PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 101.
October 3rd, 1891.
THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.
No. IX.
SCENE--_The Burg Terrace at Nuremberg_. PODBURY _on a bench, grappling
with the Epitome of_ SPENCER.
_Podbury_ (_reading aloud, with comments_). "For really to conceive the
infinite divisibility of matter is mentally to follow out the divisions
to infinity, and to do this would require infinite time." You're right
_there_, old cock, and, as I haven't got it to spare, I won't trouble
you!--um--um ... "opposite absurdities"--"subjective modifications" ...
"ultimate scientific ideas, then, are all representative of ideas that
cannot be comprehended." I could have told _him_ that. What bally rot this
Philosophy is--but I suppose I must peg away at it. Didn't she say she was
sorry I didn't go in more for cultivating my mind? (_He looks up._) Jove,
here she comes! and yes, there's that beggar CULCHARD with her! I thought
he'd--how the dickens did he manage to--? I see what _he's_ after--thinks
he'll cut me out--twice over--but he shan't this time, if I can help it!
_Culchard_ (_to_ Miss HYPATIA PRENDERGAST). No, the Modern Spirit is too
earnestly intent upon solving the problems of existence to tolerate humour
in its literature. Humour has served a certain purpose in its day, but that
day is done, and I for one cannot pretend to regret its decay.
_Miss H. P._ Nor I. In fact, the only humour I ever _really_ appreciated
is that of the ancient classics. There has been no true fun since
ARISTOPHANES died. At least, _I_ think not.
_Podb._ (_catching the last sentence_). Oh, I say, come, Miss PRENDERGAST.
Have you ever read "The Jumping Frog"?
_Miss P._ I was under the impression that _all_ frogs jumped. But I never
read--I--ah--_study_.
_Podb._ (_declining to be crushed_). Well, I call MARK TWAIN funny anyhow.
But _I'm_ going in for study now. I am--honour bright! I'm swotting up
SPENCER--look!
[_He exhibits the volume proudly._
_Miss P._ And are you not enchanted by the logical lucidity of that great
thinker?
_Podb._ Um--I should be more enchanted if I ever had the faintest notion
what the great thinker was driving at. Look here--here's a simple little
sentence for you! _(Reads.)_ "Let us therefore bear in mind the
following:--That of the whole incident force affecting an aggregate, the
effective force is that which remains after deducting the non-effective,
that the temporarily effective and the permanently effective vary
inversely, and that the molar and molecular changes wrought by the
permanently effective force also vary inversely." (_With pathos._) And
that's only in an _Epitome_, mind you!
_Miss P._ Really, Mr. PODBURY, I see nothing particularly incomprehensible
in that.
_Culch._ (_with his superior smile_). My dear PODBURY, you can hardly
expect to master the Spencerian phraseology and habit of thought without
at least _some_ preliminary mental discipline!
_Podb._ (_nettled_). Oh--but _you_ find him plain-sailing enough, I
suppose?
_Culch._ I have certainly not encountered any insuperable difficulties in
his works as _yet_.
_Podb._ Well, I'll just trouble you to explain _this_--wait a bit.
(_Opens volume again._) Ah, here we are--"And these illusive and primordial
cognitions, or pseud-ideas, are homogeneous entities which may be
differentiated objectively or subjectively, according as they are presented
as Noumenon or Phenomenon. Or, in other words, they are only cognoscible as
a colligation of incongruous coalescences." Now then--are you going to tell
me you can make head or tail of all that?
_Culch._ (_perceiving that_ Miss P. _is awaiting his reply in manifest
suspense_). It's simple enough, my dear fellow, only I can't expect _you_
to grasp it. It is merely a profound truth stated with masterly precision.
_Podb._ Oh, is _that_ all, my dear fellow? (_He flings up his heels in an
ecstasy._) I _knew_ I'd have you! Why, I made that up myself as I went
along, and if _you_ understand it, it's a jolly sight more than _I_ do!
[_He roars with laughter._
_Miss P._ (_behind her handkerchief_). Mr. CULCHARD has evidently gone
through the--the "preliminary mental discipline."
_Culch._ (_scarlet and sulky_). Of course, if Mr. PODBURY descends to
childishness of that sort, I can't pretend to--
[Illustration: Podbury grappling with the Epitome of Spencer.]
_Podb._ (_wiping his eyes_). But you _did_ pretend, old chap. You said it
was "profound truth" and "masterly precision"! I've got more profound truth
where _that_ came from. I say, I shall set up as an intellectual Johnny
after this, and _get_ you to write an Epitome of me. I think I pulled your
leg _that_ time, eh?
