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diff --git a/13283-0.txt b/13283-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..85c38aa --- /dev/null +++ b/13283-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1412 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13283 *** + +PUNCH, + +OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. + +VOL. 100. + + + + +April 11, 1891. + + + + + +MR. PUNCH'S PRIZE NOVELS. + +NO. XVI.--GERMFOOD. + +(_BY_ MARY MORALLY, _AUTHOR OF "GINBITTERS!" "ARDART," &C., &C._) + + [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 "_Messieurs + les Marronneurs glacés de Paris_." 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."] + +CHAPTER I. + +[Illustration] + +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, _moi qui vous parle_, 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 _Marrons Glacés_, 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? +_Allons, mon ami. Qu'est-ce-qu'il-y-a. Je ne sais quoi. Mon Dieu!_ +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! + +CHAPTER II. + +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 _cul de sac_, 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 _marrons glacés_, the curse of _ma +patrie_, and its speech was as the scent of scarlet poppies, plucked +from the grave of a discarded mistress. + +"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." + +"Spare me!" I ventured to interpose. + +"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 _frissonement_, and thy friends +shall say, "_Nous blaguons le chose._" + +"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 _marron_ 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 _pompe +d'estomac_. + +CHAPTER III. + +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 "_Mon fils_." 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. _Ça va sans dire._ 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 _marroneur_? 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 _Baba au Rhum_, and other +innocent dishes. Now I have knowledge. I am my own good. I glance +haughtily into--[Ten rhapsodical pages omitted.--ED. _Punch_.] 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! + +CHAPTER IV. + +Again--again--again! The moon rose, shimmering like a _Marron Glacé_ +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 +_marron_. 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 _marrons glacés_ all day. Be warned!" +THE END. + + * * * * * + +QUITE EXCEPTIONAL THEATRICAL NEWS.--Next Thursday at the Vaudeville, +the Press and the usual Free-Admissionaries will be let in for +_Money_. + + * * * * * + +MORE KICKS THAN HALFPENCE. + + "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."--_Times_. + +[Illustration: _General Redtape_ (_of the Intelligence Department, +W.O._) "WHAT! GOING TO RESIGN!" + +_Volunteer Officer_. "YES. WHY SHOULD I ONLY GET YOUR KICKS FOR MY +HALFPENCE?"] + + * * * * * + +MORE KICKS THAN HALFPENCE. + +_VOLUNTEER OFFICER, LOQUITUR_.-- + + Yes, take back the sword! Though the _Times_ may expostulate, + Tired am I wholly of worry and snubs. + You'll find, my fine friend, what your folly has cost you, late, + Henceforth for me the calm comfort of Clubs! + To lounge on a cushion and hear the balls rattle + 'Midst smoke-fumes, and sips on the field of green cloth, + Is better than leading slow troops to sham battle, + In stupid conditions that rouse a man's wrath. + + Commissions, they say, go a-begging. Precisely! + Incapables take them, but capables shy. + For twenty-one years you have harried us nicely. + And now, like the rest, we're on Strike, Sir. And why? + The game, you old fossil, is not worth the candle, + Your kicks for my halfpence? The bargain's too bad! + If you want bogus leaders sham soldiers to handle, + You'll now have to take duffers, deadheads, and cads! + + The _Times_ wisely says you should make it attractive, + This Volunteer business. But that's not your game. + You're actively snubby, or coldly inactive: + We pay, and you pooh-pooh! 'Tis always the same. + We do not mind giving our time and our money, + Or facing March blasts, or the floods of July; + But till nettles bear grapes, Sir, or wasps yield us honey, + You won't get snubbed men to pay up and look spry. + + The "multiplication of camps and manoeuvres"? + All right! Let us learn in a _soldierlike_ school; + But what is the good of your Bisleys and Dovers. + If the whole game resolves into playing the fool? + To play that game longer and pay for it too, Sir, + Won't suit me at all. I'm disgusted and bored. + Your kicks for my halfpence? No, no, it won't do, Sir! + And therefore, old Tapenoddle--take back the sword! + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: TRUE SENTIMENT. + +"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?" + +"YES, MUMMIE; GIVE HER MY LOVE, AND SAY I NEVER LOOK AT A LITTLE BLACK +PIG NOW WITHOUT THINKING OF _HER_!"] + + + * * * * * + +LEAVES FROM A CANDIDATE'S DIARY. + +[CONTINUED.] + +_March 11_.