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PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOLUME 98.
MARCH 1, 1890.
* * * * *
UNTILED; OR, THE MODERN ASMODEUS.
"Tres volontiers," repartit le demon. "Vous aimez les tableaux
changeans: je veux vous contenter."
_Le Diable Boiteux._
[Illustration:]
XXI.
"Though cold the coxcomb, and though coarse the boor,
Though dulness haunts the rich and pain the poor,
In this colossal city,
Yet London is not Rome, O Shade!" I said.
"A later JUVENAL should not find her dead
To purity and pity."
"Satire, of shames and follies in sole quest,
Is a one-eyed divinity at best,"
My guide responded, slowly.
"The tale of ZOILUS hath its moral still.
Such critics are but blowflies, their small skill
To carrion given wholly.
"Not all the Romans of DOMITIAN's days
Were such as live in JUVENAL's savage lays;
Not all the Latian ladies
Were HIPPIAS or COLLATIAS. Neither here
May all be gauged by satire's rule severe,
Or earth would be a Hades.
"The scalpel hath no terrors for the sound,
Nor is the hand that wields it harshly bound
To ceaseless vivisection.
The Cynic sharply sees, but sees not far;
The eye that hunts the mote may miss the star
Too great for scorn's detection.
"Dream not, oh friend, because I let the light
On lurid London through the cloak of night
(As was my undertaking.)
That I've a spirit wholly given to scorn,
Or blind to all, save sin, that with the morn
Will see a bright awaking.
"Yet could the freedman's son but wield his flail
In London, there are those might shrink and pale
As did DOMITIAN'S minion.
PARIS lives yet, pander and parasite
Still flaunt in bold impunity, despite
A custom-freed opinion.
"Dull in the drawing-room, our beardless boys
Can sparkle in the haunts of coarser joys,
Coldness and muteness vanish
When TULLIA dances or when POLLIO sings.
With riotous applause the precinct rings,
There chill restraint they banish.
"Behold Lord LIMPET in his gilded Box,
His well-gloved palms and scarlet silken socks
Actively agitated;
He who erewhile about the ball-room stood
A solemn, weary, whispering thing of wood,
And sneered, and yawned, and waited."
"Wondrous!" I cried. "The youngster's cheeks flush red,
Wide laugh his lips, and swiftly wags his head,
He cheers, he claps, he chuckles.
Can he, the languid lounger limp and faint
Give way to mirth with the mad unrestraint
Of boys with ribs and knuckles?
"Frankly _canaille_ is that dancing chit
Slang and suggestiveness serve her for wit,
And impudence for beauty.
Yet frigid 'Form' melts at her cockney spell,
'Form,' which votes valsing with the reigning belle
An undelightful duty.
"Bounds on the arch-buffoon, with flexile face,
With bagman smartness and batrachian grace.
Is he not sweet and winning?
Mime of the gutter, mimic of the slum,
Muse of the haunts unspeakable, else dumb,
A satyr gross and grinning?
"LIMPET smiled," he said. "SHAKSPEARE'S boldest wit
Leaves LIMPET listless, but each feature lit
At that last comic chorus.
London is full of LIMPETS; clownings please
The well-groom'd mob, though ARISTOPHANES
Would miserably bore us.
"Untile the Town entirely? Nay, good friend,
That were to affright the timid, and offend
The tender and the trustful.
Unlifted yet must lie the dusky screen
That veils the viler features of the scene,
The dread and the disgustful."
"Shadow!" I said, "Civilisation fails,
While surfeits Idleness, and Labour pales.
For all its spread and glitter,
The Titan City lacks its crowning grace
And glory, whilst its pleasure is so base,
Its bondage is so bitter."
"True!" sighed the Shadow, and a softened smile
Seemed to illume the coldness, void of guile,
Of those phantasmal features.
"When from the City's gloom shall flash to light
This truth: The sleek and selfish sybarite
Is meanest of God's creatures?"
"Shadow!" I cried. But in the darkness dim
Those lineaments did waver and dislimn
Like clouds at the sun's waking.
Alone I stood; fled was the night, the dream,
And o'er the sleeping City's sullen stream
Babylon's grey dawn was breaking.
THE END.
* * * * *
A DIAG-NOSE-IS OF WINE.--The Case of Champagne set before Mr. Alderman
and Sheriff DAVIES. Of course, the worthy Alderman, who is a judge of
wine, needed only to raise the glass to his nose. He smelt it to see if
it was Corke'd. But in answer to the charge of false labelling, it
should have been simply pleaded that, at the manufactory, the labels
were not simply put on, but Clapt-on. Whether this defence would have
gone to mitigate the fine of twenty pounds, is another matter. The
Alderman's decision was given, much as the public generally pay for
Champagne,--good or bad,--that is, "through the nose."
* * * * *
THE CHAMELEON "REPORT".
_Entirely New Version._
("The bearings of it lie in the application,"--to a certain Report.)
Time to the eager seems to lag,
Howe'er his glass be shaken;
Yet struck the hour when from the bag
The Creature should be taken.
Three Judges sage had cooped it there
Three Judges wise, three Judges fair,
At him Society will ejaculate
Who hints a Judge is _not_ immaculate.
The Judge's ermine none dares dim
(Unless the Judge differs from _him_).
