_Miss Spelwane._ At last, Mr. SPURRELL! We began to think you meant to
keep away altogether. Has anybody told you _why_ you've been waited for
so impatiently?
_Spurr._ (_looking round the circle of chairs apprehensively_). No. Is
it family prayers, or what? Er--are they over?
_Miss Spelw._ No, no; nothing of that. Can't you _guess_? Mr. SPURRELL,
I'm going to be very bold, and ask a great, _great_ favour of you,
I don't know why they chose _me_ to represent them; I told Lady
LULLINGTON I was afraid my entreaties would have no weight; but if you
only would----
_Spurr._ (_to himself_). They're at it again! How many _more_ of 'em
want a pup! (_Aloud._) Sorry to be disobliging, but----
_Miss Spelw._ (_joining her hands in supplication_). Not if I
_implore_ you? Oh, Mr. SPURRELL, I've quite set my heart on hearing
you read aloud to us. Are you really cruel enough to refuse?
_Spurr._ Read aloud! Is _that_ what you want me to do? But I'm no
particular hand at it. I don't know that I've ever read aloud--except a
bit out of the paper now and then--since I was a boy at school!
_Lady Cantire. What's_ that I hear? Mr. SPURRELL professing incapacity
to read aloud? Sheer affectation! Come, Mr. SPURRELL, I am much
mistaken if you are wanting in the power to thrill all hearts here.
Think of us as instruments ready to respond to your touch. Play upon
us as you will; but don't be so ungracious as to raise any further
obstacles.
_Spurr._ (_resignedly_). Oh, very well, if I'm required to read, _I_'m
agreeable.
[_Murmurs of satisfaction._
_Lady Cant._ Hush, please, everybody! Mr. SPURRELL is going to read. My
dear Dr. RODNEY, if you _wouldn't_ mind just---- Lord LULLINGTON, can
you hear where you are? Where are you going to sit, Mr. SPURRELL? In the
centre will be best. Will somebody move that lamp a little, so as to
give him more light?
_Spurr._ (_to himself, as he sits down_). I wonder what we're supposed
to be playing at! (_Aloud._) Well, what am I to read, eh?
_Miss Spelw._ (_placing an open copy of "Andromeda" in his hands with a
charming air of deferential dictation_). You might begin with
_this_--such a _dear_ little piece! I'm dying to hear _you_ read it!
_Spurr._ (_as he takes the book_). I'll do the best I can! (_He looks at
the page in dismay._) Why, look here, it's _Poetry_! I didn't bargain
for that. Poetry's altogether out of my line! (Miss SPELWANE _opens her
eyes to their fullest extent, and retires a few paces from him; he turns
over the leaves backwards until he arrives at the title-page_.) I say,
this is rather curious! Who the dickins is CLARION BLAIR? (_The company
look at one another with raised eyebrows and dropped underlips._)
Because I never heard of him; but he seems to have been writing poetry
about my bull-dog.
_Miss Spelw._ (_faintly_). Writing poetry--about your bull-dog!
_Spurr._ Yes, the one you've all been praising up so. If it isn't meant
for her, it's what you might call a most surprising coincidence, for
here's the old dog's name as plain as it can be--_Andromeda_!
[_Tableau._
[Illustration: "You might begin with _this_--such a _dear_ little
piece!"]
* * * * *
"LIVING PICTURES."
[Illustration: "I'm coming to _take_ you!"]
The Downey ones, meaning thereby the photographers W. & D. "of that
ilk," have produced some excellent photographic portraits in their fifth
series recently published. THE CZAREVICH and The Right Hon. HENRY
CHAPLIN, M.P., two sporting names well brought together, and both
capital likenesses, though the Baron fancies that THE CZAREVICH has the
best of it, for secret and silent as Mr. CHAPLIN is as a politician,
yet did he never manage to keep so dark as he is represented
in this picture. Here, too, is Mr. CHARLES SANTLEY--"_Charles our
friend_"--looking like a mere boy with "a singing face," where "Nature,
smiling, gave the winning grace." Mr. SYDNEY GRUNDY, _endimanché_, is
too beautiful for words. But the picture of Mrs. BANCROFT, wearing (in
addition to a trimmed fur cloak) a wonderful kind of "Fellah!
don't-know-yar-fellah!" expression, at once surprised, pained, and hurt,
does not at all represent the "little Mrs. B." whom the public knows and
loves. "How doth the little busy Mrs. B. delight to bark and bite" might
have been under this portrait, and DOWNEY must be more Downey another
time, and give us a more characteristic presentment of this lively
_comédienne_. The Right Hon. ARTHUR J. BALFOUR is the best of all.
