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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, November 4th 1893 + +Author: Various + +Editor: Sir Francis Burnand + +Release Date: April 5, 2012 [EBook #39381] + +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="page205" id="page205"></a>[pg 205]</span> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<h1>Punch, or the London Charivari</h1> + +<h2>Volume 105, November 4th 1893</h2> + +<h4><i>edited by Sir Francis Burnand</i></h4> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<h2 class="sans">SELF-HELP.</h2> + +<p><i>Monday.</i>—Am sick of paying all these +doctor's bills. Have just seen an advertisement +of <i>The Domestic Doctor, a Dictionary +of Medicine</i>, issued in monthly parts. The +very thing for a man like me, somewhat +delicate. Hasten to secure Part I. Shall +now be able to doctor myself and save all +fees. Delightful! To celebrate emancipation +ask <span class="sc">Jones</span> and <span class="sc">Robinson</span> to dinner at +club. No need for economy now. Jolly good +dinner. That club port is excellent.</p> + +<p><i>Tuesday.</i>—Feel rather seedy. Pain in +head. No appetite. Just the time to make +use of <i>Domestic Doctor</i>. Capital book. +Hullo! Well, I'll be hanged! Never +thought of that. The beastly thing's alphabetical, +and only gets to "Chilblain." No +good to look out "Headache." Ah, perhaps +"Ache." No go. "Appetite?" But appetite +isn't a disease, except in men like +<span class="sc">Banting</span>. Absolutely no use whatever. +Still, will not be conquered. Shall get +another part in a month. Until then take +great care only to have complaints up to Ch. +Can always fall back on Chilblain. Take +it easy, with B. and S. in moderate doses +when required, and begin to feel better.</p> + +<p><i>Wednesday.</i>—Just cut my finger. Feel +somewhat nervous. Remember vaguely that +lock-jaw often follows a wound on the +hand. Ha! My dictionary. "Cuts." Ah, +no. "Cuts" come after "Chilblain." They +will be in Part II. Bandage wound, and +prepare for the worst. Sit with mouth wide +open as best attitude for approaching lockjaw. +Can then at least be fed. If, however, +it really comes, shall be dead before +Part VII. of the Dictionary is out. Anyhow, +will not send for a doctor.</p> + +<p><i>Thursday.</i>—Hooray! Finger and jaw both +well. Somehow left boot feels uncommonly +tight. Can't walk at all. That fool <span class="sc">Phust</span> +has made this pair too narrow. Feels as +though there were something on my toe. By +Jove, so there is! Where's the Dictionary? +Chilblain? Can't be a chilblain this mild +weather. Of course not; it's a corn. Look +out "Corn." Oh, hang it, just too far! +But, bright idea, perhaps it's a bunion. +Look out "Bunion." Hullo, what's this? +"Bunion, see Corn." Well, of all the confounded——Positively +can't walk till next +month. Lie on sofa under open window to +get as much air as possible. Fall asleep. +Heavy shower comes on. Get quite wet.</p> + +<p><i>Friday.</i>—Sneezing like mad, and coughing. +Blow my cough! Blow my nose! No +good looking out "Cold" or "Cough" in +Dictionary, unless—of course "Catarrh." +Seize my priceless treasure, and read, +"Catarrh, Latin <i>catarrhus</i>, from Greek"—oh, +hang the derivation!—"an affection of +the mucous membrane, commonly called a +cold. See Cold." Foiled again! Must do +what I can with domestic remedies till +Part II. comes out. Fires, hot grog, hot bath, +hot gruel, lots of blankets. Nearly suffocated.</p> + +<p><i>Saturday.</i>—Very much worse. Awful +cough. Sit close to fire wrapped in thick +dressing-gown. <span class="sc">Jones</span> looks in. "Hullo, +old man," he says, "what's wrong? Seedy?" +I choke out some answer. "Why don't you +send for the doctor?" In my indignation +nearly burst my head with coughing. At last +show him Dictionary, and write on scrap of +paper, "Can you suggest some complaint +like mine beginning with A or B, or C up to +Ch?" Impetuous fellow, <span class="sc">Jones</span>. Starts off +wildly—"Influenza, Pneumonia, Pleurisy, +Diphtheria, Sore Throat, Inflammation of the +Lungs——" Then I manage to stop him, and +to gasp, "Up to C." "No difficulty about +that," says he. "Cold. Cough——" I shake +my head feebly. "Well, then, Bronchitis." +Of course. The very thing. Look it out. +"Bronchitis, from Greek"—blow the derivation!—"inflammation +of the membrane of +the bronchia. This serious disease requires +skilled attention. Keep the patient warm, +and send at once for a medical man." What +a miserable swindle, when I hoped to save +all doctor's fees! Was warm before. Simply +boiling with indignation now. Pass the book +to <span class="sc">Jones</span> in speechless disgust. "Quite right +too," he remarks; "just what I said. +Capital book! I'll send the doctor as I go +home." And so he does, in spite of my protests. +Doctor comes and lays his head on my +chest. Then he says, cheerfully, "Only a +little cough. You'll be all right to-morrow. +What's that you say? Bronchitis? Bosh!"</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"><a href="images/205-600.png"><img src="images/205-350.png" width="350" height="472" alt="Horsey Party. 'I want your Table d'Oat Dinner!'" /></a> +<p><i>Horsey Party.</i> "<span class="sc">Aw—I want your Table d'Oat Dinner!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>A LAWYER'S CHORTLE.</h3> + +<h4>(<i>A long way after "The Throstle."</i>)</h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Vacation is over, vacation is over,</p> +<p class="i2">I know it, I know it, I know it.</p> +<p>Back to the Strand again, home to the Courts again,</p> +<p class="i2">Come counsel and clients to go it.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Welcome awaits you, High Court of Justice,</p> +<p class="i2">Thousands will flock to you daily.</p> +<p>"You, you, you, you." Is it then for you,</p> +<p class="i2">That we forget the Old Bailey?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Jostling and squeezing and struggling and shoving,</p> +<p class="i2">What else were the Courts ever made for?</p> +<p>The Courts 'twixt the Temple and grey Lincoln's Inn,</p> +<p class="i2">They're not yet entirely paid for!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Now till next year, all of us cry,</p> +<p class="i2">We'll say (for a fee) what we're bidden.</p> +<p>Vacation is over, is over, hurrah!</p> +<p class="i2">And all past sorrow is hidden.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind1"><span class="sc">The Pickwickian Examination Paper.</span>—Pickwickian students are well to the front. +The first answer to our question in last week's +number was sent from Maidstone. Fitting +that it should come from <span class="sc">Dickens's</span> favourite +county, Kent. Yes. The only mention of +champagne in <i>Pickwick</i> is when <i>Mr. Tupman</i> +drank a bottle of it after an exhilarating +quadrille.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>DAMON OUT OF DATE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Here is the lovely summer going by,</p> +<p>And we know nought about it, you and I,</p> +<p class="i4">Being so far away</p> +<p>One from the other; yet to outward eye</p> +<p class="i4">We both are summer gay.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>And people talk; although no pulses stir</p> +<p>However much I laugh and dance with her,</p> +<p class="i4">My temporary fate;</p> +<p>And you, perhaps as carelessly, prefer</p> +<p class="i4">That one your will to wait,</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Who, the dance over, from his strict embrace</p> +<p>Gallantly frees you, mops his sun-tanned face,</p> +<p class="i4">And asks in accents low</p> +<p>Whether you'd like an ice, or what, in case</p> +<p class="i4">You breathe a doubtful "No."</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Oh, the striped awning and the fairy lamp,</p> +<p>The cool night fragrance, the insidious damp,</p> +<p class="i4">And, more insidious still,</p> +<p>The sweet effrontery of the beardless scamp</p> +<p class="i4">Who babbles at his will.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Here, by the sea, which in the darkness sings,</p> +<p>On the free breeze I give my fancy wings,</p> +<p class="i4">And in a sudden shrine</p> +<p>Your image throned appears, while the wind swings</p> +<p class="i4">Its sea-incense divine.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Breathless I worship in the waiting night</p> +<p>The sparkling eyes, that sometimes seem all light,</p> +<p class="i4">The cheek so purely pale,</p> +<p>The sacred breast, than whitest dress more white,</p> +<p class="i4">Where whitest thought must fail.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Thin arms, with dimpled shadows here and there,</p> +<p>The curl'd luxuriance of your soft, dark hair</p> +<p class="i4">Its own bewitching wreath,</p> +<p>And perfect mouth that shows, in smiles too rare,</p> +<p class="i4">The radiant little teeth.