initial commit of ebook 44707HEAD main

author: Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> 2025-10-14 18:55:41 -0700
committer: Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> 2025-10-14 18:55:41 -0700
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+  <title>Punch, or the London Charivari, April 20th, 1895.</title>
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+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44707 ***</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page181" id="page181"></a>[pg 181]</span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h1>PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.<br />
+
+<small>Volume 108, <span class="sc">April 20, 1895</span></small><br />
+
+<span class="smaller"><i>edited by Sir Francis Burnand</i></span></h1>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter1" style="width: 400px;"><a href="images/181-800.png"><img src="images/181-300.png" width="300" height="452" alt="IMPROVING THE SHINING HOUR." /></a>
+<h3 class="sans">IMPROVING THE SHINING HOUR.</h3>
+
+<p><i>The New Governess.</i> "<span class="sc">What are the Comparative and Superlative
+of <i>Bad</i>, Berty?</span>"</p>
+
+<p><i>Berty</i> (<i>the Doctor's son</i>). "<span class="sc">Bad</span>&mdash;<span class="sc">Worse</span>&mdash;<span class="sc">Dead!</span>"</p></div>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<h2>A CHINO-JAPANESE CALENDAR.</h2>
+
+<p class="title1">(<i>For the next Ten Years.</i>)</p>
+
+<ul class="none">
+<li>1895. &nbsp;Treaty of peace signed between China and Japan, on the
+basis of the opening up of Chinese territory and introduction of
+machinery into the Celestial Empire. The Japanese prophesy that
+the compact will ultimately prove to be for the benefit of the Chinese.</li>
+
+<li>1896. &nbsp;Japan floods China with home-made merchants, who obtain
+an enormous trade.</li>
+
+<li>1897. &nbsp;England, America and France follow suit, and, after a
+pause, the remainder of the civilized world adopt the prevailing
+fashion.</li>
+
+<li>1898. &nbsp;Japanese China becomes over-populated, thanks to the
+foreign invasion, and there is much discontent amongst the original
+inhabitants.</li>
+
+<li>1899. &nbsp;The foreigners, having secured all the possible trade that
+could be obtained, commence the erection of manufactories.</li>
+
+<li>1900. &nbsp;Japanese China challenges Birmingham, Glasgow, Lyons,
+and Marseilles on their own ground, and holds its own. It claims to
+be one of the most productive places on the face of the universe.</li>
+
+<li>1901. &nbsp;The introduction of machinery having thrown the teeming
+millions of Japanese China out of work, there is great discontent
+amongst them.</li>
+
+<li>1902. &nbsp;An enterprising citizen of the United States of America
+projects an emigration scheme for supplying the outer world with the
+superfluous population of Japanese China.</li>
+
+<li>1903. &nbsp;The scheme of the citizen of the U. S. A. proves a great
+success, and sixty millions of Chino-Japanese are conveyed to the
+two worlds, the old and the new.</li>
+
+<li>1904. &nbsp;The original inhabitants of Europe and America, undersold
+by the Chino-Japanese, are ousted from their positions and left without
+work. Consequently, great prosperity of the Chino-Japanese.</li>
+
+<li>1905. &nbsp;Fulfilment of the prophecy, that the treaty of peace between
+China and Japan signed in 1895 was "really for the benefit of the
+Chinese."</li>
+</ul>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<h2>WON'T WASH!</h2>
+
+<p class="title1">Or, The British Laundress's Lament.</p>
+
+<p class="ind3">
+[There is talk of a company for taking our laundry-work over to Holland,
+washing it there, and returning it to the owners at a less cost than it can be
+done for at home.]
+</p>
+
+<div class="poem width24">  <div class="stanza">
+<p>In matters of laundry the fault of them Dutch,</p>
+<p>Is charging too little, and grabbing too much!</p>
+<p>They'd collar our collars, cut off with our shirts!</p>
+<p>The heart of a true washerwoman it hurts</p>
+<p>To think of Frows taking <em>our</em> time-honoured tub.</p>
+<p>What, travel to Holland to get rub and scrub,</p>
+<p>While soap and strong arms may in Britain be found?</p>
+<p>It's worse than them Stores! Furrineers may be found</p>
+<p>To do dirty work on the cheap, I've no doubt;</p>
+<p>But can old <span class="sc">John Bull</span> know just what he's about</p>
+<p>In sending our work from his shores in <em>this</em> way?</p>
+<p>I'm sure it won't wash, and I 'ope it won't pay!</p>
+<p>Shall we to Mynheer and his frowsy Frow truckle,</p>
+<p>While one English woman has arm, wrist, and knuckle?</p>
+<p>Forbid it, my sisters! My patriot 'eart</p>
+<p>Is up in my mouth at this ojus new start.</p>
+<p>There is an old proverb, and what do it say?</p>
+<p>It is the true laundress's motter, I say.</p>
+<p>But what in the world to <span class="sc">John Bull</span> can 'ave come</p>
+<p>If he can't <em>wash his own dirty linen at 'ome</em>?</p>
+  </div>  </div>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<h2>A MISMANAGED ACCIDENT.</h2>
+
+<p>Have just discovered that the pretty girl I met at the dance the
+other night is a lady nurse at Charing Cross Hospital. Such a nice
+girl! What a charming nurse she must be! Almost wish I was
+laid up at the hospital. In fact, quite wish it. But I can't be.
+Another outrage on the miserable, downtrodden, middle class. If I
+were one of the fortunate, pampered masses, a Working Man, I
+should be nursed by her, if I were ill, and by others, perhaps, like
+her. Stay! There is a chance. If I could be damaged in an
+accident&mdash;not too much damaged&mdash;and carried to the hospital, they
+must look after me, and nurse me. They couldn't help themselves.
+Northumberland Avenue&mdash;the very place! Never cross it without
+being nearly run over.</p>
+
+<p>Go straight there and look eagerly for the usual rushing hansoms.
+Here's one. Stroll in front of it. Driver pulls aside, shouts and
+swears at me, and goes on. Reflect that some caution is necessary.
+If the wheel went over my neck, even her ministrations would
+be useless. Must be run over judiciously. Better only be knocked
+down. Stroll across road again. Here comes one. Shouts from
+driver. A large splash of mud in my eye. And that's all. These
+cabmen drive so absurdly well. They pull up, or pull aside, or
+pull somewhere instantly. Wipe my eye, and then see something
+better. Old lady's brougham, from the suburbs, driven by the sort
+of coachman who also works in the garden. He won't be able to pull
+aside quickly. Stroll in front of horse. Shouts from gardening
+coachman. Horse nearly on me. Suddenly pulled back by fussy
+policeman, who says I had a narrow escape. Hang the fellow, of
+course I did! Am obliged to give him ten shillings for his prompt
+action. Begin to despair of this accident. Stroll on nearly to Embankment.
+Immense van coming along at a trot. Much too heavy.
+I should be smashed flat. And this driver seems to want to run
+over me. Escape with difficulty by jumping aside. At that moment
+something hits my legs, I am thrown down, and a wheel passes over
+my foot. It is a costermonger's donkey-cart which was racing the
+van. How ignominious! To be knocked down by a donkey and run
+over by a truck! Very painful too. Feel as if I should faint.
+Picked up by sympathetic people who rush to me. Say feebly to
+them, "Take me to the hospital." Then faint.</p>
+
+<p>After a short time open my eyes. Am being carried in somewhere.
+At last! I shall forget the pain. I am in the hospital. She will
+nurse me! <i>She</i>&mdash;oh, heavens! Though I have planned it all,
+suppose I ought to murmur, "Where am I?" Do so. "In St.
