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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 18:54:55 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 18:54:55 -0700 |
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diff --git a/44673-h/44673-h.htm b/44673-h/44673-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9373d49 --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/44673-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1517 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 109. July 20, 1895, by Various. + </title> + + + <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg"/> + + + <style type="text/css"> + + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {text-align: justify;} + blockquote {text-align: justify;} + h1,h2,h3,h4 {text-align: center;} + pre {font-size: 0.7em;} + .sc {font-variant: small-caps;} + .lowercase {text-transform:lowercase;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .stage {padding-left: 6em;} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 50%; margin-left: 25%; margin-right: 25%;} +hr.r5 {width: 5%; margin-left: 47.5%; margin-right: 47.5%;} +hr.full {width: 100%; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 0%;} +hr.poem {width: 12%; margin-left: 4%; margin-right: 86%;} +hr.short {width: 25%; margin-left: 37.5%; margin-right: 37.5%;} + + + span.pagenum {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt; text-indent: 0;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem h3 {text-align: left;} + .poem h4 {text-align: left;} + .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;} + + .figcenter, .figright, .figleft {padding: 1em; margin: 0; text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em;} + .figcenter img, .figright img, .figleft img {border: none;} + .figcenter p, .figright p, .figleft p {margin: 0; text-indent: 1em;} + .figcenter {margin: auto;} + .figright {float: right;} + .figleft {float: left;} + + p.author {text-align: right; margin-right: 3em;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.break-before { + page-break-before: always; +} + +.under {text-decoration:underline} + +epub headings + +.ph1, .ph2, .ph3, .ph4 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } +.ph1 { font-size: xx-large; margin: .67em auto; } +.ph2 { font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; } +.ph3 { font-size: large; margin: .83em auto; } +.ph4 { font-size: medium; margin: 1.12em auto; } + + + + + div.trans-note {background: #EEEEEE; border: dashed 1px; border-width: 1px; + margin: 3em 15%; padding: 1em; text-align: center;} + --> + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44673 ***</div> + +<h1>PUNCH,<br /> + OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> + + <p class="ph2">Vol. 109.</p> + <hr class="full" /> + + <p class="ph2">July 20, 1895.</p> + <hr class="full" /> + + + + + + +<p class="ph4"><a name="TO_A_LADY_HUMORIST" id="TO_A_LADY_HUMORIST">TO A LADY HUMORIST.</a></p> + + + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your laugh would chase away the blues,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Your smile is always sunny,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One must be gay—who could refuse?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your "mission" is just to amuse;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Discarding all blue-stocking views,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You fancy what is funny.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You have no fads on Man's Descent</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From something quite atomic,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Diet, Disestablishment,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Dress, Diminishing of Rent,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Divorce or Dockyard Discontent—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You seek for something comic.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You wear no hygienic shoe,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Your dress is never frightful,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your sense of humour makes you too</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alive to what you should not do,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You laugh at folks, not they at you,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You write what's quite delightful.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So laugh, and always make us gay;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Stern women are alarming,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The boldest men, I need not say,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are simply scared by such as they,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You do not bore us, anyway.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Your conversation's charming.</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 374px;"> +<a href="images/025full.jpg"> + +<img src="images/025.jpg" width="374" height="500" alt="SPORTING EVENT—A RECORD" /></a> +<div class="caption"><p class="ph4">SPORTING EVENT—A RECORD.</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">She Won the Sweep!</span></p> +</div> +</div> + +<p><i>Unmetrical Adaptation of Robbie Burns' celebrated Line to the "New +Woman," whether in male attire on or off Bicycle, in her Club, driving +her trap, &c., &c.</i>—"A woman's a woman for a' that."</p> + + +<hr class="tb" /> + + + +<p class="ph4">OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</p> + +<p>Of Mr. <span class="smcap">Athol Mayhew's</span> <i>History of Punch</i> the Baron can +at present say nothing, no copy of this work having as yet been +brought to Our Booking Office, and without a ticket-of-leave, or +ticket-for-leaves, granted by <i>Mr. Punch</i> himself, per the Baron de +B.-W., the book of <span class="smcap">Mahu</span> ("<span class="smcap">Modo</span> he is called and +<span class="smcap">Mahu</span>," as <span class="smcap">Shirley Brooks</span> used to quote from <i>King +Lear</i>) will not have received <i>the</i> "imprimatur." Already it appears, +as we read in a letter from Mr. <span class="smcap">Henry Spielmann</span> (who, if any +man living knows anything about <i>Mr. Punch's</i> history, is the Punchian +Biographer and Historian <i>par excellence</i> and "by appointment") to the +<i>Daily Chronicle</i>, Friday, July 12, that in Mr. <span class="smcap">Mayhew's</span> book +there are numerous errors on important matters. "<i>Mayhew-manum est +errare.</i>" But "Herr <span class="smcap">Von Spielmann</span> will put him right in his +forthcoming book," says</p> + +<p class="center"> +<span class="smcap">The Judicious<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Baron de Book-Worms</span>.</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Covent Garden Opera Proverb.</span>—"When in doubt play <i>Faust</i>."</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Happy Thought!</span>" (<i>Apropos of a recent case in the Marylebone +Police Court</i>).—What a good title for an old-fashioned pantomime in +the East End (where <i>the</i> real pantomimes used to be): "<i>Harlequin and +the Mysterious Manx Mannikins; or, Snapshot and the Demon Camera!</i>"</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="ph4">BRIGGS, OF BALLIOL.</p> + +<p class="ph4"><span class="smcap">Part II.</span></p> + +<p>Two years passed, and never a syllable could I learn of +<span class="smcap">Briggs</span>. Then I met <span class="smcap">Trotter</span> of Trinity at Piccadilly +Circus. "By the way," said he, "I suppose you have heard about poor +old <span class="smcap">Briggs</span>?" "No!" I cried. "What of him?" "Oh, I thought you +would be sure to know, or I would have broken it to you more gently." +"Why?" I asked, with apprehension. "Has anything happened to him?" +"Well," he replied, with some hesitation, "I—er—I hardly like to tell +you. You were such a friend of his." "You don't mean to say that he +is——?" "Dead? No, poor fellow, not dead exactly, but worse than that, +I fear. He has become a New Man, you see." I looked at <span class="smcap">Trotter</span> +in bewilderment. "Why, you see, he is married—yes, he married the +<span class="smcap">O'Gress</span>, you know. Poor <span class="smcap">Briggs</span>! I saw him yesterday, +and, upon my word, I should scarcely have known him. But go and see him +yourself; you will never believe my story."</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Trotter</span> wrote me the address on a card, and the next day +I called. The maid looked somewhat surprised when I asked for Mr. +<span class="smcap">Briggs</span>. He was at home, oh, yes, he was at home, but she +didn't know whether he could see me or not, as he was feeding the +baby. This announcement rather staggered me, but I pulled myself +together sufficiently to assure her that I was an old friend of Mr. +<span class="smcap">Briggs</span>; and, on learning this, she asked me to walk upstairs. +"This is the nursery," she said, when we had reached the topmost +storey. "You will find Mr. <span class="smcap">Briggs</span> inside."</p> + +<p>I opened the door, and what a scene greeted me! There was +<span class="smcap">Briggs</span>, my old friend <span class="smcap">Briggs</span>, the gallant +<span class="smcap">Briggs</span> of Balliol, rocking ceaselessly to and fro the while +he crooned in a low monotone to a bundle of pins and flannel that +lay cradled in his arms. I sprang forward to grip him by the hand. +He laid his finger on his lips, and in an agonised whisper murmured, +"Sh!—You'll wake the baby!" I controlled myself, and sank into a +chair, to which he motioned me. <span class="smcap">Briggs</span> hushed the infant +anxiously for a minute or two until it was well asleep; then he turned +to me, and with a sickly smile whispered, "I'm glad to see you, +<span class="smcap">Robinson</span>, but please talk very gently, for fear of waking the +Cutsababoo."</p> + +<p>It grieved me to hear poor <span class="smcap">Briggs</span> talk in this fashion, but +there were a thousand questions I was burning to ask him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, <span class="smcap">Briggs</span>, why did you leave Balliol so suddenly?" "Sh!" +he answered, looking nervously round him. "<i>She</i> took me away." "And +why did you never write to anyone?" "Sh! <i>She</i> forbade me." "Forbade +you?" "Yes, yes, indeed. Oh, <span class="smcap">Robinson</span>, you do not know my +wife!" I was inwardly thanking my stars that I had not this honour when +<span class="smcap">Briggs</span>, overcome with his emotion, suddenly flung up his arms +and covered his face with his hands. The action upset the equilibrium +of the baby, which rolled off his lap, fell on the floor, and awoke +with a scream. With a cry of dismay <span class="smcap">Briggs</span> caught up the +bundle, and tossed it violently up and down, addressing it the while in +such intelligible terms as these—"And did it wake its darling ducky +Cutsababoo, it did! It was a naughty cruel Dada, it was!"