--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. + +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. + +_March 12_, _"George Hotel," Billsbury_.--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 +_Billsbury Standard_, "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. + +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'm_ not given to boasting," he continued. "_I_ +never indulge in badinage" (query, braggadocio?); "but, with such a +Candidate, we _must_ win." JERRAM seconded the resolution, which was +carried _nem. con._ Must get local newspapers, to show to mother. +She'll like that. Shall go back to London to-morrow. + + * * * * * + +"FORTNIGHTLY" V. SO-CALLED "NINETEENTH CENTURY."--Change of Author's +name. Mr. FREDERIC HARRISON to be known in future as "FREDERIC +HARRASIN' KNOWLES." + +(_Signed_) [Greek: Phrederik] + + * * * * * + +MR. PUNCH'S POCKET IBSEN. + +(_CONDENSED AND REVISED VERSION BY MR. P.'S OWN HARMLESS IBSENITE._) + +NO. II.--NORA; OR, THE BIRD-CAGE (ET DIKKISVÖIT). + +ACT II. + +_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._ NORA +_alone_. + +_Nora_ (_putting on a cloak and taking it off again_). 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 _is_ so practical. (_To_ Mrs. LINDEN, +_who comes in with a large cardboard box._) Ah, CHRISTINA, so you +have brought in my old costume? _Would_ you mind, as my husband's new +Cashier, just doing up the trimming for me? + +_Mrs. L._ Not at all--is it not part of my regular duties? (_Sewing._) +Don't you think, NORA, that you see a little too much of Dr. RANK? + +_Nora_. Oh, I _couldn't_ see too much of Dr. RANK! He _is_ 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 _goes. Enter_ TORVALD _from the Manager's room._ +NORA _runs trippingly to him._ + +_Nora_ (_coaxing_). Oh, TORVALD, if only you won't dismiss KROGSTAD, +you can't think how your little lark would jump about and twitter! + +_Helmer_. 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 _must_ 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--(_a short pause_)--h'm! +Besides, he _will_ 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. + +[Illustration: "A poor fellow with both feet in the grave is not the +best authority on the fit of silk stockings."] + +_Nora_. But he writes in scurrilous papers,--he is on the staff of the +Norwegian _Punch_. If you dismiss him, he may write nasty things about +_you_, as wicked people did about poor dear Papa! + +_Helmer_. Your poor dear Papa was not impeccable--far from it. I +_am_--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. (_Goes to door +and calls._) ELLEN! (_Enter parlourmaid._) Take that letter--there is +no answer. (ELLEN _takes it and goes._) 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! [_Nods to her and goes in, shutting door._ + +_Nora_ (_stroking her face_). How _am_ I to get out of this mess! (_A +ring at the Visitors' bell._) Dr. RANK's ring! _He_ shall help me out +of it! (Dr. RANK _appears in doorway, hanging up his great-coat._) +Dear Dr. RANK, how _are_ you? [_Takes both his hands._ + +_Rank_ (_sitting down near the stove_). I am a miserable, +hypochondriacal wretch--that's what _I_ am. And why am I doomed to be +dismal? Why? Because my father died of a fit of the blues! _Is_ that +fair--I put it to _you_? + +_Nora_. Do try to be funnier than _that_! 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. _Aren't_ they lovely? Will they fit me, do you +think? + +_Rank_ (_gloomily_). 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 _know_ I shall! + +_Nora_. You mustn't really be so frivolous! Take that! (_She hits him +lightly on the ear with the stockings; then hums a little._) I want +you to do me a great service, Dr. RANK. (_Rolling up stockings_,) I +always liked _you_. I love TORVALD most, of _course_--but, somehow, +I'd rather spend my time with you--you _are_ so amusing! + +_Rank_. If I am, can't you guess why? (_A short silence._) Because I +love you! You can't pretend you didn't know it! + +_Nora_. 