+Thomas's Hospital," says somebody.</p>
+
+<p class="ind"><i>A fortnight later.</i>&mdash;And I am in it still.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p class="ind1">According to a paragraph last week in the <cite>Westminster Gazette</cite>,
+quoting from the <cite>Australian Review of Reviews</cite>, it appears that the
+Earl of <span class="sc">Yarmouth</span> has been making a sensation in the Colonies as a
+"Skirt-dancer." Queer fish this nobleman! belongs to the Bloater
+Aristocracy.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p class="ind2"><span class="sc">A Noble Plunger.</span>&mdash;One day last week in the <cite>Times</cite> appeared an
+article headed "<cite>Lord Rayleigh on Waves</cite>." Rather early for sea-bathing,
+eh? Evidently so, such prominence having been given to
+the fact by the leading journal.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page182" id="page182"></a>[pg 182]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 375px;"><a href="images/182-1100.png"><img src="images/182-375.png" width="375" height="482" alt="'BETTER LATE THAN NEVER.'" /></a>
+<h3 class="sans">"BETTER LATE THAN NEVER.</h3>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Punch</i> (<i>welcoming Miss Spring-time</i>). '<span class="sc">Glad to see you, my dear! Began to think you were never coming!</span>'"</p></div>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page183" id="page183"></a>[pg 183]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/183-1500.png"><img src="images/183-600.png" width="600" height="329" alt="'ANIMAL SPIRITS.'" /></a>
+<h3 class="sans">"ANIMAL SPIRITS."</h3>
+
+<p class="title2">No. XI.&mdash;<span class="sc">After Bank Holiday.</span></p></div>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<h3>"BETTER LATE THAN NEVER."</h3>
+
+<p class="title1">Mr. Punch to Miss Spring:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem width33">  <div class="stanza">
+<p>Well, here you are at last, dear! <i>Are</i> the biting blizzards past, dear?</p>
+<p class="i2">And <i>will</i> you guarantee us from subjection to the plumber?</p>
+<p>Will no casual icy splinter from the serried spears of Winter</p>
+<p class="i2">Put a chill upon your smile, and spoil the promise of the Summer?</p>
+<p>We've been waiting worn and weary, till e'en cuckoo-songs sound cheery,</p>
+<p class="i2">And belated almond-blossoms show like roses of Cashmere:</p>
+<p>And the cockney chaunt now flowing, "All-a-blowing <i>and</i> a-growing!"</p>
+<p class="i2">Falls far sweeter than <span class="sc">Mascagni</span> upon London's longing ear.</p>
+<p>Where on earth have you been hiding? We are in no mood for chiding,</p>
+<p class="i2">But mid-April's <i>rather</i> late, dear, for what should have come in March!</p>
+<p>What malignant hocus-pocus has kept back the plucky crocus,</p>
+<p class="i2">Whose gold is scarce yet bursting from the beds the winds still parch?</p>
+<p>After that six weeks cold snap, dear, of fast frozen pipe and tap, dear,</p>
+<p class="i2">When back to barbarism and to bathlessness fate drove us,</p>
+<p>And we sicklier grew, and surlier, if you'd come a <i>leetle</i> earlier,&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i2">Well, let bygones now be bygones! But O Spring sweet! an you love us,</p>
+<p>Come&mdash;at last, dear&mdash;<i>à la</i> <span class="sc">Herrick</span>, with such influence atmospheric</p>
+<p class="i2">As will slay the Influenza; with such fragrance from your flowers,</p>
+<p>As will knock Malaria silly; let your dear daffydown-dilly</p>
+<p class="i2">From our bodies drive bacilli, and the blight from out our bowers.</p>
+<p>Slay our Microbes, Spring, and bless us! Like a clinging Shirt of Nessus</p>
+<p class="i2">Morbid sickliness surrounds us in our lives, our books, our art.</p>
+<p>Oh, if sunshine and your breezes might but slay our soul-diseases,</p>
+<p class="i2">Oust the pestilent miasma that pervades the home, the mart;</p>
+<p>Neutralise the nauseous virus whose developments so tire us;</p>
+<p class="i2">Disinfect the New Parnassus, purge the New Pierian Spring,</p>
+<p>Bring us honesty and health, dear, why for all our wit and wealth, dear,</p>
+<p class="i2">We might love like Nature's lovers, and like Nature's poets sing.</p>
+<p>Ah! we need Spring's prophylactic!&mdash;But I'm getting too didactic</p>
+<p class="i2">For a sunny April morning, and a sweet young thing like you.</p>
+<p>My dear, the London Season, wrapped and furred out of all reason,</p>
+<p class="i2">Has been waiting, decked like Winter, with a nose-tip nearly blue;</p>
+<p>Waiting, waiting for your coming. Sweet as bees in clover humming</p>
+<p class="i2">Is the first sound of your footfall. Most spontaneous of passions</p>
+<p>Is the love for you, you darling. You will bring the thrush and starling,</p>
+<p class="i2">And the young leaves and the young lambs, and, what's better&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i4"><i>the Spring Fashions</i>!!!</p>
+<p>So no wonder that she greets you with effusion when she meets you.</p>
+<p class="i2">Ah, Spring! 'tis not your lilacs, and your daffodils and stocks,</p>
+<p>Or the tender leaves the trees on, that most moves Miss London Season,</p>
+<p class="i2">'Tis the hope of "rippin'" frolics and the thought of "trotty" frocks.</p>
+<p>But an old man's heart, my treasure, beats to quite another measure,</p>
+<p class="i2">Still my sympathies, dear Spring, are with the youngsters and with you.</p>
+<p>They are looking for love's playtime, and the merry, merry May-time,</p>
+<p class="i2">And the popular R.A. time, and the whole tohu-bohu!</p>
+<p>Bring the girls delights as dowry, may their social paths be flowery,</p>
+<p class="i2">And your silver drops the only tears they need to look upon.</p>
+<p>So they're wholesome, may they flourish; and may all Spring influence nourish</p>
+<p class="i2">True manhood and pure womanhood, and&mdash;there, my preaching's done!</p>
+<p>We need a true <i>Spring Clean</i>, sweet. Give us parks and gardens green, sweet.</p>
+<p class="i2">And laughter, like your bird-songs pure, un-satyr-like, though clever,</p>
+<p>Bless our boys, our girls, our babies, yes&mdash;<i>and bring us back our <span class="sc">Jabez</span></i>,</p>
+<p class="i2">And we'll pardon your delay, and say 'tis better late than never!</p>
+  </div>  </div>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p class="ind2"><span class="sc">Opportunity lost by Mr. Justice Hawkins during a recent
+Case when His Lordship might have put it to the Jury.</span>&mdash;"Gentlemen,
+what is the difference, or, as there has been no quarrel,
+let us say what is the distinction between a costumier and a butcher
+anxious to arrange his shop-front to the best advantage? Gentlemen,
+I will not detain you, it is this: The costumier meets out the
+dresses; the butcher 'dresses out' the meats. Gentlemen, you are
+discharged."</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p class="center"><span class="sc">To Charitable Chess-Players.</span>&mdash;A good move at Easter time is&mdash;"cheque
+to his Bishop."</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page184" id="page184"></a>[pg 184]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="sans">BLIND ALLEY-GORIES.</h3>
+
+<p class="title2"><span class="sc">By Dunno Währiar.</span></p>
+
+<p class="title2a">(<i>Translated from the original Lappish by Mr. Punch's own
+Hyperborean Enthusiast.</i>)</p>
+
+<p class="title">Introductory Note.</p>
+
+<p>IT affords me no ordinary gratification to be the humble instrument
+in rendering these exquisitely obscure prose-poems&mdash;reeking as they
+are with the self-consciousness of so magnificently triumphant an
+Ego&mdash;into the English tongue, though I am fully aware of the difficulty
+of preserving all the mystical unintelligibility of the original.</p>
+
+<p><span class="sc">Dunno Währiar</span> is
+perhaps the most remarkable
+personality
+that his native Lapland
+has yet produced. He
+first saw the light on
+April 1, 1879, at Kandalax,
+so that he may
+still be called comparatively
+young. His impressionable,
+sensitive
+soul broke out in early
+revolt against the train-oil
+and tallow which
+formed the traditionary
+nutriment of his family
+circle, and in 1883 we
+find him casting off the
+shackles of conventionality
+and escaping to
+Sweden in his sledge-perambulator.
