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diff --git a/37639-h/37639-h.htm b/37639-h/37639-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..72c3520 --- /dev/null +++ b/37639-h/37639-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1801 @@ +<!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>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Punch, January 20, 1872.</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +<!-- +body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} +p {text-align: justify;} +p.author {margin-top: -1em; margin-right: 5%; text-align: right;} +p.center {text-align: center;} +p.indent {text-indent: 1.5em;} +blockquote {text-align: justify;} +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} +pre {font-size: 0.7em;} +hr {text-align: center; width: 50%;} +html>body hr {margin-right: 25%; margin-left: 25%; width: 50%;} +hr.full {width: 100%;} +html>body hr.full {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;} +hr.short {text-align: center; width: 20%;} +html>body hr.short {margin-right: 40%; margin-left: 40%; width: 20%;} +.note {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} +span.pagenum {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt;} +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: normal;} +.poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 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;} +.figure {padding-right: 1em; padding-left: 1em; font-size: 0.8em; padding-bottom: 1em; +margin: 0px; padding-top: 1em; text-align: center;} +.figcenter {padding-right: 1em; padding-left: 1em; font-size: 0.8em; padding-bottom: 1em; +margin: 0px; padding-top: 1em; text-align: center;} +.figright {padding-right: 1em; padding-left: 1em; font-size: 0.8em; padding-bottom: 1em; +margin: 0px; padding-top: 1em; text-align: center;} +.figleft {padding-right: 1em; padding-left: 1em; font-size: 0.8em; padding-bottom: 1em; +margin: 0px; padding-top: 1em; text-align: center;} +.figure img {border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-left-style: none; +border-bottom-style: none;} +.figcenter img {border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-left-style: none; +border-bottom-style: none;} +.figright img {border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-left-style: none; +border-bottom-style: none;} +.figleft img {border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-left-style: none; +border-bottom-style: none;} +.figure p {margin: 0px; text-indent: 1em;} .figcenter p {margin: 0px; text-indent: 1em;} .figright p {margin: 0px; text-indent: 1em;} .figleft p {margin: 0px; text-indent: 1em;} .figure p.in {margin: 0px; text-indent: 8em;} .figcenter p.in {margin: 0px; text-indent: 8em;} .figright p.in {margin: 0px; text-indent: 8em;} .figleft p.in {margin: 0px; text-indent: 8em;} .figcenter {margin: auto;} +.figright {float: right;} +.figleft {float: left;} +--> + +div.tnote { + border-style: dotted; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + padding: 1%; + font-style: normal; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: justify; +} +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or The London Charivari, Vol. 62, +January 20, 1872, 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. 62, January 20, 1872 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: October 5, 2011 [EBook #37639] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, CHARIVARI, JAN 20, 1872 *** + + + + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Ernest Schaal, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>PUNCH,<br /> +OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> + +<h2>Vol. 62.</h2> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<h2>January 20, 1872.</h2> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page023" id="page023"></a>[pg 023]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:50%;"> +<a href="images/023.png"><img width="100%" src="images/023.png" alt="" /></a><h2>COMPLIMENTS OF THE SEASON.</h2> + +<p><i>Fond Parent.</i> "<span class="smcap">I hope you will be very Careful, Mr. Stimpson. I have +always been accustomed to Cut their Hair myself.</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Stimpson.</i> "<span class="smcap">So I should have Thought, Madam!</span>"</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>CASE OF REAL DISTRESS.</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> do not covet the post of Prime Minister, nor yet that of Lord Chancellor, +especially if, when Parliament re-assembles, a recent judicial appointment +should be sharply discussed. We can think of the choice of a new Speaker +without discontent with our own lowly lot, and at the present time envy of +the Lord Chief Justice of the Common Pleas is not the predominant feeling in +our breasts. But of all places, posts, offices, appointments, and dignities +within the reach of an Englishman, the one which excites in us the least desire +is that of "Examiner of Plays."</p> + +<p>Who, with a heart, can resist feelings of the deepest commiseration, the +most profound pity for the sufferings of another, when he hears that in twelve +short years it has been the unhappy lot of the present Examiner to read one +thousand eight hundred dramatic pieces—one thousand eight hundred tragedies, +comedies, melodramas, farces, pantomimes, burlesques, and extravaganzas? +There are labours which no salary can remunerate, services which no fees can +requite.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>A DISTINGUISHED "FRIEND."</h2> + +<blockquote> +"In consideration of a costly present which <span class="smcap">Mr. Joseph Pease</span>, of South-end, Darlington, +has made to the Spanish nation, the young King of that country has conferred +upon him the Grand Cross of a Spanish order, and <span class="smcap">Mr. Pease</span>, who is a Quaker, has +agreed to accept the distinction."—<i>Echo.</i> +</blockquote> + +<p>A <span class="smcap">Quaker</span> a Grand Cross! We should as soon have expected to be introduced +to a Quaker Field Marshal. Henceforth the sensation of surprise must be +numbered amongst the lost feelings. Nothing now can move us more. Not +the sun rising in the west, not the spectacle of an Irish Roman Catholic Bishop +teaching in a Protestant Sunday school, not a Teetotal Lord Mayor, not the +appointment of <span class="smcap">Mr. Tomline</span> as Master of the Mint, or <span class="smcap">Sir Charles Dilke</span> +as Lord-Lieutenant of Middlesex, not the total abolition of the Income Tax, not +the conversion of <span class="smcap">Mr. Whalley</span> and <span class="smcap">Mr. Newdegate</span> to Popery, not the +purification of the streets,—no, not even the bestowal of the Grand Cross of +our own Order of the Bath on some Englishman eminent in Art, Literature, or +Science!</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>HOME-RULE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Has Repeal, that in 'Forty was folly,</p> +<p class="i2">Grown sense in Eighteen-seventy-two?</p> +<p>Will the walls that defied Big <span class="smcap">Dan's</span> volley,</p> +<p class="i2">Be by <span class="smcap">Butt's</span> brass two-pounder split through?</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Has <span class="smcap">Paddy</span>, that still has craved ruling</p> +<p class="i2">And rulers, in wrong as in right,</p> +<p>Of a sudden out-grown schools and schooling,</p> +<p class="i2">And shot to Self-Government's height?</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>And was it but bottomless boasting,</p> +<p class="i2">With a point from Hibernian wit,—</p> +<p>That there ne'er yet was Irishman roasting,</p> +<p class="i2">But an Irishman's hand turned the spit?</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Is it <span class="smcap">John</span> that across the Atlantic</p> +<p class="i2">Stamps <span class="smcap">Pat</span> Order's foe ever known;</p> +<p>And declares him a nuisance gigantic,</p> +<p class="i2">Till Yankee Home-Rule ousts his own?</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Must hist'ry, as writ all untruly,</p> +<p class="i2">Like Hebrew, be read in reverse,</p> +<p>That, since <span class="smcap">Strong-Bow</span>, shows Ireland unruly,</p> +<p class="i2">With lawlessness cursed as chief curse?