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diff --git a/16263-h/16263-h.htm b/16263-h/16263-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3c3f9cb --- /dev/null +++ b/16263-h/16263-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1734 @@ +<!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, December 3, 1892.</title> + + <style type="text/css"> + <!-- + 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;} + .sc {font-variant: small-caps;} + + 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, .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + + span.pagenum + {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt; text-indent: 0;} + + .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;} + + .drama {margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .drama p {margin: 1em 0em 0em 0em;; padding-left: 2em; text-indent: -2em;} + .drama p.i2 {margin: 0; margin-left: 1em;} + .drama p.i4 {margin: 0; margin-left: 2em;} + .drama p.i6 {margin: 0; margin-left: 3em;} + .drama p.i8 {margin: 0; margin-left: 4em;} + .drama p.i10 {margin: 0; 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, Volume 103, +December 3, 1892, 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, Volume 103, December 3, 1892 + +Author: Various + +Editor: Francis Burnand + +Release Date: July 11, 2005 [EBook #16263] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON *** + + + + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer, William Flis, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + <h1>PUNCH,<br /> + OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> + + <h2>Vol. 103.</h2> + <hr class="full" /> + + <h2>December 3, 1892.</h2> + <hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page253" id="page253"></a>[pg 253]</span> +<h2>THE MAN WHO WOULD.</h2> + +<h3>III.—THE MAN WHO WOULD GET ON.</h3> + +<p>"I dreamed," said the Scotch Professor, "that I was struggling +for dear life with a monstrous reptile, whose scaly coils wound about +my body, while the extremity of his own was lost in the distance. +At last I managed to shake myself free, and setting my foot on his +neck, I was preparing to cut his throat, when the animal looked up +at me with an appealing expression, and said, 'At least you might +give me a testimonial!'"</p> + +<p>This professional nightmare (for the labours of a Scotch instructor +consist, to a great extent, in writing testimonials, or in evading requests +for them), suggested to one of his audience the history of +<span class="sc">Saunders McGregor</span>, the Man who would Get on. In boyhood, +<span class="sc">Saunders</span> obtained an exhibition, or bursary, to the University of +St. Mungo's. This success implied no high degree of scholarship, for +the benefice was only open to persons of the surname of <span class="sc">McGregor</span>, +and the Christian-name of <span class="sc">Saunders</span>. The provident parents of our +hero, having accidentally become aware of this circumstance, had their +offspring christened <span class="sc">Saunders</span>, and thus secured, from the very first, +an opening for the young man.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width:60%;"><a href="images/253.png"><img width="100%" src="images/253.png" alt="" /></a></div> + +<p>At St. Mungo's, <span class="sc">Saunders</span> was mainly notable for a generous view +of life, which enabled him to look on the goods of others as practically +common among Christians. A pipe of his own he somehow possessed, +but tobacco and lights he invariably borrowed, also golf-balls, postage-stamps, +railway fares, books, caps, gowns, and similar trifles; while his +nature was so social, that he invariably dropped in to supper with one or +other of his companions. The accident of being left alone for a few moments +in the study of our Examiner, where <span class="sc">Saunders</span> deftly possessed +himself of a set of examination-papers, enabled him to take his degree +with an ease and brilliance which very considerably astonished his +instructors. By adroitly using his good fortune, <span class="sc">Saunders</span> accumulated +a pile of most egregious testimonials, and these he regarded as the mainspring +of success in life. He had early discovered in himself a singular capacity for drawing +salaries, and as he had unbounded conceit and unqualified ignorance, +he conceived himself to be fit for any post in life to which a salary +is attached. He had also really great gifts as a <i>crampon</i>, or hanger-on, +and neglected no opportunity, while he made many, of securing +useful acquaintances. Thus it was the custom of his college to +elect, at stated periods, a man of eminence as Rector. <span class="sc">Saunders</span> +at once constituted himself secretary of a committee, and, without +consulting his associates, wrote invitations to eminent politicians, +poets, painters, actors, editors, clergymen, and other people much in +the public eye. In these effusions he poured forth the innocent +enthusiasm of his heart, expressing an admiration which might +seem excessive to all but its objects. They, with the guilelessness of +mature age and conscious merit, were touched by <span class="sc">Saunders's</span> +expressions of esteem, which they set down to hero-worship, and a +fervent study of Mr. <span class="sc">Carlyle's</span> works. Only one of the persons +addressed, unluckily, could be elected; but <span class="sc">Saunders</span> added their +responses to his pile of testimonials, and frequently gave them good +epistolary reason to remember his existence and his devotion.</p> + +<p>His earliest object was to become secretary to somebody or something, +the Prime Minister, the Minister for Foreign Affairs, the +Society for the Protection of Aborigines, or Ancient Monuments, or +even as Secretary to the Carlton Club, <span class="sc">Saunders</span> felt he could do his +talents justice in any of these positions. If anything was to be had, +<span class="sc">Saunders</span> was the boy to ask for it; nay more, to ask other people to +ask. Private Secretaryships to Ministers, or societies, or great +Clubs, are not invariably given to the first applicant who comes +along, even if he appeals to testimonials in the Junior Mathematical +Class from Professor <span class="sc">McGlashan</span> of St. Mungo's. But +<span class="sc">Saunders</span> was not daunted. He would write to one notable, informing +him that his grandmother had been at a parish school with the +notable's great uncle—on which ground of acquaintanceship he +would ask that the notable should at once get him a post as Secretary +of a Geological Society, or as Inspector of Manufactories, or of +Salmon Fisheries, or to a Commission on the Trade of Knife-grinding.</p> + +<p>Another notable he would tell that he had once been pointed out +to him in a railway station, therefore he was emboldened to ask +his correspondent to ask his Publisher, to get at the Editor of the +<i>Times</i>, and recommend him, <span class="sc">Saunders</span>, as Musical Critic, or Sub-editor, +or Society Reporter. Nor did <span class="sc">Saunders</span> neglect Professorships, +and vacant Chairs. His testimonials went in for all of them. +He was equally ready and qualified to be Professor of Greek, Metaphysics, +Etruscan, Chemistry, or the Use of the Globes, while +Biblical criticism and Natural Religion, prompted his wildest +yearnings. Though ignorant of foreign languages, he was prepared +to be a correspondent anywhere, and though he was purely unlearned +in all matters, he proposed to edit Dictionaries and Encyclopædias, +of course with the assistance of a large and competent staff. His +proofs of capacity for a series of occupations that would have +staggered a <span class="sc">Crichton</span>, was always attested by his old College +testimonials, for <span class="sc">Saunders</span> was of opinion that the courteous +<i>obiter dictum</i> of a Professor was an Open Sesame to all the golden +gates of the world. Meanwhile, he supported existence by teaching the +elements of the classic languages, with which he had the most distant +acquaintance, to little boys, at a Day School. But one of these pupils +came home, one afternoon, in tears, having been beaten on the palms +of the hands