Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 104, January 21, 1893
V >>
Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 104, January 21, 1893
PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 104.
January 21, 1893.
CONVERSATIONAL HINTS FOR YOUNG SHOOTERS.
THE KEEPER.
(_With an Excursus on Beaters._)
Of the many varieties of keeper, I propose, at present, to consider only
the average sort of keeper, who looks after a shooting, comprising
partridges, pheasants, hares, and rabbits, in an English county. Now it is
to be observed that your ordinary keeper is not a conversational animal. He
has, as a rule, too much to do to waste time in unnecessary talk. To begin
with, he has to control his staff, the men and boys who walk in line with
you through the root-fields, or beat the coverts for pheasants. That might
seem at first sight to be an easy business, but it is actually one of the
most difficult in the world. For thorough perverse stupidity, you will not
easily match the autochthonous beater. Watch him as he trudges along, slow,
expressionless, clod-resembling, lethargic, and say how you would like to
be the chief of such an army. He is always getting out of line, pressing
forward unduly, or hanging back too much, and the loud voice of the keeper
makes the woods resound with remonstrance, entreaty, and blame, hurled at
his bovine head. After lunch, it is true, the beater wakes up for a little.
Then shall you hear WILLIAM exchanging confidences from one end of the line
to the other with JARGE, while the startled pheasant rises too soon and
goes back, to the despair of the keeper and the guns. Then, too, are heard
the shouts of laughter which greet the appearance of a rabbit, and the air
is thick with the sticks that the joyous, beery beaters fling at the
scurrying form of their hereditary foe. It is marvellous to note with what
a venomous hatred the beater regards the bunny. Pheasant or partridge he is
careless of; even the hare is, in comparison, a thing of nought, but let
him once set eyes on a rabbit, and his whole being seems to change. His eye
absolutely flashes, his chest heaves with excitement beneath the ancient
piece of sacking that protects his form from thorns. If the rabbit falls to
the shot, he yells with exultation; if it be missed, an expression of
morose and gloomy disappointment settles on his face, as who should say,
"Things are played out; the world is worthless!"
[Illustration: On their Beat.]
All these characteristics are the keeper's despair; though, to be sure, he
has staunch lieutenants in his under-keepers; and towards the end of the
day he can always count on two sympathising allies in the postman and the
policeman. These two never fail to come out in the afternoon to join the
beaters. It is amusing to watch the demeanour of the beaters in the
policeman's presence. Some of them, it is possible, have been immeshed by
the law, and have made the constable's acquaintance in his professional
capacity. Others are conscious of undiscovered peccadilloes, or they feel
that on some future day they may be led to transgress rules, of which the
policeman is the sturdy embodiment. None of them is, therefore, quite at
his best in the policeman's presence. Their attitude may be described
as one of uneasy familiarity, bursting here and there into jocular
nervousness, but never quite attaining the rollicking point. You may
sometimes take advantage of this feeling to let off a joke on a beater.
Select a stout, plethoric one, and say to him, "Mind you keep your eye on
the policeman, or he'll poach a rabbit before you can say knife." This
simple inversion of probabilities and positions is quite certain to "go." A
hesitating smile will first creep into the corners of the beater's eye.
After an interval spent in grappling with the jest, he will become purple,
and finally he will explode.
During the rest of the day you will hear him repeating your little
pleasantry either to himself or to his companions. You can keep it up by
saying now and then, "How many did the constable pocket that last beat?"
(_Shouts of laughter._) Thus shall your reputation as a humorist be
established amongst the beating fraternity--("that 'ere Muster JACKSON, 'e
do make a chap laugh, that 'e do," is the formula)--and if you revisit the
same shooting next year, a beater is sure to take an opportunity of saying
to you, with a grin on his face, "Policeman's a comin' out to-day, Sir; I'm
a goin' to hev my eye tight on 'im, so as 'e don't pocket no rabbits," to
which you will reply, "That's right, GEORGE, you stick to it, and you'll be
a policeman yourself some day," at which impossible anticipation there will
be fresh explosions of mirth. So easily pleased is the rustic mind, so
tenacious is the rustic memory.
