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diff --git a/36142-h/36142-h.htm b/36142-h/36142-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d26a10a --- /dev/null +++ b/36142-h/36142-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1848 @@ +<!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, 26th 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;} + 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%;} + 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;} + .poem p.i14 {margin-left: 7em;} + .poem p.i34 {margin-left: 17em;} + + .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;} + + </style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 105, +August 26th 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 26th 1893 + +Author: Various + +Editor: Sir Francis Burnand + +Release Date: May 19, 2011 [EBook #36142] + +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="page85" id="page85"></a>[pg 85]</span> + +<h1>PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI</h1> + +<h2>VOLUME 105, August 26th 1893</h2> + +<h3><i>edited by Sir Francis Burnand</i></h3> + + <hr class="full" /> + +<h2 class="sans">THE ADVENTURES OF PICKLOCK HOLES.</h2> + +<h4>(<i>By Cunnin Toil.</i>)</h4> + +<h3>No. III.—LADY HILDA'S MYSTERY.</h3> + +<p>A day or two after the stirring events which I have related as +taking place at Blobley-in-the-Marsh, and of which, it will be remembered, +I was myself an astonished spectator, I happened to be +travelling, partly for business, partly for pleasure, through one of +the most precipitous of the inaccessible mountain-ranges of +Bokhara. It is unnecessary for me to state in detail the reasons +that had induced me once more to go so far a-field. One of the +primary elements in a physician's success in his career is, that he +should be able to guard, under a veil of impenetrable silence, the +secrets confided to his care. It cannot, therefore, be expected of me +that I should reveal why his Eminence the Cardinal <span class="sc">Dacapo</span>, one of +the most illustrious of the Princes of the Church, desired that I +should set off to Bokhara. When the memoirs of the present +time come to be published, it is possible that no chapter of +them will give rise to bitterer discussion than that which narrates +the interview of the redoubtable Cardinal with the humble author of +this story. Enough, however, of this, at present. On some future +occasion much more will have to be said about it. I cannot endure +to be for ever the scape-goat of the great, and, if the Cardinal +persists in his refusal to do me +justice, I shall have, in the last +resort, to tell the whole truth about +one of the strangest affairs that ever +furnished gossip for all the most +brilliant and aristocratic tea-tables +of the Metropolis.</p> + +<p>I was walking along the narrow +mountain path that leads from +Balkh to Samarcand. In my right +hand I held my trusty kirghiz, +which I had sharpened only that +very morning. My head was +shaded from the blazing sun by a +broad native mollah, presented to +me by the Khan of <span class="sc">Bokhara</span>, with +whom I had spent the previous +day in his Highness's magnificent +marble and alabaster palace. As +I walked I could not but be sensible +of a curiously strained and +tense feeling in the air—the sort of +atmosphere that seems to be, to me +at least, the invariable concomitant +of country-house guessing-games. +I was at a loss to account +for this most curious phenomenon, +when, looking up suddenly, I saw +on the top of an elevated crag in +front of me the solitary and impassive +figure of <span class="sc">Picklock Holes</span>, +who was at that moment engaged +on one of his most brilliant feats +of induction. He evinced no surprise whatever at seeing me. A +cold smile lingered for a moment on his firm and secretive lips, and +he laid the tips of his fingers together in his favourite attitude of +deep consideration.</p> + +<p>"How are you, my dear <span class="sc">Potson</span>?" he began. "What? not +well? Dear me, dear me, what can it mean? And yet I don't +think it can have been the fifth glass of sherbet which you took with +the fourteenth wife of the <span class="sc">Khan</span>. No, I don't think it can have +been that."</p> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Holes</span>, you extraordinary creature," I broke in; "what on earth +made you think that I drank five glasses of sherbert with the <span class="sc">Khan's</span> +fourteenth wife?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing simpler, my dear fellow. Just before I saw you a native +Bokharan goose ran past this rock, making, as it passed, a strange +hissing noise, exactly like the noise made by sherbert when +immersed in water. Five minutes elapsed, and then you appeared. +I watched you carefully. Your lips moved, as lips move only when +they pronounce the word fourteen. You then smiled and scratched +your face, from which I immediately concluded you were thinking +of a wife or wives. Do you follow me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do, perfectly," I answered, overjoyed to be able to say +so without deviating from the truth; for in following his reasoning +I did not admit its accuracy. As to that I said nothing, for I had +drunk sherbert with no one, and consequently had not taken five +glasses with the fourteenth wife of the <span class="sc">Khan</span>. Still, it was a +glorious piece of guess-work on the part of my matchless friend, +and I expressed my admiration for his powers in no measured +terms.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," said <span class="sc">Holes</span>, after a pause, "you are wondering +why I am here. I will tell you. You know Lady <span class="sc">Hilda Cardamums</span>?"</p> + +<p>"What, the third and loveliest daughter of the Marquis of +<span class="sc">Sassafras</span>?"</p> + +<p>"The same. Two days ago she left her boudoir at Sassafras +Court, saying that she would return in a quarter of an hour. A +quarter of an hour elapsed, the Lady <span class="sc">Hilda</span> was still absent. The +whole household was plunged in grief, and every kind of surmise was +indulged in to account for the lovely girl's disappearance. Under +these circumstances the Marquis sent for me, and that," said +<span class="sc">Holes</span>, "is why I am here."</p> + +<p>"But," I ventured to remark, "do you really expect to find +Lady <span class="sc">Hilda</span> here in Bokhara, on these inhospitable precipices, +where even the wandering Bactrian finds his footing insecure? +Surely it cannot be that you have tracked the Lady <span class="sc">Hilda</span> +hither?"</p> + +<p>"Tush," said <span class="sc">Holes</span>, smiling in spite of himself at my vehemence. +"Why should she not be here? Listen. She was not at Sassafras Court. +Therefore, she must have been outside Sassafras Court. +Now in Bokhara <i>is</i> outside Sassafras Court, or, to put it +algebraically,</p> + +<p class="ind1">in Bokhara = outside Sassafras Court.</p> + +<p>Substitute 'in Bokhara' for 'outside Sassafras Court,' and you get +this result—</p> + +<p>'She must have been in Bokhara.'</p> + +<p>Do you see any flaw in my +reasoning?"</p> + +<p>For a moment I was unable to +answer. The boldness and originality +of this master-mind had as +usual taken my breath away. +<span class="sc">Holes</span> observed my emotion with +sympathy.</p> + +<p>"Come, come, my dear fellow!" +he said; "try not to be too much +overcome. Of course, I know it +is not everybody who could track +the mazes of a mystery so promptly; +but, after all, by this time you of +all people in the world ought to have +grown accustomed to my ways. +However, we must not linger here +any longer. It is time for us to restore +Lady <span class="sc">Hilda</span> to her parents."</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;"><a href="images/085-800.png"><img src="images/085-300.png" width="300" height="319" alt="'Holes opened it, and read it.'" /></a> +<p class="center">"Holes opened it, and read it."</p></div> + +<p>As <span class="sc">Holes</span> uttered these words +a remarkable thing happened. +Round the corner of the crag on +which we were standing came a +little native Bokharan telegraph +boy. He approached <span class="sc">Holes</span>, salaamed +deferentially, and handed +him a telegram. <span class="sc">Holes</span> opened it, +and read it without moving a +muscle, and then handed it to me. +This is what I read:—</p> + +<p class="ind1">"<i>To <span class="sc">Holes</span>, Bokhara.