with a leathern strap, in addition to the task of writing out +the verb τυπτω. This punishment was inflicted because, in accordance +with <span class="sc">Saunders's</span> instructions, he had represented the Cyclops of Euripides +as "sweeping the stars with a rake." The original words of the Athenian +poet do not bear this remarkable construction, so <span class="sc">Saunders</span> +was dismissed from the only work which he +had ever made even a pretence of doing. He has not the +energy, nor the lungs necessary for the profession of an agitator; he +has not the grammar required in a penny-a-liner, he cannot cut +hair, and his manners unfit him for the occupation of a shop-assistant, +so that little is left open to <span class="sc">Saunders</span> but the industry of the +Blackmailer. The office of Secretary to a Missionary in a Leper +settlement, on an island of Tierra Del Fuego, is, however, vacant; +and, if the many important personages with whom <span class="sc">Saunders</span> has +corresponded will only make a united effort, it is possible that the +Man who would Get on may at last be got off, and relieve society +from the burden of his solicitations. May the comparative failure +in life of <span class="sc">Saunders McGregor</span> act as a warning to those who +think that they shall be heard, by men, for their much asking!</p> + +<p>P.S.—This does not apply to women. We have just been informed +that Mr. <span class="sc">Saunders McGregor</span>, M.A., is about to lead to the altar +the only and orphan daughter of the late <span class="sc">Alister McFungus</span>, Esq., +of Castle Fungus, Dreepdaily, N.B., the eminent introducer of +remarkably improved processes in the manufacture of Heel-ball.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"<span class="sc">One Down, t'other Come on</span>!"—Mr. <span class="sc">Horace Sedger</span> has a +<i>Prima Donna</i> supply always on tap. After two of them have retired +from the principal part in <i>Incognita</i>, the lively Miss <span class="sc">Aida +Jenoure</span>—("'Aid +'em <span class="sc">Jenoure</span>,' she ought to be called," quoth Mr. <span class="sc">Waggstaff</span>)—comes +to the rescue, and "on we goes again" with an excellent +<i>danseuse</i>, too, thoroughly in earnest, as her name implies, which +sounds like Miss Sin-cere and is written Miss <span class="sc">St. Cyr</span>.</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page254" id="page254"></a>[pg 254]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/254.png"><img width="100%" src="images/254.png" alt="THE FIGHT FOR THE STANDARD." /></a><h3>THE FIGHT FOR THE STANDARD.</h3></div> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page255" id="page255"></a>[pg 255]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/255.png"><img width="100%" src="images/255.png" alt="A MERE DETAIL." /></a><h3>A MERE DETAIL.</h3> + +<p><i>Friend of the Family.</i> "<span class="sc">Weel, Mrs. M'Glasgie, and how's your Daughter doin', +the one that was Married a while ago?</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. M'Glasgie.</i> "<span class="sc">Oh, varra weel, thank ye, Mr. Brown, varra weel, indeed! +She canna abide her Man. But then, +ye ken, there's aye a Something!!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE FIGHT FOR THE STANDARD.</h2> + +<h4>(<i>Modern Monetary Version.</i>)</h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>'Twas the gallant Golden Knight downed his visor for the fight.</p> +<p class="i2">All true champions delight in hard tussles.</p> +<p>With his yellow Standard reared at his back, no foe he feared,</p> +<p class="i2">And his gaze all comers queered,</p> +<p class="i10">There at Brussels.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Like <i>Sir Kenneth</i>, only more so, he expanded his fine torso.</p> +<p class="i2">His Standard—bold he swore so—flying proudly,</p> +<p>Still supreme should flow and flaunt, its defenders none should daunt.</p> +<p class="i2">'Twas a very valiant vaunt.</p> +<p class="i10">Shouted loudly.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Now the Silver Knight had sworn—that the Standard so long borne</p> +<p class="i2">By the Aureate One, in scorn irreducible</p> +<p>Should not solitary wave. He'd squabosh that champion brave,</p> +<p class="i2">Or would find a torrid grave—</p> +<p class="i10">In some crucible!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Such cremation he would dare if that Standard he might bear</p> +<p class="i2">To the dust, and upraise there one more Silvery.</p> +<p>For this Argent Knight, though pale, was right sure he could not fail,</p> +<p class="i2">He was proud of his white mail,</p> +<p class="i10">And his skill—very!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>So here, Gentles, you behold that brave Knight in mail of Gold,</p> +<p class="i2">Sworn his Standard to uphold high and aureate;</p> +<p>And that blusterous battle-bout, twixt those champions stern and stout,</p> +<p class="i2">Will inspire, I have no doubt,</p> +<p class="i10">Our next Laureate!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Yank Knights-Errant may evince interest grave; that Indian Prince</p> +<p class="i2">Will alternate swell and wince as they struggle;</p> +<p>The young Scottish Knight <span class="sc">Balfour</span> (who looks callow more than dour)</p> +<p class="i2">Hopes the Silver Knight may score,</p> +<p class="i10">By some juggle.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>But in spite of Yank and Scot, and the Bimetallic lot,</p> +<p class="i2">They who're fly to what is what, back the Gold 'un.</p> +<p>And did <i>I</i> bet—for fun—ere this Standard fight is done,</p> +<p class="i2">I should plank my ten to one</p> +<p class="i10">On the Old 'Un!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>SUN-SPOTS.</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Fog, haze, smoke or cloud, almost daily enshroud</p> +<p class="i2">The Metropolis—place we should shun—</p> +<p>And day after day the reports briefly say,</p> +<p class="i2">"Bright sunshine at Westminster—none,"</p> +<p class="i10">Yes, none!</p> +<p>O Sol, not a ray; no, not one!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p><i>The Times</i> says that lots, quite a fine group of spots,</p> +<p class="i2">Are discernible now on the sun;</p> +<p>Have these stopped heat or light, so that weather-wise write,</p> +<p class="i2">"Bright sunshine at Westminster—none?"</p> +<p class="i10">Yes, none!</p> +<p>O Sol, what have you been and done?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Have these sun-spots increased? We know London, at least,</p> +<p class="i2">Is a spot unconnected with sun;</p> +<p>All day long we burn gas, the report is, alas!</p> +<p class="i2">"Bright sunshine at Westminster—none,"</p> +<p class="i10">Yes, none!</p> +<p>O Sol, you old son of a gun!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>LADY GAY'S SELECTION.</h3> + +<p class="author"><i>Mount Street, Berkeley Square.</i></p> + +<p><span class="sc">Dear Mr. Punch,</span></p> + +<p>I am proud of being the "selection" referred to above, +though, as a matter of fact it was <i>I</i> who "selected" <span class="sc">Gay</span> from the +numerous sweet young things submitted for my approval during the +Season when I was considered "<i>the</i> parti"!—but on this point I +maintain a noble silence! In spite of the old Welsh proverb, "Oh, +wad some Gay the giftie gie us," &c. &c., I was a bit puzzled on +reading <span class="sc">Gay</span>'s letters, at the similarity of names, but thought it only +a coincidence, until she was so upset by the one she read when abroad, +that she confessed everything, and asked my advice!—It's very +strange how all these clever women, when they get into a fix, apply +for assistance to weak "<i>man</i>!" eh? Now that flat-racing is over, +we are "resting on our oars" for a time—(that is literally true, for +the country has been mostly under water lately!)—but we shall +shortly have a cut-in at steeplechasing, when <span class="sc">Gay</span> will doubtless +have some new experiences to relate; meanwhile, allow me to subscribe +myself—(I like to subscribe to everything good)—Yours explanatorily,</p> + +<p class="author">(Lord) <span class="sc">Arthur Fleetwood</span>.