</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>When the best of the race for home-ruling</p> +<p class="i2">Are those that Home-Rule most distrust;</p> +<p>As convinced that to trust Irish "tooling,"</p> +<p class="i2">Will bring Erin's car in the dust.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Home-Rule! 'Tis a compound sonorous,</p> +<p class="i2">Fine phrase on a green flag to fly;</p> +<p>But take stock of the stuff that's before us—</p> +<p class="i2">And who shall the Home-Rule supply?</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Is't your own Irish Lords, Irish Commons,</p> +<p class="i2">Who adorned College Green long ago?</p> +<p>But to London would rather hear summons,</p> +<p class="i2">Than in Dublin be tied by the toe:</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>For the Greenest of all, the best brother</p> +<p class="i2">Of <span class="smcap">Pat</span> in <span class="smcap">John Bull</span> can discern;</p> +<p>And to cool English air from the smother</p> +<p class="i2">Of your factions, is thankful to turn.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Is't the Lawyers, who look for preferment,</p> +<p class="i2">Praise, pence, and distinction, o'er sea;</p> +<p>And when they have ris'n by your ferment,</p> +<p class="i2">Will be glad your close corking to see?</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Is't your National Papers—press-razors,</p> +<p class="i2">Produced not to shave, but to sell—</p> +<p>Whose scribes might seem genuine blazers,</p> +<p class="i2">Did not conjurors spit fire as well?</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Is't your Priests, with the gag and the blinders,</p> +<p class="i2">Which Church would fain use to tame Law:</p> +<p>Their pincers, for law-reason's grinders,</p> +<p class="i2">Their scissors, for lay-reason's claw?</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Is't your Peasants, in feuds and in factions</p> +<p class="i2">Stark mad, for a nothing or name:</p> +<p>In their lodges, at murder's black pactions,</p> +<p class="i2">Or from a dyke-back taking aim?</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>In short, gauging all ranks and classes—</p> +<p class="i2">Those who are, or will be, by the ears—</p> +<p>The units, as well as the masses,</p> +<p class="i2">Lawyers, traders, priests, press, peasants, peers—</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>All ages, from seventy to twenty,</p> +<p class="i2">All shades, from deep knave to born fool—</p> +<p>I find means of "Home <span class="smcap">Mis</span>-rule" in plenty,</p> +<p class="i2">But where are the means of "Home <i>Rule</i>"?</p> +</div> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>A Coming Retirement.</h2> + +<p><i><span class="smcap">The</span> Speaker's Commentary</i> is already favourably +known. We anticipate a very favourable commentary +on the <span class="smcap">Speaker</span>, when Parliament re-assembles.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Donne's Satires.</span>"—Pantomimes without political +jokes.</p> + +<hr/> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page024" id="page024"></a>[pg 024]</span> + +<h2>OUR POCKET-BOOK AGAIN.</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:50%;"> +<a href="images/024.png"><img width="100%" src="images/024.png" alt="" /></a> +</div> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<a href="images/024-1.png"><img width="100%" src="images/024-1.png" alt="R" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">eally</span>, greatness has its multifold inconvenience. +<i>Falstaff</i> wished that +his name were not so terrible to the +enemy, as he should then be less urgently +called upon to go and fight. +<i>Mr. Punch</i> wishes that his works were not so universally attractive, +as he should not then have to answer so many questions about them. +He has actually had to receive a Deputation upon the subject of his +splendid and unparalleled Pocket-Book for 1872. It appears that +certain improvements which he introduced into the volume have +given the most enormous and outrageous satisfaction to the majority +of mankind, and that the demand for the book has been excessive—almost +inconvenient. But a minority of excellent persons, who hate +all kinds of changes, have complained that by taking out certain +blank pages, he has prevented the complainants from embalming +their own observations by the side of his preternatural wit and +humour. As aforesaid, a Deputation on the subject approached the +presence last Saturday. <i>Mr. Punch</i>, of course, listened with his +usual affability. The strong points of the applicants were, that they +had been accustomed for years to write their own biographies and +engagements in the sacred volume, and that the record of their lives +thus became nearly imperishable, as no one in his right senses would +ever destroy a <i>Punch's Pocket-Book</i>. They therefore humbly +begged him to restore the old form.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Punch</i> smiled, and gently said that of course he must be the +best judge of what his friend the Universe required at his hands, +and this proposition was conceded with respectful acclamation. He +might just suggest that his Pocket-Book, although a precious jewel, +was not a thing to be locked up in a cabinet, but one to be the +light and joy of a household for a year, but it might not be so +evident that personal entries, as "<i>Charles very cross"—"Sweet +letter from Arabella,</i>" "<i>Bless Smithson's mistletoe!</i>" "<i>I hate Aunt +Popkins</i>," "<i>Said I had not dined at Greenwich:" "Ridiculous +sermon by new curate</i>," and the like, were equally adapted for the +perusal of the said household. Such things might be confided to a +humbler receptacle. But the pleas being renewed, without reference +to the answer (we need hardly remark that most of his visitors +were of the sex "that can't argue, and pokes fires from the top," as +good <span class="smcap">Archbishop Whatley</span> said) <i>Mr. Punch</i> blandly promised +that the views of the deputation should receive the utmost consideration +at his hands. And when he had thus spoken he dismissed +the assembly—or rather conducted it to a sumptuous, yet +delicate lunch.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><b>Duties and Imposts.</b></h2> + +<p><i>Important Notice to Travellers.</i>—Any person arriving from the +Continent is permitted to clear his throat at the Custom House free +of all duty.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>EVENINGS FROM HOME.</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> next evening <span class="smcap">Tommy</span> was dressed in an unusual style of +elegance: every article of his attire was of the most exquisite cut; +every species of ornament that fashion permitted to decorate his +person was his; not a stud was omitted, nor was one drop, less than +necessary, of india-rubber-boot-polish forgotten that could tend to +render his toilet perfect. And, indeed, neither <span class="smcap">Mr. Barlow</span> nor +<span class="smcap">Harry</span> were far behind him in appearance on this memorable occasion, +which was nothing less than that of their first visit to the +<span class="smcap">Royal Grecian Theatre</span>, in the City Road.</p> + +<p>Here, from their stalls (which were remarkably inexpensive, +being, indeed, only one shilling and sixpence each) they surveyed +the wonderful sight which presented itself to them, of a house +densely packed from the floor to the ceiling.</p> + +<p>The Pantomime was the only piece played, and was entitled +<i>Zig-Zag, the Crooked</i>. When <span class="smcap">Mr. George Conquest</span>, who represented +<i>Zig-Zag</i> himself, first appeared, as if hewn out of the rock, +inanimate as the Sphinx, a thrill of astonishment ran through +the audience, which gradually showed itself in vehement applause +when <i>Zig-Zag's</i> fearful eyes began to move, as at the command of +the Young Prince, the monster became endued with life and descended +from the rock.