Now men discussed, with glee or dolour,
The question of the Creature's colour.
"Black as my hat," cries one, "_I_ know."
"Nay!" shouts another, "white as snow!"
Whether the thing revealed should prove
To ape the Raven or the Dove,
Was matter of dispute most furious;
Angry were most, and all were curious.
At last arrived the eventful day
When from the bag the thing must crawl,
And lo! the Creature's tint was _grey_,
Which disappointed all.
But though Truth brings a brief confusion
To obstinate foregone conclusion,
Prejudice, routed most dis_mally_,
Will quickly to Unreason rally.
And so the one side would remark
That for a grey 'twas wondrous _dark_;
The other side did more than hint
_They_ never saw so _light_ a tint;
"Deep iron-grey!" said one, "Oh, stuff!"
Another cried at most a buff!
"In tint below, in hue above,
'Tis little deeper than a Dove!
In fact, looked at in a strong light,
'Tis scarce distinguishable from white!"
"_White!_" yelled a third, with rage half
throttled,
"With jet-black streaks 'tis thickly mottled.
If not pure Raven, all must own
No Magpie hath a sootier tone!"
And so the rival parties raged and wrangled;
Judgment considered whilst the bigots jangled,
And the great bulk of _them_ 'twas sad to find,
Wore party-coloured specs., or else were colour-blind!
* * * * *
[Illustration: GARRICK THEATRE.]
The Hare Apparent in a New Pair of Spectacles.
* * * * *
[Illustration: ONLY A DROP!]
_Shareholder._ "HALLO! I DON'T SEEM TO BE GETTING MUCH OUT OF THIS!
WHAT'S THE MATTER?"
_Standard._ "MATTER? THERE'S A LEAKAGE SOMEWHERE!"
* * * * *
ALL FOR THE SAKE OF THE ARMY!
_From Mr. C. Bounder to Mr. T. Tenterfive._
DEAR TOMMY,--I say, can't you give me a leg up, to get the Government to
adopt my confounded pop-guns? The foreigners don't seem to see them
much, and, hang it all! a true-hearted Johnnie should give his native
land the first chance.
Thine ever,
CHARLES BOUNDER.
_From Mr. T. Tenterfive to Mr. C. Bounder._
DEAR CHARLEY,--I'm afraid I'm not of much use. Send in application about
your pop-guns, and I will look after it as much as can. You mustn't
expect much, as the Department has a way of knocking a thing about for
months--sometimes years--and then quietly shelving it. Hope to see you
soon.
Thine ever,
THOMAS TENTERFIVE.
_Report of Ordnance Committee, to be forwarded to the Adjutant-General._
We have examined the Bounder Patent Ironclad Pocket Revolving
Cannonette, and consider it a weapon that might possibly be introduced
into the Service with advantage, if the cost of production is not
excessive.
_Report of Adjutant-General, to be forwarded to Quartermaster-General._
I enclose report of Ordnance Committee of which I approve. However, as
the matter involves a financial question, your opinion thereon would be
of great value.
_Report of the Quartermaster-Gen., to be forwarded to Inspector-Gen. of
Fortifications._
CAN offer no suggestion about the cost of production until it can be
ascertained whether the Cannonette will be suitable for Home Defences.
What is your opinion on this point?
_Report of Inspector-General of Fortifications, to be forwarded to
Secretary of State._
No doubt the Cannonette might be used in a variety of ways. But it will
be observed that the Ordnance Committee raised the question of
expense--a matter that scarcely concerns my Department.
_Memo. of Secretary of State, to be forwarded to Financial Secretary._
PLEASE read inclosed Report, and send on.
_Report of Financial Secretary, to be forwarded to the Director-General
of Ordnance._
It is premature to consider the question of expense until it has been
decided that the introduction of this Cannonette will be of advantage to
the Service. The Ordnance Committee use the words, "Might possibly,"
which are not, in themselves, a strong recommendation. It must be borne
in mind that the Army Estimates must be calculated with the greatest
attention to economy.
_Report of Director-General of Ordnance to Commander-in-Chief._
I HAVE examined Cannonette, which appears to have been constructed on
the lines of a weapon manufactured in the reign of HENRY THE EIGHTH, of
which there is a specimen in the Museum at Woolwich.
_Endorsement of Commander-in-Chief. (Packet to be put in Pigeon-hole_
404,567 B.)
POSSIBLY something in the notion--immediate attention unnecessary.
_From Mr. T. Tenterfive to Mr. C. Bounder._
DEAR CHARLEY,--Have just been looking through our papers relative to
your pop-gun. I am afraid you will have to wait for a decision a good
long while.
Thine ever,
THOMAS TENTERFIVE.
* * * * *
[Illustration: DISILLUSION.]
_Proud Mother._ "I SEE, HERBERT, 'S.P.G.' SEVERAL TIMES OCCURRING AMONG
YOUR EXPENSES. I'M GLAD TO FIND YOU CAN SPARE SOMETHING OCCASIONALLY FOR
THAT EXCELLENT SOCIETY."
_Schoolboy._ "IT'S NOT EXACTLY THAT, MUMMY DEAR. IT STANDS FOR
_'SUNDRIES--PROBABLY GRUB_!'"