_Culch._ (_biting his lip_). When you have extracted sufficient
entertainment from that very small joke, you will perhaps allow Miss
PRENDERGAST to sit down and begin her sketch. You may not be aware that
you've taken her place.
[_He withdraws majestically to the parapet, while_ PODBURY _makes way for_
Miss P. _with apologies_.
_Podb._ (_as he leans over seat while she sketches_). I wish your brother
BOB had been here--he would have enjoyed that!
_Miss P._ It was really too bad of you, though. Poor Mr. CULCHARD!
_Podb._ He shouldn't try to make me out a bigger duffer than I am, then.
But I say, you don't _really_ think it was too bad? Ah, you're
_laughing_--you don't!
_Miss P._ Never mind what I really think. But you have got us both into sad
disgrace. Mr. CULCHARD is dreadfully annoyed with us--look at his
_shoulders_!
_Culch._ (_leaning over parapet with his back to them_). That _ass_
PODBURY! To think of his taking me in with an idiotic trick like that! And
before Her too! And when I had made it all right about the other evening,
and was producing an excellent impression on the way up here. I wish I
could hear what they were whispering about--more silly jokes at my expense,
no doubt. Bah! as if it affected _me_!
_Podb._ (_to_ Miss P.). I say, how awfully well you draw!
_Miss P._ There you betray your ignorance in Art matters. Sketching with me
is a pastime, not a serious pursuit, (_They go on conversing in a lower
tone._) No, _please_, Mr. PODBURY. I'm quite sure he would never--
_Podb._ (_rises; comes up to_ CULCHARD, _and touches his shoulder_). I say,
old chappie--
_Culch._ (_jerking away with temper_). Now, look here, PODBURY. I'm not in
the mood for any more of your foolery--
_Podb._ (_humbly_). All right, old boy. I wouldn't bother you, only Miss
PRENDERGAST wants a figure for her foreground, and I said I'd ask you if
you'd keep just as you are for a few minutes. Do you mind?
_Culch._ (_to himself_). Afraid she's gone too far--thinks she'll smooth me
down! Upon my word, it would serve her right to--but no, I won't be petty.
(_Aloud._) Pray tell Miss PRENDERGAST that I have no immediate intention of
altering my position.
_Podb._ Thanks awfully, old chap. I knew you'd oblige.
_Culch._ (_incisively_). I am obliging Miss PRENDERGAST, and her only.
(_Raising his voice, without turning his head._) Would you prefer me to
_face_ you, Miss PRENDERGAST?
_Miss P._ (_in tremulous tones_). N--no, thank you. It--it's so much more
n--natural, don't you know, for you to be l--looking at the view.
_Culch._ As you please. (_To himself._) Can't meet my eye. Good! I shall go
on treating her distantly for a little. I wonder if I look indifferent
enough from behind? Shall I cross one foot? Better not--she may have begun
sketching me. If she imagines I'm susceptible to feminine flattery of this
palpable kind, she'll--how her voice shook, though, when she spoke. Poor
girl, she's afraid she offended me by laughing--and I _did_ think she had
more sense than to--but I mustn't be too hard on her. I'm afraid she's
already beginning to think too much of--and with my peculiar position with
Miss TROTTER--(MAUD, that is)--not that there's anything definite at
present, still--(_Aloud._) Ahem, Miss PRENDERGAST--am I standing as you
wish? (_To himself._) She doesn't answer--too absorbed, and I can't hear
that idiot--found he hasn't scored so much after all, and gone off in a
huff, I expect. So much the better! What a time she is over this, and how
quiet she keeps! I wish I knew whether it was coquetry or--shall I turn
round and see? No, I must be perfectly indifferent. And she _did_ laugh at
me. I distinctly saw her. Still, if she's sorry, this would be an excellent
opportunity for--(_Aloud._) Miss PRENDERGAST! (_No reply--louder._) May I
take it that you regret having been betrayed into momentary approbation of
a miserable piece of flippancy? If so, let me assure you--(_Turns round--to
discover that he is addressing two little flaxen-haired girls in speckled
pinafores, who are regarding him open-mouthed._ Miss PRENDERGAST _and_
PODBURY _have disappeared_.) PODBURY _again!_ He must have planned
this--with _her_! It is too much. I have done--yes--done with the pair of
them! [_Strides off in bitter indignation._
* * * * *
SCHOOL-BOY'S FIRST EXPERIENCE OF SMOKING.--One sickarette,--and he never
could do another. _O si sic omnes_!
* * * * *
[Illustration: "LET SLEEPING DOGS LIE!"]
* * * * *
"HOTEL ME, GENTLE STRANGER!"
[Mrs. WHEELER and Mrs. CUSTER, two literary ladies of New York, are
starting a hotel for women only.]