Capital. Just the man: "frosty but kindly." Then there is a first rate
portrait of Miss FANNY BROUGH, and _after her_ comes the King of
SAXONY!! O ALBERT of Saxony! after Miss FANNY BROUGH!! What'll Queenie
CAROLINE say? Perhaps Messrs. DOWNEY, by kind permission of CASSELL &
Co., will explain.
* * * * *
BATTLE WITH BACILLI.--Dr. ROUX has been successful against the
Diphtheria Bacillus. He can afford to look on at any number of Bacilli
and exclaim, "Bah! silly!" Unless he pronounces Latin _more Italiano_,
and then he would say "Bah! chilly!" Which would signify that they were
lifeless and harmless. "Bravo ROUX!"
* * * * *
OUR ALL-ROUND STOCK-EXCHANGERS' COMPANY.
UNPARALLELED PROFITS TO EVERYBODY!
THE ALL-ROUND COMPANY PERFORMS IMPOSSIBILITIES!!
THE ALL-ROUND COMPANY ARE SQUARE DEALERS!!!
TRY OUR NEW G STOCK.
THE G IS A REGULAR GALLOPER.
THE G CAN CANTER;
BUT THE ALL-ROUND COMPANY CAN'T CANT.
THE ALL-ROUND COMPANY ARE SHEKEL-SCOOPERS.
THE ALL-ROUND COMPANY must be TRIED at once.
THE SENTENCE will be HARD CASH FOR LIFE WITHOUT ANY LABOUR.
THE G STOCK FOR BREAKFAST.
THE G STOCK FOR BILIOUS HEADACHES.
THE G STOCK FOR BEANFEASTS.
THE NEW G STOCK FOR THE NEW G WO-MAN.
BY OUR COVER SYSTEM we have never yet drawn blank. Surprise profits are
made by all Investors who trust us with their balances, so that a
swinging amount always stands to their credit. We have never yet
received a check. Our Customers come to Order, but they never go to Law.
In June, 1893, we received information about Grand Post Defs. and
Tympanum Prefs., and a Bull-dozing Operation was decided on. As a
consequence we were able to present all Subscribers with a £50 dumb-bell
apiece, which has made them strong enough to _move a Market_.
THE ALL-ROUND COMPANY'S PEBBLE-BEECHED POPLAR HOAX DEAL. Everyone should
therefore
PLANK DOWN HIS MONEY and
THROW HIS SCRUPLES OVER-BOARD.
BY our NEW PURCHASE SYSTEM all
COMMISSIONS ARE ABOLISHED.
THE ALL-ROUND COMPANY DEALS IN LARGE BLOCKS.
THE ALL ROUND COMPANY BLOCK-HEADS THE LIST.
THE ALL-ROUND COMPANY TELLS YOU
HOW TO WATCH A STOCK and
HOW TO STRIKE A TIME-BARGAIN.
IF YOU DON'T LIKE G STOCK BUY B STOCK.
THE BUSY B BUZZES!
HUSH A-BUY B STOCK!!
LAST YEAR we recommended all bonneted widows to buy B's. The result is
that they now wear poke-bonnets, and own pigs. They are also in clover.
H STOCK FOR EVER!!!
THE H CANNOT DROP.
H STOCK FOR AMPSTEAD!
H STOCK FOR IGHGATE!
H STOCK FOR OLLOWAY!
H STOCK FOR HISLINGTON!
H STOCK FOR THE OUSE!
Customers who deal with THE ALL-ROUND COMPANY
HAVE NEVER FAILED TWICE.
* * * * *
WE CAN SHOW YOU HOW YOU'RE DONE
ON APPLICATION TO
OUR ALL-ROUND STOCK-EXCHANGERS' COMPANY, ENGLAND.
* * * * *
[Illustration: AWKWARDLY EXPRESSED.
(_A Cosy Corner in a Country House._)
_Hostess._ "THIS _IS_ GOOD OF YOU, MAJOR GREY! WHEN I WROTE I NEVER
EXPECTED FOR A _MOMENT_ THAT YOU WOULD COME!"]
* * * * *
"WINDING 'EM UP."