* * * * *
ANOTHER OF ROBERT'S XSTRORNERRY ADWENCHURS.
It was ony the beginnin of larst week, as I was a seekin to begile my
rayther tiresum lezzure by a wark down Cornhill--tho which is hup and
which is down that rayther strait hill it is sumtimes difficult to
say--that jest as I was a passing by the, to me, amost sacred
establishment of Messrs. BRING AND RHYMER, the great Cooks, as amost
everybody knos and reweres, I seed a henwellop a laying on the
pavement, which I naterally picked up, and put in my pocket quietly, and
then, crossing over to the Royal Xchange, jest hoppersit, I sets down on
one of the forms kindly purwided by the generus Copperashun and the
Mersers Company, six of one, and arf a dozzen of the other, for the rest
of the weary traveller.
Then I quietly hopened my henwellop--which, strange to say, hadn't no
name on it--and hinside it I found a check for twenty-five pounds! It
was payable to "No. 2,437, or Bearer." I was that estonished that I
amost thort I shoud have feinted, the more so as won of the Beedles was
a looking at me rayther pointedly, as I thort, tho I dessay it was ony
my gilty conshence, which, as sumboddy says, makes cowards of ewen Hed
Waiters, as well as all the rest of us. So I quietly put my henwellop
with its corstly contents into my pocket, and quietly warked away bang
into the Bank as was printed in the check, and there I hands it to the
Clark at the Counter as bold as brass. Well, he jest looks at it, and
then he says, "How will you take it,--short?" So I larfs, and I says, "I
shood like it all, please." Then he larfs, and he says, "Gold or Notes?"
So I says, "Sum of each, please, in a little bag." So he gave it me, and
then, I so astonishes his week nerves by what I next said, that he
turned amost pail. "I now wants you," I sed, "to send one of your yung
gennelmen with me to the Firm as drawed that check; for it isn't reelly
mine, for I ony found it!" So he did, as it was ony a little ways off;
and there, sure enuff, was too most respectful looking Gents in a
counting-'ouse a counting out their money, like the King in the Fairy
Tail.
"Well, my good man, and what do you want?" one of 'em said to me. So I
told 'em, and at the close of my story emtied out all the contents of my
little bag to the werry uttermost harf sovverain. "And, who is this
gennelman?" they said. "Oh," said I, "he is the Clark from the Bank cum
for to see that I acted on the square." "Well, you needn't wait any
longer," they said to him; so off he went.
So the elder one, he says to me, what is your name? "ROBERT", I
naterally replied, and amost xpected he was a going to arsk me, "who
gave me that name," but he didn't. So he larfed, and he said, "But there
are so many of that name about, that you must tell me somethink more."
So I plucked up my curridge, and I says, boldly, "Please, Gennelmen, I
am ROBERT the City Waiter!" Well, I thinks as I never seed such a change
as cum over them too highly respectabel City Gents! They larfed quite
out loud, and they both got up and shook hands with me, and then they
larfed again, and then one on 'em said, what a lucky thing it was that
their lost check had fallen into sich honnest hands! Ah, what a grand
thing is a good karacter!--it's even better than reel Turtel and
Madeary!
They then made me set down, and they larfed, and they chatted away, and
arsked me lots of questions, all about my warious experiences, and the
young one arsked me if I rememberd the dinner at the Manshun 'Ouse, when
he asked me for sum more champane, saying, "I 'spose it is _had lib_?"
To which, he said, I replied, "Suttenly not! you can have as much as you
like!" And then they both larfed again quite hartily, tho' I'm sure I
coudn't see what there was to larf at.
They then arsked me jest to step out for a minnit or two, and when they
called me in they told me how pleased they was with my conduck, and, if
not offending me, they begged my acceptnse of a trifle, which shall be
nameless, but which made that memmurable day about the most
proffitablest I ewer remember.
ROBERT.
* * * * *
MR. PUNCH'S MORAL MUSIC-HALL DRAMAS.
No. VII.-RECLAIMED! (CONCLUDED.)
[Our readers will doubtless recollect the thrilling situation upon
which we were forced to drop the curtain. Lady BELLEDAME, the
hardened Grandmother of Little ELFIE, has, under the influence of
that angel-child, just vowed to amend, when, in the person of her
minion, MONKSHOOD, she is reminded of the series of atrocious crimes
she had been contemplating through his instrumentality. Struck with
remorse, she attempts to countermand them--only to find that her
orders have already been executed with a too punctual fidelity! Now
we can go on.]
[Illustration:]
_Lady B._ (_in a hoarse whisper_). You--you have left the parcels ...
all--_all_? Tell me--how were they received? Speak low--I would not that
yonder child should awake and hear!
_Little Elfie_ (_behind the screen, very wide awake indeed_). Dear, good
old Grannie--she would conceal her generosity--even from _me_!
(_Loudly._) She little thinks that I am overhearing all!
_Monks._ I could have sworn I heard whispering.
_Lady B._ Nay, you are mistaken--'twas but the wind in the old wainscot.
(_Aside._) He is quite capable of destroying that innocent child; but,
old and attached servant as he is, there are liberties I still know how
to forbid. (_To_ M.) Your story--quick!
