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
_Khe._ Very well. If you won't stay any longer I suppose you won't. If I
want any more advice I will send over to you.
_British Rep._ I am extremely obliged to your Highness.
[_Bows, and exit._
_Khe._ Glad he's gone! And now that I have consulted him about everything,
I think I will have a little recreation on my own account. What shall I do?
Oh, I know, I will dismiss the entire Ministry!
[_Does so._
(_Curtain._)
* * * * *
"GOING STRONG."--At the Court Theatre the _Pantomime Rehearsal_ in which
Messrs. BROOKFIELD and WEEDON have a capital duet, is just as fresh as
ever. Quite a new piece with all the old fun in it. "Equestrian Scenes in
the Circle," might now be added, as they've got a performing PALFREY who
does a very pretty _scherzo_ or skirt-show dance. "Good entertainment
for"--everybody.
* * * * *
VICE VERSA ON THE STAGE.--Re-appearance of Mr. and Mrs. BANCROFT at HARE'S
Theatre. When Mr. HARE made his first appearance in London it was at Mr.
and Mrs. BANCROFT'S Theatre. And _Diplomacy_ is to be revived. This move is
most diplomatic.
* * * * *
"HAPPINESS IN ----."--Professor ST. GEORGE MIVART will be glad to learn
that a telegram from New York, dated the 19th instant, contained the
following interesting item of intelligence.--"A vast quantity of ice is now
at Hell Gate."
* * * * *
DEPRECIATION OF GOLD!--"Guinea Fowls" were sold in the Market last week at
from 2_s._ 5_d._ to 3_s._ 6_d._! and a Plover Golden, was to be had for
ninepence!!
* * * * *
What with _The Daily Bourse_ and dustmen who refuse to remove the
Drury-Lane refuse, our Sir AUGUSTUS DURIOLANUS has been, of late,
considerably Harris'd.
* * * * *
MOTTO FOR THE LADIES WHO BECOME MEMBERS OF MRS. STANNARD'S "ANTI-CRINOLINE
LEAGUE."--"All hoops abandon ye who enter here."
* * * * *
GREAT BRITAIN is a country _per se_--so is every Island, as it is only _per
sea_ it can be reached.
* * * * *
[Illustration: MAKING THE BEST OF IT.
"GOOD MORNING, UNCLE CHARLES! DID YOU SLEEP WELL? I'M AFRAID YOUR BED WAS
RATHER HARD AND UNEVEN; BUT----"
"OH, IT WAS ALL RIGHT, THANKS! I GOT UP NOW AND THEN DURING THE NIGHT, AND
RESTED A BIT, YOU KNOW!"]
* * * * *
MISCHIEF!
["As regards Home Rule, I did not, of course, say that there were
only three Home-Rulers in the world--Mr. GLADSTONE, Mr. MORLEY,
and myself. I said that ... there were no stronger Home-Rulers,
except myself, than Mr. GLADSTONE and Mr. MORLEY in
Parliament."--_Mr. H. Labouchere, in a Letter to the "Times."_
"Monkeys and parrots show much analogy in character and habits;
they both possess extraordinary powers of imitation, which they
exercise in copying man and his peculiarities. Monkeys 'take off'
his gestures, and parrots his speech."--_Napier's "Book of Nature
and Man."_]
Oh, a merry mime was Jacko!
He could wink, and whiff tobacco,
Like a man (an artful _homo_) and a brother.
And the Parrot--ah! for patter,
And capacity for chatter
On--no matter much _what_ matter,
That gave scope for clitter-clatter,
The world could hardly furnish such another.
The Parrot was a bird
That could talk great bosh with gravity;
The Ape could be absurd
With an air of solemn suavity;
And which to take most seriously, when the mimes were both on show,
There were ill-conditioned scoffers who declared they did not know.
"I am very sure," said Jacko, and he twitched his tail with glee,
"That the only serious creatures in the country are 'We Three'--
You, Polly, honest Jack (an Irish House-dog), and Myself!"
(Here he pulled poor Poll's tail-feathers hard, and capered like an elf.)