["If he believed that the majority of the Liberal-Unionist party,
or indeed any considerable section of them, held the opinion
which was expressed by this writer in the _Times_, he, for one,
would at once resign the responsible position which he held, and
would claim to take up a more independent position, because he
was certain that their efforts would be fruitless, and that they
would not succeed in defeating the policy of Home Rule if they
were to accept the negative position which had been suggested to
them."--_Mr. Chamberlain at Durham._]
_Showman Joe soliloquiseth:_--
Waxworks indeed! Hah! I've took over the management of 'em, and I
suppose, as _Misther Thleary_ said, I must "make the betht of 'em, not
the wurtht." But I'm a bit tired of the job--sometimes.
Wish I could feel _Mrs. Jarley's_ pride in the whole bag o' tricks! 'Ave
to _purtend_ to, of course. Can't cry creaky waxworks any more than you
can stinking fish. But a more rusty, sluggish, wheezy, wobbly, jerky,
uncertain, stick-fast, stodgy, unwillin' lot o' wax figgers I never
did----Well, there, it tries a conscience of injy-rubber to crack 'em up
and patter of 'em into poppylarity, blowed if it don't!
Kim up, Dook! Dashed if 'e don't look as if 'e fancied hisself the
Sleepin' Beauty, and wanted to forty-wink it for another centry. Look at
the flabby flop of 'im! Jest as though 'e wouldn't move if 'is nose wos
a meltin'. Large as life, and twice as nateral? Wy, a kid's Guy Fox on
the fifth o' November 'ud give 'im hodds, and lick 'is 'ead orf--heasy!
Bin a-ileing 'is works this ever so long, and still 'e moves as if 'is
wittles wos sand-paper, and 'is drink witrol. _Kim_ up!
As to the Markis, well, 'e's a bit older, but dashed if 'e don't move
livelier--when 'e _is_ on the shift. At the present moment 'owever,
utter confloption is a cycle-sprinter to 'im. As if a pair o'
niddity-noddities in "negative" positions was likely to fetch 'em in
front in _these_ days! Yah!
Should like to keep the Old Show a-runnin', too,--leastways, until I can
start a bran-new one of my very own. Won't run to it _yet_, I'm afraid.
Oh, to boss a big booth-full all to myself! I'd show 'em! This
Combination Show--old stock-in-trade of one company, and cast-offs from
another--ain't the best o' bisness arter all. But I _must_ keep 'em
together as a going concern till I can run a star company of my own
choosing. 'Ere, 'and us that ile-can again! Talk about rust and rickets!
Curting about to be rung up? Then I must get 'em in working horder
somehow! 'Ang this Dook! Can't git anythink nateral out of 'im--'cept a
yawn. _That_ 'e does as like as life. Kim up old nose-o'-wax and don't
nod yerself into nothingness! 'Ow much _more_ ile do yer rusty old
innards want to stop their clogging and creaking?
Proprietors beginning to pull long faces at my _pace_? 'Int that I'll
shake the machinery to smithereens by too much haction? Well, I _am_
blowed! Wy, they'd slow down a sick snail, and 'andicap a old tortus,
they would! Tell yer wot it is, if they don't give me a free 'and at the
crank _I shall turn the whole thing up_, so _there_! Some nameless,
nidnoddy, negative old crocks 'ave bin a-earwigging 'em, that's wot's
the matter. But I give 'em the straight tip, if they lend a ear to them
slow-going stick-in-the-muds, _I_ shall jest resign _my_ responserble
persition, and take up a hindependent one--jine the Opposition Show, or
p'r'aps start one o' my own, and _then_ where will they be, I wonder?
_Cling-cling!_ Curting rising? Well, 'ere goes once more then! (_Winding
hard and addressing audience_). "Ladies and gen'l'men! The Himperial and
Royal Grand Unionist Combination Waxworks Show is about to start for the
season! Largest and most life-like set o' wax figgers ever exhibited to
a hadmiring public!! As I wind you will perceive hunmistakeable signs of
hanimation in 'is Grace the Nobble Dook; arter wich, with your kyind
permission, I shall take a turn at the Illustrous Markis!!!"
* * * * *
[Illustration: "WINDING 'EM UP."
SHOWMAN JOE. "LADIES AND GEN'L'MEN, 'IS GRACE THE DOOK WILL SHORTLY
BEGIN TO SHOW SIGNS OF HANIMATION--HAFTER WHICH, WITH YOUR KIND
PERMISSION, I WILL PERCEED TO TAKE A TURN AT THE MARKIS!"]