_Monks._ First, I delivered the cigars to Sir VEVEY LONG, whom I found
under his verandah. He seemed surprised and gratified by the gift,
selected a weed, and was proceeding to light it, whilst he showed a
desire to converse familiarly with me. 'Astily excusing myself, I drove
away, when----
_Lady B._ When _what_? Do not torture a wretched old woman!
_Monks._ When I heard a loud report behind me, and, in the portion of a
brace, two waistcoat-buttons, and half a slipper, which hurtled past my
ears, I recognised all that was mortal of the late Sir VEVEY. You mixed
them cigars uncommon strong, m'Lady.
_Elfie_ (_aside_). Can it be? But no, no. I will _not_ believe it. I am
sure that dear Granny meant no harm!
_Lady B._ (_with a grim pride she cannot wholly repress_). I have
devoted some study to the subject of explosives. 'Tis another triumph to
the Anti-tobacconists. And what of Lady VIOLET POWDRAY--did she apply
the salve?
_Monks._ Judging from the 'eartrending 'owls which proceeded from
Carmine Cottage, the salve was producing the desired result. Her
Ladyship, 'owever, terminated her sufferings somewhat prematoor by
jumping out of a top winder just as I was taking my departure----
_Lady B._ She should have died hereafter--but no matter ... and the
Upas-tree?
_Monks._ Was presented to the PERGAMENTS, who unpacked it, and loaded
its branches with toys and tapers; after which Mr. PERGAMENTS, Mrs. P.,
and all the little PERGAMENTS joined 'ands, and danced round it in light
'arted glee. (_In a sombre tone._) They little knoo as how it was their
dance of death!
_Lady B._ That knowledge will come! And the beer, MONKSHOOD--you saw it
broached?
_Monks._ Upon the village green; the mortality is still spreading, it
being found impossible to undo the knots in which the victims had tied
themselves. The sweetmeats were likewise distributed, and the floor of
the hinfant-school now resembles one vast fly-paper.
_Lady B._ (_with a touch of remorse_). The children, too! Was not my
little ELFIE once an infant? Ah me, ah me!
_Elfie_ (_aside_). Once--but that was long, long ago. And, oh, _how_
disappointed I am in poor dear Grandmamma!
_Lady B._ MONKSHOOD, you should not have done these things--you should
have saved me from myself. You _must_ have known how greatly all this
would increase my unpopularity in the neighbourhood.
_Monks._ (_sulkily_). And this is my reward for obeying orders! Take
care, my Lady. It suits you now to throw me aside like a--(_casting
about for an original simile_)--like a old glove, because this innocent
grandchild of yours has touched your flinty 'art. But where will _you_
be when she learns----?
_Lady B._ (_in agony_). Ah, no, MONKSHOOD, good, faithful MONKSHOOD, she
must never know that! Think, MONKSHOOD, you would not tell her that the
Grandmother to whom she looks up with such touching, childlike love, was
a--_homicide_--you would not do that?
_Monks._ Some would say even 'omicide was not too black a name for all
you've done. (Lady BELLEDAME _shudders_.) I might tell Miss ELFIE how
you've blowed up a live Baronet, corrosive sublimated a gentle Lady,
honly for 'aving, in a moment of candour, called you a hold cat, and
distributed pison in a variety of forms about this smiling village; and,
if that don't inspire her with distrust, I don't know the nature of
children, that's all! I might tell her, I say, and, if I'm to keep my
mouth shut, I shall expect it to be considered in my wages.
_Lady B._ I knew you had a good heart! I will pay you
anything--anything, provided you shield my guilt from her ... wait, you
shall have gold, gold, MONKSHOOD, gold!
[_Chord. Little_ ELFIE _suddenly comes from behind screen; limelight on
her. The other two shrink back._
_Elfie._ Do not give that bad old man money, Grandmother,--for it will
only be wasted.
_Lady B._ Speak, child--how much do you know?
_Elfie._ All!
[_Chord._ Lady B. _collapses on chair._
_Lady B._ (_with an effort_). And now, ELFIE, that you know, you scorn
and hate your poor old Grandmother--is it not so?
_Elfie._ It is wrong to hate one's Grandmother, whatever she does. At
first, when I heard, I was very, very sorry. I _did_ think it was most
unkind of you. But now, oh, I _can't_ believe that you had not some
good, wise motive, in acting as you did!
_Lady B._ (_in conscience-stricken aside_). Even _this_ cannot shatter
her artless faith ... Oh, wretch, wretch!
[_Covers her face._
_Monks._ Motive--I believe you there, Missie. Why, she went and insured
all their lives aforehand, _she_ did.
_Lady B._ MONKSHOOD, in pity hold your peace!
_Elfie_ (_her face beaming_). I knew it--I was sure of it! Oh, Granny,
my dear, kind old Granny, you insured their lives first, so that no real
harm could possibly happen to them--oh, I am so happy!
_Lady B._ (_aside_). What shall I say? Merciful Powers, what _shall_ I
say to her?
[_Disturbed sounds without._
_Monks._ I don't know what you'd better _say_, but I can tell you what
your Ladyship had better _do_--and that is, take your 'ook while you
can. Even now the outraged populace approaches, to wreak a hawful
vengeance upon your guilty 'ed!