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>You cannot live on dances and delights,</p> +<p>Or fêtes by day and dance-music by nights.</p> +<p class="i4">Time foots it fleeter far</p> +<p>Than all the surging crowd your beauty smites</p> +<p class="i4">Like some coruscant star.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The ruthless social dragon will not spare</p> +<p>Your sweet girl nature, withering in the glare,</p> +<p class="i4">Or peeping out by stealth.</p> +<p>Wealth's prize is beauty, and to make all fair,</p> +<p class="i4">Beauty's desire is wealth.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>I cannot keep a carriage for you, dear;</p> +<p>No horses on three hundred pounds a year</p> +<p class="i4">My lacking stables grace.</p> +<p>Yet the swift Hansom to the whistle clear</p> +<p class="i4">Will always speed apace.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>I cannot give you wines of vintage rare,</p> +<p>There is no room for them beneath the stair</p> +<p class="i4">Which is my cellar's space.</p> +<p>Yet with Duke <span class="sc">Humphrey</span> we could often fare</p> +<p class="i4">With more than ducal grace.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Ah, loves, like books, are fated from the first,</p> +<p>One gets no cup of water for the thirst</p> +<p class="i4">The whole stream would not slake;</p> +<p>Another dims with tears the springs that burst</p> +<p class="i4">To sunshine for his sake.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>When this vain fervour sadly sobers down,</p> +<p>I'll love you still, white maid, with eyes so brown</p> +<p class="i4">And voice so passing sweet,</p> +<p>And haply with Apollo's laurel crown</p> +<p class="i4">My love's foredoomed defeat.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page206" id="page206"></a>[pg 206]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<h3 class="sans">WHEN THE "CAT"'S AWAY!</h3> +<h4><span class="sc">Air</span>—"<i>The Sergeant's Song.</i>"</h4> +<a href="images/206-1200.png"><img src="images/206-500.png" width="500" height="590" alt="WHEN THE CAT'S AWAY!" /></a></div> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>When the "Cat" is not engaged in its employment—</p> +<p class="i10">Right employment,</p> +<p>Of laying its nine tails on brutal backs—</p> +<p class="i10">Brutal backs,</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Street gangs of roughs are free to find employment—</p> +<p class="i10">Bad employment,</p> +<p>In beleaguering the cit's returning tracks—</p> +<p class="i10">Homeward tracks.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Our feelings we with difficulty smother—!</p> +<p class="i10">'Culty smother,</p> +<p>At finding ruffian hordes at rowdy "fun"—</p> +<p class="i10">Rowdy fun.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Taking one consideration with another—</p> +<p class="i10">With another,</p> +<p>One feels that something stringent should be done—</p> +<p class="i10">Promptly done!</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page207" id="page207"></a>[pg 207]</span> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>There's the pistol-bearing burglar boldly burgling—</p> +<p class="i10">Boldly burgling,</p> +<p>There's the female fiend engaged in cruel crime—</p> +<p class="i10">Cruel crime.</p> +<p>There's the bashed, half-throttled traveller lying gurgling—</p> +<p class="i10">Faintly gurgling,</p> +<p>And the "Cat" is lying idle all the time—</p> +<p class="i10">All the time.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>There's the brutal bully kicking wife or mother—</p> +<p class="i10">Wife or mother,</p> +<p>The unnatural father torturing his son—</p> +<p class="i10">Childish son!</p> +<p>Ah, take one consideration with another—</p> +<p class="i10">With another,</p> +<p>It's surely time that something stern were done—</p> +<p class="i10">Quickly done!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>When the "Cat" was laid about the brute garrotter—</p> +<p class="i10">Cur garrotter,</p> +<p>He soon found it inadvisable to choke—</p> +<p class="i10">'Ble to choke.</p> +<p>And the lout who of street-outrage is a plotter—</p> +<p class="i10">Callous plotter,</p> +<p>Would not deem the nine-tailed lash a little joke—</p> +<p class="i10">Pleasant joke.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The woman-beating brute would hardly smother—</p> +<p class="i10">Scarcely smother,</p> +<p>His howlings when the lash was well laid on—</p> +<p class="i10">Well laid on.</p> +<p>So, take one consideration with another—</p> +<p class="i10">With another,</p> +<p>The "Cat" should once again be called upon—</p> +<p class="i10">Called upon.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The "corner-boys," and larrikins, and suchlike—</p> +<p class="i10">Louts and suchlike,</p> +<p>Who rove the streets at night in rowdy gangs—</p> +<p class="i10">Robber-gangs,</p> +<p>The tingling o' the nine tails might not much like—</p> +<p class="i10"><i>Would</i> not much like,</p> +<p>But <i>that</i> need not stir sentimental pangs—</p> +<p class="i10">Maudlin pangs.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>"Gang-boy" to brute Garrotter is just brother—</p> +<p class="i10">Simply brother.</p> +<p>The "Cat" away such vermin prowl—for "fun"—</p> +<p class="i10">Savage fun!</p> +<p>Yes, take one consideration with another—</p> +<p class="i10">With another,</p> +<p>The "Cat" should wake again, says <i>Punch</i> for one—</p> +<p class="i10"><i>Punch</i> for one!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The policeman seems unequal to the job—</p> +<p class="i10">Toughish job.</p> +<p>The constabulary fails to quell the mob—</p> +<p class="i10">Rowdy mob.</p> +<p>So, as, very plainly, something <i>must</i> be done—</p> +<p class="i10">Promptly done,</p> +<p>The suggestion of the "Cat"'s a happy one—</p> +<p class="i10">Happy one!</p> + </div> </div> + +<blockquote><p> +[<i>And Mr. Punch, with picture +and poem</i> (<i>grimly earnest, +though of Gilbertian tone</i>) +<i>urges its application energetically +home, upon the powers +that be</i>. +</p></blockquote> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/207-1500.png"><img src="images/207-600.png" width="600" height="383" alt="AGRICULTURAL MANNERS." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">AGRICULTURAL MANNERS.</h3> + +<p><span class="sc">Scene</span>—<i>Hounds running across Land occupied by Non-sporting +Tenant.</i></p> + +<p><i>Sportswoman.</i> "<span class="sc">Now, my Boy, open the Gate, please, and let me +through.</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Young Hodge.</i> "<span class="sc">My Orthers is—'Jim, you oppens that there Gāate for +no man!' And ar'm denged if ar dis <i>for a +Woman!</i></span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>NOTE BY OUR OWN PHILOSOPHER.</h3> + +<p>The breakfast-eating practical +joker, who can be credited with +the humorous invention of placing +the shell of an egg (the edible +contents of which he has previously +extracted and swallowed) +inverted in an egg-cup, so as +to deceive the first hungry person +arriving late into fancying that +the others have considerately deprived +themselves in order that +he may not be without his favourite +delicacy, this originator, I say, +was decidedly a genius. His work +after hundreds, nay, thousands of +years, remains, fresh as is the +new laid egg itself! After being +used a million billion times, it +gives now the same pleasure as +ever it did when it first issued +from the brain of its brilliant +creator! Such a practical joke +as this is "not for an age, but for +all time," until there shall be no +longer left a hen to lay an egg, +or, if there be an egg left by the +expiring hen, there shall be no +longer a person remaining to eat +the egg left by the egg-spiring +hen; or, if the person and the +egg be there, the last man and +the last egg, there shall be no ten +minutes allowed for refreshment, +as there will be no more time for +anything!! <span class="sc">Socrates</span>, <span class="sc">Homer</span>, +<span class="sc">Ovid</span>, <span class="sc">Horace</span>, <span class="sc">Plautus</span>, <span class="sc">Terence</span>, +<span class="sc">Shakspeare</span>, <span class="sc">Watt</span>, Sir +<span class="sc">Isaac Newton</span>, <i>cum multis aliis</i>! +their names are remembered, and +their fame is to the end of the +world! While, alas, the name of +the True Wit who first chuckled +over his stroke of genius, is lost +for ever, no work of art perpetuates +his name. But his humour +is <i>usque ad finem omnium rerum</i>!</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">Mrs. R.</span> is not surprised that +the <i>Valkyrie</i> did not win, when +it broke its pinnacle and did not +have a centipede.