</p> + +<p>It would be hard to say which made the greater noise, <span class="smcap">Briggs</span> +or the baby; but <span class="smcap">Briggs</span> had the staying power, and after +a fight the baby gave it up. <span class="smcap">Briggs</span> gazed at it as it lay +exhausted in his arms, then turning to me, he said, "I think the +Cutsababoo has done crying now, <span class="smcap">Robinson</span>. Will you excuse me +if I sing him to by-byes?" In olden days <span class="smcap">Briggs</span> had a glorious +baritone voice, and to hear him sing the Balliol Boating Song was a +musical treat. I therefore readily agreed to stay and listen. "The +Duckydoo is very particular," explained <span class="smcap">Briggs</span>. "He will only +go to sleep to his own ickle tune, <i>The New Lullaby</i>."</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Mummy has gone to the city,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cutsaba—Cutsababoo!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But Mummy will think of her Pretty,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And buy him a little toy too.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Daddy will dandle the Darling,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And show him his beautiful toy.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hushaby, Pet! Baby, don't fret!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sleepery, Peepery Boy!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Mummy is making the money,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cutsaba—Cutsababoo!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To buy a new bonnet for sonny,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A jacket for Daddykins too.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Daddy will dandle the Darling,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And show him his beautiful toy.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hushaby, Pet! Baby, don't fret!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sleepery, Peepery Boy!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Briggs</span> had just reached the end of the second verse when his +keenly sensitive ear caught the sound of a latchkey turning in the +door. A look of terror crossed his face. "It's <i>she!</i> It's <i>she!</i>" he +cried. "Oh, <span class="smcap">Robinson</span>, if she finds you here! Oh, if you love +me, fly!" I needed no second bidding. With a hasty grip of the hand I +bade my friend farewell, and this is the last that has been seen of +<span class="smcap">Briggs</span> of Balliol.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 730px;"> +<a href="images/026full.jpg"> + +<img src="images/026.jpg" width="700" height="491" alt="THE MODERN MAID OF ATHEN" /></a> +<p class="ph4">THE MODERN MAID OF ATHENS.</p> + + +<p><i>John Bull</i> (<i>hesitatingly</i>). "<span class="smcap">Maid of Athens, ere we +'part'</span>——" + +<i>Maid of Athens</i> (<i>interrupting</i>). "<span class="smcap">Think what you owe to Attic +Art?.</span>"</p> + +<p><br />[ the invitation of H.R.H. the Prince of <span class="smcap">Wales</span>, a large +meeting of these interested in the British School of Art at Athens was +held on July 9 in St. James's Palace. The Prince of <span class="smcap">Wales</span> +said: "I sincerely hope we may soon hear that the School has been +placed in an assured position for ever."—<i>Times Report.</i>]</p></div> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 341px;"> +<a href="images/027full.jpg"> +<img src="images/027.jpg" width="341" height="500" alt="A LABOUR OF LOVE" /></a> +<p class="ph4">A LABOUR OF LOVE!</p> + +<p><i>Benevolent Lady</i> (<i>who has with infinite trouble organised a Country +Excursion for some overworked London Dressmakers</i>). "<span class="smcap">Then mind +you're at the Station at Nine to-morrow, Eliza. I do hope it won't +Rain!</span>"</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap"><i>Rine</i>, Miss! I 'owp not, to be sure! The Country's bad enough +when it's <i>Foine</i>, yn't it, Miss?</span>"</p> + +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="ph4">CUE FOR CANVASSERS.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>By a Cynic.</i>)</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>["In all the doubtful constituencies the result may be regarded as +depending largely upon the persuasion and argument brought to bear upon +individual electors."—<i>The Yorkshire Post.</i>]</p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Persuasion? Argument? Very nice names</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Radical Caucusites, Primrose Dames,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And other retailers of party riddles,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Ex parte</i> statements, and taradiddles!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gregarious voters, of old bribes did you all;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now argument deals with the "individual."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the man—or his wife—you must seek occasion,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Canvasser clever, to try "persuasion."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To "argue" that <span class="smcap">Bloggs</span> is the likeliest chap</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To pour prosperity into your lap;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To "persuade" the Missus that that <span class="smcap">McQuirk</span></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will deprive her "man" of his beer <i>and</i> work!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, sweet are the virtues, upon occasion,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of moral (or even <i>im</i>moral) 'suasion!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When blankets run out and when money's all spent,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then, then comes the value of "argument."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And if the "argument" takes the form</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of orders and jobs in a perfect storm;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And when "persuasion" the future gauges</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A promise of liquor and higher wages;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why, then the result is the same almost,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twixt you and me, and the (<i>Yorkshire</i>) <i>Post!</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">A Daly Sacrifice to Shakspeare.</span>—Again, thanks to the +enterprise of Mr. <span class="smcap">Augustin Daly</span>, one of <span class="smcap">Shakspeare's</span> +comedies is rendered resplendent with appropriate accessories. <i>A +Midsummer Night's Dream</i>, furnished with new illustrations, and +sparingly curtailed by necessary "cuts," becomes more poetical than +ever. Miss <span class="smcap">Ada Rehan</span> is a "dream" in herself, and Mr. +<span class="smcap">Lewis</span>, as an American playing in England, becomes "translated" +every evening to the complete satisfaction of an appreciating and +crowded audience. The play should run from Midsummer into Michaelmas.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="ph4">A HENLEY BARCAROLLE.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>By a Parasyllabic Swain.</i>)</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My lovylade, I peg and bray</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That you will pun my joint to-day;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we will, dreaming o'er the stodge,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In some remote lackwater bodge.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We'll take a man <span class="smcap">Joe</span>, bandoline,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hick-cup, as we slop between</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The bangled tanks—we'll sink and drip,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And strum the things on board our ship.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">List to my lovesick, mew, and come</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far from the giddy, higgling gum!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Relaying hearses, we will croon,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And through each glowering hide we'll <i>spoon!</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Advertisement (<i>in "Standard"</i>).—"<i>Great Yarmouth. Small House. Close +Aquarium and sea. Servant left.</i>" Who was there when "servant left"? +Also why "close Aquarium and sea"? Perhaps easy but unwise to close the +former, but quite impossible to shut up the latter.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">"Good Bis"-ley. "Tell that to the Marines."</span>—The United +Services Cup was adjudged to the Marines at Bisley. In this competition +the Marines were the best, "all told."</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">A Smoking Christian Concert.</span>—In these smoking hot July days a +Smoking Mission seems a good notion. Yet the Baccy-nalian missionaries +may probably have to say, "We have pipe'd unto you, and you have not +responded," except as long as the supply held out. Will there be +distributed tracts entitled <i>A Bird's Eye View of Heaven</i>, <i>A Short Cut +to Truth</i>, <i>Returns to Virtue</i>, <i>What is Life?</i>—<i>A Mixture!</i></p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Proverb à propos of latest New Waltz, "King Gretchen.</span>"—"It's +the last <span class="smcap">Strauss</span> that breaks the record."</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bawbees across the Border.</span>—The <i>Dundee Advertiser</i> has +recently published a table showing the distribution of Ministerial +salaries amongst Peers, Liberal Unionists, and Scotchmen. According +to our canny contemporary, "Scotland fares badly in the new +Administration." The reason for this lament is found in the fact +that the share of Caledonia—"the spoil is taken chiefly by the Clan +Balfour," remarks the <i>D. A.</i>—amounts only to £12,425. And yet this +sum represents the "banging" of a good many "saxpences." North Britain +is unreasonable!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="ph3">WASTING HER SWEETNESS.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>An Electioneering Study.</i>)</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p><span class="smcap">Argument.</span>—Mrs. <span class="smcap">Horace Honeyball</span>, wife of the +Liberal Candidate for a Metropolitan Working-class Constituency, has +undertaken in her husband's interests a house-to-house canvass in +Bodgers' Buildings.</p></blockquote> + +<p><i>Mrs. H. H.