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! +(_With dignity._) 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--(_sits in +rocking-chair and smiles_)--now I shan't ask you what I was going to! +[ELLEN _comes in with a card._ + +_Nora_ (_terrified_). Oh, my goodness! [_Puts it in her pocket._ + +_Dr. Rank_. Excuse my easy Norwegian pleasantry--but--h'm--anything +disagreeable up? + +_Nora_ (_to herself_). KROGSTAD's card! I must tell _another_ whopper! +(_To_ 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 +_cosier_, you know. So go into TORVALD and amuse him till I'm ready. +[RANK _goes into_ HELMER's _room, and_ NORA _bolts the door upon him, +as_ KROGSTAD _enters from hall in a fur cap._ + +_Krogs._ Well, I've got the sack, and so I came to see how _you_ are +getting on. I mayn't be a nice man, but--(_with feeling_)--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. (_Kindly._) You +must not take this affair too seriously. Mrs. HELMER. Get your husband +to settle it amicably by taking me back as Cashier; _then_ I shall +soon get the whip-hand of _him_, and we shall all be as pleasant and +comfortable as possible together! + +_Nora_. Not even that prospect can tempt me! Besides, TORVALD wouldn't +have you back at any price now! + +_Krogs._ 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! [_He goes out; +presently the dull sound of a thick letter dropping into a wire box is +heard._ + +_Nora_ (_softly, and hoarsely_). He's done it! How _am_ I to prevent +TORVALD from seeing it? + +_Helmer_ (_inside the door, rattling_). Hasn't my lark changed its +dress yet? (NORA _unbolts door_.) What--so you are _not_ in fancy +costume, after all? (_Enters with_ RANK.) Are there any letters for me +in the box there? + +_Nora_ (_voicelessly_). None--not even a postcard! Oh, TORVALD, don't, +please, go and look--_promise_ me you won't! I do _assure_ 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. + +_Helmer_ (_standing still, on his way to the letter-box_). 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. (_Sits down to piano._) Bang away on your tambourine, +little squirrel--dance away, my own lark! + +_Nora_ (_dancing, with a long gay shawl_). Just _won't_ the little +squirrel! Faster--faster! Oh, I _do_ feel so gay! We will have some +champagne for dinner, _won't_ we, TORVALD? [_Dances with more and more +abandonment._ + +_Helmer_ (_after addressing frequent remarks in correction_). Come, +come--not this awful wildness! I don't like to see _quite_ such a +larky little lark as this ... Really it is time you stopped! + +_Nora_ (_her hair coming down as she dances more wildly still, and +swings the tambourine_). I can't ... I can't! (_To herself, as she +dances._) I've only thirty-one hours left to be a bird in; and after +that--(_shuddering_)--after _that_, KROGSTAD will let the cat out of +the bag! [_Curtain._ + +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 +_dénoûment_--unavoidably postponed to a future number. No money +returned. + + * * * * * + +TAKING THE CENSUS. + +(_A STORY OF THE 6TH OF APRIL, 1891._) + +[Illustration] + +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 _honorarium_) 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. + +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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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!" + +Put "retired" after Barrister-at-Law! "Do no harm!" and be "safer!" + + * * * * * + +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!" + +(Signed) A. BRIEFLESS, JUNIOR. + +_Pump-Handle Court, April 7, 1891._ + + * * * * * + +"UP, GUARDS, AND ACT 'EM!" + +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 _Paul +Prior_ was not a whit behind his former performances. There's one more +Guard O, Major RICARDO. _He_ played _Crusoe_, 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!" + + * * * * * + +THE OLD (CRICKETING) 'OSS AND THE YOUNG (GLOUCESTER) COLTS. + + Fifty, not out! A good start beyond doubt, + In a Twenty-four field, Doctor W.G. + And may Ninety-one bring us lots of good fun, + With you at the Wickets for Figures of Three, + To see the Old 'Oss stir in good time to foster + The coming-on "Colts," should give courage to Glo'ster! + + * * * * * + +"SUCH A DAWG!" + +The enclosed was cut from _The Field_ of last week:-- + + R. ---- ---- WANTS some friend to give him a small BULLDOG + with a smile, for a house pet.