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page208" id="page208"></a>[pg 208]</span> + +<h2 class="sans">UNDER THE ROSE.</h2> + +<h4>(<i>A Story in Scenes.</i>)</h4> + +<p><span class="sc">Scene</span> XII.—<i>Another box at the Eldorado.</i> +<span class="sc">Time</span>—<i>About</i> 9.30 <span class="sc">P.M.</span></p> + +<p><i>Enter</i> Mrs. <span class="sc">Merridew</span> <i>and</i> <span class="sc">Althea</span>, <i>followed +by</i> Colonel +<span class="sc">Merridew</span> and Captain <span class="sc">Alchin</span>.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Merridew.</i> <span class="sc">Frank</span>, the man <i>did</i> say <span class="sc">Walter +Wildfire</span> +hasn't sung yet, didn't he? Yes? then <i>that</i>'s all right! Oughtn't +you and I to sit at the back, <span class="sc">Thea</span>? Well, you shall have this corner +at any rate, and then the curtain will hide you. Captain <span class="sc">Alchin</span>, +will you come between us, please, and then you can explain any of +the jokes we don't understand.</p> + +<p class="ind2"> +[<i>They settle down.</i></p> + +<p><i>Captain Alchin.</i> Pleasure! (<i>To himself.</i>) Think I see myself +explainin' +the jokes and that! (<i>Aloud.</i>) Afraid I shan't be of much +use, really. Rather out of my line this sort of thing, you know!</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> I'm sure you +must know more about it +than Miss <span class="sc">Toovey</span> and I +do. Tell me who is this +rather good-looking girl +in kneebreeches with the +horrid voice and the blue +eyelids, and why does she +walk like that?</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 320px; margin-left: 20px;"><a href="images/208-1200.png"><img src="images/208-300.png" width="300" height="387" alt="'See us lurch along in line, with a straggle serpentine.'" /></a> +<p class="center">"See us lurch along in line, with a straggle serpentine."</p></div> + +<p><i>Capt. Alch.</i> (<i>off his +guard</i>). Oh, that's Miss +<span class="sc">Lardie Lushboy</span>; it's her +usual business—drinkin' +song, young man about +town, and all that.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> There, you see, +you know all about <i>her</i>!</p> + +<p class="ind2"> +[Capt. A. <i>hastens to explain +that her name is on the +programme</i>.</p> + +<p class="ind2"><i>Miss Lardie</i> (<i>sings</i>)—</p> + +<div class="poem2"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>See us lurch along in line, with a straggle serpentine,</p> + </div> </div> + +<p class="ind2"> +[<i>She suits the action to the +word.</i> +</p> + +<div class="poem2"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>For we've done a heavy fuddle, and we never pass a "pub"!</p> +<p>And if you want a proof how we chuck about our "oof"—</p> +<p>Why, come along and have a drink with the Rowdy Razzle Club!</p> + </div> </div> + +<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> I suppose that's +intended as a satire on noisy +young men, isn't it, Captain +<span class="sc">Alchin</span>?</p> + +<p><i>Captain Alch.</i> (<i>who +hadn't thought of it in +that light</i>). Well—ha—that +depends on how you +<i>take</i> it, don't you know.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> That's the way +<i>I</i> shall take it, and then it's +quite moral. (<i>A Low Comedian, +in a broad-brimmed +hat and a rough black wig, +makes his appearance</i>.) +This must be <span class="sc">Walter +Wildfire</span>, I suppose. <span class="sc">Thea</span>, do you see? he looks <i>quite</i> nice, and +not really vulgar. Now he's going to sing. Isn't he too delightfully +funny! What, <span class="sc">Frank</span>? Not <span class="sc">Wildfire</span>? Mr. <span class="sc">Alf Redbeak</span>. +Are you <i>sure</i>? I was wondering what there could possibly be in such a +common little man as that to make such a fuss about. And <i>what</i> +language? Captain <span class="sc">Alchin</span>, what <i>does</i> he mean by saying that he +was "dotted on the crust by a copper," and "went off his onion"?</p> + +<p><i>Capt. Alch.</i> (<i>who foresees rocks ahead if he once undertakes to +interpret</i>). Oh, well, they're always inventin' some new slang, you +know, Mrs. <span class="sc">Merridew</span>; no use tryin' to keep up with it.</p> + +<p class="ind2"> +[Miss <span class="sc">Cissie Cinders</span> <i>appears as a bedraggled maid of all work, +and sings a doleful ditty to the effect that</i>—"Her missis will +not let her wear no feathers in her 'at, so her sojer's gone +and given 'er the chuck."</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> (<i>delighted</i>). Isn't she refreshing—so <i>deliciously</i> vulgar! +I do hope she hasn't finished. <span class="sc">Thea</span>, you're sitting as quiet as a +little mouse in that corner. I hope you're not too dreadfully shocked? +<i>I'm</i> not—at least of course I am, really; but it's not nearly so bad +as I expected.</p> + +<p><i>Althea.</i> Oh, I'm not in the least shocked, <span class="sc">Cissie</span>, thanks; only I +don't quite understand it all.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> My dear, no more do I. I don't understand <i>any</i> of it—but +that makes no difference!</p> + +<p><i>Alth.</i> (<i>To herself</i>). I don't like to say so, but I <i>am</i> +disappointed. Mr. +<span class="sc">Curphew</span> said it would be like a Penny Reading; but it's not a bit, it's +ever so much stupider. But he never goes himself, so of course——</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> It's quite a respectable audience; I thought we should +be the only people in evening dress, but we're not. I do wish they +wouldn't allow quite so much smoking, though; the atmosphere's +getting something too awful. Oh, <span class="sc">Thea</span>, do look in that box just +opposite. Can you see through that lace curtain? Ah, you can't +see now!</p> + +<p><i>Alth.</i> (<i>looking round the edge of the curtain</i>). Where, +<span class="sc">Cissie</span>, who +is it?</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> Why, quite the typical British Matron—<i>the</i> most +tremendously proper-looking +person; so if <i>she</i> +doesn't see any harm in +being here, I'm sure we +needn't. I'll tell you when +she pops her her head out +again. There, quick! <span class="sc">Thea</span>, +quick! Did you see her +that time?</p> + +<p><i>Alth.</i> (<i>faintly</i>). Y—yes. +I—I saw her <i>that</i> time. (<i>To +herself.</i>) Is this a wicked +conscience—or what? It +was <i>so</i> like Mamma! But +how could it be?</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> Did you <i>ever</i> see +such a grim old frump, +<span class="sc">Thea</span>? I wonder what +possessed her to come to +a place like this? She +doesn't look as if it was +amusing her much.</p> + +<p><i>Alth.</i> (<i>distractedly</i>). +Doesn't she? (<i>To herself.</i>) +If it <i>should</i> be +Mamma! If she has found +out in some way that we +were to be here to-night +and followed us! But how +<i>could</i> she know? Suppose +she were to see me, and—and +come round and fetch me +away; how awful it would +be! But she can't see me +through these curtains. I +don't believe it <i>is</i> Mamma. +I—I wish I dared look +again. Oh, why did I get +<span class="sc">Cissie</span> to bring me here?</p> + +<p><i>Capt. Alch.</i> May I borrow +your opera glass for a +moment, Mrs. <span class="sc">Merridew</span>? +Thanks, awf'ly. (<i>As he +looks through it.</i>) There's +goin' to be a row in that +opposite box. Your British +Matron's gettin' her quills +up—give you my word she is.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> Oh, do let me +see! (<i>She holds out her +hand for the glass, which</i> +Capt. A. <i>surrenders</i>.) Yes, I do believe you're right. Somebody's just +come in and——Now there's another, a young man, and—oh, <span class="sc">Thea</span>!</p> + +<p><i>Alth.</i> (<i>in an agony</i>). What is it, <span class="sc">Cissie</span>? <i>do</i> tell +me! (<i>To herself.</i>) +It must be <span class="sc">Charles</span>—I'm sure it's <span class="sc">Charles</span>. Then <i>that</i>'s +why—and +it <i>is</i> Mamma! (<i>Aloud.</i>) Mayn't I have the glass?</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> I think you had better not, dear. The British Matron +has boxed the poor young man's ears—she has really. I wonder +what—but well, it doesn't matter. Now she's turned him out of +the box. He's coming back—alone. Yes, the old lady has certainly +gone—it's all over. I'm <i>so</i> sorry; it was ever so much more interesting +than that big fat man who's singing!</p> + +<p><i>Alth.</i> (<i>tremulously</i>). Mayn't I look now, <span class="sc">Cissie</span>, if it's +all over? +(<i>She almost snatches the glass, and directs it at the young man in +Box C—then to herself, with relief.