[_Melodramatic music._
_Lady B._ (_distractedly_). A mob! I cannot face them--they will tear me
limb from limb. At my age I could not survive such an indignity as that!
Hide me, MONKSHOOD--help me to escape!
_Monks._ There is a secret underground passage, known only to myself,
communicating with the nearest railway station. I will point it out, and
personally conduct your Ladyship--for a consideration--one thousand
pounds down.
[_The noise increases._
_Elfie._ No, Grannie, don't trust him! Be calm and brave. Await the mob
here. Leave it all to me. I will explain everything to them--how you
meant no ill,--how, at the very time they thought you were meditating an
injury, you were actually spending money in insuring all their lives.
When I tell them _that_----
_Monks._ Ah, you tell 'em that, and see. It's too late now--they are
here.
[_Shouts without. Lady B. crouches on floor. Little_ ELFIE _goes to the
window, throws open the shutters, and stands on balcony in her
fluttering white robe, and the limelight._
_Elfie._ Yes, they are here. Why, they are carrying torches!--(Lady B.
_groans_)--and banners, too! I think they have a band ... Who is that
tall, stout gentleman, in the white hat, on horseback, and the lady in a
pony-trap, with, oh, such a beautiful complexion! There is an
inscription on one of the flags--I can read it quite plainly. "_Thanks
to the generous Donor!_" (That must be _you_, Grandmother!) And there
are children who dance, and scatter flowers. They are asking for a
speech. (_Speaking off._) "If you please, Ladies and Gentlemen, my
Grandmamma is not at all well, but she wishes me to say she wishes you a
Merry Christmas, and is very glad you all like your presents so much.
Good-bye, _good_-bye! (_Returning down Stage._) Now they have gone away,
Granny ... They did look so grateful!
_Lady B._ (_bewildered_). What is this? Sir VEVEY, Lady VIOLET,--alive,
well? This deputation of gratitude? Am I mad, dreaming--or what does it
all mean?
_Monks._ (_doggedly_). It means that the sight of this 'ere angel-child
recalled me to a sense of what I might be exposin' myself to by carrying
out your Ladyship's commands; and so I took the liberty of substitootin
gifts more calculated to inspire gratitude in their recipients--that's
what it means.
_Lady B._ Wretch!--then you have disobeyed me? You leave this day month!
_Elfie_ (_pleading_). Nay, Grandmother, bear with him, for has not his
disobedience spared you from acts that you might some day have
regretted?... There, Mr. Butler, Granny forgives you--see, she holds out
her hand, and here's mine; and now----
_Lady B._ (_smiling tenderly_). Now you shall sing us "_Woa, Lucinda!_"
[_Little_ ELFIE _fetches her banjo, and sings, "Woa, Lucinda!" her
Grandmother and the aged Steward joining in the dance and chorus, and
embracing the child, to form picture as Curtain falls._
* * * * *
MODERN TYPES.
(_By Mr. Punch's Own Type-writer._)
No. II.--THE CORINTHIAN LADY.
[Illustration:]
The Corinthian Lady is the latest resultant of the two forces of _ennui_
and dissipation acting on a Society that is willing to spend money and
desires to kill time. She has played many parts, some (of infinitesimal
proportions), on the burlesque stage, others in the semi-private life of
her own residence in the South-west district of London. Her versatility
has gained for her many admirers and a precarious income, but so long as
she possesses the former she scorns to live upon the latter. Being
unquestionably a real lady, she has been elected an honorary member of a
night club to which undoubted gentlemen resort. There she occasionally
consents to dance; more often she sups to an accompaniment of Viennese
music, loud and mirthless laughter, jests which are as fatuous as they
are suggestive, and wine which, unlike the humour of the plated youths,
her companions, is always sparkling and sometimes dry.
Her real name is a mystery, which, however, she did not find attractive.
Having, therefore, abandoned it, she generally substitutes for it the
patronymic of a Norman peer, but, lest this should be thought too
strong, she dilutes it by the addition of a pet name drawn from the
nursery. By this title her fame is celebrated amongst many foolish young
men who singe themselves at the flame of her friendship, and many others
who, wishing to be thought wise, pretend to know her. Like all doves,
she plumes herself on her good looks. Unlike them, she is proud of her
bad habits; but she is a stern censor, and shows scant mercy to those
colleagues who, surpassing her in the former, lack means or chances to
attain to the splendour of the latter. Should one of these happen to be
admitted to a club she frequents, or to a supper-party she honours with
her presence, she has been known to wrap herself in her sealskins, and
to depart indignantly in her private brougham.
She possesses the secret of nocturnal youth, and her eyes are warranted
to kill across a supper-table, yet she is no longer young, and sometimes
betrays herself by her anecdotes of familiar associations with "boys"
who have long since passed into respectability and middle-age. Though
she adores diamonds, she frequently sells them, and includes in the
transaction those who have purchased them for her; yet she retains and
wears as many jewels as would furnish forth a Duchess in a _Bow Bells_
novel. But her elbow gloves, which rarely come within a measurable
distance of godliness, inevitably proclaim the Corinthian.
