Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 103, December 31, 1892
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Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 103, December 31, 1892
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 103.
December 31, 1892.
THE COMPLIMENTS OF THE SEASON.
(_A Characteristic Welcome to the Coming Year._)
It was on the 31st of December that they met. It had been arranged that
at the final hour of the last day of the expiring year they should
compare notes, and not one of them had failed to keep the appointment.
It would be scarcely right to say they were cheerful, but merriment was
not included in the programme.
[Illustration: The Military Man.]
"There is not the slightest chance of my bettering myself," said the
Military Man. "Now that the Regiment has come from India, I can't afford
to live at home, and I can't exchange because of my liver. Promotion was
never slower than in 'Ours,' and my look-out is about the most ghastly
there ever yet was seen."
[Illustration: The Briefless Barrister.]
"You are wrong there," observed the Briefless Barrister of mature years.
"I think mine is a shade worse. I give you my word that during the last
twelve months I have not earned enough fees to pay the rent of my
Chambers and the salary of my Clerk. And things are getting worse and
worse. One of the Solicitors who used to give me an occasional turn has
been struck off the Rolls, and the other, has transferred his business
to Australia. I feel inclined to follow, but I can't raise the
passage-money. What luck, now, could be worse than mine?"
"Why mine," answered the Author. "An entirely new set of men have come
to the front since I was popular, and my works are a drug in the market.
I haven't been able to get rid of more than a dozen pages during the
twelve months, and they appeared in a Magazine that stopped before the
appearance of the next number! The future never looked blacker and more
hopeless. I believe I am the most unfortunate man on earth."
[Illustration: The Doctor.]
"I fancy you are wrong," put in the Doctor. "I think my look-out worse
than yours. Sold my practice seven years ago to flutter on the Stock
Exchange. Lost my money in seven minutes, and have never had a patient
since. I went to West Slocum (my old home) the other day, and found the
place occupied by three Doctors, and the local Undertaker told me there
was not room enough for one! Talk about luck, I am the unluckiest dog in
the world!"
[Illustration: The Actor who has his Head turned with Applause.]
"I am not so sure of that," said the Actor, "here have I been 'resting'
for the last twelve months, and it seems just as likely as not that I
shall continue the operation until '94. I have tried everything in Town
and the Provinces, and there isn't an opening anywhere. My fate is about
the worst of the lot."
[Illustration: The Artist.]
"Not so bad as mine," grumbled the Artist. "Haven't sold a single
picture since the Jubilee year, and can't afford to pay the frame-maker.
My studio is full of paintings, and the dealers say that there isn't a
single canvas amongst the lot but what would be refused admission to an
Exhibition of Sign-boards! Don't know how I should have kept body and
soul together if it hadn't been for an opportune loan from one who in
happier times was, in my employment as a model. Talk about prospects!
Look at mine!"
[Illustration: Bulls and Bears. City Men.]
"Well, come, you are better off than I am," said the City Man. "If I
hadn't now and again to appear before the Registrar in the Bankruptcy
Court, I don't know what I should do with my time! I am stone broke.
That's about it--stone broke! Knocked out of the 'House,' and without a
scrap of credit: I am done for!"
And it was agreed that none of them had any prospects. Then they
separated, or rather, were on the eve of separating.
"By the way--fancy forgetting to do it!" said one of them.
And then they rectified the omission, and wished one another, "A Happy
New Year!"
[Illustration: The latest Kangaroo Development.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: DRAWN BLANK.
_Huntsman._ "HOW IS IT YOU NEVER HAVE ANY FOXES HERE NOW?"
_Keeper_ (_who has orders to shoot them_). "PHEASANTS HAVE EAT 'EM ALL!"]
* * * * *
THE FEAST OF REASON UP TO DATE.
The old Alchemist smiled as he watched the crucible on the glowing
coals. The fumes rose, and he inhaled them with delight.
It was a triumph. Yes, he was able to go forth a conqueror. It mattered
not where he wandered, for all flew from before him. He seemed to
possess some subtle power that no one understood, but which was
all-conquering. After a lengthened absence he returned to England.
At his Club he met one of his friends--a doctor.
"I will tell you my adventures," said the old Alchemist, lighting a
strong cigar. "You must know----"
"I know everything," said the Physician, sternly. "I know why you have
scared the Arabs, and why disease cannot touch you. The secret is
revealed by a recent _Lancet_. You can brave disease and death, because
_you are fond of eating onions_!"
Seeing that his secret was known, the old Alchemist heaved a heavy sigh,
and disappeared, perchance for ever!
* * * * *
[Illustration: A PRIME CUT.