But the head-keeper recks not of these things. All the anxiety of the day
is his. If, for one reason or another, he fails to show as good a head of
game as had been expected, he knows his master will be displeased. If the
beaters prove intractable, the birds go wrong, but the burden of the host's
disappointment falls on the keeper's shoulders. His are all the petty
worries, the little failures of the day. The keeper is, therefore, not
given to conversation. How should he be, with all these responsibilities
weighing upon him? Few of those who shoot realise what the keeper has gone
through to provide the sport. Inclement nights spent in the open, untiring
vigilance by day and by night, a constant and patient care of his birds
during the worst seasons, short hours of sleep, and long hours of tramping,
such is the keeper's life. And, after all, what a fine fellow is a good
keeper. In what other race of men can you find in a higher degree the best
and manliest qualities, unswerving fidelity, dauntless courage, unflinching
endurance of hardship and fatigue, and an upright honesty of conduct and
demeanour? I protest that if ever the sport of game-shooting is attacked,
one powerful argument in its favour may be found in the fact that it
produces such men as these, and fosters their staunch virtues. Think well
of all this, my young friend, and do not vex the harassed keeper with idle
and frivolous remarks. But you may permit yourself to say to him, during
the day, "That's a nice dog of yours; works capitally."
"Yes, Sir," the keeper will say, "he's not a bad 'un for a young 'un.
Plenty of good blood in him. His mother's old _Dido_. I've had to leave her
at home to-day, because she's got a sore foot; but her nose is something
wonderful."
"Did you have much trouble breaking him?"
"Lor' bless you, Sir, no. He took to it like a duck to the water. Nothing
comes amiss to him. You stand there, Sir, and you'll get some nice birds
over you. They mostly breaks this way."
That kind of conversation establishes good relations, always an important
thing. Or you may hint to him that he knows his business better than the
host, as thus:--
"I must have been in the wrong place that last beat. Not a single bird came
near me."
"Of course you were, Sir. I knew how it would be. I wanted you fifty yards
higher up, but Mr. CHALMERS, he would have you here. Lor, I've never known
birds break here. Now then, you boys, stop that chattering, or I sends you
all home. Seem to think they're out here to enjoy theirselves, instead of
doing as I tells 'em. Come, rattle your sticks!"
Thus are the little beaters and the stops admonished.
* * * * *
FROM A MODERN ENGLISH EXAMINATION-PAPER
_Which young Mr. D. Brown went in to floor, but which floored him._
_Question._ What is the meaning of "to deodorise." Give the derivation.
_Answer._ "To deodorise" is to gild the statue of a heathen deity.
Literally "to gild a god." This compound verb is derived from "_Deus_,"
dative "_Deo_," and the Greek verb "[Greek: dorixo], _i.e._ to gild."
_Q._ What is a "Manicure"? Give its derivation.
_A._ It is another term for a Mad Doctor. Its derivation is
obvious--"Maniac Cure." The last syllable of the first word being omitted
for the sake of convenience in pronunciation.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE COMING OF THE BOGEYS.
(_Mr. Punch's Dreadful New Year's Dream after a Surfeit of Mince Pies and
"Times" Correspondence._)]
* * * * *
THE COMING OF THE BOGEYS.
I had a Dream, which was not all a Dream.
(By Somnus and old Nox I fear 'twas _not_!)
Common-sense was extinguished, and Good Taste
Did wonder darkling on the verge of doom.
I saw a Monster, a malign, marine,
Mysterious, many-whorled, mug-lumbering Bogey,
Stretched (like Miltonian angels on the marl)
In league-long loops upon the billowy brine.
Beshrew thee, old familiar ocean Bogey,
Thou spectral spook of many Silly Seasons,
Beshrew thee, and avaunt! Which being put
In post-Shakspearian vernacular, means
Confound, you, and Get out!!! The monstrous worm
Wriggling its corkscrew periwinkly twists
Of trunk and tail alternate, winked huge goggles
Derisively and gurgled. "_Me_ get out,
The Science-vouched, and Literature-upheld,
And Reason-rehabilitated butt
Of many years of misdirected mockery?