--To be sent for inspection to, + &c. + +It is to be hoped that the advertiser will not get an animal that (to +quote from _Hamlet_) "may smile and smile and be a villain!" + + * * * * * + +IGNOTUS. + + Prate not about Fame! I've addressed half the world, + In Court and in cottage, in Castle and slum! + I've been warbled, and chorussed, and tootled, and skirled, + Yet, for _kudos_, I might just as well have been dumb. + Though familiar to all men, I'm wholly unknown; + You're inclined to pooh-pooh, and to say I am wrong? + Nay, listen, and you my correctness will own: + 'Tis I wrote the _words_ of a Popular Song! + + * * * * * + +NEW AND INTERESTING WORK.--As a companion to Dr. WRIGHT's _The Ice +Ages in North America and its bearing upon the Antiquity of Man_, will +shortly appear _The Penny-Ice Age in London and its bearing on the +Youth of the Metropolis_. + + * * * * * + +A BRUMMAGEM BOLUS. + +(_BY AN ELATE LIBERAL-UNIONIST._) + + An "ill-starred abortion" WEG christened our party; + At present, as JOE hints, that sounds quite ironic. + True, lately our health did appear far from hearty, + But Aston has acted As-tonic! + + * * * * * + +NOTE FOR CRITICS.--How can any of us expect the truth from a historian +who himself tells us that he merely "_transcribes from MSS. lying +before him!_" + + * * * * * + +WHAT THE ITALIANS SEEM TO WANT IN LOUISIANA.--An _un_fair field, or no +FAVA! + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: PICTURE SUNDAY. + +(_What Our Artist has to put up with._) + +_Fair Damsel_ (_to Our Artist, who is explaining the beauties of +his Picture_). "CHARMING! CHARMING! BUT, OH, MR. FITZMADDER, WHAT A +_DELIGHTFUL_ ROOM THIS WOULD BE FOR A DANCE,--WITH THE MUSICIANS +IN THE GALLERY, AND ALL THE EASELS AND PICTURES AND THINGS CLEARED +AWAY!"] + + * * * * * + +A FAIR EXCHANGE. + + HOSEA BIGLOW _speaks up on the situation_:-- + + Here we stan' on the Constitution, by thunder! + State rights won't be hurried by any one's hoofs; + UMBERTO, old hoss, would _you_ like, I wonder, + To 'pologise first, and then bring up yer proofs? + Uncle SAM is free, and he sez, sez he:-- + "The _Mafia's_ no more + Right to come to this shore, + No more'n the Molly Maguires," sez he. + + Uncle SAM ain't no kind o' bisness with nothin' + Like stabs in the back,--that may do for slaves. + We ain't none riled by their frettin' an' frothin' + Who shriek, in Hitalian, across the waves. + Uncle SAM is free, but he sez, sez he:-- + "He will put down his foot + On the right to shoot + As claimed by the _Mafia_ gang!" sez he. + + Freedom's keystone is Law, yes; that there's no doubt on, + It's sutthin that's--wha' d'ye call it?--divine,-- + The brutes who break it hain't nutthin' to boast on + On your side or mine o' the seethin' brine. + Uncle Sam is free, and he sez, sez he:-- + "If assassins gang 'em + I'm game to hang 'em, + An' so git rid on 'em soon," sez he. + + 'Tis well for sleek cits for to lounge on their soffies, + And chat about "Law and Order," an' sich. + A formula pleasant for them in office, + Home-stayin' idlers, well-guarded rich. + Uncle SAM is free, but he sez, sez he:-- + "Whar life's a fight, + Law, based on right, + May need the 'strong arm' of a Man," sez he. + + Now don't go to say I'm the friend of force; + Best keep all your spare breath for coolin' your broth; + And when just Law has a fair clar course, + All talk of "wild justice" is frenzy and froth. + Uncle SAM is free, but he sez, sez he:-- + "If he gits within hail + Of the Glan-na-Gael, + Or the _Mafia_ either, he shoots," sez he. + + This ain't no matter for sauce or swagger-- + Too summary judgment both scout, I hope; + Though _ef_ it's a chice betwixt rope and dagger, + I can't help sayin' I prefer the rope. + Uncle SAM is free, and he sez, sez he:-- + "At a pinch I'll not flinch + From a touch of Lynch,-- + That is--at a very _hard_ pinch!" sez he. + + But Lynch Law, UMBERTO, _or_ Secret Society, + Both are bad, though the latter's wust; + We'll soon get shut of _either_ variety, + You and me, UMBERTO, or so I trust. + Uncle SAM is free, but he sez, sez he:-- + "Assassination + Won't build a nation, + Nor yet the _un_legalised rope," sez he. + + Withdraw your Ambassador! Wal, that _air_ summary! + Italian irons so soon git hot! + Ironclads? Sure that's mere militant flummery. + Don't want to rile, but I'll tell you what: + Uncle SAM is free, but he sez, sez he:-- + "Let FAVA stay, + Take the _Mafia_ away, + And we'll call it aright square deal!" sez he. + + * * * * * + +PRESENTED AT COURT.--Acting upon the suggestions made in these columns +a week ago, the Author of _The Volcano_, 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 +_The Wolf_, 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, _The Volcano_ 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. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: A FAIR EXCHANGE. + +UNCLE SAM. "SEE HERE, UMBERTO!--GIVE US BACK YOUR '_MINISTER_,' AND +TAKE AWAY THAT DARN'D '_MAFIA_,' AND WE'LL CALL IT A SQUARE DEAL!"] + + * * * * * + +A COMPLAINT OF THE CENSUS. + +(_BY A DISAPPOINTED DUKE._) + + [For the first time the sixth column in the Census Schedule is + simply headed "Profession or Occupation."] + + Oh! I'm a reg'lar rightdown Duke: + The trying part I act and look + Right nobly, so they tell me. + Yet I would have you understand + Why I am thoroughly unmanned + At what of late befell me. + + A week or something less ago, + A schedule came to let me know + The Census Day was Sunday. + The many details, one and all, + Must he filled in, and then they'd call + To fetch it on the Monday. + + I found it easy to contrive + To answer columns one to five-- + I filled them up discreetly; + But when I came to column six + I got into an awful fix, + And lost my head completely. + + For "Rank" alas! had disappeared. + I'd never for an instant feared + It wouldn't really be there. + Your "Occupation" you could state, + "Profession," too, you might relate, + But I--a Duke--had neither! + + His Grace the Duke of PLAZA-TOR' + Would call himself, I'm pretty sure, + A "public entertainer." + But I and my blue-blooded wife, + We lead a simple blameless life, + No life could well be plainer. + + In such a plight what could I do? + I searched the paper through and through, + Each paragraph I read. You'll + Scarce credit it but those who "live + On their own means" had got to give + This statement in the schedule! + + I put it, but my ducal pen + I saw distinctly sputtered when + I did so. All of which he + Will please remember when I say + I thought it in a minor way + Unkind of Mr. RITCHIE! + + * * * * * + +MICKY FREE IN PARIS. + +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. + +"Yours as ever, M.F." + + + * * * * * + +HERRICK UP TO DATE. + +(_AFTER "THE BRACELET TO JULIA."_) + +[Illustration] + + Why tye I about thy wrist, + JULIA, this my silken twist? + For what other reason is't, + But to show (_in theorie_) + Thou sweet captive art to me; + Which, of course, is fiddlededee! + Runne and aske the nearest Judge, + He will tell thee 'tis pure fudge; + When thou willest, _thou_ mayst trudge; + _I'm_ thy Bondslave, Hymen's pact + Bindeth me in law and fact; + Thou art free in will and act; + 'Tis but silke that bindeth thee, + Snap the thread, and thou art free: + But 'tis otherwise with me. + I am bound, and bound fast so + That from thee I cannot go. + (Hah! We'll have this altered, though. + Man _must_ be a wing-clipp'd goose + If he bows to Hymen's noose,-- + _Heads you winne, and tails I lose!_) + + * * * * * + +MAGAZINE MANNERS. + +_Editor to Eminent Writer_.--Review promises to be deadly slow next +month. Can you do something slashing for us? Pitch into somebody or +other--you know the style. + +_Eminent Writer to Editor_.--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. + +_Editor to Eminent Writer_ (_a week later_).--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. + +_Eminent Writer to Editor_.--Idea insulting. Any more telegrams of +that sort, and I contribute in future to the _Shortsprightly Review_, +not yours! + +_Editor to Eminent Writer_.--No offence meant. _Is_ there any other +Review besides mine? Never heard of the one you mentioned. + +_Eminent Writer to Editor_ (_a month later_).--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 _Shortsprightly_. + +_Editor to Eminent Writer_.--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 _you_. + +_Eminent Writer to Editor_.--Explanation unsatisfactory. You first +insert contribution, and then slate it. Do you call yourself an +Editor? + +_Editor to Eminent Writer_.--Rather think I _do_ 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. + +_Eminent Writer to Editor_.