</i>) Why, it isn't <span class="sc">Charles</span>—it's +not even like him. Then—oh, what a goose I've been! It wasn't +Mamma either. It was all my fancy, and she had on rather the same +kind of bonnet. As if Mamma would come to a music-hall and box +the ears of somebody she didn't know! But <i>what</i> a fright it gave +me!</p> + +<p class="ind2"> +[<i>She begins to feel capable of enjoying the performance.</i></p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page209" id="page209"></a>[pg 209]</span> + +<p><i>Col. Merridew</i> (<i>later</i>). Now we're going to see the great man, +<span class="sc">Cecilia</span>. <span class="sc">Wildfire's</span> down to sing next.</p> + +<p><i>Capt. Alch.</i> Don't you be too sure, <span class="sc">Frank</span>. They haven't put +the number up yet, you see. As likely as not they'll put in an +"extra turn," and he won't come at all. I've known that happen +lots of times when you come on purpose to see somethin', don't you +know.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> Really, Captain <span class="sc">Alchin</span>, I shall begin to suspect that +you are more of an authority about music-halls than your modesty +would admit at first.</p> + +<p><i>Capt. Alch.</i> (<i>in some confusion</i>). No, really now, Mrs. +<span class="sc">Merridew</span>, +all I mean is <span class="sc">Wildfire's</span> bringin' out a play or somethin' to-night +at the Hilarity, so he mayn't be able to turn up here, don't you see.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> I won't have you predicting evil like that; it's not at +all nice of you, and you're quite wrong, too; for there's his number +in the frame now!</p> + +<p class="ind2"> +[<i>The Scene on the Stage changes once more from an Oriental +Palace to a London Street; a bell tingles; the Orchestra +dashes into the air of</i> "The Hansom Cabman," <i>which the +bulk of the audience hail with delight; then a stream of +limelight is thrown on the boards, and</i> <span class="sc">Walter Wildfire</span> +<i>appears</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> (<i>after the first verse</i>). I don't know what it is, but +there's something about him very different from all the others. And +they say he writes all his own songs and music—so clever of him! +Quite a striking face he has, rather handsome, with that drooping +moustache. Don't <i>you</i> think he's handsome, <span class="sc">Thea</span>? (<span class="sc">Althea</span> +<i>does not answer</i>; <span class="sc">Wildfire</span> <i>sings the last verse; as he +concludes, the house is hushed for an instant, and then breaks into a thunder of +applause</i>.) It's quite beautiful that last verse; poor, poor fellow! +it all seemed so real, somehow! Ah, he's not going to sing the last +verse again. I'm rather glad, for I very nearly howled, and it would +be too silly to cry at a music-hall. (<i>Interval.</i>) Here he is again; how +different he looks. I suppose it's the sandwich-boards. (<span class="sc">Wildfire</span> +<i>goes through the second song with the small child; in the midst of +the second stanza, he suddenly falters, and only recovers himself by +a violent effort</i>; <span class="sc">Althea</span> <i>has bent forward out of the shadow of +the curtain</i>.) It's too frightfully pathetic; he's such a dear, isn't he? +(<i>The applause is more rapturous than ever; an encore is clamoured +for</i>; <span class="sc">Wildfire</span> <i>reappears, looking ghastly pale, and makes a mute +plea for indulgence; after he has finally retired, the clamour still +continues, until the scene and the number are shifted</i>.) He won't +sing any more—how sad! Wasn't he charming with that child? +(<i>In an undertone.</i>) Why, <span class="sc">Althea</span>, darling!</p> + +<p><i>Alth.</i> (<i>in a shaken voice</i>). D—don't speak to me just yet, +<span class="sc">Cissie</span>. +I know it's very foolish of me; but I can't bear it.</p> + +<p><i>Capt. Alch.</i> (<i>to himself</i>). Gad, I'd give somethin' to sing like +that Johnny, and make her eyes shine like that!</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> <span class="sc">Frank</span>, we may as well go now, there's nothing else +worth staying for, and I'm sure this horrid tobacco is ruining my +poor pearls; or would you rather stay a little longer, <span class="sc">Thea</span>?</p> + +<p><i>Alth.</i> Oh, no, no; I don't want to hear anybody else—after that. +(<i>To herself, as</i> Capt. A. <i>helps her on with her cloak</i>.) And that is +the man Mr. <span class="sc">Curphew</span> said nothing would induce him to go and +see. And I actually persuaded myself that—— But I am wiser +now. He can never be anything to me!</p> + +<p class="ind2"> +[<i>She leaves the box with her party.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">END OF SCENE XII.</span></p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2 class="sans">OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> + +<p><span class="sc">Colonel Colvile</span> chivalrously takes upon himself responsibility +for the title of the volume in which his wife has recorded their joint +experience of a trip round the coast of Africa. <i>Round the Black +Man's Garden</i> is about as bad a title as a book could have. Happily, +Mrs. <span class="sc">Colvile's</span> clever travel notes triumphantly carry the weight. +The travellers commenced their journey at Suez, visiting places in +the Red Sea which voyagers by the P. and O. steamers pass by +on the other side. They made their way down the west coast by all +the most uncomfortable means of conveyance attainable, culminating +in the filanzana, in which instrument of torture they were carried +across the hills and through the swamps of Madagascar. Colonel +<span class="sc">Colvile</span>, just now enjoying himself amid the privations of the +journey up country to Uganda, is well known as an indomitable +traveller. In Mrs. <span class="sc">Colvile</span> he found a worthy companion. On a +merry page of the narrative of life in Madagascar, it is incidentally +mentioned that the travellers arrive at Malatsy with their luggage +soaking after a dip in the river. They dine in a whitewashed hut, +with an army of big cockroaches overrunning the walls. Resuming +their journey next morning they "entered a dense cloud of +singularly malignant little black flies." The half-naked porters +were soon streaming with blood, and the passengers' faces were in a +similar condition. "Luckily," writes Mrs. <span class="sc">Colvile</span>, in her cheery +way, "we were soon clear of the infested belt, to move in the course +of half-an-hour into a flight of locusts." Mrs. <span class="sc">Colvile</span> takes as the +motto of her book the proverb, <i>Qui suit son chemin arrive à la fin</i>. +My Baronite arrived at the end of Mrs. <span class="sc">Colvile's</span> fascinating narrative +full of admiration for her courage and good temper. But as +long as Piccadilly and Pall Mall are not "up," he will be content +with them, and would rather not follow her road.</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="author"><span class="sc">Baron de Book-Worms & Co.</span></p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>THE CABMAN'S GUIDE TO POLITENESS.—No. I.</h3> + +<blockquote><p> +(<i>In short, easy Lessons, arranged after the fashion of the Child's +Handbook to Useful Knowledge.</i>) +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 150px;"><a href="images/209-350.png"><img src="images/209-150.png" width="150" height="192" alt="THE CABMAN'S GUIDE TO POLITENESS.--No. I." /></a></div> + +<ul class="none"> + +<li><i>Question.</i> I suppose your chief desire is +to make as much out of the public as possible?</li> + +<li><i>Answer.</i> I suppose it is.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> And you will be as glad to attain your +object by politeness as by any other method?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> Well, of course it don't matter to me +how I get the coin, so long as I do get it.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> Precisely. Well, have you ever tried +to be polite?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> Never. Don't know exactly what the +word represents.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> So I thought. Well, I will attempt +to teach you its meaning by example.</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> Thank you; so long as it helps me, and +don't hurt you, what's the odds?</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> Certainly; I see that you have some rudimentary knowledge +of the matter already. Well, to begin. Suppose a fare gave you +less than what you considered your right charge, how would you +behave?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> If a policeman wasn't in the way, I should say "What's +this?" and glare at him indignantly.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> Have you found this a successful method of obtaining an +increase?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> Well, no, not much. Of course if you get an old lady, or a +mother with a heap of children, you can do almost anything with +them.