into green and red dragons, which writhe +about the floor. Some sort of disturbance +happens—believe Clerk tries to kill me—forget +all the rest.</p> + +<p><i>Later.</i>—Appear to be in a Police cell! +Why don't they shut up the keyhole to +prevent those gamboge-coloured elephants +getting through? Why has the Warder +fifteen heads? Shall complain to the Home +Secretary. Also shall make it hot for that +Enthusiast when I get out.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page100" id="page100"></a>[pg 100]</span> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2 class="sans">THE ADVENTURES OF PICKLOCK HOLES.</h2> + +<h3>(<i>By Cunnin Toil.</i>)</h3> + +<h3>No. IV.—THE ESCAPE OF THE BULL-DOG.</h3> + +<p>I think I have mentioned that the vast intellect of my friend +<span class="sc">Holes</span> took as great a delight in unravelling the petty complexities of +some slight secret as in tracing back to its source the turbid torrent +of a crime that had set all Europe ablaze. Nothing, in fact, was +too small for this great man; he lived only to unravel; his days and +nights were spent in deciphering criminal cryptograms. Many and +many a time have I said to him, "<span class="sc">Holes</span>, you ought to marry, and +train up an offspring of detective marvels. It is a sin to allow such +a genius as yours to remain unreproduced." But he only smiled at +me in his calm, impassive, unmuscular, and unemotional manner, +and put me off with some such phrase as, "I am wedded to my +art," or, "Detection is my wife; she loves, honours, and <i>obeys</i> +me—qualities +I could never find in a mate of flesh and blood." I merely +mention these trifles in order to give my readers some further insight +into the character of a remarkable man with whom it was my +privilege to be associated on more than one occasion during those +investigations of which the mere account has astonished innumerable +Continents.</p> + +<p>During the early Summer of the +year before last a matter of scientific +research took me to Cambridge. It +will be remembered that at that time +an obscure disease had appeared in +London, and had claimed many +victims. Careful study had convinced +me that this illness, the +symptoms of which were sudden +fear, followed by an inclination to +run away, and ending in complete +prostration, were due to the presence +in the blood of what is now known +as the Proctor Bacillus, so called on +account of two white patches on its +chest, which had all the appearance +of the bands worn by the Proctor +during the discharge of his unpleasant +constabulary functions in +the streets and purlieus of University +towns. In order to carry on my +investigations at the very fountainhead, +as it were, I had accepted a +long-standing invitation from my +old friend Colonel the Reverend +<span class="sc">Henry Bagnet</span>, who not only commanded +the Cambridge University +Volunteers, but was, in addition, one +of the most distinguished scholarly +ornaments of the great College of +St. Baldred's.</p> + +<p>On the evening to which my story +relates we had dined together in the +gorgeous mess-room which custom +and the liberality of the University +authorities have consecrated to the +use of the gallant corps whose motto +of "<i>Quis jaculatur scarabæum?</i>" has been borne triumphantly +in the van of many a review on the Downs of Brighton and +elsewhere. The countless delicacies appropriate to the season, +the brilliant array of grey uniforms, the heavy gold plate which +loaded the oak side-board, the choice vintages of France and +Germany, all these had combined with the clank of swords, the +jingle of spurs, the emphatic military words of command uttered by +light-hearted undergraduates, and the delightful semi-military, +semi-clerical anecdotes of that old war-dog, Colonel <span class="sc">Bagnet</span>, to +make up a memorable evening in the experience of a careworn +medical practitioner who had left the best part of his health and his +regulation overalls on the bloody battle-field of Tantia-Tee, in the +Afghan jungle.</p> + +<p>Colonel <span class="sc">Bagnet</span> had just ordered the head mess-waiter to produce +six more bottles of the famous "die-hard" port, laid down by his +predecessor in the command during the great town and gown riots of +1870. In these terrible civic disturbances the University Volunteers, +as most men of middle age will remember, specially distinguished +themselves by the capture and immediate execution of the +truculent Mayor of Cambridge, who was the prime mover in the +commotion. The wine was circulating freely, and conversation was +flowing with all the <i>verve</i> and <i>abandon</i> that mark the intercourse +of undergraduates with dons. Just as I was congratulating the +Colonel on the excellence of his port the door opened, and a man of +forbidding aspect, clothed in the heavy garments of a mathematical +moderator, entered the mess-room.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, Colonel," said the new arrival, bringing his +hand to his college cap with an awkward imitation of the military +salute. "I am sorry to disturb the harmony of the evening, but I +have the Vice-Chancellor's orders to inform you that the largest and +fiercest of our pack of bull-dogs has escaped from his kennel. I am +to request you to send a detachment after him immediately. He +was last heard barking on the Newmarket Road."