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diff --git a/old/13283-h/13283-h.htm b/old/13283-h/13283-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..19cd548 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13283-h/13283-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2468 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" + content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" /> + + <title>Punch, April 11, 1891.</title> + <style type="text/css"> + /*<![CDATA[*/ + + <!-- + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {text-align: justify;} + blockquote {text-align: justify;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} + pre {font-size: 0.7em;} + + hr {text-align: center; width: 50%;} + html>body hr {margin-right: 25%; margin-left: 25%; width: 50%;} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + html>body hr.full {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;} + hr.short {text-align: center; width: 20%;} + html>body hr.short {margin-right: 40%; margin-left: 40%; width: 20%;} + + .note + {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + + span.pagenum + {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt;} + + .poem + {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem p.i4 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem p.i6 {margin-left: 3em;} + .poem p.i8 {margin-left: 4em;} + .poem p.i10 {margin-left: 5em;} + + .figure, .figcenter, .figright, .figleft + {padding: 1em; margin: 0; text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em;} + .figure img, .figcenter img, .figright img, .figleft img + {border: none;} + .figure p, .figcenter p, .figright p, .figleft p + {margin: 0; text-indent: 1em;} + .figcenter {margin: auto;} + .figright {float: right;} + .figleft {float: left;} + + p.author {text-align: right;} + + --> + /*]]>*/ + </style> +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 100, +April 11, 1891, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 100, April 11, 1891 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: August 25, 2004 [EBook #13283] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + + + + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer, William Flis, and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +</pre> + + <h1>PUNCH,<br /> + OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> + + <h2>Vol. 100.</h2> + <hr class="full" /> + + <h2>April 11, 1891.</h2> + <hr class="full" /> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page169" + id="page169"></a>[pg 169]</span> + + <h2>MR. PUNCH'S PRIZE NOVELS.</h2> + + <h3>No. XVI.—GERMFOOD.</h3> + + <h4>(<i>By</i> MARY MORALLY, <i>Author of "Ginbitters!" + "Ardart," &c., &c.</i>)</h4> + + <blockquote> + <p>[The MS. of this remarkable novel was tied round with + scarlet ribbons, and arrived in a case which had been once + used for the packing of bottles of rum, or some other + potent spirit. It is dedicated in highly uncomplimentary + terms to "<i>Messieurs les Marronneurs glacés de + Paris</i>." With it came a most extraordinary letter, from + which we make, without permission, the following startling + extracts. "Ha! Ha! likewise Fe Fo Fum. I smell blood, + galloping, panting, whirling, hurling, throbbing, maddened + blood. My brain is on fire, my pen is a flash of lightning. + I see stars, three stars, that is to say, one of the best + brands plucked from the burning. I'm going to make your + flesh creep. I'll give you fits, paralytic fits, epileptic + fits, and fits of hysteria, all at the same time. Have I + ever been in Paris? Never. Do I know the taste of absinthe? + How dare you ask me such a question? Am I a woman? Ask me + another. Ugh! it's coming, the demon is upon me. I must + write three murderous volumes. I must, I must! What was + that shriek? and that? and that? Unhand me, snakes! + Oh!!!!—M.M."]</p> + </blockquote> + + <h4>CHAPTER I.</h4> + + <div class="figright" + style="width:60%;"> + <a href="images/169.png"><img width="100%" + src="images/169.png" + alt="A leopard of the forest had issued from a side-street ..." /> + </a> + </div> + + <p>I was asleep and dreaming—dreaming dreadful, horrible, + soul-shattering dreams—dreams that flung me head-first + out of bed, and then flung me back into bed off the uncarpeted + floor of my chamber. But I did not wake—why should + I?—it was unnecessary—I wanted to dream—I had + to dream and therefore I dreamt. I was walking home from a + cheap restaurant in one of the poorer quarters of Paris. + "Poorer quarters" is a nice vague term. There are many poorer + quarters in a large city. This was one of them. Let that + suffice to the critical pedants who clamour for accuracy and + local colour. Accuracy! pah! Shall the soaring soul of a + three-volumer be restrained by the debasing fetters of a + grovelling exactitude? Never! I will tell you what. If I + choose, I who speak to you, <i>moi qui vous parle</i>, the + Seine shall run red with the blood of murdered priests, and + there shall be a tide in it where no tide ever was before, + close to Paris itself, the home of the <i>Marrons Glacés</i>, + and into the river I shall plunge a corpse with upturned face + and glassy, staring, haunting, dreadful eyes, and the tide + shall turn, the tide that never was on earth, or sky, or sea, + it shall turn in my second volume for one night only, and carry + the corpse of my victim back, back, back under bridges + innumerable, back into the heart of Paris. Dreadful, isn't it? + <i>Allons, mon ami. Qu'est-ce-qu'il-y-a. Je ne sais quoi. Mon + Dieu!</i> There's idiomatic French for you, all sprinkled out + of a cayenne pepper-pot to make the local colour hot and + strong. Bah! let us return to our muttons!</p> + + <h4>CHAPTER II.</h4> + + <p>What was that? Something yellow, and spotted—something + sinuous and lithe, with crawling, catlike motion. No, no! Yes, + yes!! A leopard of the forest had issued from a side-street, a + <i>cul de sac</i>, as the frivolous sons of Paris, the Queen of + Vice, call it. It was moving with me, stopping when I stopped, + galloping when I galloped, turning somersaults when I turned + them. And then it spoke to me—spoke, yes, spoke, this + thing of the desert—this wild phantasm of a brain + distraught by over-indulgence in <i>marrons glacés</i>, the + curse of <i>ma patrie</i>, and its speech was as the scent of + scarlet poppies, plucked from the grave of a discarded + mistress.</p> + + <p>"Thou shalt write," it said, "for it is thine to reform the + world." I shuddered. The conversational "thou" is fearful at + all times; but, ah, how true to nature, even the nature of a + leopard of the forest. The beast continued—"But thou + shalt write in English."</p> + + <p>"Spare me!" I ventured to interpose.</p> + + <p>"In English," it went on, inexorably—"in hysterical, + sad, mad, bad English. And the tale shall be of + France—France, where the ladies always leave the + dinner-table before the men. Note this, and use it at page + ninety of thy first volume. And thy French shall be worse than + thy English, for thou shalt speak of a <i>frissonement</i>, and + thy friends shall say, "<i>Nous blaguons le chose.</i>"</p> + + <p>"Stop!" I cried, in despair, "stop, fiend!—this is too + much!" I sprang at the monster, and seized it by the throat. + Our eyes, peering into each other's, seemed to ravage out, as + by fire, the secrets hidden in our hearts. My blood hurled + itself through my veins. There was something clamorous and wild + in it. Then I fell prone on the ground, and remembered that I + had eaten one <i>marron</i> for dinner. This explained + everything, and I remembered no more till I came to myself, and + found the divisional surgeon busily engaged upon me with a + <i>pompe d'estomac</i>.</p> + + <h4>CHAPTER III.</h4> + + <p>My father, M. le Duc DI SPEPSION, belonged to one of the + oldest French families. He had many old French customs, amongst + others that of brushing his bearded lips against my cheek. He + was a stern man, with a severe habit of addressing me as + "<i>Mon fils</i>." Generally he disapproved of my proceedings, + which was, perhaps, not unnatural, taking all the circumstances + of the case into consideration. Why have I mentioned him? I + know not, save that even now, degraded as I am, memories of + better things sometimes steal over me like the solemn sound of + church-bells pealing in a cathedral belfry. But I have done + with home, with father, with patriotism, with claret, with + walnuts, and with all simple pleasures. <i>Ça va sans dire.</i> + They talk to me of Good, and Nature. The words are meaningless + to me. Are there realities behind these words—realities + that can touch the heart of a confirmed <i>marroneur</i>? Cold + and pitiless, Nature sits aloft like a mathematician, with his + balance regulating the storm-pulses of this troubled world. + Bah! I fling myself in her teeth. I brazen it out. She quails. + For, since the accursed food passed my lips, the strength of a + million demons is in me. I am pitiless. I laugh to think of the + fool I once was in the days when I fed myself on <i>Baba au + Rhum</i>, and other innocent dishes. Now I have knowledge. I am + my own good. I glance haughtily into—[Ten rhapsodical + pages omitted.—ED. <i>Punch</i>.] But there came into my + life a false priest, who was like the ghost of a fair lost + god—and because he was a fair lost, the cabmen loved him + not—and he had to die, and lie in the Morgue—the + Morgue where murdered men and women love to dwell—and + thus he should discover the Eternal Secret!</p> + + <h4>CHAPTER IV.