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diff --git a/39077.txt b/39077.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5275d65 --- /dev/null +++ b/39077.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1865 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93, +December 3, 1887, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93, December 3, 1887 + +Author: Various + +Editor: Francis Burnand + +Release Date: March 8, 2012 [EBook #39077] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, CHARIVARI, DEC 3, 1887 *** + + + + +Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Wayne Hammond, +Malcolm Farmer and the Online Distributed Proofreading +Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI +VOL 93 +December 3rd 1887 + + + + + THE LETTER-BAG OF TOBY, M.P. + + +From the Lord Mayor of Dublin.+ + + _Mansion House, Dublin, Saturday_. + ++Dear Toby+, + +The news from Ireland, not all of which finds its way into your daily +papers, grows in excitement. The exploit of Mr. +Douglas P-ne+, M.P., of +Lisfinny Castle, has taken root, and all the landed gentry among the +Irish Members are fortifying themselves in their castles, and hanging +themselves outside the front-door by ropes to deliver addresses to their +constituents. The regular thing now is to hang out our M.P.'s on the +outer wall. I do not see accounts of these proceedings in your London +papers. I was, as you know, a Journalist before I was Lord Mayor; so, if +you don't mind, I'll send you a few jottings. If there is anything due +for lineage, please remit it anonymously to the Land League Fund "From A +Sympathiser." + +Foremost in this band of heroic patriots is the _chatelain_ of +Butlerstown, +Joseph G-ll-s B-gg-r+, M.P., Butlerstown Castle, as +everyone acquainted with Ireland knows, stands on the summit of a Danish +rath, and was once the seat of an +O'Toole+. Now it is the den of ++Joseph G-ll-s+. For some time he has been practising a flying leap from +the eastern to the western turret, a distance of fifty feet over a +yawning abyss, amid the cavernous depths of which the petulant plummet +has played in vain. It is thrilling, whether at early dawn, or what time +the darkening wing of Night begins to flap, to hear a shrill cry of +"Hear, hear!" to see a well-known figure cleaving the astonished air, +and to behold +Joseph G-ll-s+, erewhile upright on the eastern turret, +prone on that which lifts its head nearer the setting sun. To be present +on one of the occasions when +Joey B+. reads a Blue Book for three hours +to a deputation shivering in the moat, is enough to convince the dullest +Saxon of the hopelessness of enthralling a nation which has given birth +to such as he. As +Joseph+ himself says, quoting, with slight variation, +my own immortal verse,-- + + "Whether on the turret high, + Or in the moat not dry, + What matter if for Ireland dear we talk!" + +But the affairs at Butlerstown should not withdraw our gaze from a not +less momentous event which recently happened in the neighbourhood of +Cork city. Mr. +P-rn-ll+, as he has recently explained to you, has not +found it expedient or even necessary to take part in our recent public +proceedings in Ireland. But this abstention is to a certain extent +illusory. It is no secret in our inner circles that our glorious Chief +was but the other day in close communication with his constituents in +the city of Cork. He arrived shortly after breakfast in a balloon which +was skilfully brought to pause over the rising ground by Sunday's Well. +At the approach of the balloon the trained intelligence of the Police +fathomed the plot. The Privy Council was immediately communicated with. +Sworn information was laid, and the meeting was solemnly proclaimed by +telegraph. In the meanwhile, Mr. +P-rn-ll+ had addressed the meeting at +some length and met with an enthusiastic reception. The Police massing +in considerable numbers and beginning to baton the electors, the Hon. +Member poured a bag of ballast over them, and the balloon, gracefully +rising, disappeared in the direction of Limerick. The proceedings then +terminated. + +I expect that the success of this new departure, or perhaps I should say +this unexpected arrival, will encourage our great Chief to pay a series +of flying visits to Ireland. His adventure was certainly happier and +more successful than one which befell our esteemed friend +Tim H-ly+, +and nearly brought to an untimely conclusion a life dear to us and of +inestimable value to Ireland. +Tim+ was announced to take the chair at a +mass meeting summoned under the auspices of the local branch of the Land +League of Longford. A room was taken, the word passed round, and all +preparations made for a successful meeting. The Police, however, got +wind of it, and of course the meeting was proclaimed. But +Tim+, as you +may happen to know, is not the man to have his purpose lightly set +aside. It was made known that +Tim+ would make his speech and the Police +might catch him if they could. You know, may be, the big factory in the +thriving town of Longford--the one with a tall chimbly? Well, the word +was passed along again that the bhoys were to assemble about the +factory. "Would they bring a chair or a table," they said, "for +Tim+ to +stand on?" "No," said +Tim+, wiping his spectacles, "you leave it to +me." + +Meeting announced to take place at eight o'clock. On the very strike of +the hour, a stentorian voice, not unfamiliar in the House of Commons, +floated over the assembled multitude. "Men of Longford," it said, "we +are assembled here in the exercise of our privilege as free men." First +of all they could not tell where the voice came from. Looking up, +behold! there was +Tim+ planted inside the top of the tall chimbley, +using it like a Bishop's pulpit. It was a capital idea, and worked +admirably for half an hour, with the Police all throbbing and raging +round, and +Tim+ eyeing them quite calmly, and all the crowd roaring and +cheering, and throwing up their hats, and +B-lf-r+ getting it hot. +Somehow, whether from treachery or accident no one knows, and perhaps +never will know, but in the middle of one of his best sentences, +Tim+ +suddenly vanished from sight, and was a clear three minutes later picked +up from among the cinders in the furnace below. The proceedings then +terminated. + +There is a good deal more I could tell you, +Toby+, my bhoy, if time +permitted. I should like above all to tell you of Major +O'G-rm-n+'s +magnificent oration delivered from the main shaft of the sewer in +Waterford, with his former constituents hanging on his lips and the +grate of the sewer. But I am just off myself to address a meeting of my +fellow citizens. This too, is of course, proclaimed, and equally of +course that makes no difference. I get on the top of the Lord Mayor's +coach, leaning on the Mace, and supported by the Sword-bearer. The +horses move at walking pace, and I address the crowd. It's wonderful +what a lot one can take out of +B-lf-r+ that way. + + Yours faithfully, +T. D. S-ll-v-n+. + + * * * * * + +AMEN! + + "In deepest reverence and sincere love, the Reichstag is + mindful of His Imperial and Royal Highness the Crown Prince. + May God protect the dear life of our beloved Crown Prince, and + preserve it for the welfare of the Fatherland."--_Telegram from + the Reichstag to the Crown Prince_. + + "So mote it be!" That deep and reverent prayer + In all true hearts finds echo everywhere; + Not least in those that flush with British blood. + Prince, a loved daughter from our Royal brood, + In trouble as in joy, is at your side, + Sharing your sorrow as she shared your pride. + For her dear sake, and for your own not less, + We wish you, gallant soldier-chief, success + In a dread struggle keener, sterner far + Than those you faced in the fierce lists of war. + We know--have you not proved it?