Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Malcolm Farmer,
Ernest Schaal and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 107.
JUNE 21, 1894.
* * * * *
A RIVERSIDE LAMENT.
In my garden, where the rose
By the hundred gaily blows,
And the river freshly flows
Close to me,
I can spend the summer day
In a quite idyllic way;
Simply charming, you would say,
Could you see.
I am far from stuffy town,
Where the soots meander down,
And the air seems--being brown--
Close to me.
I am far from rushing train;
_Bradshaw_ does not bore my brain,
Nor, comparatively plain,
_A B C_.
To my punt I can repair,
If the weather's fairly fair,
But one grievance I have there;
Close to me,
As I sit and idly dream,
Clammy corpses ever seem
Floating down the placid stream
To the sea.
Though the boats that crowd the lock--
Such an animated block!--
Bring gay damsels, quite a flock,
Close to me,
Yet I heed not tasty togs,
When, as motionless as logs,
Float defunct and dismal dogs
There _aussi_.
As in Egypt at a feast,
With each party comes at least
One sad corpse, departed beast,
Close to me;
Till a Canon might go off,
Till a Dean might swear or scoff,
Or a Bishop--tip-top toff
In a see.
Floating to me from above,
If it stick, with gentle shove,
To my neighbour, whom I love,
Close to me,
I send on each gruesome guest.
Should I drag it out to rest
In my garden? No, I'm blest!
_Non, merci!_
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE 'ARDEN-ING PROCESS.
_Orlando._ "TIRED, ROSALIND?" _Rosalind._ "PNEUMATICALLY."]
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
"For a modest dish of camp-pie, suited to barracks and youth militant,
commend me," quoth one of the Baron's Baronites, "to _Only a
Drummer-Boy_, a maiden effort, and unpretentious, like its author, who
calls himself ARTHUR AMYAND, but is really Captain ARTHUR DRUMMER
HAGGARD. He has the rare advantage, missed by most people who write
soldier novels, of knowing what he is talking about. If there are faults
'to pardon in the drawing's lines,' they are faults of technique and not
of anatomy." "The Court is with you," quoth the BARON DE B.-W.
* * * * *
HOTEL NOTE.--The _chef_ at every Gordon Hotel ought to be a "_Gordon
Bleu_."
* * * * *
THE VOLUNTEER'S VADE MECUM.
(_Bisley Edition._)
_Question._ What is the ambition of every rifleman?
_Answer._ To become an expert marksman.
_Q._ How is this to be done?
_A._ By practice at the regimental butts (where such accommodation
exists), and appearing at Bisley.
_Q._ Is the new site of the National Rifle Association better than the
last?
_A._ Certainly, for those who come to Bisley intend to shoot.
_Q._ But did any one turn up at Wimbledon for any purpose other than
marksmanship?
_A._ Yes, for many of those who occupied the tents used their _marquees_
merely as a suitable resting-place for light refreshments.
_Q._ Is there anything of that kind at Bisley?
_A._ Not much, as the nearest place of interest is a crematorium, and
the most beautiful grounds in the neighbourhood belong to a cemetery.
_Q._ Then the business of Bisley is shooting?
_A._ Distinctly. Without the rifle, the place would be as melancholy as
its companion spot, Woking.
_Q._ In this place of useful work, what is the first object of the
marksman?
_A._ To score heavily, if possible; but, at any rate, to score.
_Q._ Is it necessary to appear in uniform?
_A._ That depends upon the regulations commanding the prize
competitions.
_Q._ What is uniform?
_A._ As much or as little of the dress of a corps that a judge will
order a marksman to adopt.
_Q._ If some marksmen were paraded with their own corps, how would they
look?
_A._ They would appear to be a sorry sight.
_Q._ Why would they appear to be a sorry sight?
_A._ Because over a tunic would appear a straw hat, and under a
pouch-belt fancy tweed trousers.
_Q._ But surely if the Volunteers are anxious to improve themselves they
will practise "smartness"?
_A._ But they do not want to promote smartness; they want to win cups,
or the value of cups.
_Q._ What is the greatest reward that a marksman can obtain?
_A._ Some hundreds of pounds.
_Q._ And the smallest?
_A._ A dozen of somebody's champagne, or a box of someone else's soap.
_Q._ Under all the circumstances of the case, what would be an
appropriate rule for Bisley?
_A._ Look after the cup-winning, and everything else will take care of
itself.