+There
+he has lived ever since,
+and has already secured
+a foremost place among
+the greatest physiological
+psychologists of
+Scandinavia. As a morbid
+pathologist, he surpasses
+<span class="sc">Strindberg</span>;
+while in neurotic sensitivism,
+he has hustled
+<span class="sc">Hansson</span> into a back
+seat; easily beaten
+<span class="sc">Björnson</span> in diagnosis
+of the elusive emotions;
+and taken the indigestible
+cake of slack-baked
+symbolism from
+the master hand of <span class="sc">Ibsen</span>
+himself! Small
+wonder, then, that the
+commonest penwiper
+containing issues from
+his pen is eagerly sought
+after by admirers of such effusions.</p>
+
+<p>He belongs ('tis true) to the Literary Upper Crust, and is for the
+few rather than the many; while so absolute has been his fidelity to
+the principles of his art, that he has published every one of his works
+at a considerable pecuniary loss.</p>
+
+<p>Need I say more to ensure for him that respectful admiration
+which the public is ever ready to lavish upon anything they fail to
+understand?</p>
+
+<p>Let me rather efface myself and leave <span class="sc">Dunno Währiar</span>&mdash;or
+"Young <span class="sc">Garnaway</span>," as is his self-adopted pseudonym&mdash;to unfold
+the rhythmic charm of his own inimitable incomprehensibility.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<h3>BLIND ALLEY-GORY THE FIRST.</h3>
+
+<p class="title2">THE LOST BACKBONE.</p>
+
+<p>One summer evening, when the moon was at the full, and cloud-shadows
+glided imperceptibly over the chimney-pots, as curses that
+have found no utterance and come dejectedly home to roost, I wandered
+into my back-garden, and caught the God of the Period napping
+in the moonshine on one of my celery-beds.</p>
+
+<p>He rose up suddenly and reposed awhile in space, with his head
+resting on the back of the Great Bear, and one foot on the arm of
+Cassiopeia's Chair, while with the other he skimmed the cream off the
+Milky Way. And he seemed to be everywhere and yet nowhere in
+particular, and he said nothing, and I was afraid to make a remark&mdash;and
+there was no sound, save that of the boundless, inconceivable
+silence which was rumbling round the corner.</p>
+
+<p>Presently he came down to the celery-bed once more.</p>
+
+<p>"What are you seeking for so late?" asked he; "your face looks
+so long and solemn, and your eyes are hollow and full of woe. Have
+you been having anything indigestible for supper?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am in trouble about Humanity," I replied; "for, though I
+loathe and despise them individually, collectively I love them
+dearly."</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter with Humanity?" asked the God, as he
+squatted amid the celery.</p>
+
+<p>"They are growing so deadly dull," I answered. "I am Young
+<span class="sc">Garnaway</span>, the Pessimistic Prose Poet, and it pains me to see how
+utterly they have lost their perception of the ridiculous, which is the
+backbone of real enjoyment. So I came out to see if by any chance
+the backbone was hidden under one of the flower-pots."</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 450px;"><a href="images/184-1200.png"><img src="images/184-450.png" width="450" height="470" alt="'I saw many myriads of spectral kitten forms and unsubstantial egg-shapes.'" /></a>
+"I saw many myriads of spectral kitten forms and unsubstantial egg-shapes."</div>
+
+<p>The Period-God once more pervaded the endless space that glittered
+in darkling infinitude
+round about and right ahead of him. It seemed to me, when he returned,
+that he had been laughing; but suddenly I saw him pull himself together, and frown.</p>
+
+<p>And from afar a gurgling rose through the gloom, and darkness fell
+upon my back-garden, knocking a basilisk off the waterbutt, and
+above the garden-walls there appeared a crowd of rude persons, in pot
+hats, with red lolling tongues and wide grinning mouths, holding
+their sides with inextinguishable mirth. All at once the giggles
+turned into the booing of Philistines, and there was a fantastic shadowy
+horseplay, which rolled nearer and nearer.</p>
+
+<p>I saw many myriads of spectral kitten forms, and unsubstantial egg
+shapes rushing towards me through the air. Instinctively I ran indoors
+and gripped the umbrella from its corner, and stood on guard.</p>
+
+<p>Then I heard someone chuckling quite close
+to me, chuckling softly, but unmistakably. And the booing hushed,
+and the gloom lightened, and the garden-roller glimmered faintly
+in the moonlit summer night, and inside the lawn-mower lay the God
+of the Period crying with uncontrollable laughter.</p>
+
+<p>"When the time comes," he said, "when mankind gets weary of
+Paraded Pessimism, and the Big Scandinavian Boom has burst, then
+I will conjure forth the Great Guffaw; and <i>then</i> it will be time for
+all Dyspeptic Decadents to get under their umbrellas&mdash;just as you
+did awhile ago, for mankind will have recovered its sense of
+humour, and will decline to take them seriously. But you had much
+better leave off bothering your head about that lost backbone, for
+you won't be happy when they get it!"</p>
+
+<p>And while I was taking off my goloshes indoors, I heard again the
+sound of snapping celery sticks, as the Period-God rolled on the
+bed in ecstasies of stifled merriment, and I wondered at intervals
+what it was all about.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p class="ind1"><span class="sc">For Outward Application.</span>&mdash;"'A man may change his skies,'
+as the Roman poet puts it," quoth the <i>Daily Telegraph</i>, "but he
+does not so easily change his habits." The Academy is about to
+open. The pictures will soon be hung. Varnishing day comes, with
+last chance for alteration. Then comes in Latin poetic proverb,
+"A man may change his skies, but, do what he will, he cannot alter
+that peculiar style that marks the work as his, and nobody else's."</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p class="center"><span class="sc">New Proverb.</span>&mdash;All "problem" and no "play" makes drama a
+dull joy.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page185" id="page185"></a>[pg 185]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter1" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/185a-1500.png"><img src="images/185a-600.png" width="600" height="382" alt="SHOCKING HEATHENISM." /></a>
+<h3 class="sans">SHOCKING HEATHENISM.</h3>
+
+<p><i>Rector.</i> "<span class="sc">So you go up to Town next month, Miss Mary. How I envy you! And of course you'll attend the May Meetings.</span>"</p>
+
+<p><i>Miss Mary.</i> "<span class="sc">May Meetings? Oh dear no! Though I adore Horses, I quite disapprove of <i>Racing</i>, don't you know!</span>"</p></div>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 100px;"><a href="images/185b-300.png"><img src="images/185b-100.png" width="100" height="219" alt="'Fridoline.'" /></a>
+<p class="center">"Fridoline."</p></div>
+
+<p>The Baron heartily welcomes the appearance of <i>Happy Thoughts</i>
+in French, under the very attractive style and title of <i>Fridoline</i>. No
+fear now of the <i>entente cordiale</i> between England and France being
+disturbed; and that is indeed <i>une "pensée" la plus "heureuse" ou
+"ingénieuse."</i> The dialogue with the patient angler who remains
+in the middle of the stream day after day, and, probably, night after
+night, is quite a little lesson in French.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>'Pris quelque chose?' 'Rien.' 'Pas
+mordu du tout?' 'Une fois, je crois.' Le
+pêcheur n'a pas perdu son calme, mais son air
+n'a rien de triomphant.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>And the world goes on and the <i>mouvement</i>
+continues, and ever and anon the Happy
+Thoughter, returning to the river, finds the
+same man in the same boat in almost the same
+position. Then, before retiring for the night,
+the H. T. takes one turn on the lawn, "<i>pour
+m'assurer</i>," he says, "<i>que je ne laisse rien
+derrière moi. Ah si! je laisse l'homme au
+bachot, toujours sa ligne en main. Il avait,
+paraît-il, un pen redescendu le courant.