_Mrs. Fidget_ (_who has been fingering all the Joints for some time_).
"CAN YOU GUARANTEE THIS TO BE WELSH MUTTON?"
_Butcher's Assistant._ "CERTAINLY WE CAN, MUM; BUT IF YOU GO 'ANDLING IT
MUCH LONGER, IT'LL BE _IRISH STOO_ DIRECTLY!"]
* * * * *
THE PLEA OF THE POSTMAN.
All work and no play
Makes a dull boy; so they say,
Proverb-mongers, pretty bards.
"All play," may be, worse I'll bet 'em!
If they doubt my word, then let 'em
Try _my_ hand at (Christmas) Cards!
_Punch in reply._
True for you! You growl with reason.
Hearts are trumps, and at this season,
Pray remember, Goldylocks,
When your cards arrive in flocks,
Postman earns _his_ Christmas Box!
* * * * *
"REDE ME ARIGHT!"--SIR EDWARD REED, M.P., is anything but a "bruised
reed." On the contrary. More correct would it be to describe him as A
Bruiser Reed, for his plucky encounter with his adversaries, over whom
he triumphed by "A Vast Majority."
* * * * *
[Illustration]
"Tinned Dinners."
_A propos_ of an interesting article in the _Daily Telegraph_ last
Thursday on this subject, the problem that most naturally suggests
itself is, "How about the dinner, if you haven't any tin?" "No Song, No
Supper" is pleasantly alliterative, but is not of universal application.
"No tin, no dinner," may pass into a proverb, but, anyhow, it's a fact.
* * * * *
"AH!" exclaimed our dear old Mrs. R., "I'm fond of high-class music. For
many years I've heard my musical friends talking about 'SHOOLBRED'S
Unfinished Symphony.' Why doesn't he get it finished? When was it
ordered? But there--I know geniuses are always unpunctual."
* * * * *
THE INEVITABLE.
(_As Illustrated by recent Political, Social, and other Public
"Functions."_)
Say you'd get up an "Inaugural Meeting,"
_Anything_ "forming," or _Anyone_ "greeting,"
If you'd have guests in their tankards their nose bury,
Ruddy with mirth, you must put up Lord ROSEBERY.
If facts and statistics your minds you will task with,
He must be followed--of course--by young ASQUITH.
Q.C. and canny Earl, Earl and 'cute Q.C., gents!
There you've your "Popular Programme" _in nuce_, gents!
* * * * *
TO MY RIVAL.
How I loved her, blindly, madly!
Sighing sadly,
Feeling hurt
If I did not see her daily.
Oh, how gaily
She could flirt!
Flirt with me, or flirt with others,
With my brothers
Just as well,
How I could be such a duffer
So to suffer,
I can't tell.
Then you came, played tennis finely,
Danced divinely,
Sang as well;
Half Adonis, half Apollo,
Beat me hollow.
Such a swell!
How I hated you, so clever!
_You_ were never
Thought a bore!
When I saw you so romantic
I was frantic;
How I swore!
I've recovered. Is she not a
Child that's got a
Newer toy?
From the first she thought she'd booked you;
Now she's hooked you.
Wish you joy!
I'll forgive you altogether,--
She'll see whether
I shall care,--
Shake your hand and gaily greet you,
When I meet you
Anywhere.
[Illustration]
* * * * *
A GRAND OLD DIARY FOR 1893.
(_Published in Advance._)
_January._--As I am in Biarritz, may just as well see how they manage
things in Spain. Looked up the Ministry at Madrid, and drafted them a
treaty with Portugal. They thanked me with the courtesy of hidaljos, but
refused with the paltry jealousy of a petty-fogging second-rate Power!
What nasty pride! Sent home to one of my Magazines, "How I took part in
a Bull-fight."
_February._--Opened Parliament and set things going, and then thought I
might take a trip to Russia to fill up the odd time. Had a chat with the
CZAR, and knocked off a plan for the introduction of "Home Rule." CZAR
polite, but didn't see it. Well of course every one has a right to his
own opinions, still I think it would do. CZAR didn't. Sent home to one
of my Magazines, "How I lived for three days in the Mines of Siberia."
_March._--Back to town for a few days, and then off again. CLARK says
travelling the best thing in the world for superfluous energy. Did China
thoroughly. Drew up a plan for altering the language, manners,
religions, politics, and customs of the Chinese. Brought it before a
Special Committee of Mandarins; but they prevaricated, and practically
shelved it. Sent home to one of my Magazines an article, "How I had a
Boxing-match with the Emperor of CHINA, and knocked his Majesty out of
time."