</i> (<i>to herself, as she threads her way through a grove +of drying linen</i>). "I do <i>wish</i> they would hang out their washing +somewhere else—it's absolute ruin to one's hat! What a depressing +place—but then they're all the more likely to be on our side. Have +I got my canvassing cards and the bundle of leaflets? Yes—then I'd +better begin.... How do you <i>do</i>, Mr. <span class="smcap">Dollop</span>?... No, <i>please</i> +don't move—I see I've come upon you all at your tea. So refreshing +on a warm afternoon like this!... No, not any for me, thanks, I never +touch it—and besides, I had some before I came out, you know.... +Oh, never mind about wiping a chair for me, Mrs. <span class="smcap">Dollop</span>.... +Yes, <i>quite</i> comfortable, I assure you. What a delightful home you +have, with all those charming coloured pictures on the wall, and so +<i>beautifully</i> clean, too!... Ah, if you only knew the trouble and worry +of a great house and a whole tribe of servants.... But you mustn't +say that; <i>no</i> one need despair of getting on nowadays, you know. And +this is your little boy and girl? such bright, intelligent little +faces. Jam <i>is</i> so wholesome for them, isn't it?... <span class="smcap">Halbut</span> and +<span class="smcap">Halice</span>? Really! such pretty names <i>I</i> always think; and both +beginning with—er—H.... Well, yes, <i>I have</i> called on some particular +business. I daresay, now, Mr. <span class="smcap">Dollop</span>, you're quite a +politician.... A plasterer? Now, <i>how</i> delightful! Because I must tell +you that my husband.... No, I'm afraid <i>not</i>. You see, we've only just +had the whole house thoroughly done up. I was only going to say that my +husband has such a respect for plasterers as a class, you know. Haven't +I mentioned who he is? <i>How</i> stupid of me! He's Mr. <span class="smcap">Honeyball</span>, +the Radical Candidate for this place.... Yes, I've come about the +elections, of course. Oh, but you <i>ought</i> to care; I'm sure you're far +too intelligent a man to be really indifferent who represents you in +Parliament! And my husband is so devoted to the working-classes; it's +been quite the aim of his life to do something for them. His motto is, +'Trust the People.'... Oh, <i>dear</i> me, no—he's not a <i>shopkeeper</i>—he's +at the Bar.... Certainly <i>not</i>. He's in favour of doing away with +public-houses. He's a barrister—a <i>lawyer</i>, you know.... Ah, but +perhaps you haven't been fortunate in such lawyers as you've <i>met</i>.... +Well, but you wouldn't like the <i>Tories</i> to get in, <i>would</i> you?... But +they've <i>had</i> their 'innings,' as you call it; they've been in a whole +fortnight—and what have they <i>done</i>?... And if the Liberal Government +is kept out, what will become of all the great reforms they've been +trying to give you?... Well, there's Home Rule, for <i>one</i>.... Surely +you're in favour of letting the Irish manage their own affairs?... No, +that's <i>such</i> a mistake; they <i>won't</i> want to manage ours—at least, +except Imperial matters—and why <i>shouldn't</i> they?... All that can so +easily be settled afterwards.... Don't you call 'One man one vote' a +great reform?... Isn't it monstrous that some people should have five +or six votes, while you only have one?... It's foolish to say they're +'welcome to them,' like that, when they only use them to deprive you +of your rights.... Then there's Welsh Disestablishment.... Oh, if you +really can't see the immense importance of it, all I can say is, I'm +extremely sorry.... Yes, I'm going now, and I hope, before the election +day comes, you will have learnt to take a more enlightened——<i>Good</i> +afternoon."</p> + +<p>"I'm so glad to have found you at home, Mr. <span class="smcap">Bilger</span>. I'm +Mrs. <span class="smcap">Honeyball</span>, and I want you to support my husband at the +election—he's standing as a Liberal, you know.... Oh, yes, I think +I can tell you his views on the Liquor Traffic. He's anxious to see +the curse of drinking thoroughly stamped out.... No, I'm sure you're +no friend to publicans—you look <i>far</i> too respectable.... Yes, as you +say, they get rich on the earnings of the poor, and it's high time +they were done away with.... <i>Certainly</i> you may ask me a question.... +No, of course my husband would not <i>dream</i> of putting down Clubs: he +belongs to several himself.... Oh, you meant <i>Working-men's</i> Clubs. You +belong to one yourself? So <i>sensible</i> of you!—and of course there can +be no possible objection, so long as no intoxicating liquor——<i>Not</i> +conducted on Teetotal principles? I'm afraid that <i>would</i> make a +difference.... Why? Because, don't you <i>see</i>, if people can go and +join Clubs, and get drink there, there would be no use in closing the +public-houses, <i>would</i> there? We must be <i>logical</i>.... No <i>doubt</i> +intoxicating drinks are supplied in Clubs, but I don't see what <i>that</i> +has to do with it.... My husband? No, he's not a total abstainer, but +still——... No, no; it's not a question of one law for the Rich and +another for the Poor at <i>all</i>. You don't quite <i>understand</i>.... If +you <i>really</i> have heard enough, I'll go, of course.... Not at all. If +anything I've said has helped you in making up your mind, I'm only +too——Don't trouble to come to the door!"</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 328px;"> +<a href="images/028full.jpg"> + +<img src="images/028.jpg" width="328" height="450" alt=""I love the smell of tobacco" /></a> +<div class="caption"><p class="ph4">"I <i>love</i> the smell of tobacco!"</p></div> +</div> +<p>"Mrs. <span class="smcap">Mangles</span>, I think? Your husband <i>not</i> at home, I +see. It doesn't matter—you will do <i>quite</i> as well. I'm Mrs. +<span class="smcap">Honeyball</span>.... Oh, you <i>have</i> heard the name.... Seen my +husband's picture on the placards? Oh, you're not taking a liberty in +the very <i>least</i>. I shall be only too <i>delighted</i> to give you one. He +<i>is</i> rather nice-looking, isn't he? I'll tell you what I'll do—when +I get home, I'll send you one of his photographs to put on your +mantelpiece.... Oh, I <i>don't</i> think I should have it coloured, if I +were you.... But his hair and moustache aren't <i>auburn</i>, and what <i>do</i> +you want to put him in a red tunic for?... Really? The living image of +your first young man? He <i>will</i> be flattered!... You've had several +since? I can quite believe <i>that</i>.... Well, if you will promise to get +your husband to give me his vote, perhaps——<i>Why</i> should I have to go +to the—er—'Cimingtery' for it?... Last Christmas?—<i>dear</i> me! I'm +very sorry I——Good-bye, Mrs. <span class="smcap">Mangles</span>; and—er—if I <i>do</i> +find I have a photograph to spare——but the portrait of him on that +leaflet is really more <i>like</i>, you know!"</p> + + + + +<p>"No, don't put <i>down</i> your pipe, Mr. <span class="smcap">Gowles</span>; I—I <i>love</i> +the smell of tobacco!... You weren't <i>intending</i> to—how friendly of +you!... I daresay you don't know who <i>I</i> am?... Perhaps not, but you'll +let me <i>tell</i> you, won't you?... I've come to ask you to vote for my +husband, Mr. <span class="smcap">Honeyball</span>; he's not a <i>Tory</i>, you know, he's a +thorough-going Radical.... Not going to vote for either of them?—Now +<i>why</i>?... Oh, no, I'm <i>sure</i> you're not—you're <i>much</i> too pleasant +and gentlemanly to be a horrid Socialist!... You want everything done +away with? Well, the Liberals <i>are</i> going to abolish a lot of things. +There's the House of Lords, for instance, you're against <i>them</i>, +I'm sure.... Not more than you are against the House of Commons? +Oh, but you don't <i>really</i> want to destroy one of our most ancient +institutions!... Capitalists? oh, they're sharks and bloodsuckers and +landgrabbers and all that, I <i>quite</i> agree with you there—only they're +all <i>Tories</i>, you know.... Why shouldn't you share in all the wealth +you're assisting to produce? Why are you to be robbed of the product +of your brain and hands?—I really don't know—it's very wrong, no +doubt—what <i>do</i> you produce?... Oh,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> you're a bill-poster? I <i>see</i>. +Now don't get excited.... Your only hope is in the Gospel of Hate?... +Now <i>really</i>, such a <i>disagreeable</i> thing to say!... If I could only +bring you to see that by voting for the Liberals——... I'm <i>not</i> +a smooth-tongued humbug, and it's extremely rude of you to call me +anything of the kind.... I never said you hadn't a perfect right to +vote as you pleased.... Very <i>well</i>, then, <i>keep</i> your horrible vote, +I'm sure <i>I</i> don't want it! (<i>To herself, as she departs.</i>) I shall go +home. If I see any more of these people, I shall find I've turned into +a rabid Tory—and I'm sure <span class="smcap">Horace</span> wouldn't like that!"</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="ph4">OPERATIC NOTES.</p> + +<p><i>Monday</i> memorable for <span class="smcap">Melba</span>. Never sang better than as +mad-as-a-hatter heroine of <span class="smcap">Donizetti's</span> <i>Lucia di Lammermoor</i>. +Three hearty, deafening, unanimous encores for the brilliant +fireworky Hanwellian vocalisation in <span class="smcap">Lucy's</span> (not "<span class="smcap">H. +W. Lucy's</span>," of the <i>D. N.</i>, but Miss <span class="smcap">Lucia's</span>) great +<i>de lunatico inquirendo</i> scena. After encore, inevitable gigantic +basket of flowers handed up to triumphant cantatrice by Beaming +<span class="smcap">Bevignani</span> and talented assistants in orchestra. Conductor and +musicians ought not to be used as agents for delivery of bouquets to +<i>prime donne</i>. If somebody among audience wishes to publicly present +singer with floral testimonial, why not let that Somebody step forward +(as the person in church who would "forbid the banns" is invited to do) +and hand it to her himself on a stick? Or if he be in some other part +of the house, <span class="smcap">Dulcissimus Druriolanus</span> would himself introduce +him and his basket of flowers on to, and off, the stage. The encores +and the floral testimonial quite turned mad heroine's head.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 265px;"> +<a href="images/029full.jpg"> + +<img src="images/029.jpg" width="265" height="350" alt="alvé à la "'Ria."" /></a> +<p class="center">alvé à la "'Ria."