</p> + +<p><i>Tommy.</i> I declare this is the most extraordinary thing I ever saw.</p> + +<p><i>Harry.</i> Indeed, you are right, and I could not have conceived +anyone being at once so hideous and so diverting.</p> + +<p>Presently there was a brilliant scene, in which there were some +admirable selections from the works of various composers, principally +French, executed in a manner so creditable to the performers, as to +call forth from <span class="smcap">Mr. Barlow</span> the remark that he had heard nothing +better of its kind in any Theatre this year. When <span class="smcap">Mr. Conquest</span> +and his Son leaped several times from the stage to the top scenes +("which" <span class="smcap">Mr. Barlow</span> informed his pupils "are termed flies"), +and tumbled through trap-doors, coming up again so quickly, and in +so great a variety of places all over the "boards," that the audience +was in a state of constant excitement as to what next might be going +to happen; and when finally <i>Zig-Zag</i> took such a header, as <span class="smcap">Harry</span> +had seen the big boys at school do, when they were going to dive for +chalk eggs, from the flies right through the stage, and was lost to +all eyes, then the enthusiastic admiration of <span class="smcap">Mr. Barlow</span> and his +young friends knew no bounds, and they evinced their pleasure, as +did the rest of the company, in such rounds of applause as brought +on <span class="smcap">Mr. Conquest</span> and his Son, without their wigs and false noses, +to bow their acknowledgments.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The following night they went to the <span class="smcap">Gaiety</span> to witness the performance +of <span class="smcap">Mr. Toole</span> in <i>Dearer than Life</i>, which <span class="smcap">Mr. Barlow</span> +had seen before, and in <i>Thespis</i>, the Christmas novelty at this +theatre.</p> + +<p><i>Tommy.</i> If you please, Sir, what sort of piece is this?</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Barlow.</i> Indeed, my dear <span class="smcap">Tommy</span>, I cannot exactly tell. +And it is nearly impossible for an ordinarily well-instructed person +to comprehend the precise meaning of any one subject on which +those who should know best are apparently disagreed, and who, in +consequence, signally fail in rendering their own meaning intelligible +in the public.</p> + +<p><i>Harry.</i> That is true, Sir, and I perceive that you have noticed +how, at various times, this same piece has been announced as a +"Musical Extravaganza," an "Operatic Burlesque," a "Grotesque +Drama, illustrated with music by <span class="smcap">Mr. Sullivan</span>," a "Comic Opera," +and lately an English Opera Bouffe. As perhaps next week it may +be styled a <i>Tragicomicopera</i>, or some other title, I would like, Sir, +to join <span class="smcap">Tommy</span> in his question as to what you suppose this piece really +to be?</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Barlow.</i> Why, then, for my part, I suppose it is intended for +a specimen of English <i>Opéra bouffe</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Harry.</i> And what, Sir, is <i>Opéra bouffe</i>?</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Barlow.</i> It is a French burlesque—a vehicle for extravagances +in costume, in acting, and in singing. It is in one, two, three, +or even five Acts, and differs from the English burlesque in that it is +written in prose, and depends mainly for its success upon the original +music written for it by some composer, instead of on selections from +various popular sources. In this piece, for example, the dialogue is +prosy—I mean in prose—and the music has been written to suit it. +I think we may, therefore, suppose this piece to be an English <i>Opéra +bouffe</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Tommy</i> (<i>during the First Act</i>). I do not understand what characters +these worthy people represent who are trying their best to +divert us.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Barlow</span>, who had been giving the play his closest attention, +seemed to be unable to enlighten his pupil, and requested him to +listen to what was going on, and occasionally refer to the programme, +by which means he would probably arrive at some definite conclusion.</p> + +<p><i>Harry.</i> Truly, Sir, this piece reminds me of what you told me +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page025" id="page025"></a>[pg 025]</span> +about <span class="smcap">Newton's</span> <i>Laws of Motion</i>, and I look forward to being very +happy and lively to-morrow morning.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Barlow.</i> I am glad to hear it, <span class="smcap">Harry</span>. But how do you +connect such a result with the <i>Laws of Motion</i>?</p> + +<p><i>Harry.</i> Because, Sir, you told me that "Forces acting and reacting +are always equal and contrary to each other." So, Sir, after +this night is over, we may fairly expect a most exhilarating reaction.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Tommy</span> was so much struck by this fresh instance of <span class="smcap">Harry's</span> +capacity for adapting his learning to whatever circumstances might +present themselves, that he determined to learn the science of mechanics +on the very first opportunity.</p> + +<p>The audience continued to listen to the piece with a serenity +which nothing could disturb, except the occasional appearance of +<span class="smcap">Mr. Toole</span>, who gave utterance to such quaint drolleries, of his own +introduction, as sent the people into short spasms of laughter, in +which <span class="smcap">Master Tommy</span> most heartily joined, while <span class="smcap">Mr. Barlow</span> +applauded as loudly as the rest of the company. But <span class="smcap">Harry</span>, whose +temper was not quite so pliable, could not conceal the weariness that +was gradually creeping over him. He gaped, he yawned, he stretched, +he even pinched himself in order to keep his attention alive, but all +in vain. He managed to rouse himself twice; once when <span class="smcap">Mr. Toole</span> +was singing an additional verse to his song (where, indeed, the +accompaniment, consisting-of railway noises, would not let him +sleep), and once when <span class="smcap">Mademoiselle Clary</span> was exercising her +skill in a rather pretty melody. But at length the narcotic influence +of the dialogue, conspiring with the opiate charms of the music, he +could resist no longer, but insensibly fell back upon his stall, fast +asleep. This was soon remarked by his neighbours, who straightway +conceived an unfavourable opinion of <span class="smcap">Harry's</span> breeding, while he, +in the meantime, enjoyed the most placid repose, undisturbed by +either the envious remarks of some among the audience, or by the +nudgings administered to his elbow by his friend <span class="smcap">Tommy</span>; and, +indeed, his slumber was not entirely dissipated until the performance +was finished.</p> + +<p><i>Harry</i> (<i>on their return to their Lodgings</i>). Your remarks, <span class="smcap">Tommy</span>, +to-night remind me of the story of <i>Polemo</i> and the <i>Continuous +Highlander</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Barlow</span> here made some excuse for retiring to his room; and +as <span class="smcap">Harry</span> was on the point of commencing the story, <span class="smcap">Tommy</span> asked +him to await his return, as he was only going to fetch his slippers, +in order to sit and listen more comfortably to his friend's narrative.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Harry</span> consented to wait for him, but, at the end of two hours, as +<span class="smcap">Tommy</span> did not return, he retired to his own room, and soon fell +asleep.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE FOURTH R IN MERTHYR.