Says Mrs. CUSTER to Mrs. WHEELER:
"I propose we put out a 'promoting' feeler!"
Says Mrs. WHEELER to Mrs. CUSTER,
"Monopolist Males we shall greatly fluster;"
'Hotel it not in Gath!' at present
Till we have made things nice and pleasant.
First rule--'No Rules!' O, of course male noddies
Will snigger at once, the superior bodies!
But OSCAR WILDE must 'pull up his socks,'
Ere he'll equal women at paradox.
What I mean is this, in our 'Women's Hotel,'
We'll have no such thing as the 'Curfew Bell,'
And no fixed hour for the cry, 'Out lights!'
We will give free way to true 'Woman's Rights,'
Which are to thump, strum, tap, twirl, trill,
From morn till night at her own sweet will.
That's why we cherish, despite male spleen,
Typewriter, Piano, and Sewing-Machine!
The 'woodpecker tapping' is, indeed, not in it
With Emancipate Woman--no, not for a minute!
Our Hotel will be, when we've won the battle,
'The Paradise of unlimited Rattle,'
'The Realm of the Spindle,' 'the Home of the Duster!'"
Says Mrs. WHEELER to Mrs. CUSTER.
"Nought tabooed save Man! So comes Peace the Healer!"
Says Mrs. CUSTER to Mrs. WHEELER.
_Punch hopes_ their Hotel may flourish--only,
Spots "Reserved for Ladies" are often--lonely!
* * * * *
THE GERMAN EMPEROR GOING NAP.--It now appears that the words descriptive of
NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE used by the German Emperor, and to which the French
took so strong an exception, were not "_Le parvenu Corse_," but "_Le
conquérant Corse_," which, of course, makes all the difference. At this
banquet it would have been better had each course been omitted from the
_menu_.
* * * * *
A Vain Vaunt.
_La belle France_ boasts of being Art's true henchman!
That cosmopolitan claim she should be mute on.
"Art for Art's sake!" shouts the thrasonic Frenchman,
"Save when that Art is Teuton,"
Though Art's not marred for him by subtle sin
A German twang poisons e'en _Lohengrin_.
* * * * *
[Illustration: INDISCRIMINATE CHARITY.
_Benevolent Old Lady._ "NO, MR. SMITH; I SHALL NOT CONTINUE MY SUBSCRIPTION
TO YOUR CRICKET-GROUND ANY LONGER--FOR I FIND YOU ALLOW IT TO BE USED IN
THE WINTER FOR PIGEON-SHOOTING!"
_Secretary to the Local Cricket Club._ "BUT, MADAM, YOU CAN'T BE AWARE THAT
WE SHOOT AT NOTHING BUT _CLAY PIGEONS!_"
_B. O. L._ "I DON'T CARE _WHAT_ THE BREED MAY BE--IT'S EQUALLY CRUEL!"]
* * * * *
THE ARMADA FROM THE SPANISH.
(_Commenced by Mr. J.A. Froude and concluded by the Duke of Medina
Sidonia._)
It may be remembered that the English writer in _Longman's Magazine_, had
got to the point when after trying to get out of the expedition by pleading
poverty, incompetency, and anything else I could think of, I was forced to
go on my way to England with apparent satisfaction. We had putrid pork and
mouldy biscuit, but still I informed the King that we were "content and
cheerful." Had I given him any other intelligence, the chances are that he
would have had my head--not a good one, but sufficient to meet my modest
requirements.
Well, we sailed towards England, and as Mr. J.A. FROUDE has already
explained (quoting from my own letter to King PHILIP), "knowing nothing of
navigation," I soon made a bad shot. Instead of going to Tilbury, I drifted
towards Cronstadt, even then a fortress of some consideration. I could tell
you a great deal more, were it not that I succumbed to sea-sickness and
gave up my command. The expedition was now, of course, commanded by the
steward, but the duties of his unpleasant office left him but little time
for directing an invasion. Well, we got within reach of England when the
wind began to blow, and before I could hitch myself up with a
marling-spike, every man Jack of us was ready for Davy Jones's locker!
But why should I dwell upon the events of the next few days? We were
out-manoeuvred and beaten. I myself took refuge in a wood of mahogany
trees, and it was my delight and my privilege to supply the requirements of
the British colony in all that they desired. The result of this was that I
and a few personal friends took refuge in a forest in which mahogany trees
flourished. It was in this leafy prison that I supplied the genuine old
Armada mahogany "as advertised." I would be afraid to say how many places I
supplied with wood from the Armada. I may hint that I know something of the
tables at Westminster and the benches of Gray's Inn. But there, that is
many years ago, and all I can say now is, "Heave away, boys," and "Three
cheers for the Don, the Keys, and the Donkey." I was the Don, the keys were
supplied to those who paid for them, and the donkeys could defend
themselves. The Armada was not a success, and after this frank avowal, it
seems to me that Mr. FROUDE need render no further explanation. Surely the
story of the Spanish Invasion is copyright. And if it is, Mr. FROUDE has no
right to tamper with my work, the more especially as it is immediately
appropriated by that model of modern journalism the _Review of Reviews_.