</p></div> + + + +<p>That is, so turned it round again that she became quite sane and +chatted amicably with two or three of the leading chorus "up stage" +until it suddenly occurred to her that she must go mad again, which she +did at once, most effectively. After this "<i>Fra poco</i>," the swan-like +(if swan a tenor) death-song of <i>Edgardo</i>, cannot go for its value +unless sung by a most popular and highly-gifted tenor. So it stands +to the credit of Signor <span class="smcap">Dash-my-Vignas</span> that, in this, he was +enthusiastically applauded, and soon after "laid him down and dee'd" +in the midst of an admiring and more-or-less sympathetic Chorus. +Great opera for Chorus giving expression to their feelings. How they +cry or laugh, and point and gesticulate and threaten and sympathise +as guests in low dresses without anything distinctively Scotch about +them, except in the case of one lady over whose shoulder I fancy I +detected a tartan scarf of clannish pattern. <i>Normanno</i>, played by, I +think, <span class="smcap">Iginio Corsi</span> (which name, in compliment to the national +Scotch liquor, ought to have been changed to "<span class="smcap">Iwiskio Corsi</span>"), +bore remarkable resemblance to Markis o' <span class="smcap">Salisbury</span>. I do +not remember ever having seen or heard Lord <span class="smcap">Salisbury</span> as +a vocalist. To be remembered as <i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Melba</span> Night of the +Season—up to now.</p> + +<p><i>Wednesday.</i>—<span class="smcap">Calvé</span> as <i>Carmen</i> simply perfect. That is +all I have to say; like the Raven (not <i>Barnaby Rudge's</i>, but +<span class="smcap">Edgar A. Poe's</span>), I announce "Only this, and Nothing More." +And <span class="smcap">Alvarez</span> as <i>José</i>, "Gentleman <span class="smcap">Joe</span>," who does +not drive, but is driven to madness, first-rate; in last scene, +struggle and assassination most thrilling, dramatically: even +stall-by-the-season'd opera-goers holding breath, and clutching at +backs of seats. Audience, ordinarily indifferent to fate of heroine +in last act, wait till bitter end. They only quit when quite sure +<i>Carmen</i> cannot possibly sing any more. Madame <span class="smcap">Melba</span>, +who, "<i>by request of the Management</i>"—how modestly is this put, +<span class="smcap">O Druriolanus Operaticus!</span>—"<i>has kindly consented to play +Michaela</i>," exceeded the terms of her amiable contract, as she not only +"played" <i>Michaela</i>, but sang the music superbly, her singing being +faultless, which her "playing" was not. Mossoo <span class="smcap">Albers</span> rather +out of it as <i>Escamillo</i>, and <i>Toréador</i> was not an Encoreador, whereat +<i>Toréador non contento</i>. All the principals sang in French, "knowing +the language," but clever Chorus stuck to Italian. <i>Benissimo!</i> +<span class="smcap">Bevignani</span> beaming, and beating time. House crowded; elections +and political parties disturb not the harmony of Covent Garden. Yet +"last week but one" announced, and end in view. <span class="smcap">Wagstaff</span>, +seeing <span class="smcap">Calvé</span> in first act with scarf or belt round waist, +suggests riddle, "Why is <span class="smcap">Calvé</span> a perfect <i>Carmen?</i>" Before +you can break away from him, without damage to your button-hole, +he answers, "Because she plays the part with <i>a-band-on</i>." <i>Exit</i> +<span class="smcap">Wagstaff</span>.</p> + +<p><i>Friday.</i>—<i>Pagliacci.</i>—A new <i>Nedda</i> in Mlle. <span class="smcap">Zélie de +Lussan</span>. <i>Nedda</i> is rather a Loose'un, and Mlle. <span class="smcap">Zélie</span> +is as good a <i>Nedda</i> as you can get "when t'other dear charmer's +away." Then to follow, <span class="smcap">Calvé</span> in <i>Calvé-'lleria Rusticana</i> +admirably dramatic. Can't believe this Magdalenish saint-like woman can +possibly be that deuce of a young woman, <i>Carmen</i>, of t'other night. +But "<i>Fœmina varium et mutabile</i> (also <i>cantabile</i>) <i>semper</i>." All +the others good as ever, specially <span class="smcap">Giulia Ravogli</span>, as the gay +<i>Lo-la-li-ety</i>.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="ph4">SCRAPS FROM CHAPS.</p> + +<p>The hedgehog is sometimes accused of helping himself to a drink from +a recumbent cow, but his larger relative, the domestic pig, is to be +even still more commended for his enterprise. According to the <i>Western +Daily Mercury</i>, in a farmyard in the parish of Uffculme a pig was +observed to rear on his hind legs and suck milk from a cow. This sight +must have enormously impressed the spectator. But it ought to have been +a dog.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Surely a Radical Unionist is a new departure in politics. Mr. +<span class="smcap">Strauss</span>, who is opposing Mr. <span class="smcap">Conybeare</span>, M.P. for +the Camborne division of Cornwall, in reply to a question at Cusgarne +said that he was a Radical Unionist, but the name Liberal was good +enough for him. Mr. <span class="smcap">Strauss</span> is to be congratulated on his +new political "Doctrinen"; but, if he should succeed in defeating Mr. +<span class="smcap">Conybeare</span>, he seems likely to lead the Whips a pretty dance.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>It seems a little hard on a Parliamentary candidate when he is +seriously misrepresented by his own friends. This is what Mr. +<span class="smcap">Michael Williams</span> has suffered in the St. Austell division of +Cornwall at the hands of his friend Canon <span class="smcap">Bush</span>. With every +intention of doing Mr. <span class="smcap">Williams</span> a good turn, the worthy Canon +fired off a letter in the local press containing a serious misquotation +of a speech said to have been made by Mr. <span class="smcap">Williams</span> about the +false doctrines of the Nonconformists. The explosion of this shell in +the Nonconformist camp has not improved Mr. <span class="smcap">Williams's</span> chance +of success, and he probably believes in the truth of the old saying, +that "Good wine needs no Bush."</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">A Pull All Together.</span>—What our forefathers would have called +"seeking an explanation from one's representative," is now, in these +days of political slang, known as "pulling your member's leg!" Witness +what happened in West Fife:</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p>"Mr. <span class="smcap">Wemyss</span> said, that if they returned him they would have +the advantage of being able to run down to <span class="smcap">Wemyss</span> when he did +anything wrong and pull his leg at the cost of a sixpence in train +money, whereas, if they wanted to pull Mr. <span class="smcap">Birrell</span> over the +coals, it would cost them £3 to go to London."</p></blockquote> + +<p>The electors would certainly seem to "have the pull" by Mr. +<span class="smcap">Wemyss's</span> proximity; but why didn't some heckler retort by +saying that in pulling a candidate's leg voters must be careful not to +get hold of a calf?</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Slow Training.</span>—The Cork County National Teachers' Association +has passed a resolution that "for the sixth class" the geography of +the British Isles is enough, and "that the British Colonies be held +over till the examination in the second year." But how will the British +Colonies like being held over? And is not Ireland itself going to be +a self-governing British Colony—some day? But that idea, too, seems +"held over" for the present. The National Teachers, however, are true +Nationalists, because they also resolved that "Professors of Irish +should be appointed in all the Training Colleges." If females, they +will be expected to wear the Celtic fringe, of course.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Ready and Willing</span> (<i>in the Cornell-Leander Fiasco</i>).—One crew +wasn't "ready," but the starter was "<span class="smcap">Willan</span>"—like <i>Barkis</i>. +The Cornell crew was ready and willin'. So they had the starter with +them at all events; and, they started. Angry partisans described the +proceeding as "Willanous." So it was,—from one point of view.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Election Paradoxes.</span>—Standing for a seat, and running against +a sitting Member.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">The General Election Cry.</span>—"Take your seats, Gentlemen!"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 750px;"> +<a href="images/030full.jpg"> + +<img src="images/030.jpg" width="750" height="428" alt="AGGRAVATING FLIPPANCY" /></a> +<p class="ph4">AGGRAVATING FLIPPANCY.</p> + + + +<p><i>The Professor</i> (<i>who has just come back from the North Pole</i>). +"<span class="smcap">——and the Fauna of these Inhospitable Regions is as poor as the +Flora! You couldn't name a dozen Animals who manage to live there.</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Malapert.</i> "<span class="smcap">Oh—I dare say I could!</span>"</p> + +<p><i>The Professor.</i> "<span class="smcap">Really—what <i>are</i> they?</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Malapert.</i> "<span class="smcap">Well, now—five Polar Bears, let us say, and—and +seven Seals!</span>"</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="ph4">IL "TRUE BLUE" INGLESE.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>All' illustrissimo Signor Punch.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Illustriousest Sir</span>,—I feel myself in duty of to write to +her these few lines for to tell to her the my opinion of the of her +country. Ah, the beautiful England! One speaks in Italy of the <i>cielo +inglese</i>, when the sky is grey and overcast. For the first time I come +now in the my ship to the of her country. <i>Ecco</i>, the sky is blue! In +the our country so many things are blue—the sky, the sea, the lakes, +the distant mountains, but in the our language not there is the word +"blue." One says "azure" or "turquoise," but not the general term +"blue." Therefore before I come to England I think, "We Italians see +the colour blue, but not can say it, and these english have the word, +but see never the colour." And <i>ecco</i> I arrive, and the sky is blue! +Not it is the blue of Napoli, not it is the blue of Geneva, and perhaps +it is to-day only, but <i>veramente</i> it is blue. It is much curious.</p> + +<p>Also I have found other things blue. Some time the sea is pale blue. +Some time the milk is pale blue. And one english says to me, "The +sea was rough and the wind blue," but this not can I understand. The +his friends say he likes chaff. <i>Diavolo</i>, what taste! But perhaps +the chaff is much helpful for the digestion, like the english brown +bread, which some brave men eat. The his friends say also, "He chaffs +till all is blue." Perhaps when one eats the chaff the eyesight is +altered. It is much curious. There are other things blue in England. +There are "the blues." One my friend says to me that this phrase is the +french <i>ennui</i>. Then I have not it seen yet, for it is always <i>festa</i> +since our arrival. I have heard that the blues are at Oxford and at +Cambridge, above all at the College of Girton. But the evening past +I saw the blue the most beautiful. Ah, the exquisite eyes! Ah, <i>la +bellissima signorina inglese!</i> so graceful, so courteous, so beautiful! +And the her eyes were blue, so blue! Never have I seen a colour so +sweet. The sea at Napoli, the sky at Palermo, the lake at Bellagio—it +seems to me that they are grey and ugly when I think to the her eyes.</p> + +<p>Ah, Signor <i>Punch</i>, Her is a man, Her can love, Her, I know it, admires +the beauty of the women! So to her I tell that those blue eyes have hit +the heart of the italian. Not in Italy, but in England, one sees the +blue the most divine.