+'Bonne pêche?' 'Non.' 'Pris quelque
+chose?' 'Rien.'</i>" Those who read "<i>entre
+les lignes</i>" may see in this figure of unrewarded
+patience and perseverance more than
+meets the eye. <span class="sc">M. Aurelien de Courson</span> has
+done his work excellently well, "<i>avec l'autorisation
+de l'auteur</i>."</p>
+
+<p>I found a book on my table lying among a
+number of others put aside to be read at "a more convenient season."
+The title attracted me&mdash;<i>Clove Pink</i>. Its leaves are of last autumn,
+but the story they tell is for ever. It is admirably written; its word-painting
+is the work of a true artist: but beginning brightly and
+gladly, as do the lives of the young hero and heroine, it ends sadly
+but sweetly. If you are not averse to a simple, well-told tale, with
+stirring incidents of modern warfare, graphically narrated, that
+stand out in startling contrast to the scenes of quiet English rural
+life, a story whose pathos and simple truth will touch you deeply,
+read <i>Clove Pink</i>, says</p>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="sc">The Baron de Book-Worms</span>.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<h3>VERY CATCHING.</h3>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 250px;"><a href="images/185c-400.png"><img src="images/185c-150.png" width="150" height="153" alt="'To-morrow will be Fry day," /></a>
+<div class="poem width21">  <div class="stanza">
+<p>"To-morrow will be Fry day,</p>
+<p>So we'll catch our fish to-day."</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+
+<p class="i10"><i>Somebody's Song.</i></p>
+  </div>  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>In the <cite>Times</cite> of Monday, April 8, appeared an advertisement
+headed "Lent, Lent&mdash;Fish, Fish." This meant, of course, that the
+season was Lent, not that the fishmonger was a lender of fish. And
+for the season it was Holy Week,
+<i>i.e.</i> last week of Lent. Then it
+goes on "<em>Have you ordered your
+Good Friday's Dinner?</em> If not,
+do so at once." Excellent and most
+timely advice, seeing it was given
+on the Monday preceding Good
+Friday. So far so good; but then
+comes "a reason why" which apparently
+quite upsets the kettle of
+fish. Here is the extract:&mdash;</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>
+"Having made contracts with a
+number of the leading trawl and line
+fishermen to take the whole of their
+prime fish caught during Easter week,"
+&amp;c., &amp;c.
+</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>What on earth is the good of fish
+caught in Easter Week to the persons
+who have ordered it for the
+previous Friday? That's where the trouble is. The fishmonger is
+at sea as well as his good fishermen. If the advertisement had been
+headed "Lent and Easter," then it would have been evident that
+two different subjects were being dealt with, and "both caught with
+one fish," as Mrs. R. might say, adapting a proverb.<br /><br /><br /></p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<h3 class="sq">TEMPERATE TO INTEMPERATE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem width15">  <div class="stanza">
+<p><span class="sc">Fanatic</span> sophistries, I think,</p>
+<p class="i2">To logic's limits will have shrunk,</p>
+<p>When zealot's recognize that "drink"</p>
+<p class="i2">Is <em>not</em> identical with "drunk."</p>
+<p>Difference may be as great you see,</p>
+<p class="i2">'Twixt U and I as You and Me!</p>
+  </div>  </div>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p class="center"><span class="sc">Wordsworth for Witlers.</span>&mdash;"Drink, pretty creature, drink!"</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page186" id="page186"></a>[pg 186]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter1" style="width: 450px;"><a href="images/186-990.png"><img src="images/186-320.png" width="320" height="483" alt="SOCIAL AGONIES." /></a>
+<h3 class="sans">SOCIAL AGONIES.</h3>
+
+<p><i>Anxious Musician</i> (<i>in a whisper, to Mrs. Lyon Hunter's butler</i>). "<span class="sc">Where's my 'Cello?</span>"</p>
+
+<p><i>Butler</i> (<i>in stentorian tones, to the room</i>). "<span class="sc">Signor Weresmicello!</span>"</p></div>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<h3>THE NEW ENGLISH ART CLUB.</h3>
+
+<p>The other day I went to this exhibition of
+sublime masterpieces. I was about to write
+a few comments, full of strange epithets and
+gushing praise, when a small girl came in
+with a lady. The child spoke so freely that
+I paused to listen. This was her criticism.
+"Oh, mother, what's that meant for? I
+can't see anything. Look at that lady! She's
+got no face at all. Oh, look at that other!
+She's funnier. What is she? A Spanish
+dancer? Do all Spanish dancers have knobbly
+faces like you might make out of a potato?
+What are those people skating on? Is it
+cotton wool? Oh, mother, look there! What
+an ugly lady! Why's she put all that red
+on her cheeks? What's all that other red
+there? Is it another lady? A church in
+Venice? What Olympia where you took me
+two years ago? Oh, mother, it can't be a
+church! Unless it's upside down. Or perhaps
+all the paints have run into one another
+like mine do. Oh, look! There's a picture
+of a washstand. Is it an advertisement of a
+furniture shop? Or is it meant for what
+father calls a slight wash in his water-colour
+drawings? What are those ladies dancing in
+sheets for? Is it sheets they've got on?
+Oh what a red face that gentleman's got!
+I don't think they paint very pretty ladies or
+gentlemen here. Oh, mother, look at that!