* * * * *
WHERE ARE YOU GOING, REVOLTING MAID?
(_New Song to an Old Tune, for the New Woman._)
[The _Quarterly Review_ says that man will not marry the New
Woman, which must be the final blow to her ambition.]
"Where are you going, Revolting Maid?"
"As far as I may, fair Sir," she said.
"Shall I go with you, Revolting Maid?"
"You may follow--behind me, Sir!" she said.
"What is your object, Revolting Maid?"
"_Emancipation_, Sir!" she said.
"Will you marry, Revolting Maid?"
"Perhaps--on my own terms, Sir!" she said.
"And what may those terms be, Revolting Maid?"
"Absolute Liberty, Sir!" she said.
"Then _I_ shan't wed you, Revolting Maid!"
"Did anyone ask you, Sir?" she said.
* * * * *
TITLE FOR NEW LONDON JAPANESE JOURNAL (WEEKLY).--"_The Happy Dispatch_,
edited by HARI KARI."
* * * * *
THE SONG OF THE LEADERS.
When the much-enduring Dockers,
In the city of the Smoke-Cloud,
By the banks of the Tems-Ri-Va,
Struck to gain a larger stipend,
Lead them on did BURNSIWATHA.
And the ruler of these matters,
Who is called the Bry-Tish-Pu-Blyck,
Took the side of dock-gate casuals,
Of the somewhat lordly stevedore,
And informed the proud Dy-Reck-Tas
That they soon must yield to reason;
Gave its sympathy in gallons,
Gave its coin to make a strike-fund;
So the proud Dy-Reck-Tas yielded.
But when many moons had vanished,
Came the rather wild KEIR-HAR-DI,
Came TOM-MANN the earnest minded,
Talked of "Independent Labour,"
Soundly rated BURNSIWATHA
And all useful Labour-Members.
Then the strong man, BURNSIWATHA,
Hurled their language back with interest,
With the breathing of his nostrils,
With the tempest of his anger,
Hurled it back on his assailants.
Said TOM-MANN was feather-headed,
Said the rather wild KEIR-HAR-DI
Was no better than a "bounder."
And the Independent Lab'rers,
Not to be outdone in scolding,
Scandalised poor BURNSIWATHA,
Said they thought him quite conceited,
Called him "Boss," likewise "Bull-dozing."
And the Bry-Tish-Pu-Blyck wondered
At the manners of these leaders,
At the Unionists' disunion.
"Go, my sons," it said, "instanter,
Go back to your homes and people;
Slay all ravening labour-sweaters,
All the Kum-Panies, the giants,
All the serpents, the Emp-Loias;
But, for goodness' sake have done with
Petty piques and jealous slangings;
Or, next time you ask for coppers
For the holy cause of Labour,
You will find these coppers wanting!"
* * * * *
[Illustration: STUDIES IN ANIMAL LIFE. The Chick-a-leary Cochin.]
* * * * *
BAYARD AND BOBBY.
Oh, ROBERT, in our hours of ease
Butt of those outworn pleasantries,
Not less with pride thy praise we hear
Hymned in another hemisphere,
When BAYARD, chivalrously graphic,
Tells how you regulate the traffic.
Firm as a statue on its plinth
'Midst the vertiginous labyrinth
Of circus, street and bridge you stand,
And rule the storm with calm, unarmèd hand.
Rarely our soldiers of the law
Do Themis' awful truncheon draw,
Their Orphic whistle sùbdue can
All save the crew of HOOLIGAN.
Though western JONATHAN prefer
A force not vainly _claviger_,
Yet BAYARD, taught in English ways,
That suaver regiment must praise
That trusts to moral weight and nerve
And keeps the bludgeon in reserve.
Stalwart and patient 'midst the strife
Of all our seething city life,
When pageants twice or thrice a year
Throw the whole Empire out of gear,
Then, stolid symbol of good sense,
A wonder-worker, _sans_ pretence,
Fulfill'st authority's decrees,
With thy familiar "Stand back, please!"
And rather by that sober charm
Than by the might of brawny arm,
The many-headed own thy sway;
They laugh, they jostle, and obey.
Worthy thy deeds of loftier rhyme,
Than topic-song or pantomime.