</i></p> + +<p class="ind"> +"<i><span class="sc">Hilda</span> returned five minutes after you left. Her watch had +stopped. Deeply grateful to you for all your trouble. <span class="sc">Sassafras.</span></i>" +</p> + +<p>There was a moment's silence, broken by <span class="sc">Holes</span>.</p> + +<p>"No," he said, "we must not blame the Lady <span class="sc">Hilda</span> for being +at Sassafras Court and not in Bokhara. After all, she is young and +necessarily thoughtless."</p> + +<p>"Still, <span class="sc">Holes</span>," I retorted, with some natural indignation, "I +cannot understand how, after your convincing induction, a +girl of any delicacy of feeling can have remained away from +Bokhara."</p> + +<p>"I knew she would do so," said my friend, calmly.</p> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Holes</span>, you are more wonderful than ever," was all that I +could murmur. So that is the true story of Lady <span class="sc">Hilda Cardamums'</span> +return to her family.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>DANGER!</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>In our London streets, for native or stranger,</p> +<p>We ought to have notice-boards warning of "Danger!"</p> +<p>Like those on the Thames near the weirs and locks.</p> +<p>When Premiers collide, and when Princes get shocks,</p> +<p>In cabs or in carriages, King Street way driving,</p> +<p>'Tis time that street warnings the wise were contriving.</p> +<p>For now it is clear that you might as well try</p> +<p>To steer a balloon through a thundery sky,</p> +<p>Or take a stroll near the setting of sun</p> +<p>In a suburb where cads upon bicycles run;</p> +<p>Or command—or serve in—an ironclad fleet,</p> +<p>As—take a drive down St. James's Street!</p> + </div> </div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page86" id="page86"></a>[pg 86]</span> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3 class="sans">THE LITTLE OLD (PARLIAMENTARY) WOMAN, HER (NEWCASTLE PROGRAMME) SHOE, <br />AND HER IMPORTUNATE CHILDREN.</h3> + +<h4>(<i>An old Nursery Rhyme Re-adapted.</i>)</h4> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/086-1200.png"><img src="images/086-500.png" width="500" height="499" alt="THE LITTLE OLD (PARLIAMENTARY) WOMAN ..." /></a></div> + +<div class="poem1"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">There was an Old Woman who lived in her Shoe,</span></p> +<p><span class="sc">She had so many Children she didn't know what to do;</span></p> +<p><span class="sc">So she gave them some Broth without any Bread,</span></p> +<p><span class="sc">Then "Whipped" them all up, and—sent them to bed!</span></p> + </div> </div> + +<blockquote><p> +["Inspired, as it may be presumed, by the more or less remote prospect of the termination of the Home-Rule debate, the political creditors of the +Government are vieing with one another in urging their respective claims to priority of payment."—<i>Morning Post.</i></p> + +<p style="margin-top: -1em;">"Their bills are the promises of the Newcastle Programme."—<i>Times.</i>] +</p></blockquote> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>My <span class="sc">Angelina</span> once enjoyed</p> +<p class="i2">The mild lawn-tennis all the day,</p> +<p>And did not scorn to be employed</p> +<p class="i2">In croquet's unexciting fray;</p> +<p>O truly happy seasons, when</p> +<p class="i2">I think of you, I wish you back,</p> +<p>For <span class="sc">Angelina</span> had not then</p> +<p class="i2">Become a golfing maniac!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>But now of none of these she thinks,</p> +<p class="i2">All such pursuits she reckons "slow,"</p> +<p>And spends the days upon the links,</p> +<p class="i2">Where nevermore I mean to go:</p> +<p>For I recall the heartless snubs,</p> +<p class="i2">Which those enchanting lips let fall,</p> +<p>When I demolished several clubs,</p> +<p class="i2">And lost my temper, and the ball.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>To-day the fickle maid prefers</p> +<p class="i2">With young <span class="sc">Macduff</span> to pass her time,</p> +<p>Because his "putting," she avers—</p> +<p class="i2">Whatever that be—"is sublime;"</p> +<p>And when I get a chance to state</p> +<p class="i2">The deep affection felt by me,</p> +<p>She interrupts me to relate</p> +<p class="i2">How well she did that hole in three!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>I love my <span class="sc">Angelina</span> still,</p> +<p class="i2">Yet he who chose her as a wife</p> +<p>Would be expected to fulfil</p> +<p class="i2">A caddie's duties all his life;</p> +<p>So, if I turn away instead,</p> +<p class="i2">You will not hold me much to blame?</p> +<p>How <i>can</i> I woo her? She is wed</p> +<p class="i2">Already—to this awful game!</p> + </div> </div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page87" id="page87"></a>[pg 87]</span> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/087a-1500.png"><img src="images/087a-600.png" width="600" height="419" alt="EXPERTO CREDE." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">EXPERTO CREDE.</h3> + +<p><i>Corporal M'Taggart, of the Nairn and Elgin Highlanders (to Photographer).</i> +"<span class="sc">Hech mon, ye'll neever Hit us that gait,—ye're +no allowin' for Windage!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>CROQUET.</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>O feeblest game, how strange if you should rise</p> +<p class="i2">To favour, <i>vice</i> tennis superseded!</p> +<p>And yet beneath such glowing summer skies,</p> +<p class="i2">When wildest energy is invalided,</p> +<p class="i4">Mere hitting balls through little hoops</p> +<p class="i4">Seems work enough. One merely stoops,</p> +<p class="i2">And lounges round, no other toil is needed.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Upon a breezy lawn beneath the shade</p> +<p class="i2">Of rustling trees that hide the sky so sunny,</p> +<p>I'll play, no steady game as would be played</p> +<p class="i2">By solemn, earnest folks as though for money—</p> +<p class="i4">For love is better. Simply stoop,</p> +<p class="i4">And hit the ball. It's through the hoop!</p> +<p class="i2">My partner smiles; she seems to think it funny.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>My pretty partner, whose bright, laughing eyes</p> +<p class="i2">Gaze at me while I aim another blow; lo,</p> +<p>I've missed because I looked at her! With sighs</p> +<p class="i2">I murmur an apologetic solo.</p> +<p class="i4">The proudest athlete here might stoop,</p> +<p class="i4">To hit a ball just through a hoop,</p> +<p class="i2">And say the game—with her—beats golf and polo.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>TRUMPS FOR TRAMPS.</h2> + +<h4>(<i>From the Story of a Much-considered Nothing.</i>)</h4> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 200px;"><a href="images/087b-500.png"><img src="images/087b-200.png" width="200" height="293" alt="Trumps for Tramps." /></a></div> + +<p>THE Tramp was distinctly one of the Unemployed. +He had no money, no friends, no +home. He had obtained some work a short +while since. The labour, of course, had been +unskilled, and then there had come a strike, +and the Tramp and his mates had turned out +with the rest. The Tramp was a little annoyed, +as he had been fairly satisfied to earn bread +and butter and meat, and above all, and before +all, beer. But the leaders of the strike had +satisfied him that it was entirely for his benefit. +That as the Tramp could not work up to their +standard, it was their duty to work down to +his—and yet get paid at the same rate of +wages belonging to the higher scale. This +seemed to the Tramp pleasant enough. But +while he waited, he starved; so he was not +sure that the notion of the strike was so excellent +after all. But then his brain might have +been clearer—it had not been fed (in common +with the rest of his body) for several days.</p> + +<p>So the Tramp—weary, ragged, and tanned—wandered +to the spot where Labour was +holding her Congress. The last meeting had +been held, and the final squabble settled when +he reached his destination. There were a +couple of well-fed, healthy-looking men, +dressed in good strong broad-cloth, standing +outside the meeting-place. They regarded +the Tramp with some surprise.</p> + +<p>"Surely not a Member?" said the first.