</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 400px;"><a href="images/100-900.png"><img src="images/100-350.png" width="350" height="425" alt="'How now, Sirrah?' he replied; 'how dare you insinuate that----" /></a> +<p class="center">"How now, Sirrah?" he replied; "how dare you insinuate +that——"</p></div> + +<p>In a moment all was confusion. Colonel <span class="sc">Bagnet</span> brandished an +empty champagne bottle, and in a voice broken with emotion +ordered the regiment to form in half-sections, an intricate +manœuvre, which was fortunately carried out without bloodshed. +What might have happened next I know not. Everybody was +dangerously excited, and it needed but a spark to kindle an +explosion. Suddenly I heard a well-known voice behind me.</p> + +<p>"One moment, Colonel," said <span class="sc">Picklock Holes</span>, for it was none +other, though how he had obtained an entrance I have never discovered; +"you desire to find your lost canine assistant? I can +help you, but first tell me why a soldier of your age and experience +should insist on wearing a lamb's-wool undervest."</p> + +<p>The guests were speechless. Colonel <span class="sc">Bagnet</span> was blue with +suppressed rage.</p> + +<p>"How now, Sirrah?" he replied; "how dare you insinuate +that——"</p> + +<p>"Tush, Colonel <span class="sc">Bagnet</span>," said my +wonderful friend, pointing to the +furious warrior's mess-waistcoat; +"it is impossible to deceive me. That +stain of mint-sauce extending across +your chest can be explained only on +the hypothesis that you wear underclothing +manufactured from lamb. +That," he continued, smiling coldly +at me, "must be obvious to the +meanest capacity." For once in his +life the Colonel had no retort handy.</p> + +<p>"I am at your orders," he said, +shortly. "The man who can prove +that I wear lamb's-wool when I am +actually wearing silk is the man for +my money." In another moment +<span class="sc">Holes</span> had organised the pursuit.</p> + +<p>"It would be as well," he remarked, +"to have an accurate description +of the animal we are in +search of. He was——"</p> + +<p>Here the impatient Colonel interrupted. +"A brindled bull, very +deep in the chest, with two kinks in +his tail; has lost one of his front +teeth, and snores violently."</p> + +<p>"Quite right," said <span class="sc">Holes</span>; "the +description tallies."</p> + +<p>"But, <span class="sc">Holes</span>," I ventured to say, +"this is most extraordinary. You, +who have never been in Cambridge +before, know all the details of the +dog. It is wonderful."</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Holes</span> waved me off with as near +an approach to impatience as I have +ever seen him exhibit. Having +done this, he once more addressed the Colonel.</p> + +<p>"Your best plan," he said, "will be to scour the King's Parade. +You will not find him there. Next you must visit the Esquire +<span class="sc">Bedell</span>, and thoroughly search his palace from basement to attic. +The dog will not be there, but the search will give you several +valuable clues. You will then proceed to the University Library, +and in the fifth gallery, devoted to Chinese manuscripts, you will +find——"</p> + +<p>As <span class="sc">Holes</span> uttered these words the mathematical moderator again +entered. "Sir," he said to the Colonel, "it was all a mistake. The +dog is quite safe. He has never been out of his kennel."</p> + +<p>"That," said <span class="sc">Holes</span>, "is exactly what I was coming to. In the +fifth gallery, devoted to Chinese manuscripts, you will find no +readers. Hurrying on thence, and guiding your steps by the all-pervasive +odour of meat-fibrine biscuits, you will eventually arrive +at the kennel, and find the dog."</p> + +<p>"Zounds! Mr. <span class="sc">Holes</span>," said the admiring Colonel, in the midst +of the laugh that followed on <span class="sc">Holes's</span> last words, "you are an +astounding fellow." And that is why, at the last Cambridge Commencement, +the degree of LL.D. honoris causâ was conferred on +<span class="sc">Picklock Holes</span>, together with a Fellowship at St. Baldred's, +worth £800 a year. But my friend is modesty itself. "It is not," +he said, "the honorary degree that I value half so much as the +consciousness that I did my duty, and helped a Colonel in the hour +of his need." And with these simple words Dr. <span class="sc">Picklock Holes</span> +dismissed one of his finest achievements.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page101" id="page101"></a>[pg 101]</span> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>THE LAY OF THE "ANCIENT."</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 360px;"><a href="images/101a-600.png"><img src="images/101a-360.png" width="360" height="468" alt="As I sit in my chambers, old and bare,..." /></a></div> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>As I sit in my chambers, old and bare,</p> +<p class="i2">That look on the busy street,</p> +<p>And hear the roar of the town below,</p> +<p class="i2">And the tramp of hurrying feet,</p> +<p>I think, as I smoke my well-worn pipe,</p> +<p class="i2">Ensconced in my old arm-chair,</p> +<p>Of the days that have passed, like the sigh of the blast,</p> +<p class="i2">When the world was fresh and fair.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Of the joyous time when I joined the inn,</p> +<p class="i2">Nearly forty years ago,</p> +<p>When the fire of youth was in my veins,</p> +<p class="i2">Where the blood now runs so slow.</p> +<p>'Twas well in that far off happy time,</p> +<p class="i2">That I could not see before,</p> +<p>When we flirted and gambled, and sometimes worked,</p> +<p class="i2">In the student days of yore.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>When all was common to him in need,</p> +<p class="i2">And nothing we called our own.</p> +<p>Gone are those days, and can never return—</p> +<p class="i2">We reap the crop we have sown.