</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page256" id="page256"></a>[pg 256]</span> + +<h2>ALL ROUND THE FAIR.</h2> + +<h3>No. III.</h3> + +<h3 class="sc">In the "Fine Art" Exhibition.</h3> + +<blockquote><p> +Rustic Art Patrons <i>discovered applying their eyes to peepholes, +through which a motley collection of coloured lithographs of the +Crimean Campaign, faded stereoscopic-views, Scriptural engravings, +and daubed woodcuts from the "Illustrated Police News," +is arranged for their inspection.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>First Art Patron</i> (<i>waiting for his turn at the first peephole</i>). Look +alive theer, <span class="sc">Ge-arge</span>, ain't ye done squintin' at 'un yet?</p> + +<p><i>Ge-arge</i> (<i>a local humorist</i>). 'Tis a rare old novelty, <span class="sc">Ben</span>, th' +latest +from London, and naw mistake 'bout it!</p> + +<p><i>Ben</i> (<i>with disappointment, as he succeeds to the peephole</i>). Why, +'tain't on'y <span class="sc">Adam</span> an' <span class="sc">Eve</span> afoor th' Fall! that ain't so partickler +noo, as <i>I</i> can see—Lar dear, they're a settin' nekked on a live lion, +and a nursin' o' rabbits! (<i>At the next hole</i> <span class="sc">Adam</span> <i>and</i> +<span class="sc">Eve</span> <i>are represented +"After the Fall," overwhelmed with confusion, while the +lion is stalking off scandalised, with a fine +expression of lofty moral indignation.</i>) 'Ere +they are <i>agen</i>! that theer lion thinks he's +played sofy to 'en long 'nough, seemin'ly!</p> + +<p><i>Ge-arge</i> (<i>from a further peephole</i>). I say, +<span class="sc">Ben</span>, 'ere's Mrs. <span class="sc">Pearcey</span> a murderin' +Mrs. <span class="sc">'Ogg</span> down this 'un—we're a-gittin' <i>along</i>!</p> + +<p><i>Ben</i> (<i>puzzled</i>). They must ha' skipped out +a deal. I'm on'y at "<span class="sc">Cain</span> killin' <span class="sc">Abel</span>!"</p> + +<p><i>Female Patron</i> (<i>to Proprietor</i>). 'Ere, +Master, I can't see nothen' down 'ere—'tis all dark like!</p> + +<p><i>Proprietor.</i> Let <i>me</i> 'ave a look! You +shud put your 'ands so, each side o' your +eyes, and—(<i>He looks.</i>) 'Um, it is <i>rayther</i>—but +what else do yer <i>expeck</i>? It's a +"View o' Paris by Night," ain't it—<i>that</i>'s all right!</p> +</div> + +<h3 class="sc">Outside "Professor Pugman's Sparring Saloon."</h3> + +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>The Professor</i> (<i>on a little platform, with +a pair of Pupils</i>). Now then, all you as are +lovers o' the Noble and Manly Art o' Self-Defence, +step inside and see it illusterated in +a scientific an' fust-class manner! This +(<i>introducing first Pupil, who rubs his nose +with dignity</i>) is <span class="sc">'Opper</span> of 'Olloway, the becoming +nine-stun Champion. This hother's +<span class="sc">Batters</span> o' Bermondsey, open to fight any +lad in England at eight-stun four. Is there +anyone among you willing to 'ave a round +or two with either on 'em fur a drink an' +admission free?—if so, now's his time to +step forward—there's no waiting, mind yer?</p> + +<p><i>Joe</i> (<i>to Melia</i>). I b'lieve as 'ow I could +tackle the little 'un—I used to box above a bit.</p> + +<p><i>Melia.</i> Don't ye now, <span class="sc">Joe</span>; you'll on'y go +and git yourself 'urt or summat!</p> + +<p><i>Joe.</i> <i>I</i> shan't git 'urt. 'Ere, Master, I'm +game fur to put on the gloves wi' <i>'im</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Prof.</i> Git inside with yer then! (<i>To +Crowd.</i>) Now then for the Great Glove Contest—Just goin' inside +to begin—Mind, there's <i>no</i> waitin'!</p> + +<p><i>Joe.</i> 'Ere, <span class="sc">Melia</span>, come along in, and look arter my 'at an' coat.</p> + +<p><i>Melia.</i> I dussen't, <span class="sc">Joe</span>! I can't abear to see no fightin', I'll bide +'ere till ye come out.</p> +</div> + +<blockquote><p> +[<span class="sc">Joe</span> <i>enters the tent, followed by the Pupils and a few Connoisseurs.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>Prof.</i> (<i>looking into the interior of tent through a slit in the canvas</i>). +Theer they are! Oh my, what a pictur'! They're puttin' on the gloves +now, make 'aste if you're goin' in! (<i>The Crowd hesitate.</i>) 'Ere! (<i>To +the Champions.</i>) Step outside once more and show yourselves!</p> +</div> + +<blockquote><p> +[<i>The Champions appear, re-mount the platform, and are introduced +all over again.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>Melia</i> (<i>intercepting her swain</i>). <span class="sc">Joe</span>, 'ow are ye gittin' on? You +don't look none the worse so fur; is it neelly over?</p> + +<p><i>Joe</i> (<i>gruffly</i>). Neelly over! why, we ain't <i>begun</i> yet—nor likely +to wi' all this bloomin' palaverin'!</p> + +<p><i>Melia.</i> I do wish 'twas over—Kip a good 'art, <span class="sc">Joe</span>; don't let 'un go +knockin' ye about!</p> + +<p><i>Joe</i> (<i>with a slight decrease of confidence</i>). Theer's a way to talk! +I doan't reckon as 'ow he'll <i>kill</i> me, not in three rounds, I doan't, +but if I'd a-know'd there'd be all this messin' about fust, I'd a—</p> +</div> + +<blockquote><p> +[<i>He goes inside gloomily.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="figright" style="width:35%;"><a href="images/256.png"><img width="100%" src="images/256.png" alt="'Theer they are! Oh my, what a pictur'!'" /></a>"Theer they are! Oh my, what a pictur'!"</div> + +<h3 class="sc">Inside the Sparring Saloon.</h3> + +<blockquote><p> +<i>The Spectators are waiting patiently around the ropes; the</i> Professor +<i>is still on the platform, expatiating on the coming contest.</i> <span class="sc">Joe</span> +<i>has found a friend whom he has entrusted with his hat and coat.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>Joe</i> (<i>to the</i> Friend). Jest kip a heye on these 'ere, will ye!</p> +</div> + +<blockquote><p> +[<i>He hands him a huge pair of highlows.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>Prof.</i> (<i>calling in</i>). Fur the larst time, come outside and show +yerselves, all on yer!</p> + +<p><i>The Friend.</i> You got to go out agin, <span class="sc">Joe</span>, better putt on yer coat +an' 'at, not to ketch cold!</p> + +<p><i>Joe.</i> Ah, and I'll 'ave to 'ave they bo-oots on agen, too. (<i>He gets +into his things in a great flurry, and hastens outside.</i>) 'Tis enough +to take th' 'art out of a man, thet 'tis!</p> +</div> + +<blockquote><p> +[<i>More exhortations from Proprietor, until the last Spectator has +been induced to enter the Saloon, whereupon the Champions +return, and the hangings at the entrance are finally drawn.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>Prof.</i> (<i>acting as Timekeeper</i>). Now then, all ready? (<i>To</i> +<span class="sc">Joe</span>.) +In you go—What are yer waitin' for? Never mind about takin' orf +yer boots! Gentlemen, <span class="sc">Batters</span> o' Bermondsey +is agoin' to fight three rounds with +a volunteer, one o' your own men. Whatever +you see between 'em (<i>solemnly</i>), pass no remarks! Time!</p> +</div> + +<blockquote><p> +[<span class="sc">Joe</span> <i>and</i> "<span class="sc">Batters</span> o' Bermondsey" <i>walk +round each other and make a fumbling +attempt to shake hands, after which</i> <span class="sc">Joe</span>, +<i>while preparing to deliver a blow with +extreme caution and deliberation, is surprised by a smart smack on his cheek, +which makes him stagger; he recovers +himself and prances down on</i> <span class="sc">Batters</span> <i>with a windmill action.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>Batters</i> (<i>limping into his corner</i>). 'Ere, I +say, ole man—moind my tows—foight at yer right <i>end</i>!</p> + +<p><i>Joe</i> (<i>apologetically</i>). I didn't mean nothing +unfair-like—I <i>warnted</i> fur to take off them 'ere boots—but I warn't let!</p> + +<p><i>Batters.</i> I'll <i>let</i> ye—fur 'taint no corpet +slippers as you've got on, ole feller, I tell yer strite!</p> +</div> + +<blockquote><p> +[<span class="sc">Joe</span> <i>removes the offending boots.