--Yah! Look out for next _Shortsprightly_, +that's all! Article entitled, "Editorial Horseplay." It'll give you +fits, or my name isn't--FREDERIC, without the K. + + * * * * * + +ANOTHER'S! + +(_A ONCE REJECTED ADDRESS._) + + Yes! Thou must be another's. Oh, + Such anguish stands alone! + I'd always fancied thou wert so + Peculiarly mine own; + No welcome doubt my soul can free; + A convict may not choose-- + Yet, since another's thou must be, + Most kindly tell me _whose_? + + Is it the Lord of Shilling Thrills + Who penned _The Black that Mails_-- + That martial man who from the hills + Excogitates his tales? + Is it ubiquitous A. LANG? + Nay, shrink not but explain + To which of all the writing gang + Dost properly pertain? + + Perchance to some provincial churl, + Who blushes quite unseen? + Perchance to some ambitious Earl + Or Stockbroker, I ween? + Such things have frequently occurred, + And gems like thee have crowned + The titular and moneyed herd, + And made them nigh renowned. + + I know not, this alone is clear, + Thou wert my sole delight; + I pored on thee by sunshine, dear, + I dreamed of thee at night. + Thou wert so good--too splendid for + The common critic's praise-- + And I was thy proprietor-- + And all the world must gaze! + + But _Punch_, that autocrat, decrees + That thou another's art: + I cannot choose but bow my knees + And lacerate my heart. + Thou must be someone's else, alack! + The truth remains confessed-- + For _Mr. P._ hath sent thee back, + _My cherished little Jest._ + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +SALISBURY AT ST. MARTINS'S-LE-GRAND. + + How slow is fate from fatal friends to free us! + Still, still, alas! 'tis "_Ego et_ RAIKES _meus_." + + * * * * * + +"THE OXFORD MOVEMENT."--Not much to choose between this and the +Cambridge movement in the last race. + + * * * * * + +PLACE OF BANISHMENT FOR MISTAKEN PERSONS.--The Isle of Mull. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: CENSUS DAY HOW SOME WERE CAUGHT.] + + * * * * * + +EARL GRANVILLE. + +BORN IN 1815. DIED 31ST MARCH, 1891. + + The coarser Cyclops now combine + To push the Olympians from their places; + And dead as Pan seems the old line + Of greater gods and gentler graces. + Pleasant, amidst the clangour crude + Of smiting hammer, sounding anvil, + As bland Arcadian interlude, + The courtly accents of a GRANVILLE! + + A strenuous time's pedestrian muse + Shouts pæans to the earth-born giant, + Whose brows Apollo's wreath refuse, + Whose strength to Charis is unpliant. + Demos distrusts the debonair, + Yet Demos found himself disarming + To gracious GRANVILLE; unaware + Won by the calm, witched by the charming. + + Bismarckian vigour, stern and stark + As Brontes self, was not his dower; + Not his to steer a storm-tost bark + Through waves that whelm, and clouds that lower. + Temper unstirred, unerring tact, + Were his. He could not "wave the banner," + But he could lend to steely act + The softly silken charm of manner. + + Kindly, accomplished, with a wit + Lambent yet bland, like summer lightning; + Venomless rapier-point, whose "hit" + Was palpable, yet painless. Brightening + E'en, party conflict with a touch + Of old-world grace fight could not ruffle! + Faith, GRANVILLE, we shall miss thee much + Where kites and crows of faction scuffle! + + * * * * * + +AN IRISH DIAMOND.--The _Cork Examiner_ 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! + + * * * * * + +PATERFAMILIAS ON HIS CENSUS PAPER. + + Head of the Family! That makes me quail. + I am the Head--and thereby hangs a tale! + This big blue paper, ruled in many a column, + Gives rise to some misgivings sad and solemn. + Relation to that Head? That Head's buzz-brained, + And its "relations" are--just now--"much strained." + Citizen-duty I've no wish to shirk, + But would the State do its own dirty work-- + (My daughters swear _'tis_ dirty). I'd be grateful. + Instructions? Yes! Imperative and fateful! + But, oh! I wish they would "instruct" me how + To tell the truth without a family row. + "Best of my knowledge and belief"! Ah well + If Aunt MEHITABEL her age _won't_ tell; + If Cook will swear she's only thirty-three, + And rather fancies she was born at sea + (Where I am now) my "knowledge and belief" + Are not worth much to the official chief, + BRIDGES P. HENNIKER, if he only knew it. + A True Return? Well, if it is not true, it + Is not _my_ fault. Inquisitorial band, + I've done my level best--Witness my Hand! + The bothering business makes me feel quite bilious, + Peace now--for ten years more! + +PATERFAMILIAS. + + * * * * * + +"FACTA NON VERBA"; OR, PIERROT IN LONDON. + +"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 _L'Enfant Prodigue_, 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. + +[Illustration: A BLACK AND WHITE EXHIBITION.] + +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 _Pierrot_ 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 _Pierrot Junior_, "the Prodigy son," and M. COURTÈS as _Pierrot +Senior_, are already drawing the town to _Matinées_ 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! _Pierrot redivivus!