</p> + +<p>Her I beg to accept the my compliments and I have the honour to say +myself.</p> + +<p class="center"> +Her Devotedest Servant,<br /> + +<span class="smcap">Andrea Doria Dandolo Vespucci-Colombo</span>. +</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="ph4">ORDER! ORDER!</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p>["Colonel <span class="smcap">North</span> bases his appeal for support on the plea that +he will see to it that West Leeds gets its full share of whatever work +may be going."—<i>Leeds Mercury.</i>]</p></blockquote> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O "dark and true and tender is the <span class="smcap">North</span>!"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And wondrous service to West Leeds he'll render;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>He</i>'ll see, when Government work is going forth,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">West Leeds shall have its chance—at least to tender.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Orders are heaven's first law." That is the kernel</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of the "dear Colonel's" creed; and it contents</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those who to Governments raise the cry eternal</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of "Give your orders, Gents!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="ph4">ECHOES FROM THE POLLS.</p> + +<p>Elected am I? Well, I am really much obliged.</p> + +<p>Oh, certainly, shall be truly delighted to do anything in my power.</p> + +<p>Fancy in these hard times that it is a little difficult to increase a +subscription list.</p> + +<p>Only too pleased, but must be rather careful not to infringe the +Bribery Acts.</p> + +<p>Truly intend to live up to my opinions. Would not alter them for worlds.</p> + +<p>Cannot recall everything I said during the heat of the election, and +probably was imperfectly reported.</p> + +<p>Do not claim any more liberty of action than to obey the dictates of my +conscience.</p> + +<p>Afraid cannot adequately represent every phase of political opinion.</p> + +<p>Will give as much satisfaction in Westminster as practicable.</p> + +<p>Party arguments are rather superfluous after the contest, and therefore +have to be avoided.</p> + +<p>Sorry cannot stay longer in the Division itself, as my presence is +required within the precincts of St. Stephen's.</p> + +<p>Would have the greatest pleasure in life to discuss all these matters +of controversy at another time.</p> + +<p>Sorry cannot give exact date, but why not say just before the next +General Election?</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Memorable.</span>—Wednesday, July 10th. Evening Fête at Botanical +Gardens. <i>No Rain!!</i></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 470px;"> +<a href="images/031full.jpg"> + +<img src="images/031.jpg" width="470" height="600" alt="OLD WARDER WILLIAM." /></a> + +<p class="ph4">OLD WARDER WILLIAM.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Veteran</span> (<i>loquitur</i>). "DEAR ME! WHAT <i>HAS</i> BECOME OF +HARCOURT?"</p> +</div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="ph3">EX-HON. PRIVATE A. BRIEFLESS, JUN., ON THE I. O. C. R. V. C. AT BISLEY.</p> + +<p>It is scarcely necessary to say that during the sitting of the Courts I +have little time for what may be termed recreation. So when I visited +Bisley on the occasion of the competition for the Ashburnham Shield, +it was in a semi-military and semi-forensic capacity. It was no doubt +pleasing to see one's schoolfellows of a later generation maintaining +the <i>prestige</i> of a common <i>Alma Mater</i>; but the chief attraction in +my eyes of the successor to Wimbledon was the presence under canvas of +much that is left of the "Devil's Own." And here let me pause for a +moment to discuss the traditional derivation of the alternative title +of the Inns of Court Rifle Volunteer Corps. I believe His late Majesty +King <span class="smcap">William the Fourth</span> (of marine memory) is usually believed +to have been the first to call his lawyer warriors by the name that, +to certain minds, has had since an unsympathetic significance. I am +of opinion that the Sailor Sovereign merely confirmed a title that +had already been obtained by usage. It is more than possible that the +initial supporters of the I. O. C. R. V. C. were counsel seldom holding +briefs of their own, but frequently appearing as "learned" but absent +"friends." It is needless to hint to the Bench and Bar that I refer to +"devils." If my assumption is correct, then indeed would the Battalion +be justly known to fame as "the Devil's Own."</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 132px;"> +<a href="images/033full.jpg"> + +<img src="images/033.jpg" width="132" height="320" alt="The Skeleton of a Regiment." /></a> +<p class="center">The Skeleton of a Regiment.</p> +</div> + + +<p>I wish I could deny the reports that have found their way into the +papers that the I. O. C. R. V. C. is less prosperous than it was of +yore. Personally, I have it on my conscience that I have not for many +years appeared on parade. To the best of my belief I have only once +joined the ranks. The occasion was a prize distribution in Lincoln's +Inn Hall. As an honorary member I was posted in the front rank of "A" +Company. Then came the perplexing command, "Fours right," which, so +far as I was concerned, ended in disaster. A little later I retired +from all active military service, and have remained in retreat ever +since. Still, at the sound of the bugle my pulse quickens, and I +feel that had I chosen the Tented Field instead of the Forum for the +exercise of my professional duties my career would not have suffered +in prosperity from the alteration. In fact, I believe that with the +conditions changed I should have had just as good a chance of becoming +Commander-in-Chief as Lord Chancellor. But these are regrets that are +out of place in the columns of a periodical that guards the interests +of the universe in general, while fostering the loftiest aspirations of +the legal profession in particular. So I cast them aside as unworthy +the attention of a counsel, a soldier, and a gentleman.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> +<p>Let me return to the I. O. C. R. V. C. at Bisley. I found "those of the +faithful who have been true to their trust" defending themselves—there +was no trace of defiance in the action—from the fierce fire of the +noonday sun by wearing straw hats and sporting flannels. It was a +pretty picture, that made by the martial lawyers at their mid-day +parade. The tents, the tubs, the kitchen utensils, and last, but not +least, the mess-house, with its dining saloon and ante-room. Alas, that +the stability of the latter should be inappropriate! Alas, that the +corps, once the pride of the Volunteer Service, should be reduced to +four companies, and (so I believe) have lost its adjutant! Ichabod! How +the mighty have fallen!</p> + +<p>As I watched the sad and yet impressive tableau old memories flocked +upon me. Where was the private who caricatured his Colonel, and showed +how a shako could be combined with a horse-hair wig, and yet look +military and forensic? Where was the lance corporal who invariably +confirmed his captain's commands with an "as your Lordship pleases?" +Where was the rear-rank wag who, on being told to charge, said he "must +leave that sort of thing to his clerk, who kept his fee-book?" Where +was the vocalist who would sing the songs of <span class="smcap">J. L. Molloy</span>, +Barrister-at-Law, and knew the ins and outs of "The Maske of Flowers?" +All of them gone, and their places scarcely filled by new comers! +And, as I gazed upon an energetic private of the I. O. C. R. V. C., +apparently preparing to meet the demands of an expected detachment of +hungry lunchers, I wondered whether anything could be done to revive +the fortunes of the Grand Old Battalion. Could the hours of leisure of +the warriors be occupied by regimental trips down the river, regimental +drags to the races, regimental dinners to one another, regimental +visits to the play, regimental strolls in the Row, regimental bicycles +in Battersea Park? I fancy something of this kind has already been +suggested. Then, if Barristers do not flock in sufficient numbers to +the banners of the Lamb, the Horse, and the Griffin, why not throw +open the ranks to wealthy persons—so to speak—fond of the leaders +of litigation? Again I imagine some such plan has already been under +consideration.</p> + +<p>And, as I thought the matter over, I became gloomier and gloomier. So +sad was I that I had to visit the adjacent cemetery, to revive, under +the modified merriment of the place, into comparative cheerfulness. The +mere recollection of the I. O. C. R. V. C. unmans me. It is better that +I should pause, for I can write no more.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Pump Handle Court, July 12, 1895.</i></span></p> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">A. Briefless, Jun.</span> +</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="ph4">THE CRY OF THE COUNTER.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>By a Shopkeeper who had hoped better things of the Season.</i>)</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Great Scott! Sold again! It's all up with the Season,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Though Summer <i>is</i> Summer, and Goodwood's not gone!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We Shopkeepers hoped for good luck, and with reason,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For things did look bright. But once more we are done;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Done, clean as a whistle! A General Election!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sprung on us, through <span class="smcap">Brodrick</span>, and cordite, and stuff!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A plague on both parties, a curse on each section!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Your M.P.'s a mooncalf, a muddler, a muff!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The weather was stunning; Death had not been busy</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With Royalties—bless 'em!—and London was full;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And though of course <span class="smcap">Rosebery</span> is not a <span class="smcap">Dizzy</span>,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He <i>did</i> win the Derby, which gave him some pull.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Parties kept wrangling,—but nobody bothered;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They didn't make progress,—but none of us cared;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though <span class="smcap">Labby</span> played tricks, or <span class="smcap">Silom</span> o pothered,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We stuck to our counters, unshocked and unscared.