</p> + +<p>"And of course not a Delegate?" hinted the second.</p> + +<p>The tramp shook his head. He knew +nothing about Members and Delegates.</p> + +<p>"I thought not," said Number One. "All +our Members and Delegates are quite of +respectable appearance."</p> + +<p>"Got nothing to do," replied the Tramp, +laconically.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you try the Colonies?" asked +Number Two. "There has been an immense +fall in the value of land in Australia. You +would get it cheap just now. Why not emigrate? +Why not acquire some land?"</p> + +<p>"I don't want land, I want food!" returned the Tramp.</p> + +<p>"Well, when we have a vacancy, you shall +become one of us. We eat, drink, and talk; +but we don't work. It's the best employment +out." And the Tramp found it so.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page88" id="page88"></a>[pg 88]</span> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2 class="sans">'ARRIET ON LABOUR.</h2> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 200px;"><a href="images/088-700.png"><img src="images/088-200.png" width="200" height="381" alt="'ARRIET ON LABOUR." /></a></div> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Dear <span class="sc">Polly</span>,—These are pooty times, and don't you make no herror.</p> +<p>They gives <i>me</i> twists, though I am called the Tottenham Court Road Terror,</p> +<p>Along of quantities of pluck, and being such a dasher;</p> +<p>But now the papers bring hus news as spiles yer mornin' rasher.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>"Labour is looking up, you bet!" So sez <span class="sc">Sam Jones</span>, our neighbour.</p> +<p>"I'm glad to 'ear it, <span class="sc">Sam</span>," sez I. "But, <span class="sc">Sammy</span>, wot <i>is</i> Labour?"</p> +<p><span class="sc">Sam</span> gives his greasy curl a twist, and looks seven ways for Sunday.</p> +<p>Bit bosky, <span class="sc">Sam</span>, thick in the clear, as usual on Saint Monday.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>"Labour!" I sez, "Oh, shoo fly, <span class="sc">Sam</span>! You 'orny-'anded codgers—</p> +<p><i>Your</i> palm's as soft as putty, <span class="sc">Sam</span>—are reglar Artful Dodgers.</p> +<p>Yer Labour, with a capital L, looks mighty fine in print, <span class="sc">Sam</span>,</p> +<p>But <i>work</i> with a small w—ah! I see yer takes the 'int, <span class="sc">Sam</span>."</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>That shut <i>him</i> up, the lolloper! He know'd I'd took his measure,</p> +<p>And squelching 'umbugs always do give me pertikler pleasure.</p> +<p><span class="sc">Jones</span> sorter set 'is cap at me; I earn good money <i>I</i> do;</p> +<p>But love as follows L.S.D. 's all fol-der-riddle-dido!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>"Bashing a knobstick's ripping fun, no doubt—for them as bashes;</p> +<p>But this here new petroleum game won't work." Here <span class="sc">Jones's</span> lashes—</p> +<p>They're stubby, ginger, sly-fox ones—got kinder tangle-twinkle.</p> +<p>I 'ad my eye on 'im, the worm, while working out my winkle.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>(I'd got a pennorth in a bag; they're things to which I'm partial.)</p> +<p>"We <i>must</i> bust up Mernopoly," sez <span class="sc">Sam</span>, a-looking martial.</p> +<p>"The 'Oly Cause o' Labour carn't be stayed by trifles, <span class="sc">'Arriet</span>!</p> +<p><span class="sc">Judas</span> must 'ang, 'twere weakness to show mercy to <span class="sc">Iscariot</span>!"</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>"Bit o' yer platform gag," sez I. "You keep it for the club, <span class="sc">Sam</span>.</p> +<p>'Twon't comfort me, nor your old mother toiling at the tub, <span class="sc">Sam</span>.</p> +<p>The 'Oly Cause o' Labour, <span class="sc">Sam</span> 's, a splendid thing to spout about,</p> +<p>But it's a thing as skulkers makes <i>the</i> most tremenjus rout about."</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>I'm only just a work-girl, <span class="sc">Poll</span>, one of the larky drudges</p> +<p>As swarm acrost the bridge at night and 'omeward gaily trudges,</p> +<p>A tootling "<i>Ta-ra-boom-de-ay</i>," a chaffing of the fellers,</p> +<p>And flourishing their feathered 'ats bright reds, and blues and yellers.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>As vulgar as they make 'em, <span class="sc">Poll</span>. Leastways the chaps whose trade is</p> +<p>To write and dror in Comics, call hus "anythink but ladies."</p> +<p>Ladies? O lor! On thirteen bob a week, less sundry tanners</p> +<p>For fines, it's none so easy, <span class="sc">Poll</span>, to keep up style and manners.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>But work-girls <i>work</i>, and that is more than <span class="sc">Sam</span> and <i>'is</i> sort—drat 'em!</p> +<p>When I see shirks platforming, <span class="sc">Poll</span>, I'm longing to get at 'em.</p> +<p>When Women's Rights include the charnce of gettin' a fair 'earing</p> +<p>For Women's Wrongs—wy then there'll be less bashing and less beering.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>As for the Vote—well, <i>I</i> dunno. It seems pertikler curious</p> +<p>That politics makes a man a hass, they drives the fellers furious.</p> +<p>If Votes sets women by the ears, as they does men, my winky!</p> +<p>I guess 'twill make domestic life even more crabbed and kinky.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Wy <i>my</i> young man—you know 'im, <span class="sc">Poll</span>—whose temper's real milky,</p> +<p>Whose 'art is soft as 'is merstarche—and that is simply silky—</p> +<p>Got that rouged up on polling day, along of a young Tory</p> +<p>As called him names. I 'ad to 'ug 'im off to stop the gory.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The chap was in the 'atting line, and thought <span class="sc">Balfour</span> a 'ero;</p> +<p>Whereas my <span class="sc">Mick</span> 'as Hirish blood, and calls 'im "Niminy Nero."</p> +<p>I don't a bit know what they meant, but if them votes should send <i>hus</i></p> +<p>As fairly off our chumps as men, the shine <i>will</i> be tremendous!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>We <i>shall</i> 'ave a fair beano then! Well, I'm not nuts on voting.</p> +<p>Your <span class="sc">'Arriet's</span> lay is—better pay! <i>That's</i> not wot they're promoting,</p> +<p>Them spouting Labour Candidates. Of women's work they're jealous;</p> +<p><i>They</i> light the fire to warm <i>hus</i>? Bah! they're only good at bellows!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Their Eight 'Ours Day, and such-like rot, gives me the 'ump, dear <span class="sc">Polly</span>—</p> +<p>Wouldn't some women like it, though? Well, 'oping for it's folly,</p> +<p>Like longing for a seal-skin <i>sweet</i>, or a Marquige for a lover.</p> +<p>Man's work may be too long sometimes, a woman's <i>never</i> over.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Leastways, a <i>married</i> woman's, <span class="sc">Poll</span>. <span class="sc">Mick's</span> 'ot on me to "settle,"</p> +<p>But eighteen bob a week—his screw—ain't much to bile the kettle;</p> +<p>And I ain't 'ad my fling, not yet. <span class="sc">Mick's</span> reglar smart and sparky,</p> +<p>But—when a woman's fairly spliced, it's U. P. with the larky.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>And oh my, <span class="sc">Poll</span>, I <i>do</i> love larks! Theayters, 'ops, and houtings</p> +<p>Warm a girl's 'art a rare sight more than politics and spoutings.</p> +<p><span class="sc">Mick</span> says he 'as his eye upon a "flat," neat and commojus.</p> +<p><span class="sc">Mick's</span> a good sort, but tied for life to toil—at eighteen? Ojus!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>'Ard Labour, and for life, without the hoption! That's a sentence</p> +<p>As 'ot as <span class="sc">'Arry 'Orkins's</span>, and no place for repentance.</p> +<p>Ah, <span class="sc">Poll</span>, my girl, a woman's work <i>is</i> Labour, and no skulking.</p> +<p><i>It</i> must go on though yer old man's out of a job or sulking.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Mothers can't strike, or unionise, or make demonsterations.</p> +<p>The bloke 'as got the bulge on them. Now girls in situations,</p> +<p>Like you and me, <span class="sc">Poll</span>, <i>'as</i> a chance of larky nights and jolly days,</p> +<p>Along of arter bizness 'ours, and, now and then, the 'olidays.