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>Spectators</i> (<i>during the second round, +which is fought with more spirit than science +on</i> <span class="sc">Joe's</span> <i>part</i>). Ah, <span class="sc">Joe</span> ain't no match for +'un—he let un <i>'ave</i> it then, didn't he? My +word! but it's "Go 'ome an' tell yer +Mother, an' ax yer Uncle 'ow ye be" with 'un, pretty near every time!</p> + +<p><i>Prof.</i> (<i>with affected rapture</i>). Oh dear! +Oh lor! <i>What</i> doins! Time! you two, +afore ye <i>kill</i> one another! Now, Gentlemen, +a good clap, to encourage 'em. I think +you'll agree as the Volunteer is showin' +you good sport; and, if you think him deservin' of a drink, p'raps one o' you will +oblige with the loan of a 'at, which he'll +now take round. (<i>The hat is procured, and +offered to</i> <span class="sc">Joe</span>, <i>who, however, prefers that +the collection should be made by deputy.</i>) +Don't <i>forgit</i> 'im, Gentlemen! (<i>Coppers +pour into the hat, and the last round is +fought;</i> B. of B. <i>ducking</i> <span class="sc">Joe's</span> <i>blows with +great agility, and planting his own freely in various parts of</i> <span class="sc">Joe's</span> +<i>anatomy.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Spectators.</i> 'E'll be knocked out in a minnit, 'e will! Don't +sim to git near 'un no 'ow. Look a' <i>that</i>—and <i>thar</i> agin! Ah, +<span class="sc">Joe</span> got one in that time—but the tother's the better man—'e don't +touch 'un without <i>'ittin'</i> of 'un—d'ye see? Time! Ah, and time +it <i>was</i> time, too—fur <i>'im</i>!</p> + +<p><i>Prof.</i> (<i>to</i> <span class="sc">Joe</span>, <i>as he sits blinking, and blowing his nose +with +vigour</i>). That was a jolly good fight—tho' rough. You've some +notion o' sparrin'—we'd soon make a boxer o' <i>you</i>. 'Ere's <i>your</i> +share of the collection—sevenpence ap'ny. We give <i>you</i> the +extry ap'ny, bein' a stranger. Would you feel inclined to +fight six rounds, later on like, with another of our lads, fur ten bob, now?</p> + +<p><i>Joe</i> (<i>making a futile attempt to untie his glove with his teeth</i>). +Much obliged, Master, but I've 'ad about enough spree a'ready to do me fur a bit.</p> + +<p><i>Prof.</i> Are there any two friends in 'ere as 'ud like to fight a round or two?</p> +</div> + +<blockquote><p> +[<i>Two Rustics step forward valiantly—a tall dark man and a +little red-haired one—and, after the usual preliminaries, +square up at a safe distance.</i> +</p></blockquote> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page257" id="page257"></a>[pg 257]</span> + +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>Spectators</i> (<i>to the tall man</i>). Why don't ye step <i>up</i> to 'un, +<span class="sc">Jim</span>? +Use yer right 'and a bit! (<i>To the short one.</i>) Let out on 'un, <span class="sc">Tom</span>!</p> +</div> + +<blockquote><p> +[<span class="sc">Tom</span>, <i>thus exhorted, lands an unexpected blow on</i> <span class="sc">Jim's</span> +<i>eye.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>Jim</i> (<i>suddenly ducking under the rope in great dudgeon</i>). 'Twas a +cowardly blow! I didn' stan' up to be 'it in th' fa-ace i' that way; +I've 'ad enoof of it!</p> + +<p><i>Tom.</i> Come back and fight it out! (<i>Soothingly.</i>) Why, ye come +at me like a thunderin' great <i>lion</i>, ye did!</p> + +<p><i>Jim</i> (<i>putting on his hat and coat, sulkily</i>). Loi-on or noan, I ain't +gawin' to hev naw moor on it, I tell 'ee. [<i>Groans from</i> Spectators.</p> + +<p><i>Prof.</i> Don't be 'ard on 'im, Gents; it ain't 'is fault if he's on'y +bin used to box with bolsters, and as he ain't goin' to finish 'is +rounds, it's all over for this time, and I 'ope you're all satisfied with +what you've seen.</p> + +<p><i>A Malcontent.</i> <i>I</i> ain't. I carl it a bloomin' swindle. I come 'ere +to see some <i>sparrin'</i>, <i>I</i> did!</p> + +<p><i>Prof.</i> Step inside the ropes then, and <i>I'll</i> soon show yer some! +(<i>This invitation is hastily declined.</i>) Well, then, go outside +quiet, d'jear me? or else you'll do it upside down, like ole <span class="sc">John +Brown</span>, in 'arf a sec., I can tell yer!</p> +</div> + +<blockquote><p> +[<i>The</i> Malcontent <i>departs meekly, and reserves any further observations +until he is out of hearing.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>Melia</i> (<i>to</i> <span class="sc">Joe</span>). Lor, I wish now I'd been there to see ye; I do +'ope ye weren't too <i>rough</i> with 'un, though, <span class="sc">Joe</span>. What shall we do +next?—'ave a turn on the swings, or the swishback circus, or the +giddy-go-round—or what? (<span class="sc">Joe</span> <i>shakes his head.</i>) <i>Why</i> won't +ye, <span class="sc">Joe</span>?</p> + +<p><i>Joe</i> (<i>driven to candour</i>). Why?—'cause it 'ud be throwin' away +money, seein' I've got 'em all goin' on inside o' me at once as 'tis, if +ye <i>want</i> to know! I feel a deal more like settin' down quiet a bit, +I do, if I cud find a place.</p> + +<p><i>Melia</i> (<i>with an inspiration</i>). Then let's go and 'ave our likenesses took!</p> +</div> + +<blockquote><p> +[<i>She cannot understand why</i> <span class="sc">Joe</span> <i>should be so needlessly incensed +at so innocent and opportune a suggestion.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE "BEST EVIDENCE"—HOW NOT TO GET IT.</h2> + +<p>Have been summoned to attend as a Witness in the trial of the six +roughs who first drugged and then savagely ill-treated a foolishly +convivial citizen in Whitechapel. Don't know if it was wise of me +to tell the Police that I could identify the men. Since my evidence +before the Magistrate came out, I have had thirty-seven threatening +letters, my front windows have been broken several times over, and +a valuable dog poisoned. Still, evidently a patriotic duty to "assist +the course of Justice;" and no doubt I shall be compensated.</p> + +<p>So this is the "Central Criminal Court," is it? Should hardly +have believed it possible. Outside mean and dirty.</p> + +<p>Interior, meaner and much dirtier. Speak to Usher. Usher most +polite. Glad, that at any rate, they <i>do</i> know how to treat important +Witnesses. Am assured I shall have a seat "close to the Judge." +Produce my witness-summons. Demeanour of Usher suddenly +changes. I shall have to go to the "Witnesses' Waiting-room in the +old Court." Where's that? <i>He</i> doesn't know. I'd better ask a +Policeman. It now flashes across me that Usher mistook me for a +wealthy, and probably generous spectator, and thought when I was +fumbling in my pocket for my summons, I was looking for half-a-crown +for <i>him</i>! Depressing.</p> + +<p>Policeman leaves me in a dark, draughty passage, with a bench on +each side. "But where is the waiting-room?" I ask an attendant. +"<i>This</i> is the waiting-room," he replies. More like the Black Hole. +<i>Was</i> it wise of me to give information to the Police?</p> + +<p><i>Two Days later.</i>—They crammed <i>forty</i> Witnesses into that passage! +No seats for half of them. We had one chair, and Usher took it +away "as a lady wanted it in Court." Lady no doubt a spectator—did +<i>she</i> hunt in her pocket for half-a-crown? Anyhow, after two +days in the passage, I have just given my evidence in Court, with +fearful cold on my lungs, owing to the draught. Very hoarse. +Ordered by Judge, sternly, to "speak up." Conscious that I looked +a wretched object. Jury regarded me with evident suspicion. +Severely cross-examined. Mentioned to Judge about my windows +being smashed, &c.; could I receive anything for it? "Oh, dear +no," replied the Judge; "we never reward Witnesses." Amusement +in Court—at my expense. In fact, the course of Justice generally +seems to be altogether at my expense. Home in a cab and a fever. +Find ten more threatening letters, and an infernal machine under +area-steps. Go to bed. Doctor says I am in for pneumonia and +bronchitis, he thinks. Tells me I am thoroughly run down, and asks +me, "What I've been doing to reduce myself to this state?" I +reply that, "I have been assisting the course of Justice." Doctor +shrugs his shoulders, and I hear him distinctly mutter, "More fool +you!" I agree with Doctor, cordially. Am quite certain now that +it <i>was</i> unwise to tell Police that I could identify those criminals. If +this is the way in which Witnesses are treated, let Justice in future assist itself!