</p> +<p>Each of us thought that we should succeed,</p> +<p class="i2">Though others of course might fail;</p> +<p>And we went with the tide in our youthful pride,</p> +<p class="i2">Like a ship without a sail.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Where are they now all these friends of our youth?</p> +<p class="i2">Scattered abroad o'er the earth.</p> +<p>Some few are famous and some are dead,</p> +<p class="i2">And the world knew not their worth.</p> +<p>Some, like myself, are still found in "Hall,"</p> +<p class="i2">Pitied by those we meet,</p> +<p>And who pray that their end it may never be</p> +<p class="i2">To sit in the ancients' seat.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>NO GOT!</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Reichemberg</span> and <span class="sc">Got</span> declare</p> +<p><i>La Maison de Molière</i></p> +<p>They'll resign and leave for ever.</p> +<p>Ah! <span class="sc">Suzanne</span>, the sparkling, clever,</p> +<p>Long the <i>Comédie's</i> pride and pet,</p> +<p>Don't desert your votaries—yet.</p> +<p>Try a quarter-century longer,</p> +<p>Years but make you brighter, stronger;</p> +<p>And <span class="sc">Got's</span> "go" we can't spare. No,</p> +<p>Chaos comes if <span class="sc">Got</span> should go!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">Pedestrian Poetry.</span>—"<i>The pleasures that +lie about our feet</i>"—Comfortable slippers +after a long walk.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2 class="sans">HAUNTED!</h2> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>The quarter where I linger,</p> +<p class="i2">My square, is Fashion's acme;</p> +<p>I'm conscious that the finger</p> +<p class="i2">Of scorn may well attack me;</p> +<p>At number six a Viscount</p> +<p class="i2">Resides, in proper season;</p> +<p>No wonder, then, that <i>I</i> count</p> +<p class="i2">As vulgar now, with reason.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>To stay in London, here too!—</p> +<p class="i2">This neighbourhood majestic!</p> +<p>Oh! what must it appear to</p> +<p class="i2">A nobleman's domestic?</p> +<p>I feel, I can't help stating,</p> +<p class="i2">Each morn I feel (it tries me),</p> +<p>His Lordship's lords-in-waiting</p> +<p class="i2">Both pity and despise me.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>His blinds are drawn sedately;</p> +<p class="i2">Mine blazon low disaster;</p> +<p>How desolate, how stately,</p> +<p class="i2">That mansion mourns its master!</p> +<p>His Lordship is at Como—</p> +<p class="i2">At least so folks are saying;</p> +<p>His Lordship's Major-Domo</p> +<p class="i2">Reproaches me for staying.</p> + </div> + <div class="figright" style="width: 340px;"><a href="images/101b-660.png"><img src="images/101b-340.png" width="340" height="471" alt="HAUNTED!" /></a></div> + <div class="stanza"> +<p>But, prowling, like a Polar</p> +<p class="i2">Bear, up and down the pavement</p> +<p>Last eve, and grinding molar</p> +<p class="i2">Teeth over forced enslavement,</p> +<p>A miracle I noted,</p> +<p class="i2">A "spook," deserving quires</p> +<p>Of commentaries quoted</p> +<p class="i2">By "psychic" Mr. <span class="sc">Myers</span>.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Upon his Lordship's hinges</p> +<p class="i2">Revolved his Lordship's portal,</p> +<p>Till thence, with stealthy twinges,</p> +<p class="i2">Emerged what seemed a mortal;</p> +<p>A lamp was nigh to show him,—</p> +<p class="i2">I'd not been quaffing toddy,—</p> +<p>I'm privileged to know him,—</p> +<p class="i2">It <i>was</i>—His Lordship's <i>Body</i>.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Now <i>if</i> his Major-Domo</p> +<p class="i2">Told truth—and who can doubt him?</p> +<p>His Lordship was at Como,</p> +<p class="i2">And number six without him.</p> +<p>His Lordship, I reflected,</p> +<p class="i2">Can earthly trammels o'erstep,</p> +<p>And, "astrally projected"</p> +<p class="i2">From Como, reach his doorstep.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>'Twas very odd—I know that;</p> +<p class="i2">But then the "spook"-deriding</p> +<p>Must undertake to show that</p> +<p class="i2">His Lordship was in hiding;</p> +<p>That London still detained him—</p> +<p class="i2">Him one of Britain's leaders!</p> +<p>And frank avowal pained him.—</p> +<p class="i2">Well, you must judge, my readers.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>HER SAILOR HAT.</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"><a href="images/101c-650.png"><img src="images/101c-300.png" width="300" height="469" alt="HER SAILOR HAT." /></a></div> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Oh, <span class="sc">Amaryllis</span>, in the shade</p> +<p class="i2">Of Rotten Row, with ribbons, feather,</p> +<p>And wide-spread brim your hat is made!</p> +<p class="i2">Down by the sea, in windy weather,</p> +<p class="i8">A sailor hat,</p> +<p class="i8">So small and flat,</p> +<p class="i2">Is far more natty altogether.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Down by, or on, the waves where swim</p> +<p class="i2">The tribes which poets christen "finny,"</p> +<p>This hat might not, with narrow brim,</p> +<p class="i2">Become a spinster sear and skinny—</p> +<p class="i8">Some say "old cat"—</p> +<p class="i8">Nor one too fat,</p> +<p class="i2">Nor little brat, small piccaninny.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>But, with it fixed upon your hair,</p> +<p class="i2">When breezes blow your flapping dresses,</p> +<p>You look, if possible, more fair;</p> +<p class="i2">There's one beholder who confesses</p> +<p class="i8">He dotes on that</p> +<p class="i8">Sweet sailor hat,</p> +<p class="i2">When gazing at those sweeter tresses.