Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 104, January 28, 1893
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Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 104, January 28, 1893
PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 104.
January 28, 1893.
CONVERSATIONAL HINTS FOR YOUNG SHOOTERS.
THE KEEPER. (_Continued._)
Is there no way, then, you may ask, in which the Head Keeper may be lured
from his customary silence for more than a sentence or two? Yes, there is
one absolutely certain method, and, so far as I know, only one. The subject
to which you must lead your conversation is--no, it isn't poachers, for a
good keeper takes the occasional poacher as part of his programme. He wages
war against him, of course; and, if his shooting happens to be situated
near a town of some importance, the war is often a very sanguinary one,
only ended by the extermination (according to Assize-Court methods) of the
poachers. But the keeper, as I say, takes all this as a matter of course.
He recognises that poachers, after all, are men; as a sportsman, he must
have a sneaking sympathy for one whose science and wood-craft often baffle
his own; and, therefore, though he fights against him sturdily and
conscientiously, and, as a rule, triumphs over him, he does not generally,
being what I have described him, brag of these victories, nor, indeed, does
he care to talk about them. "There, but for the grace of God, goes
Velveteens," must be the mental exclamation of many a good keeper when he
hears his enemy sentenced to a period of compulsory confinement. I do not
wish to be misunderstood. There are poachers and poachers. And whereas we
may have a certain sympathy for the instinct of sport that seems to compel
some men to match their skill against the craft of fur or feather reared at
the expense and by the labour of others, there can surely be none for the
methodical rogues who band themselves together on business principles, and
plunder coverts just as others crack cribs, or pick pockets. Even sentiment
is wasted on these gentlemen.
But I return from this digression. The one subject, then, on which a keeper
may be trusted to become eloquent, is, that of
FOXES.
Just try him. Suppose you are shooting a wood, in which you expect to find
a considerable number of pheasants. The guns are posted, the beaters have
begun to move at the far end of the wood. Suddenly you are aware of a
commotion in the middle of the wood. Here and there pheasants rise long
before the beaters have approached. There is a whirring of wings, and
dozens of birds sail away, un-shot at, to right, to left, and all over the
place. And then, while you are still wondering what this may mean, a fine
dog-fox comes sliding out from the covert. Away he goes at top speed across
the open. The little stops view him as he passes, and far and near the air
resounds with shrill "yoick!" and "tally-ho!" In the end four birds are
brought to bag, where twenty at least had been expected. When the beat is
over, this is the kind of conversation you will probably hear:--
_First Beater_ (_to a colleague_). I seed 'un, JIM; a great, fine fox 'e
were, a slinkin' off jest afore we coom up. "Go it," I says to myself; "go
it, Muster BILLY FOX, you bin spoilin' sport, I'll warrant, time you was
off"; and out 'e popped as sly as fifty on 'em, ah, that 'e was.
_Second B._ Ah! I lay 'e was that. Where did 'e slip to, TOM?
_First B._ I heerd 'em a hollerin' away by CHUFF'S Farm. Reckon 'e's goin'
to hev 'is supper there, to-night.
_Second B._ And a pretty meal 'e'll make of it. Pheasant for breakfast,
pheasant for dinner, pheasant for tea; I'll lay 'e don't get much thinner.
_One of the Guns_ (_to the Keeper_). Nuisance about that fox, SYKES.
_Keeper._ Nuisance, Sir? You may say that. Why, I've seen as many as four
o' them blamed varmints one after another in this 'ere blessed wood. Did
you see 'im, Sir? I wish you'd a shot 'im just by mistake. Nobody wouldn't
a missed 'im. But there, a-course I daren't touch 'em. Mr. CHALMERS
wouldn't like it, and a-course I couldn't bring myself to do it. But I do
say, we've got too many on 'em, and we never get the hounds, or if they do
come, they can't kill. What am I to do? Mr. CHALMERS wants birds, and 'e
wants foxes too. I tell 'im 'e can't have both. I does my best, but what's
a man to do with a couple o' thousand foxes nippin' the heads off of his
birds? Fairly breaks my heart, Sir. Keep 'em alive, indeed! Live and let
live's my motter, but it ain't the plan o' them blamed foxes.
[_And so forth ad lib._
There are other animals which your true keeper holds in aversion. And chief
amongst these is the domestic cat. You might as well try to keep a
journalist from his writing-paper as country cats from the coverts. They
are inveterate and determined poachers, and, alas, they meet with scant
mercy from the keeper if he catches them. Many a fireside tabby or
tortoise-shell dies a violent death in the course of every year, and is
buried in a secret grave. This often gives rise to disturbance, for the
cottager, to whom the deceased was as the apple of her eye, may make
complaint of the keeper to his master. My friend SYKES, one of the best
keepers I know, once related to me an incident of this nature. As it may
help to explain the nature of keepers, and throw light on the
conversational method to be adopted with them, I here set down the winged
words in which SYKES addressed me.