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And now, betwixt grass-time and harvest, the duffers</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Fight over sheer fudge and kick over the show.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And so once again the poor Shopkeeper suffers.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A murrain on <span class="smcap">Harcourt</span>, a plague upon <span class="smcap">Joe</span>!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For policy <span class="smcap">Balfour</span> sets forth "Dissolution,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And thinks he has scored. Had I temper, and breath,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>And</i> his ear, I could smash up his smart elocution,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>His</i> game's Dissolution,—to us it means death.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fat's in the fire, and the spark's in the powder,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We're in for a long spell of wigs on the green.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our clients will scatter, and louder and louder</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Will swell the fool-chorus of partisan spleen.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sir <span class="smcap">Bottleby Snipe</span> must be off beyond Humber,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And sweet Lady <span class="smcap">Spendwell</span> goes Primrosing, south,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I, poor shopkeeper, may just as well slumber,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With rage in my heart and my thumb in my mouth.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, slaves of the shop, from Pall Mall to far Peckham,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Say, is it not time that <i>you</i> rose and rebelled?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The parties just play with us. Can we not check 'em?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By Jove, if one chorus of shopdom but swelled,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like the working man's howl, on those Westminster wobblers,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The sweet little game they all play it might stop.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Socialist dockers and Radical cobblers</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They've ears; but they're deaf to the Cry of the Shop.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The rents, rates and taxes pile higher and higher,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The Stores undersell us—and cop ready cash!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Hebrew monopolist, fiercer and slyer</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Than tiger-cat, schemeth to send us to smash.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The landlord rack-rents us, and then pops the profit</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He draws out of us into syndicate Stores!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I tell you the shopkeeper's life is a Tophet,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">M.P.'s play at "Progress," and <i>we</i> pay all scores.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then they ask me for my vote!!! Why, what guerdon</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Have I for my votings these twenty years past?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Continual addition to back-breaking burden!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I say the last straw has been laid on, at last;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At least upon this individual camel.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To forward true Progress I don't think I'm loth,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But sick of prolonged Party trick, trap, and trammel,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">If I had my wish, I would—<i>vote against both!</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Modern Ixion.</span>—This mythological character finds his +present representative in a shareholder Bound to the Great Wheel at +Earl's Court. However, Ixion and his wheel went on for ever! In which +case Modern Ixion ought to be an exceptionally lucky person.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 386px;"> +<a href="images/034full.jpg"> + +<img src="images/034.jpg" width="386" height="550" alt="I say, Old Man," /></a> + + + +<p>"<span class="smcap">I say, Old Man, what's that awful Row going on Next +Door?</span>"</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Oh, that's the Omphale Club. The Ladies are having their first +Whist Party of the Season!</span>"</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="tb" /> +<p class="ph4">THE NEW NORRIBLE TALE.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>From a Philistinish Point of View.</i>)</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Air</span>—"<i>The Norrible Tale.</i>"</p> + + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis a norrible tale I'm going to tell</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the frightful fortunes which befel</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A family who late resided</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the same suburban street that I did.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O it is a norrible tale!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Twould make a Maëterlinck turn pale,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With its frightful blend of the grim and glum,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of fiddle-de-dee, and fi-fo-fum!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O they were a decent Philistine lot</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till they caught the contagion of "Tommy-Rot,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That kind of mental, malarial fever,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which floors the foolish and foils the clever.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O it is a norrible tale, &c.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This Influenza of the Soul</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Haunted their house like some gruesome "troll."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(The family—which their name was <span class="smcap">Gibson</span>—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Knew all about such from the works of <span class="smcap">Ibsen</span>.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The father first felt the spell unholy,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the man's demeanour grew truly "trolly."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He was—in Peckham—a Master Builder,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he "carried on" with a drudge named <span class="smcap">'Tilder</span>.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The slavey said it was truly thrilling,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But struck for another—weekly—shilling.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"She was ready to thrill till all was blue,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But it <i>must</i> be reckenised in her 'screw!'"</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His wife declared he was most inhuman,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, for her part, she should turn New Woman!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So she grew—to him—an emotional icicle,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And mounted knickers, and rode a bicycle.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The eldest son, an athletic young fellow,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who had gained his "Blue," took at once to Yellow.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Muscle," he said, in a tone despotic,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Is beastly vulgaw; good form's Neurotic!"</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The youngest daughter, a blue-eyed fairy—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Her pies were prime, and her name was <span class="smcap">Mary</span>—)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now took to cricket, and cigarette-smoking,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And manly manners in togs—and joking.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The eldest one, of a statelier carriage,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Conceived quaint notions about "Group-marriage:"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Since man's a satyr, and brings satiety,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The only virtue is—in <i>variety!</i>"</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Another girl took to writing novels</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On dirt in "dosses," and vice in hovels;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Varying the same with Kiplingy verses,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With ingenious rhymes to street-slang and curses.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The youngest boy, who was "only a nipper,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Contributed "Art" to the "Sixpenny Snipper,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which his sisters said was "supremely delicious,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As a blend of the infantile and vicious."</span><br /><br /><br /> +</p> + + + +<p><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The father died of his drudge and drink,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wife broke her back at a skating rink;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And as to the slavey, whose name was <span class="smcap">'TILDER</span>,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She "thrilled"—on street-preaching and rum—till they killed her.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The eldest son read <span class="smcap">Nordau</span> and <span class="smcap">Lombroso</span>,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till his brain went shaky—'twas always so-so—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He imagines himself a pot of mustard,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of which egomaniacs are making a custard.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The youngest daughter's an "Amazon Queen"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the East-end Halls, and she's loud and lean;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The eldest—whose freedom all bonds would sully—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is tied to—and thrashed by—a pugilist bully.