You ask omniscient HUXLEY, cocksure oracle
On all from protoplasm to Home Rule,
From Scripture to Sea Serpents; go consult
Belligerent, brave, beloved BILLY RUSSELL!
Verisimilitude incarnate, I
Scorn your vain sceptic mirth!
Besides, behold
The portent riding me, as Thetis rode
The lolloping, wolloping sea-horse of old!
Is it less likely that _I_ should remain
Than _she_ return?"
Then, horror-thrilled, I gazed
At her, the Abominable, the Ogreish Thing;
The soul-revolting, sense-degrading She,
Who swayed and sickened, scourged and scarified
The unwilling slaves of fashion and discomfort
A quarter of a century since!
She sat,
A spectral, scraggy, beet-nosed, ankle-less,
Obtrusive-panted, splay-foot, slattern-shape,
Of grim Medusa-faced Immodesty,
Caged cumbrously in a stiff, swaying, swollen,
Shin-scarifying, hose-revealing frame
Of wide-meshed metal, like a monster mousetrap--
Hideous, indecent, awkward!
Oh, I knew her--
This loathly _revenant_, revisiting
The glimpses of the moon. She shamed my sight,
And blocked my way, and marred my young men's art,
Twenty years syne and more. 'Twas CRINOLINA,
The long-abiding, happily banished horror
We hoped to see no more. _Shall_ she return
To vex our souls, unsex our wives and daughters,
And spoil our pictures as she did of old?
Forbid it, womanhood and modesty!
And if _they_ won't, let manhood and sound sense
Arise in wrath and warn the horror off,
Ere she effect a lodgment on the limbs
Of pretty girls, or clothe our matron's shapes
With shame as with a garment.
"Get thee gone!"
Cries _Punch_, and shakes his gingham in her face.
"The Silly Season's Nemesis we may stand,
But thou, the loathlier Bogey? _Garn away!_
(As 'LIZA said to amorous 'ARRY 'AWKINS)
Avaunt, skedaddle, slope, absquatulate,
Go, gruesome ghoul--go quickly--and for ever!!!"
* * * * *
MRS. R.'S nephew read out an announcement to the effect that Messrs.
MACMILLAN were about to publish Lord CARNARVON'S "Prometheus Bound."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. R.'s excellent aunt. "That's very vague. Doesn't it
say how it's to be bound?--whether in calf or vellum?"
* * * * *
[Illustration: "AN INTERNATIONAL EPISODE."
_Hostess._ "ER--ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE--ER--MR. CORNELIUS P. VAN DUNK, FROM
CHICAGO--MR. KEMBLE MACREADY KEAN, THE GREAT TRAGEDIAN, AND MANAGER OF THE
PARTHENON."
_Mr. Van Dunk._ "MR. KEMBLE MACREADY KEAN! SIR, YOUR NAME'S VERY FAMILIAR
TO ME, AND I'M PROUD TO KNOW YOU!--AND I SHALL TAKE AN EARLY OPPORTUNITY OF
ASKING YOU FOR SOME ORDERS FOR YOUR THEATRE!"]
* * * * *
LAPSUS LINGUAE.
["There is scarcely one of us who does not violate some rule of
English grammar in every sentence which he speaks."--_Daily
News._]
Never we dreamt of this horrible blundering!
Up to the present, we cheerfully spoke
Quite unaware of our errors, nor wondering
How many rules in each sentence we broke.
Now we can scarcely pronounce the admission that
Grammar and parsing we freely neglect,
Scarcely can dare to make humble petition that
Someone or other will cure this defect!
Often we err in the use of each particle,
Seldom observe where our adverbs belong,
Wholly misplace the indefinite article,
In our subjunctives go hopelessly wrong!
What can we do? Will the _Daily News_ qualify
As an instructor in matters like these?