--that 'twill be + Met with the same cool steadfast gallantry + As marked your bearing in more martial strife. + Punch joins in that warm prayer for "the dear life," + And echoes, from a far yet kindred strand, + The pleading voices of the Fatherland! + + * * * * * + +As among the best books for a young man who had to be the architect of +his own fortunes, some one in Mrs. +Ram's+ hearing mentioned +Thomas a +Kempis+. "Oh yes," exclaimed the worthy lady, "I know. He built a great +part of Brighton which was named after him." + + * * * + ++A Real "Orleans" Plum.+--The forged letters. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: MR. PUNCH'S PARALLELS. No. 4. + +SIR W. V. HARCOURT AS _FALSTAFF_. + +"+There's no more valour in that _Goschen_ than in a Wild Duck.".... "A +plague of all Cowards still say I!+" + + _Henry the Fourth_, Part I., Act ii, Scenes 2 and 4.] + + * * * * * + +Mrs. +Ram+, at this time of year, takes a great interest in the state of +the weather, and studies the daily Meteorological chronicle. She says +that she always reads the reports from Ben Nevis's Observatory. She +hopes that, one of these fine days, this learned astronomer will be made +a Knight. Sir +Benjamin Nevis+ would be, she considers, a very nice +title. "Of course," she adds, "judging by his name, he must be a Jew. +They're such clever people. And, let me see, ain't there a proverb, or +something of that sort, about 'the Jew of Ben Nevis'?" + + * * * * * + +BISHOP AND PORT. + ++My Dear Mr. Punch+, + +In my Autobiography, which I am glad and proud to say, has met with your +cordial approbation, I have recorded how the late lamented Bishop, Dr. ++Sumner+, said to me, "I have drunk a bottle of port wine every day +since I was a boy." Well, his son, the Archdeacon, is annoyed at this +statement. Now, my memory is a very good one, and if I am wrong in one +point so circumstantially narrated, why not in several, why not in all? +If the Bishop did not say this, to me, _who did_? Somebody said it, that +I will swear. Who said it? If my memory fails me, is it not also likely +that the Bishop's memory was not particularly good, and consequently, +that he was mistaken in thinking that he had drunk a bottle a day since +his boyhood? I have little doubt that the Bishop only imagined it, and +perhaps he was joking. Perhaps he was playing on the words "bishop" and +"port." "Bishop" was a hot drink, I fancy, made with port wine. I have +no hesitation in comforting his Archidiaconal offspring by assuring him +that, to the best of my knowledge and belief, his father, the Bishop, +did not drink a bottle of port every day since his boyhood. He was a +very fine old clergyman--I forget whether he was exactly portly or not, +or whether he resided in Portman Square,--and I should say that +first-rate port, such as the _elixir vitae_ that made a hale centenarian +of Sir +Moses Montefiore+, taken frequently, would have tended to make +him the genial prelate he was. Had he only gone into port once, that +would not have sufficed to have produced such a Bishop, for "One swallow +does not make a +Sumner+." + + Yours ever, + + +W(ithdraw) P(ort) Frith+. + +P.S.--The Archdeacon is satisfied, and if he will only come round to see +me and bring a bottle of the port the Bishop didn't drink, why, on my +word as an artist, _I'll draw the cork_. + + * * * * * + +"_What shall he have who kills the Deer_?" Why, something to eat, of +course. At least this was, among others, the notion of the poor starving +Cottars. And they have now given up venison-eating because the food is +deer. + + * * * + ++Two French Presidents Rolled Into One.+--M. +Grevy+, on being told that +he must resign, wept copiously. This showed a want of resignation. +Curious sight, +Grevy+ and Tears! + + * * * + +Sir +Charles Warren+ has been presented with the freedom of the +Leathersellers' Guild. Capital motto for Policemen in a mob, "Nothing +like leather! Leather away!" + + * * * * * + +ROBERT AT KILBURN. + +I had the cureosity one day to arsk a lerned gennelman on whom I was +waiting, whether the poor fellers who lived in the world ever so many +hundred years ago had got any Copperashuns. He pretended not to +understand me at fust, and said, with a larf, as he dared say as they +was made much as we was; that is to say, sum with large ones, and some +with little ones; but when I xplained what I reely meant, he told me as +they had, speshally amung the Romuns as lived in Ittaly. He was a werry +amusing Gent, and when I arsked him what langwidge the Romuns torked, he +tried to gammon me as they all spoke Latin, ewen the little children and +all, but in coarse I wasn't quite such a hignoramus as to swaller that, +as my son +William+, who isn't by no means a fool, learnt Latin at Skool +for three year and tells me as he carn't speak it a bit. The lerned gent +also told me as it was such a rum tung to speak that they hadn't not no +word for "Yes!" So that if a Gent of those long days had bin a dining at +the "Ship and Turtle" an bin a waited on by an Hed Waiter, like me, and +had said to him "Woud you like arf-a-crown, Waiter?" the pore feller +woodn't have been able to say, "Yessir!" I was jest a leetle shocked at +his torking such rubbish to me, it was hardly respekful, speshally as he +had ony drunk one pint of Bollinger and one of our 63 Port, but its +astonishing how heasily sum peeple's heds is affected. I was in hopes as +he woud have tried the experymint on me, but he didn't, but went smiling +away. + +I shood werry much have liked to have heard a good deal more about them +werry old Copperashuns, and weather they was to be compared to that +werry old 'un as I nose so well and respecs so ighly, for good deeds as +well as good living. Take their werry last one as a sample. Earing of +what was a going on down at Kilburn on Guy Fox day, and finding as the +return train would bring me back in time for my perfeshnal dooties, I +went there and found thowsands of peeple all met in a nice little new +Park, that the old +Lord Mare+ was a coming down to fust of all crissen, +and then throw open to the publick. And down he came accordingly in his +full state Carridge, and his full state Footmen, and his full state +Sherryiffs, and their full state Carridges and Footmen, jest for all the +world as if he was a going to make a call on a few Royal Princes and +Dooks, insted of opening a new Park surrounded by numbers of the reel +working-classes. But he always has bin a reel gennelman, and never makes +no difference atween rich and poor when he can do some good. I wasn't +quite near enuff to hear what he said when he made his speech, but a +werry respectable reporter arterwards told me, that the +Lord Mare+ had +written a letter to +Queen Wictoria+ to ask if he might call the Park +after her. And she had wrote to him in reply, "Deer +Handsum+, as +there's alreddy a Wictoria Park, you may call this here one the Qween's +Park. Pleas to remember this 5th of Nowember, Yours trewly, W. R. I." + +When the +Lord Mare+ enounced this pleasing intelligence, thus simply +exprest, lorks how we did all cheer, and a little band that had bin hid +in a little tent, struck up the hole of arf a werse of _God Save the +Queen_, at which we all took off our hats, footmen and all, and braved +the bitter blarst with our bare heds. Ah, that's wot I calls trew +loyalty, and long may it continue, not the cold bitter blarst, but the +warm sweet loyalty, for I'm sorry to say as the unusual xposure guv me a +bad cold. + +I got back just in time for the Bankwet. The +Lord Mare+ with his usual +kindness had let the Chairman of the Committee, the sillibrated Mr. ++Woodbacon+, the grate bookseller, take the Chair, and a remarkabul good +un he made, setting so good a xample as regards short speeches as made +ewerybody follow suit. + +And now what was this hole proceeding all about? This is what I learnt +from what was said:-- + +It wood seem then, that at Kilburn where it was wunce all green feelds, +there has growed up a reglar crowd of working peeple with far more than +their fair share of children and as the feelds has all come for to be +bilt over, the poor little children afoursaid have been obleeged to do +their playing in the streets, and the nateral or rather unnateral +consequence has follered, as that numbers of the poor little deers was +run over and killed. So a nice little Park has been made for 'em all to +play in, where they can injoy their fresh hair and releeve their poor +Mother's minds, and grow up red and strong and harty, instead of white +and weak and wan. And the old Copperashun having put it all ship shape, +and promist to keep it all in order for hever, arsked the +Lord Mare+ to +go down and open it, as he did, and in sitch full state that one of the +natives said as it was like a lot of sunbeams suddenly cumming out on a +clowdy day. So the +Lord Mare+ finished his long list of good deeds by +adding one more to 'em, and the Copperashun added one more Open Space to +the many they has either secured or helped to secure. So wenever I hears +a sneer at 'em I shall say, "Please to remember that 5th of November!" + + +Robert.