She is constant only in her love of excitement, and in her devotion to
change, whether it be of the persons of her adorers, or of the colour of
her hair. Having early in life learnt the lesson that only those who
possess are happy, she endeavours to assure herself against misery by
transferring to herself the wealth of those who fall under her
influence, or aspire to her affections. She apes what she conceives to
be the manners of good society by a languid affectation of refinement
and a supercilious drawl, yet she has been known to clothe herself in
objurgations as in a tea-gown, and to repel with scurrility the advances
of those who are not moneyed. She earns a certain popularity by the
display of a kind of rough good-nature, and the possession of a pet
poodle. She has been seen on a coach at Ascot, and in a launch at Henley
Regatta, together with a select company of those who cultivate
excitement by not looking at the exertions of horses or athletes, whilst
they themselves drink Champagne. Nor is she unknown in the boxes of the
Gaiety or the Avenue, whither she repairs after dining at the Cafe
Royal. She goes, but not alone, to Monte Carlo, and returns, under a
different escort, to London, after losing a great deal of the money of
other people.
She was once married to a racing man of shady reputation and great
wealth, but having soon wearied of the mock-respectability of a
quasi-matrimonial existence, she makes the acquaintance of Mr. Justice
BUTT at a moment when he is engaged neither upon the probate of wills
nor on the collisions of ships. Yet her dislike of one husband who
happened for a time to be her own has not in the least impaired her
affections for the husbands, actual or to be, of others. No lady can be
considered truly Corinthian unless she has figured as the defendant in
an action for goods supplied by a milliner. It is thus that the Public
learns the Corinthian value of silks, and satins, and laces, and
decorative butterflies.
Finally, however, in spite of her gallant and protracted struggles, the
years overtake her. She begins to be talked of with a pitying contempt
as "OLD SO-AND-SO"; art ceases to outwit Nature, and she herself can no
longer deceive men. For some time she clings to the fringe of the
society she once adorned; but sinking gradually from the Corinthian to
the Continental, from the Continental to the Cavour, from the Cavour to
a supper-less Music-hall existence, and hence, after many misfortunes,
to the cold comfort of the pavement, she ends her days decrepit,
obscure, and unfriended, in the back bed-room of a Soho lodging.
* * * * *
GHOSTLESS BOSTON.
[It is said that the Psychical Society could find no authentic stories
of ghosts in Boston, U.S.A.]
Not a ghost in bumptious Boston! Do the souls of men whose books,
So they tell us, outshine DICKENS, rise superior to "spooks"?
Do the phantoms, having read them, fly in terror and in pain
At the cult of vivisection of _La belle Americaine_?
HOWELLS puffs up DUDLEY WARNER, who declares his HOWELLS fine.
Do the spectres hate "log-rolling," and to haunt the place decline?
Are there no ghosts in New England? Really, this is something new.
Where did famous _Rip van Winkle_ see old HUDSON'S phantom crew?
Are the Katskills now unhaunted, where those silent elders bowled,
And _Rip_ brought the keg of liquor, and the awful thunder rolled?
Or do those immortal spectres very wisely count as nought
All the tricks of spirit-rappers and sham readers of our thought?
Did the Pilgrims of the _Mayflower_, as we must perforce surmise,
Leave ancestral ghosts behind them when they sailed 'neath alien skies?
There is something in the notion, for it was a risky trip,
And a spectre is a nuisance when he gibbers on board ship.
So, no doubt, those sturdy people, when they crossed Atlantic foam,
From an economic motive, left their phantoms all at home.
Or it may be disembodied spirits, when abroad they walk,
Cannot stand the stucco culture and the egotistic talk;
WARNER may have "lovely manners," HOWELLS swears he has, but then
Ghosts have seen as good in days of stately dames and high-born men;
While a curious nasal accent, just a _soupcon_ of a twang,
May cause spectres of refinement an involuntary pang.
So it seems the phantoms shun it, be the reason what it may,
Not a single ghost of Boston owns to living there to-day.
Possibly, if we but knew it, an American's too spry,
And he takes his spirit with him when he condescends to die;
Any way the "spooks" have vanished, and the spectres of old time
Only live in cheap romances and the poet's idle rhyme.
* * * * *
FORTUNATE AND ECONOMICAL.
DRURIOLANUS OPERATICUS didn't go over to Brussels the other day for
nothing. What he had in his pocket at starting we are not aware, but it
is certain that, while abroad, he collared a tenner, which is to last
him through the ensuing season at Covent Garden. The new tenor's name is
"YBOO." Beautiful name! "Why boo?" Ask _Sir Pertinax Macsycophant_, who
tells us that "boo'ing" (not "for BALFOUR") is the only way to get on in
life. The tenor, if successful, will be able to reply to "Y-BOO" with
the satisfactory answer--"Because I'm called before the Curtain."
* * * * *
[Illustration: THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE EXPRESSED DIFFERENTLY.]
_Jones_ (_nervously conscious that he is interrupting a pleasant
tete-a-tete_). "A--I'M SORRY TO SAY I'VE BEEN TOLD TO TAKE YOU IN TO
SUPPER, MISS BELSIZE!"
* * * * *
GRANDOLPH'S LATEST.
Yes; "one man in his time plays many parts,"
But GRANDOLPH posing on a Temperance platform?
Young Tories who so praised their hero's arts
Hardly expected him to show in _that_ form.
He was their Coming Champion; he'd revive
The memories of the mighty days of BEAKY.