</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> + +<p>My Baronite has been reading <i>Mona Maclean, Medical Student</i>. +(<span class="sc">Blackwood</span>.) "It is," he tells me, "a Novel with a purpose—no +recommendation for a novel, more especially when the purpose +selected is that of demonstrating the indispensability of +women-doctors." Happily <span class="sc">Graham Travers</span>, as the author (being +evidently a woman) calls herself, is lured from her fell design. +There is a chapter or two of talk among the girls in the +dissecting-room and the chemical laboratory, with much about the +"spheno-maxillary fossa," the "dorsalis pedis," and the general whereabouts +of "Scarpa's triangle." But these can be skipped, and the +reader may get into the company of <i>Mona Maclean</i> when she is less +erudite, and more womanly. When not dissecting the "plantar arch," +<i>Mona</i> is a bright, fearless, clever girl, with a breezy manner, refreshing +to all admitted to her company. The episode of her +shopkeeping experience is admirably told, and affords the author +abundant and varied opportunity of exercising her gift of drawing +character. <i>Mona Maclean</i> is, apparently, a first effort at novel-writing. +The workmanship improves up to the end of the third +volume; and Miss <span class="sc">Travers</span>' next book will be better still.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width:50%;"><a href="images/257.png"><img width="100%" src="images/257.png" alt="Affection's Offering—from Alfred the Second to Dear George the first." /></a>Affection's Offering—from Alfred the Second to Dear George the first.</div> + +<p>To Mr. <span class="sc">J. Fisher Unwin</span> comes the happy thought of issuing, +in a neatly-packed box, the whole twenty volumes of the Pseudonym +Library—and a very acceptable Christmas-Box it will make. The +volumes, with their odd, oblong shape, are delightful to hold; the +type is good, and the excellence of the literary matter is remarkably +well kept up over the already long series. Mr. <span class="sc">Unwin</span> promises +fresh volumes, introducing to the British public Finnish and Danish +authors, or Danish first, and the others to Finnish.</p> + +<p>See how these Poets love one another! How touching is the +dedication of <span class="sc">Alfred Austin's</span> latest volume to <span class="sc">George Meredith</span>! +May both live long and prosper, is the hearty wish of their friend,</p> + +<p class="author"><span class="sc">The Baron De Book-Worms</span>.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>THE ROYAL ROAD TO COMFORT.—<span class="sc">A Dream</span>.</h3> + +<p>The rival Steamboats were on the alert. It was a misty night, +and it was a difficult matter to make out the lights of Calais Harbour.</p> + +<p>"We shall catch him yet," said the Captain of the Blue Vessel.</p> + +<p>"He will not escape us," observed the C.O. of the Red.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the Blue started at full steam ahead, and was lost to +sight in Calais harbour. She was quickly followed by the Red, +moving with equal expedition.</p> + +<p>The vessels reached the quay nearly at the same time. Then there +was confusion and sounds of military music. Evidently the Illustrious +Personage had embarked. Then the mist cleared away.</p> + +<p>"He is safe on board," said the Captain of the Blue Vessel, and +his Mate indulged in a short laugh of triumph.</p> + +<p>"It does not matter," observed the Commanding Officer of the +Red; "the Blue may have his person, but <i>we</i> have his luggage!"</p> + +<p>And then the cheers were renewed again and again, and the Illustrious +Personage came to the conclusion that English enterprise was +not without its disadvantages!</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page258" id="page258"></a>[pg 258]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/258.png"><img width="100%" src="images/258.png" alt="WHAT OUR ARTIST HAS TO PUT UP WITH." /></a><h3>WHAT OUR ARTIST HAS TO PUT UP WITH.</h3> + +<span class="sc">He travels all over England in search of a Background for his "<i>Vivian beguiling +Merlin in the Forest of +Broceliande</i>,"—a hopeless Quest</span>!</div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>BOGEY OR BENEFACTOR?</h2> + +<center><i>Timid Ratepayer loquitur:—</i></center> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>O lor! O dear! What have we here? What a nondescript, huge <span class="sc">Nid-Noddy</span>!</p> +<p>None know, I'm sure, what <i>I</i> have to endure. It's enough to frighten a body!</p> +<p>They are always up to some queer new game, and a giving me some fresh master;</p> +<p>But this one is a <i>crux</i> from the sole of his foot to the crown of his comical castor.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>He looks as big as all out-of-doors, and e'en <span class="sc">Bumble</span> was hardly as bumptious.</p> +<p>He'd make my London a Paradise, which is a prospect that's perfectly scrumptious.</p> +<p>But oh! he <i>is</i> big, with the funniest rig; a Titan who, if he <i>should</i> tumble,</p> +<p>Might squelch me as flat as an opera-hat, and make me regret old <span class="sc">Bumble</span>.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Noodledom ruled me for many long years; this means, I am told, a new Era;</p> +<p>But bad as a Booby may be as a Boss, what about a colossal Chimæra?</p> +<p>I don't say he's that, but with body of goat, dragon's tail, and the head of a lion,</p> +<p>A creature were hardly more "mixed" than <i>this</i> monster, whose rule for the time I must try on.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>A complex, conglomerate, Jack-of-all-Trades! Well, I trust he'll be master of some of them!</p> +<p><i>Largo al factotum</i>! He's game for all tasks, and—I wish I was sure what would come of them.</p> +<p>Most representative? Palpable that! And his plans most sublime (so he says) are;</p> +<p>But he looks just as motley a nondescript as the image of Nebuchadnezzar.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The elephant who can root up a huge oak, or handle a needle or pin, is</p> +<p>Less marvellous much, and it may be, of course, that the folks who distrust him are ninnies.</p> +<p>I hope so, I'm sure. There are evils to cure, and of room for improvement there's plenty;</p> +<p>And all must admit that, whatever his faults, he cannot be called <i>far niente</i>.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>He <i>does</i> look a bit of a Bogey, but then he <i>may</i> prove just a big Benefactor,</p> +<p>And if he should work on the cheap, kill Corruption, and kick out the knavish Contractor,</p> +<p>Without piling Pelion on Ossa (of rates) on my back, till my legs with the "tottle" limp,</p> +<p>I <i>shall</i> "learn to love him" as Giant Beneficent, not a big, blundering Bottle-Imp!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Opera-goer's Diary</span>.—<i>Otello</i> (the Grand +Otello Company, Limited) was the feature last +week. <span class="sc">Gianini</span> a stout <i>Otello</i>, much and +Moor. <span class="sc">Melba</span> a charming <i>Desdemona</i>, but +not a great part for her. <span class="sc">Dufriche</span> as <i>Iago</i>, +good, but not good enough for <i>him</i>. Sir <span class="sc">Druriolanus</span> +gives <i>Carmen</i> at Windsor Castle, +before the <span class="sc">Queen</span>! Aha! Where now is +<span class="sc">Lago</span> Factotum and His Special Patronaged +Royal Box at the Olympic? <span class="sc">Druriolanus</span> Victor, with all the honours.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>AT A RINK.