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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:05:10 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:05:10 -0700 |
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diff --git a/36141-h/36141-h.htm b/36141-h/36141-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..00b49e0 --- /dev/null +++ b/36141-h/36141-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2106 @@ +<!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, 19th August, 1893.</title> + + <style type="text/css"> + + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {text-align: justify;} + .ind {margin-left: 2em;} + .ind1 {margin-left: 5em; margin-right: 5em;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} + blockquote {text-align: justify; font-size: 0.9em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .sans {font-family: sans-serif;} + pre {font-size: 0.7em;} + .sc {font-variant: small-caps;} + .center {text-align: center;} + td.note {text-align: left; font-size: 0.9em; font-weight: normal; border: 1px dashed; padding: 1em;} + ul.none {font-size: 1.0em; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; list-style-type: none; line-height: 150%} + + hr {text-align: left; width: 30%;} + html>body hr {margin-right: 40%; margin-left: 30%; width: 30%;} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + html>body hr.full {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;} + hr.medium {width: 76%;} + html>body hr.medium {margin-right: 12%; margin-left: 12%; width: 76%;} + ins {text-decoration: none; border-bottom: dashed 1px silver;} + p.note {margin-left: 27%; margin-right: 20%; font-size: 1.0em;} + p.author {text-align: right; margin-top: -1em; margin-right: 2em;} + span.pagenum {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt; text-indent: 0;} + .poem {margin-left: 25%; 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;} + + .poem1 {margin-left: 30%; margin-right: 10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem1 .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem1 p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem1 p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem1 p.i10 {margin-left: 5em;} + + .figure, .figcenter, .figright, .figleft {padding: 1em; margin: 0; text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em;} + .figure img, .figcenter img, .figright img, .figleft img + {border: none;} + .figure p, .figcenter p, .figright p, .figleft p + {margin: 0; text-indent: 1em;} + .figcenter {margin: auto;} + .figright {float: right;} + .figleft {float: left;} + .side {float: right; font-size: 75%; width: 25%; padding-left: 10px; border-left: dashed 1px #dddddd;; + margin-left: 10px; text-align: left; text-indent: 0; } + + </style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 105, +August 19th 1893, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 105, August 19th 1893 + +Author: Various + +Editor: Sir Francis Burnand + +Release Date: May 19, 2011 [EBook #36141] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON *** + + + + +Produced by Lesley Halamek, Malcolm Farmer and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<hr class="full" /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page73" id="page73"></a>[pg 73]</span> + +<h1>PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI</h1> + +<h2>VOLUME 105, August 19th 1893</h2> + +<h3><i>edited by Sir Francis Burnand</i></h3> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<h2 class="sans">POPULAR SONGS RE-SUNG. "BLAZY BILL; OR, THE BICYCLE CAD."</h2> + +<h4><span class="sc">Air</span>—"<i>Daisy Bell; or, a Bicycle made for Two.</i>"</h4> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 350px;"><a href="images/073-800.png"><img src="images/073-350.png" width="350" height="419" alt="BLAZY BILL; OR, THE BICYCLE CAD." /></a></div> + +<p>"The churl in nature up and +down" is perennial and ubiquitous. +Like the god Vishnu, he +has many avatars. Every new +development of popular pastime +(for instance) developes its own +particular species of "Cad." +<span class="sc">Leech's</span> "Galloping Snob" of a +quarter of a century ago has been +succeeded by that Jehu of the +"Bike," the Cycling Cad, to +whose endearing manners and +customs in the Queen's highway, +and elsewhere, the long-suffering +pedestrian is persuaded a laggard +Law will shortly have to find its +attention urgently directed. <i>Mr. +Punch</i>, who is of the same opinion, +adapts Mr. <span class="sc">Harry Dacre's</span> popular +song to what he is convinced +will be a popular purpose.</p> + +<p><i>Perturbed Pedestrian sings</i>:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>There is a fear within my heart,</p> +<p class="i4"><span class="sc">Blazy!</span> <span class="sc">Blazy!</span></p> +<p>Planted one day with a demon dart.</p> +<p class="i4">Planted by <span class="sc">Blazy Bill</span>.</p> +<p>Whether he'll kill me, or kill me not,</p> +<p class="i4">Smash me or only spill,</p> +<p>Little I know, but I'd give a lot</p> +<p class="i4">To be rescued from <span class="sc">Blazy Bill</span>.</p> + </div> </div> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i8"><i>Chorus</i>—</p> + </div> </div> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Blazy!</span> <span class="sc">Blazy!</span></p> +<p class="i2">Give me a chance, Sir, do!</p> +<p>I'm half crazy,</p> +<p class="i2">All for the fear of you.</p> +<p>You haven't a stylish way, Sir,</p> +<p>I can't admire that "blazer"</p> +<p class="i4">(Which you think sweet).</p> +<p class="i4">The curse of the street</p> +<p>Is the Bicycle Cad—like you!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>You rattle along as though for your life,</p> +<p class="i6"><span class="sc">Blazy!</span> <span class="sc">Blazy!</span></p> +<p>Pedalling madly, with mischief rife,</p> +<p class="i6">Blundering <span class="sc">Blazy Bill</span>!</p> +<p>When the road's dark we need Argus sight,</p> +<p class="i2">Your bell and your lamp do nil</p> +<p>But dazzle our eyes and our ears affright,</p> +<p class="i2">Blustering <span class="sc">Blazy Bill</span>!</p> + </div> </div> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i8"><i>Chorus</i>—</p> + </div> </div> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Blazy!</span> <span class="sc">Blazy!</span></p> +<p class="i2">Bother your "biking" crew!</p> +<p>I'm half crazy,</p> +<p class="i2">All for sheer dread of you.</p> +<p>I can't afford a carriage,</p> +<p>If I walk—in Brixton or Harwich—</p> +<p class="i4">The curse of the street,</p> +<p class="i4">I am sure to meet</p> +<p>In a Bicycle Cad like you!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Why should we stand this wheel-bred woe?</p> +<p class="i2"><span class="sc">Blazy!</span> <span class="sc">Blazy!</span></p> +<p>Yes, your vile bell you will ring, I know,</p> +<p class="i2"><i>Suddenly</i>, <span class="sc">Blazy Bill</span>,</p> +<p>When you're close on my heels, and a trip I make,</p> +<p class="i2">And, unless I skedaddle with skill,</p> +<p>I'm over before you have put on the <ins title="T.N.: Original reads 'break'">brake</ins>,</p> +<p class="i2">Half-fuddled <span class="sc">Blazy Bill</span>!</p> + </div> </div> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i8"><i>Chorus</i>—</p> + </div> </div> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Blazy!</span> <span class="sc">Blazy!</span></p> +<p class="i2">Turn up wild wheeling, do!</p> +<p>I'm half crazy,</p> +<p class="i2">All in blue funk of you.</p> +<p>The Galloping Snob was a curse, Sir,</p> +<p>But the Walloping Wheelman's a worser.</p> +<p class="i2">I'd subscribe my quid</p> +<p class="i2">To be thoroughly rid</p> +<p>Of all Bicycle Cads like you!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>SHOOTING THE CHUTES.</h2> + +<h4>(<i>After Southey.</i>)</h4> + +<h3><span class="sc">A Vision of Earl's Court.</span></h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i10">Here they go hurrying,</p> +<p class="i10">Up the steps scurrying,</p> +<p class="i10">Pushing and jostling,</p> +<p class="i10">Elbowing, hustling,</p> +<p>Squeezing and wheezing they rush to the top.</p> +<p class="i10">Puffing and panting,</p> +<p class="i10">Tearing and ranting,</p> +<p>(First-rate for Banting,) onward they climb.</p> +<p class="i10">Up on the landing,</p> +<p class="i10">Scarce room for standing,</p> +<p>Man is commanding, "There you must stop!</p> +<p class="i10">Don't cross the railing,</p> +<p class="i10">Keep to the paling;</p> +<p class="i10">Place for two more, Sirs,</p> +<p class="i10">Go on before, Sirs;</p> +<p>List to the roar, Sirs—ain't it sublime!</p> +<p class="i4">Tuck in the mackintosh,</p> +<p class="i4">Hold tight, Sir!" "Oh, what bosh!"</p> +<p class="i10">Side by side seated,</p> +<p class="i10">Breathless and heated,</p> +<p class="i10">Freezing and sneezing,</p> +<p class="i10">Down the Chute shooting,</p> +<p class="i10">Yelling and hooting,</p> +<p><span class="sc">'Arry</span> and <span class="sc">'Arriet</span>, Princess and Peer,</p> +<p>White man and black man and Injun to steer.