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<pre>
The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, November
25, 1893, by Various
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, November 25, 1893
Author: Various
Editor: Sir Francis Burnand
Release Date: April 22, 2012 [EBook #39504]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, CHARIVARI, NOV 25, 1893 ***
Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Lesley Halamek, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
</pre>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page241" id="page241"></a>[pg 241]</span>
<hr class="full" />
<h1>Punch, or the London Charivari</h1>
<h2>Volume 105, November 25th 1893</h2>
<h4><i>edited by Sir Francis Burnand</i></h4>
<hr class="full" />
<h2 class="sans">POPULAR SONGS RE-SUNG.—"AFTER THE BALL."</h2>
<blockquote><p>
[The authors of the various versions of this "popular song" will not,
<i>Mr. Punch</i> is sure, object to its refrain being used in a far wider sense—being
applied, so to speak, to a more extensive <i>sphere</i>—than they contemplated.]
</p></blockquote>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/241-1500.png"><img src="images/241-600.png" width="600" height="202" alt="AFTER THE BALL." /></a></div>
<div class="poem1"> <div class="stanza">
<p>Man, youth or maiden, amateurs, pros.,</p>
<p>Season of snow-storms, time of the rose,</p>
<p>'Tis the same story all have to tell!</p>
<p>Not even <span class="sc">Kipling's</span> go half as well.</p>
<p>Nay: and <i>this</i> story is real and true.</p>
<p>All England over, Colonies too,</p>
<p>Cricketers, golfers, footballers, all</p>
<p>One pursuit follow—they're After the Ball!</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p><i>Chorus</i>—</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p class="i2">After one ball-game's over,</p>
<p class="i4">Promptly the next seems born;</p>
<p class="i2">Quickly the Blackburn Rover</p>
<p class="i4">Treads on the "Corn Stalk's" corn.</p>
<p class="i2"><span class="sc">Grace</span>, <span class="sc">Gunn</span>, and <span class="sc">Read</span>, the Brothers</p>
<p class="i4"><span class="sc">Renshaw</span>, fall off with the Fall;</p>
<p class="i2">But there come hosts of others—</p>
<p class="i6">After the Ball!</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>Lords and the Oval, crowded and bright,</p>
<p>Send King Willow's subjects wild with delight.</p>
<p>What are they doing 'midst shout and cheer?</p>
<p>Smiting and chasing a small brown sphere!</p>
<p>Fielded. Sir! Well hit!! Played, <i>indeed!!!</i> Wide!!!!</p>
<p>Oh, well returned, Sir! Caught! No! <i>Well</i> tried!</p>
<p>Cheering! Half-maddened! And what means it all?</p>
<p>Grown men grown boys again—After the Ball!</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p><i>Chorus</i>—</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p class="i2">Sixer, or maiden over,</p>
<p class="i4">Misfield that moves young scorn,</p>
<p class="i2">Every true cricket-lover</p>
<p class="i4">Stares at from early morn.</p>
<p class="i2">Watching the "champion" scoring,</p>
<p class="i4">Ring and pavilion, all</p>
<p class="i2">Chattering, cheering, roaring,</p>
<p class="i6">After the Ball!</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>Then in October's chill and gloom,</p>
<p>Wickets for goals make reluctant room.</p>
<p>Talk is of "forwards," and "backs," and "tries."</p>
<p>"<i>Footbawl Herdition!</i>" the newsboy cries.</p>
<p>Fancy <i>that</i>, for a sportsman's fad!</p>
<p>Players go frantic, and critics mad;</p>
<p>Pros. and amateurs squabble and squall,</p>
<p>And cripples seek hospital—After the Ball!</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p><i>Chorus</i>—</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p class="i2">After the Ball the "Rovers"</p>
<p class="i4">Rush, and the "Villans" troop;</p>
<p class="i2">"Wolves"—who have lamb-like lovers—</p>
<p class="i4">Worry and whirl and whoop.</p>
<p class="i2">Scrimmages fierce, wild jostles,</p>
<p class="i4">Many a crashing fall,</p>
<p class="i2">Follow as "Blade" hunts "Throstle,"</p>
<p class="i4">After the Ball!</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>Balls are not all of leather, alas!</p>
<p>Cricket, golf, tennis, and football pass;</p>
<p>But <span class="sc">Roberts</span> the marvellous, <span class="sc">Peall</span> the clever,</p>
<p>Like the Laureate's Brook, can go on for ever!</p>
<p>The ivory ball—like the carvings odd</p>
<p>In a Buddhist shrine—seems an ivory god;</p>
<p>And "A Million Up" will be next the call</p>
<p>Of the "exhibitionists"—After the Ball!</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p><i>Chorus</i>—</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p class="i2">After the Ball is over?</p>
<p class="i4">Nay, it is <i>never</i> done!</p>
<p class="i2">All the year round <i>some</i> lover</p>
<p class="i4">Keeps up the spheric fun!</p>
<p class="i2">Ivory ball or leather,</p>
<p class="i4">Someone will run or sprawl,</p>
<p class="i2">Whate'er the hour or weather,</p>
<p class="i6">After the Ball!</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>Is't that our earth, which, after all,</p>
<p>Itself's a "dark terrestrial ball,"</p>
<p>Robs all "sportsmen" of sober sense</p>
<p>Within its "sphere of influence"?</p>
<p>"Special Editions" just to record</p>
<p>How many kicks at a ball are scored?!?!</p>
<p>Doesn't it prove that we mortals all</p>
<p>Have gone sheer "dotty"—After the Ball?</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p><i>Chorus</i>—</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p class="i2">After the Ball!—as batter,</p>
<p class="i4">Handler of club, racquet, cue.</p>
<p class="i2">Or kicker of goals—what matter?</p>
<p class="i4">A Ballomaniac you!</p>
<p class="i2">Each is as mad as a hatter,</p>
<p class="i4">Who is so eager to sprawl,</p>
<p class="i2">Scrimmage, scout, smash, smite, clatter,</p>
<p class="i6">After the Ball!</p>
</div> </div>
<hr class="medium" />
<h2>THE HEIGHT OF COMFORT.</h2>
<ul class="none">
<li><i>Q.</i> I want to consult you about Flats. You must know all about
them, as you have tried this kind of "high life" for a year. And
I am quite charmed with the idea of getting one. Now, don't you
find that they have many advantages over the old-fashioned separate
house system?</li>
<li><i>A.</i> Oh, a great many!</li>
<li><i>Q.</i> I suppose that even in such paradises a few drawbacks do exist?</li>
<li><i>A.</i> A few. For instance, did you notice, during your painful
progress upstairs, a doctor coming out of the rooms just below us?
No? Then you were fortunate. There's a typhoid case there, we
hear.</li>
<li><i>Q.</i> Dear me! Now I think of it, I did meet a woman dressed as
a hospital nurse. But she was coming down from somewhere
above you.</li>
<li><i>A.</i> Yes. The people over our heads. It's a scarlet fever patient
they have, I believe. We can hear the nurse moving about in the
middle of the night. And chemists' boys with medicines call at our
door, by mistake, at all hours.</li>
<li><i>Q.</i> Still, they can't get in. Your flat is your castle, surely?</li>
<li><i>A.</i> Quite so. It's a pity it isn't a roomier castle. Our bedrooms
are like cupboards, and look out on a dark court. We have to keep
the gas burning there all day.</li>
<li><i>Q.</i> Oh, indeed! But then, being on one floor, living must be
much cheaper, because you can do with only one servant?</li>
<li><i>A.</i> That is true; but we find that the difficulty is to get servants
to do with us. They hate being mastheaded like this; they miss
the area, and the talks with the tradesmen, and so on.</li>
<li><i>Q.</i> But they must go downstairs to take dust and cinders away?</li>
<li><i>A.</i> No, those go down the shoot. At least, a good many of the
cinders do, though some seem to stop on the way. Our downstair
neighbours complain horribly, and threaten to summon us.</li>
<li><i>Q.</i> Do they? On the whole, however, you find your fellow-residents
obliging?</li>
<li><i>A.</i> Oh, very! The landing window leads to some disputes. We
like it open. The people upstairs prefer it shut. The case comes on
at the police court next week.</li>
<li><i>Q.</i> You surprise me! Then, as regards other expenses, you save,
don't you, by paying no rates?</li>
<li><i>A.</i> We do. That is why our landlord charges us for these eight
rooms on one floor just double what we should have to pay for a
large house all to ourselves.</li>
<li><i>Q.</i> Thanks for giving me so much information. Of course, I
knew there must be some disadvantages. And you won't be surprised
to hear that we have taken a flat after all, as they are so
fashionable?</li>
<li><i>A.</i> On the contrary, I should be quite surprised if you didn't.</li>
</ul>
<hr class="full" />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page242" id="page242"></a>[pg 242]</span>
<h3 class="sans">WELCOME TO "JOEY!"</h3>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/242-1500.png"><img src="images/242-600.png" width="600" height="443" alt="'HERE WE ARE AGAIN!'" /></a>
"HERE WE ARE AGAIN!"</div>
<hr class="full" />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page243" id="page243"></a>[pg 243]</span>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"><a href="images/243-1500.png"><img src="images/243-600.png" width="600" height="388" alt="SAD!" /></a>
<h3 class="sans">SAD!</h3>
<p><i>Sportsman</i> (<i>proud of his favourite</i>). "<span class="sc">Now that's a Mare I
<i>made</i> entirely myself! Marvellously clever, I can tell you!</span>"</p>
<p><i>Non-Sportsman</i> (<i>from town, startled</i>). "<span class="sc">Eh, what? Dear me!