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>But 'twixt the cradle and the tub, the old man and 'er needle,</p> +<p>A married woman's tied up tight. Yus, <span class="sc">Mick</span> may spoon and wheedle,</p> +<p>But when a woman's got four kids, bad 'ealth, and toke for tiffin,</p> +<p>Then marriage <i>is</i> a failure, <span class="sc">Poll</span>, I give yer the straight griffin.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The goodies slate us shop-girls sharp, say married life or sarvice</p> +<p>Are more <i>respectabler</i>. Oh lor! Just look at poor <span class="sc">Jane Jarvis</span>!</p> +<p>She were a dasher, <span class="sc">Jenny</span> were, 'er fringe and feathers took it,</p> +<p>And now—'er only 'ope's that <span class="sc">Bill</span> may tire of 'er and 'ook it.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>You know that purple hostrich plume she were so proud of, <span class="sc">Polly</span>!</p> +<p>I bought it on 'er for five bob larst week, and it looks jolly</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page89" id="page89"></a>[pg 89]</span> +<p>In my new 'at. But as she sat a snivellin' o'er that dollar,</p> +<p>Thinks I if this is married life <span class="sc">'Arriet's</span> not game for collar.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>She looked so suety and sad, and all them golden tresses</p> +<p>She was so proud of when it ran to smart new 'ats and dresses,</p> +<p>Was all tight knotted round 'er knob like oakum on a mop, <span class="sc">Poll</span>.</p> +<p>Her bright blue eyes in mourning, and—well, there, I couldn't stop, <span class="sc">Poll</span>.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Labour? Well yus, the best of hus must work; yer carn't git quit of it;</p> +<p>And you and me, <span class="sc">Poll</span>, like the rest, must do our little bit of it.</p> +<p>But oh, I loves my <i>freedom</i>, <span class="sc">Poll</span>, my hevenings hoff is 'eaven;</p> +<p>But wives and slavies ain't allowed even one day in seven.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Jigger the men! <span class="sc">Sam</span> spouts and shouts about the 'Onest Worker.</p> +<p>That always means a Man, of course—<i>he's</i> a smart Man, the shirker!</p> +<p>But when a Man lives upon his wife, and skulks around his diggings,</p> +<p>Who is the "'Onest Worker" then?—Yours truly,</p> +<p class="i34"><span class="sc">'Arriet 'Iggings.</span></p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2 class="sans">FROM GRAVE TO GAY; OR, THE SECRET OF SUCCESS.</h2> + +<p><span class="sc">Dash Blank</span> was a genius. He had been an immense success at +school, and had done admirably at the University. He then came up +to town and tried many things. He was a poet, a musician, an +artist, an inventor. And everyone he knew, said it was absolutely +wonderful, and that he should make a fortune. But just at the +moment he had a fair income, which had been left to him by his +deceased relative, and there was no occasion to augment his means. +On the contrary, if anything, his accomplishments were rather a loss +to him than a gain. So the situation existed for a time.</p> + +<p>Then came a crash in the City, and poor <span class="sc">Dash Blank</span> found himself +penniless. It was then he tried to turn his talents to account, +but found that their market value was <i>nil</i>, or even less.</p> + +<p>But, fortunately, he was "such a genius," and to persons of that +class often come what may be termed happy thoughts.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Dash Blank</span> disappeared—completely, absolutely. His absence +remained unnoticed for some time, and then, of a sudden, his death +got into the papers. It was copied from one journal to another, +until the intelligence was conveyed from one end of the Empire to +the other. Then some one made the discovery that <span class="sc">Dash Blank</span> +had not been appreciated. Immediately all his brilliant failures +were unearthed, and advertised into popularity. His poems on +republication realised hundreds, and his pictures thousands; his +wonderful invention was patented, turned into a Company of +Limited Liability, and quickly realised a fortune. <span class="sc">Dash Blank</span> +was a name to conjure with—it was typical of success.</p> + +<p>At length a statue was erected to +his memory, and the unveiling became +an important function. All sorts +of smart people were present, and the +finest things imaginable were said +about his career. When it was all +over, the Sculptor was +left alone with what had +been recently termed his "masterpiece."</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 200px;"><a href="images/089a-500.png"><img src="images/089a-200.png" width="200" height="288" alt="Dash Blank" /></a></div> + +<p>"No," said he; "it is +not a bit like poor <span class="sc">Dash</span>. +I never could get his expression."</p> + +<p>"It's not bad," observed +a man in a cloak, +who had come up while +he was murmuring, and +who now stood beside him; +"not at all bad, considering +he never gave you a sitting."</p> + +<p>"That's true enough," +replied the Sculptor; "but how did +you know it?"</p> + +<p>"Because I happen to be <span class="sc">Dash +Blank</span> himself!" and then the man +in the cloak threw off that covering, +and revealed his identity.</p> + +<p>After this came an explanation. The genius noticing that when a +clever man dies there is always a run upon his works, died himself. +At any rate that was the impression in the minds of everyone save +a friendly executor, who collected the money for his estate. Then +the friendly executor paid the proceeds to the imaginary deceased.</p> + +<p>"And shall you resume work?" asked the Sculptor, after he had +recovered from his astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Not I. You need be under no alarm that anyone will compare +your portrait with the original. I have had enough of work, and +with my recently accumulated capital, shall try my hand at speculation. +Good bye, if you are in my neighbourhood, look me up. +You will find me anywhere between the Arctic and Antarctic +Zones." And then he went over to America, put his money into +wooden nutmegs, and promptly became a millionaire.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>THE "ONE-HORSE" HOUSEHOLDER.</h3> + +<h4>(<i>A Solemn Social Ditty.</i>)</h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>In a region where freshly-built suburbs lie ending</p> +<p class="i2">'Mid plots of the glum market-gardener's ground,—</p> +<p>Its bare, tenantless frontages gloomily blending</p> +<p class="i2">With grime and neglect that are rampant all round,</p> +<p>Runs the street, so forlorn it could not be forlorner,</p> +<p class="i2">Where, looking straight down a "no thoroughfare" road,</p> +<p>With the blaze of a new public-house at the corner,</p> +<p class="i2">The sad "One-horse" Householder finds his abode!</p> + </div></div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 200px;"><a href="images/089b-500.png"><img src="images/089b-200.png" width="200" height="359" alt="'You ask 'if they're in,' and she looks you all over'" /></a></div> + + <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>'Tis a wilderness wild of dread dilapidations,</p> +<p class="i2">Where one feeble gas-light illumines the street,</p> +<p>While right over the way fourteen kitchen foundations</p> +<p class="i2">Of houses unfinished the aching eye greet!</p> +<p>How he first chanced to find it his friends often wonder.</p> +<p class="i2">No omnibus runs within miles of his door,—</p> +<p>Nor a train, be it either above-ground or under,</p> +<p class="i2">Wakes life with its thrice welcome whistle and roar.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>If you call at that house, you'll be knocking and ringing,</p> +<p class="i2">Till, with forcible language, you're leaving the place,</p> +<p>When a slavey, who comes up the hall gaily singing,</p> +<p class="i2">Flings open the door, with a smut on her face.</p> +<p>You ask "if they're in," and she looks you all over,—</p> +<p class="i2">It's clear she's quite new to an afternoon call,—</p> +<p>P'raps takes you for <i>Turpin</i>, <i>Bill Sikes</i>, the <i>Red Rover</i>;</p> +<p class="i2">But she says that she'll "see," and leaves you in the hall.