Him they could trust to keep the game alive;
Was he not vigorous, various, cool, and cheeky?
GLADSTONE he'd beard, Corruption he would throttle.
And here he stands behind the Water-Bottle!
As the political Puck he was rare fun,
As young Bellerophon he was a wonder;
He'd see that England had the biggest gun,
He'd end the era of expensive blunder.
E'en as _Jack Sheppard_ collaring GLADSTONE'S "swag,"
The Tory-Democratic hosts admired him;
And when he seemed to stumble or to lag,
They swore he'd be "all there"--when they required him.
But _did_ they picture him upon the stump
As the Grand Young Apostle of the Pump?
He, whose amazing advent was all fire,
Stoop to the leaden level of cold water?
A spectacle indeed to tame and tire
The zeal of his most confident supporter.
What will DUNRAVEN say? Quidnuncs will quiz,
And Balfour-worshippers will smirk and chuckle,
And ask if he considers it "good biz"
To the Teetotal interest to truckle.
They may be right--or wrong, these babblers busy.
They were not _always_ right about BEN DIZZY.
Meanwhile he poses there as advocate
Of this last panacea of his adoption.
He holds the only way to save the State
Is Temperance, enforced by Local Option.
Spirited Foreign Policy? Anon!
Fiscal Economy? Quite secondary!
All is no use till the Drink-Demon's gone!
BUNG, who so loved him, feels his colour vary;
And, while he perorates to all men's wonder.
Smug WILFRID smiles and whispers, "That's _my_ thunder!"
* * *
[Illustration: GRANDOLPH'S LATEST.]
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
My faithful "Co." has been reading _Marooned_, by Mr. CLARK RUSSELL, an
author who delights in stories of nautical adventure. My worthy follower
declares that the novel, although rather spun out, is full of interest.
He was especially pleased with Mr. CLARK RUSSELL'S anxiety to make his
meaning clear when talking of things maritime. He particularly instances
a passage in Vol. II., page 17. Here it is: "It is proper I should state
here, for the information for those to whom sea-terms are
unintelligible, that a studding-sail-boom is a long smooth spar that
reeves through irons, fixed upon the yard to which it belongs." How
land-lubbers would be able to understand the marine technicalities Mr.
RUSSELL introduces into his stories without explanations such as this,
it would be difficult to say. But with such assistance, a
studding-sail-boom becomes as easy of identification as a marling-spike
lashed to a forecastle spinaker-boom, close hauled aport under trysails,
blowing out like flags from the grips of clew-lines and leech-lines
towards the close of a second dog-watch! Shiver LINDLEY MURRAY'S
timbers! but what can be finer than a bulkhead battened down with the
scandalised main-sail of a top-gallant clipper-rigged halliard! Ah, what
indeed!
"Co." has also been improving his mind by reading a new edition of Mr.
JOSEPH FOSTER'S _Noble and Gentle Families of Royal Descent_, in which
he has found, amongst other interesting matter, the recently much
discussed pedigree of the Duke of FIFE. Like all Mr. FOSTER'S books of
reference, the two handsome volumes are invaluable to the genealogist,
and no library can be accurately said to be _quite_ complete without
them.
BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & CO.
* * * * *
DAUBIGNY IN BOND STREET.--Through the organisation of Messrs. BOUSSOD,
VALADON & CO., and the kindness of Mr. JAMES STAATS FORBES, Mr. W.
CUTHBERT QUILTER, Mr. ALEXANDER YOUNG, and other courteous collectors,
we are enabled to enjoy, at the Goupil Gallery, as many as forty-three
works by this distinguished _paysagiste_ of the Barbizon School. Nothing
of the "daub" to be seen here excepting in the first half of the name.
Charming collection. Nice boys they were of the Barbizon School, all in
the best form. _Mr. Punch_ recommends everybody not to neglect to pay an
immediate visit to this superb exhibition.
* * * * *
LE KICK-BALLE FIGHT.
"No definite date has yet been fixed for the football match which is
to take place here between an English and a French eleven, the
latter consisting of pupils from the Lycee Janson de Sailly, but the
preliminary negotiations are still proceeding."--_Letter of Paris
Correspondent._
MON CHER MONSIEUR,
[Illustration:]
It is with the feelings of _a 'Igh Life-Sporting-Gentlemans_ most
ecstatic and profound, that I find myself preparing "_Le Onze_" of the
great spirited youths of our Lycee, who have, brave-souled heroes,
volunteered to meet on the _veritable champ de bataille_ of the
kicke-legges-match your Public-school-team, who have thrown in their
faces the challenge glove of combat. I say, I am preparing, but this
means, of course, with such modifications of your _Jeu-de-Rugby_ rules,
which, indeed, turn the struggle into _un vrai carnage_, degrading alike
to humanity and civilisation, as will permit the enlightened children of
our great, refined and Republican France, to meet their antagonists not
with the savage antics of Blood-thirsty Cannibals, which seem to
characterise what you term "_le scrimmage_," as practised by your
contending "_'ome-teams_" at _le Hovals_ and other arenas, where meet
and rend each other with the fury unrestrained, terrible and
indescribable of the wild beasts and gladiators of the barbaric Roman
Circus, of ancient times, but with the humanised activity of that
expurgated and refined form of the contest which has enabled the
courageous but reasoning youth of this great reforming and Republic
France of ours, to throw open wide her arms and welcome to her heart
elastic and generous _Le Kick-Balle Fight_, as henceforth her own chosen
and peculiar national game.