+Why it's the funniest of all! Who are the
+two ladies? Why are their clothes slipping
+down? Why are their faces all crooked, and
+their eyes sideways? Are they meant to be
+pretty? I don't think they are. What do
+you say it is? Meant to be painted on the
+wall of a room? Is that why they look so
+funny? Why they look like Aunt <span class="sc">Kitty</span>,
+when she's going to have a sea bath, and
+when&mdash;&mdash;" Here the little maiden was suddenly
+dragged out of the room, and her shrill
+voice was heard no more. But her winged
+words are not forgotten by</p>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="sc">A Crushed Critic</span>.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<h3>AN EASTER 'OLIDAY.</h3>
+
+<p class="title2">(<i>A Siesta Song, from the Burlesque Opera
+"Little Liberal Majority," performed at the
+Theatre Royal, St. Stephen's.</i>)</p>
+
+<p class="title2a"><span class="sc">Air</span>&mdash;"<i>Lazily, Drowsily.</i>"</p>
+
+<div class="poem width24">  <div class="stanza">
+<p>When gaily dances the Easter sun,</p>
+<p class="i2">And shelved is each bothersome Bill,</p>
+<p>Then work and talk for a time are done,</p>
+<p class="i2">And the lobbies are hushed and still.</p>
+<p class="i10">Lazily, lazily,</p>
+<p class="i10">Drowsily, drowsily,</p>
+<p class="i8">Home goes every one;</p>
+<p class="i10">Lazily, lazily,</p>
+<p class="i10">Drowsily, drowsily,</p>
+<p class="i8">Under the April sun.</p>
+<p class="i8">Old St. Stephen's closes;</p>
+<p class="i8">Parliament reposes,</p>
+<p class="i10">Lazily, lazily,</p>
+<p class="i10">Drowsily, drowsily,</p>
+<p class="i8">Forty winks, or fun!</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>When the sunlight falls on the Heath's green breast,</p>
+<p class="i2">And blue are the skies above,</p>
+<p>Each seeks the rest that he loves the best,</p>
+<p class="i2">Or the sport he doth chiefly love.</p>
+<p>Lazily, lazily, drowsily, drowsily,</p>
+<p class="i2">Donkey riding's fun!</p>
+<p>Lazily, lazily, drowsily, drowsily,</p>
+<p class="i2">Dawdling under the sun!</p>
+<p class="i2"> <span class="sc">Harcourt's</span> eyelid closes,</p>
+<p class="i2"> <span class="sc">Balfour</span> blandly dozes;</p>
+<p>Lazily, lazily, drowsily, drowsily,</p>
+<p class="i2">Under the Easter sun!</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>Joggle and jolt! <i>These</i> mokes won't bolt!</p>
+<p class="i2">Each flops like an empty sack</p>
+<p>On the broad back, shaggy as Shetland colt.</p>
+<p class="i2">No donkey boy on <i>their</i> track!</p>
+<p>Lazily, lazily, drowsily, drowsily,</p>
+<p class="i2">Carelessly jogging on!</p>
+<p>Lazily, lazily, drowsily, drowsily,</p>
+<p class="i2">Under an Easter sun!</p>
+<p class="i2">Lotos-Land discloses</p>
+<p class="i2">No more bland reposes.</p>
+<p>Lazily, lazily, drowsily, drowsily,</p>
+<p class="i2">Dawdle they under the sun!</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>"That <span class="sc">Labby</span> was often a bore!" sighs <span class="sc">Will</span>,</p>
+<p class="i2">Groans <span class="sc">Arty</span>, "And so was <span class="sc">Joe</span>!</p>
+<p>To drive <i>these</i> donkeys demands small skill!</p>
+<p class="i2">Would Westminster mokes were so!</p>
+<p>Lazily, lazily, drowsily, drowsily!</p>
+<p class="i2">Riding like this is fun!</p>
+<p>Lazily, lazily, drowsily, drowsily!</p>
+<p class="i2">Bless us! Who <i>wants</i> to run?</p>
+<p class="i2">'Appy 'Ampstead dozes!</p>
+<p class="i2">Mokes are beds of roses!</p>
+<p>Lazily, lazily, drowsily, drowsily,</p>
+<p class="i2">Jog we&mdash;till holiday's done!"</p>
+  </div>  </div>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p class="center">"<span class="sc">The Objection to Euclid</span>" of which
+we have heard so much recently is of very
+ancient standing, and is shared by nearly
+every schoolboy.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p class="center"><span class="sc">Parliamentary Proverb.</span>&mdash;There's many
+a slip 'twixt the M.P. and the "Whip"!</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page187" id="page187"></a>[pg 187]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a href="images/187-1200.png"><img src="images/187-400.png" width="400" height="454" alt="AN EASTER 'OLIDAY." /></a>
+<h2>AN EASTER 'OLIDAY.</h2>
+
+<p><i>Duet</i> (<span class="sc">'Arcourt</span> <i>and</i> <span class="sc">Harthur</span> <i>sing while being jolted</i>).</p>
+
+<p>"LA-A-ZI-LY LA-A-ZI-LY! DROW-OW-OW-SILY! DROW-OW-OW-SILY!" &amp;c.</p></div>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page188" id="page188"></a>[pg 188]</span><br /></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page189" id="page189"></a>[pg 189]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="sans">MR. PUNCH AT A PICTURE SHOW.</h3>
+
+<p class="title2">(<i>The Collection of Sir John Tenniel's
+Drawings at the Fine Art Society's
+Gallery.</i>)</p>
+
+<p class="title2a"><span class="sc">Air.</span>&mdash;"<i>My Old Friend John.</i>"</p>
+
+<div class="poem width24">  <div class="stanza">
+<p>'Tis forty years, my dear Sir <span class="sc">John</span>,</p>
+<p class="i2">Since you and I first met.</p>
+<p>Lord, how the fleeting hours have flown!</p>
+<p class="i2">But we foregather yet,</p>
+<p>I gaze on this brave show with pride&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i2">Fine art, still in full feather!</p>
+<p>By Jove, it seems but yesterday</p>
+<p class="i2">Since we were "boys" together.</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>Since we were boys, merry, merry boys,</p>
+<p class="i2">At our old Board together!</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>There's gladness in remembrance, <span class="sc">John</span>;</p>
+<p class="i2">Your pencil-strokes struck true;</p>
+<p>Through all the shifts of party life,</p>
+<p class="i2">No pause that pencil knew.</p>
+<p>We've missed old comrades one by one;</p>
+<p class="i2">Our friendship moults no feather;</p>
+<p><i>Can</i> forty years and more have run</p>
+<p class="i2">Since we were "boys" together?</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>Since we were boys, merry, merry boys,</p>
+<p class="i2">At our old Board together!</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>I gaze and proudly ponder, <span class="sc">John</span>;</p>
+<p class="i2">I've seen them all before&mdash;</p>
+<p><span class="sc">Gladstone, Bright, Dizzy, Bull!</span>&mdash;Well done!!!</p>
+<p class="i2">Fresh as in days of yore</p>
+<p>The Big Cuts gleam. By sea and stream,</p>
+<p class="i2">Moor, mountain, ice-field, heather.</p>
+<p>Force, grace, fair fun mark all you've done,</p>
+<p class="i2">Since we were "boys" together.</p>
+  </div>  </div>
+
+<p class="title1"><i>Chorus all "Round the Mahogany
+Tree."</i></p>
+
+<div class="poem width24">  <div class="stanza">
+<p>Since we were boys, merry, merry boys!</p>
+<p class="i2">So meet we, in full feather,</p>
+<p>For many sunny years, Sir <span class="sc">John</span>,</p>
+<p class="i2">Still boys&mdash;at heart&mdash;together!</p>
+  </div>  </div>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"><a href="images/189a-900.png"><img src="images/189a-330.png" width="330" height="461" alt="FANCY PORTRAIT." /></a>
+<h3 class="sans">FANCY PORTRAIT.</h3>
+
+<p class="center">SIR G-RGE L-W-S.</p>
+
+<div class="poem width27">  <div class="stanza">
+<p>"<span class="sc">Bold of your worthiness, we single you</span></p>
+<p><span class="sc">As our best-moving fair solicitor.</span>"</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i10"><i>Love's Labour's Lost</i>, Act II., Sc. 1.</p>
+ </div>  </div></div>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<h3 class="sans">THE LAY OF THE LITTLE MINORITY.</h3>
+
+<p class="title2"><span class="sc">Air</span>&mdash;"<i>Little Buttercup.</i>"</p>
+
+<div class="poem width24">  <div class="stanza">
+<p>I'm bumptious Minority&mdash;cocky Minority</p>
+<p class="i2">(Though I can hardly tell why),</p>
+<p>My work is to worry poor weary Majority,</p>
+<p class="i2">Giving him one in the eye.</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>On Board or on Council I swagger and bounce 'll,</p>
+<p class="i2">And badger 'em out of their lives.</p>
+<p>I claim all the graces, and all the best places;</p>
+<p class="i2">Thus cocky Minority thrives!</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>Majorities little of claim have no tittle</p>
+<p class="i2">To getting <i>their</i> own wicked way;</p>
+<p>But cocky Minority has such authority,</p>
+<p class="i2"><i>His</i> should be absolute sway.</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>If things are at evens at&mdash;well, say St. Stephen's,</p>
+<p class="i2">Spring Gardens, wherever you like,</p>
+<p>Tis a mere deadlock (like New Woman wedlock),</p>
+<p class="i2">And against Progress we strike.</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>If a Majority (small) claims authority</p>
+<p class="i2">To make the tiniest move,</p>
+<p>Then to prevent it, obstruct, circumvent it,</p>
+<p class="i2">Must be my labour of love.</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>But a Minority's superiority</p>
+<p class="i2">Is just as clear as the day.</p>
+<p>Majorities (small) have one duty, that's all,</p>
+<p class="i2">'Tis&mdash;<i>to let the Minority sway!</i></p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>Then yield to Minority&mdash;cocky Minority,</p>
+<p class="i2">On Boards or of Council or School!</p>
+<p>Hooray for Minority&mdash;bumptious Minority!</p>
+<p class="i2">Come&mdash;let Minority rule!</p>
+  </div>  </div>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<h3>OUR NEXT LITTLE BATTLE.</h3>
+
+<p class="title1">(<i>From our Prophetic Reporter, a trifle
+in advance.</i>)</p>
+
+<p><span class="sc">Nowhar</span>, <i>April 1</i>.&mdash;Wett River crossed
+yesterday in most brilliant style. Dashaway
+Regiment carried landing at point of bayonet,
+the Muffs keeping up
+well-directed fire during
+the entire operation.