* * * * *
LATEST PARLIAMENTARY BETTING.
GENERAL ELECTION STAKES.
2 to 1 on Rosebery and Ladas (coupled).
25 to 1 agst Harcourt's Resignation.
50 to 1 -- Nonconformist Conscience.
70 to 1 -- Budget Bill (off--75 to 1 taken).
100 to 1 -- Ministerial Programme.
FOR PLACES (NEXT SESSION STAKES).
2 to 1 on Asquith for the Leadership.
12 to 1 agst the Labouchere Peerage.
NEW PREMIERSHIP SELLING STAKES.
12 to 1 on Gladstone Redivivus.
200 to 1 agst any other.
* * * * *
AS WE LIKE IT.
(JAQUES _resumes_.)
--All the world's upon the stage,
And here and there you really get a player:
The exits rather than the entrances
Are regulated by the County Council;
And one man in a season sees a lot--
Seven plays a week, including _matinees_,
And several acts in each. And first the infant,
A vernal blossom of the Garrick Caste,
Playing the super in his bassinet,
And innocently causing some chagrin
To Mr. ECCLES. Then there's _Archibald_,
_New Boy_, and nearly father to the man,
With mourning on his face and kicks behind,
Returning under strong connubial stress
Unwillingly to school. And next the lover,
Sighing like ALEXANDER for fresh fields,
And plunging wofully to win a kiss,
Even to his very eyebrows. Then the soldier,
Armed with strange maxims and a carpet-bag,
Cock-Shaw in military ironies,
And blowing off the bubbling repartee
With chocolate in his mouth. And next is _Falstaff_,
In fair round belly with good bolsters lined,
Full of wide sores, and badly cut about
By Windsor hussies,--modern instances
Of the revolting woman. Sixthly, _Charley's Aunt_.
Now ancient as the earth, and shifting still
The Penley pantaloons for ladies' gear,
Her fine heroic waist a world too wide
For the slim corset, and her manly lips,
Tuned to the treble of a maiden's pipe,
Grasping a big cigar. Last scene of all,
The season's close and mere oblivion;
Away to Europe and the provinces;
And London left forlorn without them all,
_Sans-Gene_, _Santuzza_, yea, _sans_ everything.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "A GOOD TIME COMING!"
_British Farmer ("playing a game of mixed chance and skill with
Nature")_ "I DO BELIEVE MY LUCK'S ON THE TURN!"]
* * * * *
"A GOOD TIME COMING!"
(_And it HAS been a good time coming._)
["The game of mixed chance and skill which the farmer plays each
year with Nature is still undecided; but, if the farmer wins,
his winnings will be large indeed."
--_The "Times" on Farming Prospects._]
_British Farmer, loq.:_--
Bless my old bones!--they're weary ones, wherefore I takes small
shame--
For the first time for many a year mine _looks_ a winning game!
A "bumper" harvest? Blissful thought! For long I've been fair stuck,
But now I really hope I see a change in my bad luck.
True, my opponent is a chap 'tis doosed hard to match.
I seed a picture once of one a playing 'gainst Old Scratch,
And oftentimes I feels like that, a-sticking all together,
Against that demon-dicer whom we know as British Weather!
What use of ploughs and patience, boys, or skill, and seed, and
sickle,
'Gainst frost, and rain, and blighted grain, and all that's foul and
fickle?
When the fly is on the turmuts, and the blight is on the barley,
And meadows show like sodden swamps, a farmer do get snarley.
But now the crops from hay to hops show promising of plenty,
A-doubling last year's average, plus a extry ten or twenty.
And straw is good, uncommon so, and barley, wheat and oats, Sir,
Make a rare show o'er whose rich glow the long-tried farmer gloats,
Sir!
Beans ain't so bad, spite o' May frosts; turnips and swedes look
topping;
Though the frost and fly the mangolds try, and the taters won't be
whopping.
Those poor unlucky taters! If there's any mischief going,
They cop their share, and how they'll fare this year there ain't no
knowing;
And peas is good, and hops is bad, or baddish. But, by jingo!
The sight o' the hay as I saw to-day is as good as a glass of stingo.
Pastures and meadows promise prime, well nigh the country over,
Though them as depend on their clover-crop will hardly be in clover.