+ + + * * * * * + ++Barnum's+ Show burnt. Of course he will rise like an American ph[oe]nix +from the ashes. He will advertise it as Burnum's Show. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: "PRAVE 'ORTS." + +"+By the bye, dear Professor, which would _you_ say--_Abiogen-esis_, or +_Abiogen[=e]s-is_?+" + +"+_Neither_, my dear Madam, if I could possibly help it!+"] + + * * * * * + ++An Important Summing-up.+ (_By Our Own Special Reporter in the +recent case of Somebody or Other v. Another Person of the name of_ ++Barley+).--Mr. Justice +Mathew+ regretted being compelled to decide +against +Barley+ on the question of "quantities." Of course, there had +been an error on the part of the highly respectable Corporation of +Ramsgate, which might be characterised as a "sin of commission," while +the neglect of their clerk to enter their arrangement with +Barley+ on +the minutes was a "sin of omission." All the witnesses in this case must +be believed, as they had, _a propos_ of +Barley+, taken their oats--he +should say their oaths. Perhaps when the present statute came to be +revised, Mr. +Barley+ might act for the town, for which it appears he +had done good service, and +Barley+ would not have to hide under a +bushel. It was clear that this sort of +Barley+ was worth more than the +present price of 28_s_. a quarter. Counsel on both sides had made an +eloquent display of wheat--he begged pardon, he meant "wit"--and if in +this judgment he had to tread on anyone's corn, he assured them that to +do so went against the grain. As an official, +Barley+ would have the +sack, but sack and all could be taken up to another Court, and there, as +a German speaking French would say, _On beut Barley_, about it still +further. (The Jury thanked his Lordship, and all the parties left the +Court much pleased, humming _All about the Barley_. + + * * * + +"They acted a Greek Play at Cambridge, my dear," said Mrs. +Ram+ to a +friend, "and fancy, it was written, as I am informed, by a young lady, +Miss +Sophie Klees+. I suppose she is a student of Girton. How clever! +_I_ couldn't write it, I'm sure." + + * * * + +_The "Quart d'heure de Rabelais,"_ if translated into Anglo-French, may +be taken to express a bad time of it with the roughs in Trafalgar +Square, _i.e., a mauvais quart d'heure de Rabble--eh_? + + * * * + +The Works of +Charles Dickens+ must have achieved great popularity in +South Eastern Europe, where there is an entire country called Boz-nia. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: THE NEW SCHOOL. + +_Schoolboy (aged 16)_. "Good-bye, old Chappies! Can't waste any more +time with you. 'Good business'!"] + + * * * * * + +TOM BROWN & CO.'S SCHOOL DAYS. + +_A Glimpse at the Commercial Education of the Future_. + +Twelve o'Clock struck, and the Fourth Form at St. Dunstan's left its +class-room with a rush. The old hour of leaving off the morning's +studies was still preserved. Yet, in conformity with the spirit of the +times, the venerable foundation of St. Dunstan's had recently witnessed +great changes. The Governing Body had taken the matter in hand, and had +gone to work with a will. The teaching of Greek and Latin had been +entirely suppressed, polite literature eliminated, and the whole +curriculum of the school arranged solely to the provision of that +glaring want of the times, a sound commercial education. To effect this, +some radical changes had been necessary. The Rev. +Jabez Plumkin+, D.D., +Oxford Prizeman, through whose unwearied exertions, for the past +five-and-twenty years, St. Dunstan's had been gradually acquiring an +increasing fame in the Class-lists of both Universities, had been +forcibly ejected from the Head-Mastership, and his place filled by a +leading member of a well-known firm of advertising stock-jobbers, and +the Assistant-Masters had all been selected on similar lines. + +"Company-floating," was taught by a late Promoter, who had had much +experience in the creation of many bubble concerns, and "Rigging the +Market" was entrusted to a Professor who was known, in his capacity as +Accountant to a wholesale City Cheese Warehouse, to have contracted a +thorough familiarity with this important subject of the new commercial +education. Everything was done to foster a spirit of keen speculative +enterprise in the boys. The whole traditions of the school were changed. +The old idea of honour had died out. How to over-reach each other by +sharp practice was the one idea that animated every youthful breast from +the senior in the Sixth to the junior in the Under Third. The tape was +always working at the Principal's desk. The study-tables were covered +with Stock and Mining Journals. Even the playground was turned into a +Money Market. Cricket had been banished to make way for the more +exciting game of "Bulls and Bears," and the Principal passing through +occasionally, would sometimes stop and say, "That's right, my boys, +learn to do each other, and remember the motto of your School, 'Monies +maketh man.'" Posted up upon the gates, communicated by telegraph hourly +from the City, were every day to be found the latest prices. And it was +to get a first look at this that the Fourth Form had just left its +class-room with a rush. + +A crowd of eager faces were anxiously scanning the latest quotations, +and notes were being taken in a score of pocket-books, whipped out for +the purpose. +Tom Brown & Co.+--he had earned this _sobriquet_ from his +companions for his shrewd business capacity--did not, however, join the +throng, but stood a little way off, looking on, and waiting for the +excitement to abate. Gradually it calmed down, and the boys broke up +into little knots and groups, discussing the state of the market. Then +he spoke:-- + +"Look here, you fellows," he said, "I've got a good thing on here, that, +I fancy, will be more worth your attention than even the latest prices." +He pulled a prospectus from his pocket. An interested crowd closed round +him at once. "It's 'Old Mother +Noggins+, Limited,'" he went on, reading +from the paper before him, "This Company has been started for the +purpose of acquiring at wholesale prices all the tarts, bull's-eyes, +apples, toffy, and ginger-beer, forming the present stock-in-trade of +Old Mother +Noggins's+ store, and for retailing the same at a figure, +that will, after paying the guaranteed interest on the fourpenny +debenture shares, admit of the declaration of a dividend of 14 per cent. +on the ordinary paid-up share capital of the Company. + +A buzz of excited admiration went up from the throng. The Fourth Form at +St. Dunstan's had not for a long time had such a good thing put before +it. + +"I know," continued +Tom+, producing a bundle of forms of application +from his pocket, "that you fellows, would like to hear of it. Who'll go +for it?" + +There was a loud responsive shout of "I!" and a dozen hands were at once +stretched towards the speaker. Business commenced, and sixpences, +shillings, and half-crowns