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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:12:31 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:12:31 -0700 |
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diff --git a/39351-h/39351-h.htm b/39351-h/39351-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d53d757 --- /dev/null +++ b/39351-h/39351-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1806 @@ +<!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, or the London Charivari, October 21st 1893</title> + + <style type="text/css"> + + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {text-align: justify;} + .ind {margin-left: 2em; margin-right: 2em;} + .ind1 {margin-left: 5em; margin-right: 5em;} + .ind2 {margin-left: 8em; margin-right: 5em;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} + blockquote {text-align: justify; font-size: 0.9em; margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%;} + .sans {font-family: sans-serif;} + pre {font-size: 0.7em;} + .sc {font-variant: small-caps;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .center1 {text-align: center; font-size: 0.9em;} + td.note {text-align: left; font-size: 0.9em; font-weight: normal; border: 1px dashed; padding: 1em; width: auto;} + ul.none {font-size: 1.0em; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; list-style-type: none; line-height: 150%} + 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%;} + ins {text-decoration: none; border-bottom: dashed 1px silver;} + p.note {margin-left: 25%; margin-right: 20%;} + p.author {text-align: right; margin-top: -1em; margin-right: 2em;} + p.author1 {text-align: right; margin-top: -1em; margin-right: 16em;} + span.pagenum {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt; text-indent: 0;} + span.und {text-decoration: underline;} + .poem {margin-left: 35%; 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.i12 {margin-left: 6em;} + .poem p.i14 {margin-left: 7em;} + .poem p.i16 {margin-left: 8em;} + .poem p.i36 {margin-left: 18em;} + + .poem1 {margin-left: 30%; margin-right: 10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem1 .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem1 p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem1 p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem1 p.i4 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem1 p.i6 {margin-left: 3em;} + .poem1 p.i8 {margin-left: 4em;} + .poem1 p.i10 {margin-left: 5em;} + .poem1 p.i12 {margin-left: 6em;} + .poem1 p.i14 {margin-left: 7em;} + .poem1 p.i16 {margin-left: 8em;} + + .poem2 {margin-left: 25%; margin-right: 10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem2 .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem2 p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem2 p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem2 p.i4 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem2 p.i6 {margin-left: 3em;} + .poem2 p.i8 {margin-left: 4em;} + .poem2 p.i10 {margin-left: 5em;} + .poem2 p.i12 {margin-left: 6em;} + .poem2 p.i14 {margin-left: 7em;} + .poem2 p.i16 {margin-left: 8em;} + + .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, October +21st 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/license + + +Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, October 21st 1893 + +Author: Various + +Editor: Sir Francis Burnand + +Release Date: April 2, 2012 [EBook #39351] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + + + + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Lesley Halamek and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page181" id="page181"></a>[pg 181]</span> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<h1>Punch, or the London Charivari</h1> + +<h2>Volume 105, October 21st 1893</h2> + +<h4><i>edited by Sir Francis Burnand</i></h4> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/181a-1500.png"><img src="images/181a-600.png" width="600" height="395" alt="THE SHAFTESBURY FOUNTAIN AGAIN." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">THE SHAFTESBURY FOUNTAIN AGAIN.</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">Sensational Incident in Piccadilly Circus, as seen by Our Artist.</span></p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>THE WAR IN SOUTH AMERICA.</h2> + +<h4>(<i>From our Correspondent on the Spot.</i>)</h4> + +<p class="author"><i>There or Thereabouts, Saturday.</i></p> + +<p>I hope you will not believe all you hear. I am told that the +messages are tampered with, but this I trust to get through the lines +without difficulty. It is being carried by a professional brigand +disguised as a monk.</p> + +<p>First let me disabuse the minds of your readers about the blowing +up of the hospital. It is quite true that the place was sent +spinning into the air. But the patients were put to the minimum of +inconvenience. They were removed from the wards +without being called upon to quit their beds. They went +somewhere after returning to the ground, but where I +do not know. Some of the local doctors say that the +change of air (caused by the explosion) may have done +them good. It is not impossible.</p> + +<p>I am glad to be able to contradict the report that +the Stock Exchange and the apple-stall at the corner were +both bombarded. This is a deliberate falsehood. The +Stock Exchange, it is true, was razed to the ground, +but the apple-stall escaped uninjured. This is an example +of the reckless fashion in which reports are circulated.</p> + +<p>Then about the burning of the city. It is certainly true +that the place was set alight in two hundred places at once. +But the day was cold, and I think it was only done because the troops +wanted to warm their hands. You must not believe all you hear, and it +is unwise to impute motives before receiving explanations. The people +here are warm-hearted and sympathetic, and the soldiers (as a body) +are the mildest-mannered persons imaginable.</p> + +<p>And the report about the blowing-up of the bridges. Here again +there has been gross exaggeration. The bed of the river, in spite of +reports to the contrary, was left undisturbed. Only the stone-work +was sent spinning, and yet some reporters insist that everything was +blown into smithereens! Reporters really should be more careful.</p> + +<p>And now I must conclude, as my brigand, disguised as a priest, +is just off.</p> + +<p>As a parting request, I would urge upon my stockbrokers +to buy. We are sure to have a rise presently, +and I predict this with the greater confidence +as I know that the house in which I am writing is undermined.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/181b-1000.png"><img src="images/181b-600.png" width="600" height="426" alt="WASTED SWEETNESS." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">WASTED SWEETNESS.</h3> + +<h4><span class="sc">A heartrending Study of Shadow on the Underground Railway!</span></h4></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind">The <i>P. M. Magazine</i> goes in for discussion of +Bi-metallism. Sir <span class="sc">John Lubbock</span> writes about "The +Case for Gold," and Mr. <span class="sc">Vicary Gibbs</span>, M.P., about +"The Case for Silver." Considering the relative value +of the metals, the case for gold ought to be out +and away the stronger of the two, impregnable, and +burglar-proof, so that it could be advertised thus: +"It's no use having gold unless you have Sir <span class="sc">John +Lubbock's</span> 'case for gold' to keep it in."</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page182" id="page182"></a>[pg 182]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<h3 class="sans">BEHEMOTH AND THE LION; OR, SPEARS AND QUILLS.</h3> +<h5><i>A Fable for Pseudo-Philanthropists.</i></h5> +<a href="images/182-1200.png"><img src="images/182-500.png" width="500" height="551" alt="BEHEMOTH AND THE LION; OR, SPEARS AND QUILLS." /></a> + +<p><i>Philanthropist Press-Man.