_ + +Mind you, it is not a piece for children; make no mistake about that; +_they_ 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 +_blanchisseuse_ the least of the characters, and wish she had been +_plus petite que ça_. 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 +_Pierrot_, and cringes to his wealthy rival and successor,--are they +not both admirable? As for the acting of Madame SCHMIDT as _Madame +Pierrot_, 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? _Facta +non verba_ is their motto. Yet with what _gusto_ 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. + +_Vive Pierrot à Londres!_ We see him much the same as he was when +he delighted the Parisians in 1830,--"_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_"--and also so pathetic. + +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. _Verb. sap._ + + * * * * * + +In the _Salon_ this year, the _Athenæum_ says, "a _Grand Salon de +Repos_ 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? + + * * * * * + +OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. + +Aha! special attraction in _The New Review_! "April Fool's Day Poem," +by ALFRED AUSTIN, and, an announcement on the cover that "_This +number contains a Picture of_ Miss ELLEN TERRY _in one of her earliest +parts._" 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 _may_ 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! + +In _Macmillan's_ 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 _Mr. Pickwick_ listened with interest +during the convivialities at the "Magpie and Stump." It should take +a prominent place in the proposed new issue of _Half Hours with Jumpy +Authors_. + +[Illustration] + +The Baron has just read a delightful paper on "The Bretons at Home," +by CHARLES G. WOOD, in the _Argosy_, 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. + +_Turf Celebrities I have Known_, 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 +_not_ '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, "_De Die +in Diem; or, Day by Day_." + +Everyone's truly, THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS. + + * * * * * + +WHAT IT WILL COME TO! + +(_A FRAGMENT FROM A MILITARY-COMMERCIAL ROMANCE OF THE FUTURE._) + +And so Mr. ELLERSDEE approached his proposed recruit, and invited him +to lunch to discuss the matter quietly. + +"You are very good," returned the other, "but I can assure you I eat +nothing before dinner. Won't you have a cigar?" + +Mr. ELLERSDEE accepted the proffered kindness, and remarked upon the +excellent quality of the tobacco. + +"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?" + +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? + +"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?" + +"But also drill and discipline," urged the other. + +"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?" + +And Mr. ELLERSDEE was compelled to answer in the negative! + + * * * * * + +THE DIARY OF AN OLD JOKE. + +(_POSTHUMOUSLY PRINTED BY KIND PERMISSION OF WIT, HUMOUR, & CO., +LIMITED._) + +_April 1_.--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. _Tit Bits_, the +_National Observer_, and the Chancery Judges, have impoverished me. +Never mind--I'll be revenged--resolve to keep a Diary--"_weekly diary +of a weakly_"--oh dear! my old infirmity again. Must really be more +careful. + +_April 2_.--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 "_couldn't see me_"; 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! + +_April 3_.--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. + +_April 4_.--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've_ 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. + +_April 5_.--_Sunday_. 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. + +_April 6_.--"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 _Punch_ office. _Mr. P._, +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 _struck_ them forcibly! _Mr. P._ vows he'll proceed against them +for nuisance--interfering with Ancient Lights. + +_April 7_.--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! + +_April 8_.--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!--_two_ +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! + +_Editor's Postscript_.--We have paid a pious visit to his last +Jesting-place; on the urn is inscribed,-- + +PLEASE TO FORGET THE GHOST OF THE SAME OLD JOKE. + + * * * * * + +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. + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. +100, April 11, 1891, by Various + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13283 *** |