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>You are ushered upstairs, which a Dutch carpet graces,</p> +<p class="i2">To a drawing-room, curtained at threepence a yard,</p> +<p>Where Japanese gimcracks appear in odd places,</p> +<p class="i2">Though <span class="sc">Aspinall</span> clearly has proved their trump card;</p> +<p>For here it envelopes a plain kitchen-table,</p> +<p class="i2">There a weak wicker lounge which invites not repose;</p> +<p>And at length you are seated, as well as you're able,</p> +<p class="i2">On a folding arm-chair that half threatens to close.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>But they offer you tea, made with unboiling water,</p> +<p class="i2">A syrupy Souchong at tenpence a pound,</p> +<p>Which a simpering, woebegone, elderly daughter,</p> +<p class="i2">With stale bread rancid buttered, is handing around.</p> +<p>And you think you'll be off: as your talk halts and flounders,</p> +<p class="i2">For you feel most distinctly, <i>they're not in your line</i>,</p> +<p>And you say to yourself, "Yes, these <span class="sc">Johnsons</span> <i>are</i> bounders,"</p> +<p class="i2">But before you can go, <i>you have promised to dine</i>!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>That same dinner will take you some seasons forgetting!</p> +<p class="i2">The claret was sour, the "tinned" oysters, Blue Point;</p> +<p>And moreover 'tis really a little upsetting,</p> +<p class="i2">For the cook to come up very drunk with the joint!</p> +<p>And when to crown this you are asked to expel her,</p> +<p class="i2">And find a Policeman,—that is, if you could.</p> +<p>It may soothe you to hear yourself called "a good feller,"</p> +<p class="i2">But can you admit that the dinner was good?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>And so when you meet <span class="sc">Johnson</span> going up to the City,</p> +<p class="i2">It somehow to-day does not strike you as odd,</p> +<p>That with feelings of scorn not unmingled with pity,</p> +<p class="i2">You hurry on fast with a stiff little nod.</p> +<p>Be his craze "speculation," "a crush," "a small dinner,"</p> +<p class="i2">A christening, marriage, a death or a birth,—</p> +<p>There's a limpness of purpose that shows, though no sinner.</p> +<p class="i2">Why the dim "One-horse" Householder cumbers the earth!</p> + </div> </div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page90" id="page90"></a>[pg 90]</span> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"><a href="images/090-1500.png"><img src="images/090-600.png" width="600" height="364" alt="A LIVELY PROSPECT." /></a> +<h2 class="sans">A LIVELY PROSPECT.</h2> + +<p><i>Jones (who has come, for the first time, to spend a week at Prigglesly +Manor).</i> "<span class="sc">Smith, of Balliol, was here; wasn't he, +Mrs. Prigglesly?</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Prigglesly.</i> "<span class="sc">Yes; for a week. He's just left. He was quite Nice. +But I assure you I don't feel a bit the +<i>Wiser</i> or the <i>Better</i> for any single Thing he said the Whole +Time!</span>" <span style="float: right; font-size: 0.9em;">[<i>Jones wishes himself anywhere else.</i></span></p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>MAKING THEM USEFUL.</h2> + +<p>See in the papers that school-children at +Whissendine and elsewhere are taught gardening. +Excellent idea, this. Small Holdings +for Small Boys! Decide to try it at my +"Select Academy for the Sons of Gentlemen," +as kitchen garden certainly <i>does</i> want attending +to, and I can't afford a gardener. Tell +the boys about it. They want to know if the +hour a day which I purpose to devote to +Agriculture is to take the place of +<i>Bradley's Latin Exercises</i>. On hearing +that it is, boys seem relieved, and <span class="sc">Smith +Junior</span> pronounces the scheme a "jolly +lark." I confess I am pleased to find this +appreciation of my new arrangement on the +part of the most troublesome urchin in the +school.</p> + +<p><i>Next Day.</i>—All the boys are now provided +with separate plots, spades, rakes, and hoes. +Youth, in fact, is at the Plough, and +Myself at the Helm, so we ought to get on +all right. I purchase for them some young +cabbage-plants and cucumber-seeds, which +will go down as "extras" in the bills at the +end of Term. Boys very active first day. +<span class="sc">Smith Junior</span> breaks his spade, and gets +fifty lines. <span class="sc">Jones</span> astonishes me by talking +about "Three Acres and a Cow." Find +that his father is a strong Radical. Must +be careful what I say to <span class="sc">Jones</span>. The general +opinion seems to be that Gardening is better +than <i>Bradley's Exercises</i> "by long chalks." +Encouraging.</p> + +<p><i>Week Later.</i>—In order to gain my prize +for best cabbages, boys have been stimulating +their growth with a guano made of chopped +bones, slate-pencil dust, and ink! Surprisingly +fine specimens in young <span class="sc">Dodger's</span> +allotment. Too good to be true. Go out to +inspect, take up one of his cabbages, and +find it has no roots. <span class="sc">Dodger</span> admits that +he bought them from village greengrocer. +I remark humorously to boys—"This is +<span class="sc">Dodger's</span> <i>plot</i>!" Boys cheer me, and, being +indignant at <span class="sc">Dodger's</span> cheating, make him—so +I hear afterwards—"run the gauntlet" +in the dormitory the same evening. Hope it +will do the little sneak good. <span class="sc">Smith Junior</span> +tries to do circus trick on garden roller. +Nearly killed. Two hundred lines, and a +page of <i>Bradley's Exercises</i>. Hear him +saying that "he wishes <span class="sc">Old Swats</span> (that's +me) would do his gardening himself, and see +how <i>he</i> likes it!" No, thanks.</p> + +<p><i>End of the Experiment.</i>—Kitchen garden +a wreck! There has been a battle royal +between <span class="sc">Flashboyites</span> and <span class="sc">Smith Juniorites</span>. +<span class="sc">Flashboy</span> stole all the spades, and +entrenched himself in an earthwork, which +the other side stormed. <span class="sc">Smith Junior</span> +bleeding but triumphant. Says "gardening +is much better far than <i>Bradley's Exercises</i>." +Cucumbers (bought as missiles) and potatoes +lying all about. Several have got through +school-room windows! Letters arrive from +parents. Thought they would like the new +agricultural departure as teaching their boys +something really useful. But they don't. +Quite indignant. Say their sons are "not +intended for market-gardeners." <span class="sc">Smith +Junior's</span> parent says <i>his</i> boy is "meant for +the Church." Didn't know this before. +<span class="sc">Smith Junior</span> will be an ornament of the +Church Militant at any rate. Drop the gardening, +and go back to <i>Bradley</i>.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>"THE USUAL CHANNEL."</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>To what snug refuge do I fly</p> +<p>When glass is low, and billows high,</p> +<p>And goodness knows what fate is nigh?—</p> +<p class="i10"> My Cabin!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Who soothes me when in sickness' grip,</p> +<p>Brings a consolatary "nip,"</p> +<p>And earns my blessing, and his tip?—</p> +<p class="i10"> The Steward!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>When persons blessed with fancy rich</p> +<p>Declare "she" does not roll, or pitch,</p> +<p>What say—"The case is hardly sich"?—</p> +<p class="i10"> My Senses!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>What makes me long for <i>real</i> Free Trade,</p> +<p>When no Douaniers could invade,</p> +<p>Nor keys, when wanted, be mislaid?—</p> +<p class="i10"> My Luggage!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>What force myself, perhaps another,</p> +<p>To think (such thoughts we try to smother)</p> +<p>"The donkey-engine is our brother"?—</p> +<p class="i10"> Our Feelings!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>And what, besides a wobbling funnel,</p> +<p>Screw-throb, oil-smell, unstable gunwale,</p> +<p>Converts me to a Channel Tunnel?—</p> +<p class="i10"> My Crossing!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>COOKED AT HEREFORD.</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>The strongest always rule the roast.</p> +<p class="i2">Yes! we believe it fully;</p> +<p>So what's the natural result,</p> +<p class="i2">When <span class="sc">Cooke's</span> opposed by <span class="sc">Pulley</span>?</p> +<p>Vain contest—vain the gallant fight!