Wonderfully clever, certainly.</span>" (<i>Mentally.</i>) "<span class="sc">Poor fellow,
poor fellow! what a most extraordinary Hallucination!</span>"</p></div>
<hr class="medium" />
<h3>HOME RAILS.</h3>
<h4>(<i>By a Mournful Moralist.</i>)</h4>
<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza">
<p>Each day my heart with pity throbs;</p>
<p class="i2">Can sympathy refuse</p>
<p>The ready tears, the frequent sobs,</p>
<p class="i2">When reading City news?</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>Not long ago I daily found</p>
<p class="i2">That you were good and "strong"—</p>
<p>You gained but little, I'll be bound,</p>
<p class="i2">Nor kept that little long;</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>Yet I was happy, since it meant</p>
<p class="i2">That, for a blissful term,</p>
<p>You were so very excellent,</p>
<p class="i2">So "steady" and so "firm."</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>Prosperity brings pride to all;</p>
<p class="i2">You rose too high to sell.</p>
<p>Then—pride must always have a fall—</p>
<p class="i2">You lamentably fell.</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>Think what your altered state has cost.</p>
<p class="i2">Alas, you must confess</p>
<p>That you are ruined since you lost</p>
<p class="i2">Your noble steadiness!</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>"Unsettled" then—oh, feeble will!—</p>
<p class="i2">"Inactive" you were too.</p>
<p>There's Someone "finds some mischief still</p>
<p class="i2">For idle hands to do."</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>"Why be inactive? All should work.</p>
<p class="i2">Rise then, and do not seek</p>
<p>Good honest enterprise to shirk,</p>
<p class="i2">Because you're rather "weak."</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>Alas, what use exhorting that</p>
<p class="i2">Your fall you should annul?</p>
<p>When some remark that you are "flat,"</p>
<p>And others call you "dull."</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>At times I hoped that you would turn,</p>
<p class="i2">And mend your evil ways,</p>
<p>That you were "better," I would learn,</p>
<p class="i2">And "quiet" on some days.</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>But now your baseness fitly ends,</p>
<p class="i2">"Irregular"—and so</p>
<p>You are "neglected" by your friends,</p>
<p class="i2">Who all pronounce you "low."</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>This conduct gives me such a shock,</p>
<p class="i2">I wipe my streaming eyes—</p>
<p>I want to sell some railway stock;</p>
<p class="i2">I'm waiting for the rise!</p>
</div> </div>
<hr class="medium" />
<p class="ind"><span class="sc">The "Ultra Fashionable Dinner-hour"
when Dickens wrote <i>Martin
Chuzzlewit</i>.</span>—It is mentioned by <i>Montague
Tigg</i>, when that typical swindler gives <i>Jonas
Chuzzlewit</i> an invitation to a little dinner. It
was "seven." Very few have guessed it, but
most correspondents have referred to the
dinner-hour at <i>Todgers's</i>. But <i>Todgers's</i>
was a very second-class establishment.</p>
<p class="ind"><span class="sc">Somebody</span> proposes another Dickensian
query:—<span class="sc">Scene</span>—<i>The wedding at Wardle's.</i>
<span class="sc">Time</span>—<i>After the wedding breakfast:</i>—"At
dinner they met again, after a five-and-twenty-mile
walk." Where did they breakfast,
and where did they dine, and how many
hours did men of <i>Mr. Pickwick's</i> and <i>Mr.
Tupman's</i> build take to do a twenty-five-mile
walk in?</p>
<hr class="medium" />
<p class="center"><span class="sc">The Golfer's Paradise.</span>—<i>Link</i>-ed sweetness
long drawn out.</p>
<hr class="medium" />
<p class="center"><span class="sc">The real Roads To Success.</span>—<span class="sc">Cecil
Rhodes.</span></p>
<hr class="medium" />
<h3>REX LOBENGULA.</h3>
<p class="center">["Rhymes are difficult things, they are stubborn
things, Sir."—<span class="sc">Fielding:</span> <i>Amelia</i>.]</p>
<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza">
<p><span class="sc">Lobengúla! Lobengúla!</span></p>
<p class="i2">How do you pronounce your name?</p>
<p>How do those who call you ruler</p>
<p class="i2">Your regality proclaim?</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>Does the stalwart Matabele</p>
<p class="i2">Seared with many a cruel scar,</p>
<p>Ere he gives his life so freely,</p>
<p class="i2">Hail you King <span class="sc">Lobengulá</span>?</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>Have I read in British journals,</p>
<p class="i2">On a 'bus <i>en route</i> to Holborn,</p>
<p>Telegrams where British Colonels</p>
<p class="i2">Have the cheek to call you <span class="sc">Ló-ben</span>?</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>Has your name some fearful meaning</p>
<p class="i2">Redolent of blood and bones,</p>
<p>Or am I correct in weening</p>
<p class="i2">It's vernacular for <span class="sc">Jones</span>?</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>Kaiser! Potentate! Dictator!</p>
<p class="i2">Any title that's sublime</p>
<p>Choose, but send us cis-equator</p>
<p class="i2">For your name the proper rhyme.</p>
</div> </div>
<hr class="medium" />
<h3>AFTER THE CALL.</h3>
<blockquote><p>
["A further call of £5 per share has recently
been made on the shareholders in one of the
companies in the Balfour group."]
</p></blockquote>
<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza">
<p>After the call is over,</p>
<p class="i2">What is there left to do,</p>
<p>All absolutely vanished,</p>
<p class="i2">Left not a single sou.</p>
<p>Furniture, trinkets, money,</p>
<p class="i2">Gone, gone, alas! are they all;</p>
<p>What is there left but the workhouse</p>
<p class="i4">After the call?</p>
</div> </div>
<hr class="medium" />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page244" id="page244"></a>[pg 244]</span>
<h2 class="sans">UNDER THE ROSE.</h2>
<h4>(<i>A Story in Scenes.</i>)</h4>
<p><span class="sc">Scene XV.</span>—<i>The Drawing-room at Hornbeam Lodge.</i>
<span class="sc">Time</span>—<i>Monday
evening, about six.</i> <span class="sc">Althea</span> <i>is listlessly striking chords
on the piano</i>; Mrs. <span class="sc">Toovey</span> <i>is sitting by one of the windows</i>.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Toovey</i> (<i>to herself</i>). Where <i>did</i> <span class="sc">Theophilus</span> go
last Saturday?
He is either the most consummate hypocrite, or the most
blameless lamb that ever breathed; and I'm sure <i>I</i> don't know
which! But I'll find out when <span class="sc">Charles</span> comes. It would be
almost a relief to find Pa <i>was</i> guilty; for, if he isn't—— But, thank
goodness, he is not very likely ever to hear where <i>I</i> was that
evening!</p>
<p><i>Althea</i> (<i>to herself</i>). It couldn't <i>really</i> have been Mamma in
that
box; she has never made the slightest reference to it. I almost
wish she <i>had</i> been there; it would have been easier to tell her.