Poll held on to his perch, he'd much tenacity of claw,
But performed, involuntarily a sort of sharp see-saw,
And he snorted and looked down
With a very beaky frown,
And his round orb grew as red as any carrot.
"'_We Three_'? your Twelfth-Night tag
Is mere thrasonic brag.
_Tschutt!_ You'll make my tail a rag!
Wish you wouldn't pull and drag
At my feathers in that way!" cried the Parrot.
Chuckled Jacko, "This _is_ prime!
What a dickens of a time
(Like the Parrot and the Monkey in the story)
We shall have! Teach you, no doubt,
Not to leave poor Jacko out
Next time when you are ladling round the glory.
I might share with honest Jack
If of yielding I'd the knack,
Or would stoop to play the flatterer or the flunkey.
Pretty Poll! It is my pride
To assist you--from outside!
And I hope you're duly grateful," said the Monkey.
"_I_ perceive," cried Pretty Polly,
"It's all right, and awfully jolly!
But if you think to pull me from my perch
By the tail, you are mistaken.
Simian tricks will leave unshaken
My hold, though I may seem to sway or lurch.
A bird who knows his book
Can afford to cock a snook
At a chatterer who intrigueth against _his_ chief.
_'We Three'?_ You quote the Clown;
And _you play him_! Yes, I own
Pretty Poll _may_ be pulled down,
But I do not think 'twill be by Monkey 'Mischief!'"
* * * * *
For a Byronic Exam.
_Question._ What proof exists that Lord BYRON shared expenses with the Maid
of Athens?
_Answer._ The line in which he says, "Maid of Athens, ere we 'part,'"--&c.
_Q._ Is there any allusion to billiards in this poem?
_A._ Certainly. It occurs where the Bard says to the Maid, "Take the rest."
* * * * *
"AGAIN WE COME TO THEE, SAVOY!" (_vide old-fashioned duet_).--It is
rumoured that the separation, on account of incompatibility of temper,
between a certain distinguished Composer and an eminent Librettist has come
to an end. Its end is peace--that is, an Operatic piece. They have met; the
two have embraced, and will, no doubt, live happily ever afterwards, on the
same terms as before, with the third party present, whose good offices it
is pretty generally understood (his "good offices" are "Number Something,
The Savoy,"--but this is not an advertisement) have brought about this
veritable "Reunion of Arts."
* * * * *
[Illustration: MISCHIEF!]
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
_"Eton of Old, or, Eighty Years Since!"_ exclaimed the Baron, and, taking
up the handsome volume recently published by Messrs. GRIFFITH AND FARRAN,
he was soon absorbed in its pages.
* * * * *
"Rather disappointing," murmured the Baron, as he closed the book, and
"read no more that day." "Why, with a good memory, a lively imagination,
and a pleasant style, this 'Old Colleger' might have given us something far
more amusing than he has done. Of course Anybody's Anecdotes of our Grand
Old School will probably be interesting up to a certain point: and they
might be made 'funny, without being vulgar.' But this worthy Octogenarian,
be he who he may, has produced only a very matter-of-fact book, containing
historic information likely to arrest the attention of an old or young
Etonian, but only now and again does the author give us anything
sufficiently amusing to evoke a laugh. However, in the course of perusal, I
have smiled gently, but distinctly. Had the Octogenarian already told many
of these stories to his intimates, to whom their narration caused as much
facile entertainment as was given to the friends of _Mr. Peter Magnus_,
when he signed himself 'AFTERNOON,' in substitution for his initials,
'P.M.'?" And it is related how _Mr. Pickwick_ rather envied the ease with
which _Mr. Magnus's_ friends were entertained. If so, then is the Baron to
the Octogenarian Etonian and his intimates as was _Mr. Pickwick_ to "P. M."
and his correspondents. There are some good tales about KEAT and HAWTREY,
and of course the book, as one among an Etonian series, has its own value
for all who care about Eton of the past.