[Illustration: "Taking away his Character."]
"Trouble, Sir? I believe you. Them old women gives me a peck o' trouble,
far more nor the breakin' of a retriever dog. There's old Mrs. PADSTOW,
Mother PADDS we call 'er, she's a rare old teaser. Went up to Mr. CHALMERS
last week and told 'im I'd shot 'er pet cat. Mr. CHALMERS, 'e spoke to me
about it; said I'd better go and make it right with the old gal. So,
yesterday I goes to call upon 'er. First we passed the time o' day
together, and then we got to business. You see, Sir, me and the old lady
had always been friendly, so I took it on the friendly line. 'Look 'ere,' I
says, 'Mrs. PADSTOW, I've come about a cat.' 'Ah,' she says. 'It's just
this way,' I says, 'Mr. CHALMERS tells me you said I'd shot your cat. Now,'
I says, straightenin' myself up and lookin' proud, 'I couldn't scarcely
believe that, and you and me such good friends, so I've just come to ask
you if you did say that. She was a bit took aback at this, so I asked 'er
again. 'Well,' she says, 'I didn't exactly say that.' 'What did you say
then?' I asked her. 'I told Mr. CHALMERS,' she says, 'that our old cat 'ad
been shot what never did no 'arm, and I thought it might be as you'd a done
it, p'raps not meanin' it.' 'Ah,' I says, 'them was your words, was they?'
'Yes,' she says, 'them was my words.' 'Well, then,' I says, 'you'd better
be careful what you say next time, or you don't know whose character you'll
be takin' away next.' And with that I left 'er."
"But did you shoot the cat, SYKES?" I ventured to ask.
"_Did_ I shoot it? Ho, ho, ha, ha! What do _you_ think! Sir?"
And with that enigmatic answer the dialogue closed.
* * * * *
When referring to a recent Lecture by a certain Noble Marquis
(distinguished in the "_P.R._-age" of the Realm), the ladies generally say,
that they should decidedly object to be married "under the Queensberry
Rules." _Their_ prize ring is quite another affair.
* * * * *
"DOWN AMONG THE COALS."--The most appropriate place wherein to try "the
scuttle" policy would, of course, be--Newcastle.
* * * * *
THE DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROeM.
[Illustration]
(_Fragments from a Narrative somewhat in the style of E. A. Poe._)
Even while one gazed, the current acquired a monstrous velocity.
Each moment added to its speed--to its headlong impetuosity.
The vast bed of the waters, seamed and scarred into a thousand conflicting
channels, burst suddenly into frenzied convulsion--heaving, boiling,
hissing,--gryrating in gigantic and innumerable vortices, and all whirling
and plunging on with a rapidity which water never elsewhere assumes except
in precipitous descents.
* * * * *
Precipitous descents! Niagara's abrupt and headlong plunge is but as an
eddy in a rocky trout-stream compared with what was soon to be seen _here_.
In brief space there came over the scene another radical alteration. The
general surface grew somewhat more smooth, and the whirlpools one by one
disappeared, while prodigious streaks of foam became apparent where none
had been seen before. These streaks, at length, spreading out to a great
distance, and entering into combination, took unto themselves the gyratory
motion of the subsided vortices, and seemed to form the germ of another
more vast. Suddenly--very suddenly--this assumed a distinct and definite
existence in a circle of a colossal and seemingly all-embracing diameter.
The edge of the whirl was represented by a broad belt of gleaming, turbid
slime--cumbered spray, foul, festering, furiously troubled, slipping, as it
seemed, particle by particle, viscid gout by gout, into the mouth of the
terrific funnel, whose interior, as far as the eye could fathom it, was a
smooth, shining, and jet-black wall of water, inclined to the horizon at an
angle of some forty-five degrees, speeding dizzily round and round, with a
swaying and sweltering motion, and sending forth to the winds an appalling
voice half shriek, half roar, such as not even the mighty cataract of
Niagara ever lifts up in its agony to Heaven.
* * * * *
Then, said I, this _can_ be nothing else than the "great, all-whelming
whirlpool of the Maelstroem!"