Not quite sublime, but on the border,
Type of our British law and order,
Thy figure shall be graved upon
The frieze of some new Parthenon,
Wherein by glyphic art portray'd
Reigns the ideal parlour-maid,
Thy dauntless soul's domestic lure
Trim, natty, roguish, and demure,
Waiting the age's unborn LAYARD
To illustrate the praise of BAYARD.
* * * * *
QUERY IN THE COUNTRY.--New agricultural version of an ancient cockney
slang phrase--"Has your farmer sold his mangel?"
* * * * *
ADVICE TO ANY DRAMATIC AUTHOR WHO HAS WRITTEN A LENGTHY PIECE.--"Cut,
and run."
* * * * *
THE TALE OF A VOTE.
Bedad, 'twas meself was as plaised as could be
When they tould me the vote had bin given to me.
"St. Pathrick," ses Oi, "Oi'm a gintleman too,
An' Oi'll doine ivry day off a grand Oirish stew."
The words was scarce seen slippin' off of me tongue
When who but the Colonel comes walkin' along!
"Begorrah, 'tis callin' he's afther, the bhoy,
Oi'm a gintleman now wid a vingeance," ses Oi.
The Colonel come in wid an affable air,
An' he sat down quite natteral-loike in a chair.
"So, RORY," ses he, "'tis a vote ye've got now?"
"That's thrue though ye ses it," ses Oi, wid a bow.
"Deloighted!" ses he, "'tis meself that is g'ad,
For shure ye're disarvin' it, RORY me lad.
An' how are ye goin' to use it?" ses he,
"Ye could scarcely do betther than give it to me."
Oi stared at the Colonel, amazed wid surprise.
"What! Give it away, Sorr?--Me vote, Sorr?" Oi cries.
"D'ye think that Oi've waited ontil Oi am gray,
An' now Oi'm jist goin' to give it away?"
The Colonel he chuckled, an "RORY," ses he.
But "No, Sorr," Oi answers, "ye don't diddle me."
Thin he hum'd an' he haw'd, an' he started agin,
But he'd met wid his equal in RORY O'FLYNN.
Thin the smoile died away, an' a frown come instead,
But for all that he tould me, Oi jist shook me head,
An' he gnawed his moustache, an' he cursed an' he swore,
But the more that he argued, Oi shook it the more.
Thin he called me a dolt an' an ignorant fool,
An' he said that Oi ought to go back to the school,
An' he flew in a rage an' wint black in the face,
An' he flung in a hullaballoo from the place.
Bedad, Oi was startled. Him beggin' me vote,
An' he'd three of his own too!--The gradiness o't!
Ye could scarcely belave it onless it was thrue,
An' him sittin' oop for a gintleman too!
Was it betther he thought he could use it than Oi?
Begorrah, Oi'll show he's mistaken, me bhoy.
Oi'll hang it oop over me mantlepace shelf,
For now that Oi've got it, Oi'll kape it meself.
* * * * *
THE ZUYDER ZEE.--"Wha' be the Zider Zee?" repeated a Devonian farmer.
"Why, I always thought as the Zee of Exeter were the Zider Zee. Ain't it
pratty well in the middle o' Zider Country?"
* * * * *
[Illustration: IMPROVEMENTS IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. I.--PROPOSED
HAIR-DRESSING ROOM.
"A series of alterations has, during the recess, been in active progress
within the Houses of Parliament," &c.... "Space will be set apart to
provide dressing-room accommodation and a hair-dressing
saloon."--_Times_, _Wednesday, October 17._]
* * * * *
MAYENNAISE VERSUS MAYONNAISE.
(_Vide last Number of "Punch."_)
Dear _Punch_, your praise
Of Mayonnaise
Is certainly most telling:
But don't it seem
That such a theme
Deserves the proper spelling?
I sometimes look
At a cookery book
By A. DUMAS, the younger;
And find he says
That May_en_naise
(A certain cure for hunger)
Should be spelt so;
Not with an _o_,
But like Mayenne, that city,
Whose siege's fame
Supplied the name
Mis-spelt now; more's the pity
Maybe D's right,
Although it might
Be just a yarn he's telling.
So hope your bard
Won't be too hard
And simply "D" my spelling.
* * * * *
'TOTHER WAY ABOUT.--Mr. LE GALLIENNE says, epigrammatically, that
"Beauty is the smile on the face of Power." Humph! Gallant _Mr. Punch_
prefers to put it the other way, and say "Power is the smile on the face
of Beauty!" Surely that is equally true. But it's a poor rule (or
paradox) that won't work both ways.