* * * * *
"_Perdidi diem_," says the Baron, "or at least the better part of it, in
reading _Zero the Slaver_, by LAWRENCE FLETCHER, who seems to me to be a
promising pupil in the school of RIDER HAGGARD and LOUIS STEVENSON,
but chiefly of the former. It was a beastly day, snow falling, and
North-West-by-North wind howling, bitterly cold, and so," continued the
Baron, "I was reduced to _Zero_. The construction of the plot is clever, as
is also the description of a great fight, in the latter portion of the
story; but, as a whole, the story is irritatingly ill-written, and tawdrily
coloured, while italics are used to bring into prominence any description
of some strongly sensational situation."
Few things so annoying to me, personally, as the romancer speaking of his
chief puppets as "our friends." This LAWRENCE FLETCHER is perpetually
doing. Now his heroes are not "my friends," for, when I read, I am strictly
impartial, at all events, through two-thirds of the book, and, if I learn
to love any one or two (or more) of them, male or female, I should still
resent the author's presuming to speak of them as "our friends." To do so
from the first is simply impudent presumption on the part of the author, as
why, on earth, should he assume that his creations--his children--should be
as dear to us as they are to him?
No--"Our friends," so used, is a mistake.
The influence of RIDER HAGGARD is over the whole book, but in two instances
the author has been unable to resist close imitation, nay, almost quotation
of a well-known Haggardism, and so he writes at p. 130:--
"Just then a very wonderful and awful thing happened."
And at p. 197:--
"When suddenly, and without an instant's warning, a most awful
thing happened."
Both variations on a Haggardism, and both equally spoilt in the process of
transferring and adapting.
One sentence, the utterance of a Zulu chief, is well worth quoting, and it
is this:--
"But empty hands are evil things wherewith to face a well-armed
spook."
"The well-armed spook" is a joy for ever.
_"A great black man fleeted past the rocks."_ "Hum!" quoth the Baron,
"fleeted" is a new word to me. Not that I object to its invention and use
on that account; in sound and appearance it expresses no more than "sped,"
or, if pursuit is to be implied, "fled."
Here is something that this novelist having written may well lay to heart,
_"The man was as white-skinned as themselves, and judging from the
purity of his English, must have been at one time a British
subject."_
"Now," quoth the Baron, meditatively, "if purity of English, with or
without a white skin, is the unmistakable mark of a 'British subject,' then
it follows that Mr. LAWRENCE FLETCHER is of some nationality other than
British. At least, such is the logical conclusion arrived at by his humble
but critical servant,
"THE BARON DE B. W. 'B. B.' (_British Born._)"
* * * * *
[Illustration: A VOCATION.
_The Vicar._ "OH--_THAT'S_ YOUR BOY, SMITHERS? AND WHAT'S HE GOING TO BE? A
SHOEMAKER, LIKE YOURSELF?"
_Smithers._ "OH NO, SIR. HE'S UNCOMMON FOND OF ANIMALS, YOU SEE--SO WE'RE
THINKING OF MAKING HIM A BUTCHER!"]
* * * * *
A NEW TURN.--He was an eloquent, an earnest lover, but she saw through him.
When he had sworn to be true, which oath of his she didn't trust for a
minute, and had implored her to do likewise, she only murmured to herself,
"_Had I a heart for falsehood framed_----" Whereupon he vowed that such a
thing was impossible; but, supposing her to possess such a heart, what
would she do with it, considering it as a frame? Then she replied, softly,
"I should put your portrait in it."
* * * * *
"All's Well that Ends Well."
YOUNG ABBAS thought to catch Lord CROMER napping.
Perhaps he'll not again try weasel-trapping.
E'en HOMER sometimes nods. 'Tis true--of HOMER;
But ABBAS thinks 'tis not--as yet--of CROMER!
* * * * *
MR. LABOUCHERE is, AUTOLYCUS hears, much interested in Mr. YATES'S
promotion to Magisterial honours. "I shall keep my eye on EDMUND," HENRY
says. "If only I get a chance of putting him on my weekly Pillory in
_Truth_, I do not deny it would give me keen satisfaction."
* * * * *
MRS. R. has read that the Christy Minstrels are turned into a Limited
Company, but, before subscribing for shares, she wants to know if she would
have to black her face? But what she objects to most is, that the principal
performers (as she has been told) rattle their own bones!