</p> +<p class="i2">The winner's safely booked,</p> +<p>And forty-four good witnesses</p> +<p class="i2">Affirm the <i>poulet's</i> cooked.</p> + </div> </div> + + <hr class="medium" /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page91" id="page91"></a>[pg 91]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a href="images/091-1100.png"><img src="images/091-380.png" width="380" height="485" alt="THE POOR VICTIM!" /></a> +<h2>THE POOR VICTIM!</h2> + +<p><span class="sc">John.</span> "HM! GOOD; MIGHT BE BETTER!"</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Jonathan.</span> "HM! BAD; MIGHT BE WORSE!"</p> + +<p><span class="sc">The Seal.</span> "THREE MONTHS' CLOSE-TIME! HM! MIGHT HA' MADE IT TWELVE!!"</p></div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page92" id="page92"></a>[pg 92]</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page93" id="page93"></a>[pg 93]</span> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3 class="sans">ONLY FANCY!</h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 200px;"><a href="images/093a-350.png"><img src="images/093a-200.png" width="200" height="248" alt="ONLY FANCY!" /></a></div> + +<div class="poem1"> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">Only fancy if the Earth were flat—</p> +<p class="i2">As most of those who live upon it are—</p> +<p>And you went too near the edge of it, and toppled from the ledge of it,</p> +<p class="i2">And landed on a distant star!</p> +<p class="i2">Only fancy, if you fell upon your feet,</p> +<p class="i2">And recovered pretty quickly from the jar,</p> +<p>And you understood the lingo which the people speak and sing, oh,</p> +<p class="i2">Who dwell upon a distant star!</p> +<p>Only fancy, only fancy, what a lot of things there are</p> +<p class="i2">Very likely to be met with on a distant star.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">A goodish many things would prove</p> +<p class="i2">Not exactly quite the same as here, I guess;</p> +<p>P'raps the ladies <i>all</i> are pretty, and the men all smart and witty,</p> +<p class="i2">And marriage an unqualified success.</p> +<p class="i2">P'raps, like <span class="sc">Washington</span>, they cannot tell a lie,</p> +<p class="i2">And gossip is excluded from their talk;</p> +<p>P'raps with them a thing of course is that beef isn't made of horses,</p> +<p class="i2">And the milkmen haven't even heard of chalk!</p> +<p class="i10"> Only fancy, &c.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">Perhaps they've no occasion for police,</p> +<p class="i2">Though they may keep just a few to spoon the cooks;</p> +<p>If they do, no doubt they're wary whom they make Home Secretary,</p> +<p class="i2">And the Chief Commissioner's chosen for his looks.</p> +<p class="i2">Very likely, if they ever play a farce,</p> +<p class="i2">It contains a pretty moral for the young,</p> +<p>And perhaps their panorama has a mission, and their drama</p> +<p class="i2">To the tune of the Old Hundredth's "said or sung."</p> +<p class="i10"> Only fancy, &c.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">Very likely they have guns that will not burst,</p> +<p class="i2">And machinery that won't get out of gear;</p> +<p>P'raps they've even ammunition in respectable condition,</p> +<p class="i2">And vessels that are guaranteed to steer.</p> +<p class="i2">And it's possible they have Vestries who refrain</p> +<p class="i2">From swearing at each other when they meet;</p> +<p>And, though <i>this</i> isn't probable, they may have Boards "unjobable,"</p> +<p class="i2">And Contractors who will neither bribe nor cheat.</p> +<p class="i10"> Only fancy, &c.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">A Parliament perhaps they may require,</p> +<p class="i2">But its Members very likely don't obstruct,</p> +<p>And each Government proposition just delights the Opposition,</p> +<p class="i2">And anyone who makes a noise is "chucked."</p> +<p class="i2">Very possibly they do not care for speech,</p> +<p class="i2">But if indeed they've got a Grand Old Man</p> +<p>In whom the fancy lingers, why, he talks upon his fingers,</p> +<p class="i2">And they answer on the self-same plan!</p> +<p class="i10"> Only fancy, &c.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind">Mrs. R. says there is such a scare now +about typhoid, that she always takes a tin +of dis-connecting fluid about with her. She +also says, a bottle of automatic vinegar is +very refreshing in church.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>MY GARDENERESS.</h3> + +<blockquote><p> +["Lady <span class="sc">Carlisle</span> is training an entire staff of +women gardeners, who, she hopes, will keep the +grounds of her Yorkshire home in as perfect a +condition as their male predecessors have done."—<i>Pall +Mall Gazette.</i>] +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Come into the garden, <span class="sc">Maud</span>,</p> +<p class="i2">Why has not the grass been mown?</p> +<p>Come into the garden, <span class="sc">Maud</span>,</p> +<p class="i2">Those seeds have never been sown;</p> +<p>I fear you've been taking your walks abroad—</p> +<p class="i2">You blush like a rose full-blown.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>When the early snail first moves,</p> +<p class="i2">Before the sun is on high,</p> +<p>Beginning to gnaw the leaves he loves</p> +<p class="i2">On the beds, you should always try</p> +<p>To pick him off with your garden gloves,</p> +<p class="i2">And stamp on him—he must die.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>You can't touch snails? Let that pass,</p> +<p class="i2">I will smash each one in his shell;</p> +<p>But when it rains you can roll the grass,</p> +<p class="i2">When dry can water it well.</p> +<p>You say you can't wet your boots—alas!—</p> +<p class="i2">Nor work when it's warm, <i>ma belle</i>?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>And yet your wages you claim;</p> +<p class="i2">I should like to know what you do.</p> +<p>In truth I can't bear to blame</p> +<p class="i2">Such a sweet pretty girl as you;</p> +<p>So stop as my gardener all the same—</p> +<p class="i2">I'll be master and workman too.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,</p> +<p class="i2">Rough work should never be done</p> +<p>By delicate hands as white as pearls,</p> +<p class="i2">You only began for fun;</p> +<p>So sit, with your parasol over your curls,</p> +<p class="i2">Whilst I dig like mad in the sun.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><a href="images/093b-600.png"><img src="images/093b-200.png" width="200" height="400" alt="IMPROVED COSTUME FOR THE METROPOLITAN POLICE ..." /></a> +<p class="center">IMPROVED COSTUME FOR THE METROPOLITAN +POLICE DURING THE GREAT HEAT OF 1893.</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3 class="sans">WHO IS IT?</h3> + +<h3><i>A Political Enigma. Compounded from the Press of the Period.</i></h3> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 200px;"><a href="images/093c-350.png"><img src="images/093c-200.png" width="200" height="299" alt="A Political Enigma." /></a></div> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>He's hopeless of heaven, he's too bad for ——,</p> +<p>(So say Unionist bards, and they ought to know well,)</p> +<p>He is <span class="sc">Judas</span>-cum-<span class="sc">Cain</span> with a <i>soupçon</i> of <span class="sc">Oates</span>,</p> +<p>An imperious despot, who grovels for votes;</p> +<p>A mean truckling tyrant, an autocrat slave;</p> +<p>A Knave who plays King, and a King who plays Knave.</p> +<p>A haughty Commander, the tool of his troops,</p> +<p>A swayer of "items," nose-led by his dupes;</p> +<p>A Dog-despot, wagged by the tip of his tail,</p> +<p>A Conspirator potent, whose plot's bound to fail;</p> +<p>The land's greatest danger, because such a dolt;</p> +<p>As ruler a scourge, because breeding revolt;</p> +<p>As political guide ever banefully strong,</p> +<p>Because the majority sees he is wrong.</p> +<p>A prolix <i>Polonius</i> who proves his senility</p> +<p>By taking the shine out of youth and ability:</p> +<p>A veteran lagging superfluous, whose age</p> +<p>Puts him "out of it" so, that he fills the whole stage:</p> +<p>So old that his age gives him every claim,</p> +<p>Save to decent respect, which, of course, is a shame,</p> +<p>And absurd "fetish-worship." As Lucifer proud</p> +<p>And imperious, yet supple of knee to the crowd;</p> +<p>A <span class="sc">Coriolanus</span> who plays the <span class="sc">Jack Cade</span>;</p> +<p>A coward of nothing and no one afraid;</p> +<p>A blundering batsman whom none can bowl out;</p> +<p>A craven who staggers opponents most stout;</p> +<p>A traitor who gives his whole life to the State,</p> +<p>Whose zeal proves his spite, and his service his hate.