What <i>would</i> she say if she knew I had gone to such a place
as the Eldorado?</p>
<p class="ind2">[<i>She drifts, half unconsciously, into the air of</i> "The Hansom Cabman."</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Toov.</i> What is that tune you are playing, <span class="sc">Thea</span>?</p>
<p><i>Alth.</i> (<i>flushing</i>). N—nothing, Mamma. Only a
tune I heard when I was in town. The—the boys
in the street whistle it.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Toov.</i> Then it's hardly fit to be played
upon <i>my</i> piano. I shouldn't wonder if it came out
of one of those abominable music-halls!</p>
<p><i>Alth.</i> (<i>to herself</i>). She must mean something by
that. If she was there after all! (<i>Aloud, distressed.</i>)
Mamma, what makes you say that?
Do—do you <i>know</i>?</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Toov.</i> (<i>in equal confusion</i>). Know! Explain
yourself, child. How could I possibly——?
(<i>To herself.</i>) I shall betray myself if I am not
more careful!</p>
<p><i>Alth.</i> I—I thought—I don't know—it was the
way you said it. (<i>To herself.</i>) I very nearly did
for myself <i>that</i> time!</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Toov.</i> (<i>as</i> <span class="sc">Althea</span> <i>strikes more chords</i>).
For goodness' sake, <span class="sc">Thea</span>, either play a proper
piece, or shut up the piano and take up some
useful work. There's the crazy-quilt I've begun
for the Bazaar; you might get on with that.</p>
<p><i>Alth.</i> (<i>closing the piano</i>). The colours <i>are</i> so
frightful, Mamma!</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Toov.</i> What does that signify, my dear?
When it's for a charity! Really, I'm beginning
to think this visit to town has not had at all a
good effect upon you. You've come back unable
to settle down to anything. Yes, I see a great
change in you, <span class="sc">Althea</span>, and it's not confined to
the worldly way you do your hair. I sincerely
hope it will not strike Mr. <span class="sc">Curphew</span> as it does
me. You know he is dining here this evening?
I told him in my note that if he <i>liked</i> to come a
little earlier——(<i>Significantly.</i>) I think he has
something to say to you, <span class="sc">Thea</span>. Perhaps you can
guess what?</p>
<p><i>Alth.</i> (<i>twisting her hands nervously</i>). Oh no,
Mamma. I—I can't see Mr. <span class="sc">Curphew</span>—not alone,
I mean.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Toov.</i> Don't be ridiculous, my dear. You
know perfectly well that he admires you. He has very properly
spoken first to your father, and we both consider you a most fortunate
girl. He is a truly excellent young man, which is the <i>first</i>
consideration; and, what is even <i>more</i> important, he is, as far as I
can gather, making an excellent income. And you can't deny that
you were interested in him from the very first.</p>
<p><i>Alth.</i> N—not in that way, Mamma. At least, not any longer.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Toov.</i> Nonsense. If Mr. <span class="sc">Curphew</span> proposes, I shall be
seriously annoyed if you put him off with any foolish shilly-shallying.
Mind that. And here he is—at least, it's <i>somebody</i> at the front
door. I've mislaid my glasses as usual. And if it is Mr. <span class="sc">Curphew</span>,
I shall send him in here at once; so remember what I've said. (<i>She
goes out into the hall, and discovers her nephew</i> <span class="sc">Charles</span>.) So it is
<i>you</i>, <span class="sc">Charles</span>! You're rather earlier than I expected.</p>
<p><i>Charles.</i> Nothing much doing at the office, Aunt. And I thought
I might have to dress for dinner, you know.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Toov.</i> You ought to know by this time that we are plain
people and do not not follow the senseless fashion of dressing ourselves
up for a family dinner, but I am glad you came early, all the
same, <span class="sc">Charles</span>, as I should like a little talk with you before your
Uncle comes in. We had better go into the study. (<i>To herself, as
she leads the way.</i>) Now I shall get it out of him!</p>
<p class="center"><span class="sc">End of Scene XV.</span></p>
<p><span class="sc">Scene XVI.</span>—<i>In the Study.</i></p>
<p><i>Mrs. Toovey</i> (<i>fixing</i> <span class="sc">Charles</span> <i>with her eye</i>). What is
this I hear of
your proceedings last Saturday night, <span class="sc">Charles</span>? Come, you can't
deceive <i>me</i>, you know!</p>
<p><i>Charles.</i> I never made any secret about my proceedings. I told
Uncle we might probably drop into the Eldorado or somewhere after
dinner.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Toov.</i> (<i>to herself, in consternation</i>). The Eldorado? they
<i>did</i>
go there then! If only they didn't see me! (<i>Aloud.</i>) Yes,
<span class="sc">Charles</span>,
go on. And while you were there, did you see anyone you—you
thought you recognised?</p>
<p><i>Charles</i> (<i>to himself</i>). She's heard! (<i>Aloud.</i>) I should rather
think I <i>did</i>, Aunt. Never was more surprised in my life.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Toov.</i> (<i>with a groan</i>). And—and was your <i>Uncle</i>
surprised, too, <span class="sc">Charles</span>?</p>
<p><i>Charles.</i> Uncle? I haven't told <i>him</i> yet.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Toov.</i> But he was <i>there</i>, <span class="sc">Charles</span>, with you; he must
have seen—whatever you did! Or didn't he?</p>
<p><i>Charles.</i> At the Valhalla? my <i>dear</i> Aunt!</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Toov.</i> Who's talking about a Valhalla? I mean the
<i>Eldorado</i>, of course; that was where you <i>said</i> you went!</p>
<p><i>Charles.</i> No—no, we couldn't get in at the El.;
all the stalls gone, so we went to the Val. instead.
Just the same sort of thing.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Toov.</i> (<i>to herself, relieved</i>). To the Val.!
What a fright I've had for nothing! (<i>Aloud.</i>)
I quite understand, <span class="sc">Charles</span>. You took your
Uncle to a place called the Val., <i>not</i> the—er—El.
What did you <i>see</i> there? that's the point!</p>
<p><i>Charles.</i> I didn't take Uncle there; I was with
a man from our office when I saw him. I must
have seen him there often enough, but somehow
I never spotted him before. It was the make-up,
the <i>disguise</i>, you know, wig and moustache, and
all that.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Toov.</i> Do you mean to say your Uncle
attends music-halls disguised in a wig and moustache?
<span class="sc">Charles</span>, who was he <i>with</i>? I <i>will</i> know!</p>
<p><i>Charles</i> (<i>in fits of laughter</i>). Uncle? At the Val.
in disguise? now, is it <i>likely</i>? I thought you knew
all about it, or I shouldn't have said a word!</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Toov.</i> You have said too much to stop
<i>now</i>, <span class="sc">Charles</span>. It is useless to try to turn it off
like that. If it was not Pa you recognised at this
Val. place, who <i>was</i> it?</p>
<p><i>Charles</i> (<i>to himself</i>). If I don't tell her she'll
only go on suspecting poor old Uncle <span class="sc">Theo</span>.
(<i>Aloud.</i>) Well, you're bound to find it out
sooner or later; and I admire him all the more
for it myself. I'd no idea he had it <i>in</i> him.
Shows how mistaken you may be in fellows.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Toov.</i> I've yet to learn who and what you
are talking about, <span class="sc">Charles</span>!</p>
<p><i>Charles.</i> Why, that quiet, modest friend of
yours, Mr. <span class="sc">Clarence Curphew</span>, if you <i>must</i>
know!</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Toov.</i> I don't believe it. Mr. <span class="sc">Curphew</span> is
not at all the sort of young man to spend his
money in such resorts.</p>
<div class="figright" style="width: 200px;"><a href="images/244-400.png"><img src="images/244-150.png" width="150" height="381" alt="'Dear, dear me!'" /></a>
<p class="center">"Dear, dear me!"</p></div>
<p><i>Charles.</i> He don't <i>spend</i> it there—he <i>makes</i> it.
My dear Aunt, you ought to feel honoured by
having such a distinguished acquaintance. Don't
you remember my mentioning the great music-hall star, <span class="sc">Walter
Wildfire</span>? You must. Well, <span class="sc">Clarence Curphew</span> and <span class="sc">Walter
Wildfire</span> are one and the same person—honour bright, they are!</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Toov.</i> (<i>sinking back with a gasp</i>). A—a music-hall star!