* * * * *
THE MAN FROM BLANKLEY'S.
A STORY IN SCENES.
SCENE III.--Mrs. TIDMARSH'S _Drawing-room. Wall-paper of big grey
peonies sprawling over a shiny pale salmon ground. Over-mantel in
black and gold. Large mirrors: cut-glass gaselier, supplemented by
two standard lamps with yellow shades. Furniture upholstered in
yellow and brown brocade. Crimson damask hangings. Parian
statuettes under glass, on walnut "What-nots"; cheap china in
rosewood cabinets. Big banner-screen embroidered in beads, with
the Tidmarsh armorial bearings, as recently ascertained by the
Heralds' College. Time, twenty minutes to eight._ Mrs. TIDMARSH
_is seated, flushed and expectant, near the fire, her little
daughter_, GWENDOLEN, _aged seven, is apparently absorbed in a
picture-book close by._ Miss SEATON _is sitting by a side-table,
at some distance from them. Enter_ Mr. TIDMARSH, _who, obeying a
sign from his wife, approaches the hearth-rug, and lowers his
voice to a cautious under-tone._
_Mr. Tid._ It's all right, SEAKALE got in at BLANKLEY'S just as they were
closing. They said they would send round and stop the person, if
possible--but they couldn't say, for certain, whether he mightn't have
started already.
_Mrs. Tid._ Then he may come, even now! May I ask what you intend to do if
he does, MONTAGUE?
_Mr. Tid._ Well, that's what I rather wanted to ask _you_, my dear. We
might tell SEAKALE to send him away.
_Mrs. Tid._ If you do, he'll be certain to send away the wrong
person--Uncle GABRIEL, as likely as not!
_Mr. Tid._ Um----yes, I never thought of that--no, he must be shown up.
Couldn't you explain to him, quietly, that we have made up our party and
shan't require his--hem--services?
_Mrs. Tid._ I? Certainly _not_, MONTAGUE. _You_ hired him, and you must get
rid of him yourself!
_Mr. Tid._ (_uneasily._) 'Pon my word, MARIA, it's an awkward thing to do.
I almost think we'd better keep him if he comes--we shall have to _pay_ for
him anyhow. After all, he'll be quite inoffensive--nobody will notice he's
been hired for the evening.
_Mrs. Tid._ He may be one of the assistants out of the shop for all we can
tell. And you're going to let him stay and make us thirteen, the identical
thing he was hired to avoid! Well, I shall have to let Miss SEATON dine,
after all--that's what it comes to, and this creature can take her down--it
will be a little change for her. GWENNIE, my pet, run down and tell SEAKALE
that if he hears me ring twice after everybody has come, he's to lay two
extra places before he announces dinner. (GWENNIE _departs reluctantly_;
Mrs. T. _crosses to_ Miss SEATON.) Oh, Miss SEATON, my husband and I have
been thinking whether we couldn't manage to find a place for you at dinner
to-night. Of course, it is _most_ unusual, and you must not expect us to
make a _precedent_ of it; but--er--you seem rather out of spirits, and
perhaps a little cheerful society--just for once----I don't know if it can
be arranged yet, but I will let you know about that later on.
_Miss Seaton_ (_to herself_). I do believe she _means_ to be kind!
(_Aloud._) Of course, I shall be very pleased to dine, if you wish it.
_Seakale_ (_at door_). Mr. and Mrs. GABRIEL GILWATTLE, and Miss BUGLE!
[_Enter a portly old Gentleman, with light prominent eyes and a
crest of grizzled auburn hair, in the wake of an imposing Matron
in ruby velvet: they are followed by an elderly Spinster in black
and silver, who rattles with jet._
_Miss Bugle_ (_after the usual greetings_). I hope, dearest MARIA, you will
excuse me if I am not quite in my usual spirits this evening; but my
cockatoo, whom I have had for ages, has been in convulsions the whole
afternoon, and though I left him calmer, done up in warm flannel on the rug
in front of the fire, and the maid promised faithfully to sit up with him,
and telegraph if there was the slightest change, I can't help feeling I
ought never to have come.