</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Round and round, and to and fro</p> +<p class="i10">At a rink,</p> +<p>Pretty girls, with cheeks that glow</p> +<p class="i10">Rosy pink;</p> +<p>Graceful, gleeful, gliding, go,</p> +<p class="i10">Whilst they link</p> +<p>Arms together, like the flow</p> +<p class="i10">Past its brink</p> +<p>Of a river's eddy—so</p> +<p class="i10">Duffers think</p> +<p>They can glide. See one start slow,</p> +<p class="i10">Shyly shrink,</p> +<p>Fearful lest his end be woe,</p> +<p class="i10">Sheepish slink,</p> +<p>Skates on unaccustomed toe</p> +<p class="i10">Strangely clink,</p> +<p>Hot and thirsty he will grow,</p> +<p class="i10">Long for drink;</p> +<p>All around amusement show,</p> +<p class="i10">Laugh and wink,</p> +<p>But they look as black as crow,</p> +<p class="i10">Or as ink,</p> +<p>If he fall against them. Oh,</p> +<p class="i10">In a twink</p> +<p>On the floor, not soft but low,</p> +<p class="i10">See him sink!</p> +<p>Whilst he murmurs gently, "Blow</p> +<p class="i10">This old rink!"</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Logical and Engine-ious</span>.—Why object +(though we do) to Advertisements of all sorts +along our Railway lines? Surely, wherever +the Locomotive goes, there is the very place for puffing.</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page259" id="page259"></a>[pg 259]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/259.png"><img width="100%" src="images/259.png" alt="BOGEY OR BENEFACTOR?" /></a><h3>BOGEY OR BENEFACTOR?</h3> + +L.C.C. "HA, HA! YOU MUST LEARN TO LOVE ME!"</div> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page261" id="page261"></a>[pg 261]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:60%;"><a href="images/261.png"><img width="100%" src="images/261.png" alt="QUITE UNPARDONABLE." /></a><h3>QUITE UNPARDONABLE.</h3> + +<i>Assistant</i> (<i>in his most insinuating manner</i>). "<span class="sc">In your case, Madam, I +should +certainly consider <i>Fast</i> Colours most suitable.</span>" RESULT!</div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>CONVERSATIONAL HINTS FOR YOUNG SHOOTERS.</h2> + +<h3 class="sc">The Smoking-Room.</h3> + +<h4>(<i>With which is incorporated "Anecdotes."</i>)</h4> + +<p>Let us imagine, if you please, that the toils and trampings of the +day are over. You are staying at a comfortable country-house with +friends whom you like. You have had a good day at your host's +pheasants and his rabbits. Your shooting has been fairly accurate, +not ostentatiously brilliant, but on the whole satisfactory. You have +followed out the hints given in my previous Chapters, and are consequently +looked upon as a pleasant fellow, with plenty to say for himself. After tea, in the +drawing-room, you have had an hour or two for the writing of letters, which +you have of course not written, for the reading of the morning papers from +London which you have skimmed with a faint interest, and for the forty or +eighty or one hundred and twenty winks in an armchair in front of the fire, +which are by no means the least pleasant and comforting incident in the day's +programme. You have dressed for dinner in good time; you have tied your +white tie successfully "in once;" you have taken in a charming girl (<span class="sc">Rose +Larking</span>, let us say) to dinner. The dinner itself has been good, the drawing-room +interlude after dinner has been pleasantly varied with music, and the ladies +have, with the tact for which they are sometimes distinguished, retired early +to bed-rooms, where it is believed they spend hours in the combing of their +beautiful hair, and the interchange of gossip. You are in high spirits. You +think, indeed you are sure (and again, on thinking it well over, not quite so sure), +that the adorable <span class="sc">Rose</span> looked kindly upon you as she said good-night, and +allowed her pretty little hand to linger in your own while you assured her that +to-morrow you would get for her the pinion-feather of a woodcock, or die in the +attempt. You are now arrayed in your smoking-coat (the black with the +red silk-facings), and your velvet slippers with your initials worked in gold—a +birthday present from your sister. All the rest are, each after his own +fashion, similarly attired, and the whole male party +is gathered together in the smoking-room. There you sit and smoke +and chat until the witching hour of night, when everybody yawns +and grave men, as well as gay, go up to their beds.</p> + +<p>Now, since you are an unassuming youngster, and anxious to learn, +you ask me probably, how you are to bear yourself in this important +assembly, what you are to speak about, and how? The chief thing, +I answer, is <i>not to be a bore</i>. It is so easy <i>not</i> to be a bore if only +you give a little thought to it. Nobody wants to be a bore. I cannot +imagine any man consciously incurring the execration of his fellow-men. +And yet there exist innumerable bores scattered through the +length and breadth of our happy country, and carrying on their +dismal business with an almost malignant persistency. Longwindedness, +pomposity, the exaggeration of petty trivialities, the irresistible +desire to magnify one's own wretched little achievements, to pose as +the little hero of insignificant adventures, and to relate them to the +whole world in every dull detail, regardless of the right of other men +to get an occasional word in edgewise—these are the true marks of +the genuine bore. He must know that you take no interest in him +or his story. Even if you did, his manner of telling it would flatten +you, yet he fascinates you with that glassy stare, that self-conscious +and self-admiring smirk, and distils his tale into your ears at the +very moment when you are burning to talk over old College-days +with <span class="sc">Chalmers</span>, or to discuss an article in the <i>Field</i> with +<span class="sc">Shabrack</span>.</p> + +<p>I remember once finding myself, by some freak of mocking destiny, +in a house in which <i>two</i> bores had established fortified camps. On +the first night, we all became so dazed with intolerable dulness, that +our powers of resistance faded away to the vanishing point. Both bores +sallied out from their ramparts, laid our little possessions waste, and led, +each his tale of captives back with him, gagged, bound, and incapable of struggle.</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>So next day, when the accustomed train</p> +<p>Of things grew round our sense again,</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>we agreed together, those of us, I mean, who had suffered on the previous night, +that something must be done. What it was to be we could not at first decide. +We should have preferred "something lingering, with boiling oil in it," but at last +we decided on the brilliant suggestion of <span class="sc">Shabrack</span>, +who was of the party, that we should endeavour by some means or other to +bring the two bores, as it were, face to face in a kind of boring-competition in +the smoking-room that very night, to engage them in warfare against one another +and ourselves to sit by and watch them mutually extinguishing one +another; a result that, we were certain, could not fail to be brought about, owing +to the deadly nature of the weapons with which each was provided. Both the +bores, I may observe, shot execrably during the day. In the evening, after a +short preliminary skirmish, from which <span class="sc">Shabrack</span> the hussar extricated us with +but little loss, that which we desired came to pass. It was a terrible spectacle. +In a moment both these magnificent animals, their bristles erect, and all their +tusks flashing fiercely in the lamp-light, were locked in the death-grapple. Every +detail of the memorable struggle is indelibly burnt +into my brain. Even at this distance of time, I can remember +how we all looked on, silent, awestruck, fascinated, as the dreadful +fight proceeded to its inevitable close. For the benefit of others, let +me attempt to describe it in the appropriate language of the Ring.</p> + +<h3 class="sc">Great Fight Between the Kentish Proser and the Hampshire Dullard.</h3> + +<p><i>Round I.</i>—Both men advanced, confident, but cautious. After +sparring for an opening, the Proser landed lightly on the jaw +with,—"When the Duke of <span class="sc">Dashbury</span> did me the honour to ask +me to his Grace's noble deer-forest." He ducked to avoid the +return, but the Hampshire Champion would not be denied, and +placed two heavy fish-stories fair in the bread-basket. The Proser +swung round a vicious right-hander anecdote about a stag shot +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page262" id="page262"></a>[pg 262]</span> +at 250 yards, but the blow fell short, and he +was fairly staggered by two in succession +("the tree-climbing rabbit," and "the Marquis +of <span class="sc">Dullfield's</span> gaiters"), delivered +straight on the mouth. First blood for the +Dullard. After some hard exchanges they +closed, and fell, the Dullard underneath.