</p> +<p>"<i>You're sure there's no danger?</i>" "There's nothing to fear."</p> +<p>"<i>Are babies admitted?</i>" "O no, mum, not 'ere."</p> +<p class="i8">And waving and raving,</p> +<p class="i8">And beaming and steaming,</p> +<p class="i8">And laughing and chaffing,</p> +<p class="i8">And thumping and bumping,</p> +<p class="i8">And plumping and jumping,</p> +<p class="i8">And spinning and grinning,</p> +<p class="i8">And chattering and clattering,</p> +<p>And blushing and gushing and rushing and flushing,</p> +<p>And bawling and sprawling and hauling and calling,</p> +<p>And foaming, bemoaning a bonnet dropped off,</p> +<p>Not hearing the jeering of people who scoff,</p> +<p>The peril of spilling delightfully thrilling,</p> +<p>Tho' incivil devil's instilling cavilling;</p> +<p>And screaming, not dreaming of being upset,</p> +<p>And splashing and dashing and dripping with wet,</p> +<p>And screeching and reaching for hat blown away,</p> +<p class="i2">Excited, affrighted, delighted, benighted,</p> +<p class="i2">And calling and bawling Hurrah and Hurray!</p> +<p>"And so never ending but always descending</p> +<p>Sounds and motions for ever and ever are blending;"</p> +<p>All at once all is o'er, with a mighty uproar,</p> +<p>And drenched and bedraggled they land on the shore.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind1"><span class="sc">"Lethe had passed her Lips.</span>"—Mrs. R. +had often come across the name of this +classic stream in the course of her reading. +She pronounced it as one syllable, and said +that "as this celebrated river was in Scotland—she +knew the name quite well—what she +wanted to know was, why weren't +these waters bottled by a Company?"</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>AT THE SEASIDE CHURCH PARADE.</h3> + +<h4>(<i>A Conversation à la Mode.</i>)</h4> + +<p class="ind"><i>He.</i> So very glad to see you. (<i>Aside.</i>) +Hope she won't shut me up, she's so sharp!</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>She.</i> Quite pleased to have met. (<i>Aside.</i>) +Can't stand much of him, he's so stupid!</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>He.</i> I suppose when you were in town you +went to the Academy?</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>She.</i> Yes, and saw all the pictures—and +didn't like them.</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>He.</i> And went to the Opera?</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>She.</i> Yes, every night—and am tired of +talking about it.</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>He.</i> And of course you went to Henley?</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>She.</i> Yes, and to the Eton and Harrow +Match, and to Ascot, and to Wimbledon to +see the Lawn Tennis finals.</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>He.</i> But perhaps you never went to the +House of Commons?</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>She.</i> Oh, yes, I did—on the Terrace, and +also to the Ladies' Gallery. The rows were +most amusing—saw them all.</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>He.</i> And did you go to many parties?</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>She.</i> To every party of any consequence, +and all the really nice dinners.</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>He.</i> Were you at the Royal Wedding?</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>She.</i> Oh, don't talk of that. The subject +is quite exhausted. (<i>After a pause.</i>) Pray, +have you no conversation?</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>He.</i> Well, I don't know. I suppose you +went to church this morning, and heard the +Dean preach?</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>She.</i> Oh, I really must beg your pardon. +If you can't find anything better to talk +about on a Sunday than the points of a sermon +you had far better say nothing at all.</p> + +<p class="ind1">[<i>Scene closes in upon an unbroken silence.</i></p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page74" id="page74"></a>[pg 74]</span> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<h3 class="sans">NEW KING COAL.</h3> + +<blockquote><p>(<i>A new Mining-Capitalist Version of an old Nursery Rhyme, dedicated and +commended to the thoughtful consideration of the colliers on +strike in Northumberland and Durham.</i>)</p></blockquote> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a href="images/074-1200.png"><img src="images/074-400.png" width="400" height="476" alt="NEW KING COAL." /></a> +</div> + +<blockquote><p>[Putting it in the form of a conundrum, +<i>Mr. Punch</i> would ask the Colliers who may +read this rhyme the following question, the +answer to which may throw a light upon the +meaning of New King <span class="sc">Coal's</span> jubilant +doggerel ditty:—</p> + +<p>"When prices rise—even in the midst +of the Dog Days—and the output of first-class +coal falls, who reaps the advantage +of the enhanced value and readier sale of +accumulated stocks of small and slaggy +'rubbish'?"]</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>O our New King <span class="sc">Coal</span></p> +<p>Is an artful old soul,</p> +<p class="i2">And an artful old soul is he;</p> +<p>And a jolly good Strike</p> +<p>Is a game he must like—</p> +<p class="i2">When it pulls in the £ <i>s.</i> <i>d.</i></p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page75" id="page75"></a>[pg 75]</span> +<p>He calls for his "weed" and he calls for his "fizz,"</p> +<p class="i2">And he calls for his—Fiddle-de-dee!</p> +<p>Every fiddler has his own little fiddle,</p> +<p class="i2">And a very fine fiddle has he.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>"£ <i>s.</i> <i>d.</i>, £ <i>s.</i> <i>d.</i>," sings King <span class="sc">Coal</span>, "Fiddle-de-dee!</p> +<p>Oh! an opportune Strike is the thing for me!"</p> +<p class="i2">O, there's none so rare</p> +<p class="i2">As can compare</p> +<p>With King <span class="sc">Coal</span> and <i>his</i> Fiddle-de-dee!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>ROBERT AT GILDALL.</h2> + +<p>Ah, wot a change has suddenly +cum over the hold Copperation! +From sitch recepshuns +of Kings and Queens, +and Princes and Princesses, +and Royal Dooks and Dutchesses, +and Zarrowitches and +setterer, and all in their werry +best clothes, too! as I never +witnessed before nor since, to +cum suddenly upon nuffin but +Gog and Magog, is a strikin +fac indeed. As the Rite +onerabel Lord <span class="sc">Mare</span> werry +propperly said, "Ah wot a +fall is here my Country-men!"</p> + +<p>And what a blooming staggerer +it was to finish off with +the King and Queen of <span class="sc">Denmark</span>! +of all people in the +World! Why I has allers +been tort to bleeve, from what +I have seen at the Play, that +neether on em wornt not werry +great things as regards behaviour +to the poor <i>Prince +Hamblet</i>, but <span class="sc">Brown</span> says as +that's all over long, long ago, +and isn't to be spoke of no +more, no, not for ever! and +so we must drop it. I think, +upon the hole, as I likes the +<span class="sc">Prince of Wales</span> the best of +all on em, he does allers seem +to enjy hisself so much.</p> + +<p>We had him in the City +wunce at Church, and twice at +Gildall to dinner, all in about +a munth, and that ain't so +bad for a near aparrent. +And he does seem allers so +much atome. Why I acshally +overherd him say to our +Blushing Town Clark, after +dining the King of <span class="sc">Denmark</span>, +"How well you have dun it +all, but you allers do it well +at Gildall!"</p> + +<p>I wunder how many hundred +sentries it will be before he +says ditto to the Cheerman +of the Country Counsel, poor +feller! after sitch a dinner to +sitch a company? Praps about +another 700! <span class="sc">Robert.</span></p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a href="images/075-800.png"><img src="images/075-350.png" width="350" height="464" alt="AN UNEARNED INCREMENT." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">AN UNEARNED INCREMENT.</h3> + +<p><i>Our Irish Curate (persuasively).</i> "<span class="sc">Now, Doctor dear, here 's the +very thing. Ye've been giving a Tenth of your Income, like a Man. +Well, now, times are bad. Double it, and give a Twentieth!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind"><span class="sc">Off and On.</span>—She had been +longing for a new dress. At +last the extra money was saved, +and she bought it. "It's off +my mind now," she exclaimed, +"and, which pleases me more, +it's on my body."</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind">ENGLISH AS SHE IS WROTE. +—The advertisement of an +hotel in Germany concludes, +after praising everything +highly, with this sentence—"<i>Accomplished +drinks, captivating meats.</i>"</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind">FRENCH TRANSLATION OF +AN OLD PLAY CALLED "LOVE'S +LAST SHIFT."—"<i>La dernière +Chemise de l'Amour.</i>"</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>THE TOUR THAT NEVER WAS.</h2> + +<h4>(<i>By an Undecided Man.