were pouring into +Tom's+ pockets faster than +he could cram them there. He was making a very good morning's work of +it. Presently, a dull, heavy-looking boy joined the group. + +"Hullo, +Flopper+!" cried +Tom+, addressing this last arrival, "why +don't you put that ten bob your Uncle sent you into this thing? I'll be +bound he told you to turn it over. You won't get such a chance every +day." + +"What is it?" asked +Flopper+. + +A chorus of voices instantly joined in a brief explanation of the +advantages of investing in "Old Mother +Noggins'+ Limited." + +"By Jove!" said +Flopper+, "I don't know that I won't." + +"Not if I know it," cried an authoritative voice, breaking in upon the +scene. It was +Snagsby+, the "Sharper" who spoke. There was a general +look in his direction, and a disposition to make way for him as he +approached. He had been mixed up disadvantageously in a recent "corner" +in marbles, and had from time to time floated several concerns that had +never paid any dividends, and was generally regarded as a "queer" +customer in consequence. It was for this reason that he had been +nicknamed the "Sharper." + +"And what do you want him to do with his money?" asked +Tom+, stepping +forward in a defiant attitude. + +"He'll put every blessed halfpenny of it into my 'General Pen-knife +Supply,'" was the laconic reply. "He signed for the allotment last +night." + +"But I've changed my mind," pleaded +Flopper+, helplessly, and he handed +the half-sovereign to +Tom+. + +"You give that up!" cried the Sharper, menacingly. + +"You try to take it!" replied +Tom+, grimly. + +In another instant the Sharper had flown at +Tom+. There was a brief +struggle. +Tom+ hit out at him, and caught him in the face. + +"Oh, that's your game, is it!" shouted the Sharper. "You'll fight me for +that." + +"Fight you? When and where you like," replied +Tom+. + +There was a general cheering and throwing up of hats. + +"Hooray! There's going to be a fight between the Sharper and +Tom Brown +& Co.+," shouted the Fourth Form. They hadn't had such good news for a +long time. + + * * * * * + +The whole School was there, and the third round had been fought. Betting +had been fast and furious, and there had been several attempts made by +the supporters of both champions to break the ring and put an end to the +contest when the fortunes of the day seemed to be going against their +own special favourite. But now a curious thing happened. After a little +preliminary sparring in the fourth round, +Tom Brown & Co.+, suddenly +dropping on one knee, went to the ground. + +In a few seconds the surprising news was known that he had given in. The +sponge was thrown up, and the Sharper declared the victor. +Tom+ was +quickly surrounded by his friends, and led off the field. +Flopper+ ran +up to him. "I'm so sorry, +Tom+," he said, "that you should have fought +in my quarrel, and have got licked." + +There was a twinkle in +Tom's+ eye. "My dear fellow," he replied. "Don't +imagine I wouldn't have thrashed him; but business is business, and I +got a good price for not doing so. Didn't you twig that _I sold the +fight_?" + + * * * * * + +That night +Tom Brown & Co.+ wrote home an enthusiastic account of his +day's doings to his parents. The next morning, +Tom Brown+, Senior, +referring to the letter with a glow of pride on his commercial face, +remarked to his better-half that the boy's training seemed perfect, and +that he was destined to turn out remarkably well. "I can't tell you," he +added, "how I long to see that boy loose upon the Stock Exchange. He +will be a credit to the family." + + * * * * * + +A book has been recently published entitled _The Amateur's Guide to +Architecture_, by +Sophie Beale+. Sophie shows us how a house should be +Beale't. But just imagine an Amateur Architect!! + + * * * + +The complaint of the Charity Organisation Society, slightly varied from ++Shakspeare+, is that "The quality of Mercy is not _trained_." + + * * * * * + +SHOWS VIEWS. + +_By Victor Who-goes-Everywhere_. + +What can be more dismal than the fourth day of a Fancy Bazaar for a +"Sale of Work," in aid of a parochial charity? Honestly, I do not know. +I fancy that even the proverbial "Mute at a funeral," must be livelier. +That is my present opinion, and it was the same last Thursday, when +lured by a programme quaintly printed in "old-faced" type, and having +"ye" in lieu of "the," and "Maister" instead of Mister, I made my way to +the Portman Rooms in Baker Street, (formerly Madame +Tussaud's+) and +sought admission to "Old Marybone Gardens, A.D. 1670." Outside the ex +_depot_ of Waxworks, were two persons in the costume of the last Century +distributing circulars, and later on I met another couple similarly +apparelled heading a procession of Sandwich-men walking down Waterloo +Place. In the Hall of the Bazaar lads in the same sort of dresses, were +selling programmes (marked sixpence) for twopence. I entered by a small +canvass-cottage "y'clept" (as the Sale of Workers would call it) "the +Rose of Normandy," and found myself in the once famous "Hall of Kings" +without the figures. I discovered two or three dwarf trees, some +lattice-work and a lot of canvass-covering. I must confess it did not +cause me much surprise to find only a few spectators. The moment I +appeared, a lady advanced and asked me in a tone of authority to take a +button-hole. I refused with courtesy suggestive at once of the gallant +and the miser, and the Sale of Work-woman retired rather crest-fallen. +Then two girls, costumed as two females of a past but vague period, +dashed at me as I turned away, and breathlessly explained that if I +bought a half-crown ticket I should be entitled to a chance in a raffle +for a five-guinea sofa-cushion. I slightly frowned as I expeditiously +refused the invitation, and the ladies disappeared into a corner--I +trust more in sorrow than in anger--to read the evening paper. In the +centre of the room was a "fish pond" full of presents, where a +mild-looking curate was feebly attempting to secure a prize. On the +whole the entertainment was scarcely exhilarating. The programme +promised "from V to VI of ye clocke" (how silly!) "a _seance_ of +Mesmerism," in two "partes," (how really stupid!) and "Maister +Charles +Bertram+" (Why "Maister?") was to appear later on. Then at eight "of ye +clocke" (dear, dear! _how_ idiotic!) "the Welbeck Dramatic Club" (what a +name!) was "to performe ye Comic Drama by +L. S. Buckingham+, y'clept" +(of course!) "_Take that Girl away_." Later still "Mistresse +Jarley+" +was to give her waxworks with the assistance of "Maister +Sidney Ward+," +(tut, tut!) the Festival finally closing with "Music" at "X of ye +clocke" (stuff and nonsense!). It will be seen that I cannot even now +look at the programme (priced at sixpence and sold for twopence) without +some signs of impatience. The afternoon was too young to allow of my +assisting at any of these toothsome merry-makings, so after mooning +about for a quarter of an hour I came away. As I left, a newly-arrived +dame of mature years was putting on a nurse's cap hurriedly, evidently +with the view to starting in hot pursuit of me to secure my custom for +some toys. The ladies with the cushion looked at me languidly as I +passed them, and then returned to a perusal of their paper. When last I +had had the advantage of paying a visit to "the Portman Rooms, formerly +Mme. +Tussaud's+," I had seen nothing but waxwork figures in eccentric +attitudes. On the whole, I think the former denizens of the place looked +more at home in their quaint costumes than the Sale of Workers "from +Tuesday, November 22 to Saturday, November 26, inclusive!" + +Finding myself in its neighbourhood, I could not help taking a turn in +the present palace of the eminent "Portrait Modellist." I paid the +necessary shilling and the optional sixpence, and renewed my +acquaintance with "The Kings and Queens," "The Coronation Group," and +"The Chamber of Horrors." A group representing a