</h4> + + <p>Again—again—again! The moon rose, shimmering + like a <i>Marron Glacé</i> over Paris. Oh! Paris, beauteous + city of the lost. Surely in Babylon or in Nineveh, where + SEMIRAMIS of old queened it over men, never was such + madness—madness did I say? Why? What did I mean? Tush! + the struggle is over, and I am calm again, though my blood + still hums tumultuously. The world is very evil. My father died + choked by a <i>marron</i>. I, too, am dead—I who have + written this rubbish—I am dead, and sometimes, as I walk, + my loved one glides before me in aërial phantom shape, as on + page 4, Vol. II. But I am dead—dead and buried—and + over my grave an avenue of gigantic chestnuts reminds the + passer-by of my fate: and on my tombstone it is written, "Here + lies one who danced a cancan and ate <i>marrons glacés</i> all + day. Be warned!" THE END.</p> + <hr /> + + <p>QUITE EXCEPTIONAL THEATRICAL NEWS.—Next Thursday at + the Vaudeville, the Press and the usual Free-Admissionaries + will be let in for <i>Money</i>.</p> + <hr /> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page170" + id="page170"></a>[pg 170]</span> + + <div class="figcenter" + style="width:100%;"> + <h3>MORE KICKS THAN HALFPENCE.</h3> + + <blockquote> + <p>"The root of Volunteer inefficiency is to be + ascribed to the Volunteer officer. The men are such as + their officers make them ... The force is 1,100 + officers short of its proper + complement."—<i>Times</i>.</p> + </blockquote><a href="images/170.png"><img width="100%" + src="images/170.png" + alt="General Redtape and Volunteer Officer." /></a> + + <p><i>General Redtape</i> (<i>of the Intelligence + Department, W.O.</i>) "WHAT! GOING TO RESIGN!"</p> + + <p><i>Volunteer Officer</i>. "YES. WHY SHOULD I ONLY GET + YOUR KICKS FOR MY HALFPENCE?"</p> + </div> + <hr /> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page171" + id="page171"></a>[pg 171]</span> + + <h3>MORE KICKS THAN HALFPENCE.</h3> + + <h4><i>Volunteer Officer, loquitur</i>.—</h4> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Yes, take back the sword! Though the <i>Times</i> + may expostulate,</p> + + <p class="i2">Tired am I wholly of worry and snubs.</p> + + <p>You'll find, my fine friend, what your folly has + cost you, late,</p> + + <p class="i2">Henceforth for me the calm comfort of + Clubs!</p> + + <p>To lounge on a cushion and hear the balls rattle</p> + + <p class="i2">'Midst smoke-fumes, and sips on the field + of green cloth,</p> + + <p>Is better than leading slow troops to sham + battle,</p> + + <p class="i2">In stupid conditions that rouse a man's + wrath.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Commissions, they say, go a-begging. Precisely!</p> + + <p class="i2">Incapables take them, but capables + shy.</p> + + <p>For twenty-one years you have harried us nicely.</p> + + <p class="i2">And now, like the rest, we're on Strike, + Sir. And why?</p> + + <p>The game, you old fossil, is not worth the + candle,</p> + + <p class="i2">Your kicks for my halfpence? The + bargain's too bad!</p> + + <p>If you want bogus leaders sham soldiers to + handle,</p> + + <p class="i2">You'll now have to take duffers, + deadheads, and cads!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The <i>Times</i> wisely says you should make it + attractive,</p> + + <p class="i2">This Volunteer business. But that's not + your game.</p> + + <p>You're actively snubby, or coldly inactive:</p> + + <p class="i2">We pay, and you pooh-pooh! 'Tis always + the same.</p> + + <p>We do not mind giving our time and our money,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or facing March blasts, or the floods of + July;</p> + + <p>But till nettles bear grapes, Sir, or wasps yield us + honey,</p> + + <p class="i2">You won't get snubbed men to pay up and + look spry.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The "multiplication of camps and manoeuvres"?</p> + + <p class="i2">All right! Let us learn in a + <i>soldierlike</i> school;</p> + + <p>But what is the good of your Bisleys and Dovers.</p> + + <p class="i2">If the whole game resolves into playing + the fool?</p> + + <p>To play that game longer and pay for it too, + Sir,</p> + + <p class="i2">Won't suit me at all. I'm disgusted and + bored.</p> + + <p>Your kicks for my halfpence? No, no, it won't do, + Sir!</p> + + <p class="i2">And therefore, old Tapenoddle—take + back the sword!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <div class="figcenter" + style="width:60%;"> + <a href="images/171.png"><img width="100%" + src="images/171.png" + alt="TRUE SENTIMENT." /></a> + + <h3>TRUE SENTIMENT.</h3> + + <p>"I'M WRITING TO MRS. MONTAGUE, GEORGIE,—THAT + PRETTY LADY YOU USED TO TAKE TO SEE YOUR PIGS. HAVEN'T YOU + SOME NICE MESSAGE TO SEND HER?"</p> + + <p>"YES, MUMMIE; GIVE HER MY LOVE, AND SAY I NEVER LOOK AT + A LITTLE BLACK PIG NOW WITHOUT THINKING OF <i>HER</i>!"</p> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2>LEAVES FROM A CANDIDATE'S DIARY.</h2> + + <h4>[CONTINUED.]</h4> + + <p><i>March 11</i>.—I shall have to be pretty careful in + my speech to the Council. Must butter up Billsbury like fun. + How would this do? "I am young, Gentlemen, but I should have + studied the political history of my country to little purpose + if I did not know that, up to the time of the last election, + the vote of Billsbury was always cast on the side of + enlightenment, and Constitutional progress. The rash and + foolish experiments of those who sought to impair the glorious + fabric of our laws and our Constitution found no favour in + Billsbury. It was not your fault, I know, that this state of + things has not been maintained, and that Billsbury is now + groaning under the heavy burden of a distasteful + representation. Far be it from me to say one word personally + against the present Member for Billsbury. This is a political + fight, and it is because his political opinions are mistaken + that you have decided to attack him"—&c., &c., + &c. Must throw in something about Conservatives being the + true friends of working-men. CHUBSON is not an Eight Hours' + man, so I can go a long way. What shall I say next? Church and + State, of course, Ireland pacified and contented, glorious + financial successes of present Government, steady removal of + all legitimate grievances, and triumphs of our diplomacy in all + parts of the world. Shall have to say a good word for + Liberal-Unionists. TOLLAND says there are about thirty of them, + all very touchy. Must try to work in the story of the boy and + the plum-cake. It made them scream at the Primrose League + meeting at Crowdale.</p> + + <p>By the way, Uncle HENRY said, "What about the Bar?" I told + him I meant to keep on working at it—which won't be + difficult if I don't get more work. I got just two Statements + of Claim, and a Motion before a Judge in Chambers, all last + year, the third year after my call. Sleepy. To bed.</p> + + <p><i>March 12</i>, <i>"George Hotel," + Billsbury</i>.—Left London by 2.15 to-day, and got to + Billsbury at 5.30. TOLLAND met me at the station with half a + dozen other "leaders of the Party." One was Colonel CHORKLE, a + Volunteer Colonel; another was Alderman MOFFATT, a Scotchman + with a very broad dialect. Then there was JERRAM, the Editor of + the <i>Billsbury Standard</i>, "the organ of the Party in + Billsbury," so TOLLAND said, and a couple of others. I was + introduced to them all, and forgot which was which immediately + afterwards, which was most embarrassing, as I had to address + them all as "you," a want of distinction which I am afraid they + felt. Tipped two porters, who carried my bag and rug, a + shilling each. They looked knowing, but old TOLLAND had hinted + that the other side had got a character for meanness of which + we could take a perfectly proper advantage without in any way + infringing the Corrupt Practices Act. Must look up that Act. It + may be a help. From the station we went straight to the + "George." There I was introduced to half a dozen more leaders + of the Party. Can't remember one of them except BLISSOP, the + Secretary of the Association, a chap about my own age, who told + me his brother remembered me at Oxford. There was a fellow of + that name, I think, who came up in my year, a scrubby-faced + reading man. We made hay in his room after a Torpid "rag," + which he didn't like. Hope it isn't the same. I said I + remembered him well. Dined with TOLLAND; nobody but leaders of + the Party present, all as serious as judges, and full of + importance. CHORKLE, who drops his "h's" frightfully, asked me + "'ow long it would be afore a General Election," and seemed + rather surprised when I said I had no information on the + matter.</p> + + <p>The meeting of the Council came off in the large hall of the + Billsbury Beaconsfield Club. TOLLAND was in the chair, and made + a long speech in introducing me. I didn't take in a word of it, + as I was repeating my peroration to myself all the time. My + speech went off pretty well, except that I got mixed up in the + middle, and forgot that blessed story. However, when I got into + the buttering part, it took them by storm. I warmed old + GLADSTONE up to-rights, and asked them to contrast the state of + England now with what it was when he was in power. "Hyperion to + a Satyr," I said. Colonel CHORKLE, in proposing afterwards that + I was a fit and proper person to represent Billsbury, said, + "Mr. PATTLE's able and convincing speech proves 'im not only a + master of English, but a consummate orator, able to wield the + harmoury" (why he put the "h" there I don't know) "of wit and + sarcasm like a master. <i>I'm</i> not given to boasting," he + continued. "<i>I</i> never indulge in badinage" (query, + braggadocio?); "but, with such a Candidate, we <i>must</i> + win." JERRAM seconded the resolution, which was carried <i>nem. + con.