</i>)</h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Between now and my holidays there but remain two solid days,</p> +<p class="i2">And thinking where I'll spend my "vac" has driven me wild with worry;</p> +<p>In vain have I surveyed acres of plans and maps and Bædekers,</p> +<p class="i2">And purchased a small library of "Handy Guides" of <span class="sc">Murray</span>.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Shall I, for want of better, say I'll view the Vierwaldstättersee,</p> +<p class="i2">Or watch the Staubbach fall in mist like web of an arachnid?</p> +<p>Or else, the dawn to see, get up o'ernight upon the Righi-top—</p> +<p class="i2">But no, I feel that Jödel-land is now a trifle hackneyed!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>For a flutter at <i>chemin-de-fer</i> I might (the place is handy) fare</p> +<p class="i2">To Trouville, and along the <i>plage</i> a "Milor" on the spree be;</p> +<p>I could in Teuton <i>musikshaus</i> (till I of Wagner grew sick) souse</p> +<p class="i2">In "Hofbräu," and essay to flirt with each <i>biergarten</i> Hebe.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>But then, if I to Norway turn, as Ibsenite I'd <i>more</i> weight earn—</p> +<p class="i2">And salmon-fishing mid the Kvæns is certainly high-class sport;</p> +<p>Or rumble in a tarantass o'er Russia? No, an arrant ass</p> +<p class="i2">I were, to go where night and day you're badgered for your passport!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>I'd like (my programme's large), a panoramic glimpse of far Japan</p> +<p class="i2">From Fuji, and round Biwa Lake I'd in a jinrickshaw go;</p> +<p>Or even—for a hasty bet—I'd (like Miss <span class="sc">Taylor</span>) pace Thibet,</p> +<p class="i2">Or "blue" my surplus cash at what the Yankees call "Shecawgo."</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Look here! I'll have to sham a tour (though but a humble amatoor</p> +<p class="i2">At yarning), as this sort of thing is giving me the fidgets!</p> +<p>I'll—since I've eased my intellect by tripping thus in print—elect</p> +<p class="i2">To stay at home and twiddle (for the sake of rhyme) my digits!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind1"><span class="sc">The Place for Lawn Tennis.</span>—"<i>Way down in Tennessee.</i>"</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>THE TWO POTS.</h2> + +<h4>(<i>A Morality for Mammon.</i>)</h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>When Mammon in commerce has "made a big pot,"</p> +<p>He is free to "retire upon what he has got,"</p> +<p>And what need he care for the children of toil</p> +<p>Who have helped in their hundreds that "big pot" to boil?</p> +<p class="i10">Pot! Pot! Gushers talk rot;</p> +<p class="i10">But Demas "retires upon what he has got."</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>How did he get it, that pot full of gold?</p> +<p>That is a story that's yet to be told.</p> +<p>Children of Gibeon helped, 'tis well known,</p> +<p>At filling <i>his</i> pot—barely boiling their own!</p> +<p class="i10">Pot! Pot! How to keep hot—</p> +<p class="i10">That is the problem—the poor man's pot!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Poor <i>pot-au-feu</i>! 'Tis to keep you a-boil</p> +<p>Hewers and Drawers so ceaselessly toil;</p> +<p>But when they've filled Wealth's big pot full of gold,</p> +<p>What does he care if <i>their</i> pot becomes cold.</p> +<p class="i10">Pot! Pot! Let the poor go—<i>to</i> pot.</p> +<p class="i10">Mammon—"retires upon what he has got!"</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind"><span class="sc">Mrs. R.</span>—She is very tender-hearted. "Of course," she says, +"it's very nice of what they call 'The Forsters' parents—though +why 'Forster' I don't know. But certainly, even when they're +brought up as one of the family of the Forsters, yet it does make +me feel very sad when I see an adapted child."</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind"><span class="sc">Moral and Social Queries.</span>—When a man has lost his own +character, is he justified in taking away anybody else's? At a +party if somebody has taken away your hat, aren't you justified in +taking somebody else's?</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page76" id="page76"></a>[pg 76]</span> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2 class="sans">THE ADVENTURES OF PICKLOCK HOLES.</h2> + +<h4>(<i>By Cunnin Toil.</i>)</h4> + +<h3>No. II.—THE DUKE'S FEATHER.</h3> + +<p>Two months had passed without my hearing a word of <span class="sc">Holes</span>. +I knew he had been summoned to Irkoutsk by the <span class="sc">Czar</span> of Russia in +order to help in investigating the extraordinary theft of one of the +Government silver mines, which had completely and mysteriously +disappeared in one night. All the best intellects of the terrible secret +police, the third section of the Government of the Russian Empire, had +exhausted themselves in the vain endeavour to probe this mystery to +the bottom. Their failure had produced a dangerous commotion in +the Empire of the <span class="sc">Czar</span>; there were rumours of a vast Nihilist plot, +which was to shake the Autocracy to its foundations, and, as a last +resource, the <span class="sc">Czar</span>, who had been introduced to <span class="sc">Holes</span> by +<span class="sc">Olga +Fiaskoffskaia</span>, the well-known Russian Secret Agent at the Court +of Lisbon, had appealed to the famous detective to lend his aid in +discovering the authors of a crime which was beginning to turn the +great white <span class="sc">Czar</span> into ridicule in all the bazaars of Central Asia. +<span class="sc">Holes</span>, whose great mind had been lying fallow for some little time, +had immediately consented; and the last I had seen of him was two +months before the period at which this story +opens, when I had said good-bye to him at +Charing-Cross Station.</p> + +<p>As for myself, I was spending a week in a +farmhouse situated close to the village of +Blobley-in-the-Marsh. Three miles from the gates of +the farmhouse lay Fourcastle Towers, the ancestral +mansion of Rear-Admiral the Duke of +<span class="sc">Dumpshire</span>, the largest and strangest landowner +of the surrounding district. I had a nodding +acquaintance with His Grace, whom I had once +attended for scarlatina when he was a midshipman. +Since that time, however, I had seen very +little of him, and, to tell the truth, I had made +no great effort to improve the acquaintance. The +Duke, one of the haughtiest members of our +blue-blooded aristocracy, had been called by his +naval duties to all parts of the habitable globe; +I had steadily pursued my medical studies, and, +except for the biennial visit which etiquette demanded, +I had seen little or nothing of the Duke. +My stay at the farmhouse was for purposes of +rest. I had been overworked, that old tulwar +wound, the only memento of the Afghan Campaign, +had been troubling me, and I was glad +to be able to throw off my cares and my black +coat, and to revel for a week in the rustic and +unconventional simplicity of Wurzelby Farm.</p> + +<p>One evening, two days after my arrival, I +was sitting in the kitchen close to the fire, +which, like myself, was smoking. For greater +comfort I had put on my old mess-jacket. The +winter wind was whistling outside, but besides +that only the ticking of the kitchen clock disturbed +my meditations. I was just thinking how I should begin +my article on Modern Medicine for the <i>Fortnightly Review</i>, when a +slight cough at my elbow caused me to turn round. Beside me stood +<span class="sc">Picklock Holes</span>, wrapped in a heavy, close-fitting fur <i>moujik</i>. He +was the first to speak.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;"><a href="images/076-600.png"><img src="images/076-300.png" width="300" height="481" alt="'Beside me stood Picklock Holes'" /></a> +<p class="center">"Beside me stood Picklock Holes, wrapped +in a heavy, close-fitting fur <i>moujik</i>."</p></div> + +<p>"You seem surprised to see me," he said. "Well, perhaps that +is natural; but really, my dear fellow, you might employ your +time to better purpose than in trying to guess the number of +words in the first leading article in the <i>Times</i> of the day before +yesterday."</p> + +<p>I was about to protest when he stopped me.</p> + +<p>"I know perfectly well what you are going to say, but it is useless +to urge that the country is dull, and that a man must employ his +brain somehow. That kind of employment is the merest wool-gathering."</p> + +<p>He plucked a small piece of Berlin worsted—I had been darning +my socks—off my left trouser, and examined it curiously. My +admiration for the man knew no bounds.</p> + +<p>"Is that how you know?" I asked. "Do you mean to tell me that +merely by seeing that small piece of fancy wool on my trousers you +guessed I had been trying to calculate the number of words in the +<i>Times</i> leader? <span class="sc">Holes</span>, <span class="sc">Holes</span>, will you never cease from +astounding +me?"