+However, they seemed
+to feel effect of our artillery
+and Maxims.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 100px;"><a href="images/189b-280.png"><img src="images/189b-100.png" width="100" height="154" alt="" /></a></div>
+
+<p>When landing effected,
+Sapping Miners
+constructed iron bridge
+(with glass covering to
+protect the troops from
+the rain) within five-and-twenty
+minutes.
+During the construction
+Muffs fired continuously
+at working parties. Flag-staffs riddled with
+shot, consequently colours could not be run
+up. A round from couple of quick-firing
+guns cleared heights of human obstructions.</p>
+
+<p>On completion of bridge, two troops of 147th
+Irregular Prancers charged enemy with much
+dash. As gallant horsemen approached
+Muffs (numbering about twenty thousand)
+concentrated their fire. For few minutes
+Irregulars had to pass through perfect fog
+of bullets. This ordeal did not damp their
+courage; soon came to close quarters with
+foe. In a moment Muffs were in confusion,
+flying, before pursuing sabres. Irregulars
+followed retreating enemy for many miles
+with complete success.</p>
+
+<p>While these operations being carried out
+17th Battalion of Cutandthrust Regiment
+made assault on fortress protecting right
+flank of Muffs. Enemy opposed charge with
+well-sustained artillery fire, which had it been
+more judiciously directed might have caused
+considerable annoyance. As it was, many
+Cutandthrusts lowered their heads to allow
+of undisturbed passage of shrapnell. On
+reaching walls redcoats hopped over like
+birds. Garrison stubbornly defended position.
+Cutandthrusts extended, advancing in
+their new formation. With wild cheer they
+again charged. Although this advance caused
+Muffs to fall back, they still retained their
+ground. At this moment machine-guns of
+battalion were brought into play with best
+results. A couple of rounds immediately
+broke up enemy's columns and put them to
+flight. Muffs were then routed by 53rd Regiment
+of Indian Tiger Eaters.</p>
+
+<p>By midday position secured. At invitation
+of bugles exploring party "ceased firing,"
+and prepared for mess.</p>
+
+<p><i>Later.</i>&mdash;I have just received a return of
+killed and wounded on both sides, which I
+here give:&mdash;<i>Muffs.</i>&mdash;Killed, about 20,000;
+wounded, twice as many more. <i>British.</i>&mdash;Killed,
+none; wounded, No. 35,604,821
+Private <span class="sc">Smith</span> (Cutandthrust Regiment),
+slight scratch on fourth finger of left hand.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p class="center"><span class="sc">New Name for It</span> (<i>by Brother Bung</i>).&mdash;Local Hop-shun!</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<h3>ALL THE DIFFERENCE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem width24">  <div class="stanza">
+<div class="figright" style="width: 60px;"><a href="images/189c-200.png"><img src="images/189c-60.png" width="60" height="171" alt="All the difference." /></a></div>
+<p>If half the things that <span class="sc">Chloe</span> says to me,</p>
+<p>If half the pretty kindnesses she shows,</p>
+<p class="i2">By <span class="sc">Phyllida</span> were shown or said,</p>
+<p>Without a tremor I would stake my head</p>
+<p class="i2">That I securely might propose</p>
+<p class="i4">That she my bride would be.</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>Yet why? I know full well that <span class="sc">Chloe</span> means</p>
+<p>Nothing at all. 'Tis but her buoyant way,</p>
+<p class="i2">Her frank "The best of friends, that's all."</p>
+<p>And yet the stricter <span class="sc">Grundy</span> 'twould appal</p>
+<p class="i2">To hear the tender things we say</p>
+<p class="i4">Between our quarrel-scenes.</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>If one full-leaping pulse's beat</p>
+<p class="i2">Beyond the coldest courtesy's demand</p>
+<p class="i2">I trespass on sweet <span class="sc">Phyllida's</span> coy hand,</p>
+<p>The thrill is shivered by her quick retreat,</p>
+<p>Her fingers stiffen like a fossil fin,</p>
+<p>And I again, a <span class="sc">Sisyphus</span>, begin</p>
+<p>The task of charming her reserve austere,</p>
+<p class="i2">Palsied by Love's false fear,</p>
+<p>Which drives the lover's chances down to zero.</p>
+<p>While some cadaverous and long-chinn'd hero</p>
+<p>Talks from a height rais'd by his own conceit,</p>
+<p>And my white goddess listens at his feet.</p>
+  </div>  </div>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page190" id="page190"></a>[pg 190]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/190-1500.png"><img src="images/190-600.png" width="600" height="430" alt="PREHISTORIC PEEPS." /></a>
+<h3 class="sans">PREHISTORIC PEEPS.</h3>
+
+<p><span class="sc">There were Seasons (corresponding to our Easter, &amp;c.) when the Inhabitants of one accord gave themselves up to Relaxation and Amusement!</span></p></div>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page191" id="page191"></a>[pg 191]</span></p>
+
+<h3>LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES.</h3>
+
+<p class="title2">THE LAND OF DREAMS.</p>
+
+<div class="poem width21">  <div class="stanza">
+<p>There's a wondrous fairy kingdom</p>
+<p class="i2">Whither all may take a trip&mdash;</p>
+<p>Quite an inexpensive journey,</p>
+<p class="i2">It is not by rail or ship&mdash;</p>
+<p>For it lies just where you fancy,</p>
+<p class="i2">And a pleasant thing it seems</p>
+<p>For a man to sojourn sometimes</p>
+<p class="i2">In the land of dreams.</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>'Tis the land where man attaineth</p>
+<p class="i2">To the end of his desire,</p>
+<p>Where the minor poet warbles</p>
+<p class="i2">And the laurel crowns his lyre:</p>
+<p>It is there the sucking statesman</p>
+<p class="i2">Works out Machiavellian schemes,</p>
+<p>And young <span class="sc">Briefless</span> is a leader</p>
+<p class="i2">In the land of dreams.</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>'Tis the land of fur and feather,</p>
+<p class="i2">'Tis the paradise of sport,</p>
+<p>Where the runs beat all recounted</p>
+<p class="i2">O'er the walnuts and the port:</p>
+<p>It is there the pheasant rockets,</p>
+<p class="i2">It is there the covert teems,</p>
+<p>And your powder's always straightest</p>
+<p class="i2">In the land of dreams.</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>There with ease the patient golfer</p>
+<p class="i2">Plays a record medal-round,</p>
+<p>And the batsman get his hundred,</p>
+<p class="i2">Hitting clean all round the ground;</p>
+<p>There old <span class="sc">Izaak's</span> keen disciple</p>
+<p class="i2">Thrashes quite ideal streams,</p>
+<p>For he angles most "compleatly"</p>
+<p class="i2">In the land of dreams.</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>'Tis a land where someone meets you</p>
+<p class="i2">You may never meet elsewhere,</p>
+<p>'Tis a land where words are whispered</p>
+<p class="i2">You may whisper only there;</p>
+<p>'Tis the home of youth and sunshine</p>
+<p class="i2">Where you taste of joy's extremes,</p>
+<p>For, of course, there's someone loves you</p>
+<p class="i2">In the land of dreams.</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>'Tis a land of peace and quiet,</p>
+<p class="i2">Free from yelling paper-boys,</p>
+<p>And from Germany's musicians,</p>
+<p class="i2">And offensive kinds of noise:</p>
+<p>There the organ-grinder grinds not,</p>
+<p class="i2">There no restive infant screams.</p>