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> But let us take a smart cavalry officer, who knows his way +about town, do you think the method you suggest would be successful +with him?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> No, I don't; but no cavalry officer who was really smart +would offer me less than my fare.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> But we are assuming that there may be some question about +the fare. For instance, what would you consider the right charge +from Charing Cross railway-station to the St. James's Theatre?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> Why, eighteen pence, to be sure, and a cheap eighteen pence +in the bargain.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> Your computation of the charge will suit my purpose. Of +course, you know that the police put the distance at something less +than two miles, I may say considerably less?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> I daresay they do, but the police are not everybody, and you +said I was not to consider the constables if they weren't on the spot. +If they were, of course that would make a difference.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> Assume you get a shilling. Now suppose you were to look at +the coin, and to say, "I beg your pardon, Sir, but are you aware this +shilling is a George the Fourth, or a well-preserved William the +Fourth, or an early Victoria, would you not like to exchange it for +one of less historical interest?" Do you not think that such a speech, +with a civil touch of the hat, would immediately attract attention?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> It might, but I can't say for certain, as I have never tried it.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> I did not suppose that you had. Do you not believe that were +you to make such a remark your kind consideration would receive +attention?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> Quite as likely as not, but what then?</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> Well, having established yourself on a friendly footing, could +you not improve the occasion by adding, "I do not know whether +you are aware of the fact, Sir, but I frequently receive eighteen +pence for the very distance you have just travelled?"</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> Of course I could, but what good would it be?</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> That you will probably find out if you act on my suggestion, +and now, as I have taught you enough for to-day, I will adopt a +driver's phrase and "pull up." Have you anything polite to say to +me which will prove to me that you have been bettered by my instruction?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> Nothing that I can think of, unless it be, "Thank you for +nothing."</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> That is scarcely the reply I had expected. However, do not +be disheartened, to thank me at all is a move in the right direction. +And now you will come again?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> Well, yes, when I have nothing better to do.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> I am infinitely obliged to you. I will detain you no longer. +Good-bye, and I hope you will adopt my method and find it +successful.</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> I hope so, too. But there's no telling.</li> +</ul> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page210" id="page210"></a>[pg 210]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/210-1500.png"><img src="images/210-600.png" width="600" height="384" alt="THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE EXPRESSED DIFFERENTLY." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE EXPRESSED DIFFERENTLY.</h3> + +<p><span class="sc">"Don't go, Canon; I want to introduce you to a Lady who wishes to make your +acquaintance."</span></p> + +<p><span class="sc">"Oh—er—I'm rather in a hurry; some other day, perhaps—er—er."</span></p> + +<p><span class="sc">"It's my Wife, you know."</span></p> + +<p><span class="sc">"Oh, that's <i>different</i>. I thought you said a <i>Lady</i>! I shall be +charmed!"</span></p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>THE BLACK SHADOW.</h3> + +<div class="poem1"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>We're near to the gloomy <span class="sc">Guy Faux</span> anniversary,</p> +<p class="i2">Nigh to the gorging of Lord Mayor's Day,</p> +<p>But though 'tis November, there's joy in the Nursery</p> +<p class="i2">Ruled by Nurse <span class="sc">Gladstone</span> out Westminster way.</p> +<p>The summer's long troubles are laid on the shelf</p> +<p>And "Nana" looks quite like enjoying herself.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>That bothersome bantling, the big Irish baby,</p> +<p class="i2">Is tucked up in bed for a long forty winks.</p> +<p>(Though its shrill Banshee howl will be heard again, maybe,</p> +<p class="i2">From waking it, <i>yet</i>, even Nana G. shrinks.)</p> +<p>So now for a nice quiet time, if you please,</p> +<p>With the brace of most sweet-tempered bairns on her knees.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>They're English—quite English, and easy to handle,</p> +<p class="i2">Won't raise horrid noises and anger the House.</p> +<p>They're pleasant to see and delightful to dandle,</p> +<p class="i2">And Nana opines that, with nursery <i>nous</i>,</p> +<p>They'll be got "nicely off"—if she makes no mistakes—</p> +<p>Before that Hibernian worry awakes.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>"To market, to market, to buy a fat piggy!</p> +<p class="i2">(But O, not a poor Irish pig—in a poke!)"</p> +<p>So pipes Nana <span class="sc">Gladstone</span> so jocund and jiggy</p> +<p class="i2">She ekes out her Nursery lilt with a joke.</p> +<p>"We've done, for a season, with row-de-dow-dow,</p> +<p>And there's no 'Bogey Man,' dears, to bother us now!"</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Nurses, we know, find the "Black Man" most handy</p> +<p class="i2">To frighten their charges to quiet at times;</p> +<p>But now 'tis all "Hush-a-bye, Babes!" "Handy-pandy!"</p> +<p class="i2">And such soothing carols and quieting rhymes,</p> +<p>No need for a "black ugly thing in the garden"</p> +<p>To quiet <i>these</i> babes, thinks old Nana from Hawarden!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Alas, and alas! Bogey Men are such rum 'uns,</p> +<p class="i2">And some Ugly Things are "too previous," or worse.</p> +<p>How oft the Black Shadow appears without summons,</p> +<p class="i2">And terrifies not the poor babes, but their Nurse!</p> +<p>Nana's not disturbed—yet—by the Irish babe's squall,</p> +<p>But—what means that black-boding shade on the wall?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The African Bogey! Inopportune, very!</p> +<p class="i2">It's really a nuisance, it does seem a shame</p> +<p>That just as Nurse G. is prepared to make merry</p> +<p class="i2">With two such sweet bantlings <i>this</i> Spook spoils the game!</p> +<p>Uganda! Mashonaland!! Nurse, I'm afraid</p> +<p>The Dark Continent casts o'er your babes a Black Shade!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>THE THREE V'S.</h3> + +<h4>(<i>Voice, Vote, and Veto.</i>)</h4> + +<blockquote><p> +[What the brewers want is a Reform Bill by +which "every adult resident with a throat should +have a vote."</p> +<p class="author">—<i>Westminster Gazette.</i>] +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"When wine is in the wit is out"</p> +<p>Was once held wisdom past all doubt;</p> +<p>But now 'twould seem that every throttle</p> +<p>That hath capacity for the bottle,</p> +<p>Must have it also for the suffrage.</p> +<p>No more need rowdy Rad or rough rage.</p> +<p>Throat-suffrage should please everybody</p> +<p>Who lets out noise or takes in toddy,</p> +<p>By way of a capacious throat</p> +<p>Can drink and shout—One Throat, one Vote!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind"><span class="sc">From Mr. Cormorant, St. James's Park.</span>—"Thank +you, Sir. Mother and child, Master +<span class="sc">Cormorant</span> and Mrs. <span class="sc">Cormorant</span>, are doing +uncommonly well. Hope for the best. But +permit me, accidents will happen, and I +should like to make provision—you understand. +How? In my newspaper I see advertised +'Eagle Insurance Co.,' 'Pelican Life +Insurance Co.' Why are the Eagle and the +Pelican to be benefited, and not the Cormorant—and +others? But never mind the others. +I speak for myself, and am yours Devouringly, +Captain <span class="sc">Cormorant</span>."</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">Something in a Name.