_Aunt Joanna_ (_to her host._) Such a drive as it is here, all the way from
Regent's Park, and in this fog--I told GABRIEL that if he escapes
bronchitis to-morrow----
_Seakale._ Mr. and Mrs. DITCHWATER! Mr. TOOMER!
[Illustration: "Mr. and Mrs. Ditchwater!"]
_Mr. Ditch._ Yes, dear Mrs. TIDMARSH, our opportunities for these festive
meetings grow more and more limited with each advancing year. Seven dear
friends, at whose board we have sat, and they at ours, within the past
twelve months, carried off--all gone from us!
_Mrs. Ditch._ _Eight_, JEREMIAH, if you count Mr. JAUNDERS--though _he_
only dined with us once.
_Mr. Ditch._ To be sure, and never left his bed again. Well, well, it
should teach us, as I was remarking to my dear wife as we drove along, to
set a higher value than we do on such hospitalities as we are still
privileged to enjoy.
_Mr. Toomer_ (_to_ Mrs. TID.) My poor wife would, I am sure, have charged
me with all manner of messages, if she had not been more or less delirious
all day--but I am in no anxiety about her--she is so often like that, it is
almost chronic.
_Seakale._ Mr. and Mrs. BODFISH! Miss FLINDERS! Mr. POFFLEY!
_Mr. Bodf._ (_after salutations._) Mrs. BODFISH and myself have just been
the victims of a most extraordinary mistake! We positively walked straight
into your next-door neighbour's house, and if we had not been undeceived by
a mummy on the first landing, I don't know where we should have found
ourselves next.
_Mrs. Tid._ _A mummy!_ How _very_ disagreeable; such a _peculiar_ thing to
have about a house? But we really know nothing about the people next door.
We have never encouraged any intimacy. We thought it best.
_Mrs. Bodf._ I told their man-servant as we came away that I considered he
had behaved disgracefully in not telling us our mistake at once; no doubt
he had a motive; people _are_ so unprincipled!
_Little Gwendolen_ (_drawing_ Miss SEATON _into a corner_). Oh, Miss
SEATON, what _do_ you think? Mother's going to let you dine downstairs with
them--won't _that_ be nice for you? At least, she's going to, if somebody
comes, and you're to go down with him. He isn't like a _regular_
dinner-guest, you know. Papa hired him from BLANKLEY'S this morning, and
Mother and he both hope he mayn't come, after all; but _I_ hope he _will_,
because I want to see what he's like. Don't _you_ hope he'll come? _Don't_
you, Miss SEATON, dear?
[Illustration: WRITING THE QUEEN'S SPEECH.]
_Miss Seaton_ (_to herself_). Then _that_ was why! And I can't even refuse!
(_Aloud._) My dear GWENNIE, you shouldn't tell me all these things--they're
secrets, and I'm sure your Mother would be very angry indeed if she heard
you mention them to _anybody_!
_Gwen._ Oh, it was only to you, Miss SEATON, and you're _nobody_, you know!
And I _can_ keep a secret, if I choose. I never told how JANE used
to----[Miss SEATON _endeavours to check these disclosures_.
_Uncle Gab._ (_out of temper, on the hearth-rug_). Seven minutes past the
hour, MONTY--and, if there's a thing I'm particular about, it's not being
kept waiting for my dinner. Are you expecting somebody else? or what _is_
it?
_Mr. Tid._ (_nervously_). Well, I half thought--but we won't wait any
longer for him--he is not worth it--ha! there he is--I think I heard the
front door--so perhaps I may as well give him----eh?
_Uncle Gab._ Just as you like--_my_ dinner's spoilt as it is. (_Catching
sight of the banner-screen._) What have you stuck this precious affair up
for, eh?
_Mr. Tid._ To--to keep the fire off. MARIA'S idea. Uncle--she thought
our--hem--crest and motto would look rather well made up like this.
_Uncle Gab._ (_with a snort_). Made up! I should think it was! Though what
you want to make yourself out one of those good-for-nothing aristocrats for
is beyond me. You know _my_ sentiments about 'em--I'm a thorough-going
Radical, and the very sound of a title----
_Seakale_ (_with a fine combination of awe and incredulity_). Lord
STRATHSPORRAN!