</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> an article which appeared the other day our orthodox contemporary, +the <i>Western Mail</i>, criticised certain late proceedings of +the Merthyr School Board relative to the Fourth R difficulty in +Education. Those proceedings, says that respectable journal, "were +saved from being utterly ludicrous only by the gravity of the subjects +which were under discussion." But for that consideration, +the <i>Western Mail</i> is of opinion that it would have been good fun +"to watch the efforts that were being made to realise that most +delusive of all theoretical ideas—unsectarian as opposed to secular +education." Perhaps most persons will think that those efforts +were, as far as they went, not altogether unsuccessful, seeing that, +after some discussion bearing on theology, the Board concluded, on +the motion of one of its principal Members—a lady interested in the +welfare of her species, <span class="smcap">Mrs. Crawshay</span> of Cyfartha—that the sole +form of devotion, public or private, dictated by the Founder of +Christianity, "should be the sole form of public devotion employed +in the schools." The <span class="smcap">Rev. John Griffiths</span>, the Rector, "intimated +that he would be quite contented with the proposed limitation of +the form of prayer, provided that a doxology were added, recognising" +a doctrine which Unitarians do not recognise. The suggestion +certainly was creditable to a clergyman of the Church of +England who keeps a conscience. It was professional; but the +doxology is one of those special matters in the Fourth R on which +professors, and doctors too, differ. The orthodoxology of one +denomination is the heterodoxology of another.</p> + +<p>There are forms of public devotion in common use as the prologue +to public dinners. They are invocations in which all present can +join, whatever their belief may be as to the Fourth R—if they have +any belief at all—and if they have none, what then? It would be +conscientious of a Church of England Clergyman to propose the +superaddition of a Doxology to a Grace; but would it be wise? +Would it not probably set a company of mixed denominations quarrelling +over their soup?</p> + +<p>In relation to food for the mind, <span class="smcap">Mrs. Crawshay</span> proposed to deal +with the Fourth R in a way analogous to that which experience has +proved the most convenient method of adjoining it to food for the +body. Herein she has acted on principles which many persons, +besides a writer in the <i>Western Mail</i>, may call "illogical and unsafe," +but no thinking man, or woman either, would call those +persons philosophers. If every School Board were to legislate as +to the Fourth R simply on the principle of teaching just so much of +it as children can be expected to understand, would not their practical +arrangement be of necessity about the same as that recommended +by <span class="smcap">Mrs. Crawshay</span>?</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>SUCH A BOOK!</h2> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:25%;"> +<a href="images/025.png"><img width="100%" src="images/025.png" alt="B" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">ig</span> books are big evils, says some +old Greek, not of the vigorous +type here depicted. <i>Mr. Punch</i> +seldom agrees with anybody, +and he distinctly disagrees with +the Ancient in question. One +big book, for instance, which is +no evil, but a good, is <i>Kelly's +Post-Office Directory</i>, with +which he has been favoured, +and which he has been perusing +with avidity ever since it arrived. +It was remarked to a clownish +servant, who was eating away +at a vast Cheshire cheese, that +he was a long time at supper, +and his triumphant answer was +that a cheese of that size was +not got through in a hurry. The +remark, but not the clownishness, +is adopted by <i>Mr. Punch</i> +in regard to the Kelly Book. +He has, as yet, read only the +first thousand pages or so, but +he intends to complete his +labour. The volume contains +the name and address of everybody, +in London or the suburbs, +whose name and address anybody +can possibly want. <i>Mr. Punch's</i> own grand and brilliant +idea is, to do with <span class="smcap">Kelly</span> something like what <span class="smcap">Bayle</span> did for +<span class="smcap">Moreri</span>. He meditates issuing a <i>Kelly</i> with vast notes of his own, +in which he proposes to give a biography and anecdotes of everybody +mentioned in the original book. As there will be several +thousand volumes, the work must be published by subscriptions, +which perhaps <span class="smcap">Mr. Kelly</span> will be good enough to canvass and collect +for <i>Mr. Punch</i>. The <i>Kelly-Punch Biography</i> will be a production +worthy the gigantic genius of the age, and <i>Mr. Punch</i> admits that +his collaborateur has admirably done <i>his</i> part of the work.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>HISTORIANS AND HERETICS.</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">By</span> attempting to enforce the Infallibility Dogma on those inconsistent +people, who, calling themselves Old Catholics, have seceded +from Popery in exercising their private judgment, and refusing, +though ordered by an Œcumenical Council, to eat dirt, the Archbishops +of the Roman Obedience appear to be waking snakes. The +<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i> a few days since, said:—</p> + +<blockquote> +"It was announced in our latest edition yesterday, that the <span class="smcap">Archbishop of +Munich</span> has excommunicated <span class="smcap">Professor Froschhammer</span>. To-day a German +correspondent informs us that the Professor has published an essay, in which +he proves that the Catholic Clergy are all excommunicated for adopting the +Copernican system and taking interest on money." +</blockquote> + +<p>Professors <span class="smcap">Froschhammer</span> and <span class="smcap">Döllinger</span>, however, are snakes in +a more serious sense than the ordinary cobras, rattle-snakes, copperheads, +and vipers in general which the Fathers of the Lateran +Council would mean by snakes, as a name for heretics. Hitherto +heretics have been regarded by the Roman Catholic hierarchy as +vipers which, in impugning Authority, bite a file. The above-named +Professors appeal to History against the <span class="smcap">Pope</span>. <span class="smcap">Dr. Manning</span> may +declare this appeal to be treason. He might add that it is undeniable +treason. The reproach of treason lies in failure.</p> + +<p class="center"> +"But when it prospers none dare call it treason." +</p> + +<p>Such snakes as <span class="smcap">Professor Döllinger</span> and <span class="smcap">Professor Froschhammer</span> +bite things more vulnerable than files. They bite legs and +feet, through scarlet stockings, and white satin cross-embroidered +slippers.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>A Creed Miscalled.</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> researches of <span class="smcap">Mr. Ffoulkes</span> and other learned investigators +appear to have proved that the creed of St. Athanasius, so-called, +was not composed until ages after the decease of that personage. If +so, it was unduly entitled with his name. Considering the purport +of certain generally unpopular clauses in Athanasius his Creed, one +conceives that it might, perhaps, be more appropriately styled the +Creed of Anathema-maran-athanasius.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page026" id="page026"></a>[pg 026]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"> +<a href="images/026.png"><img width="100%" src="images/026.png" alt="" /></a> + +<h2>"CHEEK!"</h2> + +<p><i>Commercial Gent</i> (<i>to Swell who was smoking a fragrant Havannah</i>). "<span class="smcap">Would you Oblige me, Sir, by Changing into another +Carriage, or putting your Cigar out <i>pro tem</i>.?</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Swell</i> (<i>nonchalantly</i>). "<span class="smcap">O, certainly.</span>" (<i>Throws his Cigar out of the Window.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Commercial Gent</i> (<i>complacently producing and filling his Meerschaum</i>). "<span class="smcap">Sorry to Trouble you, but I never can Enjoy my Pipe +when there's a Bad Weed a goin'!!