+<p>Oh, to spend one's whole existence</p>
+<p class="i2">In the land of dreams!</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>'Tis a land where rates and taxes</p>
+<p class="i2">Never need be brooded on,</p>
+<p>And the cupboard is unfurnished</p>
+<p class="i2">With the homely skeleton:</p>
+<p>There the roses all are thornless,</p>
+<p class="i2">Life is destitute of seams,</p>
+<p>And, in short, its worth the living</p>
+<p class="i2">In the land of dreams.</p>
+  </div>  </div>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<h3>TO A PRETTY GIRL.</h3>
+
+<p class="title2">(<i>Who accepted some verses.</i>)</p>
+
+<div class="poem width30">  <div class="stanza">
+<div class="figright" style="width: 150px;"><a href="images/191a-350.png"><img src="images/191a-150.png" width="150" height="171" alt="To a pretty girl." /></a></div>
+<p>You take my lines, and say that you</p>
+<p class="i2">Appreciate my humble verses.</p>
+<p>That's more than editors will do,</p>
+<p class="i2">Or publishers, with bloated purses.</p>
+<p>To gain your thanks in such a way,</p>
+<p>I'd write you verses night and day.</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p><i>You</i> don't return them, saying you</p>
+<p class="i2">Regret you cannot now accept them.</p>
+<p>Or, scrawled with marks in blatant blue,</p>
+<p class="i2">To show that, ruined, you have kept them.</p>
+<p>If you would pay me with a smile,</p>
+<p>I'd write you verses by the mile.</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>If you could only say that you</p>
+<p class="i2">Would like me for my admiration,</p>
+<p>To sing your charms till all was blue</p>
+<p class="i2">Would be delightful occupation.</p>
+<p>If I could hope to win a kiss,</p>
+<p>I'd write you fifty miles like this.</p>
+  </div>  </div>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<div class="figcenter1" style="width: 520px;"><a href="images/191b-1200.png"><img src="images/191b-400.png" width="400" height="474" alt="First Boy. 'Give us a Bite of your Apple, Bob.'" /></a>
+<table summary="layout" border="0">
+<tr>
+      <td class="left"><i>First Boy.</i> "<span class="sc">Give us a Bite of your Apple, Bob.</span>"</td>
+	  <td class="left1"><i>Second Boy.</i> "<span class="sc">Shan't.</span>"</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+      <td class="left"><i>First Boy.</i> "<span class="sc">What for?</span>"</td>
+	  <td class="left1"><i>Second Boy.</i> "<span class="sc">'Cos yer axed me!</span>"</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+
+<p class="center2">(<i>After a pause.</i>)</p>
+
+<p class="less"><i>Small Boy.</i> "<span class="sc">Gi' me a Bite, Bob. I never axed yer!</span>"</p></div>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<h2 class="sans">ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.</h2>
+
+<p class="title">Extracted from the Diary of Toby, M.P.</p>
+
+<p><i>House of Commons, Monday Night,
+April 8.</i>&mdash;House to-night presented that
+appearance seen only on big occasions.
+Long unfamiliar in slough of despond in
+which present House been steeped since
+Session opened. Every seat on either side
+occupied. Members sitting on Gangway
+steps, flooding the side galleries, blocking
+the Bar, peopling even the steps of the Chair.
+<span class="sc">Arthur Peel</span> is leaving historic stage graced
+through eleven years in fashion that has
+added fresh fame to an illustrious name.
+On ordinary occasions when <span class="sc">Speaker</span> rises
+to address House on current topics of business,
+Members who chance to have their hats
+on keep them there. Now, when the stately
+figure is discovered standing under the
+canopy of the Chair, Members without concert,
+but with one accord, bare their heads.
+Throughout a moving scene, which crammed
+much into fifteen minutes, nothing more
+striking than this simultaneous, swift uncovering
+of the head, and the transformation
+that followed when the rare sunlight, streaming
+in from western windows, fell upon five
+hundred unshaded faces all turned towards
+the tall, gowned figure standing by the
+Chair.</p>
+
+<p>The speech will be read to-morrow by
+millions, who will find it word for word and
+sentence by sentence in the newspapers.
+But the reader will gain but faint idea of
+the impression the delivery produced. The
+historic place, the animated scene, the electric
+current of such a gathering, were much.
+The effect was perfected by the elocution of
+the <span class="sc">Speaker</span>, perhaps the most perfect development
+of an attractive but dangerous art
+possessed by living man.</p>
+
+<p>What possibilities underlie its possession
+were wonderingly recognised in the last
+days of the late Parliament, when the directors
+of the Cambrian Railway Company
+were brought to the Bar of the House in
+connection with the dismissal of a station-master
+who had given unwelcome evidence
+before a Select Committee. House in the
+ludicrous pickle which invariably follows
+on Privilege proceedings. Directors summoned
+to attend were somewhere in the
+lobby. If it had been permissible to follow
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page192" id="page192"></a>[pg 192]</span>
+<i>Dogberry's</i> example in similar circumstances&mdash;to
+take no note of directors, but let them go and presently
+call the rest of the watch together, and
+thank God they were rid of the knaves&mdash;it would
+have been well. But, directors being solemnly
+summoned, must needs be adequately dealt with.
+Finally resolved that <span class="sc">Speaker</span> should admonish
+them. Amid much giggling on part of hysterically
+uneasy House, conscious of its own ludicrous
+position, directors brought in and ranged at Bar.
+Then <span class="sc">Speaker</span> stood up and "most seriously admonished"
+them.</p>
+
+<p>No one present will forget the awesome mien,
+the terrible voice, with which the task was performed.
+At a touch farce was transformed into
+tragedy. Dignity of House, sorely imperilled,
+triumphantly vindicated. To-night the <span class="sc">Speaker's</span>
+phrasing was perfect. Its setting in the delivery
+is untranslateable in speech or written word.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 200px;"><a href="images/192a-500.png"><img src="images/192a-200.png" width="200" height="486" alt="Farewell to Mr. Speaker Peel." /></a>
+<p class="center">Farewell to Mr. Speaker Peel.</p></div>
+
+<p><i>Business done.</i>&mdash;Speaker announces resignation.
+<span class="sc">Squire of Malwood</span> brings in Local Veto Bill.</p>
+
+<p><i>Tuesday.</i>&mdash;"Poof!" said <span class="sc">Sark</span>, mopping his
+brow; "glad that's over. No knowing where it
+might have ended. Danger of last scene in <span class="sc">Speaker's</span>
+leave-taking closing amid burst of irritated laughter.
+When I was first returned, we thought two leaders
+enough for one House. There was the Government
+man on the Treasury Bench, the Leader of Opposition
+on bench opposite. When ceremonial business
+to be done, these two spoke and the whole House
+agreed that its opinions had found expression.
+House rapidly growing into position akin to home
+forces of Prince of <span class="sc">Monaco</span>. Nearly as many captains
+as privates."</p>
+
+<p>These remarks wrung from troubled breast by
+long, at one anxious moment apparently interminable,
+procession of orators in support of resolution
+thanking retiring <span class="sc">Speaker</span> for services in Chair.