</p> + +<p><i>Round II.</i>—Both blowing a good deal. +The Proser put up his Dukes, and let fly +with both of them, one after another, at the +Dullard's conk, drawing claret profusely. +Nothing daunted, the Dullard watched his +opportunity, and delivered a first-class Royal +Prince on the Proser's right eye, half closing +that optic. The men now closed, but broke +away again almost directly. Some smart +fibbing, in which neither could claim an +advantage, ensued. The round was brought +to a close by some rapid exchanges, after +which the Proser went down. Betting 6 to 4 on the Dullard.</p> + +<p><i>Round III., and last.</i>—Proser's right +peeper badly swollen, the Dullard gory, and +a bit groggy, but still smiling. Proser opened +with a ricochet, which did great execution, +but was countered heavily when he attempted +to repeat the trick, the Dullard all +but knocking him off his legs with a fifty-pound +salmon. After some slight exchanges +they began a hammer-and-tongs game, in +which Proser scored heavily. Dullard, however, +pulled himself together for a final rush. +They met in the middle of the ring, and +both fell heavily. As neither was able to +rise, the fight was drawn. Both men were +heavily damaged, and were carried away with their jaws broken.</p> + +<p>There you have the story. The actual +result was that these two ponderous bores all +but did one another to death. So exhausted +were they by the terrible conflict, that our +comfort was not again disturbed by them +during this particular visit. We were lucky, +though at first we scarcely saw it, in getting +two evenly matched ironclad bores together. +If we had had only one, the matter would have been far more difficult.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:65%;"><a href="images/262.png"><img width="100%" src="images/262.png" alt="THE SERPENT'S TOOTH." /></a><h3>THE SERPENT'S TOOTH.</h3> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Didn't I send 'im to Heton an' Hoxford? Didn't I send 'im into the Harmy, +along o' some o' the biggest Nobs in all Hengland, with an Allowance fit for a +young Hearl? And what's the hupshot of it all? Why, he gives Dinners to +Dooks and Royal 'Ighnesses, an' don't even harsk 'is pore old Father to meet 'em. +'Ighnesses, indeed! I could buy up the 'ole blessed lot! And, <i>what's more, I +wouldn't mind tellin' 'em so to their Faces, for Two Pins!—Ah! just as soon as +look at 'em—and 'e knows it!</i></span>"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>Undecided.</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Goosey, Goose, Uganda,</p> +<p class="i2">With whom will you wander,</p> +<p>With the English, with the French?</p> +<p class="i2">Or with King <span class="sc">Mwanga</span>?</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="sc">Advice Gratis</span> (<i>by a Bill Poster</i>).—"Invest +all your savings in hoardings."</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE COMPLIMENT OF COIN.</h2> + +<h4>(<i>An Extract from Mr. Punch's Purely Imaginary Conversations.</i>)</h4> + +<blockquote><p> +<span class="sc">Scene</span>—<i>Interior of a Palace.</i> Emperor <i>and</i> +Empress <i>discovered discussing the former's tour in foreign parts.</i> +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="drama"> +<p><i>Emperor</i> (<i>finishing a good story</i>). So after +I had made a hearty meal off the bread-and-milk, +I gave the old woman a note for five +thousand thalers, and told her to buy a three-sous +portrait of myself so that she might see +the Sovereign that she had saved from starvation. Ha! ha! ha! Wasn't it amusing?</p> + +<p><i>Empress</i> (<i>smiling</i>). Very, dear; but wasn't +it a little expensive? Surely you could have +got the bread-and-milk for a smaller sum?</p> + +<p><i>Emperor.</i> Of course I could! But then, +don't you see, it made me popular. It's in +all the papers, and reads splendidly!</p> + +<p><i>Empress.</i> Yes, of course, dear. By the +way, I found this volume (<i>producing book +bound in velvet with real gold clasps</i>) in your overcoat. May I peep into it?</p> + +<p><i>Emperor</i> (<i>doubtfully</i>). I don't think you +will find it particularly interesting. I have +just jotted down my petty cash disbursements.</p> + +<p><i>Empress</i> (<i>opening book and glancing at contents</i>). +Dear me! Why the total amounts to +£15,000! I see it's put in English money.</p> + +<p><i>Emperor.</i> Yes, it saves trouble. When +I am travelling I get rather confused with +all coinage save that of Mother's Fatherland.</p> + +<p><i>Empress.</i> But surely £15,000 is a lot to expend upon extras?</p> + +<p><i>Emperor.</i> Depends on the view you take of +things. I had a lot of things to buy.</p> + +<p><i>Empress.</i> But surely <i>this</i> must be wrong? Shoeblack fifty guineas!</p> + +<p><i>Emperor</i> (<i>lightly</i>). No, I think that's all +right. You see, the fellow, after he had +cleaned my boots, suddenly recognised me, +called me Sire, and sang the "<i>Wacht am +Rhein</i>." I couldn't, after that, give him less.</p> + +<p><i>Empress.</i> Well, you know best, dear; but +I should have thought you could have got +your boots cleaned for rather less!</p> + +<p><i>Emperor.</i> Possibly; but I should have lost +the story. And you know it reads so well.</p> + +<p><i>Empress.</i> And here's another rather big item. £800 for a London cabman!</p> + +<p><i>Emperor.</i> I consider <i>that</i> the cheapest item in the lot. He wanted more!</p> + +<p><i>Empress.</i> And here are several items of +seventy pounds apiece. What were <i>they</i> for?</p> + +<p><i>Emperor.</i> Oh, nothing in particular. Little +girl picked up my handkerchief, and a little +boy asked me for a kite. Was obliged to give +them each a bundle of tenners. It would have +been so mean if I had given them less. But +there, I told you you wouldn't find the book +at all interesting. If you will pass it to me, I will lock it up.</p> + +<p><i>Empress.</i> Oh, certainly, dear. (<i>Gives up +volume.</i>) And now, darling, I am going to +ask you a favour. You never saw such a pet +of a coronet as they have at Von ——'s. +Now I want you to buy it for me particularly.</p> + +<p><i>Emperor</i> (<i>embarrassed</i>). Certainly, dear—but +you know, we are not too well off.</p> + +<p><i>Empress.</i> Oh, but it is simply charming. +Rubies round the edge, and a cross of brilliants +and emeralds. And, really, <i>so</i> cheap. They only want £100,000 for it!</p> + +<p><i>Emperor.</i> Very nice indeed; but just at +this moment it would be a little inconvenient to produce so large a sum.</p> + +<p><i>Empress.</i> Large sum! Why, the rubies alone are worth all the money.</p> + +<p><i>Emperor.</i> Yes, I know, dear. And now I +must hurry away; duty, my love, comes before pleasure. See you soon.</p> +</div> + +<blockquote><p> +[<i>Exit hurriedly, to attend a review. +In the meanwhile, Coronet remains in +the jeweller's shop-window. Curtain</i>. +</p></blockquote> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page263" id="page263"></a>[pg 263]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"><a href="images/263.png"><img width="100%" src="images/263.png" alt="THE FESTIVE SEASON. A SCOTCH NIGHT." /></a><h3>THE FESTIVE SEASON. A SCOTCH NIGHT.</h3></div> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page264" id="page264"></a>[pg 264]</span> + +<h2>AN EVENING FROM HOME.</h2> + +<p>There used to appear daily—and it may be appearing daily now, +for aught I know, only, speaking on oath, I haven't lately noticed +it—a question addressed by Everybody in General, or by Nobody in Particular +to Everybody Else, which took this form: "Where shall we dine to-day?" I forget what +the answer was, but, as a rule, the domesticated man, with a good cook +in his own kitchen, could answer it offhand by saying to himself, +"'<i>Where</i> shall we dine to-day?' Why, at home, of course—where +better?