* * * * *
MOTTO MOST PRACTICAL FOR ALL WHO ARE COMPELLED TO TRAVEL CONSTANTLY IN
OUR METROPOLITAN PUBLIC CONVEYANCES.--"_In Omnibus Caritas._"
* * * * *
[Illustration: OUR DECADENTS.
_Algy._ "WHAT'S THE MATTER, ARCHIE? YOU'RE NOT LOOKING WELL!"
_Archie._ "_YOU_ WOULDN'T LOOK WELL, IF YOU'D BEEN SUFFERING FROM
INSOMNIA EVERY AFTERNOON FOR A WEEK!"]
* * * * *
VERSE AND CHORAL SUMMING-UP.
[Of a recently protracted discussion in the _Times_ on "Anglican
Orders," set to the air of what was once upon a time a popular
song, entitled _Billy Barlow_.]
Of _my_ re-appearance,
My friends, don't complain,
I've turned up before,
I shall turn up again!
We are where we were
When we started, and so
For awhile bid good-bye
To your WILLIAM BARLOW.
O dear! Lackaday oh!
What a puzzling old party was
Bishop BARLOW!
* * * * *
Two "General" Favourites.
The one, Sir BOB REID, Q.C., M.P., "to be Attorney-General"; the other,
FRANK LOCKWOOD, Q.C., M.P., "to be Solicitor-General." REID and Right.
Commercial value, one "Bob" and a "Frank," _i.e._ One-and-tenpence the
pair.
* * * * *
FUTURE FAME.--Mr. T. E. ELLIS, M.P., "speaking at Colwyn Bay" (unkind of
him, this, for what has Colwyn Bay done to him? Why not address Colwyn
Bay personally instead of "speaking _at_" C. B.), spoke at the same time
"at" the House of Lords. "Were the wishes of the people to be
continually thwarted by an hereditary and irresponsible Chamber?" That's
the style! Twopence coloured. Henceforth Mr. T. E. ELLIS, from being
Nobody in particular, will now be known as "Somebody ELLIS."
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
[Illustration: "He saw the greatest quail before him."]
"Now _that_," quoth the Baron emphatically, as he deposed _My Lady
Rotha_ in favour of the next novelty, what ever it might be, "_that_ is
a romance after my own heart. Mr. STANLEY WEYMAN, author of _A Gentleman
of France_ and _Under the Red Robe_, has not as yet, excellent as were
both those works, written anything so powerful, so artistic, so
exciting, and so all-engrossing (no further participles or adjectives
wanted at present) as _My Lady Rotha_." This romancer has the rare
talent of interesting his reader as much in the action of his crowds as
he does in the fortunes of his individuals. He is the Sir JOHN GILBERT
of the pen; and the Baron cautiously expresses his opinion that _My Lady
Rotha_ is not so very far off _Ivanhoe_. To compare with the works of
other modern romancers, it may be safely said that, from Chapter XXVI.
to Chapter XXIX. inclusive, the situations are as exciting as any ever
invented by RIDER HAGGARD, LOUIS B. STEPHENSON, or JULES VERNE; "which"
the Baron freely admits, "is saying a good deal,--_Treasure Island_
always excepted."
The Baron anticipates "Next please," with pleasure, but at the
same time he would draw the attention of the prolific author to the
ancient proverb "_festina lente_," which is not at variance with his
exclaiming "On! STANLEY (WEYMAN) on!" and these are "the last
words" (for the present on _this_ subject) of the
BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.
* * * * *
POSSIBLE DEVELOPMENTS.
[On hearing that an Archdeacon had withdrawn from the School-Board
Controversy because he found himself opposed to his Bishop.]
The Archdeacon is "sorry he spoke." Not that he has changed his
opinion--oh dear no! far from that. But the Bishop thinks otherwise, so
the Archdeacon retires as gracefully as may be from the controversy. He
is, he explains, as it were, the Bishop's "oculus"--the man to whom the
Bishop can proudly point, and say "All my eye!" This theory of
subordination of thought to one's superior is highly suggestive. For
instance, who will be surprised to read the following highly authentic
document, now made public for the first time.
_To the Editor of the Once a-Month Review._
DEAR SIR,--With reference to my article "Is Horse-racing Justifiable?" I
desire to make known that while I still strongly adhere to my views
therein expressed as to the wickedness of the turf, I shall, for the
reason I am about to mention, take no further active part in the
controversy. I find that the PRIME MINISTER is the owner of some
racehorses (a fact previously unknown to me), and as I am his "dextera,"
if it is not presumptive to say so, it would clearly be unbecoming on my
part to take up any antagonistic position. However much I may regret
having to take this course, I am sure you will agree with me that it is
the only one which is open to me.