And I have been urging <span class="sc">Althea</span> to—— Oh, how fortunate it is I
have been warned in time! He shall not see her—I will write and
put him off—at once!</p>
<p class="ind2">[Mr. <span class="sc">Toovey</span> <i>enters blandly</i>.</p>
<p><i>Mr. Toov.</i> Ah, <span class="sc">Charles</span>, my boy, so here you are? that's right,
that's right. You, too, <span class="sc">Cornelia</span>? (<i>To her, in an undertone.</i>)
It's all right, my love—our dear young friend, Mr. <span class="sc">Curphew</span>, you know—we
met on the doorstep just now, and I've left him and <span class="sc">Thea</span>
together in the drawing-room. I thought it was best, eh?</p>
<p class="ind2">[<i>He looks to her for approval.</i></p>
<p><i>Mrs. Toov.</i> You've left—— But there, I might have known!
No, don't speak to me, Pa—there's no time to lose! Come with
me, <span class="sc">Charles</span>, I may want you.</p>
<p class="ind2">[<i>She rustles out of the room, followed by</i> <span class="sc">Charles</span>.</p>
<p><i>Mr. Toov.</i> (<i>looking after her in mild perplexity</i>). Dear, dear me!
I wonder what can be the matter <i>now</i>. <span class="sc">Cornelia</span> seems so very—— I
hardly like to go and see—and yet, perhaps, I ought—perhaps I
ought. There's one comfort, whatever it is, it can't have anything
to do with that dreadful Eldorado. Yes, I'd better go and look
into it!</p>
<p class="center">[<i>He goes out.</i>—<i>End of Scene XVI.</i></p>
<hr class="medium" />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page245" id="page245"></a>[pg 245]</span>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><a href="images/245-1000.png"><img src="images/245-400.png" width="400" height="545" alt="'USING LANGUAGE.'" /></a>
<h3 class="sans">"USING LANGUAGE."</h3>
<p><i>The Squire.</i> <span class="sc">"Well, Smith, I want your advice. Hadn't we
better let them have their way this time?"</span></p>
<p><i>Smith.</i> <span class="sc">"No, no, Sir. Stick to your rights! What <i>I</i> say
is—'Give such People a Hinch and they'll take a Hell'—if
you'll pardon my usin' such Strong Language!"</span></p></div>
<hr class="medium" />
<h2>MAGIC AND MANUFACTURES.</h2>
<h4>(<i>A Fairy Fragment from the German.</i>)</h4>
<p>Little <span class="sc">Alice</span> was delighted with her surroundings. She had
found her way into a lumber-room, which was filled with modern
furniture and modern toys. "How pretty they are!" she exclaimed;
"and how I would like to speak to them!"</p>
<p>Then the Cup and Saucer labelled a "Present from Ramsgate,"
and the Old Grandfather's Clock glowed with satisfaction. Evidently
they wished to join in the conversation.</p>
<p>Then <span class="sc">Alice</span> thought that perhaps she might raise a sprite or a
goblin of some magical person by reading <span class="sc">Andersen's</span> Fairy Stories
backward. She had scarcely, with some difficulty, completed the
first page (rendered reversely) of "The Shepherdess and the Brave
Tin Soldier," when an old lady, about eighteen inches high, suddenly
appeared before her.</p>
<p>"You want all these inanimate things to speak?" said the new
comer. "Well, you will be disappointed if they do."</p>
<p><span class="sc">Alice</span> protested that she would be delighted beyond measure if
they would but talk. "It will be interesting, so very interesting,
dear godmother," she cried; and then she added, "I suppose I may
assume that you <i>are</i> my godmother?"</p>
<p>"You may assume anything you like," snapped out the little old
lady; "only don't bother me. Here! I authorise all these things to
talk. I will be back again by-and-by to see how you are getting
on. Adieu." And then the little old lady disappeared. And then,
as she had foretold, <span class="sc">Alice</span> suffered great disappointment.</p>
<p>The Cup and Saucer "A Present from Ramsgate," began
speaking sixteen words to the dozen, but <span class="sc">Alice</span> could not make
out the meaning. Then the Old Grandfather's Clock talked, but
without better effect. <span class="sc">Alice</span> could not understand a syllable.
And the box of tin Highlanders followed suit. So did a doll
dressed as an Irish peasant. Then all sorts of things that seemed
to be English to the backbone or last ounce of metal—scissors,
books, and calico curtains—kept up a fire of conversation. But
<span class="sc">Alice</span> could make out nothing. She was absolutely astounded.
Here were heaps of British goods suddenly endowed with the
power of speech, and yet she could not understand them!</p>
<p>And as she considered, the little old lady again appeared.</p>
<p>"Well, child!" she exclaimed. "What's the matter? You
seem perplexed! Have not all the toys been talking?"</p>
<p>"Why, yes," faltered <span class="sc">Alice</span>; "but then you see I cannot understand
a word they say!"</p>
<p>"Of course you cannot," replied the Fairy. "They speak only
their native language."</p>
<p>"Their native language! Then why don't they speak English?"</p>
<p>"Because, my good girl," returned the Fairy, preparing to take
her departure, "they cannot. You see, young lady, they don't
know anything about the English language, and this is natural
enough, for they were all made in Germany!"</p>
<hr class="medium" />
<h2>THE FUTURE OF HOME RULE.</h2>
<h4><span class="sc">Mr. Gl-dst-ne: Another Telepathic Automatic Interview.</span></h4>
<p>I had not seen Mr. <span class="sc">Gl-dst-ne</span> for two days, nor had I heard from
him for three posts, neither knew I where he was. I knew he <i>had</i>
been at Downing Street. That evening I found myself in an Inner
Circle train, and no sooner there than I made up my mind to ask
Mr. <span class="sc">Gl-dst-ne</span> if he would mind my interviewing him. My hand
at once wrote—on the margin of my evening paper—that he was at
Downing Street, and that I might have the interview. It was quite
an ordinary one, except that I thought the questions and wrote the
answers on my knee with my hand. "Well, Mr. <span class="sc">Gl-dst-ne</span>," I
said, or, rather, thought, "what do you think of Home Rule?"