_April._--Things going on decently well at Westminster, so started for
Turkey. Arranged Turkish Finance for the Grand Vizier. But that official
distinctly an--well, not a wise man--said he would knock out a better
budget himself. Sent home to one of my Magazines, "My Fortnight's
Manoeuvres with the Bashi Bazouks."
_May._--Dropped in at St. Stephen's, and put a few finishing touches to
one or two measures, then away to Egypt. Sketched out a Republican form
of Government for the Khedive. However, his Highness did not seem to see
it. The Egyptians are very Conservative in their notions. Sent home to
one of my Magazines, "A Fortnight in the MAHDI'S Camp, by an
Acquaintance of OSMAN DIGNA."
_June._--Attended a couple of Cabinet Meetings, and then to America for
a jaunt. Gave the President a carefully worked-out scheme for converting
the Government of the United States into a Monarchy of limited
liability. The President greatly pleased, but not quite sure it would
work. The Americans are sadly behind the age. Sent home to one of my
Magazines, "How to see the World's Fair at Chicago in Twenty Minutes, by
One who has done it."
_July._--Session nearly out. Took part in a debate or two and then off
to the North Pole in a balloon. Managed to see a good deal of snow and
ice, and fancy we caught a sight of the Pole itself. Sent home (by
parachute) to one of my Magazines, "How I got within Measurable Distance
of the Moon."
_August._--Just back to Westminster for a couple of days to wind up the
Session, then away to India. Went on my own responsibility to see the
Ameer of AFGHANISTAN. Drew up a treaty in draft to be signed by the
Ameer and the Emperor of RUSSIA, CZAR was immensely pleased and wanted
to make me Prince of CRIM TARTARY. Sent to one of my Magazines. "How I
shot my first Wild Elephant."
_September._--Returned to Hawarden for the inside of a week and then
paid my hurried visit to Australia. Submitted to the Colonies a scheme
for "A Federal Association for the encouragement of the Naturalisation
of the Rabbit in Australasia." The proposal fell rather flat. Find the
rabbit is already known in these places. Sent home to one of my
Magazines an article entitled, "My Prize-fight with the Kangaroo, and
how I won it."
_October._--In London for a few days, then to Mexico. Saw the President,
and suggested the revival of the Empire. President very rude; told me to
mind my own business. Sent home to one of my Magazines, "A Week on the
Prairies Buffalo lassooing."
_November._--Popped in at Midlothian, and made a speech or two, and then
hurried away to Norway and Sweden. Tried to induce them to give up
_their_ form of Home Rule, which, as all the world knows, has been a
failure. Wanted them to take our Irish edition. They asked me "if it had
been a success?" Stumped! Sent to one of my Magazines, "How to take a
Photograph by Midnight Sunlight, by One who has done it."
_December._--Obliged to stay at home, because I think we are going to
change our Town-house. Downing Street most convenient, but question
whether I shall be able to get a renewal of the lease next year.
Sketched out the _scenario_ of the Drury Lane Pantomime; but Sir
AUGUSTUS prefers his own. Well, well, youth will have its way. Sent in
my special article for Christmas and the New Year, "The History of the
World, from the Earliest Times to the close of the Nineteenth Century,
by One who has employed his leisure moments in its compilation." And
here I may conclude, by wishing everybody "A Happy New Year."
* * * * *
[Illustration: GETTING OUT OF IT.
_Fair Authoress._ "BY THE WAY, HAVE YOU READ ANY OF _MY_ BOOKS?"
_Q.C._ "NO; I'M KEEPING THEM FOR MY OLD AGE!"
_F. A._ "OH, DON'T TALK OF OLD AGE!--IT'S SO HORRID!"
_Q.C._ "NOT WITH YOUR BOOKS!"]
* * * * *
TRIFLES.
(_From Our Special Autolycus._)
MR. OSCAR BROWNING has republished, with other Historical Essays, his
account of the Flight to Varennes, in which he demonstrates that CARLYLE
was hopelessly wrong in the narrative which glows through the most
famous and fascinating chapter in _The French Revolution_. There seems
no doubt about it; but AUTOLYCUS says, he knows a man who would rather
be wrong with CARLYLE than right with O. B.
* * * * *
Met the Duke of SOTTO-VOCE to-day. Evidently in most doleful dumps. "No,
it's not the weather, AUTOLYCUS," he said. "Fact is that, although
supposed to be a rich man, I am reduced to extremities. Lunched
yesterday at the Carlton off dish of braised ox-tail, and supped at
night at Beefsteak on cow-heel _a la cordonnier_."