</span>"</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>FROM GALWAY TO CANDY.</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. W. H. Gregory</span>, the accomplished Member for Galway, goes +to Ceylon as Governor. We firmly believe that the Ćdile rejoiceth +at this, as <span class="smcap">Mr. Gregory</span> knows a deal about Art, and the Ćdile +loveth not such men. <i>Mr. Punch</i> regrets to lose a bright speaker +from the House, but is glad of his promotion. It will be no more,</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Gregory</span>, remember thy swashing blow."</p> + +<p>The Honourable Member's "blow" will be had where—</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i6">"The spicy breezes</p> +<p class="i4">Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle.</p> +<p>And no one ever sneezes,</p> +<p class="i2">Or feels a touch of bile."</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Such will be the Gregorian Chant for some time to come. A +pleasant exile, and a safe return, are <i>Mr. Punch's</i> sweet wishes to +him who departeth for Candy.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>UN MONSIEUR SMITH.</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">Among</span> the news of the other day appeared the following:—</p> + +<blockquote> +"Two Frenchmen, one of whom, however, gives the name of <span class="smcap">Smith</span>, are in +custody, charged with the commission of several burglaries in the suburbs of +the Metropolis." +</blockquote> + +<p>You would have liked to hear one of the Frenchmen give the +name of <span class="smcap">Smith</span>. His tongue, surely, betrayed him. <span class="smcap">M. Vaurien</span>, +or whatever his real name was, of course, in attempting to give the +name of <span class="smcap">Smith</span>, gave that of <span class="smcap">Smeet</span> or <span class="smcap">Smis</span>. Give the name of +<span class="smcap">Smith</span>, indeed! A Frenchman might as well try to give the password +of Shibboleth.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>A WORKING MAN ON WORK.</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">At</span> the National Congress of Trades Societies at Nottingham, last +week, a <span class="smcap">Mr. Graham</span> said:—</p> + +<blockquote> +"In his opinion it was one of the rights of a free man to cease work when +he wished, either for reasonable or even unreasonable causes." +</blockquote> + +<p>This is so exactly <i>Mr. Punch's</i> belief that, wishing at this identical +moment to cease work, for the reasonable or unreasonable cause +that he feels more inclined to smoke, he knocks off, without appending +any proper and moral observations to <span class="smcap">Mr. Graham's</span> <i>dictum</i>. +Whether <span class="smcap">Mr. Graham</span> keeps any sort of servant, and if so, whether +<span class="smcap">Mr. Graham</span> recognises the right in question when he wants his +beer fetched, or his boots cleaned, is the only query that <i>Mr. Punch</i> +chooses to exert himself to put. But he must add that the world +would go on delightfully if this rule were always acted upon; and +he is glad that the Trade Societies are enlightened enough to do their +best to bring on a Millennium.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Suggestion to Mr. Lowe.</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lay</span> a heavy tax on all persons telling old jokes, making old puns. +Let the tax be doubled in the case of any person attempting to pass +off such old joke or pun as "a good thing he's just heard," or as +"a funny thing that happened to his cousin the other day." <span class="smcap">Mr. +Lowe</span> will find public-spirited men ready to hand in nearly all clubs +who will voluntarily give their services, and for a moderate percentage +will act as Collectors of this particular form of taxation at +every dinner-party (where the name and address of the offender +will be taken down), and in Society's drawing-rooms. This and +a tax on photographs will bring in a handsome additional revenue +for Eighteen-Seventy-Two.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page027" id="page027"></a>[pg 027]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"> +<a href="images/027.png"><img width="100%" src="images/027.png" alt="" /></a> <h2>A STILL BIGGER "CLAIMANT.</h2> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page029" id="page029"></a>[pg 029]</span></p> + +<h2>MY HEALTH.<br /> +(<i>Concluded.</i>)</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:50%;"> +<a href="images/029.png"><img width="100%" src="images/029.png" alt="" /></a> +</div> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> +<a href="images/029-1.png"><img width="100%" src="images/029-1.png" alt="W" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">e</span> somehow turn the dinner conversation upon +some peculiar way of cultivating mangel. <span class="smcap">Pendell</span> +looks at Old <span class="smcap">Ruddock</span>, and, alluding to the +last speaker's remark, whatever it was, says, "Aha! +that isn't the way we grow mangel in the South, +is it, <span class="smcap">Mr. Ruddock</span>?" and therewith gives Old <span class="smcap">Ruddock</span> such a +humorous look, as if they had, between them, several good jokes +about mangel, which, when told by Old <span class="smcap">Ruddock</span>, would set the +table in a roar.</p> + +<p>I turn towards him with a propitiatory smile, as much as to say, +"You see I'm ready for any of your funny stories." Old <span class="smcap">Ruddock</span> +glances up at me from his plate (he hasn't looked up much since +the beginning of dinner), and replies, gravely and simply, "No." +Whereat <span class="smcap">Pendell</span> almost roars with laughter, and nods at me +knowingly, as if asking if <span class="smcap">Ruddock</span> isn't a character. He may be. +Perhaps it requires the wine to draw him out, but he hasn't, as yet, +said anything funny or witty; in fact, he hasn't said anything at +all. The conversation, otherwise, is general and well distributed. +Topics principally local.</p> + +<p>As far as I am concerned, it is not unlike being suddenly given a +bass part in a quintette, where the other four know their music off +by heart. I speak from experience, remembering how, in the instance +alluded to, I came in wherever I could, with very remarkable +effect, and generally at least an octave too low, leaving off with the +feeling that if we had been encored (of which there wasn't, under +the circumstances, the slightest possible chance), I should have come +out very strong, and <i>quite</i> in tune. As it was, I had first to find +my voice, which seemed to have gone down like the mercury in a +barometer on a cold day, and having succeeded in producing it, I +had then to issue it in notes.</p> + +<p>During dinner I am frequently brought into the conversation, +apologetically, and appealed to out of politeness, as "probably not +taking much interest in these matters."</p> + +<p>The matters in question are usually something vexatious with +regard to paupers, a political question deeply mixed up with the +existence of the Yeomanry, the state of the roads in the next district, +the queer temper of a neighbouring clergyman, the difficulty of +dealing with Old <span class="smcap">Somebody</span> at a vestry meeting, the right of some +parish authorities to bury somebody who oughtn't, or ought, to have +been buried without somebody else's consent; the best mode of +making a preserve, a difference of opinion as to varieties of cider, the +probabilities of a marriage between <span class="smcap">Tre-someone</span> of Tre-somewhere +with <span class="smcap">Pol-somebody</span> of Pol-something else, and so forth. On consideration, +I <i>am</i> interested. For, to a reflective mind, is not all this the +interior mechanism of the Great British Constitution? Of course.</p> + +<p>The only thing that Old <span class="smcap">Ruddock</span> says the whole time, is that he +wouldn't keep Cochin China fowls even if they were given him.