</i> "<span class="sc">Oh stop, stop, Mister Lion! Wait a bit! Perhaps the pretty Creature means no harm!</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Leo (curtly).</i> "<span class="sc"><i>Look at his Teeth!</i></span>"</p></div> + +<blockquote><p>[Mr. <span class="sc">Rider Haggard</span> (writing to the <i>Times</i>) remarks that a considerable +section of the English Press seems to be of opinion that <span class="sc">Lobengula</span> is an +innocent and worthy savage, on whom a quarrel is being forced by the +Chartered Company for its own mercenary ends. He suggests that the appearance +of an armed Matabele impi in Mayfair might alter their views.]</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem2"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"Behemoth is big and black, and monstrous-mouthed and toothfull,</p> +<p>But to say he is carnivorous were cruelly untruthful!"</p> +<p>So quoth the Querulous Quillman, or Pen-armed Philanthropist,</p> +<p>Whose intellect seems ever in a sentimental mist.</p> +<p>Now Leo, little given to read books on Natural History,</p> +<p>Was watchful of Dame Nature's <i>facts</i>. "It seems to me a mystery</p> +<p>My querulous Press Porcupine," observed the wary Lion,</p> +<p>"That what you've set your heart on, you can never keep clear eye on.</p> +<p><i>Look at his teeth!</i>" "Oh, nonsense!" cried the Querulous Quillman, quoting</p> +<p>From a book on Big Mammalia, to which he'd been devoting</p> +<p>All his odd moments recently. "Those tusks may look terrific,</p> +<p>But the monster's graminivorous, and pleasant, and pacific.</p> +<p>They're solely meant for cutting grass! Huge uppers and big lowers,</p> +<p>Though threatening as ripping-saws, are harmless as lawn-mowers.</p> +<p>As weapons of offence they're seldom used, so here 'tis stated,</p> +<p>'Unless the creature's wounded sore, or greatly irritated.'</p> +<p>He is innocent and worthy, this Titanic-jawed Colossus.</p> +<p>Those gleaming tusks won't 'chump' you, he won't trample us, or toss us,</p> +<p>Unless we interfere with him. He likes to stand there grinning,</p> +<p>With those terrible incisors, in a way which mayn't be winning,</p> +<p>Still, <i>'tis but his style of smiling</i>, and it's not his fault, poor fellow!</p> +<p>If his maw's a crimson cavern, and his tusks are huge and yellow."</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Behemoth meanwhile snorted in his own earthquaky fashion,</p> +<p>And yawned, and lashed and trampled like a tiger in a passion.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page183" id="page183"></a>[pg 183]</span> +<p>By the gleaming of his optics, and the clashing of his tushes,</p> +<p>He <i>seemed</i> to be preparing for the Ugliest of Rushes.</p> +<p>Quoth Leo, "Good friend Porcupine, you <i>may</i> be quite prophetic,</p> +<p>And I a bit 'too previous.' Your picture's most pathetic;</p> +<p>But I've seen your pachydermatous Poor Innocent when furious,</p> +<p>And for a gentle graminivorous creature, it is curious</p> +<p>How he'll run amuck like a Malay, and crunch canoes and foes up,</p> +<p>With those same tusks, which might have made a Mammoth turn his toes up.</p> +<p>So if you please, friend Porcupine, your quills I shall not trust again</p> +<p>To meet those spears, which hate would wash—in blood, 'ere they should rust again.</p> +<p>Mere quills won't quell an Impi, or make Behemoth good-neighbourly.</p> +<p>Leo must guard this spot, where British enterprise and labour lie,</p> +<p>The Monster seems to meditate attack, if <i>I</i> may judge of him,</p> +<p>So let <i>me</i> have the first slap at, whilst you keep on scribbling fudge of him!</p> + </div></div> +<h4><span class="sc" style="padding-right: 10em;">Moral.</span></h4> + <div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<p>It may appear superfluous to point this fable's moral;</p> +<p>But—teeth that could crush chain-mail seem scarce shaped for mumbling coral!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/183-1500.png"><img src="images/183-600.png" width="600" height="380" alt="A WEIGHTY PROSPECT." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">A WEIGHTY PROSPECT.</h3> + +<p><i>The Captain (who has just been giving a spin to his last purchase, +for his Wife's inspection).</i> "<span class="sc">Good goer, ain't he? and a full +Fourteen-Stone Horse, you know!</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Young Wife (as yet somewhat innocent in horsey matters).</i> +"<span class="sc">Oh, I'm sure he's <i>more</i> than that, dear. Why, <i>Mamma</i> weighs +nearly as much!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>A LETTER HOME.</h2> + +<h4>(<i>From our Youngest Contributor.</i>)</h4> + +<p><span class="sc">My dear Mr. Punch</span>,—This is about the last letter you will +receive from me. I know it is, as all will soon be over! And I +shall be glad of it. I can't last out until the Christmas holidays. +Who could with such food? Why, it would make a dog cough!</p> + +<p>It's no use learning anything. Why should I, when it will be all +over almost directly? What's the good of Latin and Greek if you +are going to chuck it almost at once? And mathematics, too! +What use are they if the end is near? It's all very well to cram, +but what's the good of it when you know you won't survive to eat +the plum pudding?</p> + +<p>There's no news. There's never any news. <span class="sc">Smith</span> Minor has +got his cap for football, and <span class="sc">Snooks</span> Major is going up to Oxford +instead of Cambridge. What does it matter when the beef is so +tough that you might sole your boots with it? And as for the +mutton! Well, all I can say is, that it isn't fit for human food, and +the authorities should be told about it. As for me, I am passing +away. No one will ever see me more. For all that, you might send +me a hamper. Your affectionate friend,</p> + +<p class="author"><span class="sc">Jacky</span>.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>STAR-GAZING.</h3> + +<p class="center">["Astronomy has become a deservedly fashionable hobby with young ladies."]</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>My love is an astronomer,</p> +<p class="i2">Whose knowledge I rely on,</p> +<p>She'll talk about, as I prefer,</p> +<p>The satellites of Jupiter,</p> +<p class="i2">The nebulous Orion.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>When evening shades about us fall</p> +<p class="i2">Each hour too quickly passes.</p> +<p>We take no heed of time at all,</p> +<p>When studying celestial</p> +<p class="i2">Phenomena through glasses.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The salient features we descry</p> +<p class="i2">Of all the starry pattern;</p> +<p>To see with telescopic eye</p> +<p>The citizens of Mars we try,</p> +<p class="i2">Or speculate on Saturn.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>To find another planet still</p> +<p class="i2">If ever we're enabled,</p> +<p>The world discovered by her skill</p> +<p>As "<span class="sc">Angelina Tomkyns</span>" will</p> +<p class="i2">Triumphantly be labelled.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The likeness of the stars elsewhere</p> +<p class="i2">By day we view between us,</p> +<p>We recognise the Greater Bear,</p> +<p>I grieve to say, in <span class="sc">Tomkyns</span> <i>père</i>,</p> +<p class="i2">And close at hand is Venus!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>In fact, the editorial note</p> +<p class="i2">Above, which is of course meant</p> +<p>To lead more ladies to devote</p> +<p>Attention to the stars, I quote</p> +<p class="i2">With cordial endorsement!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind1">"<span class="sc">In the Name of the Prophet!