* * * * *
In all violent eddies at sea _there is good fishing_, at proper
opportunities, if only one has the courage to attempt it. In fact, it is
made a matter of desperate speculation--risk standing instead of labour,
and courage, of a reckless, and not too scrupulous sort, answering for
capital. But there are many who would lightly adventure the pestilential
perils of a tropic stream, or fever-haunted water-way or canal, who would
yet shrink from being caught--owing to want of care, and cautious
calculation as to the exact hours of slack and safety--by the hideous,
irresistible, all-engulfing, all-wrecking whirl of the terrifying Stroem!
Once drawn within the down-draught of that hideous vortex, a whole army
might be destroyed more certainly than even by the manifold death-dealing
contrivances of modern science, a whole legislature lost in a single hour
of ghastly and unhonoured catastrophe!
* * * * *
Oh, the sickening sweep of that descent! With what sensations of awe,
horror, and strange, distraught admiration, must a doomed victim, once
within that whirl, gaze about him!--for he has leisure to observe. The
downward draught of those swift, wide-sweeping, spirally-whirling
water-walls is comparatively slow. The victim clinging to his boat, or
bound to his spar or barrel, appears to be hanging, as if by magic, midway
down, upon the interior surface of a funnel, vast in circumference,
prodigious in depth, and whose perfectly smooth sides might be mistaken for
ebony, but for the bewildering rapidity with which they spin around,
and for the gleaming and ghastly radiance they shoot forth, a foul,
phosphorescent iridescence, as of accumulated corruption, streaming in a
flood of loathsome radiance along the black walls, and far away down into
the inmost mist--veiled recesses of the abyss!
* * * * *
Looking about upon the wide waste of liquid ebony on which that helpless,
past-struggling, beautiful, and apparently doomed figure was borne, I
perceived that she, in the midst of the mighty, all-mastering misery, was
not the only object in the embrace of the whirl. Both above and below were
visible fragments of wreckage--significant wreckage--plumed hats,
sword-sheaths, portfolios, epaulettes, decorations, insignia of honour, as
if here a national Argosy, laden with Opulence, Rank Intelligence, and
Honour, had gone, dismally and desperately, down to--_what_? Let those
Phlegethon walls, that Tophet-like mist, make answer!
* * * * *
And that bound, helpless, seemingly doomed, but beautiful and piteously
appealing figure on which my eyes were fixed in terror, and amaze, and
profound compassion? Alas! Yet are there some objects which enter the whirl
at a late period of the tide, which for some happy reason descend slowly
after entering, which do not reach the bottom before the turn of the tide,
which are _not completely absorbed_ ere the desperate ordeal of danger is
ended by utter submergence and entire wreck! These, conceivably, may be
whirled up again to the level of the ocean, without undergoing the fate of
those which had been drawn in more early, or absorbed more rapidly!
* * * * *
Here indeed the phantom of Hope seems to gleam forth rainbow-like even
amidst the foul mists of the Maelstroem! That beautiful agonised figure
seems yet but as it were at the edge of the whirl. Into its profound and
pestilential depths, indeed, she _can see_. And she shudders at the sight,
as must all who are interested in her fate. But the Stroem will not whirl
for ever, the hour of slack cannot be far off, and when the slope of the
sides of the vast funnel become momentarily less and less steep, when the
gyrations of the whirl grow gradually less and less violent, when the froth
and the fume disappear, and the bottom of the gulf seems slowly to uprise;
when the sky clears, and the winds go down, and the full moon rises
radiantly o'er the swaying but no longer tormented floods, shall she, that
beautiful, bound creature be found floating upon the quieting waves, sorely
buffeted, may be much scarred, bearing in her beauty ineffaceable traces of
the hideous ordeal she has undergone, but living, and _Safe_?
* * * * *
So may it be!
* * * * *
[Illustration: FASHIONABLE.
"HOW DO YOU LIKE ME IN THIS, VERA? TELL ME THE TRUTH."
"WELL, DEAR, IT LOOKS AS IF YOUR PET POODLE HAD DIED, AND YOU'D HAD HIM
MADE UP AS A CLOAK!"]
* * * * *
CHARLEY'S OLD 'AUNT AT THE ROYALTY.
_Charley's Aunt_, by Mr. BRANDON THOMAS, is distinctly related to _The
Private Secretary_; and Mr. PENLEY, as _Lord Babberley_, is second cousin
to the _Rev. Mr. Spalding_, who, as the Private Secretary, obtained so
distinguished a position in the theatrical world not so many years ago. As
a play, _The Private Secretary_ had a strange history, seeing that it began
as a failure, had an Act cut out of it, and, surviving this severe
operation, grew into an enormous success, then went "so strong" as to be
able to keep on running in London, the Provinces, our Colonies, and
America, for some years.