Yours faithfully, W-LL-AM V-RN-N H-RC-URT.
DEAR MR. PUNCH,--Last Sunday evening I fully intended going to church. I
put on my most attractive bonnet, and an absolutely bewitching jacket,
when I discovered that JIM (he's my husband, you know) did not intend to
go out. As I had read a little while before the new archidiaconal theory
of obedience, that of course prevented my going out. Clearly as I am
JIM'S "better-half" I couldn't go anywhere that _he_ didn't go. Please,
_Mr. Punch_, was I right? Or can it be that the archdeacon was wrong?
Yours very perplexed,
ETHEL DINMERE.
* * * * *
A PHALSE NOTE ON GEORGE THE FOURTH.
(_A Brown Study in a Yellow Book._)
[Illustration: _By Mortarthurio Whiskersley._]
Nay, but it is useless to protest. Much bosh and bauble-tit and
pop-limbo has been talked about GEORGE THE PHORTH. THACKERAY denunciated
him in his charming style (we never find THACKERAY searching for the
_mot juste_ as for a wisp of hay in a packet of needles), but inverideed
he was not sufficiently merciful to the last gentleman in Europe. We
must not judge a prince too harshly. How many temptations he had with
all the wits and flutterpates and malaperts gyring and gimbling round
him! GEORGE was a sportsman. He would spend the morning with his valet
(who was a hero to him), assuming gorgeous apparel, and tricking
himself, with brush and pigment, into more charm. He was implected with
a passion for the pleasures of the wardrobe, and had a Royal memory for
old coats. Then he would saunter into WHITE'S for ale and tittle-tattle,
and drive a friend into the country, stopping on the way for _cursory_
visits at the taverns; I mean, swearing if the ale was not good. He had
his troubles. Queen CAROLINE was a mimsy, out-moded woman, a sly serio,
who gadded hither and thither shrieking for the unbecoming. Mrs. PHOX
ensorcelled GEORGE with her beautiful, silly phace, shadowed with
vermeil tinct and trimly pencilled. There was no secernment between her
soul and surface; she was mere, _insouciant_, with a rare dulcedo.
GEORGE collected locks of hair and what not, and what _not_. He gave in
his bright flamboyance a passing renascence to Society. But the
Victorian era came soon, and angels rushed in where fools had not feared
to tread, and hung the land with reps, and drove Artifice phorth, and
set MARTIN TUPPER on a throne of mahogany to rule over them.
In the tangled accrescency of GEORGE'S degringolade--in fact when he was
dyeing--he thought he had led the charge of Waterloo! Tristfully he
would describe the scene, referring to the Duke of WELLINGTON for
corroboration. An unfortunate slip, for it is well known the old soldier
was never there himself.
It is brillig, and from my window at the Métropole, Brighton, I see the
trite lawns and cheeky minarets of the Pavilion. I can see the rooms
crusted with ormolu, the fauns foisted on the ceiling, the ripping
rident goddesses on the walls. Once I phancied I saw a swaying phigure,
and a wine-red phace....
P.S.--I like to phancy the watchful evil phaces of my Criticks as they
read this article. Phair men, but infelix, they will lavish their anger
in epigramme. Not that I care a little tittle about adverse remarks
kicked from a gutter into a garret! But! But let them not outgribe too
soon, but rather dance and be glad, and trip the cockawhoop. For! For,
slithy toves as they are, they will read it with tears and desiderium,
unless I do as did ARTEMUS of shameful memory, and in jolliness and glad
indulgence whisper to them--
THIS IS A GOAK!
* * * * *
THE LAY OF THE VIGILANT.
I've a natural eye for evil,
And folly I love to shoot,
And to prod for a latent weevil
In the wholesomest-looking root.
My _ipse dixit_ must always fix it--
The song, the dance, the cup;
And my back gets stiffer the more you differ
From the standard that I set up.
I went to the "halls" crusading,
And I found what I meant to find.
I had said they were all degrading,
And I never alter my mind.
In virtue strong I gazed at the throng
Of smoking chatters and grinners;
With a righteous frown my soul looked down
On the publicans and the sinners.