</span>"—Which is the right way +of spelling the name of the Prophet of Islam? Is it <span class="sc">Mohammed</span>? +<span class="sc">Mahomet</span>? <span class="sc">Muhammed</span>? or <span class="sc">Mahomed</span>? Are his followers Mohammedans? +Mahommedans? Mahometans? Moslems? Mussulmen? +or Muslims? Perhaps, to adapt <i>Mr. Mantalini's</i> famous summary, +and merely substituting "all" for "both," and "none of 'em" for +"neither," we may say "So all are right, and none of 'em wrong, +upon our life and soul, O demmit!"</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page184" id="page184"></a>[pg 184]</span> + +<h2 class="sans">UNDER THE ROSE.</h2> + +<h3>(<i>A Story in Scenes.</i>)</h3> + +<p><span class="sc">Scene IX.</span>—<span class="sc">Charles Collimore's</span> <i>Sitting-room at Keppel Street, +Bloomsbury</i>. <span class="sc">Time</span>—<i>Saturday afternoon</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Cagney</i> (<i>the landlady, showing</i> Mr. <span class="sc">Toovey</span> <i>in</i>). Oh, I +thought Mr. <span class="sc">Collimore</span> had come in, Sir, but I expect him in every +minute. Will you take a seat?</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Toovey</i> (<i>sitting down</i>). Thank you, I'm in no hurry—no hurry +at all. (<i>To himself.</i>) <span class="sc">Cornelia</span> wished me to put a few questions +quietly to the landlady. I suppose I'd better do it while——(<i>Aloud.</i>) +Hem, I hope, Ma'am, that you find Mr. <span class="sc">Collimore</span> a—an +unexceptionable lodger—in all respects?</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Cagn.</i> (<i>crossing her hands stiffly in front of her</i>). Mr. +<span class="sc">Collimore</span> conducks hisself as a gentleman, and treats me as a lady, +which is all <i>my</i> requirements.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Toov.</i> Quite so—very satisfactory, I'm sure, but—does he +keep fairly regular hours? Or is he at all inclined to be—er—fast?</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Cagn.</i> (<i>on her guard</i>). I can't answer for the time his watch +keeps, myself. I dessay it goes as reg'lar as what most do.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Toov.</i> No, no; I was referring to his habits. I mean—does +he usually spend his evenings +quietly at home?</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Cagn.</i> You'll excuse <i>me</i>, +but if you're arsking me all these +questions out of mere himpertinent +curiosity——</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Toov.</i> I—I trust I have a +higher motive, Ma'am. In fact, +I may as well tell you I am Mr. +<span class="sc">Collimore's</span> uncle.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Cagn.</i> (<i>to herself</i>). The +old fox! So he's trying to ferret +out something against him, is +he? Well, he <i>won't</i>—that's all. +(<i>Aloud.</i>) If you <i>are</i> his huncle, +Sir, all I can say is, you've got a +nephew to be proud on. I wouldn't +wish to let my first floor to a +steadier or a more industrious +young gentleman; comes in +punctual to a tick every night of +his life and 'as his dinner, and +sets studyin' his book till 'alf-past +ten, which is his bed-time. +I don't know what more you +want.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Toov.</i> (<i>to himself</i>). This is +really very satisfactory—if I could +only believe it. (<i>Aloud.</i>) But do +I understand you to say that that +is his invariable practice? Occasionally, +I suppose, he goes out to +a place of amusement—such as a +music-hall, now?</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Cagn.</i> (<i>to herself</i>). Well, +he may; and why not? He don't +get into no mischief, though light-'earted. +<i>I</i> ain't going to give him +a bad name. (<i>Aloud.</i>) Lor, Sir, +don't you go and put such ideas +into his 'ed. Bless your 'art alive, +if he knows there <i>are</i> such places, it's as much as he does know!</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Toov.</i> (<i>testily</i>). Now, now, my good woman, I'm afraid you're +trying to deceive me. I happen to know more about my nephew's +tastes and pursuits than you imagine.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Cagn.</i> (<i>roused</i>). Then, if you know so much, whatever do +you come 'ere and ask <i>me</i> for? It's my belief you ain't up to no +good, for all you look so respectable, comin' into my 'ouse a-pokin' +your nose into what don't concern you, for all the world like a poll-pryin', +sneakin' Russian spy!</p> + +<p><i>Charles</i> (<i>entering behind her</i>). Hallo, Mrs. <span class="sc">Cagney</span>, what's all +this—who's a Russian spy, eh? (<i>Recognising</i> <span class="sc">Mr. Toovey</span>.) What—Uncle! +you don't mean to say it's <i>you</i>?</p> + +<p class="ind2">[Mr. <span class="sc">Toovey</span> <i>stands stricken with confusion</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Cagn.</i> I may have spoke too free, Mr. <span class="sc">Collimore</span>, Sir, but +when a party, as is elderly enough to know better, tries to put +under'and questions to me about where and 'ow any o' my gentlemen +pass their hevenins, and if they go to the music-'all and what not—why, +I put it to you——</p> + +<p><i>Charles.</i> All right, Mrs. <span class="sc">Cagney</span>, put it to me some other time; you +didn't understand my uncle, that's all—you needn't stay. Oh, by the +way, I'm dining out again this evening. Tell <span class="sc">Cagney</span> to leave the +chain, as I may be late. (<i>After</i> Mrs. C. <i>has retired</i>.) Well, Uncle, +I'm afraid your diplomacy hasn't had quite the success it deserved.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 400px;"><a href="images/184-800.png"><img src="images/184-400.png" width="400" height="479" alt="'Mr. Collimore conducks hisself as a gentleman, and treats me as a lady.'" /></a> +<p class="center">"Mr. Collimore conducks hisself as a gentleman, and treats me as a lady."</p></div> + +<p><i>Mr. Toov.</i> (<i>sheepishly</i>). I assure you, my boy, that I—I was not +inquiring for my own satisfaction. Your Aunt is naturally anxious +to know how you—— But your landlady gave you an excellent +character.</p> + +<p><i>Charles.</i> She didn't seem to be equally complimentary to <i>you</i>, +Uncle. "A Russian spy," wasn't it? But really, you know, you +might have come to me for any information you require. <i>I</i> don't +mind telling you all there is to tell. And surely Aunt knows I've +been to a music-hall; why, she pitched into me about it enough +last Sunday!</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Toov.</i> I—I think she wanted to know whether you went +frequently, <span class="sc">Charles</span>, or only that once.</p> + +<p><i>Charles.</i> Oh, and so she sent you up to pump my landlady? Well, +I'll tell you exactly how it is. I don't set up to be a model young +man like your friend <span class="sc">Curphew</span>. I don't spend all my evenings +in this cheerful and luxurious apartment. Now and then I find the +splendour of the surroundings rather too much for me, and I'm +ready to go anywhere, even to a music-hall, for a change. There, +I blush to say, I spend an hour or two, smoking cigars, and even +drinking a whisky and soda, or a lemon squash, listening to middle-aged +ladies in sun-bonnets and accordion skirts singing out of tune. +I don't know that they amuse me much, but, at all events, they're +livelier than Mrs. <span class="sc">Cagney</span>. I'm +dining out to-night, at the Criterion, +with a man at the office, +and it's as likely as not we shall +go in to the Valhalla or the Eldorado +afterwards. There, you can't +say I'm concealing anything from +you. And I don't see why you +should groan like that, Uncle.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Toov.</i> (<i>feebly</i>). I—I'd +rather you didn't go to the—the +Eldorado, <span class="sc">Charles</span>.</p> + +<p><i>Charles.</i> There's ingratitude! +I thought you'd be touched by +my devotion.