</p> + +<p>He did not answer me, but bared his muscular arm and injected +into it a strong dose of morphia with a richly-chased little gold +instrument tipped with a ruby.</p> + +<p>"A gift from the <span class="sc">Czar</span>," said <span class="sc">Holes</span>, in answer to my unspoken +thoughts. "When I discovered the missing silver-mine on board +the yacht of the Grand Duke <span class="sc">Ivanoff</span>, his Imperial Majesty first +offered me the Chancellorship of his dominions, but I begged him +to excuse me, and asked for this pretty toy. Bah, the Russian +police are bunglers."</p> + +<p>As he made this remark the door opened and Sergeant <span class="sc">Bluff</span> of +the Dumpshire Constabulary entered hurriedly.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, Sir," he said, addressing me, with evident +perturbation; "but would you step outside with me for a moment. +There's been some strange work down at——"</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Holes</span> interrupted him.</p> + +<p>"Don't say any more," he broke in. "You've come to tell us +about the dreadful poaching affray in Hagley Wood. I know all +about it, and tired as I am I'll help you to find the criminals."</p> + +<p>It was amusing to watch the Sergeant's face. He was ordinarily +an unemotional man, but as <span class="sc">Holes</span> spoke to him he grew purple +with astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Beggin' your pardon, Sir," he said; "I didn't know about no——"</p> + +<p>"My name is <span class="sc">Holes</span>," said my friend calmly.</p> + +<p>"What, Mr. <span class="sc">Picklock Holes</span>, the famous detective?"</p> + +<p>"The same, at your service; but we are wasting time. Let us +be off."</p> + +<p>The night was cold, and a few drops of rain were falling. As we +walked along the lane <span class="sc">Holes</span> drew from the Sergeant all the +information he wanted as to the number of +pheasants on the Duke's estate, the extent of +his cellars, his rent-roll, and the name of his +London tailor. <span class="sc">Bluff</span> dropped behind after this +cross-examination with a puzzled expression, +and whispered to me:</p> + +<p>"A wonderful man that Mister <span class="sc">Holes</span>. Now +how did he know about this 'ere poaching business? +<i>I</i> knew nothing about it. Why I come to +you, Sir, to talk about that retriever dog you lost."</p> + +<p>"Hush," I said; "say nothing. It would only annoy +<span class="sc">Holes</span>, and interfere with his inductions. +He knows his own business best." Sergeant +<span class="sc">Bluff</span> gave a grumbling assent, and in another +moment we entered the great gate of Fourcastle +Towers, and were ushered into the hall, where +the Duke was waiting to receive us.</p> + +<p>"To what am I indebted for the honour of +this visit?" said his Grace, with all the courtly +politeness of one in whose veins ran the blood +of the Crusaders. Then, changing his tone, he +spoke in fierce sailor-language: "Shiver my +timbers! what makes you three stand there like +that? Why, blank my eyes, you ought to——" +What he was going to say will never be known, +for <span class="sc">Holes</span> dashed forward.</p> + +<p>"Silence, Duke," he said, sternly. "We come +to tell you that there has been a desperate poaching +affray. The leader of the gang lies insensible +in Hagley Wood. Do you wish to know who +he was?" So saying, he held up to the now +terrified eyes of the Duke the tail-feather of a +golden pheasant. "I found it in his waistcoat +pocket," he said, simply.</p> + +<p>"My son, my son!" shrieked the unfortunate Duke. "Oh +<span class="sc">Alured</span>, <span class="sc">Alured</span>, that it should have come to this!" and he fell +to the floor in convulsions.</p> + +<p>"You will find Earl <span class="sc">Mountravers</span> at the cross-roads in Hagley +Wood," said <span class="sc">Holes</span> to the Sergeant. "He is insensible."</p> + +<p>The Earl was convicted at the following Assizes, and sentenced to +a long term of penal servitude. His ducal father has never recovered +from the disgrace. <span class="sc">Holes</span>, as usual, made light of the +matter and of his own share in it.</p> + +<p>"I met the Earl," he told me afterwards, "as I was walking to +your farmhouse. When he ventured to doubt one of my stories, I +felled him to the earth. The rest was easy enough. Poachers? +Oh dear no, there were none. But it is precisely in these cases that +ingenuity comes in."</p> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Holes</span>," I said, "I admire you more and more every day."</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind"><span class="sc">Joke for Joke.</span>—A ruffian at Walsall, "for a joke," dropped a +little boy over the bridge into the river. The inhabitants of that +town took the cowardly brute to the same bridge, and dropped him +over in the same place. Bravo men (and women) of Walsall! If +the <i>lex talionis</i>, in the same spirit of impartial jocularity, could be +applied as efficaciously to <i>all</i> "practical jokers," civilised Society +might soon be rid of one of its most intolerable pests.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind1">"So much depends on <i>how you take things</i>," as the thief remarked +after a dexterous performance while the policeman's back was turned.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind1"><span class="sc">Brief Description of a Comic Ballet d'Action.</span>—"Too funny +for words."</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page77" id="page77"></a>[pg 77]</span> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>THE SCHOPENHAUER BALLADS.</h2> + +<h3>No. II.—THE MOSQUITO.</h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 150px;"><a href="images/077a-460.png"><img src="images/077a-150.png" width="150" height="187" alt="The Mosquito" /></a></div> + +<div class="poem1"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>I am a restless Mosquito,</p> +<p>Well hated by the world, I know,</p> +<p class="i2">For faults that are not mine;</p> +<p>I bite to live (some live to bite),</p> +<p>I sting from sheer necessity, not spite,—</p> +<p class="i2">I would my lot were thine.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>I'd take thy bites, you'd love my sting,</p> +<p>And bear the petty pains they bring</p> +<p class="i2">Just like a Hindoo Saint;</p> +<p>I would not blame you, 'bottle fly,</p> +<p>You have to live the same as I—</p> +<p class="i2">A beauty without paint.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>We cannot all be butterflies,</p> +<p>Or larks that carol in the skies,—</p> +<p class="i2">Take life for what it's worth;</p> +<p>We've all our wretched aches and pains,</p> +<p>Our losses now—and now our gains—</p> +<p class="i2">A little while on earth.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>And when we get our final call—</p> +<p>Mosquito, pole-cat, skunk, and all</p> +<p class="i2">The vermin meek or bold—</p> +<p>We shall not for the verdict quake,</p> +<p>We've lived our lives for Nature's sake,</p> +<p class="i2">And done what we were told.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>CONNECTED WITH THE PRESS.</h3> + +<p><span class="sc">My dear Mr. Punch</span>,—I see that some +of your contemporaries have got up a "Press +Band" which plays on the Thames Embankment +between one and two o'clock every day +(save Saturday) for the benefit of compositors +out for their dinner-hour. I must confess +that I think the idea excellent, but could it +not be extended? A newspaper consists of +more than "setters up at case." Could not +some entertainment be contrived for the +amusement of editors, theatrical critics, and +city correspondents?</p> + +<p>For instance, there are generally a number +of ladies and gentlemen hanging about +Fleet Street in the vain hope of obtaining +interviews with the powers that are in the +world journalistic. A really talented would-be +contributor (especially if a lady) might +"get at" an editor when he was most at his +ease and least on his guard.</p> + +<p>I will suppose that the <i>Rédacteur en chef +of the Imperial Universe</i> is seated beside the +Fountain in the Temple, quietly smoking +his cigar. The authoress of "<i>Tiger Songs</i>" +(adapted from the original Norwegian) may +see the Editor from afar off, and come +dancing towards him with the airy gaiety of +a <i>Morgiana</i>. She executes a <i>pas de fascination</i>, +and, when he is completely captivated +by the exquisite grace of her movements, +causes him to seize a bundle of MS. +When she has retired, and the Editor gradually +resumes his normal composure, he discovers +that the authoress of "<i>Tiger Songs</i>" +has left him an article upon "Voyages to +the North Pole." Subjugated by the poetry +of motion, and further moved (almost to +tears) by the soft, sweet strains of the Press +Band, he reads the contribution, and accepts it.