</span>—Most appropriate +official to make a "Budget Statement"—Sir +<span class="sc">George</span> "<span class="sc">Dibbs</span>."</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">A Strike Motto.</span>—"'Tis true, 'tis pitty; +and pitty 'tis, 'tis true."</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page211" id="page211"></a>[pg 211]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a href="images/211-1200.png"><img src="images/211-500.png" width="500" height="640" alt="THE BLACK SHADOW." /></a> +<h2>THE BLACK SHADOW.</h2> + +<p><span class="sc">Nurse Gladstone.</span> "NOW, MY LITTLE DEARS, WE SHALL HAVE A NICE QUIET +TIME—ALL TO OURSELVES!"</p> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Uganda! Mashonaland!! Nurse, I'm afraid +The Dark Continent casts o'er your Babes a Black Shade!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page212" id="page212"></a>[pg 212]</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page213" id="page213"></a>[pg 213]</span> + +<h2 class="sans">THE ADVENTURES OF PICKLOCK HOLES.</h2> + +<h4>(<i>By Cunnin Toil</i>.)</h4> + +<h3>No. VI.—THE UMBROSA BURGLARY.</h3> + +<p>During one of my short summer holidays I happened to be spending +a few days at the delightful riverside residence of my friend <span class="sc">James +Silver</span>, the extent of whose hospitality is only to be measured by the +excellence of the fare that he sets before his guests, or by the varied +amusements that he provides for them. The beauties of Umbrosa +(for that is the attractive name of his house) are known to all those +who during the summer months pass up (or down) the winding +reaches of the Upper Thames. It was there that I witnessed a series +of startling events which threw the whole county into a temporary +turmoil. Had it not been for the unparalleled coolness and sagacity +of <span class="sc">Picklock Holes</span> the results might have been fraught with disaster +to many distinguished families, but the acumen of <span class="sc">Holes</span> saved the +situation and the family-plate, and restored the peace of mind of one +of the best fellows in the world.</p> + +<p>The party at Umbrosa consisted of the various members of the +<span class="sc">Silver</span> family, including, besides Mr. and Mrs. <span class="sc">Silver</span>, three +high-spirited +and unmarried youths and two charming girls. <span class="sc">Picklock +Holes</span> was of course one of the guests. In fact, it had long since +come to be an understood thing that wherever I went <span class="sc">Holes</span> should +accompany me in the character of a professional detective on the lookout +for business; and <span class="sc">James Silver</span> though he may have at first resented +the calm unmuscularity of my marvellous friend's immovable +face would have been the last man in the world to +spoil any chance of sport or excitement by refraining +from offering a cordial invitation to <span class="sc">Holes</span>. +The party was completed by <span class="sc">Peter Bowman</span>, a +lad of eighteen, who to an extraordinary capacity +for mischief, added an imperturbable cheerfulness +of manner. He was generally known as Shock-headed +<span class="sc">Peter</span>, in allusion to the brush-like +appearance of his delicate auburn hair, but his +intimate friends sometimes addressed him as +<span class="sc">Venus</span>, a nickname which he thoroughly deserved +by the almost classic irregularity of his Saxon +features.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 400px;"><a href="images/213-700.png"><img src="images/213-400.png" width="400" height="469" alt="Propelled by an athletic young fellow." /></a> +<p class="center">"Propelled by an athletic young fellow."</p></div> + +<p>We were all sitting, I remember, on the riverbank, +watching the countless craft go past, and +enjoying that pleasant industrious indolence which +is one of the chief charms of life on the Thames. +A punt had just skimmed by, propelled by an +athletic young fellow in boating costume. Suddenly +<span class="sc">Holes</span> spoke.</p> + +<p>"It is strange," he said, "that the man should +be still at large."</p> + +<p>"What man? Where? How?" we all exclaimed +breathlessly.</p> + +<p>"The young puntsman," said <span class="sc">Holes</span>, with an +almost aggravating coolness. "He is a bigamist, +and has murdered his great aunt."</p> + +<p>"It cannot be," said Mr. <span class="sc">Silver</span>, with evident +distress. "I know the lad well, and a better +fellow never breathed."</p> + +<p>"I speak the truth," said <span class="sc">Holes</span>, unemotionally. "The induction +is perfect. He is wearing a red tie. That tie was not +always red. It was, therefore, stained by something. Blood is red. +It was, therefore, stained by blood. Now it is well known that the +blood of great aunts is of a lighter shade, and the colour of that tie +has a lighter shade. The blood that stained it was, therefore, the +blood of his great aunt. As for the bigamy, you will have noticed +that as he passed he blew two rings of cigarette-smoke, and they +both floated in the air <i>at the same time</i>. A ring is a symbol of +matrimony. Two rings together mean bigamy. He is, therefore, +a bigamist."</p> + +<p>For a moment we were silent, struck with horror at this dreadful, +this convincing revelation of criminal infamy. Then I broke out:</p> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Holes</span>," I said, "you deserve the thanks of the whole community. +You will of course communicate with the police."</p> + +<p>"No," said <span class="sc">Holes</span>, "they are fools, and I do not care to mix +myself up with them. Besides, I have other fish to fry."</p> + +<p>Saying this, he led me to a secluded part of the grounds, and +whispered in my ear.</p> + +<p>"Not a word of what I am about to tell you. There will be a +burglary here to-night."</p> + +<p>"But, <span class="sc">Holes</span>," I said, startled in spite of myself at the calm +omniscience of my friend, "had we not better do something; arm +the servants, warn the police, bolt the doors and bar the windows, +and sit up with blunderbusses—anything would be better than this +state of dreadful expectancy. May I not tell Mr. <span class="sc">Silver</span>?"</p> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Potson</span>, you are amiable, but you will never learn my methods." +And with that enigmatic reply I had to be content in the meantime.</p> + +<p>The evening had passed as pleasantly as evenings at Umbrosa +always pass. There had been music; the Umbrosa choir, composed +of members of the family and guests, had performed in the drawing-room, +and <span class="sc">Peter</span> had drawn tears from the eyes of every one by his +touching rendering of the well-known songs of "<i>The Dutiful Son</i>" +and "<i>The Cartridge-bearer</i>." Shortly afterwards, the ladies retired +to bed, and the gentlemen, after the customary interval in the +smoking-room, followed. We were in high good-humour, and had +made many plans for the morrow. Only <span class="sc">Holes</span> seemed pre-occupied. +Once I heard him muttering to himself, "It's bound to come +off properly; never failed yet. They wired to say they'd be here +by the late train. Well, let them come. I shall be ready for +them." I did not venture at the time to ask him the meaning of +these mysterious words.</p> + +<p>I had been sleeping for about an hour, when I was suddenly +awakened with a start. In the passage outside I heard the voices +of the youngest <span class="sc">Silver</span> boy and of <span class="sc">Peter</span>.</p> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Peter</span>, old chap," said <span class="sc">Johnny Silver</span>, "I believe there's +burglars in the house. Isn't it a lark?"</p> + +<p>"Ripping," said <span class="sc">Peter</span>. "Have you told your people?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's no use waking the governor and the mater; we'll do +the job ourselves. I told the girls, and they've all locked themselves +in and got under their beds, so they're safe. Are you ready?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Come on then."</p> + +<p>With that they went along the passage and down the stairs. My +mind was made up, and my trousers and boots were on in less time +than it takes to tell it. I went to <span class="sc">Holes's</span> room and entered. He +was lying on his bed, fully awake, +dressed in his best detective suit, +with his fingers meditatively extended, +and touching one another.</p> + +<p>"They're here," I said.</p> + +<p>"Who?"</p> + +<p>"The burglars."</p> + +<p>"As I thought," said <span class="sc">Holes</span>, +selecting his best basket-hilted life-preserver +from a heap in the middle of the room. +"Follow me silently."</p> + +<p>I did so. No sooner had we reached the landing, +however, than the silence was broken by a +series of blood-curdling screams.</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens!" was all I could say.