* * * * *
AUTOLYCUS hears that, early in the New Year, Mr. ARMITSTEAD, Mr.
GLADSTONE'S host in the South of France, will be raised to the Peerage,
under the title of Baron BIARRITZ OF BARMOUTH. "Pau! Pau!" said Mr.
STUART-RENDELL, when the rumour reached him. "What are Barmouth and
Biarritz? I took Mr. G. on to the Pyrenees, and Cannes. If a fresh
Barony is to be created for ARMITSTEAD, what shall I have?" "Why, a
Canne'd one," said ALGY WEST, who is always _so_ ready. (_Signed_)
AUTOLYCUS.
* * * * *
"THE LIBERATOR BUILDING SOCIETY:"--To liberate, means, "make free." If
the present charges are proven, the title will be rather appropriate,
considering how very free it seems to have made with a considerable
amount of property.
* * * * *
[Illustration: The Foreman of the Jury.]
* * * * *
THE MAN WHO WOULD.
V.--THE MAN WHO WOULD BRING AN ACTION FOR LIBEL.
The following incident in the career of BROWZER was recalled to memory
by an article in a literary journal. An author was airing his
grievances; among them this,--that writers of repute occasionally lend
their names and pens to obscure or unsuccessful papers for a
consideration, without asking how the usual staff of the paper is paid.
These, indeed, are delicate inquiries. Part of the plaint was expressed
in the following sentence:--
"When a journal makes a call upon a good author, and in the pages of
which he can gain neither honour nor renown, from which, as a matter
of taste, he would shrink, under ordinary circumstances, from
contributing to, that journal ought to be subjected to careful
scrutiny."
Now what can this possibly be supposed to mean?--
"When a journal makes a call upon a good author, _and_ in the pages of
which he can gain neither honour nor renown," (why "and"?) "from which"
(namely, "honour and renown") "he would shrink" (why should he shrink
from renown and honour?) "from contributing to," (and how can he
contribute to honour and renown?) "that journal ought to be subjected to
careful scrutiny." "From which he would shrink from contributing to,"
what have we here? Surely it is the grammar that needs careful scrutiny,
and surely, in no circumstances, could a lofty "rate of pay" be
conferred on a style of this description.
It is natural to reflect that a writer in this unconventional manner has
mainly to thank himself for any want of success which he, and we, may
regret; and that reflection, again, suggests the case of BROWZER, the
Man who would bring an Action for Libel.
BROWZER had a small patrimony, any amount of leisure, and a good deal of
ambition. He liked the society of literary gentlemen, he envied their
buoyant successes, such as being "interviewed,", and sorrowed with their
sorrows, such as being reviewed. He listened to their artless gossip,
and fancied himself extremely knowing. In these circumstances of
temptation, BROWZER fell, as many better men have done, and wrote a
Novel. He drew on the recollections of his suburban youth; he revived
the sorrows of his sole flirtation; he sketched his aunts with a
satirical hand, and he produced a packet of manuscript weighing about
7-1/2 lbs. This manuscript he sent, first, to a literary man, whose name
he had seen in the papers, with a long and fulsome letter, asking for an
opinion. The parcel came back next day, accompanied by a lithographed
form of excuse. BROWZER denounced the envy and arrogance of mankind, and
sent his parcel to a publisher. He carefully set little traps, with
pieces of adhesive paper, every here and there, to detect carelessness
on the side of the reader. The parcel came back in a week, with a note
of regret that the novel was not suitable. Only one of BROWZER'S pieces
of adhesive paper had been removed, but the others were carefully
initialled. A modest author would have concluded that his opening
chapters condemned him, but BROWZER'S wrath against mankind only burned
the more fiercely. He removed his traps, however, and sent _Wilton's
Wooing_ the round of the Row. It always came back, "returning like the
peewit," at uncertain intervals. It was really a remarkable manuscript,
for it was written in black ink, blue ink, red ink, pencil, and
stylograph; moreover, most of it was inscribed on the margins, the
original copy having been erased, in favour of improved versions.
Finally BROWZER discovered a publisher who would take _Wilton's Wooing_,
on conditions that the author should pay L150 for preliminary expenses
(exclusive of advertising, for which a special charge was to be made),
would guarantee the sale of 300 copies, and would accept half profits on
the net results of the transaction.
The work saw the light, and, externally, it certainly did look very like
a novel. The reviews, which BROWZER read with frenzied excitement, also
looked very like reviews of novels. They were usually about two inches
in length, and generally ended by saying that "Mr. BROWZER has still
much to learn." Some of them condensed BROWZER'S plot into about eight
lines, in this manner:--
"He was a yearning psychologist--she was a suburban flirt. He sighed,
and analysed; she listened, and yawned. Finally, she went on the stage,
and he compiled this record of the stirring transaction."