</p> + +<p>Then recreation, combined with instruction, +might be found for special correspondents +by erecting steam roundabouts on the +Thames Embankment. The "special" might +mount his wooden steed, and career round +and round until he has done a good twenty +miles. Then he would be prepared to give +his experiences, which should (if written in +the proper spirit) be of exceptional value as +"copy."</p> + +<p>A thousand details will occur to those who +take an interest in the matter, and may be +filled in at leisure. I merely throw out the +idea, leaving its development to others more +worthy of the task than one who signs himself, +in all humility, <span class="sc">A Pen Plus a Lyre</span>.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>THE WALKING ENGLISHWOMAN ON THE ALPS.</h3> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 150px;"><a href="images/077b-600.png"><img src="images/077b-150.png" width="150" height="302" alt="The Walking Englishwoman on the Alps" /></a></div> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>You who look, at home, so charming—</p> +<p class="i2">Angel, goddess, nothing less—</p> +<p>Do you know you're quite alarming</p> +<p class="i10"> In that dress?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Such a garb should be forbidden;</p> +<p class="i2">Where's the grace an artist loves?</p> +<p>Think of dainty fingers hidden</p> +<p class="i10"> In those gloves!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Gloves! A housemaid would not wear them,</p> +<p class="i2">Shapeless, brown and rough as sacks,</p> +<p>Thick! And yet you often tear them</p> +<p class="i10"> With that axe!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Worst of all, unblacked, unshiny—</p> +<p class="i2">Greet them with derisive boots—</p> +<p>Clumsy, huge! For feet so tiny!</p> +<p class="i10"> Oh, those boots!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>THE ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.</h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 150px;"><a href="images/077c-500.png"><img src="images/077c-150.png" width="150" height="183" alt="The Englishman in Paris" /></a></div> + +<div class="poem1"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>O "Englishman in Paris," do not think</p> +<p class="i2">That I refer to your amusing book;</p> +<p>I write of those who do not care "a tinker's</p> +<p class="i10"> cuss" for look!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Not you who dress in Paris as at home,</p> +<p class="i2">Because the Frenchman is as good as you,</p> +<p>Top-hat, frock-coat—in fact do all in Rome</p> +<p class="i10"> As Rome would do.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>But you, attired in such eccentric ways,</p> +<p class="i2">Who travelled here with tickets which you took</p> +<p>Perhaps from enterprising Mr. <span class="sc">Gaze</span>,</p> +<p class="i10"> Or Mr. <span class="sc">Cook</span>.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>And from some stupid, slow, suburban spot,</p> +<p class="i2">Or prim provincial parish, come arrayed</p> +<p>In clothes which your own gardener would not</p> +<p class="i10"> Wear for his trade.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Oh why offend the Frenchman's cultured sight</p> +<p class="i2">With such a <span class="sc">'Arry's</span> outin' sort of air?</p> +<p>Do you consider knickerbockers quite</p> +<p class="i10"> The thing to wear?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The Frenchman, just as sensible as we,</p> +<p class="i2">Calls "toppers" hateful, horrid, heavy, hot;</p> +<p>In Paris, as in London, still you see</p> +<p class="i10"> The chimney-pot.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>A linen collar hygiene abhors.</p> +<p class="i2">And yet he wears it. You don't care a rap;</p> +<p>You sport your flannel-shirt, and, out of doors,</p> +<p class="i10"> Your tourist cap.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Magnificent contempt for foreign lands!</p> +<p class="i2">"Frog-eating Frenchy dress!" you say, and smile,</p> +<p>"He imitates, but never understands</p> +<p class="i10"> True London style."</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Unconquered Briton, you are right no doubt!</p> +<p class="i2">Descendant of the woad-clad ones, that's true!</p> +<p>And yet he never imitates a lout,</p> +<p class="i10"> A cad, like you.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p><span class="sc">Her Parliamentary Knowledge.</span>—Mrs. +R. is an intelligent student of the Parliamentary +Reports in the <i>Times</i>. On Tuesday, +in last week, her niece read this aloud—"8.30. +<i>On the return of the <span class="sc">Speaker</span>, after +the usual interval</i>"—— "That," observed +the worthy lady, interrupting, explaining it +to her niece, "is the interval allowed for +refreshment—ten minutes I believe,—go on, +my dear." Then her niece continued—"<i>Sir +T. <span class="sc">Lea</span>, who was interrupted by a count</i>"—— +"Stop, my dear!" exclaimed our old friend, +indignantly. "What I want to know is, +how did that Count come there? Was he in +the Strangers' Gallery? And if he interrupted +why wasn't he at once turned out of +the House? On second thoughts," she added, +"he must have been a foreigner, and so they +made some excuse for him."</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page78" id="page78"></a>[pg 78]</span> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/078-1500.png"><img src="images/078-600.png" width="600" height="385" alt="SPEECHES TO BE LIVED DOWN." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">SPEECHES TO BE LIVED DOWN.</h3> + +<p><i>Country House Hostess.</i> "<span class="sc">So glad you could come, Mr. Vandyke! I'm +afraid you'll find us rather Dull. We're +quite a Small Party!</span>" <i>Mr. Vandyke.</i> "<span class="sc">Oh no. I shall be Out nearly +all day, you know!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>"A SAIL! A SAIL!"</h2> + +<h4>(<i>Extracts from a New (Parliamentary) Version of "The Rime of the Ancient +Mariner.</i>")</h4> + +<p class="side">An Ancient Mariner +meeteth a sorely-pressed +M.P. hurrying to a Division, +and stoppeth him.]</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>It is an Ancient Mariner,</p> +<p class="i2">And he stoppeth an M.P.</p> +<p>"By thy scant white hair and glittering eye,</p> +<p class="i2">Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>"The lobby doors are open wide,</p> +<p class="i2">And if I don't get in,</p> +<p>But give the slip to our stern Whip,</p> +<p class="i2">Just won't there be a din!"</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>He holds him with his skinny hand.</p> +<p class="i2">"There was a Ship!" quoth he.</p> +<p>The Member pressed he beat his breast,</p> +<p class="i2">Suppressing a big, big D!</p> + </div> </div> + +<p class="side">The sorely-pressed M.P. +is spell-bound by the eye of the Grand Old Seafaring +Man, and constrained +to hear his tale.]</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>He holds him with his glittering eye;</p> +<p class="i2">The Member pressed stands still.</p> +<p>And listens, though exceeding wild—</p> +<p class="i2">The Mariner hath his will.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The Member pressed sits on a post,</p> +<p class="i2">He cannot choose but hear;</p> +<p>And thus speaks out that Grand Old Man,</p> +<p class="i2">The bright-eyed Mariner—</p> + </div> </div> + +<p class="side">The Mariner tells how the +good ship <i>H.M. Government</i> +sailed for Ireland with a good wind and fair +weather till she reached a certain Line.]</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>The Ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,</p> +<p class="i2">Merrily did we drop,</p> +<p>Laden with many a blessed Bill</p> +<p class="i2">From kelson to orlop,</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The Sun of hope had left the left,</p> +<p class="i2">Out in the cold they be.</p> +<p>But it shone bright on the (<span class="sc">Speaker's</span>) right</p> +<p class="i2">When we put forth to sea.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> +<br /> +<p class="side">Where the Ship is driven +by a storm (of Opposition) +toward the Poll.]</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>And now the Storm-blast came, and he</p> +<p class="i2">Was tyrannous and strong.</p> +<p>He struck with his opposing wings,</p> +<p class="i2">And set our course all wrong.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>With sloping masts and dipping prow,</p> +<p>As who pursued with yell and blow</p> +<p>Still treads the coat-tail of his foe</p> +<p class="i2">And feeleth for his head,</p> +<p>The Ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,</p> +<p class="i2">And Winterward we fled.</p> + </div> </div> + +<p class="side">Till a great lolloping, hindering, +inopportune sea-bird, +called the Albatross, +came through the snow-fog, and was received with +great joy and hospitality—by +our opponents.<br /><br /> + +And lo! the Albatross +proveth a bird of ill-omen, +impeding the progress of +the Ship in most aggravating +fashion.]