_Charley's Aunt_, however, has experienced no such downs and ups, being
born to the rouge-pot as heiress of the great success which _The Private
Secretary_ had only gradually, though surely, achieved. Yet 'tis a matter
for question whether the latter was not the better piece, dramatically, of
the two, having, besides its own comic situations, two irresistibly
diverting characters, represented by little PENLEY and mountainous HILL,
both playing into one another's hands.
There are very few comparatively dull moments in _Charley's Aunt_, and
these arise from faulty construction necessitating occasional explanations
which come as dampers in the midst of the uproarious fun whereat the house
has been shaking its sides and even weeping with laughter. And the
awkwardness of these pauses in the action is still further emphasised by
their being filled up with either commonplace narrative, or with a kind of
cheap sentimentality quite at variance with the general tone of the piece.
Were this slight blemish removed, the longevity of _Charley's Aunt_ would,
it is more than probable, equal that of _The Private Secretary_.
[Illustration: LIKE AS TWO P'S!
_The Private Secretary._ "Excuse me, Madam? but, d'you know, I fancy you
must be a connection of mine--I see such a resemblance to our family. I am
the Rev. Robert Spalding!"
_Lord Fancourt Babberley._ "Oh yes; and I'm Charley's Aunt, and Robert's
Cousin."
_The P. S._ "Dear me! Fancy that!"]
All the parts are well played. Mr. BRANDON THOMAS has not given himself
much of a chance as _Colonel Chesney_, who bears a strong family
resemblance to the heavy dragoon in the _Pantomime Rehearsal_. The young
men, Messrs. PERCY LYNDAL and FARMER, have plenty of "go"--it would be
"little go" were they Cantabs--as the two undergraduates, young enough to
be still up at College completing their education, yet old enough to
propose and be accepted as eligible husbands. But in a rattling three-act
farce as this is intended to be, any exaggeration is sufficiently probable
as long only as it is thoroughly amusing; and, it be added, in such a
piece, sentiment is as much out of place as would be plain matter-of-fact
conduct or dialogue. To see Mr. PENLEY in the elderly Aunt's dress is to
convulse the house without his uttering a word. To see him enjoying himself
with the young ladies while threatened by their lovers, who cannot take
them away without compromising themselves, is delicious. Then, when after
dinner he is alone with the ladies, and having been informed by the
scout--capitally impersonated by Mr. CECIL THORNBURY--in a whisper, what
story it is that the gentlemen find so amusing, he goes into fits of
laughter, and subsequently, when after one of the ladies has told a story
which makes the girls laugh, he inquires "Is that all?" and being answered
that it is, he cannot refrain from expressing, in very strong language, his
opinion of the stupidity of the anecdote he has just heard, and then is
seized with a perfect convulsion of laughter,--in all this he is most
heartily joined by the entire audience, who laugh with him and at him.
Altogether in this piece Mr. PENLEY is inimitably and irresistibly funny.
The piece has one other merit which is not the least among its attractions,
that is, that it begins at nine punctually and is over by eleven, thus
yielding two hours of all-but continuous merriment.
* * * * *
SIMPLE STORIES.
"Be always kind to animals wherever you may be!"
ELSIE AND THE MACAW.
ELSIE was growing a big girl, and though she was still in short frocks, she
gave herself airs, and had ideas about dress, and sometimes was tempted to
argue with her dear Mamma and give her a pert answer. She was, however in
high glee just now, because she had been invited by her Aunt DABBLECHICK to
a pic-nic with a lot of other little boys and girls. She made a great fuss
about her dress, she studied _The Queen_, and _The Gentlewoman_, and other
papers devoted to this important subject, and worried her poor Mamma with
all sorts of silly suggestions. The costume, however, was at last arranged,
and the little goose was cross because her Mamma would not allow her to
have a blue feather in her hat. ELSIE, like a naughty child, determined
that she would, by some means or other, have this feather.
[Illustration]
How to obtain one was the difficulty. At last it struck her that the
splendid Macaw, a gift from her Uncle, Admiral SANGARORUM, brought from
Brazil, had some lovely feathers of about the right tint.
Taking a few lumps of sugar with her, she paid a visit to the conservatory
where "Lord Macawley," as he was called, swung all day and shrieked. She
felt how naughty she was, but her overweening vanity quite stifled her
conscience. She scratched the bird's poll, treated him to several lumps of
sugar, and, when he was not looking, suddenly jerked one of the finest
feathers out of his tail.
"Lord Macawley" screamed furiously, and ELSIE was terribly frightened for
fear she should be discovered. She, however, ran away with her prize, and
carefully fixed it in her hat.