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>BALFOUR'S BOON.</h3> + +<h3>(<i>By an admiring M.P.</i>)</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>After hours of dullard, rasper, ranter,</p> +<p>Sweet an interlude of <span class="sc">Balfour's</span> banter!</p> +<p><span class="sc">Joseph's</span> venom, <span class="sc">Harcourt's</span> heavy clowning,</p> +<p>Tired us, in a sea of dulness drowning;</p> +<p>When, hillo! here is <span class="sc">Prince Arthur</span> chaffing</p> +<p>Mr. G. and all the House is laughing!</p> +<p>Never were such light artistic raillery,</p> +<p>Nothing spiteful, naught played to the gallery;</p> +<p>Finished fun, <i>ad unguem</i>, poignant, polished.</p> +<p>Fled fatigue, and dulness was demolished.</p> +<p>Even the great victim chortled merrily,</p> +<p>That short speech should be "selected," verily,</p> +<p>For the next edition of the <i>Speaker</i>.</p> +<p>No coarse slogger, and no crude nose-tweaker</p> +<p>Is <span class="sc">Prince Arthur</span>. <span class="sc">Gladstone</span> first is reckoned</p> +<p>At gay chaff, but <span class="sc">Balfour's</span> a good second.</p> + </div> </div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page102" id="page102"></a>[pg 102]</span> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/102-1500.png"><img src="images/102-600.png" width="600" height="381" alt="THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE EXPRESSED DIFFERENTLY." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE EXPRESSED DIFFERENTLY.</h3> + +<p><i>Miss Bessy.</i> "<span class="sc">Won't <i>you</i> sing something, Captain Belsize?</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Captain Belsize.</i> "<span class="sc">Oh! I no longer sing now. <i>Do</i> I, Miss +Caroline?</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Miss Caroline.</i> <span class="sc">"I'm afraid you <i>do</i>, Captain Belsize!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>TRYING HER STRENGTH.</h2> + +<p class="center"> +["The one certain result of the elections will be +to give increased stability to the Republic."—<i>Daily +Chronicle.</i>] +</p> + +<h3><i>Madame La République loquitur</i>:—</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Ouf! What a pull! Who said my muscularity</p> +<p class="i2">Was dwindling? It is truly Amazonian!</p> +<p><i>Ma foi! Phraseurs</i> are not all blessed with clarity,</p> +<p class="i2">Even when their eloquence <i>is</i> Ciceronian.</p> +<p>How now, <span class="sc">Millevoye</span>? How now, mad <span class="sc">Déroulède</span>?</p> +<p>And what of the grim prophecies you made?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Both out of it—as prophets and as Strong-Men!</p> +<p class="i2">Discredited, disqualified, defeated!</p> +<p>The <i>Ralliés</i> too! Results prove them the wrong men.</p> +<p class="i2">How the <i>Gazette de France</i> has blared and bleated!</p> +<p>What lots of foes have I left in the lurch!—</p> +<p>Thanks largely to "the attitude of the Church"!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>"<i>Cléricalisme, voilà l'ennemi?</i>" <i>Non!</i></p> +<p class="i2">That phrase, oft-quoted, comes not now so readily.</p> +<p>Perennially beautiful as <span class="sc">Ninon</span>,</p> +<p class="i2">I've proved my claim to power of pulling steadily;</p> +<p>Just like my rowing lads upon the Seine,</p> +<p>Who've shown big <span class="sc">Bull</span> that strength <i>can</i> go with brain.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>From Revolution round to firm Stability!!</p> +<p class="i2">Upon my word, I think that pull is splendid.</p> +<p><i>Les dames</i>, long pooh-poohed, now display ability</p> +<p class="i2">To do—most things as well as ever men did.</p> +<p>Because I'm <i>gai</i> and witty, fools—of course—</p> +<p>Fancied me destitute of sinewy force.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Ah, <span class="sc">Delahaye</span>, <span class="sc">Drumont</span>, and <span class="sc">Andrieux</span>, verily</p> +<p class="i2">You've found the game was hardly worth the—scandal!</p> +<p>My firebrand foes played up that game right merrily;</p> +<p class="i2">Against me <i>anything</i> would serve as handle;</p> +<p>Yet, after <span class="sc">Wilson</span>, Panama, (<i>and</i> Siam),</p> +<p>They find that if there is an athlete, <i>I</i> am.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Babblers of "British Gold," canard-concocters,</p> +<p class="i2">Reactionaries, <i>Ralliés</i>, Rowdies, Royalists—</p> +<p>All who would act as my exclusive doctors—</p> +<p class="i2">You find the Voters are the real loyalists,</p> +<p>And, spite of partial failures in the past,</p> +<p>I've pulled this State Machine right round—at last!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>BRUTUS OF BRUMMAGEM.</h3> +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>On a "False Foe" my venom I may spend,</p> +<p>But what of my "Right Honourable Friend"?</p> +<p>Ask "the ironic fiend." He'll give an answer,</p> +<p>Neatly combining Scorpio with Cancer,</p> +<p>As "Right" I'll prove him ever in the wrong;</p> +<p>As "Honourable," trickiest of the throng;</p> +<p>While as "my friend," well there, I would not swagger,</p> +<p>But <span class="sc">Cæsar</span> sharpest found the "friendly" dagger!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>WORDS! WORDS! WORDS!</h2> + +<h3>(<i>By an Unpaired M.P., who has "Sat it Out."</i>)</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>M.P.'s gagged? Why, tongues have wagged</p> +<p class="i4">Seventy days, or eighty.</p> +<p>Little said on any head</p> +<p class="i4">Has been wise or weighty.