</i> Must get local newspapers, to show to mother. She'll + like that. Shall go back to London to-morrow.</p> + <hr /> + + <p>"FORTNIGHTLY" V. SO-CALLED "NINETEENTH + CENTURY."—Change of Author's name. Mr. FREDERIC HARRISON + to be known in future as "FREDERIC HARRASIN' KNOWLES."</p> + + <p class="author">(<i>Signed</i>) + Φρεδερικ.</p> + <hr /> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page172" + id="page172"></a>[pg 172]</span> + + <h2>MR. PUNCH'S POCKET IBSEN.</h2> + + <h4>(<i>Condensed and Revised Version by Mr. P.'s Own Harmless + Ibsenite.</i>)</h4> + + <h3>No. II.—NORA; OR, THE BIRD-CAGE (ET DIKKISVÖIT).</h3> + + <h4>ACT II.</h4> + + <blockquote> + <p><i>The Room, with the cheap Art-furniture as + before—except that the candles on the Christmas-tree + have guttered down and appear to have been lately blown + out. The cotton-wool frogs and the chenille monkeys are + disarranged, and there are walking things on the sofa.</i> + NORA <i>alone</i>.</p> + </blockquote> + + <p><i>Nora</i> (<i>putting on a cloak and taking it off + again</i>). Bother KROGSTAD! There, I won't think of him. I'll + only think of the costume ball at Consul STENBORG's, over-head, + to-night, where I am to dance the Tarantella all alone, dressed + as a Capri fisher-girl. It struck TORVALD that, as I am a + matron with three children, my performance might amuse the + Consul's guests, and, at the same time, increase his connection + at the Bank. TORVALD <i>is</i> so practical. (<i>To</i> Mrs. + LINDEN, <i>who comes in with a large cardboard box.</i>) Ah, + CHRISTINA, so you have brought in my old costume? <i>Would</i> + you mind, as my husband's new Cashier, just doing up the + trimming for me?</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. L.</i> Not at all—is it not part of my regular + duties? (<i>Sewing.</i>) Don't you think, NORA, that you see a + little too much of Dr. RANK?</p> + + <p><i>Nora</i>. Oh, I <i>couldn't</i> see too much of Dr. RANK! + He <i>is</i> so amusing—always talking about his + complaints, and heredity, and all sorts of indescribably funny + things. Go away now, dear; I hear TORVALD. [Mrs. LINDEN + <i>goes. Enter</i> TORVALD <i>from the Manager's room.</i> NORA + <i>runs trippingly to him.</i></p> + + <p><i>Nora</i> (<i>coaxing</i>). Oh, TORVALD, if only you won't + dismiss KROGSTAD, you can't think how your little lark would + jump about and twitter!</p> + + <p><i>Helmer</i>. The inducement would be stronger but for the + fact that, as it is, the little lark is generally engaged in + that particular occupation. And I really <i>must</i> get rid of + KROGSTAD. If I didn't, people would say I was under the thumb + of my little squirrel here, and then KROGSTAD and I knew each + other in early youth; and when two people knew each other in + early youth—(<i>a short pause</i>)—h'm! Besides, he + <i>will</i> address me as, "I say, TORVALD"—which causes + me most painful emotion! He is tactless, dishonest, familiar, + and morally ruined—altogether not at all the kind of + person to be a Cashier in a Bank like mine.</p> + + <div class="figright" + style="width:50%;"> + <a href="images/172.png"><img width="100%" + src="images/172.png" + alt="Nora shows Dr. Rank the flesh-coloured silk tights." /> + </a>"A poor fellow with both feet in the grave is not the + best authority on the fit of silk stockings." + </div> + + <p><i>Nora</i>. But he writes in scurrilous papers,—he is + on the staff of the Norwegian <i>Punch</i>. If you dismiss him, + he may write nasty things about <i>you</i>, as wicked people + did about poor dear Papa!</p> + + <p><i>Helmer</i>. Your poor dear Papa was not + impeccable—far from it. I <i>am</i>—which makes all + the difference. I have here a letter giving KROGSTAD the sack. + One of the conveniences of living close to the Bank is, that I + can use the housemaids as Bank-messengers. (<i>Goes to door and + calls.</i>) ELLEN! (<i>Enter parlourmaid.</i>) Take that + letter—there is no answer. (ELLEN <i>takes it and + goes.</i>) That's settled—so now, NORA; as I am going to + my private room, it will be a capital opportunity for you to + practise the tambourine—thump away, little lark, the + doors are double! [<i>Nods to her and goes in, shutting + door.</i></p> + + <p><i>Nora</i> (<i>stroking her face</i>). How <i>am</i> I to + get out of this mess! (<i>A ring at the Visitors' bell.</i>) + Dr. RANK's ring! <i>He</i> shall help me out of it! (Dr. RANK + <i>appears in doorway, hanging up his great-coat.</i>) Dear Dr. + RANK, how <i>are</i> you? [<i>Takes both his hands.</i></p> + + <p><i>Rank</i> (<i>sitting down near the stove</i>). I am a + miserable, hypochondriacal wretch—that's what <i>I</i> + am. And why am I doomed to be dismal? Why? Because my father + died of a fit of the blues! <i>Is</i> that fair—I put it + to <i>you</i>?</p> + + <p><i>Nora</i>. Do try to be funnier than <i>that</i>! See, I + will show you the flesh-coloured silk tights that I am to wear + to-night—it will cheer you up. But you must only look at + the feet—well, you may look at the rest if you're good. + <i>Aren't</i> they lovely? Will they fit me, do you think?</p> + + <p><i>Rank</i> (<i>gloomily</i>). A poor fellow with both feet + in the grave is not the best authority on the fit of silk + stockings. I shall be food for worms before long—I + <i>know</i> I shall!</p> + + <p><i>Nora</i>. You mustn't really be so frivolous! Take that! + (<i>She hits him lightly on the ear with the stockings; then + hums a little.</i>) I want you to do me a great service, Dr. + RANK. (<i>Rolling up stockings</i>,) I always liked <i>you</i>. + I love TORVALD most, of <i>course</i>—but, somehow, I'd + rather spend my time with you—you <i>are</i> so + amusing!</p> + + <p><i>Rank</i>. If I am, can't you guess why? (<i>A short + silence.</i>) Because I love you! You can't pretend you didn't + know it!</p> + + <p><i>Nora</i>. Perhaps not—but it was really too clumsy + of you to mention it just as I was about to ask a favour of + you! It was in the worst taste! (<i>With dignity.</i>) You must + not imagine because I joke with you about silk stockings, and + tell you things I never tell TORVALD, that I am therefore + without the most delicate and scrupulous self-respect! I am + really quite a good little doll, Dr. RANK, and + now—(<i>sits in rocking-chair and smiles</i>)—now I + shan't ask you what I was going to! [ELLEN <i>comes in with a + card.</i></p> + + <p><i>Nora</i> (<i>terrified</i>). Oh, my goodness! [<i>Puts it + in her pocket.</i></p> + + <p><i>Dr. Rank</i>. Excuse my easy Norwegian + pleasantry—but—h'm—anything disagreeable + up?</p> + + <p><i>Nora</i> (<i>to herself</i>). KROGSTAD's card! I must + tell <i>another</i> whopper! (<i>To</i> RANK.) No. nothing, + only—only my new costume. I want to try it on here. I + always do try on my dresses in the drawing-room—it's + <i>cosier</i>, you know. So go into TORVALD and amuse him till + I'm ready. [RANK <i>goes into</i> HELMER's <i>room, and</i> + NORA <i>bolts the door upon him, as</i> KROGSTAD <i>enters from + hall in a fur cap.</i></p> + + <p><i>Krogs.</i> Well, I've got the sack, and so I came to see + how <i>you</i> are getting on. I mayn't be a nice man, + but—(<i>with feeling</i>)—I have a heart! And, as I + don't intend to give up the forged I.O.U. unless I'm taken + back, I was afraid you might be contemplating suicide, or + something of that kind; and so I called to tell you that, if I + were you, I wouldn't. Bad thing for the complexion, suicide, + and silly, too, because it wouldn't mend matters in the least. + (<i>Kindly.</i>) You must not take this affair too seriously. + Mrs. HELMER. Get your husband to settle it amicably by taking + me back as Cashier; <i>then</i> I shall soon get the whip-hand + of <i>him</i>, and we shall all be as pleasant and comfortable + as possible together!</p> + + <p><i>Nora</i>. Not even that prospect can tempt me! Besides, + TORVALD wouldn't have you back at any price now!</p> + + <p><i>Krogs.</i> All right, then. I have here a letter, telling + your husband all. I will take the liberty of dropping it in the + letter-box at your hall-door as I go out. I'll wish you good + evening! [<i>He goes out; presently the dull sound of a thick + letter dropping into a wire box is heard.</i></p> + + <p><i>Nora</i> (<i>softly, and hoarsely</i>). He's done it! How + <i>am</i> I to prevent TORVALD from seeing it?</p> + + <p><i>Helmer</i> (<i>inside the door, rattling</i>). Hasn't my + lark changed its dress yet? (NORA <i>unbolts door</i>.) + What—so you are <i>not</i> in fancy costume, after all? + (<i>Enters with</i> RANK.) Are there any letters for me in the + box there?</p> + + <p><i>Nora</i> (<i>voicelessly</i>). None—not even a + postcard! Oh, TORVALD, don't, please, go and + look—<i>promise</i> me you won't! I do <i>assure</i> you + there isn't a letter! And I've forgotten the Tarantella you + taught me—do let's run over it. I'm so afraid of breaking + down—promise me not to look at the letter-box. I can't + dance unless you do.</p> + + <p><i>Helmer</i> (<i>standing still, on his way to the + letter-box</i>). I am a man of strict business habits, and some + powers of observation; my little squirrel's assurances that + there is nothing in the box, combined with her obvious anxiety + that I should not go and see for myself, satisfy me that it is + indeed empty, in spite of the fact that I have not invariably + found her a strictly truthful little dicky-bird. + There—there. (<i>Sits down to piano.