reception at the +Vatican was quite new, if I except two or three funeral attendants, who, +I fancy I remember, made their last (but one) appearance at the Lying in +State of +Pio Nono+. After examining a rather cheerful presentment of +the latest assassin in "The Chamber of Comparative Physiognomy" (as the +Chamber of Horrors was once, for a short period, "y'clept"), I +passed through a turnstile, and entered the Refreshment Department. +Here I noticed that an "overflow meeting," consisting, amongst other +more-or-less-interesting exhibits of Mr. +Lewis Wingfield's+ +historical costume-wearers (from the Healtheries), and that now +rather-imperfectly-remembered worthy, the late Sir +Bartle Frere+ (from +the rooms above), had been humorously arranged, no doubt with a view to +provoking healthy and hearty laughter. Having refreshed my mind with a +hurried inspection of this delightful, albeit, somewhat miscellaneous +gathering, and my body with a twopenny Bath bun, I gracefully retired, +greatly pleased with the afternoon's entertainment. + + * * * * * + +OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. + +Reviewing the Pages. + +What a set these Emperors, Empresses, Kings, Queens, Princes and +Princesses, Dukes and Duchesses, &c., &c., and all such great people +everywhere seem to have been, according to the _Memoirs of Count Horace +de Viel Castel_ (published by Messrs. +Remington & Co.+), who was a kind +of small French +Pepys+, a great snob, and a Parisian _Sir Benjamin +Backbite_. Yet there is in this +Horace+ something of the Horatian +satirist, only without the poetry. + +"But +Horace+, Sir, was delicate, was nice," + +which is not exactly the characteristic of the writings of +M. de Viel+ +Castel, who tells us + + "Of birth-nights, balls, and shows, + More than ten +Hollinsheds+, or +Halls+, or +Stowes+. + When the +Queen+ frowned, or smiled, he knows; and what + A subtle Minister may make of that: + Who sins with whom:"---- + +And such like tittle-tattle _ad nauseam_, not sparing his own father and +brother. Imagine the sort of man who, night after night, could sit down +and chuckle over the composition of this precious diary! "With the +exception of the President and the Princess" (+Mathilde+, at whose house +he was perpetually dining), he says, "all the (+Buonaparte+) family are +good for nothing." + +Of the _bourgeois_ class he writes, "They are always the same stupid, +craven-hearted, vain race." He was shocked at the production of _La Dame +aux Camelias_, and considered it as a degradation of the French stage +and a disgrace to the Public that patronised the performance. To have +shocked M. +de Viel Castel+ was a feat indeed. +Fould+ "the foxy Jew" +got ten millions out of the Credit Foncier; so the public was fool'd +also. +D'Orsay+ was "a ridiculous old doll," and the Duke of +Brunswick+ +"an old fool." He sneered at England, but considered at the moment that +an alliance with us was the best policy. The Empress at one time went in +for spirit-rapping, and consulted a table which told her a variety of +lies about the result and duration of the Crimean War. Such a table must +have been very black and supported by blacklegs, though it had +sufficient french polish about it to be silent in the presence of a +bishop. It is not until the last page of the _Memoirs_, 1864, that the +name of M. +de Bismarck+ appears. I suppose that "Society," high, low, +or middle-class, has always gone on in much the same way, more or less +openly, according to the spirit of the Court, since what is called +"Society" came into existence; and invariably with a +Viel Castel+, or a ++Greville+, or some one even less particular and more observant "among +them takin' notes" for future publication. Mr. Bousfield, the +translator, seems to have done his work with a judicious regard for a +certain section of English readers. It strikes me that he has had the +good taste to omit a few anecdotes about some of our own exalted +personages which would not have been received with unmixed satisfaction +in every quarter. This is only a surmise on my part, as I am +unacquainted with the original work. + +Let me recommend everyone who values a powerful study of character more +than a merely cleverly-constructed story, to read _Marzio's Crucifix_, +by +Marion Crawford+. I do not know what special opportunities the +author had for the work, but the characters are individually, +masterpieces. The scene between _Marzio_ and _Don Paolo_, when the +latter is wrapt in devout contemplation of the artist's _chef +d'[oe]uvre_, is most striking, and would have been more so had _Marzio_ +carried out his intention of knocking his brother down, and disposing of +him out of hand. + +With Mr. +Saunders's+ _The Story of some Famous Books_ (+Elliot Stock+) +I was rather disappointed, in consequence of there not being enough +"famous books," and not much more story than the needy knife-grinder had +to tell. Still, I thank him for introducing me to a delightful +name--"+Theopompus+ of Chios"--whom, for this present, I will take as my +godfather, and sign myself, + + Yours, +Theopompus, Baron de Book Worms+. + + * * * * * + ++Staff Appointments.+--The Specials. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: AN EYE FOR "ELECTIVE AFFINITIES." + +_Sir Edwin_. "+Hullo, Angy? Stew-pan? Apron? Tripe and Onions? What on +earth's up?+" + +_The Lady Angelina_. "+Yes, Dearest! Since _you've_ become a _Special +Constable, I'm_ doing my little utmost to become a Special _Cook_! I +thought it might bind us still closer together!+" + +_Sir Edwin_. "+My own _Love!!_!+"] + + * * * * * + +LIGHTING THE DUBLIN BEACON. + +(_A Ballad of the Brave Old Sort_.) + + "It was all for the Union + We left fair Albion's land. + It was all for the Union + We first saw Irish land, + My Boy! + We first saw Irish land! + + "All must be done that man can do. + Shall it be done in vain? + My +G-sch-n+, to prove that untrue + We two have crossed the main, + My Boy! + We two have crossed the main!" + + He turned him round and right-about + All on the Irish shore. + Said he, "We'll give +P-rn-ll+ a shake, + And make the Rads to roar, + My Boy! + And make the Rads to roar!" + + He was a stout and trusty carle. + Said he, "A flare we'll raise, + And, spite the Leaguers' angry snarl, + We'll make the Beacon blaze, + My Boy! + We'll make the Beacon blaze! + + "Who says our friends a handful are, + Our foes a serried host? + Our Beacon, blazing like a star, + Shall check the blatant boast, + My Boy! + Shall cheek the blatant boast. + + "Not all are to sedition sworn, + Or shackled by the League. + Cheer up! We'll laugh, their hate to scorn, + And baffle their intrigue, + My Boy! + And baffle their intrigue. + + "Puff, +G-sch-n+, puff! Like Boreas blow! + And I the logs will pile. + The Beacon, now a slender glow, + Shall blaze across the Isle, + My Boy! + Shall blaze across the Isle. + + "Eh? What? The wood is damp, you say? + There comes more smoke than flame? + Nay; pile, and poke, and puff away! + We'll not give up the game, + My Boy! + We'll not give up the game. + + "If we should let this fire die out + All on the Irish shore, + To Unionism stern and stout + Adieu for evermore, + My Boy! + Adieu for evermore!" + + * * * * * + ++The Two Canons and Bean-baggers.+--The Bean-baggers are likely to come +badly off with two such big guns against them as Canons +Liddon+ and ++McColl+. Let the matter be settled amicably by agreeing that whatever +it was they did see was a "What-you-+McColl+-it." + + * * * * * + +HOW TO ESCAPE THE FOG. + +Fogs? Nonsense! Fogs are always mist. And the way to miss them is to go +to the Institute of Painters in Oil. That will oil the wheels of life in +this atrociously hibernal weather, and make existence in a fog +enjoyable. There, in the well-warmed, pleasantly-lighted rooms, will you +find countless pleasant pictures--delightful sea-subjects, charming +landscapes, and amusing scenes, by accomplished painters, which will +infuse a little Summer into the dull, depressing, brumous, filthy +atmosphere of a weary London Winter. If you cannot get away to Monte +Carlo, Mentone, Nice, or Rome, hasten at once and take one of Sir +John +Linton's+ excursion _coupons_, and personally conduct yourself--if you +don't conduct yourself as you ought, you'll probably be turned +out--round the well-filled galleries in Piccadilly. + + * * * * * + +Sir +Drummond+ is ordered off to Teheran. "Well, we're successful in +keeping one +Wolff+ from our door," as Sir +Gorst+, Q.C., observed to ++Grandolph+. "Poor +Wolffy+!" sighed +Grandolph+. "I shall write a fable +on 'The +Wolff+ and the Shah!'" + + * * * + ++Sardou and Sara.