</p> +<p>Gag's all hum! How shall we sum</p> +<p class="i4">Seven long weeks' oration?—</p> +<p><i>Polyphrasticontinomemegalondulation!</i></p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Bartley</span>, <span class="sc">Bowles</span>—loquacious souls!—</p> +<p class="i4"><span class="sc">Hanbury</span> and <span class="sc">Russell</span>,</p> +<p>Have kept going, seldom "slowing"</p> +<p class="i4">In the talky tussle.</p> +<p><span class="sc">Saunderson</span> went sparring on,</p> +<p class="i4"><span class="sc">Joe</span> pursued jobation.—</p> +<p><i>Polyphrasticontinomemegalondulation!</i></p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Righteous causes, wicked clauses,</p> +<p class="i4">All meant bleats and blethers.</p> +<p>Beaming <span class="sc">Bolton</span> had to moult on,</p> +<p class="i4">Gone his old Rad feathers.</p> +<p>"Yaller Jaunders" seized on <span class="sc">Saunders</span>.</p> +<p class="i4">All drew "explanation!"—</p> +<p><i>Polyphrasticontinomemegalondulation!</i></p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Grim <span class="sc">MacGregor</span>—dogged beggar!—</p> +<p class="i4">Had "ideas"—and told them;</p> +<p>So had bores in tens and scores,</p> +<p class="i4">Why should <i>they</i> withhold them?</p> +<p>What result from all this cult</p> +<p class="i4">Of roundaboutation?—</p> +<p><i>Polyphrasticontinomemegalondulation!</i></p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>With composure I the Closure</p> +<p class="i4">Welcome—our sole saviour</p> +<p>From the gabble of the rabble,</p> +<p class="i4">And their bad behaviour.</p> +<p>The Front Benches? Well, one blenches</p> +<p class="i4">E'en from their "oration"—</p> +<p><i>Polyphrasticontinomemegalondulation!</i></p> + </div> </div> + + <hr class="medium" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page103" id="page103"></a>[pg 103]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a href="images/103-1000.png"><img src="images/103-370.png" width="370" height="471" alt="TRYING HER STRENGTH." /></a> +<h1>TRYING HER STRENGTH.</h1> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">Madame La République.</span> "AHA!—I HAVE PULLED 'IM NOW—AT LAST!!"</p></div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page104" id="page104"></a>[pg 104]</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page105" id="page105"></a>[pg 105]</span> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/105-1500.png"><img src="images/105-600.png" width="600" height="422" alt="THE LOWER CREATION—SEEKING FOR A JOB." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">THE LOWER CREATION—SEEKING FOR A JOB.</h3></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>MEETING OF THE ANTI-BIOGRAPHERS.</h2> + +<h3>(<i>From Notes supplied by Superhuman Reporters.</i>)</h3> + +<p>A meeting was recently held in the early dawn to consider +"Biographies in General, and the lives of British Celebrities in +Particular." The site chosen for the gathering was so indefinite, +that it is impossible to give it accurate geographical expression. +There was a large number of shades present, and Dr. <span class="sc">Samuel +Johnson</span> was unanimously voted to the chair.</p> + +<p>The President, in thanking those who had done him the favour +of thus honouring him, observed that, although he appreciated the +compliment that had been bestowed upon him, he could not express +any particular esteem for the intelligence of those who had been +the cause of his occupying his present position. (<i>Laughter.</i>) He +did not understand the reason which had prompted merriment as +a fitting recognition of his remarks. If they were satisfied, he was +content. He had been called to take the chair, he supposed, because +he had nothing to do with his own biography. That had been +written by a Scottish gentleman, with whom he had no sympathy.</p> + +<p>Mr. <span class="sc">Boswell</span>: I hope, Sir, you do not mean what you say.</p> + +<p>The President (with great severity): Yes, Sir, I do. I think +that the man who would write the life of another without his +sanction is unworthy—— (<i>Cries of "Agreed."</i>) The learned +Doctor continued. He did not wish to force his sentiments upon +any one. No doubt his opinions were considered behind the time. +Everything had changed nowadays, and even his Dictionary was, +more or less, superseded by an American Lexicon. He called upon +the Emperor <span class="sc">Napoleon Buonaparte</span> to move the first resolution.</p> + +<p>The Emperor <span class="sc">Napoleon Buonaparte</span> expressed his satisfaction that +he should have been allowed to take the lead in this matter. It reminded +him of old times, when he took the lead in everything. +("<i>Hear, hear.</i>") He represented, he supposed, "Biographies in +General,"—as he had not much sympathy with British worthies. He +wished bygones to be bygones (<i>"Hear, hear"</i>), but he must say that +the conduct of Sir <span class="sc">Hudson Lowe</span> was—— (<i>Interruption.</i>) Well, he +did not wish to press the matter further. ("<i>Hear, hear.</i>") There +was no doubt that unless a man wrote his autobiography he was always +misrepresented. (<i>Cheers.</i>) It was high time that some control should +be put upon the publication of the lives of those who had joined the +majority. He had much pleasure in proposing the following resolution: +"It is the opinion of this meeting of Shades assembled in +council in Elysium that steps should be taken to prevent the dissemination +of false information about their prior existences."