PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 100.
February 7, 1891.
THE "MODEL HUSBAND" CONTEST.
SCENE THE FIRST--_AT THE GALAHAD-GREENS'_.
_Mrs. G.-G._ GALAHAD!
_Mr. G.-G._ (_meekly_). My love?
[Illustration]
_Mrs. G.-G._ I see that the proprietors of _All Sorts_ are going to
follow the American example, and offer a prize of £20 to the wife
who makes out the best case for her husband as a Model. It's just as
well, perhaps, that you should know that I've made up my mind to enter
_you_!
_Mr. G.-G._ (_gratified_). My dear CORNELIA! really, I'd no idea you
had such a--
_Mrs. G.-G._ Nonsense! The drawing-room carpet is a perfect disgrace,
and, as you can't, or won't, provide the money in any _other_ way,
why--Would you like to hear what I've said about you?
_Mr. G.-G._ Well, if you're sure it wouldn't he troubling you too
much, I _should_, my dear.
_Mrs. G.-G._ Then sit where I can see you, and listen. (_She reads._)
"Irreproachable in all that pertains to morality"--(and it would
be a bad day indeed for you, GALAHAD, if I ever had cause to think
_otherwise_.')--"morality; scrupulously dainty and neat in his
person"--(ah, you may well blush, GALAHAD, but, fortunately, they
won't want me to _produce_ you!)--"he imports into our happy home the
delicate refinement of a _preux chevalier_ of the olden time." (Will
you kindly take your dirty boots off the steel fender!) "We rule
our little kingdom with a joint and equal sway, to which jealousy
and friction are alike unknown; he, considerate and indulgent to
my womanly weakness,"--(You need not stare at me in that perfectly
idiotic fashion!)--"I, looking to him for the wise and tender support
which has never yet been denied. The close and daily scrutiny of
many years has discovered"--(What are you shaking like _that_
for?)--"discovered no single weakness; no taint or flaw of character;
no irritating trick of speech or habit." (How often have I told you
that I will _not_ have the handle of that paper-knife sucked? Put it
down; do!) "His conversation--sparkling but ever spiritual--renders
our modest meals veritable feasts of fancy and flows of soul ...
_Well_, GALAHAD?
_Mr. G.-G._ Nothing, my dear; nothing. It struck me as well,--a trifle
_flowery_, that last passage, that's all!
_Mrs. G.-G._ (_severely_). If I cannot expect to win the prize without
descending to floweriness, whose fault is _that_, I should like to
know? If you can't make sensible observations, you had better not
speak at all. (_Continuing_,) "Over and over again, gathering me in
his strong loving arms, and pressing fervent kisses upon my forehead,
he has cried, 'Why am I not a Monarch that so I could place a diadem
upon that brow? With such a Consort, am I not doubly crowned?'" Have
you anything to say to _that_, GALAHAD?
_Mr. G.-G._ Only, my love, that I--I don't seem to remember having
made that particular remark.
_Mrs. G.-G._ Then make it _now_. I'm sure I wish to be as accurate as
I _can_. [Mr. G.-G. _makes the remark--but without fervour._
SCENE THE SECOND--_AT THE MONARCH-JONES'_.
_Mr. M.-J._ Twenty quid would come in precious handy just now, after
all I've dropped lately, and I mean to pouch that prize if I can--so
just you sit down, GRIZZLE, and write out what I tell you; do you
hear?
_Mrs. M.-J._ (_timidly_). But, MONARCH, dear, would that be quite
_fair_? No, don't be angry, I didn't mean that--I'll write whatever
you please!
_Mr. M.-J._ You'd _better_, that's all! Are you ready? I must screw
myself up another peg before I begin. (_He screws._) Now, then.
(_Stands over her and dictates._) "To the polished urbanity of a
perfect gentleman, he unites the kindly charity of a true Christian."
(Why the devil don't you learn to write decently, eh?) "Liberal, and
even lavish, in all his dealings, he is yet a stern foe to every
kind of excess"--(Hold on a bit, I must have another nip after
that)--"every kind of excess. Our married life is one long dream of
blissful contentment, in which each contends with the other in loving
self-sacrifice." (Haven't you corked all that down _yet_!) "Such
cares and anxieties as he has, he conceals from me with scrupulous
consideration as long as possible"--(Gad, I should be a fool
if I _didn't_!)--"while I am ever sure of finding in him a
patient and sympathetic listener to all my trifling worries and
difficulties."--(_Two_ f's in difficulties, you little fool--can't you
even _spell_?) "Many a time, falling on his knees at my feet, he has
rapturously exclaimed, his accents broken by manly emotion, 'Oh, that
I were more worthy of such a pearl among women! With such a helpmate,
I am indeed to be envied!'" That _ought_ to do the trick. If I don't
romp in after that!--(_Observing that Mrs. M.-J.'s shoulders are
convulsed._) What the dooce are you giggling at _now_?