</i>) Bang away on + your tambourine, little squirrel—dance away, my own + lark!</p> + + <p><i>Nora</i> (<i>dancing, with a long gay shawl</i>). Just + <i>won't</i> the little squirrel! Faster—faster! Oh, I + <i>do</i> feel so gay! We will have some champagne for dinner, + <i>won't</i> we, TORVALD? [<i>Dances with more and more + abandonment.</i></p> + + <p><i>Helmer</i> (<i>after addressing frequent remarks in + correction</i>). Come, come—not this awful wildness! I + don't like to see <i>quite</i> such a larky little lark as this + ... Really it is time you stopped!</p> + + <p><i>Nora</i> (<i>her hair coming down as she dances more + wildly still, and swings the tambourine</i>). I can't ... I + can't! (<i>To herself, as she</i> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page173" + id="page173"></a>[pg 173]</span> <i>dances.</i>) I've only + thirty-one hours left to be a bird in; and after + that—(<i>shuddering</i>)—after <i>that</i>, + KROGSTAD will let the cat out of the bag! + [<i>Curtain.</i></p> + + <p>N.B.—The final Act,—containing scenes of + thrilling and realistic intensity, worked out with a masterly + insight and command of psychology, the whole to conclude with a + new and original <i>dénoûment</i>—unavoidably postponed + to a future number. No money returned.</p> + <hr /> + + <h2>TAKING THE CENSUS.</h2> + + <h4>(<i>A Story of the 6th of April, 1891.</i>)</h4> + + <div class="figleft" + style="width:22%;"> + <a href="images/173.png"><img width="100%" + src="images/173.png" + alt="A Briefless, Junior." /></a> + </div> + + <p>As I have but a limited holding in the Temple, and, + moreover, slept on the evening of the 5th of April at Burmah + Gardens, I considered it right and proper to fill in the paper + left me by the "Appointed Enumerator" at the latter address. + And here I may say that the title of the subordinate officer + intrusted with the addition of my household to the compilation + of the Census pleased me greatly—"Appointed Enumerator" + was distinctly good. I should have been willing (of course for + an appropriate <i>honorarium</i>) to have accepted so + well-sounding an appointment myself. To continue, the general + tone of the instructions "to the Occupier" was excellent. Such + words as "erroneous," "specification," and the like, appeared + frequently, and must have been pleasant strangers to the + householder who was authorised to employ some person other than + himself to write, "if unable to do so himself." To be captious, + I might have been better pleased had the housemaid who handed + me the schedule been spared the smile provoked by finding me + addressed by the "Appointed Enumerator" as "Mr. BEEFLESS," + instead of "Mr. BRIEFLESS." But this was a small matter.</p> + + <p>I need scarcely say that I took infinite pains to fill in my + paper accurately. I have great sympathy with the "Census + (England and Wales) Act, 1890," and wished, so far as I was + personally concerned, to carry out its object to the fullest + extent attainable. I had no difficulty about inserting my own + "name and surname," and "profession or occupation." I rather + hesitated, however, to describe myself as an "employer," + because the "examples of the mode of filling-up" rather + suggested that domestic servants were not to count, and for the + rest my share in the time of PORTINGTON, to say the least, is + rather shadowy. For instance, I could hardly fairly suggest + that in regard to the services of my excellent and admirable + clerk, I am as great an employer of labour as, say, the head of + a firm of railway contractors, or the managing director of a + cosmopolitan hotel company. Then, although I am distinctly of + opinion that I rightly carried out the intentions of the + statute by describing myself as "the head of the family," my + wife takes an opposite view of the question. In making the + other entries, I had no great difficulty. The ages of my + domestics, however, caused me some surprise. I had always + imagined (and they have given me their faithful and valuable + services I am glad to say for a long time) that the years in + which they were born varied. But no, I was wrong. I found they + were all of the same age—two-and-twenty. To refer to + another class of my household—I described my son, SHALLOW + NORTH BRIEFLESS (the first is an old family name of forensic + celebrity, and the second an appropriate compliment to a + distinguished member of the judicial Bench, whose courtesy to + the Junior Bar is proverbial) as a "scholar," but rejected his + (SHALLOW's) suggestion that I should add to the description of + his brother (one of my younger sons, GEORGE LEWIS VAN TROMP + CHESTER MOTE BOLTON BRIEFLESS—I selected his Christian + names in anticipated recognition of possible professional + favours to be conferred on him in after-life) the words + "imbecile from his birth," as frivolous, untrue, and even + libellous. We had but one untoward incident. In the early + morning of Monday we found in our area a person who had + evidently passed the night there in a condition of helpless + intoxication. As she could offer no satisfactory explanation of + her presence, I handed her over to the police, and entered her + on the Census Paper as, "a supposed retired laundress, + seemingly living on her own means, and apparently blind from + the date of her last drinking-bout." I rejected advisedly her + own indistinctly but frequently reiterated assertion that "she + was a lady," because I had been warned by "the general + instructions" to avoid such "indefinite terms as Esquire or + Gentleman."</p> + + <p>As I wished to deliver my completed schedule to the + "Appointed Enumerator" in person, I desired that he might be + shown into my study when he called for the paper.</p> + + <p>"Excuse me, Sir," he said, after looking through the + document at my request; "but you see there is a fine of a fiver + for wilfully giving false information."</p> + + <p>"Yes," I returned, somewhat surprised at the suggestion; + "and the proposed penalty has rendered me doubly anxious to be + absolutely accurate. Do you notice any slip of the pen?"</p> + + <p>"Well, Sir," he answered, with some hesitation, "as the + young chap who does the boots tells me that he has never heard + of you having had a single brief while he's been with you, and + that's coming three years, hadn't you better put 'retired' + after 'Barrister-at-Law'? It will do no harm, and certingly + would be safer!"</p> + + <p>Put "retired" after Barrister-at-Law! "Do no harm!" and be + "safer!"</p> + <hr class="short" /> + + <p>I silently intimated by a dignified gesture to the + "Appointed Enumerator." that our interview was at an end, and + then, taking my walking-stick with me, went in earnest and + diligent search of "the young chap who does the boots!"</p> + + <p class="author">(Signed) A. BRIEFLESS, JUNIOR.</p> + + <p><i>Pump-Handle Court, April 7, 1891.</i></p> + <hr /> + + <h3>"UP, GUARDS, AND ACT 'EM!"</h3> + + <p>The "them" in this adapted quotation must be taken to mean + "Burlesques;" and if these gay and lighthearted soldiers + continue their histrionics as victoriously as they have done up + to now, they will become celebrated as "The + Grinny-diers-and-Burlesque-Line-Regiments." Private MCGREEVY, + as a cockatoo, capital: his disguise obliterated him, but as + Ensign and Lieutenant WAGGIBONE stealthily observed, "What the + eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't MCGREEVY for." The music, by + the talented descendant of Israel's wise King SOLOMON, was of + course good throughout, and in the Cockatoo Duet better than + ever. The ladies were exceptionally good. Mrs. CRUTCHLEY defied + the omen of her name, which is not suggestive of dancing, and + "Jigged away muchly Did Mrs. CRUTCHLEY." The Misses SAVILE + CLARKE,—the Savilians among the Military,—were + charming. Lieutenant NUGENT is an old hand at this, and his + <i>Paul Prior</i> was not a whit behind his former + performances. There's one more Guard O, Major RICARDO. + <i>He</i> played <i>Crusoe</i>, And well did he do so! Three + cheers for everybody! With the Guards' Burlesque, we fear no + foe. Chorus, Gentlemen, if you please, "We fear no foe!"</p> + <hr /> + + <h3>THE OLD (CRICKETING) 'OSS AND THE YOUNG (GLOUCESTER) + COLTS.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Fifty, not out! A good start beyond doubt,</p> + + <p class="i2">In a Twenty-four field, Doctor W.G.</p> + + <p>And may Ninety-one bring us lots of good fun,</p> + + <p class="i2">With you at the Wickets for Figures of + Three,</p> + + <p>To see the Old 'Oss stir in good time to foster</p> + + <p>The coming-on "Colts," should give courage to + Glo'ster!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h3>"Such a Dawg!"</h3> + + <p>The enclosed was cut from <i>The Field</i> of last + week:—</p> + + <blockquote> + <p><big><big>R.</big></big> —— —— + WANTS some friend to give him a small BULLDOG with a smile, + for a house pet.—To be sent for inspection to, + &c.</p> + </blockquote> + + <p>It is to be hoped that the advertiser will not get an animal + that (to quote from <i>Hamlet</i>) "may smile and smile and be + a villain!"</p> + <hr /> + + <h3>Ignotus.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Prate not about Fame! I've addressed half the + world,</p> + + <p class="i2">In Court and in cottage, in Castle and + slum!</p> + + <p>I've been warbled, and chorussed, and tootled, and + skirled,</p> + + <p class="i2">Yet, for <i>kudos</i>, I might just as + well have been dumb.