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Toov.</i> (<i>to himself</i>). I <i>can't</i> +tell him I was thinking of going +there myself! (<i>Aloud.</i>) You +will show your devotion best by +keeping away. The less young +men go to such places, my boy, +the better!</p> + +<p><i>Charles.</i> Not for <i>you</i>, Uncle. +You forget that it's the humble +five bob of fellows like me that help +to provide your next dividend.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Toov.</i> (<i>wincing</i>). Don't, +<span class="sc">Charles</span>, it—it's ungenerous and +undutiful to reproach me with +being a shareholder when you +know how innocently I became +one!</p> + +<p><i>Charles.</i> But I <i>wasn't</i> reproaching +you, Uncle, it was rather the +other way round, wasn't it? And +really, considering you <i>are</i> a shareholder +in the Eldorado, it's a +little too strong to condemn me +for merely going there.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Toov.</i> I—I may not be a +shareholder long, <span class="sc">Charles</span>. Unless +I can conscientiously feel able to retain my shares I shall take +the first opportunity of selling them.</p> + +<p><i>Charles.</i> But why, Uncle? Better stick to them now you have +got them!</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Toov.</i> What? with the knowledge that I was profiting by +practices I disapproved of? Never, <span class="sc">Charles</span>!</p> + +<p><i>Charles.</i> But you can't <i>sell</i> without making a profit, you know; +they've gone up tremendously.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Toov.</i> Oh, dear me! Then, do you mean that I shouldn't +even be morally justified in selling them? Oh, you don't think +<i>that</i>, <span class="sc">Charles</span>?</p> + +<p><i>Charles.</i> That's a point you must settle for yourself, Uncle, it's +beyond me. But, as a dutiful nephew, don't you see, I'm bound to +do all I can in the meantime to keep up the receipts for you, if I +have to go to the Eldorado every evening and get all the fellows I +know to go too. Mustn't let those shares go down, whether you hold +on or sell, eh?</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Toov.</i> (<i>horrified</i>). Don't make me an excuse for encouraging +young men to waste precious time in idleness and folly. I won't +allow it—it's abominable, Sir! You've put me in such a state of +perplexity by all this, <span class="sc">Charles</span>, I—I hardly know where I am! +Tell me, are you really going to the Eldorado this evening?</p> + +<p><i>Charles.</i> I can't say; it depends on the other fellow. But I will +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page185" id="page185"></a>[pg 185]</span> +if I can get him to go, for your sake. And I'm afraid I ought to go +and change, Uncle, if you'll excuse me. Make yourself as comfortable +as you can. Here's to-day's <i>Pink 'Un</i>, if you haven't +seen it.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Toov.</i> I'm not in the habit of seeing such periodicals, Sir. And +I must be going. Oh, by the bye, your Aunt wished me to ask you +to come down and dine and sleep on Monday next. <span class="sc">Thea</span> will be +back, and I believe Mr. <span class="sc">Curphew</span> has got a free evening for once. +Shall I tell her you will come, <span class="sc">Charles</span>?</p> + +<p><i>Charles.</i> Thanks; I'll come with pleasure. But, I say, Aunt +doesn't want to give me another lecture, I hope? After all, she can't +say much if you've told her about those shares, as I suppose you have.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Toov.</i> N—not yet, <span class="sc">Charles</span>. I have not found a convenient +opportunity. There, I can't stay—good-bye, my boy.</p> + +<p class="ind2">[<i>He takes his leave.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">End of Scene</span> IX.</p> + +<p class="center" style="margin-top: 2em;"><span class="sc">Scene</span> X.—<i>In the Street.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mr. Toovey</i> (<i>to himself</i>). I'm afraid <span class="sc">Charles</span> has lost every +particle of respect for me. I wish I had never told him about those +wretched shares. And what <i>am</i> I to do now? If I go to this Eldorado +place, he may be there too; and, if he sees me, I shall never +hear the last of it! And yet my mind will never be easy unless I do +go and see for myself what it really is like. That young <span class="sc">Curphew</span> +expects me to go. But I don't know, I do so dread the idea of +going—alone, too! I should like to ask somebody else what he +thinks I ought to do—somebody who is a man of the world. +I wonder if I went to see <span class="sc">Larkins</span>—he won't be in his office so late +as this, but I might catch him in his chambers. It was all through +him I got into this difficulty; he ought to help me out of it if he +can. I really think I might take a cab and drive to Piccadilly, on +the chance.</p> + +<p class="ind2">[<i>He hails a Hansom, and drives off.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">End of Scene</span> X.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2 class="sans">CARR-ACTORS AT "THE COMEDY."</h2> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 150px;"><a href="images/185a-400.png"><img src="images/185a-150.png" width="150" height="337" alt="A Portrait from M-Emery. Emery" /></a> +<p class="center">A Portrait from M-Emery. Emery +Powder and polish'd performance.</p></div> + +<p>When we have two original plays like <span class="sc">Pinero's</span> <i>Second Mrs. +Tanqueray</i> and <span class="sc">Grundy's</span> <i>Sowing the Wind</i>, we may congratulate +ourselves that they do <i>not</i> "do these things better in France." <i>Mrs. +Tanqueray</i> is a life-like tragedy, and <i>Sowing the Wind</i> a life-like +comedy. It was a pleasure to congratulate Mr. <span class="sc">Alexander</span> at the +St. James's on his choice of a piece, and of the company to suit it, +especially on the engagement of Mrs. <span class="sc">Patrick Campbell</span> for the +heroine; and now it is equally pleasant to congratulate a <i>confrère</i> +in literature, Mr. <span class="sc">Comyns Carr</span>, on having made so eminently +successful a <i>début</i> in theatrical management, as he has done in +choice of the piece and of the company to play it.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 200px;"><a href="images/185b-700.png"><img src="images/185b-200.png" width="200" height="293" alt="Brandon and Monkey Brand-on." /></a> +<span class="sc">Brandon and Monkey Brand-on.</span> +<p><i>Mr. Brandon Thomas Brabazon</i> (<i>to Cyril Maude +Watkin</i>). "I know that face. I've seen it on the +hoardings."</p> +<p><i>Watkin</i> (<i>faintly</i>). "It won't wash!"</p> +<p class="author1">[<i>Collapses.</i>]</p></div> + +<p>It is a canon of comedy-construction that from the first, +the audience should be let into the secret of the <i>dénouement</i>, +but that they should be puzzled as to the means by which that +end is to be achieved. This play is an excellent example of the +rule. Everybody knows who the heroine is from the moment of her +appearance; but as to how she, the illegitimate daughter, is to be +recognised and acknowledged by her father, this is the problem +that no one except the dramatist, in the course of four acts, can +solve. It is a very clever piece of workmanship. In these modern +matter-of-fact realistic days, fancy the awful danger to any +play in which a father has to discover his long-lost child! The +strawberry mark on the left arm, the amulet, the duplicate +miniature of the mother—these ways and means, and many others, +must occur to the playgoer, and must have presented themselves at +the outset to the author, flattering himself on his originality, as +difficulties almost insuperable because so stagey, so worn threadbare, +so out of date.