+--+Sara B.+ has made a hit in what is reported to be a +poor play called _La Tosca_, by +Sardou+. But in consequence of +Sara's+ +acting, it is in for a run. _Che Sara sara_, _i.e_. (free translation), +"Who has seen +Sara+ once will see +Sara+ again." + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: LIGHTING THE DUBLIN BEACON.] + + * * * * * + +A DOWN-Y PHILOSOPHER; + +_Or, Memoirs of a Missing Link_. + +I've no particular reason to think an account of my life will interest +anybody. That being so, I don't know why I write it. But I do. I suppose +it's Chance. +H-xl-y+ (who _is_ such fun!) calls my Memoir, because I'm +a F.R.S., a case of "_Fellow-De-Se_." + +[Illustration: Seal making a Deep Impression.] + +Talking of Chance, everything that has ever happened to me _has_ been +Chance! + +For instance, what could have been more a matter of luck than my +choosing a house at Down? +H-xl-y+ says something about being "Down on +my luck." (What a master of style old +H-xl-y+ is, to be sure!) + +Then there was that voyage on the _Sea-Mew_. If it hadn't been that my +Uncle kicked me six times round his garden at Shrewsbury, because I said +"I'd be jiggered if I went," I don't believe I should ever have had +courage to accept the appointment of Naturalist to the expedition. That +voyage gave me an object in life. My nose had _made_ me an object in +life before that (_vide Portrait_), but Natural Selection triumphed over +my nose, and so I became in due time famous, and an Ag-nose-tic! + ++My Schooldays.+ + +At school I was an exceptionally naughty boy. I cannot conceive what +induced me to tell another little boy that I had often produced +crab-apples by taking a dead crab and burying it in an orchard, but I +did. My little friend, I recollect, didn't believe me, and indeed pulled +my nose (always a sore point with me, but he made its point much sorer) +for telling what he called "beastly crams." We had a fight, I also +remember. Perhaps I ought to call it a "struggle for existence." He was +much the "fittest," and he survived. _I_ got licked. + ++Choice of Calling.+ + +My extreme naughtiness continued unabated when I became a young man. +Nobody expected I should ever "do" anything--except six months' hard +labour! At Cambridge I was so shockingly "rowdy," that my father +declared, there was no alternative but to send me into the Church. But +as I was hunting with the College drag at the hour when I ought to have +been in for my Ordination Examination, the Bishop failed to see matters +in the same light. I then decided to be a Doctor. If I had stuck to this +profession I fancy that my turn for trying experiments would have landed +me in some exalted position--possibly at Newgate. As it was, after +attending a lecture on Surgery, I was discovered in the local Hospital +trying to cut off a patient's leg on an entirely new principle, with a +pair of scissors and an old meat-saw, and I was nearly "run in" for +manslaughter. I decided to give up Medicine, and a slight shindy over a +supposed error of mine in calculating a score having prevented my +becoming a success as a Public-house Billiard-marker, I thought I would +make my mark in another way, as a breeder of race-horses. Being, +however, forcibly chucked out of Newmarket Heath one day for an alleged +irregularity which I never could understand, I began really to wonder +what profession I _was_ fitted to adorn. + ++I become a Naturalist.+ + +It was at this time that the Captain of the _Sea-Mew_ offered me that +post of which I have before spoken. I accepted it, and began at once to +lower the record in sea-sickness, being never once well on board ship +_for three whole years_! It was a new experience, and altered me a good +deal. From being rowdy and idle I became quiet and abnormally diligent. +If you don't believe this, ask +H-xl-y+ (who is such fun!). On returning +to England I at once settled Down, and began to write books. + ++The "Origin of Species."+ + +This work is my title to fame. It only took me thirty-three years and +six months to write. I felt quite glad when it was finished. People who +have read it tell me they feel the same, The row it caused was +frightful! If you want to see "+Soapy Sam's+" slashing _Quarterly +Review_ article pulverised, read +H-xl-y's+ reply. (But, query--isn't +this scientific log-rolling?) The remark which was made, after perusing +the book, by that eminent Botanist, my friend Professor +Hookey+, +was--"Walker!" But he was soon converted. + ++My Way of Working.+ + +This, also, can't interest anybody, yet I give it. I get up at 4 A.M., +and take a walk. From 7 to 10 I work. After dinner--with champagne--I +take another stroll. I have made most astonishing scientific discoveries +at this time. I could, point out the exact spot in the road where I +became convinced that _the whole country had been elevated sixteen feet +since the morning_! +H-xl-y+, who was with me, quite agreed, and said +that we must all have been elevated at the same time, without knowing +it. + ++My Favourite Authors.+ + +These are, of course, +Lyell+ on _Lias_, and +Hookey+ on _Herbaceous +Foraminifera_. They are far superior to +Shakspeare+, who bores me. I +like novels, the trashier the better. Only let 'em end well, and I don't +care how they begin, or whether they begin at all. In newspapers, the +best part, I think, is the Parliamentary Debates. In reading them I have +often got valuable hints as to the "Origin of Speeches," and they +frequently afford conclusive evidence of the "Descent of Man." I thought +of bringing Parliamentary manners in as a chapter in my book on +"Earth-worms," but +H-xl-y+ advised me not to, and I didn't. + ++My Nose.+ + +I think I've mentioned this feature before. It troubles me. It is +undoubtedly of a low type, yet it has survived! Why have I not been +fitted with a fitter one? It is another instance of the fact that +everything--including my fame--has come to me by sheer luck. +H-xl-y+ +says "there's a Dar-winning modesty about this last remark." Also says, +"I've found the 'Philosopher's Tone.'" (What screaming fun +H-xl-y+ +always is!) + ++My Portraits.+ + +Perhaps I may be allowed to say one word as to the Photographs preceding +these volumes. _They aren't the least little bit like me_! In Volume One +I appear as the unmistakable "Country Butcher." In Volume Two I am "The +Gorilla Asleep," or "Beetle-brow Napping" (after a beetle-hunt, +probably). Volume Three represents me as the Typical Brigand of +Transpontine Melodrama. + +Why, too, has the Photographer insisted on bringing out that unfortunate +feature of mine so prominently? + +Why? indeed! Who nose? + + * * * * * + +THE LARKS AND THE ROSES. + +(_Ballad, by Milton Featherly Jonsone_.) + +[Illustration: Rose on the Swell.] + + The roses were blowing, like whales in the sea + Where the apple-bloom icebergs plunged fearless and free, + And the larks carolled madly their high jubilee + In the ether. + The daisies ran riot in sunshine and shade, + And the call of the cuckoo was heard from the glade, + Where Summer with mellow monotony play'd + On her zither. + +_Tempo di Valse_. + + Ho, larks and roses! + Hey, the bonny weather! + Hey, we rose at morning prime; + Ho, we lark'd together! + + 'Mid roses and larks in our shallop we glide + By Inglesham poplars, on Teddington's tide, + Where the water of Thame under Sinodun slide, + And at Marlow, + By Cliveden's green caverns, and Abingdon's walls, + Where wirgles the Windrush, where Eynsham weir falls, + By Sonning, or Sandford (whose lasher recalls + _Mr. Barlow_). + +_Con tenerezza_. + + Oh, larks, and ro(w)ses + On the shining river; + Silver water-lilies, love; + Love will last for ever! + + But the blooms turn'd to apples for urchins to munch, + And the roses were sold at a penny a bunch, + And the larks were served up for an Alderman's lunch, + Dead and cold, love; + And the lustre has faded from tresses and cheek, + And the eyes do not sparkle, the eyes that I seek, + And the temper is strong and the logic is weak + Of my old love. + +_Snuffiamente_. + + No larks and roses + In a winter gloaming; + Ruby-red love's nose is; + Chilblain time a-coming'. + + * * * * * + ++The Watchword of the Sugar-Bounty Conference.