+<span class="sc">Squire of Malwood</span> said right thing in admirable
+way. <span class="sc">Prince Arthur</span>, less ornate in phrase, supplied
+a perfect second. These speeches voiced feeling of Ministerialists
+and Opposition. Some reasonableness in <span class="sc">Justin McCarthy's</span>
+interposition, he being leader of distinct party which, as he
+hinted, had in earlier days done battle with <span class="sc">Speaker</span>. But really,
+when it came to <span class="sc">Joseph</span> saying a few words for his
+merry men, and <span class="sc">John Redmond</span> tuning afresh the
+Irish harp on behalf of his, prospect grew alarming.
+If these leaders of sections within a division felt
+called upon to make speeches on such occasion, why
+not <span class="sc">John Burns</span> as a Labour Leader, with <span class="sc">Keir
+Hardie</span> to follow as captain of the Independent
+Labour Party; <span class="sc">Osborne Morgan</span>, purged of profligacy,
+speaking for Wales, followed by <span class="sc">Lloyd-George</span>
+from below the Gangway; <span class="sc">Wilfrid Lawson</span>
+for the Temperance party; Private <span class="sc">Hanbury</span>
+as representing the land forces of the Busy B's;
+Cap'en <span class="sc">Tommy Bowles</span> the naval; <span class="sc">Jacob Bright</span>
+returning thanks for the ladies, <span class="sc">Walter M'Laren</span>
+speaking specially for the section who desire to
+marry their deceased husband's brother? Domesticity
+thus trenched upon, Baron <span class="sc">de Worms</span>, with
+wistful "Long-Lost-Dear-Father" look on his face,
+might close the list by a few words spoken on behalf
+of the family circle.</p>
+
+<p>To-day stopped a little short of this; but shall
+doubtless go the whole way next time opportunity
+presents itself. <i>Business done.</i>&mdash;Thanks of House
+voted to <span class="sc">Speaker</span>.</p>
+
+<p><i>Wednesday.</i>&mdash;By contrast with ordered speech-making
+of yesterday afternoon scene that took place
+in earliest moments of the new day's birth prettier
+by far. For upwards of an hour Members passing
+out homewards stopped to shake the <span class="sc">Speaker's</span> hand
+and bid him farewell. Just before quarter of hour
+chimed after midnight, <span class="sc">Arthur Peel</span> spoke his last
+words in House of Commons.</p>
+
+<p>"The question is," he said, "that this House do
+now adjourn."</p>
+
+<p>As he turned to leave the Chair, Members present
+sprang to feet, cheering continuously till <span class="sc">Arthur
+Peel</span>, for the last time robed in Speaker's wig and
+gown, passed out of sight.</p>
+
+<div class="poem width21">  <div class="stanza">
+<p>For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more.</p>
+<p>We'll maybe return to Lochaber no more.</p>
+  </div>  </div>
+
+<p><i>Le roi est mort. Vive le roi.</i> <span class="sc">William Court Gully</span> elected
+Speaker by majority of 11 in House of 559 Members.</p>
+
+<p><i>Business done.</i>&mdash;Elect new Speaker, and immediately give him ten
+days' holiday. Adjourn till Monday 22nd.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<h3>A STUDY IN ETHNOLOGY.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem width21">  <div class="stanza">
+<p>Upon my luck I still reflect,</p>
+<p class="i2">That led us to the same Museum:</p>
+<p>I greeted you with staid respect,</p>
+<p class="i2">But my heart sang its own <i>Te Deum</i>,</p>
+<p>And blessed your Uncle, ere I wist,</p>
+<p>For being an ethnologist!</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>On old Assyrian spoils intent,</p>
+<p class="i2">Our very presence he forgot,</p>
+<p>While we o'er strings of wampum bent&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i2">We saw them and we saw them not.</p>
+<p>He lived within a past long dead,</p>
+<p>We, in the seconds as they sped.</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>Within a carven mirror old,</p>
+<p class="i2">Suddenly, as we wandered by,</p>
+<p>You looked upon your hair of gold</p>
+<p class="i2">And flushing face, and so did I.</p>
+<p>Then on we passed: a vault we found,</p>
+<p>And <span class="sc">Pharaoh's</span> coffin, underground.</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>Oh, if his phantom ever stood</p>
+<p class="i2">Beside the coffin made for him,</p>
+<p>And saw you in your joyous mood,</p>
+<p class="i2">With your bright eyes and figure slim,</p>
+<p>King <span class="sc">Pharaoh</span> might have envied us</p>
+<p>Beside his old sarcophagus!</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>But, <span class="sc">Pharaoh</span>, we, remembering</p>
+<p class="i2">The ancient creed that souls of men</p>
+<p>May see the summer and the spring,</p>
+<p class="i2">May live again, and love again,</p>
+<p>A moment wished the tale were true,</p>
+<p>Because&mdash;it seemed so hard on you!</p>
+  </div>  </div>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p class="center"><span class="sc">Wanted in the World of "Art."</span>&mdash;A
+Spring Clean!</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<h3>TO A YOUNG ACTRESS.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem width24">  <div class="stanza">
+<div class="figright" style="width: 150px;"><a href="images/192b-320.png"><img src="images/192b-150.png" width="150" height="216" alt="To a young actress." /></a></div>
+<p>You regret that all you do</p>
+<p>Is to be a lady who</p>
+<p>Just walks on&mdash;a smile or two,</p>
+<p class="i6">Then you're gone;</p>
+<p>For you think that any gawk</p>
+<p>Would be good enough to walk,</p>
+<p>You undoubtedly should talk</p>
+<p class="i6">When you're "on."</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>You are but a sort of show.</p>
+<p>Silence for a girl is slow,</p>
+<p>Speech is woman's right, I know</p>
+<p class="i6">That is true,</p>
+<p>And although your pretty face</p>
+<p>Charms beholders by its grace,</p>
+<p>You would like a higher place,</p>
+<p class="i6">Wouldn't you?</p>
+  </div><div class="stanza">
+<p>But we cannot all have "leads,"</p>
+<p>Nicely suited to our needs,</p>
+<p>To excel in words and deeds,</p>
+<p class="i6">Don't you see?</p>
+<p>So, if you desire to speak,</p>
+<p>I am not so far to seek,</p>
+<p>I would listen for a week&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i6">Talk to me.</p>
+  </div>  </div>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p class="ind"><span class="sc">Something Yet!</span>&mdash;"Mr. G." is a proficient
+in several languages. In Italian, as well as
+in Latin, in ancient and modern Greek, he
+can, we believe, converse fluently, when anyone
+gives him a chance. With Russian he
+may be acquainted, for, as this is "caviare to
+the general," it may be equally so to an ex-prime-minister.
+With Spanish Mr. G. is,
+probably, not on speaking terms, though, no
+doubt he is well up in the niceties of the language;
+and there are many spoken languages
+of which he possesses more than a smattering.
+But the accomplished scholar has yet something
+to learn from one <span class="sc">Richard Cumberland</span>,
+a bishop in the last century, not the playwright,
+of whom it is on record that, being a
+proficient in most ancient and modern languages,
+he "began to learn Coptic at the age
+of eighty-three!" Although Mr. G. has
+gone very far north, yet has he not at present
+got up to <span class="sc">Cumberland</span>.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p class="ind2"><span class="sc">A Suggestion.</span>&mdash;There are two excellent
+waters, Apollinaris and Johannis, known to
+everyone as "'Polly" and "Jo." Might
+not the two companies amalgamate, and
+reproduce the success of "<span class="sc">My 'Pol' and
+my Partner 'Jo.'</span>"</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p class="center"><span class="sc">Latest Equivalent for "the East
+Wind," as Replenishment for Hungry
+Stomachs.</span>&mdash;The Royal Commission on the
+Aged Poor.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44707 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
+
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author	Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org>	2025-10-14 18:55:41 -0700
committer	Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org>	2025-10-14 18:55:41 -0700
commit	b49a72e5271718c77e67d8fbf7a5a58bc0389d79 (patch)
tree	a42250e3ff336f96f4c2dd4fba0e0e4ef1157b8b /44707-h