</p> +<p>A truckler to treason and trickster for place,</p> +<p>Whose stubbornness oft throws him out of the race;</p> +<p>A lover of power and public applause,</p> +<p>Who dares to oppose the most popular cause.</p> +<p>A talkative sophist who will <i>not</i> explain;</p> +<p>A bad-tempered man, ever bland and urbane:</p> +<p>A casuist no one can half understand,</p> +<p>But whose sinister purpose is plain as your hand;</p> +<p>A vituperative and venomous foe,</p> +<p>Whose speeches with calm magnanimity glow.</p> +<p>In short, an old dolt, who inflicts dire defeat</p> +<p>On the smartest young foes he can manage to meet;</p> +<p>A powerless provoker of dreadful disasters,</p> +<p>A master of slaves whose mere slaves are his masters;</p> +<p>A voluble sphinx, and a simple chimæra</p> +<p>The Age's conundrum, the <i>crux</i> of his æra!</p> + </div> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i14"><i>Mem.</i>:</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>If you can't give a guess at the theme of these rhymes,</p> +<p>Why, peruse all the papers, and move with the times!</p> + </div> </div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page94" id="page94"></a>[pg 94]</span> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3 class="sans">AUSTRALIA THE (WITHOUT) GOLDEN.</h3> + +<p><span class="sc">Dear Mr. Punch</span>,—I see +that, with a view to economy, +the Victorian Legislature have +cut down the salary of their +future Governors to a reasonable +sum. Every one will +applaud an act inspired by so +worthy a motive. Still, as the +officials who have been thus +deprived of some of their +emoluments have a certain +state to keep up, I think it +would be only fair were that +state also to undergo revision. +With a view to assisting in so +desirable a programme, I jot +down a few suggestions.</p> + +<p><i>Uniform.</i>—Future Governors +not to be required to wear +gold lace. Yellow braid to +be sparingly used in decorating +their frock-coats. Dirks +to be substituted for swords. +Cocked-hats no longer to be +trimmed with feathers.</p> + +<p><i>Official Entertainments.</i>—Governors +no longer to be required +to ask Colonials to +dinner. Luncheons with chops +and steaks and boiled potatoes +to be substituted for extensive +<i>menus</i>. Balls to be given only +occasionally, and guests to be +served with the lightest of light +refreshments (sandwiches and +lemonade); and if dancing be +required, dancers to supply +their own orchestras.</p> + +<p><i>Attending State Functions.</i>—Governors +no longer to be +expected to appear in carriage +and pair. Their Excellencies +to be entitled to use tram-cars, +omnibuses, and bicycles. +When laying a foundation-stone, +the Governors to be permitted +to wear double-soled +boots, and carry umbrellas.</p> + +<p><i>Miscellaneous.</i>—To avoid +expense, salutes will be dispensed +with as much as possible. +When guns are fired, tubes to be used without cartridges. +Flags not to be flown in wet weather, and Chairs of State always +to be covered with brown holland. Gaslights to be sparingly +lighted, and wax-candles abolished.</p> + +<p>There, my dear Sir, this should be a relief both to the goose and +the gander. It is quite right to economise, but it is a little strange +to find that we get our first hint in this direction from the Antipodes.</p> + +<p class="author">Yours truly,</p> +<p class="author"><span class="sc">Gay without Pay</span>.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a href="images/094-1000.png"><img src="images/094-320.png" width="320" height="465" alt="A SLIGHT CONFUSION OF IDEAS." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">A SLIGHT CONFUSION OF IDEAS.</h3> + +<p><i>Local Hatter.</i> "<span class="sc">I 'ope you'll excuse my calling, Sir George; but +I 'eard as her Ladyship was going to give a Play in the Grounds—a +<i>Pastoral</i> Play, they told me—so I made so bold as jest to come +round and say as I'd got a large assortment of <i>Clerical 'Ats</i>, and +that I should be most 'appy to put 'em at her Ladyship's disposal!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>STILL WILDER IDEAS.</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>Possibilities for the next O. Wilde Play.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Puppet Number One.</i> Let's +come into the garden, <span class="sc">Maudle</span>. +I adore the garden. +Don't you know that the book +of at least one good play begins +with some epigrams in the +garden, and ends with——</p> + +<p><i>Puppet Number Two.</i> Recitations—strictly +puritanical. +Well, let's go into the garden: +there's nothing but Nature to +look at there, so we will discuss——</p> + +<p><i>Puppet Number One.</i> The +picture shows. It seems to +me there are two principles in +modern art. The first is—give +a picture a good name, and +they'll hang it.</p> + +<p><i>Puppet Number Two.</i> + What's—ahem!—what <i>is</i> in +a name?</p> + +<p><i>Puppet Number One.</i> Usually +a good deal more than is +in the picture.</p> + +<p><i>Puppet Number Two.</i> And +the second principle?</p> + +<p><i>Puppet Number One.</i> Art +is short, and the life (of the +average Academician) is +long.</p> + +<p><i>Puppet Number Two.</i> Ah, +well. I suppose I shall have +to ask you sooner or later to +define Art.</p> + +<p><i>Puppet Number One.</i> Certainly. +Art is that which +invariably goes one better +than Nature.</p> + +<p><i>Puppet Number Two (with +a sigh).</i> And what is Nature?</p> + +<p><i>Puppet Number One.</i> Nature +is that which is not so +natural as it is painted.</p> + +<p><i>Puppet Number Two (with +a groan).</i> What about truth +in Art then?</p> + +<p><i>Puppet Number One.</i> Ah! +Truth is that one infirmity of +a noble mind.</p> + +<p><i>Puppet Number Two.</i> Truth is nothing if not respectable.</p> + +<p style="margin-bottom: 3em;"><i>Puppet Number One.</i> Remember, respectability is an affectation, +of cynics, dramatic authors—and other people of no importance +generally. <span style="float: right">[<i>Exeunt severally. Curtain.</i></span></p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind1">Mrs. R. observes, "it is only too true that Summer pleasures, as +the poet says, are nearly always effervescent."</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2 class="sans">ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.</h2> + +<h4>EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.</h4> + +<p><i>House of Commons, Monday, August 14.</i>—Quite shocked to see +<span class="sc">Asher</span> to-day. Strong constitution and a happy disposition united +to make him a picture of buoyant health. Observing him walk up +floor of House just now, hardly knew him. Shoulders bowed; arms +hanging limp; cheeks sallow; an unspeakable sorrow in his dimmed +eyes.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter, Mr. <span class="sc">Solicitor</span>?" I asked, instinctively +falling into the whispering tone proper in sick rooms. "Is it the +state of Scotch business that weighs upon your mind? or is it true, +as whispered, that necessity has been discovered for bringing in Bill +amending the Borough Police and Health Act, 1892, with its 435 +clauses?"</p> + +<p>"No," said <span class="sc">Asher</span>; "I'm thinking of neither. My thoughts +tend in quite another direction. My heart is at Deeside, my heart +is not here. I have a moor there; you understand me—not a person +of dark complexion, who, after much conversation, disposes of his +wife with the assistance of a pillow. But a stretch of moorland, +gorse-scented, grouse-haunted. I awoke early on Saturday morning +hearing the popping of the guns in far-off Aboyne. Mere fancy, of +course. You remember <span class="sc">Charles Lamb's</span> story about supping with +some Scotchmen, and incidentally observing he only wished, to +make the joy complete, that <span class="sc">Burns</span> were there? One by one the Scotchmen +got up and explained to him that <span class="sc">Burns</span> had been dead for ever +so many years, and that it was practically impossible, in view of the +circumstances, that he could have been present; even, one of +them added, supposing they knew <span class="sc">Burns</span>, and it had occurred to +them to invite him. So you will say that Deeside, being hundreds +of miles away, I could not hear the birds on the wing, or the pottering +of the guns. In a sense, that is true; but I heard them all the +same; worse still, heard them when I was in church yesterday, and +should have been hearing something else. I wouldn't mind missing +a day, a week, or, in the service of my <span class="sc">Queen</span> and country, a fortnight. +What I see, and what gars me greet, is the endless vista of +nights and days we shall spend here. If we get any shooting at all +we shall begin with the pheasants.