You can understand, _Mon cher Monsieur_, that I cannot, in the short
space at my disposal in this limited letter, do more than merely outline
the suggestion of the New Rules, but when I assure you that they have
been cautiously thought out, drawn up and revised by a carefully
selected Committee, comprising, among other noted experts, a
Major-General of Engineers, two Analytical Chemists, a Balloon
Proprietor, an Archbishop, a Wild-beast Tamer, a Ballet Master, a
Professor of Anatomy, a Patent Artificial Limb Maker, and a Champion
Fighter of _Le Boxe Americain_, you will see that the features of the
game, gay, murderous, active, and terrible, have all been considered
with a due regard to their preservation where this has been found
compatible with the sacredness of human life and the protection of _le
shin_ from too much furious and brutal bruising. But here I subjoin a
few of the simpler "New Provisions" as adopted by the Committee.
1. "Le Balle."--He will be constructed of Gold-beater's Skin, and
covered with Pink or Blue Satin, with perhaps a few White Silk Bows,
sewn on to him for the purpose of elegant adornment. It is this making
of "Le Balle," a light, gay, and altogether ethereal creation which will
strike the key-note of the new game of _Le Kick-Balle Fight_ as a
recognised pastime for the courageous youth of modern France.
2. _Le Onze_, will all wear one uniform, which will consist of white
satin slippers, pantalons of cashmere, with feather pillows worn as a
protection strapped over the knees, a bolster being wound round the body
to safeguard the chest, ribs, and spinal column. A broad gay, coloured
satin sash with a cocked hat and ostrich feathers completes the costume.
The last to indicate, owing to the risks and dangers in which the
combatants may be involved, its association with _le vrai champs de
bataille_, to which, but for the "new provisions" it would bear such a
terrible and striking resemblance.
3. "Le 'Arf-back."--This dangerous officer is abolished altogether, the
Committee being of opinion, unanimous and decisive, that the position is
only provocative of strife.
4. "Le Forward."--He is for the same reason equally abolished, and in
the French game exists no more.
5. "Le Goal-keepere."--He may keep "Le Goal" if he can do so without
danger of being struck in the face with "Le Balle."
6. "Le Balle" must, on no account, be touched with the foot, but merely
slapped playfully, enough for the purposes of propulsion, with the palm
of the open hand.
7. "Le Scrimmage." This barbarous and savage entanglement is absolutely
_defendu_. No two opposing combatants must ever, under any
circumstances, permit themselves to touch each other. The great skill of
the new game will be, by subtle and appropriate gesticulation, to dance
out of each other's way. On any two opposing combatants, by any chance,
touching each other, "Le Capitaine" of either side will appeal to the
Umpire, and, after the manner of "Le jeu de Cricket," will propose for
him the simple question, "Mister Umpire, 'ow is that?" Upon which, that
official saying "Out!" the two offenders will be struck from the game,
and enjoy no share of "Le gate-money," if that is the prize for which
the two teams are honourably contending.
The above, _Mon cher Monsieur_, are the principal Rules, as arranged by
the Committee, and you will see that they have been drawn up with a view
to eliminating the bloodthirsty _boule-dogue_ ferocity from a pastime
which, under the title of _Le Kick-Balle Fight_, bids fair to become the
characteristic sport, gay, active, and courage-inspiring, of our modern
French youth awakened with _elan_ and ardour to the athletic spirit of
the age which has overtaken them.
Receive, _Mon cher Monsieur_, the assurance of my most distinguished
consideration,
Le Heads-Masterre of the Lycee Janson de Sailly.
* * * * *
THE FARTHING NOVEL SERIES.
Now that the entire works of the late WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE can be
purchased (allowing for discount) for fourpence-halfpenny, it seems
strange that no publisher has issued the more celebrated of our romances
at the rate per volume of the smallest coin of the realm. That it can be
done will be obvious to the meanest comprehension. All that is required
is brevity and intelligibility. It is only necessary to give an outline
of the story--the sketchier the better. If a little "local colouring"
can be thrown in, no harm will be done. But that local colouring must be
distinctly modern. Again, if sentiments calculated to be popular with
the class by whom the series is likely to be purchased are introduced, a
distinct gain will be the consequence. But as an example is better than
pages of description, a sample is subjoined:--
IVANHOE;
_Or, The Disguised Knight, the Distressed Jewess, and the Templar who
did not Behave like a Gentleman._
CHAPTER I.
"You are very welcome," said CEDRIC the Saxon, for the fifth time, as
Sir BRIAN DE BOIS-GILBERT took down the Fair ROWENA to supper. "As for
you, WILFRID the Pilgrim, sit below the salt, and, Sir Seneschal, keep
your eyes upon the horn spoons."
"And this is the curse of the land," murmured the heir, as he helped
himself to plum-pasty, the forerunner of plum-pudding. "It is this
haughtiness that causes our yeomen to strike, and makes ROBIN HOOD,
Friar TUCK, and the rest of his merry men possible!"