How can we quickest successfully mollify
Those whom our errors must sadly displease?
Scarce can we venture the veriest platitude,
May not its grammar be shamefully weak?
You, _Mr. Punch_, can rely on our gratitude,
If you will tell us--how _ought_ we to speak?
* * * * *
A DARK SAYING.--Had HILDA DAWSON--who, as reported in the _D. T._ one day
last week, was haled before Sir PETER EDLIN--been a character in some play
of SHAKSPEARE'S, to whom the Bard had given these words to utter--"And this
is what you call trial by Jury! Why they are not fit to try shoemakers!"
what voluminous suggestions and explanations of the meaning of this phrase
would not the learned Commentators have written! What emendations,
alterations, or amendments of the text would not have been proposed!
Perhaps, some hundreds of years hence, this dark saying of HILDA DAWSON'S
will engage the close attention of some among the then existing learned
body of Antiquaries.
* * * * *
"SOUNDS RATHER LIKE IT."--In France the Ministry of Foreign Affairs has
gone to the DEVELLE.
* * * * *
THE HAYMARKET HYPATIA.
That I never could struggle through CHARLES KINGSLEY'S novel _Hypatia_, is,
as far as I am personally concerned, very much in favour of my pronouncing
an unbiassed opinion on the "_new classical play_" ("Historical," if you
like, but not "classical," and there is not the slightest chance of its
becoming a "classic") written by G. STUART OGILVIE, entitled _Hypatia_, and
"_founded on_ KINGSLEY'S _celebrated Novel_," which "celebrated Novel" is,
for me at least, not only "celebrated," but "remarkable," as being one of
the very few works of fiction (excepting always the majority of KINGSLEY'S
works) completely baffling my powers of endurance.
[Illustration: The Tip for the Alexandr(i)a Park Meeting. "_Heraclian_ must
win." Notice the _Rara Nativa Oysteriana Shrub_ in the background.]
[Illustration: Cyrillus Fernandez Gladstonius Episcopus.]
Mr. STUART OGILVIE'S Drama may be a clever adaptation of a story difficult
to adapt; but that his play is powerfully dramatic, even when it arrives at
what, as I conceive, was intended to be its strongest dramatic situation in
the Second Scene of the Third Act, no one but an _Umbra_ (to be
"classical"), a sycophant, a "creature," or a contentious noodle, could
possibly assert. Yet, as a series of _tableaux vivants_, illustrating
scenes in the public and private life of _Issachar_ the Jew,--and that
Jew Mr. BEERBOHM TREE, so artistically made up as to be absolutely
unrecognisable by those who know him best,--the action is decidedly
interesting up to the end of the Third Act. After that, all is tumult. The
gay and seductive _Orestes_, Prefect of Alexandria (carefully played by Mr.
LEWIS WALLER) is slain, anyhow, all higgledy-piggledy, by the Jew,
_Issachar_, whose seductive daughter _Ruth_ (sweetly and gently represented
by Miss OLGA BRANDON) this gay LOTHARIO of a Prefect has contrived, not,
apparently, with any great difficulty, to lead astray, or, to put it
"classically," to seduce from the narrow path of such virtue as is common
alike to Pagan, Jew, and Christian. As for handsome _Hypatia_ herself,
magnificent though Miss JULIA NEILSON be as a classic model for a painter,
she is nowhere, dramatically, in the piece, when contrasted with the
unhappy Jewish Family of two. It is the story of _Issachar_, his daughter
and _Orestes_, that absorbs the interest; and, as to what becomes of
_Cyril_ and his Merry Monks, of _Philammon_ (which, when pronounced, sounds
like a modern Cockney-rendering of PHILIP HAMMOND, with the aspirate
omitted and the final "d" dropped), of old _Theon_ (who never appears but
he is immediately sent away again, and therefore might be termed
"_The-on-and-off-'un_"), and, finally, of even that charming specimen of a
Girton Girl-Lecturer on Philosophy _Hypatia_ herself, well--to adopt HOOD'S
couplet about the Poor in London,--
"Where they goes, or how they fares, Nobody knows and nobody
cares."