But take 'em all, the big and small, the cereals, roots, and grasses,
There's a lump o' cheer for the farmers' hearts, and the farmers'
wives and lasses;
If only him I'm playing against--well, p'r'aps I'd best be civil,--
If he isn't JEMMY SQUAREFOOT though, he has the _luck_ o' the divil.
With his rain and storm and cold and hot, and his host of insect
horrors,
He has the pull, and our bright to-days may be spiled by black
to-morrers.
A cove like him with looks so grim, and flies, and such philistians,
Is no fair foe for farmer chaps as is mortial men and Christians.
Look at him damply glowering there with a eye like a hungry vulture!
With his blights at hand, and his floods to command, he's the scourge
of Agriculture.
But howsomever, although he's clever, luck's all, and mine seems
turning,
Oh! for a few more fair fine weeks, not swamped, nor yet too burning,
When the sun shines sweet on the slanting wheat, with the bees through
the clover humming,
And us farmer chaps with a cheery heart _will_ sing "_There's a good
time coming!_"
* * * * *
A MODERN MADAME.
(_According to the New School of Teachers._)
She believes in nothing but herself, and never accepts her own
personality seriously.
She has aspirations after the impossible, and is herself far from
probable; she regards her husband as an unnecessary evil, and her
children as disturbances without compensating advantages.
She writes more than she reads and seldom scribbles anything.
She has no feelings, and yet has a yearning after the intense.
She is the antithesis of her grandmother, and has made further
development in generations to come quite impossible.
She thinks without the thoughts of a male, and yet has lost the
comprehension of a female.
To sum up, she is hardly up to the standard of a man, and yet has sunk
several fathoms below the level of a woman.
* * * * *
MEM. AT LORD'S DURING THE ETON AND HARROW, FRIDAY, JULY 13. (_It rained
the better part, which became the worse part, of the day._)--Not much
use trying to do anything with any "match" in the wet.
* * * * *
[Illustration: TO GOLFERS.
SUGGESTION FOR A RAINY DAY. SPILLIKINS ON A GRAND SCALE.]
* * * * *
WHAT WE MAY EXPECT SOON.
_By Our Own Wire._--Dispute broken out between local employer of
labour--Shoemaker with two apprentices--and his hands. One apprentice
won't work with t'other. Shoemaker locked out both.
_Later News._--Dispute developing. Amalgamated Association of Trade
Unions sent fifty thousand men with rifles into town. Also park of
artillery. Arbitration suggested.
_Special Telegram._--Federated Society of Masters occupying Market Place
and principal streets with Gatling guns. Expresses itself willing to
accept Arbitration in principle.
_A Day After._--Conflicts to-day between opposing forces. Streets
resemble battle-field. Authorities announce--"will shortly act with
vigour." Enrolled ten extra policemen. Police, including extra ten,
captured by rioters, and locked up in their own cells. Business--except
of undertakers--at standstill.
_Latest Developments._--More conflicts, deaths, outrages, incendiarism.
Central Government telegraphs to Shoemaker to take back both apprentices
to stop disastrous disorder. No reply. Shoemaker and both apprentices
been killed in riots.
_Close of the Struggle._--Stock of gunpowder exhausted. Both sides
inclined to accept compromise. Board of Conciliation formed. Survivors
of employers and employed shake hands. Town irretrievably ruined, but
peace firmly re-established.
* * * * *
WHAT! ALREADY!--"I'm afraid," said Mrs. R., "that the new Tower Bridge
is in a bad way. I hear it said, of course I do not know with what
truth, that it has 'bascules.' Now weren't they the insects that
destroyed the crops one year and gave so many persons the influenza? I
think you'll find I'm right."
* * *
EPIGRAMMATIC DESCRIPTION, BY A BILLIARD PLAYER, OF THE SELECTION OF THE
CHIEF MINSTREL TO BE THE RECIPIENT OF A PRIZE AT THE RECENT
EISTEDDFOD.--"_Spot Bard._"
* * *
ACCIDENTS IN OUR ROTTENEST ROTTEN ROW.--The sooner the cause (_i.e._
Rotten Row itself) of the numerous complaints is _well grounded_, the
better for the equestrians.
* * *
NATIONAL REFLECTION (SUGGESTED BY RECENT YACHT-RACE).--It is of small
use BRITANNIA being BRITANNIA unless she be also Vigilant.
* * * * *
LYRE AND LANCET.
(_A Story in Scenes._)
PART III.--THE TWO ANDROMEDAS.