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The writer of sensuous snippety novels,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In Grub Street gutters forlornly grovels;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The "Boy Genius of Gehenna," of the babbling boasters,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Turns a very poor penny by Stygian Posters!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O it <i>is</i> a norrible tale!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And what do New Women and New Art avail?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Egomania-Tommyrotica is all a hum,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Half fiddle-de-dee, and half fi-fo-fum!</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bands and Bombs.</span>—How many Hungarian Bands are there about? +There's a "Real Blue Hungarian" (does this mean a "True Blue," good old +Tory, Band?)—there's an "Anglo-Hungarian," and a "White Hungarian." In +fact, Hungarian Band "with variations." The Real Hung'ry-an'-Thirsty +Bands are to be seen every night in the Feeding Places of the Indian +Exhibition, Earl's Court, where, specially within the bowers of the al +fresco Welcome Club, <i>can</i> be served a very good dinner which <i>may</i> be +bettered; and, if you are a Lucullus, you <i>comme gourmet</i> will have to +Look-ullus-where for it. [N.B.—To get this jest well received give +the dinner yourself, and towards the middle of the feast try the jape. +They'll all laugh <i>en—mais après?</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 800px;"> +<a href="images/035full.jpg"> + +<img src="images/035.jpg" width="800" height="569" alt=""AYE! BUT HOW?"" /></a> +<p class="ph4">"AYE! BUT HOW?"</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Squire</i> (<i>in dog-cart</i>). "<span class="smcap">Here! you Fool! Hold his Head!!</span>"</p> + + +</div> + + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="ph4">MISONEOGYNY.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 250px;"> +<a href="images/035bfull.jpg"> + +<img src="images/035b.jpg" width="250" height="350" alt="untitled" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Punch</span>,—New Woman dead? Not a bit of it. Don't +believe she ever existed. Never met her anywhere myself, and never met +anybody who has. It's my belief there "ain't no sich person." Merely +an idea or an influence, don't you know; and you can't shake hands, go +into dinner, dance, or flirt with a poisonous influence, any more than +you can with a bad smell. Whatever she is, though, afraid she's driven +me into evil courses—rhymes. Here they are:—</p> + + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, where is that horrible modern monstrosity,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where is the woman whom people call "New,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who thinks, speaks, and acts with such utter atrocity,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Tell me, oh where are the "women who do"?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Half angry, half sad (upon grounds sentimental) man</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Begs the New Woman to stoutly proclaim—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"No longer a lady, and not yet a gentleman"—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where are the creatures who own to the name?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This monster has, surely, no lasting vitality,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Only existing in fancy and print;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It is just an unlovely abstract personality,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Coin from the end-of-the-century mint.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, therefore, in physical prowess and mental, man</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Owns her supremacy, calm and serene,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Because the New Woman is like the "Old Gentleman,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Heard of more often—thank heaven—than seen.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Shouldn't worry if I were "Misoneogynist." New woman fad nearly played +out, only a black cloud floating across the blue sky of common sense. +Nice idea, isn't it? Till cloud rolls by shall remain,</p> + +<p class="center"> +Yours cheerily,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><span class="smcap">A. Bachelor</span>.</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">The "Bogey-land of Science."</span>—From the <i>Glasgow Herald</i>:—</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p>"The fourth meeting of the eleventh session of the Andersonian +Naturalists Society was held at 204, George Street, Professor <span class="smcap">G. +Bell Todd</span>, M.B., C.M., President, in the chair. After the minutes +of last meeting had been read, Mr. <span class="smcap">Archibald Shanks</span> exhibited +an Ichthyodorulite of Gyracanthus."</p></blockquote> + +<p>Plucky of Mr. <span class="smcap">Shanks</span>, that! As the Gyracanthus is an animal +with both a fin and a spine, and it was captured in Ayr, it must be a +sort of flying shark. How on earth did Mr. <span class="smcap">Shanks</span> get it to +George Street? It ought to be called "By George Street!" in future.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">"The Colonel's" Paradoxical Purpose.</span>—To convert West Leeds +into "<span class="smcap">North</span> Leads."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="ph4">A TRUE SPORTSMAN'S TIP.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At anti-gambling "spoil-sports," loudly</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The "sportsmen" they would spoil are fretting.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Good friends, though you protest so proudly,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The <i>true</i> spoil-sport is—Betting!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Although it suit the baser sort,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What's sport to them is death to Sport!</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + + +<div class="figright" style="width: 265px;"> +<a href="images/035cfull.jpg"> + +<img src="images/035c.jpg" width="265" height="320" alt="untitled" /></a> +</div> + + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br />"Piccadilly Sports" is a headline conjuring up pleasant visions +of races, and other jinks unconducive to the peace and comfort of +law-abiding citizens—only authorised race in Piccadilly, the "purblind +race of miserable men." Yet let no irate old gentleman storm the +columns of the <i>Times</i> with a tirade against the police and County +Council on this account. Because there happens to be another Piccadilly +up north. <i>Hinc (Piccad) illi ludi.</i> We shall expect to be reading +shortly of "Holborn miners out on strike," "Heroic rescue by the Pall +Mall lifeboat," or "A serious affray with poachers at Paddington."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="ph3">ELECTION INTELLIGENCE.</p> + +<p class="center">TOBY ONCE MORE M.P.</p> + +<p>On Monday the Electors of Barkshire assembled in the great hall +of their county town to elect a Member to serve in the Fourteenth +Parliament of Queen <span class="smcap">Victoria</span>. The High Sheriff presided. +Owing to the constitutional rule which forbids Peers to take part +in Parliamentary electoral proceedings, the Lord Lieutenant of the +county was precluded from showing himself on the platform. It was said +that, indisposed to be entirely out of so interesting and popular +an event, his lordship was present disguised as a tide-waiter. Our +representative, however, did not observe in the throng any person in +nautical dress.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 393px;"> +<a href="images/036full.jpg"> + +<img src="images/036.jpg" width="393" height="450" alt=""Carried unanimously."" /></a> +<p class="center">"Carried unanimously."</p> + +</div> + +<p>The hall, which was crowded to its utmost capacity, was gaily decorated +with flags. Across the full length of the hall was suspended a banner +bearing the proud device "<span class="smcap">Barks's is willin'</span>."</p> + +<p>Our esteemed ex-Member was accompanied on the platform by the principal +county gentry of all shades of political opinion. On taking his seat in +the front row of chairs, he was received with rounds of Kentish fire, +made in Barkshire. Having been proposed and seconded in eulogistic +terms, report of which he has expressed a desire we should suppress, +the High Sheriff inquired if any elector desired to propose another +candidate?</p> + +<p>"I should think not," said a burly Barkshire farmer, ominously grasping +a stout blackthorn.</p> + +<p>After this no one seemed disposed to move, and the High Sheriff +declared <span class="smcap">Toby</span>, M.P., duly elected. There were loud cries for +the Member, who, overcoming natural and usually insuperable diffidence, +got on his hind legs.</p> + +<p>"Brother electors," he said, "it is an old saying, 'What Barkshire +thinks to-day, England will do to-morrow.' Obviously some inaccuracy +underlies the aphorism, since whilst you have to-day thought me +worthy of being elected your Member, it's no use England coming +round to-morrow and asking me to represent it in the Commons House +of Parliament. This is the fourth time Barkshire has done me this +honour; and base indeed is the man—(<i>A Voice, 'Who pays'</i>)—who could +be insensible to such testimony of confidence and esteem. Brother +electors—(<i>A Voice, 'Who stole the Emperor William's uniform?' +Disturbance at the end of the hall. Another Voice, 'Chuck him out.'</i>) +No, electors of Barkshire, let him stay. If he is put outside, he +loses the opportunity of observing your behaviour, and learning how +gentlemen comport themselves when publicly assembled in discharge of +a solemn duty. (<i>Loud cheers. A Voice, 'That fetches 'em!'</i>) I was +about to observe, when our friend's feelings temporarily overcame him, +that since I entered the room I have had a number of questions handed +up to me. They are a little late, since I am no longer a candidate +but am duly elected. That, however unusual the case may be, makes no +difference. The first question is: 'Will you, if elected, see that +every man in Barkshire over fifty years of age has three acres of +the best land in the parish, with a cow for every adult child and a +calf a-piece for each infant in arms?' Certainly; I hope I may live +to see established those desirable conditions as between man and man. +(<i>Cheers.</i>) Another esteemed friend asks: 'Do you understand Local Veto +to mean that a man may go into the public-house, take his noggin or +what not, and when asked to pay may refuse?' I could not if I tried put +my views on the situation more clearly. The Veto, as you all know, is +a Latin word meaning to <i>vete</i>, or, as we say in English, to refuse to +stump up. A public-house is, according to 19 Vict. c. 190, a locality. +Local Veto is, therefore, the inalienable right of the English citizen +as defined by my friend. (<i>Loud cheers.