The next morning when she was ready to start, and JAMES was waiting with
the pony-chaise to drive her over to her Aunt's, her Mamma, who was
gathering flowers in the conservatory, sent for her to see that she looked
nice before starting. Very pretty the little girl looked in her peacock
blue dress, her snowy frills, her black-silk stockings, and Oxford shoes.
Her hat was trimmed with ribbon to match her dress, and her feather so
artfully intertwined, that she hoped her Mamma would not notice it. It
certainly would have passed without observation, but, just as ELSIE was
tripping away, "Lord Macawley" saw her.
He set up a fiendish scream, and then said, "G-r-r! Gr-r-r! Who stole my
feather?" over and over again.
ELSIE turned scarlet. Mamma removed and inspected the hat, and, the little
girl was promptly packed off to bed, where she was left to shed many tears
over her folly for the rest of the day.
Mamma keeps the blue feather, which she shows to her little girl whenever
she is inclined to be disobedient or vain. The exhibition usually has a
magical effect.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE SNOW CURE!!
_Fiendish Little Boy_ (_to Elderly Gentleman, who has come a cropper for
the fourth time in a hundred yards_). "'ERE I SAY, GUVN'OR, YOU'RE FAIR,
WALLERIN' IN IT THIS MORNIN'! H'ANYONE 'UD THINK AS YOU'D BIN HORDERED IT
BY YOUR MEDICAL MAN!!!"]
* * * * *
THE NEXT EGYPTIAN LESSON.
SCENE--_Interior of the Sanctum of the_ Young KHEDIVE. _Present,
his Highness. To him enter the_ British Representative.
_British Rep._ I think your Highness desired to see me?
_Khedive._ Certainly, my dear Lord. I wish to express once again my great
regret that I could have done, or said, or thought anything without taking
your advice. You have quite forgiven me?
_Brit. Rep._ (_in a tone of respectful annoyance_). Thank you very much,
your Highness; but as I am exceptionally busy this morning, I think, if you
have nothing more to say to me, I will do myself the honour of taking my
departure.
_Khe._ Oh no--a thousand times, no! Are you not aware that I am very
European in tastes, am fond of books, and have a hobby in a small aquarium?
_British Rep._ So I have read, your Highness, in a London evening paper.
And now, if you will permit me, I will----
_Khe._ Oh no--don't go, I promised you I would consult you in every
important matter--and I mean to keep my word.
_British Rep._ I am glad to hear your Highness say so; and I can answer for
Her Majesty's Government being extremely gratified at the report of this
conversation. I shall make a point of communicating with the Premier
forthwith. And now, with your Highness's gracious permission, I will take
my leave.
_Khe._ What a hurry you are in! I have got a lot of important things to
consult you about, and yet you won't wait a moment! I say, it's not
treating a fellow fairly!
_Brit. Rep._ (_grieved_). I trust your Highness will not repeat that
observation after due consideration. But to show you my anxiety to meet
your Highness's wishes, I will sacrifice the examination of a promising
scheme to make the Nile nine and a half times as productive as it is now,
to listen to you.
_Khe._ You are very good. Well, what do you think of my dressing-gown?
_British Rep._ Capital--in every way capital. But surely you didn't want to
talk about that?
_Khe._ Oh, yes, I did! Would you advise me to have it trimmed with any more
fur?
_British Rep._ I should imagine it was more a matter of taste than
politics.
_Khe._ Oh, hang politics! What do you think about my dressing-gown? Would
your Government recommend fur?
_British Rep._ I think, under the circumstances, I can act on my own
responsibility without further reference to Her Majesty's Government. Yes,
by all means, have fur.
_Khe._ I am infinitely obliged to you. Fact is, I told my tailor I thought
I would have fur, but I did not like to give the order without your advice.
_British Rep._ I trust your Highness accepts my assurance that Her
Majesty's Government are most anxious to prevent you from appearing in a
false position.
_Khe._ It's most civil of you to say so. Then I will have fur.
_British Rep._ And now, if your Highness no longer requires my
presence----.
_Khe._ (_interrupting_). But I do. As I have already said, I've a lot of
things to ask you. Now, I want to know whether it would be to the benefit
of the fellaheen if I visited the theatre more frequently?
_British Rep._ Your Highness will use your own discretion. I think I may
say, without further reference to Downing Street, that Her Majesty's
Government will have not the slightest objection to your Highness indulging
in any innocent recreation.
_Khe._ Come--that's very good of them. But don't go. Look here. There will
be no great harm if I wear brown leather boots?
_British Rep._ I think not, if your Highness, by the exhibition of such a
preference, does not wound the susceptibilities of other Powers. And now,
your Highness, with your permission, I think I must withdraw.