</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>At length did cross an Albatross:</p> +<p class="i2">Through fog and frost it came;</p> +<p>A noisy, rude, Obstructive bird;</p> +<p class="i2">Devoid of sense or shame.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Day after day it blocked our way,</p> +<p class="i2">As round and round it flew.</p> +<p>In spite of it, by patient wit,</p> +<p class="i2">Our helmsman steered us through.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>When a fair wind sprang up behind,</p> +<p class="i2">The Albatross did follow,</p> +<p>And every day hindered our way,</p> +<p class="i2">Despite the Mariner's hollo!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>In mist or cloud it strove to shroud</p> +<p class="i2">Our course athwart the brine,</p> +<p>Night after night it led to fight,</p> +<p class="i2">And kicking up of shine.</p> + </div> </div> + +<p class="side">The Ancient Mariner incontinently +killeth the bird of ill-omen.]</p> + + <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>"God help thee, Ancient Mariner!</p> +<p class="i2">From the fiends that plague thee thus!</p> +<p>What did'st thou do?" With my closure-bow</p> +<p class="i2"><i>I shot the Albatross!!!</i></p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> +<br /> +<p class="side">When the fog cleared his +shipmates justified the +same, and thus make +themselves accomplices +therein.]</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Now round and red, like a Scotchman's head,</p> +<p class="i2">The glorious Sun uprist:</p> +<p>Then all averred I had killed the bird</p> +<p class="i2">That brought the fog and mist.</p> +<p>'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay</p> +<p class="i2">That brought the fog and mist.</p> + </div> </div> + +<p class="side">The fair breeze continues; +the Ship enters the Sea of +Silence by the Straits of +Gag.]</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>The fair breeze blew, the gag-saved crew,</p> +<p class="i2">Were from Obstruction free;</p> +<p>We were the first that ever burst</p> +<p class="i2">Into that <i>silent sea</i>!</p> + </div> </div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page79" id="page79"></a>[pg 79]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/079-1500.png"><img src="images/079-600.png" width="600" height="456" alt="'A SAIL! A SAIL!'" /></a> +<h3>"A SAIL! A SAIL!"</h3> + +<p class="center">("<i>The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.</i>")</p></div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page80" id="page80"></a>[pg 80]</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page81" id="page81"></a>[pg 81]</span> + +<p class="side">The Ship is suddenly becalmed, +and findeth that +enforced silence means not +peaceful progress.]</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,</p> +<p class="i2">'Twas sad as sad could be;</p> +<p>With flopping sail of what avail</p> +<p class="i2">The silence of the sea?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Day after day, day after day,</p> +<p class="i2">We stuck, nor breath nor motion;</p> +<p>As idle as a painted ship</p> +<p class="i2">Upon a painted ocean.</p> + </div> </div> + +<p class="side">The Spirit of Obstruction +had followed in spook-like +silent, sub-marine secrecy.]</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>And some in dreams assured were</p> +<p class="i2">Of the spirit that plagued us so;</p> +<p>Nine fathom deep he had followed us,</p> +<p class="i2">From the land of mist and snow.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>If this be so, my shipmates said,</p> +<p class="i2">What use that bird to shoot?</p> +<p>We make no way, no more than if</p> +<p class="i2">We were shackled hand and foot.</p> + </div> </div> + +<p class="side">The shipmates, in their +sore distress, are tempted +to throw the blame on the +Ancient Mariner.]</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Ah! well-a-day! what evil looks</p> +<p class="i2">Had I from old and young!</p> +<p>My gain seemed loss, the Albatross</p> +<p class="i2">Around my neck was hung.</p> + </div> </div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p class="side">The Ancient Mariner beholdeth +a long-hoped-for +sign in the element afar +off.]</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>There passed a weary time. Each throat</p> +<p class="i2">Was parched, and glazed each eye.</p> +<p>A weary time! a dreary time!</p> +<p class="i2">(Devoted to "Supply,")</p> +<p>When, looking westward, I beheld</p> +<p class="i2">A Something in the sky!</p> + </div> </div> + +<p class="side">It groweth and assumeth +substantial shape.]</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>At first it seemed a little speck,</p> +<p class="i2">And then it seemed a mist:</p> +<p>It moved, and moved, and took at last</p> +<p class="i2">A certain shape, I wist.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>A speck, a mist, a shape I wist!</p> +<p class="i2">And still it neared and neared:</p> +<p>As if it dodged some awkward question</p> +<p class="i2">It plunged, and tacked, and veered.</p> + </div> </div> + +<p class="side">At its nearer approach it +seemeth to him to be a +ship, bearing the hopeful +name of <i>Autumn Session</i>.]</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,</p> +<p class="i2">We scarce could laugh or wail;</p> +<p>Through utter drought all dumb we stood!</p> +<p>I bit my tongue—it did me good—</p> +<p class="i2">And cried "A Sail! A Sail!!!"</p> + </div> </div> + +<p class="side">A flash of joy among his +shipmates,]</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,</p> +<p class="i2">Agape they heard me call.</p> +<p>Gramercy! They for joy did grin,</p> +<p>And all at once their breath drew in,</p> +<p class="i2">As they were whistling all.</p> + </div> </div> + +<p class="side">And of anger amidst their +foes.]</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Our fierce foes' faces went aflame,</p> +<p class="i2">They felt that they were done!</p> +<p>Their thoughts were of the western main,</p> +<p class="i2">Of moor, and dog, and gun,</p> +<p>When that strange shape drave suddenly</p> +<p class="i2">Betwixt us and the Sun.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr /> +<br /> +<p class="side">The Ancient Mariner postponeth +the sequel of his +strange story to a more +convenient occasion.]</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><i>Ah, Member pressed, I'll leave the rest</i></p> +<p class="i2"><i>Until—say next December!</i></p> +<p><i>Whether that Sail did bring us aid,</i></p> +<p><i>Or with my shipmate's wishes played;</i></p> +<p><i>Whether it made them welcome Autumn,</i></p> +<p><i>Or Tales of Hope to question taught 'em;</i></p> +<p><i>Whether (as spook) that Albatross</i></p> +<p><i>Appeared again our path to cross;</i></p> +<p><i>If it portended gain or loss</i></p> +<p><i>(Uncertain these, as pitch-and-toss!)</i></p> +<p><i>I'll tell you when again we meet,</i></p> +<p><i>On this same post, in this same street—</i></p> +<p class="i2"><i>Oh, Member pressed—remember!</i></p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/081-1500.png"><img src="images/081-600.png" width="600" height="394" alt="JUSTIFIABLE DECEPTION." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">JUSTIFIABLE DECEPTION.</h3> + +<p><i>Nervous Old Party (who has been making himself rather a nuisance all the +way).</i> "<span class="sc">A—a—surely, my dear Sir, this Galloping up +these Hills is extremely a—a—to say the least, reckless!</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Jack Highflyer (Proprietor and Coachman, who has been spirting his Team up +several short rises).</i> "<span class="sc">Gallop! Call this Galloping? +By George, just you wait till Return Stage—see me go down 'em! Greased +Lightning a fool to it!</span>"</p> + +<p>[<i>Result as desired. Old Gentleman clears out shortly, for purpose of writing +to "Times," and so makes way for Fair Passenger behind.</i>]</p></div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page82" id="page82"></a>[pg 82]</span> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2 class="sans">THE BRITISH ATHLETE'S VADE-MECUM.</h2> + +<ul class="none"> +<li><i>Question.</i> What is the <i>specialité</i> +of a Briton?</li> + +<li><i>Answer.</i> That given him by +belonging to a race of born +athletes.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> Can any member of the +human family outside the +British Isles do anything in +the shape of sport?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> Only imperfectly. However, +Australians are good at +cricket, and Americans have +been known to adequately +train racehorses.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> Can you give any reason +for their partial success?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> Yes. Australians are our +first-cousins, and Americans +our first-cousins once removed.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> Then you consider them +of the same stock as the true +Briton?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> Quite so. Hence their +prowess in the field.