</p> + + <p>Though familiar to all men, I'm wholly unknown;</p> + + <p class="i2">You're inclined to pooh-pooh, and to say + I am wrong?</p> + + <p>Nay, listen, and you my correctness will own:</p> + + <p class="i2">'Tis I wrote the <i>words</i> of a + Popular Song!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <p>NEW AND INTERESTING WORK.—As a companion to Dr. + WRIGHT's <i>The Ice Ages in North America and its bearing upon + the Antiquity of Man</i>, will shortly appear <i>The Penny-Ice + Age in London and its bearing on the Youth of the + Metropolis</i>.</p> + <hr /> + + <h3>A Brummagem Bolus.</h3> + + <h4>(<i>By an elate Liberal-Unionist.</i>)</h4> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>An "ill-starred abortion" WEG christened our + party;</p> + + <p class="i2">At present, as JOE hints, that sounds + quite ironic.</p> + + <p>True, lately our health did appear far from + hearty,</p> + + <p class="i2">But Aston has acted As-tonic!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <p>NOTE FOR CRITICS.—How can any of us expect the truth + from a historian who himself tells us that he merely + "<i>transcribes from MSS. lying before him!</i>"</p> + <hr /> + + <p>WHAT THE ITALIANS SEEM TO WANT IN LOUISIANA.—An + <i>un</i>fair field, or no FAVA!</p> + <hr /> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page174" + id="page174"></a>[pg 174]</span> + + <div class="figcenter" + style="width:100%;"> + <a href="images/174.png"><img width="100%" + src="images/174.png" + alt="PICTURE SUNDAY." /></a> + + <h3>PICTURE SUNDAY.</h3>(<i>What Our Artist has to put up + with.</i>) + + <p><i>Fair Damsel</i> (<i>to Our Artist, who is explaining + the beauties of his Picture</i>). "CHARMING! CHARMING! BUT, + OH, MR. FITZMADDER, WHAT A <i>DELIGHTFUL</i> ROOM THIS + WOULD BE FOR A DANCE,—WITH THE MUSICIANS IN THE + GALLERY, AND ALL THE EASELS AND PICTURES AND THINGS CLEARED + AWAY!"</p> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2>A FAIR EXCHANGE.</h2> + + <blockquote> + <p>HOSEA BIGLOW <i>speaks up on the + situation</i>:—</p> + </blockquote> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Here we stan' on the Constitution, by thunder!</p> + + <p class="i2">State rights won't be hurried by any + one's hoofs;</p> + + <p>UMBERTO, old hoss, would <i>you</i> like, I + wonder,</p> + + <p class="i2">To 'pologise first, and then bring up yer + proofs?</p> + + <p>Uncle SAM is free, and he sez, sez he:—</p> + + <p class="i4">"The <i>Mafia's</i> no more</p> + + <p class="i4">Right to come to this shore,</p> + + <p>No more'n the Molly Maguires," sez he.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Uncle SAM ain't no kind o' bisness with nothin'</p> + + <p class="i2">Like stabs in the back,—that may do + for slaves.</p> + + <p>We ain't none riled by their frettin' an' + frothin'</p> + + <p class="i2">Who shriek, in Hitalian, across the + waves.</p> + + <p>Uncle SAM is free, but he sez, sez he:—</p> + + <p class="i4">"He will put down his foot</p> + + <p class="i4">On the right to shoot</p> + + <p>As claimed by the <i>Mafia</i> gang!" sez he.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Freedom's keystone is Law, yes; that there's no + doubt on,</p> + + <p class="i2">It's sutthin that's—wha' d'ye call + it?—divine,—</p> + + <p>The brutes who break it hain't nutthin' to boast + on</p> + + <p class="i2">On your side or mine o' the seethin' + brine.</p> + + <p>Uncle Sam is free, and he sez, sez he:—</p> + + <p class="i4">"If assassins gang 'em</p> + + <p class="i4">I'm game to hang 'em,</p> + + <p>An' so git rid on 'em soon," sez he.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Tis well for sleek cits for to lounge on their + soffies,</p> + + <p class="i2">And chat about "Law and Order," an' + sich.</p> + + <p>A formula pleasant for them in office,</p> + + <p class="i2">Home-stayin' idlers, well-guarded + rich.</p> + + <p>Uncle SAM is free, but he sez, sez he:—</p> + + <p class="i4">"Whar life's a fight,</p> + + <p class="i4">Law, based on right,</p> + + <p>May need the 'strong arm' of a Man," sez he.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Now don't go to say I'm the friend of force;</p> + + <p class="i2">Best keep all your spare breath for + coolin' your broth;</p> + + <p>And when just Law has a fair clar course,</p> + + <p class="i2">All talk of "wild justice" is frenzy and + froth.</p> + + <p>Uncle SAM is free, but he sez, sez he:—</p> + + <p class="i4">"If he gits within hail</p> + + <p class="i4">Of the Glan-na-Gael,</p> + + <p>Or the <i>Mafia</i> either, he shoots," sez he.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>This ain't no matter for sauce or swagger—</p> + + <p class="i2">Too summary judgment both scout, I + hope;</p> + + <p>Though <i>ef</i> it's a chice betwixt rope and + dagger,</p> + + <p class="i2">I can't help sayin' I prefer the + rope.</p> + + <p>Uncle SAM is free, and he sez, sez he:—</p> + + <p class="i4">"At a pinch I'll not flinch</p> + + <p class="i4">From a touch of Lynch,—</p> + + <p>That is—at a very <i>hard</i> pinch!" sez + he.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>But Lynch Law, UMBERTO, <i>or</i> Secret + Society,</p> + + <p class="i2">Both are bad, though the latter's + wust;</p> + + <p>We'll soon get shut of <i>either</i> variety,</p> + + <p class="i2">You and me, UMBERTO, or so I trust.</p> + + <p>Uncle SAM is free, but he sez, sez he:—</p> + + <p class="i4">"Assassination</p> + + <p class="i4">Won't build a nation,</p> + + <p>Nor yet the <i>un</i>legalised rope," sez he.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Withdraw your Ambassador! Wal, that <i>air</i> + summary!</p> + + <p class="i2">Italian irons so soon git hot!</p> + + <p>Ironclads? Sure that's mere militant flummery.</p> + + <p class="i2">Don't want to rile, but I'll tell you + what:</p> + + <p>Uncle SAM is free, but he sez, sez he:—</p> + + <p class="i4">"Let FAVA stay,</p> + + <p class="i4">Take the <i>Mafia</i> away,</p> + + <p>And we'll call it aright square deal!" sez he.</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <p>PRESENTED AT COURT.—Acting upon the suggestions made + in these columns a week ago, the Author of <i>The Volcano</i>, + and the company of the Court Theatre have effected the most + valuable alterations in the play of the evening. The Second Act + now concludes with the interrupted singing of <i>The Wolf</i>, + which brings down the Curtain with a roar of laughter, and the + Third Act is also generally improved. Mrs. JOHN WOOD is seen at + her best as the interviewing lady-journalist, which is + condensing in a sentence a volume of praise. Mr. ARTHUR CECIL, + as the Duke, is equally admirable; and Mr. WEEDON GROSSMITH, + although scarcely in his element as a Member of Parliament of + noble birth, is distinctly amusing. Altogether, <i>The + Volcano</i> causes explosions of merriment in all parts of the + house, and has entirely escaped the once-impending danger of + fizzling out like a damp squib.</p> + <hr /> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page175" + id="page175"></a>[pg 175]</span> + + <div class="figcenter" + style="width:100%;"> + <a href="images/175.png"><img width="100%" + src="images/175.png" + alt="Uncle Sam and King Umberto." /></a> + + <h3>A FAIR EXCHANGE.</h3>UNCLE SAM. "SEE HERE, + UMBERTO!—GIVE US BACK YOUR '<i>MINISTER</i>,' AND + TAKE AWAY THAT DARN'D '<i>MAFIA</i>,' AND WE'LL CALL IT A + SQUARE DEAL!" + </div> + <hr /> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page177" + id="page177"></a>[pg 177]</span> + + <h2>A COMPLAINT OF THE CENSUS.</h2> + + <h4>(<i>By a Disappointed Duke.</i>)</h4> + + <blockquote> + <p>[For the first time the sixth column in the Census + Schedule is simply headed "Profession or Occupation."]</p> + </blockquote> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Oh! I'm a reg'lar rightdown Duke:</p> + + <p>The trying part I act and look</p> + + <p class="i2">Right nobly, so they tell me.</p> + + <p>Yet I would have you understand</p> + + <p>Why I am thoroughly unmanned</p> + + <p class="i2">At what of late befell me.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>A week or something less ago,</p> + + <p>A schedule came to let me know</p> + + <p class="i2">The Census Day was Sunday.</p> + + <p>The many details, one and all,</p> + + <p>Must he filled in, and then they'd call</p> + + <p class="i2">To fetch it on the Monday.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I found it easy to contrive</p> + + <p>To answer columns one to five—</p> + + <p class="i2">I filled them up discreetly;</p> + + <p>But when I came to column six</p> + + <p>I got into an awful fix,</p> + + <p class="i2">And lost my head completely.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>For "Rank" alas! had disappeared.</p> + + <p>I'd never for an instant feared</p> + + <p class="i2">It wouldn't really be there.</p> + + <p>Your "Occupation" you could state,</p> + + <p>"Profession," too, you might relate,</p> + + <p class="i2">But I—a Duke—had neither!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>His Grace the Duke of PLAZA-TOR'</p> + + <p>Would call himself, I'm pretty sure,</p> + + <p class="i2">A "public entertainer."</p> + + <p>But I and my blue-blooded wife,</p> + + <p>We lead a simple blameless life,</p> + + <p class="i2">No life could well be plainer.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>In such a plight what could I do?</p> + + <p>I searched the paper through and through,</p> + + <p class="i2">Each paragraph I read. You'll</p> + + <p>Scarce credit it but those who "live</p> + + <p>On their own means" had got to give</p> + + <p class="i2">This statement in the schedule!