My hand (not the Old Parliamentary Hand) wrote:—</p>
<p>"W. E. G. I do not think that I shall be in any way departing
from what has long since become to be recognised as the practice
applicable to this present set of circumstances, a practice to which I
am able to speak from an experience of more than sixty years, when
I say speaking, not merely for myself, but for the whole of the
Members of the Cabinet, and, indeed, I may fairly say of the Government
in its entirety, that we are not indisposed to grant to Ireland
that measure of self-government for which she is asking in a
constitutional way through her duly elected representatives, and
that we earnestly hope that as a result of our efforts we may be
enabled, with a reasonable prospect of finality, to put an end to a
condition of affairs which for the whole of the present century has
embittered our relations with our sister country, and has exposed us
to the censures of every authority in the civilised world whose
acknowledged competency entitles him to an opinion."</p>
<p>Then I ventured a question as to the future. "What about Home
Rule next Session, Mr. <span class="sc">Gl-dst-ne</span>?"</p>
<p>"The question as to what position the Home Rule controversy
will assume next Session is naturally one which can only be determined
when we have before us all the facts which are essential for
the purpose of enabling us to arrive at a definitive conclusion, and as
soon as it becomes reasonably plain what the exact position of parties
will be when it becomes necessary to decide on what lines the policy
of the Government will proceed. I may, however, say that, whilst
not forgetful in any way of the obligations of honour under which
the Liberal party lie to the Irish people, and whilst it will be our
duty at the earliest available moment to press forward measures
which shall carry out our pledges in that direction, we shall not
forget that the consideration of what are not unnaturally termed
English reforms is an imperative necessity, to which the attention
of the Government will be directed at the first opportunity."</p>
<p>By this time I had reached Charing Cross, and as I passed out the
ticket-examiner handed me a postcard. It was in Mr. <span class="sc">Gl-dst-ne's</span>
writing. Judge of my astonishment when I found that quite
spontaneously he had written to me just what I had written in the
interview. I at once wrote to him and informed him of what had
happened. His answer was: "It is most extraordinary. If I
didn't believe all you tell me, I should have come to the conclusion
that you faked (I think that is the word) the interview up out of
my old speeches." So there you have the whole story. Someone
suggests I should publish the postcard. Curiously enough, I have
mislaid it. But two and two make four, and you can go and ask the
ticket-examiner.</p>
<hr class="medium" />
<h3>Cause and Effect.</h3>
<p class="ind1">"I am occupied with my secretaries
while I am dressing."—<i>Lord
Herschell to the deputation
of Liberal Members, Nov. 16.</i></p>
<p class="ind1">"Mr. <span class="sc">K. Muir Mackenzie, Q.C.</span>,
Permanent Sec. to the <span class="sc">Lord Chancellor</span>,
has been made a Companion
of the Bath."—<i>Daily Paper.</i></p>
<hr class="medium" />
<h3>PLEASANT SPOOKERY.</h3>
<p class="ind1">Yes, thanks to <span class="sc">Brandon Thomas's</span> skill, and <span class="sc">Penley's</span> comic
<i>nous</i>,
The lucky "Globe" may well be called the real '<i>Aunt</i>-ed House!</p>
<hr class="medium" />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page246" id="page246"></a>[pg 246]</span>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/246-1500.png"><img src="images/246-600.png" width="600" height="381" alt="BABY-WORSHIP. (THE POINT OF VIEW.)" /></a>
<h3 class="sans">BABY-WORSHIP. (THE POINT OF VIEW.)</h3>
<p>"<span class="sc">Your Nieces seem very fond of Babies, Mr. Sinnick. I suppose you are
too?</span>"</p>
<p>"<span class="sc">Oh yes; like 'em awfully; especially when they begin to <i>Cry</i></span>."</p>
<p>"<span class="sc">Ah, you think the dear little things are in pain</span>?"</p>
<p>"<span class="sc">Yes; and somebody rings the Bell, you know, and the Nurse comes, and the
dear little things are taken away
to the Nursery</span>!"</p></div>
<hr class="medium" />
<h2>THE HANDY BOY.</h2>
<blockquote><p>
["In the office he held, which in reality was
much too heavy for any single man to bear, it was
necessary to live almost a monastic life, and the
eight hours which some persons regarded as a
maximum of toil seemed to those who occupied
that position a dim and distant and golden vision."—<i>Lord
Rosebery, at the opening of the Battersea
Town Hall</i>.]
</p></blockquote>
<p class="center"><i>The Missis soliloquiseth</i>:—</p>
<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza">
<p>Ah! he's really the usefullest boy, that</p>
<p class="i2">young <span class="sc">Primrose</span>, that ever we've had,</p>
<p>And I'm sure I don't know, not sometimes,</p>
<p class="i2">how we'd get along, but for that lad!</p>
<p>So willing, and so civil-spoken, yet none too</p>
<p class="i2">much given to mag.</p>
<p>He does the House credit all round, and I'm</p>
<p class="i2">sure he's the pick o' the bag.</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>Gets through his own work without</p>
<p class="i2">worrit, and then he's so good at odd jobs!</p>
<p>Which some servants are awfully uppish, and</p>
<p class="i2">thinks themselves no end of nobs.</p>
<p>But <span class="sc">Primrose</span> is pleasant and modest, you</p>
<p class="i2">know where the boy's to be found,</p>
<p>And there's nothing he won't turn his hand</p>
<p class="i2">to, to make things agreeable all round.</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>Heigho! How I wish——But no matter!</p>
<p class="i2">Young <span class="sc">Primrose</span>, he <i>knows</i> such a lot,</p>
<p>And he seems to be trusted by all, which</p>
<p class="i2">some of us, I fear,—well, are <i>not</i>.</p>
<p>There is <span class="sc">William</span>, the butler, and John, now;</p>
<p class="i2">they 're excellent servants, of course,</p>
<p>Yet they don't seem as happy as <span class="sc">Primrose</span>,</p>
<p class="i2">although the boy works like a horse!</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p><i>His</i> task's to attend to the door, which needs</p>
<p class="i2">wonderful quickness and tact;</p>
<p>For our visitors, foreign and others, <i>are</i></p>
<p class="i2">troublesome, that is a fact.</p>
<p>But Russian, or Frenchman, or L.C.C. boss</p>
<p class="i2">from out Battersea way,</p>
<p>Or a working-man out of a job, <span class="sc">Primmy</span></p>
<p class="i2">always knows just what to say.</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>He's a treasure, that boy; and I'm always</p>
<p class="i2">a-putting fresh work on his back!</p>
<p>There's this Coal Question now! Awful</p>
<p class="i2">worry! He has such a wonderful knack</p>
<p>I am sure he might settle <i>that</i> shindy. If</p>
<p class="i2">so he will just be a jewel!</p>
<p>If pig-headedness holds on <i>both</i> sides, we</p>
<p class="i2">shall presently run out of fuel.</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>If he can "conciliate" them, it will truly be</p>
<p class="i2">very good biz:</p>
<p>And so I've <i>suggested</i>—no more!—that "the</p>
<p class="i2">boy"—ah! by Jove, here he is!</p>
<p>Poor chap! Two big scuttles—up-stairs!</p>
<p class="i2">He must find it a terrible pull,</p>
<p>With <i>his</i> work too! But if he succeeds—well,</p>
<p class="i2">the cup of his credit is full.</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>Ah, <span class="sc">Primrose</span>, my boy! This <i>is</i> good of you!</p>
<p class="i2">Two at a time, too. Oh, dear!—</p>
<p>It is not just <i>your</i> work, I'll allow, and you</p>
<p class="i2">find they are heavy, I fear.</p>
<p>But you know what a bother it's been. Some</p>
<p class="i2">chaps are such obstinate souls!—</p>
<p>But I was quite sure that <i>you</i> wouldn't mind</p>
<p class="i2">stooping to—taking up coals!</p>
</div> </div>
<hr class="medium" />
<p class="ind2">Why does <span class="sc">Lobengula</span>, when finding fault
with his regiments, appear a great commander?
Because then he is an Impi rater.</p>
<hr class="medium" />
<h3>QUEER CARDS.</h3>
<p class="center">(<i>By a Rural Innkeeper, who has been "had."</i>)</p>
<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza">
<p>They come to me (a poor old chap!)</p>
<p class="i2">And take one room—mostly the same;</p>
<p>A quiet spot, they say, for Nap:</p>
<p class="i2">(But "Crib's" their real game.)</p>
<p>Their luggage is a smallish trunk,</p>
<p class="i2">A whopping walking-stick—alway!</p>
<p>When for a month they've fed and drunk,</p>
<p class="i2">I gently hint at pay.</p>
<p>They say, "Why, certainly! They mean</p>
<p class="i2">To dwell some months beneath my roof.</p>
<p>So happy they have <i>never</i> been!"</p>
<p class="i2">(I think they call this "Spoof.")</p>
<p>They swear my wife's the best of cooks,</p>
<p class="i2">They hint they're half in love with <span class="sc">Sukey</span>,</p>
<p>My daughter, who <i>can</i> boast good looks</p>
<p class="i2">(And here begins Blind Hookey).</p>
<p>Then, when they're some more weeks in debt,</p>
<p class="i2">I tell them Tick's last door is shut;</p>
<p>When—their knave's tricks not ended yet—</p>
<p class="i2">They shuffle—pack—and <i>cut</i>!</p>
</div> </div>
<hr class="medium" />
<h3>BUSINESS.</h3>
<blockquote><p>
["France, it is expected, will endeavour to
hasten England's evacuation of Egypt, and Russia
will try to settle the question of the Dardanelles."—<i>Daily
Chronicle.</i>]
</p></blockquote>
<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza">
<p>Who says that Franco-Russian gush</p>
<p class="i2">Means naught, to reason's optic?</p>
<p>The Russ will help the Frank to rush</p>
<p class="i2">England, from regions Coptic;</p>
<p>And—here <span class="sc">John Bull</span> must surely flinch,</p>
<p class="i2">While Gallia's bosom swells!—</p>
<p>The Bear, if but allowed an inch,</p>
<p class="i2">Will take—the Dardanelles!</p>
</div> </div>
<hr class="medium" />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page247" id="page247"></a>[pg 247]</span>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"><a href="images/247-1200.png"><img src="images/247-450.png" width="450" height="577" alt="THE HANDY BOY!" /></a>
<h1>THE HANDY BOY!</h1>
<p><span class="sc">The Missis.</span> "I KNEW YOU HAD PLENTY TO DO, PRIMROSE, BUT I WAS QUITE
SURE YOU WOULDN'T MIND TAKING UP THOSE COALS!"</p></div>
<hr class="medium" />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page248" id="page248"></a>[pg 248]</span><br />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page249" id="page249"></a>[pg 249]</span>
<h2 class="sans">THE OLD AND NEW SCHOOL—FOR SCANDAL.</h2>
<p>The two principal figures to be considered are Mr. <span class="sc">William
Farren</span>, who, as <i>Sir Peter</i>, is a Master of Arts in the <span class="sc">Old
School</span>,
and Miss <span class="sc">Rehan</span>, who as <i>Lady Teazle</i> is an experimentalising
teacher
in the New <i>School for Scandal</i>. All playgoers, whose memory takes
them back over a quarter of a century, must be familiar with
<span class="sc">William Farren's</span> <i>Sir Peter</i>, which, in our time may have
been rivalled, but has rarely been equalled (I do not remember
his equal in the past), and certainly never excelled.