Loftily, proudly, lonely
I bore what I had to bear,
For I knew that I was the only
Respectable Person there!
That the others were not respectable
Was easy and plain to see,
For they frankly found delectable
What didn't appeal to me.
Yet none of the revellers stonily,
Or scornfully seem'd to stare,
They took no note of the only
Respectable Person there.
My vigilant virtue perchance may hurt you
By putting constructions worse on
The pose or picture that draws no strictures
From the non-respectable person.
But my earliest vigilance wakèd
To look askance at the nude,
As another name for naked,
And therefore distinctly rude.
From an icy peak of stupendous cheek
On an alien world I glare,
And never feel lonely, although I'm the only
Respectable Person there!
* * * * *
WONDERFUL FEAT OF STRENGTH.--The strong man supporting four men on a
chair is nothing in comparison with _an entire train "held up" by four
men_! This was reported in the _Pall Mall Gazette_ last Saturday as
having occurred to a "Texas Pacific train." The armed robbers went off
with 20,000 dollars. Nice "Pacific" train to travel by!
* * * * *
HEIRLOOMS.--_Mr. Punch_ congratulates Mr. and Mrs. BEERBOHM TREE, and
their Olive Branch little Miss TREE, on the valuable _souvenirs_ of
their Balmoral performance presented them by HER MAJESTY, which, from
all others, will distinguish this particular "Family TREE."
* * * * *
MORBIDEZZA.
Morbid fleshliness is mark
Of the modern (sham) Art-lover.
Vulgar seems the soaring lark,
Music (and meat) are in the plover.
Painters once made pink the flesh
Of their Titianesque creations;
Caught in Sham's sepulchral mesh
Art now raves of _Green_ Carnations!
* * * * *
FIRST IMPRESSIONS.
[Illustration]
_At Lugano._--Geographically this seems to be Italy. But people remind
one always of the artificial frontier which makes it Switzerland. What's
that matter? Get up early. Ha! there it is. Cloudless sky! And such a
blue! Ultramarine at a guinea the thimbleful. Hurry down to enjoy its
beauty as long as possible. Fortunate I did so, for by ten o'clock it
has all vanished. Go up a hill. View from top would be fairly clear for
Helvellyn. But for Italy! Amiable and chatty Italian reminds me that I
am not in Italy. Ah, of course not. Will get there as soon as I can.
Meanwhile mope in hotel, for it is now raining steadily. Not a
magnificent mountain downpour, with thunder and lightning, howling of
wind, crashing of elements, alarums and excursions, and that sort of
thing; only a quiet, steady rain, which would be disliked even in
Ambleside. But in Ambleside there would be a fire. Here I sit in a
draughty, chilly corridor, with some melancholy Germans, all of us
wearing overcoats indoors. They remind me that I am not in Italy. Anyone
could see that.
_At Pallanza._--Here on Lago Maggiore there must really be the ROWBOTHAM
effects. My room looks over the lake. "_La vista è bellissima_," says
the waiter in the evening. Hooray! Now to forget the gloom of
Switzerland and England. Wake early. Misty morning. Good sign of fine
weather probably. Into bed again. Wake again. Only half-past seven.
Still misty. Into bed again. Wake once more. Still misty. Evidently
quite early. Hullo! still half-past seven. Watch stopped. Ring. "_Si,
Signore_," says the chambermaid, in the mixed dialect which she has
invented for foreigners, "_il est dieci heures_." Ten! By Jove! With
that fog? She assures me it will clear away, "_se non oggi, domani_."
_Bellissima vista_ looks exactly like Derwentwater in rain. Grey water,
grey sky, grey mountains, wreathed in grey mist. It does not clear
to-day, so it may to-morrow.
Next day even worse. Fog greyer, and rain with it. Mud everywhere.
Notice a practical German tourist with three umbrellas strapped on his
knapsack. Wise man! He knows this climate, and also the advantage of a
change of clothes, or of umbrellas. So useful to have a morning
umbrella, an afternoon umbrella, and a sort of evening-dress umbrella to
bring down to the _table d'hôte_. When tired of gazing at the mist, I
read a three days old _Times_, preserved in the reading-room. Hullo!
what is that sound? A piano-organ! Heavens! To think that I should have
travelled hundreds of miles from London to hear the grinding of an organ
while I read the _Times_ in a fog! Why, in Kensington Gardens I could
have done as much.
A FIRST IMPRESSIONIST.
* * * * *
[Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation are as in the original.]