</i>) 'Are you in favour of +Equalisation of the Rates?' To be frank with you, my idea of rates is +that they should be equalised to the extent that makes them absolutely +impalpable. (<i>'No, no.' 'Yes, yes.' Uproar under the gallery. Cries +of</i> '<span class="smcap">Judas!</span>' <i>A free fight, during which a man was ejected, +omitting to take his coat with him.</i>) Don't put him out; don't put +anyone out. If there's a renewal of the interruption, form a ring round +the man; then we will see where we are. Here's another question: 'Do +you approve of Ice Creams made in foreign prisons smuggled over here in +barrel-organs and ground out in our streets, ruining the digestion of +our working men?' That is a question which hardly seems to need reply +from a patriotic Englishman. But I will say—and you observe I say it +emphatically—No. (<i>Loud cheering.</i>) 'Are you in favour of a Second +Chamber, or do you go the length of Tenification?' That is a very nice +question. It shows how deeply and intelligently the men of Barkshire +study the questions of the day. It is not a matter on which I, for one, +care to dogmatize; I will therefore content myself with saying, that +between two and ten we might find the happy medium. (<i>More cheering, +the audience rising to their feet, waving hats and handkerchiefs.</i>) +Now, gentlemen, that's all the questions I have, and I hope you'll +agree that I have answered them frankly. Ah! here's another one coming +up. (<i>A dirty piece of paper is passed from hand to hand till it +reached the hon. Member.</i>) 'Could you lend me five bob till Saturday +night?' (<i>Laughter, in which the hon. Member heartily joined.</i>) I +think, gentlemen, it is time we now proposed a vote of thanks to the +High Sheriff." (<i>This was carried unanimously, and the meeting broke +up. A torch-light procession conducted the popular member to his family +seat, The Kennel, Barks.</i>)</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="ph4">A LITERARY TURN.</p> + +<p>There was a case in the Edinburgh Court of Session the other day, +which shows what is thought of authors north of the Tweed—and not by +publishers, either. A witness remarked of a "defender" that "he was of +a literary turn of mind, and he thought that spoiled him." Many persons +have had similar thoughts, but they have generally refrained from +uttering them quite so bluntly.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mistress <span class="smcap">Hathaway</span> rejoiced in a daughter christened <span class="smcap">Anne</span>,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Whose proceedings she regarded with concern;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quoth she—"That <span class="smcap">Willum Shakspeare</span> as a son-in-law I ban.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Why? Because he has a literary turn."</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Growled Sir <span class="smcap">W-ll-m</span>, on perusal of a certain <i>Life of Pitt</i>—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Well, we all unquestionably live and learn;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But, in spite of <span class="smcap">Dizzy's</span> precedent, I don't believe one bit</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In a Premier with a literary turn."</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said <span class="smcap">W-ls-l-y</span>, when a recent work he blankly had surveyed—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"To answer this biography I yearn.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What an admirable soldier <span class="smcap">H-ml-y</span> might, perhaps, have made,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">If he had not had a literary turn!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Just on the Cards.</span>"—Herr <span class="smcap">Iff's</span> orchestra. In how +uncertain a state of mind would a telegram from Herr <span class="smcap">Iff</span> leave +the giver of the entertainment who, having requested wire informing +him whether Herr <span class="smcap">Iff</span> and his band could come, should receive +this reply: "<i>If can come will be there at hour stated.</i>" This supposes +that some well-informed, grammatical, telegraphic young lady-clerk has +corrected the spelling of "<span class="smcap">Iff</span>." <i>À propos</i> of <span class="smcap">Iff</span>, a +complete entertainment would be a recital by the Veteran <span class="smcap">Howe</span> +of <span class="smcap">Watts'</span> poems, accompanied by <span class="smcap">Iff's</span> band; and a +reading from <i>Le Château d'If</i>.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Intelligible, but not Clear.</span>—"I think," said Mrs. R.'s +married niece, "that good singing is quite wasted on an ordinary +evening party. Now I remember an evening when <span class="smcap">Santley</span> sang in +a crowded drawing-room at our house, and <i>a pin might have dropped!</i>"</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">A Decision. The Dr. G. Testimonial.</span>—The <i>D. T.</i> is a good +judge of popular sentiment, and, attired as a Judge, is <i>D. T. ermined</i> +that '95 shall be remembered as "<i>the</i> Year of <span class="smcap">Grace</span>."</p> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44673 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/44673-h/images/025.jpg b/44673-h/images/025.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2aa5f4d --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/025.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/025full.jpg b/44673-h/images/025full.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9ce0f2e --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/025full.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/026.jpg b/44673-h/images/026.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1ef71b6 --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/026.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/026full.jpg b/44673-h/images/026full.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f2b8d77 --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/026full.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/027.jpg b/44673-h/images/027.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3a08982 --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/027.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/027full.jpg b/44673-h/images/027full.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..de43bb2 --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/027full.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/028.jpg b/44673-h/images/028.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..781b4f3 --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/028.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/028full.jpg b/44673-h/images/028full.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2cba9ac --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/028full.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/029.jpg b/44673-h/images/029.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2a23d66 --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/029.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/029full.jpg b/44673-h/images/029full.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..32ef523 --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/029full.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/030.jpg b/44673-h/images/030.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7fcee7f --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/030.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/030full.jpg b/44673-h/images/030full.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7973a51 --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/030full.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/031.jpg b/44673-h/images/031.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e4b5a4f --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/031.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/031full.jpg b/44673-h/images/031full.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c95d3d3 --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/031full.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/033.jpg b/44673-h/images/033.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..dd7961e --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/033.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/033full.jpg b/44673-h/images/033full.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..235c379 --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/033full.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/034.jpg b/44673-h/images/034.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a7958dd --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/034.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/034full.jpg b/44673-h/images/034full.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a36b2c8 --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/034full.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/035.jpg b/44673-h/images/035.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9403ab5 --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/035.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/035b.jpg b/44673-h/images/035b.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..877b4f3 --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/035b.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/035bfull.jpg b/44673-h/images/035bfull.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4f5d729 --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/035bfull.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/035c.jpg b/44673-h/images/035c.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..692aaff --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/035c.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/035cfull.jpg b/44673-h/images/035cfull.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4f4b4e1 --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/035cfull.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/035full.jpg b/44673-h/images/035full.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..abfaebf --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/035full.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/036.jpg b/44673-h/images/036.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cadf020 --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/036.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/036full.jpg b/44673-h/images/036full.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8ee1834 --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/036full.jpg diff --git a/44673-h/images/cover.jpg b/44673-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9e89366 --- /dev/null +++ b/44673-h/images/cover.jpg |