</p> + +<p>Sir <span class="sc">Walter Scott</span> said that it gave him great pleasure to second +a resolution moved with such admirable discretion by his imperial +and heroic friend the last speaker. He had the greater satisfaction +in doing this as it might lead to a new and amended edition of his +own "<i>Life of Napoleon</i>."</p> + +<p>A Shade, who refused to give either his name or address, begged +to oppose the motion. In his opinion modern biographies were a +great deal better than work of the same kind of an earlier date. +("<i>No, no.</i>") But he said "Yes, yes." It was now quite the +fashion to whitewash everyone. He would testify that he recently +read a biography of himself without recognising the subject. Since +then his self esteem had increased a hundred fold. (<i>Laughter.</i>) He +thought it would be a great mistake to interfere. They had much +better leave things as they were.</p> + +<p>Mr. <span class="sc">William Shakspeare</span> (who was received with applause) +asked permission to offer a practical suggestion. Although he was a +poet, he was also a man of business. (<i>Laughter.</i>) He spoke +smarting under a personal grievance. It was common knowledge +that only a short while ago the bulk of his works was declared to +have been written by Bacon. (Cries of "<i>Shame.</i>") However, it +was no use to pass resolutions unless they could carry them into +effect. He would therefore move an amendment to the resolution +already before them, to the following effect: "That to carry out +any arrangement that may be considered necessary, those present +pledge themselves to subscribe a crown a piece." He proposed +this under the impression that, granted the requisite funds, it would +be possible to communicate with the mundane authorities.</p> + +<p>Sir <span class="sc">Isaac Newton</span> had much pleasure in seconding the amendment. +He might add, that it was quite within the resources of +science to do all that was required. He would explain in detail +how it could be done.</p> + +<p>The learned gentleman then began a lecture, with the effect that +the meeting rapidly dissolved. After he had been speaking for an +hour and a quarter, he discovered that he had no auditors.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page106" id="page106"></a>[pg 106]</span> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;"><a href="images/106-1500.png"><img src="images/106-600.png" width="600" height="406" alt="THE BABES IN THE WOOD." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">THE BABES IN THE WOOD.</h3> + +<p><i>Ernest.</i> "<span class="sc">I see you are getting on, Foreman.</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Foreman.</i> "<span class="sc">Yes, Sir; we shall have the Walls plastered +to-morrow.</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Agatha.</i> "<span class="sc">Oh, Ernest, don't let's have Plaster! You never see it now; +everybody has Wall-papers, and you can +get lovely ones quite Cheap!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>"BALLADE JOYEUSE."</h2> + +<h4>(<i>Not by Théodore de Banville.</i>)</h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Though you're pent up in town</p> +<p class="i2">While you pant for the breeze</p> +<p>Upon moorland and down,</p> +<p class="i2">For the whispers of trees,</p> +<p class="i2">And the hum of the bees</p> +<p>Winging home to the hive,</p> +<p class="i2">Drain your cup to the lees—</p> +<p>Aren't you glad you're alive?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Though you miss the renown</p> +<p class="i2">Yonder dolt wins with ease,</p> +<p>And you're mocked by the clown</p> +<p class="i2">You've a fancy to squeeze.</p> +<p class="i2">Though your blood boil and freeze</p> +<p>When folk say he will wive</p> +<p class="i2">With the maid you would please—</p> +<p>Aren't you glad you're alive?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Though with pout, or with frown,</p> +<p class="i2">Or in shrillest of keys,</p> +<p>Madam seek a new gown,</p> +<p class="i2">And no less will appease,</p> +<p class="i2">While your creditors tease,</p> +<p>Or by dozens arrive,</p> +<p class="i2">And behave like Pawnees—</p> +<p>Aren't you glad you're alive?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Though your argosies drown</p> +<p class="i2">In the deepest of seas,</p> +<p>And you lose your last crown,</p> +<p class="i2">Not to say bread and cheese;</p> +<p class="i2">Though you cough and you wheeze</p> +<p>Till you barely survive,</p> +<p class="i2">At existence don't sneeze—</p> +<p>Aren't you glad you're alive?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i8"><i>Envoi.</i></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>O my friends, paying fees,</p> +<p class="i2">The physicians still thrive,</p> +<p>For your motto is "spes"—</p> +<p class="i2">Aren't you glad you're alive?</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>TEA AND TWADDLE.</h3> + +<p class="ind2"> +["A somewhat mawkish sentimentalism, of +which Germany is still the fountain-head in Art, +and perhaps also in Letters."—<i>Illustrated London +News, in obituary notice of Professor Carl Müller +of the Düsseldorf School.</i>] +</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>A fountain-head—of weak and tepid tea,</p> +<p>Æsthetic catlap, "bleat"—infused Bohea!</p> +<p>A strange Pierian Spring for the stark Teuton!</p> +<p>God Phœbus cannot play the German flute on.</p> +<p><span class="sc">Mars-Bismarck</span>, <span class="sc">Titan-Wagner</span>, stalwarts these,</p> +<p>Who would not twaddle at "Æsthetic Teas;"</p> +<p><span class="sc">Heracles-Virchow</span> is a valorous slayer,</p> +<p>And <span class="sc">Jovian Goethe</span> proves a splendid stayer;</p> +<p>But the mild, mawkish, modern German muse</p> +<p>Olympian nectar will for "slops" refuse.