</p> + +<p>"Hush," said <span class="sc">Holes</span>. I obeyed him. The +screams subsided, and I heard the voices of my +two young friends, evidently in great triumph.</p> + +<p>"Lie still, you brute," said <span class="sc">Peter</span>, "or I'll +punch your blooming head. Give the rope another +twist, <span class="sc">Johnny</span>. That's it. Now you cut and +tell your governor and old <span class="sc">Holes</span> that we've +nabbed the beggar."</p> + +<p>By this time the household was thoroughly +roused. Agitated females and inquisitive males +streamed downstairs. Lights were lit, and a remarkable +sight met our eyes. In the middle of the +drawing-room lay an undersized burglar, securely +bound, with <span class="sc">Peter</span> sitting on his head.</p> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Johnny</span> and I collared the beggar," said +<span class="sc">Peter</span>, "and bowled him over. Thanks, I think I could do a +ginger-beer."</p> + +<p>The man was of course tried and convicted, and <span class="sc">Holes</span>, who had +explained how he had been certain that the burglary was contemplated +and had taken his measures accordingly, received the +thanks of the County Council.</p> + +<p>"That fellow," said the great detective to me, "was the best and +cleverest of my tame team of country-house burglars. Through +him and his associates I have fostered and foiled more thefts than I +care to count. Those infernal boys nearly spoilt everything. +<span class="sc">Potson</span>, take my advice, never attempt a master-stroke in a house +full of boys. They can't understand scientific induction. Had they +not interfered I should have caught the fellow myself. He had +wired to tell me where I should find him."</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind2"><span class="sc">Precept and Practice.</span>—It's not sufficiently recognised that a +Bishop is bound to side with the masters, as by the terms of his +contract he engages to be "no striker."</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="center">"<span class="sc">How To Make England Sober.</span>"—"It can't be done," says +the Bishop of <span class="sc">Chester</span>, "<i>sans Jayne</i>."</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">A Striking Headline</span> (<i>all rights reserved</i>).—Loch Out in +Matabeleland!</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">A Jingo Paradox.</span>—We pot the natives to preserve ourselves.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page214" id="page214"></a>[pg 214]</span> + +<h3>A MISTY CRYSTAL.</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Darlings</span>, I am growing old,</p> +<p>Silver threads among the gold.</p> +<p>Cannot see beyond my nose,</p> +<p>Must have glasses I suppose.</p> +<p>At the fair I bought a pair,</p> +<p>Golden rimmed, of pebbles rare,</p> +<p>Paid the money then and there,</p> +<p>Glad my spectacles to wear.</p> +<p>But, how strange! I could not see</p> +<p>What was just in front of me!</p> +<p>Took them off and rubbed them well;</p> +<p>Cleaned they seemed; but, strange to tell,</p> +<p>When I put them on again</p> +<p>Everything was plain as plain,</p> +<p>But reflected from behind!</p> +<p>Then I found that tho' so blind,</p> +<p>Many little things I saw</p> +<p>Which I had not seen before.</p> +<p>First, my page, of doubtful age,</p> +<p>Put me in a dreadful rage;</p> +<p>Dipped his fingers in the cream;</p> +<p>(Turned and faced him—made him scream!)</p> +<p>Dropped the pot, upset a lot—</p> +<p>Caught it from me pretty hot.</p> +<p>Next the footman kicked my cat</p> +<p>Sleeping on its lamb's-wool mat.</p> +<p>Loosed my dicky from its cage</p> +<p>(Shall deduct this from his wage).</p> +<p>When the housemaid scrubbed the floor,</p> +<p>Watched her through the open door</p> +<p>At my eldest making eyes.</p> +<p>Packed her off to her surprise,</p> +<p>Heeding not her tears and cries.</p> +<p>Truly blindness makes one wise!</p> +<p>Then I caught my little son</p> +<p>Putting mustard in a bun;</p> +<p>Going to give it to the pug.</p> +<p>Seized him by the nearest lug,</p> +<p>Boxed it hard. He howled with pain;</p> +<p>Never teased the dog again.</p> +<p>Saw my girl of twenty-three</p> +<p>Kiss the curate, after tea.</p> +<p>Sent the pair to right about.</p> +<p>(Wondered how I found them out!)</p> +<p>So, you see, I really find</p> +<p>Much amusement of a kind.</p> +<p>Eyes before and eyes behind,</p> +<p>Is there anyone would mind</p> +<p>Being just a little blind?</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"><a href="images/214-800.png"><img src="images/214-350.png" width="350" height="555" alt="TRUE COMPUNCTION." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">TRUE COMPUNCTION.</h3> + +<p><i>Young Hopeful</i> (<i>who has been celebrating, not wisely but too well, the +last +day of his Exam.</i>). "<span class="sc">Look here, Major!</span> <span class="sc">If <i>You</i> don't tell +my +Father of my D'sgrasheful Conduck</span>, <i>I</i> <span class="sc">shall</span>!"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>N.B. !</h3> + +<blockquote><p> +[In the "Report of the Royal +Commission on Labour" it is said +that "domestic economy is not now +practised among the Scotch peasants +with such closeness as formerly; +wives have ceased to use oatmeal +and other simple fare, and buy from +the passing cart inferior goods which +they could very well prepare at +home." The married labourer's +clothing is "finer, but less durable," +and he himself is "less unknown in +places of amusement."] +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Scots</span>, wha hae on parritch fed!</p> +<p>Scots, in thrifty habits bred!</p> +<p>Air ye leavin' barley bread,</p> +<p class="i8">And frugality?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Now's the day, much more the night,</p> +<p>For stickin' to your bawbees tight!</p> +<p>See approach proud Fashion's might,</p> +<p class="i8">Chains o' luxury!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Wha will to the flesher's wend,</p> +<p>Buy thin breeks that will na mend,</p> +<p>Wha sae base as saxpence spend</p> +<p class="i8">On an evenin' spree?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Wha for Scotland's knitted hose,</p> +<p>Oaten cakes and homespun clo'es,</p> +<p>Now will deal some auld-warld blows?</p> +<p class="i8">He will live, <i>not</i> dee!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>By each braw and kilted laddie,</p> +<p>Gudeman douce, and gude-boy caddie,</p> +<p>Ye may weel at once eradi-</p> +<p class="i8">-cate frivolity!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Strike, and break amusement's yoke,</p> +<p>Or your ainsells may be broke!</p> +<p>Siller's saved in every stroke</p> +<p class="i8">Of economy!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">First-rate Foreign Advertisement +for a Medical +Friend of Ours.</span>—Every dinner +in France is now served "<i>à la +Roose</i>."</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2 class="sans">A WALK IN DEVON.</h2> + +<h3>PART II.—THE FINISH.</h3> + +<h4><i>Notes from the Travel Diary of Toby, M.P.</i></h4> + +<p class="indr"><i>The Cottage, Burrow-in-the-Corner, Devon.</i></p> + +<p><span class="sc">Very</span> awkward to have missed the Post; being Saturday night +means delay of twenty-four hours.</p> + +<p>"Seen the postman?" I asked Old Gentleman.</p> + +<p>"Seed ee two minits ago. Gone up the hill. I'll call him +back."</p> + +<p>New idea this. Never remember when just too late for last pillar-box +clearance in London suburb running after postman, bringing +him back, and getting him to make special clearance. Old Gentleman +evidently thought nothing of it; skipped out of garden with +remarkable agility; in middle of road in a twinkling; shouting +"Hi! hi!" and waving green umbrella wildly over his narrow-brimmed +top hat, round which the rime of age modestly lurked. +Postman did not seem at all annoyed; came back promptly, unlocked +box, and trudged off again on his rounds.</p> + +<p>Here's where my misfortune began. Way back clear by the +road I had come; inviting lane passed Old Gentleman's house; was +there anyway along it to Burrow-in-the-Corner? "Why, yes," +said Old Gentleman, whose desire to accommodate was illimitable. +"Follow this lane till you come to four cross roads, then turn to +left, and keep on." Nothing plainer than this: getting used to +four cross roads in these parts; came upon this particular assortment +after quarter of an hour's walk; a sign-post too; so thoughtful; +no difficulty about four cross roads when there's a sign-post. +Walked up to it and round it; not a single letter remaining +intact of the direction. Sign-post older than Old Gentleman with +the umbrella, and not nearly in such state of preservation. Not a +soul in sight; "no footfall breaking silence of closing day." Old +Gentleman said turn to left; so left must be right; take it, and +walk on.