</p> + +<p>Over these difficulties Mr. <span class="sc">Grundy</span> has triumphed, and with him +triumph the actors and the stage-manager; as, for the most part, +except when there is a needless conventional "taking the centre" +for supposed effect, the stage management is as admirable as the +acting and the dialogue, which is saying a great deal, but not a +bit too much.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 150px;"><a href="images/185c-350.png"><img src="images/185c-150.png" width="150" height="407" alt="Portrait of the Great" /></a> +<p class="center">Portrait of the Great Duke of Wellington, when +Marquis of Douro, by Mr. Ian Robertson.</p></div> + +<p>Mr. <span class="sc">Brandon Thomas</span> and Miss +<span class="sc">Emery</span> have never done anything better. +The former with his peculiar north-country +"burr," and with his collars and general make up +reminding many of the G. O. M., whilst Mr. <span class="sc">Ian +Robertson</span> as the wicked old Lord is not unlike the +pictures of the Iron Duke when Lord <span class="sc">Douro</span>. Mr. +<span class="sc">Edmund Maurice</span>, as representing the +slangy, sporting, about-town Baronet of the Tom-and-Jerry +day, is a kind of <i>Goldfinch</i> in <i>The Road +to Ruin</i>, with a similar kind of catchword, which +I suppose, on Mr. <span class="sc">Grundy's</span> authority [though +I do not remember the expression nor the use of the word +"chuck" in <i>Tom and Jerry</i>—the authority for Georgian era slang] +was one of the slang phrases of that period. +For my part (a very small part), I am inclined +to credit Mr. <span class="sc">Grundy</span> with the +invention of "smash my topper," and of +the introduction of "chuck it" into +eighteenth century London slang.</p> + +<p>Admirable are the quaint sketches of +character given by Miss <span class="sc">Rose Leclercq</span> and +Miss <span class="sc">Annie Hughes</span>. Manly and lover-like +is Mr. <span class="sc">Sydney Brough</span>. In the dramatic +unfolding of the plot, faultlessly acted as +it is, the audience from first to last are +thoroughly interested. Here and there, +speeches and scenes would be all the better +for some judicious excision. When you are +convinced, further argument weakens the +case, and I confess I should like to hear +that ten minutes' worth of dialogue had +been taken out of the parts played by Mr. +<span class="sc">Brandon Thomas</span> and Miss <span class="sc">Winifred +Emery</span>. But this is a small matter—a +very small matter. To sum up, it is good +work and good play, and so the new +manager and lessee is at this present +moment a Triumphal <span class="sc">Carr</span>.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="center"><i>Q.</i> Why was there at one time a chance +of the <i>Times</i>, which has always been up to +date, ever being behind time? +<br />—<i>A.</i> Because +formerly there was so much <i>Delayin!!</i></p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">Motto for Ladies who "Grub Short" +to Avoid Obesity.</span>—Grace before Meat!</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>Nulli Secundus.</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>By a Lover of the Links.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem1"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Lyttleton asks—great cricketer, for shame!—</p> +<p>If Golf—Great Scot!!!—is quite "a first-class game."</p> +<p>Well, if first-class it cannot quite be reckoned,</p> +<p>'Tis that it stands alone, and hath no second!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page186" id="page186"></a>[pg 186]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"><a href="images/186-900.png"><img src="images/186-350.png" width="350" height="548" alt="A PROTEST." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">A PROTEST.</h3> + +<p>"<span class="sc">And Pray, am I <i>never</i> to be Naughty, Miss Grimm?</span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>"L'UNION FAIT LA—FARCE!"</h3> + +<blockquote><p> +["France turns from her abandoned friends afresh +And soothes the Bear that prowls for patriot flesh."</p> +<p class="author">—<span class="sc">Campbell.</span>] +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem1"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Yes, history here doth repeat itself verily!</p> +<p class="i2">Fancy fair France, in Republican rig,</p> +<p>"Soothing the Bear" again; footing it merrily</p> +<p class="i2">In—well now, what <i>is</i> the name of this jig?</p> +<p><i>Cancan</i>, or <i>Carmagnole</i>? Blend of the two?</p> +<p>Anyhow, 'tis a most strange "<i>Pas de Deux</i>"!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Policy makes pride and principles plastic,</p> +<p class="i2">And 'tis most true that extremes often meet;</p> +<p>Yet as a sample of joint "Light Fantastic"</p> +<p class="i2"><i>This</i> dual dance must be baddish to beat.</p> +<p>Beauty and Beast <i>vis-à-vis</i> in the dance,</p> +<p>Were scarce funnier partners than Russia and France.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Autocrat Bruin, can he really relish</p> +<p class="i2">The larkish high-kick, the tempestuous twirl,</p> +<p>That risky Republican dances embellish?</p> +<p class="i2">And she—a political "Wallflower," poor girl!—</p> +<p>Can she truly like the strange partner that fate</p> +<p>Apportions her, lumpish, unlovely, and late?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Like 'Arry and 'Arriet out for a frolic,</p> +<p class="i2">They've interchanged head-gear, by curious hap!</p> +<p>Of what is this strange substitution symbolic?</p> +<p class="i2">The Autocrat crown and the Phrygian cap</p> +<p>They've "swopped," but they both most uneasily sit,</p> +<p>And each for the other appears a poor fit.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>That Liberty cap upon Bruin's brown noddle!</p> +<p class="i2">That crown—much awry—on the Beauty's fair head!</p> +<p>Absurd! And the Bear's heavy lumbering waddle</p> +<p class="i2">Sorts oddly enough with the lady's light tread.</p> +<p>He won't get <i>her</i> step! Will she try to catch <i>his</i>?</p> +<p>As soon shall small beer take the sparkle of fizz.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Is she "soothing the Bear"—with a show of lip-honey?</p> +<p class="i2">Is he flattering the Bee—with an eye on the hive?</p> +<p>Sting hidden, claws sheathed—for how long? Well, 'tis funny,</p> +<p class="i2">This queer little game, whilst they keep it alive!</p> +<p>Dance-partnership is not "for better for worse,"</p> +<p>And "union of hearts" sometimes smacks of—the purse.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>"Twos and Threes" is a game to the playground familiar!</p> +<p class="i2">"Two's Company!" Yes, so, in this case, are Three!</p> +<p>Alliances frequently made willy-nilly are</p> +<p class="i2">Dual <i>or</i> Triple. The Eagles we see</p> +<p>Foregather; so may they not meet—in the dance—</p> +<p>The Big Northern Beast and the Beauty of France?</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>ANGELS.</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>I wonder if you give your mind</p> +<p class="i2">At all to angels. "Which?" you say?</p> +<p>Why, angels of the hymn-book kind,</p> +<p class="i2">Not imitation ones in clay.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>I often do. They fascinate</p> +<p class="i2">My fancy to a strange degree;</p> +<p>And meditating much of late</p> +<p class="i2">There came two serious points to me.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>You notice in the Holy Writ</p> +<p class="i2">Angels are never feminine;</p> +<p>But, wheresoever they may flit,</p> +<p class="i2"><i>He</i> came, <i>he</i> spake, <i>he</i> gave the sign.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The men who wrote of them were sage,</p> +<p class="i2">And knew their subject out and out;</p> +<p>But <i>we</i> live in a wicked age,</p> +<p class="i2">That twists the angels' sex about.