But at last there came a longer criticism of _Wilton's Wooing_ in the
_Erechtheum_. Somebody took BROWZER to pieces, averring that "Mr.
BROWZER has neither grammar" (here followed a string of examples of
BROWZER'S idioms) "nor humour," (here came instances of his wit and
fancy), "nor taste" (again reinforced by specimens), "nor even knowledge
of the French language, which he habitually massacres." (Here followed
_a l'outrance, bete noir, soubriquet_, all our old friends.) Finally,
Mr. BROWZER was informed that many fields of honourable distinction
might be open to him, but that a novelist he could never be.
The wrath of BROWZER was magnificent. He went about among his friends,
who told him that the critique was clearly by that brute ST. CLAIR; they
knew his hand, they said; a confounded, conceited pendant, and a
stuck-up puppy. The review was calculated to damage the sale of any
book; it was a dastardly attack on BROWZER'S reputation as a man of wit
and humour, a linguist, and a grammarian. They thought (as BROWZER
wished to know) that an action would lie against the reviewer, or the
review. BROWZER went to a Solicitor, who espoused his cause, but without
enthusiasm. The name of the reviewer was demanded. Now ST. CLAIR was not
the reviewer; the critic was a man just from College, hence his fresh
indignation. Whether for the sake of diversion, or for the
advertisement, the critic wished himself to bear the brunt of BROWZER'S
anger, and the _Erechtheum_ handed him over to justice; his name was
_Smith_. This damped BROWZER'S eagerness; no laurels were to be won from
the obscure SMITH. The advocate of that culprit made out a case highly
satisfactory to the learned Judge, who had been a reviewer himself upon
a time. He showed that malice was out of the question; SMITH had never
heard BROWZER'S name, nor BROWZER, SMITH'S (in this instance) before the
book was published. He called several professors of the French tongue,
to prove that BROWZER'S French was that usual in fiction, but not the
language of MOLIERE, or of the Academy. He left no doubt on the question
of grammar. As to the wit and pathos, he made much mirth out of them. He
cross-examined BROWZER: had other reviews praised him? Had publishers
leaped eagerly at his work? On what terms was it published? BROWZER'S
answer appeared to show that _Wilton's Wooing_ was not regarded as a
masterpiece by the Trade.
BROWZER'S advocate put it that BROWZER was being crushed by unfair
ridicule on his first entry into a noble profession, or art, that of
SCOTT and FIELDING. He spoke of mighty poets in their misery dead. He
drew a picture of BROWZER'S agonies of mind. He showed that masterpieces
had, ere now, been rejected by the publishers. He denounced the licence
of the Press. Who was an unheard-of SMITH, who had written nothing, to
come forward and shout at BROWZER from behind the hedge of the
anonymous? The novelist was a creature of delicate organisation; he
suffered as others did not suffer; his only aim was to lighten care, and
instruct ignorance. Why was _he_ to be selected for cruel sarcasm and
insult?
The learned Judge summed-up dead against BROWZER. BROWZER had published
a book, had invited criticism, and then, when he only got what his work
merited, he came and asked for damages.
The question of malice he left to the Jury, who must see that the Critic
and Author had each been ignorant of the other's existence.
The Jury did not deliberate long. They brought in a verdict for BROWZER,
damages L500, and costs.
The advertisement, the publicity, caused _Wilton's Wooing_ to be eagerly
asked for. BROWZER'S book went into ten editions, and a large issue, at
six shillings. Next year BROWZER'S publishers proved that he owed them
L37 14s. 6d. This was disappointing, and even inexplicable, but
BROWZER'S fortune was made, and now he is much lauded by all the
reviewers.
The Foreman of the Jury is my grocer, and I ventured, in the confidence
of private life, to question the justice of the verdict. "Well," he
said, "you see it comes to _this_: where is this to stop? Mr. BROWZER,
he sells novels; I sell groceries."
"Excellent of their kind!" I interrupted.
"Well, I try to give satisfaction; and so does Mr. BROWZER. If that
young Mr. SMITH writes to the papers that my sugars are not original,
that I plagiarise them from a sand-bunker, or that my teas are not good
Chinese,--like Mr. BROWZER'S French, which is what is usual in the
Trade,--why, then, he interferes with my business. I bring my action,
and hope to win it; and so, as a tradesman, I feel that Mr. BROWZER was
wronged." There was no reply to these arguments, but I pity the
Reviewers.