</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't you?" exclaims <span class="smcap">Pendell</span>, looking slily at me and +beginning to laugh, evidently in anticipation of some capital story, +or a witticism from <span class="smcap">Ruddock</span>. No, not another word. He is, it +strikes me, reserving himself. I turn to my partner, and try to +interest her in Ramsgate, Torquay, the Turkish bath, London and +Paris news. She doesn't like Torquay, has never been to Ramsgate, +and from what she has heard of it thinks it must be vulgar (to +which I return, "O, dear no," but haven't got any proof that it +isn't. I find out that she goes every season to London, and knows +more about operas than I do, and finally was brought up in Paris, +and generally stops there for a month yearly with her Aunt, so that +I am unable to give her any information on my special subjects, and +as she clearly wants to listen to some story which <span class="smcap">Tregony</span> of +Tregivel, on the other side of her, is telling, I feel that I'd better +continue my dinner silently, or draw <span class="smcap">Ruddock</span> out. I try it, but +<span class="smcap">Ruddock</span> won't come out.</p> + +<p><i>Dessert.</i>—<span class="smcap">Tregony</span> of Tregivel <i>does</i> come out genially, without +the process of drawing. He has some capital Cornish stories, with +an inimitable imitation of Cornish dialect.</p> + +<p><i>Flash.</i>—While he is telling a rather long anecdote to think of +something good and new to cap it. Why not something with (also) +an imitation of dialect, or brogue. I've got a very good thing +about a Scotchman, but can't remember it in time.</p> + +<p>Odd how stories slip away from you just at the moment you +especially want to remember them. During a pause in the conversation +I remember my story, and secure attention for it by +suddenly asking <span class="smcap">Pendell</span> (which startles him) if "he's ever heard," +&c., and of course he, politely, hasn't. Odd. Somehow, this evening +I <i>can't</i> recall the Scotch accent. I try a long speech (not usually +belonging to the story) in Scotch, so as to work myself up to it, but, +somehow or other, it will run into Irish. My story, therefore, takes +somewhat this form. I say, "Then the Scotchman called out, +'Och, bedad'—I mean, 'Ye dinna ken'"—and so forth. Result, +failure. But might tell it later, when I'm really in the humour, +which I evidently am <i>not</i> now, and yet I thought I was.</p> + +<p>Old <span class="smcap">Ruddock</span> begins to come out, not as a <i>raconteur</i>, but as an +interrupter, which is a new phase of character.</p> + +<p>For example, <span class="smcap">Tregony</span> commences one of his best Cornish stories, +to which we are all listening attentively, something about an uncle +and a nephew, and a cart.</p> + +<p>"They went," says <span class="smcap">Tregony</span>, "to buy a cart"——</p> + +<p>"A what?" says <span class="smcap">Ruddock</span>, really giving his whole mind to it.</p> + +<p>"A cart," answers <span class="smcap">Tregony</span>.</p> + +<p>"O," returns <span class="smcap">Ruddock</span>, "I beg pardon. Yes, well"—</p> + +<p>"Well," resumes <span class="smcap">Tregony</span>, "they wanted something cheap, as +they had no use for it except to get home,——"</p> + +<p>"Get what?" asks <span class="smcap">Ruddock</span>.</p> + +<p>"Home," replies <span class="smcap">Tregony</span>, evidently a bit nettled.</p> + +<p>"Oh, ah! yes," returns <span class="smcap">Ruddock</span>. "Home—well?"</p> + +<p>"Well," <span class="smcap">Tregony</span> continues, looking towards his opposite neighbour, +so as to avoid Old <span class="smcap">Ruddock</span> if possible, "the landlord of the +Inn says to them, 'I'll lend you and <span class="smcap">Nevvy Bill</span> a cart——'"</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Ruddock's</span> in again with "A what?"</p> + +<p>I can't help turning upon him, and saying, rather angrily, "A +cart!" I feel inclined to add, "You old idiot." Then I say to +<span class="smcap">Tregony</span>, encouragingly, "Yes."</p> + +<p>"'Only' (continues <span class="smcap">Tregony</span>), says the Landlord, joking them, +'mind yew du bring the wheels back safe and sound.' So they +promised, and then they went about the town till it was rather late +and getting dark——"</p> + +<p>"Getting <i>what</i>?" asks Old <span class="smcap">Ruddock</span>. Everybody annoyed, and +two persons besides myself repeat the word "dark" to him.</p> + +<p>With these interruptions, and the consequent necessity of making +it all quite clear, specially when it comes to <span class="smcap">Tregony</span> imitating the +conversation between Uncle and Nephew, in two voices, when Old +<span class="smcap">Ruddock</span> perpetually wants to know "<i>Who</i> said that," and so +puzzles <span class="smcap">Tregony</span> that sometimes he makes the Uncle take the +Nephew's voice, and <i>vice versâ</i>, and the story is getting into difficulties, +when the servant enters with a message to our Host from +<span class="smcap">Mrs. Pendell</span>, which brings us to our feet, and into the drawing-room, +<span class="smcap">Tregony</span> promising me the story quietly in a corner.</p> + +<p>The other ladies have come. We all try to enter the drawing-room +carelessly, as if the ladies weren't there, or as if we'd been +engaged in some fearful conspiracy in the next room, and were +hiding our consciousness of guilt under a mask of frivolity. <span class="smcap">Miss +Bodd</span>, of Popthlanack, is alone at a table, turning over the pages of +a photographic album. I join her.</p> + +<p><i>Careful Flash.</i>—Take care never to offer an opinion on photographic +or any other sort of portraits, unless you're quite sure of +your ground.</p> + +<p>I remark generally that I don't care about photographic portraits. +Before <span class="smcap">Miss Bodd</span> can answer, I hear a rustle behind me, and a +voice asks simply, "Why?"</p> + +<p>Good gracious! <i>It is</i>—<span class="smcap">Miss Straithmere</span>! She is staying with +the <span class="smcap">Clethers</span> ["<span class="smcap">Mr. Clether</span> is here," <span class="smcap">Pendell</span> tells me. "He's +written a work on the Moon. Quite a character——"], and as the +<span class="smcap">Rev. Mr. Clether</span> is the Rector of Penwiffle, she is not a mile from +the house, and will be here every day.</p> + +<p>Singing and playing. <span class="smcap">Miss Straithmere</span> asks me, "Why I'm +so serious? Will I tell her? <i>Do. Why?</i>"</p> + +<p>I expect <span class="smcap">Ruddock</span> to sing. He doesn't. <span class="smcap">Mr. Clether</span> is talking +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page030" id="page030"></a>[pg 030]</span> +to him. I join them. I am anxious to hear +what <span class="smcap">Mr. Clether's</span> view of the Moon is. +He replies, "O, nothing particular."</p> + +<p>"But," I urge, <span class="smcap">Ruddock</span> listening, "You +have made a study of astronomy, and in +these days"—I slip at this moment, because +I don't know exactly what I was going to +say; but I rather fancy it was that "In +these days the moon isn't what it was."</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Clether</span> modestly repudiates knowing +more about the moon than other people, +and says that <span class="smcap">Pendell</span> is right about his +having written a book, but he has never +published it.</p> + +<p>"<i>Why</i>?" asks <span class="smcap">Miss Straithmere</span>, joining +us.</p> + +<p>Carriages. Thank goodness!</p> + +<p>I accompany <span class="smcap">Ruddock</span> to the door. He +has a gig, and a lantern, like a Guy Fawkes +out for an airing.</p> + +<p>I am still expecting a witticism, or rather +a <i>feu de joie</i> of humour and fun, like the last +grand bouquet of fireworks that terminates +the show at the Crystal Palace.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Pendell</span> (who I believe is still drawing +him out) says to him, "You'll have a fine +night for your drive," then looks at me +and laughs, as much as to say, "<i>Now</i> you'll +hear him, <i>now</i> it's coming. He's shy before +a party, but <i>now</i>——"</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Ruddock</span> replies, from above, in his gig, +"Yes, so it seems. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>And away goes the vehicle, turns the +corner, and disappears from view in the +avenue.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Pendell</span> chuckles to himself. "Quite a +character," I hear him murmuring. Then, +after a short laugh, he exclaims almost +fondly, "Old <span class="smcap">Ruddock</span>! ha! ha! Rum +old fellow."</p> + +<p>And so we go in. And this has been the +long-expected "Nicht wi' <span class="smcap">Ruddock</span>." He +hasn't said twenty words. Certainly not +one worth hearing. Yet <span class="smcap">Pendell</span> seems +perfectly satisfied with him, and years +hence, I dare say, this occasion will be recounted +as a night when Old <span class="smcap">Ruddock</span> was +at his best. After this, how about <span class="smcap">Sheridan</span>?</p> + +<p><i>Next morning.</i>—My friend, <span class="smcap">Miss Straithmere</span>, +is coming at two o'clock. I find that +I can leave, <i>viâ</i> Launceston, at eleven. I +am not well. I can't help it. I begin to +consider, is it my nature to be ill? No, I +must go up to town, and consult my Doctor.</p> + +<p>Adieu, Penwiffle. If I stopped, I feel +that in the wilds of Cornwall, out at Tintagel +or at Land's End, or in a slate quarry, +or down a mine, I should.... Well, I +don't know but I should have to answer +the question, "Why?"</p> + +<p>My present idea is to live in London, +about two miles from the British Museum. +Then I can walk there every morning, and +work in the library at my <i>Analytical History +of Motion</i>.</p> + +<p>If the Doctor agrees with me, and if this +plan agrees with me, I shall continue it; if +not, I must take to boxing, gymnastics, or +other violent exercise.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The Doctor <i>does</i> agree with me. He +advises me to try my own prescription. In +a week's time to call on him again, and go +on calling on him regularly every Monday.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>I have taken lodgings three doors from +my Doctor's house. I shall make no further +notes, unless, at some future time, I commence +a history of a British Constitution (my +own). And so, for the present, I conclude, +with a quotation from <span class="smcap">Shakspeare</span>, who +was, among other things, evidently a valetudinarian, +and finish these papers by saying,</p> + +<p class="center">"The tenor of them doth but signify"</p> + +<p>"My Health."</p> + +<p class="author"><i>Two Gent. of Verona.</i> Act iii. sc. 1.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:50%;"> +<a href="images/030.png"><img width="100%" src="images/030.png" alt="" /></a> + +<h2>"ON THE TOP OF THE HILL, TOO!"</h2> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">My Tiresome Hat! <i>So</i> kind of you, Mr. Muggles! You don't mind Waiting +for me, do you?</span>"</p> + +<blockquote> +[<i>Don't he, though! He minds very much. Feels very foolish, and dreads being chaffed—particularly +by some of those fellows below!</i>] +</blockquote> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>IN THE TEMPLE.</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lord Derby</span> has made a political speech of a very sensible character—"that goes +without to say" in his case. He tells the Conservatives that they are to be neither apathetic +nor precipitate, that they are to play a waiting game—the World to him who can Wait—and, +meantime, they are to support <span class="smcap">Mr. Gladstone</span> against the extreme men on his own +side. And, said the Earl, "political life is not to be looked at as if it were a soaped pole, +with Ł5,000 a year, and lots of patronage at the top." The sentiment is lofty and honourable. +"But," said to <i>Mr. Punch</i> a rising lawyer, who intends to rise a good deal higher, +"the deuce of it is that <span class="smcap">Lord Derby</span> talks from the top of a golden Pyramid about +soaped poles. Hang it! I'm like <i>Becky Sharp</i>—I should find it precious easy to be patriotic +with fifty thousand a year. If I didn't feel I could manage the nation for the best (though +of course I could), confound it! I'd myself engage the best Premier that money could +secure, and serve the country that way. But blow it, as it is, and <span class="smcap">Henrietta's</span> governor +refusing to hear of me until I'm in Parliament, you see, old cuss——" "Virtue alone is +happiness below," replied <i>Mr. Punch</i> severely, as he went away to get some oysters at +<span class="smcap">Prosser's</span>.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Note by a Foreigner</span>.—On England's possessions the sun never sets. True; and on one +of them, London, the sun never rises.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page031" id="page031"></a>[pg 031]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:50%;"> +<a href="images/031.png"><img width="100%" src="images/031.png" alt="" /></a> +<h2>SAT UPON.</h2> + +<p><i>Hospitable Host.</i> "<span class="smcap">Does any Gentleman say Pudden?</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Precise Guest.</i> "<span class="smcap">No, Sir. No <i>Gentleman</i> says <i>Pudden</i>.</span>"</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>"IF!"</h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>A Channel Sketch.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>'<span class="smcap">Tother</span> day I steamed from Dover</p> +<p class="i2">To Boulogne-sur-Mer:</p> +<p>We'd bad weather crossing over:</p> +<p class="i2">Very sick we were.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Busy, Steward's-Mate and Steward—</p> +<p class="i2">"Basins!" was the cry:</p> +<p>Ocean heaved, because it blew hard;</p> +<p class="i2">Heaved, and so did I.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>In the intervals of basin</p> +<p class="i2">Blessed dreams were mine:</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fowler</span> was from Ocean 'rasin'</p> +<p class="i2">Every ill-ruled line.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Over Neptune's worst commotion</p> +<p class="i2">Holding despot's state,</p> +<p>He not only ruled the Ocean,</p> +<p class="i2">But he ruled it straight!</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Steady, sea ne'er so ugly,</p> +<p class="i2">Did his craft behave;</p> +<p>Passengers, carriaged snugly,</p> +<p class="i2">Sweeping o'er the wave!</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Not a soul from out his cushions</p> +<p class="i2">Moved, the passage through;</p> +<p>Padded soft against concussions,</p> +<p class="i2">And spring-seated, too!</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>O, it was a blessčd vision!</p> +<p class="i2">Blessčd all the more</p> +<p>For that awful exhibition</p> +<p class="i2">Betwixt shore and shore.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>But when <i>terra-firma</i> reason</p> +<p class="i2">On that dream I fixed,</p> +<p>At a less afflicted season,</p> +<p class="i2">Doubt with hope was mixed.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>For, I thought—Can <span class="smcap">Fowler</span> answer</p> +<p class="i2">That his boats won't roll—</p> +<p>Grant, that, swift as a <i>merganser</i>,</p> +<p class="i2">O'er the sea they bowl?</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p><i>If</i> they roll—and who can promise</p> +<p class="i2">That they never will?—</p> +<p>Little joy to <span class="smcap">John Bull</span> from his</p> +<p class="i2">Power of sitting still.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Think of an afflicted train-full</p> +<p class="i2">Cabined, cribbed, confined—</p> +<p>Rolling with the rollings painful</p> +<p class="i2">Of that pen inclined!</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Face to face, and knee to knee, sick,</p> +<p class="i2">Retch and heave and strain,</p> +<p>Think of a whole hundred sea-sick</p> +<p class="i2">All along the train!</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Sea-sickness in open ocean</p> +<p class="i2">May be bad to bear,</p> +<p>But, boxed up in a train in motion,</p> +<p class="i2">Worse, far worse, it were!