* * * * *
PHILOSOPHICAL REFLECTION.--We have five senses. That's quite enough. If we
had a sixth sense, what a _new sense_ it would be!
* * * * *
"IN CELLAR DEEP."
(_Latest Up-to-Date Version of a celebrated Bacchanalian ditty, as
it might be revised by Dr. Mortimer Granville and Mr. James
Payn._)
["No one drinks alcoholic liquor (unless it be beer) to quench
thirst."--JAMES PAYN.]
In Cellar deep I sit and steep
My soul in GRANVILLE'S logic.
Companions mine, sound ale, good wine--
_That_ foils Teetotal dodge--hic!
With solemn pate our sages prate,
The Pump-slaves neatly pinking.
He's proved an ass, whose days _don't_ pass
In drinking, drinking, drinking!
In water pure there's danger sure,
All fizzle-pop's deceiving;
And ginger-beer must make you queer
(If GRANVILLE you're believing).
Safe, on the whole, is Alcohol;
It saves man's strength from sinking.
I injure none, and have good f--fun.
Whilst drinking, drinking, drinking!
Hic! Hic! Hooray!! New reasons gay
For drink from doctors borrow!
The last (_not_ first) is simple thirst,
Thatsh true--to LAWSON'S sorrow!
Good Templarsh fain would "physic PAYN,"
And GRANVILLE squelch like winking;
But all the same, true Wisdom's--hic--game
Is drinking, drinking, drinking!
[_Left playing it._
* * * * *
MR. PUNCH'S NAVAL NOVEL.
[_Mr. Punch_ has observed with much gratification the success of
various _brochures_ professing to give, under the disguise of
retrospect, a prophetic but accurate account of the naval battle
of the immediate future. _Mr. Punch_ has read them carefully over
and over again. For some time he has been living, so to speak, in
the midst of magnificent iron-clad fleets. In vain have torpedoes
been launched on their occasionally death-dealing mission against
him, in vain have immense shells exploded in his immediate
neighbourhood. Nothing, not even the ramming of one whole squadron
by another, has succeeded in daunting him. He has remained
immovable in the midst of an appalling explosion which reduced a
ship's company to a heap of toe-nails. And now, his mind fired by
the crash of conflict and the intoxication of almost universal
slaughter, he proposes to show the world how a naval novel that
means to be accurate as well as vivid, to be bought by the public
in thousands as well as to teach useful lessons to politicians and
sailors, ought really to be written. _Mr. Punch_ may as well state
that he has _not_ submitted this story to any naval experts. His
facts speak for themselves, and require no merely professional
approval to enhance their value.]
WHO'D BE A SAILOR?
(_A Story of Blood and Battle._)
CHAPTER I.
[Illustration: The Explosion.]
Listen, my Grandchildren! for you are mine, not indeed by the ridiculous
accident of birth (since to speak the truth I am an unmarried old
sea-dog), but by the far higher and more honourable title of having been
selected by me to hear this yarn. You know well enough that such a tale
_must_ be told to grandchildren, and since you undoubtedly possessed
grandparents, and have been hired at a shilling an hour to listen to me, I
have every right to address you as I did. Therefore I say, my
grandchildren, attend to what I am about to relate. You who live under the
beneficent sway of the mighty Australo-Canado-Africo-Celto-Americo-Anglian
Federation of Commonwealths, can have no notion of the degraded conditions
under which I, your grandfather, and the rest of my miserable
fellow-countrymen lived fifty years ago in the year 1892. Naturally you
have read no books of history referring to any date anterior to 1902. The
wretched records of ignorance, slavery and decrepitude have been justly
expunged from your curriculum. Let me tell you then that a little country
calling itself the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland at that time
arrogated to itself the leadership of the mighty countries which you now
call your home. You smile and refer me to a large-sized map on which, as
you justly observe, this country occupies a space of not more than two
square inches. Your surprise is intelligible, but the melancholy fact
remains. All this has now been happily changed, and changed too in
consequence of a war in which England (for so the country was often
inaccurately called, except upon Scotch political platforms, where people
naturally objected to the name) in which, as I say, England bore the chief
part and obtained the decisive victory. The story of this war I am now
about to relate to you.