</p> + +<p>Pretty broad highway; must be main road leading somewhere. +Why not to Burrow-in-the-Corner? Quarter mile off come upon +bifurcation. Which is main road? Instincts of trapper assert themselves; +carefully examine which way traffic mostly goes; not many +cart-ruts, but majority turn to left; that must be the way to +Burrow-in-the-Corner. Take it; find it a ditch between lofty +hedges going up a hill, and then, like the late Duke of York, going +down again. Half a mile of this; then another bifurcation; a +gentle curve, insidious, but unmistakable, one horn of my dilemma +leading to right, the other to left. Take the right this time, by way +of change; leads into a road running at right angles. Should I turn +right or left? Do a little of both in succession; can see nothing of +the lay of country, by reason of wall-like hedges; presently come to +gate in field; country chillingly unfamiliar.</p> + +<p>Situation beginning to grow serious; dusk closing in apace. In +spite of it I see my mistake; took the wrong turning when I +examined the traffic-mark; must turn back there, and peg along +the other road; get into narrow lane again; this time, varying +manœuvre of Duke of York, go down a hill, and then go up again.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page215" id="page215"></a>[pg 215]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/215-1500.png"><img src="images/215-600.png" width="600" height="433" alt="LIKA JOKO'S JOTTINGS.—No. 3. STAG HUNTING." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">LIKA JOKO'S JOTTINGS.—No. 3. STAG HUNTING.</h3></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page216" id="page216"></a>[pg 216]</span> + +<p>Trapper instinct, before alluded to, made me note heap of broken +stones at this particular bifurcation. Here it is; no mistake about +that; take other turning, and press on full speed; can't be more +than two miles now; straight road, and there you are. Can do it +under half-an-hour. Nothing so delightful as walk in country +lane in cool of evening. This particular lane rather long; roads +and lanes cutting off to right and left; at least no bifurcation. +Not a house in sight; every soul in the country apparently turned +in. Cottar's Saturday night, of course; should have thought of that +before; explains everything.</p> + +<p>Apparently no end to this road; suddenly seems to disappear; +only a dip down a hill; think at first, from steepness, it must be +road into Tipperton; but Tipperton is miles away. Getting on for +dinner-time; better run down hill; do so; see light flickering at +end; probably The Cottage windows; hum "A light in the window +for me"; find I've no breath to spare for musical entertainments; +shut up, and run. Light comes from farm-house; enter yard +cautiously in case of another dog being there. In the twilight see +second Old Gentleman; this time in his shirt-sleeves, sitting meditatively +on an upturned bucket set on a barn floor. "Is this the +way to Burrow-in-the-Corner?" I ask, a little out of breath. Old +Gentleman stares; perhaps he is deaf; looks deaf, but find he is +only chuckling; repeat question louder. "No," says he, "but +that be;" and he waves a horny hand up the wall of a hill down +which I had scrambled.</p> + +<p>For the last twenty minutes I'd been running away from Burrow-in-the-Corner +as if we didn't dine at 7.30.</p> + +<p>Old Gentleman not accustomed to seeing joke; made most of this; +when he recovered I learned that if I walked back up hill a mile, +and took first turning to right, I should be on the road to +Burrow-in-the-Corner. Nice pull up hill; kept keen look out for +turn to right; after quarter of hour's rapid walking passed on left +openings of two lanes in close contiguity. Through one I had forty +minutes earlier walked on to this very road. If I had then turned +to left instead of going back I should have +been at The Cottage by this time—supposing, +of course, the road leads thither.</p> + +<p>No use repining; must get on; feeling +peckish; walk in middle of road to make most +of twilight shut out by hedges; can't see time +by watch; doing something more than four +miles an hour. At end of what seems half-hour +am apparently no forrader; no house; no +passer-by; no friendly light over ghostly expanse +peeped at through occasional gates.</p> + +<p>Begin to think of story heard the other day. +Belated parson went to take evening service +for friend at church close by post-office where +I made acquaintance of first Old Gentleman. +Only three miles from his own house; after +sermon set off to walk home; thinking of many +things, turned off at wrong point; knew +country pretty well, but darkness came on; +hopelessly lost; found forlornly sitting on a +gate at eleven o'clock by farmer's son fortuitously +delayed on his return home; took +stranger home with him; woke up family, and +gave him shakedown for night.</p> + +<p>"It was bad enough, <span class="sc">Toby</span>," rev. gentleman +said, "and might have been worse. But +what rankles most bitterly in my breast at +present day is remark of farmer's wife when +her son shouted up at open window that he +had brought home a clergyman who had lost +his way and wanted a bed. 'Clergyman!' she +cried, with cruel scorn. 'Get away with you. +No clergyman would be out at this time of +night.'"</p> + +<p>One comfort it's not raining; rained in +torrents when my friend the parson had his +Sunday night out. Road evidently not leading +towards The Cottage; suppose that once +more I am walking away from it! Trapper +instincts already alluded to have evolved a +plan which I hold in reserve. Remember (or +think I remember) the turns on the way back +to post-office where I made acquaintance of +first Old Gentleman; terrible trudge, but +better than sleeping in ditch or shed; shall +turn back and face it. Halt and hesitate; no +sign of Cottage or other light; hedges are +black shadows; a few feet in front and an +equal distance behind is wall of darkness; +decide to take a hundred paces forward. If +then no sign of habitation shall turn back and +grope way by post-office.</p> + +<p>At eightieth pace a turn in the road; a light across the roadway; +then The Cottage, and through the open window, into the dark still +night, floats the music of <span class="sc">Schumann's</span> "<i>Frühlingsnacht</i>." It is +the Cook singing, while the Housemaid spreads the cloth for dinner.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a href="images/216-1300.png"><img src="images/216-500.png" width="500" height="553" alt="WIREPROOF." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">WIREPROOF.</h3> +<p><span class="sc">Sir Harry Hardman, mounted on "Behemoth," created rather a stir at the +Meet. He said he didn't care a hang for the Barbed or any other kind +of Wire.</span></p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>NO RAISON D'ÊTRE!</h3> + +<blockquote><p> +["The custom of dancing, I am informed on good authority, has of late +years lost its popularity with our gilded youth!"—<i>Mr. James Payn.</i>] +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">A Singing-bird</span> which will not sing, a watch that will not go,</p> +<p>A working-man who scorns to work, a needle that won't sew,</p> +<p>Are things whose inutility are obvious at a glance,</p> +<p>But what <i>are</i> they compared with "gilded youth" who do not dance?</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind"><span class="sc">Mystified.</span>—Somebody at Mrs. R.'s was saying that a certain +friend of theirs, a well-known Queen's Counsel, was a first-rate +pianist. "By the way," inquired a young barrister, "doesn't he +usually practice in Mr. Justice <span class="sc">Romer's</span> court?" Mrs. R. held up +her hands in amazement. "Well," she exclaimed; "I had no idea +that music was allowed in a law court. But I suppose it's in the +interval, while the Judge is at luncheon."</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>An Expostulation.</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>On the recent revision of "The Tempter."</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Mr. Tree</span>, what <i>have</i> you done?</p> +<p class="i2">Hang it all! there's no exempting</p> +<p>You from blame for risks we run</p> +<p class="i2">With <i>The Tempter</i> yet more tempting.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind2"><span class="sc">Query.</span>—Has the want of rain this summer, and consequent +failure of the hay crops, affected the market for Grass Widows?</p> + +<hr class="full" /> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, +November 4th 1893, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + +***** This file should be named 39381-h.htm or 39381-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/3/8/39381/ + +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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