</p> +<p>Submerged in sentimentalism utter,</p> +<p>Asked for Art-bread she proffers—Bread-and-butter!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">"Heavy Marching Order" (in August).</span>—"Shirt-sleeves +and Sherbet."</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2 class="sans">ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.</h2> + +<h4>EXTRACTED FROM</h4> + +<h3>THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.</h3> + +<p><i>House of Commons, Monday, August 21.</i>—Some +excellent speaking to-night. <span class="sc">Squire +Of Malwood</span> in fine form. Opportunity made +to his hand. With <span class="sc">Joseph</span>, friend and ally of +Conservative Ministry that had invented and +applied Guillotine Closure, indignantly protesting +against the "gag," there was room +for obvious remark. Then there was J. C.'s +article in monthly magazine of so recent date +as 1890, in which, in his forcible manner, he +had, with circumstance, demanded application +of gag not only to successive stages in +important measures, but to Supply.</p> + +<p>"Oh that mine enemy would write an +article in the <i>Nineteenth Century</i>!" exclaimed +<span class="sc">George Curzon</span>. "Anyone could make a +speech with such opportunity as the <span class="sc">Squire</span> +has."</p> + +<p>"Exactly," said the Member for <span class="sc">Sark</span>; +"but perhaps they mightn't do it so +well."</p> + +<p>Another good speech from unexpected +quarter was <span class="sc">Whitbread's</span>. <span class="sc">Whitbread</span> is +the Serious Person of the Liberal Party. +Whenever Mr. G. gets into difficulties on +constitutional questions or points of Parliamentary +practice, <span class="sc">Whitbread</span> solemnly +marches to front, and says nothing particular +with imposing air that carries conviction. +To-day came out quite in new style; almost +epigrammatic, certainly pointed. Quite a +model of Parliamentary speech of the old +stately, yet flexible style now little known.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page107" id="page107"></a>[pg 107]</span> +<hr class="full" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/107-1200.png"><img src="images/107-350.png" width="350" height="480" alt="THE TOURIST SEASON. HOTEL BRIGANDAGE." /></a> +<h2 class="sans">THE TOURIST SEASON. HOTEL BRIGANDAGE.</h2></div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page108" id="page108"></a>[pg 108]</span> +<hr class="full" /> +<div class="figleft" style="width: 250px;"><a href="images/108a-500.png"><img src="images/108a-250.png" width="250" height="447" alt="Prince Arthur the Jester" /></a> +<p class="center">Prince Arthur the Jester</p></div> + +<p>Best of all, <span class="sc">Prince Arthur</span>. Never heard him to greater advantage. +As a former Leader once said, the House of Commons, above +all things, likes to be shown sport. <span class="sc">Prince Arthur</span> showed the +way to-night, crowded House merrily following. It was ticklish +ground, for he was chaffing Mr. G. Not a good subject upon which +to expend wit or satire. The <span class="sc">Prince</span> did it so daintily, with such +light, graceful touch, such +shining absence of acerbity, +such brimming over with +contagious good humour, +that the cloud vanished +from the brow of Jove. +Beginning to listen with a +frown, Mr. G. presently +beamed into a laugh. As +for his colleagues on either +hand, their merriment was +as unrestrained as it was on +remoter benches. Only +<span class="sc">Mundella</span> managed to keep +a Ministerial countenance. +The play was good, but the +theme too sacred to be +lightly handled. To him, +seated on the left, Mr. G. +gratefully turned in earlier +stages of the speech and +whispered his scathing comment. +<span class="sc">Mundella</span> behaved +nobly. The <span class="sc">Solicitor-General</span>, +who had his share +in the genial roasting, might +roar with Homeric laughter. +<span class="sc">Mundella</span> gravely shook +his head in response to Mr. +G.'s whispered remarks. +Fancy, however, he was +grateful when Mr. G. began +to laugh and the President +of the Board of Trade was +free to smile. Speech as useful as it was delightful. Showed to +whom it may concern that venerable age may be criticised without +discourtesy, and high position attacked without insolence.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Settled that Report Stage of Home-Rule Bill shall +close on Friday.</p> + +<p><i>Wednesday.</i>—"Mr. <span class="sc">Speaker</span>, Sir. One or two ideas occur to +me." It was the voice of <span class="sc">MacGregor</span> uplifted from back bench, +where a retiring disposition (he retired from medical practice some +years ago) leads him to take his seat. Moment critical; debate long +proceeding on Amendment moved by <span class="sc">Napoleon Boltonparty</span>, +which had called down on Imperial head a fearsome whack from +hand of Mr. G.; House growing impatient for Division; <span class="sc">Speaker</span> +risen to put question, when <span class="sc">The MacGregor</span> interposed. Evidently +in for long clinical lecture. Hand partly extended, palm downwards; +eyes half closed; head thrown back, and the voice +impressively intoned.</p> + +<p>"Mr. <span class="sc">Speaker</span>, Sir, a few ideas have occurred to me."</p> + +<p><span class="sc">The MacGregor</span> got no further; a shout of hilarious laughter +broke in upon his reverie. Opened his eyes, and looked hastily +round. He, <span class="sc">Donald MacGregor</span>, First Prizeman in Chemistry +and Surgery; Second Prizeman in Physiology and Midwifery; +Licentiate of both the Royal Colleges of Physicians and of Surgeons, +Edinburgh; practised at Penrith, Cumberland, and in London; +formerly Medical Officer and Public Vaccinator for Penrith and +district; Resident Physician at the Peebles Hydropathic Institute; +Medical Superintendent of the Barnhill Hospital and Asylum, +Glasgow—yes, all this, and House of Commons was laughing +at him!