The entire interest is centred in _Issachar_, and had the author devised
some strong dramatic climax (such as occurs in that play of SARDOU'S where
SARAH B. stabs PAUL BERTON) with which to finish the piece, when the
Prefect should have been killed either by _Issachar_ or by _Miriam_ (SARDOU
would have made _Issachar's_ daughter the heroine--the SARA BERNHARDT of
the piece) then, in the penultimate Act, anything tragic, or otherwise,
might picturesquely and appropriately have happened to the classic Girton
girl, _Hypatia_, and Master _Phil 'Ammon_, the good young Monk so inclined
to go wrong, to the great contentment of the audience.
Mr. TREE makes a thoroughly oriental type of _Issachar_, and it is within
an ace of being a grand impersonation. What that ace exactly is, it is
somewhat difficult to say, but what _is_ wanting is wanting in his great
scene with his daughter. If the dramatist had given him such another final
chance as I have already suggested, the character might have been
dramatically perfected in Mr. TREE'S hands. As it is, both by author and
actor it is left "to be finished in our next."
Mr. TERRY is good as the amatory Monk, and Miss JULIA NEILSON is
statuesquely graceful as _Hypatia_. If I say "she is making strides in her
profession," I must be taken to allude not to her vast improvement
histrionically, but to the long steps which she takes across the stage.
The costumes are admirable, especially that of _Issachar_, on whose attire
the Messrs. NATHAN as Israel-lights-and-leaders must be considered high
authorities.
[Illustration: From an Ancient Vase found in the Haymarket.]
Mr. ALMA TADEMA, R.A., is responsible for the designs of the scenery by
Messrs. JOHNSTONE, HANN, HALL, and HARKER. [Great chance for 'ARRY 'ere!
"Scenery by 'ANN--a lady artist of course--then 'ALL and then 'ARKER, from
designs by HALMA TADEMA." "I s'pose HALMA'S a artistic shemale," 'ARRY
would say: "cos I know as there's another HALMA on the stage, leastways on
the Music 'All stage, and she's HALMA STANLEY."] Whatever the designing
ALMA may have done, I cannot say much for the reproduction of his favourite
game of marbles. The "marble halls" lack polish; but the Market Place, The
Court of _Hypatia's_ House, _Issachar's_ snuggery, and a Street in
Alexandria, are highly effective pictures. But I should like to know if in
Mr. ALMA TADEMA'S design for the Monk's dress, Mr. FRED TERRY found a small
black and silver crucifix of very modern workmanship suspended from the
girdle, as this religious emblem did not come into use until a much later
date. By the way, ecclesiastical ornaments must have been cheap in those
days to warrant _Bishop Cyril_ (strongly rendered by Mr. FERNANDEZ)
flaunting about the streets of Alexandria in such rainbow robes as, in a
later age, would have led people to imagine that he had just broken out of
the stained glass window of a Gothic Cathedral. Two thousand years hence
the New Zealand dramatist may represent the Archbishop of CANTERBURY as
walking about London in his lawn sleeves with coronation cope and mitre, or
Cardinal HERBERT VAUGHAN as wearing his scarlet hat and robes, and riding
in a Hansom cab, having been unable to pick up his own Cardinal's train.
All this were hypercriticism, but that the name of ALMA TADEMA, R.A., is a
public guarantee for academical accuracy.
Anyhow, _Hypatia_, if not "a famous victory"--is at least a fine spectacle,
with some fine acting in it, but this is mainly confined to Mr. BEERBOHM
TREE. As the very heavy father, Mr. KEMBLE has not been allowed half a
chance. Why should he not alternate characters with Mr. FERNANDEZ, and for
three nights a week appear as _Cyril_ the Bishop, while FERNANDEZ would be
_Hypatia's_ parent who has to grovel on the steps while his highly educated
child is lecturing, who has to comfort her in her terror, and be turned out
neck and crop whenever nobody on the scene wants him, which by the way,
happens rather frequently.