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>And painters paint them girls. And then</p> +<p class="i2">The question sets one's brains afire—</p> +<p>Why choristers on earth are men,</p> +<p class="i2">If women form the heavenly choir?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>And if they <i>do</i> paint here or there</p> +<p class="i2">A man among the cherubim,</p> +<p>I claim to know why not a hair</p> +<p class="i2">May grow upon the face of him?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>I know the Roman Church decreed</p> +<p class="i2">"A priest shall wear a shaven face."</p> +<p>But what of angels? There indeed</p> +<p class="i2">Razor and strop seem out of place.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Then why this hairless cheek and chin?</p> +<p class="i2">I ask, and Echo answers Why?</p> +<p>Have angel-cheeks no roots within?</p> +<p class="i2">—Here comes my keeper. So, good-bye!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind2"><span class="sc">Reckless.</span>—"Mr. <span class="sc">Allen</span>, Senator of Albraska, +a prominent silverite, spoke for +fifteen hours." "Speech is silver. Silence +golden." If all silverites go on at this length, +there'll be no silence, <i>ergo</i>, no gold. Q. E. D.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page187" id="page187"></a>[pg 187]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/187-1500.png"><img src="images/187-600.png" width="600" height="449" alt="'L'UNION FAIT LA-FARCE!'" /></a> +<h2>"L'UNION FAIT LA-F<span class="und">A</span>RCE!"</h2></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page188" id="page188"></a>[pg 188]</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page189" id="page189"></a>[pg 189]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><h2 class="sans">"OUT FOR AN OTTER-DAY!"</h2> +<a href="images/189-1200.png"><img src="images/189-500.png" width="500" height="537" alt="'OUT FOR AN OTTER-DAY!'" /></a> +</div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>MY PRETTY JANE AT A LATER SEASON.</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>Respectfully submitted for the consideration of Mr. Sims Reeves.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem1"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>My pretty Jane, my pretty Jane,</p> +<p class="i2">You still, you still are looking shy!</p> +<p>You never met me in the evening</p> +<p class="i2">When the bloom was on the rye.</p> +<p>The year is waning fast, my love;</p> +<p class="i2">The leaves are in the sere;</p> +<p>The fog-horns now are humming, love;</p> +<p class="i2">And the moonshine's "moonshine," dear.</p> +<p>But, pretty Jane, my dearest Jane,</p> +<p class="i2">I never will "say die";—</p> +<p>Come, meet me, meet me in our parlour,</p> +<p class="i2">Where the bloom is on the fly.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Just name your day, that mother may</p> +<p class="i2">Produce her best in china things,</p> +<p>And stop yon man in apron white,</p> +<p class="i2">Whose muffin-bell, whose muffin-bell now rings.</p> +<p class="i4">The year is waning fast, &c.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind1">"<span class="sc">A Triple Bill.</span>"—"The Home Rule +Bill," said Mr. <span class="sc">Chamberlain</span> to his American +friends, "is not scotched. It is killed." Of +course our <span class="sc">Joe</span> knows that were it "scotched" +it would be only "half kilt." But the idea +of an Irish Bill being Scotched! Our only +<span class="sc">Joe</span> might have added that it was "Welsh'd" +in the Lords.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind2"><span class="sc">Phœbus, what a Name!</span>—Sir <span class="sc">Comer +Petheram</span>, Chief Justice of Bengal, is coming +home. Welcome, Sir <span class="sc">Home-Comer Petheram</span>. +Or, why not Sir <span class="sc">Homer Petheram</span> for +short?</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>TO A YOUNG COUNTRY FRIEND, AGED SEVEN.</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>Who whistled of Monte Carlo not wisely, but too well.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem1"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Sweet youth! I wonder if you'll feel much pain</p> +<p>To know that that sweet soul-inspiring strain</p> +<p>You whistle at so wonderful a rate</p> +<p>Is now in point of fact quite out of date.</p> +<p>Down in the country pr'aps you hardly know</p> +<p>At what a pace these street-songs come and go.</p> +<p>At present you're a day behind the fair,</p> +<p>And want (as I myself) a change of air.</p> +<p>You should protest you're being driven crazy</p> +<p>By waiting for the answer of fair <span class="sc">Daisy</span>;</p> +<p>Or else ask sadly what was she to do</p> +<p>Who, "silly girl," got taken on to Crewe.</p> +<p>Whistle <i>that</i> charming ditty, if you must,</p> +<p>Until, (forgive the phrase) until you bust,</p> +<p>But do <i>not</i> whistle, if you wish to rank</p> +<p>As in the know, "<i>The Man who broke the Bank</i>."</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page190" id="page190"></a>[pg 190]</span> + +<h3 class="sans">UPON JULIA'S MOTHER.</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>To depart presently.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Julia, I deemed that I had wed</p> +<p class="i2">Not thine, but only thee;</p> +<p>A child I wept my mother sped,</p> +<p>Thou'st given thine to me.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>She came as wandering sea-birds come</p> +<p class="i2">To rest upon a spar</p> +<p>Of ships that trail the lights of home</p> +<p class="i2">Where homeless billows are.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>From Aix-les-Bains to Harrogate,</p> +<p class="i2">From Bath to Tunbridge Wells,</p> +<p>She's sojourned in Imperial state,</p> +<p class="i2">Yet here content she dwells.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Content—and yet no truce with truth</p> +<p class="i2">Such Roman mothers know;</p> +<p>Quick to detect the faults of youth,</p> +<p class="i2">And prompt to tell us so.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>I knew not I possess'd the charms</p> +<p class="i2">Her wandering will to bind,</p> +<p>To keep me from my <span class="sc">Julia's</span> arms,</p> +<p class="i2">And mould the baby's mind.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>When first I held thee to my breast</p> +<p class="i2">I little dreamt the day</p> +<p>Another bird would share the nest</p> +<p class="i2">As there content to stay.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Thy kindred, dear, I wooed not them,</p> +<p class="i2">Such wealth I'd fain resign;</p> +<p>Since I have won the brightest gem</p> +<p class="i2">I covet not the mine.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="center">Mrs. R. says that when she +thinks the drains are likely to +be offensive she invariably uses +"bucolic."</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><a href="images/190-1000.png"><img src="images/190-400.png" width="400" height="498" alt="A CRISIS IN CONJUGAL LIFE." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">A CRISIS IN CONJUGAL LIFE.</h3> + +<p><i>Fond Husband.</i> "<span class="sc">Look here, Ethel, I see you daily getting +Thinner and Paler; you cannot Eat, you cannot Sleep, while I +find Life a burden to me. I can bear it no longer! Let us +make a Bargain. If you promise not to give me a Christmas +Present, I'll promise not to give <i>you</i> one. There!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>FAREWELL!</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>On hearing that snow had fallen in the North.