+--"England expects that +every man (and woman) will pay an import duty." + + * * * + ++Latest French Cookery.+--Spilling the +Grevy+. + +[Illustration: HOW WE ADVERTISE NOW.] + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: "SABLES." + +_Pastor_. "+How I do regret, my dear Madam, to see you wearing these sad +Habiliments of Woe!+" _Widow_. "+'M ye-es. Black never did suit +me!+"] + + * * * * * + +THE PALACE OF (ADVERTISING) ART. + +(_A Long Way After the Laureate_.) + + I found myself a huckster's pleasure-place, + Wherein 'twas horrible to dwell. + I said, "O Soul, _the_ object of our race + Is ever one--to sell." + + A huge-walled wilderness of ways it was, + With hoardings of exceeding height, + Which no one without pangs of fear, could pass, + And spasms of affright. + + Its purpose, though, was plain; 'twas simply pelf; + Whether a woman wild of glare, + Or a colossal man shaving himself, + All, all meant money there. + + "And while the world rolls round and round," I said, + "Advertisement is the one thing + Which need concern the wise and worldly head + Of huckster, histrio, king." + + To which my soul made answer readily,-- + "In patience I must fain abide + In these vast vistas of vulgarity. + Stretching on every side." + + * * * * * + + Full of long-reaching bulks of board it was, + Where, glaring forth from ghostly gloom, + Were gibbering monkeys grinning in a glass, + In a dame's dressing-room. + + And some were hung with daubs of green and blue, + As gaudy as a cheap Cremorne, + Where actors postured in the public view, + Some frantic, some forlorn. + + One seemed all glare and gore--a stabbing hand, + A woman flopping with a groan; + An ill-drawn idiot trying to look grand, + Big-nosed, and high in bone. + + One showed an ochre coast and emerald waves; + You seemed to see them rise and fall, + As infant supers--wretched little slaves-- + Under the canvass crawl. + + And one a full-faced, flashed comedian--low-- + Showing his teeth, with nervous strain, + With queer goggle-eyes striking like a blow, + And causing quite a pain. + + And one a miser, hoarding fruits of toil, + In front a bony beak, behind, + Wisps of grey hairs all destitute of oil, + Blown hoary on the wind. + + And one a foreground with three hideous hags, + Each twice as tall as life, or higher, + Medusa-monsters, clothed in wretched rags, + And crouching round a fire. + + And one an English home--lantern-light poured + On a forced safe, skeleton keys, + Whilst gloating o'er the family plate there stored, + Glowered the murderer, +Peace+. + + Nor these alone, but everything to scare, + Fit for each morbid mood of mind; + Murder and misery, want and woe were there + As large as life designed. + + * * * * * + + There was a fellow in a pretty fix, + "Tied to a corpse," all wild alarm, + Struggling across a sort of sooty Styx, + The "body" on his arm. + + Or in a snow-choked city wretchedly, + Dead babe at breast, with bare blown hair, + A ruined woman crawled with quivering knee; + Two bobbies scowled at her. + + Or, posing in a footlight paradise, + A group of Houris smirked to see + Young fools with clapping hands and ogling eyes + Which said, "_We_ come for _ye_!" + + Or else a lost and deeply wounded one, + In a wild swamp all bilious greens, + Came on a corpse a bare branch dangling on; + The ghastliest of scenes! + + Holloaed a half-choked boy with horrid fear, + A brute the rope about to draw; + A second with a knife and axe was near + To give the first Lynch Law. + + Or in a railway-tunnel, iron rail'd, + A man lay bound; his blood ran ice + Who looked thereon, an engine shrieked; he paled, + And fainted in a trice. + + A monkey by her hair a woman clasp'd; + From her poor head it seemed half torn, + One ape-hand dragged it back; the other grasp'd + A steel blade's haft of horn. + + A hideous babe in nauseous nudity, + Huge-headed, grinning like a clown, + Advertised Soap. A vile monstrosity, + The terror of the Town! + + Nor these alone; but every horror rare, + Which the sensation-poisoned mind. + Imaged to advertise vile trash, was there-- + As large as life design'd. + + * * * * * + + Deep dread and loathing of these horrors crude, + Fell on my Soul, hard to be borne, + She cried, "Why should these _incubi_ intrude + And plague us night and morn? + + "What! is not this a civilised town," she said, + "A spacious city, cultured, free? + Why give it up to dismalness and dread, + Murder and misery?" + + In every corner of that city stood, + Unholy shapes, and spectral scares, + And fiends, and phantoms, brutal scenes of blood, + And horrible nightmares. + + "We are shut up as in a tomb, girt round + With charnel scenes on every wall; + Wherever echoes of town-traffic sound, + Or human footsteps fall. + + She cried, "By Jove, it is a pretty game + That Man, the Advertiser's thrall, + Should have these scenes of grimness, gore, and shame, + Shock him from every wall. + + "The very cab-horses go wild with fears! + I rather fancy it is time + To stop these poster-terrors, placard-tears, + And advertising crimes. + + "Yes, yes, pull down these pictured screens that are + All dedicate to gore and guilt. + _Not_ solely for Soap-vendor or Stage-star + Was our big Babylon built! + + * * * * * + +VOCES POPULI. + ++Scene+--_A Promenade Concert. Interval between Parts I. and II. Crowd +collecting before Platform_. + +_Highly Respectable Matron (to female Friend)_. As to being _beautiful_, +it's not for me to say, but they're clean-limbed, healthy children, +thank Heaven! and what more do you want? (_The_ Friend _makes a +complimentary protest_.) Well, it may be so; but, to come back to her. I +don't like her present home so well as I did her first--not so tasty, to +my mind. She's got nice things about her, though, I _will_ say--a nice +sideboard, a nice ... (_Inventory follows here_.) + +_The Friend (darkly)_. All the same, it's a constant wonder to me how +she can ever bring herself to sleep in _that_ bed! + +_The H. R. M_. I couldn't myself; but (_charitably_) we've not all the +same feelings. (_Crush increases; Female Promenader with very yellow +hair passes, with apologies_.) "Excuse me, Madame" (_with attempt at +mimicry_); ah--and she _needs_ it! The orchestra's coming back now. I +didn't notice that young woman among them before--what's _she_ going to +play, I wonder? + +_The Friend_. Whatever it is, she might look more pleasant over it! + +_The H. R. M_. So she might--we can't all be good-looking, but we can +all be pleasant--but they wouldn't have engaged her here, if she hadn't +her gift! + +_The Friend_. Oh, you may depend on it, she's got a gift--but I do call +her plain, myself. + +_A Man with a very red nose (to Companion)_. And then, you see, I've +this special advantage--my _immense_ knowledge of the world. Think +there's time for another before they begin again, eh? + +[_Companion is of that opinion; adjournment to bar of house_. + +_Second Part begins; Lady Vocalist retiring after Song_. + +_First Promenader_. Brayvo! Engcore! What, she won't sing no more--sssh! + [_Hisses furiously_. + +_The H. R. M_. There's the orchestra themselves clapping her--and +_they'd_ know what's good. + +_Her Friend_. She was dressed very nice, I thought. + +_The H. R. M_. I never care to see hair done up that style myself. + ++On the Platform.