The music to a Drama is generally a minor affair, but, in this instance, it
is both major and minor, and has been specially written for the piece by
Dr. HUBERT PARRY. As this play is not an "adaptation from the French," the
music of this Composer is the only _article de Parry_ about the piece, and,
being strikingly appropriate, it proves an attraction of itself. It is
conducted by the Wagnerian ARMBRUSTER, who, with his Merry Men, is hidden
away under the stage, much as was the Ghost of _Hamlet's_ father whom
_Hamlet_ irreverently styled "Old Truepenny." Altogether a notable piece.
_Prosit!_
THE B IN A BOX.
* * * * *
CHEAP LAW IN THE CITY.
_Probable Development of the new "London Chamber of Arbitration," for the
economical Settlement of Disputes without recourse to Litigation_
[Illustration: "'Ave yer got sich a thing as a second-hand murder defence,
Guv'nor?"
"Could you direct me to the Breach of Promise Department?"]
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
The one volume entitled _My Flirtations_, written by MARGARET WYNMAN (so
like a real name!), and published by Messrs. CHATTO AND WINDUS, consists of
short stories setting forth the varied experiences of an uncommonly 'cute
young lady. It is a literary portfolio of lively sketches of men and women,
"their tricks and their manners," all most amusing, and told in a naturally
easy and epigrammatic style. Some of the characters are evidently
intended for portraits, which anyone living in the London world could
easily label--(which by changing "a" into "i" would be the probable
consequence)--were he not baffled by the art of the skilful writer, and by
the equally skilful illustrator--our Mr. PARTRIDGE--who have, the pair
of them, combined to throw the reader off the right scent. The one
mistake--not a fatal error, however,--which this authoress has made,
is that of getting herself engaged in the last story. Not married,
fortunately; only engaged. Consequently the match can be broken off. Let
her be "engaged" on another volume. She can be married at the end of
volume three, and may give us her experiences as the wife of Mr.
Whoever-it-may-be. Will the clever authoress accept this well-meant hint
from her literary and critical admirer, THE GALLANT BARON DE B.-W.?
* * * * *
ROBERT WITH THE CHILDREN AT GILDHALL.
Well, I don't quite kno as I quite hunderstans what's bin a goin on in our
old Sacred Gildall, or weather it's all xactly what sum of our werry
sollemest Holldermen, or ewen our werry anshent Depputys, might admire; but
I must say, for myself, that too thowsand more owdashus boys, and larfing
gals, I never seed nor herd than I did on Toosday larst, for about fore
hours, in old Gildall aforesaid!
Jest to show how the werry best, aye and the werry wisest on us, gets
carried away by the site of swarms of appy children a enjoying thereselves,
as praps they never did afore, I feels myself compelled to state, that our
good kind Lord MARE was so delighted to see sich swarms of appy children
all round him and looking up to him so appy and so grateful, that, jest
afore it was time to go, he acshally told 'em a most wunderful story all
about two great Giants as lived in the rain of King LUD, on Ludgate Hill. I
was that estonished when he begun, as to amost think that GOG and MAGOG, as
stood on both sides of him, would begin to grin, but that was, of course,
only a passing delushun. But didn't all the children lissen with open
mouths when the Lord MARE told 'em that one of the Giants had too heads,
and the other three! and that a very good boy named JACK managed to kill
'em both!
And so all was ended but the cheering, and that the pore delited children
kept up till they all marched out, smiling and appy, and wishing as such
glorious heavenings was in store for them in grand old Gildall for many,
many years to come, and with sitch a Lord Mare to see as everything was
done as it had been done that jolly heavening.
ROBERT.
* * * * *
DWARFS.--Of course there are dwarfs. Lots of 'em all over the world. At
least no experienced traveller ever yet made a stay in any country without
becoming acquainted with plenty of people who were "uncommonly 'short' just
at that moment,"--"that moment" being when the impecunious traveller wanted
to obtain a slight loan. The author of _Borrow in Spain_ would have been an
authority on such a subject.