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I put it, but my ducal pen</p> + + <p>I saw distinctly sputtered when</p> + + <p class="i2">I did so. All of which he</p> + + <p>Will please remember when I say</p> + + <p>I thought it in a minor way</p> + + <p class="i2">Unkind of Mr. RITCHIE!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2>MICKY FREE IN PARIS.</h2> + + <p>As to the incident which recently appeared in the papers + under the head-line "Insulting an Ambassador," our old friend + MICKY writes us as follows:—"Be jabers then, ye must know + the truth. Me and Count MUNSTER was drivin' together. The + Count's every bit a true-born son of Ould Ireland for ever, and + descended from the Kings of Munster by both sides, and more + betoken wasn't he wearin' an Ulster at the very moment, and + isn't he the best of chums with the Dukes of CONNAUGHT and + LEINSTER? Any way we were in our baroosh passin' the time o' + day to one another as we were drivin' in the Bore, when whack + comes a loaf o' bread, shied at our heads by an unknown + military blaygaird. It missed me noble friend, the Count, and, + as if to give him a lesson in politeness, it just took off the + hat of a domestic alongside the coachman on the box. 'Tunder + and turf!' says I, preparing to descend, and give the + scoundrels a taste of my blackthorn all round. 'Whist! be aisy + now, MICKY,' says the Ambassador to me, in what is, betune + ourselves, his own native tongue; and with that he picks up the + loaf, sniffs at it, makes a wry face ('it's a rye loaf,' says + I), and then says he, out loud, with a supercilious look, + 'Ill-bred!' Begorra, there was a whoop o' delight went up all + round, which same was a sign of their purliteness, as divil a + one of the ignoramuses could onderstand a wurrd the Court said + in English or German, let alone Irish. 'Goot,' says MUNSTER to + me, dropping into his German accent, which, on occasion, comes + quite natural to him—the cratur! 'I'll give the loaf to + the dog;' and he whistles up the mastiff, own brother to + BISMARCK's. 'Eh, MICKY, ye gossoon, isn't the proverb, "Loaf + me, loaf my dog"?' Ah! then was cheers for ould Ireland, and a + mighty big dhrink entirely we had that same night.</p> + + <p class="author">"Yours as ever, M.F."</p> + <hr /> + + <h3>HERRICK UP TO DATE.</h3> + + <h4>(<i>After "The Bracelet to Julia."</i>)</h4> + + <div class="figright" + style="width:17%;"> + <a href="images/177.png"><img width="100%" + src="images/177.png" + alt="Julia." /></a> + </div> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Why tye I about thy wrist,</p> + + <p>JULIA, this my silken twist?</p> + + <p>For what other reason is't,</p> + + <p>But to show (<i>in theorie</i>)</p> + + <p>Thou sweet captive art to me;</p> + + <p>Which, of course, is fiddlededee!</p> + + <p>Runne and aske the nearest Judge,</p> + + <p>He will tell thee 'tis pure fudge;</p> + + <p>When thou willest, <i>thou</i> mayst trudge;</p> + + <p><i>I'm</i> thy Bondslave, Hymen's pact</p> + + <p>Bindeth me in law and fact;</p> + + <p>Thou art free in will and act;</p> + + <p>'Tis but silke that bindeth thee,</p> + + <p>Snap the thread, and thou art free:</p> + + <p>But 'tis otherwise with me.</p> + + <p>I am bound, and bound fast so</p> + + <p>That from thee I cannot go.</p> + + <p>(Hah! We'll have this altered, though.</p> + + <p>Man <i>must</i> be a wing-clipp'd goose</p> + + <p>If he bows to Hymen's noose,—</p> + + <p><i>Heads you winne, and tails I lose!</i>)</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2>MAGAZINE MANNERS.</h2> + + <p><i>Editor to Eminent Writer</i>.—Review promises to be + deadly slow next month. Can you do something slashing for us? + Pitch into somebody or other—you know the style.</p> + + <p><i>Eminent Writer to Editor</i>.—Happy to oblige. Got + old article handy advocating cession of Canada and India to the + French. Never wrote anything more ripping. Pitches into + everybody. Touching it up, and will let you have it in two + days. By the bye, telegraph people put a K to my Christian + name. Tell them not to do it again.</p> + + <p><i>Editor to Eminent Writer</i> (<i>a week + later</i>).—Sorry about the K. Got your article. Not + quite what I wanted. Style all right, but arguments idiotic. + Can't you take the other side? Much more popular.</p> + + <p><i>Eminent Writer to Editor</i>.—Idea insulting. Any + more telegrams of that sort, and I contribute in future to the + <i>Shortsprightly Review</i>, not yours!</p> + + <p><i>Editor to Eminent Writer</i>.—No offence meant. + <i>Is</i> there any other Review besides mine? Never heard of + the one you mentioned.</p> + + <p><i>Eminent Writer to Editor</i> (<i>a month + later</i>).—I say, what's this? Virulent personal attack + on me in your Review, signed with your name! Pretends my + article on giving up Canada, &c., was all a joke! Am I the + sort of man who would joke about anything? Reply at once, with + apology, or I skin you alive in next Number of + <i>Shortsprightly</i>.</p> + + <p><i>Editor to Eminent Writer</i>.—Sorry you're + offended. I thought my Article rather a moderate one. Quite + true that I talk about falsehood, hypocrites, effrontery, + demagogues, Pharisees, and so on; but expressions to be taken + in strictly Pickwickian sense, and of course not intended for + <i>you</i>.</p> + + <p><i>Eminent Writer to Editor</i>.—Explanation + unsatisfactory. You first insert contribution, and then slate + it. Do you call yourself an Editor?</p> + + <p><i>Editor to Eminent Writer</i>.—Rather think I + <i>do</i> call myself Editor. Couldn't insert that humbug about + India and Canada without reply. By the bye, have forgotten if + you spell Christian name with or without K? Important. Wire + back.</p> + + <p><i>Eminent Writer to Editor</i>.—Yah! Look out for + next <i>Shortsprightly</i>, that's all! Article entitled, + "Editorial Horseplay." It'll give you fits, or my name + isn't—FREDERIC, without the K.</p> + <hr /> + + <h2>ANOTHER'S!</h2> + + <h4>(<i>A Once Rejected Address.</i>)</h4> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Yes! Thou must be another's. Oh,</p> + + <p class="i2">Such anguish stands alone!</p> + + <p>I'd always fancied thou wert so</p> + + <p class="i2">Peculiarly mine own;</p> + + <p>No welcome doubt my soul can free;</p> + + <p class="i2">A convict may not choose—</p> + + <p>Yet, since another's thou must be,</p> + + <p class="i2">Most kindly tell me <i>whose</i>?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Is it the Lord of Shilling Thrills</p> + + <p class="i2">Who penned <i>The Black that + Mails</i>—</p> + + <p>That martial man who from the hills</p> + + <p class="i2">Excogitates his tales?</p> + + <p>Is it ubiquitous A. LANG?</p> + + <p class="i2">Nay, shrink not but explain</p> + + <p>To which of all the writing gang</p> + + <p class="i2">Dost properly pertain?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Perchance to some provincial churl,</p> + + <p class="i2">Who blushes quite unseen?</p> + + <p>Perchance to some ambitious Earl</p> + + <p class="i2">Or Stockbroker, I ween?</p> + + <p>Such things have frequently occurred,</p> + + <p class="i2">And gems like thee have crowned</p> + + <p>The titular and moneyed herd,</p> + + <p class="i2">And made them nigh renowned.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I know not, this alone is clear,</p> + + <p class="i2">Thou wert my sole delight;</p> + + <p>I pored on thee by sunshine, dear,</p> + + <p class="i2">I dreamed of thee at night.</p> + + <p>Thou wert so good—too splendid for</p> + + <p class="i2">The common critic's praise—</p> + + <p>And I was thy proprietor—</p> + + <p class="i2">And all the world must gaze!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>But <i>Punch</i>, that autocrat, decrees</p> + + <p class="i2">That thou another's art:</p> + + <p>I cannot choose but bow my knees</p> + + <p class="i2">And lacerate my heart.</p> + + <p>Thou must be someone's else, alack!</p> + + <p class="i2">The truth remains confessed—</p> + + <p>For <i>Mr. P.</i> hath sent thee back,</p> + + <p class="i2"><i>My cherished little Jest.</i></p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <p>FROM A FLY-LEAF.—"Buzziness first, pleasure after," as + the bluebottle said when, after circling three times about the + breakfast-table, he alighted on a lump of sugar.</p> + <hr /> + + <h3>SALISBURY AT ST. MARTINS'S-LE-GRAND.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>How slow is fate from fatal friends to free us!</p> + + <p>Still, still, alas! 'tis "<i>Ego et</i> RAIKES + <i>meus</i>."</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <p>"THE OXFORD MOVEMENT."—Not much to choose between this + and the Cambridge movement in the last race.</p> + <hr /> + + <p>PLACE OF BANISHMENT FOR MISTAKEN PERSONS.—The Isle of + Mull.</p> + <hr /> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page178" + id="page178"></a>[pg 178]</span> + + <div class="figcenter" + style="width:100%;"> + <a href="images/178.png"><img width="100%" + src="images/178.png" + alt="CENSUS DAY HOW SOME WERE CAUGHT." /></a> + + <h3>CENSUS DAY HOW SOME WERE CAUGHT.</h3> + </div> + <hr /> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page179" + id="page179"></a>[pg 179]</span> + + <h2>Earl Granville.</h2> + + <h4>BORN IN 1815. DIED 31ST MARCH, 1891.</h4> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The coarser Cyclops now combine</p> + + <p class="i2">To push the Olympians from their + places;</p> + + <p>And dead as Pan seems the old line</p> + + <p class="i2">Of greater gods and gentler graces.