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Snow has fallen, winter's due;</p> +<p>In the months that now ensue</p> +<p>Smoky fogs will hide the view,</p> +<p>Mud will get as thick as glue,</p> +<p>Rain, snow, hail will come in lieu</p> +<p>Of the warmth to which we grew</p> +<p>Quite accustomed, and will brew</p> +<p>Colds, coughs, influenza, rheumatism</p> +<p>to thrill us through.</p> +<p>Gone the sky of southern hue,</p> +<p>Cloudless space of cobalt blue!</p> +<p>Gone the nights so sultry—phew!</p> +<p>Quite without rheumatic dew.</p> +<p>Gone the days, when each anew</p> +<p>Seemed yet finer! In Corfu,</p> +<p>California, Peru,</p> +<p>This would not be strange, but true;</p> +<p>But the weatherwise at Kew</p> +<p>Say in England it is new.</p> +<p>Peerless summer, in these few</p> +<p>Lines we bid farewell to you!</p> +<p>Or as cockneys say, "Aydew!"</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind1">A "<span class="sc">Shakspearian Student</span>" +wants to know "if, when +<i>Richard the Third</i> calls out 'A +horse, a horse, my kingdom for +a horse!' he is not alluding to +the Night-Mare from which he +is only just recovering." [Can't +say. Highly probable. So like +<span class="sc">Shakspeare</span>.—<span class="sc">Ed.</span>]</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind1">Dear <span class="sc">Mr. P.</span>,—I believe you +do not know that Mrs. R. recently +visited Rome. She tells +me that she thinks it an excellent +thing that the Tontine +Marshes have been planted with +Apocalypses.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>THE CITY HORSE.</h2> + +<h4>(<i>A Legend of the "Coming Ninth."</i>)</h4> + +<p>"You <i>must</i> let me have him on the day I have specified," said the +military-looking man, with an air of determination.</p> + +<p>"And you order this, Sir, after learning his history?" replied the +well-educated cabman. "You know that he has been in a +circus?"</p> + +<p>"I do; it is one of his greatest qualifications. A circus, I think +you said, where there was a brass band?"</p> + +<p>"Not only a brass band, but a very brassy band indeed; a brass +band all drum, trombone, and cymbal! A brass band that could be +heard for miles!"</p> + +<p>"And he bore it well?" asked the ex-soldier. "He did not mind +the noise?"</p> + +<p>"Not he," was the reply. "Why should he mind it? For remember +he was accustomed to insults from the clown. When a horse +regards insults from the clown with equanimity, you may be sure he +will object to nothing."</p> + +<p>"And what were the nature of these insults?" queried the +veteran warrior, with renewed interest. "Did the clown push him +about? Did he tell him to gee-up?"</p> + +<p>"Why, certainly. Had he been an unruly crowd at Blackheath on +a Bank Holiday, the clown could not have behaved worse. And +<i>Rufus</i>, poor beast! bore it all—six nights a week, with a <i>matinée</i> +thrown in on a Saturday—without complaining."</p> + +<p>"And you do not think he would mind being called 'cat's-meat?' +Not even by a rude boy?"</p> + +<p>"Bless you, Sir, it is what I often call him myself. <i>Rufus</i> is his +name, but cat's-meat is his nature. But don't you want him for +more than a day? Won't you buy him?"</p> + +<p>"No," returned the veteran soldier, sternly. "I only require him +for the Ninth."</p> + +<p>"He is getting too old for cabwork," argued the well-read driver. +"He would make a splendid charger for the adjutant of a Yeomanry +corps, and out of training might be put in the harness of a bathing-machine. +No, pray don't interrupt me, Sir. You are going to urge +that he would be useless in the winter. But no, Sir, you are wrong. +He might take round coal (in small quantities), when the nights +draw in. Can I not tempt you, Sir? You shall have him a bargain. +Shall we say a penny a pound?"</p> + +<p>"I have already told you," replied the warrior, "that I have +need of him only on the 9th. You understand, the 9th of next +month."</p> + +<p>The well-read cab-driver nodded, and the two men parted. It +was a bargain. <i>Rufus</i> (<i>alias</i> "Cat's-meat") was to be ready for +hire on the 9th of November.</p> + +<p>"What does he want to do with the brute?" the well-read cabman +asked himself again and again. "Surely he cannot mean to +ride it? And yet he desired to learn if <i>Rufus</i> were up to his +weight; and when I answered Yes, his eyes brightened, and he +regarded the animal with renewed interest."</p> + +<p>And all through the day the mystery puzzled him. He could not +solve the problem, try as he would. Suddenly, as he was discussing +a cup of tea in a shelter, a ray of light flooded his perplexed mind.</p> + +<p>"Eureka!" he exclaimed; "the warrior must have been the City +Marshal; and he wanted <i>Rufus</i> ('Cat's-meat'), of course, for the +Lord Mayor's Show!" And perhaps the cabman had guessed rightly. +Only the future can tell.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind2"><span class="sc">A Question for Scotchmen.</span>—The Duke of <span class="sc">Athole</span> announces +that he is in future to be described as the Duke of <span class="sc">Atholl</span>. Why +has he changed his name? Because he canna thole it.</p> + +<div class="poem1"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>A Duke cannot add to his stature a cubit,</p> +<p class="i2">Like the frog in the fable in vain he may swell;</p> +<p>And in vain does he alter his name with a new bit,</p> +<p class="i2">Its length is the same, though he tacks on an "l."</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind2"><span class="sc">M. Zola</span> is a Son of France. Around him are many literary +planets and stars, and imitators, shining with reflected light—the +French Zolar System. This is the Theory of <i>Mr. Punch</i>.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page191" id="page191"></a>[pg 191]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/191-1500.png"><img src="images/191-600.png" width="600" height="430" alt="LIKA JOKO'S JOTTINGS. A GOLF MEETING." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">LIKA JOKO'S JOTTINGS. A GOLF MEETING.</h3></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page192" id="page192"></a>[pg 192]</span> + +<h3>A "FANTASTIC" ACTION.</h3> + +<blockquote><p>["A young lady of Newark while +dancing a few nights ago fell and +broke her leg, and she has now +commenced an action for damages +against her partner, to whom she +attributes the cause of the accident."—<i>Daily +Telegraph.</i>]</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem1"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"Oh, bother!" girls will sigh; "a fresh excuse</p> +<p class="i2">For men not fond of dancing to forsake us!</p> +<p>We fancy we can hear them say 'the deuce!</p> +<p>We can't dance <i>now</i>; to drop a girl might break us!'</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Now e'en 'the better sort,' who used to beg</p> +<p class="i2">To see our cards, will—or our wits deceive us—</p> +<p>Reflect that they may break a partner's leg,</p> +<p class="i2">And, choose, alas, to 'make a leg,' and leave us."</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>DRAMA COLLEGE.</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">Establishment for Young +Ladies, and Preparatory +School for Little Boys</span>,</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Conducted by</i></p> + +<p class="center">THE MISSES MELPOMENE AND THALIA.</p> + +<p class="ind">The Curriculum includes +thorough grounding in Knowledge +of Life, and in High-class +Virtue and Honesty. The Pupils +are carefully restrained from +the practice of "unlovely +middle-class virtue." Severe +morality constantly inculcated. +Mere amusement strictly excluded. +Aristocratic Deportment +and Etiquette taught by +experienced Assistants.</p> + +<p class="author">For further particulars apply +to Mr. <span class="sc">Enry Hauthur Jones</span>.