[_There is a perceptible flutter in the company, as a ruddy-haired
and rather plain young man enters with an apologetic and even
diffident air, and pauses in evident uncertainty as to his host
and hostess._
_Uncle Gab._ (_to himself._) A Lord! Bless my soul! MONTY and MARIA are
getting up in the world!
_Guests_ (_to themselves._) A Lord! No _wonder_ they kept the dinner back!
_Miss Seaton_ (_after a hurried glance--to herself._) Good Heavens! DOUGLAS
CLAYMORE!--reduced to this! [_She lowers her head._
_Mr. Tid._ (_to himself._) They might have told me they were going to send
us a Lord--_I_ never ordered one! I wonder if he's genuine--he don't _look_
it. If I could only find out, quietly!
_Mrs. Tid._ (_to herself._) Gracious! And I was going to send him in with
the Governess! (_To her Husb. in a whisper._) MONTAGUE, what are you
_about_? Go and be civil to him--do!
[_She rings the bell twice:_ Mr. TIDMARSH _advances, purple with
indignation and embarrassment, to welcome the new-comer, who
shakes him warmly by the hand_.
(_End of Scene III._)
* * * * *
HER WAY OF PUTTING IT.--Mrs. R. thinks she has an excellent memory for
riddles. She was delighted with that somewhat old conundrum about "What is
more wonderful than JONAH in the whale?" to which the answer is, "Two men
in a fly," and determined to puzzle her nephew with it the very next time
she met him. "Such a capital riddle I've got for you, JOHN!" she exclaimed,
"Let me see. Oh, yes--I remember--yes, that's it;" and then, having settled
the form of the question, she put it thus--"What is more wonderful than two
men in an omnibus?" And when she gave the answer, "JONAH in a fly," and
correcting herself immediately, said, "No--I mean, 'JONAH in a whale,'" her
nephew affectionately recommended his excellent relative to lie down and
take a little rest.
* * * * *
RAILWAY RATES.--What better rate can there be than that of the Flying
Dutchman to the South, and the Flying Scotchman to the North; the two hours
and a-half express to Bournemouth, and the Granville two hours to Ramsgate?
The word "Rates" is objectionable as being associated with taxes--and to
avoid the taxes the Fishermen are going to employ smacks and boys. Poor
boys! there are a lot of smacks about. As the Pantomime and Music-hall poet
sang, "Tooral looral lido, whacky smacky smack!" But though they, the
Fishermen, hereby avoid the Rails, yet they can't do without their network
of lines.
* * * * *
When an actor has to make love to an actress on the stage, it is "purely a
matter of business." Real "love-making" is never a matter of business; most
often 'tis very much the contrary. The "matter of business" comes in with
"making an uncommonly good marriage," but the love-making has little to do
with this, except as it is, on the stage, "a matter of business."
* * * * *
THE RAILWAY SERVANT'S VADE-MECUM.
_Question._ What are the duties of a Pointsman?
_Answer._ To remember the effect of moving the switches.
_Q._ When is he likely to cease to remember this important detail?
_A._ After he has been on duty a certain or uncertain number of hours.
_Q._ Do these conditions also appertain to the labours of a man in the
signal-box?
_A._ Certainly, but in a more marked degree.
_Q._ What would a collision consequent upon the occasion to which you have
referred be called?
_A._ Generally, "an accident."
_Q._ But would there ever be an exception to this nomenclature?
_A._ Yes; in the case of a Coroner being over-officious, and his Jury
"turning nasty."
_Q._ What would be the effect of this unpleasant combination of
circumstances?
_A._ That a verdict of "Manslaughter" would be given against the occupant
of the signal-box.
[Illustration]
_Q._ What would happen to his superiors?
_A._ Nothing. However, they would be required to see the proper evidence
was forthcoming at the prisoner's trial.
_Q._ What would be the end of the incident?
_A._ Six months hard labour from the Bench, and a day's sympathy from the
general Public for the ex-occupant of the signal-box.