</p> + + <p>Pleasant, amidst the clangour crude</p> + + <p class="i2">Of smiting hammer, sounding anvil,</p> + + <p>As bland Arcadian interlude,</p> + + <p class="i2">The courtly accents of a GRANVILLE!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>A strenuous time's pedestrian muse</p> + + <p class="i2">Shouts pæans to the earth-born giant,</p> + + <p>Whose brows Apollo's wreath refuse,</p> + + <p class="i2">Whose strength to Charis is unpliant.</p> + + <p>Demos distrusts the debonair,</p> + + <p class="i2">Yet Demos found himself disarming</p> + + <p>To gracious GRANVILLE; unaware</p> + + <p class="i2">Won by the calm, witched by the + charming.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Bismarckian vigour, stern and stark</p> + + <p class="i2">As Brontes self, was not his dower;</p> + + <p>Not his to steer a storm-tost bark</p> + + <p class="i2">Through waves that whelm, and clouds that + lower.</p> + + <p>Temper unstirred, unerring tact,</p> + + <p class="i2">Were his. He could not "wave the + banner,"</p> + + <p>But he could lend to steely act</p> + + <p class="i2">The softly silken charm of manner.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Kindly, accomplished, with a wit</p> + + <p class="i2">Lambent yet bland, like summer + lightning;</p> + + <p>Venomless rapier-point, whose "hit"</p> + + <p class="i2">Was palpable, yet painless. + Brightening</p> + + <p>E'en, party conflict with a touch</p> + + <p class="i2">Of old-world grace fight could not + ruffle!</p> + + <p>Faith, GRANVILLE, we shall miss thee much</p> + + <p class="i2">Where kites and crows of faction + scuffle!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <p>AN IRISH DIAMOND.—The <i>Cork Examiner</i> of 28th + ultimo contained an official advertisement, signed by the High + Sheriff of the County of the City of Cork, requesting certain + persons connected with the Spring Assizes to attend at the + Model Schools, as the Court House had been destroyed by fire. + Amongst those thus politely invited to be present on so + interesting an occasion were the Prisoners!</p> + <hr /> + + <h2>PATERFAMILIAS ON HIS CENSUS PAPER.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Head of the Family! That makes me quail.</p> + + <p>I am the Head—and thereby hangs a tale!</p> + + <p>This big blue paper, ruled in many a column,</p> + + <p>Gives rise to some misgivings sad and solemn.</p> + + <p>Relation to that Head? That Head's buzz-brained,</p> + + <p>And its "relations" are—just now—"much + strained."</p> + + <p>Citizen-duty I've no wish to shirk,</p> + + <p>But would the State do its own dirty work—</p> + + <p>(My daughters swear <i>'tis</i> dirty). I'd be + grateful.</p> + + <p>Instructions? Yes! Imperative and fateful!</p> + + <p>But, oh! I wish they would "instruct" me how</p> + + <p>To tell the truth without a family row.</p> + + <p>"Best of my knowledge and belief"! Ah well</p> + + <p>If Aunt MEHITABEL her age <i>won't</i> tell;</p> + + <p>If Cook will swear she's only thirty-three,</p> + + <p>And rather fancies she was born at sea</p> + + <p>(Where I am now) my "knowledge and belief"</p> + + <p>Are not worth much to the official chief,</p> + + <p>BRIDGES P. HENNIKER, if he only knew it.</p> + + <p>A True Return? Well, if it is not true, it</p> + + <p>Is not <i>my</i> fault. Inquisitorial band,</p> + + <p>I've done my level best—Witness my Hand!</p> + + <p>The bothering business makes me feel quite + bilious,</p> + + <p>Peace now—for ten years more!</p> + </div> + </div> + + <p class="author">PATERFAMILIAS.</p> + <hr /> + + <h2>"FACTA NON VERBA"; OR, PIERROT IN LONDON.</h2> + + <p>"Of the best! of the very best!" as ZERO or CIRO is + perpetually affirming of everything eatable and drinkable that + is for his own benefit and his customers' refreshment at the + little bar, not a hundred miles from the Monte Carlo tables, + where he himself and his barristers practise day and night; + and, as this famous cutter of sandwiches and confectioner of + drinks says of his stock in trade, so say we of <i>L'Enfant + Prodigue</i>, which, having been translated by HORATIUS COCLES + SEDGER from Paris to London, has gone straight to the heart and + intelligence of our Theatre-loving public.</p> + + <div class="figright" + style="width:65%;"> + <a href="images/179.png"><img width="100%" + src="images/179.png" + alt="A BLACK AND WHITE EXHIBITION." /></a>A BLACK AND + WHITE EXHIBITION. + </div> + + <p>It is a subject for curious reflection that, just when the + comic scenes of our English Pantomime have been crushed out by + overpowering weight of gorgeous spectacle, there should + re-appear in our midst a revival of the ancient <i>Pierrot</i> + who pantomimed himself into public favour with the Parisians + towards the close of the seventeenth century. Red-hot poker, + sausages, and filching Clown have had their day, and lo! when + everyone said we were tired of the "comic business" of + Pantomime, here in our midst re-appear almost in their habits + as they lived, certainly with their white faces and black + skull-caps "as they appeared," a pair of marvellously clever + Pierrots. Mlle. JANE MAY as <i>Pierrot Junior</i>, "the Prodigy + son," and M. COURTÈS as <i>Pierrot Senior</i>, are already + drawing the town to <i>Matinées</i> at the Prince of Wales's, + causing us to laugh at them and with them in their joys, and to + weep with them in their mimic sorrows. Yes! <i>Pierrot + redivivus!</i></p> + + <p>Mind you, it is not a piece for children; make no mistake + about that; <i>they</i> will only laugh at the antics, be + ignorant of the story, and be untouched by its truth and + pathos. All are good. We like the naughty <i>blanchisseuse</i> + the least of the characters, and wish she had been <i>plus + petite que ça</i>. But is it not in nature that the prodigal + infant (veritable boy is Mlle. JANE MAY) should fall in love + with a young woman some years his senior, and far beyond him in + experience of the world? Why certainly. Then the Baron, played + with great humour by M. LOUIS GOUGET, who wins the Mistress + with his diamonds, and the inimitable Black Servant, M. JEAN + ARCUEIL, who laughs at poor little <i>Pierrot</i>, and cringes + to his wealthy rival and successor,—are they not both + admirable? As for the acting of Madame SCHMIDT as <i>Madame + Pierrot</i>, loving wife and devoted mother, it is, as it + should be, "too good for words." Her pantomimic action is so + sympathetic throughout, so—well, in fact, perfect. Who + wants to hear them speak? <i>Facta non verba</i> is their + motto. Yet with what <i>gusto</i> the Black, heavily bribed, + mouths out the titled Baron's name, though never a syllable + does he utter! It is all most excellent make-believe.</p> + + <p><i>Vive Pierrot à Londres!</i> We see him much the same as + he was when he delighted the Parisians in 1830,—"<i>Avec + sa grand casaque à gros boutons, son large pantalon flottant, + ses souliers blancs comme le rests, son visage enfariné, sa + tête couverte d'un serre-tête noir ... le véritable Pierrot + avec sa bonhomie naïve ... ses joies d'enfant, et ses chagrins + d'un effet si comique</i>"—and also so pathetic.</p> + + <p>If this entertainment could be given at night, the house + would be crammed during a long run; but afternoon possibilities + are limited. More than a word of praise must be given to M. + ANDRÉ WORMSER's music, which, personally conducted by Mr. + CROOK, goes hand in hand with the story written by MICHEL CARRÉ + FILS, and illustrated by these clever pantomimists. No amateur + of good acting should fail to see this performance. <i>Verb. + sap.</i></p> + <hr /> + + <p>In the <i>Salon</i> this year, the <i>Athenæum</i> says, "a + <i>Grand Salon de Repos</i> will be provided." For pictures of + "still life" only, we suppose. Will Sir FREDERICK, P.R.A., act + on the suggestion, and set aside one of the rooms in Burlington + House as a Dormitory?</p> + <hr /> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page180" + id="page180"></a>[pg 180]</span> + + <h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> + + <p>Aha! special attraction in <i>The New Review</i>! "April + Fool's Day Poem," by ALFRED AUSTIN, and, an announcement on the + cover that "<i>This number contains a Picture of</i> Miss ELLEN + TERRY <i>in one of her earliest parts.</i>" Oh, dear! I wish it + didn't contain this picture, which is a bleared red photograph + of Misses KATE and ELLEN TERRY, "as they appeared" (as they + never could appear, I'm sure) in an entertainment which + achieved a great success in the provinces—but not with + this red-Indian picture as a poster. Of course it may be + intended as compliment-terry; it <i>may</i> mean "always + entertaining and ever reddy." However, the picture is naught, + except as a curiosity; but the first instalment of our ELLEN's + reminiscences is delightfully written, because given quite + naturally, just as the celebrated actress herself would + dictate—(of course she never has to "dictate," as her + scarcely-breathed wish is a law)—to her pleasantly-tasked + amanuensis. Next lot, please!</p> + + <div class="figleft" + style="width:25%;"> + <a href="images/180.png"><img width="100%" + src="images/180.png" + alt="The Baron de Book-Worms." /></a> + </div> + + <p>In <i>Macmillan's</i> for this month, ANDRÉ HOPE tells a + fluttering tale in recounting "A Mystery of Old Gray's Inn." It + would have come well from that weird old clerk, to whom <i>Mr. + Pickwick</i> listened with interest during the convivialities + at the "Magpie and Stump." It should take a prominent place in + the proposed new issue of <i>Half Hours with Jumpy + Authors</i>.