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><a href="images/192-1000.png"><img src="images/192-400.png" width="400" height="512" alt="A PRICELESS POSSESSION." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">A PRICELESS POSSESSION.</h3> +<p><i>Mrs. Golightly.</i> "<span class="sc">Oh, I hope you won't think it rude, but would +you mind telling me what that wonderful Black Stone you're +wearing is?</span>"</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Luxor.</i> "<span class="sc">Oh, certainly. I find most People envy me that. +It's a piece of real English Coal!</span>"</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Golightly.</i> "<span class="sc">How wonderful! Ah, I Wish <i>my</i> Husband was +A Millionaire!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>AWFUL RESULT OF THE COAL FAMINE.</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>Upon an Ordinarily Innocent and Non-punning Fire-worshipper</i>).</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Oh! <i>what</i> a period! Strikes might puzzle <span class="sc">Solon</span>!</p> +<p class="i2">I love, in winter—having shut up shop—</p> +<p>My snug back-parlour fire to <i>semi-colon</i>,</p> +<p class="i2">Now there's no <i>colon</i>, fuel's at a <i>full-stop!</i></p> +<p>I have burned coke, wood, turf, aye, even slate,</p> +<p>But to <i>no</i> fire myself cannot a-comma-date!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind">"<span class="sc">Practical John.</span>"—Mr. +<span class="sc">Hollingshead's</span> advertisement, +headed "Plain Words to the +Public," is eminently characteristic +of the author. Says he, +"The prices I start with I shall +stand or fall by." Certainly, as +the prices are moderate, the +public will stand them, so he +needn't trouble himself on that +score. If he be riding for a +fall, and if the public won't +come down heavily, let us hope, +if he fall at all, he will come +down lightly. Then he adds, in +his own independent way, "If +it is thought necessary to tamper +with these prices in an upward +direction" ["tampering upward" +is pretty], "I shall give +up this, my final effort in +theatrical management" [Oh, +no, don't!—please don't!!], +"and walk out of the building." +Why "walk"? By his +own free admission he will be +driven out (which sounds like +a contradiction in terms), so +why make a virtue of walking +out. Never walk when you can +ride. But J. H. walk out!! +"<i>J. H. y suis et J. H. y +reste.</i>"</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>THE BRIGHT AND BEAUTIFUL WORKING-MAN.</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>As described by Sir E. Arnold at Birmingham.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem1"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>A wonderful joy our eyes to bless,</p> +<p>In his magnificent happiness,</p> +<p>Is the working-man of whom I sing,</p> +<p>Who fares more royally than a king.</p> +<p class="i2">Seeing his "board" Sir <span class="sc">Edwin's</span> floored—</p> +<p class="i4"><i>Hors d'œuvres</i>, soup, fish, <i>entrée</i>, joint, game, ices.</p> +<p class="i2"><i>Ab ovo</i> nothing has been ignored</p> +<p class="i4"><i>Usque ad malum</i>, not minding prices.</p> +<p class="i2"><span class="sc">Augustus</span> might have have his sight</p> +<p class="i4">Reading with only a lamp or taper;</p> +<p class="i2">The working-man's electric light</p> +<p class="i4">Glows on immaculate daily paper.</p> +<p>Go search in <span class="sc">Mommsen's</span> history,</p> +<p>Then come you home and sing with me—</p> +<p>No life of emperor could, or can,</p> +<p>Be bright as that of the working-man!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>"Machinery turns his toil to art."</p> +<p><span class="sc">Burne-Jones</span> and <span class="sc">Morris</span> at this would start.</p> +<p>Though the "Arts and Crafts" be with horror dumb,</p> +<p>A Birmingham Parthenon yet may come!</p> +<p class="i2">The School Board's pains mature his brains,</p> +<p class="i4">Masses beat classes—he'll soon annul us.</p> +<p class="i2">Never went—as he goes—in trains</p> +<p class="i4"><span class="sc">Heliogabalus</span> or <span class="sc">Lucullus</span>.</p> +<p class="i2">He, should he care, can daily stare</p> +<p class="i4">At statues draped by dear Mrs. <span class="sc">Grundy</span>,</p> +<p class="i2">And ride in trams for a halfpenny fare,</p> +<p class="i4">And "wire" for sixpence, except on Sunday.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>His letters traverse the ocean wave.</p> +<p><i>Note.</i>—If a penny you fail to save,</p> +<p>To <span class="sc">Henniker-Heaton</span> please apply,</p> +<p>And he will discover the reason why.</p> +<p class="i2">Rich in the things contentment brings,</p> +<p class="i4">In every pure enjoyment wealthy,</p> +<p class="i2">But is he as gay as the poet sings,</p> +<p class="i4">In body and mind as hale and healthy?</p> +<p class="i2">In silence adept, he has certainly kept</p> +<p class="i4">So extremely quiet we should not know it.</p> +<p class="i2">Yet he "as authorities mayn't accept"</p> +<p class="i4">Such blooming blokes as an Eastern poet.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind1"><span class="sc">Oh What a Sir Pryce!</span>—Sir <span class="sc">Pryce</span> +<span class="sc">Pryce-Jones</span>, M.P. for the Montgomery +Boroughs, has received a testimonial from his +constituents. That is to say, because he has +been a nice-<span class="sc">Pryce-Jones</span> they have made him +a prize-<span class="sc">Pryce-Jones</span>. Bravo, Sir <span class="sc">Twice-Pryce-Jones</span>!</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind2"><span class="sc">Suggestion to Provincial Lawn-Tennis +Club.</span>—Why not give Lawn-Tennis Balls in +Costume during the winter?</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>QUOTH DUNRAVEN, NEVERMORE!</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>There's many a slip 'twixt "cup" and lip!</p> +<p class="i2">Is there not, good <span class="sc">Dunraven</span>?</p> +<p>You'll take your Transatlantic trip</p> +<p class="i2">Like sportsman, not like craven.</p> +<p>The "centre-board" against the keel</p> +<p class="i2">Has won. On woe we sup, Sir!</p> +<p>As in old nursery rhyme we feel</p> +<p class="i2">"The 'dish' ran away with the—cup," Sir!</p> +<p>The Valkyries, those valiant dames,</p> +<p class="i2">Success might sure have wished us;</p> +<p>But the <i>Vigilant</i>, our yacht-builders shames.</p> +<p class="i2">The "Yankee Dish" has—dished us!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>TO "HANS BREITMANN."</h3> + +<blockquote><p>[Mr. <span class="sc">C. G. Leland</span>, in his recently-published +<i>Memoirs</i>, informs us of his very early appreciation +of the formula, "I am I—I am myself—I +myself I."]</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>You, from mirth to logic turning,</p> +<p class="i2">Doubly proved yourself the right man,</p> +<p>By your wondrous breadth of learning,</p> +<p class="i2">For the title of "der Breitmann."</p> +<p>Yes, the lore and fun within you</p> +<p class="i2">Show us yearly greater reasons</p> +<p>Why we wish you to continue</p> +<p class="i2"><i>Quite yourself</i> for farther seasons.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<table summary="tn" align="center" style="margin-top: 3em;"> +<tr> + <td class="note"> + +<p>Transcriber's Note:</p> + +<p>Sundry damaged or missing punctuation has been repaired.</p> + +<p>Page 192: Extra 'have' removed.</p> +<p>"AUGUSTUS might have (have) hurt his sight".</p> + + </td> +</tr> +</table> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, +October 21st 1893, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + +***** This file should be named 39351-h.htm or 39351-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/3/5/39351/ + +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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