_Mrs. M.-J._ I--I wasn't giggling, MONARCH dear, only--
_Mr. M.-J._ Only _what_? _Mrs. M.-J._ Only crying!
THE SEQUEL.
"The Judges appointed by the spirited proprietors of _All Sorts_
to decide the 'Model Husband Contest'--which was established on
lines similar to one recently inaugurated by one of our New York
contemporaries--have now issued their award. Two competitors have sent
in certificates which have been found equally deserving of the prize;
viz., Mrs. CORNELIA GALAHAD-GREEN, Graemair Villa, Peckham, and Mrs.
GRISELDA MONARCH-JONES, Aspen Lodge, Lordship Lane. The sum of Twenty
Pounds will consequently be divided between these two ladies, to
whom, with their respective spouses, we beg to tender our cordial
felicitations."--(_Extract from Daily Paper, some six months hence._)
* * * * *
CRUMMLES REDIVIVUS!
[Illustration]
For some months Society has been on the tip-toe of expectation with
regard to the new Tragedy by Mr. SHAKSPEARE SMITHSON, which is to
inaugurate the magnificent Theatre, built at a sumptuous and total
disregard of expense by Mr. DILEY PUFF, a lineal descendant of the
great PUFF family, by intermarriage with the more recent CRUMMLES's,
expressly for the performance of the genuine English Drama. A veil of
secrecy has, however, been drawn over all the arrangements connected
with the new production. One after another the Author, the Manager,
and the leading Actors were appealed to in vain. Finally, one of
Our Representatives taking his courage in both hands, brought it and
himself safely to the stage-door of the new theatre, and knocked.
After some hesitation he was admitted by an intelligent boy, who,
however, at first seemed indisposed to be drawn into conversation,
though he admitted he had been engaged for the responsible post
of call-boy at an inadequate salary. Our Representative managed to
interest the lad in the inspection of a numismatic representation of
Her Most Gracious Majesty, which he happened to have brought with him
on the back of half-a-crown, and with which Our Representative toyed,
holding it between the thumb and dexter finger of the right hand. We
give the result in Our Representative's own words:--
"Come this way," said the boy, on whom the sight of the coin seemed
to operate like some weird talisman, leading me to a remote part
of the stage, the floor of which had been tastefully littered with
orange-peel in a variety of patterns; "we shall be comfortabler."
"Now tell me," I said, "about this new piece."
"It's what they call a Tragedy," said the boy.
"Ah!" I replied, "that is interesting; but I want to know about the
Author. What do you think of him?"
"The horther? Oh my!" said the precocious lad, producing an apple from
his trousers' pocket, but his right eye still fixed on the talisman,
"'e don't count. Why we none of us pays no attention to 'im. Crikey,
you should 'a seen 'im come a cropper on his nut down them new steps.
But, look 'ere, Sir," he continued, more solemnly, "I'm a tellin'
yer secrets, I am; and if DILEY were to 'ear of it, I'd get a proper
jacketin'. Swear you won't peach."
I gave the requisite pledge. "And that ere arf-crown?" he said. I
nodded assent to what was evidently in his mind. Then he resumed.
"It's a beautiful piece. The play, I mean," he explained; being
fearful lest I should consider him as over-eager for the coveted and
covenanted reward. "I'm sure o' that. The horther says so, and DILEY
says so, and Miss O'GRADY says so; she's got the 'eroine to play,--and
oh, don't she die in the lawst Act just proper, with pink light and
a couple o' angels to carry 'er up! Then there's Mr. KEANE 'ARRIS, 'e
touches 'em all up with 'is sword, 'places his back to the wall, and
defies the mob,' is what the book says. So you may take it from me,
it's fust-rate."
I thanked my intelligent little friend for his information, and was
proceeding to put a further question about the music for this new
Drama, which, as everyone will soon know, is to be a real _chef
d'oeuvre_ of Sir HAUTHOR SUNNIVUN, when a step was heard approaching
across the stage--the deepest, by the way, in London--to where we were
talking.
"That's 'im," said the boy, trembling. "'E's a noble-'earted master,
so kind and generous, but 'e 'ates deception, and it would be more
than my place is worth to let 'im catch me talking these 'ere dead
secrets to you. Give us the coin. I'm orf!"
And, before I was able to carry out my portion of the contract, he was
gone. And in another moment--so was I.
* * * * *
[Illustration: BRUIN JUNIOR.