</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>So if <span class="smcap">Fowler</span> cannot promise</p> +<p class="i2">Pitch-and-toss shall be</p> +<p>Game of chance, far-banished from his</p> +<p class="i2">Skimmers of the sea,</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Better 'gainst our woes we gird us—</p> +<p class="i2">Cold, and stench, and spray—</p> +<p>Than in railway train you herd us,</p> +<p class="i2">Nausea's helpless prey!</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>If the traveller from Dover</p> +<p class="i2">Reached the other shore,</p> +<p>Worser woes, than crossing over,</p> +<p class="i2">Were for him in store.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Awfuller than the up-turn he</p> +<p class="i2">Suffers from the tide,—</p> +<p>Think upon that six hours' journey</p> +<p class="i2">On the other side!</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Present woe 'gainst worse mismarriage—</p> +<p class="i2">Put it to the vote—</p> +<p>And I'll bet 'tis <i>contrŕ</i> carriage,</p> +<p class="i2">And <i>for</i> open boat!</p> +</div> +</div> + +<hr/> + +<h2>A BURIED ARMY.</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> <i>Leeds Mercury</i> is such an excellent paper, that +<i>Punch</i> takes from it anything as unhesitatingly as (to +use <span class="smcap">Lord Lytton's</span> illustration) one takes change from +an honest tradesman, without looking at or counting the +coins. That journal said, the other day—</p> + +<blockquote> +"There was a demonstration at Lausanne yesterday, in memory +of the soldiers belonging to <span class="smcap">General Bourbaki's</span> army who died +in Switzerland, after being interred there last year." +</blockquote> + +<p>We cannot see why there should have been a demonstration; +at least, if it was a demonstration of wonder, +the wonder would have been if the soldiers had survived +their interment. It was Antćus, if we recollect aright, +whose strength was renewed when he came in contact +with the Earth, but he never went under it, at least not +until Alcides had done with and for him. But is France +aware that this is the way in which one of her armies +was got rid of? Is this the boasted hospitality of Switzerland?</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Rainbow</span> may be accurately described as the real +<span class="smcap">Noah's</span> <i>Arc</i>.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page032" id="page032"></a>[pg 032]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"> +<a href="images/032.png"><img width="100%" src="images/032.png" alt="" /></a> + +<h2>A MISCONCEPTION.</h2> + +<p><i>Passenger.</i> "<span class="smcap">And whose House is that on the Top of the Hill there?</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Driver of the "Red Lion" 'Bus.</i> "<span class="smcap">O, that's Mr. Umberbrown's, Sir. He's what they call a R. A.</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Passenger</i> (<i>Amateur Artist</i>). "<span class="smcap">O, indeed! Ah! a magnificent Painter! You must be rather Proud of such a Great +Man living amongst you Down here!</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Driver.</i> "<span class="smcap">Great Man, Sir? Lor' bless yer, Sir, not a Bit of it! Why, they only Keeps one Man-Servant, and he +don't Sleep in the 'Ouse!!!</span>"</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE NEW YEAR'S FINE.<br /> +(<i>Husband and Father sings.</i>)</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>An Income-tax increased to pay,</p> +<p class="i2">And that assessed at higher rate!</p> +<p>Well, we must bear it as we may,</p> +<p class="i2">By means of thrift, my weeping Mate.</p> +<p>We'll pinch, in clothing and in cup;</p> +<p class="i2">Thou shalt accustomed dress resign;</p> +<p>I'll give my <span class="smcap">Gladstone</span> claret up,</p> +<p class="i2">To meet my <span class="smcap">Lowe's</span> augmented fine.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>What though that heavy forfeit make</p> +<p class="i2">A small, uncertain income less?</p> +<p>What if away the coin it take,</p> +<p class="i2">Which I should hoard against distress?</p> +<p>What though my earnings needs must cease</p> +<p class="i2">As soon as I shall be no more,</p> +<p>And may not last till my decease,</p> +<p class="i2">But fail us both, my Wife, before?</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Still, whilst we wince beneath the Screw,</p> +<p class="i2">Put on with added stress this year,</p> +<p>We'll think how much, because we Few</p> +<p class="i2">Are taxed, the Many spend in Beer.</p> +<p>Our impost we'll with joy endure,</p> +<p class="i2">Because it seems the only plan</p> +<p>From fiscal burdens to secure</p> +<p class="i2">Exemption for the Working-Man.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The Working-Man who works with tools,</p> +<p class="i2">Such tools as hammers, saws, and planes,</p> +<p>By hand; whose numerous suffrage rules</p> +<p class="i2">The smaller class who work by brains.</p> +<p>Rejoice we that what we must spare,</p> +<p class="i2">The Working-Man has got to spend.</p> +<p>We're privileged to pay his share,</p> +<p class="i2">Till our ability shall end.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>At least when next another year,</p> +<p class="i2">Another Budget's weight shall bring</p> +<p>To bear on us, if we are here</p> +<p class="i2">Still, as plucked nightingales, to sing,</p> +<p>We've cause, another little call,</p> +<p class="i2">At any rate, of hope to see,</p> +<p>For payment of the needful all</p> +<p class="i2">To set the Breakfast-Table free.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>AMERICAN INCREDULITY.</h2> + +<p>In a speech delivered at New York on "Forefathers' Day," the +<span class="smcap">Rev. Henry Beecher</span>, discoursing of the "Pilgrim Fathers," said:—</p> + +<blockquote> +"That they had their faults we all know. They brought with them some +of the prejudices of Europe, and had not freed themselves from notions of persecution. +They believed, above all things, in the existence and power of the +evil one. The devil was everywhere in their thoughts. In our modern times +we have gone free from that superstition. We of New York know there is no +such being." +</blockquote> + +<p>In the early days of New England anyone who owned to being +an Adiabolist would have been deemed an Atheist. But then +there was no Tammany or Erie Ring. Plunder and fraud, picking +and stealing, are courses from which some natures can only be +restrained by the piety which firmly believes in the personality, +cornute and caudal, of <span class="smcap">Milton's</span> hero. "We of New York know +there is no such being." Do we? We think we do, but may have +flattered ourselves.</p> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<blockquote> +Printed by Joseph Smith of No. 24, Holford Square, in the Parish of St. James, Clerkenwell, in the County of Middlesex, at the Printing Offices of Messrs. Bradbury, Evans, & Co., Lombard +Street, in the Precinct of Whitefriars, in the City of London, and Published by him at No. 85, Fleet Street, in the Parish of St. Bride, City of London.—<span class="smcap">Saturday</span>, January 20, 1872. +</blockquote> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<div class="tnote"> + +<h2>Transcriber's Notes:</h2> + +<hr /> + +<p>In the article "My Health," there is a mismatched round bracket, that +starts with "(to which I return," but it is unclear where the closing +bracket should go.</p> + +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or The London Charivari, Vol. +62, January 20, 1872, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, CHARIVARI, JAN 20, 1872 *** + +***** This file should be named 37639-h.htm or 37639-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/6/3/37639/ + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Ernest Schaal, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://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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