A trifle overdone now and then, a trifle hard in manner
here and there, perhaps, but, as a whole, simply admirable.
Mr. <span class="sc">Daly</span> never made a better engagement than when
he secured <span class="sc">William Farren</span> for <i>Sir Peter</i>.
About Miss <span class="sc">Rehan's</span> <i>Lady Teazle</i> there will be various opinions
and,
truth to tell, I do not precisely know from what point of view and by
what standard to judge of her performance. <i>Sir Peter</i> describes her
as "a girl bred wholly in the country," and so forth, "yet," he
continues, "she now plays her part in all the extravagant fopperies
of fashion and the town with as ready a grace as if she had never
seen a bush or a grass plot out of Grosvenor Square." To let her
country training be perceived through the assumed airs and graces of
a town Madame seems to me to be Miss <span class="sc">Rehan's</span> object; and in this,
granting her ideas of the country hoyden and the town lady to be
correct, she certainly succeeds; notably in the scenes with <i>Sir Peter</i>.
For thus is the Jekyl-and-Hyde-ness of her character made apparent:
in company, in the scandal scenes, she is to be all airs and graces, but
when alone with her husband she, in spite of her perpetual wrangling
with him, reappears as her own natural self, with most of the polish
temporarily rubbed off. But if this be so, then, when in "society,"
her funny little run and shaking of the head are out of place, while
they may be accepted as a relapse into her provincialisms when she
is quite free and easy, <i>en tête-à-tête</i> with <i>Sir Peter</i>, and
especially
bent on captivating him by recalling to his memory the lass of whom
he had become desperately enamoured some eight months ago.</p>
<div class="figleft" style="width: 350px;"><a href="images/249a-700.png"><img src="images/249a-300.png" width="300" height="359" alt="Shade of Sheridan." /></a>
<p style="width: 300px;"><i>Shade of Sheridan.</i> "William Farren, my old friend, I
congratulate you: and I suspect that in the present
generation I owe you much."</p>
<p style="width: 300px;"><i>Sir William Peter Farren Teazle.</i> "Not more than I
do you, Mr. Sheridan. Let us say, mutually indebted."</p>
<p class="indr" style="width: 300px;">[<i>They exchange snuff-pinches.</i></p></div>
<p>In the Screen Scene when "discovered," Miss <span class="sc">Rehan's</span> attitude
is eloquent; and on this tableau I have always thought the curtain
should descend, as all after this, even <i>Sir Peter's</i> exit with "damn
your sentiments," good as it is, is an anti-climax. I should prefer
that Miss <span class="sc">Rehan's</span> <i>Lady Teazle</i> should be silent, or if it must be
played as written, then here of all situations in the comedy would
I insist upon her emphasising the perfectly natural manner of the
unaffected country girl, instead of addressing Sir <i>Peter</i> in the deep
tones of a tragedian, as if attempting a mere theatrical effect. In
the last Act, as arranged, she appears to have done with her town
airs and graces for ever, and, wearing a queer sort of mob-cap, enters
on <i>Sir Peter's</i> arm, ready with him to face the ridicule, the satire,
and the scandal of their world.</p>
<p>Miss <span class="sc">Vanbrugh</span> makes a delightful <i>Lady Sneerwell</i>, and Mrs.
<span class="sc">Gilbert</span> a dear old <i>Mrs. Candour</i>, who would spitefully gossip
about
her neighbours for hours together. <i>Maria</i> is almost always a
thankless part, and Miss <span class="sc">Percy Haswell</span> leaves no doubt on the
mind of the audience of her being a poor orphan of some six months'
standing. The part of <i>Moses</i> offers very little scope to Mr. <span class="sc">James
Lewis</span>, especially as the celebrated "I'll take my oath of that"
is cut out, and some lines are introduced, which being quite un-Sheridanesque
and un-Mosaic do not in the least assist the character.
However, as he is much slapped on the back, dug in the ribs, and
generally treated as a butt by <i>Charles</i> and <i>Careless</i> (who, by the
way,
gives <i>"Here's to the Maiden"</i> in first-rate style), Mr. <span class="sc">Lewis</span> may
be
congratulated on getting to the end of his impersonation of one of the
long-suffering tribe in perfect safety. Mr. <span class="sc">Bourchier's</span> <i>Charles</i>
goes
well with the audience; but Mr. <span class="sc">George Clarke</span> is too conscientious,
and too impressed with a sense of the horrible scoundrelism of <i>Joseph's</i>
character to be ever really at home in so uncongenial a part.</p>
<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;"><a href="images/249b-600.png"><img src="images/249b-300.png" width="300" height="355" alt="Lady Ada Rehan Teazle." /></a>
<p class="center">Lady Ada Rehan Teazle.</p>
<p class="center">"In for some sort of a run"—at Daly's.</p></div>
<p>For the re-arrangement, much may be said "for," and more
"against." There is only one point that strikes me as absolutely
inartistic, and that is, making <i>Sir Peter</i> give his explanatory speech
about his wife <i>after</i> we have seen her, instead of leaving it in its
proper place, as <span class="sc">Sheridan</span> wrote it, where it serves as a prologue
to the subsequent scene between <i>Sir Peter</i> and <i>Lady Teazle</i>, when
she appears for the first time in the comedy.</p>
<p>There are some curious oversights in the scenic arrangements
at Daly's. The first is in <i>Charles Surface's</i>
picture gallery, <i>which has no windows and no
skylight</i>. The second is that though <i>Charles</i>
has sold all his books, yet through the door
of the picture-room are seen the first shelves of an evidently
well-stocked library. The third oversight is in <i>Joseph's</i> chambers,
described in the original play as "<i>a library in Joseph Surface's
house</i>," where, when he tells <i>Sir Peter</i> that "<i>books are the only
things I am a coxcomb in</i>," there are only a very few volumes to
be seen, and these are lying at haphazard on a table.</p>
<p>To revert for a moment to <i>Charles Surface's</i> windowless and skylightless
picture gallery, the scene takes place in the evening, after
dinner, or supper, and how is the huge apartment lighted? Why,
by a couple of ordinary candles placed on a side-table, while on the
mantelpiece at the back remain a couple of silver candelabra, filled
with candles which remain all the time unlighted. Why, naturally,
the company would have been in darkness, but not a bit of it, for
these two candles do give so preternaturally wonderful an illumination,
that the stage is as bright as a sunlighted garden at noonday
in July. The company that could produce such candles would make
a fortune by their patent. The dance at the end of the first Act
brings down the curtain to enthusiastic applause, and, to the end,
the old comedy, in spite of various chops and changes, holds its
own, as it ever will do, triumphantly.</p>
<hr class="medium" />
<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2>
<p><span class="sc">Father Christmas</span> is already sending out his Cards for the Coming
Festivity, now six weeks ahead. His representatives all "decorated,"
and still ready to receive any amount of "orders," are <span class="sc">Marcus Ward</span>,
the <span class="sc">Raphael Tuck</span> family, <span class="sc">C. W. Faulkner</span>, <span class="sc">C. Delgado</span>,
and many
others, whose excellent works are known to all, and by none more
appreciated than by the youthful Baronites and Baronitesses.</p>
<p>"<span class="sc">Blackie and Son!</span>" says a Junior Baronite; "why, that must
he the publishers of Christy Minstrel works!" but they are soon undeceived.