"May this be my poison, if my Bear ever dances but to the very
genteelest of tunes, '_Water-parted_,' or '_The Minuet in Ariadne.'"
She Stoops to Conquer_.
_Viceroy_ (_to Miss India, loquitur_). "DON'T BE ALARMED, MY DEAR!
THIS BEAR NEVER DANCES BUT TO THE VERY GENTEELEST OF TUNES!"
Lord LANSDOWNE, _loquitur_:--
Be easy, my darling! He doesn't come snarling,
Or rearing, or hugging, this young Dancing Bear.
With you (and with pleasure) he'll tread a gay measure,
A captive of courtesy, under my care;
His chain is all golden. Your heart 'twill embolden,
And calm that dusk bosom which timidly shrinks.
Sincere hospitality is, in reality,
Safest of shackles;--just look at the links!
Alarmists saw ruin in prospects of Bruin,
The Great Northern Bear, treading India's soil.
How bogies may blind us! On our side the Indus
They fancy friend Ursa spies nothing but spoil;
But Ursa's _invited_ to come, and delighted
To visit you, not as aggressor, but guest.
So welcome him brightly, and treat him politely.
And trip with him lightly, you'll find it far best,
ATTA TROLL (HEINE tells us) "danced nobly." Pride swells us
To think our young guest is a true ATTA TROLL;
No Bugbear, though shaggy, a trifle breech-baggy,
And not altogether a dandyish doll;
No Afghan intrigue, dear, or shy Native league, dear,
Has brought Bruin's foot o'er our frontier to dance:
He comes freely, boldly--don't look on him coldly,
Or make him suspect there is _fear_ in your glance.
Be sure that the Lion will still keep his eye on
All Bears and their dens, in the Tiger's behalf;
Meanwhile Ursa Minor eschews base design, or
Intrigue against _you_, dear. Lift eyes, love, and laugh!
I'll answer for Bruin, he shall not take _you_ in--
The Bear's _bona fides_ nobody impugns;
He asks a kind glance, and your hand in a dance; and
He'll dance "to the very genteelest of tunes"!]
* * * * *
THE UP-TO-DATE CONVERSATIONIST.
_He_ (_at the end of a turn_). I see there's been a row in Chili--what
do you think about it?
_She_. I don't know the place--isn't it somewhere in America?
_He_. I shouldn't be surprised if it were, but my geography's shaky. I
rather fancy it's somehow connected with pickles.
_She_. Oh, then it's a mistake their quarrelling, as I suppose it will
be hard upon the poor, especially during the winter?
_He_. Fancy that's the idea. Been to the Guelph Exhibition?
_She_. Yes, and I think it's a pity they took the jewels out of GEORGE
THE FOURTH's Crown. I should like to have seen the Koh-i-Noor.
_He_. But they wanted them for the one at the Tower, don't you know,
and as for the Koh-i-Noor, was _that_ invented in his time?
_She_. Perhaps it wasn't. Stay, wasn't it discovered by Captain COOK,
or DRAKE, or somebody?
_He_. I daresay. I have never looked the matter up. _À propos_,
One-pound Bank-notes are to be issued.
_She_. Are they? I suppose they will be useful for change?
_He_. Shouldn't be astonished, but don't pretend to know anything
about it. By the way, do you take much interest in the subjects we
have been discussing?
_She_. Not the faintest.
_He_. No more do I! [_Waltz continued._
* * * * *
DEARNESS AND DEARTH.
"Spanish onions are rising in price, though probably only
temporarily."--_Daily News_.
I.
Will it be long, then--long?
For the people watch and wait,
Till the strength of the onion makes them strong,
At only the normal rate.
And their eyes are dim with tears,
And ache with the need of sleep.
And watch till the lapse of the lapsing years
Shall make the onions cheap.
Cheap, my love, cheap! Sleep, my love, sleep!
Onions are dear, love, but sentiment's cheap!
II.
Listen! Is it a voice
Calling--again--again,
Or a fragrance to make my heart rejoice
From the sunlit land of Spain?
Listen, my own, my bride,
While the glad tears dew your cheek,
They are fried, my bride, by the sad sea tide
With a smell that can almost speak
Creep, my love, creep into the deep,
And sing to the fishes that onions are cheap.
* * * * *
THE PROPOSED ONE-POUND NOTES.--"Ne-Goschenable currency."
* * * * *
AN ELEGY ON A MAD DOG.
(_AFTER GOLDSMITH, MORE OR LESS._)
Good patriots all of every sort,
Give ear unto my song,
For if in substance it is short,
In moral it is strong.
[Illustration]
At Hawarden lived a Grand Old Man,
Of whom the world might say,
A wondrous lengthy race he ran,
And won it all the way.