</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"O my <span class="sc">Bartley</span>, shallow-pated! O my <span class="sc">Tommy</span>, such a bore!</p> +<p>O, my dear belovèd moorland, shall I see thee evermore?"</p> + </div> </div> + +<p><span class="sc">Asher's</span> case representative of many; only his despair is the more +eloquent.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Marking time in Home-Rule debate.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page95" id="page95"></a>[pg 95]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"><a href="images/095-1500.png"><img src="images/095-600.png" width="600" height="433" alt="FATHER THAMES PURIFIED AND GLORIFIED, AS PROMISED BY L. C. C." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">FATHER THAMES PURIFIED AND GLORIFIED, AS PROMISED BY L. C. C.</h3></div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page96" id="page96"></a>[pg 96]</span> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 250px;"><a href="images/096a-800.png"><img src="images/096a-250.png" width="250" height="385" alt="Admiral Field as the honest British Sailor." /></a> +<p class="center">Admiral Field as the honest British Sailor.</p></div> + +<p><i>Tuesday.</i>—Just before eight bells, when all hands were piped +below, Admiral <span class="sc">Field</span> turned up in favourite character as the +honest British sailor. Rather modelled on transpontine style; a +little unnecessarily noisy; too humorously aggressive; hopelessly +obvious. But in present circumstances House grateful for anything; +gleefully laughed whilst the Admiral shivered his timbers, +talked about losing his soundings in a fog, declared against all shams, +referred to himself as "honest and modest sailor who believed in +straightforward action, and refused to have his eyes blinded by +abstract proposals."</p> + +<p>That last phrase didn't sound seafaring, but, as another honest +sailor was accustomed to say, its bearings lay in the application of +it. Motion before House was to eliminate Second Chamber from +Home-Rule scheme; brought forward by Radicals; situation +difficult for Opposition. If they voted against the Government they +would be declaring against principle of House of Lords. If they voted +with them they would be approving a proposition of the hated Bill. +<span class="sc">Joseph</span> judiciously got out of difficulty by declining to vote at all. +<span class="sc">Prince Arthur</span> elaborately explained that in going into Lobby with +the Radicals he was voting against a concrete proposal and in favour +of an abstract principle. This too subtle for <span class="sc">Courtney</span>, who +announced his intention of voting with Government who happened +to agree with him in approving principle of Second Chamber. It +was amid these cross blades that the Admiral, hitching up his +trousers, danced a hornpipe. <span class="sc">Tomlinson</span> attempting to bring House +back to more serious views, Members with one accord rushed into +Lobby, and Government came out with majority of 83.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Seventh night in Report Stage Home-Rule Bill.</p> + +<p><i>Thursday.</i>—"Whew!" said the Member for <span class="sc">Sark</span>. "I don't +know what will become of us if things go on much longer like this. +With a <span class="sc">Premier</span> over eighty, and the thermometer over 90, the +situation is at least unusual. Even <span class="sc">Joseph</span> not able to maintain his +favourite attitude, grafted on the iced cucumber. Just now +Mr. G. made a passing remark, quite mild compared with <span class="sc">Joey's</span> +own sly hits. J. C. up on instant, with boding brow and angry +plaint that Mr. G. had attempted to slay him with a sneer."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said <span class="sc">Plunket</span>, "times <i>are</i> hot. I don't know what we +should do without <span class="sc">Tommy Bowles</span>. The spectacle of his white +ducks is to me as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land. They +talk about an army of men in the basement working machinery +that keeps the temperature ten degrees below what it is marked +on the Terrace. Also there is, it seems, a ton and a half of ice +melting in ventilating chambers at the taxpayers' expense for our +comfort. But I don't think ice is in it with <span class="sc">Tommy's</span> ducks. Even +if they were stationary it would be something. But observe how, +coming and going, <span class="sc">Tommy's</span> brain an argosy of great thoughts, the +ducks seem to skim over our prosaic floor, calling up even to the +unimaginative mind a vision of deep, tree-shaded, quietly-rippling +Broad, over which the wild duck swiftly moves, waving white +wings."</p> + +<p>Only <span class="sc">Plunket</span>, I fancy, could evolve poesy out of to-night's +scene; hot above precedent, dull beyond endurance.</p> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Plunket's</span> duck picture cool and refreshing. But," said +<span class="sc">Edward of Armagh</span>, drawing on his military experiences, "what +we're doing just now may be much more accurately described as the +goose step."</p> + +<p>Quite so. We sit all afternoon and far into the night, always +talking, sometimes dividing; every appearance of motion, no +advance; feet lifted with due sign of walking, but when midnight +strikes and parade dismissed we are found posted exactly at the +same spot as that on which we took our stand at half-past three in +the afternoon.</p> + +<p>If Mr. G. means business the sooner he gets about it the better.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 250px;"><a href="images/096b-800.png"><img src="images/096b-250.png" width="250" height="283" alt="Swift MacNeill refuses to be named." /></a> +<p class="center">Swift MacNeill refuses to be named.</p></div> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—None.</p> + +<p><i>Friday.</i>—Mr. G. does mean business. Commences on Monday, +when Motion will be made to close Report Stage of Home-Rule Bill. +Mere reference to it set House bubbling with excitement. Mr. G.'s +proposed Resolution not yet drafted. "You know how it is," he +said, smiling blandly at <span class="sc">Prince Arthur</span>; "you've had a good deal +of experience in drawing Resolutions of this nature." But if +Ministers not ready with their Resolution, <span class="sc">Joseph</span> prepared with +Amendment. Read it out amid lively interruption.</p> + +<p>Conversation later conducted with much vigour across the Gangway, +where, a fortnight ago, <span class="sc">Gunter</span> received an Irish Member (not +iced) full in pit of stomach. Once the Blameless <span class="sc">Bartley</span> signalled +out Member for South Donegal, mentioning him by name as responsible +for particular exclamations. "Don't presume to mention my +name," said <span class="sc">MacNeill</span>, leaning across gangway.</p> + +<p>"Look here, <span class="sc">Bartley</span>," said <span class="sc">Tommy Bowles</span>, "if you're going +on that tack, you must come and sit at this side. When I saw +<span class="sc">MacNeill</span> open his mouth to speak, I confess I thought I was going +to be swallowed whole. You sit here; there's more of you."</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Notice given that business is about to commence.</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> + +</td> +</tr> +</table> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. +105, August 26th 1893, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON *** + +***** This file should be named 36142-h.htm or 36142-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/1/4/36142/ + +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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