—and catch me moving out afterwards." But, if he were contemplating +the unpleasant +certainty of having post-prandially to leave his hearth and home in order +to visit some theatre, opera, or concert, then it might occur to him that +he could do the thing well, and give his party a novel treat, if, in French +fashion, he took them somewhere to dine, previous to doing their play. +Thus it occurred to Yours +truly, <span class="sc">Y Ti-Bullus Bibulus</span>, a day or two ago, when, dressed in his +classical evening Togaryii in a <i>Currus Pulcher</i> (with +a <i>Cursor</i> alongside anticipating <i>denarii</i>, and risking +the sharp rebuke of a probable <i>Cursor</i> inside the vehicle) he was passing +the Oxford Music +Hall, and a brightly decorated Restauration caught his observant +eye. Was it new, or was it a Restauration restored? Its name, in +large letters, "<span class="sc">Frascati</span>." This seemed at once to lend itself to a +familiar jingle, and I found myself humming,—</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Oh, did you never hear of Frascati?</p> +<p>'Tis not far from Rome, eh my hearty?</p> +<p class="i2">The place looks so fine,</p> +<p class="i2">I will there go and dine,</p> +<p>And I'll bring with me all of my party!</p> + </div> </div> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:30%;"><a href="images/264-1.png"><img width="100%" src="images/264-1.png" alt="'Our Hamp-phitryon.'" /></a>"Our Hamp-phitryon."</div> + +<p>Horatian inspiration! I like to find out a new dining-place. +Years ago, by the merest accident sailing north, I discovered the +Holborn, and, since then, how many have not blessed the Columbus +Holbornius? I do not ask how many <i>have</i> done so. "That +is another story." Since then, the taste for dining domestically +away from home has come considerably into fashion. The Ladies +like it, and the Law allows it. (Quotation from <i>Merchant of Venice</i> +adapted to occasion—Restaurant edition—<i>Portia</i> for two.) It is a +cheerful change, it assists the circulation of coin, it is an aid to the +solution of the problems of Bimetallism, it rejuvenesces the home-fire-sider, +it developes ideas, restores the balance of temper; and, if +only the dinner be good, everybody goes away delighted,—guests are +satisfied, the host is pleased, the waiter smiles on the tipper, the +tipper on the manager, the manager on the proprietor, and all is Joy +and Junketing! Judge my surprise, when to me, <span class="sc">Tibullus</span>, entering +Frascati, and as <i>Cicerone</i>, informing my friends (all eager and hungry, +and therefore unwilling to dispute) how Frascati was the ancient +Tusculum, a well-known face appears welcoming us with smiles. +It is Signor <span class="sc">Hampi</span>, better known as Mr. <span class="sc">Hamp</span> of Holborn. +"Salve!" quoth I, as <span class="sc">Tibullus</span>. "The same to you, Sir," responds +<span class="sc">Hampius</span>. "Now," said my friend <span class="sc">Wagstaffius</span>, without whom +no party is complete, "Now we shall be Hamp-ly satisfied."</p> + +<p>The arrangement of the Frascati is a novelty; it is all so open and, +though there are plenty of staffers about, not in the least stuffy. It +would take a considerable crowd to overcrowd the place and to demoralise +the troops of well-disciplined waiters, all under the eye of +the ever-vigilant generalissimo of the forces, who in his white waist-coat, +black tie, and frock-coat of most decided cut and uncompromising +character—there is much in a frock-coat and something too in +the wearing of it—is here, there, and everywhere, and only waiting +till the last moment, and the right one, when the banquet is ended, to +give the word of command, "Charge!"—and the charge (decidedly +moderate and previously named in the <i>carte du jour</i>) is received +with satisfaction and defrayed with delight.</p> + +<p>I have only one suggestion to make, and that affects the music not +the meal. Let the music be adapted to the dishes; and not only +should the course of time be considered as it progresses, but also +the time of the course. For example,—who that has an ear for music +can swallow oysters deliberately and sedately while the band is +playing a mad galop? Let there be something very slow and +<i>pianissimo</i> for the <i>hors d'œuvres</i>: something gentle and soothing +for the oysters; there can be an indication of heartiness in the +melody that ushers in the soup, as though giving it a warm welcome. +There should be a mincing minuet-like movement for the +<i>entrées</i>, a sparkling air for the champagne, and something robust for +the joint. A sporting tune for the game: sweet melody for the +sweets, and a grand and grateful Chorale—a kind of thanksgiving +service as it were—when the last crumb and the last bit of cheese +have been swept away.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width:32%;"><a href="images/264-2.png"><img width="100%" src="images/264-2.png" alt="'Up I came with my little lot!!'" /></a>"Up I came with my little lot!!"</div> + +<p>After this to The Pavilion, in plenty of time to hear the ubiquitous +<span class="sc">Albert Chevalier</span> singing his celebrated coster-songs. Signor +<span class="sc">Costa</span> was a well-known name in the musical world some years ago; +<span class="sc">Chevalier</span> Coster is about the best-known now. These ditties are +uncommonly telling; the music is so catching and so really good. +Then his singing of the little Nipper "on'y so 'igh, that's all," has +in it that touch of nature which makes you drop the silent tear and +pretend you are blowing your nose. Capital entertainment at the +"Pav." Ingress and egress is not difficult, and the place doesn't +become inconveniently hot. The sweet singer with the poetic name +of <span class="sc">Herbert Campbell</span> is very funny; which indeed he would be, +even if he never opened his mouth. Such a low comedian's "mug!"</p> + +<p>But of all the pretty things to be seen in its perfection here (I +have seen it elsewhere, and was not so struck by it) is the Skirt +Dance. It is "real elegant," graceful, and picturesque. What a change has come over +the Music-hall entertainment since—since—"since even <i>I</i> was a +boy!" says the Acting Manager, Mr. <span class="sc">Edward Swanborough</span>,—evergreen +in the true sense of the word. A vast improvement, no doubt of it. But, with such +good amusement for the public, why on earth do the Music-Halls want to do +"Dramatic Sketches"? And, if they do them, then, judging by what I saw at the "Pav," I +am fain to ask again, why, in the name of <span class="sc">Shakspeare</span>, and the +musical glasses, should the theatres object?</p> + +<p>Does anyone seriously think that <i>Othello</i> or <i>King Lear</i> +is wanted at the Music-Halls, or that <span class="sc">Sheridan's</span> <i>School for Scandal</i> +wouldn't empty any Music-Hall of its patrons? It is the "variety" which is +the charm of the Music-hall show, and if any one part of the variety show is a bit +too long—longer let us say, than the time it takes to smoke one-eighth +of a fair-sized cigar and to drink half +a glass of something according to taste—then the audience will pretty +plainly express what <i>they</i> understand by Variety, what <i>they</i> have +paid to see, and what they mean to have for their money; and if they +don't get it there, they'll go somewhere else where it will be given +them. The summing-up, Gentlemen, is that, if you want a pleasant +evening, you can't do better than dine at Frascati and afterwards +patronise the "Pav." Such is the opinion of</p> + +<p class="author"><span class="sc">Y Ti-Bullus Bib.</span></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><font size="+1">☞</font> 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, Volume +103, December 3, 1892, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON *** + +***** This file should be named 16263-h.htm or 16263-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/2/6/16263/ + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer, William Flis, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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