+ + +_Ladies of Chorus tripping up from below Stage for the Vocal Valse_. + +_Ladies of Chorus (all together)_. Am I too black under the eyes, dear? +Mind where you're going, Miss, please! Treading on people's toes like +that--the great clumsy thing! I'm next to you, aren't I? I do feel so +funny, my dear, don't you? For goodness sake, don't go setting me on the +giggle _now_! + +[_They range themselves modestly in a row at edge of platform_. + +_Rude Person (in upper box with Punch squeak)_. Rooti-too-ti! + +[_Roars of laughter_. + +_Ladies of C. (indignantly)_. Beast! I wish they'd give him something to +make him rooti-toot, I do! + +_Conductor-Composer (from behind)_. Now, Ladies, ready please--keep the +laugh steadier than you did last time, and wait for me at the repeat! + +[_He taps on desk: each Lady of Chorus stiffens herself perceptibly and +makes a little grimace_. + +_One Lady (in whisper)_, Oh, dear, I wish I was at home with my Ma! + [_Her companions giggle_. + +_The H. R. M_. It's as much as they can do to sing for laughing--they're +_called_ "Laughing Beauties," though. I like this one's face up at this +end--she's so quiet and lady-like over it, and pretty too; they put all +the pretty ones in front, but there's one quite an old woman behind. +They're having all the fun down at the other end--how they are going on, +to be sure! + +[_End of Vocal Valse: loud applause. Ladies of Chorus retire after_ +encore _with air of graceful dignity_. + +_The Person with the Squeak_. Goo'-bye, duckies! + +[_Roars of laughter again: renewed indignation among Chorus_. Person +with Squeak _feels like_ +Sheridan+ _and_ +Theodore Hook+ _rolled into +one_. + ++In the Grand Circle.+ + +_A Young Gentleman (who has set himself to form his_ fiancee's _mind, +but finds it necessary to proceed very gradually_). Now, +Caroline+, +tell me--isn't this better than if we had gone to the Circus? + +_Caroline (from the provinces; unmusical; simple in her tastes)_. Yes, ++Joseph+, only--(_timidly_)--there's more of what I call variety in a +Circus--more going _on_, I mean. + +_The Y. G. (with a sense of discouragement)_. I quite see your meaning, +dear, and it's an entirely true observation; still, you _do_ appreciate +this magnificent orchestra, don't you now? + +_Caroline_. I should have liked it better with different coloured +curtains--maize is so trying. + +_The Y. G. (mentally)_. I won't write home to them about it _just_ yet. + +_Orchestra begins a "Musical Medley" with Overture to "Tannhaeuser."_ + +_The Y. G. (who has lost his programme)_. Now, +Caroline+--this is ++Wagner+--you'll like +Wagner+, darling, I'm sure. + +_Caroline (startled)_. Shall I? Where is he? Will he come in here? Must +I speak to him? + +_The Y. G_. No, no--he's _dead_--I mean, this is from his _Opera_--you +must listen to this. + +[_He watches her face for the emotion he expects; "Tannhaeuser" melts +suddenly into "Tommy, Make Room for your Uncle."_ + +_Caroline (her face absolutely transfigured)_. Oh, +Joseph+, +dear--+Wagner's+ perfectly _lovely_! + +_The Y. G. (gloomily)_. I see, I shall have to put you through a course +of +Bach+, +Caroline+! + +_Caroline (alarmed)_. But there's nothing whatever the _matter_ with me, ++Joseph+! I'm not flushed am I? + +[_Young Gentleman suppresses a groan_. + ++In a Box.+ + +(_Musical Medley still in progress_.) + +_A Lady (not much of an Opera-goer, who has been given a box at the last +moment, and has insisted on her husband turning out to escort her)_. It +was silly of you to drop that programme, +Robert+--I should like to know +what this piece is, it seems quite familiar--(_Orchestra playing +"Soldiers' March" from Faust_)--_I_ know--it's Faust, +Robert+, +_+Gounod's+ Faust_! + +[_Much pleased with herself for recollecting an Opera she has only heard +once_. + +_Robert (sleepily)_. _I_ know, my dear, all right. + +[_Faust melts into air from "Pinafore."_ + +_His Wife_. Do you mean to say you don't remember that, +Robert+? how +exquisite +Patti+ was in the part, to be sure! + +_Robert_. Umph! + +[_"Pinafore" becomes "La ci darem"--which transforms itself without +warning into "Two Lovely Black Eyes."_ + +_The Lady_. There's nobody like +Gounod+! [_Clasps her hands_. + +_Robert (captiously)_. +Gounod's+ all very well, I daresay, my dear; but +it don't seem to me he's altogether _original_. I've heard something +very like this tune before, and I'll swear it wasn't by him! + +_The Lady_. That's very likely; _all_ the best airs get stolen nowadays, +and dressed up so as to be quite unrecognisable; but that's not ++Gounod's+ fault, is it? + +[_Fans herself triumphantly, after vindicating her favourite +Composer_. +Robert+ _slumbers_. + ++Behind the Platform.+ + +_Erratic Promenader_. Beg your pardon, Sir--tha' shtick, not +'tended meet _your_ eye, Sir--_'nother_ gerrilm'n's eye, Sir. + +_Fair Promenader (to Lady Friend)_. And I'm sure I don't know +how it is, but I'm always crying now for just nothing at all, whenever +I'm alone. + +_The Lady Friend_. That's because you give way to it, dear. Come +and have something to cheer you up--you'll be a different person +after it. [_Advice taken; prediction verified_. + +_The Err. Prom_. I shay, here'sh lark! see tha' Bobby over there? +he thinksh I'm _tight_! (_Waltzes up to him solemnly_). Kn'ive +pleshure nexsht dansh you, Sir Charlesh? + +_The Policeman (severely)_. You keep your 'ands off of me, will +you, and take yourself home--that's my advice to _you_! + +_Err. Prom. (outraged)_. You 'pear me to under 'preshionthish is +Hy' Par' or Trafa----(_with an effort_)--Trafa-ralgarar Square. I'm +goin' teash you, free Briton not goin' put up with P'lice brurality! + +[_Hits Policeman in the eye, and is removed, smiling feebly. +Scene changes_. + + * * * * * + +An Open Question. + + Lord +Solly+, at Paddies presuming to rail, + Must sneer at their "brogue," which the Markis finds stale. + Does he think a poor fellow must fain be a rogue + Because, born in Erin, he speaks with a brogue? + Celtic ears finds the drawl of the Saxon Swell flat, + And a Cockney may chaff at the _patois_ of +Pat+. + But which is in fault--is it _really_ so clear?-- + The Irishman's tongue, or the Englishman's ear? + + * * * + +In a recent case on appeal, +Hammond & Co.+ _v_. +Bussey+, Mr. Justice ++Bowen+ was understood (by Our Special Reporter) to say that a judgment +relating to coals must be decided by the principles of +Coke+. The +Master of the Rolls and Mr. Justice +Fry+ concurred; the latter +observing that in winter a coal merchant must always be a +Bussey+ +person, though his Lordship admitted that this had nothing to do with +the case. The Master of the Rolls and Mr. Justice +Bowen+ at once +concurred. + + * * * * * + +[illustration-pointer] NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or +Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any +description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a +Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there +will be no exception. + + + + +Transcriber Notes: + +Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. + +Passages in bold were indicated by =equal signs=. + +Passages in small caps were indicated by +crosses+. + +Throughout the document, the oe ligature was indicated by "[oe]", and the +letter E with a macron was indicated by [=E]. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume +93, December 3, 1887, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, CHARIVARI, DEC 3, 1887 *** + +***** This file should be named 39077.txt or 39077.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/0/7/39077/ + +Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Wayne Hammond, +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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