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> What do you think of +foreigners?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> That they are typified +by "Moosoo."</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> When you speak of +"Moosoo," to whom do you +refer?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> To the average French +duffer, who has about as +much knowledge of sport as a +baby in arms.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> Are all foreigners duffers?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> All; without exception.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> How do they go out +shooting?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> With a horn, a <i>couteau +de chasse</i>, a toy game-bag, +and a decorated poodle.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> Can they row at all?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> Not seriously. They can +paddle a little, but have no +more idea of pulling than the +man in the moon.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> And yet, did not a Paris +crew beat a Thames Eight, on +the Seine, early in the present +year?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> Yes; but that was because +there was some good +reason or other for the English +defeat.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> It could not have been, +of course, because the French +Eight was better than their +visitors?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> Certainly not.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> But is not that the view +you would adopt if you were +dealing with two English +crews?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> Why, certainly; but +this was a race between Britons +and Frenchman, and the former +could not naturally be beaten +by the latter on their own +merits.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> Why not?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> Because, as a matter of +fact, they couldn't.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> And so your opinion of +the superiority of Britons over +foreigners is unalterable?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> Of course. I should +not be a Briton if it were +not so.</li> +</ul> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a href="images/082a-800.png"><img src="images/082a-350.png" width="350" height="343" alt="DECIDEDLY PLEASANT." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">DECIDEDLY PLEASANT.</h3> + +<p><i>Genial Youth.</i> "<span class="sc">I say, Gubby, Old Chap, is this really true +about your going to Marry my Sister Edie?</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Gubbins.</i> "<span class="sc">Yes, Tommy. It's all settled. But why do you ask?</span>"</p> + +<p><i>G. Y.</i> "<span class="sc">Oh! only because I shall have such a jolly slack time +now! You know <i>I've</i> pulled off nearly all her Engagements so +far, only you're the first one who's been a <i>Real Stayer</i>!!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>A DECAYED INDUSTRY.</h3> + +<h4>(<i>From the Note-book of Our Prophet-Reporter.</i>)</h4> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 300px;"><a href="images/082b-700.png"><img src="images/082b-300.png" width="300" height="248" alt="Home Secretary ... awaiting the arrival of the Deputation" /></a></div> + +<p>The <span class="sc">Home Secretary</span> was seated in his room awaiting the arrival +of the Deputation:—</p> + +<p>"Well, I suppose I was right to allow them to interview me," he +murmured. "The submerged Tenth have not the franchise to-day. +Ah! but they may have it to-morrow!"</p> + +<p>The <span class="sc">Home Secretary's</span> exclamation was caused by the appearance +of a number of half-starved ragamuffins, who had lounged into the room, +and were now standing respectfully before him.</p> + +<p>"Beg pardon, Sir," said the spokesman of this strange-looking +deputation, "but are you the <span class="sc">'Ome Seckkerterry</span>?"</p> + +<p>"That is my position," replied the Cabinet Minister. "And now +that you are here, what do you want?"</p> + +<p>"Well, Guv'nor, truth to tell, we are out of employment. Our +trade has gone to the dogs. Our business wos a removin' of superfluous +cash from the pockets of the more inattentive of the public."</p> + +<p>"Burglars!" exclaimed the <span class="sc">Home Secretary</span>, in some alarm, +and he hastily approached the handle of the bell communicating +with the Messenger's Room.</p> + +<p>"Stow it!" cried the spokesman roughly, then hurriedly lowering +his tone, he apologised, and said he spoke from force of habit. +"Twenty years ago our purfession was worth something. We could +make a tidy living out of silk pocket-handkerchiefs, and sich like. +But nowadays it's all changed. It wants capital, Guv'nor; that's +where it is, it wants capital!"</p> + +<p>"What wants capital?" queried the Minister.</p> + +<p>"Why, our purfession, to be sure. Nowadays everythink's done +on scientific principals. A burglar must know something of +chemistry, and be up in things generally. Besides, all the real +good things are worked by syndicates. Unless you can put in a +'underd pounds or so, why, you are nowhere. What are we to +do?"</p> + +<p>The <span class="sc">Home Secretary</span> sat in deep thought.</p> + +<p>"Look 'ere, Guv'nor," continued the spokesman, "'ere's a noshun. +As we can't afford to be thieves, and haven't sufficient education to +become burglars, why shouldn't we assist the Civil Power? Make +us Peelers, Sir, you know—Coppers."</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>A month later the Police received some new recruits, and the title +of the Force was officially changed to "The Unemployed."</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2 class="sans">ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.</h2> + +<h3>EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.</h3> + +<p><i>House of Commons, Monday, August 7.</i>—House brisked up to-day +on approaching Report Stage Home-Rule Bill; over three hundred +Members present, including <span class="sc">Joseph</span>, fresh from Birmingham; on +whole, a melancholy gathering. At outset every appearance of collapse. +Influence of Bank Holiday over it all. Ministers who +should have been in places to answer questions not arrived. Worse +still when Home-Rule Bill reached, and new Clauses called on. +Turned out <span class="sc">Prince Arthur</span> was still dallying at Dulwich, +<span class="sc">Heneage</span> 'appy at 'Ampstead, <span class="sc">Wolmer</span> tarrying by the giddy +swing on Peckham Rye. <span class="sc">Bartley</span>, ever ready to sacrifice himself +in interests of Empire, proposed to move new Clauses for absentees, +but <span class="sc">Speaker</span> wouldn't have it; so passed on to <span class="sc">Parker Smith</span>. +P. S., as sometimes happens in correspondence, proved most important +part of letter. He had quite a cluster of Clauses; moved +them in succession through long and dreary night.</p> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page83" id="page83"></a>[pg 83]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/083-1500.png"><img src="images/083-600.png" width="600" height="441" alt="Holiday Time--;as shown by Members' dress in the House." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">HOLIDAY TIME—AS SHOWN BY MEMBERS' DRESS IN THE HOUSE.</h3></div> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page84" id="page84"></a>[pg 84]</span> + +<p>Incidentally provided <span class="sc">Tim Healy</span> with opportunity for making +speech quite in old (of late unfamiliar) form. One of P. S.'s clauses +designed for appointment of Boundary Commissioners, with view of +what <span class="sc">T. W. Russell</span> described as "ojus jerrymandering." <span class="sc">Tim</span> +declared that scheme proposed by Bill would give Unionists a much +larger representation than they were entitled to, leaving them, with +exception of disfranchisement of Dublin University, in very +much same numbers as they now stand. Demonstrating this, +<span class="sc">Tim</span> cited in detail the constituencies affected. Totted them up +to reach the total he had affirmed—certainly eighteen, possibly +twenty-one.</p> + +<p>"There's Armagh two," he said, "and Antrim four. Four and two +are six," he added, turning with defiant look upon the placid figure +of <span class="sc">T. W. Russell</span>. Paused for a moment to give full opportunity +for anyone getting up to deny this proposition. No response; +<span class="sc">Tim</span> proceeded; "Very well, six. There's Belfast four. Six and +four are ten!" he shouted triumphantly, looking across at <span class="sc">Joseph</span>. +"Very well, ten," he added, in low growl; evidently disappointed +at lack of spirit in camp opposite. "Down—North, East and West +Down you'll have, I suppose? That's three. Three and ten's +thirteen. Thirteen!" he shouted, turning with quick flush of hope +in direction of seat of <span class="sc">Edward of Armagh</span>. But Colonel not there. +In fact not been seen in House since he went out after the great +fight, holding bunch of keys to his bruised cheek.