Such delightful books! their very bindings are suggestive
of cheerfulness, and seem to invite inspection. We will take a
peep inside, like Jack Horner, and pull out the best plummed story.
Three by <span class="sc">G. A. Henty</span>, who knows how and what to write for
youths of adventurous spirit. His three are:—</p>
<p><i>Through the Sikh War.</i> Indian affairs are always of interest to
the young Britisher, "who will," quoth the little Baronite, "<i>seek</i>
and find all he wants in this book."</p>
<p><i>St. Bartholomew's Eve</i> might be a tale of curiosity, but it is
history, and deals with the valour of an English boy during the
Huguenot Wars. Being a hero, he does not get killed in the
massacre, but lives to fight another day.</p>
<p><i>A Jacobite Exile</i> is a tale of the Swedes. Hardly necessary,
perhaps, or as <span class="sc">Shakspeare</span> puts it, "Swedes to the Swede,—superfluous."
To the English reader, therefore, it is not a superfluity.</p>
<p>Then here is The <i>Penny Illustrated</i>. It is called "<i>Roses</i>" and
whatever any reader may require, here he will find it "all among
the roses." The rearer and cultivator of these "Roses" is <span class="sc">John
Latey</span>, whose "Rose of Hastings" is among the best of the contributions.
"We can't do better than provide ourselves and our
families with this specimen of a Flowery Annual," quoth,</p>
<p class="author"><span class="sc">The Baron de Book-Worms.</span></p>
<hr class="medium" />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page250" id="page250"></a>[pg 250]</span>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/250a-1500.png"><img src="images/250a-600.png" width="600" height="376" alt="A NEW ADJECTIVE." /></a>
<h3 class="sans">A NEW ADJECTIVE.</h3>
<p><i>Customer.</i> "<span class="sc">You'll find I measure a bit more round the waist than I
did last time you took my measure.</span>"</p>
<p><i>Tailor.</i> "<span class="sc">Ah, well, Sir, if I may be allowed to say so, you <i>are</i>
a trifle more—ah—more <i>Lobengulous</i> than
formerly.</span>"</p></div>
<hr class="medium" />
<h3>1,000,000 A. D.</h3>
<blockquote><p>
["The descendants of man will nourish themselves by immersion in nutritive
fluid. They will have enormous brains, liquid, soulful eyes, and large hands,
on which they will hop. No craggy nose will they have, no vestigial ears;
their mouths will be a small, perfectly round aperture, unanimal, like the
evening star. Their whole muscular system will be shrivelled to nothing, a
dangling pendant to their minds."—<i>Pall Mall Gazette, abridged.</i>]
</p></blockquote>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;"><a href="images/250b-500.png"><img src="images/250b-250.png" width="250" height="179" alt="" /></a></div>
<div class="poem1"> <div class="stanza">
<p>What, a million years hence, will become of the <i>Genus</i></p>
<p class="i2"><i>Humanum</i>, is truly a question vexed;</p>
<p>At that epoch, however, <i>one</i> prophet has seen us</p>
<p class="i6">Resemble the sketch annexed.</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>For as Man undergoes Evolution ruthless,</p>
<p class="i2">His skull will grow "dome-like, bald, terete";</p>
<p>And his mouth will be jawless, gumless, toothless—</p>
<p class="i6">No more will he drink or eat!</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>He will soak in a crystalline bath of pepsine,</p>
<p class="i2">(No <span class="sc">Robert</span> will then have survived, to wait,)</p>
<p>And he'll hop on his hands as his food he steps in—</p>
<p class="i6">A quasi-cherubic gait!</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>No longer the land or the sea he'll furrow;</p>
<p class="i2">The world will be withered, ice-cold, dead</p>
<p>As the chill of Eternity grows, he'll burrow</p>
<p class="i6">Far down underground instead.</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<p>If the <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i> has thus been giving</p>
<p class="i2">A forecast correct of this change immense,</p>
<p>Our stars we may thank, then, that <i>we</i> shan't be living</p>
<p class="i6">A million years from hence!</p>
</div> </div>
<hr class="medium" />
<p class="center"><span class="sc">One Down t'other Come On.</span>—King Log is a most useful substitute
when King Coal has temporarily abdicated.</p>
<hr class="medium" />
<h2 class="sans">ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.</h2>
<h4>EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M. P.</h4>
<p><i>House of Commons, Monday, November 13.</i>—<span class="sc">Tomlinson</span> has for
some time observed with deepening disfavour his position in House
as affected by, and compared with, that of his friend and companion
dear, <span class="sc">Tomasso Bowles</span>. <span class="sc">Tommy</span>, to drop into the affectionate
diminutive, is a mere child compared with him. He is but the
birth of the last General Election; whilst for thirteen years this
very month <span class="sc">Tomlinson</span> has presented at Westminster Preston's
idea of the highest form of culture and intelligence.</p>
<p>Employers' Liability Bill offered opportunity for coming to front;
not that either as Employer or Employed <span class="sc">Tomlinson</span> has any special
knowledge on subject. But he sees as clearly into its bearings as he
does through the average Lancashire stone wall. Awake at nights
drafting new Clauses that should baffle <span class="sc">Asquith</span> and make the <span class="sc">Squire
of Malwood</span> sit up. Looked most imposing on paper. Thought at one
time of posting copy to every elector of Preston, so that he might
see what a power in Senate is the borough Member. Wouldn't cost
so much since, posted at House of Commons in official wrapper,
they might go free. Still there would be remarks made if <span class="sc">Tomlinson</span>
drove into Palace Yard enthroned on top of waggon containing
15,959 addressed copies of Amendments to Employers' Liability Bill.
Gave up idea. Electors must buy the papers where, in
Parliamentary reports, they would read voluminous digests of his
speeches.</p>
<p>Began soon after House took up Bill this afternoon. First group
of Amendments covered folio page of print. Read admirably; if it
had not been usual for Member in charge of new Clause to explain
to House its object and effect in operation success would have
been assured. Here's where <span class="sc">Tomlinson</span> came to grief; talked for
some time; House listened at first, honestly intent upon considering
project, whatever it might he. Effect of <span class="sc">Tomlinson's</span> speech not
elucidatory. The more he talked the more hopeless the muddle.
When he sat down anguished listeners not quite sure whether he
had (1) moved the Clause, (2) proposed to withdraw it, or (3) suggested
that a more convenient place for insertion would he found later on.
Fortunately new Clause in print among Amendments. That
<span class="sc">Asquith</span> should decline to have anything to do with it natural
enough. Saddest of all befel when from his own side of House
<span class="sc">Rollit</span> bluntly denounced Clause, <span class="sc">Carson</span> hoped it wouldn't be
pressed, and <span class="sc">Henry James</span>, from allied camp opposite, demolished
it with final shot.</p>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page251" id="page251"></a>[pg 251]</span>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"><a href="images/251-1500.png"><img src="images/251-600.png" width="600" height="435" alt="THE HOME SECRETARY'S SAFETY-VALVE." /></a>
<h4 class="sans">THE HOME SECRETARY'S SAFETY-VALVE. TRAFALGAR SQUARE OF THE FUTURE.</h4></div>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page252" id="page252"></a>[pg 252]</span>
<p>This not encouraging, but there were other Amendments standing
in his name of which something must be said. <span class="sc">Tomlinson</span> rose
when called on, but gratefully sat down when greeted with mirthful
cries for division. Only gleam of comfort in sorrowful night
was when <span class="sc">Tommy Bowles</span>, rushing in whence he had retreated,
called down on himself <span class="sc">Speaker's</span> stern commentary that his
remarks were "quite irrelevant."</p>
<p><i>Business done.</i>—Report Stage of Employers' Liability Bill.</p>
<p><i>Tuesday.</i>—To casual observer there is nothing in personal
appearance of <span class="sc">Ughtred Kay-Shuttleworth</span> suggestive of the
Tartar. Yet to-night Sir <span class="sc">Ellis Ashmead Bart(lett)</span>, going a
hunting on the Treasury Bench preserves, bagged Secretary to
Admiralty and found he had caught a Tartar. <span class="sc">Ashmead</span>, in
his self-asserted character of <span class="sc">Britannia's</span> Confidential Clerk,
tried to draw <span class="sc">Ughtred</span> on subject of Naval Scare. <span class="sc">Shuttleworth</span>,
with manner that combined severity of a magistrate with
benignity of a dean, managed to present <span class="sc">Ashmead</span> in aspect of
fussy person who, having had some official knowledge, in whatever
subordinate position, ought to have been able to restrain the
self-assertiveness that led him to put such a question. House,
which does not do credit to The <span class="sc">Bart(lett)'s</span> many sterling
qualities, roared with delight. Stung to quick, <span class="sc">Ashmead</span> up
again; shouted across table, "I ask the right hon. gentleman
whether he can give me any evidence of his being alive——"
House, struck with evidence to that effect just given, broke in
with fresh roar of laughter. <span class="sc">Ashmead</span> stood glaring round at
merry circle. When noise subsided, continued: "——any evidence
of his being alive to the importance of his duties?" More
laughter. <span class="sc">Ashmead</span> appealed to <span class="sc">Speaker</span> to reprimand
<span class="sc">Kay-Shuttleworth</span>.