</p> + +<p>"What—what," he gasped, making motion as if he would feel +the <span class="sc">Speaker's</span> pulse. "I don't understand. I very rarely speak; +have said nothing before on this Bill. Now, when something +occurs to me hon. members laugh."</p> + +<p>House touched by this appeal; generously cheered. Doctor, +resuming his oratorical attitude, proceeded.</p> + +<p>"I think," he remarked, with hand again outstretched, eyes half +closed, and head thrown back as before, "it was <span class="sc">Sydney Smith</span> +who said, When doctors differ who shall decide."</p> + +<p>The Doctor was awakened out of his oratorical trance by another +shout of laughter. What on earth was the matter now? Perhaps +if he kept his eyes open he would see better where the joke came in. +Took the precaution, but had not proceeded more than two minutes +before <span class="sc">Speaker</span> down on him; after which he thought it best to +resume his seat.</p> + +<p>"I give it up, <span class="sc">Toby</span>," he said; "as <span class="sc">Asquith</span> yesterday gave up +that conundrum I put to him as to why, if repeated breaches of +the vaccination law justify the remission of penalties, the same +practice should not apply in case of breaches of the land laws. The +House of Commons for pleasure, I suppose; but for "ordinary" sanity +give me Peebles and its Hydropathic Institute."</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Report Stage of Home-Rule Bill.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 440px;"><a href="images/108b-800.png"><img src="images/108b-440.png" width="440" height="464" alt="'All's well that ends well.'" /></a> +<p class="center">"All's well that ends well."</p></div> + +<p><i>Thursday.</i>—"Been up to see Fulham," said Member for <span class="sc">Sark</span>, +hurrying in just in time to miss Division. "The place fascinates +me. No lions there, and no necessity for getting up a lamp-post; so +would not interest <span class="sc">Grandolph</span>. But <span class="sc">Hayes Fisher</span> is Member for +Fulham, and he, you know, is the man who discovered, after (as he +said) he had taken <span class="sc">Logan</span> by the scruff of the neck and 'so begun +the scrimmage,' that Mr. G. was more criminally responsible for +what followed 'even than <span class="sc">Logan</span>.' That is delightful. Fulham not +to be outdone by its Member. Last night indignation meeting +held in Town Hall to protest against conduct of <span class="sc">Hayes Fisher</span> +and 'proceedings in House of Commons on Thursday, July 27.' Hall +crowded; indignation seething; gentlemen of Fulham could hardly +contain themselves in contemplation of iniquity of a man who, +differing from another on matter of opinion, took him by the coat-collar +and shook him. Meeting summoned at instance of Fulham +Liberal and Radical Association. Seemed at first that all in room +were good Radicals. As evening advanced, presence of one or two +gentlemen of another way of thinking manifested. One called out. +'Three cheers for Fisher!' and what, my <span class="sc">Toby</span>, did these men of +Fulham do—these gentlemen met in solemn conclave with avowed +object of denouncing physical outrage and clearing fair name of +Fulham from slur brought upon it by athletic proceedings of <span class="sc">Hayes +Fisher</span>? Why, they up and at the Fisherites, with the result, +as I read in the papers, 'that a struggle ensued, one man being +seized and violently hustled from the Hall.' After this the meeting +settled down, and unanimously passed a resolution expressing its +condemnation of 'the disorderly and disgraceful scene in the House +of Commons on Thursday, July 27.' Don't know how it strikes +you. But to me that is most delightful incident in the day's news. +Felt constrained to make pilgrimage to Fulham, to see a place where +Member and Constituency are so rarely matched. Don't suppose +I've missed much here?"</p> + +<p>No, nothing; just filling up time; waiting for to-morrow night, +and Closure to come.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—None.</p> + +<p><i>Friday midnight.</i>—Report Stage Home-Rule Bill just agreed to; +a dull evening till the last quarter of an hour, when <span class="sc">Tim Healy</span> +took the floor and thoroughly enjoyed himself. Everyone concerned, +more especially those concerned in prolonging debate, glad it's over. +<span class="sc">Donald Crawford</span> so excited at prospect of approaching holidays +that on first Division he got into wrong Lobby; voted against one of +<span class="sc">John Morley's</span> new Clauses, reducing Ministerial majority to 36. +On two subsequent Divisions was carefully watched into right +Lobby, and majority maintained at 38.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Report Stage Home-Rule Bill passed.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">Great Fall in Government Securities.</span>—The dropping of the +Guillotine.</p> + +<hr class="full" /> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. +105, September 2nd, 1893, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON *** + +***** This file should be named 37553-h.htm or 37553-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/5/5/37553/ + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Lesley Halamek, 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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