</p> + +<p>Things looking desperate; still <span class="sc">Tim</span> plodded on. Surely age of +chivalry not so finally gone that there was not left in an Irish bosom +sufficient courage to deny to a political adversary that two and two +made four? Perhaps <span class="sc">Tim</span> had been piling on the units too high. +He would continue on a lower scale. "Very well, that's thirteen. +Now North Fermanagh's one. Thirteen and one's fourteen." No +pen can describe the acrimony <span class="sc">Tim</span> threw into this proposition. +Still the craven blood did not stir. "Londonderry, North, South, +and City—I suppose you expect to collar them all? That's three; +fourteen and three are seventeen."</p> + +<p>It was terrible. The <span class="sc">Speaker</span>, fearing bloodshed, interposed, ruling +<span class="sc">Tim</span> out of order; only just in time. One could see by flush on +<span class="sc">Macartney's</span> cheek that one step more would have been fatal, and +that the proposition "Seventeen and two are nineteen" would have +led to outbreak beside which the "regrettable incident" would have +been meretriciously mild.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Took up Report Stage of Home-Rule Bill.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;"><a href="images/084a-800.png"><img src="images/084a-300.png" width="300" height="260" alt="'Bimetallism.'" /></a> +<p class="center">"Bimetallism."</p></div> + +<p><i>Tuesday.</i>—The Squires had regular set-to to-night. He of +Blankney began it; <span class="sc">Squire of Malwood</span>, never loath for a tussle, +cheerfully stepping into the ring. Order of the day was Report Stage +of Home-Rule Bill. Members, though in languid mood, prepared +once more to tread the dreary round, to pass a summer night</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>In dropping buckets into empty wells,</p> +<p>And growing old in drawing nothing up.</p> + </div> </div> + +<p><span class="sc">Squire of Blankney</span> ordered matters otherwise. Has for some +time had by him paper on Bimetallism, which he desired to +read to House. Thought event might have come off on Vote on Account; +ruled out of order; would fit in equally well on Indian Budget. +But when will Indian Budget be taken? <span class="sc">Gorst</span> and Echo answer +"When?" <span class="sc">Squire</span>, whilst willing to sacrifice all personal considerations +on the altar of public interest, feels that duty to his +Queen and country call him away for an interval of rest. He might +leave his paper for <span class="sc">Dicky Temple</span> to read; or he might have it +printed and circulated with the votes. Whilst pondering on these +alternatives, happy thought came to him. Why not move adjournment +of House, and so work off speech? Of course wouldn't do to +put the matter bluntly, and "ask leave to move the adjournment +for the purpose of discussing a definite matter of urgent public importance, +namely, <span class="sc">Harry Chaplin's</span> desire to get out of town." +But for "<span class="sc">Harry Chaplin's</span> desire," &c., substitute "the closing +of the Indian mints to the free coinage of silver," and there you +are.</p> + +<p>There we were indeed. Opposition didn't show up with the +enthusiasm that might have been expected in such a cause. +Question was indeed raised whether the necessary forty Members +had risen to support application for leave. <span class="sc">Speaker</span> said it was all +right, so <span class="sc">Squire of Blankney</span> brought out his treasured manuscript +and reeled off his speech. <span class="sc">Squire of Malwood</span> exceedingly +angry that he should have occupied nearly an hour for the purpose. +So angry that he took almost precisely same time in replying. +Drew a lurid picture of the other Squire going about +"endeavouring to make mischief in Hindustan." +The poor <span class="sc">Squire of Blankney</span>! No such fell design had filled +his manly breast. He was guilty of no more direful purpose +than that of availing himself of forms of the House to read a +paper on Bimetallism prepared for a lapsed +occasion, which might have been out of date had he kept it in his +drawer till he came back from his holiday. It led to appropriation +of four hours of the sitting; but if they had not been +wasted in this way, they would have been squandered in some other, +and House would have lost spectacle of this set-to between the +<span class="sc">Malwood Mauler</span> and the <span class="sc">Blankney Pet</span>.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—None to speak of.</p> + +<p><i>Thursday.</i>—Seems <span class="sc">Brodrick</span> didn't say at Farnham those naughty +things about Mr. G. 'Tis true he had referred to failure of a +popular local donkey to win a race owing to increasing infirmities, +adding "it is quite time some of us should be turned out to grass." +But he was not thinking of Mr. G. Of whom then was the Young +Man thinking? Could it have been ——? But no, a thousand +times no.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 300px;"><a href="images/084b-700.png"><img src="images/084b-300.png" width="300" height="252" alt="The Government Humorist." /></a> +<p class="center">The Government Humorist.<br /> +<span style="font-size: 0.8em">("No, I'm hanged if I do.")</span></p></div> + +<p>Certainly nothing in Mr. G.'s appearance to-night suggestive of +desire or necessity for knocking-off work. Others may tire and +turn fondly to contemplation of moor, river, or sea. Mr. G. thinks +there's no place like London in mid-August, no scene so healthful or +invigorating as House of Commons. Plunged in to-night on one of +the interminable Amendments. A difficult job in hand. Had to +accept Amendment which <span class="sc">Solicitor-General</span> and <span class="sc">Attorney-General</span> +had an hour earlier been put up to show was impossible. +Began by pummelling <span class="sc">Prince Arthur</span>; proceeded to make little of +<span class="sc">Henry James</span>; turned aside to pink <span class="sc">Joseph</span> with sarcastic +reference +to inveterate love with which he is cherished in the bosom of his new +friends the Tories; finished by throwing over <span class="sc">Attorney-General</span> +with grace and dexterity that made experience rather pleasant than +otherwise; and at a quarter to eight accepted an Amendment that +had been moved at a quarter to six.</p> + +<p>It was in conversation round this Debate that <span class="sc">Solicitor-General</span>, +accused by <span class="sc">Carson</span> of knowing all about a certain point of law, +delighted House by taking off wig, pitching it ceiling-high, deftly +catching it, and observing with a wink at <span class="sc">Speaker</span>, "No, I'm hanged if I do."</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Report Stage Home-Rule Bill.</p> + +<p><i>Friday Night.</i>—Grouse to-morrow, Home-Rule Bill to-night. +As <span class="sc">Borthwick</span> says, Home-Rule Bill is like partridge, at least to +this extent, that, in course of a few months, its daily appearance on +the table leads to sensation of palled palate. Truly, <i>toujours +perdrix</i> is endurable by comparison with Always Home Rule. +Members who remain bear up pretty bravely, but glance wistfully +at the door through which have disappeared so many friends and +companions dear, bound Northward. The holiday, even when it +comes for us—the mere residuum, tasting grouse only from the +bounty of our friends, who are not dead but gone before—will be +but an interval in a prodigiously long Session. "I suppose you +find the Autumn Session very popular," I said to <span class="sc">Marjoribanks</span>, +who still wears a smile. "Yes," he said; "more especially with +Members who have paired up to Christmas."</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Still harping on Home Rule.</p> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<table align="center" summary="transcriber note" width="auto" style="margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 3em;"> +<tr> + <td class="note"> + +<h4>Transcriber's Note:</h4> + +<p>Sundry damaged or missing punctuation has been repaired.</p> + +<p>The correction listed below is also indicated in the text by a dashed line at the appropriate place:</p> +<p>Move the mouse over the word, and the original text <ins title="T.N.: Original reads 'apprears'">appears</ins>.</p> + +<p>Page 73: 'break' corrected to 'brake'. +"I'm over before you have put on the brake,"</p> + +</td> +</tr> +</table> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. +105, August 19th 1893, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON *** + +***** This file should be named 36141-h.htm or 36141-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/1/4/36141/ + +Produced by Lesley Halamek, Malcolm Farmer and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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