Speaker justified Minister's action. One more
attempt; one more rebuff; and <span class="sc">Ashmead</span> subsided for the night,
not quite sure after all that silence isn't golden. At least it
used to bring in £1000 a year.</p>
<p><i>Business done.</i>—A good deal with the Employers' Liability Bill.</p>
<div class="figleft" style="width: 250px;"><a href="images/252a-600.png"><img src="images/252a-250.png" width="250" height="406" alt="Tommy Bowles and the Pilot." /></a>
<p class="center">Tommy Bowles and the Pilot.</p></div>
<p><i>Wednesday.</i>—Another quiet sitting with Employers' Liability
Bill. Cap'en <span class="sc">Tommy Bowles</span>, respectfully removing his tarpaulin,
and shifting his quid, relieved dullness of afternoon by some capital
yarns. One drew a vivid picture of dangers that lurk behind the
casual pilot. On a dark night in midsummer Cap'en <span class="sc">Tommy</span>, a-sailing
down the coast of Barbaree, came upon what looked like a
town. Turned out to be Algiers; hauled
down his main yard; ran out the topgallantsail
spanker, and bore down on the harbour.
Just as he was entering was boarded by pilot.</p>
<p>"Sheer off!" says <span class="sc">Tommy</span> through his
polyglot speaking-trumpet. "Don't want your help;
know every rock and shoal on the coast;
will take the ship in myself."</p>
<p>Pilot produced from lining at back
of his trousers Code of Regulations; this
set forth that pilot was compulsory.
Nothing to do but submit, unless he
would involve Great Britain in war. Pilot
came aboard; took charge; forged ahead;
just going to run ship on breakwater
when <span class="sc">Tommy's</span> keen eye perceived danger.</p>
<p>"Sir," said the
only Member of House of Commons who, since <span class="sc">Big Ben's</span> death,
holds a sea captain's certificate, "I took my ship out of the pilot's
hand, and brought her in safely."</p>
<p>House uproariously cheered, and <span class="sc">Frank Lockwood</span> went off and
drew a sketch of the historical scene.</p>
<p><i>Business done.</i>—More of Employers' Liability Bill.</p>
<p><i>Thursday.</i>—Government in difficulties to-night. <i>Cherchez la
femme.</i> <span class="sc">Walter M'Laren</span> had her in charge; a modest little
thing, merely asking that women, whether married or single, should
be enabled to vote at election of Parish Councils. House not very
full; no danger anticipated; but Conservatives joined their forces
with Radicals below gangway, and before Ministers quite knew
where they were they found themselves in minority of twenty-one.</p>
<p>"Winged!" cried Admiral <span class="sc">Borthwick</span>. "The <span class="sc">Fowler</span> went
out shooting, and comes home shot."</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a href="images/252b-1000.png"><img src="images/252b-500.png" width="500" height="446" alt="'Winged!'" /></a>
<p class="center">"Winged!"</p></div>
<p>Suggestion made that Government should resign; Mr. G. only
smiled.</p>
<p>Spiteful little thing <span class="sc">Rentoul</span> said just now. Supporting amendment
to Employers' Liability Bill he remarked "Gentlemen who
sit on this side of the House are in favour of the amendment;
gentlemen who sit on the other side of the House equally approve it;
whilst Sir <span class="sc">Albert Rollit</span>, who sits on every side of the House, does
not object to it."</p>
<p><i>Business done.</i>—Employers' Liability Bill reported; Government
defeated; got into Committee on Parish Councils Bill.</p>
<p><i>Friday.</i>—Rather painful scene to-night between <span class="sc">Sydney Buxton</span>
and <span class="sc">Sage of Queen Anne's Gate</span>. <span class="sc">Sage</span>, ever thirsting for
knowledge, wanted to know much about Matabeleland. Drafted a
long string of questions addressed to Under Secretary for Colonies.</p>
<p>"Unfounded assumptions," <span class="sc">Buxton</span>, in the pride of office,
characterised these simple interrogatories. The <span class="sc">Sage</span>, insatiable for
information, desires to have the unfounded assumptions particularised.
<span class="sc">Buxton</span> referred Members to the question.</p>
<p>"But why," asked the <span class="sc">Sage</span>, with tremble and pathos in his
voice, "did you call them unfounded assumptions?"</p>
<p>Affected by this spectacle of genuine emotion, <span class="sc">Buxton</span> proposed to
substitute for the obnoxious word milder form "unproved."</p>
<p>"Yes," said the <span class="sc">Sage</span>, sticking to his point; "but you said
unfounded." No use <span class="sc">Buxton</span> attempting to deny this; lapsed into
<ins title="T.N.: Original reads 'embarassed'">embarrassed</ins> silence; probably will be more careful in future.</p>
<p><i>Business done.</i>—Very little of Parish Councils Bill.</p>
<hr class="medium" />
<h3>A COCKNEY ON A GREAT COLLECTION.</h3>
<blockquote><p>
[We are informed that Prince <span class="sc">Lucien Bonaparte's</span> unique library of some
25,000 volumes, included "a complete set of <i>Punch</i>" preserved presumably
by the Prince for the specimens of "Cockney dialect which it contains."]
</p></blockquote>
<div class="poem2"> <div class="stanza">
<p>Jest fancy a Prince <span class="sc">Bonyparty</span> sech nuts upon patter and slang!</p>
<p>Proves a Prince may be fly to wot's wot, and of chat as <i>is</i> chat 'ave the 'ang.</p>
<p>Lor bless yer, this <span class="sc">Lucyun</span>, <i>'e</i> knowed all the cackles as ever was chinned.</p>
<p>I'll wager as <i>'e</i> wos aweer as a Billingsgit Pheasant is <i>finned</i>!</p>
<p>He'd got <span class="sc">Solomon's</span> song in Tyke lingo! A pity 'e didn't know <i>me</i>!</p>
<p>I'd ha' run it off into back slang, and ha' done it most willing and free.</p>
<p>'Cos a Prince and a Frenchy at that, as appreshiates <i>Punch</i>, <i>and</i> my patter,</p>
<p>Is a precious sight smarter than some "Cockney" criticks, and that's wot's the matter!</p>
<p>So bully for Prince <span class="sc">Bonyparty</span>! When weighed in 'e's well hup to scale;</p>
<p>And <i>if</i> them books come to the 'ammer, wy <span class="sc">'Arry</span> means seeing the sale!</p>
</div> </div>
<hr class="full" />
<table summary="transcriber's note" align="center">
<tr>
<td class="note">
<h4>Transcriber's Note:</h4>
Page 244: Removed extrraneous 'not'.
"and do not follow the senseless fashion of dressing ..."
<p>The correction listed below is also indicated in the text by a dashed line at the appropriate place:<br />
Move the mouse over the word, and the original text <ins title="T.N.: Original reads 'apprears'">appears</ins>.</p>
<p>Page 252: 'embarassed' corrected to 'embarrassed'.</p>
<p>"... lapsed into embarrassed silence;"</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr class="full" />
<pre>
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