</p> + + <p>The Baron has just read a delightful paper on "The Bretons + at Home," by CHARLES G. WOOD, in the <i>Argosy</i>, for this + month. The Baron who has been there, and still would go if he + could, but, as he can't, he is contented to let "WOOD go" + without him, and to read the latter's tales of a traveller.</p> + + <p><i>Turf Celebrities I have Known</i>, by WILLIAM DAY, is a + gossipy, snarly sort of book; casting a rather murky or grey + Day-light on a considerable number of Celebrities who were once + on the turf, and are now under it. But the Baron not being + himself either on the turf or under it, supposes that this DAY + is an authority, as was once upon a time, that is, only the + other day, the Dey of ALGIERS. But this DAY is not of Algiers, + but of All-gibes. Ordinarily it is true that "Every dog has his + day." Exceptions prove the rule, and it would appear from this + book—"not the first 'book,' I suppose," quoth the Baron, + "that Mr. DAY has 'made' or assisted in 'making,'"—that + not every dog did <i>not</i> 'have' this particular Day, but + that some dogs did. The writer has missed the chance of a good + title—not for himself, but for his book. He should have + it an autobiography, and then call it, "<i>De Die in Diem; or, + Day by Day</i>."</p> + + <p class="author">Everyone's truly, THE BARON DE + BOOK-WORMS.</p> + <hr /> + + <h2>WHAT IT WILL COME TO!</h2> + + <h4>(<i>A fragment from a Military-Commercial Romance of the + future.</i>)</h4> + + <p>And so Mr. ELLERSDEE approached his proposed recruit, and + invited him to lunch to discuss the matter quietly.</p> + + <p>"You are very good," returned the other, "but I can assure + you I eat nothing before dinner. Won't you have a cigar?"</p> + + <p>Mr. ELLERSDEE accepted the proffered kindness, and remarked + upon the excellent quality of the tobacco.</p> + + <p>"Yes," assented his companion, "it is not half bad, for we + get all our supplies from the Stores; and now what can I do for + you?"</p> + + <p>Then Mr. ELLERSDEE unfolded his sad story. England was + losing her commercial prosperity, owing to a scarcity of + labourers, artisans, nay, even clerks. The Empire was in as bad + a condition as those foreign countries in which forced military + service was established. Like France and Germany, trade was + being ruined by the Army. Would not the young man desert, and + become a recruit in the Labour League?</p> + + <p>"My dear friend," was the reply, "I hope I am as patriotic + as most people, but I cannot sacrifice my just interest + entirely to sentiment. What can you give me in exchange for my + present life? I have recreation-rooms, libraries, polytechnics, + and every sort of amusement?"</p> + + <p>"But also drill and discipline," urged the other.</p> + + <p>"Which I am told by my medical attendant (whose services by + the way are gratuitous), are excellent for my health. This + being so, I can scarcely complain of those institutions. Then I + have excellent pay and ample food. Now, I ask you frankly, can + the advantages offered by Trade compare for a moment with the + privileges, as a soldier, I now enjoy? Tell me frankly, shall I + improve my position by giving up the Army?"</p> + + <p>And Mr. ELLERSDEE was compelled to answer in the + negative!</p> + <hr /> + + <h2>THE DIARY OF AN OLD JOKE.</h2> + + <h4>(<i>Posthumously Printed by kind Permission of Wit, Humour, + & Co., Limited.</i>)</h4> + + <p><i>April 1</i>.—My birthday; have no idea which. Old + as the hills, but not quite so pointed; venerable, but broken + down, and used up; not the Joke I used to be; once the rich + darling of Society: but it (Society) didn't pay, so had to work + hard for a living. <i>Tit Bits</i>, the <i>National + Observer</i>, and the Chancery Judges, have impoverished me. + Never mind—I'll be revenged—resolve to keep a + Diary—"<i>weekly diary of a weakly</i>"—oh dear! my + old infirmity again. Must really be more careful.</p> + + <p><i>April 2</i>.—In with the rest of them, for a + (North-) Easter outing. HACKING, in the train, tried to palm me + off upon HORNBLOWER, who had actually the impudence to affect + that he "<i>couldn't see me</i>"; as if I hadn't obviously made + his reputation for years! The best of it is, that HORNBLOWER is + always airing me in public, and dropping me in private. Blow + HORNBLOWER!</p> + + <p><i>April 3</i>.—Out to dinner. What a hypocrite + Society is! Everyone pretended never to have heard me before. I + was allotted to Miss HORNBLOWER (worse luck!) and she + positively called me "Her own!"—at my age, too! It's + indecent. Complained to HORNBLOWER, who now faced round, and + maintained that he was the first to bring me out. I could + almost have cried. No wonder I fell flat, and injured myself. + Why, Sir, SIDNEY SMITH was my godfather, and was always + trotting me out as a prodigy, and trading on me. I supported + him, Sir, when I was but an infant phenomenon; I supported + him—but I can't support HORNBLOWER.</p> + + <p><i>April 4</i>.—Went to the theatre, as I was told I + figured in the play; claimed a free pass to the Stalls from the + box-office boy, who was rude; showed him my card; he looked + scared, and said it was all right. The actors were full of me: + very gratifying; but everybody laughed! Just like their cheek! + There's nothing laughable, I should fancy, about anything so + played out as <i>I've</i> become. Ugh! how I detest + irreverence! HORNBLOWER and HACKING have both written to the + papers, maintaining that I belong to them, and that the theatre + has no right to have me impersonated on the Stage; they term it + "Thought Transference," "The Brain-Wave," or something + outlandish; and to think that HACKING, who reviews HORNBLOWER's + effusions, once spoke of me as stale! They had better not try + my patience too far, I can tell them.</p> + + <p><i>April 5</i>.—<i>Sunday</i>. Want change, and rest. + Made for the O'WILDE's sanctum. Cabman took the change, and + O'WILDE the rest. Have known all the celebrities of the + century, but like O'W. the most. For one so young, he's truly + affable; made me quite at home; promised to put me up—or + in, I forget which; and then he uttered this remarkable + "preface"—"Jokes are neither old nor young: they are + simply mine or thine—that is all." Nevertheless. I'm sure + to be in his bad books before long.</p> + + <p><i>April 6</i>.—"Horrible outrage—an Old Joke, + in trouble again"—so run the newspaper placards—was + collared forcibly by two masked ruffians in Grub Street, and + dispatched post-haste to <i>Punch</i> office. <i>Mr. P.</i>, + however, had known me from a boy, and was not to be imposed + upon. He sent me back promptly, on Her Majesty's Service, + warning me that, unless I went off, I should probably be + knocked on the head. Dear EVERGREEN POLICINELLO! but not so + evergreen as all that. He knows my constitution won't stand + these liberties. The desperadoes turn out to be HORNBLOWER and + HACKING, as I suspected. In defence they alleged I had + <i>struck</i> them forcibly! <i>Mr. P.</i> vows he'll proceed + against them for nuisance—interfering with Ancient + Lights.</p> + + <p><i>April 7</i>.—Very weak, from effects of yesterday. + The heart taken out of me. Consult my Doctor. To judge from the + prints in his waiting-room, I'm popular enough still with his + patients. Says I'm suffering from a bad attack of Printer's + Devils, but can't make me younger; replied that my desire was + to be older. He looked grave, and rejoined, "Impossible"; + prescribed a course of Attic salts; as I came out, met Sir + WILFRID LAWSON. He declares I don't look a day older than when + he first knew me; but then, he's licensed to be sober on the + premises! Ah, how I love the House of Commons!</p> + + <p><i>April 8</i>.—Worn to a skeleton; sinking fast, but + I'll die hard. Make my will. Bequeath Autographs of TALLEYRAND + and JOE MILLER to Madame Tussaud's; everything else to be sold + for the foundation of an Asylum for Old Jokes. A knock at the + door. Heaven help me!—<i>two</i> Interviewers! "Come in," + I said, with the conventional "cheery voice." Anticipated the + worst, but worse than I anticipated. HORNBLOWER and HACKING are + brooding over me; assert they have been sent by the LORD MAYOR. + "Thought Transference" again! Well, I should have committed + suicide, and now I can be released without crime. It won't last + long. If I might suggest my obsequies, I should like to be + cremated in Type. HACKING begs my blessing, and pretends to + weep at hearing the last of me. Hope I shan't ever have to + haunt HORNBLOWER!</p> + + <p><i>Editor's Postscript</i>.—We have paid a pious visit + to his last Jesting-place; on the urn is inscribed,—</p> + + <center> + PLEASE TO FORGET THE GHOST OF THE SAME OLD JOKE. + </center><br /> + + <hr /> + + <p>NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, + whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any + description, will in no case be returned, not even when + accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or + Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.</p> + <hr class="full" /> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. +100, April 11, 1891, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + +***** This file should be named 13283-h.htm or 13283-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/2/8/13283/ + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer, William Flis, and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + +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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