[Illustration]
Some swore he'd veer to catch a vote;
Old age to flout one loathes,
But, if he never turned his coat,
He often changed his clothes.
[Illustration]
Hard by an Irish dog was found,
As many dogs there be,
Hibernian mongrel, puppy, hound,
And curs of low degree.
This dog and man at first seemed friends,
But, when a pique began,
The dog, to gain his private ends,
Went mad, and bit the man!
[Illustration]
To see so strange and sad a sight
Quidnuncs and _gobemouches_ ran,
And swore the dog was rabid quite
To bite that Grand Old Man.
[Illustration]
The wound indeed seemed sore and sad
To every party eye,
And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man must die.
[Illustration]
But marvels sometimes come to light
Rash prophets to belie.
The man seems healing of the bite,
The dog looks like to die!
* * * * *
Remarkable Conversion.
"CANON TEIGNMOUTH SHORE proposes to convert the two Convocations." ...
that is startling without the context--"into one National Synod." But
two into one won't go. How will he manage it? Will those in the York
ship join the Canterbury, or _vice versâ_? Or, quitting both ships,
will they land on common ground? "Who's for SHORE?"
* * * * *
PAR ABOUT PICTURES.--"_Over the Garden Wall_," seems to be the song
that Mr. G.S. ELGOOD sings at the Fine Art Society's Gallery. In the
course of his travels he has been over a good many garden walls.
At Wroxton, Compton Wynyates, Penshurst, Montacute, Berkeley, and
Helmingham, he has pursued his studies to some purpose; the result
is an enjoyable collection of pictures, which he entitles, "A Summer
among the Flowers."
* * * * *
BRUSTLES' BISHOP.
(_BY A MUDDLED MORALIST._)
CHAPTER I.
BEN BRUSTLES was only a poor shoeblack-boy who cleaned boots--ay, and
even shoes, for his daily bread. Such time as he could spare from his
avocation he devoted to diligent study of the doctrine of chance, as
exemplified in the practice of pitch-and-toss. Often and often, after
pitching and tossing in the cold wet streets for long weary hours,
he would return home without a halfpenny. Think of this, ye more
fortunate youths, who sit at home at ease, and play Loto for nuts! But
through all his vicissitudes, BEN kept a stout heart, never losing his
conviction that something--he knew not what--would eventually turn up.
Sometimes it was heads, at others tails: and in either case the poor
boy lost money by it--but he persevered notwithstanding, confident
that Fortune would favour him at last. It is this spirit of undaunted
enterprise that has made our England what it is!
[Illustration: Brustles Blacking.]
And one day Fortune did favour him. He observed, as he knelt before
his box, a portly and venerable person close by, who was engrossed
in studying, with apparent complacency, his own reflection in a
plate-glass shop-front. So naïve a display of personal vanity, in
one whose dress and demeanour denoted him a Bishop, not unnaturally
excited BENJAMIN's interest, nor was this lessened when the stranger,
after shaking his head reproachfully at his reflected image, advanced
to the shoe-black's box as if in obedience to a sudden impulse.
"My lad," he said, with a certain calm dignity, "will you be so good
as to black both my legs for me--at once?"
This unusual request, conceived as it was on a larger scale than the
orders he habitually received, startled the youth, particularly as
he noted that the symmetrical and well-turned limb which the Bishop
extended consisted, like its fellow, of a rare and costly species of
mahogany, and shone with the rich and glossy hue of a newly-fallen
horse-chestnut, "I see," commented the Bishop, with a melancholy
smile, "that you have already discovered that my lower members are
the product--not of Nature, but of Art. It was not always thus with
me--but in my younger days I was an ardent climber--indeed, I am still
an Honorary Member of the Hampstead Heath Alpine Club. Many years
since, whilst scaling Primrose Hill, I was compelled, by a sudden
storm, to take refuge in a half-way hut, where I passed the night,
exposed to all the rigours of an English Midsummer! When I awoke
I found, to my surprise, that both my legs had been bitten by the
relentless frost short off immediately below the knee, and I had to
continue the ascent next day in a basket. On descending, I caused
these substitutes to be fashioned, and on them I stumped my way to
the exalted position I now fill, nor have I ever evinced any physical
inconveniences from my misfortune, save in one particular--that it
has rendered the assumption of gaiters unhappily out of the question!
But, possibly, my wish to have these legs of mine disguised by your
pigments, strikes you as bizarre, if not positively